“Would you like me to tell your mother?”

Gohan stared at his hands, limp in his lap. His shallow breath hitched. He tried to swallow. Felt sick.

“Do you have to?” he whispered, terrified.

Quiet, kind laughter raised his eyes from their blank study of his fingers. The doctor tilted his head and propped a foot on the metal support of the stool he still sat upon.

“It’s pretty scary, huh?”

The boy nodded and looked away. His mother had cut his hair over a month ago and he felt naked without its weight on his back, hiding the emotion in his eyes.

“Well,” Tai-sensei replied with an empathetic sigh, “I can honestly say it’s not the most surprising thing I’ve seen.” The doctor stood and began replacing his supplies into a battered black bag. “There are plenty of species that don’t appear to have separate genders, reproducing amongst themselves. It would make sense that Saiya-jin--“

Gohan’s gaze focused sharply. “You know about Saiya-jin?”

The kind doctor smiled gently. “I’d have to, wouldn’t I? Who do you think patches up Vegiita-san when he tries to blow himself to bits, huh? Or tends to Trunks-chan when he hurts himself?”

The half-breed blinked. “You’ve treated Vegiita-san?”

The doctor smiled. “Of course. I’ve worked for Capsule Corporation for years. Briefs-san and his family might be geniuses when it comes to fixing machines, but I wouldn’t let them diagnosis me with the common cold, if you follow me.”

Gohan almost smiled, but the gesture didn’t quite reach his mouth. “R-really?”

Tai-sensei nodded. “Yup.” He braced his hip against the counter and clasped his hands. “And while I don’t believe in breaking the patient-doctor trust, I will say that Vegiita-san has opened up my acceptance of a great many things that they don’t teach in med school.”

“So I’m n-not…” the boy couldn’t finish. His cheeks burned brilliantly in his shame.

“Abnormal?” Tai-sensei finished for him. “Maybe to a human. But I’d venture to guess you’re right on target for a Saiya-jin.” He eyed his patient kindly. “A little young, maybe, but who’s to say?” He straightened. “You’re, what? Thirteen? Fourteen? That used to be normal for humans--history books teach you that, don’t they?”

“I guess so,” the young scholar responded quietly and followed the doctor with his eyes. His palms were sweaty and uncomfortable. He wiped them slowly against his pants.

There was an awkward pause.

The doctor cleared his throat as he snapped his bag shut. “I know it’s not my place to ask, Son-kun, but your mother’s going to want to know. And frankly, I’d feel better knowing the answer myself.”

The half-breed’s fragile confidence buckled. Pressing his lips together, he pushed back the threat of sickness before he spoke again.

“What?”

Tai-sensei hefted his bag off the counter. His violet eyes were open and honest with concern.

“Was it by your consent?”

“By my--“ Gohan faltered as the implication became clear. His cheeks darkened. “Oh. I-I…”

“You don’t have to tell me his name,” the doctor encouraged. “I just need to know that it didn’t happen against your will.”

Gohan wanted to die. “No. I mean, yes. I consented.” He forced certainty into his answer and was thankful when the doctor nodded with a smile.

“Alright, then. I’ll break the news to your mother. You can go ahead and get dressed. I don’t know how familiar you are with this part of the complex, but if you need a bathroom, there’s one down the hall to your left. The periodic sickness will probably continue for another week or two.” Gohan jerked as the man’s hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“It’s going to be a little touch and go, but we’ll do our best, ok? I just need you to be honest with me about what you’re feeling and I promise you that you’ll be fine.” He smiled. “You both will.”

Gohan managed a nod and a whispered thanks. A moment later, the door closed and the doctor was gone.

Silence followed the retreat of footsteps down the hall. The boy closed his eyes and swallowed against the harsh lump in his throat. Everything was going wrong. Terribly wrong. It couldn’t be happening…

“I wanted it…didn’t I…?” the half-breed whispered hoarsely. His fingers twitched as hot, unshed tears prickled the corners of his eyes. Seconds later, he buried his face in his hands and wept.

“Why can’t I remember…?”

The half an hour that passed wasn’t nearly long enough. But when his tears had dried and his reason returned, it was simply the act of pulling himself together and putting on his clothes, a task that couldn’t reasonably delay him. He struggled momentarily with the clasp of his pants, paling with the newfound realization of why he was growing out instead of up. Which would have been acceptable for a boy his age.

