Falling Down Part Ten
A Dragonball Z fanfic
By Hana Noir
Sheriff Dobson scowled down at the pile of paperwork on his desk. The mysterious deaths had stopped since the last attack, but he still felt uneasy. And the identity of that strange young woman bothered him. He just KNEW he had seen her face somewhere before…
It came to him as he was filing away papers in the file cabinet behind his desk. He scrambled for the box next to his desk where he tossed old bulletins and notices and began to root through it. Just when he thought he had been mistaken, he found it. An all points bulletin and a rap sheet on one "Eve Smith". She had been wanted, at least a year ago, for one count of malicious destruction of government property, one count of terrorist actions, two counts of possession of illegal explosives, one count of murder and two counts of attempted murder.
Dobson sat down in the chair, staring at the picture on the printout. She didn't look all that different than the young woman he had run into three days ago. The main difference was the hairstyle, it was slightly longer now than it was in the picture. Staring down at the paper in his hand, he couldn't help but to wonder what a wanted terrorist was doing in a sleepy little town like Peppercorn. And why she had bothered to help. Could she know why people were dying? Could she be involved? He frowned and placed the papers on his desk where he could look at them again later. None of his questions would matter if she never returned.
He booted his computer and clicked onto the law enforcement mainframe, typing in a request for more information, adding the case number on the rap sheet. He couldn't help but to wonder what he would find. Some answers were preferable to none at all…
*******
Piccolo folded his arms over his chest and concentrated on not losing his temper with the arrogant Saiyajin leaning against a wall of the gravity chamber. Vegeta merely lifted a brow and smirked wider. "So," Piccolo said calmly. "You won't help?"
"Did I stutter?" Vegeta snapped, abandoning his indolent pose. "Did I not make myself clear? I-will-not-help-you!!" Piccolo stared down at him impassively, and the two locked eyes in a silent struggle. They both jumped when the door to the gravity room slid open with a loud thunk.
Kyrie and Bulma came in, the latter carrying little Trunks. Kyrie's face was blank, revealing nothing, but Bulma's sorrow and disappointment filled her blue eyes. Vegeta's face softened fractionally, then he looked away.
"What do you two want?" he spat angrily, pushing away from the wall.
Kyrie shook her head, looking faintly annoyed. "I don't want a damn thing from you. I came looking for Piccolo. What makes you think that the world revolves around you?" Vegeta's fists clenched and he took a step toward the arrogant woman.
Piccolo tensed, ready to intervene if Vegeta attacked. But to his surprise, it was Bulma who stepped forward. She placed a hand on Kyrie's arm and shook her head. "Here," she said softly, her eyes meeting Vegeta's and never straying. "Would you take Trunks back to the house? I need to speak with Vegeta for a moment."
"Uh… okay," Kyrie replied, taking the toddler from his mother. "Hey, big guy. What's say we go see if your grandma has any of those cookies left?" The child's earsplitting squeal made Piccolo flinch slightly. Come on, she added in a mental aside to Piccolo. I think they need some time alone.
Kyrie had barely ushered Piccolo out the door and closed it when Bulma let loose. She was angry, frustrated, disappointed and all but heartbroken when she rounded on Vegeta. "What's wrong with you?" she asked him, her small hands balling into fists at her side. The Saiyajin stared across the room, eyes dark and narrowed in anger. "I know we've never had the most communicative relationship in the world, Vegeta, but this isn't like you!"
He winced slightly, uncomfortable with the reminder of how well she knew him. "I have my reasons, woman," he finally said, turning his back. "Don't question me." Bulma was agape at his coolness, but she quickly recovered her wits.
"Vegeta, I was angry when you didn't stop Piccolo when he flipped out, but that was weeks ago. You haven't so much as spoken a word to me that you haven't been forced to," she said, moving a bit closer. "Are you mad at me because I hit you?"
Vegeta snorted at the silly notion. "Feh. Woman, that was a love tap for a Saiyajin. Your puny blows have no effect on me."
Bulma sighed, determined not to be sidetracked. "But nonetheless, something's wrong with you. I've never known you to back away from a fight of any kind."
