The City

Set one month after The Discourteous Challenger.

Geta didn't sit still for the majority of the plane ride to West City, moving about the confined space with a restless energy, going from one window to another, trading snatches of conversation with Bulma and Yamcha.

"I've never been in a space that I couldn't just step out of before," he admitted when questioned, "Not that I remember. Don't remember ever being in a plane before, either."

"Bullshit, your nest is tiny compared to this," Bulma responded mildly.

"That's different, the hatch is always open," he paced, tail switching back and forth, tugging at the t-shirt Bulma had informed him he was required to wear for the outing. "I don't like this – next time I'm riding on the outside of the plane. Or flying myself. I'd probably be there by now if I'd done that…"

In the end he sat in one of the seats, making threads of ki between his fingertips to distract himself, though he began to pay attention again as they approached the city and even peered out the window curiously.

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Geta hesitated slightly before walking off the plane, peering out the doorway and tugging at his shirt again before stepping cautiously onto the tarmac of the landing and capsulizing area. He wrinkled his nose as he did so. "It's really hard."

"Well, yeah," Yamcha raised an eyebrow at him, "What, never been on blacktop before?"

"Have you seen any in the village?" Geta asked flatly.

"Well, no."

"Exactly." Geta stomped one foot lightly on the tarmac a few times, careful not to crack it. "I've only read about it before. It smells funny. And it's weird – not like cement at all!"

"Of course not, it's got a different structural make-up," Bulma called from the plane's doorway, "Also, heads up!"

Geta plucked the pair of sneakers she threw at him out of mid-air and made a face. "Do I have to?"

"Yes. This is the city, we have rules about stuff like shoes and shirts here."

"Fine, fine," Geta grumbled, sitting down and putting them on as Bulma capsulized the plane and put it away. He made a face as he stood up. "These feel weird, too."

"Only because you never wear them – you'll get used to it," Bulma replied flippantly, grabbing his hand, "Come on, let's go!"

Geta followed her, looking around as he did so, "It feels like there's an awful lot of people around here…"

"It's West City, Vegeta, of course there's lots of people, especially so close to lunch! You want to see this place or not?!"

Yamcha chuckled as he watched the two of them start to squabble, trailing behind with his hands in his pockets as Bulma led them into the city center, with its shops and its restaurants.

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"WHY DON'T YOU CARRY A CELL PHONE?! "

Yamcha nearly tore the cookbook he'd been looking through in half but managed to restrain himself. Setting it down, he turned with a scowl. "You know damn well why I- Bulma?" his frown turned concerned as he took in his friend's pale face, "What's wrong?"

"I lost Geta," she said in a rush, "We were in a crowd and we got separated and I haven't heard anyone yelling about flying teenagers or anything weird, so he's probably still somewhere in the city, but he really doesn't have a cell phone, or any ID or anything, and he doesn't know all the rules and I need you to do that ki sensing thing you've been learning and find him for me before he gets into trouble!"

"Hey, B, calm down, it's okay," Yamcha put a hand on her shoulder, "Geta's a smart guy, even if he is a little weird – he'll be okay. And if he gets attacked or anything, he won't have any problem defending himself."

"It's not that," Bulma ran a hand through her hair, 'It's- dammit, it's the way he gets around strangers! He deals with it in the village and jungle by running off to give himself time to adjust, but here... I've brought him into a sea of strangers, and there's nowhere for him to run!" she swore again, "I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner!"

Yamcha stared at her for a moment, then swore as well. "Okay, take me to where you last saw him, my range isn't that great yet, but I'll do my best."

"Thanks, Yams."

"No sweat. Come on, let's go. Who knows what he's getting up to?"

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Geta was curled up in a dead-end alleyway, arms over his hand, back pressed into a corner. He was breathing slowly, trying to calm down, but it wasn't working very well. Curling tighter, he took another breath, focusing on his own scent as opposed to all the foreign ones flooding over him. Ki presences also inundated him from every direction, even from under the ground (part of him idly wondered if it was from a subway or something). They were small, but there were so many, all unfamiliar, and it had been okay with Bulma and Yamcha nearby but he'd lost them, one after the other, and now he couldn't find them, there were too many ki signatures to sort through, and the city itself – there was no grass, were no trees, no earth, barely any animals, just hundreds of ki presences he couldn't attack or escape in this alien environment, all metal and glass and hard surfaces-

His breathing had sped up again, he needed to slow it down, calm down, he couldn't let them see his fear, had to get away, get it under control, couldn't let them see, it echoed in his head, 'don't let them see you're scared, it's dangerous, don't let them see, it's dangerous if they know, so don't let them see-'

"Geta?"

