Human Hospitality
by scoutergreen
Chapter 69
Unravel
The ship's incoming call signal had started just as Kohara was relaxed, sinking deeper into her massive pilot's chair, and with an irritated groan she accepted the call. When she recognized Sikari's face, she rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh. "This better be good, Sikari!"
"My dear," Sikari gave the young woman a patient but cold smile, "I simply wish to check in with you. How are you faring?"
"Uugh, I'm fine! Why do you keep calling me every forty fucking hours?!"
"You are my partner, Kohara. It is only good business sense for me to keep in touch. Not to mention, I am chivalrous man and I only want to confirm that you are well..."
"Ugh, whatever," Kohara's sneer grew, "just give me your status report, alright? I'm trying to wind down here!"
Sikari's thin onyx lips curled up to reveal his jagged yellow teeth and bright red gums. "As per our agreement, I am going to monitor sectors along the edges of PTO boundaries. With that in mind, I'm not willing to cross the border alone at this time due to any number of dangers out there."
"Mm, good idea, I guess... but you don't think Vegeta might just head out into uncharted territory on a whim or anything?"
"No," Sikari's firm answer was instantaneous, "that Saiyan wouldn't last very long without access to healthcare or a consistent food supply. Vegeta may be strong, but he needs to eat every few hours, and he often gets in over his head and winds up getting injured. Claims it all makes him stronger, heh..."
"Just how often do you eat, Sikari?"
"Eh, I can eat something and let it digest for a few months before I'll need something else... really, I can go up to two years without eating."
Kohara's nose wrinkled, revolted by this tidbit of information, and she continued leaning back in her huge chair, watching as Sikari's stared at her. Even with so much distance now between them, Kohara still felt creeped out by the bounty hunter. As a token of their new alliance, Sikari had given her three hairs from the top of his head, bulbous root shaft and all, and he had suspended them in vial of a clear solution that would slowly dissolve the hair and turn it into a powerful poison, and while Kohara appreciated the new addition to her arsenal, she was still disgusted by the man.
" So you don't think he'd be one to venture out of PTO territory, hmm? Well, that does make sense... anyway, I checked out Planet 79. Apparently he hasn't been 'round there for years. The apartment he shared with his comrades has been turned over to new tenants, and questioning them turned up nothing. I mean, obviously," she sneered when Sikari's expression betrayed his annoyance, "they were cool enough to invite me in for a couple drinks, though! My next stop is Station 6. Apparently he was seen skulking around there a while back... according to my contact, he got had an, ahem, altercation in a nightclub and may have been stabbed. He killed the guy who stabbed him, but there's a chance Vegeta's been laying low in the area. I ain't so sure that's relevant now, but it's worth a look at any rate."
"Forget it, Kohara. You're a fool to accept drinks from a complete stranger like that- focus on the mission, girl! As for your idea of Vegeta being in or near Station 6... there's just no way he'd be hanging around that area if he got hurt... Vegeta runs away from something the minute he's hurt."
Kohara raised a brow. She loathed Sikari's tendency to condescend. "Fair enough," she kept her voice even, "then I'm going to check something out... call it a gut feeling, yeah? I'm worried about this call being intercepted, so I'll contact you later. Don't bother me! I'll call you for a change, okay? Bye!"
She disconnected and heaved a massive sigh. "Not gonna leave PTO territory, huh... well, no sense in rushing around when the creep himself is lurking around the edges of the territory. Guess I'm gonna go to Station 6 to have some fun!"
With a wicked grin spreading across her pale face, Kohara slumped back in her chair and reached for her smoking papers so she could begin rolling a celebratory cigarette.
"Hey, Mom," Trunks jogged into his mother's spacious lab, keen to observe what she was up to, "I just wanted to see how you're doin'! How's that new machine you're working on?"
Bulma couldn't help but marvel at her son's boundless energy. Trunks was ten years old and in the midst of a growth spurt; already five foot two, with thin, gangly limbs, an endless appetite, and seemingly outgrowing his shoes and clothing every three months.
"Oh, I'm working away here... it's not gonna work overnight, that's for damn sure..."
"Mom!"
"I know, I know," Bulma eased herself into a chair and reached for her cigarettes, "you don't like it when I cuss... geez, if your father were around to hear this..."
"Will you tell me a bit more about him, Mom? Please? What was dad like? How did you two even meet, anyway?"
