Zeroes and Ones

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters that are in this fanwork. I merely use them to take pleasure in writing. The Robot Masters involved are the property of Capcom.
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Authornotes: Lots of slash. As in a robot having homosexual desires.

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I sat up on the table in the lab, my electric blue eyes glancing around; Doctor Light was nowhere to be found, nor were my fellow Light Numbers. I glanced down to my body now; there was no sign of any scuffle, though my memory banks said different. With a sigh, I laid back down on the table, closing my eyes.

A voice echoed in my mind.

"I could kill you here, but where would the fun in that be? Not much fun if you ask me, just wasting a pretty face like yours."

I shuddered. Why the hell was he haunting me? He scared the hell out of me, and yet I couldn't stop thinking about him. Was it because he was scaring the hell out of me? Or was it something else?

I shook, placing my left hand on my right arm.

My body was paralyzed and I was shaking like a leaf.

"How can one who is on the move all the time stop?"

His voice was haunting me even more.

But that question was a good one.

How can one who is on the move all the time stop? The hands of his clock never stop. He's never left shaking like a leaf with his feelings frozen like this.

I hated Quickman more than any other robot right now. How could he do this to me? He beat me senseless and now he's haunting my mind too? How could this happen? Foolish. So foolish. This isn't me. I'm supposed to be smarter than this. My wits are supposed to be much sharper. And I can't even concentrate now.

A mocking, sarcastic voice echoed in the lab. "Just hurry up. There isn't any time to waste if you want to fight me again, you know. Or anything else for that matter."

I glanced around, paranoid. That voice was familiar and chilling. I knew that voice. The sound of footsteps pattered all across the floor, but I could see nothing but a flash of an orange-crimson color.

Suddenly, it stopped, but a voice spoke up. "How do you say this...I really think that love is nothing more than a waste of one's precious time. After all, our lives are pretty short--you're living proof of that, you weak slowpoke--so why should I waste any of my precious time on anyone other than myself? There's so much I wanted to do with my life, and things are really picking up for me now that I've quit helping with Wily's world domination schemes and decided to make a name for myself on the racing circuit. If you want me to be completely honest, I think people waste their time with love. Robots too. Why should we love? It's just a waste of our precious time that we could be spending on ourselves! What fools, if you ask me. Really, I'm not jealous of anyone like them. And yet...ever since I fought you I couldn't get you out of my head. You're like a little bug in my system, you see? So I gotta kill you to get rid of you."

"...You're wrong." I muttered. "You're wrong, Quickman."

He froze up, his stormy greenish eyes staring at me. I don't suppose he thought I would even argue with him in my state. Hell, I didn't think I would.

"How can you say I'm the wrong one? Just look at all the people and all the robots that waste their lives on love. My own brother, Bubbleman is nothing more than a fool now, wasting all his free time and money on that Splashwoman chick. And Flash is always wasting his time obsessing over Megaman...and...damnit it doesn't matter! I came here to kill you while you were alone! I've been watching, you know." Quickman growled, whipping out one of his razor-sharp boomerangs.

I huffed defiantly. "You're not here to kill me. Look at you. You were watching me. You were waiting to be alone with me. That's something someone in love would do."

"And what would you know of love? Are you in love? Because that's seriously foolish and doesn't befit a guy that could have beaten me on several occasions during that fight. Honestly, what is it with ever--"

I couldn't take it anymore. I was still in pretty bad pain--Dr. Light hadn't quite fixed me up as good as I thought--but I pulled myself off the table, suddenly pinning him to the wall with all the force I could muster.

"Why would I want to be in love with someone like you?!" I screamed. This was so unlike me! "You beat me half to death and then probably left me for dead!"

"I didn't." He protested. "I didn't leave you for dead. I could have, but I wanted to fight you again one day. That's the only reason I brought you back here. Don't you get it? I gave enough of a damn that I wanted to fight you again. I could have left you for dead. But you know, I think I liked fighting you. No. I loved it. But I'm not in love with it because it would be stupid to be in love with a concept."

I froze up, shaking with rage. "You're lying to yourself! Stop it! Stop it! And don't ask me how one who is on the move all the time can stop because I still don't know how!"

Suddenly, I felt myself thrown again, just like when he and I had fought. This time it hurt more, striking the cold metal floor of the lab. He towered over me, glaring and gritting his teeth. He then leaned in--I was powerless to do anything at the moment except let him seize me by the throat.

"Shut up. Shut up you fool. It's all your fault I'm going to have to do this..."

He raised his boomerang.

"I could sever your head with a well-thrown Quick Boomerang, you slow-poke. But now I have you in my hand, and a boomerang in the other. And I'm going to jam it into the heart of your motherboard."

"So then you're going to stab me in the heart, and you'll be to blame." I scoffed weakly. "You give love a bad name."

"I'm not in love with you!" Quickman growled, suddenly slamming me onto the table and straddling me, the boomerang raised above us.

I could see it coming down. Closer. Closer with blinding speed.

And then he jammed it into the table and got off me, shaking like a leaf. I gulped, sitting up and reaching out for him, only to be smacked harshly. He glowered at me, narrowing his intense green eyes.

"I hate you. I hate everything about you. Why? Why do you insist that I love you? Because I spared you twice? Because I brought you back to be repaired? Get it through your titanium skull. You're the one in love..."

My eyes did not waver.

He didn't seem to understand. He was just digging himself deeper by lying to himself.

Suddenly, he pinned me back down on the table, grabbing my wrists. I trembled some, wondering what he was going to do. Then it happened.

A silvery tear of mercury dropped from his eye onto my cheek.

He was shaking like a leaf as he collapsed onto me.

----

My eyes opened up.

"Where...am I?"

Dr. Light stood over me, tools in hand as he repaired the circuits in my arm. "Ah! You're awake! I thought your systems had gone offline from all the damage..."

"No...no. I think...I think I fell asleep from all the damage. But...I know I wasn't here..." I murmured.

"Someone brought you here." Dr. Light smiled lightly.

"I...I think I know who." I spoke softly, a faint smile on my face.

Heh. Maybe I'm the one in love.

One day. One day, Quickman.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters that are in this fanwork. I merely use them to take pleasure in writing. The Robot Masters involved are the property of Capcom.
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Authornotes: Lots of slash. And a ton of Red Oil. Erm...blood.

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A robot should be able to sense his own reserves. At least, common sense would dictate as much.

I don't know why I didn't keep a check on my reserves.

My bluegreen eyes kept themselves fixed on the lightweight, speedy robot that I was fighting. He was, admittedly, rather handsome--the kind of guy that I'd bring home to Doctor Light in a heartbeat--and was rather strong. In addition, he had unparalleled intelligence. He was truly my triple threat of brains, brawns, and beauty.

I charged a ball of electricity between my hands, focusing on my target. However, by the time I had fired off my Thunder Beam, he was already gone, and I was truly screwed. He'd somehow managed to speed away despite my precise focus! I checked my diagnostics within less than a second--my energy reserves were below ninety percent at this point. He was rather powerful, I had to admit.

Quickman paused, his green eyes narrowed as he taunted me, brandishing a Quick Boomerang. "I could sever your head with a well-thrown Quick Boomerang, you slow-poke."

I scoffed back, thumbing my nose with a cocky expression. "I know you wouldn't. You like me too much. I'm a good, bitter adversary for you. I'm light and speedy like you. Such a shame you choose to walk down a path that I wouldn't tread."

That statement seemed to enrage him, and I suddenly found myself on the receiving end of a brutal knee to my gut. I hunched over, wincing. He screamed at me. "Shut up! Shut up you pathetic babbling hunk of junk!"

I panted from the pain, crimson oil welling up in my electronic throat. Several of my gears had been thrown out of place, and my damage level had gone up quite a bit. I wasn't about to give up yet, however. I still had a lot of strength in reserve and I refused to go down without a fight.

"You can't even keep up with me, can you?" He taunted me.

I shook my head calmly. "I haven't a hope of beating you physically in speed...but..." At this point my face shifted to a smirk. "You're dumber than a brick. I may not be able to keep up with you, but I can think faster!"

"Thinkng gets you ki--" Quickman began. He didn't, however, manage to finish, as I kicked him in the gut.


"If I can't...catch you when you're attacking...I'll get you when you're being a blowhard! You should really shut up sometimes." I retorted. I then charged another Thunder Beam between my hands and fired it off at Quickman, who couldn't dodge this time. For now, I had him where I wanted him as long as my Weapon Energy reserves held out.

"That hurt you bastard!" He shrieked at me, suddenly blitzing me with rapidfire strikes of the knee. I panted in pain, my body getting wracked with more pain and damage.

I dropped to my knees and my shaking hands slammed into the loose sand. My eyes glared up toward Quickman, bitterly defiant. I couldn't give in, and I wouldn't give in. My combat functionality was failing miserably, and my sight was starting to fail. I had no chance when it came to running or dodging either, my legs both damaged pretty bad, especially one of my knees.

"Get up. Now! Pathetic pretty-boy!" He scoffed. "Quit taking so long to get back up!"

Bluegreen eyes glared up. "I can't get up. I can't even hope to fight back all that well in my state. But I'll be damned if I give up now." I dragged himself back to his knees, firing off a few stray Thunder Beams, the third of which managed to knock Quickman off his feet. After that act of exertion, I was left with no weapon energy whatsoever.

Three boomerangs flew at me with lightning speed, and all I could do is dodge two and just shield my face--nay, the delicate microprocessors in my head--from the last one. Quickman was in a blind rage now and screamed at me. "You...how could you damage my leg unit you little bastard?!"