That struck home. Vegeta's head came up and he glared at Bulma. "Are you calling me a coward??" he growled, baring his teeth at her.
She shook her head, ignoring his temper. "You said it, not me. Is there something you're scared of?"
"Don't be foolish!" Vegeta began pacing in an effort to release the nervous tension building in his body. "If you ever even dare to suggest—" He broke off when she stepped in front of him and placed a finger on his lips. He froze at the gentle touch that he had missed for so many days, staring in astonishment at the fragile human woman standing before him. The sadness in her eyes was almost enough to make him break down. Almost…
Pride stiffened his spine and he shook his head, moving away from her. Bulma was nothing if not persistent however and she pursued with all the relentless patience of a hunter stalking prey. "Vegeta, tell me," she ordered softly. "Please?"
He growled in frustration and ran a hand through his hair, making the stiff mane even wilder. "Woman…" He inhaled raggedly as she embraced him from behind, pressing her face against the hollow between his shoulderblades and wrapping her arms around his waist. "Why can't you just let it be?"
"Because," she said matter of factly, "I can see how disturbed this makes you. I don't like seeing you unhappy." He snorted slightly at her typically human response, even as he was unwillingly warmed by her concern.
"Fine…" he growled, knowing that she wouldn't leave him alone until she got answers. "I… am uncomfortable with the idea of fighting a powerful esper." He paused, gauging her reaction. "Frieza… enjoyed using espers on his captives, both as a means of torture as well as to extract information. He liked watching their minds being broken, hearing them scream as every detail of their life was extracted, unwillingly, from them. I… disobeyed him once, when I was little more than a child. He delivered me to his personal inquisitor, and instructed him to 'be gentle'." Vegeta snorted, his lips curling up in a sneer. "Most espers went insane after a few months in Frieza's service. Those who didn't were the most sadistic, evil, unfeeling creatures that could possibly exist. They learned to enjoy the pain they inflicted. I was little better than a vegetable by the time I was released. It took almost a year for me to recover."
Bulma's eyes were closed tightly, tears straining against her eyelids at the cool, matter-of-fact tone that Vegeta used when he described something so horrid that she couldn't even imagine it. Her throat ached as she tried to keep her emotions from showing. Vegeta pulled away from her embrace, putting a bit of distance between them. He wasn't a physically demonstrative person at the best of times, and being touched, however well meaning, while he was baring a very painful corner of his soul was more than he could bear.
"Vegeta…" Bulma said softly, wrapping her arms around herself, "I wish I could say that I understand, but I can't. I have no idea what it would be like to be violated like that…" She shook her head slowly, eyes on the metal floor beneath her feet. "I just… wish there was something I could do to make it all go away…"
"No one can do that," he snapped, his voice rough. "It's just one more thing I live with."
She couldn't stand it anymore. She didn't care if he pushed her away or not, but she had to touch him. His eyes widened slightly as she stepped into him, her arms encircling his waist and her head coming to rest just beneath his chin. "Bulma…"
"Don't push me away," she whispered, tightening her arms around him. "Just this once, let me hold you…"
********
Kyrie let out a relieved sigh as the door of the gravity room slid shut behind them. Bulma and Vegeta had to be two of the most intense people she had ever met. The mental atmosphere practically sizzled when the two of them were together. Trunks tugged at her hand and she let the toddler pull her faster.
"I's hungwy," he said upon reaching the back door. Kyrie grinned and pushed the door open, letting him into the kitchen. The large room was empty and silent.
"Mrs. Briefs?" Kyrie called for the older woman, poking her head into the family room only to find it empty as well. There was a piece of paper laying in the middle of the table and Kyrie glanced at it. Then she did a double take, picking it up and reading over it.
Bulma,
Lunch and I have run into town to get something for dinner. Invite your friends to stay, there'll be plenty.
Love, Mom
Kyrie looked at the note with no small amount of consternation. Then she looked down at Trunks. "Guess we're stuck with you for now, kiddo," she said with a grin.
