Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Anaugust Gold ❯ 06 ( Chapter 6 )

Goku plucked a few leafy grass blades from beneath himself, absentmindedly examining them. He wasn't ready to leave his private thinking spot yet—this he knew. As much as he wanted to find the friends and fellow fighters he'd met during his last stay in Heaven, and perhaps challenge them to a rematch while he was here, an unfamiliar emotion weighed down on his insides and held him back.

 

It had been there for some time now, this emotion—ever since he had decided that he had to acknowledge what had been done to him. His gloom about Vegeta's rejection had paled, and he knew he could have handled that better, that he acted impulsively and did something that the prince had every right to be uncomfortable with, no matter how much it saddened Goku. Yes, maybe Vegeta had reacted a little bit strongly, so it was okay that Goku left for a little while. He had been sure that what had happened to him while he was on Planet Vegeta was, at least in part, his own fault. After all, he'd been so desperate for Vegeta's affection that he'd fallen for Vejata's trick, and sometimes even made the conscious decision not to snap out of it—when he'd suddenly remembered that the prince did not have a tail, and this person did—and when this Vegeta was nowhere near as strong as the one he knew and wished for. He lowered his gaze in guilt, knowing that, in part, he had let it happen.

 

But amongst these waves of guilt another emotion arose—the unfamiliar one, one that scared him. Goku knew, too, that for whatever reason Vejata had chosen to take advantage of his confused state, of his emotional turmoil and desperation to know how it would feel to have Vegeta accept him. Whatever her excuse, she had used him, and he got the feeling that that was the reason he was dead now—she knew that when he woke up, and realized what had happened, he wouldn't like it. The frightening emotion accompanied the betrayal he felt; this woman he'd counted amongst his friends abused any and all the trust he'd put in her to support him in his time of mental chaos.

 

He felt like she must have had a reason for what she did—she was pretty smart, after all, just like Vegeta—but it escaped him. The only thing that had come to him so far was that it might have to do with having a child, but he couldn't make sense of it. As he recalled all the memories he had of any time they'd seemed to get close, he knew there were signs that she wanted him...whatever they were, but his gut told him so. He just hadn't thought she would have desired him that much, that she would hurt him like that. Was it really worth it? Worth just that one time, that one act? It didn't make sense.

 

He knew that even if he couldn't discover it, she had a reason for what she'd done. Maybe even a good one—he was a "benefit of the doubt" type of guy.

 

But even with this thought, his blood chilled with the unfamiliar feeling—upsetting not in what it told him to do, but what it told him not to do.

 

Goku wasn't sure if he wanted to forgive her.

 

 

...

 

 

Bulma sighed, even though there was no one around to hear her. From the window she could see the landscape—largely barren, with stubby, scruffy plants cluttering the otherwise flat plain. In the distance, there was a village, but she could hardly make it out from where she was. She ached to explore it, and at this thought turned back to the materials before her. If Vegeta took much longer, well, she'd be finished with her invention. There were so many supplies on the ship that she could make nearly anything she wanted, if at the expense of a few luxuries—coffee, movies, and a handful of outfits, in this case.

 

It was a small price to pay for the end result. She pressed her feet against the open soles to see if the contact jump-started the circuit, and with its success she grinned at her brilliance. Maybe when she got home, she could even market these through her company as a children's toy—gravity reduction boots. She could already imagine Vegeta demanding a pair that would do the opposite and smiled, imagining the impatient tapping of his boot against the floor. She'd hem and haw about whether it was possible to do such a thing before pulling an already finished pair from behind her back. He'd snatch them from her with his classic smirk—Bulma had accepted, by now, that this was his usual way of saying thanks—and tell her to—

 

"Move it!"

 

She was shoved from her workspace beside the console and fell to the floor, many of her supplies scattering around her. Vegeta was madly punching figures into the console and initiating the takeoff process, swearing loudly. Odd, though, the pitch—had someone kicked him in the—oh. "Ve...Vejata?"

 

 

...

 

 

He screamed every nasty word he could think of to the sky, fists shaking in rage at his sides. It was too late—too far from the planet for him to hope to get there; sure death waited if he tried. "Bitch," he muttered, turning to face the long tracks his boots had left in the ground as he'd screeched to a halt beneath the ascending spacecraft. Well, there were other things with which to concern himself, and when he reached her he would give her only moments to regret her decision—or eternity, his eyes darkened, depending on how one thinks about it.

 

Vegeta marched off toward the nearest village, and he had hardly reached the outskirts when he encountered a Saiyajin. "Brat!" he shouted much louder than was necessary.

 

"I'm no brat," she sneered, whipping about to face him, but her features quickly grew fearful. "Q-Queen...er...I..."

