Uncharted Waters
folder
Dragon Ball Z › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
19
Views:
5,004
Reviews:
57
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Dragon Ball Z › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
19
Views:
5,004
Reviews:
57
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own DragonballZ, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
2
Chapter II:
“I know you’re upset, Trunks, but how do you prepare for something like this?”
Bulma Briefs rested a hand on her son’s broad shoulder giving it an affectionate squeeze. She sat across from him at the small card table in one of the many living spaces at Capsule Corp. While tucking a loose section of hair behind her ear, she noticed a few graying strands. A small frown creased her face; she’d have to call the salon later. For now, though, she focused her eyes on her only child. His hair had deepened with age and now was draped in front of his eyes. Bulma wished he would get it cut, but he insisted he was trying to grow it out. Why, she hadn’t a clue; he was always brushing it out of his face.
She noted with a mother’s wistfulness that he had filled out to be a handsome young man. At seventeen, he had many of his father’s sharp features but her coloring aeigheight. And luckily, he hadn’t either of their personalities. They were both baffled to this day how that had turned out. Trunks was laidback, slow to anger, and extremely patient, a miracle with two uptight and often raving parents. Currently he slouched in his chair and studied his fingernails.
“I know, Mom, but I don’t know what to do,” he said finally.
“Hun, you’re just going to have to give Goten some time. He lost his mother without any sort of warning. He’sll ill in shock.”
ChiChi, wife of Son Goku and mother of Gohan and Goten, had died in a freak accident. By the time her family got to her, it was too late, and ChiChi made it well known that if she died, she did not want to be revived by the Dragonballs. She had a naturalist philosophy and was a fatalist to boot; as such she could never tolerate the idea of personally cheating death, especially since it had been done too often before. Her family respected her wishes, but it was apparent on their drawn faces that her presence was sorely missed.
Trunks sighed. “But he hardly talks. It’s been three weeks! Gohan is moving on—”
“Gohan has his own family to look after. Goten is doing the best he knows how. Just be there for him.”
“But how can I?” he blurted, his stellar patience finally wearing thin. “He won’t spar, he won’t go out to the city with us or the mountains. If it weren’t for school, he wouldn’t leave his house. It took Gohan and me an hour just to get him to go to the grocery store on the corner.”
“Then maybe you need to go to him. If all he does is sit there and mope, then sit by him and mope with him. As long as it takes.”
“Dad would love that.”
Bulma rolled her eyes. “Your father will get over it. If he has a problem, he can rant at me. Now you go on and take care of your friend.”
Trunks gave her a slight smile. “I suppose your right.”
“Of course I am. When aren’t I?” She gave him a playful grin and watched as her son made his way to the door. He was growing up fast, and she wasn’t sure if she approved. Before she could become maudlin, her thoughts were broken off when Yamcha entered the room.
“He still upset about Goten?”
“A bit, but I gave him some motherly advice.”
“Poor kid having to listen to that—Ouch!”
Yamcha rubbed his temple where his girlfriend—considering past misfortune, Bulma swore never to marry again, even though she had been with Yamcha exclusively for the better part of a decade—had beamed him over the head with a heavily packed cushion. Slow to learn from his mistakes, Yamcha always sported a bruise or two due to his tactless mouth. It was all in fun, of course, and those faint marks were like badges of a war well won. Not that he would ever tell Bulma that, or he’d be wearing a few more than necessary.
Their relationship was one of comfort, ease, and routine. Most people would find such a union dull, but both had been frayed by lives of uncertainty. Yamcha knew Bulma in a way most did not; underneath all that independent bravado, and there was a lot, she was in actuality an old-fashioned romantic. He could see past the tantrums she often threw and knew how best to deal with them. He didn’t ignore them or pretend to show an interest or complain that her objections were petty. He listened. He admitted it wasn’t always easy; Bulma was a difficult person, but well worth the effort. In return, he got not only a gorgeous girlfriend who happened to be a genius and thus rich, as Yamcha never liked the work force all that much, he also got someone who understood him in turn. He loved her, always had, and would continue to love her when those looks faded and her senses dulled.
Bulma had another projectile in hand ready to launch when she noticed the way Yamcha was looking at her. A flirtatious grin spread across her reddened lips; she knew he was thinking of her. The scarred warrior was always easy to read. She once told herself that she liked a challenge; at work, this was true. In love, however, she found that she liked her men hen-pecked. The genius had given up control once and was unlikely to repeat the same mistake. She had learned many things in the past eight years. She had learned who she really was as a person and to accept the fact that there was no such thing as ‘perfect’ or ‘fairytale’ endings. She had made mistakes and had paid dearly for them, but she came out in tact. She was happy, even when her boyfriend was being an obnoxious dork. With a surprising accuracy, she nailed Yamcha square in the head with another cushion and headed for the stairs before he could recover and give chase. It would prove to be a fun-filled night, the first in many weeks.
