Summary: Before Earth, before his change of heart and before his family, there had been a son he had never wanted, made from Frieza's seed and born from his body. Then he was dead, and Vegeta made sure to forget he had ever been there at all. Only, he wasn't dead. He was alive. Tormented and abused, but alive, and now Vegeta will do what he couldn't have done the first time. He will save him.

Warnings: Rated M for mpreg (male pregnancy), language, graphic abuse of a child, implied sexual violence towards a child, depictions of rape, graphic depictions of violence, etc.

This is NOT a Goku/Vegeta fanfiction.

READ THE WARNINGS!

Incoming long ass author's note: Previously, this story was titled 'The Boy with the Blindfold', with a sequel titled 'Blind Eyes Opened', that in which I have not updated in five years. There were many reasons for that absurdly long break, most of which will sound like excuses. Foremost, for a long time, I simply had no desire to finish this universe. I have reevaluated that attitude. First, because I hope to one day become a professional author, and the fact that I have not finished something I have started seemed pretty contradictory to that dream. Secondly, and most importantly, as a reader myself, I believe there is nothing worse than reading a good story and never seeing its conclusion. That I had done the very same thing was more than enough of a drive for me to get my ass in gear and finish this story.

However, upon rereading this, I found myself slightly appalled at its quality. I am not being too hard on myself, as I had been thirteen years old when I first started writing this and had been very proud at what I had accomplished at the time. Even so, the story was filled with too many plot holes, useless plot devices, and just downright bad writing for me to continue as it was. So, I have revised the entire thing. Some details have stayed relatively the same, while others have changed drastically. I advise those who read the old version to read this one, as these changes will affect the sequel. I'm sorry to everyone I kept waiting, and I hope you will enjoy finally being able to read the end of this universe!

*This chapter includes body dysphoria, attempted abortion, and graphic depictions of violence.*

Every Eye Will See

Prologue: The Baby

The eye is the lamp of the body. So if your eye is clear, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eye is evil, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness?

—Matthew 6:22-23

The Past:

The moment Vegeta awakened, he found that he could not open his eyes. The lids were heavy, as though they were glued in place. It was more than a little unsettling, truth be told, to be physically conscious yet unable to move his eyes, never mind the rest of his body.

Was he experiencing some sort of sleep paralysis? That could be so, and he was still tired after all. Still, as much as would have preferred to relax and let sleep claim him once more, he was stubborn before all else, and his seeming inability to open his eyes made him all the more determined to do so.

After several attempts he finally did manage to crack his eyes open. After another several moments, he found that no amount of inner deliberation could tell him where he was.

His blood filled with prickles of panic. He was not afraid, per say, but even a person as controlled and as powerful as he could not cease his body's natural reaction to awakening in an unfamiliar place with heavy eyes, useless muscles, and ears deafened by internal ringing.

No matter how many times he blinked, the ceiling above him remained blurred and unrecognizable—the only helpful detail he could gather being that it was too bright in color to be the ceiling of his own sleeping chamber. It was not the first time he had risen from his sleep and been perplexed by his whereabouts, after all, there were many reasons why that could occur—he was on a mission; he was moved into a new sleeping chamber, to name a few—but by now his befuddled mind ought to have recalled his bedding arrangements from the night before.

He waited a full minute, but he still could not remember.

Experimentally, he moved his arm across the sheets. His body seemed to have shaken off the paralysis from before, but the movement was still slow and sluggish as he searched for the unmistakable warm lump that could only be another person, as the possibility of a sexual encounter was not lost to him. After all, it would not be the first time that he had awoken to a sleeping mass beside him that belonged to one of the female soldiers. It was not often, as Vegeta was not nearly depraved enough to bother putting in the effort it took to charm a bed partner, but it did happen often enough that he couldn't rule it out as a possibility. Likely, it would be a soldier whose name he would forget by morning—if he had known it at all.

After a few fruitless moments, Vegeta stopped sliding his arm. There was nothing next to him; the sheets beside him were cold, and he still could not recall where he was.

He could only assume that while he'd been unconscious, someone had moved him somewhere against his will. Probably somewhere he didn't want to be.

He heard himself groan as his arm rose to throw itself across his forehead. While his body was numb, it was impossibly warm; his head felt strained from a wave of nauseous, and the ringing in his ears gave no signs of stopping any time soon.

