Welcome to Boxer & Rice

Bulma wandered through the large apartments she shared with Vejiita, tidying up absently as she went. Automated units took care of most of the cleaning, of course. She didn’t usually have the time or inclination to do it herself. Despite the armful of clothes she dumped into the cleaning unit, she wasn’t really interested in doing it now, either. She was brooding, and it felt better wandering around here, rather than the lab, considering the nature of her thoughts.

She didn’t love Vejiita anymore.

That wasn’t news, either to her or Vejiita. Everything between them had pretty much ended when he mated Goku. Between one day and the next, the world she knew had ended, and when Vejiita had come back to her, he’d been untouchable.

Untouchable. Her Vejiita, always fiery, always passionate, never faithful except to his family as a whole. Never hers again, even for those first few aching moments when she’d needed to throw her arms around him, to be held, to know that he was real and safe.

Goku had snarled and growled, appearing between her and Vejiita in a single blink of the eye, and Vejiita had turned away, taking Goku to a room to sleep.

For a few minutes, until Trunks had arrived, his own grief not preventing him from explaining everything to her, Bulma had been as hurt and angry as she could be.

With time, it had faded. Perhaps that was a tragedy in itself.

She didn’t blame either of them. In fact, knowing what it meant to Vejiita, she both admired and respected him for it. For Vejiita to accept anyone, much less Goku, into his soul like that… It was a greater sacrifice than anyone could have asked of him.

Yet he’d never offered to bond with her. She supposed it was just as well that he hadn’t, since the bond with Goku would have been impossible then, but she couldn’t stop the small spark of jealousy. Despite all the years they’d been together, and the children she’d borne him, she hadn’t even known that bonding was possible until he’d done it with Goku. Or rather, to Goku.

Ah, well, it wasn’t worth thinking about. It wouldn’t make a difference anyway, except to make her upset. The last time she’d cried over it, Vejiita had found her, and the distress he’d felt had brought Goku to them, ready to punish someone for hurting his mate. With Vejiita there, she hadn’t been in any real danger, but seeing her old friend like that had been very hard to bear.

She was too canny to cry anymore and draw that kind of attention to her remaining relationship with Vejiita. They shared quarters, but not a bed, nor even a bedroom. Goku, even through the thick walls of their apartments, technically slept closer to him than she did. She’d arranged it that way, knowing that even if Vejiita didn’t notice, Goku would.

Vejiita didn’t touch her sexually anymore, and she honestly didn’t know if that was due to his side of the bond or if he was simply being careful.

She stopped in front of Vejiita’s bedroom door, wondering if she should go in. Saiyajin senses could usually discover traces of Vejiita’s scent on her, she’d been told, but she didn’t normally risk his bedroom. There was no need, and nothing there for her. Whether he didn’t want her or didn’t risk her, that part of her life was over.

Which, frankly, was a damned shame.

With a sigh, she turned away. There wasn’t any point in starting trouble over nothing. She’d adjusted to the way things were. She was getting old enough that it didn’t matter quite so much that she was married to the epitome of sexual charisma and couldn’t touch him.

So what was she moping about? Nothing much, she realized, except that she was kind of lonely. It might be nice to have someone to snuggle to sleep with, at least.

That wasn’t going to happen. Another familiar, bitter dose of reality. She was the mother of the heirs to the throne. Until and unless Vejiita let go of her to take another mate, any relationship she might have would be considered infidelity, an insult to the king and, by extension, the whole saiyajin race. Killing her was out of the question, but killing her lover would be an obligation. She doubted Vejiita would do such a thing, but there were thousands of saiyajins now, all of them willing to wipe out the stain on his honor.

Royal blood made all the difference. If she’d been with anyone other than Vejiita, it wouldn’t have been a problem. But of course, that had been true of a lot of things in her life. She couldn’t help but smile ruefully at the thought.

Her scouter began blinking insistently. With a sigh, she cued up the call. She didn’t particularly like wearing the damned things, even the lighter, more efficient ones she’d designed. The new ones had clear, almost invisible screens, and provided a great deal more information. She still found them annoying, but at least they could be taken off, unlike the cranial implants that had been suggested. Usually she could also choose to ignore a call. Except this one.

