It was a week before Lord Vegeta woke up, and Trunks was later grateful that no one else had been there. The first words out of the Saiyan's mouth were, "You called me grandfather, boy. Why?"

Trunks froze, stumbling mentally for a good excuse. "Well," he finally said, feeling his face flush crimson, "if the King is the father of all Saiyans, and you're his father, then you're the Grandfather of all Saiyans, right?"

Lord Vegeta stared at him for a second his face emotionless. Finally, he growled, "Just help me free of this stuff." He began pulling at the tubes without waiting for Trunks.

As he was removing all the medical equipment, Trunks tried to bite back his questions. But finally, curiosity overwhelmed his good sense, and he blurted out, "Why did you do it?"

Lord Vegeta glanced up at him, his face expressing surprise for a second. Then it was gone, and he growled, "Why do you care? You're just a slave; who you actually serve shouldn't concern you."

"Wait a second," Trunks snapped, earning another look of surprise. "I care for my own reasons. If you don't want to tell me, then fine. But don't think that just because I'm a slave I'm just an emotionless robot who is just doing what he's told." There was a weighty silence, and Trunks quickly added, "Your Highness."

Lord Vegeta stood up, towering over the shorter slave. "Boy, someone should put you in your place," he growled. "I should, but I don't care enough to bother." He stalked past Trunks, but the slave was relentless, twisting to follow the former King.

"That's your problem, isn't it?" Trunks snapped angrily, trailing after him. "You don't care about anything. You mope about here like your life is over--"

"It is over!" Lord Vegeta spun to scream at him. "It is over! I should be dead!"

"Why?" Trunks shouted back. "Who told you that?"

Vegeta threw his arms out in frustration. "No one told me anything!" he bellowed. "It is the way of things. My son should have killed me when he took the crown, but no! That brat wanted me to suffer. And I am suffering. I would be happier dead!"

"Then why don't you act like a Saiyan and make him suffer?" Trunks asked, crossing his arms defensively. "Make him wish he had killed you."

Lord Vegeta stared at the slave, his eyes wide in astonishment. "What?"

Trunks shrugged. "Go to parties, have fun. If he wants you to suffer, and you don't, he doesn't get the satisfaction. Offer him advice. Butt into all his affairs. Tease him. Do whatever gets him riled up."

"He won't tolerate that for long," Lord Vegeta growled, then trailed off as a thought occurred to him.

"So then he kills you, and you get what you want," Trunks said, trying to keep his voice level. He really doubted that King Vegeta would kill his father, though if it got Lord Vegeta living again, it would be worth the risk. "If you keep going the way that you have been, you'll just make him happier."

Vegeta stared at the boy for a second, and asked, "Who are you really?"

"Just a slave sir, but a smart one," Trunks answered evenly.

Lord Vegeta stared into the distance for a long moment and said, "Parties? What have I been invited to?" His voice held a note of intrigue, and Trunks felt his heart swell with hope. He had long wanted to shake his grandfather out of this depression that held him, and he was happy to see what could be the first steps of that.

"The royal costume party," Trunks offered. Seeing the look of disdain that passed over Lord Vegeta's face, he quickly added, "You could go as a caricature of him."

Lord Vegeta stared at him, and then began to laugh, a deep, true, hearty laugh. It was the best sound Trunks had ever heard.

His hair was tinted with red, orange and yellow, and the boy had shaped it into dancing flames. A crimson, almost purple, cape hung from his shoulders, and his body armor was a deep midnight blue, nearly black over the white bodysuit. A fake crown was jammed down over the hair, forcing some of the hair sideways before the boy had used the colored hair grease to arc it back up. The boy had a fair artistic eye, and the hair didn't look bad. Lord Vegeta could have had a professional make it look almost real, but he didn't want to take any chance that the stylist might let his son know his big surprise.

Trunks was grinning up at him, nodding approvingly, careful not to touch anything. "Well, I don't think that you'll fool anyone, but it sure is funny."

"I look like an idiot," Lord Vegeta said with a grin. "Good work, boy. You'll come down five minutes after I do, correct?"

"And I'll pick another noble and follow him tonight, though, I'll be honest; I don't think you're going to fool anyone," Trunks finished. Leaning over the sink, he began to wash the colored hair grease off his hands. Lord Vegeta watched him circumspectly, wondering again why he didn't see the obvious earlier.

Of course, the boy had offered a large clue himself when he had slipped up and called him Grandfather.

My grandson, he thought, hiding a sad smile. And it was so clear – his son's reaction, the similarity between his son and the boy, and the instant, desperate affection that the boy held for him. Watching the lad frown slightly as he focused on getting the thick grease off, Lord Vegeta could see his son's face surrounding those woman's eyes. Vegeta, why didn't you tell me that you had gotten her with child?

