Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ What You Will ❯ What You Will: Act V ( Chapter 5 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Disclaimer and Author’s note: A sonnet

 

And so I do declare beyond all doubt,

Akira Toriyama is the man.

These characters that from his mind did sprout,

I do not claim to own nor profit can.

 

The finish to this tale I now present.

I hope you have enjoyed this funny take

On one of Shakespeare’s plots he did me lend,

And liberties I will confess to make.

 

So do forgive the writing errors, lots.

A lot sex and drama found within

Yet violence and swearing there are not.

A happy end to make the reader grin.

 

And thanks to all who helped me with this tale.

Without your firm support, I would have failed.

 

Additional author’s note: (because I don’t have enough for another sonnet and no one wants me to attempt a limerick).  Saiyago words are strictly bold, anything supposedly in Japanese is in italics.  Memories are written with a combination of the two.

 

 

What You Will

 

Act V

 

 

Her eyes sprang open as her body shuddered, her teeth practically snapping her tongue off with the force of the landing.

 

“Whe … it … ome fr?”  A muffled voice sounded just beyond the edge of her perception.  Even with the physical force of landing, she was still woozy with the gas, or was it her injuries?

 

“The readout says it came from the Phrygian region but no one is in it.” Another voice, clearer and nearer than the first, spoke, the sounds distorted as if vibrating through water.  Lifting her still tired eyes, Bulma was surprised to see it really looked like an empty pod even as she felt the seat beneath her numb bottom.  Behind the sealed door of the pod, the Occhion looking in was soon joined by another grey-skinned technician, clearly not seeing her either.

 

With no occupant to help and other pods to prepare, the two technicians left the mystery of the rogue pod, allowing Bulma to recover her senses. 

 

What happened?

 

Where was she?

 

What day was it?

 

Was she even alive? 

 

Her left arm hit the side of the pod and she winced at the pain, the various nobs and dials digging into her flesh.  Beneath that, the dull ache of a newly healed break throbbed up her arm and into her tense back.  The meeting, Freeza’s soldiers, her broken arm, busted projector, and Goku’s face bubbled into her still lethargic mind, giving context to her confusion.  The last few moments after the bitter taste of senzu flooded her mouth were still a blur but she remembered the pod and Yamcha’s projector.  They sent her back to Vegetasei; they sent her back to the Saiyajins.

 

Risking the attention, she opened the pod door and slipped out as quickly as her cramped muscles could manage.  The maintenance area was deserted and her stomach and throat screamed out for some kind of nourishment.  While to her brain it had only been a day since she had eaten, in reality it had almost been a week with the flight to and from the space station.  Thinking back to the hoped-for meal of Chichi’s cooking, a sour taste of bile flooded her mouth.  She might never be able to stand the sight or smell of pork buns again.

 

Desperate to get something to drink, she made her way as quickly as she could to a bathroom, water first, then food.  Not risking the constantly used facilities in the pod port, she walked into the hallway, moving quickly then going still when another person went by.  She might be invisible but her movements caused the projection around her to ripple and shift.  Most would think it was a trick of the light or the normal distortion of peripheral vision but better to not risk it.

 

“Do you have all your supplies for Winter, Garle?  It must be bitter when the sleet falls.”

 

“Pampered Southern, we have our ways to keep warm during the silver frosts.  There is nothing like ushtey bea warm …”

 

The pair continued past her and she breathed a sigh, they didn’t notice anything beyond their conversation.  She nearly cried out with joy when a few moments later she found an alcove with a small fountain and primitive toilet.  Ignoring the metallic taste, she greedily slurped the cold, refreshing liquid.  With one need satisfied, two immediate ones remained: food and shelter.

 

“You can hardly smell it now, though who knows how long before that bleach smell will fade.  Those poor Opodi cleaners took two days to clean under the soldiers’ mess.”

 

“Don’t feel too bad, Fructa, the lucky buggers have no sense of smell.  Still, it must have been a mess.”

 

“I heard Commander Nappa was sitting ….”  The two Lantian maids moved beyond her hearing, walking to the servant quarters for the diplomatic wing.  A burst of giggles sounded when they were rounding the hall corner and Bulma smirked at the potential outcome of that little anecdote.  At least the mess was cleaned and no one was hurt.

 

Following her nose, she began to gag at the putrid smells and burning vapours as she approached the mess hall.  Any worries she might have about being seen were erased, the massive room with its crudely carved tables and cavernous stone ceilings was closed, the low hum of a force field keeping the worst of the stench at bay.  Typical of the Saiyajins, there was no security protocol around the mechanism and she quickly disabled the shield. 

 

The lower part of her face hidden in the crook of her arm, Bulma made her way to the kitchen in the hope that something was spared.  Everything gleamed with a dull shine, even as the air was still heavy with the smell of the drains, mixed with the strong stinging scent of chlorine.

 

A quick search of the kitchen was less than hopeful with only a few moldering root vegetables and mellow fruit.  Her gnawing hunger overwhelmed her squeamishness and she was soon devouring the dried out vegetables, fighting back the urge to eat until her stomach hurt.  Soon she had a small spread of edible fare, securing it into pockets that would be covered by the projector.

 

“Just when you think that smell is dissipating, the stupid field breaks down and opens up this hell-mouth.”  Her heart leapt into her throat at the voice now sounding at the entrance to the mess hall, the halls clearly not as deserted as she had assumed.  Moving as quickly as a cat, she watched the technicians with unseen eyes.

 

“Maybe it was some kid pulling a prank?  These force fields have never broken down before.”  A soft thoughtful baritone asked as he examined the circuitry of the keypad, the sound unusual in the speaker.  He had all of the hallmarks of his race: tall, lean muscled like a warrior, spiky black hair and eyes.  Yet she had never met a Saiyajin who knew anything about technology, especially one who could think intelligently about it.  Before she had a chance to speculate further, she slipped between this strange Saiyajin and the long-snouted quagga, hoping the distortion to the visual field wasn’t noticeable.  Both males registered her passing but seemed to dismiss it, though Bulma swore they could probably hear the pounding of her heart.

 

“Then that smell hitting them full force was their punishment.  Too bad it had to be our punishment too.”

 

“Could be worse, we could have been those Opodi.”  The Saiyajin technician smiled, saying the line as if it was a new catchphrase.

 

“Carnot, decapods don’t have a sense of smell.”  The striped-skinned quagga quipped back and the strange Saiyajin smirked.  Stranger still, he lightly brushed his companion back before bringing the shield back up.

 

“Ahh, the slightly less than putrid air.  What shorted out?”  The smirking Saiyajin paused at the question, his head moving around as if sensing her.  Never had she been so happy for that overwhelming smell; not even a Saiyajin could mark a difference.

 

“Nothing, it had to be tampered with.  Security will be able to tell if they care to do a loop back into the system.”  The one named Carnot said, waving up at the newly installed camera.

 

“With any luck, this will make them work quicker to get an electrical engineering department up and running again.  Are you still studying to join the logicians’ guild?”

 

“I’m too much of a gearhead for the architects, and even if they were letting in technicians, they wouldn’t sully their ranks with a hybrid.”  Already the pair was moving down the hallway, their conversation growing fainter but even that last word rang out loud and clear.  Breathing a sigh of relief, Bulma grabbed the quietest food she could find and relished the mushy fruit and chewy nuts.  Her immediate needs now met, she needed a plan and a shower. 

 

Looking up and down the hallway, two options seemed open to her.  The closest was the open bathing rooms next to the training halls.  The longer she stayed in these clothes, the more likely some curious guard would wonder about her smell.  Already her scalp itched and her skin felt sticky to the touch.  The training rooms were always in use, remembering Vegeta’s need to grow stronger.  She debated taking a peek into the main training hall reserved for the exclusive use of the royal family and their Guardsmen.  She had often heard him speak of it but what would it be like to watch him in action?

 

Daydreaming about her Prince, she missed the swish of a door and nearly gave the game away as the light low growls from a group of Saiyajin females sounded through the empty hallway.  Slimmer than their male counterparts, there was no mistaking the spiked hair and muscled physiques.  Or their complete physical openness as they wore little more than a two-piece leotard under their training armour.

 

“Twice more since the Guardsman tournament.  I heard it from my Lantian maid, who got it from a cleaner and you know they have the best gossip.”

 

“How could he be interested in any of those weaklings?  Vegeta-ouji is the perfect fighter, how could he possibly be interested in those drugged up alien whores?  Especially that old blue-skinned bitch.”

 

“At least they’re female.  There were rumours that his interests were going in the other direction.  Thank the Moon, that pathetic worm finally disappeared.”

 

“By the first, I thought they finally got rid of that smell.” 

 

“I’ve heard Macula is planning to make a formal petition to the King when he returns to consider his daughter as the royal consort for the Prince.  The Conium clan would do anything to get that close to the crown.” 

 

“Sarra is already insufferable enough.  Could you imagine her as Queen?”  The horde began to yips and howl like coyotes, all four walking to the common bathing area.  So much for that idea, Bulma realised, not wanting to think about what she heard and the implications.  Moving as swiftly as she could passed the training facility, the woman cautiously made her way to the only other safe spot she could think of.  Dear Kami, let it still be empty.

 

Twenty harrowing minutes and two patrols later, she found herself in front of her old quarters, the door open and every piece of furniture tossed about the room.  Looking for any eyes that might be watching her, Bulma locked the door behind her and slid to the floor in exhaustion and relief. 

