So I got that finished quicker than I thought. Hurrah! Hope everyone is still enjoying the story. Thanks everyone for all your feedback - it really makes my day.
Wow... 8 chapters already? My original plan only had about 10. I'm only about halfway-ish now.

Fools Fall In: Chapter 8

"You've been hanging with the unloved kids,
So you never really liked and you never trusted
But you are so magnetic - you pick up all the pins.
Never committing to anything,
You don't pick up the phone when it ring ring rings
Don't be so pathetic - just open up and sing." - Marina and the Diamonds

"Wha…what?"

"Bulma. Blueprints. Now."

Krillin caught the eyes of Roshi and Oolong, who both simply shrugged. The old Master looking distinctly more concerned then the shape shifting pig. Krillin met her eyes again. He had no idea what this was about – but he could tell that the twins were a little unsettled (how exactly? Was he suddenly an expert on teenage robots now? That wasn't weird at all, he thought, with a grimace).

"We won't be able to see her tonight, she'll be busy...and you'll probably have to deal with a grumpy Vegeta. We can go tomorrow… if you like." He added as he saw a frown reach her face.
17 just yawned and shrugged, announced "Whatever" and said that he couldn't be bothered tonight anyway.
"Fine," said his sister coldly, more at him than at Krillin, "tomorrow then. First thing." She added, prodding the monk rather solidly in the chest.
The shorter man held up his hands "Promise!" and with that she stomped off into the kitchen.
Krillin looked up at the dark-haired twin, "Can I ask why we have to go to Bulma's?"
"No." He said simply and made his own way upstairs.
"Oh, okay then." Krillin replied lamely, hanging his head in defeat.

"So then - what happened?" came a croaky aged voice from across the room. Master Roshi had muted the television and was giving him his semi-undivided attention.
"Yeah," said Oolong, "How'd it go? You scare her off?"
Their housemate sat down on the couch next to them and let out a huge sigh. He admitted his utter failure at 'the plan', his inability to be consciously mean and his lack of progress in the whole 'find some sort of loophole forward slash way out' thing. But. But, but, but, apart from that. It had been…nice. Pleasant. She hadn't been as axe-crazy as he'd thought she'd be, or as scary as he'd remembered. Sure she'd spaced out a couple of times when he'd been talking (at this Oolong remarked that he couldn't blame her) only to click back into focus with a rather… baleful look, but all in all it had been a nice date.

Roshi had listened intently to his young ex-student talk, only to speak up now, "But Krillin, it wasn't supposed to be a date date though was it? You weren't supposed to have a nice time. You sound as if you, well, like her."
Krillin balked at this. True, the original idea had been entailed that neither person should've ended the date thinking 'Ooo, well that was lovely, I'd like to see him or her again' but alas and alack there had been a small stirring of attraction and of course (his greatest nemesis) a small kiss on the cheek. His Kryptonite. Physical contact. From a real woman, with breasts and everything.
He slumped back into his seat.
"I… don't know what to do."

The old master smiled at his friend over his dark glasses. "You've still got a long time to figure this out, and remember you've got all of us to help you."
Krillin managed a weak smile, "Thanks Master Roshi."
Shaking his head, he patted Krillin on the shoulder. "A woman's heart is as fickle as the autumn sky."
Oolong snorted. "Where'd the hell did you hear that piece of crap?"
"I read it somewhere. It doesn't matter, Krillin, because right now there are more important things to worry about."

"Oh? Oh. Yeah, the Androids." The monk nodded darkly, pushing away troubled thoughts on the demoness.
The shape shifting pig fiddled with the batteries in the television remote unconsciously, "What d'ya think that's about? Why would they want to go see old pissy-legs for anyway?"
His friend's gaze turned pointedly to the kitchen door, "I have no idea."

As contrived coincidence would have it; immediately following that statement, on the television screen a woman named Sarah Connor was promptly shot in the head by a T-800.

He wandered in to the kitchen later that night after having reattached his notice board to his bedroom wall, still pondering on the twin's odd demands when Krillin was stopped dead in his tracks by perhaps the most wonderful thing he'd ever seen. Better then the first time he'd seen Kame House, better than that one time he'd raided Yamcha's mobile phone and happened upon a compromising photo or three of Bulma.

