Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance ❯ Chapter 40

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z, or any of the characters featured therein; they belong to Akira Toriyama and whoever he's decided to share them with.

Author's Notes: Chapter 40? What? I'm not quite sure how this happened.

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PRESENT DAY

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Goku looked sheepishly at his wife as she handed him a towel, and studiously avoided Sixteen hovering in the background, waiting to perform his tests. Gohan and Radditz were peeking in the open doorway, having been banished from the infirmary for rowdiness, which was mostly Radditz's fault. Goku could feel Nappa and Vegeta in the hallway beyond, both of their power levels calm and at rest. It was a little embarrassing, he found, to come out of the tank all naked and wet like a new baby, with a crowd hanging around. He wrapped the towel around his waist, ignoring the fact that he needed to dry the rest of himself, too. Really, he would have preferred a quick shower to get rid of the remaining gel, but it appeared he would not get that right away. Chichi scoffed and grabbed another towel, standing on her tiptoes to rub vigorously at his hair. Obligingly, he stooped a little lower for her and closed his eyes in pleasure, recalling the way she used to dry him off after a bath together, back on Earth.

“Damn stuff is running all over the place,” she muttered, briskly rubbing down his torso and arms, which were indeed streaked with rivulets of the viscous liquid, running slowly down his skin to land on the floor in a soft pattering of drops.

“A few quick tests, Goku, if you don't mind,” Sixteen interrupted, gesturing toward the examination bench.

“Needles?” Goku asked, cringing a little, and Chichi rolled her eyes.

“None,” Sixteen replied, spreading a hand to indicate the array of instruments he would be using. After a quick examination in which he determined that none of them looked too sinister, Goku hopped up onto the table, careful to make sure his towel didn't slip. He waited, trying his best not to fidget, as the big android picked up a stethoscope and listened to his heart for a few moments. His blood pressure was checked, and so were his basic reflexes. He squirmed as several electrodes were taped to his body and hooked up to some sort of machine with several red and black cables, for even as Sixteen explained that he would not feel a thing, Goku kept expecting a big electric jolt through his body, like when he'd touched some exposed wires in one of Bulma's machines one time. After an uneventful minute of laying there and breathing, Sixteen unhooked all the cables and made a note on Goku's medical chart. The removal of the sticky electrodes was more noticeable than whatever the machine had done to him.

“What was that?” he asked, once he was allowed to sit up again.

“Electrocardiogram,” Sixteen replied, and when Goku's eyes bugged out, trying to make sense of the seven-syllable nightmare, he explained further. “It measures the electrical signals that are travelling through your heart. It is a way to tell if there are any irregularities in your heart function. Because I do not have a database of knowledge on saiyan physiology, I have asked the other three adult saiyans to undergo the same tests. I will compare their results to yours and hopefully gain some knowledge as to what might be normal to someone of your species. As such, I cannot tell you yet if these results,” he tapped the display screen, where a series of wobbly lines resided, “are normal or not. I will let you know of my findings.”

“Oh, okay.” Goku hoped he wouldn't be tested later; he'd not really paid careful attention to Sixteen's answer. “Can I go now?”

“Yes, we are done for now.” Sixteen turned away and began to gather his instruments for sterilization as Goku slid off the table, the floor cold on his bare feet. “Please do not strain yourself for the time being.”

“I need a shower,” Goku said, mincing across the room toward his wife. “I feel sticky. Come wash my back?” he asked, hopefully.

“Of course,” she nodded, though Goku was not blind enough to notice the wincing glance she cast in Sixteen's direction before she led him away. He looked back to see the android's tall form hunched over the autoclave and wondered if a few electrodes and mallets really needed to be so carefully sterilized, or if the metal man was just looking for a distraction. He stiffened and moved a little closer to Chichi as a sudden wave of uncharacteristic possessiveness swept through him. She noticed. “He's been wracking his brain, trying to figure out what happened to you, Goku,” Chichi said, and of course that made him feel just a bit guilty. Not enough to stop hovering over her petite form, but he was filled with enough shame to stop and remind himself that the android was Chichi's friend; someone who'd helped to keep her spirits up in the wake of the terrible tragedy, and who'd never touched any of her lady parts.

To his knowledge.

He believed Chichi when she said that nothing had ever actually happened between them, he really did. But the blush on her cheeks and the note of strain in her voice said that there was something she was not telling him, and he couldn't help but wonder what that was. For her part, Chichi had never told him about her almost-encounter with the big fellow; the memory was still too humiliating to speak of.

To distract himself, Goku stretched and flexed his newly healed limbs as they walked, already feeling the itch to hit the training mat again. He wondered how much of a fit Chichi would throw if he snuck out later for a match with Gohan or Piccolo.

“Your place or mine?” he asked, grinning at her as they stopped outside the washrooms.

She gave him a squinty-eyed look and said, “Mine, definitely,” as she led him into the ladies' room, quickly calling out to make sure none of her female shipmates were inside. “Boy bathrooms always smell like pee. Go get a stall warmed up. I'm going to find some paper and stick a sign on the door so the others know you're in here.”

