It had only been 57 hours since the utter annihilation of the gravity room, and if he were honest with himself, a close call on testing his own mortality. Though he'd never admit it to anyone else, he still felt time to rest would do much to help him heal, and he was grateful the gravity room was still under repair. That just left one problem…
His eyebrows lowered dangerously over eyes pinched in a scowl. Restless and bored, he paced like a caged animal in the confines of his room. He wasn't used to the idleness of convalescence and it was driving him mad. At least Frieza had provided regeneration tanks. Granted, this was to ensure quick recovery for the purpose of getting back into the fight. For Vegeta, this meant frequent visits to the med-bay. Pain and injury were constant and familiar. Their presence meant strength and forced him to focus and overcome. Without them as companions, he felt off balance and wary… jittery.
Rather like he was feeling now.
With an abrupt, exasperated huff, he pulled his bedroom door open and walked out. It wasn't until he was halfway down the stairs that he realized he had left his room at all, and that he held a twisted doorknob in his hand. Pausing, his eyes darted around until he saw a houseplant at the foot of the stairs. He grunted to himself and threw the doorknob into the shadows of the plant as he walked by.
Vegeta had no idea where he was going. All he knew was that he was searching for something stimulating. Or at least distracting.
He wandered the guts of Capsule Corps, acutely aware that he had never bothered to move beyond the areas that were essential to him - and therefore had value. Since he couldn't train, his appetite had tapered. Right now he felt so tightly wound and high strung that the idea of sleep made him cringe. With the only places worthy of his attention either out of the question or of no interest, he found himself… exploring.
Capsule Corps was enormous. Even fleet ships weren't this outrageous. Yet the layout had a certain common sense to it that reminded him of the efficiency of space vessels. Despite its size, the design had an easy pattern; if that weren't enough, every hallway that spidered off the main vestibule had a corresponding number and letter. And there were maps. He paused by one to study it briefly and rolled his eyes as he walked past. Humans and their dependence on convenience. He pursed his lips wryly. If it weren't for how stubbornly resilient they were, they'd have never survived their own simpleminded natures. He snorted. They may yet not; they still believed they were the only "intelligent" species in the galaxy. He shrugged. Lucky for them the food was so good. He'd have been less inclined to stick around to protect a place with terrible food.
He walked the halls, cluttered with painted portraits of – he assumed – humans worthy of tribute. These he ignored until he passed a familiar likeness, caught from his periphery vision. Stopping in the middle of the hallway, he backtracked two steps until he was directly in front of the painting. At first, he didn't turn to look at the image. He didn't understand why he was wandering the halls, let alone why looking at features that clogged his eyeballs daily anyway was suddenly making him feel.. Shy?
He scoffed at himself, offended at the accusation despite its origin. Still, he didn't allow his eyes to rest on the portrait before looking down the hallway in both directions to ensure he was alone. Even then, he elected to look at it from the corner of his eye. When the painting didn't tease, mock, or yell at him, he slowly grew bold enough to face it.
He knew her face - disturbingly well he realized - but he'd never been able to really look at her. She was a spirited creature and was always buzzing with action. Even when she was sitting still and fervidly focused, she hummed with electricity; her facial expressions melting from one to the next as her thoughts flew at light speed. Even her body movements flowed in tandem with her emotional state, which, he thought with annoyance, was getting easier to read. He tilted his head and considered that though she may not have a strong enough ki as to be visible, her aura certainly made up for it. She sizzled like a flame that popped and sparked with every shift of expression and in every shade of passion; she felt things fully or not at all, and was fearless in allowing it to show.
She was… an anomaly.
He looked at her features pensively. The painting captured the inner glow of her skin, the soft pink of her lips, the tantalizing curve of her jaw, the elegant line of her neck. The impossible shade of her hair was depicted flawlessly. A tumble of curls escaped from a chaotic bun that was realistic enough he was tempted to reach out and touch it. He'd always wondered what the texture of her hair would feel like against his calloused skin. Was it as silky as it looked? Would it flow through his fingers like the water it so resembled? His hand flexed with the sudden urge to caress, but he didn't notice. His attention was riveted elsewhere.
The feisty grin on her face was perfect. He found himself smirking in response. How thrilling it was to watch that soft, delicate mouth as it formed the most infuriating words. The contradiction was astounding. How could that heart-shaped mouth hide such a foul tongue? He pulled his gaze from her lips and let his scrutiny drift upwards to her eyes. They were technically impeccable; the color was right, the expression was flawless. But something was missing. They were flat. Lifeless.
Suddenly angry, he tore himself from the painting and stormed down the hallway. He didn't see the artifacts, mementos, curios, or portraits as he walked by.
Still irritated, he wandered the hallways, purposefully at random. After a few minutes of this, his sensitive hearing pulled him in a direction he otherwise would have bypassed. Curious, he followed the sound. Unfamiliar with Earth music, it took him a few moments to recognize it as such. He paused and tilted his head to listen. It was completely alien. It was haphazard, disorganized, and some of the sounds clashed with other sounds. It was utterly chaotic. Noise.
