Summary: Before Earth, before his change of heart and before his family, there had been a son he'd 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 isn't dead. He is 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 language, abuse, sexual violence, depictions of rape, mpreg, etc.

Special thanks to Vleer1994 who pointed out that I uploaded the wrong chapter lol.

Every Eye Will See

Chapter Eleven: The Name

The Past:

Nappa could feel something crunch unpleasantly and scream beneath his boots as he trampled over what might have been a wayward medic or someone's whore or even another soldier for all he cared. The poor soul was hardly the first to have been mercilessly mowed down by his haste and would most likely not be the last by the time Nappa reached his destination. He ran like the devil himself was on his heels—or if not on his heels, then certainly awaiting his arrival.

It had been his own idiocy that caused this mess. He should have known better than to wander from his prince while this far into the... pregnancy. Nonetheless, in his lapse of judgement, he saw no error in visiting the canteen—during lunch rush, no less—and eating to his heart's content.

After Vegeta's message through the scouter, he had returned as quickly as he could, only to receive no answer upon knocking on the door.

If there had been a mess in the hallway, it had already been cleaned away. No such care had been given to Vegeta's quarters, he discovered, when he finally got the door open. His prince's chamber was still sullied by a pile of bedding thickly drenched with amniotic fluid and fresh blood.

He was near the medical ward now. His hard footfalls were leaving deep dents in the flooring, but he still felt he was not getting there fast enough. There was no telling how Frieza had reacted to learning that a saiyan had dared to carry his offspring. They could have already killed Vegeta for this transgression by now. Vegeta was a man grown, and had long since surpassed him in ability, but Nappa would be his prince's caretaker until the day he died, and he would never forgive himself for not protecting him when he needed it most.

When he finally reached the medical ward, he skidded to a halt. He grabbed the nearest medic by the front of his robe, and growled in his horrified face, "Where is Prince Vegeta?"

The medic pointed to the left with a shaky, blue tentacle. "H-H-He's in the third room, sir."

So, they hadn't killed him yet. Nappa refused to feel relief until he saw him with his own eyes.

Nappa tossed the medic aside and stalked further into the wing. He did not bother with the keypad and slammed his shoulder straight into the door. The door toppled to the floor, and revealed the only bed in the room, and the occupant that laid atop it.

Vegeta looked... off. His prince was laid on his back above the crumpled sheets, dressed in thin, colorless pants and nothing else. IV tubes trailed from his arm, and his tail was enveloped in white gauze, lying uselessly beside him on the bed. Across his abdomen was a thick, white bandage, and Nappa could see blood oozing from his split knuckles.

The worst of it though, was Vegeta's eyes, staring up at the ceiling yet seeing nothing. They were completely, utterly, blank.

From his lips fell a mantra, "He's mine. He's mine. They'll die. They'll die..."

On and on it went.

Nappa felt a disturbed shiver run down his spine. The devil had sucked his prince dry. He wondered if he had left anything of him at all.

The Present:

The morning had never come so slowly.

Dawn had only begun to peek shyly through the curtains when Vegeta rolled out of the bed. He looked down at the spandex still hugging his body, and at the shape his prone body had left in the bed made up with sheets and blankets he only just realized he hadn't bothered to pull down, and felt very pathetic.

His body felt heavy on his feet, and a headache brewed at the center of his skull. His eyes burned just the slightest bit every time he blinked, just as they had all throughout the night, but sleep never came.

The bliss of sleep could never come again, and he would not dare be surprised.

His body was tired, but it moved as he told it too. His hands gripped the handles of the dresser drawers and pulled out the bodysuit on the top of the pile. His feet walked across the carpet. His hands again opened the door. His feet took him down the hallway.

(His foot had also kicked the single, crumpled ball of white paper in the center of the carpet, and the rage burned so hot his eyes nearly blanked out.)

Not much went through his mind while he executed his routine. He pissed. He showered. He raised the power in his core until the water evaporated off his body. He brushed his teeth. When he pulled on his suit, red eyes filled with tears and pain flashed in his mind, and his grip tore the skinny sleeve completely off.

Dammit.

