A/N:I think you'll like this, I do. ;)

DISCLAIMER:Really Akira? Really? All those other Dragonball Z fanfics out there with furries and Kame showing Mr. Popo some lovin' and you're gonna… hey! Give it back! GIVE IT BACK TO ME!

The room was rectangular with no windows and a dirt floor. The walls were ruddy-colored, mostly from the dust and paint. A pile of burlap served as blankets and pillows for the young prince who stood with his back at the door which locked from the outside.

It was his insubordination, they said, that had contributed to this stint in a filthy cell. He had sassed one of Frieza's prestigious soldiers for the last time, they told him. A week ought to do it for the ill-tempered monkey.

Bah! Vegeta was more than glad to spend the rest of his days locked up like an animal in the stupid room. The less he had to see of Frieza and his idiot minions, the better. He could go more than a week eating the slop they served through a slit in the door if it meant he'd be left alone.

A timid knock brought him to attention.

"Pr-prince Vegeta?"

The twelve-year-old was interested. It had been some time since someone had shown him royal treatment.

"What is it?" he asked, turning around. "I'm busy, you know."

The door clicked open and a boy a little older than him stood in in the threshold, holding a bowl of steaming liquid that Vegeta understood to be his lunch.

"Just set it down on the floor."

The boy obliged and then stood crooked, his back bent over. It was awhile before Vegeta caught on that he was being bowed to.

"Your highness, Sir Zarbon requests an audience with you after you have finished eating. He is waiting on the fourth floor."

His imprisonment was being cut short by one of the men he hated the most; it did not escape Vegeta that what might be waiting for him upstairs was far worse than being locked in a dirty room. He gave a curt nod of his head and the servant boy quickly left the room, leaving the door ajar.

It tasted like flavorless hot water, but Vegeta gulped the soup down. The sooner he could get to Zarbon the better. He had learned a long time ago not to keep that moron waiting.

When Vegeta had finally made his way out of his cell and into a cramped elevator, he was a lot more nervous than he had expected to be. Zooming upward, he wondered if he could make a run for it and escape.

"And where would you go, huh?" he asked himself, glaring at the glowing numbered buttons.

Frieza was monitoring Planet Vegetasai with scores of intergalactic soldiers at his disposal. At his age, Vegeta knew he didn't have the strength yet. When he was older though, he was going to start with those stupid soldiers and work his way all the way up to Frieza.

That brought a temporary smile to his face.

"Ah, Vegeta. There you are."

The elevator doors had opened on the top floor, exposing Zarbon's pale blue form in complete Saiyan armor. Of course, his own personal touches had been added; he sported blue leg warmers and a circlet which displayed an amethyst stone. Vegeta thought the green-haired alien wore entirely too much jewelry and makeup. He was really strange.

"I've been waiting ages," said Zarbon, turning around and walking in the opposite direction. "Follow me."

Vegeta's short legs kept up at a decent pace, but he was slowed by his constant need to slow down and survey his surroundings. He had been worked to the bone by an angry Zarbon before; nothing seemed out of place or in need of cleaning.

They appeared in front of a large metal door which opened when Zarbon placed three fingers on a sensor box. The older man stepped aside and let Vegeta go in first. The door banged shut behind them.

It was a large training room; the ceiling was dome shaped and the floor was tiled. The overhead lights were so bright that they were blinding. A row of windows streaming in the afternoon sun did not help any.

"I've been told that you've been training a lot recently," Zarbon said, interrupting his thoughts. He crossed to the middle of the room and folded his arms across his chest. "Is that so?"

The boy nodded.

"Let's begin then, shall we?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Vegeta, alarmed at the unfolding events. His father had warned him long ago to stay far from Frieza's men, especially this green-colored one.

"You really ought to watch who you brag to," Zarbon answered, powering up. "Give me your best shot, kid. I'm not going easy on you."

Vegeta was unprepared for what happened next.

A gold, steel tipped boot slammed itself into the boy's face; his neck snapped and his left cheekbone shattered into pieces. He crashed into the opposing wall, his head banging into the tile. The pain was excruciating.

