Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Garrulous and Gritless ❯ I, 15: Bulma ( Chapter 15 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: ShiningMoon 
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure / Action / Comedy / Drama / Psychological / Romance | Type: Divergence | Uploaded On: 01.15.2011 | Pages: 2 | Words: 3.9K | Visits: 252 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure / Action / Comedy / Drama / Psychological / Romance | Type: Divergence | Uploaded On: 01.15.2011 | Pages: 2 | Words: 3.9K | Visits: 252 | Status: Completed
NOTE: The exciting thing is, I think I actually know generally what's going to be in the next three chapters! (In theory, this means I can get them done faster, but because of school and stuff, I'm not going to make any promises.)
I'm sorry things are going kind of slow, but I hope the chapters are entertaining enough. Anyway, I think it'll be worth it for the plot stuff to come!
...
It's been two months—two entire months. I've been relatively successful at not thinking about it—and by "it" I mean, you know what I mean, but I'm not going any farther, because I'm not thinking about it.
Raditz and I went right back to working on everything, sure, and he seemed just about as freaked out as I felt because we both kept a good arm's length (his arm's length) between us from then on. So far, I'm making pretty good progress on the pod, and I've even started some preliminary plans for my own ship. As for the healing tank? Well, I'm just taking that one slowly. Raditz is all gung-ho about it and I don't completely trust him yet.
Why, you ask?
Let's just say he thought kidnapping Gohan to try to teach him to be a Saiyan was a good idea, and Yamcha and the others politely disagreed by beating his ass into the ground. But, it took all of them to do it and Raditz (allegedly) fought back tooth and nail. His injuries aren't as bad as the first time—he can still walk, and everything—but it hadn't been two days before he tried pulling that stunt that he let it slip that Saiyans get a huge power boost when they recover from near-death—which explains everything.
Anyway, I'm sure we'll get it sorted out, and I'm sure Raditz won't actually do anything to hurt anyone, most especially me or Gohan, who they seem the most worried about. I don't care what they say, he has a soft spot for that little kid and he obviously has one for me.
And normally I'd flirt with him a little, you know, kind of use myself as a bargaining chip—but at this point I really don't want to risk it.
I never did tell Yamcha what happened, and god knows Raditz is too mortified (or embarrassed) to mention it to anyone at all, even if he had someone to mention it to. The thing is, ever since then I've been trying to spend more time with Yamcha—maybe because I feel guilty, I don't know, but I just wanted to—to distract myself, I guess, and make sure it was working with us, you know? The problem is, he's been spending all his time training—in theory, to protect me from the Saiyans, which is sweet, but after that conversation I had with Vegeta and Nappa I don't know how he's going to be able to do anything—and, consequently, with all the time he spends training he has no time to spend with me. Which is fine—I mean—I'm busy too—but he's not exactly making it easy for me to stop thinking about—
Well, anyway.
At least I don't have to worry about Raditz provoking me.
Speaking of distracting myself, I'm glad to find that this afternoon I have a big, long span of free time to keep working on my drawings for the ship. Something comfortably sized—big enough that several people could stay there without being in that weird suspended sleep Raditz told me about—because after about two seconds of thought on it, traveling in a pod sounds really uncomfortable, and I am Bulma Briefs: I do not do "uncomfortable."
All my plans are tucked away in my little secret room, alongside the disabled scouter—mostly, I admit, because I don't want my father to see them yet. He'll just make ridiculous requests for things I "need" to include in the ship. The last capsule car I designed, he told me it needed a dashboard coffee ma—
Oh. God. Dammit. No.
I turn into my little inlet to find that somebody has yanked the handle off the door.
I think I only need one guess who.
"Er," he says as I swing the door open.
"You," I hiss out, "had better prepare to pay for this in blood."
His eyebrows shoot up for a second before his worried lips unzip into a shy little grin. Oh, har har, I get it, you're stronger than me, big boy. Well, not if I have anything to say about it; I'll wipe that grin off your—
"Er," he says again, "I guess I had that one coming for a while now." He sets down what he was holding and puts his hands in front of him in a distinctly Son-like fashion. I'm thrown for a loop, maybe because of my own anger (can you blame me?) or maybe because it would appear to me that somebody has sent in a clone of Raditz and didn't fill him in on the whole "stubborn" thing. See, because anytime we've been in the same room we've kept to a pretty standard procedure: I ask him a question, he pretends like he doesn't want to answer but does it anyway; I threaten him, he ignores me or threatens me back. It works out pretty well, especially combined with the aforementioned spacing between us.
