Two Sides To A Story
Chapter Twelve
"Hang on, Vegeta. Just...hang on."
Splitting the sound barrier with the acceleration of his flight, Piccolo braved a glance at the bundle he was holding protectively in his strong arms. He had wrapped Vegeta's motionless body in his cape and derived no sense of calm at how the previously immaculate white fabric was gradually turning scarlet. Behind him, Gohan had transformed into his Super Saiyan form just to keep up with his great speed. He was carrying Bulma and neither was talking, keeping their eyes trained solely on the Namek and his precious burden. There was a bare hint of ki that still clung to the Saiyan's battered frame, like a flickering ember clinging tenaciously to the head of a matchstick. Piccolo maintained his personal aura around them in an attempt to nurture that fading spark of life but it was a race against time. Vegeta wasn't breathing and his heart had beaten its last while in Bulma's arms. Who knew how long the alien could last in that state without being irreparably damaged?
At the airport, when he had first witnessed Bulma's grief over the passing Saiyan, Piccolo's first reaction had been shock, followed by remorse and then an odd kind of finality. Vegeta had obviously come to the earth woman's rescue and sacrificed his life for her. The circumstances of the conflict eluded him; there wasn't any indication of a real firefight and the opponent seemed to just be an out of shape human, but the result was the same. At long last, the troubled alien had found his peace in the embrace of his beloved and passed on to the afterlife. It was a worthy end for a warrior.
At the mere sight, Kami came to life in the back of his mind where he still resided and began panicking for no good reason. Piccolo couldn't understand what all of the fuss was about, but the old fool was actually assuming control and forcing their body forward, against his own will. The elder Namek was raving on about how it wasn't Vegeta's destiny to pass on in this untimely manner; that he still had a valuable role to fulfil in earth's future.
'What the hell are you talking about?' Piccolo snarled at the other alien.
What he got back were vague images of a hall of mirrors and Vegeta, as he walked slowly from one distorted image to another. Obviously they were memories from Kami's past that he was sharing with his reluctant double. All of a sudden, the Saiyan turned to him and said coldly, "Eight years from now, maybe ten. I'm going to die again anyway, aren't I?"
Sucking in breath as if he had been punched, Piccolo began to get a sense of the urgency. Practically knocking Bulma aside, he unclasped his cloak, covered up the Saiyan's body and took off while the grieving woman wailed her anguish. "Take her with us, Gohan. Let's go!" Without a second's hesitation, he plowed through the nearby wall and into open air, racing away until his form was a mere blur.
'I hope you know what you're talking about', Piccolo directed to the elder Namek in his mind. Damned if he didn't sense that Kami was practically strutting with smug satisfaction. The pair had never gotten along at the best of times and now the old bastard could finally boast how he had manipulated his younger counterpart into doing his wishes.
Submerging his aggravation with difficulty, Piccolo thundered with his mind: '!!DENDE!! You had better be waiting for us when we get there, you little sprout! You hear me?!'
Almost immediately, the answer came back: 'I'm here for you, Piccolo. Please hurry!'
Three minutes later, Dende's Lookout came into view on the horizon. It was a mystical half moon shape anchored to the earth by a cable of purest gold. Only those with ki could catch a glimpse of the revered tower and only a scant handful were ever permitted to step near its palatial grace. This had been Kami's home for over three hundred years and during that time he had witnessed all sorts of struggles as humankind evolved below his watchtower. He had played more roles than that of an observer, to the humans he had been God, and the present path that they traveled had more or less been dictated by his benevolent actions. Since uniting with Piccolo, the mantle of Earth's Guardian was now on Dende's young shoulders. Being no older than Gohan, it was an enormous burden of responsibilities that one would think the little Namek would be ill prepared to handle. Thanks in part to his own surprising maturity and the wizened guidance of the ancient Mr. Popo, it was a mantle that he wore with amazing ease.
He was waiting on the dais of the Lookout when Piccolo came to an abrupt stop, quickly dropping down beside him. Without needing to be told what to do, the young Namek unwrapped the grisly prize and his features tightened at the sight of all of the blood that covered Vegeta's body. Without hesitation, he pulled off the gore-soaked sweater so his hands could touch the Saiyan's flesh directly. Nearby, Gohan landed and Bulma staggered over on unsteady legs and practically collapsed beside them. "Can you help him, Dende? Can you heal him?"
"Hush," Piccolo told her.
Absorbed in his task, Dende ignored the exchange as he ran his glowing hands along the Saiyan's still body. His eyes were closed while he mentally scrutinized every pore of Vegeta's wounded flesh. "He is very far away from me but not lost. Not yet," the wise youth finally murmured. "I can heal the recent wounds he sustained and the past trauma of the projectile injuries-"
Bulma snapped her head up. "Projectile-? He was shot?! Where?"
Very gently and with Piccolo's help, Dende rolled Vegeta over on his side and exposed the bullet wounds that peppered the Saiyan's broad back. Bulma was still counting the scars when Dende returned him to his prone position for healing purposes. "Ohmigod," she wailed, taking her face into her shaking hands. "Who could have done that to him? For what reason?"
The sight of the injuries intensified Piccolo's dour expression and he struggled to maintain his composure. He had never cared much for humans at the best of times and although Gohan had managed to temper him, that animosity still hadn't changed. For unknown reasons, Vegeta had been shot in the back and the cowardice behind the action unnerved him beyond words. "Dende?" he prompted when the younger alien lapsed into remorseful silence.
The small healer had his hand on Vegeta's forehead and was visibly trembling. When he finally looked up, his huge eyes were actually brimming with tears. "Piccolo-"
"Out with it!"
"He... has been poisoned," the Namek rasped out. "It is terrible, it's been feasting on the part of his brain where the ki resides. Even now, it devours what precious little remains."
"...oh god..." All of this was too much for Bulma to bear. She slumped backward into Gohan's arms, her features pale and waxy from delayed shock. The boy held her awkwardly as she greyed out and looked helplessly between the two Namek's. "Can you heal him?" he asked as their silence stretched on.
Instinctively, Dende looked up to his older kinsman for direction. "The physical injuries are of no consequence," he told Piccolo. "It's the mental trauma that worries me. This has been progressing for months unchecked and now the damage to his mind is... extensive. I might only be healing a shell."
Readying a response, both Namek's felt that imperceptible flicker of ki start to fade from Vegeta's essence. "There's no more time for debate, Dende. Do what you can," Piccolo told him in a voice very different from his usual rough manner. It was almost a comforting purr.
Offering no resistance, only a curt nod, Dende closed his eyes again and concentrated all of his body and soul on healing the tortured Saiyan. Standing possessively over the pair, Piccolo betrayed a rare look of remorse to Gohan before glowering out at the azure sky. Cradling Bulma's insensate body, the boy could only swallow and watch Dende's glowing form as he silently prayed Vegeta to get better.
Standing with his arms crossed over his chest, Piccolo didn't move from his place next to Vegeta's bedside. Dende's thorough healing had taken all of the resources the little alien could spare and it still hadn't been enough. All of the Saiyan's physical wounds and recent scars had been erased, as if his past suffering had never happened but he had not roused despite their attempts to wake him. There was damage to his mind that Dende admitted he couldn't reach. It was unknown how far that impairment went, or to what extent it might cripple the proud alien when he actually woke up.
IF he woke up, the Namek corrected himself and felt a curious sensation that resembled grief.
After the healing, Vegeta's heart started beating and he was breathing on his own, which should have been a good sign. It was the lack of his stoic presence that seemed to worry Piccolo and, to a lesser extent, Gohan. In the body that lay on the marble ground of the Lookout, they could sense no essence of the Saiyan they had reluctantly grown to accept. It was as Dende as said; It appeared to be only a soulless shell.
With unusual care, Piccolo picked him up and carried him into the Palace, settling him into the master bedroom where the Saiyan could rest in better comfort. It was where Bulma was now, sitting on the edge of the bed. She was holding one of his hands and stroking the short bristles along his scalp while she examined his features for any sign of consciousness. Vegeta's face was relaxed and that only seemed to worry her more. Even in sleep, his face usually contained some degree of tension but right now, it was alarmingly slack. He looked young and defenseless, his small frame almost lost in the king sized bed and it's affluent covers.
In a voice very different from her usual excited rush, the heiress said bleakly; "He should have woken up by now."
At a loss as to what degree of comfort was expected from him, the huge alien could only offer; "He was dead. I think his condition is an improvement, don't you?"
"Something's wrong," Bulma insisted, raising her clear blue eyes to the brooding figure standing over her. "I don't have any powers and even I can sense that much. What aren't you telling me, Piccolo?"
"Bulma-"
"What do you know?"
"I don't know anything!" Piccolo snapped. "But, I have suspicions..."
"Please tell me."
"Part of Dende's training to replace Kami requires extensive study into Earth's composition. That includes all aspects of geography, geology, chemistry- Basically imagine an entire repository of knowledge housed in one singular being- That is the role that Kami plays to this world."
"I didn't know that. Go on," Bulma urged.
"Dende has developed a powerful symbiotic relationship to the essence that this world radiates. If something is foreign or alien, he can sense it almost immediately." Staring down at the Saiyan's still form, Piccolo collected his thoughts on the matter for a long moment. "Whatever it was that poisoned Vegeta, it was not some naturally occurring chemical. Dende said that it reeked of alien tampering."
Bulma's eyes grew very wide. "Could he identify it at all?"
Piccolo's face grew as hard as stone. Finally, he decided to drop the bombshell; "Dende said that the taint reminded him of Frieza."
Sucking in a quick breath, Bulma appeared about to scream before the Namek cut in, "He couldn't be specific. It could be nothing-"
"Nothing?! Look at him! Do you honestly think something on Earth could cripple him this badly?"
Casting a darting glance at Vegeta, Piccolo said nothing. He didn't have to.
"Frieza," Bulma hissed. That one name was the epitome of everything wrong that had happened between her and Vegeta up to this very point. The tyrant was responsible for torturing the Saiyan until he was a nightmarish copy of his tormentor. He had erased a personality that might have been open to concepts of love and friendship and family and replaced it with only cruelty and hatred. Even from hell, the creature haunted Vegeta's dreams and dictated his actions, nearly driving the Saiyan mad from the strain of trying to cope. Now, it seemed as if he had managed to find a way to bring his favorite toy back into his perverted embrace...
"Even from the grave, he's found a way to get back at you," she whispered, caressing Vegeta's pale cheek as she struggled with tears.
"I don't understand how that's possible," Piccolo muttered.
