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Breaking the Prince (Part 2)	By : Doog Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2235 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball Z or any of its characters. I will not make a profit from this story.

Chapter List
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A/N: I wanted to answer a question that has come up: yes, this story operates within the canon timeline. Thank you for asking!
Chapter Two
Vegeta didn’t know why he’d woken up. His room was dark and silent, just as it had been when he’d begun to feel drowsy. He hadn’t moved much from his place against the wall, having only occasionally to adjust his limbs. Without a scouter he could not mark time, but he guessed that another day had passed since he’d injured himself in his sleep.
The panel at the side of the hallway door chirped again, and Vegeta’s eyes locked onto its lit screen across the darkness. It occurred to him that this was what had interrupted his sleep. Someone was outside. On the alert, he stood, his movement instantly triggering the lights.
Vegeta listened for any clues as to who might be waiting for him, but the only sound was when the panel chirped again. Hesitating only a moment more, he forced himself to move toward the panel, being careful to stay clear of the space directly in front of the exit. When he raised his hand to activate the comm, he paused again as his fingertips neared the screen.
A part of him did not entirely believe he had been returned to Freeza’s ship. The replication of Vegeta’s quarters would have been a simple matter, and it would make for a devastating trick. That he could control his ki again meant relatively little; Vegeta stood no chance in a direct confrontation. Not knowing what to expect, and still wondering if everything was as it appeared, Vegeta pressed two shaky fingers to the screen.
The comm bleeped as the connection opened, but Vegeta did not know what to say. It was difficult to remember what constituted normal communication after so many months of silence and hate-fueled defiance. “What is it?” he finally decided to ask. His voice sounded foreign and loud to him in the quiet of the small space. It was the first time he’d spoken since he had betrayed and humiliated himself. The thought made him want to bite off his tongue.
“Food for Vegeta-sama.” The servant’s voice was direct but submissive. Hearing the once-customary form of his name was unexpected. Though Freeza seemed to want to keep everything between the two of them, Vegeta had assumed that things would not simply return to the way they had been before.
Once Vegeta processed the way he had been addressed, he realized that the servant was delivering food. The idea of solid sustenance startled him. He had survived so long without it that he had forgotten his hunger.
Ready to react with violence, Vegeta slid his finger down the screen. The door split open to reveal a short alien of a species that was primarily used for tedious work. In his spidery hands he held the type of container used to transport food blocks. The servant’s face did not change when he saw that Vegeta was looking at him from the side of the door, nor did he say anything when Vegeta took the offered rations. The alien nodded and left, disappearing down the hallway. The mundane exchange stunned Vegeta, leaving him standing at his own doorway. He worked up the courage to lean forward enough to glance down the hallway. The main passageway of the ship was as he remembered it. He pulled back into his room, sliding his fingers over the screen. As the bright hallway disappeared behind the reforming “Y” of the door, curiosity gave way to reawakening hunger.
Guessing that he had probably been occupying his room without any sustenance for some days, Vegeta set the container down on his bedside table and took a seat next to it. He opened the package and found the usual neat rows of yellow blocks inside. He stared at them with increasing temptation, but found it difficult to initiate the task of eating. It had been an unknown eternity since he had been able to consume his own food. Eating was an activity that he had never thought of as pleasurable in itself, but it was difficult to take something for granted when it had been denied so absolutely. It had been so long since he had power over his own body, even to decide something as simple as when to eat, that he found it hard to ignore the fear that this offering was some new form of sabotage.
Saiyajin hunger finally overrode suspicion, and he took his first bite. When no initial ill effects came, he continued steadily. Unfortunately, pleasure bloomed into pain as his underutilized gastrointestinal tract struggled to remember its function. The protesting aches in his side had a dramatic effect on his appetite and he stopped.
Having eaten only a few blocks, he closed the container and returned to his seated post against the wall. He felt so pathetic for having to coddle himself, but he had little choice. The lights soon turned off, but sleep did not return. As his intestines continued to tighten uncomfortably, Vegeta sat in the dark and tried not to think of worms.
