Untitled
a Dragonball Z story
by DojiGirl
When you came right down to it, there were three things Vegeta didn't do.
Bulma Briefs knew this fact better than anyone. Hell, she'd been his wife (or as he liked to refer to it, 'mate') for nearly fifteen years now. They'd had two children together: Trunks, their now teenaged son, and Bra, their adorable four-year-old daughter. They'd survived the coming of enemies and the loss of friends. And through it all, they'd stayed together, no matter what arguments or disagreements had occured. Fifteen years---it had been well worth it. They'd learned how to be a family. She, who had always been so wild as a young woman, had learned to calm down and be a protective mother. He, who'd once been the world's most frightening enemy, had learned how to love...
Fifteen years.
Fifteen long...trying...and absolutely, completely wonderful years together.
And during those years, Bulma had learned that there were three things---three basic things---that Vegeta simply DID NOT DO.
One:
Vegeta did not openly show affection.Oh, he'd show it in his own guarded, careful way, when he thought no one else was watching. There were times when his cold mask would melt away and his mouth would twitch into a smile; times when his black eyes would suddenly radiate with warmth and love. But Vegeta would rather die than let others see what he was truly feeling. He was a warrior, through and through, and though he loved his family fiercely, he was determined not to let it show. It was quite simple, really: Vegeta would not, could not, he absolutely refused, to let anyone see past his cold exterior to what burned within. Bulma had seen it anyway.
Oh yes, she'd seen it quite well...and quite frequently. But of course, Vegeta didn't know. And she wouldn't tell him...
Take Trunks, for example. There was all the time Vegeta spent with him, during which they would train together and bond not only as warriors, but also as father and son. Trunks had nothing but the greatest respect for his father, and Bulma saw how proud Vegeta was of him. Oftentimes during lunch or dinner, or after a particularly pleasing training session, Vegeta would pat his son's shoulder or ruffle his hair when he thought Bulma wasn't watching. But she saw it every time...and every time it warmed her heart, especially when she saw how Trunks's eyes would light up with admiration for his father. They were an excellent team, Vegeta and his son.
...and then, of course, there was Bra.
Vegeta and his daughter were quite another story. Bulma knew that Vegeta loved both their children equally, and that he showed his affection differently to each of them. Still, she had the feeling that Bra had somehow managed to completely blindside her father's defenses. Her girlish innocence had been entirely new to Vegeta; he'd expected his daughter to be a warrior, just as Trunks had turned out to be. In fact, as Bulma recalled, he'd expected nothing less than a fighter in his own image, regal and proud in her power and status. After all, he'd explained, he was a Saiyan Prince, the true ruler of a warrior race! Whether they were men, women or children, all Saiyans were fighters, and he was certain his daughter would be no different!
...and that, obviously, had not happened. Much to his chagrin and befuddlement.
Instead, he'd gotten a tiny replica of Bulma who adored him, cooed over him, played with his hair, and absolutely refused to fight anything. And he, the man who never gave an inch, the most stubbornly proud man in the entire universe, had completely laid down his defenses and surrendered in the face of his daughter's love. For instance, there had been the many, many tea parties that Bra had thrown for him.
The first time Bulma had discovered this she'd been hurrying through the hallway towards her lab, eager to analyze some new data, when her eyes fell upon a scene that had made her stop dead in her tracks. The door to Bra's room had been open partway, and through the opening she could see her daughter happily pouring imaginary tea into a small plastic cup...and sitting in front of her was none other than her father.
Vegeta, still in his fighting armor, looking powerful enough to destroy an entire city with just his fist, was sitting at a ridiculously small table surrounded by various fluffy animals. "Daddy, are you ready for some tea? I made it 'specially for you!!" Bra had cooed lovingly, her eyes shining with affection for the grim- faced man.
Bulma had watched in stunned silence as Vegeta grunted affirmatively, and Bra, with a squeal of joy, had picked up the cup and saucer and served it to her father. Regally, Vegeta had lifted the empty plastic cup to his lips and mimed sipping the tea with such realism that Bra had clapped her hands together in joy. "Do you like it Daddy? Is it yummy?"
Vegeta had nodded, still stone-faced, until his daughter jumped into his lap and kissed his cheek. Then Bulma had seen the slightest smile appear on his face, and he'd placed a gloved hand tenderly on his daughter's back as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Bulma had walked away with a lump in her throat. That night, she'd treated Vegeta to a very, very nice session in bed...
A smile teased her lips as she remembered...yes indeed, that seemed to be the one way of showing affection that Vegeta did not mind to do...and she, of course, was only too eager to return the favor. She had to admit, they were perfect together in bed; that was the one place that they could, and did, show their love for each other fully and without restraint...
Mainly because outside of the bedroom, Vegeta could be extremely trying.
Admittedly, she wasn't any better. She'd always been known for her firey temper and bouts of selfishness, and Vegeta just seemed to love making her show it. He was always pushing her buttons in any way possible; he enjoyed getting her riled up almost as much as he enjoyed his training sessions. Depending on both their moods, there'd be days when they'd argue with each other over breakfast, taunt each other at lunch, and throw insults back and forth during dinner, to the point where she'd want to strangle him with her own two hands. Or maybe stuff that insolent smile right up his tight ass.
But she never got the chance, because afterwards, when the kids had gone to bed, and they were alone, and she was ready to rip into him...he'd take her hand and smile at her. Sometimes he'd pull her close, run his hands through her beautiful blue hair, and touch his lips softly to her ear as he whispered her name...
"Bulma," he'd breathe,"my Saiyan Princess..."
And her heart would melt. Every time.
Bulma loved it. She loved every minute, and she loved her tempermental, annoying, and stubborn husband more than words could say. He was everything to her.
Even if showing affection openly was one of the things he did not do.
Which led Bulma directly to the next thing.
Two:
Vegeta never, ever showed weakness.This had been one of the first observations she'd made when she'd initially come in close contact with him. He'd been training so hard, with his pride pushing him beyond any reasonable limit, that he'd ended up destroying the gravity chamber her father had created for him. One minute she'd been idly talking with her parents, and the next she'd been running full-force toward the pile of rubble that had been the gravity room. Frantically she'd fished Vegeta out of the remains, insisting that he get immediate medical treatment, only to discover that he'd rather yell at her for interfering with his training.
"Training??!" She'd roared in fury. "You call this training? This is killing yourself!"
But he'd refused to listen to her. He'd even tried to stand up and prove that he was fine...and had immediately collapsed into an unconscious heap. It was only then that she could have him hauled into the infirmary for treatment, where she stayed by his side the entire time... She remembered wondering why he was so afraid to show that he'd been weak and in need of help. True, he was a warrior, and an unbelievably proud one at that, but she had seen beyond his cold exterior. She'd seen how he put walls around himself, barring himself from others...and she'd been curious. Curious, and very much interested.
