Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ What We Deserve ❯ Chapter Two ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ or any of the characters associated with the manga, anime, or movies.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for the positive feedback I received on the first chapter of this story, on all platforms (FF.net, MM.org, A03, and Tumblr)!

CHAPTER TWO

Yamcha and Bulma were… together. Sort of. If someone had asked him, Yamcha wouldn't have been able to put a label on their relationship. They weren't exactly dating, but they were sleeping together and he was essentially living at the Capsule Corporation, even if he technically had his own room.

Things were complicated between them. She had ended their relationship before her current houseguest had ruthlessly killed him, and they hadn't discussed the issue since then. So much time had passed, so much had happened, and they were faced with such pressing matters that it seemed silly to bring up something from so long ago. Plus, she seemed to have forgiven him. She welcomed him back to the Capsule Corporation happily, and when he timidly knocked on her bedroom door his third night back there, she had drawn him into the room with a seductive kiss.

Still, Yamcha was hesitant to call her his girlfriend, if only because he was certain she didn't consider him her boyfriend. He wasn't really sure where that left him. He wished he had the courage to ask.

Did he love Bulma? He had once, definitely. He was certain that he could again, but he sensed that there was a distance between them that needed to be overcome. Regardless, he cared about her deeply. He was prepared to try to make her happy for the rest of his life. He hoped she would give him the chance.

He exhaled deeply, ending his crunches by resting on the ground, knees up. “I should talk to her, shouldn't I, Puar?”

Puar lazily hovered nearby. He knew about whom Yamcha was talking. “Yes,” he said simply.

Yamcha sat up, determination carved into his face. “Yes,” he agreed, “I should.”

“Yamcha dear! Come and have some lunch!”

Puar and Yamcha both turned at the sound of Mrs. Briefs' voice, and Yamcha suddenly lost his nerve. It never ceased to amaze him how he could march into battle (although he was admittedly more nervous since dying) but couldn't find the nerve to ask his sort of girlfriend if she'd ever be his legitimate girlfriend. But he definitely couldn't raise the issue in front of Bulma's parents. They were understanding people but even Yamcha knew that lines needed to be drawn.

Puar looked at Yamcha pointedly as he got up and headed towards the door to the house. Yamcha just shrugged. “Maybe tomorrow,” he said.

***

Bulma had sensed that Yamcha wanted to have a serious conversation - about their relationship, she suspected. She wasn't prepared to have that discussion. She didn't know what she would say. She didn't want to talk about the future because she didn't know if there would be one. She didn't want to try to define what she and Yamcha had. Her whole life she had been trying to make a name for herself and she was suddenly tired of doing so. So much death and fighting had worn her down. Why couldn't she just keep doing this thing with him without overthinking it?

But she knew Yamcha. She knew his insecurities. She knew that without a “label” he would constantly be worrying about her, about them. But they had been apart nearly two years, and she felt differently about him now. She just wanted to ride the wave until it crashed. She'd figure out her next steps then.

So she distracted him from the conversation she knew was coming with kisses and sex, and pretended to fall asleep immediately after. It was only a short while later before Yamcha's snores filled the room, but she herself wasn't very tired. She wiggled out of the heavy arm that he had dropped over her waist and, finding some pajamas, headed out of her room.

She decided to go to the lab. Recently, Vegeta had been making short work of the training bots her father had designed, and she had some upgrades in mind to make them both more durable and more powerful to create more of a challenge for the Saiyan. She wasn't sure if they would work, but now was as good a time as ever to draft out a plan. She knew that her friends often countered ki blasts with a ki shield, throwing their energy up around them to both help absorb the impact and deflect the attack. If she could somehow enable her bots to generate energy in a similar way, they would be harder to destroy.

As she passed through the living room, contemplating the best way to make this theory a reality, a shape on the balcony caught her eye. She paused, turning towards the windows, and saw the prince himself standing by the railing. The balcony had become his nighttime haunt while the Namekians stayed with them, but she thought it was because the house was so full and noisy all the time, and he had been able to find some peace out there. But it seemed he was drawn to it even now.

