(A/N : K, peeps, sorry it took me so long to update. I know, I know, I'm about three days (for some of you weirdos, 72 hours) late, but I hope this chapter will make up for it. Some of it might be confusing right now, but I promise it will all tie together in the end. Till then, have a happy confusing reading. Touche.
R&R.)
Trunks is crying.
This was the only thought that passed through her fuddled head as she struggled to open her heavy eyes. She could hear her child crying…crying… Why won't someone take care of him? she wondered blearily. I'm not the only one in the house…
The baby wailed louder, and once again she fought against her sleep drugged brain as she attempted to force herself back into the world of consciousness. At last, her sleep-matted eyelashes parted with painful sluggishness, and she blinked in the sudden burst of light - well, what was a sudden burst of light to her dilated pupils. In reality, the lights had been dimmed considerably to give an eerie feeling to chrome-worked room…
Shaking her head once more, she searched the shadowed area for her son. She found him in the corner resting on a pile of satin pillows, a wail issuing forth from his wide open lips. Bulma pulled herself over to her baby and wrapped her arms around his little frame.
"Where are we, Trunks?" she asked the distraught child. Receiving no answer but a whining hiccup, she blew out her breath and, placing the baby on a mattress placed at the back of the room, got up to take a look around. Everything was wrought in chrome, giving the room the visage of some well-kept laboratory. Bulma frowned, trying to remember why she wasn't at home in her own bed…
"ANDY!" she screamed suddenly, charging over to the door of the room and banging hard upon the metal surface. "You freaking bastard! I remember everything now!" she howled, sending the cramped space echoing with her fury. She beat her fists ever harder upon the metal door. "If you don't let me out, I'll freaking beat you back into the pile of slime you are!"
"Bulma, Bulma, Bulma. You really needn't be so dramatic. All I did was do you a favor."
Bulma whirled around to see a plasma screen mounted in the wall flicker to life, portraying the image of the treacherous man in a large leather chair, twirling a mechanical pencil between expert fingers. His smile was somewhat smug, though a hint of remorse tainted the expression with a bit of pain. He leaned forward.
"I had really hoped you would like your new room. It's going to be yours for a very long time," he continued, searching her face with his cool blue eyes.
Glowering in defiance, Bulma spit on the floor and rubbed the heel of her boot in it. "Says you," she grated, meeting his eyes with her own seething sapphires. "You know Vegeta won't stand for this. He'll come get me, and you'll be sorry you were ever born!"
Andy favored her with an amused smile. "Bulma, Bulma, Bulma," he said again, smirking as the fires of rage burned ever brighter within the confines of her cerulean irises. "You know not of what you are speaking. You say Vegeta will come and get you? Ha! You know he will not. Why bolster your own hopes, only to have them come crashing down around your ears? Take my advice and make yourself happy here." He leaned forward, steepling his fingers before his lips. "Because if you allow me, I will make you the happiest woman on this miserable planet."
"I was happy before you brought me to this prison, bastard!" she screeched, fists balled at her sides. "Everyone accuses me of not knowing what's best for me. But since when do they know what makes me happy? Maybe I like having the special moments so few. It makes them all the more superb! What I want to know," she spat through gritted teeth, "is why I everyone thinks they know me when they don't!" She whirled around and stalked away from the screen to pick up her baby son.
"Oh, but I know you so well, Bulma," Andy murmured, allowing himself to slip back into the confines of his high backed leather chair. "You are an individual who would fight to the death for anything you believe in - a person of true inner strength that gets what she deserves and somehow can't accept it."
She whirled around. "And what do you mean by that!" she demanded. Trunks let out a howl and began to struggle frantically within his mother's grasp.
"You deserved your pretense of happiness when you chose to marry Vegeta," he replied calmly.
"It's---not---pretense!" she raged. "Are you deaf, or just stupid! I love him! Love him, dammit! I--"
"He will not come for you, Bulma," he said gently. "You know this."
"Yes he will!" she screamed, unwitting tears welling up beneath her wrath-puckered eyelids. "He'll come!" She pushed her nose into Trunks' mass of purple hair. "He'll come," she said more quietly.
