The Disclaimer: blah blah blah...DRAGONBALL Z...yadda yadda yadda...copyright of all characters...blah blah blah...the great, all-powerful Akira Toriyama...yadda yadda yadda...C'mon an get me ya lousy Feds!...HAH!
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BRA'S CHRISTMAS WISH...
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"You're going out in THAT?"
Bulma stood in the doorway of their bedroom and examined Vegeta critically before he could make a successful retreat. Frowning in annoyance, the Saiyan Prince looked down at himself, perhaps to see if everything was in its place or, at the very least that the archaic device favored by Earthlings; the zipper, was pulled up. He absolutely loathed zippers. After a lifetime of obliging spandex he was unprepared for the ferocity of those little metal teeth so near his manhood. That, he reasoned, was why the males of this emasculating world wore boxers. It was out of self-preservation.
There was nothing wrong with his attire; Black shoes, black slacks, dark blue shirt. He shrugged. "What's wrong with this?"
"Vegeta, it's Christmas Eve and you look like the Grim Reaper. Why don't you wear something more festive?"
"I don't give a damn what day it is! I'm comfortable. What's so wrong with that?" he argued.
Sighing, Bulma pulled out a red and green monstrosity from the dresser drawer. Vegeta was already backing away from her even as she reasoned, "If you're going to take Bra to see Santa, I think that she would like you to get more into the spirit of things-"
"-The girl is happy enough to see that corpulent oaf one more time. The logic of why she even wants to see that fat fraud escapes me."
"It's a special wish she wants to ask of him. I don't know what it is."
He snorted. "As if that poorly costumed human could do anything-"
"-For Kami's sake! Keep your voice down! Bra can hear every word we say!" Bulma hissed.
In her bedroom down the hall, Bra hugged her picachu plush toy closer and cringed when her father roared: "!!I WILL NOT KEEP MY VOICE DOWN IN MY OWN DAMNED HOUSE!!" but immediately after that her parents resumed their argument in more muted tones. To the little girls keen hearing she could still make out the words, "cut-off", "new teddie" and her father muttering something about whipping a cat.
Things had been tense between her folks for several weeks. Her older brother, Trunks, had tried to assure her that this was normal before the holidays (and just about every other time of the year) but being only four years old, this was really the first time that she could pick up on the tension. She hated the yelling between the two most important people in her life and was at a loss as to how to get them to stop.
There were heavy footfalls coming down the corridor and a sharp rap of knuckles on her door before Vegeta stepped in. Bulma had managed to wrestle a Christmas sweater over his head that her mother had knitted for him and Bra giggled when she saw the grinning reindeer on the front. "That's funny!"
Vegeta's lips twitched. It was about as close to a smile as he was going to get all day. "Ready to go?"
"In a minute."
"If you're like your mother that'll mean another hour. Hurry it up, I'll be downstairs."
"Yes, poppa," she said obediently.
Satisfied, Vegeta left and waited for her in the living room, pacing in agitation. He absolutely hated going into the Western Capital Mall with its gaudy decorations, off-key singing music and crammed with humans that were crazier than usual. Unfortunately, he really had no choice but to go and Bra's excuse to go see that magenta-clothed buffoon was as good as any. He still hadn't bought Bulma her present yet. The woman had even made it simple for him this year by writing down exactly what she wanted. It was the only time he ever procrastinated and now he just wanted to get it over with.
'We'll get in, get the damn gift, let the girl talk to the scarlet lardass, and get the hell out. No fuss, no bother. How difficult can that be?' he thought to himself and allowed himself one curt nod.
His stomach rumbled and he headed for the kitchen to grab a snack when he heard Bulma's mother singing Christmas carols in that shrill, nauseating voice of hers. He did a complete 180 and stalked back into the living room, grumbling the entire way. The in-laws had come over for the holidays from their retirement condo in Hawaii. They were as robust and eccentric as they had been the first day he had moved into Capsule Corp. which made him wonder if they had been successful in that wish for immortality when he had failed.
Mr. Brief's ancient cat came ambling into the living room, meowing to itself. It took one look at Vegeta, stopped dead in its tracks and suddenly hissed at him.
Vegeta hissed back.
The cat's fur puffed up until it looked like a fuzzy black ball and it streaked off out of the room, yowling at the top of its lungs. Vegeta sighed, hoping that this wasn't a sign as to how the day was going to turn out.
Walking over to the twenty-foot tree beside the entertainment center, the Saiyan examined the senseless decorations and then knelt down to see if there was anything edible he could sneak a taste from without the hassle of unwrapping. There was a round tin set aside with a decorative bow on the top and he pulled it out with a sense of accomplishment. Fruitcake. Perfect.
If under duress, the only thing that he would confess to marginally enjoy about this season were the myriad assortments of desserts. He thought that fruitcake was one of the most original, tasty concoctions he had ever eaten and Bulma bought him one every year. There was no tag on the label but he knew who it was for and wrestled with the seal to the lid. Inside was the most original cake he had seen yet.
For one thing it was green.
Bra came skipping down the stairs shortly after and found her father sitting on the sofa and did a pirouette in front of him. "How do I look, poppa?"
The little girl was the perfect miniature of her mother, with her peaches and cream complexion, odd-colored hair and deep blue eyes. The red and green dress that she wore was a perfect match to her exotic coloring and she knew it. Vegeta replaced the lid on the tin and got to his feet. "Fine. Let's get going."
"Oooh! Fruitcake! Can I have a piece?"
"You wouldn't like it," Vegeta said, steering her towards the door before she could think up more delays. "It tasted funny. I think that mother of yours tried baking again and substituted her concoction for the real thing." It hadn't stopped him from eating over half of it, though.
"Oh, never mind then," Bra said quickly, knowing of her mother's infamous attempts at cooking. The gingerbread men she had baked last year could have been used to scrap plaque off of their teeth.
"Smart girl," Vegeta said sincerely and handed his daughter her coat as they left the house.
Traffic was gridlocked barely a block away from their home and moved at a snails pace deeper into the city. The poster child for roadrage, Vegeta visibly struggled with his frustration while Bra fiddled with the radio to find stations playing Christmas carols. Despite her mothers' looks, she had inherited her lack of musical genius from her father and sang along to the radio with complete tone-deaf enthusiasm while he gritted his teeth.