He was fucking miserable—to put it mildly.

His vision swam as he lifted his heavy head to examine himself. He was lying on a bed, as he had figured. The blanket of the bed was grey, thin, and soft, and there was an even softer pillow cushioned where his head had been. The room itself—that of which he could see—was large but rather empty with walls colored a bland light silver. Across the room was a double door, and there was another door behind where his bed was facing. Next to the bed was a dark-colored bin, held up on a mobile cart.

He also noticed that he was nude, with a thick, white gauze wrapped tightly around his bloated abdomen.

He clenched his eyes shut, trying to banish away his nausea. He figured that he was in the hospital ward, if his sick feeling and the bandage were any indication, but his memory still refused to cooperate. How badly was he injured? Aside from the dull sting in his abdomen under the bandages, there was nothing else truly ailing him. He could not see the wound, of course, but was it truly so bad that he required pain medication? It could not be life-threatening, he was sure, because he would have been assigned to a healing chamber instead.

Then he heard wailing.

At first, he had thought he had imagined it, but quickly grew irritated when it refused to cease. The noise had to be coming from a living creature—it was too high and erratic to be anything otherwise—but he was certain that he was alone in the room. Nevertheless, the cries only grew in volume, escalating to hacking, almost choked breaths, and the noise was very much making Vegeta's steady headache worse, and his irritable mood even more dangerous.

His ears told him that it was the bin that was screaming bloody murder at him. He pondered momentarily on whether or not he had finally lost his mind.

Then he remembered.

The force at which his recollections returned had him reeling back against the pillow, memory after memory flooding back to him violently with no regard for his weary state.

It was while he was massaging his temple with his oddly bare fingers that he wondered how he could have actually forgotten about that… thing. How could nearly eight months' worth of memories slip his mind?

Perhaps he should be thankful that he had forgotten, even for a little bit, about that parasite in the medical bin. Now it was a part of his life again, whining for attention it did not deserve.

Vegeta let out a groan, though it was barely audible over the wailing that ricocheted around the room and straight to his ears. He was angry—angry with the crying; angry that they had left the creature with him; angry that it existed in the first place; angry that the memories he never wanted to remember were back.

It had started with nausea.

As superior as his body was, nausea was not foreign to him—if anything, it was because his body was superior that he was so familiar with it. His saiyan senses were more sensitive than most other species (particularly his sense of smell), so disgusting scents and flavors (though, strangely enough, gruesome sights barely registered a reaction) were quick to give him sick, almost gag-worthy sensations.

This nausea had been different though, much different. He was not even sure that 'intense' could accurately describe it. Through the morning until the time he slept, waves of pain would plague him—his head would spin sometimes when he so much as stood, and the awful urge to vomit lingered constantly in the back of his throat.

That was not normal.

So naturally, he ignored it.

Well, perhaps 'ignored' was not the right word to use. More accurate would be to say that he had logically concluded that his newfound fatalistic condition was in some way connected to his heat, and thus there was nothing to be done about it.

The nausea had started not long after his latest heat. It had been just like any other: six or so days of small, barely noticed stomach cramps; an aroma that was invisible to his own nose, but supposedly pleasing to others permeating from his body; a smidgen of extra irritation added to his already sour mood; an ever so slightly increased libido. Apparently, saiyan males were documented to go through heat only twice a year, while females were subject to it nearly every other month. Female scents were also stronger than males, their libido maybe a bit higher, their moods possibly slightly more irritable, and then of course the whole bleeding thing. Vegeta did not know many details on female heat—he barely knew anything about his own. It was his body's way of encouraging him to reproduce; there was nothing else about it he really needed to know. It was not something so drastic that it affected how he regularly went about his days, and if anything, the heightened libido and the pleasure induced from that almost made it worth it.

So, as he recalled: regularly scheduled heat, followed by wonderful bouts of consensual sex with as many feminine-inclined specimens within his reach, and a bit of the non-consensual variety with the person he hated most, but that was nothing new. Nothing pleasant, but certainly nothing new.

Unwanted sex was not as awful as someone of a weaker will may believe. Once it was over Vegeta would often find himself forgetting it had even happened. Over the years, Vegeta learned that there were far worse things than being forced into someone else's bed. It severely hurt his pride, yes, but the burn of Frieza forcing his way into his body was nothing in comparison to, say, being beaten within an inch of his life. Really, as far as pain went, forced fucking was not even in the top ten.

