Bulma expected everything and anything from the young man that saved their world less than two weeks earlier, she saw how he stood to face Vegeta's relentless assaults all afternoon, evening and a good portion of the night, in that oddly angelic golden form. She remembered how firmly but somewhat softly he pushed her away when she berated his smoking habit. She saw pain in his blue eyes, which had seemingly seen more death than she could fathom. She knew the teen's meek smile was deceptive, in a non-malicious way. He seemed to weigh his words carefully around everyone (nobody wanted a temporal paradox or whatever). She thought he looked at her with attraction and desire, his gaze was intense when he looked at her, but that was normal, I'm Bulma fucking Brief, come on.
"I miss my mother" just didn't compute. Bulma rarely found herself speechless, but right there and then she had no words. And the kid didn't elaborate, didn't ask for anything, he just stated his piece and that was it. She rubbed his shoulder through the towel, gently.
Trunks didn't flinch, she was used to a similar touch by her own mother, and it gave her a sense of comfort, but she also didn't move like she would have, at home. She really wanted to lean in, embrace her mother, touch her hair, her arms, her face, and fall asleep with her like she often did, even past childhood, but she reminded herself this was not her. She stared straight ahead, in an effort to protect her secrets, her eyes unable to focus on much of anything. If she looked back at this younger version of Bulma, she'd see her mother, and all gods knew the genius would piece things together if she saw that look. The two stayed in silence for a few minutes until the teenager straightened her back, put both hands on her knees and stood away, with much mental strain, from the comforting touch.
"See you in the morning," she whispered without a glance, using the last of her resolve to make sure her voice betrayed her armor as little as possible, and she disappeared into the bathroom to take a much needed and deserved shower where she could break down in relative safety.
The shower actually made it worse, and she took it cold, which brought back the memories of when she found Gohan's body. She let her tears mix with the water and mentally cursing about a mother who thought that perhaps she might not come back, the cyborgs who took everything in the name of fun, the stubborn, asinine man Vegeta was, the blasted militias who profited from the despair of her world, and herself, for not having been strong enough to be trusted by Gohan to fight by his side. She let it all go, the quiet sobs drowned under the shower. After a while, she was able to pick the pieces and carry on. Hopefully, this era's Bulma didn't hear her.
She woke up early and stayed in pajamas in the room, letting her body free from the disguise for a few more hours, and decided to access the Briefs network alongside the documentation. Breakfast could wait. Her mother usually slept in when she didn't pull all-nighters, so she guessed this version of her also would wake up late. She could use the extra hours of conscious solitude, taking the necessary time to duct-tape quick-fix her mind and spirit back together, before putting on the social mask again. Might as well focus on something tangible, something that would advance her mission. Her feelings didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.
The workshop was an organized chaos for the engineer, but everything digitally stored on the system was properly labeled and organized. Even the hidden folders under code names. She'd only find them because she knew where to look.
Is it hacking if a future version of you gives me your passwords to get to the central server, mother?
Especially when the computer she used was a computer that already existed in the system. Trunks started a copy-paste procedure for different folders, by order of priority. If you can get the research I lost when the lab and server were destroyed… Her mother had asked her, just in case she got the opportunity. Charging the time machine had taken eight months because she didn't have all of her and her father's research anymore, more so than the equipment. Trunks had no idea how all of it worked, but she seized the opportunity. She let it process and in the meantime, she browsed the network's documents. She was somewhat tech savvy, but most of the stuff was way above her level of understanding, or boring to tears. Including precise health logs for every single animal in the compound, their diet, their personality and all of the administrative details. The little black cat she lost a staring contest to was actually a bioengineered prowess, and its name was.. Tama.
Hours of browsing and the only thing (arguably) worthwhile she learnt was the cat's name. She dozed off for a few minutes, scrolling, and suddenly got excited. The GR logs. She bit her lip in anticipation: something she could understand and that was interesting. She read the first entries from about two years prior. She didn't expect them to be about Goku but she did some mental math with a good look at the dates. These were automatic logs monitoring Goku's vitals and training efforts when he went to Namek. Activity cycles, resting cycles, pressure and gravity data.. She could use this. Wait, wasn't that ship destroyed with the planet? It was, but during the whole trip, it communicated with Earth twice a day to update on its course. Of course it would update to the server. And there were dozens of more logs, all probably from the past eighteen months or so. Vegeta's training. Jackpot!
A knock at her door stopped her in her tracks.