 

Nearly shaking as she turned the projector off, she slipped it off her wrist along with the clothes she had been wearing for nearly a week.  Debating burning the pile, she shoved them into a capsule to dispose of them down an incinerator chute later.  She didn’t even wait for the water to heat up before she was scrubbing at her grimy hair and skin.  Three washes and rinses later, she was shivering with the cold but relieved to be clean and smelling like herself. 

 

Wrapping a discarded towel from the overturned trunk around her body, Bulma began to put the few pieces of furniture to right.  Her absence, coinciding with the blown-up drains, must have tipped off someone enough to search her room for clues to her whereabouts.  A few scraps of paper, nothing more than drawings of the animals in her family’s menagerie, were scattered about the floor.  She had left nothing but those and a few pieces of clothing when she left, any notes, blueprints, or personal effects stored in a capsule hidden in the heel of her boot.  Slipping on an oversized shirt that escaped being ripped in the search, Bulma devoured the last of her pilfered food. 

 

The logistical engineer part of her brain was already working out potential next steps, taking an inventory of her resources.  Her capsule supply was low, little more than those personal effects and a basic tool kit.  Allied help was even thinner.  She briefly thought of Cawliefe or maybe Radditz before she put that idea to the side, unsure in which form she could approach them.  Miana’s image rose up in her mind as a potential ally, only to have the image morph, the blue-skinned goddess’s naked limbs entwined around an equally naked Vegeta. 

 

Her father’s advice bubbled up in her mind: maybe the best way to tackle the problem is to stop thinking about it.  Her conscious mind was too confused and frazzled, banging it against a wall wasn’t going to be any help.  Beyond that, her heart ached with everything that she come through in the past week, a sign that fatigue was setting in.  She sacrificed so much to make her previous plan work and now she had less than when she started.  About to slip into self-pity, she remembered her first days among the Saiyajins, or worse, on the annihilated husk of the Arion, death closing in with the great unknown before her.  At least she had seen Goku alive, Yamcha was with him, and she escaped the Colds for at least another day.

 

With the worst of her melancholy at bay, she planned what she could.  No matter what, she would need some additional resources.  Once night fell, she would go back for more food, enough to get a small cache here.  After that, the focus would be raiding for any bits of technical gadgetry and information she could get her hands on to make up for her knowledge deficit.  Between her projector and the Saiyajins’ woeful security, it wouldn’t be long before she secured or built a communicator, she could maybe even make a second contact attempt, all again under their noses.  She almost smiled at the thought of living like a mouse among a pride of lions.  Between her technical know-how and greater intellect, she would easily hide from her stronger foe.  No Saiyajin could match her in wits. 

 

“Who are you?”  The words were said so softly, she almost didn’t recognise the speaker.  He only spoke like that in her dreams.

 

Looking up from her seat on the trunk, her heart stopped.  In the centre of her tiny room, dressed in his skin-tight body suit and training armour, stood Vegeta.  And he was seeing her as she was with no false face or invisible aura.  Daring a look at his face, she prepared herself for several reactions: disgust, annoyance, curiosity, or lust.  Nothing prepared her for the small smirk and wide softened eyes on his handsome face, his visage reflecting a sense of wonder.

 

“Far-ven.” 

 

~*~*~*~

 

“Far-ven.”  Before loss had coloured his world or duty had shaped him into a warrior, deep in the reaches of his past lived the memory of that word.

 

What is a far-ven, Momma? 

 

Vegeta-kun, it is a beautiful female with hair as blue as the ocean and skin as white as the surf.  In the East, we have tales of these creatures, especially those of us who live by the storm-tossed sea.  She lives within the waves, saving those who honour her from drowning.  If you insult her, or injure her, the Far-ven will have her revenge, luring her enemies to their doom with her terrifying voice.  Yet through cunning or kindness, you can win a Far-ven’s blessing.  My great great great grandsire, a mighty warrior and the first Saiyajin to master the power of flight, was said to have won a Far-ven’s love.

 

The blue-eyed Far-ven remained perfectly still, staring into his soul with those large blue eyes, the colour of the sea in his memory.  Yet he could hear the frantic beating of her heart and, sniffing the air, a light hint of fear mixed with a soft feminine scent that was achingly familiar.  Against his nature, he smiled at the sight in front of him, this creature of myth seated before him, her presence taunting him to the point of invading his dreams.  Questions of how and why were put aside; better to know that she was real than another vision to taunt him to madness.

 

Like a man approaching a force of nature, he moved slowly, a part of him taking his mother’s story to heart.  Only a fool would make undo assumptions about an unknown power.  She clearly felt the same as she slipped to the floor and knelt before him. 

 

“Your highness.”  He quirked his brow at the use of his title.  That this being from the depth of legend showed such deference to his position made him feel as if he were a warrior of old in one of his mother’s tales.  He didn’t know why her use of Saiyago would surprise him so, the words slowly spoken, almost lyrical in her soft rolling voice.  By now he was standing close enough to take in the delicate hairs at her temples and the softness of her lips. 

 

“You know our tongue.”  Confusion coloured her eyes, replacing the frightened look, and a light blush tinted her cheeks.  Enchanted by the sight, he reached out and brushed his fingers against the glowing skin.  Against his expectations, her flesh was warm and as smooth as satin.

 

“So you are real.”  She smiled at his words and rolled to her feet, all fear melting from her muscles.  She leaned into the hand now cupping her jawline, those haunting eyes closing at the sensation. 

 

“No, I’m dreaming.”  Again her speech was slow, each word considered and spoken with such care.  Taking a further liberty, he brushed his fingers through her damp hair, almost expecting the smell of salt and the wildness of the wind.  Instead, he caught a whiff of that intoxicating scent he first detected from that little pest, Goku: light, sweet, and with a hint of musk. 

 

“My mother’s tales never said your kind were shapeshifters, sea maiden.”  He murmured to himself, wondering how the troublesome boy and the ethereal female intersected.  The woman merely laughed, a sound of pure delight that was as teasing as her scent.  He couldn’t remember the last time a female laughed so in his presence.  Most were too obsequious or brash or conniving to attempt anything so endearing.  Brushing his thumb against her lips, she kissed the digit before nipping the end with her sharp teeth.  The softness followed by the slightest pinch of pain caused a rush of heat through his blood.  Sniffing the air again, a low growl formed deep in his chest as his instinct to claim this siren grew stronger. 

 

“Are you luring me to my doom?”  He whispered in her ear, nipping the flesh of her ear lobe before nuzzle the underside of her jaw.

 

“No, my own.”  Before he could react, he felt her lips on his own, caressing one moment, tasting the next.  Letting her taste him at her leisure, he took in the shape of the woman in his arms.  Through the oversized shirt, he could feel the swell of her hips and ass before sliding up her back, the muscles and bones as delicate as a bird’s.  She moaned into his mouth at his explorations, attempting to do the same to him but was hindered by his armour.

 

He reluctantly pulled his mouth from hers before lifting the weighted armour off his shoulders, toeing his boots at the same time.  He’d hardly finished before she curled her arms around him, pressing her soft breasts to his chest as she kissed his mouth, his jaw, nipping at his ears.  Like a temptress, she wrapped her legs around his hips, her centre flush with his hardness and he growled approvingly at her aggressiveness.  The scent of her arousal mixed with his own as he walked her to the small bed, tasting her as she was him, teasing her with his lips.  Her hands were everywhere on his back, caressing him through his body suit, trying to find the hem of his shirt.  In the tangle of grasping limbs, she brushed the base of his tail and he howled into her mouth.  A loud rip sounded through the room and the remains of her shirt fell to the floor. 

 

His breathing was ragged as he rested his forehead against her own, seeing the satisfied, almost Saiyajin-like smirk on that alluring alien face.  With gentle hands, he lowered her to the bed, his eyes taking in the beautiful woman in front of him.  Fire licked through his veins at the sight her swollen lips, her eyes dark with passion and her skin glowing in the low light.  And growing red where her shirt tore against her skin.  His Far-ven was more delicate than he realised, as he felt her tense when his fingers brushed the growing welt around her shoulders. 

 

Slipping his shirt off, he used the pause to even out his breath, rethinking his strategy.  The strength differential was more than he assumed.  Until he knew how fragile she was, he couldn’t risk getting too excited.  Looking at those wicked hands, he realised he would need to neutralise their threat.

 

Leaning over her prone form, he began to kiss her again, his tongue parting her soft lips and tasting her mouth.  Her hands began to play in his hair, caressing his scalp and he nearly gave up his plan until he felt one of her hands travel down his back, clearly aiming for his tail.  Pulling away from the kiss, he shook his head at his Far-ven, smirking at the disappointed look on her face.  Before she could react, he had both of her hands stretched above her head, one holding them secure. 

 

“Not yet.”  He whispered before nipping her ear.  She gasped and tried to pull her arms free, a look of anger shining cold and clear in her deep blue eyes.  A growl of defiance sounded in her throat and he responded in kind, letting her know he was the stronger.  Yet like an imp of legend, she had hooked one of her legs around his hips, her foot poised above the small of his back to press her advantage.  Sensing the move, his other hand lightly grasped her foot, keeping her at bay for now.

 

“Clever woman but not yet.  First you will yield.”

