Disclaimer--*hands over large stack of DBZ fanfics* I already said that I didn't own any of these—you think I'm going to start claiming otherwise now?!
A/N—Not much to say, I think I updated fast, so quit sending me hate mail! (just kidding) Hope this lives up to what LED up to it! Oh, and if you asked me a question, it's been addressed under (duh) QUESTIONS!
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As soon as Vegeta touched down in the Capsule compound, Videl resumed her angry yelps of protest.
Stomping inside, Vegeta tossed Gohan unceremoniously on one of the large couches, and flung Videl roughly into an overstuffed armchair, only to hover over her and glower.
"What the hell are you talking about, girl," Vegeta asked in a near growl. He'd only caught bits and pieces of Videl's rant on the way inside, but what he had caught had included Gohan and the word murderer in the same sentence.
Videl glared at the man looming over her. He wasn't that much taller than she was, and she'd yet to meet her match in a fair fight, but somehow, this man just exuded menace. He actually frightened her.
Regardless, Videl had her pride. She wasn't just some mindless sack of potatos this guy could toss around whenever he felt like it. "Oh, finally listening to me? You didn't seem to be listening much when I said NOT to pick me up, NOT to fly through the air, and NOT to bring me here! Why start now?"
Had the situation been different, Vegeta might have been amused at the girl's spunk. Glancing over at the deathly pale and still unconscious Gohan, however, he was distinctly otherwise. "I asked you a question, girl. What did you do to the brat to put him in this condition?"
Videl glowered, but answered. It seemed like the best way to get her own questions addressed. "I asked him if he was a murderer. I've suspected for a long time that he was Saiyaman, and this morning he dropped something that finally confirmed it for me. On the same piece of paper, he mentions that he'd killed people. All I wanted to know is if it's true. It's just as simple as that." Videl finished cooly.
Vegeta could hardly believe his ears. The girl was smart, and when fate tossed her a tidbit, she had pounced, jumping to all of the right conclusions, knowing none of the circumstances beyond those bare facts.
Somewhere, down beyond that cold shield he'd erected for the world, Vegeta felt a tenuous sort of kinship with Gohan. He saw the boy as what he himself could have been—had he escaped Frieza earlier. Of all the people on this backwards mudball where he now found himself, only Gohan could truly understand his past. And he didn't need to tell him either; a weakness which the proud Saiyan prince would never have allowed himself.
Gohan knew Vegeta's past because it was his own. Up until the age of eight, Gohan had played toy to an evil tyrant's will; they were same race, had had the same master, endured the same torment. Deny it as he might, Vegeta felt he owed the boy something. Something that went beyond the mere bonds of commonality that they shared. Had Vegeta been a little more successful in his own struggles, perhaps Gohan's fate could have been averted.
Vegeta glared measuringly back at Videl. "It's not as simple as that, girl. Real things never are. Are you ready for the truth, or do you want another comforting lie, like the one your father concocted for those soft, weak-minded humans outside?" Oh, yes. Vegeta recognized her—how could he not? He found it only slightly ironic that the spawn of Hercule Satan, the one who had ripped away the boy's glory and used it to shroud his own shoulders, should become Gohan's friend.
Videl didn't quite know what to say. Comforting lie? Like the one her father had….what was he talking about? "I don't know what you're hinting at, but my father is a great man! And you think I've never had to face reality? I don't know who you are, or what you've been through, but my life has been plenty real, thank you very much!" Videl's mind flashed back to her mother's face, covered in blood as the paramedics had pulled her daughter from her grasp. The eyes had been cool and lifeless. It had seemed to take forever for anyone to get there. Videl had been left alone in the car for what seemed like hours, her only contact with reality the slow drip of the broken oil line, and the macabre embrace of her dead mother's arms. Videl shuddered at the old memory. She had learned what death looked like that day.