"-the most famous reindeeeer of-them-ALL! Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeeeer, hadda very shineeeeey nose- Your turn!"
"-And if you ever saw him, you would have to say he blows," Vegeta replied in a low monotone as he checked his rear-view mirror.
Bra stuck her bottom lip out in a pout. "That's how it don't go, poppa."
"Tough. This traffic is driving me bugshit."
"That's twenty zeni!" she cried, pointing a stern finger at him. The Briefs family had a swearpot in the house and anyone caught cursing had to put money into the container. So far the only person paying out was Vegeta. He had contributed over two hundred zeni in the last week alone and Christmas wasn't even here yet.
Giggling at the expression on his face, she went back to singing along with the radio. The N'Sync boys were mangling the Twelve Days of Christmas with their usual neutered crooning and she kept pace right along with them; "-eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to meeeee; eleven pipers pipin', ten lordies leapin', nine ladies dancin', eight maidies milkin', seven-"
Holding onto the steering wheel in a deathgrip, he grumbled expletives under his breath while Bra continued her version of Charlotte Church being tortured.
The normally fifteen minute drive to the mall took close to an hour and Vegeta wasted another ten searching for a parking place that wasn't in the next state. In that period of time Bra kept a running tab on his cursing and he was currently in the hole one hundred and twenty bucks. She was having a grand time with his irritation, oblivious to the fact that she was sitting next to the alien equivalent of a hydrogen bomb with a faulty trigger.
Finding a spot that was a satisfactory medium, Vegeta parked the car and hoisted his daughter easily up on his shoulders for the long walk. Bra had to lean far over to see around that flame-styled hair of his but she wasn't complaining. Gestures like these were rare from him and she was going to get everything she could out of this unique shopping trip that she possibly could. "Whinny like a horse, poppa!"
"Don't push your luck," he told her without malice. When they reached the entrance, he set her back down on her feet and she pulled urgently on his coat. "I have to go pee," she whispered.
"Didn't you go before we left?"
"Yeah, but I haveta go again!"
Rolling his eyes, he dragged her over to an information kiosk and plotted the course to the washrooms on the groundlevel. The line-up for women and kids was out of the door and actually holding up pedestrian traffic. Ignoring the anxious people, Vegeta led Bra up to the start of the line and held up a fifty zeni bill to an old woman about to go in. "How's this to get in first?" he asked.
"Make it one hundred and you've got a deal," the old woman said shrewdly.
"Done," Vegeta said, handing her the two bills and stepping inside with Bra in tow ignoring the outraged hisses from women in the background. The Saiyan no Ouji of Vegetasei did NOT wait in line-ups and couldn't care less who he pissed off.
He attracted a fair bit of attention for his presence in a woman's washroom but no one called security after taking one look at Bra's innocent blue eyes and the way she obviously worshipped her father. She did her business and they left without incident but not before the old woman cornered him at the exit and whispered to him, "Another hundred, sonny, and you could have gotten ME for Christmas." She pulled her ankle-length skirt up to one wrinkled thigh and added a sultry wink.
Vegeta was completely at a loss for words at the brazenness of this old hag and Bra came to the rescue by forcibly pulling him out of the washroom. They were greeted by boo's from the waiting adults and children and he recovered from his shock in time to join the safety of the pedestrian traffic before they were mobbed.
The close confines of people crammed in the small space made the air oppressively hot and Vegeta wiped away a sheen of sweat from his forehead before unzipping his coat. He could feel perspiration running down the small of his back. "What is it about this cursed holiday that brings the worst out in humans?" he asked his daughter who was seemingly unfazed by all of the commotion.
"You just gotta loosen up more. That's what Trunks always says," she said with a vocal shrug. She had a firm grip on his coat and was leading him unerringly towards the Mall Square where the Santa exhibit was set-up.
"That boy's pretty cocky considering he wants a motorcycle for-" Vegeta flinched as his own interior alarm went off and he whipped around and grabbed the collar of a human who had rebounded off of him and was moving quickly away.
The man was over a foot taller and he struggled with the hold on his clothes. "Hey! Whaddya think you're doing, you little freak?"
"You stole my wallet," Vegeta snarled, holding out his hand. "Give it back."
"Fuck you!" he yelled in the Saiyan's face.
"Twenty zeni!" Bra announced happily.
Vegeta's hand curled into a fist and plowed into the man's face in a move that was a blur. "My wallet or your life."
Seeing that the diminutive maniac was serious, the pickpocket reluctantly handed the wallet over, grumbling in fury. Passing around them, the other shoppers continued on at their own harried pace, paying them no mind. They had problems of their own.
"Now YOUR wallet," Vegeta demanded.
"My- Are you kidding me?" After another punch, the robber handed it over while cupping his broken nose. "I'mb meing mugged, I don'bt figging belibe id..."
"Now get lost before I cut your legs off and make you into an elf," Vegeta growled, riffling through the man's wallet as he and Bra went on their way. The robber was about to start screaming in fury when he noticed a security guard was giving him the eye and speaking into the walkie-talkie receiver attached to his shoulder. Deciding on the better part of valor, the pickpocket decided that it was time to blend back into the crowd, vowing revenge.
Counting out a measly thirty bucks from the robber's wallet, Vegeta gave the cash to Bra as he threw the tattered leather case into the garbage. Without missing a beat, his daughter put the money into a Salvation Army pot and the Saiyan had to put up with the enthusiastic ringing of the mans damn bell. "Thank you so much! Have a MERRY CHRISTMAS!!"
"Ho, ho, blow me," Vegeta muttered under his breath, massaging his aching ear. He was starting to get a headache, which was uncommon but then again these circumstances were far beyond the ordinary. Scratching at the chafing neckline of the sweater from hell, he surrendered to Bra's insistent tugging and headed deeper into the den of madness.
Once Bulma had tended to some last minute wrapping, she went downstairs with her gifts and was in the process of placing them under the tree when she noticed the fruitcake tin on the sofa. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern. She was holding Vegeta's fruitcake in her hands, just freshly wrapped. "Mom?" she called.
Her mother came flouncing out of the kitchen, both hands covered in flour. "Yes dear?"
Moving over to the sofa, Bulma picked up the fruitcake tin to examine it. "Where did this come from?"
