Human Hospitality
Chapter 53
No Split-Second Decision
Eyes swollen and head aching from sobbing, Bulma had managed to collect herself just enough to make a cup of tea and took a seat at the kitchen table, taking tiny sips of the hot liquid and finding herself grateful for its soothing abilities, however subtle at that moment.
When her mother and father returned from their evening out, it took all of the woman's strength to refrain from crying again and come clean.
"Why, Bulma! You look so upset, what's wrong? Did you and Vegeta have another disagreement?" Mrs. Briefs came into the kitchen, low heels clicking against the tile and her full skirt swinging gently as she approached. She took a seat beside her daughter, waiting to hear about the latest argument.
She managed to nod weakly and sighed. "We had a disagreement, alright. Mom... um... I'm pregnant."
Upstairs, Vegeta swore he heard the older woman suck in her breath before there was a sort of holler.
Oh, so they did plan this, he thought, they're fucking with me. This is their way of trying to trap and tame me...
Downstairs, Mrs. Briefs felt her blood pressure rising and her heart beating high up into her throat. She just couldn't believe her daughter was pregnant to begin with, let alone after getting involved with an alien who had near-uncontrollable violent tendencies and few social skills. On the other hand, she was going to become a grandmother and the idea of having another baby in the house excited her.
She managed to sit back down and looked her daughter over. "He didn't respond the way you would have liked, did he?"
"Definitely not," sighed Bulma, "he didn't break anything or get violent but that was the angriest I've ever seen him. I may as well have told him that I'd killed his entire fam-" she broke off and realized just what she had said, "um, he was furious. He doesn't want anything to do with this."
The older woman shook her head and clicked with tongue with disapproval. "I hope you told him that he should step up and be responsible."
"He said this was my fault, Mom. Underneath that weird charm he can exude, there's such a narcissistic, mean creature. That said, I want this child. You know that Gohan is half Saiyan as well, right Mom? And Gohan is quite different than his father, so I think this child won't have a ton in common with his father if I do my part to raise him or her well. My figuring is this: I'm in my thirties, well-off, I enjoy my work, and I genuinely want to be a mother. I just hope that you and Dad will support me..."
"Of course we will, Bulma. And, by the looks of your belly, you're due to change up your wardrobe! We could go out tomorrow for a few things, if you'd like."
Bulma rubbed her stomach and sighed. "Is it really that noticeable?"
Mrs. Briefs gave a slow, cautious nod, and Bulma responded by sighing and rubbing her stomach once more.
After falling asleep just after eleven in the evening, not much longer after he'd heard the two human women downstairs, Vegeta awoke again at four in the morning, still very angry and unsure of how to handle it.
As much as I'd love to tear the woman's face off, I have to cooperate if I want that gravity room, he thought, so I need to play their game for the time being. Even if I'm not interested in this kid, I'd best flatter them and let them believe I'm going to raise it...
He went downstairs and found himself in the kitchen, not really sure why he chose to enter that specific room but deciding it would do. He needed to think in peace and quiet, and with the humans asleep it gave him the opportunity to be alone as he could manage in the situation.
After briefly entertaining the idea of taking off in the simulator before anybody woke up, Vegeta decided he was too tired to do much of anything and instead chose to remain fixed in his seat, silently brooding and contemplating his fate. Now is not the time to make a split-second decision, he thought, not with so much at stake. The gravity room could be just what I need to realize the legend...
Where am I going to be five years from now, he wondered, things have changed so radically in the last two or three years alone, I'm not certain I can take any more surprises...
At five in the morning, Mrs. Briefs awoke early, still reeling from the news of her daughter's unintended pregnancy. She hadn't slept well at all, her mind swimming in a deep sea of questions and what-if scenarios.
Mrs. Briefs entered the dim kitchen just wanting a cup of tea, certainly not expecting to see the Saiyan sitting at the table with his hands resting on the tabletop, fingers intertwined. In the shadowy room, the woman could only make out the most basic features on his face, and although she couldn't see his eyes she knew they were angry and staring right at her. She could feel his stare boring through her body.
It was the first time Mrs. Briefs had felt a true stab of fear run through her body when around the strange man, and she knew then that all the vague rumours and whispered comments were true: he could be very dangerous, uncontrollable, and certainly unreasonable.
Other times, he only appeared uncontrollable and unreasonable, but was eerily calm and diplomatic. He was quick witted and eloquent, acerbic and especially argumentative, and it all made for a terrifying combination when he was angry. Even if he didn't become physically destructive or aggressive, the energy in the room would shift to an uncomfortable pitch.
With her back already to the glowering Saiyan, Mrs. Briefs continued on filling the kettle and set it on the front burner. It had become an unspoken rule that nobody made sudden movements around the Saiyan, who was easy to startle and quick to defend himself. "Would you like a cup of tea," she managed to whisper, voice cracking as it rose at the end of her question.
"We need to talk," he responded, voice very deep and cold.
