The Dark Duke- Seventeen

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

Warnings: Cussing (that will probably never change...)

A/N: I love reading your guys' thoughts on what I'm writing. Sometimes you are so spot on, it scares me--while other times your ideas are better than what I have planned and I might have to tweak the story a bit. Ha ha. Thank you for all of the love, and I hope you know (at this point!) how much it means to me.

As usual, thank you to my better half, my beta, lilpumpkingirl. I can think of no one better to bounce my crazy story ideas off of!

Chapter Seventeen: A Lady Never Gets Lost!

      Bulma made her way from yet another over-crowded and exhausting ballroom, winding her way through the intricate hallways of yet another lavish mansion to find the ladies resting room. In truth, she did not even have to relieve herself or rest in any way shape or form. She was just so sick of being in the ballroom she had made one of the only excuses available to young, unmarried women who wanted to sit out a dance or two.

Especially someone as sought after as her.

It had been a tiring three weeks since her debut at the Vegetasei ball. She had been home maybe one night a week, every other night taken up with balls, garden parties, dinners, musicales, performances and a number of other tiring social events. While her social schedule was enough to keep any one person exhausted the refined lady act she had to keep up at all times made her even more exhausted. Even if it meant that she had proven herself to be this seasons catch. The men wanted her, the women wanted to be her, and the mama's looking for husbands for their unwed daughters wanted to kill her. In other words...same ol', same ol'.

Not only were the social activities of night keeping her busy, but during the day she had to spend untold hours drinking tea. Tea, tea, tea. Nothing but tea and Ôbiscuits' (aka COOKIES she always wanted to tell her British hosts--but she refrained because she was a lady, dammit), being poured down her throat as she sat through the stuffiest, most boring conversations she had ever been subjected to. She thought the women of Manhattan could do small talk--she was gravely mistaken. These London ladies could certainly give a lesson or two to the women of Manhattan of how to properly drone on and on about nothing substantial for hours. Bulma spent most afternoons chatting idly (for HOURS), while doing mechanical engineering equations in her head so she would not expire from boredom.

       If she was not playing host at Saiyan Hall with a roomful of suitors, she would be at other women's drawing rooms trying to foster connections with women her own age. She did not fool herself into thinking they invited her to tea because they wanted to be friends with her, rather she knew that they were using her for one of two things. One, because they knew she was close with her brother and were trying to gain Goku's favor (hah! Good luck with that one--as far as Bulma could tell her brother was asexual), or two they were trying to use her own fame to bolster their own. But that was okay because she was using them too. For information, for connections, for a whole host of things that she hated, but knew she needed.

Not only was she busy playing little society miss, but her plans on the steam engine were going forward full speed ahead. She had gotten the blueprints for Vegeta's ship, and he had given her leave to make changes to it. She was able to work in one of his shipyards, with contracted men who she got to order about, refitting the ship with her new steam engine. She had been taking her model out almost every day to the Serpentine with Goku, or her maid, and had been running numerous experiments; she concentrated on working out how to control the speed of the ship once you got the steam engine working properly, and whether or not the advanced speeds were more likely to cause a capsize and how to counterbalance this.

Over the past few weeks there had been a few number of (unfortunate) test runs that had ended with her model boat, which she had lovingly named the Heiress, flipping over, or (more alarmingly) bursting into flames. So she had taken her time outfitting the larger ship, since she wanted to make sure that this whole plan was not going to end with her...uh...causing one of Vegeta's ships to go down in flames on its first trial run.   

On top of her actual experiments and the society events, was her new job as a spy (oh how she loved saying that!). Bulma had really taken to the spying business she had to admit. She was translating new documents daily, using her vast skill of languages to translate things as mundane as Russian newspapers, or as exciting as intercepted notes. She had cracked a code that had long eluded the War Offices that was related to the British Empire's land interests in India. She was later informed by Vegeta her message had likely saved hundreds of lives on both sides of the lines by making them aware of a foolhardy plot that would have resulted in the deaths of innocent bystanders. If that was not enough to give one a happy feeling on the inside, she did not know what would be.  

