Notice: Chapters 12 and 13 were uploaded the same day. If you just went to the most recent chapter (this one) you may have skipped 12. Go back or be slightly confused.

Author's Note: See chapter one for disclaimer. Hello.

Last Time: (as if you didn't just read it) Trunks bandaged Pan's hand by ripping his shirt, she forgave him for the kiss with a kick to the stomach, Vegeta sent a messenger to the towns, and at one point Trunks was on top of Pan on the ground.

"Dead Fortune"

Pan had stood, waiting for Trunks to rise and catch up to her, before she turned and continued walking towards the direction of the main buildings on the farm. He had caught up to her with ease, and now matched her walk stride for stride, shortening his own to match her smaller steps.

She turned her face to his, smile strewn across it. Trunks squinted against the sunlight, looking at her face. He shook his head in show, and absently rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I don't like that smile," he said, sparking a conversation. Pan's expression did not fall.

"You think I have a horrible smile?" she asked, said smile still present. He shook his head irritably, wondering vaguely if the real purpose of the curse was to teach him patience, not love.

"I didn't say that," he replied somewhat impatiently. "I just don't like when you smile a lot. Well… let's say, when you smile a lot for no apparent reason. I mean, you've been doing it almost non-stop since you came out here. Which, I might add, is quite a dramatic change from your attitude this morning."

"This morning, if I might add, I had just woken up from a faint after being through a horribly dramatic experience-"

"-it was just a kiss!-"

"-and furthermore, there is more to smile about now, because since then, I have not only had the pleasure of kicking you, but your shirt is also destroyed, which is amusing in a way I couldn't possibly put into words."

"Pity. I was rather hoping for an explanation about the humor of my attire."

"Quite the sarcasm. I'll get you a new shirt."

"Oh? How do you intend to do that?" he asked, with no sarcasm.

"Well, my father has been known to wear clothing the odd day," she replied, flashing him a smile that was different than the one she had been wearing recently. This one was more of sudden humor, while the others were far more secretive.

"And you don't think it will be visible?"

Pan shrugged.

"We'll see." He simply nodded to this, breaking off any conversation he might have thought to continue, noting that they were practically at the house now. He simply didn't want to risk being heard by anyone at the moment. Not that it would really be any trouble for him directly, but it would get Pan angry if she had to make more excuses to the superstitious farm help. And then in turn, would most likely take her anger out on him later. The obvious solution to avoid all of the hassle, would be just to keep quiet.

She stopped suddenly, at the path's crossroad, casting a quick glance at the kitchen, then towards her house before turning her body to face him fully. She looked at his mouth for a moment before raising her eyes to meet his own.

"You had pie this morning, yes?" she asked. He fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Yes, Pan. I had pie. I'm sure you like finding a million things daily to hold against me, but really, I mean-"

"Actually, I was just going to ask if you finished it all?"

"…no."

"Do you think you could sneak your unfinished pie there?" she asked, making a vague gesture with her thumb towards her house. He looked at her with mild skepticism.

"You want me… to steal my half-eaten pie. Wait. Me, steal a pie? Didn't you give me an earful just yesterday about stealing those pies?" he asked, hands on hips, awkwardly aware that he was in one of his mother's favourite stances.

"Yes, well," she said, a slight shrug moving over her shoulders. "This theft benefits me so…"

"And why can't you just go get it? It's your farm." Pan made a noise that, if she were anything but a 'dignified lady' surely would be considered a snort.

"Just because I am of the daughter of the owner, doesn't mean they treat me like royalty," she paused, the irony of her statement hovering between them, as she shook her head at the true royal before her. "Especially since some of those old bats have been chasing me out of there since I was old enough to walk."

"So, you want me to do your dirty work because you're too afraid to?"

"It's not like you don't want some of it too," she countered.

"Maybe I don't?" An eyebrow raised.

"You don't want pie?" she said, voice laden with sarcasm. "Yes, and the cows come home on their own."

"… don't they?" Trunks asked, looking at her oddly. She rolled her eyes.

"You get me that pie, and I'll go get a shirt for you."

"Okay… but… why don't they come home on their own? Do they forget the way easily?"

"…just go get the pie."

"But, how can you let them just graze wildly in the fields? Aren't you worried that they'll wonder off and never-"

"-now," she said with amicable anger, giving him a shove towards the kitchens, while she turned and went to pick out a shirt for him. She vaguely wondered if she could pick something out of her mother's and then convince him it was a man's outfit.

She wondered if the image would be the height of hilarity, or if it passed over that fine line and would just be down right scary.

