THE PRINCE OF ASH AND SNOW

by The Not-So-Super Saiyan

based off the web comic by Stupidoomdoodles

and inspired by the works of LadyVegeets

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE LITTLE PRINCE

Content Warning: graphic depiction of torture, mention of rape.

JANUARY 8th

Thick darkness enveloped Vegeta. It was a technique he was familiar with. Sensory deprivation wasn't new, and it wasn't very original either. On top of that, Zarbon wasn't doing a particularly great job at it. Vegeta would definitely have given him some pointers - had he been on the other side of the chair.

That being said, Zarbon had clearly been thinking about this for a while. He wasted no time and was aptly prepared with very creative ways to entertain himself and pass the hours they spent together in the cold, concrete room.

A cool voice drifted through the dark, echoing off the stone walls "Let's start from the beginning again Vegeta," he felt Zarbon circling around like a vulture. Vegeta responded exactly the same way he had each time before. Taking care to not change his answers at all and to sound as disinterested as possible.

"Maybe you should write this down, Zarbon. You're having a hard time remembering it." he cleared his throat, sarcastically. "Ready? Okay. November. Oscar. Sierra. Tango. Romeo. Oscar. Mike. Oscar. 1-8-0-niner-2-4-6-0-niner." Vegeta repeated, for probably the hundredth time.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?"

"Yes, actually I do." he smirked.

"How stupid do you think I am?" Zarbon spat back.

Uh. Probably shouldn't answer that.

"Now, Zarbon, how honest do you want me to be with you?"

"Is this some sort of game to you?" Zarbon hissed.

Vegeta was getting to him and it was excruciatingly satisfying. He may be on the wrong side of the chair but he was in control now. He knew it and Zarbon knew it.

"Well, I don't know about you Zarbon, but I, for one, have had an excellent time."

That was a lie. This was fucking awful. He was tired, hungry, and in excruciating pain. But he was a professional and he would not be broken. Not today, not ever.

"…I just can't help but feel like you're hiding something from me Vegeta. And if you're not going to cooperate then I'm going to have to take what I want from you." He could hear the smile in Zarbon's voice now. Something had shifted.

He strained his ears. The sound of metal scraping against metal. His head was shoved backwards violently. He clenched his jaw tight as something cold was placed around it. He recognized the device, he had used it before himself.

Karma is a freakin' bitch.

As the cold metal tightened on his face his jaw opened wider and wider, a sick pop resonated through his open mouth. Vegeta felt his entire skull wrench upwards, it felt as though his skull and spine would pop apart with a wet crack, the tooth pulling his spine out of his mouth along with it. Then it happened. Relief, in incredible blinding pain. He didn't scream. He didn't cry. He wouldn't give Frieza the satisfaction, for even though he couldn't see him he could feel him. He was close by. He knew it.

The empty socket in the back of his jaw gushed, filling his open mouth with blood faster than he could swallow it. The awkward angle his head was forced at, cricked into the right side of his shoulder and up towards the ceiling made it impossible to clear his airway. He sputtered, blood spraying from his open mouth. A pathetic gurgle resonated in the back of his throat. Zarbon's laughter filled his ears. As he felt the cold pliers wrap around another molar he felt himself fall. It was the strangest sensation, like slipping backwards out of himself into a frozen river after baking in the sweltering sun. His body shivering and sweating and finally feeling nothing at all.

JANUARY 17th

The days passed painfully slow. Bulma had spent more time at Kame House now that Goku had returned from the hospital. On Vegeta's recommendation, the Son family and Piccolo were staying there to avoid further incident for the time being.

Vegeta.

There was no sign of Vegeta anywhere and there hadn't been. It was as though he had been whisked away into the darkness, nothing but a faint memory. As she winded through the hallway holding her armful of pathetic groceries Bulma's thoughts clung to him desperately. His crooked smile, his scent, his general disdain for existence and humanity as a whole. She almost laughed. Absentmindedly she unlocked her apartment and stepped inside, throwing the paper bag on the counter and dropping her purse on the floor at her feet.

For the first time in days something pulled her from her thoughts. Inside her locked apartment, upon the kitchen table, sat a box. The outside of the box had one word written on the top of it.

BLUE.

Bulma drew the curtains, locked the door, and barricaded it for good measure. It had been nine days now. Nine days since she had seen him. Nine days since she had heard his voice. It felt so much longer. She wasn't sure what to think but she knew if Krillin found out he would whisk the box away to the station for further investigation. It could take days, maybe longer, she couldn't wait that long.

