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Friends	By : ladyvegeets Category: Dragon Ball Z > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2134 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Obviously I don’t own DBZ or the characters - they belong to Akira Toriyama, Funimation and Toei Animation as far as I know. No profit is being made from this fic.

Chapter List
- 26
- 27
- 28
Friends - an AU Vegebul Highschool Fanfic by LadyVegeets
Ch.27 - Prince

Vegeta woke early. He blinked at the pale, pre-dawn light filtering through his window, surprised that he’d found any sleep at all. Bulma lay curled up next to him, naked and turned away from him. He pushed up on one arm to better see her. She was sleeping, but it didn’t look peaceful. Her face was pale, pulled into a soft frown, dark lines under her eyes. Her sleep had been troubled. His eyes trailed down her face, to her throat, and he pressed his lips together, his hands fisting in anger at the deep purple bruises staining her otherwise perfect skin. It infuriated him that she’d been hurt, that she had to wear the shameful marks of another man upon her. They mocked him, an ugly reminder that he hadn’t kept her safe. That he had brought this violence upon her.
Vegeta wondered if Frieza had killed Zarbon, and neither answer assuaged the roiling hate and bitterness that he felt.
He reached out to ghost his fingers against Bulma’s bruises, but she stirred, whimpering, and he guiltily retracted his hand, not wishing to wake her. He watched to make sure she had drifted off before pushing her hair behind her ear, allowing himself that small indulgence. His eyes caught on the leather band wrapped around his wrist, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe, the reminder of her affection for him overwhelming.
You’re the only one who makes me feel safe. You’re my hero…
He swallowed and looked back at her, his eyes trailing over her slender frame, over her pert breasts, down her soft belly until his view was obstructed by the blanket. His mind played over their night together, his hands and mouth having mapped every inch of her, making her fall apart sweetly beneath him again and again, savoring it, treasuring it. Treasuring her. Vegeta felt the stirrings of longing but he pushed them back. He knew he had to get up and get ready, but he found himself reluctant to. He wanted to burn her image into his mind, to savor this peaceful morning together for as long as he could. He didn’t know if he’d get another.
Finally, with iron self control, Vegeta climbed out of bed, careful not to wake her, and he grabbed his clothing. He picked up the blue undershirt and orange gi he’d be wearing that day, the colors of their school, his fingers brushing over the uniform. He frowned down at the fabric; it would be the first time he’d ever walked into a fight, knowing he did so for someone else. He cast Bulma one last glance, still sleeping restlessly in his bed, before taking his things to the bathroom to shower and change.
When he came out and went to the kitchen, she was already there, cooking a large breakfast for them. She served him, her eyes still tired, filled with a concern which she tried, and failed, to hide from him as she smiled. “You’ll need your strength,” she told him, putting a plate of hot, steaming food on the counter.
He grunted in thanks and started to eat, trying to enjoy the meal, but habits were hard to break; he’d learned the hard way that food was as easily taken as given, and he ate quickly. He glanced at her, seeing she watched him, her unnerving blue gaze piercing right through him, her eyes guarded now, something troubling her. He could only imagine it was concern for the tournament. He wanted to reassure her, but he also didn’t want to lie to her, no more so than he already had.
“Are you nervous?” she asked after a while. She could never stay quiet for long. “I’m nervous,” she admitted with a tense laugh.
He grunted. He didn’t want to think about it.
“Of course you’re not nervous,” she finished, taking his lack of answer as indifference, and she looked away, getting lost in her own anxious thoughts. He watched her from the corner of his eye; she was wearing the dragon amber necklace and his mother’s ring. Her hair was rumpled, her face tired, and she was only dressed in one of his shirts, the large top resting at the tops of her thighs. She was a mess. And she was perfect. Vegeta felt his throat constrict and he looked away, scowling down at his breakfast to push his tumultuous feelings back, down, away.
This was unbearable. He got up abruptly and she startled. “I’m not hungry,” he announced, his plate only half eaten, and he left, pretending not to see the hurt look on her face.
