Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Girl Next Door ❯ 03 Denial ( Chapter 4 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
NB: Based on chapter 1, `Different
Backgrounds'/ Change of Heart and chapter 2,
`Friendly Concerns' of the “Girl Next
Door” (aka FriendsAU) comic by
stupidoomdoodles.
Girl Next Door
03- Denial
“Barstrucks?” he asked, staring up at the green,
glowing sign over the sidewalk.
She nodded. “Yep. Wait… have you never been to one
before?”
There was more than one? “Uh… no?”
Her eyes widened in surprise, and she shook her head. “I
thought you said you liked coffee?”
He frowned, uncomfortable. Fuck, was this going to be another one
of those things he didn't know about? “I do…”
“But you've never been to Barstrucks?”
He gave her an agitated look. “I thought we'd established
that already,” he snapped.
“That's just a crime,” she said, and she grabbed his
arm and dragged him inside. They waited in line, Bulma staring up
at the menu on the blackboard over the barristers, while he eyed
the clientele warily.
“What kind of coffee do you like?” she asked.
“Kind?” There were different kinds?
She tore her eyes from the menu and gave him a pained look.
He returned it, just as pained. Jesus Christ, how was getting
coffee becoming such a fucking trial?
“Okay,” she said, trying to be patient. “Why not
get a seasonal flavor, you know, for fun.”
He felt his cheek twitch at the word. It would seem their ideas of
`fun' vastly differed. “Sure,” he said begrudgingly,
deciding to indulge her, if only to get this whole fiasco over and
done with faster.
“Do you like pumpkin spice?” she suggested as they
moved forward in the line.
“In coffee?” he asked, incredulous. Who the fuck
put a vegetable in coffee? What the hell was
this place? He was starting to wonder if what he thought was coffee
was even really coffee, because at this point, who the fuck knew?
Nothing made sense when she was around. Maybe they weren't even
talking about the same drink, maybe it wasn't even a drink at all.
But that couldn't be right because he bought coffee from the
dinky little market, and it clearly said coffee on the
packaging and he was pretty sure he'd seen Nappa and Raditz drink
the stuff too, usually in those white paper cups with the stupid
green logo on the side that said-
Oh. Barstrucks. So that's why it had sounded familiar.
“Yes in coffee,” Bulma was replying, looking utterly
offended. “My god, Vegeta, just how big is the rock you live
under?”
“Not big enough to keep you out,” he grumbled. She made
a face and elbowed him in the side.
Like he knew she would. He smirked.
More like you hoped she would. Aaaand smile
gone…
He scowled, embarrassed with himself, shoving his hands deeper into
the pockets of his hoodie, glaring up at the menu. They stepped
forward and were now at the front of the line. Thankfully Bulma
ordered for him. He tried to pay but she pushed his hand back and
handed over her card.
“I'm paying you back for escorting me, remember?” she
said, pulling him to the side where they could wait for their
coffees. He grunted and leaned against the bar.
He watched as their drinks were made, and before he could complain
that it was taking too fucking long, two drink carriers with 4 cups
each were handed to them. Bulma gave him one while she took the
other and lead them over to a small table for two by the
window.
“Are we expecting company?” he asked, staring with
bemusement at all the drinks. Oh please don't be
company…
She laughed. “No. But you don't know what you like, so I
figured we could try them all.”
He stared at her like she was fucking insane.
Her eyes narrowed. “I'm not insane, Vegeta.”
Okay. That… was a little unnerving. The notion that she'd
just read his mind had him dropping down in the seat opposite her,
and only a healthy skepticism of the supernatural reassured him
that she couldn't actually read his thoughts.
That, and she would have run far from him a long time ago if she
could.
“Pumpkin spice latte,” she announced cheerily, handing
over one of the cups and Vegeta eyed it warily. He supposed it
could be trusted, he had been watching them make the drinks the
whole time… He popped off the lid and sniffed, his nose
scrunching at how sickeningly sweet the drink smelt. He looked up
and she was watching him with such big, eager eyes that he found
himself taking a resigned sip despite his better instincts.
