Ch. 29

“So what do you do for a living?” Mrs. Briefs asked brightly. “Radditz tells me you’re some sort of ruler.”

Vegeta paused in the motion of putting the fork to his mouth, his dark eyes suddenly fixing themselves upon her. He lowered the fork and sat up straighter in his chair, his eyebrows twitching almost imperceptibly. “Radditz is correct. I’m an emperor,” he said coldly, then hunched again near his plate to resume eating.

“Well, that must be terribly exciting,” Mrs. Briefs said enthusiastically. “So I suppose you have all sorts of riches and power and whatnot.”

Vegeta chewed thoughtfully, never taking his eyes off of her, his gaze still treating her like a dangerous predator. “I have several palaces and many resources at my disposal, yes,” he replied without any apparent interest in conversing with her.

Bulma sighed. “Mom, just give it up,” she mumbled, carefully taking another mouthful.

Mrs. Briefs shook her head at her daughter. “Honey, I’m just trying to get to know our charming guest better now since we didn’t get a chance to talk last night at dinner,” she protested gently. Bulma merely shrugged and kept eating. “So what do you do in your spare time?”

Vegeta let his gaze slide over to her daughter, his black eyes narrowing like a wolf’s as he looked at her. “I kill things,” he said quietly, so softly that only Bulma, who was sitting across from him, could hear his words.

“What?” Mrs. Briefs asked.

He cleared his throat. “I said I train,” he growled, his eyes breaking contact with Bulma and returning to the smiling woman. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Bulma had paled a little.

“It shows, my boy,” Dr. Briefs offered. “You’re in outstanding shape.”

Vegeta ignored the old man altogether and continued to eat.

“You know, darling, we really should let Vegeta sample our culture while he’s still here. After all, his friend is still hurt and Radditz is off at Goku’s. The poor young man should have something to do,” Mrs. Briefs said, laying her fork down and looking at her husband.

The man nodded his grey head and smiled. “Absolutely, dear,” he said, continuing to eat without looking up.

“I know!” his wife chortled, nearly standing in her seat as she clasped her hands together over her chest. “We’ll go to the opera!”

Bulma’s mouth dropped open. “What?” she said sharply. “There’s no way you’ll be able to drag him there!”

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed again. “Think not?” he growled.

“Hell no!” Bulma retorted, standing up so quickly she knocked over her chair and spilled her juice. “They can hardly drag me to one of those things, let alone someone like you!”

“What do you mean, someone like me?” he asked her, voice hung with ice.

“Let’s go tonight!” Mrs. Briefs cried out in glee. “I’ll get the tailor over here to alter a tux for Vegeta and bring over a new gown for Bulma,” she said to everyone at the breakfast table. “It’ll be fun, like a double date.”

Bulma’s face went red and she began to shake. “Mom, how dare you!” she shouted, flinging a hand up in the air. “I would never go on a double date with you two, and I would rather poke my own eyes out than go anywhere with Vegeta!”

Vegeta smiled. She had nearly made his decision for him. Anything to make her upset. “I will go,” he said to her mother, who smiled and clapped her hands in response.

“You will not,” Bulma said, shocked.

“Come, woman, show some diplomacy,” he said coolly, raising an eyebrow.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Shut up,” she snapped, and stormed away from the table.

“Don’t worry, she’ll come around,” Dr. Briefs offered.

Vegeta smiled cruelly. “I have no doubt,” he replied.

---

He growled as he did the buttons up on the tuxedo, the end result of being prodded with measuring tape and needles all day. The tailor had nearly wet himself when he had seen Vegeta’s tail and the alterations needed in the pants were almost more than the poor man could handle. Vegeta smiled as he remembered the man’s distress. Gazing at himself in the mirror he ran a hand through his tower of hair and examined himself closely. There was no flaw in his appearance whatsoever and the black of the tux matched his eyes and hair perfectly. He scowled more intensely as he straightened the bow tie, hoping that he had tied it right. The little tailor had shown him how, but he hadn’t really paid attention and was now regretting it. After the whole VCR episode yesterday he was not eager to have the woman pick at him any more. Damn these Earthlings for making him go to their stupid events, and damn Zarbon and Radditz for abandoning him so he had no excuse not to go. He snarled at himself in the mirror and turned off the lights, storming out of the room.

