Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Two Sides to a Story ❯ Home Sweet Home ( Chapter 9 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Two Sides To A Story
Chapter Nine - Home Sweet Home


Vegeta left the hospital but he didn't get very far.

When he pulled out of the parking lot, he almost sideswiped a
huge man crammed into a compact hovercar who was coming in. It hadn't
been the lummox's fault at the near miss, it had been his and that was
the only reason that he didn't start screaming expletives at the poor,
befuddled soul. The bearded man, who had been wearing an odd cap with
horns, actually smiled and waved at him as if people aimed their
vehicles at him every day. Vegeta figured the odd fellow was likely
some psychiatric patient on day privileges and dismissed the entire
incident the minute he pulled onto the road.

Besides, he had concerns of his own.

Part of his problem was that he had been driving non-stop for the
last fourteen hours and he was bone-tired. Another was his
unfamiliarity with the vehicle and the established road rules that came
with the responsibilities of driving. For one thing, he couldn't seem
to wrap his brain around the concept of a speed limit. If the vehicle
was designed to go fast, why did the posted limits hinder that ability?
He even got into a nasty debate with a state trooper who had pulled him
over about the puzzling concept and had been issued two tickets; one
for speeding, and the other for verbally harassing a police officer. As
soon as the officious prick was out of sight, Vegeta threw the tickets
out of the window and slammed his foot back down on the gas pedal. What
the fuck did he care about tickets for, anyway? They weren't in his
name.

The most important thing interfering with his concentration was
the constant pounding between his ears. He should have become
accustomed to it by now; the headaches were a constant companion but he
was unprepared for the ferocity of his present migraine. Lapsing into
the Super Saiyan form had been a terrible mistake but the urgency of
the moment had demanded it be done. With his blood empowered by so much
ki, Trunks shouldn't develop so much as a mild case of diaper rash
anytime in the near future. The babe will sleep peacefully through the
nights now and Vegeta was going to relish that silence. As bad as the
nightmares were, for some reason the child-like wailing of, "Vehta!"
over and over in his mind was much worse. He was looking forward to
some downtime that wasn't plagued with guilt.

Stopping at the first motel he saw, Vegeta went inside the main
office and stepped up to the counter. As ever, the uniform he had on
always commanded immediate respect and swift response and this time was
no exception. He had concluded that the outfit was this world's
equivalence of Saiyan armor, which was why he wore it.

The manager checked him in and gave him a room as far from any
activity as possible and Vegeta gave him a credit card to pay for the
purchase. He signed the slip and was out of the door, barely hearing
the man call after him, "Have a good sleep Corporal Tucker."

Pulling the jeep into the parking spot in front of his assigned
unit, Vegeta gathered his waning strength as he stared apathetically at
the motel room. The distance from the vehicle to the door seemed like
miles and it was with visible effort when he climbed out of the jeep
and walked over to it. When he tried to unlock the door, his right hand
spasmed and dropped the key. He tried to dismiss the clumsiness from
the self-sustained wound on his wrist but he knew better. Picking up
the item, he unlocked the door with his left hand and kicked it closed
when he was through. Not even giving the surroundings a once-over
glance, he focussed solely on the bed and collapsed upon it with a
weary groan. Gripping the bedspread, he rolled over, cocooning himself
in the fabric and pulling into a tight, little ball.

His own heartbeat was deafening in his ears, actually making him
wince in pain. Burrowing his face into the pillow, he rasped weakly,
"Enough is enough. Just this once, let me sleep in peace."

The headache only intensified until the stricken Saiyan enfolded
his throbbing skull with his arms and tried not to scream with the
agony. It could have been mere minutes or prolonged hours but he
eventually did fall into a deep sleep.

But, as ever, peace eluded him.

