Two Sides To A Story
Chapter Nine – Home Sweet Home
Vegeta left the hospital but he didn't get very far.
When he pulled out of the parking lot, he almost sideswiped a huge man crammed into a compact hovercar who was coming in. It hadn't been the lummox's fault at the near miss, it had been his and that was the only reason that he didn't start screaming expletives at the poor, befuddled soul. The bearded man, who had been wearing an odd cap with horns, actually smiled and waved at him as if people aimed their vehicles at him every day. Vegeta figured the odd fellow was likely some psychiatric patient on day privileges and dismissed the entire incident the minute he pulled onto the road.
Besides, he had concerns of his own.
Part of his problem was that he had been driving non-stop for the last fourteen hours and he was bone-tired. Another was his unfamiliarity with the vehicle and the established road rules that came with the responsibilities of driving. For one thing, he couldn't seem to wrap his brain around the concept of a speed limit. If the vehicle was designed to go fast, why did the posted limits hinder that ability? He even got into a nasty debate with a state trooper who had pulled him over about the puzzling concept and had been issued two tickets; one for speeding, and the other for verbally harassing a police officer. As soon as the officious prick was out of sight, Vegeta threw the tickets out of the window and slammed his foot back down on the gas pedal. What the fuck did he care about tickets for, anyway? They weren't in his name.
The most important thing interfering with his concentration was the constant pounding between his ears. He should have become accustomed to it by now; the headaches were a constant companion but he was unprepared for the ferocity of his present migraine. Lapsing into the Super Saiyan form had been a terrible mistake but the urgency of the moment had demanded it be done. With his blood empowered by so much ki, Trunks shouldn't develop so much as a mild case of diaper rash anytime in the near future. The babe will sleep peacefully through the nights now and Vegeta was going to relish that silence. As bad as the nightmares were, for some reason the child-like wailing of, "Vehta!" over and over in his mind was much worse. He was looking forward to some downtime that wasn't plagued with guilt.
Stopping at the first motel he saw, Vegeta went inside the main office and stepped up to the counter. As ever, the uniform he had on always commanded immediate respect and swift response and this time was no exception. He had concluded that the outfit was this world's equivalence of Saiyan armor, which was why he wore it.
The manager checked him in and gave him a room as far from any activity as possible and Vegeta gave him a credit card to pay for the purchase. He signed the slip and was out of the door, barely hearing the man call after him, "Have a good sleep Corporal Tucker."
Pulling the jeep into the parking spot in front of his assigned unit, Vegeta gathered his waning strength as he stared apathetically at the motel room. The distance from the vehicle to the door seemed like miles and it was with visible effort when he climbed out of the jeep and walked over to it. When he tried to unlock the door, his right hand spasmed and dropped the key. He tried to dismiss the clumsiness from the self-sustained wound on his wrist but he knew better. Picking up the item, he unlocked the door with his left hand and kicked it closed when he was through. Not even giving the surroundings a once-over glance, he focussed solely on the bed and collapsed upon it with a weary groan. Gripping the bedspread, he rolled over, cocooning himself in the fabric and pulling into a tight, little ball.
His own heartbeat was deafening in his ears, actually making him wince in pain. Burrowing his face into the pillow, he rasped weakly, "Enough is enough. Just this once, let me sleep in peace."
The headache only intensified until the stricken Saiyan enfolded his throbbing skull with his arms and tried not to scream with the agony. It could have been mere minutes or prolonged hours but he eventually did fall into a deep sleep.
But, as ever, peace eluded him.
Opening his eyes a bare crack, all that Vegeta saw was sterile white. The smells that assailed his nostrils were bleach, a multitude of human scents and medicinal concoctions. A hospital, then. Craning his head slightly to the right, he half-expected to catch sight of the blue-haired woman sleeping at the table by his bedside. There was a woman there, but she wasn't familiar. Almost comically, the pair locked eyes for one moment before the nurse rose to her feet and ran for the door. He could hear her calling urgently for the doctor, as if his waking out of a simple nap was anything to get excited over. Stupid humans, he concluded and dozed off.
When he woke up again, the smells assured him that he wasn't alone even before he opened his eyes. The nurse was poised over him, which really didn't alarm him. It was the person standing beside her that caused him to tensen up in immediate recognition.
"It's all right," Professor Gerald Willis was saying. "Everything's going to be all right now, V-"
Releasing a terrifying roar of rage, Vegeta leapt from the bed and pounced onto the startled scientist, knocking them both to the floor. Raising his right arm to begin a punch that would guarantee his fist plow through his past tormentor's face, the Saiyan visibly hesitated.
His right arm wouldn't work.
"What the hell did you do to me?!" He yelled in the other man's face. Rather than get a verbal answer, the all to familiar sensation of a needle stinging him in the shoulder was his reward. Slipping unwillingly into oblivion, Vegeta could only think; I'm back in Installation Fifteen. I never got out- It's just been a dream all along. What about Frieza!?! What if he's still alive? !!NO!!
Thrashing against the darkness full of fears both real and imagined, it seemed to be an eternity before the Saiyan finally managed to claw his way towards the light. The bitter taste of sedation was heavy in his mouth, making his stomach clench with nausea. He noticed that the room was dimmer. Nighttime. A light was turned on beside his bed, transforming the private room into solemn grays and lurking shadows. There was a window to his left; the blinds carefully drawn shut. The surroundings confused him. Where were the transparent cage and the armed guards? Nothing made any sense!
He slowly sat up in bed and looked down at his right arm. There was the sensation of pins and needles in his fingers and when he tried to make a fist all that he could manage was a shuddering claw. The entire limb acted as if it were asleep and, as the time passed and the sensation refused to abate, Vegeta's worry intensified. It seemed very important to look out that window and be assured that it wasn't water on the other side of the glass. When he got to his feet, his right leg threatened to buckle and he had to hold the bed for support as he made his laborious way over to the window. Leaning against the wall, he pulled the blinds apart with his good hand and didn't realize he had been unconsciously holding his breath until he saw the view. Exhaling in relief, he saw the sprawling lights of a cityscape from his vantagepoint. "I'm not at that prison," he muttered aloud.
"No, you're not," responded a voice behind him.
Vegeta whirled and this time his ailing leg refused to hold him and he pitched backwards against the wall. Sliding to the floor, he pressed himself into the corner, baring his teeth in desperate self-defense as Professor Willis advanced. Frieza had learned the hard way how sharp those teeth could be. If this flesh butcher got any closer, he was going to discover a similar thing, only this time Vegeta was going to go for the throat.
