Chapter One
Author's Note: I was inspired by the song "Evolution" by my favorite band, Korn. It seemed so perfectly "Vegeta." This story is set in the infamous "3 years" and delves deeply into Vegeta's history. I know I'm not alone in feeling that there had to be more substance to his and Bulma's random hookup. This is my take on it.
This story is complete and will be released as I finalize editing to each chapter. Rated T currently but will change to M in a future chapter.
I'm diggin' with my fingertips
I'm ripping at the ground I stand upon
I'm searchin' for fragile bones
(Evolution)
I'm never gonna be refined
Keep tryin' but I won't assimilate
Sure, we have come far in time
(Watch the bow break)
And I'm sorry I don't believe
By the evidence that I see
That there's any hope left for me
It's evolution...
Just evolution...
And I, I do not dare deny
The basic beast inside
It's right here, it's controlling my mind
And why do I deserve to die?
I'm dominated by
This animal that's locked up inside...
Close up to get a real good view
I'm betting that the species will survive
Hold tight, I'm getting inside you
(Evolution)
And when we're gonna find these bones
They're gonna wanna keep them in a jar
The number one virus caused by
(Procreation)
And the planet may go astray
In a million years they'll say,
Those motherfuckers were all deranged
It's evolution...
Just evolution...
And I, I do not dare deny
The basic beast inside
It's right here, it's controlling my mind
And why do I deserve to die?
I'm dominated by
This animal that's locked up inside...
The ground beneath her feet moved before Bulma heard a thing. A single pen rolled of its own accord from her desktop, clattering to the floor and spinning at her feet. The floor of the Capsule Corp laboratory shuddered like a crescendo, evolving from a soft vibration to a full, thrumming, quaking drone. Bulma dove under her desk and barely covered her ears in time for the large, thundering BOOM that filled the space as if it were some corporeal thing right inside the lab and not, as she already knew, outside … approximately a few yards from her home. The lab rattled and juddered for what seemed like ages, dust and debris raining from the ceiling and the floor cracking like a line of lighting streaking through the sky. The door frames buckled, expensive glass beakers and bottles shattered, and bits and pieces of metal from projects all around the room clattered all around her like an out of tune orchestra.
The quaking slowed and the room stilled, save for the resounding cymbals of metal clinging to their last echoes and ringing in Bulma's ears. Crawling out from the safety of her desk, which thankfully she had reinforced - among other things - Bulma unsteadily stood and took stock of the room. She'd taken notes from previous incidents and learned from her mistakes. The soldered desk, for example, was a necessity for shelter. She was happy to see that the walls stayed erect this time. She could have kicked herself, though, for leaving her projects out so lazily. Not that she'd expected Vegeta to blow up the gravity chamber for oh, the millionth time. Who was counting? Because the cataclysmic event wasn't an earthquake, or an apocalyptic attack on the Earth itself. No. It was caused by the royal pain in her side.
Bulma's hands clenched into fists, her shoulders quaking almost as strongly as the room had been mere seconds ago. The temper-controlling counting exercises her mom had suggested escaped her. "VEGETA!" she screamed, taking off at a run out of the crumbling laboratory door. Dr. and Mrs. Briefs, who were indifferently surveying the damage in the hall, quickly stepped aside as Bulma charged past.
"Oh, don't be too hard on him, dear!" Mrs. Briefs called after her daughter, flapping a hand nonchalantly.
"That was quite a force, eh?" Dr. Brief elbowed his wife with laughing eyes. "We're quite lucky the house is still standing."
"It'll be so much fun shopping and redecorating!" Mrs. Brief clapped her hands excitedly.
Bulma wasn't as excited as she flung open the front door and marched in the direction of the billowing plume of thick, black smoke. He destroyed it. Again. The thing she had to repair for him, over and over, simply because he demanded it. The chamber that was an incredible invention yet so frivolously eradicated at the hands of the most ungrateful and undeserving man she'd ever met. A so-called prince, no less, who wouldn't even know how to act like a prince if he'd gone to charm school. She could hear him now: What are you standing around waiting for, woman? Fix it. Don't keep me waiting. Blah blah blah, Prince of all Saiyans, blah, blah, I must surpass Kakarot, blah. Never a thank you, never any kind of appreciation for her diligence, intelligence, and ingenuity. But the minute she dared to work on something else, wouldn't you know it, just happened to be day to destroy the chamber for the millionth time.
Bulma already had her mind set as she approached the chamber's rubble. Gods forbid if Vegeta rose from the wreckage like the first time, barely alive and denying the need for anyone's help, least of all from her. It gnawed at her how he resisted any sort of kindness, even when laying in her arms and bleeding profusely. She'd humbled herself and begged him to rest, to heal, to allow her to help him regain his strength… which he surprisingly did for about a day. Only for him to reenter the newly repaired gravity chamber before his bandages were even ready to be removed.
