Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Red Window ❯ Difference ( Chapter 10 )

Goku grinned as he deflected a barrage of punches and kicks. “Guys, guys! Calm down! Vegeta and I just came to peek in on what's going on at home, so to speak.” He waved cheerily to Cell, who sat distance away. “Hey! Long time no see!” Goku shrugged toward the attacking force, as if asking the green humanoid why he wasn't joining in on the one-sided brawl.

 

“Son Goku, you surpassed my abilities long ago.”

 

“You mind if Vegeta and I sit there?” Goku asked, firing a final blast against the opposition, and no one came at him again.

 

Cell stood up and walked away without another word.

 

“Well, you certainly cleaned that up quickly,” Vegeta crossed his arms and glanced toward Goku. “I'm surprised they haven't offered you a job as a god around here.”

 

Goku grinned and scratched the back of his head. “Uh…”

 

“Oh, don't tell me. They have, haven't they?”

 

“I dunno…” Goku turned around, apparently distracted. “Hey! Look!”

 

“The screen is this way, moron.”

 

“No, no, there's your dad! Right? He has to be! He looks just like you!”

 

As if he had heard Goku from such a distance, King Vegeta entered with a dramatically billowing cape and proud swagger. He seemed to become more hesitant as he approached, eventually regarding his son with a small, almost questioning nod. “Vegeta.”

 

“F-Father…!”

 

“Hey King Vegeta, you'll never guess who killed Vegeta not too long ago!”

 

He quirked an eyebrow at Goku, perplexed. “Do I…know you?”

 

“No. I'm Son Goku!”

 

“Kakarrot,” Vegeta clarified, and opened his mouth to continue to speak, but found everything that he wanted to say caught in his throat.

 

“Ah, I thought he looked like a Saiyajin.”

 

“So you don't have a guess?” Goku piped up again. “Your son died the other day—just the same way you did!”

 

Vegeta gaped at Goku, and then scrambled to pull him back. “Please, excuse him, he suffered some brain damage at a young age…of course I wasn't killed by Freeza…er, not this time…Kakarrot, what are you thinking…”

 

But King Vegeta unconsciously raised his hand and traced a few fingers along his throat, his gaze stretching over Vegeta's shoulder into the past.

 

“Father?” Vegeta found himself doing the same thing, remembering his body back on Earth.

 

“She found you, did she? Well, I knew my death was coming…but I was sure you were stronger than she…”

 

“I am!” Vegeta protested immediately. “But…” he narrowed his eyes and shifted his focus to Goku. “You've obviously left something out of your story…Kakarrot, what didn't you tell me?”

 

Goku laughed. “They were all details, I dunno…I just skipped to the exciting bits…”

 

The king turned to Vegeta, grasping for words. “My son…if I had known you would live…”

 

“Don't apologize!” Goku clapped a hand against his back, and King Vegeta froze in place. “We'll be back to life soon enough! Plus I know Vejata's gonna become a great friend!”

 

He blinked, and lowered his eyebrows to try to mask his confusion, but all were distracted as Hell's biggest TV screen flickered to life.

 

“It's like this,” a voice washed across the land, fuzzy at first. “You put your arms this way…”

 

 

…

 

 

“…And then as you step to the side like this,” Trunks continued before huffing and blowing his bangs out of his face. “Y'know what, Goten, let's just show `em!”

 

“Watch carefully,” Bulma nearly seethed. “I've seen this before. If you fuck it up we'll come out ugly as hell.”

 

“Take your own advice,” Vejata spat. “Unlike you, I possess the keen, observant eye of the warrior.”

 

Piccolo rolled his eyes and turned to Dende. “I don't know if this is ever going to work, if those two keep going at each other's throats like that…” Dende laughed nervously.

