Human Hospitality
by scoutergreen
Chapter 38
Facts and Arguments
Two full weeks passed before the tension in the house finally boiled over. Vegeta trained for several hours almost every day. He put on four pounds in the second week, by then tipping the scales at 143 pounds. In addition to his hours of training, the Saiyan would frequently sunbathe on the roof when the sun was at its most intense, sometimes down to just a pair of briefs. His formerly pale, sometimes sallow complexion quickly became a deep, warm olive.
On the Sunday afternoon of the second week, Vegeta went down to the lab to speak with Dr. Briefs about an idea the older man had presented on the Friday evening. Passing through the hallway, Yamcha noticed Vegeta's bedroom door open and dared to peek inside, discovering the room empty and unguarded. After waiting at the threshold for two full minutes to confirm the sense that Vegeta was on the other end of the house and not moving, Yamcha slowly pushed the door open and tip-toed inside.
The room was kept the way Yamcha had pretty much expected; the bed was made to military standards, the desk spotless, all clothing separated by colour before being placed into the laundry basket, wastepaper basket neatly tucked under his bedside table.
That's when Yamcha noticed a familiar-looking green and black box inside the trash. His pulse quickened when he realized it was a box of condoms, and after pulling a tissue from the blue box on top of the bedside table and wrapping it around his fingers did he slowly take the box out and spot the three used condoms at the bottom of the basket.
He dropped the box back into the wastepaper basket, shoved the tissue into his pocket, and left the room, so furious his hands and mouth shook uncontrollably. The warrior went to his room, quickly filled his gym bag with everything he needed for a few hours at the gym, and he took off before his anger could get the better of him.
"What do you think, my boy?" Dr. Briefs unveiled a new set of upper body armour, gloves, boots, and a blue sleeveless tunic and long-legged leotard.
"Give it to me so I can try it on..." the Saiyan pulled down his shorts and took the bottoms, getting changed in front of the older man, who turned away and stifled a shocked laugh.
After a few minutes and in the full outfit, Vegeta had performed a series of front flips, slid into a split, pushed his weight up with his palms pressed into the floor, swung his legs around and transitioned into a lotus pose (Dr. Briefs tried not to grimace, wondering how the young man could move like that) with his hands still supporting his full weight, and finally rolled backward and back up onto his feet.
"It's alright. The fit's slightly off, and it's hindering my movements."
"It's my wife who put together all the pieces from the material we, ah, Bulma and I, created."
"Then get her."
She arrived three minutes later, carrying with her a sewing basket. "Hi, boys! Vegeta, don't you look so handsome in your new clothes!"
"The fit's not right," Vegeta pulled off the torso armour and rolled his shoulders back, "it's a bit too high here, around the underarms, and the bottom's kind of hitting my pelvic bones, here..." he traced the general areas on his body and on the armour and passed it to Mrs. Briefs, who pulled out a pen from her basket and started to make small markings on the armour.
"Okay... lower on the armpits, raise the bottom... you've really been going at it hard with your training, maybe I ought to take your measurements again," she tossed her pen onto the table and went for her measuring tape, "before long we'll be buying you new clothes all over again!"
The leotard fit better, although Vegeta realized after seeing himself in a mirror that his everyday cotton underwear weren't compatible with the clothes he typically wore into battle and felt his cheeks getting hot. "The underwear won't work either. The waistband gets in the way."
"Hmm. I might be able to make something using a higher denier blend of this fabric..." Mrs. Briefs measured the breadth of the Saiyan's increasingly-powerful shoulders and started to make notes.
"Alright. And this top," he pulled it off and handed it to her, "the straps are too thick and could irritate the neck. The arm openings either need to be bigger, or the design should be altered to expose more of the shoulders and back."
"Sure," Mrs. Briefs tossed the top onto the table, "I think I know what you're looking for. Give me a day and I can make another top."
"Fine." He took his gym clothing and went to the lab's washroom to change and returned with the leggings, gloves, and boots, but he only handed back the leggings. "Must do further testing on the boots and gloves myself."
Mrs. Briefs laughed, a bit nervous, and took the armour and clothing. His drive was incredible, but the intensity of his training worried the woman. If he isn't careful, he's going to seriously hurt himself, she'd think, the poor young man is going to wind up in the hospital.
"Anyway, my boy," Dr. Briefs took a puff on a fresh cigarette, "your idea to create an entire chamber that can simulate different levels of gravity plus unique environmental conditions is quite a fascinating one. I slept on it, and decided that I'll begin some preliminary sketches and research just as soon as your other simulator is complete. Your input will be welcomed too, of course."
"Good. I must resume my training. Good-b-"
"Just one more minute of your time, son."
The Saiyan huffed and rolled his eyes. "What?"
Clearing his throat, the elder scientist looked Vegeta up and down with narrowed eyes, an almost-suspicious look that made Vegeta's pulse pound, before speaking: "please do be careful with your training. Give your body a rest now and then."
