Summary: Trunks' mental decomposition, accidental drug overdose, and hospitalization shook his family to its core. Vegeta realized different tools are required to help his son recover from traumatic exposures to the prince's darkest memories.

Tights lingered in spite of herself. Unlike her mother and sister, she didn't chatter through nervousness, narrating every anxious blood pressure spike. But Vegeta felt the concern weighing on her, annoying him. Of all people, he needed Tights to hold firm like Bulma did countless times.

"I'm…leaving now, Vegeta."

"I didn't expect you to stay."

"Remember what I said."

"You say lots of things I try to forget, woman."

"Damn you." Tights circled in front, rechecking electrodes on his chair and head. "Maybe you aren't ready."

"Stop," he said, clutching her arm. "You… know better. From the beginning, Bulma cursed the ground I walked on with every project she thought I wanted or needed - or what I demanded. Listening to her fret for weeks or months felt like hot needles in my eyes, but not once did she ever disappoint. Neither did your father. They were much alike."

With that Vegeta released her, staring straight ahead. Tights wanted to kick and hug him. Perhaps this is how her sister felt daily - and why those two fell in love with each other. Challenges were sweet nectar for them. Bulma saw the whole person - and now, Tights did.

Vegeta, the mature man in front of her, behaved like a reserved champion - with a healthy dose of arrogance - and yet showed profound vulnerability.

She stepped back. "Yes, they were very much alike."

"I know that tone of voice," Vegeta said, blocking his face protectively. "That's all your mother. Don't you dare kiss me. Please, gods, how much more torture must I endure?"

"I wouldn't be mushy if you didn't say mushy things. Maybe it's old age on both sides."

"Hn. I am not old. Again, speak for yourself."

"Right," Tights replied, smiling. "I stand corrected, elder."

She gave a thumbs up before leaving, following family tradition for wishing good luck in difficult times. Vegeta may not have been able to see all of the gesture, he recognized the enough of it. He nodded as his right hand tapped on the arm rest. Veins on his temples pulsed.

"Orion."

"Welcome, sir," a subdued male voice hummed. "How may I help you?"

"Initiate simulator sequence one, H-O-P-E."

"Sequence activating."

Pride played a lesser role when Vegeta refused help before. He knew Dr. Brief also lived for challenges, like him, and would leave no stone unturned perfecting an artificial intelligence system powerful enough to wrestle through Vegeta's complex mind without hurting him. Vegeta was no different from others carrying secrets and shame. No one wants their keloid-marked soul ripped open in front of another for dissection.

Trunks certainly didn't fare well from seeing the aftermath, the prince thought.

His eyes glossed as the electrodes beeped and buzzed. His mind drew inward and projected outward as the surroundings transformed into a lush, countrified milieu. His eyesight had cleared in this realm.

"Do you know where you are, Prince Vegeta?" a tiny brown-skinned woman standing beside him asked.

He grunted. Of course he knew.

"In your mind, what brings you here today?"

"Aren't you the therapist?" Vegeta responded irritably. "You tell me."

"Let's try this again," the woman said evenly, interlacing her fingers. "Would you like a few minutes to consider what we should discuss? Your attitude won't make me avoid asking tough questions, but you are welcome to leave at any time."

Vegeta gave her a withering side-eyed glance. "Gods, you sound like my wife. Fine then. This is - was - my home, Planet Vegeta."

"You mentioned your wife. Would you like to discuss her?"

"No," Vegeta said, walking forward. "We can start here. I suppose my mind lands here because… I needed a safe place to be, as ridiculous as that sounds. I was so young when everything changed. Maybe I'm idealizing this place somewhat."

"Why is that? Nothing you're saying sounds ridiculous. You are judging your reactions rather early."

Vegeta's rational mind called for patience. His primeval "lizard brain" felt perturbed, however. His virtual therapist looked familiar but he couldn't figure out why. "With this line of questioning I'll be near death before discovering the meaning of life."

"You don't have to be. You know yourself well. Accepting the results of your actions, and others, is why you're here. Furthermore, I already know many things about you, including your desire to help your son."

"Tights programmed this sequence for that too?" Vegeta grumbled aloud. "I preferred to discuss that when I felt ready, which I'm not right now. What else do you know?"

"Your wife also added ample notes about you in the database over the years."

"Oh that's just something next to wonderful." Vegeta sighed, shaking his head. "Damn it. Maybe I really shouldn't do this."

He shouldn't have been surprised. Bulma's persistence matched her wholehearted emotion for him - as well as her belief in him. After all, she named the sequence "hope."

"What did you expect?" the woman asked, attempting to comfort him. "You cannot be honest with yourself without proper tools."

"Don't touch me." Vegeta flinched, pushing her hand aside. "I don't need that. Listening is as close to reality as I prefer."

"I apologize, Prince Vegeta. I do not want you to feel uncomfortable with me."

