Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance ❯ Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z, or any of the characters featured therein; they belong to Akira Toriyama and whoever he's decided to share them with. If they were mine, Hercule would have died, painfully and publicly.

Author's notes: I know, I know, we're on chapter 8 and the two “main characters” have hardly spoken. Well sirs, I can promise you some B/V interaction today, so step on up!

Also, I've been trying to be good about responding to signed reviews through emails or PMs, but for those of you who are not members, I wanted to say thanks as well. I won't clutter up the author's note with individual replies, but I hope you all know your kind words mean a lot to me. Special thanks to not_a_member, whose mysterious alias has shown up after pretty much every chapter. I wish I had your email, so I could thank you properly.

Lastly, I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter. Several factors combined to make real life a bit of a dump for the past month.

*

*

PRESENT DAY

*

“Bad news, Bulma,” Chichi said, handing the other woman a steaming mug of coffee. “I've just learned that Frieza's soldiers have set up a blockade on Chisal. Every port city will be teeming with soldiers. They're going to be inspecting cargo.”

“What?” Bulma groaned, “Why?”

“I don't know. Speculation is that he's caught wind of some renegade operation and is trying to catch the perpetrators red handed.”

“Is it us?” Bulma asked, taking a sip and savouring the taste of the real, Earth-grown beans. Her father, while failing miserably on the pea-soup front, had at least thought to bring loads of coffee three years ago, when he'd stocked up the ship. In fact, if they were careful, Bulma figured they could keep themselves in the delicious brew for another five years, at least. “Are we the perpetrators he's hoping to catch?”

“Nobody knows what he's looking for. Word around is that he doesn't even know what he's looking for.” Chichi sighed and sipped her own extra strong beverage. She'd been up all night trolling the radio channels after hearing about the blockade, and she was exhausted. “He probably thinks someone is trying to smuggle weapons.” She said, “And maybe someone is trying to smuggle weapons. You know what Chisal is like. It might not be us that he's caught wind of.”

“But what if it is us?”

“Bulma,” Chichi interrupted in her most matronly voice, the one she knew made people shut up and listen. “We're transporting boxes. Boxes! Nothing but empty storage containers. Nobody is going to throw us in intergalactic jail for that. They'll never know about the encapsulation feature if you just disable it, or something.”

Bulma frowned, thinking on that possibility. “I'm going to get in touch with Guru,” she said, “and see if he knows anything.” She looked at the clock and did a quick calculation in her head. “Damn, it's the middle of the night on Chisal. I guess I'll have to wait till later.”

“Don't worry yourself so much, Bulma.” Chichi smiled, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder. “I'm sure it will be alright.”

*

“So, we noticed you've been watching Chichi lately.” Roshi said, sidling up to Sixteen who was, in fact, watching the dark-haired woman. She and Krillin were sparring again, and he'd told himself he was simply there in case of injury to either party.

“I don't blame you, big guy,” Oolong appeared on Sixteen's other side. He'd been ensnared in a pervert-sandwich. “She's a fine piece of work.” The three of them watched Chichi slam into Krillin with a roundhouse kick, Roshi peeking over the tops of his sunglasses to watch her breasts bounce as she jumped backward to dodge Krillin's return attack; a neat sweep of the leg aimed to kick her feet out from under her.

“Shame she's married.” Roshi sighed.

“Goku's not exactly around, is he?” Oolong straightened his suspenders and cupped a hand in front of his snout to smell his breath. “That makes her fair game.” He made ready to stride on over and seduce the panties off Chichi, when a large hand on his head halted him. Literally. He couldn't move.

“Do not.” Sixteen said, surprising even himself with the hard conviction in his voice. With a twist of his wrist, he turned the pig, bodily, to face him. “You will leave her be.”

“You'll just end up with a lump on your head for your troubles,” Roshi cautioned, “trust me, I know.” He pointed to a scar on the back of his bald head, which had been split open by one of Chichi's frying pan attacks. “She did this to me back on Earth, imagine what she's capable of doing now that she's been training with Krillin.”

“Oh whatever,” Oolong grunted, stepping backward and swatting Sixteen's hand away, trying to save face. Why'd the big guy care so much, anyway? It's not like he was making the move himself. “It's not like she could handle me anyway. I don't want some chick cramping my style.”

“Plus, I just got this.” Roshi flashed a magazine in their faces. Oolong drooled, and Sixteen seemed perplexed. “Intergalactic babes, here we come!”

