The Broken Road

Daisy-- Ha, I'm glad you liked that last scene. It was a lot of fun to write :) I'm really happy you're enjoying what you described as my new spin on Trunks' character. I know what you mean about him possibly being stand-offish as a result of Vegeta's influence. But I can also see it going the other way and him being attention/affection-starved as a result of Vegeta's reserved nature. Obviously I have chosen to go with the latter theory :-P Anyway, I also was very much influenced by how lonely and attention-starved and persistent/annoying Trunks could be when I watched that movie Wrath of the Dragon or whatever it's called. You know, the one with Tapion. If I'm remembering it correctly, he obsessed over the guy and refused to leave him alone, even when Tapion made it clear that Trunks was annoying him, and then Bulma had to basically con Tapion into hanging out with Trunks by saying she'd help him only if he promised to spend time with Trunks, lol. I thought that was really funny. Hence his personality here. We will see some more of that "persistence" in this chapter.

Macha-- Glad you had fun reading the last chapter :) Yes, it was a light one. This one will be a little more serious.

Moon-- Thanks so much for your review, both on this story and on Training Gohan :) Your review on the other story was especially sweet and I wanted to thank you very much! Particularly for your compliments on characterization. I work hard on that so I really appreciate what you said. I have to warn you that, although I do plan to continue the other story, it is sort of on hold for the time being while I finish this one. I realized that I had taken on too many projects at once so I'll be coming back to it later. I hope you are a patient sort, hehe. Anyway, I thought it was funny what you said about some authors needing to get over themselves. You crack me up. I like you! To answer your question, I have not written for any other fandoms. This is my fanfic debut. I'm starting out a bit late, but I suppose that could be a good thing, as you noted, maturity-wise. Thanks for reading and for letting me know what you think. It means a lot!

Authors Notes: For this chapter, it's important to remember my previous A/N regarding Pan. She was never born. I guess you could imagine that they divorced before she would have been conceived. Although, as Gohan's 28 in this story, I don't think the timing works. But either way, no Pan. (You're welcome...) Also, I have to apologize for portraying Videl in a less-than-complimentary light. I actually like her just fine in the anime but for the purpose of my plot, she had to be a bitch, so I have sacrificed her, mwahaha. It just wouldn't be very easy to make straight, married male characters into raging homos if their wives were sweet and perfect, now would it? :-P

Chapter 8

The offices at Capsule Corp. were buzzing with activity. It was midday and the company’s operations were in full swing. Lavender hair fell forward as the demi-Saiyan prince leaned over his desk, putting the finishing touches on a PowerPoint presentation his mother had assigned him to work on. Saving the file to a flash drive, he removed the shiny metal key from his computer and walked it out to the secretary. “Meena, would you please print out 25 stapled colored copies of this presentation? And make sure conference room 3B is reserved for the first Friday of next month. Oh, I guess it would be good to have some coffee and cakes delivered, too. Say by 10 a.m.?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Briefs,” she answered with a smile. Then she pointed to a covered tray that was sitting atop a rolling cart along the wall. “Oh, and your lunch was just delivered.”

“Awesome.” Trunks picked up the tray and made his way back to his desk. His stomach growled. As he set the tray down he said a silent prayer of thanks for the existence of the Capsule Corp. kitchen staff.

His first day back at work had been a success so far. Bulma had even trusted him with a big presentation to potential investors, saying that the company should be represented by its future president. Plus, everyone seemed friendly and happy to have him back. Not to mention he finally had a reason to wear his new black suit.

Trunks lifted the silver cover off his plate and looked hungrily at the warm sandwich, where melted cheese was oozing from the edge of the toasted bread. Grilled cheese with bacon and tomato. His favorite. Deciding it was too messy to eat with his hands, he cut a huge chunk from the sandwich and speared it with a fork.

“What is that garbage you’re eating?” The voice was unmistakable.

“Father?” Trunks looked up, his voice muffled by the giant piece of sandwich and fork that were still stuck in his mouth.

“French fries?” Vegeta queried as he sidled closer to the desk, his hands on his hips. “And a cheese sandwich? Is this how a warrior eats?”

Trunks swallowed loudly. “When there’s no war, I guess,” he muttered, then immediately regretted having answered. If there was one person he should know to hold his tongue around, it was Vegeta. Really, though, what would his father have him eat? The flesh of his enemies?

A second piece of cheese sandwich stuck in his throat. Come to think of it, hadn’t he once heard Vegeta brag about doing just that?

The pure blooded Saiyan growled. “Next time you fight Kakarott’s son, you won’t lose. The woman told me you have an hour for lunch. That’s plenty of time.” Vegeta lifted his son by the shirt collar and dragged him out of his chair and towards the office door.

“But—father!” The young prince gasped for air. Dropping his knife and fork onto the floor, he reached up to slide a few fingers between the skin of his neck and his shirt collar. Once able to breathe, he picked up his pace to try to keep up with Vegeta, but the way his father pulled him forward by the neck made his feet slip out from under him every few steps.

Vegeta wore black spandex pants and an impossibly tight blue tank top. For a man of such small stature, Vegeta was huge. His muscled form was perhaps the most well-defined of all the Saiyans Trunks knew. Anyone could tell by looking at the man’s physique that his one and only goal in life was training. Vegeta stood out like a sore thumb among the conservatively dressed Capsule workers who were darting back and forth across the hallway. But the man was, as always, completely at ease and full of confidence.

