Uncharted Waters

Chapter XII


Bulma stood on tiptoes to hang the last strand of lights, her stretched-out figure wobbling slightly on the 15 ft. ladder she was standing on.

“Careful, mom.” Trunks called bel below her, watching with apprehension.

“I’m fine, hun, I’ve done this a million times,” she stated as she plugged the end of the socket into the adjacent strand causing dazzling colors to dance throughout the room. Satisfied, she climbed down the rickety ladder making her way to her son.

The lavender-haired youth shook his head in disapproval as he was handed the ladder to be put away.

“You know, you don’t have to do this,” he said, putting it back in the ‘hardware’ capsule. He swept his hand around the decked out room. “Don’t you think I’m a little old for decorations?”

“No way. You’re never too old to have a little fun. Besides, I’ve toned it down to a more mature theme.”

Trunks looked pointedly at the tacky lit-up pink flamingo bobbing its electronic head into a fake pool of water made from colored plastic. It sat happily in its own jungle of fake plants and tiki torches, housing an additional electric frog, butterfly, and turtle all moving in the same distinctly mechanical way.

“What?” Bulma asked abruptly, “I think they’re cute.”

“Yeah okay, mom.”

The main living room of Capsule Corp. resembled what could have been a casino, the inside of carnival tent, or a bordello, Trunks couldn’t make up his mind which. There were strands of tube lights everywhere; ceiling, walls, even the floor could not escape the luminescent treatment. A fountain stood in the middle, with colored springs jumping from pool to pool, much to the annoyance of the gold fish forced to swim through it. Tables were set up, each with their own army of candles and confetti spread over the top of them. Tiny lighted birthday cakes hung in random places about the room, as did plastic diplomas and graduation hats. Finally, his blue eyes soon fixed on a garish red banner reading ‘Happy eighteen, Trunks!!!’ hanging from the middle of the ceiling, complete with bunches of red and blue balloons protruding from the ends of it.

“Well then what about that?” he said scowling at the offending décor, “Everyone knows how old I am, I don’t see the point of announcing it. It’s redundant,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. He was a tad annoyed with his mother: she always over did it when it came to celebrations of any kind. To be honest it was embarrassing, especially when he was trying to impress someone.

Bulma opened her mouth to protest, but a voice drifted in from the other room, “Forget about it, Trunks, you should know by now that when it comes to any kind of party, your mom takes center stage, regardless of who the party is actually for.”

“You be quiet in there!” the blue-haired genius yelled, “No one asked for your opinion.”

“No one ever does.” Yamcha answered mildly. “But this is Trunks’ birthday not yours, if he doesn’t like the banner he should be able to take it down.”

“Thanks, Yamcha,” the youth grinned; pleased he had someone on his side. Without wasting another moment he pointed his finger at the banner and shot it down with a small ki beam, gleefully shooting each of the balloons in turn with a loud *POP*.

“Trunks!”

“My party,” he said smugly.

“My house, mister,” she retorted, but she couldn’t help but smile. Her little boy was all grown up and soon going off to college for good. She couldn’t believe that he was all ready eighteen years old. Her eyes moistened as a landslide of memories over took her. Eign yen years. It had all gone by so fast. To her, in many ways, he was still just a baby. But she couldn’t deny the bright future he had in store. There was no doubt in her mind that he would be a successful young man, and she was more than a little excited at the prospect of a love interest for her son.

She could tell that he was interested in someone: a mother knew these things. She noticed the extra minutes he was spending in the bathroom getting ready in the morning. Just as she caught the way his eyes lit up every time a certain young man was mentioned in a conversation. Not to mention the sheer amount of time he was spending with the son of her childhood friend. She shook her head fondly, Vegeta could deny it all he wanted, but it was obvious to her that Trunks was in love.

“Mom?” the teenager asked concerned, breaking her from her thoughts. Apparently she had fazed out.

“Oh, nothing, hun. Sorry, I spaced out there.”

“Alzheimer’s sucks, doesn’t it?” the youth replied, wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Oh! You little brat!” She laughed, throwing a handful of cheesecurls at her only child from the nearby buffet table.