"Yeah," is all I can think to say. "Now what in here have you looked at?"
"Just this thing," he says, pointing to it now that it's on my desk. Shit. The radar. "What is it?"
"None of your goddamn business," I tell him, and then realize that I probably should have played it off as nothing instead. Now he knows it's important.
"That so?" he picks it up again, and my personal resolution to keep away from him is crumbling quickly as I feel more and more like I'd be doing the world some good by leaping onto him and biting his nose off. Or maybe—no, nope, not going there.
"Just put it down," I tell him, and he cocks his head at me; I'm struck yet again by the still-weird thought that he really is Son's brother. He lets the loop of cord attached to the top slip around his finger and he spins it around a few times, waiting to see my reaction. I'm determined not to give him one. "Raditz," I say, and my impatience is not well-veiled based on the way that the corners of his mouth perk up into another one of those mocking grins and he spins the radar around faster. Gods, he's like a child.
"Bulma," he says back, his voice low. I'm sure his intent was to mock the way I said his name, but it didn't work out that way—no, instead goosebumps crawl up my arms and the small motions of his hand that were keeping the radar spinning stop, and the loop settles around the base of his finger as he seems to realize what he's doing to me.
"Clearly," I can feel my nostrils widening as they try to suck extra air into my lungs, as I try to swallow down now both the anger from before and the whatever-it-is from just moments ago, "you are just trying to make an ass of me."
"Hm," he says back absently. I can see his throat moving, like he's swallowing back more words.
"I think what we've got going on now," I continue, "is just fine. You can mock me all you want so long as you don't even think about laying a finger on me—"
"Too late," he mumbles.
I act like I didn't hear that one, "—It's a pretty fair trade, right?"
Raditz starts to say something when a new voice butts on in our little moment (thank god—I mean, literally). "Bulma, I have an update for you on Son Goku's training," Kami's words somehow echo massively in this tiny little room.
"Yeah?" I manage. Raditz looks like he might start swinging punches through the air at whatever invisible thing is talking, and so help me, if he destroys anything...
"It's going much more quickly than expected," he says, and from his voice I'd say he's about as close as anything green-skinned can come to glowing, "and very well. He must have practiced quite a lot even after defeating Raditz."
"I think he did," I say. Yamcha had been sparring with Son, I remember. "I'll bet he's worried to death about Gohan. Well, you know," I can't help giggling a little bit, "not really to death...since he's already there..."
"Yes," Kami sounds thoughtful, "I wondered about that. Even in my brief time with him he mentioned young Gohan several times."
"So what should I do?" I ask. "Wish him back?"
"Not yet," Kami answers quickly, "no, not yet. But soon. I just wanted to warn you, so you may start collecting the dragonballs. You still have that radar, do you not?"
My eyes dart to Raditz's hand, and I'm not sure if he sees or not—he might still be looking for the voice. "Yeah," I finally squeak out.
"If you wish," he adds, "I can send Popo to assist you."
I don't know who the hell this 'Popo' is. "No, I'll be fine," I tell him. "I need to get some fresh air anyway. But thanks. If anyone too awful has gotten a hold of one of the dragonballs, I'll bet Yamcha and Kuririn will help me."
"Of course," Kami says. "I'll contact you again when Son Goku is ready to be wished back. It may not be for a few months yet—but I thought it best to give you more time since gathering the balls may take a while. I imagine he will be quite eager to return."
"Sure," I say, and then remember the last time he talked to us. "So—is your future looking any better? I mean, you said—"
"Sadly, no," comes back the answer, and I almost regret asking it for how suddenly down Kami sounds. "But perhaps when Goku practices what he has learned from his training, he will learn something new, or at least continue to improve. Incidentally," I wait while he seems to think for a moment. One of Raditz's eyebrows is arched high as he listens. "From what little time I have spent in communication with him, I have heard he has been training in gravity higher than Earth's. Perhaps," he pauses again, and I think I know what he's going to say. It must be weird for him to ask for help. "Perhaps you could construct something that would allow him to continue training in this fashion. I would offer the Room of Spirit and Time, but I think it should be a last resort."
