Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Stargazing ❯ Stargazing ( Chapter 10 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Stargazing

Chapter 10 - Stargazing

After he and Pan broke apart, Trunks dropped all pretenses of calm, flew hell-for-leather back to his wing of Capsule Corporation, snapped at security that he wanted to be left alone and, in a last ditch, desperate attempt to wash away all of the memories of what had happened that night, threw himself into the shower, not bothering to undress. His shaking hands barely managed to turn the hot water nozzle, but when he finally managed it after a bit of fumbling and the searing hot water hit his face, he hissed quietly in half pain, half pleasure, content for now to simply let the hot water thaw out the numbness of his skin.

He closed his eyes and bowed his head, trying desperately not to think. Anything but that - anything to put off facing reality and coming to terms with what had happened less than fifteen minutes ago.

He had kissed Pan. Hell, the whole thing had been intense enough to qualify as damn make-out session. And what was worse, his treacherous body had enjoyed it - far more than he had ever enjoyed being with his fiancé.

Thinking back, Trunks shuddered and tried not to remember how good everything had felt - how right, how absolutely perfect the feeling of Pan in his arms had been. He still remembered how smooth her skin had been - how her hair had felt like black silk in his hands, how her lips tasted like a heavenly blend of mint and vanilla.

`Bad train of thoughts, Trunks, old buddy,' he thought to himself, jerking himself out of his reverie. `Really bad.'

In his defense, though, he thought abruptly in an attempt to lesson the guilt, it's wasn't as if he or Pan had planned for something like this to happen. He couldn't explain how it happened. It just... did.

His whole day up to that point had been a complete and utter disaster. There had been this massive thorn in his side all day, this buzzing in his head, something that wouldn't let him have any peace at all, driving him completely crazy. For a brief moment at work, he had even toyed with the idea that he was going insane. He had snapped at his secretary, barked orders to the lab scientists like a madman - even going as far to terrify one poor woman into hysterics - and had eventually been dragged out of the compound by his furious mother and told to go home and to not come back until he was fit to act even remotely human.

The next place he instinctively thought of to go to was the GR, thinking that burning off some of that excessive energy with his father was exactly what he needed. In retrospect, it hadn't been that great of an idea, since he hadn't stopped to consider the fact that his father was the one person on the planet that not only would not stand for any of his son's bullshit, but also would gladly - and easily - agree to pounding said son's ass into the ground.

===============================================================

(Flashback)

Vejita took one look at his son's face as he stormed in the GR and stated flatly for him to get out. He was in no mood for any more of this mood-swing shit today, and just by looking at that thundercloud of an expression on his son's face, he knew the boy was in no condition to fight.

“Don't tell me what to do, old man,” Trunks had retorted sharply before he could restrain himself.

Rolling his eyes, Vejita phased out. A sudden burst of power, a paralyzing pain in his stomach, and Trunks blacked out before he could even blink.

===============================================================

Vejita coolly removed his fist from his son's stomach as the boy lost consciousness. Temper sated for the time being, he looked at Trunks' unconscious form and snorted.

“You should know better than to try and make me go through the same shit twice in one day, brat.”

Che. First Kakarott's idiot granddaughter, and now his own son. Damn the lunar cycle.

===============================================================

Trunks groaned in pain and woke up what seemed to be a couple of hours later, his stomach muscles throbbing in pain.

“Aw, fuck,” he moaned under his breath, hand moving slowly over to clutch at the damaged area. Quickly taking a mental scan of his body to make sure he had no other injuries, he mumbled a string of curses under his breath. Damn Dende. Damn his father for being so fucking fast. And damn his temper for getting him here in the first place.

“Quit your whining,” came the darkly amused reply.

Trunks grimaced as he realized that he was being watched. Sitting up and looking around, he caught sight of Vejita standing casually on the other side of the room, leaning comfortably against the wall of the GR and lazily scrutinizing something in his hand.

At the sight of him, Trunks' temper was back, this time with reinforcements.

“You just -” he gesticulated towards his gut indignantly. “I can't believe you just... You are a complete and utter asshole!” Opening his mouth to continue, he was cut off by his father's curt reply.

“You want to go another round?”

For once, self-preservation trumped everything else. Trunks grit his teeth and shut his mouth, thinking that his stomachache really didn't need any company - say, a headache, for example. He hadn't taken a complete leave of his senses.

