His stomach clenched in knots so tight they threatened to make his gut rupture. This was it. After decades of surviving the impossible – enemies trying to kill him at every turn, being underestimated and dismissed as though he were a tolerated side-kick, treated like - like a pet - only to be noticed by his master when it was convenient…
He had done his fair share of suffering, and he was loathe to admit it was all for a woman so far beyond his comprehension, he wasn't certain she was even human, any longer.
Oooh, how it burned. To find himself here, in this damned place where he'd offer himself up to be abused simply because he knew it would please her. He rolled his eyes at himself. He knew he shouldn't blame her. It wasn't like she ever put him up to self-sacrifice.. but it was the only thing that had ever gotten her attention. It was his own damn fault. He had purchased that attention knowing full well the cost.
But this time, he was paying with different currency.
He straightened his shoulders and stood taller.
This time, he wasn't doing it to get her attention. This time, he was truly being selfless because he wasn't doing it for himself. He wasn't going to hold it over her head and resent her if her response wasn't what he wanted.
This time, he was doing it for her because he truly wanted to see her happy.
Yamcha took a deep breath and the acid in his stomach eased a bit. It still sucked, but after two years of thinking he'd never see her again at all, and surprisingly, after seeing her.. his whole perspective had changed. Fuck. The ways she had changed and made him realize that he wasn't really the same anymore, either. It had all smashed together in an epic collision of sudden self- awareness the night he realized she loved someone else. It wasn't that she loved someone else that had made everything click for him, rather it was that she actually loved the way he realized love was supposed to be loved - without manipulation, twisted passive aggressiveness, or the desire to control. For some reason, he now suddenly understood who they both really were inside, and he didn't have the furious desire to change it.
Of course, it hadn't been the most pleasant of awakenings despite how fast it had happened. His understanding wasn't a slow, steady burn, charring his soul bit by bit for years – it had been a whorl wind of havoc that had slammed into him all at once. Having her growl at him had put the first huge crack in his mental image of who he had thought she was. The terrifying, limitless way she saw right through him like she could blow his soul apart like tissue paper had completely shattered what had been left only minutes later.
It forced him to realize she was never truly who he had tried so hard to coerce her to be. It was a shitty pill to swallow -like a bug bursting open against the back of his windpipe instead of the windshield kind of pill - but he swallowed it. She would never love him the way he wanted, and his own love, though genuine, was based on who he wanted her to be and not who she really was.
The whole thing had a surreal effect on him and it took him time to adjust and accept. Incidentally, he had been given a few days to take it all in and pull himself together before approaching her. When she was done getting her brains fucked out through her nostrils – and oh wasn't that a pleasant few days - he figured the time had come. He'd wanted to see who she had become, and if there was any room for… well… for anything between them at all.
And, maybe just a little bit because he was morbid, but wholly because he was – apparently - a twisted sadomasochist, he had wanted to ferret out whether or not the Saiyan was really that good of a fuck.
Because God Damn. He'd never heard her make sounds like that. He hadn't even known she could.
So, he went to visit her when he knew she was alone. They had watched the emptiness of space and had really listened to each other for the first time. Oddly, he had felt closer to her then than he had ever felt before.. like she could see him for who he truly was as well.
It wasn't the relationship he had wanted.
But.
If he were completely honest with himself - which he found was something he couldn't avoid with the truth punching him in the face lately – he was a bit afraid of her.
Oh, not really afraid of her. More like… he didn't think he was strong enough for her. Somehow, and he couldn't explain it, it just… felt like she could crush him under the weight of – whatever made her who – or what - she was.
In that moment, he could admit that it had always been that way, and that he had tried to fit her into a comfortable box he could define and handle so he wouldn't have to deal with something he couldn't understand. It must have been just as shitty for her to be squashed into something smaller than she was as it had been for him to try to force her to fit.
The small jolt of relief he had felt when he realized this and that she could never love him in the way he had wanted for so many years – it was disorienting. He had been confused by it. Shouldn't he be devastated? Humiliated? Shouldn't he feel guilty and angry? So why the fuck had he felt liberated?
