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

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Sorry for the wait with this chapter. I have been moving to a new town within these past couple of weeks. Still getting situated! Thank you for your patience!
They were back in the infirmary. Goku held Vegeta’s sleeping form upright on the hospital bed as Bulma and Dr. Briefs carefully combed through the prince’s thick head of hair, their tweezers clinking against the shards of glass they found embedded in his scalp. Quietly the scientists worked, their hands steady as they tended to Vegeta’s external injuries. A small metal pan rested near the bed holding various pieces of glass of all shapes and sizes, the tips of them coated in blood. Vegeta never even roused during the entire ordeal.
“He passed out, but I fear he may have alcohol poisoning,” Dr. Briefs said calmly as he examined a tiny pebble of glass between his tweezers. “If he was vomiting as much as you said he was, I want to keep him here to monitor him.”
“He’s not going to like waking up in here,” Bulma replied. “Is there any way we can allow him to stay in his room with observation?”
Dr. Briefs gave a simple nod. He could hear the curtness in his daughter’s voice and felt his own aggravation with her attitude rising. She still blamed him for keeping Vegeta’s energy trapped inside even though she understood and agreed. The fact that the saiyajin had returned to Capsule Corp. again in serious condition somehow made Bulma’s anger focus directly on Dr. Briefs.
“After I get a good look at any possible internal injuries and bandage his abrasions and lacerations, we can set him up in his room with intravenous rehydration,” the shaggy-haired doctor explained. “I imagine he has not had any fluids in his system for some time.”
Goku and Yamcha glanced at each other, unsure what to make of the medical jargon, but both Bulma and Dr. Briefs seemed exceptionally calm—possibly even too cool for the situation at hand. In only an hour, the doctor had patched-up Vegeta and the saiyajin was sleeping soundly in his room, an IV in his left arm and a bag of water already completely depleted into his exhausted body. Goku had changed Vegeta into loose fitting clothes on his own, as Yamcha felt extremely uncomfortable with such a personal chore. The thought of even helping undress the unconscious prince made his stomach twist and mind reel with nightmarish memories.
Dr. Briefs was busily attaching a new bag of fluid to Vegeta’s IV as he counted off the saiyajin’s new injuries. “He’s a tough cookie even without his powers. He has two cracked ribs and one that is broken. Luckily the broken tip did not perforate his lung. No internal bleeding, but he has deep tissue bruising and a few strained tendons. The cuts on his face will heal on their own and the glass pieces from the broken bottle have been removed from his scalp. He has some serious damage to knuckles on both hands, however. There are some broken bones there. Now all we need to focus on is his dehydration and possible alcohol poisoning, but he is strong. He’ll be back to his cranky old self in about two days.”
“But what about his power?” Goku blurted. His innocent face was strained with tension. “Yamcha got hit with the same stuff and is back to normal. Why isn’t Vegeta’s energy back?”
Bulma’s stomach sank and she glanced at her father. She couldn’t look Goku in the face and lie to him—not the nicest and most trusting person she knew. Dr. Briefs appeared calm, though and flicked the bag of water dangling above Vegeta’s bed. The pouch was already halfway drained.
“I imagine that Vegeta may have experienced an overdose of the chemical that Skip concocted. Although it was originally created by Bulma, we have no idea what Skip Sato-Jenkins did to it when it was in his hands.”
Bulma’s large eyes stared, unblinking, as her father smoothly lied to the savior of Earth. Her heart was racing as disgust washed over her. What were she and her father becoming?
“You’re saying Skip may have tampered with the solution?” Yamcha asked, his voice wavering as anger filled him. “That sick fuck. They probably weren’t even keeping track of how much they were dosing him—Kami, they may have damaged his powers for good!”
Bulma moved toward her distraught boyfriend and wrapped her arm around his muscular waist. He was standing at Vegeta’s bedside, peering down at his bandaged and bruised face. Dr. Briefs remained quiet and brought forth another bag of electrolyte solution as the previous one ran out of fluid.
