The sun was casting its last glorious rays across the rugged mountain range when the tiny truck rolled to a stop at the bottom of a huge mountain. The driver sat in the seat, absently admiring the brilliant colors of the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. She had always appreciated the irony that the most beautiful sunsets were created by storms, and it wasn’t often she had time to enjoy what nature had to offer.

When the sun finally slipped behind the mountain, she climbed out of the truck and threw her head back while she arched her back and stretched her arms and legs. The drive from Mt. Paotzu to Mt. Frypan was a long one, and she had never been in the habit of breaking it up into two days. Of course, she’d hardly ever driven it before, either; flying was much quicker, but there was much to be said for driving down half-empty roads at a high speed with nothing to do but think. It was a good opportunity to sort out her thoughts, as well as try to simulate different plans on approaching her son.

As of yet, none of them had ended happily.

She shook her dark hair free of the bun it had been in all day, recapsulized her dusty truck, and slipped it into the pocket of her lightweight dress. Even though her father’s home was more than halfway up the mountain, one never drove directly to the castle; it was blasphemous to the memory of the proud kings who had once ruled over this area with strength, fairness, and all of the other virtues that were admirable in kings.

There was little left for the Ox-king to actually rule over; most of the land was gone, although a large stretch of it was still farmed and occupied by tenants, who basically governed themselves. Her father had turned to treasure hunting to occupy his time, and now the vaults beneath the castle were bursting with various exotic and expensive items.

Chichi gazed at the bright lights of the castle for a few minutes, trying to decide if she wanted to walk up the main path, or take the shorter route. A mischievous smile flashed across her lips as she settled on the latter.

Kicking her sandals off, she carried one in each hand, along with a fistful of skirt. She shook her hair back and dove off the road onto a little winding path next to it, still visible despite the years of disuse. The dirt was comforting against her feet as she ran full-tilt up the path, allowing memory to take over. She and Taro had used this path for years as children, and she had learnt every rock, every tree branch, loose root, and unexpected twist in the footpath to the point that they could traverse it blindfolded; and even now, her body remembered the rhythm of the race.

She grinned into the wind she was generating and began to sprint in an open area, remembering that now she would be coming up on the one spot that had troubled them—the stream. The path crossed at the narrowest point of the river, where the bank on one side was much higher than that on the other. It had been nearly impossible to cross until Taro had borrowed an ax and cut down a tree to serve as a bridge. The tree had always been slick and slippery, often dumping her into the stream, and the hard rocks beneath the water’s surface. Chichi had simply solved the problem by learning how to jump better, which was what she was planned to do now. After all, it wouldn’t do her any good to show up at her father’s doorstep soaking wet, would it?

The young woman gathered her momentum and prepared to jump before pushing herself off the ground several yards away from the bank. She cleared the stream and the higher bank easily, and instinctively began to aim for her landing-spot.

Unfortunately, there was something between her and it.

It was large, green, and wore a white turban.

Chichi opened her eyes just in time to see the Namekian’s startled expression and let out a short cry just before she collided with him.

Piccolo, unprepared for the Amazon trying to use him as a trampoline, had been unable to step out of the way, and the force of impact sent them both hurtling into a convenient horde of ferns. When he’d recovered his senses after being mauled by a black-haired blue blur, Gohan’s mother was sitting on his chest, rubbing one of her ankles.

The Princess stared at the demon-Namekian who had taken her son from her, and annoyance flashed in her eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

The Namekian grunted and pushed her off him, quickly rising to stand next to her. He’d discovered that towering over the little humans often gave him an advantage.

Unfortunately, the height difference did not faze Gohan’s mother, whose giant father was easily as tall as the Namekian. She simply lifted her chin and stared at him, foot tapping in annoyance, unaware of how ridiculous she looked with her skirts bunched up around her thighs. “Well?”

Piccolo glared at her. “Do I look like a runway?”

“No, you look like a trespasser,” she snapped back. “If I had my helmet you’d be a headless trespasser,” she murmured, knowing perfectly well the Namekian would hear her. Her son may be fond of the demon, but her tolerance did not have to extend to when Gohan was not within earshot.

“I am not trespassing,” Piccolo declared, folding his arms across his chest. “Your father knows I’m here.”

Chichi sighed. “Of course Papa knows you’re here; he knows every time someone steps onto our land.” She cocked her head and stared at him hard. “But what are you doing here?”

Piccolo stared at her with an unreadable expression. “Distracting your son.” At her confused glare, the man elaborated. Well, elaborated for Piccolo, anyway. He silently marveled that the heritage, which had given the woman incredible ki control, had also made her utterly unaware of it. “Or do you not remember powering up?”

Chichi flushed and sat down on the crushed ferns, putting her head on a level with his knee. “Dear Kami,” she murmured softly. “I knew Vegeta’s had attracted the boys, but were we that bad?”

She glanced up at the Namek, who was looking distinctly uncomfortable with discussing sex, and decided to ease his misery. “You don’t have to answer that.” She pulled a hairband from her pocket and wound it around the mass of her hair.

How could she be so foolish? She knew she had what the others would consider an unnatural ability for ki-shielding, but it was natural for her. It was so simple for her to block her ki level that she never really paid attention when it escaped her control. She just assumed that she was still blocking it and went on.

And of course Gohan would know when she spiked her ki; he was her son! She was an Amazon; she would have a mild psychic connection to her son until he was a grown man; and probably after. It generally served to let her know when he’d been severely hurt or was in great emotional distress and needed her, but it worked both ways. He too, would know when something bothered her.

Gohan was probably so confused. She glanced up at the Namek who was watching her with his perpetual motionless façade. “Was he upset?”

Piccolo shook his head. “No, just confused. He and your father were camping that night. I pushed my ki up as soon as you powered up. Since I was closer, I canceled you out.” He paused for a long moment. “I am stronger than you are, you know.”

Chichi’s face remained emotionless at his barb, she was not obsessed over her strength like a certain Saiyan was.

Piccolo continued. “Gohan only felt your ki for a moment or two before I took over; and your father convinced him you were probably hunting dinosaurs.”

The woman’s eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Hunting dinosaurs,” she repeated slowly. “In the dark? That’s madness; I don’t hunt dinosaurs in the dark.” Then she froze. “Papa knows?”

Piccolo shrugged his massive shoulders. “All I did was train with Gohan, but Kami tells me never to underestimate the King of Ox—he is very perceptive.”

Chichi buried her face in her hands for a moment, then sighed, and straightened her shoulders. She wouldn’t be surprised if her father figured things out; he was a very observant man, if deceptively jolly. But hunting dinosaurs in the dark? That was absurd.

She glanced back up at the man before her, realizing, in an instant, that he loathed her as much as she him, but they both had a common bond. They both loved her son. The creature was a satellite for Gohan’s feelings; and he protected the boy from many things that she could not, including herself. At least he had given her a chance to explain things to Gohan herself. It would hurt him that much more if he’d discovered the way the others had.

“Thank you, Piccolo.”

He grunted and disappeared into the small cave nestled in the stream bank a few meters away.

She tried to rise and continue along the path to the castle, but her ankle—the one she’d plowed into Piccolo’s chest, protested the movement and she remained sitting on the ground. She unwound the long scarf from her neck and wrapped it tightly around her ankle, in hopes that it would give enough support for her to get back to the castle.

