Hello, again! I wanted to start with a thank you, for topping 100 reviews! Your feedback has been so enlightening, and has been my motivation in making it through quite a bit of writer's block. I hope I continue to offer content worthy of your great responses! Enjoy!

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THE SIEGE

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Chapter XIII

Mending

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A steady breeze entered freely through the window, stirring a cream colored curtain that swept over the woman's lifeless form. When Vegeta attempted to address her, she didn't respond. Fresh, pungent blood dripped from her arm that hung over the basin in which she lay. The pastel complexion of her face had drained to a papery white, and thin moisture had formed on her brow. Her belongings lay with her, crumpled under her stagnant body. A vile odor emanated from the scaly corpses at his feet; the remnants of a recent kill lingered in their stiffened jaws. Disgusted, Vegeta dragged the pair into the hall by their bony tails and allowed them to slip down the stairway. The carcasses fell to the landing, meeting a third, slain reptile. Blood stained the vibrant carpeting.

Vegeta returned to the destroyed washroom, debating on how to address the comatose slump in the tub. Shards of the mirror fell from the sink and onto the floor, shattering further under his boot. He studied her wound; her foot and ankle had sustained a severe bite. Inwardly, he reprimanded her. When he discovered her, moments from her demise, she seemed fully prepared to accept her fate. This weak human was intended to provide Kakarot, but she would certainly be the cause of her own death before then. Furthermore, even after eluding death once again, she lay in a defeated heap. He hovered for several moments, and waited for her to wake from her stupor. Bur she remained still, and the blood seeping from her injury began to trail listlessly towards a rusted drain. Grumbling audibly, Vegeta grasped her exposed arm, plucking her from the porcelain sarcophagus.

She was weightless in Vegeta's arms as he carried her into the hall. He could feel her subdued pulse surge beneath his fingertips, and her weakened energy permeated his senses. Her head slumped backwards, over his bicep and exposing her thin, fragile neck.

At the far end of the hall, a vibrantly painted room exuded her familiar energy. Drawn, Vegeta approached it with caution. Hovering in the threshold, he observed a cluttered collection of heady perfumes and gaudy trinkets. Papery images featuring bizarre and flashy designs hung crookedly on each wall; the torn corners had slowly begun to curl as time passed. In the center of the disheveled chamber was a pink-sheeted bed. Eager to be without her touch, he dropped the unconscious woman onto the cushiony surface, rather harshly. He grumbled to himself as the drop did nothing to stir her.

Lingering at her bedside, Vegeta scowled at a row of strange, wooden frames that hung from the floral pattern that painted the walls. In one frozen image, a young child with azure lucks attempted to steal the glasses from a silver-haired man, in a playful display. Other nearby images consisted of similar behavior; the familiar man, Vegeta recognized as the woman's inane father, and a blond-haired woman sat together on a bench overlooking a garden. Vegeta didn't understand the appeal, in preserving such frivolous moments in history. Humans appeared sentimental, social creatures, and he had observed these behaviors in the humans that inhabited the woman's compound.

They were so weak and feeble, they would be of no use to Freiza as common soldiers. Yet, Freiza allowed the planet to exist?

Vegeta studied a heap of stiffened clothing in the corner near a wardrobe. A thin, vibrantly colored blouse featured a familiar crest. Odd, leather slippers with absent partners were scattered within the closet, along with garments that secreted her fragrant scent. On a polished desk were a row of stuffed effigies appearing to embody earthly creatures with wide, animated eyes and a variety of garish colors. Their sewn smiles were unsettling. A switchblade seemed out of place where it lay before the assemblage of cottony monsters.

A meek cry startled the prince, as he turned abruptly to investigate the woman's broken form on the mattress. Her previously pacified expression was poisoned with one of strain. Her eyes were tightly shut and her bluish brows were drawn together in pain. Pearly teeth emerged through her flushed lips. A stifled sound rose from her throat, in the form of a whimper.

Then, her eyes sprung open to reveal two, frightened orbs that remained transfixed on the plastered ceiling for several moments. Her body was rigid, and her hands gripped the bedsheets at her sides with tremendous vigor. Blood rushed back into her cheeks, and she threw herself into a sitting position with hands prodding her injury.

The woman proceeded to wail, openly; an unbearable sound. Through her cries, she seemed to struggle for words, or pleas. Her only attempt to mend her bloody wound was it to grip it tightly in her sodden hands, an act that intensified her cries. Tears doused her strained face.

