Azher, never one to wake gracefully, regained consciousness with a startled gasp swiftly followed by a curse as he sat up too quickly, pain hitting him in a palpable wave. He pressed a cautious hand to his head, almost certain he should be able to feel it swelling and contracting in time with the sickening throbbing inside his skull.

Breathing a bit harshly, he squinted at his surroundings…well, familiar, at least. He was still in the palace, but…something wasn't quite right about that. He knew this place, this was his own bed in his own room in the…the wrong palace.

These were the quarters he'd kept when he'd been working as Denatu's informant on Abeter.

A brief surge of memory corresponded with another sharp pain in his head. That shape-shifter had brought him to Abeter…but why? Execution immediately came to mind, but were that the case, there would have been no reason to have kept him alive this long; he would have simply been killed along with Dolmit.

Azher shut his eyes briefly in recognition of what, among the Roc, passed for grief. Dolmit was a worthy fighter, just a bit impulsive; that had been his undoing. The intruder hadn't physically attacked until Dolmit had rushed in and tried to sound an alarm. Azher had tried to interfere, only to be knocked back as his now-angered assailant dispatched Dolmit with an efficiency that was frankly disturbing. The fighting superiority of the shape-shifters was well-documented, but…

Azher froze, straining his ears. A soft sound…movement in the hall outside his room; a polite knock at the door. Azher scowled and shoved to the edge of the bed, biting back a reflexive snarl at the pain now making itself known in every region of his body.

"Who's there?" he croaked. The door swung open slowly, but the visitor—that same damned shape-shifter—remained outside, looking Azher over with a benign smile.

"I am sorry I had to do that," he murmured, "but your friend was going to prove troublesome, and I didn't have enough room in my pod to bring you both back with me. You are more important, anyhow." He paused. "May I come in? I wish to speak with you."

"You're doing just fine from where you are," Azher growled. The shape-shifter nodded once.

"As you wish, warrior, though I should probably tell you at this point that you have nothing to fear from me. I am to talk with you, nothing more."

"And I said you can damn well keep your distance." The stranger chuckled.

"You Roc do get irritable when you're in pain, don't you? No matter. You are at least able to think, yes? Excellent. Make yourself comfortable, then. I suspect we have a great deal to discuss."

The shape-shifter leaned, nonchalant, on the doorjamb, his long tail absently sweeping across the floor behind him. He watched Azher get settled with considerable interest. When he spoke, it was with a businesslike tone at odds with his casual posture.

"You have been an extremely industrious spy, Azher, but careless. You didn't even try to hide the fact that you were rooting through the old classified libraries."

"Spy? What the hell are you talking about? Those records weren't classified; I didn't have to hack anything to get into them."

"Well, of course not. You were authorized by your…king." The shape-shifter smiled a bit more broadly at that, apparently finding something highly amusing about it. "As his advisor, you were permitted to view such files, but I am guessing you did not know that records were kept of your activities. Perhaps that could explain your apparently lax attitude toward security." He gave Azher a brief chiding look. "Really, though, I should think you would have been more vigilant."

"I wasn't trying to hide anything, idiot. I'm not a spy."

"Yes, yes, I know, you're sworn to silence. I wouldn't recommend that route too highly, however, given your condition." Azher stared, confused.

"Am I speaking the wrong language or are you just dense? I'm not sworn to secrecy or any other damn thing…I'm not anyone's spy. Who did you think I was working for?"

"Your king, of course…you have sworn allegiance to him, have you not?"

"Well, yes, long ago, but I don't' think it qualifies as spying if you're working for your own ruler." The shape-shifter's eyes widened slightly along with his smile.

"Ah, it seems you're still unclear on exactly what happened on this planet all that time ago. That…yes, that explains quite a bit. I take it you never thought to question your king's requests for this information?"

"He didn't request it." The shape-shifter frowned momentarily.

"He didn't….don't be an idiot. Lying does you no good if you don't have an alibi."

"I'm not lying." A small, forbearing sigh and a condescending glare.

