Trunks found himself doing office work during his week off from school for a number of reasons. For some strange reason, his mother did not want him sleeping in to one p.m. and spending the rest of the day either doing God knows what or laying around on the couch playing video games. His protests were silenced by his mother's reasoning: it was more than likely that Trunks would be president of the company in less than ten years due to his intelligence and relation to the current president.

He paused at the end of the blue-carpeted hallway and leaned against the corner, removing some papers from a dark blue portfolio and tucking them under his arm. Rubbing his forehead, he tried to remember what his supervisor had asked him to copy. Frowning, he pulled six random sheets of paper from the left pocket. It wasn't like copying the wrong report would get him fired. Errand work was not what he had been expecting to do here but was obviously going to be his job until he proved he could be of more use.

The copy room was around the front desk in the lobby, hidden in a small room. Trunks knew the route well. He had memorized the way. The information desk coming up on his left, the lobby through the glass door to the right. It was usually empty at this time of the day.

Trunks didn't expect the three men sitting on the couch, only one of which — Yamucha — was neutral ground.

He didn't say or do anything to draw attention to himself. Self-consciously he pulled the portfolio to his chest, taking half a step backwards. But his father was terribly alert, his eyes snapping up the moment Trunks considered taking a different route to the copy room.

No one broke Vejiita's gaze — ever. It was an act of pure will just to blink if he wanted your attention and Trunks already felt his eyes water. There was fear there. Trunks didn't deny that but he did refuse to acknowledge it. He refused to let fear smother him. It was hard though... Especially after getting his father's brutal history pounded into him.

Then Vejiita did something that Trunks thought was a trick. His eyes softened. The corner of his mouth turned up, at first a scoffing smile but then a wider one, as if Vejiita thought he was such a silly kid and that there was some special, inside joke between them that could never be verbalized. Vejiita shook his head and dismissed Trunks and the teenager hurried around the information desk into the copy room, his head a worse storm of confusion than it was before.



Vejiita leaned against the side of the car door and stared out the windshield. They were driving over the speed limit but it wasn't very fast anyway. Just at the right speed for Vejiita to zone out, eyes idly following the passing fence posts lining the road for a few feet before they slid out of his direct line of vision.

Craig drove away from the city. Away from the Western Capitol and away from Capsule Corp. They went over a bridge, the fence posts nestled in green grass giving way to steel and concrete guide rails. And then buildings started turning up. The outskirts of a city whose name Vejiita couldn't be bothered to remember. A café that stank of smoke even as the car tore past it, numerous bars, houses with square lawns and dogs chained to posts. Vejiita knew where he was in general — he had been in this city many times before since it was the closest one outside of Capsule Corp. — but not this exact vicinity. They seemed to be winding through the roads of the housing divisions instead of the long, straight streets lined with store and malls as they usually did.

Craig pulled over into the parking lot of a small gas station and parked crookedly in a handicapped space in front of the door. Without a word he got out and entered the building, only tossing Vejiita an accidental glace through the dark store window. Vejiita chose to stay where he was..

The other man came back a few minutes later, tossing Vejiita an orange sucker and pulling a slim bottle from the deep pockets of his pants. "I'll share, eh?" he offered.

After that, Craig hit the road again, passing the nice houses and spacious yards until they stopped at a trailer park. It was a small park, not too junky but not very well-kept either. Grass was grown in patches between trailers, yellow and dead due to lack of care and a harsh winter season. The rest of the ground was packed dirt and broken furniture and large rocks tossed out of the way.

Craig seemed to know where he was going and Vejiita chased after him without hesitation, untangling himself from the seatbelt and slamming the car door shut loudly behind him. He was lost in his thoughts, trying to make Craig's story clearer and nearly tripped over a wooden stoop because of his thinking. He looked up at the door the stairs led to; dull, silvery metal, dented and scratched. Craig stood at the door, tapping the bottom of the bottle against the door, producing a dull clanging sound. After a moment or two of no response, he slowly opened the door, poking his head through. Then he smiled and went inside.

Vejiita slipped inside after him, his mind momentarily cleared of any dark visions.