When he thought back on all the symptoms, however, he felt like an idiot for not putting the pieces together. At the time though, those occurrences seemed so unrelated from each other that it had not dawned on him to connect them. Or what connecting them could mean.

Vegeta was not one to seek unnecessary help (or any help, really), but if there was anyone who knew of the anatomy of a saiyan, it was Nappa. He might have asked Raditz, but the fool had already departed on his thirteen months long journey to the planet called Earth to retrieve his younger brother. And in any case, Raditz' knowledge of saiyan biology was probably just as ignorant as his. Nappa was not particularly bright, but in this area, his age and life experience gave him the advantage.

However, even after Vegeta's reluctant admission of his condition, Nappa still hadn't had a clue as to what the problem was, so Vegeta more or less had no other choice but to continue ignoring it, and hope that it would go away on its own.

The problem escalated to the point in which he got painful cramps that lasted for hours on end, so awful he could barely train or even eat. Not long after that, began the terrible bouts of diarrhea. Not many things truly embarrassed Vegeta, but that certainly crossed a line.

At that point, he knew he could no longer ignore it, not when he was so clearly getting worse. Swallowing his pride for a second time, he consulted in Nappa again. Maybe the oaf could identify it now as saiyan-related disease now that it had reached such a height. He hoped that Nappa could identify the problem, and he hoped he could state that it was not fatal, just inconveniently irritating. The last thing Vegeta wanted to do was inform the medics of his condition. One could only swallow so much of their pride at once.

So, he told Nappa, in a succinct manner, all the key points: the heat, the nauseous, the stomach cramps, and the diarrhea. Nappa, of course, was at least five minutes slower than every other person in the fucking universe, and took his time rubbing his chin and contorting his face in various phases of thought. Vegeta only leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs. It was a signal that he was not particularly in a hurry, but it would be best to not try his patience.

"Have you fucked?" The burly man blurted so bluntly after his moment of 'lost-in-thought-grunting' that Vegeta's eyelids popped in slight surprise.

The prince then raised a brow, which was just about the extent of his confusion he allowed to show on his stoic face. "Fucked?"

"Have you been fucked?" Nappa rephrased, as if that made the question any less odd and invasive.

"Well," Vegeta began. "I am sure that even you are aware that that information is none of your business, so I'm going to assume that you asked me that because you believe it may have something to do with my... condition. Am I correct?" Gods, had Frieza given him some kind of disease? That thought was more than a little appalling.

Nappa's skin paled in a way that made Vegeta almost feel uneasy. "Yes, actually."

"Well? Spit it out!" Vegeta snapped.

"Well I... I think I have a theory... but it doesn't make any sense…" Nappa said looking away and scratching the back of his hairless head.

"Just tell me, damn it." Vegeta did not like the feeling of dread that was prickling in the pit of his gut.

"Well... how do I put this?" Nappa said, looking away from the prince.

"Nappa, you are officially trying my patience."

The man nodded "Alright, I suppose I'll just start from the beginning, I guess."

At the prince's glare, Nappa quickly stood to his feet. Vegeta was annoyed by how far he had to tip back his head to watch the pacing giant. "Well, no one can agree on a date, but some several thousand years ago, a terrible plague began to wipe out saiyans all across Planet Vegeta. Since saiyan males have a better immune system, more of our men survived the disease, while most our females were wiped out."

Nappa sat then but would not meet Vegeta's eyes. "As time went by, the few females that did survive were having a hard time conceiving and carrying a healthy child to full term, or even surviving the pregnancy at all, as their bodies had been permanently weakened by the plague. It was around then that..." Nappa paused, "... saiyan males gained the ability to carry children."

Vegeta stared blankly at him for a moment. Then: "What the hell are you on?"

"It's true!"

"Nappa that doesn't even make sense. Men can't just... adapt to carry children like women. That isn't how biology works." At least not the biology of saiyans, that he was certain of.

"Well, some scholars believed that males always were able to carry children, but our high levels of testosterone negated it until the plague weakened us. Others believe that some of the defected babies our women birthed may have been some type of hermaphrodites and their descendants eventually evolved into males who retained the ability to conceive. I can't tell you which, or if both or neither are true. It was all just speculation."

The sick feeling from before was starting to resurface. "If this bullshit is true, then why am I only hearing of it now?"