“His powers will come back,” Bulma said forcefully, her eyes narrowing as she gazed at her father’s back.
Yamcha flinched suddenly and Bulma stared up at her handsome man’s shocked face. “I wonder if that microchip has something to do with it.”
At this, Dr. Briefs froze momentarily before resuming his doctoral duties. Bulma drew away from the strong fighter, afraid that her pounding heart would give away the fear and shame gnawing at her soul. When no one said anything, Yamcha continued.
“Skip created this awful device that focused Vegeta’s energy toward a microchip implanted in his abdomen. With a remote control, he could set it to a certain level, forcing Vegeta’s energy to expand outward from inside himself. It…it charred his insides and he—I—“
“Yamcha…” Goku gasped sympathetically.
“We removed it.”
Bulma’s face burned with anger as she stared at her father. She wanted to scream to everyone in the room that it was still inside of him, that Bulma herself had re-designed it in a matter of hours to keep Vegeta’s energy trapped. She wanted to fall at Goku’s feet and beg him for help, to give her some sort of guidance on what to do. But she held her tongue. Her eyes burned and her throat clenched as her father casually explained to Yamcha and Goku how he had seen the microchip while they were operating on Vegeta and simply plucked it from his system. So, no, it wasn’t the chip holding back his powers either.
“And now I think its best that he rests for the night. I’m sure once he sleeps and gets some food in his stomach, he will start regaining his strength and powers,” Dr. Briefs explained as he ushered Goku and Yamcha out the door.
“I’ll meet you in a second,” Bulma told her boyfriend as he glanced back into the room. After giving him a supporting nod, the blue-haired genius turned to her short father. “What is this? Outright lying now?”
Holding his hands to calm his irate daughter, the man in the lab coat sighed. “The anger Vegeta portrayed tonight has simply proven that he is out of control,” Dr. Briefs explained as if speaking to a young child. “My dear, let him acclimate to this home. Let him come to terms with what happened to him and then we will slowly release his energy bit-by-bit. I know you feel terrible, as do I, but my number one concern is you and your mother.”
“And your company,” Bulma hissed as her head dropped to the floor. She had never felt so angry with her father before.
“Patience, Bulma. Patience.”
With an annoyed huff at being told what to do, the woman marched from Vegeta’s immaculately clean room and met Yamcha in the hallway, leaving the doctor alone in the prince’s presence. Peering through his thick glasses, Dr. Briefs sighed again as he observed Vegeta’s bruises and bandages.
“What are we going to do with you?”
It was getting quite late and the fighters of earth were restless. The entire day had been one odd revelation after another and many of them just wanted to return home and be done with the situation altogether.
“I think I’ll hang out here, though, just in case there are problems,” Goku said as he stretched his back and yawned.
“Honestly, Goku, he has no power-level and he’s injured. I think we can handle it,” Bulma replied.
Gohan sat up from the couch and rubbed his eyes. It was almost 12:30 in the morning and the boy was beyond stressed from everything that had happened. “Yeah, Dad. Can we go? Mom’s going to worry.”
Frowning, the powerful saiyajin stroked his chin and then shrugged. He always liked the idea of being around Vegeta, even at the prince’s worst moments. There was something about the volatile warrior that intrigued Goku and he found that he was more interested in Vegeta’s personality than his own wife’s. But the pleading look in Gohan’s troubled eyes spoke volumes and Goku understood that it was time to bring the boy home. Piccolo decided to depart with them.
Tien and Krillin felt no urge to stay, the entire situation making them feel uncomfortable and downright disturbed. They wanted to be nowhere near the saiyajin prince when he awoke in a hung-over, enraged state. So that just left Yamcha and Bulma standing alone in the living room.
“I think we can just check on him in shifts,” Bulma said. “If you’re ok with it, that is. I don’t know how you’re feeling about Vegeta right now.”
Yamcha blinked and stared down at his lovely girlfriend. Her eyes were imploring and he knew she wanted to drill him for the details of what was rushing through his mind at the moment.
“That’s fine. I’m comfortable keeping an eye on him. I owe it to him to help in any way I can.”
