#week2mayhem2018

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Recently, the great general had been ill. It was a cold of sorts at first, but the blood that spewed from his persistent cough made him believe it was likely consumption, probably a few months left. A year if he was lucky.  He had no family to speak of, save for the young prince. I won't be sorely missed, I suppose. He lamented, whilst waiting in the dining hall for breakfast. I just wish I didn't have to waste away locked in here. I'd much rather die honorably on the field of battle.

After a short time of lonely contemplation, the prince entered the dining hall.

“I thought you'd be here, general.” The prince jabbed at Nappa's tendency to be continually hungry and always eating.

“And whatever can I do for you today, my prince?” Nappa jabbed back at Vegeta’s tendency to be spoiled.

Tch. “I've solved quite a crime. A crime that requires a most brutal punishment. I had hoped you would like to join me?”

Nappa loved to deliver well deserved punishment. Even in his deteriorating state, he could feel his adrenaline surging at the thought of some justice. It had been a while, and boy was the general thirsty.

But before he could accept, the maiden servants made their way from the kitchen hoisting a plethora of tasty looking food.

A whole roast pig was the main course, followed by a quail egg quiche with fresh garden vegetables. It all smelled so delightful and enticing. Fresh baked breads and rolls with butter displayed in baskets lined the table. There was even a sugary brown apple tart, its juices still simmering from its recent encounter with the ovens.

“This's fa’ you, Gen’ral Nappa,” purred a sultry maiden with hair like autumn leaves. She set the tart in front of him and turned with a wink. Nappa’s face was set ablaze with the not so subtle flirt. She was a southern Irish woman, new to the court. She arrived the same day that the new chef did. A pale man named Hit.

“Ugh, of course,” the prince groaned.

“Vegeta I'm starving just let me down this tart and we can go. Promise.”

This might be the last time we can play vigilante, kid. The general thought, doubting his longevity.

 …

 Yamcha tied his pouch around his waist and his scarlet headband around his long raven hair. The breakup was amicable, but it still hurt him. He pressed his old rusty sword gently into the worn leather sheath. He made one last somber look back at the old run down hospital, and began his journey to elsewhere.

There was no destination in his mind, just far enough to give them some space and start anew, away from the Kingdom of Vegeta.

But Yamcha never made it that far.

 …

 Vegeta and Nappa mounted their horses and made a swift journey into the forest. It was overgrown and muddy, an obstacle for the stallions. Though it made them slower, it was not by much.

“We will be there within the hour,” Vegeta claimed reassuringly.

Nappa gave a grunt. He was feeling immensely ill, much worse than this morning. The consumption can't be progressing this quickly. He soothed himself. But with that thought a new anxiety presented itself. What if something else is causing this…

His heart trembled noticeably. His stomach turned. The great general felt the precursory salivation that indicated it was soon time to vomit. Whether he wanted to or not.

Vegeta had to halt his jet black horse at the sound of Nappa heaving.

“Gods Nappa, get ahold of yourself. You are far to hardy and fortitudinous to let a small flu have control of your body like that!” he commanded.  “Maybe I'd have done the job better on my own,” the prince sneered.

Nappa could physically feel the prince get farther away. And as the prince was sucked away, so was his voice. It was like he was trying to say something to Nappa, but all he heard were faraway and increasingly distant words. His heartbeat became uneven, its pulse matched the twisting in his stomach. His vision began to darken. This is… I've been poisoned…

Without so much as a grunt from Nappa, the prince felt concerned for the first time since Nappa had fallen ill a few days ago. He quickly dismounted to check on the brutish general. Dammit I just cleaned these boots. When he came up to Nappa's older paint stallion he got a good look at his face. He was pale, and perspiring profusely, and he smelt of sour rotten apples. The stallion was calm, but teetered between his left and right hooves in a show of concern. Even the horse knew something was wrong with his rider.

Nappa was visibly unconscious, which sent a spark of fear down the Prince’s spine.

And then Yamcha happened upon the scene. Not recognizing either male, he asked if everything was alright.

“Get away from us peasant, he’s just had a pint too many, and we were headed back anyway.” The prince glared at Yamcha.

Peasant? Is he a duke? Or…?

It became clear to Yamcha that this must be an envoy sent by the prince to arrest Bulma. She'd been found out. And he was the only person who could save her.

