Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Everything Happens For A Reason ❯ Welcome Home Yamcha ( Chapter 20 )

Everything Happens For A Reason

Chapter Nineteen

Welcome home Yamcha

Disclaimer: How many different ways have I said that DBZ isn't mine in the last four years? *Sigh*

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The battle lines were drawn. The house was empty. Bulma's guests both invited and newly revived, were gone. All but one that was, and that one, Bulma would have done anything to avoid if she could. Confrontation, however, was upon her, and just as with Vegeta, there was no choice but to tackle the situation head-on. Never, not since the first day her teenage sweetheart had been taken away from her, had she envisioned the day of his revival to be as hard and as awkward as this! Yamcha was casually sitting on a lilac chair in the sitting room, bathed in a backwash of gold from the setting sun and watching her every movement with a serene look of acceptance. That, combined with the glow around his shoulders, made it look as though part of Other World had been wished back with him.

They had barely spoken through the four-course banquet her mother deemed necessary for the occasion, barely even exchanged glances as the festivities had gone on around them. Fortunately there hadn't been anyone ready to notice. The lamentations of the Son-family were the main focus, and Bulma had very readily thrown herself into it to avoid other, less disturbing thoughts. It was guilt, pure and simple, because all the time when, by rights, her heart should have been rejoicing with a chorus of "He's back, he's really back!" all it could do was clench and cry with a sorrowful melody of "He's gone, he's really gone."

It hadn't helped that Vegeta's actions were so public either, quite the contrary. Amid the fuss and concern over Goku's survival, there were equal celebrations and condemnations over the 'spaceship thief' as he was now dubbed. Relief that he was gone, and concern as to what might happen if he were to find Goku before he made it back to Earth. Throughout it all, Bulma had agreed when the sentiments of concern flourished, and stayed quiet under the rejoicing of his departure. Yamcha's expression of relief when he learnt Vegeta wasn't around did little to appease her either. How the hell was she going to deal with this?

As calmly as she could she sat down on the chair opposite to his, which in contrast, was completely engulfed in shadow. The large pitcher of lemonade on the coffee table between them was a make-believe no-mans-land and even though Bulma's lips inexplicably lost all moisture, and her throat began to heat under the expectation of words, she would make no move to refresh herself.

Fortunately for Bulma, Yamcha was the first to speak. "Look, Babe," he said, not looking as awkward as the moment warranted. "There's really no need for you to be so ashamed. I know that Vegeta told you about the other night, but it's okay, really it is. I'm not angry."

Bulma coughed slightly under the shock. However she had planned on starting the difficult conversation it certainly hadn't been like this! Why was it that his words, said to make her calm and reassured, and which in any ordinary situation would have made sense, made her feel madder than a cat in a bag!

"Well good for you, Yamcha," she said, only just keeping her voice under control. "Because I'm beyond pissed at you." Yamcha's look of astonishment didn't go unnoticed and it only added fuel to her fire. "How dare you!" she seethed through clenched teeth. "How dare you take advantage of me like that?"

"How dare I?" he replied, his voice raising as he stood under the sudden emotion. "Don't you mean how dare Vegeta?" He shook his head. "I did what I had to. It was Vegeta who was taking advantage of you. All I did - all I've ever wanted to do is protect you, don't you see that? Has he gotten to you so badly, blinded you so completely that you want to defend him even after he tried to abuse your body?"

"And what about you?" she countered. "Maybe Vegeta was abusing me, but you! I thought I could trust you, but you abused me more than he did. At least Vegeta gave me the option to back out, but what choices did you give me? None! You took my body without my knowledge, without my consent, and you manipulated it to get your own way! Isn't that abuse?" Bulma could feel her body shaking. "Can you honestly sit there and apportion blame when you are just as guilty as everyone else?"

She sighed, trying to rid her mind of the bad, and preach a little more coherently and impartially. "I'm not saying that you aren't right, that in some way Vegeta was to blame, but then I also have to say that I wasn't totally unaccountable either. I'm a grown woman, Yamcha - I can make my own decisions, and I can my own mistakes. You had no right to do what you did."

"You're saying I had no right to protect you, no right to look out for you when you needed me?" He sighed and his features took on an expression that wasn't lost on Bulma. Her heart squeezed tight under his hurt and the unwavering love that underlined it. "You're my girl, Bulma. I love you. It hurt to see you with him, to see it all coming to a head and being able to do nothing to prevent it. It hurt so much."