The first seeds of attraction had been planted that night as she'd gazed at his regal, solemn, lonely face as he slept, wondering if he'd ever loved...or been loved.
He had fallen for her right away, too. At first it had been purely physical attraction---and then slowly, surprisingly, it had grown into something more. And here they were, fifteen years later--and just like that first night, she was still trying to figure him out. Which led her to the final thing.
Three:
Vegeta could not and would not ask for help.
Ever.It was short and simple: In all the time she'd known him, no matter how desperate his situation, no matter how much pain he was in, he absolutely would not ask for help. Not from anyone, and not for anything. He just couldn't bring himself to do it. Whether it meant facing death or worse, Vegeta would rather do it alone than lower himself by asking for assistance. And that was that.
Three things.
Three things that Bulma Briefs had sat and contemplated for the past hour because of one thing that had happened earlier that morning. One thing that made those three things suddenly come to mind. One thing that, in its entirety, had more significance than all three put together.
Because what had happened wasn't just something that Vegeta DIDN'T do; it was something that Vegeta NEVER did. In all the years that she'd known him, even before they'd been romantically involved, it had never happened. And she had thought that it would never happen. Until she'd sat down to breakfast...
It had started out as a normal day--Bulma had risen from bed, gotten dressed, fixed her face, and then gathered up her still-sleepy children and ushered them downstairs for breakfast. Vegeta had been out since before dawn in his usual routine of training, and she'd started cooking without him, knowing that he'd come in precisely when the food was done. She'd cracked several eggs over the skillet, set it to self-cook, and yawned as she'd asked her son if he was planning on training with his father.
"I dunno, Mom. I was probably going to have Goten come over and hang out. Is that o.k.?"
Bulma had nodded as she'd popped several pieces of bread into the toaster. The machine had immediately toasted them and then proceeded to automatically add butter and jelly. God, how she loved the latest technology---nothing was better than having breakfast cooked in four minutes flat. Of course, you had to be able to afford it, but being the heir to the Capsule Corporation had certainly helped with that. "That's fine, as long as you're around the house. Grandma and Grandpa wanted to come visit today."
With a simple nod, Trunks had turned to get a drink from the fridge, but Bra's eyes had instantly lit up and lost their sleepy tinge at her mother's words.
"Gramma and Grampa!" She'd squeaked, jumping up and down in her seat in excitement.
Her brother had rolled his eyes as he'd poured his orange juice. "Gramma and Grampa!! Gramma and Grampa!!" Bra adored her grandparents almost as much as she adored her father. Bulma had grinned at her as she opened a package of bacon. She'd glanced at the clock--just a few minutes and breakfast would be ready. With the push of a button she'd started the bacon cooking and then poured her daughter some juice.
"And what are your plans today, darling?" She asked as Bra eagerly took the drink from her hands.
Bra took a big gulp and smiled toothily up at her mother. "I'm gonna have a tea party with Daddy!"
"PFFFT!"
Choking on his drink at his little sister's joyous proclamation, Trunks had turned to her with a look of complete disbelief on his face. Bra's nose had wrinkled in distaste at her older brother as juice rolled down his chin. "Aw, Bra, that's enough!" He'd exclaimed, wiping his mouth. "You know Dad would never do anything as girly as a tea party. Where do you come up with these lies??" Bra's brilliant green eyes had widened in hurt indignation.
"Whatcha mean?! I'm not lying! Daddy likes having tea with me!" "He does not."
"He does too! And he likes sitting with Mr. Fuzzyhead! They're friends!"
"Mom, are you hearing this? She's only four and she's coming up with this crazy stuff!!"
Bulma hadn't answered her son. The thought of Vegeta being friends with Bra's favorite teddy bear was more than she could take. She'd had to turn away and pretend to be busy putting food on her children's plates to keep from bursting into laughter...
"Breakfast!" She'd announced triumphantly a second later, and Trunks and Bra had quit their bickering and eagerly accepted the plates of food from their mother. Bulma had glanced up at the clock as she prepared Vegeta's breakfast, which consisted of a disgustingly enormous portion of food. The second hand had ticked as she laid the plate as his empty spot, and she counted along with it silently...
Five...
Four...
Three...
Two...
One...
BANG
The front door had slammed as heavy steps made their way towards the kitchen. Vegeta had arrived.
He'd entered regally as always, despite being dirty and covered in sweat from his training. With the barest of nods he had acknowledged his wife and children before taking his seat at the head of the table. The usual chorus of eager greetings met his ears:
"Good morning, Father."
"MORNING DADDY!!"Along with the usual unimpressed statement from Bulma:
"Vegeta, try not to leave sweat marks on the table this time, o.k.?"He'd ignored them all, focused entirely on the small continent of food that lay piled on his plate. And so began breakfast.
Bulma had taken her plate and sat across from him. She'd absently started cutting her eggs, her eyes taking in the scene before her with comfortable familiarity. Trunks, wolfing down his food and chugging his juice with the insatiable appetite of the usual teenager. Bra, picking at and playing with and finally eating her eggs, with more ending up on the table than in her mouth. Then her gaze had turned to Vegeta.
Dressed, as usual, in his skin-tight outfit with the traditional Saiyan chest armor, he'd looked good enough to eat. It still amazed her that in all their years together she never got tired of looking at him. Her mother had once said something to the effect of "He looks as though he's under a shadow all the time," and at first Bulma hadn't understood her. But years of observation had made her realize just how right her mother had been. His pitch-black eyes, sharp features and powerful body coupled with his cold demeanor made him seem extremely forbidding...and, to Bulma at least, extremely sexy. And he'd looked especially appealing that morning, with the sweat glistening on his deliciously muscular arms, his breathing heavy and his face flushed a light pink...she'd sighed, trying to get her thoughts in order and to calm her libido. She had no intention of traumatizing her children. Of course, if Vegeta had known what she was thinking, he certainly wouldn't have minded. He'd have no problem with taking her right there on the kitchen table, kids or not...
Shaking her head in amusement at herself, she'd picked up a forkfull of egg, and thoughtfully began to chew. But something had felt...wrong.
She'd focused more intently on Vegeta, a frown on her face as she observed him, her eyebrows knitting together in concern. He was flushed. Vegeta had never come in from morning training with his face flushed. Sweating, yes; blushing, no. And his breathing had sounded...odd. Different. As though there was a slight wheeze that she could just barely catch with her hearing...
But after a moment she'd decided she was wrong, that she was just imagining things. He certainly didn't seem to be bothered by it. Perhaps, she'd mused, he'd had a particularly rough training session, as he was always pushing himself to do better. And she'd dismissed the thought from her mind as she turned to her son. "Trunks, what time do you think Goten will show up?"
