Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Lab Monkey ❯ Physician Heal Thyself ( Chapter 32 )

Disclaimer: DBZ was created by Akira Toriyama. I don't own DBZ, nor will I ever.

 

Chapter Thirty-Two

Physician Heal Thyself

 

Her father was a genius. She was a super-genius. Together there was no problem they couldn't tackle, dissect and solve.

 

Bulma avidly watched the waves of liquid mercury that sloshed independently against the sides of the glass jar, a living, thriving organism striving to break free.

 

Once again she had outdone herself. She had been presented with a problem and she had solved it in record time. Admittedly, she had asked for her father's help, not because she couldn't figure it out on her own, but because time was of the essence. The situation between her and Vegeta was becoming unbearable, a fact that was brought home to her the night of her welcome back party.

 

As soon as she walked into Capsule Corporation her world had been flipped upside down. Kept in relative seclusion with only Vegeta as her companion she was overwhelmed by the bombardment of well-wishers eager to see her return. Employees, business partners and associates streamed through her living room as she sat sandwiched between her parents.

 

Her dad had hugged her so hard when he laid eyes on her that her feet had actually left the ground. She suffered a brief surge of panic, and struggled to be put down before the frail, older man injured himself with the strain. The last thing she wanted was for her father to drop dead of a heart attack on the day of her return. He let her go only when her mother had pried her out of his arms. Before releasing her, he had kissed her on the brow, making no effort to hide the tears that flowed down his narrow cheeks. He turned away, swiping his eyes with his forearm before scurrying off to make several phone calls.

 

Her mother hugged and kissed her in the same flurry of emotion. The only difference was that her mother refused to release her hand for the entire night. Her fear was obvious to all, by the pinched set of her usually smiling mouth, that her daughter would be swept away from her at any moment. Bulma's fingers were still bruised from her mother's steely grip.

 

It wasn't until her mind was numb from the seemingly endless procession of people she barely knew that she realized how empty her life had been. How utterly shallow.

 

Yes, she had two parents that adored her, but she knew their initial shock of her abduction and homecoming would wear off, and like always she would be left to her own devices while they became absorbed in their own lives. Besides she was an adult now, her parents could do nothing to fill the great big, gapping hole in her social life---or was it her heart?

 

The well-wishers that passed her by had no real affection for her. Their livelihoods depended on her good will, whether it be for a paycheck, a business loan or picking up the tab at the bar. Her only true friends stood at the fringes, a boy whose young life she was barely involved in, a bald monk who preferred solitude on a nearly desert island than being trapped in a room with her for more than a half and hour, and a childhood boyfriend who had stopped listening to her dreams the moment he discovered she had breasts.

 

As she looked around, she felt such a sense of despair that it seemed to swallow her up from the inside out. The room closed in on her, the air became heavy and coarse until it felt like rocks in her lungs. How had she survived so long without a friend to turn to? A confidant to tell her secrets to? Someone to listen and never judge? As she scanned the room, looking for someone, anyone to turn to lightening flashed from behind the panel of bay windows, echoing her agonizing thoughts of loneliness. Darkness had grown deep outside, and a storm moved in from the west, drenching everything with hard beats of cleansing rain.

 

For a split second she saw a shadow, darker than the rest, and far more menacing than the night itself. If she was a heroine in a horror film she would have leapt up from the couch with a terror-filled scream ripping from her throat. Instead, she had felt such a sense of pervasive calm that the raw edges of her senses were instantly soothed. She knew without a doubt what she had to do.

 

Vegeta was an ass, especially lately. He could be spitefully cruel, cutting to the bone when the occasion called for it, but for all his faults he had always been there for her. When she spoke he gave her the attention she deserved. He stood by her and witnessed her worse moments, his face impassive, his eyes non-judgmental. And when she needed someone to hold out their hand it had been him with his crude, calculating words that had led her out of the darkness of her own despair, and showed her that she wasn't the monster she thought she was.

 

She was a different person now. She had dark secrets hidden away in her heart, things that could never be whispered to another soul. She was a murderer, a sinner. She was unforgivable. How could she hope to share her life with a partner when her past was shadowed with such evil? How could ask anyone to love her? Vegeta was the only person in the universe who knew exactly what she had become. Not only that, he was quite possibly the only person who wouldn't judge her for it. In fact, he didn't even seem to believe she had something to be forgiven for.

