The Ten-Year Curse Pt.2

Goku IT’ed up behind Vegeta, though he was in his line of vision as his friend turned to face him, eyeing the torn shirt in Goku’s hand.

"I’ll mend that for you if you cook for me."

"Ok," Goku agreed bubbly to Vegeta’s unusually nice offer. He fetched his Prince thread and needle.

The Prince sat at the table, his nimble fingers easily threading the needle with a color blinding enough to match the shirt. Turning the cloth inside out, he began to work.

Goku raided his fridge, withdrawing eggs, ham, butter, and spinach to make his favorite dusk snack: an omelette. Heating a pan, the large man plopped several spoonfuls of butter into it, letting them sizzle. Soon, Vegeta had sewn the hole and ordered Goku into the shirt just before the food was done. They sat, devouring quickly.

When Vegeta finished with a sigh, and odd comment burst from him. "That was really good." Not even a sneer to mar the complement.

Though somewhat scared by his friend’s out of character utterance, Goku replied, "Thanks."

The Prince yawned, triggering Goku into one. "Maybe we should hit the hay."

"Hn. Where may I sleep?"

"You can have my bed, ‘Geta. I’ll just sleep on the couch."

"Lead me to it, baka."

Vegeta trailed Goku back out into the living room, immediately down a short hall to the master bedroom. Flipping on the overhead light and stealing a cover and pillow from the closet, Goku went back out to the couch.

Closing the door, Vegeta stripped down to his boxers and neatly folded his clothes, laying them at the foot of the bed. Turning off the light and sliding under the black wool cover and solid white sheet, the Prince noted that even as he lay spread eagle, he barely filled half the momentous bed.

Goku tossed his bed stuffs onto the couch on his way back to the kitchen. Grabbing a shot glass from the cabinet, he filled it with whiskey, gulping the alcohol quickly. He just needed a little to help him sleep. Four shots later, and he turned out the lights and lay down.

Vegeta woke to the most wondrous smell of food, briefly thinking that somehow he had made it to heaven before he realized that Chichi’s stale scent was also staining his nostrils. Sitting up, he found he had worked his way to the other side of the bed in his first restful sleep in three months.

Popping his back and tail as he stood, Vegeta wrestled a capsule from his pocket, pinging it open. Removing clean underwear, suit, and gloves, he placed his dirty suit into the capsule before repocketing it. Before going out to the kitchen, Vegeta even made the gigantic bed as he had been taught of Frieza’s ship; ruler straight.

Goku hummed to himself after he had his morning shots to wake up. Pulling foodstuffs from the fridge, he sat about making breakfast for Vegeta, himself, and the one on the way. He was very curious as to how his friend was going to give birth.

Following his nose like a bloodhound, Vegeta sat at the kitchen table after Goku’s bubbly greeting. Finding two glasses of orange juice poured, he took one, sipping at it.

"Are you going to . . . swell up?"

"Yes, baka. I’ll be huge. I bet you love that."

Goku giggled at Vegeta’s sour expression. "No."

"Hn."

"How are you going to give birth?"

"A slit will open here," The Prince turned and rolled back his shirt, indicating an area just above where his pubic hair should start. "And I will have to force it out like a human woman."

Goku fixed them each a plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, waffles, and toast and sat. Taking his juice, he nearly grimaced at the zing of the vodka. Good thing Vegeta had grabbed the correct glass.

The Prince soon devoured his food, eyeballing the baka at his. Was he more clumsy today? Vegeta recalled the numerous half-full liquor bottles. How could Kakarott become an alcoholic?

Munching his last piece of toast, another question occurred to Goku. "Can you still spar?"

"Yes," Vegeta nodded curtly. "Up until my third dimester."

"Huh? Chichi had trimesters . . ." His heart squeezed as he recalled the miscarriage.

"Well, Saiyan pregnancy is only six months, so it is broken into dimesters: two months each."

"Ok."

