Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance ❯ Chapter 27

 

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 wait. This one's a tad longer than usual, so I hope that helps. At this point in time, I'm not so sure if I'll be able to continue updating as quickly as I have in the past, though I'll try my best to update as often as possible. Thanks for your patience, and now on to the good stuff!

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PRESENT DAY

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“I'm so sorry, Sixteen.” Chichi said softly, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor so she didn't have to look at the big man sitting beside her. “What I feel for you…what we have…is special. But Goku is my husband, the father of my son, and I have to give that a chance.” She wiped tears from her eyes with the sodden tissue she clutched in her hand. “I want you to know that this wasn't an easy decision, and that you will always have a place in my heart.”

“I understand.” Sixteen said softly, his big hand tentatively grasping her own. He never failed to marvel at her delicate construction, her tiny, slender fingers dwarfed by his palm. “I cannot offer you what he can; of this I am well aware.” He said, feeling an odd tightness in his throat. Was this despair? Heartbreak, as the humans called it? He thought it might be so. “Will you still be my friend?” He asked, hopefully, “Or is this not permitted?”

“Of course we can still be friends.” Chichi bawled, turning in her seat and hugging the stiff android emphatically. “Nothing would make me happier Sixteen. Nothing.” As quickly as she had grasped him, she was releasing him and scooting back into her own spot on the bench, again wiping her eyes as tears continued to pour. Sixteen noted that she did not sit as close to him as she once would have.

“Chichi, before he came here you used to speak to me much of your husband. He is here now, your wishes have come true. You should not cry.” Sixteen reached for another tissue from the box on the table and handed it to her. She sniffled and bawled harder, leaning into him as she might have done before Goku's reappearance, and Sixteen felt the heaviness in his mind dissipate just a little. He put his arm around her shoulders as she cried into her tissue, and Chichi did not protest or shy away. They would be good friends again, he knew it.

When Chichi had finally composed herself and left his quarters, Sixteen ambled slowly over into his father's lab to check on the tanks. He smiled sadly at the two figures inside, their naked bodies nearly complete, and checked the charts that hung on the wall between them. Seventeen and Eighteen were almost ready for activation; soon he would have a new brother and sister to help fill the odd, empty sensation that he`d felt since Goku`s arrival. He wandered over to the wall of spare parts, lifting a finger to stroke a pale white hand. Nineteen, built in the same vein as Sixteen himself, had been taken apart even before his activation could take place. Something in the brain circuitry was faulty and Gero had feared that the android might be uncontrollable, wild. Impossible to fix, Gero had said, though Sixteen suspected that Dr. Gero was simply far too enamoured of his organic children to be bothered with mucking about in Nineteen's brain, a thought which disturbed him deeply. Sixteen sometimes wondered if he would soon be overshadowed too, but he was content in the fact that he had other friends, should his father lose all interest. He would still have Chichi and Bulma and Krillin to be his family, Puar too, and dear Mr. and Mrs. Briefs. They had all shown him a kindness and warmth that he had not known existed in humanity, thanks to the cold and calculating personality of the father who'd created him.

*

*

Bulma felt Vegeta's lips on her neck before she even realized he was behind her, then his hands snaked around her waist, pulling her backward against him as he opened his mouth to place a gentle bite on her shoulder. She sighed as his fingers found the zipper of her coveralls, hands slipping inside to cup her breasts through her shirt beneath.

“Vegeta,” she giggled, leaning into him. “My dad will be back any second. He just went to grab another cup of coffee.”

“I know,” the prince said, pulling her zipper back up and stepping away. “I saw him leave.”

“And what, you figured you'd stop in for a quick grope?” She asked wryly, and rolled her eyes at his answering smirk. “Of course you did. Letch.” She turned her attention back to the schematics and he stepped up to the worktable beside her. “I'm all ready to go here.” She said, pushing the papers across the table to him. “As you can see, we can accomplish much of the building with parts we have on hand,” she pointed to a few key areas as his keen eyes watched, “but in order to get the GR up and running, we'll need to track down a few bits. I'm not willing to sacrifice our extra gravity modulator - we need it as a back up for Red Station's gravity simulator - and I'll need to purchase some extra strong building materials so the stupid thing doesn't go crashing in on itself when we turn it on. I've sourced some out,” she pushed another piece of paper toward Vegeta, a list of parts and prices, “and priced everything. It's…well, it isn't going to be cheap.” She tapped the number at the bottom of the page, circled in red ink, and Vegeta shrugged.

“It won't be an issue.” He said, pushing the sheet back to her and ignoring her stunned look. It was a large figure, but as he'd informed her before, Vegeta had no lack of funds. “Order the parts. We will leave as soon as possible.”