Trunks watched the faces of his coworkers pass by as he was led unceremoniously down the halls of the compound. He couldn’t help but be embarrassed, although the sight was something they had long ago grown accustomed to. The demi knew there was no use trying to escape, nor would he have ever defied his father. His worst fear was only that he would disappoint the man. He wished he’d at least been able to eat before their spar so he wouldn’t be running on empty.

As they reached the gravity chamber, Vegeta pulled his son around in front of him and, still holding him by the collar, roughly tossed the boy towards the door. “This was really expensive,” Trunks complained, straightening his shirt.

“Off with it, then.”

***

“How’s my favorite employee?” Bulma sang as she entered the bioengineering lab.

Gohan smiled at her. “Now what would Trunks say if he heard that?”

She smiled and waved her hand dismissively. The demi-Saiyan turned back to the microscope that stood on the table in front of him. Closing one eye, he peered into the lens, wishing Bulma would quietly walk away, but knowing it was hopeless. He could tell by her overly friendly greeting that she wanted something.

“Speaking of Trunks,” she began, and Gohan groaned inwardly. Speaking of Trunks was all he did these days. Whether it was consoling Goten over the older boy’s latest stunt or filling Bulma in on his classes and grades, it seemed one way or another the purple-haired prince was always in his thoughts. He looked at Bulma warily, but she ignored the expression. “I’m putting him in charge of the presentation to Capital Investment Corp. next month and—.”

Surprised, Gohan couldn’t help but cut her off. “But Bulma! That’s a group of venture capitalists we’ve been working on for two years. Without their endorsement, we could lose the stronghold we have right now as the world leader in nanorobotics—.”

“I know that,” she responded airily, as if the topic was the Capsule kitchen’s soup du jour instead of the future of an entire subdivision of her company. “But he’s been so eager to take on more responsibility around here and I really want him to know that I trust him.”

“Well, that’s a pretty big deal to be stroking his ego with!” Gohan noted in disbelief, but it was clear that Bulma had made up her mind.

“Well, that’s why I wanted to ask you to keep an eye on the situation for me. You know, just look over his shoulder and make sure he’s doing a good job with everything. I’m sure it won’t be too much trouble,” she assured him.

“Trouble? Trunks? Oh, no . . . never.” Gohan rolled his eyes, not managing to keep the sarcasm from saturating his tone.

Bulma placed a delicate hand on his chest. “Oh, Gohan, you’re so melodramatic!” With an amused laugh she waved goodbye. “Thanks, hun! Oh, and let’s keep this just between the two of us, okay?”

Unbelievable, he thought, shaking his head. The whole family.

Deciding that the microscopic organisms he’d been half-heartedly studying could wait, he loosened his tie and pulled it over his head. Then, grabbing a gym bag from the floor near his desk, he headed to the locker rooms in the basement of the complex. His training routine was the one thing he felt totally in control of these days. There were so many times over the years that he’d been grateful for the lessons he’d learned from Piccolo. Gohan was sure that the intense amount of focus and control the Namekian had instilled in him had saved him from losing his mind on more than one occasion.

As he headed downstairs, he made a mental checklist of his current projects and added Trunks’ investor presentation to the list. He sighed, wondering why it was that ‘Gohan’ and ‘responsibility’ seemed always to be synonymous.

After changing into his favorite blue t-shirt and orange gi, Gohan headed towards the outdoor gravity chamber. At the same time, the demi-Saiyan prince practically fell out of the chamber and into the cool afternoon air. God the normal gravity felt good, he thought. Vegeta was a damned maniac about training.

As tough as sparring with Gohan had been, there was at least a method to Gohan’s madness. They would engage in a round of battle, which would end when one of them bested the other. Then they would regroup and begin again. Vegeta, on the other hand, didn’t hold one single ounce back from his opponent. He seemed not to know the meaning of the word ‘regroup’ and only attacked head on and with full force, overwhelming the enemy and usually quickly defeating them. The fact that he was fighting family didn’t change things in the least. Trunks felt like he was fighting for his life in there.

But the teen was satisfied with his performance. At least he hadn’t succumbed to his father without putting up a good fight, managing to hold his own the entire hour with some skills that had resurfaced when he was pushed hard enough. It was the same fight he had spent his whole life training for, after all.

Still, it was exhausting. He leaned against the outside wall of the chamber to catch his breath and made a mental note to bring workout clothes with him tomorrow.

“What happened to you?” Gohan’s surprised-sounding voice came from several feet away.

Trunks breathlessly gestured towards the door of the chamber where Vegeta had just appeared, looking a bit flushed but otherwise unfazed by the exercise. “Ah.” Gohan nodded in understanding.

“You want to have a go?” the pureblooded Saiyan challenged the new arrival. Clearly he had plenty of energy left. Gohan nodded affirmatively. He usually worked out during his lunches and more often than not he ended up facing Vegeta. The older man was never far from the training facilities.

Vegeta disappeared back into the chamber and Gohan looked at Trunks again. The teen wore only his grey undershorts. He was resting with his backside against the wall of the yellow building, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. His breathing was heavy, but his color was quickly returning to normal. Gohan could see several bruises and red marks beginning to form where energy attacks had taken their toll.