Oh
Dear
God…. It was awful.
He managed to refrain from gagging only by extreme force of will,
and he put the cup down, gently sliding it back towards her.
“I think they made it wrong,” he gritted out.
“What? Oh no,” she said, her face falling. She took a
sip and her face transformed into confusion. “Uh,
Vegeta… it tastes perfectly fine.”
“There's nothing perfectly fine about
that,” he replied scathingly. For the love of Christ,
the taste was still all in his mouth.
“Well then, I guess that's a no on the pumpkin spice.
You're wrong, but whatever,” she said. She kept the
drink for herself and gestured at the others. “What do you
want to try next?”
“No,” he said flatly.
“What do you mean, no?”
“If they're all like that, I think I'll just pass.” For
fuck's sake, he wasn't a guinea pig.
“But…” she said, her voice trailing off. He saw
her frown, frustrated, looking at the drinks in dismay, and he
looked at them also. There were eight of them, all of which she had
probably tried before because apparently everyone and their mother
came to Barstrucks, everyone except him. Which meant the
drinks were for him; tit for tat, for having taken her to East
Side, and he was just going to throw that back in her face because
he was a miserable, suspicious, ungrateful asshole.
Vegeta sighed and picked up another cup at random. “What's
this?” he asked, his tone beleaguered.
She gave him a hopeful smile. “Cinnamon hot
chocolate.”
He cocked a brow and sniffed the drink. It was achingly familiar,
making him think of a certain blue haired neighbor who had reeked
of the stuff at christmas. His eyes darted to her as he sipped
it.
Pleasant. It was warm and smooth and didn't make his teeth ache
despite the sweetness. He supposed he could stomach this one.
“What do you think?” she asked eagerly, leaning forward
in her pretty, low cut dress, watching his face in a way that was a
little unnerving, making him feel terribly exposed so he brought
the cup back up for another sip just to hide behind it.
“S'kay,” he said, feeling churlish.
Her grin widened despite his tone. “Yeah, that's one of my
favorites too.”
“Hn… what else we got?”
The rest of the drinks were tolerable. Okay, more than
tolerable, each one a vast improvement over the vomit-inducing
pumpkin spice that she was somehow enjoying. Bulma talked to him
the whole time in that easy way of hers, ensnaring him in her web
or tales and drawing out answers from him he didn't even know he
had, all the while feeding him drink after drink and asking for his
opinion that he candidly gave. She ordered more when they were done
taste testing the first eight, because apparently they hadn't even
scratched the surface of what Barstrucks had to offer yet. The long
afternoon sun slanted through the window, heating the glass and
their table, and between that warmth and the hot drinks and her
charming way of speaking, Vegeta relaxed, not noticing time
slipping by.
“So if you had to get a tattoo, what would it
be?” she asked conversationally.
He scoffed. “I have a tattoo.”
“You've got a tattoo?!” she exclaimed, leaning forward
half way across the table in shock. Anticipation.
“Yup,” he replied, not really seeing what the big deal
was. He looked at her, seeing the odd, assessing way she regarded
him.
“… Is it a butterfly?” she asked.
Sometimes he wondered why he put up with her at all.
“…See, this is the kind of comment that reminds me we
both come from very different backgrounds.”
She gave him a wicked smirk. “What? I bet you'd look good
with a butterfly,” she said, her eyes trailing over him, as
if trying to imagine a butterfly tattoo somewhere on his body.
Something about her lurid gaze had him feeling all sorts of…
things.
“I'm not getting a butterfly tattoo, Blue.”
She pouted. “Spoil sport.” She sipped her drink, then
reached out and tugged on the front of his hoodie. “Okay, so,
if not a tattoo, how about a new shirt? Honestly, do you only shop
at Thugs R Us?” she asked with a grin.
They were interrupted by the buzzing of his phone.
It was ringing. His phone only rang for one reason.
Oh well… So much for their date.
Wait, what?
