It was time for Vegeta to head home.

He hated calling it that, but unfortunately that's what it was. Capsule Corp., was his home whether he liked it or not. After spending several days camped out in an icy cave, the Saiyan prince longed for the comforts of the Brief compound. That, and there was only so much wild game he could continue to eat.

As a conqueror, he couldn't have cared less what he ate. Out of Frieza's grip, though, he had developed somewhat of a palate. When he wasn't dreaming of Bulma, he was dreaming of food: Bowls overflowing with noodles, rich sauces that tasted savory and salty, crispy fish and beef sauteed with bright vegetables. He didn't know which made him more aroused.

And besides, he didn't plan on hiding out forever, did he? The androids were coming sooner than later, and knowing Bulma she would stick her nose into helping defeat them in whatever weird way she could. The thought of her bumbling around her lab, erecting triage units for the Z Fighters or designing some sort of super armor made him smile.

If he was supposed to be so mad at her, why did he still love her so much?

He pushed her out of his mind. Upon his return, he would no doubt be forced to see her again and he dreaded it. She made her choice. He was returning, figurative tail between his legs, and he needed to show her that rekindling things with Yamcha had no effect on him whatsoever. Yes, he would parade around Capsule Corp., and pump out his chest unaffected by her inferior choice.

He instantly regretted his newfound outlook the moment he touched down on the lawn. In the driveway was none other than Yamcha's pathetic excuse for a car: A bright red convertible that had undoubtedly carted around scores of women, all of whom were not Bulma. And why did the prick even drive? He could fly for crying out loud, Vegeta thought. The Saiyan fumed thinking of Yamcha driving around with some dumb blonde in that car–a Capsule Corp., model that Bulma had more than likely given to him for free–laughing and making her promises he had no intention to keep.

Yamcha irked Vegeta for several reasons, the first (and most obvious to even him) was Bulma. She was so smart and beautiful and he was… Well. He was. He was not particularly handsome, he was not rich. He was not strong or brave or any of the things that Vegeta liked about himself. Standing next to Yamcha, Vegeta felt nearly six feet tall. So why did she kiss him? Why did she leave Vegeta all alone that night only to be caught with him?

An intrusive thought crossed Vegeta's mind: Maybe I should blow up the car. He knew better though. Creating an explosion would only alert people that he was there, and he wanted to sneak in undetected. Especially if Bulma was here with him. He couldn't bring himself to even picture them together.

He floated up to the balcony attached to his room and peeked inside. It was just as sterile as he left it. He cocked his head over his shoulder to get one last look at that god awful car. Ostentatious and gaudy, he thought. Only a moron would drive such a thing.

He placed his hand on the door but stopped as soon he heard two familiar voices spilling out onto the lawn.


Bulma had to pick her jaw up off the floor when she saw him at the door.

Clad in a tacky beige suit and clutching a bouquet of carnations (of all things), Yamcha looked contrite. He stood here as she watched in abject horror, trying to gauge whether her reaction was because of him or the flowers.

"I wanted to get roses," he said quickly. "But they were out."

"What are you doing here, Yamcha?" She crossed her arms.

He cleared his throat. "Well, Bulma, I think there were a lot of things left unsaid the other night."

"Like what?" She did nothing to hide the pure annoyance in her voice. "Enlighten me."

"Well, first of all," he edged his way inside. She moved out of the way to allow him to pass, and when he swept down to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek, she stepped so quickly, Yamcha nearly crashed into the wall. He shrugged it off and followed her as she charged through the kitchen. "Well, first of all!" He tried again, this time with much more gusto.

Bulma went to the pot of coffee brewing and took a cup. Did it really matter that it was night? For the past few days she threw herself into making the Gravity Room absolutely sing in anticipation of Vegeta's return. Since he hadn't shown his face, she figured the best way to channel her nervous energy was to pour it into projects for him. That way, when he did come home, he would see what she had done and he would…

What would he do, exactly? Vegeta was a prideful man, so she highly doubted he would fall at her feet in thanks. More than likely, he would use it without uttering so much as a thank you. And really, that was okay. It was the thought that counted, she told herself as her fingers received another shock from loose wiring, or as another drone refused to calibrate to the new software.

