Vegeta needed to understand his own weaknesses and vulnerabilities prior to facing any enemy so he could fortify himself against attack. He also needed to understand his enemy so he could exploit and use their own weaknesses against them. In this situation, however, he knew he was utterly without advantage. He knew nothing of his adversary or what weaknesses of his she knew could be used against him. Counter to what was believed, he was not one to blindly attack – unless the attack itself was to probe his enemy's defenses. In this case, he wasn't certain if that approach would be detrimental to him or not – but something told him to be very wary. He didn't want to attack prematurely – such a thing would only alert her to his intent, making future success even less likely.

No. He needed to bide his time; learn what he could of her without revealing what he was doing.

And…. Since the moment he had decided to make her his focus, he felt less….. lost.

So with new purpose, he started to gather easy information; the kind he could collect overtly without causing suspicion.

After a few weeks, aside from learning that Nappa had surprisingly and suddenly disappeared around the time Vegeta had been found, he hadn't learned much else. Especially perplexing, he had learned little about her. He was unsurprised at this, but if he were honest, he was also begrudgingly impressed. Apparently, he was far from the only one trying to learn about her; Frieza had welcomed her immediately and allowed her complete freedom. Who… what… was she that allowed her this favor? Everyone wanted to know everything they could so they could exploit her. Somehow, despite everyone's efforts, the woman kept fervently to herself. She was a complete enigma. If she emerged from her extensive laboratories full of science and tech, there was no discernable pattern as to when she left, where she would go, or for how long she'd be gone. She just simply – came out – whenever the hell it suited her. No one ever seemed to notice when she returned. Even more baffling, no one could really describe her. Aside from when he had first emerged from the ship he had shared with her, there was nothing.

It was like… they simply forgot.

This above anything else confirmed to Vegeta that this female was behind his own memory loss.

His memories seemed to get hazy beginning on the last planet he had purged. He recalled an initial description of her – apparently she appeared similar to the beings on that planet. But he had researched this Earth. Nothing indicated the beings there had any capability that could explain memory loss. They weren't even a telepathic race!

But – he must have encountered her there. The more he probed his own mind for details regarding what had happened there, the more painful it was. Thoughts that came to him would slide from his awareness before he could truly grasp them. It was always the same. The harder he tried, the less success he had and the more his head hurt.

So, he stopped trying.

Instead, he relied on instinct. The only times he was able to recall even a foggy impression of her was when it inexplicably crashed over him. The only time that had happened – that he could recall – was when he walked the hallways. He couldn't be certain, but he had a hunch. No one ever could remember with any detail seeing her leave or reenter her labs. But that didn't mean she never left them.

So. He stopped trying to follow her.

Instead, he tried to follow the intangible. He couldn't remember her, but he could discern where the holes in his memory lie. He had been on a ship with her. And very likely, he had been on Earth with her. It was probable that, as she invented the collar he had worn for better than a year, they had crossed paths during that time. If he used the extent of his memory loss as an indication, he had certainly spent a great deal of time in close proximity with her. So if this were true, he should know her scent. He didn't actually know what she smelled like – but that was on a conscious level. Somewhere buried in his subconscious, he believed he knew it quite well, and this is what he believed he had encountered in the hallways.

So, using his sense of smell, he tried to map her patterns. It was odd, chasing a smell that from moment to moment he'd forget. He'd have to let his mind drift and force himself not to concentrate on it before he could sense it again. It was almost like following something out of the corner of his eye that disappeared the moment he tried to look at it.

He was getting better at it, though.

And he was getting better at keeping the ghostly images that, flimsy as they were, crushed his senses when they slipped out from the pit of his subconscious. Before, he had fought to keep them and they had torn to tatters in his eager, grasping hands. With an infinite patience he hadn't known he possessed, he had learned that if he were gentle and passive with these elusive, fragile thoughts, they would cling to him longer.

And so, he let his mind drift in the space between thought and non-thought as he followed the faintest impression of a scent wherever it took him.

