He appeared quite lost. Pan observed him under dark arched brows with a sort of disbelief. He was floating around the floor in khaki slacks and a green button up shirt. No jacket, but he had a matching tie around his neck, and black, square-framed glasses perched on his nose. He looked, honestly, lost. A messenger bag was slung over his shoulder, and a sweater was draped over his arm. He looked around nervously, his eyes glinting when he inspected something closer.

"Um, can I help you?" She asked warily. He turned to her and grinned.

"No. No, thank you. I'm just waiting for someone." He nodded quickly, but Pan didn't really want to leave him just standing there.

"I'm Pan Son," She offered her hand. He shuffled his possessions around in his arms so he could shake it.

"Oh, I see! You're Trunks' secretary!" He had the happiest expression. "Nice to meet you." He pushed his glasses further up on his nose.

"You know him?"

"Of course. That's who I'm waiting for." He looked around expectantly, then beamed as Trunks appeared through a doorway. "My name is—"

"Goten!" Trunks jogged up to him, his hand racing to loosen his tie after the meeting he had just escaped from. They greeted each other with a brisk hug, and then Trunks turned to Pan with a broad grin. "This is my best friend, Goten Son—no relation, I'm supposing?" She could only shake her head. She had pictured Trunks' friend so…differently. "He'll be here for the weekend. I'm so glad you made it!"

"How could I miss an event this big?" Goten scoffed. He pushed his glasses higher on his nose again. "I'm so excited—" Trunks silenced him with a finger to his lips. He darted his eyes obviously to Pan. "Oh, oh, right. Um, yeah." He tucked his hand behind his head and smiled nervously.

"We better get going—lots to do, you know." Trunks gave Pan an apologetic look. "We'll see you later, kay?"

"I can't believe this," fumed Pan to Mary, "he's making the biggest mistake of his life. I just can't believe it."

"Are you sure he's getting engaged to her?" Mary asked. Pan glared in return. "It's just, no one's said anything, have they?" she pleaded under Pan's heated stare.

"Oh, there've been words, all right. No one's said, 'Trunks is proposing to Marron', but any idiot can figure out that the other things they've said mean that. Random friends showing up? Secret secret, hush hush. Trunks going on about a special event? Come on, I'm not the village idiot." She glanced at Mary, then flushed. "What?"

"Well, Pan, why does it matter to you so much?" Pan flushed even more.

"I—I…it doesn't!"

"Good then." Mary leaned back in the chair. "Because I'd hate to see you fall for a guy who buys condoms in bulk."

"Oh gosh," Pan snorted, "Trunks isn't that bad, Mary." Mary's smile broadened.

"You said that, not me. A couple months ago. Funny how your story's changed."

Pan tapped her fingers on the table. She glanced at her watch. She had the waitress get her another glass of water. Trunks and his friend Goten were twenty minutes late. Though she had nothing else she had to do, she felt she was wasting her time. She didn't want to spend her evening with them anyway.

When they finally appeared they jogged in merrily, joking with each other over something. The people in the restaurant all turned to watch Trunks pass. Pan had experienced this countless times before. It'd take a while, but eventually they'd lose interest and go back to socializing with their companions. They both scooted their chairs in and greeted Pan. The waiter approached with menus.

"What have you both been doing?" Pan asked conversationally. She took the menu the waiter offered her.

"We went to see Marron's art show. One of the galleries are showing her work and Goten hadn't seen it yet." Goten confirmed this with an eager nod. "I'm not an art freak but I thought it was pretty nice."

"It sort of embodied a sense of Artillian and Essence work." Goten concluded. Neither Trunks nor Pan had any idea of what he was talking about. They simply nodded agreeably. "Um," he continued, "you live close by, don't you?" he asked Pan.

"Well, just about four blocks away. Not quite agreeable walking distance but nearly—I managed to walk it coming here." Trunks' eyes widened.

"You should have gotten a taxi, or we could have picked you up."

"No bother, it's nice out." She flipped through her menu, onyx eyes scanning the columns.

They ordered and chatted while they waited for their food. Pan and Goten shared some humorous tales of Trunks and he promptly attempted to change the topic.

"I don't mind taking some heat but only if the fight's fair—you two are ganging up on me." But he chuckled nonetheless.

"All right, fine. Fine." Goten raised his hands in submission. "Pan and I can continue this later without you." Pan grinned, reached for her glass of red wine. "If you'd excuse me," he stood, "I