The castle was where she would find her father and her son, who were both waiting for explanations.

It only took her about fifteen minutes to make it to the castle; she slide in through the kitchen doors, where she found her father in the kitchen, halfway through the stack of dishes that could have only contained Gohan’s dinner. Only a Saiyan could eat that much; but she knew her father liked to cook as much as she did, so it wasn’t that big of a deal.

He glanced up at her and smiled happily. “I see you finally made it up the hill.” He frowned. “What happened to you?”

“I had a little mishap at the stream,” she answered, limping towards the table.

“Oh—did you see the green man—Piccolo’s his name, isn’t it? He’s staying down at the stream.” Ox questioned as he shoved a stack of clean plates back into a cabinet.

“We ran into each other, Papa,” she muttered wryly as she popped down into the chair. “Literally.”

“I offered to let him use one of the guest bedrooms, but he insists on staying out there,” Ox continued, not hearing her. “And there’s another storm brewing; I can feel it.” He sounded worried, as well he ought. It was common knowledge that anything alive out in the fierce lightning storms was in great danger of electrocution; there had been fires started many times by large strikes.

Chichi shrugged, unwrapping her dirt-encrusted scarf from her ankle. “Don’t worry about Piccolo, Papa. He can take care of himself.” She couldn’t take the sarcasm from her voice, but she was too tired to care.

Ox turned to see what had bothered her when his gaze landed on her bruised ankle. “Chi-chan? What happened?”

“Nothing Papa—I just hurt my ankle trying to jump across the stream.” She gave him a placating smile. “I’m kinda out of practice.”

Her father frowned. “Chi-chan; I know you’ve been sparring with Vegeta. Gohan’s been filling my ears with tales about how well the two of you spar.” He smiled. “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten what your mother and I taught you.”

Chichi smiled, although her heart filled with sorrow at the mention of her mother. She shook her grief away. Her mother was gone; never to return. Her father was the only parent she had, and he deserved to hear the news from her. “Papa?”

Her father had turned back to the dishes. Chichi rose and began to dry them as he washed, reminiscent of her younger days. “Yes Chi-chan?”

“Vegeta claimed me.”

Her father’s brawny arm ceased washing a monstrous frying pan, but only for a second. Chichi held her breath as he continued washing dishes; the sound of glass clanking and running water filling the cavernous room. “I suspected as much.” He handed her the frying pan to dry. His tone was thick with disappointment, and Chichi had to resist the sudden urge to quiver.

“Papa?”

He flashed her one of his toothy grins that made him resemble a crazed man, and she swallowed. Would this drive her jolly father back into the edge of the insanity he had adopted after her mother’s death? He’d arranged her marriage to Goku, after all. She’d just been the one to finalize it. Her match with Vegeta had been entirely of her own making.

He would have to deal with it.

“When Gohan told me how often you’d been sparring with Vegeta I started to wonder.” He stared at her for a moment, then tugged her over to the table to sit down. “Chishali,” her Amazonian birth name sounded unfamiliar in her father’s voice, “you are your mother’s daughter.” He smiled wryly. “No matter how hard I tried to give you a choice in who you grew up to become, you always chose the Amazon route—even unconsciously.”

Chichi felt confused, and Ox squeezed her hands. “I arranged your marriage to Goku because I felt that he would be stronger than you were as an adult; capable of earning your respect, while his nature guaranteed he would never hurt you or break your spirit.” He shook his head. “But before you would marry him; you had to know, in your heart, that he was stronger than you. He had to defeat you in a situation where he would not hold back for you to be happy with him.”

Chichi nodded; remembering at first her despair at being unable to choose her own mate. It was only proper for her father to choose for her; but she wanted to make the choice herself—she wanted someone stronger than she was, not someone her father thought was suitable. Goku had met both of their requirements.

Vegeta just sent her senses ablaze. After being alone for so long, his very presence excited her; the man simply oozed masculinity, strength, and power. Being near him was intoxicating.

Ox-King watched her for a moment, taking in her rumpled appearance, then patted her hands. “You’ve had a long day, Chi-chan, and your room is ready. We can talk more in the morning.”

Chichi nodded, both relieved and puzzled by her father’s almost non-reaction. She rose and straightened her now-filthy skirts as her father went back to the sink. She jogged forward and managed to sling an arm around his neck to plant a feathery kiss on his bearded cheek. “Thank you for watching Gohan, Papa.”

He smiled—a true smile that set his eyes sparkling—and patted her cheek. “You’re welcome Chi-chan. It’s always nice to spend a little time with my grandson; he brings a bit of life back to the place after all these years.” He paused for a moment, cocking his head in the fashion that told her someone had just crossed the borders and her father was feeling them out. His face tightened for a moment, then he shrugged, turning back to the much smaller pile of dirty dishes. “Gohan is in Taro’s room, if you want to check on him. He tired himself out playing today,” Ox’s great fondness for his grandson was apparent, and Chichi smiled at him before shuffling out of the kitchen.

She half-ran up the many different combinations of staircases to the set of rooms she and her brother had called their own in the castle. Before it had been rebuilt, the walls had been thick cold stone, rough and unpleasant to the eye. Now the walls were much smoother, prettier, more finished. Chichi’s own room had been painted white, the stone walls hidden by several silk wall-hangings her Aunt had produced.

Her Aunt had produced most of the furnishings, actually. The room itself with its wide windows and small balcony bespoke of Amazon design. The only thing that was from her father’s culture was the huge four-poster bed elaborately carved out of a rich cherry colored wood. He’d made it for her himself, after the fire demon had hurt her, to give her eyes something to look at while her body recovered.

Chichi stared longingly at the thick, comfortable mattress that she could sink into forever, then at the bathroom door. She had a real bathroom here—one with deep full tub. She loved the standing bath at Mt. Paotzu—but here, here she could really take a bath. Someone had even made sure her favorite bubble bath was sitting on the counter in full view.

She shook her head. Gohan first—then she could sleep.

Her son was in the room across the hall, and she slid into it on quiet feet, pausing a moment to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. This room was almost identical to its counterpart in the original castle. The walls were still blue, one covered with a scale drawing of the star-system. Posters of various fictional space heroes were scattered about the rest of the room, the desk and dresser decorated with small armies of samurai figures and model aircraft. A dirty gi hung off the desk chair, a small sword slung across the seat, just as it had been when she was a small child.

The only difference was the boy inhabiting it. The lump beneath the blankets in the sleigh bed had black hair, not red.

She avoided a particularly complex setup of soldiers on the floor and stood by his bedside, kneeling so she could peer into the familiar face of her son. In sleep, Gohan’s hard-earned maturity dissolved, leaving behind the little boy that Chichi hadn’t truly seen since he was five. In sleep, her baby could actually be a child.

She reached out and touched the spiky hair, surprisingly soft as it wrapped around her fingers. He’d only been gone a week, and yet he’d grown. Sometimes it felt that if she closed her eyes long enough, her son, once a little baby that needed her for everything, would grow into a man who wouldn’t need her at all.

She prayed with all her might that that day would be a long time in coming.

“Mom? ‘S’at you?” Gohan had woken up just enough to realize he wasn’t alone.

Chichi smiled as he screwed his eyes shut in defiance of being woken—sometimes he was just like his father. “Yes, Gohan. I’m sorry I’m so late.”