Vegeta couldn't stand it, the sound of her horrid cry.

"Enough!" He shouted, with hands to his ears. She took no heed to his orders; it seemed, while distracted by her hysterics, she wasn't even aware of his presence. He had to do something to silence her, abandon her or kill her. No, he could do neither. Until she fixed her silly contraption, he still required her.

Vegeta would have to help her control the festering wound. Amidst her continuous sobbing, he searched the room for medical supplies. The drawers of the desk were overflowing with trivial items. Disheveled piles of lined papers featuring doodles poured from the wooden drawer and onto the floor. He went to the closet, but there was nothing among the clusters of shoes and clothing.

Exiting the room and returning to the hall, the woman's cries were somewhat suppressed. Entering the bathroom, Vegeta's leathery boot met the pools of viscous blood with a sickly sound. He searched the polished cabinets beneath the broken sink. He retrieved a folded towel from among the toiletries, but found nothing in terms of medicines or bandages.

The smashed, porcelain toilet lay in pieces. An artificial plant blanketed with dust rested on cracked tank. From the window, the afternoon light poured in, illuminating the thick cloud of dust that congested the air. He discovered a familiar bag laying in the bath, in a puddle of fresh, human blood. Quickly, Vegeta retrieved it from the grimy washbasin.

Inside the heavy bag, Vegeta found various items she had included on this expedition; bandages and disinfecting creams were among them. Returning to her bedroom, he was again greeted by her terrible crying. She was attempting to apply pressure to the lesion with the bed sheet, but blood easily saturated the thin cloth. She continued to lament over her futility, while garbled words of fear struggled to break free from her trembling lips.

Vegeta stood at the end of the mattress, where she sat slumped over her dilemma. He dropped the bag and the bath towel on the edge of the bed, and studied her for a moment while she took no notice. Delirious, her eyes shifted aimlessly and her head swayed. Her hands trembled so vigorously, that any attempt to fight the bleeding would be in vain. All the while, he could sense her wild energy burst forth from her body in the form of grating screams. It seemed he could feel her rapidly beating heart before ever touching her.

Abruptly, Vegeta reached for her wounded foot before she could combat him. She gasped, falling backwards onto her elbows. Finally, she was silent, and she stared at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth suspended in a muted scream. Her hands were partly risen into the air, revealing rigid, bloodied fingers. The measure of incredulous terror on her rounded far was quite satisfying; it reminded him of when he first discovered her in that whorehouse on Nin. She seemed prepared for death, as if she had already expected to die at his hands. That was tempting, but not an option.

Vegeta turned his attention to the hemorrhaging lesions that followed the outline of her foot. He adopted a strong grip on her ankle, in an attempt to severe the blood flow to her foot. This encouraged a sound within her throat again, which she tried to stifle through clenched teeth. Her eyes continued to shift between his face and his hands, in caution.

With his available hand, Vegeta rummaged through the bag and retrieved the bandages and the disinfectant. He released her ankle for a brief moment to uncap a canteen, and to his intrigue, she did not withdraw from him. Pouring the remaining water onto her foot, the blood fled onto the sheets and she gathered a deep breath in reaction to the cold liquid. It seemed to sober her, somewhat.

Vegeta blotted the wound with the towel before applying the oily disinfectant. Beneath his touch, he could feel her muscles tense. The thick jelly seemed to clot the blood flow long enough for him to wrap her foot with the bandage. He supplied a generous amount, and the blood that stained through the cloth quickly vanished. Tying the end securely, Vegeta held her gaze for a moment. Her expression was significantly more lax now; the pressure of the bandage would surely suppress some of the pain.

Her body had relaxed on the mattress and her feverish breathing had slowed, regaining composure. Her gaze was intense, startling even. But he kept his intrigue veiled. Then, she smiled.

"…I have to say, I'm surprised," she remarked with a coarse, shaken voice as she rubbed the sweat from her brow with her forearm. Her hands were still trembling as she cleaned the blood from her hands with the bed sheet. She returned to a seated position and added, "I guess I should thank you."

