Anger Management

Chapter 10

Picking at his nails, Vegeta raised his head just a few inches to shoot one of his stares at the obviously displeased Dr. Kim. "Are you really going to step on my dick about the drinking, too? I already heard it twice before today, Doc."

"I beg your pardon, Vegeta?"

"You heard me," Vegeta was now sitting upright, legs crossed tight and hands close to his chest as he continued picking his nails. He was only ten minutes into his hourlong session with Dr. Kim and it was already going badly.

"You know, I've been working with people for a long time and I've heard all sorts of colourful language, but I don't think I've ever had a client use the phrase "step on my dick" in the context I assume you're using it in..."

"Which is?".

"You don't want to be condescended to. I don't blame you, Vegeta. And if we're being blunt, I don't want to lecture you either. There are far more efficient ways to use this hour."

"Hmph!" Vegeta was a impressed with her straightforwardness. "Alright, then. So that was my New Year's Eve and its brilliant conclusion. All in all, another barely tolerable holiday season capped with one hell of a bad night. On a arguably positive note, I seem to have made a new friend."

Dr. Kim looked up from her pad of paper. "Arguably positive?"

Vegeta smirked. "He likes me far more than I like him, and he works at my wife's company so there's some benefits to this friendship for both of us. On the other hand, he insisted on taking me out to lunch and I really did not mind spending that hour with him. He's... interesting."

"How did you meet this gentleman?"

"New Year's Party. We were both really drunk, hence his insistence on buying lunch... I think. Bulma said I was, and I quote, "a total prick", to him. Thing is... she was insistent that I talk to this guy. I don't remember what I said, but apparently I got angry because he grabbed at my hands. I don't like people grabbing at me! It's fucking weird!"

"Sounds like he was trying to shake your hand, Vegeta."

"Yeah, that. I don't like that shit. It's an absolutely gross habit! I mean, have you ever seen how fucking grubby a little kid's hands get? Adults aren't any better."

"I see... this won't veer into "lecture territory", but how much did you have to drink at the party?"

Vegeta's answer came in the form of one derisive "ha!" Dr. Kim nodded and made a short note on her pad of paper. He lost count and can't admit it, she thought, I wonder if this has happened before...

"Do you plan to spend more time with your new friend?"

The Saiyan's arms drifted away from his chest and came to the armrests, although his legs remained crossed, he loosened up and sat back in his chair. "Yes, I suppose that will happen. He's designing equipment for me."

"What kind of equipment, Vegeta?"

"Protective gear. Unique material. You'll be seeing it on the market soon in more than few applications, so I'm told."

"This all sounds very interesting, and also a bit top secret considering how vague you're being about it. I won't pry further, but I am looking forward to seeing this new product."

Vegeta smirked. The little old woman was a smart one.

"I'd like to ask you about your alcohol use this holiday season, Vegeta. You've never talked about a binge before, so I wonder..."

"If I used it to deal with anxiety? Absolutely. And no, it's not a routine thing. Fuck, I knew we'd circle back to this topic... I like to have a glass of wine with dinner, or maybe a beer, but I don't really get drunk like I did at that party- and I thoroughly regretted it the next day."

"What happened the next day?"

"An... acquaintance of several years, who basically put me to bed after they kept on eye on me as I hurled in the washroom, came over to the house and we went on a walk."

"That doesn't sound so awful, Vegeta! They sound like a real friend. How long have you known this acquaintance?"

The Saiyan had to count backward in his head before he place the time, place, and his age. "Maybe five and a half years, off and on. I ran into him during my community service, which is horrible enough... and now he seems to be making this sort of effort to talk to me."

"Is there any reason you shouldn't consider socializing with him, if this person is taking time to keep on touch with you?"

Vegeta drummed his fingers on the armrest. "Not really. Don't like his wife, but we don't interact anyway."

"Vegeta, I think you should accept the offer of friendship. Nobody is an island. We all need connections and friendships."

The Saiyan growled but also nodded. His fingers were practically digging into the armrest now.

After experiencing a late-night hunger attack for the first time in more than a year, Vegeta slept past nine thirty and only woke at that time up because Trunks, home sick with the flu, approached his sleeping father and sneezed directly in his face.

So horrified by the idea of coming down with the flu that he couldn't even scream lest he inhale even more infected saliva, Vegeta carried his son back to his own room while breathlessly calling for his mother in law to care for the child, ran back to the master bedroom and into the en-suite washroom, starting a hot shower immediately.

Over a light breakfast, Vegeta sipped a large mug of hot water, lemon, and honey, took the herbal capsules his mother-in-law had recommended, and worried that he'd soon come down with that dreadful flu, which always seemed to knock him down every other year in spite of the annual vaccine he received. He didn't seem to be particularly affected by the common cold, unlike Bulma and his parents in-law, but influenza was a virus his immune system just couldn't fight off.