"Well, he said his mom was making him his favorite recipe for lunch, so he said maybe around three or--"
"HEH-EHSHHHH!!"
Vegeta's sudden and enormously powerful sneeze had instantly cut Trunks off mid-sentence.
The effect of this had been quite astounding: Bulma's fork slipped out of her surprised fingers and dropped to the floor, just as Trunks's elbow jerked and connected fully with his glass of orange juice. It spilled gracefully over the table, unnoticed, as Trunks, Bulma and Bra all gave Vegeta their full attention. A few seconds of awkward silence had followed, broken a moment later by Bra's cheerfully oblivious cry of, "BWESS YOU, DADDY!"
Vegeta had not been amused; he'd glared at all of them as he wiped his nose with the back of his gloved hand.
"--...er...um..uhh---three..or..four..?" Trunks finished lamely, staring at his father. Bulma was doing the same, one thought running over and over through her mind as her husband, deliberately ignoring their reaction, returned his attention to the plate of food. Vegeta had NEVER sneezed before.
Never. Never. Never.
Not even a cough or a sniffle had escaped him in the entire time they'd been together. At first she'd found that to be odd, but then she'd just assumed that the Prince of the Saiyans simply wasn't irritated by anything on Earth (well, she'd amended, physically irritated, at least). He'd certainly never gotten sick. She'd rationalized that perhaps all Saiyans were immune from illness--but she'd immediately corrected herself: Goku, the only other existing 'pure' Saiyan, had gotten a very serious virus several years ago. But she'd never seen Goku with something as common as a cold. And Vegeta had royal blood; he'd been the highest-class warrior on his planet, much higher than Goku. So, the thought of him catching a cold---well, she'd just assumed it couldn't happen---but she'd never actually asked if it was possible for him to get sick... The sound of Vegeta's fork being slammed onto the table brought her back to her senses.
"What are you all staring at?! Woman, what's the problem?" Vegeta's accusing voice was aimed at her. Too late, she'd realized she'd been staring at him the entire time. Flustered, she'd opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, his nose had suddenly twiched. His eyes had lost their focus as they slowly shut, and he'd taken a shuddering breath, and then....
"...HA-ESCHH!!..HA-CHSHH!!" He'd turned his head and sneezed openly, violently. Cursing under his breath, he'd sniffled thickly and angrily rubbed his nose.
"D-dad?" Trunks had piped up. "Are--are you o.k.?"
"I'm fine!" He'd roared.
"Do you need a hankie, Daddie?" Bra had chimed in, generously holding out her used napkin to her father.
"I---am---fine." He'd repeated, tight-lipped. The flush in his face had increased to the point that his nose had turned red, and Bulma wasn't sure if it was from the force of his sneezes or from his embarrassment. And he was definitely embarrassed---with each sneeze, her husband's glare grew more fierce. At that point he'd looked about ready to destroy anything--and anyone--who disobeyed him. "Clean up the mess, Trunks," he'd growled to his son. Trunks had never cleaned anything so fast in his life.
Unimpressed with Vegeta's fierceness, Bulma had decided it was time to take action---especially in her growing concern (and certainty) that he was sick.
"Vegeta, what's wrong?" She'd said softly, knowing this was going to be delicate, trying to placate his temper...
No deal.
"I told you! Nothing's wrong!"
Bulma had felt a rush of power as Vegeta's fighting aura rose, as it always did when he became defensive.
"Really?" She'd said coolly. "Are you sure you're not sick?"
That had done it: Vegeta goggled at Bulma in amazement, as though shocked that she could ask such a foolish question.
"Sick? Sick? You think that a Saiyan warrior of my caliber could fall prey to this disgusting, idiotic planet's germs?!"
"Well, that's what I just asked you, isn't it??"
Bulma had felt her temper starting to heat up, as it always did when her husband was being a stubborn ass. But she'd tried, she'd really tried to calm herself, to remind herself that he was ill...
"Woman, you amaze me! To insinuate that I could be infected by some stupid earthling's virus! It's ridiculous that you would think such a thing!"
Vegeta had stood up, his head held high in a perfect regal pose, and he'd looked so damn smug that Bulma's attempt to restrain her temper immediately failed. Sick or not, he'd been asking for it.
"Stupid Earthling, huh? Maybe if someone didn't spend all of his time training like a maniac his body would be able to fight off our stupid germs!"
"Don't be--fool..ish....ah..HA-ASHHHHH!!" Vegeta had started to respond, but instead had turned away and sneezed so hard he'd doubled over with the force of it. Bulma had picked up a napkin and thrust it at him.
"And cover your damn mouth when you sneeze, the rest of us don't want to catch your cold!"
"I think I know how to sneeze, Woman!! I don't need your---"
"Daddy, it's ok!" Bra had interrupted sweetly. "You just have the sniffles! You don't hafta be scared!" She'd smiled encouragingly at her father, completely unaware of her faux pas, and continued eating peacefully.
Trunks, who had been wringing the juice-soaked washcloth into the sink for about five minutes now in an attempt to stay the hell out of his father's field of vision, had shook his head in disbelief at Bra's audacity and waited for the explosion.
It didn't take long.
Furious, glaring at his family with what he'd meant to be a menacing stare, Vegeta was painfully disappointed to find that it didn't have the effect he'd desired. Instead, they'd all looked back at him rather pityingly. He'd actually looked more ridiculous than menacing, with his finger lingering under his nose and frequent sniffles tormenting him. That, of course, had only frustrated him more, and with a roar of, "FOR THE LAST TIME, I--AM--NOT--SICK!!!", he'd stormed out of the kitchen, leaving behind a plateful of half- eaten food and, as though to add insult to injury, sneezing twice as he exited.
Awkward silence had filled the kitchen as the door slammed shut behind Vegeta, until Bra had looked earnestly at her mother and asked, "Mommy, should I make some chicken soup for Daddy's tea party?"
And that had concluded breakfast.
A sudden buzz from the doorbell startled Bulma out of her thoughts, and she glanced at the clock, surprised to see that it was already half past one. That meant that she'd been sitting and thinking about Vegeta for the past hour and a half, when she'd only intended to take a momentary break from her lab. An hour and and a half, she thought disgustedly, wasted thinking about that stubborn, stupid, incomprehensible man...
He hadn't come back since his dramatic exit that morning, so she assumed he was still training. Which was fine with her; it meant that the household would be peaceful and she could get some lab work done. It was the perfect opportunity to catch up on some much-needed personal time.
Still...
She had to admit, she was curious to see just how Vegeta was doing, annoying though he was...but she knew better than to go and find him. He'd still be in the horrible mood he'd worked up that morning, and she knew that once he was that angry, it took awhile for him to cool down. If only he wasn't so damn impossible! There'd been no reason for him to get so upset, she'd just been concerned that he was sick...
