Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance ❯ Chapter 12

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 I did, Bulma wouldn't have ended with such an ugly haircut. Nothing like a good ol' bowl cut.

Author's Notes: Sorry about the delay. Not super long, I know, but longer than I'd planned. I've been getting crap shifts at work lately, leaving me little time to write.

Thanks, as always, to everyone who's reviewed. I love to see the same names over again, to know how the chapter to chapter readers are thinking. Some new reviewers have appeared as well, and I'm grateful for the feedback! I hope you continue to review!

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PRESENT DAY

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“Put him in the fucking tank.” Bulma snapped and strode away, confident that someone would obey her. Krillin and Sixteen looked once at each other, then warily at the slumped body of the Saiyan Prince before shuffling in closer. Nappa and Radditz growled threateningly, but Gohan quelled them with a few surprising words, delivered in his typical calm and understated manner.

“She's Blue, you know.” He said, and both adults looked at him, surprised.

“How do you know, brat?” Radditz snarled, turning back to watch as the human trash hauled his prince up, Krillin helping to hoist the injured warrior into Sixteen's arms. All three Saiyans winced at the undignified manner in which their leader was being carried away, but made no move against the humans. Vegeta had ordered them to come here; they had to trust that the prince knew what he was doing.

“I recognized her voice. I tried to tell you, but...” Gohan trailed off, wilting under the glaring eyes of his Uncle. “She'll take care of him.” He insisted.

“Well Fuck.” Radditz spat.

“We should have known that Vegeta would have had a reason for coming here.” Nappa said, altogether too calmly for Radditz's liking.

“Fuck you, Nappa.” The long haired Saiyan spat, bristling at the other's nonchalant attitude. “Me and the kid, we already knew, but you don't seem a damn bit surprised.”

Nappa turned, cocked an eyebrow at Radditz and said, smugly, “Should I be?” Then he straightened his armour and in just a few massive strides, had caught up to Krillin and Sixteen. He wasn't about to let the incapacitated prince out of his sight. Tien's eyes followed him closely as he went, but the three-eyed warrior didn't move to stop him.

“I guess we should follow the old bastard.” Radditz sighed, plopping one huge hand on Gohan's little shoulder. He strode off, the boy following closely behind, but had he looked closer, Radditz would have noticed the way his nephew's gaze darted shamefully from his mother to the floor, and the way the boy scurried behind him like a frightened animal.

Chichi watched him go, her heart aching but her mind confused. That boy, he was her baby and they both knew it, but there was something wrong when a child would rather skulk off with his uncle than say hello to the mother he hadn't seen for three-odd years.

Why, until about ten minutes ago, she hadn't even known he was alive.

*

*

Nappa, Radditz and Bulma all glared at each other, tense and silent, as Sixteen laid Vegeta out on the infirmary table. Gohan stared meekly at his shoes, plainly anxious.

“Bulma, if you would prep the tank?” Sixteen said calmly, either completely ignorant of the tension that surrounded him, or just doing a very good job of ignoring it. He reached for Vegeta's boots, deftly pulling them from the injured man's feet and setting them carefully on the floor. Their white surface was tattered and shabby, dirty from wear, and the gold tips were dull and blackened. Bulma swallowed, wondering just what the hell had happened for one of the strongest warriors in the universe to show up on her doorstep looking like that. His chest plate was cracked, the bodysuit beneath torn and ripped, caked with blood. Skin cracked and bled anew as Sixteen carefully peeled the gloves - what was left of them - from the prince's hands. Bulma swallowed bile, realizing that the fabric had melted into his flesh. She watched the muscles in his jaw clench, heard the controlled exhale of breath through his flared nostrils; plainly he was still conscious and making an effort not to scream. Despite her fury at him, a brief trill of pity shot through her. Had it been her on the table, she knew she'd have been bawling.