 

“Never.”  She gasped yet there was steel in her words as she undulated against him, bringing him to the breaking point.  His concern about her delicate nature was overcome by the call of his blood to win, to prove himself as her male.  Shifting his hold on her, he looked once more into her beautiful face, caught by the look in her eye.  Passion and defiance shone through but beyond was a hidden spark, one he could not give name to even as it tugged at something buried deep in his chest.

 

Unable to process his own emotions, he shifted his strategy again.  Remembering her sigh of delight earlier, he flipped her onto her stomach, his hand still holding hers above her head, his body stretched out above her own.  A shocked gasp passed through her lips at the sudden move, followed by a sweet moan of surrender as he traced the delicate line of her spine, first with his hand, then his tail.  Without the distraction of her hands and those eyes, he began to explore her body, teasing out her secrets with his hand, lips, and tail.

 

“Ahh, that tickles.”  She giggled in a strange tongue, squirming as his tail brushed against the back of her knee.  His hand followed suit, brushing the area with his fingers, then infusing them with his ki.  Each touch brought a giggle or sigh of pleasure to her lips, her scent growing stronger.  Soon he was going back, curious to know how much overlap there was between theory and practice. 

 

“Ohh. yes.”  He smiled despite himself at the sound of her language, his ministrations enough to make her forget his tongue.  He continued up the back of her long legs, caressing her thighs.  His feather light touches grew deeper, kneading her soft flesh, and he was relieved to find she wasn’t made of spun glass.  Better yet, she enjoyed his touch, the evidence coating her inner thigh.  Sure that she was too caught up in her pleasure, he nipped her lightly at the nap of her neck and released her hands, tracing her inner arms while he kissed his way down the line of her spine.  Smirking, he nipped at the flare of her hip, tracing her soft flesh before lightly biting down on the curve of her ass.  He was treated with a yelp of surprise, followed by a long moan as he licked at the bite.  This close to her centre, the scent of her burned into his brain enough that he wanted a taste.

 

Like a set of Shueisha pieces, he enveloped the woman with a ki shield and raised her from the bed, quickly slipping off the lower half of his body suit.  So caught up in his touch, she didn’t even react until she was several inches in the air.  Taking full advantage, his fingers teased her wetness, growling at the feel, the smell, the taste.

 

“Vegeta, please.  I need you.”  Though her words were beyond his knowledge, her meaning was clear.  The sound of his name from her lips was more erotic than he had imagined and the desire to have her burned in his gut.  Yet when he had her the first time, he wanted to see her pleasure shining in her eyes, taste her cries, feel those long legs wrapped around his hips.  Raising himself with his ki, he easily turned her in his arms, her eyes opening at the shift in position.  He saw that mysterious desire in those sea blue depths as she reached for him, enveloping him in a full body embrace.

 

“Do you yield?”

 

“Yes, oh yes.”

 

He slid inside of her, the sensation better than he remembered as the warm, wet heat enveloped him, welcomed him.  Here was a woman, real, whole, desirable, and who wanted him for himself, not for his title, or bragging rights, or out of fear or obligation.  Gripping her hips, he began to move them, building the passion with slow, deep strokes.  As if reading his desire, she kissed him, the taste of her making him shudder.  In all his lessons, he had separated himself from the act but in this, he lost himself in her scent, her wetness, the pull of her muscles.  Her desire became his own, her cries fuelled his own passion.  And when she came, he surrendered.

 

~*~*~*~

 

It took her a few moments to flow back into her own body, still tingling from his touch.  At first all she could take in were the sensations: the feel of his hard, smooth skin, hot to the touch: the scent of him, musk, salt, and the clean tang of his energy mixed with her own scent: the sound of his light breathing, such a marked contrast to her own full body panting.  The whisper light touch of his ki against her back reminded her they were still airborne.

 

His fingers, mmm those talented fingers, brushed against her smooth back and she nearly shuddered apart again.  He had not been as she had expected at all.  The lover of her dreams had been dominant to the point of lewdness.  This was … unexpected, exploratory, and intimate on a level she would never have anticipated.  He made her wet with desire, the light touches on her back and thighs electric and amazingly, she had climaxed with nothing more than his thrusts.

 

“woman, I … know.  Are … pain?”  His voice was low, bedroom rough and his words spoken in a blur.  Initially she had used his language to keep him from linking her with ‘Goku’, his reaction better than she could have imagined.  Now she cursed herself as a fool. 

 

She knew the basics, enough to understand a decent number of words and simple grammatical forms but finer details were lost on her.  Half of his phases she could work out the meaning of with one comment about his mother and stories making her laugh, the last word sounding like ‘mermaid’.  Her answers pleased him as he clearly showed, playing her body like a maestro. 

 

While his speech was a half a mystery to her, she could read his thoughts through his body language and surprisingly expressive eyes.  His taut muscles and the hard searching looks made her heart melt more than any honeyed words.  She smiled, the satisfied, languid smile of a well-loved woman, and brushed her fingertips between his drawn brows.  She practiced her answer in her head, testing the forms silently on her tongue and lips to make sure the pronunciation was accurate.

 

“No, I’m good.”  She stretched like a cat in his arms to show she was none the worse for wear, if anything, she wanted more.  Her movement pleased him as a slow smile spread across that heavenly mouth. 

 

“You were pleased.”  She noted the lack of a question form, his words a statement of fact in his eyes and a part of her wanted to snort at his arrogance. 

 

Who was she kidding?  Her sexual afterglow was so strong, she felt ready to write sonnets to his jawline. 

 

Choosing to show her appreciation in actions over words, she began to kiss that jawline, nipping him lightly as she came to the skin behind his ear.  Encouraged by his low purr, she wrapped her arms around his torso and traced out the muscles of his back with deft fingers.  The part of him still wedged inside of her started to grow hard again and she moaned at the sensation, kissing him slowly, followed by a light flicker of her tongue against his lips.

 

“A warrior desires above all a worthy opponent.”  He pulled away and spoke the words slowly against her mouth, his eyes piercing into her own.  He gave a subtle shift of his hips and she felt her bones melting at the delicious sensation, keeping his gaze by will alone.

 

“Someone to match him, test him, challenge him.”  Not breaking eye contact, his fingers traced her forehead, eye brows, and temples before playing along the shell of her ear.

 

“Exploring each weakness,” he tickled the back of her knee with his too clever tail and she giggled, shocked that he would note her reaction and find it so charming.  Wanting to prove herself worthy, she squeezed the part still inside of her, the Prince gasping and losing his rhythm. 

 

“And strength.”  Soon he was smiling again, ceding the point before he nuzzled between her breasts.  She blushed as his deft tongue explored her breasts, his teeth lightly grazing her sensitive nipples.  About to let herself become overwhelmed by his touch, she felt a tautness enter his muscles, his earlier words saying more than she realised.  Sliding her hands up his back, she buried them in his thick spiky hair, her nails scraping the back of his neck and scalp and he growled enthusiastically. 

 

“Your opponent does the same?”  She asked, working out the implication beyond his words.  Testing the waters, she wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed him between her thighs.  The movement made him shudder and a smile, a beautiful true smile, spread across his lips. 

 

“Yes.”  He purred and kissed her, his hand mimicking her own as he cradled the back of her head.  So caught up in his kiss, she blinked in surprise as she found herself looking down into Vegeta’s face, the Prince effortlessly turning them over with her lying on top of him.  Surprised by his openness, of him giving over the dominant position to her, she felt her eyes widen in disbelief.  Could … could he want more from her than just a one night?

 

“How long do opponents spar?”  His smile curved into a satisfied grin, clearly pleased with her question.  She couldn’t help but mirror his expression.

 

“Until they know every move, every thought,” he growled sensually as she racked her teeth across his nipples.

 

“Every secret.”  At the last word she stopped, laying her head against his beating heart.  The double meaning of each word took on an extra layer, and she realised the sensual play between them could never be more than a short-lived game.  Could she let him ferret out the secrets she was hiding from him?  Kami, he would hate her for lying to him, for making a fool of him. 

 

A tear sprang unbidden from her eye and splashed against his chest.  The easy looseness of his muscles disappeared as he tensed underneath her and his fingers lightly lifted her chin.  The playful look in his eyes was gone, replaced by a look of tender concern that made a second tear fall down her cheek.

 

“I have caused you pain, Far-ven?”  Vigorously shaking her head, she leaned in to kiss away his uncertainty, only to have his finger press lightly to her lips. 

 

“Were you truly not satisfied with my touch?”  She laughed at that, squeezing him between her thighs, desiring more of him.  Kami, he was more than she could have dreamed and had dreamed for the past few months.  More than anything she wanted to stay in his arms, in his bed.

 

“Only that I want more, Vegeta-sama.”  She confessed to him, kissing then nipping the ends of his fingertips.  He shuddered underneath her, her answer pleasing him greatly as he began to purr like a large well-petted cat.

 

“That is but a taste of what I am capable of, Far-ven.  And one taste was not enough.”  He renewed the subtle grinding of his hips against her own, a slow burn building between her legs.  Looking down at the sensual feast before her, she continued her exploration of his chest, finding spots that made him gasp and squirm, which made his motions go faster.  A blow of cool air on his hot skin and he growled fiercely, his previously stationary hands covering her hips and urging her deeper on him.  Taking the hint, she undulated against him, lying atop his hard frame, rubbing herself wantonly against him.