"You don't have to call me prince," he said as they reappeared in front of the royal palace. "We're the only ones here, and you aren't Saiyan. That honorific means more to others in my life now - or it did before the worst of my early existence was laid bare."

"Are you saying you don't care about -"

Vegeta held up his hand, shushing her. "I'm saying this will never be my inheritance - ruling here. Even if I could restore every Saiyan that Frieza murdered after destroying my planet, that would not change what happened to me. For all of my strength and hard work, I would be considered weak-minded for being conscripted as long as I was under his rule."

Vegeta's companion followed him into the palace. "You believe what happened to you was your fault? You were only a boy."

"Of course no one would dare say it to my face now," Vegeta replied dispassionately. "I am rather intimidating - and good at following through on threats."

"You aren't answering the question."

Vegeta's face flushed from anger. "I was a Saiyan boy reared to believe in my exceptionality! Frieza recognized that I was special, despite his cruelty and mind games. Why else would he isolate me like that? He…he loved and hated me, as insane as that sounds."

"Why do you think that sounds insane?"

Vegeta didn't answer, choosing instead to walk further into the empty palace. He recognized a familiar craving he'd hadn't experienced in years. He rested on a wall covered with red fabric, recalling unrivaled drug highs that once fueled the excesses of his bloodlust and violence.

How could he allow himself to lose control like that? But he had been drugged into addiction. How did his so-called attendants, Nappa and Raditz, allow it?

"Why wouldn't they?" he muttered to himself. "They were ruthless too. Maybe they liked seeing me like that…made them feel better knowing that I could get through it… and become tougher. Their hopes rested on me being that…way. Strong."

Worse, Vegeta remembered Frieza's syrupy voice praising him through the highs, pushing him further into the "primitive." Arousal and horror coalesced.

Watching him from a control room, Tights eyes darted between monitors showing his vital signs. Worry set in after she noticed sweat on his forehead. What did he see?

Vegeta's pupils widened to the size of saucers.

"Are you all right?" the female companion asked. "To whom are you speaking?"

"I'm fine," he replied, staggering away. "I'm fine." His intense desire for the drug was inextricably linked with offenses committed by and against him.

But he was a Saiyan. He had aggressive qualities all along - but more so than others of his kind? The king certainly wanted to breed and cultivate his son in that direction. Right? That's why Frieza wanted the child prince. That's why he had been handed over.

The drugs honed what came naturally.

Would his father be disappointed by his weakness?

But Vegeta overcame the drug's insidious effects to stand on his own. High or sober, all deeds committed could not be blamed on anything else.

But the prince eventually felt remorse for his transgressions. He wasn't primitive. Saiyans had been a mess of complexities, but they weren't primitive.

Not like others considered them to be.

Not…anymore.

The prince now believed unequivocally that his father would be disappointed. King Vegeta III, the unapologetic son of war and dominance, would have likely disowned him for accepting this fate, Super Saiyan or not, living on Earth.

Vegeta thought he stopped caring about that. He had for a long time, sheltering his heart and wounded spirit with his family's love and kindness. But now…

He was "just a man" now.

But he wasn't.

So many contradictions.

How could he insult the memory of the woman he loved - whose loved saved him - by entertaining these thoughts?

Vegeta touched his wedding ring. "I'm sorry. I changed. I'm not betraying you."

His vision clouded entering the palace's great hall. He sat on the hulking throne, clutching armrests draped with crimson cloth. Borderline delirium dissolved into emotional detachment and lethargy. A blank stare replaced anxiety on his face.

"Vegeta, stay present with me," the woman said softly. "Can you do that?"

He recoiled from her tiny hand's approach. "I said don't touch me! How many times must I repeat myself?! All my life others tried imposing their wills on me, and I fought back. I made many mistakes and wasn't always successful, but damn it, I fought back! I had been left to fend for myself, and I'm still here!"

"You are," the woman nodded, validating his response. "Can you sit with those feelings?"

"Sit with them?" Vegeta asked, laughing darkly. Her question offended him. "They bathe in my blood. Others too."

His eyes wandered around the room, trying to reconcile its lavishness with his inner desolation, before landing on King Vegeta's towering portrait.

Why wasn't his mother in that picture? Why didn't she have a separate portrait? His father and Nappa said she died from natural causes during the prince's incubation period. Now he questioned that story's truthfulness.

"You are angry with your father."

Vegeta's eyebrows jerked. "I have never expressed anger about father to anyone, not even to my wife. I know what I am here for, but even I, the non-earthling, know this line of psychological questioning is cliché."

"But you clearly harbor much anger toward him, yes?"

"I do not." Vegeta crossed his arms, exposing the Saiyan crest etched into his left bicep. "I never have."

"Then why have you led us to this room?" the woman asked. "Because you still long to rule over the kingdom which your father's actions ultimately denied you?"