Nappa ran his hand over his bare head. "I learned it in school my Tenth Year."

Vegeta sneered at that. Vegeta would have been twelve years old in that level. Naturally as a prince, he had never attended any public schools, but rather had tutors teach him all that he was expected to learn in whichever given year. He had been advanced for his age, but he had been taken long before even he could reach that level.

Nappa was no teacher and had only put effort towards ensuring Vegeta and Raditz knew the most basics of education. Vegeta had never minded—he could read and do just beyond basic math. He had no need of anything more in-depth than that.

It would seem that he was wrong.

Nappa took Vegeta's silence as the green light to continue, "Well, as time passed and the descendants began to develop as more male-appearing, they became rather unsuitable hosts. As you can imagine, it was already difficult enough to push a baby out of an asshole but coupled with the fact that males' hips aren't as wide as women's, it became damn near impossible. The safest way to retrieve the baby was through cutting it out of the stomach, or else it would pretty much tear it's host apart until they both wound up dead."

Nappa took a deep breath, and for a moment, he looked like he had the weight of every year of his life on his shoulders. "I'm sure you can imagine just how gods-awful early saiyans were at performing such a complex surgery. Survival rate was pretty shit no matter what. That's why after our numbers of healthy females came back up, it went as an unspoken rule that no males should strive to become pregnant, and anyone who did killed the brat before it could become a nuisance. By the time our doctors were able to perform more successful C-sections, the majority of males weren't interested in carrying, if they even knew that the ability existed in the first place…"

Vegeta's eyes were on the gold-tips of his boots, his arms crossed across his chest. He can feel the beginnings of rage start to creep in. "You didn't think that this was something I needed to know?"

"I... the medics on Planet Vegeta would've noticed when you were born, but it wasn't anywhere in your documents when I looked. Your father must have been trying to hide it."

Vegeta did not bother to refute that. He did not remember his father well, but it still sounded like exactly something he would do.

"The medics here have no reason to lie," he says. "They examined me when I was first recruited, and every time they stuffed me in the healing chambers. They would have known and updated my documents."

Nappa coughed uncomfortably. "I haven't looked at your files since that one time," he admitted, seeming embarrassed by what that implied about his caretaking skills. "I hadn't really thought about it. It didn't seem to matter."

"But you think it matters now?"

"Yes, I—uh..." he trailed off awkwardly, before hesitantly asking, "Was it Frieza?"

Vegeta said nothing.

Nappa cleared his throat and didn't push the question, though his anger on behalf of his prince's virtue was quite apparent. "I think that's what's wrong with you. That you're... you're..."

Nappa was greeted with silence once again. No movement, not even a flicker on Vegeta's blank, downwards tilted face. The bald saiyan coughed awkwardly again.

"Er, Vegeta...?" he questioned after a while as he inconspicuously leaned towards the door, probably hoping to increase his chances of survival once the prince's temper finally snapped. As if anything other than Vegeta's desire and restraint could protect him.

Finally, Vegeta stood. First, he pulled off his armor. Then he peeled off the upper half of his spandex suit. He spread his arms out, almost like an invitation. He did not dignify Nappa with eye contact, only kept his still blank face tilted up towards the ceiling.

To his credit, it only took Nappa a moment to catch on. He reared his leg back, aimed at Vegeta's abdomen, and kicked his prince as hard as he could.

After that, Vegeta's life had gone somewhat back to normal... for all of two days. It was around that time that he realized that the thing had survived. If he were not so thoroughly irritated by this turn of events, he would have been impressed by its tenacity.

He sought out Nappa again. Nappa seemed to have grasped the situation before Vegeta even had a chance to open his mouth, though he held up his hand once the oaf reared back his leg for a second time.

"Were you holding back when you hit me?" he asked.

"No..."

"Then why is it still here?"

"Well..." Nappa thought for a moment. "Your body is still just as resilient as it always is. Even hitting you my hardest... we both know I can't put much a dent in you."

"So, what you're saying is: I'll need someone stronger than me to actually do damage to it."

Nappa bit his lip and nodded.

He thought of Frieza, of Zarbon, of the idiotic poses of a certain force. He sneered as each one of their faces flashed through his mind.

"How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long does it need to—gestate."

"Er..." Nappa looked distinctly uncomfortable. "When was your last heat?"

