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Sacrifice	By : xerosky Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 8290 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Dragon Ball Z is the property of Akira Toriyama. No money is being made from this work of fan fiction.

Chapter List
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Sacrifice

By Xero Sky

Pairing: Goku/Kakkarot x Vejiita

Rating: NC-17

Warnings (for the entire fic): Slash, non- or dub- con, sex, violence, profanity, death, angst. AU, time travel.

Summary:   Rejecting your fate is a privilege of power. Sometimes, however, the price may be too high to pay.

Chapter Three

The surging crowd moved forward and back, circulating through the city streets and into the main square. A steady stream fed in through the main palace gates and out the smaller side gates, moving past the food-laden tables in the outer courtyards. Fountains of sweet water were available, substituting for the drink that no doubt would have been preferred; no one was quite stupid enough to help a crowd that size get drunk.

The sun was high overhead, but there was enough of a breeze to keep the heat down, and there was little to nothing dampening down the excitement. The guards watched over them all like raptors, moving through the crowds to dissolve the tensions that could trigger fighting. Their scouters were connected to the overall surveillance system of saiyajins and machines scanning the crowds; any disturbance drew instant, ruthless intervention. It wasn’t that drunken brawling was in and of itself a crime, but property destruction and rioting were, and in a crowd this size a simple fight could flash into something much worse. No chances were being taken: ki was scanned for spikes, the crowds were watched for patterns of movement and unusual attention, and every guard worth his pay kept his nose up, knowing that a sharp musk in the air often betrayed violence before they could even see it coming. The guards were all personally vetted by the High Command and extremely well paid for their work. The extra compensation for working the crowds instead of joining them was more than attractive enough to keep them sharp and on their toes today.

In dire enough straits, there was a device implanted in their scouters which could trigger the entire guard force into oozaru form. Given how much collateral damage this would cause, it was entirely a last resort, but the potential was there and the guards knew it. It gave them a certain extra confidence and feeling of dominance over the saiyajins around them, and the day had so far been fairly peaceful, because they intended it should be that way. The hundreds of guards, Elites, combat veterans, special ops, and trained security troops, had things under control.

It was perhaps ironic, then, that the single most dangerous saiyajin in the history of their species drew almost no attention from them at all as he casually crossed the square on his way into the palace. In fact, what little attention he did draw was due to his good looks and fine body, rather than to the massive power he had at his disposal. Although they had no way of knowing it, his ki was tightly suppressed down to the level of the people around him; he drew no attention from the scouters or the monitors on account of it. His clothing was well-made, but in no way opulent, and only the natural way he carried himself betrayed his status as a powerful warrior. It could be read from the confident way he held his head up and moved through the crowds, in the benevolent arrogance which threatened no harm but absolutely expected people to move aside for him without delay or argument. People did move, although many did so out of the instinctive saiyajin sensitivity to power, and paid the saiyajin himself little mind.

Kakkarot was perfectly satisfied with the day so far. He enjoyed being among his own kind, and being surrounded by so many of them was exciting, to be honest. So many saiyajin lives, each a vivid flame of ki, and yet all were interwoven with the ki around them, in great ways and in small, each individual acting and reacting on his or her own, and yet also with the greater entity of the crowd they belonged to. It was no wonder such a vast assemblage of saiyajins could seem to be one great beast, sensitive to everything around it and in need of taming. For Kakkarot, it was almost intoxicating to be aware of all that, and he’d had to work at keeping his mind on what he was there for, at first. But only at first.

After all the journeys he’d made to get here, making this final segment on foot had seemed right. He’d worked very hard to get to this day, and he meant to savor it all. The ki, the scents, the sounds around him, along with the simple feeling of being part of something bigger than himself, were all worth the minor inconveniences. Besides which, he had a strange but definite feeling that Vejiita would be dismayed, perhaps even frightened, if he simply appeared out of thin air in front of him. It was strange thinking of Vejiita being frightened of anything at all, but then, this prince hadn’t been quite so hammered and scarred as the first one.

Besides which, no version of Vejiita, in any time or place, had ever enjoyed being caught off-guard, especially not in public.

Walking in with everybody else definitely seemed like the best idea.

