Two Sides To A Story
Chapter Fifteen
For the second time in an hour, she checked up on him.
Peering into the darkened bedroom, Bulma's eyes fell upon the figure lying in a huddled ball of blankets. She walked inside, crossing the room soundlessly and approached the bed, sitting down on its edge. She extended a hand towards the lone occupant. "Vegeta."
Beneath the covers, the Saiyan released a sound that was either a moan or a weary growl. Taking the hint, Bulma pulled her hand back and remained where she was, staring at him with a worried frown. All she could see of him was a gnarled mess of short hair spikes and part of one eyebrow; the rest was hidden under the blankets. She knew that he was injured but aside from allowing her to take him back to Capsule Corporation, he had made it clear that he wanted to be left alone. Initially, her intention had been to take him back to the Look-Out but she shelved that suggestion when he started pulling on the release to the hoverjet exit. He hadn't reacted much better when she tried to guide him to the Headquarter building's infirmary. Whatever he had suffered through during his absence, it was becoming clear that needles weren't his only fear.
"You're going to get through this," she whispered, brushing her fingers lightly along his hair. Reacting to the contact, he ducked his head under the blankets like a turtle and made that low warning sound again. She could see the outline of his body was shaking.
Getting back to her feet, Bulma walked to the door. "We're going to get through this together," she promised him and left the room as quietly as she entered.
Her parents looked at her expectantly when she walked down the stairs to the living room. Waiting with them was Chi Chi who was glaring daggers at Piccolo. The dour alien insisted on maintaining his vigil just in case Vegeta reverted back to his destructive persona. He was staring back at Gohan's mother with equal disdain.
"Oh, Bulma- How is he?" Mrs. Briefs asked in a fretful tone.
"The same, mom," Bulma responded, sitting down beside her. In the last twenty-four hours she felt as if she had aged ten years. Of them all, only little Trunks appeared unfazed by all of the excitement. He was currently asleep in his crib with a rare smile on his peaceful features. "He won't let me look at his injuries. All he wants to do is sleep."
"What do you expect?" Piccolo rumbled. "It's been barely two hours since he battled Gohan. Let sleeping Saiyans lie."
"Where is Gohan?" Chi Chi snapped. "I thought that you said my little boy wasn't badly hurt!"
"He's probably still at the Look-Out. Dende was very weak from performing several healings in a short period of time. It might take awhile," Piccolo offered. He had kept the nature of the boy's injuries purposely vague to avoid exciting the woman. He had already faced the wrath of one raving lunatic and didn't need any more grief from another.
Bulma was barely registering the conversation, lost in her own thoughts. What would have happened if they hadn't showed up when they did? Vegeta had been on the cusp of self-destruction, lured back to rationality by his son. What had Trunks done to him? There were so many questions that plagued away at her, building in intensity with each hour. She could hardly wait to speak with Yamcha. Piccolo had told her that the fighter had tracked down the doctor responsible for Vegeta's state. Once he returned, she knew that she would finally get the answers that she so desperately needed.
She was interrupted from her musings by a hand that closed over her own. "Daughter," her father said, "Everything is going to turn out just fine. Vegeta is finally home where he belongs-"
All at once, Chi Chi jumped to her feet with an outraged hiss. She was six months pregnant and heavily showing but she was still remarkable lithe. "How on earth can you say that?! Look what he did to Ivory City! He murdered all of those people and you're welcoming him back with open arms?! I don't believe this!"
Piccolo attempted, "When the Dragonballs are charged, we can-"
"There you go again; using the Dragonballs to correct the damage done by a madman! When are you ever going to learn? He's lying helpless in bed, why don't you finish him off before he kills again?"
"Oh!" Mrs. Briefs put her hand to her mouth in shock. Beside her, even Bulma was struck dumb by the callous suggestion. Of them all, only Dr. Briefs fixed the brunette with a calm, level stare. "There will be no killing under this roof. I've made this clear to Vegeta in the past and it's obvious that I have to make it clear to you."
"You're comparing that-that monster to ME?!" Chi Chi shouted. Her skin actually crawled with the thought of any similarities between the two of them. "All that Vegeta knows how to do is kill and you're letting him back into this building as if nothing happened. Thousands of people are dead! Don't you see that? He murdered them all in cold blood!"
"He wasn't in his right mind," Piccolo said. "There were circumstances that you don't understand-"
"I would figure that YOU would come to his defense, monster!" Chi Chi hissed at him with such ferocity that even the Namek recoiled in shock. "You're no better than that rotten Saiyan- So stay out of this! I haven't forgotten that you stole my Gohan away from me just when I lost my dear husband-" the first time, she almost added but managed to bite the reminder back just in the nick of time. "Stay out of this," she cautioned in a calmer voice while rubbing her stomach.
"Alright, enough is enough," Bulma said, rising to her feet to face her stricken friend. "'Chi, you have to try and calm down and face the fact that Vegeta is as welcome here as you and Gohan are. He's Trunks' father! I'm not going to send him away or-or do anything else."
"I can't be in the same house as him. I won't allow it. Either he goes or I go," Chi Chi announced, holding her head high and putting her hands on her hips, waiting for the answer.
She didn't get the response she was hoping for. "I'm sorry, 'Chi," Bulma said sadly, "but Vegeta is staying right here. I just hope that you can try and see past your- CHI CHI!"
Feeling utterly humiliated, the brunette turned around and stamped off towards the kitchen where she disappeared. Conversation was just resuming when she exited the room and stamped up the stairs to the second level where their personal quarters resided. Nobody said anything to her, recognizing that look of crazed purpose on her face. Bulma was about to follow after her, suspecting that something didn't appear quite right until Piccolo announced, "Gohan and Yamcha are coming."
Gone were all suspicions as Bulma rushed to the front door, eager for the explanation that would finally put all of her fears to rest.
Upstairs, Chi Chi waited until she was out of the sight of the others before she withdrew from her sleeve the foot-long butcher knife she had retrieved from the kitchen. Wiping one sweaty hand on her thigh, she gripped the handle with a secure grip and approached the closed door of Vegeta's bedroom. It would be a simple thing to do, she assured herself. Enter the room, approach the bed, and slit Vegeta's throat. Quick, easy and a far faster death than he actually deserved. She was the only one in the entire Son family who could kill the farm livestock for the supper table. She knew just the right amount of pressure to use for the task.
I'll just imagine him to be the pig he is, she thought, adding a nod. Taking several deep breaths, she turned the knob and flung open the door, her eyes immediately seeking out her target in the low light.
The bed was empty.
She had to blink to make sure that she wasn't mistaken. The lamp on the nightstand was set to low and aside from a few discarded blankets, the room was vacant. Chi Chi figured that it meant the Saiyan was in the bathroom and, being awake, would no longer be an easy target. She couldn't risk her baby in a struggle and left the room as quickly as she entered, her heart pounding in her chest at the close call. If he had spotted her...
She went to her room and began the task of getting packed, her thoughts as slow and ponderous as her movements. There was little to look forward to at Mount Paozu; no neighbors, no friends, no money. She was at a genuine loss as to how she would be able to cope with two children to feed. Gohan could go out and work but his studies would suffer and she couldn't allow that. An education was the only guarantee he had to save him from a life of endless battles, like his father. The Western Capital offered him that chance.
"I can't stay here," she muttered under her breath, taking a break from packing. Bulma had given her all of the maternity wear that she had worn while carrying Trunks. Aside from being a little tight in the chest, the skirts and dresses were a good fit and Chi Chi held one of the garments in her hands, reading the designer label. All of the Briefs were extraordinarily generous without asking for a single thing in return. She would be a fool to leave now and jeopardize the future of her soon-to-be- born child. "I want to stay but I can't take the risk that Vegeta will kill me- Us. The danger is just too great." As if to agree with her, the baby gave an urgent kick and Chi Chi nodded to herself and resumed packing.
When she had first arrived at Capsule Corporation, she'd had one battered suitcase that held all of her meager belongings. She was leaving with three. At the very least, she might be able to make a few zeni selling some of the clothes at the local market. Staring at the luggage, she decided that she might as well start packing up Gohan's belongings while he was absent. The boy would only put up a hostile argument with her logic about leaving and probably refuse to pack. He was developing an independent streak that she definitely did not like and part of the problem was down in the living room with Bulma and her parents. The other was staying in a room at the end of the hall.
As she left her bedroom, she decided to check in on Trunks one last time and say good-bye. She adored the child even though she actively tried to forget who had fathered him and thought that the boy would make a good playmate if she had a son. Perhaps a potential husband, if she was carrying a girl (Chi Chi was a woman who liked to plan things out well ahead of their time).
The nightlight was on in the nursery and she tiptoed inside and stepped quietly around the crib. Her foot snagged on something and she stumbled forward, arms pin-wheeling for balance. She fell to one knee and protectively cradled her stomach, looking back at what had tripped her. Releasing a shocked gasp, her heart leapt into her throat when she realized that Vegeta was sitting up against the crib. Baby Trunks had one hand through the bars and was holding onto one of the spikes of his father's hair. Both of them were sound asleep.
Frozen in shock, Chi Chi found herself staring at the vulnerable Saiyan. This was the second time that she had ever come face to face with the alien and, as before, she was perplexed by the differences in his appearance. At the hospital, he had been dressed in a soldier's uniform and she hadn't even recognized him at first. Right now, he looked nothing like the savage fighter that had been revealed in Baba's crystal ball so many years before. The short spikes of his hair revealed a face that was pale and haggard and plainly showing the efforts of his previous battle. One cheek was bruised and there was a shallow gash along his jawline. Both of his muscular arms were blistered and smeared with dried mud and cinders.
Submerging a pang of sympathy, Chi Chi had to remind herself of who she was looking at: The murderer of Ivory City. A crazed killer who threatened all of their lives with his very presence. She remembered that she had left the knife on the dresser in her room.
Just as she was slowly getting back to her feet to retrieve it, Vegeta's eyes snapped open and focused on her.
