Hyperfixation Station

Bulma.

Because of course it was Bulma.

You’re nose twitched as you tapped to answer. Before you could get a word in, a crying, no, wailing baby made your body lock up in ways that it hadn’t in a long, long time. In the background you could hear loud crackling and shouting and other sounds you couldn’t focus on.

Finally, a clear voice.

“Shh, shh, Bulla, it’s alright,” it said. It was Bulma. With her shushing the baby quieted down some and you could breathe again. “Hello? (Name), you there?”

“Yes. Dumb question for you; Why are you calling at three in the morning?” your voice was as calm as you could make it sound even though you were utterly rattled, angry, and tired.

“Because I’m about to be in handcuffs, that’s why! I need your help–Vegeta, stop!”

Yelling and cursing flared in the background. Many were voices you couldn’t place. You assumed it was Vegeta doing all that hollering. Back when you and Bulma spoke more often, she’d never shut up about her new boyfriend. You learned he had quite the temper and power to go along with it. By the sound of the whimpering baby it seemed he stuck around. Good for her.

But she wasn’t getting your help.

“Bulma,” you said, loud enough for her to hear over the phone but quiet enough not to rouse your neighbors. They tended to bang on your wall if you so much as got out of bed past eight. “I’m sorry if you haven’t caught wind of the last few years but I’m retired. If you need a lawyer, there are–”

“Retired?” Bulma screamed loud enough to make you drop your phone onto your lap. “You can’t be! You’re the best out there!”

“Bulma, you know–”

“I know that you’re the only person who can defend me! They’re going to try me for murder in a week!”

“A week?” you parroted loudly and you ignored the banging coming from the wall behind you. Being tried so early, and for a charge so serious, meant they had a lot on her. The judge might as well be bagging his gavel now and tossing her behind bars.

Who died? When and how? Where was she when it happened? What was the prosecution's motive for the crime? This can’t all be coincidence. Capsule Corporation was locked down tight at all hours. It must’ve been planned, right?

You shook your head. This wasn’t your case. This wasn’t your problem. Bulma had plenty of money, she could get the best lawyer and fly them out across the world if she needed to.

“I’m sorry, Bulma, but I can’t help you.”

“Oh, yes you can!” she said, and you could practically feel her finger jamming into your chest despite being miles away. “You paid your licensing fee three months ago!”

Ah, she pulled you up, did she? You recalled her doing that a lot. Doing background checks and all that. Rich people were so weird.

“If you can look me up so quickly then you can find another lawyer just as fast.”

“(Name), you–” You cut her off this time. 

“Goodnight, Bulma. And good luck at your trial. You’ll be just fine.”

You hung up before she could say anything more and then turned off your phone entirely. Now it was just you, the darkness of your messy room, and a dull ache in your back which you instinctively rubbed away. What a mess. You weren’t sure if you were referring to your room, your life, or Bulma’s situation. That woman always had something going on. It was respectable that she could handle it all in stride. Unlike yourself.

You let your back hit the mattress, earning more knocks from your neighbors. She’d be fine. If she could handle her husband and all that other business with her overly powerful friends then she could do anything. The last time you spoke with her was just after the time that Buu thing was running around. It was a brief check in. You had your own thing going on then and you never called her back afterwards. You didn’t really call anyone during that time at all. Who would answer your call after…

Your back ached and you squeezed your eyes shut, sweat beading on your forehead. It went away eventually but you kept your eyes closed. Come morning you’ll toss that whole phone call behind you and get back to your usual routine of jack shit with a side of fuck all.

*Knock Knock Knock!*

Your eyes cracked open to the early morning sun leaking through the blinds. That wasn’t your neighbors this time. You tried to convince yourself that they had company. That it wasn’t anything of your business.

*Knock Knock Knock!!*

Your back throbbed once more, and with a groan you slowly crawled out of bed, the knocking going on and on and on. It was almost comedic. 

You shuffled out of your room, down the stairs, and then to the door, not bothering to fix your hair or pull up the part of your pajamas that had slid off your shoulder in sleep. After allowing yourself a final few seconds of peace, you opened the door.

Even though it had been years since you last saw him, you knew that ever-furrowed brow and spiky hair anywhere.

“Hello, Vegeta,” you said, sleep evident in your voice.

“(Name), right?” he asked in a tone that was more accusatory than anything. You nodded. “Good. Bulma’s waiting for you at the detention center.”

“For what?” you tried, but Vegeta wasn’t going to give you any leeway. Not with this. Not when it came to Bulma. You already knew that.

“To prove her innocence, what else?” he bit. He stepped inside your apartment, the door shutting behind him. You didn’t move an inch, even as he loomed over you with that glare of his. “Neither of us is taking no for an answer.”

You sighed. “Right. Let me get myself together.”

And with that, you lost. You should’ve known you would, after all, Bulma was involved. Vegeta too, though he was more of the cherry on top of a Bulma-shaped cake. A small cherry. A spiky one. Like the seed itself. Somebody already ate the cherry and left the seed on top of the cake like an asshole.

You didn’t bother with a full on shower. You kind of stepped under the water for five minutes and then stepped back out. You were going to leave your hair be, but ended up fussing over it longer than needed, your eyes flicking towards the closed closet across your bedroom. You didn’t want to go in there, but none of the clothes scattered across your floor were ideal for visiting a client.

