Human Hospitality
by scoutergreen
Chapter 64
The Balancing Act
With a large pizza in between their crossed legs and nearby stacks of books, Bulma and her two roommates opted to take a break from studying for their looming midterm exams and talk about something a bit more interesting: boys.
"So what's going on with you and that cute guy from the martial arts tournament, Bulma? Haven't seen him stop by in a while..."
Bulma let out something close to a growl and took another slice of pizza from the box. "Oh, we're just taking a break. Sometimes we don't have a ton to really talk about..."
The girls were fast to move on to another subject, settling on a discussion about which movie to see after their last midterm. Bulma Briefs may have been a fun roommate, but she had a tendency to rant when upset about something, and the young heiress was prone to occasional bouts of moodiness, especially when she was stressed out.
Late that night, exhausted from hours of studying and desperate for at least a few hours of sleep before her first exam, Bulma fell asleep on the living room couch and started dreaming:
Bulma sat on mossy ground, roughly two feet away from a tiny fire burning inside a hole in the ground, and she caught the sound of raindrops smacking against some type of waterproof tarp somewhere high above her head. It was nighttime, wherever she was, and the air was filled with birdsong unlike any she'd ever heard before and the cyclical hum of night insects.
A young man with a lean and compact frame and very thick, unruly hair that looked like a flame came under the tarp and stared at Bulma, his angular eyes growing very wide and his arched brows rising with surprise, forehead partially concealed by sparse bangs crinkling just slightly. Wordlessly he sat across from her, gaze never breaking.
Bulma stared back at him, taken aback by his appearance but also fascinated with what she saw; his eyes were so intense that she felt like his stare was burning her, and yet she was so drawn into him at the same time. He wore dark formfitting clothing, tall boots, long gloves, and what looked like a vest of armour. He was dressed for war, and even in the dark of night, Bulma swore she saw some suspicious dark spots on his clothing.
He spoke in a language she could not understand, and with the effortless flick of a wrist he seemingly made the tiny fire flare up into a blaze for a few seconds, big and hot enough to leave her skin stinging.
When she finally rose from her spot, fear taking over, the man stood up as well, and that's when she noticed he had a tail just like Goku's. She gasped and could not conceal her surprise, which the strange man instantly picked up on. He has features a lot like Goku's, thought Bulma, same strange hair, too!
His grim mouth turned up into an amused smirk and he laughed at her. He suddenly grabbed her and pulled her close, one arm wrapping around her back to hold her in like a vice and his free hand gently grasping her throat. His breath was hot and he wore thick gloves, the warm creaking leather brushing against her bare skin enough to send shivers up her spine.
"Who are you?"
Bulma gasped in real life and her eyes snapped open as she sat up straight, taking a moment to catch her breath. That strange man haunted her waking hours for days after her dream.
Four days passed aboard the station without any work being done on Vegeta's ship. Malar had moved back into her room after the first twenty four hours, daring to walk by herself and by then on the road to recovery and the pain less intense, although Vegeta made a point of trying to keep her out of pain. He absolutely needed her to fix the ship, and if that meant playing the role of caretaker, he would do just that.
However, that wasn't to say Vegeta felt very odd taking care of an injured person. If he'd ever "taken care" of somebody else, it never extended beyond first aid, always delivered with a forcefully firm hand and plenty of verbal abuse. With Malar, Vegeta was much more patient, quiet, and careful to treat her gently. While she slept many for hours at a stretch, Malar also read through the huge binder that Vegeta had retrieved from the ship and drank many cups of tea during her waking hours.
Vegeta was grateful for Malar's stores of frozen food, plenty of which came packed with cooking instructions. They subsisted on thick soups and bland staples that combined well with sauces and pickled vegetables, and hot tea was always available. He wandered around the lonely station, rather bored with his surroundings, and talked himself through the unbearable moments when he wanted nothing more than to let loose and destroy everything around him.
Sometimes he needed to spend time away from Malar, concerned by his own growing sense of frustration and hopelessness. After some basic verbal instruction, Vegeta knew how to safely remove the damaged window, its frame, and the surrounding panels in preparation for repair and replacement. He cleaned the interior of his ship and got in some gentle training, testing his sense of balance and abdominal strength.
Vegeta was in the midst of another set of pushups when he heard Malar entering the shop. "Vegeta? You there?"
"Malar!" He left the ship and scowled when he saw the mechanic up and walking around, her movements slightly stiff, "you have a serious wound that needs time to heal. Go back to bed right now."
"Hey, check it out," she unbuttoned her trousers and rolled the waistband down past her hip, revealing fresh bandages, considerably thinner and lighter than the dressings required a few days prior, "it's healing up nicely! Let me get to work on the damn ship, and I'll go slow. That material you gave me sure did help! Those diagrams are well-rendered. Oh, by the way, you still have to assist me."
Vegeta's face burned red. "Obviously," he said through grit teeth, "just pull your pants up, will you?"
