Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday Astarii…happy birthday to me!!! OK, it's late, it's lame, but whatever. My birthday was on Monday! +sings+ "You are sixteen, going on seventeen, here's what I have to say…" (realizes no one but herself has seen the sound of music) Anywayz, consider this a late birthday present from me. hehe. (reviews and online gift certificates will be accepted at belated gifts) Just kidding…about the gift certificate part. ;) Well, hope everyone is doing okies-dokies, and I hope you like the chapter. Read on!
P.s. For anyone who wanted to know, my trip to Utah was swell. Thanks for your consideration and lovely bon voyage emails! (no, I didn't go skiing for everyone who mentioned that I should enjoy it for them. my apologies. did I ever even mention I was going skiing in the first place? +blinks+)
When the interviews were over, Pan, with a thankful heart that all went well, was escorted to the room she had waited in before.
Mary Kate dashed into the room with an excited smile, and she couldn't stop complimenting and congratulating her relieved friend.
"I'm just ready to get home." Pan sighed. "But I still have another whole interview tomorrow." She forced a breath through her teeth and Mary Kate sympathized with furrowed brows.
With a glance to Mary Kate, Pan spoke up again with, "You wanted to do some sightseeing, didn't you?" She could read her friend's expression—they were flying home tomorrow and wouldn't be able to get much sightseeing done between Pan's other interview, her magazine executive lunch, and the plane ride home nearly just after.
Mary Kate was about to assure her it was OK, and Pan was about to go even though she didn't want, but both were interrupted when Goten burst into the room.
"Panny!" He cheered, taking her into a monstrous, Son man hug, and she hugged him back, though maybe not exactly as enthusiastic. "You did good." He assured her, and she nodded her thanks.
"Hey," He continued. "do you guys want to head out and do something?" Pan and Mary Kate exchanged glances. "Trunks just wants to go back to our hotel, but I wanted to go out. Even if it's just to eat or hang out somewhere. What about you guys?"
"Well, Pan was actually saying the same thing as…" She paused, not knowing what to call him. "Um, well, Trunks. But thanks for the offer." Pan shot her a curious glance, and Mary Kate explained they had already met outside.
"Do you want to come with me?" Goten offered. "Those two can bum out of the fun if they want." He flashed a spawn of Goku smile. "We could get something to eat and sightsee a bit of you'd like…?" Mary Kate nodded enthusiastically, and Pan agreed that was a great idea.
Half an hour later Pan stumbled into her hotel room, kicking her shoes off as she made her way to her bedroom where she promptly undressed.
Clad in a robe and slippers, she padded to the living room and plopped on the couch, picking up the closest magazine to browse lazily.
Not really to her surprise, Trunks was on the cover—wasn't there anyone more interesting around at all?—and she flipped to his article. There was the usual topics. Their breakup (it was this months magazine), Vixen Entertainment's appliances hitting the stores, massive stock purchasing madness for Vixen, and a short little blip of Bulma in the interview.
There was a harsh knock on her door, and she set the magazine down to answer it, not in the mood to have to tell the maids to come back another time, and not in the mood to accept a stack of courtesy towels and soaps.
She opened the door, her baby blue robe split to her thighs, her slippers making her feet sweaty, and was surprised to see…Trunks. She lifted a brow for a moment at his figure, standing there, his shirt sleeves rolled up, collar undone, tie loosened, both hands grasping the door frame, his hair deliciously ruffled—she slapped herself at that thought and waited for him to speak.
He seemed tired, drained, and the silence ensued for several moments, both in the doorway, Pan curious as to what this visit was for.
"We need to talk." He said simply. But she didn't want to talk. She didn't want the energy-sucking act of trying to put thoughts into words correctly. She didn't want to address anything. Didn't feel there was anything to address. But he was here, and she couldn't not let him in…couldn't not let him say what he felt he needed to say and hear her voice in return…
"Come in." She tried to brush the situation off as totally casual—perhaps it was and she was just expecting too much. She glanced at him again as she made her way to her own bedroom. No, she wasn't expecting too much.
She walked into her room, her fingers lacing her thick hair into a braid as her feet padded on the carpet. She noticed he was following her, just as she had intended, and she slipped into the bathroom a moment to snap a rubber band around the end of the plait.
She stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, watching his form that was sitting on the foot of the bed.
"You did good today, Pan. I'm proud you had the courage to do it." She thanked him silently with a slight smile and a warm nod, and he stood up, almost nervously. Her eyes took in every physical aspect of him: every movement, every jerk, every flexing or relaxing muscle. She'd known him too long not to be able to gauge his physical behavior.
