AN: As always, I am SO sorry this has taken a long time to post! In December I had some changes made to my medication and it really took me out of the writing mindset for a while. I'm really motivated and inspired, and I hope that continues. I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I can. :)

"For the fourth time. She doesn't want to see you!" Krillian was facing the wall and seriously considering slamming his face into it.

"She's just waiting until the right time," Yamcha took a sip of his coffee, his actions dripping with the extreme nonchalance that had been driving his friend -quite literally- up the wall. He was sitting on the couch while Krillian paced about the visitor's common area, the short man running a frustrated hand over his bald head.

"We've been here for three days, and she's rejected every meeting request." Krillian groaned. "Wouldn't she be jumping at the opportunity if she cared?"

"Not if she's being strategic," A loud slurp elicited from Yamcha's lips. "She's gotta make it look like an inconvenience, right?"

It was at that precise moment that a knock sounded at the door, and Yamcha grinned at his friend with a knowing gleam in his eyes. As if to say, 'See? I told you!'

"It isn't her, ya dingus." Krillian rolled his eyes, rerouting his pace straight for the door. As soon as he opened it, a voice came from the other side. "Sir, the Queen is ready to see you two."

Krillian nodded, discussing the details of the meeting with the guard. It took an extra dose of willpower to ignore Yamcha, who was currently participating in celebratory high-kicks in the back of the room. When Krillian shut the door, he turned to his friend, who was now punching a fist in the air.

"Alright!" Yamcha pronounced. "Told ya! She is so ready to see me now!"

"Good lord," Krillian clapped a hand to his face. "Please don't act like this in front of her. Don't forget why we're actually here-"

"Of course, dude." Yamcha dropped into a more serious posture. "We've got some serious business. That doesn't mean I can't be happy to see my girl."

.

Standing in front of her full-length mirror, Bulma fiddled with the waist of her dress. She was so anxious about having to see Yamcha, and it had manifested into feeling claustrophobic no matter what she wore.

"Stupid hem!" She whispered, tugging down on the fabric. In her opinion, the waistline of this piece fell far too high for her body (even though it had been custom made to her exact measurements).

It just seemed that everything she tried on that morning made her feel mental. And after going through four different outfits, each with their own issues, she felt she was running out of options. With a sigh, Bulma dropped her arms, and gave herself a reluctant look in the mirror. Her blue eyes stared back at her, and for the umpteenth time she considered calling Vegeta. To tell him how uneasy she was. To receive his blunt words of encouragement.

After all, he had extended the offer to her. And she so badly wanted to hear his voice in that moment… Yet he had told her to call if she needed anything. And, technically, she didn't. She just wanted him. And he was busy. Bulma knew that if she called, he would instantly think something was wrong. Perhaps he would even be cross with her for raising a false alarm.

Sighing, Bulma turned away from the mirror. A knock had sounded at the door, and she knew it was going to be one of the servants, reminding her for the fourth time that she was incredibly late. Reluctantly she cleared her voice, running a clammy hand over her forehead. "Coming!"

.

… When she finally walked into the meeting room, Yamcha and Krillian already seated, she bit her lip. "Hello, men."

Yamcha stood so abruptly that the chair wobbled threateningly. Krillian slapped his face in his hand.

"Bulma," Yamcha breathed.

"Yamcha." She took a hesitant step back, as if to warn that she would run for it if he made any sudden moves.

"Oh, Bulma." Yamcha took a careful step forward. "You look… beautiful. "

"Is that why you've come?" Suddenly her face was burning so hot that even her ears felt red. Her wide eyes darted to Krillian, silently demanding him to intervene. Demanding him to say something!

And he did.

"We're here on orders of the king," Krillian's authoritative voice stated. Bulma couldn't help but to sigh with relief at the fierce of his tone, and how clear it was that Krillian was also irritated by Yamcha's demeanor.

And so she straightened, sitting down confidently in the royal chair. "As, yes!" Her full attention was on Krillian as she smoothed down the fabric on her lap. "Daddy - tell me. How is he? Doing well, I presume?"

Doing well?

Krillian's eyes darted to Yamcha's, who looked back at him with raised brows.

Doing well?!