"Stand up. It's going to get much worse if you don't at least try and defend yourself."

Dizzy from his head trauma and with a strength he did not know he possessed, Vegeta got to his feet, seething with unbridled rage.

He flew at Zarbon, who dodged his attack and countered with a blow to Vegeta's back.

Sprawled on the floor, Vegeta once more stood up, missing what might have been a well-placed kick to his head.

Seconds passed although they seemed like years. He was too weak to fight Zarbon and it pained him to admit that. Vegeta was barely eluding death. Would Zarbon kill the young prince? Certainly Frieza had found Vegeta to be a necessary pawn in his quest for intergalactic control. Would he allow him to die?

Dammit! Ican'tlose, he thought as he found himself the victim of a crushing blow to the back of his head. Blood was pouring from his nose and ears. He was a weakling, a coward to lose so easily! He rolled over and avoided a fist but his recovery was short-lived. In the next moment Zarbon had delivered a stomp to the back of his head. With a sickening crunch, he felt his face crush into the tile. Every bone in his face had to be broken.

"I always thought Saiyans were more resilient," said Zarbon, and by the tone of his voice, Vegeta could tell that he had changed into his ugly, monstrous form.

It was as though Vegeta was moving in slow motion while everything around him persisted at a normal rate. That was the only explanation for why he had failed to land a single punch and why he was lying in the middle of the floor with such horrendous injuries.

Vegeta was dying and he knew it. Blood was everywhere. He could only see red. There was no one to save him. Besides, what did he care anymore? His anger had been replaced by a desire to sleep in the darkness surrounding him.

Zarbon lifted a glowing yellow hand that warmed the boy's cheek and frightened him.

"Goodbye, Vegeta."

It was the last thing he would ever hear again.

"NOOOOOOOO!"

His own yell had awakened him. Vegeta sat up from his makeshift bed on a tree branch, sweat dripping down his brow. His heart was trying to escape, knocking into his ribcage so hard that the Saiyan placed a hand over his chest.

He lay back again, staring at the black sky. When were these nightmares going to end?

It had been a hectic morning filled with meetings and harried phone calls. Sometime during the early afternoon Bulma had finally found a moment to rest, taking a seat in a plush chair in her new ornate office at Capsule Corp headquarters. She rested her head in her arms on her desk, grateful for the time alone.

Beep.

"Ms. Brief?" her secretary inquired through her through the intercom. "Your coffee is here."

Bulma lifted her head and pressed a button.

"Send it in."

Her door slid open and a tiny man wearing a smock rushed inside. He placed the steaming coffee cup and a coffee sleeve on her desk and as quickly as he had come he had gone.

"Servants these days," muttered Bulma, picking up the paper cup without bothering to use the protective sleeve. Her hands were freezing. She pressed the intercom button again.

"Turn up the heat!" she barked.

A moment later, the heat clicked on.

The coffee, a decaffeinated hazelnut and vanilla blend, was topped off with a scoop of sweet whipped cream. She hoped that it would put her in a better mood.

For the past week, Bulma had been completely immersed in her work. While the first couple of days had been close to wonderful, the latter half had been exasperating. It had been nice to have a change of pace and to have a project to take her mind off of her current troubles. It was only unfortunate that the cheerfulness had dried up after Wednesday. She felt completely detached from everyone around her. Seeing Capsule Corp employees walking around with happy faces and a skip in their step irritated her and now they knew it.

Bulma stood up from her desk and walked over to the large window to her right. Beyond the enormous Capsule Corp lawn she could see into the heart of the city. The largest skyscrapers disappeared into the clouds while citizens and hover cars crowded the streets below.

Stupid happy people with their stupid happy lives! You'll be dead in a few months you know!

It was a thought she hadn't been able to suppress but it didn't surprise her. Bulma had been in a dark place lately. Taking Chi-Chi's well-intentioned advice hadn't helped as much as she had hoped it would. In fact, being around other people seemed to make her attitude worse. She had a feeling she was going to get away with her temper when she finally told everyone that she was pregnant.

Beep.