Most days he lost it. Not the scent trail - rather his ability to keep his mind in the peaceful, in-between place that allowed him to detect it. Today, he found himself on a little used observation deck. It was small, dark and cold; the furthest place from engines or life support systems. Most of Frieza's warriors were cold blooded and couldn't withstand the chill. Vegeta found it tolerable. He could have blanketed himself in a warm cloud of soft ki, but somehow, he was comforted by the tight enclosure filled with nothing else but the dark and the cold. It seemed… familiar somehow.

He felt calm. Almost… peaceful.

Looking out of the transparent curve of the ship's bulkhead, it was easier to let his mind wander. The emptiness of space stretched before him and he found himself raise a hand, as if he could touch the stars beyond. Something about this scene - the utter stillness of black space, with pinpricks of light sparsely scattered throughout. It reminded him of a similar landscape. And of a star - filling his vision, blinding him but also in that moment, making him whole…

Like a subtle cloud of mist, the scene wrapped around him and he fell into it as he would an embrace. He suddenly knew – realized he had always known – that she came here for the same reason he was here now. She, like him, drew comfort here.

Why either of them would feel comforted here, he didn't know, but the sudden eruption of loneliness was so sharp and complete, it tore him from his pseudo-trance and the moment was utterly gone.

Confused, and only slightly aware of the lingering sense of… some sort of connection… Vegeta came to himself.

He withdrew his fingers from the glass, knowing he had reached out to touch it for a reason but not remembering exactly what that reason was.

And a sudden presence at his back made him stiffen.

His eyes narrowed as brows lowered against hard eyes.

"Ginyu," he shoved the name from his mouth as if expelling a sour taste.

He didn't need to turn around to feel the horned warrior stiffen in surprise behind him.

"Someday," replied a gravelly voice, "you'll have to teach me that trick."

Vegeta lowered his chin and looked over a shoulder.

"Someday," he returned evenly, "I'll have to kill you."

Ginyu laughed, genuinely amused.

"Maybe you will someday" The giant stepped further into the vestibule. When he spoke again, it was in a dark, low voice. "…but someday is a long eternity from now."

Vegeta ignored the other warrior and turned back to look to the stars once more. Though it didn't have the same eerie effect it had moments ago, he still felt tension ease from his shoulders. Ginyu, curious, approached the Prince to stand beside him. After a few minutes of companionable silence, Ginyu spoke, interest bordering on concern evident in his voice.

"What do you see out there, Saiyan?" He turned his neck to watch Vegeta, his gaze intent on the Saiyan's profile.

"You seem so much more…."

"Odd," Vegeta cut in as he finally turned his gaze to meet the purple warrior's. "I was just thinking you were so much less."

Vegeta turned to leave, but stopped at the threshold. He grinned, "Less by four, to be exact," he tossed over his shoulder. When Ginyu frowned, Vegeta chuckled and walked out. It was widely believed Vegeta himself had killed 4 of the 5 members of the Ginyu force. It was probably true. Vegeta started back the way he had come, but on impulse, decided to wander a little more. His behavior had been strange since his return – but at least he wasn't actively looking for fights any longer. He shrugged to himself. His banter with Ginyu had been more playful than provoking. Stranger still, he really wasn't concerned about it. In fact..

Vegeta was suddenly positive he was stronger than Ginyu.

Before his disappearance, that revelation would have elated Vegeta. Now… it simply seemed.. like interesting information. He could destroy Ginyu whenever it suited him and that knowledge took away any overwhelming need to do so. He had meant what he said. He'd kill Ginyu someday. It just didn't seem to be all that pressing.

Grinning to himself, Vegeta continued walking until he found himself – once again – approaching the lab. He bypassed it and, on purpose or by instinct he wasn't sure, tasted the air.

He thought he could detect a subtle cloud of feminine pheromones – evident from the jump in his pulse and the pull of.. something.. that didn't completely fade with his awareness of it. It wasn't until he was five or six strides away that his brow crumpled in confusion.

