"Bulma, can we talk?" Yamcha felt nervous sitting beside her in the dimly lit room as Netflix automatically started playing another movie.
"About what?" She asked, her tone suspicious. "I thought you said we'd just be having a date night."
He knew it was somewhat of a bad idea. Things were rocky between them as of late and it was honestly a miracle she'd even agreed to take a break from work to hang out. He just couldn't help it. He needed to know where they stood. They've barely talked things through as it is. Not that they usually did.
"It's just...you've gotten so busy again."
"Well, that's kinda what happens when I start spearheading more projects for dad's company. I thought you wanted some space to keep playing professional baseball."
"That's not what I'm referring to," he said softly, restraining himself.
She knew implicitly what he was touching on. They've broached the topic before.
"I've been thinking, at some point it'd be nice to get married. We've been together so long we should seal the deal."
"Married?" She laughed in disbelief. "You still think that's a good idea?"
"At least think it over."
"Yamcha. We aren't even sure what the outcome of the androids showing up is going to be in two years. Where's this coming from?"
"Exactly. We don't know what's going to happen. So why not? Why work ourselves ragged when this could be our last few years together?"
"I can't believe you're talking like that. All defeated. Of course we have to work hard so we can be ready when the time comes."
"But-"
"It's just not the right time, Yamcha."
"So when is the right time? Or can you not pencil it into your schedule centered on catering to him?"
"And just what exactly do you mean by that?"
"I don't know. Could it be that suddenly you have no time for us anymore now that the guy that's basically responsible for my death is strutting around CC?"
It made him feel resentful, how easily the gang had just accepted it and taken it in stride, particularly Bulma. The Briefs just took him in like a stray cat and none were the wiser about his bloody past. Even Krillin expressed some sympathy for the guy after witnessing his death.
He thought being resurrected would be simple. He'd come back, put to rest any uncertainties with Bulma, and they'd finally settle down. Eventually they would get married.
Instead, he's returned to a bleak warning about the future where he could end up dead again. Further complicating matters, Goku apparently knew a lot of intimate details about the future, one in which Bulma was pregnant. It instilled a desperation and urgency in him that had never been present before. He couldn't screw up this time. He had to make this work, especially if he was potentially going to be a father soon. He was trying his hardest.
If only she wasn't so distracted and even harder to pin down than usual, that is. With their settling down becoming more unattainable, part of him wondered if it had something to do with her unfriendly houseguest.
He couldn't understand her fascination and preoccupation with the saiyan. On his best days, he was mean and rude. Often, he was demanding and arrogant, speaking down on humans like they were all beneath him.
Which is why he was baffled when she admitted she was worried about his safe return out of nowhere that day on the rooftop.
Yamcha was even more confused when she waltzed up to the irate alien who threatened to beat him to a pulp with a calm overfamiliarity, poking his chest plate and ordering him to shower in a teasing way. Or when she managed to corner him into wearing a hideous pink shirt and yellow pants. As hilarious as it was back then, he hadn't missed the way her eyes raked over him appreciatively. The saiyan was somehow freakish enough to make even a humiliating outfit like that appear flattering with his confident flair and swagger.
Maybe he was overthinking, a habit of his as of late. Bulma, for all her faults, was an incredibly generous and giving person. It could be argued that she was being a good samaritan and being friendly for all their sakes. Still. Something about it just wasn't mere hospitality.
No. She actually liked the asshole.
For some reason, Vegeta has become a fixture of her scientific obsession, his presence somehow omnipresent even when he wasn't in the same room. Maybe it was the lilt in her laugh that he himself had never elicited or how she went out of her way to make things for him in the lab, trying to impress him as if she was nursing some schoolgirl crush. Their public verbal spars, which looked hostile to the untrained eye, but lacked actual bite. If anything, it seemed more for sport and was frankly borderline flirtatious. Or how the saiyan fed her accounts about space technology in that gravelly voice of his and practically made her sparkle from the inside out.
Yamcha wasn't a possessive person. Bulma has always been free-spirited, but she's never given him cause to think she would ever cheat on him. She's stuck by his side all this time, after all. Yet, his gut roiled whenever he watched them converse. Like that day the kid from the future arrived, when the saiyan cracked a grin and said something to her that had her fleeing with a fierce blush. It was unusual to say the least.
He also didn't like the way he looked at her. There was something perverse and downright crude about it ― at least to him.
