Warnings: slavery, abuse, rape, mpregs, kawaiiness, LEMON, angst...

Rating: NC17

Disclaimers: Now really...hands up everyone who believes I own DBZ or am profiting in any way from this work of fan fiction. Anyone? Anyone? Buller? *smirks* Thought so. The Lady Herself and Mijuku are the exclusive property of my beloved twin/fiancé/whateverelseshemaybe Cleodasia. Both are included in this universe at THEIR insistence. *grumbles at the smug pair* Sage belongs to me...or was it the other way around? *ponders* Don’t fuck with him, kay? But do enjoy the fic!!!

Always for Dasia. Always and always and always...with lemon cookies on top!!! (feeling a bit mushy tonight Talon?)

With crumbly thanks to my beloved danglemate and devoted beta reader bakayaro onna. Oi...she does AMAZING artwork, and has devoted some of her precious time to illustrating this humble ficage of mine!!! There’s a frontpiece for this fic on my page at For-chan’s site... (From For-Chan: We’re on For-Chan’s site! Actually, click here to see all of bakayaro onna’s cover art) if you’ve not already seen it, check it out, and send her feedback!!! (and sporks)

Restraints and Liberations

By Talon

Chapter 7

Illness

Turles pressed a worried hand to Sage’s forehead as the boy slept deeply. He frowned, still far too hot. In a few hours, they would be in range to speak with Vegeta-sei, and Turles had hoped the bug Sage had picked up on the space station would have worked its way through his system by now. However, he hadn’t figured on the boy being so susceptible. He himself had had a mild fever for less than a day, a general feeling of malaise, but nothing more, and before a full day had been completed, he was perfectly fine. Such was the Saiyjin immune system. But Sage...Turles hadn’t counted on just how...fragile the child still was. Sage’s fever had started the same day as Turles’ had; only a couple of days ago, but from the start it was much more worrisome. Accompanying the fever were chills, wracking coughs, a slight rash and more frightening, violent vomiting.

The vomiting had ceased, thankfully, when nothing more was left in the boy’s system to throw back up. He was managing to keep down small amounts of water, but not a great deal more since...since...Turles didn’t even want to THINK about what he had had to do. It seemed too great a betrayal, but given the situation there had been no other choice. As he brought the blankets back up to cover the shivering, feverish child, he forced himself to look at the Sage’s right ankle. Shining in the muted light of the cabin, a ki-restraint cuff currently ringed the slight joint.

The high fever made Sage delirious, and dangerous. Turles had tried to keep the child calm, but when he nearly blasted a hole in the hull fighting off the memory of a particularly violent nature, Turles knew he had to do something drastic. The problem with the ki-restraint was while it suppressed Sage’s ki, it also suppressed a portion of his physical strength and resilience. And Sage didn’t have much of either to draw on just now. He was certain the restraint was drawing out Sage’s illness, but he didn’t know what else he could do.

He yawned and stretched, his tail unkinking itself as he stood. He hadn’t had much sleep the past two days himself, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He checked Sage one more time, satisfied the child was deeply asleep and wandered over to the foodstore. He knew what they were dealing with, though it didn’t help much. After Sage had nearly blown a hole in the ship, and been ki restrained, he had contacted the space station and talked with the Lady. Yes, there was a strain of Cjudial flu going round the station just now, for the most part not terribly dangerous, just watch the fever. There had been other news, however; they had rooted out the guard who had let the Inndruds onto the station. The guard was currently in the same situation as the Inndruds, alive and being held. Turles told her to go ahead and deal with the guard as she would, he was certain the Royal House would only be interested in the one who had actually hurt Sage. Mijuku had spoken with him briefly, hoping to be able to talk to Sage, but the child had been unconscious at the time.

He sighed as he settled at the table to eat. They had had a couple of fairly good days before Sage had gotten sick. The growing bond definitely helped in handling the boy. When the child woke from a nightmare, Turles was able to get him to tell what it was he had been dreaming of. And after the initial withdrawing after the incident at the station, Sage had started coming out, showing more of his former side. Possibly he was just comfortable being back on the ship with Turles and no one else, but even if that were so, it was still an improvement.

