Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Everything Happens For A Reason ❯ Vegeta's Present ( Chapter 15 )

Everything Happens for a Reason

Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimer: Life is like a long hot bath. You feel good while you're in it, but the longer you stay in the more wrinkled you get. Oh yeah, and DBZ isn't mine.

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There was a cloud of captivation that held all the feel of a dream. It leant an edge of ease and discipline to all that was real and yet - at the same time - remained frustratingly vacant. An eerie swell of emotion accompanied the new phenomenon but it was hard to tell where it came from or (for that matter) why it should be there at all. It was simple and confusing all at once and seemed to bombard from every angle.

Had he fallen asleep? Was this experience a result of his unconscious psyche - or a gift given by the numbing amount of time he'd been suspended in deep meditation?

Either way it was more encompassing than anything else gifted by the 'Lord of the worlds' training, and Yamcha was damned if he was going to let it flitter by after getting so far. He concentrated harder - focused with every ounce of power he could muster, and clawed everything he possessed into making the vision clearer.

Something changed. In the muddle there was a warm breeze. It drifted to the ends of his feeling, blown across his senses as though he were no longer on the stagnant plain of King Kai's planet, and it was stone wrought reality he opened his mind to.

His dark eyes shied away from the sudden brightness.

When the ache subsided Yamcha relaxed. The scene was both comforting and familiar. He stood alone in the vision, an exact replica of the desert plains he had once trained in and ruled over with Puar. The sun beat across his skin with all the intensity of the real thing and leant vigour and life to his body. In the distance he could see the stark white building, blinding in the harsh light, and which he had once called home.

Just as though he had taken one massive step back in time - there was his old jeep, machine guns in place, parked outside the front door, beaten and grimed just as it had always been. The lookout tower loomed over the small house, reminding him of deep red desert evenings watching out over the land he controlled and shared with his shape-shifting friend.

Yamcha was hesitant. He wanted to move forward, to look closer and study the old bandit hideout, but there was something that stayed his feet. What if he did move - what then? Would the vision be lost? Would he be transported back to the small, gravity plagued planet of Other World, and all his effort be for naught? Curiously he moved his hand, brought it to his face and experimentally stretched the fingers.

No effect.

Perhaps then it might be safe? He moved a step forward, wondering if the sand would crunch under his feet, as all sense of normalcy would suggest it should, or crumble into the dream state he knew he was caught in. Nothing to do with Other World could be taken at face value, if there had been one thing he had learnt by being dead it was that consciousness was only a state held by the thinnest of strands, always ready to be snagged or snapped altogether, and when you least expected it.

His foot fell. There was no crunch but it was solid enough. Another tentative step was taken, just to make one hundred percent sure. Then there was confidence and his pace quickened. He flung himself into the scene. All the clouds vanished, and the top of his orange training gi was transplanted to that of his old green tunic, his newly placed headband, streaming in the breeze behind him.

Before it felt like any time had elapsed Yamcha was at his old front door, gazing up at the lookout, amazed to see that even his old telescope peered out from the high tower. As if in a daze he opened the door. It smelled of freshly baked cookies - his favourite, and Puar's speciality. It was just as he remembered it, even the way the light arced through the cramped windows, casting elongated shadows into the mix of dust and sand.

He was home, but where…? Where was Puar? Everything else was in place - the saucepans stacked haphazardly in the corner, the playing cards scattered across the small makeshift table in the lounge and his old bounty collection that lined the room in honour of his victories - so where was his friend?

"Puar?" he called, half expecting an inanimate object to betray itself with a playful giggle.

There was nothing.

"Puar?" he repeated, climbing the stone stairs and rushing out onto the lookout. "Stop messing around!"

Silence was his only companion.

"But you have to be here? Why else would I be seeing this?"

"That'll be for you to find out, fighter."

Yamcha spun around squinting into the light. He used his hand to shield his eyes from the sun, but all he could make out was a shadow. It sat on the stone precipice, leaning against the upright pillar.

"Who are you - and what are you doing here?" Yamcha demanded.

"You don't remember me then. No doubt you don't my man, but that's beside the point right now."

The shape moved a fraction in the light, and the chink of a flint echoed against the barren backdrop as the creature lit the end of its bedraggled cigarette.

"Nice place this," he continued, "but I bet it's a bugger on the poor old milkman."

He left the edge and moved closer, and even if Yamcha's mind had remained in any doubt, then the shadow of a demon horn, outlined against the setting sun would have been enough to tell him who his companion was. So it definitely wasn't a dream.

"S… Shuma?"

