A/N: Everything I want to say is at the bottom, but also there's a lot of cursing in this one. Also this is just a collection of drabbles I've liked from what I've written, so every section isn't too lengthy! I wanted to save the Goten/Marron confrontation and Pan/Bra's talk for next chapter!
Disclaimer: Again, I do not own Dragon Ball Z or anything related to the franchise.
- CHAPTER 11 -
The smell of flowers were strong.
Sweet. Crisp. Tart. Intense. Disappointing.
It made him miss home, his real home. Waking up and realizing he was here instead, only added to his groggy bewilderment of how he ended up in the garden.
He looked down to find a sticky mess spread across his thighs. His pants were to his ankles, and his skin was covered in dirt. He felt embarassed. How could he be so dirty in such an innocent place? White flowers spread across the field, all in bloom and leaving a sylvan aroma in his nostrils—scratching at them, really. Zeeko wiped his cheek. His bronze skin only seemed to match the odd golden color of the ground.
He looked up, and the so-called "sun" mocked him. It made the petals dance, and the leaves on the stems stood so high, hardly wavering at any light wind. It was almost like they were proud. Thankful, even. Like living in this place was some kind of reward, some bargain with some higher power where they got to flourish and faced no consequences. Completely untouched, but never wilting. It should've been beautiful, but it only made him feel more, well, disappointed.
There was no warmth from it, like it was entirely for show. The brightness was there, and it glittered in its glow. He thought that maybe he couldn't just feel it. He didn't feel the frost when they were in the cold the other day. He almost felt jealous that the couple they saw were all bundled in thick cloths.
This place, wherever it was between the natural world and their universe, almost seemed glutinous in its wonderfulness, like it made up for some harsh truth. The ironic truth, he guessed. Nothing could ever go wrong here—but that was just it, wasn't it?
Something was wrong. They were dead.
Morbidly, and unfortunately, dead.
All of them remembered it—he, Fadel, Kaje, and even Yveeva despite her indifference. It was imprinted in each of them, their last breaths. The small constricting in the chests that heaved for one last grasp of air, one last attempt to hold on to what it could of their worlds, to still exist in their worlds. It was desperate, pathetic maybe—but what part of death was ever gracious?
Zeeko frowned, remembering his last moments on Luna, his planet in the Southern quadrant of the universe. None of them talked much of what they were doing on their last day, or how they came to be in this place. It was just a general acceptance of what they knew—they were there, and now they were here.
He guessed that's why they entertained themselves with watching Pan from time to time, deflecting their own thoughts to her. His memory always stayed with him so vividly. He couldn't watch it from an outside view. He felt it still.
It was a hot day, average to Luna's climate in the summer. He had been mending the injuries of rash children who accidentally hurt themselves whilst playing, and comforting the parents filled with concern. No one could've seen it coming—the bright light that ascended from the sky, the terrorizing screams from mothers witnessing their loved ones dying, and the one they called Kuriza, the heir to Frieza's empire, had his soldiers ravage the planet.
It haunted him—the blood splattered against their flowers, and the feeling of fear freezing the children of watching their bravest fall fast. As a healer, it was his duty to protect them, the small ones who shouldn't have to worry like that. He led them to the safe houses underground, but it wasn't enough.
For the first time, Zeeko had wished that his people weren't so peaceful, that they were just as savage as the monsters that tormented them. Maybe then, they would've had a chance.
He was on his way to gather a family at the village elder's home when they found him. It was a group of three, and he remembered the delighted curves etched on their lips, completely unmatched to the harshness in their eyes.
"We've been looking for one of you," said the first one. His arms were folded, and it was clear he was the leader of the three. "Kuriza wants to make a deal: give us your medicines and we won't kill you."
"Yeh! Lord Kar-eez-a just wants what you lot have! Heard it's betta' than that blue stuffs from that—" the second paused, looking towards the more quiet of the three. He was the one that made Zeeko feel uneasy. "Yo, Brutus! Wha's the planet called? Not Vegeta, but before the Truffles took it over?"
"Plant," the first one said for him. Apparently, the third one named Brutus didn't talk.
The second one almost let out a gleeful shout, "Yeh, tha's the one!"
Out of fear or stubbornness, or maybe he actually was being stronger than he expected, Zeeko didn't say anything to any of them. In fact, he didn't say anything at all. His mouth was shut while the three soldiers threw him against a house and hit him so hard that he was sure he broke his bones. He didn't whimper or scream when the one named Brutus stuck a hand into him, cutting through his flesh as if it was the thinnest material. He didn't cry when he felt him grabbing onto his spine from the inside.