"Ms. Brief? You have a meeting in Conference Room B in ten minutes."

Bulma covered her face with her hand. She had forgotten she was meeting with a few associates that afternoon. Would her day never end? Maybe it was time for her dad to hire someone else on as his Vice President.

She walked outside of her office and into the chaotic hallway.

"Good morning, Ms. Brief!"

"Hi Ms. Vice President!"

"How are you doing, Ms. Brief?"

"Would you like some more coffee, Ms. Brief? Decaf as usual?"

Bulma ignored everyone, walking steadily in her high heels and placing a hand on her protruding belly.

"Kame, keep me sane today," she mumbled.

She reached into her red coat pocket and pulled out her phone. There were no recent notifications, meaning that for the second day in a row, Yamcha had ignored or chosen not to respond to her text message. She could've called, but that was against the rules she and Chi-Chi had gone over.

The idea was to slowly return to an 'I-don't-hate-you-completely' relationship but her ex-boyfriend had pushed any reconciliatory efforts to a standstill with his unexplained absence.

"Looking beautiful as usual, Ms. Brief!"

She didn't even look up. What did she care about her friendship with Yamcha anyway? She was used to being alone and frankly, she enjoyed the quiet time to herself.

Conference Room B loomed into view; it was a tiny room with one long oak table in the middle of the room. A glass door served as the entrance and looking inside, Bulma could see that a few men and women in business suits had already seated themselves around the table.

Meetings, meetings, meetings.

"Here goes," Bulma said softly, plastering a smile on her face and walking toward the room. Welcome to the rest of her life.

Piccolo was panting as he descended from the sky, turning his head wildly. The kid was faring a lot better than he expected.

He spun around quickly and grabbed Gohan's leg, dangling the preteen boy above his head.

"Not quick enough."

He let go and Gohan flipped right upside up, his face flushed. Piccolo didn't blame him; the two had sparring for a straight three hours. It was a small miracle that his mother hadn't come outside to complain yet. Just the thought of Chi-Chi's silver frying pan waving through the air while her high pitched voice shook birds from trees was enough to make his heart race.

"Want some water Mr. Piccolo?" Gohan asked as the two landed on the ground.

"Sure thing kid," the Nemekian answered, looking around. "As soon as I figure out where we are that is."

Gohan and Piccolo looked around. They stood in a valley in the middle of a mountain fortress. Bright green grass stretched on for miles, broken only by the occasional fresh water lake. It was vaguely familiar to Piccolo who had traversed all of West City at some point.

"I think we ended up in paradise," joked Gohan, but Piccolo had his suspicions.

"Gohan," he said in a stern voice, "I suggest you head home. It's north of here."

His prodigy looked apprehensive. "What's the matter Mr. Piccolo? Is something wrong? Do you want me to go get dad?"

Piccolo shook his head. "Nothing's the matter, Gohan. Go home."

The boy nodded and shot into the air. "If you aren't back soon, I'm gonna come back for you. Alright, Mr. Piccolo?"

What could he do? Piccolo grunted and Gohan took off into the sky. Normally he would appreciate having the kid around, especially when he believed something was off. But he had a pretty good feeling he was going to be able to handle this on his own.

The Namekian turned toward a mountain ledge nearly hidden by overgrown pines and blossoms. With his incredible eyesight he could make out a dozen red birds in their branches and a bright orange kitsune slinking under a drooping bow. With the sun warming his back and the sound of bubbling streams in his ears, Piccolo could not help but agree with Gohan's earlier assessment. This place certainly seemed like paradise.

Yes, a paradise… with the exception of one creature which did not belong.

Stealthily, Piccolo levitated until he had leveled himself with the ledge. Then he crossed his arms against his chest and looked upward into the very tree he had been staring at, a frown on his lips.

"I know that you're up there, Vegeta. It's pointless to hide from me."

There was silence, but Piccolo knew he had been heard. His own unexpected presence in the valley must have surprised Vegeta, who had forgotten for a brief moment to hide his power level. The inexperienced son of Goku may not have felt it, but Piccolo certainly had.

