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Wishes of the Fallen	By : SaiyanGirl Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 4331 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own DragonballZ, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
Title: Wishes of the Fallen

Author: SaiyanGirl (SaiyanGirl@Gmail.com)

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Goku/Vegeta, Vegeta/Goku, implied Goku/Chichi, implied Gohan/Videl, others are a surprise! ^_~

Warning: Minor A/U, a tiny bit OOC, Language, Violence, Death, Angst, Yaoi, Graphic Lemon

Disclaimer: All copyrighted characters appearing in this story were created by Akira Toriyama, and appear without expressed permission. Any original characters appearing are the intellectual property of the author, SaiyanGirl.

Special Thanks: A HUGE Thank You goes to Katiefoolery for beta'ing this fic. She is absolutely amazing! Without her, this story would never have been worthy of posting!

Soundtrack for Chapter Fourteen:

     Enya - Miss Clare Remembers (Watermark, 1988)

     FC Kahuna - Hayling (Machine Says Yes, 2002)

     Muse - Ruled by Secrecy (Absolution, 2003)

     Matthew Good - 99% of Us is Failure (Hospital Music, 2007)

All soundtrack selections are available on iTunes.

Please Note: For all Soundtrack Discliamer Information, please see The Prologue.

Chapter Fourteen - Recovery

     "Take as much time as you need, then gather your things. You're coming with me."
     His mentor was speaking to him. He didn't care. It wasn't his voice he wanted to hear. His fallen father, his fallen mother... surely they would say goodbye; surely there would be a sign, a show of compassion - something - if he waited long enough. Tears fell upon them as he sat in their universe, wishing to see something, hear something... feel something.
     He had to.
     Time passed - he had no idea how much. It didn't matter. He knew it was late, knew the moon would soon pass, taking its beautiful light with it as its gaze sank behind the magnificent stone. He knew they were the only two left, both of them as still as they were silent. The only ones left saying goodbye - taking what time they had left of the night. Still he waited. Watching. Listening. Feeling. Hoping...
     Another tear fell to the ground. It was the last of his tears to fall, his hope falling with it. A tiny explosion of sorrow on the manicured ground; barely enough to contain the damage as his heart fell upon it. His soul ripped open to bear witness, his emotions on full display for all to see, his song ringing throughout the fire-lit walls; still... nothing came.
     "Boy..."
     It was his mentor's voice again: quieted to gently flow over his injured core. It was all Vegeta could do; what more could be expected of him? He'd said exactly what needed to be said: forcefully reminding everyone of how they took Goten's father for granted...
     How dare his youngest feel innocent of such a shameful crime...
     Inert, imperceptible moments drudged on before he was able to move, feeling the strain in his neck as he turned to look upon the proud Saiyan standing patiently behind him. How pathetic he must have appeared to him: a teenager, lying in a heap of his own tears, unable to let go of his childhood.
     "Are you ready?"
     Was he ready? Could he ever truly be ready? To leave? To say goodbye? To forgive? To forget? Questions with impossible answers. Even with the knowledge that the sheer pride standing behind him would never allow the walls around him to crumble, Goten wasn't sure he was ready to leave. Leaving meant leaving them behind... continuing his life without them.
     Continuing his life...
     'With him...'
     Within the dark oceans of Royal blue eyes, a sudden sense of comfort overcame him. A simple gaze from the most powerful being in the universe, casting a net of protection upon his very soul... The feeling began to build, his mind igniting with a sense of... of...
     He felt his eyes widen as it struck him. Could that be it? Could it really be? Through him... Had he found their sign?

     A sudden rush of wild emotions burst forth from within, his whole body reacting with a warming shiver. Yes... Yes - it had to be! Through Vegeta, they were talking to him! He had ripped himself open for all to gaze, stripped himself of all his defense, and they had heard him. Deep in those eyes, they were there - staring straight into his soul.
     Go with Vegeta, they said. Continue your life, they said.
     Live on...
     In happiness.
     "... Well?"
     "Yes." He answered their call, his call - the call of his mentor, his prince, his hero. "Yeah... I'm done."
     "Then let's go."
     His legs came alive once more, carrying him upright with such powerful haste they nearly threw him to the sky. Turning to align his body with his face, his soul came to an impasse: his parents lay behind, his mentor lay ahead. A life lost, a life gained.
     There was no going back.
     Bending to pick up his fallen instrument, Goten clasped the neck in his grasp, quickly hoisting it off the grass as he stood. He watched as Vegeta turned his back to him, his polished shoes making little noise as he began the trek back to the gathering of Capsule chairs. He followed suit, keeping a respectful distance as they walked, stopping only to collect his guitar case. In a focused whirl of sound and movement, the guitar was firmly seated, the final clasp shut, the case strung along his back. Vegeta's comforting gaze met him as he turned towards the path, the both of them pausing to take one more look upon the ominous stones behind them.
     "Thank you..." he heard himself say, his voice suddenly without control, "... for building this, Sensei."
     "Hnn."
     "... They would have liked it." Liked it? They'd have been powerless to do anything but admire it. The grass, the stone, the fire, the sky... their eternal strength assured through the actions of the proud Saiyan standing before him. Selfless actions from someone whom everyone believed incapable of caring for anyone but himself: it was an honour simply to stand in such a being's calming presence.
     Gravel shifted as polished black pressed against loose stone, his stride slow and casual. Again, Goten followed suit, maintaining that respectful distance between mentor and student, his sight captivated by the expensive suit making its way toward the entrance. It was in the way he walked: slowly, casually, without visible hindrance. Without malice, without retort: a simple ease in his step, saying more than words ever could.
     Peace.

     Just by gazing upon his shoulders, Goten knew Vegeta had already made his peace...
     As fire and light fought the darkness in his eyes, they emerged from within the memorial. Molten heat and the desert night's cold tangled around his skin as he came to a halt: Vegeta was motionless before him, his gaze no longer comforting.
     "Are you sure about this, Goten?"
     There was something in his voice - a sharp command, even though his words were softened. He could see it in his mentor's eyes - one last check, one last chance to back out... One last disgraceful chance to let his Human side finally win the battle for his soul. Suddenly he was back in the run-down hawk shop, his Human genes pleading for him to run, to turn back, to return to the safety amongst the clouds of thirty seven zero two. How loudly that part of him screamed, how painfully that part of him pleaded...
     No.
     No way. No fucking way. There was no way in Hell would he ever refuse his mentor. Prince Vegeta meant the world to him and more: to refuse him would be to refuse all that was Saiyan within him. Never would he refuse that. Never would he back down.
     His power, his body, his soul... were Saiya-jin.
     "Yes." He was watching intently, carefully, waiting for the impact; watching as the pride in his mentor's face slowly brightened in the torchlight. "Yes, I'm sure."
     "Hnn. Good." His affirmation had pulled on the prince's smirk, softening his hardened face into a warming smile.
     A smile Goten would never forget.

     "Then let's go."
     As Vegeta turned to face the sky, Goten was powerless to stop his Human apprehension from finding its voice: "Where are we going?"
     Glancing over his right shoulder, the flames echoed across his face: fire, passion and purpose highlighting his hardened masculine features.
     "Home."