****

Vegeta pressed the tips of his fingers firmly into the side of his abdomen as a dull ache rolled through his gut. Sneering, he let the remnants of the high-density rations fall back into their case. He looked up from the diminished supply of food to the walls that still surrounded him. His bed remained untouched, his urge to sleep in a ready position not easing as the days ebbed away. Except when he was moving to the adjoining room or consuming small portions of food, the room’s lights forgot his presence, dimming or switching off. Sometimes, when he was sitting with his back against the wall in complete darkness, he almost forgot that he was no longer in a holding cell.
It was not unusual for the Prince to remain in his quarters on Freeza’s ship when he was forced to accompany the tyrant on long trips, so Vegeta had remained mostly undisturbed. His only visitor so far had been the servant with the food, but more were certain to come.
Vegeta’s first meal had been fairly painful, and his latest meal was much the same. He stood and moved to his default position against the wall, facing the side of the bed. The simple exertion of eating seemed to be enough to exhaust him. Though he knew that he would eventually have to eat, train, and fight in order to become the vehicle for his vengeance, it was difficult to find a foothold in his once-everyday life. Instead of focusing on his best course of violence, he found himself bogged down in fears of further humiliation. He often wondered at length how much of his ordeal was known by Freeza’s men. Though Freeza had seemed to keep the torture a secret, Vegeta was aware of the varied ways in which his torment could be prolonged and intensified by making it public.
When the the panel chirped to announce the arrival of another visitor, Vegeta was less on edge than he had been a few days before. He rose quickly and willed himself to walk directly to the panel. He leaned his weight into his touch of the screen. “Yes?” His voice sounded tense and impatient, an imitation of its normal tone for dealing with interruptions.
“Vegeta-sama, I am here to deliver your scouter,” an unfamiliar voice stated simply.
Scouter? Vegeta’s thoughts froze. An assignment?
Disregarding his confusion, Vegeta activated the door. It opened to reveal a low-level soldier standing respectfully stiff with a scouter in hand. The blue, scaly alien did not react to the fact that Vegeta was in shorts rather than his battle armor, and simply extended the device toward him. Vegeta stared at it for a few seconds before dropping his hand around the ear piece and taking it, continuing to look at it.
“You have been summoned to Freeza-sama’s control room at 15:00, in two hours’ time,” the soldier announced emotionlessly.
Vegeta’s head snapped up at this, but there was no reaction to gauge, no clues on the soldier’s stoic face as to what was coming. Realizing he was standing silently in front of a waiting underling, Vegeta forced himself to speak. “Fine. That will be...fine.”
The soldier nodded his acknowledgement and stepped back. Before leaving, however, he spoke again. “Congratulations, Vegeta-sama.” Stunned, Vegeta made no reply as the soldier tapped the outside panel and then turned away.
The door closed with a high-pitched swish, returning Vegeta to his solitude. He continued to stand just inside, his stare not leaving the spot where the soldier had been standing. Congratulations...for what? For a moment Vegeta feared this was a reference to his returned freedom, but it didn’t fit with the respectful attitude of the soldier. Vegeta was completely baffled, perhaps most of all by the soldier’s apparent sincerity. His stupor eventually gave way to curiosity at the scouter in hand. Everything was happening so quickly, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. His brow tensed as the full reality of returning to routine hit him. The idea of leaving his room, the only space in which he had enjoyed any safety in months, was daunting. The task of venturing out paled in comparison, however, to the greater challenge that was now imminent.
The one thing that he had tried to ignore, the reason for which he had no energy or desire to escape the monotony of his small room, had found him. The presence on the ship had been a distant but impending threat, one that he knew he would have to face before he could ever hope to be ready to fight again. The power of his tormentor had continued to smolder in his awareness. It was as if Vegeta could feel the terrifying ki through the thick metal walls of the ship, though he knew this was impossible. Even in the comforting familiarity of his quarters, he could not forget its ever-present threat to re-emerge, spilling his nightmares back into reality. Now, it was extending an upturned palm and curling a finger at him, beckoning for him to come to it.
