AN: Hey guys, I'm reposting this story with some editorial changes. I wanted to rearrange some of the flashback sequences and tweak a few things, so here it is again.
Places That We Knew
Chapter 1:
He is, by far, the quietest man she has ever met.
Not in that standoffish, hyper masculine way so many young men adopt, trying to convey a cool indifference to everything around them, though Bulma has little doubt Vegeta plays that game frequently.
It isn't that though, the quietness of him.
She's been watching him for several months now, closely. Ever since he came back to Earth after being away for so many more, searching outer space for Goku and returning empty handed.
Bulma's been watching him, and she's certain Vegeta has likely never known any manner of relationship beyond those of convenience, or, more often still, she thinks, those of desperation. Never known real companionship. It's something no one else has paused to consider, she thinks. The brutality of the life he's lived. A life made up only of unforgiving violence, both against others and against himself. A life composed of a day to day, frantic struggle just to survive. A life of oppression and subjugation.
It doesn't excuse the atrocities he's committed. Doesn't excuse, even, some might say, his decidedly sour and plainly rude personality.
But, Bulma thinks, it does give a reason for it.
How else would one expect him to act, she wonders, when he's never known anything but cruelty and coldness since birth?
He doesn't know how to talk to people. She doesn't think he understands it when he's being rude, or unfriendly, or even threatening. Certainly, he doesn't understand the concept of friendship.
He spends almost every minute of the day in the training capsule. When he isn't there, he sits in the small guest room she's provided him, sleeping or simply being. Whenever she's gone to look in on him, she's found him usually seated cross legged on the floor, staring, mute and motionless, at his lap.
It's unusual for him to speak more than two words to anyone during the course of the entire day and night.
Bulma thinks he must be the loneliest person she's ever seen.
Yamcha thinks she's insane when she confides in him that she feels sorry for the Saiyan prince.
"Don't say that to him." He's told her countless times. "Not unless you want to end up dead."
She just rolls her eyes at him and tells him not to worry, that she isn't stupid.
And she isn't. She doesn't mistake her sympathy for Vegeta with an underestimation of him. She knows he's dangerous. Knows, especially, his pride to be a powerful thing. Something which, if challenged, would more likely than anything set him off on a destructive path.
He isn't the sort of man to take kindly to anyone feeling sorry for him.
But Bulma does.
She can't help it.
His quickness to anger too, she thinks, is nothing more than defensive. That pride, again. He grows furious, she's noticed, when he doesn't understand something. When confronted with something which leaves him confused or lost.
He often grows angry with her for that very reason.
He isn't used to others reacting towards him with anything other than fear or disgust, likely. The fact she speaks to him like a human being, well... She can see it unsettles him.
Something about that alone makes her heart feel heavy.
She watches him now through the kitchen window.
He's made a rare appearance outside the training capsule, sitting at the patio table outside, staring up at the sky.
He does that a lot too, she's noticed. Stares at the sky like he's searching for something up there.
It occurs to her suddenly that he might be hungry, or thirsty or something, considering he's been putting himself through that insane training he does every day since before the sun had come up, and she decides with little more thought to bring him some lunch.
It only takes her a few minutes to put together a sandwich and a glass of lemonade, and she carries it all out to the patio on a tray, making her way towards the table he's sitting at.
He glances at her as she approaches, and she can't miss the way his whole frame abruptly tenses before he quickly looks away again, eyes fixing now on the grass, his arms crossed tight over his chest.
He looks for all the world like he wishes his chair would swallow him whole.
It's a bizarre contrast to the overwhelming confidence he exudes when fighting.
"Hey'a Vegeta." Bulma greets, smiling broadly as she steps up to the table, setting the tray down on its surface.
He doesn't answer her, doesn't look at her again, keeping his eyes away.
Bulma doesn't let it deter her.
"I thought you must be pretty famished, so I made you some lunch." She goes on, pulling a seat out for herself and sitting.
That finally wins a glance from him, his eyes sliding back and fixing on the tray of food for an instant before again slipping away.
She watches him back, his crossed arms tightening further over his chest, his frame seeming to wined somehow tighter.
If this was Goku, he would have already inhaled the entire platter of food. Bulma doesn't doubt that Vegeta has a comparable apatite. He is a Saiyan, after all. She's never seen him eat, but the fact she finds the icebox half empty of all it's food every morning is evidence enough.
"Don't be weird." She says flatly, pushing the tray closer to him. "I know your hungry."
