To Ex-Boyfriends
(who go and marry someone else behind our backs)
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Disclaimer: Yamcha isn't mine, Maron isn't mine, Dragon Ball Z isn't mine… sob… in fact, nothing here is mine, except the story itself. Tragic, huh?
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A/N: This has been simmering inside my head for a while. I think it started when I noticed that a lot of people pair Yamcha up with Krillen's ex-fiancée, Maron. Most of the time, however, it's to show what a cheating bastard he is, and how Bulma deserves so much better… namely a certain saiyan prince…
Which is okay. Go B/V! Best couple in Dragon Ball Z, I reckon.
But I got to thinking. If someone were to pair up Yamcha and Maron, how would you do it? After all, Yamcha hadn't seemed that interested in Maron, they're both real players in the dating field, and she pretty much broke the heart of his best friend. There's a whole lot of reasons right there why it wouldn't work out.
And so this fic was born.
True, it's not really a romance fic. It's more about working past all the reasons they wouldn't get together, and getting them to the point where they might get together. It's about two people who have lived pretty racey lives, and are just now starting to wonder 'what else is there?'
There's something I just love the image of a middle-aged Yamcha and Maron, together in a bar, commiserating over 'the ones that got away.'
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Yamcha had been glumly studying his empty glass for the past few minutes.
He was sitting at a small bar tucked in the back corner of a restaurant. Piano music was playing softly, and the conversation of diners murmured in the background. His formal clothes – so carefully chosen for this evening – were rather pointless now, so he'd loosened his tie and unbuttoned part of his shirt.
His first date in months, and he'd screwed it up royally.
Go Yamcha. Way to get back in the game. Flora had seemed very impressed – not.
Puar would tell him not to be so hard on himself. He had just died and been resurrected a second time. He'd been turned into chocolate and eaten, for Kami's sake. It was bound to have an adverse effect on his psyche. (Yamcha made a mental note just to get her some comic books for her next birthday, rather than Dr Dwor's 'Expand your Vocabulary, VII')
He mentally reviewed the evening. He'd met Flora at a fundraiser a few days ago. She was an athlete like him, into snowboarding rather than baseball. They'd talked casually before she'd asked him out to dinner.
They'd picked a nice restaurant with dreamy red lights and soothing piano music. The food had been good. The conversation was great – Flora had had a hundred anecdotes about her snowboarding adventures that were by turns funny, sexy, or hair-raising.
And she herself was gorgeous. She'd been tanned and lithe, with red hair that curled softly over her shoulders and a reckless smile that challenged every male in the room. Several times she'd hinted that he'd be more than welcome to come back to her place.
So what had gone wrong?"Can I get you another one, sir?" The bartender's query jolted Yamcha out of his thoughts.
"Yes," he said, pushing the glass over. "Please."
He watched the blue liquid fill the glass. Blue… like Bulma's hair…
The bartender set the glass in front of Yamcha, and went to serve someone else, leaving the man to face the root of his problem. As always, thinking about Bulma that way left him with a guilty, squirmy feeling in his gut.
She was married, and the best friend he had in this world (besides Puar, of course). Thinking of her as anything else made him feeling vaguely lecherous, like he was looking down the blouse of some woman who didn't know he was doing it and probably wouldn't welcome it if she did.
But the heart didn't shut off just because it was told to. Bulma was the first woman Yamcha had ever loved, and he suspected that she would be the last. He'd managed to put his feelings aside for the sake of friendship, but in recent months… ever since Maaji Buu…. he'd been thinking of her more and more.
The moment of realization had come when he looked across the table at Flora and thought rather wistfully;
If only her hair was blue…
He'd nearly choked when he realized what he'd just thought. He'd been shaken enough that he'd pleaded a headache, babbled some half-assed excuse about a non-existent practise match the next day, and bundled the confused woman into a cab as fast as politely possible.
Then he'd marched over to the restaurant bar and ordered himself a drink. Now he was on his fourth – damn the ki training that meant he burned up alcohol like water – and was brooding over a relationship that ended a decade ago.
With his luck, it would take him another ten years to pull out of this funk, and get himself laid again…
"Hello, stranger."