Bulma's heart softened a bit as she thought of how different he'd looked that morning, sniffling and sneezing and being miserable. It was a far cry from the usual proud, cool and collected Vegeta. That morning he'd looked...well...cute. Definitely not a word one would normally associate with her husband.
If he doesn't come back in, I'll bite the bullet and go check on him. Damn the man, for making her love him so much! She didn't usually swallow her pride so easily.
The doorbell rang again, more insistent this time, and with a shock Bulma realized that her parents had arrived and were waiting for her. Cursing herself for forgetting, she ran off towards the door, Vegeta's insistent parting words still echoing in her mind: "I--AM-- NOT--SICK!!..."
Vegeta was most definitely sick.
He now stood shivering miserably in the center of the training room, trying to adjust the climate controls for the fifth time in as many minutes. His efforts at training had been shot to hell; it seemed that every time he'd adjust the temperature, he'd either be too hot and break into a sweat, or too cold and break into shivers. Nothing was working. He'd never felt so damned uncomfortable before---even when he'd had the life beaten out of him, it seemed he'd not felt this badly. His head ached, his body ached--and to make matters worse, he just couldn't seem to stop...to stop...
"HA-EPSCHH!!"
Sneezing. He couldn't seem to stop sneezing...
"HEH-URCHH! HA-ESHH!!"
Vegeta sniffled weakly as another set of shivers raced through his body. He felt absolutely terrible. Ever since he'd stormed out of the kitched that morning, he'd been on a downhill slide. He had started out shoddy at best, with an occasional sneeze disrupting his concentration, only to snowball into the sniffling, sneezing, congested and overall miserable mess he now was. And though he'd insisted, though he'd absolutely positively been sure that it couldn't happen, he was starting to believe that maybe, just possibly, he could be sick...
"HA-ACHHH!"
The truth was that he'd thought---well, he'd thought that it wasn't possible for him to get sick. At least, not on Earth. True, on his home planet, there was the occasional illness or virus that would strike, but even then it was usually one of the low-class Saiyans who would fall ill. It was extremely rare for an high-class Saiyan to catch even the most contagious viruses. And when he'd come to Earth, and seen what pathetic fighters the humans were---why, most of them didn't even have a power rating over 200!--he'd been certain that whatever ridiculous germs they carried would not be strong enough to effect him.
"ASHHHH! HEH-AH-HASSHHH!!"
It would seem that his assessment had been...incorrect. Which of course, left him with another problem altogether--- How to deal with it.
Vegeta gritted his teeth in fury. If there was one thing he hated doing, it was being forced to deal with something beyond his control. He hadn't trained to be one of the most powerful being in the universe to be pushed around by outside forces; he had trained so that HE could do whatever the hell he wanted, and everything else around him could "deal". And now this ridiculous cold had cut him down. A cold. Something that every stupid Earthling caught when the weather got slightly chilly. A pointless, annoying, common virus. That was what really pissed him off about the whole situation---he hadn't caught some grand, earth-shattering virus, something that would really test his strength, something that would inspire admiration in his family. Oh, no. Not at all! He'd caught the most insipid, uninspiring illness of them all...and to top it all off, his attempts to fight it were failing.
Miserably.
"ah--heh--HA-PSHHHH!!"
Angrily, not realizing his own strength, he slammed his fist into the innocent climate-control system, and it immediately shattered into a billion scattered fragments. He'd effectively destroyed it with a single blow. Bulma was going to be absolutely furious... "CHHSSSH!!"
Vegeta sneezed again, his head throbbing from congestion, his nose running freely. That reminded him...that bossy mate of his had shoved one of her frilly yellow napkins at him that morning. Why the hell did these humans see the need to decorate everything they owned? The damn thing was so ugly he'd forgotten about it in his fury, and had thrown it carelessly onto the floor of the training room entrance, thinking that he wouldn't need it...
He rubbed at his bright-red nose carefully, wincing at the soreness that his gloves caused his tender skin. His nose was driving him absolutely crazy--the napkin that Bulma had thrown at him that morning was suddenly looked very appealing...
"heh---AH--MMPSHH!"
Snatching it up from the floor just in time, he sneezed into it, but it just didn't seem to stop the incessant tickling at the back of his nose.
"MMPSHH!! MMFFFHH! HA-MMMCHH!!"
The napkin bravely tried to hold up to the onslaught, but it was quickly becoming apparent that the 'frilly yellow' brand was not known for its strength. And it didn't help matters that Vegeta's sneezes were more powerful than any human's could ever hope to be... "MMMPSHH!"
Within a few seconds, the napkin was destroyed, and Vegeta found himself sneezing directly into his gloved hands.
"HA-PPSHHH! Haa--APPSHHH!!...ugh!!"
Disgusted, he tore his gloves off and threw them into the garbage. If there was one thing the Prince of the Saiyans was not about to do, it was sneeze into his own hands, gloves or not. Blood, dirt and sweat was one thing---this, on the other hand, was absolutely revolting.
Keeping one finger underneath his troublesome nose, Vegeta looked around the training room in desperation. Bulma normally made sure there were fresh towels for him to wipe himself clean of sweat after each session, so that he wouldn't "drip disgusting bodily fluids all over the house, you stinky bastard" as she liked to say. One of those would have done nicely---but after surveying the room closely, he saw that there were no towels to be found anywhere. He supposed she'd gotten angry that he'd never used them...but dammit, he couldn't be bothered with "cleaning himself up" when there was food waiting! That mate of his...such a loud, obnoxious, demanding woman! She was the rival of any warrior female he'd seen on his own planet, and he'd seen some incredibly ill-tempered ones. She was quite a lot of woman, his mate...
And she had apparently taken away all of the towels. His nose tickled fiercely.
Vegeta loved Bulma more than anything, it was true, but at that moment, he was not too pleased with her timing...
"HAA-MPPSHH! HA-PPSHHHT!"
Not pleased at all.
His head aching almost as much as his body, Vegeta collapsed heavily onto the workout bench, trying to figure out his next step. No napkins. No towels. He felt, to put it frankly, like shit. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
The few options that he could think of weren't terribly appealing:
1. He could stay in the training room and feel like crap.
2. He could leave the training room, but anywhere he went to he'd still feel like crap.
3. He could destroy the training room, which would make him feel better for a second or two, but then he'd have nowhere to stay, have drawn tons of unwanted attention to himself, and still end up feeling like crap.
Or...
4. He could go to the house, take a nice long shower, collapse into a bed, fall asleep, and no longer be aware if he felt like crap or not...Vegeta squeezed his hand into a fist as this last option lingered in his mind. Had he thought of this just half an hour ago, he would have absolutely refused. He would have pushed it out of his mind, would have been disgusted with himself for even considering it! He, Vegeta, Prince of the Saiyans, weakened by a cold to the point of retreating to bed like some pathetic invalid. It was ridiculous! It was unheard of! It--sniff...it was---sniff"-
"...ahh...HAA-MMPSSHHH!!! HA-ACCHHHH!!"
