Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Dark Duke ❯ A Symphony to Soothe the Nerves ( Chapter 21 )

[ 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'm back! You guys didn't miss me too much, did you? (Checks reviews, overwhelmed by the outpouring of love you guys have shown, also overwhelmed by guilt--lots of guilt) Ahh! I'm sorry guys! You should know I would never abandon this story--especially with the one-year anniversary coming up!! In honor of that, for the next three weeks, leading up to the anniversary on June 29th, I will be posting a spanking brand new chapter!

I really want to thank all of you who checked up on me, especially DamonaVeggie for your pm. I love you all, and the feedback you guys give me is what helps me push through the hard times. But life should settle down a little more now, so hopefully I can get back to publishing more often!

Lilpumpkingirl, you get an extra big heaping of thanks this chapter. I tried to send her some crap, and she (wisely) would not let me publish it as is--I suck at actiony tension stuff, and that is exactly what she helped me with these next few chapters. You seriously get a co-author credit for the first half of this chapter. Much love!!

Chapter Twenty-One: A Symphony to Soothe the Nerves

Bulma was not used to the less luxurious side of life, and she had never had the...uhm...privilege of riding in a rented carriage before. It was, well, certainly less than luxurious. Sure, it was probably as top end as the Duke of Vegetasei's title and money could buy (well, rent), but it was not an experience she wanted to relive ever again, after tonight's jaunt. It did not seem that she could avoid the experience tonight though, something she had discovered right after Vegeta had escorted her into the cheap-ish interior.

Bulma surveyed the scuffed non-mahogany (the real mahogany being a signature of the ruling class, a fact she was starting to realize) wood panels, before trailing down to the thinly stuffed tan cushions, which hardly separated her bottom from the wood beneath her, let alone protect her bottom from getting bruised as they were taken through the city. The driver seemingly hit every bump he could, as she was jostled left and right at every other minute. Then...there was the flooring of the carriage. She honestly did not want to know what the last occupants had done as she examined the stains that had miraculously made their way into the deep red carpeting.

Turning her nose up at the sight, she shot Vegeta a displeased pout as he sat across from her (though she would have much rather preferred him next to her...). "Why are we in this rented carriage? Don't you have your own we can use?"

He awarded her with an exasperated sigh before giving a pointed look as he turned his gaze from the window. "A man does not take his mistress places in his real carriage, Bulma, unless he is trying to broadcast something. We are not looking to draw attention tonight."

Bulma was distracted from answering him as the scent of the carriage began to assault her nose. The carriage did not smell bad per say--it just smelled...off. Like there were a whole host of unpleasant scents lingering underneath the first layer, but whoever had cleaned the carriage had covered whatever displeasing aromas with an overwhelming cloying bouquet scent of rose-based perfume. Great, Bulma thought as she shifted after another blunt sway of the carriage, I'll probably get a headache from the cheap perfume, and a rash from the fake leather covering the cushions. Bulma looked back to Vegeta, suppressing the urge she had to cover her nose. "Oh. Well I guess this is not too bad then."

Vegeta's eyebrow rose slightly, but said nothing as he turned to look back out the window, signaling he was done with the idle chitchat. Wonderful. Bulma usually tended to babble when she was nervous, but Vegeta seemed less than open to listening to her. His silence was particularly deafening compared the loud noises that were transpiring like a maddening orchestra around them. Starting off this symphony was the steady base of the sharp click, clack of horses' hooves against the uneven brick streets. The light ching, ching of the horses metal and leather bridles offset the click, clack becoming click, ching, ching, clack...click, ching, ching, clack. The low murmuring moans of errik, urrk made up the chorus as those stables hooves yanked the protesting carriage along. And then, there was the lead soprano...a certain loose back wheel that joined the show to complete this brilliant masterpiece. Bulma was not certain, but it sounded like the front left wheel also needed a good oiling. Every so-often it would add it's even higher pitched voice to the fray.

Sighing, she fiddled with her dress as the not so silent silence lengthened between her and Vegeta. This orchestra may have been annoying, but it was also rather comforting in a way. Undoubtedly a nice way to distract herself as she listened, discovering how long that rebel front wheel waited before it added it's shrill squeak to the lead's melody--she was clocking it in about ever 3.4 seconds, or every 3 sets of click, ching, ching, clack's.

After a short spell, however, the sound grew bothersome again and Bulma's eyes instead focused in on the cross-shaped crack in the faded leather of the seat Vegeta was currently occupying. The longer there was no talking, the more she found herself unable to blink as she stared at it. Every time she blinked and tried to look away, she found her eyes drawn, again and again to that spot about three inches from his right leg.

Maybe it was a diversionary tactic (thank you subconscious!), but she found her thoughts flitting between what she was about to do, and figuring out what the shape of the crack was as the symphony continued on around her. I can't believe I'm doing this...am I ready for it? What was I thinking when I said I would do this? This isn't even my country, dammit!... Maybe it's more of a star shape than a cross? It almost looks like someone punctured it with a sharp pen and it's grown out from people picking at it.... There's that damn wheel again.

She jerked from the cascading thoughts as Vegeta snapped at her suddenly, "Stop itching your head. It's a dead giveaway that you're wearing a wig."

Bulma had not even been aware that she was scratching her head until that moment, and she quickly snatched her hand away from the current blonde wig covering her natural locks like a child who had been caught sneaking some candy before dinner. When she realized how she had jumped to Vegeta's command like a servant, she scowled across the dark carriage at him, his dark mood affecting her. "I am not a child. You do not need to speak to me as such."

