Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Dark Duke ❯ Secrets, Secrets are No Fun ( Chapter 32 )

[ 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. But if I did own DBZ...I would have made a legitimate Saiyan female character. Who was a fighter. In DBZ, not later, like in DBGT, but someone to go toe to toe with the boys.

Warnings: Cussing and adult language (too many late night cable movies to blame for that...)

A/N: If I would have known how much a nod would affect all of you I would have had Vegeta nodding at everything since the very beginning! Ha ha. You guys, all of my readers and reviewers, blew me away with your amazing responses to the last chapter. I love you all, seriously. Also, if you haven't already, I highly recommend that you guys join the We're Just Saiyan' group on google+. It's a great place for all of us Vegeta and Bulma fans to get together, and I hope to see you guys on there!

And for those other ASOIAF fans out there, check out some one-shots I wrote under my Ao3 account, same username--would love to know what you guys think!

Big thanks to Lilpumpkingirl for being honest with me (and yet still nice) about needing to rework this chapter--she was right, so thank her for not reading the jumbled mess I originally sent to her. Okay, enough blabbing--onto the story!

Chapter Thirty-Two: Secrets, Secrets are No Fun

It would be another full day before Vegeta would allow Bulma to leave their bedroom (or hell, to even get dressed) after they had fought and subsequently made up in the closet. Sure, they had made sure to eat, fresh food delivered to their sitting room--but other than that, they had not left the room. After his little nod (HE HAD NODDED!) they had ended up staying in the closet far longer than was proprietary, the pair of them finally moving to the bed in the mid-afternoon and not leaving until the next morning. Which, strictly speaking, had not been Vegeta's decision. Or choice, or selection, or preference or anything else of that sort. Bulma had woken before him, gotten dressed, and had sat in the chair facing the bed and waited until he had woken up, staring at him with her arms crossed. "You are showing me the property today. Get dressed, or do it naked, but we are finally leaving this bedroom."

Vegeta had growled at the command, grabbing for her, but Bulma had drawn on those long months of anger, remaining cross and stern with him until he finally relented, grumbling the whole time he dressed. Bulma was not sure what exactly he was grumbling about, but she did hear the phrases, "stubborn wench," and "obstinate female," bandied about more than once. Bulma ignored these though (well, she had haughtily sniffed to let him know she had heard him and did not approve), waiting until he had gotten dressed to have him lead her back to the front hall.

There, waiting, as if they had been waiting for the last two mornings (Kami, Bulma hoped not) was the mass of servants who worked there and that she was now--for all intents and purposes--in charge of. Bulma had had to greet the servants with her nose held high, even as she had a blush on her cheeks--what must they think of her and Vegeta? Having been in the house for two full days without leaving their room? But as she had met them, she had been impressed to not see any speculative or prurient looks on their faces...hmm....

Bulma was expecting the head maid to take her through the line, but she was instead surprised (as she surmised the servants were) when Vegeta stayed by her side throughout the whole introduction, presenting every one of the staff to her. Each of their eyes were wide as Vegeta told her exactly who they were and what they did. The only ones who were not surprised were older servants, who only looked on with familiar approval as Vegeta moved through the line, presenting Bulma with another insight into her mysterious husband's past. It was nice to see that while Vegeta was still cool and reserved with them that the servants still had respect for him, a respect that made Bulma's chest puff out with pride as well.

Bulma wondered idly if the head housekeeper, Molly (who looked to be older than Wheatley) would be able to give her more information on Vegeta's life, especially as the older woman smiled fondly on at Vegeta. Bulma put it to the top of her list to pump the woman for information, curious about her new husband's childhood. Until Molly had turned to Bulma, her stare full of suspicion and distrust, which had Bulma putting befriend the woman first on the list, bumping pumping for information down to second--Bulma was nothing if not shrewd at getting information she wanted. Hell, it was why she had made a damned good spy (well except for the whole getting stuck to the side of a building, but that was a horse of a completely different color).

After the introductions, Vegeta had shocked even the older servants when he had been the one to offer to show her around the grounds and the estate itself, cutting off Molly's own offer to do so. Everyone had stared at him, unblinking, while he had looked past Bulma for a second, his eyes wide, as if he himself could not understand why he had made the offer. But then he had shaken his head, and looked straight at her, a salacious smirk on his face, cluing Bulma (and she prayed not everyone else) into what had goaded him into such an unusual offer. Sure enough, as she moved past the heavy doors of the very first room he had escorted her to -a dining room she noted- the doors thumped close, and he locked them, before turning to face her with that smirk of his, explaining, "I thought it would only do as the new man and wife of this property to properly christen every room."

Bulma played dumb then, her eyes wide as she blinked at him, trying not to smile. "Christen the rooms? But how? We have no priest or holy water."

Vegeta stalked towards her, and Bulma had felt a thrill run through her whole body before he grabbed her to him, whispering into her ear, "I'm sure we'll think of something," before his lips had found hers, silencing any protests she might have had (which, if he had bothered to ask, would have been none).

It was not until after the third parlor where they had taken great pleasures in 'christening' (as well as two dining rooms, a music room, and a greenhouse) that Bulma finally put her foot down and looked him in the eye. "No more. Not until I actually get to see the house and grounds." When he had started to look sullen, Bulma had explained, "Do you want a wife who can't even walk around the grounds without you because she has no clue where she is?"

Vegeta looked at her, a hand on his chin as he considered this idea, musing aloud, "You would have to depend on your husband a lot...who you would then have to then reward a lot as well."

Bulma had been flabbergasted, until she had caught on that he was teasing her (Vegeta--teasing her?!), answering the smirk on his face with a smack to his arm. A smile was quick to replace her sullen pout as Vegeta only shot her a devilish look, shaking her head as he led her out of the newly christened parlor. Who was this man and what had he done with her husband? And was it indeed possible for him to go more than an hour without pouncing on her?

