Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Ruler of the World ❯ Chapter 1

The Ruler of the World

 

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ. This story is purely for entertainment, not profit.

 

****************************************************

 

“Thanks, Krillen.”

 

Bulma put the communicator back on the dash of her plane and waved goodbye to her friend. Krillen saluted and swooped under the plane before heading off in the direction of Kame House.

 

Bulma looked ahead toward the trees half a mile in the distance. Somewhere in that small forest was Vegeta.

 

Bulma landed her plane and set off towards the trees. What would she say to Vegeta when she found him? Would he be angry at her for tracking him down like this? It didn't matter. She had to know. The past two months of not knowing was tearing her up.

 

She'd misjudged Vegeta, of course. Again. When he'd shown up the morning Trunks returned to the future, wearing human dress, giving Trunks that farewell salute that conveyed far more to Trunks than it did to her, she'd just assumed he would be there the next day. And the next. She'd just assumed he was going to stay. After all, he didn't really have anywhere else to go.

 

When he'd taken off after Trunks's time capsule winked into another dimension, Bulma never thought about it. Vegeta was always taking off.

 

When he didn't return that night, she didn't think on it. Or the next day. Vegeta was always vanishing and then reappearing days later.

 

It wasn't until two weeks had passed that she realized he might have left. Vegeta, it seemed, had moved out.

 

This distressed Bulma. Vegeta was a loose cannon, after all; he couldn't be allowed to run willy-nilly around the planet. He had to be supervised, controlled, perhaps even integrated---

 

No, that wasn't exactly true. Vegeta was a loose cannon, but somehow Bulma knew humanity wasn't in any danger from Vegeta. Bulma was simply distressed because he was gone. He had chosen to leave.

 

There could be no attempts to rekindle whatever passion they shared, no last-ditch efforts to convince Vegeta that it was alright to care and to be cared about. No new plans could be implemented to sway his stubborn mind to open to a new idea . . . or his stubborn heart to open to a love that was utterly devoted to him.

 

So many gifts she had wanted to give him, and in leaving he had refused them all.

 

So Bulma had sat at home and fretted and moped. When she realized how pathetic she was being, fretting and moping over an asshole, she had grown angry. Vegeta had left! And without even saying that he was leaving! Her mother was cooking for an army every meal, and he didn't even have the common courtesy to say “don't bother!” How rude.

 

So she had swallowed her pride and asked Krillen to find Vegeta for her. She could have asked Yamcha, but Yamcha would have put a few “I told you so's” into the conversation, so she asked Krillen. Bulma had said enough “I told you so's” to herself. She had known what Vegeta was; she had known what the outcome would be, but still she'd gone and fallen in love with him. It was a stupid thing to do, but in all honesty, she'd never been able to help herself. Once she had opened herself to the idea of Vegeta, she had set her feet on a one-way trip to heartbreak.

 

So why was she out here now? To yell at him for leaving without saying “goodbye?” To tell him to come home so she could . . . what? Begin a new assault on his heart? She had no weapons that could win that battle. Once, she thought she did, but watching Vegeta's single-minded obsession during the battle with the Androids and Cell had cured her of that notion. She'd been like a commercial break in a long movie. An ecstasy-filled commercial break to be sure, but once the program came back on, she was forgotten.

 

So she wasn't out here to yell at him, and she wasn't out her to bring him home. She was out here to . . . know. She had to know. She had to know what he was doing, where he was living. If she knew that, she could go home in peace.

 

She reached the trees and walked into the shade. About three-hundred yards, Krillen had said. The forest was cool, and the ground was soft with ferns and fallen leaves. It was a serene place, surely at odds with an uptight Saiyan.

 

She found his “house”---an elaborate lean-to---but Vegeta was not around. Bulma looked around Vegeta's home. Inside the lean-to were a blanket and a few other items: a pile of spare clothes, a thin bar of soap, a towel hung onto a conveniently located branch to dry. Outside was a fire pit that looked well used if the amount of ash was any indication. A shirt spread out over a boulder to dry. Had he washed it or had it just gotten wet? A knife she recognized from the kitchen at Capsule Corporation. He'd packed before he left, that much was certain. The knowledge that he'd planned this hurt her all over again. He hadn't impulsively left. He'd made a conscious decision to move on - to leave her.

 

There she went again --- acting like she had ever been a motivating factor in Vegeta's life. Vegeta had probably not even considered her or their child as he gathered those things he considered essential and left.

