Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Dark Duke ❯ High Anxiety ( Chapter 23 )

[ 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: The most cussing I've ever had in a chapter. Don't know if I should be proud of that...but I am!

A/N: Lilpumpkingirl, once again you are a star...or, in honor of the upcoming American holiday, baby you're a firework! Thank you for everything!

Now for anyone who hates emotional things, I suggest you skip ahead to the chapter now. For those of you who don't mind my emotional ramblings, this is for you:

It has been one year since I first posted this story, one year since I first drummed up the courage to take this little tale of mine and post it online. I still remember the shock and delight I got from getting a notification that someone had left my very first review. I still get that shock and delight every time I get those review (now comment?) notification emails, and am so surprised that people who I have never met before are so sweet to me. Now, just between mediaminer and fanfiction.net, I have over three hundred reviews (SERIOUSLY?! WOOHOO!) for this fic, and all of them let me know how much you guys are enjoying this story. Thank you to those of you who just check in when you find something particularly funny or awesome (seriously, I've laughed more at your guys' hilarious reviews than I have in a while), and thank you to all of you who review every chapter. We may have never met, and we may never meet, but I get a thrill seeing the same names over and over! You guys like me. You really like me!

So I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I would thank you all individually if I could, send you baked goods if I could, but instead I'll just keep posting chapters. This story is definitely not over yet, and I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy posting it.

Love ya all,
Okieday17

Now onto the story!

Chapter Twenty-Three: High Anxiety

Bulma was currently hanging to the ledge of a building, with no shoes on, dressed in a ridiculous maid costume--and the only window she knew was open was now locked to her.

Fuck.

Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.

What was she going to do?! What. The. Fuck. Was. She. Going. To. Do?!

She wasn't a spy! She was an inventor! She had no business being trapped to the side of a building! She should be safely ensconced in her lab, making the world a better place--NOT ABOUT TO DIE! How in the hell had she let herself get into a Kami-damned position like this?!

STOP! she screamed mentally at herself. This was not helping her situation, and while Bulma would like to do nothing more than dissolve into a puddle of tears, bemoaning how such a fate could happen to someone as beautiful and smart as she, that would accomplish absolutely nothing at a time like this. She needed to focus, and she needed to focus like it was yesterday. Especially since if she tried to sit and cry, she would most likely fall of a building--and she was not going to die like that. Not today, not any day. Bulma Briefs controlled her own destiny, thank you very much.

She allowed herself to take a minute to finish her freak out, and then took some deep, calming breaths noting that the crisp air off of the Thames made her feel slightly better than the stuffy air of the room she had just been in. Bulma gave herself those sixty seconds, and then she forced herself to stop worrying about how she had gotten here or why she was not safe at home, and worry more about what she was going to do TO GET OFF THIS BUILDING.

Okay Bulma. You can do this. Look at what you've done already tonight! You've searched the rooms of five spies, and you found the most important list in the history of lists! Climbing around a building is nothing! Just think of it as a tree, not as a building where you are like eighty feet off the ground. Her stomach dropped at that thought and she resisted the urge to let out a hysterical giggle. Her brain was not pleased with her at that, and it screamed, NOT HELPING STUPID SUBCONSCIOUS!! Bulma refused to let herself think about what it meant to her sanity that her conscious and subconscious were fighting with each other, and instead made herself stop thinking and start moving.

The longer she clung to the side of the building, the more she was inviting debilitating stiffness or hand cramps to set in, which would impede her current death like grip that was keeping her safely attached to the building. Not only that, but the wind was picking up, and if she was not careful, it was going to get harder and harder to slide against the wind as she currently was doing, especially with the bulky, coarse outfit she was wearing. She needed to take advantage of having the adrenaline rush she was currently feeling in her extremities (giving her strength where she usually had none), and start moving towards the suite her and Vegeta had been in earlier tonight.

Right hand, right foot, left hand, left foot. And repeat.

Slow and steady, slow and steady.

She kept her fingers gripping tightly even as they began to ache in protest, moving as she was to the corner of the building. She had searched the rooms in a clockwise pattern. That meant she was next to the room Vegeta was currently waiting for her in, but she had to round the corner before she would get to the first window of their suites. She was so close. She could taste it. And she was already imagining the wonderful feeling of having solid floor beneath her feet again. Bliss...pure untainted bliss. That's what that would be. After this, she would never leave the ground again...though that would make it quite difficult to travel, but she would cross that bridge (literally) when she came to it.

Bulma felt the strange surge physicality, making her thoughts and physical pain seem nonexistent as she zeroed in on only moving her appendages, getting closer to where she knew Vegeta was waiting for her. She ignored the cold seeping into her fingers and toes from the freezing marble. She ignored the way muscles she did not know she possessed screamed in achy protest. Hell, she even ignored the way her scalp itched from the cheap wig she was wearing.

She just moved, her eyes on the prize as she tried to forget how high up she was, or where exactly she was. She had to slide past two other pillars as she approached the corner, but she was able to, focusing only on what her hands and feet were doing. Not letting her mind wander from the task at hand (and foot, ha ha...even her non-verbal laugh sounded weak to her...damn).

At one point she felt and heard the crunching of some twigs, and Bulma frowned, looking down to where her feet were and realized she was stepping on the edge of a bird's nest... and quite a large bird at that. Bulma shivered and gingerly stepped over the brown-speckled eggs, imagining what kind of bird she would run into up this high. Knowing her luck, it would be some large predator hawk or something. Her overactive imagination had a scenario play out of her being attacked by some bird as she accidentally stepped on its eggs, and she grew even more frantic as she kept moving past the imaginary hawk.

As she rounded the corner, Bulma let out a gasp of relief as she saw a glowing light from the window closest to the corner. Never had she been so glad to see the soft glow of candlelight before-- never had she felt her own body break down with the need to start crying tears of relief, as desperately as she did in that moment. This had to be one of their room's. It had to be! She was so close!

