A/N- Some dark, macabre stuff in this chapter guise, nothing too hideously brutal, but I'm just giving a fair warning anyway. I'm totally taking advantage of the M rating at this point.


Bulma was frozen in the doorway. She was unable to budge an inch, her eyes wide and manifesting her bewilderment. Somehow, she feared that if she took even one step outside his room, he would pounce on her. She knew it was unreasonable to think such a thing, he'd never bothered to touch her. But then again, it was Vegeta she was dealing with. He was unpredictable, to say the least.

She swallowed and tried to collect her thoughts. Did I hear him correctly? Did he just say my name? No... I must be hearing things.

With a quirky movement generated by uncertainty, she slowly moved away from the doorway, and a little further into the room like he had commanded. She didn't come into the room to follow Vegeta's demand, though - it was to satisfy her curiosity.

"Close the door," he ordered gruffly.

Hesitantly Bulma complied, closing the door behind her, cutting off the light shining in from the hall. Suddenly she was on her guard and wary of his intentions. She asked, "Should I turn the lights on?"

"What a nuisance..." Vegeta muttered quietly to himself, then he said loud enough for her to hear, "No, the light is irritating my eyes."

The only source of light now was from the faint blue outside and the warm light shining through the crack underneath the room door. Bulma folded her arms and stepped closer, until she was standing in the middle of the room, only several feet away from the bed where he sat. "Makes sense, I guess. Though I hope you don't want to keep the lights off as an excuse to do naughty things to me in the dark!"

Vegeta ignored her remark. "What medicine did your father administer to me?"

Bulma raised an eyebrow, "Medicine? Dad told me he gave you a painkiller."

He rubbed a palm against his forehead, ticked-off now. "It's not working right," he said bitterly.

"You still have a headache?" Bulma asked.

"No, it's not that," he responded hesitantly.

"Maybe you're experiencing some side effects?" She could tell that he definitely wasn't in his right state of mind, with him talking to her and speaking her name. She came to the conclusion that this odd behavior he was exhibiting could be a result of the medication lifting his inhibitions.

Vegeta groaned in irritation, "Side effects? Like what?"

"Well, the symptoms vary depending on the type of medication. What did my dad give you?"

"A lot."

Bulma rolled her eyes, "A lot, huh. Well, that doesn't answer my question. I mean what type did he give you? Do you know?"

I knew I shouldn't have trusted these stupid Earthlings! He wasn't listening to her. He rubbed his knuckles against his forehead, slipping out of awareness, not cognizant.

The thoughts were coming back to him yet again, and he couldn't stop them this time. His eyes were out of focus now, as if he wasn't in the room with her. He looked beyond his surroundings, he looked through her, like he didn't remember she was there, that he had called her into his room. He was staring through a void and plummeting into a past filled with despair, taking him back into another place in time, reminiscing.

"Vegeta?"


He was in his early teens. He had just returned to the outpost on Planet Frieza #75, after a hectic month of slaughtering the inhabitants of a promising planet. His gloves and battle armor were still stained with the blood of his most recent victims. He knew he needed to clean the bloodstains soon, for his armor was an old hand-me-down model, and he was only issued one set. He wasn't allowed to get any replacement armor, that is unless he was willing to pay a heavy sum of extra hard labor.

"Nappa! Take these to the cleaning room and wash them immediately!" the young Saiyan prince shouted.

The burly escort bounded over to Vegeta at his heels, just in time to catch the prince's armor and gloves that he tossed over his shoulder.

"And take that half-wit Raditz with you! I'm sure that with both your efforts combined, you two can learn how to turn the dryer on!"

"Yes, Prince Vegeta!" Nappa lumbered away, glad to be of any service to his master, even if it was to do his laundry. Vegeta had been right that Raditz's assistance would be needed; Nappa did not know how to use a dryer or washer, just one of the many factors attributing to his colossal body odor.

Now to report to Frieza, Vegeta thought crossly.

He came to the chamber where Frieza usually resided. Frieza was nowhere in the room, instead Zarbon was there with Cui, the two playing some sort of strategic board game.

Zarbon looked up and smirked, "Well, if it isn't the little monkey, finally back from his errand!"

"Took you long enough," Cui laughed, "Just one month!"

Learn to still your tongues or I will rip them out! Vegeta wanted to say, but he knew that if he gave any back-sass to Zarbon again, he would be on hall cleaning duty for the rest of the year. Not to mention he'd have to pick up trash left on the battlefield, like the last time he'd given Zarbon an attitude.

"Where is Lord Frieza?" Vegeta said.

"He's out," Cui sneered down at the little prince, "You will report to Master Zarbon in his stead."

Vegeta snorted, ignoring Cui, whom he found to be no more than a pest. "When he gets back, tell him I have cleared the planet Laizar of its occupants and it is ready for sale." He turned to leave.