 

“Okay,” Goten attempted to smile at the two women as they glared daggers at one another. “Umm…Miss Vejata, since Miss Bulma can't adjust her ki, you'll have to practice matching her…”

 

“Oh, great,” Bulma raised her voice overdramatically. “Because she just told us that she's so experienced with that kind of stuff…”

 

“Right, and you're one to talk, you—”

 

“Cut it out!” Piccolo suddenly stepped in between the two. “Vejata, you know what we're dealing with and if it's as serious as you say, you need to start acting the part. Bulma…” he trailed off, unsure of what to say and then afraid to let anything more leave his mouth as he evaluated her expression. Blushing slightly at the ineffectiveness of his speech, he strode away and grumbled to himself.

 

Vejata approached him quietly, holding a gaze against Bulma. She didn't shift her focus to Piccolo until she was standing toe to toe with him. Swearing quietly at the height difference, she drifted up until she was at his eye level. Motioning that they should turn away from the others, she spoke softly. “I do need more time to learn about being aware of my and others' ki,” she admitted. “I don't know if I can do what you have asked in time for us to stop these things before they reach this very planet. I don't know their capabilities; they may have this place pinpointed at this instant. For all I know, they too could teleport here.”

 

Piccolo inclined his head and furrowed his brow. “I see…”

 

“Sorry,” Dende piped up, stepping up to the two, “I, um, couldn't help overhearing,” his face reddened as he motioned to his ears, “and I think I have a solution.” He shrugged toward the Lookout's main building, and as Piccolo opened his mouth, Dende spoke again, “I asked Mr. Popo if he could fix it. Surely enough…”

 

Piccolo stole a sidelong glance through a window at the genie, who appeared to be ambling about in the kitchen and humming to himself.

 

“Sorry to interrupt your secret meeting,” Bulma shoved past Vejata to stare up at Piccolo, “but didn't you say that this was important? Because if it's not, I'm going home.”

 

Piccolo ignoring Bulma's comment as his eyes met Vejata's. “Will you need someone to coach or assist you in your training?”

 

“I need no one.”

 

“Do you expect it will take you much longer?”

 

“I was quickly catching on. Merely a bit of time for introspection may be key at this point.”

 

“All right,” and Piccolo finally turned to Bulma. “Stay right here. This shouldn't take long. Vejata is going to hone her skills in the Room of Spirit and Time…and then you will practice the fusion.”

 

…

 

 

“Whoa,” Goku grinned. “I didn't know they fixed it! Hey, Vegeta…” but he trailed off as he noticed the prince wasn't paying any attention to him. Instead, Vegeta held his eyes on the screen thoughtfully as he watched Vejata jam her middle finger up in the air at Bulma before turning on her heel to follow Piccolo.

 

“Is there any way to see our alleged opponents, Kakarrot?” he finally spoke.

 

“Hm,” Goku scratched his head, and he disappeared for a moment, rummaging through something that sat behind the giant screen. He slid back up to Vegeta's side holding a novelty giant remote, grinning ear to ear.

 

Vegeta smacked his hand against his forehead. “You make life a living hell, Kakarrot.”

 

“Oh, Vegeta!” Goku guffawed, clapping his hand against Vegeta's shoulder. “We're already in Hell!”

 

“Case. In. Point.”

 

 

…

 

 

“D'you really think the bad guys are gonna be that strong?” Trunks glanced back toward Goten as they sat waiting for Vejata. “I mean, she's kinda weak, maybe they just seem strong to her.”

 

“I dunno,” Goten shrugged. “But do we really want them to be strong? Then they might blow the Earth up! And our dads are dead!”

 

“Oh, c'mon, where's your sense of adventure? We'll kick their asses…” Trunks glanced up to find Piccolo glaring down at him. “Er, butts.” He shrugged. “Sorry, Mom's influence!”

 

Piccolo seemed to accept this. “Speaking of your mother, where has she gone?” He scanned the area, searching for her ki.

 

“Oh, she was looking for some stuff. She wanted to make something.”

 

At that moment, a bout of screaming and yelling issued from the kitchen area. Bulma sprinted out of the room, nearly skidding off the edge of the platform as she came to a halt behind Piccolo. “Save me!”

 

“What did you do?” Piccolo blinked, but his gaze was drawn toward Mr. Popo's blank stare from the entrance of the building, and he could nearly feel it burrowing through his body to reach Bulma.