Putting her burning face in her hands, Bulma barely felt her father rub her back as Yamcha's story came to a halting end. She had suspected that whatever had happened to Vegeta during his absence had to have been something bad but she never could have imagined how terribly tragic the tale was; He had been drugged, caged and operated on like some expendable lab animal. Even worse, he had been forced to confront his biggest personal demon remade in flesh: Frieza. According to the doctor that Yamcha had tracked down; the pair had a final showdown on a deserted island that resulted in Frieza being reduced to ashes and Vegeta having a stroke and slipping into a coma for twenty-two days.
"Oh my God," Bulma choked, her slight form trembling with grief. Through her stunned mind she recalled the events at the hospital just after Vegeta had healed Trunks. 'No more poisons! No more prisons!' he had screamed. He had looked so sickly then and it hadn't hit home until just now when Yamcha told her the truth.
Vegeta had been dying.
"Why-why didn't he come here?" Mrs. Briefs asked in a bewildered way as she fought a losing battle with her own tears. "We would have helped him. Taken care of him. Why did he stay away if he knew he was-was..." She couldn't bring herself to say the words.
"This is Vegeta we're talking about," Piccolo told her, his face sullen and grave. He had seen the bullet scars on Vegeta's back but hadn't figured that they were anything more than from a chance encounter against humans. He had been wrong- distressingly so. He now wondered if Vegeta had destroyed Ivory City in retaliation, acting out of something more than just blind violence. Perhaps in the depths of his memory loss there had been lingering rage and hatred from what had been done to him and he had reacted the only way that he knew how. "He would never have asked for help. And he certainly wouldn't have asked it from you."
Bulma snapped her head up. "What do you mean by that?"
"You're human," Piccolo responded bluntly. "Humans did this to him, with help from Frieza. Vegeta has never been a trusting person and now he has just cause to hate everything that this planet represents. At the hospital, he made his resentment clear. If anything, that hatred has only intensified."
"But he accepted help from Trunks-" Gohan's words came to a sudden halt as his face registered his understanding.
Piccolo nodded. "A half-alien baby that he fathered. Bulma, I don't think it's wise having Vegeta stay here in the Western Capital. Perhaps... perhaps, Chi Chi was right..."
"NO!" Bulma snapped, rising to her feet. "Vegeta is staying here and that's final! Do you hear me? Chi Chi doesn't know what she's talking about and neither do you!"
"Err, speaking of my mom," Gohan piped up. "Where is she?"
With a distance of less than three feet separating them, Chi Chi and Vegeta regarded one another for one long, tension-filled moment. Finally, the Saiyan spoke first. "I know you."
"We met at the hospital," she responded, finally managing to find her voice. "I'm Gohan's mother-"
"-Kakarrot's mate."
"I don't acknowledge that Saiyan name, murderer! My husband's name is Gokou. I want you to remember that."
Vegeta's half-lidded eyes flashed anger for a split second but it was a fleeting sight, like a spark that couldn't quite catch. He closed his eyes for longer than a blink and opened them again with effort. "He's dead."
"No thanks to you," Chi Chi said harshly.
Vegeta opened his mouth to debate and then looked away, his heavy brows furrowing in thought. In that moment of indecision, Chi Chi debated running to her room to get the knife but she finally chose not to. Even through her grief and anger she could see something different in the brash alien.
Grappling with his memories, Vegeta attempted to make some sense of the chaos. The events right up to his crushing defeat on earth, the first time he had appeared, were crystal clear; it was the rest of the memories to the present that were still a jumbled mess. Rubbing his temple briefly, he muttered; "Cell. He sacrificed himself just before Cell blew up."
"It should have been you who died in the battle. Not him."
Vegeta only gave a half-nod, not bothering to waste the energy for a debate. That action alone was enough to curb the rest of Chi Chi's animosity. It was a hateful statement and the Saiyan had simply agreed with it. She felt no victory over the moment, as she would have expected. In front of her Vegeta was wounded and defeated; it was all that she would have thought she wanted -next to her husband being returned to her. Quite unexpectedly, her quest for vengeance faded into the background and allowed her to behave rationally again. Without that usual spite motivating her, all that she could think of saying right now was the obvious: "You're hurt."
"No shit."
Chi Chi's lips twisted at the profanity. "There's no need to be coarse. I thought that you were a prince. I'm a princess myself, you know."
"Hnh. Must be an earth thing. You just look like a common peasant whore to me," he responded, fixing her with a baleful glare.
Betraying one stunned blink, Chi Chi screamed into his face: "How DARE you speak that way to me, you filthy Saiyan! I won't tolerate that kind of trash talking from anyone and certainly not from someone like you! Why, if my precious Gokou were here-"
"Shut. The fuck. UP!" Vegeta yelled back, getting to his feet. He regarded her with absolute loathing and was about to close in when he glanced at her stomach and cocked his head to one side. Just as quickly he backed away, eyeing her warily like a desultory little tiger.
He's reacting to my pregnancy, Chi Chi realized in amazement. He won't even come close to me, let alone hurt me. Is it because Gokou's the father? Or something else that I'm missing?
Rudely awakened, Trunks sat up and took measure of the tension in the room. He started drawing in air for a wail of displeasure when Vegeta turned on him with an erect finger raised in warning. "Not now, boy," he cautioned.
Remarkably, Trunks appeared to forget his initial irritation and began quietly playing with his toes.
Chi Chi's eyes tracked from father to son and back again in disbelief at the scene. At a complete loss for words, it came as something of a relief when Bulma charged into the room followed by Gohan.
Bulma glanced at Vegeta first and the pair matched eyes for a fleeting second before he looked away. Moving to the crib, she saw that Trunks was gurgling contentedly to himself, apparently unruffled by the display in his nursery and his acceptance helped to calm her. Whatever had happened in here, it was plain that it wasn't anything to get needlessly upset over if the baby showed no sign of distress. Trunks just seemed ecstatic that Vegeta was in the room. "Chi Chi, is everything all right in here?" she asked warily. It didn't take her genius brain to sort things out; two hot- tempered individuals had met and clashed, remarkably without bloodshed.
Gohan stepped in beside his mother and helped her to her feet. Chi Chi's face was deeply flushed but the boy wasn't sure if it was fury or something else. "You okay, mom?"
Glaring daggers at Vegeta, Chi Chi saw that he wasn't even staring at her, the entire incident apparently already dismissed. He was standing behind Bulma and staring at her back but there appeared to be no malice on his face. He glanced once at her hair and then dropped his eyes to the floor.
"Everything's fine," Chi Chi managed to say at last, dusting herself off. She busied herself with fussing over her son. "I'm relieved to see that you're not hurt. But- Look how filthy you are! You are going to march right into a shower at once, young man."
"Aww, mom..." the boy protested, following his mother out of the nursery.
Left alone, Bulma turned to look at Vegeta. Trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice, she remarked lightly, "Looks like you could use a shower yourself, tough guy."
Gripping the front of his tank top, Vegeta wrinkled his nose but made no comment.
"And I'll get some bandages for your-"
"Get away from me."
Bulma had been moving towards him and now she faltered. "W-What?"
"You've done quite enough. Keep your distance," he growled at her.
Piccolo's cautions repeated themselves in Bulma's whirling mind. "I-I thought that we had cleared the air back at the hospital. I told you how sorry I was about deceiving you and what had happened to Trunks' tail-"
Vegeta's face became a confused scowl. "What are you yapping on about? I'm just saying that I'll never forgive you for making me wear that stupid pink shirt!"
Before her stunned eyes, he deliberately turned her back on her and stalked out of the room. The exchange left her with a dozen questions but by the time she had them sorted out, Vegeta was back in his room and this time the door was locked.
"What am I going to do?" she finally asked Trunks.
The baby rocked back and forth and flashed her a sly little grin that seemed to say: Don't you worry, momma. Just leave things to me.
There were no nightmares and for that alone, he was grateful.
When Vegeta woke up the next morning, the first thing that he noticed was the lack of throbbing agony between his temples. Constant headaches had been his unshakable companion for the last several months and he had grown so used to them that waking up in pain was commonplace. He sat up in bed and savored the peace and quiet for a moment and then looked around. It took a moment for the surroundings to register and then it dawned on him; Capsule Corporation. He was back in his room but everything looked barren, as if he hadn't been here in a while. The dresser's surface was empty and the closet had no clothes. There was a series of flashes that raced through his mind; a dingy, foul-smelling motel room, a dead soldier's apartment, a cell with transparent walls. He shook his head to try and make some sense of what his memories were trying to tell him but it was no use. Everything was a still a mess.
"Damn you Frieza," he cursed under his breath. He could imagine the tyrant basking in glee over this situation. "You took away my people, my pride... Did you have to take away my mind, too?"
There was no sense dwelling on the issue: What's done is done. He undressed and took a long, hot shower, standing under the spray and letting the water wash away sweat and grime and soothe his wounds. Afterwards, he stood in front of the mirror over the sink and wiped away the condensation, staring at his reflection. He ran a hand through his short hair spikes, grumbling at the sight, and then rummaged through the medicine cabinet for some bandages. The burns on his arms weren't that severe but needed to be kept clean. With a skill borne of tending to such injuries, he added the necessary dressings and wrapped the gauze tightly around either arm.
When he was done, he returned to his room and frowned down at the ripped clothes lying on the bed. He finally recognized the style but couldn't remember mugging Mirai Trunks for them. This time, when he tried to force the memories to the surface, a headache started to rise with them. He gave up, put on the clothes and left the room.
Following the scent of breakfast, it was Vegeta's stomach that dictated his direction and he went downstairs and walked into the dining room. Bulma, Trunks and her parents were there, as was Gohan and his mother. In the far corner, Piccolo was standing with his arms folded and looked up as he entered.
Faltering, Vegeta was about to back out of the room when Mrs. Briefs exclaimed; "Oh, Vegeta! It's so good to have you up and about. How do you feel?"
Before he managed an answer, she was already on her feet and pulling out the nearest chair. "I'll prepare a place setting for you right away. I imagine that you're famished-"
"Hold it!" Chi Chi snapped, slapping her hands down on the table. "I agreed to cook for this household. That didn't include him!"
