Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance ❯ Chapter 35

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z, or any of the characters featured therein; they belong to Akira Toriyama and whoever he's decided to share them with.

Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay, folks. I've been indulging in a lot of time wastery this past month. Hopefully the fact that this chapter is almost twice as long as the average will make up for it a little. Also, there's some sex, so have fun with that! I'm also (slowly) working to get the previous chapters formatted properly on FFN (I can't believe I went that long without realizing that all of my time and place breaks were missing - kudos to all of you who've stuck around and read, despite that fact. I know it would annoy me) so apologies if author alerts are being spammed. I've being doing small chunks with the last few updates, but I think I might go ahead and just get it done.

THIS CHAPTER IS RATED NC-17. IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO READ AN `M' RATED VERSION, PLEASE DO SO ON FANFICTION dot NET.

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PRESENT DAY

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“Tell me, did you know?” Zarbon's head snapped up, though bound as he was, he could not turn to see Frieza behind him.

“Did I know what?” Zarbon rasped, his tongue thick with dryness. How long had it been since he'd been given something to drink? He let his head droop again - no sense straining himself when it wouldn't do any good. He was firmly trussed and being able to look at his tormentor was not going to change whatever Frieza had in mind to do to him. He'd almost rather not see it coming, to be honest.

“Oh, poor little fools. Did he know about you, I wonder?” Frieza sneered and Zarbon could hear the tyrant pacing, clawed feet clicking on the cold, metal floor. “Imagine the damage you could have done, had you teamed up.”

“Are you going to tell me, or are you going to make me guess?” Zarbon asked, and to his surprise, there was no lash of anger, no crash of a fist against his face, or nails raking across his back. Frieza simply laughed and Zarbon heard him step closer, tapping his long fingernails on the tabletop as he went.

“When did you get so contrary, pet? It doesn't suit.” Frieza let out an exaggerated sigh, and suddenly he was crouching down in front of Zarbon's restrained form, one finger extended to lift up the captive man's head. “You were so good, and now look at you. Giving me sass.” He spat the words out, face suddenly twisting into an ugly sneer as his hand shifted to pinch Zarbon's cheeks inward, smooshing his lips out like that of a fish. “I can't stand it. First you, and now Vegeta...what's next?” He let go of Zarbon's face and stood, turning away, tail whipping across the floor, the violent motion a frightening clue of what was to come. “And now Ginyu is dead,” Frieza turned and cocked his head, “it seems my loyal warriors are just dropping like flies.” He fluttered his fingers in the air, raised a brow ridge, and smiled. “You know pet, it really is too bad you didn't know that Vegeta was Vengeance. You might have gotten away, had your information network been a little better.”

“V...Vegeta?” Zarbon sputtered, his bloodshot eyes going wide...well, the left one did. The right one was swollen shut, a shiny slit of iris peeking out from behind bruised lids, courtesy of a previous session with Frieza's disciplinarians.

“Oh Zarbon, poor Zarbon.” Frieza laughed. “Always coming in second to that little ape, weren't you? You weren't even as good at betraying me! Pathetic.”

“You think I care? I'm just happy to have lived this long, to see your throne crumbling right out from under you.” Zarbon hissed, trying his best to keep up a brave face in the knowledge that he'd been so close to the most powerful and accomplished rebel in Frieza's kingdom, and he hadn't even known it. He cursed his blindness, imagining what they could have accomplished had they known of each other, had they the opportunity to join forces. Still though, he was glad for the news that Ginyu was dead; he'd worried about suggesting that tactic, but it had been the only way to buy himself time. “I'm glad it's him,” Zarbon continued brashly, “because if there's anyone in the universe who wants to see your head on a pike more, I've yet to meet him. Vegeta will get the job done.” That one earned him a slap, and he moaned in pain as his neck snapped to the side, a bruise blooming quickly on his left cheek to counterbalance the one that mottled his right eye.

“Do shut up, Zarbon. You're becoming tiresome.” Frieza shrugged his shoulders, turned and paced slowly over to the table, his hands dancing over the various instruments laid out there. “Why I don't just kill you is a mystery, even to me.” He picked up a pair of scissors and turned, grinning, to meet Zarbon's eyes. “Sentiment, I suppose. Though even my tender heart has its limits.” He was back in front of Zarbon, crouching down on his haunches. Gently, Frieza laid the scissors down - shiny, sharp steel things - and put his cold hand on Zarbon's head, ran down to the end of the green braid hanging over his shoulder, pulling out the ribbon as he went.

“What are you doing?” Zarbon hissed, as panic shot through him. His good eye darted down to the scissors, now partially obscured by Frieza's hand as it worked gently through his hair, undoing the braid and leaving it to hang, long and luxurious despite the blood and dirt at his scalp.

“I always did like your hair.” Frieza trilled, running his nails slowly over Zarbon's scalp and down, feeling the silky tresses slip through his fingers. He picked up the scissors and leaned in close to whisper in his captive's ear. “I think I'll keep it.”

“No!” Zarbon bucked and reared as he heard the snickit of the blades against each other. He choked back vomit as the first chunk of his hair hit the floor and Frieza reached for another, viciously yanking his head down as he tried to pull away.

“Stay still, pretty.” Frieza cooed as he snipped haphazardly through Zarbon's once proud mane, decimating so many years' worth of careful maintenance and routine. “It will be over soon.”

“Ngh!” Zarbon yanked and struggled to no avail, his heart pounding like a drum as he watched the pile on the floor grow, unable to do anything about it. Even if he begged Frieza to stop, even if the monster somehow took pity and decided to oblige, his beautiful hair was gone, destroyed, and nothing would bring it back. He felt the bile burning in his throat, and struggled to keep it down. His stomach clenched in protest as he swallowed it back, coughing and choking as it burned its way down.

“Hmm...” Frieza sat back, scissors in one hand and chin in the other. “Well now that I've made such a mess of it,” he shrugged and cocked his head to one side. “I'm not so sure I want it anymore.” He tossed the scissors to the floor and turned away, leaving the room without another word. “Two days from now, bring him a mirror.” He instructed the guard, after the door slid shut. “Put it on the floor right beneath his face and leave the lights on all night.”

