Summary: Twelve things Broly experienced for the first time.
Authors Note: I'm really sorry for the wait, y'all. I planned to have this out sooner, but then I spilled water on my laptop and broke it :P.
This Fragile World
Trust -
Their first point of contention in their budding friendship came when she attacked the pelt he wore around his waist.
Of course, she hadn't really attacked it, not physically, verbally, or otherwise. She wouldn't even have a reason to. She had always thought his story about a ferocious monster being his first best friend to be just as beautiful as it was painfully sad. She had absolutely nothing against the symbol of that beautifully sad friendship.
So no, she hadn't attacked, but she had not realized that any criticisms she made of that particular item would undoubtedly be construed that way.
Her criticism? She simply said that it needed washing.
Truer words had never been said. The pelt was (though she hadn't said this) downright disgusting. It was as dirty as one could expect—the fur matted together in dingy, stiff clumps, and so clearly discolored that she doubted it was even the right shade of green.
And the smell. The smell.
Perhaps if it wasn't such a lingering odor, she could have endured. As it were, there was no possible way to defend the fact that she could instantly smell when Broly had been in a room and how long ago. It was unforgivable that standing too close to him for too long would nearly send her into a state of unconsciousness.
No, this could not stand. The pelt needed to be washed.
Cheelai understood the importance of the pelt, she really did. Well, understood was perhaps not the right word. She, herself, didn't have anything of material value that she considered precious to her. For much of her life, she never had more than the clothes on her back, which were usually stolen at that. She had things that she liked of course, like her ray gun, or the ankle-length jacket she bought with her first Frieza Force paycheck. Even still, if she lost them or had to give them up, it wouldn't be too much of a hardship. She probably wouldn't even give them more than a moments thought before she was already plotting how to replace them.
So no, she didn't really understand having such attachments to material possessions, but she understood enough that she did not doubt that the pelt meant a lot to him. It was something special to him, so naturally he was protective of it. She understood this.
That did not change the fact that it absolutely reeked. The snowbath the pelt received while Broly was getting pummeled on Earth was not sufficient. It needed water, soap, and a very thorough cleaning.
When she told Lemo her plan, all he said was, "It's your funeral," but he didn't tell her not to. Probably because he couldn't stand the smell either.
His lack of more enthusiastic support was nerve grating, but whatever, she didn't need him. She could handle Broly. Really, he probably wouldn't even mind the suggestion so much. He had no problem bathing himself, after all. Surely he would see no difference regarding the pelt.
Or so she had thought.
"Broly," she had said one afternoon, while they both struggled to make an Earth dish called sushi, "We need to talk."
He stared at her for a minute. Apparently living all his life with a bastard of a father who was never all that interested in what he had to say meant that sometimes he forgot to respond verbally when addressed. Cheelai waited patiently, and tried not to show her anger at a dead man on her face. Broly didn't like it when she talked bad about his father.
Eventually, he opened his mouth and said, "Alright."
"It's about your pelt," she clarified.
He blinked. That simple action really had no business being that adorable. "Okay."
She sucked in a breath, and just decided to say it, like ripping off a band-aid. "It's filthy. We need to wash it."
She was almost shocked by how immediate his response was. "No."
"Broly—"
"No," he said and his voice was not angry like it had been the first time she tried to take the pelt from him, but the tone was still hard, the hardest she had ever heard it be.
Before she could respond, he turned and abruptly left. He didn't go far, even as someone who couldn't sense energy, she could feel his presence nearby. He never went too far away, not unless he was training with that saiyan that wouldn't stop coming around. Still, he was far enough away that he clearly didn't want to be bothered by her.
The barest bits of guilt filtered through her. Of course, they hadn't known each other that long, but even still, Broly had never been upset with her. For that matter, when people were angry with her, it was usually because she wanted them to be. She hadn't been trying to antagonize Broly, but she wasn't sure how else she could have said what needed to be said. She wasn't sure what to say now to make him stop being angry with her.
She decided to let him have his space. During that time, she built up her argument until it was flawless. She dedicated so much brain power to her argument that she was sure she would be prepared for any protest he would bring forth.