Chewing, Turles glanced at the empty chair. Hn…Sage’s sketchpad. Shrugging, he picked it up and began flipping through it. He was pleasantly surprised at the sheer quality of what Sage had been, as he had called it “scribbling” the past several days. There were drawings of his siblings at various ages, one of the twins in particular caught his eyes, ‘ten thwacking Tora with a stuffed Oozaruu plushie, Gohan in what appeared to be his first training session, his Sebba, both his grandsires, Vegeta no Ou and Bardock, Radditz...Turles flipped another page and saw himself looking back at him. He turned another, and another, for pages it went on, him from various angles and positions, light and shadow varying. He was shocked. Not shocked in a bad way, he was pleased, but a bit concerned. Most of the pictures were pleasant, or neutral, but there were a few, apparently drawn after the first disastrous ki-control lessons in which he was portrayed in a less than flattering manner. He hadn’t realized then, just how frightened the boy had been. Not only of his anger, but of his displeasure. Hn...it did bear thinking about.

He flipped the page and found himself staring into the deep, intimidating eyes of the Bloody Prince, Vegeta no Ouji, the boy’s father. It seemed to have been Sage’s intent to portray his father as accurately as possible, and damned if he hadn’t done it. Turles half expected the sketch to speak, it was that lifelike! It was also, Turles noted, the only rendering of the Saiyjin no Ouji in the sketch pad.

Even though Turles knew why Sage was frightened his father would not want him anymore, he got the feeling there was more to it. He knew the Ouji was smitten with his children, and had always been inordinately proud of his first born. And from all he knew of the family scuttlebutt, the two were close, being nearly identical in both looks and demeanor. Was that why? Sage was afraid to return home because rejection from his father would hurt so badly? He didn’t know. And the only person who DID know wasn’t in any condition to talk about it just now.

He smiled slightly as he came to the last picture, a half-finished drawing of an adorably pregnant Mijuku, when a groan from the bed got his attention. Shoveling the last bite of his meal in his mouth, he hastened to see what Sage needed.

The boy’s eyes were tightly shut and sweat beaded his forehead as he struggled with something unseen. Gently, Turles pushed his jagged bangs from the sweaty forehead and called out to him softly.

“Sage, what is it, chibi?”

“Must...get...up...Master...summons...no more...please...hurts...”

Turles nearly lost it. Sage wasn’t awake after all, caught in the web of memories of slavery. “Chukra, you’re not with your Master now, you’re safe, wake up, baby and tell me what you need.”

A slight wrinkle appeared between Sage’s heavy brows. “M...m...Master?”

“No, Sage, it’s Turles, remember? You’re on my ship and we’re going home, to Vegeta-sei.”

“Can’t go home...can’t face him...hate me...”

“He won’t hate you, wake up, Sage.” Carefully, he put his arm behind the chibi’s back and sat him up. “You’re soaked to the skin, Sage,” murmured Turles as he stripped the sleep shirt off Sage’s slight form. “I think another bath will help, come on.” He picked the child up and headed into the bathing chamber, Sage’s head lolling against his chest as he ran the water tepid. Easing Sage’s loose pants off, he gently sat the boy in the water and began wiping him down with a wet bathing cloth. Sage stirred slightly and turned fever-bright eyes at Turles.

“You’re wrong,” he said, interrupted by a harsh coughing fit which lasted nearly a minute.

“What am I wrong about, Sage?” asked Turles quietly as he wet Sage’s sweat dampened hair with clear, lukewarm water.

“You’re wrong about him hating me,” whispered Sage, coughing again and shivering. “He won’t be able to help but hate me.”

“What do you mean, baby?” asked Turles as he leaned the boy forward to rub cleanser into his spikes.

For a long while, Sage didn’t answer, and Turles thought he might have slipped back into sleep, so he was careful to support the child as he finished washing him, lifting him smoothly from the tub and wrapping him in a soft, drying cloth, when Sage turned his endless eyes back to his caretaker.

“I hate me,” said Sage softly. “Papa won’t be able to not hate me. We’re too much alike.”

Turles was stunned into silence for long moments. He quite literally did not know what to say to that statement. Finally, he opened his mouth to reply, and looked down at the still naked boy wrapped up in his arms. Sage had fallen asleep again, more easily this time, as though he had gotten something heavy off his mind, though Turles suspected it had more to do with the transitory lowering of his fever.