“Those women have no clothes on.” Sixteen peered at the cover, which featured two very exotic looking humanoid females. They appeared to be hugging each other, and Sixteen wondered aloud why the two other men would care about the friendship of two naked women. Roshi and Oolong looked at each other, rolling their eyes as if to say `Is this guy for real?'

“You have a lot to learn, friend.” Roshi reached up to pat the tall android on the arm, only because he couldn't reach the green-clad shoulder. “Come with us, will you? If Chichi catches us with this, we're all in for a beating.”

*

*

“So we were wondering if you'd heard anything else,” Bulma finished, having shared with Guru all of her knowledge regarding the impending blockade.

“No, I am not certain who they are after, but I doubt they will become suspicious of the cargo you carry.” Guru answered, and Bulma could hear the stress in his voice, even if the only indication of it on the video link was a pair of downturned eyebrows. “No doubt they will be looking for weapons or dangerous materials.”

“Yes, that's what we thought as well.”

“Blue, you must know that ordinarily I would not press you to complete the delivery under such dangerous circumstances,” Guru paused, troubled, “But the need for food and medicine grows stronger in the slaver colonies, and I see no other way to transport such large amounts so inconspicuously.”

“I know, Guru. Don't trouble yourself. We can handle it.” Bulma tried to reassure the old Namek, but his attention was elsewhere. She heard the door to the dome-house shut and saw Dende and Nail enter the room to give Guru their greetings. Dende handed the old sage a gourd of water, which he gratefully accepted.

“I do have some comforting news, however.” Guru continued, after a sip and a nod to his two sons to sit down. “After I learned of the blockade myself, I spoke to Vengeance to see if he had any information. He did not, but he has assured me that if he cannot come to Boona himself, he will send someone trustworthy in his stead, to keep an eye on things.”

“Vengeance?” Bulma shifted uneasily in her chair. They had not spoken since the night of her drunk-dial, and she wasn't exactly sure what to think. “Guru, to be honest, I don't know if I trust him, exactly. He almost killed us on Benthal Six.”

“Vengeance will honour his word.” She could hear Guru chuckling to himself, a soft, wheezy sound. “But he will do it in his own way. Trust in him, Blue, he will not lead us astray.”

“How do you know?” Bulma demanded, petulantly. “Do you even know who he is?”

“Child, I know him just as well as you do. I know the way he speaks with passion in his heart, and with hatred for the tyrant Frieza. He speaks truthfully at every turn, even when he knows that his answers are not the desired ones. He will be true to his word in ways you may not expect, but he is true nonetheless.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Bulma sighed. “I just wish that I had the same faith in him that you do.” Guru laughed, his good nature triumphing even in a time of such stress.

“You will.” He smiled at her through the video link, and she found she did feel a bit lighter. He was better than any self-help wizard or psychologist she'd ever met. If only she could talk to him about the crazy dreams she'd been having! “Ahh, I must go.” He said, as she heard the door open again. “I have visitors.”

Bulma remained seated for a moment after signing off. She sighed and ran her palms up from her neck across her cheeks and up into her hair. She brushed her fingers through the silky curls - her latest hair experiment. She hadn't been sure whether or not she wanted to go from straight as a board into a full on perm, so she'd opted for some nice waves. Or she'd wanted to, at least. Unfortunately for her, the resident hairstylist - aka Mom - had other ideas. What she'd ended up with was a bouffant to make any disco queen jealous. At first, she'd been horrified, but day by day it had grown on her, and she had to admit to herself that she was really working the afro.

Groaning, she hauled herself up out of her chair and into the common room, where most of the residents of Red Station were gathered, usually watching television, reading books, really doing whatever. Krillin, Roshi and Oolong played cards, while Mrs. Briefs tried to interest a confused and listless Tien in `All My Starsystems', a daily drama that was as crazy and unpredictable as any Earth soap opera. Bulma's father and Gero sat with a backgammon board between them, while Sixteen looked on. Puar and Chichi came into the room as Bulma did, just having finished the post-dinner kitchen clean up.

“Listen up, folks. I have some bad news, and I have some good news...sort of.” She trailed off at a glare from her mother, who gestured at the television. Bulma rolled her eyes and waited for a commercial. Gods, sometimes she was hard pressed to remember that they were not on Earth anymore. “So anyway,” she raised her voice to be heard over an ad for Glorax's Sprigot Powder, “I have some news about the delivery to Chisal.”

*

“Hello, Monkey Prince.” Frieza's icy cold voice dripped down Vegeta's spine, though he refused to give in to the shiver that was working its way down his back.

“My lord.” A slight incline of his head, as he adjusted his video screen so that the Emperor was in focus.