"A microscopic pellet implanted in his brain. A manufactured DNA sequence timed to release at a certain date. Who knows? What's done is done..." Bulma said forlornly. "I want to be left alone with him."
"Bulma, if-when he wakes up, he might not-"
"Please. Just for a little while."
Struggling between his duty and friendship, Piccolo found himself unable to look away from the entreaty etched in those wide, cerulean eyes. The emotion visible there was huge and inexpressible, the sensation he felt was similar to drowning.
All of her soul is exposed to the world without hesitation, with no thought of consequence, Piccolo realized in that instant. This is what draws Vegeta to her like a moth to a flame. She replaces what he lacks, making them complete in virtually all aspects. Her, the passion. He, the power. Together, they are an unstoppable union of wills and strengths. All this time, I thought Gohan was the sole person capable of keeping Vegeta in check. Little did I know that person was Bulma all along...
"I'll be right outside," the Namek said at last.
Bulma watched the huge alien leave the room and close the door. Through burning eyes, she maintained her bedside vigil and kept all of her attention trained solely on the person beside her. "None of this makes any sense," she said raggedly. "You've been suffering for months and you never told a soul. I don't understand why, Vegeta? Is your pride so important that you would die before asking for help from me? Do you hate me that much?"
She scrubbed at the tears on her face with a tattered Kleenex. "But you came to help Trunks when no one asked you to. You rescued me from that horrible man! Actions have always meant more to you than words. You wouldn't have helped us if you didn't care."
Leaning over him, she examined every pore of his face. "I know that you love me, Vegeta," she whispered, as if sharing a deep secret. "You think that admitting it will make you weak but it's already your greatest strength. I wish I could make you understand that. When you wake up, we're going to have a long talk. Can you wake up for me now? Please? You're scaring me."
Encouraged by past fairytales where perhaps she could rouse her sleeping Prince, Bulma placed her lips over his own and kissed him. There was no miraculous reaction to the innocuous gesture. No change in his slow breathing. With a sob, she laid her forehead against his and let her tears fall on his pale cheeks. "Come back to me, Vegeta," she whispered. "This can't be how it ends for us, I won't allow it. You have to come back. Please-" She lost her battle with her grief and succumbed to heart- wrenching sobs that shook her entire body. Burrowing her face into the blankets, her tears soaked the fabric while the Saiyan prince slumbered on, oblivious.
Watching all of this through a crack in the door, Piccolo pulled it closed and gave the pair their privacy. He was a conflicted mess of emotions and was genuinely at a loss as to how to cope with them. Kami had endowed the younger Namek with very few personal traits when he had chosen to divide his essence and give his double the burden of his own negativity. All that Piccolo had known were darkness and evil. It wasn't until decades later that Gohan had managed to break through that wall of rage and open it to more honorable assets. Combining with Nail on Namek had reinforced that sense of honor and dedication and his final reuniting with Kami had brought everything full circle. Gone was the Namek dedicated to destruction and in his place was a being that was the repository of three completely different souls. The tender scene between Bulma and Vegeta invoked sensations of inexplicable sadness and vulnerability that he was ill prepared to handle. There was only one person he could turn to for guidance.
As he stepped out of the palace to look for Gohan, his sharp senses caught traces of familiar ki. He submerged a grumble of displeasure when he opened the doors and saw that Yamcha and Tien had joined the boy, Dende and Mr. Popo at the foot of the stairs. There was no doubt that Vegeta's agonizing transformation into Super Saiyan had tripped everybody's mental radar and made them come running.
"Is it true?" Yamcha asked as Piccolo walked down the stairs. "Vegeta was poisoned?"
"It appears so," the Namek said neutrally. "Bulma is with him now."
The young warrior immediately turned to enter the palace and the alien snatched hold of his upper arm with a grip of steel. "I don't need to remind you what happened the last time you interfered between those two," Piccolo was almost snarling and Yamcha's face went visibly pale at the sight. "Be a friend to her in this crisis, if you must, but try nothing more. I'm warning you."
Sputtering with embarrassment, Yamcha tried to get his arm free with no success. "I'm not going to try and seduce her! I've made my peace with their relationship. I just want to comfort my friend, that's all."
Glowering down at him, Piccolo finally released his hold and stepped back. Casting him one more wary look, Yamcha briefly massaged his arm and then went into the palace without another word. Before any of the others could make any comment, the Namek spoke up; "Gohan, you have to go home and confront your mother. Tell her and the Briefs what has happened and return here, if she'll let you."
"Not much luck there," the boy muttered distinctly. By the time he returned to Capsule Corporation, his raging mother would probably wrap him in chains. "But I'll try get back as soon as I can."
Offering one curt nod of acknowledgement, Piccolo watched his protégé take to the air and speed off in a westward course. His solemn gaze then slid over to Tien, who had been steadily glaring at him ever since he had stepped outside. "What's on your mind?"
"Vegeta was dead," the immense human retorted. "Why didn't the two of you let him stay that way?" Tien turned his accusing gaze to Dende, who recoiled in shock.
"He was not yet lost to the afterlife," the little Namek was trying to explain. "There was still a salvageable essence for me to work with-"
"That's not what he's talking about," Piccolo cut in. He directed his ebony regard to the human and asked, "You still hate Vegeta that much?"
"Yes," Tien responded, there was no denying it.
"Enough to let your hatred ruin a family and doom the future?"
While the large fighter visibly faltered with that cryptic statement, Piccolo chose to hammer away at his indecision. "Vegeta was not the Saiyan who killed either you or Chiaotzu. Your battle is with Nappa but because he's dead, your rage is focused on his companion. It's a senseless feud that has to end right here and now."
"Vegeta ordered him to-to-"
"Vegeta gave Nappa free rein to do what he wanted. For the most part, he stood back and just watched the fighting. Chiaotzu sacrificed himself in a poorly orchestrated move that only made Nappa angrier. You died because you retaliated out of grief. Vegeta had nothing to do with your incompetence or either of your deaths."
Tien's eyes narrowed into spiteful slits. "I see that you aliens all have some sort of support group. Isn't that cozy. Since when did you become Vegeta's advocate?"
"That's not an easy question to answer. However, Mirai Trunks has returned to his timeline and Bulma has no ki for a proper defense. I guess that leaves me. You're going to have to deal with it."
"One murderous alien bent on the destruction of Earth, protecting another," Tien ground out from between clenched teeth. "I shouldn't be surprised."
"I thought that you had forgiven me for my past sins."
"... I have but-"
"But Vegeta is not worthy of the same respect?"
"He's different."
"In what way? How many times did I fight you as the Demon King? How much damage did I cause over all of those years? Vegeta was on Earth less than three hours the first time he came here. After that, he fought along side of us as an ally."
"Is that what you call it!?!" Tien shouted back in frustration. "On Namek, he only allied with you so that he could take Frieza's place and get his damned immortality. He never fought with us against the Androids; it was just him showing off his stupid Super Saiyan transformation. He even let Cell reach his complete state to satisfy his own morbid curiosity. He's always caused more harm than good. You should have made sure he stayed dead, Piccolo!"
"It's not so cut and dry as that and you know it!" The Namek growled, on the edge of serious anger now. "He repented just before he died on Namek. If he hadn't implanted the concept of the Super Saiyan into Gokou's psyche, Gokou might never have made that ascension to defeat Frieza. If he hadn't come back to Earth and fathered Trunks, this debate would be moot because we would all be dead by now! Vegeta has made many mistakes but he tries in his own way to make up for them. He ultimately aided Gohan to finally destroy Cell when the rest of us were powerless. How convenient that you should ignore that truth!"
Tien appeared to absorb that information and Piccolo felt a glimmer of hope that his words had been accepted until the fighter grumbled peevishly, "He should have died during the Cell Games instead of Gokou."
"Gokou had the option of coming back. He declined. Vegeta's own time is coming but this was not it, Tien."
Catching a hidden double meaning behind those words, the human frowned at him. "What are you trying to say?"
"I was content to let him pass into the afterlife but it was Kami who roused me to the potential consequences if he were to die prematurely. Apparently, Vegeta has a destiny that has not yet been fulfilled."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Tien yelled.
Crossing his arms, Piccolo submerged his growing displacency towards the human with difficulty. "Your mind is closed to everything but your own hate. Think on what we've said and maybe, just maybe, we will talk when you are more receptive."
"Piccolo, I want to know what you meant- Piccolo!" Before Tien's eyes, the Namek tucked his legs underneath of him and assumed a meditative pose, purposely tuning him out. Not appreciating the slight, the fighter turned to Dende for guidance only to find that that little alien was quickly walking away with Mr. Popo, trying not to be too obvious about it.
Releasing an exhale of breath, Tien walked to the edge of the Lookout and stared out at the faultless sky. The words that Piccolo had spoken weighed heavily on his mind. He closed his eyes and reluctantly started to sort through some of the mess as best that he could. None of it was easy. When he had sensed Vegeta's transformation four hours ago, the only thought that came to mind was that the Saiyan was up to no good. It had never even dawned on him that there could be another reason for it. Even when he had witnessed the alien's sacrifice to his stricken son, he had figured some darker motive behind the act.
'It's a senseless feud that has to end right here and now', Piccolo cautioned him.
Yes, Tien mused sensibly. Perhaps it does.
As urgent as the news was that he had to relate to his mother and the Briefs, Gohan was not rushing himself. He was, in fact, taking his sweet time as he tried desperately to come up with some excuse that might possibly placate his mother's chronic instability. "Look, mom, it was dark and I don't like to travel at night so I thought that I'd crash at- at-" Vegeta's place? That would only incense her further! "I was lonely and wanted to go visit Vegeta-" Heck, at that rate he might as well just break down and tell her the truth; "Mom, I was getting woodies in my sleep and scared until Vegeta showed me some porn and told me how to jerk off. I'm feeling much better now, really-"
Nothing like giving your pregnant mother a major heart attack!
All of this was preying heavily on the youth's mind. So much, in fact, that he almost collided with Krillin who was hovering midair, obviously waiting for him.
"Whoa!" The small fighter cried, barely ducking to the side as the boy rushed past. "Hey Gohan! What's going on?"
"Oh Krillin, it's a mess," Gohan said, coming back to the other man's side. "I ran away from home to go visit Vegeta and things have just gone downhill from there..." He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve and looked away, embarrassed to show his tears.
Very gently, his friend reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "Tell me," he urged. He could see that the son of his best friend was terribly distraught but he was unprepared for the story that followed, or its tragic conclusion. "Vegeta really died?!"