“Um, of course, your Lordship.” The guard saluted and made a mental note of it, even though he figured he could think of a million things that would be worse than a bad haircut. He was too new to the job to know Zarbon, but everyone knew that disobeying even the most absurd of Frieza's orders was a sure death sentence.

Alone inside, Zarbon watched his tears drop down, staining his discarded hair the deep, dark emerald that he had always found so flattering. Wet hair was so shiny, so sleek, with such a nice, sensual weight to it. He remembered more frivolous days, when he'd stare at himself for what seemed like hours after bathing, admiring the rich bounty of his mane, wishing it would stay such a deep colour when dry, and yet unwilling to damage it with chemical dyes. And now it was nothing more than garbage, sitting on a cold, hard floor, sopping wet with the tears of a pathetic has-been whose only accomplishment in life was to nearly cripple the very operation he'd been secretly striving to aid.

“So...fucking...stupid.” He cried, sniffling and desperate to wipe his nose and eyes; an impossible task with his arms tied back as they were. “Fuck. FUCK!” He struggled vainly at his restraints, yanking his arms and kicking his legs until it hurt too much to bear. Panting, he hung there, trying to regain control of his emotions. The shine of the scissors drew his eye, sharp blades taunting, and he thought that perhaps it was good that he was restrained, otherwise he might have picked them up to score his own throat.

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“Nappa, you have to get him out of there.” Bulma crossed her arms and tapped her foot on the ground, glaring up at the hulking saiyan warrior, who simply shrugged. “He's been in there for two days!” She shrieked, and Nappa winced as the pitch pierced his ears. “He hasn't slept, hasn't eaten. Kami knows, he probably hasn't even taken a bathroom break! He's going to kill himself!”

“I couldn't go in there, even if I wanted to.” Nappa gestured at the control panel of the recently completed gravity room, and Bulma cursed herself for having made the damn thing so powerful. “Gravity's up too high. And Vegeta would also kill me for disturbing him.” They both peered in, heads close together in the small window, awed by the prince's golden form as he darted around, nearly too fast for Bulma's eyes to keep up.

“We can't just let him go on like this.” Bulma huffed, and Nappa raised an eyebrow.

“So you do something about it. Didn't you build in some sort of override mechanism?” He asked, and when Bulma didn't reply, he snorted and shook his head. “Oh, I get it. You can definitely do it yourself, but you just don't want to be the one to get yelled at.” Nappa chuckled as the human's cheeks reddened, and she opened her mouth to deny his accusations. “Don't worry, he wouldn't kill his own mate.” He interrupted her, grinning. Then he patted her on the shoulder and turned to leave, not wanting to be around when the gravity went off and the prince came out. “He'll be plenty pissed, of course, but he probably won't hurt you.”

Bulma sighed and her shoulders slumped as Nappa left her all alone to face Vegeta's certain wrath. He was right; Vegeta wouldn't hurt her, she was mostly certain, but he could sure yell, and had a creative and varied arsenal of insults at his disposal and while she was normally a match for him, her brain did not feel up to snuff. She was tired and overworked, and under such circumstances her best comebacks usually consisted of “Yeah, well you're a JERK!” or some variation thereof. Bulma did not need the added weight of going head to head with Vegeta on her shoulders, which were already piled high.

After the stress of getting Red Station moving, she'd gone immediately to work on finishing the gravity room, and once that was complete, she'd gone back to all the other projects that she'd left in limbo during the interim and begun the tedious job of sorting through Gero's lab. The threat of Frieza hung over everyone on the ship, causing an unnatural atmosphere of tension that had them all walking on eggshells for fear of setting each other off. Vegeta especially had been little more than a big, brooding ball of negative energy, so while his cloistering himself away in the GR for the past two days had done wonders for the ship's atmosphere, Bulma was actually beginning to worry about him.

“Man up, Bulma,” she muttered, shaking her head and throwing her shoulders back. “You can take whatever heat he throws at you. You're Bulma Briefs, super genius and model of feminine beauty.” She tightened her ponytail and checked her teeth in the blurry reflection of the shiny metal wall. “Plus if he's that pissed, you can always offer sexual favours.” She muttered the last bit under her breath as her fingers flew over the control panel, entering in the override code that would shut the whole thing down. Bulma stepped back and held her breath as the gravity reading began to plummet.

Inside the machine, Vegeta paused his high speed katas as he felt the weight of the air begin to lift from his straining muscles. He scowled, catching a glimpse of blue hair as Bulma stepped away from the control panel to await his emergence. He could feel her there, just beyond the door, pulsing with worry even though he knew he was likely in for an earful as soon as he cracked the door. Truth be told, he hadn't really meant to sequester himself inside the GR for so long, but the feel of Super Saiyan power flowing through his veins was addictive and he'd found that as soon as he stepped in, he was driven to push it harder, to test his new strength and find his limits. He'd yet to tire himself out, and so he'd yet to leave. Not only that, but the solitary confinement was a soothing balm to the roiling thoughts in his brain, the ones that refused to shut up every time he so much as thought of his transformation. In training he could drown them out, but they gnawed at him otherwise and obsessive as he was, he could not let them be.

The memory of Guru's last heartbeat reverberating through his own body bounced around inside his head, whispering to him that he didn't deserve the power, that he hadn't rightfully accomplished it. He hadn't tamed the beast by his own hand; he'd had help, and while he was proud of himself and pleased in his strength, the knowledge galled him and baited the fury in his soul, the one that said it was not good enough, that he was not good enough.

The gravity hit zero and Vegeta dropped to the ground, forcibly stuffing that little monster back into its cage, plastering over the hesitation and uncertainty before his toes touched the floor. There were other things to be dealt with, such as finding out why in the hell Bulma had shut down his machine and put a halt to his training. Vegeta stepped out, scowl on his face and chiselled torso shining with sweat, and Bulma began to think that sexual favours might just be a perk instead of a consolation prize.

“There had better,” Vegeta snapped, “be a good reason for this.”

