Chapter 1: Two Marks

Vegeta pulled his head under the surface of the lake, trying to get his headache to recede. It had been bad before; but now every little motion and movement sent pounding reverberations through his head. His senses were still hypersensitive, but his body had ceased to produce the massive amount of adrenaline his needed to counteract the pain sensitivity brought. Hopefully the water and a day of rest would counteract the last three days of following animal instincts.

He knew now why Radditz and Nappa had looked forward to the full moons so, even after Planet Vegeta’s demise. The pure emotions coursing through him had been like nothing he had ever felt before. Of course, neither of them had ever mated with a woman capable of surviving; every female they had taken during the full moon died because they were weak. Vegeta’s new mate had matched his heightened state with one of her own.

The Saiyan Prince smirked as he swam beneath the water, pleased with himself.

He had finally forced her to raise her ki.

During the second night her relatively weak ki had formed into a blazing column of strength, easily matching that of both the monk & the bandit combined. It had been more than enough to ensure her survival against his strength, and a pleasant surprise to find himself holding a woman bathed in a reddish aura.

She had offered him a knowing smile, then dashed off into the woods, daring him to find her. All he had to do was find her, catch her, and then there would be nothing left to keep him from claiming his prize; she was ready.

He had claimed her indeed; she belonged to him now in body and soul. If she was happy, he would know, as he would if she were angry, sad, frightened, or hurt until death separated them. The dark red essence of her life force was so intricately bound to his that even her smell was imprinted upon him.

This bonding had intimidated him at first. Bonded Saiyans were always bowing down to the other’s wishes, often removing themselves from society. The deepest bonds even heralded death, should one member of a pair die. They were said to weaken an elite Saiyan’s fighting spirit, and Vegeta would never weaken himself. But this woman whom he had just made his own was anything but weak; her soul was as strong as steel and she had a temper to match.

During the entire process, she had never once cried out in pain. He knew he had hurt her; she was only a human woman, and thus her strength could never equal his. Yet she had never backed down during the past few days. She had matched him, even when he knew he had no right to ask her to continue. He’d pushed her past her limits, and still she had stayed.

He’d left her curled up at the edge of the clearing, where she had sunken into unconsciousness early that morning after the rage had finally receded. He could see her form outlined against the shadows of the forest, ribcage rising slightly with each breath, dark head cushioned on one slender arm. She would probably sleep until the next morning, unless a pressing matter woke her. Through the past three days, they had eaten and slept only enough to keep their bodies going. Once he realized she required more sleep than he did, he’d gone out to satisfy his hunger, leaving behind a pile of grizzled carcasses a few clearings away. As was proper, he’d saved some of his kill for her, but she had turned up her nose and eaten berries instead. Those short bursts of rest were nothing more than muddled memories in the back of his brain; they had not been important.

He remembered the important actions clearly.

He remembered the game they had played in the woods, of the hunter and his prey, and how, for a while, he had been the prey. Even now he could feel the way her skin felt beneath his hands, how her body pressed against him; the deft touches she had used to excite him even more. The way she had writhed beneath him while he sank his teeth into her neck; the sharp but sweet pain when she had bitten into him, and the union of their souls that had followed.

Something hadn’t been quite right with that exchange. He had shown almost no restraint when giving her his soul, and she had clung to him while she adjusted to his gift. But she had adjusted with so little trouble the problem could not have originated from him. It had come from her, when she had allowed him to take her soul. There had been the slightest hesitation, which he had expected. The Princess was only human, after all, and a Saiyan bonding could be painful for Saiyans, let alone a woman of a weaker species. So he had taken it as quickly as he could to lessen the pain.

Now, when it was all over, something wasn’t quite right with the way he felt. He knew well how bonded Saiyans were supposed to feel; the lower classes had lauded the sensation for centuries. And this nagging sense that he had gotten more than he expected refused to go away. Yes, she had not given him her soul as much as he had taken it, but there had been no other way; she would have gone mad with the pressures, and he needed his consort sane. She had been more than willing to give herself to him; she had made that clear on several occasions; he had not truly taken her against her will.

What had he taken from her that was impeding their bond?

There should have been no problems. He was a member of the Royal House, who while they bonded rarely of their own free will, were not incapable of doing so. He had been a glorified slave almost all of his life, and yet that had not stopped him from completing his half of the bond.

