Credit where Credit is due: Many thanks to MegaKat for giving me kind permission to use her Saiyan language throughout this story.

Phrases and words used in this chapter:
atti - baby or sweetheart
br'at - child
f'ri - no
ge'tah - friend or ally
heu - gods
jaja - daddy
posh'ri - liquor
ta'fru - brothers

A/N: A special shout-out to AngstCow for whispering plot ideas in my ear ...

"Hey Chiv, posh'ri me."

The barkeep filled a dented tankard with ale, set it in front of Bardock, then grinned. The man was missing two teeth from the last time they had tussled. As with most fights, it was not personal.

"Haven't seen you in here for a while, Dock. Thought you got dead or buggered off to some other dive."

Bardock snorted in response and took a sip of his drink. "Ah hell no. That'd be cheating."

He scanned the bar for his squad. He found Topato, Toma and Fasha sitting in their usual dark corner, probably already well on their way to getting smashed. The tall warrior waved one hand in their direction and picked up his mug.

Chiv coughed, not too subtly. "Where you going? That's not free, ge'tah. Pay up."

"Put it on my tab," Bardock snickered.

"You don't have a tab any more, Bardock. You owe me three hundred credits."

Bardock thought for a moment, then grinned. "Well in that case ... put it on Toma's." The captain pointed towards his compatriots with his tail, then laughed.

"Jik'hi ... You're an asshole," Chiv said.

"Yeah. I hear that a lot." Bardock wrapped his tail around his waist and sauntered away, beer in hand, ready to start a night of drinking and carousing with his squad. Hell, they deserved it.

Bardock and his team liked to party at Chiv's dive after every mission, and whenever else they could get away from work. The tavern was a dirty hellhole in the slums of Sector Three, a place frequented equally by soldiers and drunkards alike. Often, they were the same people.

The floors were sticky, the air was smoky and reeked of blunt and body odor, and the screens blared so loud that you could not hear yourself think. The booze was watered down but cheap and plentiful, which is why Bardock and his crew frequented the place. They were the target audience: low level warriors who had spent most of their lives eking out a living in the Saiyan army and then slaving for the Frieza Force.

When Bardock wandered over, he was greeted with raised mugs and welcomes. He took the last seat at the table, and looked at his comrades, the people with whom he spent the majority of his time and for whom he had risked his life repeatedly.

"Glad you made it. Thought you fell into some bitch's snatch, or perhaps Gine's." Fasha's voice had a bitter edge. She glared at Bardock, snapped her tail once, and dared him to contradict her statement.

Bardock was popular among the females, and was well known as a player. Like most Saiyans, he slept with multiple partners and had no permanent attachments, and that was how he liked it. Fasha had seen it as a challenge in the beginning, and had pursued him for years. They had screwed once, and then Bardock had cut it off. Fasha was still bitter about it, but (most of the time) did not let it interfere with the group's cohesiveness.

At the mention of their newest squad member, Bardock gritted his teeth. He did not want to get into another argument with Fasha.

"F'ri. I was dealing with Command. Trying to get us bumped up the mission list. You know how that goes. I hate dealing with Zarbon ... I always feel like I need a shower afterwards." At the thought of the sycophantic blue aide, Bardock shuddered. "Heu, I need to get drunk."

At that cue, they raised up their glasses. Bardock and his squad were celebrating their latest conquest on Planet Sorbal - an unsolved mission that had been on the books for months. In one night the five of them had razed the planet and devastated the entire population - a job that had stymied other less experienced crews. Zarbon had given them three days, and had told them to their faces that he did not expect them to return. Not only did they succeed, but they had returned ahead of schedule, shocking the dandy blue man, and setting a new purge record. Zarbon had been pissed, but Lord Frieza had been so very amused.

"To kicking ass, once again. To us, to ta'fru, to ji'ta ch!" Toma roared, and raised his overflowing mug to his comrades in a salute.

They clashed their glasses together, spilled alcohol on their hands and the table. Bardock took a swig, enjoyed the feel of the cold liquid going down his throat. It was the dry season on Vegetasai; it was fucking hot outside. and he was sensitive to the heat. Buckets of sweat ran down his forehead. Inside the bar was a sauna, heated by all the bodies.

Soon, Bardock was pleasantly buzzed due to the combination of the heat and copious amounts of alcohol imbibed in a short time. He kicked back in his seat, put his hands behind his head, and lit up a nicstick. Smoke poured from his nostrils, and he allowed himself to relax.

It was the booze talking, but as he partied and talked with his teammates, Bardock felt a growing connection with them. They had been together for years; fought and saved each others' backs more times than he could count. These four Saiyans were the closest thing he had to family, and he would do anything to bring them back safe every time.