“Well?!” Vegeta became louder, “move along boy!” he ordered.

“This is privately owned land, what exactly are you doing here?” Yamcha challenged.

The challenge was accepted with a devilish smirk from the black haired noble.

“I'm here to enforce punishment for crimes committed against the crown last night,” he breathed as he inched closer to the former bandit.

“If you stand in my way I'll be forced to charge you with interference in an ongoing investigation.” He threatened, his voice low and calm like the eye of the storm, smirk still firmly in place.

Yamcha stood frozen, not quite from fear but not quite standing his ground. Though the man was visibly shorter than he, Yamcha was clearly less fit. And if the drunk brute came to his senses, Yamcha would surely be no match. He contemplated his options.

Nappa suddenly gained some composure as the threat of another retch plagued his stomach. “Aaaggh ouuuh,” he groaned, aligning his body to a sitting position, rather than a slumped unconscious one.

Both young raven haired men turned their attention to the tall burly rider. The horse readjusted himself as well, gaining comfort that his partner was aware again.

“Nappa…” Vegeta trailed, waiting for a signal or response from the general.

“Vegeta… I need a hospital immediately. I've been poisoned.” Nappa shuddered, grasping his stomach.

“Poisoned?!” the two young men gasped in unison. Vegeta sent a growl and glare to Yamcha, as if to say how dare you speak when I speak!

Yamcha, taken aback by the odd encounter, had an idea. Maybe Bulma could help save this man, with her vast medical and scientific knowledge, not to mention the equipment the old hospital still housed. She could save this man as penance for her crime, and be saved whatever unjust punishment the prince had ordered.

“I- There's a hospital just up here, I'm sure it's where you were headed! There is a very knowledgeable maiden who can h-help this man,” Yamcha stammered.

“Oh, so you know her? And what of the old doctor? Is he not available? Has he fled the kingdom in embarrassment of his crossdressing daughter?” Vegeta prodded, rudely.

“...Doctor Briefs died a few years back. Bulma is taking care of the children he left behind on her own. But it's of no concern right now, we have to treat this man or he will die!”

Seeing no other option, the prince directed the boy to lead Nappa's horse and follow him to the old hospital.

 …

 The cottage was not far. Nappa was able to stay conscious for the remainder of the trip, though he was too weak for conversation. The two young men had an immediate dislike for each other, and thus a very silent and awkward journey was had.

Bulma was preparing breakfast for Goku and Tien when she heard hoof beats outside.  The sharp edge of her butcher's knife stopped halfway through the blood red apple she was slicing for the boys.

Sensing her fear the boys immediately stopped everything thing they were doing and waited silently for a reaction.

This is it. Bulma's worst fears were finally true. They were here to imprison her, and take her siblings away. Or worse…

Without hesitation she signalled the boys to quietly rouse the other 5 children, and meet in the cellar.

She was able to carry Launch without waking her, but Chichi was another story.  The petite girl quietly rustled, waking when she was lifted from her resting place.

“What's goin-"

“Shhh, Chichi, don't wake Launch.” Bulma interrupted her.

She pressed the two small girls into each arm, locking them in her protection, for what it was worth.

Tien had the apprehensive Krillin by the hand, almost dragging him behind. But Goku, Oolong and Lazuli were nowhere in sight.

And then there was a banging on the door. Bulma threw her hand over her mouth, looking at Tien. The boy's eyes were searching, for his siblings and for reassurance from his rock, his protector and older sister, Bulma. But she had no such reassurance to give him.

To be continued…

The attack was over in seconds. The great general had won the war with a simple stab in the back. There was no need for a bloody battle when King Vegeta had double agents on the inside. Nappa cradled the dying duke of Sadala in his arms.

“Forgive me,” he whispered lightly. The duke scratched at his throat, fighting for breath. But Nappa’s tiny dagger had been coated in a lethal poison. It was over in seconds for the duke. Sadala belonged to King Vegeta now. All its inhabitants would become slaves, or rebel and die. It was horrible business, but business nonetheless. The King's wife was with child for the second time, and nothing mattered more to him than providing for his people and securing a prosperous kingdom for his son to one day rule.