Unsure of why she felt so urgent, she just knew that by then, it could be too late.

Vegeta wasn't sure how much time had passed inside the VIP Suite but he knew it had been more than a few days. His muscles ached and burned from stiffness. He felt weak. His captors were doing their best to throw off his sense of time, sometimes visiting minutes apart, sometimes hours. They denied him food, all but once, barely gave him water, and deprived him of sleep, allowing him to doze for short spurts only to wake him up with severe punishment. But he had played the game too many times to be thrown off so easily. He was the master, the Best of the Best. If they wanted to play they were going to have to do better than to throw Zarbon and Dodoria at him for a few days in a concrete room with some metal toys.

Employing a practice that had been taught to him as a child, he sent his mind to another place. Focusing on anything but here. It wandered to Bulma. Her voice, the warm spice of her scent, her ocean eyes. The mere thought of her almost warmed him. He was all alone in the room now, blood dribbling from his mouth and down his front. His neck ached but his head was too heavy to keep upright. He was so tired, he felt it in all of his muscles and his joints. It felt as though they would seize up and turn to dust. If only he could just close his eyes. Just sleep for a little while... As he began to drift off the metal door slammed behind him and he jumped.

He heard a stifled giggle.

It was still pitch black in the room. Suddenly he was flooded with bright light from above. He should've seen it coming. He had used the same procedure before. He blinked rapidly hoping his eyes adjusted faster.

A sickly sweet voice drifted through the air like the fetid stench of carrion,"'Les hommes ont oublié cette vérité, dit le renard. Mais tu ne dois pas l'oublier. Tu deviens responsable pour toujours de ce que tu as apprivoisé'...do you know what that means Vegeta?"

Of course he did. He didn't say anything though. He sat in silence as though he hadn't heard the voice at all. He heard the soft fluttering of old paper.

" I would hope you have retained enough of your French to understand it." He paused and then continued in a theatrical voice. "Men have forgotten this truth,' said the fox. 'But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.'"

Vegeta felt a cold, soft hand trail along his sore, swollen jaw and lift his chin gently.

"Do you know what this means, little prince?" Vegeta didn't respond. He met Frieza's gaze with as much poison as he could muster in his one working eye but it came out rather pathetic.

"It means I'm responsible for you: for your actions, for your hopes, your dreams….for your failures, Vegeta." Frieza's voice darkened with his last words, fear twisted up inside of Vegeta like a coiling snake. He swallowed it, trying to push it back down.

Don't move. Don't let him see it's working.

"Which means," he bent down and met Vegeta's gaze with a sick satisfaction in his eyes. "I'm also responsible for your punishment."

Bulma stared down at the long box. The anticipation was palpable but now that she was there something was stopping her.

"Well, here goes nothing, right?" she managed a cheerful tone, hoping the empty room would reassure her of her decision. Donning a pair of yellow kitchen gloves, she used a steak knife and carefully cut the plastic tape that ran along the seams of the box and lifted the tabs carefully. Her heart hammered in her chest. Inside the box there was three smaller cardboard boxes. They were labeled simply and cleanly. The one on the left had a "#1" printed on the top of it underneath it it read "past", the box in the middle had a "#2" printed on the top of it and read "present", and the box on the right had a "#3" printed on it and read "future".

Carefully pulling the first box out of the larger box, she sliced the plastic tape that held it closed. There was an envelope. Nothing else.

Swallowing hard, Bulma picked up the envelope and opened it delicately, as if it might bite her if she were too rough with it. Her throat tightened. The envelope contained a series of large photo prints. Some of her happiest childhood moments captured on the glossy paper. Age 5, age 12, age 16 and then...photos of her and Vegeta together, in the hallway outside their apartment, entering The Golden Dragon, at the cafe.

Bulma let the photos fall from her hands to the floor. She felt like her lungs had collapsed on themselves. Her body was frozen. The only thing that moved were the tears that pumped from her eyes.

What is this?

Suddenly she remembered something Vegeta had said to her over a month ago. "Unless you want to get yourself killed...or worse…." She felt hot and prickly, nausea wiggling around her insides.

Vegeta. Did he send this? No. He wouldn't. Who had then?

She could do this. Whatever this was, whoever sent it. She needed to know what they wanted. For a moment, just a moment, she considered phoning Goku and Krillin. She always felt safer with them around and Krillin would probably have some good insights. But she couldn't waste that time and she worried about what Krillin would do if he got his hands on the box.

She gently lifted the second box from it's large cardboard coffin. "Present". Her hands were shaking so bad she almost couldn't open it. It contained a small, yellowed paper folded in quarters and a flash drive.