He felt rage build inside of him, but as soon as it had come it dissipated. It was just a suit; he had many others just like it.

It's not about the suit.

He went back to their bedroom, opened the drawer, and grabbed a new outfit. He pulled this one on with more care.

He had barely made it past the door's threshold when his chest started to burn hot once more. No thoughts passed through his head, but his fury set fire in his core, nevertheless.

"You really need to work on your anger issues, Vegeta," he heard his wife's smart-ass voice say, a memory probably but not one he was in any state to properly recall. "You wonder why things never go your way? It's because you walk around bursting blood vessels all day everyday like it's normal. Maybe you should stop every once and a while and just breathe."

He stopped. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose until his chest was stretched far and his lungs were full. He let it out through his mouth.

He left his room. He went down two doors, and entered a new one, one he prepared all on his own.

It was not very big. The walls were painted off-white, and completely bare, not so much as a hole or crack anywhere in the plaster. The carpeting was dark and made of soft fabric and thin fibers. There was one window on the eastern wall, and morning light poured in bright between the opened curtains. Underneath the window was a wide chest of drawers, all of which were empty, even from the dust that had been inside just the night before.

On the other side of the room were double sliding doors that led into a small closet, empty aside from spare sheets. A few paces away from the doors, facing the window, was a single, twin-sized bed. The bed was brand new and looked the part, dressed in a single pillow, plain sheets, and an even plainer comforter pulled so prim and tightly to all four corners that it was clear the bed had never been unmade before, never slept in.

The room was not bare, yet it looked so empty. Like a cell. A bright, bar-less, cell.

He imagined Trunks' room. The room itself was large, but all the useless crap in it made it seem almost cramped. His carpet was the same but was constantly cluttered with toys despite how little he played with them. There was a rug in there too, round with a stylized star in the center of it. His walls were a dull blue and painted with small yellow circles and connecting lines that were supposed to replicate constellations. The design could hardly be seen, however, with all the posters of anime characters and individual shelves holding books and useless knick-knacks on them. In one corner of his room was a desk with a chair, in another was a life-size replica of a robot (not even to play with, just to look at for whatever fucking reason). In the center of the room were two bean-bag chairs, facing a flat screen television with several game systems connected to it.

Would his older son like a room like that? Trunks was so much younger than him, though; maybe he would not want such a childish room. Maybe he would like something more like the room Vegeta shared with Bulma, styled with beige walls and potted plants and colorful paintings that had no real meanings but apparently "looked nice". Or perhaps he would like something in the middle. What had Vegeta liked as a teenager? Aside from fighting and killing he couldn't really remember.

Thirteen years. Thirteen years wasted.

The rage boiled again. He closed his eyes against the force of it. He beat it back with all the resistance he had before the furious waves could drag him down under to where it was too deep to return.

Not now, he told himself. There was no use for this feeling right now.

Soon, though. Soon.

"Hey, Vegeta! Oh, is this your son's room?"

Vegeta froze at the voice, his body tensing in alarm. Then the rage morphed into something different. The anger was still there, but it was not the raging, murderous fury it was before. Now, it was just irritation. He had not even sense Kakarot coming. He couldn't even remember the last time someone successfully snuck up on him.

He slammed the door shut. He then turned on his heel, bumping pointedly into the fool of a man peering rudely over his shoulder. Once again, Kakarot behaved as if the slight never happened, trailing along behind him while he strode back towards his own bedroom.

His boots were waiting for him against the wall next to the door. His legs were steady when he stooped beside them, as were his hands as he pulled each one on.

"What's this?" he heard Kakarot ask. Out the corner of his eye he could see him picking up the crumpled paper off the floor, his eyes fixed down on it as he unraveled it.

Vegeta straightened, and before the naked eye could see, snatched the paper from his fingers. "Don't touch things that don't belong to you in someone else's house, clown."

"But it was sitting in the middle of the floor!" Kakarot protested, as if that was any kind of excuse. "What is it, anyway?"

It was a list.

The first step in doing better, he supposed, was adhering to the criticisms of his character. At the forefront of his mind, was Bulma's observation that he never "thought things through". So, before his fruitless attempt at sleep, he had done so, or tried at least.