Nappa had spent most of his life loyal to the Duke of Sadala. But the king promised prosperity, wealth, and above all life. Yes, for the atrocious betrayal, the king promised not to kill General Nappa. The giant found himself unable to refuse when the price was his life. Coward. So he turned on his own friend, who had trusted him. His stomach felt heavy, his throat dry. He relaxed his hold on the duke, who rolled from Nappa’s lap and onto the cold stone floor. Nappa turned his head and clutched his stomach as he heaved. The bile seemed an endless stream, nearly suffocating the general. The taste was putrid and sour, the smell much worse. This is only the beginning of my punishment. Nappa lamented to himself. The hot sting of regret swept over him like waves of lava. His eyes could not contain the tears they fought to hold back. He let out an anguished scream, chilling and seemingly endless.

Then he awoke from the nightmare. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. He felt drips of perspiration down his back and neck. His sheets were wet throughout. His heart pounded incessantly, filling his ears with a rhythmic beat. He could hardly hear himself think. “Guh…” he vocalized as he tried to catch his breath. He hadn't had a nightmare quite so realistic in a long time, in fact years.

This is my ongoing punishment. Nappa lamented to himself.

…

It had been years since Vegeta had heard Nappa’s blood curdling screams in the middle of the night. It jolted him awake nonetheless. They didn't last long, the general woke himself up quite quickly. But... the prince couldn't help but wonder what trauma this man had endured to trigger such violently horrific dreams. He knew that before his father's death, there were many a bloody battle, led by the great general. But these screams weren't battle cries, nor were they cries of pain or injury. These nighttime howls were deep suffering cries. Cries of acts unable to be undone. True and raw regret, sorrow and heartache. And they chilled the prince to the bone. Though, he dared not ask of them.

The prince had always known Nappa. For as far as he could remember, the lumbering, bald man had always been there.

Vegeta sat up in his bed, squinting at the bronze rays of sunlight dancing through the drapes. His stomach bayed angrily, a call that the prince did not normally refuse. But today he wanted to avoid people. Especially Nappa. So he sighed and fell heavily into the oversized wine colored pillows.

Nappa…

Lately the general had been sick. He was hacking and coughing all day, in every wing of the castle. Someone get that man a hobby. There had been a long peace. The war the king started ended shortly after his death, and the general had been on babysitting duty ever since. When Prince Tarble and the Queen had passed, the king became ferociously protective of his first born. The first order of business was appointing a personal bodyguard to the prince, which became General Nappa. In times of peace the general would protect and train the young prince. In times of war others would be tasked with the job while Nappa led the armies in battle. The most recent political turmoil was due to the emperor of France. A sniveling lizard of a man, with a fearsome army. Emperor Frieza had tried to take over the kingdom of Vegeta in an attempt to gain more territory for France. The armies clashed in many great battles but it was ultimately a stalemate. The Regent and reluctant General Nappa called an armistice for the time being, but the emperor was not one to be trusted. And thus the mandatory enlistment was enforced.

So in this long peace, the prince and the general had become close. Though neither would ever express that sentiment.

But together they created many fond memories. In a strange way, this enemy turned double agent became a sort of father figure to the lost and lonely boy. He was the solid ground for which the prince could stand. A ribbon to hold the strands of yarn that were the prince's insecurities together. And for Nappa the prince was redemption. A cloth to wash the sins of his past away, a chance at atonement. They needed each other, these funny two, as physically contrasted as they may be.

…

“So it will be by poison?” the assassin inquired.

“Arsenic,” the Regent replied, slyly.

The assassin held the bottle to the dim candle light and examined the fine gray powder.

“This isn't the way I normally do things. I would much prefer slicing a throat or a dagger in the back. This feels…”

“Dishonorable? Any kind of killing is dishonorable, Hit. This is just a more discreet way.”

The assassin, Hit, shifted in his boots. He wasn't uncomfortable with the request, but he felt safer doing what he knew best, and he didn't know poisons.

Hit was an outsider, an englishman. The Regent selected him for his renown, there wasn’t anywhere on earth you could go without word of his work. He was taller than expected, bald and dignified. He wore a long violet cloak that held his form tightly to the waist, and loosely in the skirt. His skin was pale, almost lavender in shade, and his eyes were a blood red.

The regent sensed the unease from the killer he hired.

“It can't be helped…” The Regent began. “One trail of breadcrumbs will lead to another, and we can't risk being found out. You will not spill the blood of this, or any other man. Arsenic is the most clandestine method, and which I command you to use.”

