A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer. Thank you all for your reviews, I will add a thank-you/response chapter when this is all done and give everyone proper thanks, because you guys never cease to make me feel special.

Last Time: Trunks and Pan share two almost-kisses, they discuss how both of them have changed, Vegeta decides to spend the rest of his day with Bulma, and Keipher is showing painful signs of his attempt to kiss Pan, and Trunks' reaction

"Death by Rain"

The sun had started to disappear at the tip of the horizon before they decided to pack up their makeshift picnic and head home. Neither Trunks or Pan had eaten much more, or talked much more for that matter, after their initial closeness and teasing almost-kisses.

They had napped, gazed and just generally enjoyed each other's silent company. It was an odd experience for both of them, because it had never occurred to the prince that one could actually have a good time with someone without saying anything. That he could simply be sitting next to Pan, watching the water falls in the distance and the wind whistle through the leaf canopy. To know that what he saw was what she saw, and to know that while she sat inches from him they were thinking the same things, surely. This sort of mutual silence was comforting and novel to the prince.

It wasn't for Pan. She had long since learned that some of the best memories were ones where no one said a thing. Ones where two people could just enjoy the sound of the other's breathing, the closeness, whether in body or situation. She had seen it in her parents at an early age. How they could sit for hours never saying a word to each other, simply basking in the other's presence. It did not strike her on a physical level, the silence, but deep down it startled her that she could be having the same sort of afternoon that her parents would create, with, of all people, the prince.

It had occurred to her that this was odd, and that while sitting in a treetop watching the landscape was nothing spectacular, it was the silence that edged around them. Because it was comfortable. And hours shouldn't be comfortable. Especially with someone who was… well… Trunks-like.

And then, even more startling, was the vocal voice in her head that was telling her to stop proclaiming everything as a miracle when the prince did something human. She was allowed to have a comfortable silence with him. This was okay. This was normal. Because he is normal. And because you-

Pan had sufficiently silenced her inner voice before it could tell her just what she was, and before it ranted what Trunk was in connection.

Pan didn't need a snotty voice in her head to tell her what she was becoming to realize. To know that when she looked at the prince, she didn't see the pig-headed man she liked to call him. She didn't see the royal title. In fact, she rarely even saw the handsome man that Trunks was. It was just Trunks. The Trunks that would be gone the next day, and she could actually admit to herself, without a doubt, something that occurred to her in the deep quiet.

That while he was anxious to get home, and while she was anxious to be able to take the burden of an invisible prince off her shoulder, she didn't want it to end.

She didn't want to wake up and find that there was no one to demand she be awake. Or no one to steal pies from the kitchen. Or no one to spontaneously kiss her while she held sharp objects in her hand…

Pan had blinked, pulling herself back to where she was – sitting in the tree. Her fingers brushed over the fabric that covered her left hand, wincing as they scraped over the tender flesh.

This would be all that was left of her time with the prince, she thought dully. And she didn't want him to go suddenly, and she bit her lip, which had more teeth abuse than was called for in a day, and didn't move. As long as she stayed still, keeping her gaze away, he would still be beside her.

He would not go.

But he would. And it had driven Pan into silence, a small hole driven through her chest, as she wanted to plea to the heavens to let him stay.

She wasn't sure why. Why she would want such an annoying, and he was, man to be with her all of the time. But it nagged at her. And she closed her eyes, unable to resist the dream of never having to say good bye to the person she was-

No. Mustn't say it aloud. Once it's said, that would be that. No turning back.

The ride home had been mostly the same. The prince was somewhat confused at the sudden lapse into silence, but subconsciously seemed to realize there was significance to it. Pan was battling with herself over her own thoughts.

She absolutely did not want the prince to stay another second.

She wanted to have him trotting beside her forever.

She wanted him to be a good person.

She wanted to teach him everything she knew.

She needed him to go.

She needed him to stay.