     Home.
     He'd forgotten what home was.
     In one week, the very concept had lost its meaning.
     Yet, he was speeding towards one, soaring through a darkened sky as the stars stood witness. Expensive, meaningless clothing lapped at his skin as the air flew by: undercurrents, prevailing winds; mindless nuances of flight passing through his mind as his guide disappeared into a cloud. So too did he: hot on his mentor's heels, his lungs coursing with humidity as he bathed in moisture. Within seconds he was dry again, his body passing through a subtle patch of heat. Hot or cold, wet or dry: he didn't care. He was headed towards a new home...
     What the hell could he expect?
     Lost in a haze of meaningless observation, Goten surfaced long enough to realize just how close he was to Vegeta. So close... a subtle extension of his arm, and he could have touched that eerily still fabric - he couldn't recall ever being allowed such proximity to his mentor. How ironic he felt at that very moment: so unbelievably close, yet so impossibly distant... It left his stomach aching as his heart sank; the lamenting pain of mind-numbing guilt.
     Why was Vegeta doing this? What the hell was the point? He wasn't his father; he had no responsibility for him, no obligations to him. He was nothing to his mentor; nothing but a charity ca--
     No sooner had the disrespectful thought entered his head, it was forcibly removed: torn from his mind to float aimlessly in their powerful wake. There were a million reasons why Vegeta was taking him in - not a single one of them was wrong. He had no family left. Vegeta had no family left. Two steps that bought them together in a macabre dance of cruel fate... How dare he show such disrespect? How dare he look for ugly, Human motives in his mentor's acts of unrepeatable kindness? He burned with the shame of it. How would he ever forgive himself...?
     Impossible.
     Still they pressed on, Goten doing his best to leave his shameful disrespect behind him as they screamed across a tundra of frozen stars. Clouds passed by, seemingly held at bay by Vegeta's ki; Goten couldn't have cared less. He was too busy staring at nothing: above, below, across the never-ending horizons, it was all the same; a perfect mirror for the beautifully horrific stillness he found inside him - a darkened malaise that perfectly matched a mind consumed by shrouded uncertainty.
     It wasn't a secret that Bulma and Vegeta had separated shortly after Trunks' birth - hell, if they'd even had a relationship to begin with. Beyond that, he knew nothing of his mentor's personal life. Where he lived, how he lived - besides training him and sparring with his father, Goten had no freaking clue as to what Vegeta did on his own time. Surely he didn't spend every waking moment of his life in his fake gravity dome... but what else could a marooned embodiment of universal power do on a planet like this?
     'Raise his son...'
     He felt a snort escape into the surrounding cold, his eyes rolling at the thought. Yeah, right... raising his son. There was no way in hell Vegeta was raising his only son to grow into a self-righteous prick who abandoned his friends. He commanded honor and respect within every living soul that surrounded him - like fuck he was allowing Trunks' shit at home. The same trademark attitude was ripe within that bastard, but his father was a hero while Trunks was an asshole. There was no other way about it. Feh - he was too good even to spar with him anymore. Goten couldn't even remember the last time the two of them had learned under Vegeta together - it had been years of just one on one...
     ... Would that change?
     Benumbed stillness was shattered for mere seconds by an ominous frost: would he lose his private training with his Sensei? For so long, the two of them had trained together, fought together, traded blood, sweat and blows together... It was what had forged their relationship: Vegeta the dominant teacher, he the submissive student. Each with their own powers and weaknesses, they had grown to know each other almost intimately: their every secret, their every nuance memorized, tested, exploited and protected. It was a relationship that went deeper than just friendship, deeper than just teacher and student...
     It meant the world to him; a relationship that satisfied something deeper inside...
     But... what if it did change? What if they arrived at CapsuleCorp and he found himself in the bedroom right next to Trunks'? The inevitability of it pulled his face into a frown, demanding he accept the all too plausible truth. Where else would he go? A CapsuleHouse on the compound grounds? Hah - he could barely cook, let alone survive on his own. No... he would be brought to the bedroom within their massive house, conveniently placed right next to his childhood friend as a means of comfort and familiarity. He was fourteen - he wasn't stupid. It was the most obvious course of action to take.
     '... For Humans to take.'
     His inner voice drew his spirits higher, conducting his emotions as skillfully as a baton waving over an awaiting orchestra. Vegeta was no Human. His mentor was... no, is the King of all Saiyans, the most powerful being in the universe and the smartest mind Goten had ever known. There was no way in hell Vegeta would rescue him from one nightmare and place him in another... No. If he were to live at CapsuleCorp, he wouldn't be put anywhere near his childhood friend - Vegeta would see to it. His mentor knew he and Trunks weren't on speaking terms, and that was enough for him. The closest connection he would have to that bastard would be the estranged motherly figure who prepared their breakfasts.
     Or so he hoped.
     He felt a sigh fall from his lungs as his sight draped downward, the conductor in his mind pulling his emotions down for another beat. If he wasn't about to permanently fill the furnished bedroom right next to Trunks', where the hell else would they put him? Hell, how many years had he practically lived in that room already? Four? Six? How cold his body felt as the oddly shaped blade of Irony stuck into his lower back. It seemed like he'd been there at least three or four nights a week since he was a kid. The two of them, always together, nearly inseparable, even at night: his friend had often grabbed his sleeping bag and spent the nights on the carpet with him. Most of the time, they'd just lain there and talked: training techniques, videogames, the occasional three am horror movie... Two kids, so close to each other, reduced to the irreconcilable rift of bitter rivals by a single strike from the animosity of the weak.
     Now there would only be one other in his life.
     He would only have his Sensei.
     What that meant, he thought he already knew. He knew of the hardship - he felt the radioactive pride pulsing through the fires of his veins - but how would that transmute into family? What sort of family awaited him? If he was in one spot, and Vegeta in another, what would that mean? An absent father? Damnit, he had no idea what the fuck Vegeta even did, let alone where he did it. For all he knew, his mentor lived out in the wild in some cabin he built himself. Absenteeism wasn't something he was exactly used to since his real dad came back when he was six. Mom was always there - even when it was just him and her, they were still a family.

