Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance ❯ Chapter 30

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: Holy hell, 30 chapters? When I started this fic, I was thinking maybe 10 or 15...*cries*

In all seriousness though, I've had a blast writing this thing so far, and hope to continue with as much enthusiasm. I got some really lovely, thoughtful reviews this past chapter (and previous ones as well, of course) and while I try to reply to every signed review (some chapters more successfully than others), I'd also like to thank those of you whom I can't privately contact. The support and encouragement has really meant a lot.

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PRESENT DAY

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Ginyu smacked the scouter against the wall in frustration. It had been a dangerous gamble to bring it aboard knowing that if he was at all careless, one of the Nameks might find it and he'd be exposed, but he hadn't been prepared for Guru's communications block and hadn't realized that the stupid thing would end up being not only a liability, but a completely useless one at that. To make himself feel better, and also to kill a bit of time, he'd been desperately trying to get the scouter up and operational again. Ginyu had never been great with technology though, and bashing it against the wall was just about the best idea he had. He'd flicked it on and off, stared uncomprehending at the settings menu, and jiggled some wires to no avail. He was well and truly boned.

Sighing, Ginyu tucked the scouter back into his pocket and leaned back against the wall. He rolled his eyes skyward, watching the antennae on his forehead twitch and missing the majesty of his horns...well, his previous body's horns, at least. It really was too bad he'd had to kill that body after he'd stuck Nail in it. Couldn't have that interfering Namek sticking his nose into things; his position among the green pacifists was precarious enough and not made any easier by that little shit, Dende. The child suspected something, Ginyu was sure of it. He'd seen those sharp eyes watching him, evaluating and questioning him, though he was certain that the brat hadn't actually figured anything out. Still though, the scrutiny meant he had to be careful. Ginyu wasn't so good at careful, his style tending more toward flamboyant and ridiculous in the extreme, and the strain of covert operation was beginning to wear on him. What he wouldn't give to just blow them all to pieces. He'd thought about it actually, on more than one occasion. The ship's course was set to take him to wherever Vengeance was, but the intelligent part of his brain reminded him that if something should happen to go wrong, he would need the nameks' knowledge of their strange spacecraft. That and he could hardly expect Vengeance to be completely alone, wherever he was. For all Ginyu knew, they might be headed toward a feeble little outpost, or a colony of hundreds. Either way, a lone man showing up in a ship full of slaughtered comrades would not be likely to gain trust, especially if one of those dead bodies belonged to Guru, one of Vengeance's most trusted allies. Briefly, Ginyu wondered if he'd be able to figure out how to operate the ship's disposal units to rid himself of bodies, but quickly dismissed the thought. It would be a lot of trouble to go through to kill and jettison everyone, and then take on the task of sniffing out Vengeance wherever, they were going, just to save himself the unpleasantness of the nameks' company. Besides that, they weren't all that bad, he reasoned with himself. They were quiet, introspective people, which meant that they left him alone for the most part, and that was good. Nail had also been a bit of a loner, which was part of the reason that Ginyu had picked his body to steal, so the other occupants of the ship tended to give him his space anyway.

At this thought, he frowned again. Most was the operative word. Most did not include the brat Dende, or the obese old lump called Guru. Ginyu wrinkled his nose with distaste, wondering how a creature who consumed only water could possibly get so fat. Ginyu himself was sick of water, and resolved that the very minute he got out of this body, he was going to kill and eat the very first creature he saw. Being unable to eat meat - being unable to eat anything - was really messing with his head. There was no difference for him between hunger and thirst, dehydration and starvation, and he'd never before realized how much something so simple as taste could have to do with satiation. His body was not hungry, yet his mind constantly craved food, simply for the flavour of it. Slow torture, this Namekian diet.

And thinking of slow, he glared around at the walls of the old craft, sure that they could not be travelling in a straight line to wherever the hell they were going. A zigzagging path, full of unpredictable twists and turns was naturally the best course for prey who didn't want to be followed, and Ginyu hoped that at least one of Zarbon's ships had managed to trail them this far, despite whatever switchery Guru had pulled. Again, he damned the communications block that was shielding the whole ship, cursing his lack of forethought. He'd never have dreamed the Namek ship would possess any sort of advanced cloaking technology, that the old sage would be such a clever escape artist.