No, Zeeko was silent through the ordeal because that's what he trained for. He was a healer, and he needed to protect his people even if he couldn't fight. That agitated them more, and they somehow made it worse for him. Still, he remained wordless.
When they saw he was near-dead, they dropped him to the ground and stomped on him as they walked through. They went the opposite direction of the underground safe houses, and he only could suffer through the shrieks from the village elder's home. When they were silent, he finally mumbled a prayer for them to find peace in the afterlife.
He remembered the sun touching him as he decided to drag his body a little further, as if by some chance it would've made a difference. He felt the tears of his insides as he scraped through hard dirt and debris of the town, the numbness of his legs as they finally gave out, and his brain's response telling him to stop.
He made it only a half meter away from his original position, and he failed as he tried to get up. His breathing slowed at a lullabying pace, but he didn't cry. He held on bull-headedly until he felt it, his last gasp of air. He inhaled, but it never left him.
Then, he was here.
No scratches or bruises. No blood. No rips in his clothes. Nothing that showed what he had been through only minutes before.
Zeeko grimaced, detesting the anger he was beginning to feel. It wasn't his favorite emotion, and he doubt it would ever be, but often he found himself consumed by it as of late. Unnerving as Kaje got under his skin, she was nowhere near as perplexing to the truth: he was dead, this wasn't the afterlife, and even with what he knew, all this place ever did was dissatisfy him.
"Hey, Zee—" there was an unfamiliar pause.
He turned around and saw her, the pain in his ass, halting with a blush across her face. His face grew warm, recalling the night before finally—knowing exactly why he was there instead of the room he shared with Fadel.
Kaje turned away, waiting for him to fix himself properly. She was a warrior and Ravians were crude, but they weren't this vulgar.
Zeeko got up, disliking the fact that he couldn't even clean himself up before he pulled up his pants, but holding his complaints for later. He could deal with the discomfort with the stiffening fabric on his legs, and made a mental note for the next time to leave before anybody could find him here again. With how adamant her feelings were, he was sure this would not be the last time they, well, shared something.
A goofy grin came upon her usually ticked off expression. Kaje wiggled her perfectly shaped brows, enticing a suggestive idea that he didn't want to discuss.
"Guess that boyfriend of hers could really make her—"
"Shut up."
- MORNING AFTER IN ROOM 98 -
Trunks groaned, feeling the aftermath of being still for so long. Sharing a bed for the first time was not what he imagined. There was nothing "full sized" about a full-sized mattress between two adults under a thick sheet after sex.
They were too hot to even consider cuddling, too lazy to get up and push the beds together, and too in lust to sleep separately. It wasn't logical, but he guessed, compared to the majority of his life, logical itself had no logic.
His eyes blinked. There was a flash. Behind the light, there was a mischievous crooked smile forming on the curve of her mouth. He mumbled a few curses; he didn't know why but his mind immediately to being stalked by paparazzi. Paranoid and exhausted, he jumped up with a sheet hanging over his hips.
At the sight, he took a minute to blush. She was wearing his shirt, the white undershirt he wore yesterday. With her hair still tousled from bed head and her brow raised, he had to admit she looked pretty good. He might've even called her dull face cute if he didn't know what would follow afterwards.
"Why'd you move?" she pouted, jerking her head out of the camera strap. As she lifted her arms, a lacy number—one that he did not recognize from last night, and one he was surprised that Pan, of all people, owned—teased him and only cause a deeper crimson across his cheeks. She was hot, and he was wondering if he'd ever get used to the fact.
He stammered, "W-what are you doing?" He cursed himself in his head, but Pan only seemed to be amused. He corrected himself, "I mean, why are you taking pictures?"
"Why wouldn't I? You're hot," she shrugged as if it was the most casual thing she ever said to him. Pan made a note of him being flustered; she wasn't wrong, but she'll compliment him her more if he looked like that.
Naturally what question he followed with, unsure of how exactly to respond, was, "Well, how many have you taken?"
"Enough to make a lot of money off some tabloids, especially the filthy ones," she winked. For once, he was the one rolling his eyes. "Wanna pose for me—" she took a pause for dramatic effect, making her voice sound as innocent and as girly as possible, "—prince?"
He let out a snort, despite the fact that the redness in his face wasn't leaving. A part of him was delighted at actually hearing it her voice instead of reading it off a note, but another part of him was intrigued at her playfulness. And fine, he felt a bit cocky at being referred to as royalty.
"What? I'm not a 'doofus' anymore?" he asked.
"You'll always be a doofus," she said flatly, pushing the button to create another flash. "You just get this look when I'm nice to you."