Immediately, he had felt light headed. With the abrupt and unexpected weight off his shoulders, he was terrified he was going crazy. Yet the longer she sat there and sobbed over another man in ways he was certain she had never cried for him, he had felt more grounded. The more he saw her heart breaking, the lighter he felt. Not because he wanted her to suffer but because she had found it. That thing everyone chased their entire lives and rarely caught. The thing that made them complete, made them feel alive, gave them reason to breathe.
She had captured her unicorn.
Disorientation spun his brain into a ball of disjointed, insane awe all over again.
Bulma was in love. Bulma! In love!
No fucking way!
Bulma was a unicorn. She was the endstate. She shouldn't be bothered to have dreams and desires because she was the stuff of dreams and desires.
Apparently, unicorns dream… because someone had done it. Someone had broken the unbreakable, tamed the untamable, won the unwinnable. And as ridiculous and out of place and horrible and unfair and unbelievable as it was, he started to feel a giddy sort of pride. Someone had finally done it! And why the fuck not? Didn't unicorns deserve to dream?
He had clenched his jaw to stop himself from laughing. He had told himself endlessly for so many years that he was in love with her that he had believed it. Even now, knowing the woman in his head wasn't the woman that existed, it would be a hard habit to break – loving her but not being fully in love with her. Yet…..he loved her enough to be pleased for her. How weirdly asinine! He was happy enough for her that the sting of not being the one to win her was surprisingly easy to put aside. Or at least, it was getting easier. It certainly helped his pride to know it took another creature as impossible as Bulma to trump what he himself offered.
Fucking unicorns.
It had been about a week since he had made these discoveries, but it was hard to tell with the longer days on Yardrat. Plus, it was so damn tranquil around here, it became a physical obstacle. Yamcha was suspicious the lethargy was a sentient consciousness and attacked everyone. Jesus, peaceful laziness was an affliction and finding motivation to do anything but nap was difficult.
Well. For him, anyway. It seemed two of the three Saiyans and one typically grouchy Namekian were happiest when beating the shit out of each other. In their own way, though, that was peaceful.
The Prince, of course, was AWOL. Yamcha was fine with that. He was still getting used to the weirdness of his new feelings and he wasn't certain he'd be able to stop himself from picking a fight he knew he couldn't win. He still loved Bulma enough to secretly hope Vegeta was on the other side of the planet. He was getting over Bulma, but that didn't mean he wanted to see her with someone else. Or hurting over someone else.
Yamcha knew, though, that the Prince was not on the other side of the planet. Every so often, Bulma's sudden, penetrating looks towards the tree line after startling at a sound only she seemed to hear alerted everyone that the Saiyan was never very far.
She never followed him into the woods, but the look of longing on her face was painful to see – so everyone pretended not to.
Except... he couldn't stand to see those quickly suppressed expressions of sadness any longer. He was going to do something about it. He was good at forcing people to notice him, even if they didn't wish to. Of course, he didn't want to die – so he'd been waiting for the perfect opportunity. And….
That time had come.
The one he had been waiting for slipped to the side unseen by all but him, hidden by shadows.
Yamcha followed.
The acid in his stomach quickly erupted into queasy butterflies. How many times had he told this guy to go fuck off? Yamcha couldn't be certain, but the last time he had said it, he thought he had seen…
He shook his head forcefully. He couldn't allow himself to think like that or he'd lose his nerve. And seriously. Nappa wanted to kill him, not rape him. Someone trying to kill him was tolerable. The other… well.
A wave of nausea kicked him in the kidneys. Now or never.
He stepped through a copse of saplings and frowned. What the fuck? How the hell did a nine foot tall behemoth just disappear?
Spinning around and swiveling his head, he stepped into the clearing. It didn't make any sense! Glancing back in the direction from where he'd come, he continued to move further out into the clearing. Stepped backwards, he froze when he felt heat vibrating behind him. It took colossal will to not launch himself at full speed back towards the trees and out of reach. Instead, Yamcha calmly stood tall and slowly turned around.
Nappa stood with his arms crossed over his chest and peered at him with a neutral look – neutral for Nappa that is – and made no effort to move or speak. It was a strange kind of truce. They studied each other's features as though this were truly the first time either had ever bothered to see their opponent.
