Dragon Ball Z 1. Chapter 1

A/N; This has gone through some basic revision; please let me know what you think.

_Hate is just another kind of love._

Bulma stared across the table at the Prince of the Saiyajin, and wished that within the span of the fifteen years it'd taken Vegeta to completely enslave the human race, that she'd been able to kill him when she'd had the chance. There had only been the one, and she'd still used it to her advantage, but the ace up her sleeve this time wouldn't be enough.

"How long has it been, woman?" Dark eyes watched her carefully; he'd learned the hard way that giving her just a moment to collect herself could be…disadvantageous.

"Since we last saw each other? Two, maybe three months. You glad you saved your little flunkies?" she smirked to hide the fear, blew her bangs out of her eyes, and fingered the magnetic strip on the manacles.

"Since the last time I had you like this."

Oh. Well, if he was going to bring it up, then what was a poor girl to do, besides tell the truth?

"Eleven years." Had to do it carefully, always carefully, no knowing which way he'd lean this time. "But to be fair, we've fucked a couple of times over the years. That how it's gonna go this time?"

"I haven't decided yet." His grin was feral, as she watched him take in her ripped clothes and bruising lip. "You wont escape this time. I rather…enjoy your company, when you aren't actively trying to kill me." Vegeta let his eyes linger over her still lush body, remembering.

"I'm always actively trying to kill you, you pompous, inbred fuck-wit." Same trick never works twice with you anyway, she added silently.

"How could my best enemy do any less?" Vegeta smiled, all fang and lethal affection.

"I've done better." Her smile was cold and wide with her secret triumph. One last trap to spring on the sanctimonious prick.

"Have you, now?" Vegeta laughed; she was human, pathetically weak. Fiercely intelligent. If she'd been born Saiyajin, he could have made her the first queen in a hundred years.

"You're going to wait for an audience to kill me, Vegetable Head, because you're a vain fop with an ego to inflate. You gonna break your favorite toy in front of Daddy, and show him what a big, strong man you are?" the blank slate dropped into his black eyes, and she smirked at the little victory. "He's getting awfully tired of your little distractions here on Earth, isn't he? Time for you to go home and get serious, isn't it?" She mocked him because she knew he hated it, and she knew because they'd fought for so long.

I should love someone I know so well, she thought. But I hate him, hate him hatehim_hatehimhatehim_…

"You're right, we are waiting for an audience. I cant wait to kill your sources, either, since its obviously someone high up. There are only a handful of Saiyajin who were told that my father would be here. Cant be any of Raditz or Kakarrot's little toys, since they had a little spring cleaning. Nappa? He's got a slew of useful girls for you to utilize. Pity he goes through them so quickly you don't actually have time to get anything useful." Vegeta smiled at the taunt look on her face, and watched for the next blow.

Spring cleaning? Then Rachelle and Chi Chi were dead, and Racine and Gohan were in the pens. It'd been six months since she'd heard from them; she'd suspected, but hadn't known. Yaumcha was working the pens though, sneaking the halfbreeds out in ones and twos; he'd recognize a familiar face. Vegeta was right about Nappa, though; the man was a death trap for an agent. And it wasn't like she could just come out and say that she'd tapped their scouters, because Saiyajin were technologically retarded. If it weren't for the fact that they got technology from Freeza for their prowess in battle, humans would have won years ago.

"Doing a little spring cleaning of your own then. Bad idea, letting Daddy see your little mess down here. I don't think you'll be as thorough as Raditz or Kakarrot, though." She was guessing, didn't know what he was expecting her to do, but the lingering look he gave sent shivers down her spine. She wished they weren't remotely pleasant.

"I highly doubt that." He shot out of his chair suddenly, came around the table between them, and stood nose to nose with her. "I've let you have your fun, woman, and now it ends."

It'll definitely end tonight, and I'll definitely be dead, but at least you'll be dead with me, you bastard. She knew Trunks was lurking around somewhere, she's specifically told him not to follow her when Raditz and Kakarrot had come for them, so of course he would. He must have picked that up from Piccolo, because Yaumcha and Tien knew better than to go against her direct orders.

"Vegeta, you couldn't kill me if your life depended on it, and I'll tell you why." She didn't know how chilly her smile was, but it gave the Saiyajin prince pause. Just enough of an edge to make her dangerous, now that she had no way out.

"I'm all agog."

Four years of serious all-out war, and another eleven of playing the 'stay alive' game, and in between, an indefinable emotion and a ten-year-old son. He'd seen the purple-haired brat only a handful of times; never known his name, only spoken to him once. He'd been charging through a decoy base, seen a flash of movement, and followed it. Her eyes, looking out of his own face, by the time he'd cornered the brat; those slanted blue eyes had held no fear, as the child had stood and stared. Vegeta didn't know how he knew, except that the brat had smirked. That smirk was _genetic_. He'd grabbed the boy by the back of his shirt, ripped the vent out, and shoved the brat one way as he fired a ki blast in the opposite; "Run," he grunted to the boy before Nappa came tearing around the corner, using a human head like a bowling ball to knock a fleeing victims' knees out. He'd sympathized with Kakarrot and Raditz, who'd put up a whole-hearted fight for their half-breed sons, but nothing stood in the way of Nappa upholding the finest traditions of the Saiyajin. At least the brothers had known the names of their sons; Vegeta made sure Nappa never knew they'd been sneaking slaves out to the mountains, letting humans drop off the radar. .

"You cant stand to kill your best enemy." Her voice was still cold, and he let it break over him. "Saiyajin live to fight, and humans fight to survive. You love the fact that I'm a challenge, that I'm giving our little war my all, and with me dead, there just wont be any fun anymore. I am your greatest weakness, Vegeta, because when I'm dead, you're not going to have anyone to fight but yourself."

He kissed her, gently; she half-hated herself for leaning into it with her lips parted. He didn't jump back when the double-doors were thrown open, but Bulma did, staring at the new comer with wide eyes. .

"My son." The man coming through the door was a carbon copy of the Prince. Grey streaks in the wild upswept hair, a goatee, and harder, darker eyes, if that were possible. "Why do I have the sinking feeling that you've dragged me halfway across the galaxy to watch you play with your toys? Aren't you bored with this world yet?"

So that's where he gets it from, she thought. That sneer must have been around for generations. She hoped Trunks didn't pick it up anytime soon.

"My father." Vegeta bowed to the older man, then turned to the man who'd trailed behind the king. "Prophet Bardock, how good of you to come. I'm so pleased you could make it, father. I'd like you to take note of this woman, Bulma Briefs. She's been leading the revolt on this planet since our first invasion. She has, despite my best efforts, been resilient, resourceful, and effective."

"Either shut up or get to the point, brat," the King growled and crossed his arms, having long ago lost his patience. He didn't even look at Bulma, keeping his baleful glare focused on the source of his ire.

"My time on this planet has not been a waste, is the point. She fights better than any tactician Freeza could hope to have, and she does it with the bare minimum of resources, against staggering odds, and with no hope of winning. Freeza-"

"I've got one hope." They turned to look at her, and the slow, lazy smile curving her lips gave her enemy pause. "Your son will kill you, Vegeta. I know this, because I gave birth to him, I raised him, I trained him. I've already tried to warn you; I am your greatest weakness."

The flash of ki blinded her, but it didn't really matter, because she was dead before she hit the floor.

"That is quite enough of that. Bardock, make sure he hunts down the brat she was babbling on about, and kills it himself. I want this planet destroyed before you set foot on Vegetasie again, my son." The king turned to leave through the doors he'd come in through, and as he did so, a streak of purple shot past them with a visceral little sound.

The kid reached down to brush the blue hair out of her pale face, breathing heavily. A tentative "Mom?" and then, dully, "You killed her, you killed her, _youkilledher_…" a sharp intake of breath, "MOM!" at the top of his lungs, that turned into a sound every Saiyajin understands.

The primal sound of rage building up, with only one place to go. Most Saiyajin don't turn golden, though, with a pulse of power beating everything else back, standing now-blond hair up on end, or pupil-less green eyes wide with destructive intent. The kid didn't have to attack, really; the first ki blast blew a hole the size of a basket ball through the kings chest. He stood, panting, thin shoulders heaving, and only when the glow had faded, and Vegeta could see that his eyes were big and blue again, did the prince reach out and turn the boy gently by the shoulder.

"Boy," he started, and stopped, because how do you offer comfort to a son you've never known? Just the one time they'd barely spoken, a handful of glimpses across a field of slaughter, and some long, knowing stares.

"You brought her here. She wouldn't have died if you hadn't brought her here!" Such accusation, such hatred…his hair was an odd shade of purple, and he'd gotten her eyes, but the rest was Saiyajin; the boy even moved like he did. "She only went because she didn't want them to find me!"

"I'm sorry." The only thing in his life he'd ever apologized for. What the hell was he thinking? But the boy paused, hiccupped, and flung his arms around Vegeta's waist as he started sobbing. She obviously hadn't taught him to hate well enough. And maybe he'd been around humans too long, because he let one hand cradle the back of the boy's neck, without any urge to snap it.

"Vegeta." Bardock called, and the prince looked up sharply, curling his tail around the boy defensively. "Killing a Super Sayajin would be…a waste of resource. Hide the boy, claim the throne, and get the hell off this rock before you let it destroy you, if it hasn't already." The older Saiyajin knelt, ripped the blue pendant from the dead king's neck, and held it out to Vegeta.

He took it without thinking, and stared between the pendant and the boy for a long moment. Gently, like handling a bomb about to go off, he held the boy away from him.

"Boy." Trunks looked up, hiccupped one last time, and wiped the tears away. "You see that sword?" Vegeta pointed to the blade hanging above the mantle across the room. "Take it, and use every trick your mother ever taught you. You've got the next two days to make it look like you've driven me off this rock, and I promise you, we'll leave. Every Sayajin will leave. Now, go." No use asking if the boy was ready, because there wouldn't be time to wait. The boy hauled the sword down from the mantle, and only paused to look back once, right before he went diving through the window. "Tell me your name, boy." He'd need the sound of the boy's name, because there wasn't anything else left of her.