"Damn immune system," he muttered, "at least I haven't come down with any other nasty Earthling disease..."

"Hi honey, everything alright?" Mrs. Briefs looked at what her son-in-law was eating with a bit of disapproval- a single slice of dry toast- and went to pour a cup of coffee.

"Damn kid just had to sneeze in my face. I swear, if I get sick..."

Mrs. Briefs sat down beside Vegeta. "I guess you'll find out in a day or two if you got it, Vegeta."

Vegeta smirked. "And if I die, I'll know that little bastard really was a Saiyan after all, killing his father like this."

"Vegeta!" Mrs. Briefs tried to suppress her laughter, "you'll be fine! We go through this routine every winter, honey. If you're really concerned about getting sick, why don't you eat something proper so your body has lots of energy to fight off any bugs? We'll start with some poached eggs..."

"If you insist..."

The following afternoon, Vegeta walked downtown to meet Ramirez at his office, dressed in layers to combat the terrible chill in the air and in his suddenly aching bones. He'd woken up feeling fine- if he could make it until the next day, he might be spared after all.

Once in the probation office's waiting room, a place Vegeta truly loathed, he loosened his scarf and told himself he didn't really feel sweat beading up along his temples.

Sitting in the chair across the desk from Ramirez, he touched his forehead and wondered if he was getting warmer. That damn kid's gonna kill me before he can write a fucking sentence, he thought, all because he can't keep his germs to himself! He could barely focus on his weekly chat with the officer. His eyes drifted over to the spider plant hanging in the window, then to the potted aloe sitting in the corner behind the desk.

"Hey, Vegeta? You alright, man?" Ramirez looked at Vegeta and noticed he seemed pale. Not only that, but the typically quick-witted man seemed pretty out of it.

"Mm? Repeat the question. Please."

"Did you work in the past week?"

"Actually, yes."

"Can you elaborate on this, Vegeta?"

"Yeah," Vegeta nodded, now wondering if he was about to feel queasy, rubbed his stomach, "as a consultant for an engineer at Capsule Corporation. I tested out some sports gear."

"Okay, very cool," Ramirez typed something on his laptop, "are you being compensated, or is this pro-bono work?"

"Some deposit's set to arrive in a few days, I think..." Vegeta wiped his forehead again and found he was sweating. When the flu affected him, it hit the Saiyan hard and very fast.

"Go home, Vegeta," Ramirez didn't look up from his computer, "before you get me sick too. You sound like shit. You are maybe the only person I'd actually believe when they said they were sick, just saying... also, there's a drugstore just down the block when you turn left out the main doors."

After dealing with the flu on four separate occasions, Vegeta had a certain system worked out: hot baths with epsom salts, a lot of cool water to drink, a bright pink liquid medicine that stopped all but the worst GI disruptions, and small dosages of combination flu medicine tablets. He had a rhythm set up; bed rest, bath, more bed rest, medicines, sleep, wake up, medicines, bath...

He filled the shopping basket with his standard flu-fighting supplies before stopping by the huge drinks display to select a few things to break up the constant water drinking. He settled on a bottle of a dark and sweet fizzy soda, mango juice, strawberry kefir, and his favourite of all, sugarcane juice. His appetite would likely vanish and leave him dependent on the sugary drinks to keep things going.

By the time he made it home, Vegeta wasn't feeling so good. Without speaking a word to anybody who may have also been at home, Vegeta went upstairs and into the master bedroom, set the paper bag full of his supplies underneath his nightstand, pulled off all his clothing, and crawled into bed. He'd sweat it out in a bath later.

Four days later and on the mend, Vegeta sat on the couch with his knees to his chest and yet another mug full of soup in his hands. It was his third serving of tomato soup, probably the most he'd consumed in one sitting in close to a week. This was the fastest he'd ever bounced back from a bout of the flu and the Saiyan felt himself growing eager to resume physical activity. At any rate, he was getting sick of watching game shows; he only liked the one where the contestants could end up with a negative balance on their "winnings" by the end of the program.

"Phone call," Bulma came into the living room, dressed in her coveralls and heavy work boots, "Don wants to talk to you."

"Mm," Vegeta set down his light meal and took the phone, "I'll return your phone."

Bulma took it as her cue to leave the room. She hoped that Vegeta would continue to be civil- sometimes Vegeta would develop a sudden dislike for humans he didn't know well, seemingly triggered by nothing at all.

"Hello Don," Vegeta brought the phone to his ear and spoke.