*

*

Zarbon had the feeling that something was not quite right with his master that morning as he stood respectfully awaiting his orders in the ship's command room. There were more high level guards present than usual, as well as a seedy looking little quadruped that Zarbon had never seen before, but who kept glancing nervously at the beautiful officer. As if he'd stoop to such levels, Zarbon thought, catching the creature's eyes on him once more. He sneered, as if to say not even in your dreams and turned back to his Master, who was tapping impatient fingers on the arm of his hovering chair as the navigational officer gave the morning's report.

“Enough!” Frieza shouted impatiently, halfway through, and waved his hand in dismissal. “I do not care. Steer my ship, you useless worm, and do not bother me with petty details.” The navigational officer scuttled away to do as he was told, and the unfamiliar little beast stepped forward. “You,” Frieza demanded, seeing the peasant before him. “What do you want? Who the hell are you?”

“A humble informer, my lord,” the creature replied in a voice like gravel as it sketched an awkward bow, its two front legs bending at the knee while the back two remained straight and stiff, “with loftier goals.” Two clawlike hands extended from short arms above the front legs, and Zarbon noticed uneasily that it clutched in one pincer a small disk. It looked to him once more, this time grinning, and unease turned into a bolt of panic thundering down Zarbon's spine. The creature handed the disk off to one of the guards, who popped it immediately into the console in Frieza's chair.

“Urgent message to be passed on to Vengeance at whatever cost.” Zarbon's voice crackled out of the speakers, and the lizard man felt his stomach drop as Frieza's lips twisted with rage. “Beware the Namekian refugees. Ginyu hides among them.”

“Perhaps you will recognize the voice.” The informer's voice was smugly satisfied, and Zarbon knew that his trust had been betrayed, and for nothing. In all likelihood, the message had not even reached Vengeance. Zarbon felt panic building within him, though he appeared still calm on the outside. He'd always known there was the possibility of being outed as a spy, but he'd never thought it would happen like this, with no chance for escape after such a spectacular failure. He'd imagined dying in some glory at least, cut down by the master after having pulled off some amazing feat of sabotage.

“Zarbon,” Frieza hissed, his head turning slowly to the subordinate that he had trusted so completely, the man whose service he cherished. His face was twisted into an ugly scowl, his eyes bulging and red as rage built within his little body. “You, it's been you all along, leaking my secrets, you filthy little toad!” With hardly a signal, the multitude of guards had surrounded Zarbon, the boldest among them coming forward to attack.

In a surprise move, Zarbon loosed the ugly side of himself, his muscles bulging as his face bloated and flattened until he was no longer recognizable as the beauteous and beloved servant he had always been. He launched himself at Frieza in a desperate bid to do some damage before the guards were upon him, but was easily swatted aside by the diminutive little tyrant, his body slamming into a wall before he was pelted by the force of fifteen energy rifles firing at will.

“Don't kill him.” Frieza ordered, a frightening calm in his voice. “Take him to my lower chambers.” He said, and Zarbon howled in fear and pain as he was lifted by the guards, bruised and broken. He struggled but there were too many of them. “No matter what he does to incite you, do not kill him. Do I make myself clear?” Frieza demanded, and the resounding “yes sir” of the guards sent chills up and down his body. Zarbon had only been punished with a trip to the lower chambers once in his life, and the experience had nearly broken him. He'd seen strong men broken apart down there, shattered into pieces and then put back together in sick, fractured parodies of their former selves. The lower chambers were Frieza's personal torture chambers, a place where the tyrant did things that Zarbon would never wish on even the worst of his enemies. He knew all too well what went on down there, for he had many a time been witness to the master's sick pleasures.

“Have you anything to say to yourself, little froggy?” Frieza's shrill voice descended upon him, the lizard king having stepped down from his hovering chair, and come to stand before Zarbon's captive form. “No bursts of heroic tripe, now vows of revenge by your slimy little cohorts?” The tyrant laughed, bringing his face so close to Zarbon's that the green man could feel the master's breath on his cheeks. “That was never like you anyway, pet.” He chuckled as Zarbon's lips curled back in disgust. “A pity, to lose one such as yourself in my ranks. You were always very good to me Zarbon.” Frieza's voice dropped as his hand caressed the rough skin of his captive's forehead, his fingers knotting in the other's silky hair, tugging hard until tears formed at the corners of Zarbon's eyes. “But now, pet,” he whispered and Zarbon felt panic swelling within his chest, “now I'll be able to have as much fun with you as I want. What have you got to say to that?”

