Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.
The Perfect Flaw
Chapter XVI
"I'm sure he's fine, Chichi!"
The Ox King did his best to console his daughter who had just minutes ago burst into tears, his large hands resting on her trembling shoulders.
But alas she shrugged him off violently, pausing in her sobs and turning to snap, "And how do you know that! I waited all night for him to come back, and he didn't!"
The last fraction of the sentence was muffled as she buried her face back into her palms, and all her father could do was watch as he complied to her silent demand to back off.
"I mean, how the hell could he just— leave me like that! He knows I'm pregnant! Can you imagine what my baby will grow up like without a father! He'll be scarred!"
A sudden noise disrupted her cries, and Chichi looked up to glare daggers to whomever else dared disturb her during her tantrum.
Then her jaw dropped.
G-Goku?
There in the doorway was her husband, flanked by both Yamucha and Krillin, his limp, muscular arms hooked around their necks and his head hung to his bare chest. But frankly Chichi did not take the time to notice his obvious injuries as she nearly flew from her seat to throw her arms around his waist, tears of devastation giving way to tears of joy.
Yamucha nodded curtly to Krillin, and Krillin— reluctantly— turned to explain. "Not now, Chichi," he stated, his own stern voice amazing even himself. "He's seriously hurt; he needs to lay down."
Both of them then made an extremely bold move. Chichi, instead of backing away to let them pass as had been their intent, let her mouth form a tight frown as she forced Goku's chin up with a hand, her eyes scanning over the bruises and cuts that marred his once delicate features. So, Krillin and Yamucha hastily pushed past her, forcibly, when she did not get out of the way, to lay Goku down gingerly onto the couch. They were fully aware of the glare they received in return. And the glare promised pain if they were to ever do that again.
"Goku," said Krillin with a slight shake to the shoulder. "Goku, get up!"
The only response he got though was an abnormally sharp intake of breath.
Perhaps his attempt had been futile, but if there was anyone in that room that knew how to stir someone from unconsciousness, it was Chichi. Unbeknownst to the rest of them she stalked up to stand behind the couch, grunting while overturning a large pot. Krillin jerked back with a yelp, watching as his best friend sputtered and coughed as the stream of water came crashing down over him.
Chichi's mouth puckered to the side and she closed her eyes beneath lowered brows in annoyance. "He said get up, Goku!"
The coughing continued, but he was awake.
Krillin leaned over him as he shot the woman a reproachful glare. "Watch it, Chichi; he got a serious beating!"
Dropping the pot to her feet, Chichi turned with an indignant toss of her black tresses.
"G-guys?"
Everyone grew silent as they turned to his raspy voice.
He regarded them through only one eye, the other repulsively swollen. Yet somehow, he would never cease to amaze them as that same unflagging smile graced his cracked lips.
Krillin released a relieved laugh. "Hey, you're awa— oomph!"
His greeting was abruptly cut short as he was shoved out of the way by a woman that was obvious going through some rather erratic mood swings, he decided. Chichi now knelt by the side of the sofa, her hands brought in to her chest and her eyes gleaming with ecstasy. Throwing herself over his battered body she cried, "Oh, you're alive! Alive!"
Goku winced as her body weight crushed his already broken ribs. But regardless one hand came to rest on her back, moving in perpetual, comforting circles. He was just so happy to see her again, considering how he had been almost certain that Samantha would be the last living thing he would ever see.
Suddenly straightening, Chichi shot him the glare that Goku only saw in his nightmares. "Do you have any idea how much I was worrying about you!" she yelled, her voice like a very out-of-tune violin. Goku cringed and quickly withdrew his hand with a suspicion that it was no longer comforting. "How could you just leave me like that when you know that we're gonna have to be responsible parents soon!" Her glare hardening, she spat with emphasis, "The two of us!"
"Don't . . . worry, Chich'; I'm . . . fine now! Really!"
"So what happened to the guy you were fighting, Goku?" Yamucha changed the subject with ease, coming up to hover above the couple.
