Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance ❯ Chapter 25

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.

Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay. That wedding I was in is done now so I am hoping to have the next update out a little quicker. Then after that I'm afraid it might be a bit…florist + mother's day = busy as hell.

Thanks so much for the reviews on chapter 24, they are much appreciated and are really what forced me to sit my butt down and finally finish this chapter. : D

Last time: The saiyans arrive at Red Station once more. Goku and Chichi have a fight over Goku's suspicions regarding his wife and Sixteen.

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PRESENT DAY

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Goku stepped sheepishly into the common room. “So, um, Bulma…” he scratched the back of his head, “where should I sleep?”

In the end Goku bunked with Krillin, sprawled out on a cot in the monk's room, staring at the ceiling as he replayed the ugly scene over and over in his brain. What had gotten into him, he wondered, when he saw his wife in that giant's arms? For three long years he'd kept his sanity by thinking of her, and then to arrive and find that she'd moved on had been too much to take. But had she moved on? She'd been pretty pissed at his implication. If she hadn't already forgotten about him, she probably would have by morning.

Frustrated, he tugged at his hair. More than any other time in his life, he felt stupid! Why hadn't he just let it be? There had been a time during his imprisonment, lots of times, actually, when he'd fantasized that she'd done just this; found someone new, made a new life without him, found happiness. The thought of her living on contentedly had comforted him and yet when he'd been confronted with the reality, something inside had snapped and gone haywire. In his fantasies the complication of his presence had never come about, because he really hadn't believed he'd ever see her again, and now it was all coming up to bite him in the ass.

Absurdly, he wondered if the gods of the universe had granted his fervent wishes; if all of his hopes and dreams for her had come true while he neglected the possibility that he would meet up with her again. Damn.

Because the ceiling was doing him no good, Goku rolled onto his side and stared at the wall instead. He tried focusing on the details of Krillin's room in an effort to avoid thinking about the blow up with Chichi, but it was impossible. He was tired and his heart felt as though it had been crushed, and all he wanted in the world was to fall asleep for a few hours to he wouldn't have to deal with it. In the morning he'd apologize and hope he hadn't messed it up too badly. Goku wished that they were back on Earth; at least that way he could have walked into the woods and picked her some wildflowers, like he used to when there wasn't enough money to spare for a birthday present, or when he'd forgotten their anniversary till the last minute. Out here on Red Station, there was nothing he could give her but a…a…a stolen pencil from Krillin's desk, he thought as his eyes roved the room. He couldn't even give her the shirt off his back, because it belonged to Radditz and he was just borrowing it for the time being. They'd thrown out his old one, filthy and torn as it was. He'd been happy to see it go at the time, but he wasn't so sure anymore.

Goku huffed and punched his pillow, forcing the stuffing into one end as he folded it in half and slipped it back under his neck. For the first time in his life, he really felt lost. What was there to keep him going, if not anger at his captors, or hope for his life with Chichi? Even Gohan had Radditz and the other saiyans; he didn't need his father anymore, did he? His wife and son had other people to take care of them now; what need did they have of him?

His stomach curdled at the thought of what Chichi had said to him and though he was angry with her lack of sympathy, he couldn't help but feel that she'd been right. If he'd kept his promise to come to Bulma's instead of goofing off, both he and Gohan would have been safe in Capsule 1 during the invasion of Frieza's forces. They'd have spent the last three years living cosily in Red Station with all of their family and friends, instead of being separated and sent off to slave camps, and Gohan would never have been exposed to all the horrors he'd been forced to endure as part of Frieza's ranks. Chichi wouldn't have had to seek comfort in the arms of another man…

Goku squeezed his eyes shut and began counting - anything to distract his thoughts from all the upsetting images that his mind was producing.

*

It might have eased Goku's conscience a little to know that Chichi was just as awake and just as miserable as she lay stiffly in her own bed. The sheets beneath her were rumpled and bunched from all her shifting, her attempts to get comfortable, and a ridge of folded fabric was pressing painfully up into her left shoulder blade. With a huff, she sprang from her bed, tossing the covers on the floor. Viciously, she tugged and yanked and tucked until the fitted sheet was perfectly straight and smooth. By the time she'd wrestled the covers into place, she was breathing hard.