Yamcha could concede Nappa had a look of keen intelligence under the brutish, nastiness. The Saiyan was obviously enormous, but was lithe and graceful. There was speed and power there, which Yamcha had always known, but there was also precision and complete control. This man could crush without thought… but likely never did so. There was peace in this man's soul. And gentleness. Yamcha's eyebrows raised in surprise and, albeit grudgingly given, newfound respect.
He couldn't tell what the Saiyan thought of him, but he suspected it was something that the warrior found acceptable because the Saiyan cocked his head and narrowed his eyes in an expression that any sane person would assume was menacing. Had Yamcha not known Saiyans so well, he would feel threatened. Instead, he knew Nappa was acquiescing to sharing a moment with a fellow warrior.
In other words, the Saiyan was giving him a chance to speak and was offering to listen.
Of course.
Saiyans didn't just talk. God forbid they use words. For fucks sake, why would they make it easy? Yamcha sighed. At least he had the generous gift of Nappa's attention. Now he'd have to work to keep it.
Yamcha grinned and slid into fighting position. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.
Not five seconds later, he wondered what the fuck he'd been thinking.
So far, he hadn't been hit, but every ounce of his strength and speed was defensive. If he didn't at least try to throw a punch, and hopefully land one, Nappa would get bored, crush him, and leave.
Yamcha scowled. He didn't know when it had become important – but suddenly this was about every failure he'd ever had and not just about Bulma. Everything he had done wrong, everything he had lost – not least of all the respect of his friends – all because he couldn't let go of his need to control.
Well that wasn't happening. Right here, right now, he was going to win. Just once in his life, even if it killed him, he was going to bitch slap Nappa.
Yamcha rallied with a frenzied passion fueled by every disappointment he'd ever felt. The burst of power was so strong, his panic spiked with just as much fervor. Technique flew out the fucking window as he swung his fists wildly. Flooded with adrenaline, his body hummed with surge after surge of electric ki. He fought for control and suddenly realized that control was precisely what he had been trying to shed. He felt the tips of Nappa's nails scrape his ear as he narrowly dodged an attack.
Why the hell he wasn't getting pounded? He may be faster, but he was sloppy. There was no way the Saiyan had failed to notice.
Yamcha flung himself to the side as Nappa surged forward, but he had an answer. In the fraction of a second it had taken to side step the punch, Yamcha had seen the grin. The Saiyan wasn't toying with him….
Nappa was teaching him.
Thunderstruck, Yamcha nearly tripped over himself. This time, he got thumped for it.
Wincing, Yamcha spit blood and wiped his chin. Nappa allowed him to reset. This time, Yamcha went on the offensive. He was getting used to his new speed, and decided to try something he hadn't tried since his days as a bandit.
He cheated.
Incrementally, he slowed and stumbled as if growing tired. It wasn't difficult - all he had to do was allow his true exhaustion to show. After a quarter hour of this, he realized he had waited too long. Nappa didn't seem to be tiring at all.
Fuck it, he thought. If nothing is working, do something stupid and suicidal no one in their right mind would ever do.
Yamcha threw himself towards Nappa's attack expecting to come out of the exchange with a split skull. Instead…. his fist connected.
Both fighters were so thunderstruck Yamcha had landed a hit, they both fell out of position and stood opposite each other, completely struck dumb. Both realized what had happened in the same moment when each registered the look of surprise on the other. It lasted only seconds, but those seconds were long enough for Yamcha to realize the ridiculousness of the situation and burst into hysteric giggling.
Baffled, Nappa frowned at the ridiculous human. He didn't know if he wanted to swat the annoying thing into silence or simply wash his hands of the whole thing and leave.
He did neither.
The perplexed look on the Saiyan's face was enough to throw Yamcha over the edge. A confused, helpless Saiyan was last straw and he truly lost it. Howling in laughter, Yamcha didn't give a shit what the fuck Nappa did. He wasn't afraid of the stupid Saiyan for the first time in his life and the weight that lifted from his shoulders was tremendous. His shaking muscles gave out and he found himself sitting in the dirt.