Bulma had been on the point of standing as well, to counter his anger with her own, but under his words her body would do nothing more than sag with the reality her boyfriend suffered under. "I never meant to hurt you, Yamcha, you have to believe that."

His defensiveness abated and he made a move to comfort her. Knowing that wasn't a wise decision, Bulma put a hand up to stop his advance. "No." She shook her head. "Not yet. We need to discuss this thoroughly first. I can't just change how I feel." She gestured to the seat he had relinquished. "Sit down and we'll talk this over rationally."

Yamcha grudgingly did as she asked, sitting down and resuming the aloof but emotionally charge conversation on her terms. "What do you want to know?" he asked. "I swear I'll tell it to you."

"I want you to start from the beginning, I want to know it all, how things were in Other World, how you came to be able to transfer your spirit here while being dead, but…" she took a long deep breath, "… most importantly I want to know how long you were spying on me."

The conversation was long, and not without further heated moments. He recounted, awkwardly at first, and then more fluently, the last few months and all the events in Other World as they had happened. How he had watched, innocently at first and then with suspicion and jealousy, how he had become greedy in his claims on her life without him. He spoke guardedly but eloquently about all the little fluctuations in his feelings for her growing relationship with Vegeta - about his continued unrest and growing distaste with those meant to tutor and guide him. How he had been punished by King Yemma, and then how he had learnt the secrets from his demon tutor, unknowingly stumbling into her reality and finding her in the arms of Vegeta, her body exposed and engulfed by the Saiyan. He said he felt desperate, that he feared Vegeta's influence and dark energy was rubbing off on her, and that he fully believed Vegeta was slowly eating away at her benevolence, twisting it for his own evil purposes.

Bulma was leery and although she knew that his belief in her integrity was ill-founded, his story captivated her. Where anger had once been predominant, she could, once he had finished, only feel shame. The events of Other World had been vastly conflicting and emotionally draining for him, but she could see so clearly now that one feeling, more than any other, predominated it all. It influenced all his actions - caused despair when he was at his lowest - and from those low times it gave him the courage and determination to pull himself up again. His love for her never wavered, never dulled - it was the thought behind every action, the desire behind every emotional outburst, and it made her heart swell.

All the time Vegeta had been on the planet her world had somehow begun to revolve around the arrogant Saiyan, and yet, unbeknownst to her here was Yamcha, saying that at the same time, his world, his every thought in the after life, had been of her. How would she live with the guilt of knowing that for short spells within that time she had been so overpowered with the presence of another man she might well have taken him to her bed, was on the fringes of doing just that? How did she come to terms with the fact that she cared for Vegeta more than was right, and that now he was gone, she would have to face the future, uncertain and confused. She still loved Yamcha, there was never any question about that, but was it the love she needed or a love she took for granted?

"You're my saving grace, Bulma," he said at last. "Don't tell me that I'm too late. That you are too angry with me not to keep fighting for what is right - you and I?"

Bulma nearly chocked on a sob, and when Yamcha smiled diffidently and opened his arms to her, she ran into them, uncaring about anything else. For so many months she had dreamed of finding comfort, companionship, and understanding, and here was her wonderful boyfriend offering it to her with no grudges, no harsh words, only unerring honesty and determination. She couldn't refuse the comfort he offered. For so long she had felt alone, a solitary figure in a whirlwind of activity, but now she had her desert bandit back, someone who really loved her, and who would be there for her no matter what.

"I'm still angry," she sighed, snuggling deep into his warm embrace. "But we can deal with that latter. For now," she added. "For now I just want to be close to you."

With that said, Yamcha bundled her up in his arms and laid a kiss on her forehead. It wasn't a gesture that would naturally stir the blood, or let loose the primitive urges of two well-travelled but recently distanced lovers, but one of purely platonic affection, designed to lay the foundation stones of burned bridges. She nuzzled into his warm arms, the exhaustion of the last few days catching up with her. "Welcome home, Yamcha," she greeted through a yawn. "I'm happy you're back."

"Me too," he said, running his fingers through her hair as her eyes fluttered closed. "More than you can possibly imagine."

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Yamcha drove in a daze - a cauldron of emotion clouding his head, and each component waiting for the opportunity to overtake him. The day infuriatingly held over his head for the past year was finally coming to a close, and he grudgingly admitted that it wasn't a very bad one either. There was definitely cause for hope, more than he had felt there would be under such circumstances. The biggest, the most profitable of the situations was Vegeta's absence. The monkey couldn't have played into his hand any better if he'd tried. He had no doubt that with Vegeta around it would be ten times harder to repair his relationship with Bulma, but as it was, only an hour alone together had already started to rectify some of the damage.