"Give it up. I can and will stand here all day."

There was a rustle and then Vegeta had leapt from his hiding spot, his boots denting the brown dirt around the tree trunk. He stood quickly with narrowed eyes and a sneer so wide, Piccolo had no doubt that he was an unwelcome guest.

"Say what you need to say Namek," spat the Saiyan prince, balling his hands into fists and putting them at his hips. "I haven't got the time."

Well, what did he want to say to Vegeta exactly? Piccolo's brain fumbled for some sort of explanation, but the truth was simply that he had regrettably overheard a recent conversation with Chi-Chi and Bulma, who was under the impression that Vegeta had left her estate for good. Chi-Chi had been so ecstatic that she hadn't bothered to tell Goku. In Piccolo's opinion, it was the wisest decision she had ever made. After all, he and Goku knew about Bulma and Vegeta.

"You know what I'm going to ask you," Piccolo said, furrowing his brow, "so don't play stupid with me."

The prince stared at him evenly, his expression unchanging. Piccolo stared at him. Dressed in all black with cold eyes, it was easy to see how the man had terrified the entire earth all those days ago. It had been the Namekian's opinion however that Vegeta had changed somewhat for the better, though he had taken care to remain a haughty bastard. If there was anything now that caused Piccolo unease, it was how dirty the Saiyan's clothes were, and how tired he appeared to be. Dark bags hung under his eyes and even now his irises were pink.

"Why haven't you been sleeping?" he asked.

Vegeta leaned against the trunk of the tree, crossing his legs out in front of him. He was very much the picture of the arrogant young man Piccolo had met on his home planet several years ago.

"I don't think that's any of your concern, Namek."

Piccolo bit his tongue. He was more mature than the petty insult he wanted to spew. "Have you been training here all this time?"

His phrasing had worked; Vegeta seemed interested by his choice of words.

"Who have you been talking to?"

"I don't think that's any of your concern, Saiyan," Piccolo replied evenly. "Suffice it to say that your absence hasn't gone unnoticed."

Vegeta made an angry noise in his throat but didn't respond.

"You can't run from the androids, Vegeta," said Piccolo, knowing very well that the Saiyan's choice of residence had nothing to do with the robots. "They'll have no trouble finding you here. Perhaps you should find a new hiding place."

Vegeta's power level instantly spiked. "I'm not hiding you idiot! I'll face those stupid machines when they come and then I'll destroy all of you in no particular order!" He curled his lip. "And if you keep up with the questioning I'll see to it that you're second… right after Kakarot."

"I'm not afraid of you, Vegeta," Piccolo said, and it was true enough. Though he was decidedly anti-social, he had chosen his team long ago and he trusted his own strength. "Besides, I didn't come here to argue."

"Well spit it out then!" snarled the prince, standing straight up and folding his arms like Piccolo's.

There were probably a hundred or so different ways to say what it was that Piccolo wanted to say and all of them were far more tactful than the way that he said it.

"You've abandoned Bulma and your son like a coward."

Any color that had been in Vegeta's face vanished. All that remained was an incredulous, indignant look that stiffened Piccolo's resolve.

"And just how do you know that?" asked Vegeta with his teeth and fists clenched. "What has that blasted woman told you?"

"She hasn't told me anything," Piccolo said, wrinkling his nose in disgust, "and she doesn't need to. It's obvious what you've done to her. Not that I believed you to be a saint, but even I'll admit that I'm surprised by what you've done, Vegeta."

"I don't care what you or anyone else thinks," the latter stated, turning his head and walking toward the ledge. "Now go away and leave me alone."

"You're so ashamed by what you've done that you'd rather live amongst the animals than go back to her."

Not for the first time that day did Vegeta's fists clench.

"Ashamed?" he exclaimed. "You think that I'm ashamed! Hah!"

"Then why did you run?" Piccolo asked in a deep voice, not believing Vegeta's outburst.

Vegeta did not answer.

"She's carrying your child, whether you like it or not." Piccolo levitated several inches off the ground. He had spent more than enough time with the Saiyan. "I suggest that you get used to the idea."