Zarbon locked eyes with Frieza, the fear welling in his chest urging him to plead, to beg for forgiveness from the powerful little master, telling him he'd never stand a chance down in Frieza's private torture chamber. But Zarbon knew it would do him no good. His capitulation would only drive the monster wild, his tears and screams the ultimate aphrodisiac for Frieza's sadistic tastes, and despite his predicament, Zarbon suddenly felt too prideful to beg, to end his life pleading on his knees. He thought, absurdly, of Vegeta, the only man he'd ever known to survive multiple trips to the lower chambers with his mind intact, each time effecting the opposite of what was intended and driving Frieza closer and closer to madness from it. He thought of the Saiyan Prince's defiance, his flagrant disrespect, and wondered what the filthy monkey would have done in this situation.

“Well, what have you got to say?” Frieza demanded again, tugging so hard on Zarbon's braid that he thought it might rip from his skull. Zarbon sneered at his cruel master, hocked back, and spit with all his might, right into Frieza's face. “You piece of shit!” Frieza shrieked, furiously wiping the bloody gob of phlegm from his cheek. His fist tightened in Zarbon's hair and he forced the man's head down into the floor, pressing so hard that Zarbon thought his neck might snap from the pressure. A part of him hoped it did, as he thought of the tortures awaiting him.

A laugh escaped from Zarbon's throat, wild and crazy, panicked and yet joyful. He would die a free man, no longer slave to the master's edicts, no longer carrying out the duties of a genocidal, sadistic madman. He would die bloody and broken, shamed beyond what he'd ever thought possible, he was sure, but he'd at least not die in the name of Frieza's cause and that was as good a death as he could hope for at this point.

``Well, what do you think of that?” Zarbon laughed out, his voice muffled against the cold tiles of the floor. Frieza pulled back on his braid again, yanking his head up once more. “How do you like it, being fooled all this time?” He hissed out, even as Frieza continued to pull, enough so that Zarbon was once more on his knees and being pulled even further backward so his back bent in a painful arc.

“I think,” Frieza said, leaning down to whisper menacingly in Zarbon's ear, “that you will regret every second you spent deceiving me, before I see fit to slaughter your sorry carcass.” The diminutive tyrant stood and addressed the men holding his once trusted servant captive. “Take him away now.”

*

*

As it turned out, `as soon as possible' was pretty damn quick, and Bulma was surprised to find herself alone on a ship with four saiyans...well, three and a half, she supposed, still not really sure where to count Gohan. The fact that no one else really knew where to count him had, in fact, contributed to her fate as the lone human aboard the ship. None of the others had really wanted to cloister themselves up with the volatile saiyans, though Krillin had bravely offered to accompany her after Vegeta made public his decision to leave Goku at Red Station. She'd gently turned him down, confident that Vegeta would keep her safe, and then Gohan had very sweetly promised to look after her.

Bulma didn't quite understand why they were taking Gohan and not Goku; she was certain that Vegeta hadn't suddenly grown a heart and let her friend stay because of the situation with Chichi. It just wasn't his style, and the omission of the newest member of their little troupe sat uneasily in her chest, her curiosity verging onto worry. She wondered exactly how the other saiyans thought of Goku. Looking at the five of them together, it was obvious that he was different; even little Gohan seemed more like them than his full-blooded father did. And they, in turn, seemed to treat Gohan as one of their own, while Goku was watched with wary eyes and ruffled tails, as though he was some foreign wolf dropped suddenly into another pack's territory. They still saw him as a little bit of an outsider.

Bulma saw something different. She had not believed that Goku could be relative to any one of those saiyan brutes, but seeing him again...seeing him after his exposure to the cruelties of the universe and not simply through the memories she had of him, it had practically hit her in the face. Goku was like them, more so than any of them would probably ever know. She saw it in the angles of his face, the shock of his hair and the depth of his eyes, but it went beyond physical. She saw in him the same warrior nature, the tightly reigned strength hidden below a cheerful front, his control so tenuous it might snap and kill them all at any moment.

No, Goku was not quite the man she remembered from Earth, but the lack of his presence here on Vegeta's ship meant that he wasn't quite saiyan either.

*

Back on Red Station, Goku wasn't quite sure himself what to think of the fact that he'd been left behind. He wasn't really bothered by it; quite the contrary, he was pleased not to have been ordered along, but all the same he was unsettled. He wondered if he'd have felt the same way if they'd left Gohan behind, or if Gohan had at least asked to stay behind.

