I do not own DBZ
Fighting through the fogginess of the sedative, Bulma attempted to sit up. With great effort, she forced her arms to move as she made herself sit upright. She moved slowly, expecting to feel the now accustomed bursts of pain across her back. As she shifted she braced herself against the rush of agony but there was none. Based on the perfect organization, wall color and furniture orientation she quickly knew that she was back in Vegeta's room. Her little cot was gone and she was on his bed.
Rolling her shoulders back, she gritted her teeth as she tested her threshold of movement. Again, she felt nothing.
"What the hell?" she muttered to herself. Pushing herself up and off of the bed she walked to the bathroom. She was dressed in a garment that resembled a hospital gown. As she turned to see her reflection she was relieved that the back was closed unlike the ones back home. Pulling it off over her head, she held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut. Moving her head to look over her shoulder she peeked through one narrowly opened eyelid. Nothing was there. She released her breath and opened both eyes in disbelief.
"Impossible," she whispered as she turned away from the mirror.
Rubbing her eyes, she turned to look at the mirror again. Reflecting back were old scars from previous inflictions. Not a mark from Zarbon's last attack marred her skin. Strange giggles bubbled from her as she stared at herself. She was in shock from the lack of injury that should be there. Once her laughing subsided she walked to the closet leaving the sterile, medicine-smelling garment on the floor. She opened it and dug out one of the more comfortable button down shirts she was accustomed to wearing here. Digging through a drawer at the bottom, she found a pair of the bottoms she had stashed before she left. Just in case. Feeling more settled she reached her arms above her and arched into a long, deep stretch as stiff muscles protested the movement.
The door to the room opened, startling her. The figure in the doorway twisted her stomach into pure hatred. Vegeta's presence had her sidestepping to the far side of the bed, using it as a non-threatening obstacle between them. Stalking into the room, she noted the gashes and injuries he had before had disappeared like hers. He wore a fresh set of clothes with a new, sleeker, chest guard. This one lacked the shoulder and hip coverings that he had on before. His eyes had the same coldness, the same determination. Instead of the dark intense blackness from before, they were back to their normal brown. She returned his glare with one of her own. Knowing the only way she could get away from him was to go through him, she decided to stand her ground instead. She squared up her shoulders and jutted her chin out. It might not be a possibility to run from him, but she was going to try and show him that she wasn't afraid of him.
He walked to the foot of the bed and stopped. She watched as his eyes wandered over her. Not hungry and lustful like the others on the ship. His lingering gaze seemed more focused on what she was clothed in instead of what was hidden underneath. She felt herself heat in mild embarrassment realizing that she was wearing his shirt.
"We have business to discuss," he said as he took a seat on the bed, indicating that she was to kneel before him.
Reluctantly she obeyed, unsure of the consequence he would give if she decided staying put was a much better option. The carefully chosen word of discussion meant she would have a chance to express an opinion in whatever he wanted to talk about. It intrigued her enough to choose self-preservation over blatant defiance. She made sure her back was straight and kept her eyes as forward as she was willing to risk. Her gaze settled on the tan bands in his hand as he rolled them through his fingers.
"I am going to explain to you the new roll that you may choose to have on this ship." He addressed her. "I expect you to listen to what I have to say, without interruption, until I am finished. When I am done, you will be allowed to ask any questions that you may have. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir." She responded. Her stomach fluttered at the idea that she would be allowed to voice her actual opinion about something, even if it was through questions.
"You have permission to look at me when I speak to you. There's nothing I find more annoying than talking to the top of someone's head." He said.
Again, she replied "Yes sir," as she shifted her gaze up to his. Being this close to him and looking into his face sent another surge of anger towards him. She watched as he intently looked at her.
"It has become obvious that Zarbon has a personal goal of killing you," he began. "If I hadn't intervened on your behalf, twice, then you would not be alive and able to have this conversation. Although a number of the soldiers on this ship find your physical make-up to be alluring, the poise and polish that should complement such appearances are severely lacking. This, again, is a well-known fact which has made a number of the men, and a handful of women, take interest in the challenge of breaking your mouthy-ness. Already knowing your limited track record, if Zarbon doesn't kill you first then the frustration you seem to provoke that the others will experience will surely be your end. I'm not sure if this is the unpleasantly short road you would like to take for your existence."
Vegeta watched her as he paused to let his words sink in. She looked away from him to gather her thoughts. He allowed her the moment to do so. Based on what Nappa had told him about the rumors floating around the ship, she was completely oblivious to the path of hell she had put herself on. Although he was impressed by her tenacity when he startled her upon entering the room, it was that same attitude and courage that would get her killed. He knew the threat would be a smart tactic to get her to agree to take what he had to offer her into consideration before he would resort to force. When she looked back up at him, her obvious hatred of him was replaced with contemplative thought. He knew he had her attention.
"I will offer you guardianship from myself and my three comrades if you agree to help me with a personal conquest I've been striving to achieve since before my time working under Frieza. My people, the saiyan race, had a legend of a super-being. One that held more power than any other that existed in the universe. It is my quest to become this Super Saiyan of legend so that I may avenge the death of my planet and all that existed on it. It is your so-claimed knowledge of science that can help me achieve my goal. If you choose to accept, I will guarantee your survival on the ship."
A trouble expression crossed her face as she thought about his offer. Quietly she responded, "May I ask some questions?"