>>>>>

Opening his eyes a bare crack, all that Vegeta saw was sterile
white. The smells that assailed his nostrils were bleach, a multitude
of human scents and medicinal concoctions. A hospital, then. Craning
his head slightly to the right, he half-expected to catch sight of the
blue-haired woman sleeping at the table by his bedside. There was a
woman there, but she wasn't familiar. Almost comically, the pair locked
eyes for one moment before the nurse rose to her feet and ran for the
door. He could hear her calling urgently for the doctor, as if his
waking out of a simple nap was anything to get excited over. Stupid
humans, he concluded and dozed off.

When he woke up again, the smells assured him that he wasn't
alone even before he opened his eyes. The nurse was poised over him,
which really didn't alarm him. It was the person standing beside her
that caused him to tensen up in immediate recognition.

"It's all right," Professor Gerald Willis was saying.
"Everything's going to be all right now, V-"

Releasing a terrifying roar of rage, Vegeta leapt from the bed
and pounced onto the startled scientist, knocking them both to the
floor. Raising his right arm to begin a punch that would guarantee his
fist plow through his past tormentor's face, the Saiyan visibly
hesitated.

His right arm wouldn't work.

"What the hell did you do to me?!" He yelled in the other man's
face. Rather than get a verbal answer, the all to familiar sensation of
a needle stinging him in the shoulder was his reward. Slipping
unwillingly into oblivion, Vegeta could only think; I'm back in
Installation Fifteen. I never got out- It's just been a dream all
along. What about Frieza!?! What if he's still alive? !!NO!!

Thrashing against the darkness full of fears both real and
imagined, it seemed to be an eternity before the Saiyan finally managed
to claw his way towards the light. The bitter taste of sedation was
heavy in his mouth, making his stomach clench with nausea. He noticed
that the room was dimmer. Nighttime. A light was turned on beside his
bed, transforming the private room into solemn grays and lurking
shadows. There was a window to his left; the blinds carefully drawn
shut. The surroundings confused him. Where were the transparent cage
and the armed guards? Nothing made any sense!

He slowly sat up in bed and looked down at his right arm. There
was the sensation of pins and needles in his fingers and when he tried
to make a fist all that he could manage was a shuddering claw. The
entire limb acted as if it were asleep and, as the time passed and the
sensation refused to abate, Vegeta's worry intensified. It seemed very
important to look out that window and be assured that it wasn't water
on the other side of the glass. When he got to his feet, his right leg
threatened to buckle and he had to hold the bed for support as he made
his laborious way over to the window. Leaning against the wall, he
pulled the blinds apart with his good hand and didn't realize he had
been unconsciously holding his breath until he saw the view. Exhaling
in relief, he saw the sprawling lights of a cityscape from his
vantagepoint. "I'm not at that prison," he muttered aloud.

"No, you're not," responded a voice behind him.

Vegeta whirled and this time his ailing leg refused to hold him
and he pitched backwards against the wall. Sliding to the floor, he
pressed himself into the corner, baring his teeth in desperate self-
defense as Professor Willis advanced. Frieza had learned the hard way
how sharp those teeth could be. If this flesh butcher got any closer,
he was going to discover a similar thing, only this time Vegeta was
going to go for the throat.

Perhaps sensing that, the doctor calmly seated himself on the bed
and regarded the alien for a long moment. The eyes behind his
spectacles were not condemning or hateful, but actually troubled and
concerned. When he finally spoke, all he offered was, "I'm sorry."

Vegeta narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"I didn't trust Speci- Frieza right from the start. I should have
suspected that there was an underlining reason that he was so helpful.
You both had some history together, didn't you?"

Willis didn't really need confirmation on the observation. The
vague, horrific details of the two aliens past relationship were made
brutally clear in the moments before Installation Fifteen was
destroyed. "Hector was wrong to let Frieza get to you. That breech of
security was more to blame for Fifteen's destruction than you were. But
you were wrong to kill his fiancée. I was wrong to experiment on you.
It's a vicious cycle of blame and it ends right here and now."

"You're going to kill me," Vegeta realized in as calm a voice as
possible, given the circumstances. As weak as he was, there wasn't much
he could do about it.

The scientist shook his head. "I'm going to help you."

"I don't need your help."