“I have a new assignment for you and those apes you call subjects.” Frieza sneered into his wineglass as he sniffed the drink, seemingly offended by its odour. He put the glass down on the arm of his hovering chair, once again deigning to grace the Saiyan prince with eye-contact. “Go to Chisal. Boona is the city, and keep an eye on the blockade there. My source has just informed me that not only is some transaction going on, but Vengeance or one of his underlings has promised to be in attendance. You will find him.”

“What is the cargo that these renegades will be transporting?” Vegeta was glad that Frieza could only see him from the shoulders up. That way, he didn't have to try and control the clenching of his fists or the agitated thrashing of his tail.

“My source was unable to say.” The Saiyan let out the breath he had been holding. “But he assures me it is important, so watch for any weapons or chemicals that could be used in explosives.” The lizard scowled, plainly remembering the disaster that was Benthal Six. Months later, and his science departments were no closer to replicating the ki-circlet device than they had been at the beginning.

“If I may ask, sir,” Vegeta said, allowing just a hint of insolent scepticism to creep into his voice, “Just who is this source of yours? He does not seem to know much.”

“Do you doubt my judgement, Vegeta?” Frieza asked, dangerously. “You, who allowed my weapons factory to be destroyed? You, who allowed Vengeance to escape from right out under your pointed little nose?” He did not give the prince a chance to answer. “FIND HIM this time, Vegeta.” He snarled, and the screen went black.

“Shit, you've got to be kidding me.” Vegeta snarled, slamming his fist on the tabletop as he shut off his com-link. “Son of an Icejin whore!” he cursed, looking for something expendable to smash. Dirty plates from his dinner were swept carelessly to the floor, the crash and crack of broken pottery easing his rage. How had the slimy bastard found out? He had spoken of it to none of his contacts but Guru, who had presumably informed Blue as well. He was certain of his confidence in Guru; the old Namek would never turn on one of his allies. Blue, he was surprised to find he trusted her as well, but she was still somewhat of an unknown. He'd no idea who her accomplices were, save the one known as Monk, but he knew they existed, and he had a feeling that she was not nearly as particular as he in whom she gave her trust to.

Growling, he punched the table, his comm-unit crashing to the floor as the surface fell out from beneath it. Fuck, a mole. Now he was going to have to do some digging, and just when he'd thought things were going smoothly. Situations like this were exactly why he hadn't let the other Saiyans in on his business. Sometimes, being a paranoid loner was a good thing.

*

*

In the end, Bulma, Krillin and Puar were once again the team chosen for the delivery. Smarts, strength, and shape shifting abilities just couldn't be beat. Tien had expressed interest in going, had been downright insistent on it, in fact, but everyone else thought it best that he remained behind. Though they had never been great friends, everyone could tell that there was something off about the three eyed warrior. He hadn't even mentioned Chautzu since they `d picked him up, for starters, and he'd been with them for weeks. Bulma suspected that he'd suffered some psychological damage and the others agreed. After all, he'd likely watched his best friend die in vain, only to be packed off to one filthy slave camp after another.

Tien had been visibly frustrated at being left behind, so Chichi had volunteered to stay as well, promising him that they could spar together, to help him get back in shape after the poor conditions he'd suffered under. Reluctantly, he'd agreed. After Chichi decided to stay, Sixteen quickly reminded everyone that Dr. Gero would undoubtedly need his help in the labs, preventing him from going, too. None of the others had the skills, so the three set to packing their small transport ship.

*

*

“Oh shit.” Bulma stopped short, grabbed Krillin by the collar, and dragged him behind a pile of boxes that lay waiting to be inspected.

“What is it, what's going on?” Puar asked as he backed the hovering transport cart up to be close to them. He'd shifted into a totally alien form, a sort of reddish, rhino-looking creature that walked on three legs. He had a thick tail that dragged on the ground behind him, which was studded with what appeared to be bony spikes.

“Fucking Saiyans, that's what!” Bulma hissed, pointing across the hangar to where three familiar figures stood. “God, why did they have to turn up here? Vegeta will recognize me for sure, and they've all seen Krillin, too.” She smacked herself in the forehead, cursing fate.

“Puar, you'll have to go alone.” Krillin said, looking at the terrified rhino alien that was his good friend. “There's no choice. We'll stay here and watch, and then we'll try to see if we can sneak out somewhere and meet up with you at Guru's.”

“No,” Puar shook his massive head. “They'll only catch you on the way back in. None of them will recognize me.” He wished his fingers weren't so thick, or else he'd have been crossing them for luck. “The two of you should go back to the ship and just wait till I get back.”