You stood in front of the closet for a whole five minutes before actually opening it. There was only a single article of clothing inside. A suit. It was clean. It was your favorite color. It was professional. The jacket also had an ugly char on the back, right down the spine ending in some crispy bits at the bottom. The sight of it made your back ache again.

“Hurry up!” yelled Vegeta from downstairs, snapping you back into action. You grabbed the suit, patted the built up dust off it, and put it on for the first time in years. You hated that it still fit. If it hadn’t then you wouldn’t have had to wear it. With a scowl you slipped on your only pair of shoes, which didn’t go with the rest of your look at all, and then stomped your way downstairs. Vegeta’s expression mirrored your own while he stood there in the middle of your living room with his arms crossed.

“Visiting hours just started, we have plenty of time,” you said, stepping out the front door and into the hall. The Detention Center had become a bit more lax with its visiting hours in the past couple years. You even heard that they’ll let people in past closing sometimes. There were definitely bribes going on in that particular front, you just couldn’t prove it. And it wasn’t your problem. You weren't a lawyer anymore.

Vegeta’s hand suddenly grasped your wrist and he dragged you to the window on the other side of the hall. “Hey, wait just a second there!” you panicked.

“I don’t care how long we have. The longer Bulma’s forced to sit in that damn place, the sooner I destroy the building.”

You barely had time to pray to whatever gods were listening before Vegeta jumped out of the window and dashed into the air, the sound of your screaming trailing behind and probably scaring some bystanders down below.

His stop was as sudden as his go, of course, and when your feet suddenly touched solid ground again, you went right down to the sidewalk. You decided that it was a good thing you didn’t have time for breakfast.

“Come on, before I drag you inside,” Vegeta said. You wheezed.

“Yeah, yeah, the leash is short, I get it…”

You got to your feet, the Detention Center looming over you with a sense of inevitability, and then walked inside.

The place hadn’t changed in the slightest. It was cold, the scent of cheap coffee hung heavy in the air, and officers were posted in the same exact spots. All manner of cursing a spitting came from the holding cells down the west hall. They hadn’t even dished out the money to re-insulate the building after all this time. It was all the exact same.

You put your hand to your back, taking some breaths as you approached the same crotchety old security lady and told her you were here to visit Bulma. She gave you and Vegeta a quick up-down inspection, sighed like you’d ruined her day, and called over one of the other guards to take you down to the visitation room.

The visitation room was the same, too. One room with bulletproof glass separating you and the other side, one chair that still bore the same coffee stain, and a looming sense of foreboding.

“Well, where is she?” Vegeta asked.

“They’ll bring her in a few minutes.” You leaned forward and rested your head in your arms on the table in front of you. “It’s a whole thing.”

“Tch.”

You couldn’t agree more.

“Why’d Bulma ask for you specifically?” he suddenly asked.

“She didn’t tell you?”

“Hell no. She just demanded I come get you after you didn’t pick up her calls.”

“Mm.”

“So?”

“So…?”

“Stop ignoring the question.”

“I don’t think you’d get it.”

“I still want to know.”

“We’re just old friends. Nothing crazy.”

“Like Hell.”

“Let it go, Vegeta,” came Bulma’s voice, and you both stopped to watch her get guided into the room, smiling. “They’re more likely to get an explanation out of you than you are out of them.” She sat down in the chair on her side.

Six years and the woman looked the exact same. Just like everything else in the damn building. Your fists bunched up your pant legs and your jaw tightened.

She noticed.

“Hey, Vegeta, can you wait outside for a bit?”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it. I’ll call you back in soon, I promise.”

Vegeta grumbled, but did as asked. On one hand, you felt bad to separate him from his wife when she was right there, on the other, you were happy for that leash you made fun of him for earlier. The tears came as soon as the door shut behind you and Bulma rushed to apologize.

“(Name), I am so, so sorry. I had no idea you were still-”

You shook your head frantically and tried to sit up straight. Your back throbbed harder than ever before and you went right back to your hunched position. “No, it's fine. I’m fine.”

“It’s not fine. Look at yourself…”

And you did. You looked at yourself in the reflection of the bulletproof glass between you and your old friend. The bags under your eyes hung heavy. After that phone call last night you didn’t fall asleep for a long time. Bulma’s situation weighed heavy on your mind. But really it was the damn suit that made you want to punch your reflection the most. Nobody else would keep a burnt article of clothing like this. Nobody else would take it to a tailor annually to make sure it still fit. Nobody else would dare even look at something that brought back such horrid memories from their past. Yet here you were with your renewed law certification and a fresh notebook and pen in your breast pocket.

It hurt to wear it. It hurt to sit in this place. And still you were here. You were here for Bulma. You knew you’d be here as soon as you hung up on her last night. She never had to send Vegeta, she never even had to call. As soon as her arrest made headlines you would’ve been right here, even though it hurt.

Your forehead hit the glass between you.

“Please, tell me what happened last night,” you said.

Bulma glared momentarily, then sighed. “Okay, I will. But chin up first.”

You sniffed the snot back into your nose and leaned back, taking a few deep breaths, counting as you did. You pulled out the pen and notebook from your breast pocket, opening the first page. You wrote down the current date, time, and then Bulma’s name.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Ready.”

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