Human Hospitality

by scoutergreen

Chapter 67

The Art of Compromise

For the first two days, Vegeta remained locked in his bedroom, refusing to speak to anybody and only accepting meals when they were left by his door. If he wanted seconds, the Saiyan merely yelled for him.

"Why are you indulging that asshole, Mom?" Bulma cradled Trunks as he fed from her breast with her left arm, right hand occupied with a fork constantly loaded with mouthfuls of baked farfalle in cream sauce with ham and peas.

Even with help from her parents, Bulma found caring for the baby incredibly stressful. She felt as though she had no real idea what she was doing, and now that Vegeta was back, she had yet another constant stress to contend with. The woman could not understand why her mother insisted on sending meals up to Vegeta's room. She would go up the stairs carrying trays loaded with generous servings of whatever she prepared, pitchers of water and juice, desserts, snacks, and slender vases of fresh-cut flowers. The matriarch picked up the Saiyan's laundry and had even delivered a new plush new blue blanket on the second day.

"Bulma..." Mrs. Briefs' voice was just slightly on edge, "just let him adjust. We shared a whole three words earlier, which is obviously some good progress. Please, lay off the name calling."

"He's a piece of shit," Bulma spoke with her mouth full, eliciting an annoyed sigh from her mother, "he really is. And you're enabling him."

The woman didn't respond. She finished scooping pasta into a deep bowl and set it on the tray beside another large bowl filled with green salad, half a baguette, napkins and cutlery. As she ascended the stairs, Bulma seethed in silence and pushed her dish away. Suddenly she wasn't quite so hungry.

Very early on the third morning after Vegeta's return, the Saiyan finally went downstairs to make his own breakfast as the sun rose over the horizon. He recognized the percolator on-sight and the first thing he did was make a pot of coffee.

It was five minutes past six when Bulma came down the stairs, high heeled shoes held in one hand and large briefcase in the other. She stopped in the middle of the kitchen when she spotted the Saiyan waiting for the coffee, hip pressed into the side of the counter and arms crossed over his chest.

"Good morning," Bulma set her shoes next to her chair at the table and briefcase on the chair to her right.

"Mm," Vegeta glanced over at the woman for a few seconds, taken by the sight of her in what must have been her office wear, "good morning."

Bulma took a plate of muffins from the refrigerator, set them to warm up in the microwave for a minute, and stared at Vegeta the entire time, her expertly made-up face fixed in an expression of severe disapproval.

Barely looking at her, Vegeta took two mugs from the cupboard and filled them with coffee, brought them to the table, returned to the refrigerator for cream and fetched two spoons, and then finally sat down. "You take cream, right?"

The microwave beeped and Bulma shot the Saiyan a grim smirk. "Do you want a ham and cheese muffin? I've got a few minutes before I need to head out."

Malar came to in her hospital bed, tubes snaking around her arms and a terrible ache radiating down the centre of her chest, from her collarbone to her stomach. The surgery had been performed earlier in the day, and her body continued to process the anaesthetic. The lights overhead were so bright that she could see the capillaries in her eyelids when she blinked. She sighed and her eyes fluttered shut again.

On a monitor she could hear a steady beeping and managed to crack a small smile before falling asleep.

As Sikari reached out to bring the coiled hose and metal tip of water pipe to his mouth once more, he sunk deeper into his seat and waited for his contact to arrive. The climate on planet 5-GX was torrid and unforgiving; the planet's massive sun hung halfway in the hazy orange sky and the only form of relief in the city called Kapitol came in the form of cafes and taverns that served potent liquors and tinctures over tall glasses of crushed ice.

The bounty hunter sat with his drink and his water pipe of fragrant herbs, very quiet and content to watch life pass by. As the ice melted into the liquor, the bounty hunter sipped and noted, with some amusement, how his mouth and throat grew numb as he drank.

Finally, strolling into the open-air space, hips swinging and boots thudding and leather creaking, Sikari's contact arrived and stood before him, weight shifting onto one hip and lips tightening into a pout. "Yo," the young woman looked Sikari up and down and immediately found him repulsive to look at, "I want this to be worth my while."

"Please sit, my dear," Sikari gave his contact a gracious smile and gestured to the empty chair across from his own, "it is so good to see you, Kohara."

Kohara was a deceptively young-looking bounty hunter who had many years of experience. She had a round face, as pale as milk, huge copper eyes framed by long, dark lashes, and black hair twisted into thick plaits and piled atop her head, held in place with pines that were sure to be deadly weapons. Although Sikari knew better than to write her off on the basis of her appearance and demeanour, plenty of bounty hunters found the targets they had been following for weeks or even months at a time were suddenly (and often violently) captured by Kohara. Unless a bounty specified the fugitive be captured and kept alive until remanded into custody, Kohara always killed her targets.

"Sure," she drawled and pulled a hard-shell case out of her small leather backpack, "what's good and cheap here? I'm supposed to be collecting a bounty tomorrow and that's the only reason I'm in this shithole of a city."

Kohara pulled a hand-rolled cigarette and reusable lighter from her case, lit it, and sighed with relief. She really could not stand this planet's oppressive heat.

"I would be happy to buy you a drink, my dear," Sikari smiled and showed some of his jagged teeth, "whatever you desire, of course. Money is never an object."

"Nuh-uh," Kohara shook her head, "won't get myself in no position where I suddenly owe a man something in return. I got myself covered just fine, Sikari," she waved to the barkeep and motioned for them to bring a glass of whatever it was Sikari was drinking.

