Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Tension ❯ Tension ( Chapter 1 )

Hey guys, haven't written anything DBZ in a while, so here' hoping this doesn't suck! Sorry to anyone who may have tried to read the first version of this, MMO F'd up my formatting! Yay! Anywho, I really hope you guys like this one! I've been sitting on the idea, unfinished, for a long time now, and I finally needed to get it done! - Cat

 

 

Eighteen stood on the beach, her eyes staring passively out at the ocean. It seemed to stretch out forever, as if the little island was the only patch of land on the entire Earth. In the far distance, she could see the telltale streaking sky that meant rain was coming, but here the sun still shone, bearing down on her face and body, bathing her in warmth. A light breeze ruffled her cropped blonde hair, and eyes bored into her back.

It was the old man again, lounging in a chair on the deck. He held a magazine in his hands, but she could tell that behind the seeming shelter of his sunglasses, his gaze followed her every move. It didn't really bother her, although she suspected that it should. The blue haired woman that came sometimes was bothered by it, though Eighteen was not entirely sure why. If that woman caught him, she'd scream till she was red in the face, and she'd smack him right in the back of his bald head so hard he'd see stars.

Eighteen didn't understand what the fuss was about, but his constant leering made her wonder if he'd noted some glaring flaw in her construction. The thought made her frown. It was impossible. When she was born, Dr. Gero had called her perfect, his finest creation, and Seventeen had been jealous.

Seventeen…she wondered where he was. She had not seen him in several months, not since his revival after the destruction of Cell. He had gone off into the world by himself, not content to waste his days on an island in the middle of nowhere, with an old man, a turtle, and a bald midget. She was not sure, herself, why she stayed. She felt lost and without purpose, but on the tiny island in the middle of the endless ocean, she did not have to face the world, with its teeming masses of ordinary humans. It was chaos among them; confusing and illogical.

The only person she had to face was him. The one human who confused her the most.

***

 

“Gee, Bulma, I don't know…” Krillin frowned, his gaze drifting out the window to rest on the object of their conversation. She was standing on the beach, perfectly still except for the rustle of her hair in the breeze, staring out at the ocean like she did every day.

“Krillin, you can't let her go on like this,” Bulma persisted, bouncing a fat baby on her knee, who giggled with delight. “I mean, for god's sake, you can't have her walking around like that!” The short monk had the grace to blush as he looked out once more at Eighteen. She was wearing a pair of his orange training pants, which reached only just past her knees, and one of Master Roshi's garish Hawaiian shirts had been knotted beneath her breasts. “Did you even think to get her a bra?” At this incredulous question, the poor man's whole face went beet red, and his eyes bulged in their sockets. “What about tampons?” Bulma continued, making him splutter with embarrassment. “I know better than anyone that Roshi's a pervert, but I don't think tampons fall under any of his many fetishes, and unless that turtle is hiding something…” she trailed off, warningly. The baby in her arms began to fuss, sensing tension between the two adults, and she turned her attention to him, finally releasing Krillin from her piercing gaze. She cooed and cuddled and tickled until a gummy grin finally broke the baby's perpetual frown. His father's frown.

“Well, I can't exactly take her bra and tampon shopping, now can I?” Krillin snapped. “Or did you expect Roshi to do it?”

“Nonsense, silly.” She bent over to rub her nose against her son's, and Krillin couldn't help but smile as the young half-saiyan squirmed happily in his mother's arms. Bulma, a mother. They'd all been struck dumb that day on the battlefield when she'd turned up with that fat, frowning, Vegeta-faced baby in her arms. Who'd have thought Vegeta's baby would be so cute? “I'll take her. I could use a girls' day out. And she,” Bulma gestured absently toward the window, in Eighteen's direction, “could use some female company.”

***

Eighteen watched from the corner of her eye as the short one waved goodbye to his blue-haired friend and her absurdly powerful baby. The little thing's ki signature was familiar somehow, but she could not say exactly why. No matter, it was not important to her. Nothing, it seemed, was really important to her. Her desire for annihilation had been extinguished, and the twin brother she had once cherished had abandoned her.

“Um…Eighteen?” The monk was beside her, hands clasped nervously in front of his chest. She towered over him, and yet she felt somehow intimidated by his presence. “Bulma is going to come back tomorrow, and she's going to take you shopping with her in the city. Um, is,” he wrung his hands together nervously, “is that okay with you?” She turned her head to look at him properly. She could feel the tension in the air around him, crackling with nerves and fear and…something. Something else she could not identify.

“Yes.” She replied, woodenly, turning her gaze back to the ocean. She couldn't stand to look at him any more, with his flushed face, his wide eyes, so full in turns of pity and panic. Of all the places on the planet, she could not understand why she remained here, with him. The one human who had seen past her destructive nature, past her hatred and contempt for man, and had tried to help her. She did not understand him, nor did she understand her reaction to him. She was disgusted by him, by his pity, and yet she could not bring herself to leave.

