A/N: Thanks for all the reviews and e-mails! I hope you enjoy this next chapter! I am officially out of school for the summer [sort of] and all of my finals are finished. Hopefully the next thing I finish will be this story! Thanks for sticking through it you guys!

DISCLAIMER: YOU guys own.

"...and with the Pos-T-Vac I was able to completely fulfill my wife..."

The television had been on for some time now. He had seen talk-show after talk-show, had watched commercial after commercial, had seen every inning of every damn baseball game.

He had even seen her.

"In other news, Bulma Brief was spotted just outside of West City Shopping Center carrying dozens of shopping bags," a newswoman remarked from the screen. "To ward off reporters and other media, shopping mall security guards were forced to close the mall for approximately three and a half hours, while the wealthy scientist went on a shopping spree!"

An amateur video that had recorded the incident flashed on the television. Bulma Brief in giant white sunglasses carried a dozen shopping bags. Her smile dazzled brighter than the glare from the flashing cameras of the paparazzi.

The man narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth as he leaned back in his battered recliner.

How could it be that she was all he had thought about for days? How could it be that he had barely moved from his chair? How could it be that while he sulked and mourned her loss, she looked so happy?

Bulma had forgotten about him.

He crushed the can of soda in his hands, forgetting the grape contents inside and splashing his white tank top.

"Here's a towel!"

The tired young man looked up to see his only friend, Puar, holding a small dishtowel in her paws.

"Thanks Puar," he said in a disgruntled voice, though he didn't mean to project his anger at her.

"Can I get you something to eat?" she asked him, her eyes wide and concerned. "That soda won't tide you over for very long."

In vain Yamcha rubbed at the stubborn grape stain. "Don't worry about it," he replied. "I'm not that hungry."

"You have to eat, Yamcha.'

Yamcha looked at Puar sideways.

"I don't have to do anything."

That much was certainly true. In his present state of mind, feeling hurt and unwanted, Yamcha hadn't desired anything but time alone and permission to brood.

Moping around the house definitely didn't erase the memory of that fateful day he had left his girlfriend standing in the front hall, and it hadn't erased the memory of her. At this point, he wanted nothing more than to forget they had ever met. Any good moment the two ever shared had been overshadowed by the very fact that she had left him here.

Alone.

She had really shown him hadn't she? Yamcha had had one plan and one plan only: to make Bulma see how much she would miss him once he was gone.

"She hasn't called has she?" Yamcha asked Puar, who was floating somewhere near the back of his head.

"Not yet, no," Puar said in a voice Yamcha knew well. Puar pitied him.

"I thought she might," Yamcha said, as it finally began to dawn on him that he was going to spend the rest of his days without female companionship. "I thought I meant enough that she would come chasing after me."

Puar rested on top of his messy hair. Yamcha had not cut it or bothered to do much with himself ever since the "Incident".

"Bulma's a very busy girl!" Puar said with some enthusiasm. "I'm sure she'll call any day now!"

Yamcha sighed and turned the channel once the video of Bulma began to play again. "No use lying to me, Puar. I think we both know that ship has sailed."

Puar was quiet.

Dr. Brief handed his daughter the defeated robot.

Holding it in her hands, Bulma took a moment to survey his office.

"Dad," she said with a barely concealed smile, "this office is uh, well…" She laughed. "It could use some maintenance."

Her father had not stretched the truth; the bot really had gone crazy. It had thrown itself against walls, chipped his desk, cracked picture frames, and knocked over entire bookcases.

The older man smiled. "I was thinking of tearing this place apart soon anyway. Give me something to do since Vegeta's been behaving himself concerning the Gravity Room. Haven't had to make repairs on it in awhile."

He looked a little nervous, Bulma noted.

"Have you stopped by the GR lately to see its condition?"

Her heart froze in her chest again. Did her parents know something that she didn't?

"Why would you ask me that?" Bulma asked, fiddling with the bot in her shaky hands.

Her father raised his bushy eyebrows. "I haven't been by to see it, that's all. Hoped that you had." Dr. Brief smiled.