"Fine. Walk out that door then. I won't stop you," he said,
motioning to the exit.

Vegeta's dark eyes flitted from the doctor to the door and back
again. He didn't make a move.

"It's been twenty-two days since you escaped from the
Installation. You've been in a coma for all of that time," the
scientist informed him, relieved to see a spark of surprise underneath
all of the hatred in the Saiyan's eyes. "A Navy Search and Rescue team
found you on an island and took you to the infirmary. You were wearing
a soldier's uniform and no one figured you were anything else. Until I
saw you, that is. I was the only other survivor."

"Couldn't wait to haul me back under the microscope," Vegeta
sneered with open contempt.

"You're not under Military containment. You're in a Veteran's
Hospital in Jacques City. As far as anyone is concerned, including my
own superiors, you are Corporal Garth Tucker. That's the owner of the
soldier's uniform you were wearing when you were found. As far as I'm
concerned, you're him."

Shaking his head in denial, Vegeta said, "That's not possible.
Human's have relatives, friends-"

"The ultra-secret nature of the Installation demanded that it be
staffed with personnel with no close familial relations. Tucker was an
only child, both of his parents were dead. He was a recent transfer so
he had no close friends. You could effortlessly slip into his identity
and no one would be the wiser for it."

After a long considering pause, the Saiyan decided to shelve this
information for now. There were more pressing concerns that needed to
be addressed. "What's wrong with me?"

"MRI scans reveal that you had a severe cerebrovascular
hemorrhage in the left frontal lobe resulting in partial musculo-
skeletal paralysis-"

"English!"

"You had a stroke, Vegeta. There was bleeding into your brain,
which caused damage. That's why your right arm and leg is weak. It
could have been the result of a blow or previous injury-"

"It was the poison that you bastards pumped into me night and day
that's responsible for this," Vegeta growled. He pushed himself to his
feet by sheer will alone and willed his right leg to respond. It was
trying to cooperate despite the fact that the signals were messed up,
but it was a start.

Professor Willis was shaking his head. "That was just necessary
sedation-"

"-That Frieza concocted thanks to you idiots! Do you think
anything other than a poison would actually work on me?" The Saiyan was
almost screaming in his frustration. "He told me that himself on the
island!"

The calmness that the physician exhibited suddenly faltered.
"Specimen F escaped?"

Despite the grim circumstances, Vegeta allowed himself one small
gloating smile. "Don't worry. He didn't live for very long. And you
won't find any of his DNA to clone, either. I made damn sure of that."

Willis pursed his lips as he took measure of the alien before
him. "You created that volcano on the island," he mused. "What happened
after you used your power?"

"I-" Vegeta hesitated, struggling past the fuzziness in his brain
to remember the events following Frieza's death. There had been pain,
that he remembered. Terrible, piercing misery and then… blackness. He
shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Give me some clothes. I'm getting
out of here."

"I really hope that you'll reconsider that," the doctor said
gravely.

"No more of your bullshit!" Vegeta bellowed. "I'm leaving right
now!" When the human showed no intention of assisting his request the
last of the Saiyan's waning patience faded. Instinctively, he raised
his left hand, palm-up in the doctor's face. "I've had about enough of
you-"

The instant he flexed the tendrils of his dormant ki, his breath
caught in his throat at the harsh, seething agony that suddenly ripped
through his mind. Gripping the sides of his head, he was only dimly
aware that he was screaming, the sound drowned out by the deafening
throbbing between his ears that seemed to mimic Frieza's laughter-

>>>>>

Thrashing against the fabric that enveloped him, Vegeta fell out
of the motel bed, colliding with the nightstand beside it. The lamp
shattered and the sound helped to bring the Saiyan out of his dream and
back to reality. Blinking rapidly, it took him a minute to remember
where he was. His eyes slid to the front door and he suddenly got to
his feet and sprinted for it, throwing it open. He thought he had
sensed a faint ki but there was nobody outside of his room. Casting a
thorough glance at the darkening surroundings, he went back inside and
walked into the bathroom.