Without argument, Hit bowed to the black clad Regent, and took his leave.

It is done. The Regent sighed internally, gliding elegantly to the crimson covered mirror.

“Mirror, mirror,” the Regent chanted, lifting the veil of drapery from the golden mirror.

“M'lord?” it answered, with the accent of a regal gentlemen.

“Will this be enough to control the prince? I will have eliminated all of the old king’s allies with the pending murder of General Nappa. There should be no supporters of his left to fill the young boy with his false propaganda.” There was a sadness in his tone, and as his words came out they fell like heavy bricks.

The mirror was silent as it felt around the otherworld for the most likely outcome.

“This plan will work under one condition. The prince will meet a blue haired girl, and fall in love. He will trust her word over yours, ultimately ending in your death. You must make sure they never meet, or kill her as well.”

The Regent pressed his fingertips on his cheek, the cup of his hand covering his mouth. His hand reeked of garlic, a side effect of coming in contact with the arsenic.

The mirror flashed a vivid image of the blue haired girl. She was pale with pink lips and a slender nose. She had a small frame, but she was taller than most girls. She looked to be about 17, the same age as the prince. She was dressed in peasant garb, no doubt a lowly commoner. She's just a girl. A peasant. How much could she mean to anybody? It would be a great hassle to hide the prince away, securing a future where he never meets her. She too must die.

…

Bulma had a horrific experience on her trek home. The forest was pitch black and foreboding. The rain beat down on the earth, the trees and the girl. Traumatized from her recent encounter with the prince, her mind was racing.

What a horrible man! She recalled. I am so lucky I am not found out, an evil person such as he would have killed me on the spot.

With each step she quickened her pace to get home as soon as possible. With each step her heartbeat also quickened. She had the most exasperating feeling that she was being watched, but she knew it was just her anxiety, heightened by the encounter.

The once full moon was completely encased by the dense tree tops. The animals rustled in the distance more so than usual, likely due to the storm. Damn animals, she reassured herself. When she knew she was close to home she untied her navy ribbon to let down her hair. It was drenched, and fell heavily to her shoulder blades. Her lie was undone, and finally she made it home.  

...

Yamcha rose from bed early. He stretched his arms out and let out a long windy yawn. It was a gorgeous morning, having just rained the night before, the sun was out and dusting it's glittery dew on every leaf and blade of grass. He looked at the bed space behind him and noted its distinct emptiness. She sure was mad at me. He concluded. But just then he heard a splash coming from the washroom.

Bulma had stayed awake all night, frightened of the consequences she might have to face at the stables. And the trauma from the kick in her side was too painful to let her sleep. She instead watched her siblings sleep. Each one rested in their own unique way. Goku, a raven, wild haired boy, was sprawled out with a foot in Oolong’s rotund face. Oolong, a fat pink boy with short light red hair,  had a hold of Goku’s entire left leg, as if it were a delicious turkey leg waiting to be eaten. Launch, a blonde petite girl, curled into Tien’s arms, one half of her body tightly to his, the other half outstretched like Goku. Tien, who was the second oldest at 9 years, had always slept far from the others in his own private corner. That is until Launch came along and she appointed the light blond boy her personal stuffed animal. He didn't mind. Chichi and Krillin were 8 year old twins who couldn't be more different. Chichi slept on her belly, legs and arms tucked in and rear in the air. Her dark hair was nearly as long as she was tall. To avoid entangling the other children she kept it braided tightly during the night. On the other side of the room, as far from his sister as possible, Krillin was on his back, arms behind his head and legs outstretched, hanging of the bed. He kept his head shaven, as he aspired to be a monk for the monastery one day. And little Lazuli, the 6 year old mute blonde girl, slept as straight as a board, hands to her side and heels at attention. It was funny how she looked just like a tiny soldier, disciplined and fearless.

After hours of listening to their small snores, Bulma picked herself up and decided to bathe before they awoke.

The scar faced delinquent stood from the bed. While hesitant at first, he decided to join Bulma in the bathroom. She was never mad at him for too long. He tiptoed so as to surprise her. He pressed his dark skinned hand to the curtain that separated their chambers and their washtub. For a split second he listened, enjoying the subtle sound of a beautiful woman washing herself gently. I’m sorry Bulma, he prepared. He never was good at talking to girls, so he went over conversations in his head quite often. I’ll make it up to you. How’s breakfast? Yeah, I’ll make breakfast. Decided on an apology, he grasped the curtain and pulled it open.