Vegeta glared at the distracted Videl. Thought she knew what reality looked like, did she? Maybe it was time for a wake-up call. "You know nothing, girl." Vegeta stated harshly. "You really think whatever pitiful hardships you've been through could possibly measure up? Perhaps you do. Well then, child, let me educate you." In a calm, cold voice, Vegeta detailed the little of Gohan's early childhood that he knew. When there was a gap, and he wanted to give his tale some emphasis, Vegeta'd insert snippets from his own past. No matter. They were largely the same.
Videl glared incredulously at the man before her, slightly sick to her stomach. Who the hell did he think he was fooling, anyway? Kidnapped as a child by an evil space alien? Tortured at the whim of that same alien, who gained some kind of twisted masochistic pleasure from pain? Forced to kill under threat of yet more torture? Right. The man might be good storyteller—his words were gruesome enough to twist her stomache until bile rose up in the back of her throat, but he obviously had a few screws loose.
Vegeta almost growled in frustration at the Videl's doubting glare. He hadn't even included the Cell Games, the fact that Gohan was part alien, or that he'd committed suicide and come back to life, and it was still too much for her. "What? Can't handle it, girl?"
Videl pushed down her queasiness and smirked at the man, "I thought you said you were going to tell me the truth. Instead you concoct some fantasy. A very good fantasy mind you—I think you should go into fiction. You'd make a terrific horror writer."
Vegeta fought down the urge to kill the snippy little brat. She was cocky. She was impudent. She was snide. She was completely and totally wrong, and in for a rude awakening. "You want truth girl?" Vegeta asked, his voice deadly quiet.
Walking over to the couch where Gohan lay, Vegeta reached out and ripped the shirt from the boy's still form, presenting Videl with his scarred and mutilated back. In addition to the still angry-looking lash marks, knobby raised reminders of his regular beatings, other scars littered Gohan's young body, cruel evidence of his harsh past. There were too many to count. All in all it was like a dark and evil poem etched into flesh. A terrible map that plotted out the path of Gohan's suffering. Vegeta smirked a bit at the look on Videl's face. "You wanted reality, girl, well here you have it. This is real. Sometimes the truth is a bit hard too swallow."
Videl sat frozen with shock. Suddenly, incomprehensibly, she believed, without reservation. How could she not, now? Silence filled the room as Videl struggled to come to grips with what she had just learned.
Before he had died, Mr. Mazuki had been teaching them the Shakespearean play Hamlet, and one particular line of the old tragedy smashed through her brain for some reason.
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
Somehow, it seemed particularly appropriate at this moment. Videl's philosophy, her reality, once so rock solid, now seemed pitted with holes. Wrong and right, once black and white, had now faded to fuzzed shades of grey. There were no absolutes.
Videl struggled silently to come to terms with these new revelations, and surprisingly, Vegeta let her. That was how Bulma found them. Gohan shirtless, and passed out on the living room couch, and Vegeta standing silent, arms crossed over the young girl who was lost in thought, a look of horror and indescribable confusion etched across her face.
Walking softly up, Bulma poked Vegeta in the side. "Hey," she whispered, "I thought you said you needed my help."
Vegeta snorted. It was true he'd told his bondmate that he was coming, but he'd never needed help. "Ha. I didn't need your help, woman. I just didn't want to bother, and if you hadn't taken so damned long, I wouldn't have had to."
Bulma smiled at his back as Vegeta made his way quickly out of the room, dignity still intact. She'd long gotten used to what anyone else would consider as rude, as an everyday part of Vegeta—normally she'd be annoyed, but, this time at least—she knew he didn't mean it.
Looking at the half nude Gohan, and Videl in the armchair before her, still entirely oblivious to the change of the guard, Bulma sighed. Calling in her server robots, she set about getting Gohan into a bed, and putting back together the shell-shocked mind of Satan Videl.
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Vegeta stomped angrily towards his training room. Why had he done that anyway? He had no obligation to the boy—much less an obligation to plead the brat's case to his little girlfriend—the offspring of that moronic twit Hercule, no less!
