Chapter 5 – It Has Begun
"No, he isn't."
Of course Chi-Chi was still complaining about their newest member, doing her utmost to make her displeasure known (although why she even bothered considering he was already on the damn ship and they were travelling again, she wasn't sure). Bulma sighed and released the controls once it was safe to do so, taking mere moments to type in a command to keep them on a steady course.
Unbuckling her safety belts, she stood up, stretching even though she'd only been sat down for a few minutes (she believed their stressful couple of hours both shopping and breaking a murderer out of his captivity earned her the right to feel tense). The others were also standing, although Chi-Chi took more of an offensive stance as far away from them as possible, clutching an unyielding hold of her son's shoulder, glaring as hatefully as she could. If he was affected in the least, Vegeta didn't show it, choosing to instead turn his back on them all to gaze out of the large window behind her, staring at the stars and planets they were passing.
"We need him, Chi-Chi," Bulma argued.
"Vegeta?"
They all glanced down at Gohan, who was ignoring his mother's harsh hiss for him to stay away from Vegeta, to stop talking to him immediately like just his gaze would taint him. If he'd wanted to, he could've broken out of her grasp but they knew that out of respect for her, he wouldn't.
Once he had the prince's attention, he continued by asking, "Who's that Frieza guy you mentioned earlier?"
Turning slightly so that he was looking over his shoulder at the boy, Vegeta regarded him for several moments and Bulma couldn't help but bite her lip worriedly. How much would he share? "Frieza is a tyrant – the ruler of a great amount of the universe and he plans to conquer the rest of it. However, despite his own strength, he knows he can't do it on that alone. There's too much to do and it would take too long."
"So… He orders…"
"He orders people like me to do his dirty work."
Tears threatened to fill Gohan's eyes, but rather than allow the emotions to consume him, he gritted his teeth. "My dad won't be like that," he declared and they could all see that he wished his words to be true with all of his heart. "His wish for peace is stronger than he is physically."
There was a low hum of amusement before Vegeta was once more facing the window, but that didn't mean they could no longer see his expression and it was something that made Bulma shiver involuntary. It was such a dark, haunting look and she wondered what it would be like to view it face-to-face, instead of through the reflection.
"He is still a saiyan warrior," Vegeta told him simply. "Our thirst for battle runs through our veins and it is impossible to ignore." They noticed his eyes moving to the side, like he was looking at Gohan directly and she wondered if he felt the full weight of his stare. "You know what that feels like."
The young boy swallowed hard and suddenly found it impossible to meet either of their eyes, making Bulma's heart clench. "He's… not like that. My dad isn't like that."
Dark eyes shut, though his smug smirk seemed forced to her. "Neither was I, in the beginning."
"That's it," Chi-Chi snarled and grabbed Gohan's shoulder. This time, the boy didn't fight her. He allowed his mother to drag him away. "That's enough horror stories. Gohan, you should know better than that!"
Bulma couldn't help but feel saddened as she watched the pair leave. All the while, Gohan was silent and she could tell that his hope was growing smaller and smaller by the minute, leaving her to sigh helplessly. She'd done all she could to prevent it, to prevent Gohan from losing his faith, but it seemed just ten minutes in Vegeta's presence wiped out all her efforts. How the hell did she compete with a force like him?
"He's just a kid," she murmured. "You shouldn't be saying things like that to him."
"Oh?" A pause. "Would you rather he found out the hard way?" Vegeta turned to face her, opening his eyes and raising a single eyebrow. "Kakarot has two choices while in Frieza's clutches: bow to him and do as he orders, or die."
His previous words drifted to the front of her mind, repeating that he hadn't been the man he was now, in the beginning.
"…Is that what happened with you?" she asked quietly without meaning to.
"Enough," he snapped, eyes narrowing dangerously and startling her. "I agreed to work with you in order to bring down Frieza. I don't remember agreeing to share any information with you."
"Information?" Bulma repeated in disbelief. How could he say it in such an offhanded way? Like it was nothing more than data found on a computer? "It's not information, it's memories. It's truth. It's facts. Your arrival on Earth was the death of my boyfriend – fact. I was inconsolable for weeks after his death because it felt like a hole was punched right through my chest – memory."
But it seemed Vegeta wasn't even listening anymore. His back was facing her again.
Her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles cracked under the strain. "From now on, don't speak to Gohan unless it's something positive. He's only six-years-old and the last thing he needs right now is somebody like you destroying what little hope he has left."