"Mm," Vegeta turned on his heel, "whatever you say. I must train. Good-bye."
At the dinner table, Yamcha was so sickened by the sight of Vegeta that he pushed his plate aside and excused himself, blaming a headache. Bulma looked over at the Saiyan and bit her lip, the gnawing worry that the man was catching on and fast. Vegeta only shrugged and had another mouthful of pasta. Now that he knew how to eat it, spaghetti was a remarkably tasty and versatile food.
"Come over to my sewing room after dinner, Vegeta. I want to check your measurements again and show you the pattern I made for the top."
"Alright," the Saiyan seemed more interested in dunking a scrap of crusty bread into the tomato sauce remaining after his seventh bowl of spaghetti and meatballs.
"Mom, are you really making him clothes now?" Bulma lit her after-dinner cigarette and chuckled at the idea of Vegeta sporting a custom-made outfit.
"I am. He's been very helpful in showing me what can be improved on."
"She's making clothing from the fabric you and your father synthesized," Vegeta said through a mouthful of bread before swallowing, "interesting armour, too."
"Oh, yeah? We're running some stress tests on that stuff this upcoming week. You should come by and watch what the kind of abuse we put it through."
"Only if I can participate."
"Deal!"
"We need to talk right now," Yamcha barged into Bulma's bedroom after dinner, as she lounged on her bed and flipped through a magazine, "I know damn well something up with you and Vegeta, and you'd better start explaining before I get really angry."
"What are you gonna do, fight Vegeta? Good luck. Look, Yamcha," the engineer set the magazine down and swung her legs off the bed, "I think, maybe... it's time we saw other people. It's just not working any more."
"No! No, it isn't! Even right now, you can't be honest with me about what's going on between you and that... that... monster! You fucked him, didn't you? Didn't you? Answer me!" Yamcha's voice steadily rose and grew harsher.
"What proof do you have?"
"How about the condoms in his trash can, huh? Is that enough proof for you?! Who else could he be sleeping with? 'Cause it certainly ain't me!"
Downstairs, both Vegeta and Mrs. Briefs stopped in the middle of their discussion on the pattern for the torso armour and listened to Bulma's shrill yell. They looked at each other, up at the ceiling, and Vegeta picked up his name being tossed back and forth in the argument and groaned.
"I knew this would happen," she sighed, "it was only a matter of time."
"What?"
"I wasn't born yesterday, Vegeta! Those two have been on again, off again for years now!"
He heaved a sigh of relief (although it sounded like a sigh of exasperation to Mrs. Briefs) and decided to go upstairs, which wound up being a terrible decision. Bulma and Vegeta left her bedroom the moment they spotted Vegeta. Suddenly being caught between two screaming people did nothing to help with his claustrophobia, and accusations from the human called Yamcha were delivered in a nonstop, profanity-laced rant pushed him over the edge. (In a way, Vegeta was impressed by the intensity of Yamcha's anger.)
"Enough!" He roared, gently pushing both humans away and backing away from the pair, clearing his throat and speaking softly, glimmering eyes locked on Yamcha's: "I have fucked your woman, human. Numerous times. And she likes it! She seemed quite bored with you anyway. Deal with it, and deal with me if you dare."
"You son of a bitch! You fucking son of a bitch! I hope you die painfully in that simulator!" Yamcha screamed at Vegeta but did not come closer. "And you," he pointed at Bulma, "you disgust me in so many different ways right now." He backed away, stormed into his room, and the click of the lock was somehow loud enough to make Bulma startle.
After a long, heavy, and numbing silence, Vegeta shook his head in utter disbelief at what he'd just participated in and went to his room.
Bulma struggled to compose herself, blinking away tears forming in her eyes, and went downstairs to the lab.
Breakfast on Monday morning was such an awkward affair for everybody that Vegeta knew it would be best to grab something and leave. He took a slice of bread, smeared it with peanut butter, pulled a large bottle of water from the fridge, and ate while walking to the gym. Dr. Briefs had actually opted to go out for breakfast, having learned of what was going on when his daughter had arrived at the lab on the verge of tears the evening prior.
Bulma chose to have breakfast at the table, sitting beside her mother rather than across from her, and they finally felt comfortable speaking once the Saiyan was out of the room.
"Yamcha took off for a hotel early this morning," Mrs. Briefs sipped her coffee and glanced in the direction of the home gym, "he is very, very angry at Vegeta. And you. But mostly Vegeta. What's going on, Bulma? We all knew you and Yamcha had difficulties, but things are a lot more complicated than that, aren't they?"
"Yeah," sighed Bulma, "they are, Mom. It's not like I intended for things to get complicated, it's just... we were trying to make it work... and then Vegeta came back..."
Mrs. Briefs nodded, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "I know, sweetheart. I see the way you two look at each other."
