Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Dominion ❯ Chapter 10

Dominion

Author: Xero Sky

Date: July/August/September 2002

Pairings: Vejiita X Bardock, Vejiita X Kakkarot, for now.

Warnings: Lemon, lime, language, violence, and ANGST. Maybe all at once! AU, therefore some OOC is probably inevitable. YAOI, if you haven't guessed.

Notes:

**....** indicates italics. /..../ indicates telepathic speech

Thanks again to HRH legendary_chibi_vegeta for beta-work and general evil inspiration.

Disclaimer: All characters are property of their respective copyright owners. I intend no profit from this work of fiction.

Chapter 10

Vejiita, Saiyajin no Ou, stood alone in a suite in the Medical wing. Only one regeneration tank was in this room, which was reserved for the badly injured or the royal family, whoever needed it at the time. A bed had been placed in the room for him, but he hadn't used it. For the last three days he had spent most of his time doing exactly as he was now, staring through the thick glass of the tank door at the man healing within.

Kakkarot floated now in the thick green fluid, his neck having healed enough not to require support. Dark hair moved slowly and restlessly with the faint currents as the tank constantly recycled itself. Dark lashes were laid against pale cheeks. The strong, sinewy body lay lax, the dark tail sweeping slowly back and forth as Kakkarot slept. The air mask hid most of his pale face.

He was still close to death, mostly from the simple fact that he did not recover himself. Bones were knitting, blood had been replenished, and flesh had been made whole. The fur scorched from his tail was well into re-growth.

Yet he did not wake.

The doctors could not approach him, but they spoke to Bardock, and Bardock spoke to Vejiita. Bardock was allowed now, Bardock and Nappa, but only those two. All others were still forbidden to come close to the wounded man. Nappa had spoken with them both quietly, a pair of days past, telling them what had happened, what Tsuriya had seen and done. Bardock watched his king with fonder eyes now, though something hard still lurked in the back of them. The eyes he turned on his son were pure sorrow.

The doctors could only say what the tank told them remotely. The young man was healing, but he did not wake.

Vejiita spent his days near the tank because he was entirely unable to leave it. He could not leave Kakkarot. He supposed that it was guilt, or worry, or love, or dementia that kept him near, when he bothered to consider it. It wasn't often that he did. He simply needed to be there, and no force existed that could draw him away. And in his heart, he knew why that was.

He rested his head against the cool glass and closed his eyes. Kakkarot, his friend's son, his rut-partner; who had harbored sweet, childish feelings of love for him. His victim, weeping as Vejiita snapped his tail-bones to force him to his will.

His bond-mate.

It was beyond question. He had not spoken of it to anyone else. But he knew. It was whispered in his bones now, and fired his blood. Kakkarot was his mate. This had been the cause and need of his rut, the finding of his bond-mate. In fact, Kakkarot's arrival home on leave had probably triggered the rut in the first place. He remembered feeling the first ache and pulse of rut around then, just after greeting Kakkarot very briefly on his return.

He understood the primitive level on which he functioned now. He would not leave Kakkarot because he must protect his mate. Must. Had Nappa and Bardock not intervened, he would have eaten Tsuriya's heart for raising a hand against Kakkarot. Even now, though he knew what had happened, he could barely suppress the deep urge to go finish killing her.

Tsuriya healed slowly, her body forced apart from death a dozen times now by the machines which made her live. She had not regained any kind of consciousness again. Nappa and other Guards maintained a watch over the tank, not wanting her to either wake or die alone. Vejiita made no judgements against her, but Nappa knew full well that if Kakkarot died, Tsuriya would soon follow. The rage that had not protected Kakkarot would claim her.

Vejiita groaned, thinking of her blood, Kakkarot's blood, on his hands. He remembered waking screaming from sleep and racing to find him that morning, too late. Kakkarot had already been shattered, and the eyes Tsuriya had turned on him hadn't been fearful, but accusing.

It shamed him. His mate, his Kakkarot, seeking suicide by her hand. Because of him. Because he hadn't been able to restrain himself. He remembered, with a queer thrill, the feel of the tiny bones snapping between his fingers, and the sight of blood welling up as he parted perfect skin. Madness.

