Disclaimer: Not mine.

Helpless 8

Food heals

Trunks sat staring at the uninteresting lumps of chicken he'd heated up in the foil tray, and wondered how he was going to make up for hurting Marron. Something told him that expensive flowers or candy wasn't going to do it. That kind of thing always worked with other women he knew, but Marron wasn't anything like the other women.

He really missed the concerned, funny, warm-hearted woman who'd forced him to take a bath the day before. He didn't care for the distant, highly professional robot she'd turned into today.

It was no more than he deserved, of course. He should never have let it go on for so long. Only a matter of an hour or two, and he would have told her the truth himself. She might still have been mad at him, but at least he might have had the chance to explain.

Damn that reporter. She'd really done a number on him. Not that he was a saint, of course, but he certainly wasn't the Don Juan the article had suggested. Most of the women he dated were casual acquaintances, someone to be with when he attended all those social and charity dinners that his position made obligatory.

He'd had relationships, true, but he always made it clear right from the start that he wasn't interested in anything permanent. It wasn't his fault if women were convinced they could change his mind.

There had been times when he'd had to be brutal to be kind. Like the pesky reporter, for instance. She had been particularly insistent until he'd been blunt about how he felt. Now she found a way to get even.

Trunks sighed. He'd been looking forward to the pot of stew Marron had promised. He'd really fouled things up, and now it was up to him to make amends. Something told him it wouldn't be easy. Marron Chestnut had a strong mind of her own, and it was going to be tough getting through that wall she'd set up.

He wasn't sure why it mattered so much to him. He usually went out of his way to foster the playboy image most people seemed to have of him. Women were less inclined to take him too seriously when they heard about his reputation.

Marron, however, wasn't one of his women. He could tell that she was a decent person, with morals and values that were rare nowadays. He didn't want her thinking that badly of him. Somehow he had to redeem himself.

Three days later he was still searching for the answer. Marron arrived on time, and left on time. She was quietly efficient, non-communicative and horribly polite. She did make him a sandwich for lunch each day, but there was no more mention of breakfast or a pot of stew, and he was reduced to warming up the last of the frozen dinners.

While she was there he kept up a steady stream of comments, lighthearted banter and a joke of two when he could remember one. She remained impervious to it all, and he was beginning to despair of ever getting through to her. For once, his so-called appeal that women kept talking about wasn't working, and it was beginning to worry him.

Then, on the last day of the week, with the gloomy prospect of a lonely, boring weekend looming up, Marron surprised him by asking him what he'd been eating for dinner.

She sat at the table with the computer, just a foot away from where he lounged on the couch. "You haven't touched any of the groceries I bought you," she said, sounding quite cross with him.

Her disapproval was music to his ears. At least she'd noticed something about him. He was beginning to think he was invisible where Marron was concerned. "I'm not exactly what you'd call a decent cook," he admitted, trying on his most helpless. Little-boy-lost look. "I haven't the faintest idea what to do with the stuff in the fridge."

"So what have you been doing about the meals?"

He shrugged. "I finished up the frozen dinners."

She sighed, and gazed at the computer, while he waited in rising anticipation. Finally, she said, with a great deal of reluctance, he noted, "I suppose I could make you a stew before I leave."

"Oh, would you? Really? That would be so great. I haven't eaten any decent food since you fixed the spaghetti for me. I'd love to have some stew. I really would."

He must have overdone the enthusiasm, as she gave him a wary look. "What about breakfast? You do know how to scramble eggs, I assume?"

"I know how to mash them up in the pan, if that's what you mean." He put on the helpless expression that usually got him what he wanted.

She shook her head in disbelief. "I'll make an omelette for lunch and show you how to do it. Even you should be able to manage that."

He winced at the scorn in her voice, but managed to smile. "Thank you, Marron," he said, sincerely meaning it. "I'd really appreciate it. I haven't the attempted to cook any eggs since I burned the last lot. They'd sure make a nice change from burned toast."

She began typing, retreating into silence again, but somehow he felt the tension between them easing just a little. He was astonished at how happy that made him feel.

Marron wrestled with her conscience as she typed out the complicated estimates he'd given her. In spite of her determination to keep things on a purely professional level, she couldn't help feeling guilty for neglecting him.

She was used to taking care of people. she'd done it all her life, and it came as naturally to her as breathing. It had been almost as hard on her as it had on Trunks to pretend she didn't notice that he'd been half-starving himself. She'd worried about him, though she'd die rather than let him know that.

