Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Wish For The Past ❯ Just Like Dad ( Chapter 68 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Disclaimer: Who do you think I am? Akira Toriyama? You must, if you think I own DBZ. Which I don't. Sorry to burst your bubble.


The moment Bulma woke up, she immediately knew that something was very, very wrong. How, do you ask? Easy. She looked at the clock. The clock that was sitting on the night stand next to her bed blithely declared in big, bold, glowing red slashes that it was only 6:04 in the morning - way too early for her to be up! With a groan, the blue-haired girl rolled over and stuffed her pillow on top of her head. Mornings should be banned, she thought half-coherently, valiantly trying not to acknowledge the activity in her brain. If you ignore the fact that you're awake long enough, you can usually trick your brain into going back to sleep.

But alas, it was not to be. The little part of her brain that could always tell when an experiment was about to fail or when a new invention was about to explode in her face, the part that always knew when something was about to go wrong, was insisting that there was more to this early awakening than simple bad luck or insomnia. She liked to call this her "woman's intuition", and it had never failed her before.

With a groan and a reluctant stretch, Bulma sat up in bed and looked around for whatever it was that had made her wake up, but nothing was immediately apparent. Unfortunately, she was still getting the feeling that something was off. Sighing in defeat, she slid out of bed and padded out of the room without bothering to change out of her oversized nightgown. She'd have time to get dressed after she figured out what was wrong.

The capsule house was quiet as she slowly made her way down the hall, pausing at each door to listen for any signs of trouble. Again, there was nothing. All of the rooms were silent except for Radditz's, whose snores seemed particularly loud in the stillness of the house. Not wanting to wake anyone else up, Bulma decided that she'd only poke her head into the bedrooms if she failed to find the source of her unease in the other parts of the house.

A scent like burnt fish caught her nose as soon as she stepped into the living room, telling Bulma that someone else was up and in the kitchen. Bardock must be making breakfast, she thought, knowing how long it took him to cook enough food to feed four full-blooded Saiyans, two demi-Saiyans, and a human girl. That's why he's up so early. This was probably what had woken her up. She probably just smelled the burning food and her sleepy mind had translated the smell to mean that the house was burning down, or something like that. Bulma relaxed. Yeah, that must be it.

Since she was already awake, the young scientist decided it wouldn't hurt her to stay up and chat with Bardock a little, maybe eat some of the less burnt fish. She'd been feeling just a little curious about what his home planet was like, so this was the perfect opportunity to ask him some questions while the chibis were all asleep. Smiling at this plan, Bulma quickly organized a mental list of questions then stepped into the kitchen, ready to interrogate the adult Saiyan as much as she could manage before the others woke up.

Unfortunately, it wasn't Bardock who was in the kitchen at all. Instead, it was Goku who sat at the table with his tail drooped limply over the edge of the bench, picking at a steaming mass of blackened seafood with his fork. Bulma frowned. Since when does Goku ever pick at his food? He usually just inhales it like a living vacuum cleaner and then asks for more. Her concern only mounted when the black haired boy lifted a forkful of food to his mouth, then set it back down uneaten with an unenthusiastic sigh. "Goku?" she asked, stepping further into the kitchen. "Are you all right?"

"Huh?" Goku looked up from his food just long enough to see who was in the door, then dropped his eyes back to his plate. "Oh. Hi, Bulma," he muttered. Picking up the fork again, he started stirring his fish aimlessly around the plate, seemingly uninterested in actually eating it.

Bulma sat down on the bench next to her friend and scooted over so they were almost shoulder to shoulder. "What's wrong, kiddo? You seem a little down."

"Nothin's wrong," he mumbled unconvincingly. His fork poked a row of holes into another piece of fish, then proceeded to mash it into tiny little slivers. "I'm just... not feelin' well, 's all."

Frowning at the obvious lie but deciding not to confront him about it if he didn't want to talk, Bulma wrapped one arm companionably around Goku's shoulders. "Fish for breakfast again, huh?" she commented, nodding at the plate on the table. "Your dad doesn't have much imagination, does he?" She'd intended the comment to direct her friend's mind to the more pleasant topic of food (with Goku, food was always a pleasant topic) in order to cheer him up. Unfortunately, it only seemed to have the exact opposite effect, sending the little boy's shoulders into a despondent sag, his head dipping a little closer to his chest than it had been before.

