Two Sides to A Story
Chapter Two
And to think he had actually been excited…
It wasn't the kind of anticipation he had ever felt before a purging mission. That kind of excitement always coiled his muscles and spiked his ki, enhancing his aura with a deadly competence that was second only to his bloodlust. Nor had it been the type of anxiety associated with a meeting before Frieza, although the tightness of his gut had been similar. It had been one created out of fear back then, not for any routine disciplinary action. No. Verbal abuse he could handle with ease. It was the OTHER means of castigation that the depraved tyrant resorted to, when the mood struck him, that reduced Vegeta to a terrified nine-year-old chimp.
This was an inexplicable sensation, full of exhilaration and a puzzling sense of something almost foreign to his rough personality. Cheeriness. A part of it was the satisfaction of attaining his life's goal: He had finally made the ascension to Super Saiyan. It had been everything he could have dreamed of. Words actually failed in their one-dimensional descriptions of the feat. There was so much more training that he had to do to effectively shape this primal force but he knew that he had to wait. His body was already healing of the wounds it had sustained, prior to the transformation, but the Capsule was severely damaged by the meteorite storm that had been the precursor. His provisions were also dangerously low, a potential death sentence to a ravenous Saiyan in the height of his prime. Shelving his training ambitions he made what makeshift repairs to the capsule he could and entered the coordinates of his next destination.
It was time to return home.
As ever, his feelings when the pure blue marble came into view were mixed. Three years ago he had just looked to Earth as a conquest. Nothing more or less. Get the Dragonballs, make the wish, rule the Universe. No fuss, no bother. Things had been so cut and dry back then. After his resurrection from Frieza's wrath, the world had become a refuge. Made even more hospitable by a certain blue-haired female who had opened her home to him without asking for any favor in return. The third time, the planet became his sanctuary and this time he had actually stuck around for close to a year. And why not? He'd had food, shelter and a modicum of companionship. There was also another appealing factor: One in the form of a genius with no equal, who possessed a fantastic body that was both firm and supple in all of the right places and who actually tolerated his bullshit. Bulma Briefs was also an incredible piece of ass, let's NOT forget that almighty fact, if honesty was to be the issue here. If they hadn't been compatible in that one area at least, the Saiyan certainly would never have stuck around as long as he had. At the present, however, there was something more driving him to return to Capsule Corporation then supplies and repairs (and, dare to hope, a quick screw). He had an enormous secret to tell and he wanted to confide it to the only person on the entire world that he dared to trust.
Trust. Hnh. There was another word that didn't enter his vocabulary very often. It was as close to an approximation to how he really felt towards her. He owed her his life several times over but she had never brought it up once. In Vegeta's circle, a person did not do a favor unless they were expecting one in return. Bulma appeared to genuinely be doing it out of the generosity of her own heart. She called it love, a human word with such a seemingly infinite range of inflections. A human could use the word to describe a mate or a favorite meal. The Saiyan approximation was "Sihskar" and used only in reference to convey trust in another person, which in itself was rare enough among the cruel breed. It was as close to what Vegeta would allow himself to feel whenever Bulma came to mind. He had felt it the first time he had seen her on Namek.
It had been trust at first sight.
He landed the damaged capsule in the courtyard. Dr. Briefs was there to meet him with an odd expression on his moustached face. It wasn't his usual personable look but something vaguely resembling worry, for some reason. As usual, the Saiyan dismissed the old goat as soon as he told him what he needed.
He had barely finished that task when Mrs. Briefs ran over and practically flew into his arms, smothering his cheeks with kisses as she hugged him with all of her might. Extracting the blonde's arms actually took an effort but he didn't want to hurt her. An injury would mean she couldn't cook and it was the one thing the vacuous female excelled at.
She got in one more kiss before he managed to push her away at arm's length. "I'm sooo glad you're back, Vegeta! Things just haven't been the same since you've been gone!"
"I don't doubt that," he said smugly.
"Oh, I mean it. I really do! I'm going to cook a huge meal to celebrate your return. What would you like? Roast beef? Turkey? Lamb? -"
His stomach pounced on the words. Two months of rice and Kraft dinner got old real fast. "All of the above, woman," he responded with a husky growl.
The blond tittered and her generous bosom bounced with her mirth. "I'll get started right away. There's so much to tell you! I don't imagine that you know that Bulma-"
"Vegeta," Dr. Briefs cut in quickly, "This is going to take several hours. Why don't you go inside and get cleaned up?"
The Saiyan knew that he was rank. He had been rationing his water for the last two weeks and couldn't spare the precious resource for even a quick shower. Standing a few feet away, Bulma's mother was fanning the air in front of her face, trying to be discreet about it. His shoulders started to sag in disappointment but he straightened his spine. "Fine," was all he said and jumped up to the third floor veranda to enter the house through the living room. Below, Dr. Briefs had stepped over to his wife and began speaking to her quickly.
Instead of making a direct course to the nearest bathroom, Vegeta went to Bulma's quarters and stared at the closed door. "Woman…" He cleared his throat self-consciously. "Bulma…are you in there?" He tapped the surface with a knuckle and then tried the doorknob. It swung open easily.
Bulma's personal quarters were empty. Judging by her scent she had been in the room shortly before him. He could hear the abrupt sound of a car starting outside. By the time he moved over to the balcony, she was pulling out of the compound in her favorite yellow convertible. All he caught was a glimpse of her blue hair before she rounded the block and was gone from his sight.
"Damn it!" he swore and marched back into the room. He had just missed her!
He considered his surroundings and was only left with a mild headache at the sight of such disarray. The blue carpet of the bedroom was hard to see under all of the books, dirty clothes and equipment from the lab. There was a change of clothes on the bed and he picked up a dress and held it to his nose, inhaling Bulma's distinctive, feminine scent. There was a faint smile on his face from the familiarity of the comforting smell, it was one he had missed. He rubbed his cheek against the smooth fabric like a cat marking his scent on a favorite possession. He held it against him until he took a closer look and held it at arm's length in shock.
It was double its usual size.
"Damn, woman," he muttered under his breath. "Just how much of your mother's food have you been packing away?"
After that confusing discovery, he took his shower and saw to it that the provisions in the capsule were restocked. By the time he had finished, Mrs. Briefs informed him that his meal was ready. He spent the next two hours cramming every available calorie he could find down his maw, hardly noticing the woman's odd silence. Usually the blond was babbling a blue streak but she was strikingly quiet as she served him and refilled his plates. She actually jumped when Vegeta pushed the last course away from his place setting and barked out; "Where is she?"
Mrs. Briefs began wringing the hem of her apron. "Wh-who?"
"The little blue-haired minx who could be your physical double, if she donned a wig. Your daughter, of course!"
"She-she went out on some errands."
"Where did she go?"
"I-I…don't know exactly."
Drumming his fingers lightly on the tabletop, the Saiyan persisted, "When will she be back?"
Swallowing, Mrs. Briefs said the only thing that wasn't deliberately evasive. "I don't know that either…"
Submerging a grumble of displeasure, Vegeta got up and proceeded to the nearest exit. He immediately took to the sky and headed into the center of the Western Capital. His keen eyes roved along the citizens moving along the sidewalks and he was dismayed that Bulma's hair color was not particularly original among the female populace. More than once he gave a woman the fright of her life as he dropped out of the air beside one, took note of her face and took off again without so much as a word of explanation. He was just about to give up when he caught sight of Bulma sitting alone outside of a small restaurant and he betrayed a small smile of relief as he descended.
"Filling your face again," he said, reveling in her apparent shock. "I should have known. You're not a hard person to find."
She gasped in surprise, spilled her drink and got to her feet. The tale of his great accomplishment he so wanted to confide to her, died in his throat at the sight of her prominent stomach. He couldn't form words and was barely able to raise his hand and let his probing ki tell him what he lacked the courage to ask.