Andy raised an eyebrow at her stubbornness. Any other human woman would have accepted the dark and dreary truth and moved on - but not Bulma. Hers was a spirit so indomitable, so immovable in its misguided beliefs…
So desirable in its fiery opposition…
"Bulma." He zoomed the camera in on her haggard face, and she looked up at him with naught but the severest hatred.
"Mrs. Briefs," she corrected with a nasty flare of her lip.
Andy sighed and conceded. "Alright then, Ms. Briefs," he said, purposefully using the maiden term of respect in defiance of her stubborn attitude, "I will make you a deal. If your husband -"-a sneer- "-does indeed come for you in the next three days, then you will be free to go and you will never hear from me again."
She met his virtual gaze with suspicious eyes. "And if he doesn't?" she asked warily.
Another smirk touched his thin lips. "Losing confidence already?"
"I deserve to know all aspects of this so called deal," she returned with a snarl.
He shrugged. "If he does not, you will belong to me forever."
"Agreed," she said, a bit too quickly. She forced her features into a confident leer. "You don't seem like the type who likes to lose," she snickered, "so don't be disappointed when you wake up a week from now to find your pretty-ass face slammed into the linoleum."
"Empty threats, Ms. Briefs," he said softly. "Then the bet is on. You have three days. If your prince hasn't arrived by half past midnight on the third day, then you will be mine…forever." With one last nod, Andy touched a button and the screen went dark.
"I trusted you!" she screamed at the blank display, beating her fists against the cool chrome of the wall. "Dammit, I trusted you!"
Trunks wailed from where she had placed him on the mat, and she whirled on her heel to tend to him. "Don't worry, Trunks," she whispered, wiping the child's tears with the tip of her finger. "Daddy will get us out of here somehow. If I'm right, the next full moon will be two nights from now. Your Daddy will come for us. I know it." Raising her eyes, she found a small skylight set into the roof of the makeshift holding area. It was small, about a square foot, but it allowed a breathtaking view of the stars and sky. The waxing moon, swollen and almost fully visible, floated lazily across the velvet of the night. Bulma squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for the sphere to reach its full size within the allotted time.
"He'll come, Trunks," she murmured again, tugging her little son close. "The full moon will bring him to us." Laying back on the thin mattress, she pulled a coverlet from beneath the uncomfortable pad and tucked it around them, letting the comforting light of the waxing moon lull her into some semblance of sleep.
Andy continued to watch her after her end of the camera was shut off, a smirk touching his thin lips with a malicious flare. He reached out a finger and traced her defiant form.
"Oh, I know he will come, my dear Bulma," he whispered. "He is too prideful to do anything else. However, the part of the deal that as of yet remains unspoken is that when he arrives, he must beg for your release. If you are really worth to him what you say you are, then he should have no problems fumbling his foolish pride on your behalf!" An almost demonic laugh echoed through the hollow room. "Enjoy what time you have left, Bulma. Soon you will forget him entirely."
"Damn, where is that woman!"
Vegeta stomped through the house, arms crossed across his chest, wearing a look that would have killed if such a thing were possible. After the spat with Bulma, the Saiyan Prince had retired to the gravity rooms to vent his anger on the newly repaired machinery, which now, coincidentally, lay in shambles about the battered training area. Half a day had passed since the argument. More than enough time for the woman to get supper on the table.
"I swear to God, girl, if I find you cavorting with that brat again…!" He mounted the stairs with heavy feet, the remainder of the threat trailing off to a low growl in his tightened throat. Somehow he couldn't think of an appropriate ending to his warning - he decided to leave the gory details to her imagination. Rounding the corner, he thrust his head into the playroom and took a menacing look around.
"Not here either!" Storming back into the hall, he ran a frustrated hand through his raven hair. "Damn!" he said again. "She's always there when I want to throw her off the nearest building, but when I actually require her presence, she's off doing God knows what! Shit, woman, I'm hungry!"
No response.
"Where the hell could she be?" he grated. Closing his eyes, he searched for her energy signal. Nothing.
