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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
- 15
- 16
- 17
He stood upon the protruding overhang of the red, sandstone ledge, silently glaring into the distance, but seeing nothing but his defeat.
Vegeta had trained for so long, pushed his body and mind to the limit, and almost lost his life so many times to achieve the super-saiyajin status. He had succeeded…but failed where it mattered. The warrior’s deep, chocolate locks shivered slightly in the hot air of the deep valley. Vegeta lowered his eyes.
He had been standing on this dusty rock for nearly three days. If his body ached, Vegeta did not recognize the discomfort. He had had many similar moments such as this throughout his life; moments where the stress, anxiety, and gripping defeat stilled his body, tightened and steeled his muscles, and made it nearly impossible for him to move. Overcome with paralyzing humiliation and panic, the short man found that he could suddenly sense every subtle movement within in his body, but could no longer move his head, arms, or legs—as if millions of eyes were glaring down on him, judging and cursing and laughing.
And so he stood: concentrating on everything and nothing. The battle against the female android played clearly in his mind. He had felt happiness. Yes, a rare emotion for him, but that was the only thing Vegeta could call it. Killing the fat Android 19 had been so very thrilling that he had moved too quickly in charging Android 18 head-on. The prince’s mouth trembled as a sudden image of his arm being snapped in half exploded within his mind, the break of his bone mimicking that of a broken tree branch.
And the worse part…everyone had witnessed his humiliation—everyone but Kakarot. Vegeta’s fists clenched involuntarily. The third class idiot had been sleeping peacefully somewhere while the others were getting their asses handed to them. Like the buffoon he was, Kakarot hadn’t prepared himself for the heart virus, even with a warning of his impending doom AND an antidote three years in advance. The fool allowed himself to become ill. The smiling, brainless Earth saiyajin had no pride and it sickened Vegeta that someone so powerful (a saiyajin, no less!) had almost died from disease.
‘It is Kakarot’s fault that I was defeated,’ Vegeta thought angrily to himself.
The arrogant prince knew there had to be some proof behind his unspoken accusation, but he couldn’t actually think of a reason why it would have been Goku’s fault really.
“I should have stayed in space,” Vegeta hissed. His burning eyes glared into the ground. “I should have left the woman and her brat and all her friends to die.”
…………….
5-Months Ago
Yamcha was angry…which made Bulma even more annoyed with him. The two had met for lunch, having not seen each other in almost a year. Bulma had been excited, yet nervous at the same time. She was just about to go into the seventh month of her pregnancy and there was no way she would be able to hide the enormous bulge of her stomach.
She expected Yamcha to be surprised…even joyful at the sight of her. The man was still seeing a therapist quite often and his outlook on life had grown more cheery as time passed. When they spoke to each other over the phone, he sounded like the same boyish, optimistic man he had always been.
One look at her stomach, though, had brought forth a very familiar personality in Yamcha, and Bulma admitted that she should have told him the news before they had met face to face. The lunch started out ok; Bulma doing most of the talking while Yamcha picked at his food and responded with monosyllabic words.
“Fine. Spill it,” Bulma snapped as she tossed her napkin onto her now empty plate. Leaning back, the blue-haired woman eyed the sulking man before her.
After a couple minutes of tense silence, Yamcha finally lifted his eyes and shook his head coldly.
“What were you thinking, bringing a child into a situation like this?”
Bulma couldn’t even respond. Shaking her head at him, she lifted her hands up, clearly signaling for him to elaborate.
“Vegeta’s memory could come back any day—”
Bulma groaned loudly, earning a few annoyed glares from nearby diners.
“What are you guys going to do when this kid is like, 12, and Vegeta suddenly remembers everything that happened to him?”
“Again with Vegeta’s memory coming back,” Bulma growled. “Statistically speaking, if his memories haven’t been unlocked yet, they never will be.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. Why would a wish on the dragonballs ‘wear off?’ It’s not as if Vegeta’s brain is slowly chipping away some kind of force-field that’s holding his memories captive. It’s almost been three years since you called the dragon, Yamcha. And your wish is still holding true. Each year that passes is proof that nothing is going to suddenly break through Vegeta’s mind and reveal everything that happened.”
