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Wishes of the Fallen	By : SaiyanGirl Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 4331 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own DragonballZ, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
Title: Wishes of the Fallen

Author: SaiyanGirl (SaiyanGirl@Gmail.com)

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Goku/Vegeta, Vegeta/Goku, implied Goku/Chichi, implied Gohan/Videl, others are a surprise! ^_~

Warning: Language, Violence, a tiny bit OOC, Death, Angst, Yaoi, Graphic Lemon

Disclaimer: All copyrighted characters appearing in this story were created by Akira Toriyama, and appear without expressed permission. Any original characters appearing are the intellectual property of the author, SaiyanGirl.

Special Thanks: A HUGE Thank You goes to Katiefoolery for beta'ing this fic. She is absolutely amazing! Without her, this story would never have been worthy of posting!

Soundtrack for Chapter Twelve:

     Massive Attack - Angel (Mezzanine, 1998)

     Rammstein - Stein um Stein (Rosenrot, 2004)

     Soundgarden - Like Suicide (Superunknown, 1994)

All soundtrack selections are available on iTunes.

Please Note: For all Soundtrack Discliamer Information, please see The Prologue.

Chapter Twelve - Darkness

     Darkness.
     Impenetrable darkness.
     Chilled air surrounded his body, ice wrapping around every limb as it imprisoned every inch of his universe. It clung to his exposed skin; it clawed at his nerves as the back of his neck stood at attention, taunting his soul with its very presence.
     Cold... so very cold...
     'Why...?'
     He could feel his eyes moving, glancing frantically in every direction - the image remained static. His arms were moving, hands waving aimlessly before his face - nothing changed. Below his waist, nothing existed: couldn't feel his legs, couldn't feel his feet - couldn't tell if he was standing. Couldn't tell where... Couldn't tell why...
     Nothing.
     There was nothing. Nothing before him, nothing behind him.
     Was he dead?
     "Ska - dau tos stou dak nii dgrek!"
     'What?'
     "Hah."
     '... You dare laugh?'
     "Hahahah..."
     'The fuck are you laughing at?'
     From random corners, it came: distant laughter echoing in his ears. He spun to face it - couldn't keep up... couldn't track the random changes. Sound made his senses ache - ears in pain, body frozen... laughter amplifying the cold around him...
     Can't see... can't feel...
     "No..."
     A flash.
     "Aaahhhrrgghhh!" Eyes blazed. Pain engulfed his lungs. Darkness burned blinding white as his own screams blurred his hearing. Pure Hell seared around him - couldn't move... couldn't force his body to shield his eyes.