A tight spasm of hunger - or was it something else? - gripped his stomach. He launched himself into the air and flew at top speed through the hallways, kicking open doors and shouting into each of the room with more and more vigor each time he didn't find her. Ten minutes later he was back in front of the playroom, a furious scowl twisting his features as he searched his mind for answers.
"Probably out on another of her ridiculous shopping sprees," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "Go figure!" Just as he was about to turn around and fly through the window, the front door opened and slammed closed, followed by a cheery, "We're hoooooooooooome!"
"About time!" Vegeta's feet barely had time to hit the ground before he was off and running for the door. Mrs. Briefs was carefully removing a pair of high-heeled red sandals from her aching feet when Vegeta skidded into the hall.
"Well, hello, dear!" she chirped, rubbing a blister on the back of her heel. "Goodness, I never thought I'd see you in such a hurry to see little ol' me…"
"Enough chatter!" he interrupted, crossing his arms and stepping toward her. "I'm looking for Bulma."
Mrs. Briefs looked perplexed. "I'm sorry dear, but she isn't with us. Last I saw her, she was upstairs asleep."
"Then she must have gone out after all!" he snarled, curling his hand into a fist. "Damn, she's always pulling crap like this--"
"Vegeta, m'boy, Bulma had something to work on today. She was going to be homebound for the rest of the evening." Dr. Briefs laid his wife's shopping by the door and turned to face the Saiyan Prince. "So before you go accusing her of something, make sure she actually--"
"She's nowhere in the house, old man!" Vegeta nearly shouted. "I've been searching for her for the last ten minutes! Hell, I even used a ki search! She's not here!"
Dr. Briefs rolled his eyes and blew a sigh through his tangled mustache. "Well, Bulma's a big girl. She knows how to take care of herself. Perhaps you should just wait until she comes back. I'm sure she'll be happy to put up with you then."
"Don't worry about her, dear," Mrs. Briefs cooed, laying a comforting hand on the warrior's brawny shoulder. "She'll be back any time now."
"I'm hungry now," Vegeta growled, pulling out of her grip and moving for the stairs.
"Have you checked the lab?" she called after him. "Papa said Bulma had something to work on in the lab, so that's probably where she is."
"I would have sensed her, foolish woman!" Vegeta grated, starting up the steps. Mrs. Briefs shrugged, used to his brutish nature, and padded into the kitchen. When she was out of sight, Vegeta slipped back into the hall and sprinted toward the large iron door.
"Women are such a pain," he muttered. But he pushed open the door and hurried inside, somehow anxious to see if she was present and wondering vaguely why he cared.
He found the lab empty. His lips curled into a tight line as he surveyed the pristine laboratory with keen eyes. Everything was left exactly as it always was - neat and tidy to the point of obsession. Plans were stacked neatly on the workbench and overlaid with pencils, protractors, compasses and rulers. The computer danced through its screensaver in little flashes of light. Vegeta walked into the room for a closer look. When he came close to the computer, the motion sensor caught his stealthy steps and the monitor flickered back on. The prince caught the miniscule change out of the corner of his eye and turned to take a closer look.
"What on earth was she working on?" he wondered aloud. He pressed expert fingers to the touch screen. The document settled on the taskbar spread itself across the wide monitor. The onyx eyes darted across the ridiculous human script. "Mechanical Updates for the Gravity Chamber. Huh." Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his workout pants, he shook his head and continued his search.
After a half an hour of careful - though fruitless- investigation, the prince clomped back to the central room of the lab and plopped down in the chair by the workbench with a frustrated sigh.
"What the hell am I doing?" he muttered, settling his chin into the palm of his hand. "This is insane! A half hour wasted looking for that moron of a woman. And she's not even here! What the hell is wrong with me!" Shoving himself to his feet, he kicked the table in disgust and turned to leave.
Something clattered to the floor. The prince whirled around, fists instinctively snapping out in front of him as his body prepared to take action. Realizing that he was being foolish, he dropped his guard and searched the floor for the fallen object.
He found it at his feet. A small flask, no bigger than a can of Coke, lay haphazardly on the floor. It seemed somewhat familiar. Had Bulma been using it for some sort of experiment? Vegeta scooped it up and looked at the label.
