Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Panic Disorder ❯ Three ( Chapter 3 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

In the days that followed, sparring practice was subject to the whims of Goku's stomach. Some days went without a hitch; others found him on the ground on hands and knees, groaning in pain. On bad days, Bejita would leave him there, alone and in agony, because being faced with his vulnerability made Bejita feel vulnerable and prone to weakness.

Things came to a head on one such day. As Bejita prepared to depart, he felt an unpleasant fluctuation in Goku's ki. Looking back, he saw Goku fall the last few feet through the air, clutching convulsively at his chest.

Immediately he had a cause in mind – the heart virus that had struck him down previously. It took Bejita nanoseconds to decide to sling Goku over his shoulder and head for Capsule Corp.

What a fool he'd been! Perhaps if he'd paid more attention, Goku wouldn't be on the precipice of death yet again. Oh, what a spectacular fuck up!

Goku remained conscious throughout the flight back, moaning and crying out in pain. His breath became so shallow and rapid that he was hyperventilating; his extremities became numb and tingled when he tried to move them.

Shit. Shit! Bejita had always trusted his logical brain and not his intuition when it came to these matters; now he had been tripped up by the very mantra that until now had saved his life and his sanity. If only he had thought to question that nagging feeling that something was wrong with Goku instead of brushing it aside, it was possible that the woman could have averted this crisis. Still, he thought wryly, he would not have wanted to seemed too concerned for Goku's health, either.

He blasted the lock on the front door to the Capsule Corp labs and headed down the hallway, yelling,”Woman! Get out here, now!” He pushed open doors and frightened Capsule Corp employees silly from both the suddenness of his entries and the spectacle he and Goku presented.

He tracked Buruma down in the engineering test lab. She was disheveled – her hair out of place, grease on hands and face, even her safety glasses crooked. It was rare to find her getting her hands dirty; mostly she left that to her younger employees, preferring to delegate those tasks and give preference instead to management of the company. This time, however, she was making alterations to the Gravity Room, something she wasn't willing to leave to anyone else – no matter how much she might complain about it.

“What the hell ... “ she began, and finished off with, “have you done to him?” Though she looked at him expectantly for an answer, she was already peeling off her gloves and overalls and heading for the door. “This is nothing I've done,” Bejita said defensively. “I suspect that heart virus.” He followed her down the hallway, pushing past employees and knocking some down in the process.

Buruma bustled into the medical bay and directed Bejita to lay his charge down on the gurney.

Goku curled on his side grasping at his left arm and chest, his breathing decided strained and with a hint of sobbing as a higher pitched counterpoint. Sweat ran down his face in rivulets; he shook all over as though hypothermic. He couldn't remember ever feeling so sick, nor so scared.

Bejita was also an unwilling participant in proceedings, having unasked for insight into Goku's emotional state. He was bewildered: never had he known Goku to be scared of anything, not even a painful death. He couldn't even being to imagine what must be going through the other saiyajin's head to produce such terror, but he well understood the feeling. It was the underlying cause of much of his own foolhardy behavior, his bravado, his imprecations. His own anxiety was generated by so many causes – fear of loss of dignity and standing, fear of failure, fear of chronic suffering and retribution at the hands of an enemy – but he couldn't imagine Goku suffering from any of these.
Buruma had been busying herself with the preparation of medical instrumentation, and now was ready to being her investigation. She was exhorting Goku to sit up straight and let her listen to his chest, but he seemed either unable to hear her or to carry out her request. “Bejita, don't just stand there! Give me a hand here.”

Bejita unfolded his arms with poor grace and growled at her as he took Goku's elbow and assisted him in sitting up. Buruma was able to lift Goku's shirt and apply her stethoscope to his back, however his desperate and wheezing breaths gave her no indication as to the condition of his lungs. “Deep breath, Goku,” she said encouragingly. She said it several more times, and Goku managed a couple of gasps that were deeper and more controlled. “Ok, back down.”

Bejita levered Goku back down onto the gurney and stepped back, withdrawing back into himself and refolding his arms. Buruma leaned in close and slipped the stethoscope down the front of Goku's gi to check his heart beat. His heart was racing, but the beat and the sound were strong and without murmurs or aberrant fluctuations.

She stepped back also and stood in contemplation. “It might be a virus, but the signs don't support it. Goku's heart beat was arrhythmic last time, but I hear nothing unusual this time. His history doesn't support a myocardial infarction, and his signs don't support cardiac arrest. It could be some other infection, and not necessarily of the heart. It could be ... shit, I'm going to need more specialized knowledge,” she finished off, shaking her head in bafflement.

She moved to her computer terminal and sat down swiftly, addressing Bejita over her shoulder. “I want you to leave this room and not return until I say so. If Goku has an infection, it could strike you down too. I'll organize everything through my secretary. Don't worry,” she laughed, “I wasn't going to ask you to call his family!” Her eyes danced.

Bejita looked back at her steadily and then slowly took his leave of the room. It gave him a warm feeling to know that Buruma rarely asked him to do anything she knew he would object to anyway these days. He put Goku's plight from his mind – whatever was wrong with him could be fixed by Buruma or not at all, so there was no point in dwelling on it.

Now Buruma had an immediate concern – Goku was still in distress, and the means at her disposal to alleviate that were minimal. She pondered, and decided that the analgesic and anaesthetic gas that she used on her husband could be of use here. Any injectable solutions were useless, and she doubted that she would be able to convince Goku to swallow any medication. She quickly set up a line and a mask. “This will help with the pain, Goku,” she said softly as she slipped the mask on. He shook his head, and tried to stutter something out, but couldn't manage the words. She watched him as his breathing evened out and his eyes fluttered closed. “Not the pain,” he whispered as he finally passed out, but she had no idea what he meant by that. She felt eminently relieved to see him relax as the gas did it's work.