“Okay,” he said, and paused as though there was something else he wished to say. She turned her face toward him, and he seemed to lose his nerve as his icy gaze fell upon her. “Er, well, um…” he stuttered, “have a good night.” He stumbled and almost tripped on a rock in his haste to get away from her.

Eighteen turned back toward the ocean. She was glad he was gone. That weird, empty kind of feeling in her stomach had nothing to do with him.

Of course it didn't.

 

***

“Here, try this one on, too.” Bulma said, flinging another dress over the change-room door. Eighteen stared hopelessly at the pile of fabric on the floor, the dresses and skirts and shirts hanging haphazardly from every hook on the wall, and off the back of the door. “God, you're lucky,” Bulma prattled on from outside the door, “I gained so much weight when I was pregnant with Trunks, and my boobs are STILL huge! I can't fit them into anything!” she complained. Eighteen sighed and pulled something randomly out of the pile. Skirt. Easy. “Of course, they do have their upside!” the gregarious woman laughed, “Vegeta can't keep his hands off me!”

Eighteen started, skirt halfway up her legs. Vegeta. The short Saiyan. That's why that fat baby's ki was so strong.

“You ready to show me anything yet?” Bulma asked, and Eighteen pulled the skirt hurriedly up over her small hips, zipping up the back before she stepped out in front of Bulma's critical eye. She was quickly getting used to the routine. Put on item, step out, listen to suggestions and criticisms of said item, try on acceptable item with other items to build outfits, accessorize, and pay. With whose money, she did not know. Tedious, but much better than the awkward business that “bra shopping” had been.

“So,” Bulma said later, over drinks and salad, “How are you managing with all those boys?”

“I do not understand what you mean.” Eighteen said.

“Well, you know, Krillin's totally sweet, and I don't think that turtle is hiding anything, but you know, Roshi's kind of an old perv.” Bulma shrugged, spearing a crispy bit of lettuce with her fork. “Has he said anything gross to you? If he does, just wallop him.” She popped the lettuce into her mouth and crunched down, viciously, as she thought of the old Master.

“He stares at me a lot.” Eighteen said, fidgeting with her own fork. “Is…is there something wrong with my construction? I do not understand his interest.”

“Oh, honey!” Bulma laughed uproariously, startling the couple at the table next to them. “He stares because you're totally hot!”

“Hot?”

“You know, smokin', sexy, babelicious! That old perv wants to jump your bones.” She laughed again as Eighteen turned red.

“I do not have bones.” She protested.

“Oh, Eighteen, didn't Gero ever teach you about…you know…” Bulma wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, but the android's face remained blank. “You know,” she lowered her voice, “sex!” The blonde's eyebrows shot up and she looked panicked. Bulma shook her head, and looked at the other woman as one might look at a lost puppy. “Sit tight, and I'll order us another round of cocktails.” She signalled the waiter, ignoring the distress on her companion's face. “You've got a lot to learn.”

 

***

 

Eighteen lugged her shopping bags up to her room, struggling to get her massive load around the corner in the narrow staircase. Thanks to Bulma, she'd acquired four pairs of shoes, eight dresses, two pairs of jeans, two pairs of shorts, three skirts, seventeen shirts, five bras, a veritable pile of panties, and more information about her vagina than she'd ever wanted to know.

 

***

 

“You look nice, Eighteen,” Krillin said, coming up behind her. She stood, as usual, up to her ankles in the surf, but she was dressed in one of Bulma's carefully designed outfits. Denim skirt and fitted tee made her look like a woman, instead of some sort of runaway who dressed out of the lost and found box. Not that she cared much, but it seemed important to the monk and his loud friend.

“Thank you,” she said, because she did not know what else to say.

“Ahh…did you have fun with Bulma?”

“Yes, I suppose I did.”

“Oh…good.” Krillin stood, nervously wringing his hands together. He wasn't very good at small talk, and she wasn't making it any easier for him. “I'm glad.”

“Yes. So am I.” She closed her eyes and breathed in the cool night air. She felt like she wanted to say something to ease the tension between them, but she didn't know what it was.

“Okay, well, I guess I'll leave you then.”

“Alright.” She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he turned and shuffled across the stand, and that weird hollow feeling hit her, like a punch to the stomach. “Krillin,” she called, and he stopped, halfway up to the house.

“Yeah?” He turned to face her, and saw that she'd turned too. His breath caught in his throat, to see her standing in the waves like that, the breeze rustling her platinum hair, eyes shining like silver in the moonlight, like some sort of fairytale nymph. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life.

“You don't have to go away.” She said, simply, and his heart lurched painfully in his chest, as though it were about to burst. “I mean,” she said, awkwardly, when he simply stood and stared at her, “you could stay a while.”

“Ah, sure.” He smiled shyly, and ambled across the sand toward her, feeling as though he was walking on clouds. He sat down in the sand, and she turned back to the sea. Neither said anything, and for the first time, Eighteen understood the tension between them.

 

 

 

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