He went pale beneath his tan.
"Long term submission serum!" he hissed, now gripping the small bottle with both hands. "But who the hell would have had…" Then he remembered where he had seen it before.
Andy had always worn it at his hip when he worked in the lab, but the prince had discounted it as a bottle of human whiskey. But it apparently held a more terrible secret than he could ever have imagined. Long term submission serum was commonly used back on the Saiyan planet during particularly painstaking negotiations. When given in large dosages, it would act immediately upon the person in question, making them agree with whatever terms its administrator deemed fitting to the situation. However, the substance was extremely rare, and usually came watered down and far less potent. The effects were the same; the serum would only require a bit more time to take root. Vegeta's fingers crushed the silver flask into a wad of aluminum.
"That--bastard!" he howled. "Dammit, Bulma, I told you so! I told you he was a foul, lying little fool! And now look where your ignorance has landed you!" He threw the crushed bottle across the room. It bounced off the wall, but before it could reach the ground, Vegeta was already up the stairs and zooming into the growing night. He didn't know why he was so infuriated by her capture, and somehow he didn't care; all that mattered was burning Andy into dust and spitting upon his ashes.
"You've signed your own death warrant, bastard," Vegeta snarled into the wind. Flame burst around his muscled body as his hair burst into brilliant yellow and his eyes flared to a mystical green. "To take that which belongs to the Saiyan Prince is to hand your executioner a blunted axe!"
Bulma awoke to the sound of booted feet treading outside her door. She mopped her pretty blue hair out of her eyes and stumbled sleepily to the door.
"What the hell is it this time?" she muttered, peering through the small glass window set in the middle of the frame. Andy had been performing routine checks on her every hour or so; he would come to the door and rap sharply on the glass to see if she would look up. When she stirred, he would give a satisfactory nod and move on. Bulma scowled up and down the hall, but found no sign of the delusional inventor.
"I'm going crazy." She was about to turn around and head back for the mattress when several shapes passed by the window.
"Lord Frieza has called for the prince!"
"Lord Vegeta, please come here at once!"
"Enough of your games, boy!"
"What the…" Bulma sprinted back to the window and pressed her face against it. The retreating forms of six Saiyan warriors were careening down the hall, their tails twitching with suppressed irritation at their mischievous prince. Bulma rubbed her eyes. "Saiyans! But that's impossible! And they're looking for Vegeta…? What's going on!"
"Huh. They're gone. Fools."
Bulma whirled around to come face to face with a pint sized version of her husband. The boy stood about four feet tall with unruly black hair that framed his slender face with spiky locks of black. The black eyes she thought she knew so well were alight with glee as he slipped to his feet and padded across the room.
"You're…you're…" Bulma stammered, stumbling back against the wall. "Vegeta!"
But the prince made no response. It was almost as if he didn't know she was there at all.
"Was that really wise, your Highness?" Another shape stepped out of the shadows. Nappa, the prince's attendant, lumbered forward to stand beside his better. "I mean, those were Frieza's highest Saiyan elite…"
"Don't get your tail in a knot, Nappa. I have long since surpassed those ignorant fools, and soon the entire empire will be mine!" The child prince clamped his hand into a fist. "I have told you this over and over. Have you no ears, Nappa!"
Nappa bobbed his head. "Sir. But shouldn't you at least feign obedience until your victory is secured? To be discovered now would indisputably mean your demise."
"Bah!" Vegeta snorted with a toss of his head. "I will not feign anything. My father can suck up all he wants; but I will not bow to the lizard king!"
"Lizard king?" came a voice from behind. "I do believe the young princeling is mocking our master, don't you, Dodoria?"
"Quite so, Zarbon. I think we should teach the defiant little monkey some manners."
Dodoria and Zarbon stepped slowly into the room, each wearing an identical leer and cracking their large knuckles. Vegeta glared at them both in silent defiance, small hands curling into fists at his sides.
"Oh God," Bulma breathed, watching the two monstrosities advance on the little prince. She pressed a hand to her mouth and averted her eyes, unable to watch the ensuing violence. Blows sounded from in front of her, and she flinched at every one. At last the sickening thuds ceased, and she dared to lift her eyes.