"Oh!" the blond gushed. "I found that in the bottom cupboard! It was the first gift that Yamcha ever gave to you for Christmas. I pulled it out and put it under the tree to remember old times. Isn't that sweet?"
Not answering right away, Bulma opened the lid and saw the decimated remains of a green, fuzzy cake that was over twenty years old. She had to hold it at arms length; it smelled like rotten socks. "Ewww. We should have thrown it out after we ate some of it the first time."
Mrs. Brief's face grew serious for a moment when she examined the contents. "Bulma, the cake had never been touched. There's the seal lying on the sofa. See?"
Bulma's hands spasmed and she dropped the fruitcake on the floor. "Oh no. He wouldn't have... he couldn't have..." She immediately frisked herself for her cellphone and dialed the number to Vegeta's. She could hear the Saiyan's personal phone ringing upstairs where he had purposely left it; he hated carrying the thing around. "Damn that man," she fretted.
"What's wrong, dear?"
"I think Vegeta ate some of that fruitcake."
"Oh, he wouldn't have done THAT!"
"Mother, we're talking about an alien who last week ate a raw pizza, dough and all because he said they take too long to cook!" Bulma shouted.
While the two argued, a fly buzzed serenely around the room. It noticed the treat lying on the carpet and landed on it eagerly, it's proboscis tasting the cake and consuming a morsel. Instantly, it's entire body spasmed and it landed on the floor onto its back, all six legs up in the air twitching in agonized deaththroes.
"Oooo... That CAN'T be a good sign," Bulma's mother remarked gravely.
Pulling the same bribe that he had used earlier at the washroom, Vegeta got Bra as close to the front of the line to see Santa as possible. They still had to stand and wait for over thirty minutes while wet-bottomed toddlers ambled over to an exhausted store Santa and make their whiny demands. Vegeta was feeling increasingly out-of sorts and dismissed it as tension. He had removed his jacket but was still perspiring freely. Even Bra pulled out of her four-year-old self-centeredness long enough to notice how pale he looked. "You okay, poppa?"
"I'm fine," he lied. There was a suspicious heavy ache in his lower belly that felt like a recent gut kick but he hadn't been sparring with anyone lately. He rubbed his side with a wince. "What the hell is taking those brats so long?"
"They have to ask for their wishes from Santa. It takes awhile, I guess," she reasoned maturely.
He cast her a shrewd glare. "I think it's a foregone conclusion that you're going to get everything you demanded this year. What else could you possibly want from that rotund retard?"
Looking up at him, her beautiful blue eyes wide with entreaty, she said in a small voice, "I didn't come here to make a wish for me. I came for you and mommy."
"...What?!"
"All you've been doing is fighting lately," Bra said, her lower lip trembling as she fought back tears. "I want to ask Santa to make the two of you stop and love each other again."
Vegeta's mouth worked but no sound came out. Before he could come up with a response, a high-schooler dressed up as an elf on growth hormones led Bra towards the dais where Santa was sitting on the large plastic throne, booming impatient, "Ho-Ho-Ho!"'s. Another elf with severe acne pulled Vegeta away to where he could wait for her and he was still so thunderstruck that he didn't pop the punk in the nose.
Crossing his arms in that characteristic impatient stance, he kept a protective eye on his only daughter as she was hoisted up into the potbellied blowhard's lap. One wrong move with the hands or the slightest leering expression and Vegeta was prepared to give the crimson cretin a Gallic Gun enema. Her small face reserved and serious, Bra began explaining her wish and to his credit, the Santa appeared to be listening to her.
...make the two of you love each other again... Vegeta was doing a slow burn at the child's ignorance. He had stuck by his brood for the last fourteen years and it certainly hasn't been for the woman's cooking. While the word 'love' wasn't in his vocabulary, the words; 'protect', 'family' and 'honor' certainly were. His mate knew this and enjoyed a good verbal spar as much as he did. It was becoming apparent that Bra was oblivious of such matters but he didn't know how to explain their unique relationship to her.
He was interrupted from his brooding as his stomach gave a sudden lurch. Reaching to a nearby nutcracker statue for balance, it felt as if his entire body temperature had dramatically dropped to freezing. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed it back with a grimace. Casting one last glance at Bra, he figured she was going to be awhile and staggered off to look for a bathroom.
Twenty minutes later, he was splashing water on his hot face with trembling hands, staring at his reflection with concern. He'd thrown up before and he was vaguely familiar with the shits but he'd never had to do both at the same time in his entire life. The confines of the cramped stall had taxed even his impressive flexibility. Humans came down with terran plagues all of the time but he had figured himself immune. Until now.
He was heading for the exit again when another cramp drilled into his stomach and he sprinted for the nearest stall just as one man was about to go in. "Outta my way!" he bellowed, shoving the guy aside and bending over the toilet. It didn't help that the previous tenant hadn't flushed it...
By the fifth assault, the weakened Saiyan came to the only conclusion that was possible under the circumstances; He was dying. There was no other possible explanation. He sat on the toilet seat with his head in his hands, thinking about what a pitiful end this was for him; to die on the crapper on Christmas Eve. It just wasn't fair...
There was a rap on knuckles on the stall door. "Hey, buddy, you just about done in there?"
"Fuck off," he croaked. In the back of his mind, Bra yelled, 'Twenty Zeni' and he snapped his head up in realization. !!BRA!! He exploded from the stall and damn near caught himself in that cursed zipper as he pulled it up. Running his hands under the faucet he looked around for paper towel and had to settle on wiping his hands on his pants as he went to look for his daughter.
When he reached the Santa village Bra was nowhere to be found. He hauled the elf with the bad complexion to one side and gave him the little girl's description. The teen had seen kids all week long and was so exhausted that he could only stare blankly at the Saiyan and shake his head. He didn't remember her.
Vegeta's short height was a definite disadvantage, which made peering over the heads of people an impossibility. He tried to levitate and found he was actually too weak for the act. At a frenzied pace he circled the area several times and had to finally sit down when his surroundings began to swim back and forth. Struggling with nausea, he looked to his left just in time to see the little boy beside him pull a juicy booger from his nose and eat it with great relish. That was it. Vegeta bent over the garbage can beside the bench and started throwing up again.