His jaw visibly clenches.
"What do you want?" He finally speaks, and Bulma smiles.
She likes his voice.
Contradictorally soft spoken, almost soothing in tone and pitch. It's strange, hearing such a voice from such a violent man.
Bulma shrugs in reply to his question.
"I'm bored. And you're hungry. Don't deny it. So lets help each other."
Vegeta finally turns to look at her, his nearly black eyes fixed on her with an awful intensity. The gaze would, Bulma thinks, frighten most anyone else off. She refuses it. He isn't the monster he pretends to be. She's nearly certain of it.
"What makes you think I would need or want your help?" He asks bluntly, sneering at her.
Bulma laughs, and she really should listen to the voice in the back of her head telling her it's a bad idea to laugh at this man in any circumstance, but she can't really help it. She can't help thinking he's cute.
Yamcha would really think she's nuts if he knew what she was thinking now.
But then, Yamcha really had no standing to chastise her for checking out another guy. Not when he oogled and drooled over every other woman they passed by on the street.
There had been too many times when Bulma had suspected it was more than just ooggling, but she didn't want to think about that right now.
"Don't laugh at me!" Vegeta predictably snaps, standing abruptly from his seat, slamming his palms down on the table.
The thing groans ominously, the platter of food trembling with it, and Bulma leans back in her seat, blinking up at him, laughter dying in her throat.
He's glaring at her with deathly anger, his face tight with rage, and Bulma bites down on her lip, her mind screaming at her to stop it.
He isn't some cuddly, adorable puppy. She knows that.
But for all her logical reasoning tells her so, she can't help but notice what an example of contradictions he is either.
He's so small.
Certainly he's physically powerful. One could tell that just to look at the tightly corded muscle of his arms, his wide shoulders and thick calves. He looks, actually, stronger than Goku. Only he's terribly short. She doesn't think taller than her, and she doesn't think he weighs much more either, whereas Goku is so tall and long.
It's a bizarre contrast to how powerful she knows he actually is. She isn't stupid enough to let that mislead her on that front.
"I wasn't laughing at you." She manages to make herself say, stamping down the shot of fear which had abruptly ceased her. "Just the situation. I mean..." she swallows, shaking her head. "you nearly killed everyone on this planet just barely over a year ago, and now..."
She trails off when she sees his face growing more and more tense, and suddenly he straightens, looking down at her, features twisted in frustrated confusion.
"Why do you speak to me?" He at once asks.
She blinks, thrown by the way his anger seems to have abruptly dissipated.
"I'm sorry?" She asks.
"Why do you speak to me?" He says again, impatient. "All the others wish nothing to do with me. They're afraid of me, as they should be. Either you're incredibly stupid or incredibly brave. Do you not understand what I am?"
Bulma stares back at him a long moment, not knowing what to say.
"... You're a man." She eventually stammers out.
"No." Vegeta hisses, leaning forward again. "I am no man. I am a Saiyan prince. Born to a single purpose. The death and destruction of lesser, weaker races of beings. You would do well, woman, to avoid me at all costs."
"And you would do well to stop being such a massive asshole!" Bulma snaps, voice raising sharply as an unexpected shot of anger rolls through her. She can barely hear the voice in the back of her brain telling her this is a bad idea.
Apparently, Vegeta hadn't expected it either.
He straightens back up, blinking, staring back at her with, for a moment, an astonished expression.
Bulma seizes her opportunity.
"I invited you to stay in my home, eat my food. Gave you shelter, somewhere warm and safe to sleep, and all you can do is complain and sulk and act like you're doing everyone a favor by not murdering them. Well I've got news for you pal, my hospitality is starting to really wear thin. Anymore bullshit out of you and I'll throw you and your bad attitude out on the street. See how long you last out there without any money, without a job or any friends. I promise you, no one else is going to take you in. Everyone hates you."
Vegeta starts, eyes widening like he's just been slapped. He looks almost... hurt.
Bulma blinks, realizing what she's just said, and immediately, stupidly, guilt seizes hold of her. She hadn't... meant to be so blunt. Hadn't meant to say all of that.
She opens her mouth to say something, but Vegeta suddenly steps back, the stunned expression on his face twisting into a scowl.
"You think I care?" He spits, voice dipping threateningly low. "I have no need of your hospitality, or what you like to make yourself feel superior by calling kindness. I have lived the entirety of my life on my own, surviving in environments which make the harshest climates of this pathetic little planet of yours seem like a positive paradise in comparison. So do not presume to tell me of my ability to manage without your intervention. I could destroy this planet and all the pitiable forms of life upon it if it took my fancy to do so!"
