A/N: Thanks to Lostin2004 (thank you for saying that! Hope you enjoy the continuation of that encounter here!), lmamc (yes, I too am glad Goku didn't show up yet, but you may see more of Gohan's musings about Vegeta-sei before his father arrives. We'll see what the other Saiyans think about everything too, once we get some drama out of the way haha), and Guest (I love how you put this, and yes, Vegeta and Trunks will start to sort out their relationship ...it may take a minute and some fighting, but you'll see the foundation of that here!) for reviewing! Really appreciate you guys a lot! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 30:

After Celeri had been exposed as a traitor, Cumber had not reentered the palace walls, but he had hovered around the premises like a wraith, watching …studying.

Most of the Elites were empty-headed and went wherever the wind blew, but two generals had been regular fixtures there: Paragus and Cauli. Cumber had no idea what they were doing, but he imagined that it had something to do with King Vegeta's human queen.

The Queen …had some sympathies among the Elites. And those two were the main ones—they didn't care about the precedent. They cared about other things: the things that warred in Cumber's mind as well. So …why was he standing on the outside of the palace?

He wanted Frieza defeated. He may not have been a general, but he was a proud Saiyan. Celeri's betrayal had floored Cumber, and he didn't like it. Worse that Vegeta seemed to have suspected and known almost all along.

Was it petty to hate that?

Because Cumber hated when the King was right. The power and the smugness combined in their king was infuriating to such a degree that perhaps it had caused him to lose sight. Cumber didn't know at this point whether he hated Vegeta more or Frieza.

No. Cumber shook his head. He knew he hated Frieza more. He had known too many of his compatriots who hadn't come home—the Saiyan youth was dying under Frieza's orders. A younger prince had died and another had been shipped off, probably to death as well. And even the mere whiff of the idea that Celeri had been a turncoat knowing that…

Well, Celeri wasn't around to hate, so he would settle for adding that to his hatred of the Cold Empire. He couldn't hate Vegeta for preventing Celeri from doing any more damage.

Resolved, Cumber found himself entering the palace for the first time in some weeks.

VBVBVBVBVBVBVB

Bulma was absolutely stunned at how quickly her joyous reunion with her only baby (all grown-up now) had turned to shit-show before her very eyes. And she shouldn't have even been stunned. She should have fully expected this.

And now her son and her …well, he wasn't her husband, was he?—her King, were marching off to do battle, all in the name of tearing pieces out of each other to make themselves feel better! They were already leaving, their backs facing her—Trunks' stiff as a board and Vegeta's flexing in that pent-up way he had. Bulma shook her head, and by the time she had settled again, the two of them were gone.

"You have got to be kidding me." How selfish this whole thing was! She could have killed Vegeta. She would kill Vegeta!

Of course, there was enough killing to go around already. Apparently, her lover couldn't be happy unless their whole damn family was trying to kill each other! Furious, she moved to chase after them, knowing that their Saiyan speed put them at a ridiculous pace ahead of her as it was.

But Nappa's hand found her arm, closing around it.

"They aren't going to kill each other," Nappa sneered with barely-concealed disdain, reading her mind in such an unsettling way that Bulma's jaw nearly unhinged. She had completely forgotten that the Saiyan was here. Nappa favored her with a look of distaste at her slack expression. But then, he quickly looked around them to the guards, and his tone changed to something more polite and respectful. "But let's go see …Your Majesty."

Bulma didn't have to be a genius to understand his meaning. She did follow. "Come on, Gohan," she said with fake brightness to the young man, who was still mouthing the air like an adorable fish. She turned on her heel and raced toward the entrance, not having the patience to wait for Gohan to look alive. To Nappa, who was in very little hurry, she fumed.

"Can't you walk any faster?!"

Nappa didn't hurry more at her words. He shrugged. "No need. Nothing interesting is going to happen for the first five minutes, at least."

She thought of the look in Trunks' eyes; the betrayal he obviously felt for his father, and maybe even for her. Who knew? She had barely gotten to exchange words with him before Vegeta had blown the whole thing up.

