Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Unlikely Bond ❯ Projects ( Chapter 48 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: bdegrees 
A little more history, courtesy of Daikkon.
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / / Hentai / Drama / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.07.2006 | Pages: 9 | Words: 8.3K | Visits: 1.3K | Status: Work In Progress
A little more history, courtesy of Daikkon.
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / / Hentai / Drama / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.07.2006 | Pages: 9 | Words: 8.3K | Visits: 1.3K | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ or any of the characters! If I did, the anime would never end and GT would have never happened!
Story notes: This takes place ten years after the Buu saga. The only differences I can think of is that the whole thing with the world tournament in the last episode never happened and Goku didn't leave to train Uub. I wouldn't count on anything from the movies being part of this story's time line either, 'cause I haven't seen them all and they usually don't fit into the show's time line anyway. Especially that Broly crap. Vegeta cried through, like, that whole movie! That certainly didn't happen in this story....but, that's a different rant altogether. Hope you enjoy!
PLEASE heed warning in story description!! If you missed it, this story is not for children! It is also not for people who do not like stories that contain elements of violence, strong language, adult situations, references to sex and sexual activity between men and women, and men and other men. Oh, and fictional alien men having babies...'cause that's a'happen' here folks...
To my wonderful, wonderful beta-reader, Rowina: Thank you, thank you....thank you... ^-^
But only his friends and family.
“Ya know, maybe we could do this later?” he suggested to Bulma as she opened the door on his side of the air car.
“We’re already here,” she remarked with a smile, gesturing with a hand for him to exit the vehicle. Goku sighed and left the safety and cover of the red sports car. He tugged self consciously on his jacket, as if the fabric could hide his condition. “Don’t worry about it!” Bulma insisted, slipping her arm through his. “You look great! Besides, it’s a week day. I’m sure there won’t be too many people shopping.”
Goku gave her an incredulous look, but stepped into the store through the door she had just opened.
“Welcome to Manternity!”
Bulma grimaced as they were greeted by the enthusiastic store owner. She had to admit that she had been curious about the store after hearing Trunks tell the story of his visit, and she had driven by the larger main site in Central City. When she called the owner the week before, he had been rather pleasant in an intriguing way when she offered him a large sum to close his store to everyone but her and her best friend for the afternoon. She had outlined for him how she was giving the expectant parents a surprise baby shower, but would be bringing Goku along to get a feel for his tastes and preferences. All she required of the business man would be for him to quietly observe and take note of the items that caught Goku’s interest for the purpose of making a registry list.
She had also thrown in an extra thousand for him not to mention it to Goku. Mal had commented that he enjoyed the 'cloak and dagger' feel of the idea.
“Ms. Briefs,” Mal said, taking her hand. “And Mr. Son, so good to see you back!” He took Goku’s hand and shook it firmly. “How is your wife?”
“Uh... good...” Goku stammered. Certainly the man could not be blind to his condition.
“Please, make yourselves right at home. May I have some tea or coffee brought for you?”
“Coffee would be nice,” Bulma replied while Goku declined.
“Right away.” Mal bowed shortly.
“Well,” Bulma sighed, once again linking her arm with Goku’s when they were alone, “this is a lovely place.” He nodded in agreement.
“Yeah...”
“And the staff seems very friendly.” She steered him gently toward the furniture. “So have you decided on a crib yet?”
“I dunno, Bulma,” he told her, running his hand along a chestnut-colored, sleigh style crib. “It does seem kind of a waste...”
“The baby needs some place to sleep the first few months. And look, this one converts into a toddler bed.
Goku’s eyebrows rose as he looked at the full color brochure above the white painted crib.
“...Cool...”
“Finding everything alright?” Mal said, abruptly appearing at Bulma’s side. He handed her the steaming cup of coffee that was giving off the slight scent of vanilla. “This is a very popular model. It has a coordinating changing table, dresser and gliding rocker.” Goku followed his sweeping hand gesture toward the white rocking chair with a blue quilted upholstery.
“Oh... well...that’s very nice.”
Bulma grinned.
“We’ll take the crib and the table,” she said, pleased.
“Oh, Bulma,” Goku protested weakly, “you... you don’t have to.”
“Nonsense!”
Mal removed a notepad from his pocket and made a note.
“Very nice selection.” His eyes seemed to sparkle with a conspiratorial light as he spoke. “If you need anything further, I will be close by.”
Bulma grinned.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you...” Goku frowned as he watched the young owner leave. “... It’s kinda weird... it’s so quiet in here... It was so busy the other time...”
“Anyway!” Bulma spoke up. “Any decision been made on where to put the little tyke ‘till he’s big enough to room with Goten?”
Goku grimaced.
“Not that it won’t be soon, but we were going to put him in Chi Chi’s sewing room. It’s small, but... you know, it won’t be long.”
Bulma patted his arm in silent understanding.
The two leisurely toured the store, stopping to look at bedding, diaper bags and clothing.
“Oh my! Look at these!” Bulma squealed, picking up a tiny one piece jumper with a koala embroidered on the pocket. “This is darling! Of course, it’s also impractical since it doesn’t snap at the crotch.” She deposited the item back on its rack.
Goku sighed.
“Not to mention it will be outgrown in three weeks.” He gave his belly a pat as he continued. “But that’s not anything new to me...”
Bulma stood back and gave him a scrutinizing look.
“You need new things?” she asked, but didn’t wait for his answer. “We can do that today, too.”
“No, Bulma,” he said quickly. “You’ve done too much as it is!”
She turned to him with a look of seriousness that he seldom saw on his oldest friend.
“Nothing I could do will ever come close to what you have done for us.” She smiled then. “Besides, what are friends for?”
She took his hand and led him toward the men’s clothing section. Goku gently pulled her to a stop.
“What?” she asked.
“Bulma,” he spoke quietly, “I don’t think clothing for regular people is going to cut it anymore. I’m huge and mostly in my belly. They don’t make clothes for that.”
Bulma frowned, her eyebrows drawn together as she considered his words.
“Besides,” he finished, “Chi Chi thinks she can work with some of the stuff I already have.”
“Please!” Bulma groaned. “Give the woman a break. I know someone who makes excellent clothing, customized to fit every size.”
Goku looked incredulous.
“Who?”
“My tailor!” she exclaimed happily. “Designer, whatever. He is a jack of all clothing trades.“
“He?”
“Yes, he. He’s brilliant! I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before!”
Goku groaned. “Bulma...”
“Look,” she told him, taking his hands, “he’s great. Very talented. Very discreet. He can be trusted.”
“What are you going to tell him?”
“You think I danced around the issue when I had to make Vegeta clothing after he regrew his tail? No. He just accepts it and does his job.”
Goku didn’t look convinced. Bulma continued.
“Would I put you into a position I thought would hurt you?” she asked, ignoring the little Yamucha voice in her mind that whispered, ‘baby shower.’
“Well... no...”
“Well then. No problem.” She turned to where Mal was ‘taking inventory’ of a display of pacifiers. “I’d like my items delivered, please.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Bulma pulled out her cell phone and had a short conversation as she walked with Goku to the front of the store. Before they reached the register, she closed her phone and turned to him. “Why don’t you go rest your feet in the car while I pay, hmn?”
Goku nodded, but had the distinct look of a condemned man as he walked from the building. When Bulma approached the counter, Mal stepped behind the register.
“Your total is 1878.60,” he told her. “Shipping is free.” He presented a pad of paper and a pen. “If you could please just fill out this form with the delivery location.”
“Thank you. Just put them on the same account I used before,” she told him, filling out the form with Goku’s home address.
“Of course. Would you like me to send you a copy of the registry for approval?”
“That would be great,” she nodded. “Please list it under the ‘Son’ family. And...my friends might need help locating items... um... yeah.”
“Is this his first child?” Mal asked. Bulma bit her lip as she considered.
“Yes... you could say that.”
Mal gave a knowing nod of his head.
“I thought so. He looks like he’s put on a wee bit more weight since we met. Can I suggest some of our more roomy styles of clothing for him?”
“Actually,” she replied, “I’m taking him to a tailor right now.”
“Oh! I know a wonderful tailor in Central City,” Mal responded enthusiastically. “Would you like his name?”
“No, thank you. I have a really great one already.” She handed him the delivery form. “Thanks for all your help.”
“Any time, ma’am,” he said, accepting the slip of paper and handing her a business card in return. “And if there is ever anything else you require, do not hesitate to ask.”
Bulma returned his wide smile.
“I won’t.”
It was sweet of Bulma to take care of him. She was the closest thing he had to family, except for his wife and sons. She was like a sister. That, coupled with the fact that this was her husband’s child he was carrying, made accepting her generosity a little easier.
Bulma soon joined him, a wide grin on her face as she entered the car.
“Mal de Pavon,” she stated, handing Goku an embossed, cornflower blue business card. “Where do you suppose he's from with a name like that?”
Goku examined the card a moment.
“Mars,” he mumbled, reading the small card. “Mal de Pavon. Retail. Design. Entertainment...” He turned toward Bulma with a confused expression. “What kind of entertainment, do you suppose?”
“Only Kami knows, I’m sure,” she laughed. Goku shrugged.
“Well... it says here he is from Central... and I hear that city can’t get any more diverse.”