With traitorous tears stinging his eyes, Turles managed to dress Sage in a clean sleeping outfit, thanking silently Mijuku’s thoroughness during their shopping spree on the space station, and slid him carefully back beneath the blankets on the bunk. For a long while, he sat there, watching the boy sleep, occasionally wincing as the child coughed long, rough gasps, but not waking.

Finally realizing he did have work to do, he sighed and leaned close to Sage’s ear, breathing in his sweet, light child’s scent, tainted with the acrid smell of fever and sickness and whispered, “He won’t hate you, chibi, and you should not hate yourself. Nothing that happened was your fault, chibi, remember that.” He brushed his lips gently against Sage’s flushed cheek, and stood to do a systems check.

Soon, he thought to himself. Soon I’ll be able to talk to them. He glanced back at the bunk as he settled into the cockpit. How, he wondered. How can he hate himself? Sighing, he began running his checklist.

An hour later, Turles was staring at his com console. He had been in range to speak directly to Vegeta-sei for the past ten minuets, but still had not made any move to do so. He wasn’t sure what was staying his hand. He knew perfectly well how distraught the royal family was over Sage’s disappearance, how desperately they wanted him back, and how Sage, even though his denial, wanted his family. So why hadn’t he placed the call? He rubbed his face tiredly. The damned bond. Once he made the call, Sage wouldn’t be his anymore. Not that he had been in the first place, but...Turles shook his head. He BELONGS with his family, he reminded himself sternly. He NEEDS them. Resolutely, he reached for the keypad, and stopped as a tiny voice inside him needled him. He belongs with you too. He needs you. Baka.

He refused to consider it. He knew his duty. Scowling at no one and nothing in particular, he firmly began punching in the code to route his call directly to the secure line in the family’s suite. Adding his personal password labeling him as a family member, he sat back and watched the vid screen, almost hoping no one would be there to answer.

~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~

Kakkarott was nearly finished gluing Gohan’s current favorite book back together. ‘ten had ripped it in half that morning during a fit rivaling his father’s famous temper tantrums. Sighing, he glanced at the chrono on the wall. The boys were in class, Vegeta was in a council meeting. For the first time in a long time he had not been required to attend the meeting as well. While council meetings sometimes droned on to the point of mind-numbing complacency Kakkarott found himself actually feeling bored puttering around the house this particular day. Setting the newly repaired book down to dry, he stretched and wandered into his and Vegeta’s bedroom to change clothes. Maybe he could get someone to spar with him in one of the workout arenas. Radditz would probably be around. He pulled off his tunic and grabbed a bodysuit, stretching the black material over his naked form. Instinctively he reached out for his children, brushing their minds softly, reassuringly as they studied, or in Tora’s case, argued with their tutor. He reached for the persistent ache in the back of his head that was Sage and touched it, causing painfully sweet memories to flood him. It was strange, but he felt as though Sage were closer than he had been since he was kidnapped. But, he sighed, it was probably his imagination. He was about to walk out the door when the vid consol beeped.

He considered ignoring it, but the password came through, indicating it was a family member. Sighing, he sat down in front of the screen and keyed in his access code, wondering who it could be. The screen fuzzed for a moment, then abruptly he was looking at his reflection.

Damnit, that always happened when Turles or his father, Bardock, called. It ALWAYS disoriented him, for just a moment. He had no doubt Goten would affect him the same way when he got older.

A genuine smile played on his lips as he greeted his cousin. “Turles, long time no see! Heard you were on a gel run, what’s up?”

“Cousin,” greeted Turles respectfully. “Are you sitting down?”

Kakkarott frowned. “I am.”

“Good.” Turles paused.

“Turles, if you have something to say, spit it out,” said Kakkarott, bordering on frustration with his nearly identical cousin.

Black eyes matching his own in color, depth and intensity met his across the view screen. “Kakkarott-sama, I have found him.”

Kakkarott stared at the screen in disbelief. “Found...found who, Turles?” he managed in a weak voice.

Turles took a deep breath. “Kakkarott-sama, I have found your son, Sage. I have him with me, now. He’s coming home, cousin.”

There was no reply.

Kakkarott had fainted.

To be continued...