Blowing on his cold hands, Son Gohan jogged up the well-shoveled walkway that lead to Capsule Corporation. Heavy snowfall the night before had covered the city’s dirtier aspects and the sprawling complex was one of the only buildings to have been dug out after the storm. It was late morning that seemed more like early afternoon; thick, low clouds robbed the landscape of colour, suspending time in a grey haze of diluted sunlight. He shook snowflakes from his hair as he took the two steps up the door, fluffy, powdery things that drifted from the tops of trees flecking his short, ebony hair with white.

Gohan was a good-looking kid, tall for his age, with thick-rimmed glasses that were strictly aesthetic. Once upon a time he’d been a super hero in green and black, complete with spandex and well-mannered intentions. It’d been his fifteen minutes in the limelight and he’d loved every glorious second. The glasses were the only remnants of his disguise. He’d grown fond of their scholarly appeal and found that it downplayed his other natural talents.

Because underneath the bulky green jacket and Capsule brand boots, Son Gohan was a bizarre miscellany of uncommon genetics. His grandfather was a retired demon; his mother pulled in the human aspect from a grandmother he’d never known. And his father…

Gohan brushed his hair back from his face and wiped moisture from cheeks pink with cold. Well, that was what today was all about, wasn’t it? His father’s contribution to his genetics. The dark side of Son Gohan that wanted to do all sorts of animalistic things that didn’t sit well socially in human society.

He glanced around as he rung the little, brass push-button bell, listening to the echo within the dark house. It was eerily quiet. Any other day of the week would have seen bumper to bumper traffic in the air and on the road. But throw in some snow and a human holiday, and it was like a post-apocalyptic wasteland.

He hadn’t grown up celebrating it, but he’d gone to school with many who did. He was familiar with the basics--the obligatory gift-giving, the abundance of food, and the green and red decorations. Several houses he’d passed on his way in had been colourfully decorated with party lights and evergreens. It was all very strange and paradoxical, but his little brother, Goten, seemed in love with the idea of spontaneous gifts.

Gohan snorted. But that’s what you got when your best friend was the richest kid on the planet.

The young man rang the bell again and glanced at his watch. It was an amazingly complex device that could tell the time anywhere on the planet or track the mystic, wish-granting dragonballs in an emergency. A couple of years ago it, along with his glasses, had been the key to his secret identity. His cheeks darkened at the memory. Son Gohan wasn’t an idiot; he knew what people thought of him. But no one had explained to him the finer social workings of being a half-breed space alien on a planet of people who couldn’t fly, who didn’t have to worry about breaking a door when they opened it, and lacked the ability to sense danger before it even breached the atmosphere.

So what should he have done? Being sent to school in Satan City, a metropolis known for its high crime rate, he couldn’t just sit there, could he? Simply being Son Gohan, good Samaritan, obviously wasn’t going to cut it when he could catch bullets in the palm of his hand.

There again, that was his father’s influence. The very reason he’d flown a couple hundred miles on one of the coldest days of the year.

He knew now that most of his friends and family had found his alter ego a joke. Only Goten had faithfully supported his efforts to fight the injustices of the world. And no matter how awkward he may have come across, there was still a proud place inside him that knew what he had done was right. So what if it hadn’t saved the entire planet or universe from destruction! He’d changed the lives of a few hundred people for the better and for that he’d wear something far more ridiculous than black spandex and a green tunic.

His breath puffed in little white clouds and he stamped slushy snow from his feet. Craning his neck, he peering into the dark window flanking the door and checked his watch again. As far as he knew, he was right on time.

Screwing up his face in confusion, he chewed on his bottom lip and shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing over his shoulder. It was late morning, the time they’d agreed to meet, on Tuesday…

Gohan was suddenly struck with anxiety. He hadn’t meant next Tuesday, had he…? Just when he thought he’d fudged the whole thing up, the light in the hall beyond the door flickered on; he heard the fumbling at the lock and took a deep breath and smiled as the door opened.

“Good morning! I hope I’m not too early…?”

“Oh, not at all!” his host exclaimed, stepping aside for the Son to enter. “I’m sorry I made you wait,” he apologized, silencing the scouter on his ear and removing it. “I got a message that I couldn’t ignore--“

“That’s fine!” Gohan assured, ever the understanding one. His previous apprehension disappeared almost immediately.

“It’s so cold! I was surprised by the temperature,” the other man commented, closing the door as Gohan tended to his boots, tugging at the ice-laden laces.

“It was actually colder in the mountains, if you can believe it,” Gohan replied, straightening as he pulled off the second boot. He bent to arrange them on the mat and paused, placing them fastidiously next to four identical white boots that varied only slightly in size. He glanced quickly toward the door that he knew led to the livingroom as he stood. He bent close to his host and whispered.