"Tousan didn't make breakfast, Bulma. I did." Goku's voice was so thick with suppressed emotion that the words were almost indecipherable. There was a noticeable hitch in his breath as he continued. "I'm not a good cook. I burned the fish real bad. I w-wanted to make breakfast for t-... for everyone... but I... but I can't! I'm just no good at it!"

"What?" Bulma stared. It wasn't so much Goku's lack of cooking abilities that startled her, but rather his lack of confidence in himself. If there was one thing Goku was never short of, it was self-confidence, even in the face of something he knew he couldn't overcome. He was more likely to laugh at his own shortcomings than to get upset over them. Besides which, Goku had never seemed particularly concerned about his poor cooking skills before, so why was he so upset now? "Goku, what are you talking about? That fish is probably less burned than anything else I've ever seen you cook. It even looks... edible." She admitted that last part somewhat reluctantly, since most of her experiences with her friend's cooking had been anything but appetizing. Half cooked wolves and smoking centipedes had apparently been staples of Goku's diet up until the time he first met Bulma, and he'd been confused and slightly hurt when the human girl had emphatically refused to share his food. Bulma shuddered at the memories.

"But I wanted it to be perfect!" he wailed, shoving the plate of blackened fish away so he could drop his head onto the table and bury his face in his folded arms. "I wanted it to look good an' taste good so maybe... maybe...." The sentence trailed off into what sounded suspiciously like sobs.

Sensing that there was something deeper here than just Goku's culinary skills, Bulma lightly rubbed her friend's back the same way her father used to do for her whenever she was really upset. "Maybe what? Goku, what is it? What's wrong?"

Goku seemed to rub his nose and his face against the sleeve of his overlarge night shirt, then lifted his head to look up at Bulma. "Bulma?" he sniffled. Despite his efforts to wipe away any evidence that he might have been crying, there were still traces of tears and a runny nose. "You... you're a... machine girl, right? I mean, you like machines an' techanalogy and you're good at fixin' things like cars an' my dragon radar an' stuff... right?"

"Yeah, I'm a mechanic and I like technology," Bulma confirmed, carefully emphasizing the words Goku had been trying to use. Wondering where this was leading, she asked, "Why?"

Heartened by this confirmation, the little seven year old sat up a little straighter, tiny flickers of hope finding their way into his eyes and his voice. "Do you think... if somebody had a machine in them, could you... y'know... take it out?"

The question took Bulma by surprise. She hadn't been expecting anything like that! "What do you mean?" Eyeing Goku suspiciously, she added jokingly, "You didn't accidentally swallow the dragon radar while you were eating, did you?" By the sullen look on Goku's face, she guessed that he didn't appreciate her attempt to lighten the situation with humor. This must be serious. "Why don't you just tell me what's wrong, Goku, and I'll tell you if I can help."

Goku was silent for several long moments, apparently trying to decide either whether or not to tell Bulma, or how to tell her, what was bothering him. He started fidgeting with his fork again, fingering and twisting it around in his hands, then finally looked back up at his long-time friend. He looked like he was about ready to cry. "Tousan said he can't stay with me 'cause he's got a chip in his head."

"WHAT?!"


Contrary to what Bulma had earlier assumed - that everyone was still asleep in their beds - Vegeta had actually been awake for quite some time. In fact, he'd already gotten dressed and had left the capsule house to train by himself in a nearby clearing. Dressed in a loose blue gi and wearing his Saiyan boots and white gloves, the young prince went through some warm up katas with practiced ease. He was glad that he'd found his gloves again. He had thought that they'd been lost for several days now, but they'd actually been tossed into a laundry basket at some point in time and only recently washed. He was so used to wearing gloves when he was fighting that it had felt distinctly odd to spar against Bardock with his bare hands.

Especially when Bardock had taken his hand in his...