     Family...
     Was that even possible?
     The sinkhole in his stomach only grew deeper.
     In the absence of sound, his eyes were drawn to the approach of light far below: fireflies glowing amidst the dark, vibrating in their place. First one, then three, then a dozen - expanding like wildfire until his vision was filled: a darkened malaise of orange, white and blue spread in quasi-geometric shapes. East City: the city that never sleeps - its artistic towers as vibrant as its urban core. He thought of the culmination of Human life that passed under him as he flew: shopping malls, movie theatres, nightclubs - an entire city that believed itself truly alive. Alive... It was meaningless - as sterile as the lights that decorated his path.
     And at the end of that path lay Goten's new home, the very sight causing his heart to further sink within him. Massive pillars of blinding white shone deep into the sky - a display of utter dominance, radiating and towering over the surrounding metropolis as they strove to touch the heavens above. From each corner of the compound, they shone: defining their rightful place apart from everything else within the world. He couldn't help but scoff as he thought of it: superior to all else - it fit Vegeta perfectly.
     When his mentor began his descent, Goten followed, his body instinctively keeping close formation with his superior. The colours of life blurred, painting their way as they sped towards the ground: falling faster and faster until they landed at last, welcomed and enveloped by the awaiting light.
     Subtle lighting illuminated the path of bricks under his feet, falling from ornate lanterns hanging throughout the gardens. How long had it been since he'd last been surrounded by this garden's embrace? Months? It had been months: months since he'd stood here, lost in a tranquil design matched only by that found in the canopy of stars above. It took mere moments before his eyes befell the large structure to his left, lights shining from within various windows of the Briefs' home. Within it awaited his room. Within it awaited his bed. Within it... awaited the purple haired asshole.
     There was no point in denying the crushing truth any further.
     It was now his home too.
     He glared down upon the bricks of the path, resenting every step he took towards his new home: as helpless to stop as he was to forbid his own soul-gripping depression from pulling his shoulders down. How the hell he was about to do this, he had no idea: co-existing next door to someone who had thrown him out of his life like he was a useless tool that had outlived its purpose...
     It wasn't until his fourth step that Goten realized he wasn't being followed.
     "Going somewhere?"
     The simple question pierced the silence of the night, the masculine voice immediately stirring alarm within him. At once he stopped, the words still easing into his ears as he turned to gaze upon the Saiyan who stood calmly with his arms folded across his chest.
     "Wrong way."
     "Huh?" Wrong way? What? Where else was he to go? Even the servant quarters were in the building behind him - there was nowhere else on the compound to sleep. "I thought I--"
     "I'm not letting you live among Humans." Vegeta's tone matched that of his frame: calm, yet always on guard, always on duty; filled with a command impossible to miss, yet never obvious to notice. It was a trait which Goten admired most about his Sensei: the ability to mean, but not to show. The only way you could tell was by listening to that icy chill that swam up and down your spine if you ever thought of disobeying. "Come. This way."
     Goten could only gawk as Vegeta about-faced, his polished shoes producing quiet clicks as he walked down the garden's path. In an instant, he too was walking in the same direction, his instincts conducting his legs as his mind wrecked havoc upon itself.
     'I'm not letting you live among Humans.'
     His mentor's voice repeated itself over and over again, bouncing off the walls of his convoluted mind. If... if he wasn't to live among Humans... then did that mean... he would live among Saiyans? Would he actually be living with Vegeta? Was he truly willing to care for him as he would his own son?
     Goten could only gaze at Vegeta's back as they walked, searching for answers he knew he'd never find. His Sensei was unreadable - as obscure as the lightening and darkening of his suit as they passed under the path lights. Where was the Saiyan he thought he knew? How could a mere human garment hide the robust bulges of his shoulders? How could the magnificent size and definition of thick arms and stone crushing legs be consumed under simple tailoring? Fuck, he wished he could just smell him - his thick, masculine Saiyan scent was nowhere to find amidst the cooling summer's night...
     Gods only knew what was running through his mind.
     They walked on in silence, Goten's head still laden with the elusive answers he hadn't heard. Where they were headed, he had no idea... until they passed the open flame flickering between the stones of Bulma's parents: the both of them bowing their heads as they passed. His mentor had taught him of honor and respect at a very young age - something which he seemed to grasp more seriously than his then best friend. His father only reiterated everything his mentor taught him: how only fools and cowards refused to show respect to their enemies - how only ignorant fucks and living monsters refused to show honor to their kin.
     It was one of the most important lessons Vegeta had ever taught him - and now, as he slowly walked in his Sensei's footsteps, Goten began to truly understand its meaning.
     As the path continued to wind around various darkened buildings, undoubtedly instruments of CapsuleCorp's world dominance, Goten's eyes were seized by the familiar mechanical monstrosity which loomed behind them. Easily the largest structure within the compound, his mentor's fake gravity dome blocked out the sky as they approached, its presence only noted by Goten's old friends. High above the apex stood three red lights, suspended upon spires as they faded in and out: a warning for anyone stupid enough to dare approach Vegeta's private sanctuary.
     ... Was that it? Was he going to live inside it? Maybe there was an entire house built underneath it? Could that be it?
     His confusion only grew as the path split, his mentor following the bricks to the right. He was headed towards the small shed next to the dome - at least, that's what Goten had always known it as. Vegeta had said it was a maintenance shed for 'the woman' to fix the generators whenever they broke - all of a sudden, that didn't seem so truthful.
     Rather than say a word, Goten focused upon his other senses as they neared the front door, his eyes catching an odd sight of rather large blast marks where he assumed manicured lawns used to be - the broken garden lamps being the dead giveaway. However, to his expected surprise, the door instantly disappeared as his mentor neared, his darkened frame disappearing into the sea of black that waited beyond the threshold. It was then that his feet stopped, his timid body frozen to the ground.
     He couldn't move. He didn't dare. It wasn't right. If before him truly stood Vegeta's private home, he could never dream of just... walking in. Fear was nowhere to be found as he stood in silence upon his mentor's doorstep. There was nothing to fear... he respected him too damn much. He couldn't just walk in.
     He needed his Sensei's permission.
     "You coming?"
     It was all he needed.
     Within moments, his legs had come back to life, carrying him into darkness, carrying him from the view of watching eyes. Peering from his bedroom window, Trunks watched as Goten stepped through the doorway of his father's private home - a place he'd never been allowed to enter.
     No sooner had the door shut behind him, Goten's eyes were greeted with the warmth of hardwood, its presence revealed by a series of low lighting fixtures as their comforting glow sprang to life. Beyond the blue carpets and white couches sat a large kitchen, complete with all the signs of a simple yet elegant lifestyle. The entire house was illuminated by pot and lantern light, instilling a warmth within his soul the likes of which he had not felt for days. It was a modest house for a single occupant - a being of such benevolence and power... who was gracious enough to share it with him.
     Goten was in complete awe.
     He had to say something... at least communicate the smallest form of sheer gratitude that such a being was owed for presenting a gift that could never be repaid. But... how? What could he possibly say to someone of such magnitude? Here, within a Spartan home hidden away from everyone he knew...
     Goten knew he was standing where no-one else had ever stood besides the magnificent Saiyan before him.
     "V--Vegeta... I..."
     "Later, Goten." His mentor cut him off as he turned to face him. "Sleep now. We'll talk in the morning."
     He could feel that deep masculine voice wrapping around his soul as his mentor gazed upon him. There was no disdain, no scorn for his existence - there was absolutely nothing but a caressing, emotional protection he'd been missing for nearly a week.
     Vegeta cared about him.
     "The biggest couch folds out. The woman once told me there were pillows within it, but I'll have her get you some real ones tomorrow."
     Goten couldn't believe this was happening.
     "If you get hungry, the kitchen's yours... Just don't make too much noise."
     He actually cared about him.
     "The bathroom's over there." He motioned with his right arm, casually pointing towards the small hallway to his right. "And I'm right there."
     Surely he was dreaming...
     "If you need anything, don't come to me with it." He nearly sneered as the words left his mouth. "I can sense anything on this planet - I'll know before you do."
     "Y--Yes, sir."
     "Hnn... and don't call me that, either."
     "Uh... y-yes... Vegeta."
     Goten could only stare as his new profound feelings wrestled for dominance within his soul - a liberating army of overwhelming strength unleashed upon the unsuspecting sorrow that had claimed him days ago. Even as Vegeta calmly removed his shoes and moved into the hallway, the sorrow stood no chance in the face of the joyous onslaught of Goten's own pride.
     "Goodnight, Goten." His words were as quiet as they were explosive, a final line cast to push the sorrow from Goten's soul. His thick frame disappeared from view - his words remained. He didn't even shut his door.
     Nearly ten minutes passed before Goten found himself in motion: unfolding the bed within the plush leather couch, rolling down the fresh prepared sheets, bunching the two flattened pillows together to bring them back to a life of comfort. It wasn't long before he figured out the lighting system: a panel set in the wall displayed lighting options and temperature, the last set moderately higher than normal Human room temperature.
     Before long, Goten found himself flat on his back, lying naked under the sheets of a fold out bed, staring at the darkened ceiling of his hero's private home. His mind was chaotic wildfire as millions of individual thoughts collided in futile attempts to gain dominance over their counterparts, his eyes wide open to match. Last night he had been on a different couch, forever trapped within the horrifying depths of all that was misery within his universe. Now... he was on another couch, lying under the unyielding watch and protection of the most powerful being in the universe.
     Like hell was he about to fall asleep.
     He was too afraid to wake up from this dream.