A small defenseless presence in her womb. It radiated a near-existent aura that was half-human and half-Saiyan. There could absolutely be no doubt of the babe's parentage, or the role he had unwillingly played in its unique conception. He raised his eyes to Bulma, barely seeing through the veil of murderous intent that had fallen over his vision. Screaming, he fled from her before he could turn her and the city into ashes. He knew he was running. From her. From them. He had not matured enough in his limited time with his newfound independence to forsake it so abruptly and become a father.
Or a husband.
Dr. Briefs had anticipated his state of return when his wife informed him that Vegeta had left. Capsule Three was fully operational and ready for take-off when the livid alien landed in the compound. Sputtering a scathing litany of curses in every language he knew, the Saiyan charged into the capsule and blasted off. Right then and there, he had made the decision that he was never going to return. Screw the Android threat. Fuck Earth. He hoped that they would all just die. He didn't give a shit anymore!
But he ended up coming back three months later…Unfortunately.
On his preliminary arrival to Earth, Radditz's scouter had transmitted the following statistics about this odd world to Vegeta and Nappa's own scouter databases:
Surface Gravity: 9.78 m/s^2
Mass: 5.98 X 10^24 kg
Dipole Field Strength: 0.3076 gauss-Re^3
Obliquity to Orbit: 23'45"
Moment of Inertia: 0.3308 I/mr^2
Surface Pressure: 1014 mb
Terrestrial Magnetic Field Present
Mean Surface Temperature: 281 k
Solar Irradiance: 1367.6 w/m^2
Atmospheric Composition: N2 + O2
What it had failed to mention was just how screwed up the damn inhabitants actually were.
Vegeta encountered so many diverse languages and cultures, not to mention people, that they should have occupied a dozen varied worlds all of their own. And that was just in a few short days! The Saiyan stopped long enough to decide whether he could understand the foreign words spoken to him and, more often then not, took off in pursuit of something less exotic.
In one place that was chiefly arid desert, humans in costumes were patrolling the rough terrain, searching for something that appeared to be eluding them. Vegeta had almost gotten his ass shot off by an over- enthusiastic F-18 pilot who tried to include him in a strafing run over a seemingly deserted village. He shot out one of the turbines in revenge and contemplated nailing the idiot pilot who was fortunate enough to jettison to safety before the jet went down. He ended up speeding out of the area when the mortar fire started. He could recognize that some matter of battle was going on below and, for once in his life, wanted no part of it.
On an isolated landmass, there appeared to be prehistoric throwbacks roaming the tropical setting. Vegeta was attracted by the lingering ki of an Oozaru transformation, stale after five years. He recognized the scent and feel of the owner's power signature as belonging to Kakarott's brat; Gohan. This was the island where Piccolo had trained the boy before he and Nappa had actually arrived. The Namek had done a hell of a job, Vegeta admitted reluctantly, his thoughts going back to Gohan's massive power release when he had eradicated Cell.
Deciding to stick around for a few days, the Saiyan camped on the island and effortlessly established himself as the top predator. On the very first night, a Tyrannosaurus Rex came over to investigate and became the evening meal instead. When properly cooked, the tough meat tasted similar to pork and the Saiyan gorged so much that he couldn't have flown even if he had wanted to. He used the huge carcass both as a windbreak and something to lean against and spent the evenings staring forlornly up at the stars. Humans had so many names for what they saw in that endless velvet blanket of winking lights. They actually made patterns out of the random constellations to suit strange imaginative tales. Vegeta had no patience for such nonsense; stars were potential destinations and past conquests to him, nothing more. The only thing he could understand was the simple awe that accompanied stargazing and the humbling aspect that seemed to go along with it. It was at times like these, alone in the darkness with only the stars shining down in a non-accusing way, that Vegeta felt as a human might; powerless, alone, insignificant.
When the rotting corpse of the T-Rex penetrated even his level of tolerance, Vegeta packed up and headed back to a more hospitable continent. He didn't want to admit he was actively seeking out human companionship but after two weeks of this inconsistent bullshit, he was looking for more familiar territory. The minute he caught sight of those familiar golden arches, his mouth exploded with saliva and he wasted no time entering the building. He had chosen the height of supper hour and there were only two lanes open. Muttering under his breath, he settled reluctantly into line and waited.
At the front of his line, an old man was squinting at the menu above the counter. "I'd… like a Whopper-"
"We don't serve them here, sir," the teenager at the register informed him. "D'you mean a Big Mac?"
"What's the cholesterol in those? My doctor says I have to keep an eye on that."
Shifting his weight restlessly from foot to foot, Vegeta grappled with his temper. He concentrated his gaze down at the floor where a discarded pickle slice was stuck to the tile. Not far off was a table full of kids celebrating a birthday party and they were shrieking with laughter. Several were chasing each other around the restaurant. Without warning, a muscle started dancing at the corner of the Saiyan's jaw.
The trainee handed the bewildered fellow a pamphlet, and waited patiently while the man held the paper about an inch from his nose, reading the nutritional information. "I…uh, think I'll change my order to a McWrap."
"That was just a limited time offer, sir. We don't have them anymore."
"Oh. Well, how about just a plain hamburger? No onions, though, they give me the winds something awful! "
"…That's fine, sir. Would you like some fries-"
"Wait! What are those Filet-O-Fishies like-"
"!!FOR THE LENGTH OF KOOLERS COCK!!" Vegeta thundered from where he was standing, "Make up your damn mind, you senile old geezer!"
Several teenagers started whistling and clapping. "Way to go, little dude!" said the one from behind. He was just about to give Vegeta a slap on the back when the man turned and glared at him. One look in those crazed depths spared the youth from having a hook for a hand as he wisely backed off.
The entire restaurant had fallen into stunned silence at the alien's outburst. When the manager came sprinting from his office, Vegeta back- pedaled and quickly exited the building before the fireworks started. The last thing he needed was another reason for the Z Fighters to hate his guts. Incinerating an establishment that served food wrapped in paper may be considered more than just a critique on poor service.
Additionally, he had to remember that the Cell games had been broadcast and he had been the first combatant to arrive. Anyone watching their television had gotten a good look at him, so it would be an unwise move to advertise his potential.
He had to… blend in. It was enough to make him gag.
So he stuck religiously to the sidewalks with his head down and his hands in the pockets of his pants. He had to avoid the mad urge to power up every time he came face to face with someone in his way. Instead, he mumbled something resembling, " 'scu'me," and stayed to the path. Keeping a veiled eye on the storefronts, he decided that there wasn't enough 'fast-food' (what a damn joke THAT was!) in the world to sustain his powerful hunger. After experiencing Bulma's mothers expert cooking, he was now looking for something more exotic.
When he found the first restaurant that didn't flaunt a plastic sign or grinning mascot, he walked inside. A plumb little waitress led him to a quiet out of the way corner table and left him with a menu. Any irritation that Vegeta might have had about the impersonal treatment flew out the window the minute he got a good look at the menu listings. He couldn't stop swallowing back the saliva that flowed into his mouth as he stared at all of the choices in wide-eyed wonder.
He was still gaping when the waitress returned to his table and pulled out her pad. "Well, sir, have you decided what you would like?"
Closing the menu with a snap, he handed it back to her and said, "Everything."
The woman's polite smile faltered. "…Pardon me?"
"Bring me one of everything and hurry it up. I'm starving!"
The waitress opened her mouth and then closed it again, turning away without another word.
Practically vibrating in anticipation, Vegeta was starting to eye the floral table arrangement when the woman returned. This time a man in a business suit was with her. The Saiyan felt himself tensen up as the two looked at one another. "What is it?" he asked warily.
