Thirty-Two sits in his room and sketches out the images of his latest dream. There'd been a turtle in it, sunbathing on an impossibly tiny island in the middle of the ocean. There'd been a house and palm trees. The star above had been generously warm with so few clouds above, aside the yellow, energetic one Thirty-Two would brush his tiny fingers through.

Beside him, orange.

He needles his pen into the paper, pressuring it to rip.

Number Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirteen

The Rainy Day

It's raining.

Goku watches the rainclouds congregate above through the misty, murky window, which rattles against its frame whenever thunder tears the sky above. Outside this hostelry, next to the parked ship, Bulma and Thirty-Two can be seen talking with one another whilst gesturing, likely to the dented metal of said ship. They pulled over nearly an hour ago, on a petite planet in the middle of nowhere, with the aim of addressing the ship's needs; fuel had been a problem; a symptom of the hijacking, and so now is the damage taken from the asteroid belt.

A warm drink between his hands, Goku sits at his table and continues to spectate the ever-growing storm. He wonders if they'll have to spend the night here. It wouldn't be so bad. The food tastes good and the people here haven't tried to rob them yet.

"We were robbed," Ytvl complains, leaning against the booth's aged leather. "We paid three times what we should have for the fuel."

"They gave us lunch for free, though," Goku points out.

"That's true," agrees Pyrak, "Watchin' them watch you eat yer way through their pantry made it worth comin' to this dump. And this lager ain't half bad. I'll give 'em that. Ey, Green Bean, what happens to namekians if they drink alcohol? Can plants get drunk? I spiked a cactus once and it died an hour later."

Piccolo has been even sourer since the hijacking incident, having likely been embarrassed to be once again beat up – or at least Goku thinks so because Piccolo's sensitive like that, or perhaps it's just that he's just sick of Pyrak's mouth because he pushes away from the wall and leaves through the thin crowd of patrons.

"Probably gone to soak up that rain," Pyrak derides, grinning deviously. "Shall we get another?"

"You shouldn't," Ytvl says, "You don't need further encouragement to be a dick."

"Maybe I'll take some of the harder stuff back 'n spike Thirty-Two's drink."

"No."

"Sheesh, yer no fun."

"Don't you think you caused enough chaos with the scouter?"

Pyrak's good mood is tested at the memory of his scouter meeting its maker with a hammer. He takes a breath, pointed teeth angled in a vicious smile. "Where's Vegeta? Is he takin' a shit or somethin'?"

"Why don't you go find him?" urges Ytvl, waving his tankard in no specific direction. "Or better yet, go see if we can buy some liquid hydrogen to go so we don't have to stop again on the way to Cilo's headquarters. I imagine you can be persuasive enough to get us a fair price."

"Bulma doesn't like using liquid hydrogen," Goku reminds, as he has himself been reminded many a time when he borrowed a ship of similar build. "She says it reduces the ship's lifespan."

"Well, next time, Thirty-Two can lead us all to a more price efficient pitstop, can't he? We've completely wiped out one of my accounts by landing here." Ytvl sighs, and when he stares out of the window at Thirty-Two and Bulma, once again, a heavy expression weighs him down. He hasn't told Goku what he and Thirty-Two were talking about before the hijacking but, whatever it was, it hasn't made travelling with the two of them any easier.

Though, that's not to say Thirty-Two himself hasn't been unusually well behaved in comparison to his prior antics. There's not been one escape attempt despite nearly all restrictions being lifted.

"He's waiting for a chance to swipe the dragon balls," Piccolo had suggested just last night.

Oh, for sure. One hundred percent.

Thirty-Two may not serve the Frost Empire but that doesn't mean he doesn't serve anything else, namely himself.

It's been three days since the hijacking, and Thirty-Two hasn't made any move against them. He isn't violent like Vegeta had worried about. He isn't sneaking around like Piccolo had suggested he would. What he is, however, is still, very, very quiet. Watching him speak to Bulma outside is the most Goku's seen him speak in days. It's kind of frustrating. Why doesn't Thirty-Two talk to him like that? Bulma is now standing opposite, hand to chin, thoughtful and nodding as Thirty-Two slaps the indent and monologues.

Part of him thinks she's just happy to have someone to talk to about science stuff. She likes him. Understandably, considering what happened. She vouches over and over and over for him whenever Vegeta gets on one – which is pretty often – and so tries to get Goku to side with her, which, honestly, he does because Goku also doesn't think the worst of him.

"After everything, he helped us," Goku had said to the group, "He could have taken Bulma and the balls but didn't. That says something."