Vegeta shook that thought away and concentrated on keeping his punches and kicks smooth and rhythmic. He didn't want to think about the older Saiyan right now. He didn't want to have to deal with the turmoil of emotions that Bardock stirred up whenever he was around. He was the Prince of all Saiyans, damn it! He wasn't supposed to feel things like... like... whatever it was that Bardock made him feel! Bardock was just a low level soldier, certainly not someone Vegeta should be concerned about.

Ah, but if he's such a low level soldier, how did he manage to defeat you when you sparred with him? a little voice taunted in the back of his head. Prince of Vegeta, son of the strongest Saiyan alive, born with a strength most elites will never achieve in their lifetime... and a common soldier beat you into the ground!

"Shut up!" Vegeta hissed at the voice even as he slammed a fist into a convenient boulder, shattering it to pieces. "Bardock's different! He... he's an elite! He has to be, because he's too strong to be a low level! I bet if his strength was reevaluated it'd show he's an elite! And I'm only ten years old! Just because I'm the Prince doesn't mean I'm stronger than everyone else! Not yet!" Scowling with determination, the flame-haired child burst into a series of rapid-fire punches. "But I will be the strongest. I will defeat anyone who dares to call themselves stronger than me! Bardock may be stronger than I am now, but I'll train and become stronger and someday I will defeat him!" Satisfied with this promise to uphold his honor, Vegeta relaxed a little, even as he sped up the routine with a renewed vigor. Bardock would be pleased when he saw how much the little prince had improved...

And since when did you care what Bardock thinks? Apparently the voice had nothing better to do than make disparaging remarks. Besides, have you forgotten about that little incident with Kakarot? Bardock's not likely to forgive you for nearly killing his son just because you've been training, the voice sneered.

Vegeta winced. He had forgotten about that. Or, rather, it had been pushed to the back of his mind during the chaos of being kidnapped and escaping from a falling castle. A spot between his shoulder blades itched in remembrance of the beating he had anticipated receiving from Bardock before Pilaf and his loonies had struck. He was certain that that was what was about to happen, that Bardock had raised his hand so to strike him. He wished with all his heart that Pilaf's weapon had not prevented Bardock from punishing him, that the beating was over and done with. Forgiveness was so much easier to obtain after being punished...

Unconsciously, his thoughts drifted to memories of his father, of the many times he had failed to measure up to the king's high standards and had been disciplined accordingly. Yes, the beatings hurt, but not nearly as much as the disappointment did. The pain at least served the purpose of correcting his behavior and making him stronger, so Vegeta could tolerate it. It was the disapproval he saw in his father's eyes, even when he had deliberately done something he knew he shouldn't have, that hurt the most. But always, after every beating, no matter the infraction, the disapproval lessened and was replaced with pride, pride that Vegeta could accept the consequences of his actions like a man, without any unnecessary crying, and had become stronger for it. No matter how angry King Vegeta had been with his son, once the punishment was over, his anger vented and his son properly chastised, the king would rest a hand on Vegeta's shoulder, silently conveying what words could not express.

And that made it all worth it.

Which might have explained why Vegeta got into trouble so often. While he certainly didn't enjoy being whipped or beaten, he couldn't help but savor the pride and attention he got from his father afterwards. His father was always so busy trying to keep the Saiyan empire in one piece, it seemed that the only time Vegeta ever got to see him was when he was in trouble. So Vegeta accepted whatever punishment his father doled out without complaint, perhaps even looking forward to it, because he knew that after it was over his father would be proud of him. King Vegeta was always proud whenever he proved particularly strong and resilient.

Of course, none of this consciously registered in Vegeta's mind. He wasn't aware that there might be a deeper reason behind his constant trouble making, that he might have subconsciously been seeking his father's attention in the only way he was certain to get it. The only thing he thought of right now was that his father had always forgiven him after he'd been punished for his misdeeds.

If only Bardock would punish him....

What makes you think Bardock's anything like your father? That damned voice just wouldn't shut up! What if he still hates your guts even after beating the tar out of you? Why would he ever want to forgive a worthless little monkey like you? In a sly whisper, the voice added, And why do you want his forgiveness so badly?

"Leave me alone!" Vegeta shouted, clapping his hands to his ears in what he knew was a vain effort to block out the voice's mocking words. "I don't want to talk to you!"

