A/N: see chapter one for disclaimer. This weekend I was watching Spirited Away and the 'bad guy' controls people by holding their name, quite similar to how my bad guy is doing that to Trunks' fiancée. I swear, I didn't steal this from them. Though that movie is excellent and I have fallen in love with it. Watch it, ooh you want to.

Last Time: More pie was eaten, an insightful discussion about cows, Pan and Trunks make a compromise on who will teach the other; Trunks dancing and Pan swimming. Pan starts out roughly but ends up snuggling against invisible Trunks, which isn't that bad of a deal. And that crazy fortune-teller-killer knows where Trunks and Pan are, and he's coming to get them. insert Jaws music

"When it Rains"

It was the sharp contrast between burning hot to a soothing cool that woke him up. Blinking eyelids over blue, he tried to let his mind catch up with his body. He had always taken a slightly negative view on how the human body woke itself after a sleep. Something would awaken him physically, but his mind took minutes to catch up, and then his eyelids would doubtless still be heavy by the time his mind caught up. It was a contradiction and very annoying.

He remembered dancing. Oh yes, dancing with Pan. Slim body pressed against his, calm warm breath skittering across a borrowed shirt, an almost non-existent breeze dodging through the trees, blowing the occasional leaf onto their dance floor.

The sun had been too far up, and Pan had laughed hard at being so stupid.

"Never be outside when the sun is overhead," she had said, shaking her head. She had placed a hand on her head, wincing at the heat coming from it. Her nose was slightly scrunched, and she made a comment that they had both probably burned their heads.

Shade was the best thing, according to her, so they had ended the dancing, as it really was no longer necessary. Pan had learnt it. She had made it to that point where her body and mind could work together and the steps clicked with her. An odd sense of pride came out of this for him.

Tired, the two had walked to the nearby trees, plunking down underneath their protective branches. It hadn't been long before the two were slumbering, sleeping the rest of the afternoon away. Perhaps it was the discomfort of sleeping on the ground the night before that had made them both in need of a little midday nap.

Whatever the reason, they had both fallen asleep under the tree. But now that he was awake, as a result of the cool breeze that seemed to blow up out of nowhere, rushing through his hair and soothing the slightly burnt spot that surely was there. The chill had awakened him, and his mind was caught up, and he most definitely noticed something amiss.

Where Pan had been sleeping an arms' length away was an empty spot. Some bent blades of grass were the only testament that she was ever there in the first place.

He blinked again, sitting up on one elbow. It didn't take long before he knew where she was, the sounds of her voice catching in the wind as it might in an echoing cave. He turned his head towards the pond where he could see her for sure.

She was standing in the pond, her face turned away from him. Leaning down so that her hair was falling over her shoulder, covering her face so that even if she were angled differently, he wouldn't be seeing her face anyway.

Pan straightened before drooping fully down, the water level at her neck, and by the dripping hair, it was apparent that she had been in the pool for a good deal of time. She was humming and occasionally breaking off into soft singing, but he didn't recognize the tune.

Trunks sat fully up, folding his knees together, leaning on an arm as he watched her quietly. She had swung onto her back, her eyes closed facing the darkening sky, arms stroking from above her head to her sides and back again in slow graceful movements, occasionally kicking her legs. Trunks could see the now transparent hem of her dress with each slow kick, and he wondered how heavy the outfit must be to swim in, even after taking note of the outer layers lying by the shoreline.

When a stronger wind lashed through the protective line of trees that they had earlier used to hide from prying eyes, he shivered, and wondered how she could not feel cold… shouldn't her wet exposed skin be freezing?

As if on cue, the wind rushed once more across her face, her eyes opening suddenly, voice breaking from her hum to gasp and her body doing an almost comical sit up. Her feet touched bottom and she stood up, eyes searching the sky, arms held tightly around her chest. Even with her back to him, he could see that the remainder of her clothing could not even begin to keep her warm, yet she stood firmly in the middle of the pool, head turned upwards.

