Human Hospitality
by scoutergreen
Chapter 70
Fire and Water
Third cigarette in a row burning close to the filter, Bulma dropped it into her long-neglected cup of coffee and sighed. All she knew at that point was that Vegeta and the future-version of her son had gone into a chamber where the conventional laws of time and space did not apply in order to prepare themselves for yet another looming threat.
Krillin had stopped by the Capsule compound to relay all the latest information, none of it good. Furious with the recent turn of events, Bulma had opted to prepare two mugs of instant coffee; one for herself and another for the shaken-up man who had come to deliver the news.
Apparently Vegeta had been badly beaten by one of the androids and his mood had gone from extremely irritable to seething with rage, and (quite predictably) he'd run away after receiving a senzu bean, forcing a beleaguered Future Trunks to follow him yet again. According to Krillin, the Saiyan had goaded the female android into battle, launching insults so deeply sexist that stunned onlookers on both sides warned him to stop before he finally pushed her over the edge.
"So what did the idiot say to finally tick her off?"
"Um," Krillin shifted in his chair, "I'd... rather not... um... uh... it was really gross, Bulma... he uh... oh man... hecalledheracocksuckingdishwashingcuntokay? Don't make me say it again!"
When Bulma's face went brick red with fury and revulsion, Krillin scoped out the nearest exit just in case she started swinging at him. Few people really knew it, but Bulma had a nasty punch.
"And she broke his arm, right?"
Krillin gave a weak nod. "Uh, she snapped his arm. It was completely twisted around when she was done with him."
Bulma lit another cigarette and smirked. "Good."
Things had gone from bad to infinitely worse, and the woman did not dare imagine what could possibly come next. She loomed over her hastily drawn blueprints for a detonator to detonate the bombs inside the androids, rubbed her temples and sighed. She could feel a headache coming on, but there was no way she could stop now. She simply could not stop. Her stomach rumbled. Lunch would be soon, and she couldn't wait for some solid food. I'll take a break during lunchtime, she thought, until then I gotta' keep going!
She'd worked on the detonator for a few minutes before finally speaking again: "still, I wonder how Vegeta and Trunks are doing right now..."
He had walked so far into the void that the sanctuary had vanished, well beyond his range of sight. The air temperature continued to rise; it was so hot by that point that fat beads of sweat dripped down the Saiyan's brow and back. The void around him was no longer white but the angry orange hue of wildfire, streaked with black and splatters of red.
I've done it, he thought, I have reached the edges of Hell. Surely, I will die soon.
Vegeta panted and continued walking, once stumbling and catching himself before he fell. His feet started to drag, but he pressed on into the oppressively hot space. His stomach contracted uncontrollably and he dry heaved, unable to bring anything up.
My boy, what are you doing to hurt yourself this time?
A disembodied and distantly familiar voice boomed around Vegeta, who came to a halt and searched for the voice. "Who are you? Show yourself!" Vegeta's voice crackled and popped, throat parched and prickling from a lack of water.
"Daaaaad!" A panicked voice somewhere in the distance, this one somehow tangible.
Stumbling around in circles, dazed and mumbling nonsense to yourself. Look at yourself, boy! What dignity have you now?
"Whoever you are... go fuck yourself! Aaagh!" Vegeta pushed out a flickering ki flare for five seconds before dropping to his knees, gasping for breath. He had pushed himself somewhere beyond the realm of exhaustion; the familiar taste of blood crept up his raw throat and he coughed, taking in great lungfuls of hot, heavy air that sunk deeper into his chest the more he gasped. Abdominal muscles cramping with enough intensity to keep him doubled over and curling into an increasingly-tight ball, Vegeta strained his neck to look up, seeing the imposing figure of his feather forming in front of him, regal in his traditional Saiyan armour and velvety cape the colour of iris.
King Vegeta stood over eight feet tall, towering and broad and heavy, his stony face unmoving and unfeeling. Vegeta looked up at the figure of his long-dead father, too stunned to even think of engaging his vocal cords in speech.
"Daaaaaaaaaad!"
Vegeta struggled to get to his knees, staggering and failing to steady himself twice before he knelt before the vision of his father, staring up into his red agate eyes and struggling to find anything to say. Was this real?
"Am I alive?"
For now. Don't take it for granted, for once in your life.
"Is this Hell?"
If it is, you certainly are not welcome here. All your second chances and an unprecedented opportunity to whittle away at your weaknesses, and instead you opt to try and crawl to your own death? What cowardice is this?! How you disappoint the Saiyan race yet again, Vegeta. Be gone from my sight!