More silence. Piccolo powered up, ready to take off. Suddenly, Vegeta spun around.

"Wait."

The Namekian raised an eyebrow.

"How is she? How's the woman?"

He wasn't sure how he should respond to such a question; he only knew it had cost Vegeta a great deal of pride to ask it.

Piccolo powered up again.

"Go and see for yourself."

And like Gohan had moments before, he shot off into the sky without another word.

A glazy fog had settled over the tops of the purple mountain peaks. Above, only a long, single cloud passed through the night sky. Two men stood in tall grass beneath the void.

"No stars tonight."

Vegeta did not move his head but turned his gaze upon his father's form. He did not answer.

"Any time now," the king continued. "We should not have to wait much longer for the reveal."

The old man was full of vague sentences that did not interest the prince and it was no secret that the young man felt that way. He had no desire to spend his time as a philosopher.

A warm breeze blew by, fluttering his father's purple and scarlet cape. The king ran a gloved hand across his black goatee and closed his eyes, sniffing.

"What are you doing?" asked Vegeta, cocking his head to the left. "What is it?"

His father raised a hand and Vegeta fell into silence once more. "Quiet son," said the man. "Can you sense that?"

Vegeta sensed nothing and wasn't going to try. His sense of smell may be keen but it had never detected power levels before.

"There!" his father exclaimed, opening his eyes and pointing at an empty, dark sky. "Our destiny awaits us!"

Vegeta lifted his head toward the sky. He saw nothing and sensed nothing either. His father was a blasted fool and was wasting a significant amount of his time.

"Doubt is written on your face, but the arrival of Lord Frieza should erase that easily enough."

The Saiyan prince folded his arms tightly against his chest. He was tired of hearing about that stupid reptile but said nothing on the matter. In the past when he had been pressed for his opinion on the subject, he had either ignored, or blasted the asker into oblivion. Unfortunately, he could only undertake the first option with his father.

"Look! There it is!"

Vegeta saw nothing. "You're delusional," he muttered under his breath.

What was his father so excited for anyway? Frieza's visits were always peppered with crude threats and arguments in the company of dozens of overgrown henchmen. Why his father bothered to show the idiot respect was beyond Vegeta's comprehension.

"I'm afraid I'm mistaken," said King Vegeta with a wrinkled nose. "What's taking him so long? He's never kept us waiting before."

"Maybe he's not coming."

King Vegeta turned toward his son quickly; his index and thumb were pointing upward as though he were holding a gun. "Your attitude this evening is troubling. It is very obvious that you have no idea of Lord Frieza's great power and his powerful contributions to Vegetasai."

"I know that he's scared everyone around him into blind submission." Vegeta wanted to add that the list of people bowing to the lizard included his father, but out of respect, did not.

"Then I have no doubt that tonight will be good for you," his father said, returning his gaze to the sky above. "Wait until you hear what we have planned for our future."

And at that moment, something very strange happened. His father, standing there in his colorful robes and Saiyan glory, disappeared and reappeared in the same instant. Vegeta blinked his eyes, sure that his mind had mutinied.

An image of a small boy in a blue jumpsuit scrubbing the boots of a green man entered his thoughts. An image of his father followed, clutching that same boy by his shirt with pleading eyes. He saw the boy again, taller this time. His legs were scrunched up against his chest as he huddled near the window of a space pod, zipping through blackness.

What were these things? Who was this boy? Why was he seeing these disturbing pictures?

"Son?"

Vegeta furrowed his brow at the sound of his father's voice.

"Yes, father?"

King Vegeta stroked his moustache. "I must take leave of you for a moment. Stand guard."

He nodded and watched his father walk away into the distance. Almost immediately there was a flash of white light and the man disappeared and reappeared as he had before.

In his mind there was a woman, lying in a bed. Her skin was flushed, her hair stuck to her forehead. A tiny boy sat beside her, intertwining their fingers as he hummed some tune that Vegeta vaguely recognized. The boy had grown significantly. Now he stood with his hand outstretched, the charred remains of a body at his feet. He had grown again and now the young man sat crouched in the dirt, ripping green flesh from a disembodied arm.