He must be going mad. For a moment… he thought the scent had been that of a Saiyan.

Oo0oO

That night, Vegeta dreamed. He was chasing something. No. He wasn't in pursuit. He wasn't running after… he was running to

Never before had he known such an all-encompassing, sick, terror - and he knew with every cell in his body that he was already too late – that his very soul was about to be ripped from his body through his useless fingers and there was utterly nothing he could do about it.

He watched helplessly as the light of his blue serenity was slowly decimated by a wall of blistering fire.. an ocean of red erupted forth that smothered him; it flowed into his mouth, his nose, his ears, pulling him further and further down towards oblivion. He choked on the vile blackness of it as it swallowed him whole, draining his strength until there was nothing left…

He woke, screaming into the darkness. Even as the images faded, the feelings lingered. He was blowing air as though he had flown with every ounce of speed he'd had until there was nothing left for him but to tumble and crash on whatever barren planet he was trying to escape. Shaking and sweating, he tried in vain to calm his racing heart. He allowed himself to collapse back onto his sleeping place. His mind frantically tried to find something to focus on to bring him out of the blind panic of a dream he couldn't even remember.

He stared at the underside of his bed – he had taken to sleeping on the floor. At first, he hadn't understood why he kept waking to find himself on the ground, but eventually he accepted that he felt more comfortable there; more at ease with the cool hardness under him. Yet now, even this did little to calm him. He raised his arms and shoved his palms into his eyes, trying to wipe away images he couldn't even recall. It was then he noticed blood as it trickled from the flesh of torn hands as it dripped onto his face.

Fully awake now – and utterly refusing to attempt sleep again, he flicked the covers from his frame and rose to wash the gouges in the meat of his palms. His room was completely dark – yet another oddity he had never insisted upon before but now could not be without – but he didn't need to see. His room was utterly void of anything save his sleeping pallet and the bed frame that was an extension of a wall that couldn't be removed.

He used to long for his dreams; would despair when he woke to find them gone. Then he had escaped to the healing pods where his mind had been too suppressed to dream. It was only lately – after he had started hunting for that woman's scent, that his dreams had started tearing him apart. In the last week – every night – he descended into a hell he had no way of escaping. Even when he woke, he found it had followed him. He had cleared his room to prevent the destruction left behind by his tormented ki, but as the dreams grew more vivid, his ki grew more out of control.

Now, it wasn't only a matter of taking back what was stolen from him. Now it was a race to reclaim his memories or he may not wake in time to to thwart his raging ki from erupting. Now, it was a matter of need. He needed to know. If his dreams were in any way a reflection of reality, he had survived it once. If he did it once, he could do so again. Not knowing is what would destroy them all.

He slipped out of his room to escape the last tendrils of anxiety. He needed a place to soothe his restlessness, so he started walking to the quiet viewport he had found days ago. He found himself there often, but he never again felt so in touch with…

her? His mind whispered…

whatever had been so calming that first time. Knowing something was there just waiting for him to grasp it - if he could only let it happen - made him too expectant.. and he couldn't calm his blood enough to let it ease in. The almost was enough to drive him mad.

When he found himself walking by her lab again, he paused a few footsteps beyond it.

He always tasted the air when he walked by, now. He couldn't remember what about it had seemed odd to him, but he knew he had realized there was something odd about it once. He could still smell it, faint though it was, for a moment before it faded. It was enough to remind him that it was there and that there was something about it that forced his body to respond. He always felt… electric.. for those few moments before his mind lost what he knew his nose could still smell. It was as if his body was jolted by it and he always felt stimulated – as if preparing for battle. He knew the response was a muscle memory his body produced because it was responding to her. He just didn't know the nature of it. What would he do if he could keep that scent a few moments longer?

His face darkened. Likely kill her.

The thought of wrapping his hand around her throat and snapping her neck sent a violent surge of blood lust throughout his body – and something ruptured in the back of his mind. He remembered this.

