Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Black and White ❯ 02 ( Chapter 2 )

"So did you lead me in here to spar you?" Vegeta seemed worn already as his weight—increased beneath the gravity—pressed against the console.

 

One corner of Goku's mouth turned down a bit. "I wanted to, but I guess you're not quite in the condition to, right now." He pushed off from where he leaned against the console to pace a bit, feeling restless as his mind wandered. "Look, Vegeta—I know we've been pretty low-key about this an' all, and I ain't tryin' to make you feel uncomfortable but—I wanna know something."

 

Vegeta's brows creased and he exhaled slowly. "Hell. Whatever. Ask away. Maybe you'll make me angry enough to fight you."

 

"I really don't wanna do that," Goku's face was much more sober than Vegeta was used to seeing it, although it had often been like that since his resurrection. "I only wanna fight if you want to, for fun—not—I don't wanna make you mad. You're upset enough, Vegeta."

 

"Just ask the damn question." Goku's continued seriousness was beginning to put him on edge—it narrowed down the possible topics of the conversation to just one or two.

 

"You seem real, I dunno, thoughtful lately."

 

"Trunks," Vegeta responded simply.

 

"That all?" his voice was quiet, as unobtrusive as it could be as Goku wandered to the other side of the room.

 

"What Vejata did to you," he added, equally quietly.

 

"Yeah?"

 

He turned to face Goku, eyes steeled. "I'm sorry to share a name with her, and sorrier to share her blood." He hoped that Goku would not recognize the hypocrisy of his statement—he'd done far worse, himself.

 

"'S not your fault, Vegeta," Goku turned away. "And you know it." He paused. "So that's all you've been thinkin' about? You just seem so nervous, is all, around me, and I was thinkin' it must have to do with—"

 

"Yes, dammit," he hissed, "of course it has to do with that."

 

"So y' still really don't like the idea of—I mean—is it 'cause—"

 

Vegeta paced over to where Goku was, stopping beside them, although they did not make eye contact. "Kakarrot, I, however unfortunately, decided years ago that I consider you an ally. But hear you me—it does not mean you can get however close to me you please."

 

"So it's—it 'cause I'm me, right? It's not 'cause—not 'cause a' that I'm, y'know, a 'low-class' or nothin' like that?"

 

"Correct," Vegeta growled.

 

"Well I'm not gonna do nothin' to you, Vegeta, so you shouldn't be nervous." He knit his brows. "I'd never do anything bad like that, an' you know it. So what're you so worried about?"

 

"Kakarrot—you love your wife, don't you?" Goku's eyebrows shot up at the question as he puzzled over its meaning, how it could be related to what he'd asked.

 

"S-sure—I mean, sure we don't always get along, but, of course I do—what're you—"

 

"Ever thought about why?"

"Well firs' we got married and I didn't know what was goin' on, but she dragged me through it, I guess," Goku started, glancing toward the ceiling. "She's always real good at that, makin' me do stuff. She's nearly as stubborn as you, Ve—"

 

"Right," Vegeta cut him off. "Women here are weak, but yours and mine have got balls." Goku opened his mouth to correct the prince, but Vegeta continued, "It's a figure of speech, Kakarrot—damn, and I haven't been here nearly as long as you." His eyes wandered upward as he thought. "They're an awful lot like—" he paused, searching for the word.

 

"Fire," Goku finished quietly, smiling faintly at the thought.

 

"The hottest fire this planet's got to offer," Vegeta finished. "Are you following me, Kakarrot?"

 

He shook his head. "Naw, I don't think so. Unless—you mean like, like how they do all that crazy stuff?"

 

"Almost—well, you said it yourself," Vegeta finally turned his head to glance at Goku's face. "Your woman is good at 'making you do stuff.' You're a thousand times stronger than she is—but you do it."

 

"Maybe she's stronger than we think," Goku grinned.

 

"You like that about her—don't you? How much power she seems to have, even over you?"

 

"Yeah," Goku mused. "Guess so. Sure do."