Nappa scowled and rolled his eyes as he stepped towards the fallen warrior. Sighing, he studied the human idiot as he laughed himself stupid. Snorting in response, refusing to admit the situation was amusing, he waited for the human to shut up.
Nappa was impressed with the amount of patience he was allowing, but if he never said it out loud to anyone, he just had to know what the human wanted. His instinct was screaming at him to be calm, to allow the Yamcha thing time to – to do whatever he needed to do - so he would fucking explain what the fuck. The Saiyan knew he would be rewarded with information about the woman.
Whatever information he could learn; he knew it would help the Prince. Anything that could do that was worthy of his patience.
Yamcha could never understand the true meaning of what he had in his possession: the full weight of Nappa's deadly attention. He did understand, however, the Saiyan reaching down to offer a hand up. Immediately, his laughter died and he sobered. In that moment, Yamcha would rather die than refuse that offer. He reached up and grasped the once hated Saiyan by the wrist, allowing his own to be gripped as he was hauled to his feet.
Not knowing what to do next, Yamcha chewed his lip. He knew what he wanted to talk about, and he had a feeling Nappa knew it as well. He had earned the right to speak, but now that he was actually standing here and had the Saiyan's attention, he didn't know what he wanted to say. He hadn't actually believed he'd get this far.
Fluctuating between exasperation and burning interest, Nappa would be content to keep his mouth shut and outwait the human – but again, his instinct shoved at his gut. He grunted, annoyed. Fine. He'd talk first, even if he was out of turn with what he said. He'd gladly accept the beating he'd get from the Prince and call it a price paid in exchange for this needed information.
"She has betrayed him," he growled softly, and waited for the scouter to translate.
Yamcha narrowed his eyes in anger. He knew that much. Bulma had explained it. "How is saving someone's life betraying them?"
When the Saiyan didn't answer, Yamcha snorted in disgust. "That's exactly what a Saiyan would think, isn't it? It must be betrayal because she didn't have faith in him and stole his right to choose. The thing is, she isn't a Saiyan. She's human and humans don't sit back and let someone they love die just to save that someone's pride. She doesn't see that as betrayal."
Nappa nodded. This he understood. What he didn't understand was how this made a difference despite knowing that somehow, it did. He needed a human to explain human behavior, which is why he had allowed this particular human to follow him into the wood.
Yamcha cocked his head and studied Nappa. So it really was true. They seriously didn't get it. His anger fizzled and cooled despite his best efforts to hang onto it. These aliens didn't deserve compassion and understanding if they weren't willing to give it.
But.
It wasn't a choice for them. They simply just… didn't understand.
The only reason Yamcha was willing to clue them in was because they wanted to understand. How very human of them…
He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Did you ever think that maybe she did what she did because she had too much faith in him? She did what she did because she knew her way was the only way they'd survive. She knew he'd hate it, but she had so much faith in him, she believed he'd forgive her for doing what had to be done. Doing whatever has to be done to win... sounds pretty Saiyan if you ask me."
Yamcha started walking towards the lunch he knew Chichi would be setting up. He didn't bother observing the effect the information had on Nappa. He knew with utter certainty that his words had hit the Saiyan harder than any punch he could throw ever would.
Nappa waited until he could no longer hear the human's footsteps before turning towards a copse of thick bushes and trees. Vegeta stepped out from the shadows and the two Saiyans said nothing as they stared at one another.
Without warning, Vegeta turned away. He peered over his shoulder and spoke quietly, "You have yet to record these past years with markings. You will do so upon nightfall."
Nappa didn't respond, but nodded at the Prince's retreating back. The command was a simple one; one that the Prince had given hundreds of times to commemorate a thousand events over their lives. He had been replacing the ones Frieza had removed over the past few weeks, and had finished days ago. To hear the command wasn't strange in itself, but to hear it now… in his wildest dreams, Nappa had never expected to hear that command ever again.
Only very specific events were important enough to be carved into the flesh with ki to form tattoos - and Nappa knew of only three the Prince lacked that were significant enough to merit the command.
If Saiyan's could cry, Nappa's eyes would have overflowed with tears.