“Um...sudden and unflagging desire to go down on you?” Bulma shrugged, grinning impishly, and though he knew it was a joke, Vegeta found a sudden spike of interest trilling through him.

“Is that so?” He asked, voice low, as he stepped closer. “I'm sure I could indulge you.” His golden tail flickered around his knees and his gloved fingers twitched, as though aching to grab her. Bulma watched him move, honestly surprised at his easy reaction, and made a mental note to use this tactic again in the future. Then again, fighting always seemed to make the boys randy, so maybe it would only work in high-testosterone situations. Either way, she was prepared to take whatever shortcuts the gods of the universe saw fit to grant her.

“You know,” Bulma stepped toward him and ran a finger down his chest, gasping as a little shock ran through her. She could feel the power rolling off of him, just like the first time he'd transformed. “I've never done it with a super saiyan before.” She winked up at him and wiggled her hips, shimmying just a bit closer.

“Feh.” Vegeta snorted, stepping backward into the doorway of the GR. He jerked his head toward the door and turned, heading in with complete confidence that she would follow. Bulma rolled her eyes and laughed, but went after him, grabbing for the zipper tab of her coveralls before she'd even finished closing the door. It was a bit unnerving, turning around to find this blue eyed, blonde haired version of Vegeta, staring her down from across the room. He had always been intense and while the new pigmentation made him look a little less like the devil incarnate, the angelic facade was completely ruined by the smouldering fire that burned in his eyes and the electric snap of power that surrounded him. “Come here.” Vegeta ordered, crooking one gloved finger at her before pointing at the floor before him.

“Why don't you come here?” Bulma smiled coyly and leaned back against the door, wishing that her hair was loose so she could curl it about her finger like a movie heroine. She settled instead for pulling the zipper of her coveralls down a little more to reveal the slinky tank top she wore beneath. She'd been planning to check out the engines and it was damn hot down there - if her choice of dress was helpful in more than one situation, well then so be it.

“No, really. Come here.” Vegeta shook his head and grinned wolfishly at her. “Unless you want anyone who happens to peek in that window to see you spread for me. The angle of the door makes this section of the room a blind spot.” He gestured a rough area with his hands as Bulma quick-stepped her way toward him. So much for playing the sultry bombshell, she thought, rolling her eyes and wondering how she could have forgotten that little fact. The tiredness was really catching up to her.

“I see you've thought this through.” She said wryly as she reached him. She really hated it when Vegeta was right, but her irritation was tempered by the sight of him, half naked, sweaty and straining in his tight shorts.

“What, you haven't?” He asked, reaching for her zipper and yanking it all the way down. “Vulgar woman that you are, I would have thought you'd have a map of all the best spots throughout the ship.”

“You're the one that wants to have it off in the GR.” She countered, pulling her arms free of the coveralls so that the whole thing slid to the ground, revealing the fact that she wasn't wearing anything but her underwear beneath. She stepped away from the puddle of fabric and bent down quickly, patting down pockets until she came up with what she was looking for.

“You're the one that offered.” Vegeta said taking the foil packet from her with a raised eyebrow. Bulma shrugged, raising her own eyebrows back as she stood up again. He'd ambushed her enough times that she'd begun stashing condoms on her person, so what? He called it premeditation, she called it preparedness. “And this?” Vegeta closed the gap between them, turning so that she was effectively trapped against the wall. “In fact,” he added, running a finger down over her skimpy top and hooking it in the band of her panties, “I'm beginning to think you actually planned it all.”

“I was going to work on the engines.” Bulma insisted, though she grabbed the back of his head with one hand and pulling him down for a kiss that left him doubting her next statement. “None of this is for you.”

“All of this is for me.” Vegeta rumbled, sliding his hand around to cup her bottom while the other found her breast, sending shockwaves through her skin. He lowered his mouth to hers again and she moaned, pressing her whole body against him, beginning to understand why he'd spent the last several days as a super saiyan. If her body was experiencing even a fraction of what was running through his veins...

“Ditto.” Bulma managed between kisses arching as he tossed his gloves aside to run bare hands down her back. “Oh Vegeta,” she gasped, a trail of tingling skin following in the wake of his touch, “it's like...like pure electricity.” She shivered with delight as his hands moved up, running over her shoulders, up her neck, one pulling the elastic from her hair as the other cradled the back of her head, fingers tangling in her curls.

Bulma squeaked with surprise as she was backed into the wall, the metal cold on her exposed skin. Vegeta's hands slid down to her shoulders, pushing down with gentle pressure. “On your knees.” He rasped into her ear as one hand ran up her throat and over her jaw, thumb running over her plump lower lip. He groaned into her shoulder as she drew the digit into her mouth, flicking it with her tongue and biting gently down. She reached down with one hand and drew him out of his shorts, feeling warmth shoot through her belly as she grasped the hard length of him. He shivered, pulling his hands away from her to brace them on the wall, body bowing outward so that she could duck down.

“Tsk, tsk. So impatient.” She whispered, teasing him with her fingers and with the sight of her puckered mouth. He liked her lips, she'd discovered long ago, and he liked them more when they were on his body. His mouth twitched as though he were holding back a snarl and she winked up at him, trailing kisses down his stomach as she slid to her knees. He watched her all the way down, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, mouth dry with anticipation.

Vegeta couldn't contain the shudder that wracked his body when her lips first touched the head of his penis, mouth slowly opening to take him in. His fingers clenched against the wall as he fought the urge to grasp her by the hair and ram himself deep into her throat. His breath hitched and she looked up at him, eyes twinkling as though she knew exactly what he was thinking and was revelling in her torture of him. He really did snarl at her then, baring his teeth like an angry beast. Bulma batted her lashes at him and ran her hands up his thighs, grasping his hips to steady herself as she took him the rest of the way in and held him there for a moment, pressed up against the back of her throat, before bobbing her head backward to release him completely. She pressed a kiss on his hip bone, resting her forehead against him as one hand trailed down, nails scraping gently against hyper-sensitive skin, to cup his balls. He jerked as the other hand reached around to roll the base of his tail between thumb and forefinger.