 

“What do you want?”

 

His voice came from nowhere, and Bulma startled and yelped. She turned to find him twenty feet from her, his eyes most definitely declaring her unwelcome. He was wearing the Romano slacks her mother had bought for him, and Bulma's lips twisted at the thought of what Mr. Romano would say about Vegeta wearing 700 zeni slacks while traipsing about the forest. His chest and feet were bare. Her eyes roamed over the shoulders she knew so well, and Vegeta must have sensed the direction of her thoughts because he dropped what he was carrying, went to the boulder and put on the shirt. Covered again, he turned to her and crossed his arms over his chest . . . protectively? Surely not.

 

“I came to see you.”

 

“That much is evident,” he said. His eyes held hers while he waited for her to speak again. The weight of his stare made Bulma uncomfortable.

 

“I mean, I came to see how you are doing.”

 

An eyebrow lifted. “I'm doing fine, thank you.” It was clear from his tone he was making a mockery of polite conversation. “Do stop by another time, but right now, I'm quite busy.”

 

He stooped to pick up what he had dropped earlier---a stringer of fish. Questions raced through Bulma's mind. How had he caught them? Is that all he's been eating? She watched as he pierced each fish through the gills onto a long stick and then he stuck the stick into the ground to extend over the fire pit at an angle. He then left the campsite, walking purposely through the woods as if to find something. Bulma stunned at his industry and at his abrupt departure, followed.

 

“Vegeta, what are you doing?”

 

Vegeta broke a branch off a dead tree. “Making a fire to cook my fish.” He tucked the branch into his arm with another one he had already found and turned away.

 

“No---I mean what are you doing here?” she asked, exasperated.

 

“Living,” he answered without turning. He found a suitable log and cut it to smaller pieces with his ki.

 

Flustered, Bulma cried out, “but why?”

 

He gave a bewildered expression. “Where else should I live? Our deal is finished.”

 

“What `deal'? We had a deal?”

 

He shook his head. “Your memory is as feeble as your strength. You give me a place to live and I help defeat the androids. Sound familiar?”

 

“Yes, but----“

 

“The androids are defeated. The deal is done.”

 

He moved away again, traipsing off toward a dead limb that had fallen. Bulma's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water while her brain digested his twisted logic. Yes, that had been the “deal,” but so much had happened since that day when Goku announced Trunks's news. Back then he was an arrogant nuisance, but he was also the strongest fighter except for Goku. Making it clear that her hospitality would be in return for his help had seemed like a way to integrate Vegeta into life on Earth. How could she have foreseen just how integral he would become in her own life? In her own heart?

 

“But you didn't have to leave! You were welcome to stay.”

 

The arm that had been snapping limbs from the fallen tree paused. “That is not necessary.” Vegeta went back to work.

 

Asshole! Did he have to make everything so difficult? Bulma stomped over until she could look in his face.

 

“No, it's not. But you're welcome to stay just the same. Is that what you needed to hear?”

 

“No.”

 

“Kami, what the fuck do you want, Vegeta? What does it take to make you happy?”

 

“I wouldn't know.”

 

“No, you wouldn't, would you? You're too busy making everyone else miserable to think about yourself. Poor self-sacrificing Vegeta! Stay then. Stay in the woods. Enjoy your diet of fish and mushrooms and lichen or whatever it is you eat out here. Snuggle up in your little hut and play pea knuckle with Mom's chef's knife. Whatever. Just don't lie to yourself and say you're out here because of some agreement we made because that's bullshit. Whether you like it or not, you're a part of my fucking family. Get used to it.”

 

She turned and walked away. “So come home or don't,” she said, not turning around. “It's your choice.”

***************************

 

Vegeta watched Bulma stomp away through the trees and let go of the breath he was holding. She was right of course. He knew that he could have stayed at Capsule Corporation for as long as he liked. Bulma and her mother had done everything imaginable to make his life pleasant and effort-free. At first, it had been completely foreign to have his life so comfortable. He had yelled and screamed his demands, expecting to be denied and to have to threaten bodily harm, but no. They seemed to want to please him. After all while, he had stopped yelling, and the things he wanted or needed still appeared---were even anticipated. And something inside Vegeta that had always been tightly wound to the point of breaking relaxed a bit . . . and relaxed some more. Then before he knew it, he was skin to skin with Bulma Briefs, her lips on his, her breath in his ears, her body wrapping his in the most delightfully intimate ways. He had never even thought about it. It had just happened the way everything else just seemed to happen . . . like his son.