"Dende brought him back but there's still something wrong," Gohan managed to get out between sniffs. "It was much worse then we thought, Krillin. We all figured that Vegeta just got into a fight-"
"-Golly, how could we ever have made that mistake?" The bald fighter teased, rolling his eyes dramatically.
"Krillin!"
"Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood."
"... Vegeta had a bunch of scars on his back from gunfire," Gohan said bluntly. "There was a poison in his system that was feeding off of his ki. He's been in agony for the last few months. It's no time for jokes!"
"Sorry, Gohan," he said again. "So, how's he doing now?"
"He won't wake up. Nobody knows what to do."
"Has anyone gone to see Korin?" Krillin asked. When Gohan blinked at him, he continued, "Well, Vegeta can get down a Senzu bean now. Maybe that will finish up the healing that he needs."
Very slowly, the boy shook his head. "We used the last ones at the Cell Games, remember? It takes a year for Korin to grow a new crop and it's only been six months."
Lost in thought for a moment, Krillin shrugged, "It wouldn't hurt to go check anyway. You heading home?"
"Yeah," the boy admitted. "I'd sooner battle Cell again then face my mom right now. She's gonna be pissed."
Krillin did a double take. "She's -what?!"
This time it was Gohan's turn to apologize. "Sorry. I spent the night listening to Vegeta talk. The swearing... sort of rubs off on you."
"You better watch it or your mother is going to have the entire soap aisle in your mouth," the bald fighter said with bewilderment. He wasn't sure what was odder; that the boy was adopting the characteristics of his father's nemesis or the fact that Vegeta had actually entertained the youth.
"I don't doubt it," Gohan said. "I have to get going. Every minute I spend stalling just makes it worse."
"Sure, Gohan. I'll go check with Korin and then I'll go see how Vegeta is doing. You coming back?"
The boy nodded. "If I'm still alive."
Krillin burst out laughing and, at the infectious sound, the boy had to betray a small smile. "Just be humble, tell the truth and don't give Chi Chi any back-talk. Remember, I've known her longer than you have. Just let her scream herself out, she'll quickly come around."
"Right! Thanks Krillin." The boy started powering up for a hasty flight home.
Tapping his bottom lips with his finger, the smaller fighter added, "Of course, it might help to duck..."
"Why?"
"I used to be six feet tall until I went up against your mother," Krillin said and added a quick wink to the joke.
Laughing out loud, Gohan passed him a wave and sped off, heading back to the Western Capital. The expression of good humor quickly left Krillin's youthful features once the boy was out of sight. Like the others, he had felt the blazing wave of pain rip through his mind that carried Vegeta's ki signature and was compelled to see what all of the fuss was about. He couldn't believe how badly things had gotten; first Trunks, now this. Bulma was probably in hysterics over the situation and needed her friends support in this crisis. Without a second's hesitation, he powered up his ki and headed for Korin's Place.
Behind him, carefully maintaining a distance of several kilometers, another individual was in deliberate pursuit.
Shifting his weight on his feet, Yamcha tried to submerge a yawn and had to bite down on it before he was detected. Beside him, Bulma was concentrating all of her attention on the comatose Saiyan and completely ignoring the fighter. Several times, Yamcha had tried to engage her in conversation and got back only monosyllabic responses. It wasn't what he had expected with his arrival. There was always a part of him that hoped for some miraculous reunion between them. Bulma's fling with Vegeta had been well over a year ago but damned if she still wasn't pining away for him, struggling with tears over a masochistic alien who couldn't be bothered to give her the time of day.
It really WAS true, Yamcha brooded. Nice guys DID finish last.
The reasons behind his animosity towards the alien were different than Tien's but by no means less potent. Until the Saiyans had come to Earth, he had never lost a fight before. By his side, had been the most beautiful, richest and smartest woman on the entire planet and she had loved him with all of her heart and soul. He had been one of the strongest fighters alive. Within three years, he had lost his life, his love and his dignity and it was all because of Vegeta. How could he NOT hate the man?
Sure, he had made his piece with the situation. If he didn't want to die again, he pretty much had to. Vegeta could kill him with his little finger if he so desired and the both of them knew it. The real question was; would he? Everyone had feared that once the Saiyan made the ascension to Super Saiyan he would become as credible a threat as Cell. For a short while, it actually seemed possible that would happen. Then Cell had killed Mirai Trunks and Vegeta had gone berserk from grief, displaying a side of his personality that none of them could have fathomed. Years earlier, Yamcha had caught a glimpse of that emotion when he had been on the receiving end of a Gallic Gun blast. He had been spared and had never forgotten the reason why.
'Consider it a gift. For HER. It'll be the only one I'll ever give', Vegeta had told him.
At the time, Yamcha had considered it a fluke. The Saiyan had been hurt, weakened for some unknown reason and the sole recipient of Bulma's affections. The fighter knew intimately how infectious her love could be; it was almost like a drug that addicted every pore until she was the only thing that mattered in the entire universe. Even now, there was a part of Yamcha that yearned for her, and probably always would. They had both lost their virginity in each others embrace and had dated exclusively for over ten years. He still loved her but now he had to have the maturity to step back and let her love another.
But he didn't have to like it.
"Bulma," he said at last. "It's getting late. You should go home and get some rest."
Managing a numb shake of her head, Bulma mumbled, "I'm not leaving him."
"There's Trunks to consider. He needs his mother."
"I-I don't-" Bulma suddenly remembered how receptive the babe had been to Vegeta's thoughts and sat up with a gasp. How had Trunks reacted to his father's death? What was he doing now? "Oh god!" She cried and dug into her purse for her portable vidphone, dialing the numbers for home with a trembling finger. It barely rang once before it was picked up.
"!!BULMA!!" Her mother screamed into the tiny screen. The blonde's face was a mess of smeared mascara where haphazard tracks down either cheek. For the first time in her life, she actually looked her age. "Gohan just got here and told us the news- It's horrible! Just horrible!"
Bulma was wincing but it wasn't just from listening to her distraught mother babble on. In the background, Chi Chi was yelling at Gohan and behind that racket was another sound that the heiress immediately recognized. As she suspected, Trunks was reacting to all of the stress the only way that he could and his voice contained an almost hysterical pitch. He was actually screeching. It wasn't a sound that Bulma had ever heard before. "Mom, what's wrong with Trunks? I can hear him crying!"
Dazed, the usually good-natured woman blinked in confusion as she listened to the infant's distress. "He's been like this for hours, Bulma. I-I don't know what to do!"
"I'm coming home, mom. Everything's going to be alright..."
"Vegeta?"
"He-he hasn't woken up yet."
Mrs. Briefs resumed her weeping and scrubbed her eyes with her manicured hands. When she raised her face again, she looked like a bewildered raccoon. "Oh, that poor, poor man! Hasn't he suffered enough already?"
"I'll be home soon," Bulma managed to get out between the woman's hysterical sobs and shut off the phone. She got to her feet and paused long enough to run her fingers along the short spikes of the Saiyan's hair. "I have to leave. I'm sorry," she whispered and kissed Vegeta's cheek. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
"I'll take you," Yamcha offered. "You shouldn't pilot a hoverjet in your condition."
Distracted by her feelings for the Saiyan and her duty to her child, Bulma said vacantly, "Someone has to watch him-"
"Piccolo and Tien are here. They can take turns. He won't be left alone."
The heiress didn't budge. It worried her that if Vegeta woke up, his first sight would be one of the immense fighters looming over him. He would probably be disorientated and didn't need anymore excitation then what he had already endured. "He might panic if he sees either of them standing over his bed. He and Tien have a mutual loathing and Piccolo well, he's intimidating at the best of times," she reasoned. "Gohan is still at Capsule Corporation, so that doesn't leave anyone else-"
"How about me?" Krillin piped up, poking his head through the door.
Yamcha's face brightened. He had been about to reluctantly volunteer to baby-sit the Saiyan, for Bulma's piece of mind and now saw a way out of that responsibility. "You heard what happened?"
"Yeah, I ran into Gohan on my way over here," the former-monk responded. He walked over to Bulma and took one of her hands, "I'm sorry that this happened. I stopped off at Korin's Place hoping that he had a new crop of Senzu beans ready. No luck. There were two that were nearing maturity but Yajirobi ate them because he had really bad gas."
"It's alright, Krillin," she said absently, doubting that it would have made any difference anyway. If Frieza had truly been the source of the debilitating poison, she figured that the tyrant would have made the affliction immune to terrestrial healing methods. "I have to get home. Can you watch Vegeta while I'm gone? It won't be for very long."
"Sure, no prob," the small fighter said with an easy grin. He sat himself down in the chair beside the bed and laced his fingers behind his bald head. "Should I just talk about stuff or sing for him?"
At first, the question didn't dawn on Bulma. She was too distracted and had to puzzle it out for a moment while Yamcha actually groaned. Krillin's off- pitch singing could make dogs run for cover. The thought of Vegeta waking up to that racket brought a well-deserved smile to her pale features. "I just want him to recover- Not be deaf! Just go ahead and talk."
"Like you need any help with that," Yamcha quipped as the pair headed for the door and let themselves out.
With a wounded expression on his face, Krillin sniffed and looked away. "Nobody appreciates my talents," he said aloofly.
The Headquarters building was utter pandemonium by the time Yamcha touched down on the third floor balcony with Bulma in his arms. Through the partially closed patio doors, they could hear Chi Chi still raving on about Gohan's poor conduct and Trunks' inconsolable screaming. When they stepped into the living room, Mrs. Briefs was sprawled out on the sofa in a grey faint and Chi Chi had cornered her son and was brandishing an erect finger in his face like a dagger. In the center of the room, Trunks was in his playpen while Dr. Briefs was trying to console him by waving a stuffed toy in his face. The old man's hair was completely disheveled and when he spotted Bulma, he actually appeared close to tears. "Thank God you're here, daughter-"
"Bulma's here?" Mrs. Briefs threw off the magazine that covered her face and struggled to sit up. On the far side of the room, Gohan was visibly grateful for the timely diversion as his mother paused to catch her breath.
Ignoring all of them, Bulma swept her son up in her arms and pulled him close. Grabbing fistfuls of blue hair in his tiny fists, Trunks' wails became fretful sobs as he shuddered against his mother. "Ow! Veh- Vehta...Ow!" He whimpered forlornly. "OwOwVetaOwOwOwwww-!"
"I know, hon, I know. It's going to be okay now. I'm here," Bulma soothed as best she could.
"That's all he's said for hours!" Her father said. "The same thing: 'Vegeta- Ow', over and over."
