Chapter Five – Day One
Bruised

Another thing Bulma had noticed about planet zero-one-six-zero: There wasn't much natural land, most of it was baron, but resembled previous life, but the small patches it still had were absolutely wondrous. After travelling for over four hours, Vegeta signalled to land on a shoreline, just out of reach of the tide, which was creeping up the beach. Beyond the shoreline and the fringe of sand, there were trees, hundreds of them, so tall with a canopy branching for miles. She jumped out the ship, the new found energy making her more active than ever. She actually felt prepared for what she had to do. Not to fight anyone, but she would figure something out … what with being a genius, and all.

The boots made it hard to walk properly in the sand, but once she made it into the forest cover, it was easier. Even though they had only acquired one dragon ball from another team, it felt like ritual, like they were heading in the exact same direction as they were when they found Pui Pui. Bulma knew, as soon as she took the radar out and clicked it to life, that they were going to encounter another team, and soon. As much as she told herself she wasn't as scared, her stomach churned with every step; every step closer to a new enemy. Walking behind Vegeta was difficult. The feeling of inferiority kept creeping in, no matter how much of an incredibly successful woman Bulma felt she was—being around Vegeta made her feel tiny. In fact, it made her feel like an infant. All he did was verbally chastise her if she slipped up, which, really, she didn't, or when she did something useful, he wouldn't say anything at all. She'd got to know that he wasn't going to talk to her, so she kept her mouth shut, too, regardless of how difficult it was.

The forest wasn't a forest anymore. It was a jungle. The air was too humid, and the steam was rising off the ground and large tropical plants. Everywhere was so green, not like the purple trees back in the forest. There were odd looking creatures swinging from vines, calling to one another, making Bulma quicken her pace. Vegeta didn't seem too bothered, though, strolling through, shoving branches out of his way. The creatures were an olive green, and they moved too fast, so every time she turned to catch sight of one, it had vanished amongst the rest of the foliage. She just kept in mind that if they wanted to attack her, they would've done it by now. There was a faint clicking sound, similar to a cricket, echoing throughout the entire jungle. It reminded her of the time Yamcha took her to Greece, and they sat on the balcony of their villa all evening, listening to the crickets chirp. She sighed, shutting her eyes as the memory pained her. It was a fond memory once, but now it wasn't even real anymore. The life before didn't exist.

She'd been born into this game.

Sweat was trailing down her face, sticking her bangs to her forehead. She pushed her bangs back. What she would've done for a single hair pin. Thankfully, they were so damp they just stayed back. She inwardly groaned. She must have looked like a corpse. No makeup, no deodorant. These weather conditions were decreasing and increasing left, right and centre, which was not helping at all. Malnutrition was starting to play an important role, too. No proper water supply was making her skin weak and greasy, as well as making her exhaustion rate quicker. She hadn't had a drink since … she couldn't even remember. The little bits of food she had were dry, too. Oddly enough, her bladder seemed to be working fine, as if she'd been drinking gallons of water. The last time she took a toilet break was in the woods, when she knew Vegeta was finally asleep. That was hours ago.

With so much walking and no talking, Bulma was left to ponder about things. She was finding it increasingly hard to think about anything constructive, so she just resorted to picking out all the things she missed. It wasn't a good idea. Her parents' smiling faces shone through her mind's eye, making a dry lump appear in her throat.

To distract herself, she pulled out the radar again.

"Don't touch it," Vegeta said, holding up a hand, and crouching.

She put it back in her pocket. "What is it?" she whispered, frantically looking around, trying to block out all the white noise of the jungle.

He stood up, nonchalantly brushing the dirt off his knees. "It was nothing." And he continued through the forest.

Another ten minutes passed, and Bulma could swear she felt a breeze. It was welcomed, cooling her skin. She sighed happily, sticking her arms out to catch as much of it as possible. Vegeta shifted past a huge tree trunk and stopped at an opening. Bulma followed and stopped beside him, totally agog at what she saw.

A gorge with about a two hundred meter drop, plummeting into water pools, several of them all dotted around the mammoth space.