The figure of King Vegeta dissolved with a puff of sulphuric smoke and flame as his son's face contorted a horrified, silent scream. The angry orange air around him grew heavier still, and at the edges of his vision a familiar, fuzzy darkness threatened to creep in closer.
"DAD! Oh, thank god! Dad!"
Vegeta felt himself being pulled up to his feet and he carelessly swung himself around, feeling his fist crack into something that felt like flesh and clothing.
"Ge'off'me! Lemme go!" The Saiyan pulled against a set of arms that wrapped around his stomach from behind, kicking and flailing as he was picked up. Everything in his body hurt and burned. He was hotter than he'd ever felt before, past the point of sweating and unsure as to how much longer he could go on. He continued to resist, landing a few weak punches on the figure holding him and trying to drag him, and as he managed to twist himself around in the figure's vice grip so he could see his target and take another swing.
"Stop! Damn it, stop!" It was his son, or the future version of his son, his aura pulsing golden light and turquoise eyes wide with fury.
"Don'tellme what t'do!" Vegeta managed to wrench free of Trunks' grip and staggered forward six feet before dropping to his knees. When he felt Trunks straddling him and wrapping his legs around his torso, Vegeta tried to struggle a final time before the pressure of the heavier man's submission hold on his constricted chest caused him to pass out.
Vegeta's eyes fluttered open and he found himself laying in the shallowest part of a tiled pool of warm water, dressed in a loose white linen robe that reached his knees. Above him were vaulted ceilings the colour of amber, and through tall windows paned with thin glass came thick beams of undiluted sunlight.
He sat up, discovering his body free of pain, and ran his fingers across the fine graded aquamarine tiles in the pool. He knew this room somehow: it was a place he'd been to in some other distant lifetime, during a time of security and knowledge that his station in life was not only predestined but exactly what he craved.
The Saiyan caught the smell of something floral, close to lilies and violet and anise flower, mixing with the heady scent of incense, and he fell back into the water, reaching up towards the distant ceiling.
Everything you could ever desire is at your fingertips, he could recall a low-pitched and breathy woman's voice telling him, and it will come to you when the time is exactly right... reach for it and it will be yours!
"I want it all..."
"So, Bulma... could I ask you a question about Vegeta?" Krillin set his glass of water down and avoided making eye contact with the woman across the table. They had taken an early lunch break and found Mrs. Briefs had prepared a spread of sandwiches, potato salad and green salad.
"Sure," Bulma spoke through a mouthful of turkey, tomato and cheddar on sourdough.
"Well... why did you ever hook up with him? I'm sorry, that's rude... but c'mon, you know it's gonna raise some eyebrows!"
"Whatever," the engineer set her sandwich down, "the truth is, I was bored with Yamcha at least two years before Goku's brother showed up, and then Vegeta showed up and once he was living here..."
"And why the hell did you invite him to live with you, anyway?!"
"Where else was he gonna go, Krillin? A hotel? Besides, I felt sorry for the guy. He looked like shit when he wound up here. Then we got to talking and spending time together..." she dissolved into a weary sigh and looked out the window, desperate to blink away the tears forming in her eyes, "...I really thought at one point we were gonna be something... how dumb is that, huh? I dumped a jackass and fell so hard for a complete asshole!"
"Don't be so hard on yourself, Bulma," Krillin tried to reassure the increasingly distraught woman, "it's not every woman that would help a man like that... and, besides... your son is beautiful. You should be proud of that, Bulma."
The engineer knew the man was trying to offer words of comfort, but the ache in her heart was far too deep to be placated by reassurance. She sighed and continued looking out the window, realizing her appetite had all but vanished. Without even needing to look, Bulma reached for her pack of cigarettes (she was already halfway through what had been a fresh pack that morning, and she could usually make a pack last two or even three days) and lighter. If she didn't get some nicotine into her bloodstream fast, Bulma thought she may descend into a full-blown panic attack. The thought that her baby boy, or the future version of her baby boy, was locked inside a chamber outside of conventional space and time with the man who had both loved and hurt her so deeply shook her to her core.
"I wonder how they're doing in there..."
Vegeta came to on a familiar mattress, with a damp towel draped across his pounding forehead and a single light sheet covering his battered nude body. An electric fan oscillated from left to right with little more than a quiet whoosh.
His body ached in a way that he wished he did not find familiar; an unquenchable fatigue had settled into his bones and the act of remaining conscious took more strength than he had left reserved within him.
Determined and teeth grinding together, Vegeta pushed himself up into a seated position and looked to his right, very surprised to find his son passed out in a chair, arms folded tight across his chest and chin dipping against his collarbone.
Vegeta lay back down on the bed, far too tired to consider standing up, and fell back asleep mid-thought, considering the benefits of a glass of water as his eyes shut once more.