“True. Speaking of which," she took one hand off the wheel to pat his arm, “you are going to love this guy! He’s a classically trained painter in his first line of work, but he’s a brilliant designer. A genius! He designs all the gowns I wear to parties and the suits I wear to business functions. Oh, and he’s the one who painted the large portrait of me that hangs in the lobby of the commercial lab.”
“Oh, that is nice.”
“Yep. A genius. I can appreciate that quality in a man...”
Goku rolled his eyes and grinned.
The two spent the rest of the drive into Central City sharing small talk. When Bulma pulled the car to a halt near a tall brick high rise, Goku was puzzled.
“Why are we stopping?” he asked.
“This is it!” she exclaimed, unbuckling her seat belt. “This is his studio. Come on.”
Goku shrugged and followed her through the doors of the old-style building and into the elevator in the lobby. Bulma hit the button for the 12th and top story. She turned to Goku and gave him one more encouraging smile.
The twelfth floor consisted of one long barren hallway and a single door. Bulma stepped out, walked to the door and knocked. Goku heard movement on the other side, and he tugged nervously on his jacket again. A million ideas ran through his mind about what to expect from the painting, designing tailor. Most of them were heavily influenced by television.
The door opened, and Goku’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.
“Eiyu!” Bulma exclaimed, leaning forward and giving the young man a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you so much for seeing us on such short notice.” She turned to Goku. “This is my friend, Son Goku. Goku, this is Eiyu Shiroitora.”
Eiyu Shiroitora was not what Goku was expecting. There was no hint of the suave, impeccably dressed, meticulously groomed fashionista he was imaging. The designer was a young man, possibly in his early forties, with black unruly hair and dark eyes. He was dressed in a t-shirt and faded, paint smeared jeans and was barefooted. When he spoke, it sounded as though he had just woken from a nap or just taken some kind of sedative.
“How ya doin’?” he greeted, shaking Goku’s hand. “Come on in.”
The apartment was a large studio, with a kitchen to one side and one door at the far end, presumably a bathroom. The wood floors were honey colored, but lacking the shine of stain and wax. One side of the large room had drop cloths covering the floor, and a large canvas stood braced in the center. It was half completed, but the image of a woman standing in front of a beautiful fantasy landscape was stunning.
“Is that your latest commission?” Bulma asked, eyeing the piece of art.
“Yeah,” the artist sighed, leaning back on a tall stool and squinting at his work. “For a friend. A wedding anniversary gift for his wife.”
“It’s beautiful,” she stated.
Eiyu turned his dark eyes to Goku then to Bulma.
“So... What is the clothing emergency? Is Capsule Corp giving another spur of the moment, new product unveiling bonanza?”
Bulma smirked.
“Not this time,” she replied. “Actually... it’s a little unusual.”
He raised an eyebrow. Goku suddenly seemed very interested in the exposed beam ceiling.
“More unusual than hubby’s tail?”
An amused giggle escaped her before she could respond. She glanced to Goku.
“...I’d say so... You might find it a bit...shocking.”
Eiyu ran a hand through his dishevelled hair.
“Bulma,” he spoke with a dead serious tone. “Yesterday I made a caftan for a grizzly bear and a white silk-linen suit for a shapeshifting pig. I live in Central. You cannot shock me.” He smirked then. “I mean...silk-linen...who wears that?”
Bulma looked again to her dearest friend. Goku sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor.
“My friend is an alien,” she stated. Eiyu gave him a cursory once over. Bulma's friend didn't appear to be any more alien than her husband.
“And?”
Bulma bit her lip.
“And he’s pregnant.”
There was an almost imperceptible rise in the designer’s heavy brows.
“...Really?” he asked, intrigued.
Bulma gave one nod of her head. Eiyu seemed more impressed than shocked. Bulma spoke again.
“He is becoming uncomfortable in the clothes that he finds off the rack. I was hoping that you could help us out.”
Eiyu turned from them and headed toward the kitchen.
“Take off your coats. I’ll put on some tea.”
Bulma smiled at Goku as she stripped from her coat. Reluctantly, Goku pulled off the safety of his jacket. It wasn’t like it hid much anyway, these days.
The dark-haired artist returned moments later with a measuring tape in hand.
“How far along are you?” he asked Goku.
“Um...twenty...twenty seven weeks,” the Saiyan replied nervously, lifting his arms as he was measured across the widest part of his belly.
“And how long do you have left?”
Bulma answered for him.
“According to our information, about seventeen weeks.”
Eiyu nodded, kneeling down to take the outer seam and in seam measurements.
“How much weight are you gaining a week, on average?”
“He’s been averaging one half to one pound a week,” Bulma replied. “We think he may gain about ten to fifteen more total.”
Eiyu nodded again, moving behind Goku to take the measurement of the width of his shoulders and the length of his arms.
“What do you think?” Bulma asked.
“No problem,” he replied. Goku frowned.
“Will it be a caftan?” he asked mournfully. It was the first time their host smiled.
“No. Let me make a few sketches, and you can tell me what you like.”
“Thanks,” Goku replied. Bulma put an arm happily around Goku and gave him an affectionate squeeze.
“I told you it would be alright!” she whispered. She turned then to the designer. “So Eiyu, how’s your family?”
“Oh... pretty good.” He made two cups of tea and offered them places to sit before taking up his sketch pad and pulling a chair close to theirs. “My oldest is adjusting well to the university. Says he sees Trunks in the library a lot. The younger two are still hating school.” He shrugged. “Kids. Meiji is still feeling empty nest syndrome.”
Bulma placed a hand on her stomach, remembering the pangs of sadness she felt when Trunks started college, and he was still living at home.
“Is Meiji your wife?” Goku asked in an attempt to join the conversation. Eiyu’s eyes met his momentarily before he replied.
“My husband.”
Goku’s eyes widened.
“Does... does he have this ability, too?” he asked hesitantly, touching his belly.
“No.” Eiyu shook his head. There was a knock at the door, and he stood. He gave a huff of laughter as he walked to the door. “But he would have given his mother in exchange for that ability. And my brother-in-law would love to meet you.”
He opened the door, and the new arrival began talking animatedly.
“Eiyu! You’ll never believe it! There was this guy who was shopping at my store, and I didn’t think about it until he actually left, but I have the strangest feeling that he is... sitting in your studio.” Mal stopped talking upon seeing Bulma and Goku. “... Hi again.”
“Hi,” they returned in unison.
“Well,” Eiyu spoke in his tired sounding voice, “I see you’ve already met.”
“Mal is your brother in law?” Bulma laughed. Eiyu shrugged.
“Yeah... but I married his brother anyway.” Mal frowned.
“May I use your restroom?” Goku cut in. Eiyu gestured toward the door at the end of the room.
“Be my guest.”
When Goku left the room, Mal began speaking.
“That is incredible! He really is, isn’t he!?” he asked Bulma. “How exciting! Eiyu, he is Manternity!”
“Please,” Bulma broke in, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t make such a big deal about this. Goku didn’t... choose this...”
Mal’s look of jubilation slid from his face. Eiyu’s expression remained neutral.
“Oh,” Mal said softly.
Bulma gave him a smile.
“We really do appreciate all that you’ve done for us so far.”
Mal nodded and settled quietly onto a chair. For a few moments all that could be heard was the light scratching of Eiyu’s pencil on his sketch paper. Goku rejoined them shortly. Eiyu addressed him.
“These are just ideas, mind you,” he spoke, handing the sketch pad to the Saiyan. Goku took the paper apprehensively.
“Wow...” he said, surprised. “These are... really good.” The designs were nothing like he had imagined. They weren't the usual oversized maternity clothes or caftans; they looked like normal, everyday clothes.
“What did I tell you?!” Bulma asked happily. She directed her next question to Eiyu. “How soon can you get started?”
Eiyu shrugged.
“I can always put you at the top of my list. Why don’t you two come back in the middle of the week for a fitting, and the final product shouldn’t take too much longer after that.”
“Thanks,” Bulma beamed, standing up and hugging him. “You’re the best!”
Goku stood as well.
“Thank you,” he said simply. Eiyu gave a nod.
“No prob. I only hope it works out.”
Goku nodded absently, feeling the weight of the designer’s statement. “... Me, too.”
“Not bad,” he remarked, causing the boy to grin. “You’re getting better.”
“Thanks,” Trunks replied, wiping a hand over his sweaty brow. In the hour they had been training, it was the first blow he had landed that hadn't been blocked. “I’d get better even faster if I didn’t have to spend so much time studying. But... ya know...”
“Education is important,” Vegeta stated, crossing his arms. “And you certainly overloaded yourself with classes... so your mother tells me.”
He shrugged. “I just want to get done as quickly as possible. I’m ready to get to work.”
Vegeta narrowed his eyes.
“You already work for the company. You’ll have the rest of your life to work.” He paused before adding, “Enjoy your youth. Don’t squander it.” His son smiled.
“I won’t, Papa.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the opening of the patio door. Daikkon bowed to them both.
“Forgive the intrusion, sire, your highness, but I have a status report.” Vegeta gave a nod, indicating for him to continue. “The computer simulations on the regeneration tank are complete. It is ready for live testing.”
Trunks turned to his father who had not yet responded to the information. “Papa?”
Vegeta gave another nod. “Understood. There is no time like the present.” He turned from them and walked several paces further into the yard. “Very well, Daikkon,” he said, turning back. “Let’s see what you've got.”
Daikkon’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Sire?”