My sensors scanned me for more damage. Damage level fifty-nine percent. This was no laughing matter now. My ocular units were starting to dim and I could barely move anymore. My circuits were slowed--muddled by the damage and by the lack of power. Now, of all times, I wanted my circuits to evolve past that weak level, but it was no use. I was too weak.

I could see the red-orange feet pounding the ground in front of me. I was weak, worthless, unfit to even become scrap. I'd let my fellow Light Numbers down--their fallen leader. Nay, I hadn't just let them down. I'd let the city down.

As I mused my worthlessness, a crimson hand grabbed my throat.

"I could kill you here, but where would the fun in that be? Not much fun if you ask me, just wasting a pretty face like yours." Quickman sneered.

Chills ran down my metal spine. My eyes hazed more, and I grunted. "D-Don't mock me..."

"Hah! How can I resist if you make it so damn easy?" Quickman scoffed, his green eyes burrowing into my robotic soul.

"S-Stop." I begged.

"How can one who is on the move all the time stop?"

"I don't care how. Just stop!"

I struggled weakly, trying to wrench myself from his grip despite the low energy reserves that plagued me. Suddenly, I could feel myself be thrown with an insanely brutal force; Quickman threw me with little effort, apparently. He towered over me, shaking with a mix of amusement and rage. I wondered what he was thinking, my eyes closing halfway with glossy black lids.

My voice quivered as I spoke up. "Damage...sixty-seven percent. I can't even get up now...how pitiful."

Quickman paused, his face appearing tense as he eyed me. I had been beaten senseless, so whatever he did was just going to be a finishing blow, I thought, as he dashed to my side. My eyes closed completely--I didn't want to see my ending. Suddenly, I felt myself tugged into his arms.

I know not where he carried me. I do know that he spared my life--this time.

Disclaimer: I do not even have a chance of owning Dragonball/Dragonball Z as they are the intellectual properties of Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation.
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Authornotes: The fic, as a whole, will be containing slash, mPreg and some heavy psychological stuff. Don't like? Don't read. The pairing is Tarble x Broly Also: Broly's perspective.
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I still remembered that story every day. I didn't believe my father until I finally held Parsley in my tired, shaky arms. Tiny blackish-gray eyes stared to me lazily; he almost looked like a miniature Tarble now--except those eyes. Those were definitely my eyes--just as lazy and everything.

"Now I know...I know why he was always so sentimental about me. Why he would risk his life...his livelihood...for me." I murmured, my voice sounding distant even to myself.

Tarble leaned in closer. "What is it?"

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. "Do you remember how I told you how my father constantly reminded me that he valued my life even more than his own? I think I understand him now."

"Really, now? But...there's no one threatening to kill these three, you know." Tarble frowned.

I glanced aside. "No. But there's still a chance we could lose Parsley. You know?"

Tarble bit his lip. "...You're right on that. I know...there's always the chance that we could lose him. But..."

"...There's also a chance he'll live. And I want him to know what my father told me...about the day I was born."

"The day..." Tarble became speechless.

My eyes grew hazy as I started to speak. "I asked about it many times. Why my father was always so adamant about protecting me. Why he caged me up so much and hid me from others. That was when he told a story to me.

'To think it all started with a night of drunken reverie and a one-night-stand with a low-class. But that was the best one-night-stand I'd ever had. On that night, while I was three sheets to the wind, I had the most passionate sex I could ever have dreamed of.

It wasn't until two months later I found out that I was going to be having a whelp. I'd taken the news with cautious optimism, of course; after seven miscarriages, what would the odds of a viable whelp be?

The months passed on, and the whelp within my body grew and became stronger with each passing day; soon, I found myself rubbing my stomach at funny times, and I'd get a response. At first, it felt like little flutterings, but soon they became kicks. Kicks that I became thrilled to feel. This one was going to make it, I told myself. This one was going to live.

The months passed more, and by then I had grown pretty large. The king had noticed, with me being one of his elite guards and all, and told me to go to the medical bay. What neither of us knew was--I was full-term with the only whelp that had ever survived. In fact, after Planthorr and Malaka got my armor off and got my body suit off...it was then, and only then, that we all noticed the little tail sticking out of my birthing orfice.

Despite the pain and the risk, I pushed with all my strength in hopes that, even if I were to die, the whelp would live on, my legacy. As his body finally passed out of mine, I saw him, and he was perfect. They whisked him away--something was wrong--and I waited. I waited for him to be brought back. They told me he had weak lungs--something that had plauged me too.

When he was finally brought back, I held him close, taking in his scent and licking him clean. He fell asleep in my arms, a beautiful baby boy. My son.

And then King Vegeta found out about his power level. I put my clothes back on and ran like hell to the king's chambers. I couldn't lose that boy now. Not after I'd given birth to him. His Majesty heard out my pleas, then gave me a sadistic smile as he denied me of the only appeal I had given. I had been thrown out like trash, and soon found another limp body next to mine.

It was you, my son. My darling son, without whom my life would be incomplete.'"

Tears welled up in Tarble's eyes. "Your father...he really did love you, didn't he?"

I gave a shaky, tired laugh. "Yes. He did, my prince. Because I was his only whelp...the only one alive. The one he could hold...that he could teach. I see now how he could get so sentimental, when I take my own into my arms."

Tarble kissed my forehead. "Don't you almost wish our fathers could see us now?"

Soft footsteps shuffled outside the door. I glanced up, seeing a faintly familiar face, a weak smile crossing my own.

"How...did you?" I murmured tiredly.

"I've been alive. Biding my time until I could find you, my son." I knew that voice. It was my own father's voice.

I sat up weakly, panting, Parsley still in my arms. "I guess there's no sense trying to hide it, huh?"

"No. I knew you'd understand one day why I kept telling you that. I knew. I knew one day you'd come into your own, and you'd want a child of your own. I knew that you'd probably be the one having your own child. Or...I should say children, shouldn't I?" That last part had a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Yes. Children. Three. Three sons."

"Three grandsons for me. Three...very handsome grandsons."

I laughed gently, though I kept Parsley close to me. Tarble handed Paragus, the whelp we had named for his grandfather, to my father.

"...I heard you telling the story. You should probably tell these three the story of their own birth one day. So they can know that they are valued by you, as you were valued by me." My father spoke gently.

Tarble nodded. "Especially Parsley, our frail, sweet thirdborn."

I nodded, laying back down and holding Parsley close. I needed to let this sink in more. Perhaps then I would be able to formulate the story.

Paragus lay a hand on my forehead, ruffling my bangs. "But don't forget the other two. Though they lack their brother's frailty, do they not matter as well?"

"They do." I murmured tiredly. "Parsnip is the next Legendary, and the first of the three, so he has a special place as my firstborn. And little Paragus...he takes after you, who valued me above yourself, and thus I value him more than I value myself."

"Beautiful. I could not have said it better myself."

I was truly my father's son, I realized.

Disclaimer: I do not even have a chance of owning Dragonball/Dragonball Z as they are the intellectual properties of Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation.
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Authornotes: The fic, as a whole, will be containing slash, mPreg and some heavy psychological stuff. Don't like? Don't read. The pairing is Tarble x Broly Also: Broly's perspective.
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Several weeks in the hospital had taken its toll on me. I was angry. Snappish. I screamed at Tarble over the pettiest of things like food or his pacing. I was restless. I couldn't sleep no matter how much I tried. It was getting more difficult with each passing day in between my severe exhaustion and my severe restlessness.

Then came a day I would never forget.

----

"What's wrong?" Tarble suddenly glanced up at me. "You're acting strange."

I clutched my stomach tightly. The pain was unbearable; I didn't dare tell him I had wet the bed, however.

"Broly!" He screamed, running to my side. He lifted the blanket, giving a gasp. "...I'm getting the doctor. He said if you went into labor to get him..."

I gasped out. What did he mean? Labor? ...Wait. Going int--NO! Not today. Not now. I shivered, panting hard with the pain. A doctor ran in with Tarble at his heels. He inspected me, and inquired about the pain, where I was feeling it, the intensity. He then turned to Tarble and gave a nod. Damnit. The whelps were coming now?

"Tell me, where would they come out without a Cesarean?" The doctor asked, mystified.

Tarble lifted the blanket and the hospital gown on me, then pointed to a slit just behind the scrotum. A slit that I wouldn't have noticed had it not been dilated so far.

"...Nine centimeters. I wouldn't be surprised if he were fully dilated within the hour. Best be prepared to push. Babies don't crawl outta there, you know." The doctor commented, as though we were stupid.

I hissed. "No. They fly out and choke smart-aleck puny worms to death."

"I'll let that slide since you're in pain." The doctor grunted. "Otherwise I'd get another doctor and say to hell with you."

---

A while later, the doctor came back to check. Fully dilated, apparently. Tarble stood at my side, gripping one of my hands. His face was careworn and concerned; apparently it was time.

"When you feel a contraction, push until you can't push anymore, alright?" The doctor lofted a brow.

I nodded. When the next contraction came on, I bore down, panting and closing my eyes. Tarble gripped to my hand gently, suddenly finding his hand being squeezed tightly in my own grip. After a few more pushes like this, the doctor held up a screaming baby boy who looked eerily like me with a few spikes of hair to the right that looked similar to Tarble's hair. However, before I had time to admire him, I felt another contraction and had to push. After another few pushes, the second whelp emerged, a smaller male whelp that looked similar to my father in hair and build already. I was too exhausted at that point, and passed out. When I awoke, Tarble gripped his left hand around my arm and leaned on my stomach.