“Vegiita-san’s not here, is he?”

“Oh, no!” the man replied fervently, waving his hands reassuringly. “Niisan would absolutely not understand why I asked you here this afternoon. As a matter of fact, I’m almost positive that he’d have my tail for it.”

Gohan smiled sympathetically. “And I’d hate to see what he took of mine in the absence of a tail.”

Taburu laughed. “Don’t worry, Son-san. Everyone’s out for the afternoon.”

“Gohan’s fine. Really.” The Son blushed. “I feel weird when people call me by my family name. It makes me feel like I’m older than I am.”

“How old are you, Gohan-san?” the Saiya-jin asked curiously as they exited the hall into the livingroom. A tall, decorated evergreen glittered in front of the main window and tinseled garland draped festively above the three doors leading out of the room. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

The half-breed smiled with a shrug. “I guess not. I’m nineteen.”

Taburu’s chocolate brown eyes widened in surprise. Absently, he placed the silenced scouter on the top of the television.

The young man shifted self-consciously with a nervous laugh. “Did you think I was older…?”

“Well, of course!” the Saiya-jin answered, tugging up the sleeves of his sweater and making room on the couch amidst a huddle of pillows and a plush, burgundy throw. Taking in the worn gaming graphic on his chest, it suddenly occurred to Gohan that it must have been one of Trunks’ sweaters as the Saiya-jin, much like his older brother, often seemed to favour the rigid blue and white of a fighting uniform.

“You’re so well-spoken and I’ve heard your fighting technique is incredible--“

“Really?” Gohan asked, flushing. His idle hands were thawed and sweating; he rubbed them discreetly on his jacket as he unzipped it. “Thank you, but I’m not as good as my father. Or Vegiita-san.”

Taburu cocked his head. “But it was Niisan who told me. I know he doesn’t say those things lightly. Can I take your coat?”

Gohan swallowed, shifting out of his jacket and handing it over. “Thank you,” he managed, clearing his throat. Then, “Vegiita-san…said that?”

The Saiya-jin nodded as he opened a closet, reaching on tiptoe to hang the garment. “Yes, although not in those words. Still, I could tell he was impressed.” He turned, closing the door. “Which means you must be really strong.” Taburu smiled. “Can I get you something to drink? Buruma-san has fixed me the most incredible drink--“ His eyes brightened. “Coffee. Have you ever heard of such an amazing thing?”

Gohan chuckled, folding his arms over his chest. “I have actually, and I’d love some…but…” he looked uncertainly toward the dark kitchen. “If you don’t mind, I’d really like to answer your questions while we know Vegiita-san’s not going to spontaneously appear and, well, throttle me for it.”

Taburu smiled understandingly as he crossed the livingroom. “I really appreciate you doing this, Gohan-san. I don’t think there’s anyone else I can ask that wouldn’t tell Niisan.” His brow furrowed. “I had considered Kakarotto-san--“

“No!” Gohan exploded, holding his hands out before him in the intergalactic sign for stop!. Shaking his head, he lowered his arms with a grimace. “Sorry…but Otousan’s version of a secret is what most people call free advertising.”

Looking mildly scandalized, the diminutive Saiya-jin nodded. “Praise the gods for self-serving intuition.”

Gohan exhaled heavily, blowing his bangs from his eyes. “No kidding.” Rubbing his hands together, the half-breed rocked forward on his toes and nodded to himself, inconspicuously checking for any signs of ki within the house. Relieved when he came up empty.

“Ok,” he said at last, looping his thumbs into his back pockets. “So what did you want to know? I mean, specifically? Because I’ll be the first to say I’m not an expert on Vegiita-san.”

“No,” Taburu agreed, taking a seat on the couch. Gohan couldn’t help but find it adorable that the Saiya-jin’s feet barely reached the floor. Suddenly feeling like a giant, he took a seat at the other end.

“But you’ve known him a long time, haven’t you? I suppose I just want to know what’s made him so angry.” The older man’s brow dipped. “He’s so bitter and jaded.” Taburu leaned forward conspiratorially. “I could never tell him, but he’s more like our father than I think he’d ever admit to being.” He wrinkled his nose and Gohan had to remind himself that the figure who stood nearly two heads shorter than himself was twice his age.

“Did you ask him?” the half-breed ventured.

“Of course,” Taburu assured, gesturing futilely. “But he doesn’t talk about anything before coming to this planet.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Gohan asked, tilting his head. The idea of Vegiita, stoic and solitary and superior even having a sibling was still a shock. But to have that same entity be so unerringly polite and even kinda cute, was almost more than Gohan could comprehend.