He faked an offended gasp, in which they both chuckled. It was nice that this part of the relationship hadn't change, the lightheartedness that he didn't feel with a majority of people. They've seen each other naked, and he expected that to create some distance (he wasn't sure why he felt that way either), but there she was in his shirt, laughing. It was comforting.
Then, he thought about being called prince again. How it dangerously popped off her lips. He then listed all the nicknames that could've called her: baby ("Really? Do we want to make an emphasis on how young I am?" she snorted), doll ("Your dad would punch you and then I will," she reminded), queen ("Don't put me on a pedestal now that we've had sex. I'm still your friend too," she blushed), or how about lo—
"So, are you going to drop the sheet or what?" she cut through his thoughts, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. He only turned away to roll his eyes once again, but his grin didn't seem to match it.
"I'm not a piece of meat," he said haughtily, in a tone familiar to her various feminist speeches over the years. He watched her snap, adding a 'damn' under her breath.
She smiled afterwards, settling her camera on the provided dresser in their room and putting her hands on her hips. "Well then, if we're not going to continue last night, may I suggest getting breakfast? I'm starving and it's almost noon."
He blinked, playfully holding onto his chest as his blue eyes glittered.
"You waited for me to eat? How polite, peaches."
"I'm going to kick your peaches if you don't stop," she warned.
- UP THE MOUNTAIN, DOWN HER MOOD -
Bra chugged the flask in the grips of her fingers, feeling the cold bourbon warm her insides up as it trickled down her throat. She wasn't an enthusiastic drinker—nor was she going to become one who drank in the middle of the day—but she had to admit, it did feel good. After her adrenaline had dropped and a morning shower did nothing, she was finally feeling the repercussions of her brawl with Pan. She had a couple of battle scars to prove it too.
Still, that wasn't the reason why she was drinking. She knew better to use alcohol as some sort of medication. She specialized in chemical engineering, a minor in robotics. She wasn't foolish.
Her plan was to go back to her hotel room, treat her damaged epidermis with an arcina gel, order room service to increase her intake of bromelain, use the heating pad she packed to increase blood circulation, and then for the remainder of the trip, she was to rest. She was well aware of how to take care of herself, which is why she was a bit ticked off and drinking bourbon on top of a shitty cabin.
The night before, when she came back finally, exhausted from flying with sparse energy, there was the surprise on her nightstand—a familiar bag of senzu beans. The same amount she recalled from the Gravity Room, all tucked inside a brown canvas bag next to her things. Not a single one was misplaced, or taken. It was all there for her because even when they were supposed to be in a fight, Pan still thought of her.
And she hated it.
Bra had refused to take a single one. Call it pride, but she wasn't particularly interested on feeling better, especially not by the hand of her so-called best friend. They were supposed to be in a fight, and just—why would she do that! You're not supposed to care about the other person you're in a fight with!
Bra grunted. Yet another thing she sucks at, she dismissed in her head, feeling better at adding another thing for her 'Reasons You Shouldn't Be Friends' list. She paused, and then decided to put 'has no boundaries' below 'doesn't know how to behave during arguments'.
Taking a bean would only make her feel worse, so she cultivated the idea that she was being tested—by Pan, by some higher power, by the universe, or whatever was out there. They were trying to scrutinize her, trying to prove she was dependent on this so-called friendship.
Well, too bad. She would not take one. She would deal with her pain because Bra knew how to take care of herself. She didn't anybody else.
After a minute of cursing under her breath and folly of her personal debate, Bra sighed. Then, she drank.
She sat on top of an abandoned cabin's roof, dangling her legs off the rusty gutters and looking past the douglas firs as if she could see through them. It was a shit place to find, with the even more shit directions given to her. He didn't even bother to give her a time; he just slid a messy note under her door while her roommate was out getting coffee with the others.
When she arrived, it wasn't much of an astonishment why he asked her to come here, a place so far and secluded that it was no wonder no one found him as of late. The cabin was beaten down. Fragile, aged wood did not welcome the critters lurking all around the base.
Stones were scattered everywhere; some broke some windows, some were gathered in an attempt to start a fire that never lit, some covered the broken walls of the place, but most were just broken. She wondered if he did that, but figured he was far too gentle to be rambunctious.
Nonetheless, whoever was here before had lived this place to its capacity. It reminded her of a tale from the Inca myths Marron taught in school, the one about the Moon and the Sun. How the Moon was so bright that the Sun grew jealous. So to dim the light, the Sun threw ashes at the Moon, which is why it looks like the way it does.
Of course, science told her that the moon had craters, caused by meteorites and asteroids destroying its surface. The moon doesn't have an atmosphere to protect itself; so whatever impact it had, it took. The moon could take care of itself, she supposed. Since the cabin was still standing too, she guessed that was something they all had in common.