**And you bit him, didn't you, Vejiita? You told yourself it was only a punishment, only an act of ordinary insanity, but you knew, didn't you? Knew you'd claimed him as your mate, bound him, made your mark so that no other would dare touch him. Your Kakkarot. Perfect Kakkarot.**

What kind of mate had Vejiita been to him since? Had he consoled and petted him? Kept him closer than the Royal Guard, or pressed loving kisses along his throat? Given him the honor and status that would eventually be his? Vejiita knew that it only been the excesses of rut, the excesses that no saiyajin was entirely exempt from, yet he could have apologized, could have tried to make amends. If only his pride hat let him.

He'd managed one effort. He'd gone to give Kakkarot the news of his father's recovery personally; it was the sort of royal gesture that anyone in the palace would have appreciated for what it was, and it had cost his pride somewhat. Yet Kakkarot hadn't understood. He'd seen further humiliation instead of an attempt at reconciliation. And Vejiita's pride hadn't allowed a second attempt.

He ached to touch him now, to seal the primal need for possession with physical contact. He was a saiyajin; saiyajins mated for life. Once bound, the bond was unbreakable.

His mate lay within the tank and did not wake. It could be, Vejiita had been told, that blood loss and trauma had damaged his brain. If that were so, he might never wake. It could also be that he had lost the will to live.

/Kakkarot/ he sent again, for the thousandth time. /My Kakkarot, wake./

Within the confines of the tank, a black tail waved sluggishly back and forth, making it seem that Kakkarot dreamed. He did not answer, and he did not wake.

*******************

Vegita no Oujo, heir to the Royal House of Vegeta, destined ruler of Vegetasei and all the worlds that owed it allegiance, had had just about enough. Six years old and as imperious as she could be, she stalked through the halls now, followed by Guards who were altogether unwilling to get in the princess' way. She might be young, but saiyajin children matured early, and she was Vejiita's daughter. She was not foolish enough to injure one of her own Guards, not if she didn't want Vejiita's unholy wrath released on her, but she could make life difficult for them, and this she was fully prepared to do.

The word had gone out: no one bothered the king in Medical until he chose to emerge. This ban had kept courtiers, generals, and two of his consorts away; the rest had chosen to be reminded the hard way that the Guards were the elite of their species. Vegita no Oujo, considering herself above all such bans, wanted to see the king, and was determined now to do it.

She was the royal heir. She was with her father almost every day, as his heir or as his child or both. The royals ate breakfast together most mornings, and often met for other meals. Vegita understood that the requirements of royal life would sometimes force the small family apart. She had also patiently waited throughout her father's ruts. This isolation in Medical, though, tried her patience. What could her father possibly be doing in there?

The Guards at the door were unsympathetic.

"Explain to me how you're going to stop me," Vegita said reasonably. She was a saiyajin child, a royal child, and had seen a fair amount of bloodshed already. If she would fight them, they must fight, and there was no way to keep from hurting her. And her own Guards were sworn to protect her.

Her detachment and the door Guards exchanged glances, knowing that the oujo was manipulating the two groups into a fight, and that either way, the young oujo was going to end up in Medical. With an almost-gracious bow, the door Guards capitulated and opened the way for her.

Medical was dark and cool and smelled of hurt saiyajins and strong emotions. Vegita could not help wrinkling her nose. She hated Medical and usually went there only out of her duty as the heir to keep in good health. Or to escort her baka brothers there; neither ouji appreciated duty the way she did.

She crossed to the regeneration tank area, knowing where her father was. His ki was obvious on the other side of the large double doors. She laid her hand on one of the doors and started to push it open.

"Get out, brat." The voice was low and harsh, grating in her ears. She couldn't see him, yet, and pushed the doors open. Her father stood in front of the tank, not looking at her.

"Otousan?" she asked, hating how hesitant her voice sounded. The Saiyajin no Oujo should not sound like that.

Dark eyes turned on her. Vegita stared, never having seen him like this before. Black hair trailed down his bare shoulders; he wore only a pair of ripped pants, without shoes. He had enormous energy reserves, greater than anyone else she knew, but there were dark circles under his eyes. "Out, Vegita," he said softly, turning back to the thick window of the tank.

"Are you all right?" she asked stubbornly, standing her ground. She was, after all, his daughter.

A low, unpleasant laugh. "Yes. Now get out, Vegita. You have duties, ne?"

"Hai...."

"Will you make me tell you again?"

The quiet, harsh voice contained so much menace that Vegita fled, nearly running before she stopped herself. She paused for a few heartbeats in the outer room, settling herself before letting the Guards see her. Any distress would tell two stories, of her father's lack of control and her own fear, and she'd be damned before she revealed such things, even to the family-by-oath that was the Royal Guard.

