Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Some Disassembly Required ❯ Chapter 3 ( Chapter 3 )

Krillin sifted through 18's hair, like a chimp in search of parasites.

"Come on, I know it's in here somewhere," he muttered to himself. Suddenly he came across what he had been looking for. Carefully, he raised the screw driver in his free hand and used it to depress a small button in the back of 18's head. This caused a small panel to flick up with an urgent click, revealing an impossibly-convoluted maze of circuitry beneath.

Krillin sat back and looked at the implement in his hand. "I think I'm gonna need a smaller screwdriver."

This, his latest idea was to try and reanimate 18's head. His reasoning had been that there couldn't be anyone better qualified to aid him with the repairs than 18 herself, thus negating the need to ask Bulma's help. Whether or not this reasoning was sound mattered little to Krillin; all that mattered was that it was reasoning, and that was enough for him.

Krillin shook his weary head, blinked his blurring eyes, and then consulted the blueprints once again. Once the words and images had ceased to swim about the page he was able to pick out the information he needed and set work. With an unsteady hand, he picked up the smallest screwdriver he could comfortably see from the pile of tools he had accumulated, and moved it towards the open panel. This was made difficult by the fact that his vision was beginning to double slightly. So, in much the same way as he had learned to do when fighting, he simply aimed straight down the middle. The head of the screwdriver came to rest in the groove, and Krillin slowly began to turn it clockwise.

With a yelp of fright, Krillin toppled from the stool. The once-lifeless circuits had suddenly sparked into life with a cascade of tiny lights, accompanied by a shrill buzz of static that emanated from 18's now open mouth.

Krillin crawled up to the table and peered nervously over the edge. Faced with the surreal image of 18's hissing head, he tentatively seated himself and reinserted the screwdriver. Slowly, carefully, he turned the screw.

Again Krillin found himself on his back as he was startled by a yet another strange occurrence. This time, 18's head had begun to speak. Only, it wasn't the android's voice.

"Now, add a table spoon of salt and stir until the mixture becomes light and fluffy," spoke the soft voice of an elderly woman from between 18's miming lips.

"Wha..?" Krillin gaped in astonishment.

It appeared that his tinkering had somehow caused 18's speech circuitry to tune in to a local radio station. The cooking instructions kept coming until Krillin finally worked up the nerve to try his luck a third time.

"… place the bowl in an oven at 225… hamsters were released onto the streets of South City today in… celebration of the … police probing into… Benito Mussolini's… ascending colon… and now we pass over to… Zinadine Zidane. Zidane a Figo. Figo a Beckham. Beckham cruza la bola en el area. ¡Oh, Molina deja lo caer! La bola cae a Raul… ¡Gooaal! ¡Raul! ¡Gooooooaaaaaal!"

Krillin turned to the screw back to its original position, and then allowed his head to fall onto the tabletop with a thump.

"This is hopeless," he lamented.

Then, just as Krillin began to think things couldn't get any worse, they did.

"What's going on in here?" came an abrasive voice.

Krillin raised his head, and then allowed it to fall back onto the table. "Why me?" he whined.

Vegeta had entered the room unnoticed and, as always, seemed to be having trouble with the stick that had long been lodged were only proctologists dare venture.

"I'm trying to get some training done outside, and all I can hear is some moron molesting his radio dial," he snarled.

"Go away," Krillin mumbled into the table.

"What was that?" Vegeta asked as he stepped up alongside. His attention then turned to the bits of 18 that were scattered across the table. "What happened here," he smirked. "Did that blow-up doll you call a girlfriend spring a leak?"

"Hey, don't call her that!" Krillin protested, but Vegeta wasn't listening.

The Saiyan prince began to sort through the assortment of components before him. Krillin reached out to try and stop him, but Vegeta simply placed an index finger against the fighter's head and gave a gentle push, sending him flying from his stool.

Krillin picked himself up off the floor in time to see Vegeta pluck a pair of large metal fasteners from the table. Slowly he rolled the hexagonal objects around his palm, contemplating them as if they held some hidden truth. Then he began to smile to himself. The smile evolved into chuckle, and before long became a whole-hearted belly-laugh.