     'Hnn... now what...'
     Blackened blue eyes stared directly into themselves, barely noticing how the soft light eased over blue and white tile as it filled the room. The sound of rushing water filled his ears as warmth danced along his skin, the lighting's touch warming bare muscle as he swelled under their comforting embrace. Purified water rolled over his skin with every movement - liquid frost upon his hands as he prepared the tool in his grasp. It was there he stayed, hands moving mindlessly as he stared back at himself: a hardened gaze trained directly upon his soul.
     Shrouded within the privacy of his bathroom, Vegeta stood in silence: his body working by instinct, his mind relieved to wander. Beyond the closed door, he could tell the boy was still asleep: feh... teenagers... And he'd slept in, too. Dragging his gaze away from his own eyes, his sight fell to his waist, barely noticing the movements of his hands at their mundane task as they worked before rippling abdominal muscles.
     Standing the tube back from whence it came, he raised his right hand and placed his toothbrush within his mouth.
     The subtle hum filled his ears as he pressed the button, the tool vibrating against his teeth at a speed no Human eye could trace. They were almost soothing: vibrations echoing along his nerves, loosening his eyelids as they massaged his canines. Another Human invention - another tool with a purpose he could exploit for his own gain. The idea of a cleaning tool bringing pleasure to his life made him snort in bemusement.
     His hand stopped. The buzzing continued.
     Purpose.
     Purpose... which he exploited...
     Was that what he was doing?
     Had he taken the boy as a means of exploiting him for his own gain?
     The darkened sneer that filled the mirror would have horrified millions had it not been marred by the white toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.
     'Bullshit.'
     There was nothing to gain from taking the boy in. He was alone in the universe: another Saiyan child abandoned on a planet to fend for himself - without guidance, without training, left to be raised by the fucking indigenous. No - no fucking way in hell was he about to let that happen again. He was still young himself: he owed it to Goten to guide him into Saiya-jia. Fuck, he'd done so since the boy was six Earth years old...
     Only now things had changed. There was no distance between them.
     His hand resumed its mundane task as he mindlessly scratched at an itch along his bare chest. Distance... when had there ever been any distance between them? Kakarott's youngest whelp had been eager to learn from him since he'd taken his first steps. A stark contrast to the ignorant Human whining dumbshit of Kakarott's first, Goten was worthy of royal attention: faster, sleeker and smarter at such a young age, not to mention powerful as all hell. After the pink blob was finally removed from existence, he'd seen to it that the boy would fall under his watch, demanding he train with his own son...
     Another heated snort pronounced itself in steam upon the mirrored glass, an image of his son's purple hair flashing behind his eyes. His own son... How disappointing it was to watch him waste away his power - ignoring his training, ignoring his body, ignoring his heritage - all for the useless attention of Human teenaged girls. The boy was too fucking young to mate by either Human or Saiyan standards - all he was doing was wasting his fucking time and throwing away what potential his royal genes had ensured. Throwing away his potential... and replacing it with Human emotion.
     The brush twisted in his hand as he rotated his wrist, the tool now focused on his fangs. Human emotion - that's all he fuckin' needed right now. Vegeta knew the two boys weren't talking - they hadn't for the past six months at least. Whatever the hell was behind it, he was almost certain it wasn't caused by the teen sleeping on his couch. While Goten had grasped his teachings of honor and respect, his son had... less than understood their meanings. Where respect and honor should have existed, meaningless Human behavior thrived.
     Disrespect.
     Jealousy.
     His face darkened as he switched to the other fang.
     'Jealousy... bah.'
     He'd never taught his son such a nuance of the pathetic. Jealousy was nothing more than laziness shrouded in hate. A Human term for Human beings: always wanting to be better than any other, but too fucking lazy to achieve it themselves. He watched the brow of his mirror image curve between his eyes: how ironic that such a pathetic word was suddenly befitting of his only son. How had he, the pinnacle of his race, allowed his son to become... an insult?
     Jealousy, insult, pathetic... such words and emotions should never be associated with Saiyan royalty.
     Yet... suddenly they were...
     Through his own son.
     The buzzing stopped, the internal timer beeping against Vegeta's cheek. His mind continued its personal onslaught as the toothbrush stopped, thoughts continuing to plague him as he washed the brush under the tap. If the boy was becoming more Human, it was coming from his mother - and her money. From the beginning, he was always the recipient of the best: the best training, the best conditioning... the best food, clothes, toys and other forms of distraction that filled the lives of Human children. It must have finally gone to his head - his mind warping around the concept of superiority in all the wrong ways. To be superior was to be greater in strength, speed, intellect and wisdom; not in wealth, social status or monetary power.
     Teeth mashed together as anger swept over him like a summer thunderstorm, barely noticing the minty coolness of the toothpaste as it swished within his mouth. To think of his only son as Human was as self-betraying as to think of Kakarott as attractive - thoughts and images that never should have existed, yet constantly tortured him. He had only himself to blame for Kakarott - but his son...
     His son was the product of his mother's influence mixed with Human adolescence.
     Someday he'd have to beat it out of him.
     His ears instinctively flexed as he felt it: a ki shift coming from beyond the closed door. The kid was awake. The kid, the boy, the teenager... Goten... Vegeta was sure his closer presence would bring its own problems. He'd known this before he'd made the decision to take him as his own...
     'Problems... Bah.'
     A darkened smirk graced his reflection as his eyes came back to themselves, awkwardly proportioned as his puffed cheeks pulled his hardened face astray. If any fuckin' problems came up, they would be caused by Humanity...
     They would be caused by his son...
     Smug ferocity overcame him as he glared into his own eyes, gazing down just in time to watch himself spit viciously into the sink, errant streams of toothpaste trailing down the corners of his mouth as if they were blood.
     He could handle his fuckin' brat.
     He had bigger problems to deal with.
     Vegeta lapped at the trails of toothpaste as he placed the tool back on its charging stand, pausing to rinse his mouth once more before snapping his tail to hit the lights. The thought of throwing on another training suit crossed his mind as he opened the bathroom door - he quickly discarded the thought as he felt the tight fabric of his shorts instinctively wrap to his legs, doing their best to conceal his elite endowment. Wandering into his kitchen, his tail flexed to pull a bottle of water from the fridge moments before his body paused, his eyes catching sight of Goten's wild locks. The first other Saiyan ever to enter his house... The thought echoed in his head as he approached the couch, his sight flowing over the body of the not-so-sleeping teen.
     "You awake?" Might as well play it dumb: the kid was unstable enough as it was - any reluctant form of comfort was sure to go a long way. The sound of his voice seemed to stir the boy, encouraging him to reveal his eyes.
     "Hrrn... yeah..." he mumbled, his eyes snapping open after a few moments had passed - his brain obviously reminding just exactly where he was. It wasn't long before wide eyes were staring Vegeta in the face. "Morning, s-si--I mean... morning, Vegeta."
     "Hnn, good," he replied, pleased the boy following was following his previous instruction. He'd always hated being called sir - it was insulting to his true Royal title. It was better to hear his own name rather than the inane formalities of a race to which he did not belong. "You sleep at all?"
     "Uh - yeah, thanks..." He was lying - not even Saiyans could hide the dark circles of exhaustion under their eyes. Vegeta knew the boy couldn't have slept for more than a few hours; he couldn't blame him either. A formidable smirk pulled his face as he thought - the boy would definitely be sleeping tonight.
     "I'll have the woman bring you better pillows," he mused, his sight sweeping over the young body before him, idly assessing the teen's bare skin. The boy was nothing but thick, hard muscle from neck to feet, forcing his skin to stretch tightly over his developing Saiyan physique. His was a unique time for any Saiyan: caught between the stages of child and adulthood, his bones were strengthening, muscles bulging, nerves thickening, ki intensifying... The development of the Saiyan body was a true work of art - to sculpt it in his own image was an honor with which few were ever so blessed. "You hungry?"
     The boy's empty stomach answered for him - his young chest snorted in amusement. "I guess so..."
     "Hnn."
     Already, Goten was nearly Vegeta's height - the boy's wild hair came just short of his own. For the past eight years, he had watched him grow alongside his own son - constantly improving, constantly growing in strength, speed and stamina. For a time, he'd thought the boy would grow into a body shape similar to his own: rigid muscle clad to a sleek frame designed for speed and devastating power. Only, over the last two years, his frame had begun to thicken as he grew; growing into those thick, glorious muscles of his father; soon to be surpassing even them. Every week he seemed to get bigger, stronger, and faster. It was a sight to behold by even the greatest of teachers: to watch their student mature into a being of monumental potential.

