Two Sides To A Story
Chapter Eleven
There was no possible way that Gohan could fall asleep.
Oh, he was tired. There was no disputing that. For months, he had caught only snatches of anything even remotely resembling contented slumber. He missed his father terribly, the acute sting of loss only now starting to fade to a tolerable ache. Conflicting with his grief were the inexplicable changes going on with his own body. He had thought that he had everything under control until he had started school in the Western Capital. After a childhood spent of solitary studying, he found himself completely unprepared for the pandemonium that had greeted him when he walked into the immense building. Children and adults together in alarming numbers, actually existing in peaceful, co-existing chaos. It was all rather overwhelming to his gentle nature and Gohan was aware that he stood out like a sore thumb. The city kids were spoiled, snide and already had formed their various cliques that offered no invitations his way. As much as he would have liked to fit in, he knew it would be impossible when the nicknames started; Bumpkin, Welfare Bait, Farmer Boy; the names changed as easily as the tides. With a maturity that went far beyond his years, Gohan ignored the taunts quite easily. Being in the school afforded him far more opportunities to avail himself of the lab and computer equipment that would normally be inaccessible, and that was reward enough. His mind could shut out the distractions quite easily.
His body, however, couldn't.
Ms. Kipfer, his homeroom teacher, was a recent divorcee who was desperately trying to rejoin the dating circuit. She was fixated on the math teacher down the hall, Mr. Morris, and often wore skirts that had a suggestive split up one thigh or a sweater that was often too tight. There were times, when she would bend over his desk to examine his paperwork, that Gohan's penis seemed to assume a life of its own. It wasn't long before the boy started having strange dreams about her that caused him to wake up in the early mornings in sweaty frustration, often with his immature seed coating his lower belly. He didn't know what to make of the phenomenon and he was too scared and embarrassed to bring it up with either his mother or Bulma. So he suffered in silence, washing and drying his sheets in the laundry room and then replacing them so that no one would be the wiser for what was happening. He had driven himself into such a state of worry that he finally decided to chance his mother's rage and seek out the one person who might possibly be able to provide an explanation.
Vegeta.
It was a long shot. The Saiyan was in self-imposed exile and had made it clear that he wanted to be left alone. Gohan knew that he was going to have to be persistent if he was going to expect anything more, short of rude hostility. The pair had a wary respect for one another that had developed from past clashes and reluctant alliances. Gohan had been the one to finally subdue him when he had been on the precipice of defeating them in their initial meeting. Vegeta never forgot that humiliating defeat. More recently, Gohan had ascended to Super Saiyan at the age of eleven when he, himself, had nearly died to accomplish the feat at the age of thirty-four. The fact that a mere boy had finished Cell was the most crushing blow of all to his pride.
All of the other Z Fighters liked to boast that Gohan was the strongest warrior on the planet now. What they didn't seem to realize was that his inexperience and compassion were a direct liability to his wielding so much power. Not even the death of his father had been enough to goad him into hatred and destroy Cell once and for all. If not for Vegeta's timely diversion, there wouldn't even be an earth. Immune to such emotional liabilities and boasting an experience in using his abilities that none of them could even dare chance a guess at, Vegeta was the true warrior. Gohan had no doubt that if it ever came to a battle to the death between them, the Saiyan's speed and ruthlessness would do him in before he even had a chance to react to the challenge. Piccolo had been the one to offer that reality check shortly before Gohan had packed up and moved to the Western Capital.
"If Vegeta gets it into his mind to pick up where he last left off, I don't know if we can stop him," the Namek told him, his emerald features as grave as stone.
Frowning up at him in confusion, Gohan puzzled over the statement in silence for a few moments. "I thought he's one of the good guys now?" He said at last.
Piccolo looked at him as if he were mad. "Vegeta is a creature of opportunity, Gohan. Look at the facts; He is now a Super Saiyan, his greatest adversary -your father- is dead. He's free from Frieza. What's to stop him from forming an empire of his own, starting with Earth?"
"Me?" Gohan squeaked.
"You're powerful, there's no doubting that, but there's much more to battle than just brute force. There's experience, strategy, ferocity and determination. What Vegeta lacks in power he more than makes up in those abilities. I'd like to believe that you would emerge victorious but I fear... I fear..." He let the statement linger.
"Vegeta's a different person now," Gohan supplied helpfully. "He has a life on earth with Bulma and Trunks. You don't have anything to worry about, Piccolo."
"I sure hope you're right," the Namek fretted.
As it turned out, there WAS something to worry about but it had nothing to do with Vegeta reverting to his villainous ways. On the contrary, the Saiyan still possessed that rare selflessness made apparent by his sacrifice to Trunks in the hospital. But there was something seriously wrong with him. The ki that Gohan had sensed from him had not been the alien's usual intensity at all, even his personal aura had been discolored; like a bruise to the soul. Vegeta had been in no mood for questions then, if his words to Bulma were any indication, but Gohan took note of the warning signs and shelved that knowledge for later.
His suspicions had been confirmed when the Saiyan had reached the landing to the floor of his apartment, obviously favoring his right leg. He had offered Gohan nothing more than his usual hostility, that was to be expected, but Gohan hadn't anticipated anything remotely resembling an invitation. By the time he had been permitted into the apartment, he had been so flustered that his concerns over Vegeta's health had taken a back seat to his own curiosity. Then came the beer, and the brusque response to what he had thought was some sort of mortal affliction. He was amazed to discover that it even had a name: wet dreams. Once he caught sight of the nude woman in Vegeta's magazine, thoughts of the Saiyan's health became the furthest thing from his mind. He listened, dry-mouthed and dumbfounded, as Vegeta bluntly laid out the straight facts about sex and the opposite gender's involvement in the act.
Vegeta told him point blank; "It's fine to rely on your hand in a pinch but it's nothing compared to pussy."
"What does a cat have to do with sex?" Gohan innocently piped up.
Slapping his hand against his forehead in exasperation, the Saiyan grappled with his temper before setting the boy straight on the slang. Surprisingly enough, he was quite patient in fielding Gohan's questions and was far more thorough in his explanations than he needed to be. By the time they were done, the young Saiyan's mind was blurring with strange, exotic words; clitoris, fellatio, orgasm, cunnilingus. Their true significance was foreign to him at this stage in his young life but he couldn't wait to make the discoveries when the opportunity presented itself. Smiling at Vegeta with genuine gratitude, he praised; "You're really good at this. Who told you all about sex when you were my age?"
"Nappa and Radditz."
"And they gave you this talk?"
For some reason, Vegeta looked away and stared bleakly at the window for a long moment. Sleet was splattering up against the glass and running down its surface in frozen streamers. "I wish that they had," he almost whispered. "Things... might have been different..."
When Gohan tried to question the enigmatic confession, it was clear that the truce between them was over. Vegeta's self-imposed walls were back up and any trace of approachability left his features to be replaced by that usual sullenness. "It's late. I'm going to bed," he suddenly announced and got to his feet.
Wondering what he had said wrong, Gohan watched him stalk out of the living room. "Can... can I sleep here for the night?"
Stopping in his tracks, the Saiyan glared daggers at him before relenting. "Fine. If I find any cum stains on my sofa in the morning, you'll be licking them up. Is that clear, boy?"
Swallowing, Gohan offered a meek affirmative. Flashing him one more warning glance, Vegeta nodded once and then disappeared down the hall. Waiting expectantly for the offering of a blanket and a pillow, the boy was all smiles when his reluctant host returned. All the Saiyan did was turn out the lights before retiring to his bedroom without a word. Sitting alone in the darkness, Gohan could only sigh.
After some stumbling around the unfamiliar surroundings, Gohan settled for one of Vegeta's coats and pulled it over himself as he lay down on the sofa. The Saiyan had a different scent than his father or Piccolo but it was masculine and comforting and the boy was smiling slightly as he settled into a more comfortable position on the couch. His worries had been solved, all questions were answered, he should have been able to fall asleep with ease.
But. he couldn't. Too late, his concerns for Vegeta's welfare were only now resurfacing with a vengeance. He had lost a valuable opportunity to voice them when the Saiyan had been approachable. Any chances of finding out about the details behind that prolonged absence had passed by.
Gohan sat up, berated himself for his stupidity, and cast a glance down the hallway. There was still a strip of light showing beneath Vegeta's closed bedroom door and the boy forced himself to his feet. He knew that he was chancing a flight home in the dark, probably in a matter of minutes, but he wouldn't be able to face Bulma if he didn't at least try to talk to the gruff Saiyan. Walking practically on his tiptoes, Gohan inched his way over to the door and placed an ear close to the surface. His father used to snore like a bandsaw but he wasn't sure of Vegeta's sleeping habits. After several minutes of silence, he rapped a knuckle lightly on the door. "Vegeta? Are you awake?"
"What do you want now, boy?" came the churlish response.
Taking a deep breath, Gohan turned the knob and looked in. The lamp on the nightstand was turned on but the bed was undisturbed. Leaning in further, he spotted Vegeta standing beside the bedroom window, staring out at the storm that was raging beyond the apartment. His arms were crossed in that usual, imperious pose but his face had lost its aggression and now only appeared thoughtful and sad. "You can make all of the speeches you want but I've got a pretty good idea what you're going to say."
Stepping into the room, Gohan attempted, "I only wanted to ask where you've been-"
"That's none of your business. You're treading on thin ice, brat."
Deciding on a different tactic, the boy asked cautiously, "Are you ever going to return to Capsule Corporation?"
Vegeta's response was a sour snort.
