Anger Management

Chapter 9


It was ten thirty on New Year's Eve and Bulma's traditional New Year's party was in full swing, the entire ground floor (aside from Vegeta's gym, which had been locked up that afternoon after he'd taken an after-training bath) was filled with people.

In the kitchen, Vegeta watched his mother-in-law transferring an assortment of delicious little snacks onto large plates, wishing he had something a bit stronger than beer. There were already so many people in the house that he felt a bit trapped by it all, and he knew the size of crowd was likely to grow over the next forty five minutes.

At first, perhaps when the party started just after eight o'clock, Vegeta had found the event tolerable. There had only been a few people, and while they were unfamiliar, he had the time to feel their energy and get a general impression before they invaded his space. He detected no malicious energies, but plenty of annoying ones.

By nine thirty, there were far too many humans around for the Saiyan's liking, and he retreated to the kitchen. Once away from the crowd, Vegeta was quite pleased to discover three large coolers, each revealing an icy sea studded with bottles and cans of beer, and he smirked when he found two shelves of the refrigerator were now seemingly devoted to hard liquor and mixers.

Finally, Vegeta uttered a phrase he hadn't since his mid-twenties a decade earlier: "I'm going to get drunk tonight."

Aside from Krillin, Eighteen, and Yamcha, the likelihood of Vegeta actually knowing any of the guests (and of the three he already knew, there was only one he really tolerated) was slim. Bulma had invited a huge number of friends and acquaintances, employees, colleagues, and contractors, but Vegeta had only ever interacted with perhaps a dozen or so and only ever in passing. The house was full of strange people with strange energies and strange smells and strange sounds, and his wife was insistent he be in attendance.

To top it all off, all of the coats that didn't fit in the front hall closets had been brought upstairs into their bedroom. Vegeta hated absolutely everything about that night, and yet he did want to try and see it through for Bulma's sake. Think of it as a mission, he told himself, a really annoying diplomatic event with some delicious free food.

He finished his beer, the sixth of that night, and immediately went to the cooler for another one. Mrs. Briefs cleared her throat loudly and approached Vegeta with a platter of tiny sausage rolls. "Maybe you'd like to have a bite to eat, sweetie?"

"Mm," Vegeta took a hint and motioned her to put the platter down while he got a paper plate, "Nobody seems to comes in here," he sniffed at a roll, "and that's alright with me. Why are you in here?"

"Eat," Mrs. Briefs slid six of the little savoury morsels onto the plate, "and there's more where that came from."

"Mm'kay," Vegeta replied, his mouth full of food.

Good god, this mission sucks, thought Vegeta, I can't even show my face out there...

When Mrs. Briefs returned twenty minutes later, Vegeta was on his eighth beer. The Saiyan was realizing that the alcohol was beginning to kick in- fast- and the introduction of little bits of food had only intensified the effects of alcohol as his metabolism roared to life. He decided it was time to go out and socialize the way Bulma had first insisted, and then almost-begged him to do.

It's just drunk diplomacy, you've done this plenty of times... it's your early twenties all over again...

Upon entering the main space where the party was held, Vegeta found himself being pulled into a two-handed handshake by a towering, ruddy-faced and very blonde giant of a man dressed in an expensive-looking dark blue suit. "You must be Bulma's husband! It's high time we met! I'm Don- I work in R&D at Capsule Corporation. I- I have to speak with you!"

Wiggling his wrist and hand out of the huge man's grip and looked him up and down. "Don't do that."

The man's red face seemed to go two shades deeper and he gave an awkward sort of apologetic laugh. "I've been developing prototypes for our expanded lines of both activewear and protective gear. I hate to talk shop with you at a party, but at some point, I'd really appreciate your input."

The now-drunk Vegeta scanned the crowded room in search of his wife. "Where's Bulma?"

"I haven't seen her in a bit. Can I give you my card, Mr. Briefs?"

Vegeta peered over Don's shoulder and spotted blue hair. "No," he craned his neck and tried to pinpoint her, "don't b- oh, there," he spotted Bulma and wandered away, pushing the big man aside without giving him a second glance.

As he made his way to Bulma, Vegeta picked up a glass of champagne from the tray held by a passing server and took one long sip.

"Hello," Vegeta sided up to Bulma and smirked, "I made it."

"How much have you had to drink," Bulma subtly asked Vegeta as he stood at her side and she immediately smelled alcohol, "and did you insult one of my employees just now?"

"Some big guy named Ron, or Don, or something..." Vegeta finished his champagne and got another when another server passed by, "R&D or something and protective gear. I don't know- you know I can't keep up with your engineering people."

