Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Syndrome ❯ Fifteen : Love ( Chapter 5 )

ORSON SCOTT CARD KISSED MY HAND!!!!! Ahem. Anyway…

La-la-la-laaaaazy me! Uh-huh, uh-huh! Me gots my four English classes n' calculus n' my job n' stuff. I'm the Ponderosa Bitch. I do everything. It's a total drag, man. That all leaves little time for writing fanfiction, which sucks. But oh well. My analytical essays and writing exercises and character sketches will keep me practicing. I won't torture you by posting them.

Ok. Last time on "Syndrome": Shit happens. As usual. It was a short chapter, whaddaya want?

Syndrome: 5

As the Briefs family usually rose at different times every morning, breakfast was rarely a family affair, and Tuesday was no exception, leaving the younger generation to dine with only each other. Just as he had last night, Vegeta spoke very little, allowing Bulma to try to maintain a cheerful conversation all by herself. After a few minutes she got the hint, and sipped her second cup of coffee in relative silence. The man's entire being seemed that much more reserved, and she couldn't help but compare this image of him to the Vegeta he'd been at the time of when he wished to Earth from Namek. She remembered him standing on the grassy ground, laughing and loudly gloating about how, now that his two greatest adversaries were (presumed) dead, he was free to do whatever he pleased. That included destroying the planet and taking over the universe. Of course, these seemingly schizophrenic actions of his only led those around him to stare, wondering if dying has done something to his brain.

And now… Now, sitting silently at the table, watching her pick at her plate of scrambled eggs, he seemed to almost be a completely different person. Maybe I should ask Dr. Taber about the effects surgery can have on people like Vegeta…Though, people like him are, admittedly, few and far between.

Leaving her empty plate where it was for someone else to clean up, Bulma stood and glanced around for her keys and purse. "It's almost nine. We'd better start heading over to the hospital so you can get this over with."

She was rewarded with a look that clearly stated, Don't patronize me.

--Which she promptly ignored. "Unless, of course, you'd rather just sit here staring at the table like a catatonic. I'll be in the car."

An answer followed, one which the woman had definitely not expected.

"I am not afraid."

His steadfast gaze slightly perturbed her as he made that solemn declaration, looking for all the world as if it were true. The paler than usual color of his normally ruddy face gave his true feelings away, though. "Did I say you were?"

"You implied it. Close enough."

"Well I apologize, O Fearless One. Just remember, I promised to be there when they knock you out and when you wake up, so that's what I'm going to do, whether you like it or not!"

"Why?"

"Why the hell not?" When no reply was forthcoming, she continued, "Point for me. That makes 24. I'm gaining on you."

"Like hell," he grumbled, standing from the table and making his way across the kitchen tiles to the outside door, where he paused to look over his shoulder at her. "Coming?"

Bulma swiftly grabbed her travel mug off the counter and into it poured the rest of the contents of the coffee pot. Steadily sipping it as she crossed the lawn to her car, she abstractly wondered how in the world she would ever be able to function without her daily dose of caffeine.

*

He hadn't nearly been this nervous at the pre-op almost two weeks ago, Bulma noted, shifting her car into gear and hitting the accelerator. Then, she'd been allowed to accompany Vegeta to the inner rooms of the hospital, where the staff did blood work and took his vital signs. He was even relaxed enough for his respiratory rate and blood pressure to seem normal, a detail that had inherently worried Bulma. No one ever mentioned his unusual blood type. Probably because she'd accidentally hacked into the hospital computer mainframe and accidentally chanced it from "unknown" to "O+", a type she knew from experience he was compatible with. No one survives a gravity room explosion without ample assistance from things like sutures and transfusions.

Afterwards the nurse had led the pair to a small office housing a borderline-obsolete desktop computer, and motioned for each to take a seat. Thence came the customary question and answer, 200-question session on the patient's medical history. Bulma had received her next two shocks of the day when Vegeta not only answered the questions calmly, but with an amazing degree of honesty.

Any broken bones?

"Left leg seventeen times, right leg twelve times, left arm twenty-one times, right arm thirty-two times, collar bone eight times, pelvis three times. Ninety-three in all, along with ribs several hundred times. I've also had about fourteen skull fractures and a large number of concussions."

Needless to say, the young nurse had a lot of typing to do.

"Any… um, childhood diseases?" She asked, as if mortified by the prospect of typing anything else into his file.

"When I was fourteen I came down with a sickness similar to polio, I believe. I am unaware of its actual scientific name, but I was waylaid by it for eight months. It is probably the main cause of my lack of height." He leaned back in his chair and frowned at Bulma, perhaps just remembering her presence and not being very happy with it.

"Anything else? Hernia, ulcer, appendicitis..?"

His eyebrows drew together, and his face might have paled the slightest degree, though both women present assumed it was a simple trick of the lighting. "Appendicitis, age eight."

"How was it treated?"

"Surgery." Voice terse and clipped, Vegeta stared intently at a spot on the wall on the opposite side of the tiny room.

"Was the surgery successful?"

"Probably not."

He would not respond to any other questions about the treatment of that particular problem, so the nurse progressed in her data collecting. The rest of the pre-op appointment went by without much of a hitch, except for when the anesthesiologist appeared. The Saiya-jin would not stop glaring the entire time the tall dark man spoke, and frequently interrupted to get assured that the sedation was almost one hundred percent effective and yes, he would not remember any of the experience.

Bulma pulled out of her musings as she pulled into a parking place at Western Capital General. This was going to be a long day.