"Piccolo," Jenny whispered in the dark.

Silence.

"Piccolo," she repeated, a little louder.

"Mmph," he groaned in his sleep, rolling to the other side, turning his back to her.

"Piccoooolllloooooooo," she whined louder.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before he rolled over and looked at her. "What's wrong?"

"I… uh…" Jenny stammered nervously, a hand on her belly.

He sat bolt upright, "Is it time?"

Jenny blinked at him. "Oh, no! I just… can you get me some ice cream?"

Piccolo's shoulders fell. "It's three in the morning."

"I know," she answered quietly. "But baby demands ice cream!"

He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"I'd go get it myself, but…"

"No, you have no business getting up right now," he answered.

Jenny's feet and ankles were terribly swollen and her blood pressure had been high the last time she'd gone to the doctor. She hadn't exactly been put on bed-rest, but the doctor wanted her to take it easy and keep her feet up as much as possible. She'd taken to sleeping propped up in bed to try to combat the constant heartburn. She hated being pregnant. She was excited to have the baby of course, but no one had ever warned her about all these little discomforts that added up to several months of feeling lousy.

Piccolo threw his legs out of bed and stood, stretching his arms over his head as he went.

"Chocolate?" he asked.

She nodded happily. "And can you bring me a bottle of hot sauce?" she asked, batting her eyes.

He blinked at her and then left the room, shaking his head.

The hallways were dark and chilly, but he took little notice. The cold didn't really bother him. He made his way to the kitchen and pulled open one of the overly large freezers. Blinking against the sudden light, he grabbed the carton of ice cream and kicked the door shut behind him. He rummaged in a drawer for a spoon and started back to the bedroom before he remembered the hot sauce and had to turn around again.

There was a loud banging from another room and Piccolo dropped the spoon and ice cream on the kitchen island, quietly hurrying towards the sound. He slipped through the enormous dining room and cracked open the door to the living room.

Yorgi had just entered from one of the side doors that led to the garage, dressed all in black with a black leather trench coat. Kolya and Viktor, who were dressed similarly, soon joined him. Kirill brought up the rear and shut the door behind him.

'What are all four of them doing up this late?' Piccolo thought. He didn't trust any of them and frankly had no use for Yorgi, period. The only reason he tolerated these people and this place was for Jenny. And he didn't understand what she saw in any of it in the first place.

"Little fucker had it coming," Kolya growled in a soft voice.

"Shh," Yorgi hushed him. "We never speak of it."

Kolya nodded, pulling at the fingers of his gloves, slipping them from his hands. He flexed his fingers a couple times, trying to knock the cold from them.

"Problem?" Yorgi asked, eyeing Kolya's hand.

"Let's go to America, you said," Kolya answered. "Is warmer in America, you said. You lie."

Yorgi snorted.

The door from the garage banged open once more and Xander entered, his suede and fur coat left to hang open over his black top and jeans. Dark shades covered his eyes as he looked at the floor.

"And there's X," Yorgi smiled. "Thank you for driving us tonight."

Xander nodded wordlessly, crossing his arms over his chest. He hesitated for a minute, then left without saying a thing. Yorgi watched him go, his brows turning down slightly. Xander hadn't spoke a word since they'd pulled up in front of the apartment building in St. Louis. For all he'd done in the past for Yorgi before, he'd never participated in an execution. He'd offered to go, eager to avenge his former love, but once they got there, he had done nothing but drive where Yorgi instructed. He sat in the driver's seat, watching the assassination through the windshield. Yorgi now questioned if bringing Xander had been a wise move.

"I'm going to bed," Kolya announced, stretching and yawning loudly. He and Viktor headed for their rooms as Yorgi shook Kirill's hand and spoke quickly to him in Russian.

"Where have you been?" a female voice hissed. Yelena was rushing into the room, pulling her heavy robe tighter around her.

Kirill and Yorgi looked at each other and Kirill left without a word.

Yorgi squared his shoulders at her. "Taking care of business." He looked dark and intimidating in the glowing light from the fireplace.

"What sort of business?" she asked, her intense eyes boring into his. Yelena was just as keen and intelligent as Yorgi, if not more-so. She was almost certain of where he'd been and what he'd done. While she didn't disapprove of his actions, she worried about it.

"Does not concern you," he answered in his slow, soft tone.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What did you do?" she whispered.

Piccolo didn't have to strain to hear her. In fact, he didn't even have to have the door open to hear what they were saying. But he left it open just a fraction of an inch to watch what was going on.

Yorgi didn't answer.

"Yorgi," Yelena said, "tell me you not do anything stupid."

He started to walk away from her, towards the dining room.

"Yorgi!" she called. "They catch you this time!" There was a desperation in her voice, a concern rarely heard from her.

He paused without turning to face her. Piccolo could see a frown on Yorgi's face as he contemplated her words. He shook his head slightly and continued towards the door Piccolo stood behind. Not wanting a confrontation, Piccolo quickly and silently ran back into the kitchen and grabbed up the ice cream and spoon he'd left lying on the island.

The kitchen door banged open and Yorgi stood there, surprised to see the tall Namek pulling open the door of the refrigerator.

"You're up late, my friend," Yorgi stated in a cold tone.

"I'm not your friend, Yorgi," Piccolo answered, grabbing the bottle of hot sauce and slamming the door shut.

Yorgi's nostrils flared slightly. "But your Jenny is."

Piccolo stared at Yorgi, his face expressionless. "You know we're going to leave here as soon as this wedding is over."

Yorgi didn't react, but there was an anger welling up inside him that seemed to permeate the air of the kitchen.

They stared at each other for a moment, each realizing their distaste for one another. Yorgi hadn't paid much attention to the Namek, but he was quickly realizing that Piccolo was not one to be controlled or intimidated. He didn't like it.

Piccolo strode past Yorgi, allowing the kitchen door to bang closed noisily behind him.

"What took you so long?" Jenny asked as Piccolo handed her the late-night snack.

Piccolo shook his head and climbed into bed beside her.

"Piccolo?" she asked, staring at him.

"We need to leave here," Piccolo answered.

"I'm not exactly in a position to travel," she answered, popping the top off the carton of ice cream. She scooped out a generous amount and drizzled the hot sauce over her spoon.

"How can you eat that?" he asked, wrinkling his nose at her.

"It's delicious," she said, her mouth full.

"As soon as you're able, we're going home," Piccolo stated.

"But, I…"

"End of discussion, Jenny," Piccolo said firmly and lay down to sleep.