His mate was a human woman, a Princess of some small kingdom. Aside from her human blood, she had also carried her own horrors to their bond, but that had not stopped her from bonding before.

Vegeta froze, almost forgetting to tread water.

He had taken a mate who had bonded before.

Could the slight resistance he felt be her bond with Kakarot? Kakarot had not truly bonded with her, for she had been able to arouse him. She hadn’t smelled of the third-class baka whom she had given a son, nor had she refused his attentions, as a proper mate would do.

But that was the only explanation.

She had bonded him while still bonded to another Saiyan, hadn’t she?

Kakarot was dead, wasn’t he? The bond should have dissolved with his death, or at the very latest when he had bonded with her himself.

Spurred by dread, the Prince swam to shore and left the soothing waters of the lake, ignoring his battered spandex suit in a pile in the grass. The water streamed down his skin in rivulets as he strode to his new mate, examining her ki closely for the telltale flickers that would indicate the presence of his heir within her.

He felt nothing.

He snarled in anger. She had been at the peak of her reproductive cycle when he had taken her; it was impossible that she had not conceived. But he felt no ki whatsoever from his mate; not even her own.

Could she be hiding his heir’s ki, as well as her own? Even while sleeping? She had to be, and the Prince resolved to get her to teach him her methods of ki manipulation before his heir was born.

He knelt next to the sleeping woman, rolling her onto her back so he could clearly see the base of her neck. The milky skin was covered with more bruises than he could count, but her skin had only broken in one place, at the base of her neck, where the livid mark his teeth had left stood out clearly. And at the other side of her neck, parallel to his, was a second mark, left by another set of teeth long ago.

It had neither faded nor healed, which meant the keeper of his soul was still bonded to Kakarot.

The Prince of Saiyans snarled and lashed out with more anger than he had ever possessed before, more anger than had flowed through his veins when he realized that Frieze had actually destroyed his people. It filled him, touching his very core as he fumed about how weak he had allowed himself to become, giving his soul to a woman who loved another. As his anger spiraled out of control, the new connection he had so conveniently forgotten about channeled his emotions to the woman who had inspired such rage.

Son Chichi, daughter of the Ox-King and the Crown Princess of Amazonia, opened her dark eyes in time to see her new mate disappear beneath an aura of golden light as he ascended into the level of power that had only been a legend until very recently.

The Prince had finally become a Super-Saiyan.

* * * * * * * * *

Chapter 2: Meeting in the Woods

For the handful of fighters who considered it their duty to protect the planet they lived on from any matter of threat, life was something that could change at any moment. One day they could be living their mostly peaceful lives, and the next, on a spaceship to a planet thousands of light-years away, or even training in the afterlife. After seeing everything they had, there wasn’t a lot that could turn the stalwart warriors into stammering adolescents.

But the sight they found when they followed the gargantuan ki spike one muggy summer morning was more than enough to leave them speechless.

Chichi, the daughter of the Ox-King and the Crown Princess of the Amazons, opened her dark eyes in time to see her new mate disappear beneath an aura of golden light as he ascended into the level of power that had only been a legend until very recently.

The Prince had finally become a Supersaiyan.

Chichi stared at Vegeta, wondering exactly what had happened to him, and why he was glowing…gold. She had her fire-aura, but unless she spent years refining that particular set of skills she could not call upon it at will. It was only triggered in self-defense or in moments of extreme emotional agitation. If this golden aura was anything like her red one, Vegeta would have to be very upset about something; there was nothing in the area that could endanger him.

“Vegeta?”

He turned to stare at her with green eyes harder than diamond, and such a wave of raw anger and hatred washed over her that the air crept out of her lungs. She glanced up at her mate, ignoring the tears that were forming in the corners of her eyes.

This hatred that invaded his soul was directed at her.

Fighting for breath, the young woman planted her palms in the grass and levered her torso into a sitting position. She winced as her much-abused muscles protested the movement; one of Korin’s precious senzu beans would be more than welcome at the moment.

“Vegeta,” her voice was hoarse, and she could barely raise it above a whisper.

“Vegeta—why do you hate me?”

A sinister smile reminiscent of the Vegeta who had tried to kill her son touched the lips of the man before her. He was so hard—and so cold…and yet there was something deeper that she couldn’t put her finger on. A tiny little sliver of something that told Chichi there might be hope.