 

“Oh Vegeta, I ….”

 

“What is your name, Far-ven?”  His voice was rough and deep, spoken against her lips and her body seized at the implications.  It was the first secret he would demand of her, having power over a spirit by knowing its true name.  It was almost on her tongue to lie to him, knowing this couldn’t last and yet, the sound of her name from his mouth, the very thought made her heart swoon and her insides melt.

 

“Bulma.”  She felt rather than saw his smile as he rewarded her with a deep, slow kiss.  His tongue mimicked the motions of his hips, lapping at her own and when she tumbled over the edge of bliss with his name on her lips, she heard her name whispered into her ear. 

 

“You stopped.”  Still deep in her post-orgasm haze, she felt his still hard length inside of her, his skin covered in sweat as he delayed taking his own pleasure.  Lowering them to the bed, he shifted their positions again, hovering over top to take his weight off her delicate frame.

 

“No, Bulma.  We just started.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

The slow sounds of her breathing reached his ear indicating his woman had finally succumbed to sleep.  Lying on his back on the tiny, inadequate bed, he ran his fingers through her sweat-soaked hair, smirking at the scent of salt that at last filled his nose, mixed with the overpowering smell of their sex.  She snuggled against his side and his smirk shifted into a smile; by the first, he had never felt so sated or content.

 

They strove against each other for hours, pausing only to recover before one or the other would begin again, either playful reconnaissance or all-out assault, the combat fierce and tender and right.  And while his knowledge was extensive, her curiosity, flexibility, and boldness made her a more formidable opponent than he could have imagined.  Her clever hands and obsession with his tail nearly brought him to his knees, not that he didn’t return the favour numerous times.  Already he was thinking of the next time in his own bed, wrapping her in luxury.  And yet ….

 

The questions that had skimmed the edge of his mind when he found her in this room flared to the front of his consciousness.  While he named her for the siren of his mother’s tales, the female was flesh and blood enough, a terrestrial creature.  Her physical weakness and unusual colouring would indicate alien, her presence here pointing to a likely origin and to whom she was connected.  Unbidden, Vegeta found himself growling at the thought, wishing the damn nuisance of a boy to the furthest pit of hell for having some claim to this woman that he desired.  That ….

 

Parting her hair from the side of her long neck, he examined her for any claiming scars, noticing the shallow bite marks he left on her shoulders and against the back of her nape.  Relief flooded through him; he had not claimed her as mate, though it was a close thing.  There were several times during the night he had lost all control over himself, the desire for her burning away all rational thought.  While he was sated now, he was already dreaming of having her again, this little feast not enough and by her own actions, he was confident he had found a willing, worthy bed mate. 

 

Closing his eyes, he tried to join his Far-ven, Bulma, in slumber.  In his semi-conscious state he was imagining her in his bed; him showing her the beauties of his home, the wonders of the planet.  Her face was alight with delight, joy, passion, even her belly swelling as she carried his heir. 

 

At that last thought, he started awake, panting lightly in fear.  The pleasurable haze of their coupling was burned away as the harsher realty of their differences and his position came to the fore.

 

Alien bed partners were a common but not encouraged practice, the belief in racial purity and the lesser status of non-Saiyajins still held sway on Vegetasei.  A third-class peasant may rut where he wished, an off-world soldier was tacitly allowed to take an alien mate, but an Elite, particularly a Prince. was not so free. 

 

Thinking of her sweetness and the intelligence he found sparkling in her eyes, a sick lump began to form in his throat.  If he was to take her openly, protocol dictated she would become part of the harem with the necessary sterilization and behaviour modifications.  Even if he were able to halt the latter practice, the former was a matter of course.  More than that, she wouldn’t truly be his as no harem slave was free to choose her own bedmate.  The thought of her being presented to his men, or worse his enemies, caused his muscles to tense.  He heard a soft whimper from his side and he forced his breathing to steady and his muscles to loosen, breathing a sigh of relief as she murmured lightly and slid back under the veil of sleep.

 

Maybe, his tactical mind trying to see his way through the problem, an assistant for Miana?  It was a potential solution with a similar dispensation, thinking of his father and the Caudata beauty.  The bitter taste of bile touched the back of his throat as the potential fall-out from that plan, remembering the indignities Miana hinted at during her life as a pleasure slave.  While he could save Bulma from the brutality of rape, she would be little better than his slave, any freedom or future sacrificed.  And she would hate him, the cold and absolute realization chilling his blood.

 

Other possibilities flittered through his mind, long shots that could keep her close but not property.  He could get her made a member of his household, a maid, a cook, an assistant, the Chikyuu-jin Ambassador, if it suited his fancy.  How believable would any of those scenarios be, he thought?  Though he knew her to be charming and intelligent, he knew nothing of her abilities, or if she could even speak more than her strange tongue and a smattering of Saiyago.  It would not take long for the court, particularly his father, to realise who she was to him.  An heir who indulged in the hedonistic delights of the harem too much was frowned upon, but taking an exclusive alien bed mate and making her akin to his claimed bride….

 

“Why do I have to learn about these stupid old stories?  The battles are cool but the political stuff is boring.”

 

“You are true to your blood, young prince, but you have much to learn if you wish to be King.  Histories are warnings from the past to the future, like poor tactics employed in a battle.  Learn from your ancestors’ mistakes so you may not fall prey to them in the future.”

 

“Hmm, the next Legendary will have no flaws.”

 

“Then he is more of a legend than the Super Saiyajin or a complete fool who will be easily defeated due to his own stupidity and hubris.  The greatest Kings of your line had their strengths that you can model, while the worst weaknesses to avoid.  The weakest though are the greatest cautionary tales, such as that of Malliachte, seventeenth of King of the Saiyajins.”

 

“A King not named Vegeta?  Who ever heard such a thing?”

 

“A Prince is christened Vegeta when he earns his name in combat.  Likely Malliachte earned the Vegeta name as well, but for his weakness and disgrace, he lost the honour and his very birth name was scrubbed from the annals of our history.

“As a young, foolish Prince, the firstborn in the generation after we became a space faring people, he grew arrogant and lazy, blowing off his responsibilities to indulge in vice: drink, drugs, petty squabbles, women.  He was eventually brought to heel by his father and mated with his matched bride, siring three fine sons and even a daughter, a rare and sacred event for the Saiyajins.  Yet his vices were not wholly tamed and when he took the throne, he would often go off-world with select members of his guardsmen. 

 

“Descriptions vary of the woman who finally matched his lust, all details, even her name, were torn from our tales.  He became besotted with her, claiming her as chief concubine and eventually royal consort.

 

“An alien in such a position could be tolerated for an unmated heir or a widowed King, but he put her above his Queen, whelped a son off his whore.  When he demanded her child supersede his rightful heir, the court and the very land descended into open revolt against him. 

With only his royal guardsman to back him, the King surrendered, agreeing to live in exile with his alien whore and granting his rightful heir the Kingship on the condition that he would put down the brat he had tried to install as heir.  In the end, the alien woman killed him in his sleep in revenge for the death of her cub.”

 

He had taken such stories to heart as a child, further proof that he would take no mate unless she was his true equal, an equal as his mother was to his father.  And to this date no female, Saiyajin or alien, had met that high bar, or invoked carnal interest in him. 

 

Until her. 

 

Her scent had teased his nose for so long he questioned his sanity.  When he finally put a face to that scent, her open desire for him, evident in every word and gesture, had fuelled his own.  More than that, it was her eyes, full of intelligence and fire, eyes so similar to those that had won his regard even if he dare not speak of it aloud.  And if she had half the spark that young Goku possessed, she would be the mate Miana described, a comfort and challenge in the council and his bed chambers.  And another strike against him to his people, his continued regard for non-Saiyajins a sign of his softness.

 

“And look at where your softness there has gotten you?”  He whispered to himself, tracing the arm draped over his chest. 

 

The boy had obviously seen his regard, taken advantage of his pardon, and escaped with his compatriot, blowing the drains and stinking up half the royal complex in the process.  Upo and Cawliefe asked him privately if the boy should be pursued, likely suspecting what the Chikyuu-jin had done.  He held back his wrath, his faith that even though the boy had appeared to defect, Goku’s oath was true.  A week later there had been no word, no sign but the return of a stolen pod.  That little enigma had led him to re-examine the boy’s quarters for any clues, never guessing at the jewel he’d find within.  He would need to question her about the boy, the two clearly linked in ways he couldn’t work out.

 

“Ouji-sama.”  A soft, slurred voice broke the silence and he tensed as a flash of heat burned along his spine at the sound, accompanied by the renewed scent of her arousal.  Looking down, he was surprised to find her eyes closed, her eyes shifting beneath her lids.  Hmm, he smirked, it seemed he wasn’t the only one plagued by such dreams.

 

“Yes, my Prince.”  Interlacing his fingers with hers, he shifted overtop of her, stretching her hands above her head.  Already he was brushing his lips across her cheeks, ready to kiss her warm mouth.

 

“Goku.”  She murmured, her passionate tone replaced by a sound of hope and Vegeta felt as if he had been punched in the gut by Frieza himself.