"I'm not going to pretend that I know what happened between you and Bulma," Gohan persisted. "I only see for myself how miserable the both of you are right now. There's more to this than hurt feelings, Vegeta. There's Trunks to consider. You have to come back-"
Whirling around, Vegeta snapped; "The days of anyone telling me what to do are over. Bulma wanted the brat so badly; she can puzzle out the problems on her own. I have everything that I want right here."
"Love? Family? What about those?" Gohan ventured hopefully.
"Human concepts. They mean nothing to me."
"They must or you never would have come to the hospital to heal Trunks and confront Bulma," the boy said in a level voice, ignoring the lethal glare that Vegeta was flashing in his direction. "You said your piece and she apologized. Why can't you forgive her?"
"I'd told her my feelings on this matter from Day One: That I would never sire any half-blooded mongrel. As it is, I have to endure my father screaming his constant disapproval inside of my head with practically every move I make. Now the Royal line of Vegetasei comes to a crashing end thanks to a purple-haired half-breed who goes by the name of 'Trunks'. What the hell kind of a name is that anyway?"
"I think it was an uncle of Mr. Briefs-"
"It was a rhetorical question. I really don't give a shit," he growled. "The brat's first name is not mine, his tail was taken from him...I ask you, boy; what is the appeal of that ugly little creature to me?"
Very quietly, Gohan answered, "He's still your son, Vegeta. He has half of your blood inside him and he needs his father. Mine is-" His voice broke and he grappled with his grief for a few seconds and then forced himself on, "My father is dead. I loved him so much that it still hurts if I just so much as think of him. Trunks deserves to know who you are."
"Why? So that he can grow to despise me as much as I did my own father?" Vegeta sneered.
Gohan wasn't sure how to respond to that question. Before he could come up with something to say, the Saiyan continued, "The first person I ever trusted was him...and he gave me away to Frieza like I was some unwanted creature. I was his SON!" He looked away, struggling with his anger and something much more personal. "The last was Bulma and look what happened. I expected more from her. I should have known better. I won't let it happen again and there's nothing you can say to change that," he finished.
Gohan could see the stirrings of emotions in the alien's dark eyes and was finally able to see the appeal of the man that had captivated Bulma so entirely. Vegeta was the embodiment of conflicted emotions that were the direct result of his tragic past. It had never been intended that he become a soldier, his destiny had been to rule an empire but Frieza had changed all of that in the blink of an eye. An orphan of war, the Saiyan prince ended up in service to the tyrant, beaten down until he had been able endure the punishment and mean enough to start inflicting his own.
There was no conflict looming over the horizon that could possibly act as a diversion. His rage and despair might well turn in on itself if something wasn't done quickly but Gohan knew he was out of his league here. Vegeta was visibly upset at the separation and at a loss as to how to cope. If there wasn't some kind of reconciliation in the near future, Piccolo's grim prophecy might turn into a reality.
As he struggled with his words, Vegeta turned to face him and the boy sucked in a deep breath at the potential malice in the Saiyan's features. In that instant, Gohan was brought back to the first time that they had met on the battlefield, before all of the innocent blood had been spilled. Reflexively, his stomach clenched with uneasiness at the dark familiarity of that expression.
'If Vegeta gets it into his mind to pick up where he last left off, I don't know if we can stop him', Piccolo repeated into the back of his mind.
"Vegeta-" Gohan attempted.
"We're done. Get out." The palm that was raised in the boy's direction punctuated the words with deadly intent.
Wasting no time on trite excuses, the boy backpedaled out of the room and closed the door. For one long moment, he stood in the hallway waiting for the Saiyan to come charging after him but nothing happened. Shaking for no good reason he could pinpoint, Gohan returned to the couch and tried to fall asleep. Unfortunately, concerns and worries that rarely ever crossed a twelve-year olds path weighed down his young mind. He spent the remainder of the night staring up at the ceiling, wondering how he could possibly get Bulma and Vegeta back together.
He was oblivious to the fact that he was already responsible for setting that wheel in motion.
The storm broke just before dawn and the sound of snowplows, laboriously trying to clear the buried streets, woke Gohan out of a troubled doze. His hand quickly flew to his crotch to check for embarrassing moisture but Ms. Kipfer hadn't had the time to dance into his dreams and, for once, he was soft and dry. Breathing a sigh of relief, he got to his feet and looked out of the window of the forth floor apartment. The view was actually very majestic, with the surrounding mountains brooding over the city the way they did. There was the feeling of isolation from the rest of the world that filled Gohan with a conflicted sense of wonder and loss. From here, the Western Capital seemed very far away.
Impulsively, Gohan checked his watch. He wondered if it were possible to make a quick flight back to Capsule Corporation and perhaps slip into the bed just before his mother would come to wake him up in time to get ready for school. If everything went his way, no one would even know he had ever been missing! Eager to avoid his mother's anger, he hung up Vegeta's jacket and went to the front door. He was about to let himself out when he rummaged in his pocket and suddenly remembered that Vegeta had taken the papers that he had stolen from Bulma's secretary's desk. "Shit," he cursed and slapped a guilty hand over his mouth. One evening spent in Vegeta's shadow and he was already swearing. Great.
Pacing the apartment restlessly, he waited for another two hours hoping that Vegeta would be an early riser. During that time, he watched some television, examined the various prints hanging on the walls and went into the kitchen to make himself something for breakfast. The refrigerator was stocked with cans of tomato juice and cartons of eggs. There was no bread, fruit, or condiments that might be involved with such items. The cupboards were bare except for a stack of cans. Gohan took one out and his eyes widened in surprise. He was holding a can of catfood. As far as he knew, Vegeta didn't own a cat so that meant.
"Ew, gross!" He quickly replaced the can.
When eight o'clock rolled around, he found himself back in front of Vegeta's bedroom door, wishing he were anywhere else. It was his fear of his mother, more than his apprehension of the mercurial Saiyan, which forced him on. He tried the doorknob and opened the door a crack, braving himself to look inside.
The curtains in the bedroom were only half-closed and Gohan's eyes adjusted easily to the gloom. The bed was now occupied, with the blanket and sheets twisted around a solitary form.
"Vegeta?" Gohan whispered, stepping inside and casting a wary eye around on the floor for a discarded pair of pants. His father used to just throw his sweaty training uniform into the corner at the end of a day. It always drove his mother nuts. It was his bad luck that this alien was neat and hung up his clothes when he was through with them. There was nothing out of place anywhere that the boy's straining eyes could see. The top of the dresser was bare except for a handful of change. The closet was closed and he didn't have enough guts to start rummaging through Vegeta's wardrobe. Accepting his defeat, he turned to leave-
-and saw the envelope lying on the nightstand.
Gohan's eyes brightened and he approached the bed with silent steps, actually holding his breath. Less than two feet away from the prize, Vegeta was sleeping soundly, his muscled arms encircling his head as if it ached. The boy knew that he had drank a lot to get through that unnerving facts-of- life speech the night before and reasoned that was probably the only reason he had been able to get this far, undetected. Grimacing with tension, he lowered his hand to pick up the papers and just as his fingers made contact, another hand lashed out to grab his wrist.
Jumping about a foot off the floor, Gohan stared guiltily at Vegeta, who was shockingly awake and glaring at him, all traces of sleep completely gone. "What do you think you're doing?"
Forcing himself to remain calm, the boy managed to get out, "I'm just going home. I have to take these papers back to Bulma before she realizes they're missing."
"They stay right here."
"I'll get in trouble-"
"Tough. I did you a favor, boy, now I'm calling in the debt. I'm keeping this information. You can tell Bulma to mind her own business." He released his hold on the boy's wrist and then grabbed the envelope and rolled over on his other side, deliberately giving Gohan his back. "Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out," he said shortly.
"Sure, sure, okay," Gohan muttered, knowing when to take a hint. It was becoming painfully clear that he was going to face the wrath of both his mother and now Bulma for this lapse. As he was leaving the bedroom, he could think of only one thing that might make the impending tirade worthwhile. "...Vegeta?"
"!!WHAT?!"
"Can I, uh, keep the magazine?"
He barely made it out of the apartment alive.
At that precise moment, thirteen hundred kilometers away, Bulma was standing over Trunks' crib. It was very early in the morning and the baby was twitching in his sleep; his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he grappled with some unknown nightmare. There was already the hint of an indignant line forming between his eyebrows, so much like his father's. Singing a lullaby while she stroked his forehead, Bulma watched as the boy settled back into calmer sleep where safer dreams prevailed. The whole thing was developing into a ritual. Last night, he had uttered a word that had made all of the blood in her body drop to freezing.
Thrashing around in his crib, Trunks beat at the air with his tiny fists and legs and was wailing his distress to anyone within earshot. Bulma came into the room at a run and she picked the babe up, rocking him. "It's alright, Trunks. Did you have a bad dream? Poor baby, you're trembling! What scared you so badly?"
Gripping her hair with panicked fingers, the boy whimpered, "Fwa- Fweeza!" He started crying and clung to her desperately, his tears dampening her nightgown.
Bulma was too shocked to react for a moment. At no time in her recollection could she remember anyone talking about Frieza when the boy was within earshot. "Oh my God," she said and hugged him with all of her might.
Vegeta had come to his aid because he admitted to being on the receiving end of the babe's distress. Bulma now realized that the bond was not simply one-sided but a mutual sharing of minds; one warped by torture and madness, the other fresh and completely innocent. How long could each one bear absorbing such opposite emotions without going mad? Trunks seemed to be fine when he was awake but during naps, he was much as he was now. Cringing, flinching, often whimpering in his sleep.