Fresh water …

She stood right on the edge, peering down the mighty drop. It was a hell of a long way down, and there was no way she would make it by climbing, not without falling to an untimely death. She retreated, scrutinised Vegeta, who stood looking at the scenery beyond the gorge. His frown deepened. He knew something. She would've loved to get into his head for just a second, to see what he was thinking.

The sound of trickling down the rock face was enticing her to make her way down, and rejoice in the fresh water, but she couldn't. Throwing the heavy backpack to the floor, she sighed. "I can't get down there."

He gave her a side glance. "Can't, or won't?"

She laughed incredulously. "I actually can't. I'll fall, I just know it."

"You humans are a total pain in the arse," he sneered, shaking his head. He would happily push her down in a heartbeat. That brought his attention back to the anklet, and the game, and the dragon balls, and the whole reason he was stuck with this fucking Earthling in the first place. There was no time to dawdle. He hovered off the ground. "You better get a move on, if we're going to get the next dragon ball before the new millennium."

"Wait, you can't just … Really, it'll be more hassle for me to climb down."

He heard her, but what was she getting at?

Her bright blue eyes shone, glistening like some sort of gem stones. "Can't you just, fly me down there?"

He recoiled in horror. The thought of it made him want to gag. He wasn't going anywhere near her. "No, I'll do no such thing. Let me remind you that I'm not here to babysit, now climb down the fucking mountain, before I—"

"Push me? Is that what you're going to say, because I don't think that would have a good outcome, do you?" She picked her backpack off the floor, slowly slipping both straps onto each arm.

"Ach. Fine. Whatever, but this is a one-time deal, you hear me, Earth woman?" He dropped to the ground again, holding out his arm as an awkward invitation.

She wanted to correct him so badly. Her name—was not—Earth woman, or any of the other names he'd given her, but she kept her mouth zipped, as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He pulled his face as far away as possible, before wrapping an arm around her waist, and lifting off the ground. Bulma squeaked, putting all her trust into the same alien creature who strangled her only a day ago. Her grip tightened as he hovered over the gorge, purposely lingering in the air to scare her half to death. He grinned, but frowned almost twice as fast, and descended quickly down to the ground, landing with a pebbly clatter.

"Wow. That was so … cool," Bulma mused, staggering onto the new ground, kicking half a dozen shiny pebbles. Without thanking Vegeta, she turned around to absorb the scenery. She was a tiny person, encased in a rock pool. It was glorious. There were streams of water pouring out of loads of veins in the rocky walls. It circled around her. She would've killed to see something like this back home. It was unbelievable. She wanted to sit and gaze around at it all day. She bet if she shouted really loud it would echo. She opened her mouth, forming an 'O', dying to try it, but stopped, thinking better of it. Then she saw a rock pool, overflowing with beautiful, glittering liquid.

"Oh my gosh," she said, the water's reflection bouncing into her iris. "Water. Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!" Forgetting her unwanted bond to Vegeta, she ran as fast as she could, and knelt at the pools edge, her knees hitting the ground hard. Before diving in, she saw a wavy, distorted version of herself looking back through the water's crystal surface. She looked horrific. Her hair was matted, and her skin was colourless. Uneasily, she placed her hand on her cheek. The reflected image was definitely her. What had happened? The last time she truly saw herself was … She didn't want to keep remembering the last time she did stuff, because that had been washed away, erased. Viciously, she hit the surface with both hands, only able to see the distant aqua colour of her hair. Instead she cupped a hand full of water and rubbed into her face and mouth. The cool liquid was refreshing, for the mind and the body. It awakened her senses. She could smell the petrified rock beside her, the bitterness winding through her body. Even the water tasted sweet. It had sweetness like a coconut. It was delicious. She lapped up another handful, throwing it in her face, closing her eyes, only allowing herself to feel for a moment; to forget about everything else. The feeling was good—it was calm.

"Hnnnnarrghhhhhhh."