“Are you sure?” Bulma asked, anxiously. “I don't want you to go by yourself.”

“I'll be okay.” Puar assured them, trying his best to sound confident and brave. “Just tell me,” he cast a look at the Saiyans. At one Saiyan in particular, though his friends didn't know that. “I don't look...well, I don't look even remotely human, do I?”

“No. You look more like a dinosaur than a human.” Krillin assured the shapeshifter. “Why?”

“Err...” He paused, casting about for an answer “I...um...didn't want them to think I resembled you guys. Thought it might seem suspicious.” They both nodded, as though that made a lot of sense, which it didn't, considering that looking human didn't mean you were. Saiyans looked human too, and so did a select few other races that they'd come across. “Well, off I go, I guess.” He said, shoving the hover cart forward again. “I'll see you back at the ship.”

*

Radditz nearly groaned aloud when the familiar scent wafted into his nostrils, practically calling his name. His eyes, suddenly bright and alert after many boring hours watching men sort through cargo, scanned the crowd for a familiar head of blue hair. Either one would do, really, but he hoped for Puar, who'd already succumbed quite willingly to his advances and had showed signs of interest in future dalliances. The female - what had been her name? - had seemed put off by his attention. Frowning, he sniffed the air again. The scent was there, but he didn't see any blue-haired Saiyanoids anywhere.

Fuck. He was so sure he smelled it. It was the exact scent that he'd been hoping to catch for the past month. How could so many creatures give off the same exact smell? Sure, certain species gave off similar scents, but he was confused as to why Puar, Malibu Barbie, and whoever the hell was wandering around now were exactly the same. Same species or not, there was no way they could match perfectly, was there?

Shaking his head in frustration, Radditz focused on pinpointing the source, and was surprised to see the bulky, red triped waiting patiently in line. Couldn't be, could it? The creature shared none of the features that the other two had, but he knew that his nose had never failed him before. He uncrossed his arms, pushed himself away from the crates he had been leaning against, and took a few steps closer. The creature noticed him staring, and began to look nervous.

*

Puar felt himself begin to sweat. Radditz was staring at him. Oh God, why was Radditz staring at him? He couldn't know, could he? Puar surveyed his body, tough red hide, bulging stomach, thick tail dragging lazily in the dirt; he didn't look at all the same. He'd modified his mouth, his face, he'd even changed his eyes, which was giving him a bit of a headache. He wouldn't sound the same either; if he opened his mouth to speak, a grunty, gravelly sound would come out instead of the high pitched squeak of the cat, or the smooth drawl of the man Radditz would recognize.

“What's in the boxes?” Radditz asked, stopping next to Puar. The shapeshifter stared a moment, desperately wanting to turn tail and run. Instead, he swallowed bravely and stood his ground.

“Nothing,” he said, trying to keep the shake from his voice. “Empty containers, is all.”

“Open one.” The Saiyan commanded, and Puar did as he said, flipping the catch and pulling up the lid on the top box. Radditz peered inside.

“What are they for?” He asked, pulling up the tray to see the empty storage compartment beneath.

“Dunno. I'm just the delivery guy.”

Radditz scowled, stared a moment too long into Puar's eyes, before jerking his head to the left. “Put your cart through the x-ray scanner.” He commanded. “I don't wanna have to inspect every box.” He watched, brows pinched together, as the red creature lumbered over to the big scanner and waited his turn. “Where you from?” He called out on a sudden impulse. “What planet?”

Puar turned, surprised. “Earth,” he said, because lying would only complicate things if there were further questions. Surely the breadth of species that had existed on Earth would prevent the Saiyan from getting suspicious.

“Earth?” Radditz seemed surprised, and Puar was unprepared for what happened next. “Brat!” he called, “C'mere!” Puar watched as a short little Saiyan jogged over, long hair tied back, a miniature of the man standing before him, except for the black eye. “Gohan,” Radditz said, and Puar could feel the colour draining from his leathery skin. “This guy says he's from Earth. Maybe you know `im?”

Gohan looked Puar carefully over, his little head cocking to one side, black eyes squinting. “Don't know him,” he said, taking in the dinosaur-like features, “but he looks like he could be from Earth.” He looked down and frowned at the tripod arrangement of legs, which was odd even by Earth standards. “What city are you from?” Both Saiyans looked expectantly on, but Puar found he couldn't speak. He could only stare, unbelieving, at the child before him.

“G...” he began, but thought better of it, wondering what would happen if he revealed himself. “Gah.” He finished, stupidly. The Saiyans exchanged a look, and Gohan turned back to Radditz, as if to ask why he'd been dragged over. Radditz shrugged.