There was no reply and it only made her angrier.
However, she still had some common sense. Deep down, no matter how furious he made her, Bulma knew it was dangerous to yell and scream at such an unpredictable man. Vegeta was able to break her in two without breaking a sweat, regardless of whether or not he had access to his ki. He was still a murderer, after all. He would choke the life out of her even if it took him forever to do so.
She took a step back and forced down her anger. "Follow me to your room."
Finally, there was a response. It was only him turning around, but it was still a reply of sorts and so Bulma also turned, heading in the direction of the rather isolated room.
It didn't feel right having Vegeta staying all the way down in the 'lockdown' room (as she and Gohan jokingly called it), though that was just the failed hostess her mother had tried to embed within her psyche rearing its unwanted head.
They gave it such a name to try and ease the tension in the air whenever it was time to stick the boy in there. Despite the attempts, however, she and Chi-Chi always felt disgusting after leaving Gohan there, even if it was for the safety of them all.
"It has a lock on the outside, not the inside," she informed him as they descended the ladder. Since he was still unable to use his ki, Vegeta had no choice but to follow her example. "We use it to try and keep Gohan from seeing the moon if we're ever stuck on a planet."
"You imprison him."
"We have no choice," Bulma replied hotly, glaring up at him and stopping in her descent. Vegeta also stopped. "It's either that or having the entire ship be torn apart in the middle of space. Do you think either of us are well-equipped to handle a saiyan? We don't know what the hell we're doing."
Noticing the faint tremor in his legs at the strain of holding himself up, she once more forced down her annoyance and began moving again.
"It's not exactly a room built for royalty," she murmured reluctantly, wanting to fill the sudden silence. What did it mean? The silence, she meant. Did it mean she'd made a good point? Did it mean Vegeta agreed that the two women had no fucking idea what to do with a saiyan? "But Gohan has never complained about it. I mean, it's got its own bathroom, whereas the rest of us have to share, but that means it's taken some of the space out of the bedroom–"
"I don't care."
Bulma bristled and she wanted nothing more than to tear a chunk out of him. Instead, she breathed out slowly, just as she used to do during her pilates class. It helped with creating calmness of the mind, which, in the long run, helped her gain more patience when it came to the more difficult stretches. It was apparently necessary now, since he was really trying her patience.
"The bedding is obviously clean and the bathroom should be stocked. If it isn't, just let me know – actually, I'll check myself while I'm here. Oh and there aren't any windows. At all."
"Obviously."
Fuck pilates.
"You jerk," Bulma screeched and jumped down the remaining steps, trying her best to ignore the sharp pain that shot up her legs in response. "The least you could do is say thank you. I saved you from that hellhole!"
It seemed Vegeta's patience also snapped, because he was suddenly right in front of her, staring her down with a vicious glower that had her taking an involuntary step back. Waves of darkness oozed from him, taking her breath away. That and he still reeked.
"Let's get one thing straight, Little Human." She shrank back when he took a step closer, closing the distance between them and obviously trying to intimidate her. It worked. "You did not save me, I saved myself by entering a deal with you. In no way, shape or form does that mean I am indebted to you. Are we clear?"
Her back hit the wall and Bulma's eyes snapped to his, wide and fearful. "Crystal."
"Now, I'm just taking a guess here, but I take it you don't own any healing tanks."
She shook her head. She didn't even know what they were.
Vegeta snarled, his fist hitting the wall right beside her head and making her jump. "Useless. Find me a medical kit at once."
Right at the last second, Bulma stopped herself from nodding at his barked order and instead narrowed her eyes at him, her upper lip curling. Hell no. Like hell was she being treated like that. "I'm not a slave!"
"Clearly not. A slave wouldn't talk back to their master."
The nerve of that man. Gods, she ought to throw itching powder all over the bandages. Watching him squirm with discomfort, at a complete loss as to what was happening, would surely make up for her easy defeat. "I'll find you a goddamn medical kit, but only because I'm going to be the one who has to clean up all of your blood. So stay in your room until I get back. Better yet, stay in the bathroom. It'll be easier to clean."
Like he could read her mind and knew she was plotting against him, Vegeta walked further into the bedroom, standing bang in the middle of the room and raising a challenging eyebrow. It had the old twitch from back in her teenage years returning, her eyebrow growing a mind of its own as she attempted to calm herself, since she was already treading on thin ice – Vegeta was a murderer. He killed her friends. Her boyfriend. The reminder alone was enough to cool her off, like Vegeta had his blood soaked hand on the back of her head, grabbing a fistful of hair, holding her under ice cold water.