It wasn't that he thought the saiyan was lecherous. He was by no means Mr. Roshi. Hell, between him and Goku he wasn't entirely sure how saiyans ever got around to procreating with their fixation on fighting. If anything, he gave off prudish energy with the dramatic way he publicly reacted to Bulma's teasing remarks ― almost as if he were asexual. But beyond their explosive, theatrical encounters, he sensed less than scrupulous intentions when the dust settled. It was almost as if he was both repulsed and intrigued by her daring behavior.
Yamcha wasn't sure what to make of it. On the one hand, he couldn't seem to take a sexual joke, balking at the depravity of earthlings. Yet simultaneously, he walked around like some cocksure rockstar, oozing infinite coolness and hinting at experience. It was the universal recognition present in a man that knew he had sex appeal and that, unlike Goku, was well acquainted with sexual anatomy. This suggested that, at least on a subconscious level, he wasn't entirely opposed to the idea of entertaining elicit advances from his headstrong girlfriend. It was this duality ― not his significantly higher power level ― that he found the most threatening.
It unsettled him the way his penetrant gaze trailed after her long after she was gone. It wasn't the same look of disdain he reserved for the rest of them. There was interest there that made his skin crawl.
As if sensing Yamcha's unease, the flame-haired man met his gaze and smirked derisively. There had been no time to digest the circumstances of his arrival when they all sensed Frieza's presence then.
He snapped back to the present when Bulma spoke up again.
"Oh, come off it Yamcha." She sighed, sitting back in the couch. "I can't believe you're still on about that."
He ground his teeth. "You're dismissing it as if it's no big deal. You're just cool with that homicidal maniac staying here and using your family to get stronger?"
"He's not going to do anything. I'm too useful to him. Besides, we need him for the androids since you idiots ignored me and decided to battle these things instead of taking precautionary measures. And if it comes down to it, Goku can take him. End of discussion."
"Are you kidding me?"
"Yamcha, are you trying to ruin date night? I thought you understood with all that talk about the androids that we need him around to avoid the apocalypse."
"But you just let him stay here even before that kid told us any of that," he muttered. He couldn't help it. It's been festering inside him for so long. "You didn't even hesitate."
"Is that supposed to be some kind of insinuation about me?" She looked offended, her face starting to form a scowl that oddly reminded him of the saiyan himself. "Was I just supposed to encourage Vegeta to rent his own place somewhere outside West City or have him live in the woods like Goku? Do you know how insane that would be?"
"Well, that'd be a good start! Anywhere else but under the same roof! Better yet, he could go back to where he came from."
"Don't be ridiculous. He doesn't have anywhere else to go."
"I'm not being ridiculous."
"All right, I'm officially over this obsession of yours." Bulma frowned, putting down her tub of popcorn. "We started seeing each other again too soon. Should have taken the fact that you dipped on my birthday as a cosmic sign."
"I already said I was sorry! My baseball game just went on longer than I expected. Besides, you're always cooped up in the lab in one project or another. I needed some kind of normalcy when I got back. You know that!"
"Things are still as dysfunctional as ever, huh? You know what? Why don't you just go train like the rest of the gang? Right now isn't the time for any of this. Some distance might do us good."
"Bulma, stop. We've been on and off so many times. Can we just slow down? I feel like you're not listening to me. Look, this isn't the way I wanted things to go tonight."
"So why are you bringing any of those things up, you jerk?! All you had to do was just be with me and watch movies!"
Suddenly, the front door burst open and Vegeta himself skulked into the living room as if summoned. He was wearing his old, worn armor and was soaked from head to toe. The heavy rain outside didn't appear to be letting up anytime soon.
Yamcha grit his teeth, drawing the saiyan's attention.
"Am I bothering you, scarface?" He taunted, taking in the scene.
"Actually, yeah. We're in the middle of something!" Yamcha called out, clenching his fists. "So, if you don't mind."
"Looks to me like she looks ready to throttle you. In which case, I'd like to watch."
"Will you two shut up?!" Bulma snapped.
And just like that, his quiet evening with Bulma was over. All he could feel was the dejected press of the engagement ring hiding in his shirt-pocket.
Vegeta ignored them, heading for the kitchen.
"Nu-uh." Bulma stood up, hands on her hips. "Don't think for one second that you're stepping on my mom's rug in those shoes or that filthy armor."
"Tch."
Although he scowled deeply, the asshole actually acquiesced to his girlfriend's demands and removed his armor. To his mortification, he also took off his tattered skintight undershirt, revealing tanned abs and pecs that could cut through diamonds.