     It was his voice.
     "VEGETA!!!!!!"
     He blinked.
     A cooling bead of sweat trailed down his face as he stood, heavy breathing filling his ears, blinking his mind back into focus. Darkness gave way to light: modern silvers, blues and blacks as he blinked the memories of his nightmare away. Forcibly making sense of his surroundings, Vegeta's eyes shot to a nearby wall, seeking the large digital panel under the low lighting of his gravity chamber.
     '... Seven forty-one.'
     Sweat coursed along his skin as he stood, his back mere inches away from the wall. An hour and a half - already. Ninety minutes ago, he had awoken: lungs ablaze, screaming, lying in a soaking river of his own sweat. He'd been frozen: unable to move, his entire body aching, his skin nearly glowing in the orange spotlight of the morning sun. Chest heaving, he'd stared blankly at the wall beyond the bed - wide eyes incapable of movement. He had no idea how long it took for him to even blink.
     Vegeta gritted his teeth as the memories of his morning seeped back into his sharpened mind, drawing a rumbling growl from deep within his thick chest. His eyes shot to his right arm as he flexed, watching with heated satisfaction as the thick muscles rippled under the strength of his own rage, amplified by the shine of his own sweat. How the fuck could he be so weak? It was one fucking nightmare - he'd had thousands of them. Slaughtered faces, butchered bodies, the cries of the dead all in search of vengeance upon the last being they ever saw - how the fuck was this one any different?
     His body twisted as hate threw his arm forward, sweat flying as the strength of a thousand Saiyans flowed into a single punch, his blood enraged with the sheer passion of his entire race. It was one fucking nightmare! Someone laughed. It was fucking dark. What the fuck did he care!?
     "Uuggaaahhh!!!"
     A vicious kick obliterated the conditioned air before him, his body rolling into a violent elbow, quickly followed by a thunderous knee-to-elbow technique designed to shatter the spine of anyone stupid enough to oppose him. Kicking, rolling, swiftly lashing out... all at the air. He growled and kept moving, sweeping his leg around and throwing himself forward, trying to banish the echo of laughter from his ears as he hurled his entire body into the air. The strain of his movements carved itself upon his brow, musky beads of sweat rolling between his eyes, its burning salt ignored as his face was maligned by the fury of Saiyan passion. Pure anger and hatred burned within his very soul, scourging his own weakness the same way his ki blasted the resilient floor below him.
     His arms flexed; his legs kicked viciously at the air, smashing it to pieces... but it didn't satisfy him. It couldn't. Nothing could.
     Weak. He threw himself into a vicious left kick, veins bulging as muscles strained with every movement. How could he be so fucking weak? He felt the flex of his arms, the ferocious flow of strength as he completed the technique with a slow fade to his right before faking a blow with his left arm. Waking up screaming like a frightened child, like a... a...
     His right arm viciously smashed the air to pieces.
     "Uuurrrggghhh!!!"
     There was no weakness inside him - no fucking way. He wouldn't believe it; he wouldn't allow it. The mere idea only fed his ravenous rage, empowering his ki as it liquefied his nerves into blissful synergy. The Gods dared to taunt him - taunt him into believing weakness lay inside, sapping his strength and will. The Gods dared? Fucking dared taunt him into thinking he was weak?
     'Fuckin' deal with this!'
     His entire body flexed, his chest heaving as he labored under the stress of five hundred times the planet's gravity. He was frozen, reaching deep within his very soul as he extended his thick arms before him - acting on vengeful instinct alone. Hauling every last ounce of strength he could find, a deafening scream smashed off the walls as a massive ball of molten ki blasted from his open palms. Arms in the air, back arched, breath hitching in his throat... he watched. Watched as the murderous sphere of energy curved around the walls of the chamber: circling, searching, tracking; hunting for his scent, wanting to shred his body into nothing more than a pile of his own blood.
     'Kill me, you bastards. I fuckin' dare you.'
     The arched supports of the chamber faltered, resonating with screams that echoed endlessly - timeless and without remorse. His body flexed, thick muscles rippling in pure chords of sweating godly rage as he pushed his thick pecs forward, tightening his abs beyond the point of screaming pain.
     He wanted it. He needed it.
     By his own hand, he would die. Die, or be purged.
     Fire became him.
     The blue and white sphere of death crashed directly into his body, the violently sharpened energy detonating in a cataclysmic explosion capable of destroying entire planets. His ecstatic screams were lost to the earth-shattering shockwaves as they ravaged him, his body refusing to be moved. Never. Never again would the King of all Saiyans bend. Never again would he allow himself to be weak. Show no weakness. No fear. No pain.
     By fire, be purged.
      'Breathe.'
     The molten air scarred his lungs, his chest burning as the heavy cloud dissipated into the conditioned space. He stared down certain death through fog-filled vision, the determination of his entire race painfully carved within his face. He could feel it - feel the defiance within him as the nerves of his body sang of their victory in perfect unison. His arms, his legs - his entire body flexed and proudly rigid, the sheer power of his sweating Saiyan physique laughing in the face of death as his burning muscles bulged to massive size.
     The gods failed.
     He wanted to laugh. Laugh at their failure.
     His smirk deepened even as his body relaxed, a conceited glow warming him while he released the hold upon his body. The fog continued to thin as powerful vents sucked it into the walls, allowing him to begin checking for signs of major damage. To become more powerful meant to use more powerful techniques, the potential for excessive damage rising exponentially with each level. Still, he did his best to protect his gift, often using himself as a target more than the walls or the flo--
     "Huh?"
     His senses reeled as the scent hit his nose, remaining motionless while rich smoky flares filled his nostrils. Glancing around, Vegeta dropped his head to investigate the floor below him, groaning as the thought of the woman's fire-safety system swinging into full gear entered his mind. Alarm forced his eyes wider as the sharp flicker of yellow and orange filled his vision, the fabric of training suit smoldering just above his waist.
     "Fuck off."
     Gloved fingers clutched deep into the tight fabric, pulling with ki-enforced strength. The elastic fabric shredded under his powerful grip, dragging with painful slowness over hot, damp skin, revealing mounds of musky, sweat-covered muscle to the controlled temperature. He tossed the burning rag to the floor, coldly dismissing his pain as he watched the fabric smolder in an isolated heap.
     He remained motionless in mid-air, his body stiff as he was overtaken by the calming feeling of musky beads of sweat rolling over the ridge of his thick chest. Not a single thought entered his head beyond the sensation of the trails of moisture coursing through the deep canyons of his chiseled abs; cool fingers tracing the folds of his heated muscle.
     The cooling of his body brought other cooling thoughts to his mind: cold water, his shower, a waterfall...
     ... The debilitating cold of is nightmare.
     "Godsdamnit!!" He viciously spat the word into nothing, the sound filling the chamber with its mocking echoes before fading into oblivion.
     Nothing.