“Just lock it,” Goku grinned, catching her by the hand and tugging her back against him as she made to leave. “The other girls can suffer through the pee bathroom for an hour or two.”

“Lose the towel,” she returned coyly, flipping the bolt before reaching out to let her hair down from its customary knot, “and we have a deal.”

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Krillin led a rich fantasy life - a man without a partner for so long had to, if he hoped to retain his sanity - but nothing in all his imaginings could have prepared him for the sight he found in the kitchen that morning. When he first saw the woman, naked and dripping wet, he thought he might be dreaming. He dropped his mug of water in open-mouthed shock and the crash of the porcelain shattering on the floor startled the nubile goddess, alerting her to his presence. It was only as he stood staring, lips gaping like a fish, with the water on the floor seeping into his socks, that he realized he was awake. There really was a naked blonde sitting bare-assed at the kitchen table, staring right back at him with no hint of embarrassment in her icy gaze.

“Umm...hi,” Krillin croaked out, making no move to escape the puddle at his feet.

“Hello,” she replied, in a voice like silk over steel, and at the exact same time a masculine voice said the very same thing. Krillin craned his neck to the right, only just noticing the strange man by the counter, also clad in his birthday suit and sodden from head to toe. They both stared at him with identical blue eyes, hardly blinking. In unison, they cocked their heads to the side and continued to observe him with what seemed like clinical intent.

“Who...are you?” Krillin stammered, his face going beet red as he caught himself staring at the woman's breasts. It was a long time since he'd seen breasts, live and in the flesh, and he had to admit that hers were particularly nice ones. A little on the small side, but pert and balanced, with round, pink - oh God, he was analyzing them. He drew his eyes quickly back to her face. She either didn't notice or didn't care, because she didn't say anything, and her expression didn't change.

“I am Seventeen,” said the man, brushing a sopping strand of the deepest black hair from his forehead.

“I am Eighteen,” said the woman, and her voice mirrored his exactly but for the higher pitch. She remained still, however, as her hair was already tucked behind her ears and did not need adjusting.

Bulma had not exactly gotten around to telling the rest of Red Station's inhabitants about the twins, so as shocking as it was for Krillin to find these two exhibitionists in the kitchen, it was doubly so to learn that they were androids - must be, with names like those. It was then that he realized their eyes were not only identical to each other's, but also to Sixteen's, and he felt a bit dumb for not seeing it sooner. Knowing didn't make much of a difference to him though; he still had no idea what to do about it. Luckily for him, Bulma herself just happened to be shuffling in, in hopes of a cup of coffee. She didn't have a mug to drop, but judging by the look on her face, she would have added to Krillin's mess if she could have.

“Oh,” was all she said, as she stopped still in the doorway, easily seeing the twins over Krillin's head. “You're awake,” she added, after a moment of stunned silence in which those piercing gazes switched focus to the woman they perceived as one of their creators.

“Mother,” Eighteen said, standing up, and Krillin also caught sight of the first vagina he'd seen in almost four years. It looked like it was probably pretty nice, too.

“M...mother?” Bulma stammered in surprise, finally gathering some wits and stepping into the kitchen.

“Are we mistaken?” Seventeen asked. “Our sensors picked you up, while we were growing.”

“Our brother told us that you would be our mother,” Eighteen added, with as much insistence as such a flat voice could muster. “We heard him.”

“Oh my god, you mean you were aware?” Bulma asked, wonder threading through her voice and distracting her from the shock of both their sudden wakefulness and their nudity. Krillin coughed from the doorway and she looked at his red face, her own cheeks pinkening as he reminded her of their predicament. Distractedly, she grabbed some tea towels from a drawer, handing one to Seventeen and two to Eighteen. “Here. To, ah, cover your...parts.” She bade them sit once more and made them put a towel each in their laps. Krillin watched them exchange a puzzled look as Bulma instructed Eighteen to tuck one tea towel beneath her armpits, to cover up her exposed chest. He prayed that Chichi wouldn't show up any time soon. She would not appreciate naked butts on the kitchen upholstery.

“Bulma,” he prompted, but she ignored him and turned her attention toward the twins.

“So you were aware in there? For how long?”

“Quite some time,” they answered in unison, thoroughly creeping Krillin out. He was still in the doorway, not really sure whether to stay or go, or maybe continue trying to urge Bulma into taking the new androids somewhere else if they were going to continue in their state of undress. Or maybe he'd just leave her to deal with it - she was obviously not as surprised by this turn of events as he was - and go wank in the shower for a bit.

The gentleman in Krillin won out, however, and he coughed again, purposefully, and asked Bulma whether he should maybe go and find some clothes for the newest additions to Red Station.

“Ohmygod,” she gasped, as though she'd only just remembered that they were covered only by scanty old tea-towels. “I'm such an airhead. I'll go find some things. Can you stay here with them?” She was already up and out of her chair, halfway past him by the time she finished her request. Krillin nodded, for he could do little else under the circumstances, and turned awkwardly toward the twins.