He followed her gaze, to notice since he had awoken, that the once cheery blue sky had turned a violent gray quite quickly. He narrowed his eyes slightly, recognizing the dark sky, wind and moisture in the air for what it was. He wondered if Pan could possibly not know what was coming.

But she didn't seem to be looking at the sky. Of course her eyes were turned in that direction, but it didn't look as if she were actually looking at it. As if she knew his thoughts, she turned her head slightly, reaching a hand out to grab at something in the air, showing Trunks that yes, she had been looking at something other than the sky.

Whatever was in her hand was brought towards her face, head tilted down, eyes half-lidded, as she spoke softly to it. He raised an eyebrow, leaning to the side from where he sat to get a better view of what she was doing. She seemed satisfied with whatever she said, for she brought her hand away and held it at arms length, slowly opening her palm.

A small petal flew from her hand, caught in a wild breeze and flung away from the pool. Her dark eyes followed it until she would have to squint to see it. Trunks stared at her in curiosity. Was he just slightly mad or was she perhaps some sort of priestess in her own right? He had seen the possessors of the arts whisper to nature sometimes, and truthfully, he couldn't say he would be surprised if she did have the power. He didn't think anything about Pan could shock him now. Except perhaps if she confessed to having some secret fetish towards earth worms.

Though anyone having a fetish with earth worms would surprise him.

… earth worms are gross and smell horrible when stepped on. No decent human should enjoy them.

He shook his head, stopping any more inane thoughts. Pan seemed finished because she brought her arms back across her chest, turned, and began to make her way back to shore, her dress trudging in the water.

He found it somewhat disappointing that a darker material had been sewn in all the important places, so no transparent cloth was placed over them. Though he was rewarded with a full view of her legs, as the lower skirt had been all white – and he could safely conclude that she had very nice legs. But, after thinking, it was a rather one sided opinion, as he couldn't say he had ever really seen any other women's legs before, as they were all hidden beneath layers and layers of cloth.

He stood up, stretching his back which gave a satisfying crack, and swinging his arms to his sides, trying to get the knots out of his body before walking over where Pan was exiting the water.

She looked up at him as he neared, clearly wondering how long he had been awake.

"Were you watching me?" she asked, arms tightening.

"Define watching," he murmured, bending down and picking up the outermost of her dresses and passing it to her. She took it from him quickly and pulled her arms through the holes, fingers tying the sides and front together with a repetitive gesture.

"Were you staring at me swimming?" she asked again, glancing up before bending down to pick up the remainder of her clothing.

"I woke up when you were finishing up," he replied, voice trailing off. She raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly.

"I once heard a story as a child that if you send a flower petal with a wish to the wind, it would come true," she said, feeding his curiosity. She was merely wish-making then; no mysterious magical background.

"What did you wish for?"

"Are you mad? Can't tell you or it won't come true."

"What?"
"Won't come true."

"Really?" he asked perplexed. Pan blinked at him.

"…yes."

"Hn. No wonder our Wishing Well never did me any good as a child." Pan's eyes widened and smiled.

"You told people your wish?" she asked, a small giggle making its way into the sentence. Trunks frowned, and she stopped laughing, the frown on his face a different one than she had seen before. She was used to the one he had when angry or upset with her, but this frown was entirely different.

He looked beyond her shoulder for a moment; eyes unfocused as if he were wondering how many other childhood memories and wonder were spoilt to him because no one had taught him the rules to the game. He blinked suddenly and his blue eyes returned to Pan.

"Maybe we should go back…"

"Yeah," she agreed, looking up. "A storm is going to brush us I think," she said, and no sooner the sky echoed with a large boom, a far off lightening flashing.

Pan jumped and made a squeak. The clothes in her arms were brought to her chest protectively and she shifted on her feet rather nervously.

"Let's go," she said, marching at a quick pace towards the house. Trunks followed mutely, wondering where his pleasant afternoon had disappeared to.

She ran her fingers through her hair in a nervous manner, eyes squinting and neck stretched as her gray-blue eyes scanned as far as vision would allow. She flopped back to the flats of her feet, bringing a hand to act as a visor for her eyes, out of automatic habit rather than to shield the hidden sun.

