Having two Bulmas together meant incredible mischief, and the two of them saw how they could take over the world with just the right ingredients. But that wasn't why 'Tights' came to visit, and as soon as she was back from enrolling 'Tora' in school (in Gohan's grade, nonetheless, but Bulma kept that information for herself and waited patiently to see her alternate son's face once he found out…), they got to work.

Tora, with Bulma and Dr Brief's help and with the assistance of Gohan and Krillin, had made sure 787 would be safe, sound and healthy, it was only fair to return the favor. Tights had kept her child in the dark about the details her 787 counterpart had given her, through this world's Bulma, concerning the afflictions that hit her and her world, but hadn't affected 784 the same way.

Regardless, Tora had been worse than a hungry tiger in a cage far too small since the destruction of the Cyborgs and Cell, and Tights couldn't bear to see her child in pain, turning more and more cutthroat with the other remaining Earthlings. While her health and the lack of medical equipment in 784 had been a valid excuse, she explained to Bulma the true reason for her return was to socialize Tora, who, unlike 'handsome-twenty-year-old-Trunks', hadn't managed to find peace and happiness after peace had been brought by the Golden Warrior.

"Tora has been playing the piano every day since he discovered it in the capsules you gifted him," Tights admitted. It was not too hard associating 'Tora' with male words, as it had been part of their routine for the better part of a decade when communicating on the radio. It was uncanny to do so with people who knew it was 'Trunks' though. "So thank you, it meant a lot. More than you think."

"Don't sweat it." Bulma could only guess how important it had been for them both, especially with that strange alien melody Tora had played at night, she still had recordings of it. She was going to show her alternate self, and ask her about it, but they had other priorities.

Their other pressing matter was how to break the news to Vegeta, who was still sleeping in the early afternoon, and how to deal with Tight's presence in their household. The Brief brain wanted them to see more about this whole mating situation and whether it transcended space-time (and alternate universes), but the native Bulma wasn't exactly ready to share her moody partner. Tights had gone through mourning, and while she knew her heart would bleed for Vegeta, this wasn't her Vegeta, and would never be. Neither excluded some adult fun later down the road, as Tights complained in passing how glued to her Tora had been since forever. Thankfully for Bulma, Trunks was more independent.

When Vegeta finally emerged mid afternoon, he went straight for the kitchen. He had been pushing his limits for years at this point, trying to find a way to master this Ascended super Saiyan power he had managed to brush up on occasion, and he had returned to the habit of training non-stop for several days before crashing for a longer rest. His training was sometimes interrupted by the boy, whom he had begun tutoring when he was a toddler, getting him used to higher and higher gravity (against Bulma's wishes), and getting him to push past his body's limits.

The boy was promising, he had power within, energy to spend, and a desire to improve. They didn't spar often, as individual exercises often tired him out, but Kakarot's second spawn made a suitable sparring partner. Vegeta occasionally watched over them from afar when Trunks went to Kakarot's house.

Truth be told, as he felt their kis clash when they were playing, Vegeta couldn't help but reminisce how weak he had been at their age, in comparison. Especially now Trunks was over five (Saiyan) years old, the age he was when his homeworld was destroyed.

Kakarot's brat sometimes accepted to answer Vegeta's desire to test himself and fight, but it was hollow, and as the years went by, as his mind matured, Son Gohan began neglecting his duties as a Saiyan warrior. The Prince of all three half-breeds cynically thought he had been right all along, objecting his heir to mate with this waste of blood.

As often as the brat came to Capsule Corp to bring the spawn so he could play with his son, he never stayed, and it had been a solid few months since Vegeta last saw, let alone fought Gohan. The brat was just dropping the kid off and leaving, and Bulma would take him back the next day. It had been a frustrating year, with all that nonsense about 'studying' and 'exams' he couldn't care less about, but Bulma kept talking about them, so eventually he got the gist of it.

The house was quiet, for once, and Vegeta wasn't going to let it go to waste. He appreciated the boy and the blonde woman's absences, grabbing himself a pre-prepared portion to heat in the microwave machine, and promptly ate the contents.

He walked over to the living room to read what he had learnt a while ago was the 'newspapers' which contained current events on the planet in written format. It was good training to be exposed to Earthling customs and 'fake it', as Bulma had said. Doing these routines had earned him a permanent place in their bedroom, so it worked out quite well in his favor and while he preferred sleeping alone, the comfort of his mate's scent made his sleep more enjoyable. Even when she had started smelling more and more like the doc, with all that smoking thing going on.