     His pride in the boy only hardened as his sight fell over the teen's bulging abs. Thick, rigid and defined - as if carved out of stone. Years of painstaking conditioning and training had created those, along with every other muscle on his body. He looked ready to take on an entire planet: an embodiment of Saiyan might, and the boy wasn't even flexing; he'd just woken up. At his rate, Goten would be the size of Nappa in no time... and be as fast as Kakarott.
     Vegeta would see to it personally.
     "There's food in the cupboards next to the fridge." His sight traveled up that conditioned body, catching the boy's gaze as it traveled in turn. Hnn - it only made Vegeta's smirk deepen.
     'Get a good look, kid...'
     It was inspiration. Awe, intrigue, fascination, whatever the hell you called it, it boiled down to a single thing: motivation. He was the best his race had to offer: perfect genes matched to a perfect physique. Just standing in his kitchen, Vegeta could feel the boy's admiration as young eyes rolled over his bare bronzed body, soaking up the sight of the Saiyan King in all his physical prowess. Without moving an inch, Vegeta subtly tightened his abs as his chest swelled, bare tanned muscles bulging in the summer heat as he flexed for his student: letting him see exactly what he would become in time.
     The boy's stare only hardened, his eyes transfixed upon the perfection that was Saiya-jin. It was exactly what Vegeta needed from him: see what you will become, then become. Know your goal, then take it - have all or have nothing. That was a true Saiyan's choice. So long as Goten stayed focused on that, and that alone, he would become that which he saw.
     And not allow himself to be tortured by his own grief.
     "Grab what you want, then get ready." Vegeta relaxed his body, the ridges of his muscles remaining prominent despite releasing his flex. Still the boy was frozen, his intensive stare reduced only to that of a hardened gaze which equaled Vegeta's own.
     "Uh... I--I uhm... ...can't." The boy's stammer caught him at odds - it was not like his student to be nervous around his teacher...
     "What?"
     "I... I... uhh..."
     Vegeta snorted - how could he be so blind... Within seconds he'd spotted them: the boy's black boxers strewn on the floor at the foot of the bed. Seeing a teenager's bare ass - or worse - at that hour was something he could do without. Wandering over to the foot of the bed, Vegeta snatched the piece of clothing from the floor and tossed it to the grateful Saiyan before him.
     "You got ten minutes," he said, keeping his voice light and casual as he turned away.
     "Wh-What are we doing?" The shuffle of fabric filled his ears as he gazed back at the boy, hard at work concealing that which Vegeta didn't need to see. A simple point of his right hand at the large door to his left answered the boy's question. "Umm... can I at least wash my face first?"
     "Hnn." With his back turned to the teen, Vegeta finished the last of his water, his impeccable aim ensuring the bottle's journey over the counter and into the open recycler. As Goten arose to his feet, Vegeta eyed the bulky legs that carried the teen into his bathroom, another satisfied smirk pulling at his face. They, like the rest of him, would continue to grow under his intense training.

     There was no better time to start than right now.
     Approaching the cupboards, Vegeta began rummaging through them for the food he'd gathered specifically for his student, his tail grabbing a bowl for him to pour the catered m�slisk into. Far beyond the realms of a regular cereal, this was composed of a high concentration of grains, fruits, proteins and minerals: the stuff growing Saiyans needed in abundance. The fact that it actually tasted half decent was merely an accident... although, a dash of powered sugar did help.
     He heard the tap in the bathroom cease its torrential rush as he placed the milk back in his fridge, mere seconds before the boy reappeared. Grabbing a spoon from one of the drawers, Vegeta placed the utensil in the boy's cereal and eased it towards him. He didn't bother looking at the kid's face - he already knew what was there to greet him. So he'd made him breakfast - who the hell cared?
     "Th-thanks!"
     "Hnn."
     He'd barely sat down on one of the barstools before Goten's Saiyan appetite came to life as he chowed down, mindlessly ingesting the fuel his body would need. Still he was nearly nude, his boxers struggling to conceal as much as possible.
     "You plan on fighting me half naked?"
     The boy's spoon immediately slowed, making Vegeta wish he'd kept his damn mouth shut.
     'Stupid... fucking stupid.'
     "Uh... Vegeta... I--I don't-"
     "Have any clothes." He finished the sentence for him. "Yeah." The look upon the boy's face said it all - gone was his focus, gone was his admiration for what he would be, gone was the frozen mental image of his mentor's fucking awesome body flexed in the morning sunlight for him to admire.
     They didn't stand a chance in the face of the ominously powerful onslaught only grief could command.
     "Yeah..." The lament in Goten's voice was almost painful, its drowning sorrow threatening to pull the boy back into its hellacious depths.
     Like fuck was Vegeta about to let that happen.
     "Hang on." In an instant, he was in his bedroom: his closet open, his hands and eyes quickly scanning the bland palate of colour hidden within. Clarity filled his mind as he found his target, the fabric clenched in his hand as he returned to the kitchen. "Here."
     Noting the boy had finished his breakfast, Vegeta tossed the garments into his lap, approving of his speed as he eagerly caught them. Black consumed his body as he held them up, his eyes gazing over a jet black training suit made of the same material as Vegeta's shorts.
     "It'll fit."
     Like a kid half his age, Goten immediately proceeded to slip the top over his head, the tight fabric clinging to his face much to Vegeta's amusement. He casually leaned against the wall as he witnessed the brief struggle that ensued, raising an amused eyebrow as the teen's wild hair finally surfaced for air near minutes later. It took another two before the fabric snapped hold to the teen's impressive physique, the black material easily adding definition as it clung to each and every one of Goten's young muscles.
     "Ughh - holy shit!"
     A scoff sneaked out of Vegeta's thick chest as he heard the boy swear: the fabric's seemingly endless elasticity knew no limits to its physical intensity.
     "How the Hell am I gonna get these shorts on?"
     "Pull really fuckin' hard."
     The boy did as he was told, his feet flat to the ground as he yanked the shorts over his knees. Vegeta didn't bother to watch as the teen encountered the biggest challenge yet: getting the fabric over his underwear. The barrage of swearing that filled his house did just fine in describing the sight.
     After gods knew how long, the boy seemed comfortable enough to take his first step, the fabric stretching as his muscles bulged and flexed under its tight embrace. Designed to give some form of comfort under battle armour, the tight short sleeved top clung to his waist, forming a seamless gap with the shorts which vainly covered less than half of his thick quads. Thankfully, it took only moments before Goten felt right at home in a typical Saiyan training suit: tight as all fuck for stability purposes; tighter still to show off.
     Vegeta gazed over the teen once more, taking in the pleasing sight of pure black defining and intensifying as it bound to unyielding Saiyan strength. "You ready?"
     "Yeah... I think so." His eyes could not lie. Within Goten's liquid chestnut, Vegeta waded through a sea of emotion: anticipation, excitement, eagerness - they came with their own companions: anxiety, unease and fear.