Things were beginning to go horribly wrong. She had thought that she had all of her bases covered. When she had been ordered to marry the prince to be later used as a pawn to her master's bidding for the country, she had decided to change his plans a bit.

Because there was no way she could truly marry Trunks. And it had nothing to do with looks or power; for he had them both, and she wouldn't pretend she was virtuous enough not to be attracked to the material qualities. But she wouldn't be able to live with him based on money and a cute face. Because that face would one day wrinkle, and money would only go so far.

Besides, he really was a snob.

No, if she ever married someone, it would not be by force, and certainly not by the force of him of all people. The slimy man she had to call 'master' because he had managed to get a hold over her name and powers. No, she couldn't revolt against him with the conditions placed on her, but she could tweak with his orders to a point.

As long as she didn't get caught… which in retrospect she had.

Light fingers reached up and brushed the still strong bruise across her cheek. She knew it wasn't visible, but she could feel the soreness even just by her finger tip brush.

He had been so angry to discover how she had messed with his plans. Sending the prince away with a spell slapped on him. She had thought it would work… but then she had been ordered to make that love spell. So anything he learnt while invisible would be useless if some well placed ingredients would take away his will to love freely.

But even that was just a set back. Somehow, she could find a way around it, surely. However, if she wanted to bend the rules, she needed to do it within the bounds of his magical contract over her. She had to do it with a vague permission of sorts; do it while he was here to stop her, so if she got away with it, it was truly his fault for not paying attention to his little minion.

But how could she possibly try to tamper the spell or change the assured outcome of this whole mess? He wasn't even here. She couldn't do a thing until he was at least back at the castle.

But her eyes saw nothing.

The useless guard had said that he had left that morning. Surely he should be back by now. Where was he? What was he doing?

She bit her lip. Something about this was so utterly wrong.

"If you're hungry I'm sure the kitchens are still open, there's no need to resort to chewing your lip off."

She whirled around, releasing her lip self-consciously from her teeth. The lip returned to her teeth when she saw who stood in front of her; hands folded, head tilted and a warm smile.

"Your majesty," she whispered quietly. The queen shifted her hands, pulling a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Hello. What are you up to?" She shifted, chewing her lip like mad. "Only, I saw you looking quite intently…" the Queen trailed off, eyes looking momentarily to where hers had originally been.

She nodded.

"Oh, yes. I was just looking for…"

The Queen raised an eyebrow.

"For…?"

"Well, I don't think he's coming back yet," she said off-handedly.

"Trunks?"

"Pardon? Uh- no," she murmured. The queen was staring at her on guard. It was easy to tell that she was suspicious of her for one reason or another. She swallowed. The Queen couldn't possibly know she had any part in her son's disappearance.

She shifted from foot to foot, which seemed to please the Queen in some way. Oh yes, she suspected. She wondered if the Queen could smell fear.

She had seen the Queen many times before, and had spoken to her one on one a few times as well. And in all that time, she had never lost a certain charm about her. But she was piercing her with a look that she wouldn't have thought she could make.

Queen Bulma was a compassionate and seemingly always happy woman. She had heard rumors that if she ever got set off on a temper, the opposing side was gone. But as far as she knew, she hadn't done anything to set off a temper, nothing the Queen could prove anyway.

Then why was she staring at her like that? Like she was a cowering mouse who was trying to steal cheese, and had been caught by a cat. One of complete mistrust…

She shifted on her feet, nervous under the stare.

"Where's my son?" Bulma asked after a moment of staring. She swallowed again.

"The prince? I'm not sure…"

"You once said you thought he'd be back soon."

"Yes…," she agreed.

"So you must know where he is if you can make an estimate of his return." The girl blushed and chewed.

"I couldn't say exactly," she murmured.

"Well don't say exactly then. Just tell me where he is," Bulma repeated.

She looked up to the sky, almost pleading to it for answers. And it was with shock and great gratitude that she met the first raindrop with an upturned face. The drop fell from the dark clouds above and landed squarely on her nose.