“No, sir,” he replied promptly, only minimally grudgingly.

Vejita snorted. “I thought so.” A pause. “Here, take this.”

Anger dissipating, Trunks looked up in time to see his father toss him whatever it was in his hand. Catching it on reflex, he turned the object over and discovered that it was...

A necklace?

Not just any necklace, he corrected himself. It was by far the most extraordinary piece of jewelry he had ever seen, and with him being the richest man on the planet, that was seriously saying something. It was made up of a gorgeous turquoise and gold stone set in platinum, but the strangest part was that the centerpiece - that stone - glowed on its own.

He immediately recognized those colors.

“This looks exactly like the color of our eyes and hair when we go Super,” he commented briefly.

Vejita nodded, eyes trained on the floor. “Do you know what that stone is?”

Trunks shook his head, waiting for the reply. Times that his father was this talkative were few and far between, and he wasn't about to go and blow the first real conversation he'd had with the man in a long time.

“The stone is called the Kalashnar, meaning `eye of the gods' in our language. It was a gift from the ancient Cheizan race to the first leader of the House of Vejita as a peace-offering, directly after the Tufuru-jin were expelled from Vejita-sei.”

Trunks was stunned. “You're telling me that this thing is that old?”

“Yes. It is the greatest treasure of our race. The Cheizans were unrivalled as jewelers in the universe, and were the first and last people to ever create a stone that was completely indestructible. The fact that they were exterminated by Frieza shortly afterwards makes this stone the only one of its kind. Needless to say, it is extremely valuable.”

Letting the information sink in, Trunks swallowed. “So it's completely indestructible, huh?” he wondered aloud. Inspecting the medallion carefully, he found that what his father said was true. The entire surface was completely unmarred - perfect, shining, flawless.

“So what happened to it when Vejita-sei was destroyed?” he asked quietly.

Vejita's eyes smoldered with anger, pain, and some other unidentifiable emotion as he spoke.

“My father was wearing it at the time of his death. It was lost for a long time, most likely pawned off by one of Frieza's foolish men who did not realize its worth at the time. I tried to recover it while I was in service, but Frieza kept me on an extremely short leash, and I was forced to abandon my search.” Only after a visible effort did Vejita calm down, eyes once again growing impassive. Taking a deep breath, he continued. “Recently, however, with a bit of help from Kakarott's granddaughter, I was able to trace it to the Conan-jin.”

“Pan helped?” Trunks thought out loud. When Vejita nodded in confirmation, he continued. “Who are the Conan-jin?”

Vejita smirked. “I think you mean, who were the Conan-jin. They were a group of mercenaries living on the outskirts of one of Frieza 13's five moons. Under my instruction, the brat went to Conan-sei and demanded that they return the stone to her, but when they refused, she very pointedly took it back by force. From what I hear, they tried to stop her by destroying her spacecraft, but she managed to get away unharmed. The Conan-jin, I believe, did not survive the blast.”

Trunks frowned, upset at his father. “You asked her to do that? I can't believe you would put her in danger just in order to retain possession of a mere trinket, without even thinking about her safety!”

Vejita rolled his eyes. “Spare me the lecture, boy. First of all, you underestimate the woman's strength. She can take care of herself, with or without your incessant over-protectiveness. Secondly, you fail to comprehend exactly how valuable and important the stone is. Keep in mind it is the last remaining remnant of our race.”

Momentarily chagrined, Trunks looked back at the priceless piece of jewelry in his hand with new respect. Satisfied, Vejita grunted.

“Take good care of it.”

Trunks started. “Wait, what? You're giving it to me?”

“Obviously,” came the derisive retort. “It is tradition for the stone to be given to heir of the House of Vejita when he comes of age. Eventually, you will pass it on to the one who will guard the medallion until the next heir comes of age.”

Trunks blinked. “Who's that?”

Vejita looked at him pointedly. “Your mate. The mother of your child.”

He paused for effect, and Trunks was completely silent.

“Remember, Trunks,” Vejita stated quietly. “We are all that remains of our people. You, I, and Kakarott's bloodline are all that is left. The House of Vejita has fallen, Vejita-sei has been destroyed, and our race is at the brink of extinction. This stone alone is what carries the memory of the Saiya-jin. It is the embodiment of our entire history, our culture, and the spirit of all of those who once called themselves Saiyan.”