....it was the best damned idea he'd ever had. On one condition, of course---that his family did not find out about it.
He absolutely could not let them see him like this--would not let them see him so....weak. He just---could not. He was royalty, he was proud, and he was sure that if they found out he had, as his daughter had so innocently put it that morning, "the sniffles" they would make his life a living hell.
Oh, they wouldn't mean to--they would think they were helping him, by pitying him and making him comfortable and cooing over him and being, overall, disgustingly and embarrasingly affectionate. It was a human trait that he absolutely could not take. Saiyans did not show affection, even if they felt it, and they sure as hell didn't accept it! Why, he had never, even in all the time he'd been on Earth, even with a whole human family, let affection worm its way into his life!
....
Well...
...maybe just a little.
There was all the time he spent with Trunks, but really, that was training, so it didn't really count as affection, even if he patted his son's back and ruffled his violet hair and essentially went out of his way to show how proud he was of him...
And, well, there were all those...well...tea...parties...that Bra threw for him, that he really couldn't seem to turn down when she smiled at him in that way she had, and she was so delighted when he'd act like he was drinking her tea, with those odd human toys she had, that he just couldn't bring himself to disappoint her... And then, of course, there was Bulma, who he gladly showed affection to every night in bed, which she enjoyed just as much as he; and sometimes, whether they were sitting together in the living room, or arguing in the kitchen, when she was looking especially beautiful with her indigo eyes and soft skin, and he thought of all that they'd been through together, he'd just have to reach out and touch her and tell her that she was his Princess...because she was, she truly was...
...ok, so maybe it was more than just a little. Maybe---maybe affection had wormed its way into his life...a lot.
Still, he had no intention of letting them see him---
"...hAAAMMPSHHH!!"
--like this. He knew they would want to help him. He knew they would insist on helping him...
And he intended to do everything in his power to make sure that did not happen.
"What do you mean, Vegeta's not doing very good?? Do you mean that our DARLING son-in-law is sick???!" Shocked, Mrs. Briefs was staring at her daughter in horror, as though she'd just said Vegeta had died rather than simply stating he wasn't feeling well. Bulma rolled her eyes.
"It'll be fine Mom, he's just got a---"
Ignoring her daughter's insistant pleas, Mrs. Briefs turned to her husband. "Honey, we have to do something! Poor Vegeta, we have to help him! I'll make some soup-"
Mr. Briefs nodded, but Bulma threw up her hands in a halting gesture and interrupted her mother. "Really, he wouldn't want---"
"--and give him some medicine--"
"Mom, that's not such a great--"
"--and take his temperature---"
"There's no way in hell he'll let you do that--"
"--and get him right into bed!" Mrs. Briefs finished stubbornly.
"That sounds like a good idea, hon," Mr. Briefs said cheerfully. Bulma, with a sigh of pure frustration, put her head into her hands. She'd known from the moment her parents walked into the house ten minutes ago that this was going to happen. And no matter what she said, she knew her mother wouldn't listen: Mrs. Briefs, completely overlooking the fact that her son-in-law had once been Earth's greatest enemy, ignoring the fact that he'd destroyed countless planets, and conveniently forgetting that he was powerful enough to destroy her with a mere flick of his finger, thought that Vegeta was the most adorable man she'd ever met. From the very beginning, when Vegeta had started staying with the Briefs during his training, she'd had absolutely no fear of him. Instead, she'd fussed over him, cooked for him, and chatted with him--and she hadn't minded at all that he'd snarled, insulted, or just plain ignored her in response. In fact, when he was being especially annoying, she only seemed to want to mother him more.
"Dad, be reasonable! YOU know Vegeta won't appreciate this," pleadingly, Bulma turned to her father for support, but he only smiled and shook his head.
"Now, Bulma, honey, you know your mother is impossible to argue with when she gets an idea into her head. And besides, I do think that we ought to help Vegeta out if he's not feeling well."
Mr. Briefs, just like Mrs. Briefs, seemed to forget that Vegeta was not your average son-in-law; though as Bulma recalled, it had taken him quite a bit longer to warm up to him...in fact, it hadn't happened until Trunks had been about two years old. It had started with a simple outing to Mr. Briefs's favorite restaurant, but quickly turned into a fiasco as the family had been berated, laughed at, and finally threatened by a drunken meathead seated at a table nearby. The breaking point came the instant the man had insulted Bulma; upon hearing that, the up-until-then unresponsive Vegeta had calmly made his way the man's seat, and with the merest flick of his finger, had destroyed the meathead's table and sent him flying into a wall. The evening had concluded with the man, terrified out of his wits, offering to pay for the entire family's dinner.
From that moment on, Mr. Briefs hadn't had a single bad word to say about his son-in-law. Bulma had been happy, of course, that he'd finally taken a liking Vegeta. But now it would seem that it had become a disadvantage, as Mr. Briefs cheerfully followed his wife's instructions on how they were going to baby Vegeta back to health, and completely ignored his daughter's warnings...
Bulma sighed again. This was going to be extremely interesting, to say the least---Vegeta vs. her parents. Who would win...?
"Honey, where is Vegeta now?" Mrs. Briefs called from the kitchen, already pulling out ingredients for homemade chicken soup.
"Last I saw, he went out training, Mom."
"TRAINING?!" Mrs. Briefs looked up in disbelief. "How can he be training when he's not well?! The poor dear! I'll have to go and fetch him!"
"Actually, Mom, the doors electronically seal themselves when he's in there. So you'll just have to wait until he decides to leave." Mrs. Briefs looked extremely disappointed. "Well, when will be he done?"
Bulm shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine!" But she already knew the answer: not until he felt better. And that was just fine with her...
As long as he stays there, she thought to herself, he'll be ok without Mom and Dad driving him--and me--nuts. As long as he stays there...
Meanwhile, about two flights directly above her mother and grandparents, Bra sat alone in her room, playing blissfully with her tea set. Normally, she would have taken off at the first ring from the doorbell, eager to see who'd come to play, but not today. Today she had more important things to do. She hadn't even heard her grandparent's noisy discussion in the kitchen, so engrossed was she in this solemn task.
And that task was none other than preparing the best tea-and-chicken- soup party she could for her father.
"Won't Daddy be surprised, Mr. Fuzzyhead?? I bet he'll be so happy, he'll stop being cranky about having the sniffles!" Bra chatted happily with the large stuffed bear seated directly next to her. She poured him a cup of imaginary tea, being careful not to spill any on her pretty pink dress.
"I didn't have enough water for soup AND tea," she whispered to him, "so I just made tea with chicken bits in it! Isn't that a great idea? Isn't it yummy??"