Okay, ignoring that…
He put his cup down and stood up. “That's work. I have to
go.”
Her fingers fell away and he saw her smile grow wooden, forced. She
lowered her eyes but not before he saw the flicker of
disappointment. “Oh, of course…”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck… Okay, just… ignore that. This
doesn't matter, she doesn't matter, you've got work to do,
so… just stand up, say goodbye, and soon you'll be listening
to someone beg miserably for their life, perhaps even make a
pathetic attempt at fighting back, isn't that always fun?
No.
No? The fuck, that shit's hysterical.
Please. That got old years ago…
Well, okay, but… it's a goddamn sight better than sitting in
this yuppie hell hole, being hand fed drinks like a fucking prince,
waited on by the prettiest woman in the whole damn place who also
happens to be the only person who gives you the time of fucking day
because… that's just… that's just awful… isn't
it? Right. I mean… Who'd want that when you could be
searching some unwahsed, fat fuck's corpse for the money he owes
Frieza, right. Right? Ha ha ha… Fuck my life…
… Fuck.
He glanced at her, hesitating. She was looking out the window,
watching the leaves shift in the wind, her chin resting forlornly
in her hand. He imagined walking out, just leaving her there with
her table full of mugs, an empty chair across from her, all alone,
abandoned.
And more than that, he imagined leaving her, and it felt like he'd
be leaving a part of him with her.
And for the first time in, perhaps ever, Vegeta made a choice for
himself. He sat back down. He texted Raditz to take care of it for
fucking once you useless piece of shit, and then turned his
phone off, shoving it back in his pocket, and picked up a new
drink.
“What's this one?” he asked, shoving down the fear that
he'd actually turned his phone off and hoped to God no one
important tried calling back because there'd be some serious hell
to pay then.
She looked at him, her brow raised in surprise, assessing him. He
waited, looking back at her unflinchingly, the steam from his mug
rising between them like a swirling snake of uncertainty.
“… It's chai.”
He tried it, his eyes staying on hers, and something in their blue
depths eased the twisting in his gut. “Hn. Good.” It
wasn't.
Her face smoothed into a smile. He put the drink down and she
reached out, pushing her fingers between his, holding his hand, her
skin so powder soft he wanted to rub his fingertips all over it,
marvel at it, imprint the memory of it deep into his subconscious
so that it could stay with him forever. He tried not to overthink
it when he squeezed her hand back.
~XoxoxX~
“BULMA!” He slammed his fist into her door for what
felt like the fiftieth time, but he still heard nothing. She was
late. Again. Goddamn it that stupid, lazy bitch.
“I WILL LEAVE WITHOUT YOU, WOMAN, SO HELP ME!” he
shouted, slamming on the door again.
He looked at his watch and winced. If they didn't leave soon they
were going to miss the subway. He'd found out by accident that she
needed to take the same train as him in the mornings. He'd been
standing inside the subway doors one day when she'd come careening
in, out of breath and a mess, barely slipping through the doors
before they'd snicked shut. They'd never realized before that they
travelled the same way because she was either a) late or b) in a
different car from him. But now that he knew he'd for some unknown
reason taken it upon himself to be her fucking nanny, trying
to motivate her to get up on fucking time.
Why do you even care?
I don't.
Oh my god man, if you were in any more denial, you'd be Zarbon
at a strip club.
Vegeta bashed on the door one more time, and reached down to give
the handle a frustrated shake -
- Only for it to turn open.
The door swung in, and Vegeta looked at it in mounting horror.
She hadn't locked her door.
She hadn't locked her fucking door… Was she
insane? Did she want to get robbed, or raped, or
murdered? Did she have any fucking idea, any idea how
fucking easy it would be for someone to hurt her? Did she have ANY
CONCEPT AT ALL of what someone dangerous, someone like him
or his people could do to someone so small and fragile and helpless
as her. Did she?
DID SHE?!
