He's My Dad

August 26, 2006 ---------------FINALLY FINISHED!

By Pearl3

A/N: upon a few requests, I've decided to do this lil continuation of "He's My Son". Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!


He trudged down the halls of the labs of his home at just above a snail's pace. Why? Not even he was quite sure. Days like these always got the better of him before they had even started. Chancing a glance down at his digital watch, the time reaffirmed his suspicions.

0515 AM. He should still be in bed.

To his father, half the day was already gone. Personally, the young teen found no reason to wake up before the birds did to train. The planet seemed safe ('seemed' always being the keyword). Plus, he simply had no desire to train so extensively.

Trunks winced as a mental reprimand from his father suddenly appeared in his mind's eye. It wasn't as though he didn't like to train—because he did—it just didn't seem like something he should spend his mornings and afternoons on. Thankfully, school saved the day. He was, perhaps, the only teen that was grateful for school…next to Gohan of course.

Shaking lavender locks out of his eyes, he pressed the intercom button next to the GR's door. "I'm here dad," he muttered, barely stifling a yawn afterwards. Blinking in mild surprise, though not at all losing the sleepy look, Trunks replayed his message in his mind. His own voice shocked him. Naturally, he had inherited a lot from his father, some good, and some bad. But the gruffness of his vocals had never thrown him off as much as they had in that instance. He had always had a bit of a sharp edge in his tones. There was even a bit of an accent that he couldn't quite place.

Freaky.

"Don't just stand there, hurry up," came the curt reply. His father had never been much of a greeter anyway. Trunks took a moment to glance to his right, then his left. With his mother's improvements to the Gravity Room, he would definitely have to be careful. She had recently added a modification that allowed the user of the GR to grow accustomed to the gravity through increasing intervals before entering the main room. It only worked once the door had been opened, and the machine activated, but he had to be cautious either way. Vegeta had probably been using it for over an hour now, and who knew which random scientist had pulled an all-nighter---namely his mother.

Trunks managed to leave all thoughts of counting sheep and soft beds behind him as he gracefully marched in to the GR. He eased off his tank top, tossing it to the corner with his father's shirt. Never one to waste time, his father was nearly finished with his katas. Trunks sighed, plopping down on the cool, metal floor, already stretching his legs.

The elder Prince raised one eyebrow at his offspring's very off mood. It wasn't as though he was insightful on matters such as these—as a matter of fact, he tried very much to avoid these instances. But over the years, and after careful observation, he could tell when something was up. Before, his son's feelings had never mattered. Now, well…he allowed a small smirk. Things had changed over the years. Why? Who knew? And who the hell cared? If he had even spared a single second to mull it over, things were obviously better. Well, better by human standards.

Offering a midnight glance towards his eldest child, Vegeta let his arms drop to his side. The katas were basically over for him anyway. He shuffled over to where the demi Saiya-jin had his legs sprawled out before him, shooting a small kick to the sole of the former's boot. "Up," he commanded, crossing his arms in that all-imposing way.

Lavender hair bobbed up slightly as Trunks steadied himself in the heavy gravity. He felt unnerved, staring back into the eyes of his father. It made him feel small, insignificant in the dark pools that had seen so much. Frighteningly, he felt like he was seven all over again. The teen flicked his eyes over to the computer's main monitor, no longer able to withstand his father's calculating stare.

A small, light chuckle caused Trunks to peer back into Vegeta's face. A hint of a smile was in place of the normally dark frown. The expression looked…foreign. Amusement was always something his father had found time for, but this was a sort of "happy amusement". This was almost a bit more freaky than the whole "deep-Vegeta-like-voice" moment.

"You and I have been through a lot boy. We never talk much, but I know we won't get anywhere if you carry on like this." Trunks blinked, eyes zooming back to his father's face.

"Wha—?"

Vegeta pushed a darkened frown on to his normally handsome features. "Gaki! You're nearly as clueless as your mother. Spit out what ails you so we can continue training!"

Trunks bit his bottom lip in an attempt to not lash out at the verbal assault. His instinctive, teen-automated-response system wanted him to churn out a "Nothing", but self-preservation struck like a lightening bolt. One thing his father would never, ever tolerate would be a lie. "Well…" he began, finding the words difficult to produce. How could he possibly tell his father that training was more of a chore than a necessity? True, they never did say much during these sessions, unless Vegeta was correcting his sloppy movements…but it was that father/son bonding time that he had longed for as a kid.

But how could he force himself to go on, month after month, until he graduated, went to college, and took over the company? It wasn't fair…to either of them really. The demi-teen found himself gulping down the fear that threatened to break free. By now, he had managed to refocus on his father's form, noticing that although Vegeta didn't look genuinely concerned, he did expect an answer. With a heavy sigh, Trunks ran his fingers through long, lavender strands.

"I just…well, look; I know you don't like people steering around, so I might as well say it."

His father only shifted his weight to his right leg.

"Lately, I just haven't felt the need to train. I don't enjoy it anymore. I don't want to do it." He had clenched his eyes shut as soon as the last syllable had slipped through his lips. What else could he do? Running from the situation would probably get him into more trouble, and staring at his father could potentially do more harm than good. Trunks held his breath, praying to God that he hadn't pushed a button that need not be pressed.

"Oh."

Trunks allowed a few blinks. Was that all? No screams? No perfectly aimed ki blasts? Nothing! He summoned the courage to once again peer into his father's face. A look of indifference reflected back. The teen slumped a little. Perhaps it didn't even matter to his father at all. What a sad turn of events this was indeed.