It was an odd sort of epiphany, to realize suddenly that your most sworn enemy turned to be someone that she was actually plotting ways to make him stay longer at her house with. Maybe she could delay taking him to the castle or…

She didn't like him. She just liked having him around. There was a difference, wasn't there?

She closed her eyes to the whole thing. Trunks had said she had changed, and she was beginning to agree with him.

There was nothing to be done. She didn't like sitting behind the prince on a horse, thinking of why she had almost kissed him just because she wanted to, or why she had let him sleep in her bed. This kind of thing was not her. Trunks was causing her to act irrationally.

He had to go. He did.

The prince, in no way, could stay at her house.

Pan would return him in the morning.

But that didn't mean she couldn't hold what time they had until then.

Her arms unconsciously tightened around the prince, and a contented sigh was breathed. Had she been more aware, she might have realized, that it had not come from her.

He had been pacing forever, back and forth, the familiar flooring starting to be worn away by his steps. Every so often he would glance up to the darkened outside, the windows open so the candles didn't cast reflections on the glass.

It was getting darker and darker, and the softest rustle or thud would make him look up, in hope of seeing her.

Goten had been rather shocked to learn that Pan was not here. A cold fear and desperation had swept over him, such he had never felt, and his mind had raced to what he could do, sure that the castle guard he had unknowingly sent to his niece had gotten her and taken her away. To do what with, he didn't know. Kill her? Torture her? Ravish her?

He had no idea what the man wanted with her, but he did know that neither he nor she were there.

It had been a small mercy when a stable boy came by and explained that his mistress had taken a horse that morning and had gone into town. Hope had surged through Goten. Perhaps she had left soon enough to miss the man. Perhaps he had come and found her gone and simply left.

There was a shuffle. He looked up. Nothing.

His hands were wringing themselves numb, and he couldn't stop his worry until she was back home. He wondered if this is what it was like to be a parent. He had seen his mother pull a similar pacing, though hers had usually been accompanied with murderous cursing. If this was it, he proclaimed inwardly, he would remain fruitless.

There was another shuffle, and what sounded like a giggle.

Black eyes bore back to the window, and he felt like he could fly as he saw a familiar, beautiful, charming, niecely girl walk by.

He jumped from his spot, mid-pace in the kitchen and flew to the door. She had already opened it and was stepping inside, her head turned behind her and talking quietly, by the time he reached her. She faced forward, a surprised look across her face.

"Uncle?" was all she managed out before the air was sucked from her lungs in a forceful hug. He pulled her close to him, leaned back slightly, so her feet were actually lifted off the ground. A squeak was heard in the form of an objection, but he paid it no mind, and only released her when her breathing became rigid and he feared for her lungs.

She looked at him with something akin to anger.

"What are you doing?" she asked, coughing and rubbing below her throat. Goten shook his head, looking her up and down as if making sure she was still there.

"I had to make sure you were all right," he said. She scowled at him.

"I can stay alone on the fa-"

"It's not that," he interrupted quickly. "There was a reason, and still is," he said, ushering her more inside and closing the door. He locked it.

"Goten, what's going on?" she asked, a slight worry taking over her voice.

"I'm going to stay here the night. Just in case," he said, steadfastly to the bolted door.

"Just in case of what?" she asked half-desperately.

"In case he comes. I want to be able to rip him apart if need be," Goten replied, his resolute expression broken by a yawn. Pan blinked at him and cast a look behind her.

"Have you been drinking?" she asked, so seriously that Goten couldn't find it in himself to be offended. He shook his head and motioned to the table. Pan took the message as well as a seat, while he himself went and got some glasses to fill with water. A small objection and the pointing to of the bag she had brought with her made Goten bring out a bottle of wine to sip while they talked instead.

He poured it carefully on the counter, and paused briefly when he heard Pan whispering something. He looked up from the counter, into the window, where the table was reflected on the glass from the candlelight. Pan was turned again, smiling slightly and gave a nod.