Goku turned, blinking as though having no clue what the other warrior was talking about. But after a moment he shifted his gaze to stare down at his bruised chest, his brows knitting as the memory of that cynical smirk crept into his mind. "Vegeta . . . you mean?" he growled, his voice a mixture of hatred and self-loathing. "He . . . got away."
A brooding silence fell upon them as they took in Goku's uneasy expression which instinctually made each of their stomachs churn. And each of them was thinking the exact same thing as well: here lay the strongest fighter on the planet before them, broken and defeated. It was apparent that whatever he'd been up against, it had been strong enough to take him down. Not a pleasant thought at all.
"They were talking about that guy on the news," Chichi pointed out suddenly, turning to acknowledge the silent television screen.
Goku went rigid at that, and his eyes moved to stare into his wife's, his expression imploring that no bad news issue from her lips. Gathering up the courage, "He . . . didn't . . . do any more . . . damage, did he?"
"No. He was," her eyes averted in sadness and bemusement, "after . . . Bulma, apparently. They say he completely vanished once he got hold of her; they haven't found a trace of him since the annihilation of New York City."
"Bulma . . .?" he echoed, his pupils clouding with something Chichi couldn't decipher. Then his fists clenched, every tendon in his hands pulling dangerously tight as disbelief reigned his thoughts. B-Bulma? W-what does she have to do with anything? Why would he have been after her?
"Bulma?" Yamucha blinked and folded his arms. "Who's Bulma?"
Chichi snapped her head to the side slightly, her chin declined as she regarded him with a sideways glance. "Bulma . . . Bulma Briefs."
The room filled with murmurs. Krillin spoke up, his voice shaky with the overwhelming amount of emotions he was feeling at the moment. "Bulma Briefs? As in the Heiress of Capsule Corp?" he mused incredulously. "But . . .that can't be. Their daughter died a long time ago."
Chichi scowled. "Well, apparently not; he even made a broadcast telling everyone to look for her."
Oddly enough, Goku perked at this information. "Well, maybe then the Bulma we know is okay."
"No, Goku," Chichi said with a shake of her head. "She had blue hair . . . and . . . I doubt that's just a coincidence."
After a moment undescribable anger— Saiyan anger— began to boil deep within Goku.
For already, he'd failed to protect a city from being leveled— anda newfriend.
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When Bulma awoke, Vegeta was not there.
Disoriented (as she, unfortunately, always was when she woke up in the morning), she at first rubbed her tired eyes with a filthy sleeve and mumbled incoherently as her eyes searched for the Prince.
But then it hit her. "The Dragon Balls! The Radar!"
She then bolted to her feet and rushed to investigate the area at which he'd been lying the night before. Surely the Heir to the Saiyan throne would not be stupid enough to leave such things of value to her intentions. She surmised that he most likely already capsulized and took them with him, wherever he'd gone off to, that is. But the question was, where? Where could he have gone to— and how could he be so heartless as to leave a fragile creature such as she in the wilderness! Had he already forgotten about the feline they'd dealt with last night?
As Bulma continued to search without result her thin brows knitted delicately. That jerk! she thought angrily. With a pout she straightened, blowing away the straggly strands of blue that had strayed across her face with an exasperated sigh. I bet he left to look for the Dragon Balls without me! He thinks I'm slowing him down!
Convinced Bulma puffed indignantly. I have to get that Radar! And dammit, he isn't making this easy!
Well, what did you expect, Ms. Smart-ass? He's the Saiyan Prince! He's not just gonna hand them over to you on a silver platter!
Bulma sighed again, only this time it was from the overbearing wave of helplessness that crashed over her. What am I gonna do? I have no use for the motorbike unless I have the Radar with me! And by the time he comes back for me, he'll probably have found all the Dragon Balls by then! She gave a melodramatic growl and threw her head to the sky. What am I gonna do!
After a minute of crazed breathing, Bulma relaxed suddenly; her brows came together, and her jaw clenched in concentration as she brought oxygen in and out from her flaring nostrils. She had to calm down; Paranoia wasn't gonna to get her anywhere. Only brains could get her through this dilemma.