Krillin sighed. He knew he would regret asking, but he did anyway. "What's so funny, Vegeta?"

Vegeta paused, just long enough to reply, "You must be the only Earth-man on this godforsaken planet whose woman has bigger nuts than he does." With that, he descended back into laughter.

"Ha ha, Vegeta," Krillin groaned. "You're a regular comedian. Why don't you take your act on the road?"

Again, Vegeta seemed unconcerned by Krillin's disrespectful tone, and continued to sift through 18's components in search of some other source of amusements.

"Vegeta!" there came a sudden and quite disagreeable cry.

Krillin, still a little disoriented from his experience thus far, raised his hands to his mouth to make sure it wasn't his own voice he had heard. It wasn't his voice, but all that was needed was a brief glance at Vegeta's expression to work at to whom it really belonged. Krillin knew of only two creatures in all the dimensions that had been able to put that look on Vegeta's face. Sadly, Frieza was dead, so that left only Bulma.

"Vegeta," Bulma said again as she stormed into the lab. "I called you for dinner half an hour ago. Where have you been?"

"I've been training," Vegeta replied. "And besides, what business is it of yours?"

"It's my business because for some bizarre reason I decided it would be a good idea to marry you!"

"Oh, is that how it is? Well then, the next time some mutant-alien-android-clone monster attacks the Earth, don't come crying to me!"

"Don't give me that crap, mister. If you don't get back in that house right now I'm feeding your dinner to the dinosaur!"

Vegeta gritted his teeth and growled in defiance, but as with his former master compliance was mandatory. So the pouting Saiyan left the lab, hands pocketed and mumbling under his breath as he went.

Krillin hauled himself to his feet, buoyed slightly by the unexpected ally he had gained.

Meanwhile, Bulma was surveying the damage. "Geez Krillin," she said softly. "You really did a number on 18. Maybe we should call you the next time an android-clone-monster thingy shows up."

Krillin sighed. Everyone seemed to be scoring off him today.

Bulma turned to face him, and gasped with shock. "Woah, you look even worse than 18," she observed. "Listen Krillin, I know you want to help out your girlfriend, and I respect that, but this obviously isn't doing either of you any good. Maybe I should… uh, Krillin? What's that on your head?"

Krillin frowned quizzically, and raised his hands to his scalp. "What's what on my…" He stopped mid-sentence as his hands brushed across a strange, bristly texture.

Slowly, a grimace began to crawl across the fighter's face as his weary mind slid into a state of panic.

"Agh!" he yelled, "Get it off me!" With that Krillin began to sprint around in circles, batting his hands against his head and screaming repeatedly, "Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!"

After watching a minute or so of this amusing, though slightly disturbing display, Bulma came to a realisation. "Krillin," she said, squinting at him in the pale light. "I think… I think it's… hair."

At this Krillin ceased his cries for help, and slowed to a standstill. He placed his hands against the top of his head and cautiously began to move them around. Sure enough, this strange new growth felt very much like the beginnings of a full head of hair.

"What the…" he muttered in astonishment.

"Wow Krillin," Bulma grinned. "That's wild. I always thought that you were just bald."

"I was, sort of," Krillin informed her as he continued to familiarise himself with the new do. "I used to wax it regularly, but then it just kind of stopped growing back, until now anyway."

"Weird," Bulma observed. "Maybe it's from the stress of trying to repair 18 yourself. Kind of like the opposite of stress-related baldness."

"Far out," Krillin said as he slowly came round to the idea of having his hair restored to him.

"Listen, Krillin. I know you must pretty happy that you're not a cue ball anymore, but still, this is kind of worrying. If this job is causing you so much stress that it's affecting you physically, then I think maybe it's time you handed over to a professional."

Krillin paused his touching session, and absently considered her offer. Just as he was about to accept, his mind awoke to the obvious Gambit that Bulma was playing. Truly it had been a shrewd move on her part, but Krillin would not be fooled so easily.

"No, no, no," Krillin waved the offer away and, as before, began to shepherd Bulma towards the door. "I've got everything under control. Bye-bye now."