Suddenly, turning her back on him made the hairs on her body stand on end and Bulma suppressed a shudder, the feeling of his agitated gaze increasing her discomfort tenfold. Was it just her, or had the oxygen levels suddenly dropped? She swallowed hard, making a mental note to double check the levels once she escaped his overbearing presence.
"What are you waiting for?"
"Nothing," she answered too quickly.
"Then go," he snarled.
Gladly.
Returning to the lockdown room had her wondering whether having Vegeta's assistance was really worth it. Similar to when she'd left, he remained stood in the centre of the room, leaving several small pools of blood surrounding him. What aggravated her the most wasn't just the fact that it was on white tiles. No, it was in the grout and damn it, she'd never had the patience to clean it thoroughly.
Wordlessly, not giving him the reaction he probably wanted (and in turn giving him the excuse to brutally murder her), Bulma made her way straight to the bathroom, not even looking behind herself to check if he was following. He must have sensed that she didn't truly care that much (even though she totally did), because he followed just as silently and she could feel his dark gaze on her as she set the box down at the sink. It was soon confirmed that he was staring at her when she glanced up at him via their reflections in the mirror.
"What are you waiting for?" he demanded.
She totally didn't just jump. Nope. "Well, I-I was just going to–"
"Leave."
"But you can't reach your back by yourself," she tried to tell him, only to quickly move when he approached.
"I don't need your help."
Standing back as Vegeta tended to his wounds, Bulma had to hold back her revulsion, especially when he tugged on a loose piece of skin with morbid fascination, dark eyes trained on the way more blood oozed to the surface, spilling over and adding to his already soaked arms.
"At least let me clean up your back," she offered with a sigh, averting her gaze from his insistent tugging. "Then I'll leave you to do the rest."
He grunted at that, finally leaving his ruined skin alone. "You won't leave otherwise."
Was that the way to get through to him? Through threats and promises? Wording her offers in ways that only benefited him, making it seem as though she wasn't actually helping him out? Gods, the man was way too proud for his own damned good.
But she had to grit her teeth and bear it. Anything less would either get her killed or ruin their deal.
Back at the vendor's hut, she hadn't really assessed the negatives of having Vegeta join their team, believing there was no other way to find and save Goku. It was easy pushing aside the horrors he'd revelled in – just as easy reminding herself that it wasn't actually by his hand that her beloved Yamcha had died.
Standing in his presence, alone in a cramped bathroom, was a different matter entirely.
It was suffocating, like his darkness sucked the oxygen from the room, his aura alone threatening to murder her before he even got the chance to wrap his hands around her throat. Actually, it felt like his aura had morphed into a hand she couldn't see, slowly tightening its grip around her throat, leaving his physical hands clean.
She busied herself with opening the kit, only sparing a glance over her shoulder when she heard Vegeta move.
"I could always make you leave," he muttered darkly and his gaze travelled upwards, meeting hers.
Her hands froze on the gauze. "Y-You agreed–"
"That I wouldn't kill you."
She swallowed hard and turned fully so that her back wasn't to him, hands gripping at the sink behind her.
"I said nothing about harming you."
"Would you really do that?" she dared to demand, grasping at straws. "I thought the saiyan race was an honourable one?"
Breathing was impossible when Vegeta invaded her personal space, looking down his nose at her like there wasn't mere inches between his and her own. And when his hands came down on the sink beside hers, caging her in, Bulma had to force herself not to shrink back, remaining as still as possible like he was nothing more than a rabid, feral animal stalking her.
His eyes narrowed. "Your planet was too primitive to hear of other races."
Sensing his hidden question, she murmured in an unsteady voice, "The majority of your time on Earth was broadcast – we saw and heard most of it."
"Is that so?"
"Goku's brother also said some stuff about your race," she whispered, hoping her blunt honesty wouldn't get her killed. Then again, her sharp tongue was more likely to do that. She just had to watch what she said around him. "He said it was a proud, warrior race who valued their honour–"
"And you think you know enough to understand my race?" he questioned. Rather than the angered demand she'd been anticipating, he was calm. Unnervingly so. And somehow that was so much worse. "That third class weakling may have been older, but he didn't know the half of it."
It wasn't her place to ask, no matter how much the scientist in her wanted to break everything apart to understand it all.