She faced forward and picked at the table as if nothing were amiss. Goten let it pass, bringing the glasses to the table. He heard a slight shuffle and ran to the doorway leading to the hallway. His hawk eyes glared but neither saw or sensed nothing.

"Why are you so jumpy?" she asked, with a small tone of guilt. He looked at her carefully, her raised eyebrows, slight burn over her nose and messy hair reminding him painfully that this was the girl he had played with while she was a child and he wanted to act like one. And that he loved her immeasurably, and that he did not want to tell her what he had to.

But because he loved her, he really had to.

"I gave directions to the house today," he said heavily, dropping in his chair much the same way. She grinned and took a sip.

"Ah, the pathological sinner strikes again." Goten glared mildly.

"Panny, he was from the castle, and he said he needed to find you. I thought it had to do with the farm. I told him the way." A look at his niece told him that she had yet to spot the tragic wrongdoing, and he knew it wouldn't be apparent until he gave the whole story. He swallowed, and his throat was as dry as sand, despite the wine he was now gulping.

"I think I saw him," Pan said; in the pause while he swung back his glass. He squinted at her.

"Did you?" he asked, an odd look of panic crossing his face that she couldn't recall having seen there before.

"Yes. On my way to town today, which is where I went," she explained as he looked curious, "there was a man that asked for further directions here. I… I didn't like the feel of him so I sent him in the wrong way."

Goten felt relief brush through him, though his fingers still stayed tight on his glass. Just because he was misdirected, didn't mean that he wouldn't try and find his way back. He voiced this.

"Well, he could still come back."

"Maybe," she said with a laugh, "but why is this so wrong?"

"Pan," he began, taking a breath, and just wanting to get this over with. "Last night there was a murder in town. The bartender was positive that the man you misdirected was the person who poisoned or whatever her in the bar. He said so while I checked the body, and the description was so much the same. I'm just worried. I have to stay uncase he wants to kill you too!" he said, voice rising and falling with franticness.

Pan chewed her lip.

"Why would he want to kill me?" she asked quietly.

Her uncle stared at her sadly. Pan felt like she might choke, sliding pieces together. Goten was hesitant. Goten knew her past.

"The person he killed… did I know them?" she asked, her voice coming out strangled. Goten looked down and gave a resisting nod.

"Your friend," he said, voice barely audible. "The one that got you to run through the cornfield stalkers and do rain dances." She laughed wetly, her face distorted from trying to cry and smile at the same time. She pushed herself from the table.

Goten didn't stop her.

Trunks was staring at Pan's bed, head tilted and mindlessly tapping his foot. There was no real reason to share a bed tonight, as there was no storm, so she would sleep soundly. No reason that he would be able to justify, other than perhaps he simply wouldn't mind sleeping there, if only to annoy her. It was their last night together, after all.

And he wasn't sure if he could go anywhere else. He was only familiar with one other bedroom, and her uncle had said that he was staying the night. What if it was his? What if, just as he was getting to sleep, her uncle slipped in under the sheets?

What if her uncle slept naked?

He shuddered slightly, and shook his head. Even if her uncle didn't take the room he had tried to sleep in previously, there was the matter of noise. He would still be able to hear Trunks, and any noise from a seemingly unoccupied room would arise more suspicion than they needed. If he were in the same room as Pan, her uncle could place the noise on her.

Yes, perhaps he had better stay there. He smirked despite himself.

Plunking himself on the bed in a rather un-princely way, he took to unfastening his boots and kicking them off. His fingers were at the edge of his tunic, pulling upwards when he paused. Having him in her bed may be enough to set Pan off, he wasn't sure if he should be in her bed shirtless.

Debating, he let the fabric drop. Besides, going shirtless really left him open, not to mention cold. He pulled at the covers, straightening them out, wondering if there were not housekeepers to make the beds for them. He was about to scoot over to the far side by the wall when the door tore itself open and a Pan staggered in. He looked at her with a silly smile on his face.