     Nothing explained it. Nothing could explain how or why the fuck he could let himself act like... be like...
     'No!'
     How the fuck could he let himself be so...
     "Human!?"
     Hatred. Rage. Blinding anger. They had become his universe.
     His taut frame instantly came to life. Bulging, sweaty muscles flexed in reckless hatred, enraged by the most unforgivable of sins committed against his soul. He hated himself, hated his surroundings, hated the motherfucking rock he was marooned on, hated the smoldering orange destroying his clothes... Orange... destroying him...
     Kakarott.
     "Uuuuuurrrraaaaaahhhhh!!"
     Muscles strained under unyielding pressure as ki blasted them open, biceps crying in painful ecstasy as they were forced beyond their tremendous size, molten power surging through his entire body. An entire race screamed in blood-thirsty rage as their might forced a horrific ki blast from his hands: an explosive supernova of white and blue scorching the air as it mercilessly shot towards the ground. It wasn't enough. The pride of his people demanded he finish it off personally. Demanded he bathe in the blood of all that was weak and useless in this universe. Demanded he force them to stare into his soul as he wrenched the life from their undeserving existence.
     The burning ki surged towards the ground - his hatred followed. Muscles flared - relentless, enraged, deadly: fatal Saiyan power, supercharged as he shot to the ground, all thought forgotten. Fire burned everywhere: around him, within him, in his eyes; the fires of a forgotten civilization... and he rolled with the wildfire; rolled within it, agility enhanced by the freedom of the flames raining with him. They ruthlessly seared across his skin - he felt nothing; nothing but the collective rage of an obliterated planet as he rolled forward, unforgiving as both knees viciously bared their stone crushing edges. A portal to Hell: falling through it, whipping past it; crashing directly into all that deserved nothing but the most sadistic destruction known to all life.
     He couldn't feel his legs - couldn't feel his heart. Couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't smell a thing. Was he finally dead? Was it finally dead? Was he finally free of the never-ending torture that living brought him? Finally free of all that held him back, held him from his needs and wants? Was he...
     "Free?"
     The sound of his voice brought life to a black wave of despair, instantly drowning all hope within him. The smoke was clearing, taking his brief taste of optimism with it.

     He could see again, feel again - a warm trickle under his knees was teasing him back to his ever-depressing reality. Streaks of jet-black covered the floor, carelessly blasted onto the walls; they went well with their predecessors. Nothing was about to distract him from his own pride as Vegeta sat upon the final resting place of his lesser-self.
     Never again.
     'Ever.'
     "Caution, your Highness: a major failure as been detected in section 'B.'" The softened voice of a confident female filled his ears - the woman's final touch. "For the safety of all us poor, weak Human beings, the primary gravity generator has been suspended." Her final personal touch. "Having a rough morning, my Prince?"
     'You don't know the half of it...'
     Rough didn't even come close to describing the pain in his legs, or the burning rasp of the groans that escaped his sweating chest. Surrounded by the scorched and smouldering aftermath of his mindless hatred, he barely noticed the violent red of his own blood as it seeped from opened gashes above his knees. Skinned knees? Fucking skinned knees? What the fuck did they matter? A fucking scrape was the last thing on his mind as he disdainfully stepped from the crater he'd made in the supposedly indestructible floor. He snorted as the thought rolled through his head - he was the King of all Saiyans. To him, nothing was indestructible. Especially something of Huma--
     'Origin...'
     The release of his chamber left his entire body delicately light... just like hers.
     'Chichi...'
     It was the only thing he could think of as he stared implacably at the small crater he'd created in his floor. Her body, his crater. Arms peacefully positioned at her sides, the ground outlining her body - it was her final resting place, carved by her final caretaker.
     'How the fuck could he be dead?'
     How the fuck could he be dead? Vegeta couldn't feel him, couldn't sense him - the bigger Saiyan was nowhere to be found. His ki always stood out like a blazing sun on this planet of fucking weaklings. Anger flooded his body, pulling his face into an enraged glare. Kakarott fucking vaporized himself right before his eyes... A final insult so simply thrown... as though he'd meant nothing to the big fuck.
     'Right fucking in front of me, you bastard...'
     A pained groan passed through his lips as he sat upon his metallic floor, his boots mere inches from the crater before him. He sat in silence, calmly inhaling his thick, sweaty scent as heat radiated from his bulging muscles, beads of musky sweat coursing over his rigidly pumped physique. If she was dead... then so was he. The rules of the universe demanded the Saiyan be no more - and yet, she remained. Remained. In perfect form, perfect position - her body peacefully lying in the ground as if placed there!
     Gloved hands were instantly drowned in damp locks, tightly fisting his thick hair. Anger and confusion poured into a volatile mix within his aching brain, threatening to explode at any second.
     "How?" he screamed, fingers tightening their holds upon his head. "How in the living fuck could she have been there!?"
     The walls of the vast chamber mocked him with their echoes, laughing as they repeated his rampaging confusion into his ears. Fuck them and their laughter - it didn't change a thing.
     Twenty seven hundred square miles of mountain, river, forest and plain: all of it turned to barren wasteland. Not one fucking thing survived Kakarott's rage - nothing. Rigid fingers released their holds upon his dampened hair, gloved material straining as they raked over his angered stare.

     He couldn't survive it. He, the most powerful being in the entire godsdamned universe...

     ...Couldn't survive Kakarott.