So, instead, she willed herself to be strong and daringly met his eye, raising an eyebrow. "I'll leave as soon as your back is done. Not a moment later or sooner."
He merely nodded and turned, allowing her to see the mess that suddenly had her retching.
"You're putting this whole thing at risk," concluded Chi-Chi's angered rant. How long had she been droning on for? Not including when they first rescued Vegeta? Too damn long. It was a good thing Goku was so resilient and thick headed, as anyone else would have lost their mind by now. "Our mission, our chance to save my husband, the chance to bring back your–"
Patience snapping, Bulma warned darkly, "Don't."
"Don't what? Make you see sense?" she demanded, hands going to her hips and balling into fists. It wasn't as intimidating as she believed it to be. Sure, she'd once been afraid of the younger woman, but not anymore – no, not afraid. Wary. Reasonably wary, considering Chi-Chi was labelled as the strongest woman on Earth. Her fierce fighting skills were what made Goku notice her. "I'm not risking my son's life because of him," Chi-Chi added and was suddenly and painfully obviously trying to come from a different standpoint, her tone considerably softer, dark eyes large and worried. "Maybe if it was just us, then sure. I'd humour your recklessness. But not with Gohan on board."
There were two major reasons why Gohan was accompanying them (along with many, many exhausting little ones): with all that had happened and was happening on Earth, Chi-Chi believed the safest place for her son to be, was with her. They didn't know who they would be encountering, or how deadly the battles would be while trying to rescue Goku, but as long as Chi-Chi was there, he was safe. The other reason why he was with them was because they were mere humans, whereas he was half-saiyan. He was incredibly strong despite his age, already surpassing many of the Earth's greatest warriors.
Oh, and the fact that they really didn't want Frieza getting his hands on him, though didn't know that particular reason until crossing paths with Vegeta and learning about the tyrant.
Sighing, Bulma returned her gaze to her latest invention, unscrewing the back and critically assessing the mess of wires and alien technology. Although they'd been travelling for what seemed like forever now, visiting countless planets and collecting a wide range of knowledge, foreign inventions still created an exciting challenge for her. It was her way to unwind.
"I'm done talking about this."
"I'm not."
Since leaving Earth, Bulma liked to believe she'd matured massively. Had they still been who they were back on Earth, she would have lost her temper. She would have mouthed back. Screamed with her frustration. Instead, she took a deep breath and tuned the fuming mother out, focusing entirely on the alien invention before her. Sometimes, silence was harsher than an actual argument.
She'd been working on it since way before the attack on Earth, dissecting what she could understand. Previously, she had managed to get it working again, but hadn't been able to progress any further due to the issue of not having the correct parts. Aliens were far more advanced than they were – the technology Earth boasted about was laughable in comparison. Adding it to anything from another planet and it'd be downgrading the thing.
The sound of the doors swooshing open had Bulma glancing over her shoulder, blinking a couple of times to rid herself of the stars she was seeing from her examination light. The tense momentary standoff in the doorway had her muttering under her breath, refraining from shaking her head with annoyance. While leaving, Chi-Chi had come face-to-face with Vegeta, refusing to hide her disgust towards the man as she glared hatefully at him.
Huffing with dry amusement, Vegeta walked away, approaching her. "Where are your training quarters, Woman?"
"Training quarters?" she repeated and frowned. "We don't have any."
Just the possibility seemed to anger him, for all previous amusement dropped from Vegeta's expression. "You mean to tell me you've had that brat imprisoned on this ship for however many months without allowing him to train?"
That…
That totally wasn't where she'd presumed the conversation would go.
"Preposterous. It's a surprise he hasn't torn this ship apart out of mere boredom." Growling under his breath, he then added darkly, "You mean to tell me that I will be forced to live in such a way, also?"
Oh. There was the self-absorption.
"We don't exactly have much space to work with here," she tried to argue, but was promptly cut off.
"Then clear out this pitiful excuse of a lab and change it at once."
Who the hell did he think he was ordering her around?
No, she warned herself, taking a deep breath. Losing her cool against someone like him would only get her killed. She couldn't exactly save her planet (or what was left of it) if she was dead, could she?
"Look. We're doing the best that we can here." Gesturing around them at the countless inventions that had been started and put aside, she added, "We need a lab so that I can work on parts for the ship."
"Parts for the ship?" he repeated flatly. For some reason, it scared her so much more than his yelling. That fear only continued to grow when he shut his eyes, like he was dealing with an incompetent idiot, because Bulma knew – oh, she just knew – that she'd often spoken to her own employees in such a way when they'd fucked up on something, before promptly unleashing hell on them. "We're travelling through space on an unfinished ship."