      On top of that, once Vegeta had made it known that he was not going to attend more than a handful of events all season (so as to not foster suspicion), Bulma had really taken it to heart that it was up to her to let him (and by extension, the war offices) know what was being said at all social events. She had not taken risks like she had promised Vegeta, but she had kept her ears open and she knew she was keeping the lower-ranked officials at the war officers busy with all of the information she was passing on.
      
      The only problem was that Zhelonie was still a mystery, and Bulma was beginning to grow as frustrated as Vegeta was that they could not pin down this one spy. Every time she thought she was getting somewhere she would find herself at a dead end, or with no viable information. It only added to the feeling of anxiety that grew over her whenever she thought about just what the Colds could be planning the longer she spied and found no real tangible evidence of who Zhelonie was.  

From what she had read (as well as what had slowly been revealed to her, the longer she worked for the Crown) the Colds were a bloodthirsty lot that was not satisfied with their already large empire. Led by the next Tsar, Frieza, numerous countries had fallen to Russia expanding their ever-growing domain. But the government was cruel with their new territories, making workers divert natural resources to the extremely rich Moscow, the leaders of the country uncaring of those that they controlled. All they cared about was that their wealth, landholdings, economy and stomachs grew fatter, while the rest of their countries starved to death.

Not only that, but Frieza's reputation was one of pure horror. Numerous accounts of murder, rape, and torture--the man seemed to lack a soul. All he cared for was domination, uncaring of who he stepped on to meet his goals. Those around him hated him and yet could not stand up to him because of the fear he instilled in them. He was not above killing a few family members of those around him for doing something as silly as being late when he bided them to come. Truly, Bulma had to stop herself from shivering as she thought about what she had translated about the Tsesarevich.

But she was getting lost in thought, Bulma realized, as she forced herself to stop thinking about Frieza and instead take stock of where she was. She noticed she had not only gotten lost in thought--she had gotten lost in the mansion she was currently in.

Damn, and double damn.

These places were all extremely large with numerous hallways and turn offs that just happened to look exactly the same. Seriously--the economically puritanical attitude of Manhattan was not present here, architects more concerned with how it looked rather than how efficient it was. Something Bulma was starting to detest, as this was not the first mansion she had gotten lost in.

      She had to think--had to concentrate. Had she turned left when she was supposed to turn right? She could not remember what she had been told...or where exactly she had gotten so lost. Curses! She was just going to have to turn around and hope she could find her way back by the chatter of the ballroom. Or that a maid or footman would see her and kindly direct her back.

Ten minutes later Bulma found herself slumped against a windowsill as she looked outside trying to use the stars to tell her whether or not she was in the east or west wing of the house. How damned lost could she be inside of one palatial mansion?! She frowned at that thought when she realized the answer was pretty damned lost. She could not even find the North Star to guide her or any constellation, since the fog that seemed to hang over London at all times made it nearly impossible to see the stars. Bulma frowned as she looked below her, trying to see if she recognized the gardens outside of the wall...or even a street in the distance.

Double damn and triple damn!

Okay--she was going to try just walking a few more hallways, her hand on a wall taking nothing but lefts. That was sure to lead her somewhere other than here, right? It worked for mazes...but she was not so sure it would work for lost houseguests. Her last resort would be to find an empty room with a trellis or a waterspout she could shimmy down from the second to first floor. From there she would walk back around the house to either the front or the back where she could slip back into the ballroom and pretend she had just been resting. But that was her absolute last resort... she was sure it was not going to come to having to climb her way back to the first floor!

Fifteen minutes later, and Bulma had given up all pretenses of knowing what she was doing or where the hell she was. It was time for her to implement plan B. She was going into dark rooms and opening windows, looking for a good trellis or foothold or low first story roof so she could climb down to the ground. Expensive dress be damned--her pride was on the line here! She could not be found this lost in a home that was not her own! She would be thought of as snooping at best, and an idiot at worst.