Trunks dodged, joining in with his mother’s laughter. They took turns flinging wads of various household snacks at each other until Yamcha came it to break it up, complaining about the mess, only to be hit from both sides with pretzels and a stray twinkie.

“Oh, now it’s on!” he proclaimed, lunging for the bowl of trail mix to dump on his long-time girlfriend’s head, but not without first hurling a cheeseball at her son that he wasn’t so fortunate to dodge.

Suddenly the doorbell rang to announce the first of their guests. Hurriedly, Bulma ran to answer the door, yelling over her shoulder at Trunks and Yamcha to clean up. They accomplished their task in seconds flat, which boded well for the teen due to his stained shirt Yamcha was polite enough to point out. With a cry of alarm, he bolted up the stairs to change. He couldn’t be seen in this state; the thought alone was enough not only to warrant a change of clothes, but to also jump back into the shower as well…just to be sure.

A small blur rushed into the festive space, running excitedly around Yamcha squealing incoherently. A young woman ran after it, “Pan! Pan! Get back here young lady!”

The blur stopped to reveal a small dark hair girl, grinning madly up at the scarred warrior. He grinned back and offered her one of he many sweets off the buffet table he had just recently set straight.

“Only one,” Videl said firmly, “you don’t want to spoil your dinner…what do you say?”

“Thank you,” the child chirped between mouthfuls.

“No problem.” He looked at her mother, “I see you’ve had your hands full.”

The woman groaned, “Oh, you have no idea, she’s been looking forward to this all week. She loves coming over here. Forget Disneyland, Capsule Corporation can’t be beat in her eyes.”

Yamcha chuckled, “Of course, there’s a lot more ways to get into trouble here.”

“Don’t remind me.” She looked around, “Wow! The place looks great!…ooh, look at that, Pan!” she pointed at the jungle ensemble, which the small girl ran to investigate. “But where’s the guest of honor?” she asked looking for the lavender-haired teen.

“Oh, he’ll be down in a minute.”

“If I know Trunks, he’s probably hiding out,” a new voice said entering the room.

Yamcha smiled, “Hey, Gohan!” he shook the demi-Saiyan’s hand, “Actually, Trunks is upstairs cleaning up, we kind of had a pre-party food fight, but he should be down soon. Which is odd. Usually he tries to duck out of parties like this, but he’s been really antsy about this one.”

“I can’t blame him,” Gohan abruptly bent over to grab his daughter before she could jump head first into the fountain. Handing her to his wife, he continued, “Pritchard University!” he exclaimed excitedly, “He got into Pritchard! I would have died to get into that school. Do you have any idea of the kind of ratings that place gets?” he shook his head in bewilderment. “Being accepted alone insures you a six figure income, no matter what grades you get while you’re there. If I were Trunks, I’d be swinging from the rafters singing at the top of my lungs.”

Yamcha laughed as he got a mental image of just that. “Well, he’s certainly been more high strung since then. Bulma is really proud of him, and I am too. Heck, I don’t think I could deal with a vocational school, little alone a place like that.” He paused to collect his thoughts, “I don’t know how he does it, I mean really, look at him. Yeah, the kid’s a brainiac, but have you seen him fight lately?”

“Oh yeah,” Videl piped in, “he came over with Goten and Goku last week, and they started to spar. I’m telling you, I couldn’t keep up they were moving so fast.”

Gohan nodded in agreement, “He’s phenomenal. He’s already surpassed me in power and speed, and now it looks like he’s showed me up in the academic department as well.”

“Well,” the older man added, “the smarts, I think, come naturally, look at who his mother is. He’s just one of those people who understand things the first time around, I’d kill for that. I mean the kid doesn’t even study, he just gets it.” he sighed, “But what I do know, is that he trains everyday and visits his father at least three times a week to spar. So, it’s easy to see why he does stay in top physical condition. He also volunteers for the corporation, from time to time, for that ‘real life’ experience. But on top of all of that he has an active social life, talk about multi-tasking!”

They continued their conversation for a few minutes until Bulma called her boyfriend into the other room to ask him if he could go pick up the band. He nodded, snatching up a key to one of the many air-vehicles, choosing one large enough to comfortably transfer himself and the band with their equipment back to Capsule corp. As he flew from the building he let out a small sigh, he was a bit relieved to have a chance to get away. He began to mull over the thoughts that had been brewing in his mind for the past few weeks.