"Chi Chi-" Bulma hissed.
"I mean it, Bulma. I relented to stay but that doesn't mean that I'm going to be his personal chef."
"'CHI!"
"I can fend for myself," Vegeta said coarsely, walking towards the kitchen. "I don't need that harpy to feed me."
"What? What did you call me?" she yelled after his retreating back. "Why I've have a mind to-" She had been in the process of rising to her feet until a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her gently, but firmly, down. "Leave him alone, mom," Gohan told her.
"Don't you tell me what to do," she snapped. "You're still grounded for running away and stealing and-"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the boy chanted, shoveling a mouthful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. He hadn't slept very well last night, concerned about possible retaliation by Vegeta and had spent much of the night talking to Piccolo. He was glad to see that the Saiyan was back on his feet, apparently none the worse for wear from their recent battle and more concerned about nourishment then vengeance. For what seemed to be a very long time, the boy began to relax at last.
"And that smart mouth that you've got is another thing-"
"'Chi, would you please put a sock in it?" Bulma said as she spoon-fed Trunks his breakfast. "Can't we all just enjoy a nice, quiet breakfast for once?"
As the brunette sat back with a perturbed huff, Vegeta returned from the kitchen carrying a loaf of bread and several cans. He sat down in the chair that Bulma's mother had pulled out and began making himself a sandwich. Chi Chi blanched in horror when she read the label on the can of tuna he held. "Is-is that... that..."
"Cat food?" Dr. Briefs finished. His kitty was perched on his shoulder and gave an exited meow when Vegeta pulled open the lid and began spreading the contents on a slice of bread. Before everyone's stunned gaze, he emptied the can, added another slice and then began to eat his sandwich.
"Oh- GROSS!" Gohan howled, leaving the table. This would be one morning where he would be going to school early.
Both of Bulma's parents excused themselves and hastily left the dining room. Seated across from the Saiyan, Chi Chi tried to hold up her disapproving glare until Vegeta opened his mouth and deliberately showed her a half-chewed mouthful balanced on his tongue. Cupping her hand over her mouth, she quickly left the room barely hearing Piccolo remark; "I'm sure Vegeta will appreciate the leftovers."
"-urk!" was all she could get out as she ran for the nearest bathroom.
Chuckling to himself, Piccolo decided to make his own exit. It was clear that things were returning back to normal and his hanging around was unnecessary. He offered Bulma a casual nod and stepped out of the dining room.
Bulma giggled as Vegeta put down the sandwich and began gathering the half- eaten plates around him. "Nicely done, Vegeta. Not many people manage to pull one over on Chi Chi. Come to think of it, I think you're the first."
"Whoopee for me," he said and began eating. There might as well have been a sign around his neck that read: Hungry Saiyan- Do Not Disturb and Bulma busied herself with tending to Trunks. With his father in the room, the boy began demanding more with growing impatience and Bulma had a hard time keeping him supplied with food. With smug amusement, she realized that she was witnessing an eating contest between father and son.
"Mhe winny!" Trunks yelled victoriously when Vegeta finally pushed the last plate away and sat back in his chair, obviously sated. The baby's cheeks were smeared with eggs and the front of his shirt was soaked in orange juice. He waved his arms up and down in excitement as Bulma tried to wipe his face clean.
"That boy is a bottomless pit," Vegeta remarked.
"Like father, like son," Bulma teased.
He looked down at the table, nodding at the sight of the empty plates all around him. "Kakarrot's mate may be a bitch but she can sure cook."
"We don't ask her to but she insists."
"She lives here?"
Bulma nodded. "Her and Gohan. She has no money and she's expecting another child. Offering her a place to stay is the least I could do."
"You're as bad as your parents," he grumbled under his breath.
"What's that?"
"Taking in strays."
"Including you?"
"Particularly me," he murmured, crossing his arms and becoming lost in thought.
"Vegeta, I-" Bulma faltered and tried again, "I'm really glad you're here."
"Where else would I be? I have nowhere to go," he said in defeat.
"That's not true," she said slowly, turning to look at him. "You have an apartment in Pitch waiting for you. If-if you want it, that is."
"Pitch?" He blinked in confusion and started rubbing his left temple. He was visibly trying to concentrate and Bulma looked on with concern until he finally said, "That soldier. Tucker. I was living in his apartment."
"Vegeta, are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
She recognized his defensive manner and knew that he didn't want to talk about his injuries, either physical or mental. She decided to let the issue rest for now. "I don't want you to think that you have to stay here if you don't want to. I'd like nothing more then to have you around, if only for Trunks' sake, but I'm not going to force you."
The pair stared at one another as he visibly considered an answer. Trying to keep her emotions at bay, Bulma maintained an indifferent front but inside, she was screaming for him not to leave. She actually closed her eyes when he started with, "That apartment-"
"-I understand-"
"-I don't want it," he finished. "I'm content to stay here if that's acceptable to... your parents."
"I think they'd like that very much," she said with true relief, her knees wobbling underneath of her.
Vegeta heard the tremor in her voice and frowned thoughtfully at her but he had other concerns. "What happened to the clothes in my room?"
"That's right! Thanks for reminding me," Bulma said, rummaging in her pants pocket for the capsule she had retrieved from that seedy hotel in the city of Prescott. "I was going to give this back to you when you woke up."
"Why did you encapsulate everything in the first place?" he asked irritably, eyeing the capsule she handed him.
"Vegeta, you had-" Bulma's words tumbled to a halt at the blank stare he gave her. "I... didn't want everything to smell musty," she answered instead.
He accepted the explanation and left the dining room to get his belongings sorted out. Remaining behind, Bulma stared at the doorway and chewed nervously on her bottom lip. She had thought that Trunks' enigmatic intervention and a following good night's sleep would have cured any lingering after-affects of Frieza's poison. It was becoming painfully clear that wasn't the case.
Over the course of the next two weeks, things started to fall into a sense of normalcy in the Headquarters building. Vegeta and Chi Chi deliberately avoided one another except during meals. After his display over breakfast, she consented to include him in her expert cooking. During mealtimes, the odd verbal skirmish broke out as both volatile individuals tried to get in the last word over the silliest of topics. It often ended when the rest of the family would start laughing and the pair settled into their meals, sulking and glaring at one another like a pair of spoiled children.
Gohan was just as happy as Trunks to have the Saiyan living at Capsule Corporation. On several occasions, the pair sparred in the courtyard but they were careful not to get carried away with the sprit of combat. Neither powered up and Vegeta rarely lost his temper, not even when the youth managed to find a weakness in his defenses and land a successful blow. Each tourney ended in a mutual draw but Gohan got the impression that Vegeta's heart wasn't in the fighting. He just seemed to be going through the motions of battle, his mind lost to other concerns the boy wasn't privy to. Gohan tried to draw him out but the terse responses he got for his efforts was about the only thing that was predictable. With that in mind, he shelved his worry and just let himself be grateful for Vegeta's presence.
Mrs. Briefs was the only person to see a different side of the Saiyan that the others missed. Slipping downstairs for a late night snack, she once caught Vegeta sitting in the living room. The television was the only source of light, the volume turned down low and she could plainly see he was bent over in the chair, holding his head.
"Vegeta? Are you all right, dear?"
"Leave me alone," he rasped out, sparing her a glance. The act of marginally turning his head seemed to be too much of an effort and he went back to suffering in silence.
Utterly perplexed, Mrs. Briefs returned to her room, intent on bringing the incident to Bulma's attention the next morning. When she woke up, however, she dismissed the exchange as a dream and promptly forgot about it.
Bulma didn't need her mother to tell her that something was wrong with Vegeta. He had returned to his usual routine of jogging in the morning and spending the remainder of the day in the gravity simulator. Reading the printouts that were sent directly to her office computer, Bulma knew that he was training at less than one-third of the gravity level he'd achieved before he left. The sessions were scattered around periodic breaks and he wasn't using the robotic training drones he had designed. He would never admit it but it was obvious that his prolonged absence had left him out of shape.
She clicked on the icon to the security camera that was trained on the simulator and saw that the hatch was now open. Vegeta was sitting on the platform clad in his usual apparel of spandex shorts and sneakers, rubbing his shoulder with a grimace. Bulma decided that now was as good a time as ever to go talk to him.
Vegeta tried to will his heart rate to slow down as he struggled to catch his breath. He reached for his towel, submerging a moan at the rebelling pain in his left shoulder, and wiped the sweat from his face. One hundred times earth's gravity should have been as natural to him as flying but damned if trying to do push-ups in that environment didn't make all of the muscles in his body feel as if they were about to burst. He was debating on calling it a day when Bulma stepped out of the building, carrying a bottle of water and started walking towards him.
He wanted to retreat back into the Capsule but couldn't will his legs to start moving. A victim of his own over-achievement, he remained trapped where he was, tensioning up as the woman came along side of him.
"Thirsty?" She offered him the bottle.
Hesitating for only a second, he took the container and drank the cool contents with relish. When he was done, he stared down at the bottle in his hand for a long while.
"Vegeta?" she prompted.
"This bottle," he said in an odd voice. "I had heatstroke and you gave me water from a container just like this one, didn't you?"
Bulma's heart ached at the doubt she heard in his voice. "Vegeta, how much do you remember of your time on earth?"
"Enough," he parried, immediately on the defensive.
"And us? How much do you remember about... what we went through?"
He only stared at her, frowning in confusion.
"The Hammorski Plaza? Dorothy Pereaux? Your suffering from the V'Nhar? You don't remember any of it?"
"Is there any need to?" he shot back. "From the sounds of things I don't think I'm missing much. What's the big deal?"
"The big deal is US!" Bulma wailed. "We were together. We fell in love and now you're telling me that you've forgotten all of that?"
"I think you've got me confused with somebody else," he responded coldly. "I don't feel anything for you. I doubt I ever did."
