Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ or any of the characters associated with the manga, anime, or movies.
CHAPTER SIX
Vegeta was brooding.
He was haunting the balcony off the living room, as he was apt to do late at night. He was perched on the railing with his back against the building and his arms folded. His head was tilted back, the wall creating a bend in his hair, and he stared at the stars.
Somewhere out there, Planet Vegeta had once existed.
Viciously, he forced the thought from his mind. Recently, he had found himself becoming sentimental and nostalgic, and he had neither the time nor the inclination for such trains of thought. Nevertheless, Vegeta was finding it difficult not to think of his people when he was so utterly consumed with fulfilling their most famous legend. The stories swirled in his head, punctuated by rage-inducing memories of Kakarot and that purple-haired kid.
There must be a trick to achieving it, a secret perhaps. Kakarot must have stumbled upon it accidentally. Someone on Planet Vegeta surely would have known: an elder, perhaps. He wished he could remember the stories better. Perhaps the secret to becoming a Super Saiyan was buried in subtle turns of phrase. But there was no one to ask. There was no one left.
Vegeta was undoubtedly becoming stronger. He recognized that. Once, he would have thought his new strength impossible. Surely, he was stronger than Frieza's final form now. Once, he would have thought that this power was that of a Super Saiyan. But he knew better. He knew there was more. There was a deeper source of strength that he was determined to unlock. Somehow, the work he was doing didn't seem to be enough.
Vegeta had always been a remarkable fighter: a brilliant tactician with an innate sense of what his opponent would do next, reckless with his own well-being. It was why Vegeta had been spared when Planet Vegeta had been destroyed: Frieza had intended to groom him into an elite Frieza Force warrior. Vegeta was young enough to be manipulated and strong enough to be one of Frieza's best. Frieza had not anticipated Vegeta's hatred towards him, indeed towards everyone, and the obstinate way Vegeta lived and worked only for himself. Who else was there to live and work for? There was no one left.
Regardless, it seemed that Vegeta's natural skills on the battlefield were not prerequisites for becoming a Super Saiyan. He was at a loss. Training had been the answer to everything in his life. He trained to become stronger, but he also trained to remember who he was. He was the Saiyan Prince, and he was ruthless. He trained to prove others wrong. He was strong enough; Saiyans were always strong enough, stronger than everyone else. He trained to remind people that Saiyans were not entirely dead, and they would rue the day they assumed as much. He trained to keep busy between missions, the time between which sometimes stretched out for months, particularly when he was young. He trained because Nappa told him not to: don't draw too much attention to yourself, Vegeta; you're better to fly under the radar. Vegeta was a fucking prince and he didn't belong under the radar. But mostly, Vegeta trained to forget: to forget his loss and grief, to forget the life that was stolen from him, to forget the sneers and shoves and brawls in the corridors of Frieza's ships and planets, to forget the mind games and abuse Frieza directed his way, to forget what it was to be at someone else's mercy.
But now, Vegeta was having a hard time remembering who he was. Not literally, of course: he would always be the Saiyan Prince; but what did that mean? What did it mean to be royalty, born to the throne, destined to lead? Had he ever known? His political training had begun before he was sold into Frieza's army – a truce between the two empires, allegedly – but it had ended abruptly and that was so long ago. And Vegeta was having a hard time forgetting what he had always been so adept at compartmentalizing and then ignoring completely. With his eyes on the stars, he keenly felt the loss of his planet for the first time in many years.
He shifted, his butt becoming numb from the railing. If he didn't become a Super Saiyan soon, he felt he may very well lose his mind. What was he becoming, thinking of all this maudlin drivel? He was a man of action, yet he was having a hard time actualizing his goals. His standstill was making him crazy.
Headlights made him squint and blink as a car pulled into the compound. Bulma and Yamcha were back from whatever idiotic event they had attended. But when the engine was cut, only one door opened. Bulma stepped out by herself, her shoulders hunched and her shoes in her hand. She looked disheveled. Her eyes downcast, she walked heavily into the house.
Vegeta's frown deepened. What the hell did she have to brood about?
It took Vegeta a few days to realize that Bulma had left. Gradually, he noticed that he didn't feel her ki, but it was a little more time before he realized that she wasn't just out, but that she was gone. He thought little of this revelation until the control panel of the gravity room began smoking one afternoon, causing the fire alarm inside to start blaring and sprinklers Vegeta didn't know existed to pop out of the ceiling and spray him with water.
Initially, he had ripped the door off the panel and squinted against the cloud of smoke that billowed out into his face, preferring to try to fix the bloody machine himself than track down one of the humans and make them help him. And he had made a decent go of it, replacing fried cables easily and neatly rewiring the panel using materials he knew Bulma had stashed in the small storage space in the bottom of the ship. Somewhere along the way, he had managed to shut off the sprinklers as well. But when the machine refused to reboot, he realized that the problem must be bigger than just a few ruined wires, and rebuilding a computer was outside his skill set.