 

“My toaster,” the genie spoke. “Please give it back.”

 

“I need it!” Bulma whimpered. “I'm building something…”

 

“W-we can get you a new toaster!” Dende stepped in, waving his hands as if his surrender could end the battle. “I don't think they're very hard to come by…”

 

 

…

 

 

“Vegeta, don't you think Vejata should be done in there by now?” Goku scratched his head, leaning back and yawning. They had spent some time searching for and then observing their opponents, but seeing planet after planet burst was wearying, and they had chosen to check up on the goings-on back at the Lookout. “She was really close to understanding the essence of sensing ki, you know? She could already do it, just needed to get familiar with raising and lowering her own power, I think…”

“Hm,” Vegeta shrugged, but a knowing smirk seemed to play across his features briefly.

 

“Hey, you're not too mad about her killing you, are you? She thought she had to, you know? But I don't think she'll do it again.”

 

“Who am I to hold a grudge?” Vegeta nearly chortled, but held back when he realized that Goku hadn't caught on to his sarcasm. “Of course I'm angry. Her life has consisted of everything mine was destined to. She just waltzes in and kills me, underhanded as she did?”

 

“Hey,” Goku frowned. “I know how you fight. You can't call anyone underhanded, Vegeta!” The prince flashed a toothy grin. “Anyway, you aren't even the tiniest bit glad that you ended up on Earth instead of ruling the Saiyajin like she does? Don't you feel like you ended up better than her?”

“I'm significantly stronger than I would have been,” he noted. I have you to thank for that, Kakarrot.

 

“And you have a family! And friends!”

 

“Less important, but equally true,” Vegeta continued to smirk.

 

“She told me she doesn't even have any friends.”

 

“Of course not. What did you expect? Besides, she's a real bitch. No one would want to be friends with her anyway.”

 

“Aw, I think she's okay.”

 

“You think I'm okay.”

 

Goku grinned.

 

 

…

 

 

“Man, what was the holdup?” Trunks' brows furrowed as Vejata finally emerged. “Piccolo said it'd only take a little while. You were in there for—what—more than a day!”

 

“Just a change of plans,” Vejata responded, her voice deadly quiet as she scanned the area. She gripped the medallion tightly, a secret smirk playing through her lips and dancing across her teeth.

 

“Ugh, you smell dis-gusting,” Bulma noted, turning her nose up as she stalked past, apparently pilfering additional appliances as Piccolo and Dende restrained Mr. Popo. “If there was ever a chance that I would fuse with you, it is gone as long as you smell like that.”

 

Piccolo coughed, subtly agreeing. “Shower's that way,” he motioned down the hallway. “Should've been one in the Room of Spirit and Time, though.”

 

“Couldn't be bothered.”

 

“Well be bothered now!” came Bulma's distant shout. Bristling, Vejata briskly paced down the hall, not holding back her opinions of the blue-haired woman as she went.

 

“How long will it take us to get to New Namek on your ship?” Piccolo turned toward Bulma, ears tinged red as he tried to ignore the colorful words coming from behind him until Vejata rounded the corner into the washroom.

 

“Well, it's fast, but it could still take a week,” she bit her lip and carefully placed a miniscule square on the edge of her nearly as miniscule device. “Speaking of which, I really do need to prepare it before we leave.” She held the object up to the sun, squinting before pulling it back down to make some adjustments.

 

“Then perhaps it would be best for you two to learn to fuse along the way,” Piccolo mused. “Riskier, but we are already running a risk…and your device should help matters…”

 

“Trust me, it's only for the sake of my dignity,” Bulma pulled a tiny pair of pliers from her pocket. “I was there the first few times Goten and Trunks fused.”

 

Piccolo nodded, recalling the incidents with almost as much horror as Bulma. He heard feet padding across the tiles of the Lookout and glanced up, only to blush and quickly cast his gaze back down. “Make yourself decent,” he stuttered.

 

“Thought you should know that I was not provided with a means of drying myself,” Vejata crossed her arms. “I came out here to air out.”

