Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Sing No Songs ❯ Meetings and pleadings ( Chapter 19 )

AN: So... another chapter. I'm sorry to anyone who's been waiting, or anyone who'd thought this story was abandoned. I have no good excuses, except to say that starting a story is a lot easier for me than finishing it. There will be two more chapters before the end. They are already written, so there will be no more ridiculously long hiatuses :)

 

Chapter 19

 

The room where the Readers had gathered was large and ornamental, designed to impress. It felt like a courtroom with the Readers sitting in a circle, about forty of them, stern and waiting. With those strange black hats, they were like a gathering of sphinxes in front of a grave. Rok had described the meeting procedures to Bra and Levi in advance. He had also described the other rooms around the Node, rooms filled with rugs and plants and private corners for the unstructured meetings of day-to-day. He had made it sound like fun, people lounging on couches, ideas and ideals bouncing back and forth.

 

One of the chairs was taller than the others, and Bra’s gaze was drawn to the robed woman sitting there. She was old, human-looking except for her size. Rok had called her Reader Alma Tsan, explaining that she was the spokesperson, the one who kept the order during meetings. Bra felt inclined to like her, perhaps influenced by the obvious respect Rok had shown her. Rok had described most of the Readers, and looking around the circle she felt like she knew most of them.

 

She glanced at Rok, who was sitting between a furry Reader who had to be Reader Azlet and a small, plump one who Bra was sure was Reader Ollera. The things Rok had told her about Ollera had been entertaining, and Bra reflected that a lot of Rok’s descriptions had been designed to make the Readers seem like persons, like impulsive, thoughtful, stubborn, all different not-her-enemies persons. Rok looked stern and distant, not a trace of a smile on his pale face. He had warned her not to look at him too often, not to give the impression that she was following his instructions.

 

Don’t worry, Bra thought. I won’t be following anyone’s instructions. Of course, she would have felt much better if she’d known exactly what she wanted to say. She had one idea, one thing to try, but if that didn’t work out she really didn’t know what to do.

 

“Good morning,” the old woman Alma Tsan said. “Today we have a full meeting before the Galaxy. Everything we say will be heard, everything considered.” The words had the ring of ceremony, but she made it sound effortless, like a conversation. “We have two guests.” A nod to Bra and Levi. The spokesperson had blue eyes, and she looked on Bra with a distant sort of kindness. “I’ll ask you to tell us your names and purpose, and remember to value truthfulness above all else.”

 

Every eye turned to Bra, and just like that she was expected to make her case.

 

“Um…” She took a deep breath. Straightened her back. “I’m Bra Monique Briefs.” Levi sat tense and silent by her side. “This…” she smiled at the boy, quick and proud. Don’t try to hide – that was her strategy. “This is Levi Briefs. We’re here to free Vegeta. My father.”

 

Voices rose to interrupt her, but she kept right on talking and soon the room fell silent again. “A few days ago I hadn’t heard about the Galaxy. The Law.” She opened her hands to gesture. “I had no idea. It was like you came out of nowhere and took my father way. But I understand. I understand that you have a reason. I understand why he’s in... in prison.” She wasn’t angry at them, she told herself. “I’ve been reading the information you sent out. The things he’s done. Some of it I knew, most of it I’d never heard about before.” All of it heartrending, unfathomable. She paused and let them see the rejection on her face, the grief and horror just thinking about it. She made a small reaching-out gesture with her hands and got several sympathetic looks in return.

 

“And yet you seek to free him!”

 

Well, not all of them sympathetic. The Reader who had spoken was the small, round one next to Rok. Reader Ollera. His eyes were wide with upset. He wasn’t alone. All around them Readers were glaring and frowning.

 

“Yes,” Bra said. “I will try.”

 

“How?” Fast and aggressive.

 

“By talking to you.” His question baffled her, she told herself. In a way it did. “You’re not my enemies. I’m sure you will listen to what I have to say.”

 

They must think her unbearably naïve. Or a liar. She met the eyes of a white-clad young woman right across from her, on the other side of the circle. Reader Idann. Rok had described her as someone that could easily be swayed by sympathy. His descriptions hadn’t been very flattering, but he had made Bra suspect that here was a potential ally.

 

“There is nothing you can say.” It was Reader Alma Tsan, her voice gentle. “Nothing will help, no explanations, no excuses. Vegeta must die. It is the Law.”