"Hold on, your next assignment has been issued, Vegeta," Zarbon said, "Lord Frieza relayed this message to me yesterday. He said you and your monkey friends Nappa and Raditz are to go immediately to the planet Ovair that Lord Frieza conquered last week, and you are to clean up the waste left there to prepare it for sale. Got it?"

Vegeta stiffened. Now he was to do dirty work yet again, clearing away the bloodied corpses that Frieza left behind. And he knew it would be no easy task. Frieza had a tendency to completely obliterate his enemies in the most inhumane ways possible, beating their bodies into bloody, pulpy masses, and decorating every planet he came across with the organs of its slain former residents.

Zarbon and Cui were also aware of the huge task Vegeta had ahead of him, in fact, everyone in the Planet Trade Organization knew how Frieza liked to bathe a planet in blood before selling it. The two soldiers chuckled at the misfortune the young Saiyan Prince suffered, being led on a leash across the galaxies, forced to clean rotting carcasses on Frieza's conquered planets, the overruler leaving a messy trail of blood in his wake for Vegeta to deal with.

The young Saiyan left the chamber, grinding his teeth as he headed for the living quarters he was forced to share with Nappa and Raditz. Vegeta hated the fact that he had to be confined to such a small space with no privacy. It an unsuitable living condition for a prince. The room was always crawling with rats and there was a constant draft, for the walls were poorly insulated, and quickly the two older Saiyans got on Vegeta's nerves due to their messiness, unable to properly clean up after themselves.

As usual, he had Frieza to thank for this inconvenience. Frieza had the sick pleasure of always making sure to give the three Saiyans the worst living quarters to live in, the worst equipment and space pods to use, and, of course, broken and defective scouters. And Vegeta was always given a pink scouter. Pink! Frieza knew it was one of Vegeta's least favorite colors.

And the next day, he was to leave to yet another planet for the dreaded duty of cleaning corpses. But as always, he had to suck it up and bear with it.

Frieza, you miserable lout! Vegeta growled, easily snatching up a rat that had been scrambling across a table in the center of the room. Making me clean up the trash you discard! Well, someday it will be YOUR corpse I will dispose of! With one quick movement of his wrist, he snapped the rat's spine.

The next morning, as the three Saiyans prepared to embark for Ovair to clean the planet of its bloodied filth, Vegeta overheard Zarbon and Dodoria gossiping loudly in the corridors. The Saiyan prince was hardly interested in their bothersome drivel, but still he lightly eavesdropped on their chatter.

And he somewhat wished he hadn't. From what he overheard of the conversation, he learned that earlier that morning, Frieza went to the planet Laizar, the planet that Vegeta had just spent a month to conquer. And he had destroyed it.

"Lord Frieza told me Vegeta and his little friends were supposed to clean that planet in two weeks, but they spent over a month instead. With their monkey stench left on the planet for such a long time, it had lost its value, and he had no choice but to destroy it!" Dodoria's haughty laughter reverberated through the halls, "Said he had no use for a planet soiled by monkey hands."

Vegeta clenched his fists. After all that work he'd done, an entire month of wasted effort, gone, just like that.

And he could do nothing, could not complain or retaliate. He was not in any position to do anything.


"Pile the corpses into a mound, then you can burn them to a crisp. You will spare less energy that way instead of sloppily blasting the bodies one at a time!" the young Vegeta ordered to Nappa and Raditz.

The three Saiyans had landed on the planet Ovair, in an area surrounded by trees that formed a thick canopy high above their heads. The planet was hot and humid, and the Saiyan trio had already come across the massive slaughter of the planet's inhabitants, and quickly they set to work.

Nappa and Raditz bumbled around, failing at their task as they unsuccessfully tried to pick up deteriorating limbs and flesh. They were working too slowly due to the sickness in their stomachs at having to carry the rotting cadavers, and also because the body parts were still wet and easily slipped through their fingers.

"Could you immensely stupid imbeciles move any slower?! Have you morons forgotten that we have a deadline to meet?" Vegeta growled, "Looks like I have to do everything myself in order to get this job done quickly! Brainless infidels!"

He marched over to where the two older Saiyans were clearing away carcasses, and he shoved them aside, "Get out of here, nimrods, and leave this to someone capable of handling the task! Go work on clearing away the bodies on the other side of this planet; on that side is a desert, so the corpses there should be fried after being cooked under the prolonged exposure to the sun. It will be an easy task for densely incompetent simpletons such as yourselves. Think of it as picking up scraps of jerky."

"Jerky? Sounds delicious!" Nappa licked his lips.

"Are you sure you don't want us to assist you here?" Raditz asked.