“Ve,” she kissed the soft skin right above the base of his penis, “Ge,” another, planted this time on the side of the shaft, “Tahhhhh,” she drew out the last syllable of his name in a sigh, her mouth poised directly before him. “You're going to come out of here after this.” She looked up at him from beneath coyly lowered lashes. “You're going to have a nice, big meal and then you can do whatever you want for a few hours, before you come to bed with me.” She licked her lips. “I miss you.”

“I have training to do.” Vegeta ground out through clenched teeth, unable to tear his eyes from her mouth, a scant centimetre away from the tip of him. His whole body was vibrating with the work of her hands and he narrowed his eyes, trying to focus his brain on something other than the building pressure in his groin.

“You can do that tomorrow.” Bulma blew on his wet skin with puckered lips. “If you come to bed, I'll let you do whatever you want to me.” She pulled the hand from between his legs, running it along her neck and down over one breast, pinching her nipple between two fingers through the fabric of her clothing.

“Has it occurred to you,” Vegeta growled, his hands swooping down to hoist her up and pin her to him in one quick move, “that I could do whatever I wanted to you anyway, with or without your permission?” He spun her in his arms, clamping one arm around her middle to hold her back against him, erection pressed firmly against her backside. His other hand was hot against her ribcage as he yanked her shirt up, leaving it to rest above her breasts. He could feel her heart racing as he pulled one bra cup down to reveal a tight, pebbled nipple, before doing the same on the other side. “See how you want me?” He nipped the side of her neck and pinched her lightly between his fingers. The condom packet, still nestled in his fist, rasped against her skin. “And down here,” the hand around her waist slid between her legs, “you're soaked right through.” He rubbed her through damp fabric and she couldn't help the moan that escaped her lips. “Just try to deny me, Bulma.” He whispered, pushing beneath her panties to slip two fingers inside.

“And what's this?” She countered, pressing backward against his erection. “You're not so unaffected.” She panted, nails digging into his arm as his hand moved against her. He pulled his hand from her and she whimpered at the sudden loss of sensation, only to be spun once more and cradled in his arms. He lowered himself to the floor, pulling her down on top of him, knees spread wide to straddle his hips. He tore at the foil with his teeth and rolled the condom over himself with one hand, while the other slid between Bulma's legs once more, yanking the crotch of her panties to the side, too impatient to remove them. She lowered herself down onto him, biting her bottom lip as she felt him fill her, stretch her, until she was sitting right down on his pelvis. He brought his knees up, bracing his feet against the floor, and she leaned back against them, wondering when he'd found time to kick off his boots.

Vegeta bent his head to nuzzle her breasts, still exposed between a yanked up shirt and pulled down bra, one hand coming up to knead the soft flesh while his lips and tongue lavished attention on the other. She grasped handfuls of his blonde hair, the tips of her fingers tingling as she ran them along his scalp, and rolled her hips against him. He let go of her breast and grasped her with both hands, helping her to move on him, keeping the pace as her writhing became jerky and frantic. She leaned forward, pressing herself against him, burying her face in his neck to quiet her cries as the sound of flesh slapping together echoed about the room.

The electric effect of his ki was stronger with him inside her, zipping up through her insides and pairing with the feel of his aura surrounding her to make her whole body hum with energy. She came quickly and with an intensity that left her reeling, as though she'd just hooked her clit up to a car battery. Her skin sizzled with the heat of it, and sparks danced before her eyes when she felt the pulse of Vegeta's release a few seconds later, accompanied by a blinding flash of ki that shot straight through her and had her coming again; a miniature earthquake in the wake of a massive one.

They sat, panting and slumped against each other on the floor, for a long time before Vegeta finally lifted Bulma's hips up so that he could pull out of her. “Oh my...” Bulma moaned as Vegeta set her back down. He dropped out of Super Saiyan a moment later, finally so exhausted that he could no longer continue to maintain it. The exertion of the fine control required so that he would not damage her had actually been an excellent training exercise, and he was beginning to reconsider his decision to spend his nights alone in the GR, rather than in a bed with Bulma.

“Food.” She said, suddenly, lurching to her feet and awkwardly tugging her clothes back into place before snatching up her coveralls. “I am starved.” She stepped in and zipped up as Vegeta found and replaced his shorts and boots. He also grabbed the shirt that he'd discarded before Bulma's interruption and pulled it on. His stomach rumbled and she took it for agreement and led the way out of the GR and toward the kitchen.

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Gohan eyed his new roommate with trepidation, not really sure what to do or say. It had been Bulma's idea for Dende to move in with Gohan, seeing as Radditz was now firmly ensconced in Puar's room, and he supposed her heart had been in the right place. What Bulma and the other earthlings saw were two boys of a similar age, both of whom looked in need of a playmate. The namek contingent hadn't reacted well to her suggestion; they didn't want their young leader rooming with a boy they saw as dangerous and bloodthirsty. The saiyans had also objected; they didn't want their young charge rooming with a boy they saw as weak and soft.

Dende's eagerness to room with the youngest saiyan had come as a surprise to all of them, especially his new charges, and Gohan had quickly agreed because his only other option was to share with Nappa, widely known throughout the universe as the worst roommate ever. Their united front, combined with various threats of a bedroom nature from Bulma to Vegeta, had solidified the deal. The boys, however, were far from being the two cute peas in a pod that the humans had been imagining. In fact, they'd hardly spoken since the day that Gohan had shown Dende in , pointed to Radditz's old bed, and said “That's your bunk. I'll make sure the sheets get changed before you have to sleep in it.”

Dende, unlike Piccolo, did actually sleep. Or at least seemed to, it was hard to tell. Gohan had been surprised to learn that little fact, but thought maybe there was a difference since Dende was still a child, or something to do with the fact that a part of Piccolo had once been Earth's guardian. Or maybe the earth namek was just weird; Gohan wasn't sure and was too polite to bother the shell-shocked Dende with what the other boy would probably consider a stupid question. More pertinent questions, however, were still on the table.

“Why'd you want to room with me, anyway?” Gohan blurted out, his uncle's influence plainly showing, before he covered his mouth with his hands in embarrassment. Dende paused in the act of folding down his covers and looked shyly over at his half-saiyan bunkmate, with his unruly hair and black, black eyes, freakishly well developed muscles visible beneath his fitted pyjamas. He found the other boy intimidating.