 

"The Saiyajin—at least before—were getting stronger, every generation. I suppose that freaks like you and I should be born out of it is unsurprising."

 

"Stronger every generation?" Goku blinked. "Why? Did they train their kids more?"

 

Vegeta shook his head. "We are warriors—by our essence, geared to become as strong as we can. You know it well—your excitement to fight."

"Yours, too," Goku laughed. "It's not just me!"

 

"Of course," Vegeta smirked a little at the man's laughter. His expression grew neutral again. "But no—it wasn't by training. Part of what has made us Saiyajin—powerful and brutish, not so delicate and—well—pretty—as the humans—is how we choose those with whom we reproduce."

 

"Y-yeah?" Goku blinked. "How's that?"

 

Vegeta frowned a bit, thinking. "Kakarrot, would you not say that around here, a woman's beauty is made of things like whether she is," he made a motion with his hands to describe a shape, "like this, or, hm—whether her eyes look nice—yes?"

 

"I guess," he shrugged. "I dunno."

 

"But Saiyajin, we don't tend to care so much about pretty eyes—beauty is strength. Power."

 

Goku nodded slowly, as if the cogs in his mind were still working on what Vegeta was talking about and how it could possibly relate to what they were talking before—whatever it was. What had his question been?

 

"So with this tendency to mate with the strongest Saiyajin we could find, the strongest became stronger," he added, hoping to clarify. "And the weak died off."

 

Nodding, Goku crossed his arms. "Okay. So you're tryin' t' say I like Chi because she's pretty strong for a human, an' she can make me do stuff?"

 

Vegeta grumbled, shaking his head. "Well, yes—but Kakarrot—"

 

"Hm?" he raised his eyebrows, leaning back against the wall.

 

"I believe," he paused, fingers twitching nervously, and the length of the silence stretched on for a while. Goku scratched his head absently until Vegeta finally finished, "It is why you feel the way you do about me."

 

"Oh!" Goku grinned, excited at this revelation—how long had he spent wondering why he had such feelings for the man who considered him a rival, which had sprung up apparently from nowhere? "'Cause you're real strong!" His eyes grew wide. "But Vegeta, I'm pretty sure two guys can't even have babies together. It's like Chi said—"

 

Once more, Vegeta shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Didn't matter in the scheme of things." Goku seemed utterly baffled, so he spoke further. "Saiyajin don't always take just one mate—some do, but many don't. You gather two or three, odds are there's one you can reproduce with. What's more," he paused, "I suppose it was a way to bunch up the strongest all together." The prince exhaled. "I might know more about it—if the planet had lasted longer."

 

"Yeah? But hey, how'd y' know if you were real little when—"

 

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Nappa and Raditsu's constant whining."

 

"Oh—okay," Goku nodded. "All right. Only, Vegeta—" the prince bit his lip, waiting for the question he'd been dreading—but it didn't come. "If that's true, if Saiyajin are like that, how come you don't have some extra wives or somethin'?"

 

Vegeta smirked a little. "Don't need any—my woman's the best there is," he bragged, but then his face grew more solemn. "Besides, you know how I feel about her. I don't want to fuck this up."

 

"Okay," Goku seemed thoughtful. "Okay. So—so you're tryin' to say I feel kinda weird an' fuzzy about you 'cause you're strong, an' the whole reason for that is that I'm a Saiyajin, 'cause Saiyajin feel fuzzy about strong people—and—an' besides that you don't feel like that yourself, you ain't interested anyway 'cause of Bulma." Vegeta nodded, and Goku smiled, glad that he understood, but he paused just as he was about to start stretching. "Say, though—I feel fuzzy 'bout you 'cause you're strong." Vegeta froze. "But ain't I stronger than you? Why don'tcha got that fuzzy feeling about me?"

 

Vegeta's crossed arms squeezed tighter against him, and he rapped his fingers anxiously against his bicep. He shot Goku a narrow-eyed glare before turning away, walking back to the console as he uncrossed his arms and balled his fists. "Do you want to spar, or not?"

