Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Hate Is Just Another Kind of Love ❯ love and hate ( Chapter 1 )

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

[Insert standard disclaimer here] This has gone through some basic revision; please let me know what you think.
Hate is just another kind of love.
Bulma stared across the table at the Prince of the Saiyajin, and wished that within the span of the fifteen years it'd taken Vegeta to completely enslave the human race, that she'd been able to kill him when she'd had the chance. There had only been the one, and she'd still used it to her advantage, but the ace up her sleeve this time wouldn't be enough.
“How long has it been, woman?” Dark eyes watched her carefully; he'd learned the hard way that giving her just a moment to collect herself could be…disadvantageous.
“Since we last saw each other? Two, maybe three months. You glad you saved your little flunkies?” she smirked to hide the fear, blew her bangs out of her eyes, and fingered the magnetic strip on the manacles.
“Since the last time I had you like this.”
Oh. Well, if he was going to bring it up, then what was a poor girl to do, besides tell the truth?
“Eleven years.” Had to do it carefully, always carefully, no knowing which way he'd lean this time. “But to be fair, we've fucked a couple of times over the years. That how it's gonna go this time?”
“I haven't decided yet.” His grin was feral, as she watched him take in her ripped clothes and bruising lip. “You wont escape this time. I rather…enjoy your company, when you aren't actively trying to kill me.” Vegeta let his eyes linger over her still lush body, remembering.
“I'm always actively trying to kill you, you pompous, inbred fuck-wit.” Same trick never works twice with you anyway, she added silently.
“How could my best enemy do any less?” Vegeta smiled, all fang and lethal affection.
“I've done better.” Her smile was cold and wide with her secret triumph. One last trap to spring on the sanctimonious prick.
“Have you, now?” Vegeta laughed; she was human, pathetically weak. Fiercely intelligent. If she'd been born Saiyajin, he could have made her the first queen in a hundred years.
“You're going to wait for an audience to kill me, Vegetable Head, because you're a vain fop with an ego to inflate. You gonna break your favorite toy in front of Daddy, and show him what a big, strong man you are?” the blank slate dropped into his black eyes, and she smirked at the little victory. “He's getting awfully tired of your little distractions here on Earth, isn't he? Time for you to go home and get serious, isn't it?” She mocked him because she knew he hated it, and she knew because they'd fought for so long.
I should love someone I know so well, she thought. But I hate him, hate him hatehimhatehimhatehim
“You're right, we are waiting for an audience. I cant wait to kill your sources, either, since its obviously someone high up. There are only a handful of Saiyajin who were told that my father would be here. Cant be any of Raditz or Kakarrot's little toys, since they had a little spring cleaning. Nappa? He's got a slew of useful girls for you to utilize. Pity he goes through them so quickly you don't actually have time to get anything useful.” Vegeta smiled at the taunt look on her face, and watched for the next blow.
Spring cleaning? Then Rachelle and Chi Chi were dead, and Racine and Gohan were in the pens. It'd been six months since she'd heard from them; she'd suspected, but hadn't known. Yaumcha was working the pens though, sneaking the halfbreeds out in ones and twos; he'd recognize a familiar face. Vegeta was right about Nappa, though; the man was a death trap for an agent. And it wasn't like she could just come out and say that she'd tapped their scouters, because Saiyajin were technologically retarded. If it weren't for the fact that they got technology from Freeza for their prowess in battle, humans would have won years ago.
“Doing a little spring cleaning of your own then. Bad idea, letting Daddy see your little mess down here. I don't think you'll be as thorough as Raditz or Kakarrot, though.” She was guessing, didn't know what he was expecting her to do, but the lingering look he gave sent shivers down her spine. She wished they weren't remotely pleasant.
“I highly doubt that.” He shot out of his chair suddenly, came around the table between them, and stood nose to nose with her. “I've let you have your fun, woman, and now it ends.”
It'll definitely end tonight, and I'll definitely be dead, but at least you'll be dead with me, you bastard. She knew Trunks was lurking around somewhere, she's specifically told him not to follow her when Raditz and Kakarrot had come for them, so of course he would. He must have picked that up from Piccolo, because Yaumcha and Tien knew better than to go against her direct orders.
