Human Hospitality

Chapter 52

Bombshell

After several hours of quiet deliberation with the bedroom door locked, Bulma decided she would keep the pregnancy secret for at least the first few weeks. Bulma spent at least an hour wondering if the potential child would be predisposed to any mental illnesses (she ruled out personality disorders on account of her ability to raise the child in a far superior environment) before deciding she wouldn't abort the pregnancy; now in her thirties she was becoming more serious about establishing a serious, long-term relationship and having a child of her own. She had always wanted to be a mother, and now she was at a stage in her life where things were finally beginning to settle down and she had a clear career objective. She could provide the child with a stable, safe, nurturing place to grow and explore, and Bulma certainly had the financial ability to take care of the child.

Not to mention, the child would have very loving grandparents.

I'll be just fine, she decided, assuming this pregnancy goes to term. Who knows, I may miscarry in the meantime...

One day into her self-imposed, strict nonsmoking policy, Bulma found herself thoughtlessly reaching for the half-pack of cigarettes on her bedside table. I don't know if I can quit these, she thought, I've been smoking since I was fifteen!

She lit up and smoked in tense silence. Vegeta had spent much of the day training and was now heading upstairs to his room, presumably to shower and then watch a bit of television before dinner. Not only did Bulma know his general day-to-day routine, but she swore she could feel him passing by her bedroom door, and she held her breath (and smoke) until she heard his door open and shut.

If I can't quit smoking, I will quit getting perms, she decided, it's time I got a new look anyway!

"Whoa," Vegeta ran his fingertips through Bulma's radically different hairstyle, "this is new..." he certainly hadn't expected to see the woman return from her trip to that damned "salon" with radically shorter hair. He liked the way the close-cropped style felt against his fingertips.

Bulma hadn't expected to see Vegeta walking across the compound, shirtless and sweating after a half hour run in underneath the hot sun. He'd stopped abruptly, frozen in place and eyes wide with surprise. It was if he didn't recognize her for several seconds.

"You like it? I thought it was time to go really short," Bulma flicked her bangs to the side, "girl's gotta keep her style fresh, after all!"

He let out an uneasy laugh and pulled away to look her over once more, trying to get used to the hair. He'd heard the word "cute" before, and realized it would be a fair adjective for how she looked. She'd gone through at least three different hairstyles during the time that he'd known her, which struck him as very strange indeed since Saiyans almost always grew their hair out to its full length and rarely cut it unless necessary. He had vague memories of some Saiyans twisting their hair into luxurious braids or wrapping their hair in bands of colourful fabric, but he had only ever seen a small percentage of humans with anything similar. Many humans seemed intent on altering their hair through cutting it or letting it grow out, colouring it, enduring painful chemical processes, and it struck him as just odd.

"I... see..." he replied many seconds later, "well, it's better than what you had before."

"Oh, gee, thanks," she rolled her eyes and self-consciously ran her fingers through her hair again, "it just happens to be very chic, you know!"

"Alright, then," Vegeta shrugged and his attention soon turned to an approaching Dr. Briefs, "whatever that entails..."

"Finish your run, my boy? I was wondering if you'd be willing to lend me a hand in my shop for a few minutes."

"Tell me what it involves on the way there," he went to the elder Briefs' side and motioned for him to lead the way without saying another word to the woman.

Although Bulma was used to awkward interactions with Vegeta, that particular interaction left her feeling very uneasy. She went inside and straight to the nearest bathroom mirror to inspect her new hairstyle in privacy.

Six weeks passed before some of the symptoms of pregnancy became more noticeable to those around Bulma; she started taking naps every day, ate more at every meal, and often vomited in the morning hours.

Early one morning, Bulma agreed to inspect the electrical system inside the simulator after Vegeta grew suspicious there was something burning. He swore he could smell something, and after ten minutes of running diagnostic tests, Bulma realized that some of the wiring had come loose and exposed after heavy usage, and some of the circuit boards were showing signs of overheating.