"Two and a half months ago," he answered, his words smooth and quick.

Nappa tilted his head up, his face twisting in thought for another moment. "Well I'm not sure how long the brat will be in there, considering it's a half-blood. In fact, it probably won't even survive a full term."

"That wasn't my question, Nappa." He doubted that would be the case anyhow. It seemed inconsistent for the creature to survive a deliberate physical attack against its life, only to perish later to some biological dissimilarity.

"Er—a proper saiyan pregnancy normally lasts around ten months."

Just over seven months before it was here, and that was not even a guarantee.

"Fuck," he said, dread and trepidation cracking his detached facade. His knees nearly caved, the doorjamb he was pressed against barely keeping him on his feet. "Fuck."

"You could try killing it yourself!" Nappa offered, near desperate.

Vegeta only shook his head. He could not hit himself—at least, not hard enough to do what needed to be done—his body would instinctively hold itself back. He was sure that there were some type of termination medications in the infirmary for the female soldiers, but there was no point in him trying to sneak in and get it for himself (presuming he even knew which medications were the right ones), seeing as how the infirmary was constantly filled with medics, and they would not give it to him unless he specified the reason why.

"Well then why not someone else? Zarbon? Frieza even!"

Vegeta shook his head again. It was too risky, too unreliable. After all, it was not as if he spent his days being pounded into the dirt by those stronger than him. More importantly, he was certain that his pride could not withstand intentionally allowing himself to be beaten to a bloody pulp all over a mass of cells that was no bigger than his pinky finger.

It was almost funny really, how he could still think about pride at a time like this.

Nappa gave him a funny look. "Well, I suppose that an upside would be the strength boost that the brat would give you, but I really do hope you aren't actually con—"

"What?" Vegeta demanded.

"Well." Nappa scratched the back of his head, looking like he regretted even mentioning it. "I'm not exactly an expert on saiyan babies, but I do recall reading that they contribute to your body in the same way you contribute to theirs. It basically means that your strength increases more quickly when you're training while pregnant. I... can't remember why that is, though... Has something to do with hormones or some shit like that."

Vegeta mulled over the new information.

He did not have to think for long. "Alright then, I guess it can stay."

If the situation were not as it was, it might've been amusing the way Nappa's eyes bulged from his face. "What?!"

"I can't pass up an opportunity to get stronger." Not that he particularly needed it—he was a saiyan after all, and was more than capable of getting by with his own abilities—but he had goals to reach, and those goals would not wait for him to gain strength naturally.

Nappa's eyes widened. "B-but, Vegeta! You can't—"

"Shut up, Nappa." Vegeta straightened his back and held his head high. "Use that useless brain of yours for once. I am going to keep this parasite inside of me until it is no longer useful to me. The top priority of my life is to defeat Frieza, and I will use every resource I have to reach that goal."

"Ah... right, that's a good plan, Vegeta," Nappa said, his hesitancy relaying his disbelief.

"Of course, it is."

"Yeah, uh... sorry, Vegeta," Nappa amended as he followed him towards the door. He was stopped by a hand slamming into his abdomen.

Vegeta gave the larger saiyan a hard glare. "You'll be keeping this too yourself." Not that intimidation was necessary—Nappa was loyal to him before anything else. Even so, one could never be too sure.

At Nappa's nod, Vegeta continued on, his eyes checking every corner of the hall to make sure they were not overheard.

"It's too bad though," Nappa said after a moment. "A creature created from you and the scoundrel; I'm curious what its power level would be."

The thought had crossed Vegeta's mind as well, but only for a moment. "I suppose we'll never know."

After that, Vegeta didn't talk about the situation that had befallen his body. The pregnancy wasn't too bad at that point: the nausea had lessened in intensity, and his bathroom habits leveled out as well. He still picked fights with his subordinates and trained to his heart's content—taking blows to the abdomen and all and taking no care to prevent it. Still, the brat was there. Vegeta knew so because he could feel it.

It was an odd feeling, and unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and he hated it.

The pregnancy (his stomach twisted every time he thought of that word) started to annoy him again as it progressed, however. During his regular scuffles with the other soldiers, he would often have to cut his fun short due to the constant urges to piss, or when the occasional cramps would be so unbearable during his training sessions with Nappa that he would actually have to sit out for a moment lest he passed out. He felt strange, like a foreigner in his own body. His mind and his vessel were on two completely different pages, and he did not like it at all.