The interior of the trailer was dimly lit and warm in that stuffy, humid way. There was a small kitchen on one side with a square, curtainless window pointing out to someone else's yard. On the other side there was a living room, strewn with clothes, magazines, and crushed cans. A couch was facing a black-screened television set, the entire room black and silent.

"Where are we?" Vejiita asked lowly. Craig nodded towards the couch. With a soft, exasperated sigh, Vejiita shook his head and went to the sink in the kitchen. He turned the water on, cupped his hands under the unsteady spray of water and washed his face. He didn't want to know where Craig had taken him this time, he wasn't sure he could stand it.

He kept his head in the sink when he heard Craig walk past him. He heard an ice box opened and closed then something cool and wet was pressed against the back of Vejiita's neck. He stood up with a groan, flashing the other man a weak, discouraging look. "What is it?" he grated out, pushing the can of whatever back into Craig's hand.

Craig smiled softly, setting the can on the counter. "Do you mind staying here for a bit?"

"So now will you tell me where we are?" he snapped. Craig's brow creased but before he formulated an answered, a soft cough followed by slurred swearing caught the two Saiyajin's attention. Vejiita turned around slowly, afraid of what he'd see, waiting to lift his eyes until he was fully facing this new arrival.

Gold. Unnatural, shining yellow irises whirl pooling around black pupils and a mouth that twisted into an ironic grin. Vejiita wasn't sure if it could get any worse. It wasn't that he hated his oldest son, he was simply at a loss at how to get along with him. He knew next to nothing about him and Gold-Eye knew the exact same amount about his father. Thus, there was uncertainty on Vejiita's side and an absolute lack of fear and respect on his son's. The Saiyajin drew in a deep breath and stiffened his features, set on not giving the young man any insight to whatever weaknesses Vejiita knew were present.

Gold-Eye wet his lips. "Old man," he greeted. Two beats passed and Vejiita decided that he lost his chance at a passable retort and only reacted when Craig stepped forward and nudged him in the side.

"I've taken to calling him Seth but he'll pretty much respond to anything. Just us two living here after all."

Vejiita turned his head, nose-to-nose with the other Saiyajin. "For how long?" He lifted a shoulder.

"Not long. Off and on two weeks at the most. Just crashing here because it's closer to where you live." Vejiita hummed in response and chewed the inside of his lip.

Still undaunted by the two older men in his kitchen, Gold-Eye hooked a thumb under the elastic of the shorts he was wearing and lazily scratched the skin there. He sniffed, blink hard a few times, and said, "Got the time, anyone?"

"Little after four," said Craig without looking around for a clock.

"Good thing you didn't wake me up earlier," he murmured to himself. "I had to get up anyway." With that, he turned around and trudged back into the living room.

Vejiita had been glowering at Gold-Eye the entire time, trying to catch his gaze to either get a rise out of him or have a chill run up his spine. He snapped out of his angry trance as his object of attention moved out of his line of vision and said aloud, "Where do you have to go?"

"Work!" he shouted back as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Where do you work?"

Gold-Eye came back out carrying a shirt and some black jeans in his arms. He moved past the two Saiyajin on his way to the sink, handing Vejiita a laminated white card he dug out of the pocket of his pants. Vejiita squinted his eyes and read the text printed next to a photograph of his son. "Seth Crossland, Security, Steveson-Kuhr Architects." "I work the night shift," he explained. "Not bad, eh? I get to sleep all day." He winked as if working the graveyard shift was some sort of big accomplishment in life. "I'm outta here by five-thirty. I got some other stuff I need to do before work."

Vejiita lowered Gold-Eye's ID and watched him fill a blue, plastic cup up with water and steadily drink it all down. "Have you lived here this whole time?"

He set the cup back in the sink where he had found it. "Yeah, pretty much. It was nice till Craig followed me here." He tossed his head back, popping his neck, flashing Craig a sarcastic glare. Craig raised an eyebrow, unamused. "I had my reasons, too." Gold-Eye nodded. Whether he was only humoring the older man or there was a deeper understanding between the two, Vejiita didn't know. He turned his head at the exact wrong time and was caught in his son's gaze for a split second before one of them blinked.

Then Gold-Eye excused himself to a shower.

Giving Craig a sidelong look, Vejiita silently asked, "What's next?"

