Disclaimer: Really? Do I have to say it every time? Fine. I don't own Dragon Ball Z. Happy now?

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Chapter 7: Growing Pains

Paperwork sucked. And as Vice President of an important company, Trunks had a lot of it. So here he sat, cooped up in an office at six o'clock on a Saturday evening, trying to get through the massive stack of bills, invoices, contracts, and other such annoyances piled upon his desk. He had been there for the past eight hours, trying to focus, with limited success.

Even now, he stared off in to space, completely ignoring the task at hand. Instead, he was focused on his favorite subject of contemplation: Akira. The man had been the highlight of Trunks' life since he dropped in a few weeks ago. He was not a puzzle, but several puzzles jumbled together at random with half of the pieces removed afterward. It was impossible to make sense of him. He was thoughtful, witty, sarcastic, poised, polite, entertaining, and a thousand other adjectives. However, Trunks had no idea how many of these characteristics were genuine and how many were a show put on for others.

Trunks shook his head, attempting to draw himself back to his work. He managed to sign a couple of papers and read a few letters before his mind wandered yet again. If he was honest with himself, Trunks knew that he was thinking about Akira far more than he should. It was not his style. Trunks didn't really worry about other people, didn't really make friends. He was popular back when he was in school, sure, but he hadn't felt the need to remain in contact with anyone after graduation. At the age of twenty, he had never had a girlfriend. It had never bothered him, really. He just wasn't attracted to any of the girls he knew.

For the first time, Trunks caught himself wondering why that was. He knew several beautiful, intelligent, personable women, the kind that most guys would give their left arm to date. If he wanted, Trunks could have his pick of them; his looks, wealth, and personality ensured that. Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Maybe… maybe he was afraid of their normalcy. Even if a girl accepted who he was, he could never get over the fact that she was just a human, that he could snap her in half if he wanted to. His Saiyan pride, cultivated by his father in some sick desire to remind Trunks just how different he was, told him that he was above normal people. He was the heir to the throne of a race of warriors! Yeah, what a privilege that was. A dead race with no planet and no future. Just Trunks, his father, his sister, Goku, Gohan, Pan, and Goten.

Goten. Like Trunks, Goten was half-Saiyan, half-human. Unlike Trunks, he didn't hate himself for it. He didn't feel the need to emotionally distance himself from humans. Although they had been friends their entire lives, Trunks could see that Goten was moving away from him. Goten had other friends, Goten went on dates; Goten didn't see how different they were from everyone else. Trunks realized with a jolt that he hadn't seen Goten in two months. The thought had the bitterness of a loss about it. Trunks knew that they had changed, that Goten, his constant companion, was drifting away and might never come back. It was a new sensation to Trunks, this feeling of loss. It was thoroughly unpleasant. Goten had been the most important person to Trunks for many years, the only person that Trunks had ever been close to, the first and only friend that Trunks had ever had.

Until Akira. Trunks felt a sort of magnetic attraction towards him that he had never experienced with anyone, not even Goten. He loved being around him. Trunks couldn't wait to see him again, even when they had just parted. The mere thought of Akira made Trunks smile, made an odd feeling of elation sweep over his body.

Because Trunks was prone to self-criticism, he noted that he sounded like a teenage girl with a crush. Not an appealing notion. The comparison made him pause. He didn't like Akira like that… did he? He had no base line to compare it with; he'd never thought himself in love with anyone, male or female. Honestly, Trunks had never considered the possibility that he was gay. The idea didn't bother him, but it was one of the many commonplace things that Trunks had never realized were important.

He had no way to tell what his feelings meant, and he certainly wouldn't ask anyone else about it. So he decided that he would be content knowing what his feelings meant to him. Unclear sensations aside, Trunks knew that being with Akira gave him a sense of pleasure. He knew that he trusted the man more than anyone else, though without a specific reason. He also knew that, if the occasion arose, he would do anything necessary to protect Akira. They had a bond, though Trunks knew not what it was made of or where it would lead them.

Making a decision based on his newly-confronted feelings, Trunks pulled out his cell phone. He punched in a few numbers and waited as the phone rang. He heard a voice on the other end. "Hello, Akira. It's Trunks. Are you busy? No, it's not important. I just don't feel like working any more and thought I'd see if you wanted to hang out. Okay, I'll meet you at Central Park in five minutes. See you then." Trunks hung up the phone, feeling more excited than he should. He grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and began to walk out of the building. On his way out, he bid his secretary a cheerful goodnight and told her to go home, that he would see her on Monday. He stepped outside, feeling more cheerful than he had for as long as he could remember. He glanced at the sunset. It really was beautiful, he thought. An outward manifestation of his newfound happiness.

That lasted all of ten seconds.