I'm not quite sure what he's talking about, this spirit and time business, but, hell, I'll go with it. "I'll see about doing that," I tell him. "It shouldn't be terribly difficult." Especially since given what Raditz has let slip—if I can make Son something that will let him effectively tear his body to shreds regularly (and knowing the guy, he'd be excited about the prospect), and if I can make something that will heal him quickly without using up the senzu beans—well, maybe those two asshole Saiyans will meet their end after all.
"That is good to hear," he sounds relieved. I almost wonder if he was—reading my thoughts, or something. "I will communicate with you when I have more news."
Raditz looks around. "Are we alone again?" he whispers after a minute of silence, and when I shrug a noncommittal 'yes,' he follows up with, "What the hell was that?"
"The god of Earth," I say. "And by the way, there's some crazy shit with him and Piccolo, so while I'm thinking about I should make it clear—if you kill either of them, the dragonballs are gone."
"Okay..." he says, and I can practically see the gears in his head figuring that this would be the surest way to make sure Son stays dead.
"Meaning if I can't fix up your tail the old-fashioned way, you're not getting it back at all," I tell him.
"Oh," his shoulders droop a little. "Shit."
"Well, it's not as if it's that hard. Just, you know, don't kill him. Simple enough, even for you, right?" I tease.
"And I'll have to stop Vegeta and Nappa," he grumbles, "if I don't have my tail back by then." He turns his eyes to me, all steeled over and determined. "So I'd better have it back by then."
"Sure," I tell him. I don't know what makes me think I owe this guy anything. I don't know what makes me think he'll still be around (or I'll still be around) after these two show up (and are either defeated, or kill us all). I don't know what makes me think that spending another two months, or six months, or two years at least an arm's length from him won't help me care less. And I don't know what stupid little idea has gotten in my head to convince me that he's any different from the other two, because I'm sure as hell he's not. But somehow I've started thinking that this murderous monster is the sort of thing I could get used to.
"So," he finally says, and I realize that I've been absentmindedly chewing on my thumbnail, and promptly remove it from my mouth when he looks at me. "This thing is the 'radar,' then?" He holds it up.
Well, shit, I guess he did see me when I looked at it. I could lie, but... "Yeah," I tell him. "But you're not going to look at it again at least until we've got Son back." I stride up to him and snatch it from his hand, his fingers loose and relenting as I do so. I stuff it back into the drawer and give him the hardest, meanest glare I can manage. "You don't want to know what I'll inflict upon you if you so much as..." I start, but my voice chokes up in my throat when his hand closes around mine forcefully. I glance up at him, steeling myself in case I have to grab the nearest sharp object and not miss the mark this time, but when his eyes meet mine they're not aggressive. He just...stares.
"It's not a fair trade," he finally says. My brain tries to rewind to some point in some conversation where that would make sense, until it finds the spot. I open my mouth to speak—what I want to say, I don't know—but he keeps going, "I mean, I can't say I don't enjoy reminding you of your many faults," he says, "as often as possible," I open my mouth again but then snap it shut, "but, shit, it's not as if you don't hassle me yourself. That plus the other bit about me not, what'd you say, laying a finger on you, well, it don't make for a very fair trade—not in the least."
"Of course it's fair," I pull my hand out of his when his grip loosens, "If you can't touch me, I think it's pretty damn obvious that I can't touch you—"
"Which is the most awful fucking idea I've ever heard," he says matter-of-factly as his beady little eyes steady on me and wait for a reaction. He doesn't get one, probably mostly because I don't know how to react, so he keeps talking, "If you're going off to gather these balls now, and if you're making my dear little brother a special machine just for him to get stronger when you use the balls to bring him back instead of my tail," he keeps a careful distance away as I turn my body so it covers the drawer with the scouter as I open it to check and make sure it's still there—good. I had to make sure—he seems like he's up to something. "Well, then you're obviously gonna be slowing up on a few promises you made to me."
