Anger Management 7


When the alarm went off at eight o'clock, Vegeta awoke feeling rather good about himself. Three days prior, he'd intervened in an armed robbery and held the criminal down until police arrived. It had been a thoughtless reflex; he saw the weapon drawn and just did what came naturally. It had earned him praise, and also resulted in his being assigned to teach self-defence classes to fulfill his community service hours.

Teaching humans how to fight left him with mixed feelings. On one hand, he was disturbed by the realization he might actually teach an Earthling his techniques, refined through years of diligent training and realtime fighting experience, but on the other hand, no Earthling would ever pose a threat to him.

Still, it was better than cleaning graffiti off walls or picking trash off the road.

He went down for breakfast, quite pleased when he picked up the smell of sizzling sausages and baked bread, and Mrs. Briefs beamed at him as he entered the kitchen.

"My hero," Mrs. Briefs gave Vegeta a mug of coffee and kissed his forehead, "Mr. Ramirez called, he says you don't have to go to the community centre tonight. Your orientation meeting has been moved to next week."

"Oh," Vegeta, still red-faced from being kissed by his mother-in-law, shrugged and sipped his coffee, "that's good, I suppose."

Internally, Vegeta cheered for joy. Why did anybody think it was a good idea for him to show others how to throw a punch?

"However, they are sending over your training manual today, and you are expected to read it, sweetie. Remember, you can't use your Saiyan fighting skills with these folks!"

Vegeta groaned, partially in irritation at the mandatory reading, but overwhelmingly because of his mother-in-law's unnecessary and frankly awkward reminder.

"Do you remember your appointment for later today, Vegeta?"

"Yes," Vegeta took another sip, "Dr. Kim at two o'clock. I know."

"Would you like a ride, sweetheart? I'm heading out to do some more holiday shopping this afternoon!"

"No, I will walk," Vegeta's brows rose as Mrs. Briefs set a full plate before him. There was a lot of food for him- he was finally eating full meals on a daily basis and actually cleaning his plate, but he still wasn't consuming the massive amounts of food he once had consistently.

"It's a beautiful day, but it's very chilly. Make sure you wear gloves, hm?"

"Where's Bulma? Did she leave already?"

Nodding, Mrs. Briefs sat down with her own plate (much less crowded than Vegeta's) and spread a thick layer of marmalade on a piece of toast. "You still haven't told me what you'd like for Christmas, Vegeta! Any ideas yet, honey?"

"Ugh," Vegeta grunted through a mouthful of toast and scrambled egg, "no. Please, don-"

Mrs. Briefs sighed, imitating her son-in-law's tone with frightening accuracy. Vegeta didn't know if he should laugh or slap table in annoyance. "We go through this every year, Vegeta," she took a bite of toast, "and whether you like it or not, you're getting a present! Now, either tell me what you want, or I'll have to surprise you again!"

"All I want for your holiday is to enjoy some fucking peace and quiet for a change," Vegeta's appetite all but vanished and he pushed his plate away, "good breakfast. See you around."


"Good to see you, Vegeta," Dr. Kim smiled at her patient as he took his seat and jammed his reddened hands into his sweatshirt pocket.

"Mm, hello, Dr. Kim." Vegeta nodded, "here we are again."

Today, Dr. Kim was wearing a pair of black stovepipe trousers, black mock-turtleneck sweater, and wore a red tartan shawl over her shoulders. Vegeta wondered if she had a different scarf for every day.

"Did you walk here, Vegeta? It's getting cold out, isn't it?"

Vegeta pulled his hands from his sweatshirt pocket, inspected his chapped hands and nodded. "Suppose I should have worn gloves after all. Maybe I should ask my mother-in-law for gloves this Christmas, if it will get her off my back."

Dr. Kim started writing. "Ah, yes, the holidays are coming up. How do you feel about celebrating Christmas with your family?"

The Saiyan shrugged, "I really don't care. It's an excuse for me to eat. I don't want presents, and honestly, the rest of it is just completely ridiculous."

"What in particular do you dislike about celebrating holidays, Vegeta?" Dr. Kim continued writing.

