Vegeta pulled the sheet of paper off of the gravity simulator's command screen. Without a second thought, he knew Bulma had left it. Apparently, she had managed not only to break into the ship unnoticed, but also to abort the gravity simulation from outside. Vegeta decided to grace her typed note with his eyes out of sheer curiosity.
Hey, Vegeta, it read. I left Africa a couple hours after you did. When I got back, I went to see if your ship was in its usual spot like I figured it would be. Sure enough, it was there. I peeked inside one of the windows just to check on you. I wasn't going to bother you—I promise. I realize now that you need to be alone sometimes. When I looked in the window, though, I saw that you were lying on the floor and not moving. I'll be honest and tell you that it scared me. I went in and got my dad to initiate an emergency shutdown while I worked on unlocking the hatch. The entire time, you didn't move once. I got in there the second my dad said that he was one hundred percent sure the gravity had normalized. Luckily, you were still breathing, and you were just passed out. I can't guess how much you'll remember about all of this, so that's why I'm telling you.
We decided it was best not to mess with you, so we didn't. You didn't seem to have any new injuries, and your vitals all seemed normal after a quick test. I figured you'd just worn yourself out training, and you'd fallen asleep or something. After my dad and I left, I took a nap. I'd stayed up all night, not to mention the jet lag. My mom said you were still passed out after I woke up. She decided to start cooking a whole bunch of food for you, so you can come to the dining room whenever you feel like it once you're up. She gets really worried about you for some reason; it's kind of funny. I swear—she's making enough to feed an army. I brought my laptop to the kitchen to keep her company while I wrote my note.
I'm just going to hope you read this instead of vaporizing it, because, let's be honest here, we've got some things we need to set straight. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't let me get away with bringing it up in person. Plus, this way, you can read this on your own time, and I don't have to get all up in your space. We all know how much you hate that. Let's see how this indirect communication thing goes—definitely not my weapon of choice. I'm an engineer, not a writer.
Anyway, about what happened that last night. I really should have let you be. I was too caught up in my own agenda that I didn't realize you were having some problems. You were on edge, but I just ignored that. I can be selfish sometimes, but at least I know that. Life has spoiled me rotten. I still have no idea what you got you so jumpy, though. You don't have to tell me if you're not comfortable with it. You seriously looked like you were about to have a panic attack. Do you know what that is?
I'll admit that I was pretty mad about what you did for a while. Totally pissed, in fact. I stayed mad until I realized you had been mad at yourself. You were just as surprised as I was. You were just as eager to get out of the whole thing. It still hurt me, though, and it'll take a bit of time for it to heal. I don't expect you to apologize, but you should at least know how I feel. Maybe somewhere buried deep inside that brain of yours, you do actually give even the tiniest shit. Here's me taking that chance.
Well, while all that does help me start forgiving you (whether you outright apologize or not), it doesn't help me understand you. I have no fucking clue what you think of me. Maybe you don't either, now that I think about it. I do know that I'm the only person you'll talk to at all, and I don't know if that's because of you or me. I get the feeling you're the type who'd just take something if he wanted it. My guess, then, is that it's more me than you. You've sought me out a couple times, but it was usually only when you wanted something specific. I don't know. You're from a completely different world, literally. Great—now I'm rambling.
Anyway, there's a few more things I want to address. First, I want you to know that you can still talk to me. I'm not going to shut you out. I feel like that would be really wrong of me, especially considering the fact that you would pretty much have no one you could talk to. I'll be bold and say that I think that you need somebody you can talk to. Even somebody as dense as Goku could see that you've got a lot on your mind. I want you to know that I'm a safe person, and you can talk to me.
