Rainwater
Chapter 10: Disastrous
Rating: R for sexual situations and suggestions, adult topics and language.
WitchyPrincess

Disastrous

Beautiful disaster. That sums it up in two words. It's easy for someone looking in to tell me what a mistake I made. To point a finger and place the blame. It's easy for someone who's never felt the heat of his gaze or the pressure in their chest when his skin, so soft and smooth and cool, came in contact with yours, to say that I should have walked away. That I shouldn't have played the game - I should have known about the backfire.

I did know about the consequence and I knew full well the mistake I was making. It's just that, in the midst of everything happening, the fallout was the last thing I was thinking about - I promise you. If I had to go back in time to change it, I doubt I could. I'd just keep making the same mistake, over and over. An outsider would look and say I initiated it. That it was my plan and I tricked the innocent with temptation. But if you had been there - if you had been wearing my shoes - you would know the truth.

There is no genuine blame. Both of us had equal parts in it and, honestly, I believe he started it. We both knew the reasons not to and we knew what would happen after (or we thought we knew) but we couldn't stop it. We couldn't fight it, not just me, he lost all control just as easily as I did. And when it was done we never thought we'd be alone again and even if we were alone we weren't going to repeat the mistake twice.

Except there was something magnetic about him. Or maybe it was that there was something empty in me. For I couldn't avoid him and he was - for some reason - just as drawn to me. But, hey, who was dumb enough to make the same mistake over and over again, right? Even though I, after those few magical moments in his arms, realized that I could, I doubted that he would. And that was the best thing for both of us. Distance. Indifference.

If only either of us had known what we were getting into beforehand.

–Pan Son
#######

She walked into her apartment slowly, her eyes unfocused, her heart drumming so quickly she couldn't hear her feet pad across the floor and head straight for her bathroom. She couldn't hear the uncomprehensible words she was mumbling, was not even aware that she was making the noise.

Her hands were shaking, wrapped protectively around her middle in a defensive kind of embrace as she kicked open her bathroom door and then slammed it shut again with her hips. She headed straight to the shower, turning the water on and rubbing her hands up and down over her arms in an abrasive manner.

She couldn't believe what she had just done.

She felt unbelievably dirty on the outside; corrupt, dry and void of anything innocent on the inside. He hadn't even made eye contact with her, hadn't even had the courage to look her in the damn eyes. Just rolled over and quietly said goodbye. She was nothing but a slut to him, she realized. Bulma had been wrong. And the sad part was, she hadn't even given Bulma's advice a thought while she was with him. She hadn't even been trying to follow Bulma's advice.

But what hurt more than anything, she supposed, was that she hadn't expected him to do what he'd done - nothing at all. Reluctantly she admitted that she had at least expected him to hold her until she got up. Expected him to give her some kind of loving embrace or gentle touch, but he hadn't. It had all been rough, animal like. It had all been sleazy, nothing more than a quick rut, and she was ashamed.

She climbed into the shower without even removing her clothes, sitting down and rubbing her hands over her face, neck, arms. She ripped the clothing off slowly, piece by piece, waiting until everything was soaked through. She wanted every piece of her, even her clothing, sterilized of his touch. She would never wear that particular outfit again, ever.

Her sobs choked in her throat, her eyes turning red as the water dripped all down her face and over her body. She wasn't sure, but she thought she was crying. At least, she felt like she was and, oddly, she hoped the feeling held true. She couldn't hold this inside. This was a different kind of pain entirely. It wasn't like when he'd ripped her self-esteem apart four years ago. This was much worse.

It would tear at her like a plague. Creep through every piece of her and destroy her from the inside out, if she let it. She needed to be rid of this feeling - this ache. She began to scrub herself harder, sobbing louder, turning her skin red with her anguish. She rubbed with vigor until pieces of her flesh started to rip off.

Then and only then did she fall back in the tub, covering her eyes with her hands as she opened her mouth, letting the water run into her mouth, up her nose, while she cried out the rest of her heartache. She laid there, crying, being scolded by the hot water to wash away her sin, until her skin turned a deep red and wrinkled and the water ran cold against her flesh. Then she turned the water off only to lay there for hours, cold and naked.

She knew without anyone having to tell her that she'd made a terrible mistake. One she would pay for throughout the rest of her life. One she'd never be able to forgive herself for or forget. And, more importantly, one she'd never forgive him for.

He was supposed to have had restraint where she did not. He had failed her, and he had broken every word he'd told her four years ago at that horrible party. She wasn't sure what was worse, the fact that he'd said it then and meant it, or the fact that she had been very right and very wrong all along: She really could seduce him, she just couldn't make him care for her. Ever.

But one thing was certain, if it had not been before, she hated him. Hated him like she could hate nothing, no one, else. Hated him because she could have loved him if he had shown, even if only a very little, some compassion towards her a couple of hours ago. She could have been his forever. But he had not.