She'd expected the River Rat to be swarming with women once he realized she wasn't going to wait on him hand and foot. Yet days had gone by and there had been no sign of anyone paying him a visit. Either he was hiding out from everyone for some strange reason, or he wasn't as popular with women as the article had made out.

She wondered what had happened to the woman he'd run out on at the hospital. Obviously he didn't think enough of her to let her know where he was. Though surely someone as well-known as Trunks Briefs shouldn't be that difficult to find.

On the other hand, no one would dream that a man with all his money would be holed up in a beat-up old boathouse on a deserted stretch of the river.

She looked up as Trunks hobbled over to the window on his crutches. She had to hand it to him. In spite of the problems he had moving around his confined space, he never once complained.

In all the years she'd taken care of her family, she'd never seen any of them keep up their good spirits the way Trunks had. She didn't know if she could have remained that cheerful under the same circumstances. Especially since the only person he'd seen in days was so unresponsive.

She watched him push back the curtains to look outside. The rain that had pounded relentlessly on the roof all morning still streamed into the swollen river, clouding the view of the opposite bank.

She saw his wistful expression and felt a tug of remorse. She certainly hadn't been any comfort to him. It must be terrible to be cooped up in such a miserable place for days on end.

Much as she hated to admit it, something about Trunks brought out the mothering instinct in her. Trunks reminded her of a spoiled little boy with so many toys he'd never had the chance to enjoy any of them.

He mentioned expensive sports cars and trips to Europe with an indifference that she would use to talk about sneakers and a trip to the zoo.

His cynical remarks about his women friends irritated her, and when he spoke about some of the crazy stunts he'd pulled, she'd had a hard time to keep a still tongue, but in spite of it all, she sensed that underneath the playboy attitude, Trunks Briefs was a very lonely man.

"Is there anyone I can call to come and see you?" She asked as he dropped the curtain and hobbled back to the couch. "What about your secretary?"

He shook his head. "Paresu has enough to worry about with her own family. She doesn't need to play nursemaid to me."

"What about your. friends?"

He glanced around the cluttered room with a rueful smile. "I don't want to overwhelm then with all this grandeur. They might want a piece of it. Besides, I'd never get any work done if people kept dropping by."

She was silent for a moment, then felt compelled to ask, "why do you stay here? Why don't you work at home?"

"I live at the beach. It's too far from the office. In any case, how would I ever find a temp as efficient as you are in a place like Aquarius Bay?"

She almost suggested she stay down there with him, but luckily she recognized the stupidity of the idea before the words popped out. "What about a hotel?" He could certainly afford one, she thought.

"Too noisy. Not to mention inconvenient. As they say, no matter how humble, there's no place like home." He pulled a face. "Though I have to admit, this is a little more humble than I'd bargained on when I bought the dump."

"You didn't look it over before you bought it?"

He shook his head. "Not really. I saw it advertised in the paper and bought it for an investment. I figured on fixing it up then selling it. It's been handy for camping out now and again, but now that I'm living in it, I've found all kinds of things wrong with it."

Marron had to agree with him about the pitiful state of the houseboat. The damp atmosphere made her think of sitting on the grass after a spring shower. She was seriously beginning to worry about Trunks' health, sleeping in what had to be a damp bed every night.

In fact, she was beginning to worry far too much about him. And that, she warned herself, could spell trouble in a big way. Trunks Briefs was a business client, not a family member in need of her nurturing capabilities. She'd do very well to remember that, before she overstepped the line again.

You have no idea how exhausted I am. I can only go home to my computer on Saturdays now! That's because of the ton of homework that these professors give us every weekend. How is it going to be a weekend if you can't see an end to the work that you're doing? Darn things, you'd think they never were students in their lifetime.

Anyway, onto my response to the reviews. No feelings were hurt. And yes, your idea is funny and weird. No prob and I hope you enjoy the other fic. Thanks, I'll tell my friend what you said. I don't read Harry Potter because I have this thing that when too many people like it and breathe it and only think about it and talk about it non- stop (you get the picture), then I have a tendency to stay away from whatever it was that caused the craze. It's not that I hate it or them, it's just that I don't pass any judgment over it/them. Maybe I'll get around to start reading it. when my professors give me breathing space. I know lots of people who'd be happy to know that I would have seen the light. I hope you enjoy it!

That's about it. See if you can figure out which reply goes to you; but this one is for everyone with virtual hugs included:

Thanks for the reviews! Mata ne!

PS. And you know about the Kinomi I was talking about last chapter? This is her! In the Romance-Trunks-Marron section! She finally updated Timeline Orphans: Volume Two! Go visit her site now! *rushes off to Kinomi's site to offer prayers of thanks*