Bulma tamped down the urge to cry, and kept moving, moving closer to that inviting glow of candle. Mechanical and slow as she got closer to where the window jutted out from the exposed bridge. As she approached the window enough to peak in through the curtains, she felt a grin split her face as she recognized it as the bedroom she had used to change in earlier. She had made it! She was back in her room! Well, almost, she thought as her foot slid over a crack in the ledge--not wide enough to take her foot with it, but wide enough to jut into the bottom of her foot and remind her she was not yet safe. She needed to make it to the window itself. Open said window. Final step--enter the room. Then she would be safe, then she could give into the ridiculous urge she had to cry for weeks and weeks on end. Preferably into the warm, strong shoulders of the man she knew was waiting for her....

Hell, he was probably wondering where she was right now. She would like to think this meant that he was worried, concerned about her welfare and wellbeing, but knowing Vegeta, he was more likely just annoyed with her.

She was drawn back from her thoughts of how annoyed Vegeta probably was with her as she felt the wind pick up, whipping the ends of her maids uniform around her legs. Bulma grew frustrated with the heavy cloth, but could do nothing about it. Lest she wanted to shed her only clothes on the side of a building. No, that would also have to wait, until she was inside. She needed to just get that much closer... Ê

When Bulma finally edged close enough to the promise land (aka the window) she let go of the top ledge with one of her arms, using the other one to anchor herself (clawing into the icy marble with her hand) as she leaned back from the building to grab the window edge. Her hand worked its way down slowly as she reached for the lip of the windowsill she needed, wrapping her fingers desperately around the wood of the frame. She sighed in relief and shifted so she could use more of her arm strength to tug at the window, but frowned as she felt resistance as she pulled up.

It was locked!

Kami, dammit!

She tried again, but when it did not budge she was forced to stop tugging and think, not allowing herself to give into the panic that was clawing at her, closing her throat. The happiness she had felt at reaching the window threatened to vanish like a puff of smoke, but Bulma forced herself to stand back up, and to think. It was still going to be okay. She was still almost in there, still almost back to solid ground. That was what mattered. Not the way the wind was picking up again, or the way the wig was almost completely off of her head, or the way her hands and feet began to feel numb from a combination of the cold weather as well as the grip she had been using on both of them...

She felt her teeth began to chatter, but she ignored it as best as she could, instead focusing on the window. Vegeta was still in there, waiting for her, and all she would need to do was knock, and he would hear her. That would be her ticket out of here... simple as that. So she began to knock on the locked window, using as much force as she dared, trying to draw his attention. She rapped for who knows how long, alternating between knocking with her knuckles and thudding against it with her feet--but nothing. The longer it went on, the more panicked she grew, her raps becoming more frequent, her kicking more erratic, as were her thoughts: What is taking him so long? I'm just hanging off the KAMI-DAMNED SIDE OF A BUILDING! WHAT WAS HE DOING RIGHT NOW?! SITTING IN HIS ROBE? DRINKING?! WHERE THE FUCK WAS HE?!

As her knuckles started to ache from the force of her knocking, Bulma made herself stop, to press back against the building giving her arm that was supporting her some rest, and to take some deep breaths. Okay Briefs, she told herself, don't panic.

Bulma wished she had brought at least one shoe with her in her pocket--then she could break the window open without fear of slashing her wrist or legs as she punched or kicked through the glass. Her shoes were heavy enough they could break the thin pane that separated her from her current salvation. If she tried to use her bare fist or hands to break through the glass, though, the wounds she could sustain from that alone could be life ending with the blood loss. Or worse, she realized with a gulp...she could miscalculate, not kick hard enough and then accidentally propel herself off of the building in the complete other direction.

Stupid Newton's third law of motion! The guy gets hit by a damn apple and he decides that I have to have an equal and opposite reaction?! Some part of Bulma's panic stricken mind, the one that was constantly inventing, knew that was not true, but she was hardly going to listen to that part of her brain right now....

Bulma sighed, closed her eyes and thought of what her best course of action would be. Risk seriously hurting herself? Wait and keep knocking? No--she would just have to keep moving and find the room where Vegeta actually was, flagging his attention down so he could let her in. That was all there was to it--she just had to keep moving. She had made it this far. What were a few more yards to someone as amazing as her?

Nothing!

But then, as if someone upstairs could sense her growing ease with the situation, the heavens above her opened up and started to pour down rain all over Bulma. Not a light drizzle, either, but a fucking London downpour--the kind that soaked and chilled someone through to their bones within seconds of being outside.

Well, fuck this!

Bulma's incapacitating panic grew tenfold as she felt her feet start to slide, infinitesimally, but move nonetheless, and realized the ledge she was on was marble--fucking slippery when wet marble. Her hands turned into claws on the top ledge, trying to find some purchase that was not smooth, her fingers crying out in protest as she realized there was no way she could move from the position she was currently in without slipping off of the eight-story building she was currently clinging too!

Oh Kami.

She was going to die. She was going to slip to her death and fall, all with the list of information in her pocket. She had accomplished her mission, but she had failed when it really mattered. She was stuck, probably not even ten feet from the man who could save her, and she could do nothing as it continued to pound down rain on her. Panic set in like lead in her belly, cold dread dripping down her spine as well as the cold rain drops as her thoughts began to crowd in on her, wondering what her family would do with her gone. They could barely survive with her here--who was going to take care of them if she died? And what about Vegeta?

No! Not like this! I refuse to go out like this!

As most of her began to already give up, that still strong voice, the one that made Bulma who she was, pushed through, louder than all of the others, and bitch-slapped her back into action. No--she was not going to go out like this. When she died, it would be on her time, at her choosing--not clinging to the side of a fucking building, or splattered all over the fucking sidewalk. Bulma closed her eyes for just a second to force the overwhelming black tide of panic back down, then opened them, a surging fire of energy in her belly as she thought about how not dead she was going to be at the end of the night. She was going to be so alive, she drink enough scotch her whole face would go numb and then she was going to screw the brains out of the guy waiting for her. Hell--she deserved it, didn't she?

