Musing On Future’s Past

Vegeta looked out into the utter black of the night outside the thick window. He knew that the temperature outside was unbelievably cold. If he were to step outside he’d be coated in ice in a few moments, though it wouldn’t hurt him for a few hours, as long as he kept moving. His eyes focused on his own ghostly reflection in the glass. He scowled, and then smiled at the thought of how he’d made whole worlds quake in fear with that look. Now, he couldn’t even get his solitary companion in this hellish world to give him true respect. He tilted his head so he could see into the room behind him in reflection.

Lying on the floor, limbs tossed carelessly around him, was his son from the future, Trunks. Well, Mirai Trunks really. His son…

Never would he have believed, back on Namek–sei, that that beautiful woman could be, would be his mate. It had always been a crime to dilute the Royal Blood with another race, especially since the resultant child would be far weaker than its Saiyan parent. Kami–sama help the little bastard that had the wrong color hair besides. That child and its parents would be exiled or worse. Nappa and his father the King had told him these things when he was too small to really understand what he was being told.

But then he’d come to this tiny blue planet and seen a Saiyan half–breed that had power that promised to far outstrip any pure Saiyan’s. He still had trouble believing it. When he and Bulma had found themselves bonding, he had taken advantage of her fertility to see if that power was his to give as well, or only came from that idiot Kakarrot. Sure enough, Trunks seemed to have far more strength at birth than most full Saiyan babies had.

Lost in thought, Vegeta didn’t realize that he was smiling gently as he remembered his tiny son. The boy was only a few months old, but was already very much a Saiyan. Bulma was frustrated by his behavior, but Vegeta was secretly very proud of the boy. Mirai Trunks was another matter…

Mirai Trunks was very different than himself; quiet, thoughtful, simmering with a deceptively quiet fury at the whole world, though he tried to hide it. He was torn by feelings of happiness for the people who wouldn’t suffer the fate he and his widowed mother had endured, and resentment for the very same thing. He looked out from under his lavender bangs like they were a mask, brooding and silent, trusting uneasily the people his gamble with fate had saved. He had only come into the Room of Spirit and Time with Vegeta because he wouldn’t have had any time for his own training after the Prince was done with his turn. At least that’s what he said.

Vegeta had figured out the truth. The young man had never had a father, except for Gohan, and while Trunks had said Gohan was kind to him, Trunks seemed to have longed for his real father. He never said if Mirai Bulma also longed for her lost mate.

Vegeta’s black eyes focused again on Trunks sleeping form. For the first few months, Trunks had barely slept, always on the alert for an attack by the Jinzouningen. He jumped awake at the slightest noise, until Vegeta learned to move even more silently so the young man could rest, since he himself rarely slept more than four hours a night. He had berated himself for this weakness, doing something like this for this stranger who was his own flesh and blood. But he still did it, even though Trunks had finally learned to sleep as deep as his Chibi self did; like the dead. Nothing would wake that brat.

Vegeta had once dropped the child from chest high; just to see if he would wake up-he didn’t. (Vegeta knew he wouldn’t be hurt by such a small fall) Vegeta had placed him back in the cradle quickly and sneaked away before Bulma found him lurking about. He didn’t want anyone to know just how much his son meant to him. His carefully crafted façade of perfection wouldn’t allow it. He felt Bulma probably knew anyway, but like the true mate of a true Saiyan, she kept her own counsel about her thoughts in this area.

And Mirai Trunks? Vegeta had to admire his determination and bravery. To climb into an untested machine so he could come to the past and try to save the world, only to find that his efforts had failed and his world was still in danger; to be willing to fight Cell, whom none of them had any illusions of beating easily; to be locked in this space with his lost father; all of these things showed true Saiyan courage.

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed as he watched Trunks mumble in his sleep.

“He's having one of those nightmares again…” Vegeta whispered. His son had seen and experienced too much in his short life. He relived it in his dreams sometimes, crying out to Gohan, his mother, to anyone, for help. The first time, Vegeta had tried to awaken him, and almost got a huge Ki blast in the face for his efforts. Trunks had stuttered an apology and ran out into the dark of this empty dimension. He had been gone long enough that Vegeta had actually begun to worry, but finally reappeared two days later. Neither of them had spoken of it since. One time though, Vegeta had felt so bad for his son that he had awkwardly tried to comfort him as he moaned in his sleep.

Carefully, he’d lifted the twitching body into his arms, and to his surprise, Trunks had immediately relaxed, as if he knew he was safe again. Now, if the dreams went on too long, he’d hold the young man the way he’d never do if he were awake. This time, Trunks moaned and called out to him.

“Papa! Please Papa, why? Papa… ?” Vegeta scowled, nervous as always when Trunks called him that rather than father or Otosan, which he preferred. He waited awkwardly, wondering what the boy was dreaming anyway. To his alarm, he realized that Trunks was weeping in his sleep.

“He’s never done this before... Wonder what's wrong?” Vegeta murmured. He sat next to Trunks and carefully cradled him against his chest.

“Trunks... Take it easy, it’s me…” he said. Trunks shivered uneasily and sighed.

“Papa, please, tell me… just once. She told me not to talk to you, she’d be so mad… ” Vegeta’s eyes widened. Who was “She?” Don’t talk to… Bulma. Of course. Was he that bad? Did she think him so cold and uncaring? She had told his own son not to talk to him? Why?

“Trunks, why? Why did she say that?” He asked, not expecting an answer.

“I’d be… disappointed… You… Please tell me… You never told her, did you…” Trunks said. Vegeta went white. Never told her? Never told her… that he loved her? He loved her the second he saw her, but he couldn’t say that… What a fool he was… That was what Mirai Bulma had meant, what Trunks was asking for himself. But once again his pride was in the way.

“I… I can’t, my son. I just can’t do it. But I swear this to you now; not Cell or any Jinzouningen will hurt you again. When you go home, I’ll make sure that you are ready... that’s the only way I can tell you what you want to know. And if you are truly my son, that will be enough.” Vegeta whispered fiercely. Trunks smiled slightly in his sleep, and relaxed against his father. Vegeta gently put him down, and moved away to go to sleep himself.

Tomorrow was almost here, and he had a promise to keep…