“My name is Krillin,” he said, stepping toward the table and wondering if he should offer his hand to shake. He thought better of it when he realized that Eighteen might dislodge her top towel. Krillin pulled out a chair and sat down instead. “It's very nice to meet you.” He lapsed into silence after that, not knowing what to say or do. The twins were not exactly talkative either, so the three of them simply sat staring at each other, waiting for Bulma to get back. Krillin prayed she would return before someone else walked in and saw him like this.

As luck would have it, Bulma was quick about her task and was back in the kitchen in less than ten minutes, her arms laden with clothing. “I'm sorry,” she was apologizing to Eighteen as she handed her a simple wrap dress, “I think we're about the same height, you're maybe a bit taller, but it might bag a bit on your figure. I grabbed this one so you can cinch it up.” Krillin averted his eyes as Eighteen stood and let her towels drop before slipping into the dress. Bulma handed Seventeen a pair of shorts and a t-shirt Krillin recognized as belonging to Vegeta. “These will have to do for the moment, until we can get something else that fits properly.” Vegeta's shirt hung on Seventeen's scarecrow frame, and even with the belt tied tightly, Eighteen had no hope of filling out the curves in Bulma's dress. “Also, underpants.”

“Well, we do need to do a supply run some time soonish. Some quick clothes shopping won't take long,” Krillin offered. Well, not as long as it's not you or your mom taking them, he thought but wisely did not say aloud. The androids watched them both, neither looking at that moment as though they particularly cared about what they were or were not wearing. Krillin did not much care how they were dressed either, as long as they were dressed. He assumed the rest of the inhabitants of Red Station would probably feel similarly, once they found out that there were two brand new androids aboard.

“Good idea, Krillin.” Bulma smiled and gestured for the twins to sit again. Outwardly she was pleasant and friendly, but Krillin could tell that she was nervous and he felt some of his irritation diminish. Obviously she must have known about their existence and he couldn't figure out why she'd neglected to tell anyone about it, but seeing her fidget as she was made him realize that perhaps she just hadn't known what to do.

“When did you wake up?” Bulma asked them, and Seventeen answered that his tank had popped open at precisely 4:52am. Eighteen's tank followed two minutes later, at 4:54. Bulma looked surprised by this. “I didn't know the tanks were triggered to open when you were done,” she said, leaning forward to peer at them. “I thought I would have to let you out.”

“The tanks were pre-programmed,” Eighteen reiterated her brother's statement, patiently and with no hint of irritation or smugness in her voice.

“Yes...yes,” Bulma was nodding, still not sure what she was supposed to do with the two of them. “Are you hungry? I mean, do you get hungry?” She looked at Krillin, as though he might know, and he simply shrugged in reply.

“Our bodies process food like human bodies do.” Eighteen said, and she also looked at Krillin as though taking some kind of behavioural clue from Bulma. He felt his heart begin to race within his chest, and he knew his cheeks must be getting quite red under her gaze. “We do get hungry, though my brother and I can operate on substantially less fuel than a human body can.” She looked back to Bulma and pointed to a small pile of fruit cores on the counter. “We are not currently hungry. We ate.”

“Father failed to program us with the knowledge that food tastes so good,” Seventeen added. “I do not think Sixteen is equipped with the ability to taste. He did not tell us this either.”

“How much knowledge are you imprinted with?” Bulma was frowning thoughtfully and Krillin sensed that she might have entered science mode, in which all other real world concerns and questions suddenly dropped into the background. “How much do you know about yourselves, and about us?”

“We know ourselves,” they said together, and then by some unspoken agreement, it was Eighteen alone who continued, “and we know you, Bulma. Mother. We understand the physiological differences between ourselves and humans. Sixteen spoke much of your culture and your lives. He did not speak of this clothes,” she said the word awkwardly, as though it was from a foreign tongue, “so we do not understand the purpose.”

“There is much you must explain,” Seventeen said, and Eighteen nodded along.

“Okay,” Bulma agreed, and Krillin was surprised to see her channel Chichi in her next statement, “But first, showers. You're both covered in regeneration fluid and you're going to be all sticky when you dry.”

“What is showers?” Seventeen asked, and Bulma sighed.

“Oh boy.” She pressed her hand over her eyes for a moment before standing up, with purpose. “Krillin, if you'd be so kind as to assist Seventeen, I will take Eighteen.” She waited for the former monk to nod before she led the way out of the kitchen. The twins followed her like ducklings and Krillin brought up the rear. “A shower, Seventeen,” Bulma corrected, “showers is plural, and it's how people get clean.”

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Everyone on Red Station was gathered in the fighting arena, mostly because it was the biggest room aboard, but also partly because Bulma hadn't been able to convince Vegeta to stop his training for her big announcement. He'd at least come out of the gravity room, but he and the other Saiyans were busy doing katas on the mats while everyone else stood around waiting. Bulma had even managed to gather the nameks, who stood stiffly by the door, as far away from the saiyans as physically possible. That in itself was not at all unusual, but they seemed to be uncomfortable with each other today, and not just with the other occupants of Red. Dende stood squarely in the front and center of the group, the dividing line between the others, who were arranged roughly half and half to his left and right. Bulma made a mental note to catch the boy alone so that she could speak to him and make sure everything was alright. Things had been noticeably awkward with the nameks for the past week and a half, since Vegeta's broadcast, the tribute to Guru that hadn't really been so much a tribute as a call to arms. Bulma wasn't all that surprised by their reaction, although there were a few, more than just Bassoon and Fife, that were showing up for radio watches. So far there was a lot of activity recorded, but luckily no one seemed to have successfully traced the original broadcast back to Red Station.

