Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Girl Next Door ❯ 07 Coming Apart ( Chapter 8 )

NB: Based on chapter 2, `Surprise', `Moving Day', `Strikeback', & `Goodbye Old Friend' of the “Girl Next Door” (aka FriendsAU) comic by stupidoomdoodles.

Girl Next Door

07 - Coming apart

Vegeta had rarely experienced the emotion others referred to as `happy'. He'd had periods of being less angry or agitated, he'd even felt maybe good at times, or amused, or proud, or even accomplished. But if he'd ever felt `happy', he struggled to recall the memory because it paled in comparison to the warm, elated feeling that was buzzing through him right now, enveloping him and softening all the pain and rage and apathy that usually fueled his day, now nothing but a distant memory, swallowed by the fuzzy, fluffy thing he was feeling.

If you want to drop by again tonight, we'll do something other than just “talk” this time…

Oh fuck yes.

He could still feel her kiss on his cheek and it awoke the memory of the kiss she'd given him on his mouth, the way she'd tasted, the way she'd felt, so warm and eager and playful in his lap. He remembered falling apart beneath her, letting her be on top, letting himself be so rawly exposed to her, and he didn't loathe it. In fact, (premature endings aside,) it had been so fucking good. Even letting her hold his hand, letting himself just… be himself and sit with her, comfortably sharing intimate and mundane tales from their pasts had been shockingly good, and though he hadn't gotten any sleep he'd never felt so goddamn happy in his life.

He. Felt. Happy. And feeling happy felt good. And feeling good made him happier. He'd never considered that before. It was some kind of goddamn self-sustaining loop. And he might have marveled at the novelty if he wasn't too busy just enjoying it and remembering the way her cheeks had been flushed as she ground against him, or how she'd looked wearing his clothes and he was still surprised he'd given her his top because he wasn't the type to share, at all, but it had been better than risk someone seeing his girl run about half dressed. And seeing her in his clothes had filled him with some kind of possessive ownership that he wasn't sure was healthy but what the fuck did he care, she hadn't, and that's what mattered, wasn't it. And he was still wearing that same hoodie, he hadn't thought to go home and change, he'd just floated right out of their apartment building, heading straight for work on autopilot, which meant he'd left his phone in his room but who the fuck cared about that?

He had to stop by some of Frieza's `affiliates' to pick up protection money owed. The first was a little bakery. He'd never paid attention to what they had before but today, for the first time, he noticed how fucking quaint their little cakes and breads were, and he got the impression it was the kind of place Bulma might like to visit.

The old man who owned the shop recognized Vegeta immediately and sent one of his boys to the back to get the money together. No words needed to be exchanged, they'd been through this routine a dozen times before, and this old man was smart, didn't need reminding who was in charge or what was at stake if he didn't comply.

Only this time instead of glaring at him balefully, Vegeta was eyeing the wares. He didn't know what half the things were, but something blue and fluffy caught his eye in the display case and it reminded him of her. He approached the glass and peered at the tiny round cookies with piqued interest.

“What's that?” he asked, pointing. It didn't occur to him that it was the first words he'd spoken since introducing himself months ago.

The old man hesitated. “… Is macaron.”

Vegeta contemplated that. It sounded fancy. Bulma liked fancy, didn't she? She liked Barstrucks, that was kind of fancy, right?

The old man watched him, shifting uncomfortably. “… You… want try?” he offered after a moment.

Vegeta looked up at him. “D'you think a girl would like it?”

The old man's eyebrows rose. A single drop of sweat trickled down the side of his face.

Vegeta waited patiently for an answer.

“Uh… Yes, is popular. She… likes the sweet?”

Vegeta nodded absently. The muffins they sometimes shared from the corner shop were sweet, as were the coffees she drank. And she'd enjoyed trying all the different beverages with him from Barstrucks. Perhaps she'd enjoy trying these too. Would she be surprised if he brought her something? Impressed? He could almost see it in his mind now, her widening smile, the look of delight on her face when he came over and had something to offer her for once.

A gift.

He'd never bought anyone a gift before.