I guess it's true—about the tail, at least. I'm definitely going to barrel straight ahead with work on that healing tank, though. I'm about to inform him of this—let him in on the fact that he's wrong yet again—when a tilt of his head (that I pray was carefully calculated and not something that comes naturally to him) keeps my mouth shut. "So I'd say you at least oughtta compromise," he says, "given all this." The reserved nature of his movements has me on edge in a weird sort of way; he shifts his weight back and forth like he's waiting for me to attack him. He seems simultaneously half a breath from doing something dangerous and compulsive, and half a breath from leaving the room. "I recommend," he speaks again, each word deliberate, "you get those damned icy human hands back in my hair right now."
"That's not unreasonable," I say, grinning (fuck it, why the hell not? it's this or fooling myself until one of us is dead, I gather), and he shivers visibly, "which must be a record for you."
"Don't worry," he says, stepping closer, "it won't last." He rests a wrist on either of my shoulders, his hands inches from pulling me closer to his or popping my head off, but I know which it'll be. "It ain't my nature to be reasonable."
...
As it turns out, I do need help getting one the dragonballs.
But as it also turns out, Raditz is much more accessible than Yamcha and Kuririn at the moment. Half of me is a little worried—once he knows what they look like, he can make off with the radar and look for them himself. But feeling like he's on a tightrope with spikes underneath and a naked woman on the other side makes a man do a lot of things he wouldn't normally, I think, and I don't think he'll fuck himself over that badly if he knows what's good for him. (Not, mind you, that I would actually argue that he does know what's good for him.)
And anyway...I'm a little afraid to talk to Yamcha more than I have to (and he's been training as hard as ever, so luckily for me, I haven't spoken to him much—plus, Raditz keeps away when Yamcha's around—I think he knows it's in his best interest). I mean, Raditz and I haven't actually screwed, but I'm still well aware that I'm cheating on the poor guy, and after all the accusations I've thrown around at him, well...I feel kind of awful.
But, apparently, not awful enough to stop with the monkey business. So to speak.
Anyway, knowing my big mouth I'll accidentally unleash upon Yamcha some comment about the backs of Raditz's teeth, and the rest will be history.
And Yamcha's a nice guy. He doesn't deserve that. He...I...I don't know. I don't know what to say to him, or to Raditz either, but, shit, this probably isn't even a permanent arrangement. Maybe Son will come back and he and Piccolo will kill Raditz along with the other Saiyans, like they probably should have the first time. Then things can just go on like before; Yamcha's baseball games, our restaurant dates, his cute little apologies with a bouquet in hand for things that probably weren't even his fault anyway, his gentle hands and his quivering voice asking me if he's going too fast.
Maybe Son and Piccolo will kill Raditz. Maybe the Saiyans will kill us. But if that long-haired bastard and I are both alive at the end of this, I don't know what I'm going to do.
"This cave?" he asks as we approach it.
I got myself into this. I got myself in way too deep.
I mean, hell—when I told him where it was, he didn't even give me time to toss out the capsule with the plane. He snatched me up and rocketed the both of us over here. Because I let him. Flying...it was tough to breathe, up there, between the thin air rushing past us and his arms crushing my ribcage. That's why I didn't protest, that's why. (I know it's not true, but it's nice to be able to tell it to myself, to practice, in case.)
"Yeah," I tell him. "I tried going in earlier, but there are a bunch of things in there that want to eat me. Giant lizards, you know, stuff like that. I barely made it out," my hand drifts to the shotgun on my hip, "and I know I can't reload fast enough to make it all the way through. I could've rigged something up easy enough, I guess...but...this is faster." Plus...I don't really like the thought of being the one to kill all those things, and somehow, I doubt that admitting to it would earn me points in Raditz's book. I don't know—I defend myself, of course, but it seems different, just mowing down a cave full of creatures to get them dead, to get to the prize on the other side. I guess it's a miniature version of what Raditz does, though, isn't it? His dream job.
"Sorry, stopped listening once you said there was dinner in there," Raditz says from just outside the entrance. "What am I looking for, exactly?"