Sixteen stood beside Bulma, nearly vibrating with suppressed excitement. Neither she nor Krillin had ever seen him so outwardly thrilled as when they'd found him, twins in tow, standing perplexedly in front of the two empty regeneration tanks in Gero's old lab. The poor android had been completely frozen, on the verge of frantic searching and yet paralyzed with the strength of the emotion that was running through his usually staid circuits. Still though, even Sixteen's most affected state was not anywhere near the heights that human beings soared to, so the whole reunion slash meeting still would have appeared rather stilted to someone who wasn't aware of the circumstances.

“Is that everybody?” Bulma called out over the din, scanning the gathered crowd to make sure that nobody was missing. She and Krillin, along with Sixteen, had discussed just how to go about this introduction business, and while the big-group solution probably wouldn't be the most serene and gentle way possible, it was also the easiest and it prevented the possibility that someone might run into one or both of the twins alone and mistake them for intruders. Security was still running high and tensions were palpable whenever something odd occurred on board, with everyone worrying that Frieza's men might descend upon Red at any moment. “Anyway, I don't want to take up too much of your time,” at this, she glared at the saiyans on the training mat, “but something kind of important has happened and I thought it would be best to tell everyone at once.” Bulma turned to look at Sixteen, and he nodded down at her. “Go get them.” She watched nervously as the android left the room, only to return a moment later with his siblings in tow.

Even the saiyans stopped their training and stared, jaws open with the rest of Red Station's crew, at the twins. The sense of shock inside the room was plain to be felt. “Who the damn hell are they?” Nappa was the first to speak, and his crass exclamation actually served to break a little of the tension.

“I would like to present to you all, Seventeen and Eighteen,” Bulma said, gesturing to each of the twins in turn. “They are androids, siblings to Sixteen, and have been...ahh, maturing,” she struggled for the right words, “inside of two regeneration tanks in Dr. Gero's lab. They activated this morning and, well, they're going to be living here now, I guess.” Bulma shrugged a little helplessly and looked everyone over, trying to evaluate their reactions and feeling like the mother who's just leaving her children at kindergarten for the first time.

“Holy hell, a single girl!” Master Roshi was the first to break the ice, jabbing a knobbly elbow into Oolong, his constant companion and compatriot in all things perverted. “What's she programmed for?” he asked eagerly, missing all the warning signs of impending female fury, as usual.

“Yeah, you got all the parts, babe?” Oolong added, standing up straight and trying to suck in his gut as Chichi grew red beside him. Her fingers just itched to wrap around the sturdy handle of a cast iron pan. Bulma sneered and opened her mouth, ready to give the two of them a real tongue lashing, but it was Eighteen who spoke up.

“I am not a computer,” she said flatly, completely missing the innuendo that was being tossed her way, “therefore I am not programmed, as such. Doctor Gero did not live long enough to finish imprinting us with behaviour modules; a similar process though not the same. I comprehend the concept might be difficult for you to understand, so you may continue to use the word if need be. I am designed to act as a living, organic humanoid, to answer your question, and am fully physically functional.”

“Too smart,” Oolong muttered, feeling his...enthusiasm...wither as he turned to Roshi.

“Cold as ice,” the old man agreed, sharing a pointed look with his shapeshifting friend.

“Plus her tits could use an upgrade,” Oolong added, earning both himself and the nodding Roshi slaps upside the back of the head from Chichi. Eighteen turned to Bulma, her eyebrows furrowed together ever so slightly.

“Am I deficient?” she asked.

“No!” Krillin blurted out, drawing everyone's attention to his beet red face and wide, panicked eyes. It was plain that he hadn't meant to speak aloud. “No,” he repeated, a little more in control of his faculties even though his cheeks still burned with embarrassment, “there's nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all.” He swallowed deeply, imagined her smiling and blushing prettily, thanking him for his chivalrous words. Instead, she made him feel rather pathetic by turning back to Bulma and asking again for confirmation that she was not somehow lacking.

“No, you're both perfect.” Bulma smiled warmly at both of the twins and as they stared back with their identical faces, she couldn't help but think that Roshi had gotten it maybe just a little bit right about their being frosty. “Um...right,” she turned back to the gathered crowd and gestured for the androids to do the same, “any questions? The twins will be here with us from now on, so there is no need to feel rushed or threatened. Please, get to know them like you might any other member of our crew.”

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“Weird to think of those two as Dr. Gero's kids, huh?” Radditz mused aloud as he ran a hand down Puar's naked back, his pointer finger staying perfectly in line with the thin strip of blue fur that ran from the base of the shapeshifter's skull to the base of his tail.