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Bulma looked around the room, feeling almost as though she'd stepped into the twilight zone. One minute she'd been minding her own business, flipping through the hundreds and hundreds of channels available on the television, the next she was immersed in some sort of saiyan slumber party. Granted, there was no giggling and she thought someone would be likely to die if a pillow fight happened to break out, but with Vegeta still trapped in the regeneration tank for another few days at least, apparently the other three decided it was a perfect opportunity for a relaxing night in. So there they all were, in their matching, military issue black pyjamas, watching TV with her. It was an odd experience, to say the least, but if she was being truthful, she was kind of enjoying herself. Things had changed in the two days since she'd moved her things back into Vegeta's room. It wasn't like they were all best buds or anything, but it was like some sort of wall between herself and Vegeta's loyal subjects had been removed. She wasn't exactly one of them yet, but she wasn't a complete outsider. With that in mind, she settled on an action movie that was just beginning. She'd intended to find something light and fluffy, a real chick flick, but didn't think the guys would stick around for long if it meant watching a romantic comedy, and she was surprised at how much she did want them to stay.

“I would kill for some popcorn right now.” Gohan sighed, snuggling under the blanket that he'd dragged off his bed.

“What's popcorn?” Radditz asked, eyeing the blanket enviously and wondering if he could just steal it, or if he'd have to get up and go get his own.

“Salty, buttery, crunchy heaven.” Bulma replied with a smile as she rearranged her own nest of blankets and pillows. She wished Vegeta was there to cuddle with her instead of being off alone in the tank, but on second thought realized that he'd probably just sit there scowling, arms crossed and back rigid. And then he'd complain that they were all wasting valuable training time, and drag the other three off so that they could all beat the hell out of each other and leave her all alone again. No, she thought, Vegeta was definitely not the sort of man who'd snuggle up with her to laze away a cold evening on the couch.

“I've yet to find anything quite like it.” Gohan was tucking his blanket tightly around himself, wary of his uncle's train of thought. “I'll share with you,” he narrowed his eyes, “but that means sharing, not stealing.” Radditz snorted and rolled his eyes, but Bulma saw him smile smugly as Gohan shuffled closer and draped some blanket across his uncle's lap. By the time the movie was half over, Gohan had cuddled right up under Radditz's arm and was snoring away.

“Pfft, brat's missing the best part.” Nappa scoffed as someone on screen got their head blown off, but Bulma could hear the strain of tenderness, so out of character, in his gruff voice. Nappa had been a father, she reminded herself. He'd had children back on Vegetasei, and she wondered if he ever saw Gohan in the same light as he'd seen his own cubs, as the saiyans tended to call them. For that matter, Radditz, too, doted on the boy and even Vegeta could be caught engaging in a moment's kindness.

“You guys really love him, don't you?” Bulma blurted out, unable to stop herself.

“He is saiyan.” Nappa said stiffly. “He is one of us.” There was a short pause and then the biggest saiyan stood up abruptly and announced that he was going to bed. In the dim glow cast by the television, Bulma could see the faint flush on his cheeks as he passed her. Radditz chuckled as soon as he had left.

“Under all that tough-guy moustache, Nappa is soft. He is a father, through and through; he cannot help himself.” Radditz brushed his hand through Gohan's hair, long and unruly like his own. “As for me, Gohan is my blood, and the closest thing to a son that I will ever have. I have been pleased to care for him, these past two years, though I suppose things will change now that we have Kakarott back.”

“You could have your own.” Bulma cocked her head, looking at the sleeping child, whose lips turned up at the touch on his head. “We know that humans can breed with saiyans. Who knows what other compatible species are out there?”

“I have found my mate, and neither one of us has the necessary equipment.” Radditz said, wryly.

“And if you never see him again? You said to me yourself that you have no idea where he is, no idea whether he wants you.”