"Honey, I know you're exhausted, but we have to get the last one out. I'm helping you by pushing down, alright?" He said gently.

I gave a weak murmur. "Alright."

As I felt a contraction come on, I glanced to him as I bore down. He too helped press, and soon, the tiny male whelp that I had been too exhausted to push out on my own was now outside my body. He seemed so much more fragile than the other two, and appeared not to be breathing.

'Please don't let him be dead.' I thought to myself. I couldn't bear losing a whelp if I'd come this far. Clearly, I'd come to terms with three as easily as I had two.

Suddenly, I heard a soft whimpering noise and the ever-so-slight sound of a wail. Normally, I would have gone into a psychotic fit, but this seemed different. I sat up tiredly, trying to reach for him, the thirdborn triplet whelp.

"Please, we need to check him out. Make sure he's stable." The doctor said, taking the whelp to another room.

I collapsed down on the bed, tears welling in my eyes. This time, a lone tear slid down my cheek; for once in my life since I was a whelp, I was starting to cry. I'd done it. Nay, Tarble and I had done it. Three tiny lives had begun from the merging of our lives.

"Honey...they'll bring the whelps back soon." Tarble tried to reassure me.

More tears ran down my cheeks. I wanted them back. Now. Why was I getting sentimental over these whelps?

The doctors brought the firstborn in, wrapped in a blue blanket. Tarble took him into gentle arms and held him close, and it didn't take us long to decide a name.

"Let's call him Parsnip." He said with a firm nod. I nodded as well. It seemed perfect. The doctors brought in the secondborn as we finally had settled Parsnip's name.

"Paragus. He shall be called Paragus." I murmured, holding him in the crook of my left arm. Tiny brown eyes glanced up at me. He seemed confused by the goings on, that little whelp.

Tarble bit his lip. He noticed that the third didn't come right away. He took Paragus into his arms, letting him be with his brother Parsnip; the waiting was the difficult part now.

Finally, the doctor carried in a tiny bundle of blankets; nestled within was the tiny one. The thirdborn. He looked the most like Tarble of the three, his hair resembling Tarble's to a T except that it hung down in back like mine. He shifted slowly in the mass of blankets, giving the same whimper he had, but not a crying noise.

I clutched him close. "Parsley...what do you think of that name, Tarble?"

"Parsley? I think it seems fitting." Tarble said, nodding. "It's a perfect name for him."

I held Parsley close, licking him clean as best I could. He gave a whimper once more, but no cry exited him; it was then that I grew worried. Didn't whelps normally cry? Something had to be wrong.

The doctor seemed to pick up on my concern; it was written all over my face. "His lungs are weak. It's not something we can fix, unfortunately, but otherwise he's healthy like his brothers."

I glanced up to the doctor, then down to little Parsley. "I...see."

I was already attached to him. I just didn't know it until that moment. Tarble leaned in close, getting a good look at him. It was strange. We looked like a family there, in that moment.

I almost wished my father were here to see me, as sentimental as he was over a whelp.

Disclaimer: I do not even have a chance of owning Dragonball/Dragonball Z as they are the intellectual properties of Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation.
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Authornotes: The fic, as a whole, will be containing slash, mPreg and some heavy psychological stuff. Don't like? Don't read. The pairing is Tarble x Broly Also: Broly's perspective.
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I grunted and panted heavily, tossing and turning. No matter how much I tried to sleep, I couldn't. I draped a hand over my stomach, wincing from a quick jolt of pain. It wasn't like the Braxton-Hicks contractions I'd been having. It was small. Quick. A jab in one spot and then it was gone. My eyes jolted open and I glanced around the room. Who did that?

My breathing was irregular and I stared into space; this was met with a hand flashing in front of my face.

"Hello..."

I nearly jumped. "What?!"

Tarble crooked his finger under my chin. "What's wrong? You're acting like you're paranoid. That's not good for the whelps."

"...I felt...I felt..." I couldn't articulate it. What had I felt?

"Was it a contraction?"

"No. It was...sharp. Fast. One spot and then it was gone! Like someone took a needle to me or punched me in the st--"

Tarble's face curled into a sleepy smile. "One of 'em kicked. That's all. Get some sleep."

I huffed. "I can't sleep now. Hungry."

"Broly..." Tarble murmured. "Sleepy time is now. Eaty-time is later."

I grabbed the collar of his pajamas. "GET ME SOME GODDAMN CARROTS AND WHIPPED CREAM OR SO HELP ME YOU'RE GOING TO BE SLEEPING THE PERMANENT SLEEP."

Tarble shook, staring at me for a moment. What happened? Why was he staring like that? Did I go super for the first time in a couple of months?

"...O-okay. I'll be back with carrots and whipped cream. I'm sorry, Broly. Please don't hurt me." Tarble mumbled, getting out of bed. His tail drooped as he eyed me the whole time.

I lay back down, sighing. What had come over me? Hormones? A surge of power? Both?

Soft footsteps came back into the room quickly. Tarble lay the bowl of whipped cream and carrots on the bed, looking at me apologetically. I bit my lip and sat up as best I could, taking the bowl in hand and starting to eat carrot after whipped-cream-covered-carrot. I felt oddly happy, but at the same time, I couldn't help but be depressed as well.

What had I done? What could I do to make this right? Did I deserve to have these whelps, if I was going to do this to them just like I did it to Tarble? My eyes welled up, but no tears slid down. I sighed, putting down the bowl. It still had carrots and whipped cream sitting in it, but I was suddenly not hungry.

"Broly? Dear?" Tarble glanced at me, concerned. "Are you okay?"

I blinked, breaking from my musing.

"Broly, are you okay?" Tarble asked, leaning in closer and placing a hand on my stomach.

I gulped slightly. "...What did I do to you?"

"You just scared me. You screamed at me and scared me. That's all. It was nothing more than hormonal rage." Tarble answered me, rubbing my stomach again. "It's my fault, dear."

I shivered, then picked up the bowl again, resuming my eating. I supposed I should finish it up, if not for my sake, then for the whelps' sake, and as a way of showing I appreciated Tarble's effort. Tarble kissed my stomach suddenly, and smiled. I guess he forgave me.

After I finished off the last of the carrots and whipped cream, I lay the bowl on my bedside table and closed my eyes. I soon drifted off to sleep, the tiny whelps within me seeming to doze off as well.

I murmured. "Good night, my whelps."

----------------

"Dr. Brief! We're here!" Tarble bellowed, pulling me into Dr. Brief's laboratory like he had done the day we found out we were expecting whelps.

I grunted, hunching over and gripping my stomach from below; clearly, I was quite large by this point and my whelps were putting a strain on me. Dr. Brief helped me onto the table and propped my head up with a pillow, then gelled up my stomach with the cold gel he'd used last time before pressing the probe of the ultrasound to my stomach.

What we saw took us all aback.

"...Three? How'd I miss one?!" Dr. Brief gasped.

"Three? ...Oh dear. B-Broly...Triplets...we're..." Tarble sputtered. "Triplets...three of them...how the?"

I murmured. "...Oh my kami. Three?"

I couldn't take this. Three whelps? I was only wanting one. I had come to grips with the possibility of two. Three was definitely a surprise I didn't quite feel thrilled with. But I supposed something like this happened for a reason, right? Some universal force didn't just give someone who was easily freaked by the thought of a whelp's crying more than one whelp without a reason, right?

"Broly, honey? Are you going to be okay?" Tarble asked, suddenly breaking the silence.

I gulped. "Tarble, I'm going to need a lot more carrots and whipped cream. A lot more. Please?"

"Anything, dear." He gave an earnest nod, rubbing my stomach once more.

Dr. Brief suddenly cleared his throat.

"You two. There's something I wanted to ask you. Do you want to know what they're going to be?" He asked.

Tarble blinked. "But we know they're going to be Sai--"

"I mean, if they're male or female, m'boy." Dr. Brief cut Tarble off gently.

I nodded. "Please. It will help us figure out what we need for them."

He moved the probe somewhat and I could get a clearer view. It seemed that one was hiding its genitalia behind a tiny, fuzzy tail. Whatever that one was, that would be the surprise whelp. The other two were more obvious. Two males--one pudgy and tiny, the other larger than his brother and other sibling. I recognized that size difference almost immediately. I was almost my father's height by the age of nine, so he had to be...no way. No.

Three whelps, one of which was a Legendary like me?

I passed out in shock.

----------

"I think he's waking up..." Tarble's voice murmured, though it seemed so far away.

My vision came back slowly, starting out with inky darkness and returning to fuzzy light. I grunted, scrunching my nose and moving my cheek. Soft fingers caressed my cheek before I looked around. We were no longer in the lab; instead, we were in a sterile, white room, several machines around me. Some made beeping noises and had flashing lights. Others were silent but had numbers and letters on them that I couldn't make out. A tube ran from the vein in the bend of my elbow to a bottle on a rack.

"Where?" I murmured, my mouth dry.

Tarble put a glass to my lips and forced water into my mouth. "Drink up. You're in the hospital. You passed out cold. Real bad. At first we thought you fainted, but..."

"But what?"

"You didn't wake up. You've been out for three days. The doctor said it was...oh, I forget."

"Nnng." I grunted. "Are the wh--"

"The whelps are fine. For now. At one point we almost lost them--and you, but you're stable now. You're all stable. They want you to stay here for the rest of..."