“Hand me those scissors.” Sixteen said calmly, pointing to a pair of shears next to Nappa's hand. The big Saiyan frowned, warily eyeing up the android. “I do not want to move him unnecessarily.” He explained, woodenly. “I intend to cut away his suit, rather than attempt to peel it off of him.” Nappa grumbled and handed over the scissors, which Sixteen accepted with grace.

None of them seemed to care that she was present while the body suit was hacked away, though Bulma herself blushed absurdly to see him in his underwear, knowing that he would likely be stripped bare before entering the tank. She knew it was hardly the moment to be having such thoughts, but seeing his bare muscles, slick with perspiration, she could not help but to recall some of her racier dreams.

Shit, she thought to herself. If Vengeance and Vegeta were the same person, there went her favourite threesome fantasy. She eyed the other two Saiyans; Radditz wasn't bad, but Puar had sort of already staked a claim, even if this was just fantasy, and Nappa...well, maybe with a bag over his head.

Gathering her wits, she forced herself not to blush and look away as Sixteen's big hands pulled away the last remaining bits of Vegeta's clothing, leaving him stark naked on the table. So what, if his penis was right there, for all the world to see. She could look at it without being reduced to the stammering embarrassment of a fifteen year old virgin. This was a medical situation, and she was Bulma Briefs! She'd seen a penis before; it was really no big deal.

Radditz caught her looking. She coughed and blushed, quickly whirling away to check the status of the machine. When she turned back around, Sixteen was prepping a needle.

“No anaesthetic.” Nappa commanded, his first words since they'd entered the medical bay. Sixteen stopped short, the needle a mere inch away from the prince's skin. He looked uncomprehendingly at the biggest Saiyan.

“I intend to clean out his wounds so that the dirt will not infect the tank.” He said in his ever monotone voice. “It will be quite painful for him.”

“He can handle it.” Nappa stood his ground. “No drugs.” He stepped forward, a low rumble emanating from his throat, like the warning growl of an angry dog.

“That's cruel!” Bulma piped up, stepping up to the slab. “There's no need for him to suffer.” She was surprised to find herself concerned for him. She didn't really know what to make of her newfound knowledge, and bitterly thought that she should just let him lay there in agony while Sixteen scrubbed at the raw flesh with alcohol.

“I said he'll be fine.” Nappa snarled, leaning over the slab so that his nose was a mere few inches from hers. She could smell the dirt and stale sweat clinging to his skin and her nose wrinkled with distaste but she stood her ground. He was no worse than Vegeta, who added the coppery tang and old-meat smells of both fresh and crusted blood.

“Fine!” She shouted into his face. “What do I care, anyway? Let him suffer.” She spat, stepping back from the line she'd drawn with Nappa. She grabbed a cloth and the bottle of rubbing alcohol, shoving it at Sixteen as she traded him for the needle, which she emptied and set aside to be properly cleaned. Bulma watched, unable to contain her twitchiness as Sixteen methodically wiped out each scrape, cut and gouge, wincing especially at the peeled skin of the palms. Vegeta lay still and silent, aside from the occasional tightening of muscle to indicate his pain. She noticed the disturbing way in which Nappa, Radditz and Gohan all watched so intently, their eyes never straying from whichever area Sixteen was working on. While the older Saiyans' faces remained hard, little Gohan, barely reaching his uncle's waist, looked as though he might be sick behind his tough facade. Bulma desperately wanted to reach out and take him away, tell him he needn't watch, but with Vegeta hovering in and out of consciousness, she was afraid that no one would be there to control the other two if they objected to her coddling.

Finished with the wounds, Sixteen swiped the cloth quickly over Vegeta's intact skin, mostly his face and hair - the only parts that had been exposed - to remove some of the excess dirt and sweat. Before the android was able to, Nappa swooped in and deftly picked up the much smaller body of his prince. Sixteen, not easily put off, directed Nappa to the tank. Bulma was surprised to see the big Saiyan begin the connection process, quickly and easily hooking up the various electrodes and tubes essential in monitoring the patient's vital signs and also providing the massive amounts of nutrition necessary to nourish the rapidly healing body of the patient. As he hooked on Vegeta's breathing mask, it struck her suddenly that he must have done this many times before. She wondered at why Vegeta and the other Saiyans would possibly wind up in regeneration tanks so much, strong as they were. The thought made her stomach curdle.