Yamcha turned his headto look at the woman seated a few stools down. She had blue hair that was pulled back into an elegant twist. For an insane moment, he thought it was Bulma sitting there. Then he realized that this woman only looked like her – enough to be her sister or cousin or something.
"I'm sorry," he said politely. "I don't remember…"
He was pretty sure he hadn't dated her. He remembered everyone he'd gone out with. He made a point of it. Besides, he was sure he'd remember a pair of legs like that, barely covered by the tight black cocktail dress.
She gave him a smile that held the barest hint of a predatory smirk. He had a nagging sense of familiarity. Where had he seen her before…?
"That's okay! I'm Maron. Krillen's old girlfriend."
With a click, face connected with memory.
"That's right," he said. "The barbeque on Kame Island."
She'd been a pretty, vivacious girl, if he remembered rightly – one that flirted with everything that moved. Krillen had been heart-broken when they split up. She wasn't exactly someone Yamcha wanted to deal with right now, particularly with her painful resemblance to an old lover.
"Nice to see you again," he said politely, turning back to sipping at his drink and brooding.
Unfortunately, Maron didn't seem to take the hint. He sensed her slip off her stool and carry her drink over to him, walking with a subtle, sensuous sway. She slid onto the stool next to him.
"Yamcha, right?" She purred. "Didn't we talk a bit? I seem to remember us agreeing that we should go out some time."
Actually, she was the one who had suggested it. His agreement had been a mumbled '…yeah, I guess…' and a hasty retreat. Even if he had been interested, he'd been with Bulma then, and Maron had been engaged to one of his best friends.
"Sorry," he said shortly. "I don't remember."
Her smile vanished, and she looked … petulant. He supposed she wasn't used to being forgotten with a face and body like hers.
"Oh."
From the corner of his eye he saw her summon up a smile and open her mouth to try again.
"Look," he said quickly. "You're very beautiful, and I'm flattered. But I'm not interested. Okay?"
"Oh. Do you have a girlfriend?"
"No."
She blinked, looking genuinely baffled.
"Then why aren't you interested?" She suddenly put her hand to her mouth, cheeks suffusing with colour. "Oh I am so sorry. I didn't realize you were into guys, since you were with that old woman a couple of years ago…"
Yamcha choked on his drink.
"What! I'm not gay!"
"You aren't?"
"No!"
A tiny furrow of confusion appeared between her eyes.
"Then why aren't you interested?"
Yamcha felt like banging his head against the counter a couple of times. But he knew better – the restaurant would make him pay for it if he broke it.
"Look," he said. "I just had a near-death experience. I want to sit here and drink my drink and brood and that's all."
There was silence for a moment. Maron didn't move away, but at least she didn't keep talking further.
"Were there bunnies?"
Spoken too soon.
"What?" Yamcha said wearily.
"My mother always said there were bunnies in the Underworld. And low-fat yoghurts. And all the shopping centres you could ever want. Was it like that?"
"Not really, no."
"Then what was it like?" She persisted.
Yamcha considered telling her to get lost. She was probing wounds that even he himself hadn't really investigated.
He surprised himself by giving her the honest answer.
"Scary, mostly."
"Scary?" Maron leaned closer, interested. She looked almost like Bulma for a moment, when she found a puzzle that intrigued her. "Like, bad hair-cut scary? Or when you break a really expensive manicure, or find out that your one-of-a-kind shoes are just cheap knock-offs?"
It almost made him laugh. Those were the things Bulma was afraid of too. Threats to life and limb – she handled them, and handled them with the utmost confidence. She saved her fear for the things she could change.
"No," he said softly. "Scary as in… your life is over, and you can't go back, and you didn't get to do all the things you wanted to. And you see all the mistakes you made, and the opportunities you let slip by, and you wish you had those chances back again."
Maron was silent for a moment.
Great. The first time he'd managed to clearly articulate what was bothering him, and it was to this ninny. Maybe he should write it down, so he could talk to Puar about it later…
"I understand."
He blinked and really looked at Maron for the first time. Like really looked at her. She was looking down, her glass cupped between her small hands. She looked sad enough that he had to restrain the urge to put his arm around her, like he'd once done with someone else.
