Hey guys, thank you for reading! Please drop a comment or feel free to send a message. You guys are the best. Please let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome =P. This has been trip to write this, for sure. I just love writing Vegeta's POV because he's such a developed character.
The images on the ball disappear, evaporating before us like waking up from a bad dream in a cold sweat. Tarble looks around as if he's disoriented, like he's forgotten we're on a gazebo in the middle of some kami forsaken span of ocean. Don't settle your eyes on me, Tarble; your guess is as good as mine. Our shadows are gone. Even they know better than to stick around in this place too long. The sun hides over the horizon, completely retreating into another dark night. The calm of evening fails to come take its post. Instead, an imposter has come, prancing around this hag's shit hole- something prickly and unsettling.
"Where did they go?," I ask Baba.
"The spirits?," she asks me as if my ignorance annoys her.
"No. The pictures, the memories that mother just had to show us," I snap at her.
"The sun's down. The spirits have left us. There's not enough room for them and the others to galivant around in the dark here," she answers me.
"You can't be serious?," Tarble fusses at her, "Ma'am please don't leave us with that."
"I'm afraid there's nothing left for me to do tonight. It's not my fault that she didn't better manage her time," Baba says, "Come back another time, when there is light on the realm."
"Others?," Tarble mumbled to himself as he finally processes Baba's words with black quarters for eyes.
I shove my fist in my pocket and fished the bills out. I shuffle through them and thumb out her haggled over payment. Her thin brows knit over her eyes. Her lips pucker, pulling her crepey skin tight over her cheek bones
"Here," I say as I stretch out my hand to her.
She says nothing, looking up at me from her hovering crystal ball. She nervously twiddles her laced fingers unable to navigate the unexpected. I can't tell if this is concern or confusion covering her face. A deal is a deal, hag.
"Come back another day prince," she says as her spindly fingertips press my hand down.
The crisp paper bills flutter from my fist to the floor.
"Vegeta?," Tarble says to me, nearly scolding me as I turned around.
"I told you I would pay you witch- there it is. I'm leaving. Tarble, come to the compound when ever you see fit. The entrance will be locked. Use the call box and someone will come get you. I trust you can find your way back?"
Tarble answers me with a silent nod.
"Vegeta-" Baba begins in a cool tone, speaking to my back.
Her head wrenches my neck over my shoulder, "I will not be back," I interrupt her.
I step through the mirror and see myself to the front door. Finding the gazebo took us ages, with the three of us fumbling around like blind buffoons. This takes a matter of seconds. I have no desire to linger, certain that something unseen will follow me out and most certainly terrorize the children with its foolish antics. Outside on the shore, I can't bring myself to not look back and study the little crusty hut. It sits there lopsided on the beach, hiding a literal fucking mansion underneath it. Nothing is as it seems. Uncertainty washes over me, settling into the pit of my being. A nagging question gnaws at my conscious: is anything as it seems?
The sky greets me with warm, raising columns of ocean air, but I still have to do a quick once around. I'm daft for checking behind my back… in the air… like a moron. No one can ever know- ever. The sky is empty; My only companions are brooding clouds about to spilt with rain. I can feel it- something unseen and heavy creeping across my skin, leaving a slimy trail of pain in its wake. My fingernails dig into my palms. The veins in my forearms make themselves known. I can't wash the afterimage of her from my eyes. I see mother standing there next to my father with that damn rag over her head, covering her with his neurotic authority.
"Mother, I'm sorry," I call to the humid air, "I will disgrace you no more with recalling such things. May you rest in peace."
The words spill from me as if they're born subconsciously. Only silence greets me and slinking static ripples down the back of my neck. The heaviness follows me through the dark air of the countryside and well into the damp afterglow of West City's lights.
