Sole Survivors

By QueenSaiyajin

 

 

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z or its characters, and am merely borrowing them for this Alternate Universe story which begins during episode 71, “The End of Vegeta”. This is a Bulma/Vegeta story. The rating is NC-17 for some nice, romantic love-making. There are also, however, some references to torture and abuse in Vegeta’s childhood, but they are extremely vague.   If you are under 17 or would prefer not to read anything with sexual situations, please do not go any further. Please send comments/criticisms to [email protected]. I love feedback of any kind! And please visit the home of my other B/V fiction, www.geocities.com/queensaiyajin2003

 

 

 

Chapter Eight: The Future that Never Should Have Been

 

 

 

 

Vegeta was stunned as he eyed the strange young man before him. His blue eyes and lavender hair were hauntingly familiar, and yet—Impossible!

 

He looked back at the child fussing in Bulma’s arms. No, this was his son, his Trunks. This imposter could have learned the baby’s name from any of the Saiyans who had been there with his father...

 

“I am your son,” the boy was reiterating, sensing his doubts.

 

“That’s ridiculous!” Vegeta retorted. “Do you expect us to believe that you traveled through time?”

 

“I know it’s a little hard to believe—but that’s exactly what I did,” he replied, the look on his face all too sincere. “From twenty years in your future.”

 

“Vegeta, look at him—“ Bulma said, laying a hand on his arm. “How do you know he’s not telling the truth?”

 

The young man smiled at her warmly, with a fondness that made Vegeta’s stomach clench. “I knew you would believe me, Mom. After all, you’re the one who sent me here.”

 

“The time capsule…” she murmured in wonder. “The one Poppa and I were talking about…using the Lorentz transformations to pinpoint another moment in time—“

 

“—and a tachyon drive to go faster than light,” he finished for her knowingly, as if they had had this conversation before.

 

The pure shock on her face told Vegeta that she was convinced beyond a doubt. “Oh my goodness, Trunks! I can’t believe this! Look at you, how big and handsome you’ve become!” She reached out to touch his hair, but Vegeta yanked her back, not yet persuaded.

 

“Don’t believe him, Bulma!” he warned her. “How do we know that he wasn’t sent by my father?!”

 

“Because no one besides your son could do this.” With a powerful surge of energy that Vegeta could feel before it even began to glow about the young man’s body, this Future Trunks transformed with ease into something Vegeta had sought all his life and only under great duress finally attained…

 

He was a Super Saiyan. No, more. His lavender hair had turned a brilliant gold, the straight strands flowing in the wind of his ki, revealing the widow’s peak that was a trademark of the royal family. The blue eyes like Bulma’s were the same shimmering teal as Vegeta’s, and the Saiyan Prince’s natural instinct to power up to match this possible threat was quashed in the astonishment  of his dawning realization.

 

“Bardock told you I’d ascend when I was seven,” the young Saiyan told him, “but I was actually five.” He powered down, confident he’d gotten his point across.

 

“If you…are my son,” Vegeta said slowly, cautiously, “then tell me something my father would not know. What techniques did I teach you? What is my finishing move?” The boy seemed to hesitate, and with a mixture of satisfaction and disappointment Vegeta said, “Surely I would have trained you myself.”

 

The young man’s face darkened, as if Vegeta had evoked some painful memory. “No, Father. I’m sorry to say that you didn’t. You—”

 

He hesitated, but Bulma prodded him gently. “What, Trunks? What happened to your father?” It was amazing how her voice did not betray the sudden anxiety Vegeta felt from her.

 

The pain in his eyes was undeniable as he said, “You…died, Father. When I was a baby. I never…knew you.”

 

Bulma uttered a little cry as she gasped. But Vegeta remained emotionless as he asked quietly, “How? When?”

 

Trunks breathed deeply, as if trying to compose himself in front of the father he must have been taught would have little tolerance for weakness. “Three months from now. You’ll be killed by King Cold.”

 

“Never,” Vegeta snapped defiantly.

 

“I’m sorry,” his son replied uncomfortably. “Mother said you were taken off guard—“

 

“Then your mother lives,” Vegeta broke in, relieved for the answer to the question he had been afraid to ask.  

 

But as Trunks shook his head sadly, Vegeta felt his heart move up into his throat. “Not…anymore. She died…about two months ago. Right after she finished the ship. It was as if…she knew I wouldn’t leave her alone to come here.”

 

“Oh, Trunks,” Bulma said, taking his hand and squeezing it.  “I’m so sorry!”

 

“It’s okay, Mom,” he said, giving her a wistful smile. “You told me you were happy…because you would finally be with my father again.”

 

“What happened to her?” Vegeta nearly whispered, some masochistic tendency within him needing to know.