"Tired?" he asked, rubbing the back of his head and fixing the fur-lined collar of his shirt. Vejiita folded his arms and gestured vaguely. He was a bit more than simply tired. "You can crash in my room. Seth's got dibs on the living room."

"You're going out too?"

"Well, yeah." He grinned and let out a quiet laugh. He sidestepped Vejiita and picked up the bottle he had lifted from the store. He unscrewed it, took a swig then passed it to Vejiita courteously. He stared at the glass bottle, damp from condensation, its contents murky in the cheaply lighted room. For a moment he was at a loss of what to do, the simple actions of extending his arms and accepting Craig's offer beyond his reach. He just suddenly felt horribly empty.

Shoving past Craig, he pulled out a plastic chair at the yellow cardboard table and sat, cradling his head between his hands. Craig turned and took a step forward, leaning against the back of Vejiita's chair. He set the bottle down and slid it so it was resting in front of Vejiita. "I'm not thirsty," he said stiffly, pushing the bottle out of his line of vision. He could imagine Craig shrugging disinterestedly behind him as he rocked restlessly against the chair.

He patted Vejiita's shoulder, hand sliding up to tug on the hair at the nape of the other Saiyajin's neck for a moment. "Fine, be like that." The weight against the chair removed itself and Vejiita turned around, watching Craig turn a corner down the hallway separating the living room and kitchen. Wary of being left alone, especially in unfamiliar territory, Vejiita found himself tailing Craig again.

Two wooden doors. One appeared to be a sliding door, a hollowed out, metal ring to hook your finger through in place of a handle. He could feel the moist air from the other side of the room. Loud music remained unclear through the static and spraying of a shower. To their left was an open door, showing a room brightly lit compared to the others. Craig was inside, shirtless, squatting on the floor and paging through a magazine.

When Vejiita finally made his entrance, he stood up and pointed. "There's the bed. Make yourself comfortable."

Vejiita nodded in response. The bed didn't look half bad, considering Craig either got it cheap or free from a casual acquaintance or yard sale. It was covered with clothes, sheets rumpled, the pillow tossed aimlessly in the center of the mattress. He bent over and tossed a glass ashtray off, almost shaking his head in amusement.

"Seth will probably be out of your hair in a bit," Craig informed him, smoothing a dark red polo shirt over his stomach. "I dunno when I'll be back, but you'd better be outta my bed by then." He ended this last part with a wink, finally threading a belt through the loops and stumbling out of the room.

The trailer door slammed and the shower stopped. Vejiita moved from his spot only when he heard his son moving around in the bathroom, shutting the door shut as securely as he could. The reception of the radio in the bathroom became somewhat clearer and Vejiita was forced to listen to the nonsense.

Finally, he just lay down on the bed, not bothering to knock any of the clothes off or pull up the covers. He had dozed off by the time the door slammed a second time.



"Hey, Vejiita."

He moaned and picked his head up off the hard surface, resting his chin against the back of his clasped hands and attempting to focus on the blurry shapes beyond his reach. He had thought Craig had left.

"Get up, you lazy bastard, pay attention to me."

Two strong fingers pinched his ear, lifting his head and twisting it to the side. Vejiita strained his eyes, glowering mellowly at his captor. Craig's lips curled into a smirk, fingers rising to his mouth to scissor a short cigarette, more ash than paper, and fling it to the side. He exhaled — fortunately not in Vejiita's face — then leaned forward. The smell of smoke was in his hair, on his skin and stuck to his clothes.

"What would you do if I spit in your mouth?" he asked, mouth working.

Vejiita was shocked for about five seconds, then realized exactly who he was talking to. He returned the derisive grin and replied, "Try it and find out."

Craig's fingers massaged his ear, shifting to get a tighter hold. Vejiita felt the grin grow even wider across his face, showing his teeth. He didn't feel silly or stupid about grinning for no good reason. He wasn't scared that his head was wrenched around in such an uncomfortable and vulnerable position. "I can imagine," Craig said. "A thousand times worse than the most terrible thing you can do to me."

"And a thousand times that."

"I think I'll pass," he laughed, jerking Vejiita's head back and forth violently a few times before letting him go.