Startled, Bulma looked up from the washtub, to see the boyish face she was so frustrated with the night before. Quickly, she grabbed her side so that Yamcha didn’t see the large still-forming bruise. Unfortunately she hadn’t seen the one on her cheek from being pressed into the ground under the boot of the monarch. “Yamcha,” she said with a sincere smile.

He blushed at her nakedness and her smile, but he couldn’t help but notice the wound on her cheek. Not only was it blue from bruising, it also had quite a lot of brown dirt surrounding it. And boy, did she reek or manure.

“Gee Bulma, you stink,” he said with a hearty laugh. He bent down to her level and prepared to ask about her bruise.

“Well!” She yelled, flustered and angry that he would point out her smell.

“What happened to your face, it's all dirty and bruised. Did you fall last night? I know it rained it must have been slippery and dark on the way home.”

“That’s exactly what happened,” she lied.

He knew her too well to believe her lie. But he also knew that she didn’t like to be prodded and decided to let it go. Whatever happened was in the past, and she clearly didn’t want to talk about it.

Bulma lifted her hands from her side, confident that Yamcha wouldn't prod her any further. She looked at her once feminine hands, and noted how worn they’d become. Over the last two years, working in the stables had barely fed her siblings, but had an immense effect on her youthfulness and beauty. Is this worth it? She thought as she looked spitefully at her calloused and short-nailed hands. No man will favor me when I am ready for a husband, she bemoaned.

Yamcha was bewildered by the apparent beating Bulma had taken. Yamcha began to feel the rage well up inside of him.

“Who did this to you?” he demanded at her.

She was silent and gave him a begging look, asking him to drop the subject.

“No! This is unacceptable!” he barked, some frustration leaking into the words he said to her.

“The quartermaster,” she lied, believably. If she had told him it was the prince, he’d surely get himself killed for her sake.

“I’ll kill him!”

“NO!” Bulma yelled as Yamcha stood from the tubside.

She quickly decided on the truth, because she believed Yamcha wouldn’t go after the prince, surely.

“It was the prince! I didn’t want to expose myself so I took his beating!” she pleaded.

Yamcha froze as he felt a fear make its way down his spine. All his worry and anxiety of being found out came to the surface.

When he first met Bulma, her first day working in the stables, he knew her secret. The only person she hadn’t been able to fool was Yamcha. He played it cool for a while but something drove him to confront her. When all the other stable hands had left for the day, he pinned her, like the smooth delinquent he was, and asked her why she did it.

“Why do you cross dress, Bull?”

He remembered how red and confused she became at the question. She couldn’t answer it. Her river colored eyes begged him to keep quiet. He reassured her he wouldn’t tell, so long as she promised to tell him why. So she took him home with her where he met all 7 reasons why.

Since then, their relationship was complicated at best. It was an on and off romance, but neither of them could commit. Bulma ended up relying on Yamcha for help entirely too much, a thought which now suffocated him. But she helped him too. She was the reason he stopped thieving in the night, a habit formed in his early years of being an orphan. She harbored him when he dodged the mandatory enlistment. She, and the children, became something he cared about other than himself. But they weren’t good for each other. He had a wandering eye, and he knew he couldn’t make Bulma happy. He surely couldn’t make enough money on his own to take care of all of them. She had to continue the lie, for her family, and he was the boy who lied for her.

And suddenly, it was becoming too much.

Bulma’s eyes followed the motionless boy. She wondered what went on inside that messy-haired head of his in this confusing conflict.

“I release you,” Bulma breathed. “you don’t have to keep my secret any longer. This isn’t your burden to bear, and I don’t dare to think what might happen to you if I was found out and you were charged as my accomplice.”

Her words relieved his stress slightly. He had to let go of this wild blue haired woman, that he knew. It would hurt, but there were many fish in the sea. She was releasing him, the koi fish, vibrant orange and black, into the sea. He could feel the waves of relief rush over him.

He smiled his crooked, bandit’s smile. “Thank you, Bulma. You be safe. Take care of those kids. One day, I’ll have many riches and I’ll return to you and you won’t need to dress up anymore.” He meant it.

