Chapter 7 – Midnight Snack

Yamcha leaves his mouth uncovered as he yawns, cigar dangling from one hand, green glass bottle beating a tattoo of boredom against his chair.  His eyes glaze as he watches Goku thrash...someone, he's forgotten who.  Some old punk who thinks he's Mr. Testosterone.  Boring with a capital B-O-A-R-E-E-N.  I wonder if Bulma's feeling any better...how like the ditz to catch a cold walking outside.  Which reminds me...

"Ouch!  Jeez, boss, what was that for?"

"For being a stupid ass!  Shit, Krillen, why didn't you drive her home?"

"I asked, and she said 'no!'  What did you want me to do, hit her over the head and dump her in the car?  I thought I was supposed to be 'one of those polished, refined tux-and-white-gloves servant guys.'  You know, what the rest of the world calls a butler?"

"Krillen..."

"Hey, hey, cool it, boss man.  She'll be alright.  Women are always acting sick when they want to be alone.  She's probably...you know...having her female icky-blood-thing."

Yamcha drums his fingers against the bottle.  "Ya think so?"

"And Hercule's down!  Goku wins again!" the announcer screams, drowning out Krillen's reply.  Hercule.  That's right.  Oh well, time to collect my cash.

The small figure in a hooded coat watches Yamcha roll off his chair, the shiny round head of his right-hand man trailing behind as he heads for the announcer.  No one notices the petite woman in the cheering crowd.

She turns away from The Wolf.  Much as she'd like to tail him for a while – to find out whether or not he knows the truth behind her mistress's illness – she doesn't have time.  She draws the inside of her lip between her teeth as she tries to find Goku in the mob.

But the fighter is gone.

*****

ChiChi pulls her hair free of the cloak, enjoying her brief respite from those damn hairpins.  There's no need to hide anymore; over an hour after the fight, the speakeasy is quiet...desolate, even.  Funny how alone you feel when surrounded by tired drunks.  Being the only sober one makes you feel so...empty.  I should feel virtuous.  Instead, I feel like I've missed the punch line of the world's greatest joke.

"You look pretty blue."

She snorts without looking away from her glass of water.  "If that's supposed to be a come-on..."

"A what?  I was just thinking that you look like you could use some food.  The fish-n-chips is pretty good here, you know.  It's my favorite!  It always seems to cheer me up right away."

Great.  Miss Bulma's sick – probably dying – and I've left her alone with some sadistic bandit.  I can't find Goku; I'm tired; I'm surrounded by riffraff; and now, to make my life just PEACHY, some garrulous drunk thinks I look "pretty blue" and "could use some food."  GOD!  WHY DO YOU HATE ME?

"Umm...Miss?  Are you OK?"

"ISN'T THAT OBVIOUS?"

"Do you...umm...want to talk about it?  And...Mr. Barman?  Sir?  Could you get us a plate of fish-n-chips?  Actually, two plates...no, make that five.  Oh, and a couple of orders of wings?  Thanks, Mr. Barman, sir!"

She sniffles slightly, her mouth wriggling with unreleased words and emotions.  The sound of a heavy plate being set in front of her pulls some invisible trigger and she explodes.

"She's dying!"

"Wait, who's dying?"

"They're going to kill her!"

"Who?  Kill who?"

"AND I CAN'T FIND GOKU ANYWHERE!  DAMNITDAMNITDAMNIT!"  She finally bursts into hot, exasperated tears.

"Oh.  Well, I don't know about the other stuff, but I can help you with the last bit, at least."

"How?" she chokes out, eyes suddenly hopeful, as she turns to look at him.  Her face goes slack as she stares.  Finally, her lips contract into a silent "oh."

She turns back to the food and dives in.

*****

Ugh.  I feel like shit.

I wonder what that means, exactly.  Do I feel the way shit would feel if shit were sentient and could feel...pain?  Or do I feel as terrible as shit would feel if shit were sentient and had to live with the knowledge that it was shit?  Or do I feel so terrible that my body is as valuable as shit?  Or do I feel like the excretion of some other animal?  And why bull shit?  What's so special about bulls?  What about cows?  Or sheep?  Sheep shit.  That's what this internal monologue is: sheep shit.  Or maybe goat shit.  I feel like I've eaten a few too many tin cans.

Maybe I should open my eyes.

A streak of light jars her head as her eyes cross.

On second thought...

"So, have you finally decided to get up?"

Vegeta.  I'm dreaming about Vegeta.  "Lovely," she smiles as she twists her legs amid the sheets and rolls over.

"God damn it, woman, get your lazy butt out of bed and tell these morons to fix your antiquated gymnasium!"

My butt and my bed.  This might turn into a very nice dream, if only my head didn't hurt so much.

"Of course, dear," she coos as she buries her face into a pillow, hiding from the light.  "Anything you say."