"Trunks. My name is Trunks Briefs." The boy paused for a moment longer, looking as if he wanted to say something else. Changed his mind, and dove into the night.

"You'll look weak to the court, losing a world within the first few days of your kingship." Bardock warned, then smirked. "It's a good strategy. You'll have to play into their hands for a few years, but if they underestimate you enough, you'll have the chance to eradicate the rot your father's alliance with Freeza has brought. The lower classes will revolt if you let it get out of hand, though. It'll take time, Vegeta, and you've never been the patient type."

"Bardock, I spent fifteen years fighting a woman I could have killed a hundred times over. I think I've learned a thing or two about patience that I didn't know before." Vegeta stared at the pendant as he spoke, then at the ki-charred bodies lying on the floor.

Patience, determination, and cunning disguised as courage; he'd learned a few things here. The planet, and the boy, would come in handy later. He'd let the boy nick him with the sword, and Kakarrot and Raditz would rush to get him up off the planet, and Bardock would hold Nappa back and get everyone else up off the ground. Back into their ships, back to Vegetasie. The court would think he'd run away from one little problem back to the supposed safety of the home world, and his greatest enemies would align themselves within the first year. He'd have to draw the battles out, give them hope, before he killed them. Play the vain fop, and let her laugh from her grave. Years of not quite killing someone teaches you more than a few things.

And in the end, he laughed at the sight of his son charging, backed on either side by halfbreed versions of Raditz and Kakarrot, and let the boy run him through three times before he hauled him in close, and whispered goodbye, before Raditz grabbed him under the arms and shot skyward. He'd left the bodies of his father and his best enemy where the boy could find them, and left it up to him.

Trunks might hate him, but the boy already knew what his parents had spent his entire life trying to figure out; hate really is just another kind of love.


	2. Chapter 2

_Fathers and sons are not so different, no matter the distance and time._

Trunks watched the bustling little town, and tried not to touch the pommel of his sword. Six years of freedom, and the human race was staggering back to its knees; everyone had been doing fine, getting on with their lives, rebuilding after the Saiyajin. Statues were popping up all over the place, for all the brave souls who'd died fighting.

Brave souls my ass, Trunks thought as the people bustled past him on the busy street. He sat under the canopy of the little cantina, watching the humming street, perfectly still as the crowd gathered to watch the figures in the center of the square. Some had fought, some had submitted, and most had died; life wasn't eventualities, it was casualties. Most of the half-breeds had razed the pens and pits, and slaves had melted down their shackles to make farming implements.

Six years of peace, and the human race was moving on.

Trunks let the deadly calm of waiting for a battle settle over him as he watched the crowd watching Raditz and Kakarrot. They were sitting at the well in the center of the town, just waiting. Their ship had landed yesterday; without harming anyone, they'd made it perfectly clear that no damage would ensue, as long as Trunks Briefs turned up and accepted the message he'd been sent from Prince Vegeta. King Vegeta, now.

"You think it's worth listening to?" Trunks asked Yaumcha, not turning to see the reaction on the scarred face. It was already set in a hard mask, and Trunks knew that Yaumcha was waiting in the same pool of deadly calm that he was in; Yaumcha had taught him how to find it.

"The call's on you, kid." Yaumcha spoke without taking his eyes off the Saiyajin in the square. Trunks disregarded the 'kid' part, mostly out of deference for his old teacher, but in part because the man had set four separate pens loose the night before they'd driven Vegeta off the planet. Trunks didn't feel bad about the sparse details he'd given Yaumcha – Bulma was dead, Vegeta was making a coup, they had two days. There was nothing to regret, because they'd won.

Trunks didn't care that it had been a hollow victory.

"If it's not important, we can just kill them and leave it at that," Krillin shrugged and sipped his can of grape soda. Trunks shrugged, a physical indication that he'd heard the shorter man. Krillin and Roshi had been fun to train with, although it had come after the Saiyajin; they'd been at the final battle, though, somehow reached through his mothers networks.

"It's the third one I'm worried about," Tien recrossed his legs without taking them off the little table, and then recrossed his arms.

"Gohan and Racine are tailing the third one. Anyone else think it's weird, the way he looks just like Kakarrot?" Piccolo said from the shade, a few feet behind the members sitting around the table.

They're collective eyes turned toward the third Saiyajin as he walked towards the well. He was old for a Saiyajin, with peppered hair and a red bandana, and a crossed scar on his cheek. Raditz and Kakarrot were automatically deferential as he approached, which didn't bode well, because they'd been Vegeta's main flunkies. It was more widely known, now, that they'd been sneaking humans out under Vegeta's nose, but they'd had to kill to keep their cover. Trunks watched with narrowed eyes, a minor detail nagging at the back of his mind.

"Vegeta could've sent them for any number of reasons. Hey, Gohan, Racine; what's up?" Trunks stood to greet the two half-breeds as they circled around the building, deliberately turning his back to the Saiyajin in the square.

"He just flew around, checking shit out," Racine eyed the three over Trunks' shoulder, his tail lashing behind him in agitation.

"Kind of touristy, you know?" Gohan stuck his thumbs into his jean pockets, rocked back on his heels, and looked pensive for a moment. "Definitely knew we were there. Powerful, but he's not nobility. If you're gonna see what it's all about, then Racine and I will go with you. Everyone else should hang back." Gohan nudged Racine, who agreed with a non-committal grunt. "Don't you want to, cousin?"

"I want to rip the bastard's heart out," Racine growled, hate seeping out of him as he glared across the way.

"Don't be stupid," the bark was sharp and unexpected, coming from Gohan. "Your mother died because he loved her, not because he actually killed her. If you're going to kill him, then pick a better reason. There are plenty."

"Forgive my lack of moral high ground," Racine snarled, his tail puffing up as it lashed.

"Its not moral high ground, its common sense. I don't want to kill Kakarrot because he abandoned me; I want to kill him because he killed hundreds of thousands of people. It's that simple." Gohan turned from his cousin and raised his eyebrows at Trunks. "You ready?"

"Let's roll," Trunks grinned as he turned toward the Saiyajin. The older men turned to focus on the trio as they walked closer, waiting patiently.

"You're looking for Trunks Briefs?" Trunks asked, speaking to Raditz and Kakarrot; they both turned to look at the older one, deferential without even thinking about it.

"Yeah, we're lookin' for ya, kid. Your father sent you a little note." Trunks froze, searching for the face in his memory. He'd heard the voice before, a long time ago. He caught the holographic projector out of habit, not out of focus, and kept staring at the man.

"How do you know who my father is?" He didn't mean for his voice to be so hard, but the anger was boiling up. He clamped down on the power, kept his ki low, and watched them.

"I was there, kid, the night you got that useless stick, and at that last little skirmish. You did a good job; it's hard to fake killing someone." The man grinned, not watching Trunks, but Gohan and Racine. "How much do your little friends know, kid?"

He could feel the look Gohan and Racine were sharing behind his back, that sidelong glance thing they did that made it look like they'd had the same thought at the same time. Trunks had let a few things slip when they'd trained together, and maybe they'd added it up before this, but the confirmation? When it doubt, bluff.

"They know everything. Everyone who knows is here. Watching you, and waiting for my signal, on weather or not you leave this planet alive." Trunks didn't have to look over his shoulder to know that Gohan and Racine were starting to smirk a little, but the old man laughed hard, and it caught him off guard.

"You're okay, kid. You'll give your old man a run for his money." And the name hit him, across the years.

"You'd know that better than I would, Bardock. Now, can you tell me what he really wants? Because he sure as hell isn't going to say it in this," he waved the holographic recording for emphasis.

"You'd be surprised, but sure. It's pretty easy if you understand the politics. Daddy quarantined the fuck out of this rock when we left, made it look liked he'd run out when the going got tough, and came back to the so-called shelter of Vegetasie. We figured his major enemies would out themselves within the first year, and sure, the dumb-fucks died first, but now we've got a little revolution brewing. Daddy made himself look too weak for too long, and now the commoners don't know what to do. Don't know how much you know about Freeza, but for as bad as you think the Saiyajin are, we ain't got nothin' on this sick bastard. We've got a couple treaties with him, but the minute your father screws up, the entire Saiyajin race goes bye-bye, and along with it, all the red tape protecting this little mud-ball. So come to Vegetasie with me, kill all the Saiyajin standing in our way, and Earth stays happy and healthy. You come with me, and I'll leave my boys here to protect it for you while you're gone."

"Do you want them to die? Your boys," Racine spat the word, "Have killed millions of our people, and now you think we're going to let them 'protect' us? Not fuckin' likely," he'd come a little forward, stood shoulder to shoulder with Trunks, and cocked his chin in such a way that would have gotten him beat to death just over six years ago.

"How many did they save?" Bardock asked sharply. "A man who loses a son has lost the greatest treasure of his life; a man who finds a son is given a second chance at a life he never knew he could have. And every man deserves a second chance." Bardock cocked his chin in exactly the same manner, and grinned.

"Too little, too late, Mr. Bardock. We don't care about what they want. The people they killed didn't get a second chance, and neither will they." Gohan could look hard, when he wanted to, and it was scary to see that in someone so gentle.

"What about what your mother wants?" Bardock said the words calmly, but Raditz jumped to his feet, and Trunks just barely caught Racine as he lunged. "Sit down." The tone brooked no argument, and for the first time in his life, Trunks saw a Saiyajin sulk.

"You promised." Raditz snarled, his tail lashing behind him, puffed out in his fury.

"Not my fault that a woman is a mans greatest weakness. Just look where it's gotten His Highness. You're lucky there's even some part of her that's still alive. I know I am."

There was a long, low growl, and Raditz and Bardock turned exasperated looks toward Kakarrot. "Didn't we just feed you? Raditz, when did your brother last eat?"

"We only had breakfast two hours ago, Dad, and it was fruit, I cant help it if we didn't have anything that sticks to the ribs, and you said we couldn't go hunting because we'd scare the humans, and-"

"Kakarrot, you and your brother might both be mine, but you're both pure-bred halfwits. Raditz, go feed your brother, and you two," he motioned to Gohan and Racine, "keep these two idiots out of trouble for longer than three minutes. It's harder than you think. You, kid, go find some place quiet and listen to that a few times. I expect the four of you back within thirty minutes, and you've got 'till sundown. Fuck off now, all of you."