"Nothing to be alarmed about, sir," the Maitre de responded easily, making gestures with a deliberate flourish. "However, your order is going to be quite expensive. I merely wish to ensure that you've adequate funds to cover the bill."
Vegeta slapped his hands down on the table and half rose. "How DARE you! Do you have any idea who-" He sat back down quickly and pulled out his wallet instead. This was NOT the place to start raving about his royal birthright. He was coming to the despairing conclusion that the "Prince of all Saiyans" speech wasn't worth a damn cent on this miserable world. "I haven't got much money-"
The Maitre de's face dropped all pretense of civility. "Then I'm afraid I'm going to ask that you-"
"-But I have this," Vegeta finished. He pulled out a small rectangular plastic card from one of the slots. Dr. Briefs had given it to him only a week before he had decided to leave Capsule Corporation. At the mere sight, the Headwaiter's eyes almost bulged in delight.
It was a Platinum Charge Card with an unlimited credit limit.
"That will be more than sufficient, sir," the man said smoothly. "I'll see to it personally that you receive the absolute best service."
"The sooner the better," Vegeta retorted sourly. To give import to his words, he pulled a flower from the centerpiece and bit the head off. Locking eyes with the stunned man, he began to dine on the rest of the arrangement.
"Yes sir," the Maitre de said, straight-faced.
The Saiyan didn't have long to wait before the first course arrived. In between the plates being served and cleared away, the Headwaiter kept showing up and offering him glasses of wine. The names; Bordeaux and Chandelle meant nothing to Vegeta, one fermented fruit smelled much the same as another, but the sour beverage quenched his thirst. It would be three hours and almost three thousand zeni later before he would be reasonably sated and ready to take his reluctant leave. He was half in the bag when he rose from his table, barely noticing the muttered undercurrent of restaurant staff and patrons who were singling him out. There was actually a rare smile on his face as he waited for the Maitre de to process his bill.
"Thank you very much for dining at the Gilded Osprey," he said, handing the charge card back. "All of the staff of Capsule Corporation are always more than welcome to come here."
Vegeta snapped his head around at the taller man. "Staff?" He looked down at the card in bewilderment.
"Yes sir. You have an expense account. Very common among high placed employees. You must be a very important person."
"Once, I was," the Saiyan said under his breath. "Now, I don't know what I am…"
A smiling doorman held the door open for him as he exited. Outside, Vegeta stood on the curb looking at the credit card in his hand with a mixture of emotions, none of them good. Even in the act of getting a decent meal, he was indebted to the Briefs again. Was it ever going to end?
"I'm never going to use this again," he promised himself.
Drowsy from the wine and from the filling meal, he decided to sleep in a bed for a change instead of a sleeping bag. He began to look for accommodations that might be more within his limited budget. Wandering the streets, his roaming inevitably took him to the poorer section of the city than where he had originally eaten. It didn't matter the planet or even the breed of its citizens. Vegeta knew where he was the minute the first of the prostitutes came into view, even if he didn't know the name of the area. Places like this were as old as the universe.
"Hey, baby! Thirty for a half-an-half, if you're looking."
"-want to buy some tabs? A deuce a pop, it's killer shit!"
"Don't listen to those skanks, sweetheart. Let a real woman give you a ride- "
Ignoring them with difficulty, the Saiyan would have succumbed to their offers five years ago. Back then, he had been traveling with Radditz and Nappa. They had been a pair of rough bastards who would never turn down an invitation, real or imagined, not even in the middle of a mission. He had let a lot of their crude traits rub off onto him and even now, it was hard to shake their twisted influence. One frenzied screw up against the wall of an alley might just be the thing to ease his tension. It had been almost three years since he had last lain with a woman-
Yeah, he reminded himself. Look how THAT turned out!
He walked on.
About a block further down, he found a hotel that didn't have addicts sitting on the front steps and went inside. The foyer was a dismal grey in desperate need of paint and smelled of mildew and stale cigarettes. Some old drunk was snoring away on the battered sofa against the wall, clutching a near empty bottle of vodka in one arthritic claw. The admissions counter was beside the stairs and a skinny, balding young man in his late twenties was peering at him behind the mesh cage erected around it. "Hey," he grunted as a greeting.
Vegeta stepped up to the desk and wasn't amused that he had to raise himself up on his tiptoes to see over its pitted and scarred surface. "I want a room."
"Sure. For an hour or for the night?"
"What the hell is the point of renting a room for an- " Vegeta remembered the corner whores and corrected himself. "For the night."
"That'll be twenty-five zeni. Sign here." He slid the admissions book over and Vegeta signed the exotic symbol that was the alien equivalent of his name. The man never even blinked when he glanced at it. "Room 206. Second floor, end of the hall," he said and gave him a key.
This is certainly NOT the Hammorski Plaza, Vegeta thought to himself as he ascended the stairs and walked down the corridor to his room. The lighting was a grimy yellow and the walls were paper-thin. He could hear everything that was going on in the other rooms and he didn't even have to strain his ears, not that he wanted to in this dump. When he reached his door, he could hear a screaming fight going on in the room beside his, between a man and woman. It was amusing for all of five seconds before Vegeta went over to their door and brought a fist down on its surface.
"Shut the hell up in there! I don't need to hear your shit!" he bellowed and everything went silent.
Satisfied, the Saiyan unlocked his door and reached inside for the light switch. The minute the lone bulb in the ceiling came on, startled roaches scurried for cover. His heart sank at what he had been reduced to but he entered and closed the door after himself anyway, looking around in disgust. A sagging single bed with a faded blanket over it, a television chained to a bureau that had the drawers missing and a single chair. There wasn't even a bathroom, only a sink in the corner with a dripping faucet.
"This place makes the damn pod look hospitable," he grumbled.
When he turned down the blanket and sheets in preparation for sleep, he saw the semen stains of the previous tenant drying in the middle of the bed. He quickly covered the bed back up and uncapsulated his meager belongings. It looked like he was going to be using the damn sleeping bag after all.
As he washed up as best he could in the sink, his neighbors resumed their feuding with even greater ferocity. When he yelled at them to keep it down, they ignored him. Ordinarily, that would have been a fatal mistake but Vegeta was too tired and discouraged to bother with killing irritating humans tonight. He turned on the TV and was mildly surprised to see hard core porn being broadcast. Needless to say, he kept it on that channel.
Spreading the sleeping bag over the surface of the bed, Vegeta sat up against the headboard and watched the heaving flesh on the screen with vacant interest. A part of him wished that he were back at the Headquarters building but even there things had changed. The old man tried to suck up to him for his past hassles and his blond mate actually made up stupid reasons to pester him. The infant brat had babbled all day and howled non-stop all night and Bulma-
…Bulma… The mere thought of the sea-foamed haired beauty was enough to make him tremble. Not from lust or attraction.
It was rage. Pure and simple. He had confided in her, trusted her as he had no other. In the end, she had tricked him into giving her the one thing he had sworn he would never be responsible for; The creation of a life! A hybrid abomination that mocked his royal lineage with its impurity. As ever, Vegeta found himself comparing his life with the ghost of his long- deceased father. What would the King, and undisputed ruler of Vegetasei, have done if faced with a similar situation?
Killed the bitch, of course, his father whispered in his mind with all of his usual arrogance. He would never have been weak enough to lie with an alien, much less impregnate her.
"He had Saiyan women to choose from," Vegeta forced himself to reason out loud. "The damn comparison doesn't apply here!" The ancient customs and forced dictations of Saiyan Law had been expunged from his conscience the instant Frieza had destroyed his world and people. In truth, here on Earth he had been the lone alien at the mercy of the world whose population thrived. Bulma had been the one to lower her standards and be with him, not the other way around.