“Hate you!” The haughty Prince snorted. “You’re just a weak earthling woman; I could crush you as easily as a bug beneath my shoe.” His voice was cold as he walked over to stand above her, looking down upon her as if she were no more than a chair he was about to sit upon. “I would never waste such a strong emotion as hatred on a pitiful creature like you.”

Chichi tried hard to keep her despair from welling up like tears. She would not let this man see her get upset; not now. If this was the way he wanted their relationship to be, then so be it.

He would have to learn the hard way.

But before she committed herself to the forceful re-education of the man who had claimed her, she had to know one thing. She slowly forced herself to stand, and calmly looked into the harsh green glare. This was his only chance to redeem himself.

While Chichi and Vegeta braced themselves for a verbal battle, they were completely unaware of the men who had gathered in the safety of the edge of the forest. The massive ki spike had startled them all into thinking that danger was near, and they had all taken to the skies, hoping to find out what it was.

They had been expecting something horrible, dark, and evil, threatening the very existence of the planet they called home.

What they did not expect was to find the Prince of all Saiyans and the wife or mother of his only two subjects arguing in a clearing. Mouths open slightly in shock, the four men gaped at the situation before them.

Krillin, the master of embarrassing comebacks, was the first to find his voice. “Am I seeing things—or is that Vegeta and Chichi without any clothes on?”

Yamcha nodded, eyes fixed upon the slender figure of Goku’s wife. “I don’t see any clothes out there.”

Krillin tore his eyes from the spectacle before him to glare at Yamcha. “She’s married, Yamcha—to Goku. And I’m sure he wouldn’t be too happy to know you’re staring at his wife when she’s wearing nothing but…” his eyes slid back to the scene before them.

“Grass,” Tien finished weakly, all three eyes wide in shock. Beside him, Chaotzu whimpered, hiding his eyes in taller man’s leg.

Puar, while no less surprised than the others, finally realized that Yamcha, unlike the others, still hadn’t adverted his eyes from the scene before them. “Yamcha,” the little cat squeaked in worry, “don’t forget Bulma! She’ll never forgive you if she finds out you’ve been peeking at other girls!”

Krillin gave Yamcha a stern glare, reminding the ex-desert bandit that Bulma would indeed find out that he had been staring at Chichi, unless he found something else to look at. Being a man, and one not bound by the strict upbringing of some brainwashing guild, Yamcha’s eyes searched for something else to look at, and landed on Vegeta.

Like Chichi, the Saiyan Prince wore nothing that he hadn’t been born in, but his appearance had so drastically altered that Yamcha only identified him by the dark undertones of his ki. The man’s hair was gold; and his aura, now visible, blazed like a burning sun. He had his back turned to them, but Yamcha shuddered to think what sort of expression such a massive ki-spike had brought to the face of the Saiyan Prince.

He was probably ecstatic, having finally passed Goku in raw strength.

The three men exchanged glances, each trying to see if any of the others were going to leave when the pair in the clearing began to speak again.

Chichi ran dirty fingers across an open wound at the base of her throat. “Doesn’t this mean anything to you,” she questioned the Prince softly, massaging what Tien could make out as a bite mark. He wondered briefly what significance it held, but his thoughts were cut short by Vegeta’s harsh reply.

“That,” he poked a finger at the mark on her throat, “would mean a lot more to me if that,” his finger slid across her throat to another, much older mark, “disappeared.”

Chichi’s dark eyes widened, and her hands went to her hips in a stance that each man recognized as Chichi at her most dangerous. “And what is that supposed to mean!”

Vegeta growled and turned to pace, literally too angry to answer her.

The men at the edge of the forest quickly retreated deeper into the trees, instinctively knowing that now was not a time to be seen if they wanted to see tomorrow.

Chaotzu glanced at Yamcha, who was trying to comfort a quivering Puar. “What do you think they’re talking about?”

“She has two bite marks at the base of her neck,” Tien explained quietly, still peering off towards the clearing. “One is fairly new; it has recently scabbed over. The other is a scar—years old.” He paused for a long moment. “And it was made by a different set of teeth.”

Krillin stared at Tien in surprise from his safe spot under the canopy of a particularly dense oak. “You can see all of that from here?”

Tien smiled cryptically. “There are advantages to having three eyes.”

