Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Playing Raditz's Game ❯ Man-in-Motion ( Chapter 5 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Prince Vegeta didn't know what he had been expecting. Not this. Was this the way all children behaved? If so, Vegeta was certain he had never been a child. Kakarrot's brat had not stopped sniveling since he had collected the boy.  It was both unseemly and embarrassing. Initially, Vegeta had brought the boy to one of the more laid back training arenas to test his prowess, but when it became apparent to the prince that the boy had no training experience they had left quickly before he could get hurt. He couldn't let the child die on the first day. No one would believe that was an accident. Their next stop was the dining hall where Vegeta was currently trying his best and having no success at coaxing the child into eating something, anything at all, but the whelp just wouldn't stop crying long enough to eat.

“If you don't eat your body will run out of energy,” Vegeta reasoned with him, arms crossed stiffly across his chest. “I cannot be responsible for any hindrances in your development brought on by self inflicted malnutrition.”

What would have been a gut wrenching wail was the only response the boy made. In Vegeta it only elicited annoyance. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. This might be the worst assignment he had ever received but there was nothing to be done about it now. He was stuck with the brat until Frieza said differently and that was that. Vegeta swore he would murder Raditz when he returned for bringing this upon him. It was Raditz's blasted nephew, wasn't it? How then had Raditz completely shirked responsibility for both Kakarrot and the brat?

Luck. Sheer luck.

Luck was something that Raditz had in abundance and it was somewhat of a sore subject for the luckless Prince of All Saiyans. The lower class Saiyan had neatly avoided pain and suffering his entire life. When Frieza destroyed their planet, Raditz just happened to be off world despite the fact he absolutely shouldn't have been. At the age of 6 Raditz had only just returned from his first assignment as an infant, an assignment much like the mission his brother Kakarrot had botched, and should have been in training to prepare him to take on a more complex commission. Instead he had been rapidly sent back out into the field on a mission far too difficult for his weak power level and somehow survived it. When he returned Frieza spared his life, a fact which to that day Prince Vegeta didn't quite understand.

Vegeta had seen the evidence of Raditz's uncanny luck in other ways since then,  too. Raditz was constantly getting better assignments and allowed more freedoms than he or Nappa, probably because of his weaker power level and the fact he wasn't considered an outright threat to the Empire. He had even seen Raditz wiggle his way out of using the regeneration tanks, and there was no explanation as to how Raditz had gotten the go-ahead to go looking for his brother. Everything broke Raditz's way. It was all very suspicious.

Not that Vegeta was by any means jealous. He could still blow Raditz into an oblivion just by raising his pinky finger, and power trumped luck every time.

“For the love of... Just shut up,” Vegeta growled. He reached across the table and grabbed a handful of food from the child's plate and shoved it into the brat's mouth.

The silence that followed as the surprised toddler began to chew was as nothing short of cathartic. He swallowed and for a moment Vegeta dreaded that he would begin screaming again, but rather he began to feed himself first tentatively and then with fervor. The prince smirked. Typical Saiyan. Hunger would always win out in them. Kakarrot's boy was no different.

“What are you called, boy?” Vegeta asked, turning his attention to his own plate. His lectures on maintaining their bodies' needs would be meaningless if he didn't obey his own advice. Saiyan bodies were always burning through calories, digesting and converting the energy they needed to always be battle-ready. The boy picked up his cup with two hands and carefully drank. Vegeta wondered lazily if the boy was still young enough to require cups with lids. He had heard vaguely of such things before, after all.

“I'm Gohan,” he answered, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Gohan sniffled a little. “What's yours?”

What a stupid name, Vegeta thought. “I am Prince Vegeta,” he replied. “How old are you, Gohan?”

“I'm four. Where's my daddy?”

“He's very busy receiving training from my subordinate,” Vegeta said simply. “In the mean time you will stay with me.”

The boy looked skeptical and not a little bit afraid. “My parents don't allow me to talk to strangers.”