 

No, he wanted to scream; she desired him, not Goku.  She was his and he would have her, that little shit be damned.  Like a siren song, he could see her in the harem with the works, all memory of that damn boy erased from her mind, even her name lost if he desired it.  She would be his, all his, robbed of that charm and intelligence and fire that he desired; his perfect, lifeless fuck toy.  And he hated himself at the very idea.

 

“No, Goku.  Please no.”  Her tone changed from one of hope to sorrow and he warred with himself, to either turn away from this woman who could never be his, or comfort her as she awoke from her nightmare, her nightmare with him. 

 

Pulling away, she reached for him in her sleep, a tear leaking from the side of her closed eyes as she whimpered out, still whispering that accursed name.

 

“Goku, I can’t lose you again.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

She couldn’t hide the smile from her face, it was almost too good to be true. 

 

The first time she had seen this room she was little better than a captive, pledging her life to the Prince of Assholes.  Now she was pledging herself to him again, as his Princess.  The faceless crowd surrounded her like a field of wheat, rippling away as she past but never letting her see more than a few feet ahead.

 

Halfway down the immense room, she could see the crest of his upswept hair.  Like a moth to a flame, she realised, letting the heat of her desire pull her forward.  As she reached the cleared area in front of the dais, she fell to her knees, breathless in her rush to be at his side.

 

“Ouji-sama.”  She sighed as she felt the tip of his tail tickle her chin before wrapping lightly around her wrist. 

 

“It seems you have finally learned your place, sea maiden.”  He smirked down at her as his tail raised her from her knees.  His heat surrounded her and her heart swelled as she found herself enveloped in her arms.

 

“Yes, my Prince.”  She could barely get out the words before he leaned closer, his lips hovered against her own.

 

“Then show me your true face.”  The words were hardly out of his mouth when she pulled away, guilt at the way she had hid herself and tricked him making her shrink away from this man she loved to the depths of her soul.

 

“Yes, Bulma, show him your true face.”  A voice she thought lost to her forever called out and the faceless crowd parted again to show her that young, confident face that had always come to save her.

 

“Goku.”  Her soul felt full to bursting at the sight of her oldest friend, alive and with her again.  She could introduce him to Vegeta, reveal the whole insane scheme and make everything better.  Running up to her resurrected friend, she grabbed hold of his hand to pull him towards the Prince, only to be thrown back against his chest as he refused to budge.

 

“Do you think I forgive you for what you did?  You killed Krillin, Bulma.  Your hubris caused his death and my own.  If you had just given into Zarbon, Krillin and I would still be alive and your precious Prince would never have met such a murderous liar.”  Shaking her head in denial, she tried to find Vegeta, but she couldn’t pick out his face or distinctive mane in the crowd surrounding her. 

 

No, no, it wasn’t true, she chanted in her head.  She had seen him at the space port, placing her in that pod.  He had smiled at her and healed her with a senzu.  He even programmed the navigation computers to send her here; why was he saying these things?

 

“Show him your face, Bulma.  Show him your true face.”  The room shifted and suddenly she was in a box, the walls smooth as glass.  Slowly the cloudy surfaces cleared and she stared into a reflection of her face.  Her features were cold and cruel, the very embodiment of the Ice Queen the tabloids christened her.  Here was the face most of her contemporaries saw: a heartless bitch in the lab and the boardroom, daring any man to war against her.

 

Turning from the icier version of herself, she found the image of her in Zarbon’s arms.  A look of disgust and panic marred her serene features, tears flooding in eyes at her inability to fight back.  Worse than that, she saw the tiny dark spot in her eyes of surrender and resignation.  This was her punishment for her overweening pride.

 

Unable to hold back a whimper of pain, she turned again to see herself again being ravaged, this time in the arms of the Saiyajin Prince.  Her cheeks burned at the sight of her naked body pushed up against the glass while Vegeta’s silhouette rode her from behind.  Finding herself entranced by the sight, she moved closer as her reflection opened its eyes, lifeless, dilated eyes over a grotesque grin like a demented doll.

 

“No, Goku.  Please no.”  She couldn’t face any more, those false faces, those worst nightmares of herself.  Opening her eyes to the last facet, she saw the face that had stared back at her for almost three months, the Goku puppet, the lie version with no artifice or status, no good name to protect or bad reputation to overcome.  This was maybe the truest version of herself she had known since she stopped her dragon ball hunting days.

 

“And all you had to do was steal my face, my name, my life to do it.”  The puppet’s face shifted into the familiar face of her best friend, his usually smiling countenance disfigured with a look of pure hatred.

 

“Even when I came to your rescue, you got me killed again.”  Out of nowhere, a huge blast overwhelmed Goku, his very body disintegrating before her eyes just has it had as the pod lifted away from the space port.  She couldn’t hold back her tears of shame.

 

“Goku, I can’t lose you again.”

 

Her cries woke her up, the sound reverberating through her ears and she brushed the tear streaks from her eyes.  A mixture of sadness and relief flooded her as she looked at the empty bed.  Vegeta had left as she slept and missed her cries.  Another set of tears trained down her cheeks as she traced her hand across his indent on the bed, still warm to the touch.  She didn’t know what would happen after their time together but the fact that she was alone now was a comfort.

 

Behind her back, a faucet turned on and splashes of water filled the tense silence of the room.  Holding her breath, Bulma slowly turned her head, terrified of what she would see.  Oh Kami, he hadn’t left.

 

Though his back was to her, she could see his eyes boring into her from the cracked mirror.  He was clad in his training pants and boots though his torso was still bare, a towel in his hands to wipe any stray drips from his chest.

 

“Bad dream?”  He still hadn’t turned to face her, his gaze piercing even through his reflection.  Though her mind felt jumbled at that nightmare, two things became crystal clear.  He didn’t just mean her nightmare and he spoke to her in universal standard.

 

“You yelled out in your sleep, Bulma.  Was it a bad dream?”  She swallowed hard and tried to pull the ragged edges of her thoughts around her like the bare linens on the bed.

 

“No.  It was too good to be true until I fell asleep.”  She whispered under her breath, finally realising the double meaning of his words.  He stayed still as a statue at her confession, the only mark that he heard her words in a loosening of his shoulders.

 

“Did you find it amusing to pretend you were something you weren’t?”  Marshalling her nerve, she rose from the bed, wrapping the sheet around her like a false set of armour.  She approached the man before her slowly, looking for any sign that he would strike.  She was inches from him when she stopped, fighting the urge to throw herself at him and simply beg his forgiveness. 

 

“You see me, Prince Vegeta, as I stand, such as I truly am and no more.  I have never pretended to be other than who I truly am to you.  My actions, my lies, were borne out of fear, both of you and myself.  I feared your power over me and … and my own desire for you.”  The last words barely came out as a whisper with the only sign that her words had any effect was a subtle shiver down his naked back.

 

“And what of Goku?”  At this question, she started in confusion, starting back at up at him.  This time he had turned to her, his face a mummer’s mask yet his eyes glittering with intent.

 

“I don’t understand.  What does Goku have to do with ….”  Her eyes shifted to the bed where they had made love, unable to look into those deep wells of determination.  Even after her confession to him, she still struggled to define what was between them, especially on his side.  His stone mask cracked as a corner of his mouth quirked upwards before he turned away from her again.

 

“You called out his name in your dream, Bulma.”  The details of that dream were starting to fade, but the anxieties it raised still rippled under her skin. 

 

“Kingdoms rise and fall on the loyalty between a ruler and his subjects.  As much of an argumentative, know-it-all pest as he is, he has been a true and trusted servant and smarter than most of my father’s advisors put together.  I would not taint that trust, even for my own desires.”  Bulma swallowed at his words and the regard he clearly showed for her alter ego and the relationship he believe she shared with the boy version of herself.  What she wouldn’t give to have her projector fixed, to have some way to show him she was both the boy who pledged his life and the woman who would vow her love.

 

“But he is the biggest fool I’ve ever met, to abandon such a jewel.”  Before she could even register the change, she felt his tail slip around her wrist and pull her into his arms.  Then his lips were on hers, tender and sweet, as if to make the moment last forever.  It wasn’t until she slid her arms around his waist that he reluctantly pulled away, putting some space between them.

 

“I have reason to suspect that Goku has found his heiress.  He sent an empty pod back, I assume to let you know it is safe to join him.  He wished to be my representative with the heiress to help organize a treaty between our two peoples.  If he has kept his word, I shall keep faith with him.  Go to him, tell him I will give him mercy if he can present this heiress to me and assure her willingness to provide technology for the Saiyajin Empire.  And remind him that his oath still stands until my father returns.”  His body thrummed with tension, his own emotions so close under his skin, she could practically taste them in the air.  If anything, it made her fall in love with him all the more. 

 

A playful mood flittered through her to resist, to ask him if he truly wanted her to leave his side but she didn’t want to imagine what his clemency was costing him.  Leaning in to him, she returned his tender kiss, holding herself still lest the sensual tension between them ignite again.  Here he had given her one last chance to fulfill her mission.

 

“Goku has been true to you, my Prince, of this I know better than I know my own name.  He and I will return to you with the heiress.  After that, our fates will be in your hands.” 

 

~*~*~*~

 

How he missed this sensation, the electric snap of his ki through his veins, his muscles moving as one as he tested his mettle against another warrior, or three.  If only he could shut off his brain completely as he fought.

 

Her long clever fingers slid up and down his chest while she sucked at that sensitive spot behind his ear.