 

Trunks’ face hardened into an angry mask. “It was Cold. He spent twenty years…hurting her,” he choked out bitterly. “This last time was bad…she didn’t even go into the regen tank…I think she wanted to die.”

 

Bulma’s face had turned white with fear and Vegeta silently cursed himself for asking, and the stupid boy for answering. “Enough!” he said with a barely contained rage. “And why did no one stop this?! Where were Kakarot and Bardock?!”

 

“Dead,” Trunks replied grimly. “Vegeta-sei and Earth were both destroyed. There’s no one left except me.”

 

Vegeta stared at him stupefied. “Cold destroyed—?”

 

“Everyone’s gone?!” Bulma cried in a hushed whisper.

 

Trunks nodded. “I was the last…of both races. The sole survivor.”

 

“Then everything we did to bring them back…the dragon balls…” Bulma’s voice trailed off, choked by the emotions welling within her. He wanted nothing more than to reach out to her with his thoughts, comfort her in some way…but his own despair and anger were overwhelming.

 

“How?” he demanded, struggling to retain the façade of strength for her sake.

 

“He made a deal with your father, King Vegeta,” Trunks explained. “Cold would have destroyed Vegeta-sei—he was too strong for Goku. So your father surrendered to him, offering him as hostage an infant Saiyan Prince to train as his own personal killing machine.”

 

Vegeta’s stomach churned violently as the words sank in. “You?” he murmured, almost too sick to speak. He glanced at the baby that Bulma was clutching tightly in her arms.  “He turned you over…” He couldn’t even finish, as a barrage of sickening memories of a childhood in utter terror assaulted him. No! Not my son!

 

“He thought it was a way to get me and Mom out of the way,” Trunks continued. “But it backfired on him. Instead of just taking us, King Cold killed you, and then there was no one left to defend Vegeta-sei. He wiped out all of the Saiyans, then destroyed Earth. He’s ruled the entire galaxy ever since then. No one can stop him.” Trunks’ emotion had been rising as he’d recounted the torrid tale, and as he looked at his father with haunted eyes, a spark of hope seemed to glimmer. “That’s why Mom sent me here, Father. She thought that if I could warn you…and fight by your side…we could defeat King Cold together. I’m strong, Father! And if you could train me in the next three months, I could be even stronger! I can help you!”

 

“I don’t need anyone’s help to defeat Cold!” Vegeta replied with more arrogance than he’d intended, still grappling with his own emotions. “You will take your mother and the baby back to Earth—“

 

“No!” Bulma and Trunks both cried at the same time.

 

“I will remain here to deal with Cold when he arrives—“ he went on.

 

“I’m not leaving you!” Bulma told him defiantly.

 

“You can’t do that, Father! That’s exactly what you did the last time—sent us off to keep us safe from Cold. And in the end he destroyed this planet with you on it, then just apprehended our ship and took us captive!”

 

Vegeta considered his words a moment, then said, “If you leave now, you’ll be far from here long before he arrives—“

“No! You need my help! You can’t fight him alone!” The boy’s insistence was almost frightening. It was more than stubbornness. His eyes were half-crazed with the ghosts of his own tortured past.

 

“You’re forgetting something, Vegeta,” Bulma broke in just then. “The dragon. I can’t leave this planet until the dragon returns, or—“

 

“Or what?” he asked, turning to her. “Earth and Vegeta-sei will be destroyed? According to Trunks, Cold will destroy them anyway!”

 

“What about Melza, and the other people that were brought back? We owe it to them to—“

 

“I owe it to you and that child to protect you!” he said sharply, convinced at that moment that everyone else could go to hell. He was rapidly losing the battle with his rage and despair, as his mind frantically raced through their dwindling options...

 

“You owe it to my mother to do as she asks,” Trunks said suddenly, his voice calm but forceful.  Vegeta turned to the boy, ashamed to look into his eyes, where all the pain that he and his mother had suffered dwelt. Of course I owe it to her! I couldn’t protect her! I couldn’t protect you!

 

Could his son feel the guilt consuming him? Did he blame him, hate him even, for letting this happen? Trunks’ face was unreadable as he took a small device from his pocket, holding it out to Vegeta. “She made this message for you. A holographic image.” He paused awkwardly. “I’m not really sure what’s on it. She recorded it privately, and insisted that you watch it alone.”

 

Gingerly he accepted the tiny holo-recorder, trying not to shake as he closed his hand around this precious piece of her, all he would ever possess, all he would ever know. Bulma was looking at him expectantly, and he knew what she wanted, even before she silently said, I want to see it too. I’m the one who made it, damn it!

 

He looked into her eyes. “I’ll watch it alone first,” he said, his voice trembling. “Why don’t you get…Trunks…settled in.”

 

He left before he could fall apart in their presence.