"There," he said gruffly, crossing his arms, only serving to emphasize his flexing biceps. "I presume that's sufficient."
"Great," he ground out. "You can get out now. Like I said, you were interrupting something."
Vegeta chuckled darkly, somehow looking down his nose at him despite his shorter stature. "Last I understood, you're not the owner of this dwelling and are in fact a guest. On top of that, you're a weakling. How do you presume to tell me anything?"
"Says the freeloader. You're really getting on my last nerve-"
"Alright, that's enough!" Bulma yelled. "Stop it!"
"Suits me. You're low hanging fruit either way, scarface." Vegeta rolled his eyes. "While this has been amusing, I'm famished."
"And just where do you think you're going?" She glared, marching up to him and gesturing at his muddy boots. "I think you forgot something. Or is the saiyan prince lacking in manners altogether?"
Vegeta glowered back, the vein at his temple throbbing. For a second, it seemed to Yamcha that the moody saiyan would lose his already precarious temper for good.
"Very well," he conceded, removing the offending shoes.
"Hm." Bulma's face softened into a smile and she gestured at the kitchen. "Now, I'll show you the leftovers. You have to heat it up yourself since you didn't show up for dinner."
"Did your mother make those things again?" The saiyan asked somewhat sheepishly as he followed her down the short corridor that wound to the entrance of the kitchen. "Those 'pastries'?"
The lights flicked on automatically. Yamcha sat quietly on his spot on the couch in disbelief. Watching them via the kitchen pass-through, it almost looked like they were characters in a tv sitcom.
"Yeah, my mom baked." Bulma replied knowingly, as if she were in on an inside joke. "You got lucky today, mister."
Vegeta's lips quirked with satisfaction. "I must admit, a dozen of those can make even your company tolerable."
"Oh hush, I should probably eat two dozen for putting up with you."
The saiyan let out an amused snort.
Even after being back for almost two years, none of this made any sense. He felt like the third wheel, sitting there observing them interact. There was an intractable bond between them, a grudging camaraderie that was reciprocated by the other man in spite of his aloof appearances. It was like he was an outsider, an onlooker peering in at the scene. Displaced.
"By the way," she said, biting into a strawberry pastry as the microwave whirred in the background. "The new bots are done. I upgraded the laser beams and deflection responses."
She mentioned this nonchalantly, but something in her tone felt like she was showing off.
"I'll be damned. You're not all talk."
"I can show them to you later when you're done here."
"Of course," he agreed, scarfing down an assortment of foods laid out on the countertop by the helper bots.
"I'm guessing the 600 Gs is coming in handy too, hm?" She pried.
"It's working adequately. Though I'm progressing to higher gravity levels. Pretty soon it won't be enough. Question is," he smirked wolfishly, challenging her, "will your machines be able to keep up with me?"
And his girlfriend, proud woman that she was, mirrored his smirk. "Getting real cocky over there. You haven't even tried these bots. I'm talking state of the art. These things have decision-making, adaptability, and learning capacities."
"That remains to be seen."
The look on Bulma's face was downright playful. If Yamcha didn't know any better, he'd say she enjoyed provoking the saiyan a bit too much. She had that glint in her eye, the one she got when she didn't sleep for three nights straight because she had to finish a new invention. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to bite off more than you can chew?"
"There's no such thing for a saiyan."
Yamcha felt disturbed sitting there when they both all but forgot about him. "I'm going home," he announced, cutting through their conversation; a test to see what kind of reaction he'd garner from Bulma.
They both looked up from the counter where Vegeta was already helping himself to Mrs. Briefs' leftovers.
"Don't wait up." She waved dismissively, clearly still frosty about their argument.
What was it about Vegeta? Was it his strength? His confidence? If that was the case, he'd remind her that he too was capable.
Yamcha suppressed his ki and walked out of the living room undetected. He returned several nights later, waiting until he was sure even the saiyan was asleep and approached the GR with determination. Slinking inside as the door hissed behind him, he powered on the machine up to 100 Gs to start. The room lit up red. It should be simple, right?
Yamcha strained closer to the machine controls to shut down the gravity machine, his breaths growing more ragged. He could feel his bones protesting with every passing moment he dragged himself across the floor. If he didn't act soon, he was going to be crushed. How did Vegeta willingly subjugate himself to this torture every day?
