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.