With his fists clenched and his jaw tight, Vegeta realized that without Bulma around, he would have to rely on the old man to fix the machine, who although brilliant, didn't seem to work nearly as fast as his daughter did.
Vegeta was still damp when Dr. Briefs told him that he wouldn't be able to get around to fixing the gravity room for at least a few days, if not a week or so.
"Next year's car models are rolling out; it's always so stressful," the inventor said on a sigh. "I've got to be in and out of the factories making sure everything is going according to plan. Plus we need to update our marketing campaign to reflect the launch... And I need to reschedule my meeting with Honda. Oh my, was that supposed to be today...?"
Vegeta realized Dr. Briefs had started talking to himself, and he made a noise in his throat that sounded ominously like a growl to get his attention back. Dr. Briefs blinked and focused on him with mild surprise, like he'd forgotten the Saiyan was still standing there. "I'm sorry, Vegeta, but you'll just have to wait."
Starting to chill from his wet clothing, Vegeta snapped, "Don't you realize this is the future of your mudball planet at stake?"
Dr. Briefs eyed him warily for a moment, then rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I'm sorry, Vegeta," he said simply.
Vegeta wasn't sure at what moment the doctor had stopped being afraid of him, but he didn't like it. He was used to people jumping at his commands, or else vowing to become strong enough to make them jump next time. But he was stronger than all the pathetic humans on this planet, and nobody at the Capsule Corporation seemed to care.
"Where's Bulma?" Vegeta finally asked.
"Oh, ah… Bulma?" Dr. Briefs repeated distractedly, a blueprint crumpling in his hand. "She took a trip." Then, more under his breath than to Vegeta, he muttered, "Lousy timing she's got, with so much happening here. I really need to talk to HR about hiring someone…"
"So tell her to come back."
But Dr. Briefs shook his head. "I think she needs the space and time to herself. Big life changes and all that, you know what I mean?"
Vegeta did not know what he meant, at all, but didn't say as much. Instead he asked, "How long will she be?"
Dr. Briefs shrugged. "I'm not sure. But her birthday is next week, and Bulma would never miss her birthday, so probably soon."
Vegeta resisted the urge to stamp his foot like a child. "Next week? What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"
Dr. Briefs just shrugged again, disinterested in Vegeta's problems, his focus going back to the blueprints in his hand (which Vegeta noted looked nothing like a car). "Train outside?" he said absently.
It seemed that Dr. Briefs had been mistaken, because Bulma's birthday came and went with no sign of the woman in question. Bulma had called that morning to say she wouldn't be home for her birthday dinner, much to Mrs. Briefs' chagrin. She later invited Vegeta to eat the untouched birthday cake she had painstakingly baked for the celebration, and retired to her room early. Vegeta had looked at the three-layer cake, topped with strawberries and decorated in pink and yellow flowers, and wondered what this family's obsession with pink and yellow was. Then, he had plucked the top layer off the cake and taken it to his room with him. Chocolate with a vanilla icing, he ate it all in three bites.
It had been just over a week now that his gravity room had been out of commission, and after much harassing, yelling, and threatening, Dr. Briefs had finally trudged out to the ship that afternoon to begin working on it. But Vegeta had missed quite a bit of training and he resented the unwanted break that had been forced on him. It was unacceptable that he be so dependent on this family of loons for effective training. He was struggling enough as it was to become a Super Saiyan without losing so much time. Was training in that unreliable machine really the only way to become stronger?
As he swallowed his third and final bite of Bulma's birthday cake, an idea sprang into Vegeta's head. He'd had this idea once before, and once it had consumed him similarly to the way his training and determination to become a Super Saiyan consumed him now. But perhaps there was still merit to the idea – and without Bulma being home, he doubted anyone would be any the wiser to his plan: Dr. Briefs was so distracted with work and Mrs. Briefs hardly seemed aware of anything going on around her. Smirking to himself, he dumped the empty plate on the table beside his bed and fell asleep almost immediately, sleeping heavier than he had in several months.
The next morning, Vegeta rose early, as per usual, and got dressed with renewed vigor. He was prepared to put his plan in motion right this minute, and he left the room with his mind racing with the potential of his idea. Rounding the bend of the circular house, Vegeta came up short, anger rising in his chest.
The woman was home.
At his footsteps, she had turned to look at him, her expression tired from the red-eye flight she had taken home. But despite the exhaustion on her face, she looked like a different person. She seemed simultaneously relaxed and invigorated. Her skin was browned and her hair, previously styled in a big puff around her head, hung heavily down her back, still still pushed off her face with a thick headband. She smiled lightly at him.