"Aww GROSS!" the kid wailed at the top of his lungs.
Passers-by stopped and stared. Squeezing his eyes shut, Vegeta wished he could crawl into the waste container to be spared this ultimate indignity as he felt the last of his pride go sailing out of his mouth.
Bra wandered away from the Main Square, searching fruitlessly for her father. He hadn't been waiting for her in the last place she had seen him standing and, from her limited perspective, could only look for a familiar crotch in the endless sea of moving legs. A hand gripped onto her shoulder and pulled her roughly to the side and she recognized the guy at once. "You're the man who robbed my daddy!"
"And you're the daughter of Bulma Briefs, of the Capsule Corporation. I thought you looked familiar," the pickpocket said with a broad grin. "Where's that bad-ass father of yours now?"
"I don't need my daddy with a dork like you!" she told him and kicked him in the shin. Ordinarily, such a tap would barely result in a bruise but Bra was half-alien and when her little bowed shoe made contact with his leg, his tibia exploded like glass.
Screaming in agony, the would-be kidnapper released her and fell backwards, clutching his shattered leg. Bra scampered away before the security guards showed up and questions would start. Her father had taught her well; do your damage and leave the scene, preferably with no witnesses alive if you can help it. Well, in this instance she couldn't but she didn't think he'd mind. After all, he had done the same thing earlier.
With an impish smirk that would have had Vegeta glowing in pride, Bra strained her newly developing psychic abilities for the faint hint of her father's unique ki. She couldn't get a sense of him but detected another that was just as familiar. With an excited squeal, she ran off, weaving around the legs of people like an all-star quarterback. She was having the time of her life and wished that the day would never end.
Vegeta wished he were dead. Again.
His daughter was too young to have a ki aura he could home in on and the air was lousy with the scents of old lady perfumes, used diapers, body odors and rich food. He hadn't yet bought his woman's present and to make matters worse, he believed he had shit his pants (he could only hope that it had only been a wet fart until he found another washroom to check). There was no possible way that things could get any worse.
The collar to the sweater his vacuous mother-in-law had knitted for him was driving him nuts and he stopped at a storefront that had a mirror. Pulling down the neckline he shouldn't have been surprised at what he saw. "I don't fucking believe it, " he muttered in disbelief. He was covered in a rash.
"Twenty zeni!" cried his daughter's voice and he whirled in surprise.
Trunks was standing nearby with his sister in his arms, staring at him in horror. "Dad?" he asked in disbelief.
Vegeta only looked at his sixteen-year-old son in exasperation. He knew what a terrible sight he made. "What're you doing here?"
"Mom called me to go look for you. She thought you might not be feeling too good-"
"I KNEW it! She poisoned me!" he roared.
Trunks was trying to hide his amusement and not doing too good a job. "Uhh, no. Dad, you ate an old fruitcake that grandma found under the sink."
"...How old?"
"Over twenty years," his son told him, struggling to keep a straight face. "Mom couldn't believe you would eat it. I mean, she said it was all covered in mold and shriveled up and rotten and-"
Vegeta's face visibly paled before their eyes. He put a hand over his mouth and barely made to a plant display before he bowed over and started retching into the poinsettias.
"What's wrong with poppa?" Bra asked in bewilderment.
"It's just something he ate, I guess," Trunks said neutrally, wishing he had brought a camera.
Possessing only a learners permit, Trunks was only just starting to learn to drive at school and he hadn't mastered the finer points quite yet. Vegeta's sports car was a modern recreation of an old-fashioned BMW Z8 complete with six-speed manual transmission and Trunks was having a hard time sorting out the eccentricities of shifting. More times then not, the powerful vehicle violently shuddered ahead in the wrong gear or stalled and the rough jostling transformed Vegeta's nausea into seasickness. Reclining in the passenger seat, he spent most of his time leaning out of the window and vomiting down the side of the car while Bra kept a running count on the number of times he was sick.
It made for an interesting drive.
Once home, Vegeta never even bothered to start screaming about the stupidity of saving such a cake for a souvenir, let alone the idiocy involved with putting it under the tree within sight of a ravenous Saiyan. He shoved everyone aside and went into the bathroom and remained in there for the rest of the evening, ignoring the traditional eggnog, canapés and rich desserts (which was uncommon) and the gathering of friends and family (which wasn't).
Bulma checked up on him and found him curled up on the tiled floor beside the toilet and helped him into bed. He made for a pathetic sight. His spiky hair had wilted and heavy bangs hung over his face, there were bruised half-circles under both eyes and his upper torso was one entire rash from the wool sweater.
"That'll teach you not to eat something without checking the expiry date first," she teased, placing a damp washcloth on his forehead.
"Woman, your stupid mother has done what entire armies have failed to accomplish. She's killed me," he protested weakly.
"You're not dying. You just have a bad case of botulism. Your system will recover before you know it."
He started falling asleep and suddenly opened his eyes in alarm. "Your present-"
"-I know you were too sick to shop. Don't worry about it."
"I...shouldn't have left it for so long. I'm sorry," he said meekly and Bulma's heart ached at the rare sincerity in the Saiyan's voice. She kissed his flushed cheek affectionately and smiled down at him. "You've just given me the best gift in the world," she praised. "I love you, Vegeta."
"Woman," was all he could say, but he was smiling up at her.
Standing out in the corridor, Bra and Trunks were looking through the partly open door watching the tender moment between their parents.
Lightly punching his younger sister on the shoulder, Trunks told her, "See? I told you that they really love one another. You shouldn't have been so worried."
"That's only 'cause Santa gave them the present I asked from him today," she said proudly.
"Oh yeah? What present was that?"
"I wished for mommy and poppa to stop fighting."
Just then, Vegeta released a violent sneeze and suddenly bawled out; "AAAGH! What other ailments have you given me you disease-ridden wench!?!"
"Listen buster, I'm not the idiot who chowed down on a fuzzy fruitcake!" Bulma snapped back.
"It's STILL tasted better than your wretched cooking-"
Trunks and Bra both released a forlorn sigh as the bickering couple resumed their previous endearing banter. "I hope that Santa can give you your money back on that gift," her brother remarked dryly and walked down the hall chuckling to himself.