"Oh well now - you do remember me," he bowed, "Isn't that nice. Did you think of me when you abandoned my demon screen in the middle of Snakeway for any Tom, Dick or Harry to find?" he shook his head, "You give one poor misguided soul, a little pick me up for a few days and this is the thanks you get. Absolutely marvellous!"

"What are you doing here?" Yamcha asked with distrust working on every sense he had.

"Just taking a timeout to visit your old pad. No harm in that. Here," he encouraged, offering an outstretched hand, "try some."

He gestured with the cigarette.

"Is that demon leaf?"

"The finest this side of Yemma's palace."

"But you said…?"

"And I was right un'all," he interrupted, "but this isn't real Yamcha. We're not really here, this isn't your old home, and your little friend ain't here to welcome you. It's a chance to taste the real thing."

Yamcha still wasn't sure.

"It'd be rude not to. Especially after all the trouble it took for me to get you here."

Nervously Yamcha stretched out a hand and took the roll-up.

"That's my boy!" Shuma coaxed as he put it to his lips and inhaled.

Yamcha's confusion returned as he blew out a perfect plume of smoke. "It tastes just like tobacco, but it's not…? I don't understand."

Shuma chuckled, "Well of course you don't understand!" He circled Yamcha who felt slightly intimidated by the action, "You're a mortal. You're not here to understand, you're here for entertainment."

Yamcha's intimidation surfaced into anger, "Stop with the mind games already! Why did you bring me here?"

Shuma stood tall against the setting sun, his blue skin and casual clothes looking very much out of place against the vista. "The Kai brought you here, not me."

"Ah hah!" Yamcha cried in victory, "So this is training. All right! When do we begin?"

"We don't. I don't know nothing about no training. I'm a demon not your fucking mum. I was told to come here so I did. It's not my place to mess with Yemma's orders. As for anything else, I don't really know or care to be honest. I got you out of your mind as I was instructed and that's all there is to it."

Jumping at Shuma's turn of phrase, Yamcha threw the cigarette to the floor. "I knew I couldn't trust you!"

"Aw heck! Look what you've gone and done now," Shuma sulked, kneeling to the floor and picking up the tattered dog end. "What a waste! I wasn't talking about the demon leaf you pillock! I was talking about here… this reality. Shit! That was the last of my stash."

"Oh," Yamcha blushed slightly, "Uh… sorry."

"Fucking hell!" Shuma muttered, "How do I get myself into situations like this."

Fumbling inside his jacket pocket Shuma pulled out an envelope, and pushed it into Yamcha's hand.

"What is it?"

"A letter!"

Yamcha rolled his eyes, "A letter from who?"

"Well…" Shuma replied, his voice more strained than usual, "Why don't you try reading it and find out!"

Leaving Shuma as far out of his thoughts as possible he sat down at his old lookout -tore open the envelope and read. It was hard work looking at the white paper with full sun, but this was a matter of the utmost importance. This had to be something special indeed.

"Read it aloud, fighter. It's my fate as well as yours."

Yamcha looked up from the paper. What the hell did he mean, his fate? He looked at the agitated features of the demon and shrugged. There was only one way to found out.

"It's from King Yemma," Yamcha said, looking over the ink stamp, "It says:

To whom it may concern,

It has come to the attention of Other World Authorities that the Earthling know as Yamcha violated code 12a of the OWA body retainment program. With this view in mind he has been sentenced to the appropriate punishment…."

Yamcha paused, his mind doing little skips of disbelief, "Punishment - what the hell?"

"Keep reading."

"…Punishment for such a breach of contract. This sentence will be given under the guidance of Shuma Demon and will be effective as of immediately."

"Oh great - see what you've gone and done you muscle-headed oaf. You've busted both our arses!"

"Hey! Don't try and pin this all one me. You're the one who gave it to me in the first place, or did you forget that… besides there's more."

Yamcha cleared his throat, "Shuma Demon is found guilty of breaching the demon code with regards to the unlicensed lending of a demon screen within his possession, the destabilizing of the Demon book of honour, and smuggling banned narcotics."

Yamcha laughed out loud, "Well, well, well… isn't that interesting."

"Oh shut yer face," Shuma muttered.

He continued on, "Due to Shuma Demons, repeated defiance of all Other World duties, he has been re-assigned to the 'act of service' roster, and been given charge of the Earthling known as Yamcha in suspended animation for the next twelve months."

Yamcha looked over the line again, his face falling slack, "But there has to be some mistake! Twelve months! I've only got three weeks until I'm wished back!"