18, from what he could tell, was under the impression that she was completely alone and everybody else was asleep. She was flicking through one of the house's more questionable magazines whilst simultaneously munching on an apple, quite happily singing and dancing to the muffled yet audible music blasting from a pair of headphones.
Krillin leant on the doorframe. God she was beautiful.
Radiant… Graceful…. An awful, awful singer.
The sad thing was that it looked for all the world as if she were truly putting her heart and soul into belting out the song, obviously unaware of just how loud she was being. Tragic. But god it was an enthralling show; at one particular crescendo in the music she thrashed her hair around and mimed playing drums, eyes screwed shut –happy. She looked so… contented.

For a few moments he forgot that she wasn't completely human. Forgot that her name was an allocated number as opposed to a lovingly chosen title. Even forgot that anything really existed outside of the room she pirouetted and screeched in.
And then he scooted back out of the room before she noticed him, before the music would stop and the indifferent mask returned. She deserved her moments of happiness. She deserved that much.

When Krillin turned up at Capsule Corp the next day with two distinctly surly looking robots, one of whom who had previously beaten the living daylights out of her partner and son-from-the-future and the other who was sporting a scarf and socks that could only be described as proof of no benevolent God, Bulma was less than impressed.

After 10 minutes or so of sparse and uncomfortable explanations on the androids' part as to why they were there, Bulma had significantly lightened up and was in the mood for a puzzle. Krillin listened intently as the Twin's succinctly relayed to the heiress forward-slash scientist extraordinaire: they had a problem. They knew she had blueprints. They knew she had to ability to fix whatever was wrong with their wiring.

Bulma nodded along, "I have 17's blueprints, not yours 18 – but I expect they would be pretty similar. The thing is that your going to have to tell me the" she gestured wildly, "symptoms, otherwise I won't be able to know where the problem originates."
Krillin simply sat on the workbench beside her, swinging his legs. She sure seemed to be taking the Androids in her stride, he thought to himself, but then again, she had worked with 16.

17 scowled. "Can't you just scan us or something?"
But the blue-haired woman shook her head. "Nope. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. You've gotta give me something to work with other than 'um yeah, so we think we have some loose wires or something, fix it thanks'."
The dark haired man was about to snark back when his sister cut him off, "Look. I want this over and done with and fixed. I think its corrupt files." Her gaze flickered to Krillin and a small blush came to her cheeks. "Whatever it is has been affecting our emotions."
Bulma put a finger to her chin, "Your emotions?"

"We've been having mood swings … but they're getting more frequent… and stronger too. We can go from completely fine one moment and then next thing you know he's bawling like a little girl in a clothes shop because and I quote: 'that t-shirt is Just. So. Stripey.' It doesn't…. It never happened before… before… well…" She looked pointedly at Krillin, "Cell."

The other woman nodded along and then turned towards the computer screen on the workbench, clicking and typing before bringing up the file on 17's blueprints.
"Right then, so that narrow's it down. We're looking in the brain…. There…. Probably…" she said, pointing at something on the screen, more to herself then the others. She had her scientist head on and by god she was going to have this one figured out by the end of the day. There was a silence as she browsed the image.

"In my defence it was an incredibly stripey t-shirt."

The rest of the morning was spent with Bulma essentially digging around in both the blueprints and the androids heads. Unfortunately for her the first problem arose when she discovered that she couldn't actually inspect 17 and 18's brains without surgery, the second problem popping up when she realised that she couldn't then CAT scan them. However, with some prodding and poking around with the machine, she managed to alter it so the magnets wouldn't rip any internal metal out of their skulls. Needless to say, the twins were still rather uncomfortable using it.
"Of course it will work!"

"I don't know… I'm sure science doesn't work that way."

"Shush."

One hour and 24 minutes later, Bulma tapped her chart and exclaimed that she had the answer. The solution. Eureka and all that jazz. 17, 18 and Krillin all sat quietly as she explained, with ridiculously complicated scientific words and equations, why the androids had been having so much trouble with controlling their moods and emotions recently. None of the three sitting there in the workshop understood a single word she said. Until the end that was.
"…replace the missing piece!"