Radditz sighed and ran a hand across his face. This was obviously something he'd thought of already, and Bulma wasn't sure why she'd brought it up; her newfound surety in her own feelings, perhaps? “My mind will not change.” He said, and then “Do you not feel the same for Vegeta? Is this not `the one' that Gohan spoke of?” He shrugged and went on, not really expecting an answer. “Puar is my mate and will always be such, even if I never see him again. Though,” and here he smiled, his teeth glinting whitely in the dark, “I like to think that I would at least try, before I start running around, rutting on random females in the hopes that one of them will be genetically compatible.” His grin widened at Bulma's snort of laughter. “No, this cub is not my own son, and yet in a way, he is more mine than he is Kakarott's. That will change in the future, I'm sure, but for now it is so.”

“You know...” Bulma broke off, shaking her head as a smile spread across her face. “You guys are a constant surprise. I never would have expected you to be so sentimental, Radditz.” She giggled as he turned and glowered at her, her volume increasing as his eyebrows lowered.

“Sentimental, this.” He harrumphed and shoved the sleeping Gohan off his lap and onto the floor. Bulma yelped and jerked forward as though to catch him, wincing as he hit the floor with a thump.

“Ouch, what the heck?” Gohan muttered, waking quickly just before he hit the floor and narrowly managing to avoid landing on his head. He sat up, rubbing the elbow that had stopped his fall.

Radditz shrugged. “S'her fault,” he said, jerking his chin at Bulma, whose mouth was hanging open with shock. Gohan rolled his eyes as he picked himself up off the floor.

“Nice try.” He yanked the blanket from Radditz's lap and balled it in his arms, grimacing sourly at his uncle as he did so, though Bulma could see the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth that meant he was close to laughter. “I'm going to bed. Try not to drop kick me in your sleep, uncle.”

“No promises,” Radditz grinned, getting up to follow his nephew. Gohan said a polite good night to Bulma, while Radditz merely caught her eye and nodded. Left alone, Bulma sat for a moment before grabbing her own pillows and blanket, making a short trip down the hall to toss them on the empty bed before heading back out and down the ladder to the main deck where the infirmary was located. Vegeta was asleep in the tank, bathed in the soft, blue glow of its running lights, but his eyes fluttered open, locking onto her with disconcerting speed as she pushed her way through the door. She felt a small pang, missing the days before he learned to sense ki, when she could still sneak up on him. She smiled at him, and he twitched a finger in greeting.

“Just came to check on you before I go to bed.” Bulma said, in response to his raised eyebrow, and she was sure that if he could speak through the mask, he would have been laughing at her. She stuck out her tongue and he rolled his eyes at her through the glass. “Well...goodnight to you too.” She thumped her left shoulder with her right fist, in parody of the Saiyan salute, whirled on her toes and flounced off to bed.

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Despite the surprising amount of fun she'd had in her last few days trapped out in space with the saiyans, Bulma was pleased to finally be docking again with Red Station. She missed her parents and her friends, her own bed and her laboratory, but most of all she missed having normal adult conversations, ones that weren't fifty percent profanity - Radditz - or endless male posturing - Nappa - or grunted out between breaths because they happened to only take place between the sheets - isn't it obvious? - even thought that last form of conversation was pretty fun, if she was being truthful with herself. Still, she was anxious to get back, to make sure that nothing drastic had happened in her absence, and also to get started on her project. Without the stressed caused by her short-lived rift with Vegeta, she'd been able to give her full attention to the plans for the gravity room, and her newly purchased components. She'd already begun the work of cleaning and repairing the used equipment, but there was only so much she could do without access to some of the more specialized tools she had back in her own lab on Red.

Grinning, Bulma rubbed her hands together in anticipation of cracking open the carefully packed cases, marrying these parts to those she'd already managed to collect. The gravity room would not be a thing of beauty, nor a marvel of engineering, but it would be solid and it would be functional, and most importantly, it would help Vegeta and the others boost their power levels a hundred times faster than they might normally progress. Then again, Bulma thought with a shudder as memories of Vegeta's near explosion flooded her mind, perhaps such a quick jump wasn't so good an idea.