Vegeta’s mind churned with thoughts that he had been too weary to consider, but now had no way to avoid. How could he face the creature that had robbed him of his physical glory, inflicted so much pain, and defiled him so heinously? What new and disturbing tortures had he yet to impose, each as equally beyond Vegeta’s imagination as all of the previous had been? What did the tyrant expect of the fallen prince? Vegeta wondered how he should act in the presence of his enemy. How could he be the proud royal he had always been, knowing that Freeza would always know his darkest moments: his pained and flushed face, his shuddering breath begging for mercy...
Just short of making himself ill enough to vomit in self-disgust, Vegeta forced his attention to the smooth material of the white and red scouter in the palm of his hand. Trying to take a deep breath, he brought the red screen to his left eye, hooking the bulk of the device to his ear. The weight of it was familiar, almost empowering, as though he were picking up a fragmented piece of his former self and putting it back into place. With a the push of a finger, the device beeped to activity, its screen casting Vegeta’s quarters in a red tint and overlaying it with scattered figures. Vegeta was initially overwhelmed by the flurry of information. His recent life had been long, uneventful spans of time interrupted only by mind-numbing pain; everything seemed to be moving so much faster than he remembered. Even the scouter’s clock, which documented the passage of seconds, seemed mesmerizingly accelerated.
After adjusting to his regained access to technology, Vegeta began to navigate the information specific to the scouter. He found that half of an hour had already elapsed since he had begun his panic over his inevitable encounter with Freeza. Vegeta was almost immediately distracted again when he found a cluster of files regarding a completely unfamiliar mission labeled “Giji.” He opened the first document, a summary of an alien race unknown to him but which apparently controlled several well-developed planets within one system. Is this my new assignment? Wary, he began to open the other documents, each detailing the various characteristics of each planet and its inhabitants, all of it foreign. It was a powerful race, with many advanced technologies that rivaled those used by the PTO; they were a daunting adversary. Vegeta’s theory of receiving an assignment dissipated, however, once he discovered that the bulk of the files detailed how the aliens were conquered across their planets. Vegeta glanced at the report from the first part of the take-over, his eyes widening. Panic pierced him once more as he re-read it, this time paying careful attention to the details: dates and names. Uncomprehending, he pulled up the next report, but it contained the same confusing, impossible information. Sweating now, Vegeta began to scan the reports in quick succession. He watched as the dates progressed, almost as quickly as the seconds on his clock had, until he finally came to the last report. His stomach twisted as he read the description of the methods used to eliminate the powerful race, then the itemized list of the spoils from the exploit. It was obvious that the mission had been a complete and overwhelming success, taking far less time than expected and garnering more benefits than initially projected. Turning back to the first few files, Vegeta confirmed that the group of reports spanned over the past year and a half. Finally, he read the summary, only days old, his head becoming light as he stared at the name at the end. It was the same name that had appeared in every file: Vegeta.
The stunned Saiyajin walked to his bed and sat down on it, facing the door. He had been gone for over a year and half. Freeza had tortured him for more than a year and a half. Vegeta was familiar with the sensation of waking from stasis after traveling a long distance, but this was different. He had been awake, and brutally aware, for the entire duration of his absence from his own life. After finding out how long it had actually been, he was feeling a new kind of defeat. He felt robbed.
Was that why he had received the “congratulations”? It made sense now. Freeza had said that no one had questioned his absence, and it was logical for Freeza to fabricate a fictional planet for him to conquer. Perhaps the “Gijijin” were a real race, and Freeza had simply employed someone else to do the dirty work so he could hand the credit to Vegeta. Whether Giji was real or not, it was perplexing to Vegeta why Freeza would go to such lengths to make him appear accomplished after spending so much time and effort to convince him that he was worthless.
Vegeta was forced from his fog of confusion when he noticed that almost another hour had passed, leaving him just enough time to dress and go to the control room without having to rush. He set the scouter down on the bed and regrouped his thoughts. Instead of focusing on his destination, he kept his mind preoccupied with the immediate steps required. His body felt numb, almost mechanical as he compelled his legs to carry him to the wall containing the compartment for his battle gear. Sliding it open with a light touch, Vegeta took in the sight of his immaculate armor, resting erect on a stand above neatly-folded bodysuits, white gloves, and white boots.