And maybe a quick rinse.
A smile flickered across her features for but an instant at the idea, and she nodded her head in confirmation. Yes, a bath would calm her senses. Something about that cool liquid lapping against her just— disintegrated all her worries.
Having come to a conclusion she headed in the direction of the oasis.
As she came to the brush, she began to unzip her jacket. She threw the torn material to the ground with resentment and looked up briefly to scan surroundings— and froze.
There, through the brush and half way into the water was a very naked Saiyan Prince. His back was turned to her, his arms at his sides. He was tense, as she could see, every flex and cut in his back deliciously accented against his scarred flesh.
Look away! She told herself in panic. Look away, God dammit! Look away! But her eyes rebelled, only growing wider as they continued to run along the contours in his shoulders and neck. Oh, God, how can I just— look away? He's naked for Christ's sake!
She started slightly as he suddenly submerged beneath the water and emerged— submerged and emerged— submerged and emerged— repeatedly, a thin wave of water gliding gracefully down his back and torso, only making his skin look all the more desirable. Man, why do the jerks always have to be so attractive?
And then he turned, in her direction.
Belatedly Bulma cursed and ducked from view, scrambling to grab her jacket. Shit! Did he see me?
"Woman!"
I think that's a yes.
Vegeta growled ferally as he saw the flash of blue in the brush. Unfortunately, he was not wearing his scouter presently, but even if he had been it would have most likely not have picked up his presence. Damn the weakling; her power level might as well have been zero! But that was besides the point; he knew she was there, hiding. She was supposed to be sleeping! Last he'd seen her, she'd been sprawled in an awkward position, with one arm outstretched to her side while the other rested behind her head. Her legs had twisted to one side, one on top of the other, and her cheek lay flattened against her bicep, a drop of drool oozing from her open mouth. It had seemed like the perfect opportunity. Because for Hell's sake she hadn't been the only one immersed in reptilian blood!
I knew she couldn't be trusted, he thought bitterly.
Gulping, Bulma bolted straight up— with the fear of being blasted— and shot her arms above her head like a criminal surrendering to justice. "I-I'm sorry!" she said hastily. "I-I just came to take another bath, a-and I didn't know you were out there!" She paused before adding, "I swear!" Just in case.
In spite of the fact that only his chest was visible above the surface, Bulma could still feel a very familiar heat rush to cheeks. She barely resisted the urge to turn and flee from this humiliation, knowing he would only ridicule her more for cowardice.
Vegeta's features twisted in scorn; he remained silent as he made his way out of the water and to his unitard and armor.
Holy shit! Bulma clasped a hand over eyes and could've sworn she'd gone at least two shades redder. Can he warn a person first!
Seeing her reaction, Vegeta snickered as he began to dress. "You act as though you've never seen nudity before, Woman."
"Actually—," now that I think about it— "I haven't."
Silence.
That—, the Prince thought, surprised, was not exactly the response I'd beenexpecting. Vegeta paused as he reached for his chest armor, watching as Bulma shifted uncomfortably behind the brush.
Once slipping on his combat boots he strode and stopped before Bulma, waiting for her to realize her presence. And she did— she could feel his inhuman heat— but she made no move to withdraw her hand.
"You can open your eyes now." He was pretty sure she knew he was there, but he said this just in case.
Slowly her hand slid down the bridge of her nose and face, revealing wide and staring eyes. She locked with his own black orbs, and was suddenly frozen in place.
Those . . . eyes.
They reminded her vaguely of staring over the edge of a cliff— into the seemingly depth less darkness; you couldn't see anything, but yet . . . you knew something was there.
She was jerked from her trance by his harsh voice. "Enough of this. We're leaving now," he stated flatly, brushing past her and stopping to look over his shoulder when not hearing her following footsteps. "Come."
Bulma complied silently, rushing up behind him and following him to camp.
And all the while, she found she couldn't stop thinking about those eyes.