She shuddered at that. No genius liked being thought of as an idiot when they knew how truly smart they were. Not only that, but if it got out that Bulma was wandering the halls of sir so-and-so's place, she was sure the papers would not hesitate to link her name to anyone else who was conspicuously missing and claim they were having an affair. Or mock her as an American--she hated even the thought of that, her teeth grinding as she imagined how she would be ridiculed in the papers.

But she refused to let it come to that! She was going to climb down if it killed her!

       Bulma finally found a room that had a sloped roof right underneath it, which would make a good place to scale down to the ground. She was just opening the window in what she was assuming was a collections room (seriously, why did there need to be a sarcophagus in a home? Did these people have no respect for the dead?!), when the door to the room opened.

Bulma instantly froze, her eyes going large, wondering whom else was in the room. Was the host coming to show off his large collection of creepy things to his guests? Just her luck tonight!

      Fearing being caught with one leg out the window, Bulma pulled her body back into the room and flattened herself behind the large sarcophagus praying that there was no dead body still inside of it. She was crammed between the corner wall and the sarcophagus and unless someone walked around the side of the tomb she should not be found out. She had to only stay still, not making any loud noises and not let herself get spooked by the thought of a mummified body coming to life and grabbing her.
      
      Oh that thought was so not helpful right now!

As Bulma held her breath (trying to remain as silent as possible) she saw the glow of a candle move about the room as someone silently observed the room, looking from piece to piece, slowly perusing the large collection of oddities this particular household had. Bulma's confusion grew as nothing else happened--was someone simply looking around the room? Were they that intrigued by the artifacts Lord Bonaventure collected? Then why did they not come here with him?

The footsteps drew closer to where Bulma was, and she remained pressed flat to the sarcophagus, praying that whoever was in the room would soon be done. She needed to be left her in peace so she could go back to trying to sneak out of a window! She almost groaned, then, when she heard the door open again and another pair of feet joined those that were already in the room. What the crap?!

The candle, which had been drawing closer and closer to her, drew away from her then, the soft light heading towards the new person in the room. She was left back in the shadows as she heard the footsteps shuffle towards each other on the wood floor, the glow of the candle stopped on the other side of the room.

      A man spoke keeping his voice low, almost to a whisper, as he said, "A Keats poem is always quite invigorating, don't you think?"

The low reply, also a man, was swift. She thought she heard something familiar in the way the man said his r's--but she had met so many people, and the voice was barely above that of a whisper, so she could not place it.  "Keats is for the untrained, a Pushkin is for the true scholar."

Bulma, who had thought she was confused before, grew even more so with the strange exchange. Um--had she accidentally found her way into the poetry meeting that she was unaware was happening in Lord Bonaventure's collections room? What was with the British and their vast collection of odd habits?!

Before she could consider that too deeply, she heard a clapping as the two men's hands met (she could only assume as she was too afraid to look) and then a low conversation started...in Russian. "So you are who the Tsesarevich who sent to me?"

"Yes, Zhelonie," Bulma's ears perked up even further, her mouth sagging open behind the tomb. "You will find I am well qualified for whatever task you need."

Bulma's eyes grew large as she realized she had accidentally wandered into the one room tonight that Zhelonie was using for his spying! What were the chances of this happening?! Maybe her luck was turning for the better! She threw her hands up in a triumphant gesture, thanking her bad sense of direction for once.

      How exciting was this? Though there had been hints that Zhelonie was in England, there had been no confirmation--until now, that was. This had to be the Zhelonie Vegeta had warned her about! Not only was he speaking his Russian with a French influenced accent, but he had also mentioned the Tsesarevich! She forced herself to tamp down on the excitement as she heard them start speaking again, leaning in to hear them better.  