Her forehead wrinkles as her brain tries to yell something over the din of hot, scratchy pain.  I feel almost like I'm awake...but what's Vegeta doing here?  It must be some sort of dream; I think I've been having some really weird ones tonight.  Today.  What time is it?

"WOMAN!"

Something which feels and sounds suspiciously like a rabid guinea pig tries to leap out of her throat.  She swings around wildly, connecting with something warm and solid as she rolls over to kill the Thing Which Made a Startling Sound from Somewhere Close to a Sleeping Princess.  Heiress.  Same idea.  Come to think of it, that sounded a little like Vegeta.  But I feel like shit.  He shouldn't have yelled at me.  It simply IS NOT DONE.  And I really, really feel like shit.

"Woman," he barks out again, this time without as much force.  He grumbles low in his throat as he tries to look at her.  She's managed to push him over on his side, and has him partially pinned against the edge of her bed.  Leaning over her to wake her up probably wasn't the best plan of attack, but he's never been patient with women.  That didn't sound right.  I can be quite patient with...I really need to get off of her bed, preferably without falling down or leaning on that bad foot.

"Could you possibly remove your arm from my throat?  Honestly, for a woman with your lack of muscle, you have unbearably heavy arms."

"Thanks for the reveille, Vegeta.  I'm ever so obliged.  I do hope I'm not choking you.  It's just that, well, you understand...with my 'lack of muscle,' I simply can't move my 'unbearably heavy...'"

"Spare yourself the trouble of talking, then."  He rolls slightly to one side, sliding out from under her arm and catching his weight on his good foot.  She groans as she pulls herself up to a sitting position, massaging the bridge of her nose as she squints at him.  He stares back, face unreadable.

"You look like shit."

She bursts out laughing, and then groans, moving her hands to her temples.  "Aren't you pleasant this morning?  Really, Vegeta, darling, I can't take all this praise without it going to my head!"

He grunts as he drops into a chair near her bed.  "My only goal in life is to describe your beauty accurately."

"I hope that's not the only reason why you're in my bedroom."

He doesn't answer her; then again, I didn't really ask a question.  She slowly turns her head, trying to spot...

"She's not here."

"Oh."  That's...strange.  Very strange.  It's not like I don't know she has a life outside of her job, but...well...it's strange.

She turns back to Vegeta, and slowly becomes aware of the crutches abandoned behind his chair and the bandage on his foot.  She finally meets his gaze.

"What happened?"

"I was shot."

Her eyes narrow.  Shot?  Then we really did...no, that's impossible.  "When?"

"Last night."

She darts her eyes to the window and back.  "You mean..."

"Approximately 28 hours ago."  Before she can twist around to see find a clock, he adds, "It's just past two in the morning."

One day and four hours ago, her brain bubbles, happy to be safe in the world of numbers.  She's always been good with numbers.  Numbers are so...regular.  Two and two are always four, no matter what.  Although her mother has been known to say that one plus one will equal three, if you aren't careful.  It's the sort of thing you really don't want your mother to say at dinner parties, but...there you are.  Vegeta was shot at ten at night.

And it was raining.

He nods once, satisfied with the slight widening of her eyes.  By the time she refocuses, he's already opening the door.  Pooh.  I missed my one chance to see the great Vegeta limp.  So that's it?  He's leaving?  Of course he's leaving.  I can't imagine what he was doing here in the first place.  My God...assuming there's one left who'll listen to me...where could ChiChi be in the middle of the night?  Did something happen to her?  How did I get here?  And I've been sleeping for 28 hours straight?  What's going on?  She pushes aside the added pang of what is not disappointment at Vegeta's departure.

"You there!  Servant boy!"

Of course, Vegeta can't leave without being an arrogant jerk.  It isn't enough that he never says "goodbye."

"Yeah?"

Silence.

"I mean, yes, sir?" the poor boy chokes out.

"Pasta and steak – or lamb, whichever is fresher.  The woman will have a bowl of light broth, some soup crackers, and cranberry juice."

"I'm not hungry!"

"Shut up," he yells without turning away from the boy.

"And I hate cranberry juice!"

"Just bring it before I get impatient, understand?"

"Umm..."  Bulma can't really see him – she has a blurry view of the back of Vegeta's shoulders – but she can hear him fidget with his collar.  "I don't think the chef is awake."  That's right; Jim's only awake because he's probably been "busy" with the cook's daughter.  I seem to remember ChiChi telling me something of that sort...

"Then you will...?"

"Wake him up?"

"Smart boy."

*****

"...So, you see, I'm worried that this fighter has gotten Miss Bulma into terrible trouble!  She's a good girl, really, and I don't think she's done anything wrong, but she can be awfully naïve."  ChiChi pushes the remaining food around her plate; it's tasty, but very heavy, and worry constricts her throat.  Goku, of course, has already finished the rest of the fish.

"And you think Yamcha was responsible for the attack?  I don't know...it doesn't really seem like him to get that angry.  Besides, where would he find such ruthless hit men?" he mumbles around a wing.