Glancing uneasily over his shoulder toward the door, Vegeta slipped off his black shorts. It was the first time he was naked since...No, he thought. He wouldn’t allow himself to think about it, to relive it. It was a struggle to keep his mind blank, to not allow the smooth sliding of the blue body suit over his thighs and abdomen to become caresses, violations. The sensation of it made him shudder slightly, but he forced his breath to remain steady. Before, when he put his suit on, he had thought nothing at making adjustments to the material, shifting it until it fit comfortably around his body. Now he hesitated to touch himself, to acknowledge the parts of his body that had participated in his betrayal. Looking down at himself in the skin-tight suit, the changes in his structure became starkly apparent. He looked small and undefined, his waist too thin and his limbs fragile. Though he had never been vain about his appearance, he had always enjoyed the rippling of his form beneath him and the confidence in his abilities that had accompanied it.
Vegeta lifted his battle armor off its pedestal and slipped it over his head. Though it stretched to fit him snugly, it disguised his wasting torso so that he almost appeared normal. He slid tight boots onto each foot and then lastly sheathed each hand in a white glove. Standing with his battle wear on, Vegeta felt at once comforted and sickened. The cocoon of reinforced, protective material allowed him to hide himself, to pretend that his body was the same as it had always been. However, the emptiness he felt inside poisoned the excitement and power he had always felt at donning his gear. His ritual of preparing for battle was now sullied by the uncertainty, self-loathing, and weakness that Freeza had instilled in him. Instead of regaining his former confidence, he felt his new reality infect another aspect of the past he had once enjoyed.
Light-headed, Vegeta reclaimed his scouter and turned to approach the exit. He pressed a gloved finger to the panel, having a fleeting flash of his hand grasping a syringe, of anticipation of guards just outside the door. He stepped out under the tall ceilings of the main hallway, which was, as it had been in his recent nightmare, devoid of any guards. Vegeta’s body turned to the left, knowing to follow the large, circular hallway to the other end of the ship. His quarters were located in the rear of the ship, where their distance from the other soldiers and the control room could afford him luxurious privacy.
As he walked steadily forward, Vegeta forced his breath to remain even despite the sensation that the hallway was devoid of air. His battle wear, now bulky compared to what had been his torture uniform of black shorts, exacerbated his sense that his gait was awkward and unnatural. Though Freeza had explicitly summoned him, he could not shake the dread that he was doing something that would lead to punishment. The hallway curved just enough that he could not see very far ahead, but he knew that he was nearing the control room faster than he could mentally process. He still had no plan of action, nothing to say to his tyrant, no way to prepare for what might be in store.
The first soldiers to come into sight came around the corner from the opposite direction, their faces immediately flashing timid recognition. Vegeta avoided making eye contact as they passed, hoping they would interpret his behavior to be his normal disregard and not self-conscious nervousness. Only a small smattering of soldiers came and went, going about their daily duties, as Vegeta walked the final stretch to the ship’s center of activity.
I am going to serve him again. The thought suddenly struck Vegeta with a force it has previously not. He was going to be doing the one thing that he had vowed again and again that he would never do. He had been able to rationalize it before, but it was difficult to accept when he was marching obediently towards his most hated enemy. It was absurd how he was willingly participating in what might be his own demise, but he had few alternatives, all of which he felt were born of cowardice. Even if this were some trick, some new torture meant to deepen his mental anguish, he could not allow himself to hide from whatever was going to find him anyway. Facing and submitting to Freeza was the only possible first step to get his vengeance; he could not kill Freeza now, so there was no other choice. Still, it was a struggle to reign in his wounded pride as he neared his destination. If there was one way in which he could be prepared, it was by at least guarding what little remained of his dignity.