"Pan," He began, and she blinked slowly. "you know what I wanted to talk to you about." And yes, she did. She had known ever since she had opened the door. She took a couple steps towards him, becoming quite close, as she nodded.
"Pan, I—" And he began to pace, his body tense, his words not flowing. "I—" She could sense his frustration, like an electricity in the air, could feel his father's temper rising—though she didn't know what the temper was directed at. Herself, or the lack of articulate form he was experiencing—perhaps both. Perhaps both, and the frustration of the topic.
This conversation was built up, thought over…
"Trunks—" She began like a mother to a child, and he pointed to her with his entire hand.
"Don't." He said, nearly snapping, and she bit the inside of her lip. "Pan, I've been thinking. I've been thinking since the day you left. About you, about our decision…mostly about you. I miss you, Pan." He said desperately. "I want you by my side—I can't bear to think of you flying back to London tomorrow. When you said that you'd like to make London your home—even if just for a little while…I can't let you go." He shook his head, and she looked to the bed, avoiding his gaze.
With one swift gesture he grasped her waist and twirled her, lying her on the bed, his arms on either side of her shoulders as he held her gaze piercingly.
"Don't look away from me, Pan. Please don't." She fought the urge to look away—she didn't want to hurt him by not meeting his eyes—but he was staring at her so intently, and the urge won, and she glanced to his chest.
"I love you, Pan." He said softly, and she could feel her lower lip tremble as he brushed a stray bang away from her face so very gently. "I always have…I always will."
She turned her head away from his touch, and it was only then that she realized that she had been holding her breath. She released it and was embarrassed to find it came out in a ragged gasp.
"But, Trunks…" She began, speaking—or so it seemed—for the first time in an eternity. "What about…" She stuttered, and with a sharp pain in his chest he remembered the reason for their breaking up. For their taking a break.
"I didn't love her." He confessed sincerely, passionately, leaning on his entire forearms, pressing his forehead into the curve of her neck and shoulder. "I didn't. I love you, Panny." His nickname brought pain as she formed her next words.
"But not enough to not be tempted by her…" She said sadly, and felt his body grow stiff. "We were both caught in the same betrayal, and so I do not blame you. But that is the fact, Trunks, whether we'd like to believe it or not." His body, still stiff, pulled back from their embrace, and he looked down upon her face.
She saw the deepest pain and sorrow present on his features, his red eyes, his tired brows, his desperate lips…she wanted to hold him, comfort him…but she couldn't.
"No words could describe how sorry I am…" He said, his voice cold and yet familiar, and she responded, agreeing, with the barest of nods.
He caressed her cheek, drawing his fingers along her neck, down her shoulder and arm, to the tip of her fingers, which he kissed, sending a longing for his lips upon hers that she had to deny action to.
And without another word, he left.
"Flight 214 for London now boarding at gate A22. All passengers please remember no more than two carry-on's are permitted. ID's are not required, but we request that your tickets be…"
The hustle and bustle now taking place at gate A22 wasn't enough to tear Pan from her thoughts. Her black bag in one hand, her purse on her left shoulder, she fiddled with the corner of her ticket absentmindedly as she waited in line.
Mary Kate had a grin on her face and an excited air about her as she hefted her carry-on more firmly on her shoulder and looked around like a puppy in public.
Conversation wasn't abundant. It hadn't been all morning. When Mary Kate returned to their hotel suite at about nine-thirty, Pan was already asleep. And while they both did their last-minute packing and checking, while they took showers and got dressed, Pan had been excruciatingly somber.
Not in the mood to keep swimming for good ground when they spoke, she remained silent for the most part, only speaking to Pan when necessary or when a subject came up freely.
Mary Kate imagined what must have happened in a general way. There was no way both Trunks and Pan would ignore each other when both their companions were out and their suites were next door, and guessing from Pan's tired eyes and sharp and somber mood, things hadn't gone well.
She only wished she knew exactly what had happened.
Only when the silence pressed so heavily between them it was stifling, after they were seated on the plane, did Mary Kate dare to say anything about it at all.
"Did you see much of Trunks yesterday?" She inquired casually, and Pan shot her a look. "OK, OK." Mary Kate began in a more up front tone. "It's none of my business, I know, but you're looking about as bright as dracula and about as cheery as medusa." This deserved another look which Pan promptly gave her.
"I don't want to talk about it." Pan said simply.
"I guessed as much. And so, I guess what I want to say is that I'm here if you need to talk, or want to talk, or just want to hear yourself talk." Pan sat in silence for several moments before she nodded appreciatively.
