A/N: I stayed up all night writing this chapter and it's now past six in the morning, so you better love me! :D

Much love to akatmandu, Viva la Amore, and Mayra for your reviews on the last chapter! They inspired me to write this one. I would also like to thank CITCAT826 for adding this story to your alerts. :)

Avelyn had been on the ship for an entire week, as best as she could tell. She had woken up to the sound of Trunks's alarm seven times and had gone to bed an equal amount of times. This morning would mark the eighth day of her stay on the ship. They all passed in the same manner: She would wake Trunks up, just as she was doing now, by roughly shaking his shoulder until he sat up. After he left her to meet his father for training, breakfast would show up. Sometimes Bra brought it and sometimes it was carried in on a cart by a lizard-like servant. Today, she would enjoy peace and quiet while she ate because she knew Bra had been forced to join the morning training session.

Sure enough, not ten minutes had passed since Trunks left before a blue-skinned kitchen servant entered the room. Avelyn ate the omelet slowly, thinking over the past several days. Not once had she left this room, though she never asked to either. Trunks had been kind enough to produce a blank notebook and pen so they could communicate in some form. They had held lengthy conversations with her scribbling her side, quickly eating up the paper with her questions, and with him speaking his responses aloud. She had come to love the sound of his voice, how it reverberated off the metal walls and wrapped her in its charming tone. After all, it belonged to the man who had freed her from her captivity.

Captivity. She had wondered about the circumstances of her imprisonment and how she had come to be locked up in a cell in a concubine training academy, but had hesitated every time she started writing the question down. She would recall how livid Trunks had become when he first mentioned it and she feared upsetting him again. Plus, she knew the answers were in the memories she had lost and a foreboding feeling of sickness and dread washed over her when she tried to penetrate the wall she felt in her mind. The answers were behind that block, she knew, but she was frightened of the truth.

Suddenly losing her appetite, Avelyn set her plate back on the tray. She nodded as the servant bowed and collected the dishes before leaving the room. Now she could enjoy the next routine of her day; a hot shower. She was still wearing the clothes out of the dresser she had learned Trunks reserved for the clothes from his mother's home planet. She wouldn't be able to wear clothes that were bought for her and not a man until they reached Greydon Station next week. She dug through the dresser and selected an oversized tee-shirt and a pair of the boxers she had grown accustomed to wearing. She took the clothes into the bathroom with her and placed them on the sink.

Then came her favorite part; the actual shower. She stood under the stream of water and closed her eyes. There was something about the twenty minutes she spent standing in the white porcelain tub that made her feel like she was silent because she was simply enjoying the sound of the water running over her body and drumming against her eyelids instead of the frustrating quiet she endured because she couldn't speak.

She bent down to grab the bottle of fruity soap that Bra had given her and paused. The water running down the drain at her feet was pink, not clear as it should be. She looked around for the source of the color. The soap bottle was still standing upright and there were no bubbles to suggest that it had spilled. In fact, now that she got a closer look, it seemed like the water was pinkest—almost red—at her feet. She touched the inside of her leg at the knee and her hand came away scarlet.

This wasn't right, she thought. She shouldn't be bleeding unless… unless… Her eyes widened in realization. She really had no clue when her last period had been or when her next would should begin because she wasn't sure how much time she had lost in between the skip of her memories. Still, she felt this amount of blood wasn't normal, even for her worst periods. And she had experienced none of the usual warning signs—no cramps, headaches, cravings, nothing. The nauseous feeling in her stomach told her that this wasn't normal, but her mind rationalized that there was nothing else this could be. She was held as a prisoner. Perhaps the stress of the event was simply taxing on her body. It would sort itself out.

She succeeded in calming herself down enough to finish her shower. It wasn't until she was drying off did she realize that she had none of the necessary items to handle a period. She could either wait and see if Bra showed up tomorrow morning to ask her if she could spare some pads, or breach the subject with Trunks. She grimaced at that thought. It would certainly embarrass the prince more than it would her. But she also didn't want to keep stuffing her underwear, borrowed from Bra, with the only thing currently available to her—toilet paper.