Yet, just as Bulma's tirade had implied, there was quite a bit to consider. An overwhelming amount, in all honesty. Very quickly did he realize how hard it was to plan and organize when his thoughts were racing unbound through his head.

So, he tried making a list:

1. PREPARE A ROOM

2. INFORM THE DOCTORS

3. FIND THE BOY

4. KILL ANYONE WHO HAD ANYTHING TO DO WIT

He had crumbled the list, then, throwing it and the pen aside before the bulk of his rage could be immortalized through ink and paper.

In the end, he had only completed the first task on the list. He tried to imagine himself waltzing down to the wing where Bulma's medical researchers dwelled. He imagined describing to them everything he had seen with his eyes alone: a swollen wrist, that was most likely sprained or fractured; an injured foot, ankle, or leg; a bruised face; an arm riddled with flesh wounds; a tail broken possibly beyond repair; a body that befit a corpse more than a living, breathing child.

He imagined saying those words out loud, and in the next instance, imagined the medical wing and all its inhabitants burning to the ground, caught up in the force of his wrath.

Would they even be able to help him? It was a dark thought, but one with merit. Vegeta could only have seen surface afflictions but looks could be deceiving and not always in a good way. There were undeniably deeper problems. He could have infections earthlings had never even heard of. He could be ill from sicknesses that human doctors were unable to heal.

What if his very blood would be a problem? Trunks at least, was half-human, but his oldest son was not. What if the mix of saiyan blood and Ice-jin blood was so foreign that the humans wouldn't even know what was wrong or right?

Forget illness, said the even darker part of his mind. Forget his alien blood. How do you heal a body that was bones and skin and nothing else?

It was around that time that Vegeta gave up on trying to think altogether. Not even he could not bear to think those kinds of despairing thoughts.

"None of your business," he told Kakarot. "Why are you even here?"

Kakarot cocked his head. "We're leaving this morning, right?"

"You weren't invited on this excursion, Kakarot."

"Well, yeah, but you told me to 'do what I want', so..."

Had Vegeta said that? He tried to think back on last night. The memories were a blurred together mess of shouting and panic and outrage—absolutely nothing useful. It sounded like something he would say though, dammit all.

"Two of us aren't needed to find the dragon balls," he tried, anyway.

"I know," Kakarot said. "I just want to."

Again, Vegeta did not like the way he said that. He did not like what it implied.

"Didn't you just spend the last seven years dead?" he replied with an unimpressed curl to his lips, his voice haughty. "Is your wife already eager to have you out of her house again?"

Kakarot's laugh was short and awkward. He rubbed at the back of his head. "Yeah, she isn't too happy with me right now..."

There was a story there, Vegeta could tell. It had not dawned on him before he said it, but he realized that Kakarot and his wife had not been married for seven years. He could not even imagine the storm of marital problems that must be tearing through their little house, and he was saying this in comparison to his own marriage.

He could ask, he supposed, but Kakarot's marriage woes were quite firmly at the very bottom of the list of things Vegeta cared about.

Vegeta huffed and said, "Do what you want, clown."

He then immediately started to sputter. Kakarot's face lit up like one of those decorated trees Bulma would put up their living room for some winter holiday for whatever fucking reason. "That's what you said before!"

Vegeta had too many scathing remarks he could give, so when he couldn't pick just one, he decided to grit his teeth and say nothing at all.

He marched towards the door, Kakarot following closely at his heels. Together, they passed through the front door out into the morning light.

The hour was early, the sky still tinted grey but bright where the sun shone. It was a bit windy, blowing gently on where his skin was bare and through his hair. The air was still cold from any early morning rain, the evidence of it still clinging in small globes on the grass and tree leaves.

It was a pleasant morning, and Vegeta hated everything about it.

Kakarot was chattering about something or other again, but Vegeta did not bother to catch a single word of it. He could hear the other man grow quiet though, when they rounded around the building and the gravity chamber was suddenly in view.

The gravity chamber was large like it always was, and wet with rain, but it might as well have been an all new creation given the purpose it was set to fulfil. After all, it was not really a gravity chamber anymore, was it? It was not even a spaceship really. It was something... more than that.

