Recap: Less than a week before his birthday, Prince Vegeta has arrived at the hospital in New York to support Bulma, who is having pregnancy complications. They now are considering a future together, but secrets remain. Bulma's sister Tights and their British-American cousin Olivier are taking different positions on what the future may hold.
Vegeta largely spurned euphoric swings of hope when he wasn't drinking. Alcohol adeptly plucked those emotional piano keys, more often to his detriment, as his intake increased. For so long, whether sober or drunk, hoping too much for anything stirred insecurity, anxiety, and fear of rejection or betrayal. Bulma had provided the gift of safety in ways others couldn't, despite their earnest attempts. It wasn't their fault.
They didn't know his secret and the shame he carried. Just Nappa for now – and only Nappa. Maybe forever. No good would come from telling his mother, he felt, with her health declining. Admitting his drinking to Danae had been painful enough.
The general already said would have murdered Vegeta's uncle had he known about the molestation, but not only for the prince's sake. Raditz carried the humiliation alone, as well, but the remaining light within his withered, bitter soul had been sealed in amber, permanently.
The prince understood all of this logically, but he had been so angry. Angry…and hurt, so hurt that the pain smothered his voice, even when his spoken words were strong and vibrant. He spent years battling or avoiding or bargaining with this slow, determined murderer. His uncle had been so manipulative and unashamed about the abuse, but Basil did not break him.
Vegeta did not scream. Never. They had no idea. He was alive, though not living as fully as loved ones hoped because they didn't know.
Maybe he would never tell Bulma.
Psychotherapy inflicted more hurt than hand-to-hand combat. The prince often left his sessions weary from each disposal of emotional baggage, challenging his ability to trust. Nappa waited for him sometimes, always silent. If Vegeta appeared slightly disoriented or confused afterward, the general would sit with him for as long as necessary.
"So I guess this is what these overpriced medical quacks call 'self-care,'" he said one day.
Nappa just nodded and replied, "It's not your fault for what your uncle did. You boys didn't deserve any of it." Vegeta soon broke down, but this time he accepted the general's offer to witness his shame-drenched ugliness – while he was sober - without wanting to die or fight.
Did he deserve the terrible acts Basil committed? Of course not, but that didn't make the damage disappear. Now the prince faced fatherhood, and the woman he loved wanted to fortify their bond. Hope trickled like a winding stream through his mind. Could it be trusted? Could he trust himself? He and Bulma had been doing mental gymnastics for months.
Euphoric hope was off limits.
He expressed caution within the same breath that he kissed Bulma that day - the same caution she had before all of this happened. Roles had switched, but he also felt encouraged. Now they had a clear-cut chance at love, and, possibly, a little boy to share it with.
Tall and impeccably dressed in straight-legged jeans, Tights cut a fine figure, much like her sister. Her ex-husband often said she was "easy on the eyes." Vegeta also noticed her stately attractiveness when they first met at Bulma's home. She could have been a model, really, but instead eschewed the family's artistic predilections and pursuits for the increasingly cutthroat world of academia. Colleagues and acquaintances rarely used her first name – and never students, ever. She was "Dr. Brief," professor of physics at Columbia University. She didn't consider the expectation pretentious. She earned that title, recalling her aggravation and sadness when male professors received deference she didn't get at first. She also dealt with undeserved hostility from some of these same coworkers, but not all.
She had been on sabbatical most of the year working on projects, but she also committed to being closer to Bulma. Now her sister was ill, pregnant, and attached to a shadowy foreigner who, on this day, skillfully matched an older sibling's wary gaze with his own intimidating glare. Managing this problem requires logic, she thought, as if raw emotion had no influence.
For his part, Vegeta's silence set the stage for their encounter. He appreciated that Tights fulfilled Bulma's wishes honorably and hoped to find common ground. But the realist in him expected her rejection of Olivier's affable, supportive approach about his past alcohol abuse.
Being an older brother himself, if the tables were turned, Vegeta would test boundaries too. He would sacrifice his life, without hesitation, if another tried to harm Tarble – or, if he survived, kill the offender in cold blood, drip by excruciating drip… lawfully, of course.
Thus, he accepted the merit of Tights' soon-to-be-expressed skepticism, but under no circumstances would he tolerate any attempt by her to bully him. Scientists could be as demanding as politicians or businessmen, he believed.
Yet, for all of her talent, Tights was a terrible eavesdropper.