He looked at his son gravely, eyes willing him to understand.

“This is our legacy, Trunks. Make sure the woman you choose is worthy of it.”

And with that, he turned around and left the GR, leaving Trunks sitting on the floor, hands clutching tightly to a priceless treasure, mind and heart wallowing in confusion and doubt.

===============================================================

Mind returning to the present, Trunks' hand instinctively reached into his shirt to pull the necklace out and admire it. Eyes focused on the eerily glowing center of the pendant, his thoughts returned to Pan.

“Someone worthy, huh?” he thought aloud, clutching the necklace in his fist and stepping out of the shower. He had a lot of thinking to do...

But first, he had to get dry.

===============================================================

Ever since I was a little girl, my favorite pastime - well, besides fighting, of course - had always been stargazing.

I remember that I would spend hours on top of the small dome of my parents' house - every night, without exception - and I would stare for hours and hours at the billions of sparkling dots in the sky, admiring most of all the unrivalled brilliance of the North Star. Lying there, surrounded by the glittering cosmos, I remember wishing fervently that I could somehow grasp that elusive North Star in my tiny, insignificant hands, somehow preserving its warm, light presence for when night had already yielded to day.

One time, when Grandpa Goku asked me why I loved stargazing so much, I answered that it was because looking up at the sky made me feel insignificant and alone in the universe. Looking at the North Star, knowing that it was there - so bright, perfect, but out-of-reach - I would feel alone.

Grandpa Goku had frowned slightly and told me that that was a very sad reason to like something so much.

I had just smiled, and said that even though the North Star was out of my reach, just knowing that the other stars were there would make me feel better. And despite that almost overwhelming feeling of being alone, I couldn't help but love that gorgeous, brilliantly-shining North Star.

===============================================================

I eventually mustered up enough strength to drag myself up from the floor of my space capsule and into the shower, where after attempting to drown myself and failing, I became content to just stand and let the searing water burn away at my skin. Somehow, the intense pain did not help to keep my mind off of things as I intended - instead, my mind was as clear and lucid as ever. Mulling over everything that had happened recently - all the shit that had finally hit the fan, so to speak - I came to several realizations:

Even today, years after I have long left childhood behind, I am still stargazing. And I think that for the rest of my life, as long as I am incomplete, I will always be stargazing, searching for something to fill that hole in my heart that can never be filled, except by one thing.

Trunks...

My North Star.

===============================================================

The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed with the intention of doing something about the fucked-up state of my life. Ever since I had first realized I was in love with Trunks, I had unceasingly lived a life full of lies. I was tired of dealing with this shit - tired of leading a double life, tired of hiding my true feelings, tired of hiding who I was and why I was that way.

I was tired of running. The time had come for me to stand my ground, square off with my feelings, and come clean with the rest of the world.

The only thing was... how the hell was I going to explain all of this to Charles?

===============================================================

(One week later)

`Who knew that so much shit could happen on such a beautiful day?' Charles mused, silently fuming as he briskly strode off the bustling streets of West City and back into the cool marble lobby of Capsule Corporation. `It's like Kami is trying to make my life as difficult as humanly possible. You'd think that the wilting old fart of a god would have better things to do,' he snarled mentally. He paused this mental tirade just long enough to send a withering glare at his secretary (a young woman who had the annoying habit of sending him flirtatious glances that actually ended up looking more like ugly leers) and the unspoken warning successfully stopped her in her tracks. The furious Brit then snorted mentally. “Feh, as if I need to have any salt poured on an already throbbing wound. What the bloody hell is wrong with that bloke anyway?' he snarled. `I spend almost five years as the vice president of a global corporation - managing finances, marketing, and production alongside the president and founder of the company as their equals, I might add - and all he deems me worthy of is prancing his worthless, brainless daughter around New York City like some bloody male escort? Despite the fact that I've repetitively told him that I already have a girlfriend? Or maybe even because of it? Potential customer or not, the next time that bastard of a geezer tries something like this, I'll punch his bloody lights out, even in front of Trunks, Bulma, or Kami himself,” he growled under his breath vehemently.

`Kami, am I glad to be out of that stinking cesspool of a country and away from him,' he positively spat.