Vegeta's timbre was deep when he spoke, his voice in the shadows as they passed out of the glow of one street lamp before reaching the next. "If you would stop itching your head like a child who's playing dress up, maybe I wouldn't have to speak to you like a child."

Bulma's scowl deepened, and she had to stop herself from sticking her tongue out at him in exactly the childish manner she was trying to deny. Had she truly been expecting him to get over the piss-poor mood he had been in since Bulma had made him realize that she was the one Basil was asking to go on the mission, not him? His anger seemed to be all directed at her, and frankly, she was tired of it. She needed him now, to help her get through this--but no. He had not stopped glaring at her since that eventful meeting at the Hyde, and it seemed that this treatment was all she was going to get from him right now. Ê

She never knew which Vegeta to expect anymore! He was so damned mercurial! Over these past few days, she was having a real hard time keeping up with his moods--he was angry, he was concerned, he was caring, he was a stand-offish jerk again, he was caring, he was back to angry! She had no clue as to where she stood with him, and she was growing tired of it.

Which would explain why she was defiant when she answered him, "Maybe if the wig wasn't so cheap, I wouldn't have to keep itching my head."

"Maybe if you had bought the wig yourself," Vegeta intoned right back with a healthy dose of sarcasm, the unpleased look on his face clear as they passed under a street lamp, "Instead of asking a working class government official to do so, you would have ended up with a better wig."

Bulma tried to think of another quick retort, but, being a bundled mass of nerves, she only continued to itch her head as she glared across the carriage to Vegeta. Finally deciding to give into her earlier urge, she found immense pleasure in sticking her tongue out at him. Vegeta's frown grew deeper, but he said nothing, his glare forcing her eyes back to the star shaped crack in the leather, as she realized that she was not acting like a grown woman, let alone a grown woman who was about to carry off an intense spy mission would.

Bulma furtively put her hands back in her lap when she found some relief from the painful (well, not painful--more like irritating) itchiness of the hot wig that was currently on her head. Continuing to wonder what kind of weapon had punctured the leather to get the crack shaped like that, she counted the seconds between squeaks of the carriage, wondering if it had changed over the duration of the trip.

As they left the more upscale part of London where Saiyan Hall was, the sounds of the city seemed to grow louder, more rambunctious and boisterous. Even to the point that it overshadowed the carriages natural symphony. Something that only demonstrated how deadly silent it was in between the two occupants the carriage contained within. This silence between them was stifling, but for once, Bulma could think of nothing to say to Vegeta. She was too distracted by her own thoughts, by the changing sounds of the city, the squeaking of that damn wheel with that maddening orchestra and the cracks in the leather. Oh, and also about where this carriage was taking her. What that meant. And all that could go wrong with what they were about to do. Bulma was not sure about Vegeta, but she had never been so nervous in her damn life.

It was her first real spy mission. Never in her life had she been as anxious as she was now. Worrying about how this night would end. Would she be a hero? Or... well, she did not really want to think about what opposite of hero meant for her. She had been all bravado yesterday in the park, or any other time Vegeta questioned her ability to be a spy, but right now...Bulma was not afraid to admit that the daunting task ahead of her was making her itchy all over (though that could have been the cheap wig and costume...).

As she felt her head began to itch again, Bulma tried to occupy her hands by instead plucking at a thread hanging off the end of her pink gown. It was another experience she was trying to get used to. She had never really experienced cheap material before seeing as her money had always been enough to buy her the very finest in life. Here she was now, though, wanting to cover herself with her hands and pull on the hardly covering material that exposed more skin than it hid.

The costumes had been sent to Bulma by the war offices the night before, and she had frowned the second she had seen them. The war offices might need a secret endowment specifically for costumes Bulma found herself musing now. What she was wearing was so not up to her standards. When she had seen how very cut-rate the material was she had nearly given up all hope of accomplishing this mission successfully. She shook her head wondering about how many covers had been blown because of the war offices cheap costuming. How were people supposed to play the part of the upper crust when any real elitist could smell out the low-grade material the spy's clothes were made out of? Yup, she definitely needed to add that to her list of things to talk to Basil about. That was if she made it through this night, of course.

Well at least the gown, however cheaply made, did the trick--it made her look like a woman who would have no gumption about being a mistress. It was a rich, rose gown--a color she would never wear with her natural coloring, but fit with the blonde wig that was currently causing the top of her head to prickle uncomfortably. With its square neckline, it dipped low, paired together with the 'push-up' corset, her breasts were confined and pushed so they were practically bubbling over the top of the gown, making her breasts look like they were two ripe melons, served on a platter for any male who deemed to look at them.

Not only that, but the gown gathered at one hip, revealing the thin shift underneath that did not allow for petticoats. She could very clearly see the outline of her naked leg underneath the shift, and she was sure everyone else could too. In fact, she was starting to think that was the point of the dress.... But still, it was making her self-conscious about how to sit in it. If they were in public for long, she was not going to try, she decided. It would be a dead giveaway that she was not a loosely principled woman if she was tugging at her dress every few seconds, trying to cover up her exposed leg....

Though, as she observed herself, she had to admit the outfit (while cheap) also worked on her in her general. Not for the first time she was glad to have been born with such a figure--something about her body screamed 'mistress.' Sussed up like she currently was, Bulma had to admit she looked every bit the kind of woman the Duke of Vegetasei would want as his lover (Bulma did not let herself think of the irony of that thought...). And while she did not look like a dockside whore, she certainly did not look like a lady either, that was for certain. Bulma was not entirely sure what a courtesan looked like (it was considered highly improper for women to know what mistresses were, let alone what they looked like), but she had to admit she probably fit the bill well. Something about the dress just oozed sensuality on her.