To end her sister's ill-timed interruption, Vegeta reluctantly left Bulma's bedside for the sitting room. He faced the balcony after pouring coffee, awaiting Tights' tardy entrance. His face resembled blank slate while she gave him the onceover. Ending their introductory staring match with a slight nod, she finally dropped her purse on the sofa.
Satisfied, Vegeta turned the other coffee cup upright. "Would you like some of this Kona? I am not looking for a fight – yet."
After declining the offer, Tights mustered a slender smile. "Is that a thinly veiled threat?"
"Ms. Brief, people like me do not make threats unless they are prepared to execute them. I would rather offer gratitude. Contacting me about Bulma was difficult for you, obviously."
"People like you?" Tights uncrossed her legs, leaning forward. Her seating posture conveyed dominance. Not a bad idea, she thought, considering the person being addressed. "Oh, I also prefer being called Dr. Brief. You are indeed a charmer despite your arrogance, Prince Vegeta."
The last thing Vegeta needed was another person stating the obvious - that he could be an asshole - as if gold had been discovered. He damn sure wouldn't explain himself. That trait didn't define him, but he used it well.
If she keeps this up, Dr. Brief might need my advanced instruction in scatological insults, he thought. "You heard Bulma. She does not want me to leave."
"I also heard you," Tights replied. Seemingly oblivious to her condescending tone, she addressed him like one of her graduate students. "Though you care about her, now you're not so sure yourself about the rest."
Amateur hour. The woman's sanctimonious evasiveness annoyed Vegeta. She had made herself the center of attention. He mastered that technique early in life, so watching hers was light exercise – like a doubles tennis match with preschoolers.
"You're assuming this because you're aware that I have abused alcohol. I accept that, Ms. Brief, but antagonizing me now is unwise. Bulma is under tremendous stress, and you risk damaging your relationship."
"It's Dr. Brief." The physicist's careful discernment fixed on the competition between Vegeta's confidence and vulnerabilities – which, it seemed, had increased. Caring for Bulma left him wide open for attack, wealthy or not. How could he not see it? Smart men listened to reason, even when backed against a wall and enraged with everyone - and Vegeta was brilliant, like her.
He would hear her. She would make him listen.
Tights pointed at a wall map, focusing on Hegemone. "Lecturing me is unwise, also. World history is littered with the dead bodies of ambitious, starry-eyed reformers…or exiled, politically weakened royal families, if other countries don't take pity on them. So to be clear, I would prefer not having my sister and her child involved in your prewar ethno-state's primitive fights."
Vegeta's expression was unreadable. No fire. No ice. He looked straight through her.
"Allowing your shallow, prejudiced knowledge about my country and its neighbors to guide your arrogance is unfortunate. All humans are genetically a few steps above primitive, starry-eyed monkeys, including self-righteous Americans like you, Dr. Brief."
oooXXXooo
Olivier sighed heavily from behind the door. Nuclear disaster loomed if this talk continued. Honestly, Tights is like a honey badger searching for reptiles to eat. Well, I suppose it doesn't take much for Vegeta either, but still.
Unlike his acid-tongued cousin, he had better spy-craft skills. He calmly strolled inside, picking up Tights' purse along the way. He couldn't stand hearing her completely belittle Vegeta's efforts in Hegemone, at great cost to himself. She also underestimated the prince's scorching fury. Vegeta's subdued response should have been a clear sign. Had she been a genuine, deadly threat, the man's hands already would have been wrapped around her throat.
She can't be enjoying this, right? Olivier placed the purse firmly between Tights' manicured fingers, considerately warning her to retreat.
"My darling, Bulma could use your delightful companionship now. Leave us here – silently – and we will meet for dinner later. I made reservations, at Per Se, for half past seven. Be punctual."
Irked, Tights glared at him. Olivier played peacemaker far too much, she thought, especially for a businessman. He knew and didn't care. Corporate executives don't excel by publicly revealing strong-armed deals from behind closed doors, unless they had an advantage.
"I'm always on time, cousin," Tights replied before closing the door. Her eyes briefly softened at the other proud man standing nearby. "Think about what I've said, your highness."
"I heard you, Dr. Brief."
Smiling warmly, Olivier shook his head at Vegeta. "Alright, mate?"
He nodded. "Of course. Bulma surely would disapprove if I crushed your expensive china, among other things."
Catching the roguish hint, Olivier gave him a wry look. Between the barbs and scowls, the prince could get a laugh out of almost anyone, whenever he cared to. Olivier also knew his friend would never abuse any woman physically just because he was capable. He weighed telling Tights that too, but that might fuel more distrust. Only god knows what other invidious, bone-headed ideas she has, he thought.