She unfolded the page with care. It smelled like ancient parchment and bleach. It looked old, very old. The bottom of the page read "35" at the center. There was a simple color illustration below a body of text. It was of a little boy on what looked to be a grey hill, he was kneeling next to a red rose. She recognized the language, it was French but she didn't speak or read French and she wasn't about to waste her time translating it right now. That would have to wait.

Nearly tripping over her own legs to grab her laptop from her bag, she yanked it open and booted it up, drumming her fingers on the desk impatiently as it went through the startup sequence. She pushed the thumb drive into the slot and watched as the screen fritzed. No folders, no files. It began running its own program. The first thing that appeared on the screen was an initiation sequence, then a timestamp roller. It was happening live.

A dark, concrete room came into view. It was empty, save for the chair that sat bolted in the middle of the room. In the chair there sat a man, he was slender and wore a grey hoodie and jeans, both of which were splattered with blood. His arms were bound behind him, a burlap sack over his head. The man's body threatened to fall forward out of the chair but the ropes behind him kept him there, yanking him back every time he began to fall.

A second man appeared, circling around him slowly, like a vulture. "Are we ready to cooperate?" the voice taunted.

The burlap sack lolled back and forth. This way and that. The second man sighed with irritation. He stood behind the chair, yanking the sack backwards violently. A moan came from the seated man.

"It's rude to fall asleep when someone is talking to you." The man hissed. "Let's try this again, shall we?"

"Well, try being more engaging this time." the seated man groaned under the sack. His indignant voice woven with pain and pride.

Then the man walked away, leaving the seated man to sit there in silence. He didn't return for fifteen minutes and when he did he was wearing gloves and had a tray of tools with him.

The man circled around quietly, he was enjoying this. He whispered affectionately "You don't know how long I have waited for this."

The voice coughed as it tried to speak. "Tzch….S...Since yesterday?" came a rough muffled voice from the sack.

This clearly got under the man's skin. He erupted with anger "I did not tell you you could speak." He drove a hard punch into the man's gut pushing him as far forward as his restraints would allow. The man coughed, then chuckled.

"You know Zarbon that's funny, because yesterday you were begging me to talk."

Zarbon was beginning to lose his composure.

"Enough." he hissed walking behind the man again. They couldn't see what he did, but it appeared as though he grabbed his tied hands. The seated man fought a scream, he caught it in his throat before it escaped, turning it into a hoarse hum and then a cough, his body convulsing and jerking forward with pain. Zarbon got closer.

"How are your hands doing?"

The seated man stabilized his breathing and retorted with a breathy laugh "Why don't you untie me and I'll show you."

"I'm afraid that's just not possible. You still haven't told me anything I want to know. But I have a feeling that's about to change." There was something in the man's hand. It was too dark to see what it was. Then it happened, with a jerk he removed the burlap sack from the seated man's head.

The young man slumped forward gasping for fresh air. His face was mottled with bruises. Blood dripped generously from his nose and a split in his forehead. One of his eyes was completely swollen shut. A mix of blood and spit dribbled from his open mouth. His other eye struggled to stay open, it flickered fiercely at Zarbon, full of fire.

"Well, get on with it then. I don't have all day." the seated man chided.

Under all of that he was barely recognizable. Barely but still there was no mistaking it. It was him. It was Vegeta. She felt something twist deep inside of her, curling her fingers, digging her nails into the soft pads of her hands.

Bulma was frozen, mouth agape, tears spilling from her wide eyes. Fear gripped her deep inside, seizing her muscles. She closed her mouth and tried to blink away the tears.

Eventually she gave up, wrapping her arms around herself and hugging her knees to her chest, sobbing quietly into herself as she watched the horror unfold. There was something in his eyes that felt like ice inside her bones. She clawed the ground around her desperately for her phone. If there was a doubt in her mind before, it had vanished without a trace. She needed Goku and Krillin. Now.

Zarbon left after about thirty more minutes of fruitless interrogation and Vegeta was alone. His head hung low, a thin line of blood dripping from his mouth onto the floor below.

Plip. Plip. Plip.

He heard a pathetic whimper escape his own lips "you….are….my lucky star…. my …..lucky….lucky…"

He let himself fall back into the chair, his head hanging over the back towards the dark ceiling taking in as much air as his tight chest would he was in places like this, and he found himself in them surprisingly often, he found his mind would go to another place. Everything about this was a recipe for disaster. He knew it was possible he'd end up in The VIP Suite. He had been here before but he spent a majority of his time on the other side of the chair and that was the way he preferred it.

