Human Hospitality
by scoutergreen
Chapter 47
A Near Miss
It took a fair amount of convincing and a promise that there wouldn't be some kind of moral lecture on Bulma's part, but Vegeta agreed to go for a walk with the woman after dinner. They took a break (at Bulma's insistence) in a small park that featured a botanical garden.
"So what's this all about?" Vegeta asked, his voice gruff, more interested in the ice cream sandwich he'd purchased from a vendor with a bicycle cart. Bulma hadn't the slightest idea where the Saiyan had picked up a small billfold, or why he apparently carried no less than two thousand zeni on his person, almost all of it in the form of small bills, but she was quite amused by the sight of the alien making such a mundane transaction.
"I just wanna talk to you, that's all..." she peeled the wrapper back on her huge ice cream cone and took a small bite.
The Saiyan was far more interested in his cool snack. He had two large bites of his treat before finally muttering in reply: "about? I'm not stupid. Something is up."
"Are you ever not paranoid? Like just for a few minutes, can you stop thinking everybody's out to fuck you over?" Bulma's voice grew harsh, and as she heard herself speak she immediately regretted her words, remembering all of one second later that his hyper-vigilance did not exist in a vacuum.
He scoffed and continued to eat his ice cream sandwich, gaze fixed on the field of flowers at the bottom of a rolling hill.
"I'm sorry," her voice was soft and higher-pitched, "of course you're suspicious..."
Vegeta's reply came in the form of his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth, just once, very hard. No fucking shit, he silently told her, I have every right to be suspicious. It's not my fault you don't get it.
"My Dad's working on the simulator. It'll have a lot of safeguards in case you get injured or something malfunctions."
"Alright. I expect it to be complete within one month."
"We're trying the very best we can, Vegeta. I'm going to review your battle drones, okay? You sure took to working with the latest models, huh? Those things were designed to take a lot of abuse."
"Don't bother. I've vaporized four of them, one is crushed, and the other one barely works. They're almost entirely useless in the current simulator, so they'll be worth dick in a more powerful simulator."
The engineer laughed at her partner's foul language and took another bite of her ice cream. She did want to talk to Vegeta about his moods, but she knew he didn't want a "lecture" and she also didn't wish to upset him. His limits were very fuzzy, and people were prone to crossing lines they weren't aware even existed until the Saiyan's temper flared. Everybody at the Capsule compound, from Briefs family members to allies and even the few guests (usually employees of Capsule Corp.) who encountered the Saiyan had been sworn at for seemingly mundane questions. One perfectly friendly Capsule Corp employee who had come by the house to check out a motorcycle Bulma wanted to get rid of was subject to a barrage of verbal abuse after asking the Saiyan if he also rode motorcycles.
Finally, she figured out a way to ask Vegeta about his mental health. If Vegeta fell asleep in her bedroom (which happened at least once per week) and she didn't wake him up, there was a fair chance he'd suddenly snap back to full consciousness, breathing hard and eyes wide as he checked his surroundings. Sometimes he screamed or cried out in his native language. He often touched his own chest and arms too, as though he were checking to see if he still had a body. He always wound up back in his own bedroom, insisting he be left alone.
"Do you have bad dreams sometimes, Vegeta?"
"No," the Saiyan finished his treat and threw the wrapper away, mindlessly vaporizing it, "do you?"
"Not as often as you. They seem to really bother you."
His facial expression hardened and he went quiet for a few minutes. "It's none of your fucking business."
"Alright, then. But if you ever wanna talk, I'm here."
"Mm," he rolled his eyes, "it's nothing you'd understand. Nobody does."
"Oh, try me. Sometimes I have nightmares about a product launch going wrong in every way possible. Or I find myself giving a massive presentation and suddenly realize I'm standing in front of a bunch of important people in my underwear..."
"That sounds like a good dream. For me, that is."
She dismissed his last remark with uneasy laughter and took another bite of her cone. "So where'dya get the wallet? And the money, for that matter..."
"Your mother decided I needed "spending money" and left this damn thing in my bedroom one day. She's odd."
Bulma laughed. "She likes you."
"Of all the strange names I've been called in my life, I think being called "honey" is the strangest. Your mother insists on naming me after the stuff I put in my tea. Is that... normal? It can't be."
