It's been forever! I'm so sorry! I've actually been out of town basically since about the 20th of may, never being home for more than a few days at a time. So there's my excuse I shall hide behind. I have lots of time on my hand now! So, um, no promises, but at least I plan on being good from now on! Lots of love to all my readers! Ja ne!
Pan was officially sick. And it seemed to her that whenever she was sick something bad happened. However she was too weary—and too sick—to expect really anything, or to build up some defenses based on anything bad that might occur.
She had managed a few minutes to drag everything important about her bed, like the cat's food, some food for herself, the phone, and the remote, and so her double bed was now a sanctuary and a haven for the sick girl in two braids on each side of her head.
The TV offered nothing promising, but that was nothing new, and so she found herself slowly but surely becoming addicted to shows like "Who's Makeover Is It Anyway?" and looked forward to "Eveningtime" and "40/40". This was disheartening, but when she realized this she noticed the time.
Pushing the thought away she clicked on the TV, for it was time for "Singing Sensation", and she wouldn't miss the judge on the show who thought everyone was constantly out of tune because, well, she always agreed with him.
She sadly also found herself voting for her favorite singer at the end of the show, and on the next evening turned on the channel five minutes early to avoid missing anything.
Pan thought she was becoming a hobbit, a little gremlin in its hiding place that never ventures out. But she defended herself by saying things would get better when she got better.
The problem was, she wasn't getting better.
Her mother came over with homemade soup, the flavor she always hated but smiled nonetheless instead of disappointing her mother, and when Videl insisted on a doctor's visit Pan shook her head violently and said all she needed was rest from the move and all the things that had been occurring in her life.
Her mother sighed, hands on hips, but didn't say anything. She also didn't come by very often as Pan insisted she was fine. But the truth was, she could barely hobble to the bathroom on her own.
Pan wasn't the doctor visiting type. She preferred to let things run its course, preferred to not take pain meds, and this often got her into trouble, though she wouldn't admit it.
Jace had called, but she wouldn't tell him she was sick, and disguised her raspy voice as best she could by admitting she was eating, or some other untruth. She knew if he knew she was sick he'd be right over, and wanted to avoid any such scene. She made excuses for not being able to hang out, but it wasn't hard, as he was busy with the getting into the groove of his training.
And so a week went by, and several more days as well, and Pan was still cooped in bed feeling miserable, and feeling bad for herself at the same time.
It was during a late, rainy afternoon of watching nothing of importance that a knock came to her door mid-sneeze. She reached for an unused tissue among the mass of used ones all over her bed and called out loudly, and nasally, "Come in!"
She suspected her mother, and awaited a long speech about how she needed to see a doctor about her condition, however the door opened quietly, almost cautiously, and she heard not the petite steps of her mother but stronger, more determined steps that bore a weight not having to do with pounds.
She rolled her eyes, not in the mood to see Jace, and looked embarrassedly around her messy room, imagined her messy house—but Jace didn't come through the door.
Instead Trunks entered and leaned against the doorframe to her bedroom, a bouquet of brightly colored daisies in his right hand.
She was too shocked for speech, and stared at him in surprised annoyance.
"Heard you were sick." He said simply, approaching her. He dusted off countless tissues from the comforter without a second thought before sitting down by her feet. He set the daisies on her kneecaps.
"What are you doing here?" She found herself saying in that still shocked, surprised tone.
"Can't I bring you flowers when you're sick?" She glanced at the flowers and remembered her manners, thanking him—though briefly.
"Thank you, Trunks. I appreciate it. But I'm actually not feeling well right now, so—"
"Let me get you something. Are you hungry, thirsty?" He chuckled. "Need more tissues?" She was so shocked she didn't know what to say. "How about I start with the tissues." He shook the box. "They look about out."
Half an hour later the tissues were cleared away from her bedroom completely—through some saintly act on his part—and there was a freshly opened box of Kleenex on her nightstand. Her daisies were also on the nightstand, in a blue vase he had discovered in a kitchen cabinet.
She could hear him in the kitchen now, clinking and clunking around, and she knew with certainty he had cleaned up the living room and kitchen as best as he could in a half an hour.
Just when she felt she might be able to dose off he burst through the bedroom door bearing a tray of food as if it was a royal decree and he the peon sent to decree it—though peons under royal command never feel as if they are peons.
He set it on her lap—a plate of grilled cheese and a steaming mug of tomato soup set beside some herbal tea, some napkins, and a glass of ice water—and then her mouth dropped.
She vaguely remembered saying 'thank you', though her plan had not been to say thank you—indeed something much different—before diving into the scrumptious meal before her.
He watched her eat it contentedly, bent down to pet her cat, picked up a magazine from her massive pile beside the bed, all sitting beside her legs. However when she was finally finished, and opened her mouth to speak, he snatched her tray and told her to wait a minute.
He returned, just a few moments later, bearing her massive mug she used for ice cream, full of creamy hot chocolate with whipped cream brimming to the rim with cinnamon and sugar sprinkled upon it.
Again, her words were much different then her previous intentions, and she certainly couldn't refuse this hospitality.
But there was no third course to this meal, and finally Pan found herself able to say—in a somewhat similar fashion—what she had wanted to since the tomato soup caught her fancy.
"T—"
"Hey, I gotta go, but I hope you get to feeling better, OK?" He squeezed her knee a little, with a smile. "OK—see you later!" He gave her a quick nod before leaving, and she listened to his footsteps and finally the door open and close.
She hadn't spoken fast enough, now she felt like an idiot, and he was gone. She threw herself into her pillows, ready for another nice, long nap.
