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I hit the floor with such shattering force it seems inevitable that the impact will send me straight on through, into infinity. But somehow it holds, and miraculously the tile looks none the worse for wear. I however, am not so lucky. Blood trickles sluggishly from a dozen minor lacerations, and for a moment, the combined throbbing of the assorted contusions distributed upon my body prohibits any useful movement. Long lavender hair obscures my vision, having freed itself from restraint in order to cling to my sweat-soaked skin. These pale strands were the bane of my existence in early adolescence: silky, shiny, and a decidedly un-masculine violet color appreciated only by my mother. It goes without saying that I was teased mercilessly throughout my youth for having 'pretty girl hair'.

"Damn it, boy, is that the best you can do?" snarls the figure floating high in the air before me. The words cut me more deeply than any blow could. He crosses his arms and glares down at me. "I would have been better off training alone!"

My fists clench as I growl in frustration. I have to prove myself to him! I will make him respect me! That is what I have been striving for, unsuccessfully, ever since we stepped into this place beyond time...

Determined to show no fear, I had walked through the door first, onto a plain, tiled floor suspended in the middle of...nothing. A big, empty, white void, dwarfing the floating platform we stood upon with its infinite vastness. It wasn't the pale, comforting obscurity of a concealing fog; that at least would have allowed my imagination to pretend there was something out there. No, it was a crisp, disturbingly clear white, as far as the eye could see, leaving no room to doubt the total lack of substantiality. The heat was oppressive; even the air seemed to weigh heavily upon me. I knew it was just the increased gravity, but even so I had to hold perfectly still for a second, using every ounce of mental strength to fight down the wild urge to run the other way and bolt the door behind me. Even the higher gravity didn't keep me from feeling that movement, any movement, would cause me to fall away into the crystal clear, stark nothing, and keep on falling, forever. Imagining my father's scathing derision was almost not enough. After an instant of being rooted to the spot I didn't have to imagine. A foot was planted unceremoniously into my back, sending me sprawling. "Idiot boy! Move your ass!" I swallowed the wild, irrational terror -- I have been flying since I was three, damn it! I will not fear gravity or the lack thereof! -- and managed to turn and face him, and we have been sparring ever since, with only short breaks for rest and food. His iron determination is admirable. But I have seen no hint of anything in his face other than irritated scorn.

Ungracefully, I push myself up on all fours and glower at him. He is wearing that same bored, arrogant smirk that was plastered on his face when I first returned to this time. He wore it right up until Juuhachigou kicked his ass, finally wiping it from his statement as she shattered his arm. My heart was in my throat, watching that fight. I was terrified that he would die, but I also felt no small satisfaction that he was at last getting the 'challenge' he wanted. I was still pissed about getting sucker-punched in the gut. He should have listened to me! I fought them; I knew how strong they were. I watched them kill Gohan! He was a fool to disregard my warning. So impossibly arrogant. His overconfidence has already cost me a childhood without a father. But at least I wasn't old enough then to witness his death. Now, I live in fear that it will happen again, in this time, right in front of me, and I will be powerless to stop it.

"Get up, you pathetic weakling! Your mother isn't here to coddle you now!"

I manage to struggle to my knees, and then to my feet. Bastard! You don't know anything about my mother! I wish I could just not care what this arrogant jerk thinks of me, but he is my father. I can't help it; I yearn desperately for his approval.

Suddenly, I look up, and know that my twisted smile mirrors his own. I have nothing to fear from him. I realize I have been unconsciously holding back, but I will do so no longer. He has been a Super Saiyajin for less than three years. I have been one for much longer than that. I will show him what his son is capable of!

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He stares furiously up at me with her eyes, and I am taken aback for a moment. In my mind's eye, I see again his face as he berated me for not saving the woman and her brat. I despised the little purple-haired bastard for making me feel guilt I had thought long-since buried, and wondered how I could not have guessed sooner that he was my son. I had seen eyes that blue in only one other, flashing angrily at me much like his were then.

If the truth were known, I had not purposely intended to allow the woman and her child to come to harm. But neither did I feel that it was my responsibility to babysit them when she was stupid enough to fly into the midst of a battle. Especially after...that morning. I was obviously the most qualified to kill the android, and preventing his escape was my first priority. So I let the others worry about her. But, at the time, it amused me to let this brat think what he wanted of me. He was as transparent and as easy to bait as his mother. I could feel the frustrated anger rolling off of him in waves. Even now I smile at the memory.