Two tall guards stood at either side of the entrance. Vegeta was almost relieved that they did not question his arrival, that he did not have to convey to them somehow that he was to see Freeza. He wasn’t sure if he could have formed the words in that moment. The guards simply stepped further from either side of the door to allow Vegeta a clear path as the door slid open. Feeling his short stature as he passed between them, Vegeta stepped into the open space of the control center.
The first thing Vegeta noticed was the large purple dome that bubbled out from the outer wall, revealing a view of the expanse of space that had been concealed from him since his last real mission. After so much time in the confines of his quarters and the claustrophobic rooms of his torment, the tall, airy space sucked the breath out of him. He was again the child prince boarding his new ruler’s ship for the first time, but this time without the naive assurance that he was invincible.
What little blood had remained in Vegeta’s face drained out when he saw Freeza. He was sitting in his hover chair on the far side of the room, flanked by Zarbon and Dodoria, who were standing in unpleasant silence. Numerous workers sat at the computers that lined the wall, but they didn’t turn away from their work. Vegeta willed himself to keep moving steadily across the room. His eyes remained mostly trained on Freeza, but flickered to the sides, looking for a group of medics or soldiers. Only a few soldiers present seemed to notice him, including a purple one with small antennae-like protrusions from either side of his face who was standing near the far corner of the room. He flashed a look of disdain at Vegeta before the Saiyajin prince’s attention became completely consumed with Freeza, who was currently smiling with his fingers interlaced in his lap.
Vegeta wasn’t sure how close to Freeza to stop; everything was unnatural and unpracticed. The comfort he had enjoyed when he had supposedly possessed Freeza’s favor had completely evaporated. Mimicking what remained in his memories of his previous life, Vegeta stopped to stand a couple of meters away. Though it tore at the shreds of his honor, it was a welcome relief to break eye contact with Freeza’s glinting eyes to kneel on one knee and bow his head. The familiarity of the act that had directly preceded his ordeal made his heart pound faster. He tried to swallow before speaking, but his saliva caught in his throat. He forced the greeting, fearing it would not be appropriately loud and sound fearful. “Freeza-sama,” he said simply, and to his relief, it sounded tired, if not relaxed. The respectful suffix came out smoothly, to his self-disgust.
“Vegeta,” Freeza replied simply, acknowledging Vegeta’s bow so that the prince could rise again. Vegeta made eye contact once more, trying to keep his face neutral until he could discover Freeza’s intentions. He knew that this summons was just another one of Freeza’s games, but he could not yet be sure which one Freeza was playing. “How have you been, Vegeta?”
The outwardly casual question caught Vegeta off guard. Feeling his skin buzzing, he retained his neutral expression. “Well... I have been well, Freeza-sama,” he finally decided to remain vague. Is he going to expose me? What does he mean by asking such a thing? He could feel a muscle near his right eye tense.
“I am pleased to hear that. I was concerned when you returned from your mission. It seems you had not been eating with your normal appetite. It can not be denied, however, that the results were excellent.” Freeza’s smile curled higher. Vegeta tried to keep up, but was having difficulty processing what Freeza was saying. Freeza was pretending that he had been on a successful mission after all. He was also pointing out Vegeta’s apparent loss of mass, expressing mock-concern; or had he been watching Vegeta eat in his room? He brushed aside the question, knowing that it would be better to consider it later. Vegeta tried to swallow again, but his throat was painfully tight, so he cleared his throat instead. Freeza seemed to pretend this was Vegeta’s attempt at humility, and continued.
“I have always thought you were a powerful soldier, Vegeta—” Freeza moved his interlaced fingers up so he could rest his chin on them, “—but I feel that you have exceeded my expectations this time. Your performance has truly impressed me.”
Vegeta felt his gloved hands at his sides clench into fists, but quickly smoothed his fingers out again. When his hands began shaking, he clenched them again. He couldn’t let Freeza see him react.
“I will even go so far as to say that none of my other men could have completed the Giji mission in as little time as you did,” Freeza continued, tilting his head playfully.