Mr. Fuzzyhead, as usual, had no comment. Bra didn't mind. She finished pouring cups for the rest of her stuffed friends, then reached for the sugar container.
"Who wants some sugar?"
She'd just wrapped her fingers around the pink plastic handle when she heard something strange. It came from outside her room, down the hallway. Near her parents' room...
Pausing, Bra tilted her head and listened curiously. A second later, she heard it again.
"Ha...ah...MMPshtt!!..."
Immediately, she recognized it. Her eyes lit up with joy. "DADDY!" She shrieked at the top of her lungs and bolted out the door towards her father.
Vegeta froze the instant he heard his daughter's joyful cry. He didn't know what was more frightening: that fact that she'd yelled loud enough to wake the dead...or the fact that it sounded like she was coming closer.
'She's not supposed to be here!' His stunned mind screamed. 'She's supposed to be downstairs with the woman's parents!' He briefly considered blasting through the wall to escape, but that idea was immediately dismissed as Bra came into view, arms wide open, eyes shining with delight. All hopes of getting rest and being left alone to recooperate instantly vanished from Vegeta's mind as his daughter wrapped her arms around his left leg.
"Daddy Daddy Daddy..." Bra squealed, squeezing his leg affectionately. She smiled up at him with unholy glee while he rubbed his troublesome nose in frustration. He was trapped. And here he'd thought that his plan was foolproof! It was certainly simple enough: sneak into the bedroom; lock the door; take a shower; get some rest. Don't come out until the cursed illness had passed. He'd assumed everyone would be busy visiting with the Briefs; and if not, his plan had been to destroy anyone who was foolish enough to get in his way. Unfortunately, he had not taken into consideration that the opponent would be his adorable pigtailed little girl.
'Dammit!' He cursed mentally. It was this disgusting virus that had once again foiled him! All had gone smoothly, no one had heard him, he'd been just about to enter the bedroom---and his bothersome nose had itched and tickled to the point that he'd given up and sneezed twice. He'd even tried desperately to keep them quiet, but they refused to cooperate. He would actually have been proud of the fact that his sneezes were quite a powerful force, if he wasn't so damned annoyed by it...
He sniffled and rubbed his nose again, agitated, and then sneezed explosively three times: "HA-MPCHH! HA-CHHST! CHHHST!!"
"Daddy, are your sniffles still bothering you?" Bra asked sweetly. "I made you chicken-tea-soup to make you feel better!"
Vegeta had no idea what chicken-tea-soup was, and he definitely was not feeling up to trying it. Embarrassed at being coddled by his own daughter, his face flamed red. "Bra, for the last time, I--am--not-- sick--" the Prince of the Saiyans punctuated each of his words with a shake of his leg, trying to get Bra to release him, but to no avail. "Why aren't you downstairs playing with your idiotic grandparents??" Swiftly, he reached down and pried his daughter off of his leg, setting her aside and turning back to the bedroom door. Bra would simply have to understand that he wasn't in the mood for a tea party today. He'd make it up to her later, but right now his bed looked like the most wonderful thing he'd ever seen in his entire life. And he was almost there...
Bra reached out and grabbed his wrist in both her tiny hands, pulling him away from the bedroom eagerly. "I didn't want to see Gramma and Grampa until I had tea with you Daddy! That way I'd know you were feeling better and I wouldn't have to worry about you. Or...did you want me to go invite them to your party?" Her eyes suddenly lit up, overjoyed at her own ingenuity."Oooh!! Daddy, if I tell them you're sick I'm sure they'll want to come make you feel better!!!" Spinning away from Vegeta and clapping her hands with excitement, she took off down the hall towards the stairs.
"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!!!" Vegeta roared, lunging after his daughter. All thoughts of rest and relaxation disappeared the instant she mentioned her grandparents. He hadn't thought of them, or what Bra might say to them! If those meddling Earthlings knew---if she were to tell them that he was ill---the horror that he would have to endure would drive him mad. He could picture that ridiculous mother of Bulma's cooing over him with sympathy, and it made him want to retch. He couldn't let that happen!
Vegeta's mind worked furiously, trying to come up with a solution to his impossible situation. If he could just alter his plan slightly, if Bra would just keep his secret, he could stay in the bedroom, melt the damned lock on the door, and by the time anyone realized he was in there, he'd surely be feeling better...
He caught Bra around her tiny waist and scooped her up off the floor, effectively stopping her from getting away. She squealed in surprise as she was lifted into her father's muscular arms. He spun her around until they were face-to-face, glaring as best he could at her innocent face.
"Daddy! Don't you want anyone else to come to your chicken-tea-soup- party??" She squeaked.
"NO!" He roared. "Listen, Bra, I'll come to your party---"
"YAAAY!!"
'"--so long as you can keep it a secret. I don't want anyone to know that I'm here...ESPECIALLY those Earthling grandparents of yours! Do you understand? This.." He paused, his eyes closing slightly, "...is our...little---" Vegeta turned his head, his hands occupied with his daughter, and sneezed into the crook of his arm, "HA- NCHSHT!...NNCHSSHT!--secret!" He finished, sniffling.
Bra kissed her father on the cheek. "I understand, Daddy! Our secret!" Her eyes twinkled with joy at her father. "Except---is it okay if Mr. Fuzzyhead joins us? I promise he won't say anything! He never does, actually..."
Despite himself, the corners of Vegeta's lips twitched upwards ever so slightly.
"Fine."
For the third time in as many minutes, Bulma rubbed at her throbbing temples as her Mother berated her from the kitchen.
"Now listen, if you're not going to go search for him, then I will! Honestly, what kind of wife sits back and lets her man be sick without trying to help him? I'm ashamed of you!" Mrs.Briefs had finished making the soup, and was now pointing the ladle accusingly at her daughter as she continued yelling indignantly. "Vegeta needs our help, and even if I have to go out there and break down the door to the gravity room, then so help me I will!"
"Mom, I TOLD you, the door is SEALED, so until Vegeta wants to come out, we can't do anything!" Frazzled, Bulma turned to her father for support. "Dad, PLEASE, you've been quiet this whole time. Back me up here!"
Mr. Briefs, misunderstanding his daughter's plea, smiled encouragingly. "Well, now, honey, I'm sure that there's SOME way we can get him out of there..."
Bulma felt like screaming in frustration. "No, Dad, that's not what I-" but she never got the chance to finish, as she was suddenly cut off by the front door banging open.
Bulma's heart immediately stopped as her parents both focused their attention on the door.
'Oh, this is just perfect,' she moaned inwardly. `please, don't let that be Vegeta...' She held her breath in anticipation--- "Mom, I'm home!"
