Better Late

by ManiacallyLoveable

A story of love, loss, and reconciliation in two halves. Sometimes it takes more than one try to get it right. Sometimes it takes a fresh start.

14. Chapter 14

Pan raised an eyebrow, inspecting the paper in her hand suspiciously carefully. She looked up at her son, then back down at the paper repeatedly, never saying a word or even making a sound until she was finished. Bo watched nervously, wishing he could sense her thoughts, but knowing it would likely only lead him into more trouble than he would be in if she didn't like what she was examining. Besides, she was getting too good at disguising what she was thinking when she really wanted to, and knowing exactly when he was poking around inside her head.

"Well?" Bo asked anxiously. "Can I?"

Pan twisted her lips and looked back at her son. "Do you think it's good, or are you just being impatient?" she asked, putting the paper down on the table and crossing her arms in front of it. She clearly remembered the days when she was on the other side of the table for these conversations. It still felt surreal to be in this seat now with her own child, but she was doing the best job she could imitating her father.

"I think - it's good!" he said, cringing at his accidental, revealing pause before adding, "…mostly. It's not my best paper, but the teacher only gave us the weekend and it had to be three pages long."

She nodded. "It's not your best," she gently agreed. "Knowing that, do you want to submit it, or think about it a little more?" He hesitated, looking down at the innocuous-looking pages in front of her and dreading the idea of rewriting them. "Or - should we call your grandpa and see what he thinks?"

"He'll make me start all over!" he complained with a pout.

Pan chuckled at his overly-dramatic flair, knowing that was probably true. Gohan had realistic standards for his children and grandson, but he still expected effort. Pan could see this project was rushed, but she was always willing to compromise a little more than her father did with her. School wasn't everything, and Bo was bright; just because he was a little lazy from time-to-time didn't mean he wasn't understanding the material.

"Okay – well, I can live with you occasionally turning in imperfect assignments, especially on subjects I know you don't like," she said, "but – remember we still have that agreement about your grades. If they start slipping a lot, or if you start taking the easy way out on everything, we're going to have to cancel some of these plans you have with Trunks in favor of more study time."

He grimaced, but nodded in understanding. "I remember."

She smiled. "Okay then. I'll leave the decision up to you if..." He was already dialing his phone before she could get the next words out of her mouth. She sighed, surrendering any further effort. He'd made up his mind as soon as she'd started. "At least put it in your pack first. You don't want to get a zero just for leaving it at home accidentally."

He obeyed, flying down the hallway with it in his hand as he finished dialing. "She said you can come over now!" Pan heard him yell into the phone excitedly from his room.

She figured she had at least ten minutes before their guest would arrive, so she went to straightening up her kitchen a little ahead of time. The last thing she needed was for Trunks to tell his father how messy her house was, especially compared to theirs, which probably had all sort of tech and hired help keeping it spotless. She should've known she was going to be wrong about her timing. He was at the door in a minute flat and Bo greeted him before they went out to the empty part of the property to begin stretching in preparation to train a little. Pan wiped her wet hands off on a nearby dishtowel and followed them out of curiosity and to give them a bit of a ribbing about their conspiracy. They were more interesting than dishes anyway.

"Hi Pan," Trunks Jr. greeted happily as he stretched his arms behind his back. "By the way, Dad said to tell you he has Karate Masters IV at home if you wanted a rematch without having to worry about breaking something. We have special controllers for our consoles that are stronger than the regular ones."

She crossed her arms and chuckled quietly. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"He thought maybe we could do another game night at our house."

"That would be nice," she said genuinely, wondering if fate would allow it.

She smiled softly. Every time she saw the boy, she remained amazed at how much he looked like his father. He certainly wasn't the first Saiyan son who had ended up looking like their previous generation, but with Trunks' unique features, it was more strikingly obvious to her than Goten to her grandfather, or Goku to Gohan. The effect was endearing to her, but it also made her a little sad. Day-to-day their resemblance grew, and day-to-day, she wished she could go back to when they were all smaller, enjoying the innocent period her son was at now.

"So, Trunks - how did you manage to get here so fast?" she asked, suspecting she already knew the answer.

Trunks looked at Bo before answering, hoping his co-conspirator would chime in first. He shook his head. "I uh – had the wind at my back."

"But you were here in a minute – maybe less. It was almost like you were on your way." Bo smiled sheepishly, confirming her thoughts. "Which would be funny because I specifically told Bo to wait until I'd looked over his homework before he told you to come over. Unless you're going to tell me you went Super Saiyan or something, I'd say you were already almost here when he called."

Trunks' smile faltered slightly and he looked at the ground. "Not yet," he said disappointedly.

Pan bit her lip, regretting what she'd said. He probably wouldn't even think back to this odd period of limbo once he'd gotten the transformation down, but for now, it was a sore spot. She could definitely relate, and knew it was important to validate his frustration instead of making fun of it, like some people did when she was going through the same stage and had felt the same way.

"Is there anything I can help with – besides letting Bo train with you every chance he gets?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Not really," he answered. "I just can't seem to work my way over the edge."

"Maybe you just haven't nailed down that emotional trigger yet. It can be hard to identify," she suggested.

Trunks sat down on the plush, green grass, pulling several blades of it through his fingers. He'd temporary abandoned his stretching in favor of talking. "Bo told me a little bit, but – what did it feel like for you?"

Pan took a deep breath, trying to ignore the fact that he was forlorn about how "behind" he was when he was nearly a decade and a half ahead of where she had been.

She sat down not too far away from him before answering, "I think I was too proud for a long time to admit I was angry and in pain. When I was honest with myself, that's when it finally happened for me."

"Was it all at once?" he asked, "or was it like – a constant build up?"

She looked up at the clouds in the sky, trying to remember. "A little of both, I think – like it was a slow build-up, followed by an explosion. I'd had a bunch of little things go wrong at the same time," she explained. "I could've handled the little things one-by-one, but when they all coincided… it became overwhelming."

He nodded in understanding, but there was some obvious confusion still on his face.

"Not everyone operates the same way," she said. "Everybody's different – and that trigger can be a lot of different things to different people. Once you find it, it'll seem obvious. The important part is that you're honest with yourself – and allow yourself to feel those emotions. Riding them out will get you a lot farther than bottling them up and hiding from them."

"But," Bo began cautiously, looking at Trunks with some confusion of his own, "Trunks already found it. That's how he came so close the first time."

"Well, maybe it's different now," Pan explained, "you're going through a period of a lot of change, so it would make sense for it to be a moving target."

"But he was angry about his mom," Bo said. "That wouldn't just go away, right?"

Trunks looked uneasily up at his friend, frowning deeply, "I told you I don't want to remember that again – just for this. I know it almost made me transform before, but…"

"But if it worked before, I don't understand why you wouldn't at least try," Bo argued.

Bo, Pan thought softly as a warning.

It was rare she ever purposefully spoke to him like this, but she didn't want to have this argument out loud and end up causing Trunks even more discomfort or embarrassment. She could see the face of the young boy darken and crumple once the topic was brought up. It had been two years, but in some ways, she knew it would never be long enough to keep the pain from reappearing. Bo remained blissfully unaware of what that kind of pain felt like, but she knew.

He's not even willing to try it again, Bo argued, staring back at his mother. And it would probably work. He was so close before and he's been training hard for weeks since then… he could do it now!

He'll need to decide for himself whether to use that pain or find another way, she channeled back. You and I can't force it; it has to be organic or it might not work, and would only hurt him more.

Trunks looked up at his friend confused by the scene in front of him. Bo and his mother had been looking at each other sternly for longer than what felt natural, their eyebrows both furrowed in concentration and their faces changing as though they were in a conversation. For some reason, it reminded him of his aunt.

Maybe you should apologize to him, Pan encouraged.

Why? he asked, genuinely at a loss as to what he might've done wrong.

"Uh – what's going on?" Trunks asked, looking between Pan and Bo repeatedly.

"We're talking," Bo said plainly.

"Huh?"

"Bo is – a little sensitive to people's thoughts and emotions," she explained. "When I have something private to say, I'll think it instead and he can hear it just fine."

"In other words, when she wants to yell at me without embarrassing me," he said.

She opened her mouth to argue, but gave him a look instead. This one didn't need psychic powers to be understood.

"You – can read my mind?" he asked in astonishment.

Bo shrugged. "Sometimes. But only when your thoughts are clear and loud. My mom says I shouldn't listen in, but it's hard not to hear it sometimes – especially when people get angry."

Pan was relieved when Trunks' surprised look morphed into a smile. Bo did tend to mysteriously oscillate between showing off the ability and shyly hiding it depending on who he was talking to, but she was surprised he'd kept it from his new best friend this long.

"That's really cool," he said with a laugh. "You're like my Aunt Bra!"

"Oh – right," she said, feigning a small amount of ignorance. "You've already seen telepathy."