"Useless, inattentive fools! Do as I tell you, or your corpses will be added to the numbers of the deceased at your feet!" Vegeta barked. He was in no mood to deal with their back-talking.

The two Saiyans took off into the air, leaving Vegeta to deal with the fresher corpses.

He glared down to look upon the job set ahead of him. The bodies here were not nearly as dried and mummified as the ones in the desert that Nappa and Raditz would clear away. These corpses were still wet with decay and filled with body fluids, not having been thoroughly baked under the sun, protected under the shade of the canopy of trees. Vegeta knew that Raditz and Nappa were incapable of cleaning this area quickly. Only he was qualified to do a speedy job of it, and for this reason he half cursed the fact that he was far more skilled than the other two.

I shouldn't have to do this degrading work and dirty my royal hands! Those negligent idiots Nappa and Raditz deserve it, but not me!

But there was no way out of it. They had a deadline to meet. And if he failed this time, the work he would be burdened with in the future would be far worse than this, and much more devastating to his pride.

He picked up limbs, decapitated heads, torsos, shredded skin, torn muscle and organs, tossing them into a huge pile, other times kicking the gnarled, broken body parts over to the makeshift mound. The sickening smell of blood and the nauseating stench of decay pervaded his nostrils, and it was difficult for him not to keel over.

After an hour, Vegeta worked his way deeper into the wooded area, where the bodies were further sheltered in the shade, safe from the sweltering heat of the sun. The bodies in this area were much more preserved, not like the shapeless masses from earlier that had suffered the onslaught of the weather and elements. These bodies still had faces, their eyes, lips and noses still intact, and some of them, in what was left of their empty eyes, clouded over in death, still wore the expression of torment and fear they'd had as they faced their demise. Their eyes that had not long ago searched the sky for some glimmer of hope, praying for salvation. But their prayers and hopes were forsaken when Frieza had crushed the life from them.

Vegeta could smell a particularly slimy corpse hidden somewhere in the bushes. With one hand, he easily uprooted a shrub from the soil. There he found the stiff body of a woman, claimed by rigor mortis. He kicked the body over to its side, and to his astonishment he saw that there was not just one body. The woman was clutching a small child, a little girl, the mother's fingers tightly wrapped around the child in a protective embrace.

The little girl's face was the picture of innocence, despite being surrounded by death, her face was the only one of the nearby cadavers that went untouched by decay. Vegeta leaned in closer, his eyes widening in a mixture of both disgust and curious horror. The girl looked alive, almost. But he was ascertained that she was dead when he smelled the stench of death lifting off her body, rising into his lungs. She had not been spared, either. The mother must have suffered a mortal injury and dragged herself under the bushes to hide from Frieza, to protect her daughter, where the mother ended up dying from her wound. But despite the mother's attempts, the child met the same fate.

As Vegeta looked closer, he saw now that the little girl had not been completely unscathed by atrophy. There was a gash in her torso, and her guts had spilled out through the puncture wound. Her bowels, intestines, and stomach were on display. And among the soft tissue were thousands of maggots, worms, and other squirming, parasitic bottom-feeding insects. They were feasting on the flesh and the byproducts of decomposition flourishing on the decaying matter, the insects' incessant movements in the reeking body fluid and mucous caused a frothing foam of bubbles to rise up and coat the organs.

Vegeta could not take his eyes from the disgustingly hypnotic sight. This was the extent of Frieza's tyranny, this is what happened to all who fell under the usurper's wrath. They were showed no mercy. Murdered, their bodies reduced to compost for carrion feeders and the necrophageous worms to feast on.

But he had been deceived again; the little girl's face had not gone untouched by decay, after all. He watched as a worm slithered out from underneath one of the girl's eyelids and made a path across her face, leaving a trail of slime on her skin, before it disappeared into her nostril.

Not waiting to bring the mother and child's bodies over to the pile of corpses, Vegeta blasted them on the spot. Their corpses were disintegrated in an instant.

He leaned against a tree trunk, panting, sweat trailing down his neck and back, his muscles cramped and stiffening, unable to move. He could not stop himself from throwing up.


By sunset, the cleanup was done, and the mass cremation was well underway. Suffocatingly thick black clouds of smoke rising from the mountains of corpses crept past the horizon as far as the eye could see, and Vegeta's eyes were empty as he watched the scene. The acrid stench of his own vomit was still on his breath, but he knew Nappa and Raditz would not notice, because during those moments, no smell was stronger than that of the mounds of burning corpses. And Vegeta wished that along with the corpses, he could burn from his mind the image of the deceased child covered in maggots and worms.

Life was cruel. Fate spared no one from death, not even children. Only the strong survived. That was a lesson he needed to remember well.