"You're getting paranoid," he told his reflection as he gripped
both sides of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. He didn't
like what he saw; dark circles under bloodshot eyes, a pale complexion
that appeared sickly, and that damned hair! It was growing out quickly
but the mere sight of the short bristles was enough to incite a
dangerous rage inside of him. With a growl of anger, he plowed his fist
directly into the mirror, shattering it. That damning reflection
taunted him from a hundred pieces of jagged silver as he ran cool water
over his injured wrist. The bite had crusted over but the flesh
surrounding it was hot and swollen. Resolving to tend to it when he got
home, he wrapped a clean towel protectively around the wound.

Checking his watch, he was surprised to see that he had slept for
over five hours. The migraine had faded to the background, allowing him
to think past the pain again. As much as he would have liked to succumb
to his weariness, he also wanted to get out of this damned city and all
of its haunting reminders. Everywhere he went in the Western Capital,
all that he saw was the Capsule Corporation logo. It was time to get
the hell out.

His own resolve betrayed him when he deliberately missed the exit
leading out of the city and turned down the boulevard that led directly
to the Headquarters compound. Parking across the street, he shut off
the engine and leaned back in the seat, crossing his arms. It was full
night now and the lights were on in the upper floors of the building
where the Briefs family had their living quarters. Once in awhile, his
keen eyes would catch sight of a silhouette in a window and he would
unconsciously tensen until the figure moved on. There had been a time
when he had considered that place his home but it was closed off to him
now. His words to her in the hospital had cemented that reality. She
had not pursued him when he had made his exit. She hadn't even tried.
He had opened his heart and soul to her and had only watched it get
thrown back in his face. Their strange bond had dissolved with only the
babe as evidence that it had ever existed at all.

"You win," he muttered under his breath, damning the sentiment
but unable to prevent it. Bulma had outsmarted and manipulated him into
achieving her goal; a feat worthy of a true Saiyan wench. She had
tricked him using her own wits while he was none the wiser for it; too
cock-struck to notice the deception. He had to respect her as much as
he resented doing so. "I've never admitted losing to Kakarrot or even
to Frieza, but I will to you. You won this battle fair and square."

Cursing the tightness in his throat, he turned the ignition and
sped off, heading for the freeway that would lead him out of the
Capital. It would be the last time that he would ever set foot within
its limits. When he pulled onto the onramp heading east, he resolved
that he wasn't going to feel any regret or look back.

He lost his struggle with the decision and ended up doing both.

>>>>>

It was a long drive for the Saiyan prince and there were times
when it seemed as if he were the only person on the road, as the
kilometers passed by. Dangerously close to falling asleep behind the
wheel, his thoughts drifted back to the precious time that he had spent
with Bulma at the Hammorski Plaza. It had been a brief period where the
both of them had been able to drop their guards and one of the only
times in memory that Vegeta figured he had ever been truly happy. In
that handful of days, he had reclaimed a portion of his lost identity
thanks to isolation, freedom and a puzzling emotion from the woman that
she liked to call love. He had never been regarded as anything more
then a possession, thanks to Frieza's indifference, and had permitted
that to cloud any expectations in possible relationships. Never in his
wildest dreams could he have fathomed that someone would be able to
capture his heart, tame it and claim it as their own.

Even now, as much as he hated Bulma and cursed her name under his
breath, a part of him still pined for her. The scent of her hair had
been that of sun-warmed clover and the taste of her mouth had instilled
in him a rare desire to pleasure, not torment. Normally a selfish lover
intent on his own release, his ambitions changed dramatically when they
were together. Never before had he been so overwhelmed by the exquisite
nectar of the moist flesh between her alabaster thighs. The taste,
slightly salty and completely feminine, loosened his last inhibitions
and he feasted on her until she screamed her release. There was nothing
that quite equaled the passion from a woman who had been pleasured into
climax first. Certainly, he had appreciated it when her warm lips had
surrounded his sensitive glands, laving the swollen head of his
erection and worshipping it with her swirling tongue. Vegeta reasoned
that perhaps it had to do with gratitude, after all he was quite
skilled with his technique. Perhaps more importantly, was the fact that
their bodies fit so well together. They were both small people and the
ability to look at one another without craning the head up or down was
appealing in its own right. Their mutually slim physiques had
complemented one another, as well. Now that he was out of the picture,
he figured that Yamcha would eventually come crawling back. The mere
thought infuriated him. The human wasn't worthy of her.