"The nose knows, doesn't it? Hate to say it, big guy, but the simulator's gonna be out of commission for a few days. It should be a fairly routine repair, but it's gonna take at least three days. Look, I know that having a serious conversation is the last thing you wanna do right now, but we've gotta talk about this simulator and the constant issues it's experiencing..."

"Mmhm," Vegeta rolled his eyes, "that's what I suspected anyway... we do have to talk about how often this simulator breaks down."

"Easy now," Bulma raised her hands slightly and kept her voice low and slow, "I know you're ticked about this. I'm not pleased eith-"

"Oh. So we're both pissed off..." he scoffed, picking at a fingernail.

"Look, Vegeta, I think this ship's design can't handle the extreme power of the simulator. There's always things coming loose, breaking apart, or in need of inspection every few weeks because of the wear-and-tear. Now before you jump to any conclusion, I've already come up with a solution to this problem..."

"And that is?" His voice was developing an edge of annoyance, threatening to turn into anger.

"The simulator needs to be housed in a room, rather than in its own freestanding structure. I'm thinking that one of the back rooms of the house could be turned into a highly reinforced gravity room for you to train in. Granted, it would take at least six weeks to construct..."

He shrugged. It sounded like a fine idea. It was a very logical course of action all things considered. "Alright, I accept that plan. And in the meantime?"

"I will repair your current simulator, but you'll no longer be able to go up to five hundred G. This ship literally can't handle the pressure changes and that's why it keeps needing repair. The most it can really take is up to four hundred G's, and even that's causing some issues... so I wouldn't go over three-fifty. Yeah, it'll mean you're gonna be training at a lower intensity for a while, but th-" she gagged suddenly and clapped a hand to her mouth, eyes darting around as she frantically searched for a sink or trash can.

"Fuck, again?" Vegeta opened the door to the simulator and had just enough time to guide the woman outside before she vomited over the side of the railing, the Saiyan keeping his hands on her upper arms to support her. He couldn't place it, but something was going on with the woman's physical condition and it was beginning to concern him. Bulma absolutely needed to create a gravity room for him and she needed to get started right away.

"What's going on with you? You've been throwing up every day or damn near close to it."

"I think I got food poisoning from some bad take-out," she lied, "it's been making my insides churn like a washing machine for a week..."

Vegeta laughed at her bizarre analogy and guided her down the stairs, "that's something I'm familiar with. Did I ever tell you about the time I wound up with a ten foot long tapeworm in my gut?"

"Ewww," she moaned, "don't even start..."

Three days later, when Bulma ran to the washroom during breakfast, Vegeta knew the woman didn't have food poisoning. Something was going on and she refused to tell him the truth, so he'd just have to get to the bottom of it himself. He would make her tell him the truth.

That night, when the two of them lounged in the living room and watched a gruesome documentary about a serial killer, Vegeta noticed that Bulma's abdomen seemed a bit swollen. Had she put on some weight? The tight spaghetti strap top she'd worn plenty of times before suddenly looked different. Something was different but not being able to figure out what had changed was beginning to irritate him.

She hiccoughed and rested a hand on her swollen stomach, as if instinctively protecting something.

Where had he seen that motion before? I've seen women doing that thing before, he thought, but where? What does it mean?

The program cut to a commercial break. An advertisement for a sports car started, and Vegeta looked the woman over one more time before working up the nerve to question her.

"You don't have food poisoning," he began, "not with the way you carry on eating these days... but something is going on... and you'd best tell me what's happening, because I despise being lied to."

Bulma felt her blood run cold. Busted. I shouldn't have worn this top, she chastised herself and adjusted the straps of her top, very aware of how her swollen breasts and stomach appeared.

"Um, Vegeta..." she sat up and mentally braced herself, worrying Vegeta may soon attack her, "I'm... well, I'm not sick. Um..."

His mood switched from cautious curiosity to irritation in a split second, and his voice rose slightly as he said: "then what is it, woman? Get on with it."

"I'm pregnant, Vegeta," a fat tear rolled down her cheek, "about nine weeks along..."