"We'll sort all of this out when I get back," Bulma promised him. Leaning in, she kissed him on the cheek and smoothened the rumpled blanket that covered him. "You'll see your daddy again and it won't just be in your dreams. One of these mornings when you wake up, he'll be right here beside me. We'll be a real family, Trunks. Just you wait and see."
Gurgling contentedly in his sleep, a hint of a smile crossed the baby's face. It was a welcome sight for Bulma and she left the room and closed the door to half-mast. The maternal calmness left her face as soon as she looked down at her watch. The blue of her eyes became cold steel and her expression tightened with resolve and anger. Hurrying down the corridor, she grabbed her coat and walked out the front door.
She had an appointment to keep.
When Vegeta stepped out of the shower, he was still cursing under his breath as he toweled himself dry. Impertinent, conniving, insignificant little pest! It was bad enough that the boy had intruded on his privacy and practically forced himself into his apartment, uninvited. Not only that, he had broached a subject of an extremely personal nature that, once started, was not so easily finished. Vegeta could scarcely believe how thorough he had been with the boy and credited it to too many beers. Hell, he had even given away some of his techniques! To add insult to injury, Gohan had even tried to play matchmaker and sway him into returning to Capsule Corporation using guilt.
Sonovabitch! As if he didn't suffer from THAT affliction enough!
The final straw had been the boy sneaking into his bedroom and trying to steal back the documents he had originally stolen from Bulma. Vegeta quickly put him back in his place, or so he had thought until the brat had asked for the Penthouse as some sort of consolation prize. Leaping out of the bed, Vegeta had chased him out of the apartment, screaming obscenities at the top of his lungs and waking up everyone on the forth floor. Gohan was a blur down the stairs and ran out of the front door, taking to the air. Standing in the hallway amid the outraged exclamations of his neighbors, Vegeta saw the boy do a fly-by past the window at the end of the corridor and actually wave at him.
Miserable little shit.
He walked nude into the kitchen and proceeded to make himself his usual breakfast; One glass of tomato juice with six raw eggs. He downed the concoction with one gulp, adding a slight grimace when he was through. It wasn't much as far as a meal was concerned but it sure beat having to make the effort to cook. He was many things but a gourmet chef was not on the list.
Shivering despite the heat in the apartment, he returned to the bedroom to get dressed. Pants and a sweater later, he was sitting apathetically on the bed wondering what to do for the day. Jogging was out of the question, with the sidewalks covered in snow and he really didn't want to venture outside. Ever since he had chosen to submerge his ki, his tolerance to cold had diminished. He felt every single temperature variation now, the chill settling into his flesh like a virus. As usual, his thoughts wandered back to the tropical Western Capital although he fought the memories. There were other places warmer than Pitch but he just couldn't bear the thought of moving again. It was isolated here but no longer the refuge he had hoped. The Brat of Kakarrot had only been the first person to make the trip to visit him. It would only be a matter of time before the others came. Growling deep in his throat, his eyes slid to the rumpled envelope lying beside the pillow.
"Why won't you leave me alone?" He asked, leaning across the bed to grab the documents that Gohan had brought. "If we're through, why are you so intent on keeping tabs on me?"
There was no answer and he didn't expect one. Bulma had arranged for this background check for motives all her own. It was possible that she was doing this for fear that he would be reverting to type and wanted Earth's Special Forces to know his whereabouts. For some reason, he didn't believe that was the cause of the search. Could she. Did she still care for him after all that was said and done? Was that even possible?
"Bulma..." he said sadly. It was too late to try and salvage a relationship out of the wreckage that remained, if there was anything to find at all. All confessions and accusations had been voiced, apologies uttered, tensions smoothened over. There was nothing more he could do and time was running out...
As he rifled through the papers, his gaze sharpened on a still photo of himself, taken when he had first arrived on earth. "What the hell?" he muttered, staring at the handwriting etched across his face.
I know who the father of your child is.
Vegeta was oblivious that it was Bulma's intention to keep Trunks' paternity a secret from the public. All that he knew was that the brief message seemed to convey some foreboding threat that raised the hackles at the base of his neck. He didn't like what he was feeling one little bit. Behind that page were two more photos. Scrawled across the face of his son were nine words,
I think it's time we discussed paternity, don't you?
His eyes scanned the date and he turned sharply to the clock radio on the nightstand. There was a two-hour time difference between Pitch and the West Coast and his brows furrowed with worry. And not just for himself for a change, either. He'd like to ignore the shadowy threat but he knew that these documents had not been intended for his eyes. Bulma's psychic scent still lingered on the papers, tinged with fear and anger and he had no doubt that she would respect the 'Come alone' warning and face the threat alone.
Wadding the papers up into a ball, Vegeta threw them into a corner and paced the bedroom restlessly. His mind was a maelstrom of conflicted emotions; present animosity colliding with past affection. Bulma had stepped in on his behalf countless times; she had even saved his life! How could he, as a warrior, pride himself on honor and courage and callously leave her to her fate?
The answer was surprisingly simple: He couldn't.
Taking a deep breath, he turned to the window and his expression became strikingly serene now that the course of action was decided upon. He closed his eyes, collected the tattered remnants of his poisoned ki and through the pain that settled down into his being, he uttered; "Bulma... My life for yours."
Halfway home, Gohan's senses informed him that someone with power was rapidly approaching and he slowed his travels when he identified the source. He was all smiles when Piccolo burst through the mantle of the nearby cumulus cloud. The Namek's face was a dark emerald color and the boy could well imagine the cause of his visible distress. "Let me guess, my mom tracked you down when she found out I was gone. I bet she was angry."
"That woman is a force of nature," was all Piccolo would say on the matter. Crossing his arms, he looked down his nose at his young protégé, his scowl of displeasure gradually becoming one of curiosity. He could never stay mad for long in the presence of the easygoing youth. "You went to see Vegeta." It was not a question.
"Yeah."
"You've been with him for all of this time?"
"Uh huh."
The alien's eyes dropped to quickly examine the boy's form, searching for a rip in his clothing or a bruise on the flesh. The tension in his face finally eased when his search came up empty. "How is he?"
"Cranky."
"So he's fine, then."
At that, Gohan quickly shook his head. "I don't think so. He was limping when I first saw him and he had the heat cranked in the apartment. I didn't get so much as a sense of his ki the entire time I was there. Even if he was powered down, I should have gotten something but..." He stared at his mentor, frowning with worry. "I really think he's sick, Piccolo. What can we do?"
Good question, Piccolo mused, looking off into the distance while he collected his thoughts. Not for the first time, he resented the fact that he had been away from the hospital when the Saiyan had made his abrupt appearance. With his own arcane senses and Kami's wizened abilities in his psyche, he might have gathered an impression or two of what was ailing Vegeta. Right now, he didn't have so much as a clue. "Perhaps he and I are overdue for a... talk," he muttered gruffly. He would have preferred to respect the other alien's privacy and leave him alone but something was tugging urgently at his nerves. For some reason, he got the impression that time was a valuable commodity. "Gohan, tell me where he's staying and then go straight home. I don't want that mother of yours-" He suddenly flinched and the talons of his left hand flew to his temple.
"Piccolo, what's wrong? What are you- Oww!" Gohan felt a galvanizing bolt of pain rip through his brain. The sensation was mercifully brief but it left him shaken and dizzy. "What- Who was that? Was it-"
"Vegeta," Piccolo rumbled. Without another word, he dropped down through the clouds beneath them, his huge form becoming indistinct in the thick vapor.
Following close behind, Gohan kept him within sight as they lowered their altitude. "I think there's a storm nearby," he commented, hearing a distant rumbling.
"That's not thunder," the Namek corrected him. They dropped out of the cloud cover to a perfectly clear view of the earth from an altitude of about ten thousand feet. Land and mountain features were brilliantly crisp in the early morning sun, making the search that much easier. Off to their right, keeping low to the ground, was a noticeable contrail of blazing yellow that was streaking away with amazing speed. Gohan flinched at the multitude of sonic booms that followed the Saiyan's deliberate path.
"He's heading West," Piccolo said gravely.
As usual, the airport at the Western Capital was a bustling hub of activity with arrivals coming in from all corners of the earth. With all of the different nationalities as well as people collecting for departures, it was easy to move unnoticed amid all of the confusion and that was precisely what Bulma did. Her eyes darted from side to side for any sign of a familiar face but there was nobody who stood out. Initially, she had feared that perhaps Vegeta would have intercepted the papers that Gohan had taken from her secretary and made one of his dramatic appearances. Now that she was here, she would have welcomed any of his arrogant, nick-of-time arrivals. She knew that, rather than fly, he had driven into the city to save Trunks and gone back. He wasn't going to make the arduous trip twice in one week. If ever again. It was clear that she was on her own.
The terse instructions she had been given told her to go to the duty- free shop and wait. Standing off to one side, she now did so, trying to appear unobtrusive. The last thing she needed was some photo-happy tourist to recognize her and start taking pictures. She kept her head bowed and looked around uneasily. It was eight o'clock on the dot and so far, nothing was happening. Perhaps there was another duty-free shop on the far side of the airport? What would happen if she didn't show up, as instructed? What if-
Something hard settled into the small of her back and a hand squeezed her shoulder. "Don't say a word," breathed a masculine voice in her ear. "Just walk ahead, very slowly."
Trying to will her legs to move, Bulma tried to remain calm as possible. She and her unknown antagonist made a deliberate path across the busy hallway to a men's washroom. There was a sign on the door that said the facilities were closed for cleaning and no one even noticed when they slipped inside. "People are so gullible. They believe everything they read," remarked the voice, chuckling lightly.