Yes, Bulma definitely needed a gift.

“I'll take one of each,” Vegeta decided.

The old man poorly hid his surprise as he opened a box and delicately placed one of each of the macarons into it.

“Tell me everything about them,” Vegeta added. If he was going to present her with a delicacy, then he sure as hell was going to make sure he knew what the fuck they were. He didn't need a repeat of the fucking Christmas incident.

The old man glanced at him, then told him in broken english that the cookies were made from egg whites and almonds, had various kinds of filling, and originated from Europe. Or that's what Vegeta took away from it. The boy came back with his money which Vegeta checked before shoving it into his bag and waited for the old man to finish packing the sweets into the little white cardboard box with gold ribbon.

He lifted his his hoodie to better pull out his wallet, exposing his weapon in the process. “How much?” he asked.

“Oooh no no no, is on house,” the old man insisted, looking horrified at the notion of Vegeta paying, his eyes darting to the gun at the small of Vegeta's back.

Vegeta paused, considering. Then he put his wallet away with a smile. What a nice old guy. Yeah, Bulma would definitely like this place. If she like the macarons, he'd have to bring her back here. He took the box the old man offered him, raising it in a gesture of appreciation, then put it in his bag - next to Bulma's left overs - and left.

Whistling.

Man, today was a fucking amazing day.

He went from store to store, collecting money from those due. As his bag got heavier and his stomach growled, Vegeta found a bench to sit on and took out the left overs, eating and watching the people walk by. He saw a couple walking hand in hand, rosy cheeked and googily-eyed and for once he didn't sneer down at them with a faulty sense of superiority, wishing they'd get struck by a semi. He watched them, remembering how it felt when Bulma held his hand. He found himself wishing the day would speed up so he could be with her again, but at the same time he was kind of enjoying this feeling, this sensation of… floating. Of anticipating. Enjoyment. Peace.

He sucked his fingers clean and continued on with his job. The next place came up short on their payment. The young man prostrated on the ground at Vegeta's feet, sobbing in despair.

“P-please, don't kill me… I swear, I s-swear I'll have it by next week, h-oh please god…”

Vegeta flipped through the bills, counting. “S'bout half here,” he said amiably. He'd guessed as much before counting, and was only off by one bill. Fuck he was getting good at eyeballing cash piles.

“OhpleaseohpleaseI'msorryIswearI'llhaveitnextweek…&# 8221;

Vegeta shoved the cash in his bag, then crouched in front of the owner. “Hey, c'mon man. You sure you don't have the rest?”

The man shook his head pathetically, crying brokenly.

Vegeta sighed. “Okay, fine… Here, stand up.” He helped the poor guy stand up, the man barely able to function he was so terrified. Vegeta looked him over, assessing. “… What the fuck is it you do again?”

The man sniffed. “W-watch repairs.”

“Huh… probably need your hands for that, right?”

The man nodded pathetically.

Vegeta nodded. “Okay. Here's what I'm gonna do. Today, I'm going to break one of your legs. It's going to hurt, but you can still work, and you're going to make sure you have the rest of Frieza's money by next week, or I'm going to really regret being so lenient with you.”

The young man looked at Vegeta with wide, wet eyes. “Y-you're not… going to… k-kill me?”

Vegeta smiled. “Not today.”

It was the easiest broken leg he'd ever given anybody.

Vegeta made the last few picks up, then headed in to meet up with Nappa. He drifted into the apartment, his head still full of blue hair and smiles and whispered promises, the ghost of her lips still on his cheek…

“VEGETA! FOR FUCK'S SAKE, WHERE WERE YOU ALL NIGHT?!”

Vegeta felt the balloon of his happiness start to loose some of its air. It was unusual for Nappa to get so worked up. Hearing the man's panicked voice and seeing his ugly mug was enough to pop Vegeta out of his buzz.

“Something happened with Raditz!”

Aw fuck, now what had that idiot gotten up to? Vegeta dropped his bag and approached Nappa. The older man was frantic, not even waiting for an explanation from Vegeta before pressing on with his news.