Pulling in a last huge breath and letting it go very slowly, the small oujo went out to present the impassive face of the royal family to its subjects.

******************

The storm was of the late summer variety, sudden and vicious. Bright skies could still be seen to the west and south, but overhead there was deep darkness, marked here and there with swells of pure black. Thunder rumbled and growled somewhere within.

Shrouded in the darkness beneath the clouds, yet still far above the earth, Bardock danced in the rain. It was a slow dance, and one that should have been performed with a sword, but he went through it flawlessly anyway, except for the fact that he wouldn't keep his tail from following the wind. It snapped and curled behind him, sending a spray of dark drops out among the rest. Falling hundreds of feet before hitting the ground, no one would ever notice that they were blood.

The rain washed crimson from Bardock's hair and off his skin. His spoiled clothing had been incinerated some time ago, and he was exposed to the elements. Water now sluiced clear down the strong lines of his body, dripping off his toes. Only his tail retained the remnants of General Hauk's misery, no matter how often he shook it clear.

The good general was no more.

The cause of death was simple: Bardock had found out about Hauk's attempt to have Radditz declared feral. When the boy's father and family and king weren't there to stand up for him. The dear general had been ordered off planet, but he'd delayed, inventing excuses, coming up with reasons to stay a little longer and try to worm his way back into favor. It was a sign of his ignorance that he would try such things in the palace where Radditz' father lived and was favored.

Feral. It would have been a death sentence on Radditz. The king would have had to pardon him, and even if pardoned, Radditz would have carried that onus for life. All for some stupid, inept game, a baby's version of a power play.

Bardock had not been able to protect his family, but neither would he let such an insult go. His limits had long since been passed.

An aide, instantly nervous, had announced him this morning as he entered the plush quarters. "General, Lord Bardock is here."

The small cluster of officers in the General's study had blanched, taking in the sight before them. Bardock hadn't bothered wearing anything more than a sleeveless shirt and pants, skipping even shoes, but there was no doubting his impact in a room full of the highly and ornately dressed. The smile that had distorted the General's face had been a foretaste of the rictus he would wear later

There was nothing much left of the general now, except for his head, which sat now on his desk, and his tail, much of which was stuffed in his mouth. The rest was either splashed across his office or incinerated. It would not be a pleasant sight for his staff when they summoned the courage to come back.

It had been an authentically feral act, this destruction of the general. His staff had vaguely tried to intervene until Bardock had snarled "Blood debt!" Strictly speaking, that wasn't true. Hauk hadn't spilt Radditz' blood. But no one was in the mood to argue with Lord Bardock, the mad one who had appeared in their midst. No one had lifted a finger to save their general.

The remnants of rage faded. Nappa had told him about the general in passing, as if it were a joke. A few minutes later, rage had been everything that Bardock had left. Feral, Radditzu, his firstborn son. His monster, rated first-class from birth, who had grown into a warrior of surpassing excellence. Arrogant and handsome, justifiably proud of his skills. The small boy who had begged him to go after Kakkarot, who had held the small child in his arms as if he were his own son. Radditz, who had tried hard his whole life to protect his brother and make his father proud.

Feral.

He hadn't used his ki on Hauk, not until he was idly cleaning up the remains. All that had been required was rage and saiyajin prowess. There was blood and shreds of flesh under his nails, both fingers and toes. His mouth was still tainted with copper.

He felt perfectly fine now that it was done. Blood had washed his fury away, and now the rain would cleanse his body. If he couldn't defend his son, he would at least defend his son's honor.

He ran his tail through a tight circle of his fingers, wringing the last of the blood out of it. There. He spread his arms and stood in the rain, letting it purge him. He felt the emptiness around and within him, and sent himself out to those who were missing. To Kakkarot, floating in green darkness with his constant attendant. To Radditz, taken by the unknown, living yet lost to him. And, for the first time in many years, to his brother Turles, long ago lost to the icejin, with no word ever coming back from that darkness for him.

The same answers came back to him. Kakkarot lived. Radditz lived, somewhere. Turles did not.

**Kakkarot, sweet son, what were you doing? I don't know, honestly, whether it was suicide that drove you, or something else. I see you in that vision, striking Vejiita down. Do you hate him so much? Do you hate me?**

**Were you seeking death by her hand, or the strength we saiyajins gain from turning away from the face of death? And if the latter, what will you do with it?**

*****************

"Brace yourself."