Bra lips pressed together into a rigid white line and she crossed her arms indignantly. In a low, dangerous tone, she made this solemn vow;
"Just you wait 'til next year, Santa."
~The End
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BRA'S CHRISTMAS WISH...
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"You're going out in THAT?"
Bulma stood in the doorway of their bedroom and examined Vegeta critically before he could make a successful retreat. Frowning in annoyance, the Saiyan Prince looked down at himself, perhaps to see if everything was in its place or, at the very least that the archaic device favored by Earthlings; the zipper, was pulled up. He absolutely loathed zippers. After a lifetime of obliging spandex he was unprepared for the ferocity of those little metal teeth so near his manhood. That, he reasoned, was why the males of this emasculating world wore boxers. It was out of self-preservation.
There was nothing wrong with his attire; Black shoes, black slacks, dark blue shirt. He shrugged. "What's wrong with this?"
"Vegeta, it's Christmas Eve and you look like the Grim Reaper. Why don't you wear something more festive?"
"I don't give a damn what day it is! I'm comfortable. What's so wrong with that?" he argued.
Sighing, Bulma pulled out a red and green monstrosity from the dresser drawer. Vegeta was already backing away from her even as she reasoned, "If you're going to take Bra to see Santa, I think that she would like you to get more into the spirit of things-"
"-The girl is happy enough to see that corpulent oaf one more time. The logic of why she even wants to see that fat fraud escapes me."
"It's a special wish she wants to ask of him. I don't know what it is."
He snorted. "As if that poorly costumed human could do anything-"
"-For Kami's sake! Keep your voice down! Bra can hear every word we say!" Bulma hissed.
In her bedroom down the hall, Bra hugged her picachu plush toy closer and cringed when her father roared: "!!I WILL NOT KEEP MY VOICE DOWN IN MY OWN DAMNED HOUSE!!" but immediately after that her parents resumed their argument in more muted tones. To the little girls keen hearing she could still make out the words, "cut-off", "new teddie" and her father muttering something about whipping a cat.
Things had been tense between her folks for several weeks. Her older brother, Trunks, had tried to assure her that this was normal before the holidays (and just about every other time of the year) but being only four years old, this was really the first time that she could pick up on the tension. She hated the yelling between the two most important people in her life and was at a loss as to how to get them to stop.
There were heavy footfalls coming down the corridor and a sharp rap of knuckles on her door before Vegeta stepped in. Bulma had managed to wrestle a Christmas sweater over his head that her mother had knitted for him and Bra giggled when she saw the grinning reindeer on the front. "That's funny!"
Vegeta's lips twitched. It was about as close to a smile as he was going to get all day. "Ready to go?"
"In a minute."
"If you're like your mother that'll mean another hour. Hurry it up, I'll be downstairs."
"Yes, poppa," she said obediently.
Satisfied, Vegeta left and waited for her in the living room, pacing in agitation. He absolutely hated going into the Western Capital Mall with its gaudy decorations, off-key singing music and crammed with humans that were crazier than usual. Unfortunately, he really had no choice but to go and Bra's excuse to go see that magenta-clothed buffoon was as good as any. He still hadn't bought Bulma her present yet. The woman had even made it simple for him this year by writing down exactly what she wanted. It was the only time he ever procrastinated and now he just wanted to get it over with.
'We'll get in, get the damn gift, let the girl talk to the scarlet lardass, and get the hell out. No fuss, no bother. How difficult can that be?' he thought to himself and allowed himself one curt nod.
His stomach rumbled and he headed for the kitchen to grab a snack when he heard Bulma's mother singing Christmas carols in that shrill, nauseating voice of hers. He did a complete 180 and stalked back into the living room, grumbling the entire way. The in-laws had come over for the holidays from their retirement condo in Hawaii. They were as robust and eccentric as they had been the first day he had moved into Capsule Corp. which made him wonder if they had been successful in that wish for immortality when he had failed.
Mr. Brief's ancient cat came ambling into the living room, meowing to itself. It took one look at Vegeta, stopped dead in its tracks and suddenly hissed at him.
Vegeta hissed back.
The cat's fur puffed up until it looked like a fuzzy black ball and it streaked off out of the room, yowling at the top of its lungs. Vegeta sighed, hoping that this wasn't a sign as to how the day was going to turn out.
Walking over to the twenty-foot tree beside the entertainment center, the Saiyan examined the senseless decorations and then knelt down to see if there was anything edible he could sneak a taste from without the hassle of unwrapping. There was a round tin set aside with a decorative bow on the top and he pulled it out with a sense of accomplishment. Fruitcake. Perfect.
If under duress, the only thing that he would confess to marginally enjoy about this season were the myriad assortments of desserts. He thought that fruitcake was one of the most original, tasty concoctions he had ever eaten and Bulma bought him one every year. There was no tag on the label but he knew who it was for and wrestled with the seal to the lid. Inside was the most original cake he had seen yet.
For one thing it was green.
Bra came skipping down the stairs shortly after and found her father sitting on the sofa and did a pirouette in front of him. "How do I look, poppa?"
The little girl was the perfect miniature of her mother, with her peaches and cream complexion, odd-colored hair and deep blue eyes. The red and green dress that she wore was a perfect match to her exotic coloring and she knew it. Vegeta replaced the lid on the tin and got to his feet. "Fine. Let's get going."
"Oooh! Fruitcake! Can I have a piece?"
"You wouldn't like it," Vegeta said, steering her towards the door before she could think up more delays. "It tasted funny. I think that mother of yours tried baking again and substituted her concoction for the real thing." It hadn't stopped him from eating over half of it, though.
"Oh, never mind then," Bra said quickly, knowing of her mother's infamous attempts at cooking. The gingerbread men she had baked last year could have been used to scrap plaque off of their teeth.
"Smart girl," Vegeta said sincerely and handed his daughter her coat as they left the house.
Traffic was gridlocked barely a block away from their home and moved at a snails pace deeper into the city. The poster child for roadrage, Vegeta visibly struggled with his frustration while Bra fiddled with the radio to find stations playing Christmas carols. Despite her mothers' looks, she had inherited her lack of musical genius from her father and sang along to the radio with complete tone-deaf enthusiasm while he gritted his teeth.
"-the most famous reindeeeer of-them-ALL! Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeeeer, hadda very shineeeeey nose- Your turn!"