I fully intend to touch down in the courtyard and seclude myself in the gravity chamber as if I could quarantine my mind from that snippets reeling in my head. The splashing ruckus from the pool stops me from landing. I hover over the pool at the center of the compound, meandering in the air. I shelter in the silence and wait as curiosity takes over. Look at them- Bulma and Tarble's little alien wife… person, obliviously lounging by the water. The boys romp and stomp in the shallow end, wading up to their knees, while Adelia toddles through with the water lapping on her chest.
My mouth starts to parch, with my tongue sticking to the inside of my cheeks. They have no fucking clue I'm here. Waves of anxiety crash over my face and sweat collects on my forehead and the bridge of my nose. I see it happening, a stranger catching them off guard, or maybe even someone we know-someone we've called 'friend'. Thoughts of them being packed off and traded like common commodities burn in my eyes in hasty flashes, leaving my brain with whiplash. I see Bulma's old fling in my imagination, that dessert bandit losing a bet on one of his baseball games and in desperate need of money. He catches Bulma when she's vulnerable. She expects nothing more than seeing an old friend. I can't stand this feeling- this rage trembling through me.
"Hey dad!," Trunks calls to me from the water, "Are you getting in? You've been up there a long time."
His voice brings me back to reality. I snap out of it, finally seeing the waxy green ferns and palm trees planted next to the waters edge instead of Yamcha's choking, lifeless grey face. Trunks' words echo in my head, soothing my mind like aloe on a sunburn. He noticed me; he knew I was here. Thank Kami.
"No, son," I answer him before landing on the pool deck.
"Oh, glad to see you're back, Vegeta," Gure piped up from her adirondack chair, "Where's Tarble?"
I take a seat, with Bulma sitting to my left.
"He's still with Baba," I answer Gure, "He'll be here soon."
I cross one knee over the other and wait for the women's eager chatter to continue. I feel their eyes pressing into me as I prop my cheek with my hand and perch my elbow onto the table. Sure enough, they both are still looking at me, waiting for something that I can't give them. All I muster is a nod before glancing away.
"Hi honey," Bulma says as her soft hand brushed over my bicep and elbow. She glides over me like a warm spoon in melting butter.
Her voice lacks its assertive tone and is tempered with a mellow gentleness, drawing my face toward her although I have no desire to look into her blue eyes, not now, not today. It's too fresh. I can still see the purple welt that Beerus left on her cheek although it faded months ago. I don't feel malice for the forever cat-napping destroyer. I've come and gone many times to his abode to train with his glorified babysitter, Whis. Resolution still eludes me. The clapping sound of her battered face stands out in my mind the most. The impulsive burst that followed on that day seems like a secondhand story heard from an acquaintance rather than something that I lived. I'm no stranger to anger, but this was something different all together. This was earth splitting, uncontrolled rage that was intent on vengeance. Beerus dared to strike her; it became personal.
"Vegeta, are you alright? You're as pale as a ghost," Bulma says.
My eyes pop up to meet her face at that word- a ghost. She sits there in her bikini, with her face to the world and the breeze kissing her bare skin. She owns every stich of clothing to ever fall on her back and this sprawling compound. She sustains her wealth with her own hands. She reaps the rewards of her own ambition, not being forced to forfeit it to a man. She strolls around under her own sovereignty, wheeling and dealing as she pleases. The question remains: what if there's someone new, someone stronger than Beerus, and they don't relent?
I've concluded, I'm doomed to lose control again. It's the cost of being tied to her and the boy and this little blue mud ball wandering through space. As long as powerful beings reside here, as long as Kakarrot is here, there will always be some strife mongering shit-head meddling on the planet. I will gladly pay that price for her over and over again. I'll offer every cell of my calloused body for this little, strong willed Earth woman that I call my wife and her mischief making son. My father…that senseless bastard… that thoughtless waste of motivation and power… that good for nothing, worthless, mockery of kingship disgraced mother with his own hands. He harmed the very one he should have covered with his own flesh.
"Vegeta," Bulma hums to me, "Why are you trembling? What's wrong?"
