. . Camouflage . .
Lady Rhapsody
. Ten .
. Vejita .
Even after all this time, I don't even have to track her ki to find her. I always scanned the crooked verandas and rooftops of the city, knowing that eventually, I would find her there.
She is so engrossed in her stargazing that she does not notice me come onto her balcony. I had forgotten how weak her human eyes are in the dark. Rather than make myself known to her, I lean back into the shadows and observe.
I was furious with her, but do not regret my outburst. She must learn that she's playing a dangerous game, one I do not intend to lose. I'm offering her a chance to do the things she always wanted – invent without limitations and explore the universe. I do not expect her to jump for joy over the circumstances, but in all fairness, she does not know them yet. I will reunite her with the Namekian tomorrow, and I'm certain they will go along with my plans. What choice do they have, when we all stand to gain?
Well, not all... Kakkarott will not benefit, but he will live, which is the largest – and only – compromise that I plan to make. She will be relieved, I know, because she likely assumed that he was already dead. When I found her on the rooftop, she had positively reeked of him, a detail that I have to fight to disregard. If I believed that there would be no consequences, I would have dispatched the disgraceful warrior already.
The healing tanks have done admirable work: her bruises are gone. She is not the soft girl I knew at CC, but she is still not strong enough for what she must accomplish. Not yet. We will have to hide her frailty, so that she will be safe. I can't shake it, the irritating possessiveness that I harbor towards her, but for now it serves both of our interests well. Though I have rid myself of many of Frieza's allies, there are those out there who seek to cut me down, and would use any perceived weak spot to accomplish it.
"I watched the stars every night, out there." She had finally noticed that she was not alone. "I wondered if you owned all of them, or if they were all dead."
These people must think me as mad as Frieza, to want to decimate my own wealth, and it makes my blood boil. I wait until the red has gone from my vision to speak. "You know what you have to do, girl. I can't believe that someone who constantly boasted of her genius cannot see the path that is so clearly laid out for them."
She won't look at me, which is how I know she's conflicted, and that I have a chance. "You're asking me to betray the memory of everyone I've ever loved."
"They are not all reduced to memory, against my better judgment." She freezes, as if breathing will make it untrue, and after a moment looks me in the eye. Why am I even bothering to comfort her, I wonder? I tell myself it is because it will make her more pliable, not because of the way desperate hope lights up her face. "I would rather think they would prefer if you lived your life and brought glory to their legacies." She draws her robe tighter around herself and returns her gaze skyward. She is still that same strange contradiction – resolute, yet tender. "Don't act so sentimental – you were never really one of them, not even before."
Silence reigns, but I can see her turning my words over in her mind. It is an adequate beginning.
Her fingers tighten on the railing as I take flight, and know that she is remembering what I am, and realizing that I have won.
I had been a resident at CC long enough to have learned to lay low when the word "holiday" got bantered about. Human holidays, I have found, tend to yield only suffering. So, when the weather became autumnal going into something more biting and Mrs. Briefs began tittering about plans for an upcoming holiday party, I ramped up my training regimen and avoided contact with them.
Except for her – I see her several nights a week now that we have gotten past her aversion of using our own bedrooms. The girl seemed to have believed that keeping our liaisons away from our personal spaces would make them less real, less wrong... Now she regularly darkens my doorway, though sometimes I can sense her hesitate before turning the doorknob.
Her fear is often the only thing that assures me that I have not gone soft, that I have not become an irrelevant former enemy-turned-ally like the green man.
This morning she rose before I – a rare occurrence: humans need a ridiculous amount of rest considering their inactivity – whispering about helping her mother prepare for "Halloween". I watched her gather her clothing to cover the body I have become so familiar with, not expending the energy to hide my scorn at the strange things humans celebrate.
"You would like Halloween," she said, bristling at the look on my face. "Its a pagan throwback, meant to be scary. Everyone wears costumes and celebrates the macabre."
"Sounds like a party in Frieza's court," I retort, and put it from my mind in favor of training.
As I make my way through the compound later that night, I find that my jest had not been far off. The house is decorated with skeletons, crude plastic monsters that may have been meant to be menacing, and hundreds of orange candles. The lighting is dim, but not low enough that I can't make out crowds of Earthlings in costume. Its apparent that these are the Briefs' "society" friends – wealth looks the same all across the galaxy, and the Z senshi are nowhere to be seen. It smells like alcohol and potpourri – it makes my nose itch, and I instantly want to hurt everyone.
I swipe a tumbler of whatever weak spirit is being served from a side table and push through the crowds towards the Briefs' private wing, where my bed and solitude await. I slam the door separating the hallway from the party and pause a moment to down my drink. Then I see her.
She is on the floor, leaning against the wall, a half-finished drink beside her. She is wearing an elaborate costume covered in beading and fringe, her face pale besides her darkly shaded eyes and lips. She is smoking, despite the fire hazard the feathers in her pinned-back hair present. Only Saiyan eyes could have noticed in the dark, but she has been crying. We stare at each other for a moment, with only the muffled party music to break the silence.
"'Halloween' is no longer pleasing to you?" Something larger is bothering her; I wonder if that means she will not be coming to me tonight.
"I love Halloween," she snaps, exhaling smoke furiously, fingers trembling. "Its them – those... people."
I am confused. From all that I've seen, the money and reporters, the lavish parties and company headquarters, the Briefs are Earth royalty. She must have seen it on my face.
