A/N - Big thanks to Adli for beta reading this chapter :D

Chapter Seven - Day Three

The Light in the Dark

The wind and rain lashed at their backs as they swung into a dank stairwell. Bulma blindly felt her way down the corroding concrete steps, her heart hammering, while Vegeta twisted the door handle into an impossible shape. His groaning, from even the littlest of efforts, was becoming hard to tolerate. Bulma wanted nothing more than to help him, but she couldn't. Not just because she didn't have the right supplies, but out of principle. Why should she alleviate the pain of a mass murdering warrior? Under any other circumstances she would have cheered and rallied towards a harsh sentence for someone like Vegeta, yet here she was stuck with him, wanting to help him. Her slow, cautious steps echoed lightly throughout the room they'd chosen, and she was unable to see in the pitch-blackness. It wasn't one hundred per cent secure, but Vegeta was in no state to go on any further. They had no choice but to recuperate in the first safe-looking hovel.

Bulma took a steady breath, quiet enough to listen out for anything other than the rainfall up above. For all she knew, one of those creatures could be lurking in this very room, waiting for her to dimly step into its domain. Her body stiffened when she felt Vegeta pass her, his weakened frame using copious amounts of energy with every move. Barely able to see his outline, she peered as he trudged through the room, becoming swallowed by the darkness. Then he was gone. The only indication that he was still near was his laborious breathing.

She felt her way to the nearest wall, frightened by the immediacy of its cold touch, and slumped to the floor, hugging her backpack tight. A whirlwind of thoughts spun around her head as she stared at the blackness before her—how did she end up getting into this mess? She almost wanted to laugh, it was so stupid. Every now and again, her sanity would burrow out of the tiny hole it had hidden in, and present her with that question. She closed her eyes. The room smelled awful, like something had perished in it. It probably had. She didn't know what she was sitting in. It could've been a torture chamber or something. There was no need to think like that.

Vegeta's breathing was irregular and shallow. At times she thought he'd given up, but then he would stir again.

The faint sound of the creatures howling in the distance was enough to keep Bulma pinned against the wall. They hadn't seen the creatures, but before they found this room, they sounded close. Too close.

She started to shiver, so she held the backpack tighter in a poor attempt to stop. It was a wonder she hadn't contracted pneumonia yet. Her boots were saturated and freezing—if she left them on much longer, she was most likely to get foot-rot, or trench-foot. Nothing nice, anyway. As gently as possible, she unlaced them and slipped them off her feet, her eyes instantly being drawn to the green glow of the anklet. Green. The skin surrounding the anklet was a lime green. It looked beautiful, like she was an other-worldly creature, not herself anymore. She would love to be someone else right now. She reluctantly took her eyes away from her ankle, only to see that the room had become darker—a darker shade of black. She fumbled for her boots, and pushed them against the wall at her side, while the gritty floor scratched the soles of her feet. She cast a glance off in the direction Vegeta went in, but couldn't see a thing. He was there, though. Something about knowing that, stopped her from shaking, and her body sunk into a content, relaxed state, setting her mind at ease for a moment.

But if it wasn't for the anklet, he would have killed you by now.

Her brows knitted together and she pursed her lips. The words 'kill' and 'murder' didn't have the same effect on Bulma anymore. They were mere words to her now. Not forbidden acts in a world of morals, and what was right and wrong. In this world, those words were as common as a greeting. In this world, she wasn't Bulma Briefs, head of Capsule Corp, anymore. But it didn't dissuade her conscience from wanting to know certain things about her past, the life before this, and why she could remember very little of it. Like why, despite knowing about the people she loved, was she not overly concerned for those close to her? Sure, her parents, she missed them dearly; they were an exception. But her boyfriend, and other friends … she knew she missed them, but how much she couldn't determine. It was a frustrating thought.

Bulma exhaled from her nose, hoping it wouldn't make too much noise, but the whistling of a brewing fever was too noticeable. She sniffed hard. Vegeta shifted, and even though she couldn't see him, she had a feeling that he was watching her. Her skin prickled.

"Why?" she whispered, surprised at the interrogative that tumbled from her chapped lips. Of course there was no response. She didn't even know what she was asking. It just came out. She straightened up, rubbing her back against the wall. She may as well have been talking to herself. Vegeta was probably unconscious. "Why is Frieza doing this?" she said, and picked a loose thread on her jeans.