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It was no use. He knew now, and was willing to accept the apparent fact that he would not be able to defeat this alien—
alone that is.
Just minutes ago, while he'd been in the middle of meditation, he'd felt it: that familiar pull in the corner of his mind.
One side of Piccolo's mouth curled up into a smirk. "So, you're alive, Goku. We may actually have a chance after all."
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Bulma had gradually noticed it.
At first she had believed it to be just her imagination. But when she looked down that's when she noticed the incalculable number of goose-bumps that broke out on her arms.
The wind was also becoming more fierce— more virulent. It whipped viciously about her, causing her to cling tighter to the Prince's neck. No longer was their any visible distinction between sky and land; everything eventually dissolved into a sheet of white that stretched as far as the eye could see.
It's even colder than it was in New York. What the hell's going on?
And then it got worse when something inexplicably cold began to pelt upon them. But what was strange about it was that it seemed to melt as soon as it made contact with her skin. Frozen rain.
Briefly Bulma looked to Vegeta to see how he was dealing with the foreign substance. Straining her ears she realized he was saying something.
"What is this stuff, Woman?" he roared over the deafening wind.
Bulma's breaths quickened. "I-I don't know!" She winced as his arms tightened around her— whether it was instinctive or just displeasure with her answer.
"It's your planet!"
Bulma seethed at that. "So!" she practically hissed. "It's not like I've lived here for the majority of my life!" She was certain that he'd growled at that, but it was now impossible to tell.
She hadn't even been aware of when they landed; only when she felt that shred of heat depart from her did she realize it, and immediately she panicked. "W-wait! I-I c-c-can b-barely see you!" she shouted through chattering teeth. With one arm coiled meekly around her hunched form, the other outstretched in an attempt to reach his quickly fading form.
When she heard his voice, it was as cool and emotionless as the wind itself. "Hurry up! I don't have all day."
Bulma's shock at his apathy would have been evident, had her frozen visage been capable of forming expression. Instead a dull, dubious ache was born just above her brow, and her teeth rattled as she complied with every ounce of human strength she had.
But whatever it was that buried her ankles wouldn't let her, and each time she forced herself to look up into the blinding white, she found that her guide's outline was becoming less and less distinct. He wouldn't seriously leave me behind, would he? Bulma thought as she gripped tighter to her jacket. She could not ascertain whether she was actually grabbing cloth though; her fingers were now officially and utterly numb. At first she had recalled a pain that had rippled through her digits and toes, but now there was nothing— no sensation whatsoever.
Meanwhile Vegeta wasn't having it as easily as one would have thought. In fact, though he wouldn't admit it, the only thing he relying on presently was the Radar. Even his eyes couldn't penetrate the white obscurity.
However he hadn't forgotten completely about the woman. Every so often he would throw glances at her over his shoulder, just to make she was still there.
But this time, as he turned his head against the wind, his eyes fractionally widened. There was no visible trace of the slave.
"Panic" was not exactly the word he'd use— a Saiyan Prince did not "panic"; it was unbefitting. It was more like "concern" that flickered through his senses as his eyes searched for the girl's outline. He spun, his face impassive, and headed a few steps from where he'd come, being conscious of where he set his foot lest he accidently crush the weakling's skull beneath his boot. He nudged something suddenly.
Looking down (and squinting), he managed to make out her imprint in the white fluff and crouched down until his thighs brushed against the bitter cold. Then he carefully braced his forearms on his thighs and blinked while studying the girl's features. She lay prone, her arms tucked inside her jacket and out of sight, her drenched blue locks splayed across her pale cheek that was as white as the substance that surrounded her.
"Woman, get up!" he ordered with a snarl. There was no response, not even a grunt of acknowledgment. He snarled again, this time a raw, untamed sound that came from deep within his chest. "I said get up!"
Vegeta bristled with fury, crouching lower until he could lift the body by the shoulders. The way he propped her was awkward; his intent had been to draw her attention to him, but instead her head merely lolled back behind her shoulders in an unnatural position, her blue lips, lifelessly. A shake was of no use either, for then her head lolled forward to her chest.