"For what?" Radditz asked, still groaning with sleep. Disjointed, flashing nightmares had plagued him for the last couple of days, stealing his rest. He stuck a hand out from under the covers in a random direction, making an exquisitely obscene gesture.

"Baka . . . "

Fingers sharply tugged at the remaining bandage on Radditz' tail, pulling it free and making Radditz yelp involuntarily.

Pissed, he rolled over and sat up, hoping the bastard was lingering close enough to hit. "That's a fuck of a way to wake some..."

Radditz' voice trailed off as he realized that his captor was indeed still there, and that his sudden movement had brought them face to face. And that he could **see . . .**

The stunned silence in the room was eventually broken by a single word, a question as much about the sanity of the universe as it was about what Radditz was seeing.

".....Father...?"

*****************

Kakkarot thrashed suddenly in his tank, eyes flying open and shock registering behind the air mask. A flying arm and a whipping tail knocked sensors loose one by one, setting off alarms throughout the Medical complex. Small clouds of blood appeared in the green fluid as intravenous tubes were ripped free. Thuds sounded as his feet made contact with the sides of the tank.

Outside, Vejiita hammered on the glass with both fists, cracking the outer layer. "Kakkarot!"

Whatever comfort he meant was missed entirely, however. His face contorting into a snarl, Kakkarot ripped the air mask off his face. There was a hiss and rush as the tank began an emergency drain, thick netting snapping across the interior to catch the patient as the level dropped. There was no need for it this time. With a roar of pure hatred, Kakkarot gathered his power and blew the tank apart, thick shielding and complex components crashing through the walls all around.

The raging saiyajin destroyed the rest of the tank, sending a spray of thick green fluid, heavily interlaced with metal shrapnel, all around. A nova burst of ki broke the walls out all around him.

Vejiita stood within a shield of ki, his hair flickering golden as he unconsciously flirted with ascension. Kakkarot filled all of his senses, all of his thoughts. The need to touch him burned.

The sounds of Bardock crashing down through the ceilings that kept him from Kakkarot only belatedly filtered into Vejiita's consciousness. There was an explosion of sparks from above as the older saiyajin slammed through the light fixtures and landed, heavily, on their floor before his son. His feet cracked the floor around the tank, and it groaned now, unsure if it could support such weight.

"Kakkarot!" Bardock cried loudly, moving to sweep his son up in his arms. Perhaps he should have known better. Crazed eyes turned toward Bardock, and he went flying suddenly, crashing through walls until stopped, somehow stopped by the rough grasp of Kakkarot himself.

Vejiita gaped. **How did he get so fast?**

"Radditz!" Kakkarot growled into his father's face. "Why does he fear you now, father? Where is he? Where **is** he?!?!"

He shook his shocked and startled father until one of Bardock's fists crashed into his jaw, and then Kakkarot dropped him, staring at him like he'd never seen him before.

"Kakkarot!!" Vejiita yelled, furious and determined that no further harm would come to his mate.

He attempted, foolishly, to come between son and father. It was then that certain truths were made apparent to the Ou.

Kakkarot struck him violently away, moving to protect his father from the king. "Get away!" he screamed. "Haven't you hurt my family enough?"

Vejiita recovered instantly and stared, wanting to say a thousand different things, and then suddenly his power flared as he ascended, as if that answered everything. There had been enough of this foolishness. Kakkarot needed care, not the fists of his father.

Green eyes pinning Kakkarot in place, Vejiita extended a hand. "Come with me, Kakkarot. I will not see my mate injured, by his father or no. No one lays a hand on you."

Kakkarot snarled at him, his face transfigured with rage.

"A little late for that! What about **your** hands? What about my tail? What about this . . . **abomination** on my back? What about THIS?" He slapped at the marks of Vejiita's teeth in his flesh, leaving them framed by a reddening handprint. "You may have marked me, Vejiita, but I swear by my blood I will **never** be your mate!!" Kakkarot hissed, his eyes nearly glowing purple with the force of his hatred.

Bardock gaped at them both, caught up suddenly in a memory of things that hadn't yet happened. Entranced, he made no protest when Kakkarot grabbed him up and suddenly crashed out through the window, taking what was left of his family as far away from Vejiita as he could.

Vejiita stood in the wreckage and watched them go, his hair blowing gently in the breeze, his eyes as bleak and lifeless as the ocean floor. After a few moments, his tail snapped firmly around his waist, but there was no other movement for the longest time, as the King of all Saiyajins contemplated the loss of his mate.

TBC