He had done this before. He didn't recall how many times or when, but he knew for certain he had tried to kill her before. His teeth practically sang with the phantom ache of biting and ripping the flesh from her throat. Without realizing it, he returned to the door of her lab. It didn't occur to him that it opened for him as he approached. His hands flexed at his sides, eager to tear into the cavity of her rib cage and squeeze the heart quivering inside. He wanted her blood to spurt and bathe his skin in wave after wave of heat, and taste it thicken on his tongue as it cooled.

He wanted to tangle his fingers in her hair and force her head back, exposing her neck – suck at the flesh in a trail of teeth and tongue as he made his way to her eager mouth… forcing her back to bow with his tail so her hips rose up to meet each and every frantic thrust..

He threw his head back in a silent scream, as his ki both flared and imploded at once. He shuddered as he collapsed to his knees, one hand on the floor, the other to his throbbing temple. The searing pain in his skull was so complete, he could taste the metallic rust of his own blood as it filled his naval cavity and flowed down his chin…

The pain was gone as fast as it come, taking with it the memory of its existence.

He calmly studied the enigmatic drops of blood as they fell into his outstretched palm. Rising to his feet, he surveyed the room for clues as to why he might be here. Strangely, he wasn't alarmed, so he concluded he had come here of his own volition, and simply didn't remember why. This was becoming more common for him. Mostly, he had been finding himself in strange places with no memory of how he got there. Though the reason behind his lapses had changed, it wasn't completely new to him. He had awoken in many places not knowing how he'd gotten there or why… usually after being beaten to a pulp. But in all of his life, he had never before come back to awareness on hands and knees – bleeding but without injury.

It was completely vexing.

He sighed. He was here now, there was nothing more to do about it. He glanced around, interested. No one had ever been inside before, and no one knew what occurred here.

Curious, he stalked the empty lab, only able to guess at the uses of all the immense contraptions and machinery when they were alive and buzzing with purpose. It was clear the woman had no limitation of resources or imagination. The sheer number of projects and experiments was monumental. Though each one was tucked away in its own designated, chaotic space, they spilled over and contaminated the spaces of other projects on every side.

Growing more fascinated as he explored, he had to take care with his steps; several times he found himself squeezing through or around something, or ducking and contorting his body to fit around something else. There were countless mechanized apprentices that appeared to be customized to assist in specific ways depending on what was needed at each station; robotic arms meant to lift, hold or tilt, appendages ending in tools that could be rotated or swapped with other tools, unrecognizable things with wires and computers designed for who knows what…

Everywhere he looked, every surface was painted in the sprawling, explosive scroll of illegible notes, symbols, numbers, equations, and arrows, all written in different sizes at all angles, shoved wherever they could fit. When something clearly didn't produce a desired result, the project was pushed haphazardly to the side and forgotten, replaced with a newer variant that was slightly changed – with each corresponding note board heavily edited.

It all seemed frantic and rushed to him, and hardly the sterile, precise science he knew should be used – especially with some of the substances and chemicals he had recognized. It was…. as though she were looking for an answer to something and didn't know how to find it. There was an intensity – a desperation – in everything he saw.

He recognized it, as he had come to know it intimately. She was crushing herself under the weight of her own need to answer the unanswerable.

Suddenly, there was nothing more that he wanted than to leave this place. He still didn't know why or how he had come to be here. He only distantly recalled leaving his sleeping chambers, but had no recollection of having any intention of coming here or anywhere near here. He didn't look at anything else as he made his way back through the labyrinth of failed experiments and dashed hopes towards the exit.

It was then, just as he was about to depart through the door to the hallway that opened for him, that he realized he shouldn't have even been able to enter in the first place.

Abruptly, he halted on the threshold, his hands on either side of the doorframe, one foot already outside.

Such a thing must be by design. Certainly not the woman herself. If she wanted to be found, she could have made it known, or simply come to him. He may have even given her a chance to speak before killing her.

Who then? …Frieza?