His words were like a slap across the face. Bulma stared back at him in complete disbelief, her bottom lip trembling as she fought to maintain her composure. When she was positive that she wouldn't burst into tears, she said in a level voice, "You've forgotten so much. It's not fair to get into an argument with you if you can't remember the facts. I'm telling you that it DID happen. Whether you choose to face those memories is completely up to you."
"What the hell-?" Vegeta watched her retrieve the bottle and start to turn away and he jumped off the platform to grab her arm. "Just one damned minute! Are you implying that I'm trying to forget all of this on purpose?"
"It would make things easy for you, wouldn't it?" she shouted back. "You can start off with a clean slate. No commitments, no regrets. I have to wonder if Frieza's poison really is to blame or if you're doing this deliberately!"
"You BITCH!" He raised his fist, intent on demolishing her face and Bulma's expression transformed into sheer terror with the understanding that she had gone too far.
Just before the terrible blow fell, the surroundings around Vegeta warped and he suddenly found himself in a bed, cradling a woman by his side. He was assuring her that-that-
You'll never be hurt by my hand, Bulma.
"!!SHIT!!" At the last second he whirled and plowed his fist into the side of the gravity simulator, burrowing his arm into the reinforced metal up to the elbow. He leaned heavily against the capsule, willing his temper to get back under control and trying not to betray just how badly shaken he was. So close. He had been so close. He had almost killed her!
"Oh God, Vegeta! I'm so sorry!" She was starting to cry now. "I was just angry. I had no right to say those terrible things. I know they're not true."
He pulled his arm free with a squeal of rebelling metal and she saw that his hand was bleeding profusely. The sight of it made her cry even harder. "I'll take you to the infirmary. I-I'll get you a-"
"Leave me the hell alone," he snarled, baring his teeth at her. Fixing her with one withering glare, he left to go visit the Capsule Corp. infirmary.
Bulma wanted to give chase but her legs were rubbery from the near miss and she sat down in the grass before she fell. Great, racking sobs enveloped her slight form and she surrendered to them, drawing herself into a helpless, little ball. The majority of emotion was lingering stress from the events of the last few months and the rest, her own helplessness with what to do for Vegeta. By denying their past relationship, he had hurt her and she, without thinking, had deliberately hurt him back. How could she ever win his trust now?
When the torrent passed, Bulma realized that some clues about Vegeta might be revealed at his apartment in Pitch. She would gain some insight into how he had lived, what he had done to pass the time, and perhaps find some much- needed common ground if she was going to begin the task of rebuilding their friendship. Vegeta had said that he wanted nothing to do with the place. At the very least, she could sort out the belongings he needed and encapsulate the rest for goodwill.
Her face once more burning with purpose, she told her mother of her intentions and left the Western Capital in her hoverjet, traveling northeast to the city of Pitch. She was unprepared for all of the snow she encountered and had to remind herself that it was late November. She wished that she had put on something warmer then a miniskirt, heels and a short- sleeved sweater.
Landing on the roof of the apartment building, Bulma stood in the knee-deep snow and encapsulated the hoverjet. Making her awkward way towards the stair access, she found the door locked and had to sort through her purse with rapidly numbing fingers for the right gadget. She pulled out an automatic lock-picker and had the door open in less then ten seconds and descended the stairwell, shivering so badly that her teeth were clacking together.
She went to the forth floor and stepped up to the door of Vegeta's apartment, 403. It felt odd to be standing here, let alone letting herself in but she was freezing and quickly used her lock-pick to get inside. The warmth of the apartment enfolded her and she leaned against the door gratefully, feeling the blood return to her extremities.
When she was sufficiently warmer, she looked around in amazement. It certainly wasn't hard to tell that someone else had chosen the furnishings and décor; none of it was Vegeta's barren sense of style. The neatness of the apartment, however, was. Everything was in its place, nothing was disturbed. There were a few empty beer cans on the counter and a glass in the sink. Curiously, Bulma looked in the fridge and saw several cartons of eggs and tomato juice cans. The freezer was crammed full of meat. When she opened one of the cupboard doors, she saw something that made her heart stutter.
Catfood cans.
All along she had thought that Vegeta had pulled his little gross-out act to make everyone run from the table and leave him the leftovers. She didn't realize that he had actually been living off of the damned stuff! The tears were dangerously close again and she had to swallow them back. Vegeta hadn't chosen to eat it because he was lacking for money; it was obvious that he had simply developed a fondness for the taste.
"Eww," she said with a shiver.
She was impressed with the entertainment system, so much that she intended to bring it back with her for use in their own home; to hell with goodwill. The DVD movie collection was enormous and it was clear that Vegeta had been working his way through them, judging by where the layers of dust stopped. She made a curious discovery resting in the corner of the living room by the far wall; The entire Star Wars collection was there as well as Independence Day, several Star Trek movies and The Matrix, among others- all obviously discarded. It was painfully clear that anything resembling science fiction only irritated the Saiyan who knew the real thing first- hand. Bulma went to the DVD player and opened the slot, wondering what he had been watching last and she burst out laughing when she read the title.
The Sound of Music.
"I'll be damned!" She was laughing so hard she had to sit on the arm of the couch. All of these little revelations were providing more insight into Vegeta then she could have dared hope.
In the spare bedroom she took note of all of the weight equipment without much surprise and moved on to the bathroom. This area was a little more cluttered then the rest of the apartment and the bathmat was still on the floor. Bulma wondered if he had been interrupted from a shower to go help her when she had confronted Doctor Reznik. What a disastrous turn of events that had led to.
Her previous good humor deserting her, she turned to leave and cast a glance at the waste can under the sink. She backtracked and pulled out an empty bottle of extremely strong painkillers. They had been prescribed to Tucker but it was obvious that Vegeta had finished them, which was unusual. He would never have resorted to using any drugs unless he had been...
"Suffering," she whispered. Along with the bottle, the garbage can was half full of wadded up Kleenex tissues, all bloody. There were more flecks of blood on the counter beside the sink. "He was in agony and he was dying all alone."
The tears were back and she wept quietly this time, more then ever regretting her words she had spoken outside of the simulator. Why wouldn't he want to forget all of this? she asked herself. What would be the benefit of reliving this nightmare over again?
There was no straightforward answer. As much insight as she gained, Bulma knew that she would never be able to fathom what Vegeta had endured these last few months. She could only understand his reason for not seeking out any help. He had been probably worried that his suffering would only be prolonged by some well-intentioned interference. If he hadn't come to her rescue at the airport, he would have died here: His body found by strangers and quietly disposed of without her learning of his fate.
Bulma suddenly wished that she had never come here. Her arms were crawling with gooseflesh, as if the place was haunted and she tried desperately to keep the morose thoughts at bay without much luck. Walking into the bedroom, she resolved to pack a few of Vegeta's things and then get the hell out. She'd come back later with some company.
As she crossed the room to get at the dresser, her eyes fell on a manila envelope resting on the bed. She walked over and picked it up, almost dropping it again when she saw what was written on its surface.
It was addressed to her.
Vegeta's little tantrum left him with two broken knuckles and a gash in the back of his hand that required seven stitches. He let the nurse on duty patch him up but he was uncomfortable in the sterile confines of the company infirmary and was eager to get out of there. Sensing his agitation, the nurse moved as fast as humanly possible and had barely finished bandaging his hand when he jumped from the examining table and left at a pace that was nearly a sprint. He didn't trust nurses and he abhorred anything that even remotely resembled a hospital. He hadn't even let the woman give him a needle for the pain. That, at least, was something he could handle with ease. Pain defined his very existence. It was all of this trust and friendship and love bullshit everyone was trying to force on him that he couldn't deal with.
I have to wonder if Frieza's poison really is to blame or if you're doing this deliberately! the woman had accused, making his muscles tighten in anger. Not a day went by that he wasn't mourning what he had lost and she actually thought that he was doing this on purpose?
Too many questions... too many doubts. He didn't like constantly second- guessing himself with every move he made, wondering if it was the right one. He needed answers. Damn it- He needed to remember!
At a loss, he got changed in his room and stared longingly at the bed, wondering if he should take a nap. His hand was throbbing and he chose to abandon the idea until he got a few beers into his system. He left his quarters and wandered down the hall, lost in thought and troubled. Bulma's words plagued him, transforming the anger he felt into more self-doubt.
His roaming brought him to the nursery where he could hear Trunks starting to cry and he peered cautiously around the side of the door, wondering if Kakarrot's shrew wife was anywhere nearby. It wasn't as if he feared her; she was just a person that he desperately wanted to avoid at all costs. The coast looked clear and he went into the room and closed the door.
He walked over to the crib and rested his arms on the edge, peering down at his son without expression. "I'm not surprised you get so pissed off, being trapped in this little cage and all." Trunks gave a delighted squeal in reaction and Vegeta picked the boy up by the back of his pj's and gave him a light shake before setting him back down. "Quiet, brat."
Unruffled, Trunks crawled over to him and stood up on shaky legs, holding onto the bars for support as he gibbered non-stop to his father in intelligible baby talk. Listening to this nonsense for about five minutes, Vegeta shook his head in annoyance and held up one hand. "Not now, boy. Time is short. I need something from you."
His blue eyes huge in his chubby face, Trunks stared at his father with rapt attention. Vegeta saw so much of Bulma in those innocent eyes that he was at a momentary loss for words. He knew that the child had an immense psychic gift that was capable of easing his suffering; the lingering after- affects of Frieza's poison. The pair had a powerful bond that not even distance could weaken. Right now, Vegeta was wondering if there was a third person added to that exclusive bond.
"How much of your mother's mind have you touched?" he muttered out loud, staring at the boy. "My memories are fragmented but hers are crystal clear. How much do you know?"
Trunks cocked his head to one side, as if considering the question. "Buhma- mah ta Vehta. Yah!" he exclaimed and held up his arms towards his father.
Nervous for no reason that he could explain, Vegeta reached down and enfolded the baby's tiny hands in his own.
"Show me," he said, closing his eyes.
--------------------------------------------------------
Chapter Sixteen: Saiyan courtship. It's a beautiful thing.