“Must have been the shock of meeting another Earthling,” he suggested, once they'd left the creature to his business. “There can't be many of you left.” Gohan nodded in agreement, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd met the rhino dino somewhere before.

*

*

“I have news,” Was the first thing that Puar said, stepping foot back on the ship the next morning. Frieza's barricade was still in place, but he hadn't had any trouble getting back to Bulma and Krillin.

“Good or bad?” The monk asked.

“I don't know. Bad.” Puar ran a hand across his leathery face, then transformed back into his cat-shape with a sigh. He floated over toward the table where Krillin and Bulma were enjoying an early lunch. “The Saiyans have Gohan.” He said, having decided to just spit it out. Krillin's jaw fell open and a piece of cheese fell out of his mouth, while Bulma simply stared, as though she'd heard him wrong.

“Pardon me?” She said.

“Gohan, he was with the Saiyans at the checkpoint.” Puar snatched up a piece of cheese, but instead of eating it, he just picked nervously at it with his paws. “He...looks like them. Like Radditz; the one with the long hair. He's like Radditz in miniature. But he was hurt.”

*

*

Bulma fought the urge to sneeze, and she fought it hard. They'd figured it out, of course, and felt like humongous idiots afterward. Goku'd had the tail, after all, and everyone in the universe had heard stories about the terrors of the Saiyan Oozaru form, which sounded suspiciously like what Goku had turned into so long ago. Bulma had been amazed that none of them had ever made the connection before, but Krillin had reminded her that it wasn't like they came into regular contact with Saiyans anyway. It wasn't like their monkey tailed, spiky haired, Oozaru-turning-into asses were in their faces all the time. Of course none of them had made the connection; they'd never had reason to think about it before. Still didn't explain how Goku had ended up on Earth, of course, but that was the least of their concerns.

They wondered if Chichi knew.

Bulma lost the battle with her nose, and the sneeze escaped. All three of them froze, and Krillin and Puar both turned to glare at her, clearly indicating that if they were caught, she would not be forgiven any time soon. Bulma glared right back, clearly indicating that if they had spoken their thoughts aloud, she would have told them both to shut it. A few minutes passed, and nothing happened, so they began moving again, slowly, slowly, and ever so quietly, so as not to disturb the occupants of these quarters.

Brave idiots that they were, they'd snuck into the military compound. It was Bulma's stupid idea to rescue Gohan in the first place, even though Puar had assured them that a black eye seemed to be the only damage done to the child. Bulma had been very loud in her opinion that eight year old boys should not have black eyes, and besides that, who knew what kind of mental and emotional damage those monsters were inflicting? So she'd hacked into the empire's databases, found out where the Saiyans were being housed, and off they'd gone in their typical `save the world' fashion. It was a brash and impulsive move that would have made Goku proud.

Not total idiots, they'd at least put a little thought into their timing. The base wouldn't be busy in the middle of the night, but there would still be soldiers on patrol, so they'd have to be careful. Puar's shapeshifting was an easy disguise, as usual, and Krillin had pilfered a set of armour from a guard they'd incapacitated - just like in the movies, but with more stink, he'd joked - but that still left Bulma. Looking at her, Puar and Krillin agreed that there was no way she was passing for a soldier, even in regulation body armour. Her skin was too smooth, her arms too skinny, the list went on and on.

“So I'm a hooker, then.” She'd snapped, kicking off her boots and reaching up under her skirt to tug her leggings off. Krillin stared, blushing, as she unbuttoned her blouse and tied it beneath breasts encased in a hot pink bra. “Wish I'd worn a pushup today.” She'd muttered as she mussed her hair up a little and hiked up her skirt. “What do you think?” She put her hands on her hips and faced her two friends. “Slutty enough? I look like a prostitute?”

“I don't want to answer that.” Krillin said, swallowing, as he tore his eyes away from her bouncing cleavage. He didn't usually think of Bulma in that way, but...well, damn. Even Puar had to stare a little, and he really wasn't even into boobs.

“Good, I'll take that as a yes.” She said, and slipped her boots back on. “And for fuck's sake, Krillin,” she reprimanded the smaller warrior, “stop blushing so much! It's nothing you haven't seen before!”

So Bulma had jiggled her way across the compound, arm hooked through Puar's, while Krillin trailed behind, grinning for all the world like he was about to enjoy sloppy seconds. No one stopped them, but there were a few whistles and more than one offer to bat cleanup. Krillin was glad that Puar was so big and scary looking; he was terrified that someone would step in and challenge them for the girl, but it looked like everyone who was out and about had a job to do.

