BY : Felix_McKraken
Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 1872
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball Z or any of the characters. This was made purely for entertainment purposes and no profit is made off of it.

Nowhere: thirty2

Bulma had not expected to see the face of her ex so soon, and it did nothing to aid in her stress level. “Hey, Bulma,” Yamcha’s voice pulled her out from under the machinery she was working on. She eased out from under her project on her creeper and immediately went for her pack of cigarettes.

“Bold of you to come here unannounced,” she declared rather icily.

“I do live in West City. It’s hard to miss someone summoning the dragon from there.”

It was a relief that that was the reason for the social call. “Yeah,” she confirmed, “We summoned the dragon.”

His face, which she expected to turn impatient at her curt tone, actually morphed into concern, “We’re not expecting the androids for awhile yet. I wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

The engineer took a moment to inhale and gather her thoughts. The answer was simultaneously yes and no. She was about to reply when he went on, interrupting her train of thought.

“Besides, I’ve… missed you.”

It surprised her when she knew how much it would have irritated her wounded heart in the past, but it failed to do so now. It still caused her to feel annoyed, but it wasn’t a sharp anger. Their relationship was a scab. It could heal. But for now it needed time and space instead of comments like that picking at it.

She leveled a firm, albeit not unkind face at him, “I… appreciate your concern. Things are fine. We ended up not using a wish.”

“That’s weird,” he said the first thing that came to his mind.

The impromptu interrogation made her a little snappy, “It’s not like we had a choice, okay? The dragon couldn’t grant what we needed so we didn’t wish for anything else.”

“Oh!” Yamcha was shocked at the revelation, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

She dismissively waved her hand as if to brush off the condolence.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” the former bandit asked, choosing to crouch down next to her.

“Yeah, yeah,” the scientist said unconvincingly.

He reached out, caught himself, and retracted to rest both hands on his knees, “No, I mean with you. Are you okay?”

Their gazes met and she felt a bit of warmth and comfort wash over her. It had been some time since someone outside her immediate family checked in on her, and she’d been trying to hold it together – act impassive – since Vegeta went missing. Her smile was tired as she shrugged, “It is what it is.”

He plunked down onto his bottom in order to give her the higher vantage point, “It sounds like whatever you tried to wish for was pretty important.”

The young woman took a drag, releasing the smoke with a sigh. She knew where the conversation would lead, but whether it was curiosity or spite or something else that caused her to reveal the situation she couldn’t say for sure, “Vegeta’s sick.”

Expectedly, Yamcha’s visage shadowed. Unexpectedly, his voice remained fairly level, “I didn’t know Saiyans got sick. Goku never got sick. I guess it’s pretty bad if the dragon can’t fix it. Is he… going to die?”

The fact that he didn’t sound happy about it was the redeeming factor to that inquiry. If he had, she would have verbally eviscerated him. And while he didn’t sound overly sympathetic, he did seem to be guarding his animosity rather carefully. She fidgeted with the cigarette, rolling it between her fingers as she answered, “I don’t know. Maybe.” All the sudden her throat squeezed shut and her eyes stung from abrupt tears.

Yamcha placed an arm around her shoulder and gently shushed her, “Shh, shh, shh. Whoa, there. I didn’t know you cared so much about him.”

“He’s not that bad,” Bulma was doing her best to compose herself, but she didn’t shrug him off while giving her verbal defense.

Hesitantly, cautiously, the man replied, “I guess you would know best. He’s still living here, right?”

“Yeah,” she croaked out before clearing her throat.

It was quiet for a few minutes with Yamcha lightly rubbing her back as they both stared into the middle distance. Finally, the scientist withdrew from his embrace and wiped her face dry, “Thanks. For checking in.”

“No problem,” he gave her her space back as he rose to his feet, “Is there anything else I can do?”

Bulma finished her cig and ground out the remains on the heel of her boot, “No, but it’s nice of you to ask.”

“It was good to see you again,” he again spoke without really thinking first.