Thankfully, after putting her foot down Vegeta had seemed to get the idea, especially once she promised him certain wifely liberties if he actually showed her the grounds and estate without trying to get under her skirts in every room. Though Bulma had made no promises about whether or not her pregnancy hormones would kick in at any random moment, causing her to grab the lapels of his jacket and shove him against the books of the library, not that Vegeta was complaining. Because of this, the already long tour took even longer than either had anticipated, spilling into multiple days, giving them plenty of opportunities to christen as many rooms as they humanly could.

It was fun--even beyond the (still fantastic, heated) sex. Vegetasei was the most massive place Bulma had ever been in, and she found herself intrigued by its long history, as well as Vegeta's obvious pride in the place. As he showed her around though Bulma got a sense about the house, one of...well, it being cold. Cold and lifeless. Like it was all that a great Duke's house should be (a museum to the Vegeta family), but with none of the warmth of a family seat. Vegeta did not realize it, but as Bulma walked she sketched out plans in her head to not only redecorate and add on an area for her to conduct experiments, but to make the place more warm and inviting to all.

She was sure Vegeta was going to looooveeee that.

Though she had to admit Vegeta seemed a different man than she was used to here. More relaxed--though she surmised that could be all the sex. She was learning quite quickly that good sex put Vegeta in a most agreeable state. She even saw him smile a few times, and it warmed her heart to see him be at ease, especially as it kept dawning on her that this was going to be her life. He was her husband, and she could not be upset about that. In fact, she was starting to think that while the road here might have been convoluted, it had all been for the best in the long run now that she was married to Vegeta, carrying his child.

They went for a morning ride on her fourth day at Vegetasei so Vegeta could show her some of the grounds, and Bulma was once again amazed at the total vastness of the space in front of them. Vegetasei sat on thousands of acres, and Bulma only saw a fraction, though Vegeta made sure she was well versed on the best places for them to have sex out of everyone's eye sights and ear shots. He was even kind enough to give her a demonstration by the old lake (not to be confused with the new lake, which sat closer to the house...though the new lake was actually older than the old lake?), in an abandoned boat house where he could make her scream as loud as he wanted to, since no one was around to hear for miles.

After they had righted their clothes they had had lunch from a basket the cook had prepared for them. As they had eaten, Bulma had smirked at him, his eyes only on her even as he wolfed his food down. She could see the gears in his head spinning and she hazarded a (safe) guess that he was contemplating where else on his vast estate he could make her scream like that without fear of them being overheard. Maybe it was the great outdoors, the good food, or the amazing sex, but Bulma felt herself growing more and more playful. She put her own food down as she ran a hand up his leg, his already dark eyes bespeaking fire and heat as she purred, "You seem to know these grounds rather well, Vegeta."

Vegeta had quirked his head, "Of course. This is my land. I have always enjoyed being outdoors on Vegetasei." There was real pride in his voice, and Bulma smiled at seeing this new side to Vegeta.

Bulma leant forward, making sure her (ahem) ample charms were spilling over the low neckline of her day gown as her eyes grew lidded, her smile saucy as she spoke, "You seem to know a lot of good places to...be hidden away from everyone." He smirked, even as he kept chewing, and she continued, "Do you find all these spaces with the local girls?"

Vegeta's eyes had grown to slits, even as Bulma kept an innocent look on her face--though they were both aware she was fishing for information. Vegeta had chewed silently for a moment, and she had wondered if he was going to answer. She would not be surprised if this was one of those times that her usually cold and silent husband went all cold and silent on her, but he surprised her by saying, "I did not learn about my property to have relations out here...in fact, you're the first woman I've ever had at Vegetasei before."

Bulma felt a flush of happiness rush through her at that, but before she could say anything, he had continued, "I learned all about my grounds--because of the dowager."

A flash of something came over his face, his eyes pulling from hers for the first time as he frowned. Bulma gulped, and tried to lighten the mood quickly, as he physically and emotionally pulled away from her, her tone joking, "Is that why you know all of the best places to be hidden away?" His face grew even gloomier in that moment and Bulma felt that flush of happiness turn to sadness as she saw the troubling way Vegeta's jaw was working, though he was no longer chewing. "Oh."

Bulma had not expected him to answer her or continue the conversation, but while Bulma had scrambled around for another conversation starter (she was not good with silence) Vegeta had surprised her by softly saying, "I did not want to hate her when she first came here...I was only seven and my mother had just died." He stopped, and Bulma dared not breathe lest that stop him from talking.

But he seemed not to even realize she was there as he went on, his eyes unseeing, lost to the past as he was carried to memories of days long ago. "She was cold, but I was used to that from my father. It was," he paused again, taking a breath, his voice low when he continued, though she did not miss a single world, "She was heartless. Even with those of us who were family. It's why I have never been able to call her grandmother--she was callous, and she wanted to do nothing more than to make my father and I as ruthless as her."

He was completely calm, calm as the surface of a lake on a windless day as he spoke, but Bulma watched his face for the nuances she had come to know from him. A small twitch of his eye let her know that he was hurting more than he wanted to admit, while the tightening of the muscles in his jaw let her know how angry he was. "Her first month here she discovered that I was afraid of one of the room's, a story attached to it that a great-great-great-grandfather of mine had been killed by his mistress or his wife, before killing herself, the pair of them forever haunting their old rooms. Even the servants refused to go in the room, on account of odd things happening to them in there.... But I am not a servant, and the dowager would have no fear from the future Duke of Vegetasei."

He stopped again, and Bulma felt herself take a breath, unaware that she had been holding hers as he spoke. Vegeta continued on though, unaware that Bulma's hand was covering his, her eyes locked on his own, "That next night, the dowager forced me to spend the night in that very room I had developed a phobia of in my youth. I remember pounding against the door, begging to be let out, but she only told me she would be back to let me out in the morning, and that I was to see there was nothing to fear from a room--then her footsteps as she had walked away, leaving me."