 

 

 

Bulma watched him leave, wanting to be with him but knowing that this was something he had to do alone. She would have to trust in her own judgment, or rather, that of her future self. She didn’t want to even think about what life had been like for those twenty years after Vegeta’s…death. No! It wouldn’t happen! She clutched tightly at the baby sleeping in her arms, then looked up at the sad young man who was her son. What must it be like for him to see her standing there before him, a relative stranger, yet with the face, the voice, of the mother he had loved and watched suffer and die? “Trunks…” she said softly, at an uncharacteristic loss for words. But as the maternal instincts within her took over, she shifted Baby Trunks into one arm, reaching out with the other to her older son, pulling him into her embrace. To her relief, he responded gratefully, wrapping his arms around her and the baby and hugging her to him. Any awkwardness she had felt at the thought that this grown man, chronologically just a decade or so younger than herself, could be her son, was dissipated in the love that seemed to flow so naturally between them. This was her little boy. Her poor little boy who had suffered things she did not want to even imagine.

 

“I’ve missed you so much, Momma,” he said in a broken whisper.

 

“I’m here, baby,” she soothed him, holding him tightly. “I’m here.”

 

 

 

 

 

Vegeta’s heart was pounding with anticipation and dread as he studied the tiny device in his hand. He wanted, no, needed, to see her, to know what her last words to him had been. He owed her that much. No, more, more than he could ever repay. If his son’s story was any indication of what the last twenty years had been for her, then he wasn’t sure he could even bear the guilt of looking into the eyes of her image. Nor would he be able to face the young woman who was his wife, his mate, whom he had sworn to protect at all costs.

 

Apparently, he had failed. And she had been subjected to unimaginable hell.

 

Sitting on the edge of their bed, he braced himself as he turned on the mini-holoprojector…

 

…and gasped.

 

There she stood before him, not a tiny image as her old device had projected, but a life-sized likeness that he would have been hard-pressed to guess was anything but real had he not known better. Instinctively he reached out, his fingertips grasping at air. He could not touch her, or hold her. But he could see her, and hear her, as clearly as if she were there.

 

“Hi, Vegeta,” she said, smiling at him. Her blue eyes were filled with the warmth and love he knew, yet tinged with a sadness that seemed to reach into her soul. Her hair was much longer than he’d ever seen it, flowing nearly to her waist. With a pang of grief he recognized the simple white gown she wore, the standard garb of a Tsiru-jin slave woman. Her head tilted slightly and he caught a glimpse of a scar that ran down her face, to her neck. He didn’t want to think of how many hidden scars marred her body and spirit.

 

“Bulma…” he whispered inaudibly.

 

“It’s kind of strange talking to you like this,” she continued, almost shyly. “Although, I’ve got to admit, that since you’ve been gone a day hasn’t passed that I haven’t thought about you. I’ve even talked to you sometimes, imagining that wherever you are you can hear me…that you know what’s going on, and that you see me and Trunks and are watching over us. I believe that. I think believing that, believing that I will see you again in the other world, is the only thing that’s kept me from going insane.” She pushed her hair back self-consciously, then smirked at him. “I must look a lot different to you now. I’m not exactly the same young girl you met on Namek—but,  all things considered, I think I’ve aged pretty well.”

 

“You’re still beautiful,” he said softly, wishing wildly that she could hear him.

 

“By now, Trunks has told you everything—or as much as he can. There are things he will never be able to talk about—any more than you could. He’s a lot like you, you know. Proud, stubborn, and very protective. And he’s so strong, Vegeta. You’ll see. He was five when he went Super Saiyan for the first time. He saw that fucking lizard pushing me around, and just went crazy. It was a good thing that Cold found it so damn amusing, or he might have killed him.” She paused. “I’ve always told him that you would be proud of him. And for his whole life he’s trained just to be able to someday avenge you, and me… But wait. I’m getting ahead of myself.”

 

“The main reason I’m making this recording is because I need you to know exactly what went wrong. That’s the only way you’ll be able to prevent it from happening again. I know you always have your own way of handling things, but you’ve got to listen to me, and trust me. Your life, mine, and Trunks’ all depend on it. The survival of Earth and Vegeta-sei depend on it, on your changing this horrible future that never should have happened.

 

“Bardock’s premonition, and my dream, were both right on the mark. Your father wanted us out of the way, Vegeta. So much so that he made a deal with King Cold, handing over Trunks and me in exchange for sparing Vegeta-sei. He knew that if he killed me it would affect you, through our bond. But he thought that if he gave me over to Cold, that eventually you would forget about us and take a Saiyan mate.” She had been reporting it all so matter-of-factly, a calm that was an utter contrast to the growing horror within him.  But as she came to the events of that day, he could see the memories that still haunted her twenty years later.