He merely stared up at her, a thumb hooked in the corner of his mouth. "I's hungwy," he repeated. "Wan' nood's."
"What's 'nood's'?" Kyrie asked, glancing over at Piccolo. He glared at her and shook his head, unwilling to participate in a round of "guess the word". "Can you show me what you want?" Trunks nodded, heading for the huge pantry room on the side of the kitchen. Kyrie clicked on the light as they entered, blinking at the sight of row upon row of non-perishable food items.
"Wan' nood's," he said again pointing at a box up on a shelf above his head. Kyrie stepped up and looked at the box. Inside were packages of Raman noodles, dozens of them, in various flavors.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, suddenly understanding. "Noodles! This is what you want?" The toddler nodded vigorously, smiling up at her. "Okay. These, I can handle cooking." She grabbed a couple of packages and headed back into the kitchen. Piccolo had taken up position on the wall next to the door, arms crossed over his chest.
Kyrie spent several minutes looking through the counters for a bowl and then several more minutes trying to figure out how to operate the high tech microwave on the counter. "Okay," she said once the bowl was heating. "It'll be just a few minutes. Where's your chair?" She turned around to see Trunks, a determined look on his little face, climbing up into one of the chairs next to the table. "Well, you've got this down pat, don't you?"
Soon she had him settled at the table, a bowl of noodles in front of him. Trunks slurped happily, cramming fistfuls of noodles into his mouth, the small fork in his bowl completely ignored. He made short work of the bowl and demanded more. Kyrie watched, amused, as he ate his way through three packages of Raman. By the time he reached the last of the third package, his appetite had been satisfied and he was playing with the last few bites. His eyes were drooping sleepily, but he made every effort to resist.
"I think you're about done, huh, big boy?" she asked, getting up from the table and going to the sink for a wet cloth to clean him up. Noodles were all over his hands, his face, the tabletop, the chair and the surrounding floor, with only a tiny bit left in the bowl. She was reaching to turn on the water when a high pitched squeal made her turn and look.
It all seemed to happen in slow motion. She saw Trunks scoop up the last handful of the noodles, grinning. He tossed them in the air, the individual pieces of noodles separating and glinting moistly. Piccolo's eyes widened as he saw the food coming right at him., but he failed to move. The noodles impacted with a wet 'splat', some sticking to his skin, others sliding down to adhere to his tunic. One long, wavy strand hung from his left antenna like some sort of bizarre streamer. Other little tendrils clung to his cheeks, and one last piece was tucked behind his ear like an odd strand of hair. His eyes crossed as he stared at the noodle waving from his antenna.
Kyrie choked, then snorted, which build to a snicker. He glared at her in offense and she burst out laughing, grabbing at the counter to keep from falling over. "Oh, oh, why's there (snicker) never a camera around when I need one?" she managed to gasp out.
Piccolo's face was impassive as he plucked the food particles from his face and person. "Thanks, kid. Thanks heaps," he growled, giving Trunks a dirty look. The half-saiyajin toddler merely laughed and grinned toothily.
"Don't be mean to the kid," Kyrie said, still laughing as she tossed him the wet cloth she had just readied. "He's just playing." She got another one and cleaned up the child, scrubbing at his clothes the best she could. "Guess I should get you some clean clothes, but I have no idea where your room is, kid." Trunks yawned, not in the least concerned by dirty clothes and held his arms up to be picked up. She obliged and he rested his head on her shoulder, wrapping his legs around her waist.
Piccolo finished wiping off the disgustingly clammy bits of noodles and watched as Kyrie carried the drowsy child into the living room. They settled down in the well padded rocking chair and he had an odd feeling of… Contentment? he thought, watching as she rocked the child to sleep. Is that what this warm, comfortable feeling is? He had no use for children most of the time, but he had to admit, watching Kyrie with the child, made him feel almost sentimental. Bah, he thought, shaking off the moment. I'm getting soft. We're going to leave in the morning, start hunting down the Kurukon. The last thing I need is to get sloppy. He crossed his arms over his chest again, letting his eyes slide shut. Meditation would balance his mental state.