She wandered over and opened the sliding doors to step out into the humid air. Vegeta's head turned almost imperceptibly at the sound of the door opening, but he didn't acknowledge her. She approached him at the railing and stood silently for a moment.

Vegeta was an enigma to her. She had always been proud of her keen analytical skills, but he remained largely a mystery to her. He revealed so little. Sure, she knew he has driven, ambitious, and proud, with an independent streak to rival her own. She actually admired that about him. She also knew he was a killer who hated Goku with every fibre of his being. She felt that she should be afraid of him, and once she had been. But he had helped her friends on Namek, albeit reluctantly, and he hadn't harmed anyone since being wished back to Earth. She felt that if he intended to kill them, he would have done so already. She couldn't see any logical reason for him to bide his time.

There were also the little things that transformed him from a monster to a man before her very eyes: he sneezed and got the hiccups; like a child, he stared blankly into the fridge looking for something to eat without bothering to move anything around; he listened to the radio in the mornings while he was getting ready for the day; he was proficient in cursing, in all variety of languages; he leaned against the balcony railing and looked at the stars.

She found him fascinating.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked after just a moment. When he didn't answer, she continued, “It's really hot tonight. Why don't you come inside?” She came up to lean on the railing beside him, stretching forward to better see his face.

He glared back at her. “Go away.”

Her face pinched into a frown. “This is my house,” she pointed out, “I will not `go away'.” Before he could offer a retort, she looked towards the large dome on the lawn and continued, “How's the gravity room working out?”

Vegeta's eyes slid towards it, considering it for a moment before shrugging.

Bulma supplied her own answer. “I'll take that to mean there are no issues.”

Vegeta just grunted. He was irritated. His body ached from the strain of all his training, and he just wanted a few moments of solitude before he went to bed. It figured that the woman would interrupt him with her constant yapping, as if her presence wasn't annoying enough. He wished there was a moon. He would stomp on her. But of course, he no longer had his tail. He cursed that fat bastard who had dared slice it off with his ninja sword.

“And what about you?” Bulma asked, turning back towards him. “How are you doing?”

Vegeta's eyebrows furrowed deeper. He didn't understand her question. How was he doing with what? More importantly, why did she even care? Just wanting her to go away, he figured the best way to get rid of her would be to ignore her. He doubted that even she could carry on a one-sided conversation for long. He turned his head deliberately away from her, closing his eyes in impatience.

Bulma wasn't deterred. “Your training, I mean,” she clarified. “Is it going well? Are you a Super Saiyan yet?”

Vegeta tensed at the question. These were waters he wasn't prepared to wade into with anyone, let alone with her. She wasn't a warrior in any sense of the word. How could she possibly understand his goals? It was insulting for her to prattle on about his training as though she had any idea what it entailed. It was demeaning for her to discuss the legendary Saiyan status so casually. Besides, she knew full well that he hadn't become a Super Saiyan yet. It was low of her to take such petty jabs at him, to try to goad him into admitting he hadn't found that strength yet. Unbidden, an image rose in Vegeta's mind of his hand strangling the breath out of her.

Once again, she interpreted his silence and continued on with her assumptions. “You'll get there,” she said reassuringly.

Surprised, he glanced back at her. He hadn't expected her vote of confidence. But he sneered as he realized she must be mocking him. Oh yeah, he would get there alright, just several years after Kakarot had gotten there, and at a much older age than that boy from the future. But the smile she gave him was disarmingly genuine, and with that she pushed herself away from the railing and headed back inside.

“Don't stay out too late,” she tossed casually over to him as she slid the door closed behind her.