The three Saiyans stood in line, military style, watching with rigid backs and perfect posture as the tank closed and the cool jelly began to flood the tank. Vegeta's eyes widened briefly as the cold wetness began to engulf him, but he sat patiently, plainly no stranger to this process, only allowing his eyes to drift shut as the goo hit nose level. Bulma watched, surprised as all three Saiyans dropped to one knee in unison, bringing their right fists up and across to pound the left side of their chests. They bowed their heads and murmured something in unison, in a language Bulma did not understand, before quickly righting themselves again as the tank bleeped to indicate that it was full and that the healing processes had begun.

“We will take watch in rotation.” Nappa was saying to the other two, speaking once more in Standard. “I will take first watch. Gohan, you will return in eight hours. Radditz, you will take the shift after Gohan. We will continue in this vein until Prince Vegeta is removed from the tank.”

“Understood.” Radditz said, with Gohan's “Yes sir” chiming in a split second later. Both saluted, right hand fisted over their hearts, but this time they omitted the kneeling bow. Nappa quickly took up a position with his back to the tank, feet braced wide and arms crossed over his chest, glaring out at anyone who dared approach his slumbering prince. That left Bulma and Sixteen with the two Saiyans, all four of them glancing awkwardly at each other.

“Well...come on.” Bulma finally broke the silence, straightening up and puffing out her chest. She noticed the way that Radditz's perplexed eyes darted down to her breasts and then back up to her face. His nostrils flared, but he said nothing. “I'll show you where the showers are, and we'll find you a place to sleep, I guess.” She turned and walked forward, trying to look impressive and in-charge, despite the fact that she still wore her tattered old slippers from that morning. It seemed like weeks ago, that she had been sitting in front of her computer, engaged in the most unpleasant task that she could think of, though it had been only hours. She grimaced, knowing that she'd have to get right back to her task, once they Saiyans were settled it.

Settled in! She almost snorted at the thought of it. Never, in a million years, did she think she'd be playing host to some of the universe's most notorious killers, and all she could think about was getting them showered and fed. Gods above, her greatest fear was coming to pass; she was turning into her mother.

“Now, let's get this straight.” She said suddenly, just to even things out a little. “I will not tolerate any monkey business while you're here.” She paused, embarrassed, as she realized what she'd said. Radditz was growling and she could feel her arm hair standing on end; a result of his increasing power. She cringed, but Gohan's small voice, strong and calm, cut through the tension like a knife, stopping the slow climb of electricity through his uncle's body. Sixteen watched, no doubt ready to step in should Radditz lose control.

“It's an Earth saying.” He laid a small hand on Radditz's clenched forearm. “She meant nothing by it.” Radditz hmphed and relaxed his stance, but he still glared. To Bulma, Gohan said “Don't call us monkeys. Ever. Not even as a joke.” She balked at being reprimanded by an eight year old, but the seriousness of his tone stopped her from responding. He said it the same way that stuntmen on TV said “Don't try this at home,” and he meant it. She remembered Vegeta's response the night of her ill-fated rescue mission and rather than being difficult, she simply nodded her understanding.

“Anyway,” she continued, trying to ignore the fact that Gohan had said `us' in reference to the Saiyans, “No fooling around. No violence. I won't have any of you attacking anyone on this ship. You can pass the message on to your big, bald friend in there, too. You play nice, and we return the favour.”

“We will obey Vegeta's orders.” Radditz said, stubbornly. “It is his will, and not yours, that will keep you all alive.”