 

“I want a judging,” Bra said. “Isn’t that how it works? Only the Law may sway the Law, and the Galaxy is the one who judges. But you’re the ones who find out about things. You learn the truth, right?” She held up her hands, stilled herself and pulled her thoughts together. “I’m saying that the Law about Vegeta is too old. It’s been decades. Does your Law take into account the fact that my father turned against Frieza, that he’s one of the reasons why Frieza is now dead?”

 

A small ripple. They hadn’t known.

 

“Majin Buu,” she said. “Heard about him? I’m sure you have. Do you have any idea how close he came to destroying us all? Do you know who stopped him? Do you? There’s so much you don’t know about my father.”

 

Most of the Readers wore hard, unyielding expressions. It was disheartening. She knew how rarely people changed their opinions from one minute to another. It usually took a lot of time. Yet these people prided themselves on being the eyes and the ears of the Galaxy. They’d want to be sure they were doing the right thing, she could believe that.

 

“There are two things I’d like you to consider. First,” she took a deep breath, “my father was a child when he was put into Frieza’s service. He had to experience tremendous pain and loss. All of his people were… were annihilated by Frieza’s hand.”

 

She felt a familiar tightness, deep inside. She was rousing old shadows. Not her own, and yet they had been with her all her life, always right there. Something living and dangerous in her father’s silences, in his moods. She hadn’t understood it, just learned to live with that feeling. But now she was naming the shadows of her childhood. Putting words to things previously unmentionable.

 

She had planned to tell them that Vegeta had held her when she was small, that he cared for her and for her mother. But it was easy to see that now was not the time.

 

“The second thing I wanted to say is that my father has lived a long time. He has two children. One grandson.” She was interrupted, but held up her hands and pressed on, getting louder, less in control. “He lived a quiet life, after doing some remarkable things. But then you came, with your threats and your Law. And what did he do? Fight? Kill you? Risk everything to save himself? No, he gave himself up, he became your willing prisoner. What more proof do you need? Reality has changed. You have to take that into account before you judge him.”

 

“You’re lying,” said Reader Ollera. A flat statement.

 

“I’m not!”

 

“You say that Vegeta only had two children.”

 

She blinked. “As far as I know,” she said slowly.

 

“Then who were the three persons who flew into the lawkeeper ship with threats of violence and displays of power?”

 

Pan and Gohan. And Trunks. She hadn’t even thought about it, but of course they would think them all related. It felt like an unnecessary tangent, but she took a steadying breath. She had to explain this.

 

“My father wasn’t the only Saiyan on Earth. There was another. Son Goku.” It was a long time since she had said that name.

 

Son Goku. To her he was more like a legend than a real person. A grand story. Someone who kept crossing the line between life and death like death was a myth and they could dream it all away.

 

“Goku just wanted to protect people. He’s long gone now. But his two children aren't.” She shrugged, tried to convey that it was that simple, that inoffensive.

 

The Readers exchanged tense looks. She understood their problem. They had no way to judge if she was speaking the truth.

 

“It’s as I’ve been saying.” Almost desperately she tried to get back to her point. “There’s so much you don’t know. You shouldn’t make hasty decisions, not when it’s this important.”

 

“Bra Monique…”

 

“I know.” She couldn’t bear to have the old woman say it, so she said it herself. “There’s no time. No time to make a considered decision. Not for my father.” Her voice faltered, but no one seemed inclined to interrupt her. “This is what I ask. Please. I ask that you take some time to discuss it, to investigate. I will answer whatever you ask, I promise. But please, give yourself time. Turn the poison off. You can always… always turn it back on again. He’s still your prisoner, just give yourselves time.”

 

There, she had said it. The reaction was immediate.

 

“No, no, no!” An old wrinkled man flew to his feet. The shout burst out of him like he couldn’t contain it any longer. The wide sleeves of his simple robe fell away from his arms as he raised his fists. “We can’t listen to this! We are the servants of the Galaxy. We uphold the Law. The Law! We have perfection – perfection – within our care. There will be no loosening of the chains. No more! Already we see them rust and crumble!”

 

His fists were trembling, and his eyes were large and glistening. He looked unhappy, Bra thought. Old and deranged. His words were strange. It was almost like he wasn’t responding to her, but to a long line of grievances.

 

Many of the Readers glanced away from the old man, a clear disapproval. Ollera, the little bald one, rolled his eyes. Rok wore a sharp smile, full of derision, altogether unpleasant. Idann sat with her hands clasped together. Her eyes too, were large and glistening.