Bulma's mouth had dropped open at some point in his softly spoken story, her free hand covering her mouth in disbelief. How could anyone be so horrible and cold to a child? There was nothing unusual or wrong about Vegeta having a fear of a haunted room, especially at such a young age. Even the country seat they had in New York had a story or two of a haunted room attached to it, which Bulma was not proud to admit she still ran past, though she was past her twentieth year. To force a child of seven to be locked in such a room for a whole night?

Vegeta looked back at her as he continued, his black eyes icy chips. "The worst part was the next morning when she unlocked the door, finding me huddled in the corner of the room. She did not ask if I was okay, only asking me if I was still afraid of the room. When I had told her no, she had made me thank her for her help, and to thank her for putting my best interests at heart. She had seen nothing wrong with how she had treated me." He let out a sigh, pulling his hand from her own, rubbing his eyes, clearly frustrated, "Even after that night I still had thought that the dowager might love me as my mother had--until a week later, when she realized I was too close to a scullery maid's child, the only friend I had at the time. She had them sent away the next day, saying he was not proper friendship material for me, the 'future Duke of Vegetasei.'"

His tone grew mocking with his last statement, and Bulma realized it was because it was something he had heard numerous times from the dowager herself. He sighed, grabbing the sandwich he had been eating, shoving it in his mouth and chewing rather ferociously, letting her know that he was done talking about this.

Bulma considered pushing him further for information, but seeing the determined glint in his eye, she let it go. As they sat in silence, his chewing filling the silence. Bulma thought back to their conversation the other morning, in the closet. No wonder he had pushed her away, not just because she could be a liability to his spy career, but because he had learned from a young age that any emotion, any attachment was a weakness.... Kami, Bulma wanted to kill the dowager. Not only would this woman force a seven year old to confront his fears, but also she would take away his friends? No wonder he had turned out as he had! Bulma should be more surprised he was not a homicidal maniac or anything....

Vegeta suddenly stopped eating, throwing the sandwich down hard, and Bulma blinked at him. He refused to look at her though, his frustrations giving him that hard look she had not seen since the night at the hotel. Bulma frowned as she remembered how well that night had gone for both of them, and decided it was time to cheer her husband up. She crawled into his lap, ignoring the shocked look on his face, surprising him as she kissed him on the lips before she brought her mouth to his ear, whispering, "Want me to kill that bitch?"

Vegeta had reared back, looking at her, before his face had smoothed into a small smirk as he pulled her closer to him. His lips remained on her cheek, as his hands traced from the sides of her back, around to her front, resting on her knees for a moment. His lips moved to her ear as one of his hands ran up the length of her thigh under her skirts, before finding the opening of her drawers, dipping his fingers into the slit there. "Tempting, but I think I'd rather use you in more pleasurable ways for both of us," effectively cutting off any real conversation from either of them for the next hour as his mouth claimed hers. Ê

They rode back to the house slower than they had ridden out since Bulma was sore (but not complaining), and Vegeta had kept pace with her, unable to tear his eyes off of her. These last few days with her had been, well, they had been a revelation. Vegeta had been tempted to foster her off on a servant originally to show her the grounds and the estate, but he was glad that he had not. Beyond the reasons of getting to have sex with her in some new rooms (and positions), he had been pleased to show her where he had grown up. He got real pride from seeing the amazement and approval shining through her eyes, and Vegeta was feeling cocky. Especially after their interlude in the boathouse. Both of them.

But that was beside the point (heh, heh).

He did not know what forced him to tell her about the past, with the dowager--but she deserved to know. He wanted her to know why he was, well, the way he was. Why he would never be a normal husband to her. He also wanted to really drive the point home that once their child was born that the dowager would not be allowed anywhere near it. He really could not stress that point enough. He wondered if he could get somehow put that in his will as an amendment....

When they got back to the house, Vegeta swaggered into the great hall, which was full of pictures of all of his forebears and the past nine Dukes. He decided it was time to impress her with some family history before he found a room they had not christened yet, and set that to right. Bulma was an avid listener, and he recounted as much as he could remember as they passed under larger and larger paintings of those who had come before him. His heritage was that of the most direct descendants of the Saiyan warriors who had once ridden and ruled most of the world.

Bulma smiled as they reached the sixth Duke and Duchess, both with the Saiyan trademark black hair, holding their child, also with flame-like black hair. "Do any of your relatives not have spiky black hair?"

Vegeta shook his head, "Before the line of Saiyan's died out, we only married other Saiyan descendants, who all had black hair and black eyes. In fact...you might be the first Duchess of Vegetasei not to have the right hair and eye color." It was an odd thought to strike Vegeta, and one he had not considered, though he cockily added, "Not that I foresee this being a problem. My heir will very obviously have my hair color and eye color. No Saiyan has ever been born without black hair and black eyes."

Bulma crossed her arms, though she looked amused. "Oh good. I would hate for my blue hair and eyes to somehow show up and ruin everything."

Vegeta, realizing she was trying to needle him, only picked up her hand and patted it, as if he had not understood her. "It won't. Don't worry." The way she had turned red with anger had been worth the smack he had earned.

As they continued down the line they finally got to his grandparents, and Vegeta found himself facing the disapproving visage of the dowager. A much younger dowager, but no less severe and haughty looking than the one still alive today. "Tell me, Vegeta," Bulma started, pulling him from his contemplation of the dowager. "Does anyone ever smile in these portraits?"

Vegeta quirked his head, thinking back to the ones they had just gone through, and the ones he had not even shown her, and shook his head. Frowning, he spoke the only truth he knew. "Our family...it is very serious. You know our motto 'honor before all, respect before anything.' Happiness is not part of our motto, nor is contentment. I was raised to understand the good of the family always came before my own desires and wishes." He stopped, blinking, before he continued on, "Bulma, I have been taught from a very early age how important those words are, to me as a person and especially to our family."