Yamcha’s face grew red with anger. He hated it when Bulma spoke to him like a child, but he hated it even more when his ex-girlfriend was right. Still, there were other reasons he was angry with this situation.
“Piccolo was pissed that you used the dragonballs for something “selfish,”’ Bulma continued. “He just said all that stuff to scare you.”
A waiter came by and began clearing the table for the couple. Bulma gave the employee a curt smile and then returned her gaze to Yamcha. The handsome man was still pouting. So often she wanted to smack him in the face when he forced that miserable expression. He was such a child sometimes.
“Look, I just want what’s best for you guys,” Yamcha muttered. “It was great when you both started dating—”
“I wouldn’t describe what Vegeta and I have as dating,” Bulma laughed.
“But now you’re bringing a kid into the picture. How…how did you two even plan this?”
Bulma blushed and held a tolerant smile on her face, but her eyes were drawn downward with embarrassment.
“We didn’t. It was an accident.”
“How is that even possible? You were always so adamant about never having children that you made sure practically every country we’ve been to had a pharmacy with your birth control pills in stock.”
“There was confusion with an antibiotic I was on for strep throat,” Bulma blurted loudly, as she threw her arms in the air, “and apparently saiyajin sperm is super strong and can bypass all natural laws of biology! We were both sick and had to pass the time somehow—”
“Ma’am, if you’d please lower your voice a bit. Thank you.”
Yamcha couldn’t stop his grin as Bulma sank low into her seat as a haughty host swept past their table, nose in the air.
Red-faced and embarrassed, Bulma continued in a hurried whisper. “Anyway, so my doctor told me that the antibiotic most likely would not affect my birth control. After some lab tests, I discovered that this would have been true had I been sleeping with a human. The science of the situation is far too complicated to go into. Regardless…I got knocked-up.”
“So you decided to keep it.”
“Yes, I decided to keep it!” Bulma hollered, before quickly sinking almost underneath the table as the pretentious host shot an angry sneer in her direction. “Yes. I love Vegeta. I want to have his child.”
Yamcha’s face immediately fell and Bulma felt her stomach clench at the sheer pain that burned within his black eyes. It was the same shadowy expression he had held throughout the awful weeks following the horror that occurred in Capital Forest.
“You always said you hated kids and would never have them, whenever I asked. But that wasn’t it. You just didn’t want to have children with me.”
Bulma felt angry and guilty at the same time. Yamcha knew how to turn on the sad, puppy-dog act as easy as a light-switch. But she still cared for him deeply and understood how betrayed he felt. While they were no longer dating, they were still extremely close friends.
“I wasn’t ready to have kids then. WE were not ready. And now I am…”
Yamcha nodded and folded his hands together on the table. The waiter returned with the check. Yamcha reached for it, but Bulma snatched it up first. Her large eyes scanned the small receipt and she placed a credit card in the black folder, before sliding the bill to the corner of the table. Bulma usually paid for their meals when they had been dating, as she was the one who had been working and making enormous amounts of money since she was quite young.
Yamcha could say he was hurt mostly by the fact that Bulma truly loved Vegeta more than she had him. But deep within the black-haired fighter, he still felt a strong, bold urge to protect the saiyajin prince. Not that Yamcha believed Bulma was going to hurt him anymore; Yamcha knew that someday…somehow the proud soldier would get his memory back. And Yamcha wanted—no, needed to be there to support the tormented prince. He had failed to protect Vegeta so many times. And even though it appeared that Vegeta was the strongest he had ever been, Yamcha knew how fragile the saiyajin’s mind and soul could be when pushed too far.
So many people had hurt him, and even now Vegeta was still vulnerable to the terror that lay hidden in the depths of his mind. Bulma and her father had controlled Vegeta’s energy with the same device created by the madman who tortured him. Vegeta had absolutely no idea what role Bulma had played in lending a hand to his secret suffering, and Yamcha found that while he was hurt by the idea of Bulma having someone else’s child…he was more disturbed by the fact that Vegeta was unknowingly having a child with the very person responsible for his past agony and anguish. To Yamcha, it seemed that Vegeta’s body had been used against his will again, even though the prince had no recollection of the horrors that had befallen him.