The engineer laughed before betraying a heavy sigh. She missed Vegeta too much to express but her memories of him were tinged with regret and resentment, and she wasn't willing to tell her young son the ugly truth about his father quite yet. Trunks knew that his father was from another planet, but otherwise Bulma was very sketchy regarding other details. She struggled to take the time (and it really did take a while) to remember the positive things about Vegeta. Sometimes, she lied in order to spare her son some of the more upsetting or outright disturbing details of his father. "Well... your father, ah... geez, Trunks, he was a smart guy. A lot more intelligent than he liked to let on, for sure. Like sometimes I'd just listen to him, when he was in the right mood I mean, and his insights would just blow me away. He was surprisingly well-spoken an-"
"Why would that be a surprise?"
"Do you remember the story I told you about your dad landing here?"
Trunks took a moment to recall the story of his father landing on Earth: according to his mother, it all started when his father's ship was hit by a meteorite and he wound up stranded on Earth. Although hurt, his father had found Capsule Corp and Bulma repaired his ship while his late grandmother nursed the injured alien back to health. Through months of exposure, his father had learned to converse with the humans and soon expressed that he wished to live with the family for a while. Nine months later, Trunks had been born, and it had been a happy occasion for everybody. They had been discussing marriage when Vegeta had been killed by the androids. Trunks had only been ten months old when it happened, so he had no memories of the man.
"Oh, yeah... so was English his second language? Why would my Dad being a smart guy be a weird thing? You're an inventor, Mom!"
Again, Bulma laughed and then sighed. "Yes, English was his second language. As for your father being smart... he certainly was intelligent, but he did so many stupid things..."
Trunks barely suppressed a scowl and opted to look at his "new" running shoes. He had started wearing them eight weeks prior and already he felt like his toes were being pinched. Lately he was even hungrier than usual and felt like his entire body hurt sometimes, especially when he wasn't able to get out all the crazy energy bouncing around inside his body. "Oh... you seem really mad at him sometimes. Like, a lot of the time..."
"Your father did a lot of really stupid things, Trunks," Bulma took another drag off her cigarette and tried to blink away the tears forming in her eyes, "sometimes I'm angry because he didn't fully consider the risks before going to fight the androids..."
"Did he really run after them when they appeared, Mom? That's what grandma told me. She said he woke up, got dressed, and went to stop them without even saying goodbye to anybody. I don't think you shouldn't get angry at Dad for that. He must have really loved you if he tried to stop them right away instead of stalling for time by talking to you guys. I think he must have been scared, but he must have been like: "I gotta stop these bad guys right now! There's no time to waste and I can't get scared! Mommy and Trunks are at home!", you know?"
Bulma stubbed her cigarette out in a nearby ashtray and then left her chair to bring her son into a tight embrace. It took all of her strength not to cry. At some point she would have to tell him a bit more of the truth, but for now she'd let him remain ignorant. There was so little happiness left in the world, it seemed, so how could she strip him of that bit of bliss so soon? After all, his childish admiration for the father he never met gave her a little bit of joy as well.
With the water so hot it was barely tolerable, Vegeta sunk beneath the surface, plugging his nostrils and squeezing his burning eyes shut, remaining at the bottom of the deep bathtub until his quickening pulse pounded through his body and his lungs were screaming for oxygen.
He pushed himself up, taking in cool fresh air in a ragged gasp and huffing when he registered the air cooling down his overheated bare skin. Vegeta pushed himself out of the tub, noticing the water was tinged grey-pink with blood and dirt that accumulated after unknown hours of gruelling training with the boy from the future... his son, Trunks.
His son. His flesh and blood.
Needless to say they were not getting along.
The boy was just at the cusp of adulthood; tall and effortlessly fit and free of any sign of aging. He was nearly ten inches taller than Vegeta (which annoyed him more than he would ever care to admit) fair-skinned and blue eyed and apparently a bit clueless regarding the privilege of his conventionally attractive appearance. While the half-Saiyan possessed his father's brow, intense almond-shaped eyes and small, slightly pointed nose, his cheeks were light pink and plump, lips fuller and softer, and the energy that lay behind his bright eyes was far more innocent and good-natured than his own.
"Hey!" A reedy voice buzzed around the back of his head.
"Fuck off," Vegeta dismissed the voice, "you're not real."
"You should leave for good," the voice hissed, "you're all used up."
"I'm busy," Vegeta muttered, combing through his hair with his fingers.
"Hey!"
Vegeta ignored the voice.
"Hey! Hey! Hey!"
The Saiyan started thinking about getting something to eat, anything to block out the annoying voice. He wanted something light and preferably savory. Suddenly, he remembered that he'd learned to make a club sandwich in some lifetime outside of the white void, and decided it would be a good choice.