"-And if you ever saw him, you would have to say he blows," Vegeta replied in a low monotone as he checked his rear-view mirror.
Bra stuck her bottom lip out in a pout. "That's how it don't go, poppa."
"Tough. This traffic is driving me bugshit."
"That's twenty zeni!" she cried, pointing a stern finger at him. The Briefs family had a swearpot in the house and anyone caught cursing had to put money into the container. So far the only person paying out was Vegeta. He had contributed over two hundred zeni in the last week alone and Christmas wasn't even here yet.
Giggling at the expression on his face, she went back to singing along with the radio. The N'Sync boys were mangling the Twelve Days of Christmas with their usual neutered crooning and she kept pace right along with them; "-eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to meeeee; eleven pipers pipin', ten lordies leapin', nine ladies dancin', eight maidies milkin', seven-"
Holding onto the steering wheel in a deathgrip, he grumbled expletives under his breath while Bra continued her version of Charlotte Church being tortured.
The normally fifteen minute drive to the mall took close to an hour and Vegeta wasted another ten searching for a parking place that wasn't in the next state. In that period of time Bra kept a running tab on his cursing and he was currently in the hole one hundred and twenty bucks. She was having a grand time with his irritation, oblivious to the fact that she was sitting next to the alien equivalent of a hydrogen bomb with a faulty trigger.
Finding a spot that was a satisfactory medium, Vegeta parked the car and hoisted his daughter easily up on his shoulders for the long walk. Bra had to lean far over to see around that flame-styled hair of his but she wasn't complaining. Gestures like these were rare from him and she was going to get everything she could out of this unique shopping trip that she possibly could. "Whinny like a horse, poppa!"
"Don't push your luck," he told her without malice. When they reached the entrance, he set her back down on her feet and she pulled urgently on his coat. "I have to go pee," she whispered.
"Didn't you go before we left?"
"Yeah, but I haveta go again!"
Rolling his eyes, he dragged her over to an information kiosk and plotted the course to the washrooms on the groundlevel. The line-up for women and kids was out of the door and actually holding up pedestrian traffic. Ignoring the anxious people, Vegeta led Bra up to the start of the line and held up a fifty zeni bill to an old woman about to go in. "How's this to get in first?" he asked.
"Make it one hundred and you've got a deal," the old woman said shrewdly.
"Done," Vegeta said, handing her the two bills and stepping inside with Bra in tow ignoring the outraged hisses from women in the background. The Saiyan no Ouji of Vegetasei did NOT wait in line-ups and couldn't care less who he pissed off.
He attracted a fair bit of attention for his presence in a woman's washroom but no one called security after taking one look at Bra's innocent blue eyes and the way she obviously worshipped her father. She did her business and they left without incident but not before the old woman cornered him at the exit and whispered to him, "Another hundred, sonny, and you could have gotten ME for Christmas." She pulled her ankle-length skirt up to one wrinkled thigh and added a sultry wink.
Vegeta was completely at a loss for words at the brazenness of this old hag and Bra came to the rescue by forcibly pulling him out of the washroom. They were greeted by boo's from the waiting adults and children and he recovered from his shock in time to join the safety of the pedestrian traffic before they were mobbed.
The close confines of people crammed in the small space made the air oppressively hot and Vegeta wiped away a sheen of sweat from his forehead before unzipping his coat. He could feel perspiration running down the small of his back. "What is it about this cursed holiday that brings the worst out in humans?" he asked his daughter who was seemingly unfazed by all of the commotion.
"You just gotta loosen up more. That's what Trunks always says," she said with a vocal shrug. She had a firm grip on his coat and was leading him unerringly towards the Mall Square where the Santa exhibit was set-up.
"That boy's pretty cocky considering he wants a motorcycle for-" Vegeta flinched as his own interior alarm went off and he whipped around and grabbed the collar of a human who had rebounded off of him and was moving quickly away.
The man was over a foot taller and he struggled with the hold on his clothes. "Hey! Whaddya think you're doing, you little freak?"
"You stole my wallet," Vegeta snarled, holding out his hand. "Give it back."
"Fuck you!" he yelled in the Saiyan's face.
"Twenty zeni!" Bra announced happily.
Vegeta's hand curled into a fist and plowed into the man's face in a move that was a blur. "My wallet or your life."
Seeing that the diminutive maniac was serious, the pickpocket reluctantly handed the wallet over, grumbling in fury. Passing around them, the other shoppers continued on at their own harried pace, paying them no mind. They had problems of their own.
"Now YOUR wallet," Vegeta demanded.
"My- Are you kidding me?" After another punch, the robber handed it over while cupping his broken nose. "I'mb meing mugged, I don'bt figging belibe id..."
"Now get lost before I cut your legs off and make you into an elf," Vegeta growled, riffling through the man's wallet as he and Bra went on their way. The robber was about to start screaming in fury when he noticed a security guard was giving him the eye and speaking into the walkie-talkie receiver attached to his shoulder. Deciding on the better part of valor, the pickpocket decided that it was time to blend back into the crowd, vowing revenge.
Counting out a measly thirty bucks from the robber's wallet, Vegeta gave the cash to Bra as he threw the tattered leather case into the garbage. Without missing a beat, his daughter put the money into a Salvation Army pot and the Saiyan had to put up with the enthusiastic ringing of the mans damn bell. "Thank you so much! Have a MERRY CHRISTMAS!!"
"Ho, ho, blow me," Vegeta muttered under his breath, massaging his aching ear. He was starting to get a headache, which was uncommon but then again these circumstances were far beyond the ordinary. Scratching at the chafing neckline of the sweater from hell, he surrendered to Bra's insistent tugging and headed deeper into the den of madness.
Once Bulma had tended to some last minute wrapping, she went downstairs with her gifts and was in the process of placing them under the tree when she noticed the fruitcake tin on the sofa. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern. She was holding Vegeta's fruitcake in her hands, just freshly wrapped. "Mom?" she called.
Her mother came flouncing out of the kitchen, both hands covered in flour. "Yes dear?"
Moving over to the sofa, Bulma picked up the fruitcake tin to examine it. "Where did this come from?"