But it was nothing Trunks wouldn’t recover from. In fact, he didn’t even really look beat up. He looked well worked, strong, and healthy, if a little winded. Like a Saiyan is supposed to look, Gohan found himself thinking as he watched the boy finally straighten his back and lean his shoulders heavily on the wall behind him. Something that was deep within him appreciated that picture. The aftermath of the battle. The straining of taut muscles; flushed skin and panting breath; sweat dripping down a heaving chest . . . .

He once heard someone in his high school gym class say that the most intimate contact one could have with another person, short of having sex, was to work out with them. The unwelcome thought entered his mind as his eyes locked with his roommate’s.

Gohan blinked then turned towards the chamber. With a quick wave at the other demi he disappeared inside.

***

The rest of Gohan’s work day was uneventful, save for a mistake by one of his new hires which led to the cross-contamination of several explosive chemicals. A related lab fire and general panic followed. But these things he could handle. A certain azure-eyed demi-Saiyan disaster was another story.

The aforementioned teen entered his office at five o’clock on the dot. Trying his best to ignore the prince, Gohan hurried to finish the computation he’d been working on. He was aware of Trunks watching him as he punched numbers into the calculator; then Trunks would look at the clock, then back at him. But the elder Son continued to focus on the page without paying him any mind. Trunks eventually crossed his arms and fell into one of the two plush chairs in front of the desk with an audible sigh.

Gohan scribbled a few equations onto the notepad in front of him. The younger boy crossed and uncrossed his legs, leaned his head onto the backrest of the chair, and eventually lifted it up again.

“Jesus, don’t you ever stop?” he finally snapped. “You know what they say about ‘all work and no play’ . . .” He trailed off, looking at the other man expectantly.

“Hmm?” The older demi pretended to consider it, holding his pencil to his lips. “All work and no play . . . got me where I am today?” he asked innocently as his mouth curled into a big smile.

“Not even close.” Trunks rested his cheek on his palm, frowning. The man was a lost cause. “Look, it’s five o’clock on a Friday. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Gohan shrugged. He really didn’t know what Trunks was getting at.

“Happy hour!” the prince cried in exasperation. “We’ve already missed ten precious minutes of two-zeni rail drinks across the street!” Gohan looked unmoved so Trunks switched tactics. “That’s not to mention the hamburgers. They’re the best in the city! Toasted onion roll, melted cheddar cheese, ground beef cooked to a perfect medium-well . . . .” Trunks licked his lips. “But at this rate, we won’t even get a seat!”

“You should really do a commercial,” Gohan encouraged him without looking up from his papers.

“You should really come with me.”

Trunks was on the verge of whining. Finally Gohan put his pencil on the desk and looked up to meet his beseeching gaze. “Can’t,” he informed the boy none-too-delicately.

“Why?” Trunks reminded him of a child with how often he demanded an answer to that question.

“I’m going out to Mount Paozu for dinner tonight. I promised Mom a few weeks ago.” Really, he would have preferred happy hour. He loved his parents, but visiting them had the potential to involve a nasty run-in with Videl and far more of his mother’s opinions on his love life than he cared to hear. With his recent preoccupations, he hadn’t been dwelling as much on the topic of his ex-wife anymore. But tonight promised to bring it all to the forefront again.

“Oh.” Trunks now sounded resigned. It appeared he accepted the excuse. “Well, maybe next week.”

Gohan tossed the papers he’d been working on into his briefcase and, in order to save time, the two flew rather than walked to their apartment. Chichi wouldn’t be happy if Gohan was late. Tonight it would be just him and his mother and father. His mother had proudly informed him that Goten was eating dinner at his new girlfriend’s house and meeting her parents. Although he had tried to match her enthusiasm, Gohan couldn’t help but feel a bit put out at the news. He wanted to be happy for his brother, but for some reason he found himself thinking with concern about Trunks. Obviously, it was information that he did not intend to share with his roommate.

As they touched down behind their building, Trunks caught the other man regarding him with contemplative eyes. Something about his expression made Trunks apprehensive. “Gohan,” he nervously pushed a few strands of hair off his forehead. “What is it?”

Gohan pressed his lips together. He had to be more careful around Trunks. One could hardly hope to hide anything from him. “Nothing,” Gohan said. He was a horrible liar, but Trunks didn’t call him out on it. He didn’t really want to know what it was that made Gohan look at him with such pity in his obsidian eyes.

“Really, I’m just . . . a little concerned about dinner tonight,” Gohan finally admitted. He thought steering the conversation to another topic might help clear the air. “I’m sure Videl knows I’m coming and will have saved up several weeks’ worth of nasty comments to unleash on me when I get there. Not to mention . . . .” Well, he really didn’t have to mention his mother. Trunks knew her well enough himself. The teen nodded sympathetically as they rounded the building and entered the lobby.

A few moments later the two men entered the apartment, which was already darkening as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. Trunks tossed his jacket over the back of the couch and settled into the cushions to turn on the television. It looked like he was in for an exciting night of primetime sitcoms. While Gohan dressed, he leafed through a few takeout menus that lay on the coffee table.

Minutes later, Gohan emerged from his room having changed for dinner. He wore a nice pair of dress slacks, the same button-down shirt he’d worn to work, and one of his trademark—and in Trunks’ opinion god awful—sweater vests.