He turned his eyes to the heavens, wishing for some guidance from his father. He knew what the King of Saiyans would tell him. 'Weakling! Don't be such a coward! You grew up to the sight and smell of death, I expected you to be used to it by now! You disappoint me!'

No, the King would not say that - he would stress an even greater matter of much more importance. 'Do not let Frieza reduce you to servitude! You are a Saiyan, you are not meant to clean up the litter from his battles! You alone have the strength to end his reign and avenge your people!'

But the words of his father did not matter anymore. Vegeta no longer held the memories of his father highly; now he only felt contempt. His father had sold him out, leaving his fate in Frieza's hands and effectively bargaining him over to a life of slavery. But Frieza was partially to blame for the Saiyan King's cowardice. The King had changed - He'd become afraid. His cowardliness led him to give up his own son, a selfish act of self-preservation, giving up his son's life to save his own.

But in this way his father had also saved Vegeta from dying with the rest of his people. As the Saiyan planet was destroyed, the young prince was safe, carrying out a mission on a faraway planet. Did his father give him up to Frieza to save him, because the King knew he and his people would be wiped out? Or did he only do it out of fear for his own life? Or maybe he left Vegeta under Frieza's tyranny, using his son as a mole of sorts, hoping one day it would be him to kill Frieza.

But Vegeta found no comfort in that, it was more of a bittersweet realization. He was not completely dissuaded from feeling resentment toward his father. His father had cursed him by giving him to Frieza. Slavery was a fate worse than death.

Vegeta was left to live by one rule now; to kill or be killed. He knew that if he were to continue to survive under Frieza's savage hand, he would have to grow to be above feeling compassion and remorse. The strong survived by feeling nothing, by being indifferent. Fear, pain, sadness, despair, they were emotions reserved for the weak.

After some time since the fires had been lit, Nappa and Raditz returned from the other side of the planet. It was evident they'd worked up a fervent sweat. They were panting, clearly exhausted from the day's toiling.

"We have taken care of the garbage, as you requested," Raditz reported, "Forgive us, Prince Vegeta, we would have gotten it done sooner if Nappa had not taken a detour to go sight-seeing."

"Hey! I wasn't sight-seeing!" Nappa defended, "I was thirsty, I needed to find some water!"

"Silence, you half-wits!" Vegeta barked at them, "Can I not expect you to carry out any task expediently?"

"My apologies..." Raditz bowed in shame.

"And Nappa, remember this well. The next time you become parched with thirst, deal with it! Your duty comes first, above even the primitive requirements of your hideous body! Understand?"

"Yes, Vegeta!" Nappa whimpered, disgraced by his own failure.

"For crying out loud, it took both of you morons several hours to clean up those dried corpses, while I alone dealt with the putrefied ones! Next time I expect you ignoramuses to get it done in thirty minutes. Otherwise the value of your lives will be called into question."

"Y-Yes, Prince Vegeta!" Both Raditz and Nappa stammered.

"Now, as soon as the corpses have finished burning and are reduced to ashes, you are to extinguish the fires. Then we will leave this planet. Frieza expects us to be back by tomorrow."

"Man, that prick!" Nappa pounded his knuckles together, "I can't stand doing Frieza's dirty work! One of these days I'll-"

"Be patient! Soon the day will come when we overthrow that unworthy usurper." Vegeta glared down at his clenched fist, his fingers curled and quivering as he muttered, "And then I will rule the universe, as I was destined to!"


"Vegeta, are you listening? Is something wrong?"

His lips were parted slightly, his mouth left gaping open in horror, and by now his throat had gone dry. A single bead of sweat rolled down from his hairline and collected at the nape of his neck. The repressed memories he had long thought he'd forgotten entirely were resurfacing.

The memory had traumatized him, permanently scarred his soul, and to this day he was unable to look at any slithering, squirming, bottom-feeding insects without remembering the horrors of cleaning duty. But above that, it was a reminder of the reality he had lived. Of how his throne had been taken from him, and how he had lived his life as a slave.

"Vegeta, snap out of it!"

He couldn't hear her. It was like he was slipping in and out of a comatose state with every memory, the remnants of his childhood he'd suppressed, forced into the corners of his mind, were coming back to haunt him. His eyes had been listless when he had the flashback. He was unaware that he was trembling slightly, until he felt a hand on his arm, and the shuddering of his muscles stopped and he was pulled out of his daze, coming back to the present.

Bulma was sitting on the bed next to him. She had her hand on his arm, and she was staring at him with concern. "Hey, calm down. I'm here."

It took him a moment to compose himself and come back into reality, to tell himself that he was not there, that it was only a memory of his past, and little by little he calmed down.

And he realized Bulma was in the room with him. Sitting on his bed at his side. Why?