What that something is, Goku doesn't know.

Forever a mystery, that guy.

"I don't think we'll be leaving tonight," Ytvl says, eyes drawn to the worsening weather.

"It might do us some good not to be locked onboard. We could get a workout outside if the rain eases up."

"I doubt the rain would stop you, Goku."

"Heh, that's true."

"Well, don't attract too much attention whatever you do. The people here seem reserved, and we don't want them to get in contact with officials of any kind."

It's more of a warning to Pyrak than Goku, who ultimately does go to look for Vegeta in the end. From the crowd, Goku can hear complaining and foreign shouting as Pyrak parts the sea of people. It's like he can't help himself from being a jerk at every possible opportunity, just for the kicks. Is everyone from the program so… so high maintenance?

Goku hopes not.

Ytvl's demeanor shifts when Pyrak is out of earshot.

"Remember. Not a word to either of them."

"I know," Goku says.

"They'd never agree."

Since their talk the other night, Goku has found Ytvl to be a lot easier to deal with, as though whatever wall there was between them has been torn down. He's cordial – not as friendly as before, mind, – and a good balance against Pyrak, who has grown even more antagonistic since Thirty-Two was granted some freedoms. In a few short days alone, Goku can't recount how many times he's pulled Pyrak away from Thirty-Two, who he was goading in that Southern language of theirs. Sure, Thirty-Two is a patient person but everyone has their line. And now with the sheenks removed, Goku wonders when it's going to be crossed – when he's just going to let Pyrak have it.

It'd be well deserved.

There's a squelch when Bulma joins them in the booth. Her hair has cemented itself around wind burned cheeks, and (not that he'd tell her) her eye makeup has started to run, making her look a little like a panda.

"The doormen made me walk through some light beam."

"It's an age wave," Ytvl says, "They don't allow children to enter into the bar."

"Oh? Oh, wow… Maybe they think I'm a teenager."

Goku and Ytvl share a look, silent. She snatches Goku's drink.

"And it's cold," she complains, hands around the cup, face over its steam.

Goku scratches the back of his head. "Well, you were in the rain."

"I know it doesn't register in that peanut sized brain of yours, but a ship needs to be maintained. Maybe if you resonated with that fact then you wouldn't have been calling me every other week with a problem back when you were travelling on your own."

"What's the issue?" Ytvl asks.

"It's mostly damage to the shell casing, thank God. But we think some of the bolts have loosened from the asteroid impact, so it'll be best to make sure everything is where it should be – which is pretty hard in this cold ass rain. Oh, and Thirty-Two also thinks there might have been some leakage from the water tank but it's hard to tell. We should refill anyway when we visit the waste station."

"You haven't left him alone with the ship, have you?"

"Vegeta's out there. He's worried he'll be recognized inside."

Ytvl shakes his head, mug to lips. "I doubt it. We're in the sticks."

"Pyrak's looking for him," Goku says.

Bulma groans. "Oh, he's not, is he? Is he being a dick? Do you think he knows we're going to the—"

"Shhh… No, doesn't. Heads would roll if he knew," Ytvl responds, low, eyes scanning for Pyrak should he return, "And if you're letting Thirty-Two around the computer make sure he doesn't see the coordinates. Do not tell him where we're going."

"He's not dumb. He's going to realizes what's going on when we begin preparations to land early." Bulma slides Goku's mug back to him after stealing all its warmth. "I don't know why you're even worried. I can't imagine him throwing a strop like Pyrak would. He won't care."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Ytvl says with the air of knowing something they don't.

"Is he not coming in for something to eat?" Goku asks, looking at him through the window. He's using his energy to solder the metal of ship, absolutely drenched.

Bulma lowers her voice in mocking his accent. "He's not hungry. He's never hungry."

"I don't know about that," Goku responds, "I think he just can't eat certain foods. Last night, he ate the vegetable steamed buns and a banana, but he left the fried stuff. Oh, and the meat. The other night, he ate the rice pudding. He eats bread, too."

Ytvl hums.

"What? Haven't you noticed?"

"You watch him a lot, don't you?" Bulma observes, saying so after stretch of time, "I've seen you."

"I watch Pyrak, too. And Ytvl. No offense, Ytvl."

The parody has Ytvl laugh. "A healthy bit of suspicion doesn't hurt. I assure you we all feel much the same, and that we watch one another, too. It's as natural for us as breathing, what with our being ex-military."

"Then, what's your excuse, Goku?" Bulma jabs. "I think you're making him uncomfortable."