I can do this.

I will do this!

Bulma thought her best option would be to wrap her arm in the material of her gown to punch through the glass, and she put her hands in her pocket, ready to cover as much bare skin as possible--hitting something solid.

The key gun!

Bulma let out a nervous laugh of happiness as she grasped it in her pocket, knowing she had found her salvation, inner warmth spreading through her from the fire in her belly. The blast would be small, but it would be enough to make a crack in the window, weakening it, making it easier to kick open if nothing else, bloody legs be damned. She would rather have scars and pain than death.

So Bulma pulled it out of her pocket, cocking the tiny gun. With her front still pressed to the side of the building, Bulma turned her head to aim the gun at the window, trying to calculate the best angle so she could get the most damage done with the small blast. As she went to pull the trigger though, the gun slipped out of her hand as the rain caused the cool metal to turn slippery in her already shaking hands.

Without thinking, Bulma lurched to grab the falling gun on instinct--and had the most unpleasant sensation she could ever remember having as she felt the hand she had been holding onto the ledge with lose its grip on the smooth, wet marble, grasping nothing but air as she lurched to the side. As she lost her holding, her footing was not far behind and Bulma literally felt her heart stop as she slipped off of the ledge, just in time to see Vegeta's panicked face as she fell past the window.

~~&~

Vegeta stared at the melting ice in his growingly more watery scotch, frowning into the amber liquid as he sat in the couch he had not left since Bulma had brought him his towels. This was bullshit! he grumbled mentally, Complete and utter bullshit!

Vegeta had been reduced to the role of cover story for another spy, all because of some stupid, Kami-damned list that might (or might not) have his name written on it. This is beyond bullshit.

Sure he had been forced to endure waiting before in the spy game (a spy who could not wait was a spy not worth his salt), and sure, he had even been forced to wait for others before as Nappa would complete a part of the mission he could not.... But he had never, ever, ever thought in a million years that he would be forced to wait for Bulma as she pranced around the rooms of some of the deadliest assassins Russia had to offer, thinking about the million different things that could go wrong for her.

Or that it would cause his fists to clench hard as he sat there, worried about her.

Worried! Like he was some mother hen, and she was his newborn chick. This was ridiculous! The Duke of Vegetasei did not sit around, in a hotel room, staring into a glass full of alcohol he had no intention of drinking, worrying about some foolish woman, trying not to picture all that could go wrong, and just how many different ways she could be murdered.

Or even worse, he had never imagined he would be sitting here, thinking about his feelings.

Vegeta shivered from disgust as he thought the word, having been taught from a very young age that feelings were a weakness, something both his father and the dowager had impressed on him from a very, very young age. But it was either sit here and worry, or face the multitude of emotions and feelings he had been going through ever since Bulma had crashed her way into his life. And yes, crash, he thought, was a very appropriate way to explain just what Bulma Briefs had done to him.

She had somehow wormed her way under his skin, in a way that was unexpected, and unwanted truth be told, seeping into his very consciousness, becoming as much of part of who he was as he was to himself. It went beyond irritable; it went straight to downright unbearable. What right did she have to force him to constantly think about her? To make him constantly want to touch her? To, oh hell, make him sit here, worried... about her! Vegeta had never worried about another human being before, much less another spy on a mission, in the entirety of his life. Well he had worried about one human being before and look where that had left him...but as for another spy? No. Never.

It was part of the game, of being a spy-- you risked your life on pretty much every mission, no matter how innocuous it seemed. You thought it would just be a simple stakeout, and you would find yourself pressed to the side of a building, a knife pressed to your throat. That had happened to Vegeta more times than he could count, but he had never let it worry him--he could fight. He was one of the strongest, if not the strongest, spies in all of England (hell, probably the world), and it would take more than a knife to his throat to have him, bleech, worried.

He had even encountered Nappa, or other spies he was forced to work with, with knives to their throats, guns to their heads, poison in their system and a multitude of other ways they could have died--and he had never felt nervous or panicked. Now, it was all he could do not to go barging into the room he knew Bulma was searching, dragging her out by that ridiculous wig on top of her head, taking her to one of the outermost Vegetasei properties (he was sure he owned something, a castle maybe, in the Outer Hebrides) and lock her away so she could never do something as foolish as this ever again.

Even if it was his own fault for ever involving her in the spying game. He should never have mentioned to Basil that she could speak more than one language. It all came down to that moment, that brief spark behind Basil's eyes as Vegeta told him that Bulma could speak a handful of languages...and Vegeta regretted it. Vegeta, who tried never to regret anything, was sitting here, awash with regret, feelings and worry. He tightened his grasp on the tumbler in his hand, feeling the cut of the glass press into his palm, sighing.

What was he going to do?

Well, right now, the answer was obviously nothing. He could do nothing but wait without endangering both Bulma and the mission. He had to sit here, trusting that she would do as she was told, and take no unnecessary risks. Though this was Bulma...what were the chances that she would not take an uncalculated risk? He let out a snort as he realized how slim that was. With Bulma, as he was coming to accept, nothing went according to plan, and it certainly never went as smoothly as possible. For instance, take two days ago...all he had meant to do was pass on Basil's missive. Instead, he had ended up taking her where anyone could have walked in on them. Had he even locked the door? Kami--he could not even remember. Now he was paying the price for that--he knew he had heard the dowager's cane, thumping away from them, and he could only sit in horror and wonder what she had heard.