The sound felt like it punctured Bulma's ear drums, twice over as it drifted throughout the gorge. She winced and spun round to find that Vegeta was nowhere to be seen. The oxygen was stuck in her throat, like someone was pinching a balloon, only allowing the tiniest bit of air to escape. The shout was still bouncing off the walls, trapped like an angry bee, making her disoriented. Then she saw him, or them, fighting just above her head, too fast for her to make out either fighter, but slow enough to know that that was what was going on. She ducked, getting into the brace position, in case either of them decided to fire a blast at her. There was nowhere to hide this time, no crevices to crawl into, and no tunnels to climb down. The open space was so terrifying now, she felt too exposed. Bulma sat trying to control her breathing, willing herself to do something. What could she do? Only her wits could save her, because she was no warrior. The electric tickle of fear made its way down her spine as she straightened it to stand up.

Vegeta was pressed roughly into the craggy wall, growling as the contact sent a shock of pain up his back. He finally looked into the face of his attacker, his eyes narrowing as Burter brought his pocked, slimy face close to his, sniffing.

"Do I smell fear, Vegeta?" he said, followed by a short laugh, an aroma of fish sidling into Vegeta's face.

Vegeta grimaced, pulling his face so far back that the rocks clawed his cheek. "Burter, you piece of scum. Don't you know how rude it is to sneak up on royalty?"

Burter laughed, the sound vibrating. "Royalty? You crack me up, Vegeta," he said, wiping a tear from his eye.

Bulma couldn't close her mouth. That warrior was wearing similar clothing to Vegeta. Did they work together? They knew each other. But so did Pui Pui. It was all too confusing. Bulma swallowed, unable to look at anything else.

"Bulma Briefs," a drawling, English accent called out to her.

She turned to see Thomas strolling over to her, his clothes just as scruffy as they were in the prison. "Thomas," she uttered, partly grateful to see another human being, more concerned about how he appeared out of thin air.

He should have been a friend, not an enemy, but she couldn't move. It wasn't like she could shake his hand; tell him how glad she was that he was alive. Even though the sight of him alive gave her hope that Chichi was alive too.

He looked her up and down, brushing his greasy blond hair back off his face. "Looks like you're kitted out. That's a nice pair of boots. Your father make them for you?" he sneered, gesturing to the boots.

She couldn't help but to glance at his ankle; it was red-raw and encrusted with blood. She blinked in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

He inspected his nails, showing little regard towards her at all. His cockiness was exacerbating. Even before all this, Bulma had seen the articles in the paper, the ones that read 'Thomas Shields claims to have created the best hover technology to date, rivalling Capsule Corp's famous Bulma Briefs.' It never did, though. Bulma and her father's selling rates always triumphed, not that that was her main concern. She just enjoyed what she did—creating and formulating new ideas. Thomas was always in it for the power and money.

A smug smile spread across his face. "We've got two dragon balls now. How many do you have?" His deep brown eyes locked on to hers.

She shook her head, trying not to heed to Vegeta's cries of agony behind her. "I don't have any," she said, staring him dead in the eye.

He guffawed, throwing his head back. "Like I believe that."

She had to derail him, somehow. He was looking at her backpack now, trying to figure it out. Obviously he was wondering how she had got hold of so many supplies. The boots, the clothing. She must have looked like royalty to him. "Where'd you find 'em?" she blurted out, grabbing his attention.

His eyes crawled up the length of her body, sizing her up for something, making her tense. He looked off to where the warriors were battling it out, and then casually said, flicking a wrist, "One was directly opposite our ship. We spotted it as soon as we landed. And the other … We had to take it by force." He shrugged, grinning, his eyes meeting hers again.

Chichi?

All this talk of 'we' was grating Bulma's skin. 'We had to take it by force'? Did that mean he had personally walked over to someone and took it, or was he so totally wrapped up in the idea of this game that he was referring to him and the warrior as 'we'? A single unit. A complete outfit. Bulma's so called team was Vegeta and herself—the pack mule. Nothing about it was a team. Thomas was clearly enjoying himself, and it terrified Bulma. She wasn't in the company of another human, anymore. He'd become a puppet on Frieza's stage.