"Well you shouldn't do that," Bulma screams back, her momentary guilt washing quickly away. "because then you wouldn't have any friends!"
Vegeta lets loose a furious roar, his hands coming down in fists against the table top, the thing exploding and collapsing into a pile of twisted wood and plastic.
Bulma lets loose a genuine cry of fear this time, stumbling backwards out of her chair and landing hard on her bottom against the hard packed grass.
She stares up with horrified eyes as he steps toward her, his hands clenched to fists at his sides.
Instinctively, Bulma shrinks back, throwing her hands up, expecting some sort of attack.
But Vegeta only stands there, glaring down at her, his chest heaving in fury.
Bulma closes her eyes, terrified, and suddenly she hears Yamacha's voice ring out across the yard.
"HEY!" He yells. "Get the fuck away from her!"
Bulma knows it's irrational, knows, in reality, if Vegeta wanted to, he could kill both her and Yamcha with incredible ease, but she can't help the relief she feels at hearing her boyfriends voice.
It's followed a moment after by the sound of fast approaching footfall, and she turns, seeing Yamcha dashing toward them, toward Vegeta.
Vegeta doesn't even seem to realize he's there, doesn't turn to acknowledge him at all, keeping his blazing eyes fixed on Bulma.
Bulma realizes too late what's going to happen, and her mouth comes open to cry to Yamcha to stop, but her voice is trapped in her throat and nothing comes out.
It's like some slow motion nightmare when she blinks and Vegeta is no longer standing where he had been. When she sees him somehow, impossibly, standing right before Yamcha, his fist buried in her boyfriend's abdomen, Yamcha's face frozen in a mask of pain, saliva dripping thick from his lower lip. His eyes are wide with shock and fear, and finally Bulma's voice comes back to her, and she screams.
Vegeta steps back and Yamcha collapses to his knees, his arms coming up and wrapping round his stomach, a breathless wheeze rattling from his throat.
Bulma watches in paralyzed fear as the Saiyan turns towards her, staring at her in stony silence, and she feels certain then she's next.
She ducks down, throwing her hands over her head at the sudden, deafening burst of sound and the powerful whoosh of air, nearly knocking her to her back.
It takes her long seconds of nothing happening before she finds the courage to lower her arms and push herself up.
When she allows herself to look, Vegeta is already gone.
/
"How old is the boy?"
Vegeta stands beside his father, arms folded tight over his chest, glaring deathly and unflinching up at the bizarre creature who has come to their home world, has been here the last several weeks, holding court with the King of Vegetasei, private meetings and sessions which the prince himself has not been allowed to attend.
Vegeta had expected his father to do away with the lizard-like buffoon by now, as he always did with any who came not knowing their place.
Only, when he had asked his father about it finally, only yesterday, the king had snapped at him, had lifted a hand, reared back, as though he were going to slap him.
Father had slapped him before, when Vegeta hadn't done as he was told, or hadn't shown sufficient progress in his training...
Still, a slap from the most powerful warrior among the Saiyan people was an awful experience, and Vegeta had flinched back, frightened, shame burning his face for the way he coward, but he couldn't help it.
Only his father hadn't slapped him. He'd kept his hand raised for long seconds, staring at his only son with a look upon his face which Vegeta did not recognize, and that, somehow, had frightened the boy only more.
"You remember our discussions boy?" The King had finally spoken, lowering his arm. "You remember of the legend I've spoken to you? The legend of the Super Saiyan?"
Vegeta had nodded, a familiar sense of awe and wonderment filling him, as always did whenever Father spoke of the legendary Super Saiyan. Whenever Father told him that he and he alone would be capable of achieving such power.
"You show such great promise Vegeta. Your power already greater than most of my armies military elite. The day is not long in coming when your power will surpass even my own."
Vegeta had swallowed hard at the constant reminder, the constant expectation.
He still could not dream of such a possibility. That anyone could ever be stronger than his father.
"You will one day become the savior of our people, my son. If ever I have believed in anything, it is in that. It is in you."
Vegeta hadn't understood the odd show of sentiment. Hadn't understood the emotion in his father's voice, when his father had always been so hard... so cold.