“I know you’re upset, Trunks, but how do you prepare for something like this?”
Bulma Briefs rested a hand on her son’s broad shoulder giving it an affectionate squeeze. She sat across from him at the small card table in one of the many living spaces at Capsule Corp. While tucking a loose section of hair behind her ear, she noticed a few graying strands. A small frown creased her face; she’d have to call the salon later. For now, though, she focused her eyes on her only child. His hair had deepened with age and now was draped in front of his eyes. Bulma wished he would get it cut, but he insisted he was trying to grow it out. Why, she hadn’t a clue; he was always brushing it out of his face.
She noted with a mother’s wistfulness that he had filled out to be a handsome young man. At seventeen, he had many of his father’s sharp features but her coloring aeigheight. And luckily, he hadn’t either of their personalities. They were both baffled to this day how that had turned out. Trunks was laidback, slow to anger, and extremely patient, a miracle with two uptight and often raving parents. Currently he slouched in his chair and studied his fingernails.
“I know, Mom, but I don’t know what to do,” he said finally.
“Hun, you’re just going to have to give Goten some time. He lost his mother without any sort of warning. He’sll ill in shock.”
ChiChi, wife of Son Goku and mother of Gohan and Goten, had died in a freak accident. By the time her family got to her, it was too late, and ChiChi made it well known that if she died, she did not want to be revived by the Dragonballs. She had a naturalist philosophy and was a fatalist to boot; as such she could never tolerate the idea of personally cheating death, especially since it had been done too often before. Her family respected her wishes, but it was apparent on their drawn faces that her presence was sorely missed.
Trunks sighed. “But he hardly talks. It’s been three weeks! Gohan is moving on—”
“Gohan has his own family to look after. Goten is doing the best he knows how. Just be there for him.”
“But how can I?” he blurted, his stellar patience finally wearing thin. “He won’t spar, he won’t go out to the city with us or the mountains. If it weren’t for school, he wouldn’t leave his house. It took Gohan and me an hour just to get him to go to the grocery store on the corner.”
“Then maybe you need to go to him. If all he does is sit there and mope, then sit by him and mope with him. As long as it takes.”
“Dad would love that.”
Bulma rolled her eyes. “Your father will get over it. If he has a problem, he can rant at me. Now you go on and take care of your friend.”
Trunks gave her a slight smile. “I suppose your right.”
“Of course I am. When aren’t I?” She gave him a playful grin and watched as her son made his way to the door. He was growing up fast, and she wasn’t sure if she approved. Before she could become maudlin, her thoughts were broken off when Yamcha entered the room.
“He still upset about Goten?”
“A bit, but I gave him some motherly advice.”
“Poor kid having to listen to that—Ouch!”
Yamcha rubbed his temple where his girlfriend—considering past misfortune, Bulma swore never to marry again, even though she had been with Yamcha exclusively for the better part of a decade—had beamed him over the head with a heavily packed cushion. Slow to learn from his mistakes, Yamcha always sported a bruise or two due to his tactless mouth. It was all in fun, of course, and those faint marks were like badges of a war well won. Not that he would ever tell Bulma that, or he’d be wearing a few more than necessary.
Their relationship was one of comfort, ease, and routine. Most people would find such a union dull, but both had been frayed by lives of uncertainty. Yamcha knew Bulma in a way most did not; underneath all that independent bravado, and there was a lot, she was in actuality an old-fashioned romantic. He could see past the tantrums she often threw and knew how best to deal with them. He didn’t ignore them or pretend to show an interest or complain that her objections were petty. He listened. He admitted it wasn’t always easy; Bulma was a difficult person, but well worth the effort. In return, he got not only a gorgeous girlfriend who happened to be a genius and thus rich, as Yamcha never liked the work force all that much, he also got someone who understood him in turn. He loved her, always had, and would continue to love her when those looks faded and her senses dulled.
Bulma had another projectile in hand ready to launch when she noticed the way Yamcha was looking at her. A flirtatious grin spread across her reddened lips; she knew he was thinking of her. The scarred warrior was always easy to read. She once told herself that she liked a challenge; at work, this was true. In love, however, she found that she liked her men hen-pecked. The genius had given up control once and was unlikely to repeat the same mistake. She had learned many things in the past eight years. She had learned who she really was as a person and to accept the fact that there was no such thing as ‘perfect’ or ‘fairytale’ endings. She had made mistakes and had paid dearly for them, but she came out in tact. She was happy, even when her boyfriend was being an obnoxious dork. With a surprising accuracy, she nailed Yamcha square in the head with another cushion and headed for the stairs before he could recover and give chase. It would prove to be a fun-filled night, the first in many weeks.