Adult-FanFiction.org : Gundam, Beyblade, DBZ, FMA

A Renaissance	By : nausicaasmith Category: Dragon Ball Z > Het - Male/Female Views: 1386 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from DBZ, I just borrowed the characters.

Chapter List
- 1-Chapter 1
- 2-Chapter 2
- 1
- 2
After
the turmoil on planet Namek, Vegeta felt drained.� Numb.� Cold.� He felt like� a non-person.� Nonexistent.� A shell.� Empty.

Hours
before the Dragon Balls had wished him back into his miserable existence
because of that stupid clown Kakarott and his stupid clown friends.� Vegeta found himself transported to the very
place he�d been defeated months before.�
The sky was bright and blue, the birds chirped.� Green grass and white clouds, looking like
some delicate painting against the horizon.�
He couldn�t believe it�this planet would have fetched a high price had
they succeeded in conquering it.�
Kakarott�s friends planned to wish him back when the Dragon Balls became
active again and in the meantime everyone�to his shock, himself included�was
invited to stay at the vulgar blue-haired woman�s home.� In her working boots and leather vest she�d
looked like some space pirate, dirty, uncomfortable, but determined to
accomplish the task at hand.� He�d seen
her a couple of times on Namek.� He�d
scarcely believed that she could be someone important on the planet, or that
she had the resources to house several dozen Nameks and himself for months on
end.�

A
tall, bespectacled and somewhat older earthman had arrived in a huge helicopter
to pick them up a few minutes later.�
He�d introduced himself to them as Dr. Briefs, head of Capsule
Corporation.� Whatever that was.� His thoughts wandered, but in an effort to
stave off the after-effects of the emotional turmoil of the past few weeks,
Vegeta concentrated on his surroundings.�
He�d been expecting them to land at a small, sterile building somewhere
with a few extra beds, but his eyes widened as they approached�West City, was
it?� And he�d nearly choked out loud
when he�d stepped off the chopper and caught sight of what the blue-haired
woman had called the �compound.��
Numerous dome-shaped buildings, hundreds of square feet and some dozens
of stories high.� A landing strip and
helicopter pad, surrounded by forest and gardens.� Vegeta really hadn�t realized that Earth was this advanced.� Sure, they had electricity and running
water, but the smooth clean lines of the buildings, the white and stainless
steel together suggested technology, power.�
Because as most civilizations came to realize, simpler was better.� Simple design, clean, smooth, less
complicated infrastructure worked better than more complicated but aesthetically
pleasing shapes.� The domes were a sign:
rain and snow would not gather there, and they were energy efficient, easy to
clean and repair.� He hadn�t seen these
in the city they�d flown over, only here.�

Before
he really had a chance to collect himself they were all being guided into one
of the domes to their far left.� A large,
circular lounge, with numerous staircases leading up in a circular
fashion.� Orange and white, again in the
smooth, clean lines.� The plate glass
windows were unadorned and room was plain and sparsely decorated, but the
colors gave off a weirdly comforting atmosphere.� For whatever reason, Vegeta felt that what he needed most after
this ordeal was comfort.� Not a
regeneration tank, not more training to relieve stress.� He needed a hot shower and clean clothes and
a long, hard sleep.� Apparently that�s
what the Earthlings and the Nameks thought too.� The blue-haired woman announced that it was only very early
morning still, and that everyone should shower and dress and have a nap.� She said that there were clean jumpsuits in
every room and lunch would be delivered to their rooms if they wanted it.� After giving each person a numbered key to
their own private room upstairs and instructing them to press the call button
by the door if they needed help with any of the building�s features she stepped
out the back door onto a patio, pulled out a cigarette and a phone and
proceeded to call Kakarott�s wife to come and get her offspring.

Vegeta
loitered in the lounge until all the Nameks had gone.� Really, the prince didn�t trust his bearings just yet, so he sat
in a corner in the floor next to a potted plant and wearily fingered the key
he�d been given.� Wondered why they were
treating him�him�this way, like a
guest.� Like he�d never come here to
destroy the planet.� Like he�d never
killed their friends and beaten the ever-living crap out of their finest
warrior.� In less than an hour the
blue-haired woman had returned with Kakarott�s whelp in tow.� Both had washed and changed.� The woman was wearing a colorful garb, more
feminine than he�d expected.� The boy,
his hair scrubbed clean and still wet, hopped excitedly around the room in
overalls and a striped shirt.� His
little sneakers squeaked on the hard orange floor and he hyperventilated as he
jabbered on about Nameks and Dragon Balls and Daddy.� Vegeta almost laughed bitterly; he�d forgotten that Kakarott�s
boy was just that�a little boy.� Judging
by the look on the woman�s face she�d forgotten as well, and she suddenly asked
him how old he was now.� He responded
between breaths, almost six, and continued in his tirade about Mr. Piccolo and
Mr. Nail.

When
Son Chichi arrived Gohan shut his mouth.�
Bulma had actually been watching him with amusement, thinking that he
was so like his father.� So excitable
and passionate.� And hyper.� But when his mother walked into the room he
rushed forward to hug her and then stood back quietly and waited for further
instructions.� Ironic, really.� Little Gohan could halfway whip Vegeta�s ass
and yet he was terrified of the dark-haired, diminutive woman who�d borne him
into this world.� Chichi hugged and
thanked Bulma tearfully, promised to bring Gohan back to visit within the week,
and they were gone.� Bulma really had
lost sight of the fact that Gohan was just a baby.� Really, really.�� This
whole experience must have been very emotionally taxing for him and to have
lost his father for the second time in as many years� but all that would be
righted soon, with the Dragon Balls.�
Thank Kami for the Nameks and for Son�s (rare) quick thinking.