“’S’okay,” he mumbled again. “I like it here with Grandpa.” He burrowed back into the pillows, and Chichi gave into temptation and climbed onto the bed behind him, drawing him to her. He automatically curled up against her the way he had as a toddler, pillowing his head on her breast and pressing folded arms against her ribs. She almost missed the feeling of his tail wrapped trustingly around her waist or wrist—almost. With an arm around his waist and ankle thrown over his legs, she rested her chin in his hair and listened to the sound of his slow breathing with her entire being.

They laid together in silence for several minutes before Gohan spoke drowsily. “Did you and Vegeta have a good spar this morning?”

Chichi frowned. She hadn’t sparred with Vegeta that morning—unless one counted verbal sparring. Why was Gohan asking about him? “I suppose you could say that,” she amended and rubbed his back. “Why do you ask?”

Gohan shrugged. “You smell like him.”

Chichi had to work to keep from panicking. It was only an innocent observation—and she hadn’t taken a shower that morning, so naturally she would smell like the man who’d shared her bed. Gohan didn’t know anything, he was just making assumptions and asking a simple question. Loosing her calm would only make things worse in the long run.

She took a deep breath and rubbed his back. “I had an interesting morning.” She sighed. “I’m going to go take a bath,” she untangled herself from him and let her feet rest on the cool floor. She leaned over and planted a kiss on his forehead, then rose and moved to the door. “I’ll be in the room across the hall if you need me.”

Gohan smiled drowsily and went back to his pile of pillows, not having roused enough to truly become alert. “Love you Mom.”

She stuck her head back into the room and smiled widely at him. “I love you too, Gohan.”

The door clicked shut quietly behind her, and she wandered back into her own rooms and began to draw a hot bath, dumping liberal amounts of the scented oils into the water. She shed her clothes and stepped into the water, allowing herself to sink to her neck in the sweetly-scented water. It smelled of nectar and ambrosia, the same scent her mother had used, the one she associated with her.

Chichi closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the marble rim of the tub, humming softly to herself as she stared out the window at the starry sky.

Both her Mother and Taro had loved the stars. Before she had died; she’d snuck them all out to a ledge further on up the mountain on summer nights, naming many of the stars in the skies. Chichi had been much too young to really listen to her lessons; she’d preferred to sit in her mother’s lap and play with her molten hair as Octavia lectured to Taro. All she remembered was the lilting quality of the Princess’ voice as the night wore on, and falling asleep in the sweet nectar-scented nightgowns.

She could remember a few of the stories, though. Taro had told them to her often enough before he’d joined their mother in the next dimension. It had been their way of connecting themselves to the fierce woman that had been their mother. There had been one about the North Star, and how it never moved that Chichi could almost remember; could almost hear it recited in her mother’s voice.

Even though she knew her mother was disconnected from the living universe and couldn’t hear her or see what she’d become, Chichi always felt that when the North Star shined brightly, Octavia and Taro were still aware of her. That somehow, they knew what had become of her life and how confused she had become.

Her eyes naturally strayed to where the North Star shone in the dark sky and she wondered what her mother would tell her about her life now. If Octavia would be proud of the woman she’d become; if she would have blessed Chichi’s marriage to Goku and teach her grandson the stories behind the stars. If she would have approved of Vegeta.

Her mother and Vegeta would have gotten along well.

Chichi lounged in the bath and stared at the North Star, trying to let all of her worries soak away in the warm water. She could get her life back on track now—she finally had a man to take care of her while she took care of things.

The North Star twinkled in the dark skies at her before it disappeared behind the silhouette of a man floating next to her window. Chichi’s heart froze before she recognized Vegeta’s presence—and then it filled with anger.

“What are you doing here,” she hissed at him, standing and pulling the plug of the bath. “I wanted to tell them on my own!”

The beautiful dark gaze he gave her nearly sent her to the ground.

He wanted her.

She stared at him as he came to stand at the edge of the tub, resisted the urge to blush as intense dark eyes traversed her body from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes and back again, not missing an inch of her bare skin. When his eyes locked with hers again she felt exposed, but not violated.

He extended a hand, which she took to keep from slipping as she stepped out of the tub, never looking away from his eyes. They shone like onyx in the lights of her bathroom, filled with desire as one of his strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her to him.

“We can’t!” She protested feebly as his hands roamed her body. “Not now! Not until I tell Gohan!”His teeth nipped gently at her shoulder and she shuddered as her knees went weak. “Please,” she pleaded softly, grasping firmly at her resolve. It faltered as he bent his head again and nuzzled the mark at her throat, sending a chill down her spine, followed by the fire of lust.

He lifted his head and gave her a mischievous smirk. “Do you want me to stop?”

She had practically melted against him the second he’d touched the scar at her throat, and he was taking full advantage of it. “No,” she answered huskily, tipping her head back as he stroked her neck, giving him better access to her throat.

Vegeta smirked and obediently massaged the mark, nearly driving her wild.

About the point she was sure she would go mad if Vegeta didn’t take her then and there, she realized what they were doing. She straightened up and stopped his hands, trying to get her breath back. “No! Stop, please!”

He stilled his hands but kept her pulled tightly to him. “What now, Princess?” His tone was surly—he’d been enjoying this as much as she had.

She rested her forehead against his own, so that their eyes were mere millimeters apart. “It’s not that I want you to stop—kami, any other day I’d make your life hell for leaving me like this, but we can’t. It’s just—not right. Not tonight.”

“And why wasn’t it wrong any night for the past four days?” He questioned gruffly.

She sighed. “It’s not fair to Gohan.”

“What does the brat have to do with sex?”

“I raised him to think about love between adults and a family in a certain way.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “I shouldn’t have done it that way, but I did, and I can’t change that now. What’s done is done.”

She paused for a long moment and Vegeta waited somewhat impatiently for her to continue, muscles rippling idly across his chest. When she didn’t speak again, he gave her a good prod across their bond, which, despite their physical separation, was maturing nicely. Soon enough they would probably even be able to speak telepathically across it.

“And we’re going to blow all those views to hell, aren’t we?”

Her eyes flew open again, and she found him watching her with an annoyed expression, although there was a flicker of something softer at the corners of his eyes.

She nodded numbly, wanting nothing more than to lean against him and have him tell her everything would be fine. But she couldn’t. He wasn’t exactly the comforting kind, and she didn’t really need comforting. She’d brought about most of the issues to come herself; and she could get out of them herself.

It truly was her fault. She really had been isolated as a child, but not to the extent her husband was. As a child she’d grown up knowing about many different kinds of marriages; those of her father’s people, those of her mother’s people, and had lived through a Saiyan bonding when neither party knew anything that was going on. She knew about untraditional marriages—she was part of one—and about divorce.

But she hadn’t taught anything about that to Gohan. She’d been hardly more than a child herself when he was born, and had taught him about life with a child’s idealism. Oh, she knew he’d read about divorce, and what society called unhappy marriages; but they were just facts to him. He just didn’t understand that a marriage could be broken—that a person could love others beside their spouse in the same way.

In terms of his parent’s marriage, Gohan had been part of a fairytale. She had been a Princess caught in a battle over two lines of succession saved by marriage to Goku, the poor-but-strong man who’d saved her as a young girl. The Princess and her Pauper, a story that crossed all languages and cultures to end in happily ever after.