He first heard his mate's voice, but something uncanny hit him the moment he passed the threshold. It wasn't his mate. It was another. There were two.

"Oh good morning sleeping beauty!"

Vegeta looked at one, then the other with a confused face, one that the woman with long hair and who looked more physically apt laughed at quietly as she stubbed one of those 'cigarettes'.

"Vegeta," Tights smiled softly, a smile and a look he only saw in someone else, but couldn't quite place yet due to the utter confusion he was feeling deep in his blood.

"I'm Tights, Bulma's older sister—"

"Bullshit. That's you. But old."

"Hey!"

"Told you so." Bulma knew Vegeta would see right through the deception.

Vegeta walked closer, suddenly aggressive, something was wrong and he loathed being lied to or manipulated. Both women stood, the younger keeping the older behind her.

"Why are you here?"

"Just visiting, Vegeta, there's no danger," she tried reassuring this alive version of the man she once loved.

"Bullshit," he repeated, eyes narrowed on the older woman, but she bit her tongue to keep quiet. He was as feisty and blunt as she remembered.

Tights couldn't help but be moved by Vegeta's involvement, his reaction, and her heart skipped a beat. Was he worried? For her? For her child?

"You'll address her as Tights, Vegeta. And you'll address 'big Trunks' as Tora. And no mention of our.. parentage."

"Vegeta, just. Tora will be back in a couple of hours, you'll be able to talk to him and see all is well yourself. In the meantime, you will use those names."

"Tssk. Fine. Where is 'Tora'?" He clearly despised the name, but then again, he despised most names. Bulma was happy to see he took the order about names seriously, though.

"At school."

".. Why?"

"Because my baby needs to learn how to live in peace and be involved with Earthlings."

Vegeta raised an eyebrow. This all sounded way too complex for a thing he perceived as a simple problem. It took him a second to think of a plausible reason for his heir to socialize like that, and trying to make sense of what 'being involved' could mean in such a strange concept.

"So you want my heir to fuck? Aren't there more straightforward ways to do that, despite your intricate customs?"

Tights couldn't help but chuckle, he was even more open than she thought, especially if he still thought of her child as a boy. It correlated with the embarrassment Tora had talked about, about the year they spent together in that strange Room.

Bulma was left speechless for a second before she turned beet red with embarrassment at the mention of the big version of her baby having sex.

"Vegeta NO! It's about social skills, you know, those you lack."

"You don't need those to take someone you desire to bed."

"Touché," Tights laughed more earnestly.

"The brat has matured beyond the first heat already and is more than capable of taking someone to bed. Easily, even."

"A hottie just like me," Tights conceded, and Vegeta had to admire the confidence.

"She's not wrong," Bulma added about herself, with a knowing smile.

"What's this about, then?" Vegeta's patience was running thin, and he had little of it to begin with.

"You're right, this isn't about sex, Vegeta. Nor about mating," Bulma sighed.

The discussion was cut short when Panchy and Trunks announced their return, and Tights was left appreciating how Vegeta talked about her daughter as his heir, confirming the information Tora had given her that they had been, indeed, wanted and consciously chosen by their version of Vegeta.

Suddenly far too crowded, Vegeta disappeared into the Gravity Room while Trunks showed all of his latest purchases to his mother and 'auntie'. It broke her heart further as she realized Vegeta didn't know he was talking about her daughter and not about a son that never existed. But he did exist, right there and then, and Tights was happy to praise and spoil the little boy as she wished she could have with her daughter. The kid took the news of Tora and Tights staying with them for 'a little while' with polite indifference.

When Tora returned, she stopped by the Gravity Room when she noticed Vegeta was using it, and flared her ki for him to notice her. She expected surprise and shock, but there was none, Vegeta had been informed of her return and opened the Gravity Room for her. She tossed her jacket aside, ready to trade blows once more with her father. The moment the Gravity Room recognized Tora, however, she had to manually correct not only her age, but also her name. She wasn't 'Trunks, the future one' anymore, but 'Tora', and she was... eighteen and eleven months old.