He stood in the entryway of the house with the old man and his wife, both of whom were wearing light jackets against the cool spring night. The old man had his arm around her, his tuxedo slightly rumpled-looking against her crisp black gown. All three of them watched the stairs expectantly, waiting for Bulma. “We’re going to be late,” Dr. Briefs mumbled, looking at his watch. Vegeta didn’t turn to look at him, only stared up the stares angrily and tapped his foot on the floor, his tail unwinding from around his waist and lashing back and forth testily. A clicking of footsteps became louder from the upstairs hallway and a pink satin-covered foot appeared out of the darkness at the top of the stairs, the shoes descending the steps one at a time. Then the rest of her appeared on the stairs, her pink-gloved hands holding up the satin of her dress as she daintily descended, stopping halfway to stare down at the small group gathered there.

Something strange happened to her breath when she looked down at the people waiting for her- it seemed to leave her gently and refuse to return. Her mother and father were in their typical formal theater-going dress, but Vegeta, well, she had to admit he looked really nice. Too bad he was so short, and the expression on his face was so sour, for the cut suited him well, accentuating his broad shoulders and slim waist. She watched as his tail, which had been lashing back and forth madly when she started her descent, stopped its motion stone cold when his eyes met her. She could have sworn that his spine stiffened a little bit, but the narrowing of his eyes belied his posture and she wasn’t sure what to think. Sighing, she renewed her grip on her gown and continued to descend.

“Darling, you look lovely!” Mrs. Briefs cooed at her daughter, reaching out and running her fingers through the mass of curls that framed Bulma’s face. “That color suits you so!”

Vegeta just grunted. He didn’t see what was so great about the outfit. Zarbon would probably love it, for the way it draped across her chest was low enough to show the soft swell of her bosom but high enough to still be modest, the fabric folding gently from where it hung from the line of single faux diamonds that served as the straps. The soft, shiny fabric clung slightly to her hips before cascading to the floor and her diamond earrings dangled wildly as she turned her head to smile at her mother, the diamond at her throat resting in the notch at the top of her sternum and rising gently every time her heart beat. She spread her arms and turned around, smiling, to show her parents the rest of her dress and revealed the plunging back of the gown. The fabric hung from the straps and swooped upwards just a couple of inches above the cleft of her rear, exposing her smooth, soft expanse of back. Then the smell hit him- it was as if she had taken a bath in the juices of overripe flowers. “Good gods, woman, you smell horrendous,” he snarled, wrinkling his nose and turning his head to the side.

Bulma turned to him and frowned, her pink lips pressing into a hard line. “Shut up, Vegeta,” she growled. “It’s called perfume. We don’t all want to smell like farm animals, as you seem to.”

“How many thousands of roses did you have to kill to smell like a rotting one?” he sneered, wrapping his tail around his waist and putting his hands on his hips.

“Now, kids,” Dr. Briefs interrupted, twitching his moustache from side to side. “We need to get going or we’ll be late.” He turned and smiled at his wife, offering his arm. She took it with a broad smile of her own and they went out the door towards the vehicle awaiting them. Bulma turned and looked at Vegeta expectantly, but he merely looked her up and down, raised his nose in the air, and sauntered off towards the limo. Bulma ground her teeth, picked up the hem of her dress, and stormed after him, muttering curses under her breath.