So that was how they'd come to be creeping through the Saiyans' quarters, fully aware that any noise or sloppy movement could bring torture and death down on their asses.

“How do we find Gohan?” Puar whispered. “Do we know what room he's in?”

Bulma shook her head. “We have to split up. This place is bigger than I thought it would be.”

“Are you crazy?” Krillin hissed. “Don't you watch movies? Splitting up is never a good idea.”

“If we stay together, we'll be here all night!” Bulma jabbed her finger toward a hallway. “You guys creep around together if you want, but I'm going that way.” Krillin rolled his eyes and took another hallway, while Puar quickly changed back to cat-form and floated toward a closed door. Easier to hide when you were small, he figured.

Two minutes later, Bulma was regretting her idea. Once away from Krillin, friend and bodyguard, she began to realize just how perilous of a situation she was in. Unarmed - where to stick a gun in this outfit? - and dressed like a streetwalker, she'd be helpless to fend off any unwanted advances. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves, and consoled herself with the fact that nobody seemed to be wandering the halls this late. She debated untying and buttoning her shirt up properly, but thought that if she was caught, it was probably better to be mistaken for a lost hooker than a nosey snoop, so she left it the way it was.

Bulma squinted in the dim light of the hallway, trying to read the nameplates on the doors. Most of them were blank, but when she saw Vegeta's name boldly emblazoned across one panel, she had to fight with herself to control the panic fluttering in her chest. She was going to get herself killed! Swallowing her fear, she tiptoed past two more doors labelled `Nappa' and `Radditz' before coming to the one she sought. Gohan.

Quickly, she tapped out a message on the communicators she'd given Puar and Krillin, to let them know she'd found his room. Even if he wasn't in there now, they could at least hide there and wait until he showed up. She frowned when no response came from Puar, but Krillin's response was quick; he'd be there as soon as he could.

*

Radditz frowned, staring at the plant. Had it always been there? How come he hadn't noticed it before? And perhaps, most importantly, why the hell did it smell like Puar?

He growled and punched himself in the side of the head. “I must be going crazy.” He muttered, as he stepped closer to the plant and took a whiff, unaware of how nervous he was making it. First he'd scented Puar on the red thing at the checkpoint, and now on a plant? What the hell was wrong with him? He wondered if his nose was broken. Or maybe he'd been hit too hard on the head when sparring with Gohan that morning. The battle had been intense, but cut short for checkpoint duty before either one of them could do any serious damage to the other. Radditz grinned at the plant, all teeth. His nephew was getting stronger by the day, and was almost able to hold his own in the training ring.

The plant's leaves rustled, as though it was shaking, and Radditz pulled back in surprise. He looked toward the window, which was open, and rolled his eyes at his own behaviour. The breeze blew in again, hitting him full force with the scent that had been driving him crazy for a month. Radditz groaned, the sound of a man deeply pained. How lonely must he have been, he wondered, to be getting hot for a plant?

*

Bulma held her breath as the door swished open, her back against the wall so that if there was anyone in the room, she wouldn't be seen right away. Not hearing anything, she poked her head in and took note of the lone figure, asleep in his bed. Sighing her relief, she stepped into the room and gently shook him awake. “Gohan,” she whispered, “Gohan, wake up.” The boy muttered something unintelligible, but rolled groggily over.

“What?” He asked, rubbing his eyes. “Do we have a mission?” He covered a great big yawn with his mouth, and were they under different circumstances, Bulma would have laughed to see the look on his face when he finally focused on her. “Bulma?” He hissed, incredulously, trying to keep his voice down as he flung the covers aside. “What are you doing here?”

“We came to rescue you.” She hissed back, looking around the bare room. “Get your shit, er, stuff together. We're getting you out of here?”

“What are you talking about?” He grabbed her wrist, forcing her to look him in the eyes. She was shocked at the strength of his grip, surprised to see the corded muscles in his young arms. Most startling was the look in his eyes; a look that should have belonged to someone much older than this boy.

“Gohan, listen to me.” She knelt before him, taking his other hand in hers, squeezing them. “Everybody that was in my ship with me, we made it away from Earth.” She paused, deciding not to tell him about the one death they still mourned. “Your mom is out there Gohan. She doesn't even know you're alive. We didn't even know you were alive until this morning when Puar saw you at the checkpoint.”

Gohan squirmed, guiltily. How could he tell her that the reason they didn't know he was alive, was because he hadn't wanted them to know? “Have you told my mother yet?” Gohan asked, and was relieved when she shook her head.

