Summary: Bulma and Danae begin their lesson. Vegeta is triggered.
The queen had swiftly thrown down the gauntlet, challenging Bulma to a duel. Danae's hazel eyes pored over her guest's face like a doctor's stethoscope. While caught off guard, Bulma wasn't extremely surprised by the woman's bluntness. The behavior ran in the family apparently. Recalling Vegeta's comment about his mother's fighting skills, Bulma knew then that the two were close. It wasn't a huge leap to think that the king was probably more of an asshole. Vegeta often uttered annoyed grunts when Bulma asked about their father-son relationship, choosing instead to discuss his family's lineage and Hegemone's history.
Bulma placed her teacup on the tray. "I agree with you, ma'am," she said, nodding respectfully. "One knows quickly where Vegeta's thoughts rest. We share that personality trait."
Danae laughed softly. "Oh, my! What a careful, honest answer. If you and Vegeta share that characteristic, then you must be a spitfire. That's what you Americans say about strong-willed women, right?"
"Among other things," Bulma said. "I couldn't care less I care about that part."
"Indeed, like most accomplished, intelligent women. Vegeta has met plenty of them."
Another pointed comment. This has to stop now, Bulma thought - royalty be damned. "Ma'am, with all due respect, may I ask where your questioning is headed? I feel like I have a bullseye on my forehead."
"That's because you do." Danae peered over the rim of her teacup. "My son is developing strong feelings for you. Even though we just met, and Vegeta and Nappa haven't said much, I trust my judgment. You haven't known each other for a full year, though. So tell me, do you feel the same about him?"
Bulma eyed her. The queen looked frailer in person compared with her appearance in news photographs. Her cheeks were hollowed and ankles were swollen, and her left hand was disfigured from arthritis. Her mind and demeanor, though, radiated immense strength. That made her strikingly attractive.
"Your son has become a friend. I suppose I'm more surprised about that outcome than him. Our first encounter, when I lived in California, was rather unpleasant."
Danae shook her head. He made an ass of himself, she thought. That didn't surprise her. "Okay then. I understand your hesitance to say more. I apologize if I offended you, although I have no regrets."
Bulma poured more tea for them both. "Consider me not shocked in the least, ma'am - and I'm not offended."
The queen responded with a warm smile. She liked that Bulma wasn't easily intimidated or self-conscious. For her part, Bulma imagined the prince's horrified embarrassment. Then again, this was Vegeta. He would likely make a game of it, wondering which woman would lose patience first. They would both want to strangle him by the end.
"My son struggles, but… he is… a good man." Danae sighed heavily. "Like any mother, I want the best for him. He struggles." Her voice carried a touch of sadness, which Bulma noticed.
"How are you feeling, ma'am? You're having a hard time catching your breath."
The queen reached for Bulma's arm. "Please excuse my coughing. I have a disease similar to lupus that affects the lungs - and causes other physical problems that highly annoy this old lady."
Overlooking their previous formality, Bulma quietly held Danae's hand several minutes before helping her stand. Doing it was instinctive for her. Being chronically sick could be a lonely experience, even with family around, and the queen was a proud woman. Bulma suspected that she didn't know about Vegeta's drinking, and that troubled her.
"It's okay, and I wouldn't call you old by a long stretch. Should we call in someone else to help?"
"No." Danae pointed at the door. "Just step down the hall and bring my electric wheelchair. I have another medicinal inhaler there, and I can ride next to you. I will be fine."
The queen could have easily summoned the chair by remote control, but Bulma's departure left her enough time to shed tears. She had felt particularly vulnerable before then, which didn't happen often, and Bulma showed thoughtful, loving compassion in return. It came so easily. Whatever concerns remained, Danae realized that the "divorcee American fashion designer" shouldn't disappear from her son's life completely. Vegeta needed another confidante who wanted nothing from him: no riches, no fame, and no egomaniacal designs for power. He needed someone who could offer friendship and strong, wise counsel, even from afar. She expected others would remain loyal to her son, both politically and personally, but this was something different.
She had clung to life long enough to see the prince through Hegemone's reformation. She had been the mastermind behind it for years, using sharp intellect and negotiation skills to encourage powerful individuals both inside and outside of the royal court to make changes, including her husband. Sometimes she dressed in disguise to meet with people in cities and villages, asking about their daily lives. Her diaries were filled with their stories. As she aged, and as more political unrest unfolded, her security detail advised her to stop altogether. Sometimes she wouldn't inform certain guards until after she left. She also warned King Vegeta and Nappa against punishing anyone over her choices. Only illness or death would stop her, she said.