Yamcha sighed as Puar settled on his shoulder, nearly throttling him with her tail. “So what’s going on,” he questioned, unconsciously mimicking the tone Bulma used to get answers from her subordinates. “Why are Chichi and Vegeta in the middle of nowhere without any clothes? And what’s up with Vegeta’s power spike? I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“That’s because you were dead,” a gruff voice answered.

Everyone whirled to see the tall green figure of a Namekian leaning casually against a tree, arms folded across his chest.

“Kami, Piccolo!” Krillin swore. “How long have you been here?”

Piccolo glared at the former monk, who promptly shut his mouth and tried to blend into the tree branch he was sitting on. “Long enough.”

“What do you mean I was dead,” Yamcha questioned, braving the wrath of the former demon.

Said person bared his fangs in an eerie snarl that would have sent Yamcha scuttling to Krillin’s side, had he not been so curious to hear the answer. “Vegeta has transformed into a Super-saiyan, just as Goku did on Namek.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “But he still is not as strong as Goku was.”

Krillin couldn’t resist a chuckle about the fact that the haughty Prince was still second best.

Piccolo frowned, and gave them all the scornful glare reminiscent of his days as pure evil. Puar shuddered against Yamcha’s neck, hiding her head in the man’s hair. Yamcha swallowed, but refused to let Piccolo see him afraid. “And I refuse to believe that students of the Turtle Master do not know what their lack of clothing implies.”

Each of the men paused, shock coursing through their veins like ice water.

Krillin spluttered. “Are you trying to tell me that they had sex?”

Piccolo snorted. “If there is anything else that humans do together without clothing, I have yet to see it.” He cocked his head, obviously listening to something none of their ears were sensitive enough to detect. “We should go to the clearing,” he said shortly, and headed back towards the arguing couple.

Too shocked to disobey an order from the man who had, in his way, said more to them in the past few minutes than he normally would in months, they made their way back to the clearing, where Vegeta had finally sorted out his thoughts enough to answer his Princess’ question.

“What it means, Princess,” he snarled at her title, “is that you are still bonded to that fool Kakarot, and are not worthy of being my mate!”

While Krillin, Yamcha, and Tien cycled the word mate over in their brains and tried to come to terms with what they had just learned, Piccolo flinched at the loud voices and continued to monitor ki-levels. He would not let anything happen to the dark-haired woman, simply for Gohan’s sake. If it weren’t for the unquestioning loyalty and friendship of the little boy, he wouldn’t have bothered to come at all.

Chichi’s eyes had widened at Vegeta’s comment, and she snapped her jaw shut with an audible click. Sucking air through her nose, trying to calm down, she resembled nothing more than a raging bull preparing to charge.

Piccolo, more than familiar with the woman’s temper, raised his hands to protect his ears.

“You can’t expect me to just forget about Goku,” she screeched angrily, no longer bothering to stop the tears of frustration streaming down her face. “I’ve loved him for more than half of my life!” She shook her head slightly. “If it hadn’t been for Goku I would have been dead long ago. I can’t just forget about the man I’ve lived for since I was ten!” She fixated fiery eyes on the stubborn Saiyan Prince. “I won’t!”

Vegeta snarled in anger, clenching his fists. “I should have known you would be a simpering fool. If he had loved you, he wouldn’t have left you alone for the past few years.” He stared at the woman’s tear stained face for a long moment, then grunted in disgust, his hair returning to it’s normal state. “Go and wait for him then. You’ll be an old woman before he comes back. While you wait for the third-class baka to finally remember to come home to you, remember what you could have had with me.”

Vegeta strode to the edge of the lake, and pulled on a pair of spandex training pants, totally ignoring the stricken look on Chichi’s face, her dark hair flowing in tangled waves, grass and small branches sticking out of it at odd angles. She stared at Vegeta’s back, looking lost and torn. She closed her eyes for a moment, and they could see the tears welling beneath her lashes.

“I may love him, Vegeta,” she whispered hoarsely, “but I belong to you.”

Vegeta turned and stared at her, his expression harsh. Chichi brightened, slightly, a soft smile touching the corners of her mouth. Vegeta laughed, one hand resting on his stomach. “Who said I wanted you, woman?”

He grinned maliciously at her, enjoying the pain that flitted across her face. “Not even a human wants an unfaithful mate! No; I took you only because you’re strong enough to give me an heir with Saiyan strength. Your brat has proven that much.”

Piccolo decided he’d had enough as soon as Gohan was mentioned, and stepped between them.