The younger boy jumped up off the couch as he suddenly had an idea. “Gohan, don’t leave yet!” he instructed his roommate, quickly scampering off to his room. When he returned, Gohan could hear the soft rustle of plastic and see that he was holding something behind his back. “I was going to save this for Christmas, but . . . .” He produced the gift proudly. “I think you should wear it tonight! Remember what I said about Videl?” He winked and flashed all his teeth in a smile.

“Oh, god, Trunks . . . .” Gohan stared in disbelief at the mahogany suit he had tried on several days before when Trunks dragged him shopping. The one that would have cost him a month’s salary or more. The teen must have returned to the store and bought it after he had left. It was a nice gesture but . . . . “There’s no way I can accept that,” Gohan said flatly.

“Don’t be silly, of course you can.” Trunks knew it was expensive, but he had wanted to buy it for Gohan because of how much the other demi had helped him over the last few weeks. Keeping him company, even though he knew it wasn’t always Gohan’s favorite thing to do; looking out for him; helping him with his school work. All of that was worth at least a few thousand zeni. “Really, Gohan, I insist! Consider it as a thank you for everything you’ve done for me lately.” He smiled and held the garment out again.

“If you really want to thank me, Trunks, you could just try staying out of trouble, cleaning up after yourself, and showing me through your actions that some of the things I say actually get through to you.”

Trunks looked confused, then hurt. He threw the garments onto a nearby chair. “Fine. I’ll be sure to . . .” he shrugged “take out the garbage tomorrow or something.” Then, with a dismissive wave he flopped back down on the couch. As if any amount of housework could compare to his amazing and thoughtful gift! Gohan was so ungrateful!

The older demi stood in place for a moment, wondering what more he could say to make Trunks understand, but the teen had completely missed the point. Giving up and leaving the other boy to sulk, Gohan turned and headed for the door.

As he swung it open with a swoosh of air, he told himself to just keep going, to close the door behind him, and to put Trunks out of his thoughts for the next three hours. He told himself it would be a nice break. But not listening to his own advice, he hesitated in the doorway then glanced back into the living room. Although the TV was on, the young prince was staring unseeingly at the coffee table. His mouth was creased into a frown and his eyes looked . . . unsure. Gohan hoped he was thinking about what he’d said.

He turned again to leave and closed the door tightly behind him. While waiting for the elevator, he wondered if Trunks would just sit there all night staring at the table. He had also noticed that the boy tended to overreact in situations where he felt hurt. What if Gohan left him alone and he got the idea in his head to go out and do something stupid again? As the elevator doors opened, he ignored them and turned back towards their flat. “You know, Trunks . . .” he said, opening the door wide again, “if you want, I mean if you’re hungry, you can come out to Mt. Paozu with me. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of food.”

An appeased smile flashed on the boy’s features for a moment but almost immediately faded. “But what about—.”

“Goten won’t be there,” Gohan quickly informed him. He hoped Trunks wouldn’t ask his usual “why’s.” But his roommate seemed happy just to have been invited and didn’t bother with the details.

He only jumped up from the sofa. “Just lemme change. I’ll be really quick, I promise!”

***

A half hour later they touched down outside the Son residence just as the sun was setting. When Gohan opened the front door, the house seemed to come to life.

“Oh, Gohan!” Chichi ran to him, throwing her arms around him so that even he had to steady himself on a nearby kitchen chair to avoid being thrown off balance. After squeezing him in her arms, she pulled back slightly and felt her son’s ribs. “Are you getting enough to eat? You look so tired! Aren’t you sleeping? Is Bulma working you too hard? Or . . . .”

She trailed off as Trunks stepped into the kitchen behind him. He smiled sheepishly. There was no way he could make an entrance like Gohan could in this kitchen. Chichi lived and breathed for her oldest boy. Not even Goten could get his mother’s attention like that, and all Trunks was to the woman was Goten’s little friend. And a bad influence on him, at that.

“Oh,” she said, still speaking to Gohan, “you brought your roommate.”

“Nice to see you, Chichi.”

“Hey, Trunks.” Goku entered the kitchen. “Son.” He nodded to each boy in turn.

After exchanging pleasantries, the three Saiyans wasted little time sitting down for dinner. Chichi came to the table, which had been laid out with huge trays of food, after having a whispered phone conversation in the next room. Gohan looked as if he already knew what was coming.

“Well . . .” Chichi began uncomfortably, clearing her throat, “Videl needs to give some things to you Gohan. She asked me to call her when you got here.”

“Fine,” he answered curtly, rolling his eyes at Trunks as if to let him know that he would have been better off staying home and ordering takeout. A few seconds later, the knock came and Chichi ran to answer the door, putting on a big smile just before pulling it open.

“Videl!” she cooed. “You know you don’t have to knock. You’re family, you silly girl.” Videl looked at her with derision but didn’t say anything. Then her stare came to rest on the eldest boy.

“Gohan,” she greeted him coldly.

“Hi, Videl.” His response was just as obligatory and his voice gave away no emotion whatsoever. Trunks watched the exchange with interest, but it seemed to have come to an abrupt impasse after the awkward greetings.

“Oh,” Chichi exclaimed, breaking the silence, “you look so pretty tonight, dear. Are those new . . . sweat pants?” She rapidly gave Videl a once-over, searching for something she could draw Gohan’s attention to, but the girl wasn’t giving her much to work with. Videl really did look as if she’d been cleaning the house all day and ridding it of the last of Gohan’s things. She held a banker’s box in her arms, which she now hoisted onto the nearby countertop. Putting her hands on her hips, she glared at Chichi, who ignored the look entirely. “Really, though, you’re such a pretty girl. You could look beautiful in just about anything. Couldn’t she, Gohan?”

