You were the greatest man I never knew.

I don't think anyone knew you, not really. You were an intricate puzzle, a myriad of perplexing tones and highlights, that when placed correctly, portrayed something vast and beautiful in its complexity. Too bad the only portion we were ever permitted to view were the rough-hewn edges.

I can't help but think that there was more to you that the façade you ardently donned. I mean, no one can be an asshole all the time. And you did seem to have your moments of...tolerance. After all, Gohan loved you...

And I've never known Goten's brother to give his affections without considerable merit, so there must have been something there, ne? I'll be the first to admit that I'm not much of an optimist---you're to blame for that, Papa. Gohan once called you a realist...I think I'm beginning to see why.

Nothing's ever flowers and candy, peaches and cream.

Roses wither, colours fade, no matter the vibrancy they blossom and maintain in life...

And people...they die.

Cast off the ghost and shamelessly leave those that loved them to wonder what could've, should've, would've been...

If only...

The greatest man I never knew
Lived just down the hall

You were always there, though. I'll grant you that much at least. Unlike Goten's Otousan that seemed to find more interest in the blooming of flowers on Mars than in his family. You were...a wraith-like entity that flit in and out of my life. If I had wanted you, I knew where to look, what places and people would be specifically graced with your graciously granted regality. I just wish...that more of them had been me...

You lived just down the hall anyway. Third door to the left and second before the bathroom. I passed it every sunrise that chimed a hello in a harmonic intrusion with my obstinate alarm clock, rubbing grainy sleep from my tired blues and a bleary hand through my sleep-tousled hair. You forced me to wait that instant too long when I needed the toilet, shoving me aside with a grunt of greeting when you finally emerged. It always pissed me off-you'd been up for at least an hour before I was forced to follow in your footsteps. I was like you in more way than either of us would ever admit. And my only acknowledgement from you was given in the flash of paternal recognition in eyes the colour of enigmatic dark water whenever you pushed me aside in favour of something infinitely more appealing.

You know...I'm so glad I got Mama's eyes...

Although...I sometimes wonder...if I had looked more like a Saiyan, like a Son...if my hair had been that much more difficult to run a brush through in the morning...

Would you have loved me more, Papa? If I had looked like you?

And everyday we said hello
And never touched at all.

We communicated in single syllabic sounds for the duration of my life. A 'hn' of hello, a 'tch' for goodbye. Perhaps if I was lucky, a nod of that arrogant disposition, that temperament you clasped so wantonly, like a security blanket, clutched and tattered with every drag on the floors of your muddled misconceptions. If you had only left that damnable thing to lie, cast it aside for nostalgia or posterity, or some equally evocative bullshit...

Do you realize how much easier you would have been to talk to, Papa?

I mean, I can only really think of three times you even touched me outside of a spar.

The first time you hugged me I thought I was hallucinating. I wondered what new drug Mama had replaced the sugar on my Cheerios with, what experimental additive could possibly make me believe that my father was actually...showing affections.

To me. His 'pansy half-breed'.

And then, before I can relish the moment, the fleeting comfort and warmth of your fiery touch...you have to go and get yourself killed, Papa. The noble sacrifice of a warrior spirit. An honourable death for a valiant prince. I can still feel the sharp snap of your hand on my neck, but it's what you did first that caused me more pain than that single blow, what stays with me, haunts me...what I still dream about when all I can see is the shadows and soft light, a prelude of promise to yet another day...

Another day without you there.

I think that was the first time I ever tried to catch a forbidden glimpse beyond the barrier of your interlocking boundary.

I still don't know why you did it. Was it us? Did you think that by allowing yourself to die you could somehow save us all...?

Was that why...Papa...

Does that mean...

You really did love me?

He was in his papers...I was in my room
How was I to know he thought I hung the moon?

Gohan came by yesterday, to drop off a few of your things. I hadn't seen him since the service. I remember the eerie quiet he preserved, his resigned resolve of utter silence that left the rest of us feeling as though an eye blink could shatter his fragile tranquility. He didn't falter when Mama placed the urn in his hands, though I can still see how they shook...how his breath caught on every sound that even remotely resembled your name...