     It was the first day of his new life.
     He was going to start it right.
     "Hnn. You better be..." His voice took a snide tone as his face comically challenged his student, his legs coming alive to approach the massive door to their left. A simple dance of his fingers upon a black panel and the seals released themselves, the wild hiss of compressed air filling their ears. Within moments, the vast door was free, the both of them entering the Gravity dome's ante-chamber.
     "Wow..." The boy's awe held him back as the door sealed them in, letting him fall behind. Vegeta made no effort of speech as he approached the small box imbedded in the wall, kicking open the lid to reveal fresh pairs of white boots and gloves. He pulled the gloves over his fingers as he stepped into his boots, the lid of the box closing as he approached the main door. Another dance of his right hand, another series of loud hissing, and the door was open.
     "Good morning, your Highness." Her voice triumphantly filled the vast interior as the lights powered up.
     "Morning, Woman," he replied, failing to give a shit about what the kid would think of his exchange.
     "Sleep in this morning?"
     "Blame him." The snide in his voice had returned. It was only fitting when dealing with her.
     "Ah! Welcome back, Goten."
     "Hey..." Nerves struck his vocal chords as he answered, his voice ripe within the fields of apprehension. The boy still hadn't gotten used to talking to a computer that sounded exactly like its creator.
     'No shit - it's a fucking computer.'
     "Your last visit was two weeks and five da--"
     "We don't care, Woman," Vegeta interrupted, her canned responses of activity reports gracing him with little patience. "Set lighting to 'Daytime' and gravity to two hundred."
     "As you wish, your Highness."
     His body welcomed the heavy force weighing him down, more aware of the brightening lights than the impact of two hundred times the planet's gravity befalling him. To him, it felt like... going home: a pleasuring rush of weight and pressure squeezing his body, forcing his blood to pump harder as his veins thickened, his physique coming alive under the pleasing sensations. At two hundred, he felt as light as ever - there was no need for his ki's help when his rippling muscles handled the added stress without a hitch. Unfortunately, it was a different story for his student.
     Vegeta turned to face that which he expected: the teen's body in full flex as he eased himself into the oppressive force weighing him down. His face tightened into a very superior smirk as he eyed his student, the training suit fulfilling both its purposes with almost frightening ease. Battle hardened muscle violently strained against restrictive black as Goten struggled to remain standing, his young skin rippling and bulging under Vegeta's gaze as his body stabilized itself. Watching the Saiyan physique at work was something he would never grow tired of: its magnificence was matched only by its raw prowess and unyielding defiance before all that dared challenge. He was going to make this boy invincible - he alone would be responsible for creating a new elite: a thought that made his smirk harden as beaming pride swelled within his bulging chest.
     "Gravity set, your Highness."
     "Hnn."
     "Uggh - ngh, shit..."

     The boy's struggle nearly made him laugh.
     "Something wrong?" he chastised, his sight catching that of the teen in front of him.
     "Auugh... I--ngh, I can barely breathe!"

     This time he did laugh: a low, diabolical chuckle sending vibrations through his pecs.
     "Heh... good." And then he approached, his feet light against the superstructure's floor as he eyed his student. "You've never worn a Saiyan's outfit before, have you?" He stopped just before the teen, his royal eyes mere inches above Goten's.
     "N--no..."
     "Hnn." So close, so magnificent... The teen's bulk was a feast for Vegeta's proud eyes, his body singing its irresistible superiority. His body shone in the light from above - so strong and proud of what it was despite his student appearing barely aware that he was a living monument to the universal gods of power and glory. Vegeta would make sure he knew it before long - he would make sure Goten knew he was superior to all, that no-one could ever challenge him... And somewhere in the middle of his thoughts, his hands had reached out to touch his student, his strong hands pressed hard against the boy's thick abs.
     "Good... it's working perfectly." His voice was low, almost hypnotic to his own senses - as if it wasn't his... "Feel my hand, Goten..." Further still he pressed, pressure building in his thick arm as he pushed against the boy's rippled stomach. "Feel it?" Again he spoke, his tongue moving without consent from its own mind...
     "Ye--Yeah... Nngh, I do..."
     Under his touch, Vegeta could feel the boy's body rippling, his thick muscles flexing, his young Saiyan heart beating... The sensations surged throughout his body, liquefying his nerves as the tantalizing pleasure assaulted his senses, screaming their irresistible seduction within the whirlwind that was his mind. In an instant, he was back in that forest, drinking in those same sensations of pride and relentless drive from the last Saiyan he'd ever touched. How similar the two felt: the gleaming, sweaty muscles of the father, the developing power of the son; two symbols of all that was Saiya-jin... How easily his realities began to blur right before his eyes: watching, sensing, smelling, wanting...
     '... Huh?'
     Vegeta blinked, snatching his hand away. At once his legs moved, instincts guiding his feet to take two steps back. He froze, not trusting himself to move an inch further. Which part of him was going to betray him first: his mind or his body?
     Within him, he was screaming.
     'What in the fuck was that!?'
     "Vegeta?"
     His sight flashed to the watching youth, royal eyes widening for the shortest of split-seconds before suppressing their own alarm in the face of Goten's puzzlement.
     'He's not fuckin' Kakarott!'
     Vegeta snorted, expelling the gripping tension that had held his body hostage. "That suit is designed to stabilize your body." He forced the words out, his neck aching as it involuntarily flexed under his overwhelming unease. "It's restricting at first, but you'll get used to it. After a while, you won't even feel it."
     "Ugh... alright."
     "Hnn."
     Fuck... where the hell had that come from!? How the hell could he think... with his...
     'Cho-DEGKAH!'
     He needed to hit something, smash something, hear something choke on its own bloodied screams as it begged for his mercy... Yet he could not - not with his student standing before him. His only available option was his own blood...
      "Okay..."
     The word forced its way through the blaring hatred, the insurmountable chaos ringing in his ears... He could barely see the teen in front of him - he wanted to see violence, hurt, pain, suffering... wanted to see it, to feel it so badly it took an entire age before the boy's words made themselves heard.
     "I'm good."
     The chaos ceased.
     The boy was ready.
     "Hnn."
     Earth-shattering clarity exploded within his mind as he moved, his body consumed by the deathly chilling sharpness of his own focus. His spirit bounded as senses heightened, transforming him into an entity of molten serenity, allowing him to move with the wild pleasure of battle, the undeniable cry of freedom. In the air, he moved as no Human ever could, surrendering his soul to the deepest pleasures of such perfect, terrifying violence. When his feet met the ground again, he kept his head bowed for a second, pausing before he gazed upon his next opponent.
     When his eyes opened, the fear in the teen's face nearly made him chuckle once more, knowing full well what overwhelming horror he faced. Yet Kakarott's youngest had no need of fear, for he himself was as hellacious as his mentor.
     He just didn't know it yet.
     "Ready?" His voice was at its most feral: a low growl capable of unnerving the mightiest of warriors in his path. Today was the day everything changed. Goten would become that which he was destined to become, even if it meant Vegeta's life.
     He watched as the boy surrendered to instinct, crouching into his knees, poised to strike from his right. Just as he needed to be... Focused on his body, focused on his mind - just as Vegeta wanted. No room for sorrow, no need of grief.
     There was no better method to Vegeta's madness. Throw thyself into thy training - become that which you seek. Fuck sorrow, fuck grief, fuck everything that held you back - fight!
     Don't think - just do.
     Goten's smirk confirmed everything Vegeta could ever ask of his student.
     Instantly, his father launched: muscles hurling through the air as he threw himself into a vicious left kick, Goten quickly ducking the powerful attack before throwing his right arm to the ground, rolling his body forward as he swung his right leg over his head. It was an unsuccessful counter easily dodged - how pathetic. He brushed purple strands from his sight as he watched Goten regained his footing, watched him wince in pain as he blocked a strong right, phased by the power of his father's attacks. Cringing in pain, Goten lunged forward, grasping his father's shoulder as he moved, thrusting his right knee hard into chiseled abs - what a fucking weakling. The dumb fuck would have to hit his dad a shitload harder than that. In a split second, Goten lay stunned on the floor, his father's bare knee having smashed him directly in his chest.
     'Fitting...'
     It was fitting. Fitting to see Goten on the floor. Fitting to see him where he belonged. He didn't belong in his house. He didn't belong in his father's house. What gave Goten the right to think he belonged where he had never been allowed? He wanted his father to hit him again, to hit him harder: to make him bleed...
     For anything less was unacceptable to the blood-lusting jealousy that had spawned within his young body. Within him, it burned: the quiet rage, the envy, the jealousy... together, they became an inferno, fueled by the images his eyes captured as they peered through the tinted window.