The oncoming headlights of a tractor-trailer rig momentarily
blinded him and it wasn't until he rubbed his stinging eyes that he
registered the wetness on his cheeks. He had been thinking of Bulma and
crying, not even aware of it.

"The bitch broke me," he rasped, scrubbing his eyes with the heel
of his hand. His vision warped with bitter tears until it seemed he
were driving underwater as the passing headlights swam by. In
desperation, he turned on the radio for a diversion;

"-staff at the hospital have not released a formal statement
about the boy's miraculous recovery. Witnesses reported that there was
some manner of security breach in the ICU where the Briefs heir was
recuperating but the individual was apparently subdued. Local baseball
phenom, Yamcha, of the Earth's Special Forces, only commented to the
press that the situation was a false alarm. Whatever the confusion, the
entire Western Capital is breathing a sigh of relief tonight that
Trunks Vegeta Briefs is going to make a full re-"

Switching off the radio, Vegeta focused his attention back on the
road, soothed by what he had heard. "Trunks Vegeta Briefs," he said
aloud. His depression lifted with that small morsel of information. The
boy had his name, after all.

>>>>>

Nestled in the mountains of the Continent's Midwest, was the
medium-sized city of Pitch. At the turn of the New Time, it had been a
struggling community of miners intent on making it rich on gold and
other rare ores. When the veins of precious metals grew scarce, so did
the town's population until resurgence in the community two hundred
years ago. Originally named Killian's Reach, for the first man who had
ever scaled the mountain that over-shadowed the struggling community.
It was renamed Pitch forty years ago, for the perpetual shadow that the
same mountain cast over the buildings and streets during the day. A new
enterprise in forestry and tourism kept the small city thriving but the
inhabitants had a puzzling and unique nature about them. Perhaps due to
the isolation or the altitude, the denizens were a brooding and
solitary lot, intent on their own business and not interested in anyone
else's. For its particular demographic, it had an extra-ordinarily high
violence rate and seemed to have the habit of attracting the wrong
element.

Needless to say, Vegeta fit right in even if moving there hadn't
been his original intention…

The Saiyan hadn't stayed long in the Veteran's Hospital, not with
Professor Willis hovering over him like some repentant vampire. The
doctor had allowed his release only when it became evident that Vegeta
was only getting worse under his care, not better. Distrusting the
entire staff, he refused to eat any food provided and only caught bare
snatches of sleep. The only person he paid any attention to was the
physiotherapist, intently listening to her describe the exercises that
would be necessary to regain his mobility. Not allowing her to so much
as come near him, he only did the necessary regime when he was alone.
When he had regained enough dexterity in the fingers of his right hand
to button a shirt, he knew it was time to leave and that was just what
he did. Willis didn't put up much of a fight. Quite honestly, he was
anxious to have the Saiyan out of his sight before there was a new body
count to worry about. Before Vegeta stepped out of the front door,
Willis handed him a manila envelope.

"What's this?" He asked suspiciously. Sniffing it once, he opened
it and saw sheets of paper inside. Held to the documents by a paperclip
was a debit card in Tucker's name.

"Documents that you'll need," Willis told him. "Corporal Tucker's
home address, his social security number, online banking passwords,
even a passport. I've made arrangements that a generous disability
pension will be added each month to the account. Your account. You
should live quite comfortably…"

Glowering in confusion at the obvious hesitation at the end of
the man's sentence, Vegeta was unprepared for what the doctor told him
next. Even before the explanation was over, the Saiyan turned on his
heel and stormed out of the building. Watching him leave, the doctor
released a forlorn sigh and reluctantly returned to his duties.

