Author's Notes: To say I'm immensely proud of this chapter is an understatement. I'm so impressed that I was able to crank out something this long that I just want to jump up and down for joy. The chapters after this one will most likely follow along this sort of setup. It's not so much of a direct question-and-answer anatomy. I'm hoping to give a conversation that bounces between father and daughter. Review and tell me whether or not I succeeded in that natural kind of flow! Also, I'd like to thank the loyal reviewers such as Angel of Mirth and Chronic Laziness for some examples. You two were sort of the inspiration for me to get off my ass and start writing this again. (I was actually online when Angel of Mirth was reviewing and reading so those little e-mail notifications sparked some sort of writing bug in me, I guess). And a sort of PS note for all those who are wondering where Table/Tarble is? Yeah, I haven't actually sat down and watched that movie so it's not really a canon to me. I don't trust myself to do that any justice anyway... AHEM. Without further ado, I give you another installment of Saiyan Bonding!


"Question?" Bra laughed lightly, "Dad, there's not a point to asking a first question. Not if you're gonna tell me everything."

Vegeta scowled. "I need a starting point, child."

"Then start at the beginning," she leaned back on her bed against the headboard, putting a pillow against the small of her back to keep her comfy. The demi-Saiyan smiled at her father, "Get comfy, Dad. You're old so this'll take a while, I'm sure."

The prince scoffed, "I'm not as old as you think."

"Well, you act like you're a hundred years old," Bra smirked, leaning over and snatching her father's hand in her own before dragging him to her side against the bed.

"Just start wherever, Dad. It's up to you. It's your life, after all," she shrugged comfortably.

The flame-haired Saiyan sat on the bed quietly, staring down at his hands as he thought to himself. One hand was gloved, alone on the left side of his leg. He let it lie there limp on his daughters bright purple covers. It seemed bare compared to the hand that rested on his right thigh that his daughter was holding. She was playing with the loose fabric on the end of his glove with her free hand as she let him think of just where to start on this long eventful story of his life.

"Why do you wear gloves all the time, Daddy?" Bra found her curiosity interrupting the silence she had promised him so he could think.

"When I was a child… My father gave me gloves when Frieza and his men began to take interest in me," Vegeta began slowly, "He didn't want the skin of the icijin to touch me… Or the skin of the soldiers that followed him to touch me. He told me, 'You are a prince. You need to keep your dignity while keeping the respect of our allies.' Frieza was supposedly an ally at that time so he gave me a pair of gloves. I wore them so I was able to shake hands- to interact like a prince without touching the fingers of a tyrant."

Bra looked up at him at his side, "You said that Frieza… Er, that he…" her voice trailed, hoping her father could read between the lines.

"Yes. The gloves didn't really cut it in the long run but I'm used to them. I feel naked without them," he grumbled, his fingers tightening around his daughter's hand lovingly.

"How long was your dad around?" she asked.

"Through my infancy up until the later part of my childhood. He gave me to Frieza as a sort of bargaining chip. He thought that would help in sparing our people… It didn't."

"Ahhh… That sucks," came his daughter's graceful response.

"The almost extinction of a great race does suck most of the time, yes," he sneered.

"Were you always this unhappy, Dad?"

"What?" he was caught off guard by her bluntness. Turning his body slightly, he looked down to meet the eyes that mirrored his wife's so much.

"You always act like such a grump, Dad. Have you always been like this?" Bra's innocence made Vegeta cringe inside.

"No. At one point I was like most of the other Saiyans," Vegeta thought back, "I remember… I was about 7 years old and eating with Nappa. Nappa was the head of the Saiyan army. I… I remember that as we were eating I was counting the rations that I had been given. It was a meal of some sort of bean, something bland I'm sure but I don't remember the name. Nappa looked at me and got this look of absolute confusion on his face. He asked me what I was doing." Vegeta kept rubbing Bra's hand while he spoke, it was in the back of his mind that he was doing it at all at this point. "I told him, 'counting the rations.' In my mind, if we got more or less than the week before, it would be worth noting. If we got less, I could try to fix it by going directly to Frieza and asking for more food. Nappa…" The prince's eyebrows scrunched together, "Nappa got quiet after that. He seemed incredibly irked by my behavior. That's when I realized I was becoming a new kind of Saiyan… That… Never before had our kind been captured and caged like I had and it was turning me into something new. A sort of Saiyan-branded version of Frieza himself…

I hated it. So I fought more. I was always good at fighting so I prided myself on it. Fighting, honor, and pride were the foundation of our Saiyan race. So… I began to perfect that."