Trunks’ gaze turned from the two women to his roommate, wondering how he would respond. He marveled at Chichi’s ability to freeze the entire room in an awkward silence and somehow think she was doing the estranged couple a favor. No wonder Gohan had been so wary about coming here.

But Gohan didn’t react to the question. He approached his ex-wife. “So you brought some of my things over?” His tone was civil.

“Yes,” she answered briskly. “This should be the last of it. I’m planning on making some changes at the house and I needed to make room.” She glanced around the kitchen to see if anyone would challenge her. Their marital home had been built around the old hut where Goku was raised by his grandfather. Some part of her knew that the Son family had deeper ties to the property than she did, but now that Gohan had left, she couldn’t see any reason to uproot her own life. He could live with Trunks or whomever he pleased as long as she could do the same.

Videl’s violet eyes came to rest on the demi-Saiyan prince. He held her gaze for a long moment and then smirked. He was sure she wasn’t very fond of him. She and Gohan got strapped with babysitting duty constantly when they were all kids. And every time Gohan had to run off and save the day he would leave Trunks and Goten with Videl. In retrospect, Trunks could see that, as a would-be superhero herself, she must have resented being relegated to babysitter while Gohan got all the glory. But even if she had good reasons, she had been nasty to the two boys and Trunks felt as little for her as she likely did for him.

She broke the eye contact first and turned to observe Goku, but the eldest Saiyan only continued eating in silence. Apparently he wasn’t going to do anything to reclaim his grandfather’s property from his previous daughter-in-law. Having gotten no appreciable response, she turned back to her ex. “See you, Gohan.” With that she opened the front door to leave.

“Oh, don’t you want to stay for dinner, dear?” Chichi waved towards the table and Trunks noticed that there was another plate with a fork and knife already laid out on the countertop. He realized this had been in the older woman’s plans all along.

“No,” Videl said, not turning around as she exited. Then, at least managing to have some respect for her elders, she added a quick, “thank you” before closing the door.

“Well that’s a shame,” Chichi commented with a disappointed frown as she took her place back at the table.

Gohan spoke up, deciding to put an end to his mother’s nonsense finally. “It’s better that she didn’t stay. It’s just awkward for everyone.” He knew that she loved him dearly, but her efforts, no matter how well intentioned, were entirely in vain. Firmly, he said, “I appreciate your concern, Mom, but we’re not getting back together.”

“Now don’t be too hasty, Gohan. A marriage takes a lot of compromise. It’s normal to have fights and—.”

“We’re not married, Mom,” he said calmly, doing his best to put an end to the topic of conversation, but his mother was incorrigible.

“How often must you remind me?” she cried, her composure having been lost. “I know that all of my hopes and dreams for you are gone! But you can’t blame me for trying!”

Trunks wondered how Chichi’s hopes and dreams for Gohan had been destroyed when he got divorced, considering he was still a very successful scientist, not to mention savior of the earth a few times over. But it didn’t take him long to remember that Chichi’s dreams for her sons related only to bringing money to the family, meeting nice girls, and settling down to have lots of children. He supposed that when Gohan had lost Videl, Chichi had lost the younger woman’s money and her womb.

“Oh, who am I kidding?” She got up to move some dishes to the sink. “I know you don’t care what I think, Gohan. The fact that you didn’t even try to make things work is good evidence of how little you care.”

“Mom!” Gohan was incredulous. No one could accuse him of not caring about his mother, least of all the woman herself. He had spent most of his young life taking care of her, molding his life to meet her expectations. He lowered his voice. “It wasn’t as if I had much choice. You know what she did. How could I stay?”

Trunks observed his roommate. It was clear by the other man’s voice that it was a topic he didn’t want to expound on, but Trunks was beginning to suspect that Videl had been unfaithful. Before his mother had a chance to respond, Goku finally interjected. “He’s right, Chichi. There are some things a marriage just can’t survive.” He shot his wife a meaningful look.

Realizing she was outnumbered, Chichi gave up the fight. But not without throwing in one last complaint. “I don’t know why you had to move away, Gohan. If only you had stayed here maybe you could have worked things out.”

Now it was Trunks’ turn to speak up. “Well . . . I, for one, am really thankful to have Gohan in West City. I don’t know what I would have done without him these past few weeks.” He looked from Chichi to his roommate, then continued. “If not for him I’d probably be dead of starvation or . . . whatever by now. Not to mention the positive impact he’s had on my grades and, well, so many things.”

Gohan smiled. Even if Trunks’ words had no effect on his mother at all, it was nice to hear them. Trunks returned the smile, then looked back at Chichi.

He made his tone much lighter, almost playful. “Yup, he’s really saved me.” He placed both hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “You can call me selfish, but if you want him back, you’ll have to fight me for him.”

“Well,” Chichi spat, “I’m glad you’ve managed to benefit from everyone else’s misfortune, Trunks Briefs.”

He shrugged and smiled brightly. “It really is great, isnt’ it?”

“I swear!” Chichi turned all of her anger onto her new target. “As if you aren’t spoiled enough as it is. What do you need my son for? I’m surprised your mother didn’t just send a fleet of robots to tend to your every need . . . .” Trunks easily drowned her out as he watched Gohan get up from the table and take their plates to the sink.