     It wasn't fair... it wasn't right...
     When Goten got up seconds later, Trunks' jealousy burned his hands blue.

     Deep within the confines of corporate comfort, a slender hand mindlessly brushed soft blue hair from exhausted soft blue eyes: a lone female figure lost within the misery of despair as she sat silently before expensive timber. Immersed within the familiar comfort of her private office, her eyes remained captured by the latest batch of mundane noise which her computer screen so readily offered, the machine incapable of reading her darkened state. Sitting in comfort, surrounded by familiarity, Bulma could do nothing but stare mindlessly at the screen as her hands worked without instruction, pulling up program after program until reaching the first stop of her day: her private inbox.
     She sighed, feeling life return to her body as she shifted uneasily in the comforts of expensive leather. The tinted sunlight warmed her hands as it filtered through the Electrochromatic glass, encouraging her to begin her work: another day, another hundred messages. Her eyes lightly glanced over the various senders and subject titles, the majority meeting with her immediate disapproval...
     "C.T.I., C.T.I., SattCom, C.T.I., Government, Government..." She stopped, frowning as her mind processed the proceeding title:
     "G3T B|GG3R B00Bz N0W!!1!"
     She would have snorted had she felt like it. Not even the most powerful woman on the fucking planet was immune to email spam.
     'That's it. I'm killing the I.T. guy.'
     Her fingers flew without consent: an email opened, a message typed, an email sent; the head of CapsuleCorp's internal I.T. department suddenly jobless. It was a pale substitute for the fat man's head on her desk, but at least it was legal... that, and it left a substantially smaller mess than her preferred alternative. At the amount she paid, any I. T. hotshot in the world with a four inch penis would be willing to do just about anything to take his place. She'd have his replacement by the end of the day, if not by lunch.
     Still, firing someone didn't help her mood. She was miserable. She had been since four days prior - only things had gotten worse since the previous night. She'd come home, she'd taken off her dress... and fallen asleep in a pool of her own tears. Dragging herself out of bed was one of the hardest things she'd done in recent memory.
     But the show must go on - she had a company to run, and they needed her... Why, she couldn't really remember at that moment...

     Over the plethora of email, her eyes glazed: situation reports, geography analyses, a new marketing campaign for their latest model in mobile housing... She knew she should be paying more attention, digging deep into each email like the ideal, hands-on kind of boss she was.
     Was being the keyword...
     'Keyword... funny, Bulma.'
     It was a vain attempt at humor - but an attempt, nonetheless. Too bad she didn't feel like laughing.
     She constantly lost focus, her mind far away as her hands undertook the sacred ritual of throwing useless and meaningless shit into the trash, discarding mind-numbing letters and T.P.S. reports. Line after line, her inbox cleared itself, quickly becoming as cold and barren as her heart under the terrible grasp of her own sorrow. She'd formed a rhythm without noticing, the subtle clicks of the ancient technology under her right hand creating a baseline for the mail's exciting and wonderful journey to the trashcan. There was no way in Hell she could have controlled her personal All-Motion-Variable-Interface - the ancient 'mouse' was more than capable of ignoring her shaking hands.
     It was an incessant beat which would have continued uninterrupted had her eyes not spotted it - she even had to lean forward in her chair to make herself believe it was actually there. Among the garbage, among the mundane sat a lone email, its priority and urgency marker lost amongst the sea of imposters that surrounded it:

          CC_MEO to CC_CEO_BBriefs - RE: Subject 1 Final Examination
          Medical Examiner's Office... Subje--

     The rhythm stopped.
     The damned derelict device couldn't move fast enough. No fucking tactile interface ever could move fast enough. It was only seconds, but it was too many seconds; her drastically reduced patience instantly put to the test as the email was opened, her eyes intensifying to that of an owl's stare as her nose practically touched the vast screen before her:

          To: Doctor Briefs, Chief of Development, Research and Technology and
     Chief Executive Officer of Capsule Corporation.
          From: Doctor Andrew Patraeus, Chief Medical Officer and Director of
     Medical Operations and Research of Capsule Corporation, writing on behalf of
     Doctor Robert Olantus, Medical Examiner.

          Doctor Briefs,
          Please see the attached file for patient CX-74LSSJ37: Son Chichi,
     Deceased, as requested. I have enclosed Dr. Olantus' final report for your
     review, including my requested oversights:

     Her right hand flew like lightning, instinctively manipulating her fingers as if conducting an orchestra on screen. Nothing happened. Swearing at length, she slammed her hand against her desk as she grasped the ancient technology once more - haste begat forgetfulness: she wasn't wearing her A.M.V. She grit her teeth at the delay, impatience marring her expert coordination as the cursor moved too slowly: one more click, one more drag, one more split second wait...
     And it was open.