“Well up till this morning, that would have bothered me.” Bulma grimaced, “But Vengeance,” she spat the name out like something sour, “has need of my genius. Now,” she stopped, the small party having reached the living quarters of the ship, “I'm assuming his almighty highness will want his own room when he wakes up. We only have three empty ones left, so two of you are bunking up.”

“The brat and I will room together.” Radditz put in, and the two Saiyans shared a grimace. Nappa was a snorer and a farter, and both considered it worse than torture to have to room with him for any length of time. Bulma nodded, slowly. Gohan did not seem to object to the idea, though she herself was slightly bothered by it. The boy, once a sweet, shy child who would not hurt a fly, seemed so comfortable with this trio of violent men, as though he belonged to them more than he did his mother's kind. Had he even said `hello' to Chichi, she wondered?

“Take this one then,” she led them through a door, “it has two beds.” They followed her through, identical swaggers carrying them in. She watched them inspect the place - warily sniffing and pacing out the floor like nervous animals in an unfamiliar place. They worked in tandem, each covering places that the other had not, as though they were used to watching each others' backs. It occurred to Bulma that they certainly were; even without the ability to read power levels, she could tell that they were the weakest of the quartet and so were probably used to helping each other more than Nappa and Vegeta, who seemed to rely upon themselves. Did the family bond have something to do with that? She wondered if being someone's uncle even mattered to a man like Radditz.

Having completed their rounds, she watched the two come together, watching Radditz's hand reach out to ruffle the boy's hair, and she realized that it mattered very much. The two were so close, so alike in looks that she thought Radditz may as well have been Gohan's father, rather than Goku.

“I'll...uh, leave you two to get settled. Take your time. I'm going to see if I can steal some clean clothes from Krillin and Sixteen for you guys.” Bulma said, backing into the doorway. “Bathrooms are right across the hall and the kitchen and living room are down to the right and around the corner.” She pointed with her hand. “If you're anything like Goku though, I'm sure you'll be able to find your way.” She slipped out and shut the door behind her, before scurrying away to find her friends and let them know what was going on.

“She knew Kakarott?” Radditz asked, when the door had closed and Bulma's footsteps had retreated. Once they'd finally convinced him that his father had been Radditz's brother, Gohan had told them about his father, who was called Goku. The three adults had consulted each other briefly, and come to the conclusion that Kakarott must have been hurt as a baby, likely hitting his head hard enough to damage his still-growing brain.

“I tried to tell you.” Gohan sighed, shrugging out of his chest armour. “That night when we heard Vegeta talking to Blue, I recognized her voice. She was my dad's best friend from when they were young.”

“And your mother?” Radditz asked, “That black haired woman?”

“I...” Gohan cringed. “I don't know if she'll want to be my mother for much longer.” He kicked off his boots. Radditz prodded for more information, but Gohan had clammed up. Radditz shrugged, never one for intimate heart-to-hearts anyway, and stalked to the door in nothing but his boots and the little black shorts he wore beneath his armour. Gohan followed him across the hall into the men's washroom, which looked like something out of a dormitory. Two toilet stalls and two urinals faced four sinks over which a simple shelf and a long, rectangular mirror hung. Two neatly folded stacks of clothing rested on the shelf, each with two towels stacked on top - Bulma figured they'd each need one for their unruly masses of hair. Through a doorway, eight shower stalls waited, four on either side of the room, facing each other, with a bench and hooks on the far wall.

“Are there really that many people here?” Radditz asked, and Gohan shrugged, dumping his stuff onto one of the benches. A peek inside the shower stalls confirmed that each one was already stocked with all the necessities.

“I dunno. I think a lot of people were with Bulma and my mom on that spaceship.” Gohan said, turning on the taps and stepping into the scalding spray. “And I don't think even she could have built this place in just three years, so there must be other people too.” He lathered his hair with sweet smelling shampoo that Radditz was certainly scoffing at in his stall across the way. “Like that Sixteen guy. I didn't know him.”