Perhaps sensing that, the doctor calmly seated himself on the bed and regarded the alien for a long moment. The eyes behind his spectacles were not condemning or hateful, but actually troubled and concerned. When he finally spoke, all he offered was, "I'm sorry."
Vegeta narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
"I didn't trust Speci- Frieza right from the start. I should have suspected that there was an underlining reason that he was so helpful. You both had some history together, didn't you?"
Willis didn't really need confirmation on the observation. The vague, horrific details of the two aliens past relationship were made brutally clear in the moments before Installation Fifteen was destroyed. "Hector was wrong to let Frieza get to you. That breech of security was more to blame for Fifteen's destruction than you were. But you were wrong to kill his fiancée. I was wrong to experiment on you. It's a vicious cycle of blame and it ends right here and now."
"You're going to kill me," Vegeta realized in as calm a voice as possible, given the circumstances. As weak as he was, there wasn't much he could do about it.
The scientist shook his head. "I'm going to help you."
"I don't need your help."
"Fine. Walk out that door then. I won't stop you," he said, motioning to the exit.
Vegeta's dark eyes flitted from the doctor to the door and back again. He didn't make a move.
"It's been twenty-two days since you escaped from the Installation. You've been in a coma for all of that time," the scientist informed him, relieved to see a spark of surprise underneath all of the hatred in the Saiyan's eyes. "A Navy Search and Rescue team found you on an island and took you to the infirmary. You were wearing a soldier's uniform and no one figured you were anything else. Until I saw you, that is. I was the only other survivor."
"Couldn't wait to haul me back under the microscope," Vegeta sneered with open contempt.
"You're not under Military containment. You're in a Veteran's Hospital in Jacques City. As far as anyone is concerned, including my own superiors, you are Corporal Garth Tucker. That's the owner of the soldier's uniform you were wearing when you were found. As far as I'm concerned, you're him."
Shaking his head in denial, Vegeta said, "That's not possible. Human's have relatives, friends-"
"The ultra-secret nature of the Installation demanded that it be staffed with personnel with no close familial relations. Tucker was an only child, both of his parents were dead. He was a recent transfer so he had no close friends. You could effortlessly slip into his identity and no one would be the wiser for it."
After a long considering pause, the Saiyan decided to shelve this information for now. There were more pressing concerns that needed to be addressed. "What's wrong with me?"
"MRI scans reveal that you had a severe cerebrovascular hemorrhage in the left frontal lobe resulting in partial musculo-skeletal paralysis-"
"English!"
"You had a stroke, Vegeta. There was bleeding into your brain, which caused damage. That's why your right arm and leg is weak. It could have been the result of a blow or previous injury-"
"It was the poison that you bastards pumped into me night and day that's responsible for this," Vegeta growled. He pushed himself to his feet by sheer will alone and willed his right leg to respond. It was trying to cooperate despite the fact that the signals were messed up, but it was a start.
Professor Willis was shaking his head. "That was just necessary sedation-"
"-That Frieza concocted thanks to you idiots! Do you think anything other than a poison would actually work on me?" The Saiyan was almost screaming in his frustration. "He told me that himself on the island!"
The calmness that the physician exhibited suddenly faltered. "Specimen F escaped?"
Despite the grim circumstances, Vegeta allowed himself one small gloating smile. "Don't worry. He didn't live for very long. And you won't find any of his DNA to clone, either. I made damn sure of that."
Willis pursed his lips as he took measure of the alien before him. "You created that volcano on the island," he mused. "What happened after you used your power?"
"I-" Vegeta hesitated, struggling past the fuzziness in his brain to remember the events following Frieza's death. There had been pain, that he remembered. Terrible, piercing misery and then… blackness. He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Give me some clothes. I'm getting out of here."
"I really hope that you'll reconsider that," the doctor said gravely.
"No more of your bullshit!" Vegeta bellowed. "I'm leaving right now!" When the human showed no intention of assisting his request the last of the Saiyan's waning patience faded. Instinctively, he raised his left hand, palm-up in the doctor's face. "I've had about enough of you-"
The instant he flexed the tendrils of his dormant ki, his breath caught in his throat at the harsh, seething agony that suddenly ripped through his mind. Gripping the sides of his head, he was only dimly aware that he was screaming, the sound drowned out by the deafening throbbing between his ears that seemed to mimic Frieza's laughter-
Thrashing against the fabric that enveloped him, Vegeta fell out of the motel bed, colliding with the nightstand beside it. The lamp shattered and the sound helped to bring the Saiyan out of his dream and back to reality. Blinking rapidly, it took him a minute to remember where he was. His eyes slid to the front door and he suddenly got to his feet and sprinted for it, throwing it open. He thought he had sensed a faint ki but there was nobody outside of his room. Casting a thorough glance at the darkening surroundings, he went back inside and walked into the bathroom.
"You're getting paranoid," he told his reflection as he gripped both sides of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. He didn't like what he saw; dark circles under bloodshot eyes, a pale complexion that appeared sickly, and that damned hair! It was growing out quickly but the mere sight of the short bristles was enough to incite a dangerous rage inside of him. With a growl of anger, he plowed his fist directly into the mirror, shattering it. That damning reflection taunted him from a hundred pieces of jagged silver as he ran cool water over his injured wrist. The bite had crusted over but the flesh surrounding it was hot and swollen. Resolving to tend to it when he got home, he wrapped a clean towel protectively around the wound.
Checking his watch, he was surprised to see that he had slept for over five hours. The migraine had faded to the background, allowing him to think past the pain again. As much as he would have liked to succumb to his weariness, he also wanted to get out of this damned city and all of its haunting reminders. Everywhere he went in the Western Capital, all that he saw was the Capsule Corporation logo. It was time to get the hell out.
His own resolve betrayed him when he deliberately missed the exit leading out of the city and turned down the boulevard that led directly to the Headquarters compound. Parking across the street, he shut off the engine and leaned back in the seat, crossing his arms. It was full night now and the lights were on in the upper floors of the building where the Briefs family had their living quarters. Once in awhile, his keen eyes would catch sight of a silhouette in a window and he would unconsciously tensen until the figure moved on. There had been a time when he had considered that place his home but it was closed off to him now. His words to her in the hospital had cemented that reality. She had not pursued him when he had made his exit. She hadn't even tried. He had opened his heart and soul to her and had only watched it get thrown back in his face. Their strange bond had dissolved with only the babe as evidence that it had ever existed at all.
"You win," he muttered under his breath, damning the sentiment but unable to prevent it. Bulma had outsmarted and manipulated him into achieving her goal; a feat worthy of a true Saiyan wench. She had tricked him using her own wits while he was none the wiser for it; too cock-struck to notice the deception. He had to respect her as much as he resented doing so. "I've never admitted losing to Kakarrot or even to Frieza, but I will to you. You won this battle fair and square."