“Dad, certainly you aren’t going to test it yourself!” Trunks exclaimed. “What if it doesn’t work?!”
Vegeta frowned.
“Better I find out now than when you need it,” he replied testily. “Now, Daikkon, I’m going to lower my ki as far as I can. You hit me with, well, whatever it is you have." Daikkon opened his mouth to speak, but the prince interjected. “And I mean now, damnit!”
The young Saiyan risked a second glance to Trunks before he crouched down into an attack posture.
“Stick around, boy,” Vegeta said. “In case this doesn’t work.”
Trunks ran a hand through his hair in nervous anticipation. He could feel the strong ki presence that Daikkon was building in his palms. The very idea of what was going to happen made his stomach ache.
Daikkon placed his hands together, merging the two energy spheres and forcing them into one.
Vegeta braced himself, but suppressed his power level. He could see the ki collecting in the young Saiyan’s hands and waited for the inevitable impact.
Daikkon did not voice the attack, but merely let the ki sphere blast toward its target. It crossed the short distance in barely a second of time before colliding heavily with Vegeta’s chest.
“Dad!” Trunks exclaimed, dashing across the lawn. Daikkon was right behind him. Trunks dropped to his father’s side and surveyed the wound. The fabric of his shirt was charred around the blast site, and there was a deep, gaping hole in his chest where the now incinerated part of his shirt was. The exposed muscle twitched convulsively, and blood was running down his chest. “Oh God...” The teen turned to Daikkon. “Help me! I’ll carry him, you open the door to the lab.” He didn’t wait for confirmation or reply before pulling his father into his arms and flying toward the lab. Daikkon was at his side and forced open the window in the Capsule Corp building. Trunks flew through the hall and into the lab.
Daikkon immediately began programming the machine as Trunks laid his father gently on the ground and ripped the blood soaked shirt from his torso.
Daikkon dropped down next to the prince and fitted a breathing mask over his face. Vegeta gasped, his body spasming in protest. His eyes snapped open and darted around the room in a moment of panic.
“It’s okay, Papa,” Trunks said calmly. “You’re going to be okay.” Vegeta’s gaze settled on the cool blue eyes of his son, and his body relaxed.
“Get him into the tank,” Daikkon instructed. The two lifted the prince from the floor and put him into the regeneration unit. Daikkon worked quickly to attach the sensors and restraints before closing the hatch. When he punched the activation button, the tank filled with a thick clear fluid in a matter of seconds.
Trunks let out a shaking breath.
“How long should this take?” he asked.
Daikkon double checked the control panel before answering.
“That wound should take no more then five hours to mend...” He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to deliver such a blow... The prince has incredible ki control to drop it that low... I should have held back.”
“No,” Trunks assured him. “If you had held back, Dad would have been so insulted, it would have been you in that tank. You did what he asked... Don’t think about it.”
Trunks placed a hand on the glass window of the tank’s hatch. After seeing his father take that hit, his mind had calculated every emergency surgery he'd learned for such a wound. He prayed he wouldn’t need to put his knowledge into practice. He prayed this machine would work.
“So, what did you think?” Bulma asked, pulling him from his thoughts. “Of Eiyu?”
“Oh,” Goku turned to her, “he was very nice... And very talented. His painting was really good... and the pictures he showed us of his kids were cute...” Goku grimaced. “I... I never thought there could be someone who would appreciate an... ability... like this,” he said, indicating his stomach.
Bulma shrugged.
“Yeah. I know he and Meiji would have loved to have children that were biologically both of theirs, but they were lucky to find some really nice surrogates.” She frowned. “It helps when you have money, though, and Eiyu’s family is loaded. But they are great parents, and they have great kids.”
Goku’s brow furrowed as he continued to ponder the idea. If he had ended up married to a man, instead of a woman, would he have found the news a blessing? Bulma continued speaking.
“But that Mal sure is a hoot. A very devoted brother-in-law. Hey, maybe when we come back - ” Her words were cut short when Goku gasped sharply and clutched the dashboard. “What?!” Bulma exclaimed, trying her best to look at him and keep an eye on her flight path.
“Vegeta!” he replied in a concerned tone. “...Something is wrong!”
“What? Where?? Where is Vegeta?”
“Capsule Corp.” Goku put a hand to his belly. The baby felt as though he were using a jackhammer on him.
Bulma pulled out her phone and dialled her son’s cell. After the first ring, he answered.
“Mom?”
“Where is your father?” she demanded. Trunks’s voice was worried, but thinly disguised as calm.
“He’s alright, Mom. We were just doing a... test.”
“A test on what?!” she exclaimed. “Is he conscious? Is he hurt? Put him on the phone.”
Trunks looked to his father’s still form in the regen tank.
“Um... he’s busy... just now...”
“Where are you?” Bulma asked sternly, steering the car towards her home.
“We’re in the third floor lab - ”
“Stay there!” Bulma ordered, interrupting him. “I’m heading that way.” She snapped the tiny phone shut and tossed it into her purse. “What happened?” she asked Goku.
Goku shook his head, his hand soothing across his stomach and the anxious baby inside.
“I don’t know. Vegeta’s ki started going really low... then dangerously low... and then...” He shook his head again. “Then it just went crazy. Like... like he was in pain.”
Bulma resisted the urge to floor the accelerator. She didn’t want to drive dangerously with a passenger in her car, especially not with an expecting passenger.
Once she landed in front of the lab, she and Goku headed quickly inside, rushing up to the third floor.
When she shoved open the door, Trunks and Daikkon turned to her. Bulma’s eyes zeroed straight in on the regen tank and her unconscious husband.
“What the Hell?!”
She rushed forward only to be stopped by her son.
“It’s okay, Mom,” he assured her. “He wanted to do this.”
“Is he insane?!” she exclaimed, craning her neck to see past Trunks’ broad frame.
Goku slowly approached the domed tank, every ounce of his being willing Vegeta well. He knew the prince had seen worse than this, but he'd had access to proper medicine and equipment, if not a senzu bean.
Daikkon quietly watched the taller Saiyan stare transfixed into the liquid stasis that held their leader. Goku narrowed his eyes as he took in the extent of Vegeta’s injuries.
“My God,” Bulma breathed, coming to stand at her friend’s side. As often as she had seen Vegeta wounded, it always hurt. Goku put an arm around her and gave her a reassuring squeeze.
As if in slow motion, Vegeta’s eyelids slid open, and he glared at the two before him. His eyes moved from Bulma’s face, the arm around her, to Goku. The two stepped away from each other, and Vegeta’s eyes slid closed.
Bulma turned to her son.
“I think he’ll be fine.”
Vegeta ran a hand over his bare chest, taking note of the test’s success. He didn’t have long to admire the work.
“Are you insane?!” Bulma snapped, slapping him on the arm. “You could have been hurt!”
“That was the point,” he replied, turning his eyes to Daikkon. That was quite a blast he had taken. The young Saiyan’s appearance masked his true strength. “Besides, I’m the only one who knows what these machines are supposed to do... Well... with the exception of Kakkarot. And he’s in no condition to take such a hit.” Goku nodded, his hand moving automatically to his belly.
“The test was a success, though, your highness,” Daikkon addressed Bulma. “The computer’s final scan shows damaged tissue regenerated 100 percent.”
Bulma touched her fingertips to her husband’s muscular chest. She had every inch of him memorized, but now there were quite a few scars missing.
“This machine regenerates tissue according to individual DNA coding?” she asked.
“Essentially,” Daikkon replied. “The computer is programmed with a model of the Saiyan DNA structure. After an initial scan of the damage, it uses the DNA coding to repair the wounds and regenerate tissue for optimum results - in essence, enhancing what you lost with a perfect Saiyan model.”
Bulma frowned, her eyes lifting to meet her husband’s a fraction of a second before she replied.
“Well, don’t go getting your face blown off. I like it the way it is.”
“I am the perfect Saiyan structure, already.” Vegeta smirked.
Bulma chuckled, pulling her hand away and turning to sit on the edge of a desk.
“That’s not exactly how it works,” Daikkon explained. “It doesn’t replace your own DNA with another; it simply uses the coding it’s programmed with to help rebuild the damaged area. Not to replace, but to reinforce and repair your own body back the way it was designed, intended.”
Bulma nodded, fidgeting with the cigarette pack in her pocket. Goku spoke up.
“I have a question about Saiyan design,” he said, drawing everyone’s attention. “Mine, specifically.” He glanced at Vegeta before continuing. “I don’t understand why third class Saiyans don’t have an... external... exit... for giving birth,” he said awkwardly. “Or is it just me? Am I... lacking?”
Daikkon sighed and lowered his eyes to the floor. Attention turned from Goku to the younger Saiyan.
“That, I’m afraid,” Daikkon began, “is not a short explanation. I assure you, however, that your anatomy is perfect for its design.”
“How is that?” Vegeta asked, shocking the group with his involvement in the conversation.