Besides which, unless he was mistaken, he’d already gotten a whiff of the food being laid out inside the palace walls. He’d lost track of when he’d last eaten, though he vaguely remembered the pub owner sending food in to him at some point during the night. His stomach growled loudly in protest at his neglect. Whatever they had over the fires smelled absolutely great.

It was funny how he’d never yet found anything to match Chichi’s cooking, though.   This was, what? His fourth planet? So far nothing would’ve met her standards. She probably would’ve enjoyed Vegetasei in general, though. The woman had certainly had her problems, but she’d been tough and basically fearless, and a billion saiyajins wouldn’t have intimidated her at all.

He smiled and shook the memories away.

He could feel Vejiita and his family in the near distance, up on one of the balconies. He didn’t even need to look; it was like knowing where the sun was with your eyes closed.

He tensed, feeling a shift in the crowd, but it was excited, happy, and all of sudden there was a roar as Vejiita’s image flashed up on the huge video screens around the square. Kakkarot stopped, transfixed.

Dark, striking eyes. Blue tattoos across his broad chest. A mirthless grin that meant absolutely nothing good for anyone. A shudder ran up Kakkarot’s spine, just looking at him.

Perfect. It didn’t matter what time or what place he found Vejiita in: the core of the man, the burning spirit was always the same. He did nothing, felt nothing by halves. He was the definition of passion.

For the very first time, the thought occurred – and stuck – that he had no idea what he’d do if the prince rejected him. What if this prince couldn’t accept him either? What if it wasn’t just the Vejiita from his time, but all of them? What would he do then?

His fists clenched. No.

It wouldn’t be like that. This prince might not even like him at first – Vejiita never liked him at first, actually -- but they were supposed to be together: his Vejiita had said so, a hundred times over. They had to be together. He was probably the only saiyajin alive who could match Vejiita for stubbornness, and he would make everything all right, somehow. He had to.

For one thing, that hot young prince up there with the blue scrolling across his skin, radiating anger and pride and nervous tension, was easily the most beautiful thing Kakkarot had ever seen in his life. The thought of not having him was just… wrong. Unacceptable. Impossible.

Not going to happen.

The prince would come around.

The first Vejiita had recognized him, even if he couldn’t acknowledge it; this Vejiita would know him too.

He was sure of it.

It was a little late to turn back now, anyway. Even if he’d wanted to, a current in the screaming crowd started taking him where he wanted to go anyway, towards the tall gates of the palace, thrown wide in welcome.

*****

“Are you serious? I’ve been gone for almost a year, and you still haven’t gotten any closer to bedding that woman?”

“I was deployed most of that time, you asshole.”

The woman in question was Atsukaya, easily the most famous entertainer in the world right now.   A nearby video screen was replaying scenes from the concert she’d given in the prince’s honor last night, showing the beautiful web of stable ki she’d strung across the stage as a backdrop. A talented singer and actress as well as a ki-weaver, she was eccentric enough to set fashions and canny enough to stay in the news most of the time.

“I hear she’s near the end of a three-moon contract with one of the royal cousins now.”

“Pfft,” Nappa said, looking disgusted. “It’s all publicity. If that little bastard hasn’t had the sack to get her a cub yet, he’s not going to do it in another two weeks.”

“You’re counting the days, aren’t you?” Turles said, laughing. “Once she’s free, you can show her the power of your superior genetics.”

“Shows what you know. I’m not looking for cubs. My last contract with Suna got us twin girls.”

Turles was actually surprised by that, which Nappa counted as a victory. His cousin was usually so annoyingly well-informed that he took the fun out of half the conversations they’d ever had. Even as Nappa’s military career had taken off, giving him access to the kind of information not more than one in a million saiyajins had, Turles had gotten himself a place in the Red Hand. Being an intelligence officer had done absolutely nothing to cure his cousin of being a know-it-all.

“Well done,” Turles said, grinning at him like he’d known all along.

“Idiot. Where the hell have you been that you didn’t get the word about new family?”