Following the directions of the address he was given, Vegeta
bought a bus ticket north to the strange city. He would have preferred
to fly under his own power, and would have accomplished the feat if the
headaches and nosebleeds weren't so severe. By the time he stepped off
the bus into Pitch's terminal, he didn't figure that the singing in his
head would have been much worse if he had attempted to fly the distance
after all. Assaulted by confined body odors and the constant murmur of
conflicting voices, Vegeta resolved NEVER to take any form of public
transportation ever again.

Fearing some sort of trap, the Saiyan camped out at a nearby
hotel one block from his supposed home and stayed there for over a
week. Between eating, sleeping and doing his rehabilitation exercises,
he walked past the apartment building several times a day, senses
straining for any hint of deception. He had rarely felt so vulnerable
as he did the day he actually entered the building and went to the
forth floor apartment that was to be his new home.

As he parked in the assigned spot for his unit, Vegeta looked up
at the building with a weary sort of gratitude. He had laid his head in
a great many places over the years but not since he had been hastily
uprooted from his homeworld, did he ever consider any of them truly his
own. Capsule Corporation belonged to the Briefs; he had never had any
claim to it. Even if this place was in the identity of another person,
Vegeta knew that the ownership would never be contested. Only the
building's superintendent had ever met the real Garth Tucker and he had
ended up moving into another city. His replacement was none the wiser
for the switch and really didn't give a damn about anything except the
rent being in on time. Vegeta had only really lived there for about six
weeks, but so far nobody bothered him. It was just how he liked it.

Locking up the jeep, Vegeta entered the lobby and checked the
mail in his slot. The only thing inside was a letter from Publisher's
Clearing House telling him that he might be a millionaire and it
immediately got thrown in the nearby trash bin. Ignoring the elevator,
he went to the staircase and made the laborious ascent to the forth
floor. His right leg rebelled to the stress but he stubbornly forced
himself on. He was still terribly weak and was aware of how easily the
meat-beating losers of the Earth's Special Forces had managed to
prevent him from leaving the hospital. Why no one had come after him to
take advantage of the apparent vulnerability was beyond him but he
wasn't knocking the luck. More than likely, they didn't want him around
anymore than he wanted to be near them. By leaving the Western Capital,
he was doing them all a service.

Limping over to the door of his apartment, he let himself inside
and immediately locked it again, taking an appraising glance around.
Nothing had changed in the furnishings or their arrangement since the
real Corporal Tucker had left for his mission at Installation Fifteen
over six months ago. A movie enthusiast, the soldier had framed movie
posters hanging throughout the apartment that displayed all sorts of
genres; some action, mostly sci-fi and horror. The living room ensemble
was fairly new and comfortable and Vegeta's favorite color; dark blue.
Thankfully, the entertainment center was the real high point of the
Saiyan's discovery. A huge seventy-two inch television screen dominated
the far wall, complete with surround sound speakers. Over the last six
weeks while he recuperated, Vegeta availed himself of the soldier's
immense DVD movie collection and spent more nights sleeping on the sofa
than in one of the apartments two bedrooms. One of the rooms had a
complete bedroom assortment but the other, Vegeta had been pleased to
discover, had been made into an informal weight room. A home gym set
and weight bench dominated the room, as well as a treadmill, recumbent
cycle and some odd contraption called a 'Bow-Flex'. Vegeta had snapped
off two of the supposedly unbreakable arms before he realized that
combinations could be made to increase resistance. Once he had that
figured out, it really wasn't all that bad of a workout.

Concluding that everything was undisturbed, Vegeta went into the
kitchen and then proceeded to search through the cupboards for
something to eat. He still hadn't sorted out grocery shopping very well
and the majority of his food was in the freezer, all packaged meat. The
very first time he had walked past the meat section of the local
supermarket, his stomach had growled loud enough to actually turn
heads. All that meat! Poultry, beef, turkey, lamb- Gods, he couldn't
stop his mouth from watering! He bought an armload of the juiciest
portions and what didn't fit into the freezer ended up as his next
meal. He didn't even bother cooking it.