She knew what happened after the story ended—she’d lived it after all. And it hadn’t been happy, at least not until Gohan had come along nearly ten months after the fairy tale had ended, and they’d all finally become a family again. Chichi had lived her fairy-tale ending once more.

Then it had all gone wrong.

Through the tears, the depressions, and the heartaches, Chichi had managed to cling to her belief that everything would turn out right in the end. But it hadn’t. She’d ended up with a somber, far too mature son, and a husband who didn’t want to come home. At first he had spoken to her a time or two, as he had after he’d died the first time. Then the communications had cut off completely, and her world had shattered. She tried to stay strong for Gohan, but it hadn’t stopped her from being miserable.

The man who was holding her now was giving her a chance at a real life again. He was real; not just a memory that haunted her dreams.

She smiled at him and wrapped her arms around his waist, ignoring the fact that they were standing in the middle of her bathroom. He frowned for a few moments, then she felt a hesitant arm wrap around her waist.

Chichi giggled softly.

Vegeta lifted a questioning eyebrow. “I’m just trying to figure out how you’re supposed to fit into my fairy-tale life,” she told him truthfully. “If you’re supposed to be a part of happily ever after.”

“You’re comparing me to children’s stories?” He sounded disgusted.

She reached for the silky nightgown hanging off a peg on the wall, stepping out of his reach. It would be better for her to stay covered during the night—to stay away from tempting Vegeta any further. “My whole life has been a big fairy tale,” she shrugged as she pulled the long gown over her head. “You’ve got to fit in somehow.”

Vegeta stood next to the tub, arms crossed over his chest, still examining her form despite the nightgown, and the lace dressing robe she’d just thrown over it. Chichi laughed, realizing where he fit in. “You’re the evil tyrants henchman!”

“I may be evil,” Vegeta hissed, offended. “But I am no creature’s henchman.”

“Of course not.” She agreed firmly, not wanting to delve into his past. He wasn’t ready to get rid of his demons. Not yet. “It was just a fancy of mine to think of you that way—to try and fit you into what I believed in as a child.” She walked back out into her bedroom and collapsed onto her bed.

Vegeta followed her, eyeing the four magnificent dragons that made the posts and canopy.

Chichi knew she wasn’t going to be able to get him to leave. Judging from when she and Goku had accidentally bonded, he was going to want to be within sight of her for a few more days. Not that she really minded.

She made a show of removing her dressing robe and crawling between the covers.

Vegeta stood at the foot of her bed, eyeing her appreciatively.

She arched an eyebrow and asked coyly. “Aren’t you coming to bed? Or are you going to stand there and watch me sleep all night?”

From the flicker she felt in the part of her mind that was connected to him, she knew that was what he had intended to do.

She tugged her head towards the empty space beside her. “You’ve earned the right to sleep in my bed, Vegeta.” She sighed. “I belong to you now. If you really wanted me to do something, I wouldn’t be able to disobey you.” She watched with hungry eyes as he began to shed his spandex, revealing more and more muscle. “But I also have the right to deny you certain things.” She smiled at the expression on his face as he joined her beneath the sheets. “They’re made of silk.”

Vegeta shrugged and moved closer to her as she reached out to turn off the lamp, then settled down to sleep. She shivered slightly as she felt his breath on the back of her neck. “So tell me,” he whispered, “why you can’t disobey me, and yet you can still deny me?”

She rolled over to look at the canopy of her bed—where the four dragon-tail shaped posts met and wound together. Yards of blue silk were draped over them—another gift from her aunt. “You’ve brought out my Amazon side. Amazons wish to be…superior…to their men at all times. But the most valued men in their society are those that make us earn their respect.” She paused as a surprisingly soft hand began to caress her then continued, wishing she could purr. “When you claimed me after our last spar, you made me yours—you earned my respect by defeating me in combat.” She stopped as his hand slid beneath her nightgown then continued in a softer tone. “There are other things, but they’re not important now.”

“And what is?” Vegeta questioned her, absolutely certain he would get his way that night.

“Sleep.” Chichi said firmly, burrowing into the pillow as his hand stopped on her thigh. “I can’t go on forever, no matter how badly I may want to do otherwise.”

Vegeta grumbled, but she ignored him. “Besides—I’ll have a lot of explaining to do in the morning, and I can’t do it properly when I haven’t slept.”

Rubbing her fingers across his arm in apology, she settled herself into bed. “Besides, there’s someone I need to go see in the morning before I talk to Gohan, who gets up with the sun.”

Her mate wasn’t happy, but he respected her wish, at least for one night. He would never admit it to anyone, but the last few days had left him below his maximum level as well. A night’s sleep and a good meal would bring him back to his full, and give him the chance to experiment with the super-saiyan form.

He squirmed between the strange-feeling sheets for a few moments then cast a glance at his mate. She lay on her side, the slow deep breaths indicating to him that she truly was asleep. It took a strong woman to admit her weaknesses, he mused, slipping an arm around her waist and drawing her close so he could inhale the sweet scent of her hair and assure himself she really was still there. Within a few minutes, the Saiyan Prince allowed himself to drift off into sleep as well.

In a room much further on down the corridor, the giant Ox-king settled into bed, mentally tallying the guests on his land. Piccolo was out by the stream—and there was a group of hikers camped out by the river—in the small clearing he had created for that purpose. They would move on in the morning. Then there were the guests in the castle. Gohan was in Taro’s room—and Chichi was across the hall. Her new man was with her.

Ox frowned. He’d never really known the man before—but he knew enough to know that this man wasn’t like Goku, whose great heart counteracted his great strength. Vegeta was different. His aura, his very ki itself, was tinged with darkness. This man was dangerous in a way Goku could never be.

And his daughter had let him claim her.

After the King of Ox dozed off while pondering the new developments in his daughter’s life, small pinpoints of light appeared by his window, glistening like stars in the night sky. They whirled together to take the image of a woman in a white and gold toga. Long flame-colored hair fell to her waist, and her eyes glowed golden in the darkness as she approached the man on the bed.

Had the king been awake, he would have been overjoyed to see the form of his wife standing by him, even if just for a few moments. A glittering hand reached out and cupped one of the massive cheeks before running slender fingers through his soft beard.

Sorrow fell across the spirit’s face, giving the woman the look of a Greek statue as she looked down upon her husband. “It was not supposed to be this way,” she whispered to the sleeping giant. “The stars had our fates written much differently, but the gods interfered.”

The molten hair floated along in an unseen breeze, and the woman made no effort to restrain it, wishing that she could wake the man who’d won her heart so many years ago. “I’m sorry you cannot see me—but the she tells me it is not yet time. And she is the mother, while I am a mere Princess-General. I must obey her wishes.” A sad smile touched upon her face. “She has even kept Taro from me, but I was allowed to watch him from a distance not too long ago.”

One hand draped across the hilt of a shimmering sword. “Our son is a fine warrior, well-versed in all the arts of war, not merely our own.” She sighed and stared towards the direction of her daughter’s room. “Chishali has the makings of a fine warrior as well. Her strength will be needed. A great calamity is coming to Earth—even the lowliest of spirits like myself can feel it.”

