“Honey, why can’t you tell me more?” There was a tinge of pleading, of pure beseeching in her voice that caused Vegeta to glare darkly at her.

“My family is dead, Bulma. I explained enough! I was the middle child, my mother was insane, my father was part of my life for a total of five yearsÖwhat else do you want? My childhood warped me; it harmed me irreparably. That’s why I’ve never brought it up before. It doesn’t matter, so what more do you want?!” Rage dominated his tone and when looked at her with those black eyes charged with fiery disdain, she felt her limbs go limps and her curiosity dismantled. She had pushed him too far, and now she was to receive nothing.

He breathed heavily, attempting to calm himself, an ability he had never mastered. At that moment, he felt no need to placate her fears, to remove the terror in her eyes from his sudden outburst. His chest burned right beneath his sternum, like acid had suddenly fell upon it, and involuntarily his hand went to the spot. His fingers hovered over it, tips barely touching; he was shaking ever so slightly, and he suddenly noticed how exhausted he was. He looked back up at her, for his gaze had wandered to his lap, and he could see her guilt altering her expression. She rarely admitted with words that she was wrong.

Placing her hand on his shoulder warily, she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s just go to sleep, okay? We’ll forget this ever happened. I don’t know anything.” Her voice cracked slightly with that last sentence, and she gulped. He nodded soundlessly and turned away from her, sliding down onto his side. He reached over and turned off the light, leaving Bulma to stare at him in the darkness as he pretended to not notice her tears.

----

“The boy’s quite extraordinary, don’t you think?” General Saaski stood in front of a plexiglass window, staring at the child fending off Saibamen with vigor and a sadistic glint in his eyes. When left in there long enough, the prince lost his icy composure and allowed himself to enjoy the destruction he caused. Already he had dented the shiny metal walls of the training room with ki blasts and the bodies of Saibamen. The boy also seemed to know when Frieza’s officials were finished viewing him; as soon as they exited, he became exceptionally vicious.

Nappa, just back from a mission, was tired and irritable. Instead of going to the local pub for some fine intoxicating drunks and a rowdy good time after a difficult extermination, he was stuck watching the spiky-haired prince kill hissing green monsters. The kid was letting loose and laughing as a Saibaman’s arm exploded upon contact with a crackling ki blast. Nappa wasn’t sure what the boy did besides train, eat, and sleep, but soon he would know. To his chagrin, he had been reassigned from mission leader to royal bodyguard; basically, he was the kid’s babysitter. His mother was almost always off at some council meeting, “negotiating” dirty deals with planets not yet under Frieza’s control. Her duties as child-bearer and caretaker were utterly neglected, along with Frieza’s orders, as she continued conquering territory and obtaining trade treaties without the lizard man’s consent. She did not consider the Saiyan empire to be just one part of Frieza’s huge establishment; she acted as if the Saiyans were still a free race. Many a time Nappa had heard low-level guards and servants gossiping about how Frieza was this close to killing her, but feared the wrath of the army that she and Saaski commanded. No matter what, the military remained loyal to what they called the “true” leaders, and along with their obligations to Frieza (which were under penalty of death if not completed), they acquired whatever their queen desired.

“Damn desert hooligans,” Nappa muttered, glowering as the prince kneed a Saibaman in the head with a squelch as one of its eyes ruptured.

Saaski turned his head slightly to glance at Nappa. Of course he heard what the young man said; the “sentiment” further solidified his assertion that City Saiyans would never accept Desert Saiyans as their own. There would be another split soon, maybe due to the division lines between Frieza supporters and detractors; the break could occur from a bar brawl over a particularly attractive bartender. He didn’t care either way, though. As lon as his position was still intact and general order was maintained, any Desert versus City squabbles or battles or wars meant nothing.

Looking up, Nappa noticed Saaski staring, and quickly averted his gaze. Just seeing the General pissed him off. After al, he was the one who had delivered the order of his reassignment. “An honor my ass!” Nappa thought, gritting his teeth. Saaski, upon seeing Nappa’s annoyed disposition, grew bored and turned his attention back to the boy. He was standing completely still in the middle of the room, the few fluorescent lights creating sharp contrasts between the shadowed corners and the bright circles of light on the floor. Poised and muscular at such a young age, his features sharpened by the light and darkness, the prince was menacing, a bruised triumphant warrior surveying his environment. His back was to them, bare and sweaty, and Saaski suddenly felt his gut tighten in both excitement and apprehension. What they had here was a killing machine, an exceptional specimen of royal breeding and training, a boy who would one day destroy Frieza and hold an infinite amount of power in his hands to use as he pleased. What they had here was a monster.

The boy turned his head, gazing right at them, although all he saw was a metallic-blue wall. Even though he glared like a hardened soldier, the slight chubbiness in his cheeks and the pout in his lips gave away his tender age.

“General Saaski,” he said, his voice scratchy but high-pitched, “Am I done now? I;m getting bored.”

Saaski reached forward, pressed a red button beside the window, and talked into a small speaker. “Yes, Your Highness. This session is complete.”