“Hey, quit daydreaming.” Radditz prodded her shoulder with the tip of his finger as he balanced a huge crate in his other hand. “Here, you carry this one.” He grinned and made to give her the crate - easily five hundred pounds - and she swatted him away.

“This is more her size,” Nappa had two large boxes in one hand, one stacked atop the other. He held out his closed fist, and when Bulma extended her hand to take whatever it was, he dropped a single screw into her palm.

“Oh ha ha, Nappa.” Bulma rolled her eyes and pocketed the screw, making a mental note to try and figure out later where it had come from. “You be careful, or I might just program the gravity machine to crush you the first time you step in.”

“Now, now, children.” Gohan scolded lightly as he rolled a heavily laden trolley down the cargo ramp.

“Don't make me turn this ship around?” Bulma finished for him, waving as the inhabitants of Red Station came pouring into the bay to meet them. “Hey everybody!” She shouted cheerfully. “Please tell me you're all here to help carry this load to my lab.”

“Well sign me up!” Mrs. Briefs tottered over to a large bundle of piping, looking extremely unsteady in her two inch stiletto sandals. She bent down over the pile, rump wiggling in the air as she shifted from side to side, trying to figure out how best to approach the lifting of it. Bulma watched, amused, all the while knowing that the bundle weighed at least a hundred pounds.

“Err, let me help with that.” Krillin jumped in and hefted the weight, muscles bulging, while Bulma's mother clasped one dainty hand around the rope holding the bundle together. She set off with a satisfied nod of her head.

“Oh my, this is such hard work!” Mrs. Briefs exclaimed as she led Krillin up the stairs and through the doorway. “I do think I've broken a sweat! I suppose I won't have to work out today at all!” She tittered, clearly audible through the wall, and Bulma rolled her eyes at her father, who smiled back. Women of Mrs. Briefs line may not have been blessed with brains, but they'd certainly lucked out on the other end of the spectrum of desirable genes. Bulma doubted that her mother had ever done anything more strenuous than carrying her own purchases around the mall; pumping iron was way out of her league. While Bulma made no secret of her lazy habits and junk food addictions, her mother, for reasons unknown to both Bulma and her father, insisted that her trim waist and toned limbs were the product of hard work rather than simple (and envious) genetics. They humoured her, of course, but anyone who spent more than ten minutes in the company of Mrs. Briefs was sure to find out that she wouldn't know her way around a dumbbell. Though, Bulma reflected, watching Nappa's eyes follow her mother's swaying bottom from the room, if she wasn't careful she was going to end up with a new workout buddy.

“Yeesh, Nappa,” she muttered, sidling over to him so that the others couldn't hear her, “quit ogling my mom! She's married, and my dad is right there!”

“Oh, and what's he going to do about it?” Nappa shrugged nonchalantly, fixing her with his customary why-should-I-give-a-shit glare.

“Oh fine, going to off my dad and marry my mom, are you?” She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “We'll see just how much Vegeta likes the idea of you being his father in law, shall we?” She snorted at her own joke, but saw Nappa's shoulders jump with surprise. Plainly, he'd have liked nothing more than for Vegeta to treat him as some sort of father figure. “Uhh, forget I said that.” She backpedalled quickly. “Please don't kill my dad. My mother and I are very fond of him.”

“Don't be stupid.” Nappa grunted, recovering his composure as he shifted the crates in his arms. “I am under strict orders from Vegeta not to kill anyone here.” He said, brushing past her to follow the others, making their way toward her lab with their burdens. Bulma sighed with relief, strangely reassured by that statement. No matter his personal feelings and whether or not he really did think usurping her father's role as head of the Briefs women was a good idea, he'd never disobey a direct order from Vegeta. She glanced in her father's direction to see him poking about in an open crate, a look of intense concentration on his face, excitement dancing in his eyes at the prospect before him. Oblivious, as usual, to the world around him.

“Safe for another day, daddy.” She sighed, crossing her fingers briefly before getting back to work.