"They're Mom's people – old money," she explains. "They think an heiress should throw charity balls and marry a politician. I work in a lab and 'slum' with fighters. Sometimes I think they only come here to get a look at the compound and gawk at Bunny's 'eccentric' family. The funny part is that when they leave, they'll use CC cars to get home, where their shit is stored in CC capsules, and their companies are funded with CC money."
I sneer at the idiocy of human culture. "Out there," I wave a hand towards the sky. "You must earn your place. No one would be revered simply because of the family they were born into. Such is the custom of weak races."
"This, coming from the 'Prince of all Saiya-jins'?"
I don't know why I tolerate her insolence, but it has something to do with the wicked smirk that transforms her tearful face. "The members of my family have been the strongest Saiya-jins for hundreds of years, woman, and make no mistake – I earned my status in Frieza's court as well."
She nods and stubs her cigarette out on the bottom of a high-heeled shoe. Her dress is short; I catch a glimpse of white skin through the fringe. "How would I have fared, out there?"
I have to force images of her being ravaged by Frieza's pet warriors from my mind before I can provide an evasive answer. "These weaklings value the wrong things. You don't belong here."
Later that night, after she thought I had fallen asleep, she crawled out of bed to sit on the balcony. The burning end of her cigarette casts a gentle red glow over her face, and for a moment she looks older – a glimpse of what she will grow into, a wasted talent on a backwater planet, remembered by no one except the few humans bright enough to understand what she has done. I had not lied to her – she would do well out in space – but it would come at the price of the innocence that would make her valuable in a different sort of way. It will be my doing, all of it – the suffering, the struggle, but also the success. I say nothing and just watch her, so that I can remember what she looked like before I tainted her.
Her face is turned up to the sky; she watches her smoke rings float up and away, closer to the galaxies of her dreams, where she is esteemed by all and bound by no one.
. . .
When he woke, it was pitch black, and he was paralyzed.
No, not paralyzed – weak. His limbs were trembling, and when he tried to sit up he found he had to consciously put effort into the motion. It felt as if he was in a gravity simulator, and someone had turned up the controls. He made a feeble attempt to power up, and was forced to double over in agony as his temples erupted in searing pain.
Luckily for him, the lights came on when he still had his hands over his face, and he was spared the pain of that sudden adjustment. When he dropped them again, he was shocked to see his brother lounging in the doorway, watching him with a frown and a furrowed brow.
"What's going on?" Goku demanded, the sinking feeling in his stomach steadily growing. "Why couldn't I sense you come into the room?"
Radditz tapped a finger to his temple as he took a seat in the room's only chair. "It hurts, does it not? You've had an operation, and you're in recovery."
A gentle exploration of his temples revealed two small raised lines, scars already on their way to being healed. He must have been in a tank, he realized, mind reeling. But why would they put him in a tank if they were just planning on killing him? Or operate on him at all, for that matter?
"A disgraceful thing to do to a Saiyan, no doubt about it," Radditz grumbled, still frowning as if he were on Goku's side in all this. "But it couldn't be avoided. You're not one of us, not really. Vejita can't afford any loose ends, not anymore."
"What has he done?" Goku's voice rose in fear, he could not control it.
Dark eyes studied him for a moment before an answer came. "Its experimental and reversible, Kakkarott, so don't get your panties in a twist, but they've... blocked your ki."
Pure, unadulterated panic coursed through Goku's veins before he could stop it, and he jumped to his feet. Radditz reacted almost instantly by shoving him right back down onto the bed, by no means gently. He stayed where he had been pushed, clutching his sore shoulder and trying to slow his racing brain.
"Before you start feeling sorry for yourself, remember this: you are alive," Radditz said, scoffing at his brother's scattered reaction. "If Vejita had his way, you would be a smear on the dungeon wall by now. 'A Saiya-jin who disgraces his people doesn't deserve to live as a Saiya-jin at all', he says."
"So I have you to thank?" Goku wasn't sure if a life like this was even worth living, especially not alone, and especially having to live with his memories, which were only slightly worse than his reality.
Radditz chuckled. "Not I, brother, though if it means anything at all, I was not looking forward to killing you."
"Bulma," he said, assuming it was true without any confirmation. "I'm a hostage, aren't I?"
The older Saiyan was silent for a moment. Bulma was going to do her part regardless of whether or not the pathetic specimen of a warrior in front of him lived or not. But what would it hurt to let him believe it was so? If anything, it would keep him in line, and there was a little truth to it. Honestly, they hadn't wanted to deal with the girl sulking about his death, and figured that he could be useful again if she decided to get squeamish.
"If that's what you want to call it, yes," he said. "Do both her and yourself a favor and refrain from turning yourself into a nuisance. There does not have to be any more needless suffering."
A knock on the door brought the larger Saiyan to his feet. He looked down at his younger brother, searching for any trace of the Saiyan he could have been. It was a precarious game he was playing; there were things that he would have wanted to be different, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He shook off his misgivings and opened the door, formulating the lie that would remove this particular obstacle.
"She wanted to make sure that you were not alone," he said, watching the hope steal back into Goku's eyes. "But remember this: Sparing your life was an enormous favor. If you cause trouble for Vejita, he will make both you and her pay."
With that, he left the room, and a guard entered, dragging someone behind him. He shoved her onto the bed beside Goku and left without a word.
As Chichi dissolved into tears and lunged into his arms, Goku wondered how it was possible to feel so miserable and so relieved, all at the same time.
. . .
[[ A. N. : Thank you for your continued patience! Please remember to review! ]]