She walked out of the bathroom to find Trunks already sitting on the couch. The training session quit unusually early and her raised eyebrows spoke her thought for her.

"Bra," Trunks offered as explanation. "She threw a fit and nearly destroyed the training room."

Avelyn nodded and picked up her notebook. She hesitated for only a second before she made up her mind and decided to ask him for help.

Speaking of Bra, can you ask her a favor for me?

He read the sentence quickly before he handed the notebook back to her. "Um, sure. What is it?"

She sat across from him in the armchair and not her normal spot at his side. She knew he could tell there was something going on then, so there was no turning back now.

I started my period and I need you know.

She underlined the last part, hoping he understood her euphemism. He didn't respond right away after reading her request. Instead, he placed the notebook on the coffee table and took a long drink from his cold water bottle. When he had screwed the cap back on, twisting long after it was closed tight, he stood to his feet.

"I can—I can go ask," he said finally.

Avelyn tried not to smirk at the uncomfortable look on his face as he left the room. She hadn't meant right that minute, but the situation had made him as uneasy as she thought it would. Men, it seemed, were embarrassed by anything that had to do with a vagina outside of sex and Trunks was no exception.

She rolled her eyes and leaned back in the chair. For the heir to the throne of one of the strongest races in all the known universes, he really was just a naive young man…

Trunks knocked on the door to his sister's room. He stood nervously in the hall, ready to run in case her foul mood from the morning still remained. The door slid open and he stepped through, instantly assaulted by the bright colors of the room. Bra had done her best to undo the uniform whiteness of the rest of the ship by decorating her quarters with loud embellishments. Posters and magazine clippings were taped to the walls, fuzzy rugs were thrown haphazardly onto the floor, and neon blankets were draped over the furniture. Sitting in the middle of this dismembered rainbow was Bra, who was lying on her stomach on a couch, reading one of the fashion magazines she was so fond of.

"What do you want?" she asked blandly, not bothering to look up from her inspection of an evening gown.

Trunks scratched his head, thinking of just how to phrase his question. "Well, you see, Avelyn is having… womanly issues." He could feel the heat rise in his face with every word and mentally berated himself for sounding so childish.

"You mean her period?" Bra clarified, unabashed with talking about what Trunks considered a delicate topic.

"Yeah…"

"That's impossible," she continued. "According to her records, her next cycle isn't supposed to happen for three more weeks."

"Excuse me?" he asked, puzzled by the statement.

Bra gave an exasperated sigh. "Her records. From the academy." She reached over to the coffee table and grabbed a manila folder, identical to the ones she had given him before they had reached the academy. She tossed it to him and he caught it easily.

"You mean…"

"They keep detailed records about every girl in the academy? Yes, they do. They even document things such as menstrual cycles. They're extremely thorough."

"But…"

"Besides," she went on, not letting him get a word in edgewise. She was clearly still hot-tempered. "It's probably her body rejecting the fetus."

Trunks wasn't sure he had heard right at first. But as Bra suddenly sat up, a look of shock across her face as her hand shot to cover her mouth, he knew he hadn't. She had said something she had obviously not meant to, something as shocking as mentioning an unborn child.

"I mean, I mean…" she stammered, grasping for straws.

"What exactly do you mean, Bra?" he asked, using a tone he hardly ever used—one to let her know that he was serious and wouldn't put up for her usual horseplay.

"All right," she sighed, giving up. "I was listening when Lizain was giving daddy a report on the girl. He mentioned something about a fetus being barely developed from the zygote stage and having 'taken care' of it with medication."

Trunks didn't reply. He stood there, dumbstruck with the realization of what those men had done to Avelyn. He was unexpectedly mad with hatred towards those insects and, if his father hadn't already done away with them, he felt he would have taken a space pod right then and there to kill them himself.