Desperate for more information he read on. "The OWA knows that the Earthlings circumstances are not those regularly come across in such cases and measures have been set as to what is right to be done. With the consultation of the Lord of the Worlds it has been decided that Yamcha can benefit from his punishment by advancing his mental prowess under Shuma's guidance. In the impending event of Yamcha's resurrection, it has therefore been concluded that Shuma will also accompany him to the mortal realm, where his training will continue. Please let it be known that these rules are Other World binding and are not the subject of appeal, yours sincerely… yadda, yadda, yadda."

All life seemed to drain from Yamcha's limbs and he sunk to the floor, letting the letter drift out of his hands and onto the desert landscape below. "Fuck!" he swore, not sure what else to say.

Shuma laughed emptily from next to him, "My sentiments exactly."

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The darkness was like a cloak that spread out from the horizon and covered the land in every direction. It didn't so much dull the scene as lend an extra dimension to the desperation that no matter how much Vegeta pushed, wasn't getting any better.

He'd been there for three days, in the middle of the mountain range, focusing his energy and trying to merge everything the human had taught him into the expulsion of his ki. If training had been frustrating and vacant of any gain before, then it was twice as infuriating and empty now.

The power was still there, still the same, completely unchanged by anything groundbreaking or tangible. He was no closer to breaking the deadlock and finding the right catalyst to his advancement of skill or the gift of Super Saiyajin. It was just the same, exactly the fucking same! Surely there should have been some result by now. Was it all a waste of time? Had he let his fancy and desire spiral out of all proportion because it would mean more time with the enticing ningen? Had it simply been a case of him letting his traitorous lust, blind reason?

His fist thundered to the ground, echoing around the valley in the guise of an earthquake. "Shit!" he spat, "Fucking bitch! How dare she!" His fist unclenched and then gripped again, this time cleaving a trench in the soft ground.

He closed his eyes, remembering that body, those eyes, the way she used her feminine guiles to coax him into doing what she wanted. His desire for her had been irrational, but there and real, so much so that it had continued to torment him, even through the pounding of power as he'd trained. It had been bad enough that he had all these confused and weak emotions around her to begin with, but now… now did she know? It had seemed like she had. It felt like she had delved into his blackened soul and taken what she knew she could, and brought him to his knees under it.

That wasn't what he wanted - he didn't want her. It was all about getting what he needed, she was just a creature to be manipulated by his whim. He wasn't supposed to be experiencing anything other than an empty trade off, a vacuous, meaningless exploitation of her knowledge, giving nothing in return but his own superiority. When did it happen that he became so sidetracked by his own greed to agree with a course of action that was as dangerous as it was tempting?

Giving a part of himself to her advancement had never been part of the plan. The little whores excitement had never meant to cloud his judgement in this way. He had always lived with an insatiate desire to succeed and attain what had been promised since birth - had this desire transcended into a need for something more? Had he somehow managed to become confused and loaded that ambition onto her instead? It was madness, total and utter insanity, and yet… yet it was still there, still burning away at his composure in a way he had never been affected before.

From some uncompromising quarter she had forced herself onto his notice and he didn't quite know how to disentangle himself from it - from her. She'd said it herself "This time it's about curbing something that only you can control… your desire," and she was right, as much as he would be loath to admit it to her. He couldn't let his desire get in the way. Perhaps that was the problem, perhaps in a fluked moment of human insight she had hit the proverbial nail straight on the head.

"Desire," he said in a breath of cold mountain air, "could it be the weakness that is holding me back? Is my need to succeed holding me back? That would mean letting myself be distracted by her allurements is also adding to my failings. It would make perfect sense."

He sat back on the configuration of rocks at his feet, looking thoughtfully up to the star dotted sky. He knew the answer right there and then and he felt confident and satisfied under it.

"Then I will do as she herself has instructed. This is an end to it. No more distractions, no more desire. She will feel my indifference and plague me no more. Achievement is no longer a desire, it is a necessity and that is all there is to it."

And what about the compassion? His conscience reminded him.

He looked away from the stars and stared with renewed vigour at the patch of ground at his feet. He couldn't ignore that it might still be a part of the secret to unlocking his destiny. How did he plan for this? How could he keep his desire away, but still continue with her instruction? It was a vicious blade, edged with a cycle of disaster. There had to be some way to gain one accomplishment, without risking his failure by another.

The answer didn't appear that morning, or the subsequent three. His training schedule took top priority letting his body, its advancement, and his power, overtake everything else. He didn't wish to return to the ningen during her holiday until he had a greater hold of his own thoughts, but then, he was finding it harder and harder to get anywhere carrying on as he was. Perhaps it was her that was the problem. She wasn't the only creature on the planet capable of giving him tutorage.