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Construction on the gravity room began as soon as possible, with Bulma and her father sequestering themselves in the chosen space for hours at a time, while the ship's fighting contingent rumbled and grumbled about the wait. Being that Red Station didn't have scads of room to spare, they'd simply decided to convert half of the pre-existing training space into new, gravity enhanced space. It was a good idea, everyone agreed, because it still left the option of regular G training for those who could not handle the forces under which the saiyans were sure to be torturing themselves, but it had the unfortunate side effect of squishing them all together in the half-space while the gravity room was under construction. And, as Bulma reminded them daily, this project was not something that could be completed in a matter of days. A wall had been erected to cordon off the experimental space, fairly quickly with the addition of saiyan labour, but it had yet to be reinforced, along with the other three walls, the ceiling, and the floor. The gravity simulator would then have to be installed, which would involve running some new electrics and ventilation into the room. Some sort of pressure locked door would have to be built, a safety system would need to be configured, as well as control panel and user codes to prevent someone like Mrs. Briefs from wandering in, jabbing a few buttons, and getting themselves squashed flat. Or, for that matter, someone like Vegeta from turning the gravity up way too high in some misguided belief that he could handle it. New software, AI and pressure reinforcement for the training drones that were already being used. The list went on and on, and after it was complete there was still testing, tweaking, and retesting a billion times before she could declare the thing safe for use.

Bulma frowned, wondering how much work she could pawn off on those around her. Vegeta naturally wanted the GR done and ready as quickly as possible so she was certain she'd be able to get the saiyans to help with the construction and the heavy lifting, but how much time would he be willing to take away from their training? And how much work could she trust the saiyans to do, unsupervised and still know that it would be done to her exacting standards? One improperly welded seam in the wrong place could result in all their deaths, if the pressure from the gravity room should act on struts and beams that were not designed to withstand it. Bulma's frown deepened. She had no desire to be crushed by an imploding mass of metal, and was pretty sure that the other inhabitants of Red Station would agree with her.

“You there, Briefs girl,” Dr. Gero's voice cut into her thoughts, and she whipped around, shocked to even see him outside of his lab. In the weeks since they'd gotten back, she had seen him only once, being shepherded back to his sanctuary by a harried-looking Sixteen.

“Dr. Gero,” she smiled, quickly regaining her composure even though she could tell by the grimly satisfied look on his sour face that he knew he'd startled her. “What can I help you with?”

“You're making too much noise. Banging, hammering, all day and how am I supposed to concentrate?” He demanded, stabbing at the air in front of her with one finger, as though to actually jab her would be beneath him. Goodness knows he couldn't sully his flesh by touching her, she thought uncharitably. Come to think of it, he hardly ever touched anyone, except maybe Sixteen.

“I'm sorry, but you agreed to this.” Bulma said, patiently. The only thing that surprised her about his complaints was that he was here, making them in person instead of sending poor Sixteen to do his dirty work. “And besides, we're almost done fortifying the walls, and then the banging will go down to a minimum.”

“I don't like it.” He looked at her, blue eyes vivid in his sallow face, made even more so by the black velvet of his tall cap.

“I can't make it any quieter.” Bulma shrugged, irritated by his unblinking gaze. She glared right back, ready to stare him down if that was what it would take to get the old fart off her back and out of her hair. It wasn't the first time they'd butted heads over something, and she was sure it wouldn't be the last.

“I don't like it.” He said again.

“Too bad.” Bulma retorted.

“I don't like it.” Gero repeated, and when Bulma simply compressed her lips into an unyielding line, he repeated himself. “I don't like it.”

Red faced with irritation, Bulma took a step toward him, ready to scream in his face if she had to. Up close, however, she noticed how utterly still he was, aside from a twitch in his right eyebrow, like a jumping muscle spasm. “Gero?” She asked, narrowing her eyes, “Are you okay?”

“I don't like it.” He said again, and she noticed that the inflection and pace of the words was exactly the same as the time before, like a skipping record. “I don't...don't.”

