Happy Thanksgiving!
/////
Exhausted, Krillen and Yamcha flopped down on the couch. "You've been doing this every day?" the taller man balked.
"Yep," groaned Krillen, stretching out his legs. "You have now been exposed to the basic day in the life of a parent. You wake up at the crack of dawn to make sure that you get at least a little bit of alone time that does not involve cleaning or wishing you were in bed. Then you have to select and make a nutritious breakfast for your offspring. As soon as that's been taken care of, you get to try to clean the dishes as your child, who is now wide awake, is frantically trying to get your attention because their toy just said something fantastic. For the next fourteen hours, you run around frantically trying to cook, clean, organize, play, go to the store, fix the cabinets, teach your child, and try to remember that once upon a time, you used to be kinda cool. When, at the end of the day and after an hour long fight, you finally manage to wrestle that child into bed and keep them there, you look down on their sleeping faces and think that they're such a sweet little angel. Then you get to clean up any mess you didn't manage to get to earlier in the day, and then, finally and at last, you get to crawl into your bed and fall into the world's most blissful coma."
With a matching groan, Yamcha stretched out his very sore back. "Man, I have no idea how you guys do this every day."
"Well," Krillen admitted, "normally it's a little easier around here. I mean, Goten, as cute and sweet as he is, makes it a lot harder. My little cutie may throw more temper tantrums, but she's never accidentally cracked my ribs by tackling me."
The scarred fighter laughed. "Yeah, I can see how that would be true. I mean, he's really like a young Goku, but with more power."
Krillen shook his head and brushed his hair back for a moment. "Nah," he responded. "Goten, alone, is a lot easier than Goku was as a kid. Goten takes direction."
Yamcha raised his eyebrows at that comment. "Alone?"
"Like I said, Goten takes direction," the short man laughed. "Unfortunately for all of us adults, most of his directions come from Trunks, who is not nearly as good at taking direction."
The former bandit chuckled. "Tell me about it. I don't spend nearly as much time with them as you do, but I think anyone who's spent more than five minutes with them can tell that Trunks is the leader, Goten's the follower, and that there isn't an ounce of common sense between them."
"Yeah," Krillen agreed. "But no matter how much trouble they get into, no matter what chaos they cause, no matter what insane scheme they come up with together, I don't think anyone would be cruel enough to keep them apart from each other." After a moment of reflection, he lowered his head, adding, "Except now."
Nodding, Yamcha tried again to stretch out his back. "Is that what Goten's mood was about today?" he genuinely asked.
"Yep," Krillen confirmed. "He's basically started to show the signs of withdrawal." He let out a tired sigh and shook his head. "We've got to figure out something to help Trunks, fast, or Goten is just going to snap."
A quiet beep went off on Yamcha's watch, and he groaned as he got onto his tired legs. "That's my cue."
When Krillen shot him a confused look, the scarred fighter chuckled as he explained his leaving. "Remember that phone call I got a few hours ago from Gohan?"
"Yeah?"
"Well," the tall man said, walking for the door, "he mentioned that Goku's apparently having a rough day, and asked if I could be the one to pick up Chi-Chi from Capsule Corp. at the end of their little soiree. After all, it's not like she can exactly drive home tonight."
"True," Krillen laughed. "Eighteen doesn't seem to be all that effected by booze, but I'm willing to bet that Bulma and Chi-Chi are pretty damn hammered." Stretching out as he walked his friend to the door, he offered him a small salute. "Thanks for helping me wrangle the kids today."
Yamcha offered a simple wave as he took off into the sky, heading straight for Capsule Corp.
/////
"How is he?" Goku whispered, looking down at the sleeping prince.
Dende had to fight the urge to roll his eyes and groan. His reputation for being patient was well earned, but that Saiyan was really pushing his limits. Since Vegeta had been brought to the Lookout almost fifteen hours earlier, Goku had been demanding updates on his health every ten minutes. "He's going to be fine, Goku," he reassured again. "Why don't you go find Mr. Popo and see if he'll get you something to eat?"
The warrior shook his head, looking forlorn. "I'm not really hungry right now."
