A/N: Oh man, thank you for the reviews. This is supposed to be really emotional, so don't be ashamed if you cried. To be honest, I cried when I wrote it, because I kept thinking... Well, basically what you're about to read. I've mentioned before, I write Vegeta fics because I can get into his head. Well, sometimes, he gets into mine.

Enjoy.

It's not something you really ask yourself, not necessarily something you think of save for late at night, in the silence of your worst-case-scenario thoughts. Nonetheless, it's a question to be avoided for the sake of one's sanity.

What would I do?

It had, of course, crossed his mind before. Briefly, albeit, and only amid the tornado of thoughts racing through his head, but it had occurred to him. It was the first time anyone or thing other than himself had been important enough to worry about, and his mind was so frazzled with the demands of his Pride, his Conscience, his Rival, and his Master warring for dominance. The thoughts had been so lost that they'd only become clear when he woke to the matching blue eyes of his boys – yes, his boys, he was Uncle Vegeta after all – begging him to get up. Paternal instinct had won over, and though she hadn't been an after-thought, he realized eventually that she kind of had been. He had pushed her to the back of his mind and only noticed too late.

Everyone's dead! Even Bulma and Trunks!

It had been a dog's death, but she was dead too and nothing was final. They could, no would defeat Buu and wish everyone back. If he stayed dead, so be it, at least his family was alive. There wasn't a time or an opportunity for the dreaded question to really be a reality. His death had come first and ended the need for it. But at least he got her back.

But now, years later, as old age settled in like dust on his bones, the question reared its ugly head and changed its name a bit, from Possible to Inevitable.

What will I do?

He'd pondered it for years after the Buu fiasco, especially as the lines and tiredness crept over his blue beauty. Though ever untamable, she still grew weary, slow, before his eyes, which somehow kept their youth. He recalled once asking Nappa, as a child, when death had fascinated him to a morbid degree,

How do Saiyans die?

In battle, if they're lucky. Executed if they are traitors.

But what about outside of battle?

No one lives long enough to die outside of battle.

What about you? Aren't you old?

Not yet.

There had once been a legend about his great grandfather, the first or second Vegeta, he wasn't really sure since they all started to get mixed up in his head, had lived to see death in his sleep. He'd been ancient, perhaps a hundred Earth years (Vegeta had grown bored and done the math one sleepless night), before age had set on. It had been quick, sudden, startling, and believed to be painful. He had kept his strength up until his dying day, but using energy exhausted him quickly. It was said that he'd died within three cycles (five years) of elderly symptoms setting in.

How will I?

Vegeta wasn't old yet. He was seventy-three. If the legends were true and his math was correct, he could potentially live for another thirty years. Long enough, perhaps, to see his son grow old and die, his daughter, too.

He wouldn't go back to Capsule Corp. Not after… Not after this. The compound belonged to Trunks now; he would take over the company.

He could take his training capsule; it had served him well over the years.

He could go to space. Conquer planets, wipe out whatever remnants there were of the Cold Army, stragglers though they would be. Sweet vengeance. He would be a legend by now, Prince Vegeta, killed by Frieza but revived somehow to wreak havoc upon planets he visited; Prince Vegeta, who left no survivors; Prince Vegeta, the last of his race; Prince Vegeta, the washed up soldier whose bloodlust had been tamed out of him.

All hail.

What am I going to do?

Review please, and look out for chapter three.