Kakarrot was in the air before Bardock had finished speaking, and Trunks hung around just long enough to see Bardock walking towards the table he'd left Yaumcha, Krillin, and Tien sitting at, waving a pack of battered cards. Well, there were worse things.

He flew to the crater where the pens had been, just in case his father said anything sentimental. Wouldn't be Vegeta's style, but precautions never hurt anyone. He'd only been in the pens once, less than an hour after his mother had died. He'd gone straight to Yaumcha, hoping his old teacher had an idea. Gohan and Racine had been there, looking a hell of a lot worse for wear than the last time Trunks had seen them. Trunks had only found out later why they were in there to begin with; at the time, he'd had two days to pull off the miracle that his mother hadn't managed to pull off for fifteen years.

He looked around at the charred earth, and wondered. Saiyajin that had fathered half-breed children weren't allowed to keep them, mostly because half-breeds on principal were weak, and therefore unworthy. Their entertainment value was pretty high; to a 'true' Saiyajin, Trunks imagined that they likened half-breeds fighting in the pits to gladiator fights. Throw two of them in a pit, and bet on which one dies first. And if they didn't fight, send a real Saiyajin in to beat them to death. Gohan had explained the basics, but he wouldn't talk about the six months he and his cousin had spent in the pens, waiting to die. Racine had only alluded to it once, and Gohan had broken three of his ribs for it. Saiyajin would pay to see just about anything fight, though.

Humans, on the other hand - and what a hand it was – had been slaves meant for work and occasional entertainment, although procreating with them was looked down on by the Saiyajin snobs fresh from Vegetasie. Most of the half-breeds that had survived had never known their fathers, or refused to talk about them. Racine and Gohan had been well hidden and well cared for by their fathers, which was odd, and why they didn't talk about it. When Trunks had first met them - he must have been seven at the time, just after the first time his father had spoken to him - the two had genuinely loved their fathers. Trunks knew he did not, nor ever would, understand, and left it at that. The hate had settled in and become familiar to them, which was just love in another form. Trunks had watched his parents confront each other on numerous occasions; he had always doubted, always been unsure, and for as much as he hated Vegeta for what had been done, every boy wants to love their father.

Trunks hit the play button, dropped the hologram in the dirt, and stepped back. His father's image shot up, blue and translucent, facing just a little to the right of where Trunks was standing. He moved around so that his father was looking him in the eye, while someone out of the picture muttered about lighting and angle.

"Is it on? I don't give a fuck how it looks you idiot, just get out!" Vegeta barked, waited for the hurried slam of a door, and spoke again. "Trunks Briefs." A long, indrawn breath and a heavy sigh. "Fuck, boy, I honestly know nothing about you to persuade you to haul your ass halfway across the galaxy just to save my throne. If you come, then Earth and Vegetasie will be safe for the foreseeable future. If you don't, then you'll have to kill your enemies as they come to your door, but at least you'll have gotten what your mother wanted. I need two things from you, boy. A lot of Saiyajin dead, and an heir. I can't put you on the throne, and I am…unable to conceive. But a mostly Saiyajin grandson, that I can pass off as my own son, is the best solution. Which brings us to another point, because I'll need you to stick around long enough to train the boy. Freeza is going to come knocking at my door as soon as this revolution is over, demanding my heir in payment for not blowing us to kingdom come, because he knows I'm not going to honor my father's treaty with him. You think the pens were bad, boy? Live with Freeza for ten years, and tell me how much worse off those half-breeds were. At least they knew we wouldn't rape them for sport, and they knew how they'd die." Vegeta paused for a long moment, looking down and far away. When he spoke again, he wasn't anything other than a tired man. "If nothing else, let me see you one last time, before I die." Men like Vegeta never begged, but they never asked for anything unless there was absolutely no other alternative.

The image of Vegeta reached out and turned the recording device off, and the picture disappeared. Trunks stared at the little blue oval for a long time, then at the surrounding remains. Things had already started growing here, and an alter had been set up some ways away, where the survivors came to remember their friends, or the ones they'd killed to stay alive. Often both. If there were ever even an attempt to repeat what they Saiyajin had done…the human race wouldn't survive something so horrific with so little time to heal. Protect the people, at all costs. His mother hadn't taught him that, but he'd learned it the hard way, over the past six years. He scooped up the holographic projector, and walked all the way back to the little town he'd left Bardock in. It took him a few hours, time enough to weigh the pros and cons, and to change his mind. He didn't, though, and as he walked up to the little table, he smiled as all of his old teachers yelled and cheated and glared, focused hard on the battered cards. Yaumcha must have talked Piccolo into playing, because the Namek was hunched suspiciously over his hand, eyeing the other players. He stopped at Bardock's elbow, and waited until he'd gotten their full attention. It only took a couple of moments of looming quietly.

"I'll be going with you to Vegetasie."

"Fuckin' beautiful. Do me a favor, and go find my half-breeds, and see if they've managed to keep my halfwits from giving each other even more brain damage. I severely doubt it, but a man can hope." Bardock didn't even look up from the cards, but Trunks smiled.

"You guys need anything before I go?" He knew Krillin would want –

"Grape soda, please!" And Yaumcha would want –

"Bourbon." And Tien usually chimed in around now –

"Bourbon and a chaser." Piccolo didn't usually –

"Water."

Trunks smiled, and went into the cantina for the drink order; when he came back out with it, they were still absorbed enough in their card game that when he took off to go find Gohan and Racine, they didn't notice him go.

Trunks had known their mothers briefly, had fought their fathers alongside them…and fathers and sons each deserved the chance to get to know each other.

Every one gets a second chance, he thought as he flew towards the bright points of their ki, but not all of us take them.

I will.


	3. Chapter 3

_Change is the only constant of the human heart._

Kakarrot stared at the long black wall full of names, arms folded and head slightly bowed. He'd been in the same position for several hours, hidden from view of the constant stream of mourners by the stand of trees several yards away. He finally turned as he felt Gohan edge closer, partially facing the younger man.

"Her name isn't on that wall." Simple and direct, without guile; familiar to Gohan in ways he didn't want to remember.

"No." He paused, debated weather or not to share the information, then relented. "There's a marker up where the cottage used to be. Just for her."

"Used to be?"

"I blasted it."

There was a long pause, and Kakarrot turned to face Gohan completely.

"Did it help?"

"No."

Kakarrot nodded, uncrossed his arms, and moved further back into the trees. Gohan followed him, telling himself the man couldn't be left alone for the sake of public safety.

"I looked in the pens for you," Kakarrot didn't look back at the younger man as he spoke, keeping his eyes forward and unreadable.

"You didn't look hard enough." Gohan barely saw the fist coming, but it only knocked him over, and didn't even draw blood.

"I looked!" Gohan stared up at his father for a long moment, weighing his options. He went with his gut, which hadn't steered him wrong so far.

"Its this way." He leapt into the air, wondering why someone worse than Hitler deserved a second chance. Not a second chance, he told himself, although he had a terrible habit of not believing himself when he lied to his subconscious.

They landed in a clearing that had mostly grown over again; the ring of stones that marked where the house had once been, and at the center, a single black headstone. Kakarrot ran his hands over the smooth surface, kneeling in front of it like some kind of alter.

"I never thought it was wrong to kill, until I met her."

Gohan almost gaped, then chose to keep his mouth shut.

"I killed the people I should have protected. I can feel it in my bones, everyday, just how wrong it was." He leaned his forehead on the headstone, and his voice went softer. "You were right; it was too little, too late. I never should have left, Gohan."

"Then why did you?" Gohan hadn't meant for his tone to be so harsh, especially in this place, at this time. But it was, and he wasn't particularly sorry.

"I thought my duty to my Prince outweighed my duty here." Simple and to the point. And honest.

"What is your duty here?"

"You, mostly. But if Trunks fails, if he can't kill Freeza, then at least I'll die defending what I should have defended from the beginning."

"Is he really that powerful?"

"Like you wouldn't believe, Gohan."

They were silent for a long moment, before Gohan brushed the dirt off a box half-buried near the edge of the foundations. He pulled a cast iron skillet out of it, and brought it to Kakarrot.

"This one was her favorite. It's dented, from when she used to hit you over the head with it."

Kakarrot laughed, and cradled the skillet for so long that Gohan had to look away. When he did speak, he stood, handing the skillet back.

"I'm hungry. You remember that lake we used to fish at? I bet there's some big ones swimming around down at the bottom." Some inner switch flipped, and suddenly he was bright and happy and not at all the Saiyajin that had knelt at a human woman's grave. "Race you there!"

He was gone almost instantly, just a blue flash of ki across the sky. Gohan put the skillet back in its box and followed more sedately, wondering if he'd meant to take the second chance. He hadn't even known he'd been given one.

The wind whistled around Chi Chi's headstone, but she would have laughed to know that forgiveness had really been that simple.

"You are my sunshine," Racine sang to the deer carcass as he cut into it, "My only sunshine," he ignored the deliberate snapping twigs behind him, having already felt Raditz approach, "You make me happy, when skies are grey,"

"She used to sing that to you," Raditz interrupted, and Racine spared a glance over his shoulder long enough to convey disdain and irritation in a single withering glare. "She used to give me that same look, too."

"Take your bullshit somewhere else." Racine carefully peeled the skin away from the meat, not bothering to look up again.

"You left the marker?" When Racine didn't dignify him with an answer, Raditz pressed harder. "That was her favorite spot. There used to be a swing on the tree. She'd walk up there with you, and push you on that thing while she sang to you-"

"I remember what she used to do!" Racine snapped, caught himself before he whirled around, and focused on the carcass again.

Raditz was silent for so long Racine thought he might leave; his shoulders slumped when the older man spoke again.

"Where you with her when Nappa came?"

Racine froze with surprise; he'd thought this might be some kind of game, egg the kid on until he does something stupid, ask incredibly painful questions in the hope of eliciting some kind of reaction…he wasn't sure where this was going to go.