“I...” he began, pausing to gather his thoughts as he crawled into his own bed. “I do not know what to do around the others.” He said finally, brow ridges drawing together in consternation. “I am supposed to lead them. They expect much of me and I am not sure that I am capable of being what they need me to be. Guru's knowledge flows through me and I feel as though he left something of himself in my heart...but I lack his confidence.” The green child sighed and clasped his hands together in his lap. “In your presence, or Bulma's, or that of the other earthlings, I am viewed simply as a child. As one who should be protected rather than one who is expected to know and be all to men several times his own age.”

“Oh.” Gohan said, rather inadequately. He'd been there, of course, when Guru bestowed whatever it was he had to bestow on Dende, but the implications of that gift had not been clear to the non-nameks among the group. He tried to think of something else to say, perhaps something to change the subject, but he did not want to appear bored or insensitive.

“Why did you agree to room with me?” Dende asked, after a moment of awkward silence.

“Nappa farts in his sleep.” Gohan sheepishly admitted, and couldn't help but laugh when Dende made a face. “It was you or him. Vegeta never would have let me room with one of my dad's earthling friends. He thinks they have too much influence already.”

“Vegeta is...like your Guru, yes?” Dende ventured, turning in his bed to face Gohan, who was already sitting with his back to the wall, looking right back.

“He's our leader, and the legendary...but like Guru? I wouldn't say it quite like that.” Gohan scratched his head, thinking hard on that one and trying not to laugh at the image of a thousand-pound, mumu-clad Vegeta.

“But he has it...I have seen in him the same...magnetism.” Dende frowned, searching for a better word and could come up with none. “You follow him as we did Guru, would do anything for him, anything he said without second thought. Even the humans are in awe of him.”

“He's very strong...” Gohan nodded. “And not very friendly. Of course they steer clear of him.”

“More than that.” Dende shook his head. “It is something in him. Something that Guru had, and that I am now expected to cultivate. Tell me, Gohan, if Vegeta died tomorrow, would you be able to step into his role? This is the task that faces me.” The little green boy nodded to himself, pleased with the comparison.

“I'll help you.” Gohan said, with all of his father's famous impulsivity, and Dende smiled a sharp-toothed grin to see the rough looking little half saiyan leaning forward on his knees, eyes wide and pyjamas rumpled, promising his aid.

“You are...kinder...than I expected.” Dende nodded his head and Gohan sat back, feeling bashful and a little bewildered by the comment. He'd spent the last few years of his life trying to toughen up, and it surprised him to realize how much it meant to hear that another being thought he was nice. “I have heard many things of saiyans, and most of them frightening.”

“We're not so bad.” Gohan shrugged.

“I am beginning to see that.” Dende said, one hand reaching to rest just above his heart in the place that he felt Guru's presence most strongly. All the knowledge and hope that the old sage had been able to give him sat there, and he suddenly felt as though his teacher was there beside him, smiling down, nodding along with pleasure, and Dende knew that things would be okay. Perhaps not right away, perhaps not for a very long time, but he would live to see the dawn of a new age.

Long after Dende had fallen into the half-meditation of sleep that child or normal nameks engaged in - Gohan still didn't know and wasn't sure if it was an appropriate question to ask - the half-saiyan lay awake and completely unable to sleep, with Dende's words ringing through his brain. If Vegeta died tomorrow, what in hell would they all do? Maybe tomorrow was a bit silly, but it wasn't a stretch to think that he might actually be killed when fighting Frieza, and now that the prince was a super saiyan, the challenge couldn't be too far off. In fact, Gohan was a little surprised that Vegeta hadn't just hopped into a ship and gone off to do battle the second he transformed. Or after he'd seen the rest of them safe. Or in the few weeks since. Vegeta wasn't ready to fight the icejin tyrant, and that frightened Gohan to no end. He'd been there at Vegeta's transformation, felt the prince's power stop his heart, and the idea that Frieza might still be stronger made his skin crawl.

With a heavy sigh, Gohan kicked off his blankets and slid out of bed, scuffling around in the dark as he tried to find his boots and training gear without waking Dende. Middle-of-the-night training was a common result of insomnia in saiyans, and Gohan was no exception. In fact, Radditz sometimes used to cause insomnia in his nephew, just so he'd have a sparring partner for all the 2am moments of sleeplessness he suffered.

Gohan resisted the urge to cry out in victory as he finally located his left boot under the bed - the last piece of his kit. He gathered it all up in his arms and crept from the room, padding barefoot down the hall in his pyjamas. He ducked into the bathroom to change and left his jammies hanging neatly just outside the shower stalls to await his return. Ten or twenty minutes of katas, followed by a half hour or so of shadow boxing would do, he figured. Follow it up with a nice, hot shower and he'd be back in bed within the hour, hopefully ready to sleep.

Gohan was not surprised to find that the gravity room was occupied when he arrived, but he was shocked to find that it was his father alone inside, rather than one of the more traditionally insomniac members of the team. Vegeta or Radditz, for example, or Piccolo and Tien, among the non-saiyan contingent of Red Station, were often found wandering the halls long after everyone else had gone to sleep. Goku, however, was an easy sleeper and rarely found out and about past nine or ten at night.

Gohan knocked on the door and waved at his father through the port hole. Goku looked a little surprised to see his son up so late, but quickly crossed to the control panel and set the gravity down so that the door could be opened. “Heya, dad.” Gohan stepped inside as soon as the door opened up. “Mind if I train with you for a while?”

“Yeah, no problem Gohan.” Goku shrugged and gestured toward the open expanse of the chamber. “The more the merrier.” He wiped the sweat from his brow and walked back to the control console. “I was working in ten times Earth's gravity, if that's okay with you.” Goku tapped some buttons and they both braced themselves as the pressure inside the room worked its way slowly up to ten. Gohan watched his father from the corner of his eye, all too aware of how much the change was affecting him.