Turning to face the teen from where he stood behind his mother’s wildly gesturing form, Gohan mouthed a silent “thank you” to the younger boy. Trunks just winked.

“Are you even listening to me, young man?”

“Oh yes, Chichi-san,” he assured her. “I heard every word and I couldn’t agree more. I’m terribly spoiled and someone should probably have a talk with my mother.”

“Oh, I plan on it!” Now it was Trunks’ and Goku’s turn to exchange amused glances. Both knew how Bulma hated getting those phone calls from Chichi and both thought it had been a few too many years since she’d received one.

The whole scene made Gohan wonder how often Trunks must have taken the blame over some misdeed or other to save Goten from their mother’s wrath. He had to chuckle to himself. He knew Trunks too well to think that he’d never deserved the tongue-lashings he had gotten from Chichi. But he felt he had seen a new side of his friend tonight.

They all turned in the direction of the sound as the front door opened again. Trunks, who had been reclining his wooden chair on two legs, lost his balance and fell backwards to the floor with a loud crash.

Goten stood there in the door way, one hand digging around in the book bag that hung loosely from his shoulder, while the other hand hung slack after pushing open the door. He looked up to greet his family, but stopped dead when his eyes met Trunks’. His hand ceased its digging as his arm froze in an awkward position, elbow in the air. Whatever greeting he was about to utter was left hanging on his open lips.

Besides the two boys, Gohan was the only one who knew the reason for their strange behavior. He broke the silence. “Hey, Goten,” he said, as cheerfully as he could manage, while at the same time rushing to help Trunks up off the floor. He wanted to ask what the hell Goten was doing home so soon, but any answer would have alerted Trunks to where the other boy had been and he didn’t want to go there. However, he should have known it’d be all his mother wanted to talk about.

“Oh, Goten, sweetie, you’re home! How was dinner? Did they have a nice house? How big was it?” She helped him out of his light jacket as he tried to get his bearings back and mumbled a few inaudible replies. “Well, regardless of that,” Chichi continued, apparently unimpressed with whatever number of rooms Goten had disclosed, “I hope you made a good impression. Oh, it’d be so nice if one of my sons was able to give me grandchildren one day!”

Goten’s cheeks colored and he looked intently at the ground. Gohan, who was still holding Trunks, let his mother’s jab roll off his back. But he felt the younger boy grow heavier in his arms, leaning on him for more support as his legs apparently failed him. Trunks’ expression was horrified.

But he was less upset to find out that Goten had been with his new girlfriend than he was to have seen the unadulterated look that flashed on Goten’s features when they first locked eyes. It had looked like fear. Trunks suddenly felt horribly ashamed of the way he had treated Goten the last time he saw him. The younger boy’s eyes had betrayed many emotions over the years; awe, lust, anger, pride, sadness, desire, jealousy. At times, he had even seen what he thought was love reflected there. But never had Goten looked at him with fear. Ever. The older boy felt his stomach turn.

“You look so handsome,” Chichi continued, oblivious to the tension in the room. “I’m sure they liked you. Who could not like my son?” She smiled proudly to the other assembled Saiyans, but none of them returned her happy expression. Trunks looked miserable, Gohan looked panicky, and Goku looked at his food. Ignoring them all, Chichi turned back to her youngest. “Do you still have room for dessert, Goten? I made your favorite, sakuramochi!”

“I’m really tired, Mom,” he informed Chichi quietly. “I think I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Oh.” Her face fell and Trunks noticed with amazement that, after years of having a strained relationship with his mother, Goten seemed to have very recently become her favorite. Growing up with Goten, Trunks had known that he felt like a disappointment when his mother compared him to his brother or father, as she so often did. And the younger boy had never forgotten when she called him a monster for displaying his super Saiyan abilities. Then, as they got older, she’d criticized him for spending too much time with Trunks instead of focusing on his studies or finding a nice girl to date. He’d always had to fight for her acceptance and eventually he’d just given up trying. But now, just that easily, he was the golden child.

Trunks had been aware of the pressures that Goten dealt with at home, but he’d never seen them so clearly displayed in front of his eyes as he did tonight. His own parents rarely bothered him about his personal life and never pushed him in any one direction or another. His father was happy so long as he was training and his mother was happy so long as he was happy. And although it wasn’t often expressed, at least by his father, he had always felt that their love was a given, their acceptance unconditional. As it would be with any good parents. But Goten had no such assurances.

Trunks reeled at the notion of how truly beyond his reach Goten was. Because of Goku’s absence in his life, Goten had never really been close to his father. His mother and Gohan had been the biggest influences on his young life. And even now, despite the extreme discomfort of the situation, Goten seemed to glow in his mother’s newfound attention.

He had chosen his family over Trunks and, as much as he may have wanted to, the older boy couldn’t hate him for that. He could only accept it.

“Well, you go and get your rest, sweetie,” Chichi said, brightening a bit. “I’ll make sure to save the biggest piece for you!” She walked directly over to the sweet rice cakes that were sitting on the counter top and placed the majority of them on a separate plate. Then she wrapped them up tightly for him to eat later, leaving only a few for the rest of them.

Goten managed a “thanks” and then dashed across his mother’s kitchen, his only thought to make it to his room without any further incidents. But Trunks reached out for him as he passed.