Baffled, the Saiyan was frozen with indecision. Part of him wanted to leave. But… he couldn't deny a stirring deep in the animal parts of his instinct… part of him wanted to see her. Smell her. Touch her – to kill her? Anything! He just needed… to know.

What was she to him?

Slowly, he shifted his weight and brought himself back inside. The door slid shut in front of him. Dropping his hands from the doorframe to his sides, he stepped backwards and looked over his shoulder towards the only corner of the vast maze he had avoided.

She had been given sleeping chambers, but everyone knew she never left the labs.

His footfalls were utterly silent. He tasted the air, but could smell nothing. Even so, he could hear the ebb and flow of her breath as she slumbered and knew that she was there. Oddly, his muscles were relaxed. His heartrate was slightly elevated but slowed with every beat. It was in tune with the pulsing of his ki, flowing languidly just underneath his skin. He felt.. at ease. The sense of calm lightly tugged at his senses and if he had been in his sleeping chamber, he'd compare the buzzing sensation with the moment just before sleep overtook him.

It was pleasant.

He blinked and shook his head to dispel the fog of lethargy. He felt more aware, but the sense of calm hadn't disappeared.

Cautious now, he pushed aside a blanket hanging from hastily placed metal pipes attached to the ceiling with long strands of wire. The blankets hid her sleeping cot from view, but did little else, and he moved to stand over her. It was dark, but he could still see the lump of blankets and pillows in a heap. For a moment, he was confused. He could still hear her breathing – and intelligible, muffled words softly spoken - but she was clearly not on the cot. But then he saw it; her hand poking out from under the cot - the curve of her fingers opening and closing around an imagined item found only in her dreams.

She was dreaming. He considered her hand, the only part of her visible from under the cot. That she slept on the floor as he did didn't escape him, but what caught his interest was that even in her sleep, she continued to work. What answer was she so desperate to find?

Was it the same answer he was searching for?

Who the hell was she?

He reached out with his telepathy and descended over her thoughts to gently caress her mind. She was asleep, and therefore shouldn't have any awareness of him.. or any defense. If he could just get a sense of her…

Like a surge from the depths of oblivion, she reached out with her own mind - first to blanket herself around him - then pulled him into her.

She oozed around him, covered him, gushed through him… yet instead of feeling panicked as he should, he relaxed. Instead of drowning in the terror of facing a rush of pure, powerful telepathy that could very easily shred his mind – he floated.

Warmth… peace…

The contact broke and he was forcefully, painfully shoved out.

Disoriented for a moment, he stood at the foot of her cot. His body shook as it once again became accustomed to his single, solitary mind.

As he recovered, his rage began to replace his confusion – but when the edges of his senses alerted him that she was waking, he abandoned her and bolted. He made it out of the door and pressed his back against a wall around the corner. Moments later, the door opened again. He was not two feet from her and he could sense her look down one hallway before turning her head to look the way he had gone. She stood there silently a long while before retreating back into her lab.

It was only then that he released a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. Again, his rage thundered up from his core..

Why hadn't he fought her? She had so easily pulled him into her mind and he had let her. He knew there had been a telepathic link between himself and whoever had taken control of his body. It was a vague concept and he had no true recollection of it – but the idea itself had been so revolting and offensive, he had purposefully kept any thought of such thing far from his mind. Certainly, he would never again allow such contact again! Yet, she had completely pulled him in with absolutely no resistance from him. And…

He had felt… whole. Such was the tranquility that when she had forced him out, he had felt rejected…. Hurt..

Who was she!?

He rounded the corner and stepped through the door once again. He didn't know why he had run in the first place. Who was he trying to protect? She obviously had the telepathic strength to mentally abolish him if she wished it – not that he'd try to defend himself, apparently – so why had he hidden from her? Strangely, he wasn't afraid. So… what then?

He saw her standing motionless in the center of the room, blanketed in the darkness. Her back was to him, but her shoulders seemed bowed, as if she carried a heavy burden. It was like she had been waiting for him to come back; waiting for him to confront her.