Vegeta ignored her, cleaning her tacky blood on his hands with the bath towel. Sufficiently cleansed for now, he tossed the defiled cloth onto the floor. Yet, the scent of her pungent blood was potent, and lingered in his nose. He could sense a headache on the verge of breaking. Tending to her plight so tenderly made him uneasy; he had never truly provided such meticulous care to another before. He avoided eye contact with her now. Advancing towards the exit, Vegeta was eager to escape this toxic chamber.

"You did a pretty good job too," the woman stated as she rubbed her hands against the rough bandage, "I'm impressed!"

Her comments seemed to be at his expense, as if she were mocking him. He wished he had silenced her screams, permanently.

"Why were you on your own, woman?" His inquiry seemed to be less of a question, and more closely to to a demand for answers.

"What?" She replied coyly, "I told you I was going to search Capsule labs for replacement parts for the radar. I couldn't find any, though."

Vegeta observed the vivid images on the wall and trinkets on the tabletops, and said "This doesn't look like any laboratory I've seen. Is this the extent of human technology?"

Then, he slapped a small vial of thickened glass from the dresser and onto the floor, to emphasize his statement. The glass was too thick to shatter, but the liquid within slowly began to drip from the lid. The effeminate fragrance was overwhelming.

The expression on the woman's face was now caustic.

"Listen, jerk," She snapped, swinging her legs and letting them dangle over the edge of the bedside, "The labs are destroyed, but I realized that everything I needed was here, in the house I grew up in. Maybe if you hadn't disappeared, you would have known that."

Vegeta studied the framed images on the wall again. He had been passing several miles nearby, returning to the underground sanctuary, when he had discovered her erratic energy.

"And if I hadn't returned?" The Saiyan prince replied, coldly.

The woman seemed to absorb his question with discomfort. He would have been disposing of what remained of her corpse, along with the reptiles.

"Anyway," she said finally, shirking his dreary words as she attempted to stand, and failed. She returned to the bed and said, "you'll be happy to know, that I did find all of the parts I need to repair the radar."

"Finally, enough time has been wasted already," Vegeta stated, kicking the glass vial underneath the bed. The fragrance was repulsive.

"Well, I still need to fix it," She said, gathering the contents of bag at her side, "that could take a few days, at least."

"Enough talking then," Vegeta concluded, turning to exit the room.

"Wh-hey, wait!"

He glanced at her over his shoulder, impatient.

"I…" The woman glowered at her bandaged foot, "I can't really walk here…"

"Then logically, you will perish."

Vegeta continued towards the door, knowing she would certainly protest once more.

"How cold, you jerk!" She exclaimed, folding her arms, before seemingly asking herself, "Why am I surprised?"

Vegeta said nothing, torn. He didn't want to aid her once more, and he certainly didn't want to touch her again. But she was useless, sitting on that mattress. He regarded her with a glance over his shoulder again.

She smiled wryly, "Come on, the sooner we get back and fix the radar, the sooner we will have all the Dragon Balls."

Shameless bribery now; this woman had no restraint. Vegeta visibly grimaced, dropping his shoulders with a groan; it must have been comical, because the woman laughed earnestly as she secured the strap of leather bag over her shoulder. Her exuberant laugh carried a light and airy note; he decided it was somewhat pleasant.

The woman focused on the bag at her side as she sat against the edge of the bed with her injured extremity risen off the dusty floor. She said, "It's not that far from home, just on the other side of—Ah!"

Vegeta tossed her weightless form over his shoulder, and she squirmed uncomfortably as she protested. Her hands grasped tightly onto the backside of his ebony jacket. Carrying her out of the room and down the damaged stairway, he exited through the gaping front door that he had entered through before her rescue. The stricken reptilian corpses lay scattered throughout the living room and on the porch; distraught, she sighed heavily.

"Well, it shouldn't be too long of a walk from—" The rush stole her words as Vegeta's feet left the earth and ascended to the afternoon sky. She held onto him like a vice, and he couldn't conceal a smirk. As the sun ascended passed the sun, he turned his direction towards the compound. And the woman complained the entire way.

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It was well into the night when Bulma's forehead slipped from her propped arm and onto the scuffed desktop, jarring her awake. Thoroughly exhausted from the day's trials, she had fallen asleep among the dissembled pieces of the radar once more. She had been so eager to see the device repaired, that she had refused some much needed rest.

Perusing stacks of carefully divided parts and tools, Bulma selected a pair of cold pliers in one hand and a crooked mechanism in the other. With poised control of the pliers, she removed the old, rusting spring to replace it with the new one.