While he had agreed with Gohan that Trunks acceptance into Pritchard was something to be proud about, he had played up his enthusiasm. Yamcha was anything but approving about this party. He admitted he wasn’t what you would call ‘book smart’ but he wouldn’t have lived long as a desert bandit if he didn’t have strong intuition. It had carried him far in life, and more often than not, had gotten him out of dire circumstances. He pondered on this for a moment and shook his head. Screw intuition. You would have had to be living under a rock, blindfolded and deaf not to pick up on Trunks’ unhappiness. Was he the only one who saw it? He couldn’t believe it. Bulma was certainly blind to it, and from what he understood about Vegeta, while he might have known, he didn’t seem to care. Piccolo was probably in the same boat he was in, and everyone else had been blind-sided by Bulma’s tumultuous eagerness throughout the entire process.

Traffic was beginning to pile up so he slowed to a stop, leaning back in his seat to drum his fingers on the wheel. His uneasy thoughts continued: Trunks had made it quite clear early on that he had wanted to spend the next year in high school, despite his part-time college hours. His mother had waved him off. When he had stood up in the demi-Saiyan’s defense he had initially gotten ignored, and then endured the third degree once Trunks had left the room.

He loved Bulma, he really did, but she was as pig-headed as they come. It was her way or the highway, and most of the time it was easier to accommodate her, or if it was mild enough he could argue with her and sometimes get his way. But when it came to Trunks, well, that was another subject all together.

Trunks was not his child. At first he was bitter about this, thinking that he should have been the father to the boy, not some bloodthirsty murderous Saiyan. But that was a long time ago, and he admitted he was not what you would have called an ideal lover, or person for that matter. Times had changed, though, as had they all. And after eleven years he had gotten his chance with Bulma once again, and this time he swore he wouldn’t fuck it up like the first time. For the past eight years he had held true to that promise, and would continue to do so until the day he died.

He had accepted the fact that he would never be able to call Bulma his wife, or Trunks his son. He lived with this, and was happy just to be part of their lives. Hell, he even got along more or less with Vegeta, who would forever be a fixture in his own life, due to being Trunk’s father. He didn’t begrudge the prince for this; he was a good man, if a bit of a bastard at times.

Yet, when it came to Trunks, he felt out of the loop. It was treacherous ground, and he was uncertain at how far he could intrude upon it. He wasn’t the boy’s father; as such he never disciplined the boy or in any other way played the ‘stepfather.’ He wondered if Piccolo felt as he did, but upon further reflection he knew the answer. No, if anyone filled the stepfather role, it was Piccolo. Trunks looked up to him in a way he did no one else and Yamcha admitted he was more than a little jealous of the fact. Sure, Trunks liked him, hell anything was better than Billy, his ex-stepfather that had nearly ruined everyone’s lives all of those years ago, but the boy didn’t consider him a parent figure, he was a friend, and his mother’s boyfriend, nothing more.

Despite this, he found it hard to ignore the fact that Trunks was extremely unhappy about going more than 6,000 miles away to attend a university he had absolutely no interest in. You would think the teen would have protested tooth and claw, but strangely, other than his mild protests at the beginning, he had become peculiarly quiet about the entire matter. The scarred warrior had a feeling the teen and he had more in common than he once had thought. Some fluke of fate had left Trunks oddly placid, sure he was snappy when he was a kid, but he had grown to be laid back and as easy going as they come. However, he hated confrontations, especially when it came to his parents. Yamcha chuckled; the both of them couldn’t stand up to the fury of Bulma Briefs. But more so, he had a feeling that Trunks didn’t want to let anyone down, his parents had high expectations, and who was he to disappoint them? Yamcha sighed in sympathy, he knew all too well how that felt. He wished he had the spine to tell Bulma to back off, but he really didn’t think it was his place.


