A/N: I don't really like song fics, but I've heard a few songs lately that inspired scenarios in my head. It was a series of four songs that I wanted to put together, but one of the songs called for a different breakup scenario then this song did. So instead of it being the last song, as I originally intended, I decided to make it one of its own. As I really dislike song fics I don't know that I'll ever right the other three-part fic. I had to write this one though, because the country stations keep playing the song and I keep watching it over and over in my head. I hope you like it.
The song is "She never cried in front of me." by Toby Keith. All rights reserved.
Yamcha stood in the back of the church watching. It was quiet possibly the most painful scene he had ever witnessed. He was not welcome here. No, he was welcome here; he had the crumpled up invitation to prove it. He did not want to be here. Being here meant admitting to himself that it was over. He should have admitted it a long time ago, but he couldn't. He didn't want to. He just couldn't believe the inevitable. Bulma was no longer his. She belonged to another man. Heart, soul, and now by law.
Seven thirty five
She's someone's else wife
This was it. This was the point were there was no more hoping, no more praying. No more chances. It was time to strike out on his own and find someone for himself. Someone who would love him like he had loved her. He should be happy, should be thrilled.
I can get on with my life
And that thrills me
He watched from his spot at the church door as the most beautiful bride the world had ever seen stepped out into the main aisle between the pews. Bulma was radiant in her silver wedding gown, but then, in his opinion, Bulma was radiant in everything she wore. Silver, a good choice; she couldn't be the good blushing innocent bride in white, especially when the one of the proofs on her lack-of-innocence walked the aisle before her. Six year old Bra walked before her in a silver flower girl's gown with her bright red trimming to match her ever present headband. She threw clumps of red rose petals down on the floor as her mother followed behind her leaning on Dr. Briefs arm.
She married him today
Her daddy gave the bride away
I heard a tear rolled down her face
And that kills me
She was beautiful and radiant and everything a bride should be. As her father handed her to the stoic, glaring prince in all his Saiyen finery Yamcha had to look away. He couldn't bare it. He couldn't think of her as His. Yamcha couldn't understand how he'd lost. How he had come in second place to the unfeeling wretch. Second place to a killer. Second place to one of earths strongest protectors. It was so long ago, it was hard to comprehend. Hard to remember. Even harder to except. What had he done wrong? What had HE done right?
Cause now I, can see why
She's finally crying'
Bulma stood beside the phone, her forehead pressed against the cool wall. She was trying very hard, and succeeding, at keeping her voice even and unaffected. "Of course I understand. It's no big deal. I've been really busy lately and could use the extra free time to work on some personnel projects." Her reply into the phone was slightly muffled, but it would do. Silently she added to herself, "Personnel projects, like repairing my heart."
Vegeta listened to the indistinct whine that was the other end of the phone line. From his vantage point at the kitchen door he could hear the persons answer, but not understand it. He frowned at the woman and her slumped posture, wondering where his food was. He was unable to comment on the lack of meal before she spoke again. "Yeah, Yamcha, that's fine. No, no it's okay. We'll do it sometime next week. Bye."
The phone was hung up and it was half way through his meal that Vegeta realized two things. One, she had been dumped but she was not sobbing. Silent tears, yes, but no sobs. Two, she hadn't said 'I love you, bye.' She'd just said 'Goodbye.' These two things were quickly dismissed as well.
How was I supposed to know
She was slowly letting go
If I was putting her through Hell
Hell I couldn't tell
Bulma sat, head in her hands, elbows on her desk, lost in a world of despair. Something was wrong. Something wasn't right. Yamcha wasn't right. The same thoughts ran through her head over and over and none of them made sense. He just wasn't the Yamcha he use to be. A few years ago she'd been struck with then same thought but then the difference was easy to identify. Then the difference wasn't painful to think about.
When they had first met, Yamcha had been girl shy. No, girl terrified. He'd overcome the terror and shyness, he'd turned into a sweet, adoring boyfriend. Bulma had thought it adorable at the time. It still was. Yamcha still was. He would always be sweet, but lately he had become less adoring. Suddenly Yamcha had a social life and it didn't revolve around Bulma. Not that Bulma was mad about this, or jealous even. She was, in fact, glad that Yamcha had made friends outside of their little circle. If she got down to admitting it, Bulma was lonely. They made plans and Yamcha broke them or didn't show up at all. She didn't mind him hanging out with his friends; she just wished for some Them time. She hadn't seen him in almost a month, and while they talked on the phone a lot it just wasn't the same.
She could've given me a sign
And opened up my eyes
How was I supposed to see
She never cried in front of me
A single lonely tear slid down Bulma's face as she finally looked up from her desk top. The sun was setting outside, she could see it from her office window. It was beautiful. Kami's great creation. As her eyes slid over the picturesque scene they came to rest on a lone figure, silhouetted by the descending sun. Vegeta. He was watching the suns decline as well. Something about the way he stood, so perfectly still and straight, reminded Bulma of something. It reminded her of the loneliness she felt inside. Was Vegeta lonely to? Without his planet and without his people?