Vegeta felt ill. Dizzy from the visions, he looked around wildly. Where was he again? Suddenly he could not remember why he was standing in the grass and watching the night sky.

A sparkling creature with dazzling sapphire hair leapt in front of his eyes. It wore a flowing, yellow gown and he could not help but think that it was gorgeous, whatever it was.

"You're an arrogant jerk!" it shouted, and the voice obviously belonged to a woman. The figure strode away in the opposite direction and Vegeta mindlessly followed, his feet moving without his permission.

"You're actually kind of cute!"

The drastic change in tone stopped Vegeta from moving.

"Who are you?" he called out, wondering if she could even hear him. He was certain the woman was an apparition. She continued floating as though he hadn't spoken. He became agitated. "Don't you hear me? I demand to know who you are!"

"I hear you!" shouted the woman, "but my name is Bulma! And I am not your servant, so say please!"

Her response didn't make sense, but at least Vegeta knew her name. Blast! She phased in and out of sight. She turned to face him, surrounded by a golden aura. A pain in his head forced his eyes closed, and in that moment he was barraged by images.

The blue-haired woman resting by his bedside; the cloth she had been using to administer to him was sitting in a dish. Bulma was sitting next to him on the ground, sprinkling a foreign white substance onto a bowl of spaghetti. In another image she lay naked on a heap of blankets, her long legs bathed in glittering sunlight.

Why did everything seem so familiar to him? Why did he feel compelled to follow the walking woman when he did not even know who she was? Vegeta opened his eyes and in an instant his entire body felt as though it were on fire.

The pain was so intense that he could not speak. Instead he fell to his knees, grasping at strands of grass and pulling up clumps of dirt. He clamped his teeth together so hard that his gums began to bleed.

"AHHH!" he managed to shout, but something heavy had fallen from the sky and onto his back. With a burst of power he managed to stand up from the wreckage around him. His legs were wobbly and bare save for a pair of black shorts. "What's… what's happening to me?"

"How dare you, you dweeb!" screamed the woman. "You almost wrecked my house! What are you trying to prove?"

He could barely make out her exclamations and he did not care. He fell over, too weak to remain standing.

"Oh no!" the woman cried, rushing to his side. "You're hurt!"

What was she talking about? Vegeta sat up and looked down at himself. He was in his regular Saiyan gear once more and he was not hurt. His head began to pound from all the confusion.

"What is going on here?" he asked the woman, but it was too late.

She had disappeared.

No! He mustn't lose her! Perhaps she would return on her own, although he suddenly remembered that his father had yet to reappear and he began to feel hopeless. Vegeta tilted his head back and looked into the sky.

"FATHER! FATHER!"

He had abandoned him, hadn't he? Vegeta's anger was mounting but he was not at all surprised. Why?

He saw a boy shoved into a room, throwing his body against the door once it had closed behind him. He saw that same boy bowing to Frieza, his face twisted in a snarl. Another moment passed and Vegeta watched as the boy transformed into a man, lying on the dirt. He was bleeding profusely… he was dying.

And Kakarot stood over him, shouting at him to shut-up, to save his energy.

It all came rushing back.

Vegeta's father, the woman, and Kakarot… this was not real. He was in a dream and those images were not random pictures, they were his memories! They had actually happened!

He had been disposed of by his father like a common louse and forced to serve Frieza, who had sent him straight to Hell. What did he have to lose besides? His mother had died as he lay sleeping beside her, unable to fight even the illness which was taking her life. What did the prince have to live for? He had callously deserted the only tolerable earthling in pursuit of a legend that he was too weak to attain. Worse, his son would eventually learn the truth about his father's past and what would the boy think of him then?

Vegeta was having a panic attack, he was certain of it.

His vision began to go in and out like an old television set with a broken antenna. He began to fear ever so slightly that he may lose his vision. He fell to the ground again, only lifting his eyes when it became evident that he was not alone.

Two pairs of feet, one in white boots and the other in sandals stood in front of his head. He sat up and found himself the subject of Bulma and his father's scrutiny.

