Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.
A/N: My apologies for the delayed update; I had real trouble writing this chapter (the working title was 'chapter 11, third attempt') until last night, when it suddenly burst forth in a mad rush!
Many thanks to the lovely mibi chan for reading over this for me! If you haven't already, you need to check out her work!
A few chapters ago I changed the picture for this story to something I had drawn... I've changed it again a while back, to something drawn by one of my favourite B/V artists. I think this picture better reflects the angsty nature of this fic.
Vegeta
Year 753
He stands before Frieza, Nappa and Raditz flanking him on either side. His fists are balled tightly, his jaw clenched as he endures the many insults thrown his way. The word monkey is enough to make the fur on his tail stand on end. Frieza knows this, and makes the most of the opportunity he has.
Frieza's little speech is cut short by the hiss of the door, and they all turn their heads as Zarbon strides in, half-dragging the mastertech woman – Bulma – behind him. Her white uniform is covered in black blood, and the stench of death fills the air. She glances at him for a moment, her eyes half-wild, her face and hair splattered with gore, before she jerks her head away. He watches, his mind still trying to process what he is seeing, as her expression changes to that of a blank mask. She wrenches her arm out of Zarbon's grip and stands tall, her shoulders back. He hears Raditz snort behind him as she dares to look Frieza in the eye.
He doesn't miss the way that Frieza's tail twitches in agitation. "What is the meaning of this?" the lizard asks, glaring over the woman's head at Zarbon.
"She killed one of the soldiers, sire." Zarbon gestures to the small object in his hand. "With this gu –"
"It's a prototype, Lord Frieza," she interrupts. Her voice is clear and strong, and echoes through the room. The look on Zarbon's face is priceless; one of complete shock. He must think the girl is suicidal. Perhaps she is.
If she wanted the full force of Frieza's glare, she has it. She endures it without speaking, though he notices the way the hand at her side trembles. She looks pale, a sickly white that highlights the black blood on her face. He recognizes the stench of it now – it's that of a Gripfrob. She's killed one of the soldiers. He doesn't believe it.
Frieza's eyes narrow. "Bring me that weapon, Bulma."
She nods once, and takes the tiny gun from Zarbon's hand. Her arm is steady as she steps forward holding the weapon outstretched an unsuspecting lamb for the slaughter. Frieza's tail is around her neck in an instant, the air wheezing out of her as she is lifted from the floor. The gun falls to the ground, rattling noisily against the cold tiles.
The woman's hands grab at the tail for a moment, her legs kicking pathetically. "A soldier is expensive to replace, Bulma," Frieza says, waving one finger at her as if she were a child. "Naughty girl."
She does nothing but gurgle in reply, and Frieza laughs, his tail suddenly unraveling so that she falls to the floor in a heap. She lies face down, wheezing, and gasping for air, a bent little ball on the floor.
"What improvements need to be made to the gun?" Frieza waits for only a moment before repeating himself, his voice shrieking this time. "WHAT IMPROVEMENTS NEED TO BE MADE TO THE GUN, YOU PATHETIC CHILD?!" The woman flinches, her shoulders hunching towards the floor.
"It charges slowly," she croaks, her voice breaking. "It can only fire one shot per ten seconds… not… it's not effective. I can improve the design."
Frieza stares at her for a moment. "Tch. Next time you will let me know before you choose to test out your designs. I can organize the subjects. I'm sure the monkeys would make good targets."
He doubts very much that the woman could make anything strong enough to pierce his skin, but she nods pathetically, wheezing out a "Yes, Lord Frieza."
Frieza's eyes turn this way, red irises piercing as they land on him. "Get her out of here." He doesn't need to be told twice; he moves forward swiftly, grabbing at the woman by the back of her dress. She whines and reaches weakly for the gun – he grabs this too and turns, dragging her and he heads for the door. He has no desire for Frieza to put him in a tank again.
Nappa and Raditz follow closely behind. They stride down the hall, past staring techs and into the nearest elevator. He lets go of the woman as the door closes; she stumbles back against the wall, her blue eyes wide.
"Give me my gun." Her voice is hoarse, and she grits her teeth, breathing heavily. Her neck is red and swollen, dark bruises already beginning to form.
He snorts, smirking. If this little debacle of hers has shown him one thing, it's that she's too valuable for Frieza to kill. It's more than enough proof that she is developing the weaponry – the ki-draining technology – that he has suspected.
"Why should I?" he asks, holding the gun between his gloved hands. She flinches as his fingers hover over a small button on the side of the weapon, and he pauses, his lips pulling back in a wolfish grin as he looks at her.
"What?" he asks. "You don't want me to push this? Will it shoot?" He aims the weapon at her wide-eyed face, chuckling. How easy. He could shoot her dead here in the elevator and pretend it was an accident, that her pathetic little gun went off in her hands. Frieza's ki-drainers would never be built, then. "Keep the door closed," he tells Raditz over his shoulder.
She is frozen in shock as he presses down on the button. The entire weapon disappears, and he grunts as a tiny pill drops from between his hands to the floor. He stares at it for a moment, unable to comprehend what just happened.
His eyes meet hers, bright blue like the seas of Xitha 9. They close, her entire body sighing in resignation. When her eyes open again they show nothing but determination. She steps forward, and he is frozen as she encroaches on his personal space in front of his men, her chest pressing against his as her head leans forward so that her lips brush at his ear.
"This elevator's bugged," she whispers quietly, "but there's no camera. Frieza doesn't know about the capsule technology. He can't know." She pauses, her body trembling against his, her breath feathering across his neck. "I want him dead," she says.
She steps back swiftly, bending to pick up the fallen pill. It sits in the palm of her hand that is still stained with dried blood. She pinches the object between her fingers, twists it, and in an instant her weapon appears in its place, falling into her open hands.
She tucks this down the front of her chest plate, before looking up at Nappa. "Can you press the button for the L-deck?" she asks, a little too loudly.
Nappa looks to him, and all four in the elevator stare at each other in an odd impasse. He nods, once, and Nappa presses the 'L' button. The elevator jumps slightly as it begins to move.
Seconds later the bell chimes, and the woman steps forward. His arm shoots out to grab her around the waist before he even knows what he's doing. He leans forward, until his nose is buried in her long blue hair. "You are going to explain all of this," he hisses in her ear before shoving her out the door.
The door closes behind her, leaving the stench of dead Gripfrob in the air. "Ho-ly fuck," Raditz says. He and Nappa would have heard all that she said, and the implication of this is something that he needs to consider.
"Indeed," he replies, staring at the closed door.