She'd fallen asleep in his arms! His arms, not Vegeta's - and this time they were real appendages that met flesh to flesh with hers -securing her to his side, just as it was supposed to be. As the sun waxed heavy behind the city, Yamcha had wanted nothing more than to cradle her there all night, and begin working his way back into her heart as soon as the sun rose, but unfortunately there were other commitments to take care of first. Puar would be waiting for him at the bar they'd agreed to meet at during dinner. It was only fair to give his lifelong friend a share of the attention now he was back. Besides, there was still one loose end that needed to be tied up before Yamcha would feel secure in his newly restored life.

Shuma.

What had become of the annoying little shit? At Bulma's he'd been expecting to see the demon almost every second, wondering how he would explain away his companion without causing suspicion. He'd been told not to let anyone know about his continued punishment, and it had taken all the self-control he possessed, to keep quiet about the true situation in his narrative to Bulma. Oh, he mentioned Shuma, there was no escaping the demon in his story, but he had been careful not to bring up the conditions of his Other Worldly sentence.

If his blue-skinned prison buddy was still in his demon form then it wouldn't be so bad, but Shuma was supposed to have been sent to earth as a human, a human with no powers and probably a completely different energy signature. There was no way of tracing him, and until the freak decided to make an appearance, Yamcha knew he couldn't rest easy.

Taking a left off the motorway, he headed to his and Puar's favourite old bar 'The buck' a quiet old-fashioned public house located only a few blocks away from his apartment. It was an old haunt, and the pair of them had spent many a happy evening getting plastered and playing pool within the thick stone walls. Lazy summer evenings were spent in its confined gardens, and cold winters huddled up by the open fire - so many wonderful memories!

By the time Yamcha parked the aircar, Dr. Briefs had kindly leant him, and pushed his way through the heavy oak door, he was practically drooling in anticipation.

Oh god - the smell!

The heady mix of beer and smoke, ingrained in the building through decades of use, made his senses scream for sweet, sweet joy. Never had he ever thought that something so ordinary would make him feel so happy. He was alive, truly alive and about to order his first pint in almost a year. 

In that year the décor of this place hadn't changed much. The same group of regulars adorned the bar, as though they had never gone home and with Bessie busily bustling between them, clearing glasses and sporting a bustier that was three sizes smaller than needed. She was the landlady and one of the few ki-less people Yamcha was actually a little afraid of. The woman might well have been approaching sixty but he was sure that if a brawl were ever to break out in her establishment, then this lady would be right in the middle of it and probably kicking the ruffians out herself.

"Well, well," she clucked on seeing him approach. "Look what we have here." She nudged the half-cut man to her right. "You owe me ten zeni, Brian, I told you he wasn't dead."

Yamcha laughed, pulling out a stool and sitting down. "That isn't strictly true." He winked. "A pint of the usual please, Bessie."

"What a load of old nonsense you young'uns spout," she laughed, propping open the hatch with her hip, and grabbing a clean glass. She hummed as she pulled the pint, an event that seemed to last an eternity in Yamcha's eyes. "I thought it was strange that your little floating friend dropped by, but now it makes sense." She inclined her head to the poolroom. "She's in there."  

"Puar's here already?" he said aghast.

"You bet I am." The shrill voice rung across the room and made a few of the glasses sing in protest.

Yamcha turned, peering through the smoke, which hung in long tendrils through the stuffy room. "You little cheat!" he accused. "You've been getting practice in without me!"

"Oh please, Yamcha! When was the last time you ever won a game against me anyway?"

Yamcha laughed and opened his arms, letting his long-time friend fly into them. He gave her a long hug. "Hey Puar," he said. "I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to say hello properly earlier. Bulma and I… we had a few things to work out."

"It's okay," she trilled. "I can understand that, I'm just happy you're back." She floated away, and Yamcha picked up his beer, before following. "I have them all racked up and ready to go," she smiled. "And unless you've been having secret lessons in Other World, prepare to get your arse whooped!"

He laughed, shaking his head. "Same old Puar!"