"I didn't even say anything to you, Vegeta," an annoyed voice responded... a voice that was not originating from inside Vegeta's head. Startled, Vegeta whirled around to face the speaker, eyes widening when he realized who it was.

"B-Bardock!" He straightened up and hurriedly brushed off the bits of leaves and dust that clung to his clothing from his workout, heart beating nervously inside his chest. "I wasn't talking to you, sir. I... um... didn't see you there," he finished lamely. The excuse sounded pathetic even to his ears, but it was the best he could come up with on short notice. The word "sir" just slipped in out of sheer habit.

Bardock eyed Vegeta for a moment, then shrugged. "If you weren't talking to me, who were you talking to?" He glanced around the clearing briefly before resting his eyes back on the prince, his face unreadable. "I don't see anyone else here." The elder Saiyan crossed his arms and leaned back against a convenient tree, one hand loosely holding a lumpy brown sack. He looked like he hadn't gotten much sleep last night.

If Vegeta hadn't had it drummed into him not to fidget in front of authority, that is exactly what he would be doing right now. "I was just... talking to myself," he admitted, wishing that Bardock would show some kind of emotion on his face - any kind! - that would tell Vegeta what he was thinking. Then he realized how most people would react to a statement like that and he quickly defended, "I'm not crazy." His eyes drifted to the bag in Bardock's hand and, hesitantly, he pointed at it. "What's that?"

Immediately the expression on Bardock's face darkened. Vegeta gulped and was about to retract his question, but Bardock cut him off by answering curtly, "The last of the dragonballs."

"Then we have all the dragonballs now?"

"Yes."

A small frown tugged at Vegeta's lips. If they had all of the dragonballs, that meant that Goten and Trunks could go home. He wasn't certain how he felt about that. He'd gotten... used to the two demi-Saiyans. It would also mean that the quest was over, and that meant that it would be time for Vegeta to go back home to Vegeta-sei. Back to being the Prince of all Saiyans and, eventually, the King. An uncomfortable feeling settled into the pit of his stomach as he realized that... he wasn't ready to go home. He didn't want the adventure to be over just yet.

"I thought we were still missing three of them," he said, knowing even as he said it how redundant it was. He needed time to absorb this turn of events. "When did you..."

"I couldn't sleep last night," Bardock said by way of explanation. "So I decided to do something useful and took one of the radar devices to go look for the rest of the dragonballs." He gazed off into the distance, looking at something only he could see. Vegeta got the impression that his mind wasn't really on the conversation. Then he blinked and tilted his head to give the ten year old a piercing look, mind obviously snapping back to the present. "Vegeta," he said suddenly, making the boy jump. "Did anyone ever teach you how to control your energy?"

"What?" The question seemed to come out of the blue and took Vegeta completely off guard. "What do you mean? Of course I can control my energy!" he huffed indignantly. "What kind of a question is that? Only babies don't know how to use their ki!"

Shaking his head impatiently, Bardock stopped leaning against the tree and made a negating gesture with his free hand. "That's not what I mean! I want to know if anyone ever taught you how to control your energy when fighting against a weaker opponent."

Vegeta stared blankly. "What are you talking about?"

With an exasperated roll of his eyes, Bardock said, "So you don't kill them by accident!" The older warrior made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat and set down the bag of dragonballs at the foot of an ancient oak. "You mean to tell me no one's ever taught you how to modify the strength of a ki blast according to the strength of your opponent?" He waited just long enough for Vegeta to give a confused nod, then snorted. "No wonder you nearly killed Goku. Come here, Vegeta."

Vegeta flinched at the mention of Goku's name. This was it. Bardock had not forgotten that Vegeta had practically roasted his son, and now he was going to deliver the beating he hadn't had the chance to give before Pilaf had knocked them out. Stomach churning with a strange mixture of dread and anticipation, the flame-haired prince carefully made his way over to stand in front of the taller Saiyan, making sure not to trip on any of the debris he'd created during his training. It was finally time to accept his punishment. And then... maybe... Bardock would forgive him.

And be proud of him.

Just like his father.