"Yeah, but my dad and I don't have it. Just my aunt and grandpa, from what I've heard. How many people in your family can do it?"

"Just me," Bo said. "Grandpa Gohan is really sensitive to energy, but he can't hear thoughts."

"Your great-grandfather had some ability to use it too," she corrected him, "but he barely used it and – it skipped the rest of us."

Pan listened as the two boys fawned over Bo's additional superpower for a moment and shook her head, grateful they'd gotten over the brief tension she was afraid had developed between them for one split second. Luckily, Bo was obviously innocently oblivious to having pushed on a tender spot, and Trunks was very quick to forgive.

"Well, I'll let you two get back to training," she said, standing back up so she could give them their space.

"Why don't you train with us?" Bo asked. Trunks nodded in emphatic agreement.

She was honestly touched by the invitation, especially since Trunks seemed as open to it as her son. There was a lot of housework waiting for her, but it didn't take much for her to favor the idea of a workout instead. It never took much to get her to procrastinate on housework, which might explain why there was so much of it to do.

"Okay," she agreed happily, pushing her other plans immediately out of her mind. She normally wouldn't have imposed on their time, but she didn't need them to invite her twice either.

The stretching resumed, and before long, Bo was insisting that Trunks face off against his mother directly so he could get a taste of her own set of unique skills and her speed. Pan tried to hide the blush on her cheeks as best she could as her son bragged about her abilities unabashedly. Trunks looked hesitant, but took a defensive stance anyway. Pan couldn't tell if he thought Bo had oversold her skills to the point of intimidation, or if the other boy just didn't believe him.

"I'm um – okay to use all of my strength when I punch? Even though you're a girl?"

She raised an eyebrow, choosing to ignore the vaguely misogynistic question. It wasn't his fault he never got a chance to spar with someone who wasn't male; there weren't many options available since Bra wasn't a huge fighter and Goten's kids were still a little too young.

"If you think you can land one," she replied smartly.

He didn't need any more permission than that. He nodded, and then once he was sure she looked ready, he took off in a blur towards her, believing he'd been more than quick enough to combat this speed Bo had been bragging about. But although he hadn't seen her move, his fist impacted the ground harmlessly behind where she'd been standing, doing nothing but tearing a chunk of grass from the earth. He looked behind his back, seeing her standing on the spot he'd started from as though she'd teleported.

"Whoa…" he said with a bright, impressed smile.

She couldn't keep the feeling of pride out of her chest. She'd been trying to catch up to the others her entire life; she didn't often get the chance to impress another person who shared her lineage.

"Want to try again?" she asked.

There was no hesitation in his action this time. One second, he was still on the ground, his fist implanted in the soil. The next second, he was soaring through the air, his leg pulled back in anticipation of landing a kick. She laughed and easily side-stepped it, allowing the momentum of the ill-fated, phantom swing of his leg to knock him off balance. He ended up with his back to her, and although he realized his mistake immediately, he couldn't correct in time to avoid allowing her the opportunity to send an elbow into his back. He landed roughly on the ground face-first, and coughed as he spit grass from his teeth.

He recovered quickly and stood up again, wiping the dirt from the front of his shirt. "For real this time," he said. His brow was set firmly, and although he still conveyed excitement and joy on his face, she knew the nature of that expression well. He was serious now.

He flew at her with a series of punches and kicks that were designed to emphasize his speed as though he was compensating for her skillset. He wasn't bad, but he wasn't keeping up with her. As promised, none of them landed. Since he had sacrificed power for speed, they weren't knocking him as far off balance as his first attempted kick had, but they were leaving him open to counter-attacks. She was gentle with him to a point, but still got in quite a number of hits on his ribs and chest.

Only one of his attacks came close to landing. He swung for a punch, but it was only a feint. Instead, he ended up releasing a ki blast in her direction from his other hand. The problem with this strategy was that it was one Trunks often tried in the exact same way and pattern. The boy hadn't really developed a style of his own, so it was largely based off of his experience with his father and Goten. She was very familiar with their own styles. While the ki blast did impact near the intended spot on her body, she saw it coming, blocked it easily, and countered, sending her own energy blast into his chest faster than he could stop it from happening. He flew back, landing on the ground on his backside several dozen meters away.

She was almost ready for him to stand up and try again when a familiar ring interrupted them from her pocket. "Hang on," she said, holding her hand up to request a pause. Whoever it was, it was brief call, but her expression fell after a few short statements to the person on the other side. "Damn," she cursed, hanging up her phone and rubbing her forehead as though she'd gotten a sudden headache.

"What's wrong?" Bo asked, seeing the exasperation in her expression.

"That was Aràn," she said, "apparently there's been a fight between students in the courtyard at South City. I've got to go figure out who to expel."

Bo opened his mouth in surprise. That wasn't something that happened very often. When Videl was running the dojo, she'd made very strict rules against it that Pan was more than willing to honor. A serious fight between students outside of the sparring ring was a guaranteed way of getting kicked out of the prestigious school, and since they had such a tough application process and long waiting list, most students never dared to risk raising that level of trouble.

"Is your dad home?" Pan asked Trunks. He nodded affirmatively. "Maybe you should go hang out over there. This is probably going to take a while."

"Mom…" Bo started to argue.

"I know – you're getting older, but I still don't want to leave you at home alone. At least you'll have more to do at Capsule."

Bo sighed in disappointment. "No – I was just hoping you'd spar with us some more."

She leaned down to look directly into her son's eyes, although their shrinking height difference was requiring less and less leaning every day. "Really?" she asked. He smiled and nodded. She grinned, her heart swelling in her chest. She was immensely grateful meeting his new friend hadn't spurred him into the phase of childhood when parents were annoying authority figures who did nothing but interfere with having fun.

"Well, I'll take a raincheck for soon, okay?"

He nodded again, his bright blue eyes looking up at her. "Sure, Mom."

Pan reluctantly left so she could get some of her things and lock up the house. The boys took off towards Metro West. The sky had been clear when they left the suburbs of Satan City, but was growing gray by the time they'd crossed the mid-continent and entered Metro city limits. The wind was beginning to stir up as well, and there was a sense that the weather was about to change. It had been storming a lot lately across the region, so rain wouldn't have been a surprise, but the feeling in the air led them to believe rain wouldn't be the end of it.

The elder Trunks was sitting on the couch when they walked in, the keys of his laptop clicking away furiously as he focused on the screen in front of him through a pair of glasses no one was sure he actually needed. His expression relaxed when he saw the boys, and to his son's surprise, he put the computer down momentarily so he could focus on them.

"Working?" Trunks Jr. asked.

"Just sending an angry email. This is what we get for contracting out some of our parts manufacturing," he said, clicking his mouse a few times, then closing the lid to his laptop and taking off his glasses.

Bo's eyes travelled down to the coffee table in front of the couch, where he noticed a green circuit board on the table surrounded by miniature tools and an electrostatic discharge grounding cable. He sat on his knees in front of it and carefully examined it while the other two talked.

"Why don't we just build everything ourselves?" his son asked.

"I'd like to, but we make too many different products now – and we're out of square feet for production. It's cheaper to hire another company to make some of the parts than to build another plant, and anyway, Metro is already unhappy with how much space we've taken over," he explained. "What are you doing here? I thought you were at Bo's this week."

"We were, but Pan had to go to the dojo and didn't want to leave us at her house alone," he said.

"Not a bad idea," Trunks said with a soft chuckle. His son alone could make a mess in a fraction of a second just by rummaging through the fridge. He wouldn't want two of them there with free reign.

"She's really fast!" Trunks Jr. said suddenly excitedly. "I trained with her for a few minutes until she got called away. I don't think I even saw her move – and she wasn't even transformed, she was just - normal."

Trunks smiled nostalgically. "Yeah – wait until you see her as a Super Saiyan. It's like trying to catch lightning," he said. "Speaking of… Bo, maybe you should call your mom and ask if you can stay over since you're already here. It's supposed to storm all night."

Trunks Jr. groaned in disappointment. "We were going to train outside so we could fly…"

"Lightning can strike from a long way away and I don't want you out there when the action starts," Trunks said shaking his head, "but you can use the gravity chamber."

Bo looked up and smiled. It seemed like a good compromise to him, but right now, he was still focused on the little board in front of him.

"Are you interested in that sort of stuff?" Trunks asked, already sort of knowing the answer from what Pan had told him about the boy.

"A little, but I've never built anything real. My grandparents bought me a few practice kits though. This looks like it's going to be a control board for something, right?" he asked timidly, afraid of sounding stupid in front of the world's biggest tech mogul and his heir.

"It's for a robot I'm working on for fun," Trunks Jr. answered. "I've drawn up the designs. We can look at them later."

Bo nodded emphatically. "Can I watch you work on it sometime?"