“Piccolo!” Chichi exclaimed, hands flying to cover herself as she began to frantically look for something to hide behind.

Vegeta stared at Piccolo. “Namek!” He hissed. “What are you doing here?”

“I followed the ki trail,” Piccolo replied equably, absently removing his cape and tossing it to Chichi, who had been trying to fasten her broken armor back onto her body. “And I wasn’t the only one.”

“What?” Chichi stopped, and closed her eyes. “You in the woods,” she called, “I know you’re there. Come out!”

Vegeta’s scowl darkened as Krillin, Tien, Chaotzu, Yamcha, and Puar emerged from the forest. He marched up to Yamcha and charged a small ki ball in the fist of one palm. “How long have you been here,” he demanded.

Chichi peered over his shoulder, looking every bit as angry. “How much did you see?”

Yamcha, while ready to take to the skies at any moment, couldn’t ignore the proximity of the woman who now wore only Piccolo’s white cape. “Everything,” he mumbled, before he could control himself. “I mean hardly anything,” he covered frantically, “we’ve only been here for a few minutes; just in time to see you de-transform.”

He was too late; Vegeta’s sensitive hearing had caught his first comment. He found himself slammed into the nearest tree, facing the very angry Prince of Saiyans and struggling to pull air into his lungs. Vegeta tightened his grip to the point where Yamcha was sure he was turning purple, when Puar transformed herself into a massive hammer and began to bash Vegeta about the head.

This only succeeded in tightening the Prince’s grip, and the others rushed to help. Yamcha was positive he’d open his eyes and see King Emna when he heard a woman scream, Vegeta’s grip loosened and his hand came away from Yamcha’s throat.

Yamcha gasped for air and tried to see past the white spots in his eyes, grateful for Puar’s comforting presence at his ear, and the other warriors circling him warily. When the spots finally receeded, his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

Chichi, bathed in the flickering red flames of what could only be a power up, held one of Vegeta’s wrists to his side with both of her hands. She squashed her body full against his, one foot winding itself around Vegeta’s ankle as she pressed her lips against his. As he lowered his head to deepen the kiss, his arm snaked around her waist, and he freed the other one to rest lower on her body. Chichi’s hand came to rest on his chest, and the other found its way to his neck, fingers lost in the expanse of black mane.

Beside Yamcha, Chaotzu groaned and hid his face behind Tien’s leg again.

Krillin, as always, was the first to find words as they watched the two make out before him. “Whoa.”

Yamcha agreed that ‘whoa’ about covered it, as he firmly reminded himself that admiring the expanse of leg Chichi was slowly creeping up towards Vegeta’s waist was a death wish.

Piccolo, slightly angry at being ignored, cleared his throat loudly.

Vegeta snarled, pulling Chichi to him with one arm as he extended the other and powered up another ki blast. “I will blast all of you into hell,” he growled, staring at them angrily, “if you so much as think about my mate without clothing.” He looked down at Chichi, who had rested her head against his chest and was rubbing her fingers across his collarbone. “If I ever find out you’ve discussed what you’ve seen here with anyone, I will redefine your definition of pain.” The glare he shot them proved he wasn’t bluffing, and Yamcha’s stomach wrenched.

“Vegeta,” Chichi murmured quietly, placing one hand on his extended arm, which he reluctantly lowered. “I’m sorry we frightened you,” she apologized quietly, then her tone firmed, “but Vegeta and I have some things we need to discuss. In private.”

“What she means,” Vegeta snarled, “is get the hell out of here before I decide to kill you!”

As Tien and Krillin helped a shaky Yamcha take to the skies, Piccolo turned to stare at the tiny woman crushed to the Saiyan’s chest. “Just remember Goku isn’t the only Son to consider,” he admonished.

Guilt flickered across Chichi’s face for a moment, and Piccolo gave her a stony look. “He knows nothing yet—but you can’t hide from him forever.”

With his last parting shot, Piccolo turned and lifted off, heading in the opposite direction of the other Z-fighters, leaving the Saiyan and the Princess to carry on in the clearing. Gohan needed at least one sensible adult with him right now; someone who could help him with the shock to come.

* * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile, thousands of light-years away, a young man with spiky black hair stared out of the small building he lived in into the night sky, in the general direction of the planet he called home. Something was wrong at home; something had happened to Chichi. Even if his space-pod could be repaired, it would take him months to get home. But if he could master this alien technique, it should take only seconds.