"To wish for—" Vegeta said, spluttering. "To wish for immortality."

Bulma blinked in astonishment, partly because he had answered, but more so because he'd answered her properly, without cutting her off, or hurling glass shards of abuse at her. So that's why Frieza was doing it? She should have guessed it would be something as ridiculous as that. "Yeah, but, why not get them himself?" Deep down, she knew the answer to that. Frieza was a callous creature. What other reason would there be than that?

"Where's the fun in that?" Vegeta said grimly, sending an icy chill down Bulma's spine.

She leaned forward and felt her way across the floor, crawling on her hands and knees. The action was unplanned, and despite her mind begging her to stop, her body moved mechanically, disobeying. "Wasted effort, if you ask me," she said, making her way closer to him. She just needed to be able to see him, to see that he was alright. It was mind over matter, and her mind had left her when she ruthlessly killed Thomas.

"How is it wasted?" his rough voice croaked, sounding closer, but a little further to the left. "I'll have these dragon balls collected, and he'll get his wish."

Bulma stopped, knowing she was close enough, able to see the faint outline of his muscular frame, hunched down against the wall. She could see enough to know he could see her too, so she remained where she was, a safe two meters from him. She squinted feebly, trying to look him up and down. "Why me, though? Why you?"

The rainfall thumped against the ceiling, as Bulma sat cross-legged, awaiting a response.

"What are you talking about?"

She licked her lips for a moment, feeling her voice growing hoarse. "Before this happened, Frieza said he knew who to pair me up with," she whispered, and let the statement hang in the stuffy air-space.

She was able to see Vegeta shrug, before he nudged lower down the wall.

She let it simmer for a few minutes, aware he still wasn't going to answer, maybe as dumbfounded as she was—maybe not. It didn't matter, truthfully. The fact was they were paired up to kill. It shouldn't matter why else. Bulma despised being left in the dark, though, and anyone keeping important information from her was bound to be doing it for a bad reason. She still wanted to find Chichi, and still had hope that they would make it out of this mess with their sanity intact, though Bulma had been hit hard so far. But everything seemed to buzz around her like a static haze, and being such a curious soul, it was hard to let go. What the Namekian said before he died… what the creature said to her… They all knew something she didn't, and she was at the centre of it all. She was a lab rat in a maze.

A deafening howl from a creature-right outside the doors-sent an ice cold whip of fear at Bulma's body. She whimpered, and scrambled onto her knees.

"Stop panicking, wench," Vegeta hissed. "For all we know, these creatures can sense fear. They'll sniff you out if you don't fucking calm down."

She looked in his direction, his image becoming clearer each time as the darkness became a growing part of her fading soul, and she clasped a hand over her mouth, and sank back onto her backside.

There was a feeble scratching at the door, and a huff of breath emanated from the gap at the bottom, but it was lackadaisical, and the creature soon disappeared. Bulma closed her eyes, feeling her body quiver in instant relief. She didn't even want to picture want kind of beast was on the other side of that door a mere few seconds ago. Her mind had begun to conjure nightmarish images of a drooling three headed hound, similar to those in Greek mythology, before she snapped her eyes open again. She had to stop tormenting herself. If Vegeta was right, and that thing could sense fear, it would be back in a shot.

Absentmindedly, she shuffled closer in Vegeta's direction.

"Can you?" she said, her curiosity blooming again.

"Can I what?" he said, his voice strained and coarse.

"Can you sense fear?"

"Amongst other energy levels."

Bulma took her time formulating her next sentence, if she was to get away with it without puncturing the Saiyan's ego. "Is that how you knew the creature was there in the cathedral?"

"No." Vegeta exhaled heavily. "I couldn't sense that demon's energy … It was your pathetic pinch of life-force which gave the game away."

Bulma's eyes fell to the floor, ashamedly. "Oh." It seemed she was more of a liability than she thought. Her behaviour over the last few days was probably the reason why Vegeta was on the brink of death now. She cast her mind back to when she ran, screaming in delight, to the water in the gorge, alerting Burter and Thomas to their whereabouts. She scowled, feeling a pang of guilt towards Vegeta. She shouldn't have, but it consumed her. If anything, he should be grateful he'd been paired up with her. If it wasn't for the dragon radar, they might have only succeeded in gathering one dragon ball, not five.