18 sat up straight. "What missing piece?"
The heiress threw her arms up in mock despair, "Nobody ever listens to anything I say! Nobody!"
Krillin rolled his eyes at her over his coffee cup. "That's because nobody understands anything you say. Just tell us in layman's terms please."
She plonked herself down on a swivel chair and glided over towards the two cyborgs.

"Look. It's complicated, but essentially, it isn't a problem with your brains or corrupt files. From the notes on the blueprints I can see that prior to the whole… Cell incident that neither of you were able to feel strong emotions, except for say fear (for self-preservation). But everything else was… muffled. Am I right?"
17 stayed silent, but 18 nodded. Bulma continued, "When I delved deeper into the blueprint files I found out there was something actively doing that. Muffling and controlling your emotions; an Inhibitor device, attached to another device inside your body. But when I scanned you… it… wasn't there."

"What do you mean it wasn't there? It couldn't have just dissap-" 18 stopped and clenched her fists, "Which device was it attached to?"
Krillin gulped. He knew the answer.

"A bomb." Stated Bulma, flatly.

The blonde woman spun round at Krillin fury in her eyes and a raised fist."I knew this was your fault!"
The monk flinched but surprisingly no blow came. She stood there, fist still clenched ready to knock his head off his shoulders, death-glare on her pretty face. After a moment, she sighed, dropped her hand and turned to Bulma with a very tired expression.
"So can you fix this?"

Bulma frowned and put down her clipboard. "Yes and no. I could give making a new one a go. Though it could take a while…. But... I don't think replacing them is the best thing. I mean the mood swings are only causing you problems because you're not used to them. I mean, without the Inhibitor, given enough time, your emotions will eventually fully return and level out. You just need help in dealing with them naturally."
17 spoke up at last, "What do you mean naturally?" He still looked slightly confused.
Bulma grinned, "I'm suggesting Therapy!"

There was a loud bang as Krillin fell off his perch on the workbench.

"How long do you think it will take them?"

"What, to make a decision? Probably quite a while, "said Bulma as she picked up Trunks from his highchair, "I mean it's an important decision…"

The monk simply nodded in agreement and took a sip of his coffee. He'd had no idea what they'd been going through. Neither of them had mentioned a thing. And now they were both sat down in the workshop trying to figure out what they were going to do.
Ugh, and it was all his fault. If he hadn't have wished those bombs away, neither 18 nor her brother would have this to deal with. Still, came a little voice at the back of his head, now you know she can feel. Now you know there's a chance – Krillin brushed the thought away, scratching behind an ear. There's no chance.

"So they're living with you?" Bulma readjusted the baby on her hip.
"I wouldn't call it living with me. It's only been a couple of days."
"Still it must be weird..."
"Yeah...it's pretty… intense. But hey, you can't talk. Look at who you're living with."
Bulma raised an eyebrow, "You still got the hots for her then?"
"Eh!"
"Gohan."
"Damn him. Pubescent little git." Scowled Krillin as he watched Bulma try and wrest a clump of her hair from a tiny vice-like grip. ("No Trunks let go of mommy's hair. OW!")

"So anyway, veering away from the hot blonde subject - how did the date go with Majon anyway? Is she still crazy?"
"It went… fine. She didn't seem all that insane to be honest, just a bit… calculating."
"Calculating…like plotting?"
"I don't know, Bulma. I just…" He sighed.
"You're gonna work this out, okay? It's gonna be alright."
Every so often, Bulma reminded him why he loved her so much.
"Thanks Bulma."
"You're welcome. Now could you help me out and change the baby while I find the milk formulae?"
He took Trunks from her and grumbled to himself, "You're such a moment killer."
"What?"
"Nothing—oh god. Ohhhhh. Oh you hell-spawn you."

About five or so minutes after Krillin had barely succeeded in changing a very stubborn and annoyed infant, and Bulma had managed to stop laughing at him, the two cyborgs entered the kitchen. Android 18 brushed silky hair behind her ear and shrugged. "We don't want the Inhibitors replaced."
Bulma threw up her arms in victory.
"But – we don't want therapy."

"Awwww really? But he's really good! Fine with all the insanity of robots and magic and aliens and everything! He's our company therapist."