"Want to help me straighten up this mess? Should take a week by the looks of it."

Bulma returned the smile. "We could get the employees to do it instead dad. That's the corporate way."

She set the bot down on his broken desk.

"I'm going shopping!"

Vegeta had only been on the main grounds for ten minutes when he heard the doorbell ring.

Without bothering to remove his spiky-haired head from the refrigerator, he shouted, "Somebody get that!"

It rang twice more before he became irritated.

Wiping away a milk moustache, Vegeta glared at the empty space around him. Where the hell were the servants to answer the pesky door?

Ding-Dong!

"WOMAN! ANSWER THE DOOR!"

Nothing. Quickly Vegeta searched her ki.

Gone.

The old man and his woman were also missing.

"Damn humans," he muttered as he went to the front hall.

And as he opened the door, there in front of him stood the damndest of them all.

"Move it, Vegeta," Yamcha said, pushing past the Saiyan and entering the mansion. "Where's Bulma?"

Snarling, Vegeta walked by him, refusing to answer. Normally he would have thrown the sniveling bandit out, or given him a physical response, but today he was in no mood. He had missed out on his training and had no desire to prolong it any further.

"Hey, Vegeta!"

The latter, en route to the kitchen once more, stopped walking and turned his head.

"I asked you where Bulma was!"

Yamcha folded his arms across his chest and raised his brow, anticipating Vegeta's response.

The Saiyan squinted at the man's audacity, trying to determine if he was being challenged. A further inspection revealed the opposite. Yamcha had long tussled hair, puffy eyes, dirty clothes, and smelled as though he hadn't showered in some time. Vegeta wrinkled his nose.

"Go ask someone who knows," was his short answer.

At that moment, the front door flew open. His servant woman, in sunglasses that hung lopsidedly across her face, struggled inside with her hands full of colorful bags.

"Uh, hello Vegeta! Help me!"

He did no such thing.

"Where have you been, woman?"

She fell against the door frame, her knees wobbling beneath her. "I'm serious! If you don't help me, the next time that precious gravity chamber gets destroyed, it can just stay that way!"

Not entirely happy about complying with the loud woman's wishes in front of another, Vegeta grudgingly took her bags from her and placed them on the floor.

The woman stood up straight and smoothed out her short red dress. She removed her sunglasses.

"Thanks a lot, Vegeta. A girl has to shop!"

"Bulma?"

Hearing her name in that voice was unsettling. It had been so long since Bulma had seen Yamcha, much less heard him speak her name, that for a moment she was quite sure that she was dreaming up this encounter.

"Yamcha?"

He looked terrible. Hair long, eyes red, in holey jeans and ratty sneakers. And when he stared at her, there was something so sad, so tragic, that she could have melted on the spot.

"Hey."

He ran a hand through his scraggly hair. "Can we talk for a moment, B?"

Bulma softened at the sound of her old nickname. "Of course, Yamcha. We can talk in the living room if you'd like."

She grabbed his hand and began to lead him into the living room. Vegeta however, was blocking her path as he stood leaning in the archway leading to the living room from the front hall.

"Move it you big lug!" Bulma said to him, not entirely in the mood for Vegeta's games.

"Make me," he mocked her, with no smile present upon his unusually handsome face. Though to be honest he might have been mocking Yamcha, who also had no hope of getting past Vegeta.

Bulma placed her hands on her hips and glared at the man she had slept with only a few hours ago. A tingling sensation ran through her body when his eyes pierced hers.

Kami! I want him again!

"Come on, Yamcha. We'll go to my office instead."

And as she pushed Yamcha softly in the direction of her office, Vegeta stood straight and allowed entrance into the living room.

"Thank you, Vegeta," Bulma said, a bit surprised at his gesture.

"My good deed for the day, woman," he said gruffly, opening the front door and slamming it closed behind him.

Rolling her eyes, Bulma led Yamcha to the couch and sat down in a chair across from him. It became instantly awkward and she suddenly realized why. She and Yamcha hadn't spoken in ages.