It was just as she feared. The babe had sensed Vegeta's pain and had channeled it through his tiny frame. It must have been terrifying. "Mommy's here, Trunks. Please don't cry."
Everyone was standing around the stricken pair and it took long moments for the infant to recover from the trauma and succumb to his exhaustion. His sobbing passed into a fit of hiccups and he finally fell into a troubled doze, his tiny frame shivering against her. Bulma stroked the boy's head, much like she had with Vegeta earlier and kissed his heated brow. "I'm going to put him to bed. I'll be back down as soon as he's settled," she said wearily and began the slow ascent of the staircase.
"Vegeta still hasn't reached consciousness," Yamcha told them in a low voice. "Krillin is watching him-"
"The attack on the airport is all over the news," Chi Chi cut in. "What happened?"
Once away from the Lookout, Bulma had been more receptive in fielding Yamcha's endless stream of questions. To help pass the time, she had told him everything that had happened. "Bulma was getting letters from a blackmailer who was threatening to expose her relationship with Vegeta to the public. It was the doctor from the Hammorski Plaza. He had video tapes of them together."
"Why wasn't I informed of this?" Dr. Briefs thundered.
"Bulma wanted to handle it on her own. To be honest, we really didn't take it all that seriously, at first-"
"Wait a minute," Chi Chi snapped. "You knew about this?"
Swallowing, Yamcha realized that he should have omitted that little tidbit. "Uhm... yeah, but only the first letter. I didn't know he had contacted her again. Bulma didn't tell anyone that she was going to meet him face to face at the airport this morning."
"If she didn't say anything, how did Vegeta know?" Mrs. Briefs asked in a hushed, excited voice.
"I don't know," Yamcha admitted and couldn't understand why Gohan was wincing or why Chi Chi was glaring at him.
"That was my fault," the boy spoke up when the tense silence stretched on. "I stole some papers from Bulma's secretary that had Vegeta's new address in them. The letters from the blackmailer must have been in the envelope, too."
"Running away, playing hooky and stealing," Chi Chi hissed. "You are in sooo much trouble, young man!"
Passing the youth a sympathetic glance, Yamcha continued, "The blackmailer had a gun drawn on Bulma when Vegeta intercepted them. He killed the guy and then died in her arms."
That roused Mrs. Briefs into a fresh barrage of tears. "Like a knight in shining armor rushing to a damsel's aid. That's just like Vegeta-"
"How did he die? Was he shot?" Dr. Briefs asked soberly.
Not that time, Yamcha wanted to say but it would only create more questions that he had no answers for. "From what I understand, he had some sort of a brain hemorrhage. He died from a stroke."
Four faces stared back at him in stunned silence, their faces slack with disbelief. Yamcha knew what they must have been thinking. Vegeta, the prince of a warring race of aliens who had the power to rip apart the very fabric of space, struck down by a mortal ailment. "Apparently, a poison was in his system that's been feeding on his brain. Dende said that it's been going on for months."
Absently rubbing his moustache, Dr. Briefs mused, "Bulma was concerned by his prolonged disappearance. Could he have been captured by someone?"
Chi Chi huffed, "I find that hard to-"
"There were a lot of bullet wounds on his back," Gohan interrupted.
"Automatic gun fire? That's a soldiers weapon," Bulma's father offered. "Didn't he assume the identity of a soldier?"
"Yeah, Corporal Garth Tucker," the youth said.
"It seems all too coincidental, doesn't it?" Yamcha mused. While everybody started to debate the issue, Mrs. Briefs slipped away to go check on her daughter. The direction of the conversation was really over her head and nobody noticed it when she went upstairs.
Stepping down the corridor towards the nursery, she saw that the door was partially open and the light was on. Peering inside, her expression of tension finally gave way to one of relief.
Sitting in the rocking chair beside the crib, Bulma was fast asleep with Trunks in her arms. The boy was dozing peacefully in the protective embrace of his mother and there was a hint of a contented smile on his chubby features. Loosely clasped in one hand, Bulma was holding onto her small vidphone. Without hesitation, Mrs. Briefs gently pulled the communicator out of her weak grip and slid it into her own pocket.
"My babies need their sleep," she whispered, smiling down at them with her heart surging with enormous love. After a few moments, she left the room and closed the door on the sleeping pair.
"-Buh-Buh-Buh Bad to the Bone, Buh-Buh-Buh Bad to the Bone, Ohhhhhh, yeah, baby! I'm Bad to the Bone!"
Krillin was air-guitaring at the foot of Vegeta's bed and steadily working through his repertoire of barely remembered Rock n' Roll songs. It was late at night, or early in the morning depending on one's perspective, and the little fighter was bored.
In the beginning, he had sat beside Vegeta's bed and talked for hours about inconsequential matters- His life as a monk, his friendship with Gokou and their past adventures. Finally, he decided to broach the subject that involved the both of them personally.
"You were out of control when you first showed up. I mean, sure, at first you just stepped back and let Nappa have his fun beating the crap out of us while you laughed your ass off. But when Gokou showed up, that's when you showed your true colors." Krillin paused and examined the Saiyan's face for any hint of expression. "Nothing stopped you during that fight; not the Kamehameha or the Spirit Bomb. Even Gohan falling on you and breaking every bone in your body didn't kill you. You were unstoppable and if it hadn't been for Gokou, I would have slit your throat for sure." Taking a deep breath, the small man realized that he had been keeping that dark knowledge pent up for years. "I was raised to respect all life and not make harsh judgements on the actions of others. But I hated you, Vegeta. You caused so much pain and suffering to my friends that I wanted to see you dead." He looked sadly down at his hands, which were shaking. "It wouldn't have made me any better than you. I've never killed anything in my life. But I caught an insight into how you must think and it changed me forever. For better or worse, I'm a different man because of it."
Before he could betray his feelings further, the man jumped off of the chair and from that point began singing. He had barely started when Piccolo poked his head into the room and asked him just what the hell he thought he was trying to accomplish. The small monk responded that if his singing didn't wake up Vegeta, nothing could. Completely flustered by the logic, the Namek left without another word.
That had been three hours ago and Krillin was showing no signs of slowing down.
"For my next number, the Great Krillin is going to be singing a selection of Celine Dion's popular songs, starting with the Titanic soundtrack-" Krillin hesitated when he thought that he detected movement out of the corner of his eye. "...Vegeta?"
Under the covers, the Saiyan's left foot twitched and he released a low sound from his throat that resembled a moan. Rushing to his side, Krillin watched as Vegeta's brows twitched and that indignant line between his eyes returned with a vengeance.
"Vegeta! Can you hear me?" Krillin persisted. He wanted to get Piccolo or Dende in here to witness this but didn't want to leave the room for one second. He reached out to touch the Saiyan's forehead and at the mere contact, Vegeta's eyes flew open and he sat up with a gasp.
"You're awake! Yippie!" Krillin began applauding and jumping up and down in his excitement. "Oh man, this is great! Bulma's gonna freak when she hears about this!"
Ignoring the raving midget, Vegeta looked down at himself in shock, checking his arms and chest for wounds. The rich furnishings around him were unfamiliar and he muttered under his breath, "Why aren't I in my pod?" His eyes caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on the far side of the room and his eyes widened almost comically. "Son of a bitch!" He snarled, running his fingers through the short spikes.
Still dancing, Krillin turned to look at him, his round face flushed and beaming with happiness. "What was that, Vegeta? I didn't catch what you said."
Baring his teeth in hatred, the Saiyan snarled out; "You should have killed me with that sword when you had the chance, baldy."
The threat barely registered on the small fighter before the room exploded.
I knew something like this might happen, Piccolo was thinking as he rushed around the corner of the palace. Tien and Dende were following close behind with Mr. Popo at the end, huffing and puffing and gamely trying to keep up. The entire Lookout had shuddered with the force of the explosion and the southern corner of the once-immaculate palace was a smoldering ruin.
"Krillin!" Tien was shouting. "Damn it! That's what you get for letting him sing, Piccolo!"
Flashing him a reproachful glare, the Namek made no comment. He had feared that Vegeta's first seconds of consciousness might be violent ones and it appeared as if poor Krillin had been on the receiving end of it. Terrible singing voice aside, he didn't deserve to be incinerated for the lapse.
The alien's fears were lessened when he caught sight of the little monk struggling to rise from where the blast had thrown him out of the palace. Singed clothing and a few scratches aside, he appeared remarkably unscathed. Looking around in bewilderment, the man yelled at the new arrivals in frustration; "Could somebody tell me what the heck is going on?!"
Opening his mouth to speak, Piccolo turned sharply to confront the other person stepping out of the smoke.
"Vegeta!" Tien started to step forward but Piccolo's arcane senses began screaming cautions and he motioned the human back. "Just a second, Tien. Something's not right..."
Bare chested, the Saiyan walked barefoot through the rubble of the palace and haughtily examined the sparse surrounding features. Blinking the smoke out of his stinging eyes, he looked up at the night sky and frowned at the sight of unfamiliar constellations. As he sniffed the air, he reflexively reached for the left-hand side of his face, dropping his arm with a growl when he came away empty handed.
He was searching for a scouter, Piccolo realized, knowing full well that the Saiyan hadn't worn one for years. "Vegeta!"
Swinging his head around, the Saiyan noticed them for the first time and his eyes narrowed in immediate recognition. "The Namek and Three-eyes... I thought Nappa finished off you losers for good."
"What the hell are you talking about-" This time Piccolo brought an elbow back into Tien's solar plexus and silenced him for the moment. "Vegeta, what's the last thing you remember?" The Namek called out in a level voice.
Vegeta stared at Krillin and adopted a livid sneer on his tense features. "I remember this little shit was going to cut my throat until Kakarrot stopped him."
"Uh oh," Tien wheezed as he massaged his aching breastbone. The reason for the Namek's concern was becoming brutally clear. "Piccolo, does that mean what I think it does?"
Not taking his eyes off of the Saiyan, the huge alien offered one curt nod. "The damage to his mind wasn't to his power but to his memory. Tien, he believes that this is still his first visit to earth." Piccolo had to submerge a tremor of apprehension that swept up his spine. It was his absolute worst fear come true.
With the speed of a rattlesnake, Vegeta caught a hold of Krillin's collar and hefted him up until they were eyelevel. "I told you I'd be back to finish what I started, didn't I?"
"Veh-Vegeta-" Krillin stammered.
"This time, you're all going to die," Vegeta promised him and threw his head back and started laughing.
-------------------------------------------------------- Chapter Thirteen: Vegeta decides to pick up where he last left off!
