Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Dark Duke ❯ What's Darker than Black? ( Chapter 10 )

[ 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: First things first, I was going to wait to post this (polish it up a bit more), but then I realized if I waited, I would have no clue to when I would have the time to actually post it as it is the holidays, and things tend to get a bit chaotic--so you guys are getting it fresh! (Fresh meaning I apologize beforehand for mistakes, of course).

Second things second I love you all, and hope you guys have a great holidays, no matter what you are celebrating. To sound a little bit cheesy, when I'm going over what I'm thankful for, you guys (readers, reviewers) will be at the top of my list tomorrow!

Chapter Ten: What's Darker than Black?

Having just been spun against the secret doorway she had just been trying to close, Bulma's heart thundered, her ears becoming sharper than they ever had before, even as she was held against her will, her mouth covered by someone else's hand. Though she was pressed against someone else's body, with her fingers throbbing from being slammed in the secret door she was now being held against, the words of the dowager and the long-suffering Jeffries came through to her loud and clear. She had no need to strain to listen, but she had to, especially as she was afraid they had still been discovered, that the secret office was no longer a secret.

"If that damnable idiot giant that he keeps with him is back, then the Duke should be back as well! Where is he?!" The squeal of the usually composed dowager should have made Bulma happy, yet instead she just squeezed her eyes, praying that the dowager had noticed nothing. The old woman had unaccountably sharp eyes, and all Bulma needed was for her private space to be discovered by that crone.

Jeffries voice was ever bland, Bulma wanting to kiss the man as he replied, "your grace, Nappa informed us that him and Vegeta split up before they returned back to London proper, both with different tasks. I am sure the Duke will be returning shortly."

"Do not pull that with me Jeffries! I need to speak to my grandson, and I need to speak to him now!" Each word was delivered with a loud thump of her cane, and Bulma winced, imagining each cane thump was getting closer to the secret entrance to this office.

Still, Jeffries answered with his most polished, polite tones, "yes ma'am. I will inform him the second he is home that you wish to speak to him."

"I will wait here, then, as he is sure to come to his office first when he gets back."

Bulma's eyes widened at that, her heart stopping. If the dowager decided to wait for Vegeta in his office, they were not going to be able to escape without her noticing. There was only one way in, and one way and one way out--not even a small window that could be slipped through. Her and Vegeta would have to wait until the old woman was called away, and, Bulma thought glumly, that might not be until suppertime, which was hours away.

"Your grace may do as she wishes--,"

The dowager cut him off, "yes I may--and it is too cold in here for someone such as myself. Why is the fire not going in the grate?"

"An oversight, your grace. Next time we will make sure that the fire is always going in this room, regardless of the fact if the Duke is in residence or not."

If Bulma were not so terrified of being caught, she would have laughed at Jeffries slight, slight sarcasm that the butler had just bestowed upon the dowager. She could almost see the dowager's eyes narrowing at Jeffries, trying to decide if she had just been insulted, but rather than reprimand him, her voice was haughty as she announced, "I will wait for the Duke in the front sitting room, closest to the door, so he cannot get past me without me knowing. Go get me some tea!"

There were some loud thumps, the sound of the dowager and her wicked cane moving further away, and than the slamming of a door shut, which caused Bulma to further tense. When the cane thumps became more distant, Bulma finally sagged in relief, trying to let out a loud breath.

Before realizing one of the reasons her breaths were so shallow was because there was a very large, very warm hand covering her mouth, and an arm wrapped tightly around her ribcage, holding her still. Bulma froze again, her body seizing up as she remembered she was not being pressed against a hard wall, but a warm, muscled, male body.

A very warm, muscled, male body, which she was suddenly picturing with perfect clarity from the day she had seen him shirtless on the deck of the Saiyan Lady. If she pressed back just the furthest bit, or arched her back against the arm that was holding her, she was sure she could feel the outline of those compact, golden muscles that she knew she was only separated from by some clothing.

As if reading her thoughts, she felt Vegeta shift behind her, pressing even closer, the warmth of his body seeping into hers, causing her body to soften, wanting to be enveloped by him completely. Her heart began to pound again, and her body temperature began to steadily rise as her thoughts ran away from her completely. Her skin began to feel too tight, and her breaths became even shallower as she realized just how badly she wanted, no, needed Vegeta.

Slowly Vegeta released her mouth, his hand moving down to rest on her shoulder, and his arm around her waist loosened just enough for him to move her, using his hands to turn her softly, carefully, as if she was a priceless antique. There was only a whisper of space between their two bodies, which created a delicious friction of anticipation, and when she was facing him, Vegeta's hand came out, and he nudged her chin up, forcing her to look at him. Her blue eyes were wide as she saw the fiery flow of molten passion deep in his obsidian depths, his eyes locked with hers, speaking silent messages she did not understand.

The hand that had been holding her chin, came up, tracing her jaw line, before the back of his hand smoothed over the skin of her burning cheeks, cool against her heated flesh, and she resisted the urge to purr into his hand like a kitten. His hand stopped stroking, and instead his thumb came out, and he traced the outline of her lower lip, soft as a feather. Both her eyes and his were riveted on his thumb, seemingly the only thing that existed in this galaxy.

Bulma's mouth parted, her breathing becoming jagged as his thumb exerted pressure, moving her lower lip softly, feeling her mind glaze over with want and need, as he touched her. Good God, how she wanted him to replace that torturous thumb with his lips, his tongue. She burned with the need of having him kiss her like he had on the ship, stealing her breath, making her body feel alien and pleasurable at the same time.

She wanted him like she could never remember wanting anyone before, her whole body crying out to him. Her breasts throbbed with the want of being touched, her tight peaks hardening, as if anticipating his touch. Her skin goose pimpled all over from having him standing so close--yet not close enough. And her lower body--well she had never felt this pulsing, pounding sensation before.

Her eyes shot up to his face as she heard him let out a raspy breath, as if he, too, was having problems breathing, and she was once against captured by the dark, twisted look in his eyes as he watched her reactions. He was a dangerous man, she realized suddenly--she might have been nonchalant in her declaration of him being a spy, but it scared and enticed Bulma as she imagined what else the hand that was currently caressing her had done. He had probably killed men with that skillful hand...

And that thought was enough for Bulma to shake herself out of whatever lust induced coma she had been slipping into. She instantly sobered, closing her mouth, and pushed away from Vegeta, taking a step back as he easily let go of her. She fisted her hands at her sides, not trusting herself not to reach out to him, and looked down, counting to three--better make it ten--trying to compose herself.

Finally, she looked back up, pressing the back of her hands to her still burning cheeks, cursing her incredibly white skin for making it so obvious that she was heated. Why could she not be tan like Vegeta--the only sign that he was even interested in her was in the way his dark eyes bored into her. Other than that he was perfectly composed, though she had heard the ragged breath come from his lips that spoke of something different.

Bulma, on the other hand, burned with unfulfilled need, but with humiliation, and embarrassment for acting like a mare in heat at Vegeta's mere touch. She hated him for having this strange power over her, and she hated herself for giving into whatever mastery he had over her. She was stronger than this!

Bulma tried to emulate Vegeta's icy composure as she spoke, though she could not keep her voice from being a pitch or two higher than she was used to, "I must go. I have lessons. So I must go."

Vegeta looked at her for a beat too long, his head tilted, and Bulma feared he was not going to move from the door he was standing in front of, rather that he was just going to stare at her for hours. He seemed to make a choice though, and he stepped back, opening the door for her, giving her a mocking bow as he ushered her out like he was a servant, "as the lady wishes."

Bulma, if she had been in her right mind, would have said something scathing right back to him, letting him know that she hated him. As it was, Bulma was barely in any mind at all, so she just left the office in shaky legs, uncaring of the designs she left behind as she made her way out of the office. She went up some back stairs, uncaring of being noticed by anyone (though thankfully she was not), to her room, through her private sitting room, before she finally collapsed on her bed, staring at the ceiling, unseeing of anything but those moments in the office she had shared with Vegeta.

It had never been like this with Yamcha--his kisses had always been sweet, soft, innocent, like she thought he was. The same man did not court you for years without having his lips on yours, or his hands softly stroking you through your clothes. Though Yamcha was never as bold as Vegeta had just been, Bulma thought she knew what desire was, as she had always wanted Yamcha to kiss her again, once she got used to the sensation of having someone else's lips pressed to her own.

But she had never felt this hunger for Yamcha. She had never left his kisses, or his touch, with the desire to run back to him, to press herself to him, to be absorbed by him, to become one with him. And she had loved Yamcha! What was she allowing herself to get into with the Duke?

She needed to stay away from him. She did not love him, and she was sure that if she let him ruin her (and he would, utterly, she was sure of this) that he would not be gentleman enough to ask for her hand. Nothing about the way Vegeta had treated her told her he was respectful of her as a lady, or himself as a gentleman. She could not trust that he would do the stand up thing, if he tore her down to sin with him. But, oh, what a delicious fall it would be....

But Bulma only had a few minutes to sink herself into her thoughtful depression, before she heard heavy footsteps in her sitting room, Goku's loud knock on her door shocking her, before he poked his head into her bedroom, "hey sis, come on. Mr. Shu's waiting, and you know what he gets like."

Bulma sighed, but sat up, shaking her head, as if she could shake her errant thoughts about Vegeta out of her head. She slid from the bed, frowning at Goku's always-present smile, unable to stop herself from pettily asking, "why are you in such a good mood?" As she passed him, she sniffed, her frown deepening, "and why do you smell like fresh baked bread?"

Goku just smiled as she passed him, not giving her any answer other than, "why are your cheeks so red? You're not getting sick are you, Bulma?"

Bulma was thoroughly distracted from why her brother smelled like the kitchen (as Goku had intended), and only glared at her brother as she cursed her extremely expressive face. When he just smiled sweetly at her, Bulma scowled and stormed past him, muttering under her breath about how much better her life had been when she had been an only child.

~~&~~

Vegeta sat in a crowded bar, wishing that he was sipping brandy at White's, the preferred club of the aristocracy, rather than holding a mug of ale at this run-down pub he was currently sitting in. Vegeta detested being here, in this unclean, smelly place, but he needed to have an urgent meeting with Basil, and it would not do to meet with his contact with the war offices at a club such as White's, where literally every person knew who he was.

Especially as seeing the Duke of Vegetasei speaking with anyone would sure to rouse his peer's interest as Vegeta was known as a fiercely private person who never conducted his business somewhere as public as White's. Hell the only time he even went to White's was when his residence was occupied--like it currently was, not only by the boisterous Americans, but his insufferable (and inhuman) grandmother.

But he was not just seeking sanctuary from his overcrowded home, and meetings with Basil needed to be as inauspicious as possible when they could not be conducted in the war offices. Privacy in a public setting was needed and so this was the preferred spot of his contact. It was just low class enough that no one would recognize, or try and speak to, Vegeta, but high-class enough that if anyone who knew him saw him there they would not become suspicious. They would just assume the Duke wanted to anonymously get drunk somewhere, or perhaps come down to sample the wares of the lower class women. As if Vegeta would ever lower himself to do that...

Currently, though, it served his interests that no one took real notice of what he was doing. Not as a spy, but right now, it truly served Vegeta to not be approached by anyone.

He was too...too...well if he thought he was in a black mood before, he was in a pitch-black mood now. That damn, infuriating, enraging--enticing, utterly arousing--woman! What right did she have to be in his office, to uncover his secrets, and than to not even let him kiss her, like she was so thoroughly begging him to do so?!

He was torn between wanting to murder her, to ensure no one discovered the secrets she had seemingly so easily unearthed, and shackling her to his bed, so he could have her every which way he fantasized about for the past two months. He wanted to tear out this desperate need and craving he had for her inside of him, and yet, like earlier, he could not seem to stop himself from touching her, as her delicate features and wide eyes beckoned him more so than the most tutored of courtesans had ever done before.

Though, from what he had observed of her, maybe she was as experienced as the most tutored of courtesans. How many lovers was she hiding behind those wide, innocent seeming eyes? Just how practiced was that starry-eyed look, those perfectly opened lips, that demure pushing away at the last second? That thought had him scowling into his mug, lifting it to take a hefty swipe of the surprisingly delicious brew.

As he set the mug down, angrily, Vegeta was not surprised to see a man had joined him at his table, his cap thrown onto the table, though the man was carefully looking at anything other than the Duke. The man was indistinguishable from any other man, really, brown hair and facial hair, brown eyes, medium build, medium age, dressed too poor to be an aristocrat, too rich to be a commoner--nothing about him that would catch anyone's interest. Which was why he made such a good spy.

Basil gave a discrete nod, his eyes not leaving the bar wench as he motioned for a drink, quietly saying, "your Grace."

Vegeta did not both to even look at the man, making sure his face was devoid of any emotion as he answered, "Basil."

There was a silence as Basil was served, the older man smiling and winking at the bar wench (Ôbecause they expect it' he had once told Vegeta), taking a calm sip before he continued. "Your note said it was urgent, and I'm hoping after the last month you've spent it Paris, it will be good news."

Vegeta frowned, and he resisted the urge to throw the mug of ale he was holding into the crowded room in frustration. Instead he took a controlled sip before he gave Basil a stoic and clipped recounting of his time spent in Paris, and what little information he had gleaned. Basil's body language gave away nothing as Vegeta spoke, but Vegeta was aware that this man was as good at hiding what he was thinking as Vegeta was. Vegeta knew that Basil's reaction would have been the same if he had just told him he had captured Zhelonie, rather than the truth--which was that Vegeta had discovered nothing of note in Paris.

When he was done, Basil gave a nod, "well if that it is all, your Grace--."

Basil made the motion to move, but Vegeta stopped him with a quick look directly at the man, "hardly." Vegeta took another sip of ale before he continued, "I have learned that the note we intercepted for Agent Zhelonie was mistranslated."

That caught Basil's attention, and he actually looked at Vegeta, an eyebrow quirked, "mistranslated?"

Vegeta gave a grave nod, "we were looking for him in the wrong place. There were some wrong...," Vegeta's frown deepened as he remembered Bulma's flashing eyes as she had informed him of this fact, and he muttered, "adverbs, I believe...." Damn that woman for constantly interfering in his thoughts! Still, Vegeta forced himself to focus on Basil, "the note correctly translated states that Zhelonie was reactivated to spy in England, not Paris."

Basil looked thoughtful, rather than shocked, and began to stroke his beard as he murmured, "interesting. So we have been looking in the wrong areas." His eyes caught Vegeta's, a grim smile on his face, "well we have long suspected that Zhelonie moves among the Ton to gain his information, so you really need to be alert for any French noblemen...or women...who seem to be at every event. You keep yours eyes open during the season, and we will keep our ears open for any information that passes our way."

Vegeta frowned, since he usually avoided anything but the most necessary of Ton events--but he was a spy, and he had been in worse positions that at the balls, musicales, operas and other events that made up the Ton's season. He could not name any at that exact moment, but he knew there had to be some.... Vegeta noticed that Basil seemed as if he was about to leave, so Vegeta quickly spoke, "I was also informed that Zhelonie is Russian for green, though I'm not sure how important this will be to discovering Zhelonie's identity."

Basil's eyebrow quirked again, "Green, you say? How did we not catch this earlier? And how did you catch it, your Grace? I was not aware that you had learned Russian in the last month."

Vegeta frowned, hating to admit any failings, and languages were definitely a failing of his. He could make do with any of the romance languages as a well-educated English person, and of course some Latin and Greek as he had been taught in school--but he had no ear for it. Not like that blue-hared witch did. Still, Vegeta admitted to Basil, "I did not translate the note."

Basil frowned at him, though his eyes did not leave Vegeta's, "than who translated the note for you? You know how sensitive this material is, and we cannot afford you having slip ups."

Vegeta's bristled at the lack of faith Basil displayed, but he stayed calm, knowing that Basil's words were the truth. This was sensitive material, and if Bulma's retranslation had not affected the case so much, Vegeta would never have reported what had happened. The last thing he needed now was for the war office to lose faith in him. Not when he was so close...

Vegeta frowned, but admitted, "it was a houseguest of mine, who managed to find my secret office. But they have told no one else." And they wouldn't, Vegeta added silently, adding silencing Bulma thoroughly to his list of things to do when he got home. Though whether silencing her involved a gag, or his own mouth, was up for debate at the moment.

Basil gave a curt nod, knowing that Vegeta would not leave anything such as their correspondence lying out in unsecure spaces. "Someone found out about your inner office, hmm? Was it Dr. Briefs?"

Vegeta frowned, not sure why he was surprised that Basil knew the Briefs' were currently staying in his Mayfair residence. It might be a secret to the rest of the Ton, but Basil would not be worth his salt as the director of spies for His Majesty's Secret Service if he did not already know this. Still it irked Vegeta, especially as he had to admit, tersely, "it was his daughter." Vegeta stopped, before he continued on, hating every word that passed out of his lips, "she is a fairly accomplished scientist, and she speaks ten different languages, Russian included."

Basil's eyes lit up with interest, the first real spark of emotion Vegeta could remember having seen from the other man, "the American heiress?" He stroked his beard again, as he looked away, thinking, "...speaks ten different languages, you say?" Basil's eyes moved back to Vegeta's, "do you think we could recruit her to our side?"

Vegeta's head snapped to Basil's at that moment, and he barely controlled the urge to spray the gulp of ale he had just taken all over the man's face. As it was, he gave a rather strangled reply, as he felt half of his ale go down his windpipe as he got out, "recruit her? To spy?"

Basil nodded, thoughtful, "you say she discovered your secret office, and translated a note we had mistranslated--and she has not informed any one else of what she has found?"

Vegeta begrudgingly shook his head, and Basil smirked, "sounds like someone we need on our side."

Vegeta's frown was back in place, feeling as if this meeting was spiraling out of control. "Miss Briefs would make a horrible spy. She is loud, abrupt, and I guarantee she cannot go anywhere unnoticed."

Basil looked away, shaking his head at what Vegeta said, "your Grace, I fear your judgment is being clouded by personal prejudice. She is a scientist, and an inventor if I remember correctly, who can speak ten different languages. It is only a matter of time before someone decides to recruit her to their side, and it should be us who gets her. Ensure this, your Grace--start her as a translator, to see if we can truly trust her."

Vegeta was frowning so deeply, his cheeks were beginning to hurt. He could not help but continue to poke at the sore that was this conversation, refusing to give in to Basil's wishes, "but she is an American. And a woman."

Basil finished the rest of his ale, setting it down, as he stood, leaving some coins at his table, before he turned to look at Vegeta, "and we have had little to no success with finding Zhelonie, or Green, and I am worried about what the Russians are planning. They've been eyeing our interests in central Asia too closely for my liking, and I do not trust the Cold family. Desperate times call for desperate measures."

Basil replaced his cap, turning to go, before he slyly said over his shoulder, "you should know better than anyone that anyone can be a spy. Now see if you can recruit her to our side, your Grace, and send me a missive as soon as she answers."

Vegeta knew his face soured at that entreaty, but he only nodded, and then Basil was gone, leaving Vegeta to scowl into his empty ale mug.

~~&~~

Vegeta, upon returning home, with his brand new mission to recruit the last person on Earth he even wanted to see (unless she was naked and writhing underneath him that was), found himself entering the house through the back gardens. Just because he was in a snit, did not mean he did not remember his grandmother's earlier proclamation that she would be waiting for him in the front sitting room. Hell if he was going to actually let her surprise him (aka ambush him) when he first got home.

As he traveled the long way around his house, though, Vegeta was distracted from his already distracting thoughts, as the familiar sounds of a fight caught his interest. He traversed through his gardens (reluctant to admit he could damn well name every flower in this garden, just not when Bulma was questioning him on it), until he came upon the scene of his cousin, and that bald midget, surrounded by some of the stable hands, as they sparred. They were smart in choosing their spot--they were far enough from the house to not be observed, but also taking advantage of Saiyan Hall's deep gardens to be out of the view of nosy neighbors as well.

Vegeta stopped, just stopped, watching them, and then, unaware that he was doing so, he began to crack his knuckles.

This.

This was exactly what he needed.

To beat the tar out of his cousin, or even that bald midget--just to prove to everyone (but mostly himself) that he still had mastery over one piece of his life. He needed to prove that just because he was only lusting after one woman, and that he was not-failing (but not-succeeding) at the one job he always succeeded at, and that he felt like everything in his life was beyond his control, that he would always be the best at this--fighting. He had been born a fighter, he would die a fighter, and hell if anyone on this Earth could best him.

As he observed the American pair fight for a few moments, Vegeta tugged off his outerwear, leaving on only his breeches, and boots, the rest of his restraining clothing lost to the primal urge that surged through Vegeta's blood to fight. It rode through his veins, like the lust he felt for that blue haired witch, a blood lust to prove dominance over the other males in his life, to see them submit to his mastery, to hear bones cracking, to taste blood, and to leave nothing but battered and bruised bodies in his wake.

This was why he had done so well in the Navy--when this blood lust surged through him, Vegeta was a cold, calculated killing machine. Sometimes he envied those who were in the army, those who got to kill men on the field daily, the bodies of their enemies falling directly before them--but then he would remember the delight and victory he felt the first time he had sent one of Bonaparte's ships to rest at the bottom of the sea, or the first time he had successfully boarded a ship, plunging his sword through the heart of the captain--and he would know he had made the right choice in joining the Navy.

Vegeta watched the fight, distracted by his own need to jump in, but waited until his cousin had finally bested the smaller man, frowning as Kakarrot smiled and laughed as he helped the bald midget up from the ground. "Good job Krillin! You're really picking up on that new defense! Master Roshi would be so proud!"

The midget looked ashamed, his cheeks red as he looked down, kicking a stone "ah, you think Goku? I'm just lucky you didn't completely embarrass me in front of this crowd."

The men watching tittered, before going back to passing money around, Vegeta noted with interest. So his men were betting on these sparring matches? These workers were paid well, Vegeta saw that all in his employ were never left wanting, but to actually have some money on them? These fights must be a semi-regular occurrence if his men knew where and when to bring their wages to bet on the fighters.

Vegeta saw that Kakarrot and Krillin were just standing there talking, and so Vegeta took the general ease between the men as his cue, leaving the tree he had been standing beside, walking into the circle. As he reached its center, whatever chatter that had been going on, stopped, and Vegeta smirked, glad to see that some people still reacted appropriately upon seeing him.

Kakarrot had yet to notice him yet, though, as he was correcting the other American's stance, before throwing a jab, but that did not deter Vegeta as he barked, "Kakarrot."

Kakarrot turned, his smile fading as he noticed Vegeta. Vegeta smirked at him, "care to have a real challenge, now that you're done toying with that American?"

Kakarrot's lips turned down at the corners, a frown at Vegeta's words--but Vegeta did not miss the interest in Kakarrot's eyes, or the way he began to crack his knuckles. Some things just ran through people's blood, and for the Vegeta's, it would be fighting. He could practically feel Kakarrot weighing the pro and cons of fighting Vegeta, but knew that his cousin would be unable to resist a real challenge.

Rather than taunt Vegeta back, as was custom with most fighters, Kakarrot nodded, gravely, but added, with a hint of warning, "don't underestimate me though, Vegeta. I am on land again, and whatever advantage you had on me over the ship is gone."

Vegeta's blood turned hot with the promise of a real fight, but he only nodded, ignoring Kakarrot's words. Land or sea, Vegeta would not be outmatched. He had bested Kakarrot once--he would best him again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Vegeta noticed that Nappa had joined the fray, the bald giant standing out above everyone else. As he looked to his man, Vegeta saw the men watching with the exchange with interest, more money being exchanged, and he smirked. He hoped his men were not foolish enough to bet against him. They would soon be losing their money if they did.

Kakarrot turned to face him then, and Vegeta got into stance, making sure that Kakarrot's bald friend was out of the makeshift ring, catching Nappa's eye, as he gave one of their many signals. He gave Vegeta a small nod, an unspoken question of whether or not Vegeta needed help, and Vegeta frowned as he shook his head. What was this insolence? He was just fighting a man he had already beaten--he did not need anyone's help.

When he looked back at Kakarrot, he was surprised to see he had not shifted position, still facing Vegeta, all of his defenses left open, though he gave a sly smile as he nodded, "I'm ready to start whenever you are. Why don't you take the first hit?"

Vegeta's wounded pride did not take even the slightest hit well right now, and Vegeta could not help but growl out, "you insolent little whelp," as he charged his cousin.

But Vegeta was surprised. Kakarrot easy sidestepped him, and delivered a blow to Vegeta's back, sending him stumbling. Vegeta quickly righted himself, the pain unnoticed as he sent a wide-eyed stared to his cousin, who only stared over his shoulder, curiously watching Vegeta. Vegeta's rage overcame him again, and he let out a yell as he charged--but he missed his mark again, and Vegeta instead felt Kakarrot's fist in his stomach.

Vegeta stumbled away, the air gone from his lungs, as he sent another look back at Kakarrot, who calmly just stood there. Vegeta's anger prompted him to attack again--but Vegeta was a good fighter because he was a smart fighter. He was currently underestimating his opponent, and charging in, letting his emotions guide him--two things any seasoned fighter knew were sure to get themselves beaten. So instead Vegeta calmly circled Kakarrot, taking his time as he stalked around him, before he sent out a few exploratory jabs, watching how Kakarrot reacted.

His cousin was better than Vegeta had originally given him credit for. Vegeta was a fast fighter, skillful--but Kakarrot brimmed with a natural ability to fight, his larger size not deterring his speed, nor the powerful way his punches hit their mark. Vegeta could not sense his weakness in fighting, just then, but after gaining a better sense of Kakarrot, Vegeta smirked, stepping back, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Kakarrot only smiled at him, as if understanding what Vegeta had just been doing, "are you ready to really fight now?"

Vegeta, who felt his anger and pride roaring to completely obliterate his cousin, only answered with a smirk, "only if you think you are truly ready for me."

Kakarrot chuckled, before he nodded, "prove it."

This time, when Vegeta charged, he anticipated where Kakarrot would be, rather than where he was, and made sure his right hook caught him right at the side of the head. Kakarrot hit the ground hard, but bounced up rather quickly, a smile on his face, "good--I was afraid this was going to be another boring fight."

Vegeta smirked, his fists back up as Kakarrot finally took a fighting stance, "against me? You have much to learn."

Vegeta was surprised when Kakarrot reacted with another chuckle, before he attacked Vegeta. This time, there were no words exchanged--only glances, and blows. The two men tested each other, constantly changing who had the upper hand, constantly forcing the other into the crowd of men, Vegeta unnoticing of how large the circle had grown, losing himself in the challenge of a real fight--something he had not had in a long time. Not since his days in the field as a member of the navy.

Vegeta lost all track of time, all sense of who was there, or where they were, only delighting in the physical exertion and satisfaction he took in a real fight. Kakarrot gave as good as he got, and before long him and his cousin were covered with bruises, welts, and other physical testaments to their fight. It was not until Vegeta noticed the shadows growing long, that he finally pushed himself further, surprising Kakarrot with an upper-cut, before giving him a satisfying right-hook, the loud thwack of fist meeting skin heralding Kakarrot's twisted fall, his body hitting the ground, hard.

Vegeta felt momentary satisfaction at having knocked his cousin down, but only momentary, as Kakarrot was back on his feet in a few seconds, ready to fight again, much like an over-eager puppy. Vegeta held his hand up, though, his authority brimming through as he said in a stern voice, "enough." There was a collective groan from the crowd, but Vegeta ignored it, and the inner voice inside of him, demanding he demolish Kakarrot, instead walking over to Kakarrot, speaking softly enough so that only he would hear, "we have supper in little over an hour, and you and I both have some bruises to cover before we meet with the dowager."

As the grumbles of the men watching the fight reached his ears, Vegeta ignored them as he saw a flash of kinship cross through Kakarrot's eyes at Vegeta's words. These two men had little to nothing in common besides their blood, and their very selves were so different than the other that Vegeta had given up all hope of feeling a bond with this man. But right then, after the way they had matched almost punch for punch, and then the shared recognition of their dislike of the dowager--Vegeta felt a flash of connection to his long-lost cousin.

He expected Kakarrot to say something, to ruin the shared camaraderie they felt, but was instead delighted when Kakarrot only nodded, before he turned, finding his bald friend, leaving the gardens. Nappa was at his side almost instantly, Vegeta's discarded clothes being held out to him. Vegeta shrugged back into this shirt, but declined the rest, instead watching his retreating cousins back, thoughtful.

Nappa spoke, his voice gruff, "maybe we did not make a mistake in bringing him here."

Vegeta thought of the plans he still had in store for his cousin, and what had happened here today, giving a slight nod, his answer a soft, "perhaps not..."

~~&~~
A/N: What plans does Vegeta have in store for Goku? What is he so close to accomplishing that Vegeta does not want to lose his job at as a spy? Only time will tell, really (sorry!).