I detest him, because he is arrogant and presumptuous. Imagine, telling me I should wait for Kakarot! Hmmph. And he is far too pretty. Fate mocks me with offspring such as that. What kind of Saiyajin has sparkly cerulean eyes, and hair the color of some cursed flower?! Hair that is at this moment all over his face, getting in his way. Not the cooperative, jet-black spikes of a true warrior that know how to stay put. How did I ever let my blood mingle with that of an inferior Chikyuu-jin? Even as I pose the mental question, the blue and white answer appears in my head, along with the remembered scent of her intoxicating fragrance -- I shove the image of that particular earthling away before it has time to fully form.

I hate him, because he constantly reminds me of her.

And yet, he is strong. I still can't believe he has ascended to the level of a Super Saiyajin at his age. Of course, he is my son. I allow myself to feel a small amount of pride, but I'll be damned if I let him see it.

He is still standing there. If I had any patience left, I would lose it again. "Well?! Bring it on, boy!"

He springs, and immediately I sense a change. Why that little--

"You've been holding back on me, you little punk!", I rage.

He grins evilly at me. "Heh. Guess I didn't want to hurt ya, Oyaji!" (AN: oyaji = old man)

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A well-executed spinning kick sends my father crashing down into the tiles with which I am practically on a first-name basis, having met them face-first so often. I smirk in satisfaction. It's his turn now, and I am enjoying myself immensely.

Standing up, he dusts himself off. He looks royally pissed, but perversely enough I finally see a hint of esteem in his eyes. Apparently the only way I am ever going to win his respect is by beating the shit out of him.

Well, fine by me.

Unexpectedly, he phases out and then appears right next to me, throwing an uppercut that snaps my jaw shut painfully. Rainbow-hued stars appear in my vision, right before I take a boot to the kidney that renders me temporarily immobile.

"Cocky little bastard! You're still no match for me!" I have my doubts about that, but it does indeed appear that he was not using his full power earlier, either.

"Feh. We'll see about that!", I yell, as I retaliate with a flurry of punches, faster than the eye can see. None of them land, of course, but they are only intended as a diversionary tactic so that I can maneuver him right to where I want him. Then, a quick ki attack blasts him back into the massive stone pillar I was aiming for. The resounding crash is music to my ears, widening the grin on my face.

Finally letting myself pound on him is making me giddy with glee. It's like some kind of weird high. At last I am able to vent all of my frustration on something.

Shoving off the pillar at breakneck speed, he throws a shoulder into my gut and rams me into the one opposite, breaking more than one rib, I think. But pain is my friend for the moment, fueling the fire. Irreconcilable love and hate for this man have clashed unceasingly within me, ever since I met him. He is so strong, and proud; I can't help but admire him. But he tore something vital out of my mother that I didn't even know was missing, until I met her younger self. And already, I can see him slowly killing it in her.

This is for my mother, asshole! Both of them! I ram my knee into his face with all the force I can muster, noting with pleasure the crimson that spurts from his nose. Something feral in me, a primitive lust for blood, has awakened and demands to be satiated.

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The familiar song of battle stirs my blood into an exhilarated frenzy. I was beginning to wonder if the little pissant even had it in him. Despairing of ever getting a decent fight out of him, I was glad to find that the bloodline of the Saiyajin no Ouke still ran true. (AN: Ouke = royal family)

But the little upstart is mistaken if he thinks he is anywhere near my level, yet.

Wiping the blood from my face, I turn to face the brat--

He is looking down at me through narrowed eyes, floating in a stance uncannily similar to the last opponent to get lucky enough to bloody my nose. One I faced countless ages ago, his equal in every aspect save physical strength. Proud, iron-willed and fearless...the woman who bequeathed him those eyes. Even here, in this place beyond time, I can't escape their accusing blue fury.

Irritated beyond all reason, I voice my frustration with a loud cry as I release a huge bolt of power at him. Deflecting it almost carelessly, he grins savagely at me, baring his teeth, and we circle each other, waiting for the next round to begin.

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The fight doesn't end until we are both lying on the cool marble, unable to move. For a long time the only audible sound is our labored breathing.

Eventually, however, even the fiery ache permeating my entire being is unable to compete with my Saiyajin appetite, and I hear an answering growl from his stomach. I groan and roll onto my belly, raising up on my elbows. He is still glowering darkly at me. I pretend not to notice; I know, somehow, that he is pleased with the day's training.