Did that mean she didn't know? Not even an inkling? Had she not been alerted at all? Yamcha's eyes narrowed as they settled back on Bulma and that ignorant smile lacing her lips. Already his stomach was welling with anger. Was he to understand that, in all the time she'd been on this planet, nobody had kept her in the loop on the happenings of Earth? Not even her own dear husband?!

And it was clear that something was wrong. Bulma had obviously seen the two men exchange looks. "What's wrong?" She asked, trying to will her heart from dropping quite yet.

Krillian tore his gaze away from his friend, in a silent gesture that all good buddies could recognize as meaning "you're on your own, dude."

Thanks a lot, Krillian! Is what Yamcha glare replied. Realizing that this was going to have to fall on him, Yamcha dropped his face to the floor.

"What?!" Bulma urged.

But all that damned officer did was put a hand to the back of his head. He gulped loudly, scratching at his hair, making the impending news even more obvious that it wasn't good.

"Will somebody answer me?!" Bulma was gripping the armrests, her voice starting to grow shrill with impatience. "What's wrong with Daddy?!"

"Look," Yamcha finally approached her, kneeling down at her feet. He glanced over his shoulder to see that Krillian was still avoiding their eyes, choosing to put his focus on the ceiling instead.

'Thanks for nothing, bro,' Yamcha thought as he turned back to the woman before him. And when his eyes landed on Bulma, he saw that she was staring back at him. Her blue irises glistening, pupils dilated as she met his gaze for the first time in ages.

And it took his breath away.

Lips parted as he stared back, taking in her beauty from so up-close. Her pale cheeks so rosy, her thing blue brows wrinkled in concern. Her long eyelashes fluttered as she blinked, her bottom lip sucked in with fearful anticipation.

And, for a fleeting moment, Yamcha understood the reason that nobody had yet told her.

Why, even he was fighting the urge to blurt out that everything was fine. To give her a comforting pat on the head. To do anything to keep the inevitable tears from her eyes, if only for a few more minutes.

And, as he considered this, the anger returned.

Vegeta was the one who had the privilege of being close to her so frequently. He was the one who had free access to give her as many caresses and hugs as he wanted. Vegeta was at liberty to brush a thumb across her botttom lip as it inevitably would tremble, and yet he'd been too cowardly to do it. He'd left her completely in the dark.

In fact, even in knowing what she was doomed to learn, he'd not only left her in ignorance. He'd gone and deserted his own planet! Left her to suffer alone with the news. Left the burden to fall on someone else's hands…

"Please-" Bulma began.

"Bulma," Yamcha sighed. "May I?"

Still on his bended knee, he lifted a hand, an offering to her. Bulma was so beside herself with worry that she willingly took it. "Please don't tell me…" She breathed, her eyes wide in unfiltered horror.

"King Briefs is… Not doing so well." Yamcha muttered. He felt her fingers clench in his grip, and he tightened his hold. Doing what he could to be of comfort while she shook, waiting for him to continue.

"He…" Yamcha clenched his teeth, grimacing at what he was about to say. "He is not long for the world,"

"Oh," Her voice was so hollow. "I… I see."

And no other word was said. The room fell silent as Yamcha allowed her to process what she had just been told. Wondering how long he should wait until he continued.

But she simply sat frozen, her eyes boring into his. And after what felt like several minutes, Krillian cleared his throat. Both looked to him, and the short man was patting himself on the chest awkwardly.

"So," Krillian said, clearly struggling for words.

This was all it took. That one simple word snapped Bulma out of her daze, and her cheeks stretched into a grimace as her eyes welled. A small sniffle escaped her throat as her eyes returned to Yamcha's. Those puffy lips trembling just as he'd predicted.

"Bulma," He breathed, extending his arms. Reaching for her, wanting to embrace. Needing to comfort her, almost as much for himself as for the woman in front of him.

"No," She shook her head, weakly patting his arm away. "Just… Just tell me about my father. What… What is… How is… When?"

"He's dying." Krillian offered. Yamcha shot a glare at him, to which Krillian scowled back. "We're here for a reason, Yamcha. No use in sugarcoating!"