Turles just smirked at that, because he wasn’t going to tell him – couldn’t tell him, probably – and Nappa would have to dig up the information on his own, if he really wanted to know. He wasn’t sure he cared enough, though. Turles was always going off somewhere on secret, probably lethal Red Hand missions and coming back looking smug. As commanding General of the Second Legion, Nappa had access to equally secret information, but he just couldn’t pull off the same level of smugness about it.

Anyway, what was important was that they were both in the same place at the same time for once, with time off during the most important holiday of the year. Nappa held up a hand and an orderly appeared, then vanished; a minute later, two beers reappeared with him. One was handed to the (still) smirking cousin, and the two of them put their feet up, ready to enjoy the show in front of them.

The ‘show’ consisted of roughly 30 video screens of various shapes and sizes laid out in sections on the wall in front of them. They were being controlled by some of the many intelligence and security operators working on today’s event, and while some showed data, most were being fed from cameras all around the palace and its grounds.   Interior, exterior, satellite: if it could be seen with a lens, it could be shown on a screen in this room. With air conditioning, comfortable seating, and orderlies at hand to take care of the necessities in life, the surveillance center was an excellent place to watch the birthday ceremonies. Fairly soon, the usual saiyajin need to be a part of any action going on would drive them back outside into the thick of things, but for now the general and his cousin were perfectly happy with lounging around and watching.

The surveillance team was too busy to pay much attention, but the two were a striking pair together.

The two of them didn’t look related, and, in fact, their connection was through mating, not blood. By saiyajin standards that made them family, however, and they treated each other as such, squabbling with and for each other, and sticking together. Turles’ aunt had mated with Nappa’s uncle many years past, and once the first of their spike-haired, massive children had been born, the family connections had been sealed.

Turles was sleek and handsome in his black uniform, which had a red handprint embroidered over the heart, but no rank insignia. Confidence of every kind seemed to roll off him, but he wasn’t a commanding figure unless he wanted to be, which he rarely did.   His job didn’t call for it. Outside those circles, he lived a fairly quiet, even discreet life.

Nappa’s job, on the other hand, was to command a legion full of saiyajin warriors, and he looked the part. Large, muscular, and effortlessly, even flamboyantly, in charge of most of what he surveyed, he had the look of a saiyajin who took absolutely no shit off anybody and didn’t have to prove it. He was popular with his troops (though they were equally terrified of him), and he had the favor of the royals.   Recently, he’d been both highly embarrassed and somewhat pleased to find that the tabloid press had caught the rumors of his infatuation with Atsukaya, although their speculations weren’t as pointed as Turles’ teasing. He’d been in a stable series of contracts with his distant cousin Suna for years, but he’d been mooning over Atsukaya for a few of those years now, much to the amusement of Suna, Turles, and the rest of his family. If anybody outside of the family was equally entertained by it, they had the wisdom not to express it to his face.

He had more than sufficient authority to impose his presence on the surveillance center, and Turles would simply not be moved if it didn’t suit him, so the surveillance center crew were simply going to have to put up with them. Nappa stretched his long legs out and settled in to watch the show. The little alcove they sat in was sound-dampened for privacy, so everything was fair game for commentary.

“Heh, the prince looks like he’s going to eat that guy,” Nappa said, pointing with his beer bottle at the screen showing the official feed. Prince Vejiita was receiving tributes from representatives of the clans, states, and various organizations now, standing on the viewing balcony and solemnly accepting gifts that he handed off to various aides and probably forgot about instantly.   The tall man in front of him, his long hair braided with beads, wore the green and gold robes of the clergy. Whatever he was saying, he was gesturing flamboyantly, invoking the blessings of sky, earth, and the Legendary, and the prince looked deeply, even terrifyingly, unimpressed. The priest didn’t seem to notice. The official feed cut away, but the security cameras showed the prince’s tail bristling around his waist before the priest bowed obliviously and departed.

“I’m impressed the idiot survived that. Vejiita must be full already,” Turles said with a smile. His use of the prince’s name wasn’t intended to be familiar; there were only two Vejiitas on the planet, after all, and it was as much a title as a name.

“Safest day for it, really. He’s not going to kill a priest on his birthday in front of all these people.”

“He really has grown up a lot, hasn’t he? I was on Kyon with him last year, and he was 100% professional,” Turles said. “They say he was really hell-spawned as a child.”