"And she graces us with her-"

"Stop it," she interrupted smartly. He paused mid-word and blinked. So soon was gone the Pan he had spent the entire afternoon with. The one that he had enjoyed the light banter with and the extreme closeness the day had brought.

This Pan was pacing quickly, her arms shaking, a bottle of wine clutched tightly in one so that he was fearful she might shatter it in her fingers. As he wasn't keen on letting her bloody her other hand he stood up and grabbed her shoulders when she came towards him in a pace.

She stopped abruptly, catching him off guard as he thought she would plough on. She looked up at him, and he was unearthed by whatever was playing across her face, so much that he let his arms drop.

"Are you crying?" he asked dumbly.

"She's dead," she said so quietly he didn't hear.

"Pardon?"

"She's dead!" she hollered, her face towards the ceiling, Trunks dropping on the bed once again in surprise. "She's dead, gone, killed! By that scummy man that smells! I hate him! I hate you! I hate grandfather!" she shrieked, the bottle actually making an odd noise in protest.

Trunks hastily tore the bottle from her hand and set it on the floor. He dragged her down beside him, hands on her shoulders once again and turned her to face him.

"Pan, talk calmly. I don't understand. Who's dead?"

"She told me fortune. She whispered it to me. And it's come true, and I didn't want it to but it did. And she said that I wouldn't see her again. She said that. And now it's true because she's dead. It's true…" she shook her head numbly, and tears were streaming on her cheeks, making Trunks have to fight back the urge to gently wipe them away.

In her more quiet and calm ramble he was able to put together what she was saying. The redhead. The young friend that had told him so assuredly to take a chance on Pan. That had earned him a rightful yelling and earned her a cut hand and loss of dignity. He had torn his faith away from her, but Pan was right… she had said they wouldn't see each other…

Not that it mattered! Surely her future predicting mattered little when compared with the distraught girl in front of him. He lowered his head to try and catch her eye.

"Pan it's okay," he murmured.

"No it's not!" she said forcibly back at him. He nodded.

"But it's okay that you're upset. Don't bottle it, okay? This is okay," he continued. He was not the most perceptive or intuitive men in the world, and his sudden words of comfort were a surprise to Pan, and would have been a surprise to Trunks if they had been his own. But they belonged in fact to his Mother, who had comforted him when his Father said tears were forbidden.

She seemed to like his tone and the warm hands resting on her shoulders, anchoring her to something other than the torment of feelings sweeping through her and the headache her troubles were causing her.

She had launched herself to his chest before he knew she had left his arm length. Her hands bunched at his tunic, and he was instantly glad he had left it on, wondering if she would have gripped his skin with the same ferocity.

Having taken advantage of leading comforter, he found he knew what could be done. And having seen her somewhat distraught the night before, he wasn't overtaken by the turn of character.

His strong hands found their way to rub her back awkwardly, and he wished he had more practice in this area.

"It's okay," he repeated quietly.

"What is?" she asked, and the wetness of her voice made him wonder how much she was crying. He wondered if she really wanted an answer or just wanted a voice to hold on to.

"It's okay to be sad with this," he murmured. "It's okay to hate… Koslin did you say?" his mind rapidly connecting with the only person they both knew that smelled. She nodded wearily, and he tightened his grip, determined to find the whole story tomorrow when she would have calmed down. And then murder Koslin for this.

"I hate him."

"And that's okay. To hate him. And… me," he said with an almost questioning tone, wondering how he came into play, before continuing to list off the people she had said she hated. "And it's okay to hate your grandfather."

Here he paused. While he had not voiced his curiosity at his name, he felt he had to for this one.

"Your grandfather?" he asked quietly. She nodded, her fingers tightening further. He looked down and the knuckles were stark white with her grip.

"Because he had to die," she said very quietly, almost to herself. "And make it so every storm takes someone away from me."

Trunks' eyes widened. Of course. Her true fear. That every wild storm always killed someone. And the cycle had yet to be broken.