“It is a story of Saiyan history, if you will permit me to relate it, sire,” Daikkon replied. Vegeta gave a nod of assent. “If you will remember, young prince,” he addressed Trunks, “I once told you that Saiyans resented the sciences because they associated them with deceit.” Trunks nodded, acknowledging the memory. “It is because of this specifically.” Daikkon took a seat as he explained. “Planet Vegeta was once home to two indigenous intelligent species. The Saiyans, and the Tuffles.” As he listened, Vegeta folded his arms and leaned against the desk where Bulma sat. She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “The two lived separately and somewhat peacefully for many centuries. While the Saiyans focused mainly on our own culture and protecting our territory, the Tuffles focused on the sciences and trying to advance their society through technological discoveries. Well, I don’t have to tell you that Saiyans are a warrior race, and soon the Tuffles began to fear our strength and power. They exploited our one weakness: our numbers. Saiyan births are four to one in favor of males, but both sexes served to protect and provide for the clan; in effect, our women were just as vulnerable to being mortally wounded in battle or hunts. The Tuffles offered a solution to that problem. They offered to use scientific means of allowing males to produce offspring in exchange for neutral relations with the Saiyans. They knew that same sex unions were commonplace in Saiyan society, as strength was one of the key factors in choosing a mate.” He paused in his tale to address Goku. “On Planet Vegeta, your superior abilities would have made you an excellent match for a royal elite.” Goku blushed and looked dumbstruck.
“Get. On. With. Your. Answer.” Vegeta spoke in a low, menacing growl.
“Of course. The king, at that time, agreed. And for whatever reasons he chose his infantry soldiers to undergo the test. And that is why we now have three class distinctions among the Saiyans. It used to just be royalty... and everyone else.”
“That’s horrible!” Bulma exclaimed. “It wasn’t their fault!”
“I agree,” Daikkon stated. “But that is not the entire explanation. As testing continued and the Tuffles worked to perfect the genetic change, they made a rather sizable error.”
“I’ll say!” Goku stated emphatically. “They didn’t make a place for it to come out!”
Daikkon shook his head.
“That was not an oversight, so much as there was no time to complete the project.”
“Why not?” Trunks asked. The young Saiyan turned to the teen.
“Because the Tuffles were destroyed. Slaughtered by the Saiyans.”
The group was quiet, and Vegeta gave a small smirk of satisfaction.
Daikkon continued.
“The error they made was underestimating Saiyan intelligence. Since we did not put as high a priority on science as the Tuffles, they assumed we were ignorant. They were careless with their information, and it was discovered that they were using this ‘peace project’ to genetically breed out the oozaru.”
“What!” Vegeta snapped, before he was even aware he spoke.
“The Tuffles had no respect for us as a people and feared our power. They believed they were the superior race. As their own cities were expanding, they feared encroaching on our kind as Saiyans are very territorial and require more space than the average humanoid.”
“You said most Saiyans were not familiar with third class... pregnancies,” Goku spoke. “Why not?”
Daikkon looked saddened by this question.
“It was a disgrace to our people to have been seduced by the Tuffles’ ‘generosity’. Disgrace turned to disdain. Those who possessed the ability were at first pitied and then shunned. It was an embarrassment to our people, as we had and do still put so much importance on our clans, our kinship and our culture.”
“I’ve heard enough,” Vegeta said forcefully. “The how’s and why’s are irrelevant now.” He turned to Goku. “Come, Kakkarot. Since we are both here, it would be pointless to waste a training opportunity.”
Goku didn’t look in the mood to train, but he pulled himself from the chair and followed Vegeta from the lab.
“I’m afraid I have, once again, angered and disappointed his highness,” Daikkon spoke with regret.
“It wasn’t you, Daikkon,” Bulma assured him. “That... that just wasn’t the most uplifting story of Saiyan culture.”
“But there are so many of those,” the young man insisted. “If he would only listen to them.”
“Maybe someday,” Bulma mused, staring at the door her husband and friend had just taken.
“Vegeta!” Goku called. The two were flying at low altitude away from Capsule Corp. “Could you wait a second?!”
Vegeta pulled to a halt and hovered until the younger Saiyan caught up to him. Goku sighed.
“I don’t want to make you mad,” he began. “But... I really don’t feel like training...”
Vegeta grimaced.
“Neither do I...”
The two were silent as they contemplated what to do next.
“Come on,” Goku spoke, descending back to the ground. He touched down in the middle of the forest clearing and began to walk. Vegeta landed at his side, folding his arms across his chest. “Home away from home,” Goku sighed, stepping into the cave and collapsing onto the floor. Vegeta leaned against the wall. Goku propped his head up on one hand and addressed the prince. “Why are you so mad?”
“Aren’t you?” Vegeta returned gruffly. “How can you not be disgusted by such deceit?”
“I suppose I’m less disgusted by what the Tuffles did to the Saiyans,” Goku replied, “than by what the Saiyans did to their own kind.” His voice was low, but serious as he continued. “Do you think I enjoy knowing that I’m ‘third class scum’ or a ‘third class idiot’ for no reason other than what was done to our ancestors?”
Vegeta huffed impatiently before responding, but his own tone was less combative.
“You’re not scum or an idiot because you’re a third class, but because you are you,” he explained. “Being a third class is just a detail.”
Goku chuckled.
“I see.” He sighed and rolled onto his back, staring up into the shadows of the high rock ceiling. “I’m sorry...” he stated.
“For what?”
“For everything... not because I’ve had anything to do with it...but because it’s a shame...” He looked over to his companion. “You’d have made a great king, Vegeta... if you could contain your ego, I mean.”
Vegeta frowned.
“You would have made a great court jester... idiot.”
Goku continued to chuckle at Vegeta’s expense. He sighed before speaking.
“Too bad the dragon balls aren’t powerful enough to give the Saiyans a second chance.” Vegeta nodded absently in agreement. “Would you do it all over?” Goku asked.
Vegeta considered the question. Could he do it all over again?
“Yes... “ he said honestly. “...If only to make sure Trunks and Bulla weren’t born to that idiot desert freak.” He added, “But other than that...” His words trailed off, and he turned to look out into the surrounding forest. “It’s pointless to discuss.”
“I suppose,” Goku agreed. He watched Vegeta intently, trying to get some understanding of what he must be feeling at this moment. He did seem angry at how the Saiyans treated their own and obviously angry over the Tuffles’ deception.
Yeah... he probably would have been a good king... had things been different.
The baby kicked hard at that moment, causing Goku to make a small noise of surprise. Vegeta looked over at him.
“It’s hard to believe he still has four months to go,” Goku said. “Or she, I mean.”
Vegeta grimaced.
“If it kicks you in the balls next, it’s a girl,” he said sourly. Goku turned a little pale.
“Don’t say that. He’s close enough as it is.” He grinned then. “But you can’t complain about Bulla’s technique. I mean, you did tell her to do whatever she could to win. To use her opponents' weaknesses against them.” Vegeta didn’t look any less sour after having his own words spoken back at him. “Besides, she only gotcha once before you learned. I’m glad I stopped sparring when she was all about the knees.”
“She’s ruthless,” Vegeta stated, smiling in spite of himself. After he said the words, he found himself questioning his smile. Goku seemed to understand.
“Just ruthless enough,” he corrected. “I mean, she did pat your back when you sat kneeling and crying in the grass.”
“I wasn’t crying!” Vegeta spat hotly. “She flung dust in my eyes before she rammed that unusually pointy shoe far enough up to puncture a lung.” Goku instinctively pulled his legs together. Vegeta laughed. “You just wait, Kakkarot. You’ll wish four months was a hell of a lot longer.”
“Oh, no! I can’t wait!” Goku exclaimed. “You just wait! I’m going to spar for 18 hours a day! I’ll take on whoever wants to fight! Goten, Gohan, Trunks - even Bulla and her pointy shoes!” Vegeta gave a snort of laughter at Goku’s enthusiasm. “And when our baby is old enough, we can train him ,and I’ll spar with him too!” Goku’s brows drew together, and he glanced nervously to Vegeta. “The... the baby...” he stammered.
Vegeta sighed, and there was an awkward pause between them.
“Kakkarot,” the prince said, finally breaking the silence. “I... am not ashamed this child is ours. No, I would not have chosen this, and no, I feel no joy that it happened... but I do appreciate your sacrifice, even though I will always regret having been placed in those circumstances.” He didn’t turn to Goku as he spoke, keeping his back to him as he looked outside. “I hope you understand this.”
Goku nodded.
“I do... I feel the same way. It’s just... weird.” He shook his head. “And I feel bad because, as you said, I regret being put in that situation. But I don’t regret having this baby, and I don’t regret that it has made us better friends. It’s just... “ he sighed before repeating, “weird.”
Vegeta didn’t have any words to respond. He continued staring out into the forest but seeing nothing. His mind tried hard to comprehend the emotions that he was feeling. It was hard to hear Kakkarot say he would not regret the child nor his friendship, because neither, certainly, offset their hardship. Vegeta regretted so many things in his life; would there ever be a balance?
The prince turned from the cave entrance and stared at the younger Saiyan. Would he be able to love this child the way he did Trunks and Bulla? Would he feel the same unfathomable adoration? Was it his love for Bulma that made his bond to them so strong?
All too soon, time would tell.
Story notes: This takes place ten years after the Buu saga. The only differences I can think of is that the whole thing with the world tournament in the last episode never happened and Goku didn't leave to train Uub. I wouldn't count on anything from the movies being part of this story's time line either, 'cause I haven't seen them all and they usually don't fit into the show's time line anyway. Especially that Broly crap. Vegeta cried through, like, that whole movie! That certainly didn't happen in this story....but, that's a different rant altogether. Hope you enjoy!
PLEASE heed warning in story description!! If you missed it, this story is not for children! It is also not for people who do not like stories that contain elements of violence, strong language, adult situations, references to sex and sexual activity between men and women, and men and other men. Oh, and fictional alien men having babies...'cause that's a'happen' here folks...