"How do you it?" Bulma said suddenly, her eyes alight with blue fire, searching the darkness for his. If she reached out, she could touch him.

"Do what?"

"Sense energy."

"With ease," he said, followed by a mucus-filled hack.

"So, I could do it?" Bulma asked, hopefully, leaning forward.

"Tch. Unlikely."

"Please. Let me try," she whispered.

Her words coiled around him like a venomous snake. Was she seriously asking him to teach her to sense energy? The woman must have been out of her mind. He just wanted to be left alone, alone so he could close his eyes as let this treacherous world dissolve completely. But he could see her too clearly in the dark, her azure eyes, abnormally large and hypnotising. She was becoming nothing but a hindrance. His fists clenched, clawing at the floor for anything, but there was nothing to grasp. There was nothing else in the empty hell hole, other than the Earthling female and himself. He was trapped.

"Close your eyes," he uttered, closing his own at the same time. Resolving that there was no other option, he would allow her to try, and if she couldn't do it, which was probably going to be the case, then she could fuck off and leave him to rot in peace. He wasn't supposed to be doing any of this. If Frieza was to find out, he would have Vegeta's head on a plate in no time, or, perhaps even let the anklet do its work prematurely, sending him to an early grave (like Frieza would allow him a grave!). It didn't seem such an awful option, given the circumstances he'd found himself in. He was nothing but a shell of his former self. He would rather die the most horrendous of deaths, than carry on in this weak state, dabbling with humans like it was part of the norm.

He took a deep breath, feeling the stabbing pain in his back and chest, where that freak had sent his own damn blast back at him. "Energy is life. Think of life as light, or a beacon, and death as darkness." Vegeta opened his eyes, his mouth falling open slightly at the sight of her. The concentration etched on her face was somehow alluring.

Her lips were dry and flaking, feathered with dead skin. He wanted to lubricate them with his own.

His nails dug into his palms. So it was true; he must have been bordering other-world, because his mind was slipping into a pit filled to the brim with shameful and disgusting thoughts. How could such an abhorrent thought enter his head? He pinched his brow, losing patience with himself.

"Search for the energy source—the light in the dark," he said, watching her intently as her brow furrowed deeper.

What had become of him? He had an instant need to reach out, to see if her face was as soft as it appeared. Everything about this was disturbing and entrancing at the same time. Perhaps he was being lulled into the land of the dead already.

Amongst the endless sea of shadows, there was a miniscule glow. Bulma opened her eyes, slowly, the shock hitting her hard. She did it. But what she found wasn't something to be pleased about. Vegeta's life-force was almost none-existent, like a flickering candle left out in the rain. Without warning, tears pooled at the bottom of her sore eyes, but she wiped them away before they could run down her face, allowing Vegeta the chance to see irretrievable weakness.

No way was she going to cry for someone she barely knew. The point of it was she was going to die, too, except she was pained at the thought of Vegeta dying more so. Her former self was edging its way back in through a small alley way in her mind.

They had five dragon balls. If someone were to find them, it would be easy pickings. That team would valiantly stride through the rest of the game, erasing all their hard work. Bulma wouldn't let that happen. She sat there hopelessly, hands resting idlye in her lap, palms upwards, watching Vegeta's broken frame.

Then there was a sudden bombarding and powerful need for sleep. She fruitlessly pushed it away, while it overwhelmed her, gripping her, as if she was being sedated, or crammed into a false slumber. She shifted on her backside, genuinely assuming she could shake the notion off, but the pressure in her eyes and the front of her head pressed down relentlessly, like someone was closing her and trapping her in a box. Going under would mean dying. She couldn't die. She didn't want to die …

When Bulma's vision came to focus, it was apparent that she was not where she was supposed to be, even though she didn't quite know where she belonged anymore. Definitely not in a gloriously flourished field of black roses, somewhere she had been briefly before. She lethargically peeled her face from the ground, taking a few squashed, imprinting rose petals with her, and sat upright to take in her surroundings. She blinked away the weariness, hopeful that the scene before her was in fact real, but by now she knew better. Yes, she'd been here before, when the Namekian touched her arm in the deserted town, which sent her to this exact place, with the exact climate, and—she sniffed the air—the exact smell. The smell was so surreal it almost brought her to tears. Roses, everywhere, as fresh-looking and realistic as the red roses back home, the waxy petals felt so calming under her blistered fingers. Her t-shirt sleeve had miraculously worn off her shoulder, yet another hole had eaten into the fraying fabric, leaving her looking like a dollar-an-hour whore. That didn't matter, though.