"Maybe not, Vegeta. However, I am more concerned about how your rage will be managed after leaving here, now that Tights has stoked it. Please, accept my apology."
"I do not accept secondhand apologies," Vegeta replied, glancing at the door. "The offense rests with her. Save your concern for tiger lily." Realizing his blunder, he coughed and blushed. "Wait. I meant… I meant Bulma, damn it! Now stop babbling and let me leave!"
Good god, the rascal is downright love-struck. Olivier tried not to be overly sentimental, but he never thought this day would come. "Consider me generous, my friend. Go freshen up a couple hours and return for brunch, or maybe you and I could have tea later? Tights will leave here soon to handle personal affairs. You will have plenty of time alone with Bulma. I promise."
"The last thing we need is teatime pastries," Vegeta said with a smirk. "You, especially. I should exercise."
"Very well." Olivier said as they shook hands. "Very well."
Good fortune rallied for Vegeta as he re-entered Bulma's room. Tights had taken a detour much sooner, apparently. He moistened a soft hand towel before approaching the bedside, wishing he could do more.
Bulma's eyes opened slowly as he pressed the cloth against her cheeks and neck. "That feels good. Thank you. You're leaving now?"
"Soon, but I will return later."
Suspicious and ignoring her discomfort, Bulma rose up in bed. Despite his gentleness with her, Vegeta had withdrawn into an attack expression: eyebrows creased, lips taut, shoulders stiff.
"Did something happen, Vegeta?"
"Stay in the other position," he scolded. "You are not breathing as well."
Bulma lightly pulled the face cloth aside. "Didn't we discuss this earlier? You aren't privileged to give me orders until I know why you are upset. You aren't hiding it well."
I trust Olivier will keep her harpy of a sister on a short leash, where she belongs. Vegeta mulled Tights' shrill assertions that her sister would never be safe with him emotionally or otherwise, as if he had not weighed these concerns.
He wouldn't discuss their quarrel for now. Tights would be devastated if Bulma's condition took a bad turn - which would be her burden to carry alone, not his.
The prince shook his head, rejecting Bulma's request, and resumed the simple task he started. "You have a terrible habit of asking questions. I will be less upset when you are healthy again."
She yawned. "You're being unfair, Count Dracula. I know what you're doing."
"Then take the hint and sleep, woman."
oooXXXooo
Tights handed Olivier a new pack of cigarettes as he walked beside her. Before his chat with Vegeta ended, he text-messaged an order to meet in a nearby park. Playing matador to overpower the woman's bullheadedness required patience and a strong will. Olivier had both, fortunately, and Tights was particularly fond of him.
Thinking about Bulma, he shoved cigarette into the corner of his mouth. "Give me your lighter. This horrible habit runs through our family like a virus."
After blowing smoke overhead, Tights moved underneath a tree to escape the heat. "Maybe because neuroticism runs through it too. Good thing there's a breeze today. Anyway, I know this is about Vegeta, so get on with it."
Olivier bristled at her peevishness. "Fine. What the hell were you trying to accomplish up there?"
"So you're making this my fault now?"
"Oh, bloody hell!" Exasperated, Olivier threw his cigarette on the ground. "You had no right to provoke him, especially after he dropped everything to come here. You got off lucky, Tights, since I probably would have been less restrained. Vegeta may appear stoic, but he is worried sick about your sister. Let us not forget her."
Tights wagged her smoking fingers at him. "That's my point! What worries me is how much he restrained himself! He doesn't want me to dig deeper, Olivier. There is something else. And now you're suddenly comfortable with all of this? Weren't you the one who first warned Bulma about getting involved, before I told you about his drinking?"
Olivier relit his cigarette and looked up. "I came from a place of love and compassion for them. You behavior today lacked both. Vegeta can be an arse, as Bulma knows. He also has a good heart. You also could benefit from removing your head from your shithole."
"Stop it." Feeling hurt, Tights turned away. "Look, I teased Bulma when they first met, especially after hearing the gossip about him. I just knew she was well-equipped to handle him. It was cute seeing the flowers and all that, too. Then he takes the world stage and this horrible crap keeps happening in Hegemone, including Zeus's death. Bulma hasn't been the same, and she's already secretive. It's not just the pregnancy. You can't see that she's in over her head?"
Olivier suddenly felt relieved that Tights didn't know about the bombing near Bulma and Vegeta's hotel room in January. He gently grasped her arms. "Look at me, darling. I want you to stop using despair over your brother's death against Bulma and my friend. The circumstances are different."