"Ohmygod, Vegeta!" Bulma almost raised her voice and ended up producing a sort of squawk, "c'mon, we're going to get you two properly introduced. Don is developing new armour for you and it's going to be amazing. You have to be nice to him."

"That argument is flimsier than the shitty plastic cup I'm holding," he threw back half the champagne, "but whatever you want."

"Don!" Bulma spotted the big man (he wasn't hard to miss) and approached him with Vegeta at her side. "This is my husband, Vegeta. You'll have to excuse him, he's not very familiar with a lot of the Capsule employees. So, have you been enjoying the holidays?"

"Bulma! Yes, we've had just a lovely time. Marsha and the kids are with her parents right now, so it's just me tonight. I was hoping your husband would be interested in testing out some new gear for me, but he doesn't seem to interested."

"Of course Vegeta would be interested!" Bulma ignored Vegeta's soft groan of irritation, "I'll get a meeting scheduled in January."

"I'd really like that," Don was enthusiastic, "but enough about work- how was your holiday?"

"It's been great! Busy, but a nice time overall. Although I am looking forward to getting back to the office!" Bulma laughed when she realized she'd started talking about work right away.

Vegeta resumed scanning the room, effectively tuning out his wife and the awkward man, and felt himself sigh in relief when he spotted an apparently unaccompanied Krillin standing by the fireplace.

"Oh, thank god," Vegeta muttered as he left the two to speak about protective gear and made a bee-line for Krillin.

"Ish your wife here?" Vegeta finished the glass of champagne and set the cup on mantle as he approached Krillin from behind. He realized he'd actually started slurring his words and internally declared himself "quite drunk".

"Ah!" Startled, Krillin whipped around and felt his mouth drop open when he came face to face with the Saiyan, who was visibly drunk and apparently not in a very good mood. "Hey, Vegeta! Happy New Year, buddy! No, Eighteen's at home tonight. Wanted to put her feet up."

"Mmhm," Vegeta leaned against the mantle, "so, do you know anybody here?"

"Kinda, not to mention I saw Yamcha around here earlier. He's got a girlfriend..."

"Mm," Vegeta's stomach rumbled and he wondered where the little morsels of food had been placed, "have you had anything to eat?"

Krillin gave a small nod, suspicious as to why the Saiyan was asking him if he'd eaten. Surely it was not a question that stemmed from concern. "A little. Why, Vegeta?"

Vegeta had lost interest in food and his eyes locked on a hired bartender mixing drinks. "I need a drink."

Wary, Krillin followed Vegeta to the bar and wondered what Bulma would say if she knew the drunk Saiyan was ordering a double rum and cola. The monk caught himself shaking his head in disapproval as Vegeta practically mainlined the drink, once again finishing the contents of his glass in two gulps.

The two shots of rum hit Vegeta harder and faster than he expected, and he felt the creeping anxiety vanish, completely replaced by a woozy, unfocused amusement tinged with anger at its very edges.

He talked to Krillin, who simply stared at him with a vague expression of disbelief. Then, after about ten minutes of the semi-managable dizziness, the rum really took hold and suddenly Vegeta knew he'd hit that awful point of no return. Gotta eat something, he thought, and turned away from Krillin.

Wobbling as he walked, Vegeta returned to the kitchen and hummed when he spotted a tray of plump shrimp and a bowl of spicy red cocktail sauce. The Saiyan practically parked himself at the kitchen table and started eating, his head drooping as he swirled a cold prawn's tail in the bright red sauce.

"Hey, Vegeta," Krillin pulled up a chair beside the Saiyan and tried to get a good look at him, "are you alright?"

Vegeta puffed and brought the shrimp up to his mouth. Clumsily, he ate, sucking extra sauce off his fingertips and sniffing loudly as he chewed. "M'fine..." his head drooped again and he went quiet for a few minutes before loudly inhaling through his nostrils, "Krill'n, y'deal withshit bett'r th'n mosht..."

At that moment, Krillin felt a deep current of pity run through him. He felt sorry for Vegeta- the Saiyan prince was struggling and he had no real Earthling frame of reference to rely on, nor did he have any other Saiyans to relate to.

"Say, Vegeta?"

Vegeta glanced up at Krillin and almost felt sick when the dots on the monk's forehead started to swirl. "Mm?"

"Do you... um, maybe want to hang out sometime?"

The Saiyan shut his eyes and his head dropped again. "Shhhure... buuhh-ddy."