Son Goku pushed his worry from him with a great effort and turned to the task in front of him.

He would find out what had happened to his beautiful Chichi.

* * * * * * * * * *



Chapter 3: Memory of Flames

It was a scene from a horror movie; the sun was just settling over the horizon, bathing everything in a macabre red glow. The air was dry and thick with heat; the world was still, and almost silent. The wind rustled through the thick brown remnants of what had once been a field, broken only by the crashing sounds of someone running through it. In the background, the sound of metal-upon-metal rang clearly as a battle took place.

Two children broke through the hay field, running as fast as they could from something only they could see. As soon as they reached the worn footpath along the trees, flames devoured the hayfield from which they had just emerged.

The tiny girl with ragged black hair glanced back over her shoulder at the inferno bearing down upon them.

The redhead beside her grabbed her hand and pulled her along after him as he sprinted towards the river that would save them. “No…Chi-chan!” He gasped between breaths. “Don’t…look…back…just…run!”

The little girl nodded and followed her brother as they tried to outrun the magically enhanced flames and the demon that was spreading them.

Just as they were about to reach the river, one of the trees lining the path caught flame, and the two children watched, horrified, as it began to fall across their only route of escape.

They weren’t going to make it. The little girl slowed down, crying out as her bare toes barked against a rock. She stumbled, nearly falling, but the older boy grabbed her by the arm and kept her on her feet, continuing to drag her towards the burning tree and the river beyond it.

Just as they passed underneath the tree, one of the burning branches fell to the ground, pinning the boy beneath it. He cried out in pain, and the smaller girl turned to try and help pull the branch off. With a shrill cry, the fire demon began to swoop down upon them, and the boy pushed the little girl towards the river, crying out for her not to worry about him, to run and get to the river, where it was safe.

Shaking with fear, the girl fled to do his bidding, crying as his pained screams rent the hot air…and the fire demon was swooping down upon her—she wasn’t going to make it…

Then there was nothing but pain as a hand made only of whispering flames grabbed her ankle.

Chichi sat up with a shuddering gasp, eyes unfocused as her mind reeled from the memory. After a moment, she pulled her legs beneath her and rushed across the house to the bathroom, emptying the contents of her stomach into the toilet.

Once she’d finished and rinsed her mouth out, she sank to the floor in the hall outside the bathroom, unwilling to go back to the front room to lay on the mattress thrown down just in front of the only window in the house that caught the evening breeze.

If she closed her eyes again she’d hear the boy’s screams of pain as the fire demon killed him, see the torment of the girl-child who’d done nothing wrong except exist.

She couldn’t deal with those types of memories; not now—not when she had to go back to Mt. Frypan that day. There were enough reminders of that night there; she didn’t need to relive it in her dreams anymore.

Chichi shuddered, trying to push the sound of her brother’s screams out of her head, tried not to remember how the demon had felt when it’d grabbed her and thrown her into the river. Tried not to remember the pain and the tears and the blood.

But once the first memory trickled past the dam, the rest followed like a huge wave, and the Amazon Princess fought bravely against her own personal hell. She wasn’t strong enough; the faces of her brother and mother flashed before her eyes, she could hear her mother’s cries as she bled to death, her father’s roar of grief as he came into the room to see her body lying still on the bed, Taro and Chichi crouched next to her, tears running down their faces.

She could remember crawling into Taro’s bed those first few nights after their mother’s death, thankful for his comforting arms as their father raged on elsewhere in the castle, breaking anything he could get his hands on. How Taro had sung her to sleep on those nights to keep her from hearing Ox-king’s cries, and the vicious battles that had taken place when the Amazons tried to help them.

But most of all she remembered the demon; and how much it had hurt her, and the never-ending spiral of pain she had traveled for days after Taro’s death. How it hurt to move, to breathe, to even try to think at all; her aunt’s pleading voice and soft hands helping her cling to life as they’d traveled to the Fountain. Her mother’s voice, beckoning her to join them in the afterlife; her father’s voice, apologizing for every time he’d ever hurt her. She hadn’t known who or what to listen to; but all she had wanted was for the pain to stop.

Chichi wrapped her hands around her knees and stared out at the starry sky. They’d said it was a miracle that she’d even survived long enough to make it to the Fountain; that she never should have survived being pulled from the burning river. That her badly-burnt body would never be able to withstand the healing forces of the Fountain.