Bulma smiled back, softly. She didn’t want him to leave her. He was safety embodied. And she was chaos and danger.

A shark among the koi.  

…

His muddy boots were kicked in the corner of the room, a product of the night’s storm. The Prince had been curious of the stable boy, and thought he might be a thief. Afterall, it was exceptionally odd that a servant would still be tending the horses after dusk…

He followed the boy through a beaten but not overly so path. He stayed as far behind as he could manage, as the forest was nearly jet black. The sound of the heavy rain helped to cover the noise he created in his pursuit. What intrigued Vegeta most was that the boy lived so far from the castle. He wondered why the boy even made the commute. It wasn’t until the cottage was in view that he realized where they were. It was the old hospital. Yes, the one the insane old doctor used to run before he lost it and started kidnapping slaves. Did the doctor have a son? Vegeta pondered. Come to think of it, he looked just like the old kook, a spitting image with blue hair and eyes. Vegeta surely would have known, for it was mandatory for boys to enlist in the military for two years, just after their 15th birthday. He must be evading the enlistment. Then something unforeseen happened. She let down her hair.

Vegeta thumbed through the memory like a book. The reveal was so astonishing that the Prince almost fell over. He left promptly with the secret, vowing to return the following day with punishment. The crime of impersonating a man was one thing. But to appear in the prince’s presence and lie was another thing entirely. But he was intrigued. Before enforcing his punishment upon her and the senile doctor, he would find out why.  

The prince felt a small pang of guilt when he remembered the beating he'd given the girl. He pondered about the double standard. I would've done it again regardless of gender. In fact, he began to imagine just what sort of punishment he would give her for her crimes. The old doctor may just receive a slap to the wrist. After all he was old and senile. But the girl knew what she was doing, and she did it deliberately. She would need to be jailed, and made an example of. A king can't have his subjects parading around as people they are not. Ridiculing her in the streets before her sentence would do the job. Then she could rot in a cell for all he cared.

Once he kicked off most of the crusted mud, he left his chambers in search of Nappa.

...TBC...

The attack was over in seconds. One moment he had her pinned up against the wall, one hand around her throat, the other raised ready to strike, the next she found herself on the floor gasping for air.

Vegeta stood before her in his naked glory, wide eyes staring at his large, shaking hands, a stricken expression crossing his features.

“Vegeta,” Bulma croaked out, clambering to her feet. She reached out to touch his hand but he flinched and backed away towards the bed. “It’s okay, you were dreaming.”

“Leave,” he said flatly, glancing into an empty corner of the room.

“Vegeta, I-”

“I said, leave.” He met her gaze, his dark irises swirling pits of abject misery. When she didn’t move, he clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I tried to warn you last time. I tried to…” Vegeta stepped forward, his stare flickering around the room before settling on her neck. “You are lucky I didn’t kill you.”

Bulma’s hand instinctively went to her throat, which she knew must have red marks from his grip. “It’s alright,” she started to say. “It was an acc-”

“Fuck off!” Vegeta yelled suddenly, closing his eyes and placing his hands over his ears. “Leave me the fuck alone!”

Bulma recoiled. He sounded feral, as if he might snap again at any moment. Silently, she began gathering her scattered clothes, pulling them on before rushing towards the door.

Before leaving, she paused and glanced back at the Saiyan. He stood facing the wall, head bowed and shoulders slumped.

Bulma sighed, shaking her head. Kami she was a sucker for the damaged ones. “If you decide to get your head out of your ass and ask for help with whatever’s going on, I’ll be here,” she said before slipping out the door, closing it gently behind her.

 —

 Vegeta balled his fists and scowled at Frieza, who had moved from the corner of the room to sit on the small desk, swinging his legs back and forth while continuing to sip on his wine.

“If you weren’t already dead, I’d rip you to pieces,” Vegeta growled.

Frieza threw his head back and cackled. “You could try, darling boy, but we both know you are too pathetic for that. While I was alive you couldn’t protect your planet from me, you couldn’t protect yourself from me, and you know that if I were to regain my body you wouldn’t be able to protect that blue-haired minx from me either. You can’t even protect her from yourself.” The lizard pushed off the desk to wander in front of Vegeta. “But no need to fret. I’m sure you’ve scared the girl off.” He looked the Saiyan’s naked form up and down. “Now it can be just the two of us.”