 

Bulma tore her eyes from her work and seemed to scrutinize Vejata for a few minutes before shrugging and returning to the task at hand. “Piccolo's right. You should really consider covering your ugly ass up,” she offered.

 

Piccolo buried his face in one hand and pointed the other toward Vejata. She was slow to dodge the beam, and found herself clad in an outfit mirroring the Namekian's, sans cape and turban. Grimacing at her feet, she kicked off the shoes, and one collided with Bulma's head, causing her to drop the device she held. The woman leapt up to snarl at Vejata. “I was almost done with that!”

 

“Tough.”

 

 

…

 

 

By the next morning, the ship was prepared, and Bulma finished up her last-minute call to Chi-Chi insisting that the world would surely go up in flames if Goten did not accompany them—“by the way, your husband is dead again…yes, that's why we're going into space”—and orders to a handful of employees to keep everything in order while she went on “vacation.” She was the last to step into the ship, and initiated the takeoff sequence not one moment after the door sealed shut behind her. “Let's get this over with. Among other things, I'd like to get Vegeta back sooner than later.” She sent a spiteful grin toward Vejata, knowing that the Saiyajin had been trying to ignore the fact that she was likely sacrificing any chance of Vegeta dying by her hand again in favor of destroying the other six of his copies that had wreaked havoc on her planet.

 

“Set the coordinates, and let's get to work,” Piccolo insisted. “At best, you two have half a week to master the fusion. And Trunks and Goten still need to learn how to teleport.” Vejata's hairs stood on end at the constant orders issuing from the Namekian's mouth, but she shouldered them, figuring that they were necessary for the others to hear.

 

Trunks and Goten, at least, seemed excited.

 

“I think I'm feeling cabin fever already,” Bulma sighed. She turned to Vejata. “I built something to make up for your apparent incompetency,” and from a case in her pocket she whipped out the device she had been working on earlier. Her bitterness turned to pride and confidence as she basked in her genius, and in a brighter voice, continued, “I present to you the new and improved scouter!”

 

“It's…rather too small,” Vejata frowned.

 

“It fits into your eye, dumbass. Like a contact lens. It reads much higher levels than the old ones, pinpoints them with greater precision, and I built in a circuit breaker so that it'll shut off, rather than exploding, if the readings get too high.” She smirked, holding it out to Vejata. “Well? Put it in. Then you can see when your level matches mine, so we reduce the chances of fucking up the fusion. You spent forever training, but I still don't want to trust you to do it right without some help.”

 

Eying Bulma warily, curiosity got the better of Vejata, and she pressed the object against her eyeball and let it settle into place.

 

“It projects a virtual image at a distance that's comfortable to your eye,” she explained, “in fact, at the same distance as the target so that you don't have to refocus much when you switch to concentrating on the target itself.” She crossed her arms. “Well? I'm brilliant, aren't I?”

 

“Hnh,” Vejata glanced around, observing the other passengers of the ship. “Could be better.”

 

“Can we teach you how to fuse, already?” Trunks tapped his foot impatiently.

 

“Yeah! Hurry up!” Goten nodded.

 

The two glanced at each other quietly and took position.

 

 

…

 

 

“Hey, you're in my spot,” Bulma frowned, prodding at Vejata. The Saiyajin's eyes slid open halfway and her tail twitched uneasily. “This is my bed.”

 

“Not now that I'm in it.”

 

“I already told you that you're supposed to sleep in the room across from this!”

 

“This bed is much nicer,” Vejata rolled over so that her back faced Bulma. “And I am a Queen.”

 

“Ugh!” Bulma kicked the bed. “Could you possibly be any more like Vegeta?”

 

She was met with a smug smirk as Vejata swiveled her head to glance over her shoulder. “Foolish woman,” she breathed, “I am Vegeta.”

 

“You're not the same,” Bulma argued, placing her hands on her hips and looking away as she blushed slightly at the realization that she had just gone against her own words.

 

Vejata raised a finger until it rested just in front of her own nose. “Took Kakarrot until just about here to make that realization.”

 

“Wh-what?”

 

“I promised not to speak of it,” and she turned around again. Her tail swished slowly, sweeping along the edge of the bed. “Pay it no mind.”