"Who?" she uttered before her breath caught in her throat.

He arched an eyebrow. "Who? Oh, you mean who we killed …"

She narrowed her eyes, the anticipation burning.

He smiled, the smugness dripping from him. "That dumb fuck-wit, Vadim."

Bulma's body relaxed a little. There was still a chance that Chichi was alive. But Vadim was dead. Vadim was a brilliant scientist, always reaching plateaus that Bulma couldn't dream of. His ideas were usually too radical, though. She remembered one idea where he tried to create a food source out of human and animal excretion, obsessed with the idea that the world was going to end. She was fond of Vadim. But now he was dead, because of Thomas. She closed her eyes.

She had to remember—it was Frieza's fault.

"He was too easy, really. My warrior destroyed his in an instant, without a single scratch to show for it. And, then, Vadim just, sort of, stopped living. Nasty business, if you ask me," he said all too cheerfully, shaking his sweaty hair out.

Frieza may have orchestrated the game, but Thomas was enjoying it way too much, treating it like it was a simple game of chess. She let her hands relax, unaware that she'd been clenching them so tight that her broken nails had bitten into her palms.

She wanted to hurt Thomas, make him endure pain. The thought was so immediate it scared her a little. "We shouldn't be doing this," she said over the sound of unintelligible shouting behind her.

"What was that, Bulma? I didn't quite catch it?"

"I said … we shouldn't be doing this," she said behind gritted teeth.

She turned to see how Vegeta was holding up, but he was losing badly by the looks of it. He was on the floor now, Burter's foot squashing his head. Vegeta's screams were hard to listen to; even despite his cruelty towards her, Bulma couldn't stand to see anyone getting hurt like that. And the swift knowledge that these moments could be her last were standing out as clear as the water she'd been drinking earlier.

"You know, Vadim wasn't my main concern, at all … but you …"

Bulma turned defiantly slow to face Thomas, who was now looking at her differently, standing a mere couple steps away from her.

"You, Briefs, you're a problem."

She grasped onto the back pack, stepping back into shallow puddles of water.

"You see, your death would mean so much more. My company … it would be number one. Global." His eyes shone with promise.

A blood pumping scream emanated from Vegeta, causing Bulma to spin towards him in shock. He was being lifted up by the throat, Burter was laughing so raucously, now competing against Vegeta's painful retching. There was blood all over his face, his hair was dishevelled, and his clothes were torn, even more so than before.

The panic kicked in, hard, right in the pit of Bulma's stomach. She was going to die.

"Sure, Burter over there can easily take care of the both of you, but somehow that isn't enough for me, I'm afraid," he growled, and before Bulma could register what he'd said, she was tackled to the floor, winded, her backpack knocked aside. She collapsed into a bed of rocks and pebbles, slicing her face on a protruding, jagged-edged stone.

She yelped, and Thomas' hands around her throat cut her screaming short, as he squeezed as hard as her could, draining the life out of her pretty eyes. His breathing was harsh, sharp exhales close to her face. And his eyes were blood shot, dangerous, with the adrenalin pumping through his veins. Bulma couldn't even choke. He'd left no room for anything. She thrashed her arms and legs, but he was sitting astride her, his bulky frame pinning her legs down. The only thing she could do was dig her hands into the wet pebbles, grabbing clods of dirt and smashing them into the side of his face.

He laughed at her poor attempt of self-defence. He expected so much more fight in Bulma Briefs.

The yellow fluid in his eyes crossed over the waterline; he looked tearful, out of his mind, even.

"If it wasn't for you … and your fucking father … I could've had everything," he said, spitting in her face.

She felt her eyes starting to sting, bulging out their sockets. Her chest heaved, and she closed herself off, wiping away the face of her killer.

Never give up, ever, Bulma.

Goku's words hit her hard, and her hand dug deeper into the ground, scrambling for anything. She felt something sharp, wrapped her fingers around it, and with what little strength she had left, she yanked it out, clasped it tight and struck Thomas on the head as hard as she could.