Here, his vision blurred. Or maybe it actually became clearer, simply fuzzy around the edges, as if he was seeing this all for the first time. Vejiita studied the wall before him, only now noticing the shadows that moved eerily across the smooth surface. Curiosity suddenly getting the best of him, he whipped around, the room spinning madly.

When the disorientation faded, Vejiita stood unharmed in the far corner of the juvenile mess hall, particularly crowded considering the time of the day — late, late night. There were about twenty young men and women jostling each other, leaving only a quarter of Vejiita's peers absent from the room.

He took an experimental step forward, always wary about moving after waking up in a place he didn't remember walking into. The floor didn't slip up from beneath his feet to engulf him and he didn't stumble because of inattentive clumsiness. He gazed around, searching for a familiar face and finding more than he expected. Smoke. The smell of smoke was still strong, now having stuck to his own clothes due to his close contact to it earlier. Vejiita looked over his shoulder, spotting Craig and three others leaning against the wall, absorbed in inane conversation.

Craig pulled a chair from a nearby table, grinding it back and forth against the thinly carpeted floor, creating a sound that was hard on the ears. He tossed his head back, an invitation. Vejiita casually scratched the side of his neck with his middle finger, trying not to grin.

Never before had he flipped someone off as a joke.

A howl was released, one not unlike the cries of panic that Vejiita had always imagined he heard. He turned just in time to duck as someone soared over his head, the body dropping slamming into the table and sliding to the floor. Somewhat surprised, Vejiita turned around, fists clenching and heart sinking at the sight.

With shoulders three times as wide as Vejiita's and standing at a height of seven feet stood Tanako, the tormentor of Freeza's younger employees. He had five eyes that Vejiita could see, four of them running horizontally across his face, working in pairs, and a smaller one above them in the dead center of his forehead, spinning around wildly as if it's sole purpose was to distract. His mouth was nothing more than a slit cut through the middle of his face, parallel with his eyes. It snapped open and shut with a wet chopping sound, snarling and growling at people between verbal insults. A reptilian monster, Tanako was despised for more than perturbing appearance.

Vejiita felt his body shut down for a few moments yet panic didn't overwhelm his system. Paralyzed but unafraid. He was confident that the paralysis would wear off quickly — and after a few moments it did. He inhaled deeply. He was so.. assured. He felt full. He was tense and he was ready to do something about it.

Feigning. He temporarily stifled his feeling of sureness and backed away from the huge brute who had already caught the scent of his nerve. He narrowed his eyes and stared straight up into two of Tanako's glassy orbs, daring him to hit him, daring him to make a fool out of one of them.

Tanako pulled back his arm and slammed a fist the size of Vejiita's abdominal cavity into his jaw.

He saw only red.

The crimson haziness that blurred the edges of his sight. The bloodstained saliva and teeth he spit out onto the floor, the swelling of the wrist he had twisted in his unfortunate journey across the room and into the furniture.

Tanako initiated the fight and Vejiita was the victim here. If one of them ended up dead, Vejiita's name would not be any more soiled than it already was.

He sprang up from the center of the collapsed table and sent his fist through Tanako's chest, gliding in smoothly almost to the elbow. He withdrew a moment later and spun, leg outstretched and it's target obviously the side of Tanako's head. It was hit away before it reached its target. Vejiita started to lose his balance and whipped his tail to the side.

His head never hit the floor. Tanako had him by the ankle, his fingers tightening around the bare skin. His face twisted into a mean-spirited smirk. Vejiita curled his arms to his side and returned the grin.

After dealing with a room full of useless adolescents addicted to drugs and sex, Tanako's grave underestimation of juveniles in general was comprehensible but by no means excusable. Vejiita had had just about enough of being underappreciated and shoved around. He felt that the others felt exactly the same and without further consideration, he accessed the energy the lingered in the back of his brains and in under six seconds, Tanako was nothing more than charred remains.

Vejiita felt himself fall, the feeling of victory and righteousness enough to make him sick.



Blackness swirled down into a vortex of darkness. The blurry faces disappeared and the smell of smoke was all but gone. Words flashed through his head, letter by letter, each one holding its own little piece of content. Anxiety, assistance, fear. Anger along with its own brand of rebellious support.