She turns to him for the second time that evening, finally forgetting her embarrassment.  "I don't really think it was Yamcha – I don't feel like he'd toss Miss Bulma aside that easily.  Plus, the fighter seemed to think there'd be someone else willing to kill him.  Regardless of whether or not Yamcha hired those men, I'm worried that this brutish street thug going to get Bulma involved in something much worse than a lovers' quarrel.  As for your last comment, though, I can't see how The Wolf would have trouble finding a couple of assassins."

"The Wolf?"  His face is open, honest, sweet, and bewildered.

She raises her eyebrows.  "Don't tell me you didn't know Yamcha was a mob boss."

"What?"

"A crime lord, a gangster, someone who has made a career out of threatening people!"

"Oh, that!" he laughs, patting her on the top of her head.  "I wouldn't worry too much about that.  Yamcha may act pretty tough, but I don't think he's that dangerous.  People get scared off 'cause he looks wild, so he usually doesn't have to use any force.  Personally, I kind of like the guy."  His childlike face hardens for a moment.  "He took me in when I didn't have anywhere to go.  I had no memory of where I was going or even who I was, but he gave me a name and a job, an honest job.  I'll never be able to repay him for that."  He turns to her and grins.  "Maybe he doesn't have the greatest people skills, but the same can be said for a lot of people!"

She colors a bit at the gentle barb, then sighs and stares at her plate.

"So, Miss...Err...sorry, but I think I've forgotten your name."

"ChiChi.  Don't worry; I don't think I ever told you."

"Right, Miss ChiChi...who else do you think could be after Miss Bulma's fighter?"

She shuts her eyes and chews her lip.  "I don't have a single idea," she finally answers.  "I really don't know the first thing about his past – only that Vegeta is a pompous, arrogant wretch of a..."

"What did you say his name was?"

"Vegeta."  She tilts her head to watch him as his fists tighten and his face contorts, eyes focusing on some point between the bar counter and the back wall.

"Vegeta..." he mutters while she holds her breath.  "Vegeta...Nope!  Sorry, thought it rang a bell for a bit, but I've never heard of him!"  She almost falls off the stool at his sudden change in attitude, staring at the grinning, sheepish man.  She can't help but smile back.  He's really an innocent.  It's amazing that he's stayed so gentle and carefree in this dreadful underworld.

She laughs at herself under her breath, and then slowly gets up.  "Thanks for the food and the sympathetic ear, Mr. ..."

"Just 'Goku,' ok?"

"Right."  She smiles again.  "Well, I'm sorry for troubling you about all of this.  I don't know what I thought you could do, but it was nice just to talk to someone."

"You're leaving?"

"I should never have left Miss Bulma alone like that.  I really must get back home."

"Oh."  He inhales, as though about to speak, but then just sighs.

"What is it?" she finally asks.

"I don't know; I just don't like this whole situation.  There must be something I can do.  Maybe I should talk to this Vegeta guy.  I left before Miss Bulma issued her challenge, so I still haven't even seen him.  Maybe I do know something about him."

"You shouldn't trouble yourself with it, really," she forces out.  Oh please help us!  Please!

"I insist," he nods.  "Even if I don't know anything about him, I may be able to get him to talk to me.  One way or the other, I can't let you or Miss Bulma get hurt, especially not because of some fight you aren't involved in."

"Oh...well, thank you, then, I guess," she stutters, nervously twisting her hair, trying to hide her blush.  He 'can't let me get hurt!'  Happyhappyhappyhappy...FOCUS, ChiChi!

"We should probably be going, then," he says, nodding to the barman.

"Right, we'll just...wait, isn't it a bit late for you to be talking to Vegeta?  After all, it's TWO IN THE MORNING!  SHIT!!!"

He blinks at the language, staring as she grabs her coat and nearly knocks the empty plates on the floor.  "Actually, I was just going to walk you home.  It isn't really safe for you to walk alone this late at night, Miss ChiChi."

"Oh."  She blushes again as she moves to the door.  "Thanks," she repeats.  "And Goku?"

"Yes?"

"Just 'ChiChi,' ok?"

*****

Note to Readers

It's back!!!!!!

For old readers, I've reformatted since my last update in...Sep...tem...ber.  So now it should all be easier to read, right?  I deleted old shout-outs, as I felt like they added clutter.  I'll continue writing thank-you-notes for reviews to new chapters, but I think I'll email them from now on, unless you ask a question or don't leave your email address.

For new readers, hello all!  I tend to write a chapter a week, on average, so I hope you're patient. U.U  Sowwie!  Since you are the fantastic few who just finished reading 7 full chapters, you are best set to help me...  This was my first update in many moons, so I had to go back & reread my own work, just to figure out where I was (oops)!  If you noticed any discontinuities, please let me know, ok?  Thanks!

Until next week!  Love,

            TigerQueen