“You know he went out of his way to look for his brother ever since we've moved to his city, right?”

Vegeta huffed. Great, not this again. “The brat his parents dropped somewhere to keep him away from Frieza, yeah. I know his sob-story already - wouldn't fucking shut up about it.”

“Well,” Nappa continued, pulling something up on his phone. “That crazy moron found him alright, but… just listen to the message I got from him before he went MIA.” Nappa held out his phone. Vegeta folded his arms, listening as a muffled voicemail started to play, unfamiliar voices speaking.

“… Goku's badly beaten! We need to get him to a hospital!”

Vegeta frowned. `Goku'? Why did that ring a bell…

“At least that brother of his is done for.”

“Y-you sure Piccolo? He's not gonna, like… Rise up from the dead or anything, right?”

“Speaking of raising from the dead, Bulma…”

Bulma…

… BULMA…?!

“… Think we could use the dragon balls, here?”

“Pretty sure, yeah… Too bad we're out of senzus…” That was… her voice… He knew… that voice…

“Wait - Shit, is that thing recording us?!”

“BREAK IT KRILLIN! QUICK, STEP ON I—” crrk *beeeeep*

.

.

.

The message ended and Nappa was talking, something about Raditz being dead and the dragon balls, but Vegeta couldn't process it, wasn't paying attention. His brain had short circuited, still stuck on the message, struggling to catch up… They'd said Bulma, unmistakably; Vegeta didn't know a lot of things but he did know that her name wasn't common. It had to be her, it couldn't be anyone else, he'd heard her voice… And those other names, Goku, Krillin… they were familiar too, weren't they? Friends of hers? She'd mentioned them before he thought… Fuck, what was she doing wrapped up in this. How had she gotten wrapped up in this?

Oh… oh no.

Oh fuck…

He'd brought this on her. He didn't know how, but he must have fucked up, let someone follow him, maybe left evidence somewhere, been spotted by a rival, or fuck, someone in their crew had said something they shouldn't have… Whatever had given him away, it had now made her a target and if they'd followed him and knew about her then they knew where she lived and… and… Oh no…

“…I… Broke… her door…”

“…What???” Nappa asked, whatever he'd been going on about coming to a halt.

Vegeta didn't care, already leaving.

“W-Where the hell are you going now?!” Nappa shouted after him.

“DON'T TELL ANYONE ABOUT THIS SHIT! ESPECIALLY NOT FRIEZA!” Vegeta shouted after him as he fled.

“NOT TELL FRIEZA?! YOU WANT TO DIE?!?” Nappa cried out as Vegeta left the apartment, Nappa's infuriated words following him. “SERIOUSLY, AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO HASN'T GONE CRAZY IN THIS CREW?!?!”

Vegeta ran, his mind in pieces, his body filled with a horrible, consuming dread that built and swelled and grew worse with each running step.

She was in danger. He'd put her in danger.

And she was defenseless. He'd left her, not only unprotected but in a goddamn doorless apartment and FUCK he didn't even have his goddamn phone on him if she tried to call!

Oh god, please be okay, please be okay…

Maybe she'd left already. Had she gone to work? Had she left on time for once? No, of course she hadn't, not without him there to badger her into getting ready at a decent pace, and after their night together there was a good chance she might have decided to stay home entirely…

Fuck…

No wait, of course she'd left, the fucking message on Nappa's phone told him that, because Raditz wouldn't have gone to her apartment without checking in with him first. But then… where the fuck would it have happened? Goddamnit, Raditz, where the fuck did you go that you got her mixed up in your fucking family reunion?! And now that he was dead, and she'd seen that, there was a good chance she'd gone home to recover, she was probably shaken up, she'd sounded shaken up. Who else did Raditz send that message to, had Nappa forwarded it on already? Fuck, if people thought she was involved with the dragon balls…

Shit…. Shitshitshit…

Taking the subway was fucking agony because it meant he couldn't move, just had to stand still and think and worry the WHOLE FUCKING WAY BACK, strangling the pole in his grip as he willed the goddamn train to move faster. He pushed out the doors before they'd even opened all the way and sprinted from the station to their building as fast as he could go, not caring who he knocked over. He pulled out his weapon when he entered the stairway, taking the flight two steps at a time as he bolted up to their floor.

