Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Colours Within ❯ Ice Princess ( Chapter 5 )

A/N: LONG UPDATES = BAD!!! Sorry v.v This chapter was hard to do, especially the argument scene (I hope my struggles aren't obvious!). Btw, that scene in particular has a lot of profanity. Maybe it's just me, but I swear a lot when I argue =S so now my characters do too. Anyway, I've taken up enough time writing this, so I won't keep you any longer (though only a couple people actually read the A/N's anyway :P).

 

five. ice princess.

 

Bulma pulled into one of the visitor's spots in the garage of Yamcha's apartment. She hadn't called to let Yamcha know that she was coming, wanting to surprise him, and hoped that he was home and not out training, working, or shopping.

 

She took the elevator to the sixth floor and walked the familiar path to Yamcha's unit. Grinning cheekily to herself, she put a thumb over the small peephole that allowed him to look into the hall and knocked on the door. She heard movement from within and she knew that he was home. There was a moment's pause and Bulma was sure that he was attempting to look out at her. Finally she heard the chain slide open and the lock turn. The door was pulled inward.

 

She met with a very sour looking man indeed. Yamcha eyed her and stood unmoving in the doorway, the silence growing thick between them.

 

“Um… hi,” Bulma tried, but her words were swallowed by the hush.

 

He continued to watch her, almost scrutinizing her, as she shifted uncomfortably beneath his stare.

 

She tried again. “Is something wrong?” she asked, feeling suddenly stupid because it was very obvious that something was wrong. But after her words died away again, it gave way to more silence. What the hell is going on? she wondered.

 

It was finally Yamcha's voice that sliced through the quiet. “Vegeta's not here, I see.”

 

Bulma's expression changed from one of confused worry to complete incredulousness. “No, why would he be?”

 

“Well, since you're so concerned about his well-being I just figured you wouldn't let him out of your sight.”

 

Bulma gaped at him. “Excuse me?”

 

Yamcha eyed her. “You fell asleep at his bedside, didn't you? You didn't even notice that I'd left, and didn't bother to call me for days. Seems to me that you were pretty absorbed in how Vegeta was.”

 

“He almost died!”

 

“Did you grieve for me like that when I did die?” Yamcha suddenly roared. “If Vegeta had died I would have called it karma and not bothered to worry about it! Why are you so concerned about him and what he does and how he is? He doesn't deserve it! Bulma, he's a murderer! If he was human and axed people in their sleep, you wouldn't welcome him into your home! He would be in jail and you'd be following along in the news, horrified that anyone could do such a thing. And you'd go on about how jail is too light of a sentence for him and that he deserves death.”

 

“I would not!” Bulma cried indignantly. “I'm against the death penalty and you know that!”

 

Yamcha threw his hands in the air. “That's besides the point! You're picking at the topic, hearing what you want to hear and ignoring everything else. If—“

 

He stopped suddenly as a door down the hall opened and a young woman appeared, eyeing them both touchily with barely concealed intrigue at what they had said. Returning her glare and making it obvious that their conversation was not one that she had permission to ask him about later, Yamcha opened the door wider and muttered at Bulma to come in, which she did.

 

She hesitated just inside the doorway as Yamcha made his way into the kitchen. “Do you want anything to drink?” he called out to her, but though his words were hospitable his tone suggested otherwise.

 

“Sure. Anything.”

 

He returned a few minutes later and handed her a glass of iced tea as he headed for the living room. He sat down heavily in the armchair beside the couch, and looked over at Bulma, frowning.

 

“Well?” he pressed, and Bulma sighed and walked to the couch to sit down.

 

“Do you want to tell me what's going on?” she asked once she was seated.

 

“I think you need to be telling me what's going on,” Yamcha retorted irritably.

 

“What's going on with what?” Bulma cried, frustrated.

 

He looked at her over the top of his cup as he took a drink, his gaze piercing into her. “How long have you been with Vegeta?”

 

“What the hell?”

 

“Did something happen on Namek that you didn't tell me about? Is that the whole reason for inviting him to stay with you as long as he stays on Earth? Is that why you're so concerned for his safety and would rather sit by his bedside even though he's friggin' comatose than see me out the goddamn door?”

 

Bulma stared at him dumbly. Calmly, Yamcha took another gulp and put the glass down on a coaster on the coffee table while he waited for her to speak.

 

Her words came out more hysterical than she had intended. “Are you fucking crazy?” she burst out. “You're accusing me of fuckin' around with Vegeta? VEGETA!? You're totally fuckin' crazy. It's Vegeta for Christ's sakes!”

 

“I know who it is,” Yamcha snapped in reply. “You don't have to remind me.”

 

“Then where the fuck are you getting all this bullshit? Are these some tabloid rumours or some crap?”