Trunks chuckled. "I think you're in the right place if you want to learn your way around a circuit board. I'm always repairing one or two of the house bots. I'll rope you in on it next time too."

"Are we still going to be able to tour some of the Capsule production areas?" Bo asked, looking at both Trunkses hopefully.

"Sure, but you need to let them know you're coming ahead of time," Trunks explained. "So, your friend here needs to give me a heads up of a couple of weeks so I can get that all ready for you," he said, switching his eyes to Trunks Jr. "You've been promising Bo you were going to do that since the day you met."

His son rolled his eyes. "I know," he said. "But I don't want to lose any time training."

"Yeah – you're impatient about transforming," Trunks started critically, "I get it. But sometimes you need to do what your friends want to do too, otherwise you're going to find yourself training alone again."

Trunks Jr. furrowed his brow and looked at his father tensely, crossing his arms as though he was going to argue, but he didn't. Trunks continued to meet his eyeline, unwilling to waiver on that last statement. Bo bit his bottom lip and looked back and forth between the two of them, wishing he could leave the room without being obvious about why. He didn't need psychic powers to tell that Trunks had embarrassed his friend, even though he was right. Now he was a little more grateful Pan's earlier scolding had come to him in her thoughts.

"We can worry about that later," Bo said, standing up and pulling his friend lightly by the arm. "Let's go train now – in case the power goes out during the storm and we can't use the room or something."

That didn't happen at Capsule Corp. They had enough emergency generators to keep the whole city running for months, if they needed to, but Trunks spared them the correction and the continued argument, remaining silent as they ran down the corridor towards the gravity chamber.

They took off their jackets and left them and their phones outside of the door, and Bo shut the hatch and engaged its safety locks while Trunks set the machine for 100Gs. Normally, they warmed up to that level first, but – Trunks Sr. had been right. He seemed like it was in a rush.

The hum of the machine started, and Trunks stretched a few times, muttering under his breath as he went through the motions. Bo raised his eyebrows as the thoughts in his head were being shouted at him. He wasn't sure what some of the words going through his young friend's mind even meant.

"You're mad at your dad?" he asked, wondering why since the exchange hadn't gone that poorly as far as he could tell.

"You could sense that?" Trunks asked.

"Well, yeah – but it was also really obvious," he answered sardonically.

"I guess so. He's just – embarrassing sometimes, you know?"

Bo sat down on the tile flooring, reaching for his toes as he considered Trunks Jr.'s complaint. He didn't think there had been much in that interaction to be embarrassed about, but he was getting the impression there was more to it than that. He wanted to relate, but he wasn't sure if his relationship with his mother felt the same as it would with a father.

"Is having a dad very different than having a mom? You had both. My mom is tough with me too sometimes, but – I feel like it wouldn't be the same."

Trunks was surprised by Bo's question, which seemed to come out of nowhere. "I think it depends on your dad," he answered honestly. "But yeah, my mom was a lot different. She could be stricter, but also clingier – and softer. My dad – ever since I was born, I was expected to be exactly like him. Sometimes I don't want to be. I feel like I'm competing with him or something. I know he's disappointed that I'm not the same as he was at my age."

Bo smiled. "It doesn't help that you look alike," he said.

"…or have the same name," Trunks added. "I think my grandma is already planning on me taking over Capsule Corp, but – I don't know if I want to. I mean, I'm only ten. I don't know what I want to do yet. I just want a choice – I guess. But my dad built his first computer before he even started school, had private tutoring instead of going to classes because he was too smart, and – he went Super Saiyan by the time he was eight. I'm not him; I wish – I wish more people would remember that."

"Makes sense," Bo said quietly, noting the bitter tone at the end of his explanation. No wonder he was in such a rush to make the transformation. He was chasing his father's shadow everywhere.

"You had a dad though, right? For some of your life."

Bo nodded, but his eyes filled with an emotion akin to guilt before he continued. "Arán tried. He's was really nice to me and all, but – I never really felt like we had that much in common outside of martial arts and my mom. I - think he was a little scared of us."

"Scared?" Trunks asked dubiously.

"When I went Super Saiyan and my mom and I started training while transformed – he'd get weird thoughts in his head," he explained, looking down at the ground and frowning. "He tried to pretend it wasn't a big deal, but every once and a while, I could hear him thinking about how strange it was. He never said anything, but he'd always act different when we were transformed."

"He knew you and your mom were fighters though, right? And Saiyans?" Trunks asked with a raised eyebrow. "Didn't your mom tell him?"

Bo nodded. "He loved that my mom was super strong and a fighter. That's why she thought it was safe to tell him about the Saiyans in the first place. But I don't know if he believed it was more than just being really strong and able to fly until he saw us transform. Once we did, it was like he suddenly realized my mom was telling the truth when she said we had alien blood. There was more to it than that, but he never acted the same afterwards. He and my mom got divorced a little while later, so – I think she picked up on it too."

"Fuck that," Trunks spat. Bo looked up at him in astonishment, both at the language and the tone. "I'd hate to finally make the transformation and then be treated like I was a freak. At least I know my dad will be happy for me."

Bo nodded. "My mom was; Aràn tried to be. He loves my mom and still wants to act like my step-dad sometimes, so he's tried really hard to get used to all of it. I don't think he ever will though. When we hang out, he gets uncomfortable whenever I bring up that side of me, so I just don't talk about it anymore."

Trunks twisted his lips in thought a bit, considering Bo's story and his own situation. Maybe it wasn't the worst thing in the world to take after his own father as much as he did. Being too alike was better than being too different.

"My dad and I fight over stupid stuff sometimes, and he's got all these expectations for me that I don't know if I can meet. But – he's been through a lot of the same hard stuff I've been through and he's been really strong through it. He doesn't always understand me, but he can usually tell when I don't want to talk and he doesn't make me, so – I don't know. He's cool, I guess."

Bo smiled softly, sensing the sudden change in perspective.

"Anyway, I'm sorry if I've been ignoring what you want to do. I'll get the Capsule tour set up with my dad and the security office. I'm just really excited to train as much as we've been and I really feel like I've been getting stronger," he argued.

Bo shrugged. "I'm not in a hurry," he said. "I like training too – and I'm just glad to have a friend who I can be myself around."

"And I am too – happy to have a friend," he added with a line of pink on his cheeks. "So, if I get annoying, or do something wrong, let me know first? Before you get mad at me too?"

Bo stood up and bent his knees, putting his hands up to show he was ready to stop talking and start sparring. "Deal."

. . .

Dusk seemed to hit Metro West early. The clouds rose in the west and blocked out the sun in the afternoon, robbing the city of golden hour and causing an abrupt darkness to fall. Rain from the storm was already beginning to pelt the glass windows; the local news said it was going to be a rough night as an abnormally slow derecho would make its way across the continent. Storms like this didn't hit often. When they did, they normally fizzled out by the time they got the butte-littered lands in between the west and east coasts. That night's storm was going to have too much energy for that and weather forecasters were alerting areas along the entire continent, and it was just getting started.

Bra jumped involuntarily when the first flash of lightning lit up her office. It snapped her focus from the computer in front of her, and sent her heart momentarily into her throat. Her short distraction was enough of one to remind her to look at the clock. It was much later than she expected it to be; the darkened skies had somehow made her lose track of her whole evening. No wonder her stomach was rumbling.

Food would have to wait. She'd wanted to visit her mother's suite before returning to her apartment for the evening, just to make sure she was all set in the event the storm hit the hospital particularly hard. The entire facility had emergency generators and fail-safe backups to all of its systems, but she wasn't in charge of those. Her mother's room, however, was understood to be her jurisdiction and the facility staff gave her carte blanche in setting it up to her exact standards. She would feel much better leaving for the night if she battened down the hatches herself.

She didn't rush up to Bulma's suite. She had a tablet in her hand and was reviewing information on it as she walked casually towards the elevators and the correct wing of the facility. Most of the non-essential staff had gone home prior to the storm's arrival and the click of her high heels on the tile floor beneath her was the only noise she encountered as she half-absentmindedly travelled through the facility. It wasn't until she opened the doors to her mother's designated wing that she started to hear commotion.

A few nurses were gathered in front of her door, and though they were speaking quietly, their voices contained an alarmed tone and an energy that set her nerves instantly on edge. Bra immediately threw down her tablet and ran past them into her mother's room, breathing only slightly in relief when she saw her mother sitting up in her bed awake.

The relief didn't last long. The most horrible noise in Bra's imagination was coming from her mother's throat. Terrible, wet hacking and violent coughing filled her ears, each noise sending a bolt of tension up Bra's spine. Bulma tried to clear her throat between spells, but she had phlegm evidently stuck in her trachea, expelled from her lungs during her coughing. Her breathing was hard and ragged, and trying to catch her breath seemed impossible without spurring another round of coughs. She finally calmed down a little, but when she breathed in again, it was accompanied by a loud, high-pitched wheeze.