One thing that amazed her about this place was the birds. Not once, in the few days she had been left to wander the barren lands of planet zero-one-six-zero, had she seen, nor been able to hear, a bird. Here, they were flocking in the skies, white doves, contrasting beautifully with the roses. The sun nudged its way between clusters of clouds, brightening the view, opening the world up further, like a Monet painting. It was utterly breath-taking. All too quickly, though, was the sense of peace whipped away from under her feet, when she saw the dark figure standing in the centre of the field again. The same gangly figure she had tried to reach the last time. Was it worth trying again? Obviously so, because her feet seemed to move of their own accord, bringing her closer to the figure at an alarming speed. Was she running? It didn't feel like she was running.

She stopped, her mouth falling open, aghast.

The figure revealed itself, pulling down the dark cloak which shrouded its face. It was the creature from the cathedral. The same lavender eyes regarded her, though they had a warm, benevolent tint this time around. His white, hardened face, etched with hundreds of tiny, silver scars, being the only thing she could see. The soft breeze blew the roses, sending tresses of Bulma's tangled hair under her chin. Words wouldn't form. She'd forgotten how to pronounce simple vowel sounds. What was happening to her? The need to scream was all too appealing right now, but to do that would be unrighteous, almost criminal, in such a beautiful place.

"Greetings, Bulma Briefs," he said, breaking the ominous silence, bowing his head slightly. His eyes crinkled impossibly, enlightened and humorous.

What about this was funny?

Bulma shook her head incredulously, plummeting back to her senses. "Who are you?" She stood closer to him, narrowing her eyes. If this was part of Frieza's game, and he was getting some sort of thrill from it, then she wasn't going to submit to it any longer. She wasn't one to be messed around, and this was just going beyond a joke.

"It doesn't matter who I am," he said, his face firm suddenly.

"Yes, it does. I want some answers, Mr-Mystery. I mean, why me? And where the hell am I? How did I even get here?" She spun around, drinking in the too-good-to-be-true atmosphere, letting it all soak into her dry skin.

The creature shook his head. "You need to give Vegeta the sensu bean now."

Her brows lifted, and then drooped solemnly. Whatever was going on, she honestly didn't have the energy to waste on it. How did he-Clearly her subconscious was playing tricks on her again, but she would entertain it for now. "I don't have it—I must've dropped it-"

The creature smiled, revealing needle sharp, black teeth. "Check the backpack again."

"What?" she said, finding the entire wave of events hard to justify, let alone comprehend.

He turned away, pulled his hood back over his head. "Once it is done, come and find me. I will answer your questions there and then, not otherwise."

"Once what's done? Wait-how do I know where to find you?" Bulma ran forward, but the creature dematerialised into thick plumes of grey smoke. "Wait! No …" she uttered, and fell to her knees, in the field surrounded by black roses.

She came to with a start, instantly realising that she was still alive, meaning Vegeta was too. The room wasn't as dark as before, as if it had been shifted into hazy daylight, the glow of dawn looming. It wasn't, though. It was still dark outside, and the rain was forever falling. The cold was set into the room, irremovable, despite the two bodies nestling within its space. Those creatures were probably still roaming outside, too. There was no way of telling how much time had passed, but Bulma had an immediate need to run to her bag, to be certain she hadn't completely lost her marbles. So what if she was having crazy dreams? It's only natural for a normal human being, who has been subjected to the tortures of this sadistic game, to become somewhat—mentally shaken? The welcomed, unusually harmonious sound of Vegeta's heavy breaths, filling the air, pushed her to get to her feet and grab the backpack. She had to refrain from screaming when jabbing the tender skin on the bottom of her foot on something incredibly sharp, but she made it back in one piece, bag in hand, marbles intact.