 

“You sensed Cold coming that day. It was right after the dragon reappeared, and granted our last wish—to restore all the people who had been killed by Cooler’s men. The first thing you did was send me and Trunks off in a ship headed towards Earth. I didn’t want to go, but you insisted, saying that you didn’t want to take any chances with our lives, and that you would come for us after you had defeated him.” She paused, as tears began to well in her eyes. “It was…the last time we saw you. You…expected him to come looking for you. You had no idea we were the ones he was after. He intercepted our ship and took us captive, then went back to Korwal-sei and blasted it out of space. He didn’t even have the nerve to face you! He knew you would have killed him! He knew you would have defeated him eventually! So he just destroyed the planet with you on it. You never even got a fair chance to fight.”

 

The fact that he had been defeated in such a cowardly way was little comfort as he watched the tears begin to fall down his woman’s face. She was trying desperately, he knew, to hold herself together, but this final opportunity to purge herself of the pain she had suffered for two decades was wearing away at her control. His own sense of helplessness was maddening as he listened to her account unravel. He had let this happen to her! He had—

 

“I was, um, naïve, to say the least,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “I thought that your father must have told him of all the things I’d invented. That King Cold would want me to develop him some sort of weapons, or—“ She took a deep breath, looking down as if she were ashamed to look him in the eyes as she said bitterly, “He didn’t give a damn about any of that. I wish he had. All he wanted was to be able to say that he had taken a Saiyan Princess as his…personal whore.”

 

Hearing her say it was a million times worse than having known it all along. His entire body began to shake with a greater rage than he had ever known. As she looked up at him again, with tear-filled eyes, he could feel his own horror and despair threatening to burst forth.

 

“The first time…he…raped me…I almost died. I wanted to. But I could hear Trunks crying for me…and I knew I couldn’t leave him alone. They threw me into the regen tank, and the next time he came to me he told me that as long as I…did whatever he wanted…he would let my baby live…”

 

Vegeta felt the bile in his throat as her words evoked a memory that he’d kept locked away for more than half of his life.

 

Just do whatever I say, little Prince, and your father will be safe. So will your people. I promise…

 

“Bulma…” he whispered, the tears he refused to shed making his voice break.

 

“For a long time…it was the only thing that kept me going…knowing that Trunks was safe, and that he needed me. I thought that if someday he were strong enough, he could kill King Cold, and we would be free. No one else could help us. Cold had destroyed Earth and Vegeta-sei. My only satisfaction was imagining the look on your father’s face when he realized that Cold had double-crossed him.”

 

He deserved it, the fucking bastard, Vegeta thought bitterly. But you, Bulma…you did not deserve such a horrible fate. And it is all my fault…

 

“Then, when Trunks was nine years old…Cold called him to his quarters. I thought…he was going to …I don’t know, send him on a mission, or…” Vegeta braced himself for what he knew was coming. But it did not lessen the blow.

 

“He came back that night…his ribs were broken, and he was nearly dead…I got him to a regen tank, but even after he came out of it, he was still in shock…he wouldn’t tell me what happened—but I knew!” Anger flared in her blue eyes as she recounted the night she had realized the true extent of the Tsiru-jin king’s perversion and betrayal. “I went crazy! I tried killing Cold that night, but he only hurt me worse than ever…and I realized that he’d forced Trunks to submit to him only by threatening that if he didn’t, he would kill me! At that point, I began to think that maybe Trunks and I were both better off dead…I couldn’t stand seeing him hurt! But I couldn’t let your son die, Vegeta! And one day, when I was ready to just give up, he said to me, ‘It’s okay, Momma. I’m going to get stronger, and when I do I’ll make him pay for everything he’s done!’” She smiled lightly through her tears. “He said, ‘He’ll be sorry he messed with the Prince of all Saiyans. I’ll make my father proud!’”

 

He already has, Vegeta thought to himself, in wonder at the boy’s, and his woman’s, strength. He himself had already lost the battle to despair, and his face was wet with tears.

 

“That was when I started working on the time machine,” Bulma continued, composing herself. “I thought that if only I could warn you—and if Trunks were there to help you fight—then maybe I could stop this nightmare from happening. It won’t change what’s happened to me, or to him. My theories on time presuppose the existence of many alternate futures. Our time line will remain the same. But in yours, you can live, and you and I can be together, and our son will never have to go through the hell that he’s been through.” The hope in her eyes for him broke his heart, for he knew now it would change nothing that had happened to her or to their son.  “It’s okay, though,” she assured him, as if reading his thoughts. “Just knowing Trunks is safe, and away from here…and that he can get back some part of the life that was taken from him…that’s all I need to die in peace.”

 

Hearing her speak of her own death tore at his heart, even though Trunks had already told him that she was gone. Why hadn’t she come with the boy? Why hadn’t she found some way to save herself?!?