Normally when he felt this way he’d train, exhaust himself to the point that he couldn’t tell what hurt more, his body or his heart, but he needed to save his energy for the tournament. He went outside to sit in the cool morning sun, pretending to play his gameboy while his mind went over his plan, mentally preparing himself for every possibility.
Finally, it was time. Bulma had changed into their school colors to show support; a bright blue dress and orange sneakers, and with an orange scarf about her throat to hide her bruises. They got into the Capsule Corp limo and drove to the tournament grounds in silence. Bulma reached out to take his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. It felt like she squeezed his heart.
Their team was already there when they arrived, Goku and the other MMA members dressed in their bright orange gis, their smiles just as bright and carefree, not a clue in the world how important this tournament really was.
“Ready to kick some butt?” Goku asked cheerily, slapping Vegeta on the shoulder. Vegeta threw the tall idiot a glare, irritated at Goku’s ceaseless happy-go-luck attitude. Envious of it. Goku just laughed at his glower. “That’s the spirit!”
Piccolo was there too and gave them all encouraging words and instructions that Vegeta didn’t listen to, his eyes scanning the crowds of people, seeing if he recognized anyone. Eventually his eyes drifted up to the security cameras, and Bulma followed his gaze. She gave him a smile and subtle nod, reassuring him that everything was taken care of. He prayed it was the case; their safety was riding on it.
It was finally time to go inside, which meant parting ways from Bulma, the contestants and audience taking different entrances. He slowed his pace, grabbing Bulma’s wrist until they fell back behind the others, giving them a private moment together.
She looked at him curiously, granting him a soft smile when he didn’t speak right away. “Go show them how strong you are,” she told him confidently, proudly.
He huffed, expelling nervous energy as he did so. “Just remember what we talked about. Before the tournament ends, make sure you’re back home watching the camera feed. You have to get that footage, no matter what.” He looked at her sternly, then repeated himself to be sure she understood. “No matter what.”
Bulma rolled her eyes, not pleased to be having this conversation again. “Yeah, yeah, I know, Vegeta. I still don’t know why I have to watch the footage, I want to watch you guys-”
“In case anything goes wrong,” he snapped, cutting her off. His anxiety was making him curt, and she frowned at his brusqueness, but he persisted. “I need to know you’re safe, and I need to know we’re getting that footage in case they try to do anything, mess with the feed or whatever. You have to be there and keep the cameras rolling. Do you understand?” he asked, giving her wrist a little shake for emphasis.
Bulma snatched her hand back, glaring at him, not liking his tone or his attitude. “Yes! I get it. Jeez, I know you’re under a lot of pressure, Vegeta, but you don’t have to be a dick about it.”
“… Sorry.”
Her face showed her surprise, her eyes going wide, filling with apprehension. He cursed himself inwardly for apologizing, knowing it only raised her suspicions.
“Vegeta,” she asked, her voice unusually quiet, unsure. “…Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Fuck. He scowled at her and folded his arms. “The hell is that supposed to mean?” he snapped at her, hoping to throw her off by being rude.
Bulma’s gaze slipped away, and she hugged her arms to her chest, forcing a weak smile. “Nothing, I guess. Sorry. We can talk later.” She dared to look at him, and he saw the doubt in her eyes. He should have known she was too smart to be fooled for long. She deserved better, she always had. He was greedy to think he could have her. She stepped forward, leaning up on her toes, and kissed him chastely on the cheek. “For luck,” she said quietly, and smiled. Fuck, she was beautiful. “Not that you need it.”
He tolerated the kiss, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. He didn’t trust himself to reply.
“I’ll be cheering for you,” she said, and she waved at him, starting to head off towards the general admission entrance.
He tried to call her name, but it stuck in his throat. He tried again, this time opting for a safer route, her old nickname. “Briefs!”
She paused and looked back at him.
Vegeta approached her and unclasped the blue band about his wrist. He deftly wrapped it around hers - three times, because her wrist was so dainty - and closed the clasp. “I won’t be allowed to fight with this on,” he explained, his voice subdued.