"Don't talk about it like it's some showput on for your entertainment!" she hissed, speeding up her own pace out of distress. She could hear Gohan trotting just behind her and tried to keep the hysteria out of her voice. "Or try to tell me that they aren't going to kill each other! Did you not even listen to that challenge?! I know what the Kings and Princes of this planet do!"

Nappa sounded faintly amused as he humored her speed finally. "You thought that was a Royal Challenge?"

"No, I don't." She didn't feel physically capable of smiling anymore, even though she had been so happy just a few minutes before. "But I saw Trunks'—"

Nappa made a tutting noise and Bulma felt forced to look at him and see what his expression said. She didn't feel secure enough about Vegeta and Trunks to stop and hear the explanation. "Your boy has been without you for months, on a foreign planet doing battle with some very strong members of the Frieza Force," he answered her almost conversationally. "You sure you still know what he's like …Your Majesty?"

Her mouth only went drier at Nappa's words, and she refused to let them get to her by snapping back. Instead, she broke out into a run.

VBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVB

Trunks' steps stuttered as they entered the blinding, artificial light of the Gravity Room. It had always looked less red than the rest of the planet, and the effect was strange to him now, after Namek. His breathing slowed and he adjusted to the old and familiar sight, but his eyes narrowed to an exact space where he knew he had stood before. The last time he had been here …was the moment before he knew that his mother was dead.

He watched his father enter past him, his bearing so natural and normal that Trunks' anger had no hope of abating …or of even understanding why he was quite so angry.

He blinked when Vegeta shed his cape and activated the room—a new sound to focus on. "Your mother will be here as fast as her human legs can take her. So we have limited time."

Trunks scoffed, and couldn't help but rise to the bait. "Like thatwould stop you!"

"It would stop you though, wouldn't it?" Vegeta answered with some mirth in his voice. "I've been treated to years of that, boy. I doubt much has changed."

Trunks' heart pounded harder at his father's words and he remembered why they were there to begin with. Why? He shouldn't be afraid. He was more powerful than Vegeta now, unless…

"Are you ready?" Vegeta jerked his head at the sword. "And rules. Are you planning on using that thing, or is it just for show?"

Trunks shook his head, startled out by the questions, and especially the acknowledgement of his new weapon. Of course, he wasn't about to explain its presence now. "Fists. I don't need a sword for this."

Vegeta raised an eyebrow calmly. "I would think not."

Why would his father accept any sort of challenge unless he was the equal to Trunks? He wasn't even aware that Trunks had difficulty transforming in Namek. Would Vegeta have that level of brazenness? Trunks suddenly wasn't sure. Vegeta, however, was…

The first blow nearly knocked the sense out of Trunks, and if he hadn't allowed his body to move back with it, his brain would have been rattling around in his skull. His father was more powerful. What wasn't clear was how much more powerful.

Trunks stopped mid-sail and hovered in the air, scrutinizing his opponent. And Vegeta let him do so for the moment, arms already crossed again.

"Need a minute, Trunks?" he called up.

"No," Trunks growled, all observances leaving his mind as he jetted downward to return the blow. He was determined to land it, feinting twice before hammering Vegeta's kidneys. He grinned at the success as his father dropped to one knee before recovering. "But I'm not gonna resort to sucker punches either. That's your game."

"Is it?"

The airiness of the reply didn't compute with his son, just another missed jab that only raged the fire in his blood more. Trunks could transform, but he wouldn't. The insult to his father would be greater if he didn't—that was an instinct that he held to. They tumbled into a vicious melee, neither giving an inch. Could Vegeta see how serious he was? Blood flew and Trunks wasn't sure whose it was. Could he see how powerful he had become? Trunks would show him!

His father had always been more talkative in a fight and that hadn't changed.

"Huh. So I guess it took an actual battle for survival to offer you any sort of improvement on the basics. Although, your mother didn't give me the impression that this was a planet of warriors."

"Argh!" He dodged that clothesline of his father's arm and kicked out at him. "Shut up!"

Vegeta smiled, blood trickling out the side of his mouth. He jabbed Trunks almost painlessly in the face, fast as ever. "I won't. We're here, just as you wanted. What do you want? What do you hope to accomplish? You want to shut me up—" he dodged a clumsy hook, "—even you can grasp how to do it!" He laughed. "Perhaps you could ask the Woman for some tips."