Bra took another swig, dissatisfied with how little she got out of it that time. She didn't realize that the flask was almost empty. The time she took in waiting felt blurred, but she was warm now at least. A little hot, maybe.
Just then, a small gust of wind blew her hair, cooling her pink face. She didn't know why, but it made her want to cry. She didn't, but she wanted to. She suddenly felt bad—bad for the moon to have no atmosphere, and bad for the cabin to have no caretakers.
"You got here way sooner than I expected," called a voice. She looked down, and there was Goten. He was rubbing his hands together, blowing into the makeshift hole created between his palms. Before she could ask, he flew up and sat beside her, dangling his legs off the rusty gutters too.
"I had to make sure you didn't come before me and bail," she offered a joke. They both knew that was a lie, but it almost felt like they forgot how to talk to each other. Simple hello's and how are you's didn't sit right, but the outright truth felt even more harsh.
So, they sat for five minutes in silence.
"We have to talk about what happened," Goten finally uttered after a while. Her eyes averted from the sky to the ground, clutching onto the flask before untightening her grip. She felt perplexed—then, well, nothing.
An indifference came on her face. No smile, but no frown either. She looked thoughtful. He wouldn't put it past her to have a solution to their dilemma, something much better than what he'd come up with in the past few days.
Bra was smart like that; it was one of his favorite things about her. She always spoke with such conviction, but with a sweetness that was only unique to her. He liked being her friend because they were so alike, and they never needed to explain things twice to each other. It was good like that, he supposed.
She commanded his attention again, clearing her throat. Suddenly, there was something in his. He realized then, he didn't want to have a solution. He didn't even want to have this conversation with her. It felt—
"I... I don't think we need to," she finished simply, surprising him. Surprising them both. She wanted to sound stronger than that; she hated that she sounded so afraid, stammering like a child because she wasn't getting her way. How pathetic.
She added, "Correction, I don't want to talk about it. There's no point to it."
"No point of what? Shouldn't we talk about what... this means?"
"And what does it mean, Goten? Huh?" she challenged him, feeling her voice become more brash. She looked him straight in the eye, and he hated it.
She was daring him again. Those bright gunmetal blues that were so striking. Piercing him. Taunting him. Telling him to 'go fuck yourself' but yet—
They looked saddening. Like they've lost something. He didn't know. There was just something missing from them that he couldn't comment on. It wasn't heartbreak, but it was just as desperate, just as chaotic.
He didn't break their trance. Instead, he was hardening his stare. It was a rare look, and she knew that. But she didn't back off one bit.
"You don't think we need to talk about anything?" he asked. His voice was leveled, like he was holding his composure.
"What's the point!" Suddenly, she tried to take another swig from her flask, but it was empty. So she threw it to the ground, making a crater in the snow. "Ugh! I hate this!"
All at once, the poised and always together Bra lost it. Hell, she thought of bringing it along, did, and then dropped it along the way on purpose. She was about to slam a fist into a wall when she stopped and punched him instead.
"I hate you!" she called out as he fell to the floor beside the flask. He could've sworn she was crying, but she wiped away her face before she ascended to him, landing on his groin.
"Br-a!"
"You were going to sleep with me, weren't you?!"
One blow beside his face. Barely missing. She hit a rock instead.
"And then what was going to happen? HUH? Just what!"
Her free hand was on his neck, holding him for good measure. She hit his temple, and he realized it was her blood streaming into his ear.
"Use me up for a night and then crawl back to Marron? Was that it!"
"Hey! Stop!" He finally freed his hands to catch hers. A splatter from her open knuckle spread across his face. She was about to spit, but then thought it was unclassy.
Bra then got up, not even checking the condition of her hand but picking up the flask. She told him to get up, and he did.
"Are you done yet?" he huffed, wiping his face.
She didn't answer.
"You want me to say it? Fine! Yes, Bra, I was looking for a fuck that night, alright? I was having a fight with my fiance and there you were, falling into my lap again. Practically beggin—"
She made contact with his face again, not caring how much it stinged. She just needed to punch something.
He continued despite the throbbing pain against his cheek. "Is that what you wanted to hear from me? That I don't care about you? That I'm just a shithead you can just write off so you can feel better about yourself—"
"Shut up."
"You want me to say that I was only friends with you so I could sleep with you when me and Marron are having problems? That I'm proud that I even bothered crossing that line in the first place? That scolding you here is how I wanted to have a conversation with you?!"
"Shut up."
"You don't think this is confusing for me too? I didn't cross another line with you because I cheated. I crossed another line because now I can't be your friend anymore because for fuck's sake, I might actually have feel—"
"SHUT UP!" she stopped him. Her voice had more volume now. "You! You, you, you, you! That's all you care about, isn't it?"