"What the fuck does it matter to you?" Cold and callous, and maybe he'd go away…

"I almost caught up to you in the pens, right before the last uprising. You'd already been sent out to fight when I got there. I went to watch. Worst thing I could have done. Didn't know if you'd even live through it. But you won. And they whisked you off before I could even get close."

"Yeah, I hear half-breeds are pretty good entertainment. I'm sure you had yourself a ball." Snide, push him away, as hard and long and far as it took or he would go.

"You fought well." Racine didn't know what he could possibly be choking on, but oh god, why didn't the man just shut up…"I was never more proud of you then at that last battle."

And that was what really did it. Racine abandoned the dead deer, and tore after Raditz in an unprecedented fury. When the red finally faded from his vision, he didn't recognize what beach he was lying on, but Raditz was panting in the sand next to him, dripping blood and grinning. His armor had cracked, and Racine tore the shreds of his jacket off in disgust. He'd particularly liked that one, too.

"That," Raditz laughed harder than Racine thought the situation merited, "was fun. Same time tomorrow." And he took off into the fading light of the sun without so much as a backward glance.

Racine sighed, realized that he probably wasn't going to get a very philosophical relationship with a man who liked to hit things on principal, and settled for what he could get. It would do; it was certainly easier to let the bastard in, than to put up with that bullheaded stubbornness that would be more relentless than any other force on the planet. That was where Racine felt he took after his mother; he knew when to give in, especially when the second chance wasn't going to let him pass it by.

The cherry blossoms on Rachelle's grave were a surprise, though; he hadn't thought Saiyajin paid attention to things like a human woman's favorite flowers.


	4. Chapter 4

_With a thousand lies and a good disguise, hit 'em right between the eyes._

"We're coming in on the night side of the planet, and we're landing in a relatively unpopulated area. Why?" Bardock turned from the computer console to look at Trunks, eyebrows raised.

"You're hoping we'll be relatively unnoticed." Succinct, and to the point. Several weeks of space travel with Bardock had taught him to answer questions like that.

Come to that, several weeks of space travel had taught him more about the Saiyajin culture and mindset then had previously been available on Earth. Know thy enemy, Bulma had said once, but she'd been referring to Vegeta, and not necessarily focused on the basic Saiyajin makeup, outside of what would be useful to kill them. Even during their fifteen year occupation of the planet, Trunks had never been completely submerged in the very essence of what it meant to be Saiyajin. There fourteen acceptable ways to die in battle, four acceptable relationships to have with another Saiyajin, and technology was occasionally helpful but mostly scorned. Proper greetings were so complex that Trunks had gotten lost within the first few minutes of the lecture. Bardock had recommended just keeping his mouth shut. Trunks was vaguely reminded of the Spartans, if they'd built an empire.

"Good." Bardock turned back to the computer console, and landed the ship in silence.

Trunks slung his sword over his shoulder, checked the draw, and waited. Bardock had taught him to wait, too, more than Yaumcha ever could. It wasn't the deadly calm of waiting for battle, it was a just a stillness of the body and taking careful breathes. Most Saiyajin fought quickly, all brute strength and no thought behind the movement. True, you had to trust the movement, but movement without cause was a waste of energy, a waste of time, and a weakness your enemy could exploit.

He'd been given Saiyajin armor, and he'd been taught to fight like a Saiyajin; Bardock didn't explain why it was so important that Trunks blend in. Purple hair and blue eyes not withstanding, Trunks simply did not exude the presence of imminent destruction that had been so prevalent in all the Saiyajin he'd ever met. Bardock didn't seem too despairing; in fact, he seemed to have a well-thought out plan that didn't need to be vocalized. Trunks swore as the hatch opened, and flung his ki up around himself; they'd landed near the northern polar icecap, on a small landmass separated from the main continent by a large red sea.

They stepped out into the pink snow, and Trunks tailed Bardock as the older man zipped away across the night sky. He followed Bardock complaisantly into a large cavern mouth, through the first huge, dark chamber, and then into a smaller, fire-lit chamber beyond. It was warmer here, and sheltered from the wind, but the man sitting at the back of the cave was wrapped in furs. Trunks jolted; he was old, withered and white-haired, obviously Saiyajin just from the shape of his eyes and the line of his jaw. Trunks had never even known that a full-blooded Saiyajin could have blue eyes.

"Bardock," the old man greeted, "You brought a friend. Looks like one of mine, but I've never laid eyes on him before. My, my, what have you been up to?" and then the old man cackled, manically, and there was a fire in those blue eyes that burned more brightly than intelligence; madness.

"Jardin." Bardock actually bowed, and Trunks didn't think Bardock even bowed to Vegeta. "Trunks is a half-breed, from Earth. I need you to give him the Guarding Moko."

Jardin cackled again, watching Bardock with an intensity that bordered on obsessive. "My price, my price, what is my price?" and he cackled again, holding out his open palm, waggling his fingers suggestively.

"This," and Bardock reached into his armor, and pulled out a familiar pouch. Trunks had last seen it tied on Krillin's belt, knew that its contents clicked gently like hard candy. Jardin pulled a senzou from the purple bag and licked it carefully, then cackled again.

"Magic beans, Bardock, magic beans!" Jardin didn't stop cackling for a full minute, just long enough that Trunks could feel his very last nerve begin to grate. Suddenly the madness dropped from the old man, and he turned his still-burning blue eyes on Trunks. "Take off your armor. Strip to the waist."

The pouch full of senzou disappeared into the furs, and Jardin reached around behind him and pulled a leather satchel onto his lap. He carefully untied the cords, and laid out his tools gently, kissing each item as it came out of the bag before he laid it down in front of him.

Trunks peeled off the armor and pushed the jumpsuit down, leaning armor and sword against the cave wall. He tucked his gloves into the top of his boot, before standing close to the old man.

"Jardin is going to mark you, boy. It'd going to hurt, but when it's done, no one will question where you come from. I'll be back in a day or so; I'm going to see a man about your tail." Bardock turned and left, and Jardin motioned for Trunks to sit directly in front of him.

Trunks sat with his back to the old man, and only grunted as the other man began tapping the bone chisel into his skin. The ink burned, but not so badly.

Trunks had changed his mind after the first two hours; it hurt, yes, but at least it didn't hurt as much as the time Gohan and Racine had ganged up on him a few years ago in a sparring match and sent him through a few concrete walls and several feet of packed earth when he wasn't Super Saiyajin. Or that time when Nappa had hit him with a stray ki blast and buried him under a pile of rubble when he was six.

Two hours after that, Trunks changed his mind again; the constant tapping and the burning ink hurt like hell. Worse than any injury anyone had ever given him, and he'd taken light beatings for years in the name of training.

Soon after that, Trunks passed out from the pain, and Jardin stretched him out flat on his stomach and sat on his lower back while he continued to tap the ink into his skin.

When Bardock came back, cradling a large jar under one arm and a toolbox in the other hand, Jardin had rolled the half-breed onto his back, with an animal skin between his freshly tattooed back and the cold ground. Bardock knelt next to the two of them, and studied the intricate blue lines.

"Jardin," he spoke softly, just in case, but the old man was too engrossed in his work. "What exactly will he be guarding, Jardin?" Bardock tried to follow the pattern, and got lost in the complex swirl of blue centering over the boys heart.

"Guards this world. Guards own world. Guards father and throne, son and self. Guards Light. Guards Dark. He is Guardian." Jardin didn't look up from his work, and made only a vicious, half-hearted stab at Bardock when the younger man made to touch him. "Guardians always tear themselves apart, Bardock. No need to watch him; the Guardian will guard himself."

Bardock sighed, leaned back against the cave wall with his box and jar, and waited.

When Trunks woke up, his chest, back, and entire right arm were on fire. He was lying on his stomach, freezing cold, and naked from the waist up. He pushed himself into a sitting position, blinked blearily a few times, and looked down at his chest. The blue lines swirled this way and that, crossing and running together until it hurt to look at them. The scrawl seemed to start around his heart, spanned his chest, and crawled all the way down his right arm. Trunks tried to pull the jumpsuit up, but decided against it as the material touched the fresh ink and scars, and burned with an unholy passion.

He tried standing, and ended up falling flat on his face. He reached behind himself, and touched the base of his spine; it hurt like hell, but there was definitely a tail there. Bardock...Trunks growled low and furiously, baring his teeth in a way he'd never done before.

Up until then, he'd been mostly human. Bardock had tipped the scales, made Trunks something other than what his mother had intended. There was going to be an explanation, and it was going to be good, as soon as he'd beaten the absolute crap out of the bastard. Jardin was missing, although his scent still lingered in the cave, and Trunks wondered when his sense of smell had gotten so much better. His sword and armor were still leaning up against the wall where he'd left them, and as he made to crawl toward them, he heard Bardock's footsteps coming toward him.

He didn't rush himself; there would be a beating, all in good time. Preferably, after he'd figured out how to walk again.

He stood carefully, swayed a little, adjusted his stance, and waited. He moved the new appendage from side to side, eyes closed as he focused on the new sensation.

"Trying it out?" Bardock asked, pausing in the entranceway.

"Yeah. A warning would have been nice." Trunks kept his voice calm and even. Betray nothing.

"Didn't know if I'd even be able to get it. Norseki do some weird shit by Saiyajin standards, but a missing tail is damn fuckin' hard to explain, especially since you wouldn't be ashamed of it. As it is, your hair and eyes are easily explained. The tail is all you, though."

Trunks opened his eyes and craned over his own shoulder, falling over in the process. He raised his eyebrows at the wriggling purple appendage.

"Mom said it was just a normal brown tail when she cut off when I was a baby."

"I took some of your hair for the DNA sample. Regrown appendages are tricky, and tails never turn out the way they were supposed to. Now, if anyone even notices the scar, you can simply tell them you lost the original in battle, or something."

"What is Norseki?"