"Oh thank god, Geta!"

He tensed at the voices, footsteps, new ki signatures coming closer, one larger than the other, larger but- familiar, they were both familiar, he knew these people, they were okay they were safe-

Geta uncurled enough to see Yamcha and Bulma hurrying towards him. Yamcha crouched in front of him, close but not crowding, and Bulma knelt by his side.

"Geta, hey, Vegeta, hey, it's okay," the scarred teen's voice was low but firm, "I need you to listen to me, okay? I'm pretty sure you're having a panic attack right now, but it's okay. We are here. We're here, and I need you to do something for me, okay? It's really easy." He waited a moment until Geta gave a small nod, then continued. "I need you to focus on your feet – pay really close attention to them, really close – feel your toes, feel your shoes, move them around a little. Really close attention, yeah, that's it, keep going-"

Yamcha kept talking, quietly, and Geta's breathing finally started to come under control again, and he uncurled a little more. Yamcha grinned at him.

"Feeling better?" Geta nodded slightly again. "Is there anything you'd like us to do, anything that'll help you?"

Geta swallowed. "I- can I sit between you? Please?"

"Sure. Scooch away from the wall a bit, okay?"

Geta nodded and did, relaxing further as his friends moved to either side of him, blocking out the foreign kis and scents to a certain extent with their immediate presence. They sat quietly for a few minutes, Yamcha sitting loosely, casually, yet taking up an impressive amount of space and blocking the mouth of the alley from the other two, while Bulma was curled up next to Geta with her arms around her knees, careful of her skirt even though no one was there to look up it.

Eventually she asked, "What happened?" in a quiet voice, "You were right there one minute and then gone the next."

"I- someone- someone touched my tail. Through my shirt," Geta managed to get out, only then consciously realising that he'd begun to shake. He held up a hand in front of his face. "I- w-what's-?"

"It's okay, it's normal," Yamcha said quietly, "You were really tense, and you've just finally relaxed enough for your body to start dealing with all the adrenaline you've got in your system at the moment from having a huge panic attack. It's normal, it'll pass. You wanna tell us what happened next?"

Geta shook his head but kept talking, "I- he touched my tail and- a-and I nearly- nearly tore his head off." He curled up tighter again. "I nearly k-k-killed someone just for touching me! I sh-shouldn't have come…"

"But you didn't," Bulma said firmly, speaking up, "In a situation like this, where you were already really uncomfortable, someone did something that I can only assume was the equivalent of reaching out and casually fondling one of my boobs, and you didn't lash out. Heck, someone had touched me like that? We'd be in the police station right-"

"Bulma," Yamcha interrupted her, glaring at her before refocussing on Geta as he tensed again, "Hey, it's okay, you didn't do anything wrong. It's okay. Focus on your feet again. We're here, we'll keep the other people away…"

They continued to sit quietly for a long while after that, and eventually the shaking stopped and Geta's breathing slowed down to its normal rate and he uncurled all the way, leaning against the wall and looking tired but better. "Thanks."

"No sweat, 'swhat friends are for." Bulma smiled, then glanced at Yamcha, "Anyway, where'd you learn all that 'focus on your feet' stuff, Mr. Psychiatrist?"

Yamcha blushed and shrugged. "I used to have a lot of panic attacks, too, remember? Whenever I was around girls. Master Gohan taught me how to deal with them, drilled it into me right alongside the kicks and punches, so when I saw Geta, it was kinda automatic."

"Ah."

They ended up staying in the alleyway a little longer, waiting for the lull between lunch and supper, then Bulma led them to a quieter sector of the city to get something to eat before heading back. Geta stayed between his friends for most of it, and was the first one on the plane once it was decapsulized. Yamcha slapped him on the shoulder as he came in.

"We'll try somewhere smaller next time, yeah? Work you up to the city instead of dumping you in it all at once."

"What?!" Geta turned back to him with shocked eyes, "No, I don't wanna come back! I'm just gonna stay in my village forever, it's plenty big!"

