Human Hospitality

by scoutergreen

Chapter 55

No Heroics

With her t-shirt pulled over her growing belly and fingertips pressing into her aching lower back, Bulma studied her reflection in the full-length mirror in her bedroom, and after a long minute, she heaved a sigh and shuffled back to her bed. Bulma really couldn't believe she was nearly seven months pregnant, into the third trimester and so obviously pregnant that coworkers often couldn't stop themselves before questions rolled out of their mouths.

She had told more than one co-worker to "fuck off" when they asked about her plans, or worse yet, where or even who the father was.

Never had she expected pregnancy to be so physically and mentally taxing. Some days were wonderful; she felt great, admired her bright complexion in the mirror, and was very cheerful, while other days she was exhausted and almost sick, felt unattractive, and was prone to short bursts of crying. Her appetite had mutated into one that seemed to match if not occasionally exceed Vegeta's; she ate and snacked constantly. Much to her surprise and relief, worrying about the overall effect of her monstrous food binges, she had slowly gained thirty five pounds and maintained muscle definition on her arms, back, and lower legs. She was grateful for the support her friends (the ones who knew, anyway) and family gave her unconditionally- there was no way she could do it alone.

"Damn, baby," she rubbed the swollen bump, "you are getting big and unwieldy and you are giving me heartburn..."

A few firm kicks from inside her were enough to make her wince.

This is getting real, she thought, this baby will be making its entrance in a matter of weeks now. Am I ready to do this? At least Mom and Dad are getting excited... I'm just getting scared.

"What am I even gonna call you? Your father certainly isn't about to have any input..."

She reached for the pack of cigarettes on her bedside table and stopped herself before she lit her first cigarette of the day.

"Hmm... maybe I should see how long I can go without smoking..."

She set the unlit cigarette in an ashtray and sighed. So far all imaging and tests had shown she was going to have a perfectly healthy, beautiful baby... that just happened to come with looked like a tail, although one ultrasound technician swore that there was something wrong with his machine and apologized profusely after the examination.

Bulma's stomach rumbled, she groaned, and pushed herself off the bed. It was time to raid the fridge again, and maybe even order in something too. She had a craving for curry noodles with barbecue pork...

Mouth full of wonderfully oily noodles and back pressed into the wall, Vegeta watched diners coming and going, his mind a curious blank at that moment. The little restaurant was packed and for good reason: the food was incredibly delicious, a very welcome change for the Saiyan who had largely lived on rations and what little fruit he could source, most of it dried or packed in brine. He was certain that he had lost at least eight to ten pounds since leaving Earth, and he worried that the rations couldn't fuel his huge metabolism.

He couldn't be sure if anybody recognized him, but nobody went out of their way to catch his attention either. Even the waiter kept his distance, although Vegeta made certain to be polite during their brief interactions.

"Is everything to your liking, sir?" A tall, thin, and very shy waiter with blue skin and grey eyes approached with an unopened bottle of fruit juice and allowed the Saiyan to twist off the cap. Vegeta approved of this action, even if it hadn't been explicitly requested, and decided that perhaps this waiter had some sort of integrity or moral code. It meant he could almost begin to believe this young waiter wasn't a threat.

"Very good. Call in an order for more noodles with vegetables and meat with skin cracklings, please."

The waiter nodded and turned away immediately. It left Vegeta feeling unsettled. Maybe the waiter wasn't so good after all.

In desperate need of a break from constant solitary training and travel and destruction, Vegeta had brought his ship down into a valley some fifty kilometers outside a large trading hub situated in the northeastern hemisphere of a planet called G-11. Nobody had paid him any mind as he made his way into the city, nor was he ever stopped and asked for identification. It was all a little weird, and the longer he went without being noticed, the more suspicious he grew. It was only a matter of time before things got hectic.

Something was up, he was sure of it. Not only was Vegeta's reputation widespread, but he knew very well his appearance was distinctive in a galaxy filled with reptiles, amphibians, and insects. It was the rare mammal indeed that wasn't completely covered in hair, and even without his tail, Vegeta stuck out in a crowd. The wild hair only added to the tendency for others to spot him.

Vegeta was also very aware of the fact that he was not well-liked, and almost everybody cooperated with him out of fear rather than respect.

When the waiter returned with his second serving, Vegeta ordered him to take a bite of everything.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't feel very comfortable doing that..."

"Fucking taste it," Vegeta's eyes were locked on the waiter's.

Reluctantly, the waiter swallowed a spoonful of broth and took a small piece of meat from the platter.

"More. Eat some noodles. Slurp down some of that soup."

Laughing nervously, the waiter complied with the Saiyan's order. He ate a large mouthful of noodles, followed by several more spoonfuls of broth, and let out another awkward laugh. This kid is literally still a child, thought Vegeta, he's in way over his head. He doesn't know what's going on. Twenty seconds after swallowing a slow trickle of blood oozed out of the waiter's right nostril, and when the waiter began to whimper, Vegeta suspected he hadn't known the food was tampered.

"Sit down and stay still. You didn't poison the food, did you?"