“Your parents aren't here, boy,” Vegeta snarled. “Now finish your meal. Your body will run out of energy. Saiyan bodies require a great amount of sustenance, particularly at your young age.” The boy swiftly ducked his head and focused intently on his food, whimpering faintly. Vegeta sighed heavily. “Just... just finish your meal and I won't hurt you.”

When Vegeta was certain that Gohan had eaten a sufficient amount, he took the boy to find new clothes. There were warriors in Frieza's ranks who were every bit as small as Gohan so it wasn't too difficult to find uniforms of the appropriate size. He couldn't train the child in the ridiculous outfit he had arrived in and at any rate the yellow outfit would soon be too small if Vegeta's guesstimates were correct. Given the proper environment and all that his body needed, Gohan would grow rapidly. It was simply what Saiyan children did, and what he was never allowed to do. Vegeta had grown up in a state of constant deprivation to prevent him from reaching the fullest extent of his potential, and while he didn't know how long Gohan would be in his care, he had no intentions of stunting him. He picked up a small suit and burned a hole in it with his ki to accommodate Gohan's tail.

“Dress in these,” Vegeta ordered, tossing the uniform and pair of little boots at him.

Gohan fumbled awkwardly with his clothes, his fingers thick and uncoordinated. Vegeta cringed. This boy was an infant, an actual infant. While Gohan struggled to dress himself, Vegeta searched out spares for him and armor small enough. He tucked the things he gathered under his arm and turned to find Gohan clutching his hat and looking pale.

“Can... can I keep it, Mr. Vegeta? It's very important to me.”

“Prince,” Vegeta corrected him, assessing the garment that Gohan clutched so tightly. It was nothing but a child's hat with an ugly bauble attached to the top. Very harmless. “You may,” he granted. “Though I would suggest not telling anyone that it has value to you unless you want it taken away.”

“Yes, sir, Prince Vegeta,” Gohan said rapidly. Vegeta disposed of the rest of Gohan's clothes.

After stopping at his quarters to put away Gohan's spare uniforms and hide away his sentimental little hat behind the books that no one had ever read, Vegeta showed him how to put on his armor. It took a few tries for Gohan to understand how it all clicked together, but he was bright and alarmingly eager to please. He looked up at Vegeta, eyes still puffy from his fits of crying, expecting praise that Vegeta didn't offer. Vegeta was never one to praise, especially not to anybody's face. Instead he brought the boy back to the training arena – which had now emptied as most everyone else was finished for the day – and began to work on fundamentals with the boy. It was slow going work, but by the end of the session he was already showing signs of improvement. The prince had no bunk mate so Gohan would be sleeping in the spare bed, a situation that Vegeta didn't much appreciate though he knew it was the safest thing for the child. He left Gohan, who was still in his new armor, sleeping and returned to the arena for true training before he himself would require sleep.

Gohan's current performance was dismal. He cried a lot and Vegeta wouldn't be able to train the boy in the presence of others for a while yet for his own safety, but he could see the kid's potential. He was promising and Vegeta knew that alone sealed the child's fate. It wouldn't matter how weak or strong he was in the end; Frieza wouldn't allow that kind of undeveloped skill to be unlocked and come to fruition. It was obvious that Gohan would be terminated, Vegeta just didn't know when.


Bulma was the most infuriating creature Raditz had ever had the displeasure of encountering. She got under his skin in the worst possible way, his brief brushes with her having repercussions that lasted for days without fail. She was the worst type of woman, the sort who assumed that she knew everything and thought it was her place to tell a man what she was thinking and why she was right. It was horrible. And yet he sought her again at her little metal house in the woods. 'Dyno caps' she called them. They were incredible technology for a planet so backwards.