#######

Bulma eyed her son wearily across the dinner table, her predatory eyes scanning his every movement for sign of what was wrong. He'd been like this for a week, she noted mentally, distant and brooding. Something was wrong and it definitely had something to do with Pan.

She noticed his first wince four days ago when Bra mentioned the quarter-Saiyan's name. He shifted uncomfortably, snuck a look at Bulma to see if she was watching him, and then, upon discovering that she was, abruptly left the room. And he had looked angry then too.

Now he was picking with his food, moving it around on his plate, and glowering as if he were a teenager who had just been grounded. She wanted to bite her tongue, knew she shouldn't interfere, but found she couldn't keep silent any longer. Vegita, from across the table, was giving her a look that said he was waiting for her to say something to their son. She knew that Vegita had noticed the change too.

"Trunks," Bulma started tentatively. "Why don't you try putting the food in your mouth, honey?" A small crease lifted the corner of her lips upwards to show him she was joking with him. He looked up at her and made a small attempt to laugh, but the sound was choked and came out more like a sob. This time she winced.

"Or you could continue to stare at it. Whatever makes you happy." She shrugged, changing her tactic she turned to Bra. "So, isn't Pan coming by tomorrow morning so you two can train again, baby?" Out of the corner of her eye she saw her son choke on the piece of fish that was in his mouth, quickly trying to cover it up.

"We canceled." Bra replied absently, her own body language implying that there was something wrong with her as well. Bulma resisted the urge to sigh. Why did both her children's lives get screwed up at the same time like that?

"Why?" It was Trunks, instead of Bulma, that asked this question. Bra looked up at him, one of her blue eyebrows arched in defense.

"What do you care?" Her eyes flashed dangerously, telling him to mind his own business.

"Because I care." He answered back just as harshly. Bulma shifted uncomfortably in her seat as both her children stared each other down. She was about to open her mouth to interrupt their silent battle when she caught Vegita's eyes and realized that he was telling her stay out of this one.

"Well," Bra finally responded, her voice a calmer quiet. "It's none of your business why I don't want to train tomorrow."

"Is that how it went, then? You decided not to? Not her?"

Bra sat her napkin roughly on the table, eyeing her brother as if she'd just pulled him off her shoe. She drew in a deep breath, her eyes flashing pain for a moment, and then stood up regally.

"If you have something to say to me, boxer-boy, just say it. Don't use false concern for someone else to try and weasel the information out of me. Don't make it sound like you're concerned about Pan, I know you two hate each other, just to figure out what's going on in my life. I don't need you always looking down your nose at me, you nosy son-of-a-bitch. When I want to fight, I'll fight. When I don't fucking feel like it, I won't. And you will not question when or why I do what the hell I do!"

"Bra...I..." His mouth dropped open in astonishment. Bulma bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from responding. She couldn't believe what she had just heard her daughter say. But Vegita was still giving her the look to keep quiet, and he usually knew what he was talking about when it came to things like this.

She didn't know much about battles, about winning in physical fights, but she knew plenty about arguing. This was not an argument. This was a war and she had no idea what triggered the first bomb but obviously something had.

"I'm grown, in case you haven't noticed, and I don't need you analyzing every single thing I do anymore. Get your own life for once."

"Is that what you think I do? Is it..." He choked on the question, looking down at his plate as he tried to form the words again. "Was that the reason you..."

"Just mind your own business." She pushed her chair in and stormed out of the dinning room, her eyes still filled with misdirected hatred. Trunks pushed his plate away and stood, Bulma gave Vegita a pleading look. Her husband grunted.

"Sit brat." He commanded, pushing his own plate back and leaving the table to follow after his daughter. He paused in the dinning room entryway, giving Trunks a long, meaningful look that spoke volumes, before he said,

"You will talk to your mother about what has been keeping you awake at night. You will tell her everything and, trust me, I will know if you don't."

"But-"

"It wasn't a request." And then he walked out of the entryway and toward Bra's room.

When he was gone, Bulma folded her hands together and leaned forward, looking into her son's eyes. Looking into the sadness that she couldn't reach, couldn't shake or will away. She'd give anything to see her children smile with joy again, Dende, she'd give her life to know they were happy for all time.

Then she wondered if Pan had taken her 'advice' to heart. Another look into her son's eyes and she knew the girl had. But something was wrong. Very wrong...

"What did Pan do to you?" She questioned, her voice harboring a hard edge of vengeance if the girl had hurt him in any way.

"Nothing. It's what I did to her that's hurting me." He lowered his eyes in shame.

"There's no shame in loving someone, Trunks. Or making love to them, no matter who they are sweetheart." She responded softly, reading him clearly.