"I already said this would never be my inheritance," the prince replied, staring unkindly at the king's portrait and his questioner. "My father's kingdom got caught in quicksand, which he couldn't extract our people from - or me - before it was too late. He originally accepted Frieza's colonization of our people from necessity and self-preservation."

A mosaic skylight above illumined King Vegeta's visage, casting spiked shadows of the man's stately battle armor and hair around the room. The prince felt his remaining vigor evaporate watching the scene. His eyes shut sluggishly from the burden.

"What did you mean, then, when you said you were left to fend for yourself?"

"I'm through talking," Vegeta replied wearily. "I'm through."

The woman bent down next to the throne. "I would be remiss if I didn't ask you to return and talk with me again. You've done hard work in a short period, which says much about your impressive determination. Your son is fortunate to have a father willing -"

"I don't need your reassurance about my determination," Vegeta said, peering into her eyes. "Orion, deactivate sequence."

"Sequence deactivated, Prince Vegeta. Therapeutic session one logged."

Tights hurriedly entered the room. Her appearance masked anxiety that Vegeta sensed instantly, despite the woman's best effort to steel her emotions.

"I told you I would be fine," he said as his partial blindness returned. "Take a breath. I can remove the electrodes."

"Not yet," Tights said, handing him a towel to wipe sweat off. "Your heart rate is racing, blood pressure is low, and you're pale, so shut the fuck up and be still."

She stopped short of suggesting that he wait before another session. Bulma wouldn't tolerate the thought. They supported Vegeta doing this.

"I'm… not… human, remember?" Vegeta said, snapping his fingers three times. "Now move!"

A robotic trash can hurtled past Tights, into which Vegeta promptly vomited. He lowered himself onto the floor, throwing up until he finally dry-heaved.

Tights wisely decided not to touch him. Instead, she brought water for him to drink and activated the lab's shower.

"You're going to train, I assume."

Vegeta's head reclined on the lab chair's edge. "When my stomach settles, yes."

"Overall, how would you describe your mood?

Trunks stared intently at thin grey-haired man, who resembled Bulma's father.

Then he laughed.

"What's so funny?" the bespectacled gentleman asked, winking impishly. "Am I not attractive enough to meet your standards for therapeutic assistance?"

The two were trekking around the forest Trunks' mind conjured. Warming energy seemed to flow from the ground through his bare feet and legs.

He stopped, touching a tree trunk where his name had been scrawled. "I suspect my mother and aunt programmed this device not to ask Vegeta that first."

"Do you not want to answer the question?"

"I don't want to judge father anymore. I hadn't for so long. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He has been as honest as he could be with me. I encouraged him to speak as much truth about himself as he could to my children! He's a good man, and he loves me."

After blowing smoke from his nostrils, the man replied, "I see your compassion for him, Trunks. Vegeta recognizes it, I'm sure, even after everything you've been through. But you must have compassion for yourself."

"I have taken care of myself. I am a decent husband and father. I have tried hard. But like I told my kids, who have been angry and confused, we're all fallible."

"You wouldn't be here if merely 'taking care of yourself' sufficed," his companion replied. "I suspect Bulma and Vegeta didn't know how much you mentally beat up on yourself. You were tough, smart, and a fantastic fighter as a kid. Then you grew up to be everything most hopeful parents wish for - and I mean everything."

"I suppose," Trunks answered, tying his hair back.

"You don't believe it?" the man asked, relighting his pipe. "At some point you must see that you are enough, Trunks - just as you are. Maybe you and Vegeta should work on recognizing that individually, in order to heal together."

"My father's fighting achievements are his and mom's. He gained so much wisdom from them - and her. He doesn't compare himself to others negatively anymore. That's what got him in trouble. He learns from others to be better. He is the most strong-willed man I will ever know. It's...just that there was so much ugliness before now."

"Let Vegeta speak his own truth, son. This is about yours."

Trunks nodded. "Orion, deactivate sequence."

"Sequence deactivated, Trunks. Session logged."

Trunks recalled a memory of Vegeta's longing after being handed to Frieza. The anguished child felt weak both as a Saiyan and as King Vegeta's heir apparent. The prince never shared the extent of his devastation over losing his father - and the role Vegeta thought he played in that outcome.

Trunks' eyes opened as Tights sat next to him.

"How did you do, kiddo?"

He thumped his aunt's nose before kissing her cheek. "Let's hope father and I can pull ourselves together before he's a great-grandfather."

"You're both have steel in those Saiyan bones," Tights said, hugging him. Her upturned thumb wiggled at a recessed wall camera behind them, triggering a series of beeps broadcast to another part of the lab.

Vegeta grunted at the trite comparison, shutting off the audio-video broadcast. Steel, she says. Stronger materials exist. He just wanted to hear his son's voice, even if he couldn't see him completely.

He allowed himself to feel hopeful.

Notes: Thank you for sharing your thoughts on the last chapter. They were heartfelt and extremely helpful. Also, I fixed a few gaps here regarding Vegeta's eyesight, so thanks for understanding.