 

Bulma crossed her arms. “Whatever. Tell me this, though: why did you kill Vegeta?”

 

“I had to,” she answered simply, hoping that the woman would not prod her for further explanation. It should be obvious enough. “But with my planet gone too, it was, as it turns out, a pointless act.” Vejata turned to Bulma again. “And I will be getting that back in the same way that you will be getting him back.” Her eyes lowered to gaze at her hands. “There will be riots…but if Prince Vegeta truly does not desire to rule, I will resume my post by force against those who would see me dead.”

 

“What if he does want to rule?” Bulma hadn't considered the possibility, and she hoped it wouldn't happen.

 

“Then he will kill me.”

 

“Oh.” She blinked and watched Vejata's hands. They were a bit smaller than Vegeta's, but bore the same sterile appearance after years wearing gloves—bore the same invisible blood stains, too. Compulsively, she grabbed the hand to inspect it, her scientific mind taking over. Would they have the same fingerprint? “You know, Vegeta and I never meant to end up together.” Fascinated by Bulma's suddenly gentle countenance, Vejata was unmoving, afraid to breathe lest she disturb the beast that always seemed to erupt around her. “But we had Trunks, and…whenever he was gone, I know he missed fighting me.” She rolled her eyes, smiling as she reminisced. “He must have felt terrible—Goku always outdoing him physically, and there I was, always out-arguing him,” she smirked. “I guess that may be why he deemed me `worthy,'” she seemed to imitate Vegeta's voice.

 

“Saiyajin aren't necessarily monogamous,” Vejata seemed thoughtful. “But as a Vegeta he'd have been preened to be picky either way.” She glanced Bulma over. “He must have seen something in you.”

 

Bulma motioned to the scouter lens that sat on the nearest table. “Well, I'm pretty damn smart. I was the one who built that gravity room. He was always around,” she stretched her arms above her. “Maybe it was inevitable.”

 

“Maybe,” Vejata responded, consciously slowing her breathing.

 

“You must not have anyone.”

 

“No,” the Saiyajin bristled. “I'm done with that.” Bulma raised an eyebrow and Vejata felt she had no choice but to elaborate under its inquisitive arch. “The moment someone who seems remotely strong enough to continue the Vegeta line comes along, he thinks he can overpower me.” Her fist clenched. “The only way to end his delusions is to kill him,” and her fingers relaxed as her head rolled to the side. “I am being forced to weaken my own race. King Vegeta should not have revealed his strong preference for a male heir.” She closed her eyes, resigned to her fate. “It was obvious enough, anyway.”

 

“Won't someone have to take over when you die?”

 

“When I become too feeble or absentminded to rule, someone will kill me,” she opened her eyes again, staring at the ceiling. “I'd prefer it be offspring of the proud Vegeta line.”

 

“Wouldn't you rather just…not be killed at all?” Bulma shivered at the thought.

 

Vejata's brows furrowed. She sat up quickly and turned to Bulma, roughly grabbing her shoulders. “No!” she spoke sharply, quietly. “That is not how it works. I couldn't…”

 

“Why not?” Bulma struggled against Vejata's grasp, and she was let free as the Saiyajin pulled her arms back and crossed them against her chest.

 

“The moment I leave—for good—my people are open to be taken over by poor leadership. As I've said, I still have not found anyone worthy…” she trailed off before starting again. “With too much chaos, and under unwise direction—they will die. Would you run away from your planet to save your life if it meant the death of all the humans?” Her chest rose and fell beneath her arms. “Much as you, I think, I have had only one home in my life. I may have visited other planets—but I grew up a Saiyajin, steeped in my culture, tempered by my people. Prince Vegeta had no such luxury. Small wonder he can't be bothered to rule New Vegeta—he must be embarrassed by the weakness of other Saiyajin compared to him.” Bulma nodded slowly, leaning in slightly as Vejata spoke. “And now I, I am in the middle.”

 

“What?”

 

She unfolded her arms, eyes boring into Bulma's. “There is a gap to close. But which way?” Vejata exhaled heavily.