"A tribe of Saiyajin who live around these parts. They live by the Old Creed. A normal Saiyajin, living in civilized society, has evolved from tribes that originated in the tropical belt on the main continent. Most of the rest of Vegetasie is uninhabitable, because of the vast deserts. Except the Norseki. They're pale from the lack of sun, usually with some pretty crazy hair colors. They tattoo themselves, and they have an alarming tendency to keep quiet and think rationally. Any oddity about you beyond those basic stereo types can be easily explained."

Trunks was quiet for so long that Bardock thought he must be out of questions.

"When will I see my father?"

"When you can walk, kiddo." Bardock grinned, as Trunks tried to pick himself up again.

Trunks nodded, carefully pulled himself up by the wall, and glared at the Saiyajin.

"You look just like your father when you do that. If anyone sees you with that expression, they'll put two and two together. Except maybe Nappa. Man's dumb as a brick. Keep your face blank, no matter what." Bardock warned.

"I just came here to kill Saiyajin," Trunks stood with his legs splayed, one hand still on the cave wall as he swished his tail around.

"So did I, kiddo," Bardock sighed as Trunks fell over again.

Eight hours later, Bardock was sporting a black eye and several broken ribs as he led Trunks into the King's private chambers.

Vegeta stood from the couch he'd been lounging on, stripped to the waist and so that the three huge stab wound scars were visible. Trunks stared at the raised red skin, remembering the sound of flesh on steel as he'd run his father through.

"My son," Vegeta said, holding one arm out. Trunks reacted automatically, crossing the distance between them, and wrapped both arms around his father.

"My father," he returned the greeting, closing his eyes to the feel of his father's hand on the back of his neck.

"You got so fucking big, brat," Vegeta pulled back to look him up and down, finally settling on his face. "Every time I see those eyes, I wonder what I lost."

"The whole damn game," Trunks gave his father their genetically shared smirk, "She beat you fair and square."

Vegeta smirked as well; even though the mouth made the right movements, there was something bitter behind his eyes that Trunks couldn't name.

"Bardock, leave us." Vegeta ordered, and the older Saiyajin went quietly, the door clicking softly behind him.

"I didn't think you'd come."

"Not everyone takes the second chance, no matter how many times it's offered." Trunks shifted awkwardly. "You said you needed Saiyajin killed. I can do that just fine." Trunks blushed, but he looked his father in the eyes as the Saiyajin grinned savagely.

"Boy, you might be Saiyajin yet," Vegeta chuckled, sobered, and continued. "This is Angerine, my chosen consort." Vegeta gestured at a Saiyajin woman hovering on the edge of the scene, her wild black hair and dark skin a sharp contrast to the white dress she wore. "She doesn't look it, but she's Norseki; any genetic traits are easily explained."

"She's the bitch you want me to fuck?" Trunks sneered at her, "You know how many spoilt little Saiyajin bitches like her we killed the first few weeks after you left Earth? You left some rabble behind."

"Saiyajin mate once, for life." Trunks looked sharply at his father, watching the black eyes bore into him. " If one mate dies, the other will never reproduce."

"My mother-?"

"Yes."

Trunks hovered on some sort of imperceptible edge as he looked at his father, and realized the full extent of his parents hate. Hate and love were the same side of the coin; their emotions had been strong enough to compensate for whatever bond would have formed between two people in normal circumstances. He nodded, once, almost imperceptibly, and Vegeta went on.

"She knows her duty," the king jerked his chin at the girl, barely a few years older than Trunks himself. "Sleep well." The leer was sudden and jovial, and Vegeta exited the room with sudden haste. The half-breed barely had any time to realize what had happened before the Saiyajin woman stood in front of him.

"Yeah," Trunks started, still trying to sneer at her.

She smirked, reaching around to wrap one hand around the base of his neck, then ran her nails down his spine, gripped his new tail gently, and ran her hand along the length of the purple appendage. Trunks cried out as he collapsed into her arms, coming so hard he saw stars.

"Oh, shit," he muttered, trying to breathe.

"Never had a tail before?" she asked, her voice a warm rumble in his ear. "Get one thing straight, half-breed; this spoilt Saiyajin bitch is either going to be your worst nightmare or your greatest fantasy come to life. Got your mind made up?"

"Do that again," Trunks panted in her ear, all teenage hormones and uncertainty as he quivered in her arms, "And you'll seal the deal."

She carded both hands through his hair, down his neck and back, until she had his tail in both hands and _fondled_.

Trunks was gone.

As the red sun first started to peak over the lip of the world, Vegeta kicked Trunks out of bed and sparred with his son for the first time. By noon, Trunks had thwarted an attempt on his father's life, and been revealed to the Saiyajin court as the king's newly appointed Right Hand. Spattered in the blood of his father's enemies, he formally renounced his name and family and swore loyalty to his king, and it took everything he had to not break out laughing.

Especially since he could see the laughter behind his father's dark eyes.

The first few months, Trunks spattered himself in more Saiyajin blood than he knew what to do with, and still didn't feel that it was worth the vengeance of the human race. Then Angerine announced to the court that she'd gotten with child, and Trunks had felt his heart in his throat and his stomach in his feet for the first time in his life. The wide-eyed look of panic he shared with his father was only a small comfort – dealing with babies was not something a seventeen year old boy and a Saiyajin king knew how to deal with.

Then Bardock asked if Angerine would be executed according to custom after the birth of the heir…then had to summarize eight hundred years of history into "The bitch is better off dead," before Trunks tried to rip his head off.

Vegeta would have been less worried if Trunks had stopped nuzzling into Angerine's bed every night like a love-sick puppy, even after he watched the look on his son's face as the half-breed stroked her swollen stomach. Trunks had no idea how jealous his father was of his own relationship with not only Angerine, but the child growing inside of her. Vegeta wasn't surprised, when Trunks begged for her life. And if Bardock hadn't made that one, tightly veiled comment about wanting to be with his sons again, Vegeta would have killed her anyway.

When one door opens, one door closes, he'd thought at the time, before he'd told Bardock his plan.


	5. Chapter 5

_And a child shall lead them..._

Trunks watched his son dart across the training room, little fists held high and tight, as the boy attacked Nappa. It took every ounce of self control to stay still and remain calm; he knew Nappa wouldn't hurt the Crown Prince, but watching the bastard butcher his people had engrained one reaction in Trunks.

The burly Saiyajin batted the child away, relatively gentle. The kid wasn't doing great today, and would probably spend the night in a regen tank, but it was better than telling Nappa to go do anatomically impossible things with his tail, and dealing with the rumors at court. He'd taken Bardock's advice, and kept his mouth shut and his face blank, but there were still suspicious glances thrown his way. He'd come suddenly, from no where, into a position close to the King, and suddenly Vegeta's enemies had started dropping like flies; most Saiyajin weren't completely stupid.

Nappa was, though. He liked to hit things, without much else going on for either a personality or a brain; he was loyal more to tradition than he was to the throne, but Vegeta needed allies with the old blood. Since the secret had been well kept and well disposed of, there wasn't a lot to worry about. The courtiers had chalked up Vegeta's blue eyes to his mother's Norseki heritage, rather than look up and notice the supposed Norseki that dogged the boys every step.

It was easier to believe in tradition, than to acknowledge the fact that their king was a blood traitor with no right to the throne. True, there had been the initial enemies of the throne when Trunks had come, but they'd died bloody deaths at the Right Hand of the King; proving that Vegeta had not been weak, merely hiding his hand until all of his enemies were revealed.

There had been questions about where Bardock and his sons had disappeared to; questions that had become unimportant as soon as Saiyajin opposing King Vegeta started dropping dead. There were suddenly other things to focus on, like what the King and his new Right Hand might know. Trunks didn't really care; Vegeta raised his right hand in a balled fist, and his Right Hand slaughtered. Most of the Saiyajin that had lived on Earth during the Saiyajin occupation were dead, and by his hand. The wherefores bothered him less than then whether or not he'd brushed his hair that morning, which he usually didn't. It was a measure of self preservation, because his hair became more Saiyajin and unruly the less he brushed it. He'd kept it carefully cut, because Saiyajin hair stopped growing, and wore sleeveless jumpsuits to show the Moko down his right arm. It was a good disguise.

The point, though, was that Saiyajin died, and there was a sort of balance. End of moral debate.

When Trunks scooped his son's limp body off the training room floor, he did so without meeting Nappa's eyes, ignoring the challenge. It was hard to tell if he was being insulting or merely performing a duty; Nappa would assume the former. Ignoring Nappa was more duty than choice, though, because his father still needed the man's influence among the nobility, the sanctimonious pricks with tradition shoved so far up their collective asses that it was gag inducing to everyone involved.

Trunks laid his son in the regen tank gently, watched the boy float peacefully in the green slime, and considered. He had the Vegeta wild, upswept hair and sharp widow's peak, which was lucky for the boy. Trunk's eyes, deep and dark and blue, though, and that wasn't so lucky. There was nothing of Angerine in the boy's face, really. He had the same little ticks, though; the way she pursed her lips just before she started hitting something with absolutely no intention of stopping, the way one eyebrow quirked up when she was being sarcastic. That seemed to be genetic, more than anything, the same way the kid smirked and grinned savagely like his father and grandfather.

Trunks had been raised to be well mannered and polite to people he wasn't trying to kill; his father dealt only in respect, and whether or not a person had earned it. The kid, though, gave his respect cautiously, was polite out of caution, and was bitingly sarcastic no matter what he thought of you. Definitely his mother. Trunks thought about Angerine constantly, with the reminder of their relationship always in front of him; he wondered, sometimes out of guilt and sometimes out of morbid curiosity, how often Vegeta thought of Bulma.

He tried not to think her name – it would run the risk of saying it out loud. And saying that name out loud, in this court, would spell disaster if it ever reached Nappa's ears. Not just for King Vegeta, or just his Right Hand, but for all three. One little hint of the woman who'd spawned this situation, and the jig was up. King Vegeta's throne hinged on one Bulma Briefs, just as strongly in death as it had in life.

Trunks rested his hand on the glass of the tank, and wondered what he'd done in his previous life to deserve watching his son be pummeled by the idiot he wanted to kill the most. Bardock would have been in Nappa's place, if he'd not gone back to Earth, his sons, and his grandsons. Trunks half envied the man. Half wished Angerine loved him back. Wondered if she were grateful to still be alive.