"Technically, it was once finished," she said nervously, smiling.
When he reopened his eyes to glare at her, Bulma swallowed. "We're travelling on a broken ship."
"No, not broken. Just… old."
"How is that any better?" he demanded.
Well, she supposed it wasn't, considering they were both equally likely to die during their journey.
But she had to be optimistic, for the sake of the others.
"There's nothing I can do about a training room," she told him as apologetically as possible. Whether he believed it or not was his own problem. Turning in her stool, she stood and removed her magnifying monocle, making her way around the desk. "This ship is way too small to create one."
"Then we obviously need a replacement."
Yes, because they were so easy to come by, weren't they? Gods, that man was infuriating as hell, determined on driving her insane.
At least he'd showered, she told herself as she finally took note of his appearance. At some point, they would have to stop somewhere to obtain more clothing for him, for he couldn't live in his tattered uniform for much longer. It was barely clinging together and still reeked, although it seemed he'd done what he could to clean it. Maybe that was partly why that stick was so far up his ass? The way he was living and had been for the past however many months was hardly dignified and he was supposed to be royalty. What sort of royal was forced to live in a uniform that continued to boast the stains of the torture he'd gone through?
"What do you propose?" she questioned with a raising brow. "We hijack the first ship that passes us?"
Her sarcasm wasn't lost on him, but it wasn't returned with anger. It made him smirk. "Hardly. We will go to one of Frieza's many bases."
…What?
A/N - To all my readers: I appreciate and love you all so, so much! I know a lot of things have been said over the past few days and regrettably, I opened my big mouth impulsively and didn't think everything I wanted to say through, so ended up adding fuel to the fire and looked argumentative instead of trying to find a middle ground.
So, I want to summarise my standing on it all.
Reviews are amazing and they do mean a lot to me, especially on bad days, but please, don't ever feel obligated to leave reviews if you're uncomfortable doing so or feel ashamed of yourselves for not leaving one. It broke my heart yesterday when some of my readers felt the need to apologise to me for hardly ever leaving reviews and it infuriated me seeing the name-calling towards readers, too.
At the end of the day, as most of you are already aware, I write for me (not including commissions of course). Writing helps me with managing my moods in a sense, because it helps me get it all out of my system, or try and write down what I'm feeling or experiencing so that I can better understand it all myself. Sometimes, I need those days locked away, researching and writing because it's honestly the best distraction I could ask for.
Do I write for you guys too? Of course I do, but it's mainly for me. Do I like the interactions between us? Hell yeah, especially when I'm teasing you guys about upcoming chapters or with painful cliffhangers. Some of you guys have even become dear friends to me - and that's something I appreciate so much.
I saw some important points, but the main one is that some cultures consider it to be extremely rude to be spoken to in a language they don't understand. So I just want to say here and now to you all: I don't mind/I give permission for you to post reviews or PM me in your mother tongue. I don't want any of you to feel excluded or embarrassed for not speaking/writing well in English. I'll do my best to find a decent translator to make communication easier.
I know some of you prefer to PM me instead of writing a review - I get it. Sometimes my stories can hit close to home and you're not comfortable with baring yourself and your experiences so publicly. So, don't feel bad for that either. Your PMs matter just as much as a review.
Some of you are like myself and get caught up in a story so forget to review until the very last chapter, instead binge reading the whole thing until you fall asleep - and that's perfectly fine too!
I appreciate those who take the time to review every chapter, from the massively detailed reviews to the quick "great chapter". I appreciate those who review once for the whole story. I appreciate those who PM me rather than leave a review. I appreciate every favourite and follow and view, because they're equally as important, in my eyes.
Please, don't ever feel ashamed for now leaving them or obligated to leave reviews.
Also, I just want to repeat something I saw yesterday that stuck with me:
"And if we're going to talk about how authors may have problems in their lives, perhaps we should acknowledge that readers definitely have problems in their lives too and they aren't responsible for other people's happiness." - claradraconis (Tumblr user).
"Your feedback is a gift. Not payment or compensation. Because I don't need payment or compensation. It's something I'm doing because THAT'S WHAT I WANT TO DO.
That's how fandom works." - oukajinrai (Tumblr user).
I will never threaten to leave or refuse to post my chapters until I receive a certain number of reviews. That's some manipulative shit that I can't stand.