 

Trunks had just happened. Bulma had sworn that she had no idea how she wound up pregnant, but `how' didn't matter in the end. The incontrovertible proof of just how weak he had become was growing in a human's belly. Even more sickening, his first reaction to the news hadn't been disgust. It had been excitement. Before his true self had regained control, he had wanted to place his hand on Bulma's belly and feel the child's ki, its power. Thank Kami he hadn't, otherwise the woman would have even more reason to indulge in her silly infatuation with him. Instead, he'd laughed in her face, called her a fool and left for space.

 

Things were much simpler after that. There was only fighting and power and hatred. Familiar territory at last.

 

When it was over, when Cell was defeated, he had gone “home.” He had smelled the food from the kitchen, the hum of a familiar program from the television unit. He had looked into Bulma's hopeful eyes and looked away. At his son he did not look because he wasn't sure he could look away. When he had fallen into his comfortable bed, with its warm blankets and soft pillows, he could feel things begin to happen.

 

And he knew he could not stay.

 

Now Bulma Briefs had turned up and told him to come “home.” In truth, he was surprised it had taken her this long. She was a stubborn little thing, always refusing to lose. Was that how he had wound up in her bed? Because of her staunch refusal to take `no' for an answer? Maybe, but he really couldn't remember saying `no.' All he could remember was her nimble fingers, her hot tongue, the scent of her hair as it fell around his face, his blood rushing with pleasure.

 

No, he couldn't go home. He would give up too much. He was born to be the greatest Saiyan in one thousand years --- Legendary! Born to rule star systems, command armies, and yet somehow he couldn't muster the interest to conquer this measly planet, much less return to space. At least here, among these trees he could suffer the shame of his own weakness and fall no further into . . . mediocrity. Complacency. When he thought about how close he had come to becoming the tame pet-Saiyan that had been Kakarrot, his stomach revolted. Disgusting! If he had any dignity left, he would take his own life rather than live with his shame. He had failed at everything, his every goal unfulfilled. How did one live with oneself when one's purpose was gone, stolen, revoked beyond redemption?

 

Vegeta didn't know. There was no one to ask. Everyone on this green, peaceful planet succeeded constantly in their mundane, simple lives, oblivious to the path of greatness.

 

Except perhaps, one.

 

******************************************

 

 

He was easy enough to find.

 

“Hello, Vegeta.” The meditating eyes did not open.

 

Vegeta watched the floating figure, so at peace with his existence. How did he do it? He had planned on ruling this planet, yet here he was playing second fiddle to a child.

 

“How do you live with yourself? Vegeta asked.

 

The eyes opened. “What?”

“You planned on ruling this planet once, and Kakarrot turned you into a lapdog for his cause. How do you live with yourself, live with your failure to succeed?”

 

The Namekian's response was not what he expected. He began to laugh. Not the amused chuckle that Vegeta himself was prone to deliver, but a full, belly laugh, as if Vegeta had just told the punchline to the funniest joke Piccolo had ever heard.

 

Vegeta let Piccolo laugh for a few moments, then raised an eyebrow. “I fail to see the humor in the question.”

 

Piccolo composed himself and recovered enough to answer the question.

 

“I'm sorry, Vegeta. It's just that you surprised me. I've always thought you had fairly high intelligence, but your question makes it clear you've overlooked the obvious.”

 

“And what, Namek, is so obvious? Enlighten me.”

 

“Vegeta, I do rule this world.”

 

“Bullshit! You don't rule anything.”

 

“Always looking at the world through your narrow lenses, aren't you, Vegeta?” Piccolo descended from his meditating position to his feet and walked to the edge of the Lookout. “Come here, Vegeta.”

 

Vegeta pursed his lips suspiciously, but walked over to the edge.

 

“What's down there, Vegeta?”

 

“What do you mean? Humans, animals, buildings.”

 

“Exactly. And they all exist because I let them. I could destroy any of them at any time, but I choose to let them be. He who can destroy a thing ultimately controls it.”

 

“You're fooling yourself. Gohan would stop you,” Vegeta said.

 

“Gohan is my student. I trained him. He comes to me for advice. He's quite attached to me. Do you really think he could stand against me?”

 

“He's stronger than you. He could defeat you if he wanted.”

