Disclaimer: I' don't own DBZ
The Perfect Flaw
Chapter II
Geldin 29, 451 a.d.
Dear Diary,
Sorry I haven't written in a while. I've been kinda . . . busy.
First off, my parents sent me a gift a few days ago, and you'll never believe what it was. An invisibility device! Can you believe it! They had stuck it underneath a makeup kit so the guards wouldn't notice it— and there's nothing dangerous about a make up kit! So they let it through! Genius!
Anyway, I didn't know what to do with it at first. But then I had a great idea. I've been using it to sneak down the East Wing (where I'd accidently seen Prince Vegeta sparring) to watch the Prince train. I know, I know. I really am ashamed of my self. He's just so handsome! But really, that's not the only reason I do it. I'm also quite fascinated with 'ki'. The last time I saw it used in a fight was at the national death match (don't remember what it's really called) when I was ten. I don't really remember it though.
My parents also sent a note along with their gift. I'll write it for you:
Dear Bulma,
How are you doing? This gift from your father and I is a late birthday present. We know, we know. We're five years late, but it's the thought that counts. We hope you like it.
Love,
Mom and Dad
I cried afterwards.
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Geldin 32, 451 a. d.
Rumors've been going around lately; about the Prince and King. It's said that a secret Palace Harem has been established, hidden in the Royal Wing somewhere. There've been disappearances of women, too, which I think may be increasing suspicion and anxiety among slaves. Especially since we slaves are soooo helpless. Kind of a scary thought, though. Being taken away to some dark place where a bunch of lustful monsters play with you as if you're some emotionless toy. Probably put leashes on you, too. Repulsive.
And even scarier: I've seen them: the disappearances. Yesterday, while I was in my station, I turned to see Rekirett, a fellow colleague of mine. We'd been working together for some time; we had even had some pretty good conversations together. And there she was, surrounded by two, gigantic guards. I couldn't see what they were saying, but they beckoned her to follow them, and she complied. They then disappeared out the door, and I haven't seen Rekirett since.
It gives me the chills, just knowing that at any minute, they could come in and grab me, and I'd never see light again.
I sure hope these rumors aren't true.
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Bulma strode into the dining hall, squinting in an attempt to spot Mark in the crowds of slaves and servants. And there he was, well at least his arm anyway, waving vigorously to get her attention. She smiled as she stalked down the aisle, noting the strange feeling of victory as random eyes fell and locked upon her, momentarily forgetting about their meal. She had used the makeup kit her parents had sent her, applying with girlish glee the fire-red lipstick that made her lips appear lush and full, the blush which gave her skin a radiant glow, and the mascara that brought out the length of her long dark lashes. She felt beautiful, like a Queen.
As she sat down across from Mark, she noticed how his eyes took in her form and beauty, and the way his jaw hung limp. "Bulma!" he exclaimed. "You're outstanding! I really feel like I'm on Earth again! Where'd you get the makeup?"
Bulma could feel the color rise in her cheeks, and it wasn't the blush. "My parents sent it to me as a belated birthday gift."
Mark gave a wry smile. "Well I like it."
Having no desire to chat about her makeup all night, she decided to change the subject. She looked down to see a plate of Lerfenne, a common Saiyan dish. "So," she said with a slight grimace, "is this what's on the menu?"
"Afraid so."
Bulma pursed her lips and feigned delight. She supposed she was pretty much used to the food by now, even if it did still leave a horrible aftertaste in her mouth. She'd always dreamed of being of high status and dining on delicious, mouth-watering courses of turkey and ham and meat. Maybe the meal she was about to eat would be better if they at least spent a little longer than two minutes cooking it.
Timidly she took the first bite, letting the familiar texture settle on her tongue as she prepared to swallow. As an instinct, she'd trained herself not to look at food as she ate it: it reminded her of what was actually going into her mouth. Instead she let her eyes wander carelessly around the hall, peering on other couples that were also having a dinner date; singles who instead of eating the food merely stared at it in depression; ruffians accompanying each other at the same table, probably boasting about their nonexistent muscles. It was then that her gaze fell upon a Saiyan that had just entered the hall. He leaned nonchalantly against the wall, his eyes scanning over the crowds like a predator waiting to pounce. He was unfamiliar; probably a guard of some sort. But it was obvious he was a Saiyan by the long brown tail that wound tightly around his waist.
His stare stopped suddenly, falling upon a certain blue-haired scientist. Bulma's heart seemed to stop, and she nearly choked on her mouthful.
"Something wrong, Bulma?" Mark asked worriedly, waving a hand in front of Bulma's wide eyes.
The Saiyan was moving now, making his way down the aisles, his gaze still on her. Damn he was huge! With each step he took, his muscles seemed to ripple and the ground seemed to quake. Bulma gave an audible gulp. Horrid images of the Harem flooded through her mind, causing her shiver uncontrollably.