To my wonderful, wonderful beta-reader, Rowina: Thank you, thank you....thank you... ^-^
Unlikely Bond
Chapter 48
Projects
In all honesty, even though Goku didn’t enjoy the changes to his body, he was used to them and was no longer horribly uncomfortable around his friends and family.Chapter 48
Projects
But only his friends and family.
“Ya know, maybe we could do this later?” he suggested to Bulma as she opened the door on his side of the air car.
“We’re already here,” she remarked with a smile, gesturing with a hand for him to exit the vehicle. Goku sighed and left the safety and cover of the red sports car. He tugged self consciously on his jacket, as if the fabric could hide his condition. “Don’t worry about it!” Bulma insisted, slipping her arm through his. “You look great! Besides, it’s a week day. I’m sure there won’t be too many people shopping.”
Goku gave her an incredulous look, but stepped into the store through the door she had just opened.
“Welcome to Manternity!”
Bulma grimaced as they were greeted by the enthusiastic store owner. She had to admit that she had been curious about the store after hearing Trunks tell the story of his visit, and she had driven by the larger main site in Central City. When she called the owner the week before, he had been rather pleasant in an intriguing way when she offered him a large sum to close his store to everyone but her and her best friend for the afternoon. She had outlined for him how she was giving the expectant parents a surprise baby shower, but would be bringing Goku along to get a feel for his tastes and preferences. All she required of the business man would be for him to quietly observe and take note of the items that caught Goku’s interest for the purpose of making a registry list.
She had also thrown in an extra thousand for him not to mention it to Goku. Mal had commented that he enjoyed the 'cloak and dagger' feel of the idea.
“Ms. Briefs,” Mal said, taking her hand. “And Mr. Son, so good to see you back!” He took Goku’s hand and shook it firmly. “How is your wife?”
“Uh... good...” Goku stammered. Certainly the man could not be blind to his condition.
“Please, make yourselves right at home. May I have some tea or coffee brought for you?”
“Coffee would be nice,” Bulma replied while Goku declined.
“Right away.” Mal bowed shortly.
“Well,” Bulma sighed, once again linking her arm with Goku’s when they were alone, “this is a lovely place.” He nodded in agreement.
“Yeah...”
“And the staff seems very friendly.” She steered him gently toward the furniture. “So have you decided on a crib yet?”
“I dunno, Bulma,” he told her, running his hand along a chestnut-colored, sleigh style crib. “It does seem kind of a waste...”
“The baby needs some place to sleep the first few months. And look, this one converts into a toddler bed.
Goku’s eyebrows rose as he looked at the full color brochure above the white painted crib.
“...Cool...”
“Finding everything alright?” Mal said, abruptly appearing at Bulma’s side. He handed her the steaming cup of coffee that was giving off the slight scent of vanilla. “This is a very popular model. It has a coordinating changing table, dresser and gliding rocker.” Goku followed his sweeping hand gesture toward the white rocking chair with a blue quilted upholstery.
“Oh... well...that’s very nice.”
Bulma grinned.
“We’ll take the crib and the table,” she said, pleased.
“Oh, Bulma,” Goku protested weakly, “you... you don’t have to.”
“Nonsense!”
Mal removed a notepad from his pocket and made a note.
“Very nice selection.” His eyes seemed to sparkle with a conspiratorial light as he spoke. “If you need anything further, I will be close by.”
Bulma grinned.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you...” Goku frowned as he watched the young owner leave. “... It’s kinda weird... it’s so quiet in here... It was so busy the other time...”
“Anyway!” Bulma spoke up. “Any decision been made on where to put the little tyke ‘till he’s big enough to room with Goten?”
Goku grimaced.
“Not that it won’t be soon, but we were going to put him in Chi Chi’s sewing room. It’s small, but... you know, it won’t be long.”
Bulma patted his arm in silent understanding.
The two leisurely toured the store, stopping to look at bedding, diaper bags and clothing.
“Oh my! Look at these!” Bulma squealed, picking up a tiny one piece jumper with a koala embroidered on the pocket. “This is darling! Of course, it’s also impractical since it doesn’t snap at the crotch.” She deposited the item back on its rack.
Goku sighed.
“Not to mention it will be outgrown in three weeks.” He gave his belly a pat as he continued. “But that’s not anything new to me...”
Bulma stood back and gave him a scrutinizing look.
“You need new things?” she asked, but didn’t wait for his answer. “We can do that today, too.”
“No, Bulma,” he said quickly. “You’ve done too much as it is!”
She turned to him with a look of seriousness that he seldom saw on his oldest friend.
“Nothing I could do will ever come close to what you have done for us.” She smiled then. “Besides, what are friends for?”
She took his hand and led him toward the men’s clothing section. Goku gently pulled her to a stop.
“What?” she asked.
“Bulma,” he spoke quietly, “I don’t think clothing for regular people is going to cut it anymore. I’m huge and mostly in my belly. They don’t make clothes for that.”
Bulma frowned, her eyebrows drawn together as she considered his words.
“Besides,” he finished, “Chi Chi thinks she can work with some of the stuff I already have.”
“Please!” Bulma groaned. “Give the woman a break. I know someone who makes excellent clothing, customized to fit every size.”
Goku looked incredulous.
“Who?”
“My tailor!” she exclaimed happily. “Designer, whatever. He is a jack of all clothing trades.“
“He?”
“Yes, he. He’s brilliant! I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before!”
Goku groaned. “Bulma...”
“Look,” she told him, taking his hands, “he’s great. Very talented. Very discreet. He can be trusted.”
“What are you going to tell him?”
“You think I danced around the issue when I had to make Vegeta clothing after he regrew his tail? No. He just accepts it and does his job.”
Goku didn’t look convinced. Bulma continued.
“Would I put you into a position I thought would hurt you?” she asked, ignoring the little Yamucha voice in her mind that whispered, ‘baby shower.’
“Well... no...”
“Well then. No problem.” She turned to where Mal was ‘taking inventory’ of a display of pacifiers. “I’d like my items delivered, please.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Bulma pulled out her cell phone and had a short conversation as she walked with Goku to the front of the store. Before they reached the register, she closed her phone and turned to him. “Why don’t you go rest your feet in the car while I pay, hmn?”
Goku nodded, but had the distinct look of a condemned man as he walked from the building. When Bulma approached the counter, Mal stepped behind the register.
“Your total is 1878.60,” he told her. “Shipping is free.” He presented a pad of paper and a pen. “If you could please just fill out this form with the delivery location.”
“Thank you. Just put them on the same account I used before,” she told him, filling out the form with Goku’s home address.
“Of course. Would you like me to send you a copy of the registry for approval?”
“That would be great,” she nodded. “Please list it under the ‘Son’ family. And...my friends might need help locating items... um... yeah.”
“Is this his first child?” Mal asked. Bulma bit her lip as she considered.
“Yes... you could say that.”
Mal gave a knowing nod of his head.
“I thought so. He looks like he’s put on a wee bit more weight since we met. Can I suggest some of our more roomy styles of clothing for him?”
“Actually,” she replied, “I’m taking him to a tailor right now.”
“Oh! I know a wonderful tailor in Central City,” Mal responded enthusiastically. “Would you like his name?”
“No, thank you. I have a really great one already.” She handed him the delivery form. “Thanks for all your help.”
“Any time, ma’am,” he said, accepting the slip of paper and handing her a business card in return. “And if there is ever anything else you require, do not hesitate to ask.”
Bulma returned his wide smile.
“I won’t.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Goku tapped his fingers on the car door and tried to stretch out his legs in the small vehicle. He was tired, and the thought of driving all the way into a neighboring city so some stranger could examine his ever growing body did not make him very excited. But, he reasoned, he was so uncomfortable in his skin, he might as well be comfortable in his clothes.It was sweet of Bulma to take care of him. She was the closest thing he had to family, except for his wife and sons. She was like a sister. That, coupled with the fact that this was her husband’s child he was carrying, made accepting her generosity a little easier.
Bulma soon joined him, a wide grin on her face as she entered the car.
“Mal de Pavon,” she stated, handing Goku an embossed, cornflower blue business card. “Where do you suppose he's from with a name like that?”
Goku examined the card a moment.
“Mars,” he mumbled, reading the small card. “Mal de Pavon. Retail. Design. Entertainment...” He turned toward Bulma with a confused expression. “What kind of entertainment, do you suppose?”
“Only Kami knows, I’m sure,” she laughed. Goku shrugged.
“Well... it says here he is from Central... and I hear that city can’t get any more diverse.”
“True. Speaking of which," she took one hand off the wheel to pat his arm, “you are going to love this guy! He’s a classically trained painter in his first line of work, but he’s a brilliant designer. A genius! He designs all the gowns I wear to parties and the suits I wear to business functions. Oh, and he’s the one who painted the large portrait of me that hangs in the lobby of the commercial lab.”
“Oh, that is nice.”
“Yep. A genius. I can appreciate that quality in a man...”
Goku rolled his eyes and grinned.
The two spent the rest of the drive into Central City sharing small talk. When Bulma pulled the car to a halt near a tall brick high rise, Goku was puzzled.
“Why are we stopping?” he asked.
“This is it!” she exclaimed, unbuckling her seat belt. “This is his studio. Come on.”