Especially when Vegiita was crass, crude, and likely to break the fingers of anyone who dared to call him cute.

“Actually saw him?” Taburu said contemplatively. “Not since we were children. I remember the day our father sent him into Frieza’s service.”

“Was he scared?” Gohan asked, fascinated.

“Scared?” Taburu shook his head and stared at the hands he held in his lap. “No…I don’t think so. I think he was excited. Niisan was never scared of anything. And because of that, neither was I.”

Gohan’s gaze slipped from the placid countenance that looked so much like the Saiya-jin prince it may have been his son, to the coffee table that separated the center of the couch from the rest of the room. Magazines, photographs, and an empty coffee cup littered the top.

“It’s hard to think of him like that,” Gohan admitted quietly. “Ever since I’ve known him, he’s been this great, untouchable figure.” He looked up, sincere in his confession. “I’ve always admired his determination, but I couldn’t always understand why he made some of the decisions he did…” he paused and his face contorted to mirror his confusion. “I mean, there were times when it was obvious he couldn’t win, but he threw himself into it anyway. I can’t count the number of times he’s almost been killed because of his stubborn superiority complex!”

Taburu’s expression softened. “You think Niisan has a superiority complex?”

Gohan nodded immediately. “Absolutely!”

The Saiya-jin regarded him quietly. “Did you ever think that maybe that’s how he hides the fact that he’s afraid?”

“But you just said he was never afraid of anything,” the half-breed remarked, stunned and unable to believe the soft-spoken revelation.

“Well…he wasn’t,” Taburu explained. “Not when we were younger. On our own planet. But I talked to him years later.” He glanced away. “His comrades were sent to destroy the planet I was inhabiting. One of them recognized me and gave me that,” he gestured toward the scouter that rested on the top of the television. “It was set to an unstable frequency, but he assured me that it was unmonitored. I guess Frieza watched his men pretty closely.”

“That’s probably an understatement,” Gohan muttered.

“We talked through that for years,” Taburu continued before halting as though it pained him to speak of it. “But sometimes he would contact me and…” the Saiya-jin swallowed with difficulty. “He would sound so scared that it was all I could do not to want to try to find him.” Large black eyes, wide with unreconciled guilt, met the half-breed’s across the miles that seemed to separate them and Gohan could easily see the frightened child that still lived within the younger prince.

“But what could I do?” Taburu stared at his hands, slowly uncurling them. “Niisan was always the stronger of us and…”

“It’s ok,” Gohan whispered. Compelled by compassion, he leaned over, covering one of the Saiya-jin’s small hands with his own. “You can’t think that he blames you.” The younger man’s eyes hardened. “Frieza was a monster. It was all my father could do as a Super Saiya-jin to destroy him.”

“I know…” The Saiya-jin bowed his head; Taburu’s voice was barely a whisper. “But I want that back, Gohan-san. The last thing my brother said to me was that he had discovered another Saiya-jin and that he thought he’d found a way to overthrow Frieza. And then…even though I kept it on all the time…”

As though in slow motion, Gohan’s terrified, child’s mind recalled Vegiita, infuriated beyond all comprehension, crushing his scouter. Destroying his only link to the last family he had left. Gohan’s gaze fell to a picture on the table mostly hidden by magazines and folders of the Saiya-jin prince and his young son, remembered the sudden sacrifice he’d made attempting to overcome the Maajin, Buu, and was struck--

Was severing communication with his brother an act of fury, or was Vegiita…[i]protecting[/i] him from being discovered because there was a sliver of possibility that he wouldn’t survive the ordeal?

“I was just hoping that you could help me understand what my brother may have experienced…”

Gohan nodded wordlessly, sitting back. Sighing softly, he drew one leg onto the cushion.

“I can’t pretend to know what Vegiita might have gone through before I met him,” Gohan began. “But I’ll tell you what I know.” He glanced at his watch and saw that nearly an hour had passed. “You’re sure they won’t be home for awhile?”

Still staring at his crumpled hands, Taburu nodded.

The half-breed swallowed and took a deep breath. Vegiita…the enigmatic Prince of Saiya-jin. The only figure that Gohan could remember being able to rile his easygoing father. A stately, stoic, irritable man that filled the air with electricity, who redefined anger.

Who would die for his family. Who had sacrificed his pride for the sake of the universe. Who Gohan both feared and admired.

“When I was really young,” Gohan started again. “My father discovered that he was Saiya-jin…”

And Gohan told him everything that he could remember. About an uncle that he could barely recall. Vegiita’s coming to earth, and his defeat. Going to Namek and fighting Frieza. His father’s legendary achievement and the Ouji’s undignified demise.