He won't need bandages this time after I get through with him… Bulma seethed, the remains of the chamber crackling beneath her boots. There he was, Mr. "Prince of all Saiyans," miraculously standing amid the devastation he wreaked upon the chamber. His back was to her, but by the way his shoulders heaved with each heavy, dragging breath, she had a feeling he was grimacing in pain. Judging by the way those same shoulders tensed and his fists balled at his sides, she knew he'd sensed her approach, possibly even bracing himself for the all-out war that was sure to ensue between them. Bulma's mouth opened, a list of obscenities just dancing on her tongue and begging for release, but her breath escaped her. It wasn't a particularly unusual sight for him and nothing she hadn't seen before, the blood running rivers along his taut muscles and his bodysuit tattered and hanging in shreds. It was what Bulma herself could sense… She'd been around him for so long, now. She'd picked up on his moods and his triggers. She knew when he needed to be left alone and how far she could go with teasing or nagging him. She knew how much she could help him before his pride cut what few ties she managed to forge with him. Today, at that very moment when she wanted nothing more than to go tit for tat and scream at him, Bulma couldn't sense his anger. She couldn't feel his energy roiling beneath the surface, or what little of it he had after the explosion. His stature was unsteady and his balled-up fists released at his sides. Vegeta tilted his face upward to the Heavens. It was the most defeated Bulma had ever seen him.
With caution and all the restraint she could muster, Bulma approached his side, peering up at Vegeta warily. His eyes didn't turn to her, didn't acknowledge her presence. Was he avoiding the argument? Was he in shock? Had he finally, completely lost it? Never moving her eyes from his upturned face, Bulma guardedly reached to pinch his arm…
"Woman."
Ok, so he was still on planet Earth, or as much as he could be, anyway. That one word was a warning, an admonition that somehow sounded so lost. Normally, she would correct him as she always did, insisting he speak her name even though the word had become somewhat of a term of endearment. Every other woman was a harpy, or a shrew, or some other disrepute. Bulma had to admit that she liked it, yet the strong woman within her insisted upon defying it at all times.
Still, he wasn't getting off that easily.
Bulma pulled a capsule from her pocket, detonating it to reveal a first aid kit. After so many explosions and near death experiences, it seemed pretty astute and handy to keep at least a few on her person regularly. With a quick yet discerning eye, Bulma picked the deepest of lacerations on his bicep to begin bandaging. She thanked Kami inwardly that he didn't resist, and when Vegeta's eyes finally turned to her, Bulma forced her expression to remain stern and disapproving beneath his gaze.
"You broke my chamber… again!?" Bulma seethed, giving the wrap a hearty yank each go around. Vegeta grimaced, opening his mouth to speak and to undoubtedly spew an insult, but Bulma interrupted him. "No! I don't want to hear it! You're not going to tell me my work is worthless, you're not going to tell me to fix the damned thing, and you most definitely WON'T tell me about your failing endeavor to surpass Kakarot." She spat out Goku's alter ego in a condescending tone that rivaled Vegeta's own, and had she allowed herself to look up from his arm, she'd have seen just how successful she was in shutting Vegeta up. He glowered down at her, his eyes slivers and jaw tense. She had called him a failure. She might as well have sacrificed him to the Gods. Bulma wordlessly plucked a new, fresh bandage from her kit and moved to the wound at his torso. Despite instructing him not to, she waited for him to respond, her arms circling his waist as it wound the bandage around and around.
Hearing nothing, Bulma pushed the guilt of her words aside but softened her tone. "How could you possibly break my chamber again," Bulma repeated in a mutter after a deep, tired sigh. She had reinforced the machine so thoroughly, upgrading it with new alloys and everything. It was all she could muster not to fly off the handle at her own failure. Something about Vegeta's demeanor concerned her, though, because he wasn't flying off the handle. He wasn't spouting obscenities over the limitations of the chamber, nor the insolence or lack of ability on her part to create an indestructible machine. He wasn't belittling her knowledge, nor going off on one of his tirades about surpassing Kakarot. With his perpetually furrowed brow, Vegeta simply watched Bulma's meticulous hands work. She didn't dare take a moment to appreciate his lack of resistance to her help, for she feared it was fleeting. Typically he'd have to be out cold before she could bandage him, let alone do so while he stood awake and observing. Her hands smoothed out a rumpled wrap along his side. Her breath caught in her throat, his skin trembling beneath her palm as it slid across his abdomen. He was holding it together, probably more than even he thought possible. She wondered how long it'd take before his legs gave out.
Giving the last bandage a firm tug and eliciting one last wince from the proud Saiyan, she tied it off and surveyed her work. Sure enough, Vegeta instantly stepped away from her with one hand wrapping around his waist where she had just finished dressing. "Leave me be, woman." His voice was hoarse and not as insistent as it usually was. Even more surprisingly, he didn't turn his back to her to shut her out, as he typically would. Bulma's anger over her destroyed gravity chamber was still fresh, but in that moment, she felt as if the Vegeta she had come to know wasn't even there. She had been so ready and willing for a battle of wills with her house guest, but now, in Vegeta's place stood a defeated shell, begging for mercy in the wake of his pride.
What had gotten into him?
Author's Note: What, no fighting? Lame! What's his deal? Stay tuned for Chapter Two, coming soon!