The engineer's face went very red. "Mom!"
"Bulma, honey, I'm no fool. He's right across the hallway from your room, and you two seem rather fond of spending time together. If I were about twenty years younger..."
"Oh, I'm even more embarrassed now!"
"You're a grown woman, Bulma, and therefore you're responsible for making your own decisions. Just make sure you put some thought into your choices. I'll always support you, no matter what you decide to do."
Bulma leaned over in her seat and hugged her mother. "Thank you..."
"Honestly, sweetheart," Mrs. Briefs returned the embrace before pulling away, "I think Vegeta's even more embarrassed than you right now. Things will settle down."
"What about Yamcha?"
The woman smiled, her expression tinged with sadness. "He's angry and hurt right now, as he very well should be. The mistake you made is not breaking up with him properly. He feels like you were leading him on. The good thing is that he gave me the address of the hotel he's staying at, so I'm going to take him out this afternoon. In time, he'll adjust as well. Just give him some space when he does return."
Dinner was slightly less awkward, although Dr. Briefs didn't make any conversation whatsoever and constantly looked at Vegeta through suspicious, narrowed eyes. He eventually left the table before finishing his meal and went in the direction of the lab.
"I finished your top, Vegeta. Would you want to try it on tonight, since last night didn't work out?"
After making two attempts to swallow a mouthful of grilled chicken and couscous, Vegeta managed to get his mouth clear and nodded. His throat felt tight, nerves running high at the realization that the woman was probably going to angrily confront him about what he'd been doing with her daughter.
Vegeta went to the woman's sewing room and spotted the top on a mannequin. Mrs. Briefs was smoothing out a bolt of the same fabric she'd used to create his new top and laid a paper pattern down on top of it. "What do you think? Will this style work better?"
"Oh, yeah," he pulled the top off the mannequin and quickly changed shirts, "this is a lot better. Anyway, I must tr-"
"Vegeta, hang on."
"What?"
She had returned to tracing the pattern on her bolt of fabric and only gave Vegeta a very knowing smile. "Good luck with your training, sweetheart."
At quarter after eleven in the evening, after his late-night shower, Vegeta lay stomach-down on his bed, surfing through the television channels in the hopes of finding something good to watch.
A sharp knock at his door, and Vegeta knew it wasn't Bulma or her strangely sweet mother. It was the knock of a man at his door.
"What do you want?" He snapped, turning off the television.
"My boy," Dr. Briefs opened the door just a crack, "have you ever tried a single malt whisky? The bottle I've got is fifty years old now, so I'm going to have a glass out on the patio."
A not-so-subtle request to go outside with the old man. More an order than an invitation, and Vegeta knew he wasn't in any position to argue, not with all the equipment the elder scientist was developing. Why couldn't the day just be over with, already?
"Fine," Vegeta grumbled, rolling off the bed and pulling on a crew neck sweatshirt, "I'm coming."
Dr. Briefs had set out two glasses, a bucket of ice, and a handsome glass bottle filled with a dark spirit on a small table between two lounge chairs. He eased himself into the chair on the right. The night air was pleasantly cool and a very gentle breeze occasionally passed over the yard and patio. "So, my boy. I heard that quite the argument broke out last night," he pulled the cork out of the bottle and filled Vegeta's glass about one third of the way full before adding a single piece of ice, "and let's just agree that you were the subject of that argument. You have, perhaps unknowingly, made two people who have been friends for a long time very angry at each other."
Vegeta took a small sip of the whisky. It was a very unique, strong-tasting spirit, and once he'd swallowed it he felt a bit more relaxed.
If this stuff is laced...
"There's no denying it. It is what it is."
Dr. Briefs shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "Look, son... I didn't ask you to sit with me to start another argument, nor did I ask you out here to threaten you or forbid you from spending time with my daughter, if you are indeed interested in her. You are both adults, and my daughter is completely capable of making her own decisions."
The Saiyan took another sip. "Go on..."
Dr. Briefs finally poured his own glass of whisky, added ice, and sipped for a while. He looked up at the night sky, internally asking himself what was out there, and finally set his glass down on the table. "I just hope your intentions with my daughter are good, and that you are both being very cautious. And, since we're talking... please refrain from resorting to physical violence if you have a disagreement with Yamcha. That poor boy needs to get some dental work done now, and dentistry isn't cheap 'round these parts."
"I won't hit the idiot unless he tries to get in my face again. I will defend myself if threatened," Vegeta drained his glass, "but have no intention of harming your daughter, even if she drives me crazy from time to time."
"Very good. Well, I'm going to head inside for the night. I think you need this more than I do," Dr. Briefs poured Vegeta another glass, set the bottle back on the table, and rose from his chair, "have a good night, son. Things will settle down."
Vegeta sank back in the chair and took another sip of whisky.
To Be Continued