Standing up straight, she looked over her shoulder at him and waited.

He raised his hand and gathered his ki. It wouldn't take much; her body was as fragile as her mind was strong. He stood there with his arm outstretched, a ball of killing ki in his palm… and he did nothing. It felt.. empty. He felt no malice, no sense of revenge, no hatred. The only anger he felt was at his own confusion. She knew her life was about to end, and yet she stood motionless… and waited.

Exasperated, his ki broke as he dropped his hand to his side. He charged towards her and grabbed her arm to swing her around to face him.

Whatever he had been feeling, whatever confusion or distress – everything from his return to Frieza until now – it slammed into his chest and twisted his lungs inside his ribcage. He now understood why he had been allowed to enter the labs unimpeded.

Written on the otherwise flawless flesh of her narrow chin was an ownership tattoo, depicted in swooping lines and ornate scrolls.

A shockingly powerful, rolling, anger bubbled in his gut before being forcefully hushed into a seething disgust. It was Frieza's sick way of mocking him as a Saiyan. Decades ago when the Icejinn had first come to Vegetasei, the Saiyan practice of marking status with tattoos had quickly been forbidden. Vegeta, as the Prince, had many tattoos, even at so young an age – which Frieza had removed using the same method to carve it from the flesh it as was used to imbed it: ki. The ink had secretly been replaced by Nappa years later, to include what had occurred during those missing years. Even now, Nappa continually updated it; the story of his life – a living legend that became an orphan, royalty who became a slave, a warrior that had made a promise to his people to avenge them… A Prince in spirit, yet caged behind the bars of his own horrendous, uncontrollable ki.. The tattoos were only visible in the blutz waves of Vegetasei's infrared moons – but the fact that they existed at all was a testament of his defiance. Any marked skin would again be cut from his body.

And yet for Frieza to so plainly mark her…! With tattoos that branded her a Saiyan female of status.. one who held dominion over all but he who owned her.

It was an insult.

The only female to have worn them within any living memory had been his mother. They were tattoos meant for the Queen, put on her face by the King himself.

Vegeta didn't know why Frieza had done this, but it was clearly directed at him. No one else knew the true meaning of the tattoos. To everyone else, they simply were an indication of possession – "do not touch." It was a bastardized meaning, completely false. But Vegeta knew what they meant. It was his father's name – and therefore his own – written on her skin, proclaiming her as his. His equal, his partner, all the parts of himself that were missing.

The fact that he, as the Prince of Saiyans, was people-less, planet-less, incapable of winning his own freedom… and even if none of the other things were true - incapable of ever having a female of his own – was the worst kind of offence.

Vegeta stared at the markings that were a version of his name on her skin. He should tear it from her face… and yet…

He caressed it with the pad of his thumb, suddenly saturated with a regret and despair he couldn't place.

Unable to define what he was feeling or why, he let go of her and growled as he stepped away. He shouldn't have come back in. He should have left when he had the chance.

His bitterness and anger churned. And thus, the message had succeeded in serving its purpose. For Frieza to suggest there may have been a connection between them - especially in such a blatant way as this - was a desperate grasp at straws; an attempt to force Vegeta to react. If there never have been any kind of connection, the Prince would merely suffer yet another insult to his pride. The provocation would demand he tear the offensive flesh from her face, as was one of the many initial reactions he had had – but he wouldn't kill her. He'd understand this to be a poke at him, the last in the line of thousands. He had suffered Frieza's abuses before, and understood them to be tests. If he killed the female, it would only bring wrath upon himself. Vegeta was meant to suffer such taunts in silence.

But…

If there had been a connection, such an insult could not be tolerated, no matter the consequence. The retribution against Frieza would be astronomical before the Prince would allow himself to succumb to the death that would surely follow such defiance.

Frieza was likely watching him closely to see what he would do. It was the ultimate test. Was Vegeta still loyal? Would he attack the lizard king to defend his woman? Or would the Saiyan silently seethe over yet another insult?

Bah.

