FicWad

Hate is just another kind of love.

Bulma stared across the table at the Prince of the Sayajin, and wished that within the span of fifteen years it’d take him to completely enslave the human race, that she’d been able to kill him when she’d had the chance. There had only been the one, and she’d still used it to her advantage, but the ace up her sleeve this time might not be enough.

“How long has it been, woman?” Dark eyes watched her carefully; he’d learned the hard way that giving her just a moment to collect herself could be…disadvantageous.

“Since we last saw each other? Two, maybe three months. You glad you saved your little flunkies?” she smirked to hide the fear, blew her bangs out of her eyes, and fingered the magnetic strip on the manacles.

“Since the last time I had you like this.”

Oh. Well, if he was going to bring it up, then what was a poor girl to do, besides tell the truth?

“Eleven years.” Had to do it carefully, always carefully, no knowing if he’d want to kill her or fuck her.

“You wont escape this time. I rather…enjoy your company, when you aren’t actively trying to kill me.” Vegeta let his eyes linger over her still lush body, remembering.

“I’m always actively trying to kill you, you pompous, inbred fuck-wit.” Same trick never works twice with you anyway, she added silently.

“How could my best enemy do any less?” Vegeta smiled, all fang and lethal affection.

“I’ve done better.” Her smile was cold with her secret triumph. One last trap to spring on the sanctimonious prick.

“Have you, now?” Vegeta laughed; she was human, pathetically weak, and fiercely intelligent. If she’d been born Sayajin, he could have made her a queen.

“You’re going to wait for an audience to kill me, Vegetable Head, because you’re a vain fop with an ego to inflate. You gonna break your favorite toy in front of Daddy, and show him what a big, strong man you are?” the blank slate dropped into his black eyes, and she smirked at the little victory. “He’s getting awfully tired of your little distractions here on Earth, isn’t he? Time for you to go home and get serious, isn’t it?” She mocked him because she knew he hated it, and she knew because they’d fought for so long.

I should love someone I know so well, she thought. But I hate him, hate him hatehimhatehimhatehim…

“You’re right, we are waiting for an audience. I cant wait to kill your sources, either, since its obviously someone high up. There are only a handful of Sayajin who were told that my father would be here. Cant be any of Raditz or Kakarrot’s little toys, since they had a little spring cleaning. Nappa? He’s got a slew of useful girls for you to utilize. Pity he goes through them so quick you don’t actually have time to get anything useful.” Vegeta smiled at the taunt look on her face, and watched for the next blow.

Spring cleaning? Then Rachelle and Chi Chi were dead, and Racine and Gohan in the pens. It’d been six months since she’d heard from them; she’d suspected, but hadn’t known. Yaumcha was working the pens though, sneaking the halfbreeds out in ones and twos; he’d recognize a familiar face. Vegeta was right about Nappa, though; the man was a death trap for an agent. And it wasn’t like she could just come out and say that she’d tapped their scouters, because Sayajin didn’t put a lot of faith in technology.

“Doing a little spring cleaning of your own then. Bad idea, letting Daddy see your little mess down here. I don’t think you’ll be as thorough as Raditz or Kakarrot, though.” She was guessing, didn’t know what he was expecting her to do, but the lingering look he gave sent shivers down her spine. She wished they weren’t remotely pleasant.

“I highly doubt that.” He shot out of his chair suddenly, came around the table between them, and stood nose to nose with her. “I’ve let you have your fun, woman, and now it ends.”

It’ll definitely end tonight, and I’ll definitely be dead, but at least you’ll be dead with me, you bastard. She knew Trunks was lurking around somewhere, she’s specifically told him not to follow her when Raditz and Kakarrot had come for them, so of course he would. He must have picked that up from Piccolo, because Krillin, Yaumcha, and Tien all knew better than to go against her direct orders.

“Vegeta, you couldn’t kill me if your life depended on it, and I’ll tell you why." She didn't know how chilly her smile was, but it gave the Sayajin prince pause. Just enough of an edge to make her dangerous, even if he didnt know what that edge was. He could guess, though.

“I’m all agog.” Four years of serious, all-out war, and another eleven of playing the ‘stay alive’ game, and in between, an undefineable emotion and a ten-year-old son. He'd seen the purple-haired brat only a handful of times; never known his name, only spoken to him once. Even then, it'd been just one word, "Run," as he shoved the boy into the ventelation system before Nappa came tearing around the corner, using a human head like a bowling ball to knock a fleeing victims' knees out. He'd sympathized with Kakarrot and Raditz, who'd put up a whole-hearted fight for thier half-breed sons, but nothing stood in the way of Nappa upholding the finest traditions of the Sayajin. At least the brothers had known the names of their sons.

“You cant stand to kill your best enemy. Sayajin live to fight, and humans fight to survive. You love the fact that I’m a challenge, that I’m giving our little war my all, and with me dead, there just wont be any fun anymore. I am your greatest weakness, Vegeta, because when I’m dead, you’re not going to have anyone to fight but yourself.”

He kissed her, gently, and didn’t jump back when the doors were thrown open.

“My son,” the man coming through the door was an almost-copy of the Prince. Grey streaks in the wild upswept hair, a goatee, and harder, darker eyes, if that were possible. “Why do I have the sinking feeling that you’ve dragged me halfway across the galaxy to watch you play with your toys? Aren't you bored with this world yet?”

So that’s where he gets it from, she thought. That sneer must have been around for generations. She hoped Trunks didn't pick it up anytime soon.