“Hmm.” Radditz grunted, indeed scowling at the heady floral aroma that he was rubbing into his hair. “What the shit is this, anyway?”

“The shampoo? Smells like white freesia to me. My mom used to grow them.” Gohan paused, inhaling the suds as he rinsed them from his hair. “I like it.”

“You would.” Radditz grumped, but squirted more out from the dispenser and lathered his generous mane a second time. Just to get all the dirt out, of course.

“Maybe Bulma will get us something manlier if we ask nicely.” Gohan laughed, recalling the warriors that had greeted them, and the old friends he suspected were hidden away behind thick walls. “I don't think there's a lot of hair here to go around. The way the shampoo smells is probably a moot point to most of the men on this station.”

Radditz grumbled, but the soap was manlier; more spicy than floral. Perhaps Gohan had a point. “Tell me about this Bulma.” He recalled the way she had looked at the presentation - too stupid for her own good - but if she'd managed to re-create the ki-gun technology then she was a damn good actress. He also remembered the way she'd smelled, but he hadn't caught the same scent from her today. He'd been excited, despite the danger, as he stepped out of his pod and caught a lingering, familiar scent. Then he'd seen her and it had all made sense...and yet when he got close, he found that the scent he craved was not emanating from her at all! It tainted the air in the ship, strong in some places, less so in others, but she was not the source, and he began to think of Puar. He'd tried to trace the origins of the man's call number but had come up empty. Perhaps Puar was a part of this silly little resistance movement. Perhaps, as he'd mused upon first seeing the man, Puar and Barbie - Bulma, he amended - were related after all.

Radditz opened his mouth, intending to ask the child if he knew someone by the name of Puar, but he stopped himself at the last second. At times he felt as though silent, stoic little Gohan was years ahead of him in maturity, but the fact remained that the kid was eight, and Radditz didn't want to be the one to explain boozy hook-ups and seedy hotels...well, maybe when Gohan was older. For now, despite his maturity, there was an odd air of innocence around the kid - something rare in Frieza's army. He kept his mouth shut; if Puar was on Red Station, Radditz would be sure to find him.

Puar. Radditz almost moaned the name aloud. No one had ever gotten to him the way that beautiful bastard had. It was pathetic, he knew, but he couldn't get that one night out of his mind, damn his foolish brain! It was dumb to be so obsessed with one creature, one man, but he was, damn it, and he was far too infatuated to convince himself that any other path was a good idea.

He pressed his forehead against the tiled wall, grateful for the cool surface as the hot water beat down on his shoulders, as he recalled for the thousandth time, at least, the night with Puar. He remembered every detail; the nervous caution of the other man as they checked in, the slow loosening of tightly wound muscles as they became more accustomed to each other, less bound by inhibitions. He groaned, feeling himself harden as he remembered the slow slide of flesh against flesh, the taste of salty skin on his tongue...

Shit. He had to reign himself in. Last time he'd checked, jacking off while your eight year old nephew was in the same room, even if he couldn't see you, was not appropriate. Sight aside, there was no way that Gohan wouldn't smell it, and the thought made Radditz cringe. Men tended to be less inhibited in Frieza's army, that was true, but the Saiyans were used to a little more privacy. They were usually given their own rooms, or at least private showers...

“Fuck.” Radditz cursed, when he remembered that he was also bunking with the damn kid. His balls were going to turn blue and fall off, what with that intoxicating scent always just hovering on the edge of his senses.

“Everything okay?” Gohan called over, hearing his uncle's profanity.

“Err, dropped the soap.” Radditz called back, adding another thing to the list of stuff he never wanted to talk to the cub about. He'd figure it out for himself in a few years, if he hadn't already. Radditz was pretty confident that no one had ever had to tell him about masturbation. It was just one of nature's miracles.

“I thought you told me never to do that.” Gohan snickered.