"Oh!" the blond gushed. "I found that in the bottom cupboard! It was the first gift that Yamcha ever gave to you for Christmas. I pulled it out and put it under the tree to remember old times. Isn't that sweet?"
Not answering right away, Bulma opened the lid and saw the decimated remains of a green, fuzzy cake that was over twenty years old. She had to hold it at arms length; it smelled like rotten socks. "Ewww. We should have thrown it out after we ate some of it the first time."
Mrs. Brief's face grew serious for a moment when she examined the contents. "Bulma, the cake had never been touched. There's the seal lying on the sofa. See?"
Bulma's hands spasmed and she dropped the fruitcake on the floor. "Oh no. He wouldn't have... he couldn't have..." She immediately frisked herself for her cellphone and dialed the number to Vegeta's. She could hear the Saiyan's personal phone ringing upstairs where he had purposely left it; he hated carrying the thing around. "Damn that man," she fretted.
"What's wrong, dear?"
"I think Vegeta ate some of that fruitcake."
"Oh, he wouldn't have done THAT!"
"Mother, we're talking about an alien who last week ate a raw pizza, dough and all because he said they take too long to cook!" Bulma shouted.
While the two argued, a fly buzzed serenely around the room. It noticed the treat lying on the carpet and landed on it eagerly, it's proboscis tasting the cake and consuming a morsel. Instantly, it's entire body spasmed and it landed on the floor onto its back, all six legs up in the air twitching in agonized deaththroes.
"Oooo... That CAN'T be a good sign," Bulma's mother remarked gravely.
Pulling the same bribe that he had used earlier at the washroom, Vegeta got Bra as close to the front of the line to see Santa as possible. They still had to stand and wait for over thirty minutes while wet-bottomed toddlers ambled over to an exhausted store Santa and make their whiny demands. Vegeta was feeling increasingly out-of sorts and dismissed it as tension. He had removed his jacket but was still perspiring freely. Even Bra pulled out of her four-year-old self-centeredness long enough to notice how pale he looked. "You okay, poppa?"
"I'm fine," he lied. There was a suspicious heavy ache in his lower belly that felt like a recent gut kick but he hadn't been sparring with anyone lately. He rubbed his side with a wince. "What the hell is taking those brats so long?"
"They have to ask for their wishes from Santa. It takes awhile, I guess," she reasoned maturely.
He cast her a shrewd glare. "I think it's a foregone conclusion that you're going to get everything you demanded this year. What else could you possibly want from that rotund retard?"
Looking up at him, her beautiful blue eyes wide with entreaty, she said in a small voice, "I didn't come here to make a wish for me. I came for you and mommy."
"...What?!"
"All you've been doing is fighting lately," Bra said, her lower lip trembling as she fought back tears. "I want to ask Santa to make the two of you stop and love each other again."
Vegeta's mouth worked but no sound came out. Before he could come up with a response, a high-schooler dressed up as an elf on growth hormones led Bra towards the dais where Santa was sitting on the large plastic throne, booming impatient, "Ho-Ho-Ho!"'s. Another elf with severe acne pulled Vegeta away to where he could wait for her and he was still so thunderstruck that he didn't pop the punk in the nose.
Crossing his arms in that characteristic impatient stance, he kept a protective eye on his only daughter as she was hoisted up into the potbellied blowhard's lap. One wrong move with the hands or the slightest leering expression and Vegeta was prepared to give the crimson cretin a Gallic Gun enema. Her small face reserved and serious, Bra began explaining her wish and to his credit, the Santa appeared to be listening to her.
...make the two of you love each other again... Vegeta was doing a slow burn at the child's ignorance. He had stuck by his brood for the last fourteen years and it certainly hasn't been for the woman's cooking. While the word 'love' wasn't in his vocabulary, the words; 'protect', 'family' and 'honor' certainly were. His mate knew this and enjoyed a good verbal spar as much as he did. It was becoming apparent that Bra was oblivious of such matters but he didn't know how to explain their unique relationship to her.
He was interrupted from his brooding as his stomach gave a sudden lurch. Reaching to a nearby nutcracker statue for balance, it felt as if his entire body temperature had dramatically dropped to freezing. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed it back with a grimace. Casting one last glance at Bra, he figured she was going to be awhile and staggered off to look for a bathroom.
Twenty minutes later, he was splashing water on his hot face with trembling hands, staring at his reflection with concern. He'd thrown up before and he was vaguely familiar with the shits but he'd never had to do both at the same time in his entire life. The confines of the cramped stall had taxed even his impressive flexibility. Humans came down with terran plagues all of the time but he had figured himself immune. Until now.
He was heading for the exit again when another cramp drilled into his stomach and he sprinted for the nearest stall just as one man was about to go in. "Outta my way!" he bellowed, shoving the guy aside and bending over the toilet. It didn't help that the previous tenant hadn't flushed it...
By the fifth assault, the weakened Saiyan came to the only conclusion that was possible under the circumstances; He was dying. There was no other possible explanation. He sat on the toilet seat with his head in his hands, thinking about what a pitiful end this was for him; to die on the crapper on Christmas Eve. It just wasn't fair...
There was a rap on knuckles on the stall door. "Hey, buddy, you just about done in there?"
"Fuck off," he croaked. In the back of his mind, Bra yelled, 'Twenty Zeni' and he snapped his head up in realization. !!BRA!! He exploded from the stall and damn near caught himself in that cursed zipper as he pulled it up. Running his hands under the faucet he looked around for paper towel and had to settle on wiping his hands on his pants as he went to look for his daughter.
When he reached the Santa village Bra was nowhere to be found. He hauled the elf with the bad complexion to one side and gave him the little girl's description. The teen had seen kids all week long and was so exhausted that he could only stare blankly at the Saiyan and shake his head. He didn't remember her.
Vegeta's short height was a definite disadvantage, which made peering over the heads of people an impossibility. He tried to levitate and found he was actually too weak for the act. At a frenzied pace he circled the area several times and had to finally sit down when his surroundings began to swim back and forth. Struggling with nausea, he looked to his left just in time to see the little boy beside him pull a juicy booger from his nose and eat it with great relish. That was it. Vegeta bent over the garbage can beside the bench and started throwing up again.
"Aww GROSS!" the kid wailed at the top of his lungs.
