12 & 17

Originally written 5 June 1998

Disclaimer: Set after DBZ and before DBGT, when Pan is twelve.

"-happy birthday dear Marron-chan! Happy birthday to you!"

The now eighteen-year-old stood before a beautiful cake and as her friends and family's voices faded with the end of the song, she took a breath, leaned forward, and blew out all eighteen of the gleaming candles. A cheer went up from the crowd as this signified Marron's eighteenth birthday, and consequently she was now, in her friends and family's eyes, an adult. On such a monumental day everyone was excited and filled with joy.

Everyone, that is to say, except Pan.

She sat away from the cheering crowd, her back against the trunk of a tall tree.

She wore only her gray jeans, a black shirt and her shoes. She'd just recently decided to let her short hair grow out, and so it hung about chin length now, constantly in her way. Her eyes darted over to the look at the table of happy people, and she exhaled, blowing a piece of hair up.

How could she be happy too? It just wasn't fair! Why should something as stupid as age make you an adult?

Marron was six years her senior, but Pan knew she could lick the girl in a fight. She clenched her fists, and half whispered, half spat, "Ch', eighteen."

She heard something nearby and looked about for the source. The family was still gushing over Marron as she opened her presents. No one noticed as Pan stood up and walked towards the bushes, easily slipping into its secretive hiding places. The crowd was instantly replaced by green foliage and silence. She elbowed her way through the brush and then came out the other side . . .

. . . faced to a pair of denim-clad legs.

She almost yelped in shock, but held her composure, stepped back, and looked up and up, into the face of the man before her. He was scowling and she swallowed hard.

He studied her in depth as she uncomfortably looked back up at him.

She made herself look at him and slowly got over her shock. The man—teenager really was quite beautiful. He had pale blue eyes, several shades lighter than her own, and long back ebony hair which was parted down the center and hung almost to his shoulders. His arms were crossed, but she could see the "R" of a logo on his black shirt. He also wore an orange scarf around his neck which complimented his eyes. His gray jeans and green socks offset his blue and white shoes, but his face was so captivating his feet really didn't matter.

"Who are you?" he asked. His voice was cold, but not unpleasant.

It seemed to Pan he was vaguely familiar, though she couldn't place why. "P-Pan," she answered, upset her voice betrayed her emotions. "Son Pan. Who're you?" she added, with a little more bravado.

Gohan's daughter? The man smirked, twisting just one corner of his lips upward, but he didn't answer. "How old are you?"

Maintaining her bravado, she answered immediately. "Twelve." Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

He nodded crunching numbers. "Juuni," he said to himself and shrugged the years away. "No reason." He inclined his head toward the bushes she'd emerged from. "Are you here for her birthday, Pan?"

Pan blinked. "Marron, you mean? Yes." She sighed heavily. "Aren't you? It's her eighteenth birth-,"

"I know how old she is!" he cut her off with a shout.

Pan's eyes widened at his fierceness. "You don't have to be so rude about it! How do you even know her? Are you her boyfriend?"

The man stared at her and then burst into laughter. "No. No, definitely not. Let's just say . . . we're related." He grunted, composure returned, and looked away from her.

" 'Related'?" Her mouth hung open in shock. To who? He was certainly too tall and handsome to be related to Kuririn. Juuhachi-Gou, then? It had to be! That was the familiarity she'd sensed! He was related to Juuhachi-Gou. But how? Certainly not siblings; he looked young enough to be her son. Maybe he was her son? Pan opened her mouth to ask, but he began talking before she got it out.

"Ch', has it really been eighteen years?"

Pan's jaw went slack, and she stared at him.

His eyes were lost in reverie. "It's been so long . . . but it's been so slow. And yet, still not long enough." He sighed and flipped his hair out of his eyes. He stared out past the bushes at something Pan couldn't see. He paused, and then, as if sensing her confusion, he looked down, his icy blue eyes looking right into her. "I'm eighteen too, you know."

For once, Pan didn't feel jealous of him for being older than her. He didn't seem happy about it. Something about him made her feel akin to him. Something in his words seemed to convey a double meaning to her. She softly said, "I wish I were eighteen."

Then he lifted his head and looked up and out again at the bushes. "Hmm."

She felt as if he would opt to say more, but didn't. She looked at her hands, then up at him. "What's it like? Being eighteen?" She knew that was definitely her current wish; to be eighteen and finally an adult.

He was quiet awhile, contemplating, and then spat, "Eternal." He paused, shook his head and softly added, "Trapped in a body that's no longer a child, but not yet an adult . . ." He closed his eyes briefly. "And no matter how hard you try to hide it . . . you'll still always only ever be eighteen. Forever."

It didn't make sense, but Pan was dumbfounded. She swallowed, staring at him. He looked strong and sound, but she also felt he was screaming inside. Instinctively she reached a hand out, and grasped his arm near the wrist. It was cold to the touch.

He lowered his eyes, looking down at her hand on his arm. Very faintly, he smiled at her and his arms uncrossed as he turned to face her. "Pan, you're the first person I've talked to in years. You probably won't believe it, but it's probably been two decades since someone touched me." He squatted down, so they were on the same eye level, something he'd never done for anyone before.

Pan smiled a little at this. For some reason it made her feel special.

He reached a hand out and stroked her hair. It was soft to the touch. Not like his which had become coarser with time. Hers was still soft and nice. He turned his hand over, so the back of his palm brushed her cheek gently. It was hard to believe this was Son Goku's granddaughter. How time had changed him.

She stood stiffly as he did this. He seemed nice, but she couldn't sense anything from him—not even his ki—and he was acting peculiar. She was ready for anything he might attempt to pull.

"You're a lot like me," he stated, then frowned and stood up.

Pan blinked at his change in attitude.

His hands went to the back of his neck, and he untied the orange scarf there.

Pan watched curiously as he straightened it out, and then moved behind her and put it on her head like bandanna and tied it at the back. He stepped back, putting his thumbs in his belt loops, the double "R" logo on the red field visible on his black shirt now.

He tilted his head, looking at her from a distance. "I'll bet you're exactly how I looked at twelve."

Pan blinked, and wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not.

He smiled again, and that lead her to believe it was good. Then he waved at her. "They'll be wondering where you are now, so you'd better hurry back."

Pan realized he was referring to Marron and the rest. She looked over her shoulder in the direction she'd come. "Aren't you going to come and—"

"No," he called out. "Say hi to Marron's mom for me! Bye~!"

She turned back at those words, but he'd already vanished. Search though she might, she couldn't find any trace of him whatsoever. After an hour of searching, she returned to the party, the bandanna on her head the only proof he had ever even existed.

-the end-