“You will stay here,” Vegeta had said, pointing at Goku, “and the rest of you will come with me.” And everyone had shrugged their shoulders and gone to pack their things. Goku himself had thought about arguing, if only for the fact that he wanted to take back some control over his son, but in the end he'd remained quiet. He'd had another chance at launch, thinking Chichi might object - she objected to everything, he recalled - but she'd simply hugged their son goodbye, reminded him to stay warm and eat well, and given Goku a strange look as though puzzled by the fact that he was the only one left out. Then Radditz - Radditz! - had promised Chichi he'd look out for Gohan, and Goku had felt as though he'd died and gone to an alternate dimension. Since when did Chichi listen to anybody, trust anybody who wasn't herself? And with the welfare of Gohan, no less! Goku knew that if he'd been the one to assure their son's safe return, she'd have narrowed her eyes in that soul-searing way of hers and been along for the ride in no time.

When, exactly, had the universe turned itself upside down?

“Hey man, you okay?” Krillin”s voice broke the silence, startling Goku. “Ahh, sorry,” the bald monk scratched his head, a habit he'd picked up from a long life of association with Goku, “it's just that you've been sitting there, staring at a blank tv for a while now...”

“Um, truthfully I don't know how to turn it on.” Goku shrugged, feeling a bit silly. “It's different than the one we had at home and really, I didn't watch it much.”

Krillin rushed to show Goku the remote, thinking of the Son family's old rabbit-eared, dial operated monstrosity, and feeling bad for the oversight. The old thing probably would have been covered in dust and cobwebs from disuse, if Chichi had ever allowed a single mote of dust to even settle on a surface in her home. “Was there something you wanted to watch?” Krillin asked, bringing up the channel guide. “We're able to bring in programming from two galaxies, and most of it is broadcast in standard.” He continued brightly, aware that he sounded like a advertisement for their broadcast provider as he flipped through to find something that his friend might enjoy. “How about this?” He asked, turning toward Goku, only to sheepishly realize that the other man wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention. “Oh...” he paused, “this really isn't about tv, is it?”

“Got me.” Goku smiled a little shakily.

“D'you need to talk?” Krillin asked, and when his friend made no reply, Krillin asked instead, “Do you need to fight?” which was of course the right question, as Goku perked up immediately. “Come on, let's go spar.”

Feeling better already, Goku followed his diminutive friend to the training rooms, where he was surprised to find Tien working through a complex looking kata. He stopped and stood awkwardly as they entered. “Goku,” Tien nodded in greeting, “I had heard that you arrived here...I should have come...” He stopped, unsure of how to continue. He and Goku had not been friends on Earth, but they were no longer enemies and had the ship not been crawling with saiyans, Tien might have made an earlier appearance.

“It's okay.” Goku smiled and came into the room. “It's good to see you again. I'm glad you survived.” Tien said nothing and Krillin winced, thinking of the doll-faced prince who must have perished somewhere along the way. The triclops had never really spoken of Chiaotzu and so the other earthlings were left to wonder and to speculate.

“Yes...we were not all so lucky.” Tien finally answered, his voice laced with bitterness and disappointment.

“I felt him go, you know.” Goku sat down on one of the benches that lined the walls of the room. “When he self destructed, I felt the blast. He must have taken out a lot of Frieza's men.”

“He did.” Tien admitted, his hands balling into fists at his side. Krillin stepped back into the doorway, suddenly uncomfortable with the level of tension in the room, burned by the crackle of emotion he could feel from Tien. “But it wasn't enough, was it? We still failed. I failed. Chiautzu is dead, Earth is gone and yet here I am, living this useless life, cloistered away, unable to do anything to avenge him!” Energy fizzled around the three eyed warrior, sparking out at random as it breached his walls of self control. “I sometimes wish I could have died like he did.”

“Don't say that, Tien.” Krillin inched back in, still not entirely sure that the one-time assassin was not about to explode, but feeling guilty for the part he'd played in Tien's frustration. “We'll let you help us take Frieza down.” He said, earnestly. “From now on. I'll talk to Bulma. You'll be part of the team.” Krillin promised, certain that this was the Tien of Earth. How could Ginyu possibly know about Chiaotzu? And even if he had access to Tien's memories, how could he possibly fake this kind of emotion, this kind of pain? Krillin resolved to tell Vegeta to shelve his suspicions; he hoped the saiyan prince would listen. Krllin paused, thinking maybe he should ask Bulma to tell him instead - the volatile alien was certainly more likely to listen to her than to him!

Tien seemed mollified, though maudlin, and Krillin felt that the mood had been ruined. Everyone's energy seemed to have gone with Tien's outburst; even Goku looked as though he wasn't really up for much of a fight.

