Human Hospitality

by scoutergreen

Chapter 41

The Beginning Of Winter

On Christmas morning, Vegeta awoke with the vague sense that it was a holiday. There would be no training. The world outside was unusually quiet, and after pulling on his new housecoat (in royal blue, Mrs. Briefs had given it to him the night before Christmas Eve, and he had coolly thanked her) and slippers he went downstairs to find the kitchen silent and dark aside from the twinkling lights in the window.

Fat, heavy snowflakes fell towards the earth and steadily accumulated on the ground, tree branches, cars, and rooftops. It appeared to Vegeta as though the entire landscape had been covered with a thick, glittering frost, and when he stepped outside onto the patio he marvelled at the lack of noise. All he could hear was the sound of grey, fat clouds slowly rolling thousands of feet above his head, and the occasional muffled crunch of car tires running over fresh snow on a street somewhere outside the compound.

Mouth slack and eyes shut, Vegeta turned his face towards the sky and absorbed the environment and the remarkable lack of sound. Snowflakes touched his cheeks and melted in an instant. It felt so peaceful, he would have been happy remain frozen in the moment for many hours if possible.

He went back inside and returned to the kitchen to find something to tide him over until breakfast was made. After a few minutes, Vegeta decided he may as well make coffee when he was at it, and soon had a pot on its way to being ready.

Around ten to seven, Mrs. Briefs came downstairs and found her guest watching the snow fall out the patio window, mug clasped in his hands. He'd just recovered from his battle with the flu, but was regularly training at a level that worried the matriarch.

"Good morning, Vegeta. Merry Christmas."

"I suppose that's the standard greeting, then... Merry Christmas."

"Thanks for making coffee, sweetie. Can I top you up?"

He followed her into the kitchen and did not stop her when she "topped up" his coffee with a light brown liquid from a black bottle. When she handed it back, he sniffed the coffee and dipped a fingertip in the coffee so he could taste it before sipping. He detected alcohol, yet at the same time he couldn't be entirely certain that it was potent enough to intoxicate him.

"Okay. What the hell is this?"

"Just call it a little Christmas cheer, honey. And I can make sure you always have a full cup if you're willing to help me out in the kitchen for a bit," she winked and added a shot to her own cup, considerably less than what he'd been given, "we also have brandy, and champagne..."

Vegeta shrugged and took full sip. If she was drinking it, then it was likely safe. Whatever she'd added to his coffee, it certainly did taste good. He could get through this day after all.

Although Vegeta was pleasantly drunk, a bit more talkative and was displaying his sharp wit by the time everybody decided it was time to open their gifts, the Saiyan refused to participate in the gift exchange and didn't budge from the reclining chair he'd claimed as his own, now drinking champagne and orange juice served in a delicate glass alongside another mug of spiked coffee. He really didn't know what to make of the "Christmas Tree"; it was tall and smelled wonderful, but the fact that the humans seemed to insist on covering its branches with more twinkling lights and sparkly baubles struck him as very strange indeed. In addition, there were literal piles of gifts scattered under and around the decorated tree, and it all seemed very ostentatious. Vegeta certainly enjoyed nice things and good food, but after so many years of being surrounded by luxury he could never fully access or acquire, he was at times quite uncomfortable with the extreme wealth of the family that had taken him in.

Bulma was shocked and struggled to hide her disappointment. "Why not? It's tradition! Besides, there might be something for you too!"

"We don't do it openly..." he dissolved into laughter when he caught his own double entendre, "it's, um, it is considered... well, you people would call it bribery. It's false flattery. Nobody but an enemy would present you with a gift in mixed company."

Everybody present decided to accept the explanation and not press the issue. He refused to have anything to do with the stocking filled with small items and even refused a sealed greeting card. Instead, Vegeta watched others open their gifts, ate sweets and nuts when offered, and drank. He didn't understand the running commentary about the gifts and need for the humans to take photographs of their gifts, but he quietly watched and tried to tolerate the display, barely disguising his shock and disapproval when Mrs. Briefs opened a small box to reveal a white gold and diamond tennis bracelet. When she put it on and proudly showed it off to everybody present, Vegeta looked away and downed half a glass of his champagne.