“Goten.”

The prince’s fingers brushed the arm of his long-sleeved shirt but Goten didn’t dare stop. Pushing his bangs across his forehead and refusing to meet Trunks’ eyes, he shied away from the contact and disappeared down the hallway.

Even though his friend’s tone and entire demeanor was different than it had been when they met on the quad, that single exchange had been all the Trunks that he could take for one week. He also worried about the way the other boy could read him; about that penetrating stare. He was afraid of what Trunks might see reflected in him tonight. The things he had done with Tiffany. The way he still felt about his childhood friend. The way he didn’t know what to do or what he wanted or why.

He tightly closed the bedroom door behind him. Trunks had always been able to exploit that ambivalence in him. It was exactly that power that Goten needed to break free from in order to figure things out on his own. Yes, until he got his head straightened out, it was better to just stay away from his best friend. Even if it seemed so much easier to just let Trunks do his thinking for him. And even if, despite all that had happened, every time he saw Trunks he wanted to go to him, like being caught in a gravity field.

In the kitchen, the rest of the gathered company suffered through an amazingly uncomfortable dessert before Gohan announced that he and his roommate were leaving. Chichi made him promise not to stay away so long next time. But, even as Gohan agreed, in the back of his mind he knew that he wouldn’t come back for as long as he could possibly manage.

***

The two Saiyan roommates flew home in silence. When they got there, Trunks went straight to his bedroom to take a shower and change into cotton sweatpants. But a half hour later, he stood outside the door to Gohan’s room. The light was still on, so he quietly let himself in. When the door opened, Gohan looked up at him from the bed but didn’t say anything. He turned his attention back to the box that sat in front of him. Trunks recognized it as the one Videl had given him.

Interpreting Gohan’s silence as tacit acceptance, the young prince quickly crossed the hardwood floor and climbed into bed. He was thankful that the other man didn’t protest. He really didn’t want to be alone.

Gohan rummaged through the box with more pressing issues on his mind. In addition to going through the books, papers, and trinkets that were strewn on the bed in front of him, he had to wade through the bottled up emotions that all of his mother’s words had created, but which he had refused to show in her kitchen.

He was also worried about Trunks and Goten. Rather than getting better, things between the two boys were starting to feel incredibly weird and strained. He looked at Trunks who was now lying on his side, facing the opposite wall. The teen had his head propped up with his left hand. With his right hand he was leafing through a book.

Gohan reached underneath some loose papers in the box and pulled out a few forgotten photographs. One was a picture from his wedding, which featured Chichi standing with the happy couple. There was another of him, his dad, and Goten at the World Martial Arts tournament on the day their father came back from Otherworld. The last one was a picture of him with Trunks and Goten at the lake near their house. He remembered that Videl had taken it, but he supposed she had no use for it anymore.

Blowing most of the dust off the glass, he set the latter two framed photos on his bedside table. Then he dropped the wedding picture back into the box along with all the other stuff he had laid out on the bed. Placing the box on the floor, he looked back at his bedmate and wondered if he should say anything to the younger boy about their trip to Mt. Paozu.

Trunks shifted in the bed to get more comfortable. He wasn’t really reading the book he was staring at, but he wanted to appear as though he was doing something other than dwelling on their dinner. He could feel Gohan’s eyes on him and didn’t want the other demi to see how much the entire night had affected him. He didn’t want to have to admit how badly he’d treated Goten and how much he regretted it; that Gohan was right and that he had acted like a brat. But most of all, he didn’t want to come to terms with the realization that he was losing his boyhood friend for good.

He wished that he and Goten never had to grow up. He wondered why they couldn’t have stayed happy, clueless adolescents forever, without having to question their feelings or worry about things like ‘defining’ themselves and giving Chichi grandchildren. He wondered when things had gotten so damned complicated and the whole thing was giving him a pounding headache.

He simply wanted to . . . . To leaf through the stupid book and ignore it all.

To just crawl into bed with Gohan, leaf through the book and ignore it.

To crawl into bed with Gohan and . . . .

He sighed. Aware of his roommate staring at him from a few feet away, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander to those places where he knew they shouldn’t be wandering. But which were only natural when one was sharing a bed with another person. Another really sexy person, no less.

Honestly, he wished Gohan would ravage him with more than just his eyes.

“You know, I’m not on display, Gohan,” Trunks said without looking up from his book.

“Oh, no, of course not,” the other managed, surprised and embarrassed that Trunks knew he’d been watching him. “I’m sorry, it’s just . . . I feel terrible. I had no idea that he’d show up tonight.”

Trunks ignored the apology. He did not want to think about Goten at the moment. “No,” he chuckled softly, rolling over to face his roommate. “That’s not what I meant.” As he shifted his weight to his right arm, the sheet that was draped over him slid down his hips a few inches. “What I meant is that I’m not under glass.” Meeting Gohan’s eyes, the teen gave a demure shrug. “You’re allowed to touch if you want.”

Gohan just blinked at the other boy, momentarily frozen. He could feel his cheeks burning as he registered the scandalous invitation. Was Trunks entirely serious? And if so, how could he be so brash about the whole thing?

The older demi’s eyes automatically drifted down to catch the movement of Trunks’ hand where his long fingers were tapping impatiently on a naked hip bone just above his waistband. Snapping his gaze back to his roommate’s face, Gohan noticed the younger man looking at him intensely. After a brief staring contest, Trunks inched closer. When he next spoke, Gohan could feel the cool, minty breath on his cheek. “Don’t you ever want to stop thinking about your ex-wife?”