“Yeah… you too,” she conceded with a small smile, “but, next time, call first.”


It was precisely when he turned to leave when a series of crashes came from another portion of the building. He turned back to consult Bulma, but she was already rising from the creeper so quickly it went careening off to the other side of the lab. He followed, unwilling to let her go alone as he was unable to quell his fierce desire to protect her.

Around the bend and at the bottom of one of the stairwells, they found the Saiyan prince crumpled from a very obvious fall.

“Vegeta!” Bulma called out, kneeling by his side, “Are you okay? What happened?”

For him it was like the world kept shifting focus, pulsing like a beating heart. He tried to explain himself, “I was… in a room to… I was in a room and then the darkness came. It just… I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay there anymore.”

“Vegeta, look at me,” Bulma snapped her fingers to help direct him, “Tell me how old you are.”

“I don’t know,” he murmured.

“Do you know where you are right now?”

“Here, with you.”

She swore under her breath, but kept going, “Do you know what city we are in?”

“The city,” he awkwardly affirmed.

She swore loudly, openly this time. Bulma quickly fished her phone out of her pocket to pull up some reference material. She skipped down the list a bit, “Do you have a headache?”

It wasn’t like his head hurt, rather it was like his mind hurt. He didn’t know how to articulate that, “Sort of.”

“Do you feel nauseated?”


“Do you feel dizzy?”

The way everything shifted around in a disorienting fashion every time his eyes moved seemed close enough, “I think so.”

“Are you having blurriness or double vision?”

Again, he wasn’t certain how to categorize what was happening to him, “Somewhat.”

Bulma turned to Yamcha, her face grim and stern, “We need to move him to the med bay. He likely has a concussion.”

“I didn’t hit my head,” Vegeta offered, his speech bordering on slurred.

“You fell down the stairs and didn’t hit your head?” the woman asked, incredulous, unbelieving.

“This… It was like this before the fall.”

“Holy shit,” the human male was putting the pieces of the story together, “No wonder you said he’s sick.”

“I need to scan him to know for sure,” Bulma backed out of the way, “Can you lift him and be very careful to keep his head and neck as stable as possible?”

Like he was going to tell Bulma no. However, to say he was uncomfortable showing deference to his past murderer would be an understatement. Vegeta always made himself imposing, usually by way of his mannerisms, his unfiltered speech, or his chi. Now, in contrast, the actual dimensions of the magnate stood out in sharp relief. In fact, Yamcha could tell he was, or was close to, the same height as Bulma. At first, Vegeta stubbornly tried to walk on his own. However, Yamcha took his duties to heart and held him more securely. He expected the other warrior to fight him on this, but he gave in, accepting the help.

Bulma once again lead the way, and she engaged Vegeta in conversation the entire time. “Are you having sensitivity to light?”


“Are you having sensitivity to sound or noise?”


“Do you have numbness or tingling in or on your body?”


“How many fingers am I holding up?”

It took a beat longer than normal, but he answered correctly, “Four.”

“Repeat after me: The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.”

He ignored her request and instead asked, “Can someone tell me who this guy is?”

“What guy?” Bulma retorted, “You mean Yamcha?”


The taller man gripped the other more tensely out of reflex, unsure to whether he should be offended or not. He wouldn’t put it past Vegeta to simply forget anyone he didn’t deem either a threat or useful, but it would also be foolish to ignore such an unmistakable symptom of a concussion. Or whatever sickness he had.

Ms Briefs felt that was enough of a tangent and looped back through her list of questions. Vegeta answered without variation indicating some level of acuity although it was hardly reassuring.

Yamcha followed her directions when they entered the small med bay. He carefully placed the alien on the examining table and backed off to give Bulma room to work.  She moved quickly and efficiently, her movements one of who had prior experience of such tasks. Vegeta, for his part, remained pliant and docile, mostly trying to will himself alert despite the fogginess of his brain.

It only took a few minutes to do both scans and a few more for the results to populate.

Condition: normal.

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