“Oh, right. I’ll keep it safe for you,” she promised.
Vegeta nodded. He couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eyes. She squeezed his hand and headed off.
He crossed his arms to keep them from betraying him. It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, not to reach for her, not to hold her again or tell her any one of the embarrassing feelings he felt for her, not to call to her so that he might see her smile just for him, one last time. Vegeta watched her go until she was out of sight, lost amongst the crowd, and the emptiness he felt within him was devastating. He finally unfolded his arms and looked down at his hands, scowling in disgust at the blood on his palms from where his nails had been biting in to his flesh. With a heavy weight of foreboding tugging at the pit of his gut, Vegeta headed inside the hall where the other fighters gathered. Goku was waiting for him. The taller boy put a friendly hand on his shoulder.
“How’d it go?” Goku asked kindly.
“Fuck off,” Vegeta snapped, jerking his shoulder out of Goku’s grip and walked past him.
Goku’s characteristic laugh followed after him. “That good, huh?”
“Just focus on the tournament,” Vegeta ordered, and Goku thankfully left him alone to stew in silence. Vegeta finished his preparations, wrapping his hands with bandages before he slipped on his gloves, and waited for the fights to commence.

~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~

The tension was thick, the tournament hall filled with excitement and hundreds of students. Many of them were green, innocents, awaiting to participate in their first major MMA event, totally unaware of the snake pit they were in. Vegeta could easily spot the the real competition, they were the boys who surveyed the crowd the same way he did, with narrowed eyes and a guarded posture. These boys knew what went on behind the scenes, that this was a place to eat or be eaten. For many, this was a big opportunity, a chance to be recruited into the ranks of various gangs or underground fighting arenas, a chance to settle old scores, win accommodations, and take home some money.
The organizers dived the fighters into groups, and brackets were prepared. Dozens of mats had been set up on the floor to keep a steady stream of matches going at once, all the better to speed up the preliminaries, weeding the strong from the weak. The audience sat in chairs around the edges, much like any boxing or wrestling event. The morning progressed in a fast string of bouts, the arena filled with the sounds of cheering and fighting. Vegeta’s first few matches were against students of little consequence. He took them out quickly, barely even breaking a sweat as he advanced within the preliminaries. He was grateful to see that he could spot Bulma from the crowd, even see her cheering for him. In a fit of self indulgence he flashed her a small smile and a two fingered salute. She beamed at his acknowledgment. It made him feel better to have her there on his side.
Around lunch time, Vegeta noticed someone familiar enter the crowd.
Frieza moved to the VIP seating, his purple blazer and slicked back hair easy to distinguish, a couple bodyguards in suits trailing after him. No soon was Frieza sat than he spoke to one of his suits, and a moment later the guard left to carry out some errand. The other suit remained. Frieza surveyed the crowd, his eyes taking in everything before alighting upon Vegeta. And he smiled.
Vegeta returned the look impassively, giving Frieza nothing. How many years had he cringed away from that smile? How long had that smirk haunted his dreams, had it encouraged him to do things against his will, whispering honeyed threats against his father whenever he acted out, and all the while it had been locked in that awful death grimace, smiling at him incessantly, smile, smiling, smiling…
Vegeta’s name was called and he stood for the next match. He fought and easily overpowered his opponent, putting on a bit of a show now that Frieza was there. When his arm was raised and his name announced as the victor, Vegeta glanced at Frieza, seeing that the Icejin watched him carefully.
Vegeta smirked, puffing up with confidence and challenge.
Frieza’s eyes narrowed.
It was gratifying to know that Vegeta could ruffle the Icejin’s feathers. He turned, hearing a familiar voice cheering for him and he found Bulma jumping up and down in her seat, shouting in support of his win. He smiled at her, but his eyes were pulled back to Frieza. The second suit was being fed some instructions by the Icejin, and soon he headed off, leaving Frieza unattended.
The bait had been set. Vegeta suddenly felt hollow, wooden. If he’d been the praying type, perhaps he would have asked a higher being for their favor. But he wasn’t, and he didn’t. He left the mats and sat on the winners’ benches to await his next match and keep his stomach from churning.