He may not recall the first time he had entered her lab, but he knew himself well enough to berate the foolishness of walking through a door that shouldn't have opened for him.

His eyes flicked up and he found that her own eyes were on him. She was completely without fear.

Again, he raised his hand and called forth a ball of ki. Languidly, without fear, she looked into his eyes – but did nothing else. He didn't understand this! Why would she not fear him? He willed the release of his ki from his fingers, yet it did not listen. Frightened, unnerved, he stepped closer and dared her to cower. He understood terror. This… this he couldn't understand.

She gently took his hand in her own, guided his palm towards her chest, and stepped forward so his hand rested just above her heart. Immediately, his ki puffed out of existence like it had never been. He blinked in shock. Not only had his ki completely extinguished – he had actually been frightened that he hadn't reabsorbed it fast enough…

He snatched his hand away as though he were the one who had been burned and looked at it as though it were not a part of himself. His head snapped up and he glared at her.

"Why can't I kill you?" He hissed.

She flinched as he spoke, and thought it was the only reaction she gave, it was enough. He knew she had understood. She tried to shake her head. He stepped forward and growled. It was a warning not to lie to him. Not to pretend…

She looked away, almost as if ashamed, but when her eyes returned to look into his own, he knew he would only hear truth from her.

"Because it would hurt you..," she whispered.

It didn't sound right. Galactic Standard was obviously not her native language, nor did it even seem familiar to her. Her mouth and throat didn't make the right sounds so she must have only recently learned it. But more than that.. for some reason, he had expected.. something else. No matter. He was only interested in understanding what she meant.

"What are you?" his voice sounded horse, even to his own ears.

"I'm human," she whispered again. "Only human."

He had one answer. Two if he counted her admission that she had come from Earth as he had suspected, despite her telepathic abilities. But that wasn't what he meant and she knew it.

"What are you to me?" he roared.

Her eyes widened and she sucked in a deep breath. She wrapped her arms around herself as if she were holding something back – or protecting him from it.

"I.." she swallowed and he found himself distracted by the way her bottom lip quivered. His hands itched with the want to touch her – gently or with crushing force, he wasn't certain.

"I am a part of you," she finished, no longer whispering.

Stunned, he stood before her, motionless. Not because she had spoken to him in Saiy-go.. but because in using his very un-abstract native language, the words she had chosen cemented her meaning in an unmistakable way. She had told him, literally, that they were one.

Her voice echoed in his ears, thundered against his skull and pounded through his bloodstream. The words were too far beyond his capability to understand.. if he tried, he knew something within him would shatter. But her voice… it was – everything. It both soothed and enflamed, gave him strength and made him weak. He knew that voice, better than his own..

His mind swam and his eyes fluttered closed. A sea of blue flowing like waves, cascading around him as he floated peacefully in its warmth.

And then the hurricane of red that rained down on him like blood..

His eyes snapped open and he looked at her again with new focus. Ge grabbed her and spun her so that she faced away from him. With renewed anger, he tore the lab coat she wore so he could see the flesh hidden under it. For a moment, he was confused.

He… he remembered a woman. She was bent over the consul of a ship, feverishly typing something in. When she stood, the light of the computers bathed her in a soft glow, allowing him to see the wide, weeping gashes that crisscrossed across every inch of her frame. She took a step towards him and the light glinted from locks of unmistakably blue hair. Even with tattered skin, she had been beautiful.

But the woman he had in his hands now – her flesh was whole. He spun her around again and took a lock of her hair between his fingers and rolled the strands to feel its texture. There was no other blue like this blue. The memory of the woman, broken by lashes, must be the same as the one in front of him. He wasn't certain when that memory had been made, but he was certain it was her. She had somehow lived through whatever hell had been unleashed upon her body.

A regen tank. There was no other way. But the only regen tanks that existed belonged to Frieza… so she must have only recently healed. Likely… on the ship they shared, the ship that had brought him back to the lizard king.