“My father,” Vegeta bowed to the older man, then turned to the man who’d trailed behind the king. “Bardock, how good of you to come. I’m so pleased you could make it, father. I’d like you to take note of this woman, Bulma Briefs. She’s been leading the revolt on this planet since our first invasion. She has, despite my best efforts, been resilient, resourceful, and effective.”

“Either shut up or get to the point, brat,” the King growled and crossed his arms, having lost his patience years ago. He didnt even look at Bulma, keeping his baleful glare focused on the source of his ire.

“My time on this planet has not been a waste, is the point. She fights better than any tactician Freeza could hope to have, and she does it with the bare minimum of resources, against staggering odds, and with no hope of winning. Freeza-”

“I’ve got one hope.” They turned to look at her, and the slow, lazy smile curving her lips gave her enemy pause. “Your son will kill you, Vegeta. I know this, because I gave birth to him, I raised him, I trained him. I’ve already tried to warn you; I am your greatest weakness.”

The flash of ki blinded her, but it didn’t really matter, because she was dead before she hit the floor.

“That is quite enough of that. Bardock, make sure he hunts down the brat she was babbling on about, and kills it himself. I want this planet destroyed before you set foot on Vegetasie again, my son.” The king turned to leave through the doors he’d come in through, and as he did so, a high pitched wail became a streak of purple.

The kid fell to his knees next to his mother's body, reached down to brush the blue hair out of her pale face, breathing heavily. A tentative “Mom?” and then, dully, “You killed her, you killed her, youkilledher…” a sharp intake of breath, “MOM!” at the top of his lungs, that turned into a sound every Sayajin understands. The visceral sound of rage building up, with only one place to go. Most Sayajin don’t turn golden, though, with a pulse of power beating everything else back, standing now-blond hair up on end, or pupil-less green eyes wide with destructive intent. The kid didn’t have to attack, really; the first ki blast blew a hole the size of a basket ball through the kings chest. He stood, panting, small shoulders heaving, and only when the glow had faded, and Vegeta could see that his eyes were big and blue again, did the prince reach out and turn the boy gently by the shoulder.

“Boy,” he started, and stopped, because how do you offer comfort to a son you've never known? Just the one time they'd barely spoken, and the time he'd had Bulma cornered until the brat had planted both feet in his ribs, hard enough to send him sprawling. The brat had bought their escape; he'd known then, that the brat was his, and that the next time he saw the brat, he wouldn't be able to kill him.

“You brought her here. She wouldn’t have died if you hadn’t brought her here!” Such accusation, such hatred…his hair was an odd shade of purple, and he’d gotten her eyes, but the rest was Sayajin. “She only went because she didn’t want them to find me!”

“I’m sorry.” The only thing in his life he’d ever apologized for. What the hell was he thinking? But the boy paused, hiccupped, and flung his arms around Vegeta’s waist as he started sobbing. She obviously hadn’t taught him to hate well enough. And maybe he’d been around humans too long, because he let one hand cradle the back of the boy’s neck, without any urge to snap it.

“Vegeta.” Bardock had always been able to command attention with the minimum of effort. “Killing a Super Sayajin would be…a waste of resource. Hide the boy, claim the throne, and get the hell off this rock before you let it destroy you, if it hasn’t already.” The older Sayajin knelt, ripped the blue pendant from the dead king’s neck, and held it out to Vegeta.

He took it without thinking, and stared between the pendant and the boy for a long moment. Gently, like handling a bomb about to go off, he held the boy away from him.

“Boy.” Trunks looked up, hiccupped one last time, and wiped the tears away. “You see that sword?” Vegeta pointed to the blade hanging above the mantle across the room. “Take it, and use every trick your mother ever taught you. You’ve got the next two days to make it look like you’ve driven me off this rock, and I promise you, we’ll leave. Every Sayajin will leave. Now, go.” No use asking if the boy was ready, because there wouldn’t be time to wait. The boy hauled the sword down from the mantle, and only paused to look back once, right before he went diving through the window. “Tell me your name, boy.” He’d need the sound of the boy’s name, because there wasn’t anything else left of her.

“Trunks. My name is Trunks Briefs.” The boy paused for a moment longer, looking as if he wanted to say something else. Changed his mind, and dove into the night.

“You’ll look weak to the court, losing a world within the first few days of your kingship.” Bardock warned, then smirked. “It’s a good strategy. If they underestimate you enough, you’ll have the chance to eradicate the rot your father’s alliance with Freeza has brought. It’ll take time, though, and you’ve never been the patient type.”

“Bardock, I spent fifteen years fighting a woman I could have killed a hundred times over. I think I’ve learned a thing or two about patience that I didn’t know before.” Vegeta stared at the pendant as he spoke, then at the ki-charred bodies lying on the floor.

Patience, determination, and cunning disguised as courage; he’d learned a few things here. The planet, and the boy, would come in handy later. He’d let the boy nick him with the sword, and Kakarrot and Raditz would rush to get him up off the planet, and Bardock would hold Nappa back and get everyone else up off the ground. Back into their ships, back to Vegetasie. The court would think he’d run away from one little problem back to the supposed safety of the homeworld, and his greatest enemies would try to kill him within the first year. He’d have to draw the battles out, give them hope, before he killed them. Bulma’d taught him that too, hadn’t she? Years of not quite killing someone teaches you more than a few things.

And in the end, he laughed at the sight of his son charging, backed on either side by halfbreed versions of Raditz and Kakarrot, and let the boy run him through three times before he hauled him in close, and whispered goodbye, before Raditz grabbed him under the arms and shot skyward. He’d left the bodies of his father and his best enemy where the boy could find them, and left it up to him.

Trunks might hate him, but the boy already knew what his parents had spent his entire life trying to figure out; hate really is just another kind of love.