Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Dancing ❯ Chapter 5

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

 

Vegeta paced the stretch of slate tiles between the fridge and breakfast table, impatiently waiting for his son to appear. Ever since Bra told him the truth he felt a conflict of interest, a burgeoning of anger in his chest. Half of him wanted to damn it all to hell and shout from the rooftops that this wasn't something his daughter should be ashamed of. It was unnatural for her to keep her pride repressed from those around her - she was his daughter! Pride and confidence were integral to her genetic make up - or rather - they should be.

 

Underlying this, however, was sound reasoning - intelligent, and less primal thought. It reminded him that these humans required careful handling. Ostentatious in their claims and yet prejudiced in their acceptance. They feared what they didn't understand, and Vegeta accepted that in his case, this fear was probably well founded. He had vowed to live his life in secrecy - his true heritage only known to those closest to him. The driving urge to protect, unknown for so many years during a life sacrificed to selfishness, had dominated enough to allow his wife this small licence. In such a situation it was his duty to protect his family. As much as the thought irritated him, he couldn't have it both ways.

 

A small cool hand on his bicep shocked him out of his path. “Calm down, Vegeta,” Bulma soothed. “I understand that whatever is happening isn't good, but you need to be in the right frame of mind to approach it properly.”

 

He scowled at her, rudely shrugging her hand off, and resuming his course. Even Bulma couldn't abate his bad mood this time - his conflict of hate and good reason. “I need movement to think, Bulma,” he snapped. “I am as calm as I can be under the circumstances. Right now I feel like the only capacity I have is to destroy something, so unless you want this whole compound to be history, I suggest you let me pace.” Each passing second was like a lifetime through the intensity of his irritation. “Where the hell is Trunks?”

 

“Right here.” Trunks stormed into the room and, swivelling a chair around at the end of the table, he sat down heavily on it. “So much for my workout!” he snapped. “I didn't even get past the warm up!”

 

Bulma, Vegeta noticed, sensed the danger and quickly assumed the role of mediator. “Trunks, we understand that you're disappointed to miss training, but I know for a fact your father called us here for a good reason. Please, just calm down and hear him out. He's about ready to blow as it is. Don't piss him off anymore.” She rounded the end of the table and put her hands on Bra's shoulders, automatically kneading them, and laying a kiss on the top of her head.

 

Vegeta quickly averted his gaze. He didn't want to see his daughter staring down at her lap, looking like she wished the world would open up and swallow her whole - especially when she had no right to.

 

“Well… we're all here,” Bulma said; her voice cracked. “I think it's about time you told us what is going on!”

 

Now that the moment for anger was waning, Vegeta became unsure of himself. He liked being worked up. He liked the way his mind thought under the pressure of crisis. He liked the anger. It was his old friend - comfortable, invigorating - it gave him purpose and direction. It was a heady feeling that he experienced less and less as the years past by, and he enjoyed the intoxication it offered. Action, however, was now upon him, so he had to think in a way detached from his own notions and upbringing, an action he still found difficult. It was so much simpler when you could blow the shit out of everything and say, “Fuck the consequences.”

 

Now, instead of bloody battle and glorious physical release, would come debate. Plans of attack that would leave all ends tied up and no blood shed. Missions were so much harder when there were rules and stipulations. He never was very good at following rules. Less so when his heart was thumping with such wild energy.

 

For a brief moment his gaze connected with his wife's. There was worry etched into the fine lines of her face, more than for Bra alone. He gritted his teeth - a tutored reaction to help tamp down his anger. It was a small physical release, but the most important he ever performed. As much as Bulma loved and respected his disposition, there were times she took too many of his emotions on her own shoulders. If he were content Bulma would be happy with him, unstoppable, indescribable emotion that he had long ago thought could never be found - but when he was angry, feral, in a way it truly meant to be Saiyan, she was so close to him now that it would affect her too. There was nothing to explain it. There was no mythical connection between them - no ethereal or fantasized witchcraft that bound them - but time, affection, and companionship had ground it into her character, and to a lesser extent, his as well. His stress was a portent of hers - and that was the only thing that held him back at times - secured him from falling over the edge of insanity once again.