Vegeta scowled towards the sky. This wasn't his first time at the rodeo: he knew what she was about. She was a sneaky, manipulative creature and she was trying to play mind games with him. She may have provided him with a place to stay and training equipment, but it was in her best interest to do so. She needed his skills against the androids. He knew her loyalty lay with Kakarot, and he didn't doubt that she would send him up shit creek at her earliest opportunity. In the meantime, she wouldn't let him forget that he played second fiddle to a brainless third-class warrior.

Stars winked at him but the sky looked empty without the moon.

***

The next morning, Vegeta awoke with renewed determination. Bulma's words the previous night had lit a new fire within him. He would become a Super Saiyan. He would prove himself against Kakarot. He would make sure her jeers and jabs died in her throat. She would learn that it was a mistake to cross the Saiyan Prince.

His battered body almost gave out against the intense gravity, and he dug down and fought with his pride instead.

Bulma was frustrated over her lack of progress in the lab the night before. She had sat blankly at her desk, realizing she had little understanding of how to actually gather and use energy. She'd made a mental note and several Post-its reminding herself to ask someone. After several unproductive hours, she had gone to bed.

She had had a fitful sleep, another night plagued with dreams of androids murdering her and her friends. Despite the late night, she woke early, not surprised to see that Vegeta was already in the gravity room. She had begun to wonder if he slept at all. She felt restless and swung herself out of bed irritably.

Her movements woke up Yamcha, who had slept soundly beside her. He looked at her drowsily, a sleepy smile pulling at his mouth.

“Good morning,” he mumbled.

“Yeah.” She was cranky. In lieu of more sleep, she needed coffee.

“Where'd you go last night?” he asked on a yawn.

“Lab.” She crossed her bedroom to grab a housecoat off the back of the door.

Yamcha's eyes focused on her. “Something wrong?” he asked.

She yanked the robe on and rubbed her eyes with one hand, her head bent towards the floor. “I'm just exhausted.”

He nodded in understanding. “You're stressed. We're all stressed. Look at what we're trying to deal with here.” He laughed nervously. “Who knows if our preparation will be enough?”

Bulma scowled at him. “Thanks for the reassurance.”

Yamcha propped himself up on an elbow and chuckled again. “Yeah. Sorry. I'm just saying I know how you feel.”

“Coffee?” she grunted at him, and at his nod she disappeared into the hall.

He joined her for breakfast a short while later, and their conversation shifted away from the androids. It was a relief to discuss something other than their impending arrival, and Bulma felt herself relaxing. She rested her forearms on the kitchen table, her fingers wrapped around a hot mug. Yamcha spooned oatmeal into his mouth while he animatedly retold a story from his time with King Kai.

“…and then Gregory got smashed into the tree!” he finished on a cackle, and Bulma snorted with her own laughter.

“Well,” she said, chortling, “your time being dead certainly sounds more enjoyable than my time on Namek. Maybe death isn't so bad after all.”

Yamcha grinned at her a moment before turning contemplative. “Well. You know. It was great to train with King Kai. And it was kind of nice to be there with the others, rather than just me by myself. But generally you do really miss… people.” He looked at her pointedly. “It's hard not knowing if or when you'll ever get to see or talk to someone again. You spend a lot of time thinking about… people.”

Bulma met his even gaze and she could see his meaning plainly on his face. He wanted to be with her, he wanted to make it work. Looking into his eyes, she wondered if it was such a bad thing. Were her reasons for holding back really valid? If they did all die against the androids, wouldn't it be better to live out her final years happily with him? A smile made her lips twitch, and she pulled her eyes away.

I love you got stuck in the back of her throat. It felt like the appropriate thing to say at that moment, but she couldn't make the words come out. Once, they had fallen from her lips so easily, so honestly, but today they felt like cotton in her mouth. She swallowed hard, and the words were swallowed too.

“It was the same on Namek,” she finally said, and the atmosphere in the room changed. “I didn't know if I'd ever get off that place.” She shrugged. “I don't know if I would have if not for the Dragon Balls.” She had never voiced this thought aloud, but now that she had it hung thickly in the air. She and Death had brushed so closely. She could have reached out and touched him.