Feeling anxious with Bulma’s probing stare, Yamcha quickly walked away, his feet carrying him to the stairs.
“I don’t know the specific details,” Bulma’s soft voice called after him, halting him on the first step, “but you were assaulted, too, Yamcha. Your actions may have hurt Vegeta, but you were a victim just as much as he was.”
With a soft, dead laugh, Yamcha placed his large hand on the banister of the stairs, steadying himself. Without turning around, the human just shook his head and closed his eyes, his mind flashing back to Vegeta’s screaming, terror-stricken face as Yamcha’s energy burned him from the inside.
“Just as much as he was?” He repeated with a small voice. Glancing over his shoulder, his sad eyes gazed at Bulma. “I was the one with the power. I was the one who could have stopped it somehow. I almost killed him, Bulma. I brutally destroyed his body because I refused to listen to him. My suffering was nowhere near as bad as his. I’m …I’m sorry,” he finished, unsure if he was apologizing to Bulma or Vegeta.
The Capsule Corp. heiress watched her love disappear up the stairs and, once again, felt a tearing at her heart for both Yamcha and Vegeta. How were they ever going to get through this?
Dr. Briefs, Bulma, and Yamcha took turns watching Vegeta’s slumbering form throughout the night. It was a daunting and boring task, but none of them complained or even felt annoyed. The distraught saiyajin would whimper or shiver as he slept and Dr. Briefs would then check his vitals. It had only been hours earlier that Vegeta was wrenched violently from his death in a brutal fashion—no assistance from the dragon balls or Dende’s healing light. His body was beyond exhausted and now had to deal with injuries sustained during his fight as well as immense amounts of alcohol.
It was early morning when the sunlight decided to stream through the parted blinds in Vegeta’s room. Dozing for a few minutes longer, the saiyajin twitched as the sharp light rested on half of his face. He felt out-of-sorts upon waking, his bleary vision resting on the cream-colored ceiling of the Capsule Corp. bedroom. The scent was familiar. This was his room. However, his saiyajin senses picked up another smell that was immediately recognizable.
Vegeta’s head snapped to the side and his body turned to stone as his black eyes landed on the sleeping figure next to his bed. A wave of vertigo passed through him and Vegeta felt hot saliva rising in his mouth. Frantically, he pushed the bed sheets away from his trembling body and let out a terrified gasp as his hand brushed the needle in his arm. Poison. The solution. They were trapping him again!
Through his clouded, panic-stricken mind, Vegeta registered that Yamcha had woken up. Without even glancing at the man, the sick alien tore the needle from his arm, the IV flying across the room with a spray of blood. Yamcha’s voice was speaking, but all Vegeta knew was that he had to get away. He had been unconscious and had awakened to find the powerful human guarding him in his sleep. The thought made Vegeta’s stomach clench with nausea.
Trying to free himself from the bed, Vegeta’s legs wobbled and his world spun. A terrible headache pounded through his skull and he gagged as acid burned his throat. Strong hands grabbed his shoulders and Vegeta screamed, his eyes wide and unseeing. Thrashing in Yamcha’s arms, the small saiyajin growled and yelled deliriously before wrenching forward and vomiting on the clean, glossy floor. Yamcha released the feverish saiyajin and stood, giving the prince his space to breathe.
As Vegeta vomited a second time, Dr. Briefs and Bulma made their way into the room, having heard the commotion a few rooms down. A very worried Panchi stood in the doorway, her dainty hand pressed against her quivering lips as she watched the fallen warrior trying to regain his senses on the floor.
Vegeta leaned tiredly against the side of his bed, his sweat-soaked hair falling before his face as he panted and shivered. His skin was ghostly white and his eyes were closed. Dr. Briefs quickly pressed a bandage against the bleeding hole in Vegeta’s arm and rolled some gauze lightly around the injection-site. Bulma pressed a cool, wet rag against his forehead and face, dabbing at the sweat and saliva around his mouth.