 

At the edge of his ki sense, he felt a fist inches from his lower back and dodged out of the way of young Garba’s fist before kicking his hulking brother into the floor.  Cursing himself for the momentary drop in focus, he re-centered himself for similar coordinated attacks.  A split second slower and he would have been the one face down in a crater.

 

“Mung, you are out.  Kiwano, Cress, Carola.”  Nappa’s voice called out as three more of the Guardsman quickly joined the fray, already coming at him with synchronized attacks.  He smirked at the challenge, letting his body react and move against his opponents.

 

Fingers intertwined, he looked into those sea blue eyes as they moved against each other, the waves of pleasure crashing over him.

 

Blocking Cress’s punch, he dodged Kiwano’s punch a second later, sending a mean right cross against the off-world bastard’s exposed side hard enough to send him into his noble born comrade. 

 

“They’re too slow, Nappa.”  Vegeta jeered, throwing shade at the commander’s attempt at pack tactics.

 

“So are you, Vegeta-ouji.”  A second later the remaining warriors attacked him in perfectly coordinated strikes.  With a burst of speed, he grabbed Rapini’s extended arm, spinning the larger Southern to deflect Garba’s attack from behind.  The boy was getting too cocky, doing the same attack twice, he chided internally.

 

He panted in anticipation as her fingers traced up and down him, her eyes shining in defiance as her tongue …

 

WHAM!  He slammed into the floor before he could even register Carola’s kick aimed at his shoulder.  Spitting out blood, he growled at his lack of focus, the scent of her still in his nose even after a thorough bathing.  The old Eastern landed lightly, extending a hand to his Prince all the while smirking.  It wasn’t often that any of the Guardsman could throw him to the floor.

 

“Lucky strike, old timer.”

 

“Have to get them against you where we can, Ouji-sama.  I haven’t knocked you to the floor since before you were named.”  The older Saiyajin smirked.  Vegeta felt his fists curl, ready to strike out at any implication of his own weakness.

 

After leaving that room and the siren in it, he showered several times to try and scrub the scent off his body, though the feeling of her skin against his plagued him, images churning up as he sat through Cawliefe’s briefing.  The sensations grew stronger as he struggled with boredom at Upo’s and Noion’s review of the week’s council agenda and judiciary cases.  The memories of soft curves and sweet moans gave way to a cry of anguish at the mention of the judiciary and the arguments he had with the boy.

 

“Goku, I can’t lose you again.”

 

He practically broke the council table in his rage.  Dismissing the two ministers, he bee lined to the training rooms, remembering the Royal Guards schedule, and demanding a challenge from his old sensei.  Even in the area of fighting, his greatest strength, she was there, teasing him to the point where he could still taste her on his tongue.

 

He debated demanding the whole of the Royal Guard fight him to try and wipe the memory from his mind when a warning beeped from his scouter.  A quick message flashed from Cawliefe that Captain Serori was asking for his judgement on some trespassers in Saiyajin space.  He almost dismissed the task when a follow-up line scrolled across his eyes.

 

Goku is with them.

 

So many thoughts flashed through his mind.  Had the boy succeeded?  Why send the pod for Bulma when he was so close to returning?  Was she truly being snatched from his life, ending before it had begun?

 

Mostly he just wanted to pound the snot out of the little runt.

 

“Nappa, Radditz, Daikon to me.  It seems your charge has returned to us, Radditz.”  Not bothering to shower, Vegeta quickly marched to the throne room, the trio silently falling in step behind him.  As he approached the sacred hall of the Kings of Vegetasei, he heard such a cacophony, he wondered if combat had broken out.  Four impressive ki-signatures registered on his scouter, with a smattering of readings at the third class level.  What kind of trouble had the boy gotten himself into now?

 

With a flick of his wrist, the double doors of the throne room were thrown wide, the cacophony more piercing as he entered the room.  Before him were nearly a dozen figures both Saiyajins and alien though most vaguely Saiyajin looking.  And all were completely ignoring him.

 

On the dais, Cawliefe looked overwhelmed by the chaos until he spotted his Prince.

 

“Ouji-sama.”  Cawliefe exclaimed, as the distracted group shifted as one to face him.  His Minister of State tried to maintain order, all to a losing cause.

 

“May I ….”

 

“Ouji-sama.”

 

Ouji-sama?  One of these guys is a Prince!?”

 

“Which one is the Prince?”

 

“Should we bow?”

 

“It’s the short one in the middle, Roshi.”

 

“Wow, he’s a dish.  Finally some eligible men.”

 

“And I thought Bardock and Toma’s hair was weird.”

 

“At least they have hair, Krillin.”

 

“Bardock-san?”

 

“Bardock!  Two Bardocks?”

 

“Tousan.”

 

“Tousan?”

 

“Radditz.”

 

“Radditz!!  Remember me, honey?”

 

“I didn’t realise you had a brother, Goku.”

 

“Goku?”

 

“Goku, I thought he was a little shrimp of a thing.”

 

“Oh Kami, not again.”

 

“Brother, I have a brother?”

 

“Shut up!”  Vegeta yelled,

 

“Thank you.”  A small female voice murmured from the crowd.

 

“Serori,” Vegeta snapped, motioning for the Captain to rise.  At least someone knew their place.

 

“Vegeta-sama, I picked up their ship at the outer edge of our solar system.  I will say it felt a bit like déjà vu, though this time the craft was in one piece.  Protocols were followed but when I found two known fugitives of the crown, I brought the lot.”  For all his formality, Vegeta could hear the amusement at the misfit band he was presenting.  The mention of a similar ship caught his interest; these were Goku’s people … her people.

 

“Bardock.  I hope you’re ready to face justice, you traitor.”

 

“Just as I foresaw it, Nappa.”  The third class purge captain growled back and a younger Saiyajin, his face a carbon copy of his sire, stood by his side, preparing himself for a fight.  The ragtag group fanned out around the pair, striking poses or drawing weapons.  His eyes took in the different forms and features, surprised to find two females of the group.  One appeared vaguely Saiyajin but for her demur attire.  The other was hiding in the back, his eyes catching her flow of blue hair framed around giant blue eyes, holding that vicious white bunny.

 

Bulma? 

 

Looking away to not let his weakness show, he faced the immediate pair, two men with the same face.

 

“Bardock.”

 

“Vegeta.” He growled at the lack of the honorific from the traitor.

 

“You have returned, third class.  In my father’s absence, I am now regent.  Are you expecting mercy from me?”  The older warrior smirked at that, as if in on some private joke to which only he and the gods knew the punch line.

 

“You have grown in your regency, your Highness, helped by the first person you met with the name Goku.”  Turning to the young man at his side, Bardock swallowed before his eyes darted to his older son and back to Vegeta.

 

“May I present to you my younger son.  His Saiyajin name is Kakarott but he acquired a different name on the planet he grew up on.  One I’m sure you are familiar with.”  The private smirk was back and it took all of the hard won patience not to punch the preternatural Saiyajin in the face.  Glancing at the young man in question, he felt his blood begin to boil at the fearless look on that accursed face.  It is one thing for a fighter touched with the secrets of the gods to regard him as an equal, that this pathetic rube did the same was more than he could stand.

 

“He was part of a group that went into space to help save his adopted planet, Chikyuu, from Frieza.  For all his tender upbringing, the boy is true to his roots.  If you will show any mercy, Vegeta-ouji, I would ask it for him and his planet.” 

 

Staring at the younger Saiyajin, Vegeta couldn’t help but compare his features, not to his sire but the pest he first met in such similar circumstances.  The black upswept hair was nearly identical, while his frame had a muscle density and lithe agility the Chikyuu-jin couldn’t hope to emulate.  He was certainly taller, taller than himself, Vegeta sneered.  The facial features were similar, though sharper than the boy’s soft roundedness.  And his eyes were the piercing black of all true born Saiyajins, not those seas of blue that stared into his very being.

 

“You are in no place to ask for anything, you third-class traitor.”  Nappa bellowed from behind and the group in front of him tensed again, ready to fight on behalf of the fugitive Saiyajin.  Nappa got into his stance with Daikon mirroring his commander.  Only Radditz hesitated, the Guardsman’s eyes shifting from his sire to his Prince.

 

“I wanted to ask for the help of the Saiyajin Empire to defend my home but if you are going to punish Bardock for fighting Frieza, I’ll fight you all with everything I have.” 

 

“Bring it on, you tailless freak.”  Nappa scoffed, sizing up Bardock’s second son

 

“If I may interject?”  The low rumble of Cawliefe’s raised voice hardly sounded over the hum of raised ki, but the sheer size of the Minister of State was enough to give a decent number of fighters on Bardock’s side pause as he appeared between the warring factions. 

 

“By your leave, your Highness.”

 

“At ease, Commander.  I am still regent and Bardock’s fate is mine to determine.  As is your petition, Kakarott.”  Nodding to Cawliefe, Vegeta gave the floor to the Minister of State, only half clear on the details of his plan.

 

“My eternal gratitude to you, Ouji-sama.”  Turning back to the ragtag bunch, Cawliefe stared down the young misfit Saiyajin with a cold assessing eye.

 

“It is a pleasure to meet you in person, Kakarott … Goku.  Since my underling brought word of your existence, and videos of you fighting, I have wished to speak with you.  That you are a Saiyajin, there can be no doubt, you favour your sire too closely.”  The boy looked over at Bardock and gave an inane grin, scratching the back of his head.