She paused, glancing at the sleeping man. “There will be much blood and heartache, that much is clear. I fear that the brunt of it will fall upon the shoulders of our family and friends.” She was silent for a long moment, peering into the web of the future that she was allowed to see. “Especially our grandchildren, Ox. They will either defeat the coming menaces, or be devoured by them.” She paused for a long moment. “I have no desire to meet them until they have become old themselves.” She leaned next to the ear of her sleeping husband. “Remember that Chishali must come into her birthright. She is well on the way to accepting it—her new spouse will both aid and hinder her. But she needs him—and she’ll need you too.” Her soft voice was whispery as if carried on the end of an autumn breeze.

She pressed soft lips to his cheek as the sky began to lighten. “My time here is up,” she told him again as her body began to fade. “But we will meet again, my love. I promise.” The last words were nothing more than a whisper as the spirit faded away into nothingness. “Remember.”

The Ox-king sighed and opened his eyes as he stared at the place where the ghost of his wife had stood just a few minutes before. He had been disrupted from a most pleasant dream by an even more pleasant presence nearby. But his wife had been dead for years—although he had been certain he’d felt her near him.

He glanced out the window and rose, unconsciously using the vibes of Octavia’s ghostly presence to remember her.

While the King of Frypan Mountain prepared himself for another day, his heir and grandson had just awoken, also remembering a nightly visitor to his room. His mother had finally come to get him! He hoped she would stay a few days, though. He liked it up here with Grandpa Ox, and besides—he hadn’t explored the whole mountain yet!

Last night his Grandfather had told him about a back room in his vaults—a cave that had a magical gem glowing in the wall. He’d promised Gohan that they’d go visit the vaults deep inside the mountain today, and Gohan really wanted to go. He’d never seen a magical rock before, unless you counted the Dragonballs, which were only rocks part of the time. Grandpa Ox said he’d used one of the smaller gems from that cave in his mom’s helmet, and Gohan really wanted to see it.

He hoped his Mom would let him.

The young demi-saiyan hopped out of bed and padded across the hall to his mother’s room to ask her. He thought she’d say yes—they always stayed a day or two when they visited Grandfather. But it was always better to ask. What if he and grandfather left before Mom woke up and she thought something had happened to them?

Gohan didn’t like to worry her, so he thought it would be better if he told her where they were going. Grandfather had said they’d leave right after breakfast—and he knew Mom would sleep through that if she’d gotten in really late. He went back to his room and scribbled a note on a piece of paper he’d found in the desk. At least now he wouldn’t wake her up.

Stepping into the room, he noticed that he was right—she was still asleep. He crept around the bed to put his note on the pillow beside her, where she wouldn’t miss it.

There was someone already asleep there.

And the flame-like black hair could only belong to Vegeta.

Gohan’s mouth dropped open at the sight of Vegeta. The Saiyan Prince was sleeping in his mother’s bed—in the spot where his father always slept!

Stunned and a little confused, he backed away from the sleeping couple and brushed against a side-table, knocking a perfume bottle to the carpeted floor. It didn’t break—but it landed with a loud thud.

The Saiyan Prince sat up immediately, eyes scanning the room. They quickly settled on Gohan, who shrank back a little from the Prince’s glare. “What do you want, brat?”

At the sound of Vegeta’s voice, Gohan was glad to see his mother wake up. She sat up too, glaring at the Prince. “What’s going on?”

“Your brat,” Vegeta sneered, “woke me up. I asked him what he wanted.”

Chichi stared hard at Vegeta for a second before turning to Gohan. “Good morning Gohan,” she greeted carefully, going very pale.

“What’s Vegeta doing here?” Gohan questioned, confused. “I thought only Dad sleeps with you.”

“Not anymore brat,” Vegeta snarled, crossing his arms across his chest.

Chichi stared at him angrily, and he shut up.

“Mom?” Gohan was thoroughly confused now. “What’s going on?”

Chichi shot him an angry glare before peering at her young son. “Gohan,” she began quietly, slipping out of the giant bed and coming to kneel in front of him. “I know this is going to be hard for you…”

She trailed off as Gohan’s eyes had landed on her throat, and his little face filled with fury. “You said that Dad bit you there because he loved you,” he said, his voice shaking in fury. “In a way that a grown-up man loves his wife. Dad hasn’t been home in over a year—and you have another mark now. Who did that to you?”

“Me.” Vegeta grunted and stalked across the room to stand over his mate and her brat. “Your mother’s mine now.”

Chichi had both hands on Gohan’s shoulders, as he turned silent for a long moment looking first at her, then at Vegeta. His little body was taut beneath her hands, and she silently railed at Vegeta’s harshness.

But what was done was done—and she only hoped she could fix it before Gohan exploded.

“Gohan?”

He turned betrayed eyes to her, and her heart sank. “But what about Dad?” He questioned in a quiet voice, begging her to tell him that this was all just a big mistake.

Chichi swallowed and looked at the floor for a second before answering him. This was not going the way she expected. “Gohan…I don’t think your father is going to come back.”

Gohan pulled away from her, furious. “No!” He yelled, “Dad always comes back!”

“Gohan,” Chichi tried to calm him down. “It’s been over a year since anyone has heard anything from him, even King Kai. The galaxy’s a big place, and there are a lot of strong warriors out there who don’t like Saiyans.” She closed her eyes, not wanting to say more, but knowing it was the only way. “Without anyone there to help him, it’s quite possible that he didn’t make it…”

Gohan shook his head in fury, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. “No,” he repeated stubbornly. “Dad’s still alive! He has to be!” His gaze and voice turned accusing. “You promised to love him forever! And look what you’ve done!”

Before Chichi could say anything more her son turned and fled, slamming the door so hard it shattered into splinters across the marble floor.

* * * * * * * * * *



Chapter Five: Into the Maelstrom

It was over. Chichi stood at the edge of her father’s property, chest heaving, staring off in the sky in the direction that she knew her son had flown off in. Gohan was nowhere in sight, but she knew he had gone east, towards the sun. The young Saiyan had quickly forced his ki down once he realized she was following him, but he hadn’t quite been fast enough. She’d already had a fix on him. Unfortunately for her, she couldn’t run fast enough to catch him, and now Gohan was gone.

There was nothing more she could do.

Chichi sighed and peered off into the distance one last time before she turned to go back down the mountain. She was forced to take her time—it had been far too long since she had done any serious barefoot traveling, and now bruised feet joined her sore ankle in slowing her up. The cold thin air chilled the sweat on her body and stabbed at her lungs, almost making her dizzy—Mt. Frypan and the surrounding area was at a higher elevation than her home on Mt. Paotzu.

By the time she reached the camping area, she was so dizzy she had to stop and rest for a few minutes, and leaned against a convenient boulder to regain her strength. Unfortunately, the rock she was resting against was in plain view of the small group of campers staying in the clearing. They stared at her, goggle-eyed, and Chichi’s stomach lurched. Not 15 minutes ago, a half-screaming woman had burst through their camp at almost inhuman speeds—and now she was lurched against a rock, probably looking like one of Shenlong’s discarded chew-toys. Their curiosity had been more than peaked, and she was in no mood to answer foolish questions.

The campers formed a loose-half circle around her and one woman came forward warily. “Are you all right?”

Chichi sank to the ground and nodded. “I’ll be fine,” she exhaled between gasps. “I’m just not used to this elevation anymore.”

