Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Lab Monkey ❯ Welcome Home ( Chapter 31 )

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ

 

A/N: Thanks for all your patience guys, you have been so great. I know the chapters are far and few between, but rest assured, I will continue to update. The holidays keep me hopping, but things should settle down after next month. *crosses fingers* Hopefully.

 

Chapter Thirty-One

Welcome Home

 

Thick, choking dust swirled around the ship, cloaking it from the onlookers. Twining strands of brown and gray streamed towards the hatch as it opened like a great yawning mouth. The line of battle-hardened warriors tensed as a shadow formed behind the dust, an aura of ill-concealed menace spilling out from the ship, engulfing them in a sensation of brutality. The blurred lines of the shadow formed into a man, as dark and foreboding as his aura projected.

 

He stepped out of the cloud of dust, his sharp, angular features set with predatory intensity. Glittering, dark eyes absorbed the smallest of details as he sneered at the combat-ready men with contempt. Black leather pants molded over his muscular thighs and calves, and heavy, hard-soled boots protected his feet. A black short-sleeved tee poured over his wide chest, defining every sculpted muscle and his rigid abdomen. Black fabric gave way to toffee skin, and white, battle-scars dusted the backs of strong, ungloved hands.

 

One waiting warrior choked deep in his throat when he caught sight of the spangled writing scribbled across the approaching man's tee. He didn't know whether to laugh out loud or faint dead away in fright.

 

“Vegeta! Wait up.”

 

The man's rigid face hardened almost painfully, the only indication that he heard the screech behind him. He kept his coldly assessing eyes on the group of men in front of him, clearly aware of where the most likely threat lay.

 

Bulma strode down the ramp, her appearance absurdly similar to her captor's. A black tee molded over her round, pert breasts, the hem tucked into the waist band of form-fitting, leather pants. A calf-length jacket cocked back over her hips revealing the most surprising addition to her wardrobe. A pistol was strapped to her thigh, oiled, gun-metal-gray, steel contrasting sharply with her sparkling personality.

 

“Bulma!?”

 

Gold numbers sparked across the green view screen over her left eye alerting her to nearly simultaneous energy spikes. Instinctively, she knew the largest power surge emanated from Vegeta in response from the jump of power from the man who had called her name in a surprised, strangled gasp.

 

She wrenched her gaze from Vegeta, her mouth gaping in shock. Yamcha stared back at her with the same look of astonishment etched over his pale features. Gohan and Krillan stood beside him, both crouched and ready for a fight. Gohan reacted first, his face bursting into a wreath of youthful exuberance.

 

“Bulma!”

 

He bolted from the line towards Bulma, skirting around Vegeta warily. A pair of chocolate brown eyes narrowed when Vegeta tensed with the obvious instinct to prevent the young boy from approaching Bulma. He held his ground, his relentless gaze becoming deadly as he glared at the two remaining men. Krillan wavered nervously, but Yamcha glared back just as menacingly.

 

Bulma leaned down, opening her arms wide as Gohan flew towards her. She grunted happily when he collided with her, squeezing the air from her lungs in a heartfelt hug. She wrapped her arms around him, returning his affection joyously. She was amazed at how far she had to reach. He had grown so much since she had seen him last!

 

She pulled away, her sparkling blue eyes dancing down at his filled-out form.

 

“Look at how big you've gotten,” she exclaimed in surprise. She took in his broader width, her eyes growing sad. “Has it really been so long?”

 

Gohan nodded, a huge smile splitting his face, so similar to his father's. A small ache bloomed in her chest, but she hid it behind her smile.

 

“Almost two years,” he gushed excitedly. “We thought you were dead!” he said in the same innocent rush, unaware of the effect of his words on the group.

 

All three men's power flared on Bulma's view screen, and she tensed in response to Vegeta's nearly invisible distress. She knew that it must be hard for him to return to Earth with her, especially, when it would only remind him of his shameful imprisonment.

 

Her friends were defensive, and rightly so. They still thought that she was a captive of Vegeta's, but that was no longer the truth He had returned her willingly, accompanying her through space, and never wavering from his promise of protecting Earth.

