Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ, I don't own white doves, and I don't own the moon. I'm not Akira Toriyama, though I often wish I was. If you try to sue me, all you'll get is pocket lint. I'm poorer than the dirt I walk on. Krillin, I shall have you yet!
Wings. They filled the sky with their snowy purity. The doves were on the move. That could only mean one thing: he was back. The doves, especially the white ones, had never liked him much. He resembled his father too closely for their tastes. And his father was notorious for his cruelty to things of beauty. A tiny smile flickered across her face as she watched the doves take wing to flee. Her midnight blue eyes twinkled with a mixture of amusement and adoration. She loved the fact that he scared the birds away. She didn't know why, but she had always found herself in awe of this peculiar ability of his.
Shaking her head, Pan stood slowly and abandoned her perch on the windowsill. She stretched up and brushed the ceiling with her fingertips. Well, if her one and only true love was back in town, she'd better go greet him. With a resigned yawn, she walked across the room to the vanity mirror her mother had bought her for her sweet sixteen last year. After sitting down on the rather uncomfortable bench before it, she leaned down and picked up a capsule from one of the boxes next to her feet. She twisted it once to the left and set it on her vanity, allowing it to pop open and present her with the outfit she wanted to wear. She quickly wriggled out of the oversized jersey she'd nicked from her uncle Goten when she was 12 and wrestled her tap pants off with tremendous effort. The damned things were so tight on her anymore, she could swear they were glued to her. Then she dashed, half-naked, across the room, slipped under her bed, thumped about for a bit, and then came up with her favorite bra. Her bra retrieved, she slipped it on and dashed back across the room. She slipped a skin-tight tank top over her head, settling the hem just above the Shenlong tattoo that surrounded her belly button. Then she slid into a pair of torn fishnet stockings and pulled her little denim miniskirt up over them. Taking a deep breath, she sat back down at the vanity mirror. She pulled her fishnet sleeves up to mid-bicep, rolling the tops up to create armbands. She threw on a couple rings, shoved her favorite hoop earrings in her ears, and tied her orange bandana around her head. She glared at her reflection in the mirror for a second, thinking. Then, with a snort of amusement, she did something very un-Pan: she applied a light layer of mascara and ran some liquid cherry lip-gloss across her lips. With a final, wicked grin that reminded her so much of Uncle Goten when they were little, she got up and ran around, looking for her boots.
By the time she found her boots, the entire contents of Pan's closet littered the floor. With an unconcerned shrug, Pan tied up her boots and rushed downstairs. The whole house was dark and quiet. A single, fleeting glance at a clock in the living room told her why: it was three in the morning. She skidded to a halt in front of the refrigerator. She grabbed the pen off the little notepad attached to it and wrote, in her large sloppy handwriting:
Mom, Dad,
He's back.
I took the last biscuit.
I was hungry.
See ya when I do.
--Pan
With that taken care of, Pan filched the last biscuit from the previous night's dinner from it's hiding spot in the vegetable drawer. Then she turned and dashed out of the house, hell-bent on seeing her love.
The moment he set foot in town, every last one of the city's white doves took wing. He knew the second they took flight that she knew he was home. He smirked to himself, his expression reminiscent of his father's. She'd be at his place when he got there or she'd die trying. He knew her. She'd do it. That's why he loved her. His face fell. The second he got home, his mother would be on his case nonstop about him not coming home sooner. His love would have to wait until his ears stopped bleeding.
He snorted at the image that popped into his head: Pan sitting, patiently, waiting for his ears to stop bleeding. That was definitely not something she'd do. That Dende-damned girl didn't know the definition of patience. She never had, not even back in the days when he and Goten had been forced to baby-sit her. He remembered the days when she would cry all the time, only stopping when either he, her mother, her father, or her grandfather held her. He remembered being a twelve-year-old boy sitting in the middle of the Sons' living room in only a pair of jeans with an infant Pan, a towel draped over his shoulder, giving her the bottle full of coffee he held. The coffee had been Goten's idea; he wanted to play with his niece, who could never seem to remain lucid long enough. Trunks had been the one to volunteer to do the feeding, as, for some inexplicable reason, Pan seemed to detest being held by her uncle. Pan had reached up, grabbed a lock of Trunks' lavender hair, used it to pull his head down closer to her, and stuffed the fistful of hair in her little mouth, giggling when he tried to convince her to relinquish it.