Several hours later the opera was over and they were leaving the theater, Dr. Brief’s arm around his wife and Bulma and Vegeta right behind them. They stood out on the sidewalk and waited for their driver to come pick them up. “So did you enjoy the opera?” Bulma said sharply, scowling at him. He had sat through the entire thing without saying a word, his face cold and expressionless as he watched the performance. She had to admit that he had behaved far better than Yamcha ever had. Her old boyfriend had usually yowled complaints through the entire thing and hurried her out afterwards so they could go have a drink. Vegeta didn’t seem inclined to go anywhere, just standing there with his hands in his pants pockets and scowling at everyone and everything.

He glanced at her, the gaze full of belittling indifference. “Somewhat,” he mumbled, casting his eyes away from her and into the night sky. The lights of the city were so bright that he couldn’t see the stars, couldn’t discern in what sector Arlia was or where Vejiitasei should have been. The opera hadn’t been bad and he could certainly admit that the performers had talent in their area, but he had little interest in such things. Their skills did not help them in any way that he could see, and he had found the whole thing quite pointless. It was just like the television programs had been, only a little better acted and less trite.

Bulma scowled and pushed her lower lip out a little, unconscious she was doing it, and began to rub her arms with her hands, shivering in the cool breeze. “Whatever,” she mumbled.

“Bulma, honey, are you cold?” her mother asked.

“Yes, why don’t you take my jacket?” her father added.

Bulma shook her head, the curls bouncing as she did so. “No, Dad, you’re not twenty anymore and I don’t want you to catch cold,” she replied, clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

“Then why doesn’t Vegeta give you his jacket?” Mrs. Briefs chirped.

Vegeta snapped back to reality at the mention of his name. “What?” he snapped.

“Why don’t you lend Bulma your jacket?” Dr. Briefs repeated for his wife.

“What for?” Vegeta said testily.

“She’s cold,” Mrs. Briefs replied sadly.

Vegeta glared at Bulma for a few seconds as if he was accusing her of not actually being cold and shivering just to inconvenience him, but then he shrugged off his tux jacket and placed it roughly on her shoulders, crossing his arms over his chest and flaring his nostrils angrily. Bulma scowled back but smoothed the sleeves down against her arms anyway, surprised at how warm the inside of the jacket was. “Thank you,” she murmured haltingly. He merely snorted in reply and turned his eyes back up to the sky, his shirt straining to accommodate his musculature. She realized that without the jacket on he actually looked pretty funny- the shirt didn’t fit him well and his tail was sorely out of place wrapped around his cummerbund, but she supposed the tailor would have had to make a shirt especially for him to allow enough room for his muscular torso to look normal. Still, he looked pretty good. Radditz would look really great in a tuxedo. He was such a perfect height, and his face, although he scowled as often as Vegeta, didn’t have that sour cast to it like the Prince’s. Yes, Radditz would look wonderful indeed, and he sure was a heck of a lot nicer than Vegeta too. She found herself wondering if he would stay at Goku’s forever and wished that he was standing there with them right now. He wouldn’t have hesitated to offer her his jacket.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the driver pulled up to the curb and ushered her family into the car. She slid into the seat across from Vegeta and fingered the fabric of his jacket. “Is this clean?” she said idly, taking the fabric between her index finger and thumb.

Vegeta’s scowl intensified but he didn’t look her direction and kept staring out the window as the driver pulled into traffic.

“What do you mean?” he snapped. “Of course it’s clean. I just got it today.”

She smiled cruelly. “Oh, I just wondered. I know your propensity for watching Yamcha’s movies and I just wanted to make sure you weren’t wearing this when you saw them,” she said quietly, looking at him through her eyelashes.

He stiffened, not really understanding what she was implying but insulted nonetheless. “Shut up,” he growled, and they rode the rest of the way home in silence.