"No," Vegeta grumbled. She had purposely lied to him with all of that talk of 'the pill' and 'safe sex'. He would have gladly choked down a case of condoms to prevent what she had obviously set out to do from the start. All of her proclamations of love and trust in an affluent hotel suite and he had been gullible enough to believe it. How could he have fallen for the ruse? Had he truly been so weak and vulnerable to allow himself to trust her against all of his instincts?
Had he, at one time, actually started to care for her?
There was the sound of someone colliding into the wall behind him. The screaming rose in volume and Vegeta's patience, poor to begin with, dropped another notch. He brought his fist against the wall so hard that a section of plaster fell from the ceiling onto his head.
Brushing the chalky dust out of his spiky hair with a curse, his thoughts unerringly went back to his earlier musing. He was out of his depth where relationships were concerned. Concepts of affection, sharing and devotion were as alien to him as genocide and destruction would be to Bulma. There was more than just a difference of upbringings or cultures to blame here. They were, quite literally, worlds apart in their varied opinions of proper conduct. He realized that he was expecting her to act how his own limited experiences with his own breed demanded; that she be subservient. Bulma was apparently thinking that he should behave like some simpering human and be loyal to her, no matter her conduct. There was going to be no easy way for this situation to be resolved and he had done quite possibly the worst thing possible.
He had run away.
"What am I going to do?" he whispered hopelessly, looking around the decrepit room. All of those years of abuse and slavery under Frieza, the ambition of becoming the revered Super Saiyan and finally achieving his birth-right… Was this really his reward? Did he deserve this filth and degradation? He was distressed by the unshed tears that rose in his throat like bile and he choked them down with effort.
The squabbling neighbors were almost a welcome diversion from his grief. When they started yelling again, Vegeta joined in. He got to his knees on the bed and began hammering on the wall, "!!SHUT THE FUCK UP!!I SWEAR I'M GONNA KILL YOU BOTH!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.
The voices dropped in the next room. Vegeta swore he could hear their breathing but at least they were finally keeping their mouths shut. Still brilliantly pissed, he put his ear to the wall, actually hoping that one of them would give him a reason to finally go ballistic. He heard some footfalls cross the room and something settle against the wall opposite his head. Before he could react, there was an enormous, ear-shattering explosion that punched a hole in the wall and threw Vegeta to the floor.
"Not if I kill you first," snickered a young punk as he began reloading his sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun. Behind him, his girlfriend was shrieking with laughter on their bed. The pair had been responsible for a series of armed robberies in the area over the last month. They had decided to lie low in the hotel room after killing a shopkeeper two nights ago.
Crouching on the floor, Vegeta raised a shaky hand to his left ear, not surprised that the report of the gun had ruptured his eardrum. How he felt when he raised his hand to his head was another matter. The shot had clipped off his hair and given him the lop-sided equivalent of a brushcut. A wounded sound escaped his mouth when he picked up one of the severed spikes lying on the bed. It didn't matter that if the shotgun had been two inches lower, he wouldn't have been able to mourn the remains of his once- proud Saiyan mane. All that mattered in that instant was how Vegeta was reminded of his horrific loss just from this one world; his cohorts, his tail, his dignity, his pride, his spunk, and now his HAIR?! It was the last fucking straw!
The punk was pushing the gun through the hole he had made and was aiming it at him when Vegeta raised his left hand, palm up, in the punk's direction. The thunder of the blast and the Big Bang attack were simultaneous, with entirely different results. The Saiyan avoided the second discharge easily. All that was left of the punk was where his legs had been severed by the alien blast and were still standing in front of the immense hole Vegeta had created. He had clipped the little bastard off at the knees and the stumps were smoldering like a pair of strange candles. The rest had been propelled through the huge exit he had created on the opposite side of the pair's room. He got to his feet, smirking with amusement despite the ringing in his left ear. He had forgotten all about the woman until she propelled herself through the devastated wall.
"You killed Toby! You prick!" she shrieked, coming at him with a hunting knife that would have made Rambo blanch in fear. She was high on speed and brandishing the weapon in erratic strikes, yelling death threats over and over. Vegeta landed an uppercut to her jaw that threw her back into her own room. She fell backwards on the bed, flipped over and landed on the other side.
The only reason that Vegeta entered their room at all was because of all of the money that was spread out on the bed and over the floor. He needed the cash more than this little dipshit and he didn't have much time. People outside of their rooms were calling for help and someone had pulled the fire alarm. He was just stuffing his pockets when the woman jumped to her feet from the opposite side of the bed and threw a bag of powder directly into his face.
"What the f- " he inhaled a lungful of the fine powder and broke off coughing. His bending over was the only thing that spared his throat as her hand, armed with the knife, sailed right over his head. He barely registered her presence and managed to kick out in time to prevent another attack. There was a grunt of expelled air and he knew he had gotten her in the ribs. Someone was banging away on the door and it signaled that it was time to leave. Wiping the stinging dust from his watering eyes, Vegeta sprinted for the hole he had made with his earlier blast and took to the air before anyone else caught sight of him. The woman was still screaming long after he had made his retreat.
Outside of the city limits, his surroundings blurred and his perceptions warped so badly that he was no longer sure if he was flying up or down. The ringing in his ear had transformed to a piercing wail and he was only dimly aware that he was screaming, unable to stop. He tried to outrun whatever drug the woman had thrown at him and bolted straight up until the air began to get dangerously thin. Around him, the clouds coalesced into barely recognizable shapes, becoming faces he had hoped to never see again.
"Oi! If it isn't our favorite little monkey," Zarbon said with his usual smugness. "Having a rough spot of trouble, are you, eh?"
"Shut up," Vegeta hissed before he broke off sneezing.
"Awww, poor chibi no Ouji," Dodoria purred. "I think that you've finally met your match. Oh well, like father like son. Losers. Both of you."
"Shut up!"
Another voice entered his mind, this one the worst yet. His arms broke out in gooseflesh at the rasping cackle that enveloped him like thunder.
"My dear Vegeta, don't be scared," Frieza said, looming over him. His head was the size of a skyscraper and growing larger by the second, the cumulus clouds swollen with unshed lightening. "Come a little closer so that I can hold you. It's been so long a time since I've… enjoyed you. It won't hurt. Much."
Recoiling in terror from the apparition, Vegeta turned away from the hallucinations and the taunting laughter that echoed in his mind. He couldn't seem to escape them. He flew as hard and as fast as he could, plowing through mountaintops and creating trenches in lakes in his panicked urgency to get away. Eventually, the drug took even that small measure of comfort from him and he fell to the ground in an exhausted heap. He couldn't focus on his surroundings and his head felt swollen with colors and sounds. Getting to his feet was virtually an impossibility and he ended up huddling into a contorted, miserable ball to try and escape the voices.
"Lookit him, mates!" Jeice cried. "Curled up like a little baby! Ain't he cute?"
Burter rumbled disapprovingly. "Typical Saiyan when he doesn't get his way. They're all wimps."
"Hrmp! Never met a Saiyan monkey worth a damn," Captain Ginyu sneered. "And this is supposed to be their Prince? No wonder they're extinct!"
"Shutupshutupshupshutup," Vegeta chanted over and over through clenched teeth.
"Poor Vegeta," breathed Frieza's voice by his right ear. "Don't listen to them. They're not real."
Raising his head, Vegeta tried to focus past the swirling lights and warped landscapes. There was someone looming over him but all that he had to see was the glimpse of that familiar naked, pink flesh. Frothing in rage he lashed out at the figure, fully expecting to collide with a solid presence.
He wasn't disappointed. He managed to land one kick before a powerful blow knocked him away. Writhing in the dirt, he glared back at the advancing figure with rage and terror. Just before he lost consciousness, he heard the most haunting words of all:
"No, they're not real. But I am."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter Three: After visiting old friends, Bulma travels to the Son Household and is met with a startling revelation about Chi Chi's health.
