Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.
Bulma
Year 756
She sits at the table in the common room, sketching out the design for her original dragonball radar. It should be an easy task – the first step towards building a far stronger scanner – but she is distracted by the three men sitting on the couches behind her.
There is no such thing as democracy in Saiyan culture.
Vegeta's words replay in her mind as she listens to him tell Nappa and Raditz that they are all leaving this planet. He speaks in Standard for her benefit, and although she has her back to them all, she can practically feel two sets of eyes throwing daggers at her from across the room.
The room falls silent as Vegeta finishes his explanation with simple orders: Raditz is to help her harvest all the remaining food in the garden and transplant all the plants they can take with them, while Nappa will ready the ship for take-off. They will leave in the evening.
And just like that, her world shifts once more.
. . .
Raditz is silent as he plucks beans from the vines that stretch in rows down the garden, dropping each one into a bucket, his movements surprisingly gentle for such a large man. He speaks only to ask which plants need to be brought back into the ship, and otherwise ignores her presence, despite the fact that she is working right beside him.
Saiyans, as it turns out, are very good at sulking when they don't get their way. It gets old quickly, and she lets out a frustrated sigh, digging her small shovel back into the soil with a bit more force than necessary.
"Just say it already," she demands, brushing a stray strand of hair back from her face with the back of her hand. "You're really pissed off at me right now because Vegeta listens to me instead of you boys."
Raditz' turns to face her, and for a tiny moment, she is terrified. He looms over her – she'd forgotten how fucking tall he actually is – and his expression is probably similar to the one he has worn on so many purging missions.
It is a cold hard reminder that she can't take for granted who he follows. Both Nappa and Raditz are loyal to Vegeta, not to her, and she doubts they will ever be.
The moment passes; Raditz snorts in that very Saiyan, dismissive way, and reaches back to scratch his neck in a move that gives her a familiar jolt because she's seen that before, on a younger Saiyan who had that same mouth, but much kinder eyes.
"I can't work out if you're just a crazy fucker leading us all to our deaths, or if your fucking nut-job plan will actually save us. Either way I have no say. I have never had any say. You come in with your Human ideals demanding Vegeta to listen to you, and what do you know, he does. You decide your fate, and mine along with it."
"It is the best chance of freedom any of us will ever have."
Raditz' laugh is cold and empty. "I don't give a shit about freedom. What freedom? Freedom is not a concept for third class Saiyans. You think my parents had the freedom to choose to ship my whelp of a brother off to your fucking shit-heap of a planet? You think I've ever had freedom in my life? Do you really think you are going to get the freedom you want out of this?"
She's angry now; she can't help it – she's never done well when someone uses that tone with her. It takes a fair amount of self-control to bite back her next comment, and she only does it because she can see how agitated Raditz is by the sharp whip of his tail through the air.
He sees it in her face, though, and steps back with a shake of his head. "If you think Vegeta's going to right all wrongs you're a fucking idiot," he tells her, and before she can move he takes to the air, sending loose soil flying in all directions with the force of his ki.
"Fuck you!" she screams after him, but it doesn't make her feel any better. Her anger isn't just aimed at Raditz, although his words leave her furious. Her anger is raw, jagged, dirty; she is angry at the universe, at every deity in existence, at Frieza, at her naïve sixteen-year-old self that used to wish for adventures and princes and anywhere-but-here.
If she could go anywhere, she would go back to Earth, back to her bright pink room that she had when she was sixteen, back to her mama and papa. If she could have one wish, she would bring it all back. That is the freedom she would choose. That is the dream.
Her hands shake as she picks the last of her beans, and she is suddenly so tired of pushing away her despair, but she does it anyway, because she has to, because life goes on, because things need to be done and she will not rest until she has won this fight.
She is not an idiot. She knows her dream is not the wish for freedom that she will get, even with the dragonballs.
Even so, with the dragonballs, with Frieza dead, she will be freer than she has been in a long time. For now, that has to be enough.
The wind whips around her in a sudden gust, shaking the vines that surround her. She dusts off her hands and picks up the bucket Raditz left lying on the ground, and continues on with the work that needs to be done.
A/N: I want to credit actress and performer Saraid Cameron's Drowning in Milk, of which I was lucky enough to watch an excerpt of last month, for the line 'raw, jagged, dirty' to describe anger. It resonated with me so much I couldn't help using it here, albeit in a completely different context.