Human Hospitality
by scoutergreen
Chapter 46
Shame
Avalanches were reported in the mountains twenty kilometres outside West City. An unusual landslide shut down highway 15, one of the main roads connecting West City to outlying towns and many farms. People as far as thirty kilometres away from the mountain ranges reported unusual bursts of violet and electric blue light flashing in the darkening skies before hearing massive bangs.
Some people wondered if they were witnessing a rare atmospheric event, while others were convinced the apocalypse had started. All the activity was so worrying that news broadcasters advised residents of West City to prepare an emergency kit in case of evacuation.
"That idiot," Bulma snarled as she watched an emergency television broadcast about the landslides, "what's gotten into him?"
She'd come home from a full day's work, exhausted and feet aching, to find a significant portion of the compound's main house trashed from Vegeta's rampage, her mother weeping, and her father still trembling with fear. The missing sliding glass patio door was never found (likely vaporized) and had been temporarily replaced with a thick sheet of opaque plastic. The kitchen table and the steak knives had already been replaced, both damaged beyond repair. A contractor had been called in to come fix the drywall and re-paint the hallway. The patio table in the conservatory pond (which was a mess of broken glass, crushed plants, and several dead fish) was carefully removed and taken to a shop on the compound to be cut apart and re-used, while the table that had crashed through the green house was left until every shard of glass could be safely removed.
When Bulma learned that the cause of Vegeta's rage had been her father's (rightful) refusal to construct a more powerful simulator, she went upstairs and went into Vegeta's room, set on removing every nice thing he had. If that was how he was going to behave, he could learn to live on Earth with only the bare minimum.
As she began to pull the sheets off the mattress, Yamcha entered the room and managed to quickly place himself between the incensed engineer and the bed. "Hang on, Bulma," he raised his hands, part attempt to calm the woman and part attempt to prove he was well-intentioned, "don't do this."
"Why the fuck not, Yamcha? And why are you defending him?" She laughed, unconsciously mimicking the Saiyan's mocking chuckle, "you of all people should be glad I'm doing this!"
"Hear me ou-" he watched as she turned her back and began pulling clothing out of his drawers, "why are you doing this?"
"I'm not going to let him get away with his freak-outs! He can learn to behave like a civilized human being! He wants clothes? He can come and ask for an outfit! And he can sleep on a bare mattress in here! And I'm shutting down his simulator! Aaargh!" A pile of socks came flying across the room, hitting Yamcha in the chest and a few landing on the haphazard mattress.
"He isn't a civilized human being! That's the fucking point! Bulma, think about it! He's never had access to this kind of life before! Do you even know anything about his past? 'Cause even I know it wasn't so good!"
Bulma stopped, one of the Saiyan's new sweaters in her hands, and she felt her mouth suddenly dry up.
"What do you mean, Yamcha? Even you know? C'mon. Don't give me that," she rolled her eyes, "he's done juuuuust fine for himself in the long run. He can just learn to use his coping skills like a grown man."
"Former child soldiers aren't known for having great coping skills, Bulma. Just... stop this, please. Taking away everything he has in this room won't help. I, um, Krillin and I hung out a while back, and he told me some stuff he heard..." Yamcha's voice dropped to a whisper, "...sad."
Without replying, Bulma picked up the socks, placed them back in their proper spot, and closed the drawers. She still removed the sheets from the bed, murmuring something about how they needed to be washed anyway.
They went for a walk together after dinner, chatting about anything lighthearted and topical for a long while as they struggled to arrive at a sense of reasonable calm. While seated on a bench overlooking a creek, Yamcha quietly told Bulma the things he'd heard from Krillin.
"Krillin told me, um, when things got really bad on Namek and apparently... he died, Bulma. Vegeta was killed on Namek, along with Krillin. And he died real slowly. But not before saying some stuff that Krillin says made his blood run cold, y'know?"
She hadn't known about Vegeta's death on Namek. He'd arrived on Earth looking worse for wear, but not near death. But it explained the dirt in his clothing and hair.
