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Resolution on a Lonely Planet	By : Ulrike Category: Dragon Ball Z > General Views: 5386 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z or the DBZ characters. This is a fanfiction written purely for entertainment. No money was made from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
*Hello! Sorry for the loooong delay. I have a list of excuses you probably don’t want to hear. But I’m settled again. I just needed to get over this chapter and now I’m back on track. I hear ya! Thanks for your patience.

There was one more year left before the androids’ attack on Earth. And Vegeta still wasn’t a super saiyajin.

Everyone at Capsule Corp. lived in a state of constant anxiety. Over the months, the saiyajin prince’s training had become torture sessions. After hours upon hours of not hearing from the obsessed warrior, Bulma would turn on the computerized communications screen from her lab to the spaceship and find the black-haired fighter bleeding all over the gravity-sealed simulator, barely coherent. Dr. Briefs or Panchi occasionally discovered the injured creature unconscious on their lawn, trails of blood leading from the ramp of the domed spaceship to the spot where he lay. The small family realized that Vegeta wasn’t sleeping normally. After he’d awaken from an unconscious state, he would then push himself back into the gravity room where he continued to torture his body.
Bulma feared for his safety and well-being. She loved Vegeta. The emotion was deep and profound; her brilliant mind could barely fathom the rush of affection she felt for the short, grouchy alien. It drove her mad to not be able to calculate and dissect the abstract feelings she held, but in the end, she realized there was no point in figuring it out. Perhaps love could not be studied: it just was.
Raising a glass of water to her lips, Bulma swallowed down an antibiotic and winced as her sore esophagus protested. Sinusitis and strep throat had made its rounds among the employees of Capsule Corp. She had managed to escape the sinus infection, but hadn’t been so lucky with the strep.
Miserably, the blue-haired scientist hugged her pink robe tightly to her body and shuffled into her living room, grasping a mug of hot cider as she nestled into the large couch and flipped on the TV. It was a weekday, but she simply could not make her way to the labs that day. Her head was pounding and her throat was so sore she could barely speak.
Her father was taking over her work load, her mother was getting the gardens ready for the upcoming spring, and Vegeta was probably breaking every bone in his body in the spaceship gravity room. As ill as Bulma was, she was glad to be left alone, but a part of her wished for some attention. She was sick after all.
And at that moment, her wish came true.
The door to the kitchen banged open and Bulma turned to see Vegeta stagger in, shirtless and swaying almost drunkenly. Stained bandages hung from his arms and torso and his eyes were hollow and bruised. He stood in the kitchen silently, staring forward as if he wasn’t sure where he was.
Bulma gazed at him for a few seconds, her stomach churning with worry at the mere sight of the haggard prince. Finally, after a full two minutes of standing still, Vegeta slowly traipsed toward Bulma, his eyes far away and body trembling slightly from the amount of strain he had put on it.
“Vegeta…I think you should go to bed.”
His eyes finally moved and they dropped to the feverish woman on the couch. His expression did not change. He gaped blankly.
“I think you should shut the hell up.”
“Wow, really nice,” Bulma barked. Turning around, she went back to watching TV, though her anger was building the longer Vegeta stood behind her.
Punching the couch, Bulma quickly looked over her shoulder to see what the saiyajin was doing. He simply peered down at her, his black eyes somewhat hazy; a bandage strip covering the bridge of his nose.
“Well, what do you want?” Bulma snapped.
“Your energy feels strange.”
His words were flat and emotionless. He wasn’t questioning her, but simply making a statement. The bandage upon his nose made his voice sound dull, his words a bit clogged as if he had a bad cold.
“I’m sick. I’ve had strep throat for the past four days. Of course, you wouldn’t have known that since you’re never around.”
Vegeta remained silent again and Bulma’s eyebrows lowered in concern at his seemingly disconnected behavior. She was about to ask him if he was ok, when he slowly craned his head to look at the staircase.
“I’m taking the ship.”