And...he looks...pale, Papa. Goten keeps telling me that his father's going to take him to a doctor if he doesn't show signs of improvement soon, but the man has yet to follow through. Hn, surprised at all? Funny thing is, I don't know if Goku-san's doing it more for concern of his son, or as a last favour to you...

He hasn't been the same since you...left...

And Gohan...it's hard to look him in the eye, Papa. He congratulated me on the happy news, but I can tell he's envious, and the glittering trace of liquid sadness in his bloodshot obsidian...I know the two of you were trying...before you got sick...

I feel like I've failed him somehow, by not being able...

I should have been able to save you, Papa. I wasn't fast enough...to salvage you from the demanding etiquette of damnable Saiyan pride.

How many more times can I disappoint you, Papa...and still call myself your son...

He brought by some of your things; they were in a small battered shoebox, the top taped on with a meticulousness known only to your chosen Son. Ironic that five years ago I would have sworn you and I had nothing in common other than the impulsive tendency to act before thinking.

Of all the things to inherit from you. Heh, at least I didn't get the short end of the stick, ne, Papa?

I had to look twice when I opened the door; I hardly recognized him. He was wearing jeans, if you can believe it. And he's gotten rid of those ridiculous glasses. But I worry about him being alone in that house. Goten's visited him several times in the past year, but his grief is still so evident...and he's lost so much weight.

I wonder how a man can feel so much pain and still keep breathing.

The letter opener slid easily into the sliver of space between the lid and its fusion, slicing through the thin transparency and allowing my prying eyes access.

Curiosity killed the cat, but I'd be a liar if I said my fingers weren't trembling as they unfolded the weathered dishtowel that protectively cushioned the objects within.

It was the first time I've really cried since I felt your ki flicker like a falling star, since that instant when my black and white world was pitched into ambiguous grey.

Dende-sama...

You...you kept these, Papa? I thought...

I mean...

Carefully...so tentatively I reach within the cardboard confines, swallowing with a hasty lick to lips parted in awe.

And suddenly I wish more than anything else that Goten were here as I lift the small plaster square that still bears my handprint...the one I made you for Father's day when I was six...the worn Polaroid that immortalized my first day of Kindergarten...the crisp cream and gilded gold of our wedding announcement that still carries the lingering scent of manufactured perfume...

I'm not crying, dammit...

...not crying...

The greatest man I never knew
Came home late every night

I...I never figured you for the sentimental type, Papa. I guess I really didn't know you...

I wish...Dende how I wish that I could turn back time, rewind the clock that ticked and tocked the minutes we spent of everyday in habitual ignorance of one another. It's strange, you know, that we ended up here...I can vividly recall the days in your shadow, when I wanted to be just like you, just like my Papa...strong, confident, proud to be one of the last surviving members of a warrior race. I...

Gomen...gomen nasai, Papa...

There was too much demi in me...and not enough Saiyan...

And you...you didn't seem to care enough to teach me. I used to wait up for you at night, listening for the tread of your practiced footfalls in the hall outside my room. I'd hold my breath and pretend to sleep as your stride paused, darkening the glow from the plug-in nightlight beside my door. When it resumed it would be a whole thirty seconds until I deemed it safe to breathe again. I used to count...

One...the soft pad of your boots continuing their conquest of the carpet...

Four...a quiet creak as you coaxed the knob to your bedroom to twist...

Ten...a slap as gloved fingers found the switch on the wall...

Twelve...the airy swoosh and click of a closing door...

Eighteen...the smack of your clothing as you littered the floor with the soiled product of your unaccountable activities...

Twenty-three...the moan of tired springs as they adjusted to your muscled bulk...

Twenty-seven...a retinue of curses as you realized the light lie all the way across the room and the consequent ki blast that effectively quelled the problem...

Thirty...silence.

Like clockwork, every night. You were so patterned, so predictable in mundanely actions...so military...

And I...I was so bloody oblivious.

He never had too much to say
Too much was on his mind

We didn't talk a lot, you and I. I don't know if there just wasn't anything to say, or if you and I shared a mutual fear of one another. You were the strongest man I knew---I don't care if Goku-san could kill more with a blow, you...you were like the mythical monster...basilisk...you could freeze blood and turn flesh to stone with the singular power of your obsidian eyes. And you, at least, were there...ne? For what that was worth...