He remembered every single time he sat in this very chair. Sometimes when he'd sit there he'd go somewhere else. Somewhere worse.

The air caught in his throat when he he heard a voice. Frieza must have been there the whole time, at least since Zarbon left.

"'Il faut exiger de chacun ce que chacun peut donner, reprit le roi. L'autorité repose d'abord sur la raison. Si tu ordonnes à ton peuple d'aller se jeter à la mer, il fera la révolution. J'ai le droit d'exiger l'obéissance parce que mes ordres sont raisonnables.'" He paused for a moment "'One must command from each what each can perform,' the king went on. 'Authority is based first of all upon reason. If you command your subjects to jump into the ocean, there will be a revolution. I am entitled to command obedience because my orders are reasonable.'"

Vegeta heard the pages flutter and the spine crackle as the book closed. Frieza set it gently on the metal table containing a pile of bloody instruments. He walked closer, his hands adjusting his tie and cuffs as though he were about to walk into a very important meeting.

"You can still fix this Vegeta. I imagine you'd like to leave here, wouldn't you? You must be terribly sore amongst other things and though this game is fun we do have other things to do than play with you all day everyday." Frieza snickered.

Bulma's eyes darted around the screen to the time stamp. Something prickled in her gut. The timestamp indicated the video had been running for almost ten days.

Vegeta's head jerked forward, it looked as though he were losing consciousness.

"You look tense Vegeta? Maybe you need to get out of that chair for a little while, hmm?" with a swift motion Frieza sliced the ropes holding Vegeta's hands behind the chair and he fell face first onto the cold, bloody concrete below.

A soft whimper escaped his throat as his legs collapsed, extending beneath him. Pain rushed through his body like thousands of hot needles forcing their way out through his cold, stiff skin. He willed his arms to move, trying to pull them forward and push himself up but his poorly bandaged left hand was useless, the best he could do is lean on his right forearm and collapse again. They felt like slush slipping through his fingers, he didn't have control over his own body and it ignited an all too familiar sensation in him. Something he hadn't felt in a very, very long time. His old friend Fear. Blood and spit dripped from his open mouth.

Plip. Plip. Plip.

His one good eye trying desperately to...well he wasn't quite sure. It darted around frantically growing more sporadic with his breathing. He couldn't find Frieza, couldn't hear him, couldn't see him, couldn't move. A whisper snaked through the dark.

"Oh, Vegeta don't be afraid."

Plip. Plip. Plip.

Plip.

Plip.

Plip.

Plip. Plip. Plip.

Vegeta was so cold and so very hungry. The hunger had began to twist and gnaw at his joints and his bones like a rabid dog inside of him. The small boy stood shivering in a cold sweat in the magnificent marble foyer. Waiting. He had been waiting for what felt like hours. Finally he heard something click, click, click down the hallway. From the darkness emerged a familiar figure. Small and slender and paler than Death himself. Frieza. His very presence sent frost crackling through Vegeta's veins. He approached the small boy, placing his hand on his bony shoulder.

"I've received the report of your mission from Zarbon."

Silence. Vegeta held his breath. Frieza was enjoying this.

"I'm pleased with you, little prince."

Vegeta felt himself relax, but not all the way. Never all the way.

Frieza leaned in close and whispered in his ear, holding tight to his shoulder "Come, I have something for you."

Something sat deep in the pit of his stomach and echoed up through his spine. With every timid step he took down the hallway it screamed for him to run. Run as fast as he could. Run.

But he didn't run, he followed Frieza slowly inside the room. He felt something sour twist in his gut. He swallowed hard, trying to push it back down. The air was frigid and stale. There were no windows. Why were there no windows? He fought the lump rising in his throat. Tugging at his shirt, he wrapped his thin, bruised arms tightly around his chest. It was so dark. He tried to blink the darkness away but he couldn't, it was so thick.

He was pulled from his mind by the sound of the door clicking shut smoothly behind him. He spun around, his heart threatening to beat it's way furiously out of his chest. He couldn't see anything. He turned in circles, moving aimlessly around the room. Then suddenly, he felt warmth behind him. Warm breath on his neck.

"Don't be afraid."

His knees threatened to give out. He bit down on his quivering lip. Cold hands clamped down on his shoulders, like forceps, he felt them slide down his arms. Chills ran down his spine as the voice whispered in his ear.

"Your clothes, remove them."