Emergency. Vejiita had just lost his temper, and someone was dying.

The scouter showed no real spike in his ki, and that chilled her. In the throne room, her ex-lover’s hands must even now be dripping blood.

***

Goku stood outside the doors to the throne room, casually leaning against them. A small group of people were scattered around the hallway, keeping a respectful distance. Bura’s mate, Hakusai, greeted Bulma when she arrived at the curiously tense, yet peaceful scene.

“Forgive me for disturbing you,” he said. Always respectful, Hakusai always caught Bulma faintly off-guard. Despite everything, she was used to saiyajins, especially royal ones, being some of the rudest, roughest people she knew. Hakusai’s unfailingly good manners with her seemed a bit… unnatural. It had truly never crossed her mind that, besides having lived his first life at a time when respect for royalty was a survival trait, Hakusai was simply being polite to his mother-in-law. Given who his wife’s relatives were, that was also a distinct survival trait.

Bulma, still clueless, nodded formally. “What’s going on?”

“From the sounds, I think Vejiita-sama has disagreed with the S’Verr-ska delegation,” Hakusai said carefully. Bulma blinked at the mildness of that statement, and then realized that Goku could hear everything that was said. She hazarded a glance in his direction and was alarmed.

So deceptive. Perhaps it was his scent that had warned the saiyajins, or something else about him that had set their senses off. She had only her knowledge of her oldest friend to help her, but that was more than enough.

Damn, she thought suddenly, has he always been so handsome? But of course that didn’t matter, not now, and especially not to her.

The small crowd, drawn to the hint of chaos like saiyajins always were, shifted and changed, but no one approached him.

Goku leaned back against the doors, not looking at anyone. His tail was the only part of him that displayed any emotion, curling and lashing slowly behind him. He was slowly eating a berka, one of the spoils of war, so to speak. Far too tough and acidic for ningens to eat, the berka fruits were a small bit of heaven for the saiyajin palate. They had been a gift from a small planet hoping to avoid purging. The berka flourished on Chikyuusei, but their home planet was long gone.

Sharp teeth flashed with each small, deliberate bite. Chunks of the tender flesh were torn away and savoured before the next one was taken. A small trickle of crimson juice was captured by a swift tongue.

The tail lashed, and Goku watched nothing, staring at the floor, a small smile gracing his lips between bites.

A lazy flow of blood was easing its way out from under the doors, spreading slowly across the smooth floor. Against the pale stone, the nearly black fluid seemed to move like a living thing, idly exploring. And why not? The danger was past. Whatever atrocities had spilled such darkness were already done with. All that remained was to mark the moment and clean it away.

There was no sound from behind the doors. Goku guarded the privacy of his mate and whatever his mate had done, and no one would challenge him.

Bulma stayed where she was. She didn’t know this Goku, who was content to let the blood run past his feet, who paid the rest of them all the attention they deserved, which was none. His mind was elsewhere, focused on the fruit in his hand, the fury of his king, and the rest of them counted for nothing against that.

This Goku might not kill her, but the fate of a dozen alien beings, however civilized she had thought them, wasn’t worth the risk. This feral, possessive Goku, the one who hated her for having ever touched Vejiita in ways he was forbidden, was unpredictable. He lived just under the familiar Goku’s skin, never far from the surface, always ready to turn on her.

“I don’t think this is my business,” she said quietly to Hakusai, and simply left, walking away from it all, this time. She was too tired, and suddenly, feeling too old and injured to face it all again.

Behind her, a smirk curved sensuous lips and then teeth flashed again, tearing away another little piece of what had once been whole.

***

Trunks had lied to him.

Gohan screamed and let the energy from his hands carve a bloody channel across the city. Buildings exploded or simply collapsed in on themselves, and the people inside them, whatever species they were, died instantly or horribly later on. Gohan didn’t care either way.

Trunks had lied to him, and this planet was going to die anyway.