“We wanted to wait until we had you safely back with us.” Bulma beamed at him. “Oh, Gohan, you have no idea how happy she will be to see you.” He cringed, and her smile faltered as she sensed something wrong. “Gohan?”

“I can't go with you.” He said, pulling his hands away from hers. She stared, stupidly, at his little fingers, sliding from her grasp. She didn't understand.

“Gohan, you have to come with me.” Her voice was shaky. She thought he'd be happy at the prospect of seeing his mother again. What kind of brainwashing had they done? “You have to come away with us. You can't stay here with the Saiyans.”

“Of course he can.” A sneering voice said, and two heads whipped around to see Vegeta lounging in the open doorway. “He is one of us. He is ours.” He crept into the room, quietly, like a cat, his eyes never leaving hers. He shut the door behind him, and Bulma heard Gohan gulp. Vegeta must have heard it too, for he turned to the boy. “And what would make her think different, runt?” He stared the child down, menacingly. Gohan jumped up to face the prince, and to Bulma's surprise, bowed at the waist.

“Prince Vegeta,” he squawked in surprise, belatedly straightening his pyjamas. Watching him, Bulma noticed that Vegeta wore the same standard issue black drawstring pants and black tank top. She grinned at the idea of army pyjamas, and thought to herself it was just as well they weren't covered with a cutesy design. Maybe a result of her deranged mind, maybe a nervous reaction to staring death in the eye, she couldn't help but imagine Vegeta and Gohan decked out in matching printed onesies. What would they have on them, she wondered. Sports print? Plaid? Cartoon dinosaur print? She stifled a giggle, but was unable to contain the snort that escaped her.

Stupid move!

Vegeta's head snapped up, his death glare hitting her square on and nearly stopping her heart in her chest. He moved toward her, sidestepping around Gohan who was still bowing respectfully, though she could see a tremor of fright run down his spine. Vegeta stopped two feet away, arms crossed over his chest, and Bulma felt her cheeks redden as his eyes raked her exposed body, lingering on her breasts and the hemline of her skirt. Defiantly, she stood straight up, proudly jutting out her chin and puffing up her chest. Vegeta raised one eyebrow and looked her in the eyes, as if to say `Is that a challenge?” Instead, he turned toward the child and motioned for him to straighten up.

“Brat, would you like to tell me,” Vegeta began, in a tone of voice that clearly stated he knew something was up, “what a boy of eight years is doing with a whore in his quarters?” Gohan turned beet red and began to sweat.

“I...um...I...I...” Gohan stammered, trying to think of something to say.

“Starting a bit young, aren't you?” Vegeta turned and took another step toward Bulma. She watched his tail uncoil from around his waist, to sway lazily behind him, and she had to fight the urge to reach out and grab it. That would certainly show him, the smug bastard, but it would certainly get her killed, as well. She stood still, glaring silently at him as he began to circle her, dark eyes taking her in, roving over every curve. “Though I will admit, brat, that you have good tastes.” He was standing behind her, a hair's breadth away from pressing his body against hers, and she shivered to feel his warm breath caressing her neck. His fingers, rough and calloused, danced across her ribcage, light as butterflies but heavy with the promise of the pain that he could dole out, if he so chose. His tail tickled her thigh, curling round it and snaking up beneath her skirt. She cried out and moved to step away from him when the tip flickered between her thighs, twitching against her panties, but he was too quick for her. Before she knew what was happening, he'd clamped his arm around her waist, drawing her back so hard against his chest that it nearly knocked the wind out of her.

“Stop it!” Gohan yelped as Vegeta grabbed her breast. Bulma shrieked and tried to pry his hands off of her body, but she couldn't help the gasp that escaped her when his fingers found her nipple through her clothing.

“What's the matter, brat?” Vegeta spat out, a mocking grin on his face. “This is what whores are for.”

“She's not a whore!” Gohan shrieked, as the room began to shake. Tears streamed down Gohan's face as he made an effort to control his power. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't attack Vegeta, but he couldn't let him do that to her, either. “You're not like that!” He cried, hysterically. “You don't do that!” Vegeta's head cocked to the side as he observed the boy, shaking and sobbing, before him.

“You're right.” Vegeta said, suddenly releasing Bulma. He shoved her aside and she thudded against the wall, before sliding down flat on her ass. “I don't. And neither do you.” He snarled, reaching out to grab Gohan by his shirtfront. “Now, you little shit, you're going to tell me what the fuck is going on in here, or I'm going to kill your pretty little friend, and I'm going to make you watch.”