“Very.” It was the middle of the night and they both should have been fast asleep, Radditz especially, considering that he was supposed to get up for morning sparring in a few short hours, but neither had really been able to sleep...not while the humping was going on, at least. And now afterward, just as Puar thought he might finally get to pop back into cat form and curl up for a rest, Radditz dropped a bombshell.

“Think we'll every have some?” the saiyan wondered aloud. “Cubs, I mean.”

“Uhh, what?” Puar's whole body stiffened and his head shot up from its comfy position on the other man's bicep. “Cubs? You mean kids? Us?” His voice was tight, strangled.

“Yeah.” Radditz seemed to shrink a little under Puar's surprised gaze, as though he was embarrassed for ever having even had the thought. At that moment, he certainly regretted voicing it.

“In case you forgot, neither of us is currently equipped of a uterus,” Puar pointed out, shuffling out from the crook of Radditz's arm and sitting up cross legged on the bed. Radditz pulled himself up too, though a little more slowly.

“I know...but couldn't you...ya know,” he spread his fingers and gestured to Puar in illustration, and had the cat not been so irritated by the suggestion, he might have found the look on Radditz's face endearing, “poof?”

“I'm not a girl, Radditz,” Puar pointed out, a little bit of a dangerous edge to his voice, “and I have no desire to be.” He paused, and Radditz hunched into himself. “Ever.”

“It'd only be for a little while...” the saiyan muttered, looking away to pick at the blankets.

“Radditz!” Puar gasped, exasperated. “I can't even hold this form for twenty four hours! What in the world makes you think I can create a functional uterus and hold it for months? Besides that, it's only my form that changes; not my composition or genetics. It's not like I'll grow some boobs and a cervix and suddenly I'll have real live ovaries, eggs included.” His tail was whipping back and forth along the mattress and Radditz watched it for a moment, knowing he'd pissed off his little blue cat.

“Oh,” he said, sounding a little dumb. “I guess I didn't think of that. You sure it wouldn't work?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Damn. Maybe Bulma can make us some in her tanks, now they're empty.” He shut up when he looked up to see just how narrow Puar's eyes had gotten. Squinting was not a good sign. “I said maybe!”

“I know what you said,” Puar retorted, crossing his arms over his bare chest and wishing he was at least wearing underwear. It was hard to look dignified and justifiably affronted in your birthday suit.

“I didn't say it had to be, like, tomorrow or anything.” Radditz grumbled, his own tail puffing out behind him as he went on the defensive. Puar's eyes were still narrowed to slits.

“I'm not a girl,” Puar repeated, staunchly. “Just because you're bigger doesn't make you the guy.”

“We're both guys,” Radditz cocked his head, utterly confused. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm not the feminine one, or the childbearing type. If we have kids, there's no way I'm being the mom.”

“Okay, for starters, you are the more feminine of the two of us,” Radditz snorted, “but I didn't say you had to be Mrs. Mom. I just thought since you're the only one here who can change shape at will...” he muttered, then stopped himself. “Whatever, Kitten. You can be big papa butch dad man if it makes you feel better, and the cubs can call me whatever the hell they want, s'long as it ain't insulting. My mom was a tough bitch - an' I say that with all the respect in the universe - but there was no softness in that woman. Dad was the lovey one, an' if you ever met Bardock, you know that's saying a lot `cause he was no marshmallow either.”

“Well...fine.” Puar uncrossed his arms and flopped back down onto his pillow. “When Bulma figures out a way to successfully combine our DNA into a viable life form and we have ourselves a little test tube baby, you're the mommy.” He reached out and flicked off the bedside light, and as he settled himself into the blankets, he felt the mattress shift as Radditz scooted to spoon against him.

“Fine,” the saiyan said, reaching a big arm around Puar to trail lazy fingers across his stomach, “but just so you know, even if you can't have girl parts, won't stop me trying to make babies with you.” He leaned down to nip Puar's shoulder and his hand dipped lower.

“Fine,” Puar gasped, arching back against his mate as one hand clenched in the sheets, “I can deal with that.”

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Krilin sat, panting, on the side of the training mat. Gohan was beside him, busily trying to rub a bad cramp from his left calf. Floating just a few feet off the ground in the center of the ring, Radditz was hanging on by a thread as Nappa pounded into him. Vegeta had sequestered himself, alone, in the gravity room again, leaving the bald brute in a nasty mood at being relegated to training with the `weaklings' and he'd predictably taken it out on them in the ring. Goku and Piccolo moved through slow katas by the far wall, waiting for their turn, since the recovering saiyan had been expressly forbidden to enter into the fray. Chichi had given Goku a stern talking-to about not over exerting himself and Piccolo, surprisingly enough, had agreed to keep an eye on him for her. None of Goku's protestations had so far convinced the namek to allow him into the ring with Nappa. Krillin wasn't sure which of the unlikely pair would win a fight at this point, but there was obviously no doubt in Goku's mind that if he tried anything, Piccolo would rat him out and then he'd be on the outs with his wife again.

As Krillin watched them move in perfect synchronicity, a sudden pang of jealousy took residence in his gut. He wondered just when they'd become such good friends, that Goku would actually do what Piccolo told him to. Krillin knew that if it'd been him in that situation, Goku would have bowled him over a long time ago, and to add insult to injury, if he'd tattled to Chichi, she'd have him by the balls for allowing it in the first place. Not fair.