Nappa laughed. “You have no idea.” Nappa’s parents were hereditary elites and he’d grown up near the palace, close enough to know that the prince’s reputation understated his reality most of the time.

The two of them watched, commenting on what they saw on various screens, drinking themselves into comfortable happiness.

“Hey, wait,” Turles said suddenly. He stood up and pushed one of the operators aside, taking control of his screens. Nappa watched in amusement, his tail twitching, wondering what his cousin was up to. Turles dialed one of the cameras in on the crowd, apparently looking for someone. Then he froze, and Nappa, catching the shock on his face, went to stand with him.

One of the cameras had caught the image of a male saiyajin who was inside the palace, just outside the court with the food tables. He held the hind leg of some barbecued animal in one hand, while he pulled the last shreds of meat off of it with the other. The camera was mounted across the room and up on a wall, so the angle wasn’t there to see his face, but he had Turles transfixed. Confused, Nappa started to ask what was going on, but Turles silenced him with a hiss, staring intently at the screen.

A few moments later, the man went throw the bare bones into a disposal unit, looking around as he did, and Nappa saw it, as clear as day.

Tall, muscular, without a hint of fat on him, wild hair, and when he lifted his head, a handsome face that struck two different chords in Nappa at once. The first was that the stranger could have been Turles’ brother, they were so similar. The second was far more obscure but equally troubling: this saiyajin was important, but Nappa had no idea at all where he had seen him before.   That wasn’t like him; his memory was usually quite sharp. Who…

And then Turles drove every other thought out of his head by saying a name he hadn’t heard in years.

His face white, Turles repeated the name of his long-missing brother again, his voice a harsh whisper.

“Bardock?”

*******

He was proud of his son. He always had been.

Every time Prince Vejiita had reached another milestone ahead of all expectations, every time he’d stunned or astonished or enraged observers, every time he’d come back victorious from battle, or finally collapsed, exhausted, on the floor of the arena, surrounded by the bodies of his challengers, King Vegeta had nearly glowed with pride. Even his son’s long struggle against his fate had made him proud, no matter how much damage it had caused between them.

He understood his son’s rage, even though he couldn’t always quite keep himself from reacting to it. At the same time, he felt substantial guilt for what he’d done, even though he knew perfectly well that he’d had no choice in the matter. Kakkarot could have done whatever he liked – could’ve just taken his son away just as Furiza would have eventually tried to do. He’d spent years dealing with that freak, trying to defuse the icejin’s interest in the prince, deflecting his intentions, putting up with endless smirking references to his son’s future as Furiza’s “ward”, and eventually renewing the icejin service contract, hiring his entire species out as mass murderers, on the understanding that the prince would be kept home and ‘safe’ for another ten years until it expired.

There were other reasons for the contract, of course;   stealing icejin technology had practically become a saiyajin national sport, for one thing, and the contract did give them protection against the remnants of the Tsfurujin, who were still trying to marshal their considerable remaining resources for revenge.

Those were good reasons. His son’s safety had been the one that drove him.

And then Kakkarot had arrived, and Vejiita’s future had changed dramatically in the course of the day, and there had been nothing his father could do about it.

He was the King of Vegetasei, ruler of all saiyajins; he was the definition of power, by rank and nature. He was still proud to this day that he hadn’t fallen to his knees in front of Kakkarot like everyone else, but he wasn’t sure how he’d managed it.   The immense power rolling off him… Furiza had never even approached that level. Vegeta had known the icejin was capable of transforming to increase his power, but he was confident that it would never have surpassed Kakkarot’s power. It was a saiyajin strength, rooted blood and bone into the fabric of his ancestors, and Vegeta had recognized it instantly. If Kakkarot had wanted his throne, he could have had it, instantly; he was alpha, strongest, and not to be challenged. No testing, no careful evaluation had needed to be done, even if the Legendary would have tolerated it. He was strongest.

In the end, he hadn’t wanted the throne, or empire, or anything but the one thing the king valued most, and he couldn’t see how to refuse him.