Cursing the tightness in his throat, he turned the ignition and sped off, heading for the freeway that would lead him out of the Capital. It would be the last time that he would ever set foot within its limits. When he pulled onto the onramp heading east, he resolved that he wasn't going to feel any regret or look back.
He lost his struggle with the decision and ended up doing both.
It was a long drive for the Saiyan prince and there were times when it seemed as if he were the only person on the road, as the kilometers passed by. Dangerously close to falling asleep behind the wheel, his thoughts drifted back to the precious time that he had spent with Bulma at the Hammorski Plaza. It had been a brief period where the both of them had been able to drop their guards and one of the only times in memory that Vegeta figured he had ever been truly happy. In that handful of days, he had reclaimed a portion of his lost identity thanks to isolation, freedom and a puzzling emotion from the woman that she liked to call love. He had never been regarded as anything more then a possession, thanks to Frieza's indifference, and had permitted that to cloud any expectations in possible relationships. Never in his wildest dreams could he have fathomed that someone would be able to capture his heart, tame it and claim it as their own.
Even now, as much as he hated Bulma and cursed her name under his breath, a part of him still pined for her. The scent of her hair had been that of sun- warmed clover and the taste of her mouth had instilled in him a rare desire to pleasure, not torment. Normally a selfish lover intent on his own release, his ambitions changed dramatically when they were together. Never before had he been so overwhelmed by the exquisite nectar of the moist flesh between her alabaster thighs. The taste, slightly salty and completely feminine, loosened his last inhibitions and he feasted on her until she screamed her release. There was nothing that quite equaled the passion from a woman who had been pleasured into climax first. Certainly, he had appreciated it when her warm lips had surrounded his sensitive glands, laving the swollen head of his erection and worshipping it with her swirling tongue. Vegeta reasoned that perhaps it had to do with gratitude, after all he was quite skilled with his technique. Perhaps more importantly, was the fact that their bodies fit so well together. They were both small people and the ability to look at one another without craning the head up or down was appealing in its own right. Their mutually slim physiques had complemented one another, as well. Now that he was out of the picture, he figured that Yamcha would eventually come crawling back. The mere thought infuriated him. The human wasn't worthy of her.
The oncoming headlights of a tractor-trailer rig momentarily blinded him and it wasn't until he rubbed his stinging eyes that he registered the wetness on his cheeks. He had been thinking of Bulma and crying, not even aware of it.
"The bitch broke me," he rasped, scrubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. His vision warped with bitter tears until it seemed he were driving underwater as the passing headlights swam by. In desperation, he turned on the radio for a diversion;
"-staff at the hospital have not released a formal statement about the boy's miraculous recovery. Witnesses reported that there was some manner of security breach in the ICU where the Briefs heir was recuperating but the individual was apparently subdued. Local baseball phenom, Yamcha, of the Earth's Special Forces, only commented to the press that the situation was a false alarm. Whatever the confusion, the entire Western Capital is breathing a sigh of relief tonight that Trunks Vegeta Briefs is going to make a full re-"
Switching off the radio, Vegeta focused his attention back on the road, soothed by what he had heard. "Trunks Vegeta Briefs," he said aloud. His depression lifted with that small morsel of information. The boy had his name, after all.
Nestled in the mountains of the Continent's Midwest, was the medium- sized city of Pitch. At the turn of the New Time, it had been a struggling community of miners intent on making it rich on gold and other rare ores. When the veins of precious metals grew scarce, so did the town's population until resurgence in the community two hundred years ago. Originally named Killian's Reach, for the first man who had ever scaled the mountain that over-shadowed the struggling community. It was renamed Pitch forty years ago, for the perpetual shadow that the same mountain cast over the buildings and streets during the day. A new enterprise in forestry and tourism kept the small city thriving but the inhabitants had a puzzling and unique nature about them. Perhaps due to the isolation or the altitude, the denizens were a brooding and solitary lot, intent on their own business and not interested in anyone else's. For its particular demographic, it had an extra-ordinarily high violence rate and seemed to have the habit of attracting the wrong element.
Needless to say, Vegeta fit right in even if moving there hadn't been his original intention…
The Saiyan hadn't stayed long in the Veteran's Hospital, not with Professor Willis hovering over him like some repentant vampire. The doctor had allowed his release only when it became evident that Vegeta was only getting worse under his care, not better. Distrusting the entire staff, he refused to eat any food provided and only caught bare snatches of sleep. The only person he paid any attention to was the physiotherapist, intently listening to her describe the exercises that would be necessary to regain his mobility. Not allowing her to so much as come near him, he only did the necessary regime when he was alone. When he had regained enough dexterity in the fingers of his right hand to button a shirt, he knew it was time to leave and that was just what he did. Willis didn't put up much of a fight. Quite honestly, he was anxious to have the Saiyan out of his sight before there was a new body count to worry about. Before Vegeta stepped out of the front door, Willis handed him a manila envelope.
"What's this?" He asked suspiciously. Sniffing it once, he opened it and saw sheets of paper inside. Held to the documents by a paperclip was a debit card in Tucker's name.
"Documents that you'll need," Willis told him. "Corporal Tucker's home address, his social security number, online banking passwords, even a passport. I've made arrangements that a generous disability pension will be added each month to the account. Your account. You should live quite comfortably…"
Glowering in confusion at the obvious hesitation at the end of the man's sentence, Vegeta was unprepared for what the doctor told him next. Even before the explanation was over, the Saiyan turned on his heel and stormed out of the building. Watching him leave, the doctor released a forlorn sigh and reluctantly returned to his duties.
Following the directions of the address he was given, Vegeta bought a bus ticket north to the strange city. He would have preferred to fly under his own power, and would have accomplished the feat if the headaches and nosebleeds weren't so severe. By the time he stepped off the bus into Pitch's terminal, he didn't figure that the singing in his head would have been much worse if he had attempted to fly the distance after all. Assaulted by confined body odors and the constant murmur of conflicting voices, Vegeta resolved NEVER to take any form of public transportation ever again.
Fearing some sort of trap, the Saiyan camped out at a nearby hotel one block from his supposed home and stayed there for over a week. Between eating, sleeping and doing his rehabilitation exercises, he walked past the apartment building several times a day, senses straining for any hint of deception. He had rarely felt so vulnerable as he did the day he actually entered the building and went to the forth floor apartment that was to be his new home.