“Maybe if I was taller,” he muttered aloud, looking at the short, stubby legs sticking out before him, and comparing them to Piccolo's skyscraper frame, “or an alien,” he rolled his eyes, observing the company that surrounded him and realizing that he was the only human in the room, and also the weakest of the bunch. How pathetic! Short and stubby, bald as a cueball, and no chance of ever catching up to even the child beside him, in terms of strength. Sure, at least Tien was weaker than him, but at least the triclops could stand up and look a woman in the eye without having to levitate to do so.

Krillin sighed and wondered to himself just when it had all become a competition.

A pair of canvas sneakers stepped into the space beside his knee, with no ki-signal to match them, and he had his answer. The shoes were Bulma's, and about a half a size too big for Eighteen's delicate feet; a difference not helped by the fact that she wasn't wearing any socks. Krillin followed the curve of her ankle, upward to where her slim calves disappeared beneath a pair of old fashioned, high-waisted gingham pedal pushers that actually covered her belly button - he knew she had one because he'd seen it in the kitchen the previous day, though he didn't know why because she'd never had an umbilical cord. A thick band of stretchy fabric circled her chest to make her a less well-endowed version of Mrs. Briefs in the summertime. Krillin wondered if Eighteen had picked out the tube top herself, or if the whole outfit had been forced upon her by Bulma's mother.

“Hi Eighteen!” Gohan piped up, reminding Krillin that he wasn't actually alone with her, and he suddenly wondered how long he'd been staring. Eighteen turned, her eyes skimming over the former monk to rest on the child.

“Hello,” she replied flatly, though neither held that fact against her. They were used to Sixteen's taciturn ways and her lack of a smile could hardly be deemed insulting. She turned away to watch the fight, and Krillin sat twiddling his hands in his lap, wishing that he'd been the one to greet her. He felt he should at least say something.

“You could...um...sit down, if you want,” he offered, scootching to the side to make room and gesturing to the space he'd made. She turned her head to look him in the eye as he spoke, a wholly disconcerting experience, but did not make any move to sit.

“I could,” she said simply, and though Krillin understood that she'd probably not meant it as a rebuff, his face coloured hotly when she turned her eyes once more toward the mat. He felt quite like he had the very first time he'd gotten up the nerve to chat up a nice looking girl in a bar, who'd turned him down flat before he'd even finished introducing himself. He'd learned quickly to spot and avoid the kind of girl who wouldn't give a short guy the time of day and he'd had a lot more luck because of it, but Eighteen's blank face and cold gaze made her impossible to read. She really wasn't his usual type either; he tended to go for curvy women with bubbly personalities, over-the-top-friendly girls who would put up with his stature long enough for his charm to shine through. Unfortunately when it came to Eighteen at least, it seemed all his charm had deserted him. He could hardly form a sentence while she was in the room, much less awe her with his wit and sense of humour. He was completely and totally lost as to how to deal with her, and if not for the intense and overwhelming attraction he felt, he might have given up on her altogether.

In the ring, Nappa slammed Radditz down, and the long haired saiyan did not get up. Nappa floated near the ceiling, crowing his victory as Gohan got up to check on his uncle, hauling him up and helping him to slump over to the side wall. Krillin forcibly tore his own attention from Eighteen's stately profile long enough to fetch Radditz a cup of water. “Okay, big guy?” he asked, handing it over and watching the big saiyan down it in one gulp.

“Meh,” Radditz wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and shrugged, “not permanently damaged, just winded. Fucker knocked the breath right outta me, maybe cracked a few ribs while he was at it.” He glared up at Nappa, who was looking around, casting about for challengers, before turning back to Krillin. “Nothing a few hours in a tank won't fix. Nice that Bulma had the other two moved into the med bay for us.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Krillin agreed aloud, though the fact that the saiyans deliberately brutalized each other and simply popped in and out of regen tanks still secretly gave him the willies. Like Puar, he was far too new to the vagaries of the saiyan mindset, only finally just having forged something of a friendship with Radditz beyond a mutual willingness to spar together. He steered mostly clear of Nappa, and Vegeta wasn't exactly someone you could have a normal conversation with.

“Haw, haw!” Nappa guffawed, and the little trio turned to see what had him in such stitches. The bald saiyan was no longer taunting Goku, but was focused wholly on lithe little Eighteen, who had at some point in the last minute, stepped into the center of the mat. Krillin blanched. “Are you challenging me, little girl?” Nappa laughed, dropping to the ground with a thud. “You think you can take me?” He puffed out his chest within its armour encasement and straightened his back, standing to his full, intimidating height.

“I would say that the question is,” Eighteen flicked her hair casually, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips as she showed her very first hint of attitude, “whether you think you can handle me?”

.

Bulma stepped to the side, clutching her cup of coffee to her chest as she made room in the hall for Krillin and Gohan to lug Nappa's unconscious form down the hall and into the infirmary. Radditz limped along behind them, one arm clutching his ribs. She followed them, watching with curiosity as they hefted Nappa's gargantuan body into one of the regeneration tanks and began the process of hooking him up. “I thought Vegeta was solo-training in the gravity room today,” she said, taking a sip.