Bulma raised a finger to speak. "But…"

And with that, Krillin shoved her out of the lab and quickly lowered the door behind her.

He sighed with relief, and relaxed back into exhaustion. With Bulma's advice silenced and that of hindsight now ringing in his ear, Krillin began to think that maybe, just maybe, it would have been a good idea to let Bulma take over. Nonetheless, he still felt some urge to finish the job he had started, and to show 18 that he could be more than just a minor annoyance to her - a pest neither small enough to ignore, nor large enough to have a restraining order taken out against. Also, he was more than a little embarrassed to let Bulma see the full extent of his repairs.

Wearily he went back to his work station. Upon arriving he found the contents of the table, once ordered as best the fighter could manage, littered about the place with no discernible arrangement - the fruit of Vegeta's efforts. With a growl of annoyance, Krillin set about restoring order.

"That Vegeta," he muttered angrily. "Why, if I were a thousand times stronger I'd…"

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Krillin's shook his head. As he did so the lights that adorned the walls of the lab left trails across his field of vision, and his head swam as if his mind was swelling to a size too great for his skull to contain. Blinking hard, he did his best to hang on to consciousness for just a little longer.

Tentatively he reached out and placed his hands against the blueprints.

"Stop spinning already," he muttered as he put his wait against the paper.

Suddenly, one of his hands slid from its purchase causing his body to fall onto the table.

"Ow…" he whined as his head struck the surface. In his stupefied state Krillin couldn't be sure whether it did in fact hurt, but he felt he should say it all the same.

Then the stool slid from beneath him, sending him crashing to the ground.

"Ow…"

That hurt.

After a time, Krillin righted the stool and dragged his limp carcass back on to the seat.

"Now," he said distantly, his head rolling around slightly on his neck. "Where was I? Oh, yeah."

Slowly he reached out, pausing periodically to steady himself and picked up a couple of bits of metal. He didn't know what they were, but the shapes were pretty. Then, with a sigh of satisfaction he began to slowly and rhythmically beat the components together.

"That sounds nice," he grinned at the cheerful ringing that filled the lab.

Krillin continued with this for some minutes, but soon the sleepy smile began to drain from his face. Eventually he dropped his makeshift instruments on the table, and allowed his face to fall into his hands.

"Oh, who am I kidding," he mumbled into his palms. "I can't do this." Looking up through dewy eyes, he surveyed the chaos that lay before him. "What a mess. I doubt even Bulma can do anything for her now. What have I done? What have I done…"

Krillin raised a hand a wiped a tear from his eye. Then, he reached out and picked up 18's severed head.

"I'm sorry 18," he whimpered. "All I wanted to do was get to know you a little better, but all I've done is mess everything up. That's all I ever do. You deserve better than this. You deserve better than me." Krillin placed 18 back on the table. "I'm so sorry," he muttered. "I'm just so… tired…"

Krillin yawned. His eyelids, weighed down with fatigue and regret, fell across his tearful eyes as the soft hum of the computer cooling fans lulled him into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

"Krillin…" a gentle voice called out from nowhere.

Krillin's consciousness fumbled through the darkness to find its source.

"Krillin…" the voice called once more.

Slowly, Krillin began to emerge from his slumber. Pulling his lead-like eyelids up as best he could, he called back from his sleepy stupor, "…Mommy?"

"Krillin!" the voice yelled.

With that, the last of the barrier that separated Krillin's mind from the world beyond was shattered, and the fighter was dragged kicking and screaming back to reality.

And he fell off the stool.

"Whoops," said Bulma. "Sorry if I scared you there, Krillin. But seriously, all that falling over can't be good for you. You should consider investing in a booster seat or something."

Krillin hauled himself up and looked to the door. There was stood Bulma, accompanied by a throng of figures that that he could ill discern from the bright sunlight that was pouring into the lab. All began to approach.

As the group drew closer and his eyes adjusted to the light, Krillin could begin to recognise their faces. Bulma was flanked on her right by Vegeta, Dr Briefs and Mrs Briefs, and on her left by Yamcha and Chi Chi, the latter of whom still had her back turned.