Goku shrugged and followed her through the doors of the old-style building and into the elevator in the lobby. Bulma hit the button for the 12th and top story. She turned to Goku and gave him one more encouraging smile.
The twelfth floor consisted of one long barren hallway and a single door. Bulma stepped out, walked to the door and knocked. Goku heard movement on the other side, and he tugged nervously on his jacket again. A million ideas ran through his mind about what to expect from the painting, designing tailor. Most of them were heavily influenced by television.
The door opened, and Goku’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.
“Eiyu!” Bulma exclaimed, leaning forward and giving the young man a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you so much for seeing us on such short notice.” She turned to Goku. “This is my friend, Son Goku. Goku, this is Eiyu Shiroitora.”
Eiyu Shiroitora was not what Goku was expecting. There was no hint of the suave, impeccably dressed, meticulously groomed fashionista he was imaging. The designer was a young man, possibly in his early forties, with black unruly hair and dark eyes. He was dressed in a t-shirt and faded, paint smeared jeans and was barefooted. When he spoke, it sounded as though he had just woken from a nap or just taken some kind of sedative.
“How ya doin’?” he greeted, shaking Goku’s hand. “Come on in.”
The apartment was a large studio, with a kitchen to one side and one door at the far end, presumably a bathroom. The wood floors were honey colored, but lacking the shine of stain and wax. One side of the large room had drop cloths covering the floor, and a large canvas stood braced in the center. It was half completed, but the image of a woman standing in front of a beautiful fantasy landscape was stunning.
“Is that your latest commission?” Bulma asked, eyeing the piece of art.
“Yeah,” the artist sighed, leaning back on a tall stool and squinting at his work. “For a friend. A wedding anniversary gift for his wife.”
“It’s beautiful,” she stated.
Eiyu turned his dark eyes to Goku then to Bulma.
“So... What is the clothing emergency? Is Capsule Corp giving another spur of the moment, new product unveiling bonanza?”
Bulma smirked.
“Not this time,” she replied. “Actually... it’s a little unusual.”
He raised an eyebrow. Goku suddenly seemed very interested in the exposed beam ceiling.
“More unusual than hubby’s tail?”
An amused giggle escaped her before she could respond. She glanced to Goku.
“...I’d say so... You might find it a bit...shocking.”
Eiyu ran a hand through his dishevelled hair.
“Bulma,” he spoke with a dead serious tone. “Yesterday I made a caftan for a grizzly bear and a white silk-linen suit for a shapeshifting pig. I live in Central. You cannot shock me.” He smirked then. “I mean...silk-linen...who wears that?”
Bulma looked again to her dearest friend. Goku sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor.
“My friend is an alien,” she stated. Eiyu gave him a cursory once over. Bulma's friend didn't appear to be any more alien than her husband.
“And?”
Bulma bit her lip.
“And he’s pregnant.”
There was an almost imperceptible rise in the designer’s heavy brows.
“...Really?” he asked, intrigued.
Bulma gave one nod of her head. Eiyu seemed more impressed than shocked. Bulma spoke again.
“He is becoming uncomfortable in the clothes that he finds off the rack. I was hoping that you could help us out.”
Eiyu turned from them and headed toward the kitchen.
“Take off your coats. I’ll put on some tea.”
Bulma smiled at Goku as she stripped from her coat. Reluctantly, Goku pulled off the safety of his jacket. It wasn’t like it hid much anyway, these days.
The dark-haired artist returned moments later with a measuring tape in hand.
“How far along are you?” he asked Goku.
“Um...twenty...twenty seven weeks,” the Saiyan replied nervously, lifting his arms as he was measured across the widest part of his belly.
“And how long do you have left?”
Bulma answered for him.
“According to our information, about seventeen weeks.”
Eiyu nodded, kneeling down to take the outer seam and in seam measurements.
“How much weight are you gaining a week, on average?”
“He’s been averaging one half to one pound a week,” Bulma replied. “We think he may gain about ten to fifteen more total.”
Eiyu nodded again, moving behind Goku to take the measurement of the width of his shoulders and the length of his arms.
“What do you think?” Bulma asked.
“No problem,” he replied. Goku frowned.
“Will it be a caftan?” he asked mournfully. It was the first time their host smiled.
“No. Let me make a few sketches, and you can tell me what you like.”
“Thanks,” Goku replied. Bulma put an arm happily around Goku and gave him an affectionate squeeze.
“I told you it would be alright!” she whispered. She turned then to the designer. “So Eiyu, how’s your family?”
“Oh... pretty good.” He made two cups of tea and offered them places to sit before taking up his sketch pad and pulling a chair close to theirs. “My oldest is adjusting well to the university. Says he sees Trunks in the library a lot. The younger two are still hating school.” He shrugged. “Kids. Meiji is still feeling empty nest syndrome.”
Bulma placed a hand on her stomach, remembering the pangs of sadness she felt when Trunks started college, and he was still living at home.
“Is Meiji your wife?” Goku asked in an attempt to join the conversation. Eiyu’s eyes met his momentarily before he replied.
“My husband.”
Goku’s eyes widened.
“Does... does he have this ability, too?” he asked hesitantly, touching his belly.
“No.” Eiyu shook his head. There was a knock at the door, and he stood. He gave a huff of laughter as he walked to the door. “But he would have given his mother in exchange for that ability. And my brother-in-law would love to meet you.”
He opened the door, and the new arrival began talking animatedly.
“Eiyu! You’ll never believe it! There was this guy who was shopping at my store, and I didn’t think about it until he actually left, but I have the strangest feeling that he is... sitting in your studio.” Mal stopped talking upon seeing Bulma and Goku. “... Hi again.”
“Hi,” they returned in unison.
“Well,” Eiyu spoke in his tired sounding voice, “I see you’ve already met.”
“Mal is your brother in law?” Bulma laughed. Eiyu shrugged.
“Yeah... but I married his brother anyway.” Mal frowned.
“May I use your restroom?” Goku cut in. Eiyu gestured toward the door at the end of the room.
“Be my guest.”
When Goku left the room, Mal began speaking.
“That is incredible! He really is, isn’t he!?” he asked Bulma. “How exciting! Eiyu, he is Manternity!”
“Please,” Bulma broke in, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t make such a big deal about this. Goku didn’t... choose this...”
Mal’s look of jubilation slid from his face. Eiyu’s expression remained neutral.
“Oh,” Mal said softly.
Bulma gave him a smile.
“We really do appreciate all that you’ve done for us so far.”
Mal nodded and settled quietly onto a chair. For a few moments all that could be heard was the light scratching of Eiyu’s pencil on his sketch paper. Goku rejoined them shortly. Eiyu addressed him.
“These are just ideas, mind you,” he spoke, handing the sketch pad to the Saiyan. Goku took the paper apprehensively.
“Wow...” he said, surprised. “These are... really good.” The designs were nothing like he had imagined. They weren't the usual oversized maternity clothes or caftans; they looked like normal, everyday clothes.
“What did I tell you?!” Bulma asked happily. She directed her next question to Eiyu. “How soon can you get started?”
Eiyu shrugged.
“I can always put you at the top of my list. Why don’t you two come back in the middle of the week for a fitting, and the final product shouldn’t take too much longer after that.”
“Thanks,” Bulma beamed, standing up and hugging him. “You’re the best!”
Goku stood as well.
“Thank you,” he said simply. Eiyu gave a nod.
“No prob. I only hope it works out.”
Goku nodded absently, feeling the weight of the designer’s statement. “... Me, too.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Trunks dodged Vegeta’s punch, moving to the side and delivering an uppercut of his own. Vegeta blocked the attempt and forced the teen back, pivoting sharply and moving into a roundhouse kick. Trunks leapt up, gracefully executing a back handspring that caused his foot to connect with his father’s jaw. The prince took a step back, bringing a hand to his wound.“Not bad,” he remarked, causing the boy to grin. “You’re getting better.”
“Thanks,” Trunks replied, wiping a hand over his sweaty brow. In the hour they had been training, it was the first blow he had landed that hadn't been blocked. “I’d get better even faster if I didn’t have to spend so much time studying. But... ya know...”
“Education is important,” Vegeta stated, crossing his arms. “And you certainly overloaded yourself with classes... so your mother tells me.”
He shrugged. “I just want to get done as quickly as possible. I’m ready to get to work.”
Vegeta narrowed his eyes.
“You already work for the company. You’ll have the rest of your life to work.” He paused before adding, “Enjoy your youth. Don’t squander it.” His son smiled.
“I won’t, Papa.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the opening of the patio door. Daikkon bowed to them both.
“Forgive the intrusion, sire, your highness, but I have a status report.” Vegeta gave a nod, indicating for him to continue. “The computer simulations on the regeneration tank are complete. It is ready for live testing.”
Trunks turned to his father who had not yet responded to the information. “Papa?”
Vegeta gave another nod. “Understood. There is no time like the present.” He turned from them and walked several paces further into the yard. “Very well, Daikkon,” he said, turning back. “Let’s see what you've got.”
Daikkon’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Sire?”
“Dad, certainly you aren’t going to test it yourself!” Trunks exclaimed. “What if it doesn’t work?!”
Vegeta frowned.
“Better I find out now than when you need it,” he replied testily. “Now, Daikkon, I’m going to lower my ki as far as I can. You hit me with, well, whatever it is you have." Daikkon opened his mouth to speak, but the prince interjected. “And I mean now, damnit!”