She laughed again, much harder this time, and passed her half-eaten cone over to Vegeta. "Here, have it. I can't eat all this. I think it's kinda cute that my Mom is so fond of you, for the most part. Oh, and I will be working on those drones. Your remarks, however rude, just spurred me on to create better models that can take even more hits."
"Mm," Vegeta sucked on a piece of frozen caramel, "very well, then. How many of these ice cream cones can I purchase with this?" He reached into his billfold and pulled out a twenty zeni bill.
"That's twenty zeni. You can buy five. Sometime I'll teach you how our money works."
"Alright. So that means these ice cream cones are four, ah, zeni each. We should leave after the man with the cart passes by again. I want another one of these things," he took a bite of the sugary cone, "maybe even five."
Yamcha collapsed in the shower, clinging to the textured steel assistance rail and groaning from the incredible ache that enveloped his entire body. He was still in a state of disbelief over the fact that he'd survived his ill-fated time in the simulator, certain he would have been found crushed to death the next morning by the Saiyan, who would likely be extremely pissed off to discover a corpse in his simulator (one he wasn't responsible for, anyway) but otherwise unmoved by the tragedy.
He'd moved back into the main house on the compound after things had cooled off and Vegeta had actually been marginally civil to him, and was grateful for both the privacy and the knowledge that help was close if he needed help.
Both horrified and impressed by the Saiyan's dedication to his training (perhaps the only consistent thing about him) the young warrior had taken to occasionally observing Vegeta through the port-hole windows in the simulator. On one such occasion, Vegeta had noticed the human and his unusual feline companion watching him, and he was both furious and very disturbed by the realization he was being spied on.
(Not to mention, the floating cat named Puar and his high pitched voice left Vegeta feeling a little creeped out. The strange creature never said a nasty thing to the Saiyan, but they also made a point of avoiding each other and had never conversed beyond "hello".)
The pressure in the simulator had been so intense, he'd pissed his pants while trying to remain standing. He still couldn't piece together how he'd managed to turn off the simulator, but he was grateful he'd managed to save himself... and he was also just a little impressed with himself. He'd still proven himself much stronger than the average human during his terrifying minute in the simulator, and that was nothing to look down on. He'd nearly fallen down the steps as he staggered back outside, leaning far over the railing to vomit up his dinner.
Not that he could imagine eating anything now. Adrenaline continued to course through his body, leaving him trembling and nauseous.
Exhausted, he managed to rinse himself off in the warm spray of water, slowly shut the taps off, and staggered out of the shower. Dripping wet, he forced himself to drag a clean towel across his chest and back before managing to stumble over to his bed. He was unconscious the moment his head hit the pillow.
At five forty in the morning, Vegeta had already been up for a good twenty minutes and was preparing to head into the simulator to warm up his body and run through his stretch routine. After a few pieces of fruit and a small bottle of kefir, he pulled on his shoes and went to out to the simulator.
The first thing Vegeta noticed as he ascended the staircase was a small amount of vomit on the ground just below the steps. When he recognized pieces of partially digested vegetables, Vegeta realized the vomit was recent, and whoever had been sick had eaten the same thing at dinner the night prior- roast chicken and vegetables with a huge salad on the side.
Maybe somebody drank too much and couldn't make it back inside to hurl in the sink, Vegeta thought, it's probably nothing. Could have been an animal.
When he opened the door, a strange smell hit him, and it didn't take long for Vegeta's fury to flare up. He inhaled through his nostrils and exhaled through his mouth, trying to identify the smell. Perhaps the woman had been inside the make a quick repair in the middle of the night?
But no, this smell was nothing like the woman's. Too much testosterone; it was the smell of a man. He could smell somebody's sweat and their urine. He could smell fear lingering in the air. Whoever had been inside had obviously been terrified.
It wasn't the old man's scent either, Vegeta determined, he couldn't pick up notes of the cologne Dr. Briefs wore or the faint scent of tobacco.
He approached the console and spotted a now dry puddle on the floor. Urine. Somebody had been touching the controls- the scent of fear, musty and sour, was very strong on the buttons and console.
"What the fuck is that smell?"
