Chapter 8

The next morning, Vegeta didn't as much as set foot near Trunks' wing. He got Bura out of bed, ready for school and watched her leave on the bus. She sat up in the back seat of the yellow vehicle and waved at him from the window; he waved back.

The house was silent, save for the occasional bark of the Brief's dogs and the soft thump of Trunks' music. Vegeta sighed and flopped down on the sofa. He switched on the television for company.

Before long he was bored and, instead, rang the Son household.

"Hello?" the phone was answered on the fourth ring.

"Goku?" Vegeta said, "I've left the boy to his own devices in his wing. I'm going to call his mother and consult her on this doctor thing. Or on Gohan."

"I thought the agreement on Gohan saved you getting a doctor?"

"Fine." Vegeta snapped, he pinched the bridge of his nose, "Either way, I'm calling his mother. She'll want to speak to Gohan."

"I haven't asked him yet!" Goku replied, "Look don't do anything. I'll bring him round there after lunch, and we'll discuss it. Then you can call Bulma."

Goku quickly bid goodbye to the prince and hung up. Vegeta settled back into the couch. He flicked through the chancels, twisted and turned; but despite what he did, dread settled into his stomach.

“Whiskey.” He thought, “It's on the liquor shelf. Just one class, it'll calm me down.”

He knew it wouldn't just be 'one' class, he knew it wouldn't even be just 'one' bottle; but he rose from his seat, strode to the kitchen and lifted Jack's, glass and all. He retreated back to the living room where he proceeded to drown himself in the sorrow of alcohol and daytime television.

Gohan wasn't convinced. His father sat alongside the prince and had blatantly asked him to council Trunks. They had explained their plan but had still failed to convince the young saiyan. He leaded back and put his hands behind his head.

"I don't think I am the best person to talk to Trunks." Gohan said.

"Come on Gohan. You've been there. You can help him." Goku replied.

"What if I fuck it up?"

"You won't."

"You even said yourself; you have had the experience of a psychiatrist and have a, limited but useful, course in it." Vegeta sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, "Gohan, I need this from you. Fuck what the boy needs, his mother and I need this."

Gohan fisted his fingers into his hair and massaged his temples. Should he talk to the younger saiyan? Could he really help him? Fuck, it had taken him long enough to help himself. He still had days when he felt so depressed and lost that he could barely bring himself to move. The ache never went away; he couldn't lie to Trunks and tell him that it could.

He chewed his lip, "Okay. I'll do it."

Goku and Vegeta smashed their hands together in a high five. Gohan slumped back against the seat. Goku reached forward and patted his son's knee.

"You're doing the right thing." He cooed.

"Yeah ,yeah." Gohan swatted his father's hand away, stood up and forced his hands into the pockets of his jacket, "I'll be back this afternoon to speak with him. The first session should be up in his wing, the surroundings are familiar and he won't feel intimidated. We'll play it by ear after that." He sauntered towards the door, his head hanging down, and left.

Goku turned to the prince, "You look like hell. Go and get some sleep."

"I can't."he sighed.

“Have you been drinking?”

Vegeta looked at the two empty whiskey bottles by his chair.

“A little.”

“Two bottles isn't a little. Drinking is not a way to solve this, your breath stinks and god-help your liver.” Goku scowled, “ Look, just cool it okay?Gohan has agreed to speak to Trunks. Stop worrying and try and catch forty winks."

Vegeta got up from the sofa and lifted the cordless phone.

"Put on the television Kakorot. I'll call my wife and then we can watch a DVD or something. I'm not in the mood to spar today."

He abruptly left the living room.

.

It's colder today. A lot colder. My heavy duvet isn't even keeping me warm. Damnit. I tried to eat breakfast this morning, well, that went up in smoke. Within the hour after my meal, I was painfully reacquainted with it. I swear the inside of my stomach is ripped to shreds.

My Dad has given up. At least I think so. He didn't come near me this morning for school. Thank Kami. Goten has been texting me all morning wondering where I am. I hate doing this to him, he is my best friend and the only one I really have. But I can't bring myself to see him. He can't see me like this. An excuse for a human; a disgrace of a Saiyan.

Lying on my mattress at night, trying to sleep, is uncomfortable. Even my couch is uncomfortable. My bones are too prominent and it hurts to lie down. My wounds aren't healing as well either. They are getting infected a lot and bruises are appearing all over my skin with the slightest of bumps. Finally, I can barely keep my eyes open, but I can never get so settled as to sleep and I am suffering from continuous headaches and dizzy spells.

This is no way to live. Cribbed and confined, aching continuously; my voice has even given up on me. How that does even happed? Can your voice leave after not being used for so long? If so, I have really screwed up this time.

Bulma was pleased, to say the least, that Gohan had taken it upon himself to speak with her son. She called Gohan immediately after speaking to Vegeta and Goku; she was in tears of joy. Over reacting much? Gohan had sat with his with his head in his hands, nodding and 'mmmhmm'ing on queue. Eventually she hung up and he was left to trail after his own thoughts. His guilt at evening considering such a crazy offer. He glanced up at the clock placed above the door of city hall and sighed, realising he only had forty minutes to be back at the Brief's household. Solemnly, with knots twisting in his stomach, he lifted his jacket and strode from the city center.