"Good morning," she said, stifling a yawn. "Do you always get up this early? It's like the crack of dawn."
Vegeta glared at her. She had not been home for weeks, and this was the day she decided to show up? He decided he could still put his plan in motion, but he would have to wait until she was out, or perhaps busy and distracted. He would have to be more careful, but her presence didn't derail his plan entirely.
"You seem disappointed to see me," Bulma said, the corner of her mouth tugging upwards and an eyebrow rising in a teasing expression.
"Fix the gravity room," was all Vegeta said.
Mrs. Briefs rubbed her daughter's arm consolingly. "I'm sorry, dear," she said.
Bulma just shrugged. "It's fine. I mean, it's not fine, it sucks, but I think it's for the best. It needed to be done."
She was perched on the couch in the living room, the afternoon breeze blowing warmly through the open windows, telling her mother the story of her breakup with Yamcha and her subsequent flee to the coast.
"As long as you're happy with the decision, dear, that's what's important."
"I just feel so bad for Yamcha." Bulma's head fell into her hands at the thought. "He proposed to me, Mom, and I turned him down. He must be devastated!"
Mrs. Briefs continued to pet Bulma's arm. "Perhaps…" she said slowly, "but time heals everything. He'll be fine. I'm sure that sooner or later he'll understand why you couldn't say yes. He may even agree that it was the right choice."
Bulma was silent for a short while before asking, "Do you think we'll ever be friends again?"
Her mother hesitated. "I don't know. I think it can be very hard to stay friends with someone you used to be in love with. But that doesn't mean it's impossible. I just think that shouldn't be your focus right now. If it happens, then it does. But you should focus on yourself. And," she added with a mischievous grin, "focus on meeting lots of hot boys!"
"Mom!"
"Didn't you meet anyone while you were away?"
"No, Mom! That's not what I was there for!"
Mrs. Briefs just laughed to herself. "So, what kinds of things did you do, then, if you weren't out man-hunting?"
In truth, Bulma hadn't done much. She'd gone shopping, of course, but mostly she'd laid on the beach and read trashy magazines and a few novels. She'd gone to a spa. She'd almost gotten a tattoo, but couldn't decide on a design and changed her mind, nevertheless bonding with the tattoo artist who was the one who suggested changing her hair instead. Then she'd almost chopped it all off, but thought of the time she'd spent growing it and decided to simply wear it differently for now. But the time alone had been good for her. She'd felt rejuvenated and relaxed, and her anxieties over the future had felt distant and unimportant.
Of course, now that she was home, that was beginning to creep back on her. She found her thoughts drifting to Goku, wondering how his training was going. She wondered if the boy from the future had visited him again. She wondered who that kid was, how he was doing in his own timeline. Suddenly, she felt guilty for taking a vacation when all her friends were working so tirelessly to save the planet. She felt guilty that she was contributing so little. She also felt incredibly burdened.
As though she could read her mind, Mrs. Briefs said softly, "Don't feel guilty, dear. How can you take care of others if you don't take care of yourself first? Besides, Vegeta also took a break this week."
Bulma looked at her mother incredulously. "What?"
Mrs. Briefs shrugged. "I think the gravity room is broken. Your father started to fix it, but I don't think he had the time to finish it yet."
"Somehow I doubt Vegeta enjoyed his time off as much as I enjoyed mine," Bulma said.
"How can he look out for the planet if he doesn't look out for himself first?" Mrs. Briefs repeated.
"I think that's a lesson he could stand to learn," Bulma said with a sigh. "If he asks, I'll look at it tomorrow. I'm just so tired today. I think I might take a nap, actually."
Mrs. Briefs ran her fingers through her daughter's hair, smiling. "Good idea, dear. And happy birthday. Vegeta ate your cake but I'll bake you another one."
"You don't have to—" But Mrs. Briefs was already scurrying towards the kitchen.
Later, while Bulma napped on the couch in the living room, Vegeta slipped into her room and began his search. He rummaged through her drawers, both disgusted and glad that they were so disorganized and messy for it meant she wouldn't notice he'd been there. He picked through the boxes of gadgets and gizmos she had piled in the corner, and he fanned through stacks of paper and file folders. But he came up empty.
He went to her office next. Through her desk drawers, in the filing cabinets, and then finally he saw it lying carelessly on the floor behind a shelf. It must have slipped to the floor and gone unnoticed – although how she could be so offhand about something so important and useful was beyond him. Again, though, he realized that this was to his benefit. Bulma wouldn't notice it was missing.
He tucked the Dragon Radar into his pocket and left.