“Shit shit shit shit shit…”

He saw her busted door.

Hanging open.

Dread filled him, made him feel sick, his mouth going dry and his heart bursting wildly in his chest. He forced his breathing to calm, forced himself to slow down as he approached the doorway.

“…Bulma?” he called softly, peering in, glancing around. An eerie silence greeted him. The apartment was still. It been trashed, items strewn around, draws left half open or tipped upside down on the floor.

Cold crept over him, an old, familiar feeling clawing up from the depths of himself where it had been shoved down little by little over the weeks, but now Vegeta felt it slipping back into place, steeling himself against a numbing dread…

He'd seen a thousand dead bodies before.

He didn't know how he'd handle seeing hers.

Was she lying dead, just around a corner, waiting for him to stumble upon her? How would they have done it? Choked her? Shot her? Had they tortured her for information first? Had they touched her? Had she called out for him, hoping he'd come crashing into her place like he had last night when all he'd had to fight for her was a goddamn useless mouse?

He surveyed the apartment, creeping through her place, preparing himself for an attack, for a glimpse of a still, grey foot or limp hand…

Please… please don't be here…

But the apartment appeared abandoned. Had she been taken?

Had she fled?

And if she had, where to? It suddenly occurred to him that he had know idea where he'd even look for her. Outside of the comfort of their world, of their strange, half-blossomed relationship, she was a complete fucking unknown.

Something softly clinked beneath his toe.

He glanced down. A broken picture frame was on the floor. He recognized her image immediately, young as she was. But the boy with wild black hair was foreign to him.

A classmate?

Friend?

Brother?

He… didn't know. The boy was important enough that she kept a picture of him in her place but Vegeta had never thought to ask if she had anyone important in her life, and it suddenly struck him that it was only the tip of the fucking unknown iceberg, because there was a whole shit-ton of things about her that he didn't know. But it had never even seemed relevant in the context of their relationship because she was just Bulma, the girl next door, annoying neighbor who'd wheedled her way into his personal space and into his mind and dreams and made him happy and turned his whole fucking life upside down and yet he didn't even know who the fuck she was.

What did she do?

Where did she do it? With who?

Why was she so okay with what he did?

Why, for someone who spoke so fucking much, who asked a lot of fucking questions, did she never ask him for specifics, or give specifics about herself?

… What the fuck was her last name?

He didn't know.

He didn't know…

Where was she?

Who was she?

Who was she?

Okay, so, he needed to work on his communication skills, no one was fucking surprised there. He needed to ask her some goddamn questions when he found her, but… was he even ready for her answers, because he was getting the uncomfortable feeling that he was going to have to make a choice soon, and it felt like one of those monumental choices you had to make that fucked you over either way you went…

He heard a noise outside her window. He moved over to investigate, looking out. Down on the street he saw Bulma being shepherded inside a police car. Relief that she was alive was fleeting because she was just as quickly being taken away from him. He leaned out to shout after her.

“BULMA—Mmf!”

Hands yanked him back inside, something wet and sickly sweet covering his mouth and nose, and a heartbeat later he felt his eyes roll up and his knees give out.

Sono v a b i . . . ~

He didn't remember if he fell.

X~x~X

Time didn't exist here. They could have held him for hours or for days and he wouldn't have been the wiser and was getting to the point where he didn't have the strength to care. He'd been on both sides of the chair before, he knew how this all worked. He wasn't given food or water, wasn't given any way to tell the passing of time, kept in a dark, empty room with no natural light. They visited him at odd intervals, perhaps only minutes apart, perhaps hours, and stayed with him just as randomly. Most importantly, they didn't allow him to sleep.

Time didn't exist. Only pain did, and his will to endure it.