 

“The ship is built, now, Vegeta. I’m entrusting Trunks to you, now. I know it’s strange to see a grown man, and believe that he’s that same little baby that you took care of when I was in a coma. But he is. And he needs you. He’s always needed you. And he needs me. Your Bulma, the younger version of me that never had to go through this—she’s got enough love for him too. It can’t erase the psychological pain of all he’s been through, but he can heal in time. You did. And just like you needed to kill Frieza, he has to help you kill King Cold. I know you could do it yourself—if you’d ever had the chance to face him in battle, you would have.  But he needs to help you if he’s ever going to be free. I know you understand that.”

 

More than you can imagine, woman.  He was openly sobbing now, and he didn’t care.

 

“There’s just one more thing I want to tell you, Vegeta.” She smiled. “Yeah, I know, you’re probably thinking, doesn’t that woman ever shut up, even after she’s dead?” She was trying to make light of it all, but it just made him more miserable. “I don’t want you to blame yourself for what happened to me and to Trunks. It’s not your fault.”

 

Yes it is! his soul cried out across time. I failed you! I failed our son!

 

“It’s not your fault,” she said again, her blue eyes boring into his. “I love you! And I don’t regret for a moment my decision to be with you!” Her eyes filled with tears again, but this time he sensed they were tears of relief. “And I’ll be with you again! You and your Bulma will live on, and be happy. And my Vegeta…he’s waiting for me. I’ve seen him in my dreams. And I know. And once we’re together again, no one will ever be able to pull us apart!”

 

Could it possibly be? Would he, in death, get a second chance to cherish this precious woman who had suffered so much for the simple crime of having loved him? Or had two decades of torture and grief simply driven her totally mad? He wanted desperately to believe that it was the former. That she would find the peace and love that had been taken from her in life.

 

“Good bye, Vegeta, my love,” she whispered, with more tenderness than he felt he deserved. “For now.”

 

The image faded into nothingness. She was gone. And the anguish that had ripped his heart into shreds threatened to consume him in the burning ferocity of his ki. Rage for his family, for the only beings he had ever truly loved, for the suffering and torture they had endured, for his inability to protect them, blazed into mindless fury. His low moan of grief grew into a roar of impassioned wrath that he would set loose on anyone who dared repeat this atrocity, this senseless evil. The house itself shook with the surge of his energy as the raw pain that had gnawed at him as he’d watched Bulma’s image and heard her tale seemed to erupt from him with greater force than he had ever known. He was transforming, beyond Super Saiyan, beyond the boundaries of all he’d ever thought possible, to something more, something that would serve the only purpose that mattered to him now—to protect his family…

 

 

 

Bulma felt his distress, heard his cry, even before the capsule house had begun to tremble with the intensity of his ki.   In the room she’d set up for Trunks, she turned to her older son and thrust the baby into his arms. “He needs me,” she said simply, and she rushed to the source of the mournful howl that threatened to shake the house apart. “Vegeta!” she cried, bursting into the room.

 

The sight that greeted her froze her in her tracks. The bedroom was a shambles, torn apart in the burst of energy that miraculously had not destroyed the house itself. There, in the center of brilliant golden ki, he stood motionless, his face twisted in anguish, the last rasp of his enraged cry still on his lips. He was different, so different, beautiful and frightening at once, his perfectly fit body enhanced with bulkier muscles than he’d had moments ago, the golden hair of his Super Saiyan form flowing past his waist like the mane of a mighty lion. Even his features seemed to have changed, his brow more prominent as his eyebrows seemed to have faded to nothing. The aura of his power was so awesome that even she could feel it. It occurred to her that he seemed almost like an angel—but one that had come to avenge some terrible wrong that had ripped his soul in two.

 

Suddenly, he saw her, and his face flushed with relief, and something more…was it…shame? The effort that this transformation had taken seemed to take its toll on him as he fell to his knees. She ran to him, falling down with him, reaching out to touch his face. “Vegeta!” she cried, her eyes filling with tears for the infinite pain she could sense in him.

 

“Bulma…” he whispered hoarsely, taking her into his arms, holding her—no—clutching at her for dear life, as if he would never let go. “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…” he wept, burying his face in her hair. “I’m so sorry…”

 

What had done this to him? What had so terribly broken this man who had endured the worst conceivable pain without shedding a tear? And what had been the impetus for this transformation, to a stage beyond what he or Goku had ever hoped to attain? Beyond what any of them had ever imagined possible?

 

I failed you! I failed you, Bulma! And I failed our son! His thoughts gave voice to the things he hadn’t the strength to speak. Trunks had told her briefly what their life had been in that other time, yet what had her future self revealed to Vegeta that had so utterly filled him with grief?

 

“You don’t…want to know,” he whispered harshly in her ear, still refusing to loosen his hold on her.

 

“Yes I do…” she replied without hesitation. She had to. To know what had happened to her son, what wounds she would have to help him to heal. To know what lay in wait for all of them if they did not heed the warnings she herself had sent from the future.