NO, SHE FUCKING DIDN'T. Well, she was about to…
Filled with a righteous fury that was fueled by the stress of being
late (and Vegeta loathed being late), he let himself into
her place and looked around. He only glanced about, having seen it
all before when she'd asked him to fix her window and then
suggested he stay for dinner. It had only taken a bit of muscle to
get her window to unjam, just a few seconds out of his day, and so
dinner had seemed like an excessive way to say thank you. But
Vegeta wasn't nearly nice enough to turn down a free, home cooked
meal, so he'd stayed, and ate, and was now familiar with the
chaotic mess that was Bulma's apartment.
A cursory look told him that she wasn't there. Which could only
mean she was in the bedroom or adjoining bathroom. He pressed his
ear to her door and heard the faint sounds of the shower running.
He let himself in to her room.
He turned off the lights, sat on her bed, and waited.
A couples minutes later the door to the bathroom opened, and she
paused, surprised that her room was dark.
He turned the lamp on.
She screamed, jumping back. She clutched at her heart, wearing only
a towel, and after processing the situation, stomped her foot,
glaring at him furiously. “VEGETA?! WHAT THE
HELL?!”
“I should be saying the same fucking thing!” he said.
“You didn't lock your door.”
“Oh my GOD, you gave me a heart attack!” she said,
crouching down on the floor to gather herself from the shock.
His jaw worked. “Well… good. Remember this the next
time you shut your door, and lock it, for fuck's
sake…” he felt his anger wash out of him, seeing her
hunched miserably on the floor, bringing a hand up to cover her
face. Her fingers were trembling.
Oh… oh no…
Feeling suddenly very awkward, Vegeta swallowed and went over to
her. He crouched before her and… didn't know what else to do.
What a fucking shock. Vegeta, meet feelings, feelings, meet Vegeta,
a clueless fucking moron.
“Uh… are you okay?”
“No, I'm not okay!” she screamed back, and she
looked up at him, her face twisted in anger. Oh good, she wasn't
cryi-
“Ow!” he grunted as she punched him right in the chest,
knocking him back on his ass.
“You scared me half to death, asshole!”
He stared at her, stunned. Then her words sunk in and he scowled.
“That was the idea, genius.”
“Get OUT of my apartment, Vegeta!” she huffed, standing
up. “God, could you try doing one thing in your life that
isn't messed up or creepy?”
He stood up, dusting himself off, throwing her an agitated look.
“Yeah, whatever. See if I fucking help you when someone
breaks into your place because you can't even use the goddamn
deadlock.”
“OUT!”
He left, turning the lock before shutting the front door behind
him. He let out a long, agitated breath to try and calm down, which
was immediately undone when he checked the time. He swore
vehemently; he'd already missed the train. He texted Nappa to send
him the address of his first assignment so that he could go
straight there, and headed out, casting her door one last irritated
glance before leaving.
~XoxoxX~
The fluorescent bulb flickered overhead, buzzing harshly, throwing
the room into strips of sterile light and lengthened shadows. The
man on the floor was trembling, babbling nonsense that Vegeta was
giddily drinking up. He fisted his hands in the old guy's shirt,
making sure he had every inch of the worthless geezer's attention.
It had been a rough morning, and Vegeta was itching to take it out
on this sorry sonovabitch.
“SO YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD `FORGET' FRIEZA'S MONEY?! YOU KNOW
THAT'S GONNA COST YOU YOUR WORTHLESS LIFE, RIGHT?!!”
“No, please don't!” the man begged. They all did.
Hilarious.
“Oh, I'm going to enjoy this,” Vegeta clenched the
man's shirt tighter, his hands trembling in anticipation,
adrenalin. He was going to beat the man stupid, break him piece by
piece until he told Vegeta everything he wanted to know, and then
Vegeta was going to beat him some more until he was covered up to
his elbows in blood, a familiar sign of a job well done. He
prolonged the moment, waiting to see it in the man's eyes, waiting
for that special moment when denial became fear, that acute kind of
fear when they accepted their own horrifying mortality, when they
saw not Vegeta, but Death come to collect.