During one of the few instances that he actually deigned to talk about his condition, he had asked Nappa whether not it was normal for his body to be enduring such turmoil during this time—there was simply no way that saiyan women could go through this hell while also upholding their warrior lifestyles.

Nappa had told him it was unusual—he had informed Vegeta that most saiyan pregnancies were smooth and hardly even seen as inconveniences. Nappa guessed that perhaps it was because he was a male, or that the brat was a half-blood.

(Vegeta thought maybe there was something wrong with it, like something in its very genetic makeup was flawed, and it was now fighting a battle for survival that it would surely lose.)

(Vegeta doubted he was lucky enough for the problem to resolve itself that easily.)

It was not entirely awful, though. The symptoms were certainly annoying, but nothing he could not handle. Also, with every strain of his muscles he could feel himself growing stronger, and at a much faster rate than usual. It would seem that Nappa was correct in that regard, which was nothing he could complain about.

Then his stomach started to grow.

At first, he simply used his armor to cover the hard swell, which worked up until the middle of the fifth month, when the expandable armor started to stretch noticeably, and his lean frame clearly gained a layer of fat. At that point he rarely left his room. He did all his eating (lots and lots of eating), training, and bathroom matters in the early morning when few were awake, and at night when everyone was asleep. No one seemed particularly suspicious of Vegeta's sudden disappearance—most probably assumed he was out on a mission if they cared enough to wonder. Frieza himself hadn't noticed, for it seemed that he was too busy with his own matters to bother Vegeta. A blessing, he recognized.

Still, it was a shitty way to live. Loneliness was never a particular concern for Vegeta, but he could not stand the boredom that ate away at him as he stared at the walls of his bed chambers for hours on end. It was during those times that he considered breaking into the medical unit, stealing the largest scalpel he could find, and cutting the parasite out of him. The past five months had brought a sufficient boost to his power—surely, he could be done with this creature now? He figured he could.

He never did attempt it, though. He simply pushed his body as much as he could in his own chambers and allowed his own power to continue to grow.

Not long after, the parasite began to move around. It was a bit of an unnerving feeling, to say the least. It clearly did not take kindly to being ignored either, it seemed, as the infernal kicking only raised in intensity the longer it went without attention. Once, while Vegeta had lain uncomfortably in bed, waiting for sleep to finally claim him, the parasite had kicked so hard that the outline of its foot somehow managed to poke through his hard belly. That had certainly been discomfiting. With his thumb and forefinger, he had flicked at the tiny toes until it disappeared. The parasite had struck back with a kick even more powerful than the last, and thoroughly, vexed, Vegeta had flicked at it again. Back and forth it went until Vegeta realized he was actively engaging with the thing and how very absurd that was.

He had tried to go back to ignoring it, though it was not easy. The creature was restless—constantly moving around; pounding its feet against his insides as if it were trying to tear itself out. Vegeta had no choice but to acknowledge the nuisance when he had to use his hands to push at the tiny limbs until they were no longer lodged under his ribs—which they were nearly every night.

Sometimes, Vegeta even found himself talking to it. Given that he was barricaded in his room for most of the day with only the likes of Nappa for occasional company, he figured it was fair for him to speak to the only other thing that could hear him. The words he spoke were nothing particularly splendid—"Stop kicking me, bastard!" "Die already, parasite!"—but he was still talking to it all the same. Touching it, talking to it, playing with it... even he could see how these actions could be interpreted as bonding.

The thought was repulsive.

He would still kill it, of course—that was not debatable. After all, it was Frieza's flesh and blood that attacked his ribs and listened to the abhorrent words he spoke—no amount of "bonding" would change that. In any case, he was sure that once the parasite was finished tearing its way out his body, any attachment he had towards it would certainly vanish.

The ninth month was easily described by the word 'uncomfortable'. He was tired all the time, yet every position he tried to rest in was intolerable. Furthermore, he was horny as all hell. However, given that he would rather kill himself than let Nappa touch him, and was far too irritated by the idea of reaching around the gargantuan tumor that was his stomach now simply to relief himself, he was in a constant cycle boredom and insomnia, with nothing else to do aside from think about how much he wanted to fuck something.

To top it off, his chest had begun to swell, and his nipples became sensitive to the touch. He tried not to think too hard about what that meant.