Zarbon faltered at this, turning an indignant, open-mouthed expression to the back of Freeza’s head, then an enraged glare at Vegeta. Dodoria’s nose wrinkled as he bared his teeth in disbelief at being considered less skilled than a Saiyajin. Vegeta remained still, struck with the implications of the henchmen’s reactions.
They don’t know. They have no idea, he realized in wonderment. They are...jealous. Relief from his shame being kept a secret was quickly replaced with the implication of Freeza’s words. The private irony with which Freeza spoke of Vegeta’s strength was maddening in itself, but there was a darker implication. Was it actually possible that Freeza had allotted more time to break him down, and Vegeta had crumbled ahead of schedule? The previously-inconceivable idea was devastating. Vegeta could feel his forehead drawing tightly inward, betraying the painful twist of Freeza’s insults. He knew that he should speak, that he would have thanked Freeza had it all been real, that he had to play his part to keep the facade intact, but he could not bring himself to do it. Instead, his mouth remained tightly closed, the muscles of his jaw bulging slightly.
“Which is why,” Freeza ignored Vegeta’s silence, “I am assigning you to the single most important mission currently facing my organization.” Freeza’s voice was more serious. Though it was spoken as a reward for Vegeta’s supposed efforts, he could hear the edge of challenge in Freeza’s words. “You will receive the details shortly. Be sure to rest and prepare yourself. I am confident you will demonstrate the full capabilities of the Saiyajin race.” Freeza’s eyes held Vegeta’s, his poised malice paralyzing before he calmly turned his hover chair away. Zarbon turned haughtily, while Dodoria made sure to catch Vegeta’s eye to sneer menacingly one more time.
“Oh, and Vegeta,” Freeza spoke with his back turned. Dodoria stiffened momentarily, obviously nervous that his ruler might have caught him glaring at his favorite warrior. “Your father would be proud.” Freeza’s cruel smile was apparent, even through the back of his chair. Dodoria’s unease melted into smugness before he, too, turned away.
Vegeta was left standing, dismissed but too stunned to leave. Almost afraid to believe that he was being allowed to walk away, he slowly turned toward the exit; he could feel Freeza’s hatred burning into his back all the way to the door. His return to his quarters was completed in shocked silence as new realizations washed over him. He could not believe that Freeza was actually concealing his humiliating ordeal. Such a limit to Freeza’s cruelty seemed ridiculous compared to what he had already gleefully done. What did Freeza care of his men knowing that his pastimes included torture? Didn’t he revel in the fear that he inspired in his enemies and allies alike?
Suddenly more exhausted than he had been since first waking up on the ship, Vegeta entered his room before he could realize that he had already reached it. As he stood just inside and the door closed at his back, Dodoria’s face flashed through his memory. Dodoria, and probably Zarbon, seemed to know the fate of his race. Why else would he smile at the mention of his dead father? Vegeta’s head began to throb.
Everything was back to normal, but it had all been twisted. Was this how it had always been? Had every word Freeza had ever spoken been such an obviously sarcastic, back-handed insult? Had every praise, every smile been a sick inside joke about his life? Is this how it had always been, and he had been too stupid to see through it? Did he only now recognize it as a nightmare because he had just been returned from one? It had been days since his supposed deliverance from an endless cycle of torture, and Vegeta was still finding it difficult to tell the difference.
The scouter still on his face bleeped, its screen flashing as it received a group of files. Vegeta instantly recognized them as detailing his next mission. Though he did not access any of them, the sheer number was an indication of how challenging the assignment would be. He could already feel his resolve for vengeance being buried by the simple obstacles of keeping up with his normal life. He tore off the scouter, holding it in his lap as he sat down on the edge of his bed. He wanted to rub his temples with his gloved fingers, but couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being observed, so didn’t.
Vegeta let time drift, trying to find some relief in the fact that his meeting with Freeza was over with little more than private insults to his pride. It could have been far worse...He tried to not think about how. Realizing suddenly that he was losing focus, he replaced the scouter and began the tedious process of studying the information provided about his next target. If he had to play Freeza’s games while working towards his moment of vengeance, so be it.
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Breaking the Prince (Part 2)