"Like with Krillen… I wish now I hadn't let him slip by."
Yamcha realized with a pang that he'd only thought of Krillen's feelings in regards to the break up. He'd never wondered if Maron had perhaps regretted what happened.
"Why did you let him go?" He asked gently.
She blinked, and her former air-headed persona reappeared.
"Oh, you know," she said, waving her hand airily. "I thought he wasn't serious, or having cold feet or something. And I wanted to have a bit of fun too before settling down, so I let him go."
"And when you came back he was married?"
That made sense, actually. She had seemed fond of him, despite her flirtatious ways...
"Oh, no." Maron hesitated, toying with her drink. "I came back before he got with Eighteen – what type of name is that anyway? Geez, Seven of Nine, much – but he wasn't home, so I left a message with that funny old man."
"When was this?" Yamcha asked slowly. Krillen had never said anything about a message from Maron.
"Oh, I don't know." She thought. "It was that year that cargo pants were all the rage. You remember?"
"Uh…"
"Oh, I remember now. It was the year Cell attacked. Everyone was wearing those really awful gold belts, like Hercule. I mean, sure he saved the world, but fashion took a nose-dive that year…"
"What did the message say?" Yamcha asked.
"Oh, you know…" Maron said. "That I'd never loved any man but him. That I wanted to get together. The usual."
But judging from the carefully guarded tone of her voice, it had hardly been the usual for Maron.
"And he never called back?"
"No."
Well, that sucked. He wondered at how humiliating it must have been for her to leave that kind of message, and to not get a response. At the very least, she'd probably have expected Krillen to pick up the phone and give her a carefully worded reason why not.
Speaking of which, why hadn't Krillen called? Surely he'd got the message. Maybe Master Roshi had forgotten to give it to him…
"So what about you?" Moran swivelled to face Yamcha more comfortably. "I told you mine. What about yours? Who dumped who?"
He didn't really want to talk to her about Bulma, but as she said, fair was fair. He sipped at his drink for courage, and to give him time to gather his thoughts.
"Bulma broke up with me," he admitted. "But it was my fault."
"How come?"
"She wanted to commit. I didn't. She wanted the whole shebang; wedding, flowers, cake… a piece of paper saying Mr and Mrs Yamcha Wolf."
He smiled, thinking of those words. The expression faded, as he continued.
"And I…I wanted to be with her. I just didn't want to take the next step. So when she suggested we take a break, I thought it was a good idea. It might give us some perspective, think about what we both really wanted."
He sighed.
"The next thing I know, she and Vegeta are all over one another and before I can get my head around that, out pops a baby."
He might have been exaggerating slightly. It had been nearly six months since he and Bulma broke up, and he'd casually dated a couple of girl since then. But Bulma hadn't been 'casual' with Vegeta. She'd been playing to keeps.
Yamcha hadn't known that at first. He'd figured that she had a thing for the saiyan and was getting it out of her system. It had hurt, but he'd been prepared to wait for her. Even her surprise pregnancy hadn't changed that conviction. He could be a father to her child – after all, they could always have more of their own.
It wasn't until Vegeta had dragged Yamcha aside and made several very real threats, that he realized that this was it. Bulma and Vegeta were a couple now – albeit a rather skewed, dysfunctional couple that no one else could figure out. Yamcha wasn't in the picture, and hadn't been for some time.
It was funny, in an awful, tragic kind of way. He only figured out a year after breaking up with his girlfriend that he'd lost her for good.
Yamcha looked down at his drink, in the blue depths.
"I always thought…"
"…that you could come back later," Maron finished quietly.
"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah."
They sat there with their drinks, two people towards the end of their prime, sharing that private moment of regret.
Then Yamcha raised his glass to his lips and drained it. He signalled the bartender for a refill and glanced at Maron.
"You want another?" He asked.
She smiled, recovering some of her spirits.
"Sure."
When the bartender had refilled their glasses, Maron held hers up. Her blue hair gleamed in the light.
"To lost chances," she said. "To ex-boyfriends that go and marry someone else behind our backs."
"Agreed. Only… you know, ex-girlfriend for me."
Maron giggled, and he clinked his glass against hers.