Chapter Eight:

"Hey, you. Punk."

Vegeta stopped in his mindless wandering and looked over his shoulder. Two of the guards of Hell were standing there, hands on their hips, sneers on their faces. "What do you want, you blasted creatures?" snarled the irate prince.

"You look familiar. Have we met ya before, eh?"

With a scowl, Vegeta replied, "I've been dead before, yes. Now go away."

"Wait! Wait a second!" One of them—the red one—stepped forward. "Aren't ya that prince we hear them all talkin' bout sometimes?"

Vegeta sneered. "I wouldn't know, since I haven't been here to hear them talking."

"Blimey! Ya right, brother! Vegeta! One of them fierce and nasty Saiya-jins ain't ya? Ain't that your name, pal?" the other ogre asked, enthusiastic.

Vegeta didn't answer them as he walked away. First lesson that Frieza had ever beaten into his skull: Kill idiots that get on your nerve. Seeing as how he didn't wish to kill anyone—he thought it best to walk away before they really irked him.

"Hey! Hey! Where ya going!"

"I don't think he's in the talking mood, buddy."

"Yeah! But…come on! He's a Prince!" The red ogre turned to face his partner. "Isn't that way cool?"

"Ah, come on…s'no big deal…we've met Princes before…"

"No, no! Come on! Why aren't you excited! I mean…come on!"

Vegeta shook his head as he left them to bicker amongst themselves. Like he cared. He just wanted to be left alone.

He wasn't sure how long he had been wandering. Days…weeks. Time didn't really have any meaning when you were dead. He hadn't slept or eaten since he arrived. While dead, neither of them were a necessity, but you could still feel hunger and fatigue. Once he got far away from those dunderheads, he supposed he would sit down for a break.

When he arrived in Hell, his first and immediate thought was to find another Saiya-jin. To find his parents. To find anyone he knew. But he had no idea where they could possibly be. And he wasn't about to ask anybody if they'd seen a Saiya-jin lately.

But after wandering for days he realized he didn't really want to meet up with anybody he knew. What was the point? Did he expect to turn up at wherever his Father was staying and act like everything was normal? Act as if he hadn't spent over twenty years in the service of Frieza, act like he had killed Frieza? No…no. That wasn't going to happen and he knew it. Everyone in Hell must already know that he failed his people. Frieza would have been sure to blab and rave constantly about that damn Goku. Frieza was the whiny type, after all.

He had been fooling himself for so long. He thought he could just waltz up to the Saiya-jins and act like he belonged with them. Maybe a few years ago, he could have.

Would have.

But he was a changed man now and ruling his people was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment.

Trapped.

That's how he felt. To be stuck down in Hell was like being in Frieza's army all over again. He could hear people wailing and sobbing all around him. The sounds of anguish and pain trilled in his ears, waking unpleasant memories of the past. Memories that he would rather forget.

He hadn't felt this miserable in years. All he needed was to see Frieza in the flesh and the entire picture would be complete.

By God…he had tried denying it at first—but now he didn't care.

He was dead.

He was in Hell.

Who was there to stop him from feeling what he wanted to feel?

He missed her.

Missed waking up beside her and seeing her mussed hair, her sleepy smile, her morning kiss on the forehead while he was still half asleep. The way she would stretch out on top of him, wrap her arms around his neck and rub her cold little nose against his neck to wake him up. Her nose was always cold in the morning. He didn't know why. He missed the way they would lay there together awake, often falling back to sleep. God, he would do anything right now to feel her arms around him again.

He stopped his walking when he neared a grouping of rocks in the middle of the barren wasteland. It felt good to sit down and lose himself in memories.

He shook his head and chuckled.

He missed the way that Trunks would sneak into their room in the mornings and leap onto the bed. Sometimes he would be loud and crazy; jumping up and down on the mattress until they woke. Other times he would crawl over their legs and hips, shaking him awake. Never Bulma. Always him. Trunks was fearful that he would hurt his Mother if he got too excited.

Vegeta cracked a smile.

Trunks was definitely a morning person, while he was not.

He didn't do it too often anymore, since he had gotten older, but Trunks would crawl under their sleeping arms, wriggling his way in-between them, ignoring Vegeta's sleepy growl.

Bulma's Mother took a picture once. Sneaky wench. He missed her and her insane husband too.

Bulma still had the photograph. Before she died that is.

She looked at it a lot during happy or depressing times. Vegeta had never really understood the sentimental value it had held for her.

Even though they were all sleeping, it was her favorite picture of them. As a Family. Vegeta usually had replied with a snort. She just smiled back at him.

He would do anything to see that photo again.

He would do anything to have her smile at him again.

He sighed in misery, stood up and started walking.

So disconnected was he, that he did not feel himself being watched by two different sets of eyes.

He probably would not have cared even if he had noticed.

TBC.

Author's Note: Short chapter, I know. Only about half the size of what I usually dish out. Don't worry. A few more chapters, and we'll be focusing on Vegeta almost completely for some time. I've gotten some emails regarding Trunks and what is happening with him. Honestly, we won't be seeing much of Trunks, seeing as how this story isn't about him. But I'll definitely do one or two chapters that kind of tie up that loose end. Goku will make his reappearance…eventually. He is important in the later chapters. Thanks for reading! Review if you feel inclined to do so!