 

"Don't be foolish," Vegeta's voice rumbled, and her eyes widened further at the realization that he was not, in fact, Queen Vegeta.

 

"Who are you?" she snapped, quickly regaining her composure and planting her hands on her hips. "You sonuvabitch, you look-alike!" The girl blew a raspberry, revealing herself to be every bit the child her stature suggested. "I shoulda known."

 

"Oh? And how's that?" he challenged. The girl's features were vaguely familiar—perhaps she was the child or grandchild of some elite he'd known in his youth.

 

"You ain't no Super Saiyajin, else your hair'd be gold and—"

 

Vegeta grinned, and promptly proved her wrong as he powered up. "Really?"

 

She shivered at the sight, and all her confidence seemed to be swept from under her as her hair blew in the wind the prince generated. "W-were you the one...who ruined my village?" she sniffled. "And k-killed my friend?"

 

"That would have been your queen," Vegeta snarled, falling back to his normal state before the whelp could come any closer to tears. "Not me." As her questioning eyes shone up at him, he clarified: "I am Prince Vegeta."

 

"N-nice try," she rubbed her nose vigorously. "He died."

 

"Well, who else might I be?" he squatted to meet her eyes. "I'm a Super Saiyajin. I look just like your queen, don't I? Or rather—she looks just like me. But I look older than she does, hm?" The girl nodded. "I suppose you weren't alive when King Vegeta ruled." She shook her head. "He was my father. He was sure I wouldn't survive under Freeza," Vegeta explained, and decided to gloss over the details, "but I did."

 

"N-no way Queen Vegeta will let you rule," the girl muttered, gazing at her feet. "She kills everybody who tries."

 

"Oh?" Vegeta raised an eyebrow.

 

"My daddy. He didn't know—he didn't know she was a Super Saiyajin when she came back after being gone all that time. I didn't know who she was then," the girl continued, playing with the fingerless gloves she wore. "'Cause I was born while she was gone. Daddy w-was gonna be the new king. He was real strong."

 

"Not strong enough," Vegeta muttered. "It's the way of things. Get used to it," the harsh words came out in a gentle tone. "Was your father that strong? Perhaps you can become a Super Saiyajin and avenge him," he suggested halfheartedly.

 

"The first time," the girl started, and her wild hair seemed to stand on end as she imagined something, "the first time I ever saw her. Queen Vegeta. When she came back." Vegeta raised his eyebrows, waiting. He found himself watching the girl's tail as it drifted from her waist, floating behind her as its fur, too, stood on end. It twitched a few times before she continued. "She was glowin'...crazy eyes," the girl balled her fists, eyes on Vegeta's feet, as if looking at his face might remind her too well. "With my dead daddy in her arms. And threw him at my mommy," her breathing hastened, "and laughed."

 

Vegeta's brows furrowed as the girl's tail whipped about madly now, clearly out of her control. He noticed a spike in her power—an impressive one, given her age.

 

"I got really mad. And she laughed at me, too."

 

"And then what?"

 

"I'm good at games," she answered. "Like playing dead."

 

The prince blinked a few times, and reached out to grip her shoulder. "What's this nonsense?" he questioned gruffly.

 

"W-well she thought she killed me, but she didn't know how strong I am an' her blast was puny," the girl seemed proud of this even in her shaken state. "But she didn't have t' know that." She grinned a little.

 

"You're a true Saiyajin," Vegeta grinned back.

 

"You're not as mean as her," she noted. "Thanks."

 

"Can I ask you a favor?" Vegeta brought himself back to his full height from his squatting position.

 

The girl shrugged, wrapping her tail around her waist once more. "Maybe," she answered playfully.

 

"Can you tell me where to find the fastest spacecraft on this planet?"

 

The girl blinked, the corners of her mouth turning down. "S-sorry...but there aren't any. We're not allowed in space, mommy says. Alla spaceships are gone."

 

"Ridiculous," Vegeta spat. "Are you certain?"

 

"I guess there's gotta be some of those little ones," she pondered. "Those slow ol' ancient ones from...whassit...the ice guy."

 

"Freeza."

 

"Him!" she nodded vigorously. "I dunno if they work, but there might be some at the castle. Queen Vegeta has all kindsa crazy stuff."

 

"Queen Vegeta is gone," Vegeta told her, laughing inwardly. "And you'd best bank on her not coming back."

 

 

...

 

 

"What the hell are you doing?" Bulma shrieked. "Turn around right now and get Vegeta and Goku!"

 

Vejata chuckled. "I don't think so." She tilted her head, watching Bulma's face redden in fury. "Who knows?" she mused darkly, "Perhaps he'll be a better ruler than I. At the least, he'll do, for the time being."

 

"He's just going to follow us!" the blue-haired woman crossed her arms defiantly. "You're stupid. It's pointless."