Slouching back in his chair, Vegeta looked up at the ceiling and hummed as he thought about her question. Finally, he found the best explanation: "for starters, I really hate the constant stream of people in the house. My wife especially has a lot of people who come to see her- old acquaintances from fifteen years ago and whatnot- and last year she actually made me meet all these people... she forced me to do it because nobody knew we were married at the time, but I don't know who the hell they are, nor do I care! Plus, she has this fucking New Year's Eve party that goes on until I don't know what time..."

The Saiyan stopped to sigh and run his hands through his hair.

"So, your wife has quite an extroverted personality, while you seem to be more introverted. Would you agree with that, Vegeta?"

Vegeta nodded emphatically. Even thinking about the last New Year's Eve party made him upset and sick to his stomach.

"Did you attend the previous New Year's Eve party?"

Vegeta nodded again. "I've had more than my share of drunken morons as it is, and Bulma invited a... really unsettling number of people. The place where I can usually be left alone- the gym, which as it turned out, was used to store coats and purses, and then some fucking gem of a human hurled all over my equipment."

Dr. Kim winced in sympathy. "I'm sorry you had to make such an awful discovery! What time were you able to leave the party?"

"I finally bailed out at eleven. We started the new year off with an argument because I didn't kiss my wife at midnight."

Dr. Kim continued writing, "how frequently do you have arguments with your wife?"

"Define "argument"."

The pen was practically flying across the paper now. "Hmm, let's say, "major disagreement", something where you and your wife can't come to an agreement and can't seem to hold a civil conversation for an extended period of time."

That narrows it down a bit, I guess, thought Vegeta, and he rubbed his hands. His skin was getting uncomfortably dry, but he kept forgetting to put on lotion after a shower. "If it's something where we wind up not on speaking terms... we haven't had one of those in a while. We do argue a lot, but even when I'm pissed off with her, I'm still going to be with her."

"What do you mean by "with her", Vegeta?"

Now the Saiyan was a bit offended. "She's my wife, isn't she? Even if I'm angry, I'll still help her."

Dr. Kim simply smiled and flipped her page over to begin a fresh sheet.

"God, you write a lot about me," Vegeta shifted in his chair and began to pick his nails.

"Some days I do, yes," she finally set the notepad on her lap, "so, what else is going on with you, Vegeta?"

Vegeta's nail-picking switched over feeling the fine hair at the edge of his right temple. "I'm going to be teaching self-defence classes to fulfill my community service. Is that an example of irony? I punched a woman, and now I'm being made to teach others how to hit people as part of my punishment."

Dr. Kim almost laughed and started writing again. "To tell you the truth, Vegeta, I saw the footage of you intervening in that robbery. You certainly are a remarkable athlete."

The Saiyan heaved a sigh. "Out of shape."

"Oh ho, if that's what you consider "out of shape", I can only imagine what you can do "in shape", Vegeta. Why did you intervene, Vegeta? Many people would either freeze in place, or try to hide."

"I just wanted my breakfast," he shrugged, "so I guess that I responded because I was being inconvenienced."

Dr. Kim nodded, "so, you intervened because the robber was personally making your life difficult?"

"That is what I said," Vegeta resumed picking at his nails.

More note-taking. "What about the clerk, Vegeta? Did his safety and well- being factor into your actions?"

The Saiyan shrugged, disinterested in the topic of conversation.

"Tell me about your childhood, Vegeta."

Vegeta squirmed in his chair and gave Dr. Kim a very strained, clearly irritated smirk. "Not much to tell. Wasn't much of a childhood."

"Hm. Tell me about your parental situation as a child. Did you grow up with both parents?"

"No. My mother died when I was too little to remember, in an what was apparently some sort of vehicle accident, then my father died when I was about seven."

"I'm sorry. Who raised you after the death of your father?"

Things were getting uncomfortable. Vegeta didn't want to talk about this, but what choice did he really have? If he avoided it today, it would eventually come up in another session.

Finally, he spoke: "a friend of my father's raised me and another kid. Kind of a foster situation, I guess."

"Are you at all biologically related to the other child you grew up with?"

"No, thank god."

"How would you describe the relationship you had with the other child?"

Vegeta scowled. "It was not a sibling-type relationship. He was several years older and we usually led different lives, and he's dead now. That's all I want to say about that."

Dr. Kim nodded. "We don't have to continue talking about that. How did your father pass away?"

"Murdered," Vegeta watched Dr. Kim's face for her reaction, "I actually didn't know the circumstances surrounding his death for another two years."