In the end, she decided not to find out…

… today.

Trunks was quite proud of the way he maneuvered throughout the kitchens for the second time that morning. It was only his third time in that building, but he already had a feel for the lay out and the position of the handful of woman working inside.

His pie had yet to be noticed, apparently, lying where he had left it, cloth covering the scooped out pie filling. With careful looks around him, he took the pie from the counter and walked backwards, holding the pie by the ground to be less noticeable.

He was out of the kitchens before any of the women had even looked towards his general direction.

Straightening up from his crouch, he strolled to the main home with the pie in hand. He paused, eyes gazing at the wooden door, handle warn smooth with use. How could he have gotten so use to this so quickly? Would he be able to get used to home again just as swift? Yes, he assured himself, at home people waited on him, not the other way around.

For, just why was he getting the pie in his hand? Not for himself; but for Pan. Granted, she was getting him a spare shirt to replace his worn blue tunic. But it was only ripped because he had to bandage her hand in the first place. Of course, she only needed it bandaged because he had kissed her without permission. But that was her fault for having such inviting lips.

Yes, it was Pan's fault, no doubt, in one way or another for whatever had or would happen to him. And once he was back home, he would never have to worry about any sudden surprises or random kicks in the stomach from a tempered farm girl.

And he wasn't sure if this was good or bad.

The surprises that is, not the kicking.

Shaking his head, slightly ticked at his ability to let his thoughts wander so frequently and so off topic… not that carrying a pie was much of a topic, he walked the few steps to the door and went inside.

Either he had taken longer than he had guessed on his search and rescue mission, or Pan was just very quick with finding the, perhaps pre-chosen, garment. He set the pie down with ease on the table, noting Pan's eyes on it, guessing correctly that she hadn't eaten anything besides the berries he had made her… and those had certainly not benefited her as a whole.

She passed him the clothe draped on her arm towards him wordlessly. He took it from her hesitantly, uncertain with her lack of vocal communication. With the shirt off her hands, she gracefully folded her skirts around herself and took a seat at the well-scrubbed table.

Trunks took the seat also, unfolding the shirt in his lap. It was a simple black shirt that looked to be a pull-over, and a row of ties to keep the fabrics closed. It looked quite comfortable, he would admit. Not giving it a second thought, Trunks grasped the edges of his own tunic and pulled it hastily over his head. With the light blue fabric caught on his nose, he never saw Pan stare at him then advert her eyes quickly.

He pulled the tunic off, this time not missing Pan's reaction, which was a giggle. He shot her a look, following her line of vision towards his hair. Lifting a hand up, he could feel his hair standing up at an angle that was un-normal for it, and most surely amusing looking. Half-scowling, he attempted to smooth it down, merely admitting more giggles from the girl across from him. He gave up on his hair for the moment, suddenly aware of the fact that he was now shirtless, and it was quite possible she was laughing at his chest rather than his hair. Self-conscious, he pulled the black material and pulled it over his head, successfully flattening his hair back down as his hands could not.

He smoothed the edges carefully before looking back up at Pan for approval. He was met with the image of a head tilted, her hair spilling over one side of her face, eyes looking closely at something.

"Do you wear black often?" she asked suddenly. He shrugged lightly.

"I wear whatever, really." She looked up at this, and eyebrow quirked, lips parted in a small smile.

"Do you have someone to choose out your own clothes?" she inquired. He looked to her, and tried to put on an affronted look, without a great amount of success.

"What gives you the idea that I can't even dress myself?"

Pan shook her head, as if the question hadn't mattered, and she was unwilling to make an entire deal about it, presumably satisfied with the implied answer he had given. Her eyes were still on the shirt as she partly stood up from her chair, grasping the edges and dragging it behind her; forward. She shuffled along the floor, almost sitting on the chair which was lifted under her fingers, before she reached his side, where she dropped the chair as well as herself into it.

"You have to tie up the strings," she said, making a pointing gesture towards the ties that hung from the shirt's corners. He glanced down at them. Undone, they left the shirt open over half his chest, which was somewhat odd feeling, but he didn't think having the shirt tightly done up would be any more comfortable, so had left the strings dangling.

Pan apparently had other ideas though. She leaned over, fingering the strings and pulling them equal to each other. She leaned further in, closely examining the strings and holes where they looped. Trunks swallowed, looking down discreetly at the girl who was practically in her lap, her dark hair brushing the underside of his chin. He could smell her hair, a light scent of honey and… apricots? He breathed quietly. Yes, apricots.