Well, I guess he has to find out eventually what the dragonballs look like. Now's as good a time as any. I pull one from my bag and hold it up. "Like this, except it has a different number of stars in it. Should be two stars, or five, or seven," I dig through the bag a bit more to check what the other one I have is, "or four."
"Blah, blah, blah," I hear from inside the cave, followed by a series of small explosions and a lot of laughter.
I guess things could be worse.
Converting /tmp/phpDd9aik to /dev/stdout
I'm sorry things are going kind of slow, but I hope the chapters are entertaining enough. Anyway, I think it'll be worth it for the plot stuff to come!
...
It's been two months—two entire months. I've been relatively successful at not thinking about it—and by "it" I mean, you know what I mean, but I'm not going any farther, because I'm not thinking about it.
Raditz and I went right back to working on everything, sure, and he seemed just about as freaked out as I felt because we both kept a good arm's length (his arm's length) between us from then on. So far, I'm making pretty good progress on the pod, and I've even started some preliminary plans for my own ship. As for the healing tank? Well, I'm just taking that one slowly. Raditz is all gung-ho about it and I don't completely trust him yet.
Why, you ask?
Let's just say he thought kidnapping Gohan to try to teach him to be a Saiyan was a good idea, and Yamcha and the others politely disagreed by beating his ass into the ground. But, it took all of them to do it and Raditz (allegedly) fought back tooth and nail. His injuries aren't as bad as the first time—he can still walk, and everything—but it hadn't been two days before he tried pulling that stunt that he let it slip that Saiyans get a huge power boost when they recover from near-death—which explains everything.
Anyway, I'm sure we'll get it sorted out, and I'm sure Raditz won't actually do anything to hurt anyone, most especially me or Gohan, who they seem the most worried about. I don't care what they say, he has a soft spot for that little kid and he obviously has one for me.
And normally I'd flirt with him a little, you know, kind of use myself as a bargaining chip—but at this point I really don't want to risk it.
I never did tell Yamcha what happened, and god knows Raditz is too mortified (or embarrassed) to mention it to anyone at all, even if he had someone to mention it to. The thing is, ever since then I've been trying to spend more time with Yamcha—maybe because I feel guilty, I don't know, but I just wanted to—to distract myself, I guess, and make sure it was working with us, you know? The problem is, he's been spending all his time training—in theory, to protect me from the Saiyans, which is sweet, but after that conversation I had with Vegeta and Nappa I don't know how he's going to be able to do anything—and, consequently, with all the time he spends training he has no time to spend with me. Which is fine—I mean—I'm busy too—but he's not exactly making it easy for me to stop thinking about—
Well, anyway.
At least I don't have to worry about Raditz provoking me.
Speaking of distracting myself, I'm glad to find that this afternoon I have a big, long span of free time to keep working on my drawings for the ship. Something comfortably sized—big enough that several people could stay there without being in that weird suspended sleep Raditz told me about—because after about two seconds of thought on it, traveling in a pod sounds really uncomfortable, and I am Bulma Briefs: I do not do "uncomfortable."
All my plans are tucked away in my little secret room, alongside the disabled scouter—mostly, I admit, because I don't want my father to see them yet. He'll just make ridiculous requests for things I "need" to include in the ship. The last capsule car I designed, he told me it needed a dashboard coffee ma—
Oh. God. Dammit. No.
I turn into my little inlet to find that somebody has yanked the handle off the door.
I think I only need one guess who.
"Er," he says as I swing the door open.
"You," I hiss out, "had better prepare to pay for this in blood."
His eyebrows shoot up for a second before his worried lips unzip into a shy little grin. Oh, har har, I get it, you're stronger than me, big boy. Well, not if I have anything to say about it; I'll wipe that grin off your—
"Er," he says again, "I guess I had that one coming for a while now." He sets down what he was holding and puts his hands in front of him in a distinctly Son-like fashion. I'm thrown for a loop, maybe because of my own anger (can you blame me?) or maybe because it would appear to me that somebody has sent in a clone of Raditz and didn't fill him in on the whole "stubborn" thing. See, because anytime we've been in the same room we've kept to a pretty standard procedure: I ask him a question, he pretends like he doesn't want to answer but does it anyway; I threaten him, he ignores me or threatens me back. It works out pretty well, especially combined with the aforementioned spacing between us.