She was no where to be seen when he approached her clearing, but his scouter told him she was there. Probably hiding from him inside like the flimsy walls could protect her, he mused. She was such a stupid, stupid woman. Stupid and brave and... beautiful? Raditz cringed at his own thoughts. She was nice enough, but she wasn't beautiful. Beauty was found in strength, and the woman was very weak, just like her people. When he left her last she was a crumpled heap on the ground and he had barely touched her. How Kakarrot had failed to conquer her planet was a mystery.

He hit his head, Bulma would tell him later. He hit his head and it made him kind.

Raditz approached the house and tapped lightly on the door, feeling embarrassed as he did so. He shook away the feeling quickly and realized how ridiculous the entire thing was – knocking. As if he needed her permission to enter her home. Inside of the house was still and when no one came to answer, he pushed the door lightly, finding it locked. He pushed harder and burst it open then stepped inside. Bulma glowered at him where she was hiding behind a sofa.

“No one said you could come in,” she complained haughtily.

“As if you could keep me out,” he scoffed, crossing the room in three long strides. He made himself cozy and took a seat on the couch near her, enjoying her discomfort. She grew stiff in his presence and tried to shift away from him without his notice. He smirked at her.

“You're bruised,” he remarked, gesturing to her neck.

His hand print was clearly defined against her skin. She responded by tugging up her collar, effectively hiding the bruise as well as half her face. Her eyes were screaming at him, narrowed and with brows drawn. He reached out and tugged her sweater back down, revealing the her damaged skin once more. He wanted to look at it. She shivered as his fingers grazed her skin.

Absolutely infuriating.

“I stand by what I said,” she insisted quietly in the moments that followed. She pleaded, “You don't have to do this.” Then she did something he didn't expect; she reached out for him, her brittle human nails catching the tense flesh of his arm as if the gesture were meant to hold him back. “You're so strong, Raditz. You don't have to do some tyrant's bidding... you don't have to kill the rest of the people on this planet. Not really, you don't.”

Raditz blinked slowly. This woman was obviously delusional. He wasn't strong, not by a long shot. He had been kept weak by the Cold Empire, made sacrifices out of his own body to ensure the welfare of his prince. Vegeta was strong; Vegeta would stand against the Colds. Not him. Raditz was weak. But he would concede it felt... nice to hear his praise from her mouth.

“No one can make you a killer,” she whispered.

Raditz looked down at her, at her tangled blue hair, her bruised skin and welling eyes. Her lip was torn where he had pushed her away earlier, and her clothes ripped from the struggles she had endured. But the way she looked at him... such sadness, and such hopefulness. Did she really believed he would stop and spare the remaining people of earth? Raditz closed his eyes and relaxed for just a moment. He allowed himself to believe that she believed in him. Again it felt... nice.

He didn't feel like letting it go.

“I will spare them,” he said at length. “I will spare your home if you return with me to mine.”

Bulma reeled back and away from him as if she had been burned, and Raditz regretted the offer immediately. Of course she wouldn't come with him. He had killed all her friends and over 90 percent of her planet's population. He hurt her and took pleasure in it. In her eyes he was villainous. In his own eyes he was villainous, and he couldn't change that no matter how much ill-placed faith the woman had in him. She bit her bleeding lip and Raditz turned away from her.

“You promise not to kill them?” she called softly.

“On my honor,” Raditz swore emptily without looking back at her.

“Okay.”

Her voice was once again hollow. Resigned. Accepting. Raditz had no desire for her this way, not really. He should destroy this final city and finish his brother's task. He should annihilate Bulma along with the last of her planet's population. But he already knew he would do neither of those things. He could not – would not – kill the little blue woman. And he would not kill her people, either, because he would not kill the faith she had in him. It was the naïve faith of earth's people that had conquered Kakarrot. Raditz understood that now. And he had willingly let it conquer him.

He stood. “I will come to collect you when my ship arrives. Do not hide, or I will consider our bargain forfeited.” She nodded numbly and he took it as affirmation. “You may expect my return within the week.”

“Okay.”

Raditz left her then for the second time that day, unsure if he was pleased with himself or not.