Bulma's chief medical doctor was already attentively at her bedside, holding a stethoscope to her back and listening carefully. The doctor's brow was furrowed intensely; the moment he stopped listening, Bra spoke up, trying her best to hide the panic in her voice.

"What's going on? She was fine when I checked in this morning," she said, fighting through the adrenaline-fueled trembling.

The doctor made some notes in his phone and looked up at Bra sympathetically. "Everything's a little inflamed," the doctor explained, using an optimistic, gentle, but professional tone he often carried. "I heard a small rattle around lunch, though I didn't expect her condition to degrade so quickly. I didn't want to say anything until I knew for sure it wasn't just a temporary backslide."

Bra looked at her mother, but didn't ask the question on her mind, for fear that making her talk would worsen the situation. She fought the lump that quickly formed in her throat the moment she realized she was sensing something from Bulma she had rarely experienced from that particular woman: fear. This was the worst condition Bra had seen her in since before she finally convinced her to check into a long-term room for constant care. She was a little scared too.

"Why wasn't I called?" Bra asked, her delicate features turning downward even further.

"Dr. Briefs, if we called you for every temporary decline in her stats, you'd never see your office," he said, again in his gentle tone. "Again – I wanted to make sure this wasn't just a momentary backwards step, especially considering the low-pressure system moving through and – other outside factors."

She brushed a strand of her long blue hair behind her ear in annoyance, crossing her arms as she fought to keep from losing patience. Bulma's medical team was one of the best in the world and was willing to actually work with her, despite the fact that everything she tried was still very experimental in nature. Not many doctors would be willing to put aside their own egos for the sake of entertaining theoretical therapies from someone twenty years younger than them. She didn't want to step on their toes anymore than she already was.

"Did you give her an inhaler treatment? Is her OX percentage high enough, or do we need to adjust the concentration? Do you think this is pneumonia or a sudden progression of the disease?" The questions could've continued, but Bulma put a hand on her daughter's arm, telling her to leave it be for a moment so the doctor could answer.

"We have a nebulizer treatment being prepared now," the doctor explained. "We can do an x-ray to see if it's pneumonia, but I'd rather wait until tomorrow before making big changes to her treatment."

"Why?" Bra asked disbelievingly.

"Because I believe this episode is due to an – outside irritant, may be temporary, and will improve with some - simpler changes," he said, looking at Bulma as though he was scolding her. "If the irritant is no longer imposed on the lungs, they could improve on their own. We'll keep the nebulizer treatments going and the oxygen up for tonight and run some tests tomorrow to be sure."

Bulma rolled her eyes sarcastically, but before she could try to reply, a nurse was placing the mouthpiece of the hissing nebulizer in her face. She took it into her mouth and breathed deeply, coughing again before the medicine could take hold and help. Bra relaxed only slightly a few moments later, seeing some of the color return to her lips as the medicinal vapor did its work.

The doctor stood and retreated towards the doorway to give his patient some space. Predictably, Bra followed.

"Dr. Betaki…" Bra started.

"The humidity may be a small factor too since she's had her window open. You may want to explain to her how the air filtration system can't work well with outside air coming directly into her room," he said, interrupting her. "We'll have a nurse monitoring her pulse OX. If you'd like, we can patch the feed into your phone. You'll get an alarm if it drops too low."

Bra nodded in appreciation, looking back at her mother. Bulma was already feeling a bit better; the fear was mostly gone, replaced with general grumpiness and anger. That was more her mother's nature in a situation like this, but Bra did note that a lot of it seemed strangely aimed at herself.

"Do you think it was – the last therapy we tried?" she asked, her face filling with guilt at even the thought of one of her experimental treatments making her mother suffer.

"No," he said firmly. "I know the line of patient-doctor confidentiality is blurred at best in this instance, but it's not in my best interest to cause…"

"Doctor…" she argued.

He cleared his throat and looked back towards his patient. Bra was in a completely different department of the hospital than him, so ranks and titles didn't exactly matter in this context, but she was still a Briefs. That fact alone gave her all the privilege she needed to circumvent normal policies. He sighed in defeat, and explained, "Last night, the nurse reported smelling the distinct scent of cigarette smoke on her hair when she came in for her nightly vitals."

Bra was instantly livid. She wanted to accuse the nurse of lying and insinuate that the doctor was overreacting, but the problem was, she knew her mother and she knew what was likely the truth. She put her hand up to her forehead, scratching a spot where her bangs were itching her skin, grimacing as she realized the doctor's story aligned perfectly with what her mother was feeling at the moment.

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath and calming herself before the delicate hospital experienced what Saiyan anger could do to a building. "I'll talk to her."

Dr. Betaki put his phone in his pocket and placed a supportive hand on Bra's shoulder. "I'm going home for the night, but the nurse has my emergency line. We'll patch in your phone. I think the neb treatment will help and if she can put down the cigarettes, the inflammation will improve quickly. She'll be fine."

Bra nodded, appreciating the doctor's reassurance, although it wasn't helping the anger still rolling in her chest.

The nebulizer treatment was over in about ten minutes. While they were waiting for it to finish, the nurses did some final checks of her vitals. All the numbers were looking better, so the extra staff left little-by-little. Eventually, it was just Bra, Bulma, and her night nurse in the room. The nurse set her oxygen higher, made sure the cannula would stay put in her nose, and then left the two of them alone so she could return to her desk.

Bulma looked tired after her most recent attack, but her color had returned completely and her pulse OX was no longer reading its alarm. Bra hesitated to start too harshly, but her anger was burning so hot, her aura was nearly visibly glowing.

"Mom - is Dr. Betaki right? Have you been smoking?" she started. Her voice was quiet, but she was grinding her teeth so hard, she would've been surprised if her mother couldn't hear it.

Bulma sighed and frowned as she looked at a spot on her lap. "I knew the wind wasn't blowing in the right direction last night. I should've been sneakier."

"This isn't funny. I'm putting in 80 hours a week, going home exhausted every night, coming in early every morning, trying so hard to find something that will work and you…" she trailed off. Tears were lining her eyes, spurred almost more by the adrenaline crash she was now going through than her actual feelings.

"I'm sorry," Bulma said. Bra could sense the genuine regret in her mind, but it didn't seem to help much.

"Why?" she asked. "And for how long? You might've undone everything this therapy helped. And how am I supposed to know if it's effective now? I have to start the whole testing process over again."

"Not long," Bulma answered. "A few days maybe. I had some – ghosts from the past come up to haunt me this week is all. It's been difficult and I – I stumbled."

Bra's angry expression softened only a little bit. "You need a therapist, not cigarettes. Keep this up and you won't see Trunks Jr. get to his teens."

"I know," she acknowledged, yawning deeply. Being without enough oxygen for a period of time could really cause a person's energy to bottom out. Bra understood that, but wished it wasn't granting Bulma such an easy excuse to cut the conversation short. "I really do. I don't know why that doesn't stop me."

"Where are these even coming from? I know you're not leaving. I'd get alerts," she said. "Are some of the nurses sneaking them in?"

Bulma smirked softly. "Not exactly. I've been acquiring a stash," she admitted. "I thought in the case of emotional emergency I could have a cigarette or two. I really didn't think I'd start binging them again."

"Where?" Bra asked firmly.

Bulma yawned again and rested her head against her pillow. "Around. Your brother found the pack behind the blinds. I think there's one taped to the bottom of the table."

"Trunks… He should've told me," she said in frustration, looking around the room as she tried to spot some of the hiding spaces her mother might've thought of. She checked behind the TV, and under the cushions of the couch. She even checked the mini refrigerator in the corner. She wasn't sure if she should've been relieved or not that she didn't find many; it could've just meant she'd already chain-smoked through most of her concealed supply.

"He was doing me a favor," Bulma argued.

"No – he wasn't," Bra corrected firmly. "Now where are the rest?"

Bulma twisted her lips. "There aren't many. You don't have to…"

"Under the chair? Thank you." Bra lifted the heavy arm chair easily after hearing the answer in Bulma's thoughts. Indeed, there was a full pack taped to the bottom.

"No fair…" she started, interrupting herself with more coughing, although it was significantly less violent than it had been before. "…using your father's gift against your mother."

"Guilt isn't going to work on me tonight," she said, flipping over the cushions of the lounger by her window. She found a few strays in a sandwich bag rolled into a gap. "And Daddy would support me here."

Bulma chuckled quietly. Bra looked back at her. She seemed to be actively falling asleep, but Bra wasn't entirely sure she wasn't doing that intentionally to avoid more confrontation. "Mom? Where are the rest?"

Her mother might've been trying to go to sleep to get out of the conversation, but her body was cooperating with the scheme. Her last conscious thought gave Bra one more location: under the small lamp on her rollaway desk. Bra sighed and pulled up the lamp to find one stray cigarette.