As he parked in the assigned spot for his unit, Vegeta looked up at the building with a weary sort of gratitude. He had laid his head in a great many places over the years but not since he had been hastily uprooted from his homeworld, did he ever consider any of them truly his own. Capsule Corporation belonged to the Briefs; he had never had any claim to it. Even if this place was in the identity of another person, Vegeta knew that the ownership would never be contested. Only the building's superintendent had ever met the real Garth Tucker and he had ended up moving into another city. His replacement was none the wiser for the switch and really didn't give a damn about anything except the rent being in on time. Vegeta had only really lived there for about six weeks, but so far nobody bothered him. It was just how he liked it.
Locking up the jeep, Vegeta entered the lobby and checked the mail in his slot. The only thing inside was a letter from Publisher's Clearing House telling him that he might be a millionaire and it immediately got thrown in the nearby trash bin. Ignoring the elevator, he went to the staircase and made the laborious ascent to the forth floor. His right leg rebelled to the stress but he stubbornly forced himself on. He was still terribly weak and was aware of how easily the meat-beating losers of the Earth's Special Forces had managed to prevent him from leaving the hospital. Why no one had come after him to take advantage of the apparent vulnerability was beyond him but he wasn't knocking the luck. More than likely, they didn't want him around anymore than he wanted to be near them. By leaving the Western Capital, he was doing them all a service.
Limping over to the door of his apartment, he let himself inside and immediately locked it again, taking an appraising glance around. Nothing had changed in the furnishings or their arrangement since the real Corporal Tucker had left for his mission at Installation Fifteen over six months ago. A movie enthusiast, the soldier had framed movie posters hanging throughout the apartment that displayed all sorts of genres; some action, mostly sci-fi and horror. The living room ensemble was fairly new and comfortable and Vegeta's favorite color; dark blue. Thankfully, the entertainment center was the real high point of the Saiyan's discovery. A huge seventy-two inch television screen dominated the far wall, complete with surround sound speakers. Over the last six weeks while he recuperated, Vegeta availed himself of the soldier's immense DVD movie collection and spent more nights sleeping on the sofa than in one of the apartments two bedrooms. One of the rooms had a complete bedroom assortment but the other, Vegeta had been pleased to discover, had been made into an informal weight room. A home gym set and weight bench dominated the room, as well as a treadmill, recumbent cycle and some odd contraption called a 'Bow-Flex'. Vegeta had snapped off two of the supposedly unbreakable arms before he realized that combinations could be made to increase resistance. Once he had that figured out, it really wasn't all that bad of a workout.
Concluding that everything was undisturbed, Vegeta went into the kitchen and then proceeded to search through the cupboards for something to eat. He still hadn't sorted out grocery shopping very well and the majority of his food was in the freezer, all packaged meat. The very first time he had walked past the meat section of the local supermarket, his stomach had growled loud enough to actually turn heads. All that meat! Poultry, beef, turkey, lamb- Gods, he couldn't stop his mouth from watering! He bought an armload of the juiciest portions and what didn't fit into the freezer ended up as his next meal. He didn't even bother cooking it.
Intent on catching some much-needed sleep, he chose something simple and pulled a can of tuna from the cupboard, easily popping the lid. Selecting a spoon from the drawer, he ate directly from the can, puzzling over the conversation he'd had with the checkout girl when he had bought ten of the same cans.
"Oh, somebody has a cat, I see!" She exclaimed as she swiped the barcode reader over the items.
Vegeta only scowled at her. "Cat?"
Faltering, the girl said, "Well, yeah. This is catfood you're buying."
Picking up one of the cans, he read the label. "It says that this is whitefish and tuna. Are you telling me that it's cat meat?"
"No, no… It meant to feed a cat. You want to buy people tuna."
"What's the difference?"
Swallowing, the girl told him to wait and rushed down an aisle, returning quickly with a can of real tuna. "This is what you want to buy."
Looking dubiously at the proffered item, Vegeta shook his head. "It's a dollar more and doesn't have the easy opening top of the other ones. I'll take what I've got."
"… And you're going to eat it?" The girl was starting to look a little green.
"Protein is protein, what do I care?" He finally snapped at her. "Now, are you actually going to do your job and shut up?"
He really didn't know what all of the fuss was about. It was cheap, easy to open and tasted just fine. It even had a sharp, fishy odor that appealed to his senses. The next time he went to the store, he was going to check out the other varieties he had seen; chunky chicken looked to be the next bet. It appeared to even come with gravy…
After consuming the contents of two cans, he felt sated enough to finally try and get some sleep. For once, his headache wasn't bad and he wanted to take advantage of the rare treat. Heading into the bedroom, he closed the curtains and got undressed in the gloom. He used to sleep in the nude but ever since his ordeals at Installation Fifteen, he now wore briefs and a tee shirt. If he was having a particularly bad time with the memories, he went to bed fully clothed. There were times, in his nightmares, when he hadn't managed to get away from Frieza as he lay facedown in his cell. Sometimes, Frieza was the one who bit first…
Before he dared surrender to his exhaustion, he went into the bedroom and thoroughly cleansed the wound on his wrist. His recuperative abilities were hard at work trying to repair the damage that Frieza's poison had done to his ki, leaving the rest of his system vulnerable to infection. The last thing he needed was gangrene and amputation. Considering he had the absolute worst luck of anyone else in the entire universe, Vegeta wasn't even going to deny the remote possibility of that happening to him.
Carefully disinfecting the terrible bite, he rubbed an antibiotic ointment over it and then wrapped it with a sterile bandage. Beads of sweat popped out on his brow while he worked though his face never betrayed any discomfort. When he was finished, he opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of tabs. At some point in the past, Tucker had his wisdom teeth removed and had been prescribed heavy-duty pain relievers. Vegeta dry swallowed two from the near-empty bottle and left the bathroom to finally go to bed.
Settling under the covers with a sigh, the Saiyan laced his fingers behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. Everything should be falling into place now; Cell was dead, Kakarrot's at peace, the Earth was out of danger, Trunks was healed. There wasn't anything left to plague his conscience.
Was there?
Thirteen hundred kilometers away was the mother of his only child, surrounded by her friends and the love of her family. Bulma Briefs life was now complete. With no attachments or enemies, she was ready to face life as she had before Radditz had ever set foot on the planet and started that viscous, hateful cycle of violence. With her friends, with her family-
-Without him.
Rolling over onto his side, Vegeta struggled to keep the emotions at bay. They were self-destructive, served no purpose to his present situation, and only interfered with his recovery. Before sleep finally claimed him, he figured that he had to be content with the fact that at least one of them was happy.
Unfortunately, it wasn't him.
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Chapter Ten: Gohan learns a lesson about the Birds and the Bees… Saiyan style.
