Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Fixation ❯ Chapter Five ( Chapter 5 )

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from Dragon Ball Z.

Fixation

Chapter Five

Vegeta was awake as the first edges of sunlight peaked over the horizon. He hadn't slept the entire evening. His surroundings were unfamiliar, and the situation he found himself in made him uneasy. He could hear the bat-shit crazy woman moving around in the common area, eating something that smelled salty. He didn't like the tapped feeling it evoked within him. With the exception of his new room, the suite was locked up tighter than a level five incarceration facility. The sensation was made worse by her presence outside his door. He was unable to explore the rest of the flat without having to be subjected to her mewling presence. So while he stayed in his room, penned by his disgust, she watched loudmouth infomercials until there was nothing but static. As the night wore away into dawn, the nervous rustling of her clothing faded, so he assumed she was drooling on herself on the couch.

With a pained grunt, he sat up on the edge of the bed, stretching the stiffness out of his back, and rubbing a palm down his face. He could feel grit in the corners of his eyes, and weariness weighed on his shoulders. There had been mornings like this while serving Frieza. Days he knew were going to be long and hard, and full of bottom of the barrel, sewer scrapings called life. He crossed to the bathroom, switching on the light. He turned to look in the mirror, coming to a standstill as he faced a red square with a small handprint in the center. It was then, with soul-sinking certainty he realized that all the bizarre art he saw around the suite, including the full length of the wall in his new room were in fact painted in mirrors. Mirrors, undoubtedly defaced by the woman in an effort to make herself feel more secure. He knew she was well into crazy territory when he spoke with her yesterday, but now it was clear that she was flailing in the deep end.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, trying to abate the skull-pounding headache he felt coming on. Vegeta wasn't unused to crazy people. Being a part of Frieza's army left its mark. He was sure that he wouldn't score gold stars on a psychological health test. He had seen enough shit in his life to make normal people fall into a catatonic state of shock. He knew more than his fair share of psychopaths, schizophrenics, and paranoids, as well as the harmless, compulsive, nail-biter types. The worst had been the head-bangers. Pitiful, pathetic, fools who squatted in corners, slamming their heads on walls until they keeled over or someone took pity, and picked them off. The compulsives were at the end of the food chain. They usually got bitten off and chewed up relatively quick. He never had to deal with them for long, which was for the best. Patience, Nappa used to say, was never one of the Prince's attributes. The way he figured it, the woman was definitely straggling behind the herd, and instead of putting her down like the sick animal she was, he had been handpicked to handle her.

It would have been easier her trauma had killed off her conscience. The men used to call it the Big D. That was it. The only death that mattered. After the Big D any death of your physical body was just inevitability. The Big D was the moment you hit your breaking point, and you either lost your shit or you joined up on the dark side. Psychopaths. Frieza's army was full of them. Vegeta was sure there was a test out there that would classify him under the same heading. He couldn't really argue with that either. He had murdered -- caused mayhem -- instilled fear in the hearts of the weak. Even through all that, there was always one thing that set him apart from the others. Torture. He never understood it. Most of the men in Frieza's army practiced the art with gusto. Maybe it had something to do with shit rolling down hill. They couldn't get out of their own little hells, so they inflicted it on others. He didn't know. He didn't care to know. He used his dangerous reputation to his advantage. He saw nothing wrong in tearing off the limb of an enemy, and taking a bite, if it feared the rest of the population submission. But torture. What the fuck is that shit about?

Now he had to deal with this woman. Clearly she was compulsive, with a great big dose of paranoia dumped in. Not so much dangerous as annoying. He envisioned his near future to be filled with clinging, crying and maybe some incoherent muttering. None of which he had a burning desire to live with. It all had to go, starting with the nail-biting. What a disgusting, fucking habit.

Sighing, he dropped his shorts on the ground, and started the shower. Today, he knew, was going to be long, and he was certain there wasn't going to be as much training going on as he liked. Once dried off, and dressed, he steeled himself for what was to come next. Silently, he padded out into the common area, confirming what he already thought to be true. The woman had fallen asleep on the couch, still dressed in fear-stink clothes, the remote clutched in her boney hand.

With a remorselessness he was proud of, he gripped the couch with one hand, and tilted it forward, dumping the limp woman on the ground. As expected she sprung up screaming. Unexpectedly, she flung the remote at his head, damn near hitting him. He was relieved at her show of fire. At least she still had some fight in her. It took her a near full thirty seconds to realize she wasn't under attack. Her screech cracked to a halt, as she stared at him with what Vegeta thought should be illegally big eyes.

“Fix my Gravity Room.” Vegeta paused for effect. “Now!”

She jumped, stuffing her fingers in her mouth to begin her regimen of nail biting. Vegeta's eyes narrowed.

“I um. Well you see. Umm.”

Vegeta took one step towards her, and she jumped back, her hand leaving her mouth.

“I really want to do that for you.”

