Frozen Stars – Chapter 3: Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result
Commandant Morris scheduled Bulma's apology for the following week, much sooner than anticipated, but Bulma still dreaded the occasion every day until she finally stood in the Commandant's office at the appointed time and stared at him in disbelief. "He's late?" she asked, omitting the fucking that should have been in the middle of the sentence out of respect for the occasion, if not the man she was talking to.
"Yes." Commandant Morris rose from his seat and walked around his desk with his arms crossed in front of his chest, apprehension mottling his features. And Bulma got it. She really did. The man felt like he was between a rock and a hard place, the rock being Bulma's temper and the hard place the interstellar diplomatic incident waiting just around the corner if she didn't apologize, but still, if he was looking for pity from her, he could go fuck himself instead. With higher chances of success, too. She was already going out of her way to be here, had moved a lecture around for it, not to mention swallowed all of her pride and then some, and she was definitely not willing to reschedule. Not for something so humiliating, something she didn't want to do in the first place. Either the asshole prince got here in time… or he didn't. And that was that.
As if her rage had summoned him like a vengeful demon, Vegeta was ushered through the door by one of the Commandant's aides, looking as thoroughly pissed off as ever, and Bulma had to turn a chuckle into a halfway convincing clearing of her throat when she realized that she was almost… relieved to see him. Not because she suddenly liked him, but because she wanted to be done with him and his smugly superior ways once and for all, except for more unavoidable chance encounters in the elevator (because of course the infathomable ways of fate and the Starfleet housing department had put him into her building – even on the same floor!).
You can do this, she told herself.You totally can! And then you're done with the Asshole forever! She had even practiced her little speech with Launch and her friend Chi-Chi, more than once, so she wouldn't choke on her words, and would only embarrassed herself a lot and not completely. So why did she feel like a fraud?
"Good morn..." began the Commandant, ready to greet the prince with a handshake and a welcoming smile (two things Bulma hadn't gotten when she'd arrived earlier), but his hand lost its forward momentum when Vegeta sneered at him and pointed towards Bulma, who idly wondered if his father had never taught him that it was rude to do that with his fingers.
"What is she doing here?" asked Vegeta in lieu of a greeting, and even the Commandant visibly bristled under his abrasive tone. Bulma, on the other hand, had no idea how Morris could still act so surprised after having already had a taste of Vegeta's charming personality. How had he reached his exalted rank in Starfleet despite being dense enough to get some nice hydrogen fusion going any second now? Or was he just willfully denying reality, and refusing to accept that Vegeta was a fucking asshole who'd never figure out how to be polite, to anybody, even when he wasn't throwing them into the most amateur cell ever in the history of prison cells? Bulma rolled her eyes. With superior officers like that, she was beginning to understand why she was never sure if Starfleet could tell its ass from its elbow without a three-dimensional computer-assisted AR chart!
Commandant Morris cleared his throat uncomfortably in the ensuing silence (something Bulma noted with great pleasure – served him right to feel the awkwardness of this whole fucking situation, too) and decided to abort his awkward attempt at a handshake, pulling his hand behind his back again in a way that looked almost intentional, before he got down to business. "Your Highness, Dr Briefs is here to apologize to you for her conduct at Alfrmyke, and also during the faculty meeting the other day. Dr Briefs?"
Vegeta turned his attention to her seamlessly, looking at her – really looking at her – for the very first time since they'd met again here at Starfleet Academy, and Bulma swallowed heavily as memories of Alfrmyke rose again, unbidden and unwelcome. She had been convinced that she was going to die that day, had spent hours fighting for her life with nothing but the woefully inadequate civilian security systems of a station not built for combat, and she had done well. She'd been proud of her performance, too, that pride the only shield between her and the terrible memories as she raced through space alone in her stolen spaceship, not knowing if her people had survived, if her desperate attempt at holding off the invaders had paid off.