After his second glass of water, sipped slowly while Krillin insisted he remained seated on the bathroom floor, Vegeta looked up and took three deep breaths before leaning over, head in the toilet bowl, and finally vomiting.

Krillin had decided it was time to intervene after Vegeta had eaten somewhere in the neighbourhood of eighteen shrimp and then declared it was time for another drink. When Vegeta stood up quite suddenly, he completely lost his balance and dropped back into his chair. Supporting the unexpectedly heavy Saiyan, Krillin directed him to the washroom and suggested they each have a drink... of water.

Down the hall, the party was in full swing. It was five after midnight. The Saiyan heaved again, bringing up just-eaten shrimp and a foul mixture of all the different kinds of alcohol he'd downed in just a few short hours.

Head turned away from the scene, Krillin leaned over and flushed the toilet the second he saw Vegeta rising in his peripheral vision.

"Ugh," Vegeta pushed himself into a seated position and leaned against the toilet, "that'shh better."

"I think you had a little too much tonight, buddy. But hey, I don't like New Year's either..."

Vegeta looked up at Krillin in surprise. "Y'don't?"

"Nah," Krillin eased himself down to sit on the floor near Vegeta, "I always felt it was a sort of depressing holiday. It made me feel really lonely for years."

Vegeta slowly nodded in understanding. "Think it sss-ucks no matter where y'are... New Years' is for stupid, happy people."

"Happy New Year, buddy."

"You too, baldie."


Head throbbing as he came to, Vegeta rolled over and realized he'd fallen asleep in one of the guest bedrooms, still in all his clothing from the night before.

Fuzzy snippets of Krillin easing him onto the bed and instructions to drink a glass of water flickered in the Saiyan's hazy recent memory. He vaguely recalled admitting to Krillin that he felt lonely and needed to socialize before passing out.

Vegeta cringed.

His stomach ached just as badly as his head, and his mouth tasted disgusting. Groaning, Vegeta forced himself to stand up and rubbed his forehead continually as he made his way down to the kitchen.

Bulma stood at the counter, tearing open packets of seltzer tablets with a particularly pained look on her face. Vegeta lazily tilted his head in her general direction, grunted, and dropped into a chair at the table.

"Drink this," Bulma set a glass of fizzing water at the Saiyan's place, "you'll feel better. I hear you overindulged a bit last night. As in, I literally heard you hurling. Looks like you learned your lesson, hm?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes (and instantly regretted it, finding it actually hurt to do so) and took a small sip of the fizzing water. "How was the rest of your party?"

"Oh, it was okay. More than a few people got really drunk. Don threw up in one of the potted palm trees. I'm a little worse for wear myself..."

Vegeta shook with silent laughter at the mental image of the big man kneeling before one of the palms and soon managed another sip of the fizzing drink. "I had the good sense to puke behind closed doors."

Bulma cracked up and lit her first cigarette of the morning. "Poor guy was so excited to meet you, too. He's terrified that he offended you now, based on how you treated him last night."

"Uuuugh," Vegeta groaned, "do we have to keep going over this? We went over this last night, I swear. I'll meet him to test out the fucking armour sometime this month. Let me nurse this hangover first..." the Saiyan took another sip of the fizzing drink. He still felt like hell, but he didn't want to vomit any longer.

"Well, we go back to the office on January third, if you're interested in coming in for a few hours. I'll even throw in an all-access pass to the employee cafeteria."

"Ugh, don't," Vegeta wearily put his hands up, "no talk about food..."

Mrs. Briefs emerged from upstairs, looking slightly tired but still cheerful and radiant as always. "Happy New Year, you two! What a great party, hmm?"

"Ugh," the couple grunted in unison.

After a warm shower and opting to laze around for the entirety of the morning, Vegeta felt his hangover fading just after one thirty in the afternoon, with the assistance of water, coffee, four slices of pizza, and the comfortable drone of the television with its volume turned down low as he dozed.

When the doorbell cheerfully (and loudly) chimed and shook Vegeta back into wide-eyed consciousness, he felt his stomach drop. A hazy memory from the night before hit him, and he was filled with regret.

"If you're up to it, Vegeta, maybe you'd like to join me on a walk tomorrow?"

I said yes to him, didn't I?

"Vegeta, honey, Krillin's here to see you!" Mrs. Briefs' voice floated into the living room and the Saiyan responded with a very loud, crackling groan.

Vegeta did get up to greet the human, begrudgingly reasoning that the human had very patiently taken care of him the night before. I'll pay back the courtesy he paid to me last night and we can leave it at that, he told himself, the fresh air would do some good anyway...

