Chapter 8: The Standoff
"He's been in there for six straight days." Dr. Briefs said in amazement. Up till now, three days had been the prince's maximum stay in the capsule.
"So! Let him kill himself! Who cares!" Bulma grumbled angrily. She rummaged through her desk drawer trying to find a screwdriver.
"Can't you get him to come out?"
She blew a strand of hair out of her face and looked up at her father. "I tried. He just screamed at me to leave him alone then called me some not so very nice names. Then he shut the vid screen off on his end."
Dr. Briefs scratched his chin. "Can't you override it?"
'No. he must have destroyed the panel. The jerk. Now I'll have to fix it again."
"Maybe I should override the main controls and shut the whole machine down."
"I wouldn't do that. Just leave him alone. We'll keep an eye open and drag his sorry carcass out when he collapses." She slammed the drawer shut, looking around in disgust. "Where's that damn screwdriver!?"
Every muscle in his body ached. Sweat dripped from his face, stinging his eyes. He couldn't even form a ki ball anymore he was so tired. But anything was better than going to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, there she was. Invading his dreams with her big blue eyes, flowery scent and soft warm body.
Rage filled him. Why was he so obsessed with that woman? She was nothing. A bug to squash under his boot.
"Leave-me-alone!" he screamed. His ki flaring brilliantly, causing the control panel to blink warnings. The circuitry sizzled and popped, the walls vibrated. Bang! The controls exploded, but at least the reinforced walls withstood the blast this time.
Bulma and Dr. Briefs looked up from the computer readouts. "Now what's that idiot done!?" they both jumped up and ran out to the lawn. The capsule was still there, but smoke boiled from the control panel on the ships exterior.
The door opened and Vegeta stumbled out, coughing a little from the smoke. The woman was at the bottom of the ramp, frowning furiously. "Your pathetic machine is broken, baka. Fix it."
"When I get time, asshole! Look at you! You look like Goku beat the shit out of you again." She put her hands on her hips and sniffed, wrinkling her nose. "Don't you know how to bathe?"
He snarled. "I'm going to take a shower now woman! When I get out I expect some food to be prepared, so get your sorry useless ass in the kitchen! I'm starving!" he smiled inwardly at the indignant furious look on her beautiful face as he walked into the house.
Bulma sputtered. Her father tried to suppress his laughter at her glare. "Who does he think he is? Ordering me around! I'm not his slave! He can starve!" she stormed back to the lab.
Dr. Briefs sighed and walked into the kitchen where his wife was sitting at the table arranging a vase full of fresh cut flowers.
She smiled. "Hello dear. I saw Vegeta come through. Guess he broke his play room again, huh?"
"Yes. And he's hungry, too. You might ought to whip him something up. I don't believe Bulma is in the mood to do it." He chuckled.
"I just don't get those two. They're so attracted to each other but you'd think they couldn't stand the thought of being together. Their so stubborn." She finished her arrangement and went to the fridge. "I'll fix him a few dozen sandwiches to go with this potato salad. Hmm. Maybe this leg of lamb left over from dinner last night too."
Hours later, Vegeta sat outside on the veranda. A glass of tea in his hand. He stared at the setting sun, realizing he had never really noticed any of the beauty surrounding a sunset before. Destruction had been his only goal. Frowning, he thought back on his life. What exactly had he accomplished? He had spent almost his entire life under Frieza's thumb. A hired killer. Never in control of his own destiny. A toady. He frowned even more.
Since he had lived here, he was actually in charge of his own life. He was choosing to stay and fight the androids. He chose to defend this miserable dirt ball he now called home. Home. A word he hadn't allowed himself to use in over twenty-five years.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
He jumped slightly, the soft voice startling him out of his thoughts. He shrugged indifferently and humphed.
Mrs. Briefs leaned on the rail, watching the sun dip below the horizon. The darkening sky beginning to twinkle with the first stars of twilight. "Isn't it nice, to just be able to sit and watch the sunset, and know that your free and safe. At least for awhile anyways."
Free. He mulled the word over in his mind. Was anyone ever truly free? He knew he was physically free. But his desire to defeat Kakarot kept him prisoner. The desire to be a Super Saiyan, to taste that kind of power. Was that a prison of its own making also?