After they were gone, she
turned and contemplated the fourth Saiyan she�d met in her lifetime.� In order, Son Goku, Son Gohan, Raditz, and
lastly the silent man sitting in the floor by the palmetto tree.�

Vegeta.�

She really didn�t know what
to do with him.� Obviously Son had
worked his magic on the older man, but to what extent?� Son had turned Tenshinhan and Chaotzu into
decent folk too, but really, how sociable were they even to this day?� Vegeta was sitting there in the floor,
looking rather dejected and alone.�
Bulma was uneasy about him, but still her heart went out to him.� If he�d worked for that bastard Frieza for
so long like Gohan had said then it was no wonder he was the way he was.� She knew he�d observed her exchange with
Chichi and Gohan with silent interest.�
Maybe he wanted to leave.� Where
would he go, she wondered.� If he�d
worked for Frieza he was probably wanted on half the planets in the
galaxy.� They all knew he�d been on
Namek when it exploded; probably it was safer for him if the whole galaxy
thought he was dead.� She figured that�s
what was going on in his head.� Oh well,
time to interrupt his train of thought.�
He�d have to have a shower and some clean clothes, and probably some
lunch pretty soon.� Even if he left
soon, she didn�t want him to feel unwelcome.

Strange.� This was a man who had killed her lover, her
close friends and had destroyed several cities in the process.� He�d killed a whole village full of Nameks
without a second thought and he�d threatened her with death.� He�d purged planets with his minions Raditz
and Nappa.� But she didn�t resent
him.� He made her a little nervous,
yes.� She realized, though, that if the
way Gohan told it was correct he�d done all of those terrifying things in an
attempt to gain immortality not merely for the sake of living forever itself
but in order to defeat Frieza.� Whatever everyone else thought, that made it different.� That changed things.� Because for all of her blustery
obnoxiousness, her egotistical fa�ade and petty squabbling, Bulma Briefs really
had a knack for seeing the good in people, no matter how little it was, no
matter how deeply it was buried.� She�d
seen it in Son Goku immediately�the goodness in him had shown like a beacon in
the night.� His perfect, untarnished
soul reflected itself clearly to her in his eyes, in his innocent, na�ve grin
and his curious little voice.� She could
picture him in her head, standing before her with his mussed hair and dirty
training gear, holding up his grandfather�s Dragon Ball and examining it as
carefully as if for the first time. ��Hey, Grandpa�s ball has four stars in it!�� he�d said.�
Half her size, his black eyes sparkled in the late spring sunshine and
his voice shook with excitement:� �Hi stars!��
�He knew nothing about
greed or selfishness.� He came with her
on her journey with no thought of reward.�
No one else could ever be like him, not in a million lifetimes; he was
the best man she had ever known.�

And he�s coming back.� Bulma snapped back to reality abruptly.� Vegeta, on the other hand she decided, was
an evil ass bastard.� But she could see
clearly the motives beyond his actions, and in her book it was the motives that
were important.� Gathering up her
courage, she approached him.� He didn�t
look up.� Was he shy or something?

�Hi.�
She began.� God, it sounded dumb.� He didn�t move.� �You know,� she continued softly, �You could sit in a chair if
you just don�t want to go up to your room.�
I�m sure it would be more comfortable than the floor.�� Still no response.� �If I understand Gohan correctly, you�ve only had a couple hours
sleep over the last few weeks.� You must
be tired, so why don�t you go on up and get some rest?��

�Why?�� The first word he�d spoken to her.� His voice was rough.

�What else are you going to
do?�� Bulma abandoned caution and
plopped down on the floor, cross-legged in front of him.� Her blue jeans, with her orange halter top
and sandals were by no means the most diplomatic way she could have presented
herself to her visitors from another world, but they had been the first things
she�d come across.� She�d showered in a
rush�with a sly grin she remembered that she�d forgotten underwear.� Oops.

�� Vegeta
made an indistinct noise in his throat.�
Bulma was sure that he would stay until Goku was wished back.� He had a score to settle, after all.

�� How
about if I help you find your room?� I�m
Bulma, by the way.� Bulma Briefs.� You�re Vegeta.� Right?�

�� Another
indistinct noise.

�� Let
me see your key and I�ll take you up to your room.�� She reached and pulled the key from his slackened grip.� His white gloves were filthy, but for some
reason she didn�t dare suggest he take them off.� Room 89.� She was hesitant
to actually touch him, so she settled for a �come on, let�s go!� and a cheerful
demeanor as she led the way up the spiral staircase left of the plate glass
windows.� She could hear his meek
footsteps behind her all the way.� When
she turned to check on him, though, he was far behind her and staring down at
the ground.� She�d seen Son do that a
couple times after tough battles and wondered how two people from such completely
different cultures could come up with the same behavior.� Come to think, Krillin had come out of the
battle with Vegeta and Nappa staring at the ground as well.� Had Gohan? No, he�d been unconscious.� Chichi had carried him to the plane.� She studied Vegeta carefully.� His eyes focused on the stairs in front of
him, head down, and a death grip on the railing.� What the hell?� But slowly
the pieces clicked into place and Bulma almost gasped out loud with the
realization: he thought he was going to fall!�
Honest to Kami, that had to be it.�
After days of battle, no food or sleep, he was probably exhausted and at
least a little off-balance.� So she
stopped and waited for him, resisting the urge to reach out and offer
support.� If he did fall and she was holding
onto him she�d be on the floor just as quickly.� So she let him handle himself, carefully, up the stairs.
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A Renaissance