When she and Vegeta returned to the compound that afternoon, after a none-to-gentle flight, he had abandoned in the recently cleaned infirmary. The sullen prince had dropped her into the same bed he had previously been confined to, and left without a word. Soon after, her doting father had arrived to provide proper care to her injured foot.

"Goodness dear," he had stated, after unwrapping the sodden bandages, "That is quite a nasty, little bite. No worries though, dear, I'll have you fixed up in no time."

After an hour of thorough disinfecting and careful stitching, Bulma felt relieved. However, the lack of proper sedatives during the stitching procedure had her quite agonized. Her father had urged her to stay in the infirmary to heal, but she insisted that she wanted to return to her room. She failed to specify why, but he didn't inquire further.

Bulma gently removed the old spring and it dropped onto the floor. Yawning, she retrieved the new spring.

Providing her with some painkillers and another of his coined vitamins, he had Bulma discharged from the infirmary in a wheelchair. Grumbling, she had felt so humiliated. His prognosis for her full recovery was a couple of weeks, but she wouldn't be able to abide by that. As soon as she could walk, or hobble, she would be above ground again. Eventually, Bulma would have to express her intentions to him.

With the new spring securely attached, she peered into the hollowed dial. She had removed the expired cabling, knowing the meticulous task of replacing it with the new copper wiring would be taxing. Groaning, she returned it to the table top and decided upon the far more therapeutic task of polishing the cracked, glass cover with a rag. Since she wouldn't be able to walk for some time, she decided there wasn't any reason to rush.

Then suddenly, she was startled by a distinct slam outside her door, followed by a familiar voice shouting in aggravation. Groaning, Bulma placed the broken glass next to the other hollowed half of the radar and backed the rusty, old wheelchair away from the desk. The buffering rubber had worn away and the wheels creaked audibly as she moved herself towards the door, and reached for the handle with reluctance.

Vegeta was standing in the vacant hall, outside his temporary residence in the room adjacent to her own. To her dismay, the touchpad by his door was crushed and hanging from the wall by a single cable left intact. The door was open, despite the destroyed mechanism, with a prominent dent. His violent beating of the door had left the inset light over his stricken hair flickering.

Bulma was shaking her head at the smashed touchpad, before glancing in his direction. He was scowling over his shoulder from where he was standing with his back to her.

"Are you having…" Bulma muttered, exchanging glances with his intense gaze and the touchpad, "issues out here or something?"

Vegeta turned to face her as he crossed his arms and grumbled, "This hole in the ground is utterly boring, I feel I'll lose my mind!"

She noticed he was anxiously drumming his fingers against his bicep. Bulma struggled to contain a brief smile; she couldn't help but find the onset of his cabin fever amusing. Yet, she realized that this was the first time he had walked freely around the compound uninjured and without her company. The onslaught with the raptors or Freiza's soldiers the day prior would fail to satiate his desire to stir conflict. Bulma sighed; he would surely destroy the compound if he remained confined. Turmoil would be inevitable if she didn't complete the radar, either by Freiza's men or Vegeta's erratic temper. But she would give the haughty prince his just credit, he had protected her from certain death once again that day.

"Well, it's a bit early for you to go off the deep end just yet," Bulma remarked, studying one bare foot and another in a thick bandage, "I haven't fixed the radar yet and even still, I can't go anywhere until I recover."

She heard an impatient growl through his pursed lips. His jaw was taut, and his unhinged gaze upon her was fierce.

"You know, I told you there was a exercise room," Bulma stated emphatically as she leaned back in the wheelchair, "I'm sure it won't be up to your illustrious standards, but at least you could train for your reunion with Go—er, Kakarot."

Vegeta was staring at her suspiciously now, through heavily lidded eyes; as if he could detect that she was toying with him, but he didn't argue. Grumbling to himself again, he spun on his heels and stomped back down the corridor.

Bulma waited for him to turn the corner before she let her head fall over the leathery back of the wheelchair. What a bother; how would the time pass in peace at this rate? Shutting the door, she returned to the table and retrieved the dial and pliers. There wasn't any time to waste now.

After a moment of tinkering with the complex wiring, Bulma was struck with an epiphany. Yamcha spent the majority of his time in the exercise room. Smacking her palm against her forehead, she inwardly scolded herself.

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Could get pretty hairy...

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