He let her hair sift through his fingers and fall back into place. Her wide eyes – an even more inconceivable shade of blue than even her hair – looked into his with such longing it was impossible for her to suppress it. It both thrilled and terrified him. He knew her.. and yet, he did not know her.

When she placed her feather-light finger tips on his face, his skin where she touched burst into flame. He knew her touch.

Following instinct, he lowered his face to hers, not quite certain of what he wanted. When she tilted her head and covered his mouth with her own, the flames from her touch reached into the core of his being and exploded.

He cupped his hands around the back of her thighs and lifted her so she straddled his hips. The weight of his body crashing against hers forced her back to collide with the wall behind her. Her taste flooded his mouth when she shoved her tongue inside it, and – at last – her scent ruptured past any fog of forgetfulness and awoke the animal within him. The beast remembered.

He had done this before.. and he hadn't killed her.

All sanity left him. His tail wrapped around one thigh to hold her steady, which freed a hand. Desperate to bathe in her heat, he tore the clothing barricading her sheath from him. It wasn't enough. He wanted to crack her open and crawl inside. His erection throbbed painfully and when he had ripped just enough of her clothing to grant him access, he reached to do the same to his own. When she arched her back to rub against him, his knees became weak, and stars danced in front of his eyes. His mouth broke away from hers and as he breathed in the air, her flavor, her scent, her heat, his head spun. As he blew his breath out, he chuffed in indication that he was ready to breed. The sound made her spasm against him, and another wave of agonizing arousal crashed through him, followed by a wave of sizzling ki that swiftly re-submerged.

He clenched her thigh tighter with his tail, trying to create enough distance to allow him to tear away his remaining clothing. When her head rolled back to give him access to her throat, the thumping of her heart flexing the veins in her neck caught his attention. His teeth ached with the need to bite as venom started to pool in his mouth. And yet, he stared, transfixed, at the flawless flesh of her throat.

He could almost taste her blood as it flooded over his tongue. He should remember the intoxicating flavor, bathing his lips and running over his chin. He remembered biting her.. remembered her pulse as it beat in time with his flexing jaw and his thrusting cock. He could almost taste it.. but he couldn't. Nor were there any marks on her skin as evidence of his teeth.

He now knew his night terrors were half-formed memories of lashes that had nearly killed her. The tank didn't heal scars which meant he had bitten her – he had been able to claim her body without killing her! – within days, perhaps hours, of her being beaten. When she had healed those lashes on one of Frieza's ships, a ship with them as the only two passengers, she had healed his bite marks as well. That meant that only weeks ago, they had lain together and she had nearly been slaughtered. He reacted violently to even the shadows of those memories – so he knew he had trusted her. Given her access to his mind, his thoughts, his memories. Which meant without doubt that she had been the one to take them.

Perhaps she had done it when he had seen her, half healed and typing. It didn't matter. She was the only one capable in the window of time they had had, proven by her own healed flesh.

Slowly, he stood. He placed her on her feet and stepped away. When she reached for him, he snarled at her. She snatched her hand back and, for the first time, he saw fear in her eyes. He wanted to laugh… when he had every intent to kill her, she stood before him unafraid. It was only now that he wanted to feel her body clench around his own that she had become afraid. He wanted to laugh, but the only sound that would escape his lips if he weren't fighting so desperately against it, was the high pitched, keening whine of a Saiyan whose heart was breaking.

The look of pity in her eyes disgusted him. He disgusted himself. His memories were mostly hidden from him still, and what angered him was not the fact that he couldn't remember clearly – but rather the fact that he still wanted her after knowing the depth of her betrayal.

It didn't matter her reasons; if they were noble or selfless, or even if it protected them and gave them a chance in the future. It mattered that she hadn't given him the choice. He'd rather die fighting an impossible, unwinnable battle than hide behind ignorance. He'd destroy himself entirely before ever allowing his memories to be stolen. They were a part of him.

And.. he knew she had spoken the truth. She was a part of him, too.

Without a word, he turned his back on her and walked out.