 

 

...

 

 

Hell had lived up to its name, and it was nothing she hadn't experienced already. The game was avoiding boredom—they said if one became too complacent, just gave up, they'd be taken away to the machine that would scrub their soul up and spit it back into the world as someone else. That was the real Hell—deciding between endlessly remembering and losing oneself forever.

 

She had stayed to herself for some time—carefully replaying everything that she remembered about her life, to continue remembering it. It had ended at a low point, to be sure—but now she was, at least, free of that obligation, to rule her planet. She had glimpsed other Saiyajin here and there—many, doubtless, sent here by none other than herself. But she avoided them, the trouble of whatever useless attacks they would spill upon her for revenge. Here in Hell, it seemed, none of the dead could be killed again. Beaten badly, yes—even beyond recognition—but none ever died for a second time. She wondered if such a thing was possible—what would happen if a dead man was killed again. There were theories floating about, to be sure—but not one that she'd heard was believable.

 

There was a palpable tension in some parts of Hell, and she wondered if this was the norm—if it had been rigged that way, that passers-through would second-guess decisions to walk any farther. So much as she could figure it, Hell was a wasteland where the stubborn and the sinful needed only to put up with one another until they could be safely disposed of—sent back into the living world. Still, some powerful magic seemed afoot—what else would keep someone from dying a second time, if such a thing was truly impossible here? And what else but magic could hold these monsters in? But then—the dragon balls were worse, for they could rip someone from the afterlife without its consent, and they were so accessible—

 

But not from Hell, of course. And if she could be wished back, well—it seemed pointless. Vegeta would find her, kill her again. There was one thought that rang through her head—something about the medallion, the prince crushing it, something that she should have done in the living world, if she'd had the chance. But she pushed it back, whatever it was; the last thing she wanted now was to regret. She needed merely to remember—nothing more, and anything more would surely be a burden.

 

It was surprisingly easy to spend time alone in Hell—it was vast, and Vejata wandered it all as she recalled her life, committing each piece to memory. Perhaps after she'd etched it all into her—permanently—she would re-enter the more populated portions of Hell, take on those who wanted to fight her. No good memories awaited her there, not really—acquaintances readily betrayed the moment they proved to pose a risk, just as King Vegeta had taught her.

 

She'd not gotten far in her systematic recollection of her life, for all the months she'd had to think about it. The later years of her life had been so much easier to recall than the beginning, so she had started there. Hearing that Prince Vegeta might still be alive—searching for him for years on end—ten of them, on that man's Earthling clock, she supposed—training relentlessly all the while, and then hunting him down, killing him. But she'd been dragged into something bigger—Goku's insistence on getting to know her, on bringing the prince back—discovering the destruction of her home, and if she'd known then how much grief it would have caused her, perhaps she'd have cut her losses and left it that way. But no—she couldn't have. She was bound to it, to do everything she could for it; it was the very reason she had been created, anyway—a recreation of the most promising warrior to emerge from her line, the best candidate for ruler. Then there had been the six younger copies—and how foolish of her not to have considered the idea earlier—her ascension to Super Saiyajin, glorious, then, but she was not the first, and it did lead to such misery; her return home; her boredom, desperation, desperate acts that were useless, that failed her; her death and her freedom, and now it was boredom again. But without the obligation, well—it was more bearable, for now. She was sure she would feel differently as years ticked by, if the nervous tics of the other residents of Hell were any indication.

 

The beginning of her life, though—it was tough. Not unpleasant, no—King Vegeta was harsh, but she'd learned from him. The beginning of her life was, at points, pure joy—hours of sparring, and as much as she could eat waiting for her when she returned. It was before King Vegeta had taught her such paranoia of food. It was before he taught her other things, too, that kept her alive after she took the throne.

 

It was only fitting, then, that what she dreaded remembering most would find her itself, on the emptiest outskirts of what seemed to be considered Saiyajin territory.