Disclaimer: Fat man in a corsette, oh no!

A/N: Once again, I prove my existance is still functional. Yay! Actually, I've been pretty busy lately; I had homecoming, college classes to finish, HIGH SCHOOL, not to mention all of my failed attempts at a social life. The big thing was moving my website back to angelfire...I finally got fed up with geocities. Oh well. Things are back to normal.

Hey, thanks to everyone who wished me luck with homecoming. I didn't win...any of the 4 court places...but the fact that I was out there on the field was more than enough for me. Um...yeah. Anyhoo, I should probably get on whit da fic, shouldn't I? Well, ok. Here ya go.

Also, be sure to leave a review when you're done.

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Petrified Tears
Chapter 57



Gently, he nuzzled her shirt, drawing up his legs and wrapping his arms around her, feeling his sanity return to him. Her fingers carelessly tangled his hair, her nails gracing across his scalp in the most sensuous of ways.

"I never will forget that," she laughed quietly, her voice soothing like slow drops of water falling from the leaves of a tree after a storm.

Blinking, he opened his eyes and moved his head, his cheeks growing red as his nose brushed against her breast, his face calm. He smiled up at her, lifting a hand and reaching up to swipe her hair out of her face; she caught his hand and held it in her lap, her thumb gently sliding down the scar-like wound on his own, a wound that was nearly healed.

"Thank you," he mumbled, capturing her tiny hand in his, squeezing it and her and then pushing himself up into a sitting position, looking at her as she reclined against the side of his desk. He pushed her hair out of her eyes with his other hand as he freed the first. "For understanding."

She laughed, pushing herself to her feet, and stretched, her hair tumbling around her shoulders. "No, really. I mean it. I will never forget the look on your face when you fell off the desk." She paused, then laughed, her face brightening. "But that's nothing compared to that wonderful performance of the Funky Chicken you gave me."

His face flushed, and he looked up at her, then started at a noise from outside the office and dove under his desk.

Pan turned her head toward the sound, every hair on the back of her neck rising in fear.

Slowly, the handle turned, and the door swung quietly open.

Under the desk, Trunks broke into a sweat and started rushing his hands through his hair; Pan crouched in front of the desk, awaiting an ambush and preparing to counterattack.

A small, feminine form slipped through the opening, the door closed. A hand reached out, flipped on the lights, and Bulma's laughing face appeared from the gloom.

"Pan? Where's my son?"

Pan relaxed and sat back against the desktop; the top of Trunks's head and his disheveled hair appeared behind her, the rest of him still hidden. She thumbed back at him.

Bulma laughed, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Pan, we need to hire you full time. I don't think the fanclub will be coming back for a few more days!" she chuckled, shuffling forward and pulling her son up, her eyes laughing and sparkling with little stars that Trunks didn't like the look of.

"They're gone?" he mumbled, cautiously standing and looking around the room as if another girl might jump out of a potted plant or from behind the light fixtures.

Bulma nodded. "Every one in the building went running as soon as Pan hung up the phone."

Relief and sanity returned to his face, and he opened a drawer of his desk, reaching in and pressing a button on the top of the small storage area. Slowly, machines humming, the security panels retreated up from the windows, allowing sunlight to pour into the room, the artificial lights automatically adjusting to the sudden flood.

Pan sighed and lowered her head, picking guiltily at her fingernails.

Bulma noticed, and walked forward, leaning back against the desk next to her, putting an arm around the young girl's shoulders. "Don't worry about it Pan, they're all fine. Most of them were breaking their restraining orders anyways."

She shook her head, a black waterfall cascading down her back, tumbling about her shoulders. "It's not that. They were pissing me off and I really didn't want to deal with any of them; they deserved it if any of them got hurt. No…my dad was on the phone; he wanted me to go to lunch with him. And…well…I…I just feel kinda guilty about blowing him off like I did."

"Really, you don't mean that," Bulma soothed, rubbing her hand along Pan's shoulders, her tone motherly and concerned, her mind drifting back to Saturday, when she'd last seen Pan openly depressed and seemingly unaware of it.

Pan crossed her arms over her chest, tilting back her head and looking at the ceiling. "I could hear it in his voice. The fangirls were giggling, Trunks was sobbing and whimpering…all I could think about was keep him from going off-hinge…and I think I stepped on my father in the process."

Bulma laughed quietly, pulling the girl into a one armed hug, playing with her hair. Pan just stood there, staring at her palms. Behind them, Trunks sank uneasily into his chair.

"Pan, I'm sure Gohan understands. He held an office job for years before he nearly destroyed the building and was allotted the privilege of working at home. He knows how stressful these jobs can be on you saiyans; but as much as you guys hate it, you saiyans are the most productive and ingenious and diligent workers I've ever heard of. I'm positive he'll understand." She laughed quietly, hearing herself from her son's position, and suddenly not so sure of herself. "Panny, I know he'll understand."

Pan shrugged. Bulma continued.

"But surely, you don't mean that the fangirls deserved any pain they received when you blew up at them!"

Pan shrugged mutely.

Swallowing thickly, Bulma squeezed the young, raven-haired girl's shoulder.

"Pan, anyone in your family wishing anyone pain for any reason—"

"I scare myself sometimes," Pan whispered, a small muscle beneath her eye twitching slightly. "I…I get angry, and I want to hurt and kill something, and I don't care if that something deserved it or not."

Bulma squeezed her again and let go, looking back at Trunks, her eyes darting towards Pan in demand. Trunks shook his head slightly, but reached forward across the desk to grace his fingers across the small of her back.

"I need to get going, I have a project to work on. You two get back to work, but take it slow, alright? For the next hour or so?" Bulma instructed, her mind chanting Vegeta's name like a broken record, demanding she talk to her husband about Pan's comment.

Trunks nodded, Pan remained frozen against the desk, staring at her palms. He watched as his mother left, then tightened his fist around her white pullover.

"You ok?"

She nodded, slightly.

"You're lying."

He heard her whimper, heard her choke quietly, then heard her voice crawl out of her throat.

"I miss Grandpa."

Trunks started, standing slowly, feeling every warning alarm he possessed go off in his body. The last time she had said that, like that, she'd gone to California and disappeared for four years. Mention of that Jack friend of hers echoed in his head, and he knew that if she left again, she wouldn't come back.

Somehow, the threat of her being gone was more terrifying than the thought of both Gohan and Goten coming after him for chasing her off.

"We all miss him, Panny," he managed gently, his voice steady and reassuring, despite the panic he felt. He tightened his grip on her shirt, then let go. She turned back to him. Her face was pale, her eyes distraught and tortured.

"Trunks?"

He met her gaze, watching her eyes grow dark, watching her stare at something she didn't see.

"I need a hug…"

Her voice was quiet, almost too quiet to hear, but he heard it. He felt it in the base of his chest. Before the words themselves registered, she turned and stepped on and over the top of the desk, and ducking into him, wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek against his shoulder.

Mechanically, his mind too preoccupied with worry to function properly, he lifted one arm and wrapped it around her back. She sniffed and started to pull away, but he raised the other arm, holding her in strong arms that would never let her get away from him again.

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A/N: Ok...YOU'RE ALL PERVERTS. 'Cept for the one reviewer who thought Trunks had slammed his fingers in his desk. *giggles, that one classic! Ok, anyhoo, review, and on to the next chapter!

-Panabelle ;P
Shrine of the Saiyan Squirt