Chapter Two
And to think he had actually been excited…
It wasn't the kind of anticipation he had ever felt before a purging mission. That kind of excitement always coiled his muscles and spiked his ki, enhancing his aura with a deadly competence that was second only to his bloodlust. Nor had it been the type of anxiety associated with a meeting before Frieza, although the tightness of his gut had been similar. It had been one created out of fear back then, not for any routine disciplinary action. No. Verbal abuse he could handle with ease. It was the OTHER means of castigation that the depraved tyrant resorted to, when the mood struck him, that reduced Vegeta to a terrified nine-year-old chimp.
This was an inexplicable sensation, full of exhilaration and a puzzling sense of something almost foreign to his rough personality. Cheeriness. A part of it was the satisfaction of attaining his life's goal: He had finally made the ascension to Super Saiyan. It had been everything he could have dreamed of. Words actually failed in their one-dimensional descriptions of the feat. There was so much more training that he had to do to effectively shape this primal force but he knew that he had to wait. His body was already healing of the wounds it had sustained, prior to the transformation, but the Capsule was severely damaged by the meteorite storm that had been the precursor. His provisions were also dangerously low, a potential death sentence to a ravenous Saiyan in the height of his prime. Shelving his training ambitions he made what makeshift repairs to the capsule he could and entered the coordinates of his next destination.
It was time to return home.
As ever, his feelings when the pure blue marble came into view were mixed. Three years ago he had just looked to Earth as a conquest. Nothing more or less. Get the Dragonballs, make the wish, rule the Universe. No fuss, no bother. Things had been so cut and dry back then. After his resurrection from Frieza's wrath, the world had become a refuge. Made even more hospitable by a certain blue-haired female who had opened her home to him without asking for any favor in return. The third time, the planet became his sanctuary and this time he had actually stuck around for close to a year. And why not? He'd had food, shelter and a modicum of companionship. There was also another appealing factor: One in the form of a genius with no equal, who possessed a fantastic body that was both firm and supple in all of the right places and who actually tolerated his bullshit. Bulma Briefs was also an incredible piece of ass, let's NOT forget that almighty fact, if honesty was to be the issue here. If they hadn't been compatible in that one area at least, the Saiyan certainly would never have stuck around as long as he had. At the present, however, there was something more driving him to return to Capsule Corporation then supplies and repairs (and, dare to hope, a quick screw). He had an enormous secret to tell and he wanted to confide it to the only person on the entire world that he dared to trust.
Trust. Hnh. There was another word that didn't enter his vocabulary very often. It was as close to an approximation to how he really felt towards her. He owed her his life several times over but she had never brought it up once. In Vegeta's circle, a person did not do a favor unless they were expecting one in return. Bulma appeared to genuinely be doing it out of the generosity of her own heart. She called it love, a human word with such a seemingly infinite range of inflections. A human could use the word to describe a mate or a favorite meal. The Saiyan approximation was "Sihskar" and used only in reference to convey trust in another person, which in itself was rare enough among the cruel breed. It was as close to what Vegeta would allow himself to feel whenever Bulma came to mind. He had felt it the first time he had seen her on Namek.
It had been trust at first sight.
He landed the damaged capsule in the courtyard. Dr. Briefs was there to meet him with an odd expression on his moustached face. It wasn't his usual personable look but something vaguely resembling worry, for some reason. As usual, the Saiyan dismissed the old goat as soon as he told him what he needed.
He had barely finished that task when Mrs. Briefs ran over and practically flew into his arms, smothering his cheeks with kisses as she hugged him with all of her might. Extracting the blonde's arms actually took an effort but he didn't want to hurt her. An injury would mean she couldn't cook and it was the one thing the vacuous female excelled at.
She got in one more kiss before he managed to push her away at arm's length. "I'm sooo glad you're back, Vegeta! Things just haven't been the same since you've been gone!"
"I don't doubt that," he said smugly.
"Oh, I mean it. I really do! I'm going to cook a huge meal to celebrate your return. What would you like? Roast beef? Turkey? Lamb? -"
His stomach pounced on the words. Two months of rice and Kraft dinner got old real fast. "All of the above, woman," he responded with a husky growl.
The blond tittered and her generous bosom bounced with her mirth. "I'll get started right away. There's so much to tell you! I don't imagine that you know that Bulma-"
"Vegeta," Dr. Briefs cut in quickly, "This is going to take several hours. Why don't you go inside and get cleaned up?"
The Saiyan knew that he was rank. He had been rationing his water for the last two weeks and couldn't spare the precious resource for even a quick shower. Standing a few feet away, Bulma's mother was fanning the air in front of her face, trying to be discreet about it. His shoulders started to sag in disappointment but he straightened his spine. "Fine," was all he said and jumped up to the third floor veranda to enter the house through the living room. Below, Dr. Briefs had stepped over to his wife and began speaking to her quickly.
Instead of making a direct course to the nearest bathroom, Vegeta went to Bulma's quarters and stared at the closed door. "Woman…" He cleared his throat self-consciously. "Bulma…are you in there?" He tapped the surface with a knuckle and then tried the doorknob. It swung open easily.
Bulma's personal quarters were empty. Judging by her scent she had been in the room shortly before him. He could hear the abrupt sound of a car starting outside. By the time he moved over to the balcony, she was pulling out of the compound in her favorite yellow convertible. All he caught was a glimpse of her blue hair before she rounded the block and was gone from his sight.
"Damn it!" he swore and marched back into the room. He had just missed her!
He considered his surroundings and was only left with a mild headache at the sight of such disarray. The blue carpet of the bedroom was hard to see under all of the books, dirty clothes and equipment from the lab. There was a change of clothes on the bed and he picked up a dress and held it to his nose, inhaling Bulma's distinctive, feminine scent. There was a faint smile on his face from the familiarity of the comforting smell, it was one he had missed. He rubbed his cheek against the smooth fabric like a cat marking his scent on a favorite possession. He held it against him until he took a closer look and held it at arm's length in shock.
It was double its usual size.
"Damn, woman," he muttered under his breath. "Just how much of your mother's food have you been packing away?"
After that confusing discovery, he took his shower and saw to it that the provisions in the capsule were restocked. By the time he had finished, Mrs. Briefs informed him that his meal was ready. He spent the next two hours cramming every available calorie he could find down his maw, hardly noticing the woman's odd silence. Usually the blond was babbling a blue streak but she was strikingly quiet as she served him and refilled his plates. She actually jumped when Vegeta pushed the last course away from his place setting and barked out; "Where is she?"
Mrs. Briefs began wringing the hem of her apron. "Wh-who?"
"The little blue-haired minx who could be your physical double, if she donned a wig. Your daughter, of course!"
"She-she went out on some errands."
"Where did she go?"
"I-I…don't know exactly."
Drumming his fingers lightly on the tabletop, the Saiyan persisted, "When will she be back?"
Swallowing, Mrs. Briefs said the only thing that wasn't deliberately evasive. "I don't know that either…"
Submerging a grumble of displeasure, Vegeta got up and proceeded to the nearest exit. He immediately took to the sky and headed into the center of the Western Capital. His keen eyes roved along the citizens moving along the sidewalks and he was dismayed that Bulma's hair color was not particularly original among the female populace. More than once he gave a woman the fright of her life as he dropped out of the air beside one, took note of her face and took off again without so much as a word of explanation. He was just about to give up when he caught sight of Bulma sitting alone outside of a small restaurant and he betrayed a small smile of relief as he descended.
"Filling your face again," he said, reveling in her apparent shock. "I should have known. You're not a hard person to find."
She gasped in surprise, spilled her drink and got to her feet. The tale of his great accomplishment he so wanted to confide to her, died in his throat at the sight of her prominent stomach. He couldn't form words and was barely able to raise his hand and let his probing ki tell him what he lacked the courage to ask.