"Goku, you're only going to make yourself sick if you don't eat anything," the little god pointed out. "Do you think your friends and family can deal with that?" When there was a moment of silence, the Namekien pat him gently on the back. "Go and sustain yourself, Goku. We'll let you know if anything changes."
Goku looked hesitant, but eventually gave in. "Thanks, Dende," he softly spoke, leaving the room.
After the Saiyan had left, Piccolo, who had been standing quietly in the corner through the exchange, voiced his own concerns. "It is unusual, Dende, for him to be out for this amount of time."
Glaring at his elder, Dende waved his staff in frustration. "Don't you start," he threatened. "I may not be a warrior like you are, but I swear, if you start asking me the same questions I just got Goku to stop asking me, I will drop you."
The taller man smirked at his smaller counterpart. It happened rarely, but he was amused whenever the young guardian showed that spark of inner fire. "I am not questioning whether or not he will survive," he clarified. "I just wish to understand why every other time I have witnessed you heal someone, they have immediately gotten up, while Vegeta has been out for the majority of the day."
"That's simple," Dende responded, lowering his staff. "Vegeta has been taking very poor care of himself for almost a month. He has virtually never slept, his training has been minimal, and when you calculate the amount of food he's consumed against what it takes to run his body, he has been starving himself." Softly, he nodded toward the unconscious prince. "I do not know if you were aware of it, but he has lost a significant amount of weight lately."
Piccolo simply nodded. It had not escaped him, but it had seemed to escape everyone else. While he had been hiding it underneath long sleeves, Vegeta was significantly smaller, especially in his arms and chest.
"As such," Dende went on, "his body was well drained before that fight even started. I healed his wounds, but his body is trying to get the rest that it has been desperately needing for weeks." He shook his head, looking at the unconscious Saiyan. "He will wake up, but if he doesn't start to take care of himself, it's not going to end well."
"Indeed," Piccolo softly agreed. "Indeed."
/////
Yamcha landed quietly in the back of the compound and walked up to the door. He shook his head sadly as he entered his entrance code, remembering carefree days of his youth when he came and went from the home at his leisure. He had long ago come to terms with the way his life had turned out, but it never stopped him from missing certain parts of his past.
"Hello?" he called out. "Is anybody here?"
No one gave a formal answer, but he did manage to follow the series of giggles to the first floor living room. "Hello?" he called out again.
Eighteen gave him a look of indifference as she placed her champagne on the table. Almost faster than Yamcha could register, the icy blonde was standing right next to him. "What the hell took you so long to get here?" she hissed, making sure her voice was too low for her intoxicated companions to hear.
"Hey, calm down," Yamcha defensively responded. "First of all, I'm just the back up. Secondly, I was playing with your kid. And third, why are you so mad at spending time with your own damn friends?"
"Because I've been with them for over twelve hours," the cyborg growled, "and as the only one who doesn't get drunk, it has been my responsibility to control the flow of alcohol. Chi-Chi and Bulma are fine in moderation when sober. They're a pain in the ass after their third hour smashed."
The former bandit rolled his eyes. "Well, forgive me," he sarcastically said. "You're free to go, m'lady."
"Jackass," Eighteen grumbled, heading out the door.
As she left, Bulma looked up. "Hey!" she giggled. "It's Yamcha!"
"Already?" Chi-Chi pouted.
Yamcha did a double take as he looked upon his friend's wife. He had not seen Chi-Chi with her hair down since they had first met, back when he had been seventeen and she was barely twelve. He had also not seen her so revealed. Through the duration of the 'gathering', the strict mother of two had decided to get 'comfy'. She had changed from her traditionally conservative dress to what he recognized as a pair of Bulma's extremely short denim shorts and a fairly see through undershirt, leaving her bra fairly exposed. With her black hair flowing around her shoulders and her well toned body finally on display, the thirty seven year old mother looked much more like a twenty five year old vixen.
"Damn," the scarred fighter muttered. "We gotta get her drunk more often…" Quickly, he shook himself out of his thoughts. "Alright, ladies, the bar is closed for the night and the taxi service is here." He walked up to them and pulled the champagne bottle away from them. "Time to get dressed, Chi-Chi."