Stupid thought; how she felt or what she thought no longer mattered. Not even if he loved her.

His father shook him awake near midnight, slumped in a chair he'd dragged close to the tank.

"We wont be sparring today. Freeza will be here soon." They stared at the tank, and its floating occupant, for a long moment. "He'll want the kid, but he'll ask for my son. If he asks for my heir, I'll have to send both of you. How quickly do you think you can kill him?"

"I'll have to wait for him to set foot on a planet. Fighting that kind of power on a space ship is somewhere between pure idiocy and suicide. Unless you can figure out where he's planning to land next, I can't give you an accurate time frame." Trunks turned his gaze from his son to his father, and looked up at the King of all Saiyajin as the older man considered carefully.

"She had a gift for machines." They both knew who 'she' was, what that comment implied, and what was coming next. "Freeza will break the boy, completely, within a matter of months. You absolutely cannot let that happen. Do something, anything, to force him to land. Kill him; destroy whatever fleet he's got with him. Depending on how politics have changed, you should be up against Dordia, Zarbon, and the Ginyu Force. Freeza keeps files on his soldiers, no matter how lowly; you should be able to get a good idea of what you're up against fairly quickly."

"You'll have to send both of us anyway. There's no way Freeza will leave this planet without the kid. If we make our stand here, we'll probably end up destroying the planet." Trunks focused back on the tank, and felt the bile rise at the thought of that little fragile body in reptilian hands.

"Take Nappa with you. He'll keep the kid safe while you're busy, come hell or high water. Kill him last, and split for Earth. Lay low there for a few years. Bardock knows how to contact me. When Kooler and King Kold come calling, I'll need all of you." Vegeta reached out, and Trunks clasped his father's hand as the older man tightened his grip on the half-breed's shoulder. "He'll be here in a few hours. Get ready." Vegeta left, not looking back.

The blue-eyed Vegeta floated in his tank, asleep and maybe dreaming. Trunks stared for a long time, wondering where six years had gone. He'd be twenty-five in a few months. Ten years old when the Saiyajin had left Earth, sixteen when he'd come to Vegetasie, seventeen when he'd become a father, and twenty-five when he took his six year old son home.

He'd missed Gohan and Racine, Yaumcha and Krillin, Tien and Piccolo, even the sometimes-warrior Yajarobe.

He'd even missed Bardock.

Angerine would be there.

Trunks sighed, and leaned back to wait, like he'd been taught. It was all there was to do, before the lizard came, and then he wouldn't have time to breathe until he was locked in a pod, son curled on his lap, and on his way home.

Finally going home.

He wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse.


	6. Chapter 6

_Live and learn, from fools and from sages._

Overall, Trunks decided, blasting a hole through Nappa's chest had been more satisfying than slicing Freeza to ribbons and blowing away the remains. In fact, killing Nappa might have been the highlight of the entire trip.

Now that he'd hidden the ship, though, it was time to change clothes, and explain a few things to Vegeta. The kid watched him with those wide blue eyes, quiet and still. Trunks didn't think he'd ever seen his son sit so still before; usually he was bouncing all over the place. There wasn't much but sand to look at here, though, although the fact that it was yellow instead of red should have been of more interest.

"How're you holding up?" Trunks asked as he peeled his armor off, dropping it in the sand next to the duffel bag.

"Nappa said that Freeza had to die because he betrayed the Saiyajin." Vegeta looked up at his father, tail curled in a question mark behind him.

"Freeza would have destroyed Vegetasie because Grandfather didn't want to keep the treaty his father had made with Freeza." Trunks answered, no longer disconcerted by the questions the kid asked; King and Right Hand had discussed politics over the head of the Crown Prince since the day after the kid was born. "I think Grandfather hated Freeza more than he wanted to keep up the planet sale business, though. To be honest, kid, I don't really care about the politics. You remember what I told you about Earth?" Trunks peeled the jumpsuit away from his skin, dropped it next to the armor, and dug into the bag for the pair of boxers he hadn't worn since he was sixteen.

"You grew up here. The greatest warriors on this planet fought against Grandfather when he wanted to rule here, but Grandma wouldn't let him, and he left so that he could go be king of Vegetasie. Like I will, someday." The kid paused, watching Trunks carefully. "And all the warriors who fought Grandfather trained you, like you trained me. Pop, how come I can call him Grandfather when no one's listening, but I have to call him Father everywhere else?" The boy ran the yellow sand through his fingers as Trunks tugged on pants and a tank top, so innocent the question could easily be overlooked. Even if the answer had been explained a dozen times, almost like it was a bed-time story.

"You know why, kid. If another Saiyajin found out that Grandfather had a half-breed son with some low-life," Trunks nearly spat the word, "human woman, then all three of us would die. Grandfather as a blood traitor, me as a spy, and you as an imposter to the throne. You remember how bad it was in the streets, just before the revolution ended?" Vegeta nodded, and Trunks wished he hadn't dragged the kid out into the streets in the name of training. "Imagine all of that, happening to us, in about three or four seconds. Nappa would rather wring your neck then let you sit on the throne if he knew you were a quarter human." Trunks tugged the denim jacket on, despite the heat, and wondered if it hid some of the blue crawling up his neck.

"Nappa said that Freeza raped Grandfather." Trunks froze, and stared at his son for a long moment.

"What else did Nappa say?"

"That he'd rather die then watch the next Prince be defiled. So I guess it's a good thing you killed him. How come your hair went all yellow?"

Trunks took a deep breath, trying to process things that he might have heard but hadn't acknowledged, and still keep up with the conversation. It certainly explained a lot about the king, though.

"I'm a Super Saiyajin. That's why we're here, because Grandfather wants me to teach you how to be a Super Saiyajin. Kid," Trunks knelt down in front of his son, looking him in the eye to drive home the message, "Freeza can't hurt you. Freeza won't be able to hurt anyone, ever again."

"You killed him, too?"

"Yeah, I killed him, too."

"Good." Said with such venom, from such a young mouth surprised Trunks.

"Take your armor off, kid; I've got some clothes you can wear for a little while."

Vegeta squirmed out of the armor and jumpsuit, looking relieved to have it off. Trunks pulled the blue gi out of the bag; he'd had it made while they were still on Vegetasie, hoping someday that it wouldn't look too strange for his son to be wandering around in human clothes. Now they served a better purpose.

"Will I meet Mother?" Vegeta held his arms over his head as Trunks pulled the gi down over his wild hair, and waited for the flinch in the half-breed's eyes.

"Yes." Trunks pushed his hair out of his face as the wind kicked up, and didn't elaborate. "You'll get to meet my friends, too. You remember the stories I told you about them?" Trunks held the pants out for Vegeta to step into.

"I remember. Will they like me?"

"Of course they'll like you. Just don't blow anything up. I'll be upset if you get into any trouble, kid, and that'll be the least of your worries." He knotted the draw string pants around Vegeta's waist, tipped him gently back onto the ground to get his boots back on, and pulled the belt out of the bag.

"What if I don't want to go back to Vegetasie?" Now that was a question Trunks hadn't been expecting.

"Your first duty is to your people, Vegeta. You'll have to go back." Not the conversation he wanted to be having right now, but Vegeta had a tendency to ask all the questions Trunks didn't really want to answer. Maybe that was children in general.

"You won't come back with me?"

"I don't know. It depends on what Grandfather wants, kid. Right now, he wants you to get strong, so that you'll be a good king. He needs you here, where his enemies can't find you." Trunks swung the sword across his shoulder, checked the draw, and then scooped his son into his arms.

"I don't want you to leave me!" Trunks barely remembered to grab the duffel bag, now full of Saiyajin armor. Before he did, though, he made himself look into those big, angry blue eyes, and made the only promise he didn't know if he could keep.

"I promise I won't leave you."

He took to the air, and headed toward Master Roshi's island; he could feel the ki gathered there, the energy of all his friends and teachers wavering with impatience. It seemed as if they were throwing some kind of party.

Trunks smiled; it'd been a long time since he'd been to a party with people he actually liked.

When he landed on the tiny island, there was a huge banner strung out across the side of the house, the words "Welcome Home!" written in the same garish pink as the trim, and Gohan was the first to come forward.

"Trunks, look at you! Have you brushed your hair at all in the last seven years?" Gohan pulled Trunks into a hug, enveloping the child in the embrace as well. "And who's this?" Eyebrows rose at the upswept hair as Gohan pulled back and looked at the child, but the friendly smile didn't leave him.

"My son, Vegeta. This is Gohan. Say hello." Vegeta waved awkwardly, and then squirmed to hide most of his face in the crook of his father's neck.

"Hey there, little man. You've got a pretty interesting name, in these parts." Gohan studied the little boy for a moment longer, the shifted back to Trunks. "Kami, we've got a lot of catching up to do! You aren't the only one who's been busy!" Gohan gestured behind him, and a woman holding a girl just a little younger than Vegeta came forward. "This is my wife, Videl, and my daughter, Pan."

"Hey," Videl smiled, a little unsure, until Trunks set his son down and hugged her. "Oh! Its good to have you back; I've heard a lot about you."

"It better have been all good," Trunks laughed, and jolted as Racine stepped closer, a blonde little girl perched on his shoulder and a blonde woman hanging back just a little. "Racine, you look like you've done pretty well for yourself!"

"Not bad, if I do say so myself," Racine laughed, clapping Trunks on the shoulder, "This little spit-fire is Serenity, and this is Eighteen." The blonde woman smiled, and held out a hand. "She's one of Gero's androids, but no hard feelings, right?"

"I knew the bastard got away the first time," Trunks shook the proffered hand, "Its good to know not everything he did was evil." Trunks hauled Vegeta around to stand in front of him, and introduced him. The kid waved again, almost shyly if Trunks didn't know he was scoping out the situation. Krillin, Yaumcha, and Tien were standing back just a little, and Trunks steered Vegeta ahead of him as he made his way over. "No more wife and kids? I'm shocked!"

"Actually," Krillin grinned, "Marron's in the kitchen right now. The doctor says it's a girl," the short man blushed, and rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish and proud all at once.