Chapter Nine – Home Sweet Home
Vegeta left the hospital but he didn't get very far.
When he pulled out of the parking lot, he almost sideswiped a huge man crammed into a compact hovercar who was coming in. It hadn't been the lummox's fault at the near miss, it had been his and that was the only reason that he didn't start screaming expletives at the poor, befuddled soul. The bearded man, who had been wearing an odd cap with horns, actually smiled and waved at him as if people aimed their vehicles at him every day. Vegeta figured the odd fellow was likely some psychiatric patient on day privileges and dismissed the entire incident the minute he pulled onto the road.
Besides, he had concerns of his own.
Part of his problem was that he had been driving non-stop for the last fourteen hours and he was bone-tired. Another was his unfamiliarity with the vehicle and the established road rules that came with the responsibilities of driving. For one thing, he couldn't seem to wrap his brain around the concept of a speed limit. If the vehicle was designed to go fast, why did the posted limits hinder that ability? He even got into a nasty debate with a state trooper who had pulled him over about the puzzling concept and had been issued two tickets; one for speeding, and the other for verbally harassing a police officer. As soon as the officious prick was out of sight, Vegeta threw the tickets out of the window and slammed his foot back down on the gas pedal. What the fuck did he care about tickets for, anyway? They weren't in his name.
The most important thing interfering with his concentration was the constant pounding between his ears. He should have become accustomed to it by now; the headaches were a constant companion but he was unprepared for the ferocity of his present migraine. Lapsing into the Super Saiyan form had been a terrible mistake but the urgency of the moment had demanded it be done. With his blood empowered by so much ki, Trunks shouldn't develop so much as a mild case of diaper rash anytime in the near future. The babe will sleep peacefully through the nights now and Vegeta was going to relish that silence. As bad as the nightmares were, for some reason the child-like wailing of, "Vehta!" over and over in his mind was much worse. He was looking forward to some downtime that wasn't plagued with guilt.
Stopping at the first motel he saw, Vegeta went inside the main office and stepped up to the counter. As ever, the uniform he had on always commanded immediate respect and swift response and this time was no exception. He had concluded that the outfit was this world's equivalence of Saiyan armor, which was why he wore it.
The manager checked him in and gave him a room as far from any activity as possible and Vegeta gave him a credit card to pay for the purchase. He signed the slip and was out of the door, barely hearing the man call after him, "Have a good sleep Corporal Tucker."
Pulling the jeep into the parking spot in front of his assigned unit, Vegeta gathered his waning strength as he stared apathetically at the motel room. The distance from the vehicle to the door seemed like miles and it was with visible effort when he climbed out of the jeep and walked over to it. When he tried to unlock the door, his right hand spasmed and dropped the key. He tried to dismiss the clumsiness from the self-sustained wound on his wrist but he knew better. Picking up the item, he unlocked the door with his left hand and kicked it closed when he was through. Not even giving the surroundings a once-over glance, he focussed solely on the bed and collapsed upon it with a weary groan. Gripping the bedspread, he rolled over, cocooning himself in the fabric and pulling into a tight, little ball.
His own heartbeat was deafening in his ears, actually making him wince in pain. Burrowing his face into the pillow, he rasped weakly, "Enough is enough. Just this once, let me sleep in peace."
The headache only intensified until the stricken Saiyan enfolded his throbbing skull with his arms and tried not to scream with the agony. It could have been mere minutes or prolonged hours but he eventually did fall into a deep sleep.
But, as ever, peace eluded him.
Opening his eyes a bare crack, all that Vegeta saw was sterile white. The smells that assailed his nostrils were bleach, a multitude of human scents and medicinal concoctions. A hospital, then. Craning his head slightly to the right, he half-expected to catch sight of the blue-haired woman sleeping at the table by his bedside. There was a woman there, but she wasn't familiar. Almost comically, the pair locked eyes for one moment before the nurse rose to her feet and ran for the door. He could hear her calling urgently for the doctor, as if his waking out of a simple nap was anything to get excited over. Stupid humans, he concluded and dozed off.
When he woke up again, the smells assured him that he wasn't alone even before he opened his eyes. The nurse was poised over him, which really didn't alarm him. It was the person standing beside her that caused him to tensen up in immediate recognition.
"It's all right," Professor Gerald Willis was saying. "Everything's going to be all right now, V-"
Releasing a terrifying roar of rage, Vegeta leapt from the bed and pounced onto the startled scientist, knocking them both to the floor. Raising his right arm to begin a punch that would guarantee his fist plow through his past tormentor's face, the Saiyan visibly hesitated.
His right arm wouldn't work.
"What the hell did you do to me?!" He yelled in the other man's face. Rather than get a verbal answer, the all to familiar sensation of a needle stinging him in the shoulder was his reward. Slipping unwillingly into oblivion, Vegeta could only think; I'm back in Installation Fifteen. I never got out- It's just been a dream all along. What about Frieza!?! What if he's still alive? !!NO!!
Thrashing against the darkness full of fears both real and imagined, it seemed to be an eternity before the Saiyan finally managed to claw his way towards the light. The bitter taste of sedation was heavy in his mouth, making his stomach clench with nausea. He noticed that the room was dimmer. Nighttime. A light was turned on beside his bed, transforming the private room into solemn grays and lurking shadows. There was a window to his left; the blinds carefully drawn shut. The surroundings confused him. Where were the transparent cage and the armed guards? Nothing made any sense!
He slowly sat up in bed and looked down at his right arm. There was the sensation of pins and needles in his fingers and when he tried to make a fist all that he could manage was a shuddering claw. The entire limb acted as if it were asleep and, as the time passed and the sensation refused to abate, Vegeta's worry intensified. It seemed very important to look out that window and be assured that it wasn't water on the other side of the glass. When he got to his feet, his right leg threatened to buckle and he had to hold the bed for support as he made his laborious way over to the window. Leaning against the wall, he pulled the blinds apart with his good hand and didn't realize he had been unconsciously holding his breath until he saw the view. Exhaling in relief, he saw the sprawling lights of a cityscape from his vantagepoint. "I'm not at that prison," he muttered aloud.
"No, you're not," responded a voice behind him.
Vegeta whirled and this time his ailing leg refused to hold him and he pitched backwards against the wall. Sliding to the floor, he pressed himself into the corner, baring his teeth in desperate self-defense as Professor Willis advanced. Frieza had learned the hard way how sharp those teeth could be. If this flesh butcher got any closer, he was going to discover a similar thing, only this time Vegeta was going to go for the throat.