Never had Vegeta wanted the parasite to come out more than he did now. Given how shitty he felt—the fact that he could barely move from his cot attested to that—he genuinely wondered how much worse it could get. After all, it was only the ninth month. How was he supposed to survive another four weeks of this?

He never had to find out. One week past the ninth month, the parasite decided it was time.

The first contraction was so sudden that he had actually cried out in surprise. He had been napping, finally comfortable in the mass of pillows and blankets he had curled up upon. Disoriented from sleep, he nearly thought he was being attacked. After a moment though, he realized that the pain was internal, and that he was lying in a revolting mess of bodily fluid. Then the second wave hit, and it was far more painful than he had expected it to be.

Intense cramps ravaged his body over and over again. Wasn't it too soon for them to be this close together? Wasn't it too early for the pain to be this great? He didn't know; he couldn't even think.

The scouter on the stand next to his cot glowed with flashing yellow symbols. He snatched it and fit it over his eye.

"Vegeta," Nappa's voice rang through the device, "I'm in the cafeteria. Did you want me to bring you back some foo—"

"Fuck the food!" he shouted around a groan, his knees quivering as spasms wracked his body.

"What the he—oh. Oh, fuck. Just... shit, hold on, I'll be right there."

Vegeta wanted to tell him to fuck off, to leave him alone, but he was too preoccupied with holding back any more exclamations of his distress. He swore he could feel the innards of his body tearing apart as the parasite tried to fit its way through places it was never meant too. Hot blood gushed from his body like a fountain, and yet his muscles still convulsed around the parasite as it fought to pass through him. There was something distinctly awful about internal pain. How could you escape what was inside of you?

Vegeta pounded his fists furiously against his midriff, though he knew it would do no good. Even if the parasite died, it would still have to pass through his body somehow. His vision grew hazy, along with a dizzy sensation in his head. He regretted letting it stay; he should have tried harder to kill it when he had the chance. What good would the added power do if he were dead? Because certainly he was dying. He had survived battles against warriors that would have had his father cowering in fear, and yet his life was going to be taken by a life so small it hadn't even experienced its first breath of air.

Suddenly, he heard a loud sound. A hard kick at the door.

"Nappa?"

"Guess again, monkey. Frieza wishes to speak with you."

Vegeta clenched his eyes shut, dismay filling his chest. Of all times, Frieza would send that damned Zarbon after him.

Part of him had been a bit baffled by the lack of Frieza's presence the last few months. It was not unusual per say—Frieza was not on his ass all the time. The tyrant was, after all, the emperor of a sizable chunk of the universe. Still though, to go months without a mission deployment? All this time and not even so much as a check-up?

"Alright!" he shouted back through his panting. His body contracted again, a roar of agony escaping him before he could bite down on the pillow. His ankles were drowning in the blood that flooded his boots.

Another loud pounding against the door. "What the hell is going on in there?"

"Fuck off, I said I'd be right there!"

Muted 'dings' seeped into the room. Zarbon was entering the code to unlock the door.

"No!" Vegeta yelled: "Don't come in here!" but the door was already sliding open.

It was almost amusing the way the condescending look on Zarbon's face quickly fell into one of horror. "What in the fuck?"

Vegeta growled at him, trapping him with a heated glare.

He hated the way Zarbon eyed him, his calculating gaze taking in bloody spandex, and a full, round stomach. "There's no way..."

"Get. Out."

"You monkeys really are freaks of nature..." The words lacked the usual ill-mannered tone, but rather an air of genuine disbelief. Vegeta did not dignify them with a response.

Zarbon contemplated for a moment longer. Then he smirked, though it was shaky and looked forced, like the because surely not even he could bounce back from such a shock so fast. "So, I take it that this is why you've been hiding for so long."

Again, Vegeta said nothing. He had been caught. Nothing he said would save him now.

"Hmm. I suppose I should get you to the medical ward. I don't believe Frieza would be pleased if his favorite prince died without properly authorized permission."

Vegeta snarled, his hands pushing his body away as Zarbon's gold-tipped boots grew nearer. "Stay the fuck away from me!"

A tight grip found its way around his wrist. He wrenched his arm back, and fell onto his backside, only managing to scoot a foot away when the cyan-skinned man was back on him, wrapping a hand around his ankle. "Don't fucking touch me!"