"Tora-kun! Lunch? It's almost noon." Bulma's voice asked. Her stomach reminded her she skipped breakfast. Shit I lost track of time.
"Yes, sorry! I'm coming, thank you!" She checked the copy-paste status of the selected folders, and then launched the arguably faster copy of the GR logs (text files were so much lighter than schematics and 3D renders and whatnot) while she got dressed. Binder, light blue tee, black pants, beloved boots, side part. After everything was copied, she put everything back into capsules, back into the case, and hid it again in the room. She closed her room, extended her senses briefly to check on Vegeta (still asleep), and came down to the kitchen area in hurried steps.
"My parents are out for the day," Bulma welcomed in a white capsule tee and red jeans, browsing the fridge. "Vegeta's probably not going to wake for at least another day, so we've got the day to ourselves. Whacha wanna eat?"
Trunks sat at the kitchen table. "I overslept, to be perfectly honest. Toast and coffee is fine by me."
Bulma laughed. "Late breakfast it is then! Fine by me. Can't really burn toast anyway."
A few burnt attempts later, Trunks eventually made the toasts for the two of them herself; no version of her mother could be trusted with anything that wasn't 'just add water' meals, but she kept tight-lipped. If it had been her mother she'd never let her live it down. When she'd be back, however, she'll roast her in lieu of her past self.
"You seem better," the older woman eventually observed.
"Good coffee makes everything better." Trunks had to somehow softly deflect, but held her mug high as a sign of genuine gratitude to the sweet dark nectar. Bulma matched the gesture with a small fake-prayer to the caffeine gods. They ate in silence a little until Bulma eventually went back to the topic.
"It's fine to stop pretending," she poured more coffee for the both of them while the teenager looked away and just drank, not liking one bit where this was heading. "Look, I understand you've got to lie to us else the universe might implode or whatnot, but I'm Bulma fucking Brief. You can trust me and be yourself, okay?"
It's precisely because you're Bulma fucking Brief that I can't, really.
Trunks admired all versions of her mother, and the cause of her admiration was why she had to be especially careful around her. She focused on the butter she was putting on toast instead of looking at her, despite her expectation. Eventually she decided to somewhat give in. She chose another approach, put down the knife and toast, and looked up, dropping the mask with a sigh.
"Bulma-san. I am like this in my world as well," narrow pupils piercing straight through the other. "It's a matter of sheer survival and preservation. I am not well, never been, never will be" she smiled, hopeful and bright despite the grim words. Darkness screamed in her mind. "Pretending is what keeps me out of the pits of despair and self-destructive rage. I assure you I am addressing the root cause, and I will win in the end," she promised with kinder eyes.
They spent the rest of the day tinkering in the lab, the heiress giving up temporarily on cracking that nut.
The following couple of weeks at the Briefs was a mismatch. There was no real daily routine once Vegeta woke up. Whether he remembered the conversation he and his would-be daughter had during their 'spar', Trunks never found out. The teen split her time between assisting Bulma with the repairs (who had noted and praised the teen for not giving in to the nasty smoking habit), reading Vegeta's GR logs and testing theories on him while letting him exhaust himself on her, and enjoying surprising amounts of alone time with the Briefs menagerie. Tama won his second round on staring contest.
Once the gravity system was fixed and the upgraded version installed, however, Trunks stopped meeting the full-blooded Saiyan and just kept an eye on the monitoring systems. Dr Brief also took over helping Bulma with the repairs, which gave her more time to venture in the city to observe what normal life was like. What normal stores were like. What traffic looked like. What schools looked like. She replaced jealousy with determination.
When checking the GR logs and comparing performances from different days, she realized Bulma had, perhaps unconsciously, noticed before her what she finally managed to theorize on her own. Her efforts to exhaust Vegeta, without actually wounding him, to the point of unconsciousness forced him to rest and let his body recover. Bulma often screeched at him to stop when he wounded himself against the robots (who were no joke) and the augmented gravity, it was a strain on his body and he never stopped long enough to fully rest. He refused until his injuries forced his body to collapse. Bulma managed sometimes to get him out before it got that far, either through challenges, taunts or the offer of meat. It became clear: Vegeta trained too much and it affected his progress. And Bulma (and the several forced breaks she caused) kept that issue at bay. It was fascinating; Bulma was why Vegeta's training became more efficient.
Everything stopped abruptly when Bulma came knocking fast at her door during an afternoon nap.
"Tora-kun! Tora-kun! The Dragon Balls! They're active!"