Then he vaguely recalled that he'd told her to come into the room, though he didn't remember for what purpose. For what? He didn't know. How could he have forgotten?

Vegeta released a long, heavy sigh, and he closed his eyes to avoid looking at her as he spoke. He said apprehensively, "Do you Earthlings have medicine to heal the mind?"

Bulma blinked, as if to wipe away her confusion, "What?"

"For the conscience. To cease these... abominable thoughts I'm having," he spat out hastily. How regrettable that he had to resort to asking for such a thing.

Bulma sighed through her nose. "Would you care to elaborate?" She made sure to say it very softly.

He only grunted.

Bulma pried further, "It would help if you could tell me what sort of thoughts you're having... So I could get the correct medicine to counteract with the adverse effects of the painkiller."

She was sure that he would continue putting up his barrier, but to her surprise he relaxed his taut shoulders, sighing, "That loathsome clod... Frieza."

Bulma gave an understanding nod, "Okay. Good. Anything else?"

He paused, then added with resentment, "That bastard Kakarott and the time-traveling runt."

Bulma was satisfied with his admittance, but she was surprised when he suddenly continued venting to her, his voice raw as he hissed, "I should have put Frieza away with my own hands!" He clutched his fingers into fists so hard his knuckles turned white. "If anyone deserved to dispose of Frieza, it should have been a true Saiyan. Me. I deserved my revenge after the way that bastard put me through hell!"

Bulma asked gingerly, "What did he do to you?" She had heard only a little of what Vegeta went through, from a poor rendition by Krillin of what he'd overheard him say as he was dying on Namek.

Vegeta seemed to hesitate for a moment, but continued his rant, gripping the bedsheets now to control his building anger. "He made me his servant and errand boy when I was child, and he wiped out the Saiyans to near extinction. He did this all simply because he viewed us as a threat... a threat to his pompous self-entitled throne as ruler of the universe."

"Sure he wasn't killed at your hand, but-"

"I should have been the one to kill him! Not that faker. How dare that runt deceive all into thinking he's a true Saiyan! Only an upper-class warrior like myself should bear the title of the fabled Super Saiyan, I alone deserve it. That unworthy mongrel Kakarott and that brat make a mockery of the legendary status as they parade around, acting as if my efforts are nothing!" Sheer hatred was in the tone of his voice now as he growled, "Maybe I should have died with the rest of the Saiyans on the day Frieza destroyed my planet."

Bulma was shocked. "Why would you say that?"

He nearly overlooked her entirely now as he let loose with a rant he had held in for so long, "It's better if I was in hell with my people instead of the hell I am living here, being second best to Kakarott, knowing how he is always one step ahead of me. I am constantly reminded of the fact that he handed my ass back to me in battle, and I am sickened. Sickened at my own weakness, and sickened by him, of how he and that kid stole my revenge from me!"

"I was burdened with the weight of the hopes of my people, I was the one forced into a life of slavery, while Kakarott lived a comfortable life on this planet. And the Saiyan race that had been crying out for vengeance to be payed in blood had placed their hopes in me, and when that sick bastard Frieza followed us to this planet, I knew I would finally have the chance to redeem myself and take my revenge. And then that lying brat had to show up, and he took my right to kill Frieza from me!"

Bulma was quiet as she listened to him speak. She could see the anger burning in his eyes, and the longing for what was just out of his reach.

"Kakarott... you stupid bastard. Laughing at me like the fool you are as you widen the gap between our powers. Once I take back my birthright, I will put you in your place. And you won't be laughing for long." Vegeta was mostly talking to himself now, and Bulma saw that his eyes had such an intense hate-filled glare, but she could also sense despondency.

Then he was gone again; his body still there but his essence was gone. He was reflecting on the past again, of something that wounded his pride almost as much as his life of servitude.


He was dying. That he was certain of.

He knew he didn't have much longer to live the moment he felt the tissue of his heart tearing, very aware of the pain the instant the vital organ was pierced by Frieza's attack. He could taste the blood in his mouth, his own blood, then he was hit with numbing coldness in his limbs. He was losing too much blood, he could feel it seeping out of his chest and leaking out onto the soil around his broken body.

Clotted blood was getting trapped in his airway, his lungs stuffed with the coagulating rusty fluid. Struggling to catch his breath, every gasp short, ragged, exasperated. Gurgling as the blood crawled up through his constricted throat, if he spoke he only sputtered, his blood spurting out through clenched teeth.

So this is how it felt to die. So much agonizing pain, and all he could do was wait it out, wait as each excruciating second crawled by. Wait to die alone.

This was how all his victims felt when he killed them.

He'd failed his people, failed to live up to their expectations, and failed to defeat Frieza. So he'd given up, cursing his hopelessness and fear as Frieza beat him to a pulp. He knew there was nothing left he could do.