          Patient CX-74LSSJ37: Son Chichi, Human Female, Born November the
     Twenty Fourth, Aged Forty Four Years, Five feet and Four inches tall, One
     Hundred and Fourteen Pounds, Deceased July the Third of This Year.

          Begin original report:

          Patient was found physically undisturbed within Accident Site CC-001AX
     with no superficial lacerations or other signs of physical trauma. Preliminary
     Cause of Death believed to be accident related: no direct evidence supporting...

     She wanted to be sick. She nearly felt like it: her eyes drifted to the wastebasket at her side as the emotions lurched within her throat. She could see her there, lying in the dirt... motionless. The two of them had stood there: she and Patraeus - amidst the dirt and dust billowing around them. Through her tears and the unbearable intensity of the sun, she'd seen his hand tremble as they administered their final scans. He claimed he'd never seen anything like it in over two hundred years...

          Preliminary Scans inconclusive. Direct orders from Doctor Briefs
     disallowed patient re-positioning - experimental portable CT (CAT) and MRI
     deployed. Imaging enclosed. Results to follow:

     Her fingers remained clasped to the device, the cursor pulling the images to light. The screen came to life as colour filled her vision, the vibrant markers of her own technology guiding her through what she was seeing. She didn't have a medical degree yet, but she knew enough of medicine to stumble her way through the pictures provided.
     The first one looked fine.
     The second made her gasp.

          Let the record show that Dr. Andrew Patraeus, Chief Medical Officer and
     Director of Medical Operations and Research of Capsule Corporation, accepts
     the data provided by the experimental portable CT (CAT) and MRI technology,
     and would like to commend the teams responsible for their creation.
          Preliminary MRI, to be known as Final MRI from this point henceforth,
     showed no physical injury or decay of any kind below the fourth and fifth
     Vertebrae. Severe blunt-force trauma discovered under the Cerebral Cortex as
     highlighted in RED. Point of Impact shows descending vector; Doctor Olantus
     and Patraeus concluding sufficient and reasonable cause of hairline fractures in
     Third Vertebra and severe trauma to first and second Vertebrae...

     She couldn't bear to look at the MRI for a second longer. She was going to be sick.
     He'd... broken her neck...

          Preliminary CT, to be known as Final CT from this point henceforth,
     showed insignificant activity. Initial screening of results believed to be
     inconclusive -

          OVERWRITTEN by Dr. Andrew Patraeus.
          Results to follow:

          What was initially believed to be a glitch of the experimental portable
     MRI proved to be a mistake of grave significance. Upon initial examination,
     Patient CX-74LSSJ37 appeared to contain a healthy, functional brain. I blame
     myself more than Doctor Olantus for this grave error.
          Upon closer inspection, a mass was detected amidst the two Hemispheres,
     specifically engulfing the Amygdala. From there, the mass spread to the Basal
     Ganglia, virtually consuming the entire nerve colony before spreading to the
     Fourth and Sixth Aeras of the Frontal Lobe, commonly known to modern
     medical students as the Primary Motor Cortex. With half the patient's brain
     engulfed by what I have yet to determine the substance or cause of, I can, with
     great disturbance, sufficiently conclude that the Cerebellum decayed at the same
     rate, eroding the Lateral and Ventromedial Motor Systems, resulting in the
     eventual degradation of the patient's Brain Stem.
          For the record: I, Doctor Andrew Patraeus, U. M. D. of over one hundred
     and seventy years, have never been so shocked and astounded in my entire
     career; nay, my entire life as I am with these findings. To the best of my
     knowledge, all known medical science cannot possibly explain such a radical and
     devastating degenerative effect upon the Human brain. Given the absolutely
     destructive properties of this physical trauma waged within her brain, the very
     idea of this poor woman simply breathing in unfathomable to me. There is no
     doubt in my mind, had she sought previous medical treatment, her attending
     physician would have concluded the same as Dr. Olantus: citing technological
     error, rather than diagnosing the largest brain tumor ever recorded in Human
     medical history.
          As of this date, July the fourth of this year, I am still awaiting the research
     I have requested from home. I am confident the Cyldarian Planetary Medical
     Society will approve my request with haste, given the nature of th--

     "A brain tumor!?" Her shout echoed off the walls, rattling the ornate glass upon her expensive desk. "Chichi had a fucking brain tumor!?" Again she shouted, again the glass rattled - again she felt as if she were going to vomit.
     A brain tumor? How the fuck was that possible? There was absolutely no fucking way Chichi could develop one - she barely used a fucking microwave! There were no outside influences surrounding her for the course of her life... No cell phones, no artificial sweeteners, no... ancient nuclear power plants! It was as ridiculous as it was incomprehensible!

     It made no sense...
     "What in the living fuck!?"
     It was impossible to believe. But there it was, staring at her from the realms of lifeless technology: a harmless image of blacks, grays, whites, reds and blues. Her brain outlined in white, the alien mass drenched in red... it had engulfed more than half the screen.
     "But... if she had a brain tumor... and Goku knew... did he...?"
     Her thoughts were quickly silenced. Goku wasn't capable of killing anything, let alone his wife... Even if it was to end her suffering...
     The world blurred, tears falling again, well after she'd thought no more could possibly be found. Nothing in the world made any fucking sense...

          Returning to the Final CT, Cause of Death was initially inconclusive.
     Taking my... horrifying findings into account, I can, with my leading expertise as
     certainty, in deference to Doctor Olantus, conclude the following:
          While the brain tumor would have certainly terminated the patient's life
     within days, if not sooner, I can conclude the Cause of Death resulted from Blunt
     Force Trauma to the base of the Brain Stem. However, from the fractures
     examined within the Second and Third Vertebrae, human contact and/or foul
     play must be ruled not at fault. The lack of superficial bruising around the neck
     consistent to that of a Human or Humanoid hand rules out strangulation or forced
     trauma. The fractures revealed by post-mortem scans suggest the source
     of the blow was not an object of any portable size or nature.

     The tears immediately ceased. Wide eyes stared dumbfounded at the vast display of colour and text as a genius mind frantically worked behind them. No hands... no objects... no burns...

          In conclusion, Doctor Olantus and I can state with certainty that Cause of
     Death was at the fault of--

     "... The patient."
     Her universe became blinding white; a battered mind frozen to arctic nothingness by the deathly blizzards of shock.

          ... the patient. Due to the severity of the trauma to her brain, it is believed
     the patient simply lost consciousness while sitting or standing, suffering a major
     blow to the side and/or back of the head while falling to the ground. Given the
     testimony provided by an unnamed eye witness validated by Doctor Briefs on-
     site, it is believed the patient was alone within a kitchen setting at the time of
     death. Therefore, it is most reasonable to conclude the patient came into contact
     with an appliance, table, countertop, or other stationary object sufficient in
     resistance to cause the physical trauma inflicted.

     Chichi hadn't been murdered.
     She had died of natural causes.
     "Goku didn't kill her..."

A/N: Special thanks to Bruno Dubuc of the Douglas Hospital Research Center for creating, "The Brain From Top to Bottom: An Interactive Website on the Human Brain and Behavior (http://thebrain.mcgill.ca/flash/index_d.html)," and to McGill University for hosting the website from which I gathered all my research. If you're still scratching your head over all those lovely medical terms within Dr. Patraeus' report, check out that website! It's really freakin' cool!
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Wishes of the Fallen