It slid down, dropping to the stone found below her as she brought her face back to standard position.

For show more than anything, she held out her hand with a tilted head.

"I believe it's rain," she said. The queen nodded. "Well, don't want to be caught in a storm," she said wisely, grabbing the skirts at the knees and hiking the hems off the ground.

Without waiting for the queen to make any action, she ran quite quickly back into the castle. Her master was gone, the prince was still invisible, and the ruler of the country was suspicious of her.

Things could not work more against her, she thought tiredly. But at least she wasn't caught in that turned awful down pour…

The two ran, feet slinking in the wet ground that was threatening to turn into mud. Pan had her bundle of clothing hugged up to her chest, but only one hand was able to support it as the other was trying without luck to hold her dress up enough to give her legs room to run. Her whole run was awkward, but the prince was in no position to help her.

It was becoming apparent that the royal had not spent much time in the mud, as he was having a particularly hard time making his way through it. His blue eyes were glaring down at the ground as if it were its own fault to be composed of something the reacted with water so messily.

A light flashed from behind them, and seconds later the entire sky was filled with a thundering boom that seemed to shake the very trees and water around it.

Pan let out a un-lady like yell, her whole body jumping, hands flying to her heart, her clothing falling to the mud. She had stopped dead in her tracks, making Trunks stop beside her. Without having to deal with walking through the horrendous mud, he took the time to bend down and grab the dropped clothing before looking at Pan.

Her eyes were slammed shut, teeth gnawing at her lip.

"…Pan?" he asked quizzically. She turned to him sharply; as if she had forgotten that he was even alive, yet alone walking next to her. His look deepened at her own glance she threw him. She shook her head.

"I'm sorry. I just really hate…" she trailed off, but her eyes had scanned the horizon, her hands gripping slightly tighter at the opposite arms they were folded against. It was apparent what she really hated, and while he sometimes liked to pretend he had the powers of Gods, in reality there was no way to stop the thunder that was causing her to pull at her arms, dashing off at a quick-paced walk towards the house – and safety.

He didn't stop to worry about the fact she had left him with all of her clothes, but simply continued carrying them and made to catch up with Pan.

Thunder had boomed a second time before she had gotten close enough to the house to reach out and grab the door handle. She had flung the door open and threw herself indoors. Trunks was soon to follow, slamming the door behind them both.

They stood in the middle of Pan's kitchen, Trunks' mind mainly contemplating where to drop the now very wet pile of clothing. Pan didn't move from where she stood; thick droplets of rain dripping of her hair and chin, where she made no move to wipe them away.

It was the first time he could say he saw her showing an emotion akin to fear. Of a storm? It just didn't fit in with the personality he had mentally constructed for her. It was almost alarming, this 'fear' of hers. She stood, fingers still clawing at her arms, teeth mutilating her lips, and he was almost positive her whole body was shaking.

The stubborn, annoying girl was gone, replaced with… well… her eyes were narrowed as if angry with herself, or perhaps the weather, and her eyes flashed. She wasn't frightened. Her body was.

He tilted his head. In Pan's place stood a stubborn, annoying girl who was shaking from something. He took a timid step towards her. She heard the step, and accordingly turned to look at him.

He coughed slightly, generally surprised at seeing her full portrait. Of course she wasn't wearing anything but a thin white dress, double layered to block any viewing of exposed, wet skin. Her hair was the messiest he had ever seen it; blown this way and that, half still tied up, most hanging drenched over her shoulders.

And she was shivering, not happy about it, and looked as if she were going to walk over to him and kick him, no reason attached. He almost wished she would – just to stop whatever was causing her to dig out her upper arms.

She simply shook her head, sighed and went to walk away, arms still crossed. She paused, as if thinking better, and turned back to him. She reached out her hands, took the pile of clothing from him, before turning around again to head upstairs.

Trunks dumbly followed, not sure where to go or what to do, now that his lovely day was taken away, not that nightfall hadn't been almost there anyway. She hadn't said a thing to him since coming inside, and he was growing fidgety against the silence.

He followed her into a room, that judging by the areas for pumped water and baths, was the cleaning and washing room. She unceremoniously dropped the bundle in her arms to the ground, and began to pick an item of clothing up, one at a time and straighten them out.

Each item was pulled over hooks, presumably for drying purposes. It was then that he noticed that he too, was wearing soaked through clothing. He glanced down and was somewhat disappointed to see the comfortable tunic from Pan was now too wet to be dried while being worn. His hair was letting water droplets roll down his neck and back, in a gesture that was so irritating he marveled how he hadn't noticed it before then.

He hastily reached his hands out, and ran fingers through the fine lavender hair, pulling at places that after years of bathing he had identified as the key spots to wringing out water.

He could do nothing about the state of his clothes, except later exchange them for dry ones if Pan ever deemed it considerable enough to offer them to him.

She had finished laying out her layers of clothes to dry, and turned to look at him. Her eyes took in his appearance, face slackening for a moment. She was staring, lips slightly parted, an odd noise escaping her mouth before she could stop it. She shook her head almost comically, and blinking her eyes to his face. He blinked himself, somewhat confused by her earlier expression, until he glanced down and realized that his shirt was so wet it was pulled across his chest, showing every single ridge that molded it.

He smirked.

She caught the gesture, scowling and made a move to reply to his non-verbal retort when thunder boomed from the window a bit behind them. She jumped predictably, and after staring at the window for a moment, pushed past Trunks towards her own room.

He followed.

She glared at him when her fingers were curling at the collar of her light dress, indicating obviously that she was prepared to rid herself of the clinging, drenched object. He, being the wonderful gentleman that he was, turned around at her glare, and obediently kept his eyes staring at the wood door that was now ahead of him.

It was almost like an odd game really. One played by children, as he remembered seeing some play such a game. One with their back turned away; hearing everything that was happening behind them, choosing when to look back at the others and hopefully catch them moving… but the stakes were higher this time.

It wasn't a little childhood's game where if he looked back against the rules, he was scolded for being a cheater. If he looked back in this game, and saw Pan with any lack of clothing that she would not be happy about, his very life was at stake.

He had come to terms with what Pan was capable of, and he didn't place emotional murder beyond so.

A sound of her clearing her throat indicated to him that she was finished undressing, but he turned around with caution nonetheless. He could see her disregarded clothing hung on a hook, the odd drop falling from the hem of the dress. It had really been pouring outside.

"I'll get you some clothes then," she murmured lightly, padding off past him.

He decided to just stay where he was, letting her return to him with the clothing. He turned his blue eyes to the window, where the rain was thundering down, and to him, was actually quite soothing.

It made a scattering noise on the roof above him, which set his nerves at ease for some reason. His own room wasn't on the top floor, so this was the first time he had truly heard rain on a roof. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, briefly wondering if it would stay put and not cave in under the water's pressure.

Pan sauntered back into the room, a pair of simple pants and shirt in hand. She handed the articles to Trunks without a word, and he took them in the same wordless fashion.

She turned from him and made her way to her bed. Trunks supposed this was her version of letting him have some privacy, but then again, he really didn't have to be in her room anyway.

There were many other rooms in the house… but all of the other rooms were empty. Completely empty. It was odd being invisible… to walk past a mirror, or a puddle of water, and see no reflection that was supposed to be there. Pan was so comforting because she could see what no one else in the world could. And he wanted to be beside that.

Even during the night, no, especially during the night, when his thoughts were prone to wander off on the most unusual paths. But he was quite certain that he was not welcome in her bedroom, as last time he tried to sleep in her bed, they had ended up sleeping outside on the ground.

He didn't want a replay. Especially considering the weather…

He took one last look at Pan; her blankets pulled up around herself, almost completely covering the pale yellow dress she had slipped into, her damp hair untied and falling down her back. Her dark eyes met his, and an eyebrow was raised.

Trunks knew when his welcome had been worn out, and obediently gave a small nod to the girl and with clothes under arm, went to the door, his fingers pausing at the handle.