The old bat probably thought that he was just completing the ridiculous mission she had set out for him, but still. The very last person he wanted to find out about him having an affair with Bulma was the dowager. If she knew, what would stop her from telling all of London society, ruining Bulma's reputation? Not a Kami damned thing that was what. And the dowager would not hesitate to tell everyone and ruin Bulma's reputation. The dowagerÊknew (even if she did not know the reasons) that Vegeta could never marry, and so Bulma's reputation would find no reprieve in Vegeta doing the honorable things.

This, frankly, was causing an anxious spot to grow in his chest as he thought about how Bulma would feel, or how he would feel, when he knew he could not offer for her. He had never really experienced this feeling before, but he knew what it was. He was feeling guilty. Guilty that he could not be the man Bulma deserved. Ê

Dammit! What the fuck was wrong with him?!

All he wanted from the gel was an affair, pure and simple. He wanted to touch her, feel her, taste her, and fuck her, whenever he wanted. He did not want to feel worried or worse guilty about her, and he certainly did not want to probe his feelings to see what they were hiding underneath it all.

Fuck. He just needed to stop this now.

She was becoming too much of a distraction, too much of a problem. That was why he had been so cold towards her earlier, because he was trying to put distance between what he felt for her, and making sure he had a good head on his shoulder for the mission. But even now, he could not stop thinking about her, and she was diverting him from his mission. This was dangerous, considering this was the closest he would probably ever be to completing what had turned into his opus morandi.... It was clear to him that what needed to be done. He needed to rid himself of her. He needed to stay away from her. She was bad for him. She was a distraction. She made him feel.

Well that settled that, then...

But did it really mean he would have to allow himself to not touch her ever again? To put on the mask of the ice-cold duke he wore around all others, but was beginning to believe he would be able to leave off around her for good? That thought made him as uncomfortable as thinking about how much she had changed him did--

Tap, tap, tap.

Tap, tap, tap.

Pound!

Pound!

Pound!

What the fuck is that? Vegeta was pulled from his thoughts that were growing increasingly more and more maudlin, looking around the empty suite for the source of the irritating sounds. Where was that sound coming from? What he just imagining it?

Tap, tap, tap.

Nope, wasn't imagining it.

ÊÊÊ Tap, tap, tap.
But if he was not imagining it, then where the hell was it coming from and what was it?

Vegeta waited until he heard it again, and stood, puzzled as he moved towards the front door. He surreptitiously opened the door, peeking out, frowning as he saw nothing but the empty hallways staring back at him, before closing it. As he did, he heard the sound of rain start, and he relaxed, not even aware that he had been tensing up at the implacable sound. It had probably just been the first few drops of rain on the roof, or something. Still, as he looked at the mantle, noting the time on the clock, he frowned. Bulma really should be getting back soon. Where was she? She knew how important timing was to this mission--he had made sure to stress that, over and over. And despite his wishes to the contrary, she was not an idiot, and she knew how much it meant to everything they were doing that she stay on the schedule he had laid out before she left. Ê

He sighed, running his hands through his hair, going to sit back at the couch he had just vacated, waiting for Bulma to come waltzing back through the door she had left hours earlier.

Pound!

Pound!

Pound!

Okay, that was definitely not the rain. And it seemed to be coming from the room Bulma had been changing in. Vegeta instantly tensed up, before his bottom hit the padding on the couch, straightening his back as he stood back up. His shoulders were up to his ears as he grabbed the pistol he had been keeping at his side, wondering how they had found him. He was not really sure who they were, seeing as he had been a spy for most of his adult life, so they could really be anyone, but he just feared they had finally found him.

Vegeta carefully walked to the closed door of the bedroom, keeping his back to the wall as he carefully pushed it open, before holding the gun in front of him as he entered the room, quickly scanning the dark room, the only light coming from a solitary candle that was partially obscured by the curtains covering the candle on the windowsill.

Nothing. No one. How odd.

Vegeta's frown turned into a snarl, and he put the gun on the table in the room, sighing as he caught the very familiar smell of Bulma, emanating from everywhere in this room. Hell. He had forgotten how wonderful she smelled....He could lose himself for hours in the smell of her, or tasting her, hours and hours of lazily running his tongue and nose up and down every curve and crevice of her body. They had made love twice now, but he had never really had the pleasure of exploring her body, of getting to know every inch of her with his hands, eyes, mouth, and tongue...

Fuck.

He needed to stop this line of thinking, immediately. It was not good for his health for one (how many cold baths could a man take before he died of hypothermia?!), and it did not matter that he had never made love to her like that for two. He would never make love to her. Like that, or otherwise...The rain grew louder and louder, pulling Vegeta away from his innermost thoughts, and Vegeta frowned, finally moving the curtains that covered the window and the candle, looking out into the rain. Only to feel his heart jump into his throat as he was greeted not with the sight of the soothing sigh of the rain--

But with Bulma, who was slipping off of the ledge on the other side of the glass window.

~~&~~

"You came. I did not think you were going to come tonight."

Krillin gave her that smile that seemed to increasingly do odder and odder things to the cold, dead area where her heart should have been, sitting next to her on the stone bench she was currently occupying. "I said I would be here."

She frowned at him, stopping herself from reaching for him as she knew he was still shy. "I know, but I...." She stopped herself from revealing something, instead smiling at him, giving him that genuine smile she only ever really used with him. The seductress smile would only fluster him, or upset him since he knew why she used it on other men. Eighteen gulped, knowing that things were changing between them but just genuinely glad to see him and unable to stop herself from saying trite things with him. Mainly because they were true. "I'm happy that you came."

He blushed, the whole dome of his head turning red. "Me too. I'm sorry I was not at the last party... Goku challenged me to a fight and I ended up in bed with a cracked rib for three days."

She frowned, reaching out to touch his side without thought, not even noticing that he was turning an unhealthy shade of magenta from not only her touch, but the real concern shining on her face. "You are okay now? Why do you let him beat you like that?"