Ytvl snorts, taking a sip. "You're suddenly protective of him. Is that a mothering instinct I'm witnessing?"

Bulma gives Ytvl a look that Goku can't decipher, and then one he can when she turns to him next. He holds his hands up. "Look, he just confuses me, is all, especially after what happened at the tavern."

That's when he remembers that he never told Bulma how he'd been spared that night.

Ytvl finishes his drink as the story is relayed, and Bulma adopts a burdened glint to her already tired eyes. She doesn't have much to say on the matter, leaving Goku feeling his story must have been underwhelming, and that perhaps he was overthinking how Thirty-Two sees him.

Later, when Bulma goes back outside to drag an agitated Vegeta away from Thirty-Two, and Pyrak has found himself four drinks deep at the bar, Goku decides to blow some steam off and workout, rain be damned. He starts with his usual stretches as his routine commands before following up with a body weight warm-up. It's unfortunately not much of a challenge without the gravity chamber, and whilst the ship has one of a smaller capacity, he's not chanced using it with having the captains aboard. Bulma explicitly requested as much. Perhaps it's because she's worried that he or Vegeta would injure themselves to a point where Pyrak could overthrow them. Or maybe, she doesn't want Pyrak in there, who would break it in five minutes. Whatever the case, it sucks. Goku wants somewhere better than the occasional shipyard to train. Saiyans need to burn off their excess energy, after all – and she should understand that, what with being with Vegeta. He's for sure pent up, and that's why he keeps bothering Thirty-Two. The guy just needs to train.

Him and Goku are just like that.

He wonders… Is Trunks like that?

Was Gohan ever like that?

Is Gohan like that now?

There's a roar of thunder overhead.

Rain cascades and Goku strikes into its torrent.

Punching his way out of things hasn't worked for a long time, he reflects. It didn't save his marriage. It didn't save Chi-Chi. It didn't bring his son back home. The only thing it did was bring down Frieza, the very thing that ruined his life.

He stops.

And he kneels, groaning into his hands.

This is a circle he's travelled many, many a time. Goku can't afford to soak in self-pity again, not when Gohan's out there, having been trafficked. Trafficked. What a horrible word. An even worse reality. Goku doesn't want to contemplate the weight of it – what it really could mean for his sweet, wonderful son.

"There was a report of a boy with a high saiyan percentage (at least half) being sold for 9.1 tillots on the black market, less than a month following Namek's explosion," Ytvl had told Goku three nights prior, a shadow cast over his tight expression. They'd sat in the living area in the balcony area above, away from everyone else. He'd barely been audible. "Today's value has that at 15.3 trillots."

Goku hadn't understood the economics, only that a possible lead had been presented.

Ytvl hadn't papers, photographs or any other evidence, just his word, which had been uttered with a level of intensity Goku hadn't seen of him before.

"Goku," he'd said, low, "A price that high suggests only the richest of purchasers. A species collector, maybe. A testing facility. A rich perverted fuck with a taste for specifically bred children. …Or most likely, an organization known for spending extortionate amounts of money on young, powerful children they see as investments. A facility where they create super soldiers."

"The Youth Program," Goku had said slowly upon understanding the indication. "But Ytvl… Pyrak and Thirty-Two said—"

"From ten summers prior, the Youth Program's northern branch's bank had an outgoing payment statement for 9.3 trillots. It'd been listed as 'Recruiting Fee'."

Goku had felt himself go very, very still.

"I'd dangled the possibility of your son's trafficking into the Youth Program as a sort of idea to keep you busy, to keep you interested in housing Thirty-Two and Pyrak, but the more we discussed it, the more I found the concept a possibility. I had an agent attempt contact with the Youth Program, but he'd been unable to make communication. He had, however, been able to pull their financial records from the Frost Empire Bank of Coinage. From there, Lya had organized for her contacts within the black market sector to finalize our initial be—"

"Ytvl, do you really think it could be Gohan?"

To Goku's relief, Ytvl had closed muddy eyes and then nodded, just the once.

The Youth Program…

It's come back to that.

Goku had then grown to be sensitive to Pyrak and Thirty-Two's subtleties, or lack thereof; to how they move or interact, or even to their approach to life itself. Pyrak's casual arrogance is worn as a crown, and he swaggers as opposed to walks. As he talks, he looks everyone in the eye like a predator, as though daring his prey to flee just because he enjoys the chase. He's mean and cruel, and admittedly funny when he wants to be. Charming when the mood strikes.