Crouching, she delved into the bag, and rummaged, laughter prickling at her throat from how ridiculous the whole thing was. She smirked knowingly, but blanched when her fingers swept over something. She snapped back her hand, as if she'd been stung by something venomous, and glowered at the offending item. How?

Tremulously, hand shaking, she went back in, wrapped her fingers around the item, and tore it free from the containments of the weathered backpack, too sheepish to see if it was what she thought it was. But it couldn't be. Unclenching her hand, it was revealed, sitting precariously right in her palm, its thick, green plastic shell shaking.

Unscrupulously, she chuckled. If she did have marbles, they had well and truly rolled across the floor and scarpered into the four corners of the room. She whipped her head around to scan the room. Was she being followed, all this time, without even being aware of it? A thick sludge of dread enveloped her. The markings on her aircraft - 'Death is coming'. Could it have been? No.

She shook the useless thought away, and concentrated on what really mattered right now. In her possession was the sensu bean, giving them a chance, giving Vegeta a chance. Something bloomed in her chest, making it feel tight. She shuffled on her knees to Vegeta, trying not to stir him too much. As she reached his side, she was able to get a good look at him, while he wasn't in his most guarded and volatile state. Despite his injuries, and the oozing black eye, he looked peaceful, and she might have gone as far as to say he was quite handsome. There was a strange, though slightly unsettling feeling—it was as if she had known him longer than a few days.

With the sensu bean between her finger and thumb, she poised herself to rouse him from sleep, to drag him back into this world of torment and pain. "Vegeta," she whispered, her hand hovering inches from her lap, her behind lifting from the floor.

A moment passed.

"Vegeta," she said again, daringly placing a dirt-dusted hand on his shoulder. He didn't do anything to deter her, so she shook him gently, his body falling in step with the motion. "You need to eat this."

He groaned, and the noise was so low and helpless, Bulma had to stop herself from choking up. Why was she behaving like this? This guy would kill her if he wasn't so immobile. It was like being in the presence of a sedated lion. His face twisted into a loose knot of pain, and without thinking, she placed her hand on his cheek. It was boiling hot and agleam with sweat. A train of emotions ran nearly collided with her, but she jumped out of the way before they controlled her. "Here," she said, placing the sensu bean into his open mouth. "This is going to help you, I promise." The feel of his skin was too warm, and she couldn't shake the contrast of the raw, cold air circulating the room.

The sensu bean sat there for a few seconds, on the edge of his tongue, without being consumed, or even tasted. Bulma left her hand on Vegeta's face, hoping it would coax him, or even encourage him into eating, but he wasn't doing anything other than barely breathing. What was she meant to do, rub his neck, like you would with a sick puppy, and hope it brings him to swallow the damn thing? In a matter of hours, maybe even minutes, he was going to die. Game over. Finito. Bulma would have to await her own death in the midst of it all, knowing she'd at least tried to help him. Since killing Thomas, everything Bulma did seemed to feel indifferent, like it had lost meaning, like she was a ghost watching from the outside. Being in the presence of someone she cared about was changing that.

Bulma sat back, wide eyed, prising her hand from the comfort of someone else's skin, stunned by her own mental ramblings. She cared? No, she didn't care. Who was Vegeta, anyway? Before all this, he could've been an even more hostile killer than he was now, blasting the first person who demurred against anything he said. There was no reason for her to care anymore. She needed a switch in her brain, and just switch everything off. Why was that so hard for her?

It had been easy enough with Yamcha-

In a fluster of uncontrollable anger, she scrambled back over to the far wall, a tirade of past images crashing into her tender mind. Yamcha. She remembered it now, outside her room, on the balcony, watching the autumn sun sink beneath the building tops, Yamcha bending down on one knee. And she rebuffed his offer. She told him she couldn't, but couldn't justify her reason why. She just didn't know what to do.

Stifling a sob, she began to rock back and forth, and closed her eyes, begging for rest, wanting to be taken back to that fucking field again. Why did any of this matter? It didn't. It didn't matter, whatsoever. That was a different world, a different chapter, a different book, for fuck sake! With the rage fresh in her pulsing veins, she ragged the knife out of her pocket and slammed it into the ground. A spray of dust and flakes of grit flew into the air, and danced their way back down, landing precisely around the edges of the knife. Her hand still wrapped around the knife, Bulma closed her eyes as the flush of heat drained, and she hoped that maybe, it would take her with it into the dark, freshly revealed, abyss of her own mind.

