Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Battle Is Over ❯ Chapter 1

The Battle Is Over

“No! It can’t be!”

Vegeta leaned heavily on the bathroom counter. Sweat ran down his face and dripped into the sink. His whole body shook, causing the delicate, glass containers lining the counter to rattle against each other. Fear oozed from every pore, tainting his skin with an acrid aroma that only worked to heighten his panic.

“No! It can’t end like this!”

He tipped his head up to look at his reflection in the mirror. His complexion was waxy white beneath unusually wide eyes. His mouth hung open as he gasped for breath to accommodate his increased heart rate - his lips an alarming tint of blue.

Another round of pain ran through him like a cold, steely hand gripping his heart. His stomach felt like stone and his head felt like it was going to explode from the pressure. Great black splotches swam before his eyes. He squeezed them shut, not liking the way they blotted out his reflection like an omen of what would soon come to pass.

“No.”

The whispered plea was directed to any being that possessed the power to stop the inevitable. Vegeta was forced down to his elbows, one hand clutching at his chest. He held his breath until the worst of the pain had passed to keep himself from screaming. The last thing he wanted was for Bulma to suspect anything was wrong. He knew she would insist on rushing him to a hospital for tests which would be more demeaning than the fact that his body was betraying him.

After what seemed an eternity, the grip of pain eased enough to allow him to breathe once more. Slowly and carefully, he sank to the floor, sitting with his back against the cool porcelain of the tub, his forehead resting on his knees. Through sheer force of will, he was able to coax his heart to once more return to its normal rhythm, pumping blood around his body as if nothing had happened.

“Damn it!” he cursed and let his head fall back onto the side of the tub.

His hand still shook slightly as he attempted to wipe the sweat from his eyes. At least it had happened before his shower so he would be able to wash the stench of pain and fear from his skin. Then he would be able to forget it and convince himself nothing was wrong. Again.

And, again, he wondered how much longer he would be able to effectively fool himself. Sooner or later, someone would find out his secret. The shame would be worse than the pain he suffered in silence. A Saiyan shouldn’t have to be afflicted like this. It just wasn’t normal.

“Vegeta? Are you done yet?”

Bulma’s voice through the bathroom door was like a dousing of ice water, bringing Vegeta back from wallowing in self pity.

“I’ll be done when I’m done, woman!” he shouted, relieved that he was able to control his voice and sound normal. “Just leave me alone!”

“Fine! I’ll go use Trunks’ bathroom then,” she snapped back.

When he was sure she had left their bedroom, Vegeta got himself up off the floor and started the water running for his shower. He stripped off the sweat pants he used as pajamas and paused to look at himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.

“There should never be such a thing as an ‘old’ Saiyan,” he muttered as he examined his body’s reflection.

Although nearing the earth age of 90, Vegeta knew he looked much younger than any earthling of the same year. But to his critical eye, he saw every flaw that made him unfit to be called a warrior.

His hair was still thick, yet graying more and more each year. His face was thinner and permanently creased with frown lines around his forehead, eyes, and mouth. His once granite physique was now softer from decreased activity and he ached more often than not. His proud stance seemed more forced than before and he no longer strutted about, silently daring anyone to defy him.

“Maybe it’s good that my eyesight isn’t as sharp as it used to be,” he said as he eased himself under the warm water. “I’d probably find more wrong with me.”

By the time he was clean and dressed, he felt more like his old self again. The thought of the chest pains was pushed to the farthest reaches of his mind as he enjoyed his breakfast in the warm sunlight coming through the kitchen window.

“You do remember Trunks is coming home today, don’t you?” Bulma asked, struggling to open a small medicine bottle.

“I remember.” Vegeta sighed and grabbed the bottle out of her hand. With one quick twist, he had the cap off and handed it back to her.

“So I need you to run to the store for a few things.”

“Why do I have to go?” he complained. His loathing for the busy city had not changed since first coming to live on the planet. “Why can’t you do it?”