"Pan, are you okay?" he asked, turning his head back to her. She scowled slightly at him, and folded her arms.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she asked, an embarrassed tone sneaking into her voice.

"The thunder… it seems to…"

"It seems to what Trunks?" she asked, more annoyance present than embarrassment. He turned completely away from the door and stalked over to her bed.

"It seems to make you jump half a head every time you hear it. You were shaking like a leaf in there, and jumping around more than a frog. So I just wanted to know if you are okay."

She stared at him for a moment longer, internally weighing her options. The silence was so deafening and prolonged that he thought that she wasn't going to reply at all, and made a slight move to exit the room when her soft voice called him back.

"My kitten died…" she whispered. "When it was storming like this…" she had turned her head to look out the closed window; the beautiful afternoon transformed in minutes to the howling monster outside.

"It was a horrible storm… and she had just died."

"How old were you?" he asked quietly. She gave a small shrug,

"Small. I hated rain after that. Couldn't stand going outside. My parents couldn't do anything about it, and even Goten had tried to tease me to get outside, but I just stayed put. Have you ever lost something that was dear to you? It hurts. It's a hurt that won't go away, and even now, when I can't remember the kitten's name, or even what it looked like, it still hurts."

Trunks stood where he was, unsure of how to act. A part of him wanted to go over to the bed and comfort her, but another part was telling him to just stay where he was.

"My grandfather was the one that eventually got me to leave. He said wherever the kitten was… it was happy. And that likewise I should be happy. I didn't want to be happy; I wanted to cry and try to never forget my friend. But my grandfather told me to not think about the kitten, because she wasn't thinking about me."

Trunks raised his eyebrows at this, expecting an endearing story from a Son ancestor, but instead getting a remark that rivaled something his father might have said; had a precious pet been lost to him. But Pan was smiling slightly.

"He told me, that the kitten was off chasing balls of yarn and mice wherever she was. That she was having a good time, and not thinking about how sad that she was to be away from me. He said that when she died, it had stormed for a reason. So that every time it rained from then on, it meant that she was thinking about me. He said it was only fair to think about her when she thought about me… to be happy when she was happy, and thoughtful when she was.

"From then on, whenever it rained, I would sit up with my grandfather and we would talk about my kitten. I was never sad on sunny days. Soon, when it rained we didn't even talk about her… we would talk about other things. I grew very close to my grandfather, and I didn't forget my kitten, I just… moved on. But every time it rained…

"One time… it was raining hard. Storming. It was horrible. At the time, I was happy… I remember. It was like, my kitten was trying to send a special 'hello', and I was excited to pass the thought on to my grandfather. But when I went to his room…

"He was sleeping," she said, very quietly. He was looking at her, and she didn't seem to notice. Didn't seem to notice that he was staring with a slack jaw at the tears that were slipping unchecked, silently down her face.

"I thought he was sleeping anyway… I went to wake him… but he was cold. Very cold." Trunks breathe hitched and he turned his eyes away. He knew how this story would proceed, and a part of him was itching to yell at her to stop. Every child hit an experience in their life when their innocence was stripped from them. He couldn't help but wonder if this was hers.

"It's storming out… the kind I've only seen twice before… not overly strong… but meaningful. I shiver, and I know. It's one of those storms. It was storming hard when I crawled next to an un-breathing grandfather. It was storming hard the night my kitten died. And I forget my kitten now… and I'm starting to forget him as well. His face is blurry in mind… his voice faint. And it's storming just like that outside now… how can I not think that someone else dear to me has just been torn away from this world? How can I not think that someone else is dead? And how long will it be before I forget their face too?"

Her face was turned completely downcast, and he couldn't read her emotions even if he had tried to see them. He saw her logic… even though, surely, the occurrences were unconnected. He wanted to express this to her, but his lips remained shut, his feet unmoving.

And the storm outside did not budge either.

sighs So marks the end of my Easter weekend. Hope that wonderful bunny brought everyone some nice chocolate.

Angel Eevee