Krillin scrunched up his face at her. "You have a company therapist?"

"Well yeah my lawyers said we had to get one after the last 'summoning Shenlong on the Capsule Corp grounds' incident."

"Still no."

Bulma was not a person who was told no often. She was most definitely going to get her way.
"Tell you what. You two can meet him, and then decide."

"We've already decided." 18 was starting to lose her patience. Krillin had a vision of her strangling Bulma, if only to get her to shut up."So, no."

As they walked along the corridors of Caspule Corp alongside Bulma and Krillin, 17 wondered how on earth the blue-haired woman had managed to bully them into meeting the therapist.
Like he would ever sit through a therapy session anyway, the image it invoked was comical. Lying on a worn couch as some dumpy balding psychologist asked him about his relationship with his father – or better yet – group therapy! Yeah. With 18. They could finally perfect their impression of those creepy twins from The Shining.

"Excuse me. Sorry!" came an agitated voice from behind him, and a rather dishevelled looking man in a moss green shirt pushed past at a fast pace.
"Pardon me, coming through. Morning Miss Briefs."
The young man froze and spun around, juggling the files in his arms.
"More like afternoon, Dr. Castaña. Late, perchance?" His employer gestured towards the clock on the wall. His face flushed with red, "Sorry about that. The courtesy car lost a wheel. It is literally the biggest piece of wank-"
"It's a Capsule Corp courtesy car."
"-ingly wonderful machinery ever built." She would have scowled at him had he not broken into the cheesiest grin she'd ever seen.

Bulma took the folders out of his arms and nodded at the Therapist's office door. As the now unveiled therapist fumbled with his keys to unlock the door, Krillin took the opportunity to scope the man out. The fact that if 18 agreed to this venture, she'd be therefore spending a fair amount of time alone with this man made his stomach flip over. He was probably the most awkwardly beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Tall. Very tall, maybe as tall as Goku had been, with thick brunette hair that somehow 'flopped' but still managed to be rather manly. Krillin ran a hand over his own bristly head. The young man was slender and on closer inspection much more well-groomed than previously noted. With deep brown eyes and tanned skin, as well as a very large but perfect nose, the smaller man felt something akin to inadequacy standing next to the therapist.

As his attention turned to the blonde, he grimaced silently. She was gazing at the other man, head tilted ever so slightly to the side. As if she was considering something. Something that put a faint flush of pink in her cheek.
Goddammit.

Bulma still hadn't shut up, even as they entered the office. "So have the police gotten any further with leads?"
"They don't need to. Woke up the other morning to find it in a smouldering wreck in my back garden! They returned it! Who does that?"
No-one but 18 noticed 17's eyes widen in shock and amusement. His mouth slowly started to form a smirk, then a smile, then a grin.
"They gave you your van back?"
"Yeah but only after they destroyed the poor thing," he took the folders back off her, "they even left me a note. Anyway… so how can I help?"

On this cue, 17 flopped onto the leather sofa near the desk and happily declared: "I'm here for the therapy! I am a robot, I wish to be a real boy and you sir shall be my guide."
Dr. Castaña plonked the files onto his desk and raised his eyebrows at the other man. "Sounds like I've got my work cut out for me then," he looked at Bulma, who started she'd discuss the details. The young doctor leaned back against his desk, ran his fingers through his hair, pushed his sleeves up over his forearms and smiled heartily at 18.
"You too huh?"
She smiled faintly back and tucked blonde locks behind her ear.
"What's that noise? Is someone grinding their teeth?"

"By the way," Said Dr. Castaña as he pulled out a fresh pad of paper from a drawer, "You don't need to call me doctor. Please just call me Ché."
17 appeared beside him, more than definitely violating some unwritten code of personal space. "Well then Ché, I'm 17 and this is 18. I wonder, did you ever get that bumper fixed?"

Mwahahahaa. Anyway, I hope this chapter wasnt too dull, I know not much happened so forgive me. Once more, any comments, opinions, constructive criticism... I'd love to hear from you. Hell, got any predictions?
Since I've now officially finished University (oh god oh god) the updates should (hopefully) not be to erratic. But don't hold me to it. I'm British, I'm by nature a sneaky bugger.

Allons-y!