Thirty-Two, who remains Pyrak's antithesis in nearly every way, meanwhile, is neither the prey nor predator, and simply his own being, one who watches Goku watch him. Thirty-Two is like a shadow against the rich afternoon sun. Always there, always quietly present despite the heat bathed upon him, with a mysterious, unwavering determination Goku knows will eventually cause their group distress. Thirty-Two is plotting. Goku sees it in his dark, intelligent eyes.

He's never once yielded his secrets.

Both Youth Program alumni represent a great fear in Goku's chest. He'd felt it upon his first consideration of the prospect, and now, it's back with Ytvl's revelation, more painful than ever.

"We need to go to this Youth Program place," Goku had declared fiercely as reaction.

There'd been a wrought smile "I knew you'd say that."

"Ytvl, we're goi—"

"I assumed nothing less."

"Y'know it means delaying taking the dragon balls to Lya."

"I do know that."

"And you're fine with it?"

"I wouldn't have given you my intel otherwise."

He'd paused. "Then why? Why are you telling me this now? What's changed?"

Ytvl had donned this strange faraway look, a glint of something nostalgic in his expression, reminding Goku of when he'd been briefly speaking of himself at the Green Snow tavern all those weeks ago. Just like back then, he'd not further elaborated, settling for a simple response.

"Sometimes," he'd said, "It is not the situation that changes, but ourselves."

Goku hadn't understood what Ytvl was getting at, and even now, Goku's left to savour the sour aftertaste of the reality he's found himself in. They mustn't tell Pyrak or Thirty-Two their plan to visit the Youth Program facility.

"I've never known a single Youth Program graduate being willing to return to the facility," Ytvl had shared the ensuing morning, now with the coordinates set into the computer's system. "I don't think either of them will be agreeable to the excursion, especially considering that we're going to the closer facility; the Southern branch."

"Really? Even Pyrak."

"It's not a kind place, Goku. Many try to escape, doing whatever it takes."

It'd been so ominously said that Goku had confided his fears in Piccolo, and then Bulma when Piccolo had retreated into his own dark, lonely shell. He'd not liked the idea of this fate for Gohan, and the way he'd looked at Thirty-Two (who'd been tucked away in his corner some paper and a pencil) – the usual vehemence spared for him – only increased, as though this had been his fault, that he himself had stolen Gohan way after Namek's detonation.

"I'm so sorry," Bulma had said, when he'd told her of Ytvl's lead.

"It's something, at least," he's said weakly.

"Yeah… I guess."

Pyrak hadn't wanted to speak about the Youth Program when pressed, not really. He'd mentioned superficial things like how the training rooms were high quality or how the medical supplies were always plentiful and state of the art. He'd brag about his position in his squad. He'd talk of his victories. Of his success.

But never about life.

So desperately Goku had wanted to ask Thirty-Two. But already, he'd been pushed back. Before the hijacking, Thirty-Two hadn't been exactly obliging when questioned about the Program. He doubts it'll be any different now just because he's allowed a book and more time to stretch his legs than before.

"What's this?" Thirty-Two had asked when Goku had brought him his dinner last night.

"Food."

Thirty-Two had examined the bread and vegetables, and Goku had tried to look inconspicuous.

"I see," he'd said, and then stood, retreated to his room and leaving the entire meal untouched.

Later, Bulma had taken it to him herself and had returned with an empty tray.

Goku doesn't think Thirty-Two hates him, even when the others joke as much. The way Thirty-Two's gaze follows Goku around the living area is not lost on him – not only is Goku watching him, but he too, is watching Goku. He'd spared Goku. He'd prized Goku's life.

For Thirty-Two, there is value in Goku's being here.

Why?

What does he want?

What is his wish?

Goku breathes out a long breath, the thick droplets of rain stuttering at his lips, and when he turns towards the ship, he's unsurprised to find, once again, himself being observed. Yes. Watched from and by the shadows, as always.

Goku holds a finger to his lips and winks, and immediately, Thirty-Two retreats to the rear side of the ship.

Thirty-Two thinks Bulma is an intelligent person, albeit an incredibly intractable one. She's refusing liquid hydrogen out of sheer snobbery, despite that being the best option right now, or really, the only option right now because the only space stations in this jurisdiction are Frost Empire ran. Premium liquid hydrogen is sourced from this planet, for god's sake. It's high quality. Does she not understand how difficult it is to get decent fuel these days? Now there's the war, prices have hiked. Embargos are in place…

It's an odd feeling, to be sour about such a thing. He almost enjoys the simplistic nature of it. It makes him forget about his shackles as he focuses on something – anything – other than his ridiculous situation with these people.