 

When the blinding flash of lightening faded, Bulma girded herself, mentally refreshed for the next round. She smiled her way through the night, knowing at the crack of dawn she would be in her lab, repairing her only true friendship she had. Now, days later she looked at the sliver mercury band aid that would heal Vegeta's tail, and hopefully their relationship.

 

Bulma rose swiftly from her desk spilling the remainder of her seventh frilly pink can of some energy drink that claimed to be specially designed for women on her lab coat. Hastily she brushed it off with a nearby piece of crumpled paper, belatedly noticing the numerous other stains littering her jacket. She glanced up, momentarily taking in her disastrous work station. It looked like a level five tornado had hit it. Papers were strewn everywhere, empty drink cans were overturned, and empty candy wrappers had fallen on the floor.

 

She quickly checked her appearance in one of the many mirrors in her lab, shocked at what she saw. She looked worse than barfed up cat fur. Her hair was straggling haphazardly down her back and around her hollowed cheeks. The rest of her features were pinched and pale, with deep, dark circles around her red-rimmed eyes.

 

There was no way she could see Vegeta looking like death wormed over, nor could she bring him back to her lab while it was so messy. She brushed her hands over her clothes, checking her work space for anything she may have forgotten before hurrying out the door. She bumped into Asuka on the way out and asked her to clean up her work station.

 

Her assistant had been overwhelmingly happy at her return; claiming that Bulma's bravery had saved her life, but her excitement had quickly mellowed at the manic work pace her boss demanded since day one. Asuka thought Bulma should take some time of to enjoy the fact that she was back home, but the driven scientist had barely paused for meals in her pursuit of some unnamed goal, and she made sure that everyone in her lab kept the same pace as she.

 

Bulma hurried up to the main house, bursting into the kitchen in time to see her mother overseeing preparations for lunch. Although it had been less than a week since their return, Vegeta's demands on the household had already taken their toll. Breakfast, lunch and dinner were prepared as if feeding ten people and that did not include snacks. He had insisted on setting the Isis down in the front yard and that it immediately be retrofitted with a gravity room so he may begin training for the day a threat appeared, or Goku returned, whichever happened first.

 

By training everyday, he increased his demands for food, which tripled her mother's work load. Not that her mother minded. Bunny Briefs seemed to be completely in her element orchestrating seven course meals three times a day, and overseeing the remodeling of a suit of rooms for Vegeta to live in.

 

Bulma had been stunned that her parents had taken to Vegeta so quickly. She figured that there would be a great deal of resentment towards him for kidnapping her, from both her parents and her friends, but it seemed only Yamcha had a problem with Vegeta. Initially her father had protested Vegeta's stay, but that had quickly dissolved after her mother had taken her aside to have a rare and surprisingly coherent talk.

 

Her mother sat her down and gave her such a piercing look that Bulma was almost concerned that it wasn't her mother she was speaking to but someone else entirely. If something similar hadn't happened twice in the past, once when she started dating Yamcha and secondly when her favorite dog died, she would be wondering if it wasn't a horrible case of body snatchers.

 

Very calmly her mother had asked her about the entire story. Never able to lie to her, Bulma admitted the whole horrid tale from beginning to end. She omitted the few things she couldn't form into words. Her guilt was still too deep about blowing up Cold's ship and murdering all those solders for her to actually speak of it out loud. But her mother wasn't listening for sounds of guilt or remorse. She was looking for strains of fear, of rejection, she was listening intently for the melody of love, and she must have heard it in Bulma's voice, because since that first night she had welcomed Vegeta into her home like a favored son-in-law.

 

Bunny Briefs may not have always been the best mother. She could be vain, and self-absorbed. Her family sometimes took a back seat to her charity works for PETA and various homeless organizations, but she was nothing if not loyal. If her daughter wanted something, she got it, and if happened to be that she wanted a bad-tempered, somewhat maniacal, dethroned prince, then by Kami, she would have him. Who was she to say otherwise?