 

Before they had entered her star system she had asked Vegeta why he was returning with her. She hadn't meant to blurt out the words; they just came out in a rush of hurt feelings. He treated her so coldly during their return voyage that she could help but feel that she had already lost him. His physical presence was just a reminder of what she no longer had. Of course once she said it, she wanted to take it back just as quickly. As painful as his coldness was to her, she still basked in his company. She didn't want to see him leave, she wanted him to stay by her side for as long as possible, but with the destruction of King Cold's ship, Earth was no longer in danger. Frieza and his family was dead, no one knew that it was her that set the charges that killed them. There was no one left to extract revenge. As far as she could see, there was no reason for him to stay.

 

When she had stated her case, Vegeta had stared at her with his coldly, dark eyes, shadows undulating in their depths, then without a word he walked away, leaving her questions unanswered, and sinking feeling that he wasn't telling her something. Something important, and dreadful in its consequences. Vegeta wasn't accompanying her home because he wanted to bask in her company. He had already made it clear with his long silences and frequent absences that he could barely stand to be in the same room with her. It was only at night when he entered her quarters, drawing nearly endless screams of pleasure from her that he actually interacted with her during their long trip back to Earth.

 

No, he was hiding something from her. His long silence when she asked why he was returning with her had answered it. He felt that she should know the answer why, and if she was too stupid to figure it out then it was her own damn fault. He wasn't around because he wanted to continue to punish her either. He was definitely honoring his word to protect her home world. But from what, she couldn't fathom. She had already eliminated the Cold threat. Hadn't she?

 

He had given her the scouter before they landed, ordering her to wear it so she could hide from anyone who was a threat to her safety. The scouter gave her the advantage of knowing where people were around her. Before they even entered orbit he told her that he could feel a rise of power on the planet's surface. He had no idea if they were friendly, but they had congregated at the point of landing for their ship. She now knew that he had felt Yamcha, Krillan and Gohan. More than likely they had sensed Vegeta, and had come to investigate. That gesture alone had made her heart swell. Even though he barely spoke to her, at least she knew that he still cared for her safety. To her that meant that there was still hope to repair the damage that had been done by her actions.

 

She looped her arm around Gohan's neck, keeping him close to her in a show of camaraderie while edging closer to Vegeta with a subconscious hope that her presence would calm him. Her eyes clashed with Yamcha's, jarring her from her thoughts. She couldn't believe that she had momentarily forgotten him. Even her overwhelming shock of finding her friends alive couldn't excuse it. Before Vegeta, she would have been falling over him in happiness to find him resurrected, instead she felt nervous and more than a little guilty.

 

Pain cramped her stomach, and she felt it roil rebelliously. Confrontation always made her feel like vomiting, and a fight with her ex-boyfriend was no exception. Actually, he didn't even know that he was an ex yet, and that made it so much worse.

 

Her embarrassed gaze skittered away, centering her attention back onto Gohan in attempt to distract herself and avoid the situation. Her heart ached when she looked at him. Frieza had made it sound like he had destroyed them all, but here he was hale and whole.

 

“I thought you were dead too.” It wasn't lost on the adults that she failed to respond to Gohan's innocent statement about her presumed death.

 

“Why would you think that?” Yamcha asked sharply, regaining Bulma attention.

 

She shuddered as an image of Frieza maniacal features rose up in her mind.

 

“I met Frieza. He told me that he killed you all.” She sniffed at the memory, still unable to believe that it wasn't true. Even though they were standing in front of her she couldn't forget her grief.

 

“You spoke with Frieza?” Krillan squeaked, clearly fearful.

 

“Are you okay?” Yamcha asked taking a step towards her.

 

The gold numbers on her scouter escalated rapidly, drawing her gaze to Vegeta. Yamcha stopped in his tracks, brisling at her captor. The warmth that melted through her chest at Yamcha's words cooled inside her heart. It had been so long since someone had openly shown concern for her welfare. Vegeta was the embodiment of deeds, his actions never lied, but sometimes the words were just as important.