"Come get some food with us," Bulma had earlier demanded, "Ytvl's paying."

"No."

"Don't be stubborn."

"I'm not hungry."

She'd groaned. "You say that as though you're not wasting away."

Thirty-Two hates being bothered about his weight, and so ignores her until she'd grown bored enough to leave him to do his maintenance work on the ship.

On that note, Thirty-Two thinks it's a very nice ship. Whoever worked on it did a pretty good job because it's barely taken any damage from the asteroid storm – just external damage – which would not have been the case for many a Frost Empire ship. Nami and the other engineers would have a field day if they got their hands on it.

Above, Thirty-Two hears a gravelly sigh. Vegeta is supervising and isn't shy about letting it be known how much Thirty-Two's personal existence troubles him. It's his choice to be here. Thirty-Two isn't holding him back. The others have entered the eatery, Thirty-Two reflects bitterly, glowering at the thin, winking energy wave blocking the door, so he can join them if he feels so eager for a hot meal. Thirty-Two won't steal the ship… not with Goku hiding the dragon ball in his pocket.

Oh, yes, Goku made it strikingly obvious that he pocketed the dragon ball before leaving the ship, only to Thirty-Two of course, giving him a wink as he disembarked. It's insurance for Thirty-Two to stick around.

Thirty-Two halts his work on the ship, looking through damp windows and at the bustle of people.

It sure would have been nice to go in there to steal some sugar sachets…

They're staying the night.

Thirty-Two knew it was a possibility, but he didn't expect this.

The mighty prince of the Saiyan people, Vegeta, pukes into a bush. Bulma is behind, rubbing his back as he garbles incoherent instruction discontentedly. The rain has stopped but the wind is still sharp, with real worry that it'll blowback royal upchuck. Beyond, the music of the eatery plays on with wind instruments and the low bass of something Thirty-Two isn't familiar with. It'd been nice to read along with, his torch illuminating Ytvl's book under the cloudy night sky – a break in the storm – until Vegeta tumbled out drunkenly.

"Whadyer lookin' at!" he'd attempted.

The alcohol content of the beer is reportedly 23.7%, which explains this.

Thirty-Two could kill him very easily, he reflects, turning the page, and it's a lie to say he isn't at least the tiniest bit tempted, even with Bulma there. A knife in the back. An energy ball down the throat. The options are endless. But Goku wouldn't stand for that, would he? And Thirty-Two doesn't want to risk his chance for the dragon balls.

"I told you not to match Pyrak drink for drink!" Bulma shouts when her patience snaps like the fine thread it is. "You absolute dumbass! You know you can't hold your liquor!"

Thirty-Two snorts into the book's pages.

He's sat on the sloped hood of the ship, balanced precariously as to get a good view of the eatery and everyone around. Piccolo is somewhere in the building's shadow, acting as Thirty-Two's latest babysitter, but a great weight of scrutiny has been lifted since the incident a few days ago. They foolishly have given Thirty-Two freedom.

Which he has not yet decided how to utilize.

Killing the namekian would be easy, even with his ability to "sense" Thirty-Two. He's the weakest, aside Bulma, but, in turn, he's the most cunning – the smartest. And whilst he was mobbed a few days ago, Thirty-Two knows it won't be so easily achieved again. He's not arrogant enough to inhibit a learning experience. It's a respectable trait. If Thirty-Two wasn't averse to namekians, Piccolo would be categorized as tolerable.

"Thirty-Two! Get your ass down here and help me!" Bulma daringly commands from below the nose of the ship. "Move it!"

Vegeta is weighing her down and has a long dribble of sick hanging from his mouth. His eyes are closed in sleep.

"You're joking," Thirty-Two replies.

"Do I look like I'm joking! Help me get him inside!"

Thirty-Two lowers his book, quietly gleeful to watch Vegeta slink all the way down into a puddle of mud.

Gratefully, it's an image that'll be replayed for days to come.

"…Trunkssss, get off'a …" Vegeta can be heard mumbling into a bubble of slop when Thirty-Two jumps down to watch. "…Damn… chocolate."

Thirty-Two looks down at Bulma expectantly. When the weight is too much, she allows the remainer of Vegeta to further submerge into the puddle. Slowly, he slides into his own bog.

"You're an asshole," she says, but it's without heat. Thirty-Two knows she recognizes this as his petty revenge for Vegeta's early accosting of him. "Can you at least make sure he doesn't drown while I go grab Goku?"