“Public shower rule only.” Radditz groaned. There were some things that they had told the kid for his safety. To not mention that one would have been negligent on their part. He was one of them, and it was their job to give him the best chances of survival that they could. That had meant many things to them, though teaching him to fight was their top priority and by far the most enjoyable task they'd set themselves. Telling him the things he did not want to hear, vocalizing the things so keenly known but so rarely spoken about was not. Gohan had a strong sense of justice and a conviction that none of his new kinsmen shared, that people were essentially good. He didn't really understand why anyone would want to hurt someone else and didn't believe that `evil' as he called it, could run so rampant among the universe.

Radditz had lain awake many nights, wondering at the world that his nephew must have been born into, and feeling almost sad for its loss. He knew the boy had been but a pup when he lived on that planet, knew that Gohan's recollections and ideas belonged in the realm of idealism, for no people could be that free of greed and selfishness, but he yearned for it all the same. Never in his life had he met anyone so kindhearted as his wide-eyed nephew. Even as the boy lived and breathed the moral stench of Frieza's ranks, even as he became tainted by the violence of it all, Radditz sometimes caught a glimpse of the terrified child that Gohan had been before they'd taught him to bury it.

Radditz wondered how the child would cope with this sudden crash of two cultures together, of his old life with his new one. He wished the mother hadn't been present. If it was just other earthlings, other humans, Radditz thought they would be able to keep their hold on the child, but with his mother suddenly in the picture, things weren't so sure. In teaching Gohan about Saiyan culture, the three Saiyans had learned a good deal about Human culture, and they'd been unimpressed and wary of the ideals that their young charge spouted.

Radditz jumped, pulled from his thoughts, as a third shower was turned on. He hadn't even heard the man, whoever it was, come in. “Just me, you two. No worries.” Krillin's voice resounded nervously off the tiled walls and floor. He had wanted to wait until the Saiyans were finished, well Radditz at least, but Bulma had practically forced him into the washroom, wrinkling her nose at his blood soaked shirt and stained arms. He felt both of their power levels swell, no doubt at the smell of their prince's blood, and he regretted not changing before he entered the room.

“Hello, Krillin.” Gohan said, stepping from his shower stall as he wrapped a towel around his waist. Krillin shivered at the odd note of control in the kid's voice, but gaped in surprise at the powerfully sculpted young body. He'd known Gohan would be different, of course, but he didn't expect to see a bodybuilder in miniature standing before him. The door to the left creaked open and Radditz stepped out, not bothering to hide his intimidating nudity as he stepped from the stall. He looked down his wrinkled nose, sneering at Krillin, every single exposed muscle tense and bunched, as his tail lashed wetly behind him. He shook his head, dripping hair spraying water as he straightened, plainly unimpressed by the sight of the tiny warrior. Krillin dove for a stall, quickly shedding his bloody t-shirt and tossing it into the laundry bin for the robots to either clean or discard at their will. He really didn't care if he never saw the shirt again, so long as the big Saiyan with the eye-level junk would let him live.

“Let's get out of here, Kid.” Radditz rumbled, reaching for his towel. “I'm fucking hungry.”

*

*

Bulma tiptoed across the floor, casting a furtive glance at the slumbering Saiyan as she did so. Nappa, sleep deprived from too many hours spent anxiously listening to the prince's breathing over the communication link between their ships, had fallen asleep. She'd been keeping an eye on him all day, waiting for him to slip up so that she could sneak in. She really didn't want to get Gohan in trouble, and it would have been cruel to wait long enough for Radditz to fall asleep on his shift.

Quietly as she could, she scrolled through the regeneration tank's computer menu, each tap of the keys sounding like a pounding hammer in the quiet. No matter who he was or what he'd done, she wasn't about to let Vegeta suffer through the healing process without painkillers. It was cruel, plain and simple, and she didn't abide cruelty in any measure. The fact that Nappa would willingly allow, and even insist upon the suffering of his prince spoke volumes to her about the Saiyan way of life, and she was more determined than ever to break Gohan away from them. When there was no need for Vengeance to exist anymore, she would find a way to do away with Vegeta and the other two. For now, she would forge whatever bonds of friendship she could.