"I don’t want to talk about my pregnancy anymore, so shut up."

"You’re scared," Goku realized.

"I’m not," Vegeta lied.

"Yes, you are. Have you ever given birth?"

"Have you?" Vegeta turned from Goku’s questing eyes.

"So you haven’t? This will be your first, and a full-blooded at that! Why couldn’t we’ve done this years ago?"

"I don’t want this child," growled the Prince. "And we aren’t doing anything. This is my problem, so just leave me alone about it!" He burst off, the whole house shaking as he slammed the bedroom door. Goku knew better than to chase after him.

When lunch time hit, the disunity under his roof made Goku uneasy enough to add an extra shot to his drink. He could control himself; six months had been enough time to learn.

In the bedroom, Vegeta woke from the calming nap he had forced himself into. Dammit, his clothes had rumpled. His stomach reminded him of the time, so he headed out of the room, slipping back into his boots first. Startlingly, the hardwood hall was swept, and the rug in the living room was also. The couch against the wall separating the kitchen had a cover thrown decoratively over it, hiding most of the atrocious plaid of it. The shelf of Chichi’s delicate knick-knacks was dusted, as was the rarely used TV. In the kitchen, only Kakarott and the table had any dirt on them (and that was only a little); even the dishes were done.

"You’ve certainly been busy."

"Well," Kakarott sighed like a broken set of bagpipes, looking sadly at him from the table. "I was bored."

"Hn." Nothing could’ve forced the actual utterance of an apology from him, but Kakarott understood.

Rummaging through the fridge, Vegeta found his favorite earth fruit, a kiwi. Leaning against the counter, he peeled part of the bitter skin off with his teeth.

"I’m sorry about asking you so many questions, Vegeta." The Prince nodded, savoring the sweet fruit in his hand. "You wanna spar?"

He discarded the skin in the trash can at the end of the counter. "Sure." After washing his hands, he followed Goku to his clearing.

Quickly, they set up in position, Vegeta making the first move in the intricate ballet, aiming a boot at Kakarott’s head. The baka swerved, but didn’t try to latch on for an attack as was customary. Vegeta puzzled as he landed behind the large man, who promptly turned to face him. The Prince waited for an attack. None was delivered.

"You won’t fight me, Kakarott?"

"I don’t want to hurt the baby."

"Short of cutting me open, you can’t. My body has defense mechanisms honed like a blade from eons of evolution. Look." He punched himself hard in the stomach. Kakarott gasped. "Nothing. It will stay perfectly protected until my third dimester."

"Ok." Kakarott still sounded very uncertain, but he attacked.

Fists swished and collided with bone, sharp boot tips bit into flesh, lips burst as they levitated. The intensity gained as both flashed Super Saiyan. Momentarily, they locked together, Vegeta’s fists caught by Kakarott, his legs locking his opponent’s longer limbs. Then, each grasp broke as they powered up another level. Muscle-bound arms pounded anyplace they could reach, shirts ripped away, pants shredded into shorts.

The battle raged unchanged for three hours until Kakarott finally wore Vegeta down, pinning the smaller man face up in one of the deep craters their bodies had made years before.

"You wouldn’t have me in this position if I wasn’t pregnant," Vegeta protested, his head laid to the side as he panted through bloodied lips. "The baby saps my energy."

"Are you sure it’s ok?" Kakarott was too concerned for his own good.

"Yes. I’ve only been pregnant two weeks."

"Ok." Kakarott lifted up, floating out of the crater. Vegeta did the same, wiping his mouth on his glove, ruining it.

As they returned to the capsule house, Goku reached behind Chichi’s shelf, full of breakables, and pulled out a bag of senzu beans, offering Vegeta one first.

"I’m not eating one of those. It could fuck up the baby’s development. I’ll heal the natural way."

"Vegeta, that’ll take forever!" the baka argued.

"A week, tops."

"Fine then. I’ll heal naturally too, to see if you’re right."