"But…" Bulma's eyes darted between Yamcha and Krillian. And there wasn't even a moment of optimistic denial at these words. After all, it was her worst fear come alive. A truth she'd been doing her best to prevent for the last year since he'd first gotten sick. Instead she dropped her head, unable to filter as the words flowed off her tongue. "He… This… This was supposed to help…"

"What?" Yamcha asked.

"He… the ties with Vegetasai… They were supposed to relief him of stress…" She sniffled. "He was supposed to get better… I hoped… I hoped…"

"Wait."

"I mean, well, I just. There was no guarantee, but Maron said-" Bulma was looking down at her hands, clutching the fabric on her lap. Twisting it between her white knuckles. Wondering what part of her was starting to feel so… angry . "I really hoped it would push him through!"

Was he hearing her right? What on Earth had happened while he'd been locked away? Eyes wide, Yamcha reached to take her hands again. And she didn't bother to bat him away, the tears balling down her cheeks.

"Is there time? To go see him?" She shook. "If I left now, would I make it?"

"No." Krillian shot. And this interjection had Bulma ripping her hand away from Yamcha's. She gasped shrilly, as if she'd somehow forgotten Krillian was in the room. And this small action piqued Yamcha's senses, even in this dire moment.

"You aren't going." Krillian continued, his tone so stern. "We've been given strict orders not to return with anybody but our own."

"And what is that supposed to mean?!" Bulma stood abruptly.

"You're the new Queen of Vegetesai." The short diplomat shrugged. "And we are not to return with anyone external to the Earth's kingdom."

"External?!" Bulma squeaked. "This is my father we're talking about!"

"Krillian!" Now it was Yamcha's turn to snap. He stood as well, turning on his friend.

"Don't Krillian me!" He spat back. "We're here on a mission, not for you to sugarcoat things to try and woo her-!"

"Have some-" Yamcha began, but Bulma put both hands in the air. A silent gesture, a wave to signify that she wanted both men silenced. They paused, eyes on her, and she shook her head.

"I need to… I need to…" Bulma stuttered. As a matter of fact, she didn't know what she needed to do. Be alone? Scream? Hijack the next ship and high-tail it to Earth? Her head was spinning, while her muscles quivered with the need to both wail out loud and chuck the nearest object across the room.

"Please," Yamcha's voice softened as he took a step towards her. "Bulma. Don't."

"Don't?" She nearly laughed at this stupid command. Don't what? How was he to know what she was planning to do, when even she couldn't decide? And how could he even, for a second, have the audacity to assume what she was considering at all? Her father was dying, for heaven's sake! Suddenly this greeting room was too small - the walls were closing in on her, and she shook her head to ward off the claustrophobia. "Don't what? Excuse myself? I just found out my father is dying, and I'm not even welcome to see him!"

"There's so much more to discuss," Yamcha replied, and his voice left Bulma wondering if he were referring to details of her father, or details between them. But he spoke with such a tenderness - the same tone he'd always reserved just for her during their moments alone.

And she didn't like it.

She didn't like the emotion it welled in her gut, or the sinking familiarity it rang with. The way she felt so helplessly desperate, so hopelessly alone, that she almost wanted to run into his arms. Just to have someone to hold.

"I need to process this." She breathed through pursed lips. And with that, and not even a typical farewell curtsy, she turned to leave the room.

.

The line on the other end of the transmission was ringing.

A whirling beep that swirled across her ear-drums, all while the screen itself remained so blank. Bulma was staring intently, her hands gripping the arm-rests as she sat. It had been only a matter of minutes, and she was now in the call room. Completely by herself, too, having banished all the working saiyans the moment she entered.

Not used to her being so brash, they had all scurried out as soon as she demanded they leave. And she hadn't been expecting it to be so easy. If her mood had been lighter, she would have smiled awkwardly about the whole thing. Perhaps even giggled.

But here she sat, fingernails digging into the chair, biting her tongue to keep herself together as best as she was able. Because she still couldn't fall loose. Not yet. If the seams that were haphazardly holding her emotions together began to tear, she would come completely undone. And she needed to be able to at least have a cohesive conversation first.