Goten, as he stood at gate D67, could sense Trunks' bad mood like an electrical storm above his head. Trunks was getting stressed and irritated about everything.
The moving sidewalk was down for repairs; this earned a hiss of his teeth. They had to wait in line; this earned much complaint. They gave him an aisle seat; this earned ramblings about fat people tripping over him on the way to the bathroom. They made him go for a second scanning; this earned raves asking if they knew who he was.
Finally, twenty-three discussions, five ramblings, eight cursings, and 29 hisses and sighs later, they were at their gate, where Trunks was speed zipping through Newsweek.
"When is it leaving?" He shot at Goten, who was browsing through his New York City postcard book.
"Um," Goten glanced at his watch. "About forty-five minutes." Trunks sighed forcefully, though not surprisingly to Goten, and he flopped Newsweek—now finished cover-to-cover—down on the seat next to him.
Now his cerulean eyes darted here and there, looking lazily at some sights, thoughtfully at others, and finally Goten slapped his hands to his knees and looked Trunks straight on.
The Saiyan prince looked at him, confused, and blinked.
"What?" He said, almost sounding like a teenage girl, and Goten took in a deep breath and released it…then took another and released it before continuing.
"What happened with Pan?" Trunks cocked a brow, irritated, and Goten felt like hiding, but bucked up his courage. "I'm serious. I know something happened; you can't hide it. And since I'm your best friend, and her uncle, I believe that I'm not out of place to ask what. Especially since I have to put up with you for an entire plane ride. I'm already sick of ya'."
There was silence, and Trunks seemed to consider, his expression open-minded and contemplative. Then he stood up and made his way to the gift shop.
"I'm going to get another magazine." He said with a snappy tone, and Goten snorted, watching Trunks' retreating back with disbelief.
"Trunks!" He called after him, but his fellow demi-Saiyan ignored him, and Goten turned out to look like a moron in front of the people that stared at him as he continued to call after Mr. Brief's.
Back in London things were going smooth as silk. Her job was good, no one had pressed for any more information than she volunteered, and she hadn't had to think about Mr. Capsule Corporations once.
Several days after she had gotten back she received a phone call from Jace. She picked up the receiver happily, and after hearing about his trip—to NASA. She couldn't think of anywhere else she'd rather go for a trip—he asked her about the interview.
"I know what happened," He said in his friendly, good-guy voice. "I mean, I saw the interview—would I miss it?—and picked up the magazine—even though it's not my style—but what really happened? How'd it go? Did you like the outcome…did they edit anything important?" He was so jumpy and excited it was impossible for her to not smile.
"OK, OK, first let me sort out the question." She teased. "Actually they didn't edit out anything, which is surprising. I thought I wouldn't be able to recognize the interview but it's just like when she interviewed me. And well, you know, the live interview was," She laughed. "Imagine this: live." She heard his light laugh on the other line, and she pulled her slipper-clad feet up under her on the recliner.
"Hang a sec," He said quickly, and she heard him rustling around. "What about this quote in the magazine interview: 'My earliest memory of Trunks? Probably when I fell in the mud. No, he didn't help me, but he sure thought it was funny.'"
"Well! It's the truth!" She exclaimed, but he was still quoting.
"'I think he eventually helped me, but it took him a while.' And then it says, 'We asked Mr. Brief's about this event, to which he said the following: 'I don't even remember that! Wait, I think I do. Hey, at least I helped her up. Did she mention she was spying on her uncle and I? That she wanted to make sure we weren't coming inside for a while so that she could play our video games? No, I didn't think she mentioned that fact.' So there are two sides of the story?'"
Pan had to laugh at that. It was true. At least he didn't mention—or know—that she was also wanting to eat their favorite cereal? Those were good times, she had to admit.
"I want to meet this guy." Jace joked, and she heard a bunch of clattering in the background.
"You cooking?"
"Yeah."
"Well, sure, I'll introduce you sometime. Hey, actually, when summer starts I'm coming home—you know that already—but you should come over for the big 'beginning of summer barbecue' we always have." She always looked forward to that barbecue. Words could not describe the utter nirvana that the Brief's backyard was on that night.
"OK, sounds great. Hey, I'm gonna go, but I'll talk to you soon, a'ight?" She agreed happily, but an awkward pause stuck between them both.
A memory flashed in her mind. Trunks brushing her hair out of her face like only he could, his fingers feather soft upon her skin.
"I love you, Pan. I always have…I always will."
"I—I'll catch you later, Jace." She waited for his responding goodbye before she pushed the off button on the cordless phone, and she blinked away her dazed confusion—why then had her mind chosen to fling that in her face?—while she absentmindedly rubbed the cat on her lap.