---

Zarbon rose to consciousness slowly, feeling the water drain away from him as he spit out the mouthpiece and coughed. He opened his eyes partway and squinted as he tried to peer through the glass. There were a few people in the room, but he couldn’t make out who. Groaning, he stood up and shook some of the water off of him, reaching up and wringing out his loose hair vigorously. Leaning against the side of the tank he sighed and waited for the tank to finish draining. The tanks always left him feeling groggy and nauseous and no matter how glad he was to be healed he never felt really good after his stint in the contraption. After what seemed like an eternity the fluid was finally gone and the hatch to the tank opened with a hiss.

“Welcome back to the world of the living,” Vegeta said, standing in front of the door with his arms crossed over his chest.

Zarbon growled in response and stumbled out of the tank. “No thanks to you,” he growled. “So how have you been?”

Vegeta turned and motioned for Radditz to hand Zarbon some towels. “It’s been hell,” Vegeta said coldly, watching Zarbon take the towels and begin to dry himself. “I’ve been bored out of my gourd. I sent the ship to Tournrak because Nappa botched deployment of troops and I’ve had to deal with that horrible woman ever since.”

Zarbon watched as Radditz stiffened at the insult to Bulma. Interesting. “So what has she had you doing?” Zarbon mumbled as he dried his hair.

Vegeta shuddered. “Yesterday they made me go to the opera and the day before that all I did was watch TV and movies,” he replied with a shake of his head.

“Really?” Radditz said. “What did you watch?”

Vegeta’s scowling became more intense. “None of your business,” he snarled, his cheeks turning a faint shade of red.

“Anyway,” Zarbon said, vaguely aware that something nasty had been narrowly averted, “What happened with Tournrak?”

“Yes, sire, how are we to get back without a ship?” Radditz added.

Vegeta shot an angry look at Radditz. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to let us stay here without a way to get home?” he snapped.

Zarbon watched as Radditz quickly wiped his expression clean of the rage that had flashed across it and bowed his head.

“No, sir,” he mumbled.

Vegeta snorted. “I kept three pods and brought in our belongings,” he said to Zarbon. “We’ll be staying here. As for Tournrak, I can brief you on that later.”

Zarbon sighed and gathered up the wet towels. “Very well,” he murmured. “Now what?”

“We stay here until the technology deals are closed,” Vegeta stated. “I expect to start training with you as soon as you are ready.”

Zarbon raised an eyebrow. “Training? Oh yes, of course. Can you give me a day?” he asked. “The tanks always play hell with my systems once I get out.”

Vegeta raised a hand and tapped his chin, apparently thinking. “Very well. Tomorrow, then,” he said.

---

Radditz stopped outside the door to the room, pressing himself against the wall and listening. “There, sweetie, you just stay there and I’ll bring you some crackers,” a melodious voice said.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he heard Zarbon answer.

Radditz clenched his teeth and leaned over, peering into the room with one eye. Dammit, he thought, seeing Mrs. Briefs hand Zarbon a cup of tea. She stood upright and began to walk toward the door, causing panic to rise within him. Without hesitation he levitated to the ceiling and flattened himself next to the light fixture, praying that she didn’t look up. Her blonde head passed underneath him on her way to the kitchen and he let out the breath he had been holding, gently lowering himself to the floor once again. With a snarl fixed on his face he burst into the room, focusing an angry stare on the blue-green face of the man seated there. His anger turned to outrage as he saw Zarbon, dressed in fuzzy pajamas, lying on the couch under a quilt, his head propped up with pillows. The sounds of talk shows emanated from the television and he narrowed his eyes as Zarbon shot him a lopsided smile. “Don’t give me that look,” Radditz snapped. “What in the hell are you doing?”

Zarbon widened his eyes innocently and batted his eyelashes. “Poor widdle Zarbon is sicky-poo,” he said, raising the teacup to his lips and sipping.

“Why in here? Why can’t you be sick in your own room you stupid alien slime?” Radditz howled.

Zarbon shrugged and looked at Radditz levelly. “Mrs. Briefs said I needed sunlight, and this room has better windows.”

