Dr. Milo Atkins rubbed his eyes as he reviewed results from the chest CT scan for the fourth time. The hazy shadows on one of Vegeta's lungs resembled crushed glass. It had been three days since Bulma and Trunks admitted him to the hospital with pneumonia.
Before he died, Bulma's father named Milo guardian of his research on the Saiyans. After the old man's funeral, Vegeta said he expected Milo, who had dual degrees in medicine and biomedical engineering, to do a better job using him "as a pin cushion" than his late father-in-law. The Prince set a high standard, and Milo intended to meet it. They respected each other.
As he studied the test images, Milo couldn't help but feel like he had let everyone down.
Primum nil nocere, he said to himself. "First, do no harm" was medicine's collective oath, yet it seemed like harming had become his specialty. He hoped Bulma and the children would forgive him someday.
Enough of this. He needed to find a cigar and relax in his office before facing the inevitable. It wasn't long after he told his assistant he didn't want to be disturbed that his intercom rang, which exasperated him. He had no plans to leave his couch to make anyone feel better.
After a few more rings, he flipped the access switch to respond.
"Whoever you are, tell my assistant that he's fired."
"Are you busy, Milo? It's me, Trunks."
"No, I am abusing my privileges as a medical director by smoking the best cigar I've ever had in my office. Come in and make yourself comfortable. Where is Bulma? We should discuss next steps for your father."
Trunks stood with his hands in his pockets. He didn't know Milo smoked. The irony wasn't lost on him.
"They're both asleep in his room," he said. "She's exhausted."
"Yes, I understand," Milo said. "We can discuss the test results again with her later. Now, please, have a seat."
Trunks didn't want to sit, but he sensed the doctor's discomfort, so he complied. It was the respectful thing to do. Milo then proceeded with showing him images from Vegeta's lung scan.
"Trunks, despite our best efforts to treat the chronic bronchitis, your father has developed a type of pneumonia rarely seen in humans now, let alone in humanoids. We performed a bronchoalveolar lavage and ran a genetic biomarker test. It's a tough bacterial infection, and not that easy to get, which means Vegeta's immune system has taken a big hit."
"Mom suspected as much," Trunks said. "So what aren't you telling me?"
Milo paused and chewed on his cigar. "What I dislike is doing any of this without Vegeta's full consent. He was in his right mind before you drugged him. It's been three days, and he's fairly stable, so I'm reducing the sedatives. We'll provide palliative care for pain and breathing discomfort, but he should have a chance to respond with his mind intact.
"I think we can treat him successfully, son, but if he gets worse you should have a plan to carry out his wishes. Understand?"
Trunks was in no mood for being lectured. The voices in his head were bad enough. Palliative care? Isn't that for people who don't have long to live?
He picked up a framed picture of his grandfather and Milo and on the desk. "Yes, doctor, I do understand, and you just confirmed that my father could've soon died had we waited longer, so I have no regrets."
Milo relit his cigar as Trunks handed him the picture.
"And let's be real, Milo. You could've refused more aggressive treatment after we brought him in, but you didn't. I trust that you'll continue doing whatever it takes to help him."
Milo had always admired Trunks' spirit, even when the young man delivered the verbal equivalent of a punch in the dick. He was polite, but he was definitely Vegeta and Bulma's son.
"Trunks, we have enough information to compound an experimental antibiotic that should match your father's body type, so that's some good news. It's made from two drugs once considered the gold-standard for treating humans with resistant strains of certain infections.
"Much larger doses are needed, of course, so we put in a central line to administer them, and he's on steroids to prevent further pulmonary deterioration. There may be times when Vegeta may feel too sick to respond to anyone. These drugs can cause side effects, like severe nausea, similar to chemotherapy treatments."
Trunks lowered his head. "Thank you, doctor."
Milo took Trunks' hands in his. "Let's keep our fingers crossed that his body won't reject the drugs. Any improvement gives us more time to nail down what's happening to his immune system."