Glancing out a window in the hall on the way to his office, Charles' mood worsened. The birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. Carefree children and laughing couples strolled happily through a neighboring park, looking as if they hadn't a care in the world- which only served to infuriate Charles more. There was something infinitely frustrating about being the only pissed off person in a hundred-mile radius, he thought angrily. Happiness should have been outlawed on days like this. Gritting his teeth against a sudden desire to let out an explosive stream of expletives, he continued his march to the elevator - shoulders stiff and fingers twitching like a madman - and jammed his thumb onto the correct button with far more force than was necessary.

He wondered briefly if perfectly justifiable murder was punishable by law.

By the time the elevator reached the top floor, he'd shed his jacket and loosened his tie in a desperate attempt to calm his nerves - an attempt that had failed miserably - and, feeling no better than before, he slammed open the door to his office with unnecessary violence. Striding into the room purposefully, with absolute fury written in every line of his face, Charles decided that propriety could go to hell. He let out a colorful and inventive stream of swear words which included most of the curse words known to man, and some that weren't.

A feminine voice chuckled quietly from behind his desk, and his head snapped up. What brainless idiot of a woman was it this time, and who had the audacity to not only waltz into his office uninvited, but also to sit in his chair, lounging in it carelessly as if it were her own? Laughing quietly and not realizing that his bad mood had instantly dissipated at the sound of her voice, he knew the answer to that question before it was even finished. After all, there was only one woman that he knew who could be that arrogant.

“How'd you get into my office, Pan? Didn't security ban you from the building after you set my couch on fire two weeks ago?”

The young woman's face contorted indignantly.

“That wasn't me, you asshole! The only reason they said I couldn't come back was because even though it was your fault, they couldn't exactly throw out the vice president of the company, so they had to blame his poor, innocent girlfriend! Besides, everyone knows you were the one that lit the match. I was just a convenient scapegoat!” She stuck her tongue at him childishly.

“I was trying to light a bloody cigarette, woman! That's no reason to tackle a perfectly innocent bystander to the ground!”

“You told me you quit smoking, you lying scum! And I didn't tackle you, I only gently pushed you aside to get your attention! You were the one who fell over and dropped the match!”

“ Gentle push? Fell over? Are you positively insane? That `gentle push' was enough to send me flying almost ten feet across the room and into the wall! You can't blame me for dropping the match on the couch after you pulled a stunt like that! And how did you manage to hurl me across the room with those girly arms of yours, anyway?”

“Who are you calling girly arms? Why I ought to -”

“Ahem.”

“What?” they both demanded at once.

Bulma blinked. “Nice to see you too, Charles, Pan. I just wanted to ask how the meeting in the States went.”

Chagrined, Charles grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, Bulma. You know how it is.” Pan grinned innocently in the background.

Bulma smirked knowingly. “I'm sure I do. Now, about that meeting...?”

“Right. Well, as you probably know, the whole affair was a complete waste of time. I know Trunks was pissed last time after he got back, but now I know why. McAllister is a complete and utter moron whose main goal in life is to marry me off to his daughter. He has absolutely no business sense, and it's a wonder his company hasn't already gone under.”

Bulma sighed. “I suspected so. But even so, we can't afford to lose this deal. You know if we don't get it, our competitors will. And I'm not the type to just roll over and let them have something we want.”

Charles rubbed his forehead in frustration. “I agree, but this is nothing short of a circus act, Bulma. I was over there catering to this guy's daughter's every need for the whole week. The only reason I didn't tell both the old man and his idiot daughter to shove it was because I know we can't afford to piss them off. And to make matters worse, McAllister's fiancé is visiting the area tomorrow, and of course we're expected to take care of her before he makes his decision.”

Bulma scowled. “Who is it this time?”

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don't be offended by my choice of words, Bulma, but it's this blue-haired bimbo named Marron.”

===============================================================

After Bulma left, Charles turned his attention back to Pan. “So, was there something you wanted to talk to me about? You sounded pretty weird this morning when I left for work,” he asked, concerned.

Pan bit her lip, all of her previous fiery attitude gone. “Yea, there was this one thing,” she began awkwardly. “I need to talk to you later tonight. It's... kind of important, so, could you maybe come over after work to my place? I... need to tell you something.”

Charles felt suddenly apprehensive. “It has to wait until tonight?”

Pan lowered her eyes. “Yea, I want to do this the right way. It's not something that should be laid out just like that.”