Radditz bared his teeth. “So why are you letting her baby you? Have you no pride?” he said angrily, his fists clenching.

Zarbon fixed Radditz with a cool stare. “Radditz, are you upset because I’m taking up the whole couch?” he asked calmly.

Radditz’s face contorted with a mixture of emotions, his mouth flapping as he began to stammer. “Well, you know...the whole crackers bit...and then there’s...well...yes, dammit!” he shouted. “You’re taking up the entire goddamn couch!”

Zarbon nodded, closing his eyes and taking a sip from the cup. “You could ask me to move over,” he said quietly.

Radditz paled. “Saiyans never ask for anything,” he growled nervously as he eyed the couch.

The corner of Zarbon’s mouth twitched. “That’s why they never get what they want,” he replied.

Radditz scowled and had to refrain from stamping his foot in frustration. “But my show’s on!” he said loudly.

“Now, now,” Zarbon chided. “Don’t whine. It’s unbecoming.”

“No one asked you to be here anyway!” Radditz countered.

Zarbon shook his head. “Actually, Vegeta did. Are you going to question your Prince, my dear Radditz?”

“No, and don’t call me dear!” Radditz screeched.

The calm mask of Zarbon’s face cracked and he burst out into deep chuckles, spilling tea on his chest. Radditz’s expression deteriorated into shock and he stared at the other man’s laughter-shaken body. Zarbon placed the cup and saucer down on the table and wiped at his eyes, sighing in between chuckles and pulling his legs up to allow Radditz to sit down on the couch. Still laughing, he gestured for Radditz to sit down. Radditz stared at him in surprise. “Come on, sit down,” Zarbon urged. “And hand me that napkin, would you?”

Radditz plunked himself down on the couch next to Zarbon and scooped the napkin up off the table, handing it to Zarbon.

Zarbon smiled and dabbed at the wet spot on his shirt. “Thanks,” Zarbon said.

“Shut up,” Radditz replied.

Zarbon sighed. “Oh really, you Saiyans are so oversensitive,” he said, a long-suffering look on his face. Radditz did not reply. “Okay, okay,” Zarbon muttered. “I get the hint. Now what channel is your show on?”

Radditz crossed his arms and lowered his chin, fixing a scowl on the television set. “Fifty-two,” he growled. “And Mrs. Briefs usually watches it with me, when your fat ass isn’t taking up the whole couch.”

Zarbon didn’t reply, instead pointing at the screen excitedly. “Ooo, I want that!” he proclaimed.

Radditz sighed. It was a commercial for facial toner. “Your skin is fine,” Radditz growled.

Zarbon put his fingers to his cheeks. “Don’t you think it could be firmer?” he said with alarm.

Radditz let an evil smile crawl across his face. “No, I think it’s as good as it’ll get, considering your age,” he said slyly.

Zarbon let loose a howl of indignation and crossed his arms over his chest, pouting angrily.

Radditz chuckled and looked at the screen as his show began.

“Oh, Radditz darling!” Mrs. Briefs said as she came into the room, a plate of crackers in one hand and cookies in the other. “You decided not to go over to Goku’s today?”

Radditz glanced up at her. “No, not with Vegeta being bored. He might want me around.”

“Of course!” Mrs. Briefs cooed. “Well, let me get you something to drink.”

Radditz nodded, not taking his eyes from the screen as she left the room. “What’s the real reason you stuck around today?” Zarbon’s low voice said quietly.

Radditz looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “You’re out of the tank.”

Zarbon’s lips twisted into a half-smile. “I know it’s not to keep me company. Come on, tell me the whole truth.”

Radditz bared his teeth. “I don’t trust you, freak. Now that you’re out of the tank I see you as a threat to the Prince.”

Zarbon sighed. “Honestly, Radditz, I credited you with more brains than Nappa. Do you really think I would want to hurt Vegeta after trying to save him so many times? I don’t think so. I’ve invested far too much time and effort into his well-being to go and ruin it all now.”