“What the hell happened?” Goku asked suddenly, looking distressed. “Chiaotzu is dead, Yamcha is dead. My son has become someone I don't know. My wife...” he choked up, “my wife is a different person. I'm a different person. Earth is gone and I don't know where I am or what I'm even supposed to do!” He slammed one fist against the bench beside him, pent up frustration coming to the fore. “These aren't even my clothes!” He cried, tugging at his shirt. “I don't even own a pair of pants!”

Krillin stepped uncertainly toward his friend, not really sure what to do. He wasn't so good at dealing with emotions - Krillin was the type of man who hid behind humour and good spirits, which had suited him well within his rough, tough circle of friends. He'd never seen Goku so distraught about anything in his life and the experience was not something he wished ever to see again. Goku had always been the strong one, the one in control, the guy who everyone turned to when the situation was crumbling down around their ears. His confidence and power had been their rallying point through thick and thin, and yet now he sat with his head in his hands, a confused and defeated man.

“You're back with us now, Goku.” Krillin said, his voice wavering with uncertainty. “I don't know what's going to happen any more than you, but you're back with your friends, and we have new allies, a new home. Earth is gone and so many of our friends with it, but we have a new goal. We have a universe to save!” He said, bravely sidling up to Goku, surprising himself with how gaunt the other man's shoulder seemed beneath his fingers as he squeezed. “You'll do what you always do, Goku. You'll get up with us and you'll fight for what's right. You'll fight alongside us, alongside Chichi and Gohan because despite it all, they're on the same side. We're all on the same side.”

“Pretty words.” A gruff voice startled Krillin, who turned to see Piccolo standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

“Geez, do you have to do that?” He complained, swiping a hand across his suddenly sweaty forehead. “You and Vegeta, you're a real pair, you know that? Always sneaking in, making your dramatic entrances at my expense!”

“Goku, pick yourself up.” Piccolo commanded, striding into the room and completely ignoring Krillin's indignant tirade. He felt Tien tense from across the room and turned his glare on the three-eyed warrior. “Both of you are being completely pathetic.” Piccolo grunted before turning back to the dishevelled saiyan before him. “Get your ass up and use your anger for something productive!” He snarled, reaching out to haul Goku to his feet by his shirtfront. “You too, little man.” He pointed at Krillin with his free hand, the other still fisted in the fabric at Goku's collarbone. “You'll never get anywhere with this pathetic, goody goody shit.” He turned back toward Goku and swung his arm, sending the other man stumbling toward the training mat. “I didn't keep you alive for all these years just so you could wallow in your own self pity. The Goku I remember would never sit on a bench, crying his eyes out over a twist of fate. Where is the man that Piccolo Daimyo hated and feared, the man Kami trusted with the fate of the Earth?”

“I...I don't know if I'm that person anymore!” Goku wailed, shuffling backward as Piccolo shoved him. “I don't know how to be that guy!”

“Well you'd better fucking figure it out!” Piccolo yelled, aiming a punch at Goku's stomach. “Because I didn't fuse with that old bastard for nothing!” Goku managed a block, and the match began in earnest.

*

*

Bulma fiddled with her pencil, not really concentrating on the wide array of papers spread out before her. She'd commandeered the common area of the ship's living quarters as her own personal office, seeing as there was really nowhere else with the space for her to set up, and the saiyans hardly stepped out of the training center unless it was mealtime or bedtime. Even the thought of sleep was oftentimes not enough to entice them away - the proof was in the 3am wake-up-and-have-sex-with-me stunts that Vegeta had been pulling, when he actually bothered to come to bed, that was.

Frankly, Bulma had been both surprised and a little bit pleased to find out that her bags had ended up in Vegeta's room and that he'd obviously intended for them to go there. Despite his obvious pursuit of her, on Red Station he was cagey about their relationship; refusing to move his things into her room, hardly ever sitting beside her, never touching her in view of the other inhabitants of the station, even after her mother had so kindly spilled the beans at dinner. Everyone knew, yet he still acted very secretive. Bulma had thought that he was just like that - not into public displays of affection, not wanting everybody to know his business. Here though, surrounded by his kin, he was different.

That wasn't to say that Vegeta was outright affectionate because that would have been a bald faced lie. He still didn't kiss her in front of his men, didn't hold her hand or hug her unless he was actually going in for a grope, which didn't happen all that often because ninety percent of his time was taken up with training. The other ten was divided up between eating, sleeping, and - she blushed - making her squeal. Judging by the hoarseness of her voice, she guessed that saiyans really didn't need very much sleep to function. The change in him was something more subtle, perhaps the way in which he stood closer to her, allowed his hand or tail to brush her skin every so often. He just seemed more relaxed, less on guard about the whole thing.