Krillin chuckled, and then groaned, the still healing rib protesting at the laughter. His hand automatically going to cover the sore spot, and, inadvertently, hers. "Oh don't make me laugh."

She pulled away, but left her hand until he gave it a squeeze and dropped it, cocking her head as she studied him, not realizing that the sight of her, her shoulders and neck bare to him, were the most arousing and romantic thing Krillin had ever seen.

Her voice was earnest as she told him, "But I did not say anything funny."

Krillin swallowed hard, focusing on those big blue eyes, ignoring the sounds of the party not that far from them, wishing it could really just be him and her. Maybe then he would have the courage to respond to her invitations...but not in the way she wanted. She wanted him for an affair, Krillin knew, frankly because she had told him-- but Krillin, well, he...he loved her. He wanted her, not for a few nights, or a few months even--he wanted her forever. He wanted to protect that vulnerability she hid from everyone else, that still innocent part of her, he saw hidden in the depth of those baby blues, no matter how squalid her life had become...

"Not intentionally, no. But the thought that I let Goku beat me...hoh boy. I don't let Goku beat me. You don't let Goku do anything when he's fighting. He just does it. He's a really strong guy. The strongest I know."

Eighteen smiled, moving her blonde hair over her shoulder, satisfied that whatever tension there had been in his arrival was gone. It was back to them just being them now. She liked when it was like this, when they both could just smile and laugh. He was the only guy she could actually show her true self too--no need to be the distant ice queen, nor the cold temptress. She could just smile around him. She loved it.

She had told him all about her sordid past--all about how her brother had basically sold her off to the rich, elderly, disgusting, perverted Count who had saved their family lands in exchange for Eighteens virtue and ability to make him an heir when she was just seventeen. It seemed he was unhappy with the kids from his first marriage (they were spoiled, and they were not fit to inherit his title, his millions, his scientific corporation), and he wanted to make some more so he could disinherit those ones.

When he had died, all of his money going to his greedy heirs from his first marriage, since Eighteen was glad to say she had never borne the old man any children Eighteen had been left with nothing but the property he had entailed to her and a small amount of money. So she had found herself exchanging the only thing she thought she had to offer, her body, her company, to married (or single) aristocrats, who would pay for her to stay off of the streets, or the even more unfavorable whore houses. She was too high classed, too blue blooded to be called a courtesan, but Eighteen did not doubt that the only thing that had kept her off the streets these past ten years had not been her sparkling wit or the fact that her brother was a minor land baron.

But with Krillin, none of that mattered. Her past meant nothing to him, and he did not look at her and only see a woman who he could use for her body. It was a completely weird and unique experience, and one Eighteen wished she never had to give up....

Eighteen almost felt her heart stop when, after her and Krillin had been speaking for hours and hours (or it could have been minutes, she lost all track of time with him), an unpleasantly grating, and yet so familiar voice, broke into their conversation.

"Well, well. Widow Gero. I did not expect to see you tonight."

Eighteen instantly straightened, though her back was to the voice, and shot Krillin a look, desperately trying to convey her message of leave, leave now to him, though he only stayed where he was smiling at the man over Eighteen's shoulder, oblivious to the high tension that was running through Eighteen as the seconds ticked on, and neither man moved.

Eighteen waited for a few more moments, hoping that Krillin would pick up on the messages she was trying to send to him, but her little oblivious idiot remained idiotically oblivious to her silent missives. Eighteen resigned herself to the fact that Krillin was not going to leave, and that right now, unfortunately, her little fantasy world, the one she had built with Krillin, was about to implode as it met with the persona she had kept going for the last decade. So she straightened herself, and stood, turning, making sure her mask was in place as she gave the man a sultry smile. Even if she wanted to do nothing more than to turn back to Krillin, to push him away, so he would not have to see her like this.

Eighteen turned towards the older man, seeing him in his usual pose, feet splayed wide, hands on hips with his elbows bent out. Eighteen knew this was his favorite position to stand in, mainly because it highlighted and emphasized how burly and brawny his barrel-like chest was. He was built like an ox, and should have been a good fighter (something Eighteen knew a lot about because she had grown up with her brother teaching her how to fight so he would have someone to spar with), but he was too bigheaded and sure of himself to ever prove a true challenge to a real fighter. Plus, he had a receding hairline that was only emphasized by his broad forehead and ridiculous curly black hair. His face was long and drawn out, and he wore the most bizarre style of facial hair that only served to make him look slightly clownish. His usual goofy appearance was even more absurd than usual since his nose was swollen, and slightly bent--as if it was broken.

"Lord Satan. I was not expecting you to be here, or I would have made sure to find you earlier in the night." Her voice came out in a purr, and though she was not facing Krillin, she could see him stiffen from the corner of her eyes. This is why she wanted him gone, she did not want him to see her like this...it intruded upon the time she was able to spend with him, the time she was able to feel...real.

The older man, pompous, with his ridiculous build, curly hair, and outlandish moustache, smirked at her. "Please, Widow, no need for formality around this...servant? Who is he?"

Krillin stood, waiting for her to introduce him, but Eighteen turned her back to him, waving Krillin off. "Oh him? He's no one. A footman of mine. Don't worry about him...." Eighteen looped her arm through the Earl of Satan's arm, hating herself, but knowing that around the aristocracy she had a game to play with these men. She was not fool enough to think that Krillin would stay by her side always, and she needed to make sure that before he went back to America, she would be ready to be back in the game. "He was just informing me of a broken wheel or something...."

She walked away, letting the old fool next to her chatter on and on about some indignity suffered by the American inventor that night, forcing herself to not look back, to not even glance over her shoulder, and hating herself from being unable to stop herself from looking over her shoulder as the rounded the hedge that would separate her from Krillin.

The look on his face one that would haunt her forever.

She had never seen such hurt, such betrayal--all directed at her, and especially not on Krillin's face. That was what made it worse. She had never wanted to hurt Krillin, but being who she was, how could she not?