Chichi crawled back into bed and tucked the blankets tightly around herself, despite the fact that she was warm from the exertion of her overzealous bed-making. Guilt gnawed at her stomach as she thought of what she'd said to Goku back in the hangar. She knew it wasn't kind to blame him after all that he'd been through, but she was angry and hurt and just plain shocked, and she couldn't help the bitter, selfish feelings that had flooded her mind when he'd said what he did, acting as if she were his possession. He'd had no right, she thought angrily, to show up out of nowhere and demand that she fall in line, assume the persona of the woman she'd been on earth. It wasn't fair of him to ask that she open her heart and share feelings that even she remained confused by.

Or was it? Goku was her husband, after all. They'd made a life together, had a son, so didn't that make it his business if she was having feelings for someone else? Still, to demand such knowledge during their reunion had been rude and tactless, completely unacceptable. He might have taken some time, she reasoned, to talk to her, get to know the woman she'd become, tell her how happy he was to see her, before demanding every detail of her life without him. She'd thought him dead, or at least gone forever. Who could blame her for trying to move on and find some joy in this bleak existence?

Chichi rolled over and stared through the darkness at her bedroom door. She thought briefly of getting out of bed to go find Goku, but it was very late and she didn't want to go knocking on doors in the middle of the night when she wasn't even sure what she wanted to say to him. Her own heart was fighting itself - on one side furious at all he'd done, and the other so full of joy at his return that it was almost too much to bear.

Cringing, Chichi thought of Sixteen and how much she wished she could talk to him about it. He'd always been so supportive - a good listener with sound, logical advice. She'd spoken to him about Goku before and he seemed to harbour no ill will, no resentment or jealousy when she talked of the man she missed, but that had certainly changed the moment Goku went from a figment of her memories to a real, flesh and blood man in the same room. She couldn't even imagine what must have been going through Sixteen's head when she'd thrown herself into Goku's embrace. There were his feelings to consider too, of course.

“Ugh, what have I gotten myself into?” Chichi moaned aloud, bringing her hands up to cover her face briefly, before letting them fall to the pillow above her head. “Shouldn't have gotten myself involved with Sixteen in the first place…” she muttered, thinking that then she'd have been free to simply enjoy Goku's return. But then again, without Sixteen's constant support and friendship, she might have cracked long ago, and Goku would have returned to find a mere husk of his former wife.

Chichi groaned and rolled onto her stomach. No matter how much she didn't want to do it, she was just going to have to suck it up and talk to them. The consequences would be hers to own and to live with, no matter what they were.

*

*

Bulma and Vegeta weren't asleep either, but neither was so miserable as Goku or Chichi. To the contrary, they were quite content, considering all the tossing and turning they'd done together.

“You should have let Goku have your room,” Bulma stretched out, enjoying the heat of Vegeta's bare skin against her own, “if you knew you were just going to come here anyway.” She smiled impishly as Vegeta glared at her from beneath lowered eyelids.

“Still thinking of Kakarott, even after all that?” He sneered, and Bulma pulled back a little in surprise. She couldn't go too far, his arm around her like a steel band. Just by looking at him, she'd never have guessed he could be so heavy.

“What?” She teased, “Are you jealous?”

“Of a weakling? Never.” The prince scoffed as his eyes drifted shut again. Bulma was amused to see that the frown remained even as he feigned nonchalance. Come to think of it, the frown hardly ever left his face.

“Well good,” Bulma ran her palm across his chest as she snuggled against him, “because I'm pretty sure I've told you that Goku is just a friend, and I would hate to think you didn't believe me.” A short pause, “Though there was that time he saw my…” She trailed off, giggling as Vegeta began to grumble, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and tickling her ear. “We were kids, Vegeta!” She howled with laughter, unable to stop herself as an indignant Vegeta shoved her off of him and onto her own pillow.

“Enough,” he growled into her ear as he rolled on top of her, momentarily squeezing the breath out of her before he picked his full weight up on his own arms, “no more talk of Kakarott. That third class fool has no place between us.”

“Vegeta!” Bulma squealed in surprise when he forced his knee between her legs, bringing it right up to press against her. She felt him hard against her belly. “Again?”