The awkward silence that followed made Trunks feel ill. His stomach churned, doing random flip-flops, fluttering to remind him that breakfast was still around the corner. Whether or not he could hold down his meal would be a sight to see indeed. The young Prince turned on his heel, no longer feeling the welcome mood from his parental unit. He had soured the mood, and now only wanted to run to the sanctuary of his school to bury his nose in books that he himself could've written.

"Trunks, just a second," his father commanded, soft though it was. The demi turned back around, now facing his father's back. His eye twitched as he realized that he had not even heard the slight ruffle of his father's gi when he moved. "I…I understand that you no longer wish to train. You and I both know that I can no longer force you to do anything." Vegeta crossed his arms, almost as if he were protecting himself from saying something utterly human.

"But, Dad, I didn't—" Vegeta glared at his son from the corner of his eye, causing the boy to immediately shut his mouth.

"Don't think, however, that I will let you off this easy. Even if you don't want to train as you have been since you were four, you still need to exercise. No son of mine will be a fat ass."

Trunks smirked, mirroring his father's stance. "Dad," he chuckled, "I didn't mean to blurt out that I don't want to train. With our schedules, this is the only way you and I can see each other. I just want to tone it down a bit. Let's face it…you'll always be so much stronger than I am."

Vegeta returned the smirk, walked up to him, and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Your mother always said this day would come," he said softly, letting go and turning of the GR. His son blinked after him, following him out of the chamber, where his sister bounced up and down, clad in pj's. Vegeta bent down and swooped her up, walking towards the kitchen, Trunks on his heels. "What do you mean?"

"You're finally breaking away from us. Finally growing up. Soon you'll be moving out and taking over the business." His cheeks turned crimson as his daughter squeezed his neck and announced that she would never leave her daddy.

Laughter reached the ears of the Prince as he turned and faced his first born. "Face it old man, you aren't getting rid of me!"

"Old, am I? Saiya-jins live to be well over one-hundred, boy. You want fifty more years of me?"

"Tch, knowing you, you'd outlast me."

The Prince let out a full, blown laugh, setting Bura down at the table. "Perhaps I will. As long as we aren't attacked by lizards, and demons, and wizards…oh my." Trunks snickered, ruffling his sister's hair as she caught on to the reference of her favorite bedtime story.

"Lions and tiger and bears, oh my!"

Bowls of cereal then littered the table as the Saiya-jin tended to his children. He allowed his mind to wander back to the past twenty-some-odd years he had spent on the planet. To each birth of his somewhat possessed offspring. To battles, both home-bound and alien-initiated. What a life indeed. He was turning into a sentimental old fool.

"Dad!"

He jumped slightly, blinking at his thoughtlessness. "What?" Little Bura tilted her head in the same manner as her mother, staring at him with big blue eyes. "When can I train?" she chirped, now standing on her chair.

"You? Train?"

"Mm hmm! Pan gets to train all the time with Uncle Goten and Gohan." She teetered back and forth on the edge of the chair while tossing the dried fruit in her cereal into Trunks' bowl. The elder teen scowled at her, but shoveled it in anyway. She then picked up the soggiest pieces and threw it into her brother's bowl, earning a slight shove. "Quiiiiiit!" She whined, stomping her foot down angrily. Vegeta watched with a wary eye, angered at the fact that he had to get up to get more milk. He flashed towards the fridge, but heard the shriek all parents hate to hear.

Bura's shrill, four-year-old voice cried out, with two loud thumps following. Vegeta shot to her side immediately, picking up the bawling child and assessing the damage. Her lip was already swelling and bleeding from where she bit down; he head had a decent-sized mark on it, soon to bruise. What an earful he would get once his wife returned from the office. "Alright, alright. No more tears," he muttered, not much to do this in front of his son. Trunks only cleaned up the mess of overturned bowls, eyes hidden under long bangs.

"I'm sorry sis," he said as he placed the broken bowls in a trash bag. The mini-Bulma sniffled, hiccupping in her father's arms. "It's okie."

"Get an ice pack for the swelling."

"Right."


Vegeta sat in the same, old rocking chair that had been used for their first child, rocking his baby girl back and forth, back and forth. Her soft snores echoed back, along with a few hiccups from her crying tirade. She would have marks later on, and he would have to answer to Bulma, but for the moment the house was peaceful. Trunks' heavy steps resounded from the stairwell, signifying that the cleaning chores had been completed.

The demi stepped into his sister's room, previously the nursery for both of them. She was curled up in her father's arms, snug in a pink blanket. Looking at them now, one would've thought that Vegeta had been born a natural father. Maybe he had. Years of living under tyranny had obviously taken their toll. He had to learn to be gentle again, to be a man and not a machine. Trunks smiled as he flopped down, cross-legged in front of the rocking chair duo. His father spoke softly over the blue tuft of hair that threatened to take over his face. "Shouldn't you be at school?" He went back to humming the same Saiya-jin lullaby that Trunks had remembered as a child.

The teen shrugged, scratching the back of his head. "I figured I'd take the day off. You know, spend some time with you and munchkin there."

His father looked genuinely surprised. "Why?"

"Why not?" Trunks challenged, eyes falling upon his sister's sleeping form. "You're my dad. That good enough reason for you?"

Vegeta smirked, continuing the back and forth motions of the chair. "I suppose so," he allowed, continuing on with the soft lullaby. Trunks grinned, falling into key and time with his father.


Yes, only because he's my dad.


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A/N: there ya go! I hope you are happy with this, I sorta am! Basically this is Trunks' and Vegeta's musings on each other, and how different they both have become after Trunks hits his older teen years. And the whole thing with Bura was to differentiate how Vegeta once was, to what he turned into (also from "He's My Son"). D YAY! So review please!

Ja Ne,

Pearl