Language Barrier
by scoutergreen
Chapter 2
Denial
Author's Note: Many thanks for your reviews! Oh yeah and I changed my pen name to something I actually like, lol.
Vegeta went directly to his bedroom without visiting Bulma's first at ten in the evening, weakly assuring himself that he'd wake up in the morning and to find his problem had miraculously rectified itself overnight.
He tossed and turned until close to one thirty in the morning, getting out of bed several times to have a glass of water or to simply pace the floor and try and quiet his running mind. The man Vegeta assumed was some sort of doctor completely brushed him off despite his obvious inability to speak any discernible human language. Naturally, the Saiyan prince was incensed by the show of disrespect he'd received earlier, but he'd suppressed his anger for the sake of that woman.
Although there were times when Bulma tested his patience and stoked his temper to the point where he had to consider their interactions an exercise in displaying just how restrained he could really be, Vegeta also found he was strangely fond of the scientist, and certainly physically attracted to her too. When it came to the his current situation, he just wanted to think things through, desperate to find a way through his new-found language barrier.
Finally, at close to three thirty in the morning, Vegeta fell asleep after willing himself to lay still and keep his eyes shut no matter how much his anxiety mounted. He slept until six fifteen, eyes snapping open and right hand reaching up to inspect a sweat-drenched hairline, and the Saiyan ultimately decided the only thing he could do was train and wait until Mrs. Briefs started making breakfast.
He went to the gravity simulator and performed his typical warm-up, deep stretching and controlled movement routine at 250 times Earth's normal gravity. By the time he was finished, it was close to seven thirty and he knew that Mrs. Briefs was almost always the first human to rise at the Briefs compound. He rinsed his face in the gravity simulator's tiny washroom and went to the kitchen, detecting the welcoming smell of percolating coffee and the flaky pastries Mrs. Briefs seemed partial to baking in huge numbers on the weekends.
"Ooh, Vegeta! Ornging!" Mrs. Briefs pulled out a seat at the breakfast table for the Saiyan and gently squeezed his right shoulder. She brought him a mug of coffee and plate of warm croissants and continued to chat happily to her guest, oblivious to his dumbfounded expression as she kept making breakfast while talking nonstop.
"Eehn den eye roz gaar-din wilby komp'ti'shun furr'st pryz!" Mrs. Briefs returned to the table with cream and a plate of different fruit preserves and butter and smiled happily at her scowling guest.
"Ah're dak'de ngorg'manda er'de huken n'dan moro! Mejdhaa! Seest!" Vegeta's voice bordered on a yell, half from frustration with Mrs. Briefs incessant chattering and half from his inability to understand a word she was saying to him.
"I DON'T UNDERSTAND A FUCKING THING YOU'RE SAYING! JUST STOP! PLEASE!"
Mrs. Briefs stopped mid-sentence and tried to place the language he was speaking. She was already frustrated by his refusal to reveal any particularly detailed information about his early life(she knew he was from another planet, but nothing else) and the fact that he suddenly wouldn't speak in English, even just a few curt words, was enough to finally arouse feelings of fear towards her unusual guest.
"Are you okay, honey? Do you have a headache?"
The Saiyan's eyes flashed when he recognized the word "head", but he couldn't entirely place the suffix attached to it.
"Hed-aay-kuh..." he muttered under his breath repeatedly before realizing she had meant "headache" and shook his head to indicate "yes", hoping it would finally shut her up. She responded to this with a nod and went to cooking breakfast in relative silence.
I swear, if I have to play charades with everybody in this house, I'm either going to fuck off into space again or I'm just going to say say "fuck it" and destroy the planet, killing every human and myself in the process.
He slowly chewed on a chunk of croissant and tried to recall any other English words he hadn't lost. Over two cups of coffee and three croissants, he realized he could recall the words "chicken", "beer", "blue", "mango", "fuck", "shower", and "capsule".
Breakfast was ready by the time Bulma and Dr. Briefs came downstairs, and Vegeta acknowledged Bulma with a curt nod and pushed the empty chair beside his out with his left foot.
"Vegeta," she brushed her fingertips across his wrist as she sat down and smiled when he returned the gesture. The hand-brushing was the only sort of affectionate gesture Vegeta would remotely tolerate in any sort of mixed company, sometimes even when they were alone.
Unfortunately, the breakfast-time conversation was overwhelming for Vegeta, whose brain continued to try and process the words around him and the frustration from his inability to understand far too much to handle for the Saiyan. He loaded up his plate with bacon, toast, fruit, went to the fridge and pulled out a 4-pack of yogurt, and took his breakfast upstairs to his room.