Finally she leaned slightly back, seemingly finished what she needed to look at so intently, and began tugging and maneuvering the strings up the shirt. His own shirts at home usually had less primitive ways of fastening up, and he couldn't remember a time when ties had to be used, though he was sure if he had, he would not be as quick as Pan.

It was almost impressive the speed at which her slender fingers skipped up the shirt, twisting and knotting the strings. It didn't take long at all before they were all fastened. He was pleasantly surprised to find it not in the least uncomfortable. She had left them tied at such a looseness that it left his chest less exposed, but did not suffocate him in the process.

She had leaned back in her own chair as he ran his fingers over the knots gingerly. He wondered if she was so quick at it because all lower class dealt with this kind of clothing, or if it was something acquired working on a farm, or if it was merely because of her gender, and all girls had to deal with fast tying clothing. He wouldn't be surprised if it was because of a being a woman; he had seen some of the articles women had to somehow slip into, and did not envy them the job of getting dressed in the morning.

He cast her a slight thankful look, and was about to actually voice his appreciation for that as well as the shirt, and direct her towards her requested pie, when there was a quiet knock at the door.

The knocker did not wait for a reply before they pushed the door open, stepping inside and easily closing it behind them. Trunks turned in his chair and looked behind him. In the doorway stood a man much the same age as himself, though his face held a youthfulness that had never graced the prince's. His lips were formed in a smile, dark black hair falling messily around his face.

His smile broadened when his eyes landed on Pan. By Pan's reaction, the smile was apparently contagious, as she wore one of her own now. He watched her stand up and greet the man he recognized as being her uncle.

"Panny," he said by way of greeting, walking towards her. She fell into his hug with enthusiasm, his hands knotted at the base of her back, her own against his chest. He laughed and it shook her body. She pulled back and merely shook her head at him. He laughed some more, than turned to take a seat.

Pan and Trunks watched with drawing concern as it looked as if Goten would plunk himself in the chair Trunks currently occupied. Indeed, he looked straight at the chair before turning to sit in it. Trunks hurriedly slid out of the chair, not wishing to be sat on.

At least he now knew that the shirt he wore would be invisible to the world, as he had hoped. Pan seemed to be thinking much the same thing, for her eyes darted to his shirt down to his old one that was wrapped around her palm at the moment.

Showing an appreciative look for Trunks' jump from his chair, she settled back into her own looking expectantly at her uncle. By the look on her face, while his sudden appearance was welcome, Pan certainly had not been expecting it. He got to his feet and leaned against the wall behind him, waiting with mild interest to hear why he was here.

The two waited for Goten to begin, but he apparently had other priorities. He was nearly beside himself when he caught a glance at Pan's palm, and all but yanked the hand off her wrist in attempt to bring it towards himself for a closer inspection.

"What did you do to yourself?" he asked, fingers gently prodding all around the hand, trying to guess where the actual injury was. Pan tried to pull her wrist back with little success.

"I cut my palm with a knife," she answered simply, redirecting Goten's inspection from the back of her hand over to the palm.

"You father will have my head," he mumbled.

"Why?" she asked, somewhat harshly, this time succeeding in pulling her hand away from the concerned uncle. "Were you the one that cut me?"

"I should be looking out for you," he answered. Pan clutched her hand at her chest, and looked over at Goten with narrowed eyes. Trunks couldn't contain a smirk. Pan's glares were rather good when they were not directed at himself.

"Did my father tell you to watch over me?" she asked very quietly. Goten blinked at her, eyes darting the room, as if he were being interrogated and his answer could decide the fate of his life.

"Umm… no. He didn't… I mean. Panny, I just meant that I'm your uncle, and as such it's always my job to look out for you."

Pan seemed generally satisfied with the answer, because she turned her glare off, though kept a much more serious aura around her then before. Goten coughed slightly.

"It doesn't look that well mended," he said quietly. "Who did it?"

"I told you, I cut myself by accident."

"No, I meant who wrapped it up for you?"

"Oh," Pan said. "…a friend." Goten raised his eyebrows at the washy reply but made no further comment.

"Well, it could be better. Promise you fix it up properly tonight before bed. You have healing-"

"Yes, I have them, Goten. And I promise," she said, a faint smile returning, hand still clutched to her chest. Her uncle nodded, satisfied with her promise.

"Well then, I guess I'll tell you why I came all the way over here in the first place. I just thought I would stick around for a bit…"

"Why? I'm doing fine here…" Pan replied, voice neutral.

Goten shook his head.