He couldn't speak. He wanted to fight, to scream, to run but couldn't find the strength. All he could do was shake his head meekly. He was greeted by silence. He didn't dare move, terrified of what would happened next.

He felt his shirt pull viciously behind his neck and forward, pulling his shirt off of him. His legs fold over themselves and he fell backward. The center of his back slammed into something hard, cold, and sharp. It hurt so bad he couldn't breathe for several seconds. Those seconds felt like a lifetime. Get up. Get up. GET UP. He scrambled to get to his feet, but only made it to his hands and knees.

It was still too dark to see, too quiet to hear. It was freezing in the room, he was shirtless on his hands and knees. He started to scoot along the ground trying to find something that would indicate where he was. Help him escape. Suddenly he was jerked off the ground by the back of his hair. He threw his arms back and clawed violently at the hands. His legs kicked spastically, trying to move away. Get away. GET AWAY. He tried but he just couldn't. He wasn't strong enough.

Vegeta was shoved forward mercilessly, hitting the ground face first, colliding with the frozen stone floor his hands behind him. He threw his frail arms in front of him and began to crawl as fast as he could. He felt a hand clasp his ankle tight. He clawed at the smooth floors as he was dragged back viciously. A hand wrapped around the back of his head pressing him further into the ground, threatening to crush his skull. He felt the other cold hand rip the pants violently from his waist.

"You like that don't you?" The voice whispered smoothly. "I can tell. Just feel this... It feels good, doesn't it?" The voice moaned and laughed, "Your body betrays you, little prince." He felt a cold hand reach out and wipe the tears from his face then slither down his body and around his front. He screwed his eyes shut and bit his lip until he tasted blood.

"I told you I'd always take care you, didn't I?" He let his tears drip down his face plip, plip, plip against the marble as his body jerked forward violently again and again and again.

Plip. Plip. Plip.

Vegeta had found himself once again face to face with the cold, blood-soaked concrete of the VIP Suite. He couldn't move, couldn't escape. Just like so many times, so many years ago. Fear trickled up and down his spine like frost dancing upon glass.

Control your breathing. Get ahold of yourself.

Frieza had brought in someone else to the room. No need to get his hands dirty...yet. A short, thick figure with dark skin dropped a heavy duffle bag inside the door.

"Vegeta, you remember Dodoria, don't you? I believe she has come to play with you during your stay here in the VIP Suite. She's here to help us convince your little friends to help me."

His friends?

Convince his friends.

What?

Dodoria sat, straddling him around his waist and began to rain blow after blow to his ribs and spine. Air escaped his lungs, soft moans caught in his throat. He didn't struggle, didn't scream, didn't cry. He just laid there on the floor, face down his body lurching everytime she landed another hit.

"Why isn't he moving?" Bulma was hysterical. She was so close to the screen that Krillin had to gently tug on her shoulder so that everyone else could see. Piccolo and Goku sat on the couch behind her, concern knit tightly on both their faces.

"He's just laying there. He's just letting it happen." She was on her knees, holding fistfuls of her shirt, sobbing. She felt as though she would collapse under the weight, folding in on herself like a black hole.

A voice cut through the stale silence of the room, a voice she did not expect to hear. "It's different when you're on the other side of the chair Lil' Blue." she turned around. Piccolo was standing now, his arms squeezed tightly across his chest. His expression was stoic but she could see a sense of empathy she had never seen in him. He hadn't taken his eyes off the screen.

Krillin spoke hesitantly, as though he weren't sure whether or not it was the right time or not. "Here is what I don't understand. What could someone like Frieza possibly want from you? I mean, you're rich, yeah...but Frieza has all of the dirty money he can get his hands on. It doesn't make any sense. What could you possibly give him?"

Vegeta breathed in his reality again. He tried to ground himself but his good eye was smashed into the concrete and his swollen eye refused to open. But he could smell. He smelled blood. Blood and bleach….and way too much Armani Code. He recognized those smells. They were very familiar. The smells of work (Except the Armani. That was definitely Dodoria). It was also the smell of the interrogation room that the Ice Men had so affectionately deemed "The VIP Suite". It was where all of the very important "clients" were taken. He didn't mind The VIP Suite so much, though he preferred working on his own terms and in his own space.

But this time, he was on the wrong side of the chair. He definitely minded that.

He felt a thick wet crunch as Dodoria's fist collided with the back of his ribs again. His body spasmed uncontrollably. She managed to crack two ribs at once. Impressive...for Dodoria. He would've quipped back at her had he been able to speak.

"You know I'm bored with this." she whined. "How about we try something new?" He felt her tug off his Converse and socks.