"Yeah," is all I can think to say. "Now what in here have you looked at?"
"Just this thing," he says, pointing to it now that it's on my desk. Shit. The radar. "What is it?"
"None of your goddamn business," I tell him, and then realize that I probably should have played it off as nothing instead. Now he knows it's important.
"That so?" he picks it up again, and my personal resolution to keep away from him is crumbling quickly as I feel more and more like I'd be doing the world some good by leaping onto him and biting his nose off. Or maybe—no, nope, not going there.
"Just put it down," I tell him, and he cocks his head at me; I'm struck yet again by the still-weird thought that he really is Son's brother. He lets the loop of cord attached to the top slip around his finger and he spins it around a few times, waiting to see my reaction. I'm determined not to give him one. "Raditz," I say, and my impatience is not well-veiled based on the way that the corners of his mouth perk up into another one of those mocking grins and he spins the radar around faster. Gods, he's like a child.
"Bulma," he says back, his voice low. I'm sure his intent was to mock the way I said his name, but it didn't work out that way—no, instead goosebumps crawl up my arms and the small motions of his hand that were keeping the radar spinning stop, and the loop settles around the base of his finger as he seems to realize what he's doing to me.
"Clearly," I can feel my nostrils widening as they try to suck extra air into my lungs, as I try to swallow down now both the anger from before and the whatever-it-is from just moments ago, "you are just trying to make an ass of me."
"Hm," he says back absently. I can see his throat moving, like he's swallowing back more words.
"I think what we've got going on now," I continue, "is just fine. You can mock me all you want so long as you don't even think about laying a finger on me—"
"Too late," he mumbles.
I act like I didn't hear that one, "—It's a pretty fair trade, right?"
Raditz starts to say something when a new voice butts on in our little moment (thank god—I mean, literally). "Bulma, I have an update for you on Son Goku's training," Kami's words somehow echo massively in this tiny little room.
"Yeah?" I manage. Raditz looks like he might start swinging punches through the air at whatever invisible thing is talking, and so help me, if he destroys anything...
"It's going much more quickly than expected," he says, and from his voice I'd say he's about as close as anything green-skinned can come to glowing, "and very well. He must have practiced quite a lot even after defeating Raditz."
"I think he did," I say. Yamcha had been sparring with Son, I remember. "I'll bet he's worried to death about Gohan. Well, you know," I can't help giggling a little bit, "not really to death...since he's already there..."
"Yes," Kami sounds thoughtful, "I wondered about that. Even in my brief time with him he mentioned young Gohan several times."
"So what should I do?" I ask. "Wish him back?"
"Not yet," Kami answers quickly, "no, not yet. But soon. I just wanted to warn you, so you may start collecting the dragonballs. You still have that radar, do you not?"
My eyes dart to Raditz's hand, and I'm not sure if he sees or not—he might still be looking for the voice. "Yeah," I finally squeak out.
"If you wish," he adds, "I can send Popo to assist you."
I don't know who the hell this 'Popo' is. "No, I'll be fine," I tell him. "I need to get some fresh air anyway. But thanks. If anyone too awful has gotten a hold of one of the dragonballs, I'll bet Yamcha and Kuririn will help me."
"Of course," Kami says. "I'll contact you again when Son Goku is ready to be wished back. It may not be for a few months yet—but I thought it best to give you more time since gathering the balls may take a while. I imagine he will be quite eager to return."
"Sure," I say, and then remember the last time he talked to us. "So—is your future looking any better? I mean, you said—"
"Sadly, no," comes back the answer, and I almost regret asking it for how suddenly down Kami sounds. "But perhaps when Goku practices what he has learned from his training, he will learn something new, or at least continue to improve. Incidentally," I wait while he seems to think for a moment. One of Raditz's eyebrows is arched high as he listens. "From what little time I have spent in communication with him, I have heard he has been training in gravity higher than Earth's. Perhaps," he pauses again, and I think I know what he's going to say. It must be weird for him to ask for help. "Perhaps you could construct something that would allow him to continue training in this fashion. I would offer the Room of Spirit and Time, but I think it should be a last resort."