"It isn't you. Yesterday your shadow Keipher was looking at you an awful lot. I wouldn't be surprised if he came over here today, so I just wanted to… well, with your father gone, and I know you can hold your own, but I'd just feel better if I could shove him off. I don't mean this to sound like your weak or anything, because really it's just the protective genes kicking-"

"You're too late," Pan interrupted, fingers brushing her lips for a moment before dropping. "He came by earlier this morning." Goten looked like he was going to have an attack with all of the emotions fleeting across his face. Was he angry, worried or sad, Trunks couldn't tell. He made no reply, only swallowed and bit his lower lip nervously.

"Panny, I'm so sorry. Did he do…" he looked at her carefully, recalling her fingers at her lips. Leaning forward he pulled her face into his hands. "Did he hurt you?"

"Nothing that won't mend," she answered quietly. Goten shook his head.

"I swear, I'm just waiting to catch him in the right situation and bam," he pounded his fist on the table. "I swear, it was just an accident, Mr. Guard. No, I have absolutely no idea. Bad luck for him to be walking in the hunting grounds, yes… well, he looked very much like a deer, Mr. Guard."

Pan shook her head and laughed.

"Goten, you couldn't murder anyone, lie about it and make it look like an accident," she said, smiling.

"Him I could," he said, but everyone in the room knew that it wasn't true. As much as Goten might have wanted to kill the man just to keep him away from his niece, his personality wouldn't allow it. And it was doubtful if Pan would forgive herself, no matter how much she despised Keipher herself.

"I'm fine here, really. There are some… unexpected body guards around already," Pan said, eyes casually glancing at Trunks' position by the wall. Goten grinned.

"Still have the farm boys wrapped around you finger, Panny?"

Pan smiled.

"They're a good lot," he said nodding slightly. "Oh! But before I forget, I thought you might want to know, the King has just announced a ball. A messenger was posting the notice as I was leaving town."

"So?" Pan raised and eyebrow.

"Well, you could go you know. Videl's title permits it."

"Again; so?"

"Think, Panny. Go there, grab someone's attention, and see if they can't nullify Keipher's hold on you." Pan shook her head.

"How do you want me to do that?" she asked, confused.

"Wearing a low cut dress and alternating between pouts and giggles?"

Pan half-choked at his reply.

"Yeah, okay Goten. You want me to use my body like some horrible wench to get my way?" she asked, not angrily, merely smiling at the bold idea, coming from her uncle no less. An idea she would have too much pride to carry out.

"If the dance shoe fits," he replied with a grin. "The date's not set, which is odd. I heard a rumor it was because the prince has mysteriously gone missing."

"Really?" Pan answered, a secretive smile on her face, eyes drawn to Trunks.

"Yes, well. Good riddens," Goten said with a laugh. "Well, seems you're fine anyway; I don't think Keipher will come by twice. And remember about your promise," he said, gesturing towards her palm. Pan nodded.

He stood up and stretched, before leaning down for a hug and walking to the door. Pan promptly swung her feet up on the chair Goten had just vacated and looked thoughtfully off into space.

Trunks left his spot on the wall and leaned on the back of his old chair.

"I wonder why they called a ball," he spoke aloud. Pan merely shrugged. "Your uncle and you get on very well," he pointed out. Pan smiled slightly.

"Yes, we're very close. He's like an older brother, really. He's always been there to look out for me. I really look up to him, you know? He's so sweet, kind, such a… complete and utter jerk!" she shouted, jumping to her feet. Trunks looked up at her in surprise.

"That idiot stole my pie!" she shrieked, looking at the spot where at least half a blueberry pie had sat, that was now bare.

"I can feel the love," he replied dryly. Pan glared.

"You know what this means?"

"I'm not the only person that steals pie?"

"It means you're going to have to go and steal another one."

Trunks laughed.

"Yeah, and you think I'm joking," Pan replied, walking out of the kitchen.

The man took a quick swig from his glass, eyes blurring from the tangy contents, before giving a polite belch, entwining chubby fingers around the now empty cup. The bar tender looked up, sensing a needed-refill like a vulture sensing blood, and with a quick nod from his questionable customer, he poured the misty liquid into his glass.

The bar was more high class than the usual pub, and under normal circumstances he might have discouraged any further business with that sort of man. However, the embodied crest of the royal family rested on his sleeve, and the bartender was not foolish enough to turn away a king's messenger. Even if said messenger smelled horribly of fish and other ingredients that were familiar but he couldn't place a name to; ingredients that no doubt were for some substance he had been near while it was being concocted.