A small defenseless presence in her womb. It radiated a near-existent aura that was half-human and half-Saiyan. There could absolutely be no doubt of the babe's parentage, or the role he had unwillingly played in its unique conception. He raised his eyes to Bulma, barely seeing through the veil of murderous intent that had fallen over his vision. Screaming, he fled from her before he could turn her and the city into ashes. He knew he was running. From her. From them. He had not matured enough in his limited time with his newfound independence to forsake it so abruptly and become a father.
Or a husband.
Dr. Briefs had anticipated his state of return when his wife informed him that Vegeta had left. Capsule Three was fully operational and ready for take-off when the livid alien landed in the compound. Sputtering a scathing litany of curses in every language he knew, the Saiyan charged into the capsule and blasted off. Right then and there, he had made the decision that he was never going to return. Screw the Android threat. Fuck Earth. He hoped that they would all just die. He didn't give a shit anymore!
But he ended up coming back three months later…Unfortunately.
On his preliminary arrival to Earth, Radditz's scouter had transmitted the following statistics about this odd world to Vegeta and Nappa's own scouter databases:
Surface Gravity: 9.78 m/s^2
Mass: 5.98 X 10^24 kg
Dipole Field Strength: 0.3076 gauss-Re^3
Obliquity to Orbit: 23'45"
Moment of Inertia: 0.3308 I/mr^2
Surface Pressure: 1014 mb
Terrestrial Magnetic Field Present
Mean Surface Temperature: 281 k
Solar Irradiance: 1367.6 w/m^2
Atmospheric Composition: N2 + O2
What it had failed to mention was just how screwed up the damn inhabitants actually were.
Vegeta encountered so many diverse languages and cultures, not to mention people, that they should have occupied a dozen varied worlds all of their own. And that was just in a few short days! The Saiyan stopped long enough to decide whether he could understand the foreign words spoken to him and, more often then not, took off in pursuit of something less exotic.
In one place that was chiefly arid desert, humans in costumes were patrolling the rough terrain, searching for something that appeared to be eluding them. Vegeta had almost gotten his ass shot off by an over- enthusiastic F-18 pilot who tried to include him in a strafing run over a seemingly deserted village. He shot out one of the turbines in revenge and contemplated nailing the idiot pilot who was fortunate enough to jettison to safety before the jet went down. He ended up speeding out of the area when the mortar fire started. He could recognize that some matter of battle was going on below and, for once in his life, wanted no part of it.
On an isolated landmass, there appeared to be prehistoric throwbacks roaming the tropical setting. Vegeta was attracted by the lingering ki of an Oozaru transformation, stale after five years. He recognized the scent and feel of the owner's power signature as belonging to Kakarott's brat; Gohan. This was the island where Piccolo had trained the boy before he and Nappa had actually arrived. The Namek had done a hell of a job, Vegeta admitted reluctantly, his thoughts going back to Gohan's massive power release when he had eradicated Cell.
Deciding to stick around for a few days, the Saiyan camped on the island and effortlessly established himself as the top predator. On the very first night, a Tyrannosaurus Rex came over to investigate and became the evening meal instead. When properly cooked, the tough meat tasted similar to pork and the Saiyan gorged so much that he couldn't have flown even if he had wanted to. He used the huge carcass both as a windbreak and something to lean against and spent the evenings staring forlornly up at the stars. Humans had so many names for what they saw in that endless velvet blanket of winking lights. They actually made patterns out of the random constellations to suit strange imaginative tales. Vegeta had no patience for such nonsense; stars were potential destinations and past conquests to him, nothing more. The only thing he could understand was the simple awe that accompanied stargazing and the humbling aspect that seemed to go along with it. It was at times like these, alone in the darkness with only the stars shining down in a non-accusing way, that Vegeta felt as a human might; powerless, alone, insignificant.
When the rotting corpse of the T-Rex penetrated even his level of tolerance, Vegeta packed up and headed back to a more hospitable continent. He didn't want to admit he was actively seeking out human companionship but after two weeks of this inconsistent bullshit, he was looking for more familiar territory. The minute he caught sight of those familiar golden arches, his mouth exploded with saliva and he wasted no time entering the building. He had chosen the height of supper hour and there were only two lanes open. Muttering under his breath, he settled reluctantly into line and waited.
At the front of his line, an old man was squinting at the menu above the counter. "I'd… like a Whopper-"
"We don't serve them here, sir," the teenager at the register informed him. "D'you mean a Big Mac?"
"What's the cholesterol in those? My doctor says I have to keep an eye on that."
Shifting his weight restlessly from foot to foot, Vegeta grappled with his temper. He concentrated his gaze down at the floor where a discarded pickle slice was stuck to the tile. Not far off was a table full of kids celebrating a birthday party and they were shrieking with laughter. Several were chasing each other around the restaurant. Without warning, a muscle started dancing at the corner of the Saiyan's jaw.
The trainee handed the bewildered fellow a pamphlet, and waited patiently while the man held the paper about an inch from his nose, reading the nutritional information. "I…uh, think I'll change my order to a McWrap."
"That was just a limited time offer, sir. We don't have them anymore."
"Oh. Well, how about just a plain hamburger? No onions, though, they give me the winds something awful! "
"…That's fine, sir. Would you like some fries-"
"Wait! What are those Filet-O-Fishies like-"
"!!FOR THE LENGTH OF KOOLERS COCK!!" Vegeta thundered from where he was standing, "Make up your damn mind, you senile old geezer!"
Several teenagers started whistling and clapping. "Way to go, little dude!" said the one from behind. He was just about to give Vegeta a slap on the back when the man turned and glared at him. One look in those crazed depths spared the youth from having a hook for a hand as he wisely backed off.
The entire restaurant had fallen into stunned silence at the alien's outburst. When the manager came sprinting from his office, Vegeta back- pedaled and quickly exited the building before the fireworks started. The last thing he needed was another reason for the Z Fighters to hate his guts. Incinerating an establishment that served food wrapped in paper may be considered more than just a critique on poor service.
Additionally, he had to remember that the Cell games had been broadcast and he had been the first combatant to arrive. Anyone watching their television had gotten a good look at him, so it would be an unwise move to advertise his potential.
He had to… blend in. It was enough to make him gag.
So he stuck religiously to the sidewalks with his head down and his hands in the pockets of his pants. He had to avoid the mad urge to power up every time he came face to face with someone in his way. Instead, he mumbled something resembling, " 'scu'me," and stayed to the path. Keeping a veiled eye on the storefronts, he decided that there wasn't enough 'fast-food' (what a damn joke THAT was!) in the world to sustain his powerful hunger. After experiencing Bulma's mothers expert cooking, he was now looking for something more exotic.
When he found the first restaurant that didn't flaunt a plastic sign or grinning mascot, he walked inside. A plumb little waitress led him to a quiet out of the way corner table and left him with a menu. Any irritation that Vegeta might have had about the impersonal treatment flew out the window the minute he got a good look at the menu listings. He couldn't stop swallowing back the saliva that flowed into his mouth as he stared at all of the choices in wide-eyed wonder.
He was still gaping when the waitress returned to his table and pulled out her pad. "Well, sir, have you decided what you would like?"
Closing the menu with a snap, he handed it back to her and said, "Everything."
The woman's polite smile faltered. "…Pardon me?"
"Bring me one of everything and hurry it up. I'm starving!"
The waitress opened her mouth and then closed it again, turning away without another word.
Practically vibrating in anticipation, Vegeta was starting to eye the floral table arrangement when the woman returned. This time a man in a business suit was with her. The Saiyan felt himself tensen up as the two looked at one another. "What is it?" he asked warily.