"Who are you? What do you want?" Bulma said in as firm a voice as she could manage. Ahead of her, all that was present to bear witness to the exchange were barren stalls.
"It's pretty obvious what I want. I'm not going through all of this trouble for my health."
"Money."
"That's right. I figure you'll pay big to prevent the public from knowing the heir of Capsule Corporation was fathered by a murdering alien."
Bulma sniffed. "So you have a few pictures and a vivid imagination. The local tabloid might give you a coupon for a free car wash with that story."
"Oh, I've got more than that. I've got videos showing the two of you together."
"I've had a lot of people stay at the Capsule Corporation headquarters building-"
"Not there. I'm talking about something far more intimate, Ms. Briefs. If you get my meaning. You enjoy being on top, don't you?"
Unnaturally cowed by the innuendo, Bulma could only whisper, "Who are you?"
The hand left her shoulder and she felt the presence back off a few feet. "Turn around."
Drawing a shuddering breath, she squared her shoulders and finally collected enough nerve to chance a look. When she managed the feat, her eyes widened in immediate recognition. "You!"
Plowing headlong through the base of a mountain did nothing to sway Vegeta from his deliberate course westwards. Travelling low over the terrain was an attack procedure that had been drilled into him since he had been old enough to fly. This close to the ground, no radar could single him out and it was impossible for the enemy to spot him until it was too late. He had used this routine for countless purging missions and right now, he allowed himself to adopt the mindset that he was on an assignment. It lessened the need for conscious thought and he settled into autopilot mode as he flew, lost to the singing agony between his ears.
He had managed the transformation to Super Saiyan but there was no telling how precarious the change actually was. The drain on his reserves was enormous but he forced himself on by sheer will alone. The front of his sweater was soaked in gore and the landmarks that blurred past were all seen through a blood-red veil. The painful thudding of his heart seemed to adopt a rhythmic chant: bul-MAH, bul-MAH, bul-MAH-
The worst thing was; despite the adrenaline flowing through his veins, that heartbeat was slowing down.
Bulma couldn't believe that the person who had been her tormentor was HIM! In a time when she had thought that she had no friends or family to turn to, this man had helped her without asking for anything else in return. Or so she had thought.
"You bastard," she hissed.
Adopting a wounded expression, Doctor Phillip Reznik lifted an eyebrow and added a wry shrug. "Sticks and stones, Ms. Briefs. I could only tolerate treating over-the-hill actors at the Hammorski Plaza for so long."
"I trusted you! You helped Vegeta when he was sick! How could you turn around and blackmail me?" Bulma shouted at him.
"Do you think you're the only one I've done this to? One of my past 'clients' only paid me cocaine and when I got into that shit, I lost my practice! I'm nailing every fatcat who ever set foot in that hellhole. Practically every hotel room I visited, I left a microscopic video transmitter behind. You and your 'companion' made great viewing pleasure. I'll admit, it just stayed in my own personal collection until I saw the Cell Games. That's when I clued in to just who your 'companion' really was. I was ecstatic."
"I'll just bet you were," Bulma said through tense lips. The sense of betrayal that she was feeling was inexpressible. When Vegeta had been suffering through the V'Nhar, this man had been her only reassurance that he would eventually recover. The thought of him watching their private lovemaking was enough to make her physically ill. What would happen if those tapes were released to the media? She would be ostracized from society. Vegeta would be hunted down like an animal. Poor Trunks would be ridiculed for the rest of his life. The Capsule Corporation Empire would go down in flames. "What do you want?"
Reznik, sensing that he had her complete attention, beamed happily when he announced, "I'm not a greedy man, Ms. Briefs. I'm not interested in bankrupting you. What do you say to, uhmmmm... one hundred million zeni? How does that sound?"
"It sounds like you're insane," Bulma said bluntly.
Throwing his head back, the man released a healthy bout of laughter. "I may be stoned but I'm not a madman! I think you're getting off pretty cheap and you know it, too. There's a lot at stake here."
"I can't just write you a check-"
"I know that, which is why I wanted us to meet face to face. Best that you know who you're dealing with first. We can hammer out the details for a later exchange."
"If I gave you the money, you would hand over the tapes?" Bulma ventured reluctantly.
"Absolutely."
"How do I know that you won't make copies?"
"You don't. You'll just have to trust me."
Bulma saw the crafty smile cross his face at that statement and realized that this nightmare would never go away. She could pay him off a dozen times over and he would just keep crawling back, looking for more. "No deal. Screw you, you bastard."
That lecherous grin became wider. "That can be arranged if you want to be shown how serious I am," he said, walking towards her.
Backing up until her back collided with the wall, Bulma looked for an exit but the only way out was the door. And it was behind Reznik. "If you come any closer, I'll scream!"
"No, you won't," the Doctor said pleasantly and leveled the gun he had in his pocket, at her forehead. "I think you need to be reminded who's in charge here. Why don't you gobble me like you did your alien lover? I think I'd like that..." He was in the process of unbuckling his belt when there was an explosion from somewhere in the building and the floor shuddered beneath them.
While Reznik cursed in confusion, Bulma knew instinctively who was responsible for the attack. It was an inexplicable insight but at that instant, she could actually feel the Saiyan's overwhelming rage and he was very close to her. She raised the volume in her mind as high as it would go, hoping- praying that there were still some tendrils of a mental bond left and screamed with all of her might-
!!OHGODVEGETAIMINHEREHEHASAGUNPLEASEHELPMEHURRY!!
Radiating her distress in a constant wave, she was dimly aware that screams outside of the washroom were getting louder. Without warning, the door was blown off of its hinges. Bulma's initial cry of relief and gratitude became one of horror at the mere sight of her savior. Even Reznik took a wandering step backwards, his face confused and shocked.
Vegeta had lost his hold on the Super Saiyan form the moment he had closed in on the airport. Unable to slow his descent, he had collided with an airliner that was taxiing up to a gate and caused the both of them to go crashing into the terminal. His right arm was a mangled ruin where portions of splintered bone jutted out at odd angles and he was dragging his left leg. The entire area beneath his nose to his waist was coated in blood. Supporting himself as he staggered inside, he left bloody handprints along the wall of the men's room. Throughout all of the pain and hardship, his rheumy eyes never wavered from the Doctor's face. He was squinting, trying to place the person and not able to make a connection.
"It-it's the Doctor who treated you at the Hammorski Plaza," Bulma told him, forcing herself to remain calm. Oh God, he looked so awful! "He has videos of us together. If I don't pay him money, he's going to give them to all the networks."
"That a fact," the Saiyan ground out from between clenched teeth.
Finally overcoming his paralysis, Reznik raised the gun up and howled in pain when the Saiyan moved in and snapped the man's wrist with one well- aimed blow. The weapon slid along the smooth floor and Bulma kicked it out of sight beneath one of the urinals. Clutching his wounded arm, the roles were now reversed, as the Doctor was the person with his back against the far wall.
Moving alongside of the stricken Saiyan, Bulma wrapped an arm gently around Vegeta's midriff and all at once the strength went out of his legs. He toppled to the floor and started retching, coughing up blood and bile. All she could do was rub his back while he suffered through the spasms. Reznik was all but forgotten until he remarked; "Well, this won't do at all."
"Leave us alone, you bastard!" She screamed.
The doctor hunkered down in front of them and frowned. "It looks like my meal ticket is dying."
"That's... right," Vegeta confirmed, raising his head with effort. "But I'm not dying alone."
Bulma blinked in astonishment. "Vegeta! What-"
Before anyone could react, the Saiyan propelled himself forward and tackled the doctor. His momentum carried them both through the cinderblock wall and out into Customs where they landed in a pile of luggage that had been confiscated earlier. The baggage broke their fall but it was too late for either of them. The collision had shattered Reznik's spine like glass and he gasped his final breaths like a fish out of water, wondering where things had gone so terribly wrong.
Picking her way quickly through the rubble, Bulma ignored the tortured wheezes from the Doctor's twitching form and knelt beside Vegeta's still body. She tried to be mindful of his injuries as she turned him over but it was next to impossible and he weakly moaned in pain when she raised his head into her lap. "It's going to be alright, Vegeta. We'll get some help for you. You'll be just fine-" She turned to the people who were standing around and watching them. "Somebody call an ambulance! Please! He- He's-" She couldn't bring herself to say the word. Without warning, she started to cry.
Vegeta's eyes fluttered open at the sound and he stared up at her, both eyes badly bloodshot. The right side of his face seemed to droop and his speech was slurred, "...no tears... for me..."
"I can't help it. You can call me a weak little woman all you want," she sputtered, wiping her face self-consciously.
He actually managed a brief, lopsided smile, "...many things but... not weak..." His eyes slipped closed again and his tortured form went limp in her arms.
"Vegeta-" A sense of alarm swept through her and she felt for a pulse along his jawline. Her inquiring fingers found nothing but rapidly chilling flesh. "!!VEGETA!!"
Bare moments later, Piccolo and Gohan emerged from the demolished wall and halted in their tracks. The entire Customs area was packed to capacity but there was scarcely a sound among the people who had gathered. In the distance, but growing louder, were the piercing wails of approaching sirens. Forcing his way through the silent throng, Piccolo emerged into the center of the grim scene and his features dissolved into one of acute disbelief.
Oblivious of the attention, Bulma was cradling Vegeta's still form protectively in her arms, her body racked by sobs of loss. She and the floor were coated in his blood.
---------------------------------------------------------- Chapter Twelve: The fate of Vegeta.