“At least I’m not dying,” he tried to reassure himself. It had been two weeks since the first time he’d awoken, covered in sweat and needing to vomit. Three days later, he’d caught what seemed to be the flu. Almost a week passed before his mother had taken him to their family doctor.

Because never in the history of being with his father had his mother seen Son Goku sick. And Gohan, even as an infant, had never had so much as an ear infection. Seeing her half-Saiya-jin son unable to keep down even the most basic of food had sent Son Chichi into a parental rage.

The doctor had taken one look at him and sent him home with a prescription for cold medicine. Halfway home, he’d gotten sick in the car, further convincing his mother that her baby was dying.

That had been yesterday.

“Not that this is much better,” he muttered, resting his forehead against the door. The knob was in his hand, but the will to turn it was so distant as to be nonexistent.

A moment later, a shrill screech raised every hair on his body. He flinched as though physically struck.

But what bothered him more than his mother’s reaction was the fact that he couldn’t quite remember how it had happened. He wasn’t an idiot. Biology was a natural part of his studies; he knew the basics of procreation. Saiya-jin blood or no, he assumed that it had come about in a similar fashion.

Yet he couldn’t recall when. Or how. Or…gods forbid…the question that had plagued him through the shock of the doctor’s announcement. Who?

Gohan groaned. It was all too messed up. He was a thirteen-year-old boy. It didn’t matter that he’d spent his childhood battling alien and genetically engineered enemies of the Earth. That he was stronger than most grown men twice his age.

“But I’m a boy. How can I be…?” he swallowed. His voice dipped down to a whisper. “P-pre…oh…gods…”

His stomach lurched. Covering his mouth with one hand, he ripped open the door and staggered out into the hall.

Everything tilted; he pitched forward against the opposite wall and waited for the revolving room to stop. Around the corner, he heard his mother’s sharp, hysterical voice demanding answers that the kind doctor answered in an easy, measured tone.

“Yes, it appears his body does contain a natural way to give birth. The birthing canal in his body is similar to a human female, but slightly behind--yes, exactly. You see why I recommend the Cesarean section.”

Gohan’s eyes widened. He was too smart not to understand what the doctor was implying. His stomach revolted again and he just barely made it into the bathroom before he lost the rice he’d forced down his throat at breakfast.

“There’s no way…no, no, no, no…” he shook his head adamantly. “I can’t do this…” He rested his head on his forearm braced against the white porcelain. “I can’t…”

“You are strong enough.”

Gohan slowly raised his head. Who had said that to him…? His father? Piccolo-san…? He gripped the edge of the sink and hauled his weight unsteadily to his feet. Turning on the cold water, he splashed wearily at his face, rubbing at the back of his neck. Rinsing out his mouth. Blindly, he reached behind and flushed the toilet.

“I’m so pathetic,” he told his reflection. The dark-eyed boy in the mirror returned his stare sympathetically. He braced his weight against the edge of the sink; breathing was laboured and deep, calming the roiling of his insides. Everything felt distorted. Unnatural. Wrong.

“I can’t have a child,” he whispered desperately. “I’m only thirteen…” Not to mention male. The objective realist within him pointed out his alien heritage, that the percentage of something this bizarre occurring was actually higher than anyone had suspected.

“But why did it have to happen to me?” he whimpered. His hands curled into fists around the porcelain. “Why does all this shit always happen to me?!” Growling, his human aspect receded and Son Gohan’s infinite patience shattered. With a snarl, he drew back his fist and punched the mirror.

Large, jagged shards of glass fell into the sink and onto the floor. Panting, panicked, Gohan felt the pain through a cushion of mounting hysteria. He was pregnant. He was going to have a child. And as if that weird shit wasn’t enough, he couldn’t recall how he’d gotten there in the first place!

His chest heaved, though his breath became shallow. I’m hyperventilating. Gohan closed his eyes. It didn’t help. Nothing helped. I’m having a child. I don’t want to have a child! I can’t do this!

Gritting his teeth, Gohan felt power override his mental faculties. It sparked at his spine, pulsing outward toward his fingertips and toes. The hair at the base of his neck prickled; he stood at the edge of ascension and couldn’t control it. Throwing his head back, he braced his feet and felt it overcome him.

Gohan came back to his body gradually. There wasn’t the presence of pain and discomfort that he had grown accustomed to upon waking, but the warm, solid sense of another person. Increased coherence revealed a further truth: he was being carried. His feet swung against a strong arm with each step taken and his head was rested deliberately against a firm shoulder. Embarrassed, relieved, and confused, the half-breed debated opening his eyes. Was saved the choice when the other spoke.