 

A prism of glitter caught her eye, causing her to blink dubiously. During their long trip back, she had done everything she could think of, both verbally and physically to repent for her actions. She had doted on Vegeta almost religiously, but he refused to acknowledge her, and barely stayed more than a few minutes in the same room. Finally in a small rebellious spurt, she had purchased some glue and spangles at a trade world that they stopped off at, decorating one of his many black tees with a single word. It was the first thing she thought of whenever she was even the teeniest bit mad at him.

 

It was her little way of reminding herself with whom exactly she was dealing with. Vegeta was a bastard; his every act underlined that fact. There was no changing the truth. But he wasn't a monster either. His behavior on Frieza's ship, his willingness to lie to protect her, testified to that.

 

It wasn't until this moment that she considered that he wasn't able to read the word. A while a go he told her that he had learned her language through osmosis during his trip to Earth in his pod. Of course, that training wouldn't include a course in writing in a foreign tongue. The only reason he was wearing the shirt now, was because it was the closest at hand for him to throw on when the ships alarms had alerted them to their emanate landing. If he could read the word that she had written, she was fairly certain that the shirt would be a heap of smoldering as on her bedroom floor at the moment.

 

“Weren't you scared, Auntie Bulma?” Gohan looked up at her with big brown eyes. “I was scared when I had to fight him.”

 

That statement dragged her attention back to the present, and caused her heart to clench. Vegeta twitched towards them, and she noticed him glance at Gohan from under the veil of his thick lashes. She wondered how he felt about a young boy battling his mortal enemy. Bulma hugged Gohan closer, tears stabbing the backs of her eyes.

 

“That would have been horribly scary.”

 

Gohan hunched his shoulders in a shrug, his boyish sensibilities embarrassed by her concern.

 

“But my dad totally kicked his ass!” He jabbed his fist into the air with enthusiasm, stepping out of Bulma's girlie reach. His eyes flickered for a moment and he lowered his arm.

 

“I mean, he kicked his backside,” he muttered apologetically.

 

Bulma couldn't help but to smile at him, uncaring about his faux pau.

 

“So, your dad won?” Bulma asked tentatively, unable to stop the small flutter of hope in her chest.

 

Krillan and Yamcha looked away, and Gohan's happiness disappeared. Bulma felt the hope in her heart die a strangled death when she looked around at her friend's faces.

 

“So he's…?” she trailed off, unwilling to finish her thought out loud in front of Gohan, but everyone knew what she was thinking. Everyone was thinking it. What if Goku was dead?

 

“No!” Yamcha sprang forward completely ignoring Vegeta now. Both he and Krillan didn't know what to make of his presence, but he had made no move to attack, and Bulma seemed to be far from terrorized.

 

Truth be told, she seemed to glow with an inner light that the sadness of the news had no way of dimming. She spoke confidently, unafraid of Vegeta who stood conspicuously silent, listening to the conversation around him, gleaming important bits of news.

 

“No, he's not. He can't be!” Yamcha spat. His vehemence died down as quickly as it came, leaving the group in a drift of heavy silence. Everyone, with perhaps the exclusion of Vegeta, wanted Yamcha's words to be true, but their hearts were filled with doubt. They stood there for long, agony filled moments, shuffling their feet, while Yamcha shot covetous glances at Bulma.

 

Finally deciding that she was his girlfriend and that he had every right to approach her, he stomped up to her, his mouth set into a grim line.

 

“Can I talk to you?” His question wasn't a question at all, but a demand. Bulma felt her stomach clench in response to his hard tone. She actually hated emotional confrontation, preferring to battle on a more intellectual level.

 

“Ah. Sure, Yamcha.” When she didn't move, he became agitated, grabbing her arm to remove her from the group.

 

Vegeta subtly, but instantly reacted. His entire body made a ninety degree turn to face Bulma, automatically gauging her distress. She could tell he was barely restraining himself from leaping on Yamcha and ripping his arm off. She quickly raised her hand in supplication, calming him without words. Her actions went unnoticed by Yamcha, but Krillian ever vigilant, and always underestimated, saw every move.

