“So why are you here?” Vegeta asked, watching the gorgeous curvature of Mirai’s mouth move to form words. “Trouble again?”
“Sort of, but not so much for here. Not now anyways,” the older Trunks sighed, standing outside his Time Machine, breathing in the smoke and fumes. “My time.”
“What about it?” The older man asked.
“Couldn’t stay there.” The half Saiyan answered bluntly. “The world was attacked by the second stream of the heart virus that killed Goku. They cured the first stream but somehow, the disease became immune to the medicine. It….” He looked away, refusing to show the pain to this version of his father, despite the price it cost him. “It killed them all. I’m surprised I escaped.”
“Are you sure you did?” The Saiyan asked, arms crossed. “You could be a carrier.”
“No,” Trunks shook his head. “It’s impossible. The disease kills you within hours and believe me, you feel it before then. I waited for as long as I could to be certain.”
Vegeta examined the older version of his son, perhaps only 27 years in age.
“It came on quickly, didn’t it?”
“Yeah,” nodded the younger man. “Within a few short years after the androids were destroyed.” He looked up, meeting eyes with his androgynous father. “Perhaps this world wasn’t meant to survive.”
Vegeta’s face remained passive though his mind was calculating as always, running through objectives and how to execute them.
“You’re different,” Vegeta smiled slightly. “I can’t put my finger on it but it’s something.”
Trunks shied underneath his father accusing gaze, looking anywhere but in the other man’s eyes.
“Ah,” the Saiyan gave up. “perhaps I’m just so used to my own son now.”
“I’d nearly forgotten about that,” Trunks smiled shyly. “There are two of us now. People will get us confused, won’t they?”
The young man’s eyes became the size of tires when Vegeta burst out laughing, taking to the sky.
“I think the word “impossible” doesn’t do it justice.”
…………………………………………………………………………………….
“As it is every day,” Vegeta smirked, touching down a safe distance from the capsule courtyard, watching the people filter in and out of doors for lunch. “He humors her by meeting in their reserved spot, helps her down into the chair as if he cares, and watches while she cries. It’s the same routine and he reacts as he did the first time and will the last time. Nothing.”
The two watched mother and son sit beneath the large shade umbrella, the wind making the decorative lining sway lightly. Bulma was gesturing madly, her body slowly aging with time yet her argumentative spirit untouched. Mirai was shocked at the appearance of his younger self, horrified by the short cut hair littered with white streaks. The 24 year old sat, seemingly bored by everything in his surroundings, attitude screaming anything but interest in what his mother was saying.
“She pleads with him every time. The same thing.” Vegeta sighed.
“What does she say?” Mirai asked.
“She begs him to feel.” Vegeta breathed. “To find love wherever he has to. To abandon this heartless path he has chosen for himself. That it will lead to nothing. She wants him to love.”
“He doesn’t?”
“Oh… he does,” Vegeta grinned. “He loves very capably. The only problem is that the only person he can seem to share it with is himself.”
Mirai watched in horror as Bulma seemed to break into tears, caused by something his younger self had said.
“The doctors seem to think it’s a chemical imbalance in his brain,” Continued the prince. “That for some reason, emotions and feelings normal and necessary in day to day life don’t effect him. There are a few terms they gave it. Severe and abnormal narcissism. Extreme sociopathic disorder. As he sits there, he tries to imagine what he should be feeling, what he should be saying and reacting to. But he can’t. Rather, when all others would feel shame in causing their mother hurt, he’s riling in it and he doesn’t understand why.”
“He enjoys hurting her like this?” Mirai demanded, appalled by the scene.
“I don’t think he tries to. Rather, I think he doesn’t care even in the least. I think he pretends to enjoy causing pain because it’s easier then trying to understand it.”
“Unreal,” Mirai muttered to himself. He watched as his younger version placed a hand delicately on his mother’s, face contorting slightly with a look of sorrow.
“He plays the part nicely for her though,” Vegeta sighed, crossing his arms. “He gives her the illusions when all else fails. When he tires enough of her antics he does what’s expected of him. Every gesture, every movement, every muscle tensed in his face is a façade. A masquerade. The actor in his finest hour, calming and pleasing his mother with the simple incentive not to have to talk to her any longer. And then he lifts her from her chair with a pat on the back, pays the bill with a company card, checks out the new waiter and makes a mental note.”
“Checks out the new waiter? What does that mean?”
Vegeta gave him a look that simply screamed “duh”, rolling his eyes and gesturing when all he had predicted played itself out like a movie.
The younger Trunks visibly sighed, scooted the chair away from the table as he rose, helped his mother out of her own and paid the bill. As they entered into the building, Trunks did indeed give a glance around, spotting what appeared to be an attractive male server and gave the tiniest wink before following his mother.
“He’s…..?”
“Oh come off it,” Vegeta interrupted him, humor playing with his facial features. “I lived for a year with you in that time chamber and father or not, in whatever sense, I could tell.”
Mirai chose to ignore the conversation, watching as the door closed behind the other Trunks. Vegeta looked with him, shaking his head.
“It’s his power.” He remarked absentmindedly. “Trunks could control the universe with it, if he so chose. If he so much as cared to. The power of beauty and the power of sexual intimidation. Who would have known that his battles of strength could pale in comparison to his other talent. Straight, gay…. It doesn’t matter to him. And when he’s through? It doesn’t matter to them.”
“It seems impossible,” Mirai breathed. “That he could be so absolutely ruthless and get away with it.”
“All he needs is to introduce the idea to a person’s mind.” Vegeta stated solemnly. “All he needs is that one little push, that one give that makes them his. That tiny amount of doubt that lingers in the deepest part of their subconscious. And he feeds off it.”