"Bulma!" Mark called again. "Bulma, what's wrong? You're shaking!" But she couldn't hear him. All she could hear were the Saiyan's monstrous steps that echoed like thunder as they made contact with the concrete floor. He halted behind Mark.
"What do you have on your face, little one?" he boomed, his voice deep and hungry. Lustfully his eyes ran her up and down , stripping every piece of clothing that covered her nakedness.
Startled Mark spun around, only to find himself staring at the giant's torso. The Saiyan's shadow seemed to engulf him, causing Mark to gawk in fear. Bulma found it even more nerve-racking when facing the fact that Mark wouldn't be able to protect her. Hell, she wouldn't blame him if he didn't even try. "Well?" the Saiyan repeated impatiently. "What is it?"
Bulma knew it would be wiser to answer than to ignore him. "M-makeup."
The monster smiled wickedly under his thin mustache, lust burning in his eyes. "Well whatever it is, I must say I'm impressed. It can even make a slave look delicious."
Bulma waited for Mark to do something. She would have thought that the last remark the Saiyan had made would have blown his top. Instead he sat with the same stupid look on his face, the same stare an infant would give while studying its own fingernails.
Her heart began to pound; she could see her life flashing before her very eyes. Well at least she knew one thing: if he was going to try to take her to the Harem, she wouldn't go down without a fight. She'd show this Saiyan what fingernails could do.
"Nappa!"
The three turned curiously to the new voice. Would surprises never cease? There in the entrance of the hall stood the mighty Prince, his chin lowered to regard the other Saiyan with an icy glare. Beside him stood his personal servant, also a scientist, Kitser the— er— toad looking thing. "Nappa, get over here, you idiot!"
Bulma guessed the giant in front of her was who the Prince was referring to. "I can't take my eyes off you for one second, can I?" the Prince said in annoyance. "I turned around and you'd disappeared! Stop fooling around, we have training to do!"
Nappa met Prince Vegeta's glare bravely before turning back to face the frightened couple. "Well," he snickered, backing away slowly, "I have to go now, little one. But I'll look for you again." And with that he spun on his heel and returned to the Prince's side where they then set off to the East Wing to spar.
After a moment of shock, Mark turned back around in his seat, his eyes meeting Bulma's own terrified ones. Though even though their gazes were locked, Bulma couldn't help but notice how Mark wasn't actuallylooking at her, but more like looking through her. "So," he asked softly, his lips barely moving, "how's the meal?"
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Laying prone on her bed Bulma lolled her head from side to side in self pity. Why me? Why me? Why me?
How was it that she got stuck living on Vegeta? Why couldn't it have been somebody else? No matter how selfish she sounded to herself, she didn't care anymore. She just didn't see how she'd been picked out of trillions of other humans to be a technological slave. Was she really that smart? Was she so smart, that the Saiyans couldn't live another damn day in their lives without her intelligence and inventions? Couldn't they have just left her on Earth and have had her build inventions there?
She could be home right now, staying with her parents and unmade friends, spending each night in her family's comforting arms, relishing the supportive and loving words which they would be whispering in her ear. Instead she came "home" every night to a rundown mattress and a flimsy night stand that might as well have been cardboard. And she'd earned these things, too. She had spent her whole life working her ass off, and this is what she'd earned, God dammit!
She stopped suddenly, feeling something wet under her chin. Slowly she looked down beneath her, witnessing a damp spot on her pillow. She'd been crying, and she hadn't even realized it.
She was a bit grateful when she heard a knock on her dorm door. Gathering up what little strength she had left, she willed herself to her feet and sluggishly made her way to the door.
It was the messenger boy again. He stood with the same lopsided grin on his face that said 'Hey! This is my life, and I'm happy to be living it!'. How could he be so happy? How could he be so content with life when everything around him was crashing to the ground? "For you, miss," he squealed with glee. Bulma then found herself experiencing Déja-vu as the kid held out another package. As if in a trance she took it into her weak and tired arms, not even saying thank you as she shut the door.
She set the box on the table, just like before, and took the time to ponder about what it could be. No doubt it was from her parents. Who else would send her anything? She wondered what kind of invention her father had thought of this time. It was sure to cheer her up a bit.
Languidly she unraveled the string and shed the tape; a bit more eagerly she delved into the pile of gift wrap, searching desperately for the gift, no matter how small it was. But instead she found a note:
Dear Bulma,
How are you? I know it hasn't been long since my last letter, but I'm afraid there's been some bad news. Your father is very ill right now; he's been diagnosed with cancer. The doctors say he's in terrible condition, and that they could've done something if they'd known sooner, and that he probably won't make it past the next few weeks. I'm sorry for this news, and I'm sorry I couldn't brighten you up. I just felt you had a right to know. I have to go now.
Love,
Mom
Before she could prevent it, the devastating letter fell from Bulma's numb fingers. A wave of undescribable emotions washed over her: anger at having been stuck on Vegeta, shock that her strong, invincible father could be susceptible to such a disease, and sorrow for not being able to be there and do something.