Gohan sucked in his breath as those same thin fingers brushed the comparatively feverish flesh of his abdomen.

“Knock it off, Trunks.” He swatted the boy’s hand away.

But, inching still closer, the prince continued, “I promise, I could give you lots of other things to think about.” Before Gohan had a chance to react to the words whispered hotly in his ear, he felt Trunks’ lips on his skin. The teen nipped at the sensitive area where his neck met his shoulder. Meanwhile, his fingers darted to explore the lines of Gohan’s abdomen.

The older demi felt his blood rush at the intimate contact. Videl had been the only person ever to touch him this way. And how long had it been since she had done that? Since she had even looked at him with desire? He didn’t care to add up the numbers.

“Trunks, don’t,” he implored, but the words came out far less sternly than he had wanted them to. And, not bothering to listen, Trunks pressed himself against his roommate. As he dipped his head to methodically lick and nibble the skin on the other man’s collarbone, Gohan couldn’t suppress a gasp. With practiced ease, the young prince slipped his tongue into the shallow pools where muscle and bone connected under milky white skin, lavishing attention on all of those parts of him that had been neglected for so long.

Gohan could feel the evidence of the other demi’s desire on his thigh and he rolled his eyes miserably wondering how he’d ended up in this situation.

“You’re so fucking hot, Gohan,” the prince whispered against his neck. “Just let me touch you.”

When he felt the slender fingers fumbling with his waistband, the sensation was enough to bring him round. He clapped his own palm over the offending hand, stopping it in its tracks, then looked at his roommate with an expression of warning. “And you are a hormonal teenager, Trunks. Get a hold of yourself.” He pushed the prince’s hand back toward its owner and sat up.

Trunks pouted. “I could get a hold of myself, but it’d be so much more fun if you got a hold of me instead.” The younger boy pushed himself up on his hands and knees and attempted to punctuate the words with a kiss. As soon as Gohan realized what the teen was doing he backed up, but not before their lips brushed.

Gohan’s hand automatically traveled to his mouth. “What is wrong with you?” he asked from behind his fingers, with no trace of anything left in his voice but annoyance.

Trunks blinked, looking as though Gohan had just hit him. “Nothing is wrong with me,” he answered quietly.

“Oh, give it a rest,” Gohan said, casting his eyes upwards at the ceiling in exasperation. “Your whole playing-the-victim routine is not going to work on me anymore. You’re not some poor, misunderstood boy, Trunks. You just didn’t get your way for once. And now you need to get over it.”

The royal demi took a moment to respond. “Well—,” he sputtered, a bit taken aback, “however you want to look at it, we’re both in the same situation, you and me. You want to forget about her, and I want to stop thinking about Goten, too. I just thought we could help each other.”

But the very honesty in those words steeled Gohan’s resolve. Although his mind was still unraveling the mystery of how it had all happened, he realized it didn’t bother him so much that another man was touching him so intimately. What bothered him was that this man was in love with someone else and that someone else was his very own brother. And for that reason, if no other reason, he could not allow anything to happen.

“So, whaddaya say?” Trunks asked sweetly, as he reached up to curl a lock of raven hair around his fingers.

Gohan grabbed his wrist and held it tight, pushing the stunned boy back so he could look into his eyes. “It’s not going to happen. You’re not trying to forget about Goten, you’re trying to replace him.” Gohan wanted to shake the boy. “Don’t you see that you’re the walking definition of transference?”

Trunks’ lavender brows narrowed and his blue eyes darkened with the anger of rejection. “What a load of psychobabble crap!” he shot back. “Don’t try to make this about me when it’s you who’s scared! Oh, I’m sorry, Gohan,” he put his free hand over his mouth mockingly. “Did I almost make you feel something? I forgot everything you’ve ever felt is locked up inside you in a tiny little box and you’ve lost the key.” He pulled his wrist from Gohan’s grasp and rubbed the reddening marks there.

“It’s called restraint, Trunks, and you should try it sometime,” he suggested, standing up next to the bed.

“It’s called repression, Gohan. And it’s really pathetic.”

“Oh, you think I’m repressed?” Trunks shook his head affirmatively and Gohan’s voice got louder. “You think I’m repressed? That is so funny! Because if you ever turned those analytical eyes on yourself, I think you’d be surprised at what you’d see.”

The younger boy said nothing and only glowered at Gohan from the bed. “Honestly, Freud could’ve written volumes about you,” he continued, having little sympathy after the things Trunks had said about him. He decided to set the boy straight once and for all. “You have some kind of fucked up need for validation but you’re not going to get it from me. So just stop buying me things, stop—,” he waved his hands in exasperation, “stop crawling into my bed in the middle of the night, and stop generally trying to attach yourself to me. Because, really, I tired of babysitting you when I was eighteen.” With black eyes flashing, he turned away and slammed the bedroom door behind him.

Trunks stared for some time at the wooden door after Gohan had left. Then he rolled over and drew the sheets around him. Sinking into the pile of down pillows, he thought of how glorious it would be if the brick wall of Gohan’s resolve ever crumbled and all that passion was allowed to hit him like a tidal wave. Then he smiled to himself. It was bound to happen sooner or later.