     Deafening screams filled the chamber once more - searing, blinding screams of torture and sorrow, blasting from deep within a privately wounded soul disconnected from his own.
     She had survived.
     She was there.
     Kakarott was not.
     How in the living fuck could she have possibly been there without him putting her there!?
     Rigid arms slammed to the floor, frustration flooding his burning muscles with the primal strength of his entire race. Kakarott was gone. He'd taken everything with him.
     Vegeta was left with nothing. His rival was dead - dead by his own hand. Vegeta was the last remaining full-blooded Saiyan alive - the most powerful being in the universe.
     At his most triumphant, he couldn't help but suddenly want to puke.
     ... What was the point?
     He fell back against the chamber wall, blankly staring into the universe of nothing.
     "There is no point."
     There was no best; there was no worst: there was no feeling, no emotion, no passion - there was nothing. Nothing inside him, nothing beside him; no want, no push, no shove, no drive... not a godsdamned thing.
     He was empty.
     A shell of his former self, blankly staring at a dent in a metallic floor.
     Minutes passed in deathly silence before another voice made its presence known.
     'Kill me...'
     "Hah." His head fell forwards upon his sweaty chest.
     'I'd never be that lucky.'
     He couldn't even make himself feel pain.
     ... Couldn't even kill himself.
     'Why?'
     Why could Kakarott achieve that which he could not? Why could he always achieve...
     Ten years. It had been ten fucking years since he'd last been in a real fight. Real battle - a life determining contest of brute strength and iron will: one being against the other; two combatants, one survivor. Ten fucking years... each day since then had been filled with nothing. Sparring with Kakarott was always the same: trading blows, breaking bones, forcing blood from the both of them... only to go home safely at the end of each day. The blood-lusting exhilaration was there... real or not.
     Kakarott was the only being that could test him. He was the only being that could best him. Each and every day, the big Saiyan pushed him; each sharpened fist plunged painfully into his jaw, each rib-shattering kick forced angrily into his torso, each bone-crushing foot shot mercilessly into his legs... Level after level, limit after limit: the both of them continued to rise, feeding off each other's drive, each other's eternal hatred of the stagnant; forever moving, never standing still...
     But now...

     The magnificent body of his eternally infuriating rival was gone, replaced by the stale emptiness of an atmosphere coloured by his own musk. An endless insult: his own scent filling his lungs instead of the intoxicating aroma of his greatest rival...
     Another groan escaped him: subdued in its intensity; cooled in its heated hatred. Kakarott's musk... Gods, how it drove him. Always present, always right under his nose... He fucking loved how little it took to make Kakarott sweat; to make that Saiyan's scent pour from his massive body, bulging with powerful muscle... It filled his lungs with the lust of a race forgotten: growing in its seductive potency with every passing day of brutal sparring.
     A final piece of his former life...
     A final piece taken...
     Kakarott was dead.
     Vegeta was the only one left.
     No rivals, no comrades, no subjects, no point.

     He'd stolen his drive, stolen his quest, stolen his passion... He'd stolen the victory Vegeta rightfully deserved.
     Kakarott had finally stolen everything from him.
     He'd taken the easy way out... the cowar--
     "No."
     No - the act was cowardly, but not the Saiyan. No Saiyan was a coward - third class or elite. The big idiot had devoted his entire life to protecting this worthless rock, constantly sacrificing himself for his ungrateful bastard friends... How fortunate for them: the Saiyan inside him refused to run from a fight.
     No Saiyan ever could. The lust in their blood was too great for any to control... even Kakarott.
     'Lie to yourself all you want, Kakarott...'
     For as much as Kakarott convinced himself, it was all a lie. He wasn't protecting his friends. He wasn't on some vomit inducing, self-righteous quest to defeat all that was evil in the universe for the eternal prevalence of good. Hah... what a fucking load.
     Kakarott fought for one reason, and one reason alone: his blood demanded it.
     Not for this planet, not for the universe, not for the fucking bug in the other universe, and certainly not for the sickening, shit-eating grins plastered on those living examples of all that was useless in the universe who dared called themselves his friends.
     He scoffed, bitterness overtaking him. Where the fuck were they when he needed them? Always late, always one step behind: handling the insignificant little fish while leaving the main course untouched. He'd saved their fuckin' ungrateful lives countless times - they'd repaid their beloved Goku by letting him kill himself in the complete, uninterrupted privacy of his own home.
     Vegeta hated him - he hated his friends a shitload more. Their hero. Abandoned by his friends. Who was to arrive, but his greatest rival - arrive to watch him die. His greatest rival, his most powerful enemy...
     His only real friend...