Great. Just freakin' great.

"You know, If I'm being honest with you I've never tried this before but I would think it would really hurt so I need you to let me know how effective it is. Whether I should use this in the future or not, you know? You gonna be like my first customer."

He tried to roll his good eye. It didn't work. She wouldn't have seen it anyways.

"Shit Geets you got some ugly ass feet. What you walkin' on hot rocks an' shit?" She wasn't wrong. His feet were covered in scars, just like the rest of them. He sputtered a pathetic whimper, attempting to speak.

"Hate to break it to you D-Dodoria...but you wouldn't be the first...You see, I'm not a virgin."

This made her evenangier, she did not like being mocked. She thought she had broken him. Never. He'd die before he'd give in to them. He pressed his face into the cool ground and took a breath. He thought of Bulma and herhoney smile and then the pain took him.

They had begged her to pull the battery from the computer and more than once someone had tried to convince her to sleep. To reason with her. But sleep would not come to Bulma that night. She wouldn't let it. She sat with her knees to her chest on the living room floor. Staring emptily at the screen.

"I always knew you'd be the one to betray us. That doesn't surprise me at all. You were always a self righteous bastard. But what I can't figure out is why your friends have let it go on like this." Dodoria mused as she drove the fine blade under the nail bed and twisted it upwards.

Vegeta caught his screams in his throat, turning them into hoarse guttural cries that sounded almost like laughter. He sputtered.

It was definitely effective. If he lived Vegeta was gonna use this one for sure.

"I mean, not even Raditz would've let it go on like this." she winced in false sympathy shaking her head. "Frieza honestly didn't think it'd take us this long. I can't imagine how you must feel."

Bulma had never felt as helpless in her entire life. Even when she had found him courting Death on her doorstep she had been there with him. The room boiled over into a hiss of heated arguments like a lot of water overboiling on the stove.

What did he want? What could he possibly want? How was she supposed to stop this?

She had lost all control and Frieza was making it abundantly clear who had it. Amongst the sea of bickering and the video feed that would not end, she found herself reaching for the third box. "The Future". Maybe, just maybe the answer was in here.

She picked up the knife from where it gently rested on the carpet. Slowly she picked up the small box and sat in front of the computer. Her eyes began to sting with tears again. She couldn't help it. She didn't fight it this time. She let herself collapse into heavy sobs that lifted her body up and down like ocean waves.

Inside the box there was another box. The very box she had left on his doorstep on Christmas Eve. It had been restored perfectly, almost as though time had not touched it at all. The blue wrapping paper with the crude drawings of grumpy faces on it. The silver and blue ribbons. All of it was exactly how she had left it on his doorstep. A prickly wave of nausea rose inside of her.

The silence was suffocating and Goku was the first to break it.

"Bulma. What is that?"

"It's...I don't...it's the Christmas present I gave Vegeta. But I don't. I don't understand. He opened it I know he did."

"Dodoria, sit him upright and leave us." and like a good dog she did. She stopped immediately and pulled Vegeta up into child's pose, and left without another word. The immediate fire in Vegeta's feet subsided and was quickly replaced by excruciating pain, more refined and detailed. Frieza stood over him now.

"Do you remember this?" he held up the weathered old copy of the book. Vegeta could barely see but he didn't need to. He knew what it was. Le Petit Prince.

It was the story of a lonely little prince on a lonely little planet.

Of course he remembered. How could he forget. The story that haunted him. Frieza had read it to him as a child. When he was here in The VIP Suite. Here in the chair. He would taunt him, tease him, act like he was teaching him some great moral lesson, guiding him like a father would. He would call him "little prince". He derived some sick satisfaction from using the same pet name his mother had called him by all those years ago...before she died. It shouldn't have bothered him. Shouldn't have.

He barely remembered her. He couldn't even remember what she looked like. She had long since faded into obscurity. Every time he tried to recall her face, her laugh, or her voice, he couldn't. The image of her had been gradually replaced by Ripley from Alien over the years. It was the only movie he'd ever seen as a child. Nappa owned a VHS of it and when Vegeta would be plagued with sleeplessness or wake from nightmares Nappa would sleepily pop the VHS in the player before stumbling back to bed.

He thought of her now, tried to remember her instead of where he was. Instead of what was. All he could see was Ripley gazing dreamily out of the shuttle at the stars holding gently to the orange tabby in her lap. She had survived. Just like he would.

He heard the familiar click, click, click of Frieza's shoes. He smirked. He knew it would come to this. He wasn't ready but he was as close as he'd ever be.