“I can’t get around as good as you do,” she reminded him. She popped one of the pills into her mouth and washed it down with her juice. “And if I go, I’ll be too tired this afternoon.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, pushing himself from the table. “Just give me the list so I can get this over with.”

Vegeta took off in the aircar, reveling in the morning air blowing against his face. He had not flown for so long that he didn’t realize how much he missed that feel. Without anywhere to go or anyone to battle, he had no reason to fly.

The list he had been given was long, but Bulma assured him everything could be obtained in one place. For this, he was thankful. The faster he could get back home, the better. He parked in the ramp outside the enormous building and braced himself for the insanity of shopping.

“It will be just a few minutes,” the druggist told him after reading through the list of Bulma’s prescriptions. “I’ll call you when they’re ready.”

Vegeta wandered aimlessly around the pharmacy area, marveling at the amount of medicines the people on this planet consumed. There were bottles and boxes for every ailment or complaint he could imagine, and a few he had never heard of. A muscle pain medication tempted him, but he stubbornly refused to give in. A display of reading glasses also caught his attention, but after trying one on and seeing - in perfect clarity - how idiotic he looked in the mirror, he decided it wasn’t worth it. He didn’t read that much anyway.

The bag of medicine in hand, he continued to hunt down the other items on this wife’s list. All went well until he was on his way back to his vehicle.

“Oh, hey there, Vegeta.”

He turned toward the voice and his heart skipped a beat in shock. The bags slipped from his numb fingers. Just as they were about to crash on the pavement, spilling the contents along the walk, they were rescued by quick, sure hands.

“Kakarot?” Vegeta whispered, squinting to see clearer.

“Oops. Watch it there. Maybe you’d better let me carry those for you.”

“Goten! It’s you. I thought . . .” he trailed off, not wanting to sound as old and senile as he was feeling right at that moment.

“That I looked like Dad?” Goten finished for him. “I know. I get that a lot. Everyone tells me I’m a dead ringer for that statue they made of him. So where were you headed? I can take these back to your car for you.”

Vegeta held back a growl of indignation. He wanted to tell Goten that he didn’t need his help; that he was perfectly capable of carrying the aircar home if he chose to. But just seeing the smiling, eager face of his only friend’s son was more calming than he was even willing to admit to himself.

“Suit yourself,” Vegeta said with a regal lift of his chin. He led the way, his back as straight and proud as ever it used to be.

“Trunks is coming home today, isn’t he?” Goten asked, following the older Saiyan through the parking ramp. “I can’t wait for the party tomorrow. It’s going to be great seeing him again.”

“Hmph.” Vegeta didn’t want to admit he knew nothing of a party. He wondered if he hadn’t listened when Bulma told him, or if the get-together was only for the younger set. He reached into his pocket for his keys, but a sudden numbness caused them to slip from his grasp to the ground. He stared at them a moment, then at the hand that had betrayed him. The fingers obeyed when he clenched them into a fist, but could barely feel the pressure of being pressed together.

"Here, let me get that for you." Goten easily juggled the bags as he bent to scoop the keys off the pavement. "Do you want me to unlock it for you?"

"No." Vegeta snatched the keys back with his other hand and pressed the button that unlocked and opened the aircar's doors. "Just put that in the seat so I can get going."

The younger man complied, but paused before shutting the door. "Are you sure you're all right, Vegeta? You don't look like yourself. It would be no trouble for me to drive . . ."

"I just don't like shopping!" he snapped back and started the motor.

Goten took the hint and pushed the door closed. Taking a step back, he gave a wave as Vegeta backed out of the parking place and sped out of the ramp.

Vegeta looked in the rear-view mirror and shook his head sadly. The man looked exactly like Kakarot did all those years ago. Same spiky hair, same goofy smile, same muscular build, same desire to help people. The little boy he remembered was now one of earth's leading warriors, even stronger than he and Kakarot had been at that age.

As he drove home, Vegeta thought about his friend and former foe. It had been so many years since he had disappeared with that dragon. Since then, peace had reigned on this planet and there were very few battles. And all of them had been easily handled by the younger generation. No place for a life-long warrior. Even one who had come to terms with his limited destiny.