Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Syndrome ❯ Short and stunted ( Chapter 9 )

“How's he holding up?"

Bulma glanced up at the nurse from her perusal of Vegeta's facial profile. "He wakes up, eats half a cracker, grumbles about being perfectly fine and ready to go back home? And then falls back asleep again."

"Well, as soon as he can keep himself conscious for five minutes, we'll load him up and get him out of here," she replied, much against her will. This pair danced around each other more than the contestants at a tango competition -- except their contest was more along the lines of the horizontal mambo. I give it six weeks.

A whispered curse came from the bed, and both females looked at its occupant. Vegeta was rubbing his eyes with his hand; when his fingers left his face it was noticeable that the drugs for the most part had worn off -- the frown lines on his forehead had returned. "When the hell can I get out of here?"

The nurse began bustling in her familiar manner. She called for an attendant to fetch the wheelchair that would be taking her prickly patient to the parking circle by the front door. The anesthesiologist appeared and checked on him one last time, removing the IV and quickly leaving before the patient burned holes in his lab coat. Bulma left the room while said patient changed back into his street clothes.

"You've got a script here for Darvoset from Dr. Taber," the nurse said as Vegeta reluctantly settled in the wheelchair and Bulma returned to his side. "Take one every four to six hours or when the pain returns, but don't exceed six per day, all right?"

She waited for his short nod before continuing. "These are effective, but they'll leave you feeling a little loopy right after each dose. Don't operate any heavy machinery, and I suggest not making any life-changing decisions while you're on these, as you might have trouble remembering at a later date all the things you've said and did while taking this medication. Once the pain goes down in a week or two, you can shift back to taking regular painkillers like Ibuprofen. Okay?"

He waved his hand in a dismissive manner, clearly done with her ramblings. Bulma smiled and said conspiratorially, "Don't worry, I've got it."

They signed out at the desk, then walked, or in the prince's case, rolled down the hallway they'd gone up early that morning, to the front door of the hospital. Doing her best not to let him see her grin, the nurse waited with Vegeta as Bulma pulled the car into the pick-up circle. The prince crossed the short distance to the passenger seat as dignified as he could, hopping on one foot, and once there, leaned back, closing his eyes.

Bulma glanced at him out of the corner of her eye every so often on the drive back to Capsule Corporation. In all appearances he seemed to be asleep. Except his breathing. Controlled intakes of air without the steadiness the unconscious afforded it. She took her hand off the gearshift and placed it over his own -- squeezing slightly, not expecting a response. But one was elicited; she felt her worry slip away as his fingers squeezed back.