"Boy!" a familiar voice growled. Trunks' heart sank; he knew that voice and what would inevitably follow. He turned, and came face to face with his dear father. The following conversation would be pointless. Trunks knew that, whatever words were said, the outcome would be the same.

"Time to spar. I hope you haven't spent all your time playing human in that office. If you don't train constantly, you'll never be worthy of the title of Saiyan Prince." The contempt in Vegeta's voice was painfully evident. He turned on his heel and strolled in the direction of the private park they used for training, not even glancing back to see if Trunks was following.

Trunks trod along after him without a word of protest. Nothing he said would help him escape the impending beating. Indeed, any words he uttered would be perceived as a complaint, which meant weakness, which meant a couple of extra cracked ribs.

Trunks sent a mental apology to Akira. An attempt at a phone call when there was training to be done would be tantamount to suicide. He would make it up to Akira later, would come up with some excuse that he was certain that his companion would see through. But right now, he had to worry about keeping as many of his bones intact as he could.

Father and son walked through the halls together, finally arriving at the park where Trunks had first met Akira. They stepped through the metal Capsule Corp. doors to the outside. The doors sealed shut, a barrier between the human world and the world of the Saiyans, a world of blood, battle, and death. The serene surroundings provided an artistic contrast to the struggle that was about to take place. Had Trunks been poetically inclined, perhaps he would have noticed it. Instead, he grimly took up a fighting stance and braced himself for what was to come.

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Seventeen did not enjoy being kept waiting. He had come to the park at Trunks' request, and now the Saiyan princeling was nowhere to be found. So Seventeen, being the patient and considerate person that he was, decided to wait. It's not like he had anything better to do. He had long since come to the conclusion that humans were of no interest unless they were being used for target practice.

There were a few exceptions to this rule, namely both Trunks and pseudo-Trunks. Trunks was good for use as a sustainable punching bag and a constant source of pain-based amusement. While Seventeen was certain that pseudo-Trunks would also be entertaining in that manner, Seventeen had other plans for him. He wasn't quite sure what those plans were yet, but he would figure it out and they would be satisfying as hell. Even with his limited knowledge of human emotions, he could tell that Trunks was becoming attached to him. He could use that to his advantage in the future, he was certain.

Thus, Seventeen had been standing in the park for the past half an hour and his toy had yet to arrive. So, like a jilted child, he set out to find it. Using Trunks' ki signature, Seventeen located him in the garden where they had first met. Annoyed that the boy showed no sign of movement, Seventeen began to stroll towards Capsule Corp. He would have to show Trunks just how valuable his time was and how incredibly rude it was to keep people waiting. This righteous purpose carried him the nine blocks to the lavender-haired Saiyan's domain.

Upon his arrival, Seventeen lightly hopped the fence. Much more convenient than locating a door. The twilight lent a mysterious air to the garden, Seventeen decided in a fit of humanlike poetry. He walked slowly through the trees, annoyance draining out of his body. A small, pale flower danced in the moonlight. For the first time, Seventeen noticed its beauty. Humans, with all their cities and cars, were destroying nature while Seventeen, through his destruction, was saving it. Seventeen smiled sadly, a smile unique in its lack of bitterness, mockery, or deceit.

As if he could ever be the hero. He was a monster, a fact that he recognized and accepted wholeheartedly. To prove this, he reached out, plucked the flower from its stem, and crushed it between his fingertips. That was what humans had made him and what he was glad to be.

Seventeen remembered that he had come here in order to find Trunks. He checked his sensors, determined the boy's location, and strolled towards it. It registered, somewhere in Seventeen's subconscious, that Trunks' ki signature was unusually faint. As Seventeen found him, he discovered why.

Trunks was slumped against a nearby tree trunk, eyes staring vacantly at the ground. Blood streaked through his pale hair, down his arms, and through his clothing. His clothes looked decidedly worse for the wear, missing both a sleeve and a pant leg. Bruises were already forming on every inch of visible skin on Trunks' body. All in all, Trunks looked like he had just taken the beating of his life.

Seventeen stared, an unprecedented rush of feelings flowing through him. The blood was the first thing Seventeen noticed. The sight of blood always excited him in a twisted way, sending a wave of energy and desire through him. The desire to see more, to make every last drop of blood run to the ground. The desire to watch his enemies writhe in pain. The desire to hear them beg, hear them cry his name in search of mercy. Desire, pure and simple, as a result of complete power over another creature. This time was no exception, but the desire he felt was a shade different than usual. He didn't know why. Perhaps it was tainted by the other emotions he felt. He had not inflicted this pain of Trunks, who Seventeen had claimed as a possession when they first met, whether Trunks knew it or not. And Seventeen didn't like others damaging things that belonged to him. There was also a brief flash of concern, which was quickly alleviated. After all, Trunks was injured, not dead. Finally, Seventeen noted the esthetic quality of the scene. Trunks fit the dusk perfectly, the moonlight mingling with the blood in his hair. Unlike the flower, the picture was already marred by pain and destruction, making it all the more beautiful to Seventeen.