"Hang on, Vegeta. Just...hang on."
Splitting the sound barrier with the acceleration of his flight, Piccolo braved a glance at the bundle he was holding protectively in his strong arms. He had wrapped Vegeta's motionless body in his cape and derived no sense of calm at how the previously immaculate white fabric was gradually turning scarlet. Behind him, Gohan had transformed into his Super Saiyan form just to keep up with his great speed. He was carrying Bulma and neither was talking, keeping their eyes trained solely on the Namek and his precious burden. There was a bare hint of ki that still clung to the Saiyan's battered frame, like a flickering ember clinging tenaciously to the head of a matchstick. Piccolo maintained his personal aura around them in an attempt to nurture that fading spark of life but it was a race against time. Vegeta wasn't breathing and his heart had beaten its last while in Bulma's arms. Who knew how long the alien could last in that state without being irreparably damaged?
At the airport, when he had first witnessed Bulma's grief over the passing Saiyan, Piccolo's first reaction had been shock, followed by remorse and then an odd kind of finality. Vegeta had obviously come to the earth woman's rescue and sacrificed his life for her. The circumstances of the conflict eluded him; there wasn't any indication of a real firefight and the opponent seemed to just be an out of shape human, but the result was the same. At long last, the troubled alien had found his peace in the embrace of his beloved and passed on to the afterlife. It was a worthy end for a warrior.
At the mere sight, Kami came to life in the back of his mind where he still resided and began panicking for no good reason. Piccolo couldn't understand what all of the fuss was about, but the old fool was actually assuming control and forcing their body forward, against his own will. The elder Namek was raving on about how it wasn't Vegeta's destiny to pass on in this untimely manner; that he still had a valuable role to fulfil in earth's future.
'What the hell are you talking about?' Piccolo snarled at the other alien.
What he got back were vague images of a hall of mirrors and Vegeta, as he walked slowly from one distorted image to another. Obviously they were memories from Kami's past that he was sharing with his reluctant double. All of a sudden, the Saiyan turned to him and said coldly, "Eight years from now, maybe ten. I'm going to die again anyway, aren't I?"
Sucking in breath as if he had been punched, Piccolo began to get a sense of the urgency. Practically knocking Bulma aside, he unclasped his cloak, covered up the Saiyan's body and took off while the grieving woman wailed her anguish. "Take her with us, Gohan. Let's go!" Without a second's hesitation, he plowed through the nearby wall and into open air, racing away until his form was a mere blur.
'I hope you know what you're talking about', Piccolo directed to the elder Namek in his mind. Damned if he didn't sense that Kami was practically strutting with smug satisfaction. The pair had never gotten along at the best of times and now the old bastard could finally boast how he had manipulated his younger counterpart into doing his wishes.
Submerging his aggravation with difficulty, Piccolo thundered with his mind: '!!DENDE!! You had better be waiting for us when we get there, you little sprout! You hear me?!'
Almost immediately, the answer came back: 'I'm here for you, Piccolo. Please hurry!'
Three minutes later, Dende's Lookout came into view on the horizon. It was a mystical half moon shape anchored to the earth by a cable of purest gold. Only those with ki could catch a glimpse of the revered tower and only a scant handful were ever permitted to step near its palatial grace. This had been Kami's home for over three hundred years and during that time he had witnessed all sorts of struggles as humankind evolved below his watchtower. He had played more roles than that of an observer, to the humans he had been God, and the present path that they traveled had more or less been dictated by his benevolent actions. Since uniting with Piccolo, the mantle of Earth's Guardian was now on Dende's young shoulders. Being no older than Gohan, it was an enormous burden of responsibilities that one would think the little Namek would be ill prepared to handle. Thanks in part to his own surprising maturity and the wizened guidance of the ancient Mr. Popo, it was a mantle that he wore with amazing ease.
He was waiting on the dais of the Lookout when Piccolo came to an abrupt stop, quickly dropping down beside him. Without needing to be told what to do, the young Namek unwrapped the grisly prize and his features tightened at the sight of all of the blood that covered Vegeta's body. Without hesitation, he pulled off the gore-soaked sweater so his hands could touch the Saiyan's flesh directly. Nearby, Gohan landed and Bulma staggered over on unsteady legs and practically collapsed beside them. "Can you help him, Dende? Can you heal him?"
"Hush," Piccolo told her.
Absorbed in his task, Dende ignored the exchange as he ran his glowing hands along the Saiyan's still body. His eyes were closed while he mentally scrutinized every pore of Vegeta's wounded flesh. "He is very far away from me but not lost. Not yet," the wise youth finally murmured. "I can heal the recent wounds he sustained and the past trauma of the projectile injuries-"
Bulma snapped her head up. "Projectile-? He was shot?! Where?"
Very gently and with Piccolo's help, Dende rolled Vegeta over on his side and exposed the bullet wounds that peppered the Saiyan's broad back. Bulma was still counting the scars when Dende returned him to his prone position for healing purposes. "Ohmigod," she wailed, taking her face into her shaking hands. "Who could have done that to him? For what reason?"
The sight of the injuries intensified Piccolo's dour expression and he struggled to maintain his composure. He had never cared much for humans at the best of times and although Gohan had managed to temper him, that animosity still hadn't changed. For unknown reasons, Vegeta had been shot in the back and the cowardice behind the action unnerved him beyond words. "Dende?" he prompted when the younger alien lapsed into remorseful silence.
The small healer had his hand on Vegeta's forehead and was visibly trembling. When he finally looked up, his huge eyes were actually brimming with tears. "Piccolo-"
"Out with it!"
"He... has been poisoned," the Namek rasped out. "It is terrible, it's been feasting on the part of his brain where the ki resides. Even now, it devours what precious little remains."
"...oh god..." All of this was too much for Bulma to bear. She slumped backward into Gohan's arms, her features pale and waxy from delayed shock. The boy held her awkwardly as she greyed out and looked helplessly between the two Namek's. "Can you heal him?" he asked as their silence stretched on.
Instinctively, Dende looked up to his older kinsman for direction. "The physical injuries are of no consequence," he told Piccolo. "It's the mental trauma that worries me. This has been progressing for months unchecked and now the damage to his mind is... extensive. I might only be healing a shell."
Readying a response, both Namek's felt that imperceptible flicker of ki start to fade from Vegeta's essence. "There's no more time for debate, Dende. Do what you can," Piccolo told him in a voice very different from his usual rough manner. It was almost a comforting purr.
Offering no resistance, only a curt nod, Dende closed his eyes again and concentrated all of his body and soul on healing the tortured Saiyan. Standing possessively over the pair, Piccolo betrayed a rare look of remorse to Gohan before glowering out at the azure sky. Cradling Bulma's insensate body, the boy could only swallow and watch Dende's glowing form as he silently prayed Vegeta to get better.
Standing with his arms crossed over his chest, Piccolo didn't move from his place next to Vegeta's bedside. Dende's thorough healing had taken all of the resources the little alien could spare and it still hadn't been enough. All of the Saiyan's physical wounds and recent scars had been erased, as if his past suffering had never happened but he had not roused despite their attempts to wake him. There was damage to his mind that Dende admitted he couldn't reach. It was unknown how far that impairment went, or to what extent it might cripple the proud alien when he actually woke up.
IF he woke up, the Namek corrected himself and felt a curious sensation that resembled grief.
After the healing, Vegeta's heart started beating and he was breathing on his own, which should have been a good sign. It was the lack of his stoic presence that seemed to worry Piccolo and, to a lesser extent, Gohan. In the body that lay on the marble ground of the Lookout, they could sense no essence of the Saiyan they had reluctantly grown to accept. It was as Dende as said; It appeared to be only a soulless shell.
With unusual care, Piccolo picked him up and carried him into the Palace, settling him into the master bedroom where the Saiyan could rest in better comfort. It was where Bulma was now, sitting on the edge of the bed. She was holding one of his hands and stroking the short bristles along his scalp while she examined his features for any sign of consciousness. Vegeta's face was relaxed and that only seemed to worry her more. Even in sleep, his face usually contained some degree of tension but right now, it was alarmingly slack. He looked young and defenseless, his small frame almost lost in the king sized bed and it's affluent covers.
In a voice very different from her usual excited rush, the heiress said bleakly; "He should have woken up by now."
At a loss as to what degree of comfort was expected from him, the huge alien could only offer; "He was dead. I think his condition is an improvement, don't you?"
"Something's wrong," Bulma insisted, raising her clear blue eyes to the brooding figure standing over her. "I don't have any powers and even I can sense that much. What aren't you telling me, Piccolo?"
"Bulma-"
"What do you know?"
"I don't know anything!" Piccolo snapped. "But, I have suspicions..."
"Please tell me."
"Part of Dende's training to replace Kami requires extensive study into Earth's composition. That includes all aspects of geography, geology, chemistry- Basically imagine an entire repository of knowledge housed in one singular being- That is the role that Kami plays to this world."
"I didn't know that. Go on," Bulma urged.
"Dende has developed a powerful symbiotic relationship to the essence that this world radiates. If something is foreign or alien, he can sense it almost immediately." Staring down at the Saiyan's still form, Piccolo collected his thoughts on the matter for a long moment. "Whatever it was that poisoned Vegeta, it was not some naturally occurring chemical. Dende said that it reeked of alien tampering."
Bulma's eyes grew very wide. "Could he identify it at all?"
Piccolo's face grew as hard as stone. Finally, he decided to drop the bombshell; "Dende said that the taint reminded him of Frieza."
Sucking in a quick breath, Bulma appeared about to scream before the Namek cut in, "He couldn't be specific. It could be nothing-"
"Nothing?! Look at him! Do you honestly think something on Earth could cripple him this badly?"
Casting a darting glance at Vegeta, Piccolo said nothing. He didn't have to.
"Frieza," Bulma hissed. That one name was the epitome of everything wrong that had happened between her and Vegeta up to this very point. The tyrant was responsible for torturing the Saiyan until he was a nightmarish copy of his tormentor. He had erased a personality that might have been open to concepts of love and friendship and family and replaced it with only cruelty and hatred. Even from hell, the creature haunted Vegeta's dreams and dictated his actions, nearly driving the Saiyan mad from the strain of trying to cope. Now, it seemed as if he had managed to find a way to bring his favorite toy back into his perverted embrace...
"Even from the grave, he's found a way to get back at you," she whispered, caressing Vegeta's pale cheek as she struggled with tears.
"I don't understand how that's possible," Piccolo muttered.