For the second time in an hour, she checked up on him.
Peering into the darkened bedroom, Bulma's eyes fell upon the figure lying in a huddled ball of blankets. She walked inside, crossing the room soundlessly and approached the bed, sitting down on its edge. She extended a hand towards the lone occupant. "Vegeta."
Beneath the covers, the Saiyan released a sound that was either a moan or a weary growl. Taking the hint, Bulma pulled her hand back and remained where she was, staring at him with a worried frown. All she could see of him was a gnarled mess of short hair spikes and part of one eyebrow; the rest was hidden under the blankets. She knew that he was injured but aside from allowing her to take him back to Capsule Corporation, he had made it clear that he wanted to be left alone. Initially, her intention had been to take him back to the Look-Out but she shelved that suggestion when he started pulling on the release to the hoverjet exit. He hadn't reacted much better when she tried to guide him to the Headquarter building's infirmary. Whatever he had suffered through during his absence, it was becoming clear that needles weren't his only fear.
"You're going to get through this," she whispered, brushing her fingers lightly along his hair. Reacting to the contact, he ducked his head under the blankets like a turtle and made that low warning sound again. She could see the outline of his body was shaking.
Getting back to her feet, Bulma walked to the door. "We're going to get through this together," she promised him and left the room as quietly as she entered.
Her parents looked at her expectantly when she walked down the stairs to the living room. Waiting with them was Chi Chi who was glaring daggers at Piccolo. The dour alien insisted on maintaining his vigil just in case Vegeta reverted back to his destructive persona. He was staring back at Gohan's mother with equal disdain.
"Oh, Bulma- How is he?" Mrs. Briefs asked in a fretful tone.
"The same, mom," Bulma responded, sitting down beside her. In the last twenty-four hours she felt as if she had aged ten years. Of them all, only little Trunks appeared unfazed by all of the excitement. He was currently asleep in his crib with a rare smile on his peaceful features. "He won't let me look at his injuries. All he wants to do is sleep."
"What do you expect?" Piccolo rumbled. "It's been barely two hours since he battled Gohan. Let sleeping Saiyans lie."
"Where is Gohan?" Chi Chi snapped. "I thought that you said my little boy wasn't badly hurt!"
"He's probably still at the Look-Out. Dende was very weak from performing several healings in a short period of time. It might take awhile," Piccolo offered. He had kept the nature of the boy's injuries purposely vague to avoid exciting the woman. He had already faced the wrath of one raving lunatic and didn't need any more grief from another.
Bulma was barely registering the conversation, lost in her own thoughts. What would have happened if they hadn't showed up when they did? Vegeta had been on the cusp of self-destruction, lured back to rationality by his son. What had Trunks done to him? There were so many questions that plagued away at her, building in intensity with each hour. She could hardly wait to speak with Yamcha. Piccolo had told her that the fighter had tracked down the doctor responsible for Vegeta's state. Once he returned, she knew that she would finally get the answers that she so desperately needed.
She was interrupted from her musings by a hand that closed over her own. "Daughter," her father said, "Everything is going to turn out just fine. Vegeta is finally home where he belongs-"
All at once, Chi Chi jumped to her feet with an outraged hiss. She was six months pregnant and heavily showing but she was still remarkable lithe. "How on earth can you say that?! Look what he did to Ivory City! He murdered all of those people and you're welcoming him back with open arms?! I don't believe this!"
Piccolo attempted, "When the Dragonballs are charged, we can-"
"There you go again; using the Dragonballs to correct the damage done by a madman! When are you ever going to learn? He's lying helpless in bed, why don't you finish him off before he kills again?"
"Oh!" Mrs. Briefs put her hand to her mouth in shock. Beside her, even Bulma was struck dumb by the callous suggestion. Of them all, only Dr. Briefs fixed the brunette with a calm, level stare. "There will be no killing under this roof. I've made this clear to Vegeta in the past and it's obvious that I have to make it clear to you."
"You're comparing that-that monster to ME?!" Chi Chi shouted. Her skin actually crawled with the thought of any similarities between the two of them. "All that Vegeta knows how to do is kill and you're letting him back into this building as if nothing happened. Thousands of people are dead! Don't you see that? He murdered them all in cold blood!"
"He wasn't in his right mind," Piccolo said. "There were circumstances that you don't understand-"
"I would figure that YOU would come to his defense, monster!" Chi Chi hissed at him with such ferocity that even the Namek recoiled in shock. "You're no better than that rotten Saiyan- So stay out of this! I haven't forgotten that you stole my Gohan away from me just when I lost my dear husband-" the first time, she almost added but managed to bite the reminder back just in the nick of time. "Stay out of this," she cautioned in a calmer voice while rubbing her stomach.
"Alright, enough is enough," Bulma said, rising to her feet to face her stricken friend. "'Chi, you have to try and calm down and face the fact that Vegeta is as welcome here as you and Gohan are. He's Trunks' father! I'm not going to send him away or-or do anything else."
"I can't be in the same house as him. I won't allow it. Either he goes or I go," Chi Chi announced, holding her head high and putting her hands on her hips, waiting for the answer.
She didn't get the response she was hoping for. "I'm sorry, 'Chi," Bulma said sadly, "but Vegeta is staying right here. I just hope that you can try and see past your- CHI CHI!"
Feeling utterly humiliated, the brunette turned around and stamped off towards the kitchen where she disappeared. Conversation was just resuming when she exited the room and stamped up the stairs to the second level where their personal quarters resided. Nobody said anything to her, recognizing that look of crazed purpose on her face. Bulma was about to follow after her, suspecting that something didn't appear quite right until Piccolo announced, "Gohan and Yamcha are coming."
Gone were all suspicions as Bulma rushed to the front door, eager for the explanation that would finally put all of her fears to rest.
Upstairs, Chi Chi waited until she was out of the sight of the others before she withdrew from her sleeve the foot-long butcher knife she had retrieved from the kitchen. Wiping one sweaty hand on her thigh, she gripped the handle with a secure grip and approached the closed door of Vegeta's bedroom. It would be a simple thing to do, she assured herself. Enter the room, approach the bed, and slit Vegeta's throat. Quick, easy and a far faster death than he actually deserved. She was the only one in the entire Son family who could kill the farm livestock for the supper table. She knew just the right amount of pressure to use for the task.
I'll just imagine him to be the pig he is, she thought, adding a nod. Taking several deep breaths, she turned the knob and flung open the door, her eyes immediately seeking out her target in the low light.
The bed was empty.
She had to blink to make sure that she wasn't mistaken. The lamp on the nightstand was set to low and aside from a few discarded blankets, the room was vacant. Chi Chi figured that it meant the Saiyan was in the bathroom and, being awake, would no longer be an easy target. She couldn't risk her baby in a struggle and left the room as quickly as she entered, her heart pounding in her chest at the close call. If he had spotted her...
She went to her room and began the task of getting packed, her thoughts as slow and ponderous as her movements. There was little to look forward to at Mount Paozu; no neighbors, no friends, no money. She was at a genuine loss as to how she would be able to cope with two children to feed. Gohan could go out and work but his studies would suffer and she couldn't allow that. An education was the only guarantee he had to save him from a life of endless battles, like his father. The Western Capital offered him that chance.
"I can't stay here," she muttered under her breath, taking a break from packing. Bulma had given her all of the maternity wear that she had worn while carrying Trunks. Aside from being a little tight in the chest, the skirts and dresses were a good fit and Chi Chi held one of the garments in her hands, reading the designer label. All of the Briefs were extraordinarily generous without asking for a single thing in return. She would be a fool to leave now and jeopardize the future of her soon-to-be- born child. "I want to stay but I can't take the risk that Vegeta will kill me- Us. The danger is just too great." As if to agree with her, the baby gave an urgent kick and Chi Chi nodded to herself and resumed packing.
When she had first arrived at Capsule Corporation, she'd had one battered suitcase that held all of her meager belongings. She was leaving with three. At the very least, she might be able to make a few zeni selling some of the clothes at the local market. Staring at the luggage, she decided that she might as well start packing up Gohan's belongings while he was absent. The boy would only put up a hostile argument with her logic about leaving and probably refuse to pack. He was developing an independent streak that she definitely did not like and part of the problem was down in the living room with Bulma and her parents. The other was staying in a room at the end of the hall.
As she left her bedroom, she decided to check in on Trunks one last time and say good-bye. She adored the child even though she actively tried to forget who had fathered him and thought that the boy would make a good playmate if she had a son. Perhaps a potential husband, if she was carrying a girl (Chi Chi was a woman who liked to plan things out well ahead of their time).
The nightlight was on in the nursery and she tiptoed inside and stepped quietly around the crib. Her foot snagged on something and she stumbled forward, arms pin-wheeling for balance. She fell to one knee and protectively cradled her stomach, looking back at what had tripped her. Releasing a shocked gasp, her heart leapt into her throat when she realized that Vegeta was sitting up against the crib. Baby Trunks had one hand through the bars and was holding onto one of the spikes of his father's hair. Both of them were sound asleep.
Frozen in shock, Chi Chi found herself staring at the vulnerable Saiyan. This was the second time that she had ever come face to face with the alien and, as before, she was perplexed by the differences in his appearance. At the hospital, he had been dressed in a soldier's uniform and she hadn't even recognized him at first. Right now, he looked nothing like the savage fighter that had been revealed in Baba's crystal ball so many years before. The short spikes of his hair revealed a face that was pale and haggard and plainly showing the efforts of his previous battle. One cheek was bruised and there was a shallow gash along his jawline. Both of his muscular arms were blistered and smeared with dried mud and cinders.
Submerging a pang of sympathy, Chi Chi had to remind herself of who she was looking at: The murderer of Ivory City. A crazed killer who threatened all of their lives with his very presence. She remembered that she had left the knife on the dresser in her room.
Just as she was slowly getting back to her feet to retrieve it, Vegeta's eyes snapped open and focused on her.