It wasn’t until the semi-finals when the real fighting began.
Vegeta continued his winning streak, his strength and skills far beyond that of the average high school boy. After each victory he looked at Frieza, and his boss’ face regarded him back coldly. To the outside eye, Frieza was schooled nonchalance. To Vegeta, who knew him better, Frieza was seething.
Before he knew it, the tournament had come down to the final 16 contestants. Goku had also advanced, but the other members of their MMA club had not been so lucky. Vegeta scowled, looking at the 16 names on the brackets. It would appear he’d finally get some serious fights, the first being against a short, chubby boy he knew well.
Guldo was one of Ginyu’s close friends, and had been one of the boys who regularly cornered Vegeta in the park to beat him up. Malnourished, outnumbered, out-skilled, Vegeta had never been able to beat him. But he was none of those things now, and with everything riding on this tournament, Vegeta was going to relish his opportunity for payback.
“Well well, this tournament has gone down the drain if someone like you has made it to the finals,” Guldo sneered as they squared off in the ring. He wore an arrogant smile that Vegeta was only too happy to have the opportunity to punch.
“Funny. I was thinking the same thing,” he smirked back.
Guldo blinked, unnerved by Vegeta’s confidence. His eyes ran over Vegeta’s physique, noting the new musculature and relaxed pose. His eyes narrowed further, and he raised his guard warily. Vegeta’s grin widened predatorily.
“Fighters, are you ready?” the referee asked. “Touch gloves.”
Neither did. The referee waved them back, and they eyed each other from their corners. The whistle blew.
Despite his chubby size, Guldo was fast. His jabs came quickly, almost appearing to bend time, and Vegeta knew from experience how hard those lightening jabs hurt; he still wore the scars of some of his worst. Vegeta dodged, ensuring he kept out of Guldo’s range, side-stepping and moving about in a circle. He watched as Guldo grew more and more frustrated, throwing attacks that didn’t land, unable to touch Vegeta. Guldo’s face twisted in outrage, maddened. He couldn’t hit Vegeta.
At the peak of his frustration, Guldo threw up his hands and turned to look at Frieza, a ‘what-am-I-suppose-to-do-with-this’ look on his face. That look quickly changed to shock when Vegeta’s kick caught him in the side of the neck. Guldo staggered, his eyes going wide. He dropped to the mat, and Vegeta lunged on top of him, throwing punches until the referee blew the whistle and pulled him off. Vegeta’s hand was held up in victory, and he smirked, his bod vibrating with adrenalin and amusement that his victory had been so easy. He could win this, he knew he could.
Frieza wasn’t even pretending to look impassive now. His lip curled in agitation, his eyes burning with wrath, also seeing Vegeta’s potential to walk away with the winner’s trophy.
“You cheated,” Guldo whined, stumbling to his feet.
Vegeta sneered at him. “You turned your back on your enemy. Not smart.”
“Do you think you’ll get away with this?” Guldo snarled at him. “Enjoy your victory, Vegeta. It’ll be your last.” The chubby boy walked unsteadily off the matt, and Vegeta exited from the opposite side, unconcerned by the threat.
Sixteen fighters became eight. Goku was also victorious, grinning and waving at him from the winner’s bench. Vegeta ignored him, already mentally preparing himself for his next fight. He was up against another of Ginyu’s lackeys; no doubt there was some match fixing going on. This time it was Jeice, a dark skinned, white haired boy with an obnoxious personality and an accent that Vegeta had always suspected was put on.
Jeice was far more dangerous than Guldo; Vegeta knew he’d need to be more careful, but he was still itching for the fight and a chance to resolve issues against his old aggressors.
Jeice eyed Vegeta cockily as they entered the ring, bouncing on his feet, jabbing at the air experimentally. “Vegeta!” he greeted in his rolling accent. Vegeta ignored him. He waited, and when the whistle blew, the two boys attacked each other, grappling and throwing kicks and punches. Jeice was the first land a strike. Agony flared within Vegeta as he stumbled back, Jeice’s laughter mocking him. “How did that taste, you loser?” Jeice sneered.