“Yamcha?”
Slowly, the scar-faced fighter looked up. Forcing a dull smile upon his face, he suddenly felt so exhausted.
“What does Vegeta think of all this?”
Bulma shrugged absentmindedly and ripped at her napkin a bit.
“He’s mostly acting like it’s not his. So, basically, he’s treating me the same. He is annoyed, but he acts like I got myself pregnant somehow.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Bulma replied casually. “Maybe once the baby actually comes, Vegeta will change. He’s beyond obsessed with becoming a super-saiyajin, so most of the time I think he doesn’t even notice my growing belly. My dad and I are doing all kinds of repairs to the ship and then Mr. Saiyajin Prince will be shooting himself into space.”
Yamcha jerked in surprise. “Why?”
“To train,” Bulma said with a shrug. She didn’t notice the way Yamcha deflated as he relaxed. “Which is a shame. His line of tea is really bringing in the doe from our food distribution department.”
When Yamcha quirked a curious eyebrow, Bulma laughed and explained. “It seems that saiyajins are natural farmers and horticulturists. Vegeta makes extremely good tea. My dad and I asked if we could market it and he just shrugged and walked away. So I can’t say he doesn’t earn his keep anymore.” She laughed again. “Man, I hope everything works out. Vegeta is becoming such an asset to the company, my dad has fallen in love with him….everything just seems to be coming together. I hope…I hope we beat the androids and Vegeta really becomes one of the good guys.”
………………….
‘No…a crying, weakling brat just isn’t enough,’ Vegeta thought bitterly. ‘Now I have a teenaged version of the crying, weakling brat.’
Trunks had landed several hours ago and made the mistake of striding right up to Vegeta to ‘talk.’ The prince was amazed by how quickly the paralysis of his anxiety-riddled body left him as the lavender-haired boy began to speak. An ON-button was pushed and the wild-haired saiyajin landed a swift kick to Trunks’s ribs, sending the demi-saiyajin staggering back to his original rocky seat. The fool only attempted to coax his father from the mountainside a few more times, but he was met with the same animosity.
It took both saiyajins by surprise when Goku’s energy instantly appeared nearby. Vegeta steadied himself and composed his features into haughty indifference. His childish son, though, might as well have been doing cartwheels in excitement as the hero of Earth approached and sparked conversation with the young swordsman. Vegeta could easily hear what they were saying. He didn’t care if his future son felt hurt, alone, and ignored. He didn’t care that the boy obviously saw Kakarot as a god. Vegeta only really became agitated when the third-class decided to pay him a visit personally.
Vegeta wasn’t intimidated by the grinning idiot, but he felt uneasy around the other full-blooded saiyajin. In all honesty, the two really did not know each other. Only in group settings had they ever communicated, and it was usually Kakarot saying something asinine and Vegeta threatening to kill him. But in the few instances Vegeta had spoken directly to his rival, it always seemed to occur when he was at his weakest. As someone who survived on pride alone, the saiyajin prince knew that to speak to the empathetic person that was Kakarot, meant speaking to his own fears, shame, and humiliation.
“Hey, Vegeta!”
The prince didn’t even flinch. Instead, he remained staring out into the rocky abyss of deserted land. As Goku’s feet touched down behind him, Vegeta frowned. When was the last time he had actually spoken to his hated rival face-to-face? When Trunks warned them about the androids? No…it was when he had awoken in the infirmary at Capsule Corporation. It had been after Vegeta almost destroyed the Briefs’ lab—then the fight he could not remember.
Not a single warrior of Earth ever told him the details of this alleged, crazed conflict, but it had occurred between the two men standing together on the cliff-side. This was the first time they were speaking directly to each other since that strange, confusing day. Whatever had actually happened was only held within Kakarot’s memory. Vegeta’s blocked thoughts had never recovered.
Knowing this, the prince felt his anger rise. “Leave me alone, Kakarot!”
“Aw, come on, Vegeta,” Goku responded playfully. “Look, I know you’ve been up here a long time…and I think I know what you’re trying to do.” When the shorter saiyajin twitched slightly, Goku smiled, knowing that he had piqued Vegeta’s interest. “There’s a place I used to go as a child. It’s called Kami’s. On his lookout, there is this amazing room that allows anyone who enters a full year of training in just one day.”