The woman exchanged a glance with the man closest to her and frowned. “That ground is cold, honey, you’ll catch pneumonia before long.”

The princess wondered if catching pneumonia would save her the trouble of having to sort her problems out immediately, but quickly cancelled that spurt of thought. Gohan would still be angry, Vegeta would be surlier than usual, and her father would be stuck in the middle. Delaying a resolution would only make things worse and allow Gohan’s anger to exponentiate.

She sighed and wearily pushed her body up off the ground, all too aware of the watching men and her flimsy nightgown. She silently accepted the blanket another of the campers had surfaced with and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I’m sorry I disturbed your camp,” she apologized reluctantly. “Did you enjoy your time here on Mt. Frypan?”

The campers looked confused. “I thought this was Fire Mountain,” one exclaimed, pulling a map out of a nearby pack.

“Oh, it is,” Chichi assured him quickly. “You’re not lost. The locals just call Fire Mountain Mt Frypan because of the huge fires that raged here for years. It was practically suicide to try and climb it.” She cut herself off before she could add that it was insanity to live there.

“So that explains the scorch marks and the trees,” one man in thick glasses exclaimed, looking like Chichi had just told him the secret of life. “I’m a geologist, and Jane here,” he pointed to the woman beside him, “is a vulcanologist. We noticed that all of the rocks around here are scorched, and the trees are very underdeveloped when you compare them to those on the next mountain.” He continued blathering, ignoring the others’ warning glares. “We were sure that there had to be some kind of catastrophe, but Jane couldn’t find any volcanic vents in the area that would have contained the fire to this mountain—after all, there is a dead volcano in the vicinity and all…”

“Paul,” one woman snapped, “We’re on vacation, not in the middle of a lecture hall!”

“Sorry.” The man was silent for a whole twenty seconds—Chichi kept track—before blurting out. “There had to be something to fuel the flames, because fires just don’t burn for years without spreading, or burn at all without fuel.”

Chichi forced a smile, despite the lump in her throat—they didn’t know any better. “There is a legend that has been passed down in my family for many centuries. It says that in the time before time was even measured, demons roamed the earth, wreaking havoc and destruction wherever they went. One of the most vicious was the fire demon, who left fires that could burn without fuel for years in its wake. Legend has it that the demon was imprisoned in deep in the bowels of the earth beneath Fire Mountain, and the kinds who live there were rewarded for guarding the mountain with treasure beyond every imagination.”

The campers looked at her like she was slightly insane, and Chichi couldn’t blame them. A crying woman in a nightgown had appeared from nowhere, and was lecturing them on ancient folklore. “Are you saying that some mythical fire-god set some wildfires?”

“No,” Chichi said flatly. “I was only six when the fires came,” she continued softly, trying not to hear her brother scream, “and I don’t remember much about it,” she lied calmly through her teeth. “Only that it was hot.” She had to almost physically force herself to keep from twitching as memories of fire, pain and blood raced through her mind.

The low roar overwhelmed them as the fires spreading across the dry fields that the locals were too frightened to tend to. The acrid taste of smoke that clogged her lungs and stung her eyes as they ran only heightened her panic. The dusty path trembled as the demon came closer, her father’s roar only a whisper in the background. The tree in front of them caught fire, the great branches hissing as the flames took hold. Her brother’s hands turned hard and rough as he physically pushed her away, shocking her with his callousness. Taro had never raised his hand against her in her life, especially after Mother had died. He had put himself between her and the demon, giving his life to save hers.

Taro’s sacrifice had been in vain—she wasn’t able to run fast enough, and the demon had closed in on her, bringing unnatural heat and burning light that frightened her even more than the sound of did. And then it had her; it had her by the ankles and it hurt; it hurt more than the molten metal Papa worked with and she couldn’t get away, no matter how hard she screamed and struggled and it shook her by the shoulders and sent sparks cascading around them as those burning hands grabbed her hair…

“MISS!”

Chichi’s eyes flew open to see the man and woman leaning over her, pale and worried. “Are you all right? You zoned out and almost started screaming.”

The younger woman frowned, ignoring the headache she could feel coming on. “I’m fine—really.” She managed a wobbly smile and handed the blanket back to them. “Just some bad memories.”

Their expressions were doubtful. “Well,” she said in a bit of a rush, “I have to head for home; there’s always a mountain of things for me to do.”

“Can we take you there?” The woman asked. “We rented a capsule vehicle—it’s supposed to be good for most of the terrain around here.”

The Princess shook her head. “It will never make it across the river,” she informed, feeling a familiar presence lurking nearby. “I’ll be fine—it’s not that long of a walk.” She began slowly edging her way back into the woods. “Enjoy your stay on Mount Frypan!”

Before they could react, she had melded back into the woods and was stumbling towards the familiar ki. Vegeta came into view a few minutes later, propping up an ancient tree in an imperious manner. She carefully picked her way beside him, resting her forehead against the tree’s moss-covered bark.

“When this all smoothes over,” she murmured to her mate, “I want you to teach me how to fly.”

His surprise rolled across their bond to her.

“If I had flown, I could have caught Gohan today,” she elaborated quietly. “I could have started to settle us out with him. Now I’ll be lucky if I see him again in the next two months.” She paused, and then continued in a quiet voice. “I’ve hurt him so badly he may never forgive me.”

Vegeta grunted. “He is a Saiyan. They do not forgive easily.”

She opened one dark eye to stare at him. “Neither do the cultures that comprise his human half.” She moaned and tugged at a nightgown strap. “It will take a miracle to make him come back before he’s a man.” She sought for the slight ripple that was Gohan’s ki, still heading east. Her expression turned hard. “At least he can survive on his own,” her voice was bitter, “I ought to thank Piccolo for doing something right.” She wanted to lash out at something; anything to vent some of the anger roiling inside her, but she hadn’t the strength. It had all been sapped away by the morning’s emotional roller-coaster ride and her desperate sprint after Gohan. “He’ll come back,” she assured herself quietly. “He still needs me.”

Beside her, Vegeta snorted softly, wondering exactly when Gohan had decided he needed his mother. The boy was utterly self-reliant like any young Saiyan; his mother clung a little too much for the comfort of everyone involved.

He glanced over at his mate, who had her entire body leaning against the old tree trunk; shoulders slumped, feet bleeding from running on the sharp rocks. Her hair hung down her back in a mass of tangles, and when she opened her eyes, Vegeta saw the unguarded look of a female in considerable mental stress—for an instant, his mate looked like a heartbroken little girl. It was just as swiftly replaced by the tacit expression she wore everyday; an emotional mask to be sure, but still a façade. His Princess was a complex woman; as their bond continued to cement he was gradually becoming more and more aware of all the levels that made up who she was. He found her multiplicity as fascinating as he did her fighting skills, something he could explore and savor for their uniqueness.

Considering fighting, his mate would be unable to spare with him until her feet were healed, although her pride would require she try. He hoped that her sire had a full medical kit; he had seen far too many minor wounds that if left untreated, developed fatal infections. He would not lose his mate to something as trivial as that.

He grabbed her round the waist and slung her over one shoulder before she could protest. She tensed momentarily, then acquiesced and lay still. “Just avoid the path,” she requested from somewhere below his elbows. “The campers are already too suspicious; and I can’t take any more memories today.”