He turned on his heel and went back outside. The door slammed behind him and the Saiyan stormed down the metal staircase, cursing as he made his way into the house: "what the fuck is that smell? The fuck is that? What the FUCK IS THAT SMELL?"
"What's wrong, sweetheart? Do you need me to get Bulma? Something wrong inside your simulator?" Mrs. Briefs didn't look up from her mixing bowl, sensing her guest was in a very bad mood. Sometimes extended eye contact was all it took to escalate his anger to the point where it became unmanageable.
The Saiyan responded to Mrs. Briefs concern by snarling and running up the staircase, the strange scent becoming stronger as he approached Yamcha's closed bedroom door.
Busted.
"YOU!" Vegeta threw the door open and Yamcha awoke with a terrified cry, body aching all over and his mind now racing, trying to figure out what to do next. He caught a glimpse of Puar hiding behind a wardrobe, obviously too frightened to do anything else. He'd be dead before breakfast if he didn't play his cards right. Before he could react, Vegeta was looming over him, his full lips drawn back thin over his bared teeth, revealing healthy gums and a collection of bright, straight teeth; his canines were much longer than a human's and looked sharp enough to easily pierce through flesh and sink into muscle. His molars looked like they could crack through healthy, live bone without any effort.
Yamcha couldn't speak, too frightened to move and unsure of what to do next. Caught by the Saiyan, who didn't look as though he could be reasoned with at the moment. What had given him away?
"Stay the fuck out of my simulator, you piece of shit! What the fuck were you doing in there, huh?"
"I wasn't in there!" Yamcha managed to yelp, pulling the covers over his bare torso. Vegeta continued looming over him, one knee sinking into the mattress.
"Yes you were! I can smell you inside there! It fucking stinks in there! It fucking stinks in here too! You pissed on the floor and your puke is on the grass underneath the simulator! Who the fuck else would have gone in there, huh? Because nobody else in this goddamn house stinks like you do!"
Vegeta tore away the covers Yamcha used to protect his body (however futile this action was) and let out a roar while Yamcha tried in vain not to cry for help and struggled to find something else to cover his naked body. The Saiyan was so angry that he screamed in his native tongue, on the verge of losing all sense of reason.
"Dude! Okay, okay! I went inside! I'm sorry! It won't happen again!"
Instead of calming down like Yamcha hoped he would, the Saiyan responded to this admission by smashing the full-length mirror in the corner of the room, tearing open his hand and sending a spray of blood across the room as he turned around to face the human again. Small spatters of blood hit the walls, floor, and the cluttered desk.
"Stay out of there! Never go in my simulator! It's mine, don't you fucking get that?! Mine! What, are you going to fuck around in my bedroom too? Don't you assholes have any respect for privacy?"
Bulma came to the door, arms folded across her chest. "Vegeta. Knock it off right now," her voice was firm and calm, "I promise this won't happen again, alright? Yamcha learned his lesson."
"Y-yeah..." Yamcha stammered, managing to slide off the bed and immediately pulling on the first reasonably clean item of clothing he spotted, "n-n-not gonna..."
Vegeta clicked his tongue and turned around to glare at the woman. "He's going back inside. Don't intervene."
"What?!" Yamcha's voice rose an octave, throat constricted with fear. Vegeta was going to murder him inside the simulator. The Saiyan would probably force him back inside and slowly turn up the gravity, crushing and suffocating him. A brutal, painful death.
"Oh yes," Vegeta looked back at Yamcha, who had pulled on a pair of sweatpants, "you're going back inside. Since you're responsible for the stink in there, you can wash the floor until I can't smell you any more. You have one hour. Get going."
Finished with the human, Vegeta left Yamcha's bedroom, cradling his bleeding hand, and returned to his own bedroom to treat his wounds. Bulma heaved a sigh, looked at the drying blood on the walls and floor, and shook her head.
"After you're finished cleaning out the simulator, you can clean up your room, Yamcha. I'm sorry you witnessed that, but if you were fooling around in that simulator you have only yourself to blame. Don't tread on his territory. There's some pine scented cleaner and a mop and bucket in the utility room. If I were you, I'd get going right away."
Yamcha pulled on a tank top and felt his heart rate slowing to a normal rate. "Yeah," he murmured, voice still shaking, "that's probably a good idea."