"I didn't make love to her, mom." He denied with a hint of sadness to his voice. His eyes flickered up to hers, a heavy burden filling them. "I had sex with her." She saw his body tense, as if he were preparing for an onslaught of screaming. None came. Slowly, his eyes made their way to hers again. She was still smiling softly at him, carefully, with understanding.

"And Pan? How did she feel about this?" Her voice was soft, comforting. He wrinkled his brow in frustration.

"She has to hate me."

"Did she tell you that?" She implored, forcing his eyes, with her willpower, to hold contact with hers.

"She should have to? I took advantage of her, mom. I knew that Pan...well, that she cared more for me than she should. I was supposed to tell her no, I always have. I was still supposed to. I don't...I don't know why I couldn't." He looked like he was about to break down in anguish, his eyes were glistening with anger and frustration, his hands gripped into fists.

"How did she say she felt Trunks? After?"

"She didn't say. She just left. We didn't talk, just said goodbye."

"Trunks!" There was the onslaught he had been expecting, the shriek he had tensed for earlier but wasn't prepared for now. He frowned deeply with her outburst.

"You can't treat someone like that. Can you imagine how she felt? You can't take a girl's virginity and then send her packing without so much as a pat on the back for reassurance." Her voice had calmed, to keep his attention focused on her, but the bite hadn't left.

A smirk snuck up to Trunks' face making him look, for all the world, like was trying to fight off a laugh. With horror, she realized he was. Rage built up inside her as she prepared to chastise him, this certainly was not a laughing matter, but he interrupted before she could start.

"Pan may have been a lot of things the other day, mother, but a virgin was not one of them." His eyes glinted as he said it, telling her more than she wanted to know about their sexual encounter.

She frowned deeply. "Not a virgin?...Are you sure...I mean, I know you..." She stopped, looking stricken as she realized something. "Forget that, of course you're sure. It doesn't matter. Just because, Trunks, the girl was not a virgin, does not make her some common whore. You can't just...I did not raise you to treat women..." Her train of thought was disrupted immediately as she realized something else. She wanted to cry, the thought made her so entirely sick.

"Did she throw herself at you?" Her voice was high, cautiously afraid, as she asked. If Pan had done that, it would be because Bulma had told her to. But Bulma had thought she was telling a virgin to seduce a grown man with much experience, she had thought she was giving impossible advice. She had thought Pan would try, would entice her son, and he would take it from there.

And she had thought, too, that just once would be enough because Trunks was Saiyan. If Pan had been a virgin and Trunks had been her first, well then that would be a whole different story. Saiyans were very possessive over what was theirs, anything they didn't want someone else to have. And knowing he had been her only would be enough to trigger that possessiveness. Because she was Pan. But he had not been.

Now if Pan had thrown herself at him then he had every right to believe her to be a slut. He was male and that was the way male minds worked. To him, it had been nothing more than sex, he'd said so. But surely he knew that to her it had been the world. Hadn't it?

Bulma was scared that things were about to turn very ugly. She had to fix this immediately, before the wounds got more of a chance to fester. Pan, she realized, probably did hate her son right now.

"No," Trunks answered her, drawing her out of her panic. "It wasn't like that. It was...I don't know. Powerful, it was powerful mom. We couldn't fight it, either of us, even though we both tried. It was like I was drawn to her somehow. Does that even make sense?"

"Sounds like lust to me, Trunks." She frowned slightly, in a teasing way, to ease her son's uneasy expression. "Listen," She smiled, knowing she was about to make him very uncomfortable but not wanting him to expect it and be able to deny her.

"You can't leave things like this." She held up a hand to silence him before he could protest. "I know you may want to. I know you may think that things will fix themselves, but if you let them go this way it will only make it worse. In the end, you'll have this one thing, this one regret, looming over your head. You'll always wish you had said something, done something to fix it.

"You and Pan lost contact four years ago and, though I don't know what happened, I can tell that for a brief moment you were happy to have her back. As a friend, I mean. Don't ruin everything you've grown up with just because of one simple mistake. And don't hurt her this way, you do know that you had to have hurt her, don't you? If you never speak to her again, that could leave damaging effects to her self-esteem. She might never be over it, Trunks.

"Please, let me arrange a dinner, something informal, where you two will have the chance to talk without the pressure of having to. That way, if you decide that it's not a good idea, you can just leave and not bother with the burden. But you will not take the cowardly way out, it's not in your blood and I will not allow it. If you feel, even a little press, that says you owe her at least an explanation of some sort, you will talk to her. Do you understand?"

None of it was a request. All of it was an order. And he heard it for what it was, nodding his head quickly and straightening his shoulders.

"I understand. I'll talk to her when you arrange this dinner. But only if you promise not to watch over me the entire night, pressuring me, and only if you allow us to talk privately. Without interruption. If you can promise that no one is going to barge in on us then yes, I'll do it."

