Bulma rolled her chair back a bit and looked over her shoulder. "What is that?"

"Hmm?" Acia looked up from her work. She was trying to compose blueprints for a regeneration tank – something of an obsession of Bulma's ever since Krillin had told her about the one they'd used on Namek. Vegeta hadn't been able to help her with that, but Acia had done maintenance work on the tanks in her father's ship and had offered to try to reverse engineer one.

"What you're singing, what is it?"

"Yeah, it's distracting." Trunks' tutor had left for the day and he was now doing his homework with them in the office.

"It's nice," Bulma said, shooting her son a pointed look. "What is it?"

Acia blushed slightly. She hadn't realized she was being so loud. "Um…it's a Saiyan song." She was embarrassed, and angry at herself for being embarrassed; there was nothing to be embarrassed about. This was the heritage that her mother had painstakingly passed on to her. "For as long as you live," her mother had said, "you are a testament to the pride and glory of the greatest race the universe has ever known."

"Sing it!" Bulma smiled widely. Trunks stared at her curiously.

Acia's blush deepened, but she held her head high. She was a testament to the pride and glory of the Saiyan race.

"Oh, bright moon," she sang in her native tongue, her voice deep and gentle,

Calling my name

I am your soldier

I am your slave.

Give me your strength

Give me your power

Brighten the night

Shine in this hour

Oh, bright moon

Calling my name

I am your soldier

I am your slave

Burn my skin

Devour me

Bring out the beast

Set me free

"Gosh," Bulma said after a pause. "That sounds beautiful. You have a nice voice."

"Thank you."

Trunks was staring at her oddly. "Um," he said, his face red, "could you teach me? Like, the language."

Acia gave him a small smile. He was a half-breed, but perhaps he could be a testament too. He was royalty, after all.

"Vegeta?"

The prince was sitting on the edge of the bed he shared with his wife, stretching before sinking into the soft mattress. He cocked his head slightly towards her.

"Do you…worship the moon?"

He turned to face her fully. "What?"

"Do Saiyans worship the moon?" Bulma repeated more confidently.

"What gave you that idea?" he asked, knowing the answer full well.

"Acia was singing a song in the lab today," Bulma said, snuggling into the pillows. "She said it's a moon song, a song Saiyans would sing during ceremonies for the moon. She says the moon is your god."

"The moon is not a god," Vegeta said, joining her under the covers. "Saiyans believed in a god of the moon, who created it and gave it the power to make us transform."

"So do you worship it? Him? The moon god?"

"I believe only in what I can see for myself. And the moon god isn't a he," he said, turning over, "it's a she."

"Wow, female gods? I didn't take your people for the progressive type." Bulma leaned over her husband, tickling his nose.

Vegeta rolled back onto his back to look at her. "Oh yes. Cora was a priestess for the moon god once."

"Really? Huh." She moved back a little, hand resting on his chest.

"What?"

"I mean, geez, even your priestesses are fighters?"

"All Saiyans are fighters," he said, "but no, generally priestesses only train within their natural capacity. Any strength or skill Cora has now she gained 'on the job,' as you say."

Bulma smiled at her husband. He was normally extremely reticent about life on Planet Vegeta, let alone his family. "She was a real rebel huh?"

He scowled. "A rebel without a cause. She was always doing the opposite of what was required of her. If my father had sent her to be trained as a warrior, she would've run away to join the priesthood."

"That doesn't remind you of anyone?" she teased.

He glared at her. "What do you mean?"

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Forget it." She smiled at him. "Acia seems pretty tame though."

"That won't last," he said darkly. "Given her age and her upbringing, it's only a matter of time before the monster inside her bursts through. I'm surprised it hasn't already happened."

"Well," Bulma said slowly, stroking his hair, "her upbringing isn't all that different from yours, and you turned out pretty good."

Vegeta snorted. His disbelieving eyes met his wife's sincere gaze. "You clearly haven't been paying attention woman."

Acia fell off the bed with a loud thump that jolted her awake.

For a moment she was unsure of where she was. She was covered in…sweat? Sweat, not blood. It was just a dream.

Suddenly the light went on, and Acia groaned quietly as she shielded her eyes.

"Get up."

Squinting, she could see her uncle standing over her bed, his arms crossed.

"What…what is it?"

"You were screaming. I woke you."

Dots began to connect in Acia's mind as her eyes adjusted to the brightness. "Did you push me off the bed?" she asked incredulously.

"I was trying to wake you. You rolled over and fell off."

She stared at him, trying to determine the truth of this statement. The man's poker face was second to none.

"Get up," he repeated, and made his way to the door.

Pulling the blanket she had dragged down with her back onto the bed, she followed him out obediently, rubbing her eyes. What time was it?

He led her downstairs and into the family room, motioning for her to sit on the couch. He went into the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with two mugs. Handing her one, he picked up the remote and began flipping through channels.

Acia took a sip, then grimaced at the warm drink. "What is this?"

"Warm milk and honey. It'll help you sleep."

"I don't like it," she reached over to put it down.

Vegeta glared at his niece. "Drink it."

Her hand stopped halfway to the coffee table. Catching the look on her uncle's face, she slowly brought the mug back up to her lips, sipping at it carefully.

There was silence as Vegeta eventually settled on the weather channel – if this couldn't get him to sleep, he didn't know what would. He had been unable to shake the conversation with Bulma from his head, and instead of the quiet darkness he silently prayed for every night, his mind was filled with images from his childhood, solemn ceremonies in the night and blissful gatherings in the day, carefully arranged meetings with the children of elite warriors, who would someday become his personal guard, his father teaching him the proper formal address for different delegates, all the preparations for the day he would become king, a day that never came.

He looked over at the girl. She was still sipping at her drink, her eyelids starting to droop. He felt as awake as ever.