With a resigned smile, Trunks continued toward home, his brain filled with similarly happy scenes from their shared childhood. He didn't really care what his mom said now. All he cared was how his beloved, Pan, greeted him. She was the only one he cared about anymore. They had three and a half years to catch up on and he doubted they'd say much in the way of words for at least a couple days. He also highly doubted she'd see her home for a couple of days, either. He once again donned his father's trademark smirk, letting his perverted mind run off without him. Trunks picked up his pace, nearly running toward the familiar building he had called home all of his life, eager to see the faces of the ones he loved.
Vegeta sat at the end of the couch, flipping through the sparse channels on the television. Dammit, there was nothing on. Bulma, who laid across the couch to lay her head in his lap, sighed. Bra, who sat with her back pressed against her father's knees, pushed forward and got up. "Daddy, can I have a beer?" she asked innocently. Vegeta grunted in affirmation. Bra ran off into the kitchen. "You know, your daughter's going to be a lush before she ever makes it to the legal drinking age, don't you?" Bulma said, flipping over to stare up into her husband's face. Vegeta glanced down at his wife. "If my princess wants a drink every no and then, she can have it." he muttered, finally getting irritated and turning the television off. Bulma started sit up, ready to go elbow to elbow with her mate, but was stopped when the doorbell rang. "I'll get it!" Bra called, rushing out of the kitchen and into the entrance hall. "Oh, hey Pan! Come on in." Moments later, Bra emerged into the living room with her beer in hand, Pan following meekly behind her. Pan stopped just inside the door to the living room, her gaze jumping from Bulma's face to Vegeta's. "He's back. The doves are leaving. That means he's back." Pan said, slowly and quietly, her adrenaline rush evident in the striking shade of vermilion her cheeks had turned. Bulma sat up instantly. "Trunks? He's back?" she asked, unbelieving. Pan nodded enthusiastically. Bulma leaped up and enfolded Pan in an exuberant hug. Then she steered them back over to the couch, shoved the poor teenage girl between herself and Vegeta, and waited.
They didn't have long to wait. About five minutes later, someone knocked on the front door. Bra, who was still standing near the television, took a hearty swig of her beer and went to answer the door, only to choke on her drink as Trunks' cheery face appeared in the doorway. "cough Tr-trunks!" Bra exclaimed, nearly dropping her precious bottle of beer. Bulma and Vegeta both stood quickly as Trunks trooped into the room. "Hey everybody!" Trunks said, good-naturedly. Bulma fainted. Vegeta lurched forward and wrapped his only son and heir in a bone-crushing hug. "Never EVER do that again. If I have to suffer through your mother pining for you again, I will personally hunt you down and skin you alive." he grunted in his son's ear. When he released his son, Vegeta trooped darkly into the kitchen to get a beer for himself.
Bulma had come to on the couch and was staring at her son in shock. She said nothing, simply ran p and hugged him, then dashed out of the room. Bra slugged him in the arm, took a swig of her beer, and lurched over to the bathroom. When Pan stood up, she nodded her head toward the stairs, implying that she wanted to talk upstairs in his bedroom. Trunks smirked, much like his father, and nodded, leading her up the stairs.
When they had gotten into Trunks' room and closed the door, Pan jumped on him, pinning him down and kissing him fervently. When she came up for air, she sat back on his stomach. Trunks pushed himself up onto his elbows, crooking a knee up behind Pan so she wouldn't slide off. "You've been gone too long, dammit, Trunks. I was beginning to think you weren't coming back. But now that you're back, I never want you to leave again. Ever. I don't want to be alone again, Trunks. Next time, I want to go with you when you leave!" she pleaded, grabbing him by the front of his undershirt and yanking him forward till their noses touched. Trunks looked at her, seeing the diamond-like tears forming in her midnight blue eyes. He lifted a hand and wiped her tears away with his thumb. "I promise I'll take you with me next time, okay?" he asked, kissing her lightly.
"Yeah, that sounds good." Pan replied, leaning into him.
Through the window, the full moon shone brightly, as if it too were celebrating Trunks' return.
To be continued….
A/N: This is technically my second DBZ fic, but the other one is still hiding on Tado's computer. This fanfic was kind of spur of the moment. I know I should be writing on one of my other stories, but I was reading "Petrified Tears" and decided to write some kind of mushy Trunks/Pan thing. I hope you enjoyed the first part of this story. I'll post the next part if I get at least twenty reviews. R&R, my loving fans!