Zhelonie snorted. "I will be the judge of that. For now, I just need you take this list to the Tsesarevich for me, and I will need you to take another in a week. I have no clue if I am being followed yet, though I doubt it, but the last thing I need is to be discovered with the Tsesarevich, or any Russian's for that matter. I am so very close to gaining an admittance with..." He trailed off, and Bulma frowned, almost stomping her foot in frustration. Admittance with whom?!

The other man sounded indignant as he responded, "A correspondence? You have called me, the leader of the Ginyu force here, simply to deliver a message?!"

There was a hiss in Zhelonie's voice when he spoke next. "Yes--and you should be grateful for that you miscreant! I have no clue why Frieza puts up with you or those showboat men you call the Ginyu Force," said in a completely mocking tone Bulma noticed, "but he told me to work with you. I need you to take this correspondence for me to him and if you do that correctly," his tone heavily implied that Zhelonie thought the man could not even accomplish that Bulma noticed, "Then perhaps I will trust you with more."

The other man sounded like he was disappointed, his voice haughty, "If you wish to waste my talents that way, that is your choice. But just know that the Tsesarevich is disappointed in how long it is taking you to complete your tasks--he is starting to wonder if there is a better...team...out there for doing what you are failing to do."

There was a gasp, and the sound of someone coughing (choking?) and Zhelonie spoke in an angry whisper that Bulma had to lean closer to the edge of the sarcophagus to hear. The voice that spoke was so malicious, Bulma felt goose bumps begin to spread up her arms as the heard the hate dripping from Zhelonie's tone. "How dare you. The Tsesarevich completely trusts me, and I will not have you spreading rumors about our relationship and how I am doing my mission. He knows I cannot hand him England on a platter in a day, and he will not listen to any upstarts who are looking to curry his favor by besmirching my reputation. Do I make myself clear?"

Suddenly there was the sound of someone wheezing, and when the other man responded, it sounded strangled, "Perfectly." Bulma put two and two together, realizing that Zhelonie must have grabbed the other man's throat and had been choking him, only letting go so the leader of the Ginyu Force could answer him. The other man had the smarts to sound scared and even Bulma pushed herself back further behind the tomb, closing her eyes and praying that they would be gone soon.

Zhelonie's voice was much more polished when he next spoke, a regal tone almost. "Good. Maybe you have proven yourself not completely worthless if you can survive being choked like that." The other man did not answer, and Bulma heard the sound of paper being passed, before the door opened and one of the men left.

Not a minute later the door opened again, the sounds of heavy steps leaving the room as well as the only source of light. Bulma found herself alone in the room completely slumped against the sarcophagus, uncaring of whether or not Cleopatra herself was in it. She waited to catch her breath before she went back to the window, opening it. She was almost mechanical in her climb back down to ground level. It was mechanical (Bulma had always been an expert tree climber...well, ever since Goku, who was more monkey than man sometimes, had shown her how to climb properly), and she was lost in her thoughts of what had just happened as she completed the task.

      Bulma was completely surprised that the men had not done a sweep of the room before they had their meeting, and was feeling like she had tempted fate simply by being here. Though to give the two men...spies...credit, what were the chances she, or anyone for that matter, would be that far back in the house? Or that they would be one of the very few people who actually spoke Russian? Maybe her luck was not as bad she had thought it was earlier. She had been in that room for a reason and now she had an earful of information she could pass along.

Bulma frowned, stopping as she hit the ground, uncaring of where she was at that last thought. After what she had heard she could pass along the information, and she would--unfortunately, that meant she needed to have a meeting with Vegeta, sooner rather than later to unburden herself to him.

That thought only had her groaning, cursing her luck (AGAIN!) knowing she would rather face Zhelonie than have a one on one meeting with Vegeta. How fun for her that she would get to experience both in a twenty-four hour period...