Back at Capsule Corp, more guests had arrived including Krillen and 18 along with their daughter. All of them were engaged in a poker match with Trunks who had come down freshly showered and looking older than he should—in Bulma’s opinion—in a sleek dress pant and black button down shirt, red tie, and hair swept back elegantly from his face. When he initially made his appearance it had been to the catcalls of 18 and whistles of Videl, causing him to blush furiously much to the amusement of everyone else. Soon, his father and Piccolo arrived, followed by Master Roshi and Oolong— Puar had unfortunately been flattened by a Mack truck five years prior but was sorely missed. Goku and Goten showed up last, Trunks practically tripping over himself to open the door. Bulma couldn’t hide a smile and graced Vegeta with a pointed look. He shook his head at her as if she were insane, and scowled half-heartedly at his rival, just for show, before turning his attention back to Piccolo who was in the middle of a discussion with 18.

“You look great, Trunks.” Goku said looking the boy up and down. His son however had lost the power of speech, and settled on just starring at his childhood friend. Finally, “Um, yeah. You’re really dressed up.”

“Thanks, I think,” the teen answered, raising a brow. Goten appeared to have made an effort as well, his hair had been cut in a new style, reminiscent of something from a GQ magazine, making him look older than his sixteen - almost seventeen years. The khakis he wore were pressed, and Trunks couldn’t recognize the shirt he was wearing, but surmised the outfit had been borrowed from Gohan due to the preppy style of it. Goku, probably after some prodding, had also forgone the normal training gi for a pair of slacks and a simple but new white T-shirt. After a quick glance-over of them again, Trunks led his friend and his father to one of the many tables strewn about the room.

“Wow, your mom went fricken crazy,” Goten commented, taking in the flamboyant decorations.

“Yeah, I know,” the older boy agreed gloomily.

Goku smiled sympathetically at him, “She means well.”

“Yeah yeah.”

After a few more minutes the Saiyan warrior wished Trunks a happy birthday and then moved away to visit his granddaughter.

Goten watched him depart, and let out a sigh of relief, “Good, I was hoping he would leave.”

“Why?”

“Trunks,” Goten looked anxiously from side to side, he pulled his friend down and leaned in closer to whisper, “I need to talk to you about something.”

The teen’s ears perked, “About what?”

“Not now, when you’re the center of attention. But…” he trailed off, “before you leave, I…I” for the life of him, he couldn’t find his tongue, “well,” he settled on, “I just need to talk.”

Trunks had a feeling he knew what this was about, a slight smile curled his lips. “Okay.”

With a nod, Goten darted off to join his dad, Trunks went in search of his own father. He found him talking to his mother. While he couldn’t hear them, he saw his father gesturing around the room, pointing out many of the ‘or ‘ornate’ décor, and then sticking his finger down in his throat in a gagging motion. He couldn’t help but laugh when his mother yelled something out, and picked up a pitcher of ice water to dump on him, which he dodged, and hit the person that was standing behind him.

“God damn it! Why me? Its always me!!!”

Trunks smiled to himself at the scene before him, it was nice to see his parents laughing together, even if it was at Krillen’s expense. When he neared them, Vegeta looked in his direction, still chuckling, “Hey, son.”

“Hi dad, I see you two are presenting a fine parental example of dignity and maturity in which I should strive to live up to.”

“Of course.” The blue-haired genius said, kissing him on the cheek, her attention was taken away when newcomers entered the room.

“Great, Yamcha’s back with the band!”

Both Trunks and Vegeta turned to see a sheepish looking Yamcha walk towards him, followed by a very loud, and very obnoxious mariachi band.

“She didn’t.” Vegeta breathed in disbelief.

When Yamcha finally reached him, he placed a hand on the shocked teen’s shoulder, “I’m really sorry, I tried to talk her out of it, but” he shook his head, “well, I’ll go spike the punch for you, it’s the least I can do. You’re going to need it by the end of the night.”

“Kill me now.” Trunks pleaded in despair, as the band circled between himself and his father, effectively cutting him off from any outside support.


Three hours later:

He could easily say this was the most humiliated he had ever been. He swore he would never talk to his mother again. The eighteen-year-old had been paraded around the room, forced to sit through his all of his mother’s scheduled entertainments, endure long-winded speeches, and somehow managed not to sink into the floor and die during the slide-show of his childhood. The presents he had received did little to make up for it, and to make matters worse, Goten was laughing his ass off the entire time. As much as it galled and embarrassed him, he did love to see Goten laugh, which didn’t happen that often anymore.

