Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Dark Duke ❯ A Total Lack of Humanity ( Chapter 8 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing

A/N: I could have probably cut this in two separate chapters, but sometimes my fingers don't know when to stop, as obvious by my penchant for run-on sentences (like this one!).

I want to give a big thank you to all of my new readers and reviewers--you guys have been exceedingly gracious with me, and it's enough to make a girl blush.

And to everyone who's been reading, you know I love you, right?

Chapter Eight: A Lack of Humanity

"Oh fuck"

"What did you just say?!"

Vegeta's answer was instantaneous, knowing that while his grandmother might be quite old, she was definitely in possession of all her facilities, including, unluckily for him, her hearing, "I said what luck." Her frown deepened at his obvious cover, but Vegeta continued smoothly, lying to his grandmother second nature to him, "I was just about to write you."

Her eyes narrowed, trying to search every inch of her grandson's face for a hint that Vegeta had been lying--but she was not going to find any, seeing as Vegeta could keep his face as stoic as a statue. While she closely examined him, though, Vegeta looked at her just as closely, assessing. It had been years since he had last seen her--at his own doing of course.

Vegeta did not come from the kind of family who ever called on each other, or was even warm to each other, and last he had heard from the Duchess, she was writing to him telling (not asking) him to increase her allowance. Though what she needed a bigger allowance in the ancestral home near Scotland for, he was not sure. Maybe more coal, as it got quite cold--or so he had been told. Ever since the dowager Duchess had taken up residence there, Vegeta had felt no inclination to go visit.

He had not been expecting to see her anytime soon, or, if he thought about it, ever, really. But here she was, standing, breathing, glaring, all while Jeffries, proving himself to be worth his salt as a butler, murmured, "I will ring for tea," before disappearing from his employer's sights.

Jeffries voice jolted Vegeta into action, and he gave the Duchess a nod, heading toward the stairs as he had been doing before her interruption, "if you will excuse me, I will be down shortly, and then we can discuss..." what the hell you are doing here? "How your travels were."

But as he turned to go, the steely voice he remembered from his childhood, the one that had lectured him constantly on responsibility, duty, honor, pride, and a host of other things, every time he asked if he could do something not deemed Ôduke-worthy,' hit him, full force, freezing him. "You will come to the drawing room now, Vegeta, as we have things to discus before your American guests arrive." Vegeta's back stiffened as he realized what she had said--how could she possibly know about his American guests?!

As Vegeta shot a quick look over his shoulder, he saw the triumphant gleam in his grandmother's eyes as coal black eyes met coal black eyes, "oh yes--I know all about your arrival in London today on the Saiyan Lady, with someone who looks remarkably like Bardock."

Vegeta cursed his grandmother's network of spies--she should be working for the crown with a set of connections like that. She seemed to know everything, and delighted in being the first to inform so-and-so that their wife was cheating on them, or that their husband was gambling their ancestral home away. Which was why he had sent her to the furthest out ducal home, telling her she could have full reign of the household if she never saw fit to visit him.

He should have guessed it would have been something astounding to get her to leave the borderlands--he just had not guessed that she would know about this.

His grandmother motioned to him with one of her claws, "now you will come with me, so we can talk in private. Do I make myself clear?" Vegeta stared at her, hard, for a moment, but then gave a quick nod, knowing that it was not worth his energy to try and argue with his grandmother. So he followed her into the front sitting room, cursing the whole time.

Quietly, this time, of course.

~~&~~

Vegeta left his appointment with his grandmother in a much fouler mood than he had been when he had entered it. Not that he was surprised--his grandmother always had, and always would have, that affect on him. Since his mother passed away when he was quite young, his father, like any man of the peerage would have when it came to child rearing, had called upon his mother to help raise his--with the help of an armful of nanny's, governesses', and tutors, of course. But even with an army to raise him, there was no question in Vegeta's mind about which one had been the disciplinarian in his past--the woman social convention forced him to call grandmother (as it was certainly not familial affection that made him acknowledge her as his ancestor).

All she had to do was speak in that steely voice, or flash him that look that spoke of how ashamed she was of his actions, and Vegeta was taken back to numerous memories of his youth. They no longer affected him as they once did, but they did remind him, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he had no great feelings for his grandmother. Besides resentment and distrust, of course.

His grandmother had not closely controlled Vegeta for his own good growing up--it had always been about her, and her image. "Do not make me look bad, Vegeta," or "do not bring dishonor to my family name," or, what seemed to be her favorite by its frequency in use, "you are not worth being called my grandson. You shame what I have done for this family."

Maybe if Vegeta had believed she raised Vegeta harshly for his own good, rather than her own, he would not hate her so violently. But no, she was selfish, callous, and worst of all, she was his blood. He waited everyday for the missive telling him that his grandmother had finally passed--but Vegeta was starting to believe she would outlive him...

In short, Vegeta had never got along with his grandmother, and never would. His life was best served when he did not remember his grandmother existed. He was convinced she did not have a shred of humanity in her, her whole being tied up to the Ducal title she had married into, and she did not care who she hurt, or even destroyed, in keeping that title and the Vegeta name pristine.

Surprisingly, though, in the matter of what to do with the Americans and Kakarrot, Vegeta had been shocked to find that him and his grandmother not only agreed, but that they even had common goals. Which made Vegeta question what she was really doing here, and why she was being so...acquiescent...to everything he had said, and wanted. The dowager had her own agenda, there could be no question about that--but it was too early going for Vegeta to really say what it was.

If his grandmother had her secret reasons for being so delighted in finding Kakarrot, though, then so did Vegeta. Vegeta knew that even his grandmother (or her network of gossipy spies) did not know the true reason he had sought Kakarrot out, which suited him just fine.

But he did not dwell on that, as he nodded to Jeffries as he passed him in the hall, his tone brusque, businesslike, "have my valet meet me in my office in an hour. I need you to set up three extra bedrooms, two in the east wing, one in the family wing--and when our guests arrive, send them to the dowager Duchess."

Jeffries took all of this in with a single nod, than raised a tray containing a single missive, "of course sir. This arrived for you while you were with your grandmother."

Vegeta's face did not change, though he recognized the delicate hand-writing immediately, as he took the note from the tray, and turned, striding into his office, locking the door behind him, sighing as he entered the familiar room. The ducal office was large and masculine, where leather-bound books lined the wall, a huge desk, couch, and chair occupying the majority of the space, an always-stocked decanter standing behind his desk.

This was the same office Vegeta's father had worked in, as had the Duke before that, and the Duke before that, and the Duke before that...the history was almost exhausting. The Ducal lineage went back hundreds of years, and there were about thirty honorific titles awarded to the Vegeta's for their loyalty and fealty to the British monarchy throughout the ages. But Vegeta paid it no heed as he entered the room that had been his alone since he had turned twenty-three almost a decade ago now, as he took the solitary note, putting it aside as he saw the rest of his correspondence waiting for him.

Vegeta quickly grabbed the large stack he had to get through, went to his bookshelf, and, without even looking, grabbed one particular book that let out a click as the whole of the large bookshelf turn in, a cleverly hidden doorway seamlessly integrated into the ducal office. Vegeta had not made many changes to ducal office, what with its history and precedent, but those that he had, well, he was sure the ancestral Duke's would have been proud of his ingenuity.

Beyond the false bookshelf was another office, smaller, windowless, but more crammed than the outer one, with charts, maps, correspondence, pictures, and a thousand other things Vegeta constantly needed at his beck and call. What had been part of a closet and the sitting room next door was now Vegeta's war room.

Though he had officially retired from the Navy when he had come to reclaim his heritage when his father had grown ill, Vegeta had never truly left the service. As soon as he had gained the powerful seat of the Duke of Vegetasei, an old superior of his had approached him about using his power and influence to continue to serve His Majesty's Secret Service by becoming a spy. Vegeta, never one to sit still, and always searching for adventure, had immediately said yes.

Vegeta had used his connections, both in the Ton, and the navy, and with other assorted characters he had met on his travels, to continue to help Britain. In the past five years, he had become more and more involved with the war office, especially as the looming threat from Russia made it look more and more like another war was coming. Sure, the life of the spy was not always the most exciting, as it relied more upon brain than brawn, but Vegeta discovered he had a real knack for subterfuge, and he found real pleasure in being able to continue to fight for Britain, even if it was not open warfare. And, if he was being honest, this was one secret he was sure that even the dowager would not figure out--and Vegeta found great pleasure in that as well.

Swinging the door to the inner office closed, Vegeta sat, not at the desk that was in the center of the room, but at the small leather sofa behind it, quickly flipping through his letters. When he finally got to one that had the simple return address of Basil T. Gardening, Vegeta tore it open, seeing a larger sheet of paper, with a smaller sheet enclosed, recognizing the code immediately, and translating it in his head. Though the note was full of information about flowers his Ôgardener' Basil thought that the Duke might be interested in, the real information was:

Note traveling from Russia, intersected. Note enclosed, in original Russian. Translated: "Agent Zhelonie is being reactivated in Paris to spy on England." Go immediately, and track him down, giving war office all information that can be found out about who he is. Identify only, do not engage.

Vegeta let out a loud sigh as he thought about what Basil was asking him to do, thinking how opportune this letter was. Just imagining being under the same roof as his grandmother had his skin crawling. She might not have power over him anymore, but that did not mean he liked her. This gave him the perfect opportunity to go abroad, to look at his business interests in Paris, while really trying to figure out the identity of one of the greatest spies of the Russian empire, Zhelonie.

All that was known about ÔZhelonie' was that he was French, and that he had managed to smuggle more information to the Russians' about British defensive plans than any other living spy. How he had not been captured and killed yet, was an extremely large thorn in the side of the British monarchy and government, but, Vegeta smirked as he thought, that was because they had not set Vegeta to the task of finding him yet. Zhelonie's days were numbered...as were those of the Russian monarchy he worked for.

Vegeta quickly got through the rest of his correspondence, before going back to the first note, pulling out a folder from his desk, an extremely thin folder, marked Zhelonie. Vegeta told himself it would be much fatter by the time he returned from Paris--it was time to figure out who this agent was, and Vegeta was going to be the one who did it.

As Vegeta left his inner office, making sure the secret door was secure behind him, Vegeta walked back to his other desk, where he noticed the perfumed note he had left on it. Vegeta smirked at the delicate handwriting, before he held the note to his nose, smiling as he recognized the scent--which triggered some heated memories with it...

As he held it to his nose, trying to lose himself in the memories of the time he and the Widow had shared together, Vegeta was jostled from those memories as he was accosted to the sounds of many feet in his entrance hall, and the sounds of American-accented voices coming closer to him, pulling him out of whatever reverie he had been trying to lose himself in. As one female voice in particular came through to him, stirring some other, more innocent, and somehow more potent, memories with it, Vegeta growled, forcing himself to ignore Bulma's voice as he tore open the note.

Heard you were back in London. My bedroom door is always open.

No signature was given, nor was it needed, and Vegeta felt his blood begin to boil at the suggestion implied in the simple note. Vegeta sighed, thinking this was also just what he needed. His grandmother was one reason he needed to leave England, but the blue-haired witch was the other. She tempted him, driving him to such a point of desire, he seemed to lose all rational thought around her. He knew he should not even touch her--yet when he was next to her, hearing her, smelling her, seeing her--he wanted to do nothing more than lose himself in her embrace, touching her, tasting her. Which was beyond madness.

Vegeta frowned, unconsciously crumpling the Widow's note as he thought about what his next steps would be. He would see his valet, make sure all of his affairs and estates were in order, he would make sure his things were ready for a trip to his oversea investments in Paris for tomorrow, and than he would go see the Widow, who would surely cure him of his craving for the American heiress--simple as that.

Though as he heard the sound of feminine laughter through the hallways (a sound that this household had surely not heard as long as Vegeta had been alive), Vegeta could not help but wonder if anything was ever as simple as that when it came to Bulma.

~~&~~

Bulma's nose was pressed to the glass window of the carriage as the streets of London rolled by. She loved cities, always had--she had though Manhattan was the gleaming jewel of society--but now she saw how mistaken she was as they passed through London proper. People, more people than she had ever seen, everywhere, buildings pressed so tightly together that not even a cat would fit between them, horses, carriages, vendors--oh it was all so exciting.

If it had been up to Bulma (and Goku, whose nose was also pressed to the glass on the other side), they would have walked all the way to Mayfair, and taken their time to do it, exploring every nook and cranny of the streets they were passing. Who wanted to be cooped up in a carriage after such a long boat ride, anyways?

Not that they were given much choice in that matter as when they had docked, that bald brute (as Bulma had taken to calling Nappa) had basically herded them to the carriage, shoving the Briefs' family inside, while he and Krillin rode atop. She wondered what the two bald men were talking about--how they lost their hair perhaps?

But her thoughts were consumed with nothing but London itself once the carriage had started its journey, and as they stopped in front of what was probably the most imposing residence on a whole square of grand residences, Bulma felt the air leave her lungs with a whoosh. This was Saiyan Hall?! This was not a hall! This was a mansion to end all mansions! Her and Goku eyes caught briefly, where they gaped at each other, before they scurried out of the carriage behind their already departed parents.

Bulma had to remind herself not to run up the steps like Goku was, as she hurried after her family, and when the door opened, an imposing, non-smiling butler, opened the door, bowing, "you are expected in the front sitting room for tea."

Goku's stomach gave a growl, and he grinned, "is there going to be sandwiches?"

"I can have some sent from the kitchens, sir." There was a pause, before the butler gave a deep bow in Goku's direction, "and might I add welcome back to London, Lord Vegeta."

The butler turned, leaving the whole Briefs family gaping after him, though Bulma was the first to recover, "I guess we should all get used to Goku's new title?"

Goku made a face, "God, I hope not."

Bulma just let out a laugh, smiling at her brother as she patted his arm, though she noticed that as her parents locked eyes for just a moment, before they turned into the house, their walk was a little less ecstatic than it had been just a few seconds earlier. Though how a walk could be ecstatic to begin with was almost beyond Bulma.

As they followed the butler into the front sitting room, Bulma felt herself tense up as she realized that this would be her first face-to-face meeting with Vegeta since that night on the ship. She grew nervous as she realized how close they would be to each other, her heart beginning to hammer in her chest. She had barely come to grips with the fact that she felt something (cough, cough, desire) for the Duke, other than derision, and she was not sure how this meeting would go. She was more afraid that she was going to find herself going weak in the knees around him than anything. She had never been the type of female to swoon, but around Vegeta...

But as Bulma entered the front sitting room, she was surprised to feel relief mixed with disappointment rush through her to see an older woman, who had the same stark facial features of Vegeta, sitting, waiting for them. She was holding a dark cane, topped with the head of an ape, with glinting ruby eyes, in front of her, her gray and white hair pulled back in an extremely tight bun, her mouth thin, her eyes glinting hard. She seemed to emanate coldness--not an ounce of warmth came from her, and Bulma frowned as she took the woman in.

Bulma knew instantly, as the woman's eyes traveled all four of the Briefs', the thin line of her mouth tightening, that Bulma would not like this woman. Especially when her eyes flared to Bulma, and her lips turned into a sneer as she observed her. Bulma consciously tugged at the day dress she was wearing, resisting the urge to growl at this woman--what did she expect? They had been cooped up on a boat for a month, and Bulma had not taken a proper bath since than--did this woman really expect her to look her best? Bulma frowned, thinking that if this woman was who Bulma thought she was (Vegeta's grandmother, or elderly aunt), than the answer would be yes.

The older woman waited until they were all seated, then introduced herself, "I am the dowager duchess of Vegetasei."

Bulma waited for the woman to say more, give her name, perhaps, but this information was not forthcoming. Apparently the dowager duchess was not one to stand on informality, and, even to her own houseguests, she expected nothing but the most proper of titles to be observed.

Bulma's mother, having been brought up in London society, was the first to give a curtsy, "your grace." Her family members followed her lead, with differing level of success. Bulma was as graceful as her mother, and her father gave a stiff bow, but Goku, slow on the uptake, noticed what his family was doing, and hurriedly tried to copy them. He bowed so low, Bulma was afraid he would tip over, something, she noticed, the eagle-eyed dowager had no doubt noticed. In fact, Bulma would not have been surprised if this old woman had actually taken into account the degree each one of them had bowed to her...and had found it lacking.

She seemed the sort of woman who was never satisfied.

Ten seconds in this woman's presence, and already the Duke of Vegetasei's aloofness had made more sense...

Conversation did not flow easily between the family and the dowager, mainly because she seemed only to want to observe her long-lost grandson, while he only was interested in eating whatever was brought out. Bulma, who had been so elated that she was back on solid ground, had found herself wishing she were back on a ship, far away from this dragon of a woman. Or, as Bulma squinted, looking at the cane the woman was holding, maybe saying this ape of a woman would be more accurate.

Bulma was pulled from trying to compare Lady Vegetasei with the apes she remembered seeing at the zoo in Manhattan, when the dowager had leaned closer to Kakarrot, capturing his face with one of her hands, turning his head, this way and that. A silence descended over the group, and Bulma frowned, wondering if with hands like that (well, claws really), the dowager duchess would do better to be compared to a bird of prey. A vulture, maybe?

The dowager let go of Kakarrot's face, and he settled back in the couch he was sitting next to Bulma on, his astonishment at her treatment of him clear as the food he had been in the process of masticating remained unchewed, "you need to learn to eat food properly, not this unrefined shoveling of food that you are currently doing." The dowager scoffed, shaking her head at the indignity of it all, "I can see why my grandson recommended that we wait to introduce Kakarrot to the Ton on the whole. His manners truly are abominable at best."

Bulma was too shocked at the venom in the dowagers words to stop herself from speaking plainly, "Vegeta said that?"

Bulma instantly realized her mistake as the Duchess turned her steely gaze onto Bulma, her eyes sparking with ire and condescension as she did another close examination of Bulma. With another stare-down like that, Bulma would start to question whether or not her soul would make it through intact. A vulture seemed down right cheery compared to this woman.

The dowager's black eyes glittered with malice as she spoke next, her every word meant to be as sharp as a blade, "yes, the Duke did in fact say that." There was a heavy emphasis put on Vegeta's proper title, and Bulma felt her face color at the cut the dowager was giving her. They were in proper English society now, and, as the dowager duchess was clearly stating, Bulma was not worthy of using the Duke's given name.

Which of course made Bulma peevishly want to use it more and more.

But before she could say anything, like maybe impulsively reveal what the Duke kissed like, the Duchess was already looking back at Kakarrot, causing Bulma's frustration to rise even higher. So she was not even worth more than a moments notice, was she?!

But the Duchess took no notice of Bulma's rising anger, and instead spoke to Goku, "we will start you with etiquette lessons immediately, since we will have your grand coming out ball in about a month. People do not know who you are yet, but we want to make it clear that when we introduce you to the Ton at large that you are a Vegeta, and that you are every bit as dignified as we are." Implying, of course, that Goku was anything but dignified.

Bulma felt Goku's hand reach for hers on the couch, giving it a squeeze, and she turned her palm up so it was facing his, and gave him a reassuring squeeze back. She did not need to look at her brother to know what his reaction to this news was. If there was one thing that Goku hated more than anything--it was lessons. Goku wanted to do nothing more than spar, and be outside. He was not good at society functions, and his manners, while there, were abysmal even by the more lax New York standards.

Bulma understood what she had to do immediately--Goku might not have been her God-given brother, but he had been the best brother a lonely only child like her could have wished for. She did not often get to play the role of protective older sister, but when opportunities arose it did not mean Bulma would shy away from them. Giving her brother's hand another reassuring squeeze, she spoke clearly, forcing the dowager to meet her eye, "then I am to take part in these lessons too."

The Duchess frowned at Bulma, her dislike of Bulma evident in her every move, and though she looked like she wanted to do nothing more than disagree, Bulma was beyond surprised when the Duchess agreed. "Yes, I suppose you will need them as well. The Duke has informed me that he is sponsoring you this season, and though you are not family, it would hardly look well of the Vegeta's to present someone as unpolished as you are to the Ton."

Bulma felt her hackles rise, knowing an insult when she heard one, but said nothing to the fact that her manners were above all compare (which they, without a doubt, were). Instead, just to annoy the dowager duchess, Bulma grabbed one of the sandwiches from the table, and shoved it all in her mouth in one go, chewing loudly. The dowager's eyes narrowed, but Bulma just kept her face serene as she could, to finally say (with a mouth full of food), "but of course," though it came out sounding a lot more like "buh o' core."

Bulma's mother's shocked face almost shamed Bulma, but than she noticed that her father was smiling as he shook his head, and Goku was practically beaming at her. She just smiled serenely back at the dowager, who's eyes narrowed so much, Bulma was afraid she was going to go cross-eyed.

It was a petty, and childish, move, but after the month Bulma had been having, she would take any point against the dowager she could get.

~~&~~

After the scene Bulma had put on to the dowager, what with her Ôatrocious American manners,' tea had ended rather quickly. The dowager had ordered servants to show the Briefs to their rooms, where it was understood they were too rest, clean up, and make themselves presentable for a formal supper with her in the formal dining room.

To Goku, this sounded like absolute torture. He positively missed the freedom and physicality of working on the ship. How had he gone from being able to work mindlessly with his hands, hard, back-breaking labor, to being told that he would be forced to endure hours of etiquette lessons? And now he was expected to take one of his favorite meals with the dowager, who was sure to watch every little thing he did? How could he enjoy food, knowing that that older woman would be measuring every little thing he did--and no doubt finding him a disappointment?

Goku wished he knew where Krillin was--he had brought his best friend here to be his valet, not because he needed one (or that he thought that Krillin would prove a suitable valet for that matter), but because he knew that Krillin would be there to spar with him. But now, when he really needed to pound out some aggression, Krillin was nowhere to be found. Figured. Though, Goku thought as he stretched to one side on the comfortable bed he was trying to rest on, maybe the Duke would prove a suitable challenge for him in the upcoming months.

Goku frowned as he thought that--he knew that his life had changed, that he was now this ÔKakarrot' who apparently had lands and a title--but it still seemed like this was all a detour from his real life, back in New York. Not New York City either, but the countryside, where he had spent the last nine winters with the Briefs. Goku was not built for society, and he knew that this Ôseason,' (whatever that truly was) was going to be nothing but a bore. He needed to be physical, active, outside--not in the middle of the most crowded city in the world.

As Goku bounced from his soft bed, deciding to give up on the fruitless attempt of sleeping during the day (not that Goku could not take a good nap when it was warranted), Goku strolled from his room, frowning as he saw nothing but long, deserted halls. He was not even sure where his family...his real family that was, not the one he had just discovered, though he guessed they too could be his real family...were located. The butler had led him down one hallway, while a maid had led the Briefs down another.

Goku was just frowning at his dilemma of finding Bulma (if he could not spar, than he could talk to his sister) when the irresistible aroma of fresh baked scones hit him--and Goku, powerless to his stomach, followed the extremely enticing aroma down the stairs, down a few hallways, down a few more hallways (seriously, how large was this house), when he found the busiest room of the manor--the kitchen.

Goku, unnoticing of the three scullery maids who were gaping at him as he entered, immediately went to a pan of fresh made scones, and without thinking, shoved four into his mouth at once. Letting out a groan as the buttery soft bread melted in his mouth, Goku closed his eyes, feeling true pleasure. Food--now there was something that would never let him down...

Not that Goku was able to enjoy the food for long, as a loud thwack, and the stinging pain of a frying pan hitting his head had him dropping the scones, his eyes opening as he doubled over in pain, "ow!"

An irritated, angry, female voice met him, "how dare ye! Those are the scones for the Vegetasei family!"

Goku looked up, still holding the part of his head where he had been hit, though, as his double vision slowly settled down to regular old single vision, focused on the extremely angry young woman who was looking at him. She was short, but, as she put her hands on her hips, he could sense strength in her (especially after that hit), her black hair tied in a bun on the top of her head, her dark eyes flashing challengingly up at him as she lifted her chin. Her voice was shrill, but even so, he could hear the proud Scottish accent, "now just who do ye think ye are?! Coming into me kitchen, and eating me food?!"

Goku gaped for a second, noticing, peculiarly, that the harpy yelling at him was probably about his age, and...well, not ugly, that was for sure. "I am Goku. You made these?!"

The woman frowned, "o' course. I'm Chi-Chi--the cook. Now what's yer role here? Are ye the new stable boy Jeffries tol' me about?"

Goku shook his head, and plainly told her, "no, I'm the new Vegeta."

Goku watched with amazement as this woman's face changed completely, dropping, her skin losing color as she took him in, "yer the...yer the new viscount?"

Her words were almost a whisper, and Goku frowned at her, wondering what was wrong with her--it was just a title. He was still the same old Goku. "Yeah..."

She immediately dropped her eyes, "me lord! I'm sorry--I ha' no idea! Can ye ever forgive me?"

Goku frowned at her new approach to him--he had been used to servants ever since he had lived with the Briefs, but not this subservient attitude Chi-Chi was currently showing him. His first instinct was to comfort her, telling her everything would be all right, but then the enchanting scent of sweets caught his nose, "is that a pie?"

Chi-Chi nodded, "yes, sir, for dessert. Now tell me what I can do to make this up to ye."

Goku grinned at her, sitting down at the worktable in the middle of the kitchen, "well you can start by bringing me that pie."

Chi-Chi's head immediately reared up, and finding that Goku was currently grinning at her like an idiot, she found herself stammering, though she smiled, "o-of course, me Lord. I'm renowned for me pie's."

As she went to walk past him, Goku put a hand on her arm, stopping her, forcing her to look at him, "listen, Chi-Chi, please, call me Goku. You're sure to be finding me a frequent visitor to the kitchen, and I would hate for you to feel the need to stand on any sort of formality with me."

Chi-Chi gaped at him, but when Goku smiled at her, Chi-Chi's eyes lowered demurely, giving a giggle as she spoke, "as ye wish...Goku..."

Goku just grinned back, letting her go, his mouth already watering at the thought of trying some pie. "Chi-Chi, I have the feeling this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship..."

~~&~~

Vegeta entered Saiyan Hall much later that night, his frustration evident in every move he made as he strode to his office, in need of a stiff drink. As he entered the ducal office, he headed straight to the heavy decanter, sloshing a good amount of scotch into one of the crystal tumblers, bringing it to his mouth, tilting his head back as he rapidly finished the drink in one swift motion, before pounding it back down, pouring himself some more of the alcohol before he could even feel the warmth of the first one hitting his stomach.

The night had not gone as he had planned.

Sure, he had managed his estate affairs, packed his things, prepared for an early departure tomorrow, all like he had intended--but when he had gone to the Widow's he had been sorely disappointed.

Not by the widow, of course, no--but by himself.

Vegeta scowled at that thought, before pouring himself three more fingers of scotch, pounding that back as well, before frowning as he felt the familiar burn trail down his throat. Looking at the bottle, he shrugged, and poured himself another tall glass, finishing that in one as well. Forcing himself to breath, slowly, Vegeta poured himself a fourth glass, which he took to the heavy leather sofa that lined one of his walls, sipping the liquid as he grew introspective of what had happened that night.

As he slumped on his familiar couch, Vegeta could not be more disgusted with himself. What was wrong wit him? He was Vegeta Vegeta, Duke of Vegetasei, the most sought out bachelor on the marriage market for the last five years, the seducer of married women, widows, opera singers, and courtesan's alike. No one was immune to his charms.

And yet, tonight, after the Widow had fed him an incredibly rich, delicious dinner, when they had gone up to her room so that he could get his sexual frustration out--he had found himself unwilling to do just what he had come to her to do. Which was basically bed her long and hard enough to make himself forget about the American heiress who was currently under this very roof, sleeping.

He had tried though, and had begun to kiss the Widow like he desperately wanted to do with Bulma--but had found himself completely uninterested and unwilling to do more than that. She was just wrong--the Widow's lips were not soft enough, her smell not...lilac-y enough, her body not supple enough--and Vegeta had left. The Widow had not thrown a fit, being as cool and unattached as she usually seemed to be when not in the throes of passion, her cool blue eyes glinting as she ran her hand through her platinum blonde locks, "you know where to find me if you ever change your mind."

There had been no parting shots. Both had, rather coldly, nodded at each other, and that was it. The end of the affair--just like the beginning, no pomp, no circumstance...no damn emotion to confuse the hell out of him. Why could Vegeta not be this way towards Bulma?! The Widow was extremely beautiful, and had never demanded more of Vegeta than he was willing to give. Bulma, on the other hand, was constantly challenging him, forcing him to turn introspective as he seemed to only be able to think of her.

It appeared it was not just the fact that she was the only single woman on board of a ship--Vegeta had it bad for her, and he feared the only thing that would cure his desire of her would be to bed her. Which was completely out of the question, no matter what his torturous body wanted. She was currently living under his roof, and though he did not think her a virgin, she was an unmarried miss, and that, along with a whole other host of things, would make any affair with her complicated and messy.

What if they were discovered? By her brother or parents, Vegeta would probably be forced to marry the chit--whereas if his grandmother discovered the unrequited passion he felt for the American, well, hell--she would not force him to marry her, but she would make his life a living hell. Knowing his grandmother, she would probably blackmail him into doing exactly what she wanted for the rest of her life.

Vegeta shivered in fear at that thought, and finished the rest of the scotch in his glass, before he gave up entirely on the thought of getting smashed tonight, and left his office, shaking his head. He needed to go to his room, and he needed to try and get a good few hours of sleep. He left for Paris in the morning, and though the mission was not to be dangerous, one never knew what would happen in His Majesty's Secret Service. Nothing was ever certain, and all that was, was that a good nights sleep could make things a lot easier for Vegeta in the upcoming days of spying.

As he made his way up to the second level of his home, Vegeta turned to enter the west wing, trying to think about what he needed to do, who he needed to get in contact with to find this Zhelonie, when a noise from the east wing caught his attention. Turning towards the sound, but staying in the darkness, as he needed no candle to guide him around his family home, Vegeta was surprised to see a door down the hallway open, Kakarrot's form leaving one of the rooms. Vegeta frowned, knowing that he had specifically told Jeffries to have a room prepared for Kakarrot in the west wing, and stood in the dark, watching as his cousin came closer to him.

Kakarrot was whistling softly, trodding down the hallway in his dressing gown and slippers, a smile on his face as he made his way back to his own room. As Kakarrot passed him, unseeing of Vegeta, who was hiding in the shadows, Vegeta caught the whiff of lilacs, and without even processing it Vegeta immediately knew that Kakarrot had just left Bulma's room.

Vegeta's blood went beyond boiling, a red mist making it hard for Vegeta to see anything, as he felt the roar of anger rip through his body.

So they were going to carry on their affair under his roof, would they?

Right after Vegeta had been unable to find release from his sexual demons with a willing partner, the very woman he had wanted found no problem acting on her own desire with her old paramour?! How dare she--did his kiss mean so little to her that she could bed another man in Vegeta's very own home?!

Vegeta's first desire was to go to his cousin, who was almost to his room, and pummel him so badly that Kakarrot would have a very slim chance of living. How dare he put his hands on Bulma--she was not Kakarrot's, and never would be. But then Vegeta was overcome with the desire to enter the bedroom his cousin had just left, and to completely brand Bulma by fucking her senseless, making her scream and moan and pant his name only. She was his, dammit!

But before he moved, doing something he knew he might regret, Vegeta took control of these errant thoughts, and took ten deep breaths. When that did not seem enough, he took ten more--finally, about a hundred deep breaths later, Vegeta could move from the spot he had been frozen to since seeing Kakarrot, striding to his own room.

It seemed that even though Vegeta could not even think of touching another woman after having kissed Bulma, she did not suffer the same fate as he--that insufferable bitch.

Forget leaving bright and early tomorrow morning for France--Vegeta needed to get out, and he needed to get out now. He would get his stuff, wake Nappa, and they would be gone.

And, Vegeta promised himself, when he finally caught Zhelonie, he was going to enjoy pummeling out every ounce of his frustration, anger, and desire onto the spy that had eluded him for far too long, no matter what his orders said...

~~&~~
A/N: Phew--got through quite a lot in this chapter (too much?!), but it's all relevant. There are some new characters, some new secrets let out, and some new paths for our protagonists to tread. I know there was no true Vegeta and Bulma interaction in this chapter, but I hope to make it up to you with the next few chapters!