She spoke softly as she brushed her hand on his shoulder, "I know Vegeta. I will do my best to live by them as well."

Vegeta did not say anything to that, instead nodding as he looked back to the more than life-size portrait of the dowager glaring down at him. A perverse part of him wanted Bulma to help him buck those words, like the reckless eighteen-year-old Vegeta had done, when he had joined the royal navy to get away from the dowager and his father and all the pressure...but look how that had turned out for him. How many people had to die for his hubris? Ê

Bulma frowned when he did not say anything, but then gave him that winning smile of hers. "Well if I am the first Duchess not to have black hair, I will also be the first to smile in my portrait. I don't think that will bring too much shame to the family."

Vegeta turned to look at her for a second, an eyebrow raised, before he turned back to his grandparents. He could almost hear the lecture the dowager would have for that, but instead he imagined the pleasure he would get from the sure to be abject horror the dowager would show as she saw how Bulma had posed for the photo. That thought caused a genuine smile to light his face, and he turned back to say something to Bulma--only to notice that Bulma was moving ahead of him, on to the next extremely large portrait which would contain him, his mother, his father...and--

"Bulma, are you feeling tired? We can stop here and get you some rest." Panic welled in him, his voice coming out raspier than he intended, as he rushed to her side.

Bulma stopped walking as she had glanced at him over her shoulder, looking at him queerly. "No, I'm feeling quite all right. A little tired and sore, but that is your fault as much as it is the walking around today." She gave him a wink and kept walking, oblivious to the rising alarm he was feeling.

Shit. Vegeta decided to try a different tactic and distract her. He caught up to her, his hand grasping her elbow, his voice low and husky when he spoke next, "Bulma, come here. There's a sitting room through here that we haven't seen yet, and I think you would really enjoy the chaise in there...."
Bulma stopped again, looking over her shoulder at him, before grinning, shaking her head as she pulled from his grasp and continued walking. "Not on your life Vegeta. You gotta give me time to walk and breathe and--hey...who's that in the portrait with you?"

Fuck.

It was too late.

Vegeta moved so he was at her side, looking at the imposing family portrait that loomed above them. It was large as the rest and quite clearly showed a younger Vegeta, his mother and father...and his younger brother, only four weeks old, a babe in his mother's arm in the portrait. Vegeta quickly looked away, to Bulma, trying to answer her, trying to be vague. "That's just my family."

Bulma frowned at him as she caught his eyes, pointing up, "The black spiky hair gave it away. And that's clearly you...though you must be only six or seven in the portrait...but who's the baby your mother is holding?"

Shit, shit, shit. "That is my brother Tarble." Vegeta quickly changed tactics, pointing to the woman in the picture, "My mother died not long after this portrait was painted--she had had a hard time birthing me, and when my father pressed her into getting pregnant with a 'spare heir,' she had grown sick during the pregnancy. After the birth, well, I later found out she had never stopped bleeding."

He stared up, feeling a wave of grief pass over him as he thought back to how small and alone he had felt when his father had matter of factly informed him over the breakfast table that his mother had passed in the night, before leaving Vegeta to process that news by himself. He felt Bulma's hand rubbing over his arm, and he blinked, looking at her, "Hey, I'm sorry. She's beautiful. It must have been very hard for you." Vegeta nodded at her, hoping they could move on from the portrait, but knowing it would not be that easy, as she softly asked, "What happened with your brother?"

Vegeta took a gulp, clearing his throat before he looked away from her, "He passed away not long after my mother." Well it was not a complete lie--not long after his mother was the same as twenty-four years later, right? Last year was almost the same time frame as twenty-five years ago, right? Vegeta decided not to elaborate, and to let Bulma draw her own conclusions. Let her think what she would...as long as she did not know the truth.

Bulma turned to look at him, sadness in her eyes. "Oh Vegeta, I had no idea you had a brother. You've never mentioned him--was it hard after he passed too?"

Vegeta turned from her, taking a few steps away, hoping she would take his closed offness as simple grief for a lost brother and would let him get away with not speaking about Tarble. Bulma was smart...but she had pregnancy hormones working against her right now, and Vegeta was not a great spy for nothing. He knew how to use people's weaknesses against them, and if that meant taking advantage of an overly emotional woman, then dammit, he was going to do it. He let his voice drop an octave or two, his face emotionless as he simply said, "It's hard to talk about."

He heard Bulma step close to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. I get it, Goku still does not really like talking about Gohan, and that was almost ten years ago. It's tough." She moved so she stood in front of him, smiling at him, causing an odd urge in him to spill all of his secrets to her, to tell her everything about Tarble, about the weight of the world he had resting on his shoulders. That urge was (thankfully) cut off when her smile grew more lascivious, her hand running down his front, her voice dropping low, "Want to show me that sitting room before we get some food?"

The Saiyan in him wanted food. The man in him wanted Bulma.

He blamed it on his high emotional stress that he grabbed her, not even bothering to make it to the promised chaise or sitting room, before he lifted her against the nearest wall, undoing his breeches, and hiking her skirts before he sank into her now familiar warmth. As he pumped into her, his mouth at her neck, absorbing every gasp and moan from her, he wondered if sex with Bulma would ever stop being as all encompassing and consuming as it was.

It scared him that he prayed the answer was no.

~~&~~

Eighteen watched with weary eyes and a heavy heart as Krillin paced around her small private sitting room. As he wore a hole in her carpet, Eighteen pulled the robe she had put over the scandalous outfit he had not even noticed tighter around her body, his mood making her anxious as he continued to walk back and forward, back and forward. Finally, when Eighteen could take no more of it, he stopped, facing her, and Eighteen had sighed, knowing what would come out of his mouth next.
ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ
ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ "We have to tell people." Krillin stood in front of her, palms out, as he pleaded with her, his eyes large and earnest.

ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ "Do we?" Eighteen drew upon all of her years as an icy mistress to answer him casually as she flicked her hair behind her ear. She did not want to act cold to him, but she could not let him see how much his entreaties were getting to her, chipping at her good sense and reasoning, especially as this was not the first time they had had this conversation.
ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ
ÊÊÊ "This is getting frustrating, me having to sneak over here at all hours of the day, not getting to acknowledge you if we meet in public...don't you hate it?"

ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ Eighteen watched him from where she was perched, wondering when he would give up his ridiculous ideas of how their relationship could be a normal one. She had tried to explain to him how it had to be--but every day he had come back here, trying a new tactic with her. Today, as usual, he had snuck in through her back entrance, the same way he would leave, as he had been doing for over a week now, ever since the day in the gardens she had let herself admit how she felt. Eighteen sighed as he kept looking at her with those pleading eyes of his, finally admitting to him, "Yes, yes I do hate it Krillin. Do you think I like it any better than you?"

ÊÊÊÊÊÊ Krillin turned to look at her, an unusual frown gracing his face, though he quickly shook his head, "No. I know you don't like it any better than me." He walked over to her, sinking to his knees in front of her, grasping her hands, "But Eighteen, I love you, you love me. I want to be with you. I don't want to have hide our love away from the world."

ÊÊÊÊÊ Eighteen's hand went to his cheek, looking into his dark eyes, the earnestness shining through them breaking her heart, "I know Krillin. I feel the same way."

ÊÊÊÊÊÊ He smiled at her, his eyes looking determined, "Then marry me Eighteen. We can be together that way, and we don't have to hide our love."

ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ Eighteen stood, moving to the fireplace, staring into the flames. She would love to do nothing more than to marry Krillin, actually marry the man she loved--but she could not subject him to her world. If Eighteen married an American, and one who had no money to his name, nor industry behind him--English society would not accept them. It was not for her own sake that this worried her--being a mistress to wealthy men had given her years to harden her outer shell to gossip, to not care of what other's thought of her...Krillin though.
ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ

ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ Krillin was a good man, who looked for the best in everyone, and always had a smile on his face, a ready joke on his lips, willing to put anyone around him at ease. Krillin, the man who would help anybody out, give any person who asked him anything of his, always willing to help a friend....

ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ The sharks of the Ton would eat him alive.

ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ No, Eighteen could not see Krillin's introduction to the world as her husband as anything but subjecting him, and their future children, to a life of ridicule and despair. Judgment and whispers would follow them anywhere they went, and she would not put any person as good as Krillin, as innocent as their children would be, through that. "Krillin, you don't understand--English society is very different than American...you would never be accepted. Our children would never be accepted, and I cannot do that to you or them." She saw the hurt look on his face, and she explained further, "It's not that I'm worried about you not being good enough for them. I know you are too good for them. It's them who I don't think are good enough for you, Krillin."

ÊÊÊÊÊÊ They had had this conversation every day since they had gotten together, ever since Krillin had declared his love for her, then, mere hours later, asked for her hand. Eighteen had been shocked, but more so from her extreme desire to say yes than from Krillin's passionate proposal. She had almost done so, but thankfully her cooler head had prevailed, asking him time to think about it. Well, here they were, nine days later, and she was still thinking about it.

ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ Today, though, she should have known something was different by the way he had brought it up, not even bothering to acknowledge her or the large meal she had prepared for him. She knew he had something up his sleeve for once instead of his usual entreaties and pleas. Now she knew he was about to play his trump card, especially as she saw the gleam of determination in his eyes as he moved closer to her. "Well why do we have to stay in England?"

ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ Eighteen looked back to him, feeling as if the rug had been swept out from under her feet. She could barely manage, "What?"

ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ "Eighteen, you're worried about how English society will accept us or not--but what if we took that power from them? Why do we have to stay here?"

ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ Eighteen was so flabbergasted; she just opened and closed her mouth at him, her eyes unblinking, wide, as she gulped, completely thrown off guard.

ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ Krillin was not done though, and he moved, standing so he was holding her hands as he looked up into her eyes, drawing her attention back to him. "Eighteen, if you love me and I love you, where we are should not matter."

ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ Eighteen stared at him, her mouth working as she thought (and said aloud at the same time), "But...I've never left England before. No one ever leaves England."

ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ Krillin smiled at her, kissing the back of one of her hands, before he continued, "What about Miss Briefs? She's the Baron of Manchester's brother, and she left England so she could marry Doctor Briefs. She's happy."

ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ Eighteen was still so taken aback by this idea, the idea of leaving the country she had been born into that she could only stare at him and blink. To go to America? The New World? Was it not...was it not over run with savages and uncouth people with no manners? The idea was just so--well, for lack of a better phrase--foreign to her. Ê

ÊÊÊÊÊÊ Krillin was more than happy to keep talking though, squeezing her hands as hope grew on his face, "Eighteen, think about it. In the states, I could open a training gym. I'm a runner-up to the Martial Arts World Championship tournament--that alone would be enough to have people coming into my gym. Sure, we would not be living like how you were used to--but we would be together. And our children--there would be no stigma around them. They would hang out with whoever they wanted, marry and love whoever they wanted," that was when he gripped her hands, his eyes wide, drawing her attention, "Our daughter would never have to marry a man fifty years older than her simply because of financial reasons. She could marry who she wanted when she wanted." Ê

ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ That was what got her--the idea of her own children being able to live the lives they wanted to with no stigma's around them, with no need for the brother to sell the sister to an old man for marriage, to not have their mother's shameful past as a mistress hanging over them, their father's working class background--that was when Eighteen started to get invested in the idea. She looked at Krillin, curious, "Could we really do this?"

Krillin gave her that smile that could light up a whole room, as he spoke faster, getting excited, "We can book passage on a ship as soon as you want. It would take six weeks to cross, but once we are there...Eighteen, we could really make a new life for ourselves. We could live wherever we wanted..." he paused, blinking, before he said, "Well perhaps not the wilderness of the West, as there would not be many people looking for boxing instructors...but New York, Philadelphia, Boston--whatever struck your fancy. You could be your own woman...well, my wife, but you can be who you truly are, the woman I know and love, not some icy member of the ton."

Eighteen quirked her head, making sure she got through all of her questions before she let any of them really take root in her, really let herself get excited about this. "Where would you get the money to open this gym? To book us passage to America? To find us a place to live?"

ÊÊÊÊ Krillin shrugged, always optimistic, always smiling, "Does it matter? I could work at Master Roshi's salon for a few years, build up a training base, and find people who want to work with me, maybe get some people to invest. As for living, we can always stay in the apartments Goku let's me keep in New York that are Capsule Corp's. I'm sure I could talk to Goku about helping me out at first...." Krillin looked away, his smile growing, "I really think we could do it, Eighteen, we could make a good life for ourselves back in the states."

ÊÊÊÊÊÊ Eighteen did not know why she was letting it, but a small seed of hope was planted in her with his infectious smiles and calm answers, and she looked around her small private apartment, before she abruptly dropped Krillin's hands and walked away. She was gone only for a moment, coming back in with a jewelry box, opening it on the table. Krillin walked over to her, stopping at her shoulder as she opened it. Inside were some of the gifts she had ever been given by her past lovers, by the men who had kept her as their mistress. Glittering jewels stared back at them, rubies, opals, emeralds, sapphires, and, most prominently, diamonds. She looked up at him, and she shook her head, "We don't need Goku. Krillin...this is only one of five jewelry boxes I own, filled with presents from the men who used to keep me, including my brother, and my husband. If we sell my carriage, this home, all of my assets, all of my gifts from the men who never loved me...we could do it ourselves." She saw a spark in his eyes, and she smiled, cupping his cheek, "We would not have to ask anyone for help, and we could make a good life for us and our children." She found herself letting out an uncharacteristic laugh as hope bubbled within her, "Hell, we would not have to work a day in our lives if we did not want to."

ÊÊÊÊÊÊ Krillin touched her hand on his cheek, his face serious, "I would want to Eighteen. I want to use your money to help us make our new life, but I want to take care of you, as you have always deserved to be taken care of. And I don't mean like how these other men took care of you by giving you fancy gifts, though I will shower you with jewelry if that is what you want. I want to give you the life you deserve, the respect you deserve--the love you deserve."

ÊÊÊÊÊ Eighteen was so taken aback by the passion in his voice that she felt unwanted tears welling in her eyes, "Oh Krillin." She could of said more, spilled her heart to him again, but that was not who she was, so Eighteen only hugged him to her, the pair of them finding each other's lips, before he pulled back, his hands grasping into her shoulder's, "Does this mean you will marry me?"

ÊÊÊÊÊÊ Eighteen smiled at him, a real smile, as she emphatically nodded, "Yes. Of course--yes. As soon as can be arranged. We have a new life to prepare for...and I don't want to wait too long before we start living it."

ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ Krillin only grinned back at her, before grasping her in for a longer embrace, one that left them both gasping for breath, before he pulled from her, smiling, "I have to go. I want to find out the soonest we can leave." He turned back that smile of his so large she would have been afraid of it cracking his face in half if her own was not as large, as he said, "I love you Eighteen."

ÊÊÊÊÊÊ She only responded by laughing, shaking her head, "I know. Now go. I don't want to wait forever to become your wife."

ÊÊÊÊÊ He just laughed, nodded, and then was gone, leaving her alone with the welling feeling of happiness within her.

~~&~~

It was weeks later, and Bulma had yet had to discover more about Tarble. The fact that Vegeta had had a younger brother who had died was something that niggled at her conscious, even if that child had died in infancy. She had tried to talk to him about it, but just because they were married, and just because they were having enough sex to last any normal person a lifetime, did not mean Vegeta had had a complete personality transfer and was now talkative. In fact, he had sneered at her after her third attempt to bring it up, his voice cold as he said, "Bulma, I will not talk about this. If you continue to ask, we will get in a fight, and it will be your fault, not mine. You know the man I am."

Bulma had frowned, knowing he was right, but she wanted to counter with she knew the man he could be. She did not think he would take too kindly to that though--no man wanted to know how truly malleable they were. Not that Vegeta was that compliant per say--but she had seen glimpses underneath that cold exterior that gave her hope. Hell, he was down right warm and fuzzy compared to how he once was. Not that she would ever tell him that--she could think of no surer way of making sure he threw the barriers he had let slide back up, and probably reinforce them with steel as they clacked back into place this time. ÊÊ

It was about a week after they had first arrived that Vegeta and her had finally started doing things alone, and Bulma had taken to exploring the grounds by herself. She had already gone to visit two of the villages Vegeta was landlord of, and found herself finding ways to become a part of the neighborhood that was to be her home now, visiting the gentry that had not gone into London for the Season. She had never thought she would be excited to be the lady of a great keep, but Bulma found herself warming to the role, and what it entailed. Hell, she had been groomed for it her whole life, and while throwing parties and maintaining etiquette held almost no appeal for her, helping people, both with her inventions and just her resources, was something she could get behind.

Today was one of the days she was wandering around Vegetasei, Molly (who was slowly warming to her, Bulma was sure of it) trailing her with pen and paper as Bulma detailed what she wanted changed in each room. Vegeta had not been particularly happy about her wanting to change the rooms, as they were his heritage, but the second the older maid had said it was the dowager who had last redecorated, Vegeta had been behind tearing everything down and starting from scratch. Not that Bulma was going to go too crazy--but she did want this place to feel like a home, not a mausoleum. Ê

They had been at Vegetasei for almost three weeks now, and Bulma was already growing extremely fond of the place, and the happiness she had found here. She had never thought she would feel so at home, so comfortable with a place she had not grown up in--and she knew that it was all down to one man. Vegeta. Kami, what kind of an effect was he having on her? Bulma had been so used to feeling misunderstood, alone, even with her family at her side--she had never thought she would meet a man who would understand her as much as Vegeta did. That gaping hole of loneliness she had been sure no one else could get--he got it. Not only did he get it, he made it go away.... Sure, he was cold, and not talkative, or expressive with his feelings at all--but she was getting better at reading him.

