The Dark Duke- Twenty-Three Part II

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love ya all,
Okieday17

Now onto the story!

Chapter Twenty-Three: High Anxiety  (Part Two)
      
      Vegeta's heart froze in that instant, in that moment of seeing Bulma's legs slip from under her, as she began to fall, as if in slow motion, backwards, off of the ledge, her mouth open in a surprised 'oh,' that he knew was seconds away from turning into a horrified scream. In that moment he admitted to one more emotion he had never really felt before, one more emotion he had sneered in others for feeling--scared.
      
      Vegeta had never been this scared before, not when he had been captured by Frieza's forces, or when he had almost lost his life numerous other times, or when he had thought that the dowager had caught him and Bulma. He was scared because he knew that a world without Bulma Briefs was not one he wanted to live in.

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

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

      Bulma had distantly heard the breaking of glass as she fell, her life flashing before her eyes even as she kept eye contact with Vegeta, before she felt her body jerk against the brick of the building as something, something strong and iron-like wrapped around her ankle, stopping her from descending further in the free-fall she had been flailing herself through. She hit the side of the building, the breath knocking from her body in a loud oomph and she froze, clinging to the side of the building, even in her position, upside down, needing to feel solidity beneath her. When she realized that she was not going to die she peered up, through the rain, as she lost the wig that had been clipped to her head, the soggy weight gone, her dress falling so her knickers were bared to world, her eyes growing large as she saw Vegeta's familiar face looking down at her. His eyes were wide as he stared into her own eyes, holding her there for a minute as neither of them could speak.
      
      As she began to shiver, uncontrollably, from the cold, from the shock, Vegeta seemed to realize where they were, and he called out, "I'm going to start pulling you up, back into the building. You need to cover your legs with your dress though, as I had to break through the window to grab you and I don't want you cutting any major arteries as I pull you through."

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

      Once he got her up so she was back on the ledge, he moved his hands from her leg, to her waist, gingerly lifting her through the window, trying to avoid the jagged edges, uncaring of the own cuts he had made on his arms (more superficial scars to add to his litany of scars) as he pulled her back through the window, back onto solid ground. As she shivered, collapsing against him, Vegeta very mechanically, and without too much thought, stripped her of the sodden mess that were her clothes, leaving her in her damp slip and knickers, all while holding her up, even as she just stood there, without blinking, without moving. Only chattering.
      
      He knew he should let her go, let her find her bearings, let her get changed into warm clothes, or a warm bath--but he was unable to stop himself from lifting her to him, holding her to his chest as he carried her to the bed, sitting on the edge of it as he curled her into him, into his warmth, holding her in his lap as she began to sniffle. Those sniffles did not last long, turning into tears, before the tears became great big gasping sobs. These were the big, heart breaking sobs of someone who had almost just lost their life and had faced their own mortality, one that Vegeta recognized from his time spent in the Navy. He was usually jaded to men (or women) who cried like this, wishing they would get it together...but with her...It made him so infinitely sad, he did not know what to do.  

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

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

      In those few seconds when she thought she was going to die, which could have been lifetimes from how long it felt like she was slipping, losing her balance, Bulma had lost all thoughts, all worries, instead just thinking This is it. This is how I'm going to die. That sucks. Now that she was safe, here, in Vegeta's arms, she just wanted to cry into him. She wanted to forget all about what had just happened, wanted to let go, wanted to cry into oblivion. She hoped no one ever went through what she had just gone through, because it went beyond life altering, it went beyond bat shit scary insane. Bulma had thought she had lost the rest of the long life she had always envisioned in front of her, thought that she was going to die at the ripe old age of twenty-two, with nothing more to show for it than a handful of inventions.
      
      But no--she was here. She was still here, being held, comforted even, by one of the scariest men in all of England. He was being so kind and gentle with her, just holding her as she continued to cry in his arms, unable to stop, unable to make coherent sentences. She never wanted to leave the safety of his arms again. And it was the safety of his arms--she felt safe here. She was safe here. She belonged here. In an instant she knew it was true. She more than belonged here--he belonged here with her. Everything they had been through had built up to this exact moment, just the two of them, emotions ripped bare as she sought comfort in his arms, and he gladly gave it...It was perfect.
      
       She needed to let him know. She was done playing this push and pull game with him, done with hiding her feelings because she did not want to get hurt. She had almost died, and one of her last thoughts had been, "And Vegeta will never know that I care for him. That someone out there cares for him."

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

      She simply needed him.

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

      She wanted him. She needed him.

      Now.

      He was here, and he was warm, and safe, and funny in his own way, and brave and a host of other things Bulma never thought she would call him when she had first met him. Her grief morphed then, grief at almost losing her own life, to need. Pure, unadulterated need, need to prove to herself she was alive, that she was not still tumbling out of the building, fantasizing before she met her untimely doom beneath her.
      
      Her movements were heated, erratic, needy. When his own hands began to grasp at her back, she almost crowed with delight, feeling his tongue meet with hers, his hands entangled in her hair, pulling her to them. They fought for dominance of the kiss, Bulma's mouth and tongue fast and frantic, while Vegeta sought to soothe her with his own, though his passion was making his own kisses sloppier than usual.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      With that he was gone.

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

~~&~~

      The same night clerk who had checked the Duke of Vegetasei into the hotel was still on duty when Vegeta came back down, his face nuzzled in the woman by his side's neck as they walked over, and whispering sweet nothing in her ear. She was mightily attractive, the blonde, but he would expect nothing less than from the most infamous Duke in all of England.
      
      Still, he was surprised to see them--he had been sure when they had disappeared up to their room together, all cozily wrapped around each other that they would not surface for air for days, or at least until morning. At least they had the look of people who had recently tupped, their cheeks red, the woman resting most of her weight on the Duke as he walked up to the counter.
      
      The Duke's eyes briefly met with the clerk's, his voice deep when he spoke. "The rooms were satisfactory, but my companion has very peculiar tastes," the woman giggled at that, and the clerk had to force himself to not look at her again, lest he receive another glare from the Duke (he still shivered at the one he had been on the receiving end of earlier) forcing himself to only stare at the Duke as he continued, "So we are heading elsewhere."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until next time--love you all!