Putting her burning face in her hands, Bulma barely felt her father rub her back as Yamcha's story came to a halting end. She had suspected that whatever had happened to Vegeta during his absence had to have been something bad but she never could have imagined how terribly tragic the tale was; He had been drugged, caged and operated on like some expendable lab animal. Even worse, he had been forced to confront his biggest personal demon remade in flesh: Frieza. According to the doctor that Yamcha had tracked down; the pair had a final showdown on a deserted island that resulted in Frieza being reduced to ashes and Vegeta having a stroke and slipping into a coma for twenty-two days.
"Oh my God," Bulma choked, her slight form trembling with grief. Through her stunned mind she recalled the events at the hospital just after Vegeta had healed Trunks. 'No more poisons! No more prisons!' he had screamed. He had looked so sickly then and it hadn't hit home until just now when Yamcha told her the truth.
Vegeta had been dying.
"Why-why didn't he come here?" Mrs. Briefs asked in a bewildered way as she fought a losing battle with her own tears. "We would have helped him. Taken care of him. Why did he stay away if he knew he was-was..." She couldn't bring herself to say the words.
"This is Vegeta we're talking about," Piccolo told her, his face sullen and grave. He had seen the bullet scars on Vegeta's back but hadn't figured that they were anything more than from a chance encounter against humans. He had been wrong- distressingly so. He now wondered if Vegeta had destroyed Ivory City in retaliation, acting out of something more than just blind violence. Perhaps in the depths of his memory loss there had been lingering rage and hatred from what had been done to him and he had reacted the only way that he knew how. "He would never have asked for help. And he certainly wouldn't have asked it from you."
Bulma snapped her head up. "What do you mean by that?"
"You're human," Piccolo responded bluntly. "Humans did this to him, with help from Frieza. Vegeta has never been a trusting person and now he has just cause to hate everything that this planet represents. At the hospital, he made his resentment clear. If anything, that hatred has only intensified."
"But he accepted help from Trunks-" Gohan's words came to a sudden halt as his face registered his understanding.
Piccolo nodded. "A half-alien baby that he fathered. Bulma, I don't think it's wise having Vegeta stay here in the Western Capital. Perhaps... perhaps, Chi Chi was right..."
"NO!" Bulma snapped, rising to her feet. "Vegeta is staying here and that's final! Do you hear me? Chi Chi doesn't know what she's talking about and neither do you!"
"Err, speaking of my mom," Gohan piped up. "Where is she?"
With a distance of less than three feet separating them, Chi Chi and Vegeta regarded one another for one long, tension-filled moment. Finally, the Saiyan spoke first. "I know you."
"We met at the hospital," she responded, finally managing to find her voice. "I'm Gohan's mother-"
"-Kakarrot's mate."
"I don't acknowledge that Saiyan name, murderer! My husband's name is Gokou. I want you to remember that."
Vegeta's half-lidded eyes flashed anger for a split second but it was a fleeting sight, like a spark that couldn't quite catch. He closed his eyes for longer than a blink and opened them again with effort. "He's dead."
"No thanks to you," Chi Chi said harshly.
Vegeta opened his mouth to debate and then looked away, his heavy brows furrowing in thought. In that moment of indecision, Chi Chi debated running to her room to get the knife but she finally chose not to. Even through her grief and anger she could see something different in the brash alien.
Grappling with his memories, Vegeta attempted to make some sense of the chaos. The events right up to his crushing defeat on earth, the first time he had appeared, were crystal clear; it was the rest of the memories to the present that were still a jumbled mess. Rubbing his temple briefly, he muttered; "Cell. He sacrificed himself just before Cell blew up."
"It should have been you who died in the battle. Not him."
Vegeta only gave a half-nod, not bothering to waste the energy for a debate. That action alone was enough to curb the rest of Chi Chi's animosity. It was a hateful statement and the Saiyan had simply agreed with it. She felt no victory over the moment, as she would have expected. In front of her Vegeta was wounded and defeated; it was all that she would have thought she wanted -next to her husband being returned to her. Quite unexpectedly, her quest for vengeance faded into the background and allowed her to behave rationally again. Without that usual spite motivating her, all that she could think of saying right now was the obvious: "You're hurt."
"No shit."
Chi Chi's lips twisted at the profanity. "There's no need to be coarse. I thought that you were a prince. I'm a princess myself, you know."
"Hnh. Must be an earth thing. You just look like a common peasant whore to me," he responded, fixing her with a baleful glare.
Betraying one stunned blink, Chi Chi screamed into his face: "How DARE you speak that way to me, you filthy Saiyan! I won't tolerate that kind of trash talking from anyone and certainly not from someone like you! Why, if my precious Gokou were here-"
"Shut. The fuck. UP!" Vegeta yelled back, getting to his feet. He regarded her with absolute loathing and was about to close in when he glanced at her stomach and cocked his head to one side. Just as quickly he backed away, eyeing her warily like a desultory little tiger.
He's reacting to my pregnancy, Chi Chi realized in amazement. He won't even come close to me, let alone hurt me. Is it because Gokou's the father? Or something else that I'm missing?
Rudely awakened, Trunks sat up and took measure of the tension in the room. He started drawing in air for a wail of displeasure when Vegeta turned on him with an erect finger raised in warning. "Not now, boy," he cautioned.
Remarkably, Trunks appeared to forget his initial irritation and began quietly playing with his toes.
Chi Chi's eyes tracked from father to son and back again in disbelief at the scene. At a complete loss for words, it came as something of a relief when Bulma charged into the room followed by Gohan.
Bulma glanced at Vegeta first and the pair matched eyes for a fleeting second before he looked away. Moving to the crib, she saw that Trunks was gurgling contentedly to himself, apparently unruffled by the display in his nursery and his acceptance helped to calm her. Whatever had happened in here, it was plain that it wasn't anything to get needlessly upset over if the baby showed no sign of distress. Trunks just seemed ecstatic that Vegeta was in the room. "Chi Chi, is everything all right in here?" she asked warily. It didn't take her genius brain to sort things out; two hot- tempered individuals had met and clashed, remarkably without bloodshed.
Gohan stepped in beside his mother and helped her to her feet. Chi Chi's face was deeply flushed but the boy wasn't sure if it was fury or something else. "You okay, mom?"
Glaring daggers at Vegeta, Chi Chi saw that he wasn't even staring at her, the entire incident apparently already dismissed. He was standing behind Bulma and staring at her back but there appeared to be no malice on his face. He glanced once at her hair and then dropped his eyes to the floor.
"Everything's fine," Chi Chi managed to say at last, dusting herself off. She busied herself with fussing over her son. "I'm relieved to see that you're not hurt. But- Look how filthy you are! You are going to march right into a shower at once, young man."
"Aww, mom..." the boy protested, following his mother out of the nursery.
Left alone, Bulma turned to look at Vegeta. Trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice, she remarked lightly, "Looks like you could use a shower yourself, tough guy."
Gripping the front of his tank top, Vegeta wrinkled his nose but made no comment.
"And I'll get some bandages for your-"
"Get away from me."
Bulma had been moving towards him and now she faltered. "W-What?"
"You've done quite enough. Keep your distance," he growled at her.
Piccolo's cautions repeated themselves in Bulma's whirling mind. "I-I thought that we had cleared the air back at the hospital. I told you how sorry I was about deceiving you and what had happened to Trunks' tail-"
Vegeta's face became a confused scowl. "What are you yapping on about? I'm just saying that I'll never forgive you for making me wear that stupid pink shirt!"
Before her stunned eyes, he deliberately turned her back on her and stalked out of the room. The exchange left her with a dozen questions but by the time she had them sorted out, Vegeta was back in his room and this time the door was locked.
"What am I going to do?" she finally asked Trunks.
The baby rocked back and forth and flashed her a sly little grin that seemed to say: Don't you worry, momma. Just leave things to me.
There were no nightmares and for that alone, he was grateful.
When Vegeta woke up the next morning, the first thing that he noticed was the lack of throbbing agony between his temples. Constant headaches had been his unshakable companion for the last several months and he had grown so used to them that waking up in pain was commonplace. He sat up in bed and savored the peace and quiet for a moment and then looked around. It took a moment for the surroundings to register and then it dawned on him; Capsule Corporation. He was back in his room but everything looked barren, as if he hadn't been here in a while. The dresser's surface was empty and the closet had no clothes. There was a series of flashes that raced through his mind; a dingy, foul-smelling motel room, a dead soldier's apartment, a cell with transparent walls. He shook his head to try and make some sense of what his memories were trying to tell him but it was no use. Everything was a still a mess.
"Damn you Frieza," he cursed under his breath. He could imagine the tyrant basking in glee over this situation. "You took away my people, my pride... Did you have to take away my mind, too?"
There was no sense dwelling on the issue: What's done is done. He undressed and took a long, hot shower, standing under the spray and letting the water wash away sweat and grime and soothe his wounds. Afterwards, he stood in front of the mirror over the sink and wiped away the condensation, staring at his reflection. He ran a hand through his short hair spikes, grumbling at the sight, and then rummaged through the medicine cabinet for some bandages. The burns on his arms weren't that severe but needed to be kept clean. With a skill borne of tending to such injuries, he added the necessary dressings and wrapped the gauze tightly around either arm.
When he was done, he returned to his room and frowned down at the ripped clothes lying on the bed. He finally recognized the style but couldn't remember mugging Mirai Trunks for them. This time, when he tried to force the memories to the surface, a headache started to rise with them. He gave up, put on the clothes and left the room.
Following the scent of breakfast, it was Vegeta's stomach that dictated his direction and he went downstairs and walked into the dining room. Bulma, Trunks and her parents were there, as was Gohan and his mother. In the far corner, Piccolo was standing with his arms folded and looked up as he entered.
Faltering, Vegeta was about to back out of the room when Mrs. Briefs exclaimed; "Oh, Vegeta! It's so good to have you up and about. How do you feel?"
Before he managed an answer, she was already on her feet and pulling out the nearest chair. "I'll prepare a place setting for you right away. I imagine that you're famished-"
"Hold it!" Chi Chi snapped, slapping her hands down on the table. "I agreed to cook for this household. That didn't include him!"