The old man's eyes shone brightly with terror.
His eyes were disturbingly blue.
- God, -
“Oh please…” the asshole begged.
-could you try doing one thing in your life-
“…please don't kill me…”
- that isn't messed up or creepy?-
Vegeta's hands were losing their strength, and the delighted sneer
of pleasure on his face was fading, falling, along with his
will.
The fuck are you doing?
… This is fucking sad.
Of course it is. You get off on that.
Do I?
You used to, until she came along.
She's got nothing to do with this.
She's got everything to do with this. She's made you
soft. She's got in your head. See, this is why you're not supposed
to interact with people. This is how it starts. You need to put an
end to it. It's simple, listen. Take your hand. Make a fist. Raise
it high above your useless, fucking head, and then smash
it into this miserable cunt's face until his GODDAMN SKULL CAVES
IN!
“No… she'd be… disappointed…”
And it only then occurred to him that he didn't even have to
kill this guy. Just get the money by any means necessary, those
were the instructions. Since when had `any means necessary' become
synonymous for `murder this jerk as brutally as possible'?
Since when do you care?
“Wha-what…?”
Vegeta blinked, the man's terrified simpering snapping him out of
his trance. He looked down at him, angry, embarrassed. “I'M
STILL BREAKING YOUR LEGS, THOUGH!”
“A-alright, alright!”
He did have a job to do after all.
~XoxoxX~
“So… Raditz and I noticed you were in quite a good mood
lately.”
Oh no. No, no, no, they were not having this conversation
right now. Was Nappa fucking serious? “No idea what you're
talking about,” Vegeta said in a tone that he hoped would
shut the matter up. He rolled his shoulder, getting a better grip
on the rifle, waiting for their target to slip into view.
“Well, you kinda whistled on the way here. And it wasn't the
Jaws theme for once.”
God fucking damnit, Nappa. You piece of prying shit.
“Had a song stuck in my head.” What had he been
whistling? He didn't even remember. That was a little disturbing,
but he wasn't about to admit that to Nappa of all fucking
people.
“And you laughed,” Nappa added, getting into a roll
now. “I've never seen you laugh, and I've known you since you
were 5.”
Fuck. That he did remember. They'd driven through East Side and it
had reminded him of his excursion with Bulma and the memory had
brought a laugh from him before he could quell it. “Thought
of a new funny way to kill someone with a shoe lace.”
There was a pregnant pause. Huh, he must have bought it-
“…Vegeta. Did you meet a girl?”
Fucking hell.
They both knew the answer to that question, because Nappa wouldn't
be asking if he didn't already know. Which meant they'd been
fucking spying on him. The fury that he felt was
instantaneous, and cataclysmic. “Nappa, if you don't
drop the subject, I promise your name will be in the papers
tomorrow,” he said, speaking low so that the outrage in his
words wouldn't carry and give them away.
“I'll take that as a yes.”
Smug. Fucking. Bastard.
Vegeta waited, seething. Silence. He scowled, his fingers
tightening dangerously over the weapon's trigger. Calm down, calm
down, you can deal with this later…
“Target sighted,” Nappa murmured.
Vegeta let out a long breath, dispelling his rage,
waiting…
Waiting…
The target slipped past his sight. Vegeta aimed, confirmed, and
fired.
He was packing up the sniper before anyone even screamed.
“Boom. Headshot,” Nappa drawled, and Vegeta froze at
the familiar words, words he usually said after a perfect
snipe. Only he hadn't.
Oh no…
“Vegeta. You're slipping,” Nappa said flatly.
“I've noticed it, Raditz has noticed it. It'll only be a
matter of time until Frieza notices it too, pal.”
Vegeta turned on Nappa, looked him right in the eye. “And how
would he, Nappa, unless someone tells him?”
Nappa stared back at him unwaveringly.