Bulma snorted. "Oh grow up, Vegeta, you can't just hide from this – even Yamcha got over his issues!"

"Hey!"

"This is different – hiding from girls is completely implausible on a long-term basis! And don't call me 'Vegeta,' it's 'Geta!'"

Bulma smirked at him, then sing-songed, "Veeeegeeeeetaaaa~"

He scowled at her. "Dammit, woman!"

"Hey, that's Bulma to you, pal!" Bulma snapped back and Geta started to smirk instead.

"No way, if I'm 'Vegeta' then you're 'woman!'"

"And apparently I'm driving," Yamcha rolled his eyes as he walked past both of them to the pilot's seat, "Let me know when the lovers' tiff is over, okay?"

"Yamcha!" Bulma snapped at the same time Geta turned scarlet and squawked, "Don't be vulgar!" the blue-haired woman spun on her heel to glare at the shorter man.

"Vulgar?! What, am I not good enough for you or something?!"

"I- what?" Geta gaped at her, face still red. Bulma folded her arms.

"Are you saying you wouldn't have sex with me if I offered it?!"

Geta's ears joined his face in crimson hue. "I wouldn't have sex with anyone!"

Bulma blinked. "What, anyone anyone? What about Yamcha?"

"No! No one! And don't talk about me and Yamcha that way, it's weird!"

"Eh, he's probably bad at it, anyway."

"Excuse me?" Yamcha had been content to ignore them until now, but at this comment he felt he had to stand up for himself and turned to look at them over the pilot's chair, "First off, you wouldn't know, Bulma, and second off I am excellent in bed!"

Bulma raised an eyebrow at him. "You have outside confirmation of this?"

"Yes," Yamcha said smugly, turning back to his pre-flight checks.

"Oooo~ who with?"

"That's for me to know and you to wonder about," he said firmly, "Now buckle in – take-off's in two minutes."

"Fine, fine," Bulma sulked, only semi-serious, as she selected a seat.

Geta came to sit next to her, grumbling as he did so. "Vulgar, both of you. Completely and utterly vulgar!"

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The behaviour and techniques Yamcha uses in this are ones that have personally helped me through various panic attacks over the years – they might not work for everyone, though I will say that the 'focus on your feet' technique has worked quite well for other people I've told about it – it's surprisingly hard to panic when you're thinking about your feet.

As for why Geta flipped out like he did… sometimes the body or heart remember what the mind can't, or won't. Geta grew up in an extremely rural area, and the last place he was in that was mostly man-made and full of strangers he couldn't get away from… was Frieza's space station. He doesn't remember this of course, but part of him recognises this sort of environment as hostile and very unsafe. He's also always functioned under the concept that it's very dangerous to show fear or weakness to the wrong people, which again originates from those forgotten times in the Planet Trade, which is why he always extricates himself from situations that illicit such emotions so he can go and get rebalanced on his own. From this point of view, I think it's pretty understandable that he responded to this series of events as he did, and I hope that you feel it makes sense as well.

I know saiyans don't have adrenaline (it's one of the advantages demi-saiyans have over full saiyans in making the jump to super), but no one else within the context of the story does – they all think he's human, or at least close enough. He's probably got some sort of brain chemical making him twitchy, but it's not adrenaline.

Also, ironically enough, I wrote that first section of this fic, the bit with them on the plane, on September 12th… 2014. This is the danger of writing stuff like this and sitting on it too long – original jokes sometimes turn into inadvertent references. ;)

Yamcha doesn't carry a cell phone because they're expensive and he usually doesn't get reception in the places he visits, anyway.

Also, gonna stick this in here because I've got nowhere else to put it at the moment, but Geta's actually quite fond of reading – he read the town library, remember? His favorite genres are non-fictional science articles (generally with a dictionary and a scientific dictionary next to him to ensure he knows what they're talking about sometimes) and books of folklore and mythology, especially stories about the Monkey King. A portion of his earnings selling meat and coconuts goes towards magazine subscriptions (scholarly magazines are expensive, and it costs more to get them shipped to an isolated place like the village). He also enjoys math – it makes sense to him, and he finds it easy to understand. He's not an expert in any of these things, but he does know more than the average person, same as anyone who has a hobby another person doesn't. This doesn't really fit with the rest of this fic, but I wanted to mention it, since it is part of his character design.