"Nothing to be alarmed about, sir," the Maitre de responded easily, making gestures with a deliberate flourish. "However, your order is going to be quite expensive. I merely wish to ensure that you've adequate funds to cover the bill."
Vegeta slapped his hands down on the table and half rose. "How DARE you! Do you have any idea who-" He sat back down quickly and pulled out his wallet instead. This was NOT the place to start raving about his royal birthright. He was coming to the despairing conclusion that the "Prince of all Saiyans" speech wasn't worth a damn cent on this miserable world. "I haven't got much money-"
The Maitre de's face dropped all pretense of civility. "Then I'm afraid I'm going to ask that you-"
"-But I have this," Vegeta finished. He pulled out a small rectangular plastic card from one of the slots. Dr. Briefs had given it to him only a week before he had decided to leave Capsule Corporation. At the mere sight, the Headwaiter's eyes almost bulged in delight.
It was a Platinum Charge Card with an unlimited credit limit.
"That will be more than sufficient, sir," the man said smoothly. "I'll see to it personally that you receive the absolute best service."
"The sooner the better," Vegeta retorted sourly. To give import to his words, he pulled a flower from the centerpiece and bit the head off. Locking eyes with the stunned man, he began to dine on the rest of the arrangement.
"Yes sir," the Maitre de said, straight-faced.
The Saiyan didn't have long to wait before the first course arrived. In between the plates being served and cleared away, the Headwaiter kept showing up and offering him glasses of wine. The names; Bordeaux and Chandelle meant nothing to Vegeta, one fermented fruit smelled much the same as another, but the sour beverage quenched his thirst. It would be three hours and almost three thousand zeni later before he would be reasonably sated and ready to take his reluctant leave. He was half in the bag when he rose from his table, barely noticing the muttered undercurrent of restaurant staff and patrons who were singling him out. There was actually a rare smile on his face as he waited for the Maitre de to process his bill.
"Thank you very much for dining at the Gilded Osprey," he said, handing the charge card back. "All of the staff of Capsule Corporation are always more than welcome to come here."
Vegeta snapped his head around at the taller man. "Staff?" He looked down at the card in bewilderment.
"Yes sir. You have an expense account. Very common among high placed employees. You must be a very important person."
"Once, I was," the Saiyan said under his breath. "Now, I don't know what I am…"
A smiling doorman held the door open for him as he exited. Outside, Vegeta stood on the curb looking at the credit card in his hand with a mixture of emotions, none of them good. Even in the act of getting a decent meal, he was indebted to the Briefs again. Was it ever going to end?
"I'm never going to use this again," he promised himself.
Drowsy from the wine and from the filling meal, he decided to sleep in a bed for a change instead of a sleeping bag. He began to look for accommodations that might be more within his limited budget. Wandering the streets, his roaming inevitably took him to the poorer section of the city than where he had originally eaten. It didn't matter the planet or even the breed of its citizens. Vegeta knew where he was the minute the first of the prostitutes came into view, even if he didn't know the name of the area. Places like this were as old as the universe.
"Hey, baby! Thirty for a half-an-half, if you're looking."
"-want to buy some tabs? A deuce a pop, it's killer shit!"
"Don't listen to those skanks, sweetheart. Let a real woman give you a ride- "
Ignoring them with difficulty, the Saiyan would have succumbed to their offers five years ago. Back then, he had been traveling with Radditz and Nappa. They had been a pair of rough bastards who would never turn down an invitation, real or imagined, not even in the middle of a mission. He had let a lot of their crude traits rub off onto him and even now, it was hard to shake their twisted influence. One frenzied screw up against the wall of an alley might just be the thing to ease his tension. It had been almost three years since he had last lain with a woman-
Yeah, he reminded himself. Look how THAT turned out!
He walked on.
About a block further down, he found a hotel that didn't have addicts sitting on the front steps and went inside. The foyer was a dismal grey in desperate need of paint and smelled of mildew and stale cigarettes. Some old drunk was snoring away on the battered sofa against the wall, clutching a near empty bottle of vodka in one arthritic claw. The admissions counter was beside the stairs and a skinny, balding young man in his late twenties was peering at him behind the mesh cage erected around it. "Hey," he grunted as a greeting.
Vegeta stepped up to the desk and wasn't amused that he had to raise himself up on his tiptoes to see over its pitted and scarred surface. "I want a room."
"Sure. For an hour or for the night?"
"What the hell is the point of renting a room for an- " Vegeta remembered the corner whores and corrected himself. "For the night."
"That'll be twenty-five zeni. Sign here." He slid the admissions book over and Vegeta signed the exotic symbol that was the alien equivalent of his name. The man never even blinked when he glanced at it. "Room 206. Second floor, end of the hall," he said and gave him a key.
This is certainly NOT the Hammorski Plaza, Vegeta thought to himself as he ascended the stairs and walked down the corridor to his room. The lighting was a grimy yellow and the walls were paper-thin. He could hear everything that was going on in the other rooms and he didn't even have to strain his ears, not that he wanted to in this dump. When he reached his door, he could hear a screaming fight going on in the room beside his, between a man and woman. It was amusing for all of five seconds before Vegeta went over to their door and brought a fist down on its surface.
"Shut the hell up in there! I don't need to hear your shit!" he bellowed and everything went silent.
Satisfied, the Saiyan unlocked his door and reached inside for the light switch. The minute the lone bulb in the ceiling came on, startled roaches scurried for cover. His heart sank at what he had been reduced to but he entered and closed the door after himself anyway, looking around in disgust. A sagging single bed with a faded blanket over it, a television chained to a bureau that had the drawers missing and a single chair. There wasn't even a bathroom, only a sink in the corner with a dripping faucet.
"This place makes the damn pod look hospitable," he grumbled.
When he turned down the blanket and sheets in preparation for sleep, he saw the semen stains of the previous tenant drying in the middle of the bed. He quickly covered the bed back up and uncapsulated his meager belongings. It looked like he was going to be using the damn sleeping bag after all.
As he washed up as best he could in the sink, his neighbors resumed their feuding with even greater ferocity. When he yelled at them to keep it down, they ignored him. Ordinarily, that would have been a fatal mistake but Vegeta was too tired and discouraged to bother with killing irritating humans tonight. He turned on the TV and was mildly surprised to see hard core porn being broadcast. Needless to say, he kept it on that channel.
Spreading the sleeping bag over the surface of the bed, Vegeta sat up against the headboard and watched the heaving flesh on the screen with vacant interest. A part of him wished that he were back at the Headquarters building but even there things had changed. The old man tried to suck up to him for his past hassles and his blond mate actually made up stupid reasons to pester him. The infant brat had babbled all day and howled non-stop all night and Bulma-
…Bulma… The mere thought of the sea-foamed haired beauty was enough to make him tremble. Not from lust or attraction.
It was rage. Pure and simple. He had confided in her, trusted her as he had no other. In the end, she had tricked him into giving her the one thing he had sworn he would never be responsible for; The creation of a life! A hybrid abomination that mocked his royal lineage with its impurity. As ever, Vegeta found himself comparing his life with the ghost of his long- deceased father. What would the King, and undisputed ruler of Vegetasei, have done if faced with a similar situation?
Killed the bitch, of course, his father whispered in his mind with all of his usual arrogance. He would never have been weak enough to lie with an alien, much less impregnate her.
"He had Saiyan women to choose from," Vegeta forced himself to reason out loud. "The damn comparison doesn't apply here!" The ancient customs and forced dictations of Saiyan Law had been expunged from his conscience the instant Frieza had destroyed his world and people. In truth, here on Earth he had been the lone alien at the mercy of the world whose population thrived. Bulma had been the one to lower her standards and be with him, not the other way around.