“Until you forget,” Vegeta nipped her shoulder, one hand snaking up to fist into her hair, pulling her head gently to the side so that he could kiss her neck, “everything but me.” He opened his mouth, clamping his jaw over her shoulder in a pressureless bite. She shivered as his teeth scraped gently against her skin.

“And what about you?” Bulma panted, sliding her fingers into his hair to pull him closer. “When do you forget about everything but me?”

“Silly girl.” Vegeta chuckled as he moved lower, trailing nips down from her neck to her breast. “I already have.” He paused, eyes narrowing as he realized the magnitude of the words that had escaped his mouth. “For tonight, at least.” He added. Bulma snorted and whacked him on the shoulder.

“I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that last bit.” She said, and pulled him up for a kiss on the mouth. “Jerk.” Vegeta smirked, but didn't reply as he pulled away from her grip and worked his way under the blankets, nipping and licking down to the spot that would make her squeal. “Oh,” she breathed as his hands fastened on her hips, lips touching here, there, not yet in that oh-so-right place, “Vegeta…” She dug her fingers into his biceps, tugging upward. “Come back up here. I want you.” She whispered, letting go of him with one hand to reach for the box on the nightstand.

“Feh,” Vegeta dipped his tongue into her belly button then blew over the damp skin to make shivers run up her spine. “Are there even any left?” Bulma could hear the smug satisfaction in his voice and she shook the box, rattling its contents.

“Sounds like lots to me.” She grinned at him as she folded the covers back to expose his head. “Now get out here and help me make a dent in this pile.” She was already clamping one packet by the teeth, pulling with her other hand as she reached out to dump the box back on the bedside table. Gingerly, she pulled the condom from its foil sheath and sat up. “Come here. Let me put it on you.” How could he ignore an order like that? Vegeta sat up, the blankets falling back, slipping down off of his shoulders. “Lean back,” she commanded, putting one hand on his chest to push him. He did as he was told, bracing his weight with his arms, and spread his knees so she could get between. He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back as her hand surrounded him, fingers gliding ever so lightly over his head and down the shaft. He felt her shift and opened his eyes to see her kneeling, bending down to take him between parted lips.

“Ahh,” the sound escaped involuntarily as he felt the slide of her tongue against him. She tilted her head to the side and he pushed her hair out of the way, holding it back so he could see the slow progress of his cock into her mouth. “Oh, fuck…” Vegeta moaned as he felt himself hit the back of her throat. He hissed, a slow release of air through his teeth as she pulled back, lips pressed tightly against him. She went down again, gripping the base of his shaft in her hand as she tortured the rest of him with her tongue. After one last lick, she rolled the condom down over him, pleased to see the impatient tension in his body as he waited for her to finish. “Come here,” he panted, pulling her gently over him as he sat back against the bunched blankets. “The better to see you with, my dear.” He brought both hands to her breasts, cupping their weight in his hands as she positioned herself over him.

“You know the big, bad wolf?” She asked coyly as she lowered herself, one hand between them to guide him in. She wondered what other bedtime stories Gohan must have shared with the saiyans.

“I am the big, bad wolf.” Vegeta asserted with a grin befitting the title. He lifted his hips to meet her as she came down upon him, eliciting a soft squeak from her.

“Do you even know what a wolf is?” She laughed softly and brought her hands up to cover his own, which were still kneading her heavy breasts. Vegeta smirked up at her but didn't say anything, which answered her question. He had no clue.

“I know all I need to know.” His hands slid down to her hips, which he pulled down at the same time as he rose up. “Predatory beasts, vicious killers, tricking pretty girls and eating them up.” He chuckled and Bulma leaned forward, bracing her weight with two hands on his chest.

“All stories, Ven. Wolves aren't so bad.” She stretched out and kissed him hard, drawing a deep groan from his throat as her tongue forced its way inside his mouth. “Besides,” she panted, coming up for air, “some pretty girls like to be eaten up.” She kissed him again before he could reply, and that was the end of their conversation for the moment. They moved quickly; it was beyond late and the time for slow, languorous sex had passed with the hours. This round was about pure, raw pleasure. One last orgasm to flout in the face of the body's need for sleep.