 

He would not say it, not even think it to her, but he was afraid. Afraid to let her see for herself. Afraid…that she would not forgive him. She pulled away from him gently, and he looked into her eyes painfully. He knew she had read his fear, and he was mortified.

 

“It’s okay,” she said softly, her lips almost touching his, holding his face in her hands. “She never blamed you. Trunks told me that much. And I wouldn’t either…”

 

He looked as if he were struggling not to burst into tears, already embarrassed for having broken down thus far. She saved him the awkwardness of facing her in his emotional weakness, kissing his trembling lips and then falling into his arms. For a long moment he held her, and she was silent in voice and thought as she allowed him to regain his composure. When she felt him stir again she knew that he had taken control of himself, and she looked up to see his features returned to normal.

 

“Are you…sure…you want to see this?” he asked cautiously.

 

She nodded. “I need to.”

 

 

 

 

He sat on the bed, Bulma between his legs, her back to him as he turned on the holo-projector. It was better this way. He could wrap his arms around her without letting her see the tears that he knew he would shed once more as he watched her last message to him. Given a choice he would not have let her see this. For her sake as well as his own. He was determined that this future would never come to pass—why should she subject herself to this?

 

Why let her see how utterly he had failed in his vows to protect her and their son?

 

He wasn’t sure if he could face her once she had seen it through. He wasn’t certain he could face her at all given the fact that he had so completely lost control of his emotions in front of her. Yet…he had to, he knew. He owed it to her. Just as he owed it to her to watch again this tape she had made for him, no matter how much it hurt to do so. No matter how much it tore at the very core of his being…

 

She is so strong… he thought to himself as the tears rolled down his face. Both the woman who had endured these twenty years of torture, and the woman who sat quietly in his embrace now, watching, holding back the horror that he could feel welling within her. She gasped as Future Bulma spoke of Trunks, and what Cold had done to him. It was then that she finally lost her battle of control, and began to sob openly for her son. Vegeta just tightened his arms around her, kissing her lightly on the hair from behind to remind her that he was still there. That he had every intention of being there for her indefinitely.

 

When it was over, she turned in his arms, crying into his chest. “Poor Trunks,” she wept, clinging to him. “My poor baby…”

 

“It won’t happen again, Bulma. I promise you,” he swore, holding her tightly. “I won’t let it. I won’t—“

 

His stopped mid-sentence as his words broke with his emotion. It was then that she looked up at him, her eyes filled with the same love and tenderness as her future self, absolving him of guilt, or trying to, as she said, “Vegeta, she didn’t blame you. And neither would I. You’re torturing yourself because you think you could have prevented this—“

 

“I can!” he hissed. “And I will!”

 

“Yes, you will. This time. I believe you!” she said passionately. “But what happened in Trunks’ time wasn’t your fault! And you can’t change it. Not for them. But we can both help Trunks to get over this. To heal—“

 

“How can I even look him in the eyes knowing what he suffered because I could not protect him?!” he countered desperately.  “I can barely face you now, knowing—”

 

“Vegeta, how many times do I have to tell you that it wasn’t your fault?”

 

“You could tell me every day for the rest of our lives, and it wouldn’t ease my guilt over what happened to my family because of my own inability to protect them,” he said grimly.

 

“Your father and King Cold prevented you from being there when they needed you. They’re to blame,” she said with real hatred for them in her eyes. “But Trunks is here now. He’s ours. And he needs you desperately. He needs us both. You can’t change the past, but you can be his father now. That’s what he needs from you right now. Not guilt for what you couldn’t do when he was a child.”

 

Vegeta sighed deeply, nodding. He knew she was right. “But what do I say to him?” he asked helplessly. Verbally expressing his feelings was not his forte, and she knew it. How could he bridge the years and suffering that had separated him and his son?

 

She smiled lightly. She was proud of him. But why? He wished he knew.

 

“Ask him to train with you,” she suggested, surprising him yet again with her Saiyan way of thinking. Or did she just know him too well? “I think he would be thrilled with that. He’s really in awe of you.”

 

He smirked. “I hope you did not fill him with an idealized view of his father. He is bound to be disappointed.”

 

She smiled, seeing through his bad attempt to obscure his insecurity with humility. “He won’t be,” she said softly, and kissed him tenderly, reminding him once more that the true source of his strength was not in his ki, but in his woman.

 

 

 

 

Bulma had composed herself sufficiently, spent a few more selfish moments in Vegeta’s arms, then pulled herself away to attend to her son—no, sons. Baby Trunks had fallen asleep on Trunks’ bed, and the older boy looked up at her anxiously as she came into the room. Bulma fought to conceal the anguish as she looked into his eyes, knowing now all that he had suffered. She needed to be strong for him. But he apparently knew his mother too well, and could read the distress on her face as he said quietly, “You watched it too, didn’t you? And she told you—everything.”