"With Launch and the twins. It's kinda sad, our pupils having kids before us," Tien chuckled, and then bent slightly to talk to Vegeta. "You got your papa's eyes though, didn't you? I'm Tien, and this is Krillin, and Yaumcha."

"Hey, sport. How'd you get your name? Your dad never really got along with King Vegeta, you know." Yaumcha was smiling, just trying to be nice; the older Earth warriors froze at Vegeta's answer.

"Pop an' Grandfather get along just fine. I'm not s'posed to tell anyone, 'cause Grandfather's a blood traitor an' Pop's a spy, but Pop says I can tell you 'cause you kicked ass with my Gramma."

Trunks looked at each of his teachers, not realizing he'd kept his face in the careful mask of non-reaction he'd cultivated for years.

"Bulma and Vegeta?" Krillin asked, his eyes wide and his mouth twisting in distaste.

"Why do you think I went?" Trunks kept his voice soft, then smirked suddenly. "Mom always used to tell me I looked just like him."

"So," Yaumcha bent to talk to Vegeta again "Is Trunks training you up good? Let me see your arm," Vegeta flexed for Yaumcha, who bent to closely inspect. "Yeah, looks like you're our boy, alright. Just make sure you don't make you're papa angry, or he'll send you to train with us!" Vegeta grinned fiercely, but Yaumcha straightened up to speak to Trunks. "The girls are having a pretty hard time feeding four Saiyajin, plus all of us. You might want to get in there and eat before we run out of food!"

"Will do," Trunks smiled, and steered Vegeta towards the house. Bardock was sitting around the living room table with Master Roshi, Oolong, and Piccolo, all of them staring intently at the cards in front of them. He looked up as Trunks came through the door, and grinned ferally.

"Good to have you back," Bardock growled and launched himself over the table. He hit Trunks squarely in the chest, just above Vegeta's head, and the momentum carried them back through the door. Trunks rolled in the sand, punching lightly, then let the older man help him to his feet again. "You meet my girls yet?" Bardock asked, and the fierce pride in his eyes was just a little scary.

"Yeah, they're gorgeous. I heard something about food, though," Trunks followed the older man through the doorway again, and pulled Vegeta to his side. "You never got the chance to meet my kid," Vegeta waved perfunctorily, but returned Bardock's slight bow. "This is Bardock, and this is Piccolo, and Oolong, and Mater Roshi."

"He got your eyes, Trunks," Master Roshi leaned in close to the kid, pushing his sunglasses up. "Not much of his mother in him, is there?" Roshi jerked back as Vegeta lunged forward.

"Where is she?" All imperious pride, and Trunks knew he hadn't taught the kid that.

"Through there, kid," Piccolo pointed to the kitchen door, and Vegeta darted through it before Trunks could make a grab for him.

"Quick little thing, isn't he?" Oolong commented casually, and no one noticed him peeking at his opponents disregarded cards.

Trunks sighed, and followed the kid through to the kitchen. Raditz and Kakarrot paused in their feeding frenzy long enough to nod at Trunks, Marron and Launch chirruped at him over the sound of screaming infants, and Vegeta had fastened himself to the woman at the far end of the kitchen.

Angerine looked up, and Trunks' world narrowed.

He'd wondered what mother and son would look like, dreamed about her every night for six years, begged for her. Trunks had never begged for anything else in his life. She looked pretty, in a simple white dress, and her unruly black hair held out of her face with a few clips. Delicate, almost human. She jerked her chin for him to follow, and went through the back door and out onto the beach. There was a dark haired man standing alone, looking out at the waters; when he turned and caught sight of them, he took a few steps closer.

"I'm Seventeen. You're Trunks." Trunks nodded, but before he could say anything, the man turned and walked away.

"Is he always like that?" Trunks asked.

"How the hell should I know? Usually he doesn't say a damn thing." Angerine sank down into the sand, and pushed Vegeta away just enough so that he was sitting in her lap. "It's been a long time since I've seen you, little one." Her smile was soft, and she cradled the kids' face in her hands, smoothing her thumbs over his cheeks.

"Pop said you used to sing to me. Are you going to sing to me again?" Vegeta let her stroke his hair, usually something he dodged away from.

"I will, little one, every night I have you." Angerine stared at the kid for a long moment, just taking him in. Trunks glanced at Serenity and Pan as they darted past, hovering on the edge of something he didn't know how to define.

"You'd better." And just like that, Vegeta had had enough physical contact; he darted away after Pan and Serenity, leaving his parents alone on the beach.

Angerine turned and looked up at Trunks, who knelt in the sand next to her.

"You look good." He blushed when he said it, and half wanted to take it back.

"Idiot," she muttered, pushing him over and crawling on top of him. "This is how it goes." And she kissed him.

There would always be enemies to fight, the Earth to defend; at that moment, nothing else mattered except the press of her body against his, and the lingering promise to follow this up in a darkened room after the party. She pulled him to his feet, and led him back inside to a world that was suddenly, amazingly, blindingly perfect.

It was good to be home.


	7. Chapter 7

_And I'm back in the saddle again._

Trunks watched Bardock scoop Serenity and Pan into his lap as they darted through the living room, pulling them into a fierce bear hug. Not too hard, because they were still squealing and squirming, but he held onto them for longer then he usually did. It was the half-lidded look of quiet desperation that made Trunks' gut clench.

He waited patiently all through dinner before Bardock signaled his sons and grandsons to follow him out the back door. He'd been sitting between Gohan and Racine, and he wouldn't have been invited over tonight if he wasn't going to be included, so he followed them. Bardock stopped in the middle of the yard, barked over his shoulder for the girls and Vegeta to go back inside, and faced the rough circle they'd formed.

"His Majesty contacted me this morning. I have the coordinates for the planet he's meeting Kooler and King Kold on, to discuss a supposed peace treaty." Bardock didn't look at anyone as he spoke, staring down at the grass with his arms folded.

"Who does he need?" Raditz tucked his thumbs into his jeans, and stared down at the grass as well.

"All of us. His Right Hand and his heir. My half-wits and my half-breeds. Kooler and Kold will kill him during the negotiations, and if they're half as vindictive as Freeza, they'll destroy every inch of the Saiyajin Empire. Earth might be last, but they'll come regardless."

"We knew we'd have to go." Gohan sighed, eyes hard.

"Which ship are we taking?" Trunks asked Bardock, who still hadn't looked up from the grass.

"The one I brought Angerine here in, since it's the biggest. If we leave the day after tomorrow, we can get there just ahead of the Saiyajin fleets and the King. No telling when Kold and Kooler will be there."

"What about the girls?" Racine was looking back at the house as he asked, watching Eighteen move past the kitchen window.

"Earth has enough defenders for us to be gone for a few months. We'll go, and come right back. Right, Dad?" Kakarrot looked at his father for confirmation, but the hopeful look faded quickly as the oldest man didn't respond. "Dad?"

"I don't know. I can't see anything past landing on that planet, and walking toward them." All of them stiffened, staring at the prophet for a long, quiet moment. "Right now, all I see is my own death, looming. I can't see beyond it; I don't know who lives and who dies, don't know who wins and who loses. I can't see anything."

Trunks stared. No one said anything for a very long time, until Angerine stuck her head out the door and called them back in for a second helping of desert.

"Coming!" Trunks called back to her, then turned to the others. "We tell them tonight, we say our goodbyes tomorrow, and we leave the day after that."

Everyone nodded, and they trooped back inside; for the first time ever, Videl's cheesecake tasted like ashes.

Trunks stood in the doorway as Angerine sang Vegeta to sleep, and followed her to their bedroom silently; he waited until she'd crawled into bed with him, tossed and turned to alleviate the pressure of her swollen stomach, and finally settled down. He half wished she weren't pregnant – her reaction would at least be predicable again.

"My father sent for us." She'd been reaching for him, but she went rigid. "We leave the day after tomorrow. Vegeta has to come with me."

"Oh," was all she said, and Trunks held her for a long time as she cried. She was quiet for a long time after that, until she pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. "The doctor said it's a girl."

Trunks had only ever cried at the death of his mother; he simply held Angerine until the sun came up, and then went to wake his son for their sparring match.

When he told Vegeta when they'd be leaving, the boy simply nodded. He'd been pretty mature for a six year old; as an eleven year old, he kept his own counsel more and more.

"I want to say goodbye to Pan and Serenity. Can I go now?" Trunks let him, and spent the day flying to all the others, just in case he never saw them again.

The not knowing was bad, but knowing that he'd be leaving a daughter behind was the worst part.


	8. Chapter 8

_We got so far, to lose it all, but in the end, it doesn't even matter._

Trunks stared out at the empty plain; lavender grass as far as the eye could see, speckled by slightly darker purple bushes. Racine pulled up a stalk and held it next to Trunks' shoulder-length hair, and grinned.

"You blend right in!" Racine tossed the stalk away, and then turned towards Bardock as the old Saiyajin closed the hatch to the ship. "What's the damage, Gramps?"

"We wait. His Majesty will be here in about twenty minutes." Bardock looked around, squinting his eyes against the blue sun. "Looks like this world was made for you, Right Hand."

"You keep calling Trunks that, but I still don't know what it means," Gohan stretched, tail curling in a question mark behind him.

"He kills in the name of the King. The King extends his Right Hand to his enemies, and his Left Hand to his friends. Executioners and diplomats."

"Sounds like a dictatorship," Racine commented.

"Its Saiyajin monarchy. I guess it's all the same, more or less." Raditz squatted and poked at the pale dust.

"What does it matter? Racine and I won't ever be on Vegetasie." Gohan sat and curled his legs up as if he meant to meditate.

"No. I don't think any of us will be going back to Vegetasie." Kakarrot sat next to his son, mimicking his position.

"What about me?" Vegeta wasn't looking at anything other than the horizon as he asked the question. Astute, for eleven.

"We'll be going back." Trunks put a hand on his son's shoulder.

