"A hunted man sometimes wearies of distrust and longs for friendship."
- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
Bulma shivered, finally feeling the cold now that she'd said her piece. Chilled everywhere but her palm, burnt from contact with his skin.
"Can we go inside? There's one last thing you need to see," she said, reluctant.
He grunted what seemed to be assent, but ignored the hand she offered to help him up.
Well, he was heavy as fuck and she'd really only done it out of polite reflex anyway.
She hated to disturb the uneasy truce they had going on at the moment, but waiting would only make it worse.
"I'll be right back," she said, stepping around the upended dresser.
He was lying on the bed when she returned, arms behind his head. Clearly just wishing she would go away and leave him be. He was all blacks and whites against the duvet, the low light washing away all color, but not the tension between them.
She sat on the opposite side of the bed, placing an object in the middle.
He cracked an eye to find an electronic tablet, but his face betrayed no interest.
"I thought you might want something to read." She swiped a finger over the screen to turn it on, attempting nonchalance.
She felt the brewing of his rekindled anger like an incoming storm.
Bulma Brief was not afraid of a storm.
"I could have just learned Galactic Standard," she began. Did, in fact. "But it's such an ugly, perfunctory language."
She was right. Galactic Standard had no nuance, lyric, or poetry, except when it came to endless variety of currency, weight, measure, and coordinates. It was the language of trade and war.
She fiddled with the interface. "I wasn't sure what you'd be into, so you've got a few options."
Truthfully, she'd agonized over what might interest him. Everything she considered seemed too frivolous, a waste of his time. Eventually she'd settled on The Art of War, because it might lead to interesting debate if nothing else. But she'd also wanted to give him the opportunity to experience reading for pleasure; she doubted he ever had.
Fiction was an even more impossible challenge. She imagined anything based in past or present Earth settings would bore him. She could not offer Earthling science-fiction to an actual space-faring alien. She finally landed on fantasy, because it was removed enough from his own experiences that he might get into it.
Unless there was a planet of real elves somewhere he'd razed to the ground at some point.
Anyway, the second offering was the compiled Lord of the Rings trilogy.
"So, um, here you go," she managed.
She looked almost meek as she nudged the device toward him. It didn't suit her, and made his skin crawl with unease.
The interface was in Saiyan as well. His brain overloaded; he stopped processing.
"How?" he rasped, when he meant to shout.
She fidgeted, her explanation halting at first, but as she got going, her voice thrummed with excitement. It was impossible not to admire her enthusiasm and resourcefulness, even in his anger.
"I've studied, downloaded, and archived every bit of Saiyan tech and data I could find. The space pods left here after your first visit. Raditz' scouter. The Ginyuu pod Goku brought back from Namek. Maps, transmissions, communications, your sorry selection of 'in-flight entertainment' - all of it."
He said nothing, moved nothing, still struggling to understand the magnitude of what she was saying.
"You know I converted the scouter into English the first night I had it, right?" She said absently, as though of course he'd known. But he hadn't.
She continued on, not noticing. "Its native OS had options to toggle between Standard and Saiyan, which was very useful."
"I made some connections offworld, thanks to Tights." She smiled. "Never underestimate the curiosity of scientists or librarians. It was easy enough to get a Galactic Standard-English dictionary in exchange for some Earth books on languages, history, art, and music."
She practically bounced with excitement. "I wrote a translation algorithm. It's clunky as hell, since it has to convert through Standard first. I'll make a better, direct-translation version when I'm fully fluent."
She came back to herself suddenly, peering at him carefully. "Er, if you still want me to continue, that is."
Her fingernail tapped mindlessly on the screen, obscenely loud in the dead silence. "Anyway, the translations aren't perfect, but I manually finessed what I could."
"You. Made. Me. Books. In. Saiyan." He was stunned, overwhelmed by her audacity and the enormity of what she'd accomplished.
"Mmm hmm. But here," she grabbed it back.
She tapped something, and the interface switched to Standard, then to her language, then back to Saiyan. "If something really sounds weird, you can reference the original Standard. Or English."
She was giving him a way to learn her language, on his own, and they both knew it.
And they both knew he'd never turn down an opportunity to build an advantage for himself. As little as he cared about the primitive culture he was stuck in, the more he learned, the less he was forced to depend on anyone else.
This was by far the longest period of time he'd spent in solo conversation with anyone in years. He felt like the walls were closing in, and his head hurt.
"You had no right," he growled. Infuriated, overcome, raw.
He looked like a horse about to bolt. Bulma got up, hands raised in surrender, knowing she'd overstepped. "I know," she said, retreating. Giving him space. "I know."
She paused at the threshold. "But it's all yours, now. Say the word, and I'll destroy it."
It was an affront of massive proportions. It was a gift beyond measure.
Her eyes were so earnest they hurt to look at. "But the universe will be a lesser place. Promise me you'll think about it."
He promised nothing, but she hadn't expected a response, leaving him to the chaos of his thoughts.
Back in her own room, Bulma leaned against the door, exhausted. She'd hoped to give him a gift; he'd taken it like a blow. Doubt wracked her, and it was not a feeling she knew well.
Well, what's done is done. Maybe time would change his mind. Or it wouldn't. All she could do was wait.
He avoided her for days that stretched into weeks, but she allowed him the distance, hoping.
Until one morning he was still eating breakfast when she stumbled downstairs for coffee.
This was such an unusual occurrence that she didn't see him until after her first sip, which she almost spat on him as she slammed the cup on the counter and turned away to fasten her robe.
The entire household was usually long gone by this hour, so she wandered around in whatever she'd slept in, usually a loose shirt, skimming her hips, exposing her underwear. Half the time she didn't bother with a robe. Thankfully she had today.
Caught off-guard, she couldn't look at him. He already thought she was vulgar and shameless. "Sorry," she mumbled. Why was she embarrassed? She was vulgar and shameless.
"Good morning," he said, indifferently. Ignoring her attire and her discomfort entirely.
Only, he said it in Saiyan, the low, exotic words rolling from his mouth so smoothly that she shivered.
The literal translation was "You're alive, so pursue victory," and suddenly his brusque, uncomfortably direct attitude and mannerisms made so much more sense.
It was a peace offering. It was what he could manage of forgiveness. It was all the thanks he was able to offer.
"Until my last breath," she responded appropriately, accepting it like a gift.
The smile she wore was ridiculous alongside the serious statement, but it stopped his breath anyway, brighter than the sun behind her.
He couldn't recall ever making anyone happy before, intentionally or otherwise, but this was the second time it had happened with her. The first was ages ago, when he offered the obvious suggestion of how to use wishes to retrieve Kakarot from Namek. Back then, he'd feared she might hug him, which he'd found appalling and offensive.
Now, he was disturbed to find himself disappointed she made no move to do so, even though he'd never have let her. The warm scent of her skin surrounded him, called to him, repulsed him.
He left without another word to train.
Bulma smiled into her coffee.