At least I'm not finding whole, hidden cartons, she thought. I'm going to have to go through her capsules tomorrow.

Bulma's desk was covered in a pile of loose papers, a few pens, her phone, and a thick padfolio binder. She started shifting some of the contents around carefully, realizing that if she had a supply of cigarettes, she had a lighter somewhere too. If she couldn't light them, having them around was basically pointless.

She wasn't intentionally trying to snoop, but a few lines on the top pages of the various, clipped together sections of the large stack caught her eye. It became obvious quickly that the sections composed the whole of Bulma's will, and due to how large Capsule, its properties, and some of the organizations under the umbrella of the business were, there was a lot of content.

Bra began stacking the sections together and putting them in the binder, figuring Bulma could make sense of it the following morning if she wanted to keep working on it. It's wasn't that she didn't trust the staff that worked there, but she didn't think her mother would want to invite them into her business by leaving it on display out in the open.

She lifted the final, clipped stack into the binder, but a loose page fell from the bottom, back onto the desk. The loose page was different from the other neatly-typed, double-space potions. It was completely full of new handwriting, all done with a blue ink pen, even in the margins and on both the front and the back of the page. It was almost as though she was submitting a revision to the entire document, or at least that particular subsection. Whatever it was, it had been done in a hurry. The handwriting was anything but neat, and a lot of it had been crossed-out and then rewritten. It looked more like a first draft than a document that had undergone dozens of revisions and edits.

She's been working on this since she got sick. Why is she changing so much now? Bra wondered.

She shook her head and put the handwritten page in the binder with the rest of the paperwork then closed the clasp on the side. It was none of her business, not yet anyway – and if she had any say in the matter, not for a long time. Besides, she wouldn't understand much of it anyway; that was mostly her brother's field.

Thunder rumbled outside as she turned to continue her search for Bulma's missing lighter, making her realize she'd ended up staying much later than she'd wanted to. She'd hoped to be in bed by now, reviewing the day's notes before the storm really hit the area and threatened her Internet connection. Now, it seemed, she'd be driving home in the midst of it.

She'd nearly given up for the night when the mental image of that page flashed back into her mind. Those were a lot of changes – and if she wasn't mistaken, during her brief glimpse, she saw her name. It could've been the section regarding her personal assets, but she hadn't read enough to tell for sure. She understood Trunks would be the executor over the trust as a whole, but she was hoping to be the primary beneficiary for the medical research side. It would be a part of the business she could own and grow herself, and would mean a lot to her. Bulma had seemed supportive of the idea, but had she changed her mind? What else could've changed?

She sighed deeply, disappointed that her curiosity was getting the better of her, especially regarding a subject she wasn't completely familiar with as it was. She quietly opened the clasp again, reaching in to pull out the miscellaneous page. She wasn't even sure she was going to recognize what the requested changes were before she read it, but they soon became more obvious than she assumed they'd be.

She was relieved to see it the revisions weren't concerning the corporate holdings, but the original curiosity that had led her to a more careful review of the document hadn't been satisfied just yet. She kept reading.

Everything's pretty much the same, but the percentages have gone down slightly, she read with mild surprise. It was like she was "making room" for something else. Maybe she added a charity beneficiary? Trunks is working on that animal conservation project, maybe…

She flipped the paper to the other side, reading up the wall of text. Finally, her eyes rested on the name that should not have been there, and everything started falling more into place: "Son".

"To my oldest grandson: Son Bao 'Bo' I leave…" Bra blinked a time or two in bewilderment as she reread the text over again. She wasn't misreading it; it was as plain as day. That was the name of Pan's child, and Bulma very clearly was claiming him as a grandson and a beneficiary on equal footing with Trunks Jr.

Bra's heartrate spiked, but she quickly skimmed over the rest of the words to find the remainder of the information and the confirmation she was looking for. "…to be kept in an interest-bearing fiduciary account held by his mother Son Pan until such time as he turns 18 years of age or enrolls…"

She was glad there was an armchair nearby as she sat down slowly. Her brain processed through a number of options for what her mother's words could've meant. Maybe she misunderstood, but as she read it again, it was undeniable. "My oldest grandson… his mother Son Pan…" There was no way to interpret that any differently than she had.

Holy shit, Trunks, she thought, chuckling in reflex to her enormous disbelief.

She thought back, remembering the day she'd learned Pan and Trunks had been having a small affair. Vegeta had known, and was actually quite annoyed by how obvious they were being despite thinking they were keeping it a secret. He was thoroughly displeased with the idea of his family mixing with the Sons, but in his older age, he had practiced some patience and rare discretion, hoping it would end before he had to "beat some sense into the boy". It did, obviously. Trunks had gotten engaged to someone else, and on the night the first invitations went out, Pan had exploded in a fury that had been felt by every ki-sensing person on the planet. Bra had sensed the extent of her rage due to her extra sensitivity, and Vegeta telepathically sated her curiosity by clueing her in on the not-so-secret secret Trunks thought he'd successfully kept quiet.

Do you even know about this?

It occurred to her that he couldn't. No way would he have a son out there that he wasn't close with and didn't make time for. That wasn't Trunks. His own history with his father wouldn't have allowed him to even consider not having a relationship with a child who shared his blood. Then the question was: why would Bulma know if Trunks didn't?

Bra tapped her foot on the floor, considering whether or not to commit the small breach of ethics that would likely lead to confirmation. The younger generation used Dr. Alphet and Capsule Corp resources when giving birth. It was just easier to use a doctor who was already familiar with Saiyan physiology, and Capsule medical facilities had extra tools in place to aide with emergencies that could happen while birthing abnormally strong children with long, extra appendages that could get in the way of umbilical cords.

She sighed again. In for a zeni… she told herself, leaving the room to retrieve her tablet from the floor of the hallway.

The Son's hospital records were easy enough to find, knowing his name. "'Son Bao' – what is with that family and food?" she whispered to herself, blind to the irony in her momentary criticism.

At first, Bra thought receiving confirmation was going to be a process. Every baby born in Capsule was tested for genetic abnormalities and diseases and therefore had a blood sample on file. It was in their Standard Operating Procedures to do it since Capsule also owned patents to several cures and treatments for those ailments that other hospitals didn't have. She already had access to all of that since she worked as the head of a major department in the facility.

She thought she was going to have to run the Son baby's test against Trunks' own genetic results – assuming he also had something on file, despite having been born before those policies were in place. She even had it in her mind that she might have to ask him for a fresh sample to run against Pan's child. She was already thinking of several schemes for covertly doing so when she realized all of that would be unnecessary.

The test had already been run, on the day the baby was born, due to Saiyan genetic markers being detected by the system. In fact, not only was it apparent that the system was pre-programmed to identify these markers and run a genetic test for paternity against Trunks, but there was also a command to email results to an unmistakably familiar address.

Bra looked up towards the door to her mother's room and sighed deeply, suddenly feeling as though her ethically questionable actions were small infractions in comparison. She didn't need to hear Bulma's side of things to guess the reason she'd set it up the test way, but even though she understood the logic behind it, it didn't sit right. If she had been born a male with a wild side, her mother would've done the same to her. The very thought made her uncomfortable.

She looked back down at the hand-written order for revisions to her will. Obviously, Bulma was planning on the cat being let out of the bag soon, especially since Trunks was the one helping her with her end-of-life planning and would undoubtedly see this at some point, but it was possible that she was going to wait until she knew her fate was sealed and Bra couldn't help her. Again, Bra hoped that would be years and years down the line.

"But he deserves to know now," she said to herself.

Bra considered Pan's feelings momentarily, but she didn't know the other woman very well at all and couldn't begin to guess as to her own motivation for keeping this a secret. The only real facts she could review and weigh were the ones directly relating to her family and what had been done. Bulma had hidden this very important truth from Trunks, and while Bra didn't know why, she didn't feel that really mattered. Trunks deserved to find out the answer to that question himself. And – if things with Bulma's health really did take a turn for the worse – it was better it was asked sooner rather than later.

She went back into her mother's room, emailed herself a copy of the document, then put the original back in the binder that held the rest of it. She did what she'd originally came to do, making sure Bulma was comfortable and safe as the storm began raging in full strength outside. After she was done, she jumped in her car, braving the torrent to head towards the yellow dome she used to call home.

. . .

Bo stood nervously in front of Trunks, watching him as he typed and clicked away on his desktop computer in a room within Capsule he'd never been in before. The room was large, but had books, binders, and other office-type supplies that were all taking up the shelving and floor space available. Despite how well-used it appeared to be, it somehow simultaneously didn't look like it had been occupied recently. The books were all dated for years long past, and air had a stale smell about it as though the room had been shut for a long time.