"Chi Chi-" Bulma hissed.
"I mean it, Bulma. I relented to stay but that doesn't mean that I'm going to be his personal chef."
"'CHI!"
"I can fend for myself," Vegeta said coarsely, walking towards the kitchen. "I don't need that harpy to feed me."
"What? What did you call me?" she yelled after his retreating back. "Why I've have a mind to-" She had been in the process of rising to her feet until a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her gently, but firmly, down. "Leave him alone, mom," Gohan told her.
"Don't you tell me what to do," she snapped. "You're still grounded for running away and stealing and-"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the boy chanted, shoveling a mouthful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. He hadn't slept very well last night, concerned about possible retaliation by Vegeta and had spent much of the night talking to Piccolo. He was glad to see that the Saiyan was back on his feet, apparently none the worse for wear from their recent battle and more concerned about nourishment then vengeance. For what seemed to be a very long time, the boy began to relax at last.
"And that smart mouth that you've got is another thing-"
"'Chi, would you please put a sock in it?" Bulma said as she spoon-fed Trunks his breakfast. "Can't we all just enjoy a nice, quiet breakfast for once?"
As the brunette sat back with a perturbed huff, Vegeta returned from the kitchen carrying a loaf of bread and several cans. He sat down in the chair that Bulma's mother had pulled out and began making himself a sandwich. Chi Chi blanched in horror when she read the label on the can of tuna he held. "Is-is that... that..."
"Cat food?" Dr. Briefs finished. His kitty was perched on his shoulder and gave an exited meow when Vegeta pulled open the lid and began spreading the contents on a slice of bread. Before everyone's stunned gaze, he emptied the can, added another slice and then began to eat his sandwich.
"Oh- GROSS!" Gohan howled, leaving the table. This would be one morning where he would be going to school early.
Both of Bulma's parents excused themselves and hastily left the dining room. Seated across from the Saiyan, Chi Chi tried to hold up her disapproving glare until Vegeta opened his mouth and deliberately showed her a half-chewed mouthful balanced on his tongue. Cupping her hand over her mouth, she quickly left the room barely hearing Piccolo remark; "I'm sure Vegeta will appreciate the leftovers."
"-urk!" was all she could get out as she ran for the nearest bathroom.
Chuckling to himself, Piccolo decided to make his own exit. It was clear that things were returning back to normal and his hanging around was unnecessary. He offered Bulma a casual nod and stepped out of the dining room.
Bulma giggled as Vegeta put down the sandwich and began gathering the half- eaten plates around him. "Nicely done, Vegeta. Not many people manage to pull one over on Chi Chi. Come to think of it, I think you're the first."
"Whoopee for me," he said and began eating. There might as well have been a sign around his neck that read: Hungry Saiyan- Do Not Disturb and Bulma busied herself with tending to Trunks. With his father in the room, the boy began demanding more with growing impatience and Bulma had a hard time keeping him supplied with food. With smug amusement, she realized that she was witnessing an eating contest between father and son.
"Mhe winny!" Trunks yelled victoriously when Vegeta finally pushed the last plate away and sat back in his chair, obviously sated. The baby's cheeks were smeared with eggs and the front of his shirt was soaked in orange juice. He waved his arms up and down in excitement as Bulma tried to wipe his face clean.
"That boy is a bottomless pit," Vegeta remarked.
"Like father, like son," Bulma teased.
He looked down at the table, nodding at the sight of the empty plates all around him. "Kakarrot's mate may be a bitch but she can sure cook."
"We don't ask her to but she insists."
"She lives here?"
Bulma nodded. "Her and Gohan. She has no money and she's expecting another child. Offering her a place to stay is the least I could do."
"You're as bad as your parents," he grumbled under his breath.
"What's that?"
"Taking in strays."
"Including you?"
"Particularly me," he murmured, crossing his arms and becoming lost in thought.
"Vegeta, I-" Bulma faltered and tried again, "I'm really glad you're here."
"Where else would I be? I have nowhere to go," he said in defeat.
"That's not true," she said slowly, turning to look at him. "You have an apartment in Pitch waiting for you. If-if you want it, that is."
"Pitch?" He blinked in confusion and started rubbing his left temple. He was visibly trying to concentrate and Bulma looked on with concern until he finally said, "That soldier. Tucker. I was living in his apartment."
"Vegeta, are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
She recognized his defensive manner and knew that he didn't want to talk about his injuries, either physical or mental. She decided to let the issue rest for now. "I don't want you to think that you have to stay here if you don't want to. I'd like nothing more then to have you around, if only for Trunks' sake, but I'm not going to force you."
The pair stared at one another as he visibly considered an answer. Trying to keep her emotions at bay, Bulma maintained an indifferent front but inside, she was screaming for him not to leave. She actually closed her eyes when he started with, "That apartment-"
"-I understand-"
"-I don't want it," he finished. "I'm content to stay here if that's acceptable to... your parents."
"I think they'd like that very much," she said with true relief, her knees wobbling underneath of her.
Vegeta heard the tremor in her voice and frowned thoughtfully at her but he had other concerns. "What happened to the clothes in my room?"
"That's right! Thanks for reminding me," Bulma said, rummaging in her pants pocket for the capsule she had retrieved from that seedy hotel in the city of Prescott. "I was going to give this back to you when you woke up."
"Why did you encapsulate everything in the first place?" he asked irritably, eyeing the capsule she handed him.
"Vegeta, you had-" Bulma's words tumbled to a halt at the blank stare he gave her. "I... didn't want everything to smell musty," she answered instead.
He accepted the explanation and left the dining room to get his belongings sorted out. Remaining behind, Bulma stared at the doorway and chewed nervously on her bottom lip. She had thought that Trunks' enigmatic intervention and a following good night's sleep would have cured any lingering after-affects of Frieza's poison. It was becoming painfully clear that wasn't the case.
Over the course of the next two weeks, things started to fall into a sense of normalcy in the Headquarters building. Vegeta and Chi Chi deliberately avoided one another except during meals. After his display over breakfast, she consented to include him in her expert cooking. During mealtimes, the odd verbal skirmish broke out as both volatile individuals tried to get in the last word over the silliest of topics. It often ended when the rest of the family would start laughing and the pair settled into their meals, sulking and glaring at one another like a pair of spoiled children.
Gohan was just as happy as Trunks to have the Saiyan living at Capsule Corporation. On several occasions, the pair sparred in the courtyard but they were careful not to get carried away with the sprit of combat. Neither powered up and Vegeta rarely lost his temper, not even when the youth managed to find a weakness in his defenses and land a successful blow. Each tourney ended in a mutual draw but Gohan got the impression that Vegeta's heart wasn't in the fighting. He just seemed to be going through the motions of battle, his mind lost to other concerns the boy wasn't privy to. Gohan tried to draw him out but the terse responses he got for his efforts was about the only thing that was predictable. With that in mind, he shelved his worry and just let himself be grateful for Vegeta's presence.
Mrs. Briefs was the only person to see a different side of the Saiyan that the others missed. Slipping downstairs for a late night snack, she once caught Vegeta sitting in the living room. The television was the only source of light, the volume turned down low and she could plainly see he was bent over in the chair, holding his head.
"Vegeta? Are you all right, dear?"
"Leave me alone," he rasped out, sparing her a glance. The act of marginally turning his head seemed to be too much of an effort and he went back to suffering in silence.
Utterly perplexed, Mrs. Briefs returned to her room, intent on bringing the incident to Bulma's attention the next morning. When she woke up, however, she dismissed the exchange as a dream and promptly forgot about it.
Bulma didn't need her mother to tell her that something was wrong with Vegeta. He had returned to his usual routine of jogging in the morning and spending the remainder of the day in the gravity simulator. Reading the printouts that were sent directly to her office computer, Bulma knew that he was training at less than one-third of the gravity level he'd achieved before he left. The sessions were scattered around periodic breaks and he wasn't using the robotic training drones he had designed. He would never admit it but it was obvious that his prolonged absence had left him out of shape.
She clicked on the icon to the security camera that was trained on the simulator and saw that the hatch was now open. Vegeta was sitting on the platform clad in his usual apparel of spandex shorts and sneakers, rubbing his shoulder with a grimace. Bulma decided that now was as good a time as ever to go talk to him.
Vegeta tried to will his heart rate to slow down as he struggled to catch his breath. He reached for his towel, submerging a moan at the rebelling pain in his left shoulder, and wiped the sweat from his face. One hundred times earth's gravity should have been as natural to him as flying but damned if trying to do push-ups in that environment didn't make all of the muscles in his body feel as if they were about to burst. He was debating on calling it a day when Bulma stepped out of the building, carrying a bottle of water and started walking towards him.
He wanted to retreat back into the Capsule but couldn't will his legs to start moving. A victim of his own over-achievement, he remained trapped where he was, tensioning up as the woman came along side of him.
"Thirsty?" She offered him the bottle.
Hesitating for only a second, he took the container and drank the cool contents with relish. When he was done, he stared down at the bottle in his hand for a long while.
"Vegeta?" she prompted.
"This bottle," he said in an odd voice. "I had heatstroke and you gave me water from a container just like this one, didn't you?"
Bulma's heart ached at the doubt she heard in his voice. "Vegeta, how much do you remember of your time on earth?"
"Enough," he parried, immediately on the defensive.
"And us? How much do you remember about... what we went through?"
He only stared at her, frowning in confusion.
"The Hammorski Plaza? Dorothy Pereaux? Your suffering from the V'Nhar? You don't remember any of it?"
"Is there any need to?" he shot back. "From the sounds of things I don't think I'm missing much. What's the big deal?"
"The big deal is US!" Bulma wailed. "We were together. We fell in love and now you're telling me that you've forgotten all of that?"
"I think you've got me confused with somebody else," he responded coldly. "I don't feel anything for you. I doubt I ever did."