The young Saiyan risked a second glance to Trunks before he crouched down into an attack posture.
“Stick around, boy,” Vegeta said. “In case this doesn’t work.”
Trunks ran a hand through his hair in nervous anticipation. He could feel the strong ki presence that Daikkon was building in his palms. The very idea of what was going to happen made his stomach ache.
Daikkon placed his hands together, merging the two energy spheres and forcing them into one.
Vegeta braced himself, but suppressed his power level. He could see the ki collecting in the young Saiyan’s hands and waited for the inevitable impact.
Daikkon did not voice the attack, but merely let the ki sphere blast toward its target. It crossed the short distance in barely a second of time before colliding heavily with Vegeta’s chest.
“Dad!” Trunks exclaimed, dashing across the lawn. Daikkon was right behind him. Trunks dropped to his father’s side and surveyed the wound. The fabric of his shirt was charred around the blast site, and there was a deep, gaping hole in his chest where the now incinerated part of his shirt was. The exposed muscle twitched convulsively, and blood was running down his chest. “Oh God...” The teen turned to Daikkon. “Help me! I’ll carry him, you open the door to the lab.” He didn’t wait for confirmation or reply before pulling his father into his arms and flying toward the lab. Daikkon was at his side and forced open the window in the Capsule Corp building. Trunks flew through the hall and into the lab.
Daikkon immediately began programming the machine as Trunks laid his father gently on the ground and ripped the blood soaked shirt from his torso.
Daikkon dropped down next to the prince and fitted a breathing mask over his face. Vegeta gasped, his body spasming in protest. His eyes snapped open and darted around the room in a moment of panic.
“It’s okay, Papa,” Trunks said calmly. “You’re going to be okay.” Vegeta’s gaze settled on the cool blue eyes of his son, and his body relaxed.
“Get him into the tank,” Daikkon instructed. The two lifted the prince from the floor and put him into the regeneration unit. Daikkon worked quickly to attach the sensors and restraints before closing the hatch. When he punched the activation button, the tank filled with a thick clear fluid in a matter of seconds.
Trunks let out a shaking breath.
“How long should this take?” he asked.
Daikkon double checked the control panel before answering.
“That wound should take no more then five hours to mend...” He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to deliver such a blow... The prince has incredible ki control to drop it that low... I should have held back.”
“No,” Trunks assured him. “If you had held back, Dad would have been so insulted, it would have been you in that tank. You did what he asked... Don’t think about it.”
Trunks placed a hand on the glass window of the tank’s hatch. After seeing his father take that hit, his mind had calculated every emergency surgery he'd learned for such a wound. He prayed he wouldn’t need to put his knowledge into practice. He prayed this machine would work.
~~~~~~~~~~
Bulma tapped her steering wheel in a happy rhythm as she and Goku headed back into West City. Goku was sitting quietly at her side, watching the landscape pass beneath them.“So, what did you think?” Bulma asked, pulling him from his thoughts. “Of Eiyu?”
“Oh,” Goku turned to her, “he was very nice... And very talented. His painting was really good... and the pictures he showed us of his kids were cute...” Goku grimaced. “I... I never thought there could be someone who would appreciate an... ability... like this,” he said, indicating his stomach.
Bulma shrugged.
“Yeah. I know he and Meiji would have loved to have children that were biologically both of theirs, but they were lucky to find some really nice surrogates.” She frowned. “It helps when you have money, though, and Eiyu’s family is loaded. But they are great parents, and they have great kids.”
Goku’s brow furrowed as he continued to ponder the idea. If he had ended up married to a man, instead of a woman, would he have found the news a blessing? Bulma continued speaking.
“But that Mal sure is a hoot. A very devoted brother-in-law. Hey, maybe when we come back - ” Her words were cut short when Goku gasped sharply and clutched the dashboard. “What?!” Bulma exclaimed, trying her best to look at him and keep an eye on her flight path.
“Vegeta!” he replied in a concerned tone. “...Something is wrong!”
“What? Where?? Where is Vegeta?”
“Capsule Corp.” Goku put a hand to his belly. The baby felt as though he were using a jackhammer on him.
Bulma pulled out her phone and dialled her son’s cell. After the first ring, he answered.
“Mom?”
“Where is your father?” she demanded. Trunks’s voice was worried, but thinly disguised as calm.
“He’s alright, Mom. We were just doing a... test.”
“A test on what?!” she exclaimed. “Is he conscious? Is he hurt? Put him on the phone.”
Trunks looked to his father’s still form in the regen tank.
“Um... he’s busy... just now...”
“Where are you?” Bulma asked sternly, steering the car towards her home.
“We’re in the third floor lab - ”
“Stay there!” Bulma ordered, interrupting him. “I’m heading that way.” She snapped the tiny phone shut and tossed it into her purse. “What happened?” she asked Goku.
Goku shook his head, his hand soothing across his stomach and the anxious baby inside.
“I don’t know. Vegeta’s ki started going really low... then dangerously low... and then...” He shook his head again. “Then it just went crazy. Like... like he was in pain.”
Bulma resisted the urge to floor the accelerator. She didn’t want to drive dangerously with a passenger in her car, especially not with an expecting passenger.
Once she landed in front of the lab, she and Goku headed quickly inside, rushing up to the third floor.
When she shoved open the door, Trunks and Daikkon turned to her. Bulma’s eyes zeroed straight in on the regen tank and her unconscious husband.
“What the Hell?!”
She rushed forward only to be stopped by her son.
“It’s okay, Mom,” he assured her. “He wanted to do this.”
“Is he insane?!” she exclaimed, craning her neck to see past Trunks’ broad frame.
Goku slowly approached the domed tank, every ounce of his being willing Vegeta well. He knew the prince had seen worse than this, but he'd had access to proper medicine and equipment, if not a senzu bean.
Daikkon quietly watched the taller Saiyan stare transfixed into the liquid stasis that held their leader. Goku narrowed his eyes as he took in the extent of Vegeta’s injuries.
“My God,” Bulma breathed, coming to stand at her friend’s side. As often as she had seen Vegeta wounded, it always hurt. Goku put an arm around her and gave her a reassuring squeeze.
As if in slow motion, Vegeta’s eyelids slid open, and he glared at the two before him. His eyes moved from Bulma’s face, the arm around her, to Goku. The two stepped away from each other, and Vegeta’s eyes slid closed.
Bulma turned to her son.
“I think he’ll be fine.”
~~~~~~~~~~
At the end of a four and a half hour stretch, Daikkon powered down the regen tank, and the fluid drained into the filtering tanks for sterilization. When the hatch opened, the prince emerged, soaking wet but appearing in perfect health.Vegeta ran a hand over his bare chest, taking note of the test’s success. He didn’t have long to admire the work.
“Are you insane?!” Bulma snapped, slapping him on the arm. “You could have been hurt!”
“That was the point,” he replied, turning his eyes to Daikkon. That was quite a blast he had taken. The young Saiyan’s appearance masked his true strength. “Besides, I’m the only one who knows what these machines are supposed to do... Well... with the exception of Kakkarot. And he’s in no condition to take such a hit.” Goku nodded, his hand moving automatically to his belly.
“The test was a success, though, your highness,” Daikkon addressed Bulma. “The computer’s final scan shows damaged tissue regenerated 100 percent.”
Bulma touched her fingertips to her husband’s muscular chest. She had every inch of him memorized, but now there were quite a few scars missing.
“This machine regenerates tissue according to individual DNA coding?” she asked.
“Essentially,” Daikkon replied. “The computer is programmed with a model of the Saiyan DNA structure. After an initial scan of the damage, it uses the DNA coding to repair the wounds and regenerate tissue for optimum results - in essence, enhancing what you lost with a perfect Saiyan model.”
Bulma frowned, her eyes lifting to meet her husband’s a fraction of a second before she replied.
“Well, don’t go getting your face blown off. I like it the way it is.”
“I am the perfect Saiyan structure, already.” Vegeta smirked.
Bulma chuckled, pulling her hand away and turning to sit on the edge of a desk.
“That’s not exactly how it works,” Daikkon explained. “It doesn’t replace your own DNA with another; it simply uses the coding it’s programmed with to help rebuild the damaged area. Not to replace, but to reinforce and repair your own body back the way it was designed, intended.”
Bulma nodded, fidgeting with the cigarette pack in her pocket. Goku spoke up.
“I have a question about Saiyan design,” he said, drawing everyone’s attention. “Mine, specifically.” He glanced at Vegeta before continuing. “I don’t understand why third class Saiyans don’t have an... external... exit... for giving birth,” he said awkwardly. “Or is it just me? Am I... lacking?”
Daikkon sighed and lowered his eyes to the floor. Attention turned from Goku to the younger Saiyan.
“That, I’m afraid,” Daikkon began, “is not a short explanation. I assure you, however, that your anatomy is perfect for its design.”
“How is that?” Vegeta asked, shocking the group with his involvement in the conversation.