He disliked going after her like this, but Vegeta wasn't the only one with unresolved anger. They walked silently until Tights shoved her wind-tossed hair backward to wipe away tears.
"I'm not using what happened against them. Facts are facts. How much more heartache does our family need – does Bulma need? Eric and Zeus's deaths were hard enough. She doesn't even know about your drinking troubles yet."
Olivier frowned. "I haven't hit the spirits or a cocktail stick for a while – and be glad I don't offend easily, you judgmental old shrew. Accusing Bulma of recklessly rescuing sick birds with no hope for recovery is unfair. Besides, she spent half of her youth sheltered from the worst of Eric's alcoholism, but not from his artistic brilliance before she entered fashion. She loved him."
"Don't you think that's a problem, Olivier – and have you forgotten that I was there? You aren't disturbed that Bulma says nothing about Eric? She does not talk about him, as if he never lived. He was Zeus's lover for years, for god's sake! I'm almost sure Vegeta doesn't know. Bulma isn't thinking clearly. She won't want to live in a gilded cage with her child."
Weary from arguing, Olivier exhaled. "Well then, love, I hate to do this, but I have fewer options. If you continue wielding your oral machete and god complex at those two, especially with Bulma being so ill, then don't expect another dollar from my charitable foundation to help pay for your university's particle collider project upstate, at Brookhaven."
"What?!" Horrified, Tights moved back. "You're blackmailing me, you bastard?! We're entering the next fiscal year and need that money! I can't tell the physics department chairman this!"
After handing her another cigarette, Olivier looked over the top of his glasses. "I am serious – and, yes, it is blackmail. Bulma needs comfort and wise counsel, not control. I will broach the subject of Eric when she's better, not you. Consider my warning before doing anything else, Dr. Brief, or start searching for another generous benefactor."
oooXXXooo
Within two hours Vegeta and bodyguard Colla were jogging in the Bronx through a rugged cross-country path of forest in Van Cortlandt Park. The latter had to be flexible about the prince's unique, unsympathetic training. No exceptions, regardless of weather.
"Haul ass!" Vegeta barked. His guard's irritated look encouraged more humorous taunting. "You are supposed to race with me, not count steps like a toddler with a pedometer!"
Damn him, Colla grumbled. "There are cooler locations where we could do this, sire!"
Vegeta insisted on having fewer guards around this time. Attempting to bomb any individual, in this city, at his level would bring swift and precise hellfire from law enforcement. Neither were too far, ever. Being in the U.S. had decent perks. Nappa had to accept, and Colla was one of the best fighters and marksmen in Hegemone, besides Califula.
Donning a ragged headband and dark sunglasses, the prince largely felt anonymous. He and Colla were just another pair of urban fitness enthusiasts not calling attention to themselves. He wasn't the American president, and his status as a jet-setting minor celebrity was rapidly dying.
The unforgiving demands of politics made had him boring – as well as being in love.
Right.
As they prepared to leave the park, a tiny moon-faced woman with spiky black hair and piercing blue eyes tried to approach. She didn't smile but her manner conveyed confidence. She had to be no more than nineteen- or twenty-years-old, both men guessed.
"Sire, stand behind me."
"What for?" Vegeta stepped forward, raising his voice. "And who the hell are you?"
"My name is Sojaa, sir, and I am a reporter for the International Mirror. I have no weapons."
"Really?" Vegeta said dryly. "Look at that. A defenseless Saiyan spy in the big city. Shameful."
"Wow, you really are like what others tell me."
Mildly entertained, Vegeta crossed his arms. "Worse, actually. Now what do you want?"
"Wait a minute," Colla interrupted. "How did you get..."
"I gave her permission," Nappa said from the park's secluded exit gate. "Stand down."
Hello - Thank you for the reviews on the last chapters! I'm taking a page out of the response format used by Writersblock42. (Please check out her wonderful stories, especially "Out of Time.")
Did Vegeta drink those vodka shots before traveling to New York?
There's no question that he thought a hell of a long time about it during the trip.
I hope there's a happy ending to this.
No guarantees, but their strong bond is apparent. They still have some things to work out, obviously. Lots of things. (Good lord.) At least they have caring people supporting them, including two soon-to-be grandparents!
Better reveal that backstory or I may just hate Tights for the rest of this story.
Lol! Well, it's all out there. She certainly is a hard one to like now. I feel bad for her, because she has legitimate concerns and her own unaddressed trauma. Desperation and anxiety make some people more controlling. She just can't see how Bulma would have a happier life as Vegeta's mate.