With that furtive thought, Bulma snuck a look up to the man she was sharing the carriage with from under her lashes. Surely he had noticed how the gown looked on her. She found herself watching him something through the ride, her eyes sneaking up from that crack, curious if he would chance a glance at her exposed cleavage, or to the way the dress hugged her curves. Whenever she looked at him, however, his attention was either back out the window or on the ceiling. Even now as his face came into the light of another passing street lamp, she saw that he had his eyes closed as he leaned his head back against the carriage wall.

She sighed, turning to look out her own window. She did not know what she should really expect from a man like him, but so far, Vegeta's only comments about her outfit had been when he had come to collect her earlier that night. "Good. You look like a mistress. Come, the hallways are clear and we need to get moving."

Bulma flicked her eyes sideways, frowning at the 'sleeping' man as she all too well remembered that comment. Her excitement at pulling off this mission with him at her side had started dissipating quickly after it. What was wrong with him? No words of encouragement to an obviously scared Bulma? No teasing to get her mind off of things? Not even one salacious comment about how she looked?!

Maybe it was not a good idea for him to be here with her right now. She was already a bundle of nerves because of the mission--but for Vegeta to be there, to be a part of it? It made it a thousand times worse. What had she been thinking, agreeing to him coming with her? She could have found another way up to those rooms, or found a male who was not as distracting on her thoughts as him, making her lose focus on what she had to accomplish tonight. If her feelings and emotions had been out of control the first time she had slept with Vegeta, now they were a complete tornado. It did not help that he was treating her as he was...

Last time they had had sex, Bulma made a defensive strike before Vegeta could, icing him out, playing indifferent (quite well). But she had thought after the library... After the way he had held her, made love to her, that things were changing between them for the better. She was too na•ve to know what the change was, yet too realistic to think that it meant marriage...but she had thought that there was some sort of agreement between them. But yesterday at the park things had changed between them yet again--he was being the Dark Duke she had first met, not the man she had discovered under the hard exterior.

Here she was, all trussed up, and the best he could do was, You look like a mistress?

She had thought she would get some sort of reaction out of him, closer to lust perhaps! Or maybe...and this was not something she wanted to dwell on long...but maybe now that he had slept with her twice...he was done with her? The thrill of the chase was gone, and so he no longer wanted her?

Had she really misread how much he desired her though? She was rather new to this whole making love thing when it came down to it....As far as she knew this was the normal way of things. She doubted it. Every time she let Vegeta touch her, kiss her, make love to her--she wanted more of him. Her need of him did not go away, instead she found that it was growing with each encounter. She refused to believe that for Vegeta things could be any different. But...

But she had known from the beginning that getting into any sort of relationship with Sir Dark-and-Broody was going to be complicated. So should she really be surprised that she was now so confused? Is that not why she had stayed away from him, tried to put distance between them from those first electric moments back in America? She had thought that she was too smart to get involved with a man as complicated as he was...and yet here she was. Was it really a surprise that Dark-and-Broody was sticking with being Dark-and-Broody? Better yet, had she seriously given into the simple-minded fantasy that she could be the one that would change him? Rattled his world so much that he would promptly drop to one knee and swear his life to her and no one else? She had known from the beginning that he was a closed-off man, callous and intimidating at most times. So who was really to blame for her current incredibly confusing feelings?

Bulma sighed, frowning as she rested her cheek on her hand, propped up on her knee. She watched the changing scenery for a few seconds before she remembered the amount of makeup she had on. Cursing softly, she pulled her hand away from her face. When she saw that some of the darker skin-colored makeup she was wearing to make herself look different had rubbed off she was momentarily distracted as she rubbed her fingers together, remembering when she had first met Viridian. He said he had a skin condition...

But the thoughts about him were fleeting as Bulma found herself being jostled more than usual. Sighing again, she fiddled through her small handbag and pulled out the make-up container, reapplying first the skin-colored make-up, and then reapplying the red rouge on her cheeks and lips, trying to transform the pale young woman that was into someone other than herself. Bulma's hands were perfunctory and quick in the rocking carriage, but as she put the make-up away, she lost herself to her thoughts again with the changing London scenery again.

Bulma had never played at being another woman before, let alone an older one and she was damn scared about doing it. She was only really used to pretending to be a boy, and only in the small town outside of Manhattan. Never had she been in a disguise in a huge city before, and never with the purpose of breaking in somewhere that was not already owned by Capsule Corp. In the past, if she had gotten caught (which she never had), she would have been able to pull the whole 'I'm the bosses daughter,' card. Now.... She did not let herself think about it too long, knowing she could pull off the cockney accent of the Irish lower classes with the best of them, as linguistics had always been something she excelled at. At least she thought she was pretty damn good. She was, wasn't she?

Her eyes traveled back to Vegeta, hoping he was awake enough to see that she needed him to speak to her, to tell her something--but no. Nothing. Her eyes instead traveled back to the same crack she had been studying since she had entered the carriage, frowning at it. If she tilted her head just so--it looked more like a profile of a face. What an odd little crack....

The carriage swayed to a stop, and Bulma's head rose, her eyes wide as she took in the well lit and extremely opulent hotel they had stopped in front of. Basil was not kidding when he said the Ginyu Force probably had the Opera House and Frieza to bankroll their stay--this place was the height of modernity, and richness. Marble and clean brick front, Roman columns, hundreds of twinkling gas lamps-- Bulma knew rich, and this was a shining beacon of an example.

The butterflies in her stomach decided now was the perfect time to start up again, as they got closer and closer to the front of the hotel itself, their carriage next in line to be received. Bulma took a deep breath, closing her eyes as they swayed forward more slowly than before and she forced herself to settle down, to remember everything she needed to do. She could do this! She was strong. A genius. And a beautiful woman. Nothing could stand in the way of her success tonight...except for me. Or scary men with weapons. Okay, maybe this was not the most helpful line of thinking.

She opened her eyes as the carriage moved forward, taking them to the front of the line in front of the hotel, and she opened her eyes, unconsciously seeking out Vegeta's eyes with her own. Vegeta met her gaze, his dark eyes ubiquitous, and the stern look on his face as he opened his mouth. Bulma leaned closer, ready for whatever wisdom he wanted to impart, no matter how harsh it was, but she was sorely disappointed when he simply snapped at her. "Stop itching."

Bulma, who was not even aware that her hand was in her hair, snatched it away, frowning at the hand as if it was not her own. She looked up as she heard him sigh, and she flushed as he reached over, adjusting the wig. Bulma took a weak moment to close her eyes, relishing the feel of his hands on her, trying to breathe in that masculine scent that was all Vegeta (simply to calm her nerves, she told herself), but it was over too quickly, his hands pulled away from her, and she snapped her eyes back open before she did something really foolish like reach for him.

With the opening of her eyes, she saw Vegeta watching her carefully. "Bulma, you need to...."

Bulma leaned forward, ready (again) to be enlightened by some wisdom, but found herself frowning as he just said, "...stop acting like you have no clue what you're doing. I need you to act like a mistress as we go on--chest out, head held high, and do not make eye contact with a single human being."

Bulma leant back in her seat, almost pouting, waiting for more advice but nope. Nothing. Vegeta only gave her a nod before exiting the carriage without waiting for her. Bulma sighed as she gave her head one last itch, and then she exited the cab, trying to act as if she owned the world a she placed her hand of the footman, who helped her reach the flawless marbled walkway without a hitch, with admiration in her eyes. She hardly noticed him, only painfully noticing how it had not been Vegeta helping her out of the carriage, or looking at her like that.

She was starting think he would be the one to hold up his end of the mission as they entered the foyer of the hotel seeing as the short walk to the doors he had been a few steps ahead, unnoticing of her. But she was startled when Vegeta wrapped his arm around her, surprising her further as he pulled her close. Bulma stiffened instantly, and Vegeta gave her a swift look as they continued walking on the plush red carpet, muttering out of the side of his mouth, "Pull it together. You're my mistress--not some virgin of the cloth."

Bulma frowned inwardly, Not like you cared when I was a virgin, but she gave him a salacious look back, all fluttering eyelashes, as she wrapped her hand with his as he held her waist, simpering up at him like a woman who wanted to be alone with him.

She tried to observe her surrounding surreptitiously, really she did, but trying to act like a woman in lust at the same time while trying not to look she was spying was more difficult than it looked, and so her only real impression of the place was that it was richly furnished--all red carpets, luxurious couches, and golden gilded edges everywhere. As they reached the hotel clerk, he gave them a polite look of interest, though Bulma caught his eyes wandering to where her breasts were currently on display before Vegeta let out a possessive growl, "We need a suite."

The man was a sycophant and it showed when he spoke, "Of course--we have some lovely rooms available."

Vegeta slashed his hand at the man impatiently. "I said I need a suite--I need the best quality, and I want one of your penthouses at the top of the hotel. And I want it now."

The man paled visibly, "I am sorry sir, but the penthouse space is all taken up."

Vegeta menacingly leaned forward, pulling Bulma with him as he had yet to let go of her. "You listen here you simple-minded plebian. I am the Duke of Vegetasei, and I require a penthouse suite." Upon hearing Vegeta's title, the man paled further (Bulma seriously was concerned for his health with such a pale valor), but Vegeta was not done threatening yet, blood-less hotel clerk be damned. "If I do not receive the accommodations I so desire, I will make it known to the gentry how the Regency is not the...accommodating place for men who are looking for a place to entertain females."

Bulma, sensing her cue, gave an idiotic giggle, turning into Vegeta, biting her lip as she looked over her shoulder, giving the man a hooded look. This is how a mistress would act, right?

It must have been--because combined with Vegeta's threats, the man started to back away, stumbling as he spoke, "Of course, your Grace. L-Let me just c-check with my manager!"

Not a second after the man disappeared he re-appeared with an older man in a better suit (obviously the manager), who was holding a key towards them without asking any questions. "This is our best available penthouse, your Grace. I am sorry for the confusion--please let me know if there is anything else you require."

Vegeta snatched the key from the man's eager hand (that Bulma noticed was shaking slight) as he growled, "I want our bags delivered to our room, and then I want absolutely privacy on the floor for the rest of the night. If I even hear a member of your staff walking the hallway, I will leave and let everyone know about this disservice to a Duke."

The manager kept a stoic face, only bowing, impressing Bulma with his professionalism, "Of course your Grace. I would expect nothing less. The bags will be brought up immediately and the room is on us tonight."

Vegeta gave him one last glare, "As it should be after such insolence," before looking down at Bulma, surprising her with a soft look, "Come on, my dove."

Bulma lost her footing at the unexpected (and wholly unnatural) endearment, and Vegeta's arm tightened on her waist, holding her up. He leaned close, nuzzling her neck, but spoke to her in an angry whisper, "Pull it together. We haven't even gotten to the hard part yet."

Bulma let out a nervous titter that fortunately worked for her persona and Vegeta held her closer to him. Vegeta did not let go as they entered the 'vanishing room' and Bulma had to hold on to her inner scientist as they got into the new invention. It was a room that literally moved up and down using a system of weights and pulleys, and she had never been in one before. She would love to do nothing more than to drill the man who was operating the new room, but she resisted the urge and instead leaned into Vegeta as he continued to nuzzle her neck, sucking lightly at the junction there. It further served to distract her completely from everything but the sensation of his mouth on her skin.

She would like to think that this more amorous Vegeta was due to him finally looking at her, and how amazing she looked in this outfit, but she knew it was for the benefit of the man operating the vanishing room, who was standing stock still with his back to them. He did not fool Bulma though--she could almost see his ears straining at the soft sighs and giggles she was giving, the sounds of Vegeta sucking on her neck, but Bulma did not care. She let herself give into the sensation of him touching her again, and closed her eyes, moaning slightly as he nipped at her sensitive skin.

Too soon, they had reached the top of the hotel, and the doors slid open. Vegeta surprised her by growling, and picking her up and striding out of the vanishing room down the hallway, as if he just could not wait to get her. Bulma blushed, but held on to him, giving into the fantasy, for just a few moments as he went all dominant male on her, giving another in-character giggle as she waved at the vanishing room operator, who was staring after them with open interest.

They reached their door quickly, and Vegeta somehow managed to hold onto her as he swung it open, acting very much like a man who wanted to be buried inside of his mistress without any more delay. Instead, the second they were inside, Vegeta took two steps in the direction of the closest couch and deposited her very ungracefully onto it.

Bulma let out an oomph as Vegeta strode around the room, checking the two rooms connected to the living room, striding in and out of view as she tried to focus again and calm her twitching nerves, taking stock of the room--it was nice. If she was the kind of rich person who wanted to let everyone know how rich she was (which she was not), this would be the place to stay. The couch she had been deposited on was soft, and all around the room was that gleaming mahogany, pristine white clothes, and golden curios meant to represent wealth and splendor.

As Vegeta strode back in from his thorough sweep of the suite, he nodded at her; all authoritative as he jerked his thumb back to the room he had just exited. "It's clear. You can change in there."

Bulma gave him a nod, swallowing hard, lacing her fingers together and having a hard time meeting his eyes. When she thought about it, it was not that surprising--this was the first time her and Vegeta had truly been alone--not on a ship, where other men were working, or even in the garden at the party, or in a library room where they could have been discovered at any moment. It was just Bulma and Vegeta here. Something that made her... anxious. Anxious for all the wrong reasons, considering what she was about to do...put her life on the line for a piece of paper with some information on it.

Vegeta, who was walking around this room, lifting things up and down, frowned at her when he saw her standing still. "Well get going. You need to be ready to change as soon as possible."

Bulma shook her head, and looked at him, wishing she had a snarky retort at her ready, but found herself blanking, and so she simply walked to the room as directed and took a deep swallow as she unlaced her fingers, wishing she had never agreed to do this....

~~&~~

Bulma was putting the finishing touches on her newest outfit, that of a maid, when she heard a knock on the door of the bedroom she was currently in and Vegeta's voice sounding from the other side, "Bulma, you need to hurry. We do not know how much time we will really have, and we need to make sure you do not waste any."

Bulma frowned at the door, and the extremely useful advice (thank you Captain Obvious!) before gazing into the looking glass one last time. The outfit matched those of the maids who worked here perfectly, muted clothes, and unflattering, scratchy linen. Underneath it, she was wearing on some extra stomach and hip padding, giving her the look of a heavier woman. Wiped from her face was the heavy make-up and skin-tinting shade. She was back to her pale self, though she had dotted some red freckled along the bridge of her nose and cheeks. To top it off was another scratchy wig, a light red this time, curled in ringlets, to make her look like an Irish immigrant who worked in the hotel, trying to earn a living.

Bulma nodded, satisfied at the result of her hard work, then left the room, affecting a stoop, her head bowed low, as if she was indeed used to being a servant, not some rich heiress. As she walked to the main room, Bulma went through in her mind what she knew about the Ginyu Force. Killers for hire in Russia, cold-blood, but more show-boaty than most Russians. What am I looking for? A list...of names, they presume, but maybe something more? And what exactly was at stake? Oh, only my life...and the lives of the British crown's most elite spied...Am I missing anything else? Swallowing, she fought to keep the rising anxiety that was currently threatening to choke her from overcoming her senses completely.

It was almost mechanical as she thought about what she knew about these men and their dealings and she grew focused as she thought about everything she needed to be aware of for tonight. Bulma paused on the threshold of the sitting room, and forced herself to take a deep breath. I can could do this! I know I can do this! It is showtime, Bulma.

Bulma entered the sitting room, and then froze when she saw Vegeta sitting there in nothing but a silk black robe as he calmly sat sipping from a crystal cut tumbler. Her voice, which was supposed to be that of a lower class, Irish woman, came out scratchy, strangled and panicked as she looked at him, "Where the hell are you clothes?"