“It is a story of Saiyan history, if you will permit me to relate it, sire,” Daikkon replied. Vegeta gave a nod of assent. “If you will remember, young prince,” he addressed Trunks, “I once told you that Saiyans resented the sciences because they associated them with deceit.” Trunks nodded, acknowledging the memory. “It is because of this specifically.” Daikkon took a seat as he explained. “Planet Vegeta was once home to two indigenous intelligent species. The Saiyans, and the Tuffles.” As he listened, Vegeta folded his arms and leaned against the desk where Bulma sat. She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “The two lived separately and somewhat peacefully for many centuries. While the Saiyans focused mainly on our own culture and protecting our territory, the Tuffles focused on the sciences and trying to advance their society through technological discoveries. Well, I don’t have to tell you that Saiyans are a warrior race, and soon the Tuffles began to fear our strength and power. They exploited our one weakness: our numbers. Saiyan births are four to one in favor of males, but both sexes served to protect and provide for the clan; in effect, our women were just as vulnerable to being mortally wounded in battle or hunts. The Tuffles offered a solution to that problem. They offered to use scientific means of allowing males to produce offspring in exchange for neutral relations with the Saiyans. They knew that same sex unions were commonplace in Saiyan society, as strength was one of the key factors in choosing a mate.” He paused in his tale to address Goku. “On Planet Vegeta, your superior abilities would have made you an excellent match for a royal elite.” Goku blushed and looked dumbstruck.
“Get. On. With. Your. Answer.” Vegeta spoke in a low, menacing growl.
“Of course. The king, at that time, agreed. And for whatever reasons he chose his infantry soldiers to undergo the test. And that is why we now have three class distinctions among the Saiyans. It used to just be royalty... and everyone else.”
“That’s horrible!” Bulma exclaimed. “It wasn’t their fault!”
“I agree,” Daikkon stated. “But that is not the entire explanation. As testing continued and the Tuffles worked to perfect the genetic change, they made a rather sizable error.”
“I’ll say!” Goku stated emphatically. “They didn’t make a place for it to come out!”
Daikkon shook his head.
“That was not an oversight, so much as there was no time to complete the project.”
“Why not?” Trunks asked. The young Saiyan turned to the teen.
“Because the Tuffles were destroyed. Slaughtered by the Saiyans.”
The group was quiet, and Vegeta gave a small smirk of satisfaction.
Daikkon continued.
“The error they made was underestimating Saiyan intelligence. Since we did not put as high a priority on science as the Tuffles, they assumed we were ignorant. They were careless with their information, and it was discovered that they were using this ‘peace project’ to genetically breed out the oozaru.”
“What!” Vegeta snapped, before he was even aware he spoke.
“The Tuffles had no respect for us as a people and feared our power. They believed they were the superior race. As their own cities were expanding, they feared encroaching on our kind as Saiyans are very territorial and require more space than the average humanoid.”
“You said most Saiyans were not familiar with third class... pregnancies,” Goku spoke. “Why not?”
Daikkon looked saddened by this question.
“It was a disgrace to our people to have been seduced by the Tuffles’ ‘generosity’. Disgrace turned to disdain. Those who possessed the ability were at first pitied and then shunned. It was an embarrassment to our people, as we had and do still put so much importance on our clans, our kinship and our culture.”
“I’ve heard enough,” Vegeta said forcefully. “The how’s and why’s are irrelevant now.” He turned to Goku. “Come, Kakkarot. Since we are both here, it would be pointless to waste a training opportunity.”
Goku didn’t look in the mood to train, but he pulled himself from the chair and followed Vegeta from the lab.
“I’m afraid I have, once again, angered and disappointed his highness,” Daikkon spoke with regret.
“It wasn’t you, Daikkon,” Bulma assured him. “That... that just wasn’t the most uplifting story of Saiyan culture.”
“But there are so many of those,” the young man insisted. “If he would only listen to them.”
“Maybe someday,” Bulma mused, staring at the door her husband and friend had just taken.
“Vegeta!” Goku called. The two were flying at low altitude away from Capsule Corp. “Could you wait a second?!”
Vegeta pulled to a halt and hovered until the younger Saiyan caught up to him. Goku sighed.
“I don’t want to make you mad,” he began. “But... I really don’t feel like training...”
Vegeta grimaced.
“Neither do I...”
The two were silent as they contemplated what to do next.
“Come on,” Goku spoke, descending back to the ground. He touched down in the middle of the forest clearing and began to walk. Vegeta landed at his side, folding his arms across his chest. “Home away from home,” Goku sighed, stepping into the cave and collapsing onto the floor. Vegeta leaned against the wall. Goku propped his head up on one hand and addressed the prince. “Why are you so mad?”
“Aren’t you?” Vegeta returned gruffly. “How can you not be disgusted by such deceit?”
“I suppose I’m less disgusted by what the Tuffles did to the Saiyans,” Goku replied, “than by what the Saiyans did to their own kind.” His voice was low, but serious as he continued. “Do you think I enjoy knowing that I’m ‘third class scum’ or a ‘third class idiot’ for no reason other than what was done to our ancestors?”
Vegeta huffed impatiently before responding, but his own tone was less combative.
“You’re not scum or an idiot because you’re a third class, but because you are you,” he explained. “Being a third class is just a detail.”
Goku chuckled.
“I see.” He sighed and rolled onto his back, staring up into the shadows of the high rock ceiling. “I’m sorry...” he stated.
“For what?”
“For everything... not because I’ve had anything to do with it...but because it’s a shame...” He looked over to his companion. “You’d have made a great king, Vegeta... if you could contain your ego, I mean.”
Vegeta frowned.
“You would have made a great court jester... idiot.”
Goku continued to chuckle at Vegeta’s expense. He sighed before speaking.
“Too bad the dragon balls aren’t powerful enough to give the Saiyans a second chance.” Vegeta nodded absently in agreement. “Would you do it all over?” Goku asked.
Vegeta considered the question. Could he do it all over again?
“Yes... “ he said honestly. “...If only to make sure Trunks and Bulla weren’t born to that idiot desert freak.” He added, “But other than that...” His words trailed off, and he turned to look out into the surrounding forest. “It’s pointless to discuss.”
“I suppose,” Goku agreed. He watched Vegeta intently, trying to get some understanding of what he must be feeling at this moment. He did seem angry at how the Saiyans treated their own and obviously angry over the Tuffles’ deception.
Yeah... he probably would have been a good king... had things been different.
The baby kicked hard at that moment, causing Goku to make a small noise of surprise. Vegeta looked over at him.
“It’s hard to believe he still has four months to go,” Goku said. “Or she, I mean.”
Vegeta grimaced.
“If it kicks you in the balls next, it’s a girl,” he said sourly. Goku turned a little pale.
“Don’t say that. He’s close enough as it is.” He grinned then. “But you can’t complain about Bulla’s technique. I mean, you did tell her to do whatever she could to win. To use her opponents' weaknesses against them.” Vegeta didn’t look any less sour after having his own words spoken back at him. “Besides, she only gotcha once before you learned. I’m glad I stopped sparring when she was all about the knees.”
“She’s ruthless,” Vegeta stated, smiling in spite of himself. After he said the words, he found himself questioning his smile. Goku seemed to understand.
“Just ruthless enough,” he corrected. “I mean, she did pat your back when you sat kneeling and crying in the grass.”
“I wasn’t crying!” Vegeta spat hotly. “She flung dust in my eyes before she rammed that unusually pointy shoe far enough up to puncture a lung.” Goku instinctively pulled his legs together. Vegeta laughed. “You just wait, Kakkarot. You’ll wish four months was a hell of a lot longer.”
“Oh, no! I can’t wait!” Goku exclaimed. “You just wait! I’m going to spar for 18 hours a day! I’ll take on whoever wants to fight! Goten, Gohan, Trunks - even Bulla and her pointy shoes!” Vegeta gave a snort of laughter at Goku’s enthusiasm. “And when our baby is old enough, we can train him ,and I’ll spar with him too!” Goku’s brows drew together, and he glanced nervously to Vegeta. “The... the baby...” he stammered.
Vegeta sighed, and there was an awkward pause between them.
“Kakkarot,” the prince said, finally breaking the silence. “I... am not ashamed this child is ours. No, I would not have chosen this, and no, I feel no joy that it happened... but I do appreciate your sacrifice, even though I will always regret having been placed in those circumstances.” He didn’t turn to Goku as he spoke, keeping his back to him as he looked outside. “I hope you understand this.”
Goku nodded.
“I do... I feel the same way. It’s just... weird.” He shook his head. “And I feel bad because, as you said, I regret being put in that situation. But I don’t regret having this baby, and I don’t regret that it has made us better friends. It’s just... “ he sighed before repeating, “weird.”
Vegeta didn’t have any words to respond. He continued staring out into the forest but seeing nothing. His mind tried hard to comprehend the emotions that he was feeling. It was hard to hear Kakkarot say he would not regret the child nor his friendship, because neither, certainly, offset their hardship. Vegeta regretted so many things in his life; would there ever be a balance?
The prince turned from the cave entrance and stared at the younger Saiyan. Would he be able to love this child the way he did Trunks and Bulla? Would he feel the same unfathomable adoration? Was it his love for Bulma that made his bond to them so strong?
All too soon, time would tell.
~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: I hope y'all liked this chapter! A little more Saiyan back story, thanks to Daikkon. In case anyone is interested, Eiyu is pronounced like 'Hey you' without the 'H'. The baby shower is coming up. Not in chapter 49, but chapter 50 (canyabelieveit?). I'm still working on the shower chapter, it is a little challenging! Anyway, thanks for reading and I will hopefully get this story done before Christmas! (Which, oddly, will be it's one year anniversary!) ..No promises, of course! LOL! -B°