Then the entire message finally pieced itself together, the letters written in wet, red spray paint against a brick wall.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE.



Then, for some reason, he woke up. Habitually he attempted to pinpoint whatever had startled him awake. It couldn't be the lingering smell of laundry detergent. It wasn't the smell of smoke either; he could easily say that he was used to cigarette smoke. He opened his eyes slowly. The white wall he was facing reflected some light into his face but not enough to rouse him from a dead sleep.

Something unnatural, he decided. His sense of touch suddenly clicked on and Vejiita felt a heavy pressure on his shoulder. Vejiiita's eyes flickered to the shadowy shape he had seen out of the corner of his vision. Focusing, he realized it was only Craig, leaning forward over him. Vejiita narrowed his eyes and knocked Craig's arm away as he turned over. A menacing grin spreading over the culprit's face Vejiita's annoyance became clear.

"How you feeling?" he asked through grit teeth.

Vejiita blinked a few times then had to admit, "I feel good." He let himself ignore the unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Craig adjusted himself so he was sitting on his hands and kept his face close to Vejiita's. "Well, that's good." Vejiita nodded and murmured an agreement. "I would be too," Craig said, "if I had slept for eighteen frickin' hours."

"Eighteen...?" Resisting the urge to rub his eyes sleepily, Vejiita sat up, his attempts to force Craig to give him some space ignored. Instead, the other Saiyajin dropped his concerned front, suddenly twisting around and grabbing something off a TV tray next to the bed.

"Yes, eighteen hours," he snapped, shoving the small, yellow alarm clock in Vejiita's face. He couldn't focus on the black hands ticking around the face of the clock. "Eight a.m., Vejiita. You looked about ready to pass out when I left yesterday. It wasn't even five."

Vejiita didn't know what to tell him and settled for flashing dumbfounded look at Craig. He felt great. Those hours had done him well. "Why did you wake me up?" he asked.

"Get the hell out of my bed, Vejiita."

He sighed and untangled his black shirt from around his waist, kicking off bed sheets and other articles of clothing and stumbling out of the room. As he slid the door shut behind him, he saw Craig toss himself on the bed and lay prone.



The first place Vejiita glanced at was the couch in the living room. The room was more thoroughly lightened than it was yesterday afternoon and he was sure that he saw Gold-Eye – or Seth was it now? – already curled up on the couch, the only place he had expected to see the younger man. It came to Vejiita that he was not quite alone despite the unconsciousness of the two other people he knew to be lodging in this trailer.

His breath hitched and his skin broke out in gooseflesh for no apparent reason; Vejiita's attention was drawn to the left where, to his horror, he saw that familiar blue haired lady at the kitchen table. She was sitting in the same chair that Vejiita had occupied a little over half a day ago. She looked much more in place than he knew he had felt, he observed. She sat there as if she was welcome.

Vejiita narrowed his eyes, hanging on to that unnatural but dependable feeling of optimism he had experienced in his dream. That leering optimism that made him feel... good. "Why are you here?" he asked.

Bulma had been eying him similarly to how he had been eying her; with uncertainty and a dash of suspicion. She was somewhat put off to his approach. "Vejiita... Is this where you stayed last night?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes'm."

She ignored what appeared to be mock respect. Rubbing her forehead, she said, "You just took off yesterday. We were worried."

Vejiita shrugged and leaned against the doorframe, sorting through his thoughts. "So you came and found me." She nodded in assent. "Okay. You can go now."

"Vejiita –" Her voice faltered for a moment, remembering this Saiyajin's occasional snappishness when he was addressed by the wrong name. She continued on, realizing that if he wanted a distinction to be made, he'd have to make it himself. "Vejiita, I didn't just want to find you. I want to help you." He shook his head, amused, but said nothing. Licking his thumb, he smoothed down one of his eyebrows and waited for her to continue.

"You'll do this how?" he prompted after a short time.

"A psychiatrist," she answered immediately.

He started shaking his head and grumbling. "No, I don't want to see a shrink–" Vejiita could literally feel his rejuvenated feeling slipping away from him, taking with it his strength and energy. He was left with sore shoulders and weak knees and leaned against the armrest of the couch, careful not to touch Seth's feet.