~~&~~

The next afternoon Bulma sat in the library on the overstuffed couch that occupied the center of the room, her back to the door as she sat sketching the room she had been in last night. She had not seen hide nor hair of the people in the room with her, but she needed a clear picture of where she had been and what exactly had happened. She had already written down the conversation she had heard the moment she had arrived home last night, as what their voices had sounded like to her. It might not be useful to anyone else, but having heard them speak Russian, she was hoping she could place them if she heard them speak again.

It was a long shot, but she was starting to understand being a spy meant recognizing the long shots and taking a chance with them anyways.

As she sat sketching, she heard the door open behind her, and she forced herself to not show even the slightest reaction in her body language, forcing her fingers to continue to move as she retraced the lines of the room. She did not even look up as the footsteps drew closer to her, or when she saw the familiar polished hessians sat in the reading chair across from her. She did not even look up as she said, "Thank you for meeting me here."

The gruff voice that answered sounded bored, "I got your note. Do you have anything to report to me? Or is this just another stupid question about my ship?"

Bulma waited until she finished sketching, forcing herself to show any reaction to the way his voice caused strange stirring in her, acting as cool as possible as she handed the book over to Vegeta. When she finally looked up, watching the angles of his face as he studied the sketch Bulma took a second to catch her breath, forcing herself to forget memories of how his face had looked as he had held her, making love to her. She banished the thoughts, putting them somewhere deep and dark in her memory, forcing herself to see him only as the man who was her link to Basil.

She waited until she knew her voice was going to sound normal, and then she spoke. "I accidentally stumbled upon a meeting between Zhelonie and another Russian spy last night."

Vegeta's head shot up at her proclamation, his dark eyes glaring into her soul as he studied her. His voice dripped with contempt as he mockingly asked, "Accidentally?" He shook his head, as if he did not believe her. "I thought we agreed you were not going to be going around with your ears pressed to doors, or looking for anything? Typical. I should have known you would not keep your promise."

Bulma did not even bat an eyelash at that, used to Vegeta's anger ever since she had coldly acted like him the day after the ball. "I was not seeking out information, or even thinking about spying. That is why I said it was an accident." She sighed, closed her eyes, and then opened them again, looking into his skeptical face with the most serene face she could keep around him. "I might have gotten lost last night at the ball. I needed to get away," he smirked at that, but she continued, ignoring the way her heart accelerated at the darkly handsome look on his face, "And I honestly just got so confused that I found the only way I could get back to the ball would be to..." she hesitated, and he arched an eyebrow. Bulma took an internal sigh, and curled her fingers into fists so she would not make a move that would give away the little hitch she seemed to feel whenever he gave her that exact, sexy, look.

      She needed to rush through this meeting--this was exactly why she hated meeting with him! No matter how much she tried to tutor herself into not feeling around him, she always felt something. "That's not important. What is important is that I was in this room, it was completely dark, and two people came in."

Vegeta's eyebrow lowered as she did not take his bait, and he gave her another bored look as he waved his hand at her. "And?"

Bulma frowned as she looked slightly past him to think about exactly what she had heard. "The first thing they said to each other was about poets. One of them mentioned Keats, and the other...Zhelonie, I think, countered with something about Pushkin."

Vegeta stiffened, and she focused in on him as he spoke. "They mentioned poetry?" Bulma nodded, and he frowned, continuing. "We have long been trying to figure out what their verbal signal is to each other, to help identify other Russian spies. You might have overheard their key." His frown deepened, "But how do you know it was Zhelonie?"

Bulma sighed, "Because the other one mentioned him by name."

Vegeta leaned forward in his chair, "Okay--you have my attention. Tell me everything."

Bulma took a breath, then recounted everything she had heard. She pointed to the picture, but made sure her and Vegeta stayed an appropriate amount of distance apart from each other and whenever she began to feel overwhelmed by his presence she would look past him, outside to the busy street. When she finished she leaned back, putting as much distance between her and Vegeta as she could without being obvious.

"...Then they left."