Vegeta had appeared, quite unexpectedly, at least an hour after everyone had gone to bed. Bulma had long since figured that he was avoiding her - she had looked truly atrocious in her grease-stained coveralls - and sulkily turned out her lights. He'd shown up just as she was drifting off to sleep and scared the shit out of her by letting himself in without even the simple courtesy of a knock. She'd rolled over to find him glaring at her in the dark, which was bad enough, but then he made it worse by putting his hand over her mouth to stop her from shrieking, which really startled her. That's when the lights were turned on and two hours later, they'd yet to be put out.

“Vegeta,” Bulma gasped as he lifted her again, bringing her down on him, driving right into the sweet spot that made her toes curl. His hands on her hips were doing all the work; she was making a token effort, but the muscles in her legs were screaming in protest. “Ah!” she cried out as he did it again, her breasts bouncing with each thrust before Vegeta's greedy eyes. Pausing their rhythm, Vegeta sat up, gently pulling Bulma's legs so that they were wrapped more comfortably around his body, rather than bent along his sides. His arms moved up from her hips to her back, supporting her tired body so she didn't have to do it herself.

“Better?” He asked and she nodded, surprised at the consideration. He pulled her close against him, wrapping one arm firmly around her back as the other trailed down to her bottom to hold her securely around him as he pushed quickly forward so that Bulma lay on her back with him on top. “This will be easier on you.” Vegeta muttered into her ear as he began to move again. “So I don't have to hear you complaining tomorrow.”

“Wow, you know how to charm a girl.” Bulma managed, panting as he pushed her closer and closer toward release. She was feeling too good to be insulted.

“Why bother charming you?” He nuzzled her neck and opened his mouth to nip her skin. “All I have to do is touch you and you fall apart.” He punctuated this comment with a hard thrust that sent her spiralling over the edge. He allowed himself to let go too, unable to hold back as she convulsed around him.

“You're a bastard, you know that?” Bulma huffed as they lay lazily afterward. He was still on top of her, his weight pressing down only as much as he allowed it, so as not to crush her.

“No, I'm pretty sure my parents were mated.” He quipped, rolling off to the side. Bulma watched his eyebrows come together in a frown and wondered what he was thinking. He so rarely volunteered any information having to do with himself or his past, so this slip really intrigued her. She wondered what his parents had been like, what exactly had happened to them. She wondered how much he remembered of them, and how much was wishful idealization. There was a lot she wanted to know about him, but she knew enough to understand that the second she started prying was the second he'd haul himself out of bed and leave, no matter the time.

“Mated?” She asked, settling for general information as she snuggled against his side. She felt his body tense and she lay still, stroking his chest as though she hadn't just asked him to volunteer something. Had she still been watching his face, she would have seen the barest hint of colour rise to his cheeks.

“According to that fuckwit Nappa, it is a term for two permanently attached people. An emotional bond of sorts.” He spat, and Bulma patted him on the chest.

“I had no idea Saiyans were so romantic,” she mumbled, simply, even though she wanted to know so much more. Vegeta muttered something she couldn't understand, possibly in his own language, and roughly disengaged himself from her embrace. She tried not to feel hurt as she felt his weight leave the bed, told herself that she'd asked for it, but then the lights flicked off and he was back, crawling once more beneath the covers. He didn't protest when Bulma snuggled against his side, curling herself around him to steal his warmth.

When she woke up in the morning he was gone, but she wasn't upset. From his last visit, she knew that the Saiyans were always up and training way before anyone else on board had even thought about cracking an eyelid. Bulma yawned and rolled over, stretching to feel the pleasant ache of well-used muscles. So much for blue-balling him, she thought with a sleepy smile as she snuggled back into her pillow. Putting off the day for another hour or two wouldn't hurt, and she was exhausted!

*

Gohan was pleased to see that his father had woken early too, and made his way to the training room where the other saiyans were already up and stretching out. “Hey, little brother!” Radditz called out, waving the other man over to join them. Vegeta and Nappa, always the early birds, usually did their own thing. Gohan and Radditz were not much of a match for either of the elite ranked saiyans anyway.

“Morning dad!” Gohan grinned encouragingly at his father, who was looking even more dishevelled than usual. “How'd you sleep?” Radditz uttered a surprised grunt and elbowed Gohan in the ribs. He shook his head at his nephew, a wide eyed look of censorship on his face.