"SHE'S NOT STAYING!" Trunks snarled. "Just so you know! I'll—"

"You'll what? You'll throw her over your shoulder and onto a ship against her will? You don't make that decision, you pretentious child," Vegeta responded coldly. "And if you try to take her against her will, see how far you will get, Trunks. Try."

"She doesn't—" The end of the sentence garbled into an incoherent mess, unsure of what to say that was true.

His Saiyan hearing picked up on his mother's voice, calling for him. She was at the wide window, trying to get at the door. Nappa had had the sense to grab her before she could enter the dense gravity of the room. He had glanced to the side, toward the sound, and gave Vegeta an opening that he surprisingly didn't take. Instead, Vegeta shoved him back, forcing his son to look at him.

"Make another mistake like that and I will take advantage. You don't want an unjust blow? Don't give me a reason."

"You've never needed a reason!" Trunks shouted back. He centered himself and blocked this time. He countered. "But now I have one!" Something was still shaking him, something was still ready to burst, but there was no time to think about it. So he ignored it and fought back. But it was never enough for his father.

"Then FIGHT!" Vegeta roared. "AND TELL ME YOUR REASON, BOY!"

"FINE!" Trunks roared back, unleashing as much as he could without powering into that level—the one that separated them—that Vegeta could not have possessed. He suddenly didn't care anymore. He allowed himself to be angry enough to do damage—something he never really did without thinking …until Namek had happened and his fist had gone through Jeiyce's chest.

"Foolish," Vegeta muttered when Trunks' guard momentarily dropped. "What are you thinking of?"

"Nothing!" Trunks responded furiously.

"Then let me tell you a truth, Trunks." It was all his son could do to dodge the seamless combinations. While Trunks had quite the Legendary form in his back pocket, at base level, Vegeta was more than a struggle. His training hadn't been waylaid by his mother's death, apparently. That, or Trunks had never seen his father truly fight. He had been toying with him all along. Trunks landed another before Vegeta took him in a gridlock hold that allowed the King to say the rest. "You don't know what you wanted out of this. But I do. And it's Saiyan."

"NO." Trunks bucked him ferociously, turning and trapping one leg to knock his father off balance. Vegeta laughed as he got caught for two seconds, only enough for Trunks to connect a glancing punch.

"Uh …guys?"

Gohan had entered the chamber while they fought on, but Trunks didn't look his way this time, and Vegeta wouldn't have even if he hadn't been mid-battle. "Bulma's …well, she's just—"

"Distract her until this is finished," Vegeta said imperiously. "It will be done soon."

Trunks landed a kick that surely cracked his father's ribs. "Yeah, it will. And you won't be the one still standing!"

"That's big talk." Vegeta shrugged off the painful hit like always. "Especially considering that you can't deliver."

"Can't I?" Trunks laughed this time, and it sounded cruel even to him. "I guess you forget what I can do."

"No. Never …would I forget that, Trunks." Vegeta smirked, but his jaw was now dripping with blood. "It's not about that. It's that you don't have the strength of will to do what it takes."

"You're baiting me."

"Oh, how clever of you!" Vegeta answered. "But you're already here. Being treated like a man. Wasn't that what you wanted?"

Would his father bait him into a fight that he couldn't win? He couldn't assume that Trunks wouldn't power up …right? But he also couldn't reach the levels that Trunk did if he wanted… so why? Why was Vegeta baiting him? Could he be sure that Trunks wouldn't lose it and power up? Did he really believe that he knew him that well? He said it was Saiyan, what did that mean? Did it mean anything?

But again, getting in his own head wasn't going to help him with what was happening now. Fight. His father was a master at mind games. Thinking twice would only make him pay.

And yet, everything suddenly hurt. His split lip, his bruised jaw, his rib cage, his left arm… for some reason, his adrenaline was failing him. And it didn't appear to be failing Vegeta. Angrily, he forced the pain away and decided he would make Vegeta take him seriously.

"That's it," Vegeta breathed. It still didn't feel deadly, but the energy had changed. Trunks didn't care whether he hurt his father, and he was starting to show it. "But you still have your mother's mind, don't you, boy? You can't shut it off."