"Do you have elderly people in your family, Ms. Brief?"
"No one in my immediate family now, and please call me Bulma. My father died of leukemia four years ago."
"If you held hands to comfort him, as you did with me, then he was truly a fortunate soul. Not everyone can."
"No, ma'am. I was the fortunate one."
Danae smiled. "I have a job for you. Are you still under commission to design Vegeta's clothing?"
"Yes, I am. Why?"
"Wonderful. I want you to design something for me under that agreement."
Bulma was bemused by the unexpected request. "I would be happy to - but, as a favor to me, would you clear this with him first? I can't see…"
"Nonsense," Danae interrupted. "I am his mother. Back to the subject. I want you make my burial clothing."
"Wait." Astonished, Bulma stopped walking. "Just how are ill are you? Does he know?"
"He hasn't accepted the inevitability of my impending death, Bulma. Our relationship is both close and distant because of it."
Bulma remembered Vegeta's sad, alcohol-fueled confession of loneliness. He had been carrying the mental weight alone over his mother's worsening health. He could be blaming himself irrationally over something he did or didn't do. Maybe the king had too?
She stooped to Danae's eye level, placing her hand over hers. "Are you resigned to dying? Is there nothing more that can be done?"
"Maybe I don't want more," the queen said abruptly. "I… do not want more." She looked down. "Regardless, that isn't your concern. Now, what is your decision?"
"I planned to leave for the U.S. the day after tomorrow, but I can delay the trip. I need ideas for what you want. I'll think of some also. My friend Zeus would probably be pleased that I'm helping you instead of crying over him, but I can't stay here much longer. I need to plan his memorial service."
"I understand. Thank you, Bulma. I appreciate being escorted to my room."
"My pleasure."
Arestis's smug, smiling face crumbled into a serious glare.
Nappa walked briskly from his hidden listening spot as soon as the statuesque woman said "vodka." He wanted to trust Vegeta, but this proved to be harder now after his son's hospitalization. Depression doesn't just disappear – or alcohol dependence. While Vegeta was receiving help, and appeared to be doing well generally, his daily pressures were increasing exponentially.
The general was feeling guilty. He still strongly believed in the prince's capacity to lead, but maybe Vegeta also needed more long-term, supportive psychological treatment away from home to fully recover. Perhaps Bulma was right: everyone wanted something significant from his son without wholly considering his needs. As always, he would do everything possible to protect Vegeta's privacy, short of lying, but seeking the prince's agreement would likely incite World War III between them. Danae would have to know too.
"Arestis."
Her top lip jerked slightly. "Good evening, general."
Nappa moved between her and Vegeta. "Please excuse us, but the prince's motorcade is waiting. We'll respond as needed while the interior ministry oversees the emergency response."
"Of course." Arestis looked at the prince, eagerly expecting him to delay their exit. He may have received her curtly, but he would have left by now if he really wanted to, she thought.
Expressionless, Vegeta adjusted his coat and hat. "Let's go."
Arestis clutched his hand, giving it a slight squeeze. "It was good to see you up close." She bounced on her heels to show more breast cleavage. Vegeta glanced quickly, of course, and then looked straight through her.
"I expect results, not idle... chitchat," he said icily. "Earn your salary." Then, both he and Nappa jogged to the garage.
"She's still as beautiful as ever – and bold."
Vegeta didn't look at him. "I suppose you could call her bold, Nappa. Arestis always had sharp elbows, even when we were children. I certainly won't be falling into her bed drunk. Give me more credit than that. She obviously wants a higher governmental position, and that should not involve me. I never thought she would stoop this low. We haven't slept together in years, and she knew the ground rules. Too bad that she broke them."
"Sire, really, there is nothing more to do tonight. The king has addressed the people on television and radio about the bombings. I recommend getting proper rest, unless you're dying to see the replay. I plan to get mine."
The man was up to something, Vegeta thought. He hoped it would be forgotten, whatever it was.
"We are at war, general." That wretched cliché landed flat. Worse, he sounded like tongue-tied toddler. "Shit. I can't even talk anymore. I give up."
Nappa, who was checking his gun, gave Vegeta an impish side glance. "Undeniably, that was a shameful attempt at eloquence, boy. Drop and give me three-hundred push-ups right now."
"Boy?" Vegeta leaned over and laughed. "Good god, man. Where did that come from? You will ignore my speech defects, general! That's an order! Don't you ever take a break from being a pain in my ass?"
Grabbing his shoulder, Nappa joined in the laughter. "I can't believe you just said that - to me! Well, actually, I can, you cantankerous brat."