“Vegeta, you couldn't kill me if your life depended on it, and I'll tell you why." She didn't know how chilly her smile was, but it gave the Saiyajin prince pause. Just enough of an edge to make her dangerous, now that she had no way out.
“I'm all agog.”
Four years of serious all-out war, and another eleven of playing the `stay alive' game, and in between, an indefinable emotion and a ten-year-old son. He'd seen the purple-haired brat only a handful of times; never known his name, only spoken to him once. He'd been charging through a decoy base, seen a flash of movement, and followed it. Her eyes, looking out of his own face, by the time he'd cornered the brat; those slanted blue eyes had held no fear, as the child had stood and stared. Vegeta didn't know how he knew, except that the brat had smirked. That smirk was genetic. He'd grabbed the boy by the back of his shirt, ripped the vent out, and shoved the brat one way as he fired a ki blast in the opposite; "Run," he grunted to the boy before Nappa came tearing around the corner, using a human head like a bowling ball to knock a fleeing victims' knees out. He'd sympathized with Kakarrot and Raditz, who'd put up a whole-hearted fight for their half-breed sons, but nothing stood in the way of Nappa upholding the finest traditions of the Saiyajin. At least the brothers had known the names of their sons; Vegeta made sure Nappa never knew they'd been sneaking slaves out to the mountains, letting humans drop off the radar. .
“You cant stand to kill your best enemy.” Her voice was still cold, and he let it break over him. “Saiyajin live to fight, and humans fight to survive. You love the fact that I'm a challenge, that I'm giving our little war my all, and with me dead, there just wont be any fun anymore. I am your greatest weakness, Vegeta, because when I'm dead, you're not going to have anyone to fight but yourself.”
He kissed her, gently; she half-hated herself for leaning into it with her lips parted. He didn't jump back when the double-doors were thrown open, but Bulma did, staring at the new comer with wide eyes. .
“My son.” The man coming through the door was a carbon copy of the Prince. Grey streaks in the wild upswept hair, a goatee, and harder, darker eyes, if that were possible. “Why do I have the sinking feeling that you've dragged me halfway across the galaxy to watch you play with your toys? Aren't you bored with this world yet?”
So that's where he gets it from, she thought. That sneer must have been around for generations. She hoped Trunks didn't pick it up anytime soon.
“My father.” Vegeta bowed to the older man, then turned to the man who'd trailed behind the king. “Prophet Bardock, how good of you to come. I'm so pleased you could make it, father. I'd like you to take note of this woman, Bulma Briefs. She's been leading the revolt on this planet since our first invasion. She has, despite my best efforts, been resilient, resourceful, and effective.”
“Either shut up or get to the point, brat,” the King growled and crossed his arms, having long ago lost his patience. He didn't even look at Bulma, keeping his baleful glare focused on the source of his ire.
“My time on this planet has not been a waste, is the point. She fights better than any tactician Freeza could hope to have, and she does it with the bare minimum of resources, against staggering odds, and with no hope of winning. Freeza-”
“I've got one hope.” They turned to look at her, and the slow, lazy smile curving her lips gave her enemy pause. “Your son will kill you, Vegeta. I know this, because I gave birth to him, I raised him, I trained him. I've already tried to warn you; I am your greatest weakness.”
The flash of ki blinded her, but it didn't really matter, because she was dead before she hit the floor.
“That is quite enough of that. Bardock, make sure he hunts down the brat she was babbling on about, and kills it himself. I want this planet destroyed before you set foot on Vegetasie again, my son.” The king turned to leave through the doors he'd come in through, and as he did so, a streak of purple shot past them with a visceral little sound.
The kid reached down to brush the blue hair out of her pale face, breathing heavily. A tentative “Mom?” and then, dully, “You killed her, you killed her, youkilledher…” a sharp intake of breath, “MOM!” at the top of his lungs, that turned into a sound every Saiyajin understands.