* * * * * * *

Ox’s breakfast preparations had been disrupted that morning by the sound of Gohan’s shouting and departure, quickly followed by his daughter, and later, her mate. A few hours had passed, and none of them had returned. He’d left breakfast on the table and was making his way to his workshop, when Stewart, his chief steward, came running down the hall. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, your majesty, but the Queen has been sighted approaching the village!”

Ox frowned—there was only one woman his people referred to as the Queen, and her presence was always so rare that he was never sure if he should be pleased or worried. “You’re sure it’s her?”

“I know of no other women who ride a silver cloud,” Stewart gushed, nearly panicking. He was afraid of her and with good reason—last time she visited she had threatened to kill him. “I came as fast as I could, but she’s probably—“

The crash of the gong cut him off.

“Almost here,” he finished weakly.

Ox heaved a mighty sigh. “Ready the Blue room, please. I don’t know if she is staying, but we need to be prepared.”

“Yes sir.” Steward inclined his upper body in a quick bow and scurried off to find one of the housekeeping crew.

Almost reluctantly, the giant king made his way to what had once been the front gate, where a figure shrouded in a heavy cloak waited next to the gong. When he was within range, the woman removed her hood, revealing dark auburn hair almost the color of blood, a shade he had only seen on one other soul: that of his son. Taro had died because he had not allowed them to go to this woman after her sister’s death.

“Merebai,” he greeted courteously.

Cool silver eyes met his for a moment before pink lips spread in a practiced smile. “It’s good to see you again, Gyuu,” her musical voice was as firm as ever. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“No,” he returned politely, offering her his arm, “although I am curious as to what could possibly inspire you to leave your sauna of an island to visit my icebox here in the mountains.”

His use of an old joke formed a twist of a bitter smile on her face. “I am here to see Chishali,” she announced as if he didn’t already know that was the only thing she came for, resting her delicate hand on his forearm. Ox covered it with his own huge hand, reminded that no matter how fragile these Amazon women seemed they were truly as strong as the rocks the planet was built upon. And with those of the royal family, tempers fiercer than the great fires of the core. “She is still here?”

“Yes,” he answered as he led her across the courtyard. “There was some trouble with Gohan this morning, and Chi-chan is out, but she’ll be back later.”

Merebai cocked her head. “Trouble with your heir, Gyuu?”

Ox gave up on politeness. “Chi-chan has taken a new mate,” he told her bluntly.

Merebai’s face showed none of the expressions he imagined it would. Instead, she merely nodded. “I know.” He must have radiated his confusion, because she smiled. “The Seeress sees many things,” she elaborated. “Your grandson does not like him?”

“Gohan believes his father is still alive,” Ox stated flatly.

“Son Goku is a survivor, so that may well be possible,” Merebai allowed. “But if Chishali was forced to look elsewhere for fulfillment, then he is not truly her husband.” She paused for a long moment. “He has been gone for how long?”

“Four years, off and on,” Ox replied stiffly. All of this talk of abandoning mates made him uncomfortable. What if his son-in-law was still alive?

One red eyebrow rose. “Hmph. She has lasted far longer than many could.” A long pause. “Chishali has her duty to us to consider as well. You have your heir, but we do not have ours yet.”

Ox could no help from getting angry. “My daughter is not a baby factory.” He was polite—but just barely.

“Of course she isn’t!” Merebai assured. “No Amazon is. Chishali and Medea are our heirs, but neither of them have a daughter, and they are not getting any younger.” With a practiced move, Merebai flicked her spectacular hair behind her shoulders. Ox noticed that there were gray streaks running through it now—the Amazon was finally starting to show her age.

He looked down at the collected woman and reminded himself that Merebai’s comments were a part of her culture; that his precious ‘Tavia had been raised the same way, and they had lived together quite happily for years. He could deal with her sister for a few days. He was saved from thinking up a reply when her head turned to peer off up the mountain. “They’re coming back,” she informed. “I like the feel of his ki,” she continued after a moment. “It may seem dark, but inside it’s as clear and firm as the base of the Fountain. And Chishali’s,” her voice was smug, “is brighter than ever.”

They were in sight then, the Saiyan Prince carrying his daughter, who was not pleased with the situation. As soon as his feet touched the cobbled courtyard she tried to get down, but he wouldn’t let her. “I’m not an invalid Vegeta! They’re just scratched!”

Ox’s gaze rested upon her feet, which were smeared red with blood, and he started to detach himself from Merebai’s side to fetch a first-aid kit. His sister-in-law was quicker. She clapped her hands sharply, summoning Stewart from where he had been lurking in the shadows, awaiting instructions. “Bring me a basin of water and some towels,” she ordered.

Chichi’s head snapped from where she had been locked into a staring contest with Vegeta. “Aunt Bai?”

“Of course,” the Queen of Amazons retorted with the first true smile Ox had seen from her yet. “Am I not allowed to visit my favorite niece?”

Chichi’s face broke into a weak smile—she was as fond of her mother’s sister as the Queen was of her. “I’m the only niece you’re allowed to claim.”

“Actually, I can claim Medea now too,” Merebai was shedding her heavy cloak to reveal long sleeves and pants that seemed ludicrous to Ox—she couldn’t actually be that cold. She extended her hand to Chichi, neatly pulling the younger woman out of Vegeta’s grasp and helping her hobble to a nearby bench. “It took me ages to figure out how to keep her while keeping her bastard of a father alienated, but it’s been done.”

Vegeta was now giving her a stare that could have matched one of Octavia’s. Merebai didn’t even flinch.

“How is Medea doing?” Chichi questioned, ignoring her feet for the moment.

“Happy to be one of the family again, but she has no desire to be more than a Princess, ever.” Merebai slid off the bench as Stewart and Ox’s housekeeper shuffled forward with a basin of steaming water and a first-aid kit. “Just set them down,” she ordered peremptorily. “I can handle things from here.”

“I can bandage my own feet!” Chichi protested, looking uncomfortable at the thought of her Queen doing something so mundane.

“Feet are awkward to tend yourself,” Merebai replied evenly, wetting a cloth. “You tend for yourself all the time, Chishali. At least let me do this much for you.” When Chichi started to protest, the woman gave her a stern look. “No Chishali. Just relax.”

The Queen began to wash the girl’s feet with practiced ease, continuing to chatter. “So are you going to introduce me? Or is guessing the name of the new family member some new fad I don’t know about?”

Chichi had the grace to look abashed. “Sorry. I’d forgotten you hadn’t met. Aunt Bai, this is Vegeta, my mate. Vegeta, this is my Aunt, Merebai D’Amazon.”

Merebai looked up at Vegeta and nodded, since Vegeta made no effort to acknowledge the introduction. “It is convenient to finally meet the Prince of Saiyans,” she commented calmly, continuing to blot at Chichi’s feet. “I finally have a face to go with the name now.”

Ox watched with very little surprise as the man focused all of his attention to her, hackles raised. “How did you know that?” “Vegeta,’ Chichi snapped. “Aunt Bai is a Queen, you can’t just…”

“It’s all right, Chishali,” Merebai soothed. “Like ninety-nine point eight percent of our population, the Prince is not aware that the Amazons have aided the Guardian of this planet since before there was a Guardian. Vegeta, on behalf of the only government acknowledging the fact that there are aliens on Earth, welcome to our planet.”