"Hey, Vegeta! How ya doin' today?" Krillin was predictably alert and friendly, which threatened to pull the Saiyan's nearly-buried headache back into the forefront. He was dressed for the weather in a parka, heavy trousers, boots, a knit cap and gloves.

"Uuuugh," Vegeta rubbed his temples, "so where are we going, baldie?"

"Valley Trail," remained cheerful, "a nice easy route. It's cold, so dress warmly!"

Vegeta groaned again as he went to the front closet.


"Hang on, you're telling me that you make enough money to equal what you pay in rent for six months by teaching a single class? And that class is taught three times a week, for just two hours?"

"Well, there's lot more involved than just the classroom work... and I teach more than one class... and I'm taking classes... and my family obligations..."

Vegeta hummed and adjusted his scarf to cover his chin. "Still sounds like you make decent money."

Krillin felt his brow crinkle. "Too bad you're not getting paid for your classes. A little pocket money, eh?"

"Wouldn't need it anyway," the Saiyan shrugged, "I already get dividends from Bulma's income. Not that I really spend much of it anyway. The woman brought in this accountant and he accused me of spending my money on useless things."

Krillin's curiosity was piqued. "Like what, exactly?"

"Apparently I spend most of the money on various takeaway restaurants, running shoes, and movie tickets."

Krillin burst out laughing. He couldn't imagine Vegeta visiting any sort of restaurant or stand, purchasing clothing in a store, and especially not watching a movie among the unwashed masses! "What the hell? Okay, I hate to be that guy, but you gotta name at least two movies you've seen in an actual theatre in the last while."

"The 80 Foot Boy VS Space Lizard and Ghost Pirates from Planet Zork."

"Those aren't real movies," Krillin kept laughing until he saw Vegeta looking very serious, "...right?"

"That little theatre, The Roxy, it's a dump and they show the worst movies I've ever seen. I've never been so thoroughly entertained before."

"Heh, never thought a prince would slum it at that kind of a place," Krillin looked over at Vegeta, a little wary, "you don't seem like the kind of guy who would go into any sort of theatre..."

Vegeta scoffed. "I see how it is. You take me for some sort of rube."

"Whoa! Talk about jumping to conclusions, Vegeta! I mean that you don't seem like the kind of guy who would really want to sit in a big room full of other people you don't know, and, uh, probably don't like..."

"Well, you're half right, I suppose," Vegeta hunched his shoulders when a gust of icy wind hit his face, "but the theatre is usually empty."

"Touche," Krillin smirked, "I don't know about you, but this fresh, cold air is making me thirsty. C'mon, there's a tea cart around here somewhere..."


The walk had done Vegeta some good, he determined, and after grazing on an array of leftovers (it had taken him years to get over the idea of "leftover" food being inferior) and watching the tail end of the evening news, he decided it was time to call Don.

It was a bit like ripping off a particularly strong bandage, he reasoned, you can either get it over with now or sit on it and have the woman bothering you about it for weeks on end. It will be a pain in the ass either way.

He'd found the man's business card tacked to the refrigerator with a magnet, read the name and contact information in the lefthand corner several times over while working up the nerve to actually call this strange and enthusiastic human, and heaving a sigh he finally picked up the phone. He figured the man would be more likely to answer his mobile phone, given the time and day,

The phone rang three times before a familiar voice picked up. "Hello? Bulma, is that you? You never call me from home!"

"No. You spoke with me last night."

A very awkward silence. "Oh... hello, Vegeta. How are you this evening? What a chilly way to begin the new year, huh?"

Vegeta sighed. He hated small talk. "Are we going to get this appointment set up, or should I just call back later?"

The Saiyan could practically hear Don scrambling on the other end of the line. "Uh, one moment! Let me get to my calendar," the shuffling of papers, "aha! Here we go, found my tablet," he trailed off into awkward laughter, "so, when are you free, Vegeta?"

Vegeta cringed and considered his week ahead. It was Tuesday, and Bulma was due to return back to work on Thursday. He had to see Ramirez on Friday, and figured he could always make a day of it.

"Do you work on Friday?"

"Of course, yes, I might be free this Friday..." Don scrolled through his calendar, "I'm available at twelve thirty, if that's fine with you? I think we'd need about... ah, two hours?"

His appointment with Ramirez was at eleven o'clock and wouldn't take more than a half hour. It left him with an hour to kill, and Capsule's corporate headquarters had a superb public restaurant on the fifth floor. "Fine. Friday. Twelve thirty until two thirty. Good night."

Vegeta disconnected the call before Don could open his mouth to reply.