Intent on catching some much-needed sleep, he chose something
simple and pulled a can of tuna from the cupboard, easily popping the
lid. Selecting a spoon from the drawer, he ate directly from the can,
puzzling over the conversation he'd had with the checkout girl when he
had bought ten of the same cans.

"Oh, somebody has a cat, I see!" She exclaimed as she swiped the
barcode reader over the items.

Vegeta only scowled at her. "Cat?"

Faltering, the girl said, "Well, yeah. This is catfood you're
buying."

Picking up one of the cans, he read the label. "It says that this
is whitefish and tuna. Are you telling me that it's cat meat?"

"No, no… It meant to feed a cat. You want to buy people tuna."

"What's the difference?"

Swallowing, the girl told him to wait and rushed down an aisle,
returning quickly with a can of real tuna. "This is what you want to
buy."

Looking dubiously at the proffered item, Vegeta shook his head.
"It's a dollar more and doesn't have the easy opening top of the other
ones. I'll take what I've got."

"… And you're going to eat it?" The girl was starting to look a
little green.

"Protein is protein, what do I care?" He finally snapped at her.
"Now, are you actually going to do your job and shut up?"

He really didn't know what all of the fuss was about. It was
cheap, easy to open and tasted just fine. It even had a sharp, fishy
odor that appealed to his senses. The next time he went to the store,
he was going to check out the other varieties he had seen; chunky
chicken looked to be the next bet. It appeared to even come with gravy…

After consuming the contents of two cans, he felt sated enough to
finally try and get some sleep. For once, his headache wasn't bad and
he wanted to take advantage of the rare treat. Heading into the
bedroom, he closed the curtains and got undressed in the gloom. He used
to sleep in the nude but ever since his ordeals at Installation
Fifteen, he now wore briefs and a tee shirt. If he was having a
particularly bad time with the memories, he went to bed fully clothed.
There were times, in his nightmares, when he hadn't managed to get away
from Frieza as he lay facedown in his cell. Sometimes, Frieza was the
one who bit first…

Before he dared surrender to his exhaustion, he went into the
bedroom and thoroughly cleansed the wound on his wrist. His
recuperative abilities were hard at work trying to repair the damage
that Frieza's poison had done to his ki, leaving the rest of his system
vulnerable to infection. The last thing he needed was gangrene and
amputation. Considering he had the absolute worst luck of anyone else
in the entire universe, Vegeta wasn't even going to deny the remote
possibility of that happening to him.

Carefully disinfecting the terrible bite, he rubbed an antibiotic
ointment over it and then wrapped it with a sterile bandage. Beads of
sweat popped out on his brow while he worked though his face never
betrayed any discomfort. When he was finished, he opened the medicine
cabinet and pulled out a bottle of tabs. At some point in the past,
Tucker had his wisdom teeth removed and had been prescribed heavy-duty
pain relievers. Vegeta dry swallowed two from the near-empty bottle and
left the bathroom to finally go to bed.

Settling under the covers with a sigh, the Saiyan laced his
fingers behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. Everything should
be falling into place now; Cell was dead, Kakarrot's at peace, the
Earth was out of danger, Trunks was healed. There wasn't anything left
to plague his conscience.

Was there?

Thirteen hundred kilometers away was the mother of his only
child, surrounded by her friends and the love of her family. Bulma
Briefs life was now complete. With no attachments or enemies, she was
ready to face life as she had before Radditz had ever set foot on the
planet and started that viscous, hateful cycle of violence. With her
friends, with her family-

-Without him.

Rolling over onto his side, Vegeta struggled to keep the emotions
at bay. They were self-destructive, served no purpose to his present
situation, and only interfered with his recovery. Before sleep finally
claimed him, he figured that he had to be content with the fact that at
least one of them was happy.

Unfortunately, it wasn't him.


-------------------------------------------------------- --
Chapter Ten: Gohan learns a lesson about the Birds and the Bees… Saiyan
style.