"Heard you caught the flu. Are you on the mend yet?"

"Mostly. Why are you calling here?"

Don had started to accept and understand Vegeta's blunt manner of speaking didn't mean he was being hostile. "I could use more of your input when you're feeling up to it. The side panel on the torso armour is lighter now, I think the flexibility is much improved too, however I wonder about durability."

"Alright."

"Um," Don knew he was faltering, "when do you think you could come in for a test run?"

"Day after tomorrow should be fine. I want lunch for my trouble, so we meet at eleven o'clock. Take it or leave it."

Vegeta disconnected the call, set Bulma's phone down, and shut his eyes.

On the other end of the line, Don sputtered with shocked laughter, set down his phone, and looked at his calendar to see just whose appointment he would have to reschedule.

When another tray of multicoloured shots arrived at the table, Raditz immediately picked up two in each hand and threw back the rainbow of liquid into his open mouth, gulping it back and letting out a celebratory howl.

"Don't you ever save your money, Raditz?" Vegeta sniffed at a shotglass filled with bright red liquid and took a small taste. It was sticky sweet and clung to the roof of his mouth.

Raditz had been adamant that the three of them go out for a celebratory dinner after his incredible performance during their last mission. On top of their fair pay for a short mission with relatively little travel time, Raditz had earned an incredible bonus that surpassed total earnings Vegeta's threefold.

Now twenty two, Vegeta was fully grown, heavier than he'd ever been, and was occasionally surprised by his own power. His reputation had always carried a warning about his vicious temper, but now his anger seemed liable to slip out of his control and become something monstrous.

They had been out for close to six hours, and aside from some fried morsels of meaty insects earlier in the day, their diet had been entirely liquid. Vegeta was ravenous, drunk, and steadily grew angrier with his comrades.

"What, like I've actually got a future to plan for?"

"Don't come crying to me when you can't afford replacement armour," Vegeta sneered, "but I suppose you could fashion something out of beer bottles and food wrappers."

"Oh, lighten up," Nappa gave Vegeta a friendly tap in the arm, "Raditz got the biggest bonus out of the three of us for eliminating those pests in under thirty hours. He really carried us this mission, and Frieza was satisfied with our work, and now Raditz is being generous enough to show us a good night out."

Vegeta finally took his shot, grimaced as it went down, and hissed at his two comrades. "Shoulda' been my bonus."

"Quit being so jealous, Vegeta. You sound like a bitch," Nappa took a shot, "and the only pussy useful here is the kind we hire for a few hours. You fucked up this mission. You bit off more than you can chew yet again and paid the price. Get over it."

Raditz laughed and toasted to Nappa with a wink. "To kicking ass and getting bonuses," he downed his shot and slapped the table with an open palm when the burn of the alcohol travelled down to his stomach.

"Hear, hear," Nappa took another shot before sliding one over to Vegeta, "you haven't even finished your last one! What gives?"

"I want some fucking food, now," Vegeta pushed the shot away with enough force to spill roughly a third of the liquid, "quit drinking, and walk with me to a restaurant. Now!"

"Fuck you," Raditz sneered, "they serve food here and it's air conditioned! Let's get a platter. I'm buying."

"All night, kid," Nappa returned Raditz' expression, "you did good."

Vegeta rolled his eyes and downed the red shot. Upon swallowing, his stomach lurched. If the drinks were this bad, he could only imagine what the food was like.

"Why are you in such a pissy mood, Vegeta? You're being a huge fucking downer, dude. I buy you drinks, smoke you out, and this is how you fucking behave? This is my party, bitch, and I didn't invite any whiny cunts tonight!"

Vegeta lunged across the table, tackling Raditz and pulling him down to the sticky nightclub floor, bringing down the tray of shots and a near-empty pitcher of beer with them. A small crowd around them backed up, and then watched on, half wary and half entertained.

"What the fuck?!" Raditz managed to overpower Vegeta with a knee to the groin before straddling the significantly smaller Saiyan and slapping him across the face.

"Get off me!" Vegeta squirmed and tried to pull away. How could Raditz manage to have the upper hand at this point in their lives? "Get off me, you fucking drunk!"

"No," Raditz sunk his weight deeper onto the Saiyan, right knee commencing a slow crush on the younger Saiyan's crotch, "not until you stop acting like a bitch. Keep up this temper of yours and I'm going to pin you down and force all of my dick up inside you when you're sleeping, prince."

Lips vibrating with anger, Vegeta snarled through clenched teeth: "get. The fuck. Off of me. Now!"

Raditz pulled his knee back before slamming it back between Vegeta's legs, slapped him across the face again, and finally rose to his feet, kicking the young Saiyan in the side upon standing to his full height.