“I don’t know what you’d do,” Radditz replied.

Zarbon scowled. “I wouldn’t hurt Vegeta. He’s my ticket to freedom.”

That caught Radditz’s attention. “What?” he asked, finally turning his head to look at the other alien.

Zarbon looked at his quilt-covered lap, apparently disgruntled. “I was in Freeza’s service decades before you Saiyans were destroyed. At first it was voluntarily, but after a few years I tried to leave to be a freelance mercenary and Freeza would not allow it. I left anyway, and I won’t tell you the state I was in when they found me and brought me back. Let me tell you that I had been looking for a way out but had given up hope. Then you Saiyans arrived on the scene, pests that you were. I had started to enjoy my elevated status by then, having risen through the ranks, and you people threatened that, with your uncanny ability to increase your strength after every battle. Freeza only viewed you as beasts and for that I was grateful, but then he wanted you all destroyed, which I didn’t agree with. You may have been beasts, but you were useful, and I felt that Freeza had made a mistake by holding Prince Vegeta hostage to ensure your people’s obedience. Killing you all wouldn’t rectify that mistake, especially since Vegeta was going to be kept alive. Then, after that whole bit on Arlia, my life became forfeit because I failed in my mission. I didn’t kill you and so Freeza would make sure that I was killed, very, very slowly. Then I figured Vegeta would kill me in the arena, but instead he gave me a chance. I don’t take that chance lightly, Radditz. Vegeta might be able to become strong enough to kill Freeza, and if he does I’m a free man. I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure that Freeza ends up dead.”

Radditz took in a deep breath, pressing his mouth into a line as he exhaled through his nose. “Well, that clears some things up,” he mumbled, gazing levelly at Zarbon. “But that doesn’t mean I trust you wholeheartedly.”

Zarbon sighed. “I guess I wouldn’t expect you to,” he said quietly. “All I ask is that you give me a chance. Vegeta did and Nappa didn’t; who would you rather emulate?”

Radditz cocked his head, considering. “Point taken,” he said. “That doesn’t mean I have to like you.”

Zarbon turned his gaze away sadly, focusing it on the TV screen. “No, I suppose not,” he said.

Radditz shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. Where was Mrs. Briefs with his drink? “Hey, there you are,” a voice called out behind him. He craned his neck around to look at the door of the room, his heart stopping in his chest as he saw Bulma standing there. He stood hastily and stared at her, taking in the sight of her. She smelled like outside and her cheeks were rosy, probably from the cool spring wind. “Do you wanna come help me in the lab?”

“Yes, of course,” he said hoarsely, his heart pounding in his chest as she broke out into a brilliant smile.

“Great!” she said, stepping into the room, her face falling when she saw Zarbon. “Oh, hello,” she said. “Are you feeling better?”

Zarbon nodded, watching her regard him with hidden wariness. She was still afraid of him. “Yes, much, thank you,” he replied gently.

“Good,” she said unconvincingly. “Say, you wouldn’t know where Vegeta is, would you?”

“He’s in his room, sulking because the tank makes me too groggy to start training right away,” he said with a measure of humor.

She smiled at him weakly, then directed her attention to Radditz, the smile becoming genuine. “Good, then he’s out of the way. We can work without him nagging us. Really, he is such a pain,” she muttered, gesturing Radditz to follow her out of the room.

Radditz was on her heels. “Bulma, I really don’t think you should speak so disrespectfully of the Prince. It can only get you into trouble,” Radditz’s voice stated as it faded off down the hallway.

Zarbon sighed from his place on the couch and stretched his legs out, wiggling his toes in pleasure. Leaning over, he snatched up the plate of crackers and set it in his lap, eating with one hand and channel surfing with the other. I might as well enjoy this while I can, he thought. It’s only going to get worse from here on out.

---

28 / Bulma’s Hideout / 30