A low, deep sense of shame began to burn in Vegeta. He was getting soft. Like Kakarott. He was becoming weak, like the man he strove everyday to surpass. Even though his rival was long dead, Vegeta knew that he would return one day—he had to. Vegeta had to beat Kakarott! Without that goal he was….nothing.
Shoving the insidious thoughts aside, Vegeta pushed open the door to the gravity room and stamped inside. As preoccupied as he was, he didn't even see the blast before it smashed him into the other side of the room.
Dazedly, Vegeta shook his aching head, looking around for the enemy that dared strike at him in such a cowardly manner. As his wavering vision sharpened, the small army before him solidified into one person.
Vegeta was shocked to see his son standing before him, sheepishly rubbing his head with that silly little grin he had picked up from Kakkarot's second brat. It took a moment of fury-filled internal cursing for it to finally register: Trunks was a Super Saiyan.
Vegeta groaned and stifled the urge to throttle the boy. A mixture of anger, pride and incredulity raged through his veins. All directed at the same target—his son.
Trunks smiled timidly at his father. He hadn't noticed him coming towards the room or he would have dropped Super Saiyan, but it was too late. His little secret was out.
Grunting, pride won the internal war Vegeta was fighting. In light of these new revelations, he couldn't help but wonder—exactly how strong was his son? Strong enough to beat Kakarott's second boy?
Calling Trunks to a halt, Vegeta glared at him. Time to test this new-found power out.
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Bulma spoke gently to the shaky girl sitting at her table, watching sympathetically as one slow, genuine tear inched its way down Videl's cheek, escaping despite the iron-hard control she was so obviously trying to exercize.
"So, Gohan, he was really…" Videl trailed off. Which of the horrors to list? The man—Vegeta—had said that Gohan was beaten regularly within an inch of his life, forced to play sexual toy to some of the more twisted among the crew, and forced to murder—murder more people than she'd ever thought had even existed. Which atrocity should she seek confirmation of first?
Bulma, watching Videl's inner struggle, was conflicted. What could she do—what could she say to help this girl understand? It was obvious that Gohan cared about her—he'd often talked of Videl in the past, seemingly unaware that he was doing so, and Bulma didn't want to be the one to mess it up for him—the one to scare her away.
Bulma blinked as a sudden idea struck her, "Hey. I've got an idea. We're having a sort of, err…birthday party here for Gohan in about a week," Actually it was more of a re-birth party, celebrating the day that Gohan had returned to life three years ago, but Videl didn't need to know that, "How would you like to come? Maybe it would help you to understand if you could talk to Gohan's family, and some of his friends."
Videl blinked, somewhat uncertainly. For the first time in years, she was at a loss, and craving direction, "Do…do you think so? They all know about what that man—Vegeta—said?"
Bulma nodded slowly, "Some of it at least. I really think it would help." She stated firmly.
Videl nodded and attempted a smile. "Ok then. If you think so."
Whatever Bulma was about to say next was cut off by a wild hooting sound that filled the house. Bulma watched in astonishment as her howling red-faced son streaked through the kitchen.
"Dad's taking me to the PARK!!!" Trunks hollered ecstatically.
The park? Bulma turned her gaze to the sanguine man resting against the doorway, and Vegeta just snorted and turned away.
Bulma and Videl, each with varying degrees of amusement and confusion towards the little scene, watched in silence as Vegeta let his son pull him out of the house and towards the park.
Bulma shook her head in bemusement. Vegeta. He never ceased to amaze her.
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Somewhere in Heaven, another pair of eyes watched the little scene. The seven-year anniversary of his death was coming up, and he knew just how he wanted to spend his one day on earth. He had promised to be there if Gohan ever needed him, and it looked like it was time for him to fulfill that promise. "I'm coming, son."
***I don't try to make evil cliffy's….they just sorta…happen. Oh, and Nemi Genn? I'm dying to know…what does 'Watashi wa bakabakashii desuyo' mean? From that bakabaka, I doubt it's good, but still….the curiosity is eating me up! I MUST KNOW! Err….yeah. R&R Please!!! ***