Perhaps sensing that, the doctor calmly seated himself on the bed and regarded the alien for a long moment. The eyes behind his spectacles were not condemning or hateful, but actually troubled and concerned. When he finally spoke, all he offered was, "I'm sorry."
Vegeta narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
"I didn't trust Speci- Frieza right from the start. I should have suspected that there was an underlining reason that he was so helpful. You both had some history together, didn't you?"
Willis didn't really need confirmation on the observation. The vague, horrific details of the two aliens past relationship were made brutally clear in the moments before Installation Fifteen was destroyed. "Hector was wrong to let Frieza get to you. That breech of security was more to blame for Fifteen's destruction than you were. But you were wrong to kill his fiancée. I was wrong to experiment on you. It's a vicious cycle of blame and it ends right here and now."
"You're going to kill me," Vegeta realized in as calm a voice as possible, given the circumstances. As weak as he was, there wasn't much he could do about it.
The scientist shook his head. "I'm going to help you."
"I don't need your help."
"Fine. Walk out that door then. I won't stop you," he said, motioning to the exit.
Vegeta's dark eyes flitted from the doctor to the door and back again. He didn't make a move.
"It's been twenty-two days since you escaped from the Installation. You've been in a coma for all of that time," the scientist informed him, relieved to see a spark of surprise underneath all of the hatred in the Saiyan's eyes. "A Navy Search and Rescue team found you on an island and took you to the infirmary. You were wearing a soldier's uniform and no one figured you were anything else. Until I saw you, that is. I was the only other survivor."
"Couldn't wait to haul me back under the microscope," Vegeta sneered with open contempt.
"You're not under Military containment. You're in a Veteran's Hospital in Jacques City. As far as anyone is concerned, including my own superiors, you are Corporal Garth Tucker. That's the owner of the soldier's uniform you were wearing when you were found. As far as I'm concerned, you're him."
Shaking his head in denial, Vegeta said, "That's not possible. Human's have relatives, friends-"
"The ultra-secret nature of the Installation demanded that it be staffed with personnel with no close familial relations. Tucker was an only child, both of his parents were dead. He was a recent transfer so he had no close friends. You could effortlessly slip into his identity and no one would be the wiser for it."
After a long considering pause, the Saiyan decided to shelve this information for now. There were more pressing concerns that needed to be addressed. "What's wrong with me?"
"MRI scans reveal that you had a severe cerebrovascular hemorrhage in the left frontal lobe resulting in partial musculo-skeletal paralysis-"
"English!"
"You had a stroke, Vegeta. There was bleeding into your brain, which caused damage. That's why your right arm and leg is weak. It could have been the result of a blow or previous injury-"
"It was the poison that you bastards pumped into me night and day that's responsible for this," Vegeta growled. He pushed himself to his feet by sheer will alone and willed his right leg to respond. It was trying to cooperate despite the fact that the signals were messed up, but it was a start.
Professor Willis was shaking his head. "That was just necessary sedation-"
"-That Frieza concocted thanks to you idiots! Do you think anything other than a poison would actually work on me?" The Saiyan was almost screaming in his frustration. "He told me that himself on the island!"
The calmness that the physician exhibited suddenly faltered. "Specimen F escaped?"
Despite the grim circumstances, Vegeta allowed himself one small gloating smile. "Don't worry. He didn't live for very long. And you won't find any of his DNA to clone, either. I made damn sure of that."
Willis pursed his lips as he took measure of the alien before him. "You created that volcano on the island," he mused. "What happened after you used your power?"
"I-" Vegeta hesitated, struggling past the fuzziness in his brain to remember the events following Frieza's death. There had been pain, that he remembered. Terrible, piercing misery and then… blackness. He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Give me some clothes. I'm getting out of here."
"I really hope that you'll reconsider that," the doctor said gravely.
"No more of your bullshit!" Vegeta bellowed. "I'm leaving right now!" When the human showed no intention of assisting his request the last of the Saiyan's waning patience faded. Instinctively, he raised his left hand, palm-up in the doctor's face. "I've had about enough of you-"
The instant he flexed the tendrils of his dormant ki, his breath caught in his throat at the harsh, seething agony that suddenly ripped through his mind. Gripping the sides of his head, he was only dimly aware that he was screaming, the sound drowned out by the deafening throbbing between his ears that seemed to mimic Frieza's laughter-
Thrashing against the fabric that enveloped him, Vegeta fell out of the motel bed, colliding with the nightstand beside it. The lamp shattered and the sound helped to bring the Saiyan out of his dream and back to reality. Blinking rapidly, it took him a minute to remember where he was. His eyes slid to the front door and he suddenly got to his feet and sprinted for it, throwing it open. He thought he had sensed a faint ki but there was nobody outside of his room. Casting a thorough glance at the darkening surroundings, he went back inside and walked into the bathroom.
"You're getting paranoid," he told his reflection as he gripped both sides of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. He didn't like what he saw; dark circles under bloodshot eyes, a pale complexion that appeared sickly, and that damned hair! It was growing out quickly but the mere sight of the short bristles was enough to incite a dangerous rage inside of him. With a growl of anger, he plowed his fist directly into the mirror, shattering it. That damning reflection taunted him from a hundred pieces of jagged silver as he ran cool water over his injured wrist. The bite had crusted over but the flesh surrounding it was hot and swollen. Resolving to tend to it when he got home, he wrapped a clean towel protectively around the wound.
Checking his watch, he was surprised to see that he had slept for over five hours. The migraine had faded to the background, allowing him to think past the pain again. As much as he would have liked to succumb to his weariness, he also wanted to get out of this damned city and all of its haunting reminders. Everywhere he went in the Western Capital, all that he saw was the Capsule Corporation logo. It was time to get the hell out.
His own resolve betrayed him when he deliberately missed the exit leading out of the city and turned down the boulevard that led directly to the Headquarters compound. Parking across the street, he shut off the engine and leaned back in the seat, crossing his arms. It was full night now and the lights were on in the upper floors of the building where the Briefs family had their living quarters. Once in awhile, his keen eyes would catch sight of a silhouette in a window and he would unconsciously tensen until the figure moved on. There had been a time when he had considered that place his home but it was closed off to him now. His words to her in the hospital had cemented that reality. She had not pursued him when he had made his exit. She hadn't even tried. He had opened his heart and soul to her and had only watched it get thrown back in his face. Their strange bond had dissolved with only the babe as evidence that it had ever existed at all.
"You win," he muttered under his breath, damning the sentiment but unable to prevent it. Bulma had outsmarted and manipulated him into achieving her goal; a feat worthy of a true Saiyan wench. She had tricked him using her own wits while he was none the wiser for it; too cock-struck to notice the deception. He had to respect her as much as he resented doing so. "I've never admitted losing to Kakarrot or even to Frieza, but I will to you. You won this battle fair and square."