The king had told him then that there was to be one final meeting with Freiza, the name of the creature who had come to their world, before the being finally departed back into space. Vegeta had felt an odd relief at the news. Though he had never had direct contact with the lizard, only seen him in glimpses and at a distance, behind closing doors, there was something about him which had unsettled the prince... had made him feel something too much like fear. He didn't understand why. His father could have destroyed whoever was foolish enough to make threats against their people.
As he hadn't understood when the king had told him he would be needed tomorrow in the final meeting with Freiza.
Was Father finally going to challenge the creature to battle? Did he wish Vegeta to prove himself a capable warrior by fighting beside him? He was nearly five, nearly of an age when Saiyan warriors were considered ready for active combat.
He's pulled from his recent memories by the sound of his father's voice, answering Freiza's question.
"The boy is four, eight moon cycles from five." The King says.
Vegeta struggles against the urge to grab hold of his father's hand, to hide himself behind him as the creatures red, pinpoint eyes bore into him, an unpleasant smile twisting his purpled lips, his face white as death.
Instead the prince stands his ground, forcing himself to look back, defiant and disgusted.
Why does the lizard-thing need to know his age anyway?
Why is he interested at all?
"Very good." Freiza replies, voice smooth and soft, his smile widening as he continues to regard Vegeta. "Very, very good."
The creature takes a step forward then, towards him, and Vegeta feels his father stiffen beside him, sees him step to put himself between Freiza and his son.
It's an absolute shock, then, when the lizard reaches out and shoves the king aside as easily as one might a child, Vegeta's father stumbling as he loses his balance, leaving the boy exposed to Freiza's approach.
Vegeta stands frozen a moment, his mind blanking out as he struggles to understand what just happened.
It's all the time necessary for the creature to close the small distance between them, and in the next instant, he has his hands on Vegeta, taking hold of his chin and jerking his head up to look at him.
Vegeta instinctively tries to pull away, a snarl coming up from his throat, the words forming on his tongue, ready to demand from the lizard how he dare to place his filthy hands on the Prince of the Saiyan people. Only the words die in his throat as he feels the crushing strength of Freiza, his powerful fingers grasping so hard, Vegeta is certain a moment his jaw will be shattered, whatever attempt to break free dissolving into nothing as he's held easily in place.
Fear paralyzes him then.
He doesn't understand what's happening.
"A little small, isn't he?" Freiza says, bending down to examine the prince more closely. "Are all you monkey's this size at his age?"
King Vegeta turns, his face a mask of barely controlled rage as he looks on at the lizard handling his son, his mouth a tight line of obvious hatred.
Several seconds pass without an answer, and Freiza at last straightens, looking back over his shoulder at the king.
"... He's small for his age." He finally answers, voice clipped. "He'll grow."
"Oh, I certainly hope so. You're certain of his power level? Even I was bigger as a child. He can't weigh more than twenty pounds."
The king's face remains impassive, revealing nothing beyond the hatred in his eyes.
"The boy is nearly as powerful as I am." He answers flatly.
Freiza clicks his tongue, laughing lowly.
"Not very impressive, then." He says, amusement thick in his voice.
What? Vegeta thinks, his fear instantly evaporating, replaced by a sudden, consuming rage.
How dare... how dare this thing speak to his father in such a way, how dare he speak so to the King of the Saiyans...
Unbidden, Vegeta feels his power surge, exploding out of him.
It's a large enough expense of ki that it should have blown Freiza clean away from him. It had done, to other, full grown men whom Vegeta had begun to train with, learning his first, basic fundamental's.
Freiza's grip doesn't come loose. No step backward even. Like he hadn't been hit with anything at all.
The eruption of anger dies instantly away at the amused grin the lizard wears, along with it his display of power, and with the realization of what's just happened, fear, real fear, is quick to follow.
The smile is all the warning he gets.
Something hits him across the face, though what he doesn't know. He never saw any movement.
Only knows one moment he'd been standing there, and now he was sprawled on his back, smashed up against the back wall, the world spinning in sickening circles around him, pain like fire searing through his jaw, up into the back of his skull and radiating down into his spine. He tastes blood, thick on his tongue, pouring down his throat, and he feels sick.
He can't breathe.
It takes long seconds for him to understand that the noise of desperate, strangled gasps is coming from himself.
"Vegeta!" He thinks he hears this father's voice, more distressed than he's ever heard it before, and then the sound of the creatures loud laughter, echoing off the walls of his skull, making the pain somehow worse.
"Consider that your first lesson, little monkey. Had I wished it, you would already be dead."
/
Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed!