Disclaimer: Dragonball Z is copyright of Akira Toriyama. I don't own a damn thing.
AN: Due to recent personal issues, the original writer, Khandy, has abandoned this story and possibly all others, indefinitely. Sadden by the abandonment of her stories, I decided to take up her works less they be left unfinished. Please, do this writer a service and review, she'll he happy to know what you thought.
Part I:
Son Pan stood awkwardly in the doorway, her ebony locks, short and shaggy, falling in loose tangles into her eyes as she pulled her tatty woolen cap from her head and shoved it into the overtly large pockets of her coat.
Closing the door against the flurries that had fought its way inside, she was met by the smoky atmosphere of McVicker's, a local coffeehouse she had often went to for an espresso and a sticky bun, if the price was right. She sat at the small table by the window, wrapping her hands around a steaming cup of coffee before nodding her thanks to Charlie who polished mugs from behind the counter upfront.
Pan turned her head and stared out at the swirling snow, watching at the people who walked the streets hurried passed the shop window and then out of sight. She shivered slightly at the weather, cold and dry, and pulled up the collar of her jacket as she watched a young man furiously scrap frost from his windshield just outside the shop.
With a grimace Pan turned from the window, warming her thoughts instead with the intimate crowd who had joined her for coffee that afternoon.
An aging couple was first the catch the young woman's fancy. Sharing a frothy mocha latté in a quiet corner, the two lovers held hands, their wrinkled faces and withered frames belying the warmth and longing they held in their eyes. They kissed, leaning on each other unaware of the young saiyajin who watched them.
Pan envied the couple, as she remembered all she had left behind; her home, her family, and the supposed love of her life.
Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, but she angry forced them back, turning back to window with an indignant snort. She took another sip of her drink, vaguely aware of someone taking a seat behind her as she stared blankly into the snow flurries. She began to stir absently at her drink before lamenting on her journey home. It would be a ten minute walk back to her apartment. She started fumbling through her pockets for bus fare, but then remembering she had barely enough for a one way ticket, having spent the last of her pocket money on groceries the day before.
"Quite a storm out there?"
Pan paused and turned in her seat, lifting her brow questionably at an old man squirting lemon into his teacup. "Excuse me?"
He looked up at her with a small smile. "I said its quiet a storm out there."
The girl nodded sheepishly. "Tell me about it." She shifted into her jacket, zipping up the front, waving shortly to one of the waitress' who had finished their shift and was leaving for the evening.
"Say, haven't I seen you somewhere before?" He asked, stroking at the stubble on his chin, thoughtfully.
Pan looked at him thoughtfully, but she couldn't place him. "I come here often… I guess you've seen me here before." She shrugged, fitting into her mitts and tying the scarf that hung over his shoulders tightly around her neck.
"Are you sure? You look awfully familiar." He took a sip from his cup, his eyebrows pitching downward, bushy and unkempt, jutting from the sides of his head like an antelope's horns.
"I don't think so." Pan shook her head, gathering her things before she stood from her seat. "Anyway, I have to get going. I have a long walk home and the weather doesn't seem to be getting any better."
"You're planning on walking?" His elongated eyebrows furrowed with concern. "Surely there's someone you could call for a ride."
"No, there isn't." Pan spared a glance out the window, the winds that howled outside the shop making her shiver. "But I appreciate your concern."
"You'll sure to catch cold if you leave now. Why don't you sit a spell and wait for the storm lets up." He pulled out a seat around his table. "I could use the company … unless you have somewhere you need to be?"
Pan fumbled with her hair with indecision. "I guess it wouldn't hurt if I stayed a bit longer." She stood a seat, watching the old man wrinkled and wiry hands lace together before he rest them underneath his chin.
"So, do you live around here?"
Pan debated whether to tell him, but his old eyes were friendly and inviting so Pan felt she could trust him. "No, I don't live around her. I'm from Satan City." She shook her head, fidgeting with a napkin in her hands.
"You're a long way from home." The old man frowned. "What brings up all the way up to North City, especially this god awful time of year?"
"I have a lot of I need to get away from." Pan averted her eyes, turned back to the old man when he rested his hand over her own. His grip was firm but comforting, his large hands dwarfing her own. Pan felt safe in his company.
"Maybe talking about it will help."
Pan shook her head forcefully. "I don't want to bother you with my problems. Besides some hurts never go away, no matter how much you talk about."
"It's about love, isn't it?" The old man's mustache twitched knowingly. "I had my fair share of heartbreak, but the pain doesn't last forever." He pulled out a ratty handkerchief from his breast pocket offering it to the young saiyajin as the first of many tears slipped down her cheeks.
"Go on," The old man coaxed gently. "Tell me what happened."
Pan sighed, reminiscing as she turned to the window, the storm intensified as though reflecting her thoughts. "It all started a few months ago…"