He knew perhaps some would see that as a sign of weakness, but the strong bonds they shared were their secret weapon, and made them into one, almost to the point of reading each others' minds in battle. It was what made them so effective, and so deadly. They were raising up the ranks in the Force quickly. There was only one problem, and its name was Gine.

Gine had been assigned to their squad, overriding Bardock's authority and pissing him off. He had not asked for or needed another fighter. She was the daughter of General Skallon, one of the highest ranking members of the Saiyan Army. As such, Bardock had no choice but to suck it up and accept her presence on his team.

It became clear that Gine, although she came from a noble warrior bloodline, did not possess the fighting spirit. More than one mission had almost been scrapped due to her incompetence, and Bardock having to save her ass. This was a becoming a serious problem that created tension in the group; as Captain, Bardock knew he would have to deal with it soon before it boiled over.

Panbukin came in last. Bardock waved him over, and poured him an ale. As he sat down, the rotund man scanned the bar and wiped sweat off his pudgy cheeks with one meaty hand. "Damn, it's hotter than balls out there. Hey, where's the weakest link? She too good to drink with us low levels?"

Bardock gritted his teeth, and his tail lashed in irritation. "Leave off of her, Panbuken. She had to go back home, take care of her br'at. Besides, what do you care? You don't like her anyway."

"Touchy, Dock ... Something we need to know about?" Panbuken grinned, then exchanged tail bumps with Topato.

Bardock just growled, puffed up the hair of his tail, then drained his glass. He refilled it from one of the pitchers on the ring stained table.

"Fucking nepotism," Fasha scowled. "She's only with us because of her Jaja. She can't fight, she keeps messing up, and she's going to get one or all of us dead. She's useless, Bardock. You're the Captain and you need to take care of it. And before you say it - this isn't just me being pissed at you. It's a fact. She's a fuck up."

They all muttered. No one had wanted to bring up the subject, clearly. Bardock sighed, felt annoyed, then looked around the table. "You all feel this way?"

"Yeah, Dock." Toma - his closest ally - spoke up. "We all hoped you'd see it, and get rid of her on your own. But ... look Dock, we all know something's going on between you and her. It's obvious, or else you would have tossed her on her ass months ago. You're allowing her weakness to compromise you, compromise us. It's dangerous."

"There's nothing - "

"Don't deny it, Bardock," Fasha snapped, and cut him off. "Don't fucking lie to us. You can do who and what you want ... but don't let it fuck up our squad." She crossed her arms and turned her face from him. "You know what burns my ass, Dock? You told me that you didn't get involved with squad members."

Damn it. Bardock sucked smoke into his lungs, then coughed. Gine was probably right that those things were bad for him. "Fasha, it's complicated. Okay?"

"Just ... fix it." Fasha stared into her mug, the lit up a blunt. The acrid smell brought back memories. "Stop letting your personal shit mess up your judgment before we all don't come back."

Could it be true, could he be so blinded that he was missing the obvious, playing favorites? Bardock sat in silence, his good mood gone. No one said anything else, and he mulled things over for a while, examined the situation with a strategist's eye, instead of allowing his personal wants to cloud his judgement. He owed it to the others.

Damn... He did not want to admit it, but Fasha was right. Gine was a problem. If it had been any one else screwing up, Bardock would have raised hell to Command and replaced them after the first fuck-up. But ... then the General had 'strongly suggested' that Captain Bardock - the rising star of the Saiyan Army - could straighten her out, and that putting her in with the Elite squad would bring her up to snuff.

It didn't work. The squad had hated Gine from the moment they saw her. She was small, petite, and completely non-threatening. She, like most adult Saiyans, had been trained in combat but had only joined the Army at the insistence of her father. On their first mission, she had balked during a crucial moment of the battle; her hesitation had almost cost the team their lives. Bardock had been forced to save her ass, and he had been carrying her weight ever since. At first, she had tried to be 'one of the guys' - drank and smoked and partied with them, but she quickly realized she was unwanted in their social gatherings.

It was during that time period that Bardock had gotten to know her better, it was his job. She came to his small flat and they trained in private, in the hopes that she would catch on and find her warrior spirit. As time passed, they began to forge a connection. Somewhere along the line, Bardock became ... fond of her, felt a kind of sympathy for her. But Gine still could not fight.