There was an energy spike, and they turned their collective gazes towards the sky. It took the ship less than ten minutes to land, and Trunks shuddered as it touched the ground. Even Freeza hadn't emanated that much evil when Trunks had killed him. Now that it was so close, though, he supposed that his father must have pulled off some kind of miracle to buy him close to five years to train the kid with no influences from the Saiyajin court. The kid had gotten stronger by leaps and bounds, when he'd had Pan and Serenity to keep as far ahead of as possible. Even by Saiyajin standards, the girls were strong; Trunks wasn't sure who was most proud of them out of the five men in their lives.

They didn't have much longer to wait. The Saiyajin fleet had started landing, and with them, the fleets that Kooler and Kold must have brought with them; they out-numbered the Saiyajin five to one. Not bad odds, Trunks decided. Gohan and Racine needed the challenge.

Hell, they'd spent the last few years training hard for the sake of making Vegeta stronger. They'd trained hard and simply expected him to keep up; it had been motivation enough, since making him train with the girls had become a punishment after the first year. Making him train with Yaumcha and Piccolo might have bordered on cruel, if Trunks had thought that there was anything to be lost by it; as it was, they'd forced him to mature mentally as well as physically. Roshi and Krillin had had their part; without them, Vegeta would have learned nothing about fighting for the sake of fighting, nothing about the challenge for the sake of the challenge. Nearly five years, and Trunks had made his son as perfect a warrior as he could be.

He'd rule with a Saiyajin mind and a human heart; that'd throw the bastards for a loop, even his father.

His father was walking towards him now, looking cold and grim as the Elite trailed behind him. The others fell into step behind Trunks as he started across the purple grass, but he pushed his son to the front; he'd have to at least look like he was in the lead now. He could see the fleets unloading from the ships, pouring out like rats. They met in the middle, keeping an eye across the plain at the enemy ships.

"My son." Vegeta greeted, looking Trunks right in the eye as if he expected an answer. He'd let his hair grow out while he'd been gone, and he was wearing earthling clothes – did Vegeta really expect him to reveal everything, with half the court standing behind him?

"My father." Trunks swallowed, then dropped to a knee with his right fist over his heart. "My king." He could hear Bardock, Kakarrot, and Raditz mimic him.

"Fuck this shit," Racine sneered, "I came here to kill some lizards, not cow-tow to the bastard that slaughtered my people."

"Raditz," the King said slowly, "Did you raise your son in a barn?"

"No, sire. Good warriors don't need walls or a roof." Raditz grinned suddenly, standing without permission. "Besides, what's the use of teaching a half-breed manners? Ain't that right, son?"

"You never had any manner to teach in the first place," Racine grinned, as the others stood.

Trunks watched the Elite warriors standing behind his father; finally putting all the pieces together, looking from one set of hard blue eyes to the other, taking in the other half-breeds and double-checking their scouters. Things really must be desperate, if they were all still alive.

"Are you strong enough, kid?" the older Vegeta asked the younger, and that genetic smirk bloomed across three generations of faces.

"I'm stronger than you could possibly imagine." Such arrogance in that small body! Smirks widened into savage grins, as the Elite looked on with hardening faces.

"Everything's ready." Trunks said, as he looked across the plain.

The others turned to follow his gaze; one horned giant followed by a blue version of Freeza were heading toward them. Trunks watched his father drain a little, before he turned back to the assembled group.

"Just you and me, Bardock. Vegeta, if anything goes wrong in the next ten minutes, order the attack. Trunks," he said his son's name for the first time in front of every warrior of the court, "Give them hell to pay." The two men headed out to the center of the two armies, leaving their sons and people to watch. Bardock flashed a victory sign over his shoulder as he followed his king, not turning to look back. Trunks would remember that for years to come; that they'd walked into their deaths without looking back. Not just true Saiyajin, or brave men; they were real heroes.

Trunks had known something would go wrong; he'd suspected it when Bardock had made his prediction, but he'd only really known as they'd headed out across the purple grass. So he watched Kooler and Kold blow Bardock and his father into ashes from too far back to help, and threw his head back as the scream tore out of him.

He could feel Raditz and Kakarrot screaming with him; that was natural, for them to be enraged over their father and their king. Gohan and Racine joining in was a mild surprise; they'd loved Bardock, even if they still hated Vegeta. But his own son joining in the cacophony, that was a jolt. Vegeta had respected his grandfather, vaguely liked Bardock. No love really lost, there.

But oh, the kid was screaming.

Vegeta was the last to peak; as he settled into Super Saiyajin, the clumps of rock fell back, and the dust cleared. Kold and Kooler stared at them from across the plain, wearing matching looks of surprise. Six matching pairs of pupil-less green eyes focused on the enemy; six heads of glowing gold hair ruffled in the breeze created by their own power; six identical smirks of destructive intent settled on them.

The Saiyajin fleet hung back and watched the wholesale slaughter. It took about a half hour, moving at a fairly sedate pace. When it was done, Raditz, Kakarrot, Racine, and Gohan boarded the ship they'd come in without looking back or saying a word to anyone. Trunks turned to his son, reaching out a hand to put on the kid's shoulder. Vegeta dodged, and looked him in the eye.

"You need to go with them."

"What?" Of all the times to be ineloquent. Then again, talking had never been what he was good at.

"My sister needs you more than I do. Mom needs you more. You need to go, and I need to stay." There were tears in the kids' eyes, but he was nothing if not strong. Trunks could feel his own eyes prickling as the realization hit him.

Vegeta hadn't gone Super Saiyajin for the loss of life he'd witnessed, but for the loss of the life he'd never get to have. Bringing the kid home, giving him a taste of a human life he loved when they both knew he had to go back to a place where he would be all alone and surrounded by people.

Trunks didn't know if there'd ever been a father so cruel.

"GO!" Vegeta screamed, as the tears started to fall. Trunks pulled the kid in to hug him, whispered goodbye, and headed back across the plain. "Pop?" He turned, dreading and hopeful. "What are you going to name her?" The tears were streaming down the kid's face, and Trunks felt his heartstrings lurch more painfully then he'd ever thought possible.

"Bra. Your sister's name is Bra." Vegeta nodded, sniffled hard, and scrubbed futilely at the tears still sliding out of his big green eyes.

Trunks turned and walked back to the ship. Boarded, walked past all the others, and locked himself in his room.

Nearly thirty years old, muffled by the sound of the engines taking off, Trunks cried for the second time in his life.


	9. Chapter 9

_Welcome to the jungle, where we've got fun and games._

"My king," Vegeta's Left Hand bowed low, "I would like to bring one last topic to the table. I believe there was a planet occupied by the late King before his reign, called Earth. It was lost to revolutionaries three days after he claimed the throne, but there has been no effort within the past thirty years to reclaim it. Since it is now in an advantageous place to further the borders of the Saiyajin Empire, I would like to land a fleet and accomplish the task in your honor, Sire."

Vegeta threw his head back and laughed so hard, for so long, that the other members of the court started to exchange nervous glances. Finally, the peels of laughter died down to mere chuckles, and Vegeta wiped a tear out of his too-wide blue eyes.

"If you can stay alive on that little mud ball for more than four hours, we wont laugh too hard when you come crawling back with your tail between your legs. If you can even get back off it." Vegeta grinned suddenly, in an entirely too feral way for even a Saiyajin to be comfortable with. "And you can take as many fleets with you as you want, if," he paused more for dramatic effect than anything else, "You can kill me within the next ten minutes."

The Left Hand went pale, but the moment was broken as Vegeta's Right Hand rushed into the room.

"Sire, there's a ship landing in the Royal port, that says its from Earth!" The Left Hand blanched horribly as the Right Hand barreled on. "The captain threatened to personally kick your ass if you didn't greet her personally. She also said to tell you that you had a hell of a lot of explaining to do."

The Right Hand backed away from the mounting rage behind his kings blue eyes. Vegeta turned very slowly to look at the Left Hand, watching the man try to shrink into the floor.

"Follow me." Vegeta said in a soft, dangerous voice that promised a great deal of pain to come. He walked out the door and headed straight for the ship yard, his Right Hand scuttling to lead him straight to the new ship.

"Right Hand," Vegeta growled as he stalked after the man, "Exactly how much profanity did the captain use?"

"Every other word, sire,"

"Did she say anything else?"

The Right Hand hesitated as they came up to the ship in question, just as the hatch started to lower.

"There was some mention of a sister, but it was hard to make out. She was shouting at that point. Very shrilly, sire."

Vegeta knew who she was, even before she stepped out of the ship and stomped toward him with the fiery determination to laminate him across the floor.

"Pan, calm down-" She hit him square across the jaw, then dropped and kicked his legs out from under him as Serenity flew over her and landed with both feet on his chest. His armor cracked, and there was a collective gasp from the court members that had followed him.

"Uncle Trunks said you wouldn't let anything come near us!" Serenity snarled, "And eight weeks ago a Saiyajin fleet tried the same shit all over again!"

Vegeta pointed to his Left Hand, trying desperately to breath. Serenity looked up at the man, and Pan darted forward and caught him by the front of his armor. Serenity stood up and stepped off his chest, closing in on the politician as he tried to wriggle free.

"Are you okay?" Vegeta sat up gingerly, barely glancing at the girl crouching next to him, then did a double take. It was his mother's face, with blue eyes and blue hair, and Trunks' sword slung across her back.

"Bra?" he breathed, ignoring the beating going on behind him. She answered with a grin, and he pulled her into a fierce hug.

"Hey, Vegetable Head," Pan snapped, and when Vegeta turned to look at her, she waved the limp and bloody body of his Left Hand. "He's unconscious. You got anything else to dish out?"

Vegeta raised his right hand, balled in a fist. His Right Hand shot forward, and blasted a hole through the bloody man's chest.

"So," Vegeta stood slowly, adjusting his broken armor, "You staying for dinner, or are you just a rude bitch with no manners?"

Pan stepped in close, and kissed him hard. When she pulled back, she was grinning.

"I've wanted to do that since I was six. Dinner sounds great."

Vegeta blinked away his shock, as he stared down at his second chance and saw the possibilities unfold in his minds eye. He might, just maybe, manage to put a half-breed on the throne. Peace was possible, if he could show both his people the benefits of a Saiyajin mind and a human heart.


End file.

Dragon Ball Z, Family