"Oh, Vegeta. I'm sorry. That must have been devastating. Did you have any sort of support system at the time?"

The Saiyan resumed picking his nails, lost in his hazy childhood and suddenly nine years old again. His eyes shut, and he could once again smell the artificially cooled and sanitized air of a spaceship and feel the warm fabric of his cape draped over his shoulders. He'd been told the truth by Raditz in a dark, silent room during one of their assigned sleep periods, and the young Saiyan suddenly put all the pieces together after two terrible years of confusion and exclusion.

He'd wailed and sobbed, devastated and horrified by the realization that Lord Frieza, who he strove to always please, had planned this all along, and there was nowhere Vegeta could escape to or anybody he could confide in.

"Once I learned the truth..." Vegeta kept his eyes shut and his hands fell onto his lap, "I just didn't care for anybody but myself. Nobody mattered. That's when I knew for certain that violence is the way to get what you need, and feelings were not to be factored in."


After an afternoon in the gym, Vegeta showered, pulled on his most comfortable sweatpants and a white tank top, slid on his favoured rubber sandals, and settled in the living room to snack on the still-sealed bag of frozen sliced mango he'd discovered a few hours prior and read through his training packet. Since his session, he'd cycled through rage, an awful fifteen minute stretch of tears, and finally a sense of calm.

Maybe getting a bit of stuff off my chest is actually helping, he pondered, stomach beginning to hint that it was time to eat something far more substantial than frozen mango.

Trunks came bounding into the living room, dressed in grey tweed overalls with a matching cap, huge grin on his chubby face and running in place before his father. "Daddy! Daddy! Guess where I'm going!"

Vegeta looked up from his papers and sighed in irritation. "Mars."

The little boy giggled and shook his head. "Silly Dad! Gramma's taking me to Toodly Doodly! Toodly Doodly!"

Vegeta looked up at his mother-in-law as she came into the room, several large bills clutched in her hand. "Vegeta, you'll have to order in tonight."

"Huh?" He accepted the cash and looked her up and down. She was dressed nicely as well, in a grey skirt, white blouse, and thick black belt. Obviously they were headed somewhere, but for the life of him Vegeta did not know what a "Toodly Dooly" was supposed to be.

"I forgot to tell you that I'm taking Trunks to see The Toodle-Oo's, but we-"

Vegeta's brow crinkled in confusion. "What the hell is a Toodle-Oo?"

Trunks' excitement was practically oozing out of his pores as his bouncing grew ever faster. "Daddy, they sing and dance!"

"Oh, a children's entertainment act. Fine. I can order food."

"There are plenty of menus in the kitchen drawer on the far left. Sorry about this, Vegeta, but I heard the traffic around the venue gets terribly congested..."

"Then go," he motioned toward the garage door with the sweep of a hand.

"Bye, Daddy!" Trunks continued toward the garage door down the hall, hopping all the way.

Mrs. Briefs wasted no time, refusing to let the little boy get a head start on her. "See you in a few hours, Vegeta. Enjoy your dinner!"

An hour later, Bulma returned home, one long exhausted sigh escaping her as she set her briefcase down and stepped out of her four inch heels. "Hello? Anybody home? Vegeta?"

"In here," the Saiyan called from the living room, a spread of takeout menus across the coffee table before him.

"Oh, hey! What's with the menus, Vegeta?" Bulma sat down beside Vegeta and wiggled her aching toes.

Vegeta slowly pulled up Bulma's right leg, rested her foot in his lap, and started to press his thumbs into the arch. "I cannot understand why you wear those ridiculous shoes. Your mother ran off with the kid to see some idiotic children's act and left me with money. I don't want to wait around for delivery, nor do I want to have to open packages and serve myself on plates."

"That feels so good, Vegeta... mm... well, what do you want to do? You seem like you're pretty comfortable right now. Did you train today?"

Vegeta nodded. "I was thinking we could go out. Greek restaurant ten blocks away."

Bulma stretched her arms above her head and smiled. "Sounds good. But do this for a while first, then we'll go out, and tonight I'll wear that little black nightie you like."

Vegeta felt an old, familiar, and unconsciously missed laugh rise from his throat and he nodded in agreement. "I wasn't even going to stop, but now you're filling my head with ideas..."