With his fist he gripped the dirt and rocks at his side, holding on to the tangible soil for a few more seconds of life, his heart palpitating and sputtering feebly to struggle to keep him alive for those few brief moments. The only thing keeping him alive at that point was that he knew he had to relay his message to Goku, to tell him of the fate of their race. And he hoped that Goku would put a stop to Frieza's reign. Vegeta was left with no choice but to put his faith in the other Saiyan, when he himself had failed.

He stayed alive for those brief moments, to speak in a rasping voice his own epitaph, before he would inevitably choke up from the death rattle in his throat.

"Kakarott... listen to me..."


He remembered the feeling of death all too well; the coldness, pain, loneliness, emptiness, the taste of his miserable defeat in his stomach and rising up in his esophagus.

And now, in the present, he felt a raw pain clawing at his insides; it was not just a physical sickness. He was utterly disgusted. Goku had failed him. The day when Vegeta felt Frieza's power radiating from the edges of the galaxy, approaching the Earth, he cursed Goku immediately, knowing the lesser Saiyan had spared Frieza's life. And Vegeta was pissed, at himself most of all, for leaving revenge in Goku's incapable hands.

Bulma watched him in silence. She could tell he was reliving a particularly painful memory - He was visibly suffering. She wanted to help him in any way, but she had no idea how she could. So she stayed by his side. All she could offer him now was her presence.

A surge of hate and an angry shudder rippled through the muscles of Vegeta's forearms, and he struggled to stay in control of his emotions as he bit out, "Kakarott, you bring shame to our deceased people... Smearing the Saiyan race and culture that you know nothing of! And yet you call yourself a Saiyan as you let your enemies slip out of your hands, giving them a second chance. You even let Frieza go, even after in my last moments of life, and in my desperation, I abandoned all sense of my pride and honor, reducing myself to tears in front of everyone as I begged you to kill him..."

His eyes glistened lightly now as he spoke, but he didn't seem to notice or care, "I shamed myself asking such a thing from you, and my dying request fell on the deaf ears of a fool who dares to call himself a warrior. For all the Saiyans Frieza has slain and bloodied his hands with, you couldn't even heed my death wish to exact revenge for our race - for my father - your father. For you to overlook my plea for vengeance like it was nothing, I will never forgive you."

After a moment of silence, in which Bulma gaped in sympathetic awe at Vegeta, he seemed to remember she was in the room with him, and he blinked his tears away as if they were nothing, as if he hadn't even noticed them. And perhaps he didn't notice them at all. He could not think straight, a rush of emotions was flooding through him, and he could do nothing to stop it.

"You... you asked Goku to kill Frieza for you?" Bulma said in an almost inaudible whisper.

He avoided making eye contact with her as he muttered, "It was not just for my sake, but for the will of all the Saiyans he murdered. And Kakarott simply overlooked my remorse as if it were far beneath his notice! It was inexcusable of him! That third-class left-behind should be bowing before me and pleading for my forgiveness, for his failure to carry out my death wish! I am the Prince of Saiyans, that peasant should follow my every command, and yet he dares to challenge me. And he has... regrettably surpassed me, bested me in battle, and left me with nothing but humiliation as I struggle to catch up..."

Bulma now understood a little why Vegeta held so much hatred for Goku, and she felt the urge to comfort him, to mend his wounded pride, yet also to get him to understand Goku's motive. "He didn't do it out of contempt for you. That's just the way Goku is. He's kind to everyone, even his enemies. Remember, he gaveyoua second chance..."

Vegeta scoffed, "For what good it did! He took pity on me, and it utterly sickens me to think that he would look down on me in that way! Though he showed me mercy, in the end I only lived long enough to be humiliated and killed by Frieza. I would have rather died at Kakarott's hands instead of letting Frieza have the pleasure of taking my life. And he did, he was given the satisfaction of killing me, and I'm sure that now in hell he is laughing triumphantly about it!"

He sighed, letting his anger subside. "And now I'm all that's left, the last of the Saiyans with the ability to uphold the memory of my race and my home planet... Not that it matters when there is nobody in this universe who can fathom what it was like! Kakarott and his brat are the only other Saiyans left besides me, but they are just cretinous simpletons. They do not care to learn of Saiyan culture and customs, they do not comprehend the valiant Saiyan blood in their veins, and if they made any attempt to understand it, they would only make fools of themselves. They have no pride! Their very lives mock the Saiyan race!"

Bulma could see that, despite hiding it for so long, Vegeta was all alone. He had nobody he could relate to, no family or friends, nobody who cared about him, and the only other surviving Saiyans, Goku and his son Gohan, didn't understand how he felt. How could they? They grew up on Earth, they didn't know what it was like to be part of the Saiyan civilization.