Passers-by stopped and stared. Squeezing his eyes shut, Vegeta wished he could crawl into the waste container to be spared this ultimate indignity as he felt the last of his pride go sailing out of his mouth.
Bra wandered away from the Main Square, searching fruitlessly for her father. He hadn't been waiting for her in the last place she had seen him standing and, from her limited perspective, could only look for a familiar crotch in the endless sea of moving legs. A hand gripped onto her shoulder and pulled her roughly to the side and she recognized the guy at once. "You're the man who robbed my daddy!"
"And you're the daughter of Bulma Briefs, of the Capsule Corporation. I thought you looked familiar," the pickpocket said with a broad grin. "Where's that bad-ass father of yours now?"
"I don't need my daddy with a dork like you!" she told him and kicked him in the shin. Ordinarily, such a tap would barely result in a bruise but Bra was half-alien and when her little bowed shoe made contact with his leg, his tibia exploded like glass.
Screaming in agony, the would-be kidnapper released her and fell backwards, clutching his shattered leg. Bra scampered away before the security guards showed up and questions would start. Her father had taught her well; do your damage and leave the scene, preferably with no witnesses alive if you can help it. Well, in this instance she couldn't but she didn't think he'd mind. After all, he had done the same thing earlier.
With an impish smirk that would have had Vegeta glowing in pride, Bra strained her newly developing psychic abilities for the faint hint of her father's unique ki. She couldn't get a sense of him but detected another that was just as familiar. With an excited squeal, she ran off, weaving around the legs of people like an all-star quarterback. She was having the time of her life and wished that the day would never end.
Vegeta wished he were dead. Again.
His daughter was too young to have a ki aura he could home in on and the air was lousy with the scents of old lady perfumes, used diapers, body odors and rich food. He hadn't yet bought his woman's present and to make matters worse, he believed he had shit his pants (he could only hope that it had only been a wet fart until he found another washroom to check). There was no possible way that things could get any worse.
The collar to the sweater his vacuous mother-in-law had knitted for him was driving him nuts and he stopped at a storefront that had a mirror. Pulling down the neckline he shouldn't have been surprised at what he saw. "I don't fucking believe it, " he muttered in disbelief. He was covered in a rash.
"Twenty zeni!" cried his daughter's voice and he whirled in surprise.
Trunks was standing nearby with his sister in his arms, staring at him in horror. "Dad?" he asked in disbelief.
Vegeta only looked at his sixteen-year-old son in exasperation. He knew what a terrible sight he made. "What're you doing here?"
"Mom called me to go look for you. She thought you might not be feeling too good-"
"I KNEW it! She poisoned me!" he roared.
Trunks was trying to hide his amusement and not doing too good a job. "Uhh, no. Dad, you ate an old fruitcake that grandma found under the sink."
"...How old?"
"Over twenty years," his son told him, struggling to keep a straight face. "Mom couldn't believe you would eat it. I mean, she said it was all covered in mold and shriveled up and rotten and-"
Vegeta's face visibly paled before their eyes. He put a hand over his mouth and barely made to a plant display before he bowed over and started retching into the poinsettias.
"What's wrong with poppa?" Bra asked in bewilderment.
"It's just something he ate, I guess," Trunks said neutrally, wishing he had brought a camera.
Possessing only a learners permit, Trunks was only just starting to learn to drive at school and he hadn't mastered the finer points quite yet. Vegeta's sports car was a modern recreation of an old-fashioned BMW Z8 complete with six-speed manual transmission and Trunks was having a hard time sorting out the eccentricities of shifting. More times then not, the powerful vehicle violently shuddered ahead in the wrong gear or stalled and the rough jostling transformed Vegeta's nausea into seasickness. Reclining in the passenger seat, he spent most of his time leaning out of the window and vomiting down the side of the car while Bra kept a running count on the number of times he was sick.
It made for an interesting drive.
Once home, Vegeta never even bothered to start screaming about the stupidity of saving such a cake for a souvenir, let alone the idiocy involved with putting it under the tree within sight of a ravenous Saiyan. He shoved everyone aside and went into the bathroom and remained in there for the rest of the evening, ignoring the traditional eggnog, canapés and rich desserts (which was uncommon) and the gathering of friends and family (which wasn't).
Bulma checked up on him and found him curled up on the tiled floor beside the toilet and helped him into bed. He made for a pathetic sight. His spiky hair had wilted and heavy bangs hung over his face, there were bruised half-circles under both eyes and his upper torso was one entire rash from the wool sweater.
"That'll teach you not to eat something without checking the expiry date first," she teased, placing a damp washcloth on his forehead.
"Woman, your stupid mother has done what entire armies have failed to accomplish. She's killed me," he protested weakly.
"You're not dying. You just have a bad case of botulism. Your system will recover before you know it."
He started falling asleep and suddenly opened his eyes in alarm. "Your present-"
"-I know you were too sick to shop. Don't worry about it."
"I...shouldn't have left it for so long. I'm sorry," he said meekly and Bulma's heart ached at the rare sincerity in the Saiyan's voice. She kissed his flushed cheek affectionately and smiled down at him. "You've just given me the best gift in the world," she praised. "I love you, Vegeta."
"Woman," was all he could say, but he was smiling up at her.
Standing out in the corridor, Bra and Trunks were looking through the partly open door watching the tender moment between their parents.
Lightly punching his younger sister on the shoulder, Trunks told her, "See? I told you that they really love one another. You shouldn't have been so worried."
"That's only 'cause Santa gave them the present I asked from him today," she said proudly.
"Oh yeah? What present was that?"
"I wished for mommy and poppa to stop fighting."
Just then, Vegeta released a violent sneeze and suddenly bawled out; "AAAGH! What other ailments have you given me you disease-ridden wench!?!"
"Listen buster, I'm not the idiot who chowed down on a fuzzy fruitcake!" Bulma snapped back.
"It's STILL tasted better than your wretched cooking-"
Trunks and Bra both released a forlorn sigh as the bickering couple resumed their previous endearing banter. "I hope that Santa can give you your money back on that gift," her brother remarked dryly and walked down the hall chuckling to himself.
Bra lips pressed together into a rigid white line and she crossed her arms indignantly. In a low, dangerous tone, she made this solemn vow;
"Just you wait 'til next year, Santa."
~The End
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