"I think you should consider it." He shook his head stubbornly.

"Forget it," he snapped, shoving away from the couch and past Bulma and out the door. He paused at the stoop, knowing that she would follow him. This wasn't her house so she couldn't stay in and he had no where to go anyway, which they both knew. So he sat down on the dusty stairs and waited for her.

She must have been treading on his heels, the way he was the other day. Something about this place made strangers uneasy, he pondered. He following Craig, Bulma following him. She sat down next to him but thankfully didn't immediately bring up the topic of mental health.

"This is where Craig's been staying?" she asked. Small chat.

Vejiita nodded. "I suppose so, I didn't really ask."

"Who was that on the couch?"

Despite himself, Vejiita felt a smug smile tugging at his lips. "What, inside? That's Seth, I guess. This is his place."

"How do you know him?" He let the smile slide into place but didn't answer. He didn't care to let her know; somehow, the idea of keeping his and Seth's relation to each other secret striking him as ironic.

"I just know him from way back," he said, yawning. "Not really a friend though..." He trailed off, having no more voluntary information to give out. He felt the misplaced sense of humor quickly deflate himself as he felt the woman beside him grow pensive, considering a new angle to attack with.

She said thoughtfully, "Don't think that I don't understand. I know why you don't want to see a psychiatrist." Vejiita doubted that; he couldn't say that he had crystal clear reasons for his stubbornness himself. "You have a strange history and I'd be lying if I said that I wouldn't be shocked if I hadn't known about.. all this before hand." Yeah, he was an alien all right, an alien with one hell of brutal past. And even more brutal upbringing. "But just to talk to one, talk to someone like me who will actually be able to get somewhere with you." Vejiita shook his head but she paid no mind. "Just a few visits. Only one if you hate it that much—"

Vejiita stood up and jumped off the stoop. He kicked a rock and said, "Let's just stop pretending that I have a choice. I know you and I know that you won't stop bugging me till I go to your stupid doctor. So, let's just go, okay?" He sank his teeth into the inside of his lip.

Bulma wasn't quite sure if Vejiita was actually right or wrong; she knew that she could be vexingly persistent but she usually knew better than to provoke someone into agreeing just to shut her up. She shook her head slightly. Well, she had gotten him to agree, at least. Whether or not any effects would come out of his visits to a doctor were unclear, to say the least.

"Okay!" he snapped. "Would you get in your car already?" She nodded silently and stood up, fishing her keys out of her pocket. Her sleek, state-of-the-art Capsule Corporation vehicle was locked up tight, of course. It looked even more appeasing to thieves next to Craig's car.

And speaking of which...

Vejiita pivoted and ran back up the stoop and into the trailer, returning a moment later pushing Craig through the door. Although angry that he had been pulled from a deep sleep, Craig wasn't so upset when he saw in what a fine environment he would be traveling.

"Who's car is that?" Vejiita asked quietly as they pulled into the highway. Craig shrugged from the back seat, pulling out a pocket knife and cleaning under his nails. "I know it's not yours. Well?" he continued when Craig nodded in offhandedly.

He flashed him a wicked grin. "I wouldn't worry too much. That car just happens to belong to the sister or Sano Tadashi." Vejiita could only give him a weak laugh and a disbelieving look. He turned around in his seat and put the subject of Sano Tadashi away for some other time.



Vejiita stared at the opposite wall, anxiously drumming his index and middle finger on the glossy, curved wood of the arm chair. The room smelt fake. Fakeness trying to act real and not even attempting earnestly, further increasing the insincerity of the room.

His gaze shifted down to the worn toes of the shoes he was wearing. Purposely, he had dressed entirely in black today in order to show how negative he was of this entire visitation. But his pessimistic undertones were made for his usual morose behavior and were swept aside, and he was sent to a mental clinic with no additional worry.

He rolled his head back and let it hit the wall. Now he was staring at the ceiling and he decided that he couldn't have been happier. Unconcernedly he wondered if he would last the entire session, which he supposed would be about an hour long. He had been himself the entire morning and most of yesterday too. From past experience, he knew better than to expect good fortune to last very long at all.

