Chapter Text
The safe house is exactly as Vegeta remembers it: worn down, decrepit, and off the beaten path. In other words, it’s everything a safe house ought to be.
They’d lost a number of favorite locations to urban advancement over the years, but this one still remains untouched. His old key even works in the lock, even if it does take some fiddling to make it turn.
Unfortunately, it’s been years since they’d been there last.
“We’ll have to keep the doors open all day to air it out,” he says, noting the quiet disgust on Letta’s face. “It’s a little dusty.”
“A little,” she says, dragging her finger through a layer of dust so thick she can’t even see the true color beneath. She looks up at him with a frown. “Haven’t you ever heard of a cleaning service?”
Goku chuckles as he places his bag gingerly on a patch of floor that doesn’t look {too} dingy. “Defeats the purpose of a safe house if other people know about it, kiddo.”
Luckily, the last time Vegeta was here, it had been with Nappa. In other words, the only one of the three of them who had a lick of sense in the form of “real life experience.” Before they left, he’d covered their furniture with sheets and made sure to disconnect the pipes so they wouldn’t freeze over and burst during the winters. His precautions hadn’t stopped the slow creep of black mold up the walls, though. This might be the last time he uses this particular location.
“I’m going to check the generator out back. Kakarot, you set up a perimeter. Letta, keep out of sight in case somebody followed us here,” Vegeta orders. His travel companions immediately jump into action. He’s the one with the experience in these situations; they’re just along for the ride. He checks his gun and holsters it at his hip before pushing open the back door onto a partially-rotted porch. Once all of this blows over, he’ll have to come spend time out here fixing it up.
The pathway to the generator is still visible, if only barely, through the overgrown grass. Vegeta doubles back to the house for a machete to clear the area around the nigh-ancient device before starting it up; but within moments, the old motor is purring like an elderly cat and sputtering out the occasional cough of exhaust.
“Uncle ‘Geta?” Letta calls out softly as he reenters the house.
“Mm?”
“There’s a mouse in the bathroom upstairs.” Her voice isn’t shaky or fearful, just matter-of-fact.
There are probably cockroaches everywhere too, but he isn’t going to bring it up if he doesn’t have to. “Wouldn’t doubt it. Use the downstairs.”
Goku enters and shuts the door behind him, turning the ancient deadbolt back into place. “Perimeter’s clear, and I put the car out back. I guess we just have to wait now?” he asks, nose wrinkling with renewed distaste for the mildewy air.
Vegeta runs his tongue along his teeth and puffs out his cheeks, blowing out a long breath. Too much downtime and he starts worrying about things beyond his control. He wonders if Bulma has tried contacting him, if she’s safe, if she went off the grid with no way to tell him--he tries to keep the scenarios positive, but they quickly descend into anything but. He’s been worried for two days straight and now he has nothing to do but sit and wallow in it.
The treeline feels a lot closer to the house than it did last time he was here. The sun sinks behind the canopy, casting the house in long shadows as the minutes tick by. Letta and Goku are off talking in some corner somewhere in the house while Vegeta takes guard duty by the front door. Every other entrance is sealed tight. Letta knows where to hide when they inevitably receive their visitors.
If their luck is good, it’ll be Raditz himself, alive and well and ready to explain What the Fuck is Happening. If not--Vegeta’s prepared to become a one-man army until he has no bullets left.
It’s quiet.
Even his place back at Capsule, as isolated from the main road as it is, can’t come close to this. There, the sounds of machinery and hustle and bustle of the compound filter in to his subconscious. Out here, only the rumble of the generator and the song of crickets make themselves at home.
Vegeta could get used to this.
He’s startled by the fluttering of the curtains, head snapping up and gunhand at the ready. It’s just Goku, coming to relieve him of his watch. He hadn’t fallen asleep, but he had been floating off in his own world, picturing a life in the woods with his woman.
Letta’s already sound asleep, curled up under Goku’s jacket as a makeshift blanket. Vegeta doesn’t think he’ll catch a wink, but the next thing he knows, Goku’s whisper-shouting at him from the door.
“Vegeta,” he hisses, sighing in exasperation when he sees the other man come to. “Get Letta under cover. Someone’s here.”
Vegeta strains and hears a car door slam outside followed by a deep-voiced rebuke to be quiet. Whoever it is, they’re not alone. He picks up the sleeping eight year old and tucks her away in the miraculously mold-free pantry. She awakens, briefly, just enough to figure out what’s going on, but Vegeta places a finger to her lips and waits for her nod before shutting her inside. He knocks three times, then twice--that will be their signal for the all-clear. She knocks back. She understands.
His feet ghost across the floor, already familiar with every sore spot where the house will groan under his weight.
“Two people,” Goku mouths, holding up the appropriate number of fingers. Vegeta nods curtly, readying his weapon from its holster.
“They’re here. The generator is running.”
“Are you sure it’s them?”
The second voice is feminine. Is it…? Vegeta’s heart leaps into his throat before he can quash the swelling hope in his chest.
“Only one way to find out,” Raditz says, knocking against the door in the old pattern they used to use back in the day, followed by two solid thumps of his boot against the bottom.
Vegeta gets into position, weapon drawn, waiting for Goku to open the door on his signal. It swings open wide, and Vegeta has never been happier to see Raditz in his entire life. Bulma stands at his side, decidedly unscathed and no worse for wear.