His words were like a slap across the face. Bulma stared back at him in complete disbelief, her bottom lip trembling as she fought to maintain her composure. When she was positive that she wouldn't burst into tears, she said in a level voice, "You've forgotten so much. It's not fair to get into an argument with you if you can't remember the facts. I'm telling you that it DID happen. Whether you choose to face those memories is completely up to you."
"What the hell-?" Vegeta watched her retrieve the bottle and start to turn away and he jumped off the platform to grab her arm. "Just one damned minute! Are you implying that I'm trying to forget all of this on purpose?"
"It would make things easy for you, wouldn't it?" she shouted back. "You can start off with a clean slate. No commitments, no regrets. I have to wonder if Frieza's poison really is to blame or if you're doing this deliberately!"
"You BITCH!" He raised his fist, intent on demolishing her face and Bulma's expression transformed into sheer terror with the understanding that she had gone too far.
Just before the terrible blow fell, the surroundings around Vegeta warped and he suddenly found himself in a bed, cradling a woman by his side. He was assuring her that-that-
You'll never be hurt by my hand, Bulma.
"!!SHIT!!" At the last second he whirled and plowed his fist into the side of the gravity simulator, burrowing his arm into the reinforced metal up to the elbow. He leaned heavily against the capsule, willing his temper to get back under control and trying not to betray just how badly shaken he was. So close. He had been so close. He had almost killed her!
"Oh God, Vegeta! I'm so sorry!" She was starting to cry now. "I was just angry. I had no right to say those terrible things. I know they're not true."
He pulled his arm free with a squeal of rebelling metal and she saw that his hand was bleeding profusely. The sight of it made her cry even harder. "I'll take you to the infirmary. I-I'll get you a-"
"Leave me the hell alone," he snarled, baring his teeth at her. Fixing her with one withering glare, he left to go visit the Capsule Corp. infirmary.
Bulma wanted to give chase but her legs were rubbery from the near miss and she sat down in the grass before she fell. Great, racking sobs enveloped her slight form and she surrendered to them, drawing herself into a helpless, little ball. The majority of emotion was lingering stress from the events of the last few months and the rest, her own helplessness with what to do for Vegeta. By denying their past relationship, he had hurt her and she, without thinking, had deliberately hurt him back. How could she ever win his trust now?
When the torrent passed, Bulma realized that some clues about Vegeta might be revealed at his apartment in Pitch. She would gain some insight into how he had lived, what he had done to pass the time, and perhaps find some much- needed common ground if she was going to begin the task of rebuilding their friendship. Vegeta had said that he wanted nothing to do with the place. At the very least, she could sort out the belongings he needed and encapsulate the rest for goodwill.
Her face once more burning with purpose, she told her mother of her intentions and left the Western Capital in her hoverjet, traveling northeast to the city of Pitch. She was unprepared for all of the snow she encountered and had to remind herself that it was late November. She wished that she had put on something warmer then a miniskirt, heels and a short- sleeved sweater.
Landing on the roof of the apartment building, Bulma stood in the knee-deep snow and encapsulated the hoverjet. Making her awkward way towards the stair access, she found the door locked and had to sort through her purse with rapidly numbing fingers for the right gadget. She pulled out an automatic lock-picker and had the door open in less then ten seconds and descended the stairwell, shivering so badly that her teeth were clacking together.
She went to the forth floor and stepped up to the door of Vegeta's apartment, 403. It felt odd to be standing here, let alone letting herself in but she was freezing and quickly used her lock-pick to get inside. The warmth of the apartment enfolded her and she leaned against the door gratefully, feeling the blood return to her extremities.
When she was sufficiently warmer, she looked around in amazement. It certainly wasn't hard to tell that someone else had chosen the furnishings and décor; none of it was Vegeta's barren sense of style. The neatness of the apartment, however, was. Everything was in its place, nothing was disturbed. There were a few empty beer cans on the counter and a glass in the sink. Curiously, Bulma looked in the fridge and saw several cartons of eggs and tomato juice cans. The freezer was crammed full of meat. When she opened one of the cupboard doors, she saw something that made her heart stutter.
Catfood cans.
All along she had thought that Vegeta had pulled his little gross-out act to make everyone run from the table and leave him the leftovers. She didn't realize that he had actually been living off of the damned stuff! The tears were dangerously close again and she had to swallow them back. Vegeta hadn't chosen to eat it because he was lacking for money; it was obvious that he had simply developed a fondness for the taste.
"Eww," she said with a shiver.
She was impressed with the entertainment system, so much that she intended to bring it back with her for use in their own home; to hell with goodwill. The DVD movie collection was enormous and it was clear that Vegeta had been working his way through them, judging by where the layers of dust stopped. She made a curious discovery resting in the corner of the living room by the far wall; The entire Star Wars collection was there as well as Independence Day, several Star Trek movies and The Matrix, among others- all obviously discarded. It was painfully clear that anything resembling science fiction only irritated the Saiyan who knew the real thing first- hand. Bulma went to the DVD player and opened the slot, wondering what he had been watching last and she burst out laughing when she read the title.
The Sound of Music.
"I'll be damned!" She was laughing so hard she had to sit on the arm of the couch. All of these little revelations were providing more insight into Vegeta then she could have dared hope.
In the spare bedroom she took note of all of the weight equipment without much surprise and moved on to the bathroom. This area was a little more cluttered then the rest of the apartment and the bathmat was still on the floor. Bulma wondered if he had been interrupted from a shower to go help her when she had confronted Doctor Reznik. What a disastrous turn of events that had led to.
Her previous good humor deserting her, she turned to leave and cast a glance at the waste can under the sink. She backtracked and pulled out an empty bottle of extremely strong painkillers. They had been prescribed to Tucker but it was obvious that Vegeta had finished them, which was unusual. He would never have resorted to using any drugs unless he had been...
"Suffering," she whispered. Along with the bottle, the garbage can was half full of wadded up Kleenex tissues, all bloody. There were more flecks of blood on the counter beside the sink. "He was in agony and he was dying all alone."
The tears were back and she wept quietly this time, more then ever regretting her words she had spoken outside of the simulator. Why wouldn't he want to forget all of this? she asked herself. What would be the benefit of reliving this nightmare over again?
There was no straightforward answer. As much insight as she gained, Bulma knew that she would never be able to fathom what Vegeta had endured these last few months. She could only understand his reason for not seeking out any help. He had been probably worried that his suffering would only be prolonged by some well-intentioned interference. If he hadn't come to her rescue at the airport, he would have died here: His body found by strangers and quietly disposed of without her learning of his fate.
Bulma suddenly wished that she had never come here. Her arms were crawling with gooseflesh, as if the place was haunted and she tried desperately to keep the morose thoughts at bay without much luck. Walking into the bedroom, she resolved to pack a few of Vegeta's things and then get the hell out. She'd come back later with some company.
As she crossed the room to get at the dresser, her eyes fell on a manila envelope resting on the bed. She walked over and picked it up, almost dropping it again when she saw what was written on its surface.
It was addressed to her.
Vegeta's little tantrum left him with two broken knuckles and a gash in the back of his hand that required seven stitches. He let the nurse on duty patch him up but he was uncomfortable in the sterile confines of the company infirmary and was eager to get out of there. Sensing his agitation, the nurse moved as fast as humanly possible and had barely finished bandaging his hand when he jumped from the examining table and left at a pace that was nearly a sprint. He didn't trust nurses and he abhorred anything that even remotely resembled a hospital. He hadn't even let the woman give him a needle for the pain. That, at least, was something he could handle with ease. Pain defined his very existence. It was all of this trust and friendship and love bullshit everyone was trying to force on him that he couldn't deal with.
I have to wonder if Frieza's poison really is to blame or if you're doing this deliberately! the woman had accused, making his muscles tighten in anger. Not a day went by that he wasn't mourning what he had lost and she actually thought that he was doing this on purpose?
Too many questions... too many doubts. He didn't like constantly second- guessing himself with every move he made, wondering if it was the right one. He needed answers. Damn it- He needed to remember!
At a loss, he got changed in his room and stared longingly at the bed, wondering if he should take a nap. His hand was throbbing and he chose to abandon the idea until he got a few beers into his system. He left his quarters and wandered down the hall, lost in thought and troubled. Bulma's words plagued him, transforming the anger he felt into more self-doubt.
His roaming brought him to the nursery where he could hear Trunks starting to cry and he peered cautiously around the side of the door, wondering if Kakarrot's shrew wife was anywhere nearby. It wasn't as if he feared her; she was just a person that he desperately wanted to avoid at all costs. The coast looked clear and he went into the room and closed the door.
He walked over to the crib and rested his arms on the edge, peering down at his son without expression. "I'm not surprised you get so pissed off, being trapped in this little cage and all." Trunks gave a delighted squeal in reaction and Vegeta picked the boy up by the back of his pj's and gave him a light shake before setting him back down. "Quiet, brat."
Unruffled, Trunks crawled over to him and stood up on shaky legs, holding onto the bars for support as he gibbered non-stop to his father in intelligible baby talk. Listening to this nonsense for about five minutes, Vegeta shook his head in annoyance and held up one hand. "Not now, boy. Time is short. I need something from you."
His blue eyes huge in his chubby face, Trunks stared at his father with rapt attention. Vegeta saw so much of Bulma in those innocent eyes that he was at a momentary loss for words. He knew that the child had an immense psychic gift that was capable of easing his suffering; the lingering after- affects of Frieza's poison. The pair had a powerful bond that not even distance could weaken. Right now, Vegeta was wondering if there was a third person added to that exclusive bond.
"How much of your mother's mind have you touched?" he muttered out loud, staring at the boy. "My memories are fragmented but hers are crystal clear. How much do you know?"
Trunks cocked his head to one side, as if considering the question. "Buhma- mah ta Vehta. Yah!" he exclaimed and held up his arms towards his father.
Nervous for no reason that he could explain, Vegeta reached down and enfolded the baby's tiny hands in his own.
"Show me," he said, closing his eyes.
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Chapter Sixteen: Saiyan courtship. It's a beautiful thing.