 

“Reader Keshtesh.” The spokesperson said the old man’s name, nothing else, but it was enough to make him back down. He sank back onto his chair and seemed to shrink, all used up. There was silence. Keshtesh’s outburst appeared to have silenced all other objections along the same line.

 

“We have a petition,” Alma Tsan said. “We will discuss it, but only briefly considering the urgency of the subject. We will vote. The tipping point is one third.”

 

There were calls of protest all around.

 

“One third,” the spokesperson repeated blandly. “The options are thus. We will delay the execution, yes or no.” She glanced at Bra. “If more than one third vote in your favour, the poison will be halted.” She raised her voice, turning to the rest of the room, “This is not a vote for or against the execution. It is simply this: will we give ourselves time? Will we give ourselves time to consider the matter?”

 

Bra felt something set alight inside her as Alma Tsan’s authoritative voice borrowed Bra’s own words. The hope dwindled rather rapidly though as another Reader stood up and began to speak. A young-looking man, tall and handsome with a slow measured voice. He spoke for quite some time.

 

“If I may open the discussion. You all know I tend towards caution. The Law stand for justice, and the worst thing in justice is unwarranted harshness. When the Galaxy’s sentence touch the ones who are not guilty, we know we are in the wrong. Caution is paramount. If there’s a reason to think we’re mistaken, we should take the time to examine all sides of a situation, always.”

 

He looked around the circle.

 

“We’re not rash,” he said. “We recognize that there are a many answers in justice and that perfection is only an illusion.” A stern look, anticipating protests. None came, everyone was listening attentively. “Nonetheless, perfection is what we will strive for. We will stay our course and we cannot fall into the trap of taking sides. We will not side with the victims, tainted as they are by the crime and full of hate. Nor,” he turned his calm face to Bra. She thought she could see sympathy in his eyes, but it was immovable, far away. “Nor will we side with those who sympathize with the criminals. We know there is always an explanation, always a reason behind the crime. We hear Vegeta was instrumental in the downfall of Frieza. That is certainly interesting, but he is still Vegeta. His crimes are beyond dispute.” A pause. “Some things cannot be considered.”

 

A compelling speech. It seemed to sway the Readers for more than Keshtesh’s incoherent outburst.

 

“True!” someone called out. Loud voices joined the first in an angry dim. Nearly all of them seemed to agree. She had to close her eyes.

 

“We should be very cautious.” Reader Ollera jumped off his chair, repeating the sentence at least four times before he had everyone’s attention. Bra saw the small Reader’s expression shift between anxiousness and troubled determination. She wasn’t sure what to think. Was he on her side now?

 

“Vegeta’s crimes are beyond all dispute!” A Reader to Bra’s left called out, and the angry din rose up again.

 

“Yes,” Ollera called out. “Yes, but please. Vegeta is here, on Node City Dania, he is ours, and we must claim responsibility.” He shot a quick glance from her to Levi and back to her again. Bra could tell that the small Reader was deeply troubled. “Due consideration should never be discarded. Remember New Namek. Remember the planet of the Ice-jinns.”

 

That stilled everyone. Ollera and Rok exchanged the oddest glance in which Rok’s wry mask seemed to evaporate altogether. Bra couldn’t read Rok’s expression, but whatever she was seeing actually made her trust him, just a little.

 

“For once, the little one makes sense.” Rok sauntered over to stand next to Ollera, turning to address everyone. “We can’t defer responsibility.”

 

He smiled, a smile that seemed unassuming, but was belied by the suddenness the smile disappeared. The effect was unsettling. Some of the Readers crossed their arms, disinclined to interact with Rok, the viper in their midst.

 

“We should pause the poison,” Rok said, “if for no other reason than to set it flowing again, this time with our own hands.”

 

This got a reaction, hisses and angry whispers. “He’s mad,” Bra heard the Reader on her left mutter, but others looked thoughtful, as if Rok had said something profoundly significant.

 

“We will not get sidetracked.” Alma Tsan’s calm voice. “Remember what–”

 

“It isn’t our responsibility.” The young woman called Idann interrupted. Her voice was low and she didn’t seem aware of her rudeness. “The Galaxy does the judging. Even if we were to postpone… it’s not our responsibility. The Galaxy does the judging.”

 

“Reader Idann.” Alma Tsan’s voice was stern.

 

“It’s the Law.” No hesitation.