"You may." He allowed.
"What if I agree to try and help you on this goal of yours and I end up not being able to fulfill a legend that may or may not exist? What happens to me then?"
He smiled at her insightful question. "If your efforts fail, I will spare you the torture you will endure at the hands of others and be merciful with your end. That is if, and only if, you show impeccable effort. It is more than a legend. It is an actuality that occurs once every one thousand years according to our history. Since there are only four known saiyans left in existence, the chances of it happening are more likely than you may think."
He heard her swallow hard at his response. She looked away from him and down at her hands twisted in her lap. He saw a slight shiver course through her body as his words hit home.
"If you are protecting me, then what I am supposed to do when I'm not trying to turn you into a super-person?" She kept her eyes down, voice quivering with the heaviness of an impossible task thrown before her.
"Super Saiyan. You will continue to perform your morning and afternoon duties. When you are finished, you will report back here instead of completing your evening obligations of providing a distraction to the others on the ship. You will spend your time either with me or developing something to allow me to reach my goal." He was impressed with her ability to change the subject. It was well executed.
"How will you…" her voice trailed off as her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What if Zarbon finds me when you're not around?"
"Ah, an excellent question." He allowed a smile to slip through his serious expression. The thought of seeing Zarbon's face when he discovered her ownership was enough for him to hope he would be present for it. He held up the leather cuffs. "These cuffs are the mark of ownership, which is backed by Frieza. Only he is allowed to grant the ability to have personal slaves. If Zarbon, or anyone else on the ship, ignores the warning sign of the cuffs then it will be the last choice they ever make. Wearing these is an announcement that you can only be touched by me. You will be required to respect and act like any typical slave if you are given an order of basic service. If you disobey or fail to complete the request with the finesse expected, it will be reported to me and you will be punished by my hand or if I allow someone to step in on my behalf."
The color drained from her face as her eyes grew wide with fear. It was apparent that she was reliving the torture she was forced to endure by his hand from earlier. As her breathing grew raspy and her pupils started to dilate, he recognized she was moments away from a panic attack.
"Listen," he said sharply. The command in his voice was enough to pull her out of the hysterical spiral she was teetering on falling down. She looked at him as he spoke, "I will work with you to help you be more…poised…when being addressed and doing errands for others. There are other ways, besides drawing blood, that are just as effective in making you think twice before your mouth works before your brain can stop it."
His words sank in as her shoulders relaxed with understanding. He was careful not to promise to never harm her by marring that milky white skin, but instead gave her some comfort in knowing that she wouldn't push him to that point unless it was absolutely necessary.
"So I help you with becoming super-strength man and you will help me…not die?" She clarified.
"Super Saiyan. Yes, you have my word that I will do everything within my power to make sure that you will…not die…at the hands of anyone on the ship while you help me." The corner of his mouth lifted with her wording.
He was careful when he chose the words he used to explain the trade he was willing to agree to. It was his hope that being as direct and clear as possible would allow them to move past her memory of him from earlier and allow him some firm ground to make their scene more believable to Frieza. As long as the woman had the possible knowledge to help him seek revenge for his people, he would protect her for as long as he could. Before sitting down to this discussion, he had already decided he was not going to tell her about their expected performance. He would inform her of that later, if needed. If she figured out how to unlock the illusive secret of the Super Saiyan before then, she would be useless and her safety will no longer be his concern or obligation.
"Okay." She whispered with a hint of sadness. "I will help you."
He held out his hand, palm up as he looked at her expectantly. She stared at it for a moment before she realized the unspoken command for her hand. Gingerly, she lifted it from the tangle of fingers on her lap and held it towards him. She allowed it to hover over his as an internal battle raged with uncertainty. He knew it was one thing to talk about terms and conditions. The act of accepting them, however, always held more weight than words alone. With a final sigh, she lowered her hand into his in defeat.
The smoothness of her skin was mesmerizing. He rubbed his thumb over the top of her hand, entranced by its smoothness. The light color was a striking contrast against his olive skin tone. He understood how difficult it would be for her to place her hand in his. Feeling the light weight of her hand made him realize the weight of his promised responsibility towards her. His head spun as it hit him with full force. Such beauty and spirit that got her into so much trouble with Zarbon was now, willingly, giving her control to him. Despite how he had pushed her, tortured her, he was astounded that she put enough merit in his words to come through with his promise. Suddenly his thought of her being dispensable sat in his stomach like a heavy ball of lead.
Keeping his composure smooth and his demeanor focused on business, he latched the soft leather onto her wrist. Indicating for the other, she placed it in his hand with little hesitation. He secured the second cuff and placed her hand back in her lap. She looked down at them as her fingers grazed over their softness. He watched as she slipped a finger underneath, an almost hidden smile spread across her face as she felt the decadently soft fur. She looked back up at him with gratitude. The knowledge that, for now, she was safe visibly brightened her mood.
"Kakarot is outside and will escort you back to your room. Your morning duties are only a couple hours away so you still have time to rest up. Tomorrow evening, you are to report back…and make sure you wear what you have on, too. Understood?"
"Yes, sir." she said, happy enthusiasm warmed her voice.
He nodded her dismissal. He watched as she eagerly stood and headed towards the door. Before walking out, she turned back and looked at him. "Sir…thank you."
She disappeared beyond the threshold as he stared after her in disbelief.