Bulma wondered what it meant. She really had no idea what Vegeta thought of her or their particular acquaintance, nor could she really figure out what she thought of him. Yeah, he was phenomenal in the sack and she'd long ago figured out that behind his surly, unpleasant demeanour lived a decent man worth getting to know. But was he forever? Bulma wasn't so sure, and damn her mother for ever putting the thought into her head!

“What troubles you?” Radditz asked, and Bulma realized suddenly that she was frowning quite intently into space. She glared at the long-haired saiyan, attributing to his presence her initial inability to concentrate, which had lead her down the thought path that had her so unsettled.

“Flux capacitors.” She lied, pretending to scribble a few notes with her pencil to give herself credibility. She looked from her nonsense calculation back to Radditz. “What are you doing here, anyway?” She asked, looking at her watch. He'd ambled in over an hour ago and had proceeded to flip through programs on the tv, though Bulma knew his eyes were on her more than the screen, which naturally set her on edge - the reason she'd been thinking about everything but the blueprints and notes in front of her.

“I'm trying to figure something out.” Radditz said with a sigh. He stood up and switched chairs so that he was right next to her, and a sudden bolt of alarm shot through her body. As far as saiyans went, Bulma had always considered Radditz to be a decent sort of guy - he was sort of friendly and obviously had a soft spot for his nephew, plus he had a huge crush on Puar that she actually found quite endearing - but she'd never been alone with Radditz and there he was looming over her, all muscles and hair and bare skin, and she suddenly realized how very big he was.

“Um, what's that?” Bulma squeaked out, scooting over on the couch only to have Radditz lean further in.

“That day at the research facility,” Radditz looked her up and down through narrowed eyes, “after you went to the washroom and came back, something about you hit me. Had we been somewhere else...” he trailed off, and the look in his eyes made Bulma realize why Puar was both so intimidated and enraptured by this man, “I wanted to eat you, you smelled so good. And then I found you again and I thought I might die seeing that you were already something to Vegeta, but I got closer to you and,” he leaned in and inhaled, closing his eyes as he did so, “nothing. Absolutely fucking nil.” He sat back, studying her again, and Bulma felt like the rabbit who escaped the fox at just the last second. When he continued, he was once again the breezy, joking man she'd seen giving Gohan noogies in the middle of training spars. “Which is,” he leaned back into the couch and crossed one leg over the other, “a good thing, I guess. Vegeta would tear my fucking heart out through my ass if he thought I was snaking in on his mate, but it leaves me confused. What was it about you that day that drove me so wild I could hardly contain myself?” Radditz looked sideways at her, his eyebrows knitted together into a deep frown.

“Um...perfume?” Bulma shrugged, cursing at how high her voice had come out. Should she tell him about Puar? It really wasn't her place but he seemed so...so...sad.

“Perfume!” He snorted, allowing his head to fall back. She watched his eyes dart around the ceiling, as though searching for an answer. “Was it the same for him?” Radditz sighed. “Will it be the same as with you if I see him again? I thought he was my mate, but what if I see him again, and zip? I mean, no offense, you're totally hot and all, but you're missing something for me. If you weren't Vegeta's and I hadn't met Puar, I'd totally still be thinking about fucking you.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“No problem.” Radditz shrugged. “Like I said, you're definitely boneable, but since you changed smells again, you're just not doing it for me.”

“So you think you'll see this guy again and he'll smell differently and suddenly you won't like him anymore?” Bulma asked, and Radditz nodded. “So what's the problem? You don't like him, you move on. It's not like you're stuck with him.”

“But...” Radditz shook his head as though trying to clear his thoughts. “But I think I want to be stuck with him. I want him to be my mate; I can't think of anything else! And if I see him again and it's not the same, I think I might just self destruct. Like my balls will explode from all the pressure!” He wailed, cupping one hand illustratively over his crotch. He looked over her, still palming his junk and said, “But I guess you don't really know what that feels like.”

Bulma thought of her first time, like the first time of many of her female friends. The build up, the expectations and the ideals, and the sudden, crushing disappointment of Oh, baby, did you come too? “You have no idea.” She said, and he grinned at her. “Anyway, if you only like this guy for the way he smells, that's a pretty terrible reason to want to be with him.”

“Oh, he's hot too.” Radditz assured her. “And he fucks like an animal.”

“Okay, slightly better reasons.” Bulma rolled her eyes and tried not to let her mind go there. She wondered how Radditz would react if she told him Puar was actually an animal. “How about his personality, his beliefs? What do you have in common?”