Shaking off his musings, Seventeen approached Trunks. He was conscious, but only just. What to do? Seventeen could bring him into Capsule Corp. again, but it might look suspicious that Seventeen had supposedly discovered an injured Trunks on two separate occasions. He could leave Trunks there, but Trunks might remember seeing him there and might confront him. Then Seventeen would lose his source of entertainment. Seventeen wasn't really staying anywhere, so he had no place of his own to bring Trunks. Fine, then. He would just take Trunks to his own apartment. Seventeen had found it in his copious amounts of free time since arriving here. It was the penthouse of a large residential building a few miles away.

Seventeen opted to fly rather than drag the semi-conscious Saiyan around the city all night. He lifted Trunks gently and silently rose into the air. At this point, Seventeen didn't really care if anyone saw him, including Trunks himself. He glided silently above the city. Trunks mumbled incoherently, but Seventeen ignored him. Within minutes they had arrived on the balcony of Trunks' apartment. Seventeen tested the sliding glass door and was slightly saddened to find it unlocked. He wouldn't get to smash anything tonight. Pity. Well, when you're a super-powerful half-alien warrior, burglars are probably not a big deal.

Seventeen stepped inside what appeared to be a living room, noting with distaste that it was rather disorganized. He deposited Trunks gently on the couch and began rummaging through the apartment in hopes of finding some form of medical care. His search led him to Trunks' bedroom. The room itself was Spartan, painted a dull grey with no pictures and no furniture except a bed and a dresser. In the dresser drawers, Seventeen found clothes, papers, and photographs, many featuring a younger Trunks and a dark-haired boy who bore a striking resemblance to Son Goku. He made a mental note of that for later. Finally, in the last drawer, he found what he was looking for: a senzu bean.

Clutching his bounty, Seventeen returned to the living room. He forced the bean down Trunks' throat, perhaps not as gently as he should have. Color returned to Trunks' face and his wounds began to stitch themselves shut. With a slight cough, he struggled to a sitting position.

Seventeen watched him silently, all hints of emotion wiped from his face. He knew what had happened, of course. He sat down on the couch a few inches away from Trunks, staring intently. Once Trunks was looking at him, Seventeen voiced the one question on his mind. "Why?"

Trunks knew what he meant. With an effort more mental than physical, he replied, "Because I'm not who I'm supposed to be. Who I could have been. Once upon a time, a different time, I was the only one left. I was the strongest of all of us. Including Father. So that's who he expects me to be: the hero, the savior, the best. That's the son that he could have had. But instead, he's stuck with me. I have the same genes, the same half-Saiyan DNA, but I'm just not strong enough for him. I spend too much time wishing to be a human and not enough time trying to be a Saiyan, he says. So he tries to make me stronger in the only way he knows how: by beating the shit out of me until I can't walk. He doesn't hate me. He's not intentionally abusive. But he's not from Earth. On his planet, the strongest did whatever the hell they want and hurt whomever they felt like hurting. He's trying to make me the strongest, to protect me from harm by harming me first."

Trunks didn't realize that his speech would make no sense to a normal person. A normal person would call the police if he or she found out that a man was injuring his son to the extent that Trunks was injured. As amusing as that would be, it would cause tension amidst their family and would solve nothing. However, in Trunks' mind, Seventeen would understand without knowing, would fill in the blanks until it made sense enough.

Seventeen was filling in blanks, but not the ones that Trunks thought. The different time, the other Trunks… perhaps that was the world that Seventeen knew, his precious kingdom that the real Trunks had shattered. He would find out more, when the time came. Now, though, Trunks needed to know where Seventeen stood. "I'll train with you," he said simply.

Trunks looked like he wanted to laugh. "You don't understand what that means. Training with me, my father, or anyone like us is not something that just anyone can do."

Meeting his gaze, Seventeen shrugged. "I know."

And Trunks believed him. Without cause or reason, Trunks knew that his companion could keep up with him and would help make him stronger. A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. "Thank you," he whispered, dropping his gaze. He reclined on the couch, exhaustion sweeping over him.

Seventeen leaned forward, once again catching Trunks' eye. With complete sincerity, he said something that he never had before, not even to his sister. He wasn't sure if Trunks heard it, because he was already drifting towards unconsciousness.

"I'll protect you."

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I'm not dead! Yeah, sorry I haven't updated in a while. I was stopped by a combination of extracurricular activities, exams, and laziness. Mostly the last one. But rest assured that I will update frequently over the summer! I know where I want this story to go and some of the things I want to happen, so I just have to connect the dots. Anyway, please leave me a review, because that would make me incredibly happy and I would be forever in your debt. See ya!

Until next time,

Shadow