Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Red Window ❯ Fingerprints ( Chapter 12 )

Buljata's chest shook as she breathed slowly, retaining the tears before they could flow to the fronts of her eyes. She slumped in the chair and tried to forget about the things that part of her suspected were happening to the others, but she felt it—first Piccolo's ki faded, then Trunks', then Goten's.

 

With a flash of light, Bulma and Vejata flew apart from one another, and as they both regained their balance and bearing, their eyes met—first confused, and then furious.

 

“I can't believe you,” Bulma seethed. Vejata snarled and lunged forward, swinging a fist and sending Bulma against the opposite wall. She exhaled slowly, and ghosts of other emotions flitted across her face before it settled back on rage.

 

“Leave me the fuck alone and you'll get the rest of the way there in one piece,” she spat, turning away. “It wasn't my fault. She wasn't either of us.”

 

“Like hell she wasn't,” Bulma planted her hands on her hips as she regained her footing, surprised to have suffered so little damage from Vejata's blow. “I never would have done something like that! It had to have been you.”

 

“Overconfidence breeds poor decisions,” the Saiyajin answered, her voice level but her quivering fists indicating that her mood was anything but. “We felt too powerful.”

 

“Whatever. I thought you were leaving,” Bulma snapped. “So please continue. I never want to see your face again.” As she spoke, she watched Vejata's expression as it twisted into a familiar smirk. Vegeta…

 

“And I thought you were so obsessed with getting him back,” Vejata filled in for her before sweeping out of the room.

 

“You're not the same as him!” Bulma screamed after her. She was surprised to hear an answer back.

 

“I know. But we are damn similar, aren't we?”

 

 

…

 

 

Tears gathered against Goku's eyelashes, and he swiveled to face Vegeta, who had been too distracted by his own woes to witness Goten's equally disturbing death. “Vegeta…”

 

“We have died lucky deaths, in our lifetimes, Kakarrotto,” the prince muttered. “Dignified deaths…where we knew what we were getting into. Instant deaths. Even a hole through your heart isn't bad…” he seemed to consider his own chest.

 

“Those guys, those Vegetas, they didn't attack me like that,” Goku nearly whispered. “They just all came down an' killed me real quick.”

 

“Scared,” Vegeta answered, “they'd never seen the likes of you before. Saw you nearly beat one of them, and wanted to finish things before they got any farther.” His breath rattled. “This time they knew. Gotenks was sport.” He locked eyes with Goku. “What's more, Gotenks was foolish—too afraid to kill.”

 

“They're young,” Goku seemed taken aback. “Y-you...y'know?”

 

Vegeta stared at his gloved hands for a while. “I know.” And after a moment more, he cringed, unable to stop recalling the scene. “Kakarrot…r-remind me…to take him to the amusement park like he always asks.”

 

The tears that had welled up in Goku's eyes fell across his cheeks and to the ground. “Yeah.”

 

 

…

 

 

Bulma rested her head against the console, watching from the side as the ship traced its path to New Namek. Her constant fear that the six young Vegetas would catch up to them and kill them had waned slightly as they got closer to their destination. She rummaged through a basket of books and papers to find another crossword puzzle. No doubt, they would get her son back, as well as Vegeta. All she had to do was wait—but the journey would certainly take the greater half a week yet. She gave a sidelong glance to the basket, hoping there would be enough puzzles.

 

“Bulma,” the voice came from right behind her, and she visibly jumped. Her skin became sheeted with goosebumps at the sound of her name in a tone so like Vegeta's.

 

“What do you want?” she grated out, beating down the bizarre fluttering that her goosebumps betrayed. “I thought I said I never wanted to see your ugly-ass face again.”

 

“Say whatever you want,” Vejata sunk into a nearby chair. Bulma's eyes flitted over to her in surprise at the sound of resignation in her voice.

 

“Are you okay?” Bulma asked compulsively.

 

“Trying to hold down my power,” she answered. “Keep us off their radar, so to speak—for what little difference it makes.” Her chest rose and fell slowly two, three more times before she spoke again. “I don't know that I can risk too much anger.”

 

“Oh,” Bulma nodded. “Well…what is it that you want?”

 

“To…offer my condolences. For your son.”

 

“He'll be back,” Bulma shrugged, smiling a little at the Saiyajin's attempt at what must seem niceties to her.

 

“I fear he may have died a painful death,” Vejata spoke quietly.

 

“How do you know?”

 

“I…don't,” she hesitated. “I don't know that…but I do know Saiyajin.”

 

Bulma bit her lip. “Did you kill Vegeta painfully?”