Vegeta loathed waiting, but he took the few minutes it took for the computer to do what his heir wanted to observe the changes. Or rather, the lack thereof. 'Tora' looked and felt just about the same as seven years prior. The tied hair looked perhaps a little longer. The outfit was similar, including the weird garment underneath the thick tank top. No dog tag, but the pendant he had asked Bulma to make. The pendant he put on his heir himself, all those years ago.

.

"I saw you win," Vegeta spoke with a smirk. Of course they weren't talking about their current brawl.

All of her life, she had worked to get to this point, to save her world from the Cyborgs, avenge her fallen mentor, free her mother who had seen all those she cared for die. And she had achieved that goal. And her father was speaking about it with pride. She beamed and returned his smile, familiar, inherited and proud smile. She was proud of herself.

"I obliterated them, as promised."

Vegeta swept her legs to bring her down and punch, but she rolled away and kicked him off of her to follow through. He had grown faster and more precise, but also giving less deadly hits. Somehow, Vegeta had learnt to spar a little more like Earthling martial artists, and Tora felt a sense of deep satisfaction trying to match him and observing how much of an Earthling he'd become, down to his workout outfit.

They didn't hold back despite staying in base, but Vegeta's technique was still vastly superior to hers. She recognized defeat when she began seeing red, unwilling to give in to her inner desire for more blood, and just appreciated the work out and exhaustion it brought.

"Brat. Why are you here?" He tossed a bottle of water her way.

"I missed you too," she caught the bottle with an appreciative nod, opened it and poured some on a towel to freshen up, then drank. "About six or seven weeks ago— a little under two lunar months—"

"I know your stupid calendar now."

"Oh, cool. Since I destroyed them, I have been restless. On edge. Tense."

Tora wasn't completely oblivious about her own situation, she knew something wasn't right when it came to her interactions with others. She had always been distant and cutthroat, but not outright aggressive with Earthlings, and her roughness with Mai and Videl (or at least the 784 version of her) left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Your mother thinks you need a fuck."

Tora spat her water and paled, looking like a deer caught in headlights. "Wha—?"

"This school thing, it's for Earthlings your age to have sex, right?"

"Kami, no, I could have that in my world if I wanted to." Tora did her best to redirect away from all of that. "Mother says I lack education in some Earthling needs and wants me to get used to being with people. "

Vegeta tssked and expressed annoyance when the door opened. Trunks had changed back into his gi to do some training and came into the Gravity Room.

"Ah, uncle, you're here too?" Trunks was somewhat surprised to see someone was with his dad in the GR. Cautious, even.

The Room recognized Trunks, stating his name, height (129cm) and weight (30kg).

"We actually finished," Tora said, washing his face with the wet towel. "Your father is strong, he won."

"Told you he'd beat you!"

"We didn't fight at our full, boy." Trunks felt little when corrected by his father who then addressed the visitor. "I have yet to test your true strength, since Kakarot's brat has decided to neglect his training, I want a good fight and you better not hold back."

Trunks saw Tora's feigned disinterest, surprised that they had already fought in the past. Well, Vegeta didn't speak about his past fights often, but if someone could be challenging, he would have mentioned it, wouldn't he? Tora tossed the towel over his shoulders and stretched.

"Papa's the strongest in the world, bet if you fight full power he'll still win easily, even without going super!"

"Papa, uh?" Tora raised an eyebrow, finding either the statement or the name hard to believe, and Trunks saw how he judged him, then judged his father. "Fine, I accept the challenge. Me, full force, you in base, like our first fight?"

Trunks could swear the visitor was taunting his father and he couldn't believe he was still alive. Vegeta hissed at him, and not at the visitor.

"Boy, don't meddle in fights that aren't your own. Today we're doing 100G. You, get the fuck out of here."

Tora chuckled quietly, ruffled Trunks' hair as he walked by, wishing him good luck, and promptly disappeared into the compound. Trunks huffed as he was fixing his hair, getting again a short-lived deep feeling of having lived this exact situation already, in a different contest.

100G was brutal for Trunks, but he obeyed his father diligently and pushed himself to do push-ups and crouch walk after warming up more or less properly. He often talked out of his pay grade, so to speak, and was often punished by either of his parents for his cheekiness. It was proof of how bright-minded he was, so despite being punished for it, it was an excuse to push himself further beyond and Trunks was proud of it.

After their intensive training, a quick shower, and dinner later, Trunks found it odd to see that one locked room near his bedroom to be open. The 'tiger' room, as it had a little tiger logo above the threshold. This room had always been off limits for Trunks, so he found it strange and peeked.