"At least it got me somewhere," Trunks sneered, getting him three times until the dig injured Vegeta's pride enough for him to return it. Blood flew, bones cracked.

"Guys, this is seriously crazy!" Gohan's concerned voice, still clearly within the chamber, filtered up to them. "You're kicking the crap out of each other!"

"And it's about time."

"This is why I can't trust you," Trunks growled, unable to stop thinking about it. "With Mom. You like this."

"Like what, boy?"

Vegeta's voice had dropped, stakes feeling higher. And when Trunks swung, it was powerful, but it was also deadly accurate—not to miss. But Vegeta made no attempt to defend against it, and Trunks' fist found home. And again and again.

"To HURT! I'm not going to let her be hurt! I'm not going to let her be Queen! Yeah—I'm not going to be a PRINCE! I WON'T! YOU UNDERSTAND? I'LL KILL YOU FIRST! I WON'T BE PART OF THIS! I REFUSE TO BE YOU!"

Now Trunks stopped.

Vegeta's face was swollen, but his eyes glittered in it after a long moment. "Ah," he said.

Trunks mutely shook his head. But the fight was somehow over, and they both knew it. Trunks backed off, and Vegeta moved towards him a little, straightening to full height and crossing his arms.

"Will you kill me, Trunks?" Vegeta asked, and it echoed around them. "Will you even take your power to me? Would you?"

He could say nothing. His heart's pounding was almost drowning out the sharp, critical sound of his father's voice. Somehow, Trunks had lost grasp of this whole encounter, and he didn't know how.

He thought he had known what he was going to do. He saw Vegeta's face and hardly knew what happened to it, though his father seemed entirely unbothered by it. Trunks' whole body panged in distress. He wouldn't have wanted to see his own. His mother's voice was gone.

"LIFE," Vegeta said, "ISN'T FAIR. You ARE what you ARE. You don't CHOOSE to be a Prince. You don't choose to have it end! You don't choose those that create you. Do you think that I chose it?" He swept a bloody fist out and smashed it against his breast plate, like one of the guards showing fealty. "I am King because I had to be. And you …do not know what I am."

"I know what you've shown me," Trunks replied honestly.

"Yes," Vegeta nodded. "And we are what we are. So are you going to run from it, Trunks? Are you going to run so far from being what you think that I am, that you become what I am? Answer ME, Prince of All Saiyans."

Trunks looked away, feeling too much frustration to possibly explain how deep it was. And Gohan was there, gaping at them both, and Trunks stormed out, limping past Gohan and past even his mother's calling for him to return. He was unequipped.

He was unequipped to be here and face his father or his mother. He was unequipped to land here and discover that he was the Prince of a planet that he still half-felt was the enemy. He was unequipped to figure out what it all meant.

He was unequipped.

VBVBVBVBVBVBVBVB

Cumber recognized a slight commotion in the palace, and no one was truly paying him notice, but that could have been because of the energy that was brought on by preparing for Frieza.

Or so he thought…

Then, he ran into someone whose name had featured heavily in Elite discussion (and had been the first thing on the lips of Vegeta's queen), though hadn't been seen the entire time. Cumber stopped short, such a picture before him that he blinked to ensure that it was real.

The half-blood Prince was tall now, but his much-remarked upon characteristics were unmistakable. Cumber had to tilt his head upward to meet his eyes—glinting like frozen chips. He was dripping with blood, some of it was obviously his own, but he was not bent from his injuries.

There was a sword on his back, unused, but Saiyans rarely, if ever, used them. His features were severe like Vegeta's, presenting a very war-like appearance, despite his mother's strange, light coloring. It was bizarre to Cumber how …well his look would seem to a Saiyan prince, even despite the darkness he lacked.

The youth stopped in reaction to Cumber, clearly sensing the appraisal. "Who are you?" he asked without a hint of curiosity, only wariness and annoyance, as if Cumber was delaying him from some important business. And this raised his hackles, though he couldn't forget Vegeta's words …the brat was powerful, and even if Cumber could take him, he doubted that Vegeta would endure an attack on the Woman's child with him, or even a lack of manners.