Then it hit, the answer he had been seeking. It came out of complete exhaustion and made him realize something his attraction had never been waylaid long enough to consider before. It was Bulma - not the method. She was the problem. She was the thing that needed to be eliminated. Without her, there was no problem - there was no additional desire.

He powered down as the thought struck, the last of his ki being released in a ball of power that demolished the top of a nearby mountain. "Of course!" he congratulated, "It's so simple," and without a further regret, his feet left the floor. In an expulsion of invisible ki he propelled himself over the mountains, a new sense of urgency pulling at all his senses. There was only three weeks left. He had no time to lose.

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Bulma was disappointed, abnormally so. She had expected him to return to her by now. A week… it had almost been a week since he'd abandoned her in the middle of nowhere to continue with his training. What did he hope to achieve by staying away? Her holiday was almost over. Today was the last day.

Monaco had been a blast. The days had been devoted to shopping to her hearts desire and the nights to the casinos and losing more money than she won. All the time though there had been this nagging regret, the horrible reality that she was enjoying it on her own. That Vegeta wasn't with her to give it the extra twist of exploration and excitement she had received in Marseille.

Still things weren't desperate, after all she had her own mind, her own inventiveness to rely on and experiment with. The extra push Vegeta's insight had given her also made it an adventure in its own right, not that she'd share the recklessness she had indulged in with anyone other than herself, oh and the two guys she'd hustled out of a scarlet Ferrari Testarossa of course. She smirked to herself. Poor little hormone ridden rich kids, living off their parents' wealth and not having anything else to fall back on - they hadn't stood a chance! It was the one saving grace she had as an heiress herself, at least she had the brains and ability to go with the money.

The luxury cruise ship was now harboured under the shadow of Mount Vesuvius, ready to set sail for Naples and its international airport the next morning. From there she would board a flight back to Japan and the Capsule Corporation.

She sighed letting a hand glide into the onboard swimming pool she was sunbathing next to. The water clung to the ends of her fingers, reflecting the light like a crystal as it dripped slowly back into the expanse. As much as she had loved her vacation, she was equally glad it was almost over. She missed her father and she missed her work, even the Namekians had their strange appeal once again. Perhaps - her subconscious added - perhaps she might even see more of Vegeta as a result.

She scowled, spitting, "Bastard!" at the thought of the arrogant prince. "Stop invading my thoughts! I don't care. I honestly don't care anymore. You're not going to get to me!"

Her body sagged. There was no point avoiding it any longer. He already had got to her. She just couldn't deny it anymore. What an idiot she really was!

Languidly she sat up, pulling her purple sarong tightly around her waist. She needed something to take her mind off the prince she had been bitching at for the last six days. What would it accomplish - dwelling on a situation she had no control over? Vegeta was dangerous and he was manipulative, there was no sense in feeling any affiliation with him. He would do as he pleased, and although he might have expressed a dark and endearing desire for her body, she knew his mind was stronger, and that his desire was just that, desire and nothing more substantial.

He would be gone in three weeks, and as much as she didn't like the situation, he would either be dead at the hands of her lifelong friend, or victorious, leaving a gulf between them that could never be forgiven. The best she could hope for was that Goku was magnanimous in his victory and spare Vegeta a second time, and if not… a lump of bile rose to her throat… if not that, then she had at least been adept enough to give Vegeta the compassion that might halt the destruction of her beloved planet at his hands. At any outcome, however, he would be gone by the end of it and that was it.

Picking up her handbag she walked slowly back indoors and to her cabin. Once there she changed out of her bikini bottoms, replacing them with a skirt for her excursion to the ruins that afternoon. She'd been there the previous day, happy to be at a place she had longed to visit since childhood, eager to learn as much about it as possible.

The curtains billowed at the cabin balcony, luring her to them and ready to draw them and close the French doors while she was away. Her hand grasped the material, ready to shut out the sunshine, but something made her stop. When had they been opened? She shook her head - she'd probably left them that way by mistake before leaving for breakfast. She really was losing her mind!

Smoothing them over she turned to leave, only to walk slap bang into something warm and solid. She stood dumbfounded for a second, before she realized just exactly what it was… "Oh god! Vegeta?"

Two arms sat firmly over that muscle-clad chest as twin Saiyajin eyes peered haughtily down on her.

"You scared the shit out of me!" she exclaimed, feeling her heart palpitate uncontrollably.

He didn't say a word, just continued to stare. It was that stare as well, the one that seemed to creep right through her and betray any composure she could muster. Holding onto the sofa back for extra support, she calmed her breathing.

Eventually she looked up, but he hadn't moved. "Where've you been?"

Silence again.