Bulma jerked in surprise and grabbed the TV remote, quickly silencing the flat-screen attached to the wall.
“Taking it? Taking it where?”
“To space.”
Bulma leapt to her feet and immediately closed her eyes as bright lights exploded in her vision. She had stood too quickly and the slight fever she still had did not help the head-rush.
“For how long?”
Vegeta shrugged and made his way to the stairs.
“Until I achieve the super saiyajin status. I need to relinquish my full power. I need a planet that can accept the extreme amount of damage I intend to make.”
Bulma hurried around the side of the couch and made her way to him.
“Vegeta, why don’t you just get some rest? Has it ever occurred to you that the reason you’re not a super saiyajin yet is because your body needs a chance to heal?”
“I AM NOT WEAK!” the warrior roared. His skin began to burn a bright red as he screamed in Bulma’s face. “Kakarot trained on a ship on his way to Namek under intense gravity. It was rage that triggered his transformation! If his body could handle it, then so can mine!”
He spun around and stomped up the stairs, though he stilled as frantic hands grasped his arm.
“You are not Goku, Vegeta!” she rasped. Her throat ached, but it wasn’t important to Bulma at that moment. “Goku’s a happy, optimistic man. He felt blinding, murderous rage when Krillin died and that’s what made him transform.”
The saiyajin prince ripped his arm from Bulma’s hold and glared down at her, his face twitching with rage.
“And you, you’re angry all the time,” Bulma continued. “I think your trigger will be something different. Perhaps extreme happiness. Maybe rest, relaxation, and contentment are what you need to become a super saiyajin.”
“You are a fucking idiot.”
Bulma took a step upward and shoved the agitated, muscled prince, surprised to see him actually stumble on the stairs a bit. “Pack up your shit and get the fuck out then. Go to space. Get captured by some space cops or blow yourself up or whatever.”
Vegeta stared at her incredulously. Not only had she physically attacked him, but she almost managed to knock him over in the process. His rage made his body quiver terribly, but at the same time he felt fascinated by the brash, young woman.
They had been sleeping together for almost two years and Vegeta felt conflicted with the emotions he felt towards her. The warrior had slept with various alien forms in his past, but he had never felt a connection to anyone in a romantic sense. There was something about Bulma Briefs that made him intensely interested in her. He could feel that she was far more invested in this “relationship” than he was, but it was moments like these that made him either want to rip her head or her clothes from her body. He always chose the latter, however.
Vegeta’s black eyes scanned her womanly form and a muscle in his jaw flexed as he peered down into the dark crevice where her pink robe met voluptuous breasts. He quickly took a step down and stumbled into her as his hot mouth pressed against her sternum.
“Whoa there,” Bulma whispered gently as she steadied his trembling form.
Vegeta’s naked torso was burning hot as it often was after intense training. And even when the saiyajin’s body cooled down, his skin was warm. She had always noticed that with Goku, as well. Whenever they had hugged or when she had clung to his body in terror during an absurd adventure, his saiyajin flesh radiated heat. Vegeta was on fire, though.
“Vegeta, are you o—”
Her words were silenced as his lips captured hers, his tongue quickly exploring her mouth. She leaned into him and let out a playful shriek as his strong hands pulled at her robe.
“Not here,” she laughed.
With an annoyed grunt, Vegeta easily picked her up and bounded up the stairs. At one point he bumped clumsily against a wall before kicking the control panel on the side of his door, almost hopping from foot to foot as the metal shield opened and allowed them entrance. The strong door slid closed and the two became one again, despite the fact that it turned out both had fevers.
………..
Bulma ran a finger curiously along the thick books that lined the shelf on Vegeta’s wall. It had been a couple hours since they finished their hot, wild, and slightly awkward sex. At first Bulma believed Vegeta was lacking his usual grace due to his brutal training sessions, but after their lovemaking, the saiyajin had crashed as if struck in the back of the head. Even when Bulma shook him and tried to get a response, he remained comatose, face buried in the pillows and an arm dangling over the side of the bed. Quietly she had exited his room and returned a few seconds later with a doctor’s grade ear thermometer. She quickly learned that the saiyajin prince was running quite a high fever himself.