He really wanted this party to be over with, or at least die down so he could get a hold of Goten without too maeopleople noticing. The demi-Saiyan had tried several times during the night to talk to him alone, but someone would always walk up to congratulate him or wish him a happy birthday. He could tell that his younger companion was becoming more and more anxious as the hours went by.

Finally, frustrated, the boy of the hour took refuge in the form of his father’s mate. Always fond of the boy, the Namek took pity on him and led him away from the buzz of the crowd to the deserted balcony.

With a sigh, Trunks loosened his tie, and leaned back on the railing, exhausted.

“How are you holding up, kid?”

After a pause, “Oh, I’ll be fine, just worn out.”

“Liar.”

The boy looked at the man whom he considered a second father in confusion. Piccolo met his gaze and walked up to him, “Why don’t you tell them you don’t want to go?”

The demi-Saiyan briefly considered pretending he didn’t know what the green warrior was talking about, but the black eyes that were fixed on him told him it would be useless.

“You know why, don’t you?” he said softly, turning away to lean over the railing, “Besides,” he muttered, dropping his head so that his hair fell to obscure his face, “its too late now, isn’t it? Everyone is expecting me to go.” He paused, “Anyway, I’m just making a big deal out of nothing. I have to go to school sometime, might as well be now and get it out of the way, right?”

“Not necessarily,” the taller man said, propping himself on the same rail, “this is your decision, Trunks, no one else’s.”

“Is it?”

“You’re being a bit dramatic, aren’t you?”

Shaking his head, “No. Do you have any idea how my parents would react? Mom would never let me live it down, and dad, well you know how dad would be.”

Piccolo nodded, “He would hit the ceiling, yes I know, but Trunks,” his voice gentle, “he would get over it. He loves you and is immensely proud of you, so is your mom—.”

“But that’s just it!” Trunks exclaimed pushing himself up to face his adviser, “I don’t want to fuck that up.” He usually didn’t swear in front of anyone other than Goten, but it couldn’t be helped, his emotions that he thought he had hidden so well were finally seeping out, “No, I don’t want to go and I don’t think its fair that I’m being pressured into it, but,” his voice grew weak, “I can’t disappoint them, if only one of them was hard pressed about it then maybe I would say something, but the both of them? It’s just so rare that they agree on something.”

Piccolo raised a brow at thbut but Trunks raised a hand, “Don’t get the wrong idea, I’m not wanting them back together or something like that, hell no. I like them just the way they are, but you know dual forces and all are harder to resist. I feel like everyone is counting on me to be this great successful leader when all I want to do is…well…to bum around really.” He looked out into the star-filled sky, “I want to see it all, Piccolo. I want to travel, I want to go on adventures, see the world, hell the galaxy! But it’s like I have to conform to these strict set of rules set out by my parents, do you have any idea what that is like?”

The Namek sighed, “Yeah, actually, I do.”

The teen looked at him surprised.

“It wasn’t my idea to find Goku and kill him from the moment I was born.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. It must have sucked for you.”

“You put it so elegantly,” he chuckled, “but in actuality I simply went with it. Why wouldn’t I? It carried me far. But my father’s wishes got put on the backburner once I got a real taste of the world. In my opinion you need to do the same. The fact that your parents will be disappointed with you for a little while shouldn’t hold you back. As I said, they’ll get over it. As far as I’m concerned you need to get out there and grab life by the throat.” He turned to the son of his mate, cocking his head slightly, “Trunks, I really think you are making this more complicated than it needs to be.”

“But I’m not, there’s…” he broke off, “It is more complicated,” he finally said, “just trust me on this one.”

The Namek had wondered if the boy was ever going to cut through the crap and address the real problem, “This has very little to do with college, am I right?”

The demi-Saiyan looked at him from the corner of his eye, and finally gave a small nod.

“Am I also correct in believing that the reason you are so adamant about not disappointing your parents is because you’re currently doing something they might not approve of?”

The boy didn’t answer, but a guilty look crossed his features.

“Perhaps, you’ve grown attached to someone they might not approve of?” Piccolo continued, pressing the issue just a little further.

Trunks spine went rigid, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “Can you read minds or something,” he asked, shocked, “or am I that easy to read?”