"Lord Cumber …my Prince." It waseasier to address him than the mother, but Cumber was sure it had to do with blood-soaked, angry visage. Shockingly, the brat scoffed at his show of respect.

"Figures," he muttered in undertone, then aloud he responded, "so you're Elite. Well, you can keep your stupid titles. I don't have any interest in them. And you can tell that to my father."

That startled Cumber. The last word was completely venomous, and it had the young Elite glancing around as the new Prince of All Saiyans made to skirt around him. Was the brat not a fan of their King, who had made him Prince, and his mother a Queen, and was the most powerful Saiyan in current, known history?

For all unexpected things, the boy was kindred to him in this way, at least? Why?

He was so startled that he nearly asked the Prince—Trunks—to wait. He got hold of himself before he did, and he watched the last flash of the sword's hilt as the brat vanished—and not to the infirmary.

But the encounter had caused Cumber to think harder.

What more didn't they know about their King and his progeny? And why did it make Cumber dislike the King and his choices less?

VBVBVBVBVBVBVBVB

"TRUNKS! Hey!" Bulma dug her elbow into Nappa's chest for what felt like the hundredth time. When her son had tore out of the Gravity Chamber, Nappa had graduated from restraining her with his arms to lifting her off her feet. "I swear, asshole, if you don't let go immediately I'll!"

"Put her down," Vegeta sighed raspily, as he appeared before them. That transferred Bulma's attention to him and his ravaged, bloody face momentarily. Nappa did as ordered and Bulma found herself reaching toward him, feeling the results of the battle with his son with zero gratification for it.

"You! What were you doing in there? What were you thinking?!" Without thinking herself, Bulma's hand placed itself too hard on his cheek, but Vegeta didn't even flinch as she continued her tirade. "He just got back! All I wanted was to see him and you—" Bulma sputtered.

"Yes, well, I apologize for that."

"You…" Bulma mouthed, mystified. Nappa actually gasped.

"I didn't mean to ruin your 'reunion'," Vegeta clarified dryly. "But the boy wasn't going to have it until we exchanged blows. He just didn't know it. It's a Saiyan trait."

Bulma was unsure whether she believed all of that, but didn't feel like arguing, especially given what had just occurred. "You know, I don't think he feels more at ease," she settled for pointing out. "And—oh, what is even the point?! Can you please get yourself to a Regen Tank to fix this?" She gestured up and down at him. "You're all mangled now! I'm surprised you're still even standing!"

Vegeta scowled at that. "It will be a cold day when my own progeny fells me. Especially one I know so well."

Bulma was already looking where Trunks had rounded the corner, hardly paying attention. "Right. I'm going to go after him—"

"I doubt he wants to be coddled," Nappa said, though his opinion had not been requested. Vegeta's withering look said enough.

"If the Queen wants to coddle him, it makes no difference." His eyes fell on Gohan. "Show Kakarot's brat around in the meantime. At least he can do without stumbling around in the dark, and can assist his father in doing the same."

Gohan cast a look of lament over at the huge Saiyan, but didn't argue with a sensible order. When they had gone, Bulma rounded on Vegeta again. "It just occurred to me that Trunks didn't take off because you were kicking the crap out of each other. He left after you said something to him. What was it?!"

"I'm sure that the boy will tell you."

"Why don't you tell me?!"

"Where would be the fun in that?"

"Don't you dare flirt with me right now!"

"I never flirt, Woman. And I hardly think you should be thinking about that when our son needs his mother."

"Have you just completely lost it?!"

Vegeta exhaled and looked past her, to where Bok had just entered, panting. "I'm going to the infirmary. I have a meeting, and this is unsuitable. Do not let her out of sight. The Prince is headed to Caprese Forest. You may take her there, and only there and back. Constantly sense for any suspicious activity."

"Your Majesty."

"Vegeta, what did you—" Her hands came restraining to his arms, but he leaned in and rested his lips briefly against her forehead, taking in something and used her blinking shock over his sudden gentility to disappear from her presence.

When she realized what he had done, the shock faded quickly and her hands balled into fists and she huffed off to find Trunks, determined to get it out of one of them.

The shock was lessening all the time.