     Arriving in time to save his only son...
     'Goten...'
     Images of his pupil flashed across his mind - pictures of the boy at his best, at his proudest. The last true remaining Saiyan alive...
     One look... all he'd needed was a single glance... and he knew it. Watching Kakarott's youngest fight his own did more than just mirror Vegeta's struggles with the kid's father - the similarities were almost sickening they were so real. Even at that retarded tournament... to the denizens of spectators, it looked like two seven year-old black-belts putting on a show for the crowd, even after they took the fight from the ground. Despite inevitably losing the battle to the rightfully superior bloodline, he could see there was something deeply planted within Goten's technique - something lacking from his son's...
     Not three days after the pink blob had shed its last skin had he demanded Goten begin training under his guidance. Teaching two kids at the same time instead of individually - ingenious in its conspiracy, monumental in its practice. Four weeks in, Goten was excelling beyond Trunks in nearly every way; a perceived threat to his son's age-related perceived dominance. Age meant nothing more than experience when it came to fighting prowess: Nappa was older than he, he was older than Kakarott, Kakarott was older than Goten...
     With each generation past, Saiyan power exponentially grew...
     Every day, every week... each passing year brought more power to the boy: bigger, faster, smarter. With Goten under his intensive guidance, Vegeta was finally responsible for the development of a true Saiyan...
     His power only increased when his Human development cycles decided to kick up, supercharging his body with the sudden urge to build, to grow. A faint memory shuddered through Vegeta's body, recalling the power that came with the increase in height, width and depth - only the boy's growth hadn't initially come under the command of his Saiyan genetics.
     "Feh." His scoff was nearly audible.
     It had already begun: so what if his Human genes had acted first? His face had quickly developed the stone-jaw of his father; his shoulders had widened as his chest literally expanded without limit... Within three months, the kid had turned into the spitting image of Kakarott. A superior spitting image... using only his Human genes.
     'Gods know what the fuck will happen when his Saiyan cycle hits...'
     Fuck the Gods. They didn't know shit.
     He knew exactly what would happen...
     Exactly why he needed to get the boy away from that fucking Human.
     He needed to get Goten back to where he belonged: under the protective eye of his people. The boy was counting on him. His King was all he had left.
     The boy was all he had left.
     ... Of Kakarott.
     Vegeta clenched his jaw as his sight sharpened, his fists pounding the floor at his sides once more. Was he alive? Was he dead? What the fuck did it matter? He was gone, taking everything with him - everything that had made Vegeta who he was...
     But his son... his son was destined to be so much greater than his father... He could see it in the boy's eyes: the rage, the power, the passion... one real fight; just one real battle and he would realize it himself...
     He would be more powerful than his teacher. He would be more powerful than his father.
     A mirror image of Kakarott; boasting superior power while embodying his gloriously seductive male features...
     His heart nearly fluttered. Nearly. The pounding in his chest caught enough of his attention: powered by the simple thought of something so... simple. Build Goten to the level of his father - have the boy become a true challenge to his Royal superiority. A true challenge... an opponent to push...
     An opponent who would push back...
     He would become a final challenge for his teacher to overcome.

     ... Perhaps not all was lost...
     A heavy sigh fell from Vegeta's body as he relinquished his anger, turning his back to the damaged floor as he climbed to his feet. "Woman," he quietly commanded, suddenly too drained to add his normal bite to the order. "Repeat damage report. Include all relevant specifics."
     "Of course, your Highness." The soft voice was normally soothing - his mood quickly became annoyed with its synthetic tone. "Diagnostics confirm the complete failure of CapsuleCorp Experimental Artificial Gravity Sub-Generators B-03, B-04, B-06, B-12 and B-14." Five of them... she was going to be pissed. He mindlessly processed the information as he proceeded towards the door to his living area, the draining feeling causing his entire body to feel heavier than normal.
     "Diagnostics also confirm the complete failure of CapsuleCorp Experimental Artificial Reinforced Gravity Plating sections B-04, B-05, B-06, B-07, B--"
     "I broke the fucking floor - I get it."
     "B-09, B-010, B--"
     He almost growled. The godsdamned thing would keep going until he told it to...
     "Shut up!"
     "As you wish, your Highness." He could have sworn she programmed the damn thing to give him attitude - the robot's tone was almost derisive.
     He pressed his bare palm to a small panel by the hatch, waiting in apathy as the door de-pressurised, the locks slowly releasing one at a time. How easy it was for a machine to release built-up internal pressure... sentient beings weren't so lucky. Each lock releasing with a mechanically high-pitched wheeze, letting go of all that it was concerned with... Bastards...
     A blue light flashed from the panel - the door began to open.