The moment he had stepped out of the gravity room for a break, Trunks had pulled him aside, telling him he had something he could have that would help him learn how to build and work on technology. He was curious and already grateful, but they'd gone into his office by themselves, and Bo had never spoken with Trunks alone before.

He rubbed his arm with his hand, looking around at everything from a respectful distance so it didn't look like he was snooping. "Is this your office?" he finally asked, feeling strange about making noise in the silent room, while also feeling awkward with the quiet between them.

Trunks pushed his glasses up his nose. "Yes and no," he said, following with a hesitant explanation. "I haven't been in here for a while, but this is one of the only computers in the house still linked with our old training database. I worked from home a lot while Trunks' mom was sick so I could be close by, but – I've been working from the corporate office since."

Bo blushed, and nodded in understanding, wishing he'd asked a different question. He decided against the idea of asking anything else.

"There we go," Trunks said. He pulled a USB drive out from the side of his computer and handed it to the young boy. "Keep this safe. It gives you access to Capsule Corp's programming training library. It might not be completely up-to-date, but you can learn almost any language – even some of the dead ones. I copied some of our cheat sheets over, too."

Bo's eyes lit up. "Really?"

Trunks smiled. "Really! Let me know if you have any questions or get stuck. My job doesn't let me write as much as I used to – but I can try."

Bo opened his mouth to thank him, but before could, something caught Trunks' eye in the doorway, drawing his attention away. A young woman about his mother's age had appeared suddenly, water dripping from drenched blue hair and the coat she had around her shoulders. Her energy level was low, but her expression seemed troubled, and the fact that she had braved the storm to come see Trunks told Bo that this was someone important. Trunks didn't need to ask him; he put the USB drive in his pocket and turned to leave.

"Would you shut the door on your way out?" the woman asked him.

She turned briefly towards him to make the request, locking onto his eyes for just a moment. When she did, Bo felt a familiar and unique sensation originating from her. It was warm, like what he felt when he connected with the minds of others, but it was intense, and it seemed almost to echo back and forth between them for a brief second like a ripple of water reverberating between two stones.

Bra's eyes widened in surprise; she'd felt the same sensation, and there was only one other person in the world she'd ever shared that experience with.

You're him, aren't you? she thought, directing the message to him with such expertise that he felt like she was asking it directly into his ear. He didn't answer. He was afraid to. It was so clear and loud that it caused the skin on his arms to rise into bumps.

Bra raised a confused eyebrow in reaction to the boy's silence despite her instincts about his powers, but didn't press the issue. He was the reason she was there, but she wasn't the one she needed to speak with, so she simply smiled, making a mental note to answer that particular question at a later time.

"Thank you," she simply said to him.

Bo did as requested, but leaned against the wall just outside of the office, trying to read her thoughts again. He couldn't; she'd blocked him out with a perfect seal he wasn't able to break through. It wasn't like his mother, who could keep her thoughts hidden by overlaying the internal dialogue with random "noise". When he focused in on the other woman, he heard nothing but absolute silence.

Bra, he realized, remembering his friend's words earlier. He'd said his aunt had similar abilities. Hers were a lot more powerful though.

Bo focused in again. He could still read Trunks clearly. He was concerned about his mother's health, but otherwise, was mystified by his sister's sudden appearance. Bo bit his lip, debating on whether to leave, but the strangeness he'd encountered and something about Trunks' suddenly apprehensive thoughts made him want to stay and hear just a little more, even though he knew he shouldn't.

"Bra," Trunks started, bracing himself for why she had worked her way to the residential dome through the worst storm of the year. "Is…?"

"Mom's fine," Bra answered, anticipating his question. She took off her coat and sat down across from him, suddenly unable to find the words to use to begin. She rubbed the top of her legs nervously, choosing to start small. "She – had a hard day though."

He nodded as though he understood, but looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to explain why she'd visited in the middle of a torrent, and what was so important that a phone call wouldn't have sufficed.

"Sis," he started warmly, "can I get you something? You look a little tired."

"No, uh – it's fine. Was that Pan's kid?" she asked.

He nodded and smiled slightly. "He and Trunks have gotten pretty close in the last few weeks, so he's over a lot. But – you're not here to talk about him…"

She chuckled mysteriously and sighed, wiping her damp hair from her forehead. "Have you been in to see Mom lately?" she asked.

"A little earlier this week," he answered.

"She's working on her will…"

"She has been for a while," he said. His brow furrowed in concern for his sister and he misinterpreted the reason she had for bringing that up. "It's just a precaution. She started drafting it long before she ever got sick."

"No, I know," Bra said. "Have you seen it lately though? She has some revisions…"

"I saw the copy I dropped off to her a few days ago. I'm not surprised she has changes. It'll never be perfect enough for her. I think we're on version 20 already," he said dryly. Bra opened her mouth to say the next piece of this puzzle, but Trunks interrupted her. "I – caught her with a cigarette," he abruptly admitted.

She rested her elbow on her desk, throwing her head into the palm of her hand in frustration. "I know. Apparently, she's been stashing them in her room. She smoked enough to cause some inflammation and irritation."

Bra looked down at her lap, her eyes fixated on some imaginary point as anger flashed in her eyes. Trunks didn't have to have his sister's powers to know what she was feeling. "Did she make herself worse?"

"Hopefully not – probably not," Bra said, hoping Dr. Betaki's optimism was sincere and more than just an attempt to comfort or patronize her, "but she admitted to binging them - and now I have no way to measure the results of the latest test I was running. If her lungs are full of fluid from the irritation caused by her smoking these past few days, then I won't be able to see if they've responded. I mean – they probably haven't. If you would've heard her coughing, it sounded like she was tearing a layer of skin off her esophagus…"

She trailed off, taking a deep breath instead of finishing her thought and Trunks rubbed the bridge of his nose in aggravation. "Damn it, Mom," he whispered.

"I'm still trying," she said, surprised with herself for how shaky her voice suddenly sounded to her own ears. "I really am, but…"

Trunks leaned forward in his chair, meeting her eyes intensely. "Hey – I know that," he said firmly, "and so does she. If there's a cure out there, you'll find it – and if you don't, it's because one just doesn't exist."

She smiled softly. "I'm glad you have that much faith in me still," she said. "I'm not so sure she feels the same way."

Trunks shook his head adamantly. "Don't go by the will. Like I said, it's just a precaution." It was more than just the will causing her doubts, but she nodded anyway, choosing to accept her brother's assurances.

"Thanks for that, by the way," she said. "In case I forget to say it later." He looked at her questioningly, so she elaborated. "I'm not good with that kind of thing – and I know it's got to be hard on you to go through it all again so soon."

He smiled sadly in return. "At least it gives me something to do for her – and for you. Besides, it's better for everyone that it gets resolved and filed now, even if – even when - it turns out to be pointless."

She tapped her nails on the desk, her thoughts shifting back towards the original intention of her visit. Her brother's optimism had been a balm to her own self-doubts, but now she felt even more convinced that what she'd come for would ultimately be a favor to him, even if it didn't immediately feel like it.

"So – you haven't seen her handwritten revisions that she wrote up at the hospital?"

"No, why?" Trunks asked. "I can't imagine there's too much to change at this point. We've gone over and over it so much already. She was just supposed to sign off on it and then courier it to the legal team."

Bra took a deep breath and opened the image of the page of addendums and changes on her phone, emailing the copy for Trunks to see on his larger screen. "I know our age difference has made it difficult for us to feel close sometimes, but you've always been a good big brother, even when I was too much of a brat to acknowledge it," she said.

Trunks was taken aback. Her words were appreciated, but seemed completely random. "Sounds so serious," he said sardonically with a smile, trying to add poorly-planned levity to cut the tension that had suddenly seized the back of his neck. Bra's expression remained stone-cold and somber. His smile slowly melted.

"Mom has been hiding something from you – and she isn't the only one," she said. "I saw something in those revisions – something I couldn't just unsee. Even though I'm sure Mom won't be happy with me for telling you, I'm not going to be a part of the effort to keep it from you."

"What is it?" he asked, scratching his head. Bra could see the questioning look in his eye, and although she was trying to stay out of his thoughts, she knew he was probably imagining just about every scenario but the real one.

"She added a beneficiary," Bra said. "I sent you a picture of it so you can see for yourself."

Trunks hesitantly opened his email. Even though he still didn't completely understand, he hoped it was a misunderstanding, especially considering the sympathetic and concerned look in his sister's eyes, which worried him far worse than anything she'd actually said. The attached image popped up on his monitor; before he could even find what he was looking for, the shear amount of writing sent his stomach into a twist. At merely a glance, he could tell Bra was right. After countless revisions and consultations with her legal team, Bulma had basically undone everything in the personal assets section in order to make room for another party.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?" he asked, already dizzy with the amount of blue ink scribbled across the page.