“Niisan…died?” Taburu whispered, horrified.

The waning winter light was nearly gone outside and the evergreen tree seemed to glow brighter for it. Gohan’s keen eyes had picked out a few handmade ornaments that hung from its braches decorated with both Trunks’ and Goten’s names.

The blocky digital numbers on his watch told him it was late afternoon.

“Yes,” Gohan said quietly, swallowing past the knot in his stomach that came with remembering that part of his past. “Frieza was a cruel, heartless bastard. He killed so many people…but what he did to Vegiita--“ his lip curled and he made a sound like growling. “He enjoyed it. Torturing him. And there was nothing we could do but watch because that fucking lizard had the power of a god and I couldn’t…” his voice faltered. “I couldn’t do anything to stop it. Not with Vegiita-san. Or any of the others…”

He swallowed hard and stood, taut with the nervous energy that came with remembrance. He stared unblinkingly at the twinkling, multi-coloured lights on the tree and made an effort to unfurl his fists.

“I can’t remember ever being that scared again. After everything else that’s happened. Even when I was fighting Cell, I was so sure of myself that I didn’t feel fear.”

“Maybe you’re more like Vegiita than you thought,” Taburu remarked quietly behind him.

Gohan made a disbelieving noise. “I could never be that noble, or that arrogant. Vegiita-san is so…complicated.” He frowned, reaching out to righten a twisted ornament in the shape of a capsule car.

“One minute he’s the worst of the worst, killing people like it’s fun, and the next he’s sacrificing himself for a planet he claims to despise.” Gohan’s frown deepened. “I just don’t get it.”

“Maybe it’s not the planet, so much as the people on it.”

He let his hand drop. “You know…if you’d asked me two years ago if I thought Vegiita-san had it in him to kill us all, I would have answered yes. But now…”

“You think differently?”

Gohan’s black and white world blended into the silver evening outside the window beyond the glittering tree. His vision shifted out of focus and when he spoke it was as though Taburu had become the echoing voice of his conscience and not another person altogether, let alone Vegiita’s younger brother.

“Once upon a time,” he murmured. “I was afraid of Vegiita. Then, somewhere along the way, I think I started to admire him. And now…when I think about him…I wonder if I’ve had him all wrong. I don’t hate him…” His mouth tipped in a clumsy smile. “I kinda look forward to seeing him. It’s like a challenge to make him smile. Hell, making him laugh is like winning the lottery.” He exhaled lightly as though he’d held his breath to say it. “I don’t know why, but I keep trying…”

Gohan’s eyes snapped into focus as the bright headlights of a car struggled slowly down Main Street. Turning his back on the window, he shrugged.

“If I know the way Briefs-san likes to talk, you’ve probably heard the rest already.” Gohan shrugged with a sympathetic smile. “I wish I could tell you more, but I was really young when it happened.”

“No, that’s alright,” Taburu said with a small smile. “It helps, really.” His smile slowly broadened. “I can just remember when we were children and all the trouble we’d get into.”

Laughing softly at the thought of Vegiita as a kid, Gohan took a seat on the carpet on the opposite side of the coffee table. It felt more natural to have the older Saiya-jin at a height advantage and it made Gohan feel far less awkward.

“Really? Like what?”

Taburu grinned. “Well Niisan always fashioned himself king. And he is, no matter what he calls himself. At any rate, he was the bane of our father, constantly sending out orders in his name, eavesdropping on missives that he had no business knowing, and generally being a pain in the tail.”

“A pain in the tail,” Gohan echoed with a smile. “I like that.”

“Well sometimes it was more literal than others!” Taburu smirked. “Vegiita was constantly getting us into trouble.” The Saiya-jin shook his head. “And he dragged me along because he knew I could talk us out of it. It was all my parents’ consorts could do to keep up with us.”

Gohan straightened. “Your parents’…” he choked and cleared his throat. “Consorts?”

Taburu cocked his head. Seemed to consider his next words carefully. “I’ll be more than happy to answer any questions you might have, Gohan-san, especially after all you’ve done, but I’m curious why you haven’t asked one of the others?”

The half-breed blushed and wasn’t sure why.

“One of the others?” Gohan repeated. “Like my father?” He shrugged jerkily. “Otousan doesn’t remember anything before coming here and Vegiita-san…” he trailed off, legitimately frustrated. “I’ve tried, but I feel like we speak a different language sometimes.”

Taburu’s expression lightened. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to teach you ours. But first--would you like some coffee?”

Gohan’s lips parted in a genuine smile. “I’d love some, thank you.”