"You got really good at it, Dad. You've got a whole lotta pride, honor and fight in you still and you're, like, a hundred," Bra grinned.

"Will you stop saying that?" Vegeta scowled. "I am not that old."

"How old are you?"

"That's not important."

Bra grinned, "I bet you're all messed up from that time chamber thingy."

"Age doesn't matter to a Saiyan."

"Blah blah cause we always look youthful blah blah blah," Bra rolled her eyes, "Yeah, you've told me about that. All the science hoohah is already in my noggin so don't stress that."

"Do all of you teenagers talk like that?" Vegeta scowled down at her.

"No, I'm unique," Bra chimed.

"You dress like the rest of those delinquents, so you could have fooled me," he rolled his eyes.

"Hey. Dad, you know what?" Bra turned slightly so her body was facing her father instead of just her face as she shined her 100 watt smile at him, "I think you should learn a little about me."

"What?" his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, "What are you talking about? I know your average body temperature, your age, your weight, your schedule at school-"

"Okay, stalker," Bra scoffed, "Can you tell me anything about my personality?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh this is just sad. Do you know my favorite color?"

"…"

"It's RED! Like yours!"

"I don't have a favorite color," Vegeta scoffed. "I have no bias towards hues or saturations."

"You said red when I was a little kid," Bra frowned.

"… Then perhaps it is red."

"What about my favorite subject in school?" the teenager cocked her head with a smile.

"We were supposed to be talking about me. You have the shortest attention span-"

"Daaaaaaaaaaaad!" she began whacking her hands against his bicep, "Answer meeee!"

"Choir."

"…" Bra let her arms drop, "Why would you even say that?"

"Because you like to yodel at me," Vegeta rolled his eyes but there was a smirk on his lips.

"Oh come on!" Bra turned and collapsed on top of his lap, now looking upside at her father. "That's not funny."

"I thought it was quite humorous," was her father's response.

"I'm so mad at you right now. Ugh," Bra began to play with her hair as she lied on top of her father like a rag doll. Her back was arched right where his legs were like a flexible little contortionist.

"Hey, am I so bendy because of my Saiyan heritage?"

"Your mother is flexible so that might not be the case," Vegeta mumbled.

"Huh?" Bra blinked.

The prince of all Saiyans turned red at even thinking about that at the moment. "Yes, us Saiyans are uhm flexible so you most likely uhh got it from me."

"If you're a race of warriors how come your genes aren't as dominant as Mom's genes?" Bra smiled crookedly.

"What are you talking about?" Vegeta sneered.

"I look just like Mom," she grinned, "So much for a warrior race. Mom beat you out, dude."

"Don't call me 'dude'," he scowled, putting his palm over her face with a sigh. "And the second child normally looks just like one of the parents. You just happen to look like your mother as opposed to me."

The mini-Bulma giggled as she removed her father's hand from her face, "Well, I was just wondering," she grinned.

Lying on top of his knees, Bra thought to herself for a moment as Vegeta ran his gloved hand over his daughter's hair.

"Did you have showers and stuff on Frieza's ship?"

"You really are just like your mother," Vegeta sighed.

"I'm curious!" she laughed out as she rolled off of him and got readjusted back at his side.

"Yes, but they were only used once every few days and immediately after trips to other planets," he grumbled.

"Oh, gross. I bet you reeked."

"Your mother told me that I was rank when I returned from space so I'd suppose you're right in that assumption."

"Dude-"

"Don't call me 'dude'," he repeated dryly.

"Dad, Trunks doesn't bathe for a day and he's the most disgusting thing on the face of the Earth. I can only imagine what you smelled like. I'm surprised Mom even looked at you!" Bra giggled.

"Why are we even having this talk?" Vegeta groaned.

"We're bonding," she beamed up at him.

"Oh yes, that miserable thing…"