A few months ago, Bardock decided that it was time to fire Gine, in spite of what General Skallon might think. He had his people to think of, and his career. He had invited her over, and tried to break the news to her. She had become upset and Bardock, always the ladies' man, had comforted her. After that, they had progressed to a more "personal" relationship when it was just the two of them. On mission, they put on a great act that they were just comrades, and nothing else, but no one was fooled.

Now, he wanted to deny it all: that he was not making poor choices, that he had not been influenced, that Gine meant nothing. Now that his ge'tahu were confronting him, he realized that he had compromised them all. Bardock, the consummate playboy, had feelings for the small female ... and he was ashamed of them. He had hidden the truth not only from his team, but from himself.

"Fuck. You're right. I'm going to take care of it," Bardock promised. He took a large drag of his nic only to find it had burnt down to nothing, and he scorched his fingers. He hissed, then put it out.

He was not looking forward to the upcoming confrontation. Gine would likely cry, and he always caved when she did. He would seek to console her, comfort her, and then they would invariably end up in bed together. His cheeks flushed as he thought about holding her in his arms, and blamed it on the drink. What is wrong with me, feeling this way about any one woman ...

"Well, here's your chance, Captain." Toma elbowed him and pointed towards the entrance.

When Fasha noticed the other female, she gave Bardock a sharp, almost predatory smile that exposed her canines. "Have fun, Doc."

At that moment, Bardock wanted nothing more than to punch Fasha in the face.

Gine came in to the bar, her expression grim as she scanned the room. When she saw Bardock and the others, she put on a frown and marched towards them, her shaggy head down. She wore off-duty clothes: a modified version of the battle chest plate with reinforced skirting, and sleek leggings that emphasized her shapely limbs. The outfit was meant to be casual but was far too upscale for this place - and even when she tried to fit in, she never quite managed it. Gine was too foreign, too gentle, too ... not what the rest of them were, and she knew it.

Red blotches marred her cheeks as she approached the squadron and came up to Bardock. Her tail lashed angrily, her brows drawn together in concern, and her hands clenched into balls. She was livid, but she just managed to look laughable - all five feet worth of her.

"Bardock," she started, and made eye contact with him. "I need to talk to you. It's important."

Bardock. Not 'Captain, not 'sir' ... she had addressed him on familiar terms. It heralded bad things, and Bardock shifted in his seat. The rest of the team watched and waited for the drama to begin, for him to man up and smash her down, throw her out like he should.

He did not mean to, but he laughed. Then he saw the look of hurt on her face, even thought it only lasted a second. "Funny thing ... I need to talk to you too."

"This isn't a laughing matter," Gine's voice was so soft he almost could not hear. "I ... really would like to step outside, Bardock."

"Do you want a beer first," he offered. "I'll buy."

"No. No alcohol. Please, Bardock ... I don't want to talk in front of everyone."

Her black eyes bored into him, pleaded with him, and Bardock gave in - as he always did with Gine (and wasn't that the problem). This was going to be embarrassing enough for the general's daughter, and she did not need to be humiliated with an audience watching.

Bardock exhaled, the smoke rolled from his nostrils, and he stood up. "I'll be back, ge'tahu. Go ahead and celebrate without me for now."

He nodded to Gine then started for the door, to go outside into the baking heat and crush her. Then he would have to justify his decisions to her powerful father and hope the man would not choose to punish him in turn.

Bardock formulated the story in his mind: how he would let her down gently and let her know that it was not personal, it was business and was for her own safety. Gine knew she could not fight; they had talked about it many times, but actually throwing her off the squad was different thing. He would rather purge planets than tell this tiny female she was fired.

They stepped outside, to the dingy streets. The heat felt like a physical assault and Bardock immediately regretted his choice. Gine turned to him. Dark puffy circles lined her large eyes and she looked miserable. Heu, this was going to suck, hardcore.

"Gine - "

"Bardock, I - "

They both spoke at the same time. Bardock put one hand behind his head and grinned, a nervous gesture. Gine's emotional state made him nervous in turn. "You go first, Gine."

She crossed her arms and drew in a shuddering breath, then her tail drooped. She looked so vulnerable that Bardock wanted to reach out, take her in his arms, tell her not to worry. Part of him hated that just being near Gine brought up those odd protective feelings. She looked up; he could see she was on the verge of crying, but fighting to keep up a tough appearance.

"Bardock ... I'm sorry to do this to you."

"Gine, atti, what is it?" The term of endearment escaped before Bardock could stop it, and he reached out to her.

The physical contact broke Gine's reserve and her silence. A tear slipped down her cheek. I'll understand if you don't want to stick around, but you need to know. I'm ... I'm pregnant."

A/N: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews are always responded to. In future chapters, I will respond to all comments at the end of the chapter.