Categories > Anime/Manga > Dragon Ball Z > Fathers and Sons
And a child shall lead them...
Trunks watched his son dart across the training room, little fists held high and tight, as the boy attacked Nappa. The burly Sayajin batted the child away, relatively gentle. The kid wasn’t doing great today, and would probably spend the night in a tank, but it was better than telling Nappa to go do anatomically impossible things with his tail, and having to take a pretend beating from the surly bastard.
Nappa just like to hit things, without much else going on for either a personality or a brain. He was loyal more to tradition than he was to the throne, but since the secret had been well kept and well disposed of, there wasn’t a lot to worry about. People had chalked up Vegeta’s blue eyes to his mother’s Norseki heritage, rather than look up and notice the supposed Norski that dogged the boys every step.
There were questions about where Bardock and his sons had disappeared to; questions had stopped as Sayajin opposing King Vegeta started dropping dead. There were suddenly other things to focus on, like the King’s new Right Hand. Wherever a Sayajin had previously stood on the issue of Freeza’s Treaty, it was suddenly more advantageous to not favor planet trade over the king’s pride. Trunks didn't really care; most of the Sayajin that had lived on Earth durring the Sayajin occupation were dead, and by his hand. The whereforall bothered him less than then wheather or not he'd brushed his hair that morning. Sayajin died, and there was a sort of balance. End of moral debate.
When Trunks scooped his son’s limp body off of the training room floor, he did so without meeting Nappa’s eyes, ignoring the challenge. It was hard to tell if he was being insulting or merely performing a duty; Nappa would assume the former. Ignoring Nappa was more duty than choice, though, because his father still needed the man’s influence. Nappa was from old, pure blood. An absolute idiot, but considered the perfect Sayajin. And Vegeta needed all the support he could get, even from the old, pure-blooded nobility with tradition shoved so far up their collective asses that it was gag inducing to everyone involved.
Trunks watched the boy float in the green slime, and considered. He had the Vegeta wild, upswept hair and sharp widow’s peak, which was lucky for the boy. Trunk’s eyes, deep and dark and blue, though, and that wasn't so lucky. Trunks hadn't cut his hair since he'd landed on this miserably hit red rock, and that tended to hide the shape of his face rather well. There was nothing of Angerine in the boy’s face, really. He had the same little ticks, though; the way she pursed her lips just before she started hitting something with absolutely no intention of stopping, the way one eyebrow quirked up when she was being sarcastic. That seemed to be genetic, more than anything else. Trunks had been raised to be well-mannered and polite to people he wasn’t trying to kill; his father dealt only in respect, and weather or not a person had earned it. The youngest, though, gave his respect cautiously, was polite out of caution, and was bitingly sarcastic no matter what he thought of you. Definitely his mother. Trunks rested his hand on the glass of the tank, and wondered what he’d done in his previous life to deserve watching his son be pummeled by the idiot he wanted to kill the most. Bardock would have been in Nappa’s place, if he’d not gone back to Earth, his sons, and his grandsons. Trunks half envied the man. Half wished Angerine loved him back. Wondered if she were grateful to still be alive.
Stupid thought; how she felt or what she thought no longer mattered. Not even if he loved her.
His father shook him awake near midnight, slumped in a chair he’d dragged close to the tank.
“We wont be sparring today. Freeza will be here soon.” They stared at the tank, and its floating occupant, for a long moment. “He’ll want the kid, but he’ll ask for my son. If he asks for my heir, I’ll have to send both of you. How quickly do you think you can kill him?”
“I’ll have to wait for him to set foot on a planet. Fighting that kind of power on a space ship is somewhere between pure idiocy and suicide. Unless you can figure out where he’s planning to land next, I cant give you an accurate time frame.” Trunks turned his gaze from his son to his father, and looked up at the King of all Sayajin as the older man considered carefully.
“She had a gift for machines.” They both knew who ‘she’ was, what that comment implied, and what was coming next. “Freeza will break the boy, completely, within a matter of months. There cant be another like me on the throne. Do something, anything, to force him to land. Kill him, destroy whatever fleet he’s got with him. Depending on how politics have changed, you should be up against Dordia, Zarbon, and the Ginyu Force. Freeza keeps files on his soldiers, no matter how lowly; you should be able to get a good idea of what you’re up against fairly quickly.”
“You’ll have to send both of us anyway. There’s no way Freeza will leave this planet without the kid. If we make our stand here, we’ll probably end up destroying the planet.” Trunks focused back on the tank, and felt the bile rise at the thought of that little fragile body in reptilian hands.
“Take Nappa with you. He’ll keep the kid safe while you're busy, come hell or high water. Kill him last, and split for Earth. Lay low there for a few years. Bardock knows how to contact me. When Kooler and King Kold come calling, I’ll need all of you.” Vegeta reached out, and for the second time in Trunks’s life, felt his fathers’ hand on his shoulder. “He’ll be here in a few hours. Get ready.” And Vegeta left, not looking back.
The blue-eyed Vegeta floated in his tank, asleep and maybe dreaming. Trunks stared for a long time, wondering where six years had gone. He’d be twenty-five in a few months. Ten years old when the Sayajin had left Earth, sixteen when he’d come to Vegetasie, and twenty-five when he took his six year old son home. He’d missed Gohan and Racine, Yaumcha and Krillin, Tien and Piccolo, even the sometimes-warrior Yajarobe. He’d even missed Bardock.
Angerine would be there.
Trunks sighed, and leaned back to wait. It was all there was to do, before the lizard came, and then he wouldn’t have time to breathe until he was locked in a pod, son curled on his lap, and on his way home.
Finally going home.