Vegeta flushed and snatched a training suit out of his drawer and yanked it on. Nakedness was a usual sight on Frieza’s ship but the look the ice demon was giving him was downright lecherous.

Frieza began singing in a warbling voice. “Just the two of us. We can make it if we try. Just the two of us. Building castles in the sky.”

Vegeta didn’t recognise the tune but thought it sounded like some terrible song that an Earthling had come up with. Ignoring Frieza as best he could, Vegeta stormed out of his bedroom and headed out to the gravity room, hoping a long training session with loud music would make Frieza disappear for a while.

 —

 Three bots hovered around him, all charging their ki. Under the weight of three hundred times gravity, Vegeta’s knees shook with the effort of keeping himself upright and beads of sweat coated his bare torso. When the bots attacked, Vegeta went on the defence, blocking their ki attacks as best he could under the gravity.

He managed to land a spinning kick on one of the bots, then flung himself off the wall towards another bot.

“Boo.” Frieza’s face appeared in front of the bot.

Startled, the Sayain jerked backwards. Unable to move in time thanks to the distraction, the bot’s ki blast hit his shoulder, sending him flying backwards into the console.

Sparks jumped around him and a clunky whirring sound overtook the music. Vegeta swore and began to stand up, but the gravity suddenly jumped up, crushing Vegeta into the console, making it impossible to breathe, let alone move.

Out of the corner of his eye, Vegeta managed to read the gravity level. One thousand. That should have been impossible, since Bulma had told him she’d capped it at five hundred. Had she lied, or…

Frieza appeared again, leaning over Vegeta with a toothy grin. “Pitiful.” He placed his hand on the wounded shoulder and Vegeta could have sworn that he felt the lizard’s cold fingers digging into the deep gash the ki blast had caused.

Vegeta tried to respond, to tell the monster to fuck off, but nothing came out but a gasp.

Frieza pulled back his hand slowly, inspecting it. The blood didn’t stick to his incorporeal form, but he brought his fingers to his nose and took a deep breath. “Fee-fi-fo-fum,” he giggled shrilly. “I smell the blood of an Englishman.” His pink tongue shot out of his mouth and he proceeded to lick his fingers dramatically, his beady eyes watching Vegeta.

If he hadn’t been completely incapacitated by the gravity, Vegeta would have gagged. Frieza’s predilection for eating his victims was renown in the galaxy, but he’d never attended one of the lizard’s dinner parties, and had been fortunate enough to remain off Frieza’s plate.

A hiss and then a pop came from the console under Vegeta, and the music shut off, along with the gravity. Vegeta pulled himself off the console, collapsing on the floor to drag in wheezing breaths.

“Weak, weak, weak,” Frieza chortled, clapping his hands together in delight.

Each intake of air caused a sharp pain in his left side, and the metallic taste in his mouth revealed that the crushing weight of that much gravity had caused extensive internal bleeding. Biting down on the inside of his cheek to avoid groaning, and therefore incurring more taunts from Frieza, Vegeta dragged himself to his feet using the side of the wall for support.

It took some effort not to collapse in the middle of the lawn as he made his way to Bulma’s lap, especially with the lizard’s running commentary.

“You’re looking pale, monkey,” Frieza said, floating along beside him. “You might want to lie down and die now. It’s not that bad, really, and you and I will have so much fun in hell.”

Vegeta hissed in response, and continued taking it step by step towards the lab. When he finally arrived, he used the doorway to prop himself up.

Bulma didn’t notice him at first. She had music playing and was scribbling on a whiteboard, her hips swaying to the music.

The corners of his vision began to darken, and Vegeta gripped the frame so hard it splintered under his palm. “Bulma,” he managed to choke out as his knees gave way. He hit the floor and the next moment cool, comforting fingers were on his face.

“It’s okay,” she said urgently, gaze searching for injuries. “You’ll be okay.”

Vegeta stared up at her, focusing on the blue of her eyes, willing himself to stay conscious. The music still played in the background, and beside him Frieza sang along, reaching out to touch Bulma’s hair.

“Just the two of us,” he trilled, leering at the oblivious woman.

“Stay away,” Vegeta managed to gasp out, realising the Frieza must have heard the Earth song in this very lab.

Frieza only laughed as the woman’s expression crossed with hurt.

