Disclaimer: Everybody does it, and I wonder why don't you...everybody does it, maybe you should too.

A/N: I'm loved! New CD from good ol' Sheik Lloyd! Uh-gah! Sorry, forgot where I was for a minute.

Urgh! This new set up ff.net has is really pissing me off! I mean, I understand that they're trying to get the site back under working order, but couldn't they have notified writers and account holders that there is no more "review alerts" and "author alerts"? Could it have been that hard? I mean, form letter, send it "as" a "review"...urgh. NM, ignore me, I'm venting.

Anyways, yeah. My R-rating comes into play here...those with active 'maginings may want to abstain from reading this...it's a little...er...riske.

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Petrified Tears
chapter 52

His blood was boiling. His body was raging—it was like puberty all over again, except it wasn't girls he wanted this time.

This time, he wanted a fight.

With Gohan.

He had terrified himself back there, but he hadn't been able to help it. He had wanted to…hell. He didn't know what he wanted. Thinking back, it was almost as if Gohan had been expecting Trunks to accept his challenge of a (for lack of a better word) duel.

A duel over Pan.

That terrified him even more.

Trunks groaned, the need to kill something strong in his chest. His body ached all over; his blood throbbed in his veins, he could feel it pulsing through his entire being.

Pan's interference had outraged him, but it couldn't have been avoided. She had been doing exactly what she'd told him she'd do: protecting him from her father until daylight and getting him out of there.

He owed her, he knew he did.

But still. He had wanted that fight.

Grinding his teeth against the need, he landed in front of his house, pushing through the from door, stumbling blindly to the kitchen.

Dende, it'd been a long time since he'd been home.

"Picking fights again, boy?" came a voice from the shadows beside the refrigerator as Trunks grasped the handle of the door. He glared at his father as the bulb inside the box illuminated his face in such a way that often terrified his mother on many a midnight fridge raid.

He said nothing in return, merely slammed the door of the fridge and met his father's black stare in the darkness.

"He'd have killed you, Brat."

"He'd kill you too, father."

Vegeta smirked.

"Of course, I'd want to kill you too if I found you in bed with my daughter."

"One, your daughter is my sister. Two, I'd like to see you try."

"Get your ass in the gravity room, Brat, and we'll see about that."

*

Trunks peeled off the bloody remains of his clothing and ducked under the hot spray of water, slumping forward against the back wall of the shower, letting the hot water pummel his back and shoulders.

"Good Dende, bless you for the gift of never ending hot water," he mumbled contentedly into the cool ceramic tile as he supported his weight against it with his cheek and the side of his forehead.

It had been a good fight for once. Not only was he able to stand his ground, but he'd given his father a good run for his money.

He knew he had.

Vegeta had even told him so.

"I see you're still conscious, Trunks." Translation? "If you actually trained on a regular basis, you would have won this match. I'm proud of you."

Trunks smiled into the tile, contented with himself, relishing in the fact that his father had actually used his name. He laughed at the irony of it. Thrity-four years old, nearing thirty-five, and he still felt boy-like pride whenever his father used his name.

Sighing, he rolled over on the wall, letting the water assault his chest and abs as he laced his fingers behind his head, laying his arms flat against the wall.

All in all, it hadn't been that bad of a week. Although his neck had developed a permanent kink in it from sleeping on Gohan's table for 2 straight nights, that Gohan wanted to kill him, and that his mother was giving him more work then he'd ever even known could exist at one time, it was still a good week so far. It was half over, for one, and that was a major plus.

He wouldn't have to worry about waking up in a few hours and showing up late to work, because he had no intention of sleeping. He'd had Pan to turn to whenever work became too much for him, not to mention the fact that he had her, period. His mother hadn't been kidding when she'd told him she'd make everything better again.

She had. And he was closer to Pan then he had ever been.

Although her comment about being his sister still bothered him…

He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the wall in front of him, turning his face up into the spray and sputtering like a child at the sheer joy of the water.

It'd been a long time since he'd take a nice hot shower.

Too long.


He wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the stall, walking over to the mirror and wiping away the condensation with the back of his arm. He froze as his eyes focused on his reflection. He nearly laughed with joy.

The wrinkles he'd seen five days ago were merely laugh and smile lines amplified a hundred times by depression. He did still look like he was 18, 21 years old.

Smirking, he looked down and experimentally poked at his abs, proud to find that they were rock-hard and not nearly as flabby as he'd thought. Ok, so he could stand to lose a few pounds, but considering he was the "proud owner" of a desk job and didn't get much time for exercise or training, he was very pleased with himself. Smirking, his eyes shining blue, he couldn't help but jump around quickly, turning the back of his right shoulder to the mirror, flexing his arm at his reflection and smirking over the muscle at it.

Ah…high school, he laughed quietly to himself.

Pleased with the image, he moved to stand up, then blushed as his towel fell to the ground, even though he was the only one in the bathroom. He just wasn't one for nakedness unless…well…yeah.

Too many bad experiences revolving around he and Goten talking some girls into going skinny-dipping with them, only to have the girls run off with their shorts had resulted in being naked…he blushed even redder at the memory

Picking up the towel and wrapping it back around his waist, he walked into his room and sat down at the end of his bed, running his hands through his hair, cursing himself for not brushing it.

With a sigh, he flopped back on the bed, leaving his feet flat on the floor.

"I wish I knew what he'd meant."

It'd been eating at him for four years. Goten had told him that if he hadn't already known, he'd never believe him. And then he'd left, without another word to him since. And Trunks had been trying to puzzle out the meaning of his words for years.

He'd come up with nothing.

And he knew that until Pan was happily settled back at home, he and Goten would never be on speaking terms. And until Pan straightened things out with Goten, they'd never be close.

But he didn't want Pan to straighten things out. This was his problem. And he was a big boy and perfectly capable of looking after himself.

Even if he did still live at home and eat the dinners his mom left in the mini-fridge she'd installed in his room when he was in high school and decided that the term "curfew" might apply to Goten, but not him.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes.

Every memory from high school involved Goten. From college onward, Goten was there, but so was Pan, Pan taking over the memories and Goten taking her place in the background as the years had progressed.

Talk about a guilt trip. And he knows his niece replaced him, that she—Fuck!

Trunks feel off the bed, landing in a troubled heap on his butt, the towel still on top the comforter.

Reaching up, he grabbed it, holding it over his lap as he played with the frayed edge.

"Is that what he…he couldn't have meant that…" Trunks trailed off and collapsed onto his back on the floor, one knee in the air, his other foot curled as if he had been sitting indian-style, the white towel draped strategically and unintentionally to keep him decent if his sister happened to walk in without knocking, which she often did if she knew he was home.

"I've got to be dreaming," he whispered, his eyes wide as he stared up at and through his ceiling.

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A/N: I just made a lot of Trunks-lovers happy, didn't I. I know I did. And for those who've been telling me I'm "cute", would you please mind explaining that?!!?!?!?! *panting* Grrr....

Anyways, yeah. Smiles are free at McDonald's. (BTB, I actually hate -dislike with extreme intensity- McDonald's, for those of you who've been asking about that. I just have a thing about the free smiles. ;P )

-Panabelle ;P
My site. Is not down as often as ff.net.