Growling, Vegeta gave her one more, vicious shake, snapping harshly, "Woman! Answer me!"
Vegeta's jaws began to grind when there was still no response, a habit that usually indicated brooding. After a minute, and after a sigh, "I suppose I could transfer a small amount of my ki into her—," he said, his brow creasing as he considered the idea.
Tensing, he then spun the girl so that it was her back that he drew in against his chest. To be perfectly honest he had never done a ki transference in his life; when would he ever have needed to? It had been done to him, on one occasion, when he'd been training. But still, that one experience did not mean in the slightest that he had the experience of doing a transference.
So naturally he was not about to let the woman he had encircled in his arms know that he had no idea just how much she could take from him; for he knew that there was only so much of his power that her alien body could handle. Hopefully she would just be aware enough of when she reached limit.
Bulma jolted suddenly and clutched the gloved hands that rested against her stomach. An undescribable warmth tingled in her abdomen, suffusing through the rest of her body like a river current. Like a cat her body lengthened, her eyes staring at the white sky through a haze of steel blue, her back arching against hard armor as her head slammed back in a flurry of blue against the juncture ofVegeta's neck. Every tendon in her body tensed where the warmth swam through her, to the point that she feared her muscles would snap. Her teeth ground, her fingers curling to clutch the leather of the glowing gloves.
P-painful pleasure, she decided. Grunting, she pushed her head harder against her cushion, resting just underneath Vegeta's chin. Is this how it always feels? Ki?
"M . . . more."
The utter was barely audible through the uncountable distractions around them, but Vegeta heard it. He was actually a bit surprised as well; he had thought that she had already reached her limit, considering her whimpers and writhing. But still— he must admit with a devious smirk— he did not hesitate in the slightest. Immediately he acquiesced to her order, willing an bit more of his energy into her body and feeling as she pressed harder into him with the new wave of heat that crashed through her.
The new wave was more than she had expected, and her reaction was an involuntary jerk. But it was amazing all the same. She could now feel it distinctly as the current coursed and branched through each vein; she could feel her heart burning as it pulsed within her chest. And as the last smidgen of cold was forced through her trembling fingertips, she shivered in delight, unaware of the long moan of contentment that issued from her smiling lips.
She had never experienced such a . . . sensation. So this was what ki felt like, huh?
It was funny, how such arms and hands, hands that had brought death to so many people, could be so— beneficial. The sudden memory of when she'd seen him sparring flashed through her brain— of having had the chills of being so close to this being's power— and now she was this power; that raw power she had witnessed was flowing into her.
She was amazingly calm when she felt hot lips against her ear. "Like it, Woman?" he rumbled, and she could feel each syllable to her very core.
Slightly disoriented, Bulma's brows twitched. "Bulma," she mumbled. "My name is . . . Bulma."
She heard chuckling at this, a low, very— Saiyan sound. Confused and irritated, What's he laughing at?
And suddenly self awareness swam back to her as the warmth began to slip away. Mewing, she turning with that energy sparking in her azure orbs once again, her body jerking when making contact with the despicable cold.
Turning his head over one shoulder, he regarded her with concealed amusement. "Better stay close to me then, if you wish to stay warm; I won't waste time again, transferring my ki directly."
And as he started forward into the white, Bulma took his suggestion without a second thought, scurrying close to his heat, like a moth to a flame.
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"I said stay close to me, not cling to me, you fool." Vegeta scowled at the girl that had somehow managed to latch herself to his arm. But she ignored his remark. Instead she kept her gaze downcast to avoid the freezing winds, meanwhile doing her best to stay within his aura. With a grunt he shrugged her away. "Get off me!"
Bulma whimpered again at the harsh rejection, retreating into herself for warmth. So cold.
And she meant the Prince, not the frozen rain.
"Aha!" Vegeta laughed suddenly.
"W-w-what I-is it?"
"The Dragon Ball, that's what; it's about time!"
Bulma only groaned.