There was no possible way that Gohan could fall asleep.
Oh, he was tired. There was no disputing that. For months, he had caught only snatches of anything even remotely resembling contented slumber. He missed his father terribly, the acute sting of loss only now starting to fade to a tolerable ache. Conflicting with his grief were the inexplicable changes going on with his own body. He had thought that he had everything under control until he had started school in the Western Capital. After a childhood spent of solitary studying, he found himself completely unprepared for the pandemonium that had greeted him when he walked into the immense building. Children and adults together in alarming numbers, actually existing in peaceful, co-existing chaos. It was all rather overwhelming to his gentle nature and Gohan was aware that he stood out like a sore thumb. The city kids were spoiled, snide and already had formed their various cliques that offered no invitations his way. As much as he would have liked to fit in, he knew it would be impossible when the nicknames started; Bumpkin, Welfare Bait, Farmer Boy; the names changed as easily as the tides. With a maturity that went far beyond his years, Gohan ignored the taunts quite easily. Being in the school afforded him far more opportunities to avail himself of the lab and computer equipment that would normally be inaccessible, and that was reward enough. His mind could shut out the distractions quite easily.
His body, however, couldn't.
Ms. Kipfer, his homeroom teacher, was a recent divorcee who was desperately trying to rejoin the dating circuit. She was fixated on the math teacher down the hall, Mr. Morris, and often wore skirts that had a suggestive split up one thigh or a sweater that was often too tight. There were times, when she would bend over his desk to examine his paperwork, that Gohan's penis seemed to assume a life of its own. It wasn't long before the boy started having strange dreams about her that caused him to wake up in the early mornings in sweaty frustration, often with his immature seed coating his lower belly. He didn't know what to make of the phenomenon and he was too scared and embarrassed to bring it up with either his mother or Bulma. So he suffered in silence, washing and drying his sheets in the laundry room and then replacing them so that no one would be the wiser for what was happening. He had driven himself into such a state of worry that he finally decided to chance his mother's rage and seek out the one person who might possibly be able to provide an explanation.
Vegeta.
It was a long shot. The Saiyan was in self-imposed exile and had made it clear that he wanted to be left alone. Gohan knew that he was going to have to be persistent if he was going to expect anything more, short of rude hostility. The pair had a wary respect for one another that had developed from past clashes and reluctant alliances. Gohan had been the one to finally subdue him when he had been on the precipice of defeating them in their initial meeting. Vegeta never forgot that humiliating defeat. More recently, Gohan had ascended to Super Saiyan at the age of eleven when he, himself, had nearly died to accomplish the feat at the age of thirty-four. The fact that a mere boy had finished Cell was the most crushing blow of all to his pride.
All of the other Z Fighters liked to boast that Gohan was the strongest warrior on the planet now. What they didn't seem to realize was that his inexperience and compassion were a direct liability to his wielding so much power. Not even the death of his father had been enough to goad him into hatred and destroy Cell once and for all. If not for Vegeta's timely diversion, there wouldn't even be an earth. Immune to such emotional liabilities and boasting an experience in using his abilities that none of them could even dare chance a guess at, Vegeta was the true warrior. Gohan had no doubt that if it ever came to a battle to the death between them, the Saiyan's speed and ruthlessness would do him in before he even had a chance to react to the challenge. Piccolo had been the one to offer that reality check shortly before Gohan had packed up and moved to the Western Capital.
"If Vegeta gets it into his mind to pick up where he last left off, I don't know if we can stop him," the Namek told him, his emerald features as grave as stone.
Frowning up at him in confusion, Gohan puzzled over the statement in silence for a few moments. "I thought he's one of the good guys now?" He said at last.
Piccolo looked at him as if he were mad. "Vegeta is a creature of opportunity, Gohan. Look at the facts; He is now a Super Saiyan, his greatest adversary -your father- is dead. He's free from Frieza. What's to stop him from forming an empire of his own, starting with Earth?"
"Me?" Gohan squeaked.
"You're powerful, there's no doubting that, but there's much more to battle than just brute force. There's experience, strategy, ferocity and determination. What Vegeta lacks in power he more than makes up in those abilities. I'd like to believe that you would emerge victorious but I fear... I fear..." He let the statement linger.
"Vegeta's a different person now," Gohan supplied helpfully. "He has a life on earth with Bulma and Trunks. You don't have anything to worry about, Piccolo."
"I sure hope you're right," the Namek fretted.
As it turned out, there WAS something to worry about but it had nothing to do with Vegeta reverting to his villainous ways. On the contrary, the Saiyan still possessed that rare selflessness made apparent by his sacrifice to Trunks in the hospital. But there was something seriously wrong with him. The ki that Gohan had sensed from him had not been the alien's usual intensity at all, even his personal aura had been discolored; like a bruise to the soul. Vegeta had been in no mood for questions then, if his words to Bulma were any indication, but Gohan took note of the warning signs and shelved that knowledge for later.
His suspicions had been confirmed when the Saiyan had reached the landing to the floor of his apartment, obviously favoring his right leg. He had offered Gohan nothing more than his usual hostility, that was to be expected, but Gohan hadn't anticipated anything remotely resembling an invitation. By the time he had been permitted into the apartment, he had been so flustered that his concerns over Vegeta's health had taken a back seat to his own curiosity. Then came the beer, and the brusque response to what he had thought was some sort of mortal affliction. He was amazed to discover that it even had a name: wet dreams. Once he caught sight of the nude woman in Vegeta's magazine, thoughts of the Saiyan's health became the furthest thing from his mind. He listened, dry-mouthed and dumbfounded, as Vegeta bluntly laid out the straight facts about sex and the opposite gender's involvement in the act.
Vegeta told him point blank; "It's fine to rely on your hand in a pinch but it's nothing compared to pussy."
"What does a cat have to do with sex?" Gohan innocently piped up.
Slapping his hand against his forehead in exasperation, the Saiyan grappled with his temper before setting the boy straight on the slang. Surprisingly enough, he was quite patient in fielding Gohan's questions and was far more thorough in his explanations than he needed to be. By the time they were done, the young Saiyan's mind was blurring with strange, exotic words; clitoris, fellatio, orgasm, cunnilingus. Their true significance was foreign to him at this stage in his young life but he couldn't wait to make the discoveries when the opportunity presented itself. Smiling at Vegeta with genuine gratitude, he praised; "You're really good at this. Who told you all about sex when you were my age?"
"Nappa and Radditz."
"And they gave you this talk?"
For some reason, Vegeta looked away and stared bleakly at the window for a long moment. Sleet was splattering up against the glass and running down its surface in frozen streamers. "I wish that they had," he almost whispered. "Things... might have been different..."
When Gohan tried to question the enigmatic confession, it was clear that the truce between them was over. Vegeta's self-imposed walls were back up and any trace of approachability left his features to be replaced by that usual sullenness. "It's late. I'm going to bed," he suddenly announced and got to his feet.
Wondering what he had said wrong, Gohan watched him stalk out of the living room. "Can... can I sleep here for the night?"
Stopping in his tracks, the Saiyan glared daggers at him before relenting. "Fine. If I find any cum stains on my sofa in the morning, you'll be licking them up. Is that clear, boy?"
Swallowing, Gohan offered a meek affirmative. Flashing him one more warning glance, Vegeta nodded once and then disappeared down the hall. Waiting expectantly for the offering of a blanket and a pillow, the boy was all smiles when his reluctant host returned. All the Saiyan did was turn out the lights before retiring to his bedroom without a word. Sitting alone in the darkness, Gohan could only sigh.
After some stumbling around the unfamiliar surroundings, Gohan settled for one of Vegeta's coats and pulled it over himself as he lay down on the sofa. The Saiyan had a different scent than his father or Piccolo but it was masculine and comforting and the boy was smiling slightly as he settled into a more comfortable position on the couch. His worries had been solved, all questions were answered, he should have been able to fall asleep with ease.
But. he couldn't. Too late, his concerns for Vegeta's welfare were only now resurfacing with a vengeance. He had lost a valuable opportunity to voice them when the Saiyan had been approachable. Any chances of finding out about the details behind that prolonged absence had passed by.
Gohan sat up, berated himself for his stupidity, and cast a glance down the hallway. There was still a strip of light showing beneath Vegeta's closed bedroom door and the boy forced himself to his feet. He knew that he was chancing a flight home in the dark, probably in a matter of minutes, but he wouldn't be able to face Bulma if he didn't at least try to talk to the gruff Saiyan. Walking practically on his tiptoes, Gohan inched his way over to the door and placed an ear close to the surface. His father used to snore like a bandsaw but he wasn't sure of Vegeta's sleeping habits. After several minutes of silence, he rapped a knuckle lightly on the door. "Vegeta? Are you awake?"
"What do you want now, boy?" came the churlish response.
Taking a deep breath, Gohan turned the knob and looked in. The lamp on the nightstand was turned on but the bed was undisturbed. Leaning in further, he spotted Vegeta standing beside the bedroom window, staring out at the storm that was raging beyond the apartment. His arms were crossed in that usual, imperious pose but his face had lost its aggression and now only appeared thoughtful and sad. "You can make all of the speeches you want but I've got a pretty good idea what you're going to say."
Stepping into the room, Gohan attempted, "I only wanted to ask where you've been-"
"That's none of your business. You're treading on thin ice, brat."
Deciding on a different tactic, the boy asked cautiously, "Are you ever going to return to Capsule Corporation?"
Vegeta's response was a sour snort.