Yamcha lost track of how many hours, games, and pints he'd gone through before the bell rang through to the poolroom, and Bessie called time. In those wondrous hours he'd gone through the same narrative he'd given Bulma, and Puar had added to the conversation with tales of her own misadventures. He learnt, with no little amazement, that she'd hardly been back to the apartment, and instead had returned to the desert. Apparently she'd met up with a few of their old desert allies and had great fun, prowling the harsh wastelands, reverting to the old ways in an effort to compensate for the loss of her dearest and oldest friend.

He was captivated by her tales of adventure and camaraderie, at a loss as to whether he should feel sorry Puar felt obligated to go back to such a harsh existence because of him, or proud that she would feel compelled to. A little bit of guilt crept through his heart as well. So consumed was he in Bulma and her growing affections for the Saiyan, that he'd barely even thought about how his old and closest friend was coping without him. There was a lot of making up to do, never had he realized that his death would effect so many.    

At least, if nothing else, there was something beneficial from his time in Other World. As Puar stumbled and looped under her growing intoxication, Yamcha was hardly even affected by the brutal drinking session. The drunken master's Saki habits really had worked wonders. Even as they escaped the claustrophobic bar, and fresh air hit them with the unsuspecting drunk in mind, Yamcha was well able to stand upright, and think with a clear head.

He slowly approached the aircar, but decided against getting in. He might not feel drunk, but he wasn't about to risk getting pulled for DUI  - he already had one sentence, he didn't want to serve another. Instead he tapped a button on the side, instantly capsulating it, and grabbed Puar out of a particularly suicidal loop de loop. He held her securely in his arms and made his way the few blocks back to their shared home by foot.   

By the time he reached the stairwell, and started navigating his way up to the third floor, Puar was already asleep, snoring loudly through her stupor. He smiled and affectionately rubbed her fur, before hooking the keys off her belt. To his alarm, however, when he finally approached his home, the door was already ajar.

Tucking Puar under his arm, he let his senses come to the forefront, immediately on guard and automatically sinking into a defensive stance. There was someone inside, he could feel the small pull of an energy signature as clearly as he would see the culprit if they were standing in front of him.

He cautiously toed the door open and peered through the gloom. He couldn't see a damn thing, but his senses wouldn't lie. There was someone there, and if he weren't mistaken that someone was in his room. Quietly, so as to not cause alarm, he laid Puar on the sofa, and went to investigate without putting his friend in danger.

Knowing the layout of the apartment like the back of his hand, Yamcha carefully tiptoed around the coffee table and on to the main bedroom, careful not to make any noise, lest he alert the intruder too soon to his presence. His breathing was unnaturally quick as he stood outside the door, readying a small ball of ki, should the housebreaker become hostile.  

A couple of long calm breaths cleared his head a little, and with nerves and courage attained he kicked open the door, flipped the lights on, all in one swift and agile motion. He settled into a defensive stance and was ready to fire. What he saw, however, took the air right out of his lungs and made the ball of ki instantly disappear.

A woman!

There was a woman, sprawled lazily on his bed, looking right back at him. Long dark lashes partially hid twin golden eyes, which glistened in the artificial light. Her face was framed by the most stunning midnight blue hair - and the body. Holy crap! Her body could have made even the most hardened man blush. Incredibly long legs, splayed up to voluptuous and teasing hips, which pinched in at the waist, and then overflowed at the breasts, just aching to get free from the long sultry evening gown that held her body secure. It was a gift-wrapped promise of pure and unassailable ecstasy. 

"W…what are you doing here?" Yamcha asked, his mouth suddenly dry. "Who are you?"

Those golden eyes, which hadn't even flinched as he'd burst into the room, dulled and a frown folded her full lips as she sneered and looked angrily away. "Just get it over already," she spat, turning onto her stomach. "Lord it up, just like I bet everyone else in Other World is." She shot a look at Yamcha that portended death if he spoke. "Fucking bastards!"

Yamcha took a step back in surprise. "You're… from Other World?"

She sighed rubbing a hand across her forehead. "Lighten up, you said." She shook her head, laughing dryly. "Earth really is a very nice place to live." The laughter died into a snort. "Yeah, just fucking peachy!"

Realization dawned on Yamcha and he wasn't sure whether to be sick or start laughing like a maniac. Oh dear god! Yemma hadn't… had he? Oh shit! This was too much. He had to ask, had to be sure.

"Shuma --- is that you?"

One heavy lash could be seen through thick blue locks, the eye underneath it, thinning in anger and distaste. "Welcome home, Yamcha."

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A/N - Aren't I evil? *smirks* Happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers. I hope you have a great day. *hugs* Ember