"Then why were you looking up classified documents?" Azher shrugged.

"For my own edification; I was curious." The shape-shifter grunted, plainly disgusted now.

"You expect me to believe that? Don't insult your own intelligence by being such a fool. Why don't you just tell me what I want to know? Cooperate and you may even get out of this alive."

"I am cooperating, you dolt. I hate to debunk your precious conspiracy theory, but I wasn't doing anything incriminating with the information I collected. I'm not what you're looking for."

"And what makes you so damned sure of what we're looking for? You assume a great deal, for one who knows so little of what is really going on."

"Really going on? What do you mean?" The shape-shifter grinned a little cruelly.

"You'll find out soon enough. If you'll excuse me," he said with a charming bow, "I have a preliminary report to make."

Shutting and locking the heavy door behind him, he left Azher alone with his pain and confusion.

* * * * *

Trunks drew the sheet up to Gohan's chin lightly, so as not to disturb his sleep. He'd passed out moments after the ambulance had left with Tenshinhan. Gohan had refused to accompany the human on the journey, choosing to stay at Capsule Corp. He was plainly in poor condition, and Krillin(having already settled Juuhachigou into one of the other rooms)had protested. Gohan had been too tired to argue, and Trunks interceded on his behalf with a quiet firmness that bade no argument. Gohan stayed, and Krillin had no choice but to accept it, pacing and ranting about irrational Saiyajin.

It was, however, plain to Trunks why Gohan could not be admitted to the hospital. There was simply no guarantee that he wouldn't relapse, and were he to destroy the intensive care unit, packed as it was with Satan City's sick and injured…Trunks shuddered. It was simply not an option.

The Capsule Corporation building had been evacuated immediately following Juuhachigou's escape; only Krillin, Juuhachigou, Gohan and Trunks remained, along with Bulma's ever-present assemblage of helpful robots. This was probably the safest place to keep Gohan for now. It remained to be seen whether his affliction was truly over; Trunks, personally, was skeptical.

Still, he thought, it would at least be of some comfort to Chichi and her family to know that Gohan was alive, even if he looked like he hadn't eaten or slept for weeks. Perhaps Krillin could go and inform Videl and Pan; Chichi would find out when she came back from her dragonball hunt. It might almost be worth going out looking for her just to relay the news, but for the risk involved.

Trunks had no intentions of leaving Capsule Corp. with Gohan and Juuhachigou in residence; it was too dangerous, and while Krillin meant well, he was ill-equipped to do anything should something go wrong.

Not, Trunks reminded himself bitterly, that he could do too much better, but he was the strongest one left now. Goku or Vegeta he was not, but he owed his best to the others. The protection of his family and friends rested on his shoulders. Watching Gohan's face, pale, gaunt, tossing fitfully on the pillow, Trunks felt for a moment nearly crushed by the responsibility.

Abruptly he turned away from Gohan, stalking across the room to glare out of the window. There was no excuse for him to be this weak about it. He'd had his fun, goofing around with Goten, playing childish games. It was now time to put such things behind him and learn to live up to his responsibilities and his heritage.

It was time to grow up and start acting like a damn Saiyajin.

Trunks sighed, face falling into his father's traditional scowl without even realizing it. How in hell had Goku borne this sort of responsibility and still managed to look so happy all the time?

'He had a family to turn to, to be proud of and protect. I…well, I've got Bulma and Bra, and of course I'd protect the others, but…' It just didn't feel the same, at least he suspected it didn't. Even Vegeta, Vegeta for gods' sakes, had managed to have a family of his own, against all reasonable odds. Granted, Trunks had heard plenty often his father cursing that very fact for making him…weak, yes, that was his favorite word for it; weak and soft.

Perhaps it was simply a different sort of strength to be found in solitude, then. It was possible to be strong without having to clutch or lean on anyone else. Yes, that had to be it. Well, if that was truly what was necessary, then so be it.

Trunks straightened, eyes cold, as the sky above turned pitch-black.