Sikari smirked and puffed on his pipe. "Do not lump me in with the awful men you're thinking about, my dear, I beg of you! And may I express my surprise at your desire to meet and speak with me? Admittedly, I figured you were angry that I took down that entire drug smuggling ring before you had a chance to lock in on their ship. They brought a considerable reward, and part of me feels badly that collected all that money when you so obviously needed it..."

Kohara returned the smirk. She received her beverage, swirling the liquid around to begin melting the ice, and took a very small sip. Immediately her lips and mouth began to tingle. "That's all in the past, Sikari, and there's no hard feelings on my end. After all, we do work in a very unpredictable industry with lots of competition. But since I heard about the money on Vegeta's head... well! That's one hell of a bounty, and I want in. Here's my proposition: if I give you a few tips I overheard and they lead to Vegeta's capture, I want a cut of that money."

The elder bounty hunter's intense green eyes narrowed and he considered the offer. "Please, do continue..."

"I want fifty million. That's some pocket change outta that big ol' reward, y'know?"

Sikari took a long drag, tilted his head up, and exhaled slowly, blue smoke rising up towards the painted ceiling. "That's fair, Kohara. I agree to give you a cut of fifty million, should your information lead me to capturing Vegeta. But I almost fear that you are underselling yourself..."

"Cut the shit, Sikari. You know I don't fall for your mysterious exotic gentleman act, alright?"

The robe-clad man only smiled at Kohara. "Then do let me in on your bit of gossip, girl, before I am no longer a gentle man."

The woman laughed and took another drag. "Alright, then. This info might be a bit outdated now... but when ya factor in travel time and nearby planets and stations..."

It was half past seven when Bulma dragged herself in from work, feet aching so badly that she stopped twice on her way inside and leaned against a wall just for a few seconds of relief. High heel shoes in her hand and briefcase in her left, she finally made it into the front room and dropped everything before practically falling into the couch.

"Whew! What a day!"

"Well hi there, Bulma," Mrs. Briefs came to the front room with a mug tea and a biscuit, "long day at the office?"

The woman sighed and sat up straight in order to take a sip of tea and finally eat something. She'd skipped lunch in order to respond to some e-mails and now felt lightheaded. "Please tell me there's something good for dinner, Mom! Today was absolutely nuts! Oh, the minute this product launch is done, I'm gonna take some time off! Just me and my baby! Speaking of which, how is my little guy?"

"Down to sleep for the night... he's exploring more and crawling a bit further every day, Bulma! Oh, and he loves to watch his grandma cook! We already ate, but there's plenty of leftovers for you..."

"Who is "we", Mom?"

"Your father and I, of course! Vegeta ate upstairs in his bedroom. He even brought down the dishes..."

"Don't make me feel any more guilty than I already do, Mom... geez..." Bulma had a single bite of her biscuit before she went upstairs to get changed. Listening to her mother talk about all the time she was spending with Trunks got to her more than she liked, and she loathed the feeling of guilt she experienced after each day of returning from a twelve hour day at work- something she had always done before the baby- and then felt angry with herself for feeling guilty.

I'm a businesswoman, she told herself as she took off her makeup with a wipe, it's no different than anybody else returning to work after having a kid. I took a few months off! Trunks has all the frozen breast milk and formula he could ever need, and his grandparents are always with him! It's not like I've just abandoned my kid! I'm still his mother and it's not like I resent him!

She suddenly stopped and stared at her bare-faced reflection in the mirror. Holding back tears, she rinsed her face and then moved on to applying her night cream.

As she went downstairs to finally have a proper meal, she heard the sound of the television from Vegeta's room and stopped outside his door for a moment, holding her breath as she stood perfectly still.

When she finally made it downstairs, Vegeta turned off his television and shifted on his bed. Hair still drying from his after-training shower, he had been relaxing when he had sensed the woman's energy. It made him feel weird, being around her again, and now that there was a baby in the house, yet another energy to contend with and get used to, it almost felt like overload after months of isolation.

However, what really shook Vegeta at his core was the unshakable feeling that he'd encountered that little baby's energy before.

But where? That baby named Trunks was just a little thing, with fat little limbs and cheeks and a pink mouth that was constantly spread in a smile whenever he was with his grandparents. While eating lunch, when the older woman had her back turned away from the table, Vegeta had leaned over towards the infant's high-chair and taken a curious sniff around his hairline.

Although that sparse, ultrafine violet hair had made Vegeta suspicious of the infant's true paternity at first sight, that smell was unmistakable.

What he had not expected, of course, was that the baby had sniffed him back and had reacted to subconsciously recognizing the smell of his own father by squealing and clapping. Nobody had ever reacted to Vegeta with something resembling joy before, not even the woman during the most passionate moments of their relationship. The mother of my son, he thought, again feeling his stomach churn with anxiety at the idea of parenthood, family, and connectedness.

It was only eight thirty at night, and Vegeta's stomach rumbled and compelled him to go downstairs to find something to eat, as much as he didn't really want to speak to Bulma again. Their breakfast-time conversation had been minimal at best, very tense as he asked her where she was going, and she demanded to know how he was planning to spend his day.

However, Vegeta had offered her coffee that morning, literally one of their first interactions since he had left, and in turn she had given him two ham and cheese muffins, and they had sat together and finished their light meal together without either one raising their voices or storming off in frustration.

Maybe I can do this again, he thought, I do need to talk to her about that gravity room she promised me before she got pregnant...