I shivered. It was bad enough that I nearly died? I never saw a bright light or anything...

"They want you on bedrest, you brute. I'd have never thought it myself; you, the Legendary, reduced to a maternal beast that bears whelps for my brother." A rough voice sneered.

I glared in the direction of the voice. "And what's it to you, Vegeta? Want me to kill you?"

Tarble tensed, gripping my hand. "Vegeta, you know you should be nicer to him. He's carrying your nephews."

I blinked. "Huh?"

"That other one...it's a boy too." Tarble said gently, stroking my cheek.

Vegeta approached me, a cocky smirk across his face. "You look harmless now, with that stomach of yours sticking out and all those monitors on you."

I narrowed my eyes. "You'll think harmless when I choke the life out of you with my free hand."

"Hmph. I'd like to see you try, you brute."

I reached up, grabbing his throat. As I pressed in, I heard an anguished noise from Tarble. Clearly it was hurting him more than Vegeta himself, so I pulled away, glaring at Vegeta.

"You're lucky I'm with your brother, or you'd be dead." I threatened.

Vegeta smirked. "Hah! You didn't even manage to squeeze my windpipe you bag of hot air."

I tensed up; a monitor suddenly started giving loud beeping noises that were closer together.

"Calm down, Broly. Calm down. You'll get yourself sick again." Tarble commanded, squeezing my hand.

I sighed, panting slightly. Vegeta had clearly won this round. My tremendous power--where had it went? I couldn't even crush his windpipe with what I thought was my strongest force! Worse yet, I felt exhausted.

"Vegeta, stop being such a jerk to him. I know his father used him to try to get you out of the way so they could steal the throne and destroy Earth. But that's the past. This is now. He's changed, Vegeta. He doesn't do what his father did." Tarble growled to his brother. "I want you to be in your nephews' lives, but I'm starting to regret that desire."

Vegeta made an astonished noise, his eyes fixed on Tarble. "I see. Fine. I suppose if I don't have a kind word for...him...I'll shut up. For you."

I blinked. What had just gone on? Had Tarble suddenly become the great negotiator?

"Good. A-and Broly...please. Don't try to kill him. He's the only blood relative I have left. For now. And I really do want him to be in our whelps' lives."

I nodded, giving a stern, sad look. It wasn't worth losing Tarble to kill that pest Vegeta.

Disclaimer: I do not even have a chance of owning Dragonball/Dragonball Z as they are the intellectual properties of Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation.
---------------------------------------
Authornotes: Warning -- The fic, as a whole, will be containing slash, mPreg and some heavy psychological stuff. Don't like? Don't read. The pairing is Tarble x Broly Also: Broly's perspective.
---------------------------------------

Two whelps. I hadn't asked for two. I hadn't asked for two; was it even something I could handle? Tarble finally came over to me, having tired of the knickknacks in Dr. Briefs' lab. I was finally sitting up, my hands resting on my stomach.

"So? Tell me! Tell me!" He gave an excited tailwag, leaning closer to me.

I stared off into space for a few minutes before glancing to him. "My prince...I..."

My voice trailed. I had no idea how to tell him I was pregnant. Nay, not just pregnant; pregnant with more than one whelp. I panted softly, trying to think.

"Please tell me, my Legendary." Tarble gave me those stubborn eyes. He wanted to know.

"I'm...with whelp..." I murmured softly, rubbing my stomach. "But..."

"What is it?" Brownish-black eyes stared at me; Tarble seemed more concerned now, so my expression must have been a giveaway.

I drew a quivering breath and hunched over some, eyeing him. "It's...more than one whelp. Oh Kami, my prince. I don't think I can handle it. My prince...I said I wanted a whelp. I could have handled one. But two...? I..."

A gentle gloved hand lay itself on my stomach. "I said I'd help you, didn't I? I'm not retracting that now. Especially not now. When you're going to have two whelps. Two princes. Or...two princesses maybe. Maybe even a prince and a princess."

---

Time had gone by quickly at first, and soon the morning sickness finally diminished. I was definitely getting bigger over time--I already looked rather large, to the point that I already seemed to look as though I should have been at full term and I couldn't really wear my golden belt anymore.

Tarble seemed to keep up with my changes; it thrilled him that he was going to be a father. It was nearing seventeen weeks at this time, and I could feel faint movements within me. Not quite kicks--it was too light to be a kick, I instinctively knew. But I could feel something. I would often call for Tarble, but he felt nothing when he touched. On the other hand, he seemed to sense something.

"Faint energies. I feel them...weird, but I feel three, not two." Tarble murmured.

I gave him an odd look. "Maybe one of those is mine, my prince."

"No. I know yours. These three were all unfamiliar."

My face grew pale. I was already having trouble dealing with the thought of two whelps. Three would be hell. I trembled, my mouth growing drier.

"But...it doesn't quite feel like three whelps, though." Tarble reassured me. "It was more like two were very similar...like they were from the same whelp..."

I blinked some. "Like the whelp has separate energies?"

"Yeah."

"Weir--"

"You've got the same kind of thing going on with your energy. Like...when you..." Here, Tarble's voice trailed, his eyes giving a nervous look. Apparently, it was something unique to me?

"When I...what?"

"When you transform to Legendary Super Saiyan."

I shivered slightly, then stared at him. So then, he thought that one of the whelps was a Legendary like me? I rubbed my stomach more, giving a few short breaths. Tarble pressed his hands against my stomach, nuzzling into my chest.

"But what if it really is three whelps?"

"We'll make it through, My Legendary. I promise we will, no matter what we have to do."

Disclaimer: I do not even have a chance of owning Dragonball/Dragonball Z as they are the intellectual properties of Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation.
---------------------------------------
Authornotes: Warning -- The fic, as a whole, will be containing slash, mPreg and some heavy psychological stuff. Don't like? Don't read. The pairing is Tarble x Broly Also: Broly's perspective.

Warning for this particular chapter: If you're uncomfortable with sex scenes, you might wanna look away.
---------------------------------------

In the dim light of the dawn, my fingers clutched the sheets of the bed I shared with Tarble. I drew ragged breaths, panting with each thrust the secondborn prince gave into me. Dark eyes glazed and my vision grew hazy. Clearly, I was swept up in this passion. His soft tail wrapped itself around mine, entwining with it and gripping tightly. I felt almost like I were dreaming at this point. Grips on my tail did that to me. Suddenly, his tail loosened from mine and he wrapped it around the shaft of my cock. Clearly he didn't want my manhood to feel left out.

His breath danced off my neck and made me gasp, fingers loosening from the sheets before I gripped tighter with another thrust from him. I could feel his warm manhood inside of me, yearning to blow its load into me. Sharp teeth grazed my back; he was getting more feral as he got closer to his climax; he had no idea how close I was to my own as he kept stroking my manhood with his tail.

A hard thrust slammed inside of me and I screamed out. It was instinct; after all, Saiyans were screamers when it came to sex and fighting. He gripped around my waist as he slammed in harder and faster. Were all princes this brutal when it came to sex? I panted heavier, feeling each thrust harder than the last.

I felt another, stronger thrust now before he arched his back inward while he released his seed into me. I clutched the sheets tighter and sank my teeth into the pillow, feeling the precum slip out before blew my own load. That would be a mess to clean up in the morning, and neither of us were all that good with a washing machine.

He pulled out, panting and pulling himself up toward the head of the bed now, so that our faces were close. Teeth grazed my ear before he whispered.

"That was amazing, wasn't it?" Tarble whispered sensually.

I gave a breathless, speechless nod.

---

It had been a couple of months since that night of unparalleled passion; things felt a little off now; I didn't really have the desire to mate half the time--even when Tarble wanted it. My passion just hadn't been there, recently--I was just too tired to be in the mood. And if I wasn't too tired, I just plain wasn't in a good mood; the threat of my Super Saiyan transformation lingered no matter what. Hell, there were even times when I was neither in the mood, nor in a good mood. Nay, I would be sulky and tired--not a good combination for myself or Tarble.

On the other hand, I was hungrier than ever. An already ravenous Saiyan appetite was made more ravenous. At the same time, I wasn't feeling very well either and had become very picky with food. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but this had to be some weird stomach flu. At least, that was what I thought, every time I hung my head over a toilet, a wastebasket, and once, on accident, Tarble's stark-white boots.

Today was a typical day for this. At least, I thought it was.

"You know, something seems real off with you. You never seem to wanna 'do it' anymore. And you're always e--" Here, Tarble paused, glaring at me as I stuffed a few pieces of bacon in my mouth. "See! You're eating again! You eat and then you upchuck!"

I furrowed my brows. "What of it? It's not as though I didn't already have this kind of appetite to begin with. You're just making a big deal over absolutely nothing."

Tarble stalked closer, leaning in. "Absolutely nothing, huh? Well then, tell me. What's with that little bit of pudge you're getting?"

I gave a flustered look. "It's just because I've been eating more."

"Oh, bull!" Tarble grunted. "You're moody. You're getting pudgy. You upchuck. And you did say you're from a breeder family. It's all making perfect sense to me and you're just too blind to see it!"

I twitched my tail with a hint of annoyance now. How dare he insinuate that I didn't know what was going on with my own body! Of course, maybe he was right. But that still didn't mean anything! My rage suddenly turned to worry within a moment. He had to be right. Something was definitely off with me and I'd been ignoring all the signs, or playing them off at least. Gingerly, I lay a hand on my stomach, glancing down where my hand lay, then glancing up with an almost apologetic look at Tarble.