"I'm not going to pretend that I know what happened between you and Bulma," Gohan persisted. "I only see for myself how miserable the both of you are right now. There's more to this than hurt feelings, Vegeta. There's Trunks to consider. You have to come back-"
Whirling around, Vegeta snapped; "The days of anyone telling me what to do are over. Bulma wanted the brat so badly; she can puzzle out the problems on her own. I have everything that I want right here."
"Love? Family? What about those?" Gohan ventured hopefully.
"Human concepts. They mean nothing to me."
"They must or you never would have come to the hospital to heal Trunks and confront Bulma," the boy said in a level voice, ignoring the lethal glare that Vegeta was flashing in his direction. "You said your piece and she apologized. Why can't you forgive her?"
"I'd told her my feelings on this matter from Day One: That I would never sire any half-blooded mongrel. As it is, I have to endure my father screaming his constant disapproval inside of my head with practically every move I make. Now the Royal line of Vegetasei comes to a crashing end thanks to a purple-haired half-breed who goes by the name of 'Trunks'. What the hell kind of a name is that anyway?"
"I think it was an uncle of Mr. Briefs-"
"It was a rhetorical question. I really don't give a shit," he growled. "The brat's first name is not mine, his tail was taken from him...I ask you, boy; what is the appeal of that ugly little creature to me?"
Very quietly, Gohan answered, "He's still your son, Vegeta. He has half of your blood inside him and he needs his father. Mine is-" His voice broke and he grappled with his grief for a few seconds and then forced himself on, "My father is dead. I loved him so much that it still hurts if I just so much as think of him. Trunks deserves to know who you are."
"Why? So that he can grow to despise me as much as I did my own father?" Vegeta sneered.
Gohan wasn't sure how to respond to that question. Before he could come up with something to say, the Saiyan continued, "The first person I ever trusted was him...and he gave me away to Frieza like I was some unwanted creature. I was his SON!" He looked away, struggling with his anger and something much more personal. "The last was Bulma and look what happened. I expected more from her. I should have known better. I won't let it happen again and there's nothing you can say to change that," he finished.
Gohan could see the stirrings of emotions in the alien's dark eyes and was finally able to see the appeal of the man that had captivated Bulma so entirely. Vegeta was the embodiment of conflicted emotions that were the direct result of his tragic past. It had never been intended that he become a soldier, his destiny had been to rule an empire but Frieza had changed all of that in the blink of an eye. An orphan of war, the Saiyan prince ended up in service to the tyrant, beaten down until he had been able endure the punishment and mean enough to start inflicting his own.
There was no conflict looming over the horizon that could possibly act as a diversion. His rage and despair might well turn in on itself if something wasn't done quickly but Gohan knew he was out of his league here. Vegeta was visibly upset at the separation and at a loss as to how to cope. If there wasn't some kind of reconciliation in the near future, Piccolo's grim prophecy might turn into a reality.
As he struggled with his words, Vegeta turned to face him and the boy sucked in a deep breath at the potential malice in the Saiyan's features. In that instant, Gohan was brought back to the first time that they had met on the battlefield, before all of the innocent blood had been spilled. Reflexively, his stomach clenched with uneasiness at the dark familiarity of that expression.
'If Vegeta gets it into his mind to pick up where he last left off, I don't know if we can stop him', Piccolo repeated into the back of his mind.
"Vegeta-" Gohan attempted.
"We're done. Get out." The palm that was raised in the boy's direction punctuated the words with deadly intent.
Wasting no time on trite excuses, the boy backpedaled out of the room and closed the door. For one long moment, he stood in the hallway waiting for the Saiyan to come charging after him but nothing happened. Shaking for no good reason he could pinpoint, Gohan returned to the couch and tried to fall asleep. Unfortunately, concerns and worries that rarely ever crossed a twelve-year olds path weighed down his young mind. He spent the remainder of the night staring up at the ceiling, wondering how he could possibly get Bulma and Vegeta back together.
He was oblivious to the fact that he was already responsible for setting that wheel in motion.
The storm broke just before dawn and the sound of snowplows, laboriously trying to clear the buried streets, woke Gohan out of a troubled doze. His hand quickly flew to his crotch to check for embarrassing moisture but Ms. Kipfer hadn't had the time to dance into his dreams and, for once, he was soft and dry. Breathing a sigh of relief, he got to his feet and looked out of the window of the forth floor apartment. The view was actually very majestic, with the surrounding mountains brooding over the city the way they did. There was the feeling of isolation from the rest of the world that filled Gohan with a conflicted sense of wonder and loss. From here, the Western Capital seemed very far away.
Impulsively, Gohan checked his watch. He wondered if it were possible to make a quick flight back to Capsule Corporation and perhaps slip into the bed just before his mother would come to wake him up in time to get ready for school. If everything went his way, no one would even know he had ever been missing! Eager to avoid his mother's anger, he hung up Vegeta's jacket and went to the front door. He was about to let himself out when he rummaged in his pocket and suddenly remembered that Vegeta had taken the papers that he had stolen from Bulma's secretary's desk. "Shit," he cursed and slapped a guilty hand over his mouth. One evening spent in Vegeta's shadow and he was already swearing. Great.
Pacing the apartment restlessly, he waited for another two hours hoping that Vegeta would be an early riser. During that time, he watched some television, examined the various prints hanging on the walls and went into the kitchen to make himself something for breakfast. The refrigerator was stocked with cans of tomato juice and cartons of eggs. There was no bread, fruit, or condiments that might be involved with such items. The cupboards were bare except for a stack of cans. Gohan took one out and his eyes widened in surprise. He was holding a can of catfood. As far as he knew, Vegeta didn't own a cat so that meant.
"Ew, gross!" He quickly replaced the can.
When eight o'clock rolled around, he found himself back in front of Vegeta's bedroom door, wishing he were anywhere else. It was his fear of his mother, more than his apprehension of the mercurial Saiyan, which forced him on. He tried the doorknob and opened the door a crack, braving himself to look inside.
The curtains in the bedroom were only half-closed and Gohan's eyes adjusted easily to the gloom. The bed was now occupied, with the blanket and sheets twisted around a solitary form.
"Vegeta?" Gohan whispered, stepping inside and casting a wary eye around on the floor for a discarded pair of pants. His father used to just throw his sweaty training uniform into the corner at the end of a day. It always drove his mother nuts. It was his bad luck that this alien was neat and hung up his clothes when he was through with them. There was nothing out of place anywhere that the boy's straining eyes could see. The top of the dresser was bare except for a handful of change. The closet was closed and he didn't have enough guts to start rummaging through Vegeta's wardrobe. Accepting his defeat, he turned to leave-
-and saw the envelope lying on the nightstand.
Gohan's eyes brightened and he approached the bed with silent steps, actually holding his breath. Less than two feet away from the prize, Vegeta was sleeping soundly, his muscled arms encircling his head as if it ached. The boy knew that he had drank a lot to get through that unnerving facts-of- life speech the night before and reasoned that was probably the only reason he had been able to get this far, undetected. Grimacing with tension, he lowered his hand to pick up the papers and just as his fingers made contact, another hand lashed out to grab his wrist.
Jumping about a foot off the floor, Gohan stared guiltily at Vegeta, who was shockingly awake and glaring at him, all traces of sleep completely gone. "What do you think you're doing?"
Forcing himself to remain calm, the boy managed to get out, "I'm just going home. I have to take these papers back to Bulma before she realizes they're missing."
"They stay right here."
"I'll get in trouble-"
"Tough. I did you a favor, boy, now I'm calling in the debt. I'm keeping this information. You can tell Bulma to mind her own business." He released his hold on the boy's wrist and then grabbed the envelope and rolled over on his other side, deliberately giving Gohan his back. "Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out," he said shortly.
"Sure, sure, okay," Gohan muttered, knowing when to take a hint. It was becoming painfully clear that he was going to face the wrath of both his mother and now Bulma for this lapse. As he was leaving the bedroom, he could think of only one thing that might make the impending tirade worthwhile. "...Vegeta?"
"!!WHAT?!"
"Can I, uh, keep the magazine?"
He barely made it out of the apartment alive.
At that precise moment, thirteen hundred kilometers away, Bulma was standing over Trunks' crib. It was very early in the morning and the baby was twitching in his sleep; his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he grappled with some unknown nightmare. There was already the hint of an indignant line forming between his eyebrows, so much like his father's. Singing a lullaby while she stroked his forehead, Bulma watched as the boy settled back into calmer sleep where safer dreams prevailed. The whole thing was developing into a ritual. Last night, he had uttered a word that had made all of the blood in her body drop to freezing.
Thrashing around in his crib, Trunks beat at the air with his tiny fists and legs and was wailing his distress to anyone within earshot. Bulma came into the room at a run and she picked the babe up, rocking him. "It's alright, Trunks. Did you have a bad dream? Poor baby, you're trembling! What scared you so badly?"
Gripping her hair with panicked fingers, the boy whimpered, "Fwa- Fweeza!" He started crying and clung to her desperately, his tears dampening her nightgown.
Bulma was too shocked to react for a moment. At no time in her recollection could she remember anyone talking about Frieza when the boy was within earshot. "Oh my God," she said and hugged him with all of her might.
Vegeta had come to his aid because he admitted to being on the receiving end of the babe's distress. Bulma now realized that the bond was not simply one-sided but a mutual sharing of minds; one warped by torture and madness, the other fresh and completely innocent. How long could each one bear absorbing such opposite emotions without going mad? Trunks seemed to be fine when he was awake but during naps, he was much as he was now. Cringing, flinching, often whimpering in his sleep.