"Not talking today are we?"

A slight inclination of the head was the only acknowledgement she received.

"Well," she said, rolling her eyes, "as scintillating as this is, I was just on my way out, now if you don't mind…." She walked right by him, fully intent on leaving the room and his arrogance behind.

She wasn't given the luxury of escape. Vegeta's arms uncrossed so quickly she didn't see them move. The first indication anything was wrong was a hand of steel clasping around her upper arm and squeezing it painfully tight.

"Ow fuck! Vegeta's that's too hard."

The pressure didn't alleviate.

"Vegeta… you're hurting me!" Tears pooled on her lashes, as she tried to pry his fingers away from her skin.

"And you think I give a shit?"

Bulma was taken aback by the coldness in his voice, and much to her annoyance it made more tears surface.

"You're gonna break my arm, Vegeta… please."

"So fragile," he sneered, pulling her closer, and not listening to her plea, "and yet so dangerous." His eyes captured hers through the tears. "This is the end of our arrangement, Ningen," he said in a deep growl. "Do you understand me?"

"But…."

"Do you understand me!" he shouted, his grip tightening even more for extra inducement.

"Ahhh! Okay, okay!" she yelped, the tears now overflowing down her cheeks. Instantaneously his fingers relaxed, but not enough to let her go altogether.

"What's the matter?" she continued, not willing to let the subject drop. "What's happened? Why do you want to stop?" she pleaded, not knowing why his words affected her so much.

Silence again.

"Vegeta?"

"You can no longer give me what I want. You are superfluous to my requirements and that is all. Do you understand what that means?"

She shook her head, a tear being flung from her cheek by the motion.

"It means that I want no more contact with you."

In a flash his ki had manifested around him with the promise of HFIL itself, a substantial amount gathering into his free hand. He brought the power to her nose as she wriggled to get free of his grip. She could feel the heat creeping under her skin, as he stroked it up and down within inches of her face.

"Do not be alarmed, Ningen. I did not come here to dispose of you," he sneered, clasping his hand shut and snuffing the ki. "After all - such a step would only work against me wouldn't it?"

His breath tickled her ear as he brought his head closer to hers, dulling his voice to a whisper. Bulma whimpered slightly, not knowing where her emotions might be flung to next. Ningen? It was so cold, and for once she wished he'd call her, Witch or, Whore to show that he held some sort of connection with her. "I thought you were my friend?"

He closed his eyes, and nodded once, "As I am," he breathed into her neck.

Bulma closed her eyes. Oh god, why did that feel so good? Traitorous, traitorous body!

"That is precisely why you are still breathing," he continued, "Remember as much when my training is finished and your friends are dead. Remember my gift to you, Bulma, when you live to be old and alone. Remember it as the only present I will ever give anyone."

Then he was gone, the other side of the room, disengaged and aloof once again.

"Unfortunately necessity requires me to return to Capsule Corporation," he said with detachment, "You, however, will not come near me while I am there. If you do my present is void, do you understand?"

She understood. Oh she understood thoroughly! That bastard! He had gotten what he wanted and that was all he cared about, everything else, everything else didn't matter to him. Had he reached it already? Was he a Super Saiyajin now, was that why he was so cold and self-assured? She had so many questions, but none of them surfaced, all she could do was nod numbly, completely unable to do anything that might smooth over his wild nature.

Walking towards the balcony once more, Vegeta slid open the doors and looked over his shoulder at her one last time, "So long Ningen," he said with truly evil undertones.

And then - he was gone.

Bulma stood staring at the open window in shock, and when she was sure there was absolutely no chance of him coming back to see her, her legs gave way and she slumped to the floor. Her emotions overtook her and against all sanity she clawed her fingers into her hair and sobbed long hot tears of anger, and, perhaps more than anything else, a mixture of equal relief and disappointment.

His present was her life. He would spare her life, but - oh Kami! At what expense?

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A/N - Okay… I know I said there would a trip of ultimate compassion in this chapter but my notes are one thing, writing them is another. For some reason, divine intervention or perhaps even sods law, I just couldn't write what I had planned. I tried, but no matter how many times I typed, and retyped, it just wasn't working. The story seemed slow and flat, Vegeta was too out of character, and Bulma was just… bleh!

Anyway, a long hot bath and a complete rethink later, and I decided to go in a slightly different direction for the next couple of chapters. It won't take me very far from the original storyline and I'll regroup after that to fit it in with the rest of my notes. I just hope I'm doing the right thing, but I guess its better to effortlessly write a chapter you're happy with - than force away at something you know you're never going to make work. Feel free to let me know what you think of this.

*hugs*

Ember