"But are you sure?" I murmured. I didn't want to get my hopes up; not yet, anyways.

Tarble glanced away, crossing his arms much like his older brother Vegeta. It seemed he didn't want to get his hopes up either, from the look on his face. "Not completely. And it would be kind of awkward to get my sister-in-law's father to do an ultrasound without any other confirmations. It's a real dilemma. It's not as though a human doctor's going to believe us, and there's no doctor that is familiar enough with the Saiyan physiology to back us up if we even go anywhere to see if you really are...with whelp."

I tensed some, closing my eyes and hanging my head low, my hand never leaving my stomach. "Then how will we ever know?" It was a valid question, at least, in my mind. I moved my hand slightly, rubbing at the sensitive bump of flesh beneath it. I really did want to know; after all, I did say I wanted whelps. If they were on the way, I'd have to tell him. I did promise him, after all.

---

Dr. Briefs gave a strange look at me when Tarble first dragged me into his lab. I knew why, of course; he'd never met me before. I was giving him an equally strange look, after all. As Tarble took him aside to explain the situation, I sighed and looked around the lab. There were machines that I didn't know the function of, and frankly I'm not sure if I even wanted to know the function of them.

After a few minutes, Dr. Briefs gave me a cock-eyed look, his face seeming to have a mixture of disbelief and curiousity.

"You just lay down right there and I'll get out the ultrasound machine. Not that I believe Tarble completely. The boy embellishes things. Imaginative as the day is long." He said, the skepticism showing very obviously now.

I gave an annoyed huff. "If you don't believe it, then why are y--"

He cut me off. "Would you hold it against me if I said to shut the poor boy up?"

I shook my head. After all, I had wanted to get him to shut up earlier. I lay down on the table, letting my arms hang off the sides while I closed my eyes. Might as well get some shut-eye. No sooner had I started to doze off when I heard the sound of squeaky wheels. I cracked an eye open--he was hauling a screen and a computer of some sort over.

"Now stay still. This'll be rough." Dr. Briefs ordered.

I didn't feel like moving all that much, of course. I turned my head to the screen. Maybe he was going to make me watch something? His fingers flicked the switches of the computer and he pulled out a strange object that looked like a probe--a probe connected to the computer.

"Sorry I don't have much gel. It would make this a little easier on both of us" He sighed.

I made a soft noise, one of neither joy nor anguish at his statement.

He slathered someting cold and slimy on me, then pressed the probe against my stomach. I grunted with a slight pain; he was being rough. That hurt! He moved it somewhat, bringing something into view. Apparently, whatever it was astonished him enough to make him drop the cigarette out of his mouth.

I stared. The image was fuzzy and confusing at best, as far as I was concerned.

"Well I'll be. He wasn't kidding when he said you might be knocked up." Dr. Brief finally spoke.

I blinked. What'd he mean by that? I'd never heard such terminology before. "What?"

"In the family way. Let's see...how did Tarble put it? Whelping."

It took a few minutes to register in my mind. My eyes stared at the screen now. What were those two indistinct shapes?

"Something wrong?"

I didn't say a word, instead responding by vomiting. Dr. Briefs grimaced; clearly not the answer he had expected from an expectant male alien.

"Well?"

He seemed to be pressing the point. Perhaps my expression was a giveaway?

I murmured. "What's those two funny shapes on the screen?"

"Twins."

Had I been a more sensitive creature, I would have fainted. Instead, I closed my eyes and tried to register what Dr. Briefs was trying to say. Twins. Me, with whelp, and it was twins?
How could it have happened? What was I going to do? I mean yes, I wanted whelps. I didn't say I wanted two at once, though.

Disclaimer: I do not even have a chance of owning Dragonball/Dragonball Z as they are the intellectual properties of Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation.
---------------------------------------
Authornotes: Warning -- The fic, as a whole, will be containing slash, mPreg and some heavy psychological stuff. Don't like? Don't read. The pairing is Tarble x Broly Also: Broly's perspective.
---------------------------------------

I spoke softly. Ne need to raise my voice. "I...want whelps."

"You're sure about that? I mean...look at us. I don't think we have the physical equipment needed." Tarble blurted. His eyes seemed to widen and his body seemed tense. I did not understand why, myself. He let his tail droop to the left side; usually, that meant it was something he'd rather not discuss. But I couldn't let it go. Not this time. "I mean...we're both...male."

I kept giving him my stubborn look, leaning in closer. I couldn't let it go. "I want whelps. Even if...it means...revealing my genetic legacy."

I had never told him that male breeders had run in my family; he'd never asked, to begin with. Even my father Paragus had not been immune; after all, he had inherited it from the father he knew, his father Articho. And, as my father had inherited it, I too had inherited the same thing.

He finally stared at me, trembling. "Y-You're really sure?"

I nodded, starting to spill my every feeling. "Maybe...it is what I need. What I need to mellow me. I'm so tired...There has to be something more than this mental prison I've put myself in." I felt myself trembling now. This was the real me coming out. Not that facade I'd forced because of my father.

I took a few deep breaths now before continuing. My throat felt dry and I could feel my heart hammer against my chest. "There has to be more to life than ending other lives. All I do is kill and destroy. And all it makes me think about is my father...I don't want to think about him anymore. He used me as nothing more than a tool for his personal gain. And look where it got him. Look where it got me. I mean sure, he probably loved me--he was a doting father compared to most saiyan fathers--but...he used me! I...I want to get away from that urge that rose from his use of me!" I wanted to cry by this point, but I've never really been able to shed any tears. Not since I was but an infant myself. I could feel my energy rising; my emotional state had me on the verge of my transformation. Heartbeats became heavier. My throat was parched. Soon, however, I worked myself back to a calm state. "...Do you...understand?"

Tarble gave me a gentle, but sad look. "I think I do, actually. But if all you're wanting is to esca--"

I tensed up. How could he think something like that of me?! "It's not just about escaping the past!" I snapped, leaning in closer to him with cold eyes. Suddenly I calmed down; this wasn't worth getting this worked up. Now much calmer, I spoke again. "I've always panicked around whelps. Their crying...it unsettles me. I want to get over that. A whelp of my own might leave me steadier about it than another's whelp. I'll be less likely to kill my own."

Chocolate-brown eyes peered into my own now. He was serious about this. "I know you want to believe that's true. But it's nothing more than wishful thinking. Look at my father. He was willing to kill his own whelp if need arose. Why would you be any different?"

My heart sank as I replied. "...He was raised cold and ruthless."

His face seemed to shift now; perhaps he understood? He then leaned in. He seemed curious. "Then tell me. How did Paragus raise you?"

I stared into his eyes, memories flooding back into my mind. "He'd instilled in me the importance of a family. He was all I had, and I was all he had. Your father had ordered us killed, remember? He had plenty of opportunities where he could have killed me--including the day I was born. But you know what? He begged your father not to kill me, even if King Vegeta had to kill him instead. He begged your father to spare an infant who could have been a threat to the royal line. Why? He valued family--his own whelp--over establishment. He valued my life more than his own, even. He constantly reminded me of that too. I guess something in him was different since he was a breeder himself. I guess you don't share your body for months with a parasitic life form and then pass them out self-sufficient without getting a little attached."

Tarble stared for what seemed like an eternity, as though he were trying to process my every word before he finally spoke up. "S-so...then you really want them...don't you?"

I nodded intently. "Yes, my Prince."

"Then...I'll help you try for a whelp." His voice seemed half-hearted.

I bit my lip now, shifting some. "And what if I were to tell you that I was 'with whelp'?" I had to know. I had to know if he honestly meant that he would try for my sake.

"I'd be happy for you, but...I'd secretly hope the whelp isn't mine." Tarble said nervously, his eyes darting away for a moment before darting back to mine. "I could handle the responsibility. I...just can't handle the thought that maybe, just maybe, I'll end up passing my weakness onto them."

I tensed tighter than I'd done before now. Selfish! So selfish! "...Do you think I'm wanting to pass this instability onto them? No. If I do, they have someone to turn to when their life gets uncertain and they feel like they're going to snap. You...really shouldn't care if you pass that weakness onto them. It just means they'll have someone who's been weak. Who's been the odd man out. We aren't our fathers, Tarble. We don't live in the era of power levels." I was on the verge of tears again.

"...I'm being selfish..." He mumbled, trembling before glancing up to me.

I put my hand gently on his shoulder now, tilting my head. "...saiyans are selfish creatures by our very nature. Look at our fathers. Did they not have selfish qualities?" I paused, waiting for him to answer--which he did with a nod. I then posed the question to him. "Then...let me ask. Are you sure you do not want a whelp?"

His face gave a faint shade of blush now. "...I guess I do kind of want a whelp. I mean, I'm responsible enough. Just...let me know if it happens. Please."

"...As long as you will help me, when the time comes." I replied, pulling him closer. I would have rested my chin atop his head, but he's too short for that, even.

"And...if we aren't able to produce whelps?" He suddenly asked.

I laughed softly, giving my own little white lie to him. "Then I know we tried, even if we do not produce them. I know we tried, my Prince."

Dear Bardock:

I have a little problem with the governing figurehead of my species. I'll just call him a monarch. You see, this monarch is terrified that somehow my whelp is going to overthrow his entire family if they don't execute him. As I'm writing, I'm highly surprised that I myself haven't died yet.

The thing is, the monarch left to challenge an overlord who's been enslaving us for a while. So I won't get my shot at revenge. What should I do? Should I pray my son and I live to take our revenge on the Prince?