Yamcha reached his hand across the table towards her, and she let go of her mug to place her fingers in his. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I wish I could have been there to help you.”

Bulma shrugged. She wasn't sure how Yamcha would have been able to help. Frieza was so much more than any of them had ever encountered before, or even imagined. Yamcha's strength paled in comparison. She had felt so small and insignificant there, far from her home and completely out of her league. She'd hidden in caves and hoped desperately that she wouldn't be found by any of Frieza's henchmen. She really hadn't contributed anything to the cause. She'd never felt so useless before. Yamcha wouldn't have been able to help her with that.

Suddenly she exclaimed, “I got turned into a frog.”

Yamcha stared at her. “What?”

“On Namek. I got turned into a frog.”

A bubble of laughter escaped his lips, and soon he was howling. “Oh my god,” he said. “No. No. You have to tell me!”

Bulma laughed at her own memory. “Okay, well… I was just really lonely, you know, and there was this frog that was like, following me around. So I decided, why not make this frog a collar so it can talk to me?” At Yamcha's absolutely incredulous expression, Bulma laughed even harder. “I told you! I was lonely! Namek was a lonely place! So anyway…”

***

The mirth of the morning died after breakfast when Yamcha headed outside to train. Bulma showered and got dressed, fluffing her hair into her latest curly style, and found herself in the living room alone by noon. She was restless again. One leg across the other, she sighed to herself. Everyone else was working so hard preparing for the androids, and she was sitting there doing nothing! Her thoughts turned again to her bot idea, and she realized she had forgotten to ask Yamcha about ki at breakfast. What good were Post-its if she never looked at them?

“Hello, dear!”

Mrs. Briefs' cheery voice cut through Bulma's reverie. Predictably, she was carrying a tray of treats. She set it down on the coffee table, and sat on the couch across from Bulma.

“Try one!” she persuaded.

Mrs. Briefs was convinced that food and good hostessing were the answers to every problem. She was constantly preparing and serving food, encouraging her family and guests to help themselves and take whatever they needed. It was a good thing her life's mission was to feed others, because Vegeta certainly took advantage of the proffered meals.

Bulma sighed. “I'm not very hungry, mom.”

Mrs. Briefs turned towards her daughter. “Are you upset because all the boys are training and not spending any time with you?”

“Oh, please!” Bulma exclaimed. “I'm just not hungry!”

Bulma loved her mom dearly, but found that they didn't often understand one another. Bulma had her father's intelligence and an independence that only came from being so self-sufficiently smart and wealthy. Mrs. Briefs, however, lived for boys. A true debutante, she had strived to marry a good man and have a happy family. She loved attention and as a girl had received much of it. Although she knew that she and Bulma were very different people, it seemed only natural to her that while she was still available, Bulma should entertain a variety of men and then take her pick.

Saving her from more misguided questions, Dr. Briefs appeared at the doorway, apparently having been summoned for snacks. He stretched his arms over his head, nearly knocking off the cat perched on his shoulder. “I'm beginning to think that Vegeta is a few cards short of a full deck,” he announced.

“Oh?” This wasn't exactly news to Bulma. She had her own theories about Vegeta's questionable sanity, but she knew so little about him. She wondered what her father's take on the Saiyan was.

“Did you know he's demanding more equipment to train with? And all he's going to do is break it!” He grabbed a cake off the tray and took a bite.

“Somehow, that doesn't surprise me at all.”

“Well, I think it's great he works so hard!” Mrs. Briefs said cheerfully.

“Oh, sure he's training hard,” Dr. Briefs conceded, “but don't you think he's overdoing it?”

Mrs. Briefs giggled. “Oh, no!” she protested. “I think it's very admirable. In my day, a man that showed that much dedication to anything was definitely husband material. A girl would have to be crazy to let him get away, I tell you!” She took a sip of tea before looking up in surprise at herself. “Oh, my!” she announced, as though after over thirty years it had somehow slipped her mind, “but I'm a married woman!”