“Your power level has increased to compensate for your current weakness. Learn to control it.”

The boy opened his eyes, tilting his head up to address the unwanted advice.

“Learn to control it?” Gohan snapped, lashing out with the force of his suppressed aggression. Vegiita’s profile was stoic and emotionless. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

The Saiya-jin turned his head slightly. Narrowing his eyes, he dropped his left arm and Gohan balanced unsteadily on his feet, grasping the older man for support. Déjà vu and nausea did an interesting tango in his midsection; he pulled in a sequence of deep breaths as the world became still again.

Standing straight, he looked the Saiya-jin in the eye; his breath caught as the world fell away and dizziness swept over him. Vegiita was there as his balance failed him again, arms strong and supportive around his waist.

“Why are you being so nice to me…?” he muttered as he was lifted a second time. The rhythm of the Saiya-jin no Ouji’s pulse was hard and strong against his ear.

Vegiita was silent as he hefted Gohan’s weight, adjusting him against his chest.

“Save your strength,” was all he said. Gohan closed his eyes, breathed deep and, for the first time in days, didn’t feel sick. Vegiita’s scent was Saiya-jin and sweat and familiar and comforting.

“You don’t have to be nice to me,” the boy murmured, rubbing at the tired circles under his eyes with one hand. The other was trapped between his body and the armor on Vegiita’s chest. “It’s ok for you to be a bastard…”

The Saiya-jin rumbled with what could have been mistaken for laughter. The half-breed blushed.

Gohan raised his dark eyes. “Well, it’s true. You’ve been one for as long as…I’ve known you…”

Vegiita paused. His heavy heartbeat was constant and telling.

Gohan’s legs shook as he was set gently on his feet. His mortified gaze never left the Saiya-jin’s stoic expression and Vegiita didn’t even blink to deny it. Stumbling backward, he swallowed repeatedly as sickness tightened his belly. Pressing a hand against his mouth, he shook his head.

“I-impossible…”

“Gohan-chan?” Chichi’s concerned call was closer than either thought. Gohan jerked around at his mother’s voice.

“Okaasan?” he whimpered. He wanted to cry. Scream. Vomit. It was really anyone’s guess which would actually happen first.

“Oh, Gohan-chan!” Chichi exclaimed, hurrying around the corner. Gohan’s vision wavered as he took into the sight of the livingroom. To his right was a closed door. With one bed, a dresser, a bookcase, and a chair…

“You need to sit down! You look awful!” His mother took him firmly by the arm and helped him around to the couch. Gohan jerked as the memory hit him and he clearly began to recall the last time he had been in the Briefs’ livingroom.

“I’ll get you some water,” Bulma offered worriedly, taking off for the adjoining kitchen.

Gohan started as Tai-sensei’s cool hand slid under his bangs, assessing his temperature. “You’re a little warm. You should relax. How are you feeling?”

“How is he feeling?” Chichi repeated exasperatedly. Dropping to the cushion beside him, she smoothed back her son’s hair with a maternal hand. “He’s probably in shock. Aren’t you, Gohan-chan?”

Gohan stared unblinkingly at the carpet.

Not waiting for a reply, Chichi forged ahead. “But the doctor says you’re gonna be fine, baby. We’ll get through it. I remember what it was like and parts of it ain’t gonna be fun, but it’s nothin’ we can’t handle, you hear me?” Placing her hands on either cheek, she forced him to look her in the eye. “You hear me, Gohan? You’re gonna be fine.”

The boy blinked. Swallowed against a hard knot in his throat. Nodded.

“Here.” Bulma pressed a cold glass into his hand. His mother’s hands fell away to his arm and back.

“Thanks,” he croaked. Raising the glass, he touched his parched lips to the water, but did not drink.

“Wow,” the young, blue-haired genius commented, straightening. She brushed back a loose strand of hair and crossed her arms over her chest, cocking a hip. “I had no idea this could happen. Did you, Vegiita?”

All eyes turned to the Saiya-jin prince as he entered the room from the hallway. Tai-sensei’s were the first to turn back to Gohan and the only ones to see the horribly stricken expression on the boy’s face.

“It’s none of your fucking business what I know,” the Saiya-jin snapped, squaring his stance and barring his arms.