 

“I can't say I understand,” Bulma bit her lip. She felt she should say something—maybe an apology, or a thank you—but she hesitated to break the fragile thread that had formed between them during the conversation by making its presence known. If Goku had really accepted her—had really tried to train her, as she had said—then she couldn't be too bad. She had the man's questionable judgment to thank for Vegeta, after all. “What was it that you said about Goku, earlier?” It exited her mouth before she could stop it.

 

Vejata held her gaze on Bulma for a few moments, perhaps trying to judge her intent. “How well do you know Kakarrot?”

 

“We go way back,” Bulma seemed to be recalling the day they met. “I was the second person he ever encountered. Mind you, he was twelve then.”

 

Her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Oh,” was all she could think to say before she composed herself. “Has he always acted…the way he does?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Bulma rolled her eyes. “More or less. The clueless bastard we all love,” she laughed a bit to herself.

 

“I wouldn't have believed a Saiyajin could achieve such strength,” Vejata spoke quietly. “Without reducing himself to nothing short of a mindless killing machine. At the very least…a conniving monster.” Her eyes seemed to gaze into the same empty space as Bulma's. “Though he is, without a doubt, a monster.”

 

“I guess you could say that,” Bulma shrugged. “But give him a little credit. He tries.” She set one elbow on the bed to lean her head against her hand. “Why do you care, anyway?”

 

“It's…hardly worth discussing,” Vejata answered quietly.

 

“You never answered my question,” Bulma prompted her. “About what you said, about him.”

 

Words rolled around on Vejata's tongue, but she swallowed them all before they stripped her bare. “We agreed not to discuss it,” she finally admitted. “It was nothing, anyway.”

 

“Yeah?” Bulma rolled her eyes. She leaned further in to better read Vejata's expression in the darkness. She swore she could detect a blush, but shook her head a little—it was unlikely. “Well, whatever.” Placing her hands on her hips, Bulma tilted her head. “Are you getting out of my bed, or not?”

 

Vejata shrugged, turning back over so that her back faced Bulma, and the blue-haired woman noted the Saiyajin's tail with interest. It thrashed about for several moments before Vejata seemed to become conscious of it, and stilled it to only the occasional twitch. Bulma reached for it, her scientific mind once more kicking into gear. It greatly resembled the tail she had gotten used to seeing on Goku—perhaps the fur was a bit darker or a bit sleeker. Vegeta's tail must have been just the same… “Do you ever use it?”

 

“To transform? Not for a while,” came the answer.

 

“Would you miss it?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Goku's was his weakness, for a time.”

 

“We train ourselves.”

 

“Can I…touch it?”

 

Vejata's body stiffened visibly. “If you must.” There was no use in arguing—the woman's hand had nearly been resting against it anyway. She could do no harm to it. Vejata braced herself, but she could not have been prepared for the contact, after so many years of the lack thereof. She clenched her teeth, determined not to clue the woman in to her discomfort.

 

“It's a lot softer than the hair on Vegeta's head,” Bulma noted quietly. She watched muscles along Vejata's neck and arms twitch. “Are you sure you're okay with this?”

 

“I never told you I was,” the Saiyajin forced through her teeth. “I said you could touch it if you had to.”

 

Bulma pulled her hand away guiltily. “Well…thanks.” She straightened her back as she stood up to her full height, sweeping a few hairs behind her ear. “I wonder if our fused form will have a tail?” She turned toward the door, but as she took the first step away from Vejata, the Saiyajin spoke.

 

“You can have this bed,” she sat up, and in the dark Bulma couldn't tell if her eyes were poisonous with self-loathing, or just poisonous. “Smells too much like your goddamn mate for my tastes.” Vejata pulled herself from the bed and left the room without so much as gracing Bulma with another glance.

 

Bulma opened her mouth to thank the Saiyajin, but thought better of it. She clambered into the bed, determined to rest well in preparation for tomorrow's work. Curious, she breathed in the scent of the pillows and the sheets deeply. She couldn't tell what scent was Vegeta's, or what was Vejata's—maybe there was no difference at all.