"You were calling for your father," he said abruptly.

She looked up. "What?"

"In your sleep."

She said nothing.

"Don't do it again," he said roughly. "I don't want the children, my children," he emphasized, "to hear that."

She stared at him. Was he seriously asking her to control her nightmares? The ass. Instead, she asked him a question that had been on her mind all afternoon. "Trunks and Bulla know nothing of our heritage. They can't even speak Saiyan. Why didn't you teach them?"

"There's not much point. Our planet and our people are gone. We are the last of a dead race."

"Exactly," she said. "While we live we are a testament to our race."

He blinked at her. A testament to our race? That was…familiar. Who used to say that?

He opened his mouth to say something, something about how strange parenthood was, how unfamiliar, how he was surprised he'd even lasted this long. Instead, he said, "If you're done with your drink, go back to bed."

A few minutes later Acia left. Vegeta stayed, watching the weather channel for another hour before finally giving up on the idea of sleep entirely and heading for the gravity room.

He was mid-blast when it came to him, like a bolt from the sky: his mother, her long, angular face bent into his own, her hands on his shoulders, telling him that he had to be brave, that he could not let Frieza take his dignity or his honor. "As long as you live, you are a testament to the pride and glory of the Saiyan race."

When the droid hit him, he cursed his sister.

Chiaotzu was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

"Are you going to finish your rice?"

"Huh?"

Acia pointed to his half-full bowl. "Are you going to finish it?"

"Do…you want it?" Chiaotzu asked tentatively, offering her the bowl. She grabbed it.

Chiaotzu sighed. For the last few days, the Saiyan teen had chosen to engage him in conversation when they broke for lunch. At first she'd simply prodded at him for information – where did he learn telekinesis? How long had he practiced it? Why did he look so different from the other humans she'd seen? Then…

"What is Mr. Popo?"

"Mr. Popo? He serves the Guardian."

"Yes, but what is he? He is clearly not an Earthling like you."

"Oh." Chiaotzu scratched his cap with a small finger. "I don't really know. He's just Mr. Popo. He's been around for thousands of years I think, maybe longer."

Acia seemed to think about this for a few minutes. "Where does he get all this food?"

Chiaotzu shrugged. "No idea. But you know what they say, don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

"…What?"

That had led to a long conversation about idioms and expressions, which had led to a conversation about Earth customs (he'd taken the opportunity to suggest that most people would take offence to questions like 'why do you look like that?'), and after that she'd started complaining to him about the trials of life at Capsule Corporation. He had to admit, he sympathized with her. Bulma alone was a lot to handle, but Bulma and Vegeta under one roof? With Trunks? It was the stuff of nightmares.

"He's a very unpleasant person," Acia was saying of her uncle between mouthfuls of rice, "probably because it's been so long since he's killed anything."

That jolted Chiaotzu out of his reverie. He gulped. "How…how long has it been since you…killed something?"

Acia paused. "A year," she said quietly.

Chiaotzu inched away from her.

"What about you?" she asked.

"Huh? Me? I've never killed anybody!" It was a small point of pride with Chiaotzu, considering his training under the Crane Hermit and the things he'd seen since he'd met Goku.

Acia stared at him. "Are you not a warrior?"

"Well, not really." Chiaotzu said. "I used to be a fighter, but I gave it up a while ago to focus on telekinesis and psychic training." After Tien had returned from the fight with the Androids, Chiaotzu had decided to focus on where his own strengths had always been, seeking out masters of psychic techniques and training under them for several years.

"And when you were a fighter, you never killed anything?"

"No! I fought only for self-defense and the defense of the Earth."

Acia blinked at him. It wasn't that she didn't know what self-defense was, it was that she didn't understand how any real fight didn't end with someone dead. "…I don't understand. If you did not kill your enemies, why did they not kill you?"

"Well, sometimes people are willing to concede defeat. And sometimes people change their minds if you give them a chance."

"Ah," she said, smiling in understanding, "so you force your opponent to work for you. But how can you trust that they won't betray you?"

"You don't force them to do anything," Chiaotzu attempted to explain. "They join you willingly, because they see your side of things." He hesitated, trying to find the words to tell her about Piccolo and Vegeta, how they'd found common ground and slowly became allies, and realizing, as he collected his memories and thoughts, just how convoluted his life truly was.

Acia gave him a skeptical look. This seemed like a highly unlikely turn of events. On the other hand…

She smiled at Chiaotzu, who was rubbing his eyes wearily. Over time Acia had found herself becoming more and more comfortable with the small human. Dende was very nice to her, but his status as Guardian of the planet and the fact that he was a Namekian made her self-conscious around him, like she always had to be on her best behavior. Training with Piccolo left her doubting whether the older Namekian had the ability to or interest in forming any kind of relationship with anyone who wasn't a six-foot-tall super-powerful Saiyan half-breed. Chiaotzu, however, was the exact opposite of intimidating, with his inferior power level and childlike appearance. Not to mention that he answered all her questions and never pried into her life, simply nodding along with everything she said. He was…safe.

"Should we go practice now?" he asked her. "You still have to get me to move." Acia had successfully mastered moving objects with telekinesis and was now working on people, with Chiaotzu and Dende as her guinea pigs. Because of their own proficiency with the technique they were able to resist her attempts, giving her a much harder challenge.

Suddenly, without even realizing what exactly she was doing, Acia leaned forward and squeezed Chiaotzu's cheeks between her hands. She rolled back just as quickly, giggling, as the man's eyes widened with shock and horror at the unexpected sign of intimacy. His cheeks burned with embarrassment. "What was that?!"

Acia stood up, still giggling at him. "Stop wasting time, Chiaotzu! I have a technique to master."