He wasnt sure if it was a blessing or a curse.
Trunks watched his son dart across the training room, little fists held high and tight, as the boy attacked Nappa. The burly Sayajin batted the child away, relatively gentle. The kid wasn’t doing great today, and would probably spend the night in a tank, but it was better than telling Nappa to go do anatomically impossible things with his tail, and having to take a pretend beating from the surly bastard.
Nappa just like to hit things, without much else going on for either a personality or a brain. He was loyal more to tradition than he was to the throne, but since the secret had been well kept and well disposed of, there wasn’t a lot to worry about. People had chalked up Vegeta’s blue eyes to his mother’s Norseki heritage, rather than look up and notice the supposed Norski that dogged the boys every step.
There were questions about where Bardock and his sons had disappeared to; questions had stopped as Sayajin opposing King Vegeta started dropping dead. There were suddenly other things to focus on, like the King’s new Right Hand. Wherever a Sayajin had previously stood on the issue of Freeza’s Treaty, it was suddenly more advantageous to not favor planet trade over the king’s pride. Trunks didn't really care; most of the Sayajin that had lived on Earth durring the Sayajin occupation were dead, and by his hand. The whereforall bothered him less than then wheather or not he'd brushed his hair that morning. Sayajin died, and there was a sort of balance. End of moral debate.
When Trunks scooped his son’s limp body off of the training room floor, he did so without meeting Nappa’s eyes, ignoring the challenge. It was hard to tell if he was being insulting or merely performing a duty; Nappa would assume the former. Ignoring Nappa was more duty than choice, though, because his father still needed the man’s influence. Nappa was from old, pure blood. An absolute idiot, but considered the perfect Sayajin. And Vegeta needed all the support he could get, even from the old, pure-blooded nobility with tradition shoved so far up their collective asses that it was gag inducing to everyone involved.
Trunks watched the boy float in the green slime, and considered. He had the Vegeta wild, upswept hair and sharp widow’s peak, which was lucky for the boy. Trunk’s eyes, deep and dark and blue, though, and that wasn't so lucky. Trunks hadn't cut his hair since he'd landed on this miserably hit red rock, and that tended to hide the shape of his face rather well. There was nothing of Angerine in the boy’s face, really. He had the same little ticks, though; the way she pursed her lips just before she started hitting something with absolutely no intention of stopping, the way one eyebrow quirked up when she was being sarcastic. That seemed to be genetic, more than anything else. Trunks had been raised to be well-mannered and polite to people he wasn’t trying to kill; his father dealt only in respect, and weather or not a person had earned it. The youngest, though, gave his respect cautiously, was polite out of caution, and was bitingly sarcastic no matter what he thought of you. Definitely his mother. Trunks rested his hand on the glass of the tank, and wondered what he’d done in his previous life to deserve watching his son be pummeled by the idiot he wanted to kill the most. Bardock would have been in Nappa’s place, if he’d not gone back to Earth, his sons, and his grandsons. Trunks half envied the man. Half wished Angerine loved him back. Wondered if she were grateful to still be alive.
Stupid thought; how she felt or what she thought no longer mattered. Not even if he loved her.
His father shook him awake near midnight, slumped in a chair he’d dragged close to the tank.
“We wont be sparring today. Freeza will be here soon.” They stared at the tank, and its floating occupant, for a long moment. “He’ll want the kid, but he’ll ask for my son. If he asks for my heir, I’ll have to send both of you. How quickly do you think you can kill him?”
“I’ll have to wait for him to set foot on a planet. Fighting that kind of power on a space ship is somewhere between pure idiocy and suicide. Unless you can figure out where he’s planning to land next, I cant give you an accurate time frame.” Trunks turned his gaze from his son to his father, and looked up at the King of all Sayajin as the older man considered carefully.
“She had a gift for machines.” They both knew who ‘she’ was, what that comment implied, and what was coming next. “Freeza will break the boy, completely, within a matter of months. There cant be another like me on the throne. Do something, anything, to force him to land. Kill him, destroy whatever fleet he’s got with him. Depending on how politics have changed, you should be up against Dordia, Zarbon, and the Ginyu Force. Freeza keeps files on his soldiers, no matter how lowly; you should be able to get a good idea of what you’re up against fairly quickly.”
“You’ll have to send both of us anyway. There’s no way Freeza will leave this planet without the kid. If we make our stand here, we’ll probably end up destroying the planet.” Trunks focused back on the tank, and felt the bile rise at the thought of that little fragile body in reptilian hands.
“Take Nappa with you. He’ll keep the kid safe while you're busy, come hell or high water. Kill him last, and split for Earth. Lay low there for a few years. Bardock knows how to contact me. When Kooler and King Kold come calling, I’ll need all of you.” Vegeta reached out, and for the second time in Trunks’s life, felt his fathers’ hand on his shoulder. “He’ll be here in a few hours. Get ready.” And Vegeta left, not looking back.
The blue-eyed Vegeta floated in his tank, asleep and maybe dreaming. Trunks stared for a long time, wondering where six years had gone. He’d be twenty-five in a few months. Ten years old when the Sayajin had left Earth, sixteen when he’d come to Vegetasie, and twenty-five when he took his six year old son home. He’d missed Gohan and Racine, Yaumcha and Krillin, Tien and Piccolo, even the sometimes-warrior Yajarobe. He’d even missed Bardock.
Angerine would be there.
Trunks sighed, and leaned back to wait. It was all there was to do, before the lizard came, and then he wouldn’t have time to breathe until he was locked in a pod, son curled on his lap, and on his way home.
Finally going home.
He wasnt sure if it was a blessing or a curse.
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