 

Bra stared at the young woman, a growing sense of resentment rising up inside of her. Rok had been wrong, she thought. This woman could not be swayed with sentiment or sympathy. Here was something of the same fanatic certainty she had seen in Keshtesh, but a lot more elusive, a lot more slippery. This woman would kill her father without hesitation and then insist that she had nothing to do with it.

 

Idannseemed to feel Bra’s gaze. Her face swung directly to Bra. Idann looked pale and appalled, her mouth a straight line. Bra knew that her own face was stony and cold. She felt no kinship with this woman at all, and wise or not she couldn’t hide her antipathy.

 

“What’s she even doing here?” Idann pointed at Bra, her arm straight. “We can’t vote with her looking at us. It’s not safe!”

 

“Oh, come on,” Bra began, but fell silent when Alma Tsan raised her hand.

 

“Bra Monique,” the spokesperson said. “I will ask you a few questions, and then I will ask both of you to leave the room.”

 

The room fell silent, waiting for Alma Tsan’s questions. Bra felt like she was running out of air. Was that it? They were kicking her out? She glanced at Levi and found him looking at her. He gave her a small, encouraging smile. It was remarkable how much that helped.

 

“Bra Monique,” Alma Tsan said placidly. “Are you a danger to us? Would you kill or injure anyone in this room?”

 

“No.” Bra shook her head. “Never.”

 

“Will you abide by the decision we make, even if it means your father’s death?”

 

Bra closed her eyes. She had known they would ask, sooner or later.

 

“Yes,” she said, and Levi abruptly looked away. “I have no choice,” she exclaimed. She kept talking all in a rush, turning to Levi, to everyone. “Of course I will protest. I- I will argue. But I’ll understand. You’re trying to do what’s right, I do understand that. But please! I will respect you a whole lot more if you give yourselves time. You have to know that my father–”

 

“You’ve had your say,” Alma Tsan silenced her, not unkindly.

 

And then she stilled, distracted. Her hand went to her ear, to an earpiece Bra hadn’t noticed she was wearing. Her eyes lit on Bra, and she became graver and graver as she listened to the message only she could hear. When her hand fell from her ear, the look she gave Bra was frightening.

 

“You didn’t tell us you didn’t come alone.”

 

Pan and Goten, Bra thought. They’re here. “I didn’t know,” Bra said. It sounded feeble.

 

“Another ship?” Reader Azlet asked, his voice sharp.

 

“Another ship,” Alma Tsan confirmed. Her gaze made Bra want to squirm. “Small. Round. White. Just like yours.”

 

“So what?” Bra tried to make herself sound calm and reasonably. “Of course my friends know where I am. Of course I told them. It changes nothing.”

 

“See!” A triumphant trill. Keshtesh was back on his feet, his teeth bared. “Don’t listen to the deceiver. Don’t be fooled by her, she’s nothing but a distraction. No mercy for the merciless!”

 

This time the Readers seemed to listen to Keshtesh’s words. No one shouted in agreement, but several of them nodded.

 

“It changes nothing,” Bra said again. She was talking to a circle of forbidding faces. “I wasn’t trying to trick you. So what if I’m not alone? My friends are decent, peaceful people. They might make the situations more complicated – all the more reason to give yourselves time. Can’t you see? I just told you that I’d respect your judgment. And I will! You should respect me too.” A compact silence met her words.

 

“Deceiver,” Keshtesh whispered. Baring his teeth at her.

 

“The vote is postponed,” Alma Tsan said, sounding uncertain for the first time.

 

“You can’t,” Bra said. “You can’t. It’s the same thing as voting no. You can’t do it!” Cowards, she wanted to shout. You’re all miserable, wretched cowards. “Trust me,” she said instead.

 

“Trust me,” the spokesperson said. “You don’t want a vote right now. Let’s wait for your friends. Let’s see if they too will abide by our decision.”

 

Bra felt dizzy, like the room was spinning. She might be in shock. In spite of it all, she hadn’t realized she’d been this close to failure.

 

---

 

Vegeta sat on the floor, slumped forward. His limbs felt weak, beyond his control. His thoughts floated back and forth, undisciplined and lethargic. It should worry him, this degeneration. First his body, now his mind. But all he did was watch himself with detached interest.

 

Memories rose on their own volition, images out of the past. He remembered putting on a white glove, small for his child-sized hand. He remembered Trunks as a baby, seeing him for the first time. Saw him again, and felt what he had felt back then. Nothing. Denial. He had changed. Triumph then, when his boy had bested Kakarott’s son in the arena.