"The top paragraph under the margin," she answered.

Despite the bright reflection of the screen in his glasses, Bra could see his eyes widen when they read the information most pertinent to the situation. His brow sank, the permanent scowl he seemed to inherit from their father sealed itself on his lips. He opened his mouth to speak several times, but nothing came out. His eyes moved from the monitor, to Bra, and then back to the monitor as he read the text again and again, trying to process why his mother had placed those words there, and if it meant what it seemed to mean.

After the third read-through he took off his glasses and leaned back in his office chair. His face was full of confusion, anger, and doubt. Bra prepared for what would assuredly be his next question, pulling up the hospital report she'd read earlier confirming Bulma's words.

"Is her mind – okay?" he asked. "Do we need to worry about her mental faculties? Because this – this isn't true…"

Bra pursed her lips; she hadn't been ready for such a deflection. "Mom's brain is fine, Trunks," she said softly.

She prepared the lie in her head, which she'd already decided on telling all the way back at the hospital. If Trunks knew the truth about Bulma's report and how she'd programmed the system to compare any Saiyan baby's blood to his and then send her an email first, it would just make him even angrier with their mother. Bra knew he was already going to be incensed enough without extra motivation.

"I doubted it at first too," she said, "so I had the system compare an old sample of your DNA to the sample of Bao's that was taken when he was born. Fifteen alleles matched – enough to confirm paternity."

He sighed deeply, and when she allowed herself just a small peak into his mind, she heard and saw only red-hot, burning chaos as a thousand thoughts rushed through him at the same time. In the midst of the ocean of confusion and growing anger was one small thread of calm; she wondered if she was sensing the tiny portion of him that had somehow known, the part he'd pushed far down in denial and the hope that he wasn't being lied to.

"Bo," he corrected quietly after a moment of silence. "He goes by Bo."

His skin paled as he slowly processed this revelation. Bra had pulled up the report, but he never asked to see it. She could only figure it was because he'd realized the truth of it all. His breathing became irregular, as though the air was stolen from his chest, and he seemed to zone out on a distant point as his energy began to bloom.

"Are you okay?" Bra asked, genuinely concerned with his sudden paleness. She could sense the maelstrom of emotions all flying through him at once was only growing; it was overwhelming, and she wasn't even the one experiencing them.

"No, I…" he started, putting his head in his hands. "…I'm such a fucking idiot!" he growled into his palms.

Her eyes softened in sympathy. She hadn't thought of what she was supposed to say as words to comfort him. This was a very large bomb to drop on him, and she'd done it very suddenly. "I'm – sorry," she said simply, wishing she had something better.

"How did Mom know when I didn't?" he asked, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down.

Bra shrugged. She had the answer to that question in reality, but she didn't want to tell him everything in one go. That part of the secret would be up to their mother to reveal; she couldn't bring herself to say it. "Maybe Pan told her since she was sick? Maybe she just knew this whole time?"

He shook his head. At first, Bra was afraid maybe he doubted her response and had read correctly that there was something else unsaid. Thankfully, he wasn't focusing on that aspect of things yet; there was a bigger target for his temper at the moment.

"I asked her, Bra. I found out she was pregnant. I knew the math added up. I asked her," he complained. "She tossed this - really asinine lie in my face – and I just ate it up. I bought the whole thing! I - can't believe I was that gullible."

Bra smiled sadly, again wishing that she had something better to say. She usually used the thoughts she could sense to guide her to comforting words to offer those she was speaking with, but the whirlwind of chaos was too much to break through. Except – for that tiny, nearly imperceivable strand of calmness that was still swimming through the ocean of emotion. That strand was clear and had an air of melancholy around it. A very small, very quiet part of him really had known she'd been lying to him, and even though the blame for this fell mostly on Pan's shoulders, with a fair share to Bulma, a part of him was already blaming himself for letting it go on this long.

"Isn't Bo just a little older than Trunks? Seems like you had a few things going on back then. Maybe – you wanted to believe her?" she offered cautiously.

Trunks wanted to argue with her assertion immediately, but he stammered. Bra wasn't entirely wrong. A baby with Pan would've thrown a huge wrench into the mechanics of his life at the worst possible moment, but even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it wasn't true – not entirely. He would've found a way to make it work. It would've been hard, but he would've done it.

"I wanted to believe she wouldn't…" he trailed off, swallowing hard as he shook his head. "I gave her every opportunity to be honest with me. I left my goddamn honeymoon just to talk to her almost as soon as I found out."

Bra twisted her lips. "You – were on your honeymoon when you asked Pan if she was about to have your baby? Did she know that?"

He nodded, and Bra wasn't quick enough to stifle a wry chuckle. "Nothing like rubbing it in her face a little…"

His brow furrowed. "Bra…" he started to argue.

"I'm not defending Pan," she quickly interrupted. "Lying to you was cruel. But you don't have the powers of perception I do. I felt the waves of her anger and sadness - you crushed her. So – maybe your confrontation could've had better timing. Maybe her answer would've been different if you'd waited a little."

Trunks scoffed. Bra knew he wasn't angry with her, nor was she trying to make herself a target. She just wanted him to think a little more, to embrace that thread of calmness before acting. The Saiyans of the past had lived and identified by their anger, but he was better than that.

"She's certainly had plenty of other opportunities to be honest about it."

Bra nodded, agreeing with the statement. "Maybe I'm playing Devil's Advocate because I was the one to let a very big cat out of a large bag, but – maybe she had a different perspective."

Trunks sighed again, and although his next words seemed harsh and angry at face value, his tone was laced with such sadness, it broke her heart for him. "What possible perspective could justify hiding my son from me?"

She cleared her throat and stood from her chair. "This isn't my discussion to have," she said, raising her hands defensively. "As much as I'd love to be a fly on the wall, there are only two people who are going to give you the answers you need."

Lightning crashed outside of his window while he considered her words and his options. "You're right," he said, suddenly standing up with her.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To get my answers," he said.

"Look – I know you're mad, but Mom should really rest a little…"

"I'm not going to Mom."

"Pan? Right now?" Bra asked. "My car barely handled the wind and I only had to go a few miles. Isn't Pan all the way in Satan City?"

He nodded, "I won't take my car then."

He left his office in a hurry, nearly bowling over the small form that had been standing outside. He stopped immediately, looking down at the same blue eyes and the same natural frown he saw in the mirror every day.

Such a goddamn idiot, Trunks, he screamed at himself. To miss this - it was right in front of you!

There was a spark of happiness already present deep within his chest, it was just buried by confusion, regret, and fury. Trunks Jr. had a brother; he had another son. In the last month, he'd learned Bo was a great person - smart, friendly, funny - everything he could ever hope for in a kid. But he would never get to hold him as a baby, never get to watch him learn to walk, or teach him how to read - he'd never get to experience some of the important, simple moments of joy that having a child brought.

Except for one, he thought, remembering the greeting he'd gifted him so many years ago as a baby. The rest of those moments were gone and couldn't be brought back, and for what? Pan - why would you do this to me? How could you hate me this much after all this time? Were you trying to get even with me or did you just want me out of your life?

Bo's wide eyes stared up at him as though he expected an answer while Trunks attempted to process something that would sound reasonable. It was impossible. His brain was buzzing, his heart was racing, and he was already fighting against a headache that was sure to only get worse with the storm. Trunks stepped around him, leaving a bewildered boy behind. He would deal with that side of things later. First, he needed answers.

Bo silently watched Trunks brushed past him, grab his coat while saying something to Trunks Jr. and then run out the door. As soon as the door was closed, Bo felt an amazing blast of Trunks' energy, and then sensed it as it flew in the general of Satan City. He was numb, and suddenly had no idea what to do or where to go.

Are you still there? Normal people had so many background and secondary thoughts happening at once, messages usually sounded garbled or staticy. This question came through loudly and as clear as a bell. It nearly made him jump.

He slowly peered around the open door to the office. The woman was still there, smiling kindly at him. Trunks' thoughts are loud. He never did learn how to hide them from us very well, she said. So, I can only imagine you heard enough to have questions - not that I have very many answers.

He stepped into the office with her, hanging back near the door as though he was frightened or intimidated by her, despite her friendly disposition. "Who's 'us'?" he asked aloud.

His chosen first question surprised her, but maybe the obvious one was too difficult to put into words quite yet. "My father, Vegeta and I. Well, I guess he would be your grandfather, wouldn't he?" she answered, caving to his preference to be verbal, since he was more comfortable that way. She wasn't in the mood to be subtle, especially with a young boy who was very obviously very confused at the moment. "He passed his psychic abilities down to me - and to you, I suppose. Genetics can be - unpredictable, but it sort of makes sense. None of the Sons seem to have them at all after Goku. The ability didn't make it past the original generation, so if you have it - I guess it just skipped Trunks."