Him being gone hurt her deeper than she had ever anticipated. Making these upgrades was her way of showing him that she wanted him around–not just today, but forever–and that he was the most important person in her life. Now, if only she could find a way to lure him back.

Instead of catching her white whale, it appeared she found a mackerel.

"Bulma, I just don't think you're thinking things through."

"What's there to think about?" She stirred the clouds of cream swirling around the top of her cup. "You asked me to get back together and I said no. End of story."

"But why?" He unceremoniously dropped the cheap flowers on the table and rushed around the island to stand closer. He reached for her hands and held them in his, and she tried to hide a scowl–but failed. "Bulma, we used to be so good together. I don't understand what happened between then and now."

She scoffed. "You don't understand?" Bulma mockingly tapped her chin. "Well, it could be Keiko. Or Sara. How about Emily? Oh, Melanie–how is she doing?"

"Okay, okay." He should've seen this coming. "I get it."

"Do you?" Yamcha always apologized after his illicit affairs and she always forgave him. Why? She wasn't sure. Maybe it was because she truly loved Yamcha or maybe it was because she didn't like being alone. For years, he was two-timing her, and as mad as she got when she discovered what he was up to with Stacy or Mina or Naoko or whoever, it never gutted her. Not the way Vegeta leaving had gutted her. That made her feel hollow and bare, stripped of all life's joys and left exposed.

Vegeta ignited these twin flames–one passion and one deep, deep sadness that reverberated through her bones. Yamcha barely mustered a tear.

Yes, she was upset that Yamcha was disloyal. And there was no excuse for his infidelity. But at the end of the day, she really didn't care. Even as it was happening, it pissed her off but more so because it was embarrassing and insulting, not because she couldn't bear the thought of Yamcha touching someone that wasn't her.

She couldn't say the same for Vegeta. Picturing him with any other woman made her sick to her stomach.

"Bulma, I never meant to treat you that way."

"Honestly, I believe you." The admission shocked both him and her. "I know you didn't mean to do that stuff, but you did it. And it's done."

"What do I have to prove to you that I love you?" He gripped her hands and drew her in close. "Anything. Say it and I will do it."

She shook her head. "That's precisely the problem, Yamcha. There isn't one single thing you could do to get me to love you like that again."

Vegeta made her understand the true rawness of love, that to love someone else burned. Searing and all encompassing, love was not some fleeting thing. Yamcha didn't love her, not really, because if he did, he would've never been able to bring himself to stray. And if she truly loved him, she would've never been able to accept it.

Now, a much stronger fire engulfed her, its heat equal parts comforting and diabolically painful.

"It kills me to hear you say this." Yamcha's voice caught in his throat. "What happened to us, B?"

"Do you really not see it?" She asked him sincerely. "Do you really not see how you constantly cheating on me was not the foundation for a solid life together? That if you could do something like that in the first place maybe it meant you didn't feel as strongly about me as you thought?"

He released her hands and dragged his fingers through his thick black hair. He chewed on his lip while his eyes grazed the ceiling.

"I know I screwed up, but now I know. Now I am serious about us, B. I'm not as young and impulsive as I used to be."

Why would he not get the hint? If she was to remain friends with him–which, she reasoned, she would have to, considering there weren't all that many superhuman powered people on this planet sworn to fight off alien invaders–she would have to make this gentle. Yamcha was not making it easy.

"Yamcha, look–"

"Is there someone else?" His eyes were full of desperation. She tried to hide her face but when she saw the look of realization on Yamcha's, she knew she had done a piss poor job. "There is someone else, isn't there."

She blinked. She had not told anyone, except her mother, about Vegeta. At this point, she wasn't planning on telling anyone, considering it had been several days since she had last seen him. Yamcha's reaction was sure to be apoplectic. She weighed her lies.

"Well." She took a deep breath. "Well…yes."

His mouth went agape and his shoulders slumped. "What?"

Her face scrunched. "Are you really getting indignant with me about finding someone new when you've dated half of West City?"

"That's not the point, Bulma."

A sexist double standard. She wanted to beat him with a wrench. "Then what is the point?"