Thirty-Two doesn't want Goku out here so he collects Vegeta himself and turns towards the ship.

"No way," she says, "He's disgusting. I'm not having him traipse mud all the way through the ship. We can wash him up back in there."

Thirty-Two turns towards the eatery, momentarily panicked. "I'm not going inside," he says.

She groans. "Don't be difficult."

It's not that he's being difficult. Thirty-Two can't go in there, not with that shimmering, distorting light blocking the doorway, and the two men either side of it making sure all patrons enter through it. Whenever Thirty-Two has had to deal with an age wave, he's had it disconnected before entry, placing the establishment owner under duress should he do otherwise. He's hardly had the chance this time. That'd… make things complicated for him here.

There's a set of groans as a handful of men – boys – are cast backwards from the eatery in due to the wave's lash of magic. He's seen it happen a few times tonight, even with attempted partiers looking older than what Thirty-Two is, them being rejected with dramatic, loud embarrassment that has others turn and spectate.

"They've got a lady singer in there!" shouts one of the underaged.

"Whoa, her boobs are huge! I can see nipple tassels—"

Dropping Vegeta, Thirty-Two doesn't need to pretend to be disgusted by the social happening inside. "Go get Goku, then."

"Just help—"

Thirty-Two walks away.

"You asshole!" This time it is heated. "Fine. Don't you dare leave him while I'm gone!"

Bulma stomps towards the eatery, shoving aside the collective of rejected boys. They whistle after her and one shouts something that Thirty-Two can understand, but she certainly wouldn't be able to. It's for the best. She'd just cause more trouble. For their crimes, the group is sent away from the doormen, and loudly, they passby Thirty-Two as he rescues Vegeta from his puddle.

"-'s bullshit. We're old enough to be conscripted but not old enough to have a fucking drink?" complains one, "I'm less than a moon cycle away from my eighteenth winter!"

"Who'd you get conscripted for? Hailer or Cooler?"

"Does it even matter? I'm dead before my ma's even gonna' turn grey."

"I'm serving Hailer."

"Cooler for me," responds another, "But my dad's serving Hailer. How does that even work out?"

"I hate living centrally. The border divisions are a fucking state. Why don't – What? Who do you think you're looking at?" There's a tonal shift. "Think it was funny watching us get chucked on our asses?"

Thirty-Two knows he's being addressed when they saunter over, swaggering with drunken confidence. The fact they haven't been able to gain entry to the eatery hasn't been a deterrent in drinking. He stands tall when the loudest, crassest one draws close, clearly casting an impression of some kind on him because all of them slow when they reach Thirty-Two's circle of personal space.

They aren't stupid enough to try him. That's something, at least. It's a backwater planet with few visitors. He's hardly concerned for his safety.

"What?" Thirty-Two asks after tossing Vegeta wayside once more, this time not into a bank of filth like he'd previously inhabited.

The loud one isn't so loud now. His eyes scrape over Thirty-Two, weighing him up. "Where you from, outsider?"

"Outside."

The reaction catching Thirty-Two off guard. There's a gasp. "Whoa, he's Southern!"

"How the hell did you make it to planet Lontion?"

"More like why?"

All the boys laugh.

Thirty-Two does not laugh.

One of the boys whispers to another, motioning.

Eyes flit to Vegeta's crumpled form. "That your old man?"

Disgust swallowed, Thirty-Two practices his patience. "No."

"So, you just come from the Keeper's, then?"

"The what?"

"The bar back there."

"No."

"Right. I thought so. Because of the age wave, right?" continues the boy, shooting a grin, any prior aggression dust in the air, "I was going to ask you how you did it."

"I'm of age," Thirty-Two lies through grit teeth, angrier yet when eyebrows rise to hide beneath the boy's curls. Then, the boy laughs as though it's a joke. How dare—.

"Sure, you are. Why don't you drop your old man off inside that ship of yours? We don't get outsiders around here – ever, really – so you can tell us what it's like out there. With the war. We never get told anything and we fly out in two weeks."

In the face of silence, another boy leans in, his tone an attempt to lure, "…We've got moonshine."

Thirty-Two is at a loss. They want… what? Wait, what? What? His ears start to heat from the insinuation that he's the same as them, when, absolutely, he is not. Thirty-Two is a captain in the Frost Empire! Not some loitering child in aim of getting intoxicated on a street corner.

What idiotic, immature—

"We can get you a girl."

Thirty-Two shakes away his vitriol. "You should leave," he says in a warning tone. "Now."