Signed,
Victim of a King

---

Saiyan--just 'cause I have a feeling:

Ah, screw the royal family. If you two live, raise that boy of yours with lots of...well, let's just say affection is a good thing here. It'll make him stronger 'cause he'll have a reason to fight. Don't be that regretful dad that didn't hold his son once...OH GOD...OH-OH GOD. FRIEZA'S GOING TO FREAKING DESTROY US ALL. I'm so sorry I got your hopes up pal.

Apologies, my fellow warrior.

----------

Dear Bardock:

My father has been really distant with me. He won't even return my scouter transmissions. I miss him dearly and I wanted to ask him something but he frickin' ignored me. I know it's stupid of me to write to an advice column...but answer me dad!

Has Kakarrot been born yet?

Signed,
A Daikon Radish

PS: You know who this is.

---

Dear Raditz,

Sorry 'bout that kiddo. My scouter's been on the fritz.

And yes, Kakarrot has been born. DON'T YOU DARE START SHIT WITH HIM WHEN HE'S IN HIS TWENTIES, GOT ME?

Love,
Dad.

----------

Dear Low-Cla--I mean Bardock:

I have a young charge. I'll call him...Shorty for now. You see, Shorty is really mean to me and he yells at me over the stupidest things. I swear he's going to make me lose what little hair I've got left.

Thing is, I want to gain his trust because I want to be his personal lifelong guard like the guard his father had. Got any advice on how to tame Shorty?

Signed,
Cabbagehead

---

Nappa:

I am NOT your advice service. You're obviously pissing the prince off with your presence so back off and treat him like...YOUR FELLOW WARRIOR. Besides. You REALLY don't wanna know what Zorn and King Vegeta were doing behind everyone's backs.

Oh, and I'm pretty sure Prince Vegeta appreciates being called Shorty. I'm going to laugh here in Hell while you get the crap beat outta ya by him. 'Kay?

And when you get to Hell, I'm beating the hell out of you. 'Kaaaaaaaaay? >:)

Dear Bardock:

I've got this friend. I'll call him Carrot.

Then I've also got this female friend. I'll call her Parsley.

You see, I've really got a thing for Parsley, but she seems to have a thing for Carrot. Now, Carrot's my best friend and I know better than to try to kill him. What should I do?

Signed,
A Tomato in Love

---

Dear Toma:

I know it's you, stupid. Don't you have better things to do than write to my advice column? I told you a thousand times--I DON'T HAVE A THING FOR YOU-KNOW-WHO. She's free. Go for her. I DON'T WANT HER.

----------

Dear Bardock:

I...killed my brother. I actually killed my brother.

I guess you should know a little about me.

I was raised in a clan of shinobi. When I was a little kid, my older brother slaughtered my whole entire family except himself and me so that I would get angry enough to kill him.

And I killed him.

Why do I feel so guilty? W-was I bad? Was I that horrible?

Signed,
Shinobi on the Run

---

Shinobi,

Boo hoo my brother killed my family! Oh dear god I killed him! Are you actually listening to yourself? I'VE BEEN ENSLAVED BY AN INTERGALACTIC OVERLORD BENT ON SLAUGHTERING MY RACE.

If you ask me, it's a good thing you killed him off. That's the saiyan way to deal with problems too. Break it or kill it.

You probably feel guilty because you're an inferior race to a saiyan--we don't feel guilty when we kill mooks. No, we actually party after that. You should go party. You took down a thorn in your side.

----------

Dear Bardock:

I have this annoying little thorn in my side. I'll call him King Tut. Now, King Tut always beats me at the same damn card game every damn time and I'm sick and tired of it and I won't rest until I beat him.

That is, unless I can kill him.

Do you think I should?

Signed,
Bedeviled in Domino

---

Bedeviled,

DO IT. KILL HIM.
How many times do I have to say it's the saiyan way of dealing with problems? EVERYONE SHOULD DEAL WITH THINGS THE SAIYAN WAY.

The memory was all too real, and a reminder.

"You're sure we have everything we need, Bardock?" Tora asked as he laid out an alchemic array drawn on paper for Bardock to copy onto the floor.

Bardock nodded, snagging a piece of chalk and drawing the alchemic array. Callused hands that had once been used to exterminate other alien races now carefully marked every point of the array with an unparalleled accuracy and precision. One wrong mark and it could be certain death. Standing against the wall, Shugesh took a bite of a piece of beef jerky as he leaned in to get a good look at the alchemic array.

"Shouldn't that be the Mercury symbol instead of the Venus symbol?" Shugesh questioned, pointing to a symbol on the array.

Bardock pushed up his glasses with a hint of annoyance. "You're looking at it upside-down, you fool."

Tora shook his head hard, leaning in. "No. Shugesh is right. That should be a Mercury symbol."

Bardock flicked his tail, clearly frustrated now. "And you should have printed it more clearly. I had a feeling Shugesh should have transcribed the symbols."

"Well excu-use me, General." Tora sneered, laughing faintly.

"Ohoho. What's this? Fighting over Fasha already, you two?" Shugesh teased them now.

Almost as though reading one another's thoughts--nay, because Bardock was reading Tora's thoughts, both growled at the same time. "Butt out, fatso!"

As soon as Bardock had finished drawing the array, the men gathered the ingredients: thirty-five liters of water, twenty kilograms of carbon, four liters of ammonia, one and a half kilograms of caustic lime, eight hundred grams of phosphorus, two hundred fifty grams of salt, a hundred grams of saltpeter, eighty grams of sulfur, seven and a half grams of fluorine, five grams of iron, three grams of silicon, and two drops of blood. The last had been the hardest, because there were three men, and only two drops needed--in the end, they had settled on a drop each from Tora and Bardock, who had been the closest to Fasha. Shugesh took a deep breath; he planned on charming Fasha with the money he'd earned in this new life in Armestris. Tora cleared his mind; he planned on charming Fasha with his good looks. Bardock let himself slip into a more relaxed state; he planned on charming Fasha with the same charisma that had made him the leader of his platoon. Each man yearned for her, but even moreso, they just wanted their dear friend back. The trio placed the constituent parts into the center of the array.

"Ready?" Tora asked the other two, biting his lip deeply.

"Steady." Shugesh nodded.

After a moment, with the air of commanding that he'd always had, Bardock nodded and ordered. "Go!"

Each put his hands to the array in unison, tapping into the alchemic energies to activate it. What happened next was a blur--an unexpected, horrifying blur. A force--nay, the force of The Gate itself drew each in, made each face it, and ripped away pieces of them. The aftermath was a horrifying conclusion that none of the saiyans who would be alchemists expected. Each was hacking up blood--all of them having lost at least part of a lung in the backlash--but that was the least of their worries. Externally, Tora had lost half his tail, and both forearms; Shugesh had lost half his tail and at least half of each leg. Slate eyes gazed in horror at themselves, and then at their friend, their fearless leader Bardock, who lay upon the ground, gasping for air, his remaining arm reaching for them. One whole leg was missing, as well as most of the other. Only a stub remained of his tail--a quarter of what it had used to be--as he had lost three-quarters of his tail to the backlash.

It was a secret shared among the three, that they dared not share with others. Tora had managed to carry them out with what had been left of his arms, and they had all gone together to get automail prosthetics. None of them had cried, let alone made a peep when the limbs were attached; it wasn't in a saiyan's nature to cry.

It was soon after that when Shugesh had parted ways first and headed for Rush Valley. Tora had stayed in Resembool. Bardock himself? He had went to Central to take the test to become a State Alchemist.

He had passed the written exam with flying colors. The practical was a piece of cake. Then came the physical. The doctors had been astounded at the sight of his scars. Moreso, they were astounded that he had so much automail. He'd been able to lie it off as having been in a train accident.

Cold hard reality snapped back into his mind in the form of the voice of Roy Mustang.

"Steel Will, what are you still doing here in my office? You should be on a train to Resembool." Roy commanded.

Bardock glanced back over his shoulder. "Understood, Colonel. I got lost in my thoughts."

"Get a map next time." The Flame Alchemist quipped.

Mentally, Bardock made a note to flip off Roy Mustang next time he saw that bastard. For now, however, he had his mission--to find Tora in Resembool. Fate seemed to have thrown him a bone for once. He had information on the whereabouts of Tora now. The memory felt real, and now, too, did his mission.

Sometimes there are worse things than being dead.

Bardock used to think that it was worse to work for Frieza than to be dead; now he was pretty sure that being a dog of the military ranked right up there with it. In fact, he was sure that having automail ranked up there as well, but that might as well be a case of "there are worse things than being crippled by your attempt at forbidden alchemy."

He'd fallen into the same routine under the command of Roy Mustang: get up, go to Central, give a report of his progress into his alchemy research (He had chosen "practical combat uses of alchemy" so he could at least have an excuse to destroy things.), try to find information on Tora and Shugesh, play a round of chess against Hughes, go back to the military dorms, go to sleep, and have nightmares of Frieza. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Occasionally things were shaken up by the precognitive abilities given to him by the Kanassan he'd slain so many years ago. Otherwise, his new life was endless ennui interrupted with Roy Mustang's innuendos. He almost wished that the powers that be in the universe hadn't given him this second shot at life, but there wasn't much he could do about King Enma forcing him through one of the desk drawers--and the Gate of Truth.