She opened her eyes, and the sight of him on top of her, controlling the fate of her life, set a fire inside of her. She'd hit him, but not hard enough to deter him. A veil of red swept over her eyes as the light within her started to fade. She struck him again, screaming deep in her throat at the same time, her eyes bubbling with tears. He flinched this time, as blood spat out from his head, and he loosened his grip on her throat, giving her more room to strike. Suddenly she couldn't stop. She hit him again, right above his ear, and heard the crack of his concaving skull. His brown eyes became hooded and dull, but he was still on top of her, crushing her. She hit him again, and again. The blood cascaded out of the hole in his head, spitting like a broken sprinkler, and landed onto her face, covering her. But she couldn't stop. She wanted him dead. She bellowed out, sobbing as his body fell limp on top of her, the blood running onto her clothes.

The oxygen found its way back into her lungs and she gulped as much of it as she could. Dregs of Thomas' blood trickled into her mouth, making her heave. She gathered up all her remaining energy, and pushed his heavy body away, wincing as it tumbled over the side of her. Shaking and sitting on her heels, the thick rubber of the boots dug into her buttocks, it hit her hard. She looked at her trembling hands, the blood that was smeared all over them, now turning a chalky red as it dried in the heat. She'd killed him. He was dead. She'd killed him. She stared distantly at her hands, wishing the blood would vanish.

Burter's body had convulsed for long enough, leaving Vegeta with no other option than to turn away, and block the insufferable sight out of his mind. This time he'd overdone it, now unable to open his left eye. Despite winning his last battle, popping Pui Pui's neck instantly, somehow he had allowed Burter's poorly executed attacks get the better of him. He landed back onto the uneven ground with a crunch, and spat a glob of blood—his own, this time—which had been swimming in his mouth for the best part of a minute. As he landed, there was an intrusive shock of pain in his ribs. They were broken, probably beyond repair in such a small time frame, but he had fought with worse injuries that this. During a training session on-board Frieza's ship, Lord Frieza himself decided to challenge him, ruthlessly carving into him like a wild boar, throwing attacks that Vegeta just couldn't counter. It was fair to say that he'd been left an inch a way from death, immediately taken to one of the rejuvenation tanks. The reason Frieza did it? At the time he didn't know, but now he did.

His face contorted slightly when he tried to walk. It was pretty bad this time that was for sure. The gorge dropped to a dead silence, indicating Burter's death. The knowledge of the Ginyu warrior, lying stone cold a few meters away from him, forced an uncertain feeling to churn in his abdomen, alongside the excruciating throb of his broken ribs. Just how did Burter manage to get the better of him? It was his speed that Vegeta couldn't match. That was it. Vegeta might have been fast, but Burter was in a totally different league. But, despite being battered to a pulp, Vegeta was still alive. And the reason for that was the Earthling woman he'd been forced to form a strategic partnership with. He hated it. He could see her, squatting down, not moving a muscle, covered in blood. His eyes narrowed and they shifted to the lifeless body beside her. Another human, dead, and by the look of it, had suffered multiple head trauma. Whatever she'd managed to do, she'd made a mess of it. There was blood all over the place; spattered on the rocks, and all over her clothes and face.

She was still motionless. He didn't have time for it. The two dragon balls Burter had collected were somewhere close by, and he had to find them, but without her being mobile, there was nothing he could do. Half the time he wondered what would happen if he knocked her out and just carried her everywhere, but like he said before, he wasn't a babysitter. The option still appealed to him, though, if only faintly. He looked up, and then all around the area, until he saw the orange glow of the dragon balls, nestled amongst a pile of rocks. He wanted to laugh at Burter's audacity, but the action would have caused him too much pain and little satisfaction, so he hobbled over to them, clutching his abdomen. When he ambled back, the five star and two star balls under his arm, he was undecided about what to do with the weakling woman. She still hadn't moved, and they'd been out of immediate danger for at least five minutes. He spotted the backpack, went to it and threw the balls in, because it was clear that she wasn't going to move any time soon. Tough, he wasn't going to sit around and wait for her to realise that she'd only killed another human. What was killing an Earthling, anyway?