They do, only after one of the more sensible boys suggests they go, and then less sensibly, promises them another bar that would let them in. Thirty-Two watches them go, incredulous, and horrifically self-conscious for the first time in a long time. And worse yet, when he turns around, he finds his embarrassment with an audience.

Goku blows out a whistle. "Oh boy, they sure are loud. I think maybe they should go home. They're already super drunk."

One turns and waves. "Bye-bye, Southerner!"

Again, they all laugh.

Thirty-Two snaps up his book and makes his way for the ship, passing Bulma, who doesn't say anything at all. There's no anger. Only contemplation. Her brilliant mind is working and Thirty-Two doesn't want to be near her when it reaches its conclusion.

He panics late into the evening, face to face with his bathroom mirror even though he hates his reflection. The sallow skin. Dark eyes cupped beneath by bags. His bony, hardened cheekbones. His... his puppy fat—Now, that wasn't there before.

Thirty-Two rags at his ever-growing hair, smothering it over his face.

No, it's impossible. He'd been weening himself off of the testosteroids. They'd done their job to urge puberty – they can't just… just stop working now just because he didn't finish his dosage, right? Is that how that works? That can't be how that works. Thirty-Two wouldn't regress, would he?

God… Why had those boys been laughing when he told them he's of age? Thirty-Two can pass for twenty winters. He has before. He's tall, too. Thirty-Two towers over a lot of bipedal organisms of a similar species. Where are his furs? Maybe Thirty-Two should wear them more often. They make him look broader. Stronger. Older.

Ytvl knows he's not of age. Would he be able to source the drugs for Thirty-Two? He'd bargain for them. He'd cooperate long enough for Cilo's wish.

Anything for the drugs. He doesn't care about the stretch marks on his back. They could continue in red streaks along his body for all Thirty-Two cares.

He sits on his bed, rocking.

They won't rescind his graduate status, he tells himself. They won't. Age be damned. Thirty-Two is serving. They won't send him back.

They can't.

Thirty-Two won't go back there.

The next day, the storm returns and this time with a vengeance.

"We should be able to launch this evening if we're lucky," Bulma tells the room, quietly as not to disgruntle Vegeta and his aversion to loud noises. He's resting his head in his arms over the dining table, a generous glass of water next to him which he nurses whenever thunder shakes the ship.

Thirty-Two wonders if those senzu beans can heal a hangover, though it would be a waste of their incredible properties. Would it be a good idea to swipe them before he leaves? How difficult would it be to break into the office? Would they even be in the same place?

He looks up at where the CCTV were once placed in their different spots around room, only to be remembered by their curling copper wiring.

"I hope you're not up to no good," Goku says, taking the chair opposite, next to Thirty-Two's window. "The pancakes were great this morning, huh? I made them."

Thirty-Two spares a look at his empty plate, suddenly nauseous, and Goku grins at the expression, which, if anything, makes the nausea grow worse.

"What do you want?" Thirty-Two asks, disliking the invasion of personal space.

"Well, actually—"

"Did you two hear me?" Bulma bites out, hands to hips, brows raised, as she also lingers annoyingly close. "Launching this evening. Got it? So, don't go too far from the ship after six. Oh, oh, you're—okay, I'll leave you to it."

Well, that was odd. Now, Thirty-Two is nauseous and apprehensive, but when he stands to attention to flee to his room Goku's hand curls around his wrist.

"I need to talk to you," he says, uncharacteristically serious.

Thirty-Two pulls but the grip is like a vice. As recalled, this is the man he knew he would not have been able to out muscle during their meeting at the tavern. When lightning forks outside, Thirty-Two turns to watch it cut the skyline in two, the arm dangling between them a chain. Panic wells in his chest.

"Fine," Thirty-Two says, proud that his voice didn't shake in such circumstances. He slowly sits in his previously occupied seat, hopeful of being freed. Goku's hand is very warm. "What?"

With a smile, Goku releases his prisoner. "I never got to tell you my, uh, what did Ytvl call it? Uh… my tathos."

"Your pathos," Thirty-Two assists.

Goku clicks his fingers. "That's it. My why." Thirty-Two slowly and gently pulls back, and Goku releases him, the smile disconcertedly kind. If it's supposed to unarm him then it's failing. "I lost my son around about ten years ago, during the destruction of planet Namek, after my fight with Frieza."

Thirty-Two orders himself to empty his expression, to sit and to listen – to not draw attention to himself – and to get this over with. At least they're not talking about the Youth Program, Thirty-Two tells himself, but it's only a small mercy.