Pan was feeling a lot better the next day, and though she now was prepared for strange surprises, she wasn't prepared for the strangest one of all: Trunks a second time.
Indeed he strode in without knocking, and poked his head into her bedroom, which had accumulated more tissues, and a couple extra dishes. She was sitting with her back against the headboard, an assortment of fingernail tools spread around her, and re-runs of whatever sitcom had long ago run its course.
Her face must have been written in a mask of shock, cause he cast her a quirky smile and said, "What?"
"I just…." The truth was, the furthest thing from her visitors list was Trunks a second time. Hadn't his first visit been bizarre enough? How often do people get struck with lightning twice?
He had now left her sight, and she could hear him rustling around in the living room. When he appeared again his sport coat was absent from his shoulders, his sleeves were rolled up, and he was loosening his blue and pinstriped green tie.
His hair, as was usual, was tousled with no real part, and the forefront was brushing at his forehead, the length a tad longer than usual.
"I brought some things for lunch—want some?"
Pan had managed to make her way into the kitchen and plop herself down on the stool at the island before collapsing with deep breaths and some panting. She caught his smirk, and shot him a glare.
"What is so funny?" She asked with a clipped tone, and he stifled a chuckle. "What?" She snapped.
"I am in awe of how even the strongest of women on this earth can sometimes need a little help." He said grandly, to which she scowled.
"At least the strongest of women, unlike the strongest of men, don't lay in bed like a baby, moaning, when they're sick." She retorted.
"I would never attempt to deny that."
"Why do men do that, anyway?" She then began to rant, as she had pondered this very question quite often while she had been sick as of late.
"Maybe because it's their only chance to be taken care of, as usually they feel the obligation to protect the women around them. Maybe they take the advantage of that, as they enjoy being taken care of?"
She seemed contented with that answer. She turned thoughtful for several moments during the silence before, with a sigh, she asked Trunks, "Why are you here?" He took a second from the counter full of food he was preparing, and she wondered if he would even answer he was silent so long.
"Can't I be your friend?" He then asked, a sincere expression on his strong face.
The question caught her off guard, and she was stunned to silence as he continued.
"I know you don't want anything romantic with me, Pan, and I understand that. But either as a lover or a friend, I miss you.
"I want to be your friend, Pan, if you'll let me." She smiled warmly.
"Of course. I'd like that too."
"Miss Kitty, eh?" He turned to Pan while he scratched her cat behind the ears. Both were lounging on the couch at present, dirty dishes strewn about the kitchen after their lunch. "I thought you weren't a cat person?"
"I'm not," She returned. "But she caught my eye at the SPCA." She clicked her tongue and Miss Kitty leaped off Trunks' lap in favor of pounding onto Pan's. "And she's terribly, terribly loyal." She grinned wickedly at Trunks.
"So how's the family?" She then inquired, to which he bit his lip in thought for a moment.
"All fine, more or less. Unorganized chaos, to be sure." They exchanged knowing smiles. "Bura and Donny are great, my parents, Krillin and Eighteen, Marron, the whole lot. You probably know more of how your family is doing?"
"How about Goten?" She asked.
"Still mad about Marron, but it's mutual, making negotiations simple." She laughed, tilting her head back, and he cocked a questioning brow her way.
"I was just thinking of how we sound like military generals the way we're talking. Or did you notice?" There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he came closer to her face.
"I did. But isn't it just too fun? Like playing soldiers and spies like we did when we were younger? But have you forgotten those better times?" She laughed outright.
"How could I forget! When you and Goten always made me the target of your military actions! Why was I always the bad guy?"
"Because you were so easy to overpower!" He said, as if stating the obvious. "You were the little niece of my best friend, little Pan. We could always make you whatever we didn't want to be. Besides, you were grateful to be included."
She snorted, but made no attempt to deny it, and the cat let out a yawn.
"You haven't changed much," He continued after a moment, and she rose her brows at him in defense. "No, I mean, you'll always be the Pan I grew up with, won't you?" She shrugged.
"I've changed a lot, you should know."
"I hardly had a chance to." She caught his eye, but there was no hidden meaning, just blatant, and blunt, honesty.
"Not this last—nearly two years?" She folded her arms, and an expression of sincere curiosity lit her face.
"Well, I mean, I tried," He shifted his positioning on the couch. "But, in honesty…so much happened. Like, from the moment I first took you to the mall way back when, to when you left for London this last time. So much was happening, at every moment.
"There never were any quiet stops at café's or long lonely drives to really discover what had changed since we were kids.
"I feel like, as far as you were concerned, when you were eight I took a great big step and turned around and you were seventeen." Her eyes were lowered, her pouting mouth thoughtful.
"And those years when I was eight until I was seventeen, I felt like a little child chasing after a dream." She said quietly. He looked at her, almost as if he had just seen her for the first time that day. "I always loved you, Trunks. Ever since you were the tousled haired kid always looking for trouble.
"You were like a god to me, really." She cast a little smirk.
"Let me re-discover you, Pan." He said, and his brows were furrowed, serious, and he looked at her in sincerity. The question caught her off-guard, and she looked at him, a little confused.
"Let me re-discover the Pan you've become. I want to know the little, tiny things, like your favorite CD, your favorite ice-cream, what country you've always wanted to visit.
"I want to know your taste in art, your favorite movie line…your little secret smile by heart." He sighed.
"You deserve a person, lover or friend, who really knows you. I blew my chance at being your lover, but let me re-discover you as a friend."