"What she's mistaken as her period is probably the effects of the medication. The fetus is dead and now her body is expelling it," Bra rambled on, nervous at her brother's sudden change of mood. "I read up on the medication Lizain mentioned. Though it takes a few days to kick in, it works the system quickly. She'll probably experience one or two heavy bouts of bleeding and that will be it."

Trunks registered her words, but still didn't respond. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over. He turned on his heel and reentered the hallway, not meeting the eyes of any of the guards positioned at regular intervals along the corridors. It seemed he had a new set of problems dealing with Avelyn. How exactly would he tell her without upsetting her memories? Finding himself standing outside his own door for the second time today, he supposed there were none. He couldn't exactly not tell her the truth, could he?

He braced himself and entered the room. Avelyn was where he left her, sitting on the armchair. Her head was back and her eyes closed. She didn't seem to notice his presence. It wasn't until he was kneeling on the ground in front of her and had taken her hands in his did she finally look down at him. One of her eyebrows rose in question.

"Ave," he began, using the nickname she had told him she liked. "There's something I have to tell you, but it'll be hard to hear. Just bear with me, okay?"

She nodded and squeezed his fingers with her own.

"I told you that you were being held prisoner, right?" He waited for her to nod again before he continued. "Well, the men who were supposed to be guarding you… they—they raped you." He spat out the word, feeling the distaste it left on his tongue. "Apparently, you are—were," he corrected himself, "—pregnant with a child, but not anymore."

He hesitantly brought his gaze up to meet hers. Her mouth was agape with horror and her brow was furrowed with sorrow or misunderstanding, he couldn't tell exactly which.

"When Lizain, the medic, examined you a week ago, he gave you some sort of drug that was supposed to terminate the pregnancy. What you think is your period is really your body forcing out the dead fetus. It might happen one other time, but that's it."

She was shaking. Tears had welled up in her eyes and spilled over to fall into her tangles of damp hair. With one trembling hand, she gestured to her notebook. Trunks hastily handed it and a pen to her and watched with troubled eyes as she began to write.

"Avelyn, I'm so sorry," he said as she wrote. "My father already punished the men who hurt you; otherwise I swear I would have avenged you myself—"

He was cut off as she pushed the notebook towards him. He took it and scanned the page, already full of her scrawling handwriting, until he found the new ink.

Thank you for telling me. I appreciate your honesty. I cannot remember the pain of what those men did to me. I would have had no idea what was going on with my own body if you hadn't told me and I am grateful.

It saddens me to know that someone had created a child in me and someone else has taken it away, all without my knowledge. An innocent life, here and gone so quickly. That is what makes me sad, not the crimes of the men.

He finished reading and barely had time to react before he found a mass of red hair and smooth flesh thrown into his lap and clinging around his neck. He wrapped his arms around the girl who had wormed her way inside his mind from the very moment he had laid eyes on her. As he held her quivering frame close, he came to understand how close she was to worming her way inside of his heart as well.

"Oh Avelyn," he breathed. It must take an extremely forgiving person to weep over the child created by such despicable means—extremely forgiving and pure-hearted.

He held her until she had cried herself out. When she sniffed and went to wipe her eyes on the shirt she was wearing, he offered her a tissue from the box behind him on the table instead. She took it and blew her nose, giving him a weak smile.

"Are you okay?" he asked, tucking her unruly bangs behind her ears.

Avelyn nodded before untangling herself from him and standing up. She stretched and wiped her eyes once again. Trunks got to his feet as well and watched her wearily. She grabbed her notebook from the floor and began writing again.

I'm sorry I cried all over your shoulder.

"No problem," he chuckled.

It's just that there are so many things I don't remember. Some of them, I feel I don't want to know. But some of them, I have to know.

"I understand," he agreed.

Do you think learning about what I can't recall would help me get my voice back?

He pondered the question for a moment. "I'm not sure. It could be, but it also could be that something completely unrelated to any of your lost memories could trigger the recovery of your voice. It could be something major or something minor. The fact is that we won't know until it happens."

So I'm stuck like this until who-knows-when?