 

He took a long deep breath, bowed over the stainless steel sink, and stared back at his reflection. The look in his eyes! They were strained and hollow, the blackest of any he had ever seen, and now without even light reflecting in their eerie depths. He remembered that look - the shut off vacancy that had haunted his youth. He'd noticed it not long after the Cell games, the softening of that expression, his forehead less pronounced; his eyebrows less pinched with the ease of worry lifted from the lines above. He rarely reverted back, but he saw it now and imagined the same hollowness on the faces of those around him. With no little amount of struggle, his reason won out.

 

He turned, and with a forced calmness that he knew would chill those around the table, he began.

 

“Trunks, you know very well that I would not interrupt your training unless it was a matter of the utmost importance. Your mother, I am sure, will be able to find a way to compensate you for it. For now… just listen to what I have to say. We have a matter that needs immediate attention, and you are going to be an integral part of it, so you had better pay me mind long enough to understand everything that is going on. Is that clear?”

 

Trunks sighed but nodded nonetheless.

 

“Bra informed me of a situation today that your mother and I have been suspicious of for a while. You are aware, I should hope, that Bra started public school at an advanced level a little over two months ago.”

 

“Yes, but I fail to see---”

 

“I told you to listen!” Vegeta snapped. “The sooner we get the trivialities out of the way, the sooner we can start working on a solution, and the sooner you can get back to training.” He glared at his son. There were no protests. “It appears that some upstart bitch from Bra's new school is blackmailing her. Now you might not think this is a matter that concerns you or is important enough for me to call you away from training, but I promise you that the underlying issue of this blackmail is a matter that concerns all of us -not just Bra.”

 

He walked over to the table, and although he did not sit down, he relaxed his stance enough to give those around him hope that he was on his way down from violent anger.

 

“Bulma,” he said, facing his wife. “I think you are the only one here who will understand the conflict of interest I have in this matter, and I am trusting you to keep my head level. Just be warned that I am on the brink.” He moved his gaze down to Bra. “Would you like to tell them?” he asked.

 

She shook her head.

 

“Very well then. By accident, or by endeavour (I am not sure which,) this girl has discovered that Bra is a descendant of the Saiyan race. Now I am not in the habit of taking idle chitchat seriously, but in this case I have no choice but to take an offensive view, especially since it is highly likely that she suspects Trunks and I as well. Exactly how far she has dug into our lives is unclear, but I am willing to wager that Bra's acceptance of the motives are enough to convince this girl about the truth of the allegations.”

 

Bulma stood, instantly roused and thinking the situation through. “Convinced, perhaps,” she exclaimed, “but with no evidence to support it. I was careful, Vegeta, very careful to remove all connections between your first arrival and my family. As soon as you started living here I followed up every available lead - spent a near fortune on getting my hands on documents or evidence that had been lifted from the scene. I incinerated them all! Even supposing that a sixteen year old has the means and inclination to research something of this nature, she doesn't have a leg to stand on. Let her call us out. No one will pay her any attention.”

 

“Are you so sure, Bulma? So sure that you're willing to put the safety of your children on the line for it?”

 

“My work was very thorough.” She cupped her chin and tapped the side. “But you're right. I need more information. How much real evidence on Bra does she have? If it's just an extension of playground cruelty then it shouldn't be that difficult to hush up. If, however, there is more to it than idle presumption then we'll have to take it more seriously. I can't see how she began to make the connection though? I mean I've even heard you say how human Bra looks.”

 

“True,” he acknowledged. “As far as I can tell her suspicion was first raised when Bra got changed for a netball match. Apparently this girl got a good glimpse of Bra's scar - the point where her tail was amputated when she was a baby. From what Bra has told me, she and a few others ganged up on her, questioning and goading her. Bra, I understand, was careful and purposefully elusive with her answers. Unfortunately it appears to have only fuelled their interest. The more vague she became, the more persistent the attention. They even noticed the scar was slightly raised and covered in fur.”