Frieza trailed a cold, clammy hands down Vegeta's back, pushing his weak body almost to the ground.

"So, Bulma, is it?" Frieza said coolly as he pulled on a pair of finely made leather gloves. It was as though an electric shock jolted through his brain, frying the circuitry.

No….No, no, no.

Just when he thought he had known what was going to happen Frieza had surprised him again. Vegeta wanted to scream, he wanted to wrap his hands around Frieza's throat and watch the life slip away from his eyes. He wanted to cry. Butinstead he sat there, motionless on the floor.

Bulma's heart stopped. So this is Frieza. He had finally stepped into the light. Though he was small and sickly, there was something about him that was terrifying and disgusting. He had said her name. He knew who she was. He was using her to get to Vegeta. Everyone in the room was silent now, not even the ancient walls dared to creak.

"I wonder what's taking her so long to open her final package." Frieza mused as he flexed his hands, listening to the squeeze of the fine leather as it tightened over his fingers.

Vegeta's head jerked up violently. His one working eye frantically searching around the room. He wasn't sure what he was searching for but he hoped he would know when he found it.

His eye darted around in the darkness but he could see nothing. It was possible that Frieza was playing him. Frieza rather enjoyed games. But Vegeta could not risk it. He couldn't bear the thought of her seeing him like this. Would she see this? Frieza no doubt knew about her by now. Would Frieza kill him first and then show her to get what he wanted? What did he want? There was no way to know.

It finally sunk in, after all these days. He had been so stupid. He had underestimated Frieza again.

Frieza knew he'd never get anything out of Vegeta, he was a steel trap, Frieza had built him that way and prided himself on Vegeta being the best. He was torturing him to get to her. But why?

Frieza had played him well, always one step ahead of him.

Vegeta spoke too fast choking and sputtering pathetically. Frieza giggled and waited. He was enjoying himself, far too much to stop it. Veget spoke blindly to the darkness, hoping to God and the fucking Universe she could hear him.

"Blue, listen to me. If you're out there. If you're watching or hearing this. Forget it. Fuck it all. Just turn it off. Turn it off right now." his voice grew more desperate, breaking as he pleaded with the empty darkness.

Bulma wanted to, she wanted to do it for him. But she couldn't. She just couldn't abandon him like that.

"Why don't you open your last package, Bulma?" Frieza mused as he paced slowly behind Vegeta. His darkened silhouette barely visible on the tape.

"Don't open it Blue. Just throw the damn thing away and turn off the feed."

There was a desperation in his voice that she had never heard before, it sat in the pit of her stomach and crawled up her spine, suckling on her thoughts.

Something is coming. He knows what it is and he is afraid I'll see it, know it.

Her hands shook uncontrollably as she gently peeled the wrapping paper off the box. She had to know what was in here. Had to know how to play the game if she was going win, to beat this sick bastard Frieza and get her Vegeta back..

Inside the box was her vibrant, floral scarf. It was carefully folded, still stiff and crusty with old blood. She had thrown it away the day after Vegeta had been shot. She pulled it out of the small box, letting it unfold, as it rolled open something small dropped to the floor with a quiet, thick thunk.

It was a finger.

She recognized the callous knuckles and the faded blue tattoo that she had first noticed in the South Side café all that time ago. It was Vegeta's finger.

The world around Bulma continued to move but all she heard was the thick pounding of her own heart in her ears as it grew faster and louder. The sound of his voice calling her name brought her back to the present, back to the scratchy carpet and the bloodstained couch, back to the finger.

"Bulma. Bulma, please. Turn it off." He was begging now, his voice betraying that he was finally beginning to break. If he was right about her, she wouldn't listen to him but he had to try anyway. Frieza smiled as he stood behind him and grabbed the fresh ropes that bound Vegeta's hands, jerking them upwards. He fell on his face again. This was becoming a habit he was going to have to break.

Frieza giggled as he kicked Vegeta's knees out from under him. He was face down on the floor again, his arms tied behind him.

Frieza mused at the irony. He had forged Vegeta so perfectly that not even his best men could break him. Now all it took was a harmless, pretty face and Vegeta was falling apart.

"Please, B-Bulma …" She could barely hear Vegeta's voice muffled by the porous, rough concrete.

Everything in her begged her to ignore to him, she wanted to. But she couldn't. Bulma slowly lifted the computer pulling the backplate off and snapped the large, hot battery out of the back.

The footage fritzed out just in time for her to see the desperate look in his eye turn to emptiness as Frieza stood over him, reaching for his jeans.