 

“Yes, but he doesn't want, does he, Vegeta? Gohan doesn't like to fight. He'll look for any reason not to, including trusting his old friend, Mr. Piccolo.”

 

“You're still fooling yourself. You're just as attached to that half-breed as he is to you,” Vegeta said.

 

“I admit that I'm fond of Gohan. I honestly didn't think I would be. He was such a crybaby, such a nuisance. As time went on, though, he grew on me.”

 

Vegeta snorted. “Foolish weakness.”

 

Piccolo began to chuckle as he stared at the Saiyan, shaking his head. “You really don't get it, do you? Let me let you in on another secret,” he said and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Having something to fight for makes fighting even better.”

 

Vegeta pulled back to stare at the Namek. “What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“Have something to fight for, something to lose. You've never had that, have you Vegeta? Ah-ah-ah---I can see that word “pride” about to spring from your lips, but you can't lose that, can you? It's always there inside of you. No one else can really take that away. Even your own life means nothing to you. But something you can actually lose, something that can be taken away forever, having something like that makes you fight like a madman, brings out the inner beast. Losing can never be an option.

 

“You say my attachment to Gohan makes me weak, but I feel the difference when I fight. I am stronger, I fight harder. I cannot lose.”

 

The Namek met his eyes and looked into them. “I rule the world, Vegeta. I protect it.”

 

Vegeta's eyes narrowed. “I see. You “rule” the world, yet conveniently you sit up here and let the beings on Earth go about their happy existence ignorant of your rule. They don't even know you exist. What kind of rule is that?”

 

“A peaceful one. If they knew about me they would only want to bother me with a bunch of stupid questions or petty problems and expect me to solve them. Would you want to deal with that?”

 

Vegeta couldn't argue with that logic. “No.”

 

Piccolo levitated and crossed his legs. “Any more questions?”

 

Vegeta shook his head and turned to leave. He stopped. “There is one flaw in your logic, Piccolo.” He turned his head to look at the floating Namek.

 

“I can blow you away any time I want.”

 

Again, Piccolo's response surprised him. He smiled. “Now you're catching on.”

 

***************************************

 

 

So Vegeta went home. Not immediately of course. He took a few days to mull over the ideas that Piccolo had shared with him. He rolled them over and over in his brain, looking for holes, flaws, but he could find none. The logic flowed perfectly.

 

Kakarrot was dead. There was no being on this planet or any other that could challenge him. Even Gohan was not a concern, because Piccolo was right. Gohan didn't want to fight. He didn't like to fight, and without the motivation his father's death happening right before his eyes, it was unlikely that Gohan could summon such power again.

 

Vegeta had no such qualms. There was another level out there, and he would train until he achieved it. He was the strongest being on this or any other planet. In essence, the entire universe was his to destroy.

 

And he who can destroy a thing ultimately controls it.

 

So for now, the Earth would exist because . . . it pleased him to allow it to exist. Yes, he very much liked this idea of restraint now. Before, restraint was a tool for survival. Keeping himself from challenging Frieza was painful, frustrating, humiliating, because he knew he could not win.

 

Now, he could not lose. Therefore it pleased him to stay his hand, allow these pathetic Earthlings to go about their meaningless lives, oblivious to the powerful force that controlled their very existence. The joke, one might say, was on them.

 

*******************************************

 

A few days after Bulma returned from her ill-advised trip to find Vegeta, he returned home. He made no announcements, nor did he offer any explanations. He just appeared as if he never left.

 

But he was not the same. Even at his most comfortable during his previous stay at Capsule Corporation, Bulma would never have said he was really comfortable. He had always worn a cloak of suspicion and distrust. His demeanor had always said “I don't really like it here, and I don't really like you.” It was as if he were raised on the motto “If it looks too good to be true . . . it probably is.” Hold back, wait for the other shoe to drop---because it always does.

 

Since he returned, however, he seemed to be all too comfortable. He strode around as though he owned the place, as if he were surveying his property. He trained in the gravity room, but while his training was as fierce as ever, it lacked the desperation that had previously accompanied it. Bulma's first thought when Yamcha had told her about the power leap that Gohan had achieved during the battle with Cell was “Uh-oh.” Vegeta would be beside himself knowing someone else had surpassed Goku. She was certain he wouldn't rest until he achieved what Yamcha and the others called “Super Saiyan Two.”

 

Yet here he was lounging beside the pool. Granted, he had swum Kami only knew how many laps prior to lounging, but---dammit! What the hell was he up to? He was supposed to be shut up in his gravity room, not unwinding by her pool with a glass of lemonade at his elbow as if he, well, owned the place.