"N-n-n-no," the waiter stuttered and fought the urge to wipe the blood oozing out of his nostrils, "I just pick up the food from the kitchen and bring it out!"

Vegeta caught the scent of the blood. The waiter was a mammal, just like him, and was apparently an innocent bystander in a poorly planned assassination.

"Mm. You've got at least half an hour before death sets in. I'm probably poisoned too, so... I'll be back. Stay still if you want to live."

Vegeta pushed his way through the crowded eatery and stormed into the kitchen. A blade flew through the air, headed for his forehead, and Vegeta ducked out of the way well before it passed through the space he'd just occupied. It lodged into the wall behind his head, and the Saiyan stood back up to his full height and located his assailant.

Dressed in white was a tall, reptilian creature with a thin snout and hard red eyes fixed on the Saiyan. "Nice try sitting in the corner, Saiyan, but this is my restaurant and I take a look at every table! You're going to die, monkey!"

Vegeta lunged forwards and his right hand closed around the cook's neck, fingertips pressing hard into his larynx and a thin, forked tongue practically tumbling out of his open mouth. The Saiyan drew the cook in until they were inches apart, hooking his left arm around the cook's forearms and belly, and jamming his leg in between the cook's so he could begin administering a brutal crush to his groin. When Vegeta increased the pressure, he spotted a set of needle-like fangs in the cook's mouth dripping fat drops of venom, and he knew to move fast.

Without using much strength at all, Vegeta flipped the cook midair and slammed his face into the searing flat-top grill, lazily scanning the kitchen with his eyes for any other threats as the cook screamed and tried to thrash his way out of the primate's iron grip. A sous-chef had hidden in the corner of the room, crouched in place and head covered as a protective measure. As the cook's screams turned into gurgles and the stench of burning flesh grew stronger, Vegeta shrugged at the sous-chef and continued scanning the kitchen.

"Do you bite too?"

The sous chef only shook his head.

"Okay, then. Well," Vegeta paused to pull the dying cook off the grill, his face seared, "he's cooked. Excuse me."

Vegeta ripped off the reptile's head, dropped the still-twitching body, and headed out to the front of the restaurant, carrying the head in his arm and hopping up onto the bar. He effortlessly produced a bright flash of light, followed by a loud bang, and every patron instantly noticed the Saiyan.

Horrified silence thick in the air, Vegeta scanned the patrons and tried to pick out any other specific, imminent threats. Nothing.

He felt something hot and wet around his nostrils, and knew he had to act fast.

"Alright, you amateurs! I don't know who called in the hit on me, but it was a really shitty plan! If any of you want to battle, speak up now! Trying to kill me off on the sly won't work this time! Frieza is gone, and I am still roaming through PTO territory! Let it be known that anyone who challenges me will face a brutal death, just like our friend right here," Vegeta held the head up and heard several patrons gagging or muffling screams, "and there shall be no exception to my rule! This is my territory now and I am not to be approached at any cost- challenge me if you dare!"

With his piece said, Vegeta dropped the head onto the counter and hopped off, landing onto the ground with a quiet thump.

Everybody gave the Saiyan a very wide berth of space. Vegeta returned to the waiter, who had remained still but continued bleeding, picked him up and slung him over his shoulder. He kicked through a tall window and stepped out into the street, scanned the skies for any patrol vehicles, and flew up slowly.

"Where's the medical center, kid?"

"Four kilometers east," the waiter's voice came thick through the blood in his throat, "what are you doing?"

Vegeta didn't respond. He kept flying at a steady speed, pinning down the medical center's location in under three minutes, and entered through a receiving bay designed for disabled ships. With the waiter still slung over his shoulder, he tossed blasts of energy at soldiers and bystander and made his way into the emergency wing.

Dumping the waiter on a bare metal table, Vegeta felt his head going fuzzy, ordered everybody out (unless they wanted to die, naturally) and began searching through supply cupboards for anti-venom sticks- they were quite large and designed to be jammed into the buttock or thigh to deliver a powerful dose of an all-purpose anti-venom that almost always brought bite victims back to normal within minutes.

As Vegeta searched, he swore that he had lost a minute of his recent memory.

It took four agonizing minutes to find the anti-venom, and Vegeta chastised himself for not demanding the medical technicians at least direct him to the right cupboard before he ordered them out. He was sure he'd killed a few doctors, but he couldn't explicitly recall killing anybody since entering the emergency ward. He went straight to the waiter, who was starting to foam at the mouth, jammed the anti-venom stick into his thigh, and then took another and jammed it into his own thigh. Instantly, Vegeta felt his pounding heart slow to a normal rate, and it became easier to breathe. Forty seconds later, the waiter rolled himself over and vomited a mixture of blood and partially digested food onto the floor.

Vegeta finally realized there were at least a dozen mangled bodies scattered throughout the emergency ward.

"Stay still. You're going to be alright," Vegeta returned to the cupboards and looked for an emetic. He wasn't about to take chances- he needed to get the food out of his belly right away.