 

Bulma quickly wrestled her arm away from Yamcha, unable to meet the hurt glance he shot her, and hurridly followed him a safe distance away from the group. He thought them far enough away so not to be heard, but she knew better. Saiyan hearing was hands down superior to humans in every way.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked earnestly, wrenching her stomach even more. He was genuinely concerned for her welfare, and she honestly couldn't remember the last time that she had even thought of him. She had been so wrapped up in her life, in Vegeta, that she hadn't given thought of anything outside her little comfort bubble.

 

“I'm fine.” She looked down at the toes of her boots, wondering if she felt bad because she was in the wrong, or because she was honestly annoyed that she had to take time out to play out her part in this little drama. There was so much she needed to be doing right now---seeing her parents, tracking down Goku if he survived, figuring out how to reattach Vegeta's tail. Her thoughts made her feel worse. When had she started undervaluing her relationships from her life before Vegeta?

 

Fingertips grazed her chin, jerking her out of her thoughts. In the past, the soft brush of Yamcha's fingers would have sent shivers down into her stomach, but now it slightly nauseated her. Her eyes darted to Vegeta's, noting the normally dark color was brightening to an abyssal red. She backed away from Yamcha's innocent touch, schooling the line of her mouth to be firm.

 

“No touching.”

 

The black archs of Yamcha's brows drew together in confusion before he glanced behind him in a sudden dawning of understanding. When he looked back at her, his face was grim, his eyes determined.

 

“I don't know what he's done to you, Bulma, but you don't have to be afraid anymore. You're safe now. He can't hurt you here. We'll send him back to hell where he came from, and then you can be free,” Yamcha stated his declaration fiercely, turning towards Vegeta, practically rolling up his sleeves.

 

At first Bulma was confused, unable to grasp what he was saying to her. The last thing that Vegeta had done was hurt her. Not once, during their entire trip had he laid a violent hand on her. Yes, he had made some bad choices, they both had, but they had learned from them, grown from them and they had become closer because of it. She was no longer the damsel in need of rescuing. She had morphed from a loudmouth mouse of a scientist, to a loudmouth badass who had every ability to protect herself. Men need not to apply. Finally, she was capable!

 

As Yamcha whirled away, she saw the instant change in Vegeta. He went from a loose-fisted stance to a steady, mountain grounded alertness. His eyes became bright, and if she wasn't mistaken, she saw something akin to anticipation light up inside him. Of course she was the only one who noticed the nearly imperceptible changes in him. To the others, he still looked cocky and unconcerned.

 

She grabbed Yamcha's arm, yanking him back towards her. Unlike Vegeta, he was easy to manipulate, unwilling to use his strength against her, and naturally submissive. If it had been Vegeta she was trying to subdue, she would have been left behind in the dust and the offending male beaten to a pulp before she could open her mouth in protest.

 

“I'm not afraid,” she said firmly, finally meeting Yamcha in the eye to make her point. It was suddenly very important that she show him, show all of them that she wasn't some helpless female that had spent her time with Vegeta horribly tortured and broken. They needed to know that she was fully cognoscente of her actions, and not some mindless sex slave. Although, lately she sure felt as such, especially in the late hours of the night when Vegeta left her fully sated, and utterly alone.

 

When Yamcha ignored her, and glanced back at Vegeta, she shook his arm to get his attention. Her grip must have been a little more ruthless than he was expecting because he looked back at her, slightly agape with shock.

 

“I'm not afraid. Vegeta hasn't laid a hand on me. There is no reason for you to go around challenging him like some rooster-tailed cock trying to scratch out your territory.”

 

His gaping mouth fell open a little more, before he snapped it closed, his chocolate brown eyes shooting fire.

 

“He's a monster Bulma. Plain and simple. The last time he was here he tried to destroy the world. Or have you forgotten?” He shook off her grip as he yelled at her, completely forgetting about their audience who could now hear them without the benefit of super-duper hearing.

 

“No, I haven't forgotten, but that's in the past. Vegeta is here now to help us protect Earth. There bad people out there, Yamcha, really bad people that are capable of doing terrible things, and we have to defend ourselves against them,” she shouted back, embarrassed on Vegeta's behalf, but unable to stop her tirade.