"Don't wanna," She pouted, her speech very slurred.
"Sorry, you don't get a choice," the fighter lightly said. "Dorm closes in half an hour, and you need to be in your bunk before lights out."
Ignoring him, Chi-Chi turned back to Bulma. "I don't care what you think, my ass is still finer than yours," she slurred.
Yamcha felt his face turn a brilliant red at her comments. "Ladies, it's time to…"
"Nuh-uh," the heiress slurred back. "Everyone knows that I'm hotter than you are."
"Please," the younger woman snorted. "You may have bigger boobs, but I am so much hotter than you are. You're slender, I'm firm." Giggling, she fell back into the couch. "You don't even have hair!"
Bulma wailed slightly, trying to throw a pillow at her friend but missing by a mile. "Only for a little bit!" she cried. Looking up at her former flame, she smiled. "Yamcha!" she eagerly said. "Who's hotter, me or Chi-Chi?"
Swallowing hard, the fighter approached both of them. "As I can see no possible way for this to end well for me, I'm going to have to insist that Chi-Chi gets back in her dress so I can take her home, and for you to get yourself to bed. Oh," he added, "and you may want to make sure the trash can is nearby. You're going to need it."
"Fine, fine," Chi-Chi slurred, staggering to her feet. "I'll get back in that frumpy old thing." With the grace of a newborn giraffe, the female fighter struggled up the staircase to Bulma's room, where she had changed several hours earlier.
Still exhausted from chasing down Goten and Marron all day, Yamcha decided to take the moment to relax and simply fell into the couch. Giggling, Bulma leaned over on to him, resting her head on his shoulder.
"You know," she slurred, "I know we broke up a long time ago, but you're still cute."
Yamcha stiffened immediately. "Bulma…" he began, turning his head toward her. It was as far as he got before his former girlfriend pushed her lips up against his. It took the former bandit a second to process what had happened, but the moment he did, he jumped to his feet. Bulma squeaked as she found herself plummeting face first into the couch as Yamcha took an enormous step away.
"Look," he quickly said, holding up his hands defensively, "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't dreamt of getting back with you a lot over the last decade, but this is just wrong."
"Why?" Bulma asked, her voice muffled by the cushion she was yet to remove her face from.
"Because it is!" Yamcha snapped back. "When I wanted to get back with you, I wanted to get back with the real you, not the drunk, amnesiac version of you!"
Shakily sitting herself up, Bulma frowned. "What's the problem?" she grumbled. "I want you, you want me, so let's do something about it!"
Sitting down in a chair across from her, Yamcha took a steadying breath. "Bulma," he began, "it's wrong on so many levels, I can't even count them. You're drunk, you haven't wanted me in years, and I really am pretty much over you. And on top of all that, even though you can't remember them, and no matter how much I hate admitting this, you have two people in your life who would go through hell and back for you."
A moment of silence passed in silence, and the scarred man leaned forward. "Bulma?" he asked, looking at her face. Rolling his eyes, he got to his feet as he realized that she had fallen completely asleep during his speech. "Of course," he muttered. "Never try explaining things to a drunk chick…"
He gathered her in his arms and ascended the staircase. When he got to her room, he rolled his eyes again as he found Chi-Chi passed out on Bulma's old queen sized bed. She had managed to get her old dress back on, but apparently that had taken the last bit of her consciousness. Gently, he placed the heiress down on her bed. Before he picked up his charge, though, he went through Bulma's desk to find a pen and some paper. Quickly leaving the note on the pillow, he gathered Chi-Chi in his arms and took off into the night sky.
/////
The next morning, Bulma groaned as she opened her eyes. "Ow," she muttered, cracking her eyes slightly to the assailing sunlight. "Why are the Blue Angels flying through my head?" Her stomach rioted on her, and she barely got her face over her wastebasket in enough time for her to heave.
About an hour later, she felt just good enough to sit up slightly in her bed. "I am never going to drink even close to that much again," she grumbled. Groaning slightly as she positioned her pillows to prop herself up, she noticed something slip off of one of them. "What the hell?" she mumbled, picking up the note.