“Pfft, like I know. We didn't talk much, if you get my drift.” Radditz's hand finally left his groin and Bulma could see that the area in question had grown considerably. Quickly, she forced her eyes back to his grinning face. The man had no shame. “Besides, I just have a feeling.” He looked down at her. “Like Vegeta has for you. Nappa told us, a saiyan just knows it when he's met his mate. Vegeta's just lucky he actually managed to hold onto you. Puar could be anywhere in the universe. I might never see him again.”

“You keep using that term. Mate. But I don't know what you're talking about.” Bulma pulled back, feeling a small bubble of panic rise in her belly. Forever was a scary thought when you'd been living just day to day for the past several years. “You're confused. Vegeta's hardly said two words to me since we boarded.”

“Hmm, he's fucking you that much?” Radditz's eyebrows rose and he peered down at her once more. “Vegeta's never been so interested in a female. Nappa must be right, he's definitely bonded to you.” Bulma swallowed uncertainly, recalling a late night conversation she'd had with the prince in question in which he'd explained that particular term and then called it outright bullshit. “Though Vegeta will swear up and down it isn't true. He just doesn't want anybody, even if it's fate, telling him what to do.” Radditz continued blithely, unaware of the sudden discomfort of the female next to him.

“So what are you saying? He's stuck with me?”

“Well to be fair, you're stuck with him too.” Radditz shrugged. “Unless you want him to tear apart the competition. Heart out the ass, remember?”

“Yeah...heart out the ass.” Bulma repeated, as though it were some sort of slogan. She really didn't know how she felt about that. Obviously she didn't want Vegeta to rip anyone's anything out from anywhere over her, but if Radditz was correct she was, for all intents and purposes, stuck with Vegeta for the rest of her life. Married in the saiyan way without her consent or even her knowledge, and with no chance of divorce.

Yeah she liked him, probably more than she should and definitely more than was good for her...but forever? Forever was a long time and she'd only known Vegeta about a year, if she counted time spent conversing with Vengeance. Yamcha she'd known for nearly two decades, and she'd never made it past `maybe' with him! Shit, what was she going to do? What could she do?

“Hey brat, finished your work?” Radditz grinned at Gohan, forgetting the serious conversation with Bulma as the child walked into the room with a stack of books and papers. Bulma was surprised to see him and wondered exactly what he'd been up to.

“Yeah, though I don't know where Nappa comes up with some of this junk.” Gohan dumped the pile on the table, careful not to obscure any of Bulma's papers, and breathed a sigh. “He said you're supposed to look it over for mistakes because he's still busy getting his ass,” he glanced sideways at Bulma, “um...I mean butt handed to him by Vegeta.”

“Me? Ugh!” Radditz complained, leaning forward to snatch the top piece of paper. “Grammar worksheet...blech. Nappa actually wastes his time making this shit for you? Jeez. What else is in here?” He tossed the paper aside and picked up a bound notebook. “He makes you keep a journal?” Radditz rolled his eyes.

“Nappa says it's the same stuff that he taught Vegeta.” Gohan insisted, as though the prince's suffering through it somehow made it worthwhile.

“Gods, and Vegeta must be a cruel soul indeed, to insist that you go through it too.”

“What are you learning?” Bulma asked, if only to save the poor kid from his uncle's disdain. She couldn't imagine Nappa as a teacher, sitting behind his desk while his young charges ate up his every word.

“Saiyan,” Gohan said, with not a small amount of pride. “Nappa says my speech is coming along well.” He added, sticking his tongue out at Radditz. “And the history and customs of the people of Vegetasei.”

“You mean the history and customs of a whole lot of space dust and the language of a dead race.” Radditz huffed.

“Vegeta thinks it's important!” Gohan retorted. “He says that once dad recovers, Nappa will start teaching him saiyan too!”

“Recovers?” Bulma interrupted, having been about to ask why Radditz was being such a stick in the mud. “Recovers from what?” She asked, her eyes darting between the two saiyans as they shared a look. Well, Radditz looked at Gohan, as if to say look what you did now! while Gohan looked away to avoid his uncle's irritated gaze.

“From the wasting.” Radditz answered. “Kakarott spent too much time undernourished and overworked. His body is essentially devouring itself and the only thing stopping his death is what little power level he managed to build up before the condition set in.”

“Vegeta had it once.” Gohan added earnestly, moreso to remind himself than to inform Bulma that it was not necessarily a death sentence. “That's why he's so short. Well, that's what we think, at least.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Bulma held up her hands , palms outward in a `stop' sort of gesture. “What? I don't know if I heard you right,” she turned to Radditz and he was suddenly uncomfortable under her glare, “but I thought I heard you say that Goku's body is eating away at itself. Now don't you think that's important information for me to know?” She demanded, this time including Gohan in her withering gaze. He cringed; Bulma had obviously been spending far too much time with his mother.