VBVBVBVBVBVBVBVB

"Ah," Frieza sighed, in that wretchedly high-pitched voice he had. "Thank you for joining me."

The last time Geta had seen Frieza, he had broken both of his arms with the ease of a pair of chopsticks. The injury had long been healed, but the casual memory still caused a reverberation of panic in Geta's stomach. You never got used to seeing your own limbs snapped. You just learned to do it to someone else.

Still, every agony Geta endured only made him stronger, and he had endured a lot of them.

Geta knew politeness was never good with Frieza. The tyrant too aware of his own power only pretended niceties as a manipulation or a flex. Geta only needed to wonder which one this was. He covertly glanced around. They were at a large window of a Cold ship. He didn't know where they were going; he had only hoped that Frieza would give him an assignment away from him …now, he needed alertness.

"Do you know where we are?"

Violet eyes watched him carefully now and Geta blinked away the image of the tail wrapping around him to hold him still as he was wrenched apart like a bug. He remembered after a too-long moment that Frieza had asked him a question.

"No …my Lord." He kept his voice empty, forgetting everything that could bring a rise to emotion.

Frieza chuckled raspily and he turned to join Geta's survey of the vast, starred blackness before reaching over with a fingernail to tap the glass. "Perhaps this might refresh your memory."

A side screen blinked to life and the red planet that rotated there was unmistakable. Geta's breath picked up, but he didn't know whether it was curiosity, or hate, or comfort.

"Dear Vegeta-sei," Frieza crooned, ignoring Geta's physical reaction with relish. "Still nearly two weeks away, but visible with our equipment, all the same. A planet full of useful monkeys …or a dying star? You tell me, little prince."

Geta's mouth went dry as he stared openly at the slow turn of the planet, so calming and unaware of the destruction that could be heartbeats away. The young Saiyan knew what this was: a choice—the one that Frieza had threatened so many times.

He wanted to destroy it all. From the lasers that were surely pointing at the planet. And his "father"—King Vegeta—had no idea. None of them would.

Not even his fucking special, Legendary, bastard brother, Trunks.

Geta thrust down that thought quickly, unless it appeared on his face—he couldn't risk Frieza ever knowing about that! No, he needed to think about this, and do it before Frieza took the choice away and did it himself.

Think.

"You mistake me, monkey," Frieza said coldly. "I'm not telling you to decide what I am to do. I will do as I please. …but you will beg me for it."

All the air left his lungs and Geta gaped at the Cold Emperor, who continued with a pointed finger to the metallic floor in front of him. "You see, you will, right here and now, drop to your filthy knees and beg me to preserve your planet—the one I will give you Kingship over. And you will kiss my feet as you beg."

Geta was suddenly veryaware of the Cold soldiers in the room. Zarbon was there, standing in the corner as he usually was when Frieza was conducting important business. But Geta was entirely frozen, like he couldn't summon movement had he wanted to, though his insides felt like a puddle at his feet. This was somehow a new level of humiliation that was unendurable.

What was the point of it all? What was the point of his whole fucking existence? A life as nothing more than a disinherited Cold soldier and slave of this creature? The blackness yawned before him, promising nothing. The temptation to refuse was there: on the tip of his tongue.

"And if you do not, I will take your worthless life after I blow up the planet, just as I took Tarble's before you," Frieza drawled, but his eyes were like knives. "And I warn you: his death wasn't slow. I admit …it actually took some delicacy; to draw it out before he died. He was just so weak." The Ice-jin gave a small smirk. "I won't need to be so delicate with you."

Geta's knees hit the floor with a muffled bang, the ache of it only in his mind. Because after all of this, if he didn't just survive, he could do nothing that saved his dreams. He couldn't get out and be King, and get as far from Frieza as it was possible to do. He couldn't kill Trunks. Or Vegeta.

Do it. Survive. He could hear muffled, daring snickers as he bent forward, until his lips touched the freezing tops of Frieza's feet. With horror, Geta thought they might stick there, but they parted painfully, and too quickly for Frieza's liking.

"Again, so I know that you mean it."