"Oh, hello boys," Bulma's father said when he noticed them, his hands holding onto what seemed like blueprints. His eyes seemed tired, but his smile was genuine. "Did you two sleep well?"

"Eh, sort of," Goku said with another awkward laugh. Dr. Brief said something joke-like about the fiery nature of Goku's wife, to which the latter laughed at again. Vegeta tuned all of it out.

He could hear their conversation of small talk and useless platitudes progressing, and he took the liberty of stomping away from them. In a few short strides he was already at the entrance, and in even less steps he had scaled the short staircase and was inside.

It looked as it usually did—a bare room with even barer walls and flooring, tinted a normal hue instead of red when its gravity manipulation feature was in use. The only points of interest were the single pit towards the corner that led to the living space, and the large control panel in the center of the room.

One could also consider his wife's body curled up in an unconscious heap on the floor a point of interest, but considering the way she was snoring and drooling on her blueprints, he would be more apt to find another, less positive description.

He nudged her hip with the toe of his boot. She blinked blearily up at him. "Wha...?"

"Get up."

She protested through unintelligible grumbles. When she noticed he was still there watching her, she asked with a great deal of reluctance, "What time is it?"

"Time for you to wake up."

"I know damn well it's too early for your smart-assery," she groans. Her face twists uncomfortably as she stretched her body, and he tried not to think about how he probably should have checked on her last night, made sure she had eaten and slept somewhere more proper.

I can't do this alone, she had said. It seemed that he already was not off to a great start.

He held out his hand and she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Once she stopped swaying, he crossed his arms over his chest, and asked gruffly, "Is the ship done?"

"Yes, actually," she said, a prideful smile blooming on her face. "I surprised myself. I wasn't entirely sure that I could pull it off in such a short amount of time. All Dad has to do is finish the outside inspection and you should be good to go."

He hummed, feeling something like pride for her as well. He did not understand engineering and mechanics and all the other things she made seem as simple as the alphabet or number counting, but he knew a hard-earned accomplishment when he saw it. He was proud of her because he was married to a woman could do what no what else could do.

He thought back on everything she had told him last night and thought suddenly that maybe he should tell her that he felt this way.

Before he had a chance to properly consider the implications of allowing such words to come from his mouth, a head full of bright purple hair was suddenly barreling through the open door and skidding to a halt right in front of him.

"Dad!" Trunks shouted, just in case standing three feet away from Vegeta was too far to be heard. His little face was twisted in a frown, the expression looking almost indignant.

Vegeta arched a single brow. "What is it, boy?"

"Is it true?" Trunks demanded. "Do I really have a brother?"

Vegeta immediately glared at his wife. She looked genuinely shocked, however, gaping down at their son. "How did you—" she started to ask.

"I heard you arguing last night," and if he was at all ashamed by his blatant eavesdropping, he did not show it. "You said you had a son. Is it true?"

"Yes."

Despite his question, Trunks must not have been expecting that answer, because all the indignation melts from his face, and his face falls into slack-jawed surprise.

Several seconds pass, and, "Oh," was all he said. More seconds passed before he finished with, "You never told me that."

"I didn't," Vegeta agreed because he was not sure what else he could say to that.

"Why?"

Vegeta did not know what to say to that either. He thought that this was absolutely not the conversation he wanted to be having right now.

"Trunks," Bulma said, stooping down to his level. "We weren't keeping things from you, it's just that the situation is a bit... complicated. I know you have a lot of questions, but we are kind of in a big hurry right now."

Trunks blinked up at them. "Are you going to get him?"

"Yes," Vegeta said.

"Can I come?" he asked, but his face looked like it already knew the answer.

"No."

"But—"

"No, Trunks."

Trunks did not protest or whine, but his face dropped. The sight of it made something twinge uncomfortably in Vegeta's chest. It was an annoying feeling and he hated it, both the sensation of it and the fact that he was even capable of feeling such a way.