Later, logic and instinct would tell him that Kakkarot meant no harm to the prince, because he certainly could have taken him then instead of waiting until Vejiita came of age. The king’s senses were better than most, and he could have sworn that the strongest feeling he’d read from the Legendary had been simple loneliness, rather than anything sinister or even sexual.

But at the time, he simply hadn’t known what else to do.

He’d spent most the following decade fearing that his son would never forgive him for it.

“I will make claim on Prince Vejiita the day he comes of age.”

The Legendary’s speech patterns had been formal and somewhat awkward, and for a moment, the king hadn’t understood what he meant. “To make claim” usually meant publically acknowledging an existing bond between two saiyajins. Yet Kakkarot had never even seen the young prince before, so he must have meant it the other way, the way that made his heart stop and prompted the boy’s uncles to step in front of him, forming a perfectly useless shield in front of their young nephew.

“I mean him no harm,” Kakkarot had added, “but I will have him.”

No, of course he meant Vejiita no harm.   Once he’d forced the bond between himself and the prince, Kakkarot would have no reason at all to harm him. Vejiita would be entirely his once the moment of metaphysical rape had passed and all their mental links were forged, and after that they would remain together for the rest of their lives.

The fact that ignorant commoners still wrote romances about that kind of thing made him want to puke.

Still, a colder part of his mind was not entirely unhappy with Kakkarot’s demands.   The Legendary would also be binding himself to the prince, and that would keep Vejiita somewhat safe. Safer than he would have been in Furiza’s clutches, at least.

And… Vejiita would be content. Maybe not happy, but content with his new mate. The mechanics of a bond would soothe him, no matter how hard he fought against it. Even outright hatred would fade over time. Was it better this way? Eventually his son would find peace, even at the cost of his own freedom.

He knew precisely how Vejiita felt about that, but he himself was conflicted. Kakkarot was fixated on his son. Was this the worst thing he could have asked?

King Vegeta had tried to keep his young son ignorant of the implications of Kakkarot’s demands, but of course he’d failed. His son’s curiosity was a force all its own, and the brat had been into the archives the moment he was of age.   The day he’d realized what his future held also saw the first time he told his father how much he hated him.

And still, there’d been nothing else he could do. Kakkarot was the Legendary, and even though the king didn’t believe he was a god, he was still an ascended saiyajin, and there was no power greater than that. He had never apologized to his son for agreeing to Kakkarot’s demands, and he never would.   He’d also done everything he could to help his son in his struggle to gain power, putting opportunities in his path and excusing him from other duties, though he doubted the stubborn bastard realized it. He was so proud of his son for fighting; it didn’t matter that he’d failed. Some mountains just couldn’t be moved, even if you’d grown strong enough to smash a thousand others to rubble. What mattered was the fight.

Trying to shake off his dark thoughts, the king tried to focus on the fight he and his son were witnessing right now. This modest arena was normally used for training royals and elites, but now it was the site of a series of matches in the prince’s honor. Video cameras caught all the action as some of the best fighters in the world showed off, hoping to attract attention from the press or the royals. More than one was undoubtedly using the opportunity to flirt with the prince, who stood next to his father’s seat in the elite area at the top of the stands. The matches were sadly routine, otherwise. The fighters saluted the king as they walked out onto the clean white sand, posing before taking up their stances. The fights began, pain followed, the sand was raked clean, and the next pair took their places. It was wasted effort, at least as far as the prince was concerned; Vejiita stood with his arms crossed and his eyes focused somewhere in the middle distance, paying no attention at all to the scene being played out for his amusement.

The king watched as the tip of his son’s tail, tucked up near the small of his back, twitched slightly, moving back and forth. It was the only outward sign of his son’s tension, and one he wouldn’t have let slip if he hadn’t been under such great stress. The elder Vegeta had to look away, not wanting to attract his son’s attention; he felt for the boy, but damnit, that adolescent twitching tail was cute as hell, and he doubted Vejiita would appreciate the sentiment.

The crowd inside the arena cheered as a solid hit knocked the larger fighter down, sending him skidding into a wall. Outside, the crowds watching the same fight on the video screens in the square also cheered, echoing strangely in the arena hall.   A winner was declared and attendants rushed out to clear away the debris.

Another fight was coming, another hour ticking away in this longest of all days…

And then he felt it.