"We'll sort all of this out when I get back," Bulma promised him. Leaning in, she kissed him on the cheek and smoothened the rumpled blanket that covered him. "You'll see your daddy again and it won't just be in your dreams. One of these mornings when you wake up, he'll be right here beside me. We'll be a real family, Trunks. Just you wait and see."
Gurgling contentedly in his sleep, a hint of a smile crossed the baby's face. It was a welcome sight for Bulma and she left the room and closed the door to half-mast. The maternal calmness left her face as soon as she looked down at her watch. The blue of her eyes became cold steel and her expression tightened with resolve and anger. Hurrying down the corridor, she grabbed her coat and walked out the front door.
She had an appointment to keep.
When Vegeta stepped out of the shower, he was still cursing under his breath as he toweled himself dry. Impertinent, conniving, insignificant little pest! It was bad enough that the boy had intruded on his privacy and practically forced himself into his apartment, uninvited. Not only that, he had broached a subject of an extremely personal nature that, once started, was not so easily finished. Vegeta could scarcely believe how thorough he had been with the boy and credited it to too many beers. Hell, he had even given away some of his techniques! To add insult to injury, Gohan had even tried to play matchmaker and sway him into returning to Capsule Corporation using guilt.
Sonovabitch! As if he didn't suffer from THAT affliction enough!
The final straw had been the boy sneaking into his bedroom and trying to steal back the documents he had originally stolen from Bulma. Vegeta quickly put him back in his place, or so he had thought until the brat had asked for the Penthouse as some sort of consolation prize. Leaping out of the bed, Vegeta had chased him out of the apartment, screaming obscenities at the top of his lungs and waking up everyone on the forth floor. Gohan was a blur down the stairs and ran out of the front door, taking to the air. Standing in the hallway amid the outraged exclamations of his neighbors, Vegeta saw the boy do a fly-by past the window at the end of the corridor and actually wave at him.
Miserable little shit.
He walked nude into the kitchen and proceeded to make himself his usual breakfast; One glass of tomato juice with six raw eggs. He downed the concoction with one gulp, adding a slight grimace when he was through. It wasn't much as far as a meal was concerned but it sure beat having to make the effort to cook. He was many things but a gourmet chef was not on the list.
Shivering despite the heat in the apartment, he returned to the bedroom to get dressed. Pants and a sweater later, he was sitting apathetically on the bed wondering what to do for the day. Jogging was out of the question, with the sidewalks covered in snow and he really didn't want to venture outside. Ever since he had chosen to submerge his ki, his tolerance to cold had diminished. He felt every single temperature variation now, the chill settling into his flesh like a virus. As usual, his thoughts wandered back to the tropical Western Capital although he fought the memories. There were other places warmer than Pitch but he just couldn't bear the thought of moving again. It was isolated here but no longer the refuge he had hoped. The Brat of Kakarrot had only been the first person to make the trip to visit him. It would only be a matter of time before the others came. Growling deep in his throat, his eyes slid to the rumpled envelope lying beside the pillow.
"Why won't you leave me alone?" He asked, leaning across the bed to grab the documents that Gohan had brought. "If we're through, why are you so intent on keeping tabs on me?"
There was no answer and he didn't expect one. Bulma had arranged for this background check for motives all her own. It was possible that she was doing this for fear that he would be reverting to type and wanted Earth's Special Forces to know his whereabouts. For some reason, he didn't believe that was the cause of the search. Could she. Did she still care for him after all that was said and done? Was that even possible?
"Bulma..." he said sadly. It was too late to try and salvage a relationship out of the wreckage that remained, if there was anything to find at all. All confessions and accusations had been voiced, apologies uttered, tensions smoothened over. There was nothing more he could do and time was running out...
As he rifled through the papers, his gaze sharpened on a still photo of himself, taken when he had first arrived on earth. "What the hell?" he muttered, staring at the handwriting etched across his face.
I know who the father of your child is.
Vegeta was oblivious that it was Bulma's intention to keep Trunks' paternity a secret from the public. All that he knew was that the brief message seemed to convey some foreboding threat that raised the hackles at the base of his neck. He didn't like what he was feeling one little bit. Behind that page were two more photos. Scrawled across the face of his son were nine words,
I think it's time we discussed paternity, don't you?
His eyes scanned the date and he turned sharply to the clock radio on the nightstand. There was a two-hour time difference between Pitch and the West Coast and his brows furrowed with worry. And not just for himself for a change, either. He'd like to ignore the shadowy threat but he knew that these documents had not been intended for his eyes. Bulma's psychic scent still lingered on the papers, tinged with fear and anger and he had no doubt that she would respect the 'Come alone' warning and face the threat alone.
Wadding the papers up into a ball, Vegeta threw them into a corner and paced the bedroom restlessly. His mind was a maelstrom of conflicted emotions; present animosity colliding with past affection. Bulma had stepped in on his behalf countless times; she had even saved his life! How could he, as a warrior, pride himself on honor and courage and callously leave her to her fate?
The answer was surprisingly simple: He couldn't.
Taking a deep breath, he turned to the window and his expression became strikingly serene now that the course of action was decided upon. He closed his eyes, collected the tattered remnants of his poisoned ki and through the pain that settled down into his being, he uttered; "Bulma... My life for yours."
Halfway home, Gohan's senses informed him that someone with power was rapidly approaching and he slowed his travels when he identified the source. He was all smiles when Piccolo burst through the mantle of the nearby cumulus cloud. The Namek's face was a dark emerald color and the boy could well imagine the cause of his visible distress. "Let me guess, my mom tracked you down when she found out I was gone. I bet she was angry."
"That woman is a force of nature," was all Piccolo would say on the matter. Crossing his arms, he looked down his nose at his young protégé, his scowl of displeasure gradually becoming one of curiosity. He could never stay mad for long in the presence of the easygoing youth. "You went to see Vegeta." It was not a question.
"Yeah."
"You've been with him for all of this time?"
"Uh huh."
The alien's eyes dropped to quickly examine the boy's form, searching for a rip in his clothing or a bruise on the flesh. The tension in his face finally eased when his search came up empty. "How is he?"
"Cranky."
"So he's fine, then."
At that, Gohan quickly shook his head. "I don't think so. He was limping when I first saw him and he had the heat cranked in the apartment. I didn't get so much as a sense of his ki the entire time I was there. Even if he was powered down, I should have gotten something but..." He stared at his mentor, frowning with worry. "I really think he's sick, Piccolo. What can we do?"
Good question, Piccolo mused, looking off into the distance while he collected his thoughts. Not for the first time, he resented the fact that he had been away from the hospital when the Saiyan had made his abrupt appearance. With his own arcane senses and Kami's wizened abilities in his psyche, he might have gathered an impression or two of what was ailing Vegeta. Right now, he didn't have so much as a clue. "Perhaps he and I are overdue for a... talk," he muttered gruffly. He would have preferred to respect the other alien's privacy and leave him alone but something was tugging urgently at his nerves. For some reason, he got the impression that time was a valuable commodity. "Gohan, tell me where he's staying and then go straight home. I don't want that mother of yours-" He suddenly flinched and the talons of his left hand flew to his temple.
"Piccolo, what's wrong? What are you- Oww!" Gohan felt a galvanizing bolt of pain rip through his brain. The sensation was mercifully brief but it left him shaken and dizzy. "What- Who was that? Was it-"
"Vegeta," Piccolo rumbled. Without another word, he dropped down through the clouds beneath them, his huge form becoming indistinct in the thick vapor.
Following close behind, Gohan kept him within sight as they lowered their altitude. "I think there's a storm nearby," he commented, hearing a distant rumbling.
"That's not thunder," the Namek corrected him. They dropped out of the cloud cover to a perfectly clear view of the earth from an altitude of about ten thousand feet. Land and mountain features were brilliantly crisp in the early morning sun, making the search that much easier. Off to their right, keeping low to the ground, was a noticeable contrail of blazing yellow that was streaking away with amazing speed. Gohan flinched at the multitude of sonic booms that followed the Saiyan's deliberate path.
"He's heading West," Piccolo said gravely.
As usual, the airport at the Western Capital was a bustling hub of activity with arrivals coming in from all corners of the earth. With all of the different nationalities as well as people collecting for departures, it was easy to move unnoticed amid all of the confusion and that was precisely what Bulma did. Her eyes darted from side to side for any sign of a familiar face but there was nobody who stood out. Initially, she had feared that perhaps Vegeta would have intercepted the papers that Gohan had taken from her secretary and made one of his dramatic appearances. Now that she was here, she would have welcomed any of his arrogant, nick-of-time arrivals. She knew that, rather than fly, he had driven into the city to save Trunks and gone back. He wasn't going to make the arduous trip twice in one week. If ever again. It was clear that she was on her own.
The terse instructions she had been given told her to go to the duty- free shop and wait. Standing off to one side, she now did so, trying to appear unobtrusive. The last thing she needed was some photo-happy tourist to recognize her and start taking pictures. She kept her head bowed and looked around uneasily. It was eight o'clock on the dot and so far, nothing was happening. Perhaps there was another duty-free shop on the far side of the airport? What would happen if she didn't show up, as instructed? What if-
Something hard settled into the small of her back and a hand squeezed her shoulder. "Don't say a word," breathed a masculine voice in her ear. "Just walk ahead, very slowly."
Trying to will her legs to move, Bulma tried to remain calm as possible. She and her unknown antagonist made a deliberate path across the busy hallway to a men's washroom. There was a sign on the door that said the facilities were closed for cleaning and no one even noticed when they slipped inside. "People are so gullible. They believe everything they read," remarked the voice, chuckling lightly.