“No rest and no recuperation,” she murmured as she ran her fingers through his thick, silky hair. “Add in a wave of sinusitis and strep throat and you got yourself a sick saiyajin.”
A rattling snore was all Bulma had received in response and she shook her head with a laugh. Now she gazed curiously at all the books her father had given the mercurial houseguest. After the entire incident two years ago, Dr. Briefs had avoided Vegeta at first. Any time the prince came around the corner, the old man found some excuse to quickly leave. If he did have to interact with the alien, he was beyond nice, making it obvious that he was trying to hide something.
After an uncomfortable year of this behavior, the old doctor once discovered the black-haired warrior in the dino-dome of Capsule Corporation, his gloved fingers plucking seeds and leaves from a few hybrid plants he and his wife planted year-round. Dr. Briefs stood quite a distance away and merely watched the saiyajin work; following the way Vegeta’s hands slid over the stems and leaves of the green, red, and sometimes blue plants. As if one with the earth on which he crouched, Vegeta collected the top leaves and buds from the spindly, scientifically grown shrubs, tossing the dismembered parts into a colorful bowl Dr. Briefs recognized as his wife’s party-dip dish.
The intelligent man stood fascinated as the saiyajin gently pinched and pruned the young plants, his movements so fluid and masterful. Taking a deep breath, Dr. Briefs slowly approached the young warrior, his curiosity winning over his fear of the universe’s most dangerous criminal. As the mustached man drew closer, the prince paused for a moment, but did not look up. Pretending that no one was staring at him, Vegeta continued his work.
After a couple minutes of unspoken silence, Dr. Briefs finally found his voice.
“These plants were genetically altered to be used in Capsule Corp.’s organic first aid ointments and salves. I…I never considered the idea of brewing them for herbal sustenance.”
Vegeta remained silent and the doctor felt the familiar rise of unease building within him. He hoped he hadn’t bothered the irrational saiyajin, but knowing Vegeta, he was probably annoyed to begin with.
“These plants are not natural.”
Vegeta’s statement held no judgment. It was just an observation.
“The horticulture department here is famously known for getting plants to breed with others. No chemicals are used. Capsule Corp.’s horticulturists create 100% organic plants,” the scientist explained with pride. “The plants are simply “retrained” to meld into one shrub that can create seeds, pollens, leaves, and juices used for medicinal purposes.”
“And herbal, too,” Vegeta added quietly. He never looked up to speak to the droopy-eyed doctor.
“Apparently so,” the old man replied. He continued to watch the saiyajin prince as he expertly communicated with the plants through touch alone. “Where did you learn this?”
Again Vegeta was silent and Dr. Briefs wondered if he had struck a nerve. Everyone knew Vegeta refused to speak about his past, and if the arrogant warrior didn’t want to talk, he clearly let you know.
“All saiyajins have an instinctual understanding of what a planet needs,” he explained. Dr. Briefs was shocked that the dark warrior was even speaking to him, much less patiently answering his questions. “You humans speak of five senses or six senses or whatever. I suppose you could call this a sense or a natural feeling—a language perhaps. Saiyajins are attached to the soul of the planet on which they reside. Elder saiyajins say it is tied to our ability to transform into animals of pure instinct; a communication between the moons of Planet Vegeta and the soil of the planet itself. Because of this, our base animal nature is what speaks to the needs of the planet.”
Floored by what he was hearing, Dr. Briefs could feel his genius curiosity setting in. Somehow he had caught Vegeta at an incredibly rare moment where he was receptive and open to questions.
“But saiyajins…well…considering what saiyajins do, or did…how is it—”
This time Vegeta finally looked up. Stilling his process of cultivating the plants, the saiyajin sat back on his haunches and considered the man before him for a moment.