He'd abandoned most traces of his old life. The scouter had been replaced with a pair of wire-frame glasses because he'd lost the scouter anyway. His armor? Replaced with the standard military uniform of the Armestrian military. His old abilities? All-but-unused, in favor of alchemy. The only things he'd kept as a symbol of his old life were the blood-stained headband that had once been Tora's armband, his crimson armbands, his old body, and the friendships he'd developed with Tora, Shugesh, and Fasha. Sometimes he almost wished he could have hijacked a different body, but that was another story.

And today was just another day.

"Miniskirts! When I'm the Fuhrer, there's going to be miniskirts as far as the eye can see!" Roy suddenly blurted. It was the same thing he'd heard a million times since he joined the Armestrian military and ended up in Central; he had his feelings that Roy wanted to be Fuhrer for more than that, but Roy constantly brought it up.

Again with the miniskirts? The saiyan's eye ticked before he suddenly yelled. "Well, then the female soldier in that one must have a huge ass!"

"Oh no he didn't!" Havoc blurted.

"Oh yes. He did." Hughes stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

A jet of fire sailed by Bardock's ear. Roy gave a displeased frown. "Out of line, Major."

"Out of your damn gourd you megalomaniac nymphomaniac." The saiyan shot back.

Maes Hughes had long since questioned his sanity; how he put up with these two fighting every day was a mystery. Maybe one day the colonel would snap and incinerate that bespectacled hothead's automail? Or perhaps one day the major would finally get tired of calling that miniskirt-obsessed nymphomaniac names and leave Mustang's blood spattered over his own automail? He contemplated, but said nothing. It was best not to get in between his best friend and his favorite chess opponent.

"Colonel! Urgent news from the Fuhrer." Riza Hawkeye had stepped in just in the nick of time. It wasn't too far from the truth that she had news from the Fuhrer.

"I'll deal with you later, irontailed monkey." Mustang grunted, taking Riza into his private quarters with him.

The saiyan gave a completely deadpan expression. "Like you dealt with the other three hundred thirty-seven times?"

Hughes laughed behind him before patting him on the shoulder. "Looks like someone needs some Elicia-therapy."

"Only if you want to see the Kakarrot Special." Bardock laughed.

He had to admit it--he had it pretty good, seeing as he'd died and went through King Enma's desk drawer to get here. He wouldn't tell Maes Hughes about that. It's not as though Hughes would believe that the Gate of Truth led to King Enma's mahogany desk drawer.

"I thought the other day you'd show me the Raditz Special." Hughes smirked.

Bardock shrugged. "I've got two sons, so I might as well milk them both for what they're worth. After all, Raditz was the perfect little warrior, and Kakarrot's a hero in the making."

"Right." Hughes said, fishing out a few photos of Elicia. "Look at her! Isn't she the cutest little thing you've ever seen? She's wearing Daddy's glasses!"

Bardock laughed. Now he remembered why he lived in this world: Maes Hughes made him smile with his kind demeanor and these silly photos of Elicia. After a few photos, he chuckled softly and laughed gently.

"Let's play chess, Maes." He suggested.

Hughes gave a smile. "I thought you'd never ask."

---

After a few turns, Hughes found himself cornered. His king had the white bishop, the white knight, and the white queen in range. No matter where he moved, he would be put in checkmate. Bardock was good--a brilliant strategist who could beat him at chess without batting his eyelashes. He hesitantly moved his king back.

A gloved finger touched the knight first, then settled on the bishop. Bardock gave a faint smirk before reverting back to his serious countenance as he moved the bishop into place. With a throaty whisper, he spoke only one word. "Checkmate."

Maes Hughes could feel his glasses sliding down in astonishment. "Again?! You're good..." He had to admit it--he was in awe of Bardock's chess-playing skills.

The saiyan stood up from his seat and saluted Maes Hughes. "You played well too, Maes." He then removed the glove to reveal his automail hand and let his automail tail swish to the side slightly. Hardly anyone knew of this except himself, the Colonel Roy, the Lieutenant Colonel Maes, the automail-smith that had crafted the limbs, and Tora. Hastily, his flesh hand pushed his wireframe glasses up on his nose.

Hughes gave a cheerful smile, glancing up to the other man. "Wanna see a photo of my darling little Elicia?"

Bardock gave a more peeved look now. "Do I really have a choice in the matter?"

The two were suddenly interrupted by the footsteps of one of the other soldiers in Central. She stood with a firm poise, arms at her side as she gave a stern look.

"Get back to work." Riza frowned to Maes Hughes. Her eyes then glanced to Bardock. "And Steel Will--Bardock--Colonel Mustang needs to see you in his office."

The warm blood in his veins suddenly turned to ice. Was this revenge for the earlier outburst that had started the argument between the two men? He supposed he should get it over with, lest it haunt him like his nightmares of Frieza. Slowly, he stepped into Roy's office, his eyes doing what they could to avoid his fellow State Alchemist.

The colonel was sitting in his seat, the back turned away from his desk and the door. As soon as he heard the footfalls of the saiyan alchemist, he spoke. "Major Son? Come here."

"Yes sir." Bardock said with a bit of deference now; he knew when not to disrespect his commanding officer. Saiyans didn't traditionally have surnames--he'd taken his surname from the visions he'd had of his son Kakarrot, who the old man and the other beings in the visions had called Son Goku. Goku had seemed like a strange surname to him, but Son sounded normal. That was his surname now.

Roy turned around in his seat, smirking. "You're going to Resembool, you lucky bastard." Suddenly, his face fell into a more serious state. "I need you to meet up with a man called Tora Mato. We have reason to suspect that he has performed Human Transmutation at some point in the past." Here, Roy slid a file folder with a photo of Tora toward Bardock, who picked it up.

"Understood, colonel." Bardock spoke, running his finger along the photo now. Tora hadn't changed much, it seemed. 'Tora...my friend.' He then tucked the folder under his arm, turning around, his eyes hazing over. It had been quite some time since he'd last seen Tora, and understandably, he missed the guy. He wouldn't let another see the tears that misted his eyes. After all, a soldier, especially a saiyan soldier, never cried.

Roy quirked a brow. "You act like a sentimental fool."

Roy's words had fallen on deaf ears. Bardock's coal-black eyes stared off into space, memories rising to the surface and feeling every bit as real as his visions of the future. His mind whirled back to the day he'd last seen Tora--nay, the day he'd last seen both Tora and Shugesh--the day the three had attempted human transmutation to bring back Fasha.

Sometimes, there were worse things than being dead--like remorse.

Taburu liked that spot, propped up on the taller Saiya-jin's shoulder. He didn't quite remember how the whole sitting-on-the-shoulder thing started. He just knew that he liked that spot on Burori's left shoulder. He felt more like the Saiya-jin no Ouji he was, instead of a nobody and a nothing.

Burori too seemed to enjoy this--he had someone that didn't make him feel like he was a threat to everyone and everything. The smaller prince on his shoulder seemed to understand that underneath all that brute force and muscle, there was a being that just wanted another to understand that there was more to him than great power, death, and destruction.

"The stars are pretty tonight, aren't they, 'Ro-ri-kun?" Taburu smiled gently, propping his arm across the top of the taller man's head. It rested among the soft spikes of black hair that cradled it gently.

Dozy slate eyes glanced up. "Hn? Ah, y-yes, my prince."

"You don't have to be so formal with me." Taburu blushed.

"But you are 'mine', yes? And a prince? Then you are my prince." Burori reasoned. Under those muscles also lay a mind that yearned to speak itself. "Does that make sense, my prince?"

Taburu laughed softly, draping his tail across the shoulders of his mate. "It does, 'Ro-Ri-kun."

The tail continued to loop around, almost mischievously. A smile crossed Taburu's lips as he brought the tail around enough to tickle Burori's nose. The taller male suddenly sneezed, accidentally shaking his smaller mate off his shoulder. Hastily, he grasped to catch Taburu by the tail; as he did, the prince went limp, his eyes giving a dozy stare up, panting heavily.

In his shock at the state of his companion, Burori gently put Taburu on the ground, releasing his grip on the tail slowly and gently. Slowly, Taburu adjusted himself to this new position, the grass of the ground. A large hand ran itself through the prince's soft black spikes gently.

"Please be okay, my prince." Burori murmured. "I could not take it if your death was by my hands."

Taburu slowly sat up. "I'm fine. Just...don't snag my tail like that again, please? I don't care what you grab instead, just not the tail."

"I understand." Burori nodded, giving a faint pout.

Taburu gently tugged the taller man closer--he wasn't one to easily stand a pout--and caressed the larger, younger man's lips in passionate kiss. It was an accident, after all. No use being angry about something that just happened. After all, the accident was his fault anyway.

Matthew had debated as to whether or not he should have made pancakes for Alfred. After all, his brother never seemed to notice the little things. No, Alfie was too busy being his boisterous American self and sticking his nose into trouble as usual; that's why Matthew was tending to him now. Alfred had gotten reckless by trying to invade Iraq's house, and now he was hurt pretty bad from the scuffle. The Canadian heaved a sigh and shook his head at the thoughts. After he slid the pancakes onto the plate, he dug in the refrigerator for his bottle of maple syrup.

But it wasn't there. The bottle. Wasn't. There.

"Alfred! Where's my maple syrup?" Matthew called out through the house, getting no response. As usual, ignored, the Canadian thought to himself.

Suddenly, he heard what seemed to be an overly-cheerful hum. Ah yes, Alfred must have gotten up from bed finally, or else gotten out of the bathroom. Matthew couldn't think of any reason otherwise that Alfred was whistling...unless...