Vegeta finally moved and he gazed over his shoulder, his dark eyes narrowing as he swept his gaze over Goku as if he were an insect.
“I would be able to ascend to a level beyond a super-saiyajin quickly,” Vegeta said to himself. As one who absolutely refused to ask politely, the armor-clad warrior demanded that the smiling Earthling take him to this magical place immediately.
“I will,” Goku laughed. “But only two people can go in at once.”
Vegeta’s stomach sank. If this idiot was about to suggest that they go in together…
“You and Trunks can go in first. Gohan and I will follow.”
“If this is some kind of trick…”
Goku laughed and flicked his hand at Vegeta coyly. “When have I ever tricked you, Vegeta?”
The prince glowered at the annoying person, even though he knew he was right.
“Still…if you’re lying, I will reduce you to a pile of ashes.”
Goku’s smirk looked a bit forced suddenly as the suspicious warrior questioned his honest intentions. “I would never lie to—everyone needs to fight together.” Goku’s eyes dropped momentarily to the ground, his black bangs covering his face. When he looked up, his happy expression was back in place. “I’m not lying about this room at all. I promise.”
…………………
The hyperbolic time chamber. To Trunks it was a place of nightmares. To Vegeta it was Hell….and he loved every second of it.
The two had barely kept track of their time in the vast emptiness of this strange dimension. Trunks felt like they had been training and torturing their bodies for a year already. According to the hourglasses that decorated the pallid, lonely space, the two warriors had been in there for perhaps four months.
And not once did Vegeta allow his son from the future to train with him. Almost daily, the purple-haired punk would ask, no, beg to spar, the elements of the mercurial dimension driving the peaceful earthling mad. The temperature was erratic and the pure white environment often reacted to their emotions. When Trunks was desperate for escape, tendrils of thorns and ivy would appear out of nowhere and ensnare him. When Vegeta was furious, the once blank, empty air would explode in flames. Trunks never knew if he was hallucinating or if the horrible prison itself was alive. He feared that one day, he would be swallowed whole.
Yet Vegeta would only doze here and there before suiting up and striding out into the lonely whiteness, almost eager to destroy his body and mind. Trunks would sit on the front steps of the small pavilion that rested in the bleak “land,” and just watch as Vegeta’s muscled form grew smaller and smaller as he walked calmly into never-ending space.
Trunks would then follow him, urging his aching body to stand and move even though all it wanted to do was rest. He had to show his father that he had saiyajin blood. Royal blood. Someday, his father would see the warrior in him and understand the strength Trunks held. If only he would allow them to train together.
Over the endless days of mindboggling torment, the two warriors pushed themselves harder and harder. Trunks had become more forceful in his attempts to train hand-to-hand against the saiyajin prince. He usually received a curt NO in response or sometimes the back of his father’s hand against his head. But on this particular day, Vegeta spun and kicked the young fighter directly in the chin just as he was opening his mouth to make his common request. As Trunks’s teeth slammed together and his head flew back, another shattering strike met his stomach. With a pained screech, the long-haired demi-saiyajin was thrown back, his bare arms skidding along the pure white ground, leaving trails of blood as he slid to a stop on his face a few feet away.
Vegeta lowered his fist and eyed the boy as he remained motionless. With his lips pressed together in anger, Vegeta’s body trembled. He would never let the obnoxious kid know, but he was nearly ready to collapse. He had been training intensely, non-stop, for three days. No food, no sleep, and very little water. The wild temperament of his environment had gotten the better of him, the hyperbolic time chamber mirroring the madness of his mind. Vegeta had been burned, frozen, nearly strangled, and almost suffocated as his mind betrayed him and stirred up the most vile (and creative) materials and components in which to torture him.
So needless to say, he was not expecting Trunks to suddenly disappear from where he lay and phase-in behind him. Vegeta barely had time to flinch before his son’s yellow boot struck him in the side of the head, sending him crashing into the hard, unbreakable floor. Two steps. The Capsule Corp. boots appeared again, but this time Vegeta was ready. Shoving his hands into the ground, the dark-haired prince was airborne, violet energy sizzling between his gloved hands.