 

He had tried to go back. That Majin thing, shameful to think about.

 

It’s time to go home, father. Don’t you want to go home?

 

The disbelief on Bra’s face, when he had told her to go away. Equally shameful, disappointing her.

 

She had raised her fist to shatter the glass.

 

Vegeta blinked, slowly. His left hand tingled, not completely dead after all.

 

Vegeta pictured a box. It was simple and square. He opened the box with one hand and put the other hand inside and closed the lid. He had put it away, he had done this already. So why didn’t it stay away?

 

He was aware of the little camera by the ceiling. It saw him. Knew him. It always did. He had killed billions.

 

A loud clank wrenched his head up, and as the door opened he felt defenseless. Here they came, the gawkers, the endless string of visitors. He resisted the impulse to hide his face. When the door opened his back was straight and his gaze steady, but his initial reaction was telling. He hadn’t let the visitors get to him before, not really, but this time was different. He was too defenseless, too close to the surface.

 

A familiar face first, as captain Asdef escorted the first visitors inside. Vegeta thought for a second that Bra had come back, she and the boy. But no, it was just the usual, the shambling inside, the slow approach, the staring. Nothing like grandeur about this. The captain lingered as if he wanted to say something, but then he turned around and left Vegeta with the first visitors of the day.

 

It was a silent group. Little people with blue skin holding hands, not saying a word. Staring at him with somber faces. Vegeta waited for the time to pass and he wondered at himself that they were getting to him, these silent creatures. He didn’t even know who they were. Maybe he could remember if he tried. And he wondered at himself that he felt the inclination to try.

 

The next visitor was an old man, dressed in a robe that was stiff with embroidery. A golden band encircled his gray head. On either side of the old man stood a man and a woman, tall and silent, attending to him like they were family. The old man blinked and blinked and began to cry, sobbing like he couldn’t stop himself. The young man supported him with gentle hands, stroking the old man’s back. Vegeta kept watching from his position on the floor.

 

He wondered if this old man was one of those who would try to speak with him, and for some reason he almost wished that he would. The other two were wearing armor. Gold plates molded around chests, golden bands wrapped around legs and arms. Sandals. Vegeta’s mind moved on its own accord, he remembered walking across sand, he remembered sitting cross legged on pillows and drinking honeyed water with people like this. He remembered a boy with curly hair and a golden band wrapped around his brow. He remembered fires in the night, houses burning and people screaming. The memories didn’t bring any emotions, nothing of that had seemed significant at the time.

 

The three visitors left without speaking and Vegeta was alone for a while before a group of six youngsters entered. They laughed and crowded and knocked on the glass.

 

“Hey, Vegeta!”

 

A lot of giggling, half scared, half delighted. They thought they were daring.

 

“Hey Vegeta, look!” A pink tongue pressed against the glass. Smearing palms, scattered gazes. No one meeting his eyes.

 

They reminded him of the youths of Earth, the friends that Bra and Trunks kept bringing to the house. Arrogant and innocent, they were energy without direction, people so soft they could easily be molded into entirely different versions of themselves.

 

They pushed at each other, trying to get the best view of him.

 

“He’s a lot shorter than I thought.”

 

“Taller than you.”

 

“Is not!”

 

“Look at his hair. You think it’s real?”

 

“Of course it is.”

 

“Um yeah. It’s his hair.”

 

More knocking.

 

“Think he’s really as old as they say?”

 

“Um yeah, stupid.”

 

“He’s old.”

 

“He’s tough.”

 

& ldquo;He’s tiny.”

 

“Is not!”

 

“Hey, think he can hear us?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Um yeah, he can hear us.”

 

A long silence then, as they seemed to pull together, young and wide-eyed as their giggling energy stilled and dropped away. They had next to nothing to protect them against the pain of others. Predictably, they were seeing themselves in his place, imagining what it would be like to be alone and imprisoned. One of the youths looked very pale.

 

“Shouldn’t we go soon?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Ye ah.”

 

“Let’s go.”

 

They left a lot more subdued than they had entered.

 

The visitors kept coming. Sometimes in groups, sometimes alone. Some of them scared, others angry. Some wanted to gloat, those were the easiest. Their spiteful words meant very little and in the end they went away, unsatisfied. One visitor took to kicking the glass, howling and screaming all the while. The guards came in and pulled him away. Another group was immediately let inside. And another. And another. Intruding on him like they hadn’t done before. No – this time he was letting them intrude on him. He kept himself available. An interesting exercise. Exhausting was one word.