"A microscopic pellet implanted in his brain. A manufactured DNA sequence timed to release at a certain date. Who knows? What's done is done..." Bulma said forlornly. "I want to be left alone with him."
"Bulma, if-when he wakes up, he might not-"
"Please. Just for a little while."
Struggling between his duty and friendship, Piccolo found himself unable to look away from the entreaty etched in those wide, cerulean eyes. The emotion visible there was huge and inexpressible, the sensation he felt was similar to drowning.
All of her soul is exposed to the world without hesitation, with no thought of consequence, Piccolo realized in that instant. This is what draws Vegeta to her like a moth to a flame. She replaces what he lacks, making them complete in virtually all aspects. Her, the passion. He, the power. Together, they are an unstoppable union of wills and strengths. All this time, I thought Gohan was the sole person capable of keeping Vegeta in check. Little did I know that person was Bulma all along...
"I'll be right outside," the Namek said at last.
Bulma watched the huge alien leave the room and close the door. Through burning eyes, she maintained her bedside vigil and kept all of her attention trained solely on the person beside her. "None of this makes any sense," she said raggedly. "You've been suffering for months and you never told a soul. I don't understand why, Vegeta? Is your pride so important that you would die before asking for help from me? Do you hate me that much?"
She scrubbed at the tears on her face with a tattered Kleenex. "But you came to help Trunks when no one asked you to. You rescued me from that horrible man! Actions have always meant more to you than words. You wouldn't have helped us if you didn't care."
Leaning over him, she examined every pore of his face. "I know that you love me, Vegeta," she whispered, as if sharing a deep secret. "You think that admitting it will make you weak but it's already your greatest strength. I wish I could make you understand that. When you wake up, we're going to have a long talk. Can you wake up for me now? Please? You're scaring me."
Encouraged by past fairytales where perhaps she could rouse her sleeping Prince, Bulma placed her lips over his own and kissed him. There was no miraculous reaction to the innocuous gesture. No change in his slow breathing. With a sob, she laid her forehead against his and let her tears fall on his pale cheeks. "Come back to me, Vegeta," she whispered. "This can't be how it ends for us, I won't allow it. You have to come back. Please-" She lost her battle with her grief and succumbed to heart- wrenching sobs that shook her entire body. Burrowing her face into the blankets, her tears soaked the fabric while the Saiyan prince slumbered on, oblivious.
Watching all of this through a crack in the door, Piccolo pulled it closed and gave the pair their privacy. He was a conflicted mess of emotions and was genuinely at a loss as to how to cope with them. Kami had endowed the younger Namek with very few personal traits when he had chosen to divide his essence and give his double the burden of his own negativity. All that Piccolo had known were darkness and evil. It wasn't until decades later that Gohan had managed to break through that wall of rage and open it to more honorable assets. Combining with Nail on Namek had reinforced that sense of honor and dedication and his final reuniting with Kami had brought everything full circle. Gone was the Namek dedicated to destruction and in his place was a being that was the repository of three completely different souls. The tender scene between Bulma and Vegeta invoked sensations of inexplicable sadness and vulnerability that he was ill prepared to handle. There was only one person he could turn to for guidance.
As he stepped out of the palace to look for Gohan, his sharp senses caught traces of familiar ki. He submerged a grumble of displeasure when he opened the doors and saw that Yamcha and Tien had joined the boy, Dende and Mr. Popo at the foot of the stairs. There was no doubt that Vegeta's agonizing transformation into Super Saiyan had tripped everybody's mental radar and made them come running.
"Is it true?" Yamcha asked as Piccolo walked down the stairs. "Vegeta was poisoned?"
"It appears so," the Namek said neutrally. "Bulma is with him now."
The young warrior immediately turned to enter the palace and the alien snatched hold of his upper arm with a grip of steel. "I don't need to remind you what happened the last time you interfered between those two," Piccolo was almost snarling and Yamcha's face went visibly pale at the sight. "Be a friend to her in this crisis, if you must, but try nothing more. I'm warning you."
Sputtering with embarrassment, Yamcha tried to get his arm free with no success. "I'm not going to try and seduce her! I've made my peace with their relationship. I just want to comfort my friend, that's all."
Glowering down at him, Piccolo finally released his hold and stepped back. Casting him one more wary look, Yamcha briefly massaged his arm and then went into the palace without another word. Before any of the others could make any comment, the Namek spoke up; "Gohan, you have to go home and confront your mother. Tell her and the Briefs what has happened and return here, if she'll let you."
"Not much luck there," the boy muttered distinctly. By the time he returned to Capsule Corporation, his raging mother would probably wrap him in chains. "But I'll try get back as soon as I can."
Offering one curt nod of acknowledgement, Piccolo watched his protégé take to the air and speed off in a westward course. His solemn gaze then slid over to Tien, who had been steadily glaring at him ever since he had stepped outside. "What's on your mind?"
"Vegeta was dead," the immense human retorted. "Why didn't the two of you let him stay that way?" Tien turned his accusing gaze to Dende, who recoiled in shock.
"He was not yet lost to the afterlife," the little Namek was trying to explain. "There was still a salvageable essence for me to work with-"
"That's not what he's talking about," Piccolo cut in. He directed his ebony regard to the human and asked, "You still hate Vegeta that much?"
"Yes," Tien responded, there was no denying it.
"Enough to let your hatred ruin a family and doom the future?"
While the large fighter visibly faltered with that cryptic statement, Piccolo chose to hammer away at his indecision. "Vegeta was not the Saiyan who killed either you or Chiaotzu. Your battle is with Nappa but because he's dead, your rage is focused on his companion. It's a senseless feud that has to end right here and now."
"Vegeta ordered him to-to-"
"Vegeta gave Nappa free rein to do what he wanted. For the most part, he stood back and just watched the fighting. Chiaotzu sacrificed himself in a poorly orchestrated move that only made Nappa angrier. You died because you retaliated out of grief. Vegeta had nothing to do with your incompetence or either of your deaths."
Tien's eyes narrowed into spiteful slits. "I see that you aliens all have some sort of support group. Isn't that cozy. Since when did you become Vegeta's advocate?"
"That's not an easy question to answer. However, Mirai Trunks has returned to his timeline and Bulma has no ki for a proper defense. I guess that leaves me. You're going to have to deal with it."
"One murderous alien bent on the destruction of Earth, protecting another," Tien ground out from between clenched teeth. "I shouldn't be surprised."
"I thought that you had forgiven me for my past sins."
"... I have but-"
"But Vegeta is not worthy of the same respect?"
"He's different."
"In what way? How many times did I fight you as the Demon King? How much damage did I cause over all of those years? Vegeta was on Earth less than three hours the first time he came here. After that, he fought along side of us as an ally."
"Is that what you call it!?!" Tien shouted back in frustration. "On Namek, he only allied with you so that he could take Frieza's place and get his damned immortality. He never fought with us against the Androids; it was just him showing off his stupid Super Saiyan transformation. He even let Cell reach his complete state to satisfy his own morbid curiosity. He's always caused more harm than good. You should have made sure he stayed dead, Piccolo!"
"It's not so cut and dry as that and you know it!" The Namek growled, on the edge of serious anger now. "He repented just before he died on Namek. If he hadn't implanted the concept of the Super Saiyan into Gokou's psyche, Gokou might never have made that ascension to defeat Frieza. If he hadn't come back to Earth and fathered Trunks, this debate would be moot because we would all be dead by now! Vegeta has made many mistakes but he tries in his own way to make up for them. He ultimately aided Gohan to finally destroy Cell when the rest of us were powerless. How convenient that you should ignore that truth!"
Tien appeared to absorb that information and Piccolo felt a glimmer of hope that his words had been accepted until the fighter grumbled peevishly, "He should have died during the Cell Games instead of Gokou."
"Gokou had the option of coming back. He declined. Vegeta's own time is coming but this was not it, Tien."
Catching a hidden double meaning behind those words, the human frowned at him. "What are you trying to say?"
"I was content to let him pass into the afterlife but it was Kami who roused me to the potential consequences if he were to die prematurely. Apparently, Vegeta has a destiny that has not yet been fulfilled."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Tien yelled.
Crossing his arms, Piccolo submerged his growing displacency towards the human with difficulty. "Your mind is closed to everything but your own hate. Think on what we've said and maybe, just maybe, we will talk when you are more receptive."
"Piccolo, I want to know what you meant- Piccolo!" Before Tien's eyes, the Namek tucked his legs underneath of him and assumed a meditative pose, purposely tuning him out. Not appreciating the slight, the fighter turned to Dende for guidance only to find that that little alien was quickly walking away with Mr. Popo, trying not to be too obvious about it.
Releasing an exhale of breath, Tien walked to the edge of the Lookout and stared out at the faultless sky. The words that Piccolo had spoken weighed heavily on his mind. He closed his eyes and reluctantly started to sort through some of the mess as best that he could. None of it was easy. When he had sensed Vegeta's transformation four hours ago, the only thought that came to mind was that the Saiyan was up to no good. It had never even dawned on him that there could be another reason for it. Even when he had witnessed the alien's sacrifice to his stricken son, he had figured some darker motive behind the act.
'It's a senseless feud that has to end right here and now', Piccolo cautioned him.
Yes, Tien mused sensibly. Perhaps it does.
As urgent as the news was that he had to relate to his mother and the Briefs, Gohan was not rushing himself. He was, in fact, taking his sweet time as he tried desperately to come up with some excuse that might possibly placate his mother's chronic instability. "Look, mom, it was dark and I don't like to travel at night so I thought that I'd crash at- at-" Vegeta's place? That would only incense her further! "I was lonely and wanted to go visit Vegeta-" Heck, at that rate he might as well just break down and tell her the truth; "Mom, I was getting woodies in my sleep and scared until Vegeta showed me some porn and told me how to jerk off. I'm feeling much better now, really-"
Nothing like giving your pregnant mother a major heart attack!
All of this was preying heavily on the youth's mind. So much, in fact, that he almost collided with Krillin who was hovering midair, obviously waiting for him.
"Whoa!" The small fighter cried, barely ducking to the side as the boy rushed past. "Hey Gohan! What's going on?"
"Oh Krillin, it's a mess," Gohan said, coming back to the other man's side. "I ran away from home to go visit Vegeta and things have just gone downhill from there..." He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve and looked away, embarrassed to show his tears.
Very gently, his friend reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "Tell me," he urged. He could see that the son of his best friend was terribly distraught but he was unprepared for the story that followed, or its tragic conclusion. "Vegeta really died?!"
