Disclaimer: Amidst my khaki colored dreams, you'll find the blood red door...OPEN IT.

A/N: Been a while, huh. This time, it's not my fault. I swear. For those who haven't heard, I actually had chapters to post not long after the last update. But my computer crashed. I lost everything. And have spent the last month trying to restore all my files. Still recovering PT chapters from offline. So that's what the delay was all about.

Anyhoo, started classes at the JC today; and because I have an hour and 45 minutes between each of my classes on Mondays and Wednesdays, I was able to "find" a little time to write a chapter. Anyways, here we go. Hopefully I'll be able to write more often in my "breaks" *grumble grumble grumble* *gnashing of teeth, gnashing of teeth* once school actually gets rolling.

But that's enough from me. Go read the chapter already.

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Petrified Tears
Chapter 97



Buttoning her khakis, she waved her hand in front of her face, dispelling the steam as best she could, finally able to make out her hazy form in the fogged-over mirror. Bra had given her half an hour to bathe and get dressed before they left for her house, though Pan was sure she'd taken much longer than that.

In truth, she was surprised no one had started banging on the door-she wouldn't have put it past Bra to walk into the bathroom and haul her naked and soapy ass over to Capsule Corps.

But then, Bra had just finished the payments on her convertible…

Pan shook her head, stooping to pick up the mess of laundry on the floor where she'd fought her way out of the dress as the billows of steam from the hot shower had beckoned her. She was still tired, but she didn't know if it was because of exhaustion, or because of that dream she had had the night before.

She shook her head as she gathered the dress in her arms, dispelling the thoughts. Anybody fighting to the death over little old her was nothing more than just a medieval nightmare.

"Hmm? What's this?"

Draping the dress across her thigh, she leaned forward a little to look at the slip of paper laying on the tile. Waving her hand again, she thought about opening the door or the window to suck some of the condensation from the tiny bathroom, but rejected the idea. It may have been hard to see through all the haze, but it was warm in here…it was cold out there.

Reaching down to pick up the paper, she froze, teetering forward onto her knees, staring at it in something between wonder and terror. Fingers trembled as they hovered over the card, poised to pick it up, but unable to move.

What's wrong with me? she murmured to herself. It's just a simple red and white Bicycle playing card. What's so big and scary about that? I mean, just a harmless little card that I've seen a million times-tattered on the edges, a little dogearred but not frayed, worn in but not broken. Loved just like that cards in-oh Dende…Jack…

She snatched back her hand, tempted to scurry backwards away from the little card in fear, as if by turning it over she'd release some sort of monster that she couldn't destroy. Cradling her had against her chest as if she had been burned, she stared at the card, trying in vain to convince herself that she was freaking out over nothing-it was just one of her cards that had found it's way into her laundry.

The worn cotton of her tee shirt was smooth and familiar, but so was the card back-so what if it looked like any other card; that card could only have come out of Jack's deck to look as loved and worn and yet still glossy and smooth as it did. Everything felt alien.

Everything felt wrong.

She shivered, every word, every glance, the whole evening, the whole week, coming back to her, hitting her full force. The kiss, innocent and expected but cursed; the week in the box, hellish but fulfilling; the phone call, a promise to see Jack Sunday; the lie she'd told him-the lie her mother-in-law had-

No.

Bulma was not her mother-in-law, that was all made up, just a gimmick that had backfired.

She clenched her eyes shut, forcing herself to calm down. She was dramatizing everything-playing on plays based on lies. She was making things worse. Stressing over things that needed be stressed over. She was-

"Pan? Pan, are you alright? You've been in there a while…" Her mother's voice slipped through the crack under the door, carrying that sense of clam that only mothers could possess, even in the worst of circumstances. A smile wormed its way into her voice, teasingly. "Panny…did you fall asleep? Do we need to get someone to come in and carry you to bed?"

She was overreacting.

Dropping her head and closing her eyes, she smiled, dropping her hands onto her knees, shaking her head at herself. Absently, she drew the card from the tiled floor, gathered her laundry in an arm. Standing, eyes still closed, she slid the card into her back pocket without looking at it. Reminded herself that this was Jack. He'd understand.

With another smile, she opened the door and made her way back to her room.

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A/N: Anyways, that's the chapter. I'm sorry if it seems choppy or out of sorts, I'm kinda putting off homework and needing to go crash and all right now. Anyways, yeah. That's the deal. So updates'll be slow, but I'll do my best.

As soon as I can get onto the school's comps, I'll set to getting PT back up on my site; in the mean time, head over there and leave a note in my forum. After you leave a review of course. ;P

-Panabelle ;P
www.angelfire.com/dbz/storytellers