 

“No, but I'm surprised that they're not.”

 

“What's that supposed to mean!?”

 

Yamcha sighed and began slowly, as though he were speaking to a young child. “I'm not at the Capsule Corporation very often anymore - not since Vegeta became your houseguest, actually - because I've been busy with training. However, in the rare times that I am there, for the short periods that I stay, I see how Vegeta seems to be more important in your mind than I am. If it's this obvious to me when I'm hardly ever there, how obvious must it be to your employees or parents when they're always there to see how you behave?”

 

Bulma shook her head. “You've cracked.”

 

Yamcha only shrugged.

 

“You know,” Bulma said suddenly, “this whole goddamn thing reeks of hypocrisy. You realize that?”

 

Yamcha frowned at her. “You're absolutely right. You get mad at me for cheating on you, and then you turn around and do exactly the same thing.”

 

“Fuck you!” Bulma screeched. “You have no friggin' idea. I meant that you were being hypocritical, you bastard, since you're accusing me and getting mad at me for exactly the same thing you've done to me several times! And I've always taken you back! I forgave you! Clearly I was delusional.”

 

“Clearly.”

 

Yamcha's placidness made Bulma throw her arms in the air and scream throatily. “You're so fucking stupid!!”

 

“I'm fuckin' stupid? You're the one who's fucking around with Vegeta and expect me not to figure it out. You're the one trying to argue your innocence.”

 

“You the hell told you this bullshit?” Bulma demanded.

 

“Nobody! It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out!”

 

A prolonged silence followed, with Yamcha reaching for his glass again while Bulma's own cup shook in her unsteady hands.

 

“How can you think that?” Bulma demanded finally, her voice soft as tears welling in her eyes.

 

Yamcha looked over at her. “What, are you crying now? You're crying because I'm mad? How do you think I feel, then, whenever you accuse me of things you think are ridiculous and get mad when I try to tell you otherwise? Stop crying and suck it up, Princess.”

 

She glared at him. “Ridiculous?” she echoed, her tone turning hard. “Why in God's name would I turn around and cheat on you when I know how it feels? And don't you start ranting to me about `karma this', `karma that'. You'll get your dose of karma alright, but not from me! I'm glad you think I'm cheating on you with Vegeta; now you know what it's like - except it's even better because you already know and hate him! If you want to be an idiot, then you can, but stop wallowing in your sorrow because you brought this upon yourself! Suck it up, Princess!!” And with her final screech of rage, she pitched her cup at his head. He ducked in his seat and the cup bounced harmlessly off the wall, the ice cube inside falling out and rebounding off Yamcha's head.

 

And with that, she stomped out of the apartment.

 

///

 

It had been four days since Vegeta had woken, and three days since he'd been released from the medical wing. It was to his great irritation that Dr. Briefs still forbade him (in his freedom-giving way) to resume training in the gravity room. However, the previous evening, after finding Vegeta alternating between pacing the living room and surfing through the channels on the TV at top speed, he had told the prince that light exercise shouldn't be harmful - jogs, sit-ups, push-ups, meditation - since he was, after all, Saiya-jin.

 

Vegeta hadn't much liked this idea, especially not since the robots had built another gravity room - not a new one, but a replica of the old one, as they had been programmed to do. The facility was ready for use, and yet not open to him. He also was getting more and more annoyed at the fact that the new gravity room he had requested hadn't been built yet. He knew that he had blown up the foundations of it, but Bulma had yet to start it again. How much longer would he be expected to wait?

 

Vegeta had risen early that morning and gone for a jog nonetheless, but without the added gravity it felt to him pointless and unhelpful. He had run for two hours and had yet to break a sweat, despite the extra layers he had worn to fight the winter chill. When at last deciding to stop, annoyed at how little he had accomplished, he was on the very outskirts of the city. The metropolis had long since died into suburbs, and then they, too, had passed away. Here there were few houses scattered about, far distances from one another, and the mountains loomed closer to Vegeta than they ever had.

 

He paused on the top of a hill, one that overlooked a small grove of trees, currently bare, and a snaking stream, still from ice. As he looked down upon the banks, something welled up inside him, beginning in his stomach and creeping up slowly to his chest. It was an emotion of some kind, one Vegeta felt that he should be able to place. The feeling continued on, and finally settled behind his eyes, making his head feel heavy. He knew what this was, at least - this was his body preparing to cry.

 

But why?

 

He swallowed hard, angry with himself, and stomped down the other side of the hill towards the stream. His shoes grew wet from the frost, but he hardly noticed as he approached the frozen water. He frowned at it, as though annoyed with the stream for evoking emotions, especially ones that he couldn't place, inside him.