Vegeta was still finishing his breakfast when he heard a knock at the door. Annoyed, he opened the door with his face already set in a stern look of disapproval, but his expression quickly softened when he came face-to-face with Bulma.
"Hey," she spoke softly, "can I," she pointed to herself, "come in," she motioned into Vegeta's bedroom, "to your room, Vegeta?"
He considered her words for a few seconds and invited her inside. He hadn't understood any of what she had said besides his name, but still he motioned for her to take a seat on his unmade bed and returned to his desk to continue eating.
"Vegeta," she took a seat and continued to speak slowly and softly, "headache?"
He shook his head.
"No?" Bulma shook her head to confirm his answer. Maybe her mother had misunderstood Vegeta, although it was quite possible Vegeta had complained of a headache so he didn't have to listen to anybody over breakfast.
Vegeta finished his final segment of orange and heaved a frustrated sigh. He shrugged his shoulders and looked over at Bulma, asking her how exactly they were ever going to manage any kind of meaningful communication.
"You," she pointed to Vegeta, "are going for an MRI. Scan," she hovered her hands over her torso and slowly moved them up and down, "for your head. To speak," she motioned to her mouth, "and hear," and then she pointed to her ears.
I think she's telling me I'm going for some kind of examination...
Still, Vegeta narrowed his eyes before he handed her a notepad and pencil. A few months earlier, after a nightmare so gruesome that it left Vegeta unwilling to go back to sleep, Mrs. Briefs gave him a pack of notepads and pens and suggested he try writing down his dreams to see if it helped, claiming it could assist in "processing" and "winding down again". Although he was skeptical, he did try it a few times, scrawling down his thoughts using the galactic standard system of writing, knowing no human would be able to decipher his writing, and he found it somewhat helpful.
Of course, Vegeta never told Mrs. Briefs that he typically incinerated the piece of paper used to write down his thoughts the second he was finished writing. Not that she ever asked him about the notepads anyway, something he was deeply grateful for.
Bulma accepted the notepad and hastily sketched an MRI machine and a frowning stick person (with a head of spiky hair) laying on a stretcher before passing it back to Vegeta. He looked at the drawing, scowled sharply when he realized the stick person was supposed to represent him, and then finally realized Bulma was trying to tell him he was going for a test to try and determine what exactly was going on.
The problem: Vegeta loathed MRI machines. The noise they produced was awful and the earplugs the technicians gave him did nothing to cut the irritation to his sensitive ears, they took a long time, and being required to stay still in such an enclosed space with such terrible noise always tested his nerves. He'd had two during his stay in Capsule Corp's intensive care unit and had proven to be a very difficult patient in the process, trying to pull himself out of the machine ten minutes into an hour long scan the first time.
He flipped the page and passed it back to Bulma with a raised brow. You know I don't like that machine, he signalled, so give me a damn good reason to get into that thing one more time!
"I knew that was coming," she mimicked his expression and grinned before making a second drawing for the Saiyan to interpret. He's so sharp, she thought, and hopefully he'll understand my offer is for the greater good...
She passed the notepad back a few minutes later and Vegeta inspected her drawings. He recognized the syringe, and a clumsy drawing of an oxygen mask over a nose and mouth brought Vegeta to the conclusion that she was promising he could be sedated for the scan.
Fair enough, woman, he tilted his chin up slightly and smirked, this better be worth my time. Let's hope your human sedatives can even phase my superior Saiyan physiology.
Bulma took Vegeta to Capsule Corp's medical centre mid-morning and he was quickly checked-in and brought into a cool, brightly lit preparatory room. He openly changed into a backless gown, ignoring the offers for a curtained stall to change clothing and making the middle-aged technician laugh in the process, and he soon found himself laying on a narrow bed with a warm blanket covering him below the navel and his head propped up on a firm foam pillow.
A nurse inserted an intravenous line into the crook of Vegeta's right arm and connected it to a length of tubing and a small bag filled with a clear liquid. A clip gently closed over the tip of the Saiyan's left ring finger and he could hear the gentle blip of his heartbeat on a nearby monitor seconds later. Already he felt a little fuzzy and relaxed, but he didn't feel the need to close his eyes.
Finally a clear plastic mask connected to two lines of thick, white tubing was placed over his nose and mouth and Vegeta breathed in something that he perceived as almost sweet on his tongue. He breathed out, looked into the nurses' blue eyes, inhaled for the second time, and his eyes fluttered shut.
To Be Continued