Geta would kill them all. He would paint entire walls with blood someday. As he bent over again, he had the desperate, unlikely thought that he wouldn't even be here if he hadn't killed that blue whore, and the thought left him even colder before he could banish it. But it was not for his own sins that he was here, but Vegeta's. And Trunks'. And his life had to be dedicated to paying out that debt. Nothing else was worth anything, as he kissed Frieza's feet like a dog.

After a punctuated moment, Geta drew back and stared at those feet. "I beg you, Lord Frieza." He had to clear his throat to get the rest out, and thought about absolutely nothing. "Please allow my planet a reprieve. I beg you to spare them."

"Even your father, little monkey? The one who sold you?"

"Even—" Geta got stuck on it, and glanced up at the emperor, wondering if he would just allow Geta this one small defiance. Because even Geta didn't have the lack of self-respect it would take to ask him to spare the King's life on his own. Again, removing all thought from his mind, he touched his forehead to the floor in front of him. "Please …spare them all." It hardly came out a whisper, but it was enough to hear. The bile that rose to his throat would all be worth it on another day.

When Geta felt another chill, it was inhumanly gentle, and he tensed all the more. Frieza raised him to sit back on his knees, but did not bid him to rise either.

"It takes a true leader," Frieza began to the room at large, "to humble himself for the sake of his subjects, doesn't it? And it shows that even wild animals, untutored though they are, can have their moments of wisdom."

Frieza's gaze then fell upon Geta's blank, upturned face. "You have proven yourself worthy to continue to be my vassal, monkey. Rise."

Geta's legs shook, but no one dared this time to mock him. For some reason, Geta was drawn to Zarbon's pensive face, which meant nothing to him other than the fact that he was the only one in the room that hadn't seemed to take delight in the show. Frieza gave Geta a sharp nod, once and even approving. He beckoned him, probably to train. And train he would, all in the name of destroying those who betrayed him and sitting on their thrones.

"And now …we will claim your Kingdom."

VBVBVBVBVBVBVBVB

Trunks had gone somewhere that he had imagined his mother couldn't reach on her own power, even if Vegeta would have let her leave the palace without him. At least, that had been Trunks' excuse in his own mind for coming here.

In reality, Caprese Forest was where Vegeta had used to take him to train when he was still young, when he wanted to show Trunks things and he didn't want Geta following. His grandfather wouldn't appear with mocking eyes. No Saiyan would have.

And now Trunks was their Prince. He could have died laughing about it, especially now that the need to fight …that shameful need to fight, was actually out of his system. Trunks clenched his fist.

He wished he hadn't gone anywhere his mother couldn't reach him.

He had no sooner had that thought when two ki signatures entered his scope and he identified one as his mother and that other as …not his father. He paid little attention to the Saiyan guard who had brought her here, because it still kind of hurt to look at her being alive. And it was the only good hurt he had recently.

"Mom," he murmured, staring again. Under her gaze, he was aware of how beat-up he was, and what had caused it. He had challenged Dad. He had ruined seeing her again. He started to apologize, and she lifted up a hand.

"Sweetheart, no. Not right now." She was in his arms a moment later. It was still bizarre to be looking down on her, but that was the only strangeness about it. He let himself be held. He had needed it.

"Are you hurt badly?"

"No." She would have known if he was lying, and she didn't argue with his answer. He had gotten stronger, and maybe she was a little proud of him.

"Your father went to the Regen Tank," she responded, and he thought maybe she was definitely a little proud of him. But she didn't know all the things…

She was alive. Even if she was staying and he couldn't make her leave. Trunks swallowed harshly, wanting so much for it to be only about that. Bulma must have felt the change, because she leaned back and reached up to brush back some of his hair. Her smile was so many things that he couldn't count them—some of them were contradictory. But the guard moved back a respectable distance and they were essentially alone.

She guided him against a tree and sat beside him, unconcerned about dirt and grime and getting her hands dirty. It could have almost been normal. And when she looked back at him, there was love in her eyes, and things suddenly felt like they made a little more sense. Even if they didn't.

"I still know you," Bulma murmured. Trunks frowned, uncomprehending.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just …we have a lot to talk about," his mother told him. "Just you and me."

A/N: You all didn't think that Vegeta and Trunks were going to have a fully-functional conversation ...did you? ;)