“Well...” Gohan looked uncomfortable. “It's not like we're going around telling everybody because...well, dad doesn't even know. He gets that there's something not right with him, I think, but he doesn't know the exact nature of the problem.”

“Nobody told him?” Bulma reared back, flabbergasted. “Don't you think he has a right to know?”

“Vegeta didn't want to place any added strain on him.” Gohan was squirming in his seat by this point. “See...well, don't you think he's got enough to deal with right now? My dad's not dumb or anything, but he can only worry about so many things at once, and with the stress of my mom, with rejoining some sort of normal society and being told he's not actually human and he has this other family he never knew about...”

“It's a lot to take in.” Radditz put in forcefully as Gohan trailed off, and Bulma recognized that they were closing ranks on her, sticking together as they were so used to doing against the rest of the universe.

“Okay,” Bulma sighed, backing down. “Okay, so I guess I'm sworn to secrecy then, right? Just tell me what I can do to help make it better.”

“Not much,” Radditz answered. “Vegeta and Nappa are pretty confident that just getting him out of that camp will do wonders. He'll be eating a proper amount again and the opportunity to train will help him build up his strength so that he can begin to counter the effects of the wasting.”

“You said Vegeta's growth was stunted because of it.” Bulma pointed out. “Obviously there is going to be some long term effects on Goku as well.”

“Ehh, not necessarily.” Radditz shrugged, waving off the issue. “Vegeta was still a child when he suffered the disease. He didn't get super weak, his power level didn't slide downhill like Kakarott's. If he'd been fully grown then maybe.”

“Nappa said there might have been some strain on his organs,” Gohan added; it was obvious that he'd been asking a lot of questions and Bulma was pleased that the saiyans had at least had the courtesy to answer him truthfully. “But that it's usually nothing permanent. He says it's not as bad for adult saiyans.”

“Well Nappa seems to know an awful lot about this.” Bulma huffed, unable to put aside her concerns so easily.

“Pfft, who do you think took care of Vegeta all those years and taught him how to be saiyan?” Radditz scoffed, as though he found it preposterous that she did not know the entire life history of the small saiyan crew. “He was only five when Frieza snatched him away, you know, and me, I was hardly more than a brat myself. What good was I to a cub of a prince?” He wasn't looking at her anymore, nor at Gohan, but instead was staring angrily at the far wall, as though remonstrating himself for his inability to do anything for the poor, displaced heir of a dead throne.

“You couldn't have done anything for him, any more than I could.” Gohan nudged his uncle in the thigh with his fist, and Bulma figured that was probably about the closest they ever got to hugging.

“ANYWAY,” Radditz coughed loudly, leaned forward, and began shuffling Gohan's papers. “I've got shit to do here.” He looked pointedly at Bulma.

“Oh no you don't, I was here first!” She gestured at the pile spread out across the table and the surrounding floor. “I'm not moving.”

“Oh...well, fine.” Radditz stood abruptly and cuffed Gohan genly on the back of the head. “C'mon brat, let's go.” He stood and left, Gohan following, and Bulma laughed to see that neither had bothered to grab the small mountain of school work. Curiously, she picked up the notebook from the top of the pile herself and took a look, though she couldn't make heads or tails of the characters written on the cover, nor any of the pages within. This must be the journal that Radditz had scoffed at. Curious, she flipped through it, all the while wishing she could read the carefully crafted words, each symbol painstakingly neat in the way that small children are prone to write, their inexperienced hands not quite used to the intricacies of letters.

The characters themselves stood starkly out upon the page, their simplicity strangely in keeping with what she knew, or thought she knew, of saiyan culture. This was no flowing, elegant script, but a boldly scratched declaration. There was no flowery beauty here, but raw meaning. Frowning, Bulma wondered again what the words might say. Gohan was only eight, but somehow it seemed wrong to her that the striking characters might simply relate the thoughts of a child, rather than the passion and the rage they seemed to convey by their looks.

If this was Vegeta's journal, she wondered, what might it say? Taken from his family and his home at a scant five years old, what had been going through his young mind? What feelings of dejection and anger had the young prince scratched out, or would he have kept them to himself, choosing instead to detail the mundane aspects of his daily life?

“The second one, for sure.” Bulma sighed aloud, putting the notebook back down and looking to her own pile of neglected work. Perhaps one day she would sit alongside Goku and Gohan as Nappa's good little student, but for now the only language she needed to immerse herself in was that of particle physics.

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