 

“Yet you identify as a Chikyuu so strongly you defend the planet and have been named its Champion, as I am to understand?”  A quizzical look replaced the inane grin, the boy not able to follow Cawliefe’s explanation.  By the first, this might take forever.

 

“At the last Budokai, remember when you finally won by beating King Piccolo.”  The old man wearing two primitive scouters over his eyes exclaimed.

 

“I’m sure your father has explained how you ended up on your planet, the last generation of infant purgers and one that failed in your mission.”  At the words ‘purge’ and ‘failed’ the simpleton’s countenance shifted from inane to grim, reading a threat in Cawliefe’s statement. 

 

“I came to ask for your help, even knowing how I came to Chikyuu because I thought you had honour.  But if this means you can punish Chikyuu because I failed to kill everyone, you are just as big monsters as Frieza and his men.”  Bardock’s son began to power up at the very thought of harm to his home and Vegeta quirked at the numbers flitting on his scouter.  It seemed outliners ran in the family as the third class briefly topping Nappa’s sparring ki reading.  There may be more mysteries to Chikyuu than he originally thought.

 

“At ease, Kakarott, we mean your planet no harm.  In fact, we wish to help it and you are integral to that endeavour.”  Again that quizzical look and the scratching motion at the back of his head.

 

“He means you are a big piece of the plan to save home.”  The smallest member of the Chikyuu-jins, dressed in standard armour.

 

“Then why didn’t he just say that?  This is taking forever.”  Vegeta could feel a vein begin to throb in his forehead at the cause of most of the delays. 

 

“Just get on with it!”  He finally burst out, glaring at the powerhouse who was little better than a child.  At the outburst, the younger Saiyajin shifted his gaze to him and his eyes lost that baffled innocent look again.  His eyes hardened and a smirk of such expectation crossed that face, the very thrill of battle showing nakedly on his features.  So there was more of the true Saiyajin in the clown than he thought.  Thinking of the numbers on his scouter, a part of him itched to demand a fight of someone who could approach his level.

 

“As I was trying to say, your situation is rare but not unique.  Over the century we employed infant purges, cases like yours would sometimes arise, an infant purger would became the planet’s defender.  When the Saiyajins left the planet selling trade in our break with the Colds and the practice of infant purges was stopped throughout the Galaxy, an intergalactic law was drafted to address this issue.  As the power that sent you to that planet, the Saiyajins staked a claim to Chikyuu and would have owned it had you succeeded.”

 

“The old Conqueror’s claim and damn the poor people who were there first.”  A scarred faced Chikyuu-jin growled out.

 

“As it has been throughout time, human.”  Cawliefe chided, not blind to the harshness of real life.

 

“As the planet’s purger and acknowledged Champion, you represent something very unique.  The Saiyajins may claim that planet as part of our Empire, but only by your leave.  As both a Saiyajin and a Chikyuu-jin, you are both conqueror for the Saiyajins and a champion for your people.”  The look of confusion was spreading to most of the room, only Cawliefe, himself, and Bardock not lost in Cawliefe’s explanation of intergalactic legal precedent.

 

“If you choose,” the Minister continued, “you may bow to the crown and pledge your and your planet’s loyalty to the Empire and become a full autonomous vassal world.  Your world would pay tribute, host Saiyajins troops, and send aid when called by the King.  In return, the planet would effectively have self-rule with some limits and be under the protection of the Empire, with troops sent out if it is attacked.  Frieza has no claim as the Saiyajins have the older claim.”

 

“I believe that is called the finders keepers doctrine.” No one spoke for several moments after Cawliefe’s announcement, the group of Chikyuu-jins weighing out the full implications for their world.  Sparing a glance at Bardock, the third class seer gave a tiny smile, his eyes slightly unfocussed.  Vegeta remembered that look as a child, when Bardock had counseled his father in private meetings with the royal family. 

 

“It can’t just be self-rule, all vassal worlds have Saiyajin governors and a troop of Saiyajins could subjugate the whole planet in a number of days.  What is to stop them?”  The scarred human asked again, clearly looking for a flaw or loophole. 

 

“You would dare question a Saiyajin’s pledge of honour, you miserable little worm.”  Nappa growled, before Cawliefe, ever the diplomat, broke in.

 

“As the planet’s Champion, you would be named Governor, Kakarott.” 

 

“And what if I refuse?”  The question was asked darkly, before the group around him could react to the announcement.  Vegeta’s eyes widened at the very nerve of this ‘Kakarott’ defying the Saiyajin Empire, throwing in their face the very protection he had petition for in the first place.

 

“GOKU!!!  What is wrong with you?  This will save Chikyuu!  Just say yes.”  The black-haired woman yelled out, her dark eyes burning and the assembled Saiyajins looked on in amazement as the Chikyuu raised Saiyajin cowered at her anger.  He noted all but Radditz looked her over, trying to find the spot for a tail.

 

“Yes, Chichi, honey.”  The formidable warrior bowed and acquiesced to her demand as he took her hand in his. 

 

“You wouldn’t believe how good a cook she is.” 

 

“Wow, and she cooks too.  The lucky bastard.”

 

“Ruling a planet is my idea of a nightmare.  All I know is how to fight and get stronger.  I wouldn’t know where to start.”  The young man confessed, half to the black-haired woman and half to his father.

 

“You may choose the troops sent to your planet, Kakarott, and I’m sure you will find those who will aid you in governing it.”  Cawliefe continued, looking pointedly at Bardock and the human woman, Chichi.  The cheery expression returned to the young man’s face before a look of sheer concentration overwhelmed him.  Could Bardock’s sight have touched his offspring as well?

 

“I’ll agree but with three conditions.  My Tousan says that Saiyajins rarely take non-Saiyajin mates but I am as much Chikyuu-jin as Saiyajin and made a promise once to take one as my bride.  Am I free to keep this promise?”  Vegeta winged one brow and was surprised the idiot would even ask the question.  From Kakarott’s reaction to her displeasure, that Chikyuu-jin woman could take on the Ginyu force.  Better to have at least one competent person at the head of the planet’s government, a sentiment Cawliefe clearly shared.

 

“Agreed with the crown’s blessings.  Your second condition, Kakarott?”

 

“Pardon for my Tousan, Toma-san, and their squad members.  If it weren’t for his sabotage against Freeza’s spaceports and troop carriers, Chikyuu would have been lost before I could even make this petition.”  Nappa growled at his left side and even Vegeta sneered at the very notion.  The old purge captain had once attacked the King in this very throne room, an act which had doomed him and his squad to exile and death if they dared to return.  Yet the fool spoke truthfully, Bardock and his men had been a thorn in Freeza’s side for well over a decade.

 

“It is not in my power, nor my sense of justice to pardon a man who would have made me King before my time and thrown our Empire into chaos. 

 

“Seer, you were once one of my Father’s most trusted advisors, a bond which made your treachery even worse but you know that he is just.  As a gesture of mercy, I will give you clemency until my Father returns to declare his decision and I fully pardon your compatriots.  Their loyalty is admirable, even if it is ultimately to a traitor.”  Vegeta could hear Nappa nearly grind his teeth to dust but did not question the order. 

 

“And your third demand, clown?”  Vegeta bit out, his anger growing at the idea of giving into this simpleton.  He began to wonder if snatching victory from under Frieza’s nose was worth the indignities.  Or if the man’s odd behaviour earlier was an act, a hidden intellect behind that inane grin the whole time.  A part of Vegeta wondered what might have happened if he met this Goku before the young boy who won his respect.  He could almost imagine the fight, might have even threatened Chikyuu to spur on the other Saiyajin’s anger.  Instead he gave his blessing to help because it was the boy’s home, because these were her people.

 

“I will agree to your terms but Capsule Corporation technology is not mine to grant.  It belongs to Bulma and her family and you have to make a treaty with her.  To be honest, she’s the real brains of this operation.”

 

Bulma? 

 

Any annoyance he felt at Kakarott evaporated at the sound of that name and the memories it invoked.  His eyes shifted to the other human woman, her hair and eyes were something of a similar shade but the features were less refined, the scent more synthetic and the eyes lacked the glimmer of intelligence he marked on his Far-ven from the night before.  Close enough to match at a distance, like a decoy.

 

A thought entered his mind, a possibility that niggled at him as he remember the words at the end of that conversation this morning.

 

“I will agree to all three of your conditions but I have a condition for you, Kakarott.  Where is this highly flaunted heiress?  And where is my servant, the boy named Goku?”  The puzzled look flashed across the other Saiyajin’s face while his older counterpart chuckled at the question with the confidence of the fates.  Unable to hold back his rage at Bardock’s clear laughter at his expense, Vegeta struck, punching the traitor across the room.  He may have pardoned the bastard for his attempt on the King’s life but he was well within his rights to hit Bardock for royally pissing him off.

 

“Vegeta, no!”  A new yet familiar voice yelled out and the whole room turned as the Chikyuu-jin boy who had plagued his life for nearly three months ran in front of the downed Bardock, a protective shield between the old traitor and his rage.  The unadulterated scent of the woman he desired flooded his nose and for the first time in three months, he saw it clearly.

 

“Please Ouji-sama, please don’t hurt Goku.”  She begged, the voice cracking between the boy’s and the woman’s and he quirked at her use of the wrong name. 