"You…you can't be with someone else! You're supposed to be with me!"

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Oh, sure, let me just wait around like some fucking sucker while you go bang whatever girl gives you the time of day. Sure, that sounds like a really valuable way to spend my time."

She was done with this conversation. She still had a few more hours of work on the gravity room tonight and he was pissing her off. He was allowed to date whoever he wanted, but gods forbid she ever find someone new. She was supposed to wait for him and be at his beck and call when he decided he was done screwing around and wanted to play house. With a shove of her hand, she slid past him and headed straight out the door. Hastily, he followed.

She was barely five feet out onto the grass by the time Yamcha came stumbling out of the door. "C'mon, B!" He wailed. "Who is it? Who are you seeing?"

"Why do you care?" She spat back.

"I care because…well…because I am going to kick that guy's ass!"

Bulma cackled. Now that was something she'd like to see.

"What's so funny about that?" He huffed.

"I can't even begin to tell you." Bulma shook her head and laughed some more. Vegeta would mop the floor with Yamcha.

"Just tell me who he is, okay? If he's stolen you away from me, I deserve to know."

Stolen? Yamcha had given her away willingly. It was his behavior and actions that caused her to break up with him, it wasn't as if Vegeta had swooped in and dragged her away in the night. In fact, besides his absence from the compound, Vegeta had been nothing but a gentleman to her. Yes, they fought and, yes, their verbal repartee was known to cause some eyebrows to raise amongst the Capsule Corp., crew. But that was part of their fun.

He listened to her. He pleasured her. He did things he didn't want to do because he knew it would make her happy. He protected her. He put in the time and the effort, unlike the man standing in front her.

"I am in love with him, Yamcha." The words spilled out of her mouth. "I am madly, deeply, crazy in love with him because he is smart and dedicated and kind. He is the first person in a long time that makes me feel seen, like I'm the only person on this planet that truly understands him and he's the only one that understands me. I know you want to get back together because you have some delusion that we're meant to be together, but if that was true you would've proved that a long, long time ago."

Yamcha opened his mouth to protest, but Bulma didn't let him.

"I am sick of waiting for you, of waiting for anyone, like I don't deserve something so much greater." Tears now lined her eyes. She missed Vegeta so much. She just wanted him to come home. "And you know what, it was my actions that pushed him away. And I can see so clearly now how he must be feeling, how hurt he must be, because I've been on the other side of that with you."

"What?" Yamcha was thoroughly confused.

Bulma sighed. "Yamcha, you're a fine person. Someday you're going to find a woman who is going to make you feel like every inch of your body is electric when you're in her presence. You're going to find a woman that makes you ache when they're gone and who makes you feel like you're unstoppable when they're there. But that person isn't me because I love someone else, and it's not just some fleeting thing. This is for real. I love him for real."

Yamcha was rendered speechless. Bulma had always been there for him on the back burner, simmering and stewing while he did what he wanted. He called it "sowing his wild oats," something he thought he deserved as such a young and attractive man. One day he hoped Bulma and he would get serious, have a few kids and settle down into a life of appreciative monotony. Apparently, he was wrong.

He waited for his heart to break, for the knife to cut deep and for the pain to seep out, but it never did. He wasn't really all that sad. That alone should've been enough to make him see what was crystal clear to Bulma: They weren't in love anymore.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Well, he sounds like a lucky guy."

"He is." She said softly.

"And you swear he treats you good?"

"Yes," she nodded. "He treats me well."

With his right foot, Yamcha gently kicked a rock. This was defeat. Unfortunately, he knew it well.

"Okay then," he sighed. "Okay."

He closed the gap between them and brought her into a hug. As he wrapped his arms around her, he took a deep inhale of her hair and tried to memorize it. It might be the last time he was able to get this close. Bulma was a beautiful person inside and out–a little rough around the edges sometimes, but someone who gave more than she took. He respected her. If only he had cherished her when he had the chance.

Reluctantly, he walked back to his red convertible–a gift from Bulma–and hopped into the driver's seat. He turned it on, gave her a wave and went on his way. Not a mile down the road, his phone lit up from the passenger seat. It was Amelia, the red head he had met last week.