Chichi stood with a warning calmness. Her eyes were hard and stormy with predictable rage.

“If you know anything that might help my Gohan, then you’d better tell me!”

Vegiita was unperturbed. His lip curled disdainfully. “Or you’ll what, woman? Shouldn’t you be more surprised?” He arched an ebony brow. “Or am I right in assuming that Kakarotto has displayed certain tendencies--“

Bulma’s eyes widened. “Vegiita! Don’t be such a bastard! Gohan’s in an awkward situation enough as it is without you being a complete asshole about it!”

Chichi’s jaw clenched. “Are you implyin’ that it’s ‘cause I didn’t do something that Gohan-chan’s like this?”

The Saiya-jin snorted and narrowed his eyes. “Your ceaseless coddling has lead to his condition, as you call it. You suppressed his instincts. You did not allow him to fight.” Vegiita shook his head. “Kakarotto would have experienced something similar--there’s no other adequate excuse for Gohan’s existence. I’m only surprised it did not happen earlier.”

Bulma almost blushed, glancing sharply at the young boy on her couch, helplessly clutching the full glass of water she’d given him. “Vegiita…he’s only a child--“

The Saiya-jin’s eyes hardened with dangerous knowledge. His voice lowered threateningly. “And would you care to know what I had done when I was a child?”

Bulma paled and even Chichi took a step backward, looking quickly to her unresponsive son.

“You can’t mean it’s normal…”

Son Chichi rang her hands distractedly. “There were times when Goku-sa was more…insistent…”

The Saiya-jin made a sound akin to growling, but did not reply.

“Briefs-san,” Tai-sensei interrupted quietly. “If it’s possible, I would like to speak with Vegiita-san and Gohan-kun alone.”

The woman blinked, then nodded as comprehension settled. Taking Chichi gently by the wrist, she pulled the reluctant woman toward the door.

“C’mon, Chichi-san…Tai-sensei’s a brilliant doctor. Let’s let him do his job, ne?”

“But--Gohan-chan--“ the mother turned toward her son. Gohan did not raise his head to acknowledge her concern.

“Will be just fine,” Bulma reassured, reaching for the other woman’s coat as they neared the door. “Why don’t we go out to the garage? I’ve got some of Trunks’ clothes in boxes that I’ve been meaning to get rid of…”

And then the door closed and the three of them were left alone.

Tai-sensei released a heavy breath. Removing his glasses, he cleaned them habitually on the hem of his coat.

“Well…I think that went better than expected.”

Gohan barely blinked and Vegiita looked blankly toward the kitchen.

The doctor sighed again, quieter. Sitting on the arm of the couch, he addressed the Saiya-jin prince.

“Vegiita-san, are you aware of Gohan’s condition?”

The half-breed flinched. The Saiya-jin turned slowly toward the doctor. Gohan could feel the intensity of that dark-eyed gaze against the back of his head.

“Yes,” came the curt reply.

Tai-sensei nodded. “Then you were aware of the possibility?”

A pause. Then, “Yes.”

The doctor glanced back to his patient. “But you didn’t mention it to anyone?”

Vegiita’s stance stiffened. His teeth bit savagely at the words of his response.

“Kakarotto’s brat was not my responsibility!”

Gohan’s shoulders shook with laughter hardly audible. “That’s ironic now, coming from you, Vegiita-san.”

The Saiya-jin stilled. Standing carefully, the doctor wisely removed himself from between the two other members of their collective.

“Gohan-kun…?”

“Maybe you should have considered that beforehand, Vegiita…san…”

The Saiya-jin’s teeth were sharp and white as he bared them. “Don’t blame me for your lack of control, boy.”

“My lack of control?” Gohan murmured. He stared at the glass in his hand, admired the cracks that snaked outward from his fingers, felt the wetness collecting beneath the tips. “My lack of control? ”

It shattered as he stood and glass rained sharply to disappear into the carpet. His eyes were brilliant and blue beneath the black of his hair.

“I didn’t even remember until today. But you…you knew it would happen. You said as much to me,” Gohan accused logically.

The Saiya-jin raised his chin haughtily, his stance solid and unforgiving. “You are a half-breed. I know nothing of your kind.”

Energy licked eagerly at Gohan’s fingertips. His unnatural stare was focused and intent on the arrogant figure across the room.