“Nappa told me that this is about what Vegetasei's gravity was. What a head start.” Gohan said, by way of conversation as he began his stretches. “Makes you wonder if we'd have been as strong as they are if we'd lived there, huh?” He added.

“Wow.” Goku chuckled hollowly and did a few stretches of his own. “Yeah, maybe.” He shrugged and felt a trill of unhappiness go through him as he watched his son move so easily under the same force that he'd only just worked up to himself. He was, of course, beyond pleased to see that his son had made such great strides in terms of power, but at the same time wishing that he could say the same thing of himself. He'd been training steadily since his rescue from the slaver camp and yet he did not feel as though he'd made any great strides during that time. It was incredibly frustrating, not to mention discouraging, for a man who was used to expanding his power in leaps and bounds. “Hey, you know what?” Goku walked back over to the control panel and began fiddling with the display. “I can definitely go higher. Yeah. I've worked up to twenty, at least.” He grinned and tensed, willing his muscles to hold him up as the artificial gravity fought to push him down. He didn't want his son to see how challenging it was, just to stand under such force.

“Great!” Gohan cheered, wilfully ignoring the slight tremor that ran through his father's legs as he crouched into battle position. “Don't go easy on me, dad!” He grinned, a mirror of his father, and crouched low as well. Gohan made the first move, springing forward with an easy punch that Goku sidestepped effortlessly.

“Maybe I should be saying the exact same thing to you, Gohan.” Goku said, and Gohan was surprised to hear a hint of irritation in his father's voice. He stopped still, a little taken aback by the foreign tone. It was something he expected of Radditz, Nappa, and Vegeta, but his father had never been anything but patient with him, and it had Gohan wondering how well he really knew his own parents. By rights, Radditz had been more a father to him than his own for the past two or so years, and though he knew that Goku would have done anything in the world to have been able to change that, the censuring tone in his father's voice still raised his hackles just a bit.

“Fine.” He snapped, launching at Goku with a barrage of punches. If he wanted a full out match, who was Gohan to deny him?

.

Bulma sighed and snuggled against Vegeta, idly tracing patterns over his bare chest with one finger. Sex with a super saiyan was fucking awesome, but so was sex with plain old Vegeta, and it was easier in the dark too; no blinding aura of ki to destroy the salacious sensation of making love to someone you couldn't actually see. Bulma smiled languidly into the darkness and she turned her head a little to press a kiss into Vegeta's shoulder before laying it back down. Something about their encounter in the gravity room had ignited a spark in the prince which had not been extinguished along with the bright flame of his golden hair. They'd gone from the GR to the kitchen, and then straight to bed after a hastily devoured snack. It was as though he couldn't keep his hands off of her.

“Hmm?” Vegeta hummed an inquiry deep in his throat when he felt Bulma's lips press against his skin. “Again?” He asked as the heat of her kiss shot straight to his groin.

“Gods, no.” Bulma laughed softly, shifting against him as her trailing fingers dipped lower, beneath the blankets. “I'm already going to be walking funny for a week.” She smiled, hearing his quick intake of breath as she took him in her hand.

“Bulma...” He hissed as the arm that had been draped around her shoulders came up, his hand tangling in the hair at the back of her head.

“Oh relax and enjoy it, Vegeta.” Bulma whispered. “You're still so tense, even after all that. You could use another one.”

“And you couldn't?” He'd turned his head and was murmuring into the crown of her hair, and despite her protests, reached down to pull her fingers away from him. “It's better this way.” He asserted, just in case he was coming across as too nice, and rolled on top of her.

“Okay, but I don't wanna do any work.” Bulma giggled as she heard the telltale crinkle of wrapping.

“Lazy.” Vegeta snorted, parting her thighs with his hands, making sure she was ready for him. “You are the most slothful female I have ever met, and it is a wonder to me that you are not morbidly obese.” He slid into her, slowly, and she could feel the fatigue surrounding him, pressing down like a weight on both of them.

“Good genetics.” She pulled his head down to hers for a kiss, pressing down on his lower back with the other, trying to encourage him to rest a bit of his weight on her body. He knew how heavy he was, despite his small stature, and she had noticed that he was always desperately careful not to crush her. Like usual, he resisted her efforts. “I like the weight of a man on top, sometimes. You, in particular.” She pouted, her full lips brushing his ever so slightly as she spoke, and she felt his resolve crumbling. “It's kind of hot.”

“Vulgar.” He hissed, though he dropped to his elbows and obliged, silently grateful for the little bit of rest it afforded. He buried his face in her neck and she bent her head to the side, knowing that he was likely to put his teeth on her once he came close to finishing.

“Sexually liberated.” Bulma countered with a smile that he couldn't see. “And not afraid to ask for what I want.” She ran her hands up his back and down around the base of his tail, feeling him jerk against her with the shock of the added sensation. She felt the familiar clamp of his jaw and arched against him as he upped his pace, feeling rather close herself. They both came quickly, bodies primed from the hours they'd spent doing the same thing already, but Bulma could tell, as Vegeta pulled himself from her and rolled off, that something was still not quite right with him. His body was still tense and while she certainly appreciated the attention, he'd never, ever spent such a large block of time focused solely on her. Between that and the break-neck training, it was obvious that something was bothering him.

“You're thinking too loud.” Vegeta grumbled, startling her train of thought.

“Oh what, you're telepathic now?” Bulma snorted, though she cuddled in next to him.

“You hum sometimes, when you're working out a thought.” Vegeta clarified, shifting so that she could squirm in under his arm. He'd never admit it to anyone, but he kind of liked curling up with her at night. “You're doing it now.”

“Oh I do not!” Bulma swatted him on the chest, trying not to be embarrassed. No one had ever told her that before, but saiyans also possessed exceptional hearing so it was possible that no one had ever noticed before. He didn't respond so she resumed her earlier finger tracings on his skin and though she was thinking hard, she tried not to make her noises. “So,” she ventured after about ten minutes of silence, “what could cause history's mightiest saiyan to be so tied up in knots?”

“Are you still awake?” Vegeta growled and rolled over, disengaging her from his semi-embrace and putting his back to her.