Ah. Well then. So that's how it was fucking going to be. He
should have known that a loyalty to a long dead crime lord would
only extend so far to his shit stain of a son. Vegeta had known the
bald asshole most of his life, but Nappa had never been family,
didn't even qualify as a friend, either; he'd been a shadow, a
hulking ghost who'd haunted his formative years, watching him but
never watching over him, standing idly by as others molded
Vegeta, tormented him, toyed with him, all the while saying
nothing, doing nothing. Sure, Nappa might have
slapped on some bandages now and then, helped him to kill a lot of
people, even had his back in a fight, but he'd never helped
him, never guided him or taken on the reigns of a fatherly figure,
had never shown much interest in Vegeta beyond that which was
necessary to carry out the mission. At best, Nappa was an annoying,
know-it-all butler. That's how it had always been, and
Vegeta had never questioned it, but now he dug away at the scab of
their relationship and he realized there was a large, festering
wound of mutual loathing and disappointment between them.
Vegeta fucking despised him.
“Stay out of my life, Nappa, or I will fucking shoot
you.” He shoved the sniper case at Nappa to take since that's
all he was fucking good for, and walked out, shoulder checking the
man as he left.
“She's changed you.”
“Fuck off.”
“D'you need a ride?”
“I'll take the subway.”
If he was lucky, she might be on it.
The train was crowded, filled with people traveling home from work.
He checked his watch, and it lined up with the time she usually got
back. There was a very good chance she'd be here.
He stalked through the cars, pushing irritably through the throngs
of civilians, scouting about for her blue hair.
He finally spotted her. She was standing up, holding onto pole, her
eyes closed, gently rocking back and forth with the rhythm of the
car.
It infuriated him. She made herself out to be such an easy target,
he could have pick-pocketed her in his sleep. He stormed over to
her, filled with a rage at her naivety. How dare she not take
better care of herself? How dare she make him worry? How dare she
crawl under his skin, get into his head, affect him so drastically
that even fucking Raditz and Nappa were calling him out on it, like
they were somehow fucking perfect.
He raised his hand, ready to wrap it around her throat and choke
her until she was nothing but a blip in his history, a small road
bump in his otherwise perfect track record…
His hand wrapped around the pole above hers, and she opened her
eyes, noticing him. She smiled broadly, her face lighting up.
“Hey tough guy, good day?”
“Hn.”
“Yeah, me too.”
They stood together, bumping into each other as the car rocked back
and forth. She looked tired, the ends of her bangs hanging coyly
over her eyes. He resisted the urge to brush them back. He could
feel his heart beating hard in his chest, still upset from his
interaction with Nappa, with himself, with her, with life.
Fuck Nappa. He hadn't changed. Or maybe he had, but so fucking
what? He wasn't allowed that? He wasn't allowed a goddamn friend?
What was so world shattering wrong with the idea that he could have
one fucking good thing in his life to alleviate all the other crap
he had to otherwise put up with?
She yawned and rested her cheek on his shoulder, closing her eyes,
using him as a standing pillow. He scowled down at her, his hand
gripping the pole so tightly his knuckles turned white.
And something insidious and warm curled around his heart.
See, it's shit like this that has Nappa fucking questioning your
sanity.
Fuck off. She's just a friend.
Friends? Just friends…?
He fought back a rising sense of panic, not ready to face that can
of worms yet. The car swayed, and he wrapped his hand about her
middle, holding her close so that she didn't get thrown about. She
melded happily against him, and he pressed his face into her hair,
smelling her, soaking in her warmth, trying to alleviate the wild
thudding of his heart against the soothing balm of her presence. He
looked up from over her head, glaring at everyone else in the car,
daring anyone to say anything, his fingers curling possessively
about her.
No one did.
~~ox0xo~~
AN: You know who's great? Stupidoomdoodles, that's who.
<3
DBZ owned by Akira Toriyama. This AU is stupidoomdoodle's idea.
I'm just playing in their sandboxes. Stupidoomdoodles and
LadyVegeets can be found on twitter,
tubmlr and p atreon. Girl
Next Door comic can also be found on
smackjeeves. Read it, love it, be haunted by it,
like I am.