That's it, he told himself as he watched Dr. Briefs opening a small gift, I need to only be around these people when it's mandatory or in my best interest to be polite. I've been slacking...

...but damn, orange juice and champagne is good... another glass wouldn't hurt today.

He looked out the window and watched the snow falling. He had to get used to the colder seasons on this planet- who knew what he would get himself into over the next two and a half years?

I accepted their help when that flu hit me, but now I'm just fucking languishing here. The illness made me lose all I'd gained during the warm months. Apparently these people consider the days between winter solstice proper and the first day of the new year their big winter holiday, so on the first day of January...

"Hellooooo, Earth to Vegeta!" Bulma waved her hand inches in front of his face, and he snapped back to reality.

He managed to catch himself before he snapped, and then drained his glass of orange juice and champagne. "What?"

"Um, you alright? You've been staring out the window for like five minutes now. We're gonna have some brunch..."

Vegeta finally accepted some of the gifts Bulma intended to give him on the evening of the thirtieth, after she decided it was time to visit his bedroom after everybody else had gone to bed.

True to form, Vegeta did not accept the gifts without resistance and questioning. "Why are there so many?"

"You think four things and some stocking stuffers is a lot?"

"What are you trying to get out of me? State your business."

"Oh my Go- Vegeta," she rolled her eyes and huffed, "they're just some Christmas gifts. Useful things that I personally think you'll need and maybe even enjoy. I'm not trying to get anything "out" of you, okay? I promise."

After a few minutes of consideration, Vegeta decided she was telling the truth. Perfectly well-intentioned gift-giving does seem to be part of the tradition, he thought, maybe it's not always a leveraging tool here. But still... they could be trying to lure me in closer.

"Alright. I accept your gifts, woman."

With the door closed and locked, Vegeta opened the gifts, starting with the stocking. It was filled with finely perfumed soaps packaged in old-fashioned tins, a package of his favourite face cream, a cellophane bag of toffee tied shut with gold ribbon, chocolates, a pair of thick mohair socks, a wide-toothed stainless steel comb, and a large bottle of argan oil.

He reluctantly opened the largest box first, complaining about the size, only to stop mid-sentence when he pulled out a smart blue parka with a detachable hood. After struggling to find something to say, he managed to thank Bulma: "this is very nice. Thank you. I really do think this will be good for your climate."

"You gonna open the other gifts?"

"If I must."

Bulma had also gifted him with a pair of treads to permit running across frozen ground, a black wool cable-knit sweater, and a small bottle of a strange, fragrant green oil. He tried to be gracious, but aside from a visual inspection he spent no time looking over his gifts, and he put them back in their boxes right away.

"Um..." Bulma pushed away a stray strand of hair, mentally noting that she needed to find a new hairstyle, "do you like them?"

"Sure," he shrugged, "I'll use them."

"C'mon, look at the oil again," Bulma reached into the smallest box and retrieved the bottle, playfully tilting it back and forth, "this is special oil... it warms up as you use it, and I know juuust where you'd like it..."

I have tonight and tomorrow night before lock-down. Might as well make the most of it.

Vegeta outright refused to participate in an sort of New Year's Eve celebrations. He declined when Bulma formally invited him to the family's small party and turned his nose up at offers of champagne and tasty morsels of food. When he sensed other humans entering the compound, Vegeta went upstairs and locked himself inside his bedroom.

By nine thirty, the Saiyan was forcing himself to wind down; it was tremendously difficult with the new energies present in the house and he was growing very annoyed with the increasing noise levels. He had ignored Bulma's offer to join her for a light dinner, and had only accepted a plate of prime rib and vegetables when it was left outside the door and left for him to retrieve when he damn well felt like it.

"What's his problem?" Yamcha overheard the tense exchange at Vegeta's door and rolled his eyes.

"Oh, I dunno. Just let him work it out on his own time. He's in one of his little fucking snits over something."

"Psssht, who needs him anyway? C'mon Bulma, do you wanna celebrate this New Year together? As friends?"

Bulma looked up at Yamcha and gave him a nod and a weak smile. "I'd really like that."