Dr. Briefs and Bulma stared at her for a moment. It wasn't the first time Mrs. Briefs had made somewhat inappropriate comments about other men. Bulma never doubted that she loved her father, or that she was utterly faithful to him, but it did make her uncomfortable on occasion. Mrs. Briefs had unabashedly let her feelings about Vegeta be known from the moment he had set foot on the compound, first shamelessly (and stupidly) asking if he was Bulma's boyfriend, and then frequently complimenting his physique, appetite, and fighting abilities. Bulma wasn't sure if her mother knew exactly who Vegeta was, or how he had come to be involved with the Z Fighters to begin with, but if she did, it didn't seem to bother her in the slightest.

“Mom,” Bulma said with reproach.

Dr. Briefs decided his wife's previous comment wasn't worth responding to, and instead he turned to his daughter. “Any plans for today?” he asked.

Bulma shrugged. “I don't know. I have this idea but—”

An explosion ripped through the sky and rocked the house. Bulma was jerked forward and her hand shot out to grip the coffee table and steady herself. Her food smeared on her face before dropping to the floor. Dr. Briefs fell heavily into the arm of the couch, and Mrs. Briefs' hands flew to her head.

“Earthquake!” Mrs. Briefs shrieked.

It was over only a few short seconds later. Terror tore threw Bulma's heart. The androids. They were here. It was too early. They weren't ready.

“What in god's name…?” Dr. Briefs shouted, rushing towards the window.

Bulma clutched at her stomach, feeling sick. They were all going to die. They'd be killed on the spot. They weren't ready.

“Jesus Christ, the gravity room!” she heard her father shout from behind her. “Bulma, it's been completely destroyed!”

“Androids!” Bulma gasped out, tilting forward so her chest was on her knees. She was going to vomit.

“No… Bulma, listen… Vegeta! He blew up the gravity room!” Dr. Briefs' words were ripe with panic.

Bulma heard him, but she couldn't process what he was saying.

“Oh, dear!” her mother cried. Bulma hadn't noticed her get up to look out the window herself. “I don't see him! Do you think he's hurt?”

“Hurt? Good lord, I wouldn't be surprised if he was dead!”

The information started to fall into place in her mind. The androids were not here. Vegeta had had an accident. The gravity room was destroyed. Vegeta didn't seem to be there. He could be dead.

Bulma was on her feet and running downstairs and out towards the gravity room before she was truly aware that she was doing it. As she dashed out the door, she met Yamcha who was also rushing towards the explosion. They looked at each other with shared wild expressions and as they came around the side of the house they could see wreckage and debris where the spaceship had been mere moments before.

“Vegeta!” she shouted as she took in the chaos. She wasn't sure if she had expected a reply, but none came.

They stopped at the edge of the wreckage, surveying the scene. Bulma's eyes scanned quickly for Vegeta but she couldn't see any sign of him. He must have been in the heart of the explosion and still buried under the remains of the ship. She sank to her knees.

“I knew this would happen!” Yamcha announced angrily.

“Where is he?” she asked. For fuck sakes, would someone just locate him?

Bulma learned forward into the ruins. Seizing hunks of metal, she tossed them aside. Sharp edges cut her hands as she clawed through twisted steel and fried circuitry. Where was he? Oh god, he couldn't be dead.

A hand suddenly shot out of the wreckage directly in front of her. She shrieked and tumbled backwards, caught completely by surprise. She hit Yamcha squarely in the chest, knocking him off-balance, and they fell together in a heap. The bodiless hand found support on what used to be a closet door and Vegeta heaved himself out from under the rubble. He emerged with a groan but appeared relatively unharmed as his eyes opened and he looked at them, tangled together on the ground.