Charles swallowed. “Okay,” he agreed hoarsely, trying to calm the nervousness that was rising in his chest. Something bad had happened, and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to like it. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to concentrate for the rest of the day at work, either.

“I'll see you then,” she whispered and looked at him gravely before walking away, and he knew that he was going to lose something very precious to him that night.

===============================================================

“Oi, Charles! Look sharp!”

The blonde looked up from his paperwork with a scarcely intelligent-sounding “Huh?” just in time to have the thrown manilla folder smack him full-on in the face. He let out a stream of muffled curses.

“Dende, Charles. What the hell happened to you?” Trunks inquired, brows furrowed in concern. “You look like shit.”

“Really,” Charles stated sarcastically. “How could you tell?”

Trunks raised an eyebrow. “Well, the fact that your eyes are bloodshot to the point that you look like the ultimate incarnation of evil is a slight giveaway. Or maybe it's the fact that you've run your hands through your hair so many times, it's probably gonna stand up like that for a week. What in Dende's name is going on here, man?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he stated flatly. “I just need a fucking break, is all.”

“Well, just go ahead and take one then. I'll pick up for you for the rest of today. Go home and get some rest,” Trunks ordered, looking at his friend with no small amount of trepidation.

The workaholic in Charles bristled worriedly. “But I've still got this quarter's finances to balance, and Yamada's out for the week, so I've got to find a replacement for her even though it's on such short notice, and then there's the whole thing with McAllister's fiancé...”

Trunks waved a hand dismissively. “I'll take care of it.” Hit by a sudden idea, he smirked evilly.

“And I know just the person for that last job.”

===============================================================

This was all just a terrible nightmare. It had to be.

Okay, maybe I was in denial. Or maybe I was just pissed at myself for being screwed over beyond comprehension by a person that I would have trusted with my life. Or maybe I was trying very, very, very hard not to find said person right now and rip his Dende-damned head off. I meant it. That bastard - that complete bastard! - had finally done it. He'd gone overboard this time. And he was dead. There would be no mercy, no forgiveness, for something done like this that was so damning. He would pay. No, wait. I would make him pay. Nobody messed with me like this, and I would show that sniveling, manipulative asshole exactly why. He'd see just how big of a mistake he'd made by making me angry. I would get my revenge. Nobody was going to get away with making me - me! - go through this... this complete and utter torture.

`Trunks,' I thought to myself, `wherever you are, you heaping sack of lying dung, you better run for your pathetic, soon-to-be-ended life.'

“Are you alright, Pan?”

Turning to the disgustingly bubbly woman that had addressed me, I tried to force out a smile. Granted, it came out more like an ugly, twisted expression between a grimace and a sneer that made me look more than just slightly insane, but hey, I tried. I knew she wouldn't notice anyway.

“Yes, Marron, I'm fine.” I tried not to sound too exasperated.

“Oh, good!” she chirruped. “From the look on your face, I thought something bad had happened!” She flipped her curly blue hair behind her shoulder - for the eighty-seventh time that afternoon (trust me, I had counted) - and returned to sipping her tea happily, as if I hadn't been glaring at her with the enough force and anger to rival the explosion of a thousand Gallik Guns.

I grit my teeth and took several deep, calming breaths that for some reason weren't so calming anymore. Glancing at Marron's sickeningly happy smile out of the corner of my eye, I knew my patience had long since evaporated. If I didn't do something quickly, I would either kill the blue-haired bimbo in front of me or end up killing myself. It was me or her, if I couldn't think of something, and fast.

I saw something then, in my peripheral vision, that inspired an idea that saved me.

A little boy was standing on the sidewalk of the café we were sitting at, playing with his shadow. He was running around, performing silly maneuvers, trying to jump on and henceforth “catch” the elusive shadow that was a reflection if his every movement. In a desperate attempt to maintain what was left of my dwindling sanity, I tried what he had done, only my shadow was a telepathic one. In my mind, I faced off against an impossible opponent - myself - in a Saiyan fight to the death.

Seconds passed, and my mind calmed in the comforting familiarity of an imagined telepathic battle. Somehow, Marron must have caught on to my mood, because she stopped babbling long enough for me to be able to hear myself think.

I relaxed as I was surrounded with nothing but a welcome, blissful, wonderful silence - silence! - and I let the telepathic illusion go in relief. A full minute passed, and I smiled.

“Oh, look! That bird is red! Just like my lipstick!”

