Human Hospitality
by scoutergreen
Chapter 44
Escalation
Three hours into the shopping trip, Vegeta was beginning to regret his agreement to accompany the woman to the mall. While he was actually very impressed by the upscale shopping centre's architecture and found the concierge decent enough to measure up even to his well-travelled standards, the Saiyan disliked the crowds of human beings, especially the loud, young ones that appeared to travel in packs. Bulma called them "teenagers" and explained that they weren't even twenty years old yet, which caused Vegeta to roll his eyes.
"When I a "teenager", I was hard at work," he growled, "stupid, ungrateful fuckers have no idea how foolish they look. I was busting my fucking ass well before I was thirteen. Try se-"
"It's alright, Vegeta, they're not here to bother you. They're just stupid kids, like you said. We'll look at one more store, and find somewhere to rest and get something to eat, okay?"
The Saiyan grumbled and glared at a pair of young girls who stopped to stare at the incredibly muscular man, but relented and followed Bulma into a store selling clothing Vegeta immediately associated with a word he'd heard Yamcha use, "preppy", and was instantly put off. When he spotted the mannequin displays that presented different outfits the store was selling, Vegeta was really put off the preppy style. He was alright with the "golf shirts" but that was it. When Bulma held up a pair of royal blue and lime green checkered Bermuda shorts, his nose wrinkled with disapproval. He caught the scent of a cologne worn by a passing salesperson and sneezed. He'd had enough. He left and waited for Bulma by the fountain in the middle of the huge pedestrian walkway. He spotted her still looking at a dress, but refused to re-enter the store. Arms folding across his chest, he shut his eyes and waited. Vegeta was quickly learning that these shopping excursions meant Bulma would purchase a great deal of clothing for herself as well.
Bulma left the store ten minutes later, carrying yet another bag with clothing intended for her. She'd found plenty of things for herself and only a small selection of things for Vegeta. Overall, they hadn't had a great deal of success. Vegeta's clothing preferences were rigid, he took an immediate dislike to many stores for a variety of reasons (music, lighting, layout, even the smell of some places) and he would walk out after a few minutes. Still, they had picked up a few nice items, including a very smart leather jacket that Vegeta actually wanted to start wearing straight away. Vegeta had put on enough weight to require a slightly larger waistband and significantly larger shirts to accommodate his thick arms and broad shoulders.
Sensing the Saiyan's growing irritation with the entire excursion, she guided him towards a trendy restaurant and requested a quiet booth, further away from the majority of the diners. After five minutes and a half glass of water, the Saiyan's mood had levelled off.
"I can't read any of this," Vegeta didn't even glance at the menu before dropping it on the table, "order for me."
"You ought to pick up some of the written language if you're gonna be here for a while..." Bulma's eyes didn't leave her menu, internally debating between the salmon with baby potatoes and the steak sandwich.
"Fuck that," he scoffed, "there is no point in me learning your silly written language. Just order something good."
"Alright then," she smiled and set her menu down, "I'm honoured you trust me that much."
"If I don't like my meal, I'll just eat you instead," Vegeta responded, totally nonchalant and eyes avoiding the waitress as she approached. Whether he was being sexually forward or genuinely threatening, Bulma couldn't tell, and that frightened her.
The engineer's cheeks burned red as she ordered the salmon with baby potatoes for herself and a 10 ounce steak, cooked blue rare, with a side of mushrooms and grilled asparagus for Vegeta. She requested a light white wine for herself, and a full-bodied glass of red wine for her dining partner. When the waitress had confirmed the order and left, Vegeta raised his brows and gave a small nod. "Sounds promising. I may spare you after all."
Over their meal (after a few bites, Vegeta declared the meal satisfactory) the two of them wound up sharing some stories from their younger years. Although Vegeta was actually speaking about his past, Bulma knew he was only providing her with the bare-bones details, keeping emotion out of his voice, which occasionally cracked.
Somehow, they got onto the topic of skipping class. Vegeta was quite amused when Bulma admitted that she had frequently skipped class in high school. "The courses just weren't very stimulating. I mean, it sounds totally arrogant, but I was way ahead of my peers, even back then. Some of the teachers were total snores, too! You can't seriously expect me to listen to some old geezer recite what's in the same lesson plans he's used for the last decade! I basically taught myself a lot of stuff and graduated early."
"Not surprising. You're obviously more intelligent than most humans. It's probably one the reasons I can actually stand having a conversation with you," Vegeta finished the last of his steak (it was very good, but there wasn't enough for his massive appetite) and pushed his plate aside. He enjoyed the wine Bulma had ordered for him enough to request a second glass.
"Coming from you... that's quite a compliment. Thank you, Vegeta. Say, you wanna get some dessert?"
"Of course I want dessert. You people do sweets quite well, I'll give you that much."
Bulma ordered creme brulee and coffee for the both of them. She looked him over, admiring his physique. "So, what about you? Ever duck outta class early or something?"
"Never did much in the way of schooling," Vegeta smirked and tapped his spoon against the hard layer of burnt sugar, "and you'd be pretty foolish to disobey orders from the higher ups. Classes were mandatory, not that ever I took that many. Mostly lectures on diplomacy, a few tutorials on pod repair and stuff like that. A lot of stuff is like you described it, self-taught. I just watch and figure things out myself. I'd rather teach myself than listen to some dumb fuck drone on."