And he was slowly showing her he cared for her, in odd little ways.

ÊÊÊÊÊ Her fifth day here, he had called the seamstress, informing the woman that Bulma's pregnancy would not be hidden away with bulky clothes, but celebrated--all because Bulma had told him she hated the thought of wearing so many layers as it got warmer and warmer out. Bulma had not even had to ask, and she had been touched when he had ordered her a whole new wardrobe to wear. He just said he was tired of hearing her complain about how her waist on her dresses were getting smaller and smaller.

Her seventh day here he had informed her he had told his foreman that her laboratory was to be top priority, and would be built as soon as possible, and that any thing she wanted would be at her disposal. He also told her he would have his solicitor meeting with her that day so she could outline what kind of supplies she would need. Bulma had not had to ask for anything, and when she had thanked him, he had only waved his hand at her, looking flustered with her heart-felt thanks.

Her tenth day here, he had given her a necklace that had once been his mother's, that he said he wanted her to have, particularly because the shade of the blue topaz reminded him of her eyes. He had said it offhandedly, but it had really stuck with Bulma, and she found herself wearing the chain with the single tear drop blue topaz everyday, simply so she could touch it and smile as she remembered how there had been red on his cheeks when he had handed it to her. Especially since the pregnancy hormones had caused her eyes to well up, not that she had let him know that as she had quickly turned and fled the room (smooth, right?). Ê

Her thirteenth day here, he had walked in on her as she was sketching in the sunroom she liked to sit in, and brusquely informed her that he was going to send word to his people in America to ship over anything and everything she would need, including that, "Damn horse you keep talking about. What was that blasted beasts name again?" That 'blasted beast's' name was Moonshine, and was apparently being brought over for her, since Vegeta had once heard her say she missed the horse who she had been riding for most of her life.

She could go on and on--but the point was, Vegeta was niggling under her skin, and was no longer just the man she lusted after, the man she could talk to about anything, the man she could relate too on anything--he was now the man she...okay. She was not ready to think those words yet. So she just decided she was going to pretend she had never thought of them, and go back to redesigning his entire family estate. Because she could.

As they drew to another room, Bulma was hit with an idea, "Does Vegetasei have a basement? Or an attic?"

Molly stopped scribbling, the older woman cocking her head, "I don't believe we have a basement area, mum. The foundations of this household are old, built upon a stone foundation, if I'm remembering my Vegetasei history correctly. But there is definitely an attic area--the old nursery is up there, as well as a large storage area."

Bulma lit up at the mention of a large storage area, though she made sure to hide this as she waited until the next room to dismiss Molly, before casually making her way to the attic, trying not to appear too eager. It would not do to have the household know that her and Vegeta had basically been playing the world's longest game of hide and go seek these past three weeks. It had started innocently enough, the fifth day when she had turned to him as he continued the Vegetasei tour, asking innocently, "So where is your secret office this time?"

Vegeta had decided to play dumb, his face blank, "What secret office?"

Bulma frowned at him, "Oh don't try that with me mister. I refuse to believe the house you spend the most amount of time in does not have a secret war room where you have all of your spy stuff hidden away. Now where is it?"

She had expected denials, but instead she had been surprised when Vegeta had given her a smirk, an eyebrow raised as he snidely said, "You're the genius. I bet you can't find it in your first month here."

Bulma had smiled right back, feeling cocky, her competitive edge coming out. "I don't usually take such sucker bets, but who am I to stop my husband from wanting to lose to me?" He had frowned, but she had ignored it, innocently asking, "What are the stakes?"

Vegeta had rubbed his chin, musing aloud as he eyed her breasts, causing heat to flush her body, "Hmm...what do I want from you...months of you being at my beck and call sexually?" She had made a noise, but he had continued, "No, I can have that whenever I want...." Bulma made another noise, a more offended one this time, but he plowed over her, his eyes drifting from her chest, down to the small swell of her stomach, gently placing his hand on the underside of it, "Ah yes. I have it." Vegeta looked into her eyes, his eyes glinting as he met her own, "The name of our child."

Bulma's eyes had bulged out, shock coursing through her. "Seriously, you think your secret office is hidden that well?"

Vegeta had only smirked, "Do we have a deal?" Bulma had frowned as she looked at him, but then had smirked, shrugging, sealing the deal with a handshake. Ever since that moment, Bulma had been determined to win, to wipe the smug smirk off of Vegeta's face. Ê

She had over a week to still find it, and she had to admit she was growing desperate. Part of the reason she had undertaken the remodeling scheme so eagerly was because it gave her an excuse to see every part of the house she had yet to see. If Molly found anything odd about the way Bulma paid special attention to certain walls or wall sconces, tapping them or pulling them (respectively), she never said anything, instead just scribbling Bulma's notations about the rooms down. Maybe she gossiped about Bulma's odd behavior to the other maids, but Bulma figured as long as they thought her slightly eccentric rather than a bitch, it was nothing to worry about. Ê

Today, she was going to try the attic. Bulma made her way, slowly, up the four set of stairs that took her to the top of the mansion, finding a set of stairs that led up to the nursery, and she spent an hour looking around, making note of what she wanted changed before the baby came, though she paid particular attention to the dimensions of the room. It was huge--she was surprised to see how much room was given to the apartments of the nanny and where Vegeta had grown up. It made her lose faith in her idea of his secret room being up here, but she did not give up.