Zarbon, Dodoria, Cui… they all took their turns, all had their specialities and preferred methods of breaking a man. They were good. But Vegeta was better, had endured it all and worse before, and more than that, it was a matter of pride. It wouldn't have mattered if he was protecting the answer to a goddamn crossword puzzle, he wouldn't be giving them shit. If they thought torturing him was going to make him give up anything, especially her, they were dumber than he thought.

And he thought they were pretty dumb.

They made him bleed and scream and through it all asked him about Bulma, and he would have laughed if he could because half the questions they asked he didn't even have the answers too. The irony kept him sane as they beat him until he spat up blood, singed his skin with lit cigarettes until his vision burned with tears, ran hot bolts of current through his body until his muscles locked up and his jaw clamped shut and his skin burst with sweat, and he prayed his heart would just give out already because wouldn't that be the ultimate fuck you, to die in the torture chair and then they'd have nothing but a broken, bleeding mess to clean up and a bitch of a time explaining to Frieza that they'd killed him by mistake.

But no such luck was had. Every time he passed out or started to drift off they'd slap his face, drop ice water over his head, put foul smelling salts under his nose and he'd be with them again, ready for round whatever-they-were-up-to-now.

Was he going to die like this? Possible, and that wasn't really ideal, but if they were being this persistent it meant they didn't have her yet, which meant she was still safe. If he was going to die or be shipped off to the middle of Eastern Europe or wherever the hell Frieza might want to use him next, then at least he had that thought to sustain him.

That and his memories of her. It was a trick he'd been taught to use during interrogations like these, to fantasize, imagine a scenario so vividly that he could lose himself in it, forget about what they were inflicting on his body and protect his mind from breaking. He slipped inside his memories of her, both the good and bad because it didn't matter with her, even the awful times they'd shared had been a damn sight better than what his life was usually like.

I think I really like you…And I think you like me too, right?

Yes, yes he did. Unabashedly he did. He wished he could have admitted that to her then. He liked the way her voice rubbed against him like velvet, liked the way her eyes danced and her lips curled up when she saw him, even if he thought she was laughing at him at times. He liked how soft her hair was, how tender her hands were whenever she touched him, and above it all, he liked how he felt when he was with her, no expectations, all that was expected of him was to give her his whole attention and he willing did so, every goddamn time, helpless to do anything but because she was impossible to ignore.

He tried to remember the way she smelt, but he quickly abandoned that when his nostrils filled with the smell of his own burning flesh and cheap cigarettes. He tried to remember her laugh, but Dodoria's goddamn booming voice was too obnoxious, creeping into his mind until her ugly voice blended with Bulma's, distorting his memory and he soon abandoned that too.

So he tried to at least remember what Bulma said, if not how she said it. Like the stories of her past… only the more he analyzed those, the more he realized there were giant gaping holes, like the fact that he knew she used to sneak car and technology magazines to school the same way boys sneaked Playboys, but he didn't actually know where she went to school, or who she had grown up with, or how long ago any of her stories had even transpired.

Fuck, he didn't even know how old she was, or when her birthday was. Or if she had family. Or who exactly her friends were, or how the fuck they were all involved in this. But then again he'd never bothered to ask those questions and she'd never bothered to tell him. Conveniently, he might add, considering he'd kept very little from her; he'd given her pretty much everything important he had to give, and he realized now just how uneven that exchange had been. What had she given him? A kiss? A cactus?

Who is she, Zarbon insisted, smacking his fist into Vegeta's face with a solid, resounding blow. Where did she go? Who did she associate with? How much did she know about Frieza and their operation? How was she involved with the dragon balls?

All great goddamn questions. Vegeta wished he knew.

The questions ate at his mind as they broke his body until they left him there to rot, alone, exhausted…

The overhead light flickered back on. Vegeta barely responded, drifting on the fringes of awareness. His breathing was ragged, struggling to drag air into a body riddled with pain. He heard sharp footfalls from well tailored shoes slap smartly on the floor as someone approached.

“Well, well, Vegeta… You were the last one I expected to fall for a honey pot.”