He had been working on a new attack, but hadn’t quite gotten the Final Flash under control. He would make do with the Galick Gun. But as he charged the energy, Vegeta caught a glimpse of sharp blue eyes before they quickly disappeared.
“Shit.”
Again the kid appeared behind him. Spinning, Vegeta launched his wild energy, the wavering, fuchsia blob completely shapeless as it only pushed Trunks back slightly. There was a moment of silence as Vegeta bristled with anger and, he came to realize, a little bit of fear. The son he hardly knew glared at him, his ice-blue eyes shadowed as long, lavender bangs framed his face. There was something unsettling about the animalistic fury shining in Trunks’s eyes. Vegeta couldn’t place it, but he felt ill suddenly, as if he had seen those sharp, clever, pale irises before.
He did not have long to think about it, though, before the taller warrior attacked.

“-ather!...”
The voice was dim and far away.
“Father! Come on. Wake up!”
The arrogant prince wasn’t quite sure what had happened. His mind was clouded and his body felt heavy. When he opened his eyes, everything was a blur. It was too bright. His skull was pounding and there was someone hovering over him speaking far too loudly.
Trunks was talking to his groggy, disorientated father, but he could tell that Vegeta still wasn’t fully coherent. Still, he needed the man to focus on his voice to stay awake.
Vegeta could hear muffled words. They sounded far away. The voice echoed, as if someone was calling to him lightly within a giant, enclosed gymnasium. The words were so confusing and Vegeta felt like dozing for a moment or two.
“No, no,” Trunks whined. “Even in your sleep you’re arrogant. And you were doing so well for a second there.”
The voice was keeping Vegeta somewhat lucid. He couldn’t discern what was being said, but he was holding onto the annoyed, agitated words that echoed throughout his mind.
“And you were behaving so well!” This sudden snide voice filled Vegeta’s mind clearly, as if someone had said it directly into his ear. “Did that nap make you tighter, monkey-boy?”
Forcing his eyes open once more, the injured prince saw two blue orbs staring down at him. For a moment they appeared concerned, warm…caring. But as the pain thudded miserably in his head, Vegeta was struck with a vision of similar eyes—the exact same color, yet entirely different. Cruel, greedy, dangerous eyes.
“Now will you do everything we want you to do, like a good boy? Stomach wounds take hours, as I’m sure you know. You are a supposed great warrior after all.”
Jolting upward, Vegeta’s wide eyes stared blankly ahead, his heart racing. Peering into a vast nothingness of white space, the saiyajin prince remained in a state of shocked confusion until someone gently shook his shoulder. Blinking himself out of the bizarre stupor, Vegeta immediately brought his mind and body under control. He had already forgotten what urged him to sit up so suddenly anyway.
“Father,” Trunks murmured. “Are you ok?”
The armor-clad saiyajin peered at his worried son and then examined his own body, his expression neutral even though he was slowly remembering what happened. Trunks fought him. It wasn’t a spar. It wasn’t training. He had attacked…and Vegeta was completely defenseless.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were already injured?” Trunks demanded.
Vegeta shrugged the teen’s hand off his shoulder and he stood, regretting the action immediately as a wave of dizziness made him almost black out. Strong arms encircled his shoulders and chest and the prince grumbled angrily as his tall, powerful son helped him stumble his way back into the domed domicile they shared.
“What makes you think I was injured?” Vegeta snapped.
Trunks remained silent for a moment, his guilt radiating from him like light from a lamp.
“In my fury I couldn’t sense how weak—I mean, how drained you were. I figure that since it only took me three hits to knock you out, you must have been pushing yourself so hard these past few days. Then, when I really thought about it, I hadn’t seen you within the home for, what, three days? Four? I realized that you were…are dehydrated, starving, and exhausted.”
Vegeta growled and grumbled some more, but found himself too tired to try and prove his son wrong. And how could he? Trunks was absolutely correct. So he allowed the young fighter to help him into the living quarters of the hyperbolic time chamber, but he made certain not to thank him. He didn’t want the kid to get soft and think he had somehow won him over. Though, the half-breed was extremely powerful and Vegeta found that his future son’s temper was just like his. Perhaps he wasn’t as pathetic as Vegeta believed.