"Well, father, I suppose we should eat." I slowly get to my feet. "Why don't I cook." Not a question. I'd thought there couldn't possibly be a worse cook in existence than my mother...wrong. Our first day here, he'd thrashed me unmercifully, to the point where I could barely move. His attempt at dinner was barely admissible under the category of food. After that, he always managed to graciously spare me the use of at least one arm. I'm a rather good cook, out of necessity. I would never have lived through the ravenous years of a teenage Saiyajin, otherwise. I don't know how Mom can be so awful at it when Grandma had been so good. She was killed when I was very young, but I still remember her cookies...

Thinking of the hellish future I'm from always puts me in a foul mood. No one here can possibly fathom the horrors I've seen. Sometimes I want to scream with the sheer frustrated rage of it. Gohan...

He doesn't say much as we eat, but then, he never does. I've lost count of the number of days we've spent here, but each night is always the same. (I use the term 'night' loosely, since it never actually gets any darker here. The level of ambient light never changes. I hate sleeping with the blankets over my head, practically suffocating from the stuffy, recycled air, but it's the only way I can convince my weary brain that it is actually night).

Anyway, each night is the same. We finish sparring, we eat, we sleep. He has constantly rebuffed all of my initial attempts at conversation, and eventually I quit trying, even though I continue to burn with curiosity about this man who fathered me. And I can't help being hurt that he has so little interest in knowing anything about me.

Tonight, however, he startles me into choking violently on a mouthful of rice.

"You were actually decent today, boy."

I attempt to regain some semblance of composure and say, "More than decent, I'd say, from the looks of your ugly mug." The delivery of the bold words suffers a bit from the weak, raspy voice and accompanying cough.

A raised eyebrow. "Hmmph. Looked in a mirror, lately?"

I hold my breath, afraid to say anything and ruin the moment. We are actually having a conversation of sorts.

He reclines in the chair and stares idly into nothing. I absently study his face, trying to see anything of myself in the cold features. I nearly leap out of my skin when he turns on me and says, "What?! What the hell is your problem?"

Before I can stop it, the question I have lived with my entire life pops out. I mentally smack myself upside the head and await the inevitable explosion.

"Why did you leave my mother?"

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Impertinent whelp! I open my mouth to tell him it's none of his damn business, but what comes out is: "Why? Didn't she tell you?"

All the frustration in the world is in his face as he stares at the table. In a low voice, he says, "No. She would never speak of it, and every time I asked she would be depressed for days." He looks up at me. "All she would ever say is that she did something that hurt you, and then never saw you again."

Of course not. I didn't come back to this planet until the arrival of the androids, when, in his timeline, I died-- Wait...she hurt me? What is he talking about? I was the one that-- I purge that train of thought from my mind, before it can unleash the raw pain buried deep within from the shackles I imposed upon it long ago, to keep it from rending my brain to shreds.

His eyes desperately implore me for an answer, although he makes no plea aloud. I owe him no explanation, but something compels me to offer him at least something. Perhaps it is because I know what it is to live with such an unanswered question, eating away at your soul like acid. To wonder why your own father would leave you. Or in my case, give you away.

"Boy. I can't explain exactly what happened. And for all we know, the events in your future could have been completely different from what happened here."

He tries to school his statement and conceal his disappointment. "Of course," he says smoothly.

Impatiently, I snap, "I'm not done." Rising from the table, I walk to the 'window', staring out into the void, my back to him. Gazing out into nothing, but seeing only her.

"I guess the major problem is that one such as she could never understand me." I pause. "How could she? How could any pampered Chikyuu-jin princess, with wealthy parents catering to her every whim, possibly understand?

How can such a one as that, know what it is to live in fear and horror, every day of your life? To see your world destroyed, and your very life turned to a living hell??

Her life was all sunshine and flowers. She could never understand me."

There is more, there is so much more, but I have said enough. I can't bring myself to give him the whole picture, but at least I have provided a piece of the puzzle.

He is silent, and I finally turn around, unsure of the reaction I will see. Never in a million years would I have expected what I find in his eyes: gratitude, for the long-awaited morsel of knowledge, and

understanding.

The boy knows. Quietly, he says, "She understands, now."