“It's nothing,” Gohan began, but Bulma interrupted him, pushing herself away from the wall.

“Nothing, my ass!” She huffed, tugging her skirt down to a decent level as she talked. “I'm here to take him HOME, you pig!” She ignored the warning snarl from Vegeta's throat and stalked toward the pair. “His family and friends are waiting for him.”

Vegeta was silent a moment, stunned by her boldness, amused by her words. Entranced, too, by her bouncing cleavage, but he wasn't about to admit that to anyone. He opened his mouth, and laughed in her face. “Like I told you, you snivelling bitch, he's ours.”

“Why don't you let him choose, you fucking monkey!” Bulma snapped back. Before she had a chance to react, Vegeta was on her, hands fisted in her shirt, ploughing her backwards against the wall. She hit with a thump hard enough to crack the plaster and knocked the back of her head so that she saw stars.

“Vegeta!” Gohan screamed, grabbing fistfuls of the older man's shirt, trying to drag him off of the dazed Earthling. “Don't kill her Vegeta, don't kill her!”

“Don't you fucking order me around, brat!” Vegeta snarled, knocking Gohan back with a blow from one elbow. He loosed his hold on Bulma's shirt, and she began sliding down the wall, moaning as her brains attempted to right themselves. “I'll kill whoever I damn well please.”

“You can't kill her!” Gohan protested, as the prince turned back to the woman who dared call him a monkey. “I...I...” Gohan's brains whirred like so many gears spinning, as he tried to think of something besides what he knew about her as Blue. In the state of mind that Vegeta was in, he'd probably kill them both for the knowledge that he was Vengeance. “I owe her a life debt!” He shouted out, the answer coming to him in a flash. “She...uh...she saved my dad!” He tried not to shake as Vegeta turned around, the older man making a visible effort to control himself. Gohan had no idea if what he was saying was true or not, but it was his only shot. “And since he's not around, the life debt is transferred to me.”

“That is not their custom, brat.” Vegeta snarled, surprisingly calm for one who was about to commit murder. “The rules do not apply.”

“But it's your custom,” Gohan insisted, “and mine.” He met Vegeta's eyes, unflinching, and the older Saiyan sighed. He stepped away from Bulma's battered body.

“The debt is paid,” he said, “I will not kill her today. But,” he turned to Bulma, whose eyes were wide with shock, “the boy stays here and you will make no further attempts to remove him from his people.”

Bulma shook her head, looking to protest as she stood on wobbly legs. “Don't worry, Bulma,” Gohan beat her to it. “I already told you, I can't come with you.”

“But Gohan,” Bulma struggled for words. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. “Your mother, she...” She trailed off, lamely. How could she just go, and leave this precious child, the son of her best friend, in the hands of these monsters?

“About that...I would prefer if you didn't tell her about this.” He looked into her shocked, hurt face, and felt guilt gnawing on his insides. “Think about it.” He tried to be cold, tried to think about how Vegeta might act in such a situation. “She is weak. The knowledge would crush her.”

“What have you become?” Bulma shook her head, sadly, and the raging guilt took another big bite out of him.

“Saiyan.” He watched her stumble out of the room, could feel Krillin's ki there, waiting, and knew she would be safe with him. He looked up at Vegeta and could tell the older man could smell the human warrior cowering just outside the door.

“I suppose you owe him a life debt, too?” Vegeta sneered, once the door had shut behind the female. When Gohan nodded, Vegeta could only laugh; a short, amused bark that ended as quickly as it began. Gohan stood, a little shocked at Vegeta's quick change in attitude, but too weary to dwell on what lay behind this bit of good fortune.

“Thank you, my prince.” He said, executing a perfect bow with his small body. Vegeta snorted, and Gohan shot upright once more.

“You shouldn't be so attached to them, just because they come from your birth planet.” Vegeta scoffed. “It makes you vulnerable. It makes you weak.”

“Hypocrite.” Gohan said softly. “This from the man who scours the universe looking for members of the Saiyan race, who gathers us together and protects us.”

Vegeta spread his arms wide, inviting the boy to look upon him, to see the scars threading across his arms, disappearing beneath the fabric of his shirt. Gohan knew those scars like the back of his own hand. “What has it brought me, cub?” Vegeta asked. “Would you wish it upon yourself?” When the boy said nothing, the prince dropped his arms. “Clean up this mess,” he said, disgustedly, “and get to bed.”

.

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This chapter was surprisingly difficult to write. Hopefully not too difficult to read, as a result. Please consider leaving a review! I would love some more feedback!

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