When his named was called — a simple Vejiita; no last name, or maybe no first name — he pulled himself out of the chair, stretched and popped a few joints and went through the door. The atmosphere changed subtly; namely, he felt that it was less fake but by no means a better place to be than in the lobby.



Exactly forty-nine minutes after Vejiita's name was called, a dark green car pulled out of a quiet highway of downtown Western Capital and executed a less-than-perfect parallel-park. A man stepped out, his dark hair swept back and kept in place by sunglasses. His eyes landed almost immediately on another man sitting on a bench on the corner of the sidewalk.

Not bothering to pretend to be surprised seeing him sitting there, Craig sat down next to Vejiita. He slapped the other man's leg, his usual greeting, and said, "How was it?"

Vejiita, of course, had left the psychologist's office as soon as his appointment was over and decided to sit in the sun on a city bench until Bulma or someone came by to pick him up. Like hell, he decided, was he going to walk home. He needed time to gather his thoughts anyway. "I would rather take my eyes out with a spoon than do that all over again."

"That bad?"

"No," he said, "I just don't like talking about myself."

"That's all you did?" Vejiita nodded. "What did you say?"

"As little as possible." He looked up and down the street, waiting for a familiar vehicle to turn around the corner. "I suppose I should have said more but there wasn't a lot of time to really make my point, with the questions he asked."

"He just interviewed you?"

"No. Are you my ride home?" he said after a few minutes.

"Huh? Yeah, I am. Get in the fucking car." Craig stood up and waited for Vejiita to follow him. But he just shook his head and smirked. "No?"

"Of course I'm not getting in a car with you, you moron, never again." Craig shrugged.

"Okay, fine, you caught me. That girl told me to tell you to come home somehow. Like, a bus or walking."

Vejiita stood up and walked away from Craig. Vejiita was disgusted. He was disgusted with himself and what was happening, sick of Craig and his stupidity and how everyone was going to treat him and how everything was falling apart. His life that he hadn't lived was falling apart and it was his fault. He wasn't sure how to take it.

He had walked down the block by this time and now he found himself sitting on another bench. Craig had followed him but gazed at the displays in the window of the building instead of waiting for a bus with Vejiita. He hated to admit it, but Craig was an interesting subject. Saiyajin, sure, why not? But he was like Kakarotto — it was all in his blood. He was so screwed up, somehow, and had been to so many places that race didn't matter to him any more. He was just a crazy guy who was too strong for his own good but didn't have a clue didn't care to get one, either.

Craig could be closed-lipped in an irritating and almost teasing manner. Only after he had roomed with Vejiita for a year was the subject of his survival of Vejiita-sei's destruction was brought up. "I slept through it," he had said.

A long time after that, however, Craig said out of the blue, "I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you to get all mad." Vejiita had been on the floor with his legs crossed, staring intently at a hundred differently-colored tablets scattered out on a glossy magazine page. Craig's drugs and Vejiita's drugs, all mixed together in what could be a dangerous amalgam. Vejiita only volunteered to sort them out because he didn't want to lose his life by mixing medications like his roommate did sometimes.

"What are you talking about?" Vejiita snapped, glancing up.

"Why I'm here today instead of floating around as space dust. You still curious?" He seemed nervous about something. Vejiita straightened and stretched, pushing the papers and pills away to take a short break.

"Yeah. Yes, I am. What, then?"

Craig started right off blaming his family. His father specifically, then he blamed Vejiita's father and family. "No loyalty. We didn't try to kill anyone, we just pledged jack shit. They weren't okay with that, Vejiita." So Craig and his father and a few other family members were exiled to a certain undisturbed planet far enough away from Vejiitasei to not be in the thoughts of another soldier of the race. Eventually they found a way off, through Freeza's orders of planet purging, no doubt. Craig didn't really know what happened to the rest of his family. He just woke up and no one was around. He never had a strong urge to go find them, he told Vejiita. No one he knew had that urge.

Vejiita hadn't said anything back then but had given Craig the cold shoulder for a few weeks. The funny thing about that confession was that Vejiita had never thought about it before. He was only remembering it now. But... it wasn't a foreign memory, misplaced and belong to another.

It was his memory now.