He had served many a drunkard in his lifetime, and he had come to recognize people for what they were, and even their possible secrets before they got to the point of drunkenness to tell him what he guessed anyway.

This man was too clumsy with his glass, his fingers just a tad too uneven in movement, and his eyes too slow moving to be the creator of the spell he reeked of. Nor was he the victim of whatever had been created. He had merely watched, or perhaps now held the spell with him, waiting to set it off on its desired victim.

The smell made him uneasy, and he couldn't help but keep a constant eye on him, not wanting his questionable business, but not daring to turn him away either. Sighing, he turned to another waiting customer, his eye's corner watching him carefully.

The man in question took another swig of his drink, thin drops splashing down his chin as he did so. He dropped his eyes on the swirling drink, and seemed quite prepared to get lost in them, but was interrupted by the shuffling of a stool beside him. He turned his beaky eyes to his side, looking at the newcomer.

He was somewhat surprised to see a woman occupying the chair, one with a pretty face, and the looks of crimson hair tied up in handkerchiefs and shawls. One look and he could label her as a fortune teller, just by her garb, but a harder pressed look, and a more reaching feel, and he could guess that she was actually good at what she did.

Yes, he could sense it on her. Even in his slightly intoxicated state (just why had he needed to drink so much? One would have sufficed…) he could practically smell her talent on her and what she had of late predicted, just as he was sure he presently reeked of the spell he had gotten his little soon-to-be-if-all-went-well-princess to make.

She had traveled from the country. She had told a close friend how to find happiness… who she would find romance with. A nameless friend with no accountable future. She had talked to a man too… had encouraged him with romance as well. How quaint.

He was about to turn his mind completely away from the girl and finish his drink when the pressing image of just who this man had been was burned on the back of his mind.

The prince?

Squinty eyes turned to her in a heart beat. She was smiling at the bartender in thanks for her drink, carefully turning the contents between her fingers. It took mere moments for her to feel his gaze, and she turned eyes to him that saw things even he couldn't. He continued to stare.

"I beg your pardon," she murmured, a faint crimson running across her cheekbones matching her hair. He coughed a pardon, before bringing a hand quickly to her face. Her eyes went momentarily cross-eyed as she followed his hand, never blinking as he snapped them abruptly by her nose.

Her eyes glazed and he turned more on his stool. He would have to be quick; if she had any sort of power, which she seemed to have, it wouldn't last long. Someone with the Sight could not be held for very long.

"Where is the prince?" he asked seriously.

"With Pan," came the monotonous reply, her eyes staring unseeing just over his shoulder.

"Who is Pan?" he asked, confused.

"The girl he is with," she answered. He blinked at her saucy reply, wondering how… she was fighting his hold already. Curses upon her, she knew where he was… just tell!

"Where does Pan live?"

"On a farm."

"What farm!"

"Excuse me sir, but I have to ask you to leave the young lady-"

"What farm!" he yelled again, ignoring the persistent bartender that had now walked over and was trying to pull him away from the woman.

But no answer would come. The girl had blinked and was looking dark daggers at him. Her jaw was set, and she looked like she was prepared to take a swing at him. He pulled his hand away and stood from his stool; tossing coins on the counter.

"You may have kept some answers away, but it won't take me long to find out who this Pan is."

"I'm sure it won't," her eyes glaring away. He looked at her for a moment. She may try to warn this Pan… he could always follow her. But then she may just flee in another direction, hoping that he would follow her.

No, she was a pain in any way he looked at the situation. She could be of no further help, and it annoyed him that she had shooed him from her mind so quickly. He didn't like being shown up. He smiled. Well, now he would show her...

The bartender watched the man leave, extremely grateful that he was gone. There was a bad aura around the man, and he hadn't liked what he had seen of him. Especially how he had almost possessed that girl…

She stared back at him for a moment before speaking.

"I told her that she was the one that would be leaving. I guess I was wrong…"

In a second she fell slummed across his counter, drink still clutched in her hands. Her hair falling from its handkerchief, splashing dark wisps of crimson across her pale face, set in an expression of acceptance. Her eyes did not blink, her chest did not breathe, and her skin would start to turn cold soon enough.

He cast a look to the door where the man had exited, than back to the girl that now lay dead at his bar. Somehow, he was not surprised.

I had no plans to kill her, just decided to spontaneously at the end of that scene. shrugs Goodbye fortune teller-lady. You got Trunks to kiss Pan, so you must not have been all that bad. Please give me some sort of feedback. Tell me where you want this to go.

Angel Eevee