They were surrounded by friends and loved ones, while Vegeta was left on his own. And his utter loneliness hurt Bulma, sending an unfamiliar compassionate empathy into her heart.

"I hate what I am becoming!" Vegeta said suddenly.

Bulma blinked, surprised. "What do you mean?"

He clasped a hand against his forehead again, as if attempting to calm his thoughts. "Even since I was brought back to life... I have grown soft... weak..." he forced the word out, as if speaking it were making him retch, "Damn it all! These disgusting emotions make me want to puke!"

"Maybe you just have a newfound appreciation for life?" Bulma suggested.

"Why did they wish me back?" Vegeta muttered, not aware of her again.

He recalled the hazy memory. When he was brought to the otherworld, he waited to be judged by King Yemma, and then he was branded as evil and sent to hell. He had been oddly compliant after he had been judged, as if he were simply dreaming and would wake at any moment. But he'd known that reality had a tendency to be unkind and fate seldom worked in his favor. He knew he was evil, and accepted that he would go to hell and face eternal damnation. And then he could be with his people once again. And for the first time in decades, perhaps he would not be so alone anymore.

But before he could experience the worst horrors of the underworld, he'd been whisked away, back into his body on Namek. The only possible explanation for his revival, he'd realized, was that he must have been wished back to life by the Dragon Balls. He had spared the Earthlings no mercy before, so why had they shown him generosity by wishing him back to life?

And somehow, after going to hell and then being brought back to life, Vegeta felt a change in himself. He almost felt resentment for the countless people he'd slaughtered. Ever since he experienced hell, the memories of his misdeeds haunted him. It was as if hell had followed him with his ressurection, his sins brought to the front of his mind at all times. He hated that he felt shame for the countless civilizations and people he had wiped out. He always repeated to himself, I shouldn't feel bad for those I killed. I'm a Saiyan! It's in my nature to slaughter and conquer!

After tasting his own death, he somehow no longer cared to kill others. He didn't even care about becoming immortal, though he saw no point to immortality now that Frieza was gone, and the Saiyan prince was now one of the top warriors in the universe. But there was still one goal he had yet to reach, and one person he had to surpass.

"Damn it. I should have become a Super Saiyan by now," he griped, "Maybe it hasn't happened because of this damnable softness that's been pervading me."

"And you still have a long way to go," said Bulma.

He glared in her direction, though still refusing to meet her eyes. "What the hell makes you say that?"

"Isn't it obvious? You should have learned by now, Vegeta. Softness isn't a weakness. I think it may even be the greatest asset a fighter can possess. To understand your allies and enemies and show them sympathy equally..."

"Feh." He brushed her statement off, "Me, a Saiyan, showing sympathy to my enemies? Unheard of."

"Well, you never know, maybe the key to becoming a Super Saiyan is a pure heart," Bulma suggested.

"So then, what about someone as impure as me? Are you saying I can't do it?" His eyes finally met with hers, he was scowling at her like an angry, lost child, demanding an answer. "I could never have a pure heart. I have gladly killed innocent people, even as they fled from me, unable to defend themselves. You call that sympathy? No; I am evil, and I accept that I belong in hell. I'd be welcomed there with open arms."

Bulma sighed, "You're not evil. You just had a lot of bad things happen to you that you didn't deserve."

She placed a consoling hand on his wrist, and for the first time he didn't cringe away from her touch. "It's not your fault that you were cruel in the past, I believe cruelty was just your way of coping with the horrors you experienced, a coping mechanism to survive the stress of everything you've been through. What you have struggled with and suffered through was unfair, and you deserve to live a better life. You deserve to be happy for a change. And I think you of all people deserve to reach your goals, more than anyone else."

He could see the sincerity in her glittering eyes. Here she was, attempting to comfort him, a murderer with a past drenched in blood, the very same man who had previously had her boyfriend killed. And yet she was showing him such kindness and compassion, trying to uplift his confidence in any way she could.

"I know you can do it, Vegeta. I know you'll become a Super Saiyan," she showed him her sweetest smile. She didn't know what other sympathies she could offer him, other than giving him her faith in his ability.

Despite being dazed and woozy from the medication, he felt a melting warmth inside him. It was like she was thawing the ice that had been building up in him over the years, with just her words and that effortless smile. Her comforting words struck a distant chord in him, one he thought had been gone with his childhood.

He looked away from her, glaring back at the rain through the window. Somehow he couldn't face her, like he was afraid he would only prove her wrong and let her down. Just as he'd let his own people down.

A few seconds of silence passed, and Bulma stood up from the edge of the bed. She would have liked to say more to him, but she felt she had imposed herself enough. He was beginning to look uncomfortable.