Vegeta frowned at her as if she were the odd one in this situation. "I'm supposed to be here with my highly desirable mistress. I could hardly answer the door when the bellhop brought your luggage up still fully dressed if we wanted to stay in character."

Bulma resisted the urge she had to blush as she noticed the robe stopped above Vegeta's knee, and instead took another deep swallow as she moved over the threshold, her eyes alighting on the sideboard in the corner of the room. "Of course. Makes sense. How do I look?"

He surveyed her as she gave an unnecessary twirl only to give her a clinical, detached nod, "You look exactly like a maid here."

She gave him a nervous smile at his flat answer, trying to lighten the mood as she made her way over to where the suddenly appetizing alcohol was. "I've also just gotten a look into my future if I don't stop eating so many of GŸnter's ices...."

Vegeta frowned at her failed attempt at humor, and Bulma wilted under his stare, "Now is not the time for joking."

Bulma resisted the urge she had to stick her tongue out at him, and she swallowed hard, turning to the sideboard and pouring herself a few fingers of whatever the brown liquid was that Vegeta was drinking. She threw in an ice cube or two, pretending to know what she was doing, though she clutched the glass, knuckles white as she turned back to him. "I know...I'm just nervous. I tend to chatter when I'm nervous."

Vegeta's mouth was a flat line as he stood, walking closer to her. "You seem to chatter no matter what your emotion is." He heaved a heavy sigh, refilling his own glass as he moved past her, the rustle of silk against his naked skin distracting her, before he spoke, bringing her back to the present, "You have the lock-picking kit I sent to you earlier?"

Bulma shook her head, shrugging at the dark look on his face as she raised the glass to her lips, as if she drank this stuff every day. "Don't need it. I have my trusty bobby-pins." Bulma took a small sip, and fought the urge she had to splutter as the alcohol burned a path down her throat, overwhelming her and her already overwhelmed senses. She unfortunately could not stop the look on her face or how red she turned, but Bulma hardly cared as she eyed the innocent enough seeming amber liquid in her crystal cut glass. Just what in the hell was he drinking?

Vegeta smirked at her attempts to regain her suave demeanor, though he crossed his arms when she raised the glass to her lips again, taking a fake sip. He glowered at her over his drink as he took a much bigger slug of his own and wiped his mouth with the back of hand. "You're saying your hair clips work better than what His Majesty's secret service has said is the official tool of the English spy?"

Bulma gave him a weak smile (the best she could muster at this moment), holding the glass down low as she took a few steps away from Vegeta, as his natural scent began to waft over her, interfering with her trying to regain her composure. She waited until there were at least a few steps between them, before taking another fake sip and giving him an arch look (one she had stolen from him). "Vegeta, trust me on this one. I've broken into more rooms and through more doors then you can possibly imagine."

"I'll have to take your word on that...." His eyes locked with hers again as he moved a step towards her, "Okay Bulma, tell me what you know about this floor?"

Bulma looked at him, flabbergasted by the question. She started to roll the textured glass between her hands as she tried to think of what she knew about this floor, feeling the points biting into her flesh. She knew absolutely nothing about this floor--the only thing she did know was that Vegeta not only smelled wonderful, he looked good enough to eat--and that she needed to stop these lascivious thoughts before they got worse. "Uhm...well. There are rooms on this floor besides our own."

Vegeta took another sip from his glass before shaking his head, putting it down and moving closer to her as he spoke, gesturing with his hands, "There are only four rooms on this floor, including this one...."

He trailed off, waiting for Bulma to say more, but she only blinked, dumbfounded. "There is?"

Vegeta's tone was that of someone scolding a child as he put his hands on her shoulders turning her to face him fully. Bulma forced herself not to react to the heat of his palms on her, as he used his hand to point in different directions past her head, "There are two rooms on that side." He pointed in front of them, counting off, one, two, before he pointed next to them, "And there is one there." He dropped his hands, and she turned back to him praying she did not break the glass she was grasping so hard in her hands. Whether or not he did notice her claw like grip on the glass though remained to be seen as he frowned at her. "Bulma, what did you observe as we got off the elevator? Since we've been in this hotel?"

Bulma tried to piece an answer together, but truth be told she had been too distracted by having actual physical contact from Vegeta to observe much of anything. "Uhm...."

Vegeta frown deepened before he began rattling off, "In the lobby, there was exactly seven other people loitering about besides us and the desk clerk. Two of them were hotel employees, two of them were lover's looking for a place to have a tryst, while the last three were foreign diplomats or businessmen. You were noticed by every male in the lobby, and by the man who was operating the elevator. The elevator took about a minute to pass each floor, with a grand total time of seven minutes to the top, where we are now."

Vegeta took a breath, starting to pace as he continued, "As we got off the elevator, we passed two doors immediately off to the right--one would be the stairs that people used to have to take to get up here, while the other one is where they keep the extra linens for this floor. You can tell by how close those doors are--not enough room for the penthouse suites that take up this floor."

Bulma watched him, feeling her head start to spin from the information and his movement, but she kept listening as Vegeta continued pacing, gesticulating and more animated than she had ever seen him before. "There are three doors besides our own, all of them leading to suites as big as, if not bigger than, the very suite we occupy. We have no way of knowing which room the list will be in, or in fact, which rooms the Ginyu Force are in and so we need to take advantage of the time we have. As far as we know, it's all of them and you will need to search each room thoroughly."

Bulma, hearing Vegeta speak so authoritatively, had to keep her mouth from dropping open. She had no idea that he could be like this--so in charge, so directed, so obviously in the zone. What was it about him speaking so coldly and ruthlessly about all that he had observed that had her so...so turned on?

Bad Bulma, bad!

It must be an odd mixture of her hormones and the adrenaline. Seriously--not helpful right now to be fantasizing about him commanding her in the bedroom. Why the hell did that get her skin tingling? Argh--stop it Bulma! Get your head out of the clouds!!

Bulma took another furtive sip of her drink, trying to force her face to stay neutral as the warming liquid slipped down her esophagus, before turning her attention back to Vegeta, who was still speaking. She blushed as she caught his eye, realizing that he had stopped pacing and that Vegeta was staring at her, waiting for an answer to a question she did not remember hearing. She gave another very unhelpful, "Uhm..." before resuming the twirling of the glass between her palms.

Vegeta sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration before he moved closer to her, grabbing her upper arms with his hands. "Bulma--you need to pay attention and take this seriously! You need to get going on these searches as quickly as possible! The show started five minutes ago, which might give us about three good hours of searching. We don't want to be here too close to the end of the show as that is when the Ginyu Force have send people, whether it be the women they want to bed, or the employees they have for preparing their rooms for them, will be on their way here."

Bulma was once again amazed (and riveted) by this authoritative Vegeta but she forced herself to stop swooning over every little thing Vegeta did, and get back into the right mindset of being a spy. It was all a chemical reaction, she told herself rationally. Her nerves were on edge because of what she was about to do, and because of this she was hypersensitive to everything around her. Including Vegeta--who she was always, always hypersensitive around. The blood racing through her veins had less to do with Vegeta himself, and more to do with the mix of chemicals that were rushing through her system. She forced herself to nod confidently. "Of course. Thank you for your advice, but I think you're right. I need to get going."

Vegeta looked as if he was going to question her, but he said nothing, letting her go, taking the glass she was clutching out of her hands and placing it on the side table next to him. Bulma idly realized he had put nothing underneath it, and that it was sure to leave a ring on the mahogany, but she said nothing as Vegeta turned back to her, his face set. He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out something, handing it to her. Bulma held it up to her face, examining the heavy object, and saw that it looked like an overly large key. She stared stupidly at it, before she frowned as she looked up at him, "What's this? A skeleton key?"

Vegeta shook his head and took the key back from her outstretched hands, and moved a couple of hidden joints, transforming the key as he turned it so it was upside down, aiming. "This, Bulma, is a key gun. It only has one tiny shot in it, and I don't recommend using it unless someone who does not believe your cover story catches you. You only get one shot--don't waste it." At seeing Bulma's nervous gulp, he sighed, "I suggest you aim for their eye. It's one of the softest parts of the human body, and with a shot this small, it is one of the only places this thing will inflict real damage on."

Bulma felt herself grow queasy as she imagined shooting someone in the eye, but she gave another strong nod as she took it from him, making it a key again and studying it shortly, opening and closing it one more time, before putting it in the pocket of her maid dress.

Vegeta gave her a searching look, but did not comment on her waning pallor, instead softly asking, "What is the plan Bulma?"

Bulma forced herself to answer clinically as she ticked off the plan, looking him in the eye, her hands clamped at her sides, in the pockets. "I leave this room, go to the next one, and start searching it. Repeat until I find the list."

"No." Bulma felt like she had been punched in the gut by his soft negative, and he gave her a sharp look as she met his look with wounded eyes. "Think Bulma. If someone saw us enter the room together, they will be instantly suspicious of whoever leaves this room. I need you to walk to the linen closet at the end of the hall, get me some extra towels, or something, and then bring them back here. It's not much, but it might be enough to throw off whoever is watching me. They might think you were already in here, or that I called you up here to get me extra linens. After you bring them back, then you go back to the linen closet until you are sure no one else is in the hallway. Then you may begin your search."

Bulma frowned, muttering to no one in particular, "That seems like a lot."

Vegeta surprised her by grabbing her upper arms, giving her a soft shake, startling her with the ferocity of emotion behind his answer, especially after the cold way he had been speaking to her. "It might seem like a lot, but these little things are what make the difference between life and death, Bulma! You have to trust me on this!"

Bulma looked at him. Was it her imagination, or was there a hint of desperation in his voice at the end there? Maybe she was misreading him--he was being standoffish tonight, but there was no mistaking the concern behind his tone just now. He was worried...for her? For whether or not his name would be on the list? It did not seem to matter at that moment to Bulma. It gave her the courage she needed to nod, stand up straighter, and to meet his eye, completely serious, feeling in the zone. "Okay. I'll do exactly what you say."

Vegeta seemed to relax at those words, giving a sigh as he let go of her. "Good." Bulma moved to get past him, but Vegeta surprised her again by stepping in front of her, blocking her path to the door. His hand came up to reach for her wig, twirling one of the fiery ringlets around his fingers, watching it as he let go and it bounced away. Bulma's breath hitched, and she wished he would touch her--really touch her. Or better yet, kiss her.

When his eyes met her own again there was a flash in his eyes Bulma could not have missed even if she wanted to as he softly spoke to her. "Bulma, you are an incredibly smart woman. I know that you can do this. You need to be observant though--look for latches or for things sewn into pockets and hems, or anything that is out of place. It comes down to you and your instincts now. You need to trust them."

Bulma blinked at the passion in Vegeta's voice, and she felt herself melt. Maybe he truly did care for her...he must if he was acting like this. "Okay." She waited a beat than added, softly, "Thank you."