A soft wind was circulating the area of the gorge, causing tiny waves to slap the sides of the rocky walls. Vegeta picked the muddy backpack up and threw it so that it landed right beside the woman. She didn't even flinch, just kept her eyes glued to her bloody hands. He really saw her then, her face. It had transformed almost. Usually, despite the apparent malnutrition, this woman was remarkably exuberant, but her face was willowy and gaunt, only so much so now that it was smeared with a dead man's blood. Vegeta blinked with his one good eye, suddenly realising that she had never killed before. Her first kill. Her first murder. Again, he looked at the dead body, the concaved skull. As brutal a death as they came. And she'd done that a mere few minutes ago while he was being shamefully obliterated by Burter. A dull memory started to return to him—when he first killed. He was a child, five, maybe six. He could barely recollect it, but it was a female from the first planet he purged with Raditz and Napa. The thing that stayed with him the most, though, was the scream. He could hear it now, like it had happened a moment ago. After that, every other kill morphed into the same one, and he tallied them off until he got bored. Every scream became that female's scream, and every plea for help.

Looking at the Earthling female now, he felt something unfamiliar in the pit of his stomach. He felt … empathy, if only a slither. He recognised what she'd done. And he recognised that if she hadn't have done it, he would most likely have been dead now. He frowned, deep confusion boiling in his brain. In the outer layers of his conscious, he wanted to scream at her to get up, perhaps rough her up a bit until she got the message, but deep down, he wanted her to understand. He sighed, and shifted his weight onto the other foot. He could pick her up by the neck, maybe squeeze it just enough to wake her up from whatever state of consciousness she'd slipped into, but something was dominating that idea.

She was shaking. That was some form of movement, at least.

"Human, get up," he said, finding it hard to keep looking at her. It was setting anger in him again, and he couldn't understand why. Was it the fact that she wouldn't move? Or more so that he wanted her to move? He didn't have the energy to waste on her. She was lucky in that sense. Distractedly, he glanced down at his own attire. They were filthy, as assumed, with Burter's blood, and probably old flecks of Pui Pui's blood, on his garments. He'd never had to wallow for so long with his victims' blood on his clothing. He had to make amendments. There was plenty of water around to do the trick, but this woman was scratching at the inside of his brain, sitting there doing nothing. He hated any display of frailty, no matter who it was from. She hadn't even looked at him.

"You need to move," he said, his tone softer than he had wanted, instantly regretting the melodic sound of his voice. He trudged off towards the other side of the gorge. She would move eventually, he decided. The fear would kick in soon enough at the realisation that he was bordering the end of their one hundred meters wingspan. But as he reached about ninety of those one hundred, and she had yet to move, he was rendered stationary. He sighed, his shoulders slumping, and spun on his heels. "Woman, if you don't move, we will both die here, alongside these cretins." His eyes glimmered irritably as he waited for her to do something. Slowly, mechanically, she lifted her head up from her hands, and her eyes met his, catching his breath. The act was so sudden that he almost choked. Her eyes were distant, grey, faded, somewhere beyond herself. It was a challenge to maintain his composure. Nevertheless, she rose from the ground silently, took the backpack, and made her way towards him. Rather than look at her brittle frame any longer, he turned and walked ahead, through a small passage, following a narrow stream of water, which eventually lead to jungle surroundings again. All the while he made sure he could hear her soft footsteps behind him.

They continued to follow the stream, until it grew and widened into a large river, which he assumed lead out into the ocean, or something. It would do, he thought, as he approached a sloppy embankment, checking the clear water for any life forms. He hadn't forgotten the beasts he encountered back in the snow storm. Who knew what an uninhibited planet now harboured. Without looking at her, knowing that she'd reached a few meters short of his side, he said, "You need to wash the blood from your skin," and paused, half interested to see if she would throw some kind of stupid comment back at him. "We'll stay here for a short while." The truth was, he himself needed rest, rather than the fucking woman. He needed to regain his strength, and now they had four dragon balls. Two days, and that's what they'd achieved already. He was satisfied for now. A night of rest wouldn't hinder their chances of getting it all finished in the next two days. He would succumb to sleep, and wake up ten times stronger than he was before. In fact, almost dying to Burter was a good thing, because a Saiyan always came back stronger—every time.