I'm not quite sure what he's talking about, this spirit and time business, but, hell, I'll go with it. "I'll see about doing that," I tell him. "It shouldn't be terribly difficult." Especially since given what Raditz has let slip—if I can make Son something that will let him effectively tear his body to shreds regularly (and knowing the guy, he'd be excited about the prospect), and if I can make something that will heal him quickly without using up the senzu beans—well, maybe those two asshole Saiyans will meet their end after all.
"That is good to hear," he sounds relieved. I almost wonder if he was—reading my thoughts, or something. "I will communicate with you when I have more news."
Raditz looks around. "Are we alone again?" he whispers after a minute of silence, and when I shrug a noncommittal 'yes,' he follows up with, "What the hell was that?"
"The god of Earth," I say. "And by the way, there's some crazy shit with him and Piccolo, so while I'm thinking about I should make it clear—if you kill either of them, the dragonballs are gone."
"Okay..." he says, and I can practically see the gears in his head figuring that this would be the surest way to make sure Son stays dead.
"Meaning if I can't fix up your tail the old-fashioned way, you're not getting it back at all," I tell him.
"Oh," his shoulders droop a little. "Shit."
"Well, it's not as if it's that hard. Just, you know, don't kill him. Simple enough, even for you, right?" I tease.
"And I'll have to stop Vegeta and Nappa," he grumbles, "if I don't have my tail back by then." He turns his eyes to me, all steeled over and determined. "So I'd better have it back by then."
"Sure," I tell him. I don't know what makes me think I owe this guy anything. I don't know what makes me think he'll still be around (or I'll still be around) after these two show up (and are either defeated, or kill us all). I don't know what makes me think that spending another two months, or six months, or two years at least an arm's length from him won't help me care less. And I don't know what stupid little idea has gotten in my head to convince me that he's any different from the other two, because I'm sure as hell he's not. But somehow I've started thinking that this murderous monster is the sort of thing I could get used to.
"So," he finally says, and I realize that I've been absentmindedly chewing on my thumbnail, and promptly remove it from my mouth when he looks at me. "This thing is the 'radar,' then?" He holds it up.
Well, shit, I guess he did see me when I looked at it. I could lie, but... "Yeah," I tell him. "But you're not going to look at it again at least until we've got Son back." I stride up to him and snatch it from his hand, his fingers loose and relenting as I do so. I stuff it back into the drawer and give him the hardest, meanest glare I can manage. "You don't want to know what I'll inflict upon you if you so much as..." I start, but my voice chokes up in my throat when his hand closes around mine forcefully. I glance up at him, steeling myself in case I have to grab the nearest sharp object and not miss the mark this time, but when his eyes meet mine they're not aggressive. He just...stares.
"It's not a fair trade," he finally says. My brain tries to rewind to some point in some conversation where that would make sense, until it finds the spot. I open my mouth to speak—what I want to say, I don't know—but he keeps going, "I mean, I can't say I don't enjoy reminding you of your many faults," he says, "as often as possible," I open my mouth again but then snap it shut, "but, shit, it's not as if you don't hassle me yourself. That plus the other bit about me not, what'd you say, laying a finger on you, well, it don't make for a very fair trade—not in the least."
"Of course it's fair," I pull my hand out of his when his grip loosens, "If you can't touch me, I think it's pretty damn obvious that I can't touch you—"
"Which is the most awful fucking idea I've ever heard," he says matter-of-factly as his beady little eyes steady on me and wait for a reaction. He doesn't get one, probably mostly because I don't know how to react, so he keeps talking, "If you're going off to gather these balls now, and if you're making my dear little brother a special machine just for him to get stronger when you use the balls to bring him back instead of my tail," he keeps a careful distance away as I turn my body so it covers the drawer with the scouter as I open it to check and make sure it's still there—good. I had to make sure—he seems like he's up to something. "Well, then you're obviously gonna be slowing up on a few promises you made to me."