Ox was pleased to see that while Vegeta wasn’t pleased with his non-anonymity, he wasn’t going to question it now. Instead, his stomach rumbled, reminding Ox of the small market of food piled on one of the tables. He beckoned Vegeta away, leaving the two women on their own to discuss whatever Amazon women talked about when alone. He was just glad to be away from Merebai—before he decided to try and hurt her.

Chichi and Merebai watched as the two men left for the kitchens. “You pressed Papa’s buttons again,” Chichi commented to her Aunt, wincing slightly as a slight movement of her foot broke a few scabs.

Merebai shrugged, strong fingers staunching the blood flow with a rag. “I like your father very much—in fact, your mother never would have admitted she loved him if I hadn’t coerced her into that tournament—but sometimes he needs reminding that we’re still different than he is, no matter how much time passes.”

“My taking Vegeta as a mate has reminded him,” Chichi replied solemnly.

The middle-aged queen smiled mischievously up at her somber niece. “I like Vegeta. He’s smart, and actually strong enough for you—and all that masculinity makes me heady.”

Chichi looked aghast. “He’s mine,” she warned firmly.

“Of course he is,” Merebai assured. “Do you love him?”

Chichi thought for a long moment as Merebai opened the first aid kit and began to pull out bandages and salve. “I could,” she admitted to her aunt. “I could very easily, if it weren’t for Gohan.” Her voice broke, and she continued in a half-wail. “They’re going to make me choose between them, and I can’t do that! I can’t choose between my son and my mate.”

Merebai slid up onto the bench beside her niece and wrapped her slim arms around the teary-eyed Princess. “Hush, hatchling. It will all work out; the Gods do nothing without reason.” She rubbed the younger woman’s back. “You won’t have to choose between your mate and your issue; it will just take time for everyone to come around.”

Chichi sighed and sniffed, emotional balance regained. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, hatchling,” the Queen assured, the few lines on her face deepening with concern. “Thinking like that isn’t good for someone in your condition.”

Confused, Chichi stared at her Aunt. “But all I did was cut my feet—I’ll be fine in a few days.”

Merebai flashed her a startled glance, one eyebrow raised. “Yes you will,” she began slowly. “All you need to do is stay off your feet for a day or two—you heal quickly.” She sank back to the cobblestones to finish bandaging said feet. “So is Vegeta as strong as his ki says he is?”

Merebai looked up when Chichi didn’t answer, only to find the Princess had gone pale, and was trembling slightly. “Chishali? Hatchling?”

Chichi made no indication she’d heard anything, but continued to stare into the thin air, eyes unfocused and muscles tensed. Merebai grasped her shoulders and shook them hard until her niece was actually looking at her. “Hatching, tell me what’s wrong. Now.”

The voice that came out of the girl’s mouth sounded like she was speaking through a tunnel; her mind was far away while her body was still on the bench. “Gohan.” Chichi whispered. “My baby’s in trouble.”

Before Merebai could respond, onyx eyes rolled back into her head and Chichi slid off the bench into unconsciousness. Merebai cushioned her head before it connected with the hard cobblestones and began to call for Ox.

* * * * * *

Gohan flew. He didn’t care where he was going; all he knew was that it needed to be far, far away from his mother and Vegeta.

His father couldn’t be dead! He just couldn’t! Sure, he’d died before, but that had been different. He’d promised to come back, and he had. But he hadn’t died this time! He’d just said he didn’t want to come home yet.

Gohan froze.

Didn’t Dad love them anymore? Was that why he hadn’t come home, because he didn’t love them?

Furious with himself for even thinking that, Gohan picked up speed again. Just because Dad didn’t love them anymore didn’t give Mom the fight to find a new mate (Gohan thought that was the right word). Mom and Dad had promised to love each other forever when they got married, hadn’t they? They’d both broken that promise: Dad stayed away because he didn’t love them anymore—if he still loved them he would have come home already! And Mom had given his place to Vegeta.

The boy snarled. What kind of man mated with the wife of the man who’d spared his life? Where was the honor in that?

Gohan really didn’t care. All he knew was that everything in his life was suddenly wrong, and he wanted to be as far away from it as possible.

So he flew. He didn’t care if people could see him, didn’t care that he was hungry, and he didn’t care that Piccolo was following him. He didn’t want to talk to Piccolo right now anyway. All he wanted was to be left alone so he could think, and so he flew. Right into the heart of the thunderstorm brewing before him.

* * * * *

“Dad, this is getting really bad,” Bulma commented to her father. “I’ve never flown through a storm this bad before.” She had both hands wrapped around the stick of their high-speed jet as she battled the intense winds. “All we need is one lightning bolt to knock out the electrical systems and we’ve had it.”

Doctor Briefs, as usual, was far too busy staring at various instruments to realize the sort of danger they were in. They couldn’t fly above the storm, were too light to be flying through the storm, and in the middle of the worst lightning storm Bulma had seen in her lifetime. With every flash, her instruments went haywire and she couldn’t see anything outside the cockpit. It was pitch black outside; without her compass she’d be lost and thrown off course.

A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, briefly illuminating the outside world and giving Bulma’s already frazzled nerves another pull. “Damn it,” she swore as the compass began to spin. “We’re never going to make it home.” She risked removing one hand from the stick to tap the cover of the compass hard. “I thought you said you shielded the compass,” she snapped at her father.

“I did, dear,” Dr. Briefs replied. “With an alloy of—”

Bulma cut him off. “I don’t care what it is,” she roared. “But it’s not working!”

A huge wind gust broadsided them, and Bulma worked to keep the jet as steady as possible. When she’d gotten it under control, Doctor Briefs picked his glasses up from the floor and put them back on his nose. “My, it is getting bad, isn’t it?” He observed.

“Yeah Dad,” Bulma replied through gritted teeth as she guided the jet through a small opening between clouds. “It is.”

They sat in silence as Bulma battled the storm, quickly dodging the ferocious lightning bolts. “Why do we have to be the only metal object flying through this storm,” Bulma moaned as she narrowly missed another one.

“At least the protective coating on the hull is working,” Doctor Briefs commented.

But Bulma was too busy to take notice. In the light provided by the deadly energy beams she could see another figure approaching on a direct course for them. She hoped it wasn’t a plane, because the radio was out and she couldn’t signal them to warn of her presence.

The object was moving too fast to be a plane. Bulma fumbled for the magnifying goggles on her helmet and gasped.

It was Gohan—flying out in the storm with eyes closed, dodging the lightning. What was the 7-year-old doing out here on his own?

Bulma realized with a sickening lurch that Gohan didn’t know they were there—the storm raged over the sound of their engines. He was still heading straight for them. Even through she knew it was futile, Bulma began screaming his name. Fortunately her terror spiked her puny ki enough that Gohan took notice.

He opened his eyes just in time to face down the nose of a huge jet.

By a physics-defying miracle, he managed to stop and slide out of its way. He slid right into the path of a lightning bolt that Doctor Briefs’ experimental new coating had deflected off the hull.

Bulma screamed in horror as she saw the boy disappear into the light. When it faded, he was gone—the sky next to the jet was empty.

There was only one direction he could have gone.

Without even thinking, Bulma pushed the jet into the steepest nosedive she could withstand and followed.

She had to find Gohan.

* * * * * * *