“He just woke up and freaked out,” Yamcha murmured as he watched the two scientists aid the saiyajin prince. “He…he pulled the IV out and…”
“It’s ok, Yamcha,” Dr. Briefs replied gently. “Vegeta is recovering from being highly intoxicated last night. He’s not fully in his mind.”
Vegeta moaned as pain lanced through his head. He felt awful.
“Don’t talk like I’m not here,” Vegeta rasped. His breath had slowed and was now heavy as his head dropped forward. “What the hell is…he doing here?” The agitated saiyajin hissed to the two surrounding him.
Bulma hesitated and tilted her head. Of course, Vegeta probably didn’t remember much of what happened last night.
“After you got into your little bar fight, Yamcha and Goku brought you back.”
Vegeta’s heart began to beat faster at the thought and he felt anxious as he could not recall his night-time adventures. He remembered being dragged into an alley-way, and something rang a bell when Bulma mentioned a fight…but he could not remember anything else. Yamcha and Kakarot brought him back to Capsule Corp.? He simply did not have a single memory of this and it made him terribly uncomfortable. To him, this was the first time he had seen Yamcha since…
“Why is he in my room?”
Patiently, Bulma recounted the tale to Vegeta after he was found in the alley. Yamcha picked him up and carried him back home, he puked a tremendous amount of booze all over the front lawn, and then fell asleep outside.
‘He touched me,’ Vegeta thought coldly. Shivering again, the saiyajin curled in on himself slightly.
“It may take some time to get your body heat back up again,” Dr. Briefs suddenly cut in, thinking that Vegeta’s actions were directed to illness alone. “All you will need is some good rest, relaxation, and some food in your belly. You will feel in tip-top shape in no time.”
Bulma rolled her eyes at her father’s attempt to lighten the situation. Her stomach sank, though, as Yamcha made his way around the bed to stand a couple of feet away from Vegeta. The angry saiyajin on the ground continued to glare a hole into the floor.
“Vegeta…last night I apologized to you. I know you don’t remember it, but I really, really need you to understand that I cannot say sorry enough. Please, please believe me when I say—“
“Shut up, fool,” Vegeta snapped. Dr. Briefs and Bulma quickly finished cleaning the floor and tending to the surly saiyajin’s wounds and injuries. Anger radiated from his shaking form and Dr. Briefs stood and retreated to the door where his wife stood silently, a safe distance from the dangerous saiyajin. Bulma, however, remained at the prince’s side.
Glaring up at Yamcha for the first time, Vegeta pushed hair from his face and captured Yamcha’s pleading eyes. The two stared at each other, the saiyajin’s black irises holding the human in place.
“A simple sorry will never make this right,” Vegeta hissed darkly. “You do not have permission to ever touch me again—to ever be near me!” Standing, the muscular warrior placed his hand on the mattress at his side, trying to be discreet that he had to use it to keep his balance.
Yamcha lowered his eyes in shame a looked away. “I deserve all your anger. I deserve your hatred. Please, take whatever rage you have for humans and earth out on me. I…I’ll even lower my power so you—“
The IV stand that had been next to Vegeta’s bed was suddenly flung across the room, the speed surprising Yamcha. With a shocked yelp, the human dodged the contraption and backed away as the fuming prince charged him.
“Oh, you’ll do me a little favor and lower your power-level so I can beat you up a bit?” Vegeta sneered, his hunched body backing Yamcha against the wall. “How chivalrous! Let the powerless little monkey-prince get some pity shots in to help ease your conscience, huh?!”
Blushing brilliantly, Yamcha stared down at the shorter fighter, understanding suddenly how condescending he had been. Here Vegeta was with absolutely zero ki, no strength to fight, and trapped on a planet full of humans whom he perceived as the enemy, and Yamcha had degraded him with his thoughtless words. But even through his humiliation, he realized how close Vegeta was to him. In his fury, the quaking saiyajin drew so near that they were face-to-face. Yamcha sweated and locked eyes with the enraged fighter, his expression full of guilt and embarrassment.
“I-I’m sorry,” Yamcha whispered.