 

“What pain there was…was necessary,” she murmured, knitting her brows with frustration at how much she cared about the other woman's reaction and feelings. “I took no particular joy in the act itself. A means to an end.”

 

“I guess that's something,” she sighed. “Do you mind if I ask…how?”

 

Vejata's eyes seemed to glaze over. She shook her head slowly. “I won't answer.”

 

“Why not?”

 

The Saiyajin's eyes snapped wide open and she leapt up to clutch Bulma's collar. “Do you want to imagine him dying? Why do you need to know? Will picturing his pain make you feel better, more complete? Do you want every gruesome detail—what I saw, how I felt?” she snarled. “Are you completely mad?”

 

“Never mind,” Bulma spoke quietly, hoping that her soothing tone would encourage Vejata to release the collar of her shirt and let her sit back down. “I like…the whole truth, is all.”

 

“I drove my hand through his throat,” she growled, releasing Bulma in favor of crossing her arms. “Whether he bled to death first or suffocated may as well be your guess. I suppose they're more or less the same.”

 

Bulma reached one arm upward, gingerly stretching her fingers to brush against Vejata's throat. The Saiyajin waited quietly, mustering all her will not to throw the blue-haired woman across the room. She's weak…she cannot kill me… She balled her fists tightly and uncrossed her arms, but as Bulma held her gaze against Vejata's throat, the Saiyajin gripped Bulma's forearm. “Are you imagining it?” Vejata's voice rumbled quietly from her throat.

 

“I wasn't lying,” Bulma muttered. “You really aren't the same as him.”

 

“I've been told so my entire life,” she answered, still holding Bulma's arm. “Weaker. Inferior. Less worthy.”

 

“That's not what I mean,” Bulma struggled to pull her arm away, to no avail. “I mean…as a person…you're not the same.”

 

“Different backgrounds, of course,” Vejata muttered. “Same genetic predispositions.”

 

“And you do look so similar,” Bulma added. “But…”

 

Vejata leaned in close, eyes boring into Bulma's. “Do I still look the same as him?”

 

Bulma blinked nervously at the proximity and duration of her stare. “Yes…no…” she felt a wild pounding in her chest as she searched for the right answer. “You're…different…but…” her mouth closed as the words hung in the air, and she opened it again, but made no sound for a few moments. “You…carry yourself the same way…”

 

Vejata gently released Bulma's arm, but was surprised to see that she didn't move it. Instead, the woman stretched her fingers around Vejata's arm, bringing it closer to her eyes to observe her hand. Mystified, Vejata waited for Bulma to speak again, letting her rotate her hand this way and that, still leaning in toward the woman so that her hand was an equal distance between them.

 

Bulma lowered Vejata's arm, letting go of it slowly. She raised her eyes to lock with Vejata's again. “Fingerprints.”

 

“What?”

 

“Fingerprints,” Bulma traced her own, to show what she meant. “On Earth we use them to help identify individuals.”

 

“The practice is not unheard-of.”

 

“Yours aren't the same as Vegeta's.” Her eyes lit up hopefully.

 

Vejata's eyes narrowed a little as she smirked. “Are you trying to comfort me?”

 

“Well…”

 

“I am many things because of Prince Vegeta, and one of them is alive, existent.” She tilted her head slightly. “Much like the rest of my people, I do hope I have the same capacity to reach the level of power that he has.” Her chin lifted. “I think I do.”

 

“What makes you think that?”

 

Vejata's smirk curled into a grin.

 

 

…

 

 

“Vegeta,” Goku shook the man. “Hey. Stop napping! Don't you think we should turn the screen back on one of these days? So we know when they're bringing us back?”

 

The prince shrugged, rolling over. “I don't…want to think about anything I've seen on that damn thing.”

 

“It won't happen again, you know.”

 

Vegeta's brow furrowed as he shot a glare toward Goku. “I hope you're right.” He breathed deeply. “But there's nothing stopping them from finding the ship and…” he trailed off, breath hitching in his throat.

 

“…Oh…you don't want to see them kill Bulma…”

 

The prince nodded, eyes shutting tightly.

 

“I don't think they will…honest, Vegeta.” The man didn't seem to be at all convinced, so Goku narrowed his eyes. “As a matter of fact, if they do—well, I'll bust right outta the afterlife and kill `em all right there!” He smirked.

 

“I appreciate the sentiment,” and genuine gratitude leaked into Vegeta's voice. “But we'll be fine without the screen. Why do we need to know exactly when they're bringing us back, anyway?”

 

“I guess,” Goku scratched his head. He bent his knees and leaned down until he was eye-to-eye with Vegeta. “Say, there ain't no other reason you're avoiding keeping your eye on Bulma?”