“He was.” Radditz wheezed climbing into the tank next to Nappa's. He winced as he plopped down a little too hard on the back bench and jarred his ribs.

“Wow, so you guys did this?” Bulma stepped forward and peered at a blotchy bruise on Nappa's forehead. “Impressive, even if it did take the three of you. Goku didn't jump in, did he? Chichi will have a fit,” she went on, oblivious to the look passing between the three conscious men in the room.

“It was Eighteen,” Krillin's strangled voice broke the news, and Bulma blinked in surprise. The poor man sounded as though he was in shock. “Eighteen got into the ring with him. We thought he was going to crush her...and bam. Three minutes later, he was down for the count.”

“Bitch's fucking fast,” Radditz breathed, and Bulma chose not to reprimand him for his word choice because it was plain he wasn't speaking out of malice.

“Is she okay?” Bulma asked, though Krillin noticed that she didn't seem overly concerned.

“I don't know,” Krillin answered, truthfully.

“What?” Bulma shrieked, “You didn't check on her? What the hell's wrong with you guys?”

“Well....” Gohan paused, and Bulma tapped her foot and glared impatiently, waiting for him to finish.

“She was okay, after she beat Nappa,” Krillin finished for the boy, “but as far as right now, we're not so sure.”

“Because?” Bulma was getting sick of their riddle-speak. All she wanted was a straight answer as to whether she should be paging Sixteen to the training deck in a panic.

“Because after she beat the living shit out of Nappa,” Radditz drew Bulma's ire in yet a third direction, “Vegeta came out of the gravity room and demanded that she come train with him.”

.

Well, she was holding her own, at least, Bulma thought as she frowned through the window in the gravity room door. Eighteen was quick as hell and even though Vegeta was obviously stronger, she was dodging most of his blows. Most, Bulma winced as she watched him connect, the power in his kick sending Eighteen's frail looking body into the wall. Krillin, standing at Bulma's elbow, cringed.

“Vegeta!” Bulma shouted into the intercom, “What the hell do you think you're doing?” She knew Eighteen was much stronger than she looked, knew the twins, like Sixteen, had been designed with combat as a primary function, but it didn't mean she liked to see Vegeta go at it with another girl. Sparring could be a very erotic experience for the fighters, she well knew from the two major relationships in her life, as many a project or research session had been interrupted by a sweaty man with a victory erection.

Through the little panel of glass Bulma and Krillin watched Vegeta touch gently down on the ground. He stood with his back to them, arms crossed and feet shoulder width apart, watching as Eighteen thumped to the floor. She didn't get up. Vegeta shrugged and walked to the control panel, and a few seconds later Bulma and Krillin could hear the hum of the gravity simulator as it worked to steadily restore normality in the chamber. Krillin rushed over to Eighteen as soon as the door lock popped, but she was already hauling herself up off the ground.

“She's not as good as I thought she might be,” Vegeta snorted, glaring at Bulma as though it was somehow her fault that the android hadn't proved sufficiently deadly. “Though she'll do as a sparring partner for now. Is the other one better?”

“How the hell should I know?” Bulma scoffed, crossing her arms beneath her breasts and glaring right back. She didn't like the idea of Vegeta being locked up in here all day with the sexy android.

“I am unused to the gravity,” Eighteen said. “I miscalculated the condition of my body. My strength and reflexes are below Dr. Gero's estimations. I must confer with Seventeen. We must train.” She brushed the wrinkles from the polyester capri pants and straightened her tube top, and left the room without any further interaction. Krillin edged out behind her, wondering if maybe he should offer himself up as a sparring partner.

“Don't train alone with her,” Bulma pouted, as soon as she was alone with Vegeta. He cocked an eyebrow in question and she shrugged.

“Idiot woman,” Vegeta rolled his eyes, easily gathering her meaning. “I would no sooner sleep with that creature than I would Nappa.”

“Well you haven't exactly been coming to bed while I'm still awake lately,” she snorted back.

“Oh, is that your problem?” Vegeta smirked and was just about to reach for her when Goku's head popped in the door.

“I saw Eighteen leave,” he said, oblivious to what he'd just interrupted. “Does that mean you're done now? Can we have a turn now?” He hiked a thumb toward Piccolo, who was most certainly not oblivious, and also not pleased by the idea of that going on inside the gravity room. Paired reproduction was such a sticky, undignified process. Much better, in his mind, to just spit out a shelled clone of oneself.

“Yes,” Bulma answered quickly, smiling innocently as the saiyan prince glared her down. “He's done. We'll go now.” She grabbed Vegeta's hand and led him past the ecstatic Goku. He allowed it only, he told himself, because Kakarrot needed desperately to train.

.

.