"Fine, fine." Vegeta folded his arms. "I'll accept your advice. Any word about Raditz?"
"Yeah. Right arm and left leg are broken, and he has a minor concussion. Burns aren't bad."
"That's fitting," Vegeta replied, cracking his knuckles. "The duke is right-handed. Better for him to live than become a beloved martyr. We don't need any more trouble. I want to see him."
"Seriously?! You beat the hell out of him! And did you suddenly forget what I said about sleeping? I'm fucking tired too!"
"Why not? Raditz is free to reject my visitation. I don't think he will, though. He may despise me now, but his ego will bask in the attention." Vegeta's index finger flew upward. "I, the almighty Saiyan prince, humbling himself from worry and guilt before an aggrieved injured man. Maybe I will sleep by his bedside. Consider it a Machiavellian political gesture of goodwill."
Nappa frowned. "Don't go too far. You don't have to mock him. Rise above it. You are better than this."
"Am I really?" Vegeta said sarcastically. "Colla will escort me to the hospital. Get your rest. I promise to get mine."
The general felt uneasy.
2 a.m.
Vegeta didn't plan to stay long. Raditz was a mess of bandages and probably wouldn't awaken anyway. Even if he did, no apologies would be made for their earlier argument. Their filial relationship graduated from strained to acidic long ago, aggravated by Arestis. Raditz, who had feelings for her, had been sleeping with her too. Vegeta was completely unaware. He didn't give a shit about the woman's other sexual escapades as long as no child was conceived or venereal disease was shared. Later, he was furious that she tried to play them against each other. Raditz fell for the scheme, blaming Vegeta for "manipulating and hurting her." That didn't go over well.
The irrevocable bond the men shared, forged as children, was sad and horrific. Raditz had been honest about his prior fondness for pills. In a perfect world they could have shared their struggles with substance abuse and supported each other. But the world was imperfect, and Raditz craved power and dominance over brotherhood.
Vegeta allowed one reprieve: He never publicly shared that his cousin had likely murdered King Vegeta's brother, Basil. He felt certain because Raditz's father molested them when they were young boys. Their argument at the mansion was the first time he confronted his cousin about it. Now he regretted it. That secret had been sacred. He felt no remorse for his dead uncle.
Neither boy sought help or told anyone. They were scared and confused despite their education and training, with which Basil had also been involved until his wife left him, taking their son with her. As men, Vegeta and Raditz had struggled with shame and rage ever since. The latter's vengeful envy arose from watching Nappa and Danae and others shower Vegeta with attention - and even King Vegeta, in his dysfunctional way. In Raditz's mind, the prince had no right to be sour about anything.
Vegeta felt nauseated. He hadn't expected the memories to strike him this hard, but a psychologist had warned about so-called emotional "triggers." Now, all he wanted was Bulma's embrace.
"Come to finish the job, midget?" Raditz said weakly.
Vegeta leaned on the door, exhaling from weariness. "I would have been successful, clown."
Raditz groaned. "Why are you here at this hour? I need to rest."
"Our relationship could have been different, you know."
"Did I just hear correctly? Are you apologizing, Vegeta? Holy shit. I must be dead – or are you?"
"Actually, I am not. We both have… devils to exorcise. Goodbye, cousin."
Vegeta's heart raced as he ran to Bulma's bedroom. He knocked slowly on the antechamber's door to avoid startling her. "Can you hear me? Please… come. Please." Then he just stood there, frozen and glassy-eyed.
Bulma gasped. His face was pale and contorted, as if he had been poisoned. "What happened?"
"I can't do this anymore. I thought I could, but I can't! I am an impostor. My father Nappa knows but won't accept it. That bastard Raditz knows it! You know it too. You know it too, Bulma. I love my country – my people - and I have worked so hard. I have always worked hard. I am not weak. I am a fighter! I was reared to be strong, to face down fear. People have called me terrible things, and I have never backed down! I am trying to do the right thing now, but I… but I...I'm still not good enough." His jaw and fists clenched.
Nappa is his father?
Bulma settled her mind, staying quiet until he stopped. Her calmness would keep him from shutting down altogether, she thought. Finally, his breathing slowed. "Vegeta, you are safe," she said softly. "You are safe. What can I do to help you? Is it okay for me to touch you?"
He nodded, keeping his eyes averted. "Yes."
She hugged him tight. "Come."
Author's Note: If you're still reading this, thank you very, very much! If you are reviewing or have reviewed earlier, bless you. Every one is appreciated. If you are a lurker, I would love to hear from you. One sentence comments are welcome too. :)