Even so, it prompted him to drop down onto one knee. He waited for the boy to look him in the eye. When he did, Vegeta reached out with one hand, and slid his fingers behind the boy's ear. He rubbed the spot gently with the pad of his fingers. Vegeta had not done this often, not even when Trunks was small, but the boy leaned into it like it is something familiar all the same.

"Your... brother"—he faltered over the word, but that as what the boy was, was he not?—"is not all we need to bring back to Earth. The dragon balls have also been taken, and we need to bring them back. I don't have time to explain, but if we don't, the conflicting energy will cause catastrophic damage to the Earth. Do you understand?"

Trunks nods slowly.

"I don't know what will happen while I am gone, that is why I need you here to watch over your mother."

It was not a total lie, but not the complete truth. He could not tell his son that the true reason he would not allow him to come was because Vegeta had no illusions that Tene'mareen was any kinder a place it had been before. He did not want his son to see the nightmare of a world that had shaken even the battle-hardened young man he had been then.

Even more than that, he did not want his son to see what his father might do. Even now, he could still feel the rage churning deep within him, amplifying every time he thought of a broken little boy and of boastful, navy eyes. Vegeta had no idea what he would do or say once he actually got to the thrice-damned planet, but he knew with grim certainty that blood will be drawn, and he will exalt at the sight of it.

He could not trust that he would not do something no child should ever see their father do.

Trunks wanted to come because he was a child, enamored with the idea of adventure. There would be nothing for Trunks to enjoy or marvel at. There would be only a darkness and cruelty that his sheltered mind would not understand, and the consequences of saiyan rage that a little boy did not deserve to witness.

The Vegeta of before would have scoffed at such mentality. He would have called it cowardly to shield innocent eyes from the cruel realities of the universe. He would have believed that he was aiding in the raising of a weak excuse for a saiyan.

The Vegeta of today knew better, would not even bother to entertain his previous mindset. Trunks would never see such horrible things, not so long as Vegeta was alive to protect him.

"You could get Gohan to do it," was what Trunks said in response.

Vegeta knew his intelligent little son well enough to know that he would not be so easily placated. The only route that would ever work on him would be honesty.

"I could," he agreed. "But I won't trust the safety of your mother with just anyone. So, I'm asking you to do it."

Trunks looked astonished at that. Then a small, but very pleased smile began to take over his face. "Okay, dad."

I'm putting my faith in you, so don't let me down," he could not help but tack on, even though he knew in reality it was not fair to put such a weight on such small, sheltered shoulders. At eight, Trunks spent his days building gadgets and playing games with Kakarot's youngest. At eight, Vegeta had already killed more of those same kinds of children than he could count.

Once, long ago, he had resented the boy Bulma and her coddling had turned his son into. Now, he looked down at his innocent face and blue eyes burning with a determined look so eerily similar to his own, and he wondered why he ever wanted his child to be anything different. "I won't, Dad! I can handle it, I promise!"

"Then I should have nothing to worry about," Vegeta said, rising to stand once more. "Now, go. I'll be back by the end of next week."

Trunks nodded, and like all children who seemed to forget how to simply walk places, ran like the devil was on his heels back towards the door. Before he left though, he spun on his heels, and with a bright smile on his face said, "Good luck, Dad!"

Then he was gone, and they were alone once more.

He could hear each step Bulma took, until she was standing just near his shoulder. He did not look at her, but he knew she was watching him. He did not know what it was she is looking for, did not know if he wanted her to find it or not, but no matter what it was, her gaze had nerves prickling all over his skin.

Finally, she opened her mouth, and asked, "Are you nervous?"

He nearly scoffed. "Of course not."

She put a hand on his shoulder, the touch gentle, clearly meant to be comforting. He wanted to shrug her off, to turn his back to her, to snap at her until she got fed up and left. He did none of those things.

"What are you thinking?" she asked him, softly.

He did not answer, did not even know what he would say even if he were inclined too.

She didn't seem deterred by his lack of response. Her hand trailed a slow, soothing line back and forth from his shoulder to just beneath his neck.

"You know you're going to find him," she said with such confidence that the words actually make some of the tension in his chest ease. "You don't even worry about that."

He wanted to believe her. He wanted the nerves and the panic swirling inside of him to cease. He wanted to believe in himself the way she believed in him.