“Hey, jerkface, I'm talking to you!” Bulma scooted up against his back, clutching one shoulder with her hand while the other arm propped her up. “You're not yourself lately. I thought ascending would make you happy, but instead you've just become even more edgy and surly.”

“Frieza is going to be coming after us. I think that is reason enough to be on edge.”

“It is, yeah.” Bulma was not going to be put off. “But that's not what's bothering you. If that was it, nothing would have dragged you from the gravity room today.” She felt his shoulder tense against her palm, felt his entire body go rigid against hers, and knew she'd hit a nerve.

“It's none of your business.” He retorted, and Bulma narrowed her eyes in the dark, preparing for a fight.

“Umm, hello? You're my business, dumbass.” She snapped, knowing that she was walking on thin ice with this tactic. She'd either ruffle his feather's enough that he'd reveal all in a fit of self-important rage, or he'd shut down completely and stalk out on her.

“Now listen here,” Vegeta rolled, throwing her back a little. “Just because you're in my bed at night, it doesn't mean that you know me or have any kind of claim on me.”

“Actually you're in my bed, if we're going to get technical.” Bulma snatched up a pillow, hugging it in her arms as though it would act as a barrier between them. The problem with getting Vegeta's dander up was that his resulting behaviour usually put her in a snit, too.

“You are impossible, woman!” He bared his teeth at her, even though he knew she couldn't see his face that clearly. “I don't -” He stopped suddenly, though not the kind of abrupt stop that meant he was fighting for control of his words. It was something else.

“Don't what?” Bulma snapped, irritated by his sudden silence.

“Shut up, will you?” Vegeta hissed, and she felt his weight leave the mattress. “Something is happening below, in the training deck.” She heard rustling and flicked on the bedside lamp just in time to see Vegeta tugging on a pair of pants. He cast about for a shirt as she jumped out of bed and wriggled into her nightgown.

“Vegeta!” She called, nabbing her robe as she followed him out the door, only to see that the other warriors were appearing in their doorways as well, in various states of undress and rubbing sleep from their eyes. Nappa and Radditz were at the end of the hall, plainly waiting for Vegeta, and the three of them took off down the hall toward the access ladder to the lower decks. Chichi, in her nightgown and bare feet, was fast on their heels. As though it was the sign they were waiting for, all of the others began to follow. Even Master Roshi had risen to see what was going on and was following along at a clip of a pace. From his open door, Bulma could hear the sounds of Oolong, still snoring away in his bunk. She cast a look toward her parents' door too, to see that it was still shut as well. “Ki.” She said to herself, and shivered despite the warmth of the robe.

“Bulma!” Puar was at her side, clad in his humanoid form. He was tugging a t-shirt on to go with his pyjama pants, but Bulma caught the hickeys and bite marks dotting his abs and chest. She raised an eyebrow, but it was not the time to tease.

“Come on!” She grabbed his hand and tugged, dragging the poor shape shifter down the hall with her, even as he protested that Radditz had told him to stay put. “Since when is he your boss?” She snorted, starting down the ladder. “Do you know what happened?” She asked, waiting as he followed.

“Radditz said that Kakarott's, well Goku's, ki was flaring like mad.” Puar panted as he ran alongside Bulma, down to the next level. “And that Gohan's down there too, and it feels like he's panicking.”

.

Rivulets of sweat ran down Goku's forehead and he felt the strain of every movement, but he was actually enjoying himself. It was frustrating, sure, that Gohan fairly danced around him while he felt mired in a bog, but it was a long time since he'd had a challenge that wasn't leagues above his head. The boy was not as competitive or mean as his saiyan guardians, so Goku had a chance to actually practice his moves, rather than just being beat into the ground with the assumption that it would make him stronger. Plus, it was nice to do something alone with his son and he thought maybe he was gaining a little ground on the `being Gohan's dad' front.

“Bear with me, son.” Goku grinned as he began to power up in midair. “I know I told you not to go easy on me, but it's been a while since I've had a chance to train properly. Your uncle and the others are more likely to just use me as their punching bag.”

“Don't I know it.” Gohan returned wryly and backed off, allowing his father the chance. “Nappa's training mantra is If you're not strong enough to block it, you'd better get fast enough to dodge it.” He laughed, and then because he was feeling like he was maybe giving his father the wrong impression, added “But they get more patient as you get stronger. Promise.”

Goku didn't reply, just focused on raising his power level and keeping it steady. He was severely out of practice, thanks to his years of captivity, and he had to be careful to not just throw it all out at once, lest he lose control. It was times like these that he thought back on long ago days spent with his grandfather, and then later, training with Master Roshi. Their lessons had been the basis for a lifetime of strength and discipline, and he wasn't about to disappoint them both now. He'd get back into the swing of things and he'd keep at it, and one day he wouldn't be the runt of the group any more. And then he'd be much nicer to whoever did happen to fall into that spot than they all were to him. He grinned to himself, satisfied by that fantasy, and pulled up a little more power from the store inside of him. In that moment, he felt strong and capable, as though he could do anything and beat any enemy. It was a good feeling.

Too bad it was so short lived.

Goku felt his ki begin to shudder before his aura actually began to show it a few moments later. His chest burned, and when he tried to feed more energy out in hopes of stabilizing himself, it only increased the pain he was feeling. He gasped as a spike of power lanced through him, momentarily brightening the aura that surrounded him, before it went away, lightning quick. It came back, four times in quick succession, with the beat of his heart, and in between the spikes there were dips so low that he felt as though he had no ki at all, and the bright light that surrounded him shorted out to nothing.

“DAD!” Gohan shrieked, watching his father fall to the floor. He was gasping, clutching his left arm. He had the control to land on his feet, at least, but he dropped to his knees the second he touched down.

“Go....han.” He wheezed, feeling the boy's hands on his shoulders. He wanted to say more, but it came out as a long, low groan instead. His arm was on fire, shooting pain from his fingertips to his shoulder, and his heart was beating fast. “Can't....breathe.” He gasped, trying to draw in a deep breath, though it felt like Nappa was standing on his chest in full weighted training gear.

