Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Syndrome ❯ All and After ( Chapter 4 )

This is a shorter chapter (sorry!) so I'm making a loooooonger author's note. Don't read it! Anyhow, school starts tomorrow (my senior year--rah rah and all that) so updates won't be as frequent as these first few. Sorry. Now it's time for me to post this thing so I can take my two-hour-long bath whilst listening to the Beatles and dreaming of Harrison Ford.

Anybody see "Signs" yet? I saw it last night, and liked it. Didn't love it, but it was the perfect amount of spookiness I really needed. Woo-hoo. Won't tell you any more. Don't want to ruin it.

I bought a book (among many others) yesterday at Barnes & Noble. "The Dictionary of Clichés", and it is quite spiffy. I love it! J Also got the word-lovers dictionary. Because I already memorized the regular dictionary. Don't look at me like that! I know! I know!

In response to comments on my Vege-torture: I finally managed to catch his (first) death scene on Cartoon Network, and all I could manage to utter was, "Damn! Frieza is a bitch!"

Syndrome: 4

Nightmares were such a pain in the ass.

That was all Vegeta deemed necessary to admit to himself in the blackness of his room. His nighttime visions were never entirely accurate depictions of past realities, just twisted perversions resulting from latent fears and unexpressed animosities. All of that particular night's grief was borne from a bad bout of childhood appendicitis, compounded by not nearly enough anesthesia present in his thick Saiya-jin bloodstream, and the entire operation being performed by a certain white lizard that had, for a time, a passing interest in the medical arts.

The young man still bore the scars from the resulting first--and, invariably, last--attempt at healing instead of destroying.

But still… the seemingly innocuous facts entwined in the memory did nothing to assuage the pit of anxiety that appeared in his stomach every time he thought about that which was taking place in the morning. Phobias were such highly inconvenient things, he concluded, so it was no large surprise realizing he'd unconsciously formed one over the years. After tomorrow, Vegeta decided he'd find a way of overcoming that particular weakness before it became too much of a liability. There would be no more of this worrying crap, after tomorrow.

That is the LAST TIME I eat a bite of Mom's "secret recipe special macaroni and cheese," Bulma thought to herself as she exited the bathroom around four a.m., rubbing her eyes with her knuckles as she headed back down the hallway to her blesséd, warm, sleep-inducing room. There was a half-full, soon-to-be-empty bottle of Imodium AD in there, more precisely, in her handbag resting on the dresser, with her name on it.

However, as she passed Vegeta's door, she couldn't help but give in to the urge to peek in and check on him. If judging his screams by volume and portent, this had not been his worst nightmare to date; she was concerned nonetheless about his emotional state considering the circumstances. He never spoke a direct word about it, but there was still an almost tangible anxiety about him whenever the subject of correcting the developmental problem with his knee was brought forth.

Luckily, the prince appeared to be in quiet repose at the moment, when Bulma's eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to discern his appearance. One would think that, being oblivious to the rest of the universe at the time, his features would smooth out as he slept, and he'd cease his ferocious scowling. Such was not the case, however, and even when he wasn't dreaming of past transgressions made by or against him, that ever-present frown and furrowed eyebrows prevailed.

It was almost like that signature expression on his face had been chiseled out of granite. The same with indifference. He frequently wore that mask, as well.

Breathing a sigh of relief that all was well in the universe, the woman retreated back to the familiarity and normalcy of her own living space. She had a foreboding feeling in the pit of her stomach where tomorrow was concerned, and any missed sleep was bound to worsen the stress. When she got up again in a few hours, the first thing she planned to do was brew a double pot of coffee, with extra for the road. Because of the effects of the drugs and the surgery, she was pegged to drive the reluctant Saiya-jin to and from the hospital. Hopefully he'd still be lost in his thoughts during both trips, so she wouldn't have to attempt conversation.

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Next time: So it's morning, and they're on their way to the hospital, right? Okay. Stuff happens. I'm no good with this "next time" stuff. Don't expect another one.