Cursing the tightness in his throat, he turned the ignition and sped off, heading for the freeway that would lead him out of the Capital. It would be the last time that he would ever set foot within its limits. When he pulled onto the onramp heading east, he resolved that he wasn't going to feel any regret or look back.
He lost his struggle with the decision and ended up doing both.
It was a long drive for the Saiyan prince and there were times when it seemed as if he were the only person on the road, as the kilometers passed by. Dangerously close to falling asleep behind the wheel, his thoughts drifted back to the precious time that he had spent with Bulma at the Hammorski Plaza. It had been a brief period where the both of them had been able to drop their guards and one of the only times in memory that Vegeta figured he had ever been truly happy. In that handful of days, he had reclaimed a portion of his lost identity thanks to isolation, freedom and a puzzling emotion from the woman that she liked to call love. He had never been regarded as anything more then a possession, thanks to Frieza's indifference, and had permitted that to cloud any expectations in possible relationships. Never in his wildest dreams could he have fathomed that someone would be able to capture his heart, tame it and claim it as their own.
Even now, as much as he hated Bulma and cursed her name under his breath, a part of him still pined for her. The scent of her hair had been that of sun- warmed clover and the taste of her mouth had instilled in him a rare desire to pleasure, not torment. Normally a selfish lover intent on his own release, his ambitions changed dramatically when they were together. Never before had he been so overwhelmed by the exquisite nectar of the moist flesh between her alabaster thighs. The taste, slightly salty and completely feminine, loosened his last inhibitions and he feasted on her until she screamed her release. There was nothing that quite equaled the passion from a woman who had been pleasured into climax first. Certainly, he had appreciated it when her warm lips had surrounded his sensitive glands, laving the swollen head of his erection and worshipping it with her swirling tongue. Vegeta reasoned that perhaps it had to do with gratitude, after all he was quite skilled with his technique. Perhaps more importantly, was the fact that their bodies fit so well together. They were both small people and the ability to look at one another without craning the head up or down was appealing in its own right. Their mutually slim physiques had complemented one another, as well. Now that he was out of the picture, he figured that Yamcha would eventually come crawling back. The mere thought infuriated him. The human wasn't worthy of her.
The oncoming headlights of a tractor-trailer rig momentarily blinded him and it wasn't until he rubbed his stinging eyes that he registered the wetness on his cheeks. He had been thinking of Bulma and crying, not even aware of it.
"The bitch broke me," he rasped, scrubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. His vision warped with bitter tears until it seemed he were driving underwater as the passing headlights swam by. In desperation, he turned on the radio for a diversion;
"-staff at the hospital have not released a formal statement about the boy's miraculous recovery. Witnesses reported that there was some manner of security breach in the ICU where the Briefs heir was recuperating but the individual was apparently subdued. Local baseball phenom, Yamcha, of the Earth's Special Forces, only commented to the press that the situation was a false alarm. Whatever the confusion, the entire Western Capital is breathing a sigh of relief tonight that Trunks Vegeta Briefs is going to make a full re-"
Switching off the radio, Vegeta focused his attention back on the road, soothed by what he had heard. "Trunks Vegeta Briefs," he said aloud. His depression lifted with that small morsel of information. The boy had his name, after all.
Nestled in the mountains of the Continent's Midwest, was the medium- sized city of Pitch. At the turn of the New Time, it had been a struggling community of miners intent on making it rich on gold and other rare ores. When the veins of precious metals grew scarce, so did the town's population until resurgence in the community two hundred years ago. Originally named Killian's Reach, for the first man who had ever scaled the mountain that over-shadowed the struggling community. It was renamed Pitch forty years ago, for the perpetual shadow that the same mountain cast over the buildings and streets during the day. A new enterprise in forestry and tourism kept the small city thriving but the inhabitants had a puzzling and unique nature about them. Perhaps due to the isolation or the altitude, the denizens were a brooding and solitary lot, intent on their own business and not interested in anyone else's. For its particular demographic, it had an extra-ordinarily high violence rate and seemed to have the habit of attracting the wrong element.
Needless to say, Vegeta fit right in even if moving there hadn't been his original intention…
The Saiyan hadn't stayed long in the Veteran's Hospital, not with Professor Willis hovering over him like some repentant vampire. The doctor had allowed his release only when it became evident that Vegeta was only getting worse under his care, not better. Distrusting the entire staff, he refused to eat any food provided and only caught bare snatches of sleep. The only person he paid any attention to was the physiotherapist, intently listening to her describe the exercises that would be necessary to regain his mobility. Not allowing her to so much as come near him, he only did the necessary regime when he was alone. When he had regained enough dexterity in the fingers of his right hand to button a shirt, he knew it was time to leave and that was just what he did. Willis didn't put up much of a fight. Quite honestly, he was anxious to have the Saiyan out of his sight before there was a new body count to worry about. Before Vegeta stepped out of the front door, Willis handed him a manila envelope.
"What's this?" He asked suspiciously. Sniffing it once, he opened it and saw sheets of paper inside. Held to the documents by a paperclip was a debit card in Tucker's name.
"Documents that you'll need," Willis told him. "Corporal Tucker's home address, his social security number, online banking passwords, even a passport. I've made arrangements that a generous disability pension will be added each month to the account. Your account. You should live quite comfortably…"
Glowering in confusion at the obvious hesitation at the end of the man's sentence, Vegeta was unprepared for what the doctor told him next. Even before the explanation was over, the Saiyan turned on his heel and stormed out of the building. Watching him leave, the doctor released a forlorn sigh and reluctantly returned to his duties.
Following the directions of the address he was given, Vegeta bought a bus ticket north to the strange city. He would have preferred to fly under his own power, and would have accomplished the feat if the headaches and nosebleeds weren't so severe. By the time he stepped off the bus into Pitch's terminal, he didn't figure that the singing in his head would have been much worse if he had attempted to fly the distance after all. Assaulted by confined body odors and the constant murmur of conflicting voices, Vegeta resolved NEVER to take any form of public transportation ever again.
Fearing some sort of trap, the Saiyan camped out at a nearby hotel one block from his supposed home and stayed there for over a week. Between eating, sleeping and doing his rehabilitation exercises, he walked past the apartment building several times a day, senses straining for any hint of deception. He had rarely felt so vulnerable as he did the day he actually entered the building and went to the forth floor apartment that was to be his new home.