All was silent until the water boiled and she made two mugs of strong tea with some extra milk and sugar. Heart pounding and legs wanting to break into a run for her life, Mrs. Briefs forced herself to take the seat adjacent to the Saiyan's and set his cup in front of him.
"She's pregnant," he started, "as you already know."
"Yes..." the woman took a shallow sip of her hot tea, "a bit unexpected."
He sneered. "I don't want the kid."
"As you have established with her..."
Vegeta took a sip of his tea and was surprised at how full-bodied it was. It felt like he was being slapped into a new degree of awareness as he swallowed the hot liquid. "I'm going to make a proposal. I approach you first as Bulma and I are not on speaking terms. I approach you because you're a woman, and therefore I'd led to believe you'll know far more about pregnancy than the old man. My offer is this: I will make a point of guiding the child through their growth spurts and adolescence. You humans are clueless when it comes to handling the Saiyan temperament, which grows especially volatile beginning around age ten. Saiyans need stimulation, challenges, and discipline. Unless the child is raised in a well-structured environment with a great amount of discipline, a consistent routine, and the opportunity to properly channel their aggression, your lives are at risk. That child is going to be incredibly strong, very fucking intelligent, and there's a good chance my temperament will also be inherited. You will all be out of your league. Whether I like it or not, I understand my presence is required on this planet for some time... and it's not as though I have many places to go right now."
Mrs. Briefs only nodded. She was impressed that he seemed to "get" the implications of having a child and his role as a father, and he was mature enough to put his own feelings aside.
What she couldn't wrap her head around was the fact that her grandchild wouldn't be fully human. What else would the child inherit from the father? His temperament and a predisposition to anxiety and unstable moods, or perhaps the child would grow up to be compact and powerfully built, with intense eyes, a husky voice, and a mouth full of fearsome, gleaming teeth.
"You want something in return for this," she offered, "I'm open to listening."
"Housing. Food. Training facilities. Clothing. Privacy. A stipend of money that I shall save or spend at my own discretion, and absolutely nobody else can access it for any reason, even if I die. I will establish now that I am not going to be involved with the child's education or activities, but I will be taking the child to train and so I can ensure their behaviour is to a standard both the woman and I can agree on."
The woman nodded again, silently agreeing to his terms. "You will have to discuss with this Bulma at a later date, when you've both had a chance to cool off. She'll come around."
Vegeta's face hardened. "Absolutely not. That bitch did this to me on purpose, and I still think you had something to do with this."
"She hid the pregnancy from me too. So if I'd been "in on" some scheme, wouldn't she have told me as soon as possible?"
The Saiyan slowly leaned back in his seat and folded his arms over his chest, looked up and the ceiling, and hissed through his teeth for several seconds. He hated to admit it, but Mrs. Briefs was correct. "Fuck."
"I think your proposal is perfectly fair, so I support you."
He remained slouched in the chair, eyes up at the ceiling. "Why are you so nice to me? I'm fucking horrible."
"If you're so horrible, then why are you concerned with your future child?"
"That's purely my business, woman," he straightened his back and sighed, "and you didn't answer my question."
"Perhaps I just want my grandchild to have his or her father in their life, even if its not the majority of the time, so I choose to be just as diplomatic as you are being in this discussion. I also listen to you, Vegeta, and not out of forced courtesy. You don't have to "become" like us, but we both see why you need to be here for the next while, and so I see that we're going to have to maintain open communication and some degree of friendliness in order for this to work."
In the dim light, the woman could see the corners of the Saiyan's mouth hinting at turning up as his fingers dug into his crossed arms. "Perhaps it is you who has demonstrated superior skills as a negotiator. I am impressed. Very well, woman, we have an agreement for now. Should my terms change, I will speak with you again."
Mrs. Briefs beamed at Vegeta, cooed in her high voice, and rose out of her seat to turn on the lights and pull a covered cake stand out of the refrigerator. "Well, with that out of the way, can I interest you in some chocolate cake?"
Two weeks later, after avoiding the woman as best he could, Vegeta stopped at Bulma's bedroom door and knocked three times, firm and forceful. He'd exhausted himself in the simulator, knowing it was one of the safest ways to get the anger out of his system before he would be forced to behave diplomatically.
"What?" Bulma's voice was ice.
"Open the door, you stupid woman! Or shall I just enter of my own accord?"
"Ugh, just come in..."
Vegeta opened the door and could Bulma laying on her bed, her swollen feet propped up and a pillow supporting her lower back. She'd gotten a bit bigger; her belly was becoming rounder and her breasts were fuller, and there was a new softness to her face.
"What do you want, Vegeta? I put in four hours on the damn simulator today, so don't even think about ordering me around! My feet are swollen and hurt like hell. I am not getting out of this bed."
"Oh, shut up! That's not why I'm here at all- actually, I came here because your mother is a frighteningly good negotiator."
"What?"
"Your mother and I spoke not long after you dropped that bombshell. I told her that I'm willing to be present if only to provide training and keep the brat's behaviour in line once it approaches adolescence, and in return I am going to live here on this premises but within my own quarters."
"Assuming I even want you to be a part of the child's life, Vegeta. And assuming we actually want you living with us..."