"Well, you're obviously a smart guy."
"Heh," the Saiyan forced himself to finish another spoonful of this wonderful dessert, somewhat unhappy it would soon be all gone, "coming from you, that's a compliment."
"You wanna get outta here after our dessert and head home? We can do some more shopping on another day. You picked out some nice stuff today. I really do like that jacket, by the way! What drew you to a motorcycle jacket?"
"It fit my shoulders," Vegeta shrugged and finished his dessert, "and yeah, I'm done with going to different shops. I want out of this place as soon as possible."
When they exited the shopping centre, Vegeta followed Bulma to the car and allowed her to deposit all the bags into the trunk before scooping her into his arms and jumping up high, flying away from the huge mall at a speed so tremendous that Bulma was terrified for her life and she screamed. Suddenly eight miles away from the mall, Vegeta came to a stop but remained hanging in the air, fifteen hundred feet above the ground, and re-adjusted his helpless partner so that she could wrap her arms around his shoulders while he supported her hips with one arm.
"Oh my God, Vegeta! What are you doing? I'm so scared, I'm so scared!"
"I'm not gonna drop you," Vegeta nuzzled her neck and gently demonstrated his firm hold on her, "you're safe with me."
"Why did you do that? What if somebody saw that?" Bulma tightened her grip on his shoulders, but Vegeta didn't react to this.
"Shh, I wanted to show you this," he resumed flight at a low speed, "what it's like to be up in the air and outside of an airship."
At the cruising speed, Bulma could take in the scene: the city and surrounding countryside slowly coming back to life again, the cloudy sky streaked with coral and orange bands of light, puffs of low-lying clouds close enough to touch, and even the curvature of the Earth. They flew together, silent, for ten minutes before Bulma found she was able to use her voice once more.
"This is amazing," she marvelled, "I've never experienced anything like this! Ooh, but it's chilly..."
Vegeta's hold on Bulma tightened and he let them plummet down towards the Earth for five whole seconds before swooping up past the clouds again, this time hearing her laughing and whooping with amazement. They were back at the shopping centre's parking lot before long, and after a careful and very slow descent (this was when Bulma's panic returned) they made it to the car.
Bulma took the car through a fast food restaurants pick-up lane for two cups of hot chocolate, her cheeks bright red from the cold air and Vegeta's hair wildly dishevelled from the flight. They rode home together in contented silence; Bulma happy that Vegeta had taken her on such an amazing (and impromptu) adventure, and Vegeta happy that he'd been able to release the tension that built up during the shopping excursion.
They didn't say much upon arriving at the compound. Vegeta took his bags right up to his bedroom without a word. Bulma wasn't really bothered by this, it was in his nature to set out and complete a task right away, and he was very specific about how he kept things organized within his personal space. The fact that he'd done something so lovely earlier in the day made her feel so happy.
Bulma was beginning to experience real feelings for the Saiyan. She genuinely enjoyed his company, yearned for his touch, and wanted to hear his voice at certain points in the day. He made her laugh so often, through his astute observations and razor-sharp wit, and when they did engage in conversation, what he said was often so thought-provoking that it left her feeling intellectually satisfied in a way she hadn't been before.
That said, Bulma was certain that Vegeta would not respond positively to any proclamations of deep caring, or even feelings that bordered on love, so she knew to keep it to herself.
At least for the time being.
Vegeta found himself descending a dark, wide staircase, its supporting walls out of reach and wholly intangible. He was then down in a basement, with dim lighting, exposed pipes, and water-damaged walls painted a garish shade of orange. Wherever he was, he didn't want to be there, but the Saiyan had no choice but to press onward down the corridor.
He encountered another staircase and went into a sub-basement, even darker, damp, walls still that terrible shade of orange and terribly grubby. The staircase vanished, and the only place to go was through a thick, black door.
Without even pushing it open, he was inside a massive room, filled with the very worst of the men he'd worked with over the years. Some of them gave him a passing glance, while others made a point of avoiding his eyes.
The room sunk deeper still, growing darker and more claustrophobic, so far removed from the surface of the world, fresh air, and bright sky. Trapped in this filthy pit, Vegeta watched on as everybody socialized, partied, laughed, ignored him, and started to decay and turn into skeletons, scraps of putrid flesh hanging off their bones. Maggots and flies crawled all over his old comrades, filling this space he was trapped in with yet another undesirable element.
Horrified, Vegeta started to scream, and it was only then that the other occupants of this hellish basement acknowledged his presence by laughing at his terror.
Bolting upright and gasping for air, Vegeta caught a split second of his own screams as he came to and realized his was safe in the space of his dark, warm bedroom. The gentle whoosh of the electric fan oscillating back and forth gave him a new sound to focus on as he tried to will his pounding heart into slowing down.
After several minutes, heart still beating high up in his chest, Vegeta went to his en-suite washroom and washed his face in the sink. Still uneasy and desperate to get his mind off his terrible nightmare, the Saiyan dressed in his new denim jeans, long-sleeve shirt, leather jacket, and the just broken-in leather boots he rarely wore.
He left the compound. If a walk didn't help him clear his mind, nothing would.