 

"No he won't," she assured Bulma smoothly. "No spacecraft on New Vegeta."

"W-what?" her anger faltered. "But to have gotten there at all, the Saiyajin must have—"

 

"I destroyed it all," she grinned madly. "They can leave when I damn well say they can."

 

Bulma bit her lip, imagining Vegeta stuck on the surface as he realized he was trapped, but her face lit up as she remembered something. "Goku! No matter how upset he is, I'm sure he'll teleport himself and Vegeta back to us, or back to Earth." She crossed her arms, grinning victoriously.

 

"Wouldn't bet on it," Vejata chuckled.

 

She frowned, analyzing Vejata's words and behavior. As far as she could see, there were two possibilities: either Goku was much more upset than either she or Vegeta had thought, or... "No."

 

Vejata raised an eyebrow, shrugging as if she hadn't a clue what Bulma was suggesting by the single word she'd uttered.

 

"Why?" she leaned against the wall and slid down until she was sitting, trying to ignore her eyes as they glazed over, watery, in hopelessness. "How long ago?"

 

Again Vejata lifted a shoulder noncommittally, turning away as she tried to press the thoughts from flowing back into her mind. She had not particularly enjoyed killing Goku—but it had to be done. She recalled the unreal lifelessness of his face, so vibrant with some emotion all the times she'd seen it, her clammy hands as she moved him—him, the strongest Saiyajin ever to have lived, dead beneath her palms. The man who had not so much as bruised her even after she slaughtered his best friend in cold blood—the man from whom she'd learned the accursed ascension. She had insisted on wishing him back to life not so long ago, to help defeat the copies of Vegeta that had destroyed her planet and others—brutally murdered his and Vegeta's sons—and now he would never be wished back again, not if she wanted to live.

 

Goku's body had been saved, in part because she wondered if there was some way she could use it that had not occurred to her yet. Besides that, she had considered a private, Saiyajin funeral for him—then had considered burying him beneath the dirt as the man had done for Vegeta—but neither of those seemed right; perhaps it was sacrilegious to declare a man so immortal dead without the consent of the universe. So she'd frozen it and waited, until it could become practical or until, at the very least, she knew what to do with it.

 

She regretted her decision only because her plan had not worked—but did not like the faint squirming of guilt in her gut. Vejata wasn't sorry, but feared the inevitable day someone would make her so—perhaps Goku would rise from the dead of his own volition and take his vengeance without warning. Or one of his friends would find out, and they would all come down upon her. Vejata returned her attention to Bulma. "You will not tell them."

 

"What?" she lowered her eyebrows, confused.

 

"Your friends. You will not tell them what I did."

 

Bulma seemed to nearly bare her teeth at the Saiyajin. "Like hell I won't!"

 

"No," Vejata stepped forward, picking Bulma up by the collar of her shirt and pressing her back against the wall, her toes barely touching the ground. "You won't. We're going to Earth—but they won't know you're there. You're still on vacation with Vegeta," she asserted in a hiss. "You won't talk to any of them."

 

Steeling her gaze, Bulma answered boldly, "Wouldn't it be easier to just kill me? Obviously you have no qualms with killing your friends," she challenged. "Then you wouldn't have to worry about it."

 

Vejata dropped the woman back to her feet and turned away. "It would be easier, wouldn't it?"

 

Bulma instantly regretted her words, and felt her heart threaten to explode from her chest. She wasn't ready to die—not now, not with no one to know she was gone, no one who would know to wish her back—not again, no, she wasn't ready for the pain. "I..."

 

The queen whipped back around to the woman, stared her squarely in the eye, and clenched her fists, brows drawing down into a deep scowl. She held a hand up to Bulma, and the small sphere of ki that lit up against Vejata's palm was close enough to heat the woman's nose.

 

Clutching at her clothes in panic, Bulma cringed, closing her eyes turning her head to the side. The heat from the ki now radiated onto her cheek, sweltering, and she wondered if the intensity of the heat was just her imagination, just her body reacting to the immense stress, and she squirmed. After several more moments, though—or perhaps they were minutes—she had to know, felt her blood urging her not to as she cracked one eye open.

 

Vejata had returned to the captain's chair. Her head was bowed, and Bulma could not see her face as it rested against one hand. "V-Vejata?" she stammered, and immediately wondered if it would have been best for her to slink away, instead.

 

"Get out of my sight," Vejata growled. When she could see from the corner of the eye that Bulma had not moved, she turned to face the woman.

 

She clutched her hands to herself as the queen revealed her pained expression, eyes burrowing deep into her. Bulma inclined her head and then dashed around the corner, breathing heavily as she registered the magnitude of it: I'm not dead.