 

Bulma paused at the door, watching the hustle and bustle for a moment, before a brilliant idea struck her. Only two things made the distant Saiyan remotely approachable, especially lately; food and sex. Since it was unlikely she could entice him with the later at this time of day, food would have to do. She hurried over to her mother to whisper to her in a conspiring tone, before scurrying from the room.

 

Upstairs she took a shower, exfoliated with mango-scented scrub, blow-dried her hair so smooth that the aqua tips licked their way across her creamy back. She dressed in a backless, kerchief top and a scandalously short, jean skirt, completing the outfit with toe-less high heels that even made her feet look sexy. She glanced in the mirror, smiling as the pasty, banshee hag vanished, and a gorgeous model of female beauty appeared. She slicked some gloss on her lips to make them look impossibly shiny and absolutely edible, and skipped from the room, her spirits higher than they had been in weeks.

 

Returning to the kitchen she was just in time to see a procession of servants leaving with mounds of silver-lidded trays as they headed towards her lab. She kissed her mama on the cheek, ignored her knowing smirk, and pranced after the servants, eagerness lighting up her sapphire eyes. As expected, (because timing is everything) Vegeta was leaving his gravity room on his way to dine as the parade of food passed before him. Bulma caught his eye, an easy thing to do with a bright red blouse with the spangled words, Pet Me, scribbled across her breasts, and motioned that he should follow. He hesitated briefly, but the allure of food and female overrode his natural suspicion.

 

Once in the lab, the servants quickly pulled together enough tables for the food to placed, covering the desks with fine, snowy linens and silver candlesticks. Food, plate ware, crystal goblets, and even several bouquets of lilies were arranged in record time, leaving Vegeta to think about the efficiency of some boot camps he had trained in. As the servants left, leaving Bulma and Vegeta alone, she motioned to the head of the mishmash table, indicating he should sit and eat.

 

Vegeta sat warily, eyeing her with suspicion. It was unlike him to be concerned with any other matters besides eating when a banquet of food was laid before him, but her behavior was disconcerting to say the least. During the entire production, she never said a word, not even to get him into the room. Instead he had followed of his own volition, and now he was uncertain if was because of her or the food.

 

With the arrogance of a true prince, he shrugged it off, deciding instead to turn his full attention to his meal. Bulma watched him as he ate, awed by his mastery of his surroundings. To a stranger it would seem as though he was casually enjoying a meal, his spine straight, his head held high. Everything about him screamed royalty from the firm way he planted his feet on the ground, to the haughty tilt of his chin. But Bulma saw beyond that façade to the predatorial warrior beneath. The subtle nuances of his body language, the way his forearm curled around his plate to ward off thieves, and how he scanned the room with dark, piercing eyes, told the story of a man who was waiting for an attack. Not merely expecting, or loosely prepared for, but knowing with absolute certainty that there would be an attack and it would undoubtedly come at his back.

 

Bulma had learned to move with calm, measured actions with in the same room with Vegeta. She always made her movements obvious, and was sure never to hide her hands from his sight. Not because she feared Vegeta, but because if she did, the heavy weight of his assessing gaze would bear down on her like a millstone, pressing the air from her body, leaving her quivering anxiously.

 

Normally, when he gazed at her it felt like he set her world on fire, burning her up with the heat of his need, but lately the only look she received from him was his cold, assessing glance. It was as though he was waiting for her to attack from behind, and he was determining what her fate should be when she did.

 

Bulma dropped her eyes to the scratched metal surface of the table, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. In the metallic gleam she could see a vague shadow of herself, a dark splotch on the expanse of brightness. That was how she felt at the moment, like her world was alight with bright possibility, but she was a mere stain of herself, bumbling through life, looking for the one thing that could make her shine. Looking for Vegeta.

 

She cleared her throat, glancing up from beneath the veil of her lashes to glance at the uncompromising Prince at the head of the table. He was nearly through with his third dessert course and it was now or never if she was to speak.

 

“As you well know, I am a super-genius.”

 

She couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw Vegeta roll his eyes at her remark which only drove her to prove her point. She sat forward in her chair, her face intense while Vegeta pretended to ignore her as he ate.