A yellow flame flickered initially; that's how a fire always started—just a spark. She could see it burning, deep within the shadows of her mind's eye. It grew and grew, until it blazed into an inferno of blue, dazzling light. At first, she thought it was the light of Other World, drawing her in, but then she felt the raw energy of it, the warmth it cast over to her, like she was able to glimpse its power. His power.

"Human, I demand to know what it was you gave to me," a rough, but perfectly healthy sounding voice said from the other side of the room.

Bulma opened her eyes, and a small smile crept upon her tired face. There he was, faintly visible under the veil of darkness, standing, pinching the skin on his face, as if his state was too absurd to believe. She could tell that he was trying to shield his astonishment, but try as he did: a miraculous recovery was always going to beg for questions.

Without getting up, she said, "It doesn't matter. You're OK now." Getting over the momentary glee of seeing Vegeta healthy again, Bulma still had to contend with the knowledge that the game was very much still on. That meant more death, more confusion, more delirium, and a higher risk of her losing herself completely. If she survived, of course. Thinking carefully about it, Bulma decided that dying wasn't such a bad deal, anymore. The likelihood of her retaining any of her humanity was a very delicate string which was bound to snap at some point. She sighed, and yanked the knife from the dry grasp of the ground, carefully slotting it back in her pocket.

"It fucking matters to me. You do not throw your witch-craft at me, and expect me to be OK with it." Vegeta slumped back down, pleased with the new found sensation of all his limbs, yet still dumbfounded by how it was plausible. Plus, being a Saiyan, his strength had trebled, substantially increasing his chances of getting what he wanted, and more.

Bulma sneered, "Witch-craft," and laced her boots back up. "It was a sensu bean, something from back home. It replenishes your health completely."

Vegeta scowled. "You had this sensu bean this entire-sodding- time, and you didn't think to hand it over sooner?"

She snapped her head up to glare at him maliciously, sending him daggers laced with poison. "Look, Vegeta, I'm not the enemy here." With her memory making its heavy appearance, she didn't have the time for his sharp attitude.

"Ha! Explain yourself, human. How was your hiding something as powerful as this so-called sensu bean not a shitty deal?"

She couldn't see his face, but knew that if she could, she would want to punch it even more. How was she to explain how she came across the mysterious sensu bean? She couldn't humour him with her dreams, and the creature within those dreams, communicating with her. The whole thing was so fucked up she wondered how she was ever going to go on any further. Why couldn't Vegeta just be grateful that he still lived?

"Oh, I get it now. That's how you healed yourself in the space shuttle that brought us here. I see. You wanted to keep the next one for yourself, you selfish bitch," he remarked.

His words tore through her like a rusty knife, carving away at what little composure she had left to hold onto. "I gave it to you, didn't I?" she said, the volume of her voice pressing into her throat, teasing her, wanting her to shout. But shouting would mean alerting whatever sort of hellish demon was outside that door.

"But you made sure I suffered, didn't you? You wanted me to feel pain, didn't you?"

Bulma shot up, her fingers itching to feel the knife in her pocket. "I thought I'd lost it." She shook her head indignantly. "I'm not explaining myself to you, you ungrateful prick." The pulse in her neck was beating so rapidly it was starting to make her dizzy. She wavered on the spot, desperately fighting against herself to not act rashly.

What was he waiting for? By now she had expected a bit of strangulation or being beaten to a mushy pulp and left to think about how she'd spoken to such an illustrious warrior. But there was nothing. No back-lash, no biting remark. Nothing.

Silence thickened in the barely breathable air, setting an invisible barrier between the two life forms, one which both knew not to tread across willingly.

"There are a few hours until dawn. We'll continue then," he said, in smooth, calming tones, as if it was the natural way to push the conversation in to less hostile territory.

"Wha—" Bulma muttered, utterly amiss with the situation, reaching to swap her burning forehead with the hem of her rotten t-shirt.

It was then that they came to a voiceless agreement, when Bulma dejectedly sank to the freezing ground, closed her eyes, and surely dreaded the approaching dawn, where they would, once again, search planet zero-one-six-zero for the remaining two dragon balls.