Regret passed through the old man, and he sighed wearily. He should have done things differently – he was so determined that his son would be the Legendary, that he had ignored everything else, including his son. He had driven his son away from him, and then driven his son's possible mate from him. Or did this boy prove that they were mates in truth?

I have to talk to Vegeta about this, he thought. I have to find out if he was bound to the woman or not. If he was, then what does that mean for his lad, and for Prince Vegeta?

Or did he even have to ask Vegeta?

"Boy, what day did your mother die on?" Lord Vegeta asked, still watching the child of his child.

The lad stiffened, like he always did when his mother was mentioned. With an audible gulp, he said, "Four days before I came here, Lord Vegeta." That confirmed it, as far as Lord Vegeta was concerned; his son had fallen ill that night and nearly died. A bond-mate's death would be the only physical aliment that could bring a Saiyan as strong as the Legendary down.

Lord Vegeta grunted and put his hand on the lad's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. Trunks glanced up at him, surprise and a touch of remaining grief clear on his face. "I've been thinking, lad," Lord Vegeta said, turning the conversation away from Bulma's death. "You were right; I am the Grandfather of all Saiyans, so drop this Lord nonsense. From now on, everyone will call me Grandfather Vegeta."

"Yes, Grandfather Vegeta," the boy said, joy blooming in his eyes. Vegeta felt his heart tug with easily-given affection; even his emotions recognized his own bloodline. Or it could be that he was a lonely, broken old man who craved affection as much as this lonely slave.

Strange, when he had been the King, he had denied all of his emotions; now, he was too weak to resist them, and he didn't mind at all. Seeing his grandson's smile was worth a thousand legendaries. What would his son's smile be worth?

Trunks slipped into the Grand Dining Room through the servant's entrance and gave the room a quick glance, looking for his grandfather or anyone else he knew. But the costumed Saiyans were everywhere – flashes of eye-wrenching color and streaks of glittering metallics caught his eyes at every turn, as distracting as they were concealing. With a silent shrug, he picked the nearest noble of similar height and build to Grandfather Vegeta and moved to stand behind him. He briefly allowed himself to wonder if this man's servant was following Grandfather.

Wow, they sure do go all out when they party, Trunks thought, staring around the room. The massive wooden table had been removed from the room to make space on the floor, and smaller tables heaped with food surrounded the room. Servants milled through the costumed crowd, offering drinks on small silver trays. A large orchestra played in the corner of the room, nearly drowned out by the roar of voices, but a large clear area in front of the band was filled with dancers.

Suddenly, gloved hands slipped over his eyes, and a voice murmured in his ear, "Guess who?" The voice was strange, almost buzzing, and completely unfamiliar.

"Um, I don't know," Trunks said, ducking gently under the hands so that he could look at the person who had grabbed him. It was a female Saiyan in a skin-tight bird-of-prey costume, a mask covering her features and a hood covering her hair. Her tail was cleverly hidden in the bird's tail of the costume. The one feature he could see was her eyes, which were the typical Saiyan black. "Your voice is unfamiliar, My Lady." He figured it was safe to address her as a noble; if she were a servant, she wouldn't be in costume, and he didn't think any second-classes were invited to this party.

"You know me," she said in a teasing tone, running a hand down his cheek. Trunks felt his eyes widen as he stared down at her; was she flirting with him? Sometimes nobles took a slave as a lover, but Trunks hadn't thought it would happen to him. He could, he realized with a rush of anticipation, finally experience sex, something he had always been curious about. And if he was willing, and she was willing, what could it hurt?

"Well," he said with a little smile as he took her hand and kissed the gloved palm lightly in a gesture of respect, "be that as it may, you have an excellent costume; I'm sure that no one will guess who you are. You say that I should know, but I can't place you."

She laughed lightly and tapped her cheek. "Voice modulator," she admitted unrepentantly, and the strange distortions were finally explained. She leaned forward and put a hand on his chest. "Come with me."

"Where?" he asked, his eyes darkening and his voice becoming heated. She was! She was expressing interest, and if he was lucky, he would soon know what sex was like.

"To a room, where you can try to guess who I am by touch," she murmured, putting her other hand on his chest while the first slid down to his stomach, flirting with his belt.

"I think I have to work," he whispered, sliding a hand down her shoulder to the small of her back. "Can we meet later?"

"No one will miss you," the mystery woman whispered back. Her voice changed, became slightly pleading. "I've been watching you for a while now. I want you right now; I can't wait."

Please review if you are reading – reviews keep me writing. It's easier to work on this when I feel like someone else is appreciating it. Thanks! PK