"Promised." A devious smile curved her lips, one of planning. Of course no one would interrupt them, she wouldn't have it any other way...

#######

"What did the boy say was wrong with him?" Vegita questioned as his wife pulled on her nightgown. He was sitting up in bed with his arms crossed, a scowl taking over his face simply because he felt it had a right to be there.

"He slept with Pan." Bulma informed after the gown was on, walking over to the bed and getting under the covers. She said it easily, as if that type of news was normal, everyday conversation, and her husband didn't even flinch.

"Did he say he loved her?" Was, oddly enough, his next question, as if he already knew that bit of news.

"No." Bulma shook her head, opening a book and leaning back on her pillows. There was a nearly bitter tone in her voice as she responded though, and Vegita turned to her, waiting patiently for her eyes to meet with his as he caught on to it.

"Good." He said when she looked up into his dark eyes. Her eyes turned cloudy, puzzled, with his response. He could see that she was trying not to voice her confusion but couldn't fight the urge.

"What do you mean, 'good'?" Her voice still had an edge to it as she asked that caused him to smirk at her.

"Good that he made you understand. Good that he didn't lie." He grunted, leaning on his back again, breaking their eye contact.

"What makes you think he didn't lie when he said they weren't in love."

"He didn't. He doesn't love her." He pulled the covers over him as he said it, getting comfortable in the bed.

"How do you know?" Bulma questioned, exasperation in her voice.

"He's my son. I know him."

"He's my son too, and I'm not so sure. At least, I'm not sure he couldn't love her. He'll get there soon, when he sees her again."

"When, exactly, will that be?" He questioned, eyes lighting as he looked back up to his wife.

"What makes you think that I know?"

"You're the mother of my son, I know you too."

"I was thinking about next week. You agree?" He snorted his response, feigning indifference even though she knew he had an opinion. "Come on, Vegita, tell me what you're thinking."

"He'll use her, break her, and make her hate him before he realizes what he's doing."

"You disagree with them being together."

"No. There should just be another way. This way she'll be hurt."

"You love her, don't you?" He grunted again, not bothering to respond. "So do I, Vegita. You've got to trust that I'm not trying to hurt her. I just can't watch my children die like this. You see them, I know you do. They're remarkably miserable with their lives and if we're not careful we'll lose them both. For good. I don't want to see that happen."

"You'd be willing to sacrifice a young girl for your son's happiness?"

"Wouldn't you? If you knew it'd work out in the end?" Again, he didn't answer, but she knew what he was thinking anyway. "I'm positive it'll work out, Vegita. I raised him and he's not as hard hearted as you think he is. In this you are blind to your son's true emotions. He will love her."

"Yes, he will. But what of her, by the time he does? How will she feel towards him?"

"It's a bridge we'll have to cross when we get there. It's already been put in motion now, Vegita and, even if we wanted, we couldn't stop it. It's too late. We can only help it along, guide it where we have the opportunity, and pray that things work out." There was a long silence before Bulma ventured to speak again, changing topic slightly.

"What about Bra? What did she say of her outburst at dinner?"

"She said she wasn't feeling well and, being male, I couldn't possibly understand." This time he sounded bitter. Bulma lifted an eyebrow.

"Doesn't she even consider who she's lying to when she says those things?" Bulma smirked, slightly pleased that at least Trunks had not lied to her.

"Apparently not."

"You asked her to tell you what was really wrong, didn't you?" She prodded, not willing to drop it. "I mean, I've never seen her get so riled for no reason at all. If there was something said, done, on Trunks' behalf, I missed it."

"There was. She thought Trunks was being judgmental about her training habits. I don't know if you've noticed but our daughter has always been sensitive about her lack of brutal force. She assumed he was teasing her."

"There has to be more to it than that." Bulma refused to accept that explanation for the whole truth. Whether it was because she couldn't imagine someone being that worked up over training or because she actually did know her daughter better than that, Vegita could not tell. But she was right.

"There is. She's in love with the youngest male Son."

"In love with Goten? Are you sure?" She sounded more than shocked, years of her daughter's life flashing through her eyes. After a moment she sighed, closing her eyes in realization. "I can't believe I never noticed before." She spoke at last.

"You're planning something aren't you." He stated more than questioned.

"I'm already one step in the right direction."

"There's no way I can talk you out of it?"

"No way." He didn't even bother to sigh, simply closed his eyes and turned to his side. He'd known this woman too long to even try and argue over these things. She was going to do what she wanted, her stubborn streak was worse than his. It was one of the many reasons he loved her so much, though he'd kill anyone who even suggested such a thing about him.

"Goodnight, Vegita." He grunted again as she put her book down and shut off the light.

To be continued...