“Dr. Gero?” She reached out and poked him in the chest, surprisingly firm for a man of his age, and his startled blue gaze fixed on her finger for the count of about three breaths before he whirled around and stalked out the door. Bulma watched as a concerned Sixteen met up with him, a look of relief plain on the android's normally expressionless face. She squinted hard at them, wishing that she could read lips, for they were plainly exchanging a serious bit of quiet conversation over there, but she didn't dare go interrupt. Just as she was wondering if she could possibly sneak closer without seeming suspicious, Sixteen placed a gentle hand on the small of Gero's back and led him slowly out of the training area.

Krillin, who had been training and therefore not paying much attention to the conversation, came wandering over when he saw Bulma staring thoughtfully after the pair. “Everything okay?” He asked, wiping his forehead with a towel as he followed Bulma back into the disaster zone that would one day soon become the GR.

“Yeah, I think so...” Bulma paused, “But I think Gero might be losing it. He came in and yelled at me for being too loud, then he got all weird on me. He kept repeating himself and then he got...lost. It was like he was having some kind of, I don't know, like an episode or something.” She shrugged, groping for a word to describe the doctor's odd behaviour.

“I have noticed that Sixteen's been hovering a lot more lately.” Krillin frowned, trying to recall if the doctor had done anything strange in Bulma's absence. “You know Gero, he doesn't come out of his lab much but last time I saw him, he did seem kind of...off. Twitchy. But maybe he's just tired or something. He's probably working so hard, cloistered up in there, that he's not sleeping.”

Bulma nodded, accepting the possibility, for she was no stranger to the strange sort of madness that came with too much work and too little sleep. She and her father called it Lab Fever, caused as it was by spending too much time sequestered alone or with very little company, concentrating on one thing to the exclusion of all others. “I hope you're right.” Bulma said, grimacing down at her friend. “Because he's crazy enough when he's sane. I don't want to see what happens when he goes senile.” Krillin laughed, but she could see that he, too, was considering the possibilities that might occur to such a mind as Dr. Gero's, when the boundaries of logic and rationality were no longer in place.

“Maybe I'd better have a talk with Sixteen.” Krillin said, suddenly a bit pale. “Make sure things are okay. In the meantime, anything I can help with in here?” He asked, raising his voice in a deliberate attempt to sound chipper. “I'm pretty well done my workout and the saiyans will be showing up any minute now; it's their turn on the training floor.”

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“What's this thing do?” Vegeta asked, poking at an awkward looking contraption on the counter. He picked it up and turned it over, examining a front panel with one button, a switch, and two small spaces that he assumed would house lights once the thing was in place. The back appeared a messy tangle of wires, though Bulma assured him that everything was in perfect order.

“It's a pressure sensor,” she explained, plucking it from his hand to point out the parts. “Tester button, trouble light, on light so we know it's hooked up properly, and the on/off switch.” She handed it back to Vegeta, who shrugged and put it back on the counter. “Normally that switch will stay on all the time, but it's nice to have the off so that we can do tests or disconnect the power without having to remove the whole unit. There are several more of these, and they'll be placed around the room to monitor the level of pressure that the gravity simulator is putting out.” She pointed out a few brackets, already up on the finished walls. It was two weeks after Gero's odd little tantrum and they'd finished the heavy construction without another incident, much to Bulma's relief. Now, however, came the technical work in which the brute strength would no longer do much to help. Nappa, Radditz, Gohan and Goku had been relieved to be released from their construction duties, though Vegeta still came often, trusted as he was to work without constant supervision. His ability to read schematics and then follow them to put things together properly was like a miracle after the first day of saiyan shenanigans without him. Amid the general insults and horseplay guaranteed by putting that many saiyans in a room together, Radditz's scouter had been welded to the wall, someone else had melted “Nappa is a shit face” into the wall - most likely Radditz in retaliation for the scouter - and Goku had tacked is own boot to the floor somehow - while his foot was in it - with the compression powered nail gun. Gohan was the only responsible one, but Chichi wouldn't let him even pick up a power tool, despite the fact that he'd stared death in the face more times than he could count.

