Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     This was easier with Trunks. 

     Yamcha smiled into the unfocused eyes of the blue haired baby Bulla in front of him. He was holding a stuffed brown bear, while laughing in a sing-song way to get her attention. Her affection was expectedly fleeting, given that she had only just been born. But even in her miniature stature, her visage haunted him. 

     This was easier with Trunks. When Trunks was born, he had Bulma’s hair, and slightly softer features, sure. But the rest of him was a carbon copy of Vegeta, right down to the eyes. It hurt, admittedly. Yamcha was well aware of the fact that he and Bulma had their problems. Still, some quiet part of him always believed they would work it out one day. She had her son, but he looked more Vegeta’s son than her son. By now she was supposed to have realized that she’d made a mistake, and come back to him. And he could easily love Trunks in Vegeta’s place. 

     But this girl was Bulma reborn. He could see it in her eyes, in her hair, in her laugh. He smiled to her face. He smiled to all of their faces. He had gotten very good at fake smiles and forced laughter in the company of his friends. It was easier for him to go with the flow, rather than fight the current of progress. Being here meant he would be ignored; it would draw more attention if he didn't  come. All he had to do was make it through this party, and then he could go back to his own home. 

     “Hi there Bulla,” Yamcha said, wiggling the bear’s arms and bubbling his voice to sound like a children’s character. She giggled, and his heart shattered all over again. 

     “Hey, you’re pretty good with her!” Bulma shifted Bulla in her arms as she spoke to Yamcha. “Maybe I can count on you to babysit every now and again?” He flinched at the notion. He was trying to be happy for her, and to think of her as only a friend. 

     “Heh, yeah! Anytime!” Yamcha lied, scratching the back of his head with a chuckle. He shuffled sheepishly in place until Puar came up and whispered in his ear. 

     “Yamcha the food is ready! We should go grab a bite before Goku and Buu eat everything!” Yamcha’s eyes widened, and he turned to look at his friend. 

     “Ah! Good idea, Puar! Let’s go,” Yamcha whispered back, quietly setting down the stuffed bear and shuffling away from the crowd around Bulma. The benefit of his worthlessness meant that he blended into the background seamlessly at these events. Bulma spared no expense in the welcome celebration for Bulla, which meant that her estate was decorated down to the pavement, and a professional DJ kept the atmosphere vibrant with catchy tunes. But most importantly, it meant that the catering was top notch. 

     Yamcha grabbed two plates and balanced the second on his forearm as he made his way down the decadent buffet. He scooped a bit of each dish onto both plates - one for him and the other for Puar - careful to make sure that they were able to try a bit of everything. The Saiyans ate at break-neck speeds, and Buu had a nasty habit of hoarding everything tasty for himself. Yamcha had nearly made it to the end of the table before he heard Tien come up and whisper “Good idea.”

     “Oh, hey Tien!” Yamcha said with an honest smile. It was relieving to have someone else here to speak with that wasn’t a strength obsessed Saiyan, or a former love interest.  

     “Good to see you,” Tien smiled back, grabbing a plate for himself. Chiaotzu was at his side, looking about to keep watch before grabbing his own plate and floating to the other side of the table. 

     “Hi Yamcha.”

     “Hey Chiaotzu! You two wanna sit with us once you’re all set up? Come to think of it, I never got the full story on the Tournament of Power! I want to know what happened,” Yamcha said, quickly grabbing a pair of seasoned dumplings. Puar whirled around him to pluck two cold beers out of a technicolor cooler. 

     “Yeah, we’ll meet you at one of the tables over on the balcony,” Tien said, and Yamcha gave a quick nod of agreement. He looked over the buffet spread once more to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, before gliding over to a table out in the sunlight. Yamcha set both of their plates down and then pulled a chair out for Puar, who took it with a quiet cheer. 

     The two took tentative bites of their food until they were joined by Tien and Chiaotzu. Yamcha slid over in his chair to give the pair more table space. Then he felt a familiar presence approach from his flank. “Well well! Looks like you guys got your own party going on over here! Room for one more?” Krillin asked. 

     “Hey Krillin! Yeah, pull up a chair man!” Yamcha said, once again relieved at the familiarity. He looked to Puar who grinned back in response. Puar knew that Yamcha usually dreaded these events now, and that he’d somehow become an afterthought for his friends. They were all busy with their own families now. But this reunion - however futile - was nice. 

     “Oh, smart move getting your food before the others get going. Actually… I’ll be right back,” Krillin affirmed, and everyone gave him a knowing nod of support. 

     “Alright, so tell me everything. How was it? What happened?” Yamcha asked, and Tien brought a hand up to cover his mouth as he chewed. 

     “It was insane! It was nothing like the World Martial Arts tournament at all. It was one big battle of eighty of us, all at the same time, for about forty eight minutes. And the Kai used their powers to make it so we couldn’t fly,” Tien explained, and Yamcha’s eyes widened. 

     “Oh man, that must have been rough! I’ve gotten so used to flying, I don’t remember how to live without it!” Yamcha said. It was true. There was a time in their younger years when they were all reliant on the ground. But ever since their first encounter with Nappa and Vegeta, even his own close range fighting style adapted with the expectation of battling in the air.

     “No, exactly!” Tien exclaimed with a point, and then dug in for another helping of rice. “It’s part of all of our styles now, so it was a huge hurdle. And then we couldn’t kill anyone, er…not that I wanted to,” Tien clarified awkwardly, but then continued. “But also you weren’t eliminated by being knocked unconscious. It was all entirely by ring out. The team with the most survivors at the end wins.” 

     “Oh, you’re telling him about the tournament?” Krillin asked, now back with a sizeable plate of food. Tien nodded, helping himself to more food as he scooted over for Krillin to sit between them. “Yamcha it was hands down the most insane thing any of us have ever seen. And we’ve seen some things!” Krillin exclaimed, taking a bite.

     “Heh, I’m starting to feel disappointed now. How did it all go down?” Yamcha asked, feeling a familiar knot in his stomach. He kept his expression bright and cheerful, even as his spirit sank. Krillin shook his head in ignorant astonishment. 

     “I’m gonna be honest with you, it was a lot at once, it’s kind of a blur. When the battle started, all of us were fighting at the same time. In the beginning we were all back to back, but then all HFIL broke loose and we got split up. The rest is a blur. You’d have to ask everyone their individual stories. As far as our universe goes,I took a couple out, but I was the first one out,” Krillin confessed sadly. 

     “Ouch. Sorry man!” Yamcha winced. It wasn’t an unexpected outcome, given the competition. But Krillin was a proven warrior. The notion stung for him sympathetically. 

     “No no, I’m honestly happy. The other fighters there were insane. Just being on the same ground with all of them was a huge confidence boost,” Krillin said with a smile, as he shook himself out. 

     “Agreed,” Tien added with a nod, and a mouth full of chicken. “Then I was the next one out, but I took another guy with me. Then it was Master Roshi.” 

     “Wow. The old man lasted longer than I expected,” Yamcha exclaimed. Chiaotzu and Puar both nodded with similar surprise. 

     “Oh yeah, he’s still got it,” Krillin shook his head in disbelief. “Uh let’s see…then I think it was Piccolo, right?” 

     “Yeah it was Piccolo,” Tien agreed. 

     “No way! Piccolo was knocked out? ” Yamcha asked. The betrayed feeling in his body dissipated into thin air. He could still measure up to Krillin and Tien if he pushed himself, but Piccolo had always been out of his league. If Piccolo couldn’t last, perhaps it was better that they left him at home. 

     “Yamcha, these guys were ridiculous. This was nothing short of a miracle. We’re not even at the best part yet,” Krillin explained. “After Piccolo went down, Eighteen sacrificed herself to keep Seventeen in the fight. Then everything was starting to fall in line for us, until it was just us and the eleventh universe,” Krillin rattled off, before grabbing at a compact rice ball. 

     “Wait, just how many universes are there?” Yamcha asked, baffled at the casual admittance of parallel universes over a child’s birthday buffet. 

     “Apparently twelve, but only eight were in the tournament. I don’t remember why,” Tien explained with a shrug. 

     “That’s no fair,” Chiaotzu added. “Why did we have to fight but they didn’t?” 

     “No, but then here’s where everything got super tense! Frieza and Gohan took on this guy Dyspo. Fastest thing you’ve ever seen. Gohan had to hold him down and sacrifice himself to give Frieza the knockout,” Krillin said. Yamcha remembered that it had been Frieza that had been added to the team, instead of him or Buu. It was the ultimate snub. 

     “Yeah, so Gohan was out. And then there was this guy Top, who turns out to be an apprentice God of Destruction, like Lord Beerus. He just accepted the mantle of Godhood in the middle of the tournament, and got this insane boost of power from nowhere,” Tien explained. Yamcha’s shock was reignited anew. He remembered their brief skirmish with Beerus at Bulma’s birthday. His power was so immense it was actually imperceptible. 

     “Seriously! It was nuts! But then Vegeta put it to him, but he had to just about detonate himself to do it. He blew out all of his ki . And then Jiren!” Krillin rambled. 

     “Jiren?” Yamcha and Puar asked. 

     “Jiren!” Tien and Krillin said at the same time. 

     “What happened?” Yamcha asked, taking a bite of soba. He was fully invested in the story now, hanging on the edge of his seat for details. 

     “Yamcha he was next level scary. He made Cell look like an absolute cake-walk. First he beats the ever-loving-crap out of Frieza, and then Seventeen tries to stand up to him and nearly sacrifices himself. They were both still in the ring, but they were in bad shape,” Krillin recounted, his eyes vacant in bewilderment. 

     “Yeah, and then Goku was down for the count, so Vegeta had to fight Jiren one on one. It was brave, but it didn’t go well for him. He gave his last bit of energy to Goku before he got knocked out. Then Goku got up and went toe to toe with Jiren for a while, but before he could finish him off, he ran flat out of energy again,” Tien explained. If Yamcha’s eyebrows went any higher, they would touch his hairline. 

     “No way! He beat Goku?” Yamcha’s voice was rich with the appropriate level of fear.

     “Goku was almost out. To everyone’s surprise, Frieza saved him. Then Frieza and Goku teamed up in what must be the most epic fight I’ve ever seen! They moved in perfect tandem with each other, and worked together to force Jiren out of the ring. Seventeen was the last one standing. We barely won,” Krillin explained. Yamcha turned to look back at the rest of the party, his eyes landing on Frieza. The tyrant stood apart from the group, looking away in a bored sort of irritation. 

     “You know…I never met him myself, but it’s hard to believe Frieza really came through for us, given all the things I’ve heard,” Yamcha said, letting his eyes rest on Frieza. 

     “Trust me, no one’s more surprised than I am. I mean this is the guy who repeatedly impaled me on one of his horns as he laughed, and then blasted me right up to snake road,” Krillin recalled with a traumatized cringe. 

     “H-horns?” Yamcha asked, looking back and forth to verify. 

     “Oh! Yeah, that’s his base form right there, but when we fought him on Namek he was a tiny little guy with horns. He had a few more transformations too. Turns out they were actually power limiters so that he wouldn’t attract the attention of Beerus and Buu while he was out conquering the universe. According to Goku and Vegeta, he never had to train. He was just born strong,” Krillin said. He turned to look now, but then Frieza’s gaze turned to them and both men immediately looked away in rigid fear. 

     “Don’t worry. He looks intimidating, but he won’t try anything now. He’s outnumbered with Goku, Vegeta, Whis, and Lord Beerus being here. If there’s one thing we learned about Frieza in the Tournament, it’s that he isn’t stupid,” Tien said, calmly taking another bite of food. 

     “Y-yeah, you’re right,” Krillin agreed, unclenching and relaxing back into his plate. 

     “...I wonder what that’s like,” Yamcha said, and then noticed that everyone’s eyes were on him with confusion. He elaborated. “I mean, being born strong that is. The three of us had to train for years to get to where we are. And even then, when you look at us compared to Goku and Frieza,” Yamcha said, shaking his head.

     “I know what you mean. But honestly, I think we keep each other strong. And our strength passes on to the children. I mean look at Trunks and Goten. And remember how strong Gohan was when he was a little guy? I suppose it’s one of those things that just sort of happen,” Krillin said. 

     “I know one thing though; I’m even more inspired to get back to training. The next time one of these tournaments rolls by, I’m going to earn my spot on the team,” Tien said, setting his food aside. Yamcha smiled. There was a time when he considered Tien his perfect rival. It was inspiring to see him continue, in spite of their limitations. 

     “Maybe I’ll be able to come along next time too. And you too, Yamcha,” Chiaotzu remarked. Yamcha flinched. 

     “Heh y-yeah! Wouldn’t that be something? Hahaha,” Yamcha chuckled. “Hey uh, I’ll be right back, okay?” Yamcha said, sliding his chair back. 

     “Everything okay, Yamcha?” Puar asked.

     “Yeah, just a quick bathroom break!” Yamcha appreciated Puar for asking. They had a mutual signal worked out for when they were ready to leave. The shapeshifter scanned Yamcha for the sign. They relaxed when they saw nothing. 

     Yamcha weaved through the party guests and staff, making his way to the nearest restroom of Bulma’s estate. He took a moment to relieve himself and then washed his hands, before coming back out. By now, the Saiyans had made their way to the buffet, so the cooks were working overtime to compensate. Most of the mothers flocked to Bulma and Bulla, swapping stories and celebrations. But most noticeably, Frieza had moved from his perch at last. 

     The tyrant was standing at the bar behind the stools with his arms folded over his chest. His tail waved back and forth as he concentrated. Yamcha froze in fear of being this close to the fallen emperor. He immediately diverted his attention, looking back to the table with Puar and his friends, but then every hair on his body stood up when he heard a sharp voice lash against his ear. “You.” 

     “H-huh? What?” Yamcha asked, shaking as he turned back to Frieza. It had been the tyrant who spoke, and it was only now that Yamcha dared to probe for the emperor’s power. His ki was massive . Being in his presence made Yamcha feel nauseous and insignificant, not unlike a pebble slowly plummeting to the ocean floor. 

     “Come here, human,” Frieza beckoned without looking. Yamcha swallowed and hesitantly approached the tyrant. He looked around to see if anyone saw him, just in case anything happened. Puar had eyes on him, and was already motioning for Krillin and Tien. Yamcha relaxed a little then, if only slightly. If he died here, someone would know his story.  

     “Y-Yes! Yes, hi! I-I’m human! H-Hello!” 

     “I require relief from the revolting nature of this tiresome reunion. You will recommend this bar’s finest red wine for me as an honored guest,” Frieza stated, still not bothering to look at Yamcha. Yamcha’s eyes widened, and he felt his chest seize with panic.

     “U-um…yes, of course! T-tell me uh…y-your majesty. D-do you prefer a sweet red, or more of a dry?” Yamcha asked. He brought his hands together, assuming the role of a servant all too quickly. It was only then that he realized how badly he was trembling.

     “Dry. I detest sweets. Choose wisely, ” Frieza warned. Yamcha was on the cusp of heart failure. 

     “O-oh! Um! Well! In that case..m-m-maybe a S-Syrah? I recommend the Cayuse En Chamberlin! Y-Your majesty - sir!” Yamcha said, and Frieza snapped his fingers. The bartender urgently poured Frieza a glass of Yamcha’s recommendation. The Tyrant delicately grasped the stem of the glass, tapping a manicured venomous nail to its rounded bottom, before giving it an elegant swirl. And then he brought the glass to his lips. 

      Yamcha turned back to look at Puar, but then he saw that the entire table, and now the rest of the Z fighters were all looking at him. Even Bulma appeared to be clutching Bulla with panic. And now that Bulma was panicking, Vegeta was nervous too. It was only Goku, Whis, and Beerus who remained indifferent. The music quieted to a hum. 

     “... An excellent recommendation, human. I suppose there are a few things worth salvaging on this backwater planet,” Frieza remarked with a spine chilling smile. Yamcha’s mouth fell open. 

     “I-I-I’m glad you like it, your majesty! H-Happy to help! I-it’s the only one worthy of someone of your uh…caliber?” Yamcha stumbled. Why did he say that? What was he thinking?

     Frieza spared him a glance at last. The Tyrant’s eyes widened for a moment, and then narrowed again in a way that made Yamcha nearly fall off balance. It was only a moment, but it felt like a lifetime of tantalizing torture. At last Frieza closed his eyes and shrugged. 

     “Then it seems my reputation precedes me after all. Who knew Saiyans associated with such sensible and handsome creatures,” Frieza said. Yamcha was speechless. He couldn’t move. Evil radiated off of Frieza in a way that warranted quarantine. He thought he was a goner for sure, but he had somehow managed to charm his way out of certain death. 

     “W-why of course! Your immanence!”  

     “Tell me your name, human. Perhaps I might spare you when I return to obliterate this pitiful rock,” Frieza said nonchalantly.

     “Y-Yamcha! Your grace!” Yamcha said a little too quickly. It was pathetic how he was acting. But Frieza’s might was transcendent. There was no scenario where this went well for him as an opponent. He needed to play the part. 

     “Do something about that stammer of yours Yamcha, it’s unbecoming. You have impressed an Emperor. It would behoove you to carry yourself with pride. You may return to your festivities,” Frieza said, taking another sip of the red wine. Yamcha bent into a sharp ninety degree bow, and then side-shuffled away from Frieza with urgency. He locked eyes with Bulma who sighed with relief, and then turned the music back up. 

     Yamcha trembled all the way back to his seat where he was immediately pounced on by Puar. “YAMCHA I WAS SO WORRIED!” 

     “Y-Yeah! Me too Puar! ” Yamcha admitted, immediately squeezing his friend in a stabilizing embrace. He let Puar sob over him dramatically. At least someone cared. 

     “What did he want? ” Krillin asked in a hushed whisper. 

     “...A wine rec.. ” Yamcha said quietly. The answer seemed sufficient to Krillin, who blinked in stunned silence. 

     “Are you alright?” Tien asked knowingly. Yamcha nodded. 

     “Yeah! Yeah I’m fine, all things considered,” Yamcha said, his hands still shaking as he moved to drink a glass of water. 

     “How long is he staying here, Krillin? Do you know?” Tien asked, already tired of co-existing with a card carrying villain. Krillin sighed with a similar exhaustion. 

     “Whis brought Frieza back to life as a reward for doing so well in the tournament. But it appears Beerus’ generosity stopped right there. As of now, Frieza’s stranded on the planet until Bulma rebuilds a ship capable of warp.”

     “Oh man. Any idea how long that’s gonna take?” Yamcha asked. 

     “She’s fixed a Namekian ship before, so she has the technology. But building one from scratch might take a while, even for Bulma. But like Tien said earlier - Goku and Vegeta are here. As long as we all stay away from Frieza, I imagine he’ll stay away from us. He’ll have to cooperate if he wants to get back home,” Krillin explained. It was an astute analysis, lending to his profession as a police officer. 

     Yamcha spared Frieza one more quick look, but instead of fear it was now a mixture of curiosity and a small trace of pity. It was an unearned pity, true, but he would hate being stranded on a planet surrounded by enemies. The moment was fleeting and fickle, as Yamcha’s eyes turned back to his plate. 

     “Hey! Who stole my pork cutlet?” 

     “Move your feet, lose your meat,” Krillin teased with a playful snicker and click of his chopsticks. 

Chapter Text

     Yamcha took his place at the batting range. He cracked his neck and shook his shoulders out as he widened his stance over the plate.  After lining up his sight, he hiked the bat up behind his head and past his right shoulder. The ball launcher’s speed was set to one hundred miles per hour. 

     “Go for it,” Yamcha yawned lazily, and Puar activated the auto-pitcher. There was a three-two-one countdown, and then the ball shot out at a dangerous speed. But Yamcha just tightened his grip on the bat, and gently swung with a twist at the hip. The ball blasted right back into the opposing wall’s netting, and hit the ground with a thud. 

     “Nice hit Yamcha!” Puar cheered. They always cheered. 

     “You know the drill Puar. Just keep ‘em coming,” Yamcha said, scratching the inner lobe of his ear with his pinky finger. He hit ball after ball, each of them ricocheting off of his bat with a satisfying ring. This practice was pointless, but it was a requirement from his team. He had to report a set number of hours logged at the batting range in the off season.  The worst part was that some of his sessions had to be recorded for fans to view online, so he couldn’t just bat one-handed and sitting down like he normally did. It was a tedious but necessary compromise that he endured for the sake of employment. 

     The auto-pitcher kept track of his hit count. He hadn’t missed a single swing. He never did. His time as a martial artist left him over-qualified as a professional baseball player. Most of the time he had to actively hold back to keep from reducing the balls to shreds. But whenever he complained, Puar reminded him that the career choice was one born of both convenience and necessity. 

     In his younger years, his relationship with Bulma was tempestuous in the worst way. One week, he and Puar were living their best lives at Capsule Corp on Bulma’s zeni. Then the next week, they were homeless and zeniless because he hadn’t noticed she was wearing a new shade of lipstick, and failed to compliment her. Managing the stress of predicting her moods proved the larger task. He needed to keep his own steady stream of income, and secure stable lodgings apart from her. 

     Thinking of Bulma sent him into a spiraling series of past reflections, as he continued his tedious swinging. The time passed in the background of his contemplative criticism. There were so many arguments between them that both of them could have handled better. But they started dating young, and maturity hadn’t been either of their strong suits. He replayed the words in his mind from their final break-up, just as Puar floated up and snapped him out of his flashback. 

     They were holding his ringing cell phone. He took it with a quick ‘thanks,’ and unlocked his home screen. But when he saw the contact from the call pop up, he flinched. It was a frightening coincidence. He had only just thought of her a moment ago, but now Bulma was calling him on video. He cleared his throat and turned his cap backward, giving himself a quick once over in the camera before he answered. “Hey Bulma, what’s up?” 

     “Yamcha? Can you hear me?” She asked in a hushed voice. Her back was to a neutral white office wall, and she was looking about suspiciously. Yamcha was already concerned. 

     “Yeah, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” He asked, his mind racing to all of the worst scenarios. 

     “No, I’m in serious trouble. I need your help!” Bulma said. 

     “What’s going on?” Yamcha asked, dropping the bat and giving her his undivided attention. 

     “Listen, I need you to do me a serious favor. It’s…about Frieza…” Bulma whispered, holding her hand to one side of her mouth to cover her lips. Was she in Frieza’s ear-shot? Yamcha swallowed nervously. He could feel himself beginning to sweat. 

     “Has he hurt you?”

     “No! Well…not yet anyway. It’s kind of an odd situation. He’s stuck here until I build him a ship so he can fly back to his side of the universe. It’s probably going to take me a good two months or so to have a ship capable of warp up and running. But in the meantime, he’s running my staff ragged with these ridiculous demands! And when he isn’t, he and Vegeta are antagonizing each other. I’m afraid a fight’s going to break out any minute now!” Bulma said. Her voice was urgent, but her body language communicated extreme exhaustion. 

     “Uh…Well uh…what do you need me to do? I mean Vegeta’s strong right? Does he need back-up?” Yamcha asked, immediately put-off by the thought of having to work with Vegeta. 

     “I’m hoping it never comes to that! You weren’t there the last two times it happened, but when Frieza fights, planets tend to get blown up! We need to make sure he stays occupied - and far away from Vegeta -  to keep everyone safe,” Bulma said. Goku was the strongest warrior the earth had to offer, but Bulma was the earth’s protector in every other way that mattered. It was one of the major reasons why Yamcha was still in love with her. 

     “I mean…yeah that makes sense, but what do you need me to do?” Yamcha repeated, tilting his head in the video feed to show his confusion. 

     “...Could you come over? I need you to hang out with Frieza and keep him busy. He really seemed to like you at Bulla’s party this past weekend!” Bulma said, wildly overselling the brief encounter. 

     “What?! No way! This is Frieza we’re talking about! He’ll kill me!” Yamcha was yelling with panic. Puar was shrieking from behind him, babbling on in a pitch so high he couldn’t even fully understand them right now. 

     “Yamcha, come on! I really need your help with this! Look, I can’t let him leave because the minute we don’t have eyes on him, he’ll try to destroy the earth! If you come over here and he tries anything, Vegeta will protect you, I promise! But if we can keep them from fighting, we should,” Bulma explained, and Yamcha shook his head in bewilderment and panic. “Come on Yamcha! You’re the only one who can do this! Please?” 

     And there it was. The upturned eyebrows. The round soft blue eyes. The delicate tremble in her voice as she pleaded, with just enough of a tasteful view at her ample bosom. It worked every time, and he hated himself for it. But what could he do? He would do anything for her. 

     “I-I...I’ll be there soon…” Yamcha said. He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. 

     "Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Bulma said enthusiastically. At least one of them was relieved. 

     “Ms. Briefs?” Yamcha heard a voice come from off-screen. Bulma sighed on camera. 

     “What is it now?” 

     “He’s demanding a new toilet after each usage of the facilities, ma’am,” the voice said. 

     “Are you fucking kidding me?” Bulma shrieked. She ended the video. Yamcha turned to Puar who gave him a very warranted incredulous look. He winced back to them sheepishly with a nervous swallow. 

     “Uh…Puar? Think you can finish up batting practice for me? Looks like I have to go uh…s-save the world…” Yamcha said nervously. Puar sighed dejectedly, but then shape-shifted into Yamcha and took his bat. 

     “Please be careful Yamcha,” they said, before pulling him into a quick embrace. Yamcha was a little too familiar with the sensation of hugging his doppelganger. 

     “...No promises…” he mumbled back, before grabbing his gym bag and walking off to the showers. 

*****

     He could feel Frieza from miles away. He was pretty sure he felt him at least twelve minutes ago, when he was still outside the limits of West City. It wasn’t often that a power level even came remotely close to Vegeta’s; much less equaled it. It even clashed in texture. 

     Vegeta’s ki signature was brazen, bold, and furious. It reeked of arrogance, and it only got worse during training. But Frieza’s ki signature was revoltingly evil, and as cold as it was overwhelming. Yamcha ignored the urge to turn right around and fly back to his own home, instead flying forward and high enough so that the citizens below wouldn’t see. There were too many rumors of flying men coming in and out of Bulma’s family home. 

     He descended from the sky slowly, until he landed on the second floor balcony to Bulma’s living room. He pulled out his phone to text her that he was here, but the living room door suddenly slid open. “Hi Yamcha. Are you looking for mom?” It was Trunks. He was wearing an oversized hoodie, and holding baby Bulla inside of it, so he zipped the collar just up to his chest, so that her head could poke out as she laid on his chest. It would have been adorable, if the day weren’t pleasantly warm. The thought crossed Yamcha’s mind that perhaps Bulla could sense Frieza’s power, even at her infantile age. Did it bother her too? 

     “Hey Trunks! Yeah, I wanted to let her know I was here.”

     “She should be up in a sec. Mom’s angrier than usual. Be careful,” Trunks warned, and motioned for Yamcha to follow him inside. The doors slid open automatically as they approached and Yamcha took a seat on the couch. Trunks sent a message with one hand while cradling Bulla in the other arm. 

     “So Trunks, how do you like being a big brother, hunh?” Yamcha asked, trying to summon positive energy in what he suspected were his final moments. Trunks smirked. 

     “Well, I wanted a little brother, but I guess she’s okay. It’s a little weird honestly. But she doesn’t like to be left alone for long. She’ll cry until you pick her up, and then she just stops. Especially when Dad does it. I think he’s her favorite,” Trunks said, putting his phone away and rocking her gently. 

     “Awww, a Daddy’s girl, hunh?” Yamcha chuckled, suddenly remembering the time Bulma had Vegeta wear a pink shirt. The thought of Vegeta playing peek-a-boo with a baby gave him a knee-jerk laugh. 

     “Not if I can help it,” Bulma said, emerging out of an elevator. She wore a loose button down and leggings with a comfy pair of boots. Her hair was still in its pixie cut side-part, but it had been tousled. Yamcha assumed she’d been raking her fingers through it. Trunks hadn’t been wrong; she was upset. “Thanks for coming Yamcha,” she sighed. 

     “Y-yeah…sure! No problem…” Yamcha winced. 

     “No really, you’re doing me a huge solid here. He’s been an absolute terror on the staff. I just accepted my seventh resignation today. If one more thing gets dumped on me, it’ll be me going up there to fight him, I swear!” Bulma growled. Yamcha knew from experience she was only half kidding. 

     “Wait, Yamcha’s going to see Frieza? Can I go too? Please mom? Please?” Trunks begged, his eyes wide as he bounced with excitement. 

     “Absolutely not!” Bulma shrieked. Trunks pouted. 

     “Aww but why not? I want to challenge him to a fight! You guys said he was good now. I’ve never faced anyone that strong!” Trunks whined, but then he moved and nudged Bulla the wrong way. The baby looked as though she was about to cry. Bulma flinched. 

     “Listen Trunks, it’s complicated okay? Give her here and go challenge your father. I’m sure he can teach you some new moves or whatever,” Bulma said, doing her best to restrain herself. Yamcha knew from experience she was right at her limit. The signature throbbing vein above her right eye was a dead giveaway. 

     “But-!”

     “Trunks,” Bulma barked, and Yamcha’s spine straightened out of reflex. The young boy’s shoulder’s fell, but he handed over the baby, and then floated off down a hallway like a sulking orphan puppy. Bulma sighed in exhaustion as she started rocking baby Bulla back and forth to keep her from crying. She waited until she was certain Trunks was out of earshot and then sighed, saying “this is my life.” 

     “What’s this about Frieza being good now?” Yamcha asked. Bulma’s face scrunched into a frustrated frown. 

     “We needed to find a way to keep Trunks and Goten out of the Tournament of Power, so my husband - in all of his wisdom - lied to Trunks and told him Frieza had turned a new leaf. Now Trunks wants to run up and spar with him. What is it about boys, hunh? Why do you all need to hit each other all the time?” Bulma asked dejectedly, before holding up Bulla to her face. “You promise me right now you won’t be anything like this. You’re supposed to be on my side. You’re gonna be a good little girl for mommy, aren’t you? Are you gonna be mommy’s new best friend?” Bulma asked. Bulla cooed with a giggle. 

     Yamcha swallowed and looked away, suddenly ready to go and visit Frieza now. “So uh…where is he?” 

     “Third floor right wing. That area is his alone, but he’s not allowed to go anywhere else in the house, or to leave the premises. He knows to ring if he needs something so don’t let him fool you. I have cameras on him, and a security system to alert me if he tries to fly away. I just need you to keep him occupied. He might find some chill if he has a friend here. Maybe you could make it clear to him that stressing me out isn’t going to get him off this planet any time soon?” Bulma asked. 

     “Y-yeah…S-Sure thing! No problem at all!” Yamcha lied. 

     “Yamcha, I know you’re scared, but Vegeta will take any excuse to put Frieza in the dirt, and Frieza knows that. Goku’s on speed dial, and I have a direct line to Whis and Beerus as well. He won’t kill you. He’s just being a brat,” Bulma said, reaching out to rub Yamcha’s shoulder to calm him down. He flinched at how familiar the touch was. 

     “I notice you said he wouldn’t kill me, and not that he wouldn’t hurt me,” Yamcha pointed out, giving Bulma a look. She pursed her lips. 

     “Look, you can call me a lot of things, but you can’t call me a liar,” she said pointedly. 

     “Tell that one to the nimbus,” Yamcha threw back at her. There was a slight pause that made him uncomfortable. He could see she was at her wits end. Maybe that wasn’t the moment to throw a joke at her expense. To his surprise, she just laughed sadly. And then she looked at him, her gaze shifting from one of his eyes to the other. He nearly blushed. 

     “Be careful up there, okay?” She asked. 

     “I will,” he said with a reassuring nod. 

     “Thanks again,” Bulma said, giving him one last tired back scratch, before turning away with Bulla. Yamcha took a step toward the elevator, and his knees wobbled with anxiety. He managed to keep some small image of dignity about himself until he was inside of the metal doors, waiting for them to close. When they sealed shut, he let his head fall back and his shoulders slump down. 

     The gravitational pull of the elevator tugged on him as he ascended the floors to his inevitable death. He crossed his fingers in hopes that the elevator would malfunction, and then he could forget to call for assistance for a few hours and cling to what remained of his life, if only for a moment longer. But everything from Capsule Corp was state of the art and up to protocol, including the elevator. The doors parted with a ring to announce his presence. 

     Yamcha didn’t have to look for Frieza. He could feel him distinctly. He turned left and forced himself to move in closer to the bone-chilling ki signature. The door to the room was closed. He paused outside of it, and slowly clenched his hand into a trembling fist. Before he could bring it to the door, it parted automatically. “Why hello, Yamcha. I did not expect to see you again so soon.” The icily prim voice was an assault on his ear. 

     “Y-you…you….r-remember my name?” Yamcha asked, both baffled and caught off guard with the greeting. Frieza pursed his purple lips. 

     “I also remember I told you to rid yourself of that stammer,” Frieza critiqued in a threatening tone. Yamcha swallowed nervously. Normally he emulated the wolf, but in this moment he was not unlike a gazelle at the watering hole, making direct eye contact with a starving crocodile.  

     “Yes, your majesty. You…did.” Yamcha said, doing his best to keep his voice steady. “I’m sorry. It’s just that your presence is so…overwhelming? I’ve uh…lost my words! Hahaha,” Yamcha said, hoping that Frieza wouldn’t see through his ruse. The emperor smiled slyly. 

     “Good answer. Come forward and sit with me. We shall have more of that wine you recommended,” Frieza ordered. Yamcha forced his legs forward as he walked very stiffly toward Frieza, and pulled up a chair. The Emperor snapped, and one of Bulma’s staff sprinted forward at break-neck speeds to pour the two of them glasses of wine. Yamcha shot the poor man an apologetic look. He imagined Bulma would be gifting him an enormous bonus. “So Yamcha, what brings you here? Did you come with another recommendation for my consumption?” 

     “Your majesty, Bulma asked me to come over. She was worried you might be unsatisfied with your current uh…situation?” Yamcha said, nervously reaching for his glass. Frieza smiled devilishly. 

     “Oh, so she has been getting my messages. I was afraid they were falling upon deaf ears,” Frieza mocked. Yamcha’s lip quivered as he mustered his courage.  

     “Your majesty…forgive my rudeness, but if you want to leave the earth as fast as possible, you might find that the time will pass quicker if you leave Bulma alone,” Yamcha said, and Frieza glared. Yamcha sat up straight and quickly amended his statement. “That is! I-I mean! I know how you want to return home to your glorious empire! Bulma’s kind of a one woman show, you know? She’s the only one smart enough to build you your ship. She needs to keep all of her focus on that, to make sure you get home safely!” Yamcha said with urgent panic. 

     “Hmph. This backwater planet is barely fit for occupation. To think; you all have been living with this dated technology for so long. I have not yet decided if I will make it a colony, or erase it entirely. There are advantages to both,” Frieza said, picking up his glass and giving it an elegant swirl. 

     “A colony, your majesty?” Yamcha asked. He picked up his glass as Frieza did, and took a sip in the same way, doing his best to look somewhat dignified.  

     “Ah, I suppose you are yet unaware of the Frieza Force’s itinerary. We assess a planet’s survivability and current occupation. It falls to myself and my captains to determine if we will annihilate its occupants, or bring them under our servitude. If it comes to annihilation, we sell the planet to the highest bidder.” Frieza smiled malevolently, looking for Yamcha’s reaction. Yamcha did his best to keep his face straight. 

     “I see.” Yamcha took a much larger sip of his wine, nearly chugging it. 

     “Fear not, Yamcha. I don’t make this offer to just anyone, but there is a place for you in the Frieza Force. You simply need bend the knee and submit. I cannot say the same for the monkeys, however. Their usefulness has long since expired,” Frieza prattled on, taking another sip of his wine. 

     “Your Majesty, I uh…appreciate your generosity. But if I’m being honest, I’m hoping that spending some time on earth might…convince you to leave us alone? It’s the only home I’ve ever known and I…well…I really like it,” Yamcha explained. Frieza gave a quick laugh. 

     “Don’t hold your breath. I have scores to settle with Goku, and then Vegeta’s little whelpling. The pair of them have drained what little there was of my mercy. I just need that foolish woman to finish my ship so that I might gather my resources,” Frieza warned. Yamcha sank a little in his chair. 

     “Well your highness, please forgive me if I try to change your mind,” Yamcha said sadly. He looked up to see Frieza look him up and down with ill intent. 

     “Tenacity. I admire it. I couldn’t help but notice your physique and spiritual pressure as you approached. Tell me Yamcha, are you a fighter too?” Frieza asked. There was a hint of honest curiosity in his tone, but it still sounded like a mockery to Yamcha.

     “I was your highness, but I’ve retired,” Yamcha said quickly, holding his hands up in sheepish surrender. Frieza laughed darkly. 

     “Come now, don’t be bashful. I’m not as young as I look. I know a warrior when I see one. I’m certain you still have some fight in you,” Frieza hissed, as his eyes narrowed. 

     “You flatter me your majesty, but really I was left behind in the fighting race a long time ago. I’ve made a humble career in entertainment, and everyone else is so strong, well...there’s no need for me to fight!” Yamcha said with a self-deprecating chuckle. 

     “Entertainment?” 

     “I play baseball, your lordship.” Yamcha explained. Frieza arched what should have been an eyebrow, so Yamcha assumed he had no idea what he was talking about. “It’s a sport here on earth; a contest. Two teams of nine players compete in a series of plays, and score points based on the success of those plays. The team with the higher point total at the end wins,” Yamcha explained timidly.  

     “And…then the losing team… dies at the end? Perishing in an ever-burning agony?” Frieza asked, waiting for Yamcha to confirm. Yamcha’s eyes widened in horror. 

     “No, of course not! It’s just for sport! For fun! At the end we shake hands and go our separate ways,” Yamcha explained. Frieza’s lower eyelids lifted as he recoiled in disgust. 

     “That sounds dreadful. I must vacate this planet at once. There has to be some other way. I could just fly away, but if my memory is correct - and it is - it would be quite some time before I make it to one of my outposts,” Frieza thought out loud. He lowered his gaze and cupped his chin between his index finger and thumb. 

     “Your majesty can breathe in space, sir?” Yamcha asked, yet unaware of that detail. Frieza laughed. 

     “Why yes! It is a handy feature for one such as myself, is it not? Though it would be terribly inconvenient to have to do so in this situation. It is a wretched plight indeed, but I suppose I shall have to wait for my ship,” Frieza explained, and Yamcha visibly relaxed. There was a moment of silence between them as they sipped their wine, but then Frieza spoke again in a slightly hushed tone. “Yamcha, can you feel that?” 

     “Feel what, your majesty?” Yamcha asked, looking around for what he was supposed to be feeling. 

     “That treacherous monkey’s power. I’ll admit, Vegeta certainly has come a long way since our last encounter. He still pales in comparison to me, but he’s close enough to have my attention. Tell me, what is it that he’s doing? How has he achieved this newfound strength?” Frieza asked. Yamcha thought to lie, but something about the ever present threat behind Frieza’s gaze made him change his mind. 

     “Bulma has a chamber that can be used to enhance gravity, your majesty. Vegeta trains in extremely high gravity settings to increase his power,” Yamcha hesitantly explained.  

     “Ah, gravity. That explains it. Well, I can’t have him getting this close to me in power. He might mistake himself my equal. You’re close to the woman, aren’t you Yamcha?” Frieza asked. 

     “Bulma? Y-yes your majesty. We're old friends,” Yamcha explained, deliberately leaving out the fact that she was once the love of his life. The less he gave Frieza, the better. 

     “Has she confided in you when she expects my ship to be prepared?” Frieza asked, narrowing his eyes once more at Yamcha. 

     “...Two months, your majesty,”  Yamcha said fearfully. Frieza tsked and closed his eyes in irritation. 

     “That simply won't do at all. Very well. You will return tomorrow at the same time and take your place as my new sparring partner. I shall not suffer my glorious body rotting for months at a time, while I wait on her incompetence. Tell Vegeta that you and I will be making use of his gravity chamber while you are here, and in exchange I will cease pestering his silly little broodmare,” Frieza said. 

     “Y-your majesty sir! I’m afraid I would be no match for someone of your prestige!” Yamcha said, hoping Frieza would change his mind. Frieza just smiled.  

     “Neither was Tagoma. I have no equal. But it is imperative that I train regardless, if I am to remain the most powerful being in the universe. I would say we should go down there at once, but I’m afraid I’ve had too much to drink. In my current state I might forget to hold back and accidentally kill you,” Frieza said, with a drunken sort of shrug. 

     “But I-”

     “That was not a request, Yamcha. It was an order. Make no mistake; my current fondness of you does not exempt you from my wrath, should you defy me. You will do as I command,” Frieza said firmly. Yamcha swallowed hard enough that his adam's apple lifted and lowered back down. 

     “...Yes sir,” Yamcha said quietly. 

     “Good. You may go now. I have reached the limits of my tolerance for company. My time is better spent in rest for tomorrow’s events.” Frieza said with a dismissing wave of his hand. Yamcha rose from his chair immediately. 

     “Goodbye, your majesty,” Yamcha said, resetting his chair, and shuffling a little too quickly to the door to exit the premises. He repeatedly pressed the down button on the elevator to capsule corp, waiting for it to come. When at last the door parted, he dashed in and pressed the button for it to close again at once. When the metal doors came in to close, he gave Frieza one last look. The emperor smiled and waved slowly. Menacingly.

     With each individual finger.

Chapter Text

     “Yamcha, please reconsider!” Puar cried. They were frantic with worry. Yamcha couldn’t blame them. Sparring with Frieza was a horrible idea, and he had already imagined his inevitable death several times over. He even double checked his will and testament to make sure that once he’d passed, whatever money he had would transfer over to Puar. Baseball had been very lucrative. Puar would be well provided for. 

     “I don’t have a choice, Puar.” Yamcha said sadly. He was changing into his orange kame house gi, noticing the way it no longer fit him like it used to. There was a time when he looked at the silhouette of his body proudly in the mirror, especially after strenuous training with Goku, Krillin, and Master Roshi. But now that he’d given in to his retirement, the once snug fabric hung loose with unflattering relief. “He made it clear it was an order. If I defy him, he might just destroy us all. And he can breathe in space! Did you know that?” 

     “Yamchaaaa,” Puar wailed, burying their face in Yamcha’s chest with heaving sobs. He wrapped an arm around them and rested his chin on their head. 

     “Listen, Bulma gave me her word that Vegeta will step in if I need help. I don’t think I’m going to die. I just…might get a little banged up. Okay?” Yamcha said. Puar lifted their face from his chest with an incredulous look of disbelief. “What? I don’t want to lie to you Puar, but like…I don’t know what to say,” Yamcha confessed. 

     Puar just sighed. “You don’t have to say anything. I should be the one comforting you,” Puar admitted. Yamcha held them tighter. 

     “You do comfort me Puar. You’re my best friend. Thank you for worrying about me.” They held each other in the familiar embrace for a moment longer, before Yamcha let go and turned to look at himself in the mirror. The pants were baggy. The gi was baggy. He had to tie the belt tighter than usual just to keep everything up. Still, for him this felt like a private reacquaintance with a forgotten piece of himself. A vital piece of himself. 

     “What if I come with you? Just for today?” Puar asked. Yamcha shook his head ‘no’ but kept looking at himself in the mirror. 

     “It’s too dangerous Puar. He might decide he wants to keep you as his shapeshifting pet! The less you see him, the better,” Yamcha said, and then turned to face Puar again. “Can you do me a favor, though?” 

     “You need me to take your place again?" They asked, floating up to meet Yamcha at eye level. 

     “I have to head over to Bulma’s, but I have a feeling I’m going to need a senzu bean or five. Could you visit Korin for me and grab a few?” Yamcha asked, making his way over to a nearby window. He opened it and Puar flew out first. Then he ducked and floated out afterward, and closed the window behind them. 

     “You can count on me! I’m on it!” Puar said, happy to be able to help in some capacity. 

     “Thanks Puar, you're the best! Wish me luck?” Yamcha asked nervously.  

     “...Good luck Yamcha,” Puar said sadly. They waved goodbye to each other, flying off in opposite directions. Now that Puar was out of sight, Yamcha let his fear show. He rubbed his arms and rolled his lips in over his teeth nervously, as the reality sank in. He was on his way to a sparring session with Frieza, one of the deadliest people in the universe. His brain was screaming a single thought at him on a tireless loop. 

     This won’t end well. 

****

     “My my,” Frieza purred, making an assessment of the gravity chamber. Their steps echoed against the floors of the monochrome prism. Yamcha kept pace behind him, his nervousness better left unseen. “These are rather cramped quarters, are they not? It doesn’t offer much in the way of variation either,” Frieza critiqued, pursing his purple lips as he sized up the room. 

     “Uh…I’m afraid not, your majesty, sir. I think the idea is more for developing strength and resistance than anything else. I’m uh…not very strong, so if you are set on sparring we might have to leave the gravity alone for now,” Yamcha cautioned. Frieza looked back at him from over his shoulder. 

     “ Oh? Are those pectorals just for show then? Power up to your maximum and let me set my gaze upon you,” Frieza commanded, turning to face Yamcha in full. “I shall determine today’s regimen based on what you’re able to muster,” Frieza said, folding his arms over his chest. 

     “Oh! Uh…Yes sir!” Yamcha said, with a blink. He spread out into a stance wider than shoulder length, found his center, and focused. He felt his ki begin to climb within him rapidly, as the burst of energy rippled his clothes and tousled his hair. Yamcha roared with adrenaline as he felt his inner power reach its climax. Once he was certain he had reached his peak, he broke stance and stood up straight. 

     Frieza looked Yamcha up and down and tsked, unmoved. “It appears I do have my work cut out for me. You are simultaneously stronger than I expected, and weaker than I hoped,” Frieza critiqued, and Yamcha winced. “No matter. Training with me will more than bring you up to speed,” Frieza said with a shrug. 

    “Your majesty, um…not to question your uh…infinite wisdom? But wouldn’t you maybe be better off training with like…Vegeta? Or Goku?” Yamcha asked sheepishly. Frieza closed his eyes in irritation. 

    “The problem is that Goku and Vegeta would be better off training with me . You’ve never experienced the pleasure of my company before now, so you are yet unaware of the substantial results that my methods bring about. If I trained with either of those filthy monkeys, they would certainly push my limits, it’s true. But I would also push theirs by consequence. I don’t want them getting any stronger than they already are.  I am already ahead of them, but the goal on my end is to widen that gap indefinitely, until they grovel in submission.” Frieza’s explanation was sharp and succinct. 

     “Oh. Um…well yeah. That makes sense,” Yamcha said, crestfallen. Frieza smirked. 

     “You’re afraid - as you should be. This will be excruciating, but mark my words; by the end of our time together you will yet again take your place as one of this planet’s mightiest warriors. My last trainee Tagoma was once weaker than my former bodyguards, who were nowhere near Super Saiyan level. But after four months with me, Tagoma was able to evenly exchange in combat with Goku’s older offspring, even as a Super Saiyan. You’re weak, but you’re stronger than Tagoma was,” Frieza said, cracking his neck and wringing out his hands. Yamcha blinked in astonishment.

     “W-well. If you’re sure, your majesty! Um…how do we begin?” Yamcha asked. 

     “Grant me a moment Yamcha. I’ll have to shift back into my first form. If I were to hit you as I am now, you would perish in one blow,” Frieza said, levitating slowly into the air. Yamcha watched as Frieza breathed and held his arms out. Then Yamcha felt the chill in the air retract, as Frieza’s ki pulled back within himself. There was a vacuum effect that almost knocked Yamcha off balance, as Frieza pulled on the air around them, and then began to glow with a blinding pink light. 

     Yamcha looked away, holding his arms up to shield his eyes. He waited until he felt the pressure change in the room, and the shade of his closed eyelids told him it was safe to look again. When he did, he saw that Frieza was smaller now. He was no longer the striking alien image of white and purple that he was when they first met. Now he was pink, and horned, with a thick pink tail and purple armor. But what was better, was that his wretched ki was somehow a bit more breathable. 

     “Woah! I-I’ve never seen anything like that!” Yamcha remarked. Frieza smiled, thrilled with himself. “I can’t imagine being so powerful I’d have to hide it. That’s amazing!” Yamcha meant it as a compliment, but Frieza’s smile fell to a frown, and Yamcha immediately flinched. “I-I mean! Well I just-!” 

     “I never thought of it that way…” Frieza remarked, looking aside. Yamcha’s eyebrows twisted up in confusion. “It is a limiter, true, but I thought it was for other people to be able to stand in my presence. I never made the connection that I was the one hiding,” Frieza thought out loud. His nostrils began to flare with irritation. Yamcha panicked. 

     “No! Your majesty, no! I didn’t mean it that way! Your power is so uh…fearsome! And mighty!” Yamcha’s knees shook as he struggled to think of a way to turn this back around. 

     “Save the platitudes Yamcha. You were correct the first time. I am only now realizing that my father taught me this technique to keep my affairs off the radars of Lord Beerus and that pudgy pink imbecile. It only just occurred to me that he didn’t think I could do it. He…didn’t believe I could handle them…” Frieza lamented. Yamcha’s lip was quivering with terror. He needed to think fast. 

     “Well uh…I suppose that’s why it’s called the Frieza Force? And not the…Frieza’s…father’s….force?” Yamcha said, not realizing how stupid he sounded until after he’d already said it. What better way to confirm his appointment with death, than to openly mock Frieza’s late father? There was a moment of strangling tension, but then Yamcha was taken aback again. Frieza was...laughing. Cackling!

     “Too true Yamcha, yes indeed! For all of my father’s supposed wisdom, where exactly did it lead him? A dirt mound in the ground! Blasted to bits on this miserable planet!” Frieza’s maniacal laughter bounced off the walls of the gravity chamber. Yamcha wasn’t sure yet if he was relieved or distraught from the sound. His body didn’t know how to react. “Oh, I did need a good laugh. That was wonderful.”  

     “H-happy to help?” Yamcha said with a shrug. Frieza coughed and cleared his throat. 

     “Very well, to task then. Our first order of business will be to bring you to the point of being able to confidently exchange blows with me in this form. My area of improvement remains my endurance, as I am unaccustomed to long battles. But I cannot truly push myself unless you are able to bring me to the brink of exhaustion,” Frieza thought out loud. Yamcha’s eyes widened. “As of tomorrow you will come two hours later. I will use the first part of the morning to exhaust myself at the highest level of gravity setting, and then power down and face you when I am otherwise drained of my energy. The training should scale throughout my forms, and in theory boost my ability to manage my golden form. But in the meantime, in your present state I could still eviscerate you without substantial effort,” Frieza said. Yamcha sank within his own worry. “It would be prudent for me to grant you a handicap until you have increased your strength by some measure. Today we will keep the gravity neutral, and you shall come at me with everything that you have. I in turn will fight using only my tail,” Frieza said. Yamcha winced. 

     “Your majesty, I know I’m not even close to you in terms of power. But…isn’t just a tail a little extreme? I’m rusty but that’s a little unfair. E-even for me!” Yamcha said. Frieza smiled. 

     “Confidence! I like it. Prove me wrong,” Frieza challenged, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and brought his legs together. His tail hung loose and wagged back and forth as it dragged along the floor. Yamcha grit his teeth and assumed his stance. 

     “Alright! Here it comes!” Yamcha summoned forth his ki again, and then flew forward at Frieza as fast as he could. He moved to come in for a forward jab, but Frieza’s tail slipped under his arm, and then came up to whip him under the chin. Yamcha was knocked back violently. His body bounced along the floor of the gravity chamber, like a rock skipped along shallow water.Yamcha stood up, wiping the blood from his mouth in sudden comprehension of what he was up against. Frieza’s smile fell.

     “Again,” Frieza commanded. Yamcha flew forward and then dashed behind Frieza as fast as he could. He came in for a sharp strike with his elbow, but Frieza’s tail swept his legs from under him, and then beat down on him from above. Yamcha yelped in searing agony. “You’ll have to do better than that, Yamcha,” Frieza teased, turning to face the orange athlete. There was a dent in the ground beneath Yamcha’s back from the impact. Yamcha rolled to his feet and sucked in a lung full of air. Then he growled and fired off a series of ki blasts. Frieza batted them away effortlessly, keeping his word and still using only his tail. But Yamcha used the blasts as a distraction. He dashed about in a blitz before coming to Frieza’s side for a swift kick. 

     Frieza caught Yamcha by the midsection before the blow could connect, and then held him up in a constricting coil. Frieza squoze and Yamcha yelled in pain as the life began to drain from his eyes. Frieza savored the moment with a malevolent smile, before rolling Yamcha out of his tail and whipping him out against the wall. Yamcha’s back hit the wall with a thud and he fell to a knee. 

     “I…I don’t get it! What am I doing wrong? I should be able to hit you!” Yamcha coughed out, heaving as he took in his breath. He was already sweating and seeing stars. Frieza laughed a hideous mocking laugh. 

     “You poor thing. I can see your whole history in your fighting style.” Yamcha recoiled in shock, but Frieza continued. “You’re quick. Nimble. Rough protruding knuckles and stress stretched hands. You come from nothing, don’t you? Your dexterity lends to the panache of a thief. Admittedly you do have some small talent for battle. But I can see what’s wrong.” 

     Yamcha rose to his feet, but Frieza closed his eyes and looked away. “I did hope to enjoy bringing you to your knees today, but you’ve already been broken several times over. Your fighting style indicates that you’re used to being the strongest person in the room. I’ll courteously assume you were for a time, but that’s no longer the case, is it Yamcha? Nor has it been for a while,” Frieza teased. 

     Yamcha flinched and closed his mouth tight, with a cough to clear his throat. Frieza smirked a harlequin grin. “You make a show of swinging at me, and it’s rather convincing, but deep down you don’t actually believe you’ll be able to land the hit. The truth is you’re scared, and that fear is making you hesitate. It’s a moment for you, but a millenia for me. It’s giving me ample time to read your body and predict your next move,” Frieza prattled on, and Yamcha let his frustration show. 

     “You’ve failed one too many times, haven’t you? You gave up before we even began. Someone’s broken your spirit. I wager it was one of those simian simpletons.” Yamcha clenched his teeth tight, trembling with anger. Frieza maintained his penetrating gaze. “The question though is which one? Vegeta? Or do you harbor some jealousy for…Goku…? Is it Goku, really?” 

     “Stop it! That’s enough!” Yamcha barked. 

     “There it is! Righteous anger. Now put it to purpose, and come at me with it!” Frieza hissed. Yamcha growled and flew forward at maximum speed. He came in for a full frontal attack, throwing a barrage of punches and kicks at the icy emperor. Frieza dodged them effortlessly, before wrapping his tail around Yamcha’s forearm and squeezing tightly. Yamcha yelped in an octave unbefitting a man. “What did I just tell you?” Frieza yelled, and then threw Yamcha back. 

     Yamcha rubbed his arm to circulate the blood back down the proper pathways. Frieza’s nose was wrinkled with irritation.  But then his eyes glinted with the terrible twinkle of thrill. Yamcha followed his gaze as he looked about the room. “Hmm…Vegeta’s that way…That one must be the whelpling. If I concentrate…” Frieza said. 

     “What…what are you doing?” Yamcha asked, stalling so that he could take in more air to catch his breath. 

     “Ah…there she is! Utterly insignificant, but not imperceptible,” Frieza mocked, and then held up his finger. At the tip of his daggered nail a red light ignited and he held it up. “If I fire this blast, it’ll go straight through the wall and obliterate Vegeta’s spoiled little sow,” Frieza declared, and Yamcha felt his heart seize up in his chest.  

     “No! Leave Bulma out of this!” Yamcha screamed, and Frieza pursed his lips. 

     “Make me,” Frieza hissed. Yamcha blitzed forward with purpose, propelling himself much faster this time. Frieza dropped his hand, keeping his eyes forward to anticipate Yamcha’s next move. Yamcha dashed left, then right, then forward, and then above bringing his fist down onto the glass-like helm of Frieza’s skull. His fist connected! Frieza’s head was knocked back with the impact. Yamcha jumped back with muscle memory, but then the adrenaline gave way to his disbelief.

     “I…I did it! Holy crap, I did it! ” Yamcha exclaimed. Frieza let his head hang dramatically, before slowly bringing it forward.

     “At last. Well done Yamcha. The hard part is over. You’ve done it, but more importantly now, you know it can be done. Burn this memory into your mind and wield it the next time you think to throw yourself that tiresome pity party,” Frieza said, brushing his shoulder off. Yamcha was sweating bullets and sick to his stomach. That brief skirmish took all of his effort, he was already at the end of his rope. His chest heaved with each breath. “Now then, I shall go on the offensive.” 

     “What?” Yamcha asked incredulously, and Frieza dashed forward at blinding speeds. Yamcha caught a glimpse of Frieza whirling around, and then he felt Frieza’s tail crash against him in an instant of the worst pain he had ever felt. And then it was over.

     Everything was gone.

*****

     “Oh! Hey! I think he’s awake!” 

     Yamcha groaned, hearing a familiar voice in the darkness. He reached up to rub his eyes on instinct, but the shooting pain in his chest stopped him immediately. His eyes shot open at the agonizing jolt that ripped through him, and he blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the world around him. Three things were quickly clarified for him; he was still at Capsule Corp, Frieza was gone, and he was laying in a bed. 

     “Yamcha!” Yamcha turned his head in time to see Bulma crouched down by his side. She threw an arm around him to give him support as he sat up. He leaned into it.  

     “Oh uh...hey Bulma. Uh…am I dreaming?” Yamcha asked, turning his vacant gaze to Bulma. She was fussing over him, and looking over his vitals. He wrinkled his nose and shook his head, still trying to clarify his vision. Now he could see that he was in the room with Bulma, Trunks, and surprisingly… Vegeta? 

     “No, this is real,” Trunks answered flatly. Yamcha nodded and gave a quick ‘thanks.’

     “What happened?” Vegeta demanded. Yamcha blinked and looked around, immediately defensive at the sound of Vegeta’s voice. 

     “Uh…Frieza and I were sparring. I think he might have hit me a little too hard,” Yamcha confessed with a wince. 

     “That settles it. I’ll kill him,” Vegeta said, and turned on his heel. Trunks’ eyes lit up at the opportunity to watch his father in a full scale battle, but Yamcha pushed himself up on the bed, to Bulma’s immediate protest. 

     “Woah, hey, wait! No! That’s not necessary!” Yamcha said. Vegeta stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder. 

     “This was a stupid idea in the first place! There is no coexistence with someone like Frieza, and there never will be. I should have put him down the minute Whis brought him back,” Vegeta growled. Yamcha shook his head quickly. 

     “No! You don’t understand! He was training with me! It was just an accident! You know as well as I do, these things happen. I’m fine!” Yamcha exclaimed, but Bulma cut him off, shining a light in his eye and prying his eyelids apart. 

     “He broke three of your ribs, and you’re looking at some serious internal bleeding, you idiot! What were you thinking, sparring with him like that? You haven’t fought anyone in years, and now you just up and throw mitts with Frieza of all people?  Why don’t you just go raw dog a bee-hive while you’re at it?” Bulma roared as she fussed over him. Yamcha winced.

     “...I’ve had worse,” Yamcha said, and the room went uncomfortably quiet. “Where is Frieza now?” 

     Bulma stood up and stepped back, logging notes into her datapad before answering. “He called us over the intercom to tell us you needed help, and then flew his pompous ass back upstairs. Don’t worry, he’s still there. I’ve got him on camera.” 

     “See? If he was as bad as you say he is, wouldn’t he have just finished the job?” Yamcha challenged, unwilling to let this go.  

     “ You don’t have to cover for him ,” Vegeta said, turning to face Yamcha at last. He took two steps closer to the bed. “I know better than anyone what it’s like being under Frieza’s thumb. You think there’s no escape from him, so you lie and put on a bravado. You think there’s nothing you can do to protect yourself, so you submit to his cruelty to spare yourself an even worse fate. I wasn’t strong enough to kill him before. I am now, ” Vegeta declared. Yamcha hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden divulgence from his Saiyan nemesis.  

     “I’m not covering for him! He’s…” Yamcha started, unsure of what he was going to say. Vegeta waited. “He isn’t…this isn’t… that, okay? I would tell you if it was, but it isn’t. I figured something like this would happen, so I sent Puar to Korin’s tower to get senzu beans. Can you call them? They’ll come over with the beans and I’ll be good as new,” Yamcha said. Vegeta and Bulma looked at him for a moment longer, before looking at each other. “Guys, I swear I’m alright. I know it’s been a while but…I’m a warrior. I’m fine.” 

     Bulma crossed her arms, but relaxed in her shoulders. Yamcha recognized this as her thinking pose. He met her gaze, knowing that she was scanning his eyes for lies. When she relaxed, he knew he’d passed her test. “...Alright. Wait here and try not to move. I’ll get Puar on the phone,” she said, before turning her back and reaching for her bag. From the corner of his eye, Yamcha caught Trunks in a dramatic pout. He gave the kid an apologetic smile for ruining his potential entertainment. 

     Then Vegeta stepped closer, and Yamcha looked up to meet his gaze head on. The two stared at each other in tense silence, but then Vegeta turned his head and walked away. The Saiyan’s usual bravado was normally impenetrable, but Yamcha was certain that in that instant, Vegeta’s eyes held something previously unthinkable; actual concern. 

     The door to the capsule corp bay opened and Vegeta marched through it tensely. Trunks waved goodbye and chased after his father. Yamcha slowly lifted his arm up from under the sheet. His knuckles were freshly bruised from the impact against Frieza’s skull. He spread his hand open, feeling the tight skin chafe against itself. To others, the sensation was an uncomfortable truth. For him…

     …it was a fascinating familiarity. 

Chapter Text

     Yamcha couldn’t breathe. 

     He didn’t have time. Frieza darted about the training room so quickly that it took all of his effort to keep his eyes on the frigid hellion. Blinking meant he’d end up face first on the gravity chamber floor, with Frieza’s foot on his neck, as their previous skirmishes had taught him. But the exhilaration of battle proved an unmatched addiction. 

     They clashed against each other, elbows on elbows, knees against knees. This had been their routine for nearly a week. Frieza would work himself to the very limits of his ki in the early mornings, so that he would be completely exhausted by the time that Yamcha arrived for their lunchtime spar. Then they would fight until it wasn’t safe anymore. Even with Frieza depleted and fatigued, Yamcha was no match. Still, each day they trained together, he could feel the progress in the fibers of his muscles. 

     Frieza threw a swift kick at Yamcha’s left side. Yamcha blocked it, but the force of the kick sent him sliding back regardless. Frieza darted right back in, immediately closing the distance between the two of them, and then whipping around for a sweep with his tail. Yamcha backflipped over the sweep and then took to the air. 

     His body ached. He was approaching his limits. Yamcha blasted out a barrage of ki from both of his hands. Frieza humored him with a whirling series of dodges to avoid the damage, and then fired his signature ‘death ray.’Yamcha had learned from experience not to try to deflect the blast; the force of Frieza’s ki was unyielding. Instead he flew aside, but to his horror Frieza was already behind him. He felt Frieza’s cold hand clutch his already strained throat, and then a fist went into the small of his back! 

     Yamcha lost his vision for a moment as he plummeted to the floor, hitting it with a nasty thud. He forced himself up onto his hands and knees, as he heaved on pure adrenaline. Frieza gave him no reprieve, lashing down on him from above with a whip-like crack of his tail. Yamcha yelped in agony. 

     “You’ve gotten stronger, Yamcha. I’m impressed. You managed to last an entire four minutes this time,” Frieza said. The tone of his voice was mockingly ambiguous. Yamcha wasn’t sure if the praise was genuine, or yet another tease. He certainly couldn’t tell now. He was too delirious and battle beaten. 

     "Time’s up!” a voice roared. Yamcha felt Frieza’s tail leave his back, as the tyrant flew forward, landing in front of him. Yamcha took the moment to climb up to his feet with a battered stumble, and after a moment’s delay, his consciousness eventually caught up. Vegeta was standing in the door of the gravity chamber, chest forward like a silverback gorilla. Frieza’s tail lashed back and forth in place, not unlike a hissing viper.

     “So soon? I could have sworn I had at least five more minutes,” Frieza challenged. Yamcha could feel both of their power levels slowly increasing in the silences between their words. He knew this was nothing short of a standoff. And one with the potential for absolute disaster. 

     “There’s a clock right over there, Frieza. Do I need to remind you of our deal?” Vegeta growled. 

     “Vegeta, this territorial temper tantrum is utterly beneath you. You could at least be civil enough to let Yamcha and I finish our spar. After all, I trained you better than this,” Frieza said, and Yamcha flinched at the barb. To Yamcha’s surprise, Vegeta kept his cool. 

     “You’re a long way from home Frieza. Things work a bit differently here. And as long as you’re in my house, you will do as you’re told,” Vegeta growled slowly, deeply, so that Frieza heard the warning in his pitch.

     “I beg your pardon? Just who do you think you’re talking to?” Frieza asked incredulously. Yamcha felt the panic well up within him. Before he even realized what he was doing, he moved between the two of them, holding out his hands as if to keep them from colliding. 

     “Y-your majesty um…sir! W-why don’t we let Vegeta have the gravity chamber for now? I uh…actually don’t have any power left, I’m totally at my limit. I surrender!” Yamcha said, but  Frieza just glared at him. He almost retreated back to the place behind the tyrant, but he wasn’t thinking straight. He was moving in pure panic. “B-besides! There are some uh…other wines I would love for you to try!” 

     Frieza closed his eyes with a small scoff, and then stepped forward. “Very well. The gravity chamber is all yours, Vegeta. I shall resume my training in the morning.” Frieza walked forward, nearly clashing at the shoulder with Vegeta, but the two narrowly missed each other. Yamcha’s fear-fueled adrenaline picked up again, as he gathered himself and ran after Frieza. When he passed Vegeta, he caught the prince’s glance for an instant, but he ignored it, staying on task. 

     The mechanical door to the gravity chamber shut behind them as they walked out. Yamcha moved to follow after the pint-sized emperor, but then Frieza's voice stopped him in his tracks. “Yamcha.” 

     “Y-yes? Your majesty, sir?” 

     “I have given you no title or rank to ever suggest that you should speak on my behalf, nor come between me and an inferior. Vegeta’s insolence and disrespect cannot go unpunished, and unless you intend to carry out that punishment yourself, do not ever presume to insert yourself in my affairs again. You are my preferred punching bag for the time being; nothing more. Are we clear?” Frieza gave his chastisement from five steps in front of Yamcha with his back turned. But Yamcha didn’t need to look into Frieza’s eyes to know just how serious he was. 

     Yamcha’s throat went dry with worry, and he lowered his gaze in humiliation. He reached out with his energy once more, reacquainting himself with the hopeless disparity that was the power gap between him and the intergalactic tyrant. The threat in Frieza’s voice penetrated his skin in a way that made him feel worthless. He tried to swallow to clear his throat, but the spit in his mouth vanished in the atmospheric evaporation of frigid fear. “...Yes your highness. It won’t happen again. I-I apologize,” Yamcha croaked with a bow. “P-please forgive me.”

     There was punctuated tense silence between them for what felt entirely too long, but then Frieza gave a small hmph and continued forward. “Bathe yourself and return to my suite. You have the intolerable stench of shame,” Frieza critiqued, and then marched forward. Yamcha flinched and then lifted his arm to smell his sweaty pit. For once, Frieza hadn’t exaggerated. An after-spar shower was sorely needed. Yamcha waited for Frieza to make his way to an elevator, and then for the door to seal itself shut, before collapsing against a wall. 

     He let himself breathe for a moment, surprised to have escaped the clutches of death yet again while in Frieza’s presence. But he had angered the Emperor, and now he needed to think of something fast to increase his chances of survival. He reached clumsily for his training bag, and dug out his phone. With a quick scroll through his contacts, he dialed a number and held the phone up to his ear.

     “Hello?”

     “Bulma? It’s Yamcha. Hey uh… I need a couple favors,” Yamcha said, still breathy and afraid. He watched himself fight back tremors. 

     “Yeah sure, just make it quick. I’m about to walk into a meeting,” Bulma said 

     “First things first, I really need a shower. I reek,” Yamcha said, and Bulma laughed. 

     “You dweeb! You called me for that? Whatever, I’ll get mom to bring you some things and show you to a shower,” she said.

     “Cool! And then I need you to disable the security around Frieza’s suite. We uh…have to head out.” 

     “WHAT?!” Bulma shrieked, and Yamcha flinched at the banshee wail that threatened the structure of his cell phone. He switched ears to spare himself the loss of hearing. 

     “Bulma, you have to trust me here!” Yamcha pleaded.

     “No I don’t! Are you out of your mind?! He hit you too hard again, didn’t he?” Bulma quickly rattled off. 

     “Listen, we were sparring, and then Vegeta just barged into the training room dick-first and started acting like a total douche! And then he and Frieza started arguing, so I uh… got between them in order to keep the peace! But now Frieza’s really fricking mad at me because I spoke on his behalf or whatever, and I have to do something big to make up for it!” Yamcha explained.

     “Yamcha, I’m not sure about this. This is way too dangerous! If we lose track of him for even a second, the earth is done for!” Bulma reminded him. Yamcha was all too familiar with the stakes on his shoulders.

     “You’re the one who asked me to keep him under control. This is what it’s gonna take! I-I know what I’m doing! Sort of…” Yamcha lied. Bulma went silent for a moment, but then she sighed. 

     “I don’t like it, but fine. But you text me every half hour to let me know you’re alright. I’m serious, Yamcha. If you miss a text, I’m going nuclear,” Bulma said. Yamcha nodded, and then realized she couldn’t see him because he was on the phone. 

     “R-right. Yeah, got it,” Yamcha said. 

     “...Be careful, stinky,” Bulma said, and ended the call. 

     Yamcha sighed and then leaned against the wall again. His mind raced forward, trying to think of ways to get back into Frieza’s good graces. But before his thoughts could carry him away with worry, he heard the doors to the training area open again. Mrs. Briefs had come upstairs in record time. “Yamcha sweety, it’s been too long! How are you?” She asked, in her characteristic accent. Apparently she was unaware that Yamcha had been here every day for the last week. Yamcha smiled with appropriate concern. 

     “Uh…hey Mrs. Briefs! Yeah, long time no see!” He said with a chuckle and a wince, feeling rude for not saying something before. 

     “Bulma said you needed a shower, right? Well come with me, let’s get you taken care of,” she said, gesturing for Yamcha to follow her. Yamcha picked himself up and off the wall, and then pushed through his aches as he walked over to where she was. “So how ya been, sweetheart?” she asked, waiting for him to come into the elevator, and then pressing the button to take them to another part of the estate. 

     “I’ve uh…I’ve been great! You know just uh…playing baseball. I’m trying to get back into martial arts. It’s uh…kind of hard getting back into the swing of things, heh,” Yamcha said, fidgeting nervously. He was never sure how exactly to interact with Bulma’s mother. Bulma never let her get a word in for too long when they were dating, always yelling for her to leave them alone and give them space. For some reason, it made him feel guilty. 

     “That’s great dear! I’m glad to see you’re out here making something of yourself! You keep at it, Yamcha. I bet we’ll be seeing you back at the World Martial Arts Tournament in no time!” Mrs. Briefs said with her infectiously positive smile. Yamcha grinned back at her with a little laugh. She proved a pleasant chaser to the after taste of Frieza’s wrath. “So tell me Yamcha, are you seeing anybody?” 

     And just like that, any joy he’d recovered washed away instantly. Yamcha’s eyes flew open as his stomach plummeted lower than it should have. Mrs. Briefs continued. “I mean I love Vegeta of course, but I don’t know! I always kind of thought it’d be you and Bulma in the end, ya know? Anyway honey, I just want to make sure you’re putting yourself out there! You’re a total catch!” To Yamcha’s relief the door opened and she walked out in front of him. He followed after her, freshly wounded all over again.

     “Well uh…Not lately, no. I’ve uh…kind of been focusing on myself,” Yamcha said. 

     “Sure, sure! This way honey, just around this corner here,” She said, and then reached into a nearby cabinet. They had pre-folded towels and lines of assorted soaps and shampoos ready for guest usage. Yamcha remembered when this sort of wealth used to surprise him, but his world had been flipped upside down from the moment Bulma came into it. “I think these two would smell great on you! Here! You’ll find the shower right over there, sweetheart. I’ll be back with a change of clothes for you in just a minute okay?”

     “Thanks Mrs. Briefs,” Yamcha said with an exhausted sigh. She smiled enthusiastically. 

     “Of course honey! And Yamcha sweety I’m serious. It’s okay to work on yourself, but don’t stay in the dark too long, okay? Poke your head out from time to time! You might be surprised to see who ya see!” She said, and then waved as she walked back to the elevator. 

     “Heh…thanks! I uh…I needed that,” Yamcha confessed. He listened for the closing click of the elevator door, and then proceeded to strip down. He made his way over to one of the spa themed showers that they had, and begin to wash himself down. His mind was racing again. He needed to figure out way to get back into Frieza’s good graces. 

     But what could he do?

*********

      “Ah, there you are,” Frieza said unenthusiastically at Yamcha’s entrance. Yamcha rushed forward, noting the impatience in Frieza’s tone. 

     “Yes your majesty! So sorry for the delay,” Yamcha said with a sharp bow. 

     “I do hope that this wine of yours is well worth the wait and the impertinence, Yamcha,” Frieza warned, rolling his eyes and then slowly turning his gaze to the orange warrior. Only he wasn’t wearing orange now. Yamcha had been dressed in a white t-shirt that clung to the silhouette of his frame, cut off at the tuck of a crisp brown leather belt. His hair was freshly washed and tousled into a carefully careless spill of dark layers that matched the black slacks and dress boots that he wore. Frieza let his eyes linger indecently for the moment. 

     “I suspect you will find it to your liking, my lord! Only I uh…I wondered if maybe you might enjoy some fresh air? I hope you’ll forgive my uh…presumptions? But I dunno, I just thought you might start to like the earth if you maybe…saw a little more of it?” Yamcha asked. Frieza smirked. 

     “How foolish. You truly think you can charm me into sparing this blight of a rock? Very well Yamcha, I accept your challenge. But I assure you, I shall not be defeated,” Frieza mocked, and Yamcha winced with a fake smile. 

     “Well your majesty uh…sir? Maybe we could uh…go into town a little? You might enjoy a few additions to your um…illustrious wardrobe? And then we could maybe do an early meal in the city? That is uh…if you’ll allow me?” Yamcha asked. Frieza’s eyes widened with astonishment, and then narrowed with malevolence. 

     “A splendid idea, Yamcha. Finally a proper display of subservience. It's good to see you taking initiative,” Frieda smiled. Yamcha felt a small bit of relief in Frieza’s return to fearsome glee. 

     “Happy to help, my lord. Uh, if you’ll uh…just follow me?” Yamcha said, before stepping aside to open a window out of Frieza’s suite. He flew out of the window and then turned back to face the frigid emperor with a newfound nervousness. Frieza had been watching him carefully, but then floated forward after him, hesitating slowly at the window. Frieza put on a brave face, but Yamcha saw through the bluff. He had to hand it to Bulma; the tyrant was actually nervous to set off her alarm. 

     But there was no noise, and Frieza’s relief was visible once he made it past the window frame, and up into the open sky with Yamcha. But then Yamcha slowly descended to the ground floor, and Frieza followed after him with reignited irritation. “This place must be close by. Surely you don’t intend for one such as myself to walk,” Frieza critiqued with thin pressed lips and a narrowed glance.

     “Of course not your majesty! I just uh…I thought you might want to experience uh…traditional…earthling transit?” Yamcha asked, and then reached into his pocket for his capsule case. He opened the plastic case and pulled out a red labeled capsule, giving it a click and a toss. The capsule exploded into a puff of smoke and then in its place, a shining red convertible hover-car appeared out of thin air. Yamcha approached the passenger side, and then opened the door, gesturing with his hand and a slight bow for Frieza to take a seat. “After you, my lord.” 

     Frieza smiled widely and walked forward. He neatly folded his tail up and over the seat, before plunging down into place and swinging his toned legs into the car. Yamcha gently closed the door after Frieza, and then walked around to the other side of the car, letting himself into the driver’s seat. “I suppose this planet’s technology isn’t entirely inept. To have a vehicle within the reach of one’s pocket is quite the feat,” Frieza remarked in earnest. Yamcha smiled with pride. 

     “Bulma’s family developed the capsule technology my lord. It’s become a way of life for us here. If you give me a moment, I’ll get us going,” Yamcha said, putting a hand on the back of Frieza’s headrest to push himself around to see the rear. Yamcha reversed onto the pavement, and then drove off forward out of Bulma’s estate, and onto the road.

     Yamcha threw a nervous glance over to Frieza, but the tyrant seemed to be enjoying the ride. Frieza’s eyes flicked about as he took in the sights of the other houses under the clear blue sky. Yamcha cleared his throat, and then asked “Would you like to listen to music, my lor-

     “NO!” Frieza roared, and Yamcha flinched like a beaten dog. 

     “S-s-sorry!” Yamcha yelped awkwardly. He felt the steering wheel threatening to crack under his grip, so he loosened it, doing his best to concentrate on the road. Suddenly he realized just how bad of an idea this actually was. Frieza could kill him in an instant, with little to no effort. And then he could kill everyone , and there was nothing that anyone could do to stop him. Not even Goku. He couldn’t stop himself from shaking, even as he drove. 

     “...No need for an apology. You couldn’t have known. I take no offense,” Frieza confessed after some time. Yamcha sucked in a much needed breath of air, and gave the tyrant a quick glance before returning to the road. To his surprise, Frieza continued. “Have you died, Yamcha?”

     “T-T-Twice now, your highness,” Yamcha said, horrified at where this was going. Frieza snickered.

     “I’ll assume you didn’t go to hell?” 

     “Uh…no. No…I-I didn’t. I actually went to train with King Kai.”

     “Ah, the pudgy little insect from the Northern sector of the universe. I’ve only ever heard of him. As I’m sure you can imagine, when I met my end, I had a reserved section of hell ready and waiting for me. But what they don’t tell you is that there are layers to hell that are customized to different people,” Frieza said, trailing off. 

     Yamcha’s eyes went wide. He came to a redlight and stopped, turning his attention to Frieza as he waited for the change of the light. Frieza continued. “Mine consisted of a torture so sinister it...well it was unlike anything I could have anticipated. I was…serenaded by pixies and stuffed animals… all day,” Frieza confessed, with a traumatized tremor in his voice.

     Yamcha paused.

     “Everyday...”

     Yamcha fought back a laugh.

     “Endlessly…”  

     Yamcha pictured it in his mind. He imagined a tiny parade of teddy bears marching through fields of flowers and singing cheerful songs as Frieza wailed in anguish. He crossed his toes and bit down on his tongue to save himself and the planet from Frieza’s wrath, but the urge to chuckle was hard to resist.

     “I…prefer a comfortable silence.”

     “O-oh. Uh…As you wish, your highness.” Yamcha said, turning his attention back to the road. The light turned green and he continued on without another word, focusing instead on the feeling of the wind in his hair, and the light of the sun washing over them as he drove. He followed the familiar route to West City’s largest shopping mall. After a spiraling exit into the parking lot, he found a spot close to the door, and backed into it neatly. Then he put the car in park, and cut the engine so he could step out to open Frieza’s door again. “Here we are.” 

     “And where exactly is this?” Frieza asked, before swinging his legs up and out of the car. The tyrant stood up and walked forward as Yamcha quickly disassembled the car, putting it back into its capsule, and then in his pocket. 

     “This would be the West City mall, your highness. It’s uh…kind of a central hub for shopping. I thought maybe you might like to explore? If you’ll indulge me, it would be my honor to um…show you around I guess?” Yamcha asked awkwardly. Frieza paused in contemplation. 

     “Very well. Lead the way,” Frieza said with a tired shrug. Yamcha jumped to action. 

     “R-Right! Follow me, your majesty!” Yamcha walked briskly to grab the door for Frieza. The tyrant sauntered in slowly and waited for Yamcha to get the next door. Yamcha held it open and watched as Frieza’s eyes trailed the large conglomerate of stores. Thus far the tyrant seemed entirely unimpressed. 

     “You earthlings are not unlike insects, bustling about in a colony in pointless patterns. I do hope you didn’t think this would impress me, Yamcha.” 

     “No your majesty! I intend to take you to a wine tasting this evening, so that we might sample multiple wines to your liking. It’s just that well the uh…place that we’re going to requires everyone to be um…clothed? In something other than battle armor,” Yamcha explained with a wince, hoping he hadn’t offended the cruel emperor. “I figured we might look into grabbing clothes for you here, and then maybe I could show you a few other things as well.” 

     “Ah, something ceremonial then? Very well. What passes for prestige in this place, Yamcha? You will guide me to your finest merchants.” Yamcha paused at Frieza’s compliance, shocked that this was working.

     “This way, your majesty,” Yamcha said, leading on with hands outstretched. He felt Frieza walking behind him and watched the way people stopped and stared at the horned pink emperor. Yamcha felt a twist of fear in his stomach, wondering if the pointed staring annoyed Frieza. But he caught a glimpse of the tyrant in a passing window and saw him smirking with a contrary countenance. Frieza was thriving on the public’s awe.  

     Yamcha continued on, eventually coming to an upscale  boutique. The doors parted for the two of them, and they were greeted by a retail clerk at the entrance. “Welcome! How can we help you today?” She asked, immediately coming to Yamcha’s side. 

     “We’re just looking around, thank you!” Yamcha said, quickly dismissing the retail worker. He hoped she would notice the panicked look in his eyes and take the hint to stay far away from him and Frieza. Fortunately she smiled in comprehension. 

     “Of course. Please, let us know if you need anything.” 

     “Thank you!” Yamcha said, and continued past her. Frieza followed. Yamcha led them down a path between aisles, before coming to the formal wear section. “Why don’t we start here, your majesty?” Yamcha asked, but when he turned, he saw that Frieza’s attention was directed elsewhere. 

     “...What are those?” Frieza asked. Yamcha followed Frieza’s glance to the shoe-rack on display. He looked back and forth a few times to make sure he was accurately deducing the trajectory of Frieza’s targeted gaze. Once he triple checked his math, he spoke again. 

     “Those are…shoes. Heels, your majesty,” Yamcha said, moving back to Frieza’s side.

     “...Heels?”

     “Yeah, they're a type of shoe. Earth women wear them. It’s uh…kind of a popular style here,” Yamcha explained. 

     “Is it restricted to just the women?” Frieza asked, turning to look at Yamcha in earnest. Yamcha had never seen this look in Frieza’s eyes before. Or maybe he had for just a moment, when he first explained baseball to the tyrant. It was a look of intense honest curiosity, that was frighteningly innocent. 

     “Uh well…I mean…technically speaking, no? It’s just uh…well men don’t uh…commonly wear them? But I mean…you could? If you want?”

     “Will they make me taller?” Frieza asked intensely. Yamcha blinked.

     “Uh…so long as you keep them on, yes? I mean they make you taller, but they kinda boost you up?” Yamcha said, scratching his head. He hadn’t anticipated this at all.  

     “I wish to try them. Bring them to me at once,” Frieza ordered. Yamcha flinched. 

     “Uh! Y-yes sir!” Yamcha rushed over to the shoe-rack, grabbing the pair of six inch platform heels that Frieza set his gaze upon. They were a pair of black leather closed-toe stilettos, with a golden strap around the ankle and a matching golden heel that descended to a dangerously sharp point. The shoe was nearly as villainous as Frieza himself. “Um…your majesty, sir? I should warn you that uh…these are notoriously uncomfortable and difficult to walk in. There are other shoes-” 

     “I shall not be bested by your civilization's archaic footwear. Rest assured Yamcha, I shall conquer these just as I have conquered every other challenge in my life,” Frieza said. Yamcha swallowed nervously. 

     “Okay…well uh. If you’ll um…have a seat there, your majesty,” Yamcha said. Frieza turned to look over his shoulder, seeing the low sofa that Yamcha gestured to. He moved over to the seat and sat down with his arms crossed, letting his tail coil beside him. Yamcha dropped to a knee and brought the shoes in front of him. “May I?” 

     Frieza looked down at Yamcha, and then smirked, bringing his foot forward. Yamcha cupped the back of Frieza’s ankle, and then brought the shoe up to the tip of Frieza’s center toe-talon. But Frieza’s two side talons hung out awkwardly over the sides of the shoe, and Yamcha began to panic. “Uh…your majesty? I’m afraid this one might be too narrow,” Yamcha began. Frieza tucked his toe-talons in on the side and scrunched them together to Yamcha’s stomach churning horror. The orange warrior shuddered for a moment, but then proceeded to slide the shoe onto Frieza. 

     Yamcha proceeded with the other shoe, and then stood up and stepped back to give Frieza space. “Please go slowly, my lord.” 

     “Yamcha, I have bested entire galaxies. Do not insult me by thinking I will be defeated by something so simple,” Frieza barked, before standing to his feet. But as soon as he did, his right ankle twisted inward, and he immediately lost balance. “A-ah!” 

     “Gotcha!” Yamcha reached out instantly, wrapping his arms around the tyrant to steady him. Frieza clutched onto Yamcha’s arms and pulled himself up to find his footing. He wobbled again for a moment, but then let Yamcha go. 

     “Unhand me!” Frieza barked. 

     “R-right! Sorry your highness!” Yamcha said, jumping back six whole feet. Frieza breathed through his nose with a stubborn determination. He teetered from side to side, struggling to find his balance, and awkwardly stretched his tail to keep himself steady. Yamcha could see Frieza’s irritation slowly beginning to rise. The emperor was gritting his teeth in a way that would traumatize any dentist worth their salary. 

     “First time in heels?” A passing sales clerk asked. Yamcha tried to wave her away, but she continued in ignorance. “You’re standing on your toes. Try to lean back. You want to step from heel to toe. Trust that the heel will catch you,” She advised. Frieza growled but then wobbled backward slowly. 

     And then all of his shaking ceased. 

     The tyrant smirked and laughed to himself. He looked in the mirror across the room, and then stepped one foot in front of the other, heel to toe just as she said. Then again, and then again. The tyrant found his cadence and began to click up and down the shopping center with each of his steps. Frieza emerged triumphant from his peril, and immediately slipped into a characteristic stride. 

     Yamcha mouthed a quiet ‘thank you,’ to the sales clerk, and she simply smiled in return. “Those look wonderful on you,” She called, before turning away. 

     “Why yes…yes they do…” Frieza said, looking himself up and down in the mirror. Yamcha watched with a small smile as Frieza assessed himself from various angles. For a moment, Yamcha was actually just pleased that Frieza was pleased.  But it was there in the fluorescent light of the shopping mall glow, that Yamcha noticed a severe darkness in Frieza’s eyes. It was something far more sinister than he could ever have imagined. Yamcha learned a terrible truth about Frieza, that struck fear into his heart anew. It appeared that Emperor Frieza, commander of the Frieza Force and feared tyrant of universe seven…

     …was a material girl.

Chapter Text

     “My lord, those can’t be comfortable,” Yamcha said. He was trailing behind Frieza clumsily as they made their way back outside, carrying at least fifteen different shopping bags and boxes from the various stores they went to. Yamcha’s wallet would need a senzu bean to recover from the beatdown Frieza put on it. The former fighter sighed, guessing that his retirement from professional baseball was most likely set back another two years in one day. Frieza in contrast strutted forward like a commander-in-chief, taking to the field of war. The menacing clicks of his brand new high heels were only slightly dampened by the outside pavement, as opposed to the smooth polished floors of the mall. 

     “They’re excruciating. That’s why I love them!  The suffering of my feet is reflective of the suffering I shall inflict upon this miserable planet! Oh they are wonderful, are they not?” Frieza peered back over his shoulder. He now wore a backless black turtleneck and a pair of gray slacks that were tailored to make room for his tail, and cuffed to display his six-inch heels. His current outfit was complete with a necklace garnished in VVS diamonds, several rings, and a custom designer watch. Frieza had taken to earth’s fashion faster than Yamcha would have hoped, but he had to admit there was a unique flair to the ensemble. 

     “Excuse me, can I take your picture?” Yamcha’s head whipped around at the sound of a civilian photographer approaching. Yamcha panicked, desperately trying to signal the man away from the pint-sized powerhouse, but the photographer wasn’t catching the hint. Fortunately for them both, Frieza just smirked. 

     “I suppose I could bestow upon you a capture of my magnificence. Very well,” he purred. He struck his trademark pose; one foot in front of the other with his hands outstretched as his muscle definition showed through the tight turtleneck. His tail slung out like a python descending from a tall branch, and the malice in his expression was unmistakable. The photographer snapped the shot, and the camera printed out a photo on the spot. The photographer showed the photo to Frieza who smiled revoltingly. “I shall have a copy of that. Yamcha-” Frieza beckoned.

     “Yes of course my lord,” Yamcha said quickly, panicking as he reached into his pockets for his capsule convertible. He popped the cap and it burst into form in a nearby parking space.  He rushed over to the car so he could load Frieza’s bags into the trunk. Then he ran back to the photographer.

     “I sell them in packs of three. Just two more photos, if you will?” The photographer asked. Frieza answered before Yamcha could. 

     “Take this!” Frieza snarled and snatched the collar of Yamcha’s shirt, holding him up with one arm in a display of his power. The other hand rested on his hip as his tail lashed out in an elegant curve. Yamcha struggled in fear, but Frieza was grinning a wicked grin. From the corner of their eyes there was a flash as the photo snapped, and then printed itself out on the spot. “Excellent! And one more, correct?” Frieza asked. 

     “Yes sir!” The man said, thrilled with Frieza’s enthusiasm. Yamcha was coaxing himself down from the cardiac arrest of being manhandled by the tyrant a moment ago. His life flashed before his eyes all over again and a nervous sweat trickled down his back.

     “Yamcha, stand against your vehicle,” Frieza commanded. Yamcha flinched in fear and then blinked in confusion. 

     “Oh, um…Yes sir.” Yamcha moved over to the car, standing in front of it as instructed. “Like this?” Frieza marched over to him as he asked, the click of his heels now familiar to Yamcha’s ears, not unlike a cat’s belled collar.

     “No you simpleton.” Frieza sighed. “You have no sense of artistic posture, do you? Lean back.” Frieza pushed on Yamcha’s chest with one finger, and Yamcha clumsily rocked back into place. “Perfect. Now hold that pose, and don’t move an inch, ” Frieza said, his tone implying the phrase ‘or else.’ Yamcha tightened his entire body, doing his best not to move. 

     Frieza studied him for the moment before making adjustments, moving Yamcha around like a mannequin. He put Yamcha’s hands in his pants-pockets, turned his wrist so his watch caught a gleam of the sunset, smoothed his white shirt to dismiss the wrinkles, and rolled his shoulders back to fix his posture. Lastly, he turned Yamcha’s chin with the side of his index finger, making him look off at a three-quarter profile. 

     “Oh, excellent sir!” The photographer cheered, stooping to a knee to capture Yamcha’s pose from the best angle. The camera chirped with a flash and the photo printed itself again. The photographer walked over to the pair, showing them the three photos. Yamcha was stunned. The photos of Frieza were as frightening as they were fierce, but for once he actually couldn’t take his eyes off of himself. The way that Frieza posed him captured all of his best features. “I must say, you really have a knack for aesthetic poses!” The photographer praised Frieza, who grinned. 

     “It is only natural. I have had my likeness captured on many occasions, and have found ways to make even Dodoria look reputable and refined,” Frieza bragged, as if either of them were supposed to know who Dodoria was. Yamcha intervened, knowing that Frieza’s patience was fleeting and fickle. 

     “How much for the photos?” Yamcha asked, already reaching for his now well-worn wallet. 

     “Actually, I’d like to use these in my portfolio, if I have your permission? I’ll give you those free of charge and send more copies in the mail if you’d like, but especially the one of you, sir! This could really elevate my prospects!” The photographer said. Yamcha turned to Frieza for approval. Frieza nodded and walked to the car.

     “Uh…yeah. Sure thing! Here,” Yamcha said, quickly writing down the information for his post office box on the back of one of the photographer’s business cards, and taking another card for himself, as well as the three photos.

     “Thank you so much! Please enjoy your evening!” The photographer called out as Yamcha sprinted over to the car. He quickly opened Frieza’s door for him and the tyrant took his seat. Yamcha waited until Frieza rested comfortably in the car and then closed the door after him, moving around to the driver’s side. 

     “Well done Yamcha. You’ve advocated for the sovereignty of your planet most admirably. You should be proud,” Frieza said, relaxing in the passenger side. Yamcha laughed nervously. 

     “Oh! Um…thank you my lord! Are you ready for the wine tasting then?” Yamcha asked, turning to look at Frieza with a shy smile. Frieza just nodded. Yamcha backed them out of the parking spot and then proceeded down the road. As he drove, he noticed Frieza admiring the photos from the corner of his eye; most particularly the photo of himself. “They really are wonderful, your highness.” 

     “As to be expected of one such as myself. Though I must say, it has been some time since I’ve done any field work. How refreshing,” Frieza said, setting the photos aside in one of the car’s compartments. Frieza turned to look around at the surrounding scenery as they drove by, taking stock of the towering buildings, trees, and civilians against the sunset backdrop. 

     “I’m sorry, my lord. I don’t understand what you mean by field work?” Yamcha asked, a twinge of fear tightening inside of him as he asked Frieza to trouble himself with the labors of elaboration. When they first met, he could barely stand being in Frieza’s vicinity for more than a minute without feeling ill with worry. But their time together had taught him that Frieza liked the sound of his own voice. Sometimes it was better to keep him talking. 

     “When I was first beginning my tutelage as my father’s successor, I would appraise a few of the planets that we conquered myself. I visited in person and curated detailed reports on the planet’s contributions to the galaxy as a whole, both as an organic body, and as a location for its civilizations. Did you know - most don’t know this about me - but I have a collection of various trinkets and treasures from the different planets that I’ve visited in person. I-” Frieza said, but then paused abruptly.

      Yamcha glanced at Frieza as he drove, waiting for the tyrant to continue. From the corner of his eye, it looked like Frieza might have been gritting his teeth. There was a moment of prolonged silence that was too punctuated for Yamcha to ignore. “My lord?” 

     “Disregard everything I said. We shall continue on to this wine tasting, and then you will return me to that foolish woman’s compound,” Frieza said, and Yamcha swallowed. He suddenly felt as though he had done something wrong, even though he hadn’t done anything at all. His heart raced as he spoke to himself in his mind, trying to figure out the best course of action to keep up the high spirits between himself and the frigid emperor. The best thing to do now, was to obey. 

     “...Of course, my lord.” 

*****

     Even as they arrived at the winery, Frieza remained silent. The quiet was so unnerving that Yamcha’s hands shook as he pulled into his parking space. He stepped out of the car and walked around to open Frieza’s door. The tyrant struggled to stand back on his feet, not accounting for the elevation of his knees from the heels. But he used his tail to adjust his balance and then sprung forth, walking on as if nothing happened. Yamcha closed the door and collapsed the vehicle back into its capsule, following Frieza. 

     He darted ahead to pull the door open for the emperor so that he could walk into the winery. Then he moved ahead of him again to give the hostess his name for the reservation that he’d set. He looked back at Frieza, doing a general check in to make sure everything was okay. Frieza seemed to be taking in the surroundings, while the people paused to look at Frieza. He again paid them no mind, just looking around at everything.

     The hostess came back to bring them to their table. Yamcha reserved the balcony for them outside, making certain that they would have a private experience. He pulled out Frieza’s chair, and the tyrant sat elegantly. Yamcha walked around to the other side and took a hesitant seat. “Your server will be with you momentarily,” the hostess said, and walked away. Yamcha looked from side to side, trying to think of something to say. 

     “My lord I uh…read reviews to find the best winery in town for today’s experience. I hope you find a few to enjoy. Maybe if there’s one in particular you like, I could get the bottle for you?” Yamcha asked nervously. Frieza said nothing, instead looking at the items on the menu. Yamcha floundered with panic, but the server approached again. He already had two flights of different red wines for them to sample, each labeled with their menu items. He left them on the table for the pair, and then quietly walked away. Yamcha was thankful they had followed his instructions to the letter. He wanted as few people around Frieza as possible. 

     “My lord, if I may ask…you’ve never been to earth before, so how is it that you know about wine?” Yamcha asked, as Frieza pinched one of the glasses from his flight between his perfectly daggered nails. 

     “This planet is not the only planet to produce grapes, Yamcha. Nor was it the first to discover that they can be fermented into wine. In fact it is one of the last,” Frieza said, taking a sip of the wine. He made a face of displeasure, and Yamcha braced himself for impact instinctively. “This one is much too sweet,” Frieza said, setting the glass aside and moving on to the next one. 

     “Sorry about that, your majesty. I thought I would have them bring out all of the reds for you to try, but they’re sorted from left to right in order of sweetness to dry. If you start on the other end, you might find a better one,” Yamcha rattled off sheepishly ducking as he spoke as if he expected Frieza to backhand him at any moment. Frieza reached on the opposite end of the flight for the dry wine and tasted it instead. Yamcha waited with baited breath. 

     “...Better.” Frieza conceded, and Yamcha exhaled. Yamcha took a drink himself, perhaps swallowing it just a little too fast. But this was more of Frieza than he had ever handled in a single day. Their time together was usually spent over the course of a few violent hours. Then he would take a senzu bean, go home, and contemplate the utter fragility of his life. The truth was that anticipating Frieza’s moods in this way was exhausting in an eerily familiar way. 

     He swallowed, doing his best to think of what to say next. “So there’s similarities between the planets, my lord? Is there something you really like to eat, then?” Yamcha asked, fishing for something to coax Frieza out again. The tyrant just took another sip of wine. 

     “Seafood. Crab in particular,” Frieza said, now pointedly looking at Yamcha as he drank. 

     “Oh! Well in that case, maybe I could-” Yamcha began, but Frieza interrupted him. 

     “I know what you’re up to, Yamcha. You’re not half as clever as you might think you are,” Frieza said, setting his glass aside menacingly. Yamcha froze in panic.

     “I…I don’t know what you mean, your majesty?” Yamcha said, the saliva in his mouth drying immediately as his heart raced. 

     “It has been some time since anyone was foolish enough to attempt to outwit me. You’ve been luring me into topics to make me rant about myself. Though I can’t quite determine what it is you’re searching for. A weakness, perhaps? Some sort of chip in my flawless character that you can exploit for personal gain?” Frieza asked with a malevolent smirk, and Yamcha’s eyes widened in fear. 

     “N-No! Your majesty, it’s nothing like that, really! I just - I’ve never been in the presence of someone of your prestige for this long and I-” Yamcha rattled off, his chest seizing with his nerves. He exhaled. “I just don’t know what to say. My life isn’t half as interesting as yours is,” Yamcha confessed, and his shoulders fell. He was at a complete loss for words. 

     “That will be for me to decide. You can start by telling me about what transpired between you and that woman,” Frieza said, folding his arms across his chest while looking at Yamcha. Yamcha looked around nervously, frightened that someone had found them. 

     “What woman, my lord?” 

     “Vegeta’s chew-toy. You want her for yourself. Do not deny it,” Frieza taunted.

     “Don’t talk about her that way,” Yamcha fired back. Frieza narrowed his gaze at Yamcha, a look of cold wrath flashing in his eyes. His glare was both murderous and inquisitive, wordlessly asking Yamcha ‘just who he thought he was talking to?’ The Tyrant’s ki spiked dangerously, and Yamcha felt everything in his body plummet to an invisible depth under the weight of Frieza’s gaze. He grit his teeth, summoning his courage to work in tandem with his charisma. He sighed, letting his shoulders fall. “I suppose that just confirmed your suspicions, didn’t it? Am I that obvious?” 

     Frieza looked at Yamcha a moment longer, but then pulled his ki back within himself, no longer oppressing the ambience between them. The Emperor eyed the next glass. “Subtlety is not one of your strong suits, I’m afraid.” Frieza said. He lifted another glass to his lips, drinking the wine slowly. “I do hope for your sake that you’re not expecting me to repeat myself.” 

     “I’m sorry my lord it’s just…not an easy subject. I don’t know what you want to know, beyond what you…already know?” Yamcha said, genuinely struggling to comprehend what Frieza was getting at. 

     “Very well. How is it that you met?” Frieza asked, his lids narrowing with irritation.

     “Oh! Um…well…I was a bandit out in the desert when Bulma and Goku came by. At first I was just trying to steal their capsules, but…one thing led to another and well…next thing you know, we’re all friends. But uh…Bulma and I, well…we started off as more than friends. We…dated for a while,” Yamcha said, the traces of a blush creeping onto his cheeks. 

     “I see. And you wish it to be that way again? Is that what you would wish for if you got your hands on the dragon balls, Yamcha? Your precious Bulma back?” Frieza asked, a teasing smirk forming on his lips. He reached for another drink. 

     “...No actually. I wouldn’t, your majesty. I…Bulma and I tried. For years…” Yamcha said. His heart ached as he spoke, but it was a truth that he hadn’t heard from his own lips yet. The reality hit him harder than expected. “We just don’t work. I wanted us to work more than anything but…even now that we’re older I don’t think we’d make each other happy. Not for long, anyway,” Yamcha confessed. 

     Frieza studied Yamcha for the moment. “You want to know something, Yamcha? You’re better off,” Frieza said. 

     “I am?” Yamcha asked, more than sarcastically. 

     “I’ve told you there are commonalities between the planets of our universe. Galaxies can only have so much deviation between them. One of the most frustratingly enduring commonalities is the idea of companionship based on affection. It is sickening to the stomach,” Frieza said with an embellished eye-roll. Yamcha smiled sadly. 

     “I suppose you don’t believe in love then, your majesty?” 

     “Oh no, I believe in it. I’ve watched love derail some of my greatest competitors. You wouldn’t believe how many powerful nations have crumbled because they couldn’t abstain from its pull. Love breeds weakness, and the weak are to be conquered by the strong. Such is the way of things. In the removal of her from your path, you have exponentially increased your prospects at true power. You simply need to reach for it,” Frieza said, taking another sip.

     “I…have to admit I’ve never heard that one before. Thank you, your highness. Er…for the wisdom,” Yamcha clarified awkwardly. But he noticed that Frieza was drinking very quickly. 

     “Oh! This one was exquisite! What is this?”

     “Pinot Noir, my lord,” Yamcha said with a smile. 

     “I would like another. You can dismiss the rest,” Frieza said, figuratively shewing the wine away with a flick of his wrist. Yamcha looked in the window, waving his hand for one of the staff to come out and assist them. He quickly explained the situation to them and asked them to bring out another bottle of Pinot Noir. When the server came by, Yamcha took the bottle to pour it himself. He topped off Frieza’s glass. 

     “Could I ask something, my lord? I don’t mean to pry,” Yamcha asked nervously. 

     “Ask. You have earned an inquiry,” Frieza said, taking another sip of his wine. 

     “You kept Vegeta as a ward, didn’t you? What was he like as a child?” Yamcha asked. 

     “You say that as if he isn’t still a child,” Frieza snarked, and Yamcha flinched with the choke of a laugh. Frieza noticed, and then smiled. “Vegeta thought himself so clever. So unknowable. His treachery could have been predicted, it’s true. I suppose I just thought that he would come to appreciate how strong I made him under my watchful eye. The ingrate,” Frieza leered, taking another sip of his wine. Yamcha noticed a faint lavender blush creeping up onto Frieza’s cheeks. 

     “You know it’s kind of funny. Goku hasn’t really changed much either since he was a-” 

     “Yamcha, I assure you the last thing I want to talk about is either of those filthy monkeys,” Frieza snarled, and Yamcha flinched. 

     “Sorry my lord!” 

     “Why did you stop fighting?” Frieza asked, changing the subject. Yamcha blinked and swallowed.

     “Well uh…it was a combination of quickly being outpaced by the Saiyans and needing to find a way to earn money. My prospects of ever winning the world martial art’s tournament got smaller and smaller each year. I needed to switch careers,” Yamcha said. 

     “Those monkeys ruin everything, don’t they?” Frieza said, a distant vacant look in his eye. The lavender blush on his cheeks now plastered into place. Yamcha blinked. 

     “My Lord, I’m afraid-”

     “As you should be. If they’re allowed to continue to breed into your civilization they will no doubt corrupt it beyond repair. Look no further than Vegeta’s successor. Already a menace to society at large, and barely at the height of my knee,” Frieza interrupted Yamcha with his rant. Yamcha noted the way that Frieza grossly overstated his height. Trunks was only a few years shy of being taller than Frieza. 

     “Of course my lord, but I think you’ve-”

     “And what’s more, I think they’ve outlasted their usefulness to the universe’s ecosystem. It’s true that the Saiyans certainly played their part in maintaining the balance of power in the beginning, but left unchecked they cause more problems than they fix. I do say, I feel as though I am talking a lot. Am I talking a lot?” Frieza asked with an exaggerated breath. He was huffing and puffing as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. 

     “I-I wouldn’t say that my lord-” 

     “No, I’m definitely talking a lot. More than I intend to. What’s wrong with me? What is happening?” 

     “My lord forgive me but…you might be drunk?” Yamcha said, hiking his shoulders up with a wince on his face.

     “I beg your pardon? I am the very picture of dignity and composure! I know when I have had too much and that was certainly not enough to topple the likes of me!” Frieza growled, his cheeks purple as he huffed in pompous sanctimony. 

     “Of course my lord, but uh…maybe earth wine is a little stronger than the other wines you’ve had? And if you don’t mind me saying, you don’t have an ounce of body fat on you. It’s probably hitting you a lot faster,” Yamcha said, finding his courage in his explanation. 

     “So you admit it? You have been deceiving me! This is all some trap you’ve laid to lure me into vulnerability! Did you poison the wine? Did you think that would work? Or are the monkeys lying in wait to ambush me while I’m weakened? Oh this is clever Yamcha, but not clever enough ! Even in this state I can still obliterate this planet! ” Frieza was starting to yell as his ki spiked again. 

     “My lord please! ” Yamcha begged, reaching for Frieza’s hand across the table. “There is no plot. There is no poison. It’s just you and me out together having wine. You’re safe I promise.” Yamcha held eye contact with Frieza, whose nose wrinkled with irritation. Yamcha didn’t blink. He didn’t waiver. He just repeated himself. “You’re safe my lord…I promise.” 

     They stayed that way for a prolonged moment, looking into each other’s eyes. Then Yamcha realized he was still holding Frieza’s hand, and slowly retracted it.. Frieza blinked and then lowered his shoulders. He took a moment to breathe and closed his eyes. Then he opened them again looking pointedly at Yamcha.

 
     “This evening is over. Return me to my lodgings at once.” 

     “....Yes my lord…” 

*** 

     Yamcha was sweating bullets as he pulled into Bulma’s estate. The sun had gone down, and the temperature was cool enough to warrant a wind-breaker. But he was certain that he needed to keep his arms down, or else the nervous stains of his pits would expose him. His deodorant had fought a valiant fight, but this was the stench of fear, not body odor.

     Frieza hadn’t said one word since that awkward moment at the wine tasting. Yamcha quickly settled the bill and even bought him a few more bottles to keep, but the tyrant was painfully quiet. Yamcha put the car in park and swallowed dryly as he unbuckled his seatbelt. 

     His worry consumed him as he opened his own door, walking around to let Frieza out. He had failed again. He had one job; to keep Frieza occupied until Bulma could finish getting together a ship capable of traveling at warp speed. But he couldn’t even do that. And what made him think that this would be any different? It had been years since he was anyone’s hero - much less everyone’s. He trembled as he opened Frieza’s door, stepping back to let the tyrant step out. 

     Frieza stood to his feet and then crossed his arms, slowly levitating off of the ground and gently floating up to his window. Yamcha flinched and closed the door. He popped the trunk to his capsule-convertible and gathered all of Frieza’s shopping bags and his bottles of pinot noir. He floated awkwardly behind Frieza, struggling to balance and carry everything. He had to put a couple of things in his mouth, but somehow he managed to get it all in one trip. 

     Yamcha was doing his best to think of words as he followed Frieza to his wing. His face was buried behind the stack of boxes and bags he was carrying so he was free to let his fear show on his expression. He bit his lip, looking around from side to side, searching for the answer to this situation, but nothing came. There was only one thing to do.

     “Set them over there and then take your leave,” Frieza said quietly, gesturing off to the side with a flick of his wrist. He had his back to Yamcha, not bothering to turn to face him. Yamcha rushed over to the side, neatly stacking Frieza’s souvenirs and then hurrying back. He dropped to a knee and bowed his head. 

     “My lord, I'm so sorry! It wasn’t my intention for anything like that to happen. I just wanted you to see how beautiful my home is and to enjoy it for yourself. I-I know you must hate it here being cooped up all day, and we never do anything besides train. And I know I’m no match for you so I just thought maybe…but…I-I ruined everything!” Yamcha ranted. He clenched his eyes shut. This was humiliating. 

     “Please just…i-if you’re going to kill someone just…kill me, okay? Please don’t hurt my friends..! I’m begging you…” Yamcha trembled, clutching emptily at the clean floors. 

     Frieza made a noise foreign to the human throat. “Rise you fool. Your begging disgusts me,” Frieza spat, and Yamcha immediately stood upright. Frieza turned to look at Yamcha, and then looked away. The lavender blush was still on his cheeks. “I meant what I said earlier. You did well. Do not make me repeat myself. I hate repeating myself.” Frieza crossed his arms with a pause, but then he continued. “All is forgiven, Yamcha. Now go home.”

     Yamcha blinked, swallowed, and then bowed at a perfect ninety degree angle at the waist, like a drinking bird. Then he turned away, awkwardly jogging for the exit. Then he came to a screeching halt as he heard Frieza ask “Yamcha?” Yamcha winced and rushed back to Frieza. 

     “Yes my lord?” 

     “...Was this…are you…?” Frieza’s lavender blush intensified as his nose wrinkled in irritation. Yamcha waited for Frieza to continue, having no idea what the dark lord was asking him. Frieza closed his eyes and turned his head. 

     “Are you courting me, Yamcha?” 

     Yamcha’s mouth flew open and his vision went white. His eyebrows shot up into his hairline and his pupils dilated to the size of pencil dots. All of his internal organs switched places with one another as he recoiled. His heart was in his feet. His brain was in his back. He couldn’t believe the words he was hearing. Then he saw Frieza’s eyes on him, waiting for an answer. He panicked. 

     “N-n-no! My lord! I would never!” Yamcha waved his shaking hands like a hostage held at gunpoint. Frieza narrowed his glance. 

     “You would never?” 

     Shit. Yamcha’s heart moved from his feet to his throat. “That’s not what I meant! I just meant you’re an emperor and I’m a baseball player! There’s no way I would think myself worthy of your attention!” Yamcha stammered hoarsely as more sweat began to drip from him. Frieza only looked more irritated. Yamcha moved at the speed of terror.

     “W-w-what I mean to say is…This was…not a date! Your majesty! It wasn’t but…” Yamcha moved closer as he spoke, approaching Frieza like a young gazelle at the waterhole, who hadn’t yet learned the dangers of crocodiles. He swallowed. “But…if you’ll allow me…I could try to take you on one?” 

     They both went quiet. Yamcha couldn’t believe he’d just said that. What on earth possessed him to say something like that? Why wasn’t Frieza saying anything at all? He was the one who asked, right? Was this a trap? 

     Frieza just blinked. He crossed his arms behind his back, one hand holding the other wrist. His tail switched back and forth heavily as he steadied himself. Then he looked back up at Yamcha. “I will allow it.” 

     Yamcha swallowed. He blinked. He told himself to smile, and so he smiled. Then he nervously stammered. 

     “.....Great!…S-So um…same time tomorrow…?”

Chapter Text

     Yamcha’s body was on fire. He clenched his core as he dipped to duck beneath Frieza’s forward onslaught. Any hesitation meant that Frieza’s fist would connect with his jaw, and quite possibly knock it right off his skull. Sweat dripped from his back as he held his breath, dodging punch after punch. 

     Frieza wasn’t even trying. His face was expressionless as he came at Yamcha, firing off a blur of fists not unlike the bullets of a gatling gun. But Yamcha had come to learn that this was all a distraction. Frieza had a talent for feinting in ways that set him apart from other opponents. His punches were feints for his kicks, so blocking a punch meant leaving yourself open for a swift knee to the abdomen. But even if he found a way past his arms and legs, there was always one more thing he couldn’t account for. 

     His tail. Frieza’s tail was quicker than a viper, and as sturdy as a tree. A blow from the tail would crush Yamcha more than just physically. Frieza had already pummeled the will to live out of him twice now, after failing to account for the extra appendage. But Yamcha decided today would be different. 

     He caught Frieza’s left arm, and then his right. Before Frieza could think to come in for a kick, Yamcha jumped up into a tight ball - bringing his knees to his chest. He put both of his feet on Frieza’s breastplate and kicked off the tyrant, using the force between them to create distance as Frieza staggered back. He flipped backward in a series of somersaults and clasped his hands together, pulling back with his right arm and pushing with the left. 

     “Kamehameha! ” Yamcha yelled, and a brilliant flash of bluish-white light burst from the base of his palms. His ki howled as the beam flew forth and he felt it connect with Frieza. But the tyrant merely caught the blast in his hand, and then threw it aside like junkmail. Yamcha knew well enough to know that he had no hope of winning. 

     This was just about giving himself the opportunity to breathe. 

     He sucked in a lung full of air, and then crouched back down into his fighting stance against the wailing agony of his inner thighs. He shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, knowing he’d need to move at a moment’s notice. Frieza had no deficiency in any of his combat forms. He favored ranged ki attacks, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t proficient in close quarters combat. He hit as hard as a truck, but there was no trade off in speed. Even the difference in their height meant nothing, as coming in close without thinking several steps ahead would result in Frieza breaking his arm with a flick of his wrist. 

     He fought the fatigue in his eyes as long as he could, but then it happened. He blinked. And when he blinked, Frieza was gone. He turned around, expecting the tyrant to be there, but there was nothing. He looked left, and then right, but still nothing. It didn’t occur to him to look up until it was already too late. Frieza brought down both of his fists on Yamcha’s head like a furious gorilla. Yamcha’s body shut down for what must have been thirty seconds. 

     When he woke up, he looked around wildly in a panic. Frieza stood above him, his arms folded across his chest. Yamcha’s ears were ringing, but he could make out the tyrant’s sniveling condescension. “That will be all for today, Yamcha,” Frieza said, a twinge of annoyance in his voice. Yamcha was as relieved as he was disappointed. But more than anything, he was worried. Frieza normally took his time torturing him until the brink of foul play. He had never before ended the fight in a decisive blow like this. 

     “M-My lord?” Yamcha coughed out, flinching as he tried to pick himself up. Frieza had hit him much harder than he realized. His body ached in new and more painful ways, even for an experienced fighter like himself. But worse than the pain was the fear that Frieza might be growing tired of him. For some strange reason, Frieza had taken a tolerance to his company. But Yamcha knew that if he fell out of favor, the entire planet was at stake. He needed to keep this up for everyone’s sake. Yamcha forced himself to his feet. “I-I can…go a little longer…!” 

     Without warning, Frieza slammed his tail on the ground, and the vibration from the tremor knocked Yamcha off balance. The former bandit dropped to a knee and then grit his teeth, frustrated with the confines of his limitations. Frieza only recoiled his tail and turned away. “You are dismissed,” he spat.  

     Yamcha winced, but then stood back up to his feet. He stooped over, giving a respectful bow to Frieza as an opponent. Then he clutched his abdomen as he hobbled over to his bag. It couldn’t have been more than forty paces away, but the sting he felt in his body made it feel like a trek over the desert mounds in midday heat. He fumbled for his pouch, pulling out a senzu bean and taking a bite. The relief of rejuvenation washed over him and he let out a much needed breath. 

     But his reprieve was short lived. Yamcha had been fighting extra hard today in a futile effort to delay the clock. Because today was the day that he was supposed to take the pint-sized powerhouse out on a date, much to his dismay. There were entirely too many unanswered questions and implications there for Yamcha to process right now. Right now, his only concern was not dying or getting anyone else killed. 

     Against the will of his legs, Yamcha rushed back over to Frieza. The tyrant had already turned to walk away. Yamcha stooped over into another bow. “I just need a second to go and take a shower, and then we can go-” Yamcha stammered but Frieza interrupted him.

     “That will be unnecessary, Yamcha. You are to return tomorrow for our regular training session.” Frieza said, not bothering to turn around. 

     “Oh..uh…well okay. I guess?” Yamcha said, standing back up with a pause of uncertainty. There it was again - that same relief, followed by confusion, which turned back into a new kind of panic. Frieza just remained in place. Yamcha swallowed. His inner voice told him to do as he was told, but the words flew out of his mouth before he could stop himself. “Did…did I do something wrong…?” Frieza shot a glare over at Yamcha. Yamcha flinched immediately. 

     Frieza rolled his eyes looking aside, and then he closed them. “No, you imbecile. I am not someone who loses composure, but I regret that I was not myself when I asked you that foolish question yesterday. I allowed myself to be overtaken by your planet’s wine in folly, but I assure you I have no interest in courtship or the ineptitude that it breeds. You are to purge the events that transpired yesterday from your mind,” Frieza commanded. Yamcha watched Frieza for a moment longer. 

     He didn’t know what to do. Questioning Frieza was a death sentence, and if he was having second thoughts, that meant he was off the hook. But there was something about the tyrant’s body language that made Yamcha look just a little closer. The way his tail swished back and forth in irritation. The way he kept his eyes closed as he looked away. Frieza was hiding himself, so that Yamcha wouldn’t be able to see the expression on his face. It was…childlike. Frieza was nothing more than an embarrassed child, not wanting to admit to culpability.

     Yamcha was caught off guard for the moment, but then he snapped back to reality. “Yes my lord” Yamcha said, thinking it best to appease Frieza’s ego and default to obedience. Frieza opened his eyes at last and turned back to look at him. His arms fell to his side. Yamcha chuckled, putting a hand behind his head. “Yeah…I mean you’re way out of my league. If I were you, I wouldn’t go out with me either,” Yamcha smiled sheepishly. The nervous laughter tumbled out of him effortlessly.

     Frieza eyed Yamcha suspiciously. Then his eyes lifted with his question. “Well said. But out of curiosity, what did you have planned for today’s outing?” 

     Yamcha winced, but then fixed his face immediately. “Well…I thought since we went out to the mall and the wine tasting last time that you might like to try something different and see more of the outdoors? But I guess that would have been dumb, hunh? I mean, you just bought those fancy shoes. There’s no way you’d want to dirty them up on a nature hike,” Yamcha said, looking aside as he thought out loud.  

     Frieza smirked. “You truly think me so limited in versatility? A pampered emperor like myself must know nothing of the wilds of your world, I take it?” Frieza taunted. His eyes narrowed venomously. This was a trap. This was absolutely a trap. 

     “N-not at all, my lord! I just…I-I wanted to come up with something to top the last time, but someone like you deserves something with more flare! Not that it matters now though…” Yamcha said, his voice trailing off with the desire to leave. His nerves began to well up inside his stomach. He should have fled when he had permission. 

     “Very well Yamcha. Since you’ve begged me for the pleasure of my company, I shall grace you with my presence along this exploration. But do take care - if I am not entertained, it would mean a most disastrous punishment for you,” Frieza threatened, his usual smirk and arrogant disposition back in full form. It was funny; Yamcha didn’t recall begging for Frieza’s company at all. His shoulders fell in exhaustion and reinstated defeat.

     “Heh…gee…thanks my lord…I’m uh….sooo grateful…” Yamcha said, laughing nervously. “I’ll uh…just go grab that shower now. Be right there,” he said, awkwardly gesturing over with his thumb with a fake smile plastered on his face. He rigidly turned, marching off for the showers as he mentally cursed himself for falling right back into the date that he’d almost gotten out of. His body stunk with the sweat of both fatigue and anxiety. He waited until he was out of the gravity chamber and beyond Frieza’s line of sight, before letting himself slouch in self pity. 

     After giving himself a moment’s gripe, he reached into his bag for his phone, ignoring the endless messages from Puar. He texted Bulma as he walked over to the elevator, remembering where he needed to go to access the showers. 

Text To - Bulma: Heyyyyy, I’m gonna shower real quick, and then I’ll need you to disable the security settings on Frieza’s room again. We’re going out. 😅😅

     Yamcha sent the message. It only took ten seconds before Bulma texted back. 

Text From - Bulma: Remind me again why we’re letting Frieza out AT ALL?!?! 

     Yamcha winced. He could practically hear her shriek personified by the capitalized letters. He looked around as he tried to think of something to say. 

Text To - Bulma: I sorta kinda accidentally did too good of a job at the wine tasting yesterday and…now he likes it when I play tour guide. It looks like I’m gonna have to keep it up. 😓
Text From - Bulma: You idiot!! 
Text From - Bulma: I knew this was a bad idea!!
Text From - Bulma: Turn on your location, and check in every hour. EVERY HOUR, YAMCHA!! 

     Yamcha sighed at his own stupidity, but then reminded himself that all of this was originally Bulma’s idea. It just happened to be working better than any of them thought it would. But he knew better than to pick that fight. He activated his phone’s GPS so that Bulma could see where he was. It pinpointed him down to the nineteenth floor of her mansion. He stepped out of the elevator and texted as he walked. 

Text To - Bulma: Yeah, I know. I can’t even argue this time. Wish me luck? 🥺

     Yamcha made his way to the showers. He put his phone down so that he could disrobe, and then stepped in, letting the water wash over him. His phone vibrated out of ear-shot. 

Text From - Bulma: 🐉🐲

*****

     Yamcha and Frieza flew in a direct path together, like jet fighters in formation. He drove last time to give Frieza the experience, but for today’s not-date it made more sense to fly. The wind swept through Yamcha’s hair, tossling it backward haphazardly as they dashed through the sky. Frieza kept to his right, wordlessly following Yamcha, but looking about as they soared. Yamcha swallowed nervously. 

     They were a lot further from Capsule Corp than the last time they went out in public. This also meant that Yamcha was much further from Vegeta’s umbrella of protection. Frieza could kill him in a single blow if he wanted to, but Vegeta’s ki was an omnipresent threat to Frieza, and a security blanket for Yamcha. Now he had to feel for it, and it was getting smaller and smaller with each passing second. He had a sickening feeling that he was flying to his own death. 

     Was this all a ruse for Frieza to give himself enough space to destroy the planet without consequence? Had Yamcha doomed the earth and all of its citizens over the course of one not-date? Yamcha stopped, and Frieza stopped beside him. The tyrant eyed him, waiting for him to say something. Yamcha’s voice cracked as he spoke. “Well my lord…this is it! My uh…favorite nature hike…” Yamcha stammered. Frieza surveyed the area. 

     “You have a keen eye,” Frieza remarked as he looked about. Yamcha couldn’t believe the words he just heard. 

     “...I do?”

     “Your planet is frightfully close to your solar system’s sun, but its path of orbit is a most curious one indeed. A simple nudge forward would set this planet ablaze in a matter of minutes. Going backward would be more sustainable, but the surface life would perish in the chill because it’s never had to adapt. It has always been cradled by the light due to its careful rotation around that bloated star,” Frieza explained. 

     “Oh…uh…” Yamcha said, at a complete loss for a reply. It was yet another reminder of the distance between himself - a human who had never left the planet except in death, and Frieza - an intergalactic tyrant who had seen and observed multiple solar systems. This conversation wasn’t in his wheelhouse. Thankfully Frieza continued. 

     “Still, despite the repetitive nature of this topography, you’ve managed to locate the greenery least damaged by the solar radiation slowly killing you all. How quaint,” Frieza said with a bone chilling smirk. Yamcha’s brain nearly short-circuited. That was a lot of information to process at once. He made a mental note to look into the solar radiation thing later. For now, he needed to compose himself.

     “Thanks my lord! Uh…well…Right this way, I suppose?” Yamcha said, as he slowly descended to the ground. Frieza floated down after him. Yamcha paused for another nervous second, and then took a step forward. Frieza walked by his side, keeping his arms behind his back as he marched like a drill sergeant. 

     They continued on in an uncomfortable silence for a few more steps, but Yamcha needed to fill the void. Co-existing in the quiet with Frieza made him panic. He knew that the tyrant needed to be kept entertained. “Forgive me my lord, but I am surprised to find that you enjoy this kind of thing. I really didn’t think you were the type,” Yamcha said with a small laugh. 

     “I’m not,” Frieza said, and Yamcha felt a jolt of panic strike him. “This is without a doubt the most unentertained I have been since Lord Beerus abandoned me with you savages.” Yamcha clenched his teeth. 

     “Forgive me my lord!” Yamcha begged, clapping his hands together in a plea. His vocal pitch was higher than it had any business being. Frieza smirked. 

     “Tranquility may not be what I want, but it is what I need. This is the time to gather myself and collect my thoughts away from the stench of that monkey. I welcome the quiet. It was most thoughtful, Yamcha. Good of you to anticipate my needs before my request. You will do well under my employ,” Frieza praised, still apparently under the delusion that Yamcha was coming with him after all of this. 

     “Then…would you prefer that I remain quiet so you can uh…think? Or is there something you wanted to talk about?” Yamcha asked. He hadn’t realized how far they walked together. The scenery around them changed as they disappeared beneath the canopied bedlam of tree cover, and the sunlight poked through the gaps in the leaves. Frieza looked entirely unnatural in this setting, as his cool alabaster skin contrasted with the warm and vigorous signs of life around them. The forest rejected him entirely. It was a striking misalignment. 

     “It won’t be much longer before that woman is done with my ship. Though it is true that my return as universe seven’s almighty ruler is long overdue, I find myself at a most pivotal point of my existence,” Frieza said theatrically. Yamcha felt a dramatic monologue coming on, but that was a good thing. 

     “Oh?” 

     “I was a fool, you see. I thought that the afterlife was a concept that some planets used to frighten its inhabitants into compliance. Father told us that when we died we became dust and the universe carried on just as if we were never there, which was why we needed our legacies to preserve us. I sat atop everything thinking myself a god, when low and behold there are eleven other universes, all bound by one united after-realm. What’s more, there are powers greater not only than myself, but the dragon balls that the namekians treasure so dearly. It is a violent comeuppance to realize how blind we were, and what little we settled for. The Empire is nothing more than a title in comparison to life’s grand scheme.” 

     Yamcha could hear the malignance in Frieza’s voice as he spoke. His stomach plummeted in an uncomfortable way. “Wait…so then-” 

     “Silence,” Frieza threatened, and Yamcha stopped talking immediately. He froze. Frieza tapped the holes on the sides of his head that Yamcha assumed were his ears. It took a moment, but then Yamcha understood that Frieza was concerned that he was being monitored. He knew first hand that King Kai had visibility to their every move, but for Frieza there were bigger fish to fry than King Kai. He covered his mouth.  “Before I do anything, I need to cleanse this universe of those monkeys,” Frieza continued, his nose wrinkling at the mere mention of the saiyans.  

     Yamcha calmed down. Frieza had threatened nearly every day that they spent together to finish his genocide of the saiyan race. But so far his threats had all been idle. “My lord, I didn’t get to go to the tournament of power,” Yamcha began. Frieza interrupted.

     “It’s for the best. You wouldn’t have done well,” Frieza said plainly. Yamcha grimaced.

     “I-I’m aware. But I heard about it from my friends. Everyone seemed pretty shook by some guy named Jiren. Well, everyone other than Goku I guess. He just wants to fight him again,” Yamcha said. But then Frieza scowled and Yamcha’s panic refreshed itself. Frieza took a moment, visibly consulting himself over the dilemma of elaboration. He decided to comply. 

     “Feeling for power levels isn’t a technique that my species knows naturally. I wasn’t able to learn it until halfway through my afterlife. Before that, I was limited to the arithmetic of our scouters. I used to pride myself on my power level. As it turns out, those numbers were entirely arbitrary,” Frieza said, marching on in staunch determination. 

     “Arbitrary? Like…pointless?” Yamcha asked, now curious at the conversation of power levels. He recorded his own annually, just to see where he stood. 

     “You can feel my power, can’t you?” Frieza asked. Yamcha swallowed and nodded. 

     “Yeah! I mean who can’t? It’s fricken huge!” Yamcha said, and then he heard the innuendo after the fact. Frieza didn’t seem to catch it. 

     “Just as I can feel yours, and the Monkeys’. I cannot yet feel Lord Beerus’, though I imagine that is by design. But hear me when I say I have never felt anything more oppressive than the distance between my own power and that of Jiren’s, loathe as I am to admit. Killing the monkeys would only be the beginning. There is much more that will need to be done,” Frieza said. 

     “Then uh…perhaps it might be better to keep the Saiyans around? You know, like…a back-up plan against Jiren, or something? Maybe they can take each other out, and then you can swoop in after the dirty work’s been done?” Yamcha asked, trying to influence the tiny tyrant. Frieza smirked. 

     “A valiant effort Yamcha,” Frieza teased, letting the former bandit know that he had no intention of sparing Goku or Vegeta. 

     “...Yeah, I heard it after I said it out loud,” Yamcha said sheepishly. Frieza laughed. Yamcha almost smiled, but then it hit him that he was getting used to Frieza’s laugh. 

     “You are a buffoon at times, though it is occasionally amusing.” They continued on, but Yamcha walked in silence now. It was clear to him that Frieza wasn’t angry. He was just thinking. The crunches of the grass and the leaves beneath their feet created a pulse to their pace. 

     The air around them cooled with the presence of nearby water, and his ears perked to the sound of its flow. Yamcha took the lead, pulling tree branches aside so that Frieza could walk forward uninterrupted, as the green grass gave way to beige sand and large rocks. The frigid emperor looked about, taking in the scenery as Yamcha took the lead again. 

     They stood before a private pond of water, leading to a secret grove. The cascade of a waterfall tickled their ears, deafening the sound of the birds chirping and the leaves rustling. Yamcha looked at Frieza hesitantly, searching for any signs of displeasure at the area around them. Frieza seemed entirely unmoved, as though the beauty of the surroundings were wasted on him. Yamcha frowned and cleared his throat.

     “This is where I normally stop to chill, if that’s cool?” Yamcha asked. He rolled up the bottoms of his pant legs, and then took off his shoes and socks, leaving them by the dirt and gravel, before jumping across the water to a rock. Frieza only observed for a moment, but then leapt after him. Yamcha slowly lowered himself to the ground, looking hesitantly at Frieza before dipping his feet in the water. Frieza eyed him suspiciously, but then stooped down to do the same. 

     Yamcha couldn’t remember the last time he had been so nervous, even with Frieza. It wasn’t until this moment that he realized how poorly he had planned this. Being out in nature was his element, not Frieza’s. Everything inside of him was screaming that this was a mistake. That he needed to think of something - and fast - before Frieza’s patience and his luck finally reached the end of their respective ropes. 

     But he felt a ripple in the water against his toes. His first instinct was to look around for an alligator or a sea-serpent picking a fight above its weight class, but there was nothing. Then he looked over.

     Frieza was kicking his feet.  

     Yamcha looked over at Frieza. His eyes widened and dilated as if he were processing this experience for the first time. His face communicated curiosity and compulsion, like a kitten wanting to paw at something it didn’t comprehend. Before he could stop himself, Yamcha’s lips curved up into a smile. But then Frieza eyed him suspiciously and Yamcha immediately averted his gaze. They sat together in another prolonged pause, until Frieza spoke again. “I…have never done anything like this.” Yamcha looked over at Frieza again. 

     “My lord?” 

     “My life is…structured. Scheduled. That isn’t to say that it isn’t perfect. I am the envy of all who suffer the misfortune of sharing space with me. But do you know it never occurred to me to take these moments to allow the quiet, and hear the world around me? With me there is always an agenda. Something to be done. Someone to conquer. But this is…not entirely unpleasant. When I return to my empire I shall schedule myself moments like this,” Frieza confessed.  

     Yamcha smiled again, but then Frieza shot him a glare and the joy of the moment was snuffed out. The sun shined down on them, and Frieza closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the light hit his skin. Then he smirked revoltingly as he spoke again. “You’re awful brave to have brought me this far from your friends, Yamcha. I wonder what might have inspired such a dreadful mistake,” Frieza taunted, as his eyes narrowed on the human. 

     Yamcha’s heart began to race even faster than his mind trying to figure out what he was going to say next. Frieza had all but confirmed his suspicions earlier. He was going to die, and now the entire planet was going to die because of his stupidity. His heart was in his throat. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. “I uh…W-w-well I…” Yamcha stammered. He swallowed hard enough to choke himself to death on his own spit. “I…trust you..?” 

     Frieza cackled. “Trust is for fools,” 

     “I mean…well I trust that…you won’t actually kill me,” Yamcha said, and Frieza blinked with astonishment and incredulity. Yamcha kept speaking, trying to recover from his verbal vomit. “Forgive me my lord but…I dunno, I think you’re kind of miserable here, stuck all by yourself. And that…maybe…having me around makes it just a little more…bearable?” Yamcha said, as his voice got higher and higher as he spoke. He regretted each word that came from his mouth the moment after he said them.

     “And now you think yourself so superior as to pity me, is that it?” Frieza hissed with indignation. His fist clenched, and he cracked the rock beneath them. 

     “Far from it, my lord! I-I-I relate to you!” Yamcha said quickly. Frieza’s eyes widened again. Yamcha was sweating. If his heart beat any faster he would surely pass out. “W-Well it’s just that…uh…you seem like you have to look over your shoulders a lot, you know? Never knowing when someone might be dumb enough to try to assault you. I MEAN! Not that you can’t handle yourself - you clearly can! It’s just that… I don’t know! It’s just…you mentioned poison the other day, and plots against you. You and I couldn’t be more different, but…I know first hand what it’s like to have everything and everyone against you,” Yamcha said, having to catch his breath after that catastrophe.

     “...Do you now?” Frieza said with an arched brow. Yamcha swallowed and nodded. 

     “Back when I was a bandit, I only ever had myself, ya know? I had to find my own food, forge my own shelter, and constantly cover my tracks. There were times where I trusted others, and they turned on me. I…had to learn how to fight if I wanted to survive. Then I guess it just turned out that I uh…liked fighting. I might be overstepping here, but I don’t get the impression that you’re perfect because you... are perfect. I think you’re perfect because…you have to be? But I might be way off base!” Yamcha added sheepishly. 

     Frieza scoffed. “That was a charming character analysis, but it was entirely inaccurate. My father chose all of the best parts of himself, and all of the best parts of my mother when they spliced their DNA together to birth me. My older brother Cooler was close, but father miscalculated the gene sequence which led to unforeseen drawbacks. All it took was a recalculation, and out came yours truly; perfect in every way. You had to look over your shoulder for assailants - assailants look over their shoulders for me . You had to learn how to fight - I was born and bred for battle from the best stock. Don’t ever compare yourself to me. We are not the same,” Frieza said, and Yamcha’s entire body sank in defeat.

     “...My bad…” Yamcha said, with an uncomfortable shiver. He averted his gaze and clenched his fists. 

     “Your desire to see the good in me might get you killed one of these days, Yamcha. Admittedly it will not be today, but I assure you I have no intentions of changing my wicked ways. Though, I suppose you’ve earned a moment’s reprieve. Now be silent as I take in the sound of nothing,” Frieza said dismissively.  

     “...Yes sir…” Yamcha whispered. Frieza closed his eyes again and Yamcha reached into his pocket for his phone. 

Text To - Bulma: Checking in. Still alive.

     Bulma liked his text immediately, and he relaxed. Yamcha reset a timer on his phone so that he wouldn’t miss a check in. The last thing he needed at this moment was for either Vegeta or Goku to show up and utterly shatter any trust he’d built with the frigid emperor. He was almost certain Frieza would kill him first for the drama of the moment. He quietly put his phone away and looked out at anything other than his present company. 

     The sound of the waterfall and the birds chirping filled the silence between them. The rustle and crunch of the leaves against one another was an occasional break from the loop. Yamcha felt himself fidgeting, but a voice in his head advised him that perhaps he had done well. Perhaps Frieza simply enjoyed the quiet and nothing else. The cold lord’s personal hell had him ceaselessly serenaded by stuffed animals and pixies, and it was a hell he wasn’t long from. He shyly glanced over at Frieza. 

     The tyrant’s eyes were closed. His shoulders were relaxed as his body slouched. He’d never seen Frieza slouch. He was always upright in perfect posture. His muscles and skin were as tight as a drum. There wasn’t a wrinkle on him. No excess. He embodied the perfection that he professed, which is part of what made him so completely and entirely unnatural. He was even more alien than Piccolo. 

     “...The first assassin came when I was six,” Frieza said after a long period of quiet. He kept his eyes closed as he spoke, but Yamcha gave him his undivided attention. He wasn’t certain that he’d heard what he just heard. “My brother Cooler would do anything to be rid of me. He was jealous, you see. I could feel it even as a child. The imbecile he hired broke through my window in the middle of the night. There was glass everywhere, and then he picked me up by my neck. Honestly I don’t even recall how I did it, but I remember blowing a hole through his heart, and then calling for the servants to come and clean it up so that I could go back to sleep.” 

     Yamcha had no words. His hand moved, but then he folded his hands over themselves in his lap. Frieza hadn’t given him permission to speak yet, so he remained silent. The tyrant opened his eyes at last, looking out over the water as they sat together. He stilled his feet. “I was too tired to confront him that night, but I stomped to breakfast the next morning more angry than I remember being before. It was the first time I’d ever felt true rage. I confronted him about it, and he teased me, playing the part. I planned to kill him right there, but it wasn’t Cooler this time around.” 

     Yamcha waited, his eyebrows bunching together in confusion. Frieza spoke again. 

     “It was my father.”  

     Yamcha felt a sick feeling in his stomach. He had no memory of either of his parents beyond faint glimpses in dreams. But he couldn’t imagine living with someone who would pay an assassin to kill him just to test his strength. There was a knot of tension right in the center of his gut that he couldn’t will away. His skin crawled as the urge to vomit crept up his throat but he steeled himself. He just looked at Frieza. “That was the day I knew that I wasn’t safe. I needed to surpass them both, and quickly. Father had no use for anything he deemed a failure. Cooler was weaker than me, but he was strong enough. More important than that, he was a DNA bank of insurance. If I wasn’t perfect, I was expendable.” 

     “That…sounds awful, my lord. But man I gotta say, you’re pretty incredible to have fended off an assassin at six!” Yamcha admitted. Then he winced as he realized what he just said out loud. His mouth fell open as he tried to think of something better. “That is…I mean…!”

     Frieza laughed, and Yamcha threw up a hand to defend himself instinctively. “It is incredible, isn’t it? The look on his face was priceless. Just gasping for air like a bloated fish clinging to life,” Frieza gushed in sharp contrast to the melancholy he was displaying moments ago. Now he had resumed reveling in his own tyranny. “I am incomparable.” 

     Yamcha was speechless. It took him a moment to process the fact that he still hadn’t been killed, and then he processed the rapid shift in Frieza’s mood. But he thought not to push the subject, and instead reached for his capsule case. 

     “Are you hungry? I brought food just in case,” Yamcha asked.

     “Oh?” Frieza asked, turning his attention to Yamcha. The athlete clicked the button at the top of his capsule and gave it a gentle toss. There was a small puff of smoke, and then a mini-fridge appeared between them. Yamcha opened the door, pulling out multiple sets of sashimi. 

     “You mentioned you like crab, so I thought you might like to try this,” Yamcha said, offering the plate to Frieza. Frieza looked down at the dish in confusion. 

     “It’s already dead?” Frieza asked. Yamcha looked left and right as he worked up the courage to respond. 

     “Uh…yeah? Is…that bad?” Yamcha asked. Now it was Frieza’s turn to look confused. 

     “Humans…don’t eat crabs alive? Eating them alive is the best part! Don’t tell me you’ve never tried it? The satisfying crunch of the shell? The way they scream as they’re torn apart limb from limb?” Frieza searched Yamcha’s eyes, earnestly hoping to find some common ground. 

     Yamcha was horrified. 

*****

     They made it back to Capsule Corp just after the sunset. The sky was still bright with the light, but if he looked close enough he could see the stars. Not that he bothered, mind you. At the moment Yamcha was too busy keeping one eye on Frieza and the other on the balcony as they descended down together. 

     When they landed, Yamcha stayed back, shifting his weight between his feet as he thought about what to do next. Before he could say anything, Frieza marched onward to his gilded cage. The frigid Emperor kept his chin high despite what he would have described as ‘the indignity,’ and strided onward. But before he could cross the threshold, he paused as his tail swung back and forth in place. Yamcha waited. 

     “Yamcha?” Frieza asked.

     “My lord?” Yamcha answered.

     “Today...This was…acceptable. Agreeable, even,” Frieza said, turning to look at Yamcha. Yamcha blinked and then smiled innocently. 

     “Aw, geez! I’m glad! I wouldn’t want to upset you or anything!” Yamcha laughed nervously while scratching the back of his head. Frieza crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. 

     “No. No you wouldn’t…” Frieza said. And then he took a step toward Yamcha. Yamcha didn’t notice as he averted his gaze. 

     “Yeah, thanks for hanging out with me! That little place is kind of my spot you know, it really-” Yamcha began, but then he noticed that Frieza was still coming closer. His heart plummeted and his chest froze because he’d forgotten to breathe. His eyes honed in on the pint-sized powerhouse as he stopped walking entirely. Now he floated upward, so that he and Yamcha were eye to eye. Yamcha stumbled backward. 

     They were closer than they’d ever been before. Frieza’s eyes were as red as blood, and twice as merciless. His dark lips curled up into his trademark smirk, and his eyes betrayed a threat of action. Yamcha trembled as Frieza floated closer and closer. So close that he could feel the Tyrant’s breath on his lips when he whispered.

     “Good night, Yamcha.” 