 

“The scar could be anything,” Trunks said, leaning forward on his chair. “It's easily explainable as a childhood accident, or a birth defect. Unfortunately the fur is less explainable. It is very rare for human scar tissue to have hair growth, but that doesn't mean it is impossible. Perhaps it might be an idea for Bra to have the fur removed now. Waxing would be painful, but electrolysis could work. That, at least, might make anyone questioning the allegations think twice.”

 

“That's a good idea.” Bulma agreed. “The media suite in the new offices has its own beauty salon. If we took Bra there it would prevent anyone new becoming involved. We need to keep this as close to our chests as possible. Is that okay with you Bra?”

 

She nodded.

 

“Good,” Vegeta said, claiming control of the situation once again. “At least that is one problem out of the way. There is, however, another point of concern, and this one is a little trickier. Bra's scar, it appears, was only a starting point. There was another incident - one that I fear will be harder to cover up. I admit to some ignorance on this subject, but apparently they were learning about different human blood types in one of Bra's science classes a few weeks ago. Does this sound plausible?”

 

“Yes.” Bulma was quick to help him out. “I remember Bra bringing a letter home not long back. It asked permission for the students to produce pin prick samples of their blood at home for individual use in class.” She frowned “But I'm pretty sure I refused to sign it.”

 

“Because of the abnormal antigens?” Trunks asked.

 

“Yes. There is a noticeable difference between saiyan and human blood, and even though it isn't enough to prevent compatibility between our species, it is enough to throw off even the most basic blood tests. But I refused. No one should have got a sample of Bra's blood.”

 

“They forced me,” Bra whispered, her voice distant and quiet in the large room. “I had no choice.”

 

“The school forced you?” Bulma gasped, her face a shade between shock and fury.

 

“No, not the school,” Vegeta explained, “but the girls in this gang. Apparently they cornered her in the toilets and stuck her with a pin badge to get a sample.”

 

“I couldn't fight my way passed them,” Bra defended. “Daddy said I'm not allowed to use my training outside the compound - that I'm not controlled enough to avoid seriously hurting someone if I fight.”

 

“It's true,” he admitted. “I asked her not to use it unless her life depended on it.”

 

“Heather went back to the lab at lunchtime - when the teachers were away. They had the other class in straight afterwards and so all the equipment was left out for them,” Bra explained. “It didn't take her long to figure it out. I'm not sure how, but I think she might know someone who works at Capsule Corp. Once she had the blood test she was very sure of other things. She even said something about Saiyans.”

 

“This is all very worrying.” Bulma started to pace in a similar manner her husband had earlier. “If they have blood samples anything could be determined, not just blood type, but DNA as well. Hell! They don't even need anything as substantial even as blood - a single hair from her blazer, or a flake of dandruff would be enough in the wrong hands!”

 

“Hey!” Bra protested. “I don't have dandruff!”

 

“That's hardly relevant, Bra. What is important is that now suspicion has been raised we might well be in a whole lot of trouble.” She stopped and looked her daughter dead in the eye. “Bra, I know this must have been a horrible experience, but you're not alone. Now it's all out in the open we can all work together to resolve this, as a family, you should have come to us first.” She sighed. “But there's time for that later. First off, I need this girl's full name, do you know it?”

 

“I think its Heather De Lorey, why?”

 

“De Lorey. It's a distinctive surname. It means I should be able to search the employment records without too many misleading results. The records will let me know if there is, or ever has been, anyone of that name working here. It's imperative that I find out if this girl is close enough to our family to pose a real threat.”

 

Vegeta quickly agreed to this course of action. “You should begin straight away. The quicker this is silenced the better.”

 

Bulma nodded, and affectionately squeezed her daughter's shoulder. “It's okay, Bra,” she reassured. “Your father and I will do everything in our power to make this all go away. I promise.” And after giving Vegeta a worried and pensive look, she left the room.