 

She simply nodded, resisting the urge to cry as she sat on the bed next to him.

 

Her son looked down, his face filled with shame. “I didn’t want you…to know all that. It was hard enough on Mom—on you—the first time around.”

 

“It’s you I’m worried about,” she said honestly, putting her hand over his.

 

“I know,” he admitted, reminding her again that this son of hers had known her all his life. He sighed deeply. “My father…must think I’m so weak,” he said suddenly, the true reason for his discomfiture with his mother’s revelations revealed.

 

“Oh, no, Trunks,” she assured him quickly. “You should never think that. Your father has a difficult time expressing his feelings. But I know that he thinks you are very strong, and he is proud of you. If anything, he feels guilty for not being able to prevent you and…me…from having to live through those horrible things.”

 

Trunks looked up at her in shock. “It’s not his fault! King Cold didn’t even give him the chance to fight! If he had—“

 

“I know that,” she told him. “But he still blames himself. The last thing in this Universe he wanted was for you to have to go through what he did as a boy. Frieza terrorized him just as his father did to you, and he was lucky to come away with his sanity. It’s killing him to know that he couldn’t spare you from that. But he won’t speak of it. He can’t. It hurts him too deeply.”

 

“I…understand,” Trunks said. “Mom told me about Frieza…how he took Dad away from his father. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for him. At least, I had Mom—you. But he had no one. I was lucky.”

 

“No, Trunks,” she said, her heart breaking for him. “I’m the one who was lucky.”

 

He smiled at her wistfully. “You always used to say that to me. Ever since I was a little boy.”

 

She smiled back. “Then it must be true. Mother’s always right.”

 

He smirked, so much like Vegeta, she thought, as he replied, “You always used to say that too.”

 

She laughed, reaching up to caress the lavender hair that was falling in his eyes. “Well, Mother says you need a hair cut, young man. I’ll take care of that tomorrow. Right now, you need to take a nice warm shower and get a good night’s sleep.” She rose from the bed, reaching first to take her sleeping baby son into her arms. Gods, it was hard to believe that these two were one and the same. She looked up at Trunks. “Are you hungry? Or thirsty? Is there anything else I can get you?”

 

“No, Mom, I’m fine. Don’t fret. Take care of Chibi,” he said, motioning to his younger self. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

Satisfied that he would be all right, and leaving him towels and a change of clothes, Bulma bid him good night, wondering just how a mother was supposed to treat a twenty year old man, especially one who’d gone to hell and back. And as Baby Trunks stirred in her arms, she shuddered at the remote possibility that history might repeat itself.

 

No. She would not even consider it. For if she did she would fall apart with fear. She had to be strong. For both her sons. And for Vegeta, who would torture himself with guilt and horror until he struck down King Cold for what he had done, and what he could still do.

 

“He is…all right?” Vegeta asked quietly as she set the baby into his crib. She started, having thought him asleep.

 

“He fell asleep—“ she began, only then realizing that he’d meant their older son. She looked at him as she lay down to face him. “I think Trunks will be okay too. He realizes that his mother—I—“ she corrected herself, “told us everything that happened to him. He’s ashamed. And he thought you would…”

 

“What?” he pressed when she hesitated.

 

“He’s afraid you would think he was weak.”

 

Vegeta’s face paled, and she knew that he was likening his son’s experience to his own, remembering his own shame and helplessness, and fear that he had not been strong enough…

“I do not…think that,” he said finally, the words filled with the emotion he would not express.

 

Bulma caressed his cheek. “I told him that,” she said, looking him in the eyes. He seemed relieved. “I told him to get a good night’s sleep. I think you should too.”

 

How can I rest, knowing…

 

Nothing will happen tonight. Or tomorrow, she told him with her thoughts. She kissed him on the lips, and he responded with the great need he felt to be close to her. When sleep finally did overtake him, he was holding her tightly against him, as if in his arms she would be safe from the coming storm. She would be, she knew. If only she could convince him of that.

 

 

 

The Tsiru-jin’s red eyes bore into his with an evil smile of satisfaction, as he felt the air to his lungs cut off by the pressure of the reptilian tail braced immovably around his chest. Broken ribs dug into his flesh, as if tearing him apart from within. But the physical anguish was miniscule compared to the agony of hearing Bulma’s screams, of knowing what would happen to her, to their son, once King Cold had finished him off...

 

“They’re mine now, Saiyan Prince,” the unctuous creature lisped as blackness fell upon him…

 

He awoke with a start, realizing that his own muffled cry had brought him from his nightmare. He reached for Bulma, his heart pounding madly as he found her gone. But as the smell of cooking meat wafted upwards from the kitchen, he closed his eyes in relief, willing himself to snap out of the cowardly fear that a mere dream had inspired.