     “...Sleep well my lord,” Yamcha said quietly.  

     And then Yamcha’s soul fled from his body as Frieza’s fingers cupped his chin. The tyrant pressed their lips together. Yamcha blinked and then awkwardly closed his eyes, his mind only processing what was happening well after it had already happened. He was standing on Bulma’s balcony, kissing a guy. No, not just a guy; the dark lord who remained one of - if not thee greatest foe the Z warriors had ever faced. Then Frieza broke away and Yamcha swallowed nervously, as his brain restarted itself and desperately tried to install an upgrade. 

     Frieza floated back down to the ground. He touched his lips with the daggered tips of his fingernails and blinked in contemplation. “Hm.” Frieza lingered for just a moment longer, before turning away and walking into his wing of Bulma’s mansion. The door closed behind him automatically, and then there was nothing but crickets. 

     Yamcha just stood still utterly dumbfounded. If his eyes dilated any further he would lose his iris’ to the outer whites entirely. He’d forgotten to breathe, and might very well have collapsed from lack of oxygen then and there, if a sharp voice didn’t come over the speaker system on the balcony and shock him into a much needed gasp.

     “Yamcha?!”

     Yamcha swallowed and then cleared his throat. “...yes?” It was barely a whisper.  

     “My office! Now! ” 

     It was Bulma. 

     And she’d seen everything.

Chapter Text

     The way Bulma was looking at him took his mind back through the years of their shared past. Back when they used to date, and every little thing that he did wrong sent her into a shrieking rage. Back when his life was a constant whirlwind of volatile mood shifts and ceaseless petty fights. Bulma was undoubtedly one of his best friends. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized just how much he didn’t miss dating her. Vegeta had done him a favor, getting him off of Bulma’s wild ride. 

     That was a thought train for another time. Right now, he needed to find some way to explain himself, before Bulma went nuclear and did something they all regretted. He swallowed, licked his lips and took a breath. “I can explain,” Yamcha said nervously. 

     “Oh, can you? I can’t wait to hear this one!” Bulma laughed incredulously. The tension in her private office was undeniable. Bulma had just caught Yamcha locking lips with Frieza on her balcony. There were so many things wrong with that moment, he didn’t even know where to begin. Yamcha winced. 

     “Well uh…I mean…So…the thing is…” Yamcha stammered. Bulma narrowed her eyes in bewilderment, as she waited for him to find his words. “Okay..so maybe I can’t explain,” Yamcha said, admitting defeat.  

     “YAMCHA!” Bulma shrieked. Yamcha clenched his teeth. 

     “WHAT? It was your idea!” Yamcha roared back at her, finding his courage. He met her volume for volume as his heart raced.  

     “Oh really? It’s funny - the way I remember it, I could have sworn I said to keep Frieza busy long enough for me to build him a ship that could get him back to his side of the universe. I can’t seem to recall ever telling you to seduce him! I mean really Yamcha - what were you thinking?” Bulma’s voice was dripping with accusation. Yamcha hiked up his shoulders in stress. 

     “Look, it wasn’t what I had in mind either, alright? He just…caught me off guard is all! I don’t know!” Yamcha raked his hands through his hair. This was all happening so incredibly fast. He genuinely didn’t understand how he even wound up here. His life was nothing short of bizarre, but this most recent chain of events really took the cake. 

     “Wait, he’s forcing you?” Bulma asked in fear. Her eyes widened with genuine panic. The entire plot of a non-consensual thriller flashed before her eyes. Yamcha cut her off immediately. 

     “No! NO! He just…I-I don’t know!” Yamcha started to pace. Bulma leered at him in uncertain shock, before fixing her face in resignation.

     “That’s it. I’m sending in Vegeta,” Bulma declared, as she grabbed her phone. Her thumbs were clicking away at the clear screen. Yamcha moved fast and snatched it from her. 

     “NO! That’s the last thing anyone needs right now!” Yamcha looked at Bulma incredulously. Bulma put her hands on her hips and lowered her chin slowly. Her rage was palpable.

     “Give me my phone.” Bulma said in a low quiet voice. Yamcha held it away and out of her reach, the way boys do when they realize they’re taller than girls. 

     “I have everything under control! I just need you to finish the ship,” Yamcha said, talking to her like a policeman telling an armed robber to come out with their hands up. He thought he was de-escalating the situation, but he was only making it worse. Bulma glared dangerously. 

     “Give me my phone,” Bulma growled. Yamcha swallowed the nervous spit in his throat. 

     “Promise me you won’t use it to call Vegeta,” he said quietly. 

     “Yamcha-!” 

     “Promise me!” Yamcha repeated sternly. Bulma’s nostrils flared. She lifted her foot and then stomped as hard as she could on Yamcha’s pinky toe. He yelped in agony, and began to hop on the unharmed foot as he clutched his stricken toe in his palms. While he was distracted, she snatched her phone back and began texting at the speed of light.

     “BULMA, DON’T!” Yamcha cried out, still hopping over to her on one foot as he held the other. 

     “Oh shut up! I’m not calling Vegeta, you idiot. I’m calling the council,” Bulma said, still texting furiously. Yamcha blinked. 

     “Who’s the council?” Yamcha asked, finally putting his foot back on the ground. He tried to peer over Bulma’s shoulder to get a look at her phone. Bulma purposely continued to turn away, keeping her phone out of his sight. It was like they were teenagers all over again. 

     “So okay…just…” Bulma said, looking around in confusion as she tried to make sense of the situation. “So what? You like him too? You like guys now, Yamcha? Because honestly you can do better than Frieza. He’s actually crazy!” Bulma said. Yamcha’s face lost all of its color. There were one too many accusations in that line of questioning for his liking.  

     “No! He kissed me! I’m as shocked as you are!” Yamcha said, the veins in his forehead throbbing with irritation. It was only Bulma who took him to this place of frustration. He didn’t even realize how hard he was breathing, or the way his eyes were beginning to strain. Bulma pursed her lips. 

     “So then he is forcing you!” Bulma argued.

     “No he’s not!” Yamcha countered. 

     “So then you want him to kiss you?” Bulma asked, leading him along her line of accusations. 

     “NO, I DON’T!” Yamcha said just a little too loudly. Bulma did the unthinkable. She paused, took a breath, and calmed down. And then Yamcha saw this and did the same, matching her energy. Bulma had spent the last eight years having her volatile personality mirrored by both her husband and son. Perhaps she’d finally learned how and when to set her own ego aside. Yamcha was amazed. He never thought he would see the day. 

     “Which one is it, Yamcha? It can’t be both at the same time,” Bulma said softly, but sternly. Yamcha sighed again and averted his gaze.

     “He’s…not as bad as we think he is. I-I don’t know! We’ve been talking a lot lately, and he’s confided a few things in me. And yeah I’m stupid, but I’m not that stupid. I know he’s been eye-fucking me ever since we first met, I just…didn’t think he would ever actually act on it. But I don’t…I’m not…this isn’t that,” Yamcha said, running his hands through his hair in frustration and bewilderment. 

     Bulma just looked at him. She stood back and took a good hard look at him now, observing him in unfiltered truth. Then she spoke again. “You don’t even realize it, do you?” A knot tied itself in Yamcha’s stomach. 

     “Realize what?” Yamcha asked, well and truly tired of this line of questioning. Bulma laughed and walked past him. 

     “Nope! I’m not saying anything. This is one for the council. Follow me,” Bulma said, turning off the lights of her office as she opened the door. Her heels clicked as she walked down the hallway of the capsule corp compound. Yamcha followed after her. 

     “Who the heck is the council?”

***** 

     Yamcha was entirely beside himself. How did it come to this? He was sitting at a dramatically long rectangular table, directly to Bulma’s left, as she sat at the head. The room was well lit, both by the moonlight that poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, and the overhead lighting that was strategically placed to capture her in the best light. But that wasn’t the bizarre part. 

     The bizarre part was the present company he kept. Across from him, and to Bulma’s right sat Chi-Chi, whose hair was gathered up into her unusually tight face-lifting bun. She sat with her arms crossed, with an indignant look fixed firmly on her face. Next to her was Videl, who seemed to be apologizing for her mother in law’s behavior with her eyes. She was wearing what must have been one of Gohan’s sweaters over a pair of comfortable leggings, with her hair in a low ponytail. Yamcha could see that raising Pan was beginning to exact its toll on her. 

     Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, Hercule was sitting next to Videl, picking his teeth and helping himself to the complimentary beverages that Bulma provided. Everything about this situation made Yamcha uncomfortable. His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to ask, but Bulma shushed him immediately. She would have no discussion until all members of the council were present. They were waiting for one last guest.  The door behind her opened, and Android Eighteen walked in. 

     “You’re late,” Bulma said, entirely too seriously. Android Eighteen pulled out the chair next to Yamcha, and sat next to him. 

     “Krillin had a late night at the office, and I couldn’t find a sitter. I had to wait until he got home,” Eighteen explained, in her usual monotone voice. 

     “Hmph! Very well. Now that we’re all gathered, this meeting of the council can begin. We are the partners of the most powerful beings on the planet, and as we all know, it is up to us to determine the fate of the world whenever it is threatened. Our most recent threat?” Bulma asked, and then dramatically clicked on the keyboard directly in front of her. A hologram projection of Frieza blinked into place at the center of the table, slowly spinning to display itself from every angle, and cackling in digital glory. 

     “Wait wait wait. Why is Hercule here?” Yamcha asked incredulously, slowly putting this all together. Bulma, Chi-Chi, and Videl represented the trifecta of Vegeta, Goku, and Gohan respectively. But Hercule? 

     “Hercule represents Majin Buu,” Bulma said tersely. Yamcha just blinked. Hercule cleared his throat and nodded. 

     “Yeah okay…but then why isn’t Krillin here? Eighteen’s stronger than he is!” Yamcha asked, the frustration spilling from his voice. Everything about this was absolutely insane to him.  

     “He has a point,” Chi-Chi said sardonically. 

     “Don’t try me. I’m probably your only ally here,” Eighteen said to Yamcha quietly. Yamcha closed his mouth and breathed a sigh of frustration out of his nose.  

     “Can we please stay focused?” Bulma asked, and the room went quiet. “Now then, as I was saying; Frieza is one of the greatest threats the earth has ever seen. He’s come the closest to killing us all since Majin Buu, and were it not for the kind intervention of Whis - with a little nudge from yours truly - the overwhelming majority of you would all be dead by his hand,” Bulma explained. Yamcha had heard from her and Krillin that when Frieza recently came to the earth he destroyed it. Apparently they were only here now, because Whis rewound time. The only people who remembered were the ones who were there to see him do it. 

     “As we all know, Frieza is currently staying here at capsule corp until I am able to build him a ship that can travel at warp. The ship is in production and should be finished in about two weeks time, give or take a couple of days. But we’ve experienced an unexpected setback in the council’s most recent decision. Exhibit A.” 

     Bulma clicked on her keyboard again, and the hologram projection repeatedly played back the kiss that happened not even an hour ago on a shameless loop. A ripple wave of gasps and pearl clutching came over the room, as each member of the council was taken back with shock. Yamcha just pulled his shirt over his head and sank down into his seat with embarrassment. He was absolutely mortified. 

     “Well, that definitely explains a few things,” Chi-Chi snarked. 

     “How lovely!” Videl gushed, getting entirely the wrong idea. Yamcha just sank deeper into his chair. 

     “As we can see, what was originally a plan to keep Frieza occupied non-violently has spiraled into a situation of dire circumstance. I want to thank you all for coming to my emergency summon, as we have gathered here tonight to decide on Frieza’s inclusion into our fold, as represented by Yamcha.” Bulma said. 

     Yamcha escaped the writhing tentacles of embarrassment and pulled himself out of his shirted slump. “Hold on! Let’s get one thing straight - I’m not joining this little sewing circle of yours! I’m a fighter!” Yamcha said loudly. 

     “Barely,” Chi-chi quipped, and Yamcha grit his teeth. 

     “Calm down. She’s playing you,” Eighteen said calmly. Chi-Chi glared at her. 

     “I’ll hear from the opposition first. Chi-Chi?” Bulma said. Chi-chi stood from her chair and cleared her throat, taking the floor. 

     “Frieza cannot be redeemed. He’s the catalyst behind everything that went wrong with Gohan! Goku and I were happy for a good five years of quiet marriage, and then Raditz showed up and ruined everything! After Raditz came Vegeta and that other bald thug, and then the next thing I know Goku and Gohan are flying off across the universe to face Frieza. Frieza is the entire reason that the saiyans came here in the first place. There was a time when all we had to be concerned with was Piccolo and the Red Ribbon Army. Gohan was never the same again after facing that brute, and Goku almost died all over again!” Chi-Chi said dramatically, giving an award-earning performance. 

     “I have to agree with Chi-Chi on this. You should have seen Gohan after his last visit to the earth. Even after the Senzu bean, he was battered and bruised like I’d never seen him before. As my husband’s representative, I can’t endorse Frieza’s inclusion into the group. Not without a guarantee of changed behavior, and safety for my husband and daughter. And Piccolo too,” Videl said, immediately throwing in her support with Chi-Chi.

     “Strike that from the record. Piccolo does not have representation at this table,” Chi-Chi said sternly. Videl looked up in shock. Bulma nodded. 

     “Sustained,” Bulma said, acting as the arbiter of this gathering. Yamcha couldn’t believe what was happening.  

     “Pardon me ladies. Not that I would ever disparage the voice of my beautiful daughter, but it wouldn’t be right of me to sit here and listen to all of this, when Majin Buu is in my house as we speak. Truth is, I’ve been exactly in Yamcha’s position before, and you all thought Buu was beyond redemption. But Buu’s been a tremendous benefit to the planet now that we have him under control. He proved that in the practice scrimmage for the tournament of power,” Hercule said. Yamcha didn’t like the thought of being compared to Hercule. 

     “Oh please! You know as well as the rest of us that Buu is one temper tantrum away from turning us all into his own personal buffet!” Chi-chi roared. 

     “Buu hasn’t had an incident in over two years!” Hercule countered viciously. 

     “Two whole years, everyone! And we want to add Frieza to that tension? Imagine what would happen if Frieza and Buu went at it? Who exactly is going to stop them? Because we all know the only two who stand a chance in that scenario are Goku and Vegeta, and the two of them spend more time on Beerus’ planet then they do here,” Chi-Chi said bitterly. 

     “Chi-Chi is making a lot of sense right now,” Bulma said from her position as de-facto leader of this so-called council. 

     “I beseech the Council. Chi-Chi is an established fearmonger who always goes to the extreme in order to get what she wants. The truth is she hasn’t presented any evidence to back her claim, though I do recognize Videl’s mention of Gohan’s treatment at the hands of the accused,” Eighteen rattled off with a calm disinterest. 

     “And what evidence do you have, Eighteen?” Chi-Chi asked bitterly. 

     “A series of living testimonials. Tien, Chiaotzu, Piccolo, Vegeta, myself, my brother, Buu. What do we all have in common? All of us were former enemies of the Z warriors. All of us have been brought into the fold in one way or another, and most often through the kindness and connections forged from the members of this very council. To treat Frieza any differently would make us a room of hypocrites,” Eighteen said. Yamcha was really paying attention now. He didn’t realize just how many members of the team were former adversaries until it was spelled out so plainly. 

     “But this is Frieza we’re talking about. You can ask him yourself. He’ll tell you to your face that he has no intention to change. Why is this even a conversation? Frieza has fully wiped out my husband’s species. He almost wiped out Piccolo’s, didn’t he?” Chi-Chi asked, trying to rally everyone to her side again. 

     “Strike that from the record. Piccolo has no representation on this council,” Videl said mockingly, and Chi-Chi glared at her. Bulma pursed her lips. 

     “Sustained.” Bulma said. Now Yamcha was trying to figure out why Chi-Chi and Videl were arguing over Piccolo? 

      “If we’re going to discuss a kill count then the council would have to hold Buu and Vegeta under the same scrutiny,” Eighteen said calmly. Hercule and Bulma leered at Eighteen. This was all entirely too serious.  

     “By all means, if dismissing Frieza means getting rid of Buu in the process, then we should cut our losses and establish order. But Vegeta’s done nothing to the magnitude that they have. He’s a father now, and he’s made an entire heel-face-turn,” Chi-Chi said, doing her best to earn Bulma’s favor. 

     “I’ll remind the council of Majin Vegeta’s incident at the world martial art’s tournament a few years ago,” Eighteen argued calmly. 

     “That doesn’t count, he was under Babidi’s compulsion,” Chi-Chi countered. 

     “I’ll remind the council that Vegeta has an established tenure as one of Frieza’s prime henchmen, and that he almost undoubtedly has a kill count not far from Frieza’s,” Eighteen stated plainly.  

     “Again, under compulsion. Just not magical. Tyrannical. And that’s exactly why Frieza can never become a Z warrior!” Chi-Chi countered, looking around the room to find her allies. 

     “I’ll remind the council that when Cell had been utterly defeated in his second form, he asked Vegeta nicely if he could eat me and gain more power so that he could truly test the limits of his super saiyan form. Not only did Vegeta allow Cell to come after me; he violently stopped  Future Trunks from stopping Cell himself, resulting in my absorption. He risked the planet for a thrill. The same way that Goku did when he asked Zeno and Zeno to organize a realm-wide tournament, where if we lost, our universe would’ve been obliterated,” Eighteen said. 

     Yamcha couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever heard Bulma or Chi-Chi so entirely silenced. His jaw dropped. He still wasn’t entirely on board with the machinations of this council, but it was clear that Android Eighteen certainly had a mind of her own. Eighteen continued. “But again, I do recognize the contribution from Videl. Krillin was also badly battered from Frieza’s last time on the planet, so I’m aware of the risks involved. But I’m also the only one who seems to be looking at the reward.” 

     “And what would that be?” Chi-Chi asked sarcastically.  

     “Not to throw my weight around, but I’m the only one in this room who went to the tournament of power. I’ve probably seen Frieza more closely than any of you - excluding the witness - and what I can tell you is that Frieza’s not stupid. He knows the numbers are against him. He’s putting on a brave front, but if he tried anything, the combined might of Goku and Vegeta would come against him. That's too much for him to handle on his own. But just think if Yamcha were actually able to tame Frieza and recruit him to our side. The three of them combined is unmatched security. It’s too late for Gohan, but Goten and Trunks would never know any of the hardship that he went through. And neither would Marron, Pan, or Bulla.” 

     Bulma paused and then looked to Chi-Chi for a rebuttal. Chi-chi sighed and then held up her hands, admitting defeat. “What do you suggest then, Eighteen?” Bulma asked. 

     “I come to the council as a mother. For the future and safety of our children, we allow Yamcha to stay the course. Nothing has changed, and in fact this works entirely to our advantage. If Yamcha is able to seduce Frieza, then everlasting peace is within our grasp. If something goes wrong, we still have Goku and Vegeta in reserve to eliminate the threat.” 

     “W-Wait a minute. Can I just say that I’m not actually trying to seduce Frieza here? That was all him!” Yamcha said, and Eighteen grit her teeth. 

     “Strike that from the record. The witness is not yet a member of this council and has no floor to speak,” Eighteen growled. 

     “Objection! Yamcha is just as much the subject at hand as Frieza is!” Chi-Chi roared.  

     “Overruled, Eighteen. Yamcha’s statement remains on record as being unwilling to be affiliated with Frieza,” Bulma declared, and Eighteen groaned, burying her face in her hands and massaging her temples. Yamcha felt a little bad for destabilizing all of her hard work with his admission.  

     “Which brings us right back to what we all know is true. Frieza is a problem, and we all know it!” Chi-Chi said, giving her closing statement. 

     “Alright, I’ve heard both sides. It’s time to put this to a vote. All in favor of letting Frieza join the fold?” Bulma asked. Android Eighteen and Hercule both raised their hands. “All opposed?” Chi-Chi and Videl both raised their hands. “Then we’ve reached a tie. Per council protocol, the decision lies with me.” Bulma stood from her seat and dismissed her presentation. Then she crossed her arms and eyed Yamcha. 

     Yamcha swallowed, looking at her nervously. Bulma was normally either cackling with laughter and pride, or fuming with outrage. But this was a look of serious contemplation. “Yamcha, how long do you actually think you can keep this going?” 

     Yamcha paused. He shrugged. “Uh…I don’t know? I haven’t even had a second to think about all of this. It seriously just happened like a second ago.” Yamcha confessed.  

     “Hypothetical situation: Frieza comes on to you wanting more than just a kiss. Are you ready and willing to go along with that for the sake of this mission?” Yamcha clenched his teeth and winced. “Or do you intend to deny the most powerful being in the universe?” Bulma asked, cross-examining Yamcha.  

     “Hey, come on! That’s hardly fair!” Yamcha cried out.  

     “Chi-Chi and I have had to ask ourselves that question more than anyone else in this room, including Hercule. We know first hand what it’s like in this situation. He could kill you with a flick of his wrist. Tell me what’s going to happen when I finish this ship, and you have to dump Frieza? Do you have what it takes to stand up to him and assert yourself? Or are you planning on flying away with him and being his bitch for the rest of your life?” 

     Yamcha growled and looked around for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. Then he sighed. “Okay, in all seriousness…I don’t think this is going to turn into anything permanent. Frieza thinks love is pointless, and that it makes people weak. But I agree with Eighteen. I don’t think he’s actually going to kill anyone right now. I think he’s just talking tough. I-I…can handle him.” Yamcha stammered. Then he swallowed again and repeated himself more sternly. “I can handle him.”

     Bulma leaned in. She looked into Yamcha’s eyes, scanning them for weakness and uncertainty. Yamcha met her gaze head on, opening his eyes to her so that she could see the truth behind his intent. They lingered together for a prolonged pause until Bulma backed away. She approached the head of the table once more, looking out and addressing the council. “I have reached my decision,” Bulma announced. She waited for a dramatic pause, as everyone looked at her. 

     “Frieza stays.”

***** 

     Bulma was kind enough to bring in catering for the occasion, and the council helped themselves to a late night treat for the inconvenience of the emergency meeting. Yamcha wanted nothing more than to leave, but the appeal of fine-dining on Bulma’s zeni was an opportunity too good to pass up. When the meeting adjourned at last, Bulma made Yamcha sign an ironclad NDA, so that he couldn’t tell any non-members of the council about the council, lest he face the wrath of her legal team. The various members of the council made their ways outside of the Capsule Corp compound. 

     Videl and Chi-Chi drove off together in a car after saying their goodbyes, and Hercule called a driver to pick him up in a stretch limousine. Yamcha was about to fly off to his own house, when he saw Eighteen walk out in front of him, texting on her phone. He paused for a moment, but then approached. “Hey, Eighteen?” Eighteen turned to face him. Yamcha took a breath. “Hey uh...that was…a lot but…what you said back there. I don’t know…that was really cool.” 

     Eighteen smirked. “Don’t mention it. Literally. Bulma will press charges,” Eighteen warned, but Yamcha already knew well enough not to cross Bulma.  

     “You know, I never really thought about it, but you’re right. A lot of us started off as enemies. Even me to be honest. Give it to me straight; am I wrong for thinking that there might be hope for Frieza?” Yamcha asked. Eighteen stared at him plainly for a moment, and he lost his nerve. He looked away.

     “I’m not the type that gives people chances. But if Krillin hadn’t taken a chance on me, I’d be dead right now. Now I live a comfy life with the man that I love and my beautiful daughter. As of right now, I don’t trust Frieza. I think we’d be fools to trust him. But I’m living proof that people can change,” Eighteen said calmly. 

     Yamcha smiled and looked back at her. He hadn’t interacted much with Android Eighteen in a one on one setting. She usually wasn’t very chatty, and there was still some part of him that was wary around her, given the havoc she brought about when she was at large. But hearing the way she spoke in the meeting cast her in a different light in his mind. He appreciated her for her wisdom. 

     “Can I ask a favor?” Eighteen asked. 

     “Uh…yeah? Sure. What is it?” Yamcha asked.  

     “Krillin would kill me if he knew I was telling you this, so this has to stay between you and me. But he misses you. And he misses himself,” Eighteen said, crossing her arms with a soft sigh.  

     “Hunh? I don’t get it. How can he miss himself?” Yamcha asked with his brow furrowed. 

     “You made the point earlier that Krillin should be the one on the council, representing me, right?” Eighteen asked, mockingly.

     “I didn’t mean-” Yamcha began, but Eighteen cut him off. 

     “I don’t like fighting. I never asked for any of this. Dr. Gero abducted me and my brother because we were compatible with his experimentation. I’m strong by circumstance. Not by desire. But you’re a martial artist. It’s a crucial part of who you are. And it is for Krillin, too.” 

     Yamcha listened as Eighteen spoke. “It’s hard standing next to the saiyans. Goku and Vegeta get stronger and stronger every day, and it happens at a discouraging pace. Comparing yourself to them is a great way to kill your self esteem. Goku is Krillin’s best friend, but he’s left Krillin behind in a gap that Krillin will never be able to bridge, because he’s human. And he puts on a brave face, but he can’t hide from me. It’s eating him alive.” 

     Yamcha sighed. It was an unspoken truth that lingered between many of them. The tournament of power breathed life back into many of the Z warriors who had otherwise fallen by the wayside in deference to Goku and Vegeta. But it was only because they were required to fill the team roster. It wouldn’t be long before they all fell back into disparaged comfort again. 

     “Krillin needs his friends. Not just his co-workers on the police force. Not Master Roshi. I like the comfortable life that I have with my daughter. But my husband is a fighter. When the world is in danger, he’s the one that flies to the front lines; not me. He needs to be around other fighters that can push him out of this slump he keeps falling into. Not to mention we’re all getting older. We have to be more intentional about reaching for one another. Not just when the earth is in danger,” Eighteen said. Yamcha sighed, knowing that he had been guilty of avoiding them all. It was hard being around his friends, watching their lives progress as he stood frozen in time.  

     “I can’t feel your power level, but for what it’s worth you definitely look like you’ve been getting stronger. I take it you’ve been training with Frieza?” Eighteen asked. Yamcha blushed. 

     “Oh, thanks! Yeah, he and I have been going at it while he’s been here. But I hear you. You’re absolutely right. Martial Arts is a big part of who I am. It always has been. And it’s that way for Krillin, too.” Yamcha said. Eighteen smirked. 

     “Exactly. So I need you to come around more, okay? Kick the crap out of him, and light a fire under his ass. Show him he doesn’t have to accept defeat, just because he’s not an alien or a robot. He expects himself to lose whenever he spars with me or anyone else. But he’s stronger than he knows. And so are you.”

     Yamcha looked Eighteen in the eye. He could feel the adrenaline in his chest after hearing her words. She spoke to a part of him long neglected in self-pity. But as painful as sparring with Frieza was, if he was honest with himself, then he would have to admit that it was the best part of his day. Baseball kept his lights on and his mortgage paid, but Yamcha had forgotten that he was a fighter. If Krillin had forgotten that too, then perhaps he was just the person to remind him. 

     “Can I come over now?” Yamcha asked. Eighteen’s eyes widened.  

     “Hm? Well it’s a little late, but I don’t see why not.” Eighteen said. She turned in the direction of her house. “You ready?” 

     “Right behind you!” Yamcha said, and they both blasted off of the ground like rockets, a ripple of wind pushing the grass around them at take-off. Yamcha kept the pace with Eighteen as they ripped through the night sky at terminal velocity. He grinned like a fool as the buildings and landscapes whipped by them like a blur. The novelty of flight would never lose its charm with him.  

     It only took them seven minutes to make it to Krillin and Android Eighteen’s house. Eighteen slowly descended down to the front porch and her heels hit the floor with a click. Yamcha landed just after her, walking up behind her as she opened the door. “Try to be quiet. Marron should be down for bed by now,” Eighteen said. Yamcha nodded and followed her. 

     They took their shoes off at the door and quietly walked in. Krillin came floating down the stairs to greet Eighteen, but his eyes immediately found Yamcha. He looked at Yamcha with shock, but went to kiss his wife first. “Hi honey. Everything okay at Bulma’s?” Krillin asked quietly, looking at Eighteen. She rolled her eyes. 

     “Yeah. You know Bulma. Dramatic as ever. She’s fine, she just needed a girl’s night,” Eighteen lied nonchalantly. Apparently Krillin knew nothing about this so-called council either.  

     “I see you brought back a straggler,” Krillin joked, grinning at Yamcha. Yamcha smiled back. 

     “Hey Krillin! What do you say to a quick spar?” Yamcha asked. Krillin just arched one eyebrow, and crossed his arms over his chest.  

     “I say… who are you, and what have you done with Yamcha? You sounded an awful lot like Goku just then. Do you realize how late at night it is? I have work in the morning,” Krillin said. He looked between Yamcha and Eighteen. Eighteen just shrugged and walked past them both. 

     “He was at Bulma’s. I told him you would say it’s too late, but apparently someone’s been training,” Eighteen lied again. But Yamcha nodded and went along with her ploy. 

     “That’s right! The next time there’s a tournament of power, I’m gonna be one of the ones defending our universe, you’ll see! Come on, just a quick one. First to ten hits, just to gauge the difference between us. I need to see how far I have to go,” Yamcha said. Krillin smirked. 

     “Uh Yamcha…I hate to be the one to tell you this but…it’s been a while since you’ve fought anyone. You sure you wanna do this, buddy?” Krillin was as kind as they came, but there was an undercurrent of arrogance to his words. He had established himself as the strongest human that the earth had to offer, which was a feat considering his competition included Yamcha, Tien, and Master Roshi. The same way there was a gap between Krillin and Goku, there was a gap now between Yamcha and Krillin. But Yamcha took the tease in the stride and smirked back. 

     “Bring it! Just a quick first to ten. You and me, outside,” Yamcha challenged. Krillin narrowed his eyes. He turned and looked back at Eighteen, wordlessly asking if he should do this. Eighteen just shrugged and turned away. 

     “Whatever. Just don’t lose. I don’t kiss losers,” Eighteen teased, walking up the stairs smugly. As soon as her back was turned she smirked, silently thanking Yamcha. Krillin grit his teeth with renewed vigor. He rolled up his sleeves. 

     “Alright then. First to ten,” Krillin said, accepting Yamcha’s challenge. Yamcha nodded and walked outside. He flew up into the air quickly, and Krillin followed after him. They floated together until they were sure they looked like nothing more than two birds circling each other against the night sky. No one would be able to see them in this backdrop. “You ready for this, Yamcha?” Krillin asked, assuming his fighting stance. 

     Yamcha assumed his stance as well with a smirk. “Let’s do it.” They held each other’s gazes for a mutual minute, and then both of them tensed at the same time, dashing at each other in midair. The mix-up was quick, as the two of them threw strikes and combinations at each other, catching and blocking each other’s blows before reversing with strikes of their own. 

     Krillin’s technique had been refined, there was no denying that. But the difference between Krillin and Frieza even in his sealed first form was night and day. Yamcha knew better than to try to block Frieza’s blows, so he relied on dodging instead. But with Krillin, he could take the hit and come back in with his own counter strike. Yamcha parried a jab of Krillin’s, and then countered with an uppercut and three body shots, sending Krillin flying. 

     Krillin stopped himself midair, breathing hard as his adrenaline surged. He was stunned. Yamcha smirked. “That’s four,” Yamcha teased confidently. Krillin grit his teeth and growled. He dashed back in, whipping around Yamcha’s back with an attempted kick from behind. Yamcha dodged it, and entered another furious mix-up with Krillin. 

     Their punches and kicks were a blur to the common eye. Elbows and knees collided together, sounding like clashing boulders as they tested their might against each other. In the midst of the mixup, Krillin landed a clean three blows, but in that time Yamcha landed another four, bringing him to a lead of eight hits. Krillin broke apart again, breathing hard as he looked at Yamcha with frustration. 

     “What have you been doing? When did you get this good?” Krillin asked breathlessly, looking at Yamcha in awe. Yamcha smirked back. 

     “I told you man, I’ve been training! Two more, and I win,” Yamcha teased. 

     “No! I am not going back to the bottom!” Krillin growled as he blinked away. He disappeared beneath Yamcha, and then came in for a powerful uppercut. It was too fast of a blow for Yamcha to counter, so Krillin managed to sneak in another two hits, bringing him to six. Yamcha kicked off Krillin the same way he kicked off Frieza to create distance between them. The score was eight to six, with him in the lead. 

     Yamcha waited, centering himself and taking the breath he would never get if this were a fight with Frieza. Krillin reset himself as well, as they circled each other in the sky. Then Krillin went on the offensive, flying in for Yamcha again, but Yamcha anticipated the blow. Krillin came in for a jab, and Yamcha dodged it, quickly countering with two hard hooks to Krillin’s stomach. He knocked the wind out of Krillin. 

     Krillin doubled over, clutching his stomach. “Damn it!” Krillin growled. He recovered and straightened back up. Yamcha was stunned. He couldn’t believe it himself. The progress that he’d made in such a short time not only brought him back up to Krillin’s level. He’d surpassed him entirely. Frieza had been right. He was an excellent training partner. 

     Yamcha floated over to Krillin. “You okay, man?” He asked, leaning in to assess Krillin’s state. Krillin grit his teeth and groaned. 

     “I’ll be fine. We’ve both been hit harder than that,” Krillin said. Yamcha smirked and held out his hand. 

     “Good match!” Yamcha said, remembering the etiquette of sportsmanship. Krillin smirked back. 

     “Yeah yeah. Just you wait. Give me a week and I’ll be ready for a rematch,” Krillin declared, eagerly clapping hands with Yamcha. Yamcha grinned from ear to ear. Krillin matched his grin. He looked down. “Yamcha?” 

     “Yeah?”

     “...It’s good to see you again.” Krillin said. 

     Yamcha couldn’t smile any wider.   

*****

     The morning came and Yamcha made his way back over to the Capsule Corp compound. He watched as Frieza trained in the gravity chamber, exhausting himself in his golden form, so that he would be on the brink of having no ki when they sparred. Yamcha admired Frieza’s tenacity, and the way that he worked himself to the bone. Frieza was as demanding of himself as he was of everyone else. 

     He looked at the bruises and welts on Frieza’s skin and watched the way that he heaved as he worked. He took a glance over at the gravity setting. Vegeta normally used four hundred and fifty times earth’s gravity to train, so naturally Frieza cranked it to six hundred, just to prove a point. Yamcha knew that if he set foot in that room he would implode from the pressure, so he sat back and watched until it was time to go in.  

     The muscles in Frieza’s back strained as he lifted himself over and over again, in a series of perfectly formed push-ups. Frieza’s cold blood made it so that he didn’t usually sweat, but from where he was standing, Yamcha could have sworn that he saw a glistening sheen on the frigid Emperor’s body. He watched until the clock struck at the hour, and then Frieza kipped up and turned the gravity chamber back down to a Yamcha-friendly setting. He exhaled and calmly powered back down into his base state, before sealing his power again into his horned form. Yamcha walked into the gravity chamber, jogging over to Frieza eagerly. Frieza turned to face him, his arms folded behind his back like a drill sergeant. 

     “Yamcha,” Frieza said suspiciously, eyeing Yamcha’s unusual eagerness to return to his company. 

     “Good morning, my lord!” Yamcha said cheerfully, tossing his bag aside, and breaking out into his stretches. Frieza continued to eye him. 

     “You’re unusually chipper. And not in the nervous way,” Frieza said, his tail swishing with the irritation of not knowing absolutely everything in a given moment. Yamcha grinned as he bounced into a deep lunge to stretch his legs. 

     “I’m starting to see the results of training with you. I’m getting stronger!” Yamcha said eagerly, shaking out his arms and rolling back his shoulders. Frieza smirked. 

     “That you are. Which means it’s time to increase the resistance, so that you continue to see results,” Frieza said. He walked over to the gravity settings, increasing them higher and higher, until he saw Yamcha begin to strain under the new weight. Then he smirked and increased it one step higher. “There. That should do it.” 

     Yamcha grit his teeth. He dropped down into his fighting stance, holding up his arms against the strain. “B-Bring it on….my lord…!” Yamcha growled. His ki roared inside of his stomach like a furnace, as every muscle in his body clenched. He made it his goal to maintain his time record, even under the new gravity setting. He kept his eyes peeled, in anticipation of Frieza’s opening move. 

     Frieza decked him, and everything went black. 

Chapter Text

     “You look so handsome!” Puar cheered as Yamcha put on his watch in the mirror. He was wearing a tight fitted black v-neck that he tucked into a pair of dark navy jeans. His fashion choices were starting to shift back to his younger days, when he dressed to impress and attract, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. He smiled, looking at his reflection. 

     The training with Frieza had been paying off in more ways than one. His shoulders had become slight and undefined during his separation from the battlefield. But now that they were all that stood between him and another crushing blow from the frigid emperor, they were the size of boulders. The muscle definition in his arms, abdomen, and legs had fully returned. It was even more pronounced than when he was in his prime. The seams of his clothes were fighting for their lives to keep him decent. He looked as though he were in his twenties, despite being over twice that age. The moment brought a genuine smile on his face. One he hadn’t seen in a long time. 

     “Thanks Puar!” Yamcha grinned at his friend in the mirror, and flexed his arm. They flew over to feel the muscle, having to spread their arms out just to measure the growth. They cheered in awe, and Yamcha chuckled happily. 

     “I knew you could do it, Yamcha!” They applauded. 

     “You were right, as always. But I didn’t do it alone,” Yamcha said. He noticed the way that the smile fell from Puar’s face almost instantly. They floated a safe distance away, trying to hide their expression. It was no secret that Puar didn’t approve of Yamcha’s continued excursions with the tiny tyrant. Yamcha sighed. “He’s not all bad, Puar.” 

     “If he’s not all bad, then why don’t you let me come with you?” Puar asked, furrowing their brows up and doing their most dramatic rendition of wobbly eyes yet. Yamcha winced. Frieza might not be all bad, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still very bad. Puar had him there.

     “Don’t take it personally buddy. When Frieza went to HFIL, he was visited by cute teddy bears and pixies that sang songs to cheer him up. He hated every minute of it. You have admit, you’re pretty darn cute. I’m afraid you’ll remind him of that time, and he’ll take it out on you. I just want you to be safe,” Yamcha said. 

     “Then I’ll stay transformed the entire time!” Puar insisted. Yamcha was losing his footing. 

     “You shouldn’t have to transform yourself just to be around him, Puar,” Yamcha argued, not wanting to bring Puar into any of this.

     “But isn’t that what you’re doing?” Puar argued back. Yamcha sighed. He turned to look at himself in the mirror again. It was true; the time with Frieza might have been yielding results physically, but his mental health had taken a significant plummet. It was hard having to constantly walk on eggshells. Never truly speaking his mind. Never being fully honest, out of fear that Frieza would kill him and then everyone else. He only let himself slouch for a moment, before remembering why he was doing this in the first place. 

     “I have to, Puar. Frieza’s very dangerous and quick to anger. But he seems to genuinely like my company. I’m the only thing keeping him from killing us all. I have to keep everyone safe. It’s up to me,” Yamcha said. Puar’s ears drooped and they floated over to the counter to sit in the corner. Yamcha stepped closer and gently scratched behind their ear. He sighed again. He couldn’t keep doing this. “I’ll talk to him Puar. I’ll see if he’ll be alright with you coming on the next adventure, alright?” 

     At that, Puar perked up. They wiped their eyes and nodded with a hopeful smile. Yamcha smiled back and held open his arms. Puar laughed and flew into Yamcha’s embrace. Yamcha was grateful for the hug, but then he cast himself a worried expression in the mirror. It was one thing to toy with his own life. It was another to toy with Puar’s.  

     What could he do?

***

     Yamcha drove up the stretch driveway of the Capsule Corp compound before pulling into the parking area. The sky couldn’t decide if it wanted to be orange or pink as the sun began to fade away from sight. He didn’t bother collapsing his car into its capsule, only stepping out of it this time and flying up to the second floor balcony of Bulma’s living room. He pressed the button on the intercom. “Hey Bulma, it’s me,” he said. The glass door to the living room slid open and Yamcha let himself in. 

     The living room was vacant for the time being, lavishly decorated in elitist minimalist refinery. But then there was a ring from the elevator, announcing a presence. Out stepped his ex girlfriend, wearing a mechanic’s overalls and a pair of gloves that only she could make flattering. He smirked. “Is this what the girls are wearing now?” He teased. 

     “Oh, shut up,” she fired back. She took off one of her gloves and slapped him in the arm with it. He laughed playfully, but then stopped when he noticed her doing a double take at the size of his bicep. The validation would sustain him for months. He changed the subject. 

     “How are things coming with the ship?”

     Her eyes lit up. “I made good progress today! The hard part was figuring out the equation for traveling at warp, but I managed to crack it with a little help from Vegeta. Now I just have to build machinery capable of withstanding the pressure of travel, so that it doesn’t collapse mid-jump,” Bulma said, already losing herself in thoughts of what could possibly live up to her standards. Yamcha nodded, pretending he could follow any bit of what she was talking about. 

     “I’m impressed you’re putting this much effort into it. Frieza doesn’t need to breathe, you know? If you made him a ship that got him even halfway to his outpost he’d be fine,” Yamcha said. She smiled and gave a little ‘hmph.’ 

     “It’s not about him! This is about Capsule Corp making the world’s first spaceship capable of intergalactic travel! Fixing the Namekian ship was one thing, but I couldn’t actually call it my own. And we usually have to borrow Jaco’s ship if we’re going off world. But this one’s fully home grown with my blueprints and my tech. If I can pull this off, I’ll have officially surpassed my dad, and even Dr. Gero! It’ll make Capsule Corp the undisputed world leader in terms of science and development,” Bulma explained with a hearty grin. 

     It didn’t escape Yamcha’s notice that Bulma was essentially risking all of their lives for a successful business venture. But he couldn’t help but to grin back. “You’ve got this!” He said, and held up his fist for a bump. She bumped it back. 

     “You know it! Should be about a month or so now, give or take a week,” Bulma said. Yamcha’s eyes widened. He hadn’t realized how much time had already passed. He was about to say something, but the elevator dinged again. Out of the elevator stepped Frieza, wearing a light purple turtle neck and an oversized white jacket draping off of his shoulders like a cape. He paired it with skin tight black leather pants, complete with another villainous pair of stilettos. 

     Yamcha was stunned. But less so than Bulma, who was suddenly very aware of her own attire. She moved to stand on the other side of Yamcha, as if to shield herself. Frieza smiled venomously as he clicked his way over to the pair. “Good evening, Yamcha,” he purred. Then he cast a sideways glance at Bulma, and rolled his eyes. She fumed and looked away. Yamcha winced with fear, caught between the pair of tyrannical divas.  

     “My lord! You look…a-amazing!” He said, in a voice a little too high pitched to be believed. Frieza grimaced. Fortunately Bulma agreed.  

     “Yeah, you really do. Hold on - is that…the new Fumiku?” Bulma asked inspecting Frieza’s outfit. He smirked triumphantly, lifting his chin. 

     “Why yes it is! The attendants at the shopping mall were most helpful in their recommendations. They shall be spared and added to my retinue when I come back to kill the rest of you” Frieza said, and both Yamcha and Bulma cringed at the thought. 

     “Always a pleasure, Frieza,” Bulma quipped and rolled her eyes. Yamcha instinctively felt for Vegeta’s power level to make sure he was close by. He was. “So, where are you two off to tonight?” Bulma asked 

     “The movies. We’re going to see Echoes from a Distant Shore ,” Yamcha explained. 

     “Oh! I haven’t seen that one! Honestly I haven’t been to the movies in forever. I should have Vegeta sit for Bulla, and take Trunks out on a mommy-son date. Tell me how it is?” Bulma asked. Yamcha grinned and nodded. 

     “You bet! Shall we, my Lord?” Yamcha asked. Frieza smiled. 

     “Let us away,” Frieza said, and marched past the pair toward the open door. Yamcha followed after him. Bulma got a wicked look in her eye. 

     “I want him home at a decent hour, Yamcha. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” She teased playfully. 

     “Soooo everything but fisting?” Yamcha teased back, but he could see the smoke coming out of Bulma’s ears. He quickly hurried out of her compound, narrowly avoiding the barrage of foul language that came from her mouth at maximum volume, and the boot that she hurled toward his head. He jumped down like a soldier fleeing a lost vantage point, and jogged over toward his car, opening the passenger door for Frieza who slid in elegantly. Yamcha closed it after the tyrant, and then walked around to his side. 

     He started the engine and fled, just as Bulma’s defensive laser cannons emerged from the lawn. He chuckled quietly, but then piped down when he saw that Frieza’s attention was elsewhere. The world around them descended into a lovely sunset that reflected off of the material from Frieza’s jacket and his alabaster skin, making him appear pearlescent. Sometimes he forgot that Frieza was a genuine extra terrestrial. But he was all the more stunning for it. 

     Frieza caught Yamcha staring in the mirror, and turned to look at him. Yamcha quickly looked back at the road. “Are you well?” Frieza asked. 

     “Y-Yeah, my lord, sorry.” Yamcha said, blushing slightly now that he had been caught. Frieza didn’t press the subject, instead looking out of his window again. They rode together in a strangely comfortable silence as the breeze blew across them and the sun descended beyond the shoreline. It wasn’t long before they arrived at West City’s cinema. Yamcha pulled up to the doors and stepped out before opening Frieza’s door and letting him out. Then he collapsed his car into a capsule and put it into his pocket. 

     Heads turned as Frieza ascended the stairs to the theater. There was a carpet that lined the stairs and softened the clicks of his heels that made him seem like a celebrity approaching an event or a premier. Yamcha ran ahead to open his door for him and the people stopped and stared, marveling at Frieza’s appearance and attire. As always, the emperor thrived on the attention and clicked his way up to the counter. The attendee looked up from his desk. 

     “Can I help you?” He asked, pushing up his glasses. 

     “Hey, I’m Yamcha. I have a reservation for tonight. Theater seven?” Yamcha said. He’d rented the entire theater to prevent anything from going wrong. It was too easy for him to imagine someone talking over the movie or turning their phone on to distract from the view. It would be nothing for Frieza to eviscerate this entire theater in the blink of an eye, and he would be powerless to stop it. The attendee nodded quickly. 

     “Yes of course!” He printed off two tickets for the duo and gave them to Yamcha. “Enjoy your movie!” 

     “Hey thanks!” Yamcha said, and opened the rope for Frieza. The tiny tyrant stepped through but then turned back to wait for Yamcha to guide him. Yamcha closed the rope back and then made his way to the concession stand. Frieza followed.

     “What is this?” Frieza asked, gesturing over to the large glass container of fluffy golden nimbus clouds. Yamcha grinned.

     “It’s called popcorn my lord! Corn is one of our planet’s vegetables, and if you heat up the seeds they explode into those soft fluffy pieces you see. You can get it anywhere, but it’s always best at the movie theater,” Yamcha explained. Frieza peered into the glass. He looked like a curious child. 

     “Clever. It’s like when a planet implodes from within, only the reaction is frozen in time,” Frieza remarked, eyeing it. Yamcha did his best to pretend he didn’t hear that. 

     “It’s delicious! I’ll buy some for us and then we’ll head inside,” Yamcha said. Frieza nodded, standing by as the gawkers continued to marvel at his presence. Yamcha advanced in the line at the concession stand until he made it to the front and ordered a large popcorn. He asked the worker to sprinkle in a little extra butter and salt, and they made a show of tossing the popcorn in the ingredients before handing it over to the baseball player. Once he had it, he walked back to Frieza, holding it out. “Here, try a piece!” 

     Frieza eyed the popcorn for a moment, and then pinched a piece from the top of the pile. He ate it and chewed it, and Yamcha waited for his reaction. Frieza’s eyes widened. “That’s…actually quite stimulating.” He took another, his eyes widening again. Yamcha nodded and grinned. 

     “Yeah, I figured! You like dry red wine and crab, which are both pretty savory. Popcorn is too, so I thought it might be up your alley.” Yamcha chuckled and scratched the back of his head as he smiled. Frieza smiled back, though his eyes kept their usual malevolence. 

     “Well done. Another point for the earth,” Frieza said, and Yamcha blinked in astonishment. Then he blushed and looked away. He wasn’t used to so much praise from anyone other than Puar. 

     “T-Thank you, my lord. Uh…this way!” Yamcha said, walking onward to the theater. Frieza clicked his heels alongside him, strutting over to the door. Yamcha opened it for the frigid emperor and he stepped through, to a fully empty theater. Yamcha was relieved to see the empty room. This might all go smoothly if he could avoid any unpleasantries with other movie goers. It also made it a lot easier for him to smuggle in a capsuled minibar. 

     He clicked the top of his capsule and out came a perfectly stable shelving unit, complete with several bottles of pinot noir, a wine opener, and a set of long stemmed glasses. He set the popcorn aside, before pouring a glass for Frieza and serving him, and then a glass of water for himself. Frieza smirked again. 

     “I’m impressed again. You’ve thought of everything,” Frieza said. Yamcha blushed and grinned. 

     “Yeah…uh….I wanted to say thank you. I’d…given up on fighting to be honest. But your training gave me the kick in the pants I really needed, in more ways than one. I’d’ve never done this if it weren’t for you,” Yamcha confessed. Frieza pursed his lips and 'tsked. 

     “A shame. I am not long for this planet, but I will not stand for those monkeys undoing my hard work. You are weaker than them, but you do not have to accept your weakness. When I return to kill everyone else, I expect that you will have continued your training. Otherwise I will revoke my offer for you to stand at my side and you will perish with the others,” Frieza threatened. But Yamcha continued smiling. 

     “I will, my lord. It’s a promise,” Yamcha said. It was strange. There were times when it seemed to him that Frieza held him in a higher esteem than his friends. A higher esteem than his own self, even. He held up his glass. “To your safe return across the universe?” He asked. Frieza smirked at the glass and raised his own. 

     “To your continued renaissance,” Frieza said, and clinked his glass with Yamcha’s. They drank their drinks, and continued to take turns picking at the popcorn. Frieza’s eyes widened and his cheeks sucked in with each bite. “It’s marvelous…” He said as he reached for another piece. 

     “Yeah, help yourself! They’ll refill it for us if we eat all of it,” Yamcha explained, grabbing a fist full of it. Frieza smiled but continued to pick at it with refinement, rather than digging in like the former bandit.  

     “Now, you’ve explained that what we’ll be seeing tonight is your planet’s blasphemous mockery of the theater, is that correct?” Frieza asked, and Yamcha found himself laughing at his condescension. 

     “Yeah, you could put it like that my lord. But uh…it’s not exactly live theater. We have that too. This one is pre-recorded and edited together with enhanced effects. It’s a set of pictures that move in motion so fast that it’s like it’s happening in real time. We call it a movie,” Yamcha said. Frieza turned his attention to the screen. 

     “Well I’m here, aren’t I? Is there a reason for the delay?” Frieza asked. Yamcha winced, hearing that note of irritation in the pint-sized powerhouse’s voice. 

     “It will only be a moment longer, my lord. We got here a little early, and the movies play on timers. They will play a few advertisements for other shows, and then the movie will begin,” Yamcha explained. Frieza pursed his lips and took another piece of popcorn. 

     “Very well. I suppose I shall forgive this transgression. Tell me of the performance I shall be spectating,” Frieza commanded. Yamcha nodded.

     “It’s called Echoes from a Distant Shore. The story’s about a couple that fall in love, but a war begins and the man is called away to service,” Yamcha said, and Frieza grimaced and rolled his eyes. 

     “You were doing so well. Surely you did not bring me out here to watch a wretched love story. You know how I feel about love,” Frieza warned menacingly practically spitting the word. Yamcha winced. 

     “It also happens to have some of the gnarliest carnage ever documented in film history,” Yamcha said. Frieza blinked with a ponderous expression, before taking another piece of popcorn. 

     “We shall see. Entertain me,” Frieza said. As if on cue, the lights dimmed, and the screen lit up with the advertisements of movies yet to come. Yamcha continuously alternated between watching the screen and watching Frieza’s face for any inclinations of movies that he might want to see. But Frieza looked utterly bored with all of them, and any sense of confidence that Yamcha had went up in smoke in the back of his mind. Perhaps this had been a mistake? 

     The movie began. Frieza crossed his legs, making himself comfortable. He held out his wine glass to Yamcha, and the baseball player took it and refilled it wordlessly before handing it back. They sat together in silence as the movie played before their eyes. It was a heart wrenching tale of a young fisherman’s son, and the daughter of a local craftsman who grew up together in a coastal village. With time they fell in love as they aged. Yamcha winced, catching a glance of Frieza’s annoyance and displeasure at the romance at hand. 

     But then the couple decided to act on their love. Yamcha had seen more than his fair share of sex scenes - to be certain. But he noticed that Frieza seemed to be…watching. Intently . The tyrant leaned forward and set his wine glass aside, as the man’s lips pressed against the womans. Frieza’s eyes constricted like a cat’s, unblinkingly as it watched unsuspecting prey. It was hard to tell, but from Yamcha’s point of view, he could have sworn he saw the faint trace of a lavender blush on the cold lord’s cheeks. 

     Then Frieza looked at Yamcha, and Yamcha immediately looked at the movie, his own cheeks blushing, unsure if he managed to avoid Frieza’s gaze or not. The couple on screen moaned dramatically as he pinned her against the wall, his fingers moving under her skirt. Yamcha hadn’t accounted for the sex scene to be so… vivid . His blush only worsened. He casted a wayward glance at the tyrant, just to assess how much time he had left on earth. But Frieza couldn’t take his eyes away from the screen. He uncrossed his legs, only to cross them again the other way. 

     After what felt like an entire fifteen minutes, the sex scene finally ended, and neither the baseball player nor the emperor dared look at each other. They both fidgeted, looking either directly at the screen or askance at the side, taking turns adjusting and clearing their throats. But the romantic passion of the film was brought to a screeching halt, when the male lead answered a summons, calling him away to war. 

     Yamcha casted another look at Frieza, who seemed to be eyeing the movie with perplexity and annoyance. But the annoyance was wiped away, as the film alternated between shots of the woman’s misery, and the man’s raw carnage due to the perils of war. The film was a monstrous display of blood, guts and agony, and Frieza seemed to be delighting in every drop of it. Instead of the annoyance, his face now held a bone-chilling smile as the people wailed in utter anguish. Yamcha didn’t have the words to explain why that was both comforting and horrifying at the same time. Fortunately he didn’t have to. 

     The movie ended on a somber note as the woman received notice of her husband’s death at war. The camera followed her as she walked into the water. Her silhouette merged with the ocean, as the distant sounds of gunfire and wailing played out in the distance, before the credits rolled. Then the lights came up again. The movie was over.

     “Well? What did you think, my lord?” Yamcha asked nervously. 

     “A magnificent ending. It accurately portrays the brutality of war, both from the perspective of the soldier, and the perspective of the one he left to protect. Though I must say, I’m rather surprised she let him leave,” Frieza said. Yamcha rose up from his seat and Frieza did the same. Yamcha collapsed the capsule bar back into its place. 

     “Why is that, my lord?” He asked. Frieza arched what should have been an eyebrow at him. 

     “Well if she cared for him so deeply, why didn’t she go with him?” Frieza asked. Yamcha nodded in comprehension. 

     “It actually wasn’t all that common for women to be soldiers here on earth. It goes against the norm. It kind of still does to be honest,” Yamcha said. Frieza’s eyebrow didn’t un-arch itself.

     “And why is that?” He asked, and Yamcha felt everything within him constrict. He hadn’t given it much thought. But he himself was never really a fan of fighting girls.  

     “Er well…for a multitude of reasons, but…that movie was actually set in the past, and in the past the belief was that a woman’s greatest value was her ability to have kids, my lord.” Yamcha explained. But he wanted nothing to do with this conversation. He moved to exit the theater, and Frieza followed after him. Yamcha held open the door.

     “Sure, but why would she not be able to have the baby and fight alongside her mate?” Frieza asked. Yamcha winced and looked around, wondering if anyone overheard the question. 

     “W-well…any damage to her body might hurt her ability to have children. Or worse, if she were actually pregnant and in battle, she could lose the baby in the womb,” Yamcha said. Frieza stopped entirely and looked at him as if he’d just said the strangest thing possible. 

     “I beg your pardon? Lose the baby in the womb? Why is the baby in the womb?” Frieza asked, and Yamcha blushed profusely. 

     “M-my lord! Maybe we should have this conversation in the car?” Yamcha asked, and Frieza eyed him suspiciously. “It is just that…such talk in public is thought of as…lowly, on earth,” Yamcha said, and Frieza’s eyes widened. It was as if Yamcha had said the magic words. Lord Frieza was many things, but certainly not lowly. The tyrant cleared his throat with a cough and adjusted his outfit. 

     “To the vehicle then. But first, I shall have more of those popped corns you provided earlier,” Frieza commanded. Yamcha laughed. 

     “It’s…actually popcorn, my lord. One word. But uh…sure,” Yamcha said, and then went back to the concession stand. 

***** 

     “So…the women keep the young inside of their bodies for a nine month gestation. And then the young come from the vaginal canal?” Frieza asked in absolute confusion. Yamcha was blushing like mad. He had hoped the tyrant would let this go by the time they made it back to Bulma’s compound, but here Frieza was; sitting in the passenger seat under a starlit evening, asking the baseball player about the miracle of birth. “Does…would that not kill her? To be ripped asunder as another person emerges from between her thighs?” 

     Yamcha was as red as a tomato. “Well I wouldn’t know first hand, but uh…yeah it seems like it’s pretty painful,” Yamcha said, looking at Frieza. 

     “Then why bother at all? Why not utilize gene splicing and a birthing pod, like the rest of civilization? You mean to tell me that your species still procreates like beasts? You even put it in your theater! Though that was rather…” Frieza said, trailing off at the memory of the vivid sex scene he’d just watched. “Disregard that,” He instructed. Yamcha was happy to. 

     “Uh…well I guess it’s my turn to be confused. What’s a birthing pod?” Yamcha asked, watching the way the moonlight amplified the cool undertones of Frieza’s alien white skin. Frieza looked away bewildered and shook his head.  

     “I certainly did not emerge from between my mother’s legs. My father combined his DNA with her DNA, and put the fertilized egg into what we would call a birthing pod. The pod is brilliant because you’re able to scan the egg for imperfections well before it actually develops into an infant. And of course there is the added benefit of having no pain for the woman bearing the child. This way she can continue to cull the weak! You mean to tell me that in all of your years, your planet still has not advanced to this degree of technology?” Frieza asked. 

     “Er…well I mean…I think we have something close to that but uh…I don’t have kids so…” Yamcha said, shrugging and averting his gaze, wanting to be done with this conversation. Frieza didn’t care. 

     “So you do not have warp travel, and you do not have birthing pods? And you do not eat crabs while they are yet living to taste their succulent misery? What do you see in this planet, Yamcha?” The absurdity of the conversation tickled Yamcha’s lips into another smile, but he honestly thought about Frieza’s question. Then he answered. 

     “Well forgive me my lord, but…I’ve only ever seen the earth and the afterlife. I’m not as well traveled as you. But this is my home, and I find something beautiful about it at least once a week,” Yamcha said, and then sighed. “I guess I was hoping maybe you would too.” He looked up at the sky from his roofless convertible. “Though I imagine it doesn’t really compare.” 

     Frieza opened his own door - to Yamcha’s surprise - and stepped out. “It has its moments,” Frieza admitted begrudgingly, pulling up his designer jacket and stepping off like a runway model. 

     “W-Wait! I’ll see you to your door,” Yamcha said, moving to get out and follow him. 

     “At ease, Yamcha. I’m not going to run. I can practically feel Vegeta scanning for my power level. Not to mention the surveillance,” Frieza said, pointing out Bulma’s cameras. “I retire to my boudoir to reflect on the conditions of your planet’s women” he said, slowly floating up. Yamcha watched him ascend, and then turned the key to his ignition, but the engine didn’t turn. 

     “What..?” He tried it again. Frieza stopped, and lowered himself back down. 

     “Yamcha?” 

     “I...sorry my lord. I don’t know what’s wrong.” He tried it once more. It didn’t turn. Yamcha got out of the car. He walked around to the hood and lifted it up before ducking under to assess the vehicle. Frieza approached from behind, looking puzzled. 

     “Why don’t you just compress it back into its capsule? I’m sure the wench can fix your vehicle, if she can build a ship from scratch,” Frieza said, crossing his arms. 

     “I think something’s wrong with the power supply, because it wouldn’t go back into the capsule. I’m no Bulma, but she’s taught me a trick or two. Let’s see…” Yamcha said, and then summoned a ki ball. He gently tossed it upward to act as a flashlight, illuminating the engine. It stayed in place as he walked around to the trunk and popped it open, pulling out a tool kit. He walked back around to the engine. 

     “You do that rather well.” Frieza remarked.

     “Hunh? What’d I do?” Yamcha asked, looking around, and Frieza pointed at the ki ball. 

     “It didn’t budge an inch. Even as you walked away. Your control over your power is impressive,” Frieza said. Yamcha was blushing again. So many compliments.

     “Thank you my lord. I uh…I guess I never really noticed. But I’m sure you’re leagues above me,” Yamcha said, quickly deprecating himself in front of superior company. But Frieza shook his head. 

     “No,” was all he said. It was all that he was going to say. Yamcha turned to face him once more, but Frieza looked away. Yamcha didn’t know what to do now, so he decided to take a chance. He guided the ball of light over with his finger, sending it over toward Frieza. It floated slowly. 

     “It took me a while to get the hang of it. In the beginning I found myself forcing the energy around. Like yanking it I guess? I was so focused on keeping the ball tight and willing it to strike my opponent. Oddly enough it was baseball that helped me perfect it. When you throw a pitch, there’s a release point that you train your mind to find so that you can toss the ball perfectly every time. Once you find it, it becomes second nature. And then when you apply that to ki, you have to just consider the ki ‘thrown.’ Once it lands, you’re pitching it again.” Yamcha explained as the ball circled around Frieza a few more times, before coming back under the hood. 

     Frieza looked at Yamcha with disdain, and Yamcha immediately went back to what he was doing. “Sorry…didn’t mean to…well…” Yamcha said, instead diverting his energy back to the engine. He went to the power supply and checked the terminals. They weren’t corroded, but they were loose from all of the vibrating as of late. He moved to go to his tool box, but then a bright pink orb danced in front of his vision, illuminating the box. Yamcha blinked and turned back to look at Frieza. 

     The tyrant was pointing his finger. He kept still and made it look effortless, but the truth couldn’t be more opposite. He was concentrating. Hard. To the untrained eye, Frieza’s ki looked the exact same as Yamcha’s. But the two of them knew better. Despite his efforts the ball still bounced as though it were levitating, while Yamcha’s remained perfectly still. “That filthy simian Goku critiqued my habit of learning things quickly before truly mastering the basics. It didn’t take me long to acquire my golden form, and then I traveled here without ever testing it to the full extent. Learning the intricacies.” 

     Yamcha paused for a moment, but then worked up the courage to speak. “You do have a lot more ki than I do though. Sometimes it feels like you have more ki than Goku too.”

      “I do.” Frieza insisted, and Yamcha smiled. But Frieza doubled down. “No, truly. I do. But it is as you say. I force things to go my way. If I concentrate hard enough, I can yank the ground apart with my energy. Even my death beam is me visualizing a target, and then willing my energy from the tip of my finger to the vulnerability in their body. I don’t necessarily feel any release point. I’ve never had to. No one ever trained me. I can fight because my parents could fight. My parents could fight because their parents could fight. It’s in my DNA,” Frieza explained, and Yamcha nodded. He grabbed his wrench out of his bag.

     “I…can help if you like? Finding the release point I mean. I have no business trying to train you,” Yamcha said, taking out his wrench and then turning back to the engine. He tightened the clamps that connected to his power supply, and put his wrench back into his tool box. Then he closed the hood and walked around to the driver’s side. He reached in and started the car. It fired up like new. “Yeah, there we go! It was just a bad connection.”

     Frieza’s eyes widened and he dismissed his ki. Yamcha did the same, bringing them back to the moonlight. Frieza crossed his arms. “Very well. Tomorrow you shall instruct me on this… release point, ” Frieza said. 

     “Of course my lord. But…can I ask a favor?” Yamcha asked. Frieza’s eyes narrowed. 

     “You try my patience,” Frieza sneered. Yamcha swallowed but planted his feet. 

     “My best friend Puar isn’t used to spending so much time without me. We uh…kind of go everywhere together. Would you mind if they tagged along? They’ll keep quiet and out of our way, I promise,” Yamcha said. Frieza turned away. 

     He was quiet for a contemplative moment. But then Yamcha heard his voice once more. “I’ll allow it.” Frieza said, and Yamcha grinned. He bowed at a perfect angle. 

     “Thank you my lord! You won’t regret this, I promise.” 

     “You’re dismissed,” Frieza said, and floated back up to his bedroom. Yamcha watched him go with a smile, before backing out of Bulma’s driveway and pulling off to the road.

Chapter Text

     “A pitiful attempt,” Frieza critiqued as his serpentine tail coiled around Yamcha’s neck. Yamcha grabbed and tugged helplessly on the snake-like appendage, trying to prevent the constriction from causing him to pass out. But then his body lurched as Frieza cracked his tail like a whip, flinging Yamcha against the wall. His back hit the surface with a thud and everything went blurry for a moment. 

     Then as he tried to sit up he felt a cold foot press down on his chest, like a block of ice. He took in a deep breath, looking up in authentic horror at the tyrant smirking down upon him. Dark purple lips curved up into a grin as malevolent as it was lascivious. Then Frieza’s hands tugged at the opening folds of his Kame-house gi, ripping it apart effortlessly. 

     Yamcha took in a sharp breath, his eyes flickering down to Frieza’s hands and then back up to that bone chilling grin. Yamcha was naked, his thighs hiked up as Frieza straddled him. The tiny tyrant kept a firm grip at the sides of his neck, choking him as he leaned in for a sultry kiss. Yamcha took a breath and closed his eyes... 

     …Then his alarm went off. He jumped awake and looked around, getting his bearings. He was in his room. The sunlight pierced the outline of his blackout curtains. He sat up from the center of his large bed, moving his hair out of his face and rubbing his eyes. He needed one more look to make sure that he was fully alone. It was all a dream. A dream that he…apparently liked. 

     Multiple things could be true at once, he knew that. He was working out again and at maximum capacity, which meant that certain hormones were having a much easier time making their way around his body. And it had admittedly been some time since he was touched. Finding a girl wasn’t hard, quite the contrary. But finding a girl that he could trust, who wasn’t after his money as a professional athlete? Who wouldn’t freak out once she learned he could fly, or topple a building with one good punch? Or worse, that he was one of the weakest of his friends? He’d have an easier time finding the Dragon Balls without Bulma’s radar. 

     The excuses and justifications spoke for themselves, each of them getting louder and more elaborate. But none of them were loud enough for him to block out his subconscious acknowledgement that he had just woken from a sex dream, where he was about to be dominated by Frieza. And he was still as hard as a rock. 

     “Yamcha?” Puar’s voice came from beyond his door. 

     “H-Hey, Puar,” Yamcha called back his throat still raspy from sleep. 

     “Is everything alright?” They asked. Yamcha grimaced, looking down at his… predicament. 

     “Just a bad dream. I’ll be out in a minute,” Yamcha said, and flopped back down onto the bed. He closed his eyes and shook his head, and then brought his hands up to cover his eyes and scrunch up two fists full of his bangs. He took the moment to himself, taking a deep breath and clearing his mind of the stressors that demanded satisfaction. Once he’d slowed down everything in his mind, he peeled back the covers and slid over the side of his bed to stand on his feet, and make his way to the shower. 

*****

     “I-I’m beginning to have second thoughts,” Puar confessed as they drove up to Bulma’s mansion. Yamcha casted them a worried glance. 

     “I don’t blame you. It is Frieza, after all. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Puar,” Yamcha said, putting the car in park in front of the door. He turned to face his best friend, looking down at them as they sat in the passenger seat. Puar returned Yamcha’s concerned expression. 

     They took a moment to think for themselves and then shook their head rapidly. “No. No, I’m going to do it. I’m going to spend the day with you and Frieza!” Puar declared. Yamcha kept his gaze on the little catling, but seeing the determination in their eyes, he gave them an affirmative nod. 

     “Okay. It’ll be alright Puar. Just follow my lead,” Yamcha said, and unbuckled his seatbelt. Puar did the same, and floated out of their seat as Yamcha stepped out. Yamcha didn’t bother collapsing his car, as they would only be at Capsule Corp for the moment. He looked around to make sure they were alone, before floating up to Frieza’s wing. Yamcha accessed the intercom. 

     “Bulma it’s me. I’m here to pick up Frieza,” Yamcha said. Bulma came back over the intercom. 

     “Security’s down,” Bulma said, and Yamcha watched as the infrareds and stabilizing locks disengaged themselves. Yamcha slid open the door and announced himself. 

     “Lord Frieza?” Yamcha called, poking his head in. Frieza emerged from around the corner, marching out with a commander’s upright poise and his hands behind his back. Yamcha stepped aside to let him out. As Frieza stepped out onto the balcony, he turned to greet them. 

     “Yamcha. And I assume this is your friend?” Frieza asked. The heartless malice in his voice made the question sound like a threat. Yamcha swallowed but doubled down. 

     “Yes my lord. This is Puar,” Yamcha said, gesturing over to the small catling. Puar bowed their head. 

     “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord,” Puar said, and Frieza’s eyes narrowed in a murderous glare at the sound of Puar’s high pitched sing-song voice. The tiny tyrant grit his teeth and pointed his finger to fire a death beam, but Yamcha quickly grabbed Puar and wrapped his arms around them, shielding them with his body. 

     “THEY DON’T SING! THEY DON’T SING!” Yamcha screamed at the top of his lungs with his eyes closed, shielding Puar as best as he could. He thought this was the end, but the impact never came. Instead he opened his eyes, casting a tentative glance at Frieza. 

     Frieza retracted his index finger back into his fist and put his hands back behind his lower back. He coughed and cleared his throat, before casting a glance downward. “Very well. See to it that today’s training session is free of music and cheer, and I shall tolerate the presence of this… Puar,” Frieza conceded, eyeing Puar with nothing but contempt and disgust. He looked down upon the shapeshifter the way that an aristocrat would sneer at a mixed breed alley cat. 

     Yamcha tentatively relaxed, but Puar was visibly stricken with fear. Yamcha decided to take the lead. “Right then! We’ll uh…today we’ll work on your ki control, like you asked. I-I mean, if that’s okay with you?” Yamcha asked sheepishly. 

     “Let us proceed,” Frieza said, before gently floating down to the ground floor and approaching Yamcha’s vehicle. Yamcha took hold of Puar, and quickly floated down before Frieza, opening his door for him. Frieza lowered himself down into the passenger side and Yamcha closed the door behind him, before walking around to the driver’s side. He whispered to Puar. 

     “You okay, buddy?” 

     “I-I-I’m okay…” Puar said, their voice trembling with fear. Yamcha’s heart broke at the sight. He gently massaged Puar’s ears. 