The Saiyan felt his mouth suddenly grow very dry and a huge, sick lump of horror and fury suddenly appeared somewhere behind his breastbone. He couldn't bear to look at her, crying and her hands over her belly, and searched for a response.

Finally: "you told me you were on birth control."

"I w-was, but it doesn't always work..."

"You told me the condoms would also prevent this kind of thing," his voice was deadpan, eyes blank. His mouth had pressed into a thin, pale line.

"We didn't always use them, Vegeta..."

"You said pregnancy wasn't an issue! You said that's why we do that "doubling up" shit!" His voice did not rise, but it grew edgier and angrier with every syllable.

"And I'm telling you now that we didn't always double up and that's why I'm pregnant! Neither method is effective 100 percent of the time, Vegeta!"

"Then fucking terminate it. I don't want a kid," he scoffed, "and I'm not willing to raise it."

"Maybe you don't want to become a parent, Vegeta, but I do! And if you don't want any part in raising the child, so be it. I respect your wishes and all I ask is that you respect mine in turn."

"Good luck with that," he rose from the couch and stormed into the kitchen. Bulma heard the refrigerator opening and shutting. The hiss of a can opening. Beer, she thought, now that he's angry. He stormed back into the living room and stared at Bulma for several seconds, eyes narrow and dark and very cold.

"Vegeta..." Bulma slowly rose from the couch, grimacing from the heartburn rising up her throat, "please, don't be angry. I'm not upset!"

Vegeta was soon face to face with her, and it took all of Bulma's strength not to recoil. They were maybe ten inches apart.

"Of course you aren't upset, because your plan's worked out splendidly, hasn't it? I've got you all figured out, bitch," he paused to take a long sip of beer, "you think I'm getting all mellowed out and relaxed and integrated into your culture, so much so that you decided to trap me here by having a child! Because you're idiotic enough to think I'll be more than happy just to settle down and become domesticated, isn't it? God damn, I wouldn't be surprised if your fucking mother is in on this too! Now that I'm halfway used to you people, you think I'm going to become just like Kakarot and pretend to be a happy little human every single day! That will never fucking happen! I am never going to be like you! Never!"

"I'm not trying to trap you! Oh my God, Vegeta, are you serious?"

"I'm not gonna fall for your scheme, woman! If you want the kid, fine, but I sure as hell don't! My purpose here is to train, ascend to the legendary Super Saiyan, destroy the fucking robots, and then I'll be free to do whatever I want."

"If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have any place to train! The simulator, the housing, the food, the clothing, all the medical care? I'm the one who invited you to live here, and I even welcomed you back after you took off for more than a goddamn year! You're the biggest fucking freeloader I've ever met! Of course you won't raise the child! I'm not surprised by that at all! Raising a child requires you to put the wants and needs of others before your own, which you've obviously never done!"

Vegeta said nothing. He only stared at her, face cold and blank, and exhaled very loudly through his nostrils. "I had actually intended to protect you and your family during the predicted attacks, but since you view me as a freeloader, I rescind that intention. You and your family and the fucking half-breed you're carrying can die for all I care. Fix the goddamn simulator and tell me when it's done, and get started on that room. Other than that, I want nothing to do with you."

"And why should I? Huh? After all your ungrateful tantrums?"

The Saiyan grasped Bulma's chin between his thumb and forefinger, immobilizing her head, and leaned in until they were nose to nose. She could smell beer on his breath and it made her a little nauseous. "Because if you don't, I'm going to start hurting people, you little cunt. Now get to work."

Bulma whimpered with fear, and she spotted the right side of Vegeta's mouth twitching into a grim smirk for a half second before he stepped away and headed out of the room. All of two seconds later, she heard his bedroom door slamming with such intensity that wood had certainly splintered.

Glass breaking. Something heavy dragging across the floor and then a very loud thump.

Silence.

She sunk back down onto the couch and started sobbing, all alone in the house with the infuriated Saiyan upstairs and locked up in his bedroom. He wasn't going to hurt her, she knew, but if she didn't do as he wished things would get ugly fast.

In between a rock and a hard place, she thought, with no easy way out...