If Vegeta were in a position to emote, he would have shown surprise. He hadn't expected Frieza to pay him a visit. The boss' appearance was unsettling. Vegeta felt his heart beat erratically in his chest, his fingers twitch where they lay behind the chair, roped together and dead from lack of circulation.

So this is how it was going to end, huh? Fucking figured.

Frieza walked slowly around him, the soft clip of his shoes letting Vegeta know where he was, not that he needed the cue; he could feel his skin prickle under the man's presence, his hairs raising from a sixth sense. A few delicate fingers prod him between the shoulder blades, tipping him forward, and Vegeta slumped over, as weak as a fucking newborn lamb. He felt blood dribble pathetically out of his mouth.

“I don't entirely blame you, though,” Frieza continued, his words calm, sinuous, as captivating as a star in an inky black sky, as magnetic and devastating as a black hole. “… Our `competitors' must have known you were looking for their dragon balls for me.”

What the hell was he going on about? Wait, their dragon balls? Did he mean…

No…

“I figure that's why they got the big guns to grab your interest - I suppose she never gave you her full name, right?”

No… no no no…

Frieza came full circle, standing in front of him. He placed something on Vegeta's leg, right in his lap so that he wouldn't even have to raise his goddamn eyes to look at it. Couldn't not see it.

Nonononono…

He knew what it would be.

Who it would be.

Her.

A young Bulma smiled up at him from the photo, flashing him a peace sign.

No… please, no…

His heart clenched torturously.

Why hadn't they just let him die..?

“Bulma Briefs, heiress to the Capsule corporation - genius, beauty, and one of their main leaders,” Frieza informed him.

Bulma.

His Bulma.

Heiress, genius, leader?

His Bulma?

No, not his Bulma… He didn't know this Bulma.

He didn't know Bulma at all…

…You stupid fuck.

She was Z-gang. No, she was a goddamn fucking leader of the Z-gang. All these months, all these fucking months she'd been playing innocent, holier-than-thou, pretending to be just some girl-next-door who had NO IDEA about gangs, huh? Pretending to be all helpless and asking him all those cute fucking questions about why he'd joined Frieza or what he'd do if he found his own crew coming after her… Oh, oh that clever, fucking…

“She tricked us both, Vegeta…”

Oh, boy, `tricking' him didn't even begin to describe it…

She played you.

He'd confided in her. Sacrificed his work for her. Been willing to fight and die for her. He'd kissed her, creamed his goddamn pants right in front of her. He'd given her HIS GUN!!!

Reality came crashing down, the illusion of the last few months shattering and revealing the ugly, cold truth beneath. This is why she'd shown interest in him, why she'd followed him about. Talked to him. Hadn't batted an eye at his `work' or freaked out at the sight of blood on him, and knew how to bandage a wound. Why she'd found subtle ways to ask him about his work yet never told him about hers or who she really was…

She was a goddamn fucking spy.

And he'd fallen for it. The oldest trick in the goddamn book and he, HE had fallen for it. Even Raditz wasn't that fucking dumb, and that moron had just gotten himself killed.

I think I really like you…And I think you like me too, right?

You useless, worthless, pathetic fool, Vegeta.

“…And I believe you know how to strike back.”

He felt the ties about his wrists loosen, his flesh stinging as the rope was ripped away. Feeling slowly returned to his fingers as his blood recirculated.

“Yeah…” he replied, flexing his hands. He tasted the blood on his lips and it was familiar, awaking an old, cold purpose inside him, flooding him, burn through him like black fire. He looked up at Frieza, and his boss smiled at him.

Frieza's lips widened at what he saw. He handed over his gun. Vegeta accepted it.

“…'Course I know.”

He was going to murder that bitch.

And he was going to fucking enjoy it.

X~X~X

Nappa checked the time on his phone, the hum of the TV in the background filling the apartment with white noise.

Finally there was the knock on his door.

He opened it and Vegeta was there, beat to hell and oddly subdued.

Nappa stepped aside, letting Vegeta come in without a word. The young man went and sat on the couch. Nappa sighed, feeling his shoulders sag with the weight of his years and responsibilities bearing down on him.

