"Hey, Vegeta!"
Bulma had called again. "You'll never guess what's happened. I figured out the synthetics for the Saiyan armor. I've made a whole set for you and the others, and I even made the material lighter and more breathable. You were right about the scouter—I found all the information I needed. This one's yours." She held up a breastplate.
"You had better pray that it is sufficient."
"I know it will be. Plus, it looks better than your old one."
"Assuredly, Frieza would have appreciated a tidier aesthetic. He'll thank you in Hell."
"You're not going to say 'Thank you'?"
"Why would I? I don't know if your imitation is worthless or not yet."
"Fine. Be that way." Vegeta was smiling slightly. He was toying with her. Her success with Saiyan technology had actually managed to exceed his expectations. "I've just been staying up all night working on this stuff. I thought I'd do something productive instead of mope around after I broke up with Yamcha."
"At least now you've decided to spend your time on something less pointless than sentimental nonsense."
"Asshole. Speaking of sentimental nonsense, did you find Goku?"
"Ha! You insolent woman!" He cackled. "No, I have not found him. Don't remind me."
"He will come back, you know. And he'll definitely show up at my place. It might just be better if you just waited it out here."
"It seems I have no choice in the matter. That's unfortunate. All of you idiots annoy me."
"Right, sure." Almost everyone had stopped taking Vegeta seriously when he routinely insulted and threatened them. Except perhaps in the case of Goku, it was an act. "Well, when you get back, I have a favor you could do for me. All you need to do is spit in a cup—literally. I want to sequence your genome. For science and all. I'm really curious about what Saiyan DNA looks like, and how it compares to humans'. Would you be open to that?"
Vegeta shrugged. He could see why it would be an interesting project, one that would yield very utilitarian results.
"I know you didn't really give us the best first impression, but I'm glad you're with us. It would have been a shame if nobody got the opportunity to get to know a real Saiyan. We've learned a lot from them." Vegeta had not fully realized that Bulma had manipulated her speech specifically to avoid offending him; she trod carefully.
"I will have returned in one Earth week."
"I'll plan on it. I'll make sure there's lots of food. Space rations are fucking nasty." She made a face of disgust. "See you later."
Just after Bulma had signed off, Vegeta had programmed Earth into the ship's navigation system. The woman had spoken truly about the rations—after becoming accustomed to fresh Earthling food, he had noticed a deep contrast in quality between it and that which he had subsisted on for years at a time. Humans did not eat enough meat, and they tended to overcook their food, but he had grown to enjoy it from time to time. At first, it had seemed strange to him that he would take time out of his day to enjoy eating. Before, to eat meant only to survive. Humans—or at least the humans he had observed, and they were affluent ones—lived extravagantly.
Vegeta thought about the Earthlings, knowing he would soon land on their planet. Apart from their ridiculous coloring and weaker frames, they appeared more similar to Saiyans than any other race he had come across in the universe. He was no ignoramus; he could clearly see that the two species had enough in common that even a casual observer would presume that they had shared ancestors. If he concluded that humans and Saiyans originated from the same source, though, Vegeta would have no idea what it would mean for him. Human faces and desires may not seem as foreign as those of other peoples, but thousands of years of history stood between him, the Saiyan, and a full understanding of human life.
He wondered why he hadn't cognitively registered the closeness of the human race to his own until just recently. Maybe he had spent so much time locked inside his own mind as the extent of all culture that he could no longer recognize others' culture. This phenomena, quite possibly, made others so easy to kill, never letting him acknowledge their personhood. Non-Saiyans were non-persons, and because he and Kakarot were the last Saiyans, the remainder of the universe's population consisted only in things he could kill without remorse.
Vegeta cared about persons. He did not care about things. If human things became persons, he would care about them. That seemed stressful. His cares burdened him enough already; he struggled to hold them in. He had learned that to leave your cares where your enemies can see them, gave your enemies the opportunity to tear them out of your chest. Vegeta had cared for his father, and Frieza had extorted him through that care. From what his experience could tell him, absolute power meant absolute isolation and absolute stoicism. Kakarot defied this, having enough gall to care for everyone in the faces of his foes, but assuming power nevertheless. Vegeta hated him for it. Kakarot had cheated, and he reaped rewards without effort or discipline.
When he landed, he would harden his resolve against care. He had done it in the past, and he would do it again. It was easy. He could enjoy Earth without it infiltrating him and making him weak. It didn't matter that the humans reminded him of his people or even, in a sense, were his people.
Author's Note: Hi, this is your friendly neighborhood flamingpoetic here! Comments, suggestions, and constructive criticism are always appreciated. I guarantee a response to every question or review. I love to proofread and edit, so if you want a second pair of eyes on your work, I'd be happy to see what I can do for you. Just send me a message, tell me what you would like me to take a look at, and we'll work something out. Happy reading and writing, my fellow creative people! I'm having lots of fun with The Mistaken Wish—I hope you are too.