Vegeta slashed his hand, batting her thanks away as if it were a physical object as he stepped away from her. "I am only speaking the truth Bulma, not trying to flatter you." Bulma felt herself deflate at that a little, but she only gave him another nod.

As Bulma walked past him to the front door, Bulma forced herself to repeat the plan over and over, reaching for the door handle. As she grasped it, she heard Vegeta say her name softly. She glanced over her shoulder and she saw Vegeta giving her an unreadable look that threatened to throw her even further into confusion, his black eyes smoldering.

The way his lips twitched up into a small smile, though, was unmistakable, "Good luck Miss Briefs. I know you can do this."

Bulma, feeling buoyed by the two compliments he had just paid her, gave a mock salute, opened the door, took a deep breath, and answered in the horrible accent she had been perfecting for her whole life, "O' course yer Grace," bobbing a curtsey for good measure.

~~&~~

Zhelonie had not expected to be at the Opera, again, tonight, so soon after his last visit, but he was, and he was going to make the best of it.

Which meant that he was going to visit those stupid actors who Frieza kept around because they "amused him." With their stupid dancing and foolish antics no doubt. Zhelonie frowned distastefully as he thought about their over-posturing, shaking his head--they were idiots, plain and simple, who delighted in their acting more than spy work. Which, frankly, was quite shoddy on both counts.

No wonder Frieza had delegated them to the role of playing mailman. It was fitting almost--forced to shuttle between the real spies, as they paraded on the stage, pretending to be real men.

But before he trounced backstage, he would have to do what he came here to do in the first place.

Zhelonie turned back to the elderly countess, who had brought him here tonight making sure his face was serene, his voice seductive as he spoke to her, "Simply breathtaking, don't you think?"

The older woman, one of the many that Zhelonie had under his thumb (it was amazing what good looks and charms did to a woman's sensibilities) blushed at him, "Not as much so as you, good sir."

Zhelonie smirked, grabbing her hand, bringing it to his lips, "You flatter me so, countess."

She tittered, and Zhelonie moved closer to her, pressing his nose into her flesh, calling on all of his acting abilities to make himself appear into her as he kissed her, careful as he pressed his lips to her papery skin. He pulled back when he felt her pulse quicken, giving her a look. "I am sorry we are not somewhere more private, though.... I have heard your husband might come with the king tonight and would hate for him to see us."

The woman pouted her lips out, shaking her head, "Hardly. Reginald spends so much time with the King he does not have time for me."

Zhelonie put a hand over his heart, "Reginald's oversight is my fortune than." He caressed his fingers over her dainty hand, speaking as if it was almost an afterthought, "Though I have heard that Reginald might not spend so much time at the King's side these coming days."

This stopped the countess cold, even as Zhelonie pressed calculated kisses into her palm. Her voice hitched, "What?"

Zhelonie smirked, though she could not see it, instead affecting a startled look as he looked at her waning pallor. "Oh nothing. I have just heard...well, I have heard that the King feels that Reginald is trying to gain too much power currently, and wants to take away his title as advisor... though these are just silly rumors."

The woman sucked in a deep breath, her nose flaring. She might seem like a fool, but even she knew how much her current over-indulgent lifestyle relied upon Reginald's continued good favor with the King. She was currently invited everywhere only because of her husband's advisor title, and she was not ready to give that up. Zhelonie could practically see the gears in her head turning, as she pulled her hand out of his, looking past him. "Do forgive me--I suddenly feel a headache coming on."

Zhelonie gave her a sad smile, "Of course my dear."

Before he could process it, she was gone, presumingly to talk to her husband about the rumor Zhelonie had heard (and made up completely), throwing Reginald into a panic about where he stood with the king. His panic would cause him to turn jealous towards those he perceived as getting more favor from the King, and would cause Reginald to do some very stupid things, that would cause him to lose his own favor, and in turn to cause mistrust and hatred between the ranks of those around the Crown.

He chuckled as he leaned back in his seat, thinking back to when he had laid out this part of the plan to Frieza, who had been skeptical to say the least as Zhelonie had explained it to him, "You and I both know open warfare will not win us the British crown--we have tried that before, and have had minimal success, especially with their outstanding Navy. But more incendiary tactics, Tsesarevich, that break the monarchy up from the inside out--that is where our real chance lies. Give me some time to show you this--and if it fails, we resort to your usual brutal, yet graceful, style."

Frieza had smirked, but had cupped Zhelonie's chin, hard as he had replied back. "You get two months, Zhelonie. If I see no results--you will go down with the British King."

Zhelonie had only smiled, much as he was doing now, before he sighed, getting up. Knowing it was time to pay those over-pompous fools a visit. Well maybe he could have some fun with them as he demanded the list he knew they were hiding back at their suites.

~~&~~
A/N: Subterfuge! You gotta love it...it always seems to work on susceptible, horny, older people, does it not? Also, what is Vegeta's deal? What's he got stuck up his arse this chapter? Hmm...I wonder...

Two last things- I would love it, for those of your who have not already read/reviewed it, to check out my one-shot 'Distraction,' that I wrote spur of the moment earlier this week. I have not written a one-shot since I started Dark Duke, and it honestly helped me push these next few chapters out. I'm always looking for inspiration, and sometimes you find it in the oddest places.

Also! Please check out ~CrimsonGriffin's fanart on deviant they did for this story. It. Is. Amazing. Okay, much love to you all and see you next chapter (next week!). http://okieday17.deviantart.com/favourites/#/d50imwg