~~&~~

Vegeta's heart froze in that instant, in that moment of seeing Bulma's legs slip from under her, as she began to fall, as if in slow motion, backwards, off of the ledge, her mouth open in a surprised 'oh,' that he knew was seconds away from turning into a horrified scream. In that moment he admitted to one more emotion he had never really felt before, one more emotion he had sneered in others for feeling--scared.

Vegeta had never been this scared before, not when he had been captured by Frieza's forces, or when he had almost lost his life numerous other times, or when he had thought that the dowager had caught him and Bulma. He was scared because he knew that a world without Bulma Briefs was not one he wanted to live in.

In that moment, he took a deep breath, blinking, forcing his body into action as he realized what he was seeing in front of him was not a mirage. It was Bulma about ready to fall off of the side of the building, her horrific eyes locking with his as the azure depths grew more and more...complacent. Like she was accepting this was the end, this was how she was going to die.

Not on his watch.

Without over thinking it, especially as he saw her body start to fall past where he could reach, Vegeta used both of his hands to punch through the glass in front of him, desperately reaching for where he had last seen her, praying that he was faster than gravity, praying to Kami, a deity he had long since given up hope on believing in. Don't let her die--she can't die--I'm not ready for her to be gone from my life.... As he desperately reached out for her, he felt an unnatural and almost unholy smile grace his face as his hands grasped around her ankle, feeling warmth and solidity as he snared that one part of her. He tightened his grip desperately, unthinking of how he might crush her ankle in his hand, only concerned about grabbing her...grabbing her before she was permanently gone from his life.

Bulma had distantly heard the breaking of glass as she fell, her life flashing before her eyes even as she kept eye contact with Vegeta, before she felt her body jerk against the brick of the building as something, something strong and iron-like wrapped around her ankle, stopping her from descending further in the free-fall she had been flailing herself through. She hit the side of the building, the breath knocking from her body in a loud oomph and she froze, clinging to the side of the building, even in her position, upside down, needing to feel solidity beneath her. When she realized that she was not going to die she peered up, through the rain, as she lost the wig that had been clipped to her head, the soggy weight gone, her dress falling so her knickers were bared to world, her eyes growing large as she saw Vegeta's familiar face looking down at her. His eyes were wide as he stared into her own eyes, holding her there for a minute as neither of them could speak.

As she began to shiver, uncontrollably, from the cold, from the shock, Vegeta seemed to realize where they were, and he called out, "I'm going to start pulling you up, back into the building. You need to cover your legs with your dress though, as I had to break through the window to grab you and I don't want you cutting any major arteries as I pull you through."

Bulma, unable to even open her mouth past the shivering, only nodded, and Vegeta started to tug her up, moving backwards as he pulled her back past the window, glad, not for the first time, at how strong he was. She weighed nothing, even soaking wet, but still, Vegeta was so damn glad it was him who had been here with her, rather than some other weakling who would have dropped her.

Once he got her up so she was back on the ledge, he moved his hands from her leg, to her waist, gingerly lifting her through the window, trying to avoid the jagged edges, uncaring of the own cuts he had made on his arms (more superficial scars to add to his litany of scars) as he pulled her back through the window, back onto solid ground. As she shivered, collapsing against him, Vegeta very mechanically, and without too much thought, stripped her of the sodden mess that were her clothes, leaving her in her damp slip and knickers, all while holding her up, even as she just stood there, without blinking, without moving. Only chattering.

He knew he should let her go, let her find her bearings, let her get changed into warm clothes, or a warm bath--but he was unable to stop himself from lifting her to him, holding her to his chest as he carried her to the bed, sitting on the edge of it as he curled her into him, into his warmth, holding her in his lap as she began to sniffle. Those sniffles did not last long, turning into tears, before the tears became great big gasping sobs. These were the big, heart breaking sobs of someone who had almost just lost their life and had faced their own mortality, one that Vegeta recognized from his time spent in the Navy. He was usually jaded to men (or women) who cried like this, wishing they would get it together...but with her...It made him so infinitely sad, he did not know what to do.

Well, that was not true. Vegeta knew what he needed to do. He just did not want to do it.

He needed to let her go, needed to remember what he had said earlier of staying away from her-- but he could not. Not in that moment. Not when he had almost lost her. That was all he thought, over and over again, I almost lost you. I almost lost you, Bulma. His mind was clear, his eyes wide, and he did not even move, other than to rub circles in her back as she continued to bawl into him, sobbing out the story of almost being caught and finding herself stuck outside of a locked window between great gasps of breath and tears, the front of his robe becoming as soggy as her wet clothes that sat on the floor of this room.

Bulma, held herself to Vegeta's front, uncaring of the amount of tears she was rubbing into the silk robe he was still wearing, just glad to feel something warm and solid beneath her. It was better than ground--it was Vegeta. He was warm, and he was alive, and she was alive, and he was just holding her, stroking her back and hair as she continued to cry into him, unable to stop herself.

She had almost died.

She.

Had.

Almost.

Died.

In those few seconds when she thought she was going to die, which could have been lifetimes from how long it felt like she was slipping, losing her balance, Bulma had lost all thoughts, all worries, instead just thinking This is it. This is how I'm going to die. That sucks. Now that she was safe, here, in Vegeta's arms, she just wanted to cry into him. She wanted to forget all about what had just happened, wanted to let go, wanted to cry into oblivion. She hoped no one ever went through what she had just gone through, because it went beyond life altering, it went beyond bat shit scary insane. Bulma had thought she had lost the rest of the long life she had always envisioned in front of her, thought that she was going to die at the ripe old age of twenty-two, with nothing more to show for it than a handful of inventions.