He gave her a sympathetic frown. "It seems like it. But we could always try therapy when we get back to the castle. I'm sure we could find a doctor that could help you."

Avelyn gave him a hopeful look. You really think so?

He nodded. "Sure I do."

She seemed satisfied enough with that answer and sat at the edge of the bed. He followed and took a seat at the desk that was stationed at the bed's foot. As prince of the Saiyans, he had not only a lot of training to do, but mountains of paperwork. The documents consisted mostly of pre-typed thank you letters to the various planets and races lending them aid in the war, but no matter how many he signed, they grew steadily each day. Avelyn had taken the role his mother usually occupied—urging him to perform his royal duty and watch him like a hawk to make sure he delivered. But, unlike his mother, Avelyn helped speed the process along by chatting to him through her notes.

Do you have any normal training equipment?

He read the writing that had interrupted him halfway through a particularly boring report on the efforts of the Chidon people.

"You mean like weights and stuff?" He glanced at her and she nodded once. "Sure. But why?"

I've been sitting around for a week in this small room. I was wondering if I could go with you tomorrow morning. I won't be a problem, promise. I just want to do something.

"I think I can make that happen," he replied. He was momentarily stunned when Avelyn leaned over to kiss him on the cheek as a thank you. He cleared his throat. "Right, well, I've got a lot of paperwork to do…"

He knew that if he looked at her, she'd be smiling that impish smile of hers that made his heart hit his stomach. It really was astounding how quickly she had grown on him, how easy it was sitting next to her and talking to her for hours on end. He had never been this attached to someone before, besides his immediate family. It was nice to feel this way for someone. Though it was also dangerous, he thought. He had witnessed for himself on more than one occasion how quickly precious things could be taken away and Avelyn was indeed precious to him.

When Trunks looked up next, dinner was being wheeled into his room. Avelyn stood up to join him on the couch as the servant laid the plates before them.

"Thank you," Trunks began, his voice rough with what must have been hours of disuse. "I will call for you when we are finished."

He dug into his meal, grateful for the distraction from the paperwork and his own thoughts. He looked over at Avelyn to find her ignoring her food to dutifully scribble on the cover of her notebook.

"Aren't you hungry?" he asked.

She held up one finger, telling him to hold on a moment, before she resumed her scribbling. After several more minutes, she smiled and set her notebook aside, apparently satisfied with her work. Trunks waited until they had both finished eating and the plates had been cleared away before asking her what she had been doing. She held the cheap, spiral-bound pad of paper out to him and beamed proudly. She had drawn the words "Avelyn's Voice" in thick, curling black letters on the orange cover. There also appeared to be various items drawn around the words—a heart here, a star there, etc.

Trunks laughed. "That's very clever."

This earned him a bright smile before she went back to her doodling. He left her like that, curled up on the couch, as he left for his second training session of the day.

When he returned many hours later (Vegeta had wanted to make up for the time they had lost in the morning.), Avelyn was fast asleep on the couch. Her notebook lay forgotten on the floor as she snored lightly. Trunks shook his head and picked her up gently to put her on the bed. Just as he was about to pull the covers over her, she reached up and grasped the material of his shirt. Her eyes opened a fraction and gave him a pleading look.

Trunks sighed. She had asked him several times why he still slept on the couch. She had insisted that it was his bed, so he should sleep there instead of her. When he had refused, she had tried to compromise by saying the bed was large enough for the both of them. Still, he had refused her. But now, the look in her eyes told him that she didn't want to be alone and, considering the bombshell he had dropped on her earlier, it wouldn't be right to reject her right now.

He climbed over her body and lay down with his back against the wall. He pulled the blankets up as she rolled over towards him. She curled into his body, effortlessly fitting into the curves he made, and was asleep in moments. He kissed the top of her head softly, mentally shaking his head in exasperation at how smoothly she could get him to do what she wanted with one look.

She really was very precious to him.

A/N: Aw, how adorable.

Next chapter will be a fun one. They finally get to Greydon and you know what that means...

Shopping! XD