Truth be told, she hadn't been expecting to connect with Vegeta on her first attempt. She thought she'd have to make one or two attempts, and then wait a few hours for him to notice and get back to her. Yet, to her surprise, the call actually went through. In a matter of moments the whirling beeps indicating the ringing on his end ceased, and then the once blank screen lit up with his face. His dark eyes deep with concern. "What's wrong?"

And perhaps it made sense that he knew to ask. For if her face didn't give away the unease welling inside, the mere fact that she was even calling must have.

"Vegeta," She breathed. And she felt so stupid, but she actually raised a hand to press her fingers to the screen. Seeing him there, so present yet so far. After dreading that he would leave altogether. After missing him so bad for the three days he'd been gone. She was now looking right at him. Hearing his voice. Hearing the concern that she knew would have him pulling her into a hug if only he could.

"What is it?" He asked again.

And she merely stared, slowing tracing his jaw with her pensive fingers. Trying to will herself to speak without those wretched tears that always seemed so near.

"Bulma-"

"I had a meeting with the diplomats," She breathed. And damned it all. She'd spoken too soon. As much as she's tried, the tears were dropping. Whether she wanted them or not.

And he didn't respond. She watched as the left side of his jaw tightened, right where her fingers were hovering over it. She watched as his brows furrowed, and his eyes deepened. And Vegeta remained so silent, obviously waiting for her to continue. Waiting to assess more before determining how to respond.

"My father," Her eyes finally moved to his, and she pulled her hand away from the screen. "He's not okay."

And his face hardly changed, even at hearing this.

Perhaps he wasn't sure what she meant, as disappointing as it was. Or perhaps he was waiting for her to continue even more before he committed to a response. To assure himself that he wasn't jumping the gun or making matters worse.

Oh, how she wished they could be in the same room. How different things would be to share such news. He'd be able to tell by her body language - that which he couldn't currently see - just how devastating this announcement really was. He'd be able to remain just as non-verbal, and yet his touch would be all she'd need.

"My father is… apparently, he's really sick." She continued. "Vegeta… He's… He's dying. For all I know, he could already be dead, and word just hasn't arrived yet. I don't really know what's going on."

But yet his expression didn't change. His eyes simply bore into hers through the scene. "I'm sorry."

And there was no surprise - no shock, not the smallest inkling that he was taken aback. His reaction was too quick, with not even an inquest for clarification. It left Bulma's stomach turning, and she wondered if perhaps her nerves were playing tricks on her.

Yet here he was, and the longer she watched his face, the more the anger began to well. "Vegeta? Did you… Did you know?"

And the continued lack of reaction was all the confirmation she needed. His face hardly changed, yet again, and she felt herself leaning away from the screen. "You did!"

"I'm sorry." He repeated, his jaw so tight the words came out muffled.

"How long have you known!?" This was too much to take. It was all boiling over, her vision slurring into dizziness as her heart pounded in her ears. Suddenly she didn't recognize the man facing her. And she wondered why she should. After all, though they were married, they've really only met quite recently.

"I was given strict orders not to speak on it." He was saying, but she couldn't even trust she was hearing him right. There was too much spiraling before her eyes, and she had to grip the table just to ensure she would keep her balance.

"Strict orders?!" She managed. "Who the hell-"

"Your father. He ordered me not to tell you." His eyes refused to leave her own, and she could feel them.

Even as she kept her own eyes downcast. Even as his words added to her ire. "You still should have told me."

"I know." He said. And he spoke so stoically. So expectedly controlled. How dare he!? Bulma wanted him to fucking react, for Christ's sake!

"You should have TOLD me!" She repeated, looking back up at him. Even in her rage, she was trying not to say it. Not to be so insensitive, but she just couldn't bite her tongue. "YOUR father just died unexpectedly! You of all people should understand!"

"That's exactly why I couldn't." He replied, and this time she could actually hear a wintry crack in his voice. Yet it sounded more angry than saddened, and how dare he have the gall to get mad?

"And what the hell does that mean?!" She blared.

"There is too much instability with shifting positions," Vegeta began, but Bulma put a hand up to stop him, her eyes narrowing. He ignored her. "Your father told me-"

"Who gives a damn what Daddy said?!" She spat, too beside herself to even want to know the supposed reasoning. "You should have told me, no matter what!"