She made her way to where she had found the entrance to the attic was, amazed that the place was not covered in dust as she saw old, out of date furniture mixed with old paintings and decorations that probably had been in style when Bulma had been just a gleam in her father's eye. Bulma did not waste time looking through the older stuff (she would save that for another day), instead going to where she knew the room should be connected to the old nanny's apartments. She knocked a few times, and though it was slightly hollow sounding, it was not enough as she could find no seam (as she could not in the nanny's apartment's) or anything that would lead to a secret room.

Well there went another one of her brilliant ideas...

Bulma sighed, walking over to one of the only window's in the room, opening it as she took in some fresh air, looking over the vast Vegetasei grounds. She leaned on he elbows, taking a second to take in rolling green in front of her, her eyes catching the construction space that was to be her lab--

Wait a moment.

Bulma frowned as she leaned out the window, grabbing the charcoal and paper she always kept in her pocket as she wrote out some equations, before she left the attic, running back to the nanny's apartments, looking out the window in there, taking note of where her laboratory was being built. She frowned, but did some more calculations, wishing she had her compass and protractor with her as she guessed the angles she was looking at, before she gave a satisfactory grin, looking at what she just figured out.

Okay, even if she was off by more than a few degrees, Bulma realized that the space between the window she had looked at in the storage space and this one, while they should only be a few feet away from each other, were more than twenty feet away from each other.

Suspicious, to be sure, and it let her know that there was more than enough room for another room between these two windows--one that was hidden away.

Going off of a hunch (and because she could find no hidden doorways upstairs), Bulma went to the room she figured was directly below the space between the windows, and started looking....

Fifteen minutes later, Bulma climbed up the ladder she had found hidden behind a false wall in a closet, her head popping into a small room, covered with articles, clippings, reports, anything really, and dominated by a large desk where she was happy to see her husband staring at her, blinking at her before he frowned. Bulma pulled herself up into the room, lit by a large skylight, as she grinned at him, "I believe this means I get to name our first child, husband of mine."

Vegeta's frown deepened as he leaned back in his desk chair, taking her in, though she was glad to see a glint in his eye. "Want to tell me why I'm going to have the first Vegetasei heir not named Vegeta in my families history?"

Bulma grinned, always glad to brag of her genius, telling him about her realization of the angle of the view from the windows of her new lab was too big. As she spoke, she started to wander about the room, looking at what he had up on his walls. Vegeta came up behind her once she finished bragging, his hands on her waist, and his lips on her neck as he pressed her body into the heat of his body. She melted into him, but her eyes drew to the clippings on the wall, curious, "What's been going on with Zhelonie? Catch me up. We haven't spoken about it in months."

Vegeta sighed, rubbing his eyes as he stepped back from her, following her movements as she looked at everything he had tacked to his giant board, "Nothing much to tell, unfortunately. We know he's infiltrated the upper echelons of society, but we still do not know who he is. There are always people under suspicion, but never enough proof."

She quirked her head, looking over her shoulder before turning back to the board, "So all of the French people we have found--nothing?"

Vegeta sighed, "No. Obvious French people have been checked in triplicate at this point, not much to report on them. The only explanation we can find is that he is hiding his accent."

That niggled something in the back of Bulma's consciousness, but before she could grasp on it, she frowned, her eyes going large as she recognized a newspaper clipping, one that was framed in her family home, had been framed for about six years now. "Vegeta, what is this?"

Vegeta moved past her, looking at the clipping, of Goku's win at the World's Martial Arts Championship over Krillin. Goku was only fourteen, much shorter than he was now (almost on par with Krillin, who stood next to him) though there was no mistaking it as her younger brother. Bulma watched Vegeta as he looked at what she was pointing at, her heart hammering as she saw him freeze for a second. Just a second, but she had seen it, and it aroused her suspicions as he coolly said, "Ah yes. I forgot I had gotten that from when I hired that PI to find if there was any way one of Bardock's children had survived the boat crash."

Bulma frowned, turning to look at him, "When did you hire this PI?"

Vegeta waved his hand, noncommittally, "Last year, sometime."

Bulma turned to him, confused, "Last year? But this article is almost six years old--Goku is only a boy in it. How did he find a newspaper article that old?"

Vegeta turned from her, hunching his shoulders as he looked at something on his desk, "He was a bow street runner. Who knew what kind of resources he used to find Kakarrot."

Bulma was not placated though, stepping closer to him. "But a newspaper article from America? And one that's almost ten years old? You said he was just a bow street runner--even with your money, how would he even think to check newspapers in America? And why were you suddenly interested in whether or not Bardock's children had lived over ten years after their disappearance? Vegeta--."

He cut her off, as he lunged at her, grabbing her, holding her to him, as his mouth found her own, kissing her until she could not breathe, could not think. He pulled back, whispering against her mouth, "Did I ever tell you about the fantasy I had of you in my other secret office?"

Bulma shook her head, numb from that soul-sucking kiss, and Vegeta gave a dark chuckle that shivered down her spine as he said, "I'd be more than willing to show you it then," before he carried her over to his desk, crashing everything on the floor with a sweep of his arms, before he threw her on it, and fucked her until she was gasping his name over and over again.

It was not until hours later, as they lay in bed that night, that Bulma began to think about the newspaper article again, and a fear that Vegeta might have been hiding more than she had ever been anticipating spread through her. Bulma determined then and there that she needed to get to know all of his secrets before it was too late.
She only hoped it was already not too late
~~&~~
A/N: To be honest, I was a bit worried about this chapter. Since Vegeta did not have countless years of being Frieza's slave since childhood to blame for his closed offness and attitude, I wanted to find something that would believable to the character, as well as to the time period. Hence his long confession to Bulma about just how horrible his childhood was. What do you guys think? Too cheesy? Too un-Vegeta? Awesome and perfect? (Last one, right? Right?!). Anywhoo...hope you guys enjoyed, and hope you, like Bulma, are realizing that this honeymoon period can't last forever....