Chapter Text
Watching Nappa clip his toenails.
Listening to Raditz list the pros and cons of manscaping.
Getting the shit beat out of him by Zarbon.
Being in the vicinity of Gouldo slurping his fucking soda when the dining room is out of straws.
Frieza.
All things preferable to being trapped on a ship with Captain Moron and his crew of idiots.
Vegeta could feel the tension building behind his left eye. He fought the urge to rub the ache and glanced down at his open palm. Some of his flesh was still pink. Without Frieza's medics on hand he had no access to a regeneration tank.
He wondered if there was any medical staff aboard, but he knew the answer before he'd formed the thought.
Goku's crew needed credits, and they could barely afford food nevermind expensive medical equipment. Regeneration tanks were a luxury, and one that he didn't require anyway.
He would heal, and be even stronger because of it.
Three raps resonated at his door and he stood, just as the door was thrown open and the blue haired woman stood in it's place. She was frowning at him.
He didn't even have to alter his facial expression to scowl back.
"Isn't the point of knocking to await a response?"
"Sorry. I must've left my manners with my regard for your feelings," she replied, a saccharine smile tugging at her lips.
"Unsurprising."
"Besides, I figure you could either be hiding something," she continued, "and if that's the case, barging in on you would be to my favor. Or, you'd be naked. And trust me, it's nothing I haven't seen before."
Lewd woman she was, her eyes dropped from his chest to his waist and lower still, and Vegeta felt heat climbing his neck.
"Anywho, there's breakfast in the kitchen. Chichi cooked before heading off, so it's actually decent and you should do yourself a favor and grab some before Goku wakes up."
He lifted a single brow, showing how she tested his patience. Warning her to leave. Bulma rested a hand on her hip and went on like she had no clue she was annoying him. Or she just didn't care.
Vegeta would bet all his credits the latter. This ship's mechanic- whose name he'd failed to remember, as he did all inconsequential information- was rapidly rising on his list of people to slaughter when he got around to it.
"Oh, and I'm fixing the gravity in the training room after breakfast, so it should be ready to use again in a few hours. If Goku doesn't get his hands on the control panel and wreck it." Her lips, full and red, puckered. "Again."
His interest piqued.
"There are training facilities aboard?"
Her laughter was tossed around his empty room.
"I wouldn't call them facilities, exactly, but we've got a cargo bay down below and a pretty sizable training area that I've rigged with my own special touch."
"And that would be...?"
Bulma grinned. She didn't want to get excited around Vegeta, but she couldn't help herself. She liked showing off in front of people. Even if those people were complete dickheads. But once not so very long ago, Vegeta had been an important member of Frieza's legion. She wanted to see his expression when he saw how superior her training room was against the millions of people and credits the lizard lord had at his disposal.
And, sure, outwardly Vegeta remained impassive as his dark eyes took in the space. Sparse though it was, she'd scrounged up the highest quality metal they couldn't afford in order to reinforce the area. It wasn't as tall as she'd like... Bulma had contemplated eliminating two of the ship's bedrooms to allow for more headroom, but they didn't have the space.
Resisting the urge to spread her arms and shout 'ta-da,' Bulma bit her lower lip and said,
"Well?"
"Should I be impressed?"
"Not yet," she conceded, and then she took a few steps toward the control panel and tapped her fingers against the gridded screen. Her fingers shook with anticipation. "But I haven't shown you what it can do yet."
...
Chichi tugged at the sleeves of her yukata and smiled politely at the diplomats in the room, careful to make eye contact with each in turn. It was a casual event where politics were discussed along with the current events of the Trade Federation. Many of the diplomats in the room had helped fund Goku's war- the war on the Alliance- but had taken advantage of the spoils that came at the fall of the Colds.
She passed out petit fours and exotic fruits and rubbed elbows with some of the most powerful men in the universe. She contemplated stealing a strawberry for Bulma, but now wasn't the time.
Blending in with the other Companions, Chichi kept her eyes empty and her lips upturned. She poured tea and listened to gossip, hoping for something, anything to slip. Any morsel of something that would help Goku in his fight.
But nothing did, and when she'd return to Shenron later that evening, she'd have contributed nothing to the crew.
….
His wife slapped something on the table top, tearing Krillin from his daydreams. It took a couple blinks for his eyes to focus, and when he did, 18's snarl filled his vision.
"Uh," Goku said, stopping the shoveling of rice into his mouth long enough to glance at the paper pressed between 18's hand and their dining table. "What's that?"
"Our budget. You idiots spent half our funds on food and that damn dinner theatre I told you we couldn't afford! After our next fuel up, we'll be in the red." Her icy demeanor never shifted, but her eyes did. From the Captain to her husband and back again. "Again."
"Well, when we stop for fuel next, why don't we pick up a couple passengers?"
18 scoffed. "Shenron isn't a taxi."