 

Bulma had come out to catch some rays and do some unwinding of her own. As her eyes trailed down Vegeta's glistening chest, stomach, and thighs, right down to his perfect feet, Bulma doubted she would be able to relax at all. She hadn't had much interaction with Vegeta since his return, mostly because his new demeanor unnerved her. She was about to turn around, take her towel and leave when she heard his voice.

 

“You can use the pool, Bulma. I don't mind.”

 

Don't mind?! That did it. She strode over to the chaise next to him and glared.

 

“I don't give a rat's ass if you mind or not,” she said. “It's my pool. I'll use it if I want.”

 

He gave her an insufferable smile. “As you say.”

 

And Bulma wasn't sure if she imagined it, but she could have sworn his eyes glided down her legs before returning to look ahead at the pool.

 

She had to have imagined that, right? Vegeta hadn't looked at her in any way that was even remotely sexual since he returned from training in space. Kami, there'd been a time when she had deliberately courted those looks, only to be supremely disappointed by his stoic control. He couldn't have just looked up her legs, could he?

 

There was only one way to be sure. Bulma lowered the towel from her body and made a great show of shaking it out, then leaning over the chaise to arrange the towel to suit her. Her bikini top—strategically small to maximize tanning area, would give Vegeta an eyeful of her breasts. She felt them fall forward and sway as she perfected her towel's position, and from under her lashes, she saw him looking. Oh, not look looking, but his eyes were definitely darting in her direction, watching the show.

 

Bulma finished and sat down quickly on the chaise, a blush creeping up her cheeks. To her absolute mortification, she felt her nipples tighten and glanced down to see them visible through her top. What the fuck was going on? Just as soon as she had given up on Vegeta ever, ever looking at her that way again, he did. And just as soon as he did, she melted into a puddle of goo. That thought pissed her off to no end. Something had to give.

 

“What the fuck is up with you?” she demanded.

 

He turned to look at her, genuinely surprised. “I'm not sure I understand the question.”

 

“You. You saunter around here like you own the place. Order my parents around--”

 

“If you had ever paid attention you would have noticed that I've always ordered your parents around---“

 

“Yeah, but it's the way you do it now. Like they're faithful family retainers or something.”

 

“I believe you told me I was a part of your family.”

 

“Well, I take it back. You're more obnoxious than ever. You're up to something. I don't trust you.”

 

“A bit late to make that realization, don't you think?” The bastard smiled as he said it.

 

Bulma sputtered a moment and then fell silent as her brain raced to figure out what the hell was going on. This was so familiar. This was the way they always used to fight. Insult, parry, insult, dodge. He hadn't argued with her like this in a long time. Not since . . . since they stopped sleeping together. There had always been a warm up bout of insults before they had . . . . Another blush crept up her face while he stared at her, his smile actually reaching his eyes which said he was thinking the same thing.

 

Bulma leapt off the chaise as though scalded. She grabbed her towel and wrapped it around her. “Look,” she said, “I don't know what you're up to---“

 

“Up to?”

 

“Sauntering around here like somebody died and made you king.”

 

His lips quirked up at her comment. “That's the odd thing, Bulma. Nobody had to die.”

 

He got up then and dove into the pool, the water welcoming his perfect body the way her body once had. Nobody had to die? What the hell was he talking about?

 

Bulma didn't get any time to puzzle over his odd statement, because his head resurfaced. “Make some training weights for Trunks. His coordination is advanced enough to begin muscle conditioning.”

 

Anger again, anger at his bizarre behavior and at her own, for feeling attracted to him even though she would never, ever understand him.

 

“Fuck you,” she said and turned to go back into the house.

 

“Later,” he called, and dove back under the water.

 

Bulma turned back to stare into the swirling water, a queer mix of excitement and unease rolling in her stomach. The certainty of his statement could not be denied. Whether it was tonight, a week, or six months from now, later would eventually come.

 

 

 

From high above the Earth, the Ruler of the World sat in silent meditation, once again at peace from the problems of those beings that knew of his existence.

 

Fin

 

Notes: Big thanks, as always, to Ember for being such a fabulous beta. I had so many dropped articles in this one I think it was written by Tonto, Tarzan and Frankenstein! Thanks to debbiechan for creative feedback. I don't know what I would do without you ladies. Suck, probably. :D

 

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