---and immediately released it as Trunks called out cheerfully from the living room. Mrs. Brief's expression showed the slightest disappointment for just a moment, but brightened as soon as Trunks stepped into the kitchen, his best friend Goten following close behind. All thoughts of Vegeta seemed to disappear as Mr. and Mrs. Briefs turned their full attention to their grandson. Bulma had never been so glad to see her son as she was in that instant. "Sorry we're here so early Mom, hope it's not a problem. Grandma, Grandpa, you remember Goten, right? He's Son Goku's second son." "Hi there," Goten grinned sheepishly as Trunk's grandparents greeted him warmly. As Goten spoke politely with the Briefs, Trunks glanced around the room for a moment before his eyes returned to his mother. "Hey, Mom, where's D-" He began, but stopped when Bulma locked eyes with him and looked about ready to kill. "Uh..." he faltered as his mother made an unmistakable gesture with her finger running across her throat. Trunks cleared his own throat uncertainly, then tried a different approach. "um...wh-where's...Bra..?" Instantly, a sweet smile filled Bulma's face. Trunks breathed a sigh of relief as it occurred to him that sometimes-not often, but sometimes---she was even more frightening than his father could be. "Why, it's funny you should ask that, darling!" Sensing an opportunity that she couldn't afford to miss, Bulma immediately focused all her energy into taking everyone's mind off of Vegeta. "I think she's playing tea party by herself upstairs. Why don't we ALL go up and see her?"
And just as she'd hoped, Mrs. Briefs enthusiastically agreed with her.
"What an excellent idea! It's been so quiet without our darling little granddaughter! Let's go see what our sweetie is up to..." Relief poured through Bulma as the entire troup made their way upstairs, her parents chatting nicely with Trunks and Goten. She was the last one to follow, and she shot a final glance at the front door as she went, the slightest bit worried that Vegeta might try and show up...but she shook her head in denial and continued to climb the stairs.
'Now, Bulma,' she chided herself, `You know better than that! Vegeta's a lot of things, but he's certainly not a fool, and he wouldn't be stupid enough to come here when he knows your parents are around. And you know how much your parents adore Bra. She'll be so happy to see them that they'll all forget about Vegeta...' And with a confident smile, Bulma followed the others headed toward her daughter's room, blissfully unaware of the coming disaster.
"Hn..heh-ICHHHT!!"
"Bwess you Daddy!"
"He-CHHSSH!!!"
"Here's a hankie!"
"MPPFFCHH!"
"Ugh, Daddy, you destroyed my hankie..! ...Here's another one...and I'll pour you some more chicken-tea-soup..."
It had been twenty minutes since Vegeta had been pulled eagerly into his daughter's room and forced to participate in Bra's "special" tea party. He'd lost count of how many times he'd sneezed since they'd started the party; either his cold was getting worse, or he was severely allergic to chicken-tea-soup. He'd been "bwessed" at least twenty times by his daughter, kissed countless times on the cheek, and given several "hankies", (none other than the frilly yellow napkin he'd experienced earlier) each of which had been successfully destroyed and were now building into quite a large pile on the floor. Try as he might to fight his daughter's cuteness, and cranky as he wanted to be, he had to admit that Bra was quite the hostess. And, truthfully, he'd actually ended up being very comfortable-Bra had given him every blanket she could find, and the softest pillows in her room. So, although his pride was still raging at the complete absurdity of it all, Vegeta had managed to endure the party with surprising ease. The fact that his daughter's overtures of affection were much more easy to endure than the Woman's parents certainly helped---and, of course, the fact that he was getting steadily sicker also helped quite a bit in reigning in his temper. He didn't even realize how long he'd been sitting there in the warm...soft...pile of blankets, and he certainly didn't notice that his regal eyelids were beginning to lower and his head was starting to nod...until his nose started to itch in that oh-so-familiar way--
"ah..Ah-CHHH!!...Huh-MMMPSHHH!!..." His sneezes brought him back to full attention immediately. Bra smiled sweetly at him and handed him yet another hankie. Her father accepted it as regally as he could muster, and blew his nose into it forcefully, no longer caring about how disgusting it was to be ill. He glanced around at the collection of repulsively cute stuffed animals gathered around the tea table. It occurred to him that he was getting tired of sneezing into the yellow tissues-they weren't nearly as soft as, say, Mr. Fuzzyhead was looking...
Bra saw her father reach for her stuffed teddy bear and eagerly reached out to help him. "Oh, Daddy, you can have Mr. Fuzzyhead if that'll help make you feel better!" She picked up her favorite teddy and happily gave it to her father-but as she handed it him, she suddenly cocked her head towards the closed door of her room. Had she heard something...?
Vegeta, greedily clutching the soft toy, didn't notice his daughter's distraction. Nor did he notice a second later when she got up and headed towards the door, because his eyes were closing slowly as he raised the teddy bear towards his face and drew a hitching breath---
And then several things happened at once.
"HA-Mp-PPPSSSHT!!" Vegeta sneezed, powerfully, into Mr. Fuzzyhead as Bra flung open the door to her room with a cry of "HI EV'RYBODY!!"; and Mr. and Mrs. Briefs, Trunks, Goten, and last but not least, Bulma got a crystal-clear view into Bra's room.
A stunned silence met Bra's happy cry.
For one second, just once brief instant, even before Vegeta had time to react, Bulma's eyes captured the scene before her: There was her husband, Prince of the Saiyans, once one of Earth's most feared enemies, a man who would never let his guard or his pride down for even an instant...sitting at his four-year-old daughter's miniature tea table with a pile of used tissues surrounding him, wrapped in blankets adorned with prancing ponies and laughing clowns, leaning on several pink- and purple-dotted pillows, and clutching a teddy bear to his face.
And then all hell broke loose.
"EWWW Daddy!!" Bra shrieked, "You didn't hafta sneeze on Mr.Fuzzyhead!"
Vegeta, a look of pure horrified shock on his regal face, dropped the teddy bear and tore the blankets from around his body. He shot to his feet as his black eyes penetrated every face now staring at him in disbelief. As if on cue, everyone suddenly found themselves able to speak, and a torrent of questions and exclamations came forth at once---"Uh...uh...D-dad? Um..ah...are you-feeling---alright?" --- "Of course he's okay, silly! I TOLD you this morning that Daddy and I were going to have a tea party!" --- "Vegeta, son, how nice to see you---ah-enjoying yourself! We were worried about you..." --- "Oh, Vegeta, thank GOODNESS we found you! I made you homemade chicken soup, darling, so let's just get you into bed and nurse you back to health..."
Goten, his mouth moving soundlessly, just stared in utter silence, unable to think of anything to say...but Bulma more than made up for his silence when she opened her mouth a second later--
"Just---what---the---HELL---do you think you're DOING, VEGETA?!" She roared. Everyone fell silent as she stomped forward and grabbed Mr. Fuzzyhead off the floor---and promptly threw him at her husband. "I've been worrying my ass off about how you're doing, fighting everyone off from bothering you so as not to insult your stupid insistence on privacy---and I find you up here having a TEA PARTY??"