 

“None,” his mouth twitched.

 

“Almost like a train wreck, huh?”

 

“What?” Vegeta nearly roared.

 

“Y'know, but normally guys like you n' me can stop a train wreck.”

 

“What are you talking about?” he accused.

 

“Er…well…” Goku scratched his head. “Everything, I guess. You know. Stuff that's happened recently.”

 

“Ah,” he arched an eyebrow, dubious.

 

“Hey…if we don't need the screen anymore...is there anything else you want to do while we're down here? Anyone you wanna visit?”

 

“Now that you mention it, yes,” Vegeta stood up, cracking his knuckles. “I could do with a little therapy.”

 

“What?”

 

“Freeza.”

 

 

…

 

 

“It was pretty neat being fused, huh?” Bulma questioned offhandedly, taking another sip of coffee and holding the small scouter up to the light, perhaps looking for any imperfections.

 

“Bizarre,” Vejata answered. “I'm just relieved you didn't peel away any of my mind.”

 

“Yeah, well, I could say the same,” Bulma laughed. “I kind of need it.”

 

“You don't…remember anything you didn't remember before, do you?”

 

“Don't think so,” Bulma stroked her chin thoughtfully. “Not that I've recalled yet. I think you were right when you said we're a different person entirely. Just because we have all the knowledge that both of us have…still,” she set the scouter down to turn her full attention to Vejata. “It seems like you feel more…I don't know, familiar?—to me than you were before.”

 

“Hm,” Vejata nodded.

 

“It's not like I feel like I know you. But…I don't know why, I trust you more.”

 

“Does seem an odd foundation for something like trust,” Vejata commented. “But perhaps it was the success of the fusion. You…feel better that it didn't harm you in some way.”

 

Bulma nodded. “Hey, hand me that puzzle over there?”

 

“This `crossword'?” she lifted it by the corner, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah, I'm almost done with it.”

 

Vejata scrutinized it. “Yes. What odd symbols…”

 

“Can…can I see what your writing looks like?”

 

“I'm surprised Prince Vegeta hasn't shown you.”

 

Bulma shrugged. “He spends a lot of time training. And I never thought to ask.”

“Well,” Vejata took up a pen and scrawled along the side of the paper, “it's something like this.” She slid it over to Bulma. “The Saiyajin were largely illiterate, but of course those of us who survived were either of the royal court, or a very high class, so a much larger portion of the population can read and write now.”

 

“So you're saying that even if he hadn't bumped his head, Goku would probably still be just about as literate?” Bulma laughed as she gazed at the symbols.

 

“Just about.”

 

“I can't imagine what he'd be like,” she rested her head against her hand. “If he hadn't hit his head and become so nice.” She shivered. “He'd be strong, but terrible…”

 

“Perhaps his strength came directly from his assumedly unorthodox upbringing,” Vejata suggested. “I'm sure he didn't grow up as the normal Saiyajin would. That Prince Vegeta was not able to kill him at their first encounter—that alone speaks volumes.” Bulma nodded. “You said…you were the second person he ever met.”

 

“Yeah. He was twelve, but he'd spent all this time just living off the land after his adoptive grandfather died.” Her eyes met Vejata's. “This kid who didn't even know the difference between a girl and a boy,” she laughed. “We had adventures…he trained under different masters…” Giving up on any hope of finishing the crossword while they spoke, she set the pen down and leaned back. “I didn't see him for long stretches of time. Once…” she picked the pen back up and began tapping it against the table nervously. “Once he left us as a boy and came back a man. I hardly recognized him…” a light blush crept across her features. “I mean, I chased after just about every handsome man I could,” she admitted, “especially back then. But…damn…” Bulma paused, looking up toward Vejata to see if she was still listening. Vejata's eyes settled against hers, intent. “I felt like I couldn't even touch him. He wasn't human.”

 

“He's not human.”

 

“I didn't know that then. Besides…” she leaned across the table to emphasize her point, “he's not Saiyajin either.”

 

Vejata's mouth twitched. “You're right.”

 

“But then, maybe he is more now,” Bulma leaned back again. “Vegeta's always going on about `Kakarrot finally embracing his Saiyajin pride.'”

 

The ship fell silent, and Bulma rolled the pen back and forth as she returned her focus to the crossword.

 

“Are they friends?” Vejata finally spoke.

 

“Who?” Bulma shook herself out of the fog, raising her eyes to Vejata's.