 

“This should have been obvious when I single-handedly broke into King Cold's ship's computer. Not only that, but I learned to read and write the universal language, and cracked the programming code. That alone makes me a genius, but that's not why I'm a super-genius.”

 

She paused for effect and Vegeta's eyes slid to the side so he could glance at her. He couldn't help but notice how she radiated pure joy as she spoke. Her skin practically glowed with it. If he was capable of infatuation she would the cause. Most of the time he was unable to follow the streams of outrageous self-propaganda, examples of her vast intellect that flowed from her lips, but that wasn't the reason he tolerated her endless verbal vomit.

 

It was the look on her face. The way her blue eyes darkened to the color of twilight as she spoke, almost if she could see passed the mortal veils of the world and into a dimension where the impossible was possible. She would miraculously reach into that dimension, and pull out the most outlandish theories, making them into reality, like a rabbit from a magician's hat. Watching her was like watching history in the making and when she spoke he found himself incapable of turning away. Most people listened to her rattle on, their eyes glazing over, fidgeting to get free, but he was always completely and totally enraptured.

 

Lately, she hadn't been glowing for him. Her usually vivacious personality had dulled under the strain of the past few weeks. He knew that he personally had a lot to do with that. He had yet to get over his anger at her for cutting away his tail, and he was unable to mask his fury he felt at her betrayal. Years of hiding his emotions from everyone around him should have prepared him, but she was the one person that he was incapable of hiding from. It frustrated and disgusted him, but he was unable to change it. What made the situation worse was that he didn't know if he would ever forgive her, if it was even possible for him to do so.

 

However, that wasn't her only reason for her lackluster existence. Since the destruction of Cold's ship, she had been distant. Her own actions had wounded her in a way that he could not heal, even if he knew how. She thought herself to be irreversibly damaged, something that should be thrown away in the trash instead of burdening herself on humanity. When he looked at her, he still saw the same innocent woman he first met, perhaps a little more battle-hardened, and a whole hell of a lot stronger, but definitely still uncorrupted. She saw herself as a murderous monster. But he knew better. He was the only monster in the room.

 

“So when I was nosing around in the science logs I noticed that Doctor Seville from the planet Neptram, whoever he his, was trying to experiment with nanotechnology.”

 

Vegeta snapped back from his thoughts, realizing that Bulma would only be talking this animatedly to him because the subject somehow involved him. He grunted at her, barely acknowledging that she was speaking, knowing that would only serve to annoy her and add an exasperated flush to her cheeks. He continued to eat, covertly paying close attention to what she was saying.

 

“Of course, his theories are completely off-base. He'll never get them to work, but it got me to thinking. Instead of micro robots, they should be microorganisms. You know, like tiny cyborgs. See, he wanted nanites to go in and repair damaged cells, but the host body either rejected them or the repairs were incompletely. Then I though, `DUH!'”

 

She stood up quickly, forgetting about moving cautiously while around Vegeta. He tensed, but didn't move as Bulma paced around the room, once again underscoring the vast differences between them. Every action Vegeta took was precise and controlled, with no wasted energy, while Bulma was a flurry of motion, hands, mouth and feet always going.

 

“The answer was DNA encoded cyber nanites. Not only can the little guys go in and repair damage, but also replace missing genetic material as well. Kinda like a bioorganic band aide.”

 

She whirled around to face him, practically effervescing with excitement.

 

“Aren't I a genius, Vegeta?”

 

It occurred to him, that the reason Bulma always announced her genius so proudly was because she was really looking for validation. He suspected that her lack of self-confidence and her over-developed bravado had something to do with her numbskull parents. After all, if someone had abducted his one and only baby girl, and then had the audacity to bring her back, he would skin the bastard and stuff his left over gizzard with hay to use as a punching bag. But her parents seemed perfectly accepting of him, which only made the skin between his shoulder blades itch with distrust.

 

He resisted the urge to smile in reassurance at her, and instead stared at her stonily, waiting impatiently for her to finish. Her smile dimmed and something panged briefly in his chest that felt suspiciously like regret. Before his eyes she turned from giddy to subdued, the corners of her perfect bow-shaped mouth pulling down into a frown.

 

“Don't you see, Vegeta? This means I can fix your tail.”