Vegeta also leaned back, frowning as he stared past her, lost in thought. "Ginyu, Ginyu...give me a second. I have to go check some notes of mine."

Bulma nodded not moving until she had heard him leave the room, deflating like a balloon with the air let out of it. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, forcing herself to relax, to calm down, and to stop being so emotional!

      Bulma had realized weeks ago that if she was going to continue to spy (which she really, really wanted to) she could not completely avoid Vegeta. Especially as the two of them seemed to work extremely well together when it came to the spy business. Whenever she passed information on to him they would always discuss it, and Vegeta seemed to respect her theories. As a woman who was used to being ignored she had to say she found it gratifying that Vegeta would listen to her ideas, and hell, even point out when she was wrong in a respectful way.
      
      And it was not as if she gave up spying she would not see him anymore. She still lived in his house, and it was not likely that she would leave before the season was over. Goku needed her more than she needed to give in to her desire to tuck her tail and run all the way back to America. Plus, she was quite lucky that Vegeta seemed to be avoiding her as much as she was avoiding him. Her life seemed to have gone back to normal, or as normal as her life could be...

Bulma had made a choice the day after the ball to pretend that she was a strong woman who slept with strange men in gardens at parties all the time and she was going to have to stick with it. She was the one who recognized that it was the only way she could go about acting as if everything was normal (you know, and not become a crumpled mess of woman she always read about in serials). She should have been more insulted that Vegeta had believed her so easily the day after the ball, she should be mad that he would easily assume that she was a harlot, but in this case his belief in her loose morality had worked in her favor. The only problem was since she had chosen to take the path of indifference she had to stick with it.

Bulma was, and would never be, an indifferent person.

Especially not with the man she had lost her virginity to.

      But she had decided this was the best way. She modeled herself after Vegeta, and kept her emotions to a minimum around him, and stuck with nothing but talking about the spy game and questions about his ship. It was almost fun (in an extremely odd, perverted way) to say that she could act like Vegeta, putting on an emotionless mask as well as he did. She hated who she was during those moments, though. Bulma was a talker, a laugher, a shrieker even, by nature--not an emotionless being.
      
      Vegeta seemed more annoyed with the new Bulma than anything. Sure, he met with her because he had to, but he seemed irritated and full of anger whenever they did meet. He was contemptuous, and seemed to have grown even more sarcastic since they had first met. She wondered what he had to be so angry with her for, but did not question it as his anger proved to be yet another convenient buffer between them.
      
      A few weeks ago when she had realized that her and Vegeta would need to meet alone from time to time for the spy business, Bulma had done her homework, and chosen the best room to meet in. The library was a large room with furniture that was spaced widely apart, ensuring that they would not get too close. Not only that, but it had a large bay window that faced a busy street.
      
      Bulma always ensured that they met in the afternoon when the curtains would be drawn wide, and people would be milling about around outside. Vegeta was not going to make a move on her (though he really shown no inclination to do so since the night of the ball) when people from the street could look in and see what they were doing. Not only that, but the library was one of the least visited rooms in the whole house. Even if they had the door wide open, as long as they spoke in low voices they were not going to be overheard. Especially as the dowager detested women who read (Ôbluestockings' she liked to call them) and was unlikely to make her way to the library to pick a book to read on any given day.
      
      In the library Bulma could be given the best of both worlds. A private place where her and Vegeta could meet, but a big enough place with enough accountability that they were never truly alone. Bulma found that being alone with Vegeta was just asking for trouble, as she thought back to the times before she had entered the spy game when they had been alone. They had usually ended with Bulma fleeing as desire coursed through her body...
      
      As the object of her desire walked back in the room, Bulma shot back up as if she always sat as prim and proper as possible, even when alone in rooms. Vegeta hardly noticed though as he was absorbed in a file he was flipping through as he stood across from her, a frown marring his face. She resisted the suddenly strong urge she had to reach up and stroke the frown from his face, once again clenching her hands into fists in order to control her errant body.
      