He was about to turn away. He meant to turn away. Somehow, without his consent, his body refused to listen. The beat took control of the blood surging within him. An ache from days of inactivity crashed against him and he longed to – he wasn't sure. But he wanted to find out. What is that racket? Why here in the bowels of this oversized building instead of in the main living areas? Who… ? Cautiously, he stalked closer towards the reverberations. He could feel his heart pulse in time with the percussion and was embarrassed when he realized his footfalls had altered to match the tempo of the down beat.
He stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose. Shaking his head, he forced the music's effects on his treacherous body to the back of his mind before continuing forward. He had no idea why he didn't just saunter into the room from where the music came and arrogantly demand to know – well, whatever it is he wanted to know. He grit his teeth. This is ridiculous. I have travelled to uncounted worlds with no expectation and not a care of what lay ahead of me. I've been the terror of trillions. I've personally destroyed some of the most powerful warriors in the universe. I AM one of the most powerful warriors in the universe! I fear nothing. Especially not an absurd human female.
A small voice in the back of his mind chose that moment to make itself known. Then why are you sneaking around?
He bit back a growl, completely aware that he was the target of his own ire. Sighing, he told himself just because he was walking stealthily didn't mean he was sneaking. That's the same thing, you moron, the voice said. He ignored himself.
He pressed himself against the wall when he reached the threshold of the room and paused. Panting and with agonizing slowness, he leaned around the corner just enough to take a peek with a single eye.
The room was much larger than he had anticipated. It was empty save a black contraption on the far side, complete with a bench. He struggled to remember what it was called, but pushed it aside as unimportant when he couldn't pull the word from his memory. He did recall its purpose was to make musical sounds. No one sat in front of it now, but the music was coming from somewhere unseen, anyway.
The wall opposite him was mirrored the floor made of polished wood.
What truly had his attention riveted was the figure in the center of the room. He sucked in a breath through partially clenched teeth. Whatever he had expected, this was not it, though he admitted, he was not surprised. Her movements were quite graceful, and he had wondered where it came from. It was obvious that she was not a fighter.
Not a fighter as I am, he amended. Her movements were a frenzy of lunges, leaps, extensions, and kicks. There was more, though. The way she swayed, twisted, twirled, reached, tossed her head.. It was primal. It was violent in its passion, but controlled and precise. It was beautiful. His body ached again, but not from restlessness or lack of movement. It throbbed, but not from the beat of the music.
Something in his brain clicked as he watched her. This is what had been missing from the painting of her portrait. Her body was a reflection of all she felt. Her eyes were simply the source from which all that fire erupted. The lifeless eyes in the painting pained him because it robbed her of her essence.
The voice in the back of his head told him to be afraid.
He nodded to himself and backed away, slowly, part of him screaming to stay just where he was and fear be damned.
Hours later, she came into the kitchen. He ate out of habit though he still hadn't developed an appetite; mostly because his stomach was still clamping down every time he closed his eyes. The ghost of her moving to the music burned behind his eyelids and stole his breath.
He composed himself and tried to shroud himself in apathy.
She saw him and gave him a soft smile. He almost smiled back and in trying to suppress it, scowled instead. Not his intent, but better than grinning at her like a fool. She rolled her eyes and laughed lightly. He frowned. Another aspect the painting lacked; the rich, bell-like tones of her voice. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to look anywhere but at her. You really are a fool. This planet has taken more than just your tail.
With a bowl of noodles in her hand, she returned to the table and plopped herself in a seat next to him. Nervous but not wishing to appear that way, he forced himself to stay seated where he was. He would not be chased off by the recipient of a ridiculous, temporary infatuation. Yes, she was exquisite. So she was brilliant. What did it matter that her temper thrilled him when it should anger him? So what if the scent of her skin wafted over him and caused his body to riot against rationality?
Like it was doing now..
He coughed to cover up a growl, but she looked over at him. Was that mild curiosity or suspicion?
"You know, Vegeta, you've been cooped up inside for 2 days. You must be going bonkers." He could feel her hot gaze on him, calculating. He carefully kept his expression blank and pointedly ignored her. He doubted she bought it. She was more talented at reading him than he was her. When had that happened? It was irritating. He swallowed a sigh before it escaped.
She narrowed her eyes, the ghost of a grin touching the corner of her lips. "If you'd like, at least until the gravity room is fixed, you can exercise in the studio with me. It won't be a physical challenge for you, but you may actually like it. It's can be quite similar to katas and fighting."
His soul practically leaped out of his rebellious body. It surged with an electrical fire. Yes! YES! It screamed. Apparently, his traitorous flesh had already made the decision to accept.
Outwardly, he nodded. Inwardly, he groaned.
NOT a challenge she said. She had no idea just how much of a physical challenge it was going to be.