Stepping back, she watched as the computer confirmed her dose of meds and began feeding it into the nourishment tubes. Soon Vegeta would be out cold, blissfully unaware of the pain his body was in. There, her conscience could rest.

The smile fell from her face as Vegeta's eyes snapped open, wide and furious through the haze of the regeneration fluid. There was something wild about his face, something terrifyingly animal, and she took an uncertain step backward as he began to thrash inside the tank, limbs jerking violently, pulling strength from some unknown place within himself. She shrieked as one of his fists collided with the glass, again and again, forming tiny hairline fissures.

Nappa awoke with a start, staring in horror as his prince writhed within the tank, furiously ripping tubes from his skin, re-opening half-healed wounds and creating new ones as his hands scraped wildly at the glass barrier between himself and freedom. “What did you DO?” Nappa roared, coming to life as he hurled himself off the chair he'd fallen asleep on. “You stupid bitch!” He caught her by her t-shirt, hauling her up on her toes as he glared down at her, nostrils flaring with every breath. “I said no drugs!”

“PUT HER DOWN!” Chichi shrieked from the doorway, where Sixteen stood blocking her entrance. “Let me in, you tin can! Put Bulma down!”

“Chichi, please.” Sixteen tried to reason with her, but she shoved past him just as the tank finally gave way and the prince tumbled out, naked and dripping and roaring with fury. He knelt on the floor, blood pooling as the broken shards of glass cut into his legs and feet, clutching at his head, panting like an animal. Nappa dropped Bulma and whirled, crouching down in an attempt to comfort his prince. He spoke rapidly in that same language that Bulma had heard earlier, his voice gruff yet reassuring. Bulma scuttled backward, away from the gory scene as quickly as she could, terrified that the big one would come after her again. Glass crunched beneath her sneakers.

Vegeta roared again, lashing out with one arm to knock the biggest Saiyan flat into the wall, just as Radditz and Gohan stormed in. “SHIT!” Radditz exclaimed, running to pull Nappa up, uncaring of the shards beneath his bare feet. “What happened?”

“She put drugs in the tank.” Nappa snarled, accusingly. “That bitch tried to knock him out.”

“H...he was in pain.” Bulma said, weakly, as she watched the shuddering, moaning man on the floor. Gohan had snagged a blanket from somewhere and was inching slowly toward the prince. Gently, he shook it out and tossed it over Vegeta's back, hiding the prince's naked, trembling skin from view. The prince snarled but his pale, shaky hands reached out to tug the blanket tight around his hunched shoulders.

Radditz and Gohan exchanged a tentative look. “Frieza?” Gohan questioned after a moment, and Nappa nodded, gravely. Bulma shuddered at the looks of fear and disgust on all of their faces.

“Nappa,” Vegeta ground out, in warning. Plainly, this was something that he did not want discussed, and his mind had returned enough to take control of the disastrous situation. He stood, shakily, and wrapped the blanket around his hips. He was still weak, but a thousand times better than when they'd brought him in. He glared ruefully at the destroyed tank behind him, before shaking his head and walking toward Nappa's chair. He snatched a pair of tweezers from a tray before sitting down to survey the damage he'd done to his shins and feet. Without a glance at those gathered, he began picking the glass shards from his wounds, ignoring the trails of blood that sprang forth with each one. Bulma cringed with each plink of glass against the metal discard pan.

“I will need bandages.” Vegeta said as he surveyed the torn mess that was his right foot. Sixteen was the only one that moved. He rummaged in a cupboard for some bandages and rubbing alcohol, before putting them on the table. “I have no need of your help. You will all get out now.” Vegeta spoke quietly, but with a confidence and authority that none of them even thought of disobeying. “Except you.” He finally looked up to pinpoint Bulma in his gaze. Nappa growled, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of leaving this wretched woman alone with his wounded prince, but he was silenced with a quick glare.