And then he saw it in one of Alfred's hands. The maple syrup bottle.

"Wh-what're you doing with that, Alfred?! I was going to put that on your pancakes!" Matthew gave a flustered look. "You'd better not have done something dirty with it, eh!"

Alfred chuckled, pushing down his glasses, lovingly named Texas, and gave a goofy grin. "Oh, I'd never do anything dirty with food. I thought I'd try squirting some of it in my mouth and see how it tastes by itself."

The Canadian stared with a lofted brow at his American brother before rolling his eyes and pushing up his own glasses. "Well, if you're d--wait. Why is that strand all...dirty and sticky-looking?" He'd noticed that Alfred's frontmost stick-up strand of hair, affectionately known as Nantucket, looked all dirty and sticky and was drooping ever so slightly.

"Uh, I'm sure it's nothing. Nantucket's been all...unruly lately. Ahaha..." Alfred rubbed the back of his head. In the back of his mind, however, he was hoping it would elicit the response he was hoping for.

Matthew put his hands on his hips. "You need a little bit of help from me to get that strand to stand, Alfie. Lean your head down."

Alfred leaned his head down, giving a secret smirk when his face was out of the sight of his Canadian brother's eyes. Matthew took the strand in his mouth, sucking on it to try to straighten it back up. A strangely familiar flavor seemed to be coming from the strand of hair. Matthew took another taste. It was sticky...and sweet...much like...

Maple syrup?!

He could suddenly feel his face going bright red like the maple leaf on his flag. Alfred straightened up and winked.

"And here you thought I was always ignoring you. At least I know you love your maple syrup right? Well...I think I got some on my lips too." Alfred winked.

Matthew blushed deeper. Oh that Alfred! He knew! But Matthew couldn't resist the sticky sweetness of the syrup, so he brought himself in for a kiss, taking the opportunity to savor the sticky sweet goodness that was on Alfred's lips. Life was sweet, and the pancakes lay going cold, ignored, unlike Canada in a moment of passion with America.

The night was scary; Feliciano was sure of it when he didn't have Ludwig by his side to reassure him that he was okay, things weren't hopeless, and that he wouldn't be forgotten. Feliciano clutched tightly to the blanket, trembling.

"Esso sicuro è solitario." Feliciano murmured, crooking a finger to his lip as he stared to the left, out the window, rather than to the right toward the doorway. He felt useless. Useless Italy. Hopeless Italy. How many times had he heard those words?

In the light of the doorway, a man's figure suddenly appeared, a hand supporting a plate. The man cleared his throat, causing Feliciano to jump before he looked over. He recognized that figure anywhere. Ludwig?! It was Ludwig! Feliciano threw his blanket aside, his eyes lighting up as he leaped at the tall, strong, blonde German man.

Ludwig hastily raised the plate of German wurst and pasta over his head as the smaller, skinny Italian brunette man. He was used to Feliciano over-reacting like this if he was away, by now. Hell, he'd seen worse out of Feliciano because of nightmares. Like that time Feliciano had leaped on his bed wearing nothing but a scared look on his face.

"L'ho mancata! I missed you!" Feliciano gushed, staring up at Ludwig with his cheerful smile.

Ludwig heaved a sigh. "Calm down. I'm sorry I've been so long. Please accept this meal, ja?" Here, he lowered the plate down to Feliciano.

"Ringrazia un milione! Thanks a million, Ludwig!" Feliciano grinned brightly, accepting the plateful of pasta and wurst. He secretly wrinkled his nose at the meat, but, by far, it wasn't the worst meal he'd ever eaten. Or the "wurst" meal at that.

Ludwig gave one of his rare smiles, then sat down on the bed. "Are you ready for battle, Feliciano?"

Feliciano looked over to the serious-faced German while slurping down noodles. Ludwig facepalmed, then gave a faint smile. Ah well. At least "Italy" wasn't hopeless right now.

As Feliciano slurped the last of the pasta down, he, the cheerful young Italian, smiled brightly. "L'amo, Ludwig."

The German blinked, then popped off. "Ich liebe dich auch, Feliciano."

The courtrooms were seen as the hallowed halls of justice, where truth was valued over all else. Many cases saw themselves as the homes of trials--not just of truth or innocence, but the trials of the human spirit. Some spirits were broken more easily, like that fragile older man whose pride had been destroyed so many times by rookie defense attorneys. But the youth's spirit was strong. Or, at least, he thought it was. Until he neither got truth, nor a verdict.

--------------------

Soft footfalls echo outside the doors of the courtroom, resounding alongside the throbbing of a heart. Kyouya's hand shook as it reached for the door of the courtroom that he'd had his first trial, the thoughts and memories rushing through his head. It was Saturday--no trials would be held today--so he could reflect in privacy. His hand finally gripped on the handle of the door as he slowly tugged it open, taking a deep breath. All the memories rose to the surface--the musty diary. Naruhodo Ryuuichi presenting that falsified page. Arumajiki Zakku fleeing the court to leave the trial without a verdict.

He ran a hand across the prosecution bench. He'd been so proud when he sauntered into the courtroom and the judge greeted him with the name "Garyuu-kenji"...or as he would have been called in America, "Prosecutor Garyuu". Now...he wasn't so sure. Why was he a prosecutor now? Was it for the guilty verdict like the Karuma family and Mitsurugi? No. That couldn't be it. It had to be for the truth, that which he so desperately craved.

For a moment, the breath caught in his throat as he choked back the tears that started to form in his blue-green eyes. Why couldn't he at least have the truth?! Was he not worthy of it? The tears ran down the seventeen-year-old prosecuting attorney's cheeks as he pushed his fingers up through the strands of his platinum-blond hair. Why did that Naruhodo jerk have to be the defense anyway?! It was supposed to be a fair fight between brothers. He, Garyuu Kyouya, versus his older brother, Garyuu Kirihito. And he couldn't even have that!

"Why!?" He screamed out in the silence of the courtroom, his voice quivering with the pain of his very spirit.

He slumped against the prosecutor bench, coughing as he choked back the tears once more. He felt alone. He felt cold. He felt sick. But worst of all, he felt useless. Eyes closed themselves as he slowly seemed to drift into a deep sleep brought on by the emotional exhaustion that caused him physical exhaustion.

"Kiri...hito..." He murmured in his sleep, his eyes welling up with tears. It was that dream again, the same dream he'd had since that trial--a dream that Zakku would return and do something not to hurt him personally, but to hurt Kirihito. "Kirihito...what...happened? Why are you bleeding? Who did it to you?!" Even in his sleep, his voice was scared and frantic and exposed his chaotic maelstrom.

Kirihito gently placed his hand on the leather-clad teenager's back and rubbed softly; he knew he shouldn't wake Kyouya up--not here, not now. Gentle hands embraced the teenager as he eased Kyouya into his arms. Seventeen and still easily carried, like a child, Kirihito mused. Kyouya whimpered in his sleep even as Kirihito rocked him gently while walking out of the courtroom--and the courthouse--to his car. He calmly eased Kyouya into the passenger's seat, buckling him in gently.

"Sleep well, Kyouya." Kirihito whispered in his brother's ear before he moved around to the driver's side and seated himself, leaning back in the seat slightly as he pulled out and drove home.

Kyouya remained fitful in his sleep. "Kirihito, what did he do to you?! What did Arumajiki do to you?!"

Kirihito gently removed a hand from the steering wheel to give a comforting stroke to Kyouya before resuming his driving. He couldn't think of anything to do or say--he knew that dream was recurring, something that had happened since the trial. But mentioning that trial caused Kyouya nothing but pain and suffering. It was nothing but a catch-22.

As he pulled into the driveway of Garyuu Manor, he gently patted Kyouya on the shoulder. "We're home. Wake up. Kyouya, wake up."

Kyouya cracked an eye open, his body trembling as he took a few gasping breaths. "Th-that nightmare. That nightmare again, Kirihito."

"I know, Kyouya..." Kirihito said gently.

...Seriously?

Make a virus that is going to strike on April Fools Day?
That's taking a day away from people who JUST WANT TO HAVE FUN ON THE INTERNET.

God damn you fucking douchebags who think they should play stupid shit like that.

...I hope they die in a fire and get shat on by diarrhea-plagued BEARS.

Guess who's been overworked lately? ...Me.

Which means I haven't had as much time to post IJ posts as I used to.

And the worst part is...I swear that the universe DOES NOT PAY ME ENOUGH for this, in between the bad luck and the headaches and the fact that my ankle's all sore...

God I dread tomorrow. April Fools. That's going to be hell in a handbasket in a hamsterball going down a hill at 100 meters per second into a brick wall covered in flaming broken glass.

...Hell, I dread lab today.
...I dread sculpture today.
...Ugh.

Can't even get out of classes for it.

Can't walk because it hurts my knee so damn bad with the cold and the moisture in the air.

And on top of that, my heater's broken.

What's a Vic to do but whine about it, yeah?

Ah well. I have ramen and my love to keep me warm. And blankets.

Peace out, boy scout!

Here it is, the new year is approaching fast.

And it goes out not with a bang, but with a whimper. By which I mean I'm the one curled up on my bed whimpering about being sick. >_<; I'm still sick from the eggs I had for breakfast, and light's bothering my eye so that doesn't help.

But I guess I'll stay optimistic that the new year brings me good things like the old year did. After all, I'm already looking forward to February and my one year anniversary with my love. Hell, I'm looking forward to tomorrow.

But for now I guess I'll just keep that one eye closed. Stupid light...