She said, "That meal I was working on is done, so if you get hungry, feel free to come downstairs any time to get some food. I'm off to bed." She crossed the room and closed the door behind her as she exited to the hall.

Vegeta ran a hand over his scalp and through his hair, clenching his teeth, his other hand straying to his face as he smeared his palm across his forehead. He was frustrated. He could not understand why he'd said so much to her, or why he was experiencing so many memories of his past.

He'd always been aware that the universe was a cold place, and not just literally. The people out there were cold and unfeeling. One had to be manipulative and cunning in order to survive.

But this planet Earth was different. It was a comfortable, carefree environment, untouched by any tyrannous rulers. These people had freedom, something rarely come by in the galaxies, not like the life of servitude he had lived. The humans lived in an age of peace, the people cared for and helped one another, and they seemed to see the last two Saiyans as part of their own race. Blissfully unaware of the cruel universe outside their world, not worried at all about the bigger picture, the naive humans were unconcerned about the dangers lurking just outside their planet in space. But maybe it was better if they did not know.

And now that Frieza was gone, Vegeta didn't need to worry about being enslaved ever again. He was wasting time worrying about the past. If he continued reliving it, he would be keeping Frieza's memory and legacy alive. So the ultimate way he could spit on Frieza's grave would be to start forgetting.

And, perhaps now that he was free, he decided it might not be so bad to lighten up, to take it easy and indulge in his life for the first time.

With the death of Frieza and the fall of the Planet Trade Organization, it was the dawn of a new era for the universe. Perhaps now those who felt compassion were to rise to the top, as proven by Goku's success. Maybe the key to becoming a Super Saiyan lay in someone with a pure heart, as Bulma had suggested?

At this notion, Vegeta was forced to reconsider his outlook on ethic and morals. Was it wrong to be kind? Had he been living in denial? Was he not allowing himself the pleasure of enjoying his life, his newfound freedom, denying himself from feeling compassion, joy, and hope, because he was so used to the years of cruelty he'd endured for so long that he'd distanced himself from feeling emotion?

But wasn't it safer to feel nothing, to preemptively save himself from irrelevant grief? He could always depend on being cold-hearted, to feel no remorse, as a self-imposed way to protect himself. He hated to feel anything other than what he was familiar with; he was comfortable with his feelings of wrath, rage, hate, and contempt for others. But these new emotions that had been rising in him as of late were strange, and he was not used to them. He didn't know what to make of them.

And in part it was because of Bulma that he was starting to feel differently about life. She was weak, she could not fight efficiently at all, but her presence alone was intimidating. How could he take life for granted now that he'd gotten to know a little more about her? He saw that she was not physically strong, but her spirit was, she knew she could not protect herself, and yet she still had the strength and courage to go on living, and she had something to live for.

And what did that make of him, when he'd been so hopeless at times that he wondered why he bothered to continue fighting, to live?

Bulma's inner strength was admirable, commendable, attractive. Those qualities in her more than made up for her physical weaknesses.

That made her stronger than him.

And he could not help but admire her exemplary strength.

Bulma mulled over her thoughts as she headed down the hall and went into her room. Now after his admission to her, she could see that Vegeta was very, truly alone. Despite seemingly cold, calculating, and harsh on the outside, she saw that he was a broken man who needed to be healed, who only wanted to prove himself, a prince who missed his deceased race. And that maybe all he really needed was to be shown some compassion and empathy that he had never received.

He was so alone, and he was hurting. He needed to be comforted; he shouldn't have to deal with his pain all on his own, as he had for so many years.

And for all the bad things that had happened to him, Bulma decided he needed some happiness in his life. And she was determined to see him happy.


A/N (part 2, this is a little lengthy, sorry)- I don't think it would be too far-fetched to think that Frieza, Zarbon, and cohorts would have made Vegeta do dirty work, like clearing away corpses on planets. Vegeta has said that Zarbon worked him like a slave for years; I think that maybe aside from cleaning toilets and stuff like that, Vegeta would have been forced to do some tremendously emotionally scarring work (c'mon, cleaning bathrooms is not that emotionally scarring, even for a Saiyan Prince). Thus, I came up with the idea of the corpse cleaning duty. I think it makes a bit of sense, considering how the Planet Trade Organization slaughters millions of people almost on a day-to-day basis. So who's supposed to deal with any leftover bodies?

And I found it was a goldmine of an opportunity for me to come up with the reason behind Vegeta's fear of worms/squirmy things. :D

And a little note about where the names of the planets from the flashback came from:

Laizar=lazer. Reference to a certain internet meme originating from an edited screen cap of 2nd form Cell...

Ovair=over. Another reference to a DBZ meme. Do I even need to say this one? :'D I'm shameless for exploiting memes. (And the people of the planet would be called Ovairians. Like ovarian cyst. L-O-L.)