I never thought I would meet anyone who could possibly fathom what it was like, to live through the horrific nightmare of my childhood. Much less that it would be my own son. But here he is, looking at me with the level of bleak comprehension reserved only for someone who has lived through the same kind of hell. I remember that in his world, the androids destroyed everything, including his father. He grew to manhood under their reign of terror, living underground, knowing he wasn't powerful enough to defeat them. He watched the earth torn to pieces and everyone around him killed. Except for her. In spite of myself, I can't suppress the brief surge of thankfulness for her survival. But it quickly passes.

He knows. He knows what it is like, to forget your father's face. To see your world annihilated. To live in terror of a monster infinitely stronger than you. To walk through the flames of hell and yet keep on living. That kind of shared pain inevitably forms a bond. We don't speak of it, but it is there.

I've said enough for tonight. I walk into a small, comfortable bedroom and collapse on the pallet, still in my armor.

Will I ever be able to forget her face?

Even the euphoria induced by ascending to Super Saiyajin could not erase the feel of the cool softness of her skin against mine, her breath on my lips. Knowing that I will never feel these sensations again pains me greatly, but I cling all the more tenaciously to the memory because of it; it is all I have left of her.

The only thing she could conceivably feel for me now is hatred. There is no going back.

But what had the boy said? The woman thinks she had hurt me, and that was why I left? Is it possible that she doesn't despise me?

Bah. I will never know. As I told the brat, the events that caused his parents to part ways could have been entirely different. Which means anything his mother said does not necessarily apply to the woman in this time.

Reality crashes down on the hope stirred up by my pointless musing. I ignore the desperate pang of sorrow that follows, and force myself into sleep with the ease of a warrior long accustomed to snatching rest whenever possible.

Yet even in slumber I find no respite.

Sad, impossibly blue eyes haunt my dreams throughout the night.

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Everything is different, after that night. He still beats the crap out of me every day, but I give as well as I get.

He isn't the black-hearted bastard he pretends to be. I see that now. His life has made it hard for him to express anything resembling kindness. It was beaten out of him at an early age, and no one ever showed him any after that. On some unspoken level, we understand each other better than anyone else ever could. His hellish childhood outmatches even my own. At least I had my mother. She was so strong, when I was small and scared. And now she's there all alone...Mom...

The floor rudely interrupts my line of thought by smashing into me with a vengeance. Dazed, I glare up at the bottoms of his boots and yell some obscenities at them. But my heart isn't in it. Worrying about her is sucking all the resources out of my brain, leaving nothing behind for the strategy of a fight. I need to get back; she's defenseless...

No. She is never defenseless. And I am here for a reason; to become strong enough to liberate my world from its oppressors. I can't leave yet. I comfort myself with the thought that every day in here is only 1/365 of a day on the outside. Which is doubly good, since I am also here to help save this world, and we need all the time we can get to defeat Cell. I hope that my younger mother can use those blueprints for Juunanagou to construct some kind of weapon against the evil cyborgs.

Marshaling my thoughts, I launch an attack with renewed determination. They will die! Righteous fury raises my power to new heights.

"It's about time, brat!--" He manages, before I am upon him. Then he is too busy fending me off for speech.

"What's wrong, Oyaji? Getting slow in your old age?" He backhands me across the face, splitting my lip and catapulting me away into the snow white vacuum around us. Thankfully, I have long since overcome my fear of it.

"You wish, you snot-nosed whelp! Only a fool would challenge a Saiyajin in his prime!" He emphasizes the words by appearing at the apex of my trajectory and punctuating them with a hammer punch that hurtles me in the opposite direction, back toward my favorite tiles.

"What's the matter, pretty boy? Done already?"

I phase in front of him and assume a fighting stance. "I'm just getting warmed up."

The game begins in earnest. Our training has risen to a new level. We have both gained more power in the past year than I could ever have imagined. We trade blows with precision, searching tirelessly for a weakness in the other's defense. On and on we fight, until it seems the pavilion will crumble beneath us. (There isn't a mark on it, though. It appears to be indestructible).

Anyway, as we finally near exhaustion, two thoughts flash into my brain like lightening.

The first one is the realization that I am stronger than him. I can feel it. Somehow, I have surpassed him in the time we have been training here.

Hard on its heels is the knowledge that I can never let him know. No matter what, I still have to let him come out of this on top. His pride will not suffer him to be beaten, even by his own kin, and this tenuous bond with him means more to me than any amount of power.

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End Chapter 10