 

Once she was gone, Vegeta turned his attention on Trunks. “You will be our liaison with this girl. It is essential that you get as much information as possible out of her at the performance tonight. I have the feeling her desire to go on a date with you has more motive behind it than just schoolgirl lust. It is possible she is just a front to get closer to the family. The utmost discretion is needed. I must be insane, but I'm trusting in your control and intelligence to get the job done - don't give me reason to regret it.”

 

“You have my word that you won't,” he promised.

 

“Good.” He looked up at the clock. “You have an hour before you need to start getting ready. It is up to you how you spend it, but I would suggest that you use it to meditate. It will clear your head and give you fresh perspective and energy for this evening.”

 

“I was going to suggest the same thing myself.” Trunks nodded. “It's scary how much I think like you sometimes.”

 

Vegeta frowned.

 

“Dad?”

 

“Hn?”

 

“I'm sorry about my attitude earlier. It was uncalled for.”

 

“Forget about it. It's not important.”

 

“Yes it is. You were right earlier - I am getting sloppy. I should know better by now.”

 

“Perhaps,” he admitted. “But you're half Saiyan. It is practically second nature for you to translate frustration through anger. Don't worry, your control is well established now, more so than I had reason to hope for, perhaps even better than my own on occasions.”

 

“The difference being that you enjoy being pissed off.”

 

Vegeta smirked. “Something like that,” he agreed. “Though sometimes enjoying it pisses me off even more.”

 

Trunks laughed. “I hate it when you talk in circles like that, but hey---don't be too hard on yourself. As you said, I'm only half Saiyan. It's naturally going to be easier for me to control my anger.”

 

“There might be some truth in that,” he agreed, but his attention was now drawn to Bra. “Maybe you should take Bra training with you. You said that this performance tonight is important for her advancement in dancing?”

 

“Yeah. As far as big breaks goes, this is the biggest.”

 

“Then she will also need to focus her mind. She will not give her best if she is worrying over this unfortunate business. I want you to take her through all twelve basic meditation positions, get her to focus solely on her body and the ki running through it. Then you can work on building it up through breathing exercises, so she is refreshed in time.”

 

“What about you?” Trunks asked. “Will you be okay? You looked just about ready to kill someone when I walked in, and you look only moderately less bloodthirsty right now.”

 

“I'll be fine. I'm in control, but it might be wise for me to be around your mother for a while. Make sure that both you and Bra are ready in plenty of time to leave at eight. You can take the limo to pick her up, and remember, make your interest believable.”

 

“It's a good thing I have super powers, because you really are asking the impossible.”

 

“It not impossible. Just remember that revenge is so much sweeter when you bide your time.”

 

Trunks was about to laugh, but Vegeta made sure there was adequate chill on the words to imply their seriousness and quash any humour they held.

 

“You scare me sometimes.”

 

“Fear of me is healthy Trunks. Now take Bra and get out of here.”

 

Trunks nodded and walked over to his sister. “Hey squirt!” he said, squatting down beside her chair. Vegeta saw Bra look over to him. Her face was very pale, and her eyes looked hollow. He felt the anger slowly seeping back in. “You look like shit,” Trunks goaded. “Dad thinks you should come and meditate with me, to give you a little pick me up before the concert tonight. What do you say?”

 

Her nervous blue eyes looked out from behind Trunks and questioned him. “Are you sure, Daddy? I've never trained with Trunks before. I thought… our lessons.”

 

Vegeta closed his eyes and nodded. “Your meditations are the same. It should make no difference this once.” She nodded. “And Bra… always remember that being Saiyan is nothing to be ashamed of.”

 

“Then why are we trying to hide it, Daddy? I'm sick of pretending I'm not different.”

 

“I know, Bra, but your safety is more important than anything else right now, even pride.”

 

As soon as the words left his lips, her eyes lit up, the life shining in them once again. She stood up and then threw her whole bodyweight onto her brother's back. “Shit, Bra!” he exclaimed as she pushed them both forwards. “You're getting too big for this!”

 

“Shut up, Trunks. Like I'm ever going to be too heavy for you to lift. Now go, piggy go!”