“Then let me out! I’m hungry.” A loud clanging noise rang out, startling Nappa out of his brooding stupor, ad the boy walked through the door, grabbing a thin robe hanging on the wall. He slipped it on, at first appearing very regal until he realized the right sleeve was inside out. Frowning, he pursed his lips and removed the robe. He held it up in front of his face and turned it around, inspecting it for a moment before putting it on with the belt loops against his back and the sleeve still stuck. Saaski watched, one eyebrow arched; Nappa had trouble stifling his laughter.

Annoyed, the prince threw the robe to the floor and kicked it away. Nappa covered his mouth and Saaski reluctantly skittered over to the item, adjusting the sleeve and handing the robe back to the boy.

“Oh,” the prince said after a slight pause. He put it on and tied the belt, although the knot ended up lopsided. Upon finishing, he looked at Nappa and crossed his arms.

“Who’s this?” he asked, staring out from beneath arched eyebrows.

“My Lord, this is your bodyguard, Nappa. He is an exceptional fighter and has led numerous missions. There are many things he could teach you,” Saaski said, glancing at the child.

He stepped forward, staring up at Napa, then looking down and up once more. He seemed skeptical, his arms crossed tightly, one eyebrow raised above the other. Walking around in a circle, he continued to inspect Nappa even though he barely came up to his thigh. He stopped again at Nappa’s front; all the while, the man restrained himself, fists clenched. He desperately wanted to backhand the little bugger for humiliating him, in front of the General no less.

Biting the inside of his lip, the boy blinked slowly, thinking. Saaski curled his lips inward.

“Well, one thing he couldn’t teach me is how to get my hair cut.” Smirking, he spun on his heel and exited through sliding doors. Nappa clutched the bushy tuft of black hair on the top of his head, stuttering in rage, and Saaski held his palm to his face, shielding a smile. He let his hand drop and placed the other on Nappa’s shoulder, chuckling.

“That’s Prince Vegeta for you. You’ll need to learn to control yourself and let those things pass you by. This is a life-time engagement, after all. Now, once you’ve composed yourself, head over to the main meeting room. You will be formally introduced to the rest of the family there.”

With that, Saaski left Nappa with his hands on his head and his jaw on the floor to contemplate whether suicide would be more preferable.

---

Vegeta awoke to an empty bed. He felt groggy and drained and dazed; memories and facts and information were scatted about his mind. Rubbing the crust out of his eyes as he turned over, he slowly remembered the night before and grimaced. Bulma was probably in her lab working her anger and unhappiness out on whatever machine had unfortunately crossed her path. A room-shaking boom from downstairs confirmed that suspicion.

Getting out of bed, he winced slightly as he began to walk; overnight, his muscles must have tensed, although he couldn’t recall any dreams or tremors. Through all the years with Bulma, she still had the ability to upset him, albeit without much of a physical show from him. She disrupted his sleep and fogged his mind with her words and movements. Even though she had grown bitterer and fed up with his attitude and other negative attributes, she had changed him as well. He had become much more sedate; when he compared his younger self to the present one, he wondered what the Vegeta in his 20s would say or do. Probably would kill him, to be honest.

He walked out of the bedroom noiselessly, but stopped at the head of the stairs to peer down into the kitchen. Bulma was sitting at the kitchen table, her face covered in soot and dirt, her hair frizzy from some electrical connection. The black-rim glasses she usually only wore in the lab were hanging, lopsided, off he face, with one of the lenses cracked and the other entirely gone. She was crestfallen and annoyed, her hands clasped together on the table, and her pretty features were obscured by a disappointed frown. Trunks, in pajamas, was raiding the fridge and babbling angrily about mechanical terms. Closing the door to the fridge, he came out with a carton of milk and continued to complain. As he was about to drink the milk straight from the carton, Bulma glared at him.

“Get a glass, young man!” she ordered, edgy. At first, Trunks was startled, but, with a frown and some mumbling, he then took a cup from a drawer and poured the milk into it.

After returning the carton to the fridge, he took a seat next to his mother at the table. He mimicked her position, but placed one hand on her shoulder.

“I know you were up late. Why’d you get up again? You were too tired and look, it exploded,” he said, gesturing towards the lab with his head.

“I had forgotten to do something. It was bugging me, so I couldn’t sleep,” she said, her voice raw from lack of rest and maybe from crying.

Trunks paused. “I heard you and Dad, uh, talking.” He squirmed a bit, visibly awkward.

Bulma looked up at him. “Yes, we were, about nothing important.”

Trunks gave her a skeptical glance. “And then you went to the lab again? I think I just caught you in a lie.”

She rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you Mr. Clever?”

“It’s early. Cut me a break. But seriously, Mom, you know I don’t sleep much. You don’t have to break stuff in the lab if Dad’s upset you.”

Smiling weakly, she said, “Honey, I’m fine. You know how he gets sometimes.”

“All the time,” Trunks interjected, rather acerbically.

She sighed. “You’re hard on him. Anyway, I can go in and out as I please, without your snooping, though. Although it’s nice you worry about me. But the lab is mine, young man!” She poked his nose affectionately, receiving a smile in reciprocation.

They had a nice relationship, a loving one. Vegeta turned away, clenching his jaw, and returned to the bedroom. He sat down on the bed, holding his head in his hands. Trunks always made her happy, and her kindness made up for the lack of their father-son relationship. As he sat there, fighting off lethargy, his own mother’s voice echoed faintly in his mind. Their relationship was not at all the same; actually, it was the complete opposite.