“HAAA!!!!!” he screamed, shortening the invocation of his father’s famous attack. It didn’t diminish the effectiveness in the slightest. Ki, the energy of life itself, destroyed most of the rest of the city before burning out across the bay, vaporizing vast volumes of ocean. The ground beneath began to quake as tectonic forces were loosed. The remains of the city were shattered while, out to sea, a tsunami sped toward a distant continent.

Gohan couldn’t care less.

He had woken up on the ground, looking up into blue skies.

It had been so pretty, so reminiscent of the skies he’d flown in as a boy, that it had taken him some time to realize that he was looking into Trunks’ eyes. That he could be so overwhelmed with feelings of home and happiness simply by the shade of those eyes… It had stunned him. He’d wanted to do something simple and tender, to brush his fingers across that handsome face, anything to show his gratitude, but Trunks had flinched when he’d raised his hand.

Flinched. It was a tiny movement, almost indiscernible to any other eyes.

Gohan had felt like he’d been kicked in the face.

Dazed, he’d sat and listened as Trunks had said something about cooling off his grandfather by asking him to spar with them. The elder Vegeta had hit Gohan with a technique Trunks hadn’t seen before, but it shouldn’t have knocked him out, really. Perhaps he was sick, or exhausted; Trunks wanted him to check in with Bulma when they got back.

There had been true concern in Trunks’ face.

But it was a lie, and a bad one. Even if he could have believed that Trunks’ asshole grandfather could take him out with any technique, ever, his nose told his otherwise. He had caught traces of fear and anger in the prince’s scent. There had also been a wariness in the way Trunks looked at him, in the way his eyes shifted restlessly over Gohan’s face.

What had happened? He remembered arguing with the old man, and then Trunks… Trunks had done something. Probably to spare his grandfather from embarrassment.

But why would Trunks go so far as to knock him out? And why would Trunks lie to him?

Humiliation and puzzled hurt burned in Gohan’s eyes now. How could Trunks have done that to him? He’d never been anything but a loyal friend to Trunks, living within the boundaries the prince had set, holding off from what he most wanted.

Royal blood. Maybe that was it. Royal pride and royal blood. Trunks couldn’t have his low-class friend insulting his royal grandfather, now could he? Bastard… Gohan expected that kind of thing from Vejiita no Ou, who’d been an untrustworthy fuckhead since Gohan had met him, but not from Trunks.

Trunks was different. Trunks was his friend. Trunks was… his.

It was all Vejiita’s fault, turning his son against Gohan. Vejiita, refusing to let Goku finish the bond. Vejiita, who had even blocked Gohan from sending to Goku through their parent/child bond.

Goku was magnificent, certainly the greatest saiyajin who had ever lived, and yet his blood still ran down the drain because Vejiita didn’t think he was worthy. Gohan was sickened now by the memory of his father twined in the king’s arms that night as they slept, knowing that Vejiita had only offered that scrap of comfort to stop the nightmare. He could stop everything, all the suffering, and yet he refused to do it.

Pride. Royal pride that was poisoning Trunks now.

He couldn’t allow it. Trunks was too precious to be spoiled. Even now, despite his hurt, the thought of the prince was enough to take Gohan’s breath away. Right now, this moment, Trunks must look like a god of death, poised in the sky over victims unworthy of his attention, his braid whipping around as his astonishing eyes focused on the destruction he had just unleashed.

Gohan closed his eyes with a moaning sigh. Somehow, he would fix this. Somehow he would have what he wanted, who he wanted. No matter who had to suffer for it.

That would have to wait, though, until the time was right. He had to clear his head of all this and think. For now, there was this small matter of annihilation to take care of before he could see his prince again.

He checked his scouter for life forms, increasing the range slowly. Nothing specific showed up on his screen, nothing that looked like it was sapient. It was funny; he’d meant to be a schoolteacher once, and here he was, dutifully exterminating everything that could think.

Ah…. A blip on his screen, a cluster of the doomed. He grinned, his fangs showing. There was nothing to take your mind off your troubles like mass murder.