 

But it wasn’t just a dream, was it? A premonition? Or his worst fears realized? The memory of his woman, twenty years from now, recounting the unthinkable torture that had been her life, had shaken him to the bone. Just as the thought of Trunks, his now-grown son, at the hands of that slime, made him shudder with horror. He couldn’t let it happen! Not to them! Not…again!

 

He rose to see that his infant son was still asleep in his crib. Vegeta looked down at the innocent boy whose future was in his hands, and had to fight back the emotion that welled within him. It will not happen to you, little one! I promise you that!

 

With one last glance at the baby to satisfy himself that he was sleeping soundly, Vegeta headed towards the shower, knowing that if he was going to keep that promise, he would have to start the most vigorous training of his life. And he would have to do it now.

 

 

 

He was nearly dressed when he heard the baby cry, and though he knew it was nothing more than a call for a diaper change and his morning meal, the sound still made his heart pound. How would he ever be able to concentrate on his training if he was gripped with fear every time they were out of his sight? Blast these emotions that his woman had brought out in him! Life had been a lot easier when he hadn’t given a damn about anyone.

 

But it hadn’t meant as much to me, either, he admitted to himself as he reached his son. Trunks was standing in his crib, an incredible development for a baby his age, Bulma had told him. As usual he had sensed his father’s ki before Vegeta had even come into his sight, and was reaching out as if he wanted to be picked up. His first reaction was to call for Bulma, but the paternal instincts that were raging, in light of all he now knew, directed him otherwise. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance your diaper is dry,” Vegeta mumbled to the baby as he lifted him up. The added weight of the diaper was his answer. The acidic odor was torture to Vegeta’s heightened olfactory sense, and he made a face of disgust as he ripped off the leaking diaper and threw it in the trash. He’d asked Bulma how long this ritual would go on, and had nearly fainted when she’d told him a good two years. “You’re of royal blood, brat, I’ll expect you to learn how to relieve yourself in a toilet by the time you’re one.” The child could read the veiled affection in his stern comment as well as his mother, and seemed to laugh in response. Vegeta smirked as he foresaw the coming attack and quickly shielded himself  with a clean diaper as Bulma had shown him to. His blocking technique was successful, and the diaper took the damage of the stream that Baby Trunks had intended for his father. “First lesson of battle,” he instructed his son, as he reached for yet another dry diaper. “Foresee your opponent’s attack, and block.”

 

The sudden presence of another strong ki drew him from his play, and he looked up to see his older son standing awkwardly in the doorway. Vegeta’s face grew crimson as he realized that the boy had seen his little game with the baby, though ironically the elder Trunks seemed even more embarrassed.

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt—Mom asked me to come get Chibi while she finished making your breakfast—”

 

“It’s all right,” Vegeta told him, looking back down at the baby as he finished the change. Funny how it was so much easier to show his emotion to the  infant than to the grown young man who was in essence the same boy that he held in his arms. Perhaps because I have not failed you, as I failed him… he thought dismally as he wondered wildly how he would ever tell the elder Trunks all that he wished to. He looked back to the boy from the future, seeing so much of himself in him that it was frightening. He was at a loss for words, but thankfully Trunks spoke first.

 

“Mom always told me how I had a habit of peeing on you when you changed me,” he mused, then flushed as he realized that maybe that had been a foolish thing to say.

 

Vegeta sensed his discomfort and smirked, glad for the ice-breaker.  “I’ve always thought to ask you about that,” he replied.

 

Trunks’ face grew serious as he said, “I really…don’t remember. I was so little when—” His voice broke off, as his words brought them involuntarily back to the real issue between them. This time, Vegeta knew that he would have to break the awkward silence.

 

“Trunks,” he said, his voice betraying his real regret. “I’m sorry—so sorry—that I couldn’t stop Cold from—” He could not go on. To do so would be to voice a nightmare that his son could not speak of any more than Vegeta could speak of his own.

 

“It’s not your fault, Father,” Trunks told him, sincerity in the blue eyes that were Bulma’s. “I know that if you had had a chance to fight him, you would have destroyed him.”

 

His son’s confidence in him both touched him and filled him with dread that he might not be able to live up to the legends his mother had fed him. “From what your mother says…and from what I have seen…you have grown up to be a strong warrior,” he told him, the closest he could bring himself to express his pride in the boy. Trunks’ face seemed to light up at his words, and remembering Bulma’s suggestion, he finished, “I would be honored if you would train with me.”

 

“Thank you, Father,” Trunks said, smiling with a happiness that reassured Vegeta that he had handled this right.

 

“We’ll defeat Cold together,” Vegeta promised him. And somehow, he found comfort and hope in that thought too.

 

 

 

{Coming soon in Chapter Nine: Can the Saiyan Prince and his son save them all from this future that never should have been?}