But he couldn't. He could not erase the doubt that had taken root in his mind. Vegeta wanted to believe that he would find the boy, but what if he didn't? It had been sixteen hours since he had seen those eyes staring at him through the glass that divided them. He thought of those bruises and scars and knew that even worse things could happen in a far less amount of time. It did not take long to snap a person's neck, or puncture their heart, or beat them until they reached the point of no return.

King Kai had said that the boy was alive the afternoon before, but that could just as easily no longer be the case. What if Vegeta got there and all that was left for him to find was a corpse? Not the corpse of an infant, like he had thought all this time, but the corpse of a child, one who had survived despite all the odds. It would be the corpse of a life that had once, for scarcely a moment, been so very precious to him; a life that had, for all this time, been waiting for him; a life he could have saved but hadn't.

"Besides, it's not like you'll be alone," she was saying, and her tone had become annoyingly cheeky, but he basked in it, because it was far better than anything else going on in his head. "Goku will be there with you."

He grunted lowly, just loudly enough for the woman to hear. As if having that clown with him would be any kind of comfort. Though to Bulma, despite her teasing, probably actually did think that he would be in some way. Bulma made it no secret that she wanted Vegeta to... befriend Kakarot. He bet in her mind she could not even understand why he had not already. It was one of the many oddities of earthlings Vegeta never bothered to understand—their veneration of Kakarot, as if he were a gift hand-wrapped personally by the gods for them.

Everyone was so fond of him, but Vegeta was not at all charmed. Vegeta could not say he liked anything about the other saiyan at all, from his gods-awful clothing choices to his "easy-going" personality.

And what exactly would being friends with Kakarot even entail, anyway? Hosting dinner parties and going to sporting event outings and chaperoning playdates together like Bulma did with her "normal-not-superpowered" friends?

The thought was repulsive.

It may not entirely be accurate though. That was how Bulma acted with the prissy, near middle-aged ladies whose names Vegeta had never bothered to remember, but not at all how she acted with her martial artist friends. As far as Vegeta could tell, aside from Yamcha she only ever spent time with them when the Earth was in some kind of peril.

Even under such distance circumstances, Vegeta still could not lower himself to being friends with Kakarot. Occasional sparring partners, perhaps, for given everyone else's power levels, it was not as if he had the luxury to be picky. He could not accept any more than that. He would not grovel at Kakarot's feet like all his other foolish comrades. Vegeta had given up many things over the years, but not his pride, and he would hold onto it with all the strength he possessed.

Would it even matter though, after this whole debacle? He knew he might fail; refusing to acknowledge it would not change the possibility. To fail so spectacularly, with Kakarot as a witness...

Admittedly, the thought made him vaguely nauseous.

He shook the thought away before it could make the sick feeling grow into something truly physical. Besides, why was Kakarot so eager to follow him, anyway? He sensed the Tenas' power levels just as Vegeta had, so surely he knew that even individually they would not so much as break a sweat subduing them. There would be no grand showdown to be found for him, so what purpose did he have to come?

Vegeta figured the reason must be important. After all, it was not that long ago he had returned to life. Surely, he understood that maybe he should stay put for five fucking minutes?

Memories flashed by then of Gohan, still young, still having nightmares every night of Cell. The boy had spent almost every day in their household for an entire month, claiming it was because he liked to play with Trunks, but even Vegeta knew that he just could not stand to be in a house that would never have his father in it again. He remembered Chi-Chi, her stomach still heavy in the immediate aftermath of childbirth, crying in Bulma's arms because she did not know how she could bear to raise a child who looked so much like his father.

Vegeta had thought they were pitiful, but pity was still a form of compassion. If the little family's distress had invoked emotions in even Vegeta, then how must Kakarot feel, knowing that all their pain, preventable pain, had been because of his choices?

Apparently not that remorseful since he seemed to be jumping at the chance to run off again.

Not that it was any of Vegeta's business, but even he thought it was a bit of a... what was the term that annoying man, Yamcha, often used? Oh, right—a dick move.

"You know, you shouldn't be so nasty to him," Bulma said. "He's really trying to get to know you."