I guess it's true—about the tail, at least. I'm definitely going to barrel straight ahead with work on that healing tank, though. I'm about to inform him of this—let him in on the fact that he's wrong yet again—when a tilt of his head (that I pray was carefully calculated and not something that comes naturally to him) keeps my mouth shut. "So I'd say you at least oughtta compromise," he says, "given all this." The reserved nature of his movements has me on edge in a weird sort of way; he shifts his weight back and forth like he's waiting for me to attack him. He seems simultaneously half a breath from doing something dangerous and compulsive, and half a breath from leaving the room. "I recommend," he speaks again, each word deliberate, "you get those damned icy human hands back in my hair right now."
"That's not unreasonable," I say, grinning (fuck it, why the hell not? it's this or fooling myself until one of us is dead, I gather), and he shivers visibly, "which must be a record for you."
"Don't worry," he says, stepping closer, "it won't last." He rests a wrist on either of my shoulders, his hands inches from pulling me closer to his or popping my head off, but I know which it'll be. "It ain't my nature to be reasonable."
...
As it turns out, I do need help getting one the dragonballs.
But as it also turns out, Raditz is much more accessible than Yamcha and Kuririn at the moment. Half of me is a little worried—once he knows what they look like, he can make off with the radar and look for them himself. But feeling like he's on a tightrope with spikes underneath and a naked woman on the other side makes a man do a lot of things he wouldn't normally, I think, and I don't think he'll fuck himself over that badly if he knows what's good for him. (Not, mind you, that I would actually argue that he does know what's good for him.)
And anyway...I'm a little afraid to talk to Yamcha more than I have to (and he's been training as hard as ever, so luckily for me, I haven't spoken to him much—plus, Raditz keeps away when Yamcha's around—I think he knows it's in his best interest). I mean, Raditz and I haven't actually screwed, but I'm still well aware that I'm cheating on the poor guy, and after all the accusations I've thrown around at him, well...I feel kind of awful.
But, apparently, not awful enough to stop with the monkey business. So to speak.
Anyway, knowing my big mouth I'll accidentally unleash upon Yamcha some comment about the backs of Raditz's teeth, and the rest will be history.
And Yamcha's a nice guy. He doesn't deserve that. He...I...I don't know. I don't know what to say to him, or to Raditz either, but, shit, this probably isn't even a permanent arrangement. Maybe Son will come back and he and Piccolo will kill Raditz along with the other Saiyans, like they probably should have the first time. Then things can just go on like before; Yamcha's baseball games, our restaurant dates, his cute little apologies with a bouquet in hand for things that probably weren't even his fault anyway, his gentle hands and his quivering voice asking me if he's going too fast.
Maybe Son and Piccolo will kill Raditz. Maybe the Saiyans will kill us. But if that long-haired bastard and I are both alive at the end of this, I don't know what I'm going to do.
"This cave?" he asks as we approach it.
I got myself into this. I got myself in way too deep.
I mean, hell—when I told him where it was, he didn't even give me time to toss out the capsule with the plane. He snatched me up and rocketed the both of us over here. Because I let him. Flying...it was tough to breathe, up there, between the thin air rushing past us and his arms crushing my ribcage. That's why I didn't protest, that's why. (I know it's not true, but it's nice to be able to tell it to myself, to practice, in case.)
"Yeah," I tell him. "I tried going in earlier, but there are a bunch of things in there that want to eat me. Giant lizards, you know, stuff like that. I barely made it out," my hand drifts to the shotgun on my hip, "and I know I can't reload fast enough to make it all the way through. I could've rigged something up easy enough, I guess...but...this is faster." Plus...I don't really like the thought of being the one to kill all those things, and somehow, I doubt that admitting to it would earn me points in Raditz's book. I don't know—I defend myself, of course, but it seems different, just mowing down a cave full of creatures to get them dead, to get to the prize on the other side. I guess it's a miniature version of what Raditz does, though, isn't it? His dream job.
"Sorry, stopped listening once you said there was dinner in there," Raditz says from just outside the entrance. "What am I looking for, exactly?"
Well, I guess he has to find out eventually what the dragonballs look like. Now's as good a time as any. I pull one from my bag and hold it up. "Like this, except it has a different number of stars in it. Should be two stars, or five, or seven," I dig through the bag a bit more to check what the other one I have is, "or four."
"Blah, blah, blah," I hear from inside the cave, followed by a series of small explosions and a lot of laughter.
I guess things could be worse.
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