At five fifty eight in the morning on the first of January, Vegeta finished his breakfast (cold prime rib, three oranges, and a half gallon of milk) and headed to the simulator, gym bag slung on his shoulder. Inside the bag he'd thrown a week's worth of clothing for training and leisure, several packages of rations, First Aid supplies, medicine, and toiletries. He trudged through the snow and climbed the stairs up into the simulator, preparing himself for the beginning of his self-imposed isolation.

When he heard the airlock hiss into a closed position, he sighed and switched on the lights. It was six-o-two, and Vegeta willed himself to train nonstop until noon. After he'd put his belongings in their appropriate place, he set the gravity to twenty five times the gravity on Earth and started to warm up his body.

At nine in the evening, Bulma was beginning to sense Vegeta wasn't coming out of the simulator for the night. He did that every once in a while, and would then sleep very late the next day. She set aside a generous portion of dinner in a large glass container and stuck it in the refrigerator, figuring he'd come back inside sometime after midnight.

By the morning of the third day, everybody in the house was growing concerned. They had seen many flashes and felt powerful vibrations coming from the simulator, but all attempts to communicate with the Saiyan had been unsuccessful- he ignored incoming call signals, didn't respond to knocks at the door, and if somebody tried to peek in through one of the port windows, a bright flash would go off, leaving the poor person who dared to check on the Saiyan with eyes that watered and stung for several minutes.

"Vegeta, please answer me! What's going on in there? Why aren't you coming out?" Bulma banged the door repeatedly with the flat side of her clenched fist.

Bulma could feel a fist slam into the door, seemingly fifty times as powerful and heavy as her own, and she gripped the icy stair railing and gasped in shock.

"Leave me alone!"

"Why won't you come out, Vegeta?"

"Because you're fucking with my head! Now go away before I blast this door!" Vegeta's roar was truly inhuman; open-throated and primal, his voice guttural and harsh.

That evening, out of a mix of frustration and concern, Bulma left a family-sized container of fettuccine Alfredo with grilled chicken breast, another filled with salad greens and a small cup of dressing, a quart of milk, and baguette at the entrance to the simulator and banged three times on the door.

"You don't wanna come out? That's fine, Vegeta. There's something for you to eat at the entrance. I'm going now. Good bye."

There was no response. Just the thud of something very heavy hitting the floor, and Bulma got the feeling that it wasn't Vegeta.

Furious, she went to the lab and accessed the simulator's central computer. She disabled its navigation system and its quick-launch option. "You may stay cooped up in there, but you won't head off anywhere without giving me some notice, asshole..."

Satisfied, Bulma fetched the pack of cigarettes out of her sweatshirt pocket and savoured a celebratory smoke.

At three thirty in the morning on January tenth, Vegeta finally emerged from the simulator, all his clothing filthy and every muscle screaming from his intense training. He staggered inside the house, all his belongings shoved into the gym bag, and he lazily floated up the staircase, barely making it to his bedroom door.

He found the room exactly as he had left it, forgotten scrap of wrapping paper left on the dresser and all. Arms burning from all his exertion, Vegeta managed to dump his laundry into the basket (but mostly on the floor), tossed the near-empty bag in his closet, and forced himself into the washroom to rinse off.

Three minutes curled up under the spray of water was all that Vegeta could handle. He turned off the taps, draped a towel around his shoulders, and stumbled across the floor and fell onto his bed. After a minute of struggling, he managed to drop the towel to the floor and cover himself up to his hips before he passed out. He slept straight through until two thirty in the afternoon, coming to in a fog of full-body pain and exhaustion.

After willing himself to get up, Vegeta managed to pull on a pair of flannel pants, a sleeveless undershirt, and eased his aching feet into his slippers. He left his room, focused on finding something to eat, and almost didn't register the sight of Bulma making her way to her own bedroom, towel covering her wet bathing suit, until she stopped a foot away from him and gasped, looked up and down his body, shocked at the apparent beating it had taken over the nine full days Vegeta had spent locked inside the simulator.

"Oh my God, Vegeta... what have you done to yourself?"

To Be Continued