All he said was, "Whatever."

She rolled her eyes but gave him a small smile.

There was more he needed to say to her, but whatever those words were, he could not bring them to the surface.

"I did not... speak with the doctors," was what he eventually settled on.

She hummed, and he was annoyed by how unsurprised the noise sounded. "I'll take care of it. Can you... I know you probably weren't... paying attention but... can you tell me anything about his condition from what you saw of him. What should I tell the doctors to prepare for?"

Everything inside him was twisting and burning, and all he could say was, "The worst."

She nodded, her lip twisting underneath her teeth from the weight of his words. He thought again about the potential corpse his mind had conjured up, neck and spine bent unnaturally, blood trailing from a tiny mouth, red eyes devoid of soul. He knew that despite the grimness of his words, they were only the truth.

Her hand had trailed down his arm and was suddenly in his. She was closer now, and if he would look up, he would see her beautiful blue eyes, watching him with a gaze so soft and so firm.

"It'll be okay," she was saying to him. "We'll fix this. We'll make this right."

He closed his eyes. He tipped his forehead against hers, tightened the grip of his hand in hers. For long seconds they stayed that way, and though she did not say it, he could tell she was surprised. Some part of him was surprised too. He realized though that she was holding herself too still, clearly not trying to scare him away, coddling him. It annoyed him that she thought he was so fragile as that, but he did not move away. He couldn't, not yet. He did not know whatever this moment was, he just knew that he needed it.

"Hey, Vegeta, I—uh, oh," came Kakarot's voice from the doorway, trailing off awkwardly. His cheerful face actually managed to look uncomfortable.

Vegeta pulled away so fast one could almost call the movement hasty. Bulma did not look at all embarrassed. In fact, her smile looked almost amused. Vegeta's face, on the other hand, felt the slightest bit hot, but he played it off to the best of his ability. "What?" he asked, gruffly.

"Dr. Briefs said we could leave whenever you're ready."

Right, then. He took a deep, steadying breath, disguising it with a nod.

To Bulma he said, "Get out."

She rolled her pretty eyes, but still bent over to pick up her tools. He expected her to move towards the door, but instead she faced him again, and promptly kissed his cheek.

Before he could get a chance to be indignant about it, she was whispering in his ear, "Bring him home, okay?"

She looked at him expectantly. He did not nod, but determination hardened his gaze.

She took the look for what it was and smiled so brightly at him he almost felt embarrassed again. She turned from him then to give Kakarot a hug, telling him something about, "keeping an eye on her husband," to which Kakarot agreed to good-naturedly.

By the doorway, she gave them both a final smile, before stepping out into the sunlight. The door slid shut behind her.

Vegeta did not spare Kakarot even a glance before walking over to the controls.

"Sit down and strap in," Vegeta instructed. The coordinates had already been programmed into the system by Bulma. Vegeta pressed the 'launch' button, and the timer on the screen began counting down from thirty.

With that done, Vegeta moved to take his seat as well, next to Kakarot and strapped himself in.

Vegeta turned his gaze towards the window. Bulma and his son were standing in the grass some yards away, as was the doctor and his wife. They were all waving up at them, and even from this distance, Vegeta could see the bright, encouraging smiles on their faces. Trunks' smile was particularly joyful, but then again it always was.

Vegeta locked eyes with the boy, who in turn began to wave even more vigorously at being noticed, his mother's hand on his head clearly the only thing keeping him in place.

Vegeta tried to imagine himself down there, young and small and smiling bright enough to light up a whole city. He could not see it, at all. Trunks had his face but was nothing like him at all. It was a wonder how he managed to help create such a happy child.

Vegeta did not return his joy, but the wide grin on his son's face was somewhat... soothing in a way.

"Hey Vegeta, the ship's about to take off," Goku said for no other purpose than to start conversation. Vegeta grunted, not bothering to say that he could clearly see the timer reading "four seconds".

The four seconds passed. The ship rumbled and shot into the air. His family faded from view.

"Bye, Dad, come back soon!" Trunks shouted as the ship became a blurred dot in the sky. When it was finally gone, he turned to his mother, and smiled up at her.