Hours later, he returned to the house. His eyes were on her the moment he walked into the house, clearly ready to continue their discussion from earlier. She was glad that at least he was not the type of person to sweep discomforting things under the rug.
"Cheelai," he said.
"Yeah?"
Despite addressing her, he was quiet for a moment—another thing he did, when he was trying to gather his thoughts. Eventually, he said, "Baa's ear is — special, to me."
She had already known that, but somehow, those words, the way he said it, made all the arguments in her head fizzle up and dry.
All she could say was the truth. "I know, Broly. I promise, I know."
"I don't want Baa's ear to be damaged."
"I'll be very careful," she said. Really, given how sturdy it was, she doubted she even could damage it. "you clean things so they look better, not worse, Big Guy."
The silence after that was a long one. His eyes never moved from hers once. She didn't move her gaze either, more than willing to allow him to read whatever it was he was trying to find. Also, because she found his eyes to be rather intriguing. She had never met a person whose eyes were so undeniably, so unquestionably, so indisputably black.
Black ain't a real color, her ass.
Finally, after a length of time that she couldn't determine but could've just as easily been a lifetime, he nodded.
"Come on," she said quickly, before he could change his mind, "you can help me."
He thought about it for a moment. He nodded to that as well.
He followed behind her into the bathroom. Once inside, she immediately went over to the tub, and balanced out the hot and cold water knobs. He was tense behind her while they waited for the water to fill. She decided not to draw attention to it.
She turned off the nearly steaming water once the tub was a quarter of the way filled. Then she turned to him, with an expectant look in her eyes.
He held her gaze for several seconds. Then, slowly, he started to untie the pelt. With hands that looked to be only just managing not to tremble, he passed it to her.
Surprisingly, she nearly buckled under the weight of it.
"Geez!" she exclaimed as she dropped it into the tub. "You could've warned me! This thing is heavy."
He did not say anything in response. She focused back on the pelt, and used her hands to flatten it out with the fur facing up.
She allowed some time to pass. Even without being scrubbed, the pelt had the water turning into hideous shades of darkening grey.
"Gross..." she couldn't help but to say.
To her surprise, he hummed his agreement.
After a while, she asked him to lift the pelt out of the water, not at all inclined to try and lift the waterlogged pelt by herself. He did, and while he held it, she drained the water, refilled the tub, and had him place it back in. After the third time, when the water only discolored slightly, she pulled out the soap and a brush.
"This is the fun part," she said.
He gave her a skeptical look, which was fair, because it was kind of a lie. There was nothing fun about scrubbing through layers of caked dirt. There was definitely nothing fun about unspeakably black bubbles trailing up to her hands. The smell wafting directly up, despite the flowery-scented soap, was probably the least fun thing she ever experienced in her life.
Even so, Cheelai was no quitter. She scrubbed and scrubbed until the brush was too thick with gunk to function. Then, she had Broly lift the pelt, refilled the water, and did it all again.
She lost count of how many times they did it until finally, finally, the bubbles stayed a nice white color. By then, her arms were wet up to her shoulders and had gone nearly numb. She felt more like she had run a twenty-four hour marathon than simply cleaning one piece of laundry. Surely her body had never known such exhaustion.
But it was done. It was finally done.
"Go on, smell it," she urged him.
He dutifully leaned forward and sniffed. "It smells good. Looks better."
"Damn right it does."
He poked it. "It's still wet."
Broly also liked to point out the obvious.
"Yup, and it definitely won't dry as fast as we do." She slumped against the rim of the tub. "You'll have to hang it up, though. My arms are completely beat."
He regarded her once more, his eyes seeming to take everything about her in at once. His eyes were capable of a lot of things, it seemed.
Solemnly, and with a tip of his head, he said, "I thank you, Cheelai."
She blinked. She was unsure what to say. Her motives had been, admittedly, self-serving. Furthermore, if she had known how much of a hassle it was going to be, she might have convinced him to do it himself. It didn't feel right to accept his gratitude.
Even so, she couldn't help the warmth that bloomed from the center of her chest.
She smiled and said, "I should be thanking you, Big guy. And anyway, aren't you forgetting something?"
She held up her hand in the 'Okay' sign. He immediately copied her. He hadn't gotten any better at it, but she felt the weight of everything he wanted to say all the same.
TBC