"Hi guys," Krillin said distantly. "What are you all doing here?"

"Well, to be honest, we were all kind of worried about you," Bulma confessed. "Not to mention about 18. I mean, you guys have been in here for almost two days now."

Krillin's eyes widened with surprise. "Two days?"

"That's right," Chi Chi interceded, back still turned. "It's just not healthy for someone to spend so long locked away, working in a dark room."

"Yeah, just ask Gohan." muttered Vegeta, an action that earned him a sharp elbow in the arm from his spouse.

"I see." Krillin looked down at the ground dejectedly. "I suppose you'll be wanting your lab back now, huh?"

"Yeah, but there are a couple of other things I'd like to take care of first," replied Bulma. "For a start, there's someone here who I think owes you an apology."

Taking his cue, Yamcha stepped forwards. "Hi there, Krillin," he said, one hand pocketed and the other rubbing the back of his head. "Listen buddy, I'm sorry about what I said. I mean about you and 18. I didn't mean anything by it, and if I'd known for a second what would happen I'd…"

"It's not your fault," said Krillin, smiling briefly. "I shouldn't have let it get to me. Too much lemonade, I guess."

"Yeah, well all the same, I'm sorry. Friends?"

Krillin smiled. "Yeah."

"Aw, isn't that sweet," Vegeta smirked. "Maybe you two should go on a date."

"I don't know why you're laughing," Bulma scolded. "It's your turn to apologise next."

"What?!"

"You heard me!"

"I will do no such thing!"

"You'll do what I tell you and like it, buster!"

"I am a Saiyan Prince! I take orders from no one!"

"Well then your highness, I guess you're one Saiyan prince who can forget about that upgrade to his gravity training chamber!"

Vegeta stopped in his tracks. Frowning furiously he engaged Bulma in a stare off, but there was only ever going to be one winner. Breaking eye contact with his wife, Vegeta hissed through gritted teeth, "I'm sorry."

"What was that?" asked Bulma.

"I said… I'm sorry."

"I can't hear you!"

"I'm sorry, damn it!" Vegeta roared. "There, are you happy now?" With that, the emasculated prince turned to join Chi Chi in staring out of the open door.

"Oh Krillin," Mrs Briefs said with a sad sniff. "I can't help but feel that this is my all fault. If only I'd have minded my own business."

"There there, dear," said Dr Briefs, wrapping a comforting arm around his wife as she steadily descended into tears. "It's not your fault. How were you to know that Krillin was prone to bouts of dangerously obsessive behaviour?"

"Yeah, Mrs Briefs. It's not your fault," Krillin added, echoing at least half of the doctor's sentiment. "Listen everyone, it's really nice of you to try and make me feel better, but it's not me that needs fixing up." Krillin looked over his shoulder to the pile of scrap that was once his love interest.

"Oh yeah," Bulma said nonchalantly. "I almost forgot."

"Almost forgot?!" Barked Krillin as Bulma strolled casually to the table.

"Now let's see here," Bulma mused, surveying the wreckage. "Ah here we go." She picked up the screwdriver Krillin had been using earlier in one hand and 18's head in the other, and began to tinker with the dial that had caused the little fighter so much consternation. "Let me tell you Krillin, it's a good job you didn't get very far with the dismantling process otherwise we could have had a real mess on our hands."

Krillin stood aghast. "Not very far?" he paraphrased, looking down at what had appeared to be the irreparably dismembered remains of android 18. "But I thought… I mean it looked like… you mean, I was getting stressed out over nothing?"

"Oh, there we go," chirped Bulma as 18's head briefly buzzed with static as it had done before.

This time however, the buzz quickly died away. A couple of seconds passed in silence, and then something happened that made Krillin's heart skip with both shock and joy. 18 blinked; first once, then twice, and then slowly her batting eyelids fell into a natural rhythm. All the while, the life that had deserted the android's face was filtering back from wherever it had been stored within her labyrinthine circuitry. Finally, she spoke.