But she was still here, today, sitting on the floor of the house her husband had built, without a mark on her. There was no evidence of the massive burns that should have claimed her life, her skin was smooth and pale, her eyes sharp and bright, her hearing excellent. She’d grown up, married, and even born a child, when by all modern laws of science she should have died at age six.

Over the years, if there was one thing she’d learned, it was that nothing good ever came to you unless you fought for it. She’d fought for her life and won.

Now she’d have to fight for acceptance, and for love.

She’d seen the looks on their faces; the pure betrayal written across Krillin’s features, the disgust that Tien wore like a cloak. They didn’t understand, didn’t even try to understand what she’d been through. And as far as she cared, they didn’t have to understand—most of them probably couldn’t. All she wanted was for them to accept what had happened because they were the only people she’d had any contact with for the past decade, and the only people her young son knew.

She could deal with their giving her a cold shoulder just as long as they didn’t shun her son for her actions. Gohan didn’t deserve to lose his only friends because they were too narrow-minded to see past their own anger.

Chichi doubted he would, though; they were fairly forgiving people, in the long run. They’d learned to adjust to many different people, like Piccolo and Vegeta himself, thanks to the ministrations of Goku.

The slender shoulders drooped a little bit at the thought of her husband.

She missed him horribly, and knew she’d never stop loving him, but she belonged to Vegeta now. When he had taken her that first night he had claimed her as effectively as branding his name across her forehead. She wouldn’t—she couldn’t—betray him. She was his now, in body, and, thanks to the Saiyan bond, in soul. Dwelling on Goku would only depress her.

Delicate fingers prodded the old set of teeth marks at the left side of her throat. Goku’s mark; the mark that had made Vegeta so angry at her that morning. In the midst of the vicious argument they’d had after their visitors had left, she’d managed to pry why out of him. According to Saiyan custom, if the bond hadn’t dissolved at the time of Goku’s death (which it hadn’t—in fact, it’d only blistered when Radditz had killed him) and she hadn’t wasted away and died, then it should have disappeared when Vegeta had bonded with her. But it hadn’t, and he had eventually written it off as a mutation due to her human blood, and they had continued on with their argument.

Chichi’s hand located the other, much more sensitive scar on the other side of her throat. They hadn’t finished the argument, but they had come to a resolution, of sorts. She knew she’d be picking arguments with him if they all ended like that one had. It had been far too long since she’d been held like that, and she enjoyed the sensation. Of course, Vegeta would eventually have to realize she was her own person, too, but for now, she didn’t mind being a possession.

Eventually, after a long fight, he would love her, but not now. Neither of them were ready for that now. She was still dealing with her past with Goku, and Vegeta wasn’t ready to admit that he could love.

It would be a long battle, but Chichi was used to that. There was always something to fight for.

This one was just personal.

She reluctantly pushed herself up from the floor, surprised to see that the sky outside had turned a murky gray in preparation for the nearing sunrise. It was too late to go back to bed; and she had a long drive in front of her.

If she left by the time she thought she would, she would be lucky to make it to Mt. Frypan by nightfall. It was time to get moving. She shook out the flimsy cloth of her nightgown, sighing in relief as the morning breeze cooled skin clammy with sweat. If there was one thing she missed about the castle, it was the eternal coolness of the thick stone walls in the summer. Here she spent each night trying to find a room with a breeze so she wouldn’t get heat exhaustion while she slept. Usually she and Gohan would take the mattress/big bedroll from the guest bedroom to whatever room was coolest and sleep there.

Tonight Vegeta had looked at her like she was mad when he’d seen her drag the thing into the front room and shove the couch and chair back to the wall to make room for it. After she’d explained and he’d retorted that sleeping outside would be cooler. She’d returned that unless he wanted to listen to her whine about the bugs eating her alive, they’d sleep inside. He’d been genuinely confused until she realized that his skin was too thick for the bugs to actually penetrate and bite him.

As she rubbed the red welt of a fresh bite on her arm, she decided that Saiyans were definitely luckier than most when it came to survival equipment.