 

It wasn't until he looked up, and across the hilly expanse towards the mountains again that he knew; and without warning he was sent plummeting backwards through his own memories.

 

He was back home, on his planet, the planet he would someday rule. He was alone with his father, a rarity in such tumultuous times. He was eight and relishing in his father's presence, but still had suspicions that the king had abandoned something of importance to spend the afternoon with his son. The thought put a slight damper on his spirits, but it wasn't something that the boy let show.

 

“Come,” his father said suddenly, “let's go this way.” He held his hand out behind him as he began to walk off, an indication for Vegeta to hold it as they walked. The boy did so, asking where they were going.

 

“You'll see,” King Vegeta replied simply, and refused to say more on the topic.

 

It didn't take long for the pair to reach the destination, but Vegeta was unenthused. “What's so special about this place?” he demanded. “Trees and a stream.”

 

“The stream is frozen,” the king pointed out, “but it's too warm for ice.”

 

“What's wrong with it?”

 

“It's always frozen.” He gave his son a wry smile. “Don't you know the legend?”

 

“What legend?”

 

The king let forth a bark of laughter. “Nappa has certainly done a poor job in teaching you Saiya-jin folklore. Perhaps his fear of Frieza's influence is greater than he lets on. No matter - I shall tell you.

 

“They say that, thousands of years ago, there was a princess of another planet who came to visit us in hopes of an alliance. The men of that time didn't want to deal with a woman, and demanded that she send her father to discuss the issue of an alliance. She explained to them that her father was no longer living, and thus was her reason for coming - her planet was engaged in a war with another race, and all talks of peace treaties had fallen through. Her people had fought valiantly through until their king, her father, had fallen. She had no brothers to inherit the throne, and her mother was entirely indisposed to take over. Thus the planet's rule was left to her, but she was inexperienced in the art of war and her soldiers began to fall, as did their morale.

 

“Now this princess, though lacking intelligence in warfare, was brilliant in other ways, not to mention quite beautiful, and she attracted the interest of the son of an Elite. He was for helping her people, but not old enough or powerful enough to be influential. One evening, a few days before she was to leave Vegeta-sei and return to her home, the boy saw her leaving the comforts of the palace she had been offered due to her rank. He followed her, unbeknownst to the princess, until she reached this very spot. She stopped here, sat beneath these trees, and began to cry. She cried for her father, for her people, for the fact that no one would help her, and for her own self-pity. Her tears formed this stream; and the boy couldn't help but notice the remarkable rich blue of the water, so like her hair. His heart went out to her, and he was approaching her before he realized it, drawn to her sorrow and her beauty. She heard him coming, and turned to face him, her countenance suddenly turning black. She demanded to know why he had followed her.

 

“'I saw you leaving the palace,' the boy explained, bowing, `and I wanted to know where you were going. You're very beautiful.'

 

“But the princess scoffed at his compliment, replying, `What good is beauty when one will die anyway? When one grows old they lose their looks and have only their intelligence and wit to carry them. I have neither the intelligence nor the wit to save my planet, and so when I am old, if I live to be old, I will have nothing.'

 

“The boy offered his condolences, saying that he dearly wished to help her but was unable to do so.

 

“She shook her head at him, silencing his words. `It matters not,' she said, `for there will be a time when you and your people are in danger and times of war, and there will be no one who comes to your aid.' She sneered at him then, scorned by the ignorance of his people. `I trust you will not forget that. Nay, you will be forced to remember. This stream will be perpetually frozen as a reminder. How useless it is, completely iced over; how useless you will be when along comes a stronger tyrant and no one will be willing to help you.' And behind her, the stream crackled and turned to ice. `But let it also be a reminder of myself,' she continued, `for I will not do unto you as you have done unto me. When you are in times of need, I or my people cannot guarantee an army, but I can lend to you my shoulder.'”

 

The king stopped here, and sighed. “I think that perhaps this is the time that princess was speaking of. I don't believe anyone will help us.”

 

“But you've sent people to search for allies,” young Vegeta pointed out.

 

King Vegeta smiled sadly at his son, but spoke optimistically. “Yes; that's true. Someone will be along soon with news of an army willing to aid us.”

 

Vegeta-sei melted away again, and Vegeta found himself sitting cross-legged on the frozen ground; he was an adult, on Earth, and alone. It was the last time Vegeta had ever spent time alone with his father, and one of the last times he had ever felt truly safe.

 

What stunned him, though, was the fact that he had reminisced in such a way. He had never allowed himself to become so overwhelmed in his thoughts before - besides from meditating - and certainly never about his past. He had always been too wary, too on-edge, to risk it. He'd been too afraid of what delving into his past may cause and what emotions it could bring forth; and for good reason, he thought, as he sat on the ground fighting back the tears that pricked his eyes.