He silently wondered if that was the voice he'd heard the last time. Low, gravelly and curt, the mystery party hadn't said much aside from some vague and well-buried congratulations for having more talent than some of his ancestors. It felt like more of an insult than a compliment. He hadn't been sure how to take it or how to respond.

"Yes, that would be your grandfather" she said, answering his unspoken question. "And trust me, that's about the best kind of compliment you're ever going to hear from him."

"Have you always been able to do it?" he asked.

"Yes."

He nodded in understanding, but didn't speak further. His brow was arched, his eyes shining in a way that made her heart ache despite the fact that she'd just met him. Maybe it was his youthful resemblance to her father and brother, or maybe it was the fact that they shared a uniquely deep empathy thanks to their bloodline, but she inexplicably had the desire to stay and make sure he was okay, even though she was exhausted and wanted to get home.

"Okay - so, what did you hear?" she asked. He opened his mouth to speak, but a lump in his throat formed and moisture threatened to spill over his cheeks. "I don't buy into the Saiyan machismo bullshit, by the way. But if you'd rather not be verbal…"

"My mom and my father hate each other," he said, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

"No, I don't think so," she answered back with confidence as though she knew it was true beyond a doubt. "They're both angry. They're both - confused. But they like each other enough to make you."

Bo looked at her doubtfully. "That was a long time ago," he said. "People change - and Trunks was really mad."

"Such worldly wisdom for someone so young," she said. "I'm going to give credit to Briefs genes for that too."

He smiled softly at the compliment, but it faded quickly.

"Look, I don't know your mother very well," she admitted, "but I know your father. Maybe it'll take some time, maybe it won't, but he'll figure it out regardless. He's going to want to be part of your life. So much so that he'll probably annoy the crap out of you by the time you get into your teens."

"What if…" he started, choking back another wave of emotion. "What if he doesn't? What if my mom is so mad at him, or he's so mad at her, that they don't want Trunks Jr. and I spending time together anymore? What if Trunks doesn't want me around his house because I remind him of her? What if…?"

His downward spiral was interrupted by an odd sensation, creeping in at the back of his spine. What felt strange at first quickly morphed to pleasant warmth, like a comforting blanket fresh from the clothes drier being wrapped around his shoulders. Goosebumps rose on his arms again, and his tears momentarily dried as the feeling washed over him. He recognized its source immediately.

"What was that?" he asked with wide eyes.

Bra smiled and shrugged. "I call it a 'mug' - for 'mental hug'," she said. "Isn't it nice? My dad sends me one every once and a while even though I haven't seen him in almost a year. He's threatened to stop if I keep using that name for it though."

"Thank you," he said softly. "That is kind of dumb though."

His blunt honesty brought a smile to her lips. "It's going to be alright," she said firmly. "Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not for a little while. But it will be. And you have a bigger family to love now. You can call me 'Aunt Bra', if you want. If you call me 'Auntie', I will disown you."

The dark expression on his face finally began to lighten; he'd really listened to her. "Okay," he said. "It's nice to meet you, Aunt Bra."

She put a hand on his shoulder, leading him out of the stuffy office and slowly down the corridor back towards the living room. "So, you've never had any training on your mental powers, have you?"

He shook his head. "I've never met anyone else that had them. Not in person, at least."

"Right, well - we'll have to fix that sometime," she said. His smile brightened at the thought of it. Although it wasn't the sort of training he normally was excited for, he'd never thought he'd get formal instruction on the subject. "First lesson: I know this was a conversation that focused on you, but it's not something you should do often - reading people's thoughts without permission."

He stopped walking, starting an apology before she could cut him off.

"No - don't worry. I do it all the time," she said with a dismissive wave. They resumed walking, despite his confusion. "But if you do it, just be prepared to hear things you're not going to want to hear. You heard Trunks' initial thoughts on learning that some people who he cares for have been lying to him for a very long time about something very important. No matter who it is, their first reaction to something like that is never going to sound good," she explained. "If you give him a chance to think this through - and find his own words to use - I think you'll like it better."

He nodded in reluctant understanding. He wasn't sure how, but he was going to try and stay out of Trunks' head until he could talk to him. It would require a level of patience he wasn't sure he had, but he was going to try.

Trunks Jr. was watching a TV report on the storm when they walked in, a worried look on his face. "Aunt Bra, do you know why Dad left?" he asked. "He was in a big hurry."

"He had something important he wanted to take care of," Bra answered.

"Work?"

"I'm sure he'll explain once he gets home."

The boy didn't look comforted, and the news report on the TV in front of him wasn't helping. "They're saying it's supposed to get worse as it moves east - and that's where he was going."

"He'll be fine," Bra said without a hint of concern in her voice.

"But he doesn't let me fly when there's lightning anywhere nearby and he's going…"

"Well, you're a kid," Bra interrupted. "Adults can put their lives on the line for stupid reasons. You earn that right when you survive until you're 18."

"He was really powered up," Bo said. "I don't think the storm could hurt him like that."

That point seemed to help, but when Trunks looked at his friend's face, the concern returned. "What's wrong, Bo?" he asked, noting the redness in his eyes and on his cheeks. He'd never seen the other boy anywhere close to as upset as he looked.

"Bo's not feeling well," Bra answered. Bo looked up at her questioningly. If you don't feel like talking, go with it kid. He nodded in agreement. "Well, I'm really tired and don't want to stay the night. Are you guys okay to be here alone?"

"I'm not allowed to use the gravity room or the stove," he said. "The pizza place said they won't deliver until the weather gets better. Can you make us something for dinner?"

Bra twisted her lips and walked into the kitchen, opening their freezer door. There were four frozen pizzas stacked on top of each other, so she pulled them out. "You're lucky you have something that can be warmed up because I'm a lousy cook," she said with a laugh.

"It's not much for the two of us," Trunks complained.

"I'm not very hungry," Bo said.

"You were fine a few minutes ago," Trunks said. "What happened?"

Bo looked up a Bra. She didn't have a direct answer for him. Trunks will be happy to hear the news, Bra assured him, smiling subtly down at him. He's always wanted a brother - now he has one.

What if he's not? Bo asked. He's been an only child for a long time. What if he doesn't want to share? What if he stops liking me because I have a different mom than he does?

Bra could see the look on his face sour again. This was out of her depth. Talking to him is the only way to find out for sure, she urged.

Bo looked at Trunks carefully, but his fear had already gotten the better of him. "I think I'm going to go to bed early," he said.

Bra and Trunks shared a worried look, but did nothing to stop him from walking away. Bo found his normal guest room and planted himself inside, watching the storm through the window until he fell asleep.

. . .

The storm was still merely distant flashes and a quickening breeze near Satan City, but the news had already reported that it had hit the west hard. Pots and dishes clanked as she dug through her cupboards for spare candles and flashlights. Bedtime was not too far off, but she didn't want to be left in the dark. Despite the fact that she emphatically agreed with Trunks' decision not to let Bo fly home that night, being in the house by herself during a bad storm was disconcerting. She even debated on going to her parents' house for the night, but her pride wasn't letting her take things that far and she knew they would see through any attempt she made to lie about her cowardice.

She pulled a blanket around her shoulders and sat down with a cup of tea and a book. Thunder rumbled surprisingly loudly for how far the storm had been moments before and she could hear a blast of wind accompany the first of many waves of torrential rain. Maybe sleep wouldn't come so soon after all. Something about the night was unsettling, and although the storm was massive, she had a feeling in her instinct that wasn't the end of it.

The moment he powered up, she could feel it, but she dismissed it as a belief that he was training with the boys. It would make sense, especially if the storm was keeping them awake as well. She opened her book, doing her best to focus enough to ignore the sheets of water falling on her roof, and the backlit shadows of the trees outside the window bending forcefully to the strong wind. She found herself wishing she was with them. Spending the night in the gravity room training sounded much more appealing than staying in a noisy house by herself.

Her attempts to distract herself worked for a few precious minutes, but the moment the storm really got rolling, she found it impossible. She put the book down and sighed, trying to relax. As soon as she did, a violent flash erupted throughout her house followed shortly by a loud, rumbling bang. She jumped once and put her hand over her chest trying to calm her nerves. The moment her heart slowed, more loud bangs startled her again, only this time, the sound was at her front door.

She knew who it was before she opened it, but in the short time she had to consider why he was there, she hadn't imagined the truth.

She opened the door just in time to see him power down. Water was dripping from every strand of his dark lavender hair and was quickly soaking through his coat and his clothes. His eyes were narrowed dangerously at her as he stood there, accentuated by his deep scowl and another flash of lightning as it lit up the sky behind him. It took her brain just a moment to work through the shock of the sight. Her shoulders sank and her eyes fell to the ground. It didn't take her long to realize what was driving the cutting look in his eyes, or the reason for a dangerous flight on a stormy night.

"You lied to me."