"That'll teach you, ya little brat!" Dodoria sneered, kicking the Saiyan Prince once more before turning on his heel and stalking out of the room. Zarbon was soon to follow, a chortling sneer plastered on his sickening green face.
"Vegeta…?" Bulma ventured, stepping lightly across the chrome tiles to kneel before the fallen boy.
The prince squatted on the floor with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His face was a bloody mass of bruises; she could see where his eye had already started to swell shut. Wincing, she reached out to touch his wounds with soothing hands, but the large bald warrior had come between her and the wounded prince.
"Your highness." Nappa stepped forward and offered a helping hand to the injured prince. Vegeta slapped it away.
"Get a move on, Nappa," the child grated, wiping a stream of blood from his forehead. "I require your presence no more." The attendant hesitated, and Vegeta snapped his head up with a menacing glare. "I mean it!"
With one more moment's pause, Nappa bowed his acquiescence and stalked from the room. "Perhaps you should go to that audience with Frieza," he advised over his shoulder. "He's waiting in the usual place."
"I will do whatever pleases me! Now get out!" An energy blast whistled past the bald head and the warrior was off and running. Vegeta spat out a tooth and grimaced at the blood on the floor. "One of these days, Frieza," he growled, "I'm going to saw off your self-confident little head and mount it to a pike! We shall see how you laugh when your throat has no lungs to power it!" Then a wracking cough shook the little frame and the prince doubled over in pain, spraying little drops of blood upon the chrome tiles. Bulma's heart ached and she moved to comfort him, wrapping her arms around his thin but muscular frame and drawing him to her heart.
"I'm so sorry, Vegeta," she whispered, "I never knew. I--"
"Ms. Briefs."
Her eyes snapped open, and she bolted upright with Trunks still clutched tightly to her chest. She blinked in confusion, wondering where the child prince had gotten to and why she was suddenly holding her son. The moon still floated above her head, balancing on the edge of the skylight like a bird ready to take flight at any moment. She gazed up at the glowing sphere in apprehension - was this the same moon she had been watching moments - hours? A day? - earlier? She squinted at the yellow orb.
Was it full…?
The screen before her flickered on, and Andy's curious face leaned close to the camera. She flicked him a look of disgust and turned her back.
"Ms. Briefs," he said again, slightly annoyed at her reaction. Yet beneath the aggravation was a hint of uncertainty. "I have interesting news."
"Oh?" She didn't bother to look over her shoulder. She was still enraptured by the dream that had seemed so real…
"Vegeta has come."
Her eyes went wide and she whirled to her feet, a wild smile spreading across her ashen features. "I knew it!" she cried, the blood returning to her pallid cheeks. "I knew he would come! Release me!"
Andy ran a finger along his slender chin and grinned at the ecstatic woman. "Ah ah ah, don't get so excited just yet. I made a mistake in our last conversation - I forgot to tell you the second part of the deal."
All the regained color fled back into the dark recesses of her soul. "That's not fair!" she yelled, stamping her foot. "You can't add more conditions after the bet's been made!"
"You are my hostage and I will do what I please," Andy purred. "As it were, the second part of the deal is that your precious husband must beg for your release - on bended knee!"
"No way--!"
"If you are really worth to him what you say you are, then he would have no problem kneeling for your liberation," Andy interrupted, spinning a couple dials on the arm of his chair. Bulma took this opportunity to cast one last furtive glance at the moon, which now seemed to be laughing at her from its celestial perch.
"Look!" Andy commanded, and she spun back around to find herself staring into the night through the eyes of a surveillance camera. In the distance came a burst of fiery light. The image zoomed in, and soon Vegeta's furious face was dead center on the screen. Bulma wet her lips. This was not a man out to save his beloved - this was a miser set on vengeance over a stolen coin. Her spirits fell. The moon was not yet full.
Oh, God, how much longer until it peaks…!
"Two more days, Ms. Briefs," Andy said softly, rising slowly to his feet. "Now let's greet out guest. I'm sure he will demand a spectacular welcome."