“Gohan-kun,” Tai-sensei intervened, moving to rest a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Sensei…” Gohan whispered. When he turned his eyes to the taller man, they were an unearthly colour of warning. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tai swallowed a shudder of repulsion; pulling his hand back, he nodded and stepped back. “Please be careful, Gohan-kun,” he advised. “It’s not just you anymore.”

“I know,” Gohan said softly. His expression hardened again as Vegiita became the goal again. “And it’s your fault.”

“My fault?” the Saiya-jin hissed angrily. “You came to me, boy. Don’t you remember? I told you to leave. But you insisted.”

“You should have stopped me,” Gohan snapped rationally. “You have such pride in your strength, Vegiita. You could have stopped me--“

“You don’t remember, Gohan?” Vegiita asked harshly. “Yes. I could have left you to the pain of it.”

“It’s nothing compared to this!” the half-breed cried, balling his fists. His hair flickered a molten amber. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?!”

“Yes!” Vegiita roared. “I do! I know what I’ve done to you! And you will bear it and you will survive!”

Gohan’s eyes flashed with anger, glittered with tears.

“How can you possibly--“

“Because it happened to me!” the Saiya-jin snarled. “It happens to all of us. And you are no exception!”

The boy’s eyes widened; a tear slipped from the corner to trace the curve of his cheek. “You’re…lying…”

The prince’s jaw tightened.

“No, Gohan-kun…he’s not,” Tai confirmed quietly from behind. “He has the scars--“

“Battle scars,” Gohan whispered disbelievingly. “Those scars are from fighting…”

“Some of them,” the doctor agreed. “But not all of them.” His kind, violet eyes sought the stoic Saiya-jin prince. “Where are your children now, Vegiita-san?”

The Saiya-jin’s stern expression faltered, collapsed, and reconstructed as Gohan watched with amazement.

“Trunks-chan is upstairs,” Tai continued calmly. “What about your other son?”

Vegiita’s exotic complexion paled; his eyes widened. His lips moved without sound. “Shut up…”

“He would be older than Gohan-kun now, wouldn’t he?” Tai-sensei pushed coolly. “Or about the same age?”

“Sensei…” Gohan shook his head. “Stop it…”

“I can’t imagine a child would be easy to keep in that environment. Were you able to name him before they took him away?”

Gohan watched, horrified as Vegiita’s careful composure began to crack.

“Stop it! ” the boy cried. “Can’t you see what you’re doing?!” Casting a cold glare at the doctor, Gohan closed the distance to the pallid prince. “Vegiita-san? Are you ok?”

The Saiya-jin jerked at his touch, his eyes flat and unfocused. Panicked, Gohan pulled him back by the collar of his shirt and punched the older man in the jaw.

Vegiita fell backward against the wall, sliding down with a groan.

“I-I’m sorry!” Gohan apologized, wiping tears from his cheeks with the palm of his hand. Hiccupping, he knelt before the Saiya-jin no Ouji. “Vegiita-san…I-I’m sorry…” His hair fell forward into his black eyes; he smeared the tears distracted across his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

His breath hitched as a warm hand brushed the hair from his forehead. “Baka…” the Saiya-jin swore quietly. “What the fuck are you apologizing for?”

“V-Vegiita-san…I-I…” the half-breed stammered, then disregarded words completely, throwing his arms around the surprised prince’s neck. “I-I’m scared!” he confessed, rubbing his face against Vegiita’s neck, desperate for kindred contact. “Tell me I’m strong enough!” he begged hoarsely, voice wet with tears.

“Gohan…” Vegiita breathed. Sighing softly, he nodded into the boy’s hair, resting a heavy hand against his lower back. It shook sobs muffled by the Saiya-jin’s shoulder. “You are strong enough.”

The half-breed quieted subtly and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. “You promise?”

Vegiita winced. Grasping Gohan by the shoulders, he pulled the boy back to face him. His eyes were red and glistening with fear.

“Just say yes,” Gohan implored pathetically. “I need you to say yes, Vegiita-san.”

“I promise you,” Vegiita murmured, gathering the half-breed to him again. He felt tension leave the boy with a sharp shudder.

“Thank you,” Gohan whispered, wet words, almost a kiss against Vegiita’s cheek. “I want to be strong like you are, Vegiita-san…I want to be strong like you.”

The Saiya-jin no Ouji closed his eyes and clenched his teeth and it was only the doctor, silent as a sentinel, who saw the tears that fell into Gohan’s hair.