"I'm fine," I tell her.
My guts sting like wasps swarm inside of it, and my chest aches with each breath I draw. Bulma's big eyes peel away the layers of me, digging past the outer stoic shell. She's not buying it. She snakes her hand beneath my elbow and interlocks her arm with mine. She brushes my forearm with her hand as she lays her head over on my shoulder. She squeezes my index and ring finger. A surprised gasp escapes her mouth as I close my fingers around her hand, allowing myself to embrace her.
"Vegeta," she whispers to me, paying me discreet dignity by accepting my silence, saving me from turning rosy-pink in front of our company, "I'm right here."
I lean forward in my chair, breaking myself from her embrace as I feel Tarble's energy signal approaching. He floats over the south roof of the building just as I did. Trunks pays him a quick glance over the shoulder as Tarble settles in the air, as if he wanted to be sure of who has arrived- good job boy. I see the pool lights glistening off of the shins of Tarble's white boots while he hovers down to the pool deck. His arms are loaded with the artifacts that he dragged with him to this planet. He lays the folded cape on a lounge chair, and he greets Gure with a peck on the cheek.
"Baba told me to tell you to come back and get your money," Tarble says to me candidly.
"I don't care about that," I tell him, "Did you at least get more information?"
Why do you blush, Tarble? Why all of a sudden has my wife grabbed your interest? I know you didn't see anything before you came over the roof. She let go of me well before you popped over the ceramic shingles.
His eyes bounce back and forth over us and a smug, knowing smile shows his teeth.
"What is that shit eating grin about?," I ask him, "What did that witch tell you."
"Oh, nothing," he recovers as he forces the smile down, "So," he says getting back to business, "When are we going back?"
"We're not going back," I say.
"What?"
"We're not going back. Of course, you may go back if you wish," I explain.
"Vegeta we have to go back," he reasons.
"We don't have to do anything. You're the one who wanted to get mixed up in this. Now she expects us to complete this task for her and we're no closer to doing that," I say.
"We need to see where he is," Tarble says as if I don't know.
Bulma shifts uncomfortably in her seat before speaking up, "Where who is?"
"My brother," Tarble responds quickly.
"But Vegeta is-" Gure starts.
"No, another one," Tarble gently answers his wife.
"Another one?," Bulma says deadpan as she braced her chest with her hand, "There's another of you," she says as she turned to face Gure. Somehow, Gure's beady, eyebrowless eyes seem surprised.
"That isn't the way to do it. No good can come from watching that smut Baba called a memory," I say.
"Mom wanted to show us something. Don't you think that's important?," Tarble raises his voice.
"Trust me. I know better than you ever can. Exposure does not always bring resolution. The truth will not always set you free. Sometimes, it binds instead," I sternly warn, "I will not have her painted and defined in my mind by him."
"That's selfish, but fine," he huffs, "There's no reasoning with you."
"Your stubborn," I respond.
"And you're not," he chuckles.
"It's not being stubborn if you know better."
"Well what now, wise elder of two long years?," Tarble says with a releasing exhale and elbowing me in the ribs, "How will we know where to-"
"Tell me," I interrupt him, "Did the girl say that Varouk is dead?"
"She said it was his dying wish, so I presume so."
"But is he actually dead?," I ask him.
"I- I'm not sure," he stammers as he tries to remember.
"You didn't think to ask?," I scold him.
"No," he says.
"Don't you have any sense?"
"Okay, fair, I didn't ask, but how would you react if some random girl just shows up and says, 'Oh I have some crap from your estranged, dead parents. Good luck.'," Tarble snaps at me while giving an over exaggerated thumbs up.
Gure turns to Bulma and sighs, "They're brothers all right."
I take a deep breath to gather myself. Then I ask Tarble, "Did she mention what planet she traveled from?"
Tarble pauses to think, framing his chin with his fingers.
"She did," he says.