That did it: the horrified look in Vegeta's eyes was quickly replaced---with pure, unbridled fury. His fists shook as a sudden burst of fighting aura sprung forth, silhouetting his body in a bright yellow glow. Trunks, Goten and Mr. Briefs all took a few nervous steps backward; however, Bra, her Grandmother, and Bulma stood their ground.
"WOMAN...How DARE YOU---" He snarled fiercely, his hair beginning to lighten to gold as his power increased exponentially with his anger, "You have the AUDACITY to accuse me-a tea party? ME? FOOL! That's not what I was doing---I ought to destroy this entire house-I sh...shh...ah..." Vegeta's nose twitched. "ah...HA-MMPPHHSH!! HA-EEMMSHHH!!" Caught without the teddy bear or a tissue, Vegeta had no choice but to sneeze into the crook of his elbow.
He was immediately inundated with a chorus of "Bless You's" from the audience in Bra's doorway.
"Well, well," Bulma said scathingly, "I'm glad to see that you've learned to cover your damned mouth."
Vegeta opened his mouth in snarl, but was cut off by Bulma's mother before he could say anything.
"Bulma, darling, now that's enough!! Vegeta needs our help!" And, ignoring Trunks' horrified pleas to cease and desist, stormed forcefully up to her furious Son-in-Law. "Now, hon, don't be embarrassed! It's okay for grown men to get the sniffles." Brushing her daughter aside and smiling tenderly, she reached a hand out to Vegeta.
Goten, finally able to speak, looked at Trunks in amazement. "My Dad's supposed to be the bravest guys around, but I don't think he has anything on your Mom and Grandma...and I hate to say it, but, dude, I think your Dad's about to pop."
Weakly, Trunks nodded in agreement.
"WOMAN, DO YOU WANT TO FEEL MY WRATH??!!" Vegeta roared as his Mother-In-Law's hand hovered close to his head. His fighting aura was now engulfing him in a menacing orange glow...
Confused, but not the least bit fearful in the face of Vegeta's fury, Mrs. Briefs smiled warmly. "No, sweetheart, I want to feel your forehead..."
"For the LAST TIME, I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP, EARTHLING!"
"That's fine, darling! How about some chicken soup?" Ignoring Vegeta's baleful stare, she put her hand on his forehead, exclaiming, "Oh, my, you're burning up! Trunks, Goten, be dears and fetch the soup, it's on the kitchen stove..."
At the sound of Goten's name, Vegeta's eyes widened in disbelief. His eyes searched the doorway and focused on the suddenly terrified youth. He hadn't realized---this entire time--Kakkarot's annoying little spawn had been watching this disgusting display. "YOU!" He snarled. Goten froze as Vegeta pointed a shaking finger at him.
"Uh-um," Goten stammered, finding it hard to think with Trunks' father looking ready to kill him with just his finger. "Hi there, Mr. Ve---"
"I SWEAR, YOU LITTLE BRAT, IF YOU SO MUCH AS BREATHE A WORD OF THIS TO KAKKAROT, I'LL,--I'LL---Ha--" he paused to sneeze, "--CHHSH!!- DESTROY YOU WITHOUT SO MUCH AS A THOUGHT!!"
"Dad, wait!" Trunks cried desperately, pulling Goten out of the line of fire. "I'm-I'm sure that Son Goku has been sick plenty of times, I'm sure it's just a normal part of any Saiyan---right, Goten? RIGHT??" Trunks gave Goten a meaningful stare and nudged his shoulder rather forcefully.
Goten, unfortunately, didn't understand.
"What? Uh, no, Dad's never been sick. Except for that heart virus or whatever that was, but that was a big deal, not just a co-"
"YOU IDIOT!!" Trunks roared and shoved Goten down the stairs, as far away from Vegeta as possible.
"Don't forget the soup, boys!" Mrs. Briefs called cheerfully after them. Bulma shook her head, half from amusement, half from frustration. Then she turned back to her husband.
Vegeta, despite all his attempts to remain a frightening, awe- inspiring presence, was looking less and less impressive. The gold tint of aura around his body was starting to fade, allowing the bright pink flush of his fevered cheeks to be seen easily. Though he hadn't even turned into a Super Saiyan, he seemed exhausted, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he hovered in mid-air in front of Bulma. Had he not been ill, she was certain that he'd have blown a good chuck out of Bra's wall with his powerful rage; but as he was now, his power was barely enough to stir the napkins on the tea table. Despite her anger at his stubborn pride, Bulma could feel her heart melting for her poor husband. He sneezed again, twice, and she knew that it was time she stepped in...
"Alright, Mom, time to get to work," she said briskly, getting her mother's attention. "You and Dad go prepare the bed downstairs, get Goten and Trunks to heat the soup, and have Bra get ready to serve it. We'll get Vegeta into bed and we can all help nurse him back to health."
Mrs. Briefs, eyes alight with an almost unholy joy, jumped into her assigned task eagerly. "Oh, that's a great idea, hon! I'm so glad you've finally come around!" She turned to her husband as she scooped Bra into her hands with a happy twirl. "Darling, you heard your daughter! Let's get the bed ready! Bra, sweetie, we'll go get you ready to be the cutest waitress ever..." Bra clapped her hands excitedly and waved good-bye to her father as she was carried out of the room. "Bye, Daddy, see you in a bit!"
And, as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone, leaving only Vegeta and Bulma in the small room. The former looked ready to kill everything, while the latter looked rather pleased with herself. A moment passed in silence.
"Well, Woman?" When he finally spoke, his voice sounded more than a little murderous. "You seem pleased with yourself---"
"Oh, shut up, Vegeta," Bulma exclaimed, and grabbed him by one muscular arm to drag him into the hall.
"What are you doing?!" He hissed. "Surely, you don't think that I'm going to-to SUBMIT to the pathetic whims of your parents-" But before he could steal his arm back, Bulma had dragged him out into the hall, and then...directly into their room. Where she promptly slammed, locked, and deadbolted their bedroom door. Dumbfounded, Vegeta just stared at his wife.
"No, I don't think that." She replied, and Vegeta watched in amazement as a gentle smile lit her face. "So, I'm going to keep us locked in here until they've gotten the point. Does that sound okay to you?"
Vegeta's mouth dropped open in shock, but not before Bulma had noticed just the barest hint of a smile. "You, Woman, you know what you are? You're-" his eyes closed, "Ha-NNNSSH!! You're---"
But Bulma didn't let him finish. "I love you too, Vegeta. Now get into bed!!!"
The End
Written for weekly hatching #14