"Dende brought him back but there's still something wrong," Gohan managed to get out between sniffs. "It was much worse then we thought, Krillin. We all figured that Vegeta just got into a fight-"
"-Golly, how could we ever have made that mistake?" The bald fighter teased, rolling his eyes dramatically.
"Krillin!"
"Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood."
"... Vegeta had a bunch of scars on his back from gunfire," Gohan said bluntly. "There was a poison in his system that was feeding off of his ki. He's been in agony for the last few months. It's no time for jokes!"
"Sorry, Gohan," he said again. "So, how's he doing now?"
"He won't wake up. Nobody knows what to do."
"Has anyone gone to see Korin?" Krillin asked. When Gohan blinked at him, he continued, "Well, Vegeta can get down a Senzu bean now. Maybe that will finish up the healing that he needs."
Very slowly, the boy shook his head. "We used the last ones at the Cell Games, remember? It takes a year for Korin to grow a new crop and it's only been six months."
Lost in thought for a moment, Krillin shrugged, "It wouldn't hurt to go check anyway. You heading home?"
"Yeah," the boy admitted. "I'd sooner battle Cell again then face my mom right now. She's gonna be pissed."
Krillin did a double take. "She's -what?!"
This time it was Gohan's turn to apologize. "Sorry. I spent the night listening to Vegeta talk. The swearing... sort of rubs off on you."
"You better watch it or your mother is going to have the entire soap aisle in your mouth," the bald fighter said with bewilderment. He wasn't sure what was odder; that the boy was adopting the characteristics of his father's nemesis or the fact that Vegeta had actually entertained the youth.
"I don't doubt it," Gohan said. "I have to get going. Every minute I spend stalling just makes it worse."
"Sure, Gohan. I'll go check with Korin and then I'll go see how Vegeta is doing. You coming back?"
The boy nodded. "If I'm still alive."
Krillin burst out laughing and, at the infectious sound, the boy had to betray a small smile. "Just be humble, tell the truth and don't give Chi Chi any back-talk. Remember, I've known her longer than you have. Just let her scream herself out, she'll quickly come around."
"Right! Thanks Krillin." The boy started powering up for a hasty flight home.
Tapping his bottom lips with his finger, the smaller fighter added, "Of course, it might help to duck..."
"Why?"
"I used to be six feet tall until I went up against your mother," Krillin said and added a quick wink to the joke.
Laughing out loud, Gohan passed him a wave and sped off, heading back to the Western Capital. The expression of good humor quickly left Krillin's youthful features once the boy was out of sight. Like the others, he had felt the blazing wave of pain rip through his mind that carried Vegeta's ki signature and was compelled to see what all of the fuss was about. He couldn't believe how badly things had gotten; first Trunks, now this. Bulma was probably in hysterics over the situation and needed her friends support in this crisis. Without a second's hesitation, he powered up his ki and headed for Korin's Place.
Behind him, carefully maintaining a distance of several kilometers, another individual was in deliberate pursuit.
Shifting his weight on his feet, Yamcha tried to submerge a yawn and had to bite down on it before he was detected. Beside him, Bulma was concentrating all of her attention on the comatose Saiyan and completely ignoring the fighter. Several times, Yamcha had tried to engage her in conversation and got back only monosyllabic responses. It wasn't what he had expected with his arrival. There was always a part of him that hoped for some miraculous reunion between them. Bulma's fling with Vegeta had been well over a year ago but damned if she still wasn't pining away for him, struggling with tears over a masochistic alien who couldn't be bothered to give her the time of day.
It really WAS true, Yamcha brooded. Nice guys DID finish last.
The reasons behind his animosity towards the alien were different than Tien's but by no means less potent. Until the Saiyans had come to Earth, he had never lost a fight before. By his side, had been the most beautiful, richest and smartest woman on the entire planet and she had loved him with all of her heart and soul. He had been one of the strongest fighters alive. Within three years, he had lost his life, his love and his dignity and it was all because of Vegeta. How could he NOT hate the man?
Sure, he had made his piece with the situation. If he didn't want to die again, he pretty much had to. Vegeta could kill him with his little finger if he so desired and the both of them knew it. The real question was; would he? Everyone had feared that once the Saiyan made the ascension to Super Saiyan he would become as credible a threat as Cell. For a short while, it actually seemed possible that would happen. Then Cell had killed Mirai Trunks and Vegeta had gone berserk from grief, displaying a side of his personality that none of them could have fathomed. Years earlier, Yamcha had caught a glimpse of that emotion when he had been on the receiving end of a Gallic Gun blast. He had been spared and had never forgotten the reason why.
'Consider it a gift. For HER. It'll be the only one I'll ever give', Vegeta had told him.
At the time, Yamcha had considered it a fluke. The Saiyan had been hurt, weakened for some unknown reason and the sole recipient of Bulma's affections. The fighter knew intimately how infectious her love could be; it was almost like a drug that addicted every pore until she was the only thing that mattered in the entire universe. Even now, there was a part of Yamcha that yearned for her, and probably always would. They had both lost their virginity in each others embrace and had dated exclusively for over ten years. He still loved her but now he had to have the maturity to step back and let her love another.
But he didn't have to like it.
"Bulma," he said at last. "It's getting late. You should go home and get some rest."
Managing a numb shake of her head, Bulma mumbled, "I'm not leaving him."
"There's Trunks to consider. He needs his mother."
"I-I don't-" Bulma suddenly remembered how receptive the babe had been to Vegeta's thoughts and sat up with a gasp. How had Trunks reacted to his father's death? What was he doing now? "Oh god!" She cried and dug into her purse for her portable vidphone, dialing the numbers for home with a trembling finger. It barely rang once before it was picked up.
"!!BULMA!!" Her mother screamed into the tiny screen. The blonde's face was a mess of smeared mascara where haphazard tracks down either cheek. For the first time in her life, she actually looked her age. "Gohan just got here and told us the news- It's horrible! Just horrible!"
Bulma was wincing but it wasn't just from listening to her distraught mother babble on. In the background, Chi Chi was yelling at Gohan and behind that racket was another sound that the heiress immediately recognized. As she suspected, Trunks was reacting to all of the stress the only way that he could and his voice contained an almost hysterical pitch. He was actually screeching. It wasn't a sound that Bulma had ever heard before. "Mom, what's wrong with Trunks? I can hear him crying!"
Dazed, the usually good-natured woman blinked in confusion as she listened to the infant's distress. "He's been like this for hours, Bulma. I-I don't know what to do!"
"I'm coming home, mom. Everything's going to be alright..."
"Vegeta?"
"He-he hasn't woken up yet."
Mrs. Briefs resumed her weeping and scrubbed her eyes with her manicured hands. When she raised her face again, she looked like a bewildered raccoon. "Oh, that poor, poor man! Hasn't he suffered enough already?"
"I'll be home soon," Bulma managed to get out between the woman's hysterical sobs and shut off the phone. She got to her feet and paused long enough to run her fingers along the short spikes of the Saiyan's hair. "I have to leave. I'm sorry," she whispered and kissed Vegeta's cheek. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
"I'll take you," Yamcha offered. "You shouldn't pilot a hoverjet in your condition."
Distracted by her feelings for the Saiyan and her duty to her child, Bulma said vacantly, "Someone has to watch him-"
"Piccolo and Tien are here. They can take turns. He won't be left alone."
The heiress didn't budge. It worried her that if Vegeta woke up, his first sight would be one of the immense fighters looming over him. He would probably be disorientated and didn't need anymore excitation then what he had already endured. "He might panic if he sees either of them standing over his bed. He and Tien have a mutual loathing and Piccolo well, he's intimidating at the best of times," she reasoned. "Gohan is still at Capsule Corporation, so that doesn't leave anyone else-"
"How about me?" Krillin piped up, poking his head through the door.
Yamcha's face brightened. He had been about to reluctantly volunteer to baby-sit the Saiyan, for Bulma's piece of mind and now saw a way out of that responsibility. "You heard what happened?"
"Yeah, I ran into Gohan on my way over here," the former-monk responded. He walked over to Bulma and took one of her hands, "I'm sorry that this happened. I stopped off at Korin's Place hoping that he had a new crop of Senzu beans ready. No luck. There were two that were nearing maturity but Yajirobi ate them because he had really bad gas."
"It's alright, Krillin," she said absently, doubting that it would have made any difference anyway. If Frieza had truly been the source of the debilitating poison, she figured that the tyrant would have made the affliction immune to terrestrial healing methods. "I have to get home. Can you watch Vegeta while I'm gone? It won't be for very long."
"Sure, no prob," the small fighter said with an easy grin. He sat himself down in the chair beside the bed and laced his fingers behind his bald head. "Should I just talk about stuff or sing for him?"
At first, the question didn't dawn on Bulma. She was too distracted and had to puzzle it out for a moment while Yamcha actually groaned. Krillin's off- pitch singing could make dogs run for cover. The thought of Vegeta waking up to that racket brought a well-deserved smile to her pale features. "I just want him to recover- Not be deaf! Just go ahead and talk."
"Like you need any help with that," Yamcha quipped as the pair headed for the door and let themselves out.
With a wounded expression on his face, Krillin sniffed and looked away. "Nobody appreciates my talents," he said aloofly.
The Headquarters building was utter pandemonium by the time Yamcha touched down on the third floor balcony with Bulma in his arms. Through the partially closed patio doors, they could hear Chi Chi still raving on about Gohan's poor conduct and Trunks' inconsolable screaming. When they stepped into the living room, Mrs. Briefs was sprawled out on the sofa in a grey faint and Chi Chi had cornered her son and was brandishing an erect finger in his face like a dagger. In the center of the room, Trunks was in his playpen while Dr. Briefs was trying to console him by waving a stuffed toy in his face. The old man's hair was completely disheveled and when he spotted Bulma, he actually appeared close to tears. "Thank God you're here, daughter-"
"Bulma's here?" Mrs. Briefs threw off the magazine that covered her face and struggled to sit up. On the far side of the room, Gohan was visibly grateful for the timely diversion as his mother paused to catch her breath.
Ignoring all of them, Bulma swept her son up in her arms and pulled him close. Grabbing fistfuls of blue hair in his tiny fists, Trunks' wails became fretful sobs as he shuddered against his mother. "Ow! Veh- Vehta...Ow!" He whimpered forlornly. "OwOwVetaOwOwOwwww-!"
"I know, hon, I know. It's going to be okay now. I'm here," Bulma soothed as best she could.
"That's all he's said for hours!" Her father said. "The same thing: 'Vegeta- Ow', over and over."