###
Bulma had already left by the time Trunks arrived to check on his father. He had a couple drinks in him, but he was sure that he could "hold his liquor." He was relieved that Vegeta appeared to be sleeping comfortably.
The chair he sat in next to the bed was extremely uncomfortable. The situation almost offended him. How could something so simple be overlooked? He needed to get up and stretch.
As he leaned on the bed, within seconds he felt his entire body being dragged sideways. "What the hell?!"
Vegeta had pulled himself up to whack his son's head on the bed. Trunks managed to face forward to stop the collision before every piece of equipment overturned.
Vegeta scolded himself for wasting his strength as he fell back to catch his breath, but he had made his point.
Trunks stood up and checked the oxygen monitor. He was furious, but he also felt bad for thinking that Vegeta wouldn't be disappointed because he drugged him. He couldn't recall a time ever when his father physically harmed him out of spite - not even when he was spanked as a boy, which was rare.
Several minutes went by before Vegeta was focused enough to respond. His breathing was ragged, but he couldn't let this pass.
"Well played, son. The shot in… in my back was a nice touch. I taught you well. Now get... me... the hell out of here."
"You know we can't do that," Trunks said sharply. "You needed to be stabilized, and right now you should stop talking. There's no excuse for what you just did."
Vegeta shook his head. "I do not… want to be here, Trunks. I want.. to be… at home with you, your mother, Bulla. Please."
Trunks gave him a puzzled look. "Wait. What? Bulla's coming back now? It will take her two months to get here. Mom was supposed to contact her earlier today about you."
"Your sister will be… here soon," Vegeta said. "I asked... her adviser several months ago to grant her... a leave of absence. He realized the situation was serious without needing to know more. He knows I would rather… rather have your sister focused on her studies."
A nurse suddenly rushed past Trunks to shut off the beeping monitors near Vegeta's bed. He gave them both a disapproving look.
"Is everything OK here, sir? Are you in pain? I'm going to increase your oxygen. Young man, I think it may be time for you to leave."
Vegeta frowned and held up his hand. "No. I am breathing better. Leave us. My son... and I… are not finished."
Trunks said nothing as the nurse departed. For a moment, he considered following him. He felt drained.
"Her adviser insisted that she take a break and come home," Vegeta said. "I… later told her she… should surprise your mother. We have not spoken since then, at my suggestion, so she could complete her work."
Trunks put his head in his hands. "This is insane. Just how long have you been sick? How were you still training every day?"
"I was not. My physical… symptoms… began long before Bulma noticed anything. As you know, it takes… a lot to exhaust a well-trained Saiyan, but I had to stop… much of it once I lost my balance."
Trunks walked toward the door. He could only imagine how poorly his sister would take the news. Worse, Milo must have known all along.
"And you're upset with us for trying to help you? I mean, we're your family. I think I should leave now. I'm sorry."
Vegeta nodded. "Do what… what you think is best, son. I was wrong to have grabbed you. Come back when... you're ready."
"Get some rest, papa."
The nurse repeated himself - this time much louder - after Trunks walked out.
"Are you in pain, sir?"
Vegeta had enough of being treated like a child. He wanted to yell, but the pain in his chest felt awful.
"Yes, you fool. And if you… do not find Atkins now, I will use… use my remaining strength to burn this place to ashes."
Ignoring the threat, the nurse injected morphine into the central line and wiped Vegeta's forehead. He felt for man. They both knew he couldn't fight anyone, and Vegeta was in for much worse as the new drugs continued to take effect.
"I increased the morphine to help with your breathing and pain, sir," the nurse said. "Let me know if you need anything else."
"Yes, yes," Vegeta said. "I am not yet as feeble… as everyone believes. I suppose you expect me to thank you."
"And you should thank him," Milo said from the doorway. "Your nurse's name is Tom, and he paged me after the monitors went off. I understand that you're angry, but let's talk later. You owe me that, and we both need our rest."
"Doctor, consider upping the morphine again before you proceed," Tom said. "I don't want to see you roasted alive by our patient."
"You're not helping your case, nurse," Milo said with a sly grin, "but thank you."