Towel wrapped around his hips and hair dripping, Vegeta exited the washroom and went into the small kitchen in their tiny living area. It had been six weeks since the Saiyan had entered the hyperbolic time chamber with his son, and with every passing day Vegeta felt like another thread of his sanity had been plucked from his mind. He was unravelling and he knew it: on five separate occasions he had heard voices outside his own head, nasty little things taunting him and suggesting he go talk a long walk into the endless white void that lay just outside the small sanctuary where he ate, slept, and recovered.
Trunks was in the same condition as his father; battered and beaten, lower lip split and dark purple bruises blooming across his body. He avoided his father's gaze entirely, fearing another strike, or worse yet, another barrage of insults.
"Boy," Vegeta muttered as he passed by his son and went to look in the refrigerator. If there was one decent thing about the void he'd willingly entered in order to reach the next peak of power, it was that there was always food in the refrigerator and pantry. The Saiyan ate all the fatty fish and fruit his heart desired, and with each passing day he seemed to put on just a little more muscle. He lost more body fat than ever before and grew vascular in the process. Six weeks into his intense training, Vegeta's face lost its residual softness and he suddenly looked around ten years older.
Trunks only gave his father the smallest and slowest of nods to acknowledge his presence, too nervous to speak. If he did, there was around an eighty percent chance he'd either be ignored or insulted. The remainder of the time, Vegeta turned it into a reason to strike him, or only spoke to him in a cool, terse voice.
Vegeta was content with the boy's response. He prepared four sandwiches for himself, each loaded with sliced tomato and extra sliced turkey, and wandered into a tiny living area to eat by himself.
"Hey!"
Vegeta took a bite of his sandwich and ignored the voice. He didn't know what to make of the refrigerator and pantries that were magically replenished (for all his psychic abilities, Vegeta was still unnerved by the concept of magic) but the food was so good that Vegeta decided that if he could use a magical pantry that replenished itself, he could just learn to accept its existence.
"You should take a long walk..."
"Will you shut the fuck up? Ugh!"
Trunks overheard his father snapping at somebody and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. I didn't say anything, he thought, too nervous to speak out loud.
"Kill yourself. You're worthless. You are not strong enough to take on what's coming."
"Says you," Vegeta spoke through a mouthful of club sandwich, "asshole."
In the other room, Trunks continued to listen in on his father apparently talking to himself before his concern took over. "Uhh... D—Dad? Are you alright?"
"Fuck off," Vegeta's snarl carried into the kitchen where Trunks remained seated.
"They don't really care about you. Nobody does. They don't really need you. You could walk out into that great white void and nobody would ever bother trying to find you- they've got better things to do. You're unwanted and unloved and that will never change."
Vegeta threw the quarter-sandwich he'd been about to bite into back onto his plate, quickly stood up, and stared out into the void that began just a few feet from the firm couch he'd been sitting on.
"Fine," he sighed, "then I will go for a walk..."
There were three steps that led down into the void. It reminded Vegeta somewhat of taking steps down to a riverside dock, and when he stepped into that white space the feeling of his feet being weightlessly supported by nothingness send a chill up his spine.
He had walked several miles into the void before, but had never strayed beyond a place where he could still spot the sanctuary. With the disembodied voice laughing around him, Vegeta ran into the void. He would keep going until he could not longer see the sanctuary, and then he would continue walking until he dropped dead from exhaustion or dehydration, whichever came first.
After all, he thought, it's not like they're going to care if I don't return. They have their precious Kakarot and the boy...
"Did Da- er, did my father ever hit you, Mom?" Trunks watched his mother's weary face as she tried to eat and only managed to pick at her dinner.
"Nope," Bulma replied immediately, shaking her head, "he had a shitty temper, but he never raised a hand to me."
Trunks was skeptical. Over the years the young man had gradually rejected the idea that his father was some sort of deeply flawed but ultimately well-intentioned man, gathering enough information from whispered stories and anecdotes that led him to the conclusion that his father had been a violent, angry, and deeply selfish man.
"I don't believe you," he muttered, "Vegeta was a colossal prick who hated women."
Bulma sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Trunks had just turned sixteen and his hormones were raging, and although he trained every day and continued obeying his mother, he frequently argued and stormed out of rooms in a huff. There were endless slamming doors, inhuman screams that only Saiyan vocal cords could produce, and plenty of dinners eaten in tense silence.
"Well, I knew the man. You didn't. And if I say your father didn't hit me, I mean it. Look at it this way: it's one thing he did right."
Trunks hissed with derision and picked at his dinner.