“Not great.” Goku admitted, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head with one hand. He was embarrassed, an unusual sensation for him, that his brother and the other saiyans had seen Chichi run out on him the night before. Gohan, Bulma, Krillin, all his earth friends had seen Chichi commit any number of indignities to his person; he wasn't so much bothered by their presence. The saiyans, however, were a different story. Vegeta hadn't seemed to care one way or the other, but Radditz and Nappa had really seemed thrown by her rejection of him. They'd seemed genuinely bothered that his wife should turn her back on him, though he wasn't sure why. Radditz, he could kind of understand, but Nappa didn't seem like the most caring fellow, and Goku couldn't reason why his marital state would be so important to the bald man.

Truthfully, Goku knew that none of the other spats that he and Chichi engaged in were like this one. It was different, serious, and he felt genuinely worried that his wife might not be his for much longer.

“Don't worry, dad,” Gohan drew one arm across his little chest, bracing it with the other to stretch his shoulder, “things will work out.”

Goku grimaced. Gohan's canned enthusiasm wasn't convincing. Even an eight year old knew he was doomed. “You should bring her a gift.” Radditz put in. “Bring her your next kill.”

“Ummm…” Goku stalled. “Uh, thanks for the advice.” He quickly turned and began his own stretching routine, hoping that his brother and son would just leave the issue alone. He didn't think that Chichi would appreciate a dead body, even if he had it in him to go out and kill something at this point, and besides, he'd already given her something. Well, slipped something under her door was more like it. And, he reflected, it wasn't really even a good something. Seized by inspiration in the middle of the night, he'd drawn a crappy picture of a flower with supplies filched from Krillin's desk, and before he could convince himself it was a stupid idea, he'd written “because I can't pick you a real one” at the bottom and shoved it under her door.

At the time, he'd thought himself terribly romantic and clever, but in the light of day with only a few hours' worth of disturbed sleep, he was convinced it was the worst idea he'd ever had. Really, he was a terrible drawer, and sketched out in the dark across his knees, the thing had looked worse than Gohan's childhood finger-paintings; the ones Chichi used to stick proudly on the fridge, all the while proclaiming how their son was so smart, so talented. It hadn't come from his father, came Goku's self-depreciating thoughts. If he was smart, he'd not have said what he did to Chichi. Hell, he'd not have ever been separated from her in the first place and then he wouldn't be in this mess. He'd have woken up, snuggled next to his wife, his hand on her breast, soft bum pressed tightly against his groin…

“Wake up, Kakarott.” Radditz's voice cut into his reverie. “You here to train, or what? `S a good distraction, you know. From what's bothering you.” He grinned, crooking his finger at Goku to join them. Gohan gave his uncle a look, as though to say `who should be censoring themselves, now?' but followed him to the mat anyway.

“Take your time, dad.” He said, kindly. “We'll be here when you're ready.” Goku nodded and watched as his two relations quickly dropped down into fighting stances. They went at each other without much preamble and Goku was impressed, as always, by his son's strength and skill. He'd been nowhere near that powerful as a boy of Gohan's age, and he couldn't remember his son ever having shown much promise before Earth's destruction. The child had been naturally much more powerful than his peers, of course, but he'd not shown much desire to fight, which the saiyans had brought out in full force. Goku wondered if it was in him all along. He worried that maybe by listening to Chichi and not training his son, perhaps he'd handicapped him, made the last three years much worse than they had any need to be.

Then again, he reflected, perhaps if Gohan had been stronger, he'd have been pressed into service much earlier, under someone much, much worse than Vegeta. Goku didn't know whether to be angry or thankful.

*

*

Guru looked up in surprise as Nail entered the room. It wasn't so much his presence, but the look on his face, or perhaps the way he walked…Guru squinted in the dim light as Nail bowed and took a seat before him. Dende looked shocked as he scooted sideways to allow the larger Namek some room.

“My Son, what brings you to my chamber today?” He asked, reaching for his gourd of water to clear his throat. He'd been meditating for quite some time and his mouth felt dry and gummy. He gestured for Dende to do the same but the child remained in place, the barest beginnings of a frown on his small face.