He found himself cursing her grandfather as well, though it had been her kitten that had started the circle, hadn't it?

He had nothing to say, so just held her tightly and waited for her tears to slow, though they seemed to be falling with the same vigilance as the storm had.

Goten watched the window idly. He felt horrible for having to spring thatnews on Pan. He knew he would have to tell her. He had decided in town before hand that it would hurt her more if he kept her friend's death from her, and it would have been harder to explain why he was needed there without.

But still, it hurt. It hurt in that parental way he was discovering when she had come home late and the look on her face as she left the kitchen. He had thought she would have more questions, or at the least seek him out as comfort, but she did not.

He remembered as children how she had always come to him with things. She had liked being able to cry in his lap, when she wasn't feeling very brave. She had cried just as recently when she found her engagement to Keipher still held true. And that had been only a year ago.

He was expecting her to lean into his arms, teary, and take out her bitter anguish on him. A sadness that he knew she had to be feeling. His niece wasn't made of stone; things affected her. He usually had a knack for guessing which ones.

Yet she hadn't cried to him. No opened arms were needed. She had simply grabbed the bottle of wine and torn up the stairs. She had clearly taken her grief in her room; he could hear her yelling to herself.

He had wanted so much to be able to hug her and sooth, but he didn't want to invade on her. If she needed to vent this way, then he would have to comply. Goten wished very much that his brother was here. It would have been his responsibility. He could have let Gohan go and disturb her, thus becoming the insensitive father, while he went in afterwards and murmured about how stupid Gohan was, allowing him to be the winning uncle.

But no such deals could be made with him being the only one in the house. All he could do was sit and make sure it stayed that way.

His dark eyes kept a close look out the window, waiting with edgy emotions if anyone would try and sneak in. He would protect his niece from that murderer.

But by complete dark his eyes were starting to droop. It was so dark outside that he couldn't see beyond the windowpanes. Witching hour. Feeling that if anyone lurked out there at this hour in the night they would probably be killed by some hag passing through or die from the cold.

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and stood from his spot. If anyone came in now, he would have to rely on him hearing them before they got to Pan. He decided to take a room upstairs closer to the actual stairwell so he could hear them on the stairs.

As an extra precaution, he placed numerous pots and pans right in front of the front door, so anyone who stepped through would unknowingly make a large ruckus of noise, and if they weren't startled off, he would surely awaken from the clatter.

He trudged upstairs, the thoughts of a nice warm bed in his childhood bedroom pushing him on. He paused outside of the door he knew to be Pan's and put an ear to the wood. He couldn't hear her anymore. No pacing, as she was sometimes prone to do when stressed, no crying that he could hear of…

He held his breath and slowly cracked the door open. He peeked through the slit and caught sight of Pan. She was laying down on her bed, most of her outer clothes strewn carelessly on the floor, her black hair falling over her face obscuring her expression from him.

He could tell by the jumpy way her side rose up and down that she was not asleep, but she was obviously not wanting to talk to him or she would have bade him in. Nodding at her decisions, he closed the door again with a soft thud and moved on to his own room.

Pan creaked an eye open with the closing of the door; lifting her head slightly to make sure her uncle had left.

She turned onto her back with a sigh and looked up at the ceiling. The prince was sitting calmly beside her, his back resting against the headboard. As if he felt her stare, he took his eyes from the wall he had been staring at and looked at her.

She hated being like this again. Hadn't last night been bad enough? What good was it being an emotionally unattached farm girl if all he ever saw her do was cry? But the pain of her death was all too real. They hadn't been extremely close, closer to acquaintances more than anything really, but it still struck her. There was a tightness in her chest that wouldn't unwind.

His hands were intertwined loosely, and she so wanted to let those arms hold her again. To just be held, as her father or uncle would have, except it would be so different from him. Because she didn't know him. Because he didn't know her. And because she felt oddly safe when with him.