 

Vegeta stood in awe for a moment as his two children made a calamitous exit - all the time Trunks threatening to drop his sister. How quickly their cares and priorities changed. His son was right - their humanity was a useful commodity to fall back on in stressful situations. He had long since noticed how easily his wife's species could put aside their troubles in the face of overwhelming uncertainty, and for the briefest of moments, he felt envious of that ability. There were no distractions for his mind to glory in. He knew the implications of this day would fester for as long as it remained unresolved. He wasn't lying when he told Bulma that he would need her level head.

 

He waited a few minutes, taking long deep breaths, and expelling his build up of ki through it. Only once he believed all threat was removed, did he turn heel and follow Bulma's earlier path.

 

He found her in the lab, biting the tip of her thumbnail as the light from the computer screen flickered up and down her face. He watched for a while, leaning against the door frame as she stared at the monitor. It was soothing for him just to be near her. His heart calmed and his mind worked better when she was close by.

 

“Find anything yet?” he asked, pushing away from the door and walking behind her to look over her shoulder.

 

“Not yet, but our staff turnover for the last fifteen years runs into tens of thousands. It is bound take to a while.” She leaned back in her chair, and Vegeta spun her around, sitting down at her feet. He felt comfortable there, his head resting on the seat next to her thigh.

 

He didn't say anything, didn't so much as look at her, but it wasn't long before he felt her fingers running across his hairline, brushing his temples, and massaging his scalp. It felt good, and so he indulged in the attention. She always knew when he craved touch, something tangible to ground him and keep his violent tendencies under control, and she never complained about giving it.

 

“This is hard for you, isn't it?”

 

“I've spent the last eleven years telling her not to be ashamed of being Saiyan,” he said, “but still she has to hold it back.”

 

“I know,” she agreed. “But what else can we do? Being uncovered for being alien isn't that big of a deal, but if the world was ever to find out that you were the alien who came all those years ago to destroy the planet, then I don't think they would be quite as forgiving. If they make the connection, none of us will be able to live on Earth in peace again. If you think Bra has it hard now, just imagine how she would feel if….” She stopped there and slouched over his face - her eyes staring straight into his. “Vegeta?” she questioned. “Have you ever told her, you know, about your past?”

 

“I've told her as much about Saiyan history as I believe is safe for someone of her age. It is vital to her knowledge of Hyori that she has a good understanding of it. She probably knows more about Vegeta-sei than you do.”

 

Bulma shook her head. “That's not what I asked. I asked if she knows about your past - not Vegeta-sei's.”

 

“No,” he admitted. “She is still too young to understand properly.”

 

“Sorry, Vegeta, but that's bullshit and you know it.”

 

He growled at her, not liking to hear the truth so brutally forced on him. “No, it isn't.”

 

Her hands were in his hair once again - coaxing him into placidity. “How old was Trunks when we told him? Six, seven perhaps?”

 

“That was different. He was too involved with Kakarrot's brat for anything less. Chi Chi's mouth runs faster than Kakarrot. The woman would have blabbed in a second - you know how much she loves getting one over on us.”

 

“And what makes Bra so different? She spends a lot of time with Pan in the holidays. Who would you rather she heard it from - Chi Chi… Videl perhaps?”

 

He sighed. “It's just different. I don't know why, but it is.”

 

“I understand,” she soothed. “But you know it has to be done at some point. Maybe you could tell her after the performance tonight.”

 

“Maybe,” he said, carefully evading a direct answer. He then looked up at the clock. “There is still a while before we have to get ready,” he said, moving onto his knees and leaning over Bulma's lap. “How long will this computer search take?” He raised a suggestive eyebrow.

 

She smiled - a wicked glint in her eyes as she shuffled forward. “Long enough,” she replied, her voice suddenly husky.

 

He chuckled lowly, allowing her to wrap two long legs around his waist, and pull her chest tight against his. He slowly ran his fingers up and down her thigh before capturing her lips in a brief kiss. “Good,” he replied, and under the feel of her skin, all his worries were instantly put aside.

 

 

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