But her people had survived, her gambit had paid off. And now the Commandant wanted her to apologize, and for what? For managing to get out of a dangerous situation unharmed, mentally and physically! Getting her people out, too! And if she didn't, they'd kick her out of Starfleet, after they'd already shunned her for years, hampering her career prospects and her research opportunities. It was absolutely preposterous, and the sheer unfairness of it all choked her with impotent rage until she painfully cleared her throat, because life sucked and wasn't fair, and because she had to get through this if she wanted to salvage what was left of her career and her professional reputation. "I apologize..."
The prince interrupted her before she had properly sorted out in her head what she was actually trying to apologize for, his voice full of angry disdain. "Is this a joke?"
Bulma closed her mouth with an audible click, because if she didn't, she'd start a shouting match with the Saiyan, and she was pretty sure that that would get her kicked out of Starfleet faster than she could say gravitational constant. But before she could even begin to wonder what the fuck this man's problem was now and why he tried so hard to overtake Cui in the race to most aggravating guy on campus, Vegeta turned towards Commandant Morris, an ugly snarl marring his features. "Have you brought me here to insult me, human?"
Commandant Morris looked as taken aback as Bulma felt as she blinked, then blinked again to make sure that she wasn't seeing things, or hearing things, in this particular case. Shouldn't she be the one who was insulted? She was being made to apologize for no fucking reason, after all. Vegeta, on the other hand, was getting his overblown ego coddled, and with how arrogant an asshole he was, she'd never envisioned him to be anything but smugly superior as he condescendingly accepted her groveling. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe she wasn't groveling enough. If that was the case, good luck to the Commandant – he could grovel himself, if he wanted to.
"Your Highness, both I and the Federation have the utmost respect for you, your house, and of course the Saiyan people! We would never do anything that, in any way, shape, or form, might allow our relationship to deteriorate," scambled Morris when Vegeta scoffed impatiently, and Bulma almost rolled her eyes. If a lack of buttering up was the problem, that should definitely do the trick.
"Then why have you dragged me here, if not because you think I'm a weak-minded fool?" Derision was dripping thickly from the prince's gravelly voice, and Bulma could see the Commandant's confusion thicken by the second. Honestly, she was rather enjoying herself now. Vegeta might not be her favorite person – in fact, he was pretty much tied with Cui for least favorite person right now – but seeing him rip the Commandant of Starfleet Academy a new asshole was surprisingly entertaining. And now that his sharp tongue was aimed at someone else, she could also appreciate that his voice sounded rather… hot. As strange as it was to find anything about the man hot. Get a grip, Bulma. He's the last guy you should find hot, ever!
Commandant Morris straightened his spine and tried to remember that he was technically the prince's commanding officer while he was loaned to Starfleet, then failed miserably. "Neither Starfleet nor the Federation, nor I, personally, desire to offend you, or the Saiyan people. We simply wanted to straighten out any potential… uh… misunderstandings caused by Dr Brief's conduct towards you, both at Alfrmyke and since you've arrived at Starfleet Academy."
Vegeta scoffed again, more impatiently this time, and turned his disturbingly intense gaze towards Bulma, even as he was still talking to the Commandant. "What is there to misunderstand? The woman hates me." The words should've been insulting, but he said them so disinterestedly that Bulma got the distinct impression that people hating him was just another Tuesday for the prince, which was probably a good thing, because with his charming personality, he made a new enemy at every dinner party.
Morris jumped between them with an agility Bulma hadn't expected, and raised his hands in a gesture of peace that, oddly, was barely necessary for Bulma, because she didn't want to strangle the asshole for a change. Sure, it rankled that Vegeta called her woman of all things (how much more condescending could he get?), but at least he had called a spade a spade, and honesty she could appreciate. Unlike certain other people in the room, who were intent on proving their wilful denial of reality.
"I assure you, Dr Briefs does not hate you. Dr Briefs?" Morris prompted, turning towards Bulma with a transparent plea on his face.