Vegeta crossed his arms, and stared her down.

“It's just. You know. The Gravity Room is so far away.” She teetered out towards the end, looking around the room in her absentee way that drove Vegeta nuts. Seeing the problem, he strove to rectify it.

He crossed to her in two steps, hauled her pathetic weight up onto his shoulder, and return to his room. He had left the balcony doors open, relishing the cool breeze from outside. He leapt up, not even bothering to fly, and cleared the rail, landing three stories below with ease. Bulma was screaming. Her tiny fists pounding into his back with ineffectual fury. He dumped her in the center of the Gravity Room, watching her with dark, emotionless eyes as she crumpled in front of him, too afraid to do anything, but bawl.

Figuring, she needed more than her bare hands to repair his Gravity Room, he left her on the floor, and pulled up the vidscreen. One of her lab geeks answered his call, looking more afraid than the woman, especially since he had a view of her wailing in the background.

“Bring her tools. As well as everything needed for a workstation. She will be working in the domicile accommodations beneath the Gravity Room for now on.”

The geek swallowed, but didn't move. Vegeta flashed blue fire. “Don't make me wait, human.” He ended the call, turning back to the woman, who had calmed her wailing, but had now curled into a fetal position on the floor looking nearly catatonic.

Vegeta grit his teeth, and hunkered down in front of her. He didn't have time for her inability to function right now. He had shit that needed to be done. He brought her to a sitting position, holding her there with a steel grip around her stick-thin arm.

“I have held up my end of this shit-fuck bargain, woman. Now you will do your part. If you don't, I will put you out of your misery, and when Kakarott comes nosing around, I'll tell him that you asked me too.” He shook her for good measure, relieved when her deadened eyes made contact with his.

“Vegeta?”

“Quit wasting my time. I've ordered your piss-ants to bring your tools. Once they arrive you will fix my training facility.”

Bulma sat up under her own power, but when he began to withdraw his hand, she grabbed onto it desperately.

“You will stay with me?”

He shook her off, disgusted.

“Where the fuck would I go? You have my Gravity Room hostage.”

Bulma nodded, wiping her face. Vegeta moved away from her, and she almost panicked again, but she brought herself under control. She reminded herself that she was exactly where she wanted to be -- within ten feet of Vegeta. The Gravity Room was a hundred times safer than her rooms. Vegeta might not fight off an intruder there, but she was certain he would fry anyone who dared to enter his precious Gravity Room.

She stood up on shaky legs, trying her best to regain some sense of composure. She allowed the knowledge of Vegeta's protection, however scornfully given, to wash over her. For the first time in weeks she felt safe. Well and truly protected. There was a lightness in her chest that was astounding, and for once she could finally breathe. She smiled. It felt weird. The muscles in her face stretched, and it made her feel a little maniacal, but at the same time it was the best feeling in the world.

There was a dong as someone signaled for entry. She hurried over to Vegeta, where he stood by the control panel. He depressed the entry button, and a squadron of geeks entered, each carrying a necessary piece of equipment to outfit her new workspace beneath the Gravity Room. She hid behind Vegeta, resisting the very intense urge to grip his hand in reassurance. Her fear was back, pounding beneath her skin and squeezing her heart. She searched the faces of every man who entered. Trying to remember if she knew them from the lab. What if he tried to get at her through her work? What if he infiltrated her lab as a new employee? He could be in the room with her right now. Looking at her. Watching her. Fantasizing about what he was going to do to her next.

Sweat poured off her brow, and she began to hyperventilate. She pressed back into the control panel until she could feel bruises on the backs of her thighs. Vegeta tossed her a contemptuous look, and she felt even weaker. She slid down to the floor, keeping her back pressed against the cold, steel panel, her knees to her chest for security.

The parade of men stopped, but she could hear them down in Vegeta's old quarters. Moving stuff around. Setting up her computer. Hiding small cameras to watch her. He was down there. She knew it. He was going to spy on her. Maybe he wouldn't even come back up. Maybe he would hid down there, and wait until she thought everyone was gone. He would leap on her while Vegeta was training, and none the wiser. A sharp pain ran from her index finger up her arm, and she changed hands, biting the quick along her already ravaged nail.

Trapped in the vortex of her thoughts, she nearly leaped out of her skin, when Vegeta kicked her in the hip, hard enough to knock her over. She shot him a startled look, feeling completely useless as he sneered at her. He dropped a bundle of precision tools in her lap, jerking his chin towards the console. She swallowed hard. Her only answer to his request was to slowly get off the floor, and make her way to the unit that needed repair. Once she popped open the panel, and looked at the long wires of intricate circuitry and data chips, all thoughts of her tormentor were regulated to the back of her mind. This was something she knew how to do. She could fix things. Make things. She was the smartest woman on her planet. Suddenly the fear vibrating through her body stilled, and her hands ceased to shake. She took up her tiny screwdriver, and began to work.