But no--she was here. She was still here, being held, comforted even, by one of the scariest men in all of England. He was being so kind and gentle with her, just holding her as she continued to cry in his arms, unable to stop, unable to make coherent sentences. She never wanted to leave the safety of his arms again. And it was the safety of his arms--she felt safe here. She was safe here. She belonged here. In an instant she knew it was true. She more than belonged here--he belonged here with her. Everything they had been through had built up to this exact moment, just the two of them, emotions ripped bare as she sought comfort in his arms, and he gladly gave it...It was perfect.

She needed to let him know. She was done playing this push and pull game with him, done with hiding her feelings because she did not want to get hurt. She had almost died, and one of her last thoughts had been, "And Vegeta will never know that I care for him. That someone out there cares for him."

Because she did care for him. She cared for him, she wanted him, and she might even be at the point where she needed him. More than she ever expected to need him. And not just for sex, or an affair. She needed him forever-- she needed to make him crack those rare smiles that seemed to exist only for her, she needed to hear that even rarer laugh of his. She needed to fight with him over the dinner table, then spend all night making it up to each other as they made love into the wee mornings. She needed him to be grumpy with the rest of the world, and then tell her what he was really thinking.

She simply needed him.

Without much preamble, other than stopping her tears, and wiping the moisture away from her face with the sleeve of the smooth material of the front of the robe he was wearing, Bulma stopped her tears, and, still grasping the lapels of Vegeta's robe, she hauled herself so they were nose to nose, her blue eyes latching onto his black ones as she met his for a second, taking a deep breath, before closing the distance between them. She met him, turning, twisting, so that she was tasting him, her mouth smashed to his, her tongue inside of his mouth before he could even blink, needing to feel the warmth of his kisses more than she had needed solid ground earlier.

She wanted him. She needed him.

Now.

He was here, and he was warm, and safe, and funny in his own way, and brave and a host of other things Bulma never thought she would call him when she had first met him. Her grief morphed then, grief at almost losing her own life, to need. Pure, unadulterated need, need to prove to herself she was alive, that she was not still tumbling out of the building, fantasizing before she met her untimely doom beneath her.

Her movements were heated, erratic, needy. When his own hands began to grasp at her back, she almost crowed with delight, feeling his tongue meet with hers, his hands entangled in her hair, pulling her to them. They fought for dominance of the kiss, Bulma's mouth and tongue fast and frantic, while Vegeta sought to soothe her with his own, though his passion was making his own kisses sloppier than usual.

This was what she wanted. This is what she needed. She needed him.

Bulma's hand were at the lapels of his robe, pulling it apart, sliding her hands underneath the fabric, dragging her fingernails down the solid chest that was Vegeta that was this enigmatic man who was more of a mystery to her than anything she had ever pondered while in the lab. She felt the soft, warm pliancy of skin over the solid steel of his muscles and her hands dipped further, going between them, reaching for that proof that he wanted her as much as she wanted him in that moment.

But as quickly as it began, as quickly as she had kissed him, wanting to absorb him into her body, Vegeta moved, surprising her, his hand lashing out and grabbing hers, stopping her.

Bulma's eyes popped open, and she looked into those black depths, almost falling back into heart-wrenching sobs as she saw the distance he was mentally putting between them, even as she still sat in his lap with nothing between them but some very thin clothes. As she saw the last barrier erect within him, his black eyes darkening, Bulma's heart stopped, before thudding to the bottom of her feet as he very deliberately stood, turning, depositing her on the bed, before he pulled away, turning his back to her without so much as a word.

She scrabbled so she was at the edge of the bed, still sitting, staring at him, facing him, as he moved further away from her, his back to her as he stared at the wall opposite where they had been sitting. She could see nothing in those moments but steely quiet, and Bulma began to shiver again, goose bumps dimpling her skin as the silence stretched between them.

"Vegeta?" Her voice was low, a whisper, but she knew he heard her because his back tensed for a moment, as he still stared at that damn wall.

What was going on? She had never thought in a million years that he would pull away from her right now. Especially when she needed him so much that breathing was becoming difficult the further away from her that he was. He said nothing for a few moments, and Bulma felt herself growing nervous for some reason, especially as the silence became tense, charged--and not in a good, sexy way, either. In an 'I feel like I'm drowning, and everything feels wrong' kind of way.

She felt herself begin to shake from the cold, and she looked over her shoulder, over to the window he had punched through to save her, frowning as she saw the carpet there was growing damp from the incessant rain that had almost ended her life. Bits of glass sparkled there, like stars in the night sky, and she looked back to him, trying to put the pieces together. Trying to understand what had switched through Vegeta to change him from the warm, willing participant of her kisses, to the dark shadowy figure that refused to answer her, who refused to meet her eyes. "Are you hurt from the window? Did I touch one of your wounds?"

Vegeta finally turned back to her, to finally look at her and she felt her heart plummet even further. She recognized that look he was giving her, a look she had not been on the receiving end of since she had posed as the shopkeeper when she had first met him. His face was completely devoid of all emotion, his eyes glittering and hard as he looked at her, like ice chips. "You should get dressed. We will be leaving soon, before the Ginyu Force start to come back."

Bulma looked at him, mouth agape, as she wrapped her arms around herself, unconsciously trying to keep herself warm from that sub-zero stare he was giving her. "I...I thought we were staying all night...." Yes--that had been the original plan, had it not? Had that not been one of the things he had said that had given her a sliver of hope and anticipation earlier in the night--imagining the two of them together, alone, in a hotel room, celebrating a job well done?

Vegeta's lips turned down, "Plans have changed. We have accomplished our mission, we are leaving." His hands clenched as she said nothing, and when he spoke next, he voice was as cold as the rainwater had been, dripping down her back, "You do have the list, don't you?"

Bulma frowned, pointing to the wet clothes. He gave a weary sigh, and reached for them, his hands in her pockets, pulling out the only slightly damp list. She sighed with relief, glad to see it had not fallen out when she had been upside down, or that the ink had bled through since it was wet, making her life-changing mission pointless. She shivered at that thought, but when she looked at Vegeta to see if he had noticed, he only stonily stared back at her, before unfolding the list, looking at it.