“Both, but in this case I’ll have to settle with the latter.”

The youth crosses ars arms in agitation, “I didn’t think I was being that obvious.”

The older warrior shrugged, “Subtly is a fine art in which you haven’t quite mastered yet, I’m afraid.”

“You,” he fumbled here, “you don’t have a problem with it?”

Piccolo considered for a moment before answering, “I think you’re young, and due to that fact you need to be careful, but not really no, I think you could do a lot worse.”

He stood in utter disbelief until realization hit him like a ton of bricks, “Gods,” the teen blurted, desperation seeping into his voice “does dad know?”

“Yes, but he won’t admit to it. Your, mother, on the other hand, does and she is fine with it. In fact she’s happy about the idea.”

“What?!”

“It’s your mother, Trunks, you know she’s not conventional by any stretch of the imagination.”

“That’s an understatement,” he muttered, thinking the night couldn’t get any stranger. Suddenly a dark haired head popped through the sliding glass door.

“Oh, there you are! Um, are you still busy, or can I talk to you?”

Trunks looked up at Piccolo who was wearing a slight smirk, “Go ahead, kid, but remember what I said.”

He nodded, still bewildered, “Um, thanks, see you.” He turned his attention to Goten, “Yeah, I’m coming.”

Piccolo muttered a good-bye and watched with amusement as Goten snatched Trunks’ sleeve to steer him away as if he was afraid to lose him in the crowd. With a chuckle he looked over his shoulder into the night sky. Vegeta was going to be pissed; but he would live.

He stood out there for a few moments, until he heard the slide of the balcony door again.

“Hiding?” a voice asked.

“Only from you.”

“Shithead.”

“I try,” the Namek answered with a grin.

Vegeta shook his head and joined his mate by the railing, “Bulma over did it, big time, and it looks like the Cirque Du Soleil puked all over that room.” He stretched his limbs, “I noticed that Trunks ran out here for asylum.”

“Can’t blame him,” the Namek replied, “he was a tad overwhelmed, to say the least.” He wondered if now would be a good time to talk to his Saiyan lover about his son, but the door to the balcony opened once again.

“Oh, am I interrupting anything?”

Piccolo turned to see Bulma standing in the doorway, “Yes,” he said, “You walked in our plans for world domination, I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill you now.”

“You know it turns me on when you threaten me like that,” she countered without missing a beat.

“Ewww.”

Bulma laughed at him, then motioned behind her, “Everyone is starting to leave, would you two mind helping me take a few things down before you go? I’d have Yamcha help me but he’s out driving the band back to the airport.”

Vegeta shrugged, “I suppose, if it’s quick,” he said giving her a marked look, “I don’t want to be here until the ass crack of dawn cleaning up your mess from your gaudy-ass party.”

“Hey! It’s not gaudy, damn it! I’ll have you known that I’ve actually won an award for my party-planning, thank you very much.”

“That was a citation notice, Bulma, not an award,” the Namek remarked, goading the woman on.

“Hey, screw you!”

“I don’t do fish, but thanks for the offer.”

The banter continbetwbetween the three of them for a moment until she finally talked them into helping her, promising it would take no longer than twenty minutes. Dispassionately, they went around the large room, taking down strands of lights the other woman couldn’t reach.

While Vegeta was floating close to the ceiling trying to untangle a mass of wires, Piccolo was handed an ornate vase to be put away on the top shelf in one of the storage rooms. With a sigh, he made his way down a corridor, counting the doors along the way until he reached the right one. He couldn’t understand how people didn’t get lost in this place; every door looked the same, as did every hallway. It was huge, of course, so was the Lookout, but at least that was distinctive in all of its furnishings. Pausing in front of what he hoped was the right door; he placed his hand on the latch and turned it just as the sounds of heavy breathing reached his sensitive ears. Before he could stop himself, the door opened to reveal a disheveled shirtless Trunks, wrapped around a muscled body, hands fisted in black locks.

“Shit,” the Namek blurted, “Sorry Trunks, I didn’t know you were in here—”

The vase fell from his fingers, smashing into pieces upon impact with the floor.

“Goku!?”

********************
Yes, I am this evil.


I will update again in a couple of days, time permiting. Thanks for all of the hits!!