The time that Vegeta had most certainly not been looking forward to had come - for him to actually speak with Kakarot.

A pit knotted in his stomach. His pride roared in his ears, screaming that he should not have to defer to such a low-class peon, one so far beneath himself in pedigree and status. Yet his power was undeniable. Not to mention he was quite unwilling to have a repeat of the episode that occured when he landed.

The room which Bulma had selected was spacious, yet not opulent. It was simple, and the few decorations were Spartan and did not show preference towards any particular color scheme, yet were not obnoxious in their difference. It was a far cry from the brutal efficiency with which PTO ships and quarters were furnished, with decorations often resulting in being spaced. Saiyans usually did not engage in opulent decor, preferring function to form, but they did have some appreciation for decorations.

The door opened and Kakarot walked in, followed by Nappa and Bulma. They all took a seat around the table and silence reigned supreme for a while.

Bulma was the first to talk, predictably. "Sorry for pulling you all into this, but...with things as they are, all of this tension is causing issues everywhere. I'm a little tired of seeing Mister Grumpyface over here just standing around, scared of what Goku's going to do to him if he sneezes." A vein popped out in Vegeta's forehead as he heard himself not only referred to as "Mister Grumpyface," but as being scared of anything.

A serious look settled onto Goku's face. "Bulma, I'm sure you know why I'm staying around here while he's here."

Bulma hesitated. "Yes Goku, I'm aware. But keep in mind that you killed one of his friends too... Well, Piccolo did, at least. I'm pretty sure he wasn't happy about that."

Nappa exhaled slightly harder than normal, humorlessly, at the understatement. Vegeta had had an apoplectic fit because one of the last Saiyans had been killed.

Vegeta spoke up, finally. "Kakarot."

Eyes turned immediately to the prince, who, uncharacteristically for one who was supposed to be royalty, felt a form of stage fright. "...I suppose I should start by saying that I am the Prince of Saiyans. I was not born to be mindful of others. Not mindful of their struggles, their feelings, or even their lives. Then, I found what it was like to have everything taken. Planet, people, and title. Gone, all because of an angry, belligerent, and paranoid Frieza. Saiyans are not in the habit of forgiving people. I expect no forgiveness, nor understanding, as I would give none in your position...as I did with Raditz."

Kakarot's eyes studied Vegeta's face. The prince did not avert his eyes under the inquisitive gaze, but matched it with one of his own.

Silence reigned supreme once more. Then Kakarot spoke. "You killed my son, and my friends to top it off. I think I would probably have ended you if you had asked me to forgive you. But..." Kakarot sighed. "I get your anger. It's what I felt when Raditz took my son. When I found him at the Check-in station..." He trailed off.

An uncomfortable feeling hung over the group. Then Kakarot spoke again. "I can't forgive you, not now. And I won't ever forget. Even though I will see my son again. That's all I can say." The Earth-raised Saiyan stood up from his chair. "As long as you don't hurt anyone here, you're free to live in peace. Don't ask me for support, though, and don't expect anything else from me. I'll always be watching you, somehow, someway. And if you think you can inflict damage before I can transform again..."

An angry flash of bright yellow ki drenched the room in golden blades of light.

"...I can do this at will now. As for you," he said, reversing the transformation and glaring at Nappa, "I expect you to do the same and watch yourself."

Two weeks passed before Goku and Vegeta crossed paths again. Bulma had just finished the gravity chamber, and both were rather eager to take a chance at it, Goku remembering his training with King Kai being exceptionally effective due to the increased gravity. Pride bristling, Vegeta refused to let Kakarot's glare dissuade him from engaging in training at the same time as the other Saiyan. Nappa was conspicuously absent, having sensed that there was going to be a power struggle between the two.

Due to having achieved the Super Saiyan form, Goku's power level had increased dramatically in his base form, his body having learned to handle the increased power and having a sort of "memory" for it. For Vegeta's part, his power level had also increased due to being turned into a hackysack by Kakarot when he had mashed him into a pulp. As a result, both could fight at fairly equal levels while Goku remained in base.

This of course was as bloody as one might expect. Both had an axe to grind, and neither was going to hold back (aside from an unspoken agreement for Kakarot to not use his transformation). This was evident from the first blow. Vegeta's fist crashed into Kakarot's forearm just as the other Saiyan swung his knee up to try a liver shot. Vegeta let the force of his own punch carry him away from Kakarot and he immediately twisted and lashed out with a kick. Blocked.

Punch, block. Kick, block. Elbow jab, dodged. Two-inch punch jab, connected. A wild sweep, connected. Veins bulged, pulses raced. A wild brawl ensued, each twisting and turning and punching and kicking at hyperspeed. The gravity bore down on them both, making them tire out some deal faster. Before long, both ran out of gas, neither having used a gravity chamber before and neither having fought in high gravity for so long with an equal opponent.

They lay on their backs in the gravity chamber, panting and wheezing. Sweat poured from each, and pooled in small puddles around them. A very unlucky cleanup bot struggled through the high gravity, trying desperately to sop up the puddles of potentially dangerous liquid. Its gears made horrible whines and squeaks of protest, but it soldiered on, as though it had something to prove.

Aside from the brave, titanic struggle of the robot, the gentle hum of the machine, and the heavy breathing of the two Saiyans, nothing could be heard in the chamber. Both were analyzing the fight.