She hadn't even seen him, only in his picture that was embedded in her locket. In an extremely fragile state, she whirled around and scrambled for her locket, a sob wrenching from her dry throat as she retrieved it from under her pillow. Her fingers trembled as she opened it, and she felt another cry escape her lips as she laid eyes upon her father's image. He looked so happy and strong and healthy, much too powerful to let something as small as cancer let him die.
Look at me. I don't even know the man, and I'm crying over him. But that was just it. She'd never known the man that she was supposed to have known from the day she'd been born. The man who was supposed to have been there when she lost her first tooth, or celebrated her first birthday, or when she had said her first sentence, even if it had been in Saiyan.
It wasn't fair. He couldn't die yet. Not until she could see and embrace him, tell him how much she loved him for sending her all his gifts and support.
. . . probably won't make it past the next few weeks . . .
Bulma paused abruptly during her sobs. That was it. He'd die in the next few weeks.
Then she'd made her decision. She'd make sure she'd see his face before he died.
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The doctor pursed his lips in concentration, peering down at the troubling x-ray. From what he could see, the patient had fractured his skull along with a few of his ribs; a Saiyan, too. Must have been one hell of a fight. Saiyans sure didn't break easily.
"Kett! Kett!" There was a fit of pounding on the door. "I need to talk to you! Now!"
He recognized that voice anywhere. Puzzled by her urgency, Kett walked over to type in the code.
As the door hissed open, Bulma nearly staggered forward in her hurry. Without sparing Kett so much as a glance she continued past him until she came to the examination table, where she braced her arms and hung her head in distress. Kett stood dumbfounded by her peculiar action. "What do you need, Sapphire?"
He'd called her that ever since she could remember. He'd told her that her eyes lit up like two sapphire jewels, sparkling whether she was angry, happy, or sad, sending either fear or joy to a stranger. She kept her eyes locked on the table's chromed surface, staring into her reflection's determined glare. "What do you know about hacking computers? It's not that I don't know how, I just don't think I have that much experience."
Kett was still bewildered by where she was going with this. "W-why?"
The reflection's glare seemed to harden now, as though encouraging Bulma to continue. "You're the only person I can really trust . . . I'm going to steal a space-pod."
"What!"
"I got a letter yesterday," she choked out, a subliminal image of her father appearing in her mind. "My father only has a few weeks to live. I have to see him."
Kett was too appalled to speak. He couldn't believe his tiny ears. This was treason she was talking about; there was no telling what the Saiyans would do if they were to find out. It almost made him shudder. "You can't. Do you how dangerous it is?"
In a rush of overwhelming emotion bulma whipped around, her eyes hard and firm, yet at the same time glistening with unwanted tears. "I have to Kett!" she bellowed angrily, absently grateful for the sound proof walls. "I've never even seen him! Never even heard his voice! If he were to die, I'd never forgive myself for being too much of a coward to try one time to see him: for the first and last time! I have to do this, Kett! I have to!"
As she yelled, Kett noted the rawness and rasp in her voice. She must have been crying a lot last night. Her eyes were still swollen and red-rimmed, and she had frightening bags under her eyes. He guessed he understood. After all, he'd never known his father either. He probably would have done the same thing.
He gave a sigh of both understanding and defeat. "Okay. You win." His eyes lowered in disappointment or sadness, Bulma couldn't tell which, as he glided forward to rest a comforting hand on her shoulder. He locked Bulma's gaze with his own. "Listen. You've been almost like a daughter to me, Sapphire, and I just don't want you to get hurt."
A daughter. Bulma grunted as she felt another fresh batch of tears coming. It was true. He had been almost like a father figure to her, supporting her and making her laugh when she was depressed; sneaking her candy whenever there had been an occasional slave examination; telling her history stories of the Saiyans when she felt she'd die of boredom. It was true, even if he wasn't her real father: he'd always been there for her, almost like a substitute.
"Now as far as the hacking goes," he gave a light-hearted laugh, "well, you're asking the wrong person for that. I'm a doctor, not a computer-whiz." She didn't know what it was, but seeing him laugh made her smile a bit, even if it was a weak.
"Now I have to go report some x-rays, so if you'll excuse me."
Bulma's smile faded when she felt the comforting warmth of his hand leave her shoulder. Leisurely he turned around and headed for the exit, stopping short in the doorway. He turned his head to tell her one last thing. "It's said," he began almost darkly, "that with every talent comes a flaw." He turned a bit more. "You're a woman of many talents, Bulma. I'm curious to know what your flaw is. I'm beginning to wonder whether that courage of yours will be your advantage . . . or your downfall. Well— good luck . . . Sapphire."
And with that said, he left without another glance, leaving Bulma in a daze as she replayed his words over and over in her mind.
A/N: PLEASE REVIEW! I need feedback.