     "Woman."
     "Yes, your Highness?"
     "Disable all lighting, begin power down cycle." The door couldn't have opened any slower - at least it let in a rush of cold air that calmly flowed over his bare, steaming skin. He barely noticed. "And cycle the air. It fucking stinks in here."
     "Then don't work out so hard, your Highness." ... He fuckin' knew it.
     "Blow me."
     "You wish."
     Vegeta froze as he heard the computer's uncovered attitude, his jaw nearly dropping. Nearly. Told off by a fucking computer... Any other week, he would have been in hysterics. This week... a simple snort was all her impressive work was worth.
     Passing into his gift's ante-chamber, he removed his other glove and tossed the pair into a box at his feet. Another glorious morning greeted him through the vast window, exactly the same as the last. The last... Fuck, he didn't want to think about it; didn't want to remember. But he couldn't even control his own mind. Image after image ran through his head as he reached for a hanging towel, his bare hands mindlessly sliding the chilled fabric over his sweaty body. Everything was Kakarott. His hair, his eyes, his clothes - Vegeta's memory didn't skip a single inch of those huge, rippling muscles, dripping in the Saiyan's heavy, musky sweat, covered in that thick, godly scent...
     "Cho-degkah!"
     The towel stopped. The world stopped. Vegeta stared directly into the wide eyes of his faded reflection, stunned by his own shock. The word hadn't passed through his lips in nearly thirty years.
     He'd sworn in his language.
     His hand released the towel, the fabric dropping into the box at his feet. One by one, his boots followed suit. A wash cycle started as he kicked the lid closed, the sound of water drowned out by the confusion in his head.
     'What the fuck is going on...'
     He had nothing. No explanations, no clues. He had no fucking idea what the hell was happening. His entire life was being bent over and ass-fucked six ways from Sunday, and he was letting it happen!
     There had to be a fucking answer somewhere!
     '... Woman.'
     Long-fucking-shot... it was the only shot he had.
     He passed into his kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge to soothe his heated body. Lowering the bottle from his lips, he glanced towards the small hallway leading to his bedroom, spotting the disheveled sheets sprawled over his bed. Bah - he needed a shower anyway. There wasn't any point in sweating through another set of clothes. He pulled his eyes away from the sweaty sheets of his bed, frowning as another rush of cold liquid tumbled down his throat - he'd need to wash those too.
     'One fucking nightmare...'
     He moved without thought, heading for the door as he ruthlessly wrenched his attention back to her. What in the hell could she possibly know? The woman was a scientist; an absolute genius when it came to technology - but medicine? Even if she was an expert psycho-therapist, she wouldn't stand a chance against the daemons that lay dormant in his head - they'd shred even the finest of warriors to pieces. A derisive snort fell from his chest, the violent mental image filling his eyes as steamy feet sunk back into protective prisons.
     His eyes narrowed as he stepped into the glare of the morning sun, a light breeze washing over his sweaty frame. It did nothing - the sun's oppressive heat apparently wished to draw even more moisture from him.
     It was fantastic.
     Even as his feet trudged the brick path to her home, his mind was abounding with thoughts and memories of the heat of Vegeta-sei - his home. Twin suns, tanned bodies, humidity which made his skin burn and his heart sing - it made him feel alive. To feel that heat upon his bare chest, feel his own sweat twist and wind around the cuts and ridges of his muscled frame, his thick scent pronounced in the air around him - the pleasure came forth with a subtle purr.
     He made no effort to stop it.
     Finally - his mind was doing what he wanted it to. The sound of his heels disappeared as he swam through his memories, reveling in their searing pleasure. Thick jungles, raging rivers, valleys as vast as the eye could see, resting comfortably at the feet of ominous mountain ranges - so superior to anything Earth had to offer. Every continent unique, each with its own flavour and its own power. He was back where he belonged - his palace, his home: the Imperial Palace of Vegeta-sei, the legions of guards saluting him in perfect unison as he approached. He could see them, see their faces, hear their voices as they proudly boasted their honour for the pride of their King. He didn't want to blink - blinking would take him away, make him lose the magnificent sight forever. No one deserved to be so heartlessly dragged from their home.
     From a distant corner of the universe, he heard it - a light trickle of water slowly seeping into his ears, selfishly tearing him away from all that he deserved.
     He blinked - the world came back, in defiance of his furious frown. No palace, no guards, no home - just the winding path fading into focus before him; the flicker of the flame before the memorial catching his apathetic stare. He didn't want to think anymore - no images, no sounds... There wasn't any point to letting his mind wander: nothing fucking mattered.
     All he could do was stare - a blank glimpse into complete oblivion as his feet instinctively stopped, his tail wrapping around his waist on cue. He was on auto drive - his cognitive mental capacity depleted, a lifeless shell dropping its head, an absent soul paying its respects to the rightfully deserving.
     How dare he insult the dead so...
     "Khea dau..."
     His stare instantly hardened - waterfalls of emotion championing the valiant return as life rushed to every corner of his body. At once, he wanted to scream - scream so fucking loud so every last miserable bastard on this rock could hear him; could hear his relentless torture. There was nothing left. Nothing left for the last of the proudest and most noble of all the universe's creations. Nothing left for the last of the royal bloodline. Nothing left...
     A mindless body, an empty shell, a dead soul. It stood before the pillars of polished stone, tears of the ultimately defeated silently creeping down its skin. Its eyes blinked - more shards of liquid sorrow fell, carving their paths upon a proud and noble face...
     He didn't care how long he'd stood there - it wasn't long enough. Wasn't long enough to dutifully respect all that had been lost - to remember it, to honour... them.
     'Respect and honour...'
     Two simple words, finally breaking through the immeasurable silence of his universe. Two resounding definitions; one simple command.
     'Remember.'
     Vegeta knew of only one way he could remember.
     He was staring at it.
     He swept a gloved hand across his face, erasing the trails of raw emotion no one was worthy of seeing. His feet resumed their casual speed, his tail dropping lazily behind him as he drew himself away from the one spot forever branded upon his memory. He barely noticed anything - not her mother's beautiful gardens, not even the thickness of his own arm as he instinctively reached for the door to push the tinted glass from his path.
     "I saw you outside."
     His foot hadn't even touched the carpet. He'd barely had a chance to notice the cool air mixed with the sound of her voice; hardly even caught a glance of her before everything came to a stop.
     "Yeah?" It was all he could say - the sight of her instantly brought more depression and distress than he could remember. Her supple frame sprawled out on the furthest couch, delicate hair strewn about as she gripped a glass between tense fingers - she was a miserable wreck. Fresh streaks of emotional wet painted a picture of hurt and sorrow upon her face as she looked at him - he couldn't bear to see it. Could barely stand to look at her in such pain - a beautiful face such as hers should never be so marred. It cried to him: the voices of hurt and sorrow droning in a depressive flat key, amplified by each falling tear. Their sound made him wish he were dead.
     "Yeah... you were saying 'hi' to mom and dad." Her voice was flatter than he could ever recall, her eyes dropping to the glass clutched between her small hands. "What did they have to say today?"
     He was too far from the house - she couldn't have seen from such a distance. No one could have, not even Kaka--
     "They wanted me to come see you." Vegeta growled, the thought of his younger rival forcing his voice lower than he'd wanted it. "Wanted me to see how you were."
     "Hah... bullshit they did." She made a vain effort to be sarcastic, even threw in a scoff for good measure as he stepped closer. "They can't even talk...
     "... They're dead."
     Her eyes remained frozen as fresh tears flowed down the carved paths of her face, coursing over the dark circles outlining her lashes. All he could do was watch - the thought of rushing to her side was as alien to him as becoming her husband: something else he was completely incapable of.
     "Well..." she sniffed, wiping the tears from her eyes, "let me guess." Shaking hands placed the glass upon the reflective crystal of the table at her feet. "What did you break this time?"
     "A lot." Blunt as always: his pride demanded it, even in the worst of times.
     "Yeah?" She rose to her feet, slowly rounding the table to approach him. "Well..." she lamented, her exhausted frame nearly next to his, "At least it's something I can fix."
     She was on him before he could blink: her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she threw her face into his glistening neck. The painful noise of subtle sobbing assaulted his ears as she leaned into him, the touch of cold tears splashing against his heated nerves. A voice deep inside demanded he throw her off him - to prevent any form of weakness from coming into contact with his purified pride.