Yeah maybe I might've changed
It's hard for me to say
But the story's still the same
And it's a sad one
Yamcha silently listened as Dendi resided over couple. His monologue on death, and life and happiness in both was lost on the scarred bandit. He could hear only the silent drone of old memories.
"I just don't know, Yamcha," the voice coming through the ear piece of the phone was monotone and very un-Bulma like. "I'm just not in the mode to watch another baseball game."
"Another? But, Babe, I haven't taken you to one all season. The seasons almost closed, you've got to come to at least one. Hey, wait, did you show up and not even let me know you were there? I could've gotten you better seats!"
"No, I watched them on TV. It's the only time I ever get to see you anymore."
"All the more reason to come! It's so much better in person anyway."
"You've done really good this season. Congratulations."
Yamcha was not an idiot, not completely at least. He recognized a change in subject. She was avoiding the topic. And what was this congratulations? No 'I'm proud of you' or 'You're the best ever'. Just congratulations. Yamcha frowned into the phone. "What's up, Babe? You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Well, how about I come over after the game? You and me can celebrate the teams victory!"
"Alright. That would be fine."
"Great, I'll see you later, Babe." Bulma's voice was still unmoving as she answered, "Fine. Goodbye."
Fine. Goodbye. No 'I can't wait' or 'Look forward to seeing you' or 'Don't forget the wine to celebrate.' Just fine. Yamcha frowned as he hung up the phone.
And I'll always believe
If she ever did cry for me
They were tears that you can't see
You know the bad ones
Yamcha frowned as he watched Bulma look upon the Saiyen Prince as Dendi began the nuptials. He remembered that day, that conversation, and that game so clearly. He also remembered that evening after the game very clearly. He clearly remembered going to a bar with his teammates and losing three rounds of billiards before going home to his apartment with a red head and blond. The blond was not a natural blond, he remembered. Her green pubic hair gave her away. The red head was all natural, except for the unnaturally large breasts. Yamcha remembered praising them as the most perfect tits he had ever seen. Now as he watched Bulma get married to that murder, he realized how wrong he'd been. She was all natural. Natural blue hair, natural belly, natural breasts. Beautiful breasts at that. And he had left her waiting for him after the game, alone. He had left her alone many times.
And now I, can see why
She's finally crying'
How many times had she cried at night because of him? How long had it taken to drive her into the arms of another man? That man of all men! Yamcha was furious. Furious at himself for his stupidity, for giving up the only woman worth fighting for.
Without a doubt
I know now
How it ought to be
Cause she's gone & it's wrong
And it bothers me
With a grunt Vegeta pledged to keep Bulma forever, her resounding 'I do' was much more eloquent. Yamcha watched as Vegeta kissed Bulma most improperly for a wedding sitting, before sweeping her up in his arms and striding out the church door. Glaring at everyone as they passed. Glaring at everyone except one. When his eyes fell on Yamcha standing alone in the corner by the churches side door, he had the audacity to smirk at him. Vegeta had every right to smirk, Yamcha supposed. After all, he had won. He had Bulma now, forever.
Tomorrow I'll still be
Asking myself
How was I supposed to know
She was slowly letting go
If I was putting her through hell
Hell I couldn't tell
She could've given me a sign
And opened up my eyes
Bulma stood in the doorway, blocking his entrance into her house. Her voice was unaffected as she spoke, "Where were you last night, Yamcha?"
"The guys wanted to go celebrate."
"You could have called." There was no steely glint in her eye that usually accompanied the words.
"I couldn't get to a phone, sorry."
"You couldn't use the one at the bar?"
"They wanted to charge me for it! Five dollars!" It was a lie. He hadn't even tried. "Can I come in?"
"No. No, Yamcha, you can't come in." "Why not?" "Yamcha, I have a lot of work to do. You have a lot of practicing to do. I think we're just getting in each others way anymore. Maybe we should go our own ways."
That was it, she was breaking up with him. There was a finality in her voice this time. There were no tears or theatrics. Something told Yamcha this was it. This was for good and he had no leg to stand anymore. There was no going back. Trunks was born almost exactly nine months later, leaving Yamcha to wonder if that night his lack of attention had driven her into the arms of another, or if she gone there willing sometime after she'd left him. He suppose it didn't matter. He couldn't accuse her of cheating, not after what he'd done himself. And she hadn't been forced or taken advantage of, otherwise she wouldn't be so happy now. No she'd gone to him willing and she done it more then once. The proof was rushing down the aisle in her flower girl dress chasing after her daddy. The proof was in her 'I do.'
The proof was in his own sorrow.
How was I supposed to see
How was I supposed to see
She never cried in front of me
Hell I couldn't tell
A/N: I hope the switching between past and present, Yamcha's memories and Bulma's memories wasn't to confusing. If you find any errors (spelling or grammar) please let me know so I can fix them. My word program doesn't have a grammar check.