"He's fifteen years old now. Alive, which I know because of the dragon balls, but missing. Their power can't reach him, and don't ask me why because I've been asking the same thing for the last ten years." Goku stares at his knuckles, yet only fleetingly. His attention returns to Thirty-Two. "I've been looking for him since it happened, except for things got rough on my own planet and I had to help back there… but I've come up with nothing in my travels. Nothing at all. I didn't have any good connections, well, up until recently when I started helping out Cilo. Bulma, Vegeta, Piccolo and Krillin joined me and it all got kinda' crazy."

"Okay," Thirty-Two says diplomatically when Goku doesn't continue.

"Ytvl thinks he found something."

Then, Thirty-Two remembers their conversation from the night of the hijacking. He'd almost completely forgotten.

"Ytvl thinks my son was trafficked."

"Oh."

"They found receipts."

"I see."

"Yeah…" Goku coughs. "Were you…?"

Thirty-Two stares through Goku, as opposed to as him. "Was I what?"

"I just…" There's a sigh. Goku scratches at the back of his neck. "I'm sorry. I don't know. Bulma suggested I bring this up with you 'cause you may have had a similar experience. Pyrak said he was bought directly from his planet. Ytvl, too. Was it the same for you?"

"Why are we having this conversation, Goku?"

"I want to know what my son could have gone through."

Thirty-Two turns to look outside when another crack of lightning cleaves the grey apart. "My father was a notable warrior," he says, "And I followed in his steps. He offered me into the Youth Program out of his love for the Frost Empire. There is little to uncover about my…" Thirty-Two searches for the word, coolly, as though he's not drowning in both fear and a second language, "origin."

"Oh. So… if your dad loved the Empire so much then why are you betraying it?"

"What?"

"I don't know. It seems like it doesn't make sense."

"I don't need to explain myself."

"Right, but still... I'm just saying."

"Why are you talking with me about such things?"

There's another stretch of silence, one which make Thirty-Two grow irate.

"What do you want the dragon balls for, Thirty-Two?"

There's a scoff. "And you? What do you want them for? They did not work for your son then and they will not work for your son this time," Thirty-Two pushes back, heated.

Goku matches it. "We don't know that."

"You do otherwise we would be going directly to Cilo to summon the dragon, instead of an undisclosed location I'm not allowed to know about."

"I-It's a lead."

Thirty-Two clicks his tongue. "Let me guess. Did Ytvl feed it you? Did he whisper the very words you wanted to hear when you found your alliance with him unfruitful? How he likes to keep you busy."

"He's more honest than you."

"I'm not pretending to be your ally."

"Then why did you spare me back at the Green Snow Tavern?"

Thirty-Two meets dark eyes. His own eyes. They're the same furious shade of black-grey. Never more disgusted, Thirty-Two stands and makes way for his room, this time refusing to be caught by Goku. He'll snap his own arm free if he must. Right now, he can't deal with this man. With any of it.

"I'll find Gohan."

Thirty-Two stops. It's involuntary. His legs are fragile, like glass.

"What?" he sneers.

"My son," Goku explains, "Whatever it takes. It doesn't matter what happened if he was trafficked, how impossible it's supposed to be to find him, how the odds are stacked against me, I'll find him. Even if you won't help. Or Ytvl. Or if—"

The rumble of thunder outside pierces his chest. His head swims with static, overflowing with stimulation, as though Goku is shouting directly into his ear. Yet, he hears nothing else.

Gohan.

"Thirty-Two, Thirty-Two, Thirty-Two, Thirty-Two…" his Overseer would repeat, "It's more than a number. Head down. Eyes front, boy. Thirty-Two is what symbolizes you. A number. Nothing else. Thirty-Two."

Thirty-Two.

Not a name.

Not Gohan.

Thirty-Two.

Thirty-Two. Thirty-Two. Thirty-Two. Thirty-Two…

He…

God… he… God… Head down. Eyes front.

Vomit… in his chest. Fire. His head hurts. He slaps it – just once – because that always works.

Is Goku still talking?

Head down. Eyes front.

It's silent even though the windows are vibrating in dance with the thunder.

A slicing whistle.

And then, "Thirty-Two?"

Goku's hand is on his arm. It's hot. Thirty-Two snatches himself away, making haste to put as much distance between him and Goku as possible.

Outside, the storm rages on, dragging for longer than anticipated.

They don't depart until the next morning, leaving for somewhere that, unbeknownst to Thirty-Two at the time, will end in bloodshed.