The second thing is this. There are some human therapeutic and medicinal techniques that could probably work just as well for Saiyans as they do for humans. Lots of people get help with psychological struggles, and it's nothing to be ashamed of. It's the same as bandaging a cut or splinting a broken bone. If you're interested in seeing what can be done for you, just ask. This is the first and last time I'm going to bring this up, because I just know even mentioning this will piss you off. But the offer's there. Try not to reject the idea immediately. Maybe getting some things off your chest will help you focus better on your training, for example. I know I can't get any work done while I'm stressed out. This isn't me just being a bleeding heart wanting to help the poor, lost Saiyan. This is practical, and this is business. I'm convinced that bodies and brains, at the bottom of it all, are just like machines, and machines can be fixed, upgraded, streamlined, and made more efficient. Come on—that analogy has got to appeal to you at least a little bit.
One last thing. Please, please, please try to be reasonable with your training regimen. We need you to stay in good health to, you know, prevent the apocalypse, if that means anything to you. That, and I really have no pressing desire to find you half-dead—or worse—on the floor again. It was really unnerving, and it's an experience I don't want to repeat. I don't even want to think about how my mom would react. I'm sure there are ways other than killing yourself to test your limits. I have a suspicion that you think hurting yourself is good for you somehow. But think about it, Vegeta, is it really all that logical? It doesn't sound like the best strategy to me.
Well, that's that. I hope you read this far. My rambling probably didn't help you get through it. I'm not going into the office this week, as most of the work that I need to get done I have to do in my lab. You can find me there most of the time. See you later, Vegeta.
Bulma had typed her name at the bottom of the page. Once Vegeta's eyes had run across the signature, he crumpled the paper in his hands, then dispatched it with a flare of energy. Correctly had the woman guessed that her words would infuriate him. He could only wonder what had compelled him to read it to the last word. Ultimately, he blamed it on his hatred of the unknown. At least she had seemed to imply that she would no longer pursue him with her former zeal. He had had enough of her distractions.
She thought that she was so intelligent, that she had all the answers and all the solutions. None could rival her arrogance and presumptuousness, Vegeta thought. As far as he could tell, the woman considered him no more than a broken device fit for her tinkering.
First, he was no device; second, he was not broken. Not even Frieza could destroy him, break his will. If twenty-five years of slavery and humiliation could not rob him of his individuality, then nothing could. If he could preserve his dignity in spite of the grievous insult that was Kakarot's lowly existence, then he could never lose that dignity. If he had lost his pride, if Frieza or Kakarot had broken him, then he did not deserve to live. Let the broken lie, he spat internally; repairs did nothing but waste time and energy.
Defiantly, Vegeta initiated a gravity simulation set at four hundred and twenty-five times Earth's gravity. He laughed to himself as pressure descended upon his shoulders. Here he was, standing and laughing in spite of the immense weight every atom in his body had taken on. Could a broken man make Kakarot's training at one hundred times normal gravity look leisurely? Not only could Vegeta stand, but adrenaline gave him the strength to fight. The challenge sent a jolt through every nerve. He ordered the attack simulators to fire at him with increased intensity and velocity.
Using nearly all of his energy to prevent himself from collapsing, Vegeta knew that, if a laser struck a vital area, the shot might very well prove fatal. He could rely on none of his power reserves to deflect energy should it come into contact with him. Although this fact bared itself at the forefront of his thoughts, he felt nothing. He had died before; it was nothing new. Fearing for his life would give him no advantage. Only indifference could serve him now.
A searing pain erupted just above his left ear, and blood began to stream down his face and into his eye. A beam of energy had grazed him, and he had dodged it with little time to spare. Frustrated, he realized that he had no opportunity to wipe the blood away and clear his vision. Unless he disengaged the attack simulators, he would have to defend himself while blind on one side.
Another beam sliced open the skin and damaged the tendons behind his knee. He tripped, and he then found himself unable to rise from his kneeling position. Even if he had wanted to reprogram the simulation, he could not have reached it. Out of desperation, he formed what energy he had into a ball, and he released it, not caring where it hit or what results might come. A flash—and then he saw and felt nothing.