He harnessed his ki, waiting for the right moment to stand up and press the large red button by the monitor. Only, a white gloved fist slammed down on it first. The GR whirred, powering down gradually until he was finally able to suck in a breath.
"You fool," Vegeta scoffed, standing over his prone form. "Do you wish to hasten your death before the androids are even here?"
Yamcha's rage simmered as he came to stand on shaky legs. Without prompting, he threw a punch in the saiyan's direction, which was easily dodged.
"Instigating a fight with me? After I saved you? How daring and incredibly stupid." He chuckled, a sardonic glint in his eye. "If I was bored or pissed enough I might humor you. But from the looks of it, the gravity already took care of you."
It was fruitless to take him on in a fight. He knew he was outmatched. Yet, just once he wanted to make the saiyan hurt too. "Yeah, well at least I'm not the one stuck playing second fiddle to Goku."
Bringing up his status in relation to Goku was a one way ticket to coma land for sure. However, it was too predictable. The saiyan never took anything he said all that seriously. He looked semi-peeved at the reminder, but he was still amused. Too smug.
"Careful. You seem to have a death wish, earthling. I'm more than willing to entertain it, but that wouldn't sit well with Bulma." Vegeta crossed his arms, looking at him with contempt. "She considers you important for some reason, even though you do nothing but weigh her down, demanding she debase herself by aspiring to conventional and mediocre standards. It's distasteful, watching a worm like you occupy her thoughts and obfuscate her inherent brilliance. You dishonor her in every capacity."
It was so strange. In all this time, he's never once heard him say her name or speak about her at length. Was he losing it or was that reverence he detected in the saiyan's tone?
He laughed, tears watering his eyes at how ridiculous this all really was. Leave it to Bulma to win over even the likes of Vegeta.
The poor guy was probably oblivious about his own feelings, too lost in his quest for ascension. Was he even aware?
Why out of everyone in the world did it have to be him?
"What's so funny?" The saiyan growled, stalking towards him and clutching him by the collar of his gi.
It should have set off alarm bells. Yet, he couldn't contain his outburst.
"You are," he barked out, unable to stop the venom spewing out of his mouth. Subconsciously, he knew this probably made him horrible and petty, but he didn't care. He was tired of being the better person. "You act like you mean anything to her. You're just her newest toy, nothing but a temporary experiment. Soon as she gets what she wants out of you, she'll move on to the next best thing."
"She and I have an agreement," the saiyan said evenly, but there lurked an element of what sounded like...insecurity alongside growing ire. "None of which is any of your concern."
"An agreement? Is that what you call it? I've seen the way you look at her, so you can save your breath."
The saiyan's eyes narrowed dangerously, his fist tightening to the point of nearly choking him.
"You pretend you're immune to it, but she's the only person who's ever really been nice to you, knowing full well who you are." Yamcha laughed bitterly. "Even though you don't deserve it."
"I don't know what you're rambling about, scarface." The saiyan looked menacing, the moonlight casting him in harsh shadows. "If you plan on living out the rest of your natural life, I suggest you take your leave."
"You like her and you hate that you want her to like you back. It's pathetic." Yamcha struggled to release himself from his hold to no avail, clawing at the gloved fist keeping him prisoner.
"Don't presume to know anything about my motives, you insect," he snapped, hauling him up by the gi and throwing him towards the open doorway. "Your goading means nothing to me. I'll remove you by brute force if necessary."
"Well, guess what," he continued, coughing as he rose back to his feet to face him. "She'll never bring herself to care about you the way you want. Bulma pities you because she knows exactly what you are. A monster. And you know it too!"
"Keep talking, earthling," Vegeta threatened, pushing him and causing him to roll down the ramp of the ship. "I'll silence you. Permanently!"
This time Yamcha centered himself with his ki, landing on his feet. "I'm not as strong as you. I've accepted that. But regardless of how strong or weak I am, there's people that care about me. What do you have, Vegeta? Nothing. Nobody!"
"You're lucky I don't strike you down where you stand."
"Go ahead and do it. Remind her who you are!"
"Get out," Vegeta said in a deathly voice, his blue aura crackling around him ominously. "I won't repeat myself again."
Yamcha laughed and laughed until suddenly he felt a painful blow on his temple and the world turned dark.
He woke up to the sun's rays, finding himself leaning up against one of the large trees in the courtyard far away from the GR.
His head pounded, but he was sure he was otherwise unperturbed. The saiyan actually spared him.
"Yamcha?"