Vegeta had three conclusions he drew from the brawl. One: Kakarot was a brilliant fighter, able to adapt between situations as they presented themselves, but as his temper grew, so did the force behind his attacks. Two: Kakarot had had much training from several teachers of different styles, and had mastered each and made them his own. He could switch fluidly between them, but was still limited by the fact that the strikes rarely sought to kill. This led into his third conclusion: Kakarot was capable of killing, but only did so as an absolute last resort. He did everything he could to avoid doing so.

If he was prepared to kill you, you were dead.

Just as much as Vegeta was analyzing his style, Goku was analyzing the prince's. It was raw, but clean, and felt as though it was on the verge of being animalistic. Still, it was measured and reasonable. Goku got the impression that Vegeta had had little in the way of formal training, and that the way he fought was naturally reactive and unbound because he was used to having to fight multiple different people that were trained and untrained.

Beyond that, more disturbingly, despite the obvious fact that Vegeta was holding back lethal moves, the open way his fighting style screamed that it was meant to kill resonated within every movement. It was obvious that the prince was used to killing, but that it troubled him more at one point.

Goku spoke first. "You weren't always willing to kill so quickly, were you?" he asked quietly.

Vegeta exhaled slightly. "So you know how to read someone in battle too. I suppose your Saiyan instincts aren't completely lost." The prince huffed in effort as he picked himself off the floor. "To answer your question, no. I was not always so quick to kill. That reluctance changes fast in the face of overwhelming fear and hatred." Vegeta hit a button on the console, bringing the gravity back to normal. The valiant cleaning robot squeaked in exuberant joy as the pressure lifted from its motors and other moving parts. "You'd be much the same as I had you grown up under Frieza's thumb. I might even venture to say you would be the type to enjoy it."

Silence reigned for a few minutes, an empty sovereign of the air, before Vegeta spoke again.

"I can tell that you don't like to kill, though, as you are, but you've killed before. I've never seen someone who has such an adept mastery of so many different fighting styles."

Goku shrugged. "I've had a lot of different masters teach me. My grandpa Gohan taught me how to fight first. Then it was Master Roshi - you've met him, he's the old man with the sunglasses - who taught me a whole lot too. Then there was Kami and Mr. Popo - who you shouldn't make angry - and finally King Kai."

Vegeta, understandably, was skeptical. "The old man? He couldn't take on a fly, let alone train a Saiyan!"

Goku shrugged again. "Strength alone doesn't make a good teacher."

A knock on the door to the chamber startled both Saiyans. Bulma's voice filtered in through the thick glass. "If you two are done turning each other into living lasagna, lunch will be ready in 20 minutes. Don't come to the table smelling like fermented armpits again." Then she traipsed off back to the workshop, presumably to continue working on the ship that would make the trip to Namek.

Vegeta harrumphed. "How you allow the women here to act like that, I will never understand. Your own wife is a banshee as well - " Before the prince could finish the sentence, a fist appeared, planting itself firmly into his face like an angry, fleshy tree. Vegeta was thrown bodily into the side of the chamber, leaving a fairly large dent in the metal.

Goku narrowed his eyes at the other Saiyan. "That's my wife you're talking about, Vegeta."

The prince's eyes widened, then he let out a bark of laughter. "Now there's a Saiyan if ever I saw one!" Still chuckling, the prince opened the door and walked out, ignoring the daggers he could feel being stared into his back.

The day had arrived for the trip to Namek. Finally, the ship had been finished, and preparations had been completed. Despite protestations from Mrs. Briefs, who had taken an odd liking to Vegeta, the surly Saiyan prince was going with Goku. Krillin would remain behind with Nappa, who was told by Vegeta to "...under no circumstances allow anything to happen to that Earth woman or her mother." Threats of gory disembowelment were made should he fail in his charge.

The sun shone brightly on the day chosen for takeoff. Birds sang sweet songs in the nearby park. The Capsule Corporation branded spaceship was wheeled out to one of the more remote locations on the park's land, to avoid rubbernecking tourists (and rival execs). Chi-Chi and Mrs. Briefs had made quite a spread for the whole gang, and insisted upon making a day of it.

So it was that the Prince of Saiyans came to be sitting on a frilly red and white cloth spread on the ground, munching on cheese, olive, and tomato spears. Polishing off yet another, he idly tossed the stick over his shoulder and surveyed the battlefield before him, trying to determine which opponent merited his attention. He finally settled on what appeared to be a meat pie of some sort, and began to systematically demolish its defenses.

Midway through his third sandwich, though, Kakarot frowned and looked up towards the sky. After several seconds of intense scrutinization, Vegeta noticed that the always-ravenous Kakarot had ceased his feasting. "What is it, Kakarot?" he grumbled through a mouthful of pie.

"... Someone's coming, and fast. They're strong, too..." Vegeta nearly choked on the bite of food he had in his mouth.

"What? How can you know?!"

"I can sense energy. I could have sworn I told you this before..." Kakarot trailed off. "They're coming here. They don't feel friendly. Friends of yours, Vegeta?" he asked pointedly, ice coating his words.

"Oh, just the best of buddies," a mocking, coky voice called out. Vegeta whirled around and...

There he stood, between a bowl of Cheetos and a platter of doughnuts, delicately sampling a shrimp kabob with no small interest.

Frieza.

I am sorry for the late update yet again. Life hates me at the moment.