 

He closed his eyes for a moment.

 

“Would you look at that. You haven’t changed at all.”

 

On the other side of the glass was a skinny man with gray skin and a reptilian mouth. Vegeta imagined him young and he knew who it was. Age made him thin, but Vegeta remembered him with bulging muscles, a man that was openly spiteful to his equals, but not prone to challenge the ones stronger than him. It was surprising that he would be here, and not in hiding. Because if killing for Frieza was a reason to be hunted in this age then this man ought to be sick and dying, just as Vegeta was.

 

The skinny man stepped closer, and his movements was slow and respectful. They had never really spoken to each other back then, never had reason to. But they’d had this unspoken thing, both royal, both tethered to Frieza.

 

Unspoken also, that Vegeta was stronger. Their difference in power had been enough not to provoke, and Vegeta had paid him very little attention. Though it had pleased him once to have his man deferring to him, to have him get out of his way and lower his eyes when they met in the corridors at Frieza’s station.

 

The visitor saw himself recognized, and he smiled. A slow smile of unity and understanding. Like they shared something.

 

And Vegeta couldn’t stand his presence. He wanted to lash out, to shout, to curse. Anything to be rid of this man. He noted the disgust with interest, the way it filled him up. He hadn’t realized he had this well inside of him, but he couldn’t deny it.

 

This man was despicable.

 

“Look at you. I’ve always said you would still be around. They wouldn’t have gotten you, not Vegeta.” A thin smile. “You always came back stronger.”

 

For the first time since the visits had started Vegeta turned his face away.

 

The visitor squatted in front of him, chatting like they were old acquaintances. “Too bad this is the end. Me, I just kept hidden, coward that I am.” A dry laugh. “Frieza’s army wasn’t the place for me. I got some fun out of it, sure. That, and a whole lot of gold. But you. You played the game, I could tell. Right there at the top. No wonder Frieza favored you so.”

 

Vegeta tried not to listen and in the end he hardly noticed the man leave. The next group came and left without touching him, and the next, but that was not the way he wanted it, so he made himself available again, looked at every person who entered his cell, letting the memories come as they willed.

 

It was an accomplishment, he decided. An accomplishment that he was able to do it, just sit there and let the visitors in.

 

The door closed with a definite bang behind a group of four who had moved from taunting to shouting, supporting each other in empty fury. The door remained closed and he waited with growing certainty that they had been the last. He waited until he was sure, until he knew he could rest.

 

Rest, he told himself. Rest now. He could rest.

 

Down he went, an uneven descent like someone was pushing him. His damaged body was trembling and he had to try several times until he managed to turn towards the wall, his back to the camera, as alone as he was able to be. He still strived for impassivity, staring into the dark wall and shivering. He was beyond weakness.

 

He was exhausted, surrendered and empty of control.

 

He had done this to himself.

 

He had put the collar on. An admission, giving himself into the hands of others. The choice had been simple, like it wasn’t a choice at all. He’d been balancing on the brink for so long. Managing with the help of grueling training, with Bulma to anchor him. By shutting down and binding and not looking.

 

He had chosen the cave.

 

But Bra, the good girl, had almost broken the glass.

 

He had been nearly free.

 

He remembered the flight to the ship. The in-between. Soaring through the air. All chains broken, it had felt like freedom.

 

He wanted it. There was no denial. He wanted out. He didn’t want to die. He was Vegeta. And here he was, like any man. Like any man would. Wanting to get out of his cage.

 

What had he been thinking? That Bulma’s death… would take him away? It hadn’t. He saw it now. Bulma’s death had taken away Bulma. Here he was, bereft, but still himself.

 

And he wanted to live. He wanted to speak to his daughter and his grandson again. Levi, who he didn’t know, and had never really tried to know either. That was a loss. He wanted his family, like any man would. He wanted such a pedestrian thing. He wanted to get back to Trunks, to shake him around, to spar, to see him laugh, his son that had gotten so somber. He… he still wanted his life, it was still here.

 

And he was crying, so stupid. Tears in his eyes. Slow, silent tears were running down his face all on their own. Tears for loss. Tears for Bulma, who was gone. Tears for the loss of her. Vegeta turned his face toward the floor, and cried. Cried like someone who was grieving.