“Get some rest, Father,” Trunks instructed. “I think this will be a good chance to focus on meditation and mental training.”
“Whatever.”
……………..
Vegeta slept longer than he had wanted. He blamed that fact on his son and chose to ignore the boy as he stumbled into the bathroom for a shower. Trunks constantly wanted to “talk.” It was obvious that he had been raised by Bulma, another person who absolutely refused to leave him alone. What was it with Earthlings and their desire to be so open with their feelings?
The saiyajin prince groaned in pain as he washed the blood and sweat from his aching body. He felt more energized than he had before, but the long rest had made his torn muscles and strained joints so sore. Again, he blamed this problem on his son even though it had been Vegeta, and Vegeta alone, who pushed himself too far.
The heat of the shower-spray helped ease his tension slightly and the prince wasted no time in devouring all the food he could get his hands on once he was dry and wrapped in a robe. Vegeta could feel Trunks’s eyes on him and he continued to feast as if no one else was in the time chamber with him.
“Have you ever done image-training before?” the violet-haired warrior asked.
Vegeta paused, wondering if he should just walk away as if he heard nothing…but this concept of training was something he had never heard of before. Trunks took advantage of his father’s hesitation and continued.
“I guess when Gohan and Krillin were on their way to Planet Namek, they couldn’t do a lot of intense sparring on the ship. So they connected minds and “fought” each other mentally.”
Vegeta scoffed and gazed down at the young man sitting on the beige couch in the ‘living room’ of the chamber.
“Fat lot of good that did.”
Trunks’s open expression fell and he scowled at the arrogant prince.
“Anyway, when I was younger, Gohan would train me in the same way. I think we should try it.”
“And why would I want to do that?” Vegeta growled. “There’s no point in sparring unless it’s physical. Saiyajins’ bodies get stronger after every battle, even if they are defeated. This image-training sounds completely pointless.”
Trunks stood angrily. “Training and focusing your mind is just as important as physical skill. Without a clear head, a warrior’s actions are useless, too.”
“And that concept really seemed to help everyone in your time,” Vegeta replied coldly. “They were all sitting around on their asses playing shadow-puppets in each other’s heads and becoming physically weaker. Even poor, dear Gohan met his end,” Vegeta sneered. “Let’s see how this imagination-fighting helps you when you return to your time.”
Vegeta grinned cruelly as Trunks’s face turned red with anger. The arrogant prince definitely struck a nerve and seeing the rage on his emotional son’s face was priceless.
“And you were killed, too!” Trunks circled the couch and stood at the base of the short steps that led to the time-chamber’s kitchen. Vegeta stood tall over him, but the half-breed saiyajin did not feel intimidated in the least. “Clearly your useless style of “training” didn’t work too well either. You turned super-saiyajin for the very first time in the battle against the androids. I heard you had a full five minutes of glory in your newfound form before 17 ripped you apart.”
Vegeta snarled in fury and took a step forward, wincing slightly as the muscles in his legs screamed in protest. The two fiery opponents glared at each other, their powers spiking and bodies tense as they measured each other’s strengths and weaknesses.
“I’ll do this image-training garbage with you to prove how pointless it is,” the glowering prince snapped. “Then, once I’m 100%, we fight, fist-to-fist, and I will show you how strong I have become with my apparent “useless” form of training.”
Jerking in surprise, Trunks hadn’t anticipated his father viewing his words as a challenge. The young warrior was slowly learning that Vegeta could easily be persuaded into almost anything if goaded with the prospect of competition. Trunks smirked, his tan face identical to his father’s usual, arrogant façade. As the swordsman cracked his and knuckles and made his way to the carpeted floor of the domed home, he peered at the short, fuming saiyajin.
“I suggest you change into something a bit more fitting for battle,” Trunks mused, his blue eyes sweeping over the plain robe Vegeta wore. “As this is real training, you will most likely work up a sweat.”
Growing angrier, the prince reddened in the face and he quickly glanced at what he was wearing. With a loud growl, he spun and disappeared into one of the bedrooms.
“Fucking little prick.”
- 15
- 16
- 17
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Resolution on a Lonely Planet