 

“Bulma. He is one of those bad people. How can you sit there and say that he's going to help us when he'd sooner kill us where we stand?” Yamcha waved his hand in Vegeta's vague direction, not really paying attention to the warrior he was insulting.

 

She crossed her arms, tucking them under her breasts as she glared at her ex-lover in disdain. At that moment, she couldn't remember why she had found him so attractive. He seemed so petulant, child-like in his vindictive tantrum.

 

“Speak for yourself, Bud,” she replied mutinously, her eyes narrowed.

 

He paused his litany, glancing over at her. She was more beautiful than he remembered. Her teal hair had grown longer in the last two years, the lighter tips licking at her lower back. Her already fabulous body had hollowed out, loosing her baby fat and replacing it with luscious curves. Always confident, she now stood with a new sense of self that had nothing to do with her genius brain and everything to do with her newfound comfort with herself as a person. It absolutely dumbfounded him that she choose to grace his mortal enemy with her new assets instead of showering him with `I missed you,' kisses.

 

“Why are you defending him?” Yamcha demanded to know, his upset clearly written on his face.

 

She dropped her arms to her sides, exhaling a gusty sigh that took all of her antagonism with it. She couldn't blame Yamcha for reacting the way that he was. The last he had seen Vegeta, they had been trying to kill each other. He hadn't the same benefit she had of spending the last two years with him in close quarters. He had no way of knowing who Vegeta really was.

 

“Because I know him,” she said softly, her eyes glowing as she said the words. Yamcha paused, looking deep into their crystal depths. There was something different about her that went deeper than her new badass clothes and confidence. A glow deep inside that he couldn't identify. All he knew was that it scared him. He wanted things to go back to the way that they had been. He wanted to return to the past where she had been just a girl, in love with him, just a boy. He reached for her, his eyes pleading, his heart etched deeply on the lines of his face.

 

“Come home with me.”

 

She knew he wasn't talking about returning to Capsule Corporation, or even to his small downtown apartment. He was asking her to help him turn back the hands of time, to recapture their past, and all the innocence that had gone with it. But she couldn't. She could never give up her present, for a past that she had already lived. Even if her future was uncertain, and possibly filled with heartbreak.

 

“I can't,” she whispered, moving subtly away from her childhood friend.

 

“Why?” Still pleading he edged closer, unknowingly putting them both in mortal danger.

 

“Because I belong to, Vegeta.” Not with Vegeta, but to him. Yamcha heard the distinction of words even if Bulma did not. Consciously or subconsciously, Bulma had chosen her path, whether it would break her was yet to be seen.

 

Yamcha dropped his hand, disgust twisting his features. For a moment he looked at her like she was a plague victim, ravaged by a disease called obsession, no longer the girl he had loved.

 

“You're sick. You have that illness. That one that makes you think you love your captor. We can get you help for that, Bulma. We can make you better.”

 

Bulma sighed again, dropping her gaze to the ground, suddenly feeling exhausted.

 

“I don't have Stockholm's, Yamcha,” she argued.

 

“Yes, you do,” he spat with newfound fanaticism.

 

Shaking her head, Bulma pushed passed him, making her way towards the ship so she could gather her stuff. It was time for her to go home. She needed the security and warmth of her family around her; she needed the reassurance of her lab. Yamcha followed behind her, stating his argument, but she ignored him, already making plans for a long bath.

 

Confident that his woman wouldn't be coaxed back into the arms of her old lover, Vegeta was free to concentrate on the other two members of the welcoming committee. More precisely on the bald one who had been edging closer with every angry, exchanged word. Finally disdaining to glower at him, Vegeta was startled to see that he wasn't looking at his face, but down at his chest. Slightly disturbed, his eyes narrowed menacingly.

 

Seeing his attention, Krillian paused, a nervous laughter bubbling up in his chest as he rubbed the top of his shinny head. Absently he motioned towards the spangled writing on Vegeta's tee shirt, finally giving into his initial urge to chuckle.

 

“Badman, huh?”

 

Vegeta scowled at the baldie, barely resisting the urge to seek out Bulma and strangle the life from her.

 

Bulma on her way up the ramp, cringed inwardly. Oh, she was going to pay for that one.