     But... how could he deny her?
     His tail acted first, betraying the war-torn wasteland within his mind as it slowly wrapped around her waist, gently pulling her body closer. A hand followed, his right arm practically smearing his sweat into her robe as he enveloped her in strength, feeling her shiver against him as he squeezed, his thick bicep flexing against her back. More strength wrapped around her as his left arm joined his right, the physical prowess of her protector keeping her still, letting her sob into his musky skin...
     Letting her know she wasn't alone.
     Moments passed - he didn't care. He absently glanced at the reflective glass before them as he held her, his mind a blank canvas as he felt the cold trickle of Human tears be slowly warmed by his sweaty heat. The blue of her hair, the red of his torn knees, the silvers, blacks and dark blues of the room that surrounded them: together, they painted a picture of pain, of sorrow, of suffering, of remorse...
     ... Of unity.
     "Mnnhff--I'm srrny..." His eyes snapped into focus as he heard her, the angelic voice muffled by his heated skin. He glanced at her messy hair as she pulled her head out of its impromptu sanctuary, watching as her nose crinkled. "Heh," she snorted, her velvet tongue lightly sliding over her lips, "Been a while since I last got a taste, huh?"
     Even at her worst, she was still radiant.

     Her attitude garnered a smug laugh, his sweaty chest pressing harder against hers as he voiced his approval. "You're the one who gave it up." A smug bastard to the bitter end. There was no better way.
     "Mm... don't remind me." Thoughtful eyes dropped to gaze down over his body, her expression visibly shifting downhill as she undoubtedly realized she was now covered in musky Saiyan sweat. Her movement against his thick arms only confirmed his assumption - he granted her freedom, removing his powerful hands from their grasp upon her sensuous curves, his tail retreating to laze behind him. "So," she said calmly, her face returning to the realm of despair, "what did you break this time?"
     "The floor," Vegeta stated, his arms draped at his sides. Standing stoically, he rested on his heels as he watched her, knowing his powerful gaze made her feel at ease. "Got chewed out by your charming personality for it, too."
     A half-hearted laugh forced itself from within her shroud of misery. "Aww... poor you." Even still, she tried. She always tried her hardest to stay strong for him, no matter what. It only made him respect and honour her all the more. "Bit back, did it?"
     His smirk hardened as he watched her glance below his waist, the gashes in his knees respectfully refusing to bleed onto her carpet. "Couldn't keep its hands off me."
     Another scoff escaped her lips as she turned, slowly padding back to the couch. Vegeta followed suit, taking a seat on a couch adjacent to her own. Turning to face her, the icy touch of leather graced his sweaty backside, forcing a stiff grunt from his thick chest as he intently watched her pick up her glass once more.
     "I just..." she started, her hands raising the glass to her lips, "I just can't believe they're... gone." His eyes shot to hers, immediately expecting fresh tears to ruin the fresh water in her glass. To her credit, not a single drop appeared. "Goku... again. But, Chichi too?"
     The name brought forth the image - her body, still and silent, lying peacefully in perfect form. An image with untold implications, spiraling confusion within his mind as it conducted its haunting orchestra of the eternal. His smirk melted into a frown as the depressive drive claimed him again, filling his mind with memories and actions; of pain and anger.
     "... How is she?" His mind wasn't in control - enslaved by an impulsive voice acting on behalf of his confusion. The look on her face told him she was just as surprised as he was.
     "Wha? Oh..." She glanced at her glass before having another drink, her eyes coming to rest on the crystal coffee table. "Well, after everyone left, we went straight to work..."
     She clutched the glass in her hands, the tension of the memories obviously beginning to manifest itself within the rest of her body. "Within two hours, we had the dome up." Vegeta's eyes instantly shot to meet hers, his ears perking. "Don't worry, I made sure they did exactly as you instructed." Her assurance was all he needed to put any concerns to rest.