"Coming from the brat who got so upset over her friend leaving her for one lousy year!" He caught her fist now, throwing it back at her side.
"Really? You want to go there? Because as I last recalled, you came to my house that day because your girlfriend left. You want to know why she did?"
He paused, clenching his jaw.
Bra poked his chest. "You want to know why you'll never be as great as your brother? Why you're not even half the person your father is? Why your so-called best friend would rather hang out with your little niece than you?"
"Fucking say it," he barked.
"Because you're a fucking fraud! You want everyone to think you're so nice—oh I'm Goten! The moral voice who'll never do any wrong! Bull fucking shit. You're angry. You're selfish. Really, did it have to take me pushing you to get back with Marron? Don't forget it was my idea for you to even propose the first place!"
"Yeah? If you really feel that way, then why they hell did you push me towards her? Send me on that plane when we literally fucked that morning? Were you really being a good friend to me, or were you trying to clear up you conscience?"
She didn't have a retort for that.
He knew he was grinding his teeth into dust, but he couldn't help it. He was hardly one to raise his voice, to be so pent up with anger. What's worse is that he thought he might've liked it.
He thought—no, he knew, that despite all logic and how ridiculously childish the both of them were being, this is why he liked her. He took a sharp breath to contain himself. No, he told himself firmly. He was not going to behave like this.
After a moment, they both turned away to take a breath. Goten looked down. The snow would help immensely with how much pain he was in if he could dive head first. He refrained from doing so though.
"I guess, that's it. Isn't it?" Bra said, catching his attention.
"What's what?" he asked.
"Why you and me were so drawn to each other," she answered without hesitation. He looked up, but she only continued. "I didn't get at first, but I think now I do. Like forces always attract, don't they?"
He huffed, "What are you going on about?"
"You don't see it? I do," she said casually. She stood with an elbow in her hand, and her chin in the other. "We're so much alike; it's ridiculous that I didn't see it before."
Curious, he asked, "Explain."
"Me and you? We pretend we're so put together, that we're so rational, that our best friends could depend on us because we never dirty up our jeans ourselves. Why would we? I'm the modern independent woman, an upcoming scientist who still gets asked to model from time to time. You're the good-hearted veterinarian with a childhood sweetheart dating back to diapers and a family of superheroes—"
"Your point?" he was beginning to feel testy now.
"To everyone else, we're so fucking perfect. To each other? We could care less. We could scream and curse at each other like this when nobody's around because guess what? You see right through me and I see right through you too. And it makes us mad, but intrigued—who else can we act like this with?"
He wasn't sure why but he was grinning. He felt like he had been holding that in, that something boiled within him until it caught fire. Now it wanted out.
Goten cursed himself for a moment, damning his Saiyan blood being so... fascinated with a walking disaster like this, being interested in becoming one himself. He always thought he had control of his undesirable qualities; that he was too soft to feel any animosity. That's what everyone told him after all.
She was looking at him. Again, with the piercing, chaotic gunmetal blues. He hated that she knew it, but he loved that she understood it.
"Before you get any ideas," Bra said. This time, she commanded his immersion. She wanted him to be engrossed in her every word. "I don't want you."
He croaked. "What?"
"I don't," she shrugged. "Why would I want somebody who's just like me? I can take care of my damn self."
She sped off like the wind, not much of a goodbye to him. She was off to find the person who did matter to her, the one who made her be the person she liked, and the one who sucked at having boundaries. She was important, not him.
- SNOW IN THE AFTERNOON -
The fifth of their group had left them to their own devices, settling back inside the lounge as the other three seemed to energetic with caffeine in their systems. Uub, Pan, and Trunks bid Marron a goodbye as they trailed around the snow.
A wind blew in her face, and Pan closed her eyes to enjoy it. Though she still preferred the beach to the mountains, she could appreciate when mother nature took care of her. That is, until somebody chucked a clump of snow in the back of her head.
Trunks stood wide-eyed as Uub raised his hands in surrender. Giru only hid behind them.
"Wasn't me!" they all called out at once.
Finally, Uub laughed. "Nah, I'm kidding. It was m—"
She returned the favor, a much bigger favor. All the frosted powder fell down, meeting the height of his kneecaps. Trunks suddenly found himself between the two, or well, acting as a shield for Uub.
"You're not going to hurt me while I'm behind your precious Trunks, will you?" he teased. There was a screaming Giru on his back, not happy at the pace they were running around Trunks.
Pan snorted, "You think pretty boy over here is going to stop me?"
"I would like to think so," mumbled said Pretty Boy. Before he knew it, she jumped onto his front and dropped a heap of snow behind him. Her legs wrapped around his waist as her one of her arms raised in victory. (The other wrapped around his neck and pushed his face into her chest.)