It was Bulma, dressed in one of her sleek power suits. Her makeup was done and her hair was pinned up elegantly. She looked beautiful and polished. No doubt she had an early meeting. "Did you sleep out here?"
"Was just uhh...doing some katas last night and got carried away," he stuttered unconvincingly.
"Right..." She sighed. "I'm still mad at you, you know."
"I know," he said solemnly.
"And you look like shit. Puar said she hasn't seen you in days."
"Yeah, I should get going." He got up, stretching. "So uh...Vegeta's not walking around, is he? Don't feel like running into him at the moment."
She frowned, looking upset at the mention of his name. Her manicured hands clutched her purse. "I wouldn't know. The jerk ran off after telling me something to the effect that he didn't need me around. That I was a nuisance and a distraction. He wanted me to leave him alone and hasn't stopped training since. I told him he could shove it."
Yamcha looked away with guilt. Even though he was mad at her and he wanted to take out his frustration on the saiyan, he didn't want the damage to extend to her. "Oh."
"I'm busy today, but you should come over tomorrow." She turned away, heading for the main CC headquarters in heels. "We can have our talk then...about us."
The following afternoon, he was about to knock on the door when he felt an abnormal spike in ki from Vegeta. Then he heard an explosion.
He ran out by the side of the building, following the sidewalk leading to where the ship was located. Bulma was already ahead of him, running towards the explosion.
"Vegeta!" She gasped. "Oh god. He's under there."
"Bulma! Wait! It's dangerous!"
She climbed the pile of what was once the capsule ship. With a touch of desperation in her tone, she cried out his name again, rummaging through the pile of concrete and metal chunks. Pieces of screws, gears and wires were tossed aside as she looked for him.
She jumped back with a shriek when Vegeta's hand sprung up and he pulled himself out of the wreckage with a pained grunt.
Yamcha watched dumbstruck as she yelled at the saiyan for almost destroying her house. Vegeta laughed, swaying unsteadily on his feet until he fell back with a groan.
Bulma raced up to him and kneeled by his side. "You're hurt!"
"D-don't need any help."
She wrapped an arm around his upper back, supporting him with surprising strength. Her other hand rested on his chest as she locked eyes with him.
Yamcha didn't hear the rest of their exchange. He was too busy processing the tender way she held him. The intimacy of the gesture. Their closeness. The effortless way they meshed together.
His throat tightened inexplicably. He just knew.
It was all the visual confirmation he needed to know it was over.
He remained rooted to the spot until the paramedics arrived, carrying Vegeta off to the medical wing of Capsule Corp. He barely registered when his feet numbly carried him after her, observing the way her eyes welled up with unshed tears, as if she was stubbornly refusing to cry on his behalf. Whether she was aware of it or not, her voice betrayed the depth of her emotions for the surly man. Once upon a time, she worried about his safety with the same furious intensity. He trailed away ― not inconspicuously ― from the waiting room where Bulma was impatiently waiting for the nurses to permit her to see the saiyan once he was stabilized, unnoticed.
You win, Vegeta. And you don't even know it, you bastard.
He couldn't bear to watch a moment longer. With a trembling hand, he wrote a letter for her. Simple and succinct.
Bulma, it's over. It has been for awhile. I accept it. It's time we let go and stop hurting each other. Thanks for sticking by me for as long as you have, I'll always appreciate our times together. But life is short and I know you want more than I can give. You never really gave up on your wish, did you? You know the one.
I'm going to train in the desert until the androids arrive because I still want to live. You're right. I can't give up hope.
I'm sorry. I'll call if I get the chance. I guess this is goodbye for now. I'll see you when the time comes. - Yamcha
He entrusted the letter to a perplexed Panchy, instructing her to give it to her daughter when she was less occupied. And just like that, he fled, taking his belongings with him.
He went to one of the fancy bars he and Bulma had frequented over the years in between their many breakups, reminiscing old times and taking one last view of West City before he embarked on his training in the desert. The bar was located in the tallest building in the city and out the large glass windows you could see everything, including Capsule Corp. Soft piano music played in the background as he nursed his woes with a scotch that burned his throat.
"What's a handsome guy like you doing all alone?"
It was a pretty blonde with brown eyes. Maybe she recognized him from his baseball gig.
"Just taking in the view before I leave."
"You're not leaving tonight, are you?" She fluttered her lashes, intentionally brushing elbows with him.
She was no Bulma. Not even in the slightest. But he was lonely and sad.
"No."