"Who are you? What do you want?" Bulma said in as firm a voice as she could manage. Ahead of her, all that was present to bear witness to the exchange were barren stalls.
"It's pretty obvious what I want. I'm not going through all of this trouble for my health."
"Money."
"That's right. I figure you'll pay big to prevent the public from knowing the heir of Capsule Corporation was fathered by a murdering alien."
Bulma sniffed. "So you have a few pictures and a vivid imagination. The local tabloid might give you a coupon for a free car wash with that story."
"Oh, I've got more than that. I've got videos showing the two of you together."
"I've had a lot of people stay at the Capsule Corporation headquarters building-"
"Not there. I'm talking about something far more intimate, Ms. Briefs. If you get my meaning. You enjoy being on top, don't you?"
Unnaturally cowed by the innuendo, Bulma could only whisper, "Who are you?"
The hand left her shoulder and she felt the presence back off a few feet. "Turn around."
Drawing a shuddering breath, she squared her shoulders and finally collected enough nerve to chance a look. When she managed the feat, her eyes widened in immediate recognition. "You!"
Plowing headlong through the base of a mountain did nothing to sway Vegeta from his deliberate course westwards. Travelling low over the terrain was an attack procedure that had been drilled into him since he had been old enough to fly. This close to the ground, no radar could single him out and it was impossible for the enemy to spot him until it was too late. He had used this routine for countless purging missions and right now, he allowed himself to adopt the mindset that he was on an assignment. It lessened the need for conscious thought and he settled into autopilot mode as he flew, lost to the singing agony between his ears.
He had managed the transformation to Super Saiyan but there was no telling how precarious the change actually was. The drain on his reserves was enormous but he forced himself on by sheer will alone. The front of his sweater was soaked in gore and the landmarks that blurred past were all seen through a blood-red veil. The painful thudding of his heart seemed to adopt a rhythmic chant: bul-MAH, bul-MAH, bul-MAH-
The worst thing was; despite the adrenaline flowing through his veins, that heartbeat was slowing down.
Bulma couldn't believe that the person who had been her tormentor was HIM! In a time when she had thought that she had no friends or family to turn to, this man had helped her without asking for anything else in return. Or so she had thought.
"You bastard," she hissed.
Adopting a wounded expression, Doctor Phillip Reznik lifted an eyebrow and added a wry shrug. "Sticks and stones, Ms. Briefs. I could only tolerate treating over-the-hill actors at the Hammorski Plaza for so long."
"I trusted you! You helped Vegeta when he was sick! How could you turn around and blackmail me?" Bulma shouted at him.
"Do you think you're the only one I've done this to? One of my past 'clients' only paid me cocaine and when I got into that shit, I lost my practice! I'm nailing every fatcat who ever set foot in that hellhole. Practically every hotel room I visited, I left a microscopic video transmitter behind. You and your 'companion' made great viewing pleasure. I'll admit, it just stayed in my own personal collection until I saw the Cell Games. That's when I clued in to just who your 'companion' really was. I was ecstatic."
"I'll just bet you were," Bulma said through tense lips. The sense of betrayal that she was feeling was inexpressible. When Vegeta had been suffering through the V'Nhar, this man had been her only reassurance that he would eventually recover. The thought of him watching their private lovemaking was enough to make her physically ill. What would happen if those tapes were released to the media? She would be ostracized from society. Vegeta would be hunted down like an animal. Poor Trunks would be ridiculed for the rest of his life. The Capsule Corporation Empire would go down in flames. "What do you want?"
Reznik, sensing that he had her complete attention, beamed happily when he announced, "I'm not a greedy man, Ms. Briefs. I'm not interested in bankrupting you. What do you say to, uhmmmm... one hundred million zeni? How does that sound?"
"It sounds like you're insane," Bulma said bluntly.
Throwing his head back, the man released a healthy bout of laughter. "I may be stoned but I'm not a madman! I think you're getting off pretty cheap and you know it, too. There's a lot at stake here."
"I can't just write you a check-"
"I know that, which is why I wanted us to meet face to face. Best that you know who you're dealing with first. We can hammer out the details for a later exchange."
"If I gave you the money, you would hand over the tapes?" Bulma ventured reluctantly.
"Absolutely."
"How do I know that you won't make copies?"
"You don't. You'll just have to trust me."
Bulma saw the crafty smile cross his face at that statement and realized that this nightmare would never go away. She could pay him off a dozen times over and he would just keep crawling back, looking for more. "No deal. Screw you, you bastard."
That lecherous grin became wider. "That can be arranged if you want to be shown how serious I am," he said, walking towards her.
Backing up until her back collided with the wall, Bulma looked for an exit but the only way out was the door. And it was behind Reznik. "If you come any closer, I'll scream!"
"No, you won't," the Doctor said pleasantly and leveled the gun he had in his pocket, at her forehead. "I think you need to be reminded who's in charge here. Why don't you gobble me like you did your alien lover? I think I'd like that..." He was in the process of unbuckling his belt when there was an explosion from somewhere in the building and the floor shuddered beneath them.
While Reznik cursed in confusion, Bulma knew instinctively who was responsible for the attack. It was an inexplicable insight but at that instant, she could actually feel the Saiyan's overwhelming rage and he was very close to her. She raised the volume in her mind as high as it would go, hoping- praying that there were still some tendrils of a mental bond left and screamed with all of her might-
!!OHGODVEGETAIMINHEREHEHASAGUNPLEASEHELPMEHURRY!!
Radiating her distress in a constant wave, she was dimly aware that screams outside of the washroom were getting louder. Without warning, the door was blown off of its hinges. Bulma's initial cry of relief and gratitude became one of horror at the mere sight of her savior. Even Reznik took a wandering step backwards, his face confused and shocked.
Vegeta had lost his hold on the Super Saiyan form the moment he had closed in on the airport. Unable to slow his descent, he had collided with an airliner that was taxiing up to a gate and caused the both of them to go crashing into the terminal. His right arm was a mangled ruin where portions of splintered bone jutted out at odd angles and he was dragging his left leg. The entire area beneath his nose to his waist was coated in blood. Supporting himself as he staggered inside, he left bloody handprints along the wall of the men's room. Throughout all of the pain and hardship, his rheumy eyes never wavered from the Doctor's face. He was squinting, trying to place the person and not able to make a connection.
"It-it's the Doctor who treated you at the Hammorski Plaza," Bulma told him, forcing herself to remain calm. Oh God, he looked so awful! "He has videos of us together. If I don't pay him money, he's going to give them to all the networks."
"That a fact," the Saiyan ground out from between clenched teeth.
Finally overcoming his paralysis, Reznik raised the gun up and howled in pain when the Saiyan moved in and snapped the man's wrist with one well- aimed blow. The weapon slid along the smooth floor and Bulma kicked it out of sight beneath one of the urinals. Clutching his wounded arm, the roles were now reversed, as the Doctor was the person with his back against the far wall.
Moving alongside of the stricken Saiyan, Bulma wrapped an arm gently around Vegeta's midriff and all at once the strength went out of his legs. He toppled to the floor and started retching, coughing up blood and bile. All she could do was rub his back while he suffered through the spasms. Reznik was all but forgotten until he remarked; "Well, this won't do at all."
"Leave us alone, you bastard!" She screamed.
The doctor hunkered down in front of them and frowned. "It looks like my meal ticket is dying."
"That's... right," Vegeta confirmed, raising his head with effort. "But I'm not dying alone."
Bulma blinked in astonishment. "Vegeta! What-"
Before anyone could react, the Saiyan propelled himself forward and tackled the doctor. His momentum carried them both through the cinderblock wall and out into Customs where they landed in a pile of luggage that had been confiscated earlier. The baggage broke their fall but it was too late for either of them. The collision had shattered Reznik's spine like glass and he gasped his final breaths like a fish out of water, wondering where things had gone so terribly wrong.
Picking her way quickly through the rubble, Bulma ignored the tortured wheezes from the Doctor's twitching form and knelt beside Vegeta's still body. She tried to be mindful of his injuries as she turned him over but it was next to impossible and he weakly moaned in pain when she raised his head into her lap. "It's going to be alright, Vegeta. We'll get some help for you. You'll be just fine-" She turned to the people who were standing around and watching them. "Somebody call an ambulance! Please! He- He's-" She couldn't bring herself to say the word. Without warning, she started to cry.
Vegeta's eyes fluttered open at the sound and he stared up at her, both eyes badly bloodshot. The right side of his face seemed to droop and his speech was slurred, "...no tears... for me..."
"I can't help it. You can call me a weak little woman all you want," she sputtered, wiping her face self-consciously.
He actually managed a brief, lopsided smile, "...many things but... not weak..." His eyes slipped closed again and his tortured form went limp in her arms.
"Vegeta-" A sense of alarm swept through her and she felt for a pulse along his jawline. Her inquiring fingers found nothing but rapidly chilling flesh. "!!VEGETA!!"
Bare moments later, Piccolo and Gohan emerged from the demolished wall and halted in their tracks. The entire Customs area was packed to capacity but there was scarcely a sound among the people who had gathered. In the distance, but growing louder, were the piercing wails of approaching sirens. Forcing his way through the silent throng, Piccolo emerged into the center of the grim scene and his features dissolved into one of acute disbelief.
Oblivious of the attention, Bulma was cradling Vegeta's still form protectively in her arms, her body racked by sobs of loss. She and the floor were coated in his blood.
---------------------------------------------------------- Chapter Twelve: The fate of Vegeta.