 

He was also somewhat disgusted. He'd recalled what he'd envisioned the princess to look like - and realized now that she looked rather like Bulma Briefs.

 

He put his head in his hands, and one thought stood out blatantly from the rest in his mind: I need to get the hell off this planet. He was becoming too emotional, too pampered, and too easily bossed. Never before would an old scientist have been able to keep him from training.

 

And suddenly, he wondered what was stopping him. He had a gravity room, after all; granted, not one that he was particularly keen on going into space with, but Kakarot had gone to Namek in an even earlier version and had arrived safely. All he needed was food, of which there was great amounts already in the gravity room, and even more in the house itself, and gas, available on the compound.

 

He would leave the following morning. He was rested enough.

 

///

 

Bulma awoke with the same feeling she'd had the last few mornings: She wanted to call Yamcha desperately. Instead, she rolled out of bed and headed down the stairs.

 

It was late in the morning when Bulma made her way into the kitchen for breakfast, as had been her habit the past couple days. Wake late, retire early, work non-stop all day, all in an attempt to avoid Vegeta whom she knew had been wandering around the compound in search of something to do while he recovered. On this particular morning, she found her father seating at the breakfast table.

 

“Good morning, Daddy,” she greeted, and he looked up from his newspaper.

 

“You're up late,” he commented. When Bulma just nodded, he continued, “Vegeta's well on his way to recovery.”

 

“I see.”

 

“He went for a jog today to get active again. He left early this morning.”

 

This information intrigued the blue-haired woman. “Really? Did he say when he would be back?”

 

“No. I'm assuming later tonight, after he's run across the country a couple times.” Dr. Briefs chuckled at his own joke.

 

Bulma suddenly felt in much better spirits than she had been since Vegeta's coming-to. “He should be back in the gravity room soon, then.”

 

“Yes indeed.”

 

Bulma smiled to herself as she left the kitchen, sans breakfast, and decided that she was taking the day off work. She would finally have run of the house again.

 

Noon found her parked in front of the TV, painting a vibrant green on her toenails to match the green of her turtleneck. The bruising had faded considerably but was still, so Bulma thought, very noticeable, and so she continued to make every effort to hide it. If anyone had found her sudden love affair with turtlenecks strange, no one had said so.

 

Today, for the first time that year, Bulma allowed herself to succumb to the Christmas spirit. Next week she would probably set up the Christmas tree, decorate the house, and begin her shopping, and she was growing excited. With Vegeta out of the house and in the gravity room all the time, she figured she would have little worry of bumping into him while preparing for the holiday. She had already decided against throwing a party this season, since she knew most of her friends would prefer to train and not worry about attending and purchasing presents for other attendees.

 

Her mind was awhirl with gift ideas and decorating schemes when the front door opened into the foyer and Vegeta walked in.

 

Bulma felt her whole body stiffen, and her hand immediately flew to her sweater and tugged the neck up higher. He didn't notice her, or at least didn't look her way, at first and when he did he regarded her coolly. Bulma expected him to move on without a word passing between them, and urged him silently to hurry along. But it seemed that, for once, he had no intention of leaving without first having spoken.

 

He made his way into the living room and paused briefly to see what Bulma had been watching on TV. Then, “I'm leaving tomorrow morning.”

 

Bulma said nothing, just watched him like a hawk, muscles tensed. He appeared as though he had expected her to reply in some way, and as though he had more to say on the issue but felt that his words were unwelcome without her response. He hesitated near the TV for a few seconds, before deciding he didn't need an invitation to continue.

 

“I'm taking the old version of the gravity room and don't expect to be back for several months.”

 

Still she said nothing, and Vegeta snorted indignantly. “No comments from the opinionated one?” he asked finally.

 

Bulma found herself in a position to say something. She worried that if she didn't he may lash out at her again, but felt that she had to weigh her words carefully. And while she was feeling this, she also felt disgusted with herself for being so intimidated in the first place.

 

At last she said, “Have a good trip.”

 

She's scared of me, Vegeta suddenly realized, because I attacked her. He snorted out loud, which Bulma took to be directed towards what she had said.

 

“Of course,” she added hastily, “if you don't want a good trip then it's up to you not to have one.” No sooner had the words left her mouth than she mentally slapped herself. Pull yourself together! she snapped at herself.

 

Vegeta merely rolled his eyes and walked off, though he felt somewhat smug - even the firebrand Bulma Briefs, who always had a view on everything and refused to allow herself to be pushed around, knew what it was to come across Vegeta, and had wizened up enough to let fear be her judge when she was around him.

 

He had yet to completely lose his touch.