The Language of Warriors

He sneered and stalked away towards the garden, somewhere he went quite often to meditate his way through stress when his body was either injured or too taxed to train. That infernal woman was out of her mind. Sure, it had started as a simple enough request, but his adamant refusal to do servant's work threw her into a fit. He checked to make certain his ears were not bleeding. He growled several curses as he ripped the door open and stormed inside.

Trunks' attention shifted from his grape popsicle to his irritated father as he went inside the garden. At the age of five, he was constantly trying to copy Vegeta and be exactly like him since he was most clearly the coolest person in the world. His curiosity was piqued when he heard angry words he didn't understand, and so biting off the rest of the frozen treat, he tossed the cheap wooden stick to the floor and trailed his father.

He found him sitting on the branch of a tree, legs crossed and eyes closed in meditation. A scowl was plastered on his face and he seemed to be all around frustrated. "What are you doing, Dad?"

Vegeta snorted. His son knew what he was doing. He was just trying to start a conversation. Never one to stall, he dove right in. "What do you want, Trunks?"

He smiled. His dad always was pretty straight to the point. "I was just wondering what you were saying." At the man's quirk of his brow, he elaborated, "When you were coming in here. It sounded like another language, and since Mom said you used to go to different planets, I was wondering if it was an alien language."

Vegeta had to scoff at that. He gracefully hopped down from his perch and straightened to look at his son more closely. Granted, he hadn't made any move to teach him, but the fact that he developed the theory that what he spoke was just any tongue appalled him. He mentally cursed himself for being so negligent, and for having so little regard for his heritage. "What you just heard is not an alien language, at least not to you or me."

"That's how saiyans talk," he guessed. His blue eyes glazed over with excitement. He loved it when he learned something about where his father came from. It was never dull.

Vegeta smirked as he crossed his arms, subconsciously straightening his posture further (if it was possible). "Of course, Trunks. And as you are of royal saiyan blood, it's high time you learned it."

"Awesome! What's first? Can we start now?"

Roughly four hours later, Bulma was walking into the kitchen to grab some coffee when she heard her son and husband talking. The thing was she couldn't understand a word. Biting her lip with her scientific curiosity, she peeked around the corner.

"No, Trunks. You're putting too much force on the accent. For cripes sake the adjective comes after the noun!" Vegeta sat across from their son, sipping from a water bottle as he instructed the boy. Trunks was scowling at his missteps concerning the language of his ancestors. "Now try it again."

The half-saiyan fumbled a bit as he spoke the foreign words, but Vegeta had to hide his proud smirk at the kid's determination. It would be good to converse in Saiya-go once again. He was amazed he hadn't forgotten it.

Bulma smiled at the scene. She walked in and started making her coffee. "So, what are my strong men up to?"

Trunks looked up thought for a moment. Smirking, he looked confidently at his father before answering in Saiya-go. Vegeta allowed a bark of laughter to escape him. The blue-haired scientist crossed her arms as she glared at the eldest royalty.

Vegeta leaned back at her unasked questions. "The direct translation of that statement would be what, Trunks?" he asked mischievously.

The child pretended to mull over it for some time before he snapped as the answer seemed to come to him. "Wouldn't it mean, 'Something only for saiyan warriors and not human mothers,' Dad?"

"Something along those lines."

Bulma sniffed. "You're getting your father's manners Trunks. That's not a good thing. Here I am just wondering what you're doing and you say something so rude!"

"I know the concept is foreign to you, woman, but raising your voice to painful volumes does not improve many situations." He rolled his eyes. Trunks mimicked. "I was teaching the boy Saiya-go. Grab your pathetic caffeine and leave us be."

Her mouth made a 'O' as she tried in vain to hide a smile. She knew Vegeta had many doubts concerning his parenting abilities. She knew he tried. She knew he feared tainting their son. After Mirai left, he'd let it slip in a drug induced haze after a training accident that the future version of their son was the perfect warrior and son, and that who was he to ruin him? The proud prince didn't actually know he'd said so.

She also knew that in Trunks' eyes, Vegeta could do no wrong. They didn't spend much time together outside of training, but that took up almost the entire day. So, she made no further argument and left them to their father-son bonding.

Vegeta shook his head. He had a pretty good idea what his insane mate was thinking. She was never exactly the definition of subtle.

"Dad?"

"What?"

"Um, what's the word for your name?"

"You mean Father?"

"Yeah."

And so the day went by. It soon became routine for them to have lessons every other day. Little Trunks talked in Saiya-go whenever he could.

And together, he and his father drove Bulma to her wit's end.

...

A/N: So, there's another short addition to that. I actually had this done for a while, but I wasn't happy with it yet. Anyway, just got back from summer camp. Worshiping the use of hot shower water. Yeah.

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