“I'm not your servant. I don't have to do what you tell me to.” Bulma said, crossing her arms over her chest. She felt a lot less confident than she sounded, with everyone filing obediently out of the room. Well, Chichi was sort of dragged by Sixteen, but still, it left her alone with him.

“Ahh, but you will.” Vegeta went back to picking glass from his flesh. “Because this is your fault and you feel guilty.” He put the tweezers aside and yanked out a particularly large piece with his fingers, not even wincing at the spurt of blood. This one had obviously hit a semi-important vein. He looked at the bloody glass impartially, before dropping it into the pan. He looked at Bulma as he did so. “You will indulge me. It is your way.”

Bulma frowned, irritated at how right he was. “Just what was that, anyway?” She asked, but was rewarded with silence. “Hello? You're the one that wanted me to stay! Was it just so I could watch you pull glass out of your feet in silence? And I hope you plan on doing something about that!” She gestured with an arm at the ruined tank.

“Nappa expressly told you not to give me painkillers. You disregarded his warnings. These are the consequences that you must live with.”

*

*

“Come on, Nappa.” Radditz prodded the older man. “You need to eat something. Build up some strength for when Vegeta decides to dole out your punishment.” Nappa's face fell even lower than it already was, if that was possible, and he grabbed the dish from Radditz. “Falling asleep on sentry duty.” Radditz whistled, low and long. “That's a doozy. Glad it wasn't me.” He grinned widely at the other man's death glare. Radditz was having a lot of fun; normally it was him in deep shit and not Nappa, the paragon of obedience.

“Radditz, shut your fucking face,” Nappa growled, pulling out a chair and plopping his bulk right next to Gohan, “or I'll shut it for you.” Chichi, who had followed them to the kitchen, gasped and glared at the big man, offended by his harsh language and appalled that this was what had taken care of her son in her absence. “You shut it too, bitch.” Nappa tucked into his meal without looking up, grinning at the way Gohan bristled, next to him.

“Is she safe in there, with him?” Chichi asked of no one in particular. Sixteen put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed, a gesture Gohan didn't miss.

“She'll be okay.” Gohan answered into his plate, still unwilling to meet his mother's eyes.

“Even if she wasn't, ain't nothing you could do about it anyway.” Radditz took the seat on the other side of Gohan in an unmistakeable show of solidarity.

“Let us leave them to eat.” Sixteen said quietly, placing a hand on Chichi's back to steer her out of the room. Gohan watched in surprise as his mother allowed herself to be led away by the stranger. Had she ever been so willing to follow Goku's suggestions? Gohan remembered her having been the boss, his father bowing to her will. He cringed a little at a memory of his mother wielding a frying pan while his father cowered in the corner. Perhaps Goku had been weak. Perhaps that orange-haired giant was much stronger than he seemed.

Nappa let out a low whistle and elbowed Gohan in the ribs, causing the boy to choke a little on his food. “What's going on there, you think?” He waggled his eyebrows at Gohan, who scowled back. “How long has daddy even been dead?”

“Nappa, shut it.” Radditz growled. “Don't make everyone miserable because Vegeta's gonna beat the shit outta you later.”

“Seems your weak brother couldn't hold his woman.” Nappa grinned, unaware that he had food stuck in his teeth.

“Say what you want, I'm gonna help Vegeta break you.”

“No regen tank either.” Gohan said, surprising both men with the venom in his voice. Nappa grimaced, having forgotten that fact. He was not looking forward to facing the prince.

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Nappa's a jerk with a heart of gold...well, not gold, nor silver. But at least copper, for sure. And hey, that shit's pretty valuable! So are your reviews! To me...in a non-monetary sense...If I told you I feed solely on reviews, would you leave one?