The familiar pain awoke a long buried hatred inside him. Vegeta roared and stopped holding back. He felt himself filled with strength, with violence, with wrath, and he lunged at Jeice, connecting a powerful punch that sent Jeice staggering. Vegeta laughed darkly at the fear he saw in the boy’s eyes.
“What are you doing?” Jeice hissed in panic, his words dripping with hidden meaning. Both of them knew Vegeta wasn’t even supposed to have made it this far.
Vegeta grinned. “I’m winning.” He darted in, landing a resounding punch in Jeice’s solar plexus, and the boy choked, coughing, dropped to his knees. Vegeta stood over him, watching, enjoying the sight of Jeice struggling to breathe. He stretched out his hand and with a cocky, nonchalant shove, pushed Jeice over. Jeice toppled to the floor like a sad game of jenga. The referee came over, blowing his whistle, and Vegeta spat out his mouthguard, raising his hands in victory, smirking as the audience cheered, cheered for him. Even Frieza scowling at him from the crowd couldn’t diminish this moment of glory. Beating down the Ginyu squad was tasting far sweeter than Vegeta ever could have ever imagined. He wasn’t just beating them, he was slaughtering them.
He looked at Bulma, seeing her cheer ecstatically. High on his winning streak and his new realized strength, Vegeta climbed onto one of the posts and stood up, towering over the ring, flexing his arms and roaring. The crowd ate it up, hollering with excitement. He could see Bulma grinning ear to ear at his showboating. She waved at him and he smiled back, flipping over on one arm, doing a few one-handed push ups, the crowd going nuts. He vaulted off before the referee could tell him to get out, landing on the floor as smoothly as a gymnast.
“Wow, nice moves, Vegeta!” Goku called with a smile as Vegeta approached him on the winning benches. Vegeta smirked at him, pleased by the praise. He laughed when he saw who Goku was up against, and laughed harder when Goku won, making Burter drop like a sack of potatoes. Another of Ginyu’s boys bit the dust. This was all going like a dream. Vegeta flashed Frieza a nasty smile.
And from high up in the crowd, Frieza smiled back at him.
Smiled.
It was as sobering as a bucket of iced water to the face. Vegeta felt his own smile fall, and along with it, his winner’s high. He was an idiot, he’d almost lost sight of the end game, almost got too caught up in these petty victories. Agitated at himself, Vegeta glanced at the board to see the final pairing. He went stiff when he saw his next opponent’s name.
Ginyu: the strongest and most feared fighters within the Icejin, second only to Frieza.
Vegeta had expected this, planned for it even. But expecting it and seeing it were two different things. His stomach turned in anxiety. He’d trained impossibly hard for this moment, sweated and bled and given up so much for it, but was it enough?
Vegeta looked around and finally spotted his opponent leaning against a wall, one of Frieza’s suited goons whispering in his ear. And to his disquiet, Ginyu was looking right at him. Vegeta narrowed his eyes. Ginyu was huge, powerfully built, with short hair dyed an unfortunate purple and his chest tattooed with two ugly, black horns. Ginyu grinned from a face that promised any interactions with him was going to be unpleasant. Vegeta knew only too well; that face had leered down at him from many a brutal beating.
The tournament was down to its final four. Vegeta, Ginyu, Goku and some other fighter whom Vegeta wasn’t familiar with, and didn’t need to be, since Goku fought the boy and promptly won. Now all Vegeta had to do was win his match…
Their names were called. Vegeta stepped into the ring, his palms sweaty, but he was careful not to show any hesitation as he slipped his mouthguard on. He’d spent his whole life being beaten down by Ginyu, taking their crap, for his father, for his short comings… He was done with it. He wasn’t about to let them do it again.
He didn’t even hear the referee speak or the crowd cheer, everything around him white noise. All that mattered was Ginyu.