"I like your haircut," he said to her once neither of the two could bear the strained silence any further. "It really frames your face."

Bulma patted her hair, having forgotten about her decision to cut it already. "Thanks." She looked at his hair and chose not to say anything in return.

There was quiet again. Bulma stared at her white pumps.

"I've missed you, Bulma."

The heiress looked up, feeling guilty and ashamed because she could not, no matter how badly she wanted to, return the sentiment.

Yamcha sighed. "I messed things up really badly between us," he said quietly. "I'm sorry for that."

"It's okay, Yamcha."

"No," he interrupted her, "it isn't. I haven't heard from you in eight days."

Now the shame was visible. With hooded eyes, Bulma attempted to explain her way out of that. Somehow, the excuse of simply 'forgetting' him did not seem good enough.

"I didn't think you wanted to hear from me again," she finally concluded, cupping her chin in her hands. "You made that pretty clear when you left."

Yamcha shook his head. "You're my girlfriend. Why wouldn't I want to hear from you again?"

"Because you stormed out of here without letting me explain myself," Bulma stated, "and because we broke up."

That got his attention.

"We broke up?" he asked her, leaning forward on the couch and nearing her. "What?"

"We haven't spoken in awhile and you gave me an ultimatum. That," reasoned Bulma, "sounds like a breakup to me."

"I gave you an ultimatum," Yamcha repeated, his eyes squinted at hers. "I never gave you an ultimatum."

Bulma begged to differ. "You said that if I didn't stop helping Vegeta, you'd leave."

There was silence as Yamcha pondered her statement. Bulma dug her fingernails into her palm, anxious for his response.

"You chose Vegeta over me."

She sighed. "I didn't choose anyone over anyone Yamcha. I just made a decision."

"To leave me."

"You left me," she countered.

There was another long silence. Bulma looked down at her feet, feeling horrible about herself. Here she had been chasing after Vegeta as though Yamcha had meant nothing to her, when truly he still meant the world to her.

Yamcha shook his head. "Well, you should've called."

She had loved him, that was for sure. So maybe she should have called. But what would it have done except prolong the inevitable? It had been bad for awhile. Bulma gave Yamcha a pleading look.

"I can't come chasing after you every time you get angry and run off. You know that."

Yamcha abruptly stood up from the couch. He no longer looked sad. He looked pissed.

"That's what couples do, Bulma! They make the effort! You never even tried!"

Bulma followed suit, still shorter than him in her heels. "What was there to try for? I couldn't put the whole world in jeopardy because you were jealous of Vegeta!"

Yamcha's jaw dropped; he didn't respond.

"This whole thing's just one big mess," Bulma said, her arms spread. "Look at us! Look at what's going on! There are billions of lives at stake but you want me to just focus on you!"

"I- I don't even know what to say to you right now!" he exclaimed, his face red. "Do you even love me anymore?"

Bulma covered her face. "Sometimes... sometimes love isn't enough, Yamcha."

Yamcha shook his head and turned away from her.

"It's hard to believe you're the same person," he remarked softly. "He's changed you."

Bulma peered up at him through her bangs and grabbed his arm. "This has nothing to do with him. This is about us. All of it is about us."

He faced her, his eyes shiny.

"I've been miserable without you." He looked away and then shook her hand off his arm. "But you obviously don't feel the same way."

Yamcha ran another hand through his hair and began to move towards the front hall. Bulma followed behind him, not wanting things to end on such a negative note.

"Look Yamcha," she said as his right hand turned the doorknob. "I just… I'm sorry."

He didn't respond.

"It's been a confusing time for everybody," said Bulma as she gave him her most apologetic look. "There are bigger things happening than us right now."

Her ex-boyfriend gave a short laugh and flung the door open.

"That's where we disagree." Yamcha looked at her one last time. "I never thought there was anything bigger than us."

He shut the door in her face. This time, Bulma knew he wasn't going to come back.

She needed a cigarette.