"Suit yourself, bitch," he shrugged and left the room.
Bulma buried her face in her hands and started to cry. What will my life be like in five years, she wondered, if he stays around and we're constantly arguing? There's no way this is going to work!
A few weeks passed, and when Vegeta recognized the shiny baubles the humans called "Christmas decorations", he waited until everybody was asleep before he started packing two large gym bags with clothing, medications he'd kept stashed in the back of his closet, the two ghost cards (he'd slipped them into an envelope, worried he would misplace them), three sets of the battle clothing and armour the humans had created for him, the scouters he'd stolen the last time he'd gone into PTO territory, the collection of rations he'd held on to, and quietly placed his packed bags in the living area of the simulator.
Once again, Vegeta took several bottles of alcohol from Dr. Briefs' home bar and stashed them away in the simulator. He knew that Bulma and her father smoked the same brand of cigarettes and so they purchased them in bulk, and after a few minutes of silent searching he found a nearly-full carton in Bulma's bedroom, making a point of hovering several inches above the floor and keeping a hand clapped over his mouth to stifle the sound of his breathing. When the woman didn't stir once, a smirk spread across his face.
Between shopping for something called "maternity clothing", constant visitors who cooed over her growing belly and presented her with gifts, her obligations at work, and the increased need for food and rest, Bulma still hadn't completed his gravity room, and Vegeta felt his resentment growing by the hour.
They hadn't slept together for several weeks, and were barely on speaking terms. Vegeta made a point of ignoring the woman unless he absolutely needed her, and Bulma made a point of insulting him whenever the opportunity arose. They'd made a point of taking their meals in different room- Vegeta usually took his meals in his bedroom.
When he'd screamed at her about the lack of progress, Bulma called him a monster, Mrs. Briefs tried to gently remind him that screaming wouldn't accomplish anything (and that screaming at pregnant women was considered a major faux-pas), and Dr. Briefs only shook his head with obvious disapproval. Like Bulma, the old man had made a point of avoiding the Saiyan unless it was necessary for them to speak, and their conversations were very stilted and awkward. The old man couldn't even look Vegeta in the eye for more a few seconds.
I am a monster, he told himself, and nobody will ever tame my nature. If the humans refuse to invest the time needed to complete the gravity room so I can train, then I will simply have to train elsewhere, free of distractions.
Vegeta didn't leave right away. He exited the simulator around eight in the morning, after mapping his coordinates and determining which planets and stations he'd visit, and went inside to have breakfast, eating quietly and not really listening to the lighthearted conversation. When Bulma spotted the Saiyan eating breakfast, she took a seat across from him and cleared her throat.
"Hey. I wanna show you what's going on with the gravity room later today. Say, six in the evening?"
"Whatever," he said through a mouthful of English muffin, "six it is. I'm going to train," he rose from his seat, downed the last of his coffee, trying to ignore the realization that it may very well be the last cup of coffee he'd ever drink, and went to the simulator.
After spending an hour in tense silence, Vegeta initiated a countdown and awaited liftoff.
Three days passed before Vegeta received any communications from Earth, and it roused him out of a heavy sleep. The first to call was Bulma, her cheeks streaked with tears and her bloodshot eyes hot with rage. Vegeta had reluctantly accepted the call, knowing he couldn't turn off the holographic screen that would project itself in front of him unless he disconnected. Bulma began her call with the sort of language he usually expected out of his own mouth: "you fucking piece of shit, no-good asshole! You left again! How could you do this to me?!"
Vegeta let out a slow, hissing sigh and stared back at the woman with equally venomous intensity. "I left because you and your ridiculous family and that fucking house are fucking with my head and I'm not making any fucking progress! I fucking stagnated for close to two years thanks to you! You took advantage of me! You conniving whore! I loathe you!"
"You took advantage of me and my family and my friends, you dick! I offered you a place to stay because you literally have nowhere else to go, and I felt so sorry for you! We all went out of our way to give you had everything you could ever want, and to show how grateful you were, you treated everybody around you like crap!"
"Oh, fuck off! As if you're any better!"
"I don't go around smashing shit or screaming at people! I take responsibility for my actions!"
"If you took responsibility for your actions you wouldn't be pregnant, you dumb cunt!"
"Ha! That's rich! You're the one who ran off into space again, while I'm getting ready to bring our child into the world! Vegeta, your narcissism and complete lack of respect for anything and anybody around you is really astounding. How can you go through your life with such nastiness, huh? Merry Christmas, asshole."
The Saiyan sneered at her, teeth bared, and looked over at the disconnect button. He was done with the woman. "Good bye," he snarled, slamming his hand on the button.
His first stop, Gyinn, was approaching. There was significant PTO presence on the tiny planet. It was time to prepare.
He went to his tiny washroom, washed his face with cool water, and slipped into his blue thermal gear and into the armour he'd grown to miss. When soft white leather enclosed his hands, Vegeta took a slow, low, deep breath and when he exhaled he felt like his old self.
It had been so long. Too long, in fact. It was time.