"Bulma!" Vegeta shot back, having finally lost all control. "Listen to me!"

"I've done so much of that, and where had it gotten me!?" She yelled. "Daddy is dying, and apparently everyone knew except me!"

"Bul-" He began, but then the screen went blank. In her rage, Bulma had terminated the call. Her breathing was so rapid that she was on the line of hyperventilating, looking around this dimly lit room in her fury.

Saiyan memorabilia lined the walls. The hanging lamps etched with unique saiyan designs. She looked down to take note of that horrible gray color of the floors beneath her feet. Suddenly she hated it all.

The screen lit up the system began to ring with an incoming call. No doubt Vegeta trying to reconnect. She ignored it, turning her back on the computer altogether.

He had known. How long had this been going on?! How long had her father been actively dying?!

And that husband of hers… that jerk ! He'd knowingly kept such information from her.

The ringing continued.

Bulma couldn't help but wonder if Vegeta had not only kept the information from her, but had also gone out of his way to prevent her from learning on her own. Had precautions been taken to ensure her ignorance?

The ringing continued, even more.

"Shut up!" Bulma spat, as if the computer was capable of obliging. A new realization was dawning on her, and she hadn't thought it was possible to feel even more betrayed. He'd had to have known that she was going to be told this by Krillian and Yamcha. There's no way he couldn't have at least assumed. And he'd still willingly gone on his trip, leaving her alone to cope all by herself.

It was too much to take. In a fit of uncharacteristic fury, Bulma grabbed the nearest object - a glass vase, and hurled it at the wall in front of her. She let out a loud scream as she flung it, her voice intertwining with the loud clash of glass breaking.

And then, immediately, she was struck with shame. It was enough to infiltrate her rage, rendering her motionless as she stared at the pile of crumbled glass on the floor. Had she really just done that? Lord, what was she turning into?

That stupid phone still ringing behind her…

Something was burning. Bulma turned her palms upright and looked down at her hands to see a few lines of red oozing through her skin. Had she somehow cut herself while throwing the vase? Or had she been struck by loose shards as they flew through the air?

Nothing was making sense anymore.

In the matter of an hour, and for the second time in her life, her entire world had been turned upside down. And she was so tired of the rug being pulled out from under her. Was there nobody alive that she could trust or depend on? Nobody was as they seemed, secrets were kept at all turns. And apparently even her own father was in on it.

Finally the phone stopped ringing, rendering the room completely silent. Bulma watched the lines of blood on her hands grow thicker, as she contemplated her wounds with wonder.

"Yamcha," She whispered unconsciously. And her narrow eyes widened.

That was it.

He had tried explaining things to her. As much as she was uneasy of him, he at least seemed to be the only person wanting to be forward about this ordeal. Hadn't he been trying to ask her not to leave when she'd stormed off? Or something? She couldn't quite remember his exact words, her mind having been so askew at the time.

But she was damned sure he had tried to keep her from going. He had wanted to tell her more.

And she'd so stupidly thought she could count on Vegeta in that moment that she'd turned him away.

The idea of speaking to Yamcha was confusing in of itself. Things had ended so abruptly between them, and even he seemed to be threaded in a web of lies. She still didn't know what to make of anything that had happened between them on Earth. Yet, as far as her father's health was concerned, he seemed to be the only person willing to be upfront and honest about the whole thing.

Absent-mindedly, Bulma was wiping her bloody palms on the skirt of her dress. She took in a sharp gulp of breath at how the friction burned, but it didn't deter her from the decision coming to her mind.

She needed to find Yamcha again. And she needed to talk to him in private.

Alone.

In a place where that other diplomat wouldn't be around to throw in his abrupt contributions that didn't help matters at all.

No, she needed to speak to Yamcha, one-on-one, and hear exactly what the hell was going on back at home.

AN: Thank you so much for reading! And sorry again for the delayed update. I appreciate your patience and the unwavering understanding. Especially that which my long-term readers have had with me and my mini (and sometimes longer) hiatuses. I know this is nothing new for me, to disappear as such, and I really appreciate the support.

And you have no idea what you all mean to me. 3