 

“Kakarrot and Prince Vegeta. At first I thought Prince Vegeta hated him…but I talked to Kakarrot…and from what you said…”

 

“Oh, yeah, they're friends,” Bulma smiled. “I'm not sure if Vegeta would ever confess to it directly, but you can just tell.” She laughed a bit to herself. “They quarrel like a married couple. It's cute.”

 

“A quarrel between two mates on my planet usually ends in a series of explosions,” she smirked.

 

“Well, there's that, too, of course,” Bulma seemed amused. “It's inevitable, with how often they spar.”

 

Vejata seemed to mull this over. “I suppose it would be.”

 

“He's really settled down. I'm proud of him.”

 

“Prince Vegeta?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I wouldn't have believed he'd have had it in him.”

 

“Oh, he goes off into space every now and again,” she shrugged. “But he always comes back. His trips are shorter now.” Bulma laughed. “He would never tell me he missed me, but I just know. When he comes back he starts picking fights over everything…gets really in my face about it.” She smiled. “You can always tell what kind of mood he's in by how he argues. If he's really confrontational and hotheaded about it, everything's fine…it's when he's quiet and brooding that you have to worry.”

 

“Kakarrot mentioned the same thing.”

 

“I think I'll forever be competing with Goku for Vegeta's attention,” Bulma rolled her eyes.

 

“Sounds like it.”

 

 

…

 

 

“Hello, Freeza,” Vegeta hissed, smirking.

 

“Why, if it isn't our beloved Vegeta,” the lizard crooned.

 

“Enjoying Hell?”

 

“Oh, you know,” he glanced down toward his fingernails, “they do televise the most delightful programs.” Freeza raised his eyes to meet Vegeta's once more, and his lips curled up.

 

Vegeta's eyes glazed over with fury, and without another word unleashed his anger upon him in the form of endless punches and kicks. From a distance, Goku smiled. I guess he needed to do it more than I ever did.

 

 

…

 

 

Her door cracked open, letting in light from the main room, and Vejata opened an eye to find Bulma blocking some of the light. “What do you want?”

 

“Vegeta…” Bulma murmured, wandering into the room and flopping down beside Vejata.

 

“Don't be foolish. You're sleepwalking,” the Saiyajin shook her. “I'm not Prince Vegeta.” She closed her eyes, trying to gather her wits as the fog of sleep crept away from her. Ever the substitute… Bulma tried to move closer to her, and Vejata slapped her across the face. “Hey! You're asleep, goddammit.”

 

“Oh,” Bulma's eyes fluttered open and a spark of consciousness flashed into her eyes. “Vejata.”

 

“Yes, it's just me—now please—leave me in peace,” she started to turn over to face her back toward Bulma.

 

“Wait,” Bulma breathed. “It's…you're…” she propped herself up on her elbow and grabbed Vejata's wrist before she could stop her. She pointed to Vejata's finger. “You're not the same. But you're…okay…too.”

 

“Wh…what?”'

“You keep looking at me. Don't act like you think I've never seen that look.”

 

“I keep seeing all the reasons Prince Vegeta chose you as a mate,” she answered curtly. “Think nothing of it.”

 

“Are you…jealous?”

“Hardly,” she snorted, her tail thrashing about. It struck Bulma's thigh and then drew back as Vejata cringed.

 

“You act a lot like Vegeta, but it's not as if you're just a stand-in for him. To me…at least.” She blushed. “You're…well, you remind me of him so strikingly…but…up close, you know…you're a different person, with a different history.” She rested her forehead against Vejata's shoulder, and the Saiyajin's hair stood on end. “You want your planet back. I think Vegeta couldn't care less. You killed him…I don't think he really would have killed you. Not as he is today.

 

“But you're…just as enchanting as he is,” she finished, face twisted into an awkward expression.

 

Vejata reoriented herself to better observe Bulma, turning onto her back. “I don't understand,” she muttered, but it was clear that she did.

 

Bulma smiled, leaning over her. “I want to give you something.” Suddenly more flustered than she already had been, she dipped her head down until her lips met Vejata's for just a moment. Bulma held her eyes closed and let her mouth linger there for a moment before pulling back. “That was for Queen Vegeta, and no one else.”

 

Vejata blushed fiercely. “You should go.”

 

The blue-haired woman recoiled a bit, as if Vejata had struck her. Breathing deeply, she edged off the bed and climbed to her feet. “S…sorry,” she murmured, and turned away from Vejata to head back out the door.

 

“Don't apologize,” the Saiyajin whispered back as Bulma crossed the threshold back into the light. Vejata wasn't even sure if she'd heard her, until Bulma straightened her posture and strode the rest of the way down the hall proudly. Vejata rolled over so that the ghost that lingered at her door couldn't see her disbelief. For me…and no one else.