Bulma shook her head, at once dismayed and entertained by their exploits. She hadn't told Vegeta about all the trouble they'd been, but the next day when he'd shown up to do his part he'd obviously seen the results of their handiwork and had not been impressed. They'd managed to get the scouter down, thankfully, but short of sanding the metal wall down or replacing it entirely, that bit of graffiti was there to stay, much to Nappa's displeasure.

Puar floated in just then, startled to see Vegeta, and then suddenly wary in case any of the others might be around. “Coast clear?” He squeaked, floating over to Bulma, who nodded. Puar only came to help when he was absolutely certain that he wouldn't run into Radditz, a fact which Bulma had noticed and admonished him for, until he admitted, red faced with embarrassment, the times he'd pretended to be nothing more than a cat so that he could get close to the object of his affection and terror.

Vegeta, being Vegeta and therefore not inclined to bother caring, much less gossiping about it, was considered safe, not to mention the fact that he had heard Puar speak once before and had not thought it worthy of discussion with the other saiyans. “It's safe,” Bulma waved him over. “And you're just in time. I can't find my square headed screwdriver.”

“Oh, to be useful.” Puar sighed but looked at the head of the screw that Bulma was pointing at and obligingly popped into shape. Condensed as much as possible, he was still a large and unwieldy tool so it took a few moments of awkward manoeuvring for Bulma to tighten the desired screw. Thank goodness, he thought, popping back into cat form, or he was certain he'd spend the rest of his life trapped in Bulma's toolbox.

“Thanks!” Bulma grinned and patted him companionably on the head before grabbing the part and heading over to her ladder, which was fixed below an open duct in which Bulma was installing something or other. He didn't ask what - ninety percent of the time, he didn't understand the answer anyway - but spent the next quarter of an hour fetching things up and down for her while Vegeta sat at the workbench, methodically cleaning out a motor of some form.

“Hey Puar, could you help me again?” Bulma called out, her body half immersed in the duct. “There's another screw in here.”

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Radditz rubbed his belly, full of Mrs. Briefs' delicious meat pie and that delicious goo she called gravy, and thought that if he were to burst that very second, he might just die with a smile on his face. Nappa was still in the kitchen stuffing his face, and Goku and Gohan had gone off who-knows-where, so Radditz had been elected (read: ordered) to come find Vegeta. Heavy with food, he ambled slowly down the hallway toward the training rooms, feeling out Vegeta's ki as he went, cautious for any spikes or jumps in energy that might mean his prince was engaged in more than simple construction, being all alone with Bulma as he was. It was an unfortunate side effect of being able to sense ki; the suspicion that arose from an erratic reading, and the thoughts that arose from such suspicion. With both Vegeta and Goku, and their respective mates, in such close quarters, Radditz thought his balls might just explode with all the suspicion he felt. Add to that the whole damn space station reeked with whiffs of Puar smell, and he couldn't look at anyone on the ship, male or female, without imagining them naked.

All seemed clear, however, as he made his way toward the construction site. Vegeta's ki was reading steady and restful. The Puar smell was stronger here and Radditz frowned even as he felt the tingle at the base of his spine that always accompanied that particular scent; he wasn't entirely convinced that it wasn't coming from Bulma, since it seemed often to linger on her clothes. But then again, he'd had not even a whiff of it from her the whole time they were on the ship away from Red Station. He'd thought for a time that it had something to do with her cycle, but she'd bled twice now in the times that he'd been around, with no noticeable relation to the presence or intensity of the Puar smell. He shook his head, trying to clear his nostrils of it. He was supposed to be asking Vegeta about evening training, not speculating as to whether or not his prince's female produced an intoxicating scent while she was in the midst of her girl time.

The force of the aroma hit him like a wall as he stepped into the training room door and he froze, staring at the gravity room door on the other side of the room, every muscle tense and ready to spring. The source was in that room, he realized with sudden clarity as two minute ki signatures popped onto his internal radar. Bulma, and whoever else was driving him to distraction.