Dende had never been in Dr. Gero's lab before, so his impromptu visit felt strange, even though the place was technically Bulma's now. He looked around at the walls, hoping she wasn't planning on leaving all the fake body parts hanging there. Dende knew that they were spare parts for Sixteen, but it was still creepy to look up and see a whole wall of disembodied arms, reaching for Namek-knows-what. He averted his eyes and swung his legs in the too-tall chair, waiting for Bulma to return from the back sink with his cup of water. He hadn't really meant to visit her, but he'd been skulking about, trying to avoid running into Oboe, who he knew was looking for him. When Bulma appeared suddenly in his path, asking him to come down to her lab for a chat, the idea of refusing hadn't even crossed his mind. The older namek would never think to look for him there, and even if he did, Dende was sure that Bulma would cover for him.

“Hey, sorry I took so long,” Bulma made a face as she reappeared from behind a stack of boxes. “I had to dig around for some clean cups. Man, I can be a pig sometimes.” She laughed as she handed him the glass and Dende hid a smile as he took a sip; Bulma was the friendliest and most open person he had ever known and he'd liked her from the very first moment he'd met her. With her there were no pretentions, no pressure to act a certain way because anyone who met her could tell she was as genuine as they came. When she was pleased, it was obvious. When she was pissed, she made it known. She spoke her mind and acted out her every impulse without embarrassment. She was self assured in a way that Dende envied, much like her partner. Unlike Vegeta, she was actually approachable.

“I want to be like you,” he blurted, before he could stop himself. Bulma blinked, a little taken aback by his sudden confession, but she looked pleased.

“Why's that?” she asked, wiping the dust from a crate and perching on it with her own cup. She hadn't been planning on inviting Dende in, but the impulse had struck before she'd thought about the lack of chairs. Dende blushed a violent shade of plum and stared into his drink. Bulma was just beginning to wonder if she should change the subject when he finally answered.

“You're so confident,” he said, unable to look at her. “You're so bold. You say what you want, do what you want, and other people listen to you. They follow you.” He dragged his eyes from the water's surface to look up at her, shyly. “I'm not like that.”

“Is it the other nameks?” Bulma asked, and Dende nodded shamefully. “I thought things seemed strained.

“They don't like Vegeta,” Dende explained, sheepishly aware that she liked Vegeta very, very much. To his surprise, Bulma laughed out loud.

“Most people don't.” She was grinning. “I sure as hell didn't.” She scooted to the edge of the crate and patted the newly open space next to her. “C'mere,” she said, cocking her head to the side when he didn't immediately get up. “I won't bite you, geez,” she laughed, and Dende came over, laughing too, to hop up onto the crate. She put her arm around his little shoulders and hugged him to her side. “Look Dende, I'm not in your position. I love my friends and they love me, but if they listen to what I have to say, it's because they respect and trust me, not because they feel obligated to.”

“I...I released them,” Dende whispered up at her, a pleading note in his little voice. “I told them they didn't have to follow me anymore, if they didn't want to.”

“Well good.” Bulma nodded, and Dende felt relief flood through his body. “But even if you said that, to them you're still Guru's successor, right? It's not going to be so easy.” He sagged a little as some of the tension returned, and Bulma hugged him tighter to her side. “Look, I don't know how any of this is going to turn out. All you can do is live the way you want to live, and do what you think is right. You're never going to be able to please everybody and if you try, you'll only end up making yourself miserable. Guru trusted that you would know what to do, and if the others can't see that...well, they didn't know him very well, did they?”

“No,” Dende shook his head and felt a little bit comforted, privately thinking that this must be how Gohan felt in the odd moments that he let Chichi coddle him. Bulma already had the twins and maybe one day she would have her own real children, but he wondered if maybe she wouldn't mind cuddling him every once in a while. He would have to check with Gohan to see if it would be weird of him to ask. “I guess they didn't.”

“Say, have you ever thought about talking to Piccolo?” Bulma asked, after a moment of quiet. “He was a god on Earth, you know. Well, part of him.”

“That's what Gohan said,” Dende recalled the day he'd gone down to the training ring to watch the men spar, and to maybe chat with the intimidating namekian stranger. “I was going to, but I got scared. I didn't know what to say.”

“Ooh, I can see that,” Bulma laughed, thinking of how terrified she'd been of the old Demon King in her youth. “Well, maybe someone could go with you.”

“Thanks Bulma, but,” Dende paused, pulled away and felt a little ashamed at how childish he felt. He was a namekian Elder, a child only in age, and he had to stand on his own two feet, “I think I need to learn how to do things on my own.”

Bulma was reluctant to let him move away from her side, sad to see him hop off the crate and stand on the floor, looking so small and alone, but she knew he had to, if he was ever to lead Guru's lost little flock. “Okay,” she agreed. “You're right. But, you know, if you ever need someone to talk to, you can come to me, or to any one of the Red Station crew.” She grinned and winked at him, “Even Vegeta. If he's mean to you, I'll kick his butt.”

Dende laughed at her joke, his laugh turned into a sob and he threw himself at her still sitting form, throwing his arms around her waist as he buried his head in her belly and cried for the second time since he'd come to Red. Bulma had never had cause to doubt Guru's wisdom before, but as she rubbed her palm along Dende's shaking back, feeling her t-shirt grow damp with tears, she really, really hoped that the old sage had made the right decision.