“I’m only trying to help,” Bulma said.

“Not you.” Vegeta found his eyes closing against his will as felt his body going limp, the pain finally taking its full toll. “Not… you.”

 —

 The man lay pale on the single bed in a room that had become Capsule Corp’s makeshift infirmary since he had arrived. And he really was a man, despite everything alien about him, Bulma thought. He might be stronger than the average human but he wasn’t invincible.

She’d done a diagnostic on the gravity room and still didn’t understand how it had jumped to one thousand, even with the damage to the console. It wasn’t programmed to go over five hundred.

The malfunction had broken almost all Vegeta’s ribs and he had multiple internal injuries. A human would be dead. The Saiyan would probably be back to training in a week.

It could have been a lot worse. She reached out and placed her hand over his, letting his warm skin reassure her of his existence in the realm of the living. If the gravity hadn’t destroyed the bots as well, they might have killed him in his weakened state.

She’d grown rather fond of the man, despite his aloofness. Fond enough that she’d slept with him twice, and even after the nightmare incident she knew it would more than likely happen again. They were dangerously close to having a real relationship, as weird as it sounded. Despite her long hours in the lab and his training, they spent more time together than her and Yamcha ever had.

Bulma sighed and leaned back in the plush chair she’d dragged in here the first time Vegeta had nearly killed himself. She was going to need to make some serious modifications on the gravity room to avoid this happening again.

“Weak.”

Bulma jumped at the soft voice, and glanced around the room. It didn’t sound like Vegeta, and with the oxygen mask over his mouth she didn’t think he could talk.

“Dad?” she called out.

There was no response, so Bulma settled back into her chair, telling herself she’d just relax there for a few minutes before going to fix the gravity room.

 —

 It was dark outside when Bulma awoke. She groaned and stretched her neck to rid herself of the aches she’d received thanks to dozing off on an odd angle. Next to her, Vegeta also stirred, his hand coming up shakily to tug at the oxygen mask.

Bulma stopped him and took it off herself. “Good morning, Sunshine,” she said as he stared up at her blearily.

Vegeta glanced at the window and frowned. “‘S’it morning?”

Laughing, Bulma shook her head. “No, it’s evening. Sorry, it’s just a saying.”

“Stupid Earth ‘spressions,” Vegeta slurred, trying to sit up.

“Whoa! Slow down, buddy. You’ve broken more ribs than I have fingers and you are pumped full of a lot of drugs. Stay where you are. I’ll raise the bed up.”

Bulma fumbled for the button to raise the back half of a bed to a gentle incline. Vegeta immediately stopped struggling and relaxed back, tilting his head to the side to look at her. “You haven’t been eaten,” he mumbled through half-lidded eyes.

“Eaten?”

“That’s good.” His eyes drooped further. “I don’t want you to be eaten.”

“Uh… Thanks…?” Bulma frowned at the Saiyan. She hoped it was the morphine scrambling his brains and not an undiagnosed head injury.

“Weak little monkey,” a scratchy voice in front of Bulma hissed.

She took in a sharp breath, glancing at Vegeta whose mouth was firmly closed. He had partially opened his eyes in the direction of the noise.

“Shut up,” he growled before shutting his eyes.

“Vegeta… did you… did you say that?”

“Hm?” he questioned with his eyes still closed.

“Weak little monkey,” Bulma replied, clenching her now sweating hands. “Did you say that?”

Vegeta’s eyelids popped open and he frowned at her. “You heard Frieza?”

“F… Frieza?”

“Yes.” He let out a sigh. “If you heard him, then maybe I’m not crazy.”

Bulma felt a chill run through her as Vegeta’s gaze flicked from her to an empty spot beside her.

“Don’t touch her,” he snapped.

At the feel of slight pressure on the back of Bulma’s neck, she leapt to her feet with a gasp. “Vegeta… please tell me you don’t see Frieza in this room.”

“He’s beside you,” Vegeta said, weakly gesturing to a spot on her right. “And he wants to eat you. Or me. I dunno.” And his eyes closed once more as he fell back asleep, leaving Bulma standing in an unusually cold room hoping like hell that the voice was just a coincidence and that Vegeta’s babbling was due to drugs, and that the ghost of Frieza was definitely not in this room, contemplating how to turn her into his next meal.

...TBC... (2 of 2 Entries for Week 2)