"SUCK IT!" she laughed, and Pretty Boy was blushing again for nth time of the day.
Uub shook his hoodie out of the ice, shivering as one chuck slithered down his back. When he looked up, the island boy's brow furrowed in confusion. Trunks was struggling but Pan was still pushing, uh, against him.
"Danger! Danger! Trunks suffocating! Trunks suffocating! Giru. Giru," announced the small robot as it tried to pry off what was suffocating him.
"Gi-Giru!" Uub shouted, suddenly feeling like he was eavesdropping in a private moment. The two fell and Uub did his best to retrieve his little friend. "Pan! You're crushing Giru!"
"Huh?" she sat up, and sure enough, below her bodily imprint was a deeper one of a sphere-shaped Giru. She picked him up and tossed him in the air in a hum of giggles. "Hey, little buddy!"
When she caught him, his light only seemed to blink. "Giru..." it seemed unsure, "is Pan's little buddy?"
She scoffed, but nothing seemed to deteriorate her mood. "Of course, you are. What? You think just because you and Uub spend more time together that you aren't part of this little family? News flash: you're stuck with all of us."
"Giru, Giru. Family?" it repeated, still in the same curious tone. "But Pan not nice to Giru—"
"WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN!" she snapped, firming her grasp on the frantic metal ball. "I'm plenty nice!"
"Honey, I think yelling at him doesn't prove your case at all," Trunks spoke up. In a slow turn, the girl and the robot deadpanned to him. "What?"
Her voice was almost a whisper. She asked, "Did you just call me honey?"
"Trunks incorrect. Giru, Giru. Pan not like honey at all. Trunks cannot eat Pan."
"I beg to differ," he rebutted in a grumble. If not for her training, she wouldn't have heard him. When she was about to push him out of embarrassment, a snowball had collided with his cheek.
They all looked up to find Uub bundling up another shot. "I'm happy for you guys and this is cute, but seriously... yuck."
"Coming from the guy who asked me to be his woman!" Pan snickered, rolling Giru in some snow and throwing him at the island boy.
"Sweetheart—"
"Sweetheart?!" hollered both Pan and Uub, hitting him with more snowballs. Trunks got up to retaliate, giving up his endeavor of finding a nickname.
"Fine, Panny," Trunks snorted, earning a snort while joining in their little game. Two balls hit them both in the face. Neither of them hit him again. "I'm just saying that maybe Uub's lone—" he dodged a hard throw from Pan. "—lonely without Bra!"
Even in the cold weather, the flush across his cheeks were as crimson like a bright crayon. He stammered, "L-lonely without who now?"
"Please," Trunks hovered, shrugging and wagging a suspicious finger. "I know when people are interested in my sister!"
"Wha—where is this even coming from?!" rebutted Uub. The warmth in his face didn't ease up, and neither did the snow. His friends giggles were almost as loud blizzard winds. "I've never admitted to anything!"
Pan soared up behind Trunks, smashing a pile a snow on his face from her palm as she hiked on his back. Though in protest of the snow, he didn't mind her closeness. "Ooh, you aren't denying it either!" she teased in a singy-songy voice. "Is that why you take so good care of Giru?"
Trunks spat the frost from his mouth, wiggling as he still held onto her legs. When his face was free, he only continued the teasing. Uub threw more snowballs at the new duo who only ran away as he chased them with a comically large boulder of snow.
Truthfully, though he knew they were comforting Giru, the island boy was very happy to be apart of this new family. It wasn't long before their snowball fight turned into a dog piling on the ground.
- BY THE BAY WINDOW -
It continued to snow erratically, hitting the glass window in an off-putting beat. The sun was setting now, and she couldn't help but notice how different it was from the city. What was vibrant and saturated was dull and pastel. It looked innocent, like the paleness stripped the land of harsh realities and even rougher truths.
You can't be upset in a place like this, she contemplated. And she was right, she couldn't. Even with the small strain in her relationship at the moment, and the questionable weather, it was hard to be at rage of anything.
The air inside the lounge smelled like hot chocolate and cinnamon. There were murmurs of conversations, small talk and thoughtful ones. The fireplace brought a delicious warmth, not stuffy like machine heaters but something only burning wood could do. When her friends finally came in, she waved to them and politely declined the movie viewing invitation. Apparently, zombies were perfect for blizzards.
Marron laid her head against the glass, feeling like some character from a romantic comedy going through a solemn montage as she's apart from her love interest. She would've liked it better if she felt like a badass she-warrior from a zombie apocalypse saving humanity by slaying one undead body at a time—however, she wasn't a fan of blood and guts. Plus, technically, she was a apart from her love interest. So, there was that.