He shut the door and fetched the first aid kit.

He patched up the worst of Vegeta's injuries. Neither said anything. They'd been through this before, although Nappa noted it looked like the boys at HQ hadn't pulled any punches. Still, Vegeta had the use of all his limbs, all his fingers and eyes intact, so they clearly wanted him in working condition yet.

Once tended to, he let Vegeta pass out on the couch, and he left to fetch supplies and to call in, letting Cui know that Vegeta had checked in with him.

He returned a few hours later and Vegeta woke with the sound of the front door opening. Nappa handed over some food, water and pain killers, all packaged and unopened because even after all these years he knew the untrusting little bastard wouldn't accept them otherwise.

Vegeta consumed it all without thanks, a sullen, calculating look on his face. Nappa knew that look.

Blood was going to be spilt.

After several long minutes Vegeta got up, taking up his bag he'd abandoned the day before when he ran out after hearing Raditz's message. Nappa had already taken the money, but Vegeta didn't seem interested in that. He started going through Nappa's apartment, helping himself to various supplies and shoving them in the bag.

“Who's going to die?” Nappa asked him, finally breaking the silence.

“Z-gang,” Vegeta replied flatly.

Nappa had expected that. Cui had filled him in. “How?” he asked, watching Vegeta warily as he methodically packed his bag.

“Nappa, if you don't know how to ice a motherfucker by now, then there's really no helping you,” the little shit replied.

“Oh har har, very funny, your Royal Smartass. Do you have a fucking plan?”

“Yeah,” Vegeta drawled. “Go in. Shoot everything that moves. Take the dragon balls. Peace the fuck out.”

Nappa sighed, getting up, irritated at Vegeta's attitude. He was smarter than this. “You want us to storm their HQ, just like that?! You're in no shape after the beating you got!”

Nothing, nada, fucking zip. Vegeta was stonewalling him, worse than usual. Okay, clearly there was still some hostility over his little `refresher course' in Why You Shouldn't Betray Frieza Over Some Broad, especially when said broad was working for the goddamn enemy, but so what, the little punk would have to nut up and get the fuck over it. And going on a suicide mission wasn't going to impress anyone.

“Look, just because it's a direct order from Frieza, that doesn't mean you have to play it all bravado-like to get his pardon—“

“I'm not doing it for Frieza,” Vegeta cut him off coolly, his back still to Nappa as he finished packing his bag.

Nappa barely refrained from slapping a hand over his face. “Oh goddamnit, it's about that one bitch aga-”

“I'm getting the dragon balls for myself.”

He… couldn't have heard that right. “…What?”

Vegeta didn't reply.

Oh, that was it. The boy had finally lost it, finally snapped under the pressure and fucked up `education' Frieza had put him through.

“Have you lost your MIND?!” he yelled at Vegeta. “You want to steal right from under Frieza's and the Z gang's noses?! That's SUICIDE!” Nappa declared, exasperated. Goddamnit, Vegeta, you stupid, spoiled-

“That's my problem.”

Son of a BITCH. No, NO, he had not scraped and bowed and tolerated years of bullshit, years of building up his career from scratch, twice, tolerating this little asshole kid and being reduced to his goddamn nanny out of some misguided sense of loyalty and a promise he'd made to a man he'd admired just for it to topple over like some fucking game of Jenga. No, he hadn't kept his head down and taken all the shit jobs and tolerated all the crap and drama from Vegeta, AND Frieza AND Raditz, struggling to somehow make it all work between them, struggling to do his job and keep the peace and keep them all fucking alive and working cohesively together, no, he hadn't done all that just for it to end now with guns fucking blazing because this little dipstick had a chip on his shoulder.

“I can't let you do this!” He said decisively. “I've followed you this far for your father's sake, but you're gonna get us killed here! I'll call Frieza and—”

BANG

The sound was mortifying loud.