They sat in silence for several long moments before he felt a light touch on his shoulder. He looked up at her. The thought of her hand on his shoulder didn't seem to bother him now. Had he changed so much already?
"You know Vegeta, this is your home now, and we all consider you family. So whatever happens in the future, you'll always be welcome here. Don't forget that. Goodnight dear." She walked back into the house, leaving him alone in the darkening night.
His chest tightened a little. Family? He didn't need nor want one. But the thought of being part of something like that sent a turmoil of conflicting emotions through him. Sighing, he turned to the door and headed for his room.
The door to her room was open as he walked by. She was sitting in front of her vanity, brushing her hair. That stupid frizzy perm had finally relaxed and her hair fell in soft waves around her bare shoulders. The silk thigh length nighty hugged her frame, revealing long satiny legs.
He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. "Putting on a show for me?" he smirked.
She jerked around at the sound of his voice and banged her knee on the dresser. "Ow! Damn you! Stop sneaking around. And how does brushing my hair constitute as a show?"
He arched a black brow, his gaze sliding over her figure causing his heartbeat to quicken.
"Well, get an eye full why don't ya! Like what you're seeing?" she asked sarcastically.
He humphed indifferently. "I've seen better."
"Liar!" she flushed, throwing her brush at him. He caught it and twirled it around in his fingers before tossing it back on the dresser.
"You're conceded, woman."
"Oh? And you're not? Mr. High and Mighty, fix this, cook that, treat me like a god!?" she stood up so she could make herself a little more menacing.
His cold eyes glinted in the lamp light. "I'm the prince of all Saiyans woman. You'd do well to remember that. I won't stand for your lip, baka." She was only inches from him. He could smell the sweet scent of her skin and hair.
"Your not a prince here! You're a guest in my home and I deserve some respect too ya know! How hard would it be to say thank you every now and then? Or call me by my name! I have a name! Use it sometime!"
He bent his head until their noses were almost touching. "You give me respect woman. I'm staying here to keep your ass alive, in case you've forgotten. That's more than that sorry baka you're always fighting with. He won't stand a chance."
"You leave Yamcha out of this! He might not be as strong as you, but he's a good man. And he's willing to die for what he holds dear! You're only fighting to prove a point. You don't care about anything." She whispered vehemently. Her body was beginning to tremble at his closeness. She could feel the heat radiating from him, warming her skin through her night gown.
"I quit caring a long time ago. When I lost everything that was mine. You have no idea what that's like woman. Be thankful I decided to stick around and save these puny humans." He saw her eyes soften. Pity? Sorrow? He wanted none of that. His hands grabbed her hips and pulled her into him. Her soft body molded itself to his taught muscles.
Her eyes opened wide in surprise. He captured her lips with his, expecting resistance, but pleased when she leaned into him even more and wound her arms around his neck. Her fingers burying deep in his black hair. He lost himself in that kiss. Fire burned inside him as he let his hands roam over her soft skin. They found the soft silky strands that fell across her shoulders. It felt just like he imagined it would.
Breaking the kiss, he stared into her eyes. They were filled with desire, hope and fear. He could forget everything with her. Alarms went off in his mind.
She watched the warmth fade like day to night as the regular guarded expression slipped back into place. His cheeks flushed.
"No. I will not let myself be soiled by a pathetic, weak human." He stepped back, trying to ignore the hurt look on her face. It was quickly replace with anger.
"Soiled? Soiled! Why you egotistical hypocrite! You'd be lucky to get someone half as good as me!"
"Lucky? More like cursed." He quipped, a smug look on his face.
"Oooooh! Drop dead, jackass!" she shouted and slammed the door in his face.
He stood there for a minute, fighting the urge to break the door down and ring her pretty little neck. Instead, he went to his room and laid down on the bed, staring into the dark. Thankfully, sleep took pity on him and gave him a night of black emptiness.
Bulma, on the other hand, fumed for most of the night. Never had she felt so insulted. 'Soiled.' She snorted. 'He sure didn't act like he was being soiled when he was kissing me! Damn him. Now what? How am I supposed to face him tomorrow? I wish Yamcha would kiss me like that.' She frowned into the dark. Yamcha. Things had been strained between them the last few months. He hardly came around anymore. 'Maybe I should call him tomorrow.' The thought only brought half a smile. The sun was beginning to turn the sky soft shades of pink when she finally dozed off.