She refrained from whispering his name in a yearning moan though. She didn't like waking up without him, but hell, she had to have some pride for what he accused her of. Her brows furrowed.
Was it mine? was a questioned that kept her up. Not that she had questioned its answer, but for the sheer audacity he had for questioning her loyalty. Even if it was more of his own guilt from being involved with somebody else, how dare he doubt her. Was a lifetime of loyalty not enough?
She felt angry, but it quickly faded as it came. Again, it was hard to be at rage of anything here. She could see the appeal of what the locals talked about—you live a whole day in the snow, making trails wherever you walk, but come next morning, you have fresh powder to start new again. It was comforting.
She was still waiting for her next morning, she guessed. Her new blank canvas of tomorrow, where yesterday has little importance and tomorrow is always hopeful at starting anew. Right now, she was still trying to trek back home. Back to him.
With a finger pressed against the glass, she traced a circle on the fog of her breath. It wasn't anything significant, but it felt like a marker. He was out there, she knew it.
Whatever goddamn trouble he was getting himself into right now, she didn't care. She wanted to forget it. She wanted to go back how things used to be.
Used to be, she paused. That was an interesting thought.
- NIGHT IN ROOM 98 -
"Wait, if you're not teaching martial arts, then what are you doing at the gym?"
She scoffed at the question. For one of the most brilliant fighting strategists she ever knew, he sure asked a lot dumb questions. "I have more talents than my fists," she said, a bit offended.
Uub rolled his eyes. "I'm not questioning your capabilities. I'm just curious."
"I'm working with the PR department. Female attendance has been crappy since my mom stopped martial arts when she was pregnant with me, and I guess—" she sighed, rolling her eyes. "—I may have ruined attendance in general when I used to work out there in the mornings."
Trunks looked up from his book, a bit curious. They had finished their zombie movie, but it wasn't as great as they thought it be. It was hard of using Giru's projector when it shaked so much being beside Pan.
Now they were hanging out. They invited Marron again, but she said she was sleeping early. He wasn't much into conversation, so Trunks just listened while Uub and Pan talked. The subject was her job in the city when they returned.
"Dude, what did you do?" the island boy asked the fighter. She threw her hands up in a surrender, swearing it was seriously not her fault.
"I can't help if a man's ego gets so hurt by being tossed by a little girl," Pan shrugged. "They shouldn't have underestimated me in the first place. My mom used to kick their asses too."
He turned his page, sighing a bit. "Yeah, but your mom doesn't have superhuman strength like you do," Trunks said, not looking up at her.
"Yes, because it's not like I've literally been training since I could walk. I flew before any of you did," she reminded him. He felt her glare from his pages and regretted looking up to see her sticking her tongue out.
"You still haven't answered his question," he brought up, not really reading anymore. Nonetheless, he wasn't going to let her know, so he turned another page.
Pan turned, sighing. "Basically, they're just making me the face since I have the Satan name. I mean, I'm not world champion but they need a new healthy-looking body to be in campaigns and advertisements. I wanted to be behind the lens, but I'm—" she stopped as he began cackling.
"You're modeling?" Trunks dodged the pillow that she was laying under. "I'm being serious. Is that what you're doing?"
"I have to do press stuff too! It's not like I'm just there to get my picture taken. If I recall, you kind of do the same thing, Mr. Figurehead," she punched his leg.
"Are you going to do all the commercials Mr. Satan does? Because, no offense, I would find that hilarious," Uub broke their small squabble. He only earned an eye roll because he was far away. Pan reached for her pillow again and he turned another page.
"I've seen the idea boards when I told then I was starting in the fall, but they want to either do some girl power thing or make martial arts sexy. It's fucking stupid," she admitted thoughtlessly. Both boys, of course, wanted her to go into detail. "It's either we make everything pink in the name of 'feminism' or I'm in some skimpy costume that makes me look like I belong in a mud wrestling costume. It's stupid!"
"A pink martial arts gym?"
"What kind of skimpy costume? Do you want me to hook you up with better creative directors?"
Pan sighed, refraining from rolling her eyes. Uub's response was harmless, and Trunks just wanted to help. However, that wasn't what she wanted to hear. Neither of them were getting her frustration. It was in this time, she missed Bra the most. She would know exactly what to say.
What?! Screw both of that! If they want you, then they should take you seriously as a fighter. That's it! Idiots, I swear! That would be her response if she was in this conversation right now, and that's what she needed to hear.
She just got it like that, without her ever needing to explain so. She adored the boys, but they were getting on her nervous a bit.
"More like making everything girly, Uub," Pan sighed, explaining for the first time of five times that night.