Ginyu smiled at him dangerously. Vegeta had seen that smile before, that same look had been there when Ginyu had broken him, when Ginyu had watched him cough up blood and scream over newly broken bones, when Ginyu had seen Vegeta’s eyes cloud over with pain and humiliation, knowing Vegeta could no longer get up and fight, knowing he’d lost. Again. That was the smile Ginyu wore, his smile of victory. And their match hadn’t even started yet.
That bastard. How dare he.
Vegeta clenched his jaw. He refused to touch gloves when the ref called for them to, not caring to put on airs with the likes of these two-faced brutes. The whistled shrilled. Vegeta kept his arms raised before his face and stepped in to meet Ginyu.
“You’ve done well for yourself, haven’t you,” Ginyu called out as the crowd cheered them on.
Vegeta didn’t reply, focused solely on Ginyu’s body language. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down even for a second. Ginyu was deadly.
“I’m sure you’re aware by now that the boss isn’t happy,” Ginyu continued his banter, his tone almost friendly. “But just between you and me, I’m pleased as punch with this little rebellion, Vegeta. My hands have been aching for a good punching bag. It just hasn’t been the same without you around.”
Vegeta frowned, but he didn’t raise to the bait. He weaved to the side, and Ginyu responded fluidly. They threw a couple experimental jabs at each other, but they easily slipped out of each other’s range. The two fighters circled cautiously, gauging each other, testing.
But the truth of the situation soon became apparent to Vegeta. He felt a smile growing on his mouth. Ginyu hadn’t changed. His strength, his skills, even his attacks hadn’t changed. But Vegeta had.
He could win this.
He dodged to the side, watching Ginyu moved to meet his attack, but Ginyu didn’t anticipate his feint. He landed a punch in Ginyu’s side, the rush of victory sizzling through him.
Ginyu stumbled, taking the full force of the blow. He turned, trying to recover, and Vegeta kicked him into the ropes of the ring.
Ginyu bounced back with a sneer. He brought up his hands to defend himself, and the two squared off once more, circling, watching, waiting.
Vegeta saw Ginyu’s weight shift but he was a fraction too late, and Ginyu’s leg caught him, tripping him. Before Vegeta could recover he was on the ground, tackled by Ginyu. Vegeta swore as the crowd cheered. He threw punches in a desperate attempt to rid himself of Ginyu’s weight; he knew he had little chance against Ginyu on the ground, Ginyu having the advantage in both weight and length of limbs.
They struggled on the floor, each trying to get the upper hand. Ginyu’s arms were wrapped around Vegeta’s middle, crushing him, squeezing. Vegeta tried to lever out, but no matter how he struggled, he couldn’t pull out. They were locked together, panting and struggling, caught in a stalemate.
Ginyu started laughing. Vegeta glared at him, aggravated.
“…-change now.”
“What?” Vegeta snapped, still trying to wrestle free from Ginyu’s grip, struggling to draw in air.
“I said, you’d best change now.”
“Change what?” Vegeta grunted.
“Your tactic,” Ginyu explained with a sadistic grin. “Or someone’s going to get hurt, and I’m not talking about you for once.”
Vegeta only needed a second for the words to sink in. Realization hit like a freight train, and he panicked, looking out into the crowd, searching for Bulma. He saw her watching him, her face twisted in concern. But what caught his attention was her pendant - the dragon amber that dangled over her heart was glowing. No, not glowing, it was illuminated, burning red from an outside source. From a laser point.
From a sniper sight.
Vegeta felt the blood drain from his face, and Ginyu must have felt him tense for he started laughing madly, his hold slipping. Vegeta snarled, using the opening to break free, elbowing Ginyu hard enough to knock him off. He stood up and Ginyu followed stumbling to his feet, still laughing even though he now had blood in his mouth.
“That’s it, Vegeta. Keep attacking me. See what it gets you,” he goaded, his eyes alight with sadistic excitement. His stance was relaxed, leaving himself wide open, begging for Vegeta to attack.