 

“Goku, who is that kid?  It actually kind of looks a little like you?”

 

“Didn’t I say it Roshi, secret love child.” 

 

“Chichi, you must really love that name, huh?”

 

“Shut up, Marron.”

 

He stared again into those huge blue eyes, still the same no matter the face.  He could see the blending of the features between the two ‘Gokus’, this face artificially masculine but still held the same softness, the frame wider than what he now knew lay underneath.

 

“Clever, clever girl.”  He whispered under his breath. 

 

“Please, I beg you, Ouji-sama, let my friend live.  I have found the heiress and she will agree to assist the Saiyajin Empire in any way you desire.”  A shudder traveled through him at those words, looking down at the ‘boy’ in front of him and he laughed out loud as all the threads finally came together.  By this time the crowd was surrounding them, the Saiyajin Goku helping his sire but the human ‘Goku’ had eyes only for him.

 

“I believe I’ve found the heiress as well, boy.  She’s right before me.”  Those eyes widened and he played his last hand.

 

“Show me, woman, show me your true face.”  Ripples of unintelligible conversations sounded through the Chikyuu-jins but Vegeta only had eyes for the kneeling figure in front of him.  For all of the intelligence he saw flowing from those eyes, they never could hide the emotions below the surface, no matter which face they were in.  A mixture of fear and admiration shone in them now and he smirked down at her and nodded.

 

Pressing a button on the strange watch, the image of the young boy winked out of existence, leaving only ….

 

~*~*~*~

 

The room descended into chaos, snatches of conversation touching her ears from the assembled humans and Saiyajins while she only had eyes for the Prince.  She feared this day would come but to reveal her secret to him so publically was more than she could face.  Kami help her, how did he figure it all out?

 

“A woman!  That mouthy little punk was a woman all this time.”  Nappa bellowed, no doubt remembering her little stunt with the drains.

 

“Did you know, Radditz?”

 

“No, though it explains the scent.”  She caught wisps of the conversation between the two lower guardsmen, and Bulma couldn’t hold back the tinge of a blush.  Could the Saiyajins smell the feminine on her the whole time?  Was that how Vegeta …?

 

“What kind of planet must this be if even their females have such strength?”  The voice that once saved her at her lowest point spoke out and she looked in amazement at Captain Serori, a blush stained her cheeks and she finally took in the full crowd.

 

“Bulma!”  Half a dozen well-loved voice cried out in happiness as she leapt to her feet in utter joy.  Goku, Krillin, Master Roshi, Yamcha, how were they all on Vegetasei?  Tears began to fall from her eyes as she hugged her two friends, these two friends she thought were dead come back to life and wearing Saiyajin armour.

 

“Wow, Chichi, I didn’t know you were into girl-on-girl.  If you want to try again, just let me get my camera.”

 

“Shut up, you old pervert.”  Bulma rolled her eyes; of course that would be the first thing Roshi would think of.

 

“Does this mean I’m not the heiress anymore?”

 

“Yamcha, why didn’t you tell us that Bulma was Goku, I mean the other Goku?”

 

“Yajirobe, I was unconscious for 90% of this whole thing.  I’m still trying to process that Goku is a Saiyajin.”  Goku’s a Saiyajin?

 

“This face suits you better than my son’s,” A graveled voice, one that she remembered with the bitter taste of senzu, touched her ears as she looked up at the man she had mistaken for Goku.

 

The Saiyajin she had mistaken for Goku.

 

The Saiyajin with the same face as Goku.

 

“So this is the answer to all the mysteries.”  Cawliefe’s bass rumbled out, ending with a chuckle as if his mind worked out every strange twist in her journey.  Bulma blushed as she suddenly felt exposed all over again, a bout of shyness attacked the normally outgoing genius.  The two worlds she had lived in for the past three months had collided and all her disguises were gone. 

 

“Everyone out!”  Vegeta yelled out, breaking his silence after the demand to see her true face and her blush deepened. 

 

The room grew quiet as the assembled reacted to the royal command.  The Saiyajins all followed Vegeta’s command, bowing to the Prince as they left, Serori nodding to her as well with a small smirk.

 

 “My Lady,” The Saiyajin that claimed Goku as his son bowed to her, his companion following suit and her mouth gaped open like a fish.  “The cocky bastard was wiser than I had hoped.”  He murmured low to her before nodding to Vegeta and walking to the door.

 

Slowly the Chikyuu-jin group followed suit, Krillin and Master Roshi leading the way.  Bulma caught Chichi’s eyes and bowed to her, hoping the woman would forgive her for not telling this secret sooner.  The other woman smiled back and shook her head, Bulma catching the subtle touch between Chichi and Goku as the black-haired woman followed the other Chikyuu-jins. 

 

Soon there was no one left but her, Goku, and Vegeta.  These two men, the most powerful men she had ever known, stared at each other, their bodies vibrating to hold back their emotions.

 

“Prince Vegeta, I will pledge my loyalty and Chikyuu to you and the Saiyajin Empire but only if Bulma agrees.  She is my oldest friend and under my protection, whether you name me governor of Chikyuu or not.  If you hurt her, nothing will save you from my wrath.”  So undone by Goku’s protective gesture on her behalf, it took a moment for her brain to register his words. 

 

Goku had pledged Chikyuu to the Saiyajin Empire?  What in the world had happened before she appeared at the door?

 

 Vegeta raised one thick brow at Goku’s threat before his gaze landed on her, bringing her back to the situation at hand.

 

“Your planet is safe and under my protection whether we name you governor or kitchen boy.  As for this woman, she is no longer your concern.  She has pledged her service to me on her honour, as I have to her.”  Bulma could feel the war of emotions between the two men but at Vegeta’s words, Goku relaxed and gave a small smile.  Lightly gripping her shoulder, he leaned in to give her a big bear hug, one she hadn’t felt since they landed on Messaline so long ago. 

 

All too soon, Goku loosened his grip and quickly followed the others out of the door, leaving her to her fate.  Unable to look into his eyes in fear of the anger or disgust she might read on his face, she genuflected to her Prince, hoping that the promise he made to Goku was not just empty words. 

 

“Nothing to say for yourself, Bulma?”  He spoke in a low voice, a hint of the considerate lover in his tone and her stomach twisted in knots.

 

“My Prince, I know I do not deserve your mercy for lying to you.”

 

“Oh?  You have made oaths of service to me in return for my protection, twice if I recall.  What were the words you spoke in this very hall to me, Chikyuu-jin?” 

 

"To the regent, I pledge my life and service.  May he do with both as he will."

 

“And whose service did you pledge?  Which one of you was true; the boy, the genius, the lover?”  The emotion from her dream bubbled up but she tamped down her anxiety.  Those were her fears, she reminded herself, but this is real.  She stared up into those unreadable black eyes, her gaze not wavering.  All artifice stripped away, she spoke the words that she could not say this morning. 

 

“You knew me first as Goku, the boy who served you first out of fear of the Saiyajins’ reputation for violence then admiration for your honour.  Then you heard rumour of me as the Briefs’ heiress, the genius without compare who wanted to forge an alliance with your people.  Lastly you met me as your Far-ven, the worthy opponent who gave you her passion.”  Pausing to gather her wits and courage, she finally looked up into the face of the man she had given her heart to in all three guises.

 

“In a way I am all three: the servant, the ally, the lover.  In all three I have served you, admired you, desired you, my Prince.”  All of them have loved you, she whispered in her mind, not able to speak those forbidden words to this magnificent enigma of a man.  Like this morning, his face was blank and she felt her courage crumble.  Was it too late?  Was she … was she not enough?

 

“You said that when I appeared to you again, you would decide my fate.  If you would have it of me, I would stay by your side and serve you however you wish.”  Unable to look into those onyx depths any longer, she bowed her head, like the condemned awaiting her executioner’s will.  A flicker flashed to her side and she gasped at the soft brush of fur against her chin, tickling her before his tail curved around her wrist, urging her to stand before him.  He stared at her in silence for what felt like an age, taking in every detail of her face as if they were meeting for the first time.

 

“The boy earned my friendship, the heiress impressed me with her daring, the Far-ven inflamed my passion.  But the woman, she is a mystery to me, this one of all three.  Her I wish to know most of all, to test me, challenge me, to explore each weakness and strength as I will do the same in return.  Until we know each other’s movements, thoughts, and secrets.”  She closed her eyes at his words, the promise he spoke the night before now imbued with meaning beyond the sensual.  His lips brushed against hers and she could taste his desire on her tongue.

 

“I don’t know if I have any secrets left, Vegeta.”  She whispered as he pulled away.

 

“Somehow I think I may never find the end, Bulma.”  He said, still holding himself apart from her.  She almost wanted to growl at him in anger, his question unspoken as he withheld his kiss from her.  For all of his passion behind closed doors, he would not show her such vulnerability in public.  Even in the relative privacy of the throne room, his declaration as open as he would ever be to her beyond the confines of the bedroom.  His eyes though showed his heart, the question his lips would never ask shining out and touching her heart. 

 

Was she ready to test him, challenge him, handle his weaknesses and build his strengths, make herself vulnerable to her Prince in every way?

 

Who was she kidding; she couldn’t even remember when she didn’t love him.

 

“I look forward to the battle, Saiyajin.”