Slowly, she read her ex's note, her mouth slightly ajar. In all the years she remembered having with him, very little he had done seemed to have too terribly much thought put in to it. That note, however, seemed to actually be from the heart…
Dear Bulma,
I know you probably don't want to be hearing this, but it's about damn time you finally got your life back on track. We've all been watching out for you and watching over you for weeks now, hoping that you would remember on your own. Clearly, that's not going to happen any time soon, so I guess it's time for you to step up. You have an amazing life, Bulma, and it's not fair to you to have to put it on hold just because you hit your head. Whether you think you'll like it or not, I know you love the life you made for yourself. So stop running away from it. Stop pretending that the last twelve years just never happened. You know you have a family out there, Bulma. Be the woman we all know you. Hunt them down and hold on to them. Your friends are here for you, always, but we've helped you as much as we can. Trunks and Vegeta will get you the rest of the way there.
If you want to get better, and we know you do, go talk to them, and don't let them go.
-Yamcha
At the base of the note were coordinates that Bulma could only assume led to the location of her estranged family. She was slightly taken aback by how strongly the letter was phrased, but deep down, she knew it was right.
It was time to get her family back.
/////
Vegeta groaned as he opened his eyes. "What the hell…"
"Good morning, sleepyhead," a very tired Gohan greeted. The poor boy had been up all night long, maintaining his vigil to keep an eye on Trunks. While he had spent a fair amount of time reading and getting notes done for class, he had never been out of the room longer than it had taken him to use that bathroom.
The prince slowly gathered his bearings, still quite confused. The last thing he had remembered was blacking out in the forest after battling Kakarot. It appeared, however, that he was waking up, at dawn, on the floor of his son's room. "How…"
"Dad found you," the teenager filled in, stretching out his very sore body. "He took you to Dende to get patched up and dropped you off here. I figured it would be good to keep an eye on you, too, since you were out cold, so I just put a blanket on you and let you sleep here." He got all the way to his feet and tried to get some blood moving back in his legs. "Hope that's okay."
"Hn," Vegeta simply responded. He still felt lousy, but he was significantly calmer than he had been the day before. Without another word, he descended the staircase and headed for the kitchen.
As he settled on a single apple and some juice for breakfast, a soft knock sounded at the door. Damn, I really am out of it, he thought, getting back to his feet. I didn't even sense someone approaching…
He flung the door open angrily, ready to yell at whoever had decided to once again invade his privacy. As his eyes registered who stood before him, though, all the anger died in his chest.
"Bulma…"
The heiress coyly dug her toes into the ground just outside the front door, barely maintaining the courage to look the prince in the eye. "H-hi, Vegeta," she softly spoke.
His mind completely blank, the only word Vegeta could manage at the moment was, "Hi…"
The two stood across from each other for almost two full minutes before Bulma finally spoke up again. "If this is a bad time, I could come back later…"
"No," the prince quickly responded. "There is nothing wrong with the time."
After another pause, Bulma finally asked, "Could I come in?"
Wordlessly, Vegeta opened the door and stepped back, allowing her entrance to the home. His head was still screaming at him from the hell he had put it through the day before, and there was a small part of him wondering if the woman was really there or if he had just been hit in the head a little too hard.
"Nice place," Bulma said, glancing around the home. "What is this, a model 437 Capsule House?"
Silently nodding, Vegeta took a seat at the kitchen table. Bulma took off her jacket and tossed it on the couch before joining him at the table.
"Why are you here?" he finally asked. There was a small part of him hoping that the nightmare was finally over, but the Bulma he had fallen for would never stutter a greeting to him. If she was only there for another visitation fight, he wasn't going to bother with pleasantries.
A thousand thoughts crossed Bulma's mind at the question. What was she doing there? Was she there because she felt obligated, or because she really wanted to get her old life back? Was she hoping for some form of peace treaty with the temperamental prince, or was she really trying to get a real relationship going with a man who still seemed like a stranger to her? With a steadying breath, she decided to speak from the heart.
"Did we really have sex on the kitchen ceiling?"