     "The dome is--" She took a deep breath, along with another steadying drink. "It's a few more square feet than your old gravity chamber, and I personally told everyone..." A faint expression of determination crossed her face, as though she were re-living the scene. "...that if anything came within fifteen feet of the crater, I'd see to it they wished they were lying there next to her."
     "Nice touch." Her iron fist was as attractive as her soft curves, a combination which had always lured his finer attentions...
     "Yeah..." Her mood was barely affected by his praise, her eyes still centered upon the table before them. "We've quarantined the entire... area. Twenty eight hundred and thirty four point three total square miles... took Mount Paozu completely off the map."
     "Hnn." They should have been grateful it was only that - not the entire planet. The rage of Kakarott would have ripped the planet to pieces as a joke.
     "I released a statement to the government and to the media playing it off as a terraforming experiment gone south." Her voice dropped into a lower tone as she lifted her glass once more. "It's not like they believed anyone lived there to begin with..." The glass was at her lips before she could force out another word, her voice on the verge of faltering into a tear soaked universe.
     "They buy it?" His voice was soft - almost as soft as he could make it. Placing any pressure upon her would have gotten him nowhere.
     "Yeah," she nearly sobbed, the glass slightly shaking in her hands. "They don't tend to question me very much."
     "Feh - like they need to. Your word is all they need."
     "Hah," she half-snorted, half laughed. "Try telling that to the First Minister."
     "Tch - he would be so lucky to receive audience from the Saiyan Royal Family."
     He could have sworn he saw the slightest of smiles appear on her face. Just barely - but it was there. A small smirk formed on his to match.
     "Anyway..." she continued, her hands placing the glass upon the table. "We left her exactly as you instructed, and I did all the post-mortem scans myself." She glanced at her hands for a moment before turning her gaze to him. "I sealed the dome and activated the perimeter scanners. If anyone gets within a hundred feet of the blast zone, we'll know."
     "Hnn." She had done exactly as he'd asked.

     "The second I have all the data compiled, I won't rest." She frowned slightly. "I won't sleep until I've figured out what the fuck happened to her."
     She always did without question. She'd do anything for him - and he would do anything for her. With the Humans kept at bay, all that remained were the final steps. Steps which he could carry out in private.
     "I guess we'll be working together agai--"
     "No." He cut her off. His gaze shot straight to her eyes, immediately facing down an overwhelming haze of misery, confusion and disbelief.
     "What do you mean, 'no'?" Her voice took on a stronger tone, her face pulling into an aggressive frown. "We need to design their burial site together."
     "No, we don't," he fired back, his Saiyan instincts kicking into gear. "I do."
     "But, we made mom and dad's together!" she immediately protested, her voice rising as anger bled into her malaise of misery. "They were my friends, Vege--"
     "I want to do this myself." His confession cut her off completely, instantly silencing her anger. He looked directly into that sea of resentful blue, his sight hardening until he was certain he was communicating directly with the soul of the only woman he'd ever loved. "I need to do this. Alone."
     It was instinct talking. Pure Saiyan instinct. He needed to respect their final wishes. He needed to honour his final memory - regardless of whether he was dead or not.
     "I need three days, Bulma." The sound of her name captivated her entirely, spoken as no-one else ever could. "Three days, and then we can lay them to rest. Together."
     Tears filled her seas of blue once more as she gazed upon him, but he knew they weren't tears of sorrow. "Oh, Vegeta!" She leapt as she cried, instantly throwing herself into his burning, sweaty embrace once more as he wrapped his muscled arms around her soft body. "I don't care what anyone says," she murmured. "You're the best thing that ever happened to any of us."
     She nuzzled her face against his sweaty pecs, the thick muscles refusing to budge under her assault as he held her, the softness of her body and warmth of her words forcing a smile to make itself known upon his face.
     A smile.
     On his face.
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Wishes of the Fallen