     “Just stay behind me and hang on,” Yamcha said, and gently sat Puar down against the headrest of his seat. Then he sat down, letting his own head rest on Puar’s belly, feeling their plushy paws rest on his scalp. He buckled his seatbelt and put the car in reverse, before wheeling around and driving them away from Bulma’s mansion. 

     Yamcha was torn between making sure that Puar was comforted and that Frieza was entertained. But he could feel Puar holding onto him snuggly so he assumed they were okay. Meanwhile Frieza simply stared out at nothing in particular as they traveled the streets down to the local park and baseball diamond. Yamcha broke the silence. “How are you today, my Lord?” 

     It took Frieza a moment to even register that Yamcha was speaking. “I find my thoughts occupied as of late. Once I return to my empire I will be King undisputed. My father made me acting regent but he was always in the shadows, as was Cooler to act as the threat of my replacement should I fail. But father is gone and apparently my brother is as well. The Frieza Force is well and truly mine to rule as I please.” 

     Yamcha remembered Frieza’s earlier statements about his contemptuous relationship with his elder brother. He decided against giving him condolences for his loss. “That is an enormous amount of pressure for anyone. But uh…if you don’t mind me saying you’re like…really smart,” Yamcha said. Frieza smirked. 

     “That I am,” Frieza agreed, thriving upon praise. But then he drifted back out of the social parameter of conversation and lost himself in thought again. Yamcha looked in the rear view mirror for a moment to check on Puar. They had mostly returned to normal now, finally coming down from the raw terror of looking death in the eye. Yamcha focused back on the road, taking a turn and pulling their car over to the park. 

     When the car came to a stop he turned it off and opened his door, before moving around to open Frieza’s for him. The tyrant stepped out and Yamcha closed the door behind him, before moving around to the trunk. He reached in, grabbing his bag and unzipping it. “Uh…here you go my lord,” Yamcha said, holding out a baseball uniform for Frieza. 

     “What is this?” Frieza asked, eyeing the clothes suspiciously. 

     “Er uh…well… it’s a baseball uniform. I know you said you collect souvenirs from the planets you visit and uh…it’s your first time playing baseball so I thought you might like one..?” Yamcha said, the confidence fading from his voice with every word. 

     Frieza arched what should have been an eyebrow at the fabric in front of him. “These colors are a travesty. Do you mean to mock me?” Frieza asked looking back up at Yamcha. Yamcha flinched. 

     “N-never my lord! These are the colors for the West City Taitans, see? Mine is the same,” Yamcha said, referring to his own uniform. He quickly shoved his hat on to complete the package. Frieza still seemed apprehensive. 

     “If it is necessary, then I shall indulge. But I will need to transform into my base form to wear your garments,” Frieza said, pointing to the horns that protruded from the sides of his head. 

     “Oh uh…yeah. That makes a lot of sense,” Yamcha admitted sheepishly. Frieza took a step back and then closed his eyes, releasing the tremendous binds of his ki. Yamcha felt the immediate weight of Frieza’s power level in a way that made his body tremble with inadequacy. He could feel himself slowly catching up to Frieza’s small pink form from their training, but he was lightyears away from ever being able to come close to Frieza in his natural form. Feeling the difference during the shift was almost nauseating. 

     When Frieza emerged, alabaster and revolting, he took the fabric from Yamcha and began to don the Taitans attire. Yamcha seemed pleased that the outfit seemed to fit Frieza perfectly, as he had chosen the smallest possible size. But when Frieza stepped into the pants, he seemed to be having a small problem. 

     “Oh uh…my apologies my lord. I forgot about your tail,” Yamcha said. Frieza looked displeased, but Puar chimed in. 

     “Allow me, my lord,” they said, and promptly shapeshifted into a large pair of scissors. Puar chopped a clean cut into the backside of Frieza’s trousers for his tail to poke through. Frieza stepped into the pants and then fastened them into place, before pulling the baseball cap down on his head, keeping it low like Yamcha’s. 

     “Is this appropriate?” Frieza asked. Yamcha smiled and nodded. “I feel ridiculous.” 

     “You look great, your highness!” Yamcha said. But then Puar shapeshifted again. This time Puar changed into Frieza himself, mimicking his actions and functioning as a clone-esque mirror. Yamcha panicked, frightened that Frieza would take offense. But to his surprise, Frieza’s eyes only widened. 

     “Oh…so you can assume any form?” Frieza asked and then he fussed with his outfit. Puar mimicked his actions in perfect synchronization, but answered in their high pitched voice.

     “Yes, my lord,” Puar said still imitating all of Frieza’s actions. Once Frieza was done adjusting himself, Puar shapeshifted back into their catling form. Frieza smirked and nodded. 

     “Well aren’t you full of surprises? That’s quite the talent you have. Given the proper training in espionage, you could become quite useful,” Frieza said, and Yamcha could already see the wicked schemes brewing in the emperor’s mind. He decided to intervene. 

    “Yeah, Puar’s really great! But we can talk more about that later. W-why don’t we make our way to the field, your highness?” Yamcha asked, holding his hands out to guide him toward the baseball mound, as if it weren’t blatantly obvious how to get there. But Frieza followed the instruction and marched onto the diamond. 

     “Was that too much?” Puar whispered to Yamcha.

     “I think you’ve won him over, but don’t let him get attached. He might try to take you with him!” Yamcha explained and Puar’s eyes widened in horror. 

     “O-o-okay…!” Puar’s voice shook as they followed Yamcha onto the baseball diamond after Frieza, floating effortlessly. Yamcha jogged up next to Frieza. 

     “Alright your highness - welcome to your first ever baseball lesson! First things first - your glove.” Yamcha tossed Frieza a spare glove, and then put on his own glove to show him how it should fit. Frieza eyed him curiously.

     “Why would I be in need of a glove?” Frieza asked. Yamcha smiled sheepishly.

     “These balls fly at nothing short of one hundred and forty three kilometers per hour, my lord. Human hands are normally too fragile to withstand the impact of that, but the glove acts as a cushion, and an additional grip to catch the ball,” Yamcha explained dutifully. 

     “Yes, but I am no earthling.” Frieza sneered. 

     “In your case, it’s to protect the ball…” Yamcha said and then winced out of fear that that might have come across as rude. But Frieza smiled, apparently taking it as a compliment. 

     “Ah. Understood. I shall try not to break your precious ball,” Frieza said, putting on his glove. He clapped it closed a few times, getting used to the extra padding between the thumb and the index finger. “This is rather curious…” Frieza said, thinking out loud. Yamcha smiled. 

     “It’s weird, right? It took me a while to get used to it too,” Yamcha said, clapping his back in a similar motion. “But that extra space is where you’re supposed to catch the ball. Here!” Yamcha threw the ball to Frieza in a gentle lob of a toss. The tiny Tyrant caught it perfectly. “You’re a natural!” Yamcha remarked. 

     “There are…people who cannot do this?” Frieza asked, pinching the ball between his ungloved index finger and thumb. He flicked it back to Yamcha like it was nothing, but the ball flew at such astonishing speeds that Yamcha barely had time to react. He caught it based on instinct and winced at the impact to his hand. 

     “Woah, you really are a natural,” Yamcha admitted, now a little worried. “My lord, everyone knows how incredibly powerful you are. But you might have to hold back quite a bit if you want to gain anything from this session.” 

     Frieza smirked. “Too much for you, Yamcha?” Frieza teased. Yamcha swallowed, a little uncomfortable with Frieza’s tone of voice. 

     “Uh…for me? No. But…” Yamcha began, as he held up the baseball. It was already starting to unravel at the seams, with yarn spilling out of it. Frieza smirked. 

     “My my. It looks remarkably like entrails,” Frieza said. Yamcha could see Puar going blue in the face with fear from the corner of his eye. He kept his footing as he disposed of the ball and grabbed another from his duffel bag.

     “Now what you just did there is what would be considered a knuckleball in the baseball world. You tossed it straight at me with no spin, so the ball doesn’t rotate as it's tossed. It’s a very tricky throw, and very few people know how to do it,” Yamcha explained. Frieza grinned. 

     “It is to be expected that I would exceed the capabilities of your planet's athletes,” Frieza said, looking at his nails with an air of smug superiority. 

     “But that’s actually the exact opposite of what we’re doing today,” Yamcha said, and Frieza grimaced. Yamcha ignored him this time. “In order to find the release point for your ki, we need to work on a pitch that has top spin. Here, see?” Yamcha said, before tossing the ball up into the air, over and over again. The ball spun in a perfect rotation, and Frieza’s eyes narrowed like a cat’s upon seeing a feather toy. 

     “The top spin is what’s making the ball rotate that way…” Frieza said, approaching to get a better look. 

     “Yep! Now look at the way that I’m throwing it. I wind back with my hand, flick my wrist, and whip the muscles in my hand in a fluid motion until the ball departs from the tip of my finger,” Yamcha said, making a dramatic show of his continuous tossing. But Frieza watched him unblinkingly. Yamcha ceased his tossing, and gently threw Frieza the ball. “Give it a shot.” 

     Frieza took the ball into his ungloved hand, methodically walking himself through the muscle memory of Yamcha’s top spin toss. It took him two tries, before the ball was rotating, and then on the fifth try, it held a steady spin, only twirling in one way. Frieza grinned malevolently. “I’ve done it!” 

     Yamcha smiled back. “Yeah see? Now you feel that spot at the tip of your finger every single time you throw it up? That’s the release point. Throw it to me - gently,” Yamcha said. Frieza tossed the ball back to Yamcha. Yamcha jogged back a healthy distance to give Frieza some wiggle room. “Alright, you ready? Catch!” Yamcha called as he threw the ball over to Frieza with the top spin. Frieza caught the ball with perfect form and little effort, but his eyes narrowed. “You see what I did?” Yamcha asked. 

     Frieza nodded back and took a deep breath through his nose. He had a look of determination in his eyes that was awe inspiring but also…strangely childish at the same time. The tiny tyrant seemed to be taking this exercise very seriously, as he perfectly mimicked Yamcha’s pitch; hiking up at the leg, winding back, and tossing the ball back to him. Yamcha caught the ball. 

     “That was amazing!” Yamcha cheered and Puar flew around in celebratory circles 

     “Do not insult me!” Frieza barked, and both Yamcha and Puar immediately shut up, frozen in place. “When you threw the ball to me, the ball only spun backwards, but it maintained its equilibrium on both sides. When I threw it back, it span, but it also rotated toward the right,” Frieza said critiquing himself. Yamcha blinked both in astonishment of Frieza’s accurate recounting of the difference in their throws, but also in the compliment toward his technique.

     “W-well yeah but..that was your first try, my lord. I’ve been playing baseball for years. Nearly a decade at this point…” Yamcha explained, but Frieza cut him off. 

     “I shall have it again,” Frieza snarled, and Yamcha swallowed. He wound back and threw Frieza another perfect pitch. Frieza caught the ball eagerly, his eyes locked onto Yamcha. He took a deep breath and mimicked Yamcha’s pitch. It was already improved, but there was the slightest over correction, now making it spin a little toward the left. Before Yamcha could say anything, Frieza was already barking. “Again!” 

     Yamcha smiled. He threw the ball back to Frieza once more, and Frieza repeated the same mimicry. But this time the ball held a perfect top spin on its return back to Yamcha. Yamcha’s eyes widened in astonishment. Frieza’s narrowed in malicious conquest. “Hah!” Frieza smiled. Yamcha laughed, and Frieza’s eyes widened murderously. “You would dare mock me?” Frieza said, his ki powering up dangerously. 

     “No, my lord! I just didn’t realize how competitive you are,” Yamcha said, before throwing Frieza the ball again. Frieza caught it, and returned it back. A perfect pitch. 

     “Competition implies a competitor. I’m not competitive. I’m in a league all my own,” Frieza declared with a raspy purr. Yamcha grinned. 

     “Oh yeah? Show me,” Yamcha said, taking a few more steps back and pitching the ball over to Frieza. Frieza smirked. 

     “Don’t despair, Yamcha. I am prodigy. Your efforts to help me find this ‘release point’ have proved fruitful,” Frieza monologued dramatically as he pitched the ball back to Yamcha. But to his horror, the ball fell off course, and Frieza looked like he was ready to obliterate every baseball in existence. Yamcha smirked. It didn’t matter the difference between their power levels on the diamond. Baseball was his bread and butter. Here, he was uncontested.  

     “Finding the release point is just the first step, my lord. Now that you’ve found it, we have to make sure you maintain it,” Yamcha said, and Frieza growled. But he spread his stance and braced himself for the next pitch, wordlessly accepting the challenge. Yamcha pitched the ball back to him. Frieza noticed the difference in Yamcha's pitch, and course-corrected himself. He pitched it back with perfect top spin.  

     Yamcha took another couple of paces backward and pitched the ball to Frieza. Frieza took a couple of paces backward himself, and pitched it back to Yamcha, maintaining a perfect top spin. “Good!” Yamcha said, but then he started to float into the air with a grin. He tossed the pitch to Frieza from a higher vantage point, but maintained the top spin of the ball. Frieza swallowed. He took his stance and threw the ball back to Yamcha. It was close, but it veered ever so slightly off course. 

     Before Frieza could bark the command to return the pitch, Yamcha threw it back again, and Frieza course-corrected himself. He nailed the rotation, but his trajectory was off. Yamcha had to float to his left to catch it. Frieza was already breathing hard. 

     “This is…more complicated than it appears. But I shall not be bested!” Frieza declared. Yamcha smiled. 

     “My lord, if I may?” Yamcha asked, before throwing the ball back to Frieza. Frieza paused, listening to Yamcha. “When you first learned the top spin, you methodically walked yourself through the steps to make it happen. Now we’re changing the paths of our pitches, but you’re so eager to keep up with me that you’re losing form. We have time.” 

     Frieza’s nose wrinkled in anger, and Yamcha winced, fearing that he’d said too much. But Frieza closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “A wise emperor listens to the council of his court, even if he disagrees…” Frieza said to himself in mimicry of his father’s criticism. He opened his eyes, slowly took his stance and walked himself through the steps of the pitch. He pitched it back to Yamcha, maintaining the perfect top spin even though Yamcha was mid air. Yamcha grinned. Frieza grinned back. 

     “Come up!” Yamcha called from the sky, and Frieza flew into the air. He found his own odd angle and slowly pitched the ball back to Yamcha. His form was immaculate. Yamcha caught the ball and began to fly away from Frieza, But then he turned around, rolling over on his stomach in mid air and pitched the ball back to Frieza with a laugh. Frieza caught the ball and grinned chasing after Yamcha. 

     He flew ahead of the former thief and took an angle above him, pitching the ball at Yamcha as if he were throwing one of his signature death beams. But he maintained the precision of the pitch, finding the release point and maintaining the form. Yamcha caught the ball and took a swan dive into the cover of the trees, before pitching the ball back to Frieza. 

     Before Frieza could react, a large baseball glove appeared out of nowhere. It caught the ball in its own mit, before turning to Frieza and launching the pitch at him with the same perfect top spin. Then the glove burst into a puff of smoke, revealing itself as the shapeshifting Puar, joining in on their fun. Frieza smirked, catching the pitch from Puar. He threw it back to the catling, who quickly burst back into the glove, catching it and throwing it down to Yamcha with a cheerful laugh. 

     “Nice one Puar!” Yamcha called, bursting through the trees and up toward the sun. From here, the three flew around each other, orbiting in a constant and confusing rotation that only the three of them seemed to comprehend. The ball went from Yamcha to Puar, and then from Puar to Frieza, to go from Frieza to Yamcha, over and over again, regardless of the way they orbited around each other. It was a pass time akin to ‘catch’ but from the right angle…one could swear they were playing ‘tag.’ 

     They soared about until the sun touched the horizon announcing its departure, and Yamcha slowly kited them back to the baseball diamond in the park. He was smiling like a mad fool, catching Frieza’s last pitch. But before he could throw it to Puar, the catling deshifted, clutching their tummy. Yamcha’s eyebrows knotted up with worry. “Oh no, Puar are you alright?” 

     “I-I’m okay I think I just overdid it. That was a lot of shifting for one day,” Puar said with a wince. Yamcha ran up to them immediately. Frieza walked with his approach. 

     “Buddy! Do we need to get home?” Yamcha asked, immediately taking Puar into his arms. Puar hurriedly shook their head no.

     “I can make it home. You two finish up here. I’ll be fine, I promise!” Puar said, and then gave Yamcha the look. It was a specific look that the two of them worked out to communicate silently that they were uncomfortable. Yamcha acknowledged Puar with his eyes and released them. 

     “Sorry buddy. I’ll be home soon, okay?” Yamcha said. Puar nodded and then turned to Frieza. 

     “Thank you for letting me join you, your majesty,” Puar said, floating into a neat curtsy. Frieza smiled. 

     “Your presence was surprisingly tolerable, Puar. I may yet call upon you again for entertainment. You should be honored,” Frieza said. Puar’s eyes lit up. 

     “I-I am, your highness! Thank you!” Puar said, but then winced again. “I-I’m sorry. I’m going to go lay down now,” Puar said and waved to both of them before floating off. Yamcha watched until they were well out of sight. 

     “Thank you for that. I know that wasn’t easy for you, but they’re my best friend,” Yamcha said to Frieza. Frieza shrugged. 

     “I’ve certainly endured worse company. I would sooner have another rendezvous with Puar, rather than Vegeta or Bulma,” Frieza confessed, and Yamcha grinned. “Today was…” Frieza began, but then stopped himself. Yamcha finished for him. 

     “Fun?” Yamcha asked with a smile. Frieza looked back at him nervously. It was the first time that Frieza had ever shown this side of himself. Yamcha kept his goofy smile in place. “Baseball’s a ton of fun, my lord. It’s alright to enjoy it.” 

     “It is just that I’ve only recently started…training,” Frieza said it like it was a disgusting word. “I thought that training was a form of labor that had to be done. I didn’t think that it could ever be enjoyable.” Frieza explained, and Yamcha nodded. 

     “I had a lot of fun today too. But uh, we’re not exactly done.” Yamcha said

     “Oh?” Frieza asked, but then Yamcha tossed up another ball of ki, just as he had the night before. Its golden glow illuminated them both in a gentle light. 

     “Now that we’ve spent the day with the ball, give it a try. Throw your ki, just like you would the ball,” Yamcha said. Frieza took a deep breath, and then launched his ki upward, just as Yamcha had. The good news was that his form was immaculate. The orb of his ki held its place neatly, no longer vibrating like a furious hornet the way that it had before. It was a remarkably gentle pink orb that soared up into the sky with effortless ease. 

     The bad news was that throwing a baseball and throwing a ki blast required two very different levels of restraint. The ki blast dashed into the air, colliding with the wing of an airplane and knocking it off course! 

     “Oh no!” Yamcha bursted off the floor in flight, soaring up to the airplane as it spun violently into a sharp descent. Yamcha tucked under the wing that was clipped and held it up, righting the ship’s balance in the air. He looked about for the piece of broken wing that was surely going to collapse onto some unsuspecting citizen from the sky. But to his surprise, a ki-blast came from the corner of his eye, colliding with the fallen wing and blowing it to dust. Then Frieza flew beneath the plane, taking the entire structure onto his comparatively small shoulders. 

     The pair maintained the weight of the plane, wordlessly coordinating, and allowing the pilot to guide them for the remaining duration of the flight. They were taken to a nearby airport, where the duo let the plane onto the ground gently, and then flew away before either of them could be identified. 

     “I-I didn’t mean…” Frieza said. Yamcha held his hands out, gently taking Frieza’s arms. 

     “It’s alright.” 

     “Well yes of course. I can do whatever I please, I just didn’t want you to think -” 

     “-I-I don’t…” Yamcha said, gently rubbing Frieza’s arms to calm him down. Frieza took a couple of deep breaths, looking into Yamcha’s eyes as they floated together. He was relaxing. “It’s my fault, my lord. I should have warned you,” Yamcha said, but Frieza shook his head. 

     “The…the fault is mine. I’ve spent so much time in my first form, that I’ve forgotten the strength of my base form. And then the shift between that and baseball, it all just…” Frieza explained, but Yamcha just kept gently rubbing his arms, coaxing him to calm down. 

     “Looks like you’ve been shapeshifting a lot too,” Yamcha said with a soft smile. Frieza’s eyes widened, and then he looked aside. But there it was again. That lavender blush. “We brought the plane down. It’s alright. Are you alright?” Yamcha asked. At that Frieza snapped out of it, pulling out of Yamcha’s arms. 

     “Of course I’m unharmed, you imbecile! To think a mere aircraft would be too much for the mighty Lord Frieza!” Frieza said, immediately reinstating his emotional walls. But Yamcha just smiled and laughed. 

     “Sorry, my lord. I didn’t mean to imply,” Yamcha said, taking false blame. Frieza gave a very haughty ‘harumph.’

     “Yes well, I too grow tired. Take me back to my resting place at once,” Frieza said. 

     “Yes, my lord.” 

*** 

     Yamcha drove them back to Bulma’s mansion, getting out of the car and then opening Frieza’s door as always. The tyrant stepped out a couple of paces but then stopped. Yamcha had grown accustomed to Frieza’s theatrics, so he knew the Tyrant had something he wanted to say. He just waited.  Frieza paused and then turned back to look at him. “I’d like to try again.” Frieza said, and Yamcha arched his eyebrow. 

     “What do you mean, my lord?” 

     “The ki toss. Can you do it once more?” Frieza asked. Yamcha nodded, and then flicked his wrist up with a light toss, gently lobbing a ki ball into the sky. He felt Frieza’s eyes on him, watching his every move, analyzing the motion of his hand and breaking it down into some sort of pattern that his muscles would understand. It was remarkable to Yamcha how quickly Frieza learned things, and even more so how rapidly he adapted. But now he understood the double edged sword of that a little better. 

     “Has anything ever been slow for you, my lord?” Yamcha asked, forgetting his station. 

     “Why do you inquire?” Frieza said, gently tossing up his own ki blast. He dismissed it halfway up once he realized it was imperfect.  

     “Curiosity,” Yamcha replied honestly. Frieza tossed up another ki blast. This one hovered but then came back down, never truly being released from Frieza as a beacon. “You’re a prodigy, like you said. But it kind of seems like there’s a certain…I don’t know - speed that comes with that? You learn quickly. You fight quickly. You win quickly.” 

     Frieza nodded, taking a deep breath and correcting himself. “I do. I suppose I’ve never thought of it that way. I’d only ever accessed the benefits of my prestige. Not the drawbacks,” Frieza said. He lobbed up another ki ball. This one held perfectly still, mirroring Yamcha’s and bathing them both in a soft pink glow. 

     Frieza smirked arrogantly, but Yamcha just chuckled. “Well congratulations my lord. Looks like you’ve found the release point. That was probably pretty aggravating, but I hope it was worth it,” Yamcha said. 

     “Quite the contrary. This was one of the most enjoyable days I’ve ever had,” Frieza confessed. Yamcha’s face snapped to attention, looking into Frieza’s eyes. “Now that you mention it…it’s true. Everything about me is rather rapid. Having a day such as this to take things in a series of moments. To sit and ruminate. Even to toss around a ball in company…” Frieza began, but then he lost his words. And Frieza never lost his words. 

     Yamcha became nervous. He swallowed and filled the gap in their conversation. “Well my lord, the lesson technically isn’t over yet,” Yamcha said with a nervous grin. Frieza tilted his head to the side. 

     “Enlighten me,” he purred. Yamcha licked his lips. 

     “Well you see, I can’t exactly consider you a graduate of the Yamcha school of ki, if you don’t beat me in a game of bumper-ki,” Yamcha said. Frieza chortled. 

     “And what dare I ask is bumper-ki?” Frieza mocked, but Yamcha just grinned a little more. He moved his finger, and directed his ki ball over to Frieza’s, giving it a gentle bump and knocking it off course. Frieza’s jaw dropped. “You insolent-!” 

     Frieza growled and threw another ki ball up into the sky, landing it with the release point once more. His pink orb chased after Yamcha’s yellow sphere, but Yamcha tossed his ki in another direction to flee the impact of Frieza’s. “I will have my revenge!”  Frieza declared. Yamcha smiled, looking up into the sky as their ki orbs chased each other. He fought the urge to laugh, fearful that Frieza might take offense, but then Frieza’s orb finally collided with his own and the tyrant yelled “HA!” As if catching Yamcha’s ki ball were the single most important thing in his life. He couldn’t hold back anymore. 

     He chuckled as his own ki ball chased after Frieza’s. He was more accustomed to maneuvering the ball, so it didn’t take him as long to catch Frieza again, which only served to provoke the tiny Tyrant. But Frieza was grinning like a mad fool, whipping his ki ball around to try to catch Yamcha’s. The two began to move about on their toes, circling each other and weaving in and out beneath the illumination of their own power. 

     Until Yamcha felt his head collide with Frieza’s outstretched arm, and he looked down at the tiny Tyrant, who was standing directly beneath him and looking up into his eyes. Yamcha’s eyes lidded and his shoulders lowered, relaxing as he came into contact with the emperor. Frieza smirked and then flicked his finger forward, knocking Yamcha’s ki ball clean out of orbit. 

     “Looks like I win,” Frieza declared, looking triumphantly up into Yamcha’s eyes. 

     “....Yeah…” Yamcha replied, suddenly aware of how close they were standing. Frieza seemed to pick up on it as well, his eyes looking from Yamcha’s eyes down to his lips. Then he looked back up to Yamcha’s eyes again. 

     They both inched closer, with Yamcha drawing a deep breath. But then the front door of Capsule Corp opened, and the two of them jumped back. It was Vegeta. He crossed his arms, eyeing the two of them. 

     “U-Uh…evening, Vegeta,” Yamcha said, trying to break the tension. “Everything alright?” 

     “My wife went to bed early. I’m here to make sure Frieza does the same,” Vegeta said, leering over at the pint-sized powerhouse. Frieza scoffed. 

     “Savor this feeling, Vegeta. It is fleeting - I assure you,” Frieza threatened, before turning his back on the pair of them. He floated up to his balcony and walked into his room without another word. Yamcha watched him go before looking back at Vegeta, who just stared at him in utter disgust. 

     “Uh..Night,” Yamcha said, backing away from Vegeta and going back to his car. He pulled off and went down the driveway, feeling an unnoticed level of irritation. He walked himself through the motions of breathing, relaxing his shoulders once more and letting his arms rest on the steering wheel as he drove himself home beneath the streetlights. 

     He turned on the radio, letting the songs carry him all the way to his own place across town. When he arrived, he collapsed his car into its capsule, before unlocking the front door and stepping in. He took his shoes off at the door and went over to the kitchen to grab a beer. But when he turned on the kitchen light he saw Puar sitting on the island. Waiting for him. 

     “Hey buddy. You feeling better?” 

     “Why didn’t you tell me you like him?”

Chapter Text

“What?”

Yamcha’s body went into an automatic shut-down. He was standing in the kitchen, having just returned from dropping Frieza off at Capsule Corp. He’d gone into mental auto-pilot for the trip home. When he slipped through the door, his inner thoughts remained muted long enough for him to take off  his shoes and walk to the kitchen. He’d barely gotten his hand on the refrigerator handle when Puar began their interrogation. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you like him?” 

“Like who?” Yamcha asked, still mentally checked out after the day. 

“Frieza.” 

Every inch of his physique stilled as a sensation like ice water rolled from the back of his neck down to the bottoms of his heels. The features in his face hardened, masking any sign of joy, or weakness. The surrounding view of the kitchen windows, the table and chairs, even Puar themself faded into the backdrop of Yamcha’s vision as his brain rerouted that power back to his thought process. Then he swallowed and shook his head, blinking in disarmed astonishment. “What are you talking about?” Yamcha asked, a little quieter this time. 

Puar furrowed their brow up into a concerned twist and floated up to him gently. They kept their eyes on his, engaging his expression to emphasize the importance of comprehension.  “Yamcha…?” They tilted their head. 

Yamcha shook his head ‘no,’ leaning back against the kitchen counter and making a point to pivot off an angle from Puar. He was rejecting the conversation. He took the top off of his beer and drank it, turning away from the catling as he set the cap down. Puar simply floated right back into his face. “Yamcha, you like him.” 

He hardened his expression again, turning back to face Puar but squaring off at the shoulders. “Yeah, he grew on me! He’s not so bad. You saw it yourself today,” Yamcha said, in an attempt to deflect the attention. But Puar just gazed into his eyes with a penetrative stare, not allowing him to retreat into his own veiled narrative. 

“You have feelings for him,” Puar said again, and Yamcha choked on the beer he was pouring down his throat to keep from saying anything else. He felt himself slipping from the tight rope that he walked mentally, in regards to his current assessment toward the frigid emperor. He reached for a paper towel, wiping the backwash from his lips and the sleeve that he coughed into. 

“Don’t be silly,” Yamcha said, still turning away and wiping his face. He stayed turned, but he could feel Puar behind him, just waiting there. And then he looked down to see his own hand shaking as he reached for the bottle again. He swallowed. His inner harmony was out of alignment, and though his mind wasn’t aware, his body seemed to be siding with the catling. Some part of this needed to be articulated. 

Puar’s soft pawed hand gently rested on his own, as the catling floated over to his side from behind, looking up into his eyes again. Yamcha swallowed a throat full of dry air, and then looked down into Puar’s eyes. It was a stand-off. The collision of Yamcha’s hesitance and Puar’s patience. But in this arena, Puar took the budokai. It’s why they were still here, after all this time. Yamcha coughed out the itch in his throat.

“I’m not gay,” Yamcha said, shaking his head. It didn’t feel right in his mind. This all began because of his fear of pretty girls. They made him too nervous to talk. He still finds himself tongue-tied and stiff every now and again, even at this age. 

“I’m not saying that you are. I’m saying you have feelings for Frieza,” Puar repeated, inching closer as they tried to reason with their friend. 

“Yeah, that would make me gay, Puar,” Yamcha said snidely, shaking his head from side to side. He didn’t understand why they didn’t understand that. The answer was right in front of their face.

“No it wouldn’t. It would mean that you feel something for Frieza. Have you ever felt this way toward another man before?” Puar asked. Yamcha quickly shook his head. Nothing came to mind. He flashed through his mental catalogue of men, which was already shockingly low. 

“No. Never.” He confessed. It was an answer hastened with honesty. 

“Not Goku? Krillin? Tien?” Puar asked, but Yamcha made a face of disgust. 

“No! What?” Yamcha said, recoiling at the mental image of Tien’s face inching toward his own. He winced in revulsion. They were his brothers, and it was no more or no less complicated than that. His friendship with Goku had twin longevity alongside his friendships with Bulma and Oolong. Krillin, Tien, and Chiaotzu were easy additions. He didn’t know that he would ever truly consider Piccolo or Vegeta his ‘friends’ but stranger things occurred in his life. But he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had no interest in being with any of them in that way. Not even a little.

Puar floated next to him, and then rested on the counter. They placed their paw on Yamcha, and looked up into his eyes. He took a deep breath and then swallowed, looking back down at Puar. “Why are you so sure I feel something for Frieza?”

Puar smiled sadly. “Because you’re my best friend. I’ve only ever seen you that happy one other time. When we first faced Goku’s giant monkey form with Emperor Pilaf, Oolong and Bulma.” As Puar said it, Yamcha flashed back to the aftermath of that battle, back when they were wandering a desolate mushroom field together. He and Bulma looked into each other's eyes and admitted to the tension between them. They danced together like mad fools in the middle of the scorching heat, believing that they’d found what they were wishing for all along in each other. The thrill and reward of the journey.  

He swallowed and crossed his arms. “I…I don’t know what I’m feeling,” Yamcha finally confessed, feeling his own heart race a little. It was the first time he’d ever said it aloud, even to himself. He felt a sickening sensation like vertigo working its way through his body. He grounded himself with his ki. 

“You don’t have to know. You have to feel it,” Puar said. Yamcha looked away and took another breath, as his fingers grasped absently at the flat countertop. He was frustrated. Confused. He didn’t know himself at the moment, which was strange because he never thought himself very hard to know. But Puar always saw through him. The catling knew him better than he ever could.

“Is it…obvious…?” Yamcha asked at last, feeling the relief of slacked tension in his shoulders. But the relief still held a twinge of inner illness that he couldn’t quite shake.

“To me,” Puar answered, never breaking eye contact. Yamcha sighed and brought both of his hands to his face, covering his eyes and taking a deep breath. Puar continued. “Watching you play catch with him like that today was really eye opening. How long have you felt this way? Why didn’t you tell me? Is that why you didn’t want me to come?” Puar asked.

“No no, it’s not like that,” Yamcha explained, a sense of panic washing over him as the color drained from his usual sun-kissed face. “I’m being honest, I really don’t know what’s going on with Frieza. I mean he kissed me once and -” Yamcha began, but the octave that Puar’s voice hit begged a pause of respect.

“He kissed you?” Puar asked, their eyes as wide as their voice was high pitched.  

“Yeah we sort of kissed, but nothing came of it. Like…at all. We never even talked about it,” Yamcha said, shaking his head in bewilderment. “I don’t know, Puar. I just…he’s not as bad as everyone thinks he is. There’s someone in there, you know? I don’t know if it’s real or if it’s me trying to see something that genuinely isn’t there. Or maybe he’s just…toying with me,” Yamcha sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Maybe I’ve been making a complete idiot of myself this entire time. You think I’m falling for a trap?” 

“This isn’t about him,” Puar countered, floating in front of Yamcha’s face. “How do you feel?” Yamcha couldn’t remember the last time Puar was so stern with him. 

“I…” Yamcha said, but the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. He clenched his teeth shut, eyes darting about as he breathed through his anxious nerves. “I don’t-” Yamcha shook his head. 

“It’s alright if you like him,” Puar said, pressing their pawed hand to Yamcha’s cheek. Yamcha took a sharp breath through his nostrils, and looked Puar in the eye, before closing his own. 

“This is…new for me, Puar. I’m actually out of my depth this time. I mean…Frieza’s a man! And what’s worse than that - he’s Frieza! I don’t know what any of this means. Like…what am I doing?” Yamcha asked, scrunching his hair in his hands before releasing it to grab his beer. He walked over to his living room, and Puar floated after him. He turned on the television, in need of the comfort of background noise. 

“Did you enjoy your day today?” Puar asked.Yamcha was nodding before he even considered whether to admit it or deny it. 

“Yeah, I did. I mean he’s like…really smart, you know? Kind of in a scary way. He understands things so fast it’s insane. But it’s also kind of funny when he doesn’t get something right away. He gets so pissed,” Yamcha chuckled, picturing Frieza’s angry face in his mind. The little wrinkle over his nose that creased into a perfect butt-crack as his eyes flared like a hissing viper. There was something so comedic in the drama of Frieza’s face. He wanted to see it more often. 

“Isn’t that a bad thing?” Puar asked, wary of provoking Frieza to wrath.

“I mean yeah, I’d never say that to his face. It’s my job to keep him calm so he doesn’t kill us all. But that’s the thing - he could’ve done that already. A couple of times now. I don’t stand a chance against him in a battle, and we both know that. Every now and again he’ll remind me that he could kill me, and everyone else here. But I don’t think he’s going to. Not anymore,” Yamcha said, looking off in thought. 

“I’m glad he seems to be changing his mind about destroying the earth, but that doesn’t mean he’s friendly. Do you like spending time with him? What made today so fun for you?” Puar asked as the colors of the television’s broadcast reflected off of their fur in the dark backdrop. Yamcha put his arm on the back of the couch and held his hand up to rest his head on it. 