She crept back to the front room, where Vegeta lay sprawled out on his back, unwilling to leave his most vulnerable side free to attack even in sleep. Chichi moved to wake him up, but then decided to play it safe. If Vegeta was anything like most of the other warriors she knew, shaking him awake was a good way to get herself knocked across the room with a defensive punch. She retreated to the safety of the kitchen, where she pulled her largest cooking pot from beneath the cabinet, grabbed one of the wooden spoons that hung on the wall, and belabored away.

Now in most cases, the mere sound of a very loud noise would wake even a normal human up. But normal human did not apply to anyone within the Son household; or anyone associated with them, for that matter. Chichi had learned long ago that the only way to wake her husband without promise of a planetary emergency or a prompt breakfast was to shriek like a banshee and shake him hard. She assumed Vegeta was as hard to wake, and decided to do it the safe way.

Unfortunately for her, years of surviving on planets where the inhabitants were trying to kill you, and amongst the murderous denizens of Frieza’s empire had taught Vegeta to always stay alert, even while sleeping. He’d woken up when the dream had bothered her, but had drifted back off to slumber when he’d realized what was the matter. If the woman were truly ill, she’d get him up.

He hadn’t expected to be roused by her enthusiastic rendition of a Saiyan ritual war summons.

He swore under his breath and rose, heading for the kitchen where he found his mate, calmly pounding on one of her cooking pots like it was an everyday occurrence. Shimatta! Didn’t the noise even bother her?

For the sake of his sensitive hearing, Vegeta did the first thing that came to mind. He lifted his hand, gathered a tiny ki blast, and flicked it at the offending spoon in his wife’s hand. He failed to consider the fact that it was a wood, and watched in trepidation as his mate suddenly found herself holding a torch instead a spoon.

She shrieked and flung it away from her, straight towards the Saiyan Prince. He lifted his hands to disintegrate it into nothing, but misjudged the ki blast’s power. Not only did he destroy the spoon, but sent the blast hurtling towards his mate. A quick flick of his fingers sent it on a course to miss her, and it zoomed across her shoulder, and seared a nice hole through the wall.

Chichi stared at the neat hole in the wall for a minute, before pinning him with a fierce gaze. “What was that for? You put a hole in my kitchen wall!”

“And you nearly destroyed my hearing with your infernal racket!”

Chichi planted her hands on her hips. “You Saiyans could sleep through a damn aerial assault! How else was I supposed to get you up?”

“You could have just told me to wake up through the bond,” he snarled back, neatly deflating her bubble. “I am not the culture-deaf moron that your baka of a husband is!”

Chichi dropped her pot and jumped over the table at him, the frying pan magically appearing in her hand. Before he knew what was happening, it connected with the side of his head with destructive force.

He jerked backwards, swearing as he rubbed the lump developing on his head. “What was that for?”

Chichi stared at him, shaking with rage. “LEAVE GOKU OUT OF THIS!” Her bellow was louder than any he’d ever heard from her before, and he was sure his ears were bleeding.

And then, as abruptly as her anger had welled up again, it drained away, leaving him staring at a world-weary woman. “Leave,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“You heard me very well, Vegeta,” her tone was deathly peaceful. “Go back to Capsule Corps, go meditate in the mountains; I don’t care—just go! I need—I need some time to think.”

“What do you mean, woman?”

She locked tired eyes with his, and pushed a jumble of thoughts along the bond to him. Her head was whirling with so many conflicting thoughts it was a feat she hadn’t gone mad.

She cocked her head and watched him. “I need to sort all of that out, and I can’t do it with you distracting me every five minutes! Besides,” she continued wearily, “I need to go get Gohan today, he’s already been at Papa’s for longer than they both expected.” She flinched slightly, and he felt her resignation. “Gohan—Gohan’s not going to like this at all.”

Vegeta frowned, but said nothing. It was not his place to interfere in affairs between his mate and her son. If he were related by blood to the boy, he could tell her that the boy would either accept it or he wouldn’t, but it was not his place.

At least, not yet.

She smiled apologetically at him, and disappeared up the stairs to her bedroom. He stared after her for a moment, then shrugged. He was hungry, and the old woman would have expected him back at Capsule Corps several days ago. At least she would feed him.

About twenty minutes after the sonic boom that signaled the Prince’s departure shook the surrounding area, Chichi emerged from her house in a long flowing dress cinched loosely at her waist. She de-capsulized a small pickup in the clearing, climbed in, and the pickup barreled off in the direction of the distant Mt. Frypan.

For the first time in four days, Mt. Paotzu was silent.

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