“Hey Puar, could you help me again?” Bulma called out, and Radditz gasped at the name, shivers running across every inch of skin. “There's another screw in here.” He was across the room in two seconds, standing at the doorway to the new GR with his heart pounding as he scanned the room wildly, eyes resting first on Vegeta, then on Bulma, who appeared to be halfway inside the ceiling, and then with stomach dropping disappointment, on the little blue cat. He should have known, damn the furry little bastard! His fist clenched at his sides and he was debating the wisdom of punching the doorframe when the oddest thing happened.

“Up in a sec.” The cat said, in an ear piercing squeak of a voice. And if that wasn't enough, it began to float up off the floor to settle on the top of the ladder. And then, right before his very eyes, it changed in a little puff of smoke, with a popping sound that reverberated around the room and up his spine. He stepped into the room, mouth hanging open as the oblivious woman and cat-turned-screwdriver went about their business. Vegeta looked up and nodded in greeting, a half-puzzled frown on his royal face as he watched his subordinate take in the transformation. Sure, it was a bit startling - and enlightening - the first time, but Radditz was staring as though he'd just seen Vegetasei reborn.

“Shapeshifter...” Radditz whispered quietly, all the hair on his tail standing on end. It all made sense. The smells, constantly and everywhere, and just now, the name that Bulma had called the cat... He felt sick. And angry. And more sick, and absolutely fucking furious. And also horny.

Bulma climbed down the ladder with the ungainly screwdriver in her hand and her back to the incensed animal standing in the doorway, so that neither she nor Puar had a clue that he was even there. Vegeta coughed and she turned, startled, to see the quavering, long haired form staring her down. Puar clattered to the floor with a snap and a pop as he shifted back into cat form, rubbing his butt, which was apparently what he'd landed on, as he floated back up to his standard height of hovering around Bulma's shoulder.

“YOU!” Radditz roared, stepping forward, then stopping as though he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. His hands were shaking, his tail lashing from side to side, and even both non-fighters could see that his ki was jumping like madness, judging by the erratic aura that surrounded him, flashing like a strobe light. He wiped a hand across his face, pressing hard over his eyes, and then blinking as though to make sure he wasn't seeing things. Puar was still there, all right, shaking like a little leaf as his wide eyes took in the raging form of his erstwhile lover. “All along, it's been you! You little shit!” Radditz snarled, this time lunging forward, his hand outreached. Puar shrieked and tried to zip out of range but the saiyan was much faster, catching Puar by the tail and yanking him back down.

“Puar!” Bulma gasped as the cat yowled, but Vegeta's hand on her shoulder stayed her from moving. She hadn't seen him move, focused as she was on the berserker in the room. She glanced at him, met his eyes as he shook his head, and frowned. Vegeta wouldn't let Radditz hurt Puar, would he?

“You,” Radditz was hissing as he adjusted his grip on the furry appendage in his grasp, eyes trailing up and down the trembling little body. His grip tightened in the fur and he felt his cock jump, stiff in his shorts. “I don't know whether to kill you...or...or...” he broke off at a warning rumble from Vegeta and turned to see the pair watching him. He blushed suddenly, only just coming to grips with the fact that he had an audience. He was breathing hard with the effort to get himself under control, though Bulma noted that Vegeta's presence was definitely having a positive effect on that front. He'd stopped flickering and her own arm hair was no longer standing on end from the static electricity he was emitting. He took a deep, calming breath through his nose, breathing it out in a huff as he met Puar's terrified eyes.

Puar squeaked, though he immediately covered his mouth with his paws, making it plain that he hadn't meant to make any kind of sound in the first place. Radditz pulled down, bringing the cat's little body in line with his face so that he could glare him right in the eye. He took another shaky breath, but to everyone's relief, including his own, he appeared to have set his mind to rights.

“The next time we fuck,” he said, voice low but abundantly clear, “you will keep this.” He tugged the tail once, quickly, and let go before he turned and stalked back out the door, the tip of his own tail twitching madly against his calves as he went.

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Oh Radditz, you are lacking in the romance department. But your little red thigh garter is the sex, so I'll forgive you.