"No," Vegeta grumbled. She had purposely lied to him with all of that talk of 'the pill' and 'safe sex'. He would have gladly choked down a case of condoms to prevent what she had obviously set out to do from the start. All of her proclamations of love and trust in an affluent hotel suite and he had been gullible enough to believe it. How could he have fallen for the ruse? Had he truly been so weak and vulnerable to allow himself to trust her against all of his instincts?
Had he, at one time, actually started to care for her?
There was the sound of someone colliding into the wall behind him. The screaming rose in volume and Vegeta's patience, poor to begin with, dropped another notch. He brought his fist against the wall so hard that a section of plaster fell from the ceiling onto his head.
Brushing the chalky dust out of his spiky hair with a curse, his thoughts unerringly went back to his earlier musing. He was out of his depth where relationships were concerned. Concepts of affection, sharing and devotion were as alien to him as genocide and destruction would be to Bulma. There was more than just a difference of upbringings or cultures to blame here. They were, quite literally, worlds apart in their varied opinions of proper conduct. He realized that he was expecting her to act how his own limited experiences with his own breed demanded; that she be subservient. Bulma was apparently thinking that he should behave like some simpering human and be loyal to her, no matter her conduct. There was going to be no easy way for this situation to be resolved and he had done quite possibly the worst thing possible.
He had run away.
"What am I going to do?" he whispered hopelessly, looking around the decrepit room. All of those years of abuse and slavery under Frieza, the ambition of becoming the revered Super Saiyan and finally achieving his birth-right… Was this really his reward? Did he deserve this filth and degradation? He was distressed by the unshed tears that rose in his throat like bile and he choked them down with effort.
The squabbling neighbors were almost a welcome diversion from his grief. When they started yelling again, Vegeta joined in. He got to his knees on the bed and began hammering on the wall, "!!SHUT THE FUCK UP!!I SWEAR I'M GONNA KILL YOU BOTH!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.
The voices dropped in the next room. Vegeta swore he could hear their breathing but at least they were finally keeping their mouths shut. Still brilliantly pissed, he put his ear to the wall, actually hoping that one of them would give him a reason to finally go ballistic. He heard some footfalls cross the room and something settle against the wall opposite his head. Before he could react, there was an enormous, ear-shattering explosion that punched a hole in the wall and threw Vegeta to the floor.
"Not if I kill you first," snickered a young punk as he began reloading his sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun. Behind him, his girlfriend was shrieking with laughter on their bed. The pair had been responsible for a series of armed robberies in the area over the last month. They had decided to lie low in the hotel room after killing a shopkeeper two nights ago.
Crouching on the floor, Vegeta raised a shaky hand to his left ear, not surprised that the report of the gun had ruptured his eardrum. How he felt when he raised his hand to his head was another matter. The shot had clipped off his hair and given him the lop-sided equivalent of a brushcut. A wounded sound escaped his mouth when he picked up one of the severed spikes lying on the bed. It didn't matter that if the shotgun had been two inches lower, he wouldn't have been able to mourn the remains of his once- proud Saiyan mane. All that mattered in that instant was how Vegeta was reminded of his horrific loss just from this one world; his cohorts, his tail, his dignity, his pride, his spunk, and now his HAIR?! It was the last fucking straw!
The punk was pushing the gun through the hole he had made and was aiming it at him when Vegeta raised his left hand, palm up, in the punk's direction. The thunder of the blast and the Big Bang attack were simultaneous, with entirely different results. The Saiyan avoided the second discharge easily. All that was left of the punk was where his legs had been severed by the alien blast and were still standing in front of the immense hole Vegeta had created. He had clipped the little bastard off at the knees and the stumps were smoldering like a pair of strange candles. The rest had been propelled through the huge exit he had created on the opposite side of the pair's room. He got to his feet, smirking with amusement despite the ringing in his left ear. He had forgotten all about the woman until she propelled herself through the devastated wall.
"You killed Toby! You prick!" she shrieked, coming at him with a hunting knife that would have made Rambo blanch in fear. She was high on speed and brandishing the weapon in erratic strikes, yelling death threats over and over. Vegeta landed an uppercut to her jaw that threw her back into her own room. She fell backwards on the bed, flipped over and landed on the other side.
The only reason that Vegeta entered their room at all was because of all of the money that was spread out on the bed and over the floor. He needed the cash more than this little dipshit and he didn't have much time. People outside of their rooms were calling for help and someone had pulled the fire alarm. He was just stuffing his pockets when the woman jumped to her feet from the opposite side of the bed and threw a bag of powder directly into his face.
"What the f- " he inhaled a lungful of the fine powder and broke off coughing. His bending over was the only thing that spared his throat as her hand, armed with the knife, sailed right over his head. He barely registered her presence and managed to kick out in time to prevent another attack. There was a grunt of expelled air and he knew he had gotten her in the ribs. Someone was banging away on the door and it signaled that it was time to leave. Wiping the stinging dust from his watering eyes, Vegeta sprinted for the hole he had made with his earlier blast and took to the air before anyone else caught sight of him. The woman was still screaming long after he had made his retreat.
Outside of the city limits, his surroundings blurred and his perceptions warped so badly that he was no longer sure if he was flying up or down. The ringing in his ear had transformed to a piercing wail and he was only dimly aware that he was screaming, unable to stop. He tried to outrun whatever drug the woman had thrown at him and bolted straight up until the air began to get dangerously thin. Around him, the clouds coalesced into barely recognizable shapes, becoming faces he had hoped to never see again.
"Oi! If it isn't our favorite little monkey," Zarbon said with his usual smugness. "Having a rough spot of trouble, are you, eh?"
"Shut up," Vegeta hissed before he broke off sneezing.
"Awww, poor chibi no Ouji," Dodoria purred. "I think that you've finally met your match. Oh well, like father like son. Losers. Both of you."
"Shut up!"
Another voice entered his mind, this one the worst yet. His arms broke out in gooseflesh at the rasping cackle that enveloped him like thunder.
"My dear Vegeta, don't be scared," Frieza said, looming over him. His head was the size of a skyscraper and growing larger by the second, the cumulus clouds swollen with unshed lightening. "Come a little closer so that I can hold you. It's been so long a time since I've… enjoyed you. It won't hurt. Much."
Recoiling in terror from the apparition, Vegeta turned away from the hallucinations and the taunting laughter that echoed in his mind. He couldn't seem to escape them. He flew as hard and as fast as he could, plowing through mountaintops and creating trenches in lakes in his panicked urgency to get away. Eventually, the drug took even that small measure of comfort from him and he fell to the ground in an exhausted heap. He couldn't focus on his surroundings and his head felt swollen with colors and sounds. Getting to his feet was virtually an impossibility and he ended up huddling into a contorted, miserable ball to try and escape the voices.
"Lookit him, mates!" Jeice cried. "Curled up like a little baby! Ain't he cute?"
Burter rumbled disapprovingly. "Typical Saiyan when he doesn't get his way. They're all wimps."
"Hrmp! Never met a Saiyan monkey worth a damn," Captain Ginyu sneered. "And this is supposed to be their Prince? No wonder they're extinct!"
"Shutupshutupshupshutup," Vegeta chanted over and over through clenched teeth.
"Poor Vegeta," breathed Frieza's voice by his right ear. "Don't listen to them. They're not real."
Raising his head, Vegeta tried to focus past the swirling lights and warped landscapes. There was someone looming over him but all that he had to see was the glimpse of that familiar naked, pink flesh. Frothing in rage he lashed out at the figure, fully expecting to collide with a solid presence.
He wasn't disappointed. He managed to land one kick before a powerful blow knocked him away. Writhing in the dirt, he glared back at the advancing figure with rage and terror. Just before he lost consciousness, he heard the most haunting words of all:
"No, they're not real. But I am."
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Chapter Three: After visiting old friends, Bulma travels to the Son Household and is met with a startling revelation about Chi Chi's health.