My eyebrow twitched, and my smile was gone.

Trunks was a dead man.

===============================================================

Charles woke up from his nap around dusk feeling more human than he had all week. Well-rested but still worried about Pan, he decided to head over to her capsule home early, and he started to get dressed.

“I... need to tell you something,” she had said. `Fuck,' thought Charles. `It's not what you said that bothers me,' he thought as he pulled on a pair of socks, stomach knotted with worry.

`It's how you said it.'

===============================================================

Trunks groaned pathetically as he buried his face into his pillow. There was no way that this was happening so early in the morning. The sun wasn't even up - why did he have to be awake already? And what in Dende's name was making that incredibly irritating ringing noise, anyway?

Briefly, he listed the possibilities in his still sleep-fogged brain. An alarm clock was the most logical explanation for his rather abrupt awakening, but he knew for a fact that it wasn't. He'd smashed his a long time ago, and had never gotten around to replacing it. And besides, his alarm clock didn't ring, it beeped.

It wasn't Marron's, either. Since their wedding was coming up in less than a week, they had decided to keep a distance from each other for the time being. This way, she had reasoned, it would feel more exciting after they were back together again as a married couple, so she had moved back to her parents' house until further notice.

Shit, there it was again. Blinking sleepily several times, Trunks woke himself up enough to realize that it was the doorbell. `Well,' he thought derisively. `Whatever fucker is calling at this time of night can just wait out there until he gets a clue and fucks off.' With that, the purple-haired demi rolled over onto his side and tried to go back to sleep.

Five minutes later, and the ringing hadn't stopped. In fact, it was now accompanied by liberal amounts of shouting and banging. Trunks gave up in frustration and let his temper take over.

Cursing loudly, he threw off the covers and stormed out of bed, honing on the weak ki signature of his late-night mystery guest. Realizing with a jolt that it was Charles, Trunks curbed his temper - only very slightly (it was still very late and in his opinion, his friend deserved to reap whatever he had sown) - and opened the door with such ferocity that he very nearly ripped it clear off of its hinges.

“Charles,” he demanded furiously, “what in the fucking hell -”

He saw the hit coming far before it even came close to connecting. As if the world was moving in slow motion, everything froze before his eyes, and he instantly registered three things: (1) the uncontrollable anger on his friend's face, (2) there was a fist heading towards his jaw, and (3) if he didn't power down, Charles was going to shatter his knuckles on a jaw bone that was harder than steel.

Cursing inwardly both at his friend and at the fact that his heritage needed to remain a secret, Trunks lowered his ki enough so that when the punch hit his jaw, he stumbled backwards several steps. Although Charles did have a pretty mean right hook for a human, he was, in the end, still only human.

Trunks barely felt the punch, but that didn't make him feel any less pissed.

Charles followed through by grabbing the collar of Trunks' shirt and shoving him backwards into the wall. Trunks ruthlessly crushed his instinct to fight back, since he didn't want to have to explain to the police exactly how his vice president had ended up dead. Gritting his teeth and bearing with this indignity for the time being, he settled for plastering a sneer on his face and focused on trying to get Charles to explain himself.

Looking at his junior's face closely for the first time, Trunks realized suddenly that tears were streaming liberally down Charles' cheeks. This discovery effectively killed any anger the demi-Saiyan had for being attacked, since there was no way that he could've mustered up any feelings of anger for someone that looked that dejected and lost.

“Charles,” Trunks tried. “What...what happened?”

The blonde didn't seem to register his words, merely tightening his grip on the collar of Trunks' shirt, face still completely serious, tears still pouring down. There was a brief standstill, then, where as Charles glared and simultaneously tried to put to voice what he seemed to have on his mind, Trunks stayed silent - honestly completely at a loss for what else he could do or say.

Never, in all his years, had he ever seen his friend like this before.

“You…” Charles began hoarsely, fighting back more tears.

Trunks' eyes snapped back into focus.

“You don't deserve her.”

And then the grip on his shirt was gone, and so was his friend.

===============================================================

Author's Note: Wow, that was a long-ass chapter - and it took an equally long time to get out, too. Sorry about that, everyone, but rest easy - we're closing in on the end!

===============================================================

Disclaimer: Any and all characters belonging to Dragonball/Z/GT are the legal property of Toriyama Akira and/or FUNimation.