He walked away from the woman, to let her wallow in her own self-pity. The thought of witnessing that made him feel sick. Instead he stood against a nearby tree, facing away from the river, and waited for the mind numbing sobs to begin. A long moment idled past, before Vegeta hesitantly closed his good eye to allow himself the ability to think clearly. There was a quiet sloshing of water behind him. The woman must've been cleaning herself. Well, good, he thought, inching down the tree trunk, feeling the rough scales of bark mould into his back.

As always, his mind drifted, desperately searching for something useful to think about, but there wasn't anything. Plus, he didn't want to think too hard about anything because he needed to keep his strength. His eye had been done-in by Burter, and he could barely open it. Tomorrow it would be bruised, letting every other warrior know that he had fought a decent fight, and still came out alive. They will tremble before him, like they should. This made him smile, but the smile made his face ache, so he resumed impassive, impassive to everything, except how quiet the woman was being. Considering what she had carried out, he'd expected her to be crying her abysmal heart out by now. It seemed that wasn't the case. For a moment he thought she'd died, but then that would be a stupid idea. He was linked to this Earthling like a trinket around Frieza's fucking neck. If she died, the chain would be broken, and he would die too. It would be a shameful and dishonourable way to die. In a sense, his life rested on her shoulders.

He wanted to scream until all the air dissipated from his lungs.

What the fuck is she doing?

What did it matter? She was practically a zombie. That was a good thing. Perhaps she would remain this quiet for the rest of their time together. He dismissed his last pang of conscience, and surreptitiously leaned forward, cocking his head to the side just to make sure she wasn't trying to kill herself, because he wouldn't allow that. She was standing waist deep in the river, the ripples drifting over her. She was just standing there. He could only see the back of her, and he noticed she had yet to wash the blood from her hair. Then suddenly, in one quick action, she grabbed the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it up over her head, throwing it on the river bank, leaving her bare before him. Her pale skin almost glowed, the little bit of sun light that was breaking through the branches, leaving flecks of yellow on her back. He followed the curves of her body, from her shoulders, to the smooth hourglass shape of her waist, her spine visible and protruding. Her hair fell just below her shoulders, matted, but glorious in colour.

He wanted to exorcise the image, he did, but for the life of him he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. He couldn't even blink for fear of it not being real. She waded through the water, spreading her arms out, as if she was practising the breast stroke. And she cupped handfuls, throwing it into her face. When her hands came to rest on her face, he got a glint of her breasts, but she dropped her arms all too quickly to her side again. His mouth was dry, and he snapped it shut to swallow, unaware it was open to begin with. The red water was swept away by the current, leaving her clean, and …

Vegeta squeezed his eyes shut and spun back round, giving himself another chance to think clearly. What the fuck had just happened to him? His mind was foggy; anything rational was covered in layers of grey mist. The image of her naked, ethereal figure was engraved in his mind's eye; her perfect milky flesh. He ran his hands down the trunk of the tree, picking off scabs of bark and crushing them into tiny crusts. His instant need was to subjugate her. That was what he set out to do. He'd been too lenient. But, no, he couldn't look at her for any longer than he did. He'd seen plenty of naked female creatures from all over the galaxy, and some had given him pleasures hard to imagine. It wasn't a big deal. He balled his fists tight, banishing the perverse thoughts.

He regained his composure, cracked his sore neck, and raised his head to look beyond the broken canopy.

He couldn't look at her for any longer than he did, because … Frieza was watching his every move.

A/N - I know Burter would have been weaker than Pui Pui, but I hated Pui Pui, and wanted him to die first. :)