“Saiyajins do not have a natural need to kill and destroy. We are a dominant species, yes, but saiyajins of the past only wanted to farm, brawl, drink, and compete. Someone saw the potential of brute, saiyajin strength and that’s when we became masters of the universe.”
“The saiyajins were used,” Dr. Briefs said softly. “They were discovered and their powers were exploited.”
“Heh.” Vegeta shook his head and turned his attention back to the shrubs lining the small pond within the dome. A curious dinosaur sniffed at Vegeta’s shoe and then pranced away. “You would have been loved by the third class saiyajins—especially the Nai-hareen tribe of tree-dwellers. They were always protesting the royal family and elite saiyajins, saying that we all needed to go back to the ways of farming and self-preservation. You should have seen it when they tried to blow up the space ports put in place by Kold and sons. I heard it was an epic era of third-class trash terrorism.”
“The upper-class saiyajins supported Frieza then?”
Vegeta nearly dropped the bowl in his hands as his head snapped up. “Of course not! We were the smart ones. We took the technology given to us and conquered planets. We went from saiyajins trapped on one big planet to rulers of the galaxy.”
“But under the Kolds’ watch,” Dr. Briefs pushed.
He knew he was treading on thin ice, but he was indescribably fascinated by the history lesson of the saiyajin race. Known for annoying his wife and daughter for insisting on watching old war movies and “boring” political shows on the History channel, the brilliant man was beyond excited to hear about the world of politics from the prince of an almost extinct race.
“Old man, listen closely,” Vegeta snarled. “The saiyajins and the Kold Empire worked as partners. Frieza, however, betrayed us like a coward. When that bastard showed up, he became afraid of us and our amazing strength. He was the one who revealed the true evil of the Kold family. By the time my father defied their empire…it was too late.”
Dr. Briefs smiled wistfully, but didn’t say anything. The prince was deluded. The Kold Empire never viewed the saiyajins as equals. Their end had been planned from the beginning. According to the sad tale, it had been the lower-class saiyajins who saw the dangers of the intergalactic empire at the very start, but as they were the “weak” warriors, their protests were ignored. The prince’s mindset mirrored the royals and elites of the saiyajin race, and it was clear that he still believed that they had chosen the right path in conquering planets, even though it had clearly cost the saiyajin prince everything.
“But you can “hear” what planets are saying, Vegeta,” Bulma’s father said, trying to bring them back to the original subject. “If that is a natural saiyajin instinct, then isn’t it unnatural to destroy?”
“The irony is not lost on me, old man,” Vegeta spoke clearly. He seemed to focus closely on his work as he talked to the nosy doctor. “But I am no ordinary saiyajin. I was created to be something different, something amazing. I am…not like the others.”
And it was true, Dr. Briefs thought sadly. Vegeta was not like any other saiyajin. He remembered watching the footage of Vegeta and Nappa’s battle against his daughter’s friends when he had first arrived on Earth. When the saiyajin prince had killed the little, green plant-men (saibamen, he recalled), the larger saiyajin had been shocked by his brutality. In what little footage he saw of Vegeta’s fight against Goku, the smaller warrior had been crazed and out-of-control. He had murdered his large, bald friend without a hint of regret and tortured Goku relentlessly. Dr. Briefs hadn’t met any other saiyajins besides Goku and Vegeta, but from the tales he had heard, the alien prince was a killer, through-and-through. He had had no remorse. He had been transformed into an emotionless killing machine.
Vegeta bragged about being a true saiyajin; a true warrior, but Dr. Briefs was beginning to realize that the saiyajin prince did not know how a true saiyajin behaved. He had been taken in by Frieza at such a young age that he had his natural saiyajin instincts beaten out of him. And from what Dr. Briefs was slowly learning, an average saiyajin did not want to murder or blow up planets—they simply wanted to fight and win. If anything…Goku was more of a true saiyajin than Vegeta. But Dr. Briefs would never voice that idea, lest he wanted to be a pile of soot in seconds.