According to the device's coordinates, the Dragon Ball was straight ahead. Vegeta raised his gaze expectantly, growling low in his throat when seeing an immense glacier before them.
Bulma saw it too; her body stilled as she examined it in awe— its unbelievable size. "Is . . . it— i-in that?" she mused, clumps of white gathering at the edges of her long lashes.
There was no response, and curious she turned to see him in deep thought. After a minute, "I'd move out of the way if I were you."
It took a moment to react to this sudden suggestion, and as she saw gloved hand extend she found her body instinctively leaping as far back it could from the humanoid weapon.
She wondered if he even saw her get out of the way. Bulma didn't doubt for one second that regardless of whether she had gotten a safe distance or not he would have let that blast go, uncaring if she had been harmed.
It whistled past her with enormous force despite her distance, bringing her straggling tresses malevolently across her scrunched face. The ground quaked underneath her unstable feet as the beam made contact with its target, and she was thrown painfully to her rear. Unthinking her head snapped up as she snarled, "Whad'you doing! You're going to destroy the Dragon Ball with that strength!"
"Hmph. Idiot, you don't think I considered that?" he said crossly. "The Dragon Ball is deeper within that thing; it does no harm getting rid of the part of the obstacle that's unnecessary."
Bulma could feel something very wet begin to soak through her clothing. Realization hitting her she climbed to her feet, her hands diligently wiping the white fluff from her bottom.
"Now," Vegeta said to himself, "to be more precise." Ignoring the whines of the girl beside him he once again extended a hand, only this time nothing but his index was locking on his target. He remained absolutely still for a moment, before releasing the thin thread of light.
It sped and made impact in less than a second, creating a spray of white as it ate its way through the glacier. Meanwhile the Saiyan kept his eyes on the Radar, his mind racing with calculations. "There," he confirmed. He dropped his arm once again to his side and turned to stare at the woman, expectantly.
Bulma blinked. "What?"
"It's your turn now, Woman."
She was about to ask what the hell he was talking about, but found herself lifted from her feet. He hefted her up by the collar of her jacket, ignoring her pathetic struggles, and halted before the hole in the glacier which he'd just made. She turned to glare up into his obsidian eyes as she was thrown unceremoniously to the ground. "You're going to crawl in there," he said a-matter-of-factly, tilting his head to the manmade passage.
"B-but, why m—?"
"Just do it."
Well, I guess now would be the best time to start at 'obeying those who are superior to me'. Muttering under her breath, Bulma complied. She pushed herself to her feet, absently patting her bottom while doing so, and shuffled to the hole.
He'd done a pretty decent job— and done it with astonishing precision. About two or so yards into the glacier was exactly was he was looking for, in plain view and unscathed.
And why he ordered her to fetch it? She guessed he just didn't want to humiliate himself getting stuck or something trying to crawl through it. Bulma repressed a giggle at the image of his broad, muscular body wedged in the tunnel, then kept that image with her to keep her in a good mood as she started down the slick passageway.
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A/N: Next chap! Can the world really wait two days for their savior to heal?For just how long will it take for the Saiyan Prince to gather all the Dragon Balls?And will Bulma be able to find the right moment to steal the Radar? (heh, i feel like that narrator dude.)
PLEASE REVIEW!
IMPORTANT NOTE! (My god this was excruciating to write. I feel like I rushed it too much.) And unfortunately, this is the last chap that's gonna be updated for a while. As of tomorrow, I'm leaving to LA for three weeks. And when I get back, my dad will have already left to Washington, and will have taken the computer with him. My computer's not working currently, and I could use my mom's lab-top, but she's already warned me that she's probably gonna be on it most of the time for work. So yeah, what would Bulma do in a situation like this: sits and ponders a moment: Hmmmm. She'd probably just make her own computer . . . yikes.
So, just a heads up. Didn't want you to think that I died or something. Hopefully you won't forget about me. Tell you what, check in on this fic— oh, let's say— three-n-a half weeks or so, and hopefully I will have updated by then.