It was just as she feared. The babe had sensed Vegeta's pain and had channeled it through his tiny frame. It must have been terrifying. "Mommy's here, Trunks. Please don't cry."
Everyone was standing around the stricken pair and it took long moments for the infant to recover from the trauma and succumb to his exhaustion. His sobbing passed into a fit of hiccups and he finally fell into a troubled doze, his tiny frame shivering against her. Bulma stroked the boy's head, much like she had with Vegeta earlier and kissed his heated brow. "I'm going to put him to bed. I'll be back down as soon as he's settled," she said wearily and began the slow ascent of the staircase.
"Vegeta still hasn't reached consciousness," Yamcha told them in a low voice. "Krillin is watching him-"
"The attack on the airport is all over the news," Chi Chi cut in. "What happened?"
Once away from the Lookout, Bulma had been more receptive in fielding Yamcha's endless stream of questions. To help pass the time, she had told him everything that had happened. "Bulma was getting letters from a blackmailer who was threatening to expose her relationship with Vegeta to the public. It was the doctor from the Hammorski Plaza. He had video tapes of them together."
"Why wasn't I informed of this?" Dr. Briefs thundered.
"Bulma wanted to handle it on her own. To be honest, we really didn't take it all that seriously, at first-"
"Wait a minute," Chi Chi snapped. "You knew about this?"
Swallowing, Yamcha realized that he should have omitted that little tidbit. "Uhm... yeah, but only the first letter. I didn't know he had contacted her again. Bulma didn't tell anyone that she was going to meet him face to face at the airport this morning."
"If she didn't say anything, how did Vegeta know?" Mrs. Briefs asked in a hushed, excited voice.
"I don't know," Yamcha admitted and couldn't understand why Gohan was wincing or why Chi Chi was glaring at him.
"That was my fault," the boy spoke up when the tense silence stretched on. "I stole some papers from Bulma's secretary that had Vegeta's new address in them. The letters from the blackmailer must have been in the envelope, too."
"Running away, playing hooky and stealing," Chi Chi hissed. "You are in sooo much trouble, young man!"
Passing the youth a sympathetic glance, Yamcha continued, "The blackmailer had a gun drawn on Bulma when Vegeta intercepted them. He killed the guy and then died in her arms."
That roused Mrs. Briefs into a fresh barrage of tears. "Like a knight in shining armor rushing to a damsel's aid. That's just like Vegeta-"
"How did he die? Was he shot?" Dr. Briefs asked soberly.
Not that time, Yamcha wanted to say but it would only create more questions that he had no answers for. "From what I understand, he had some sort of a brain hemorrhage. He died from a stroke."
Four faces stared back at him in stunned silence, their faces slack with disbelief. Yamcha knew what they must have been thinking. Vegeta, the prince of a warring race of aliens who had the power to rip apart the very fabric of space, struck down by a mortal ailment. "Apparently, a poison was in his system that's been feeding on his brain. Dende said that it's been going on for months."
Absently rubbing his moustache, Dr. Briefs mused, "Bulma was concerned by his prolonged disappearance. Could he have been captured by someone?"
Chi Chi huffed, "I find that hard to-"
"There were a lot of bullet wounds on his back," Gohan interrupted.
"Automatic gun fire? That's a soldiers weapon," Bulma's father offered. "Didn't he assume the identity of a soldier?"
"Yeah, Corporal Garth Tucker," the youth said.
"It seems all too coincidental, doesn't it?" Yamcha mused. While everybody started to debate the issue, Mrs. Briefs slipped away to go check on her daughter. The direction of the conversation was really over her head and nobody noticed it when she went upstairs.
Stepping down the corridor towards the nursery, she saw that the door was partially open and the light was on. Peering inside, her expression of tension finally gave way to one of relief.
Sitting in the rocking chair beside the crib, Bulma was fast asleep with Trunks in her arms. The boy was dozing peacefully in the protective embrace of his mother and there was a hint of a contented smile on his chubby features. Loosely clasped in one hand, Bulma was holding onto her small vidphone. Without hesitation, Mrs. Briefs gently pulled the communicator out of her weak grip and slid it into her own pocket.
"My babies need their sleep," she whispered, smiling down at them with her heart surging with enormous love. After a few moments, she left the room and closed the door on the sleeping pair.
"-Buh-Buh-Buh Bad to the Bone, Buh-Buh-Buh Bad to the Bone, Ohhhhhh, yeah, baby! I'm Bad to the Bone!"
Krillin was air-guitaring at the foot of Vegeta's bed and steadily working through his repertoire of barely remembered Rock n' Roll songs. It was late at night, or early in the morning depending on one's perspective, and the little fighter was bored.
In the beginning, he had sat beside Vegeta's bed and talked for hours about inconsequential matters- His life as a monk, his friendship with Gokou and their past adventures. Finally, he decided to broach the subject that involved the both of them personally.
"You were out of control when you first showed up. I mean, sure, at first you just stepped back and let Nappa have his fun beating the crap out of us while you laughed your ass off. But when Gokou showed up, that's when you showed your true colors." Krillin paused and examined the Saiyan's face for any hint of expression. "Nothing stopped you during that fight; not the Kamehameha or the Spirit Bomb. Even Gohan falling on you and breaking every bone in your body didn't kill you. You were unstoppable and if it hadn't been for Gokou, I would have slit your throat for sure." Taking a deep breath, the small man realized that he had been keeping that dark knowledge pent up for years. "I was raised to respect all life and not make harsh judgements on the actions of others. But I hated you, Vegeta. You caused so much pain and suffering to my friends that I wanted to see you dead." He looked sadly down at his hands, which were shaking. "It wouldn't have made me any better than you. I've never killed anything in my life. But I caught an insight into how you must think and it changed me forever. For better or worse, I'm a different man because of it."
Before he could betray his feelings further, the man jumped off of the chair and from that point began singing. He had barely started when Piccolo poked his head into the room and asked him just what the hell he thought he was trying to accomplish. The small monk responded that if his singing didn't wake up Vegeta, nothing could. Completely flustered by the logic, the Namek left without another word.
That had been three hours ago and Krillin was showing no signs of slowing down.
"For my next number, the Great Krillin is going to be singing a selection of Celine Dion's popular songs, starting with the Titanic soundtrack-" Krillin hesitated when he thought that he detected movement out of the corner of his eye. "...Vegeta?"
Under the covers, the Saiyan's left foot twitched and he released a low sound from his throat that resembled a moan. Rushing to his side, Krillin watched as Vegeta's brows twitched and that indignant line between his eyes returned with a vengeance.
"Vegeta! Can you hear me?" Krillin persisted. He wanted to get Piccolo or Dende in here to witness this but didn't want to leave the room for one second. He reached out to touch the Saiyan's forehead and at the mere contact, Vegeta's eyes flew open and he sat up with a gasp.
"You're awake! Yippie!" Krillin began applauding and jumping up and down in his excitement. "Oh man, this is great! Bulma's gonna freak when she hears about this!"
Ignoring the raving midget, Vegeta looked down at himself in shock, checking his arms and chest for wounds. The rich furnishings around him were unfamiliar and he muttered under his breath, "Why aren't I in my pod?" His eyes caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on the far side of the room and his eyes widened almost comically. "Son of a bitch!" He snarled, running his fingers through the short spikes.
Still dancing, Krillin turned to look at him, his round face flushed and beaming with happiness. "What was that, Vegeta? I didn't catch what you said."
Baring his teeth in hatred, the Saiyan snarled out; "You should have killed me with that sword when you had the chance, baldy."
The threat barely registered on the small fighter before the room exploded.
I knew something like this might happen, Piccolo was thinking as he rushed around the corner of the palace. Tien and Dende were following close behind with Mr. Popo at the end, huffing and puffing and gamely trying to keep up. The entire Lookout had shuddered with the force of the explosion and the southern corner of the once-immaculate palace was a smoldering ruin.
"Krillin!" Tien was shouting. "Damn it! That's what you get for letting him sing, Piccolo!"
Flashing him a reproachful glare, the Namek made no comment. He had feared that Vegeta's first seconds of consciousness might be violent ones and it appeared as if poor Krillin had been on the receiving end of it. Terrible singing voice aside, he didn't deserve to be incinerated for the lapse.
The alien's fears were lessened when he caught sight of the little monk struggling to rise from where the blast had thrown him out of the palace. Singed clothing and a few scratches aside, he appeared remarkably unscathed. Looking around in bewilderment, the man yelled at the new arrivals in frustration; "Could somebody tell me what the heck is going on?!"
Opening his mouth to speak, Piccolo turned sharply to confront the other person stepping out of the smoke.
"Vegeta!" Tien started to step forward but Piccolo's arcane senses began screaming cautions and he motioned the human back. "Just a second, Tien. Something's not right..."
Bare chested, the Saiyan walked barefoot through the rubble of the palace and haughtily examined the sparse surrounding features. Blinking the smoke out of his stinging eyes, he looked up at the night sky and frowned at the sight of unfamiliar constellations. As he sniffed the air, he reflexively reached for the left-hand side of his face, dropping his arm with a growl when he came away empty handed.
He was searching for a scouter, Piccolo realized, knowing full well that the Saiyan hadn't worn one for years. "Vegeta!"
Swinging his head around, the Saiyan noticed them for the first time and his eyes narrowed in immediate recognition. "The Namek and Three-eyes... I thought Nappa finished off you losers for good."
"What the hell are you talking about-" This time Piccolo brought an elbow back into Tien's solar plexus and silenced him for the moment. "Vegeta, what's the last thing you remember?" The Namek called out in a level voice.
Vegeta stared at Krillin and adopted a livid sneer on his tense features. "I remember this little shit was going to cut my throat until Kakarrot stopped him."
"Uh oh," Tien wheezed as he massaged his aching breastbone. The reason for the Namek's concern was becoming brutally clear. "Piccolo, does that mean what I think it does?"
Not taking his eyes off of the Saiyan, the huge alien offered one curt nod. "The damage to his mind wasn't to his power but to his memory. Tien, he believes that this is still his first visit to earth." Piccolo had to submerge a tremor of apprehension that swept up his spine. It was his absolute worst fear come true.
With the speed of a rattlesnake, Vegeta caught a hold of Krillin's collar and hefted him up until they were eyelevel. "I told you I'd be back to finish what I started, didn't I?"
"Veh-Vegeta-" Krillin stammered.
"This time, you're all going to die," Vegeta promised him and threw his head back and started laughing.
-------------------------------------------------------- Chapter Thirteen: Vegeta decides to pick up where he last left off!