Suddenly aware of their space, Vegeta’s eyes widened and he stepped back, his face turning away and a red blush crawling up his neck, as well. Bulma stood from her spot on the ground, her scientist mind racing as she observed the awkward interaction. The two went from heated emotions to sudden embarrassment as they realized how close their bodies came to touching. It was if their shared nightmarish experience had entered their minds at the exact same time.
“Yamcha, go wait out in the hallway,” Bulma said lightly.
Blinking, the black-haired warrior nodded, his face still staring into the ground with shame. Trudging past the Briefs, Yamcha disappeared through the doorway, glad to be away from the heated room. Bulma gazed at the still saiyajin who remained rooted on spot, his eyes tracking the ground as if seeing his own thoughts.
“Come back to your bed, Vegeta,” Bulma suggested. When the sullen creature didn’t move, the haughty scientist blew a strand of wavy hair from her face and seated herself on the mattress. “If you get some rest and some food in your system, I have a feeling your energy will start returning. Torturing your body is probably what’s making your powers remain subdued.”
“What would you know?” Vegeta snapped as he crossed his arms and stared at the blank wall in front of him.
“I know that my dad and I can help you. If you let us, we can figure out the problem and get your powers back.”
“Oh? So I can just go on my way and destroy Earth?”
Panchi gasped and Dr. Briefs placed a supporting hand on his wife’s shoulder. Bulma let a small smile settle on her lips as her feet rested on the bent IV stand on floor.
“You won’t destroy Earth.”
“And why is that?” Vegeta demanded, fully turning his attention to the blue-haired harpy sitting on his bed. She simply held a knowing smile on her lips and he could see the deep intelligence behind the innocent blue eyes.
“Because you are a saiyajin who strives on power and challenges. You would never destroy this planet while everyone was asleep or unknowing. No, you’re the type of warrior who will only fight your enemies face-to-face, to prove your real strength,” she explained. When Vegeta’s eyebrows lowered in confusion, she chuckled and shook her head like it was the easiest idea in the world. “You would never blow-up a planet without defeating Goku first. There’s no point destroying humans or the planet because you would have to fight Goku. You need power to do that!”
“And you’re going to help me do that?” Vegeta sneered. “You and your father are going to help me get my powers back so I can kill your best friend?”
Dr. Briefs was about to speak up, but Bulma shrugged her shoulders and grinned. “As long as you’re not a total asshole to everyone at Capsule Corp., sure we’ll help you! I honestly don’t think that you would kill us even if you did defeat Goku, though.”
“And why is that?”
Bulma gazed at him, tilting her head to the side in deep thought. Vegeta suddenly felt vulnerable under the knowing stare and quickly became annoyed.
“I just don’t think you will,” she replied. “I think you’re better than that. I think…you are the one to prove that saiyajins can be trusted…far more than most humans.”
Bulma pretended that she didn’t see the spark go off in Vegeta’s head at the words. She hopped off his bed and picked up the medical supplies he had hurled at Yamcha. Brushing past his muscular form, Bulma winked at her parents and called over her shoulder—
“I’m going to have Mom whip up a ton of food. We’ll be back in about a half hour and I’ll want to see you in that bed, Mister!”
Vegeta’s mouth fell open at the demanding, pompous woman, but he had nothing to say in return. Crossing his arms, he remained standing in his soft hospital shirt and shorts as the small family unit left, closing the door behind them. He could not fathom why the woman who had created the ki-barring solution in the first place was now trying to help him. She was a human…which obviously meant she was dangerous. However…she wasn’t treating him like an invalid child. In fact, there appeared to be no pity within her at all. She certainly did not appear malicious, and unlike Kakarot and that scum, Yamcha, who treated him like a fragile, broken creature, she spoke to him on level terms.
Eyeing his bed, the saiyajin prince growled in annoyance before climbing back onto the mattress and snuggling into the comforter.
“It’s only because I want to be in bed,” he hissed to himself. “Not because she told me.”
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Resolution on a Lonely Planet