       When Vegeta finally found what he was looking for in the file, he gave a small smirk and took his seat Bulma's heart racing faster. This meeting would have to end soon--she was starting to grow fanciful, and lust was starting to cloud her judgment.
      
      Vegeta did not notice, though, as he looked up at her. "Ginyu is a long suspected code name for a troupe that works for the Tsesarevich. We have suspicions that they work in the theater or opera world."
      
Bulma nodded. "That would make sense as Zhelonie did call the ÔGinyu force' showboat men. Not only that, but by being in an acting troupe they would have perfect opportunities to travel between here and Moscow with their show, or other places controlled by Frieza. It would be almost too easy to sneak messages and information across war lines as an actor who is part of a traveling show."

Vegeta nodded, contemplative. A silence descended over the two of them, and Bulma looked down at the sketchbook she had taken back from Vegeta, forcing herself to not stare at Vegeta as he sat there, brooding all handsome-like. She had thought after everything she had gone through with Vegeta she would no longer be affected by looking at him. But now she found herself desperate with a need for him that seemed to get under her skin. If he got too close the heat of his body seemed to wash over her and she had a burning desire to press herself against him again. Even his scent seemed to be doing something to her insides, and if she looked at him too long...he really was too good looking.

At least he had not smiled at her--she really could not resist that smile. Lately, all he could do was frown at her. At best, she would get a smirk (which was almost as dangerous as his smile).

Vegeta spoke, his voice bringing her back to the present, "When is the next time you are going to the theater as part of your social engagements?"

Bulma thought for a second, mentally flipping through her social calendar. "Next week. The Viscount Viridian has invited us to join him at the theater."

Vegeta sneered at hearing Viridian's name, "Does Viridian have a box?"

Bulma shrugged. "I think so. I would have to check with him."

Vegeta flicked his wrist, "Don't bother. His box will not be as nice or as centrally located as the ducal one I have."

Bulma frowned at him, "Well that's a shame I'll be missing it as I already told Viridian I would sit with him."

Vegeta met her eyes and as their eyes locked Bulma saw a flash of the fire she recognized, beneath his facade of coolness, as he spoke softly. "Then invite him to join us in our box. But I am going, and if I am going you and Kakarrot will be sitting with me." He stood, keeping his eyes locked with hers as he spoke clearly, "And that is final."

Bulma bit her tongue from barbing him right back--and she saw him raise an eyebrow, as if waiting for her to say something. She thought he might be provoking her, testing her to see if he could get a reaction out of her, but Bulma only gave him a nod. "I will write him and let him know."

Vegeta's frown deepened, the notches between his eyebrows getting deeper as he stared at her, glaring, before he finally broke eye contact as he turned to go.

"Oh Vegeta." He turned back to look at her, and Bulma really wished she could have let him go. But there was one last thing she needed to tell him. "The voices I heard last night...neither of them matched up with the voices we heard in the garden the night of the ball."

Vegeta's eyebrow rose, "You are sure?"

Bulma nodded, "Yes. There was no reference to Green, and there was definitely no mention of ÔFather.'"

Vegeta gave a slow nod, and then glowered in frustration. "It seems as if the night of the ball then, we just happened to be in one of the most coincidental predicaments ever. Now we just need to find out who this other ÔGreen' is and what the hell he wants."

Bulma gave a nod meeting his eyes for a second before she looked away from the intense stare he was giving her, gulping, not turning as she heard him leave the room.  

She waited until she knew she would be alone until she uncurled her fists, flexing her fingers, idly looking at where her nails had bit into her palms, not at all surprised to see she had drawn blood.

~~&~~
A/N: Two different spies who have the same code-name?! What are the chances? Well...this is my fanfiction, so I would say rather high. Ha ha. But still--how long can Bulma keep up the ice queen act? And what is this list she overheard the Ginyu Force and Zhelonie speaking about?

Tune in next time for a trip to the opera!