Chapter 33: Ghost at the Door
The transport shuttle to Outpost Gamma-7 was a rattling, impersonal crate, a far cry from the silent opulence of Planet Frieza. Kakarot spent the journey in silence, staring out at the streaking stars. The persona he'd worn for Frieza and the crew of the Lodestar. the crude, loudmouthed survivor, felt like a heavy coat he could finally shrug off. In its place was a cold, focused calm. He was walking back into his old life, but he was not the same Saiyan who had left it.
The outpost hadn't changed. It was the same grimy, bustling hub of activity, smelling of engine grease, ozone, and recycled air. As he walked from the landing bay into the main concourse, the first person to see him was an old, grizzled mechanic named Gronk, who was halfway through swigging from a flask of engine-cleaning fluid. He did a double-take, coughed, and spat a stream of purple liquid onto the deck.
"Holy hells," Gronk wheezed, wiping his mouth with a greasy sleeve. "Kakarot? That you, son? We heard you were... well, we heard you were scrap metal!"
Kakarot gave a slow, easy grin, the first genuine one in a long time. "Rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated, Gronk. Just took an unscheduled vacation."
The commotion drew more looks. A pair of off-duty soldiers playing cards at a makeshift table froze, their cards forgotten. A Saurian cook poked his head out of the mess hall, his long neck craning.
"It's really him!" someone shouted.
In moments, he was surrounded by a small crowd of mechanics, techs, and low-level troopers, the grunts of the Frieza Force. These were the people he'd shared drinks and complaints with for years. There were no suspicious bureaucrats here, no calculating aristocrats like Zarbon. Just surprised, grinning faces.
"Where the hell have you been, you son of a gun?" a trooper named Jax clapped him on the shoulder, his smile wide.
"Got stranded on a rock," Kakarot said, falling back into the easy, simplified version of the story. "Pod crashed. Spent the last few months hunting the local wildlife and waiting for a ride."
"You look like hell," a female tech named Shara remarked, looking him up and down, though her eyes were warm. "But it's damn good to see you. We thought Vegeta's crew had finally gotten you killed for good."
The mention of his team was like a splash of cold water, but Kakarot kept the smile on his face. "Takes more than that."
He exchanged a few more pleasantries, falling back into the familiar rhythm of this place. It was strangely comforting, this pocket of mundane, grimy normalcy in the vast, cruel machine of the empire. But his mind was only half on the conversation. His eyes kept scanning the concourse.
"Hey," he said, casually, to Shara. "Lara still around? Comms deck?"
Shara's smile softened. "Yeah, she's around. Took a while for her to bounce back after... well, after you left. But she's tough. She's on shift right now. Deck Three."
Kakarot gave a nod of thanks and extricated himself from the group with a few more easy promises to share the full story over drinks later. He moved through the familiar, narrow corridors, the metal grates of the floor clanging under his boots. The noise of the concourse faded, replaced by the low hum of the outpost's life support and the distant, rhythmic chatter of data-streams from behind closed doors.
He reached the entrance to the Comms Center on Deck Three. The door was unlocked. He slipped inside.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a dozen holographic displays and status monitors, casting shifting blue and green light across the consoles. It was quiet, save for the gentle beeping of incoming data and the whisper of the climate control. There was only one person there, her back to him, seated at a central console.
Lara.
Her blue skin seemed to absorb the console's light, giving her an ethereal glow. Her head was bent in concentration, her long, dark hair with its iridescent blue streaks falling over her shoulder. She was tapping commands into a panel, her movements precise and familiar. She looked... whole. Healthy. A wave of something powerful and unexpected, relief, maybe, or a fierce, possessive satisfaction, washed over him.
He didn't announce himself. He just leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and watched her for a long moment. "You know," he said, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room. "For a top-of-the-line comms station, your long-range sensor calibration is a little off."
Lara froze. Her shoulders tensed. Her hands stilled over the console. It was a voice she hadn't heard in over a year. A voice she'd never expected to hear again.
Slowly, very slowly, she turned her chair around.
Her beautiful, blue eyes, which he remembered so well, were wide with disbelief. They scanned him from head to toe, taking in the scarred armor, the wilder hair, the new, harder lines on his face. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She looked like she was seeing a ghost.
"K-Kakarot?" Her voice was a breathless whisper, barely audible over the hum of the machines.
"The one and only," he said, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward her. He stopped a few feet away, close enough for her to see he was real. "Heard you might have missed me."
Tears welled in her eyes instantly, but a wobbly smile broke through her shock. "You bastard," she choked out, a laugh mixing with a sob. "You complete and utter bastard. They said you were dead. Raditz said... he said..." She couldn't finish, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.
"Yeah, well," Kakarot said, his voice softer now. "I'm harder to kill than that." His eyes dropped to her chest, where the fabric of her uniform hid the scar he knew was there. "You okay?"
She nodded, swallowing hard, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm fine. It... it healed. But you... where have you been?"
"Long story," he murmured, closing the final distance between them. He didn't give her a chance to ask more questions. He reached out, his calloused hand cupping her cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear. Her skin was as cool and smooth as he remembered.
She leaned into his touch, her eyes searching his, still full of wonder and confusion. "Kakarot..."
He bent his head and kissed her.
It wasn't a gentle reunion kiss. It was hungry, possessive, and full of a month of pent-up tension and near-death experiences. It was a kiss that said I'm here, I'm alive, and I came back for you. Lara gasped against his mouth, her hands coming up to clutch at the battered plates of his armor, pulling him closer as if to convince herself he was solid. The taste of her was familiar, a mix of the station's recycled air and something uniquely her, and it sent a jolt of pure, undiluted sensation through him. It was the first real, uncalculated thing he'd felt since waking up in that cave.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily. Lara rested her forehead against his chest, her hands still fisted in his armor.
"Don't you ever do that again," she whispered fiercely.
"No promises," he rumbled, a real, genuine smile tugging at his lips for the first time in what felt like an eternity. For a moment, standing there in the dim light of the comms deck, with Lara in his arms and the familiar, grimy outpost around him, the vast, terrifying game with Frieza and Vegeta felt a million miles away. He was home. And he had a score to settle.
[A/N: Can't wait to see what happens next? Get exclusive early access on patreon.com/saiyanprincenovels. If you enjoyed this chapter and want to see more, don't forget to drop a power stone! Your support helps this story reach more readers!]