Bulma furiously tried to come up with a convincing lie, then realized that she was so far beyond giving a fuck that her fucks weren't even in communications range anymore. "Of course I don't." She smiled brightly. "It's more of a strong dislike mixed with an old grudge."
The words hung in the air between them, and then, even as Morris' face reddened to a degree that made Bulma concerned for his health, Vegeta started to laugh. And not the mocking, cynical laugh Bulma had come to expect from him – no, it was a sound of genuine amusement, as if what she'd said was the most hilarious thing he'd heard all week. And that was oddly flattering! For just a moment, Bulma thought she saw a glance of the man behind the guarded demeanor – and wasn't that an interesting thought, that there was a facade where she thought his personality was – before he regained his stony composure and turned towards the Commandant again, sneer on his face. "See?"
"Just another misunderstanding. I'm sure Dr Briefs didn't mean..." the Commandant back-pedalled even as he glared at Bulma with a face that said "We'll talk later!" better than Bulma's mother could, but Vegeta interrupted him again, looking as done with this conversation as Bulma felt.
"Quit your dithering, man. You disgust me more than open enmity ever could. The woman has nothing to apologize for, she fought with spirit and cunning, and faced her fate with bravery when we captured her."
Morris looked terrified now that Vegeta had finally poked the elephant in the room, but Bulma had a hard time sorting her emotions. He almost sounded… complimentary, and that was the last thing she'd expected from him of all people, after the cold rage she'd seen on his face when he had captured her. She'd thought he hated her as much as she hated him… but… now he didn't? And she had no idea what to do with that information. As unpleasant as hatred was, at least it had the advantage of simplicity in a universe that was vastly more complex than even Bulma could ever hope to fully understand, especially where Starfleet politics were concerned, and part of her was almost… angry that Vegeta was complicating things between them. She'd hated him for five years, had hoped for an opportunity to smack the smug smile off his face for just as long, and being denied her revenge by his unexpected… admiration confused her endlessly.
But Vegeta wasn't done with the Commandant yet, even as Bulma was relegated to the sidelines of the conversation, a position she normally hated, but that still was preferable to being in the crosseye of Vegeta's wrath. "We know your Starfleet, and your Federation, because we have watched you for a long time from the shadows." He crossed his arms in front of his chest and walked over to the Commandant's impressive office window overlooking the San Francisco campus, his face more closed off than ever. "We know what you are like, we know that your customs are different. Different does not scare us. Nothing scares us. And yet you insist on treating me and my people as weak-minded children who will wilt like a delicate flower under adversity. I am the Prince of Saiyans. Find a child to coddle, and leave me alone with your foolishness."
The Commandant opened his mouth – though what he wanted to say, Bulma had no idea, because Vegeta had left even her a little speechless, and that was a rare enough occurrence. But the prince showed no inclination to stay and hear Morris out, and instead brushed past the Commandant, who pulled back like he would have when faced with a force of nature. Two frightened cadets in the anteroom jumped, too, when Vegeta banged the old-fashioned wooden door against the wall in his anger, and then stared together with Bulma as the prince rushed out of the office like air out of a breached ship, leaving everyone behind a little breathless and unsettled. Bulma had pulled off a lot of dramatic entrances and exits in her time, but even she had to admit that this… this was something else. Damn, does the man have to be so fucking impressive? And he hasa nice ass, to boot.
"Well." Commandant Morris cleared his throat uncomfortably and closed his door, after surreptitiously checking the wall for damage. "That could've gone better."
Bulma wanted to make a vaguely noncommital sound (because seriously, what did that idiot expect after putting Bulma and Vegeta into the same room?) and hightail it out of the Commandant's office before Morris got any ideas in his head that Bulma had to try to apologize to Vegeta again, but what came out of her mouth instead was, "I told you so, sir. He's an asshole."
Morris shot her a dark look before he sank into his chair and buried his face in his hands. Oddly enough, he didn't object, but then again, reality had a way of asserting itself against all odds.