I think the few times we did talk, I wasn't exactly the pride-worthy prodigy. I wasn't as eager to learn of Saiyan customs as Gohan-san, and I wasn't a sought out sparring partner like Goku-san...I was too stricken by the fact that real words were coming out of your mouth to do much more than stare...

There was that one time that I mull over when I find myself missing your stoicism most. The night before my wedding, after you had successfully scared the shit out of Goten. I was sitting at the kitchen table trying not to appear as damndably nervous as I obviously was-I mean, you could smell it for Dende's sake-and you...sat down across from me, dropped a gallon of...ice cream down on the table and handed me a spoon. I mean, of all the fucking things to do...

But it worked, you calculated bastard. The shock of seeing you...with a spoonful of Neapolitan in your mouth was enough to make me forget my immediate fears of commitment.

I didn't know the Saiyan no Ouji preferred vanilla to chocolate...but I learned a lot about you that night...

And...we actually laughed together, Papa. It was so strange to hear your humour without the maniacal quality that permeated my youth.

I never knew much about Saiyans until that night...

That we mate for life, mark the one we choose...and when I asked about Mama...

Well...I didn't know your answer was going to forbid the spoon from ever reaching my mouth.

You...with Gohan? Brainy, quiet, studious, shy Gohan? Dende-sama...

You told me about strength that night. About the importance of status and power...and I made the curious mistake of asking you about Goku-san.

You said you needed a man that could be trusted with dressing himself in the morning.

And then you...laughed...Dende...

I can't eat ice cream now without thinking of you. So of course it's the one thing I crave...that I send Goten like a currier over the continent to find some small run down convenience store that's open twenty-four hours. As a matter of fact, that's why he isn't here now, why I'm sitting here staring out the window with a material timeline of my youth scattered in my lap, sentimental remnants of a man I could never claim to know...

Because until that night...I didn't know Saiyan men could get pregnant, either.

I never really knew him...and now it seems so sad
Everything he gave to us took all he had

It took me years to understand your motivations, Papa, your misunderstood silence. I think it helped to see you with Gohan, to see that you really were capable of feeling something other than vengeance. I wouldn't say he softened you so much as...uncovered you. I could see the happiness in your eyes when you were together, even if the vocalization of such an action was beyond your ability.

And now...sitting on the living room floor with this shoebox between my thighs...I can see that you loved me too. That it took so much for you to preserve the grasp on your dignity while learning to be content...

Dende...Papa...the Christmas ornament I made out of gingerbread when I was a chibi...you...

And the aged newspaper clipping with my latest achievement...dated almost a year

. Fuck you, I'm not crying...

I'm a prince...I don't cry...

Damn hormones...I have a whole new respect for women, thanks to you and my alien heritage. I just want you to know that Mama makes me painfully aware of the fact whenever I complain. She says I should be glad that I have someone like Goten because you were hardly the caretaker Son-kun's youngest tries to be. I don't know why or how you were with Mama, but Go-chan's going to be a good father...he talks to the chibi when he thinks I'm asleep and I haven't fallen into dreams in almost two months without the feeling of his hand on my stomach.

We're thinking of naming the baby after you; Goten suggested it, actually. Thought it would be an appropriate memorial. I jokingly commented that if we were going to start naming our children based on that, all of them would be called Goku.

Dende, I love him...he's going to make a great father.

And I realize now...that you weren't a bad one. You just...didn't balance your pride...but talking with Mama, I see how much you sacrificed for us...how much you gave...for us...

I'm scared that Bra's going to forget you. She's still just a chibi...but every time I make an attempt to remind her of you, she looks at me as though I'm an idiot. And she took your death so much better than I did...

Then the days turned into years
And the memories to black and white

I think I woke up one morning and you were old. That should have been my first indication, my warning sign that something was...off...The slash of silver that stained the unmarred ebony of your trademark pride...

I...I didn't know Saiyans could get...sick, Papa. There was so much I didn't know...