The woman knelt in front of him, her blue eyes so lovely and warm that Vegeta almost lost himself in them. She made him feel so uncharacteristically… human.

"I sh-shouldn't have…" he stammered, "I shouldn't have left…"

Bulma pressed a finger on his lips and held his head close to hers. "I'll forgive you."

He felt like an overgrown infant, so unlike himself. When he remembered that King Vegeta also stood over him, he felt embarrassed, but it was just a dream, wasn't it? He could do whatever he wanted in his own damn dreams.

The woman had gone and now it was only Vegeta, his father, and the lonely mountains. They were standing once again, watching the sky.

"Just you wait, my son," his father was saying as he stroked his beard. "What Lord Frieza has concocted in that mind of his is magnificent."

"Don't be an idiot."

His outburst surprised his dream father, who looked at him with wide eyes. "What did you say?"

"Frieza has no plans that concern you, unless you count your untimely demise."

"Need I remind you that I am your father? I will not tolerate being spoken in that way!"

His dream father acted so much like his real father that it was hard to contain asking for forgiveness. Instead Vegeta crossed his arms.

"You'll sell me like a servant to do his bidding. You are no father of mine."

His father's face was a mix of fury and surprise but he said nothing.

Yes, thought Vegeta, this all makes sense now. I should be a lot younger but I'm in control of my own dreams.

He faced the king, keeping his voice steady and emotionless. Dream or no dream, he would not be a coward.

"Now that the cat's out of the bag, why don't you fill me in on the sordid details father? How you conspired with Frieza to have me do his bidding while you flitted around the castle like his little trophy wife?"

"Vegeta," began his father, "you do not understand."

"Bah!" spat Vegeta, turning away and looking into darkness. "I would never give my son away."

"It was to save your life!" the king exclaimed. "It was to save our people!"

Vegeta rolled his eyes and his father seized his arm, forcing him around.

"It is because of me that you survived the destruction of our planet and no one else! I admit I made a few mistakes," the older Saiyan conceded, "but you are alive and you will become the legendary Super Saiyan because of me!"

"Fool!" Vegeta cried, jerking away. "You fill my head with nonsense and lies! No matter how hard I try it eludes me! I've spent my entire life training to become something that I am not and will never be!"

"You don't know what you're saying…"

The dream was maddening. It felt as though he were really talking to his father again. It felt as though he were being told something his father wanted him to hear. But King Vegeta was dead. He had been dead for a long time.

"I never wanted to send you away," his father said softly and he covered his face with his hands. "You were my son and I did whatever it was I could to protect you. If it meant decades of servitude, what did it matter? You would be alive.

"Lord Frieza's actions toward the end of our agreement convinced me of his wickedness. It was my plan to lead a rebellion against him before you were given to him." His father looked distressed. "I cannot ask you for much, but I can ask for your forgiveness."

Vegeta pondered his father's words, a great emotional weight on his shoulders.

"I became a monster."

He paused.

"I've killed innocents."

"You cannot help your Saiyan heritage."

Vegeta thought of his mother and her strange kindness that separated her from the other Saiyans. How many others like his mother had ever existed? Even Kakarot had been evil once.

His father's hand rested on his shoulders.

"You may not forgive me my son, but I know that you understand me. It is unwise to let your past control who it is you want to be. You can even become a Super Saiyan."

The King was slowly phasing in and out. This time Vegeta could not stop his vision from leaving him. His heart began to beat faster; he could not let this end!

"Father!" he shouted at the fuzzy figure of King Vegeta. "No!"

"Frieza is dead," his father's distant voice said to him. "He cannot control you anymore."

Vegeta dropped to the ground, his knees too weak to support him. He closed his eyes, begging his mind to remain asleep. When he opened his eyes again, he was looking into bright sunlight.

Bulma placed her pink journal on the bedside table and turned off her lamp. A quick glance at the digital clock near the lamp told her that it was only ten thirty, but it had been a long day and she was ready to call it a night. Her birthday wasn't too far away. Perhaps she was becoming an old lady.