“Honestly it was that someone as posh and snooty as him would be willing to get down in the dirt and play baseball. He’s like a spoiled little princess, you know? I guess I just didn’t expect to see that side of him. And then just…seeing him in action. He puts his mind to a thing, and then he makes it happen. And now his ki control is already so much better!” Yamcha felt a hesitation in his stomach. A familiar voice in the back of his mind told him that he was talking too much. 

But Puar just nodded, listening along as Yamcha ranted. So he continued. “It’s like…he  never settles for less, you know? It makes me not want to either. I mean I feel stronger now than I ever have, even after training with Kami and King Kai. It just makes me feel like…I don’t know, maybe I just stopped trying? And maybe I shouldn’t have. He’s showing me that I can climb out of that. I mean he did, and he’s not a saiyan. Why can’t I?” He turned to face Puar as he asked his question.

Puar was smiling a wide earnest smile. “You admire that part of him,” they said. Yamcha nodded in agreement.

“I do. I’m a fighter at the end of the day. I know I haven’t been on the frontlines in a long time. I’ve gotten too weak, and I didn’t want to be in anyone’s way. Frieza’s cold and harsh, but he’s like that with everyone. And especially himself. It’s starting to rub off on me in a good way. And I think I’m starting to rub off on him too,” Yamcha said with a smile. 

“Really?” Puar asked, sitting next to him. Yamcha nodded and sipped his beer. 

“I’ve been showing him around. I think he’s starting to kind of like it here. We even saved a crashing plane tonight. Although, technically I guess it was Frieza’s fault that it almost went down in the first place. Yeah…maybe I am getting a little too ahead of myself. He probably wouldn’t have saved those people if I weren’t there to see it happen.” Yamcha scratched his head, at a loss for what to do in this situation. 

Puar spoke again. “You said he kissed you once. Has there been anything else?” 

“Well…I sort of had a dream about him. And uh…we almost kissed again yesterday, I think? But then Vegeta showed up, and totally harshed the vibe.” Yamcha said, still unsure if he was grateful for - or frustrated at Vegeta’s (un)timely arrival. “I don’t know, Puar. This is all a little much for me right now. I really have no clue what I’m doing,” Yamcha admitted again. 

“That’s okay. This is new so you probably don’t want to think about it yet, right?” Puar asked, and Yamcha immediately nodded. He was strong of body, not of mind. It was time for a brain break. “Okay. I’ll let it be. But…promise me you’ll tell me if something else happens, okay?” Puar asked. Yamcha nodded and smiled. 

“Yeah buddy. I promise,” Yamcha said, taking another sip of his beer. Puar smiled at him and floated off to the kitchen. Yamcha turned the station to baseball, watching the Rockets’ game. He let the heavy thoughts float away, grateful that now that it was out in the open, he could reach back for the subject when he next felt ready. Puar came back and took the seat next to him on the couch, with a bottle of beer nearly the size of their own body. They grinned up at him and he grinned back. Yamcha turned up the volume of the television, and they brought their glass bottles together in a satisfying clink. 

***

The morning came faster than he expected. Yamcha thought another dream would allow him the chance to delay his next encounter with the tiny tyrant, but his slumber was silent and still. One minute his head was on the pillow. The next he was climbing out of bed and getting into the shower. And now he was driving right back to Capsule Corp for his daily training session with Frieza. 

He eased up the driveway, and collapsed his car into its capsule, before waving at security and walking in. As familiar as he was with the Brief’s family, Bulma’s estate was entirely too large to truly know his entire way around. But he knew the way to the gravity chamber with his eyes closed, both because he’d been here so many times, and because he could usually feel someone in it. This time it was Frieza, clearly in his final form from the sickening way his power signature dwarfed everything else in the house. But Vegeta’s and Trunks’ power levels weren’t far off. They were defiant lights against the overwhelming sea of Frieza’s darkness.. 

Upon arrival, he lingered at the door for a moment, watching Frieza train. The emperor had taken the gravity chamber almost as high as it could possibly go without caving in on itself. He was huffing, throwing kicks in the air that were strained due to the enhancement of his own mass. The tension in his muscles made his skin look like flesh, rather than the armor of an exoskeleton. Yamcha couldn’t help the way his eyes raked up and down the frigid lord’s form. 

Frieza mixed in kicks and punches in a deadly combination, but he was slowing down with fatigue. Yamcha remembered that Frieza needed to take care to wear himself down to the brink of exhaustion before facing him. Otherwise he would kill Yamcha, and then Goku and Vegeta would have to send him right back to HFIL. He appreciated Frieza for taking that measure, but seeing the dedication that it took to make such a thing happen was startling. Yamcha couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. If he were stronger, Frieza wouldn’t have to drain himself before fighting him. 

He grit his teeth, looking down at his own hands. It was true - he was more powerful now than he’d ever been. But he wasn’t strong enough to face Frieza in his second form. Much less his final form. And there weren’t many that saw his golden form more than once and lived to tell the tale. His progress had been rapid, but where had it led him beside a momentary victory over Krillin? 

He didn’t have time to finish his thought, as he looked up to see Frieza heaving dangerously. He slowly drifted to the floor, his body shaking violently as he trembled under the weight of the gravity. Yamcha’s eyes widened. “Frieza?” He called, but there was no answer. Then the frigid emperor fell to the floor on his hands and knees, straining under the weight. “Frieza!” 

Yamcha watched as Frieza curled in on himself. He pounded with his fist on the glass to get Frieza’s attention, but all Frieza could do was shudder and tremble. Yamcha grabbed his phone and started typing. 

Text To - Bulma: Bulma it’s an emergency! Frieza’s in trouble!  

Yamcha sent the text and looked again. Frieza was bear crawling, slowly making his way to the console. But he stopped and laid flat, slowly succumbing to his fate. Yamcha panicked. He called Bulma, but there was no answer. The phone just kept ringing.  

Text To - Bulma: BULMA!!!! 

Yamcha grit his teeth. He looked from the phone to the emperor. Frieza was being crushed by his own weight. Yamcha swore and then threw his phone to the side, yanking open the door of the gravity chamber. 

“Frieza!” Yamcha called.

And then he hit the floor. Hard. The gravity was so high, he couldn’t even keep his eyes open, because the lids were too heavy. His chest collapsed, unable to keep the air in his lungs. He was fading. The cold touch of death slid along his back, as intimate as it was violating. Then everything stopped and he found himself gasping for air and coughing violently. 

As he came to, he looked up. Frieza had shifted into his golden form and walked the rest of the way to the console, turning it off immediately. He glared murderously at Yamcha. “You imbecile! What did you think you were doing?” In the physical world, the gravity was overbearing. But Frieza’s newfound power level had a similar effect in terms of spiritual pressure. It wasn’t helping at the moment. 

Yamcha finished his coughing and gasping, before rising to his feet, woozy and delirious from hitting the floor at terminal velocity. “I…I thought…” Yamcha began, but he had to hold his head as the blood worked its way back through his body. 

Frieza glared and then depowered from his golden form back to his final form. He shook his head with annoyance. “That’s a dangerous habit of yours. From now on, leave the thinking to me,” Frieza chided. Yamcha chuckled. 

“Yes sir,” he wheezed, having to manually walk himself through the process of breathing again. Frieza looked genuinely concerned. 

“Where are your magical beans?” Frieza asked, eyeing Yamcha’s gym bag. But Yamcha shook his head.

“No I’m alright, I just need a second. It’s not senzu bean bad,” Yamcha said, still getting his bearings. Frieza eyed him warily, but then relented.

“Very well. Avert your gaze as I shift down,” Frieza instructed, and Yamcha turned away, shielding his eyes as Frieza changed down into his first form - short, pink, and horned. Frieza stood across from Yamcha with his hands behind his back, waiting in silence. Yamcha shook himself loose and then tossed his gym bag off to the side. He tried to stand, but Frieza interrupted him. “You’re not ready,” Frieza said with annoyance. 

“N-no, I can-” Yamcha began but Frieza glared at him again. Yamcha sighed and lowered his shoulders, but then sat back on the floor. Frieza rolled his eyes. 

“Another five minutes while you recover is a forgivable offense, though I’ve certainly killed for less. You are pardoned. Say nothing more in protest.” Frieza commanded. Yamcha lowered his head and sighed. 

“Yes sir.” They stayed together in a tense silence for the moment, as Yamcha felt his body recover from the vertigo. He looked down, and then looked over at Frieza, who seemed to be staring off into the corner at nothing in particular. 

“You must have known that you wouldn’t be able to bear the gravitational increase,” Frieza said quietly. Yamcha blinked, while he tried to figure out what Frieza was getting at. Was that rhetorical? At the very least, it wasn’t another order.

“Uh…yeah I did. But I guess I sorta forgot. I always underestimate the gravity chamber. Trust me, that’s not my first time hitting the ground like that.” Yamcha laughed with self-deprication. 

“All the more reason for you not to forget and not to rush in. You’re telling me you didn’t learn after the first time?” Frieza argued, but Yamcha noticed it wasn’t with the same degree of malice. Now his tone was ponderous. A chiding critique.

“Well sure, but you were on the ground! And I remember what that was like when that happened to me. I barely got over to the console in time. Honestly I should have just blasted the thing, but that doesn’t always work. And I guess I just…I don’t know, I wanted to help.” Yamcha shrugged. “I moved before I even realized I was moving.” 

Frieza closed his eyes and shook his head. “That foolishness is what gets people killed. And to think I once thought you sensible,” Frieza said wryly. Yamcha remembered that a little differently. He could have sworn it was ‘handsome and sensible.’ He smirked sadly, looking down. 

“Sorry to disappoint. Your golden form makes it look so easy,” Yamcha said. But Frieza scoffed.

“Please. It’s pitiful that a being as powerful as I should have to resort to a transformation in order to sustain my own weight. The great Lord Frieza, nearly felled by training equipment. That simply won’t do.” Frieza critiqued himself. Yamcha could see it again. That stubborn refusal to accept anything less than his best. 

The former bandit stood up, suddenly invigorated. He shook himself loose. “I’m ready this time. Really,” he said, taking his fighting stance. Frieza turned to face him. 

“Very well,” Frieza grinned malevolently, taking his own stance opposite Yamcha. Then in a flash he was gone. But Yamcha already knew what to expect. He jumped back just in time to avoid a sweeping high kick to the temple, and then swept low with a kick of his own. Frieza leapt over the kick with ease, and then began assaulting Yamcha with a barrage of attacks. 

Yamcha met Frieza’s blows with strikes of his own, the collisions with Frieza’s fists and feet making his own muscles tire from the strain. It hurt to absorb the impact of Frieza’s force in this way, but he knew from experience that he needed to embrace the pain now to see the return in power growth. He dug in and pushed through the strain, making sure to retract his own fists and feet as quickly as he threw them out, and never leaving himself open. They matched pace for another moment, and then jumped apart. 

Frieza grinned. “You’ve surprised me. You usually spend our matches fleeing for your life and coming in for decisive blows.”  

Yamcha panted, already approaching exhaustion. “Exactly. If I train like that, I’ll fight like that. I’ve gotta work on my technique!” Yamcha declared, and then ran back in for another barrage at Frieza. This time he led the assault, forcing Frieza to react to each of his strikes. Frieza dodged whenever possible, and blocked when his body couldn’t move fast enough. Then Frieza threw another kick at Yamcha’s side. 

It connected with an after-image, and Frieza’s eyes went wide. He turned around in time to see the back of Yamcha’s forearm swing for his neck with all of his might. The blow connected, and Frieza was knocked back and into the wall. Yamcha dashed in to chase the lead, but Frieza caught the blow and roughly slammed Yamcha to the ground. 

The tiny Tyrant’s tail whipped down next, but Yamcha kipped up and over it, and then brought his knee to Frieza’s abdomen. Frieza caught it and followed up with an elbow. Yamcha blocked with his own, using Frieza’s strength against him, and jumping off of the alien to put space between them. Frieza darted right back into him, bounding from side to side until he and Yamcha were inches apart. They threw another barrage of blows at each other, and then ended up right back where they began in the center of the ring. 

Yamcha’s heart was racing and pounding against his chest. He was doing well, but he had maybe one more round of head to head collisions in him before his body would give in to the pain. But from what he could see, Frieza was starting to feel it too. He’d never seen the frigid emperor so worn out. Either Frieza had gone too far in his own training, or Yamcha was stronger than he even realized. Regardless, he knew better than to slip into over confidence. This was no victory unless Frieza surrendered.

He dashed back in, telegraphing a punch with fatigue. Frieza moved to catch the blow, but Yamcha pulled his own hand back, and then gripped Frieza’s arm with his other hand. It was a variant of his wolf fang fist that he used on Tien in a budokai. His grip pinched and seized at Frieza’s forearm, the force as tight and punishing as the mighty bite of the wolf. The tension would stop the bloodflow to Frieza’s fingers, if only for the moment. He walked his hands up Frieza’s arm, before giving the emperor another blow to the face. 

Frieza took the punch and then caught Yamcha’s over-extended arm. He brought Yamcha in for a brutal head-butt. Their foreheads collided together and then Yamcha found himself in a familiar semi-sphere crater in the floor. Yamcha’s vision blurred dangerously, but he snapped himself out of it and kipped up out of the crater, swiftly rising to his feet.

“Still with us, Yamcha?” Frieza asked. Yamcha was seeing stars and colors. 

“Y-yeah…bring it!” Yamcha lied. Frieza threw a ki blast at Yamcha’s face and stopped it right before it actually connected. It was a test to see if Yamcha would be able to dodge it in time. Yamcha failed spectacularly. 

Frieza pulled back his ki blast and dissipated it. “You’re showing signs of development, but it's clear that that incident with the gravity chamber took more out of you than you calculated. When next we meet, I expect a better showing than this miserly output,” Frieza said with irritation. Yamcha winced and swallowed. 

“Y-you’re right. Sorry,” Yamcha said, scratching the back of his head. The gravity incident hurt, but he’d been hit harder, even by Frieza himself. But it seemed the tiny tyrant had lost his panache for beating Yamcha within an inch of his life.Yamcha looked back at the crater in the ground and winced. “I took a risky move with that grapple. I wasn’t expecting you to come in for the headbutt.” 

Frieza smirked. “These horns do more than just frame my face.” As quickly as the smirk slid into place, it fell down into a frown. “You’re of no use to me in this state. You’re dismissed for the day. Come back stronger tomorrow.”

Yamcha nodded, scratching the back of his head. “Alright, I will.” Yamcha said, walking over to his gym bag. Frieza looked over at the clock, seeing that he still had some time in the gravity chamber, before Vegeta came to bogart him from the space. He turned back to the console. 

“Yamcha?”

“Yes, my lord?”

“My time on your planet is coming to its natural end. The wench will have my ship assembled soon, and then I’ll be off to my rightful throne,” Frieza explained, as his back faced away from Yamcha. Yamcha was supposed to be listening, but Frieza’s voice devolved into liquid noise as Yamcha’s eyes roamed lower. Frieza’s tail swished about from side to side as he clenched his wrists behind his back. Yamcha found his gaze drifting along Frieza’s form.

He was shaped like a cola bottle. Slender shoulders atop a mild but toned torso. An impossibly narrow waist that widened at the hip. His tail obstructed most of the view, but every now and again, Yamcha could see the exposed bottom of Frieza’s ass cheek spilling out of the briefs of his combat armor. The muscles in his hamstrings were taught and strained like metal fibers. 

“Yamcha are you listening to me?” Frieza turned as he asked, and Yamcha’s eyes snapped up to meet the tyrant’s immediately. He hadn’t realized that he’d dissociated out of whatever Frieza was saying. “I’m sorry my lord. I faded out there for a sec.” 

Frieza sighed. “I was saying that I should like to see one of your baseball games before I take my leave.”

“O-oh.” Yamcha said, taken aback. “Really?” 

“Your demonstration was most effective. I learned to sense ki after death, and I’ve used it a few times since I’ve come back. But ki in and of itself is in everything that we do. Even something as simple as throwing a ball. Is it not?” Frieza asked. Yamcha smirked and nodded. 

“It is. Yeah, it’s the same idea behind Goku’s spirit bomb. Everyone has innate energy, and the power to wield it. What changes is the amount, and what it’s used for,” Yamcha explained. It was an old doctrine that he’d learned from Master Roshi. “We use it for fighting, but I use it in baseball, too.” 

“As I suspected. My time on this planet has not been for nought. In learning these secrets I will augment my training and become more powerful than ever before! More than father or Cooler could have ever dreamed,” Frieza declared. He looked back at Yamcha. “You will make the arrangement.” 

Yamcha grinned and nodded. “Yeah! Sure thing.” Frieza smirked at him.

“That will be all,” Frieza said, and then marched his way over to the console. He was waiting for Yamcha to leave so that he could increase the gravity again. Yamcha hurried over to his gym bag, flying over to grab it, and then flying out of the gravity chamber again. When Yamcha cleared himself of the area, Frieza dialed the gravity back up to a level unsuited for human anatomy. 

Yamcha stayed and lingered for a moment, watching as Frieza threw up a ki blast in the air. The gravity took its toll on Frieza’s physical form, and Yamcha could see the way that the tiny tyrant strained under the increase in difficulty. But his ki floated as effortlessly and neatly as it had the night before. He didn’t realize it earlier, but it floated the same way when Frieza had thrown the ki-blast at his eyes. Frieza had already integrated the release point into his fighting style. 

Yamcha’s eyes widened. He didn’t know what to make of this development. It was cool to see some part of his own style being imparted to Frieza, and transformed in its unique way. But there was something unsettling about how quickly and seamlessly Frieza mastered something that took him years in comparison. Yamcha knew that Frieza had never trained before. He expected the tyrant to wrestle with the concept a little longer. 

But he knew better than to dawdle for too long. The former bandit watched for a moment longer, and then turned away, keeping his ki signature steady enough for Vegeta and Trunks to feel his presence safely leaving the gravity chamber, and making his way back out of Capsule Corp. He had survived yet another encounter in Frieza’s clutches. It begged a silent question: 

Who was training who? 

******

“Thanks again for doing this Eighteen,” Yamcha said on the phone. He was just outside of the locker room for the west city Taitans. A fews of his teammates walked past him, coming in and out of the locker room intermittently. Yamcha was warming up to the idea of Frieza’s redemption, but he knew the tyrant would need an attendant. Someone to act as a buffer between him and well…literally everything else, lest they find themselves obliterated. Vegeta and Bulma were too hot-headed to play babysitter. They would only make the situation worse. This needed a cooler temperament. 

“I owed you one, so this makes us even. I made it clear to him that he wasn’t to go near my daughter or even so much as look at her. He was surprisingly agreeable, but I’m bringing Seventeen along too, just in case. If we work together, we can stall long enough for Goku to come finish him off. But that means we’ll need another ticket for my brother,” Eighteen said in her usual uninterested monotone. Being frozen as a teenager forever came with perpetual energy, and perpetual apathy.  

“I’ll get it comped. He likes popcorn and red wine, and he hates cheerful singing so…this is probably a terrible idea,” Yamcha said, suddenly realizing that Frieza would be surrounded by raucous people celebrating in the revelry of sport. “But I guess this will be the ultimate test in if Frieza can really change, won’t it?” Yamcha’s voice shook as he spoke. 

“You worry too much,” Eighteen said dismissively. Yamcha was glad she couldn’t see the goofy face that he was making on the other end of the phone. “Frieza’s the one who asked to come here, remember? He knows he has to behave. Speaking of which, my brother just got here. We’re all about to head to Capsule Corp together.”

“Okay,” Yamcha said. He was nervous. Not for the game - he would win. He always won. He was nervous because he was about to receive the answer to a very important question. Could Frieza be trusted in company? Was there really a future where the Z warriors and Frieza co-existed in relative harmony? Or would he have to go back to life the way that it was before Frieza came here? Assuming he even made it that far. 

He hadn’t considered the drawbacks of this arrangement. He had agreed to Frieza coming to see his game before his brain could connect the dots and tell him that this was a terrible idea. And by then it was too late. There was no other way to delay or stall.

“Hey. Focus on your game,” Eighteen said, hearing Yamcha go silent on the other end. “We’ll see you there.” 

“Right. Thanks, Eighteen,” Yamcha said. She laughed short scoff. 

“Loser,” Eighteen taunted, before hanging up the phone. Yamcha took the joke in stride with a smirk. He walked back into the locker room and put his phone in his locker, before giving himself the once over in the mirror and heading back out. 

He ran along the bright green grass of the diamond in line with his teammates before breaking out into their unique pre-game rituals. Some of them stretched, some of them ran laps around the diamond, while a few others tossed the ball back and forth to get loose before the event. But Yamcha always found himself looking up at the sky. The sun was high overhead as the announcer’s voice bellowed from the speakers declaring the Taitan’s triumphant return to the top of the competition. 

There was a duality to the moment that felt surreal to him. The truth was that there was a part of him that had come to love baseball, but that was largely because he was the uncontested best player in the game. The people cheered his name the same way they would cheer on Goku in the tenkaichi budokai. But there wasn’t a single player out there who matched him in physical prowess. He was pushed harder in his own training sessions with Puar, than he ever had been in a single game.  It was a confusing mix of triumph and dissatisfaction. 

They were facing the Bears, a team of niche renown. They were trending toward a promising season in the games before today. Yamcha felt a little guilty, knowing that this game would bring a morale crushing end to their victory streak. But now that he and Bulma weren’t together, and he was subsidizing all of his own expenses - and more than a few of Frieza’s - there was no other option but to be the greatest player there ever was. 

He went through the pre-game rituals, shaking hands with the enemy team, and then taking his place in the dugout. The Bears were up to bat first. Yamcha was the team’s ace hitter, and he wielded that to his advantage when negotiating his contract and pay. All he ever had to do was walk up to the plate and hit a home run. Playing defense was for the rest of the team to worry about. 

“Is Frieza here yet?” Puar asked, as they poked their head from out of Yamcha’s gym bag. Yamcha shook his head.

“No, but he’s coming. I can feel his power getting closer,” Yamcha said. Seventeen and Eighteen didn’t emit ki, but he could feel Krillin’s too, if he really looked for it. He felt better about his own ki standing next to Frieza’s after feeling for Krillin’s in comparison. 

“When he arrives, do you think I should go keep him company?” Puar asked. Yamcha shook his head. 

“Nah buddy, it’s okay. Krillin and Eighteen have it under control. If anything happens, Goku will be right here,” Yamcha said, more for himself than for Puar’s sake. 

“Then why do you look so nervous?” Puar asked. Yamcha grimaced. 

“...He’s going to think all of this is ridiculous,” Yamcha admitted. Some part of his spirit deflated once he finally said the words out loud. Sure, there were things to learn about ki from watching it in forms outside of martial arts. Master Roshi made them till the fields with their hands in order to increase their base power. Chi-chi’s cleaning was an exercise in instinctive muscle memory for circular blocking. But very few people were capable of doing these things to his level of prowess with ki. Perhaps he’d oversold the experience. It seemed silly to him, now that he thought of it in comparison to being emperor of the universe. 

“It’s better to know that now, isn’t it?” Puar asked. Yamcha sighed, and then nodded. Things between him and Frieza were already too weird for his liking. If the tyrant couldn’t meet him at this level, then what else was there to discuss? Still, he hadn’t thought about the ramifications of this going wrong. It would mean the end of his training sessions with Frieza. It would mean the end of their time together. 

Before Puar could pull another confession out of him, they ducked back down into Yamcha’s gym bag. The Taitan’s coach was coming over, no doubt to assess whether Yamcha could do the impossible yet again and secure another home run. The conversation was redundant at this point. Yamcha couldn’t miss that ball blindfolded.

“How’s my MVP?” His coach asked, with a nervous grin. Yamcha had made this man almost as much money as he’d made for himself. That meant that the former bandit got whatever he asked for when it came to the Taitans. His teammates had given up on trying to unseat him.

Yamcha was about to answer him, but he could feel Frieza’s ki at full force now. The tyrant had arrived. Yamcha glanced over at the premium seating area, then back at his coach. “Same as always. Our deal still stands.”

“Think you’ll be able to pull off another-” the coach began, but Yamcha cut him off. 

“Hey coach? I’m gonna need some time to get in the zone, you know? My head’s a little foggy,” Yamcha said, giving his coach the hint that he had no interest in a pointless prolonged routine check-in. His coach held his hands up in a mock surrender and then clapped them together. 

“You got it, boss! You just do what you do best and I’ll leave you to it,” Yamcha’s coach said, before moving along to add unnecessary pressure to some other player. After he left, Yamcha’s gaze drifted back to the premium seating area. Krillin was holding his daughter Marron’s hand, and then scooped her up into his lap as they took his seat. Eighteen sat next to them, gently checking on Marron before turning to have a side conversation with her brother. 

It had been some time since Yamcha had seen Android Seventeen. Like Eighteen, he hadn’t aged a day physically. They only matured in the way that they dressed. Seventeen had given himself over to the role of park ranger in its entirety. Even now he looked like he was heading for an outdoor excursion, wearing faded greens and tans beneath a sleeveless vest. And next to Seventeen stood Frieza. 

The tiny tyrant was wearing the Taitans jersey and matching hat that Yamcha gave him. But rather than fasten it like the other players and attendees, he let it billow open with a black turtleneck underneath. He wore a pair of high waisted grey fitted slacks that must have had a hole cut out for his tail to slip through. And of course the outfit wouldn’t be complete without a pair of ankle booted stilettos. 

Yamcha smirked, and gently increased his power signature, checking to see if Frieza would look for it. Both the tyrant and Krillin locked eyes with him immediately. He waved and Krillin waved back, but Frieza simply smirked and then took his seat. He crossed his legs, and the glint of his metallic high heel caught a stadium light in its reflection. Premium seating came with service, so they were waited on as they spectated. It wasn’t long before Frieza’s hand was circling a glass of red wine, and reaching into a bag of popcorn. 

Yamcha didn’t realize he was smiling until he felt Puar staring at him from his bag. He blushed and looked away, and Puar laughed to themselves. The Taitan’s pitcher managed to strike out the last batter for the Bears, and the teams traded places. Even still, it would be a while before Yamcha was up to bat. Their coach made certain to load the bases with the other players so that Yamcha could bring them all in. So he kept watching his friends. 

From what Yamcha could see, Krillin, Marron, and Eighteen were having a great time. Marron cheered enthusiastically whenever the situation called for it, and Krillin only egged her on. Eighteen, Seventeen, and Frieza remained seated, enjoying their respective snacks and beverages. Yamcha’s gaze lingered on Frieza. The tyrant seemed to be watching the game, but from this distance Yamcha couldn’t exactly see where his eyes were going. His lips never moved. It seemed that though he was sitting next to Seventeen, the two weren’t making conversation. Yamcha knew Frieza well enough to know that he most likely preferred it that way. The tiny tyrant frequently asked for silence whenever they traveled so that he could think. At any rate, the stadium hadn’t been reduced to ash yet so he assumed everything was going well. 

The hitters for the Taitans cycled. The bases were loaded and the Taitans had a single strike on board. Yamcha was called up next to bat. He jogged up to the batter’s box and the crowd went wild, all cheering his name and waving their Taitan paraphernalia with proxemic pride. Yamcha took his stance, setting his feet wider than his shoulders and pointing his toes forward. He hinged at the knee, keeping his hips square to the plate and his weight ever so slightly back. He locked eyes with the pitcher. 

The pitcher for the Bears pulled back and snapped the ball forward as fast as he could. But it wasn’t fast enough. Yamcha rotated at the hip, driving his power from the ground up as he turned the bat to the ball, knocking it up and out with a satisfying ring. The ball soared over the stadium as it always did, and the fans cheered just as they always had. But Yamcha’s eyes went directly to his friends in the premium seating. 

Marron and Krillin jumped to their feet in celebration. Eighteen smirked as she clapped. Seventeen was just as unenthused as he’d been the entire time. But for the briefest moment, Yamcha and Frieza locked eyes. Then Frieza smirked, and brought his hands together in a slow clap. Yamcha lowered the brim of his cap and took a lap around the diamond, netting four runs for the Taitans. He did his best to avoid the cameras. It was an attempt to hide his own dorky enthusiasm. 

As the day faded to dusk the game continued on in this predictive pattern. Whenever the Taitans were fielding, Yamcha kept his spot on the bench warm. And then when they went up to bat, the coach did everything in his power to make sure that Yamcha batted last, and that the bases were loaded whenever he went up to bat. Yamcha scored home run after home run, launching the ball neatly out of the stadium every time. Normally he would fudge a hit here or there, just to keep his coach on his toes. But Frieza being in attendance meant that Yamcha gave nothing but his best. The Taitans fans yelled themselves hoarse. 

The game ended with a final score of four for the Bears, and twelve for the Taitans. The Bears had managed eight hits, but only four of them made it all the way around the diamond. Yamcha was responsible for seven hits, and  contributed to the team’s ten runs, making him the undisputed champion of the evening. He was lauded at the end with fanfare and uproar, but he simply gave a celebratory wave before disappearing into the locker room with the other players, doing his best to avoid any unnecessary interviews or paparazzi. 

The general populace was cleared from the stadium long before Yamcha and the other players left for their respective vehicles. They bid each other farewell, and when the coast was clear Puar peered back out of Yamcha’ gym bag. 

“Yamcha you were incredible!” Puar cheered. Yamcha laughed. 

“Come on buddy, you know this is nothing for me,” Yamcha said, brushing off Puar’s persistent praise. The catling prattled on. 

“But this has been one of your best showings yet!” Yamcha had to admit that he felt a little ridiculous now. He thought to himself that perhaps he should have at least knocked a couple of balls into the audience, rather than out of the stadium entirely. Someone would be calling for him to piss in a cup if he did that again. They wouldn’t find anything but beer and kidney damage from the punches he’d been taking from the tiny tyrant, but he didn’t like the thought of being prodded at. The lower the profile - the better. 

“Yeah, maybe a little too well. I might need you to bat for me next time, just to offset it a little. We have to play this one off as a fluke,” Yamcha said, and Puar nodded. 

“Okay!” Puar answered cheerfully, and Yamcha rubbed their head. They floated up and out of his gym bag as he made his way from the stadium around to the parking area. Krillin, Eighteen, and Frieza were all standing aside, waiting for them. Yamcha and Puar rushed up as they waved. 

“Hey guys! Thanks for coming!” Yamcha said, knocking fists with Krillin once he arrived. They formed a small circle, facing each other as they spoke under the streetlights. 

“Nice work Yamcha,” Krillin said with a hearty grin. 

“Thanks man! Hey hold on, where’s Seventeen?” Yamcha asked, looking around for the other android.

“He’s spending some quality time with his niece. Marron seems to have taken a liking to monster island while we were at the tournament of power. Seventeen brought her back for a little sleepover,” Eighteen explained. 

“Speaking of which, I don’t mean to cut the night short but Eighteen and I really should be getting home,” Krillin said pointedly, making no effort to hide his enthusiasm at being alone with his wife for the evening. Eighteen just rolled her eyes. Puar missed it, but Yamcha understood the importance of seizing the opportunity. 

“Yeah, of course! Go! Go ahead! I’ll see Frieza home. Thanks again,” Yamcha said, pulling Krillin in for a farewell back pat, and waving Eighteen goodbye.  She returned the wave before floating off into the sky. 

“Have a nice night Yamcha and Puar. You too Frieza,” Krillin said as he flew off after his wife. Yamcha watched them fly for a moment before turning to the tiny tyrant. 

They looked at each other for the moment, slowly coming together in proximity. It was only now that they stood apart from each other that Yamcha could appreciate how well the frigid emperor had dressed for the occasion. Yamcha’s lips curled up into a smile as he opened his mouth to speak. But then the words were delayed by the traffic of uncertainty. 

“So…what’d you think, my lord?” Yamcha asked nervously, clearing his throat afterward. He was so warm just a moment ago, but now that he was alone with Frieza again, the sensation of ice water washed over him immediately, chilling him down to the bone. 

“I had hoped to glean more from the experience by ways of manipulating ki. The only technique that I noticed was your stance when you swing that metal rod at the ball. You drive the hit through at the hip, the same as when you strike for a decisive blow in combat,” Frieza said, and Yamcha nodded, realizing that his fears had come to fruition. Frieza was displeased. He had no idea what flurry of insults Frieza was about to lob at him, but he braced himself for the dress down. 

“Yeah, that’s the gist of it really. Pitching taught me the release point, but batting is more about holding back than anything else. A normal batter pushes off their foot. I have to push off my pinky toe. And even then if I turn too fast, the ball bursts to dust. I’m sorry. I know you were looking for other techniques. This must have been really boring to you,”  Yamcha said, feeling the rug being pulled from beneath his feet. 

“Quite the contrary. I was more than entertained. Though it appears you’ve already changed out of your uniform,” Frieza said, looking Yamcha up and down. Puar floated between them, and Frieza acknowledged their presence with a curt nod. Puar just waved. 

“Oh, yeah. We only wear the uniforms during the game. Then we hand them over for the wash.” 

“A shame. I found it rather invigorating watching you run around in those tight white pants,” Frieza said, and then clicked off before Yamcha could even register what he’d just admitted to. Yamcha’s response was delayed, but it eventually resulted in a soft red blush across his cheeks. He looked over at Puar, but the Catling had already spun away, covering their mouth with unabashed glee.

“Oh…u-um…t-that’s…” Yamcha stammered, not knowing what to say. Frieza smirked. It was clear that the frigid emperor enjoyed the rise that he got out of Yamcha in these moments. “Uh…h-how was it with Krillin and Eighteen?” Yamcha asked, trying to change the subject. But before Frieza could answer, Yamcha’s phone went off. “Sorry, one second.” Yamcha reached into his pocket, pulling the phone out. 

Text From - Bulma: Krillin just told me he left Frieza with you? 

Yamcha texted back

Text To - Bulma: Yeah, we’re leaving the stadium now. I’ll have him there in a minute. 

Bulma gave the message a thumbs up, and Yamcha put his phone away. 

“Does Vegeta miss me already? He always did have a little separation anxiety. I thought I’d beaten it out of him in his early years, but perhaps he could use a reminder,” Frieza said, crossing his arms. And just like that, Yamcha remembered exactly who was standing in front of him. The color drained from his face entirely. Though Frieza in contrast seemed more colorful than usual, and not just because of the loud hues of the Taitans jersey. There was a soft pale blush to his cheeks, dusted along his sharp cheekbones in a cold lavender. 

“We should head out. You coming with us buddy?” Yamcha asked Puar. Puar shook their head. 

“No, I’ll meet you back home. Good night my lord!” Puar said, as uncheerfully as they possible could. 

“Farewell Puar,” Frieza said. Yamcha was shocked that Frieza even bothered to remember Puar’s name. Then Puar and Yamcha nodded at each other, and Puar took off into the sky. Yamcha turned back to Frieza. 

“You okay if we just fly this time? Capsule Corp isn’t that far from Taitan’s stadium, and no one will see us fly in at this hour. But if you’d rather we drive I can pull out the car,” Yamcha said, looking for his capsules. But Frieza was already floating in the air, his daggered heels removed from the floor’s surface. 

“Flying would be best. A car ride right now would make me nauseous,” Frieza said. Yamcha’s eyes narrowed and then he smirked with comprehension. Suddenly Frieza’s lavender blush and lewd comments made sense. Premium seating came with a drinking package. He would have his coach foot the bill. 

“Was it Pinot Noire, my lord?” Yamcha asked playfully. Frieza glared and then turned away with a haughty nose-turned pout. But then he turned back to face Yamcha from over his shoulder. 

“You will gift me a bottle when I take my leave of this planet. It’s the least you could do,” Frieza said. Yamcha chuckled. 

“As you wish, my lord.”