"Honestly, Vegeta, is all this necessary?" Zarbon replied with annoyance, swatting away Vegeta's free foot when it struck at him. The hand on him squeezed until Vegeta could feel the bones of his ankle crack, but he still twisted and struggled. It did no good, of course; Zarbon was stronger than him on a regular day, and paired with the fact that he could barely even keep consciousness, he stood no chance as he was effortlessly dragged across the metallic floor, his face smearing in the blood left in his wake.

Still though, once they reached the archway between his chambers and the hall, he held on tight to the doorjamb, his fingers sinking into the metal. Zarbon yanked hard on his leg, popping several muscles, but still Vegeta did not let go. Blood clouded his eyes, ringing filled his ears, and yet he kept his grip. Distantly he could hear pounding footsteps resounding throughout the empty hall. There were more hands on him, all pulling, and yanking and he still fought.

Then there was a needle in his skin, and it was over.

He supposed that brought him back to the present.

He ripped the IV tubes from his arms, yanked the oxygen mask from his face, and scowled over at the bin next to the bed. They must have cut the parasite out before either of them could lose their lives, if the irritating whines Vegeta was forced to listen to were any indication.

Vegeta flopped back onto his pillow and stared up at the ceiling. How long had he been out? Why did they leave it with him? They must know it was Frieza's—if not by appearance then certainly by a blood test. How many people knew?

Why was it still alive?

He trailed his eyes around the room in search of proper clothing. He had more important things to do than to waste his time here.

Even just thinking of moving brought his attention back to the ache in his abdomen. Underneath the thick bandage was the outline of his still-plump stomach. He wondered when it would shrink back to its regular flat shape, and when he would lose the unnecessary weight he had gained. Vegeta detested the layer of fat that covered his body.

The wailing he had nearly forgotten suddenly grew louder. The emptiness of the room seemed only to fuel the terrible volume.

Vegeta groaned and brought his fingers up to pinch his ears closed. When that proved fruitless, he finally snapped, "Shut up!"

The parasite had the audacity to ignore him and continued to cry.

Vegeta groaned out again, feeling almost despaired. He was thirsty, hungry, exhausted, and still too woozy to even get up from the bed, much less leave the room. How long did they expect him to listen to this shit?

The crying persisted. Vegeta ignored the stab of pain in his abdomen as he propped himself up, deciding that there was no such thing as 'too woozy', and would be damned if he spent another minute here. He ran his eyes across the room again, hoping against hope that he would catch the glimpse of a storage closet. He had absolutely no desire to stroll about the halls in a medical gown, but given the other choice was nakedness, he would take what he could get.

He saw no storage closet, and upon trying to stand he found that he could scarcely feel his legs. No medics came; the cries grew louder, and Vegeta's patience had reached its breaking point.

He practically threw himself over the bin. "Shut up!"

He was greeted with a bundle wrapped in a thin, grey blanket. He yanked the cover back, more hard words on the tip of his tongue.

Yet, all words left him in that moment.

The thing was incredibly small. Its hair was rich and black against the pure-colored cushion. Thick spikes pointed out to one side and downward instead of upward like his, and a long bang rested between its eyelids—familiar in a way that he could not place. Its skin was several shades lighter than Vegeta's tan color, like smooth vanilla. Its little face was turning red from its wailing. Twin black lines cut down its cheeks like scars, starting from the corner of its eyes and connecting underneath its chin. They were an odd feature—Frieza did not have black lines on his pink face, but Vegeta figured that that was where the trait was inherited, nonetheless.

Vegeta's eyes trailed down to the tail. It had no fur, but the length was similar to the few saiyan babies he distantly recalled from his deep memory. He wondered if it was hyper-sensitive. He wondered if it would serve the same purpose as a proper saiyan tail did. He wondered a lot of things.

One of those things was that whatever Vegeta was looking at, it was not a parasite. It was a baby.

It was then that the baby squirmed, its tiny fists, complete with even tinier pitch-black nails, clenching against the assault of the cold room. The crying had lessened to a whine, and thin eyelids cracked open.

He shivered and turned away as Frieza's blood red eyes stared back at him.

TBC

The baby's features are based off of final form Frieza.

Can prologues be 7000 words? They can now.

The next chapter will take place thirteen years later, just after the Majin Buu saga (presuming Goku was in space for two years after Namek).