Vegeta didn’t. He glanced over to where Frieza was and saw the bastard was watching him with an amused smirk. He and Ginyu were both waiting, watching to see if Vegeta kept fighting, kept pushing his luck, kept tempting them to punish him by assassinating her. Would they actually kill her just to prove a point? Vegeta doubted it; Bulma was far more valuable alive than dead… but then again, Frieza didn’t always make the smart choice when he could make a vindictive one. And either way, Vegeta couldn’t take that chance.
He just couldn’t. Not with her. Never with her.
He looked back at Bulma. She was cheering for him, relieved that he’d broken free of Ginyu’s hold. She was so beautiful, full of life, and Vegeta was struck by how amazing she was, how lucky he was to have her even though she knew the dangers, even though she had her doubts, despite all that, she still supported him, cheered for him. Loved him. She was far, far too good for him. He couldn’t risk them killing her. His pride, his vengeance, once the only things he valued more than life itself, was not worth her life.
The sniper’s sight remained over her heart. Only he could stop it. All he had to do was give up the match to Ginyu.
Vegeta lowered his guard, laughing wryly, weakly, down at the floor. This had been inevitable. He had known Frieza would retaliate in some way. Still, that he wouldn’t get his vengeance against Ginyu was really going to smart, more so than the beating he was about to take.
Vegeta finally looked up, seeing Ginyu watched him, waiting for his choice. He made it. Vegeta lifted his hands in a half-hearted attempt to guard himself. Ginyu sneered and swung hard, showing no mercy. Vegeta took the hit, pretending to be slow in his block. He staggered into the ring’s ropes, the punch sparking lights before his eyes. His knees buckled but somehow he stayed upright.
Hands fisted in his gi, and he looked up to see Ginyu throw him. Over and over, Ginyu toyed with him, throwing him about, landing a punch here, and kick there, hurting him but never enough to make the referee call the match, dragging the fight on as long as he could. It only took a few solid punches before Vegeta no longer had to pretend to be fighting poorly. After several blows that he’d purposefully not blocked, Vegeta was reeling, his balance off, his head fuzzy, his body wracked with pain. He probably had a concussion. Another brutal punch in the gut had him spitting up blood, and he dropped to his hands and knees, gasping for air. The referee came over and asked if he was able to keep fighting.
“He’s fine!” Ginyu snarked, a warning to Vegeta not to take the easy way out.
Vegeta looked up, but not at Ginyu. Squinting from one eye, trembling in exhaustion, his gaze sought out Bulma. She had pushed her way to the front of the stands, her expression horrified, watching him get pummeled. It was humiliating that she had to see him like this. She was calling his name, her voice shrill with concern.
But her pendant still glowed red. Goddamn them. Goddamn them. Vegeta curled his fingers into trembling fists and he looked away from her, nodding miserably at the ref. “I can fight,” he lied. The referee moved away, and Vegeta pulled himself up on wobbly legs. He could hardly stand, falling into Ginyu who shoved him back down. Vegeta groaned as his face was smashed into the mat, and his arm was wrestled behind his back. He knew he just had to tap out, that’s all he’d have to do, and it would be over…
Suddenly Ginyu’s sickly, hot breath was on his ear. “Is that her, the little tail you betrayed us all for?” Ginyu asked him, yanking Vegeta’s head up so that he was forced to look at Bulma. Only she wasn’t alone anymore. Vegeta felt his heart flatline, his breath caught in his throat. Next to her, next to his Bulma, Frieza was whispering in her ear, mirroring what Ginyu now did to him.
“What do you think the boss is telling her?” Ginyu asked sweetly, chuckling as they both watched Frieza’s mouth press right up against Bulma’s tresses to be heard over the cheering crowd. “Oh, actually, I know exactly what he’s telling her,” Ginyu gloated. “The truth.”
Vegeta gritted his teeth, feeling cold despair sap what little strength he had left. He could only watch helplessly as Frieza’s lips curled in a cruel smile, his dark lips telling Bulma secrets that made her face fall, her eyes dimming, brimming with betrayal.