Bulma's spirits were crushed with that one look, and she felt herself grow more and more confused. She needed to take action; she needed to feel him underneath her fingers again. She stood to reach for him, but buckled back to the bed as the ankle he had grabbed her by folded underneath her. She expected to feel his warm arms around her, to hold her up, to try and protect her as she fell--but he did not, and she fell to the bed, ungracefully.

When she looked back to him, her hurt and confusion shining through her eyes, he only frowned deeper at her, his eyes seeming to grow even colder. "Pull yourself together, Bulma."

She glared at him, wondering what the hell had happened to him, what the hell had made him snap, what kind of switch she had flipped to make him so vastly different in the past few minutes. Had he been the one to almost lose his life a few minutes ago? What right did he have to be as emotional as she was? "I think my ankle is broken."

Vegeta's eyes narrowed, "Then we will seek medical attention for it in a little bit. A broken ankle is a small price to pay for playing at being a spy, is it not? Did I not tell you to turn the mission down?"

His words were harsher because of how he said them. She had heard the nickname he had earned among the Ton, that of the Dark Duke, but she had never heeded it. She knew he was dark and cold to the rest of the Ton, that he could excite feelings of terror in those that bought into the myths surrounding him, but she had never expected to see this side of him-- so devoid of human emotion and empathy. "I did it for you, Vegeta." The words were there, said, so honest, so unable to be taken back, but she did not care. She meant them. She had taken this mission because she had feared that Vegeta's name had been on the list and that his life would be in danger. Even if she had not admitted that to herself until this moment.

Vegeta looked at her distastefully as she said this, shaking his head, and Bulma felt an inner chill that threatened to shake her apart at seeing him act so. He spoke as if she had not just said those words, his voice as blank as his face. "Get dressed. We are leaving."

He walked to move past her, to leave the room but some desperate part of her, that part that reminded her that she had almost died tonight, and that he had saved her, forced her to reach out, to grab for him.Ê"Wait, Vegeta, I do not understand."

Vegeta frowned at her, but jerked his arm out of her hand, looking down his nose at her, "There is nothing to understand, Woman. I see no reason to continue that display you started earlier by kissing me."

Bulma's mouth dropped open, and her voice was small when she spoke next, unable to salvage her pride by not speaking. "Don't you want me?" She saw his lip curl, and she forced herself to speak louder, stronger when she said next, "This is your second question where you have to tell me the truth."

Vegeta stopped at that, freezing momentarily as he flicked his eyes over her shoulder to the open window of the room, before he looked at her again, "Why would I want what I already have had? You are nothing but used goods to me at this point." Vegeta took a moment, trying to think what would hurt her most, what would drive her the furthest away from him. "You are just some silly girl who has nothing to offer a man such as myself. Why don't you do us both a favor and go back to playing with your toys in your lab, since you are worthless as a spy, as we saw tonight?" She flinched at those words, and he tried to find some more vitriol to spit at her, but found he was tired. Too tired to put up with calling her names, hurting her, much longer. So he only said, "Now get dressed Bulma. We have things to do tonight."

With that he was gone.

Bulma sat, stunned, staring at the closed door he had just walked out through, wondering if it was possible to die from the way her heart was twisting in her chest.

~~&~~

The same night clerk who had checked the Duke of Vegetasei into the hotel was still on duty when Vegeta came back down, his face nuzzled in the woman by his side's neck as they walked over, and whispering sweet nothing in her ear. She was mightily attractive, the blonde, but he would expect nothing less than from the most infamous Duke in all of England.

Still, he was surprised to see them--he had been sure when they had disappeared up to their room together, all cozily wrapped around each other that they would not surface for air for days, or at least until morning. At least they had the look of people who had recently tupped, their cheeks red, the woman resting most of her weight on the Duke as he walked up to the counter.

The Duke's eyes briefly met with the clerk's, his voice deep when he spoke. "The rooms were satisfactory, but my companion has very peculiar tastes," the woman giggled at that, and the clerk had to force himself to not look at her again, lest he receive another glare from the Duke (he still shivered at the one he had been on the receiving end of earlier) forcing himself to only stare at the Duke as he continued, "So we are heading elsewhere."

The clerk swallowed, knowing that his manager was not going to like this, but if came between the Dark Duke and his manager, he knew who he would rather be on the bad side of--so he only nodded.

The Duke surprised him though, by reaching into his pocket and extracting a few hefty notes, passing them to the surprised clerk. "This should be satisfactory enough to cover any of the damages you have to pay for, as well as to buy your silence in the matter...."

The clerk took the notes, wordlessly, wondering what sort of 'damages' the couple had inflicted upon the room, and felt his curiosity only grow stronger as he saw them walking away, noticing that the woman was limping slightly as she moved, and if he were not mistaken, as her skirts swished around her feet... that she had no shoes on.

Well--he could only speculate what had transpired between them in the room, but speculate he would....

~~&~~
A/N: Quick note about Eighteen's circumstances. As a woman in Victorian England, there were not many choices for how to financially support oneself--over half the 'prostitutes' that Jack the Ripper killed were really school teachers/governesses who could not find work and had to turn to alternative means to pay their bills. I tell you this, so that you know Eighteen was not a prostitute by any means, and I mean for her to be empowering. She took one of the only choices available to her to keep her lifestyle up and still keep her independence--she did not run back to her brother to live with him, and she did not turn to being a prostitute. She's chosen her partners, and she stays with them for as long as she wants. Sorry if this is a little rant-y (oh goodness, there she goes, making up words again), but as I was writing it I just really wanted to make sure you guys would try not to judge her too much.

Thanks for reading--feedback about the chapter would be appreciated!!

Until next time--love you all!