Bulma remembered hearing this story from her father. She had been shocked that Vegeta had spoken so openly to her dad, but more so, she was stunned by the information. A new depth of understanding came into the picture and Bulma realized that the saiyajin race had not been a pile of blood-thirsty savages. They had different classes, political conflicts, and various moral and ethic ideals.
And where had Vegeta been during all of this? It was likely that he hadn’t been born yet. As a prince to the royal family, what, exactly, had he learned from his father and other high-class saiyajins? How much had he seen of his own home world before it was destroyed? And as he grew and changed, how much of his personality had been tainted and transformed by Frieza and his army?
Bulma peered down at the exhausted, sleeping saiyajin and her blue eyes filled with pity. He told anyone who would listen that he was the saiyajin prince, but what did that even mean? She was certain that even he didn’t know the answer.
After the eye-opening conversation, Dr. Briefs went on a mission and collected some of his favorite history books for Vegeta. He even ordered some giant novels and auto-biographies that might interest the warrior. Bulma could see that her father was beyond intrigued. He had a victim of war, political greed, and brainwashing present in his very home. No longer was Vegeta the dangerous, soulless creature who was attempting to hurt his daughter. He was now a sociological and psychological project to be observed.
Much to Bulma’s surprise, the arrogant fighter actually thumbed through many of the books. Before he began to train obsessively to the point of killing himself, the blue-haired woman would catch the saiyajin reading the history books in a tree in their yard or out on his balcony. Alone he would sip on his homemade tea, his dark eyes scanning the pages curiously. Vegeta seemed most interested in the histories involving war, but Bulma saw him eyeing the books of agriculture and ecosystems quite often.
She smirked as her finger ran along the spines of various books: The Rise of Hate Speech and the Fall of the U.S., Dinosaurs of 2134 A.D., Rolling over the Clock: Back to 0 A.D., and of course her favorite, Aliens Among us. The last book had an actual picture of Nappa and Vegeta’s space pods hurtling toward Earth. It was the only book her father had found that covered the episode that changed the lives of her and her friends forever. The book was poorly written, with crude illustrations and bizarre ideas. The inside flap of the book screamed, “The government is covering it up! How is it that no one is talking about the destruction of our city by these two space balls? A government conspiracy or aliens? You choose!”
Bulma’s smile grew and she gazed down at Vegeta. He was on his back now with an ice pack upon his forehead. She knew he would be pissed when he awoke to find that he had been babied in his sleep, but she couldn’t help it. He was always so adorable while he slept.
Bulma’s headache still thudded dully in her ears and her throat hurt. She hoped she hadn’t made Vegeta sicker, but he was a saiyajin. He would be fine. It was her illness that needed the attention. Perhaps the saiyajin’s unique brand of tea would be the perfect medicine for her.
Snapping her fingers, Bulma shuffled to the bathroom and took another dose of her antibiotic while yawning loudly. Her head had been so fuzzy over the past few days and she was eager to be done with the cursed strep throat. Pulling open her cabinet, Bulma took her birth control and then crawled into bed, draping herself over Vegeta’s prone form. Smiling at his relaxed expression, Bulma kissed his cheek and pressed her face into his strong neck.
She knew the androids would be arriving in a year, but found she didn’t care. Being with Vegeta brought her such peace; she knew nothing would ever get between them.

*Yes, I know this chapter is a bit strange. Like, is this still the same story? It’s just the calm before the storm.
Oh, and I also wanted to add one more thing. This hasn’t been an issue here, but on FF.net…they like to know who’s gonna be having sex with who in this story.
I’ve been labeled as a multi-shipper. That is true—I did not know there was a name for it. I like fanfics based off their plots, first and foremost. When I want to throw a random sex scene into a story, I will…and it could be any combination of genders or aliens or tentacles or what-have-you. So if you wanted a strictly yaoi story or a purely het story, you’ll be getting your hopes up with this one.*
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Resolution on a Lonely Planet