And you never told me! Why...I mean, I could have...I tried, Dende knows how hard I tried to find a cure, but...you...

It wasn't a virus at all, Papa. You lied. It's genetic.

I think, somehow, that you already knew that. Why else would you have waited so long to say anything...if it were viral we could have come up with a cure, but genetics...I felt like I was chasing my tail trying to reason out your symptoms. You should have given me more information, Papa...

I mean, pride doesn't automatically equate to stupidity, ne?

He grew cold like an old winter wind
Blowing across my life

Your face was so...ashen, Papa, when you...died. I can still remember the feeling of my heart stopping when I answered the phone and it was Goku-san. I had felt the precise moment you said your goodbyes to this world, but hearing the cheery voice of Goten's tousan burdened and wet with tears...

Gohan wasn't fit to call...he had spent the whole night at your side, as was his habit. I think that man slept no more than he had to the last year you were alive. He was so afraid he was going to...miss...to wake and...find you...

It breaks my heart to know his fears were realized this past winter. And the charcoal smudges have yet to leave the circle under his eyes.

Papa...why? I...you know I could have helped you, ne? I mean...I wasn't that much of a disappointment, was I? That you wouldn't come to me...when you knew I...I could do...

Something...

Anything...

And I...

I miss you, Papa.

And it's so hard...to sit here and pretend like I don't care.

The greatest words I never heard
I guess I'll never hear

You were a master at that. Pretending not to care. You even had me convinced. I couldn't understand why you opened yourself to Gohan and the bother of talking to your own son was somehow too much to trouble yourself with.

Why was he so special, Papa? Was he more Saiyan than I? I never knew him to enjoy battle arts, or blood shed, or anything even remotely primal or carnal...not the things you always imposed on me.

I mean...you never even told me you loved me.

And now...it's too late, Papa. I try not to let it keep me up at night, curling into Goten's back and wrapping my arms around him in an insane attempt to immerse myself in the present, in his warmth...and not in your memory. Yet here I am with the physical proof I've always insisted didn't exist...

Oh, Dende...

Daddy...I...I didn't know this even existed. I didn't think you would have allowed your picture to be taken with me as a baby...M-Mama probably caught you off guard, ne? But...that is me in your arms...

And that is a bottle in your hand...ne?

I...I honestly thought you didn't care...

Papa...

I still hate you for your silence...

The man I thought could never die
Has been dead almost a year

It's been almost a year. Another month and nature's canvas will be swept white again, a dull, encompassing coat of murdering monotony that kills the season slowly.

You just had to go then, didn't you?

But...you were so strong, Papa. Even when you died all those times before, I knew you'd be back-you are the Saiyan no Ouji, the prince of pride and purpose and everything that's not supposed to die.

Dende-sama, Papa! I want you here! I want you to see how I've grown, and have you proud of me! I want you to come over for Christmas and bitch about the stupidity of ningen holidays. I want you to see...

Me...

And who...who will help me teach my baby what it is to be Saiyan?

He was good at business, but there was business left to do

You...you shouldn't have left us here to mourn for you, Papa. It's not fair.

You...you should have told us sooner, given us time to prepare...for what it means to live without you.

Without your arrogant superiority.

Without your infuriating and strategically placed comments geared directly toward humiliation.

Without your pitiful excuse for love...

He never said he loved me...

G-gomen nasai, Papa...I wanted to save you...

But I'm not Dende.

I'm just me.

Trunks.

Your son.

Someone who spent his life in dire need of your acceptance...

Someone who still visits you every Sunday...as though one day you'll be there waiting for me...

And maybe you'll smile, or smirk, or call me a baka for clutching so tightly to my hopeful delusions.

Or maybe you'll tell me...that you love me...

You've never done that you know...never said it...

Guess he thought I knew.

But my son...my son will always know how much I love him.

And me...I'm patient, Papa. If I have to wait until it's my time to die, then that's the way it is. It won't be as long as it should be either, Papa. Because...well...

I've got the same disease. I still don't know...how to tell Goten...

But on that day when I meet you in heaven, or hell, or wherever they stick your sorry ass...

I'll tell you what I should have said before you left.

I love you, Papa.