It was only a reflection of what his son felt, an echo, but it was profound, like the pure blue color of a sky, or a note sung with perfect pitch.

He stood up, wanting to put a hand on Vejiita’s shoulder, but there was a terrible frozen calm radiating off his son, like ripples in a pond, and he couldn’t bring himself to break it. Vejiita was completely and utterly focused, and his father stepped back, brushing up against and into the arms of his own brother, who held him. The prince stood alone.

A single man walked out into the sunlight, entering the arena from the darkness of the fighter’s tunnel. He wasn’t golden, and hair didn’t cascade down his back; his eyes were dark, and his power didn’t make the earth shake. He was impressive, but not a god.

The prince of saiyajins recognized him instantly.

Awareness spiraled throughout the royal family that something was happening, and Security, always sensitive to their ki, arrived from everywhere a few moments later. Figures in black and red, in battle armor or civilian clothes, surrounded the stranger, shielding the royals.

Kakkarot saw his prince and saw almost nothing else from that moment. He was transfixed, mesmerized. He could see the differences in the man, but they changed nothing. He was younger, of course, but still scarred, and arrogant, and ferocious. He lacked some of the muscled bulk that years training in extreme gravity had given his other self, but he was a fighter, and a killer, and a saiyajin prince, and there was no mistaking his face and his ki: this was Vejiita. No one else mattered.

Their eyes locked, and Vejiita felt the world drop out from under his feet. He bared his teeth in defiance, but it was reflexive, and he wasn’t even aware of it. His heart thundered, and his energy spiraled up and outwards, pushing those closest to him away and making the arena rumble in harmonic sympathy. He tried to stop it, tried to be impervious and unshakeable and unaffected, but he couldn’t suppress this useless display of his inadequate power. Distantly, he heard shouting and the groan of shifting stone and metal around him, and even more faintly, the roar of the crowds outside. The video feeds were still running, of course; the morons were cheering for him, thinking he was about to enter the arena. He felt the sting of tears and was mortified, clenching his fists until the blood ran from his palms.

So beautiful, Kakkarot thought.

Security moved to intercept the intruder, of course, but he went through them, without violence, but without stopping. They weren’t capable of so much as slowing him down. Hands tore at his clothes, but couldn’t move him.   By the time he reached the stairs, they had begun to block his view, however, and his tolerance ebbed. He moved them aside with a pulse of ki, not noticing that it pushed the royals back as well. The prince narrowed his eyes but stood his ground, using his own power to steady himself.

“Vejiita…” the bastard said as he came up the stairs, reaching a hand out towards him. The prince couldn’t have moved if he’d tried; the man’s actual presence was overwhelming his senses, making him question his sanity. Kakkarot wasn’t even powered up, yet Vejiita could feel how much strength was hidden within him, how much potential. It heated his skin, and stirred his blood, making his head swim.

They were face to face now, and there was this terrible silence, an absence of anything beyond the small circle they made together.

Kakkarot tilted his head and leaned forward little, eyes searching his face, studying him. “I have waited so long for you,” he said quietly, the words meant only for his ears. His voice was low and rough, and full of emotions Vejiita wanted to know nothing about.

The prince rocked back on his heels, putting more distance between them, but he would not step back. He’d given more than enough ground to Kakkarot already, spent his whole life fixated on him, and he wasn’t giving any more. He looked the Legendary directly in the eyes, and made his last stand.

“No matter what you do to me,” he said, with slow, terrible earnestness, “some part of me will always hate you, until the day I die.”

He didn’t know what he’d expected. Certainly it wasn’t the look of hurt and betrayal on Kakkarot’s face. How was that even possible? Maybe it was just disbelief. Yes, that must be --

The Legendary reached out and grasped him by the back of the neck. He pulled them together so that their foreheads just touched, their breath mingling, and Vejiita reflexively shut his eyes. There was a sudden sharp feeling of wrongness, as if the world had let go of him for a moment, and when he opened his eyes again, he realized that was true. They were somewhere else, somewhere outside in the sunshine, someplace green and quiet, and he was utterly alone with the man who had destroyed his life.

Finally.

--to be continued--
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Sacrifice