"...do I want to know?"
What Yamcha said next left Bulma stunned: "if you're spending so much time with him, and getting so close, then yes. You obviously like him for some reason and I think he likes you, even if he's acting like a crazy person half the time. Even if I don't like it. Even if you hurt me," his voice cracked and tears welled in his eyes, "have some... I can't believe I'm saying this, compassion."
"Is that it?"
Yamcha shook his head and struggled to find the right words. "Um, he was taken away from his dad at a really young age and forced into heavy combat. Kept obedient with some... really fucked up coercion. Krillin didn't get into it. I think his parents were murdered, but he didn't find until years after. So he thought they were alive when they weren't. I don't think he has any family or friends. So he's nowhere near normal, but I can see why now. He doesn't know anything else."
Neither of them said anything for a long time. Bulma shed several tears, while Yamcha stared off into the distance. The deeply unpleasant truth of Vegeta's background was becoming an open secret, and both of them felt nothing but pity for the Saiyan, followed by a lot of shame for her plan to strip him of every material comfort made available to him. In a strange way, his constant rage suddenly made a lot more sense, even if it was a terrifying thing to experience.
"Yamcha?" Bulma sniffed and reached into her jeans pocket for her cigarette case, suddenly craving a smoke to help process this new and very uncomfortable truth.
"Yeah?"
"You're a really special guy, and I'm glad you're still in my life."
Vegeta didn't return until three days later. He came home when Bulma was at work and Dr. Briefs was in his lab, working on a new simulator, just after eleven in the morning. The new sliding glass door at the side of the house had been opened, so Vegeta walked right into the house and went straight to the kitchen. He noticed the new table and set of knives and shrugged. Everything was fine.
He found a box of pizza from a local restaurant that delivered and decided it would be a good snack. There were eight slices of pepperoni and mushroom pizza remaining, so he took four, piled them onto a plate, and began to eat while leaning against the counter.
The small radio perched atop the refrigerator had been switched on, and two smooth-voiced reporters discussed the re-opening of highway 15 and the possibility of another landslide affecting the area in the future.
Halfway through his third slice of pizza, Mrs. Briefs came back inside through the sliding door and spotted Vegeta in the kitchen. He was disheveled, his hair an oily mess and his clothing torn up. He had many deep cuts across his arms, which had scabbed over but obviously required attention.
"Welcome back, Vegeta. I'm glad you came back. Do you need a First Aid? Those cuts don't look good."
He looked her over, finished his third slice in another two bites, internally coming to the conclusion that she was a very pretty woman, and shrugged. "I will shower first."
"That's fine with me, sweetheart."
"Get more pizza," he took the final slice upstairs with him.
As he sat at the kitchen table with his elbows resting atop a clean towel (he secretly loved the smell of bleached towels and linens) and Mrs. Briefs very gently applying an antibiotic cream to his cuts and scrapes, he found himself listening to the woman calmly explaining why she was upset that he'd destroyed her greenhouse. She never raised her voice, directly accused him of causing deliberate harm, or insulted him.
And it made him feel so weird.
She'd ordered a pizza, so Vegeta listened to her. He didn't have anything to say and avoided her eyes. As she told him that many of her tomato plants were ruined and that the shattered glass posed a safety threat, a very tiny part of Vegeta's conscience reacted to this new knowledge with something that bordered on shame. Vegeta liked tomatoes- they were delicious, and the woman offered him sliced tomatoes with cheese all the time during the hot months. He may have been furious, but he really hadn't intended to purposefully destroy something that produced food in the process. Killing a living, sentient creature didn't bother Vegeta, but destroying food sources didn't really sit well with him. He came very close to actually apologizing, but his pride held him back.
Still, after she was finished cleaning and bandaging his wounds, Vegeta found himself so impressed with the woman's work that he did thank her.
Settling into his bed for a nap, Vegeta wondered how and when the woman would react to his return to the compound.