"Wwwhere am I," she asked distantly, her voice hesitant and tinny.

Krillin could just about hear Yamcha's horrified utterance of, "Gross…" followed closely by Vegeta's best Beavis and Butthead impression. "Heh heh, cool…"

"You're in the lab, 18," Bulma replied, replacing the talking head upon the table. "You've just been reactivated after a little down time."

"Down timmme…" the android echoed as her stalling CPU processed the information. "Wwwhat happennned?"

Bulma grimaced. "Well, do you remember the trouble you were having with some of your shoulder servos?"

18 paused, before replying in an increasingly normal voice. "Yes."

"And do you remember how we discussed doing some maintenance on your infrastructure?"

"…yes."

"And uh, how about when we agreed that we should let Krillin have a crack at it?" This question was met with a telling silence. "Well… um, it didn't quite go as well as we might have liked."

18's eyes widened, revealing her rapidly dilating and contracting pupils as her light receptors began auto-calibration. "Why, what went wrong?"

Bulma broke eye contact and tugged nervously at the neck of her dressed. "Oh nothing, nothing… nothing too serious. Uh…anyway, I don't think we should discuss that just now."

18's attention turned to the throng of people stood before her. "What are you all staring at?"

Everyone looked away except for Vegeta, who was enjoying the impromptu puppet show, and Chi Chi, who hadn't seen any of what was going on anyway. A moment passed, and then Bulma's mother stepped forwards.

"Um, hello dear," she said tentatively. "You look, well. I mean, under the circumstances. Um, how do you feel?"

18 thought for a moment. "A little light headed." She replied. Then her eyes narrowed. "Why all this sudden concern for my well being? What is going…" At that moment 18's eyes became adjusted, and fell upon the debris that surrounded her disembodied cranium. There was a deafening silence.

Krillin began to shrink away. "Uh oh…"

"Krillin," said 18 in an unsettlingly even tone. "What have you done to me?"

Krillin swallowed hard. "Er, well I… I… I was only trying to help."

18's brow furrowed. "Consider yourself lucky I'm in pieces, because when I get my hands on you…"

"Allow me," Vegeta grinned, plucking one of the aforementioned appendages from the floor and turning ominously towards Krillin.

"Vegeta, put that down," scolded Bulma, and then looked to 18. "You know, you shouldn't be so hard on Krillin. This has been difficult for him too you know."

"My heart bleeds," 18 sneered. "I should know. It's sat right in front of me."

"Hey now, don't be like that. In a couple of hours I can have you up and running and as good as new. If this whole sad affair has proved anything, it's that Krillin's problems are going to take more than a spanner and a squirt of oil to fix."

"Gee, thanks," Krillin muttered.

18 looked away pensively. "I suppose…" she conceded, but then looked at Krillin with a stare that could have pierced sheet steel. "Just don't expect a thank you note."

Krillin looked at his feet. He could understand 18's chagrin. She had trusted him after all, and he had shattered that trust in spectacular fashion. The others had been kind to try and displace some of the blame, but he was an adult - in all but height - and could take responsibility for his own actions.

"I'm really sorry, 18," said Krillin. "I guess I'm not cut out for this sort of stuff. I mean being a scientist… or your boyfriend." He then gave a sad smile. "But hey, I'm sure Bulma knows lots of real smart guys that are better suited to a girl like you, who can give you what you need."

"You should try the Yellow Pages," Vegeta chuckled. "It has a whole section dedicated to TV repair men."

"Vegeta!" Bulma hissed under her breath, so as not to further disrupt the heart rending scene.

"Anyway, I'll see myself out," Krillin said. "See you around. I guess."

Krillin turned and began a slow, despairing trudge to the door.

Bulma's mother dabbed a tissue in the corner of her right eye. "This is so sad," she said.

"I know," Dr Briefs sniffed. "It's better than my soaps."

"You said it, Doc," sniffled Yamcha.

Bulma looked down at 18, who was watching dispassionately as Krillin slinked away. "So you're just going to let him go?" she asked.

"No," 18 said coolly. "I was actually just about run after him to proclaim my undying love. Oh wait, I'm just a head!"

"You know what I mean," Bulma replied quietly, trying not to alert Krillin to their conversation. "He might have taken you apart, but he only did it because he cared."

"That's very sweet. I'll remember to have them carve that on your headstone."

"Everyone's a comedian today," Bulma lamented. "Alright then Miss Smartass, let me put it like this. You're going to live for a very long time, and though you may not think so now, eventually you're going to want some companionship. And if you think it's difficult for a strong woman to find a guy who won't get scared away, then imagine how tough it'll be to hold down the relationship when Mr Right finds out you're a killer android programmed to conquer the Earth."

18 glared intensely at the table top beneath her.

Bulma looked over at Krillin. "There's a man who knows what you are, who's seen what you can do, but loves you anyway." Bulma then sighed, and laughed to herself, "I've been there…" before continuing. "Any way you slice it, you'd have to be pretty dum to let a guy like that slip through your fingers."

18 shot her an angry glance.

Bulma's face reddened slightly, "Oh, sorry."

Krillin stopped at the door, and sighed deeply. "I should have known I'd screw it up. Guys like me never get girls like her." And with that, he took his first step back into the great, lonely world.

"Krillin," 18 called after him.

The fighter's eyes widened with surprise. Stopping, he turned and looked back over his shoulder.

"Krillin, I… I… appreciate your efforts," 18 continued, with each word sticking in what remained of her throat. "It was very… kind of you to try and… help."

Krillin took a moment to absorb the android's words. Then, a smile began to creep across his face. "So… you're not mad?"

18 meditated on the question. Then, after a glare of encouragement from Bulma, replied, "No… I suppose not."

"So you're not going to kill me when you're repaired?"

Bulma gave 18 another silent reminder of who would be wielding the screwdriver.

"No," 18 sighed.

"So we're still…"

"Yes, yes. Just please, leave me to be repaired properly."

Krillin's smile burst into a broad grin.

"There now," Bulma said, beaming with pride at her latest quick-fix. "Was that so hard?"

18 looked up at her disdainfully. "Just get the ratchets," she said. "And make sure they're metric."

Krillin breathed a deep sigh of relief. It seemed that his relationship with 18 was more durable than he had thought. With his confidence galvanised, he called across to18, "Well, I'm glad everything is okay between us, though I still feel a little guilty about this whole thing. Hey, how about I help Bulma out with the repairs?"

"No!" Both women cried out in horror. Composing herself, Bulma added, "Er, maybe you should go and get something to eat. You've been cooped up in here for an awful long time y'know."

"Oh, okay," Krillin relented.

"Aw, don't worry about it buddy," Yamcha said, putting an arm around Krillin's shoulder. "Hey, how about I help you come up with some other way to make it up to 18?"

"Oh, no you don't," Bulma nipped the ill-conceived idea in the bud. "I think we've had just about enough advice out of you for one lifetime, Dr Phil."

Yamcha gave a chuckle of embarrassment. "Right," he said.

"Okay, everyone out," Bulma called. "I've got work to do."

And with that, the throng of onlookers marched from the lab to return to their everyday business.

In reality, Krillin wasn't too bothered that his offer of assistance had been turned down. He was just glad that his momentary and oh-so-rare lapse in judgement hadn't destroyed his chances with 18. Perhaps there was something to be said for those ol' Krillin moves after all. Sure, 18 still seemed reluctant to take things further, but if the relationship could withstand this escapade, it could weather anything.

With his confidence restored and the sun on his face, Krillin smiled contentedly to himself. "She'll come around," he said quietly. "It's just a matter of time."

THE END

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Bulma's mother dabbed a tissue in the corner of her right eye. "I love a happy ending," she said.

"Me to," Dr Briefs sniffed. "It's better than my soaps."

"You said it, Doc," sniffled Yamcha.

"Oh, please," Vegeta sneered. "I'm beginning to remember why I liked destroying planets like this one."

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Okay, it's the end for real this time. Um… you can go home now.

Oh, and if there's anything wrong with the Spanish, feel free to correct me. Okay, it's now this is definitely the end.