"Dad will bring him back," he told her proudly.

Bulma smiled down at him. "I don't doubt him for a second."

She ruffled her son's hair until he giggled, before pulling out her phone.

Trunks floated up until he was her height, watching the screen. "Who are you calling, Mom?"

"Oh, just a few friends of mine," she told him absently as she tapped on the keypad.

"The Z-fighters?!" he exclaimed so loudly she jumped in shock.

She gave him a puzzled look. "The Z-fighters?"

"Well, that's what Goten and I call them."

"Well, yes, I'm calling the... Z-fighters." She gave him a look. "Your father wasn't just trying to placate you, you know. The Earth really could be in a lot of trouble. I should at least warn everyone."

Trunks said nothing, so she went back to her phone. She called the Kame House first. It rung for several long seconds, but no one picked up. She growled in frustration. Three adults and a sentient turtle and still no one ever answered the phone.

"Mom, who is Frieza?"

The question startled her. "Where did you hear that name?" she demanded.

"Dad said it," he said, looking more guilty about his eavesdropping than he had managed before.

She sighed and wondered what she was supposed to say. She thought about the books she would read back when Trunks was young, and she had felt that despite her intelligence, she still had no idea how to be a mother. She remembered soaking up chapters and chapters on censorship and age-appropriate topics.

More importantly, she thought about Vegeta, and how he would feel if his little son ever knew about such a horrible thing.

"A very bad man," was all Bulma said. That conversation could wait, she decided.

Once the ship broke through the atmosphere, he and Kakarot unstrapped themselves from their seats. Kakarot was stretching and yawning obnoxiously, as if he had been stuck in that position for days as opposed to the short few minutes it had actually been.

Vegeta turned away from him, intent on going to the bottom of the ship and staying there until Tene'mareen was within orbit.

"Hey, Vegeta," Kakarot said before he had the chance to disappear. Vegeta reluctantly turned to face him. Vegeta had no idea what annoying mess of words would come out of the other man's mouth, but the sooner he heard it, the sooner he would he left alone surely.

"Do you want to spar?" Kakarot asked. "The gravity machine still works in here, right?"

Vegeta blinked. He had not been expecting that.

Even still, "No, I don't."

Kakarot's face fell. A smile was back on his face soon after, though. "Okay, I was just asking."

Vegeta grunted and turned to walk away. He just wanted to be alone, and do his best to not think about the boy.

Vegeta stopped in a half step, his body jerking to a halt so suddenly that it was a wonder he stayed on his feet at all.

The boy...

Boy...

That was not his name.

Vegeta had never given him one, he realized. On that day, the one day he had held him, he had been 'parasite', 'it', 'baby', 'boy'. Before he could even think to give him something real, he had been gone, from both his arms and his thoughts.

For this past day and night, Vegeta had thought of him simply as 'boy'. He had not cared enough to wonder what his name might actually be. Vegeta had never named him, but surely, he had one after all this time. What was his name?

Vegeta did not know. When he had spoken with the Kai, he had not even thought to ask. How could he have not thought to wonder such an important thing until now?

Something ugly bubbled in his gut. It was a terrible feeling, and it felt nothing like rage. He knew rage—if there was one emotion he knew better than any other it would be that one. Vegeta did not know what this feeling was. It was sinister. It was hideous. It was dangerous. He could feel his energy crackling beneath his skin. He could feel Kakarot's wary gaze on his back.

It was too dangerous.

He spun on his heel. Kakarot jumped in surprise.

"I'll spar with you," Vegeta told him.

Kakarot's eyes brightened, his smile seeming genuinely happy. Vegeta did not bother wondering just what exactly the expression meant.

Vegeta stomped over and threw the first punch. Kakarot blocked, and Vegeta felt a delicious rush at the contact. He could do just this. Fight through the pain. Fight until the dangerous feeling was buried.

"He's mine. They'll die. They'll die. They'll die."

They will, Vegeta told the memory, told the ugly feeling. They will.

TBC

Was Vegeta's gravity chamber the same design as the spaceship Goku used in the Namek saga? It is now.