Bulma stared at him, wide-eyed. It was a miracle that someone could survive such an explosion, but nearly incomprehensible that they could walk away from it. She knew Saiyans were more resilient than humans but she couldn't quite figure out how his body had not been torn to shreds. But, she noted, he was breathing heavily, and the frown that pinched his face seemed to be one of pain rather than his usual irritation.

“Are you… okay?” she asked hesitantly.

“Of course I am!” he snapped, hauling the rest of him out of the wreckage and finding even footing. He leaned forward, his hands on his thighs, as he caught his breath.

Relief flooded over her. He was alive, and uninjured. But the rollercoaster of emotion she had felt in the last few minutes began to erupt in her chest. The man was an idiot. What the hell was he doing anyway? He had completely destroyed the gravity room! Did he have any idea how long it would take to clean up, let alone replace? What kind of batshit crazy training program was he following? How did he expect to become a Super Saiyan if he didn't live until tomorrow?

“How dare you?” she shouted at him. “You almost wrecked my house! What are you trying to prove?”

Vegeta only laughed as he straightened. As if he cared about her stupid house. He had far more pressing matters to deal with! He was about to tell her so, but he felt his knees begin to buckle and the energy he had somehow found to claw his way out of the mess completely drained. He toppled backwards, agony shooting through his chest.

He was hurt after all. Bulma wasn't surprised. Sure, he had the strength of a million humans, but he wasn't immortal. He could feel pain and his body could be beaten. She hurried towards him, declaring aloud the obvious about his state in her panic. Gripping his wrist, she pulled him into a sitting position and propped his back against her other arm. He was heavier than she had anticipated, his body seeming to be made entirely of solid muscle. She almost dropped him back down into the debris, her own muscles trembling while she tried to support his weight.

“I don't need help!” he snarled at her. “I've got training to do.”

Her father was right: he was a few cards short. Did he really think he would be able to train in his condition? He couldn't even stand. She could only imagine how many broken bones he had, or what kind of internal bleeding. Maybe his insides resembled the gravity room: shredded.

“You've got to stop training for a while!” Bulma cried, frustrated. “I mean, look at you! You're a complete wreck!”

Vegeta would not be persuaded. No, this was humiliating. Just last night she had called him out for not becoming a Super Saiyan yet, and now she was coddling him like an infant and trying to dictate a training schedule. In all her human weakness, she couldn't comprehend his strength. Certainly, the explosion would have killed her on the spot, but he was a Saiyan and a mere blast would not slow him down.

“I feel fine,” he declared. “I'm a Saiyan, I can take a little pain. And I have to get stronger than Kakarot!” The last part slipped out before he realized it. His brain was beginning to go foggy and he was a little disoriented from the surprise of the explosion itself. Of course, it wasn't a secret that he was determined to defeat Kakarot, but he hadn't wanted to say it so openly to the woman currently cradling him in her arms. Did she need anything more to use against him?

Bulma decided to change tactics. He wasn't responding to orders or reason, so she humoured him instead. She sensed that he was disgraced by the accident, although she wasn't sure if that shame came from the fact that it happened, the fact that people had seen, or a combination of both. She tried to gloss over it and bring the argument back to the point that he absolutely, one hundred percent could not keep training. “Okay, sure,” she said gently, “we all know you're a tough guy, but you need to rest now.”

Vegeta was not impressed. Was she trying to sabotage his goals? There was absolutely no excuse that justified taking time off from training. He had been wounded before, on many occasions, and he had always dragged himself back up and carried on. He was Vegeta! He was unstoppable!

“I take orders from no one!” he growled, and pushed her away from him.

But his vision was swimming and the pain in his chest was sharp and constant. His head felt like it was splitting open. His breath was shallow and the pain had begun to radiate out to his shoulder. His elbow felt fractured. His ears rang. He fell back into the wreckage and darkness descended.

Yamcha stood nearby, uncertain and confused. Something had risen up into his throat when Bulma had held Vegeta. For some reason, he thought of the purple-haired boy from the future.