She hated herself so much for wanting to be in his arms. She wound her own around herself, which offered her little comfort.

"I'm sorry," she said at last. He gazed back at her expressionless.

"Pan…"

"No, I just am. I'm fine now. You can go."

She had cast her eyes down, but at the silence that followed she drew them back up and the two held a gaze for a lengthy moment.

"You don't have to be so brave all of the time," he said quietly. Pan blinked.

"I'm not brave," she said contradictorily, staring at him as if he were rather stupid. She had been crying and tempering at him. That was not bravery.

He returned her look.

"You are. You're brave, and sensitive, and thoughtful, and considerate, albeit not to me, and-"

"I'm happy!" she said, louder than she would have liked, but needing to stop him. He did stop, his hands in the process of ticking off qualities. He smiled.

"Yes, I suppose you're happy too. Except when you're angry. And you're-"

"No!" she rubbed her temples. "I'm happy it was her. Happy. And that makes me terrible and heartless and-"

"You aren't happy it was her," he said, in disbelief.

"Yes I am."

"Pan, if you were happy it were her, you wouldn't have been so angry and upset minutes ago. Don't try and pull that. It hurts you, I can tell. Honestly, Pan. I can see it. I can feel it. It hurts."

Her demure cracked a bit at his words, and she tried to keep her face indifferent.

"I'm glad it was her over my parents," she whispered, biting her lip that looked permanently bruised. "That's why it's horrible."

"No, it isn't. Everyone feels that way. It's okay to prioritize the people you know and care for. I'm sure there are lots of people you wished it had been besides her. It's okay that you're glad your parents are safe. That doesn't mean you wanted her dead. It doesn't mean you truly want someone else to die though you wish it had been them instead of her. It's okay to think that you wish it had been me instead of her. That doesn't make you a cold hearted. It makes you grieving and maybe a little selfish. But everyone is selfish Pan. It's okay to be selfish."

"Why is everything 'okay' with you?" she asked, as if trying desperately to change the subject.

"Because the more times it's said, the more it sinks in." He brushed some hair away from her eyes, which she closed. She didn't move for a long while, to the point where he thought she had fallen asleep when she opened her eyes.

"Thank you," she said softly. He couldn't really remember having the words directed at him before. At least not in the sincere way that she had uttered them. He felt momentarily floored.

He remained silent, almost feeling that a 'you're welcome' would be rude and take away from what was being passed in the silence.

"You can go if you like," she said quietly, pulling the quilts on her bed higher on her shoulder. Trunks looked to her, but she refused to meet his eye. Taking this as a hint, that if she truly meant it she would be glaring her heart out, he un-elegantly slipped between the blankets and slid down into the bed.

She looked at him with a small amount of surprise but also a small smile.

"Might need a body guard if smelly Koslin strikes," he explained.

She turned on her side so the two were facing one another, and he watched her slowly drift to sleep. It was a while for her expression of stress to slip and her breathing become even. But he waited obediently until she was asleep, just so he would know that she was there. That she wouldn't be up all night worrying.

He watched her breathe a bit before closing his own eyes, his mind slipping into the sleeping world. He felt proud of his gentlemen acts that evening, though perhaps sharing her bed didn't count. But he had been understanding and offered what he thought to be sound comfort. And had made sure she slept.

There was a tilt in the mattress, as Pan pulled herself onto her elbow, fingers gently pushing his hair aside. His mind was too far-gone to wake up, but he felt her presence, perturbed that she was awake. He had waited for her to sleep!

"You're wrong. I am horrible," she whispered, and he heard it from a distance. "Because I think, I wouldn't have wanted you dead instead of her," she said, her hand brushing his face one last time.

From the far off echoing place her voice seemed to come from, in Trunks' mind, he could feel the sadness in it. He wondered how a sentence could bring her so much self-hatred and worry over.

When that same sentence made him so overly happy.

Next chapter they finally go back, and ends can begin to resolve… sort of. J

Angel Eevee