She stood up and shuffled to her bedroom door and looked out into the hallway. It was dark and empty. Her parents must've gone to bed early as well because the familiar sound of their television was not there to greet her.

Her stomach growled and Bulma rolled her eyes. She was beginning to think that her recent hunger attacks had everything to do with her son, and not her own appetite. She patted her stomach, hidden by a striped pink tank-top that was as fuzzy as her green slippers.

In the kitchen the heiress found herself surrounded by far too many options. Her mother had ordered a ton of groceries earlier that afternoon and now every crevice was stocked with some goody. The pantry was bursting with canned foods and snacks. Likewise the refrigerator had been stocked with so many condiments, vegetables, meats and cheeses that Bulma knew she wanted a sandwich. She didn't have to look far for bread; her mom must've bought out the entire baked goods section at the market.

Slicing into a large loaf of pumpernickel, Bulma shivered. A cool breeze had caused the hair on her arm to stand straight up. She looked to her left and saw that the French doors in her kitchen that led to the patio in the backyard were slightly open.

"Way to go dad," Bulma muttered, her slippers making scraping sounds on the tiled floor. She shut the door and locked it, but not before taking a sniff. There was a faint cigarette smell.

No matter how many times her father tried to quit, he couldn't stop smoking. This wouldn't be the first time he had snuck outside to smoke and forgotten to close the door when he was back inside. Lately though, because Bulma was expecting, he had been smoking less than usual.

She opened the fridge and took out a package of provolone cheese and the mustard and mayonnaise. She grabbed a head of lettuce and baby tomatoes but couldn't grab a jar of pickles because her arms were entirely too full.

Man, she was really eating for two wasn't she?

A thud near her foot made her jump into the air. Dropping everything on the counter, Bulma looked around, her heart beating fast.

"Mrow?"

"Oh, Kame you nearly gave me a heart attack!" Bulma whispered loudly, bending down to scoop the black cat into her arms.

Scratch purred and nuzzled her cheek with her wet nose. Bulma could see now that the pet had leapt from a chair, probably awakened by the sound of her sandwich making.

"Are you hungry Scratch? Hmm? Is that it?"

Bulma placed her gently on the floor and walked back to the counter, picking apart a piece of chicken and tossing it onto the ground. The cat hungrily ate it and then rubbed up against the woman, her tail wrapped around Bulma's leg.

Suddenly, Scratch's tail went straight into the air and arched her back.

"Kitty? What's the matter, girl?" asked Bulma, feeling anxious. Had she seen a mouse?

No, Bulma could tell what was bothering the feline now; she heard a creaking noise coming from her right where the living room was. Scratch ran into the room but Bulma was feeling a lot less brave. She picked up the knife she had been using to slice bread and held it out in front of her.

Why hadn't she thought to put on a light?

Guided by her knowledge of the layout of the house, Bulma avoided a stool, a trashcan and pressed herself against a wall. She looked around the corner and into the living area.

It seemed okay. The door was closed and the windows were shut. There was nothing on the ground that made it seem as though someone had entered the room at all. So where had that noise come from? And why had Scratch run off?

Bulma swallowed and turned the corner. She found herself enveloped in darkness; there was no one to be seen.

"MROW!"

Startled, Bulma whipped around and backed herself into a corner. The cat was in front of her, its eyes glistening green. It was staring past her.

Trembling, Bulma stepped backwards until she had hit something hard. Terrified she spun around and whipped the knife. When she saw what it was she had backed into, the weapon fell from her hand and landed on the floor with a clang.

There, standing with both arms folded against his chest, a smirk on his lips, was Vegeta.

A/N: Yay! I finally finished this chapter and back by popular demand is Prince Vegeta. Also, if anyone is interested in a story for the holidays, I've created a story in the Christmas spirit that I think you'll all enjoy. That story is practically finished except for some minor editing, so the chapters will be up at least a few times a week-look for that really really really soon. Anyway, it'll certainly be complete before December 25th. Thought I'd show my appreciation by giving you guys something else to read while you wait for me to painstakingly finish this one. And yes, there's plenty of B/V.