“I feel…” Nail hesitated, looking away as he thought. “I feel as though I must apologize, Master, for the way I have been, lately. I have been most impatient and unwilling to do as you instruct. I regret any awkwardness between us, as a result.”

“Nail, that is good news.” Guru smiled widely.

“I still feel much frustration that you refuse to entrust me with your secrets, but I will try to take this as a lesson in patience. You will tell me when you are ready to do so.”

Guru's smile lessened at Nail's words, beginning at a broad grin and ending with a bittersweet twist of ancient lips. “Nail,” he said gently, “I have already told you that this is not a matter of patience. Many of the secrets that I know are not mine to share.” Wisely, Nail said nothing, though Guru could see the compression of his lips, pressed together so tightly that they'd gone pale. “It's not as though you've anything to worry about for the time being.” The old sage joked, trying to lighten the mood. “Vengeance is with Blue right now, and the last time that happened, we heard nothing of him for weeks.” He smiled at Dende, who was happily recalling the woman he liked so much.

“She is good for his spirit. When he speaks from her home, he does not carry so much anger.” Dende said to Nail, as though the knowledge would act as a balm for his irritation. “Perhaps if he stays there long enough, even you will begin to trust him.” The boy smiled and Nail did his best not to snarl back a retort. Instead, he got quickly up from the floor, bowed to the puzzled old master and strode out of the domed house without another word.

Silently fuming, Nail stomped across the yard, his open vest billowing behind him as he moved. How was it that a child was privy to more information about Vengeance than he, Guru's most trusted servant? It galled him, stuck in the back of his throat like a lodged bone, awakened the fury he was trying so very hard to hide. Could it be that they were more perceptive than they let on? The old man certainly was stubborn, but a little blinded by his beliefs. The kid, though…Nail wasn't too sure about him. There was a wary intelligence in the brat's eyes that set Nail on edge.

After he'd crossed the transport path, Nail judged himself a safe distance from the small compound. He powered up and launched himself into the air, flying at top speed to a secluded little lake where he'd be free to train in peace. He could let loose and power up without worrying about anyone else bothering him or getting in his way. The trip took only moments, though he was slower than he would have liked, and when he touched down the first thing he did was to throw off the vest and the odd, puffy collar that was the fashion of the Namek race. He stood at the water's edge, bare chested, fisted hands on his hips, and stared down at his reflection. Not bad, all in all, though he resented the drop in strength that had come with the change. And, one hand came up to tug at one of the small green antennae sprouting from his head, he really missed the horns he'd had with his last body. Nothing was more intimidating than a good pair of horns. It was too bad he'd had to kill his last form after he'd taken this new one. It might have been nice to go back to, but he didn't want the real Nail coming back and causing problems for him. That could be bad, especially since he'd taken such care in studying the man, learning his mannerisms and speech patters, even going so far as to spy on the compound to see how the Nameks interacted with each other. It hadn't been an easy mission for a man used to parading his strength and skill in the most garish ways, but he'd done it. His skill at choreography weren't the only reason he'd risen so high in Frieza's ranks; when it came down to it, Ginyu was one hell of an asset.

Scowling, Ginyu performed a few of his favourite gymnastic sequences to try and put himself at ease, without much success. Despite all the time he had spent in Nail's body, it still felt a little awkward to him, as though he were wearing a costume rather than inhabiting a real flesh and blood form. Perhaps with more training, he would be able to master this gangly green sack of meat. He wasn't really used to covert operations like this one and was usually lucky enough to be able to break in a new body with the aid of his elite squad of warriors. As it was, he'd had to become accustomed to this body alone and in secret before he dared to return to Guru's little compound with it. His awkwardness certainly would have been noticed otherwise. He'd gotten a bit more practice with the body, seeing as the Namekian warriors trained daily, but the few that had escaped to the compound with Guru were pitifully weak and hardly worth sparring at all. If he hadn't a charade to keep up, he'd have killed them all the first day out.

Ginyu cast a calculating eye over the secluded little spot, once more examining his features in the reflection of the lake. Not too bad, he supposed, but he couldn't live in this asexual body forever. With a careful bit of planning, however, he knew he could soon have this unpleasant business with Vengeance and this cursed body wrapped up for good.