He looked down and saw the blood blossoming over his chest. That little… No… Nappa clutched the wound and looked back up at Vegeta who stood over him, gun held out, his face hard and unflinching. Nappa remembered that face, that was the face of the young man he'd met after he'd returned from years of `training' abroad. Vegeta had left a sheltered boy of a stolen empire and returned a psychopath, Frieza's right hand, all the humanity and warmth beaten out of him, leaving nothing but a hollow, violent shell that Nappa had no means of connecting with. But even though he was a cold, emotionless asshole, Vegeta was all they had, what they had grown used to, what Frieza had paid for, and if Vegeta broke then it would only be a matter of time before their team did too. Which is why he and Raditz had started to panic as they watched Vegeta's mask crumble over the last few months and with it their little team frayed at the ends, their `family' as Raditz insisted on calling it coming apart, because they were built solely around Vegeta. That's why Raditz had been so desperate to find his brother lately, he'd sensed it, seen Vegeta pulling away, saw the clock ticking down. It was only a matter of time before the shit hit the fan.

They'd been wishing for the old Vegeta back, and if Nappa had a sense of humor he might have found it ironic that his wish had been granted, staring down at him from the end of a smoking barrel.

“you… fucker…” he wheezed, his knees weakening, and for a heartbeat he held Vegeta's merciless gaze.

I saved you.

I raised you.

I sacrificed everything for you.

You stole my life.

I hate you, you fucking little turd. I wish it had been you instead of your father…

His legs collapsed out from under him.

Vegeta watched Nappa drop to the floor and he put Galick in the waistband at the back of his pants, picked up his bag, and stepped over his old `friend' on the way out.

He figured he'd have enough time to stop home before Nappa's body was found.

Vegeta had hoped killing Nappa would be more cathartic.

He felt nothing. Empty.

Apathetic.

Raditz was dead. Nappa was dead. His old life was dead. The only way to go now was forward, and he was going to carve a path for himself out of blood and hellfire.

But first, he had to tidy up some loose ends.

Vegeta helped himself to Nappa's car and drove back to his apartment, getting a change of clothes and more weapons. His phone was dead, out of charge, and he didn't care, couldn't take it with him anyway because they could track him that way.

He shoved some ammo in his bag and saw the squashed box of macrons inside. He pulled them out, staring at them, staring at the crushed container, scuffed and misshapen with its gaudy gold ribbon.

Pathetic.

He brought his hand up and slowly, very deliberately, with great care, crushed the box between his palms, pressed down and down and down until he heard every single one of those little fucking cookies break.

He threw the crumpled box into the trash. He grabbed his bag, about to leave. Something caught his eye.

The rose quartz cactus.

As if watching an old movie, the memory from his past played before his eyes and he saw himself researching the stupid thing, looking up how to take care of it, where it came from, what it needed to survive. He had admired that it could survive off so little. Hardy, stubborn little thing. Protect from frost, it had cautioned.

Vegeta looked out the window. It was already snowing outside, a light dusting but the dark sky overhead promised heavier falls. Vegeta opened the window, tipped the cactus upside down so that it fell out of the pot, soil and roots spilling out, and he left the pathetic plant on the cold sill to die a slow, miserable death.

He left the apartment, not bothering to lock the door behind him. He wouldn't be back.

As he drove down the street, the traffic infuriating slow due to the weather, he saw something flickering in his peripherals.

TIMES UP, the sign blinked.

Vegeta pulled over sharply. He got out of the driver's seat, car door left open, and stepped into the store.

“Good evening, we're about to close u- O-oh, it's you,” the young man stammered, seeing who it was.

Vegeta looked him over coolly. The young man's leg was in a cast.

“Y-you're a little early,” he said, smiling anxiously. “I-I still have a f-few more days, right?”

Vegeta stared at him with unfeeling eyes.

They looked at each other, the tension mounting.

Vegeta raised his gun and blew the young man's brains clean out the back of his head, blood splattering all over the far wall.

Then he turned and left, getting back into Nappa's car, and pulled back onto the road.

~~ox0xo~~

AN: Baby, it's cold outside…

DBZ owned by Akira Toriyama. This AU is stupidoomdoodle's idea. I'm just playing in their sandboxes, very graciously by Dooms too I might add. 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.