“Hang on, dad!” Gohan cried, racing quickly to the console, where he set the gravity back down to zero before zipping back to his father. “I'll...I'll get help.” He said, but didn't move. He'd grasped Goku's hand and was loathe to let go, as the declining gravity did not seem to help the situation at all. What if he left, he wondered, and his father died down here, alone?

The console bleeped to indicate that the chamber had reached a gravity equal with that of the surrounding ship, and Gohan winced at the heavy clunk that indicated that the door's lock was now disabled. He didn't want to go, and didn't know what to do if he stayed. Luckily, he was saved from making the decision a few moments later, when the door banged open and Vegeta strode in, followed by about ninety percent of Red Station's population, all talking and crowding around.

“Goku!” Chichi shrieked, falling to her husband's side. “What's happened?”

“Quick, we have to get him to the infirmary!” Bulma was shouting as she pushed her way through, followed by Sixteen, who'd also heard the commotion and come out from Gero's lab, where he'd been spending most of his time lately. Swifter than untrained eyes could follow, Nappa and Radditz had hoisted their comrade between them, and Vegeta was barking orders for everyone to get out of the way as Sixteen and Bulma led the charge to the medical bay, running so that they could try and prepare before the patient arrived.

“I believe he is having a heart attack.” Sixteen said calmly, grasping for various bottles as Bulma ruthlessly cleared a path for the bulky saiyans, shoving chairs and wheeled carts out of the way. Vegeta and Gohan were right on their heels, smart enough to stay back away from the heart of the commotion.

“Right here!” Bulma instructed, patting the exam table, and reached for Goku's hand as soon as they'd laid him out and released him. “It's going to be okay, big guy!”

“This will thin the blood out,” the android said, quickly prepping a needle and setting it down, “and this one will ease the pain and stop the spasms in his heart.”

“Ngaaah!” Goku shrieked, his eyes widening as he saw the two needles, laid out side by side. He squirmed, trying to lift himself up and off of the table while Bulma tried vainly to hold him there.

“Goku, calm down!” She commanded, though her plea fell on deaf ears. “HELP!” She yelped, and Radditz jumped in, forcefully shoving his brother's shoulders back down against the padded table.

“Nappa, get his feet!” Radditz barked, even as the bald saiyan was trying to negotiate the whir of churning legs.

“No! NO!” Goku screamed, desperately writhing as Sixteen picked up the first needle and advanced upon him.

“What the fuck?” Radditz growled, nearly losing his grip as Goku's thrashing head knocked into his wrist.

“He's afraid of needles.” Bulma clarified, sheepishly.

“Kakarott, you idiot!” Radditz yelled down into his brother's tearful face. “If they don't stick you, you'll die!”

“Your brother is right!” Chichi stomped into the room, putting on her most frightening of maternal faces. “Enough of this nonsense!” She grabbed his free hand and squeezed it tight.

“But it's going to hurt!” He whined, and she growled in the back of her throat, impressing Radditz and Nappa with how saiyan she sounded.

“You know what hurts, Goku? Pushing a kid out with no drugs, because someone fainted at the sight of the epidural and the doctors had to abandon a poor, helpless woman to make sure her stupid husband was okay!” She leaned in close, her nose an inch from his. “So you're going to lay still and have the damn needles, Goku, because I swear it, if you die on me now because you're too afraid to have two little pinpricks, I will never, ever forgive you!”

“Okay, okay!” Goku cried, “Do it, I'll be good!” He turned pleading eyes on Sixteen. “Just be quick!”

“It is already done.” Sixteen held up two empty needles in one hand, and pointed to two taped-over cotton balls on Goku's arm. The saiyan blinked, wide eyed.

“He did it while your mate was tearing you a new one.” Radditz chuckled, releasing his hold on his brother. Goku slumped against the table, suddenly looking very weary and pale.

“Judging by that burst of energy, the worst is over.” Sixteen continued. “You must rest here for a moment so that the drugs can work their way through your bloodstream, and then we will help you into the regeneration tank. “You will be alright, for now.”

“For now?” Chichi croaked through a dry throat, and Sixteen nodded.

“I will have to run some tests, as I doubt this attack was caused solely by such conventional factors as blocked arteries.” He carefully replaced the bottles in his cabinet and dismantled the needles, setting them inside the small autoclave at the back of the infirmary for disinfection. “Any information on saiyan physiology would be helpful.” Sixteen added, as he turned back toward the group.

“The wasting...” Gohan whispered, and four pairs of dark eyes all looked toward each other.

“This is...problematic.” Vegeta said, and everyone in the room turned to him. “Having actually lived on Vegetasei amongst our people for the longest, Nappa has the most knowledge in this area of any of us.”

“Broken bones, snapped tendons, no problem.” Radditz interrupted, shrugging apologetically down at his sister-in-law's stricken face. “But heart attacks? A bit beyond us.”

“Nappa has dealt with the wasting before, though I was a child and barely came out of it alive.” Vegeta glared over at his one-time mentor. “And I am told that it affects adults in a different way.”

“Never seen wasting in an adult before. Not first hand.” Nappa put in, surprisingly quiet as he observed Goku's laboured breathing. “Thought it wasn't supposed to be this bad.” His thick eyebrows drew together and he turned toward Vegeta. “Prince...the disks in Tarble's possession...maybe they've got something?”

“Yes, Nappa, I had thought of that too.” Vegeta sighed and straightened his back purposefully. “Android, do whatever needs to be done to keep him stable. You three,” he gestured to his saiyan subordinates, “assist in whatever ways are necessary. Kakarott, if I hear you are resisting treatment again, I will beat you to death myself.”

“I'll help.” Chichi glared at her husband, though her sentiment was softened by a gentle squeeze of his hand.

“Bulma, come with me.” Vegeta said, striding toward the doorway and glaring at all the milling occupants of the hallway who were too worried to go to bed, and yet not willing to enter the infirmary and possibly get in the way.

“Where are we going?” Bulma asked, looking anxiously back at her friend. She wanted to stay too.

“The bridge.” Vegeta reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, tugging gently forward. “I need you to set us a new course.”

.

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Again, thanks for the patience, all. Hope you enjoyed this update, and please do consider telling me what you thought.