As he parked in the assigned spot for his unit, Vegeta looked up at the building with a weary sort of gratitude. He had laid his head in a great many places over the years but not since he had been hastily uprooted from his homeworld, did he ever consider any of them truly his own. Capsule Corporation belonged to the Briefs; he had never had any claim to it. Even if this place was in the identity of another person, Vegeta knew that the ownership would never be contested. Only the building's superintendent had ever met the real Garth Tucker and he had ended up moving into another city. His replacement was none the wiser for the switch and really didn't give a damn about anything except the rent being in on time. Vegeta had only really lived there for about six weeks, but so far nobody bothered him. It was just how he liked it.
Locking up the jeep, Vegeta entered the lobby and checked the mail in his slot. The only thing inside was a letter from Publisher's Clearing House telling him that he might be a millionaire and it immediately got thrown in the nearby trash bin. Ignoring the elevator, he went to the staircase and made the laborious ascent to the forth floor. His right leg rebelled to the stress but he stubbornly forced himself on. He was still terribly weak and was aware of how easily the meat-beating losers of the Earth's Special Forces had managed to prevent him from leaving the hospital. Why no one had come after him to take advantage of the apparent vulnerability was beyond him but he wasn't knocking the luck. More than likely, they didn't want him around anymore than he wanted to be near them. By leaving the Western Capital, he was doing them all a service.
Limping over to the door of his apartment, he let himself inside and immediately locked it again, taking an appraising glance around. Nothing had changed in the furnishings or their arrangement since the real Corporal Tucker had left for his mission at Installation Fifteen over six months ago. A movie enthusiast, the soldier had framed movie posters hanging throughout the apartment that displayed all sorts of genres; some action, mostly sci-fi and horror. The living room ensemble was fairly new and comfortable and Vegeta's favorite color; dark blue. Thankfully, the entertainment center was the real high point of the Saiyan's discovery. A huge seventy-two inch television screen dominated the far wall, complete with surround sound speakers. Over the last six weeks while he recuperated, Vegeta availed himself of the soldier's immense DVD movie collection and spent more nights sleeping on the sofa than in one of the apartments two bedrooms. One of the rooms had a complete bedroom assortment but the other, Vegeta had been pleased to discover, had been made into an informal weight room. A home gym set and weight bench dominated the room, as well as a treadmill, recumbent cycle and some odd contraption called a 'Bow-Flex'. Vegeta had snapped off two of the supposedly unbreakable arms before he realized that combinations could be made to increase resistance. Once he had that figured out, it really wasn't all that bad of a workout.
Concluding that everything was undisturbed, Vegeta went into the kitchen and then proceeded to search through the cupboards for something to eat. He still hadn't sorted out grocery shopping very well and the majority of his food was in the freezer, all packaged meat. The very first time he had walked past the meat section of the local supermarket, his stomach had growled loud enough to actually turn heads. All that meat! Poultry, beef, turkey, lamb- Gods, he couldn't stop his mouth from watering! He bought an armload of the juiciest portions and what didn't fit into the freezer ended up as his next meal. He didn't even bother cooking it.
Intent on catching some much-needed sleep, he chose something simple and pulled a can of tuna from the cupboard, easily popping the lid. Selecting a spoon from the drawer, he ate directly from the can, puzzling over the conversation he'd had with the checkout girl when he had bought ten of the same cans.
"Oh, somebody has a cat, I see!" She exclaimed as she swiped the barcode reader over the items.
Vegeta only scowled at her. "Cat?"
Faltering, the girl said, "Well, yeah. This is catfood you're buying."
Picking up one of the cans, he read the label. "It says that this is whitefish and tuna. Are you telling me that it's cat meat?"
"No, no… It meant to feed a cat. You want to buy people tuna."
"What's the difference?"
Swallowing, the girl told him to wait and rushed down an aisle, returning quickly with a can of real tuna. "This is what you want to buy."
Looking dubiously at the proffered item, Vegeta shook his head. "It's a dollar more and doesn't have the easy opening top of the other ones. I'll take what I've got."
"… And you're going to eat it?" The girl was starting to look a little green.
"Protein is protein, what do I care?" He finally snapped at her. "Now, are you actually going to do your job and shut up?"
He really didn't know what all of the fuss was about. It was cheap, easy to open and tasted just fine. It even had a sharp, fishy odor that appealed to his senses. The next time he went to the store, he was going to check out the other varieties he had seen; chunky chicken looked to be the next bet. It appeared to even come with gravy…
After consuming the contents of two cans, he felt sated enough to finally try and get some sleep. For once, his headache wasn't bad and he wanted to take advantage of the rare treat. Heading into the bedroom, he closed the curtains and got undressed in the gloom. He used to sleep in the nude but ever since his ordeals at Installation Fifteen, he now wore briefs and a tee shirt. If he was having a particularly bad time with the memories, he went to bed fully clothed. There were times, in his nightmares, when he hadn't managed to get away from Frieza as he lay facedown in his cell. Sometimes, Frieza was the one who bit first…
Before he dared surrender to his exhaustion, he went into the bedroom and thoroughly cleansed the wound on his wrist. His recuperative abilities were hard at work trying to repair the damage that Frieza's poison had done to his ki, leaving the rest of his system vulnerable to infection. The last thing he needed was gangrene and amputation. Considering he had the absolute worst luck of anyone else in the entire universe, Vegeta wasn't even going to deny the remote possibility of that happening to him.
Carefully disinfecting the terrible bite, he rubbed an antibiotic ointment over it and then wrapped it with a sterile bandage. Beads of sweat popped out on his brow while he worked though his face never betrayed any discomfort. When he was finished, he opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of tabs. At some point in the past, Tucker had his wisdom teeth removed and had been prescribed heavy-duty pain relievers. Vegeta dry swallowed two from the near-empty bottle and left the bathroom to finally go to bed.
Settling under the covers with a sigh, the Saiyan laced his fingers behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. Everything should be falling into place now; Cell was dead, Kakarrot's at peace, the Earth was out of danger, Trunks was healed. There wasn't anything left to plague his conscience.
Was there?
Thirteen hundred kilometers away was the mother of his only child, surrounded by her friends and the love of her family. Bulma Briefs life was now complete. With no attachments or enemies, she was ready to face life as she had before Radditz had ever set foot on the planet and started that viscous, hateful cycle of violence. With her friends, with her family-
-Without him.
Rolling over onto his side, Vegeta struggled to keep the emotions at bay. They were self-destructive, served no purpose to his present situation, and only interfered with his recovery. Before sleep finally claimed him, he figured that he had to be content with the fact that at least one of them was happy.
Unfortunately, it wasn't him.
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Chapter Ten: Gohan learns a lesson about the Birds and the Bees… Saiyan style.