“How much does she know, Prince?” Ginyu asked him cruelly, twisting his arm harder, but it was nothing to the twisting of his heart. “Does she know that you’re one of us? That your father let you stay with her to gather secrets on Capsule Corporation? That you were meant to use her as a way in, to woo her, except you were dumb enough to actually fall for her in the process? Does she know about this tournament, all of it? Did you tell her that her little bet was our idea, that you were going to take a dive so we could help ourselves to some of that sweet Capsule cash? Hahaha, well, no matter if you did, because she knows now.”
Bulma was looking right at him, her eyes shimmering in disbelief, her face crumpling as Frieza’s awful words burnt away her trust, every word breaking her faith in Vegeta just a little more. It was soul crushing, but Vegeta couldn’t look away. Ginyu pressed on, relentless. “She has no idea you’re throwing this fight for her, does she? I wonder what she’s thinking. She’s probably wondering why you aren’t fighting back, why you suggested that she bet on you, why you would double cross her, even though we know you tried to double cross us, you piece of shit. Look at her, Vegeta, look at those pretty tears, that broken heart you caused… well, better a broken heart than a dead one I suppose.”
His grip suddenly tightened, and he gave Vegeta a shake. “Don’t ever fuck with the Icejins, Vegeta. We’ll only fuck you back harder.” Ginyu suddenly let him go and stood over him, splaying his arms wide. “C’mon, Prince. Come at me. Hit me. The little trollop won’t give you the time of day anymore, so what’s the point protecting her? Come at me, hit me, I won’t stop you. You’ve got a free shot at me, Vegeta. Take it, for all the times I ground your ass in the dirt. Show me what you’re worth.”
Vegeta spat blood and looked up at Ginyu. More than anything he wanted to take Ginyu up on his offer, smack him right in his smug, ugly face. But doing so would risk her life. It didn’t matter if she knew the truth, if she never forgave him. She shouldn’t. But he was damned if he’d let anything hurt her again. Vegeta pushed up onto his knees, wincing in pain, and held up his hand, flipping Ginyu the bird and a broken, bloody smile.
Ginyu tsked. Vegeta was helpless to stop Ginyu shoved as he shoved him down, and he curled up as Ginyu straddled him and started wailing on his body, throwing blow after blow after blow after blow…
The referee finally blew the whistle. It was the most bitter sweet sound in the world.
Ginyu stood up, holding up his bloody gloves in victory as the crowd cheered. Vegeta stayed curled on the matt, whimpering in pain, coughing up blood. When a doctor ran over to check on him, Vegeta pushed him away, grumbling that he was fine, knowing that he wasn’t.
“I got you buddy.”
Vegeta peeled open his eyes and saw Goku by his side. The taller boy helped him up, and Vegeta begrudgingly let him.
“Gosh, Vegeta, I…” Goku said, words failing him as he helped Vegeta stumble off the matts.
“Forget it. It’s up to you now,” Vegeta croaked, too ashamed to even look Goku in the face.
Goku’s tone was surprisingly solemn when he replied. “Don’t worry. I’ll get him, for both us,” he promised.
Vegeta grunted and gratefully lowered down onto a bench. He waved Goku off to go prepare for his final match. He looked over fearfully to where Bulma had been, but she was gone. Her absence echoed the hole he felt in his heart, but at least she didn’t have one. He searched the crowd, but he couldn’t see her anywhere, and Frieza had once again returned to his seat, looking terribly pleased with himself.
If Vegeta had been the kind of person who cried easily, he might have done so then. But he wasn’t, and he didn’t. Instead, he sat with his aches and pains, wincing and gasping for air, and wondered why of all his wounds, his heart was the one that hurt him the most.

~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X_

AN: Don’t look at me like that, baby. I know it hurts, it hurts so good.
Hope you liked this chapter and getting a glimpse of Vegeta’s POV finally. I also did some shitty art of Vegeta getting his ass handed to him by Ginyu, which you can see on twitter or AO3. I dare my better artists friends to do better :P
Find more by me, LadyVegeets, on twitter, tumblr, FFnet, & Ao3.
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