The primal sound of rage building up, with only one place to go. Most Saiyajin don't turn golden, though, with a pulse of power beating everything else back, standing now-blond hair up on end, or pupil-less green eyes wide with destructive intent. The kid didn't have to attack, really; the first ki blast blew a hole the size of a basket ball through the kings chest. He stood, panting, thin shoulders heaving, and only when the glow had faded, and Vegeta could see that his eyes were big and blue again, did the prince reach out and turn the boy gently by the shoulder.
“Boy,” he started, and stopped, because how do you offer comfort to a son you've never known? Just the one time they'd barely spoken, a handful of glimpses across a field of slaughter, and some long, knowing stares.
“You brought her here. She wouldn't have died if you hadn't brought her here!” Such accusation, such hatred…his hair was an odd shade of purple, and he'd gotten her eyes, but the rest was Saiyajin; the boy even moved like he did. “She only went because she didn't want them to find me!”
“I'm sorry.” The only thing in his life he'd ever apologized for. What the hell was he thinking? But the boy paused, hiccupped, and flung his arms around Vegeta's waist as he started sobbing. She obviously hadn't taught him to hate well enough. And maybe he'd been around humans too long, because he let one hand cradle the back of the boy's neck, without any urge to snap it.
“Vegeta.” Bardock called, and the prince looked up sharply, curling his tail around the boy defensively. “Killing a Super Sayajin would be…a waste of resource. Hide the boy, claim the throne, and get the hell off this rock before you let it destroy you, if it hasn't already.” The older Saiyajin knelt, ripped the blue pendant from the dead king's neck, and held it out to Vegeta.
He took it without thinking, and stared between the pendant and the boy for a long moment. Gently, like handling a bomb about to go off, he held the boy away from him.
“Boy.” Trunks looked up, hiccupped one last time, and wiped the tears away. “You see that sword?” Vegeta pointed to the blade hanging above the mantle across the room. “Take it, and use every trick your mother ever taught you. You've got the next two days to make it look like you've driven me off this rock, and I promise you, we'll leave. Every Sayajin will leave. Now, go.” No use asking if the boy was ready, because there wouldn't be time to wait. The boy hauled the sword down from the mantle, and only paused to look back once, right before he went diving through the window. “Tell me your name, boy.” He'd need the sound of the boy's name, because there wasn't anything else left of her.
“Trunks. My name is Trunks Briefs.” The boy paused for a moment longer, looking as if he wanted to say something else. Changed his mind, and dove into the night.
“You'll look weak to the court, losing a world within the first few days of your kingship.” Bardock warned, then smirked. “It's a good strategy. You'll have to play into their hands for a few years, but if they underestimate you enough, you'll have the chance to eradicate the rot your father's alliance with Freeza has brought. The lower classes will revolt if you let it get out of hand, though. It'll take time, Vegeta, and you've never been the patient type.”
“Bardock, I spent fifteen years fighting a woman I could have killed a hundred times over. I think I've learned a thing or two about patience that I didn't know before.” Vegeta stared at the pendant as he spoke, then at the ki-charred bodies lying on the floor.
Patience, determination, and cunning disguised as courage; he'd learned a few things here. The planet, and the boy, would come in handy later. He'd let the boy nick him with the sword, and Kakarrot and Raditz would rush to get him up off the planet, and Bardock would hold Nappa back and get everyone else up off the ground. Back into their ships, back to Vegetasie. The court would think he'd run away from one little problem back to the supposed safety of the home world, and his greatest enemies would align themselves within the first year. He'd have to draw the battles out, give them hope, before he killed them. Play the vain fop, and let her laugh from her grave. Years of not quite killing someone teaches you more than a few things.
And in the end, he laughed at the sight of his son charging, backed on either side by halfbreed versions of Raditz and Kakarrot, and let the boy run him through three times before he hauled him in close, and whispered goodbye, before Raditz grabbed him under the arms and shot skyward. He'd left the bodies of his father and his best enemy where the boy could find them, and left it up to him.
Trunks might hate him, but the boy already knew what his parents had spent his entire life trying to figure out; hate really is just another kind of love.