Vegeta heard Frieza's voice before he saw anything, before he smelled anything, before he felt it, or remembered where he was. It was just Frieza and the deep, dark sea Vegeta floated upon.

"Well, well…..I'm surprised Vegeta. You should be proud of yourself. It takes a lot to surprise me." He whispered sensually in Vegeta's ear and he thought he might be sick. Something rose in the back of his mind and he swallowed it like bile, violently forcing it back down.

He was back in the chair now, his pants back about his waist precariously and the ropes around his wrists. His working eye tried to follow Frieza as he paced around him. He wore a finely tailored lilac suit. Maybe a day had passed. Maybe he wanted Vegeta to think so. Didn't much matter.

"Of all of my men, in all of the world… you were the last one I expected to fall for a honeypot." He pulled a small photograph out of his jacket pocket and set it on Vegeta's knee so he wouldn't need to lift his head to see it, but mostly so he wouldn't be able to look away. No. Not her. Not Blue. Not BULMA.

"I don't entirely blame you though, they must have caught wind of you when you got sloppy and sent one of their best agents to grab your interest. Why do you think they've left you here? This could've ended days ago. It pains me that it has gone on so long, little prince, it truly does." He waited for Vegeta to take the bait. But Vegeta just sat there his body swaying gently in the cold, damp air.

Frieza didn't appreciate that. Not at all.

"She never told you her full name did she?"

Nothing.

"See, I know you don't have one, but most people have family names. Yours died with your family, Vegeta, and has since been forgotten. Pity, really. Had things been different you may have been someone."

Vegeta's head dropped and jerked up again as though he may have lost consciousness for a moment. Frieza placed a hand on the back of his neck. He had been waiting for this moment. Nothing would rob him of the satisfaction.

"Bulma Briefs. Genius, beauty, and sole heiress to the Capsule Corporation."

Capsule. Capsule? Capsule Corporation.

The only thing that threatened Frieza's hold here. But it had to be more than that. Why her? It was all starting to make sense now. It was too convenient for her to have fallen in love with him, especially considering who he was.

"Do you really think where you live is an accident, Vegeta? Nothing in your life is accidental. I have planned for every. Contingency."

Humiliation, shame, and anger rolled over him like waves. Relentlessly beating against him. He was entirely overrun. Exhausted. Broken. Frieza slid an old photograph onto Vegeta's knee, so he couldn't look away, couldn't forget.

He thought...he had hoped...but like a flickering candle it blew out in a wisp of smoke and the darkness, his darkness, once again consumed him.

His voice was barely audible, it was cracking to pieces and crumbling to dust along with the rest of him. The spaces between the cracks, that left him open and empty filled with something hot and intimate and familiar. Hatred. If he hadn't let his guard down he never would've given Frieza the satisfaction of hearing him quote that damned book from memory but the familiar old words slipped from his lips before he could stop them.

"J'aurais dû ne pas l'écouter, me confia-t-il un jour, il ne faut jamais écouter les fleurs. Il faut les regarder et les respirer."

Frieza was positively beaming. He triumphantly echoed back the translation to him. His voice practically dripping with satisfaction and pride.

""I should never have listened to her," he confided to me one day, "One should never listen to the flowers. One should simply look at them and breathe their fragrance."" A grin split Frieza's face in two, white teeth flashing through the darkness. He placed a dainty, pale hand on Vegeta's shoulder.

"Yes. So very, very true. We all make mistakes, my little prince.'Vous êtes belles, mais vous êtes vides... On ne peut pas mourir pour vous.' No need to die for something so pointless." Frieza's breath sent chills down Vegeta's spine as he leaned in close enough to touch his clammy lips to Vegeta's ear.

"You're beautiful, but you're empty...no one could die for you." He ran his hand over Vegeta's back, trailing his fingers along the contours of his muscles. Vegeta tensed instinctually. He thought he was going to be sick. Frieza untied him, letting the ropes slip from his swollen, raw wrists to the floor below. Vegeta felt the familiar weight of his gun in his right hand.

"I trust you know what to do."

"Of course I do."

Sorry for the late chapter, had some emergencies to deal with late last night.

As always, the greatest of thanks to my valiant army of copy editors Hanko, Cindermane and dgschneider for tolerating my flurry of artistic writing and making it presentable! Especially Hanko for the late night write sesh.

And praises ever be to Her Holiness, Stupidoomdoodles and the lovely LadyVegeets for inspiring this fic and really for getting me writing for the first time.

Comments are welcome, say hello! I don't bite!