With Trunks down for a nap and the house blissfully quiet, Bulma lay back on the living room couch, propped her feet up, and took some time to respond to work-related e-mails she had been putting off for far too long.
After some time, her phone buzzed and she was quick to answer when she recognized the number as that of her secretary's.
"Angie! Oh, you have no idea how happy I am to hear from you!" Bulma's face spread into a huge smile as she greeted her secretary before the woman on the other end of the line could speak.
"Well, you sure do sound happy to hear from me, Bulma! How are you doing?"
"Girl," Bulma shifted on the couch and slid a pillow underneath her hips, "I love my son, but I gotta get outta the house! I'm getting bored fast."
Angela, better known as "Angie", had known Bulma for six years and was slightly wary of her temperament. She took a moment to consider her words before asking her awkward question she'd desperately hoped to avoid: "so... are you saying you're thinking about coming back to work? You've got another eight and a half months of maternity leave..."
Bulma laughed a very dry laugh, almost more of a bark, and rolled her eyes. "That's exactly what I'm saying. Full time or close to it. Start booking appointments for next week."
On the other end of the line, Angela cradled the phone with her shoulder and brought up Bulma's work schedule on her computer. "How about I open up five hours every day from Monday to Friday next week?"
"Twenty five hours? I suppose that will be alright for my first week back. Forward my schedule when it's full."
Angela confirmed and they ended their conversation. Sighing again, Bulma went to the photo albums on her phone and started scrolling through a group of photographs she had taken with Vegeta. They had been taken the fall before she became pregnant; she had actually been taking a photograph of herself when Vegeta had entered the frame, and Bulma took the opportunity to keep snapping as Vegeta leaned in to inspect her phone before realizing there was a camera. The photographs captured his surprise, suspicion, cool amusement, and a few shots showing Vegeta sticking out his tongue, winking, sneering, and puffing out his cheeks.
Bulma laughed at the photographs, recalling that she had told him they had been immediately deleted, and moved onto the next album. In the next set of photographs, Vegeta had taken her phone and snapped pictures of Bulma smiling, laughing, winking, pursing her lips, toasting for the camera with a glass of wine in hand, and a few shots that focused on her hands.
She switched to her video library, and found several short videos she had completely forgotten about.
The first video was only twenty seconds long: Vegeta had fallen asleep on the couch as he watched television with Bulma, a plate of sliced fruit on his lap and a half-full glass of water clutched in his right hand, fingers relaxing as he slipped deeper into unconsciousness.
His head began to dip, and as his chin made contact with his chest, the Saiyan lost his grip on the glass of water, which tipped over onto his lap and immediately woke him up. "Shit!" He croaked and sat up, struggling to recover the glass of water before he was completely soaked.
The last second of the video cut away to the floor as Bulma tried to stifle her giggling.
The second video had been taken with Vegeta's knowledge and consent; he was sitting at the kitchen table, arms crossed and his expression quite amused. It was early morning, as evidenced by the sunlight and by Vegeta's mug of coffee.
"So," Bulma began, "what's going on this morning, Vegeta?"
The Saiyan smirked and sipped his coffee. "Nothing much... why are you filming me?"
"Why not? You look good on film, damn, Vegeta! You wanna make a sex tape sometime?"
Vegeta's eyes practically bulged out of their sockets and he choked on his coffee. Again, the video cut away in a blur as Bulma giggled.
In the third video, it was obvious that Vegeta was holding the camera, and he was filming himself sitting on the roof with Bulma. The wind could be heard on the audio, and when Bulma saw herself dressed in a heavy sweatshirt and cap, she realized that video had been taken in mid-November, which both Saiyan and human had determined to be Vegeta's birth month.
"So, what's the deal with birthdays again? You really make a occasion out of this shit?" Vegeta's eyes were narrowed and he tilted the camera to capture Bulma's reaction.
Bulma smiled for the camera. "It's just a nice thing to celebrate! Plus, now we know you're a Scorpio! Soooo... happy birthday, Vegeta! Sorry I didn't get you a present, but I'm sure I can surprise and please you. How old are you this year?"
The camera returned to Vegeta, who raised a brow. "I think I'm thirty two now. Sounds about right..."
The camera shook slightly as Bulma leaned in to kiss Vegeta's cheek. "Hey!" Vegeta's voice was a bit sharp. The video stopped.
Tears rolling down her cheeks, Bulma set down her phone and brought her face to her hands. She desperately needed to get her mind off of everything at home and focus on work. Although the sense of guilt she felt for wanting to return to work full time was at times overwhelming, Trunks just wasn't enough to make her feel fulfilled, especially now that the father had left and was no longer in contact.
When the idea that she may have even resented Trunks crossed her mind, Bulma sobbed and curled up on the couch, drawing her knees toward her chest. Hopefully the baby would remain asleep long enough for her to pull herself back together.