There was Tora sitting behind a computer, reading.

"Yes, Trunks?"

Trunks silently cursed. He knew most people couldn't sense energy, but this strange guy was not one of those. Tora had turned the chair to see him.

"Uh.. this room."

"Please, come in."

There was something strange. Visitors had guest rooms in the new aisle of the compound, but this room.. Trunks knew it was different. And his mother letting this guy use it? It was fishy. Like him, the stranger had washed and changed; the long hair was tied up with a sort of loop and had an undercut just like him. He still came in as invited, and hopped to sit on the large bed. He turned his head to see what his hand had touched; the sword.

That's when something struck Trunks.

"Tora, like 'tiger'!"

"That's the symbol I use to sign, yes," Tora confirmed with a soft smile.

"Mama let you live here before then? This is your room?"

"Your mother kept it for me, it seems." Tora sounded a little conflicted about it. "But yes I guess so. I stayed in this room for a little while, a long time ago."

Tora stood from the chair and came to sit by Trunks. Close. Closer than what he usually allowed others. Not like many adults wanted to sit so close, apart from his mother and grandparents. And Goten, but Goten was his bestest friend. He always pushed away other kids. Too blunt, too smart, too different.

Trunks looked at the visitor, curious, then he reached and grabbed some of the loose hair to pull. He couldn't help it, it felt like the natural thing to do, like pulling the fire alarm, or pressing the red button. He let go then mumbled something about long hair being bad for good fighters. Tora laughed and let himself be pulled.

"So that's why Mama has short hair now, mister grabby hands?" Tora guessed, grabbing Trunks' hands out of the lavender locks.

"You're an idiot fighter if you keep your hair long like that," Trunks scolded with a pout. He was justified to physically prove a weak point, no doubt about it!

"I will not take hair advice from you, cowlick kid," Tora warned, and followed through with a tickle attack that Trunks didn't expect and couldn't defend against.

When tickled, Trunks usually displayed too much force, which is why everyone but Gohan stopped jumping him. Goten sometimes tried when they play-fought, but Goten was a little clumsy kid, so he didn't always succeed. Tora easily locked him and had him cry-laughing. It felt so familiar and uncanny, and soon, Tora had both arms wrapped around him, having pulled Trunks on his lap and holding his back against him. Tora was strong. Not as strong as Trunks' father, of course, but the hold felt legitimate. And there was something Trunks noticed when he looked down at Tora's forearms: his skin tone was very similar to his own. At school, the boy often got teased for having a tan and being shallow, even if it was his natural skin color and not an artificial tan. His skin color matched his dad's (but those kids never saw his dad, it was his mom who came to bring-your-parent-to-school day, because his mom had the bestest job in the world). His hair, however, and his eyes, weren't like his dad's at all.

"Uncle?"

"I'm not that old, just call me Tora."

"Tora?"

"Yes?"

"Wanna see my room?" What he wanted to ask, Trunks changed his mind on the fly.

It was because of the intimidating gaze, perhaps, but the child preferred thinking it was because he wasn't sure how to express familiarity. Family friends often acted offended when they weren't remembered, and Trunks didn't want to deal with being reminded about his diapers and whatnot. So uncool.

"Bet."

The kid was set free, and Tora was pulled into a couple of rooms away. The room he always had, now matching the needs of a seven year old. A desk, art supplies, some books, a big boy's bed, cartoon posters and an awful number of toys (robots and cars, unsurprisingly) and clothes more or less properly put away.

Tora was happy to spend some time playing on the ground with Trunks, fully entering his games and his imagination, oddly connecting as, being raised by a similar person, they had the same thinking pattern and values. It felt uncanny to see how quickly they both agreed which car had the coolest feature, and why.

Bulma came in about an hour in to put her son in bed, and Tora happily agreed to continue playing the following day. The visitor left the bedroom to let Trunks and his mother have their bedtime routine, but the kid knew Tora was just outside the door, waiting.

When Trunks started dozing off, Bulma kissed his forehead, wished him good night and left the bedroom, leaving the door ajar as she usually did. Trunks fought sleep a little as he heard his mother and Tora hushed words.

"So… We don't tell him anything."

"No, it is confusing enough. I had a hard time dealing with it at seventeen, and he's only seven."