With the waiter panting and slowly recovering, Vegeta took a teaspoon of a sickly sweet syrup and leaned against a counter, bracing himself for what was about to come.

A minute passed before Vegeta grew violently ill, vomiting into a sink with such intensity that he had to squeeze his legs together and grip the side of the counter. After another minute, his stomach completely emptied and aching, Vegeta collected himself and chose to take a quick shower.

Vegeta caught his reflection in the mirror and realized he was covered in blood. How much of it was his own? His eyes seemed unusually bright and especially glassy.

By the time Vegeta had cleaned himself off and was dressed in fresh clothing and new armour, the waiter was alert, but too frightened to move off the metal table he'd been dumped on just a few minutes prior.

"Hey, kid," Vegeta threw his damp towel at the young waiter, "go rinse off. Put some fresh clothes on."

Wide-eyed and jaw slack, the waiter just stared at Vegeta. "Why did yo-"

"Take a goddamn shower, kid! Now!"

In the medical center's sterile, deserted cafeteria, Vegeta and the young waiter shared a table and slowly refilled their aching stomachs with cool milk and small bowls of a bland porridge. Still reeling from all that had just happened to him, the waiter scarcely said a word but gratefully accepted the food the infamous soldier put in front of him.

"Y'alright, kid?" Vegeta's voice was a gravelly drawl through a mouthful of porridge.

"Yeah... I'm alright. Are you okay?" The waiter looked down at his "new" clothing, a set of scrubs worn by medical technicians. His old clothing had been soaked in blood, vomit, and mucus, and Vegeta had ordered him to throw it into an incinerator.

"Never been better," Vegeta took a sip of milk, "just fantastic..."

They ate in silence for several minutes before Vegeta cleared his throat. "What's your name?"

"I'm Shuang. You're Vegeta, aren't you?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes and gave the kid a pointed look. He hated it when people tried to confirm what they already knew to be fact. "Shuang, huh? You look young."

Shuang let out another nervous giggle. "Um, I'm turning sixteen soon."

Vegeta responded by rolling his eyes again. Just a kid, he thought, thrown into a situation he didn't understand.

"You need to find different work, Shuang. Trust me. Go apprentice for a mechanic or something. Waiters like you get killed by creeps like me," Vegeta smirked and paused to take another drink, "almost as often as I kill bad cooks."

"Why did you spare me, Mister Vegeta?"

"If you had been sent to kill me, you would have killed yourself before ever trying the tampered meal. This isn't the first time some hotheaded chef has tried to kill me, and any server in on the plot has always delivered my meal with a cyanide capsule in between their teeth, ready to bite down the instant things don't go according to plan; not exactly a bad idea either considering how brutal their deaths would be if delivered by my hands. So, let me guess: you pick up food and bring it to the tables, but otherwise had nothing to do with what goes on in the kitchen. You occasionally make drinks, but the bartenders don't trust you enough yet to let you have full access to the bar. Am I correct?"

"Yeah..." Shuang's grey eyes were wide with amazement.

"Figures..."

"Can I ask you a question, Mister Vegeta?"

The Saiyan growled. "Oh, fine. What is it?"

"Why did you help me? You can't just say it's because I'm "some kid", either. I'm not stupid, you know. I know you aren't to be fucked with, and I also know that you aren't into heroics."

The Saiyan laughed at this bit of ego-stroking and honest truth. "No heroics, indeed. I dunno, kid, I just helped your dumb ass out because you're obviously in over your head. Are you trying to support your family or some shit? Maybe I'm just getting soft... since I've got..." Vegeta cut himself off, horrified at what he was admitting.

I don't have any family, he reminded himself, I am alone for life.

Shuang opened another carton of milk. "Uh, yeah. It's just my mother and I now, and I've got four siblings to support."

"Uh huh. That's a tough break, kid. But really, try to get an apprenticeship."

Shuang almost-smiled at Vegeta and slowly rose from his seat. "I will. Um... I think it's time for me to leave, Mister Vegeta. Thanks again..."

"Take care, kid."

He watched the skinny teenager leave the cafeteria and his train of thought started up again. Lights overhead buzzing softly, Vegeta tried to make sense of all that had just happened. An observant (but very stupid) chef had tried to play the hero by lacing his food with venom, a young, nervous waiter was caught in the crossfire, and Vegeta had taken the time to save an innocent bystander while also taking care of himself.

What the fuck has gotten into me, he wondered, feeling numb and almost outside of himself as he flew back to his ship, considering the stop a bust. It was time to leave the planet before any more incidents occurred. Why did I help out that stupid kid? That's not like me at all!

...he had siblings to support, too. He's got a lot to carry.

Vegeta lifted off and went downstairs to the living area, collapsing on the couch. His brush with death had been unexpected and certainly frightening, but he couldn't stop thinking about the waiter named Shuang, still in disbelief that he had apparently helped the kid without thinking twice. He felt rather sorry for Shuang, knowing he had to support his siblings and a mother.

No father in his life, he thought, just like my own brat.

He folded his arms, shut his eyes, and forced himself to take a nap. He'd have a better grip on things once he'd slept a bit.