"True. But we need the money…" He let his words trail off. Krillin was well aware that arguing with 18 was futile. She didn't want a solution; she wanted to bitch. "Goku, any other ideas?"
Scratching his head at having the attention volleyed his direction, Goku said, "We could pick up passengers at Aladreis?"
"Fine," 18 snapped, snatching the budget from the table and heaving a sigh. "But no more all-you-can-eat dinner theatres, idiots."
The sound of heavy boots on the ladder rungs followed by Bulma's messy curls and beaming smile shifted the conversation.
"Any idea when Chichi'll be back?" Bulma asked, dropping into an empty chair and reaching to slice off a chunk of dried fruit leather. She tried not to think of Chichi off wining and dining on a distant ship. Eating real fruit and meat and chocolate. She was jealous, sure, but had never been interested- or able, for that matter- to fake being demure and agreeable for any amount of time.
The fruit leather was… dry. As her jaw worked around the thick slice, she contemplated how many vitamins had made it into the starchy hunk. Goku ate his rice, even as the conversation shifted to their Companion. And even though she knew she shouldn't, Bulma watched him. When Chichi had gone to meet a client for… whatever she did, Goku pretended he didn't understand. Or maybe he wasn't pretending.
She wouldn't be too surprised to discover that he didn't know. He was… innocent, to put it nicely. Naive, maybe. Dumb and oblivious and quite possibly a-sexual, if she was being honest with herself.
"Later," Goku snapped and, Bulma couldn't help but notice, there was a touch of bitterness on his tongue. Something she noted that sounded a lot like… jealousy.
Bulma blinked. Maybe he did know after all.
Pushing his empty plate back and getting to his feet, he passed Bulma on his way to the ladder, pausing only to say, "We're going to pick up passengers on Aladreis."
"O-kay," she replied, watching him go with another blink.
Krillin concentrated on the budget his wife had shoved under his nose.
Bulma chewed her lip and caught 18 watching their captain descend the ladder. When 18 looked her way, the two women shared knowing grins.
…
He'd always been an outsider. With his soldiers, with his men, with this… crew. Not his crew. But this gaggle of idiots surrounding him as he hitched a ride from Point A to Point B. He didn't mind being set apart, being… out of place.
The things he did care about were more consequential than his place in this universe, anyway. Things like knowing somehow Zarbon was alive. How Frieza's second-in-command had survived the war was impossible enough, but the fact he was piloting missions with Kakarot and his band of do-gooders and idiots- allied factions, their sworn enemies- was bad enough.
And yet, here they were.
"Hey Vegeta," a voice said, pulling him from his revere.
Kakarot stood in the doorway, blocking it with his giant, very-Saiyan frame. Vegeta stilled. As much as Kakarot might look Saiyan, he was so in blood only. He had no recollection of their home, no allegiance to their people, and obviously no respect for their throne. And besides, during the war he'd been their enemy. And while the war was long over, Vegeta held onto grudges longer than most.
"Bulma told me you're a jackass," Kakarot said, in lieu of greeting. Vegeta wasn't sure which one Bulma was, but he'd been equal parts jackass to all members of their crew, so it could've been anyone. "The others, they don't trust you either. You could try being… nicer." And flashing both rows of white teeth in some foreign, friendly expression that didn't belong on any Saiyan's features, Kakarot laughed.
Vegeta felt the pesky vein in his forehead throb.
"I'm not going to be nice to anyone." And, dismissing the subject, he asked, "What does Zarbon want?"
"Uh." Kakarot scratched behind his ear and shrugged. He was either a convincing actor or an honest-to-Kai idiot. "He wants a ship delivered to him on Chrono. Something the Alliance can't track."
Any legal ship would be trackable by the Alliance. Sure, Vegeta wasn't so naive to believe that those types of ships weren't built on black market planets. But smuggling one to Chrono, an Alliance hotbed? It was a suicide mission.
"I'm not flying an illegal ship into Chrono with you idiots," Vegeta spat. He wasn't a coward, he just wasn't a complete and total imbecile. There was a difference.
Kakarot laughed and waved the suggestion off with his hand. "We're not dumb enough to fly the ship into port on Chrono, Vegeta. That's an Alliance city!"
"Hmph. So you're going to try and sneak a ship planetside?"
"Yep."
"And, Kakarot, how would you manage that?"
He grinned. "Just leave the details to Bulma."
Vegeta grunted, realizing for the first time that the blue haired mechanic was most likely Bulma. She was the only one aboard this ship with half a brain. But that didn't mean he trusted her. Since the empire had come crumbling around his ears, Vegeta's feet remained firmly rooted in the 'Don't Trust Anyone' camp.
"Oh, by the way, I'm going to need you to be extra nice," Kakarot continued, as though he had any authority to make a request like that. "We're going to be picking up passengers at Aladreis to make some extra money. It'll be crowded for a bit, but we need the credits."