- PAN'S PENTHOUSE IN WEST CITY -
It was becoming a problem. He never intended to be the type of parent to snoop around, but here he was, studying her photo albums and looking through her kitchen cupboards. Thankfully, Videl opted to sleep back at their house while he stayed close for his early conference. Otherwise, she would have a thing or two to say about his neuroticism.
He couldn't believe everything he was discovering though!
Like one, her secret drink of choice was Fireball, a cinnamon whiskey. She kept a small bottle in her nightstand, inside a metal box of trinkets. (Thankfully, it wasn't opened so he could safely say she wasn't an alcoholic.) (There was also a bigger sized bottle under her bathroom sink, however.)
Two, he learned that her closeness with Trunks came after her first year college. (He had to admit he was pretty relieved.) Apparently, the little boy he grew up watching collected pressed coins, the kind where you inserted at tourist attractions and watch the circular copper become oval-shaped. He sent Pan a different one every two weeks while she was away for school, haphazardly taped to a postcard with the note, "Make your own luck. These are useless." (She kept all of this in a carved-out dictionary on her dresser, along with other Trunks-related memorabilia that he didn't want to question.)
Three, she had skipped out on going to the dance on Prom night, the only time he watched her put on a formal dress without complaint. She went to Paris with Bra instead, and the girls wore neon wigs to conceal their identities from paparazzi. They bought six boxes of disposable cameras, and had not wasted a single flash of film. It made him wonder if this is when she began to be interested in photography.
Lastly, he learned that she kept a USB drive tapped to the back of her record player. Suddenly, thoughts of her being a 1920's art thief occurred to him. He brushed that off when he thought she might have some off-shore bank accounts, prepared to run away whenever she wanted. That made him frown.
He debated on looking at it, but after ten seconds, he took a deep breath and dug his own grave. What he found on it was a folder titled, SORRY DAD. (Celebrities getting famous off of sex scandals nowadays did not help his mind, but he trusted her—or at least, he trusted himself to raise her right.)
However, inside of that folder was his daughter in a single video, parading around the city in her mother's Saiyaman No. 2 suit, helping cats out of trees and telling kids to stay in school.
He was in awe. He had the coolest daughter ever.
Gohan then put all the things he found back in their original places, making an effort so they appeared untouched. He returned to the couch where his unfinished reports and lesson plans mocked him. When he decided to procrastinate a little longer, he heard a knock on at the door. The idea of a guest at three in the morning didn't settle well to him, making him put on his protective father hat.
What surprised him though was neither a friend or foe, but a grumpy old man who he more or less accepted as an acquaintance. To his surprise, he was wearing a full tracksuit, one like the green one he used to wear, except it was black entirely.
"I'm going to be blunt and you're the only person I can do that with," Vegeta said, entering without Gohan even stepping back. He made way to the sitting area, waiting for Gohan to join him as he sat with his arms crossed.
The younger man sat, scratching his head. "How can I help you, Vegeta?"
"We need to call all the children back and begin training immediately." Before he could question him, the Saiyan Prince just said, "Apparently, Frieza has an heir."
A/N: Let me get some things out of the way first!
1. It wasn't my attention to make Goten bad and questionable, but writing his argument with Bra resonated with me. I know it may be out of character because he was sweet in the beginning of this story, when I wrote it as sad/melancholy, it just... I wanted to explore their relationship more than she was crying because they hooked up a few times one summer. Plus, rereading perspectives of what their friends think of them, I couldn't help but it was all too rose-colored.
2. I wanted to bring Kuriza because I just thought how symbolic it would be to have a Son vs Son thing for Trunks. Originally, I was going to bring in Mirai Trunks but I'll let Super keep that story line lol
3. This wasn't much a TruPan chapter because I want to move them back to the city after all this drama. Screw the Dragon Balls! (Kidding, I have a great idea on what I'm doing).
4. huge disclaimer: This has never been an organized story from the beginning. Honestly, if it feels all over the place, it's because it probably is. I can own up to that lol. But I keep it around because it makes me happy to write. It might end up being the worst fic ever but I'm oddly at peace with it.
5. IRONICALLY, I do have another story that I'm working on. A decent one lol. It's a TruPan one with the same characterizations as this, but I guess just... better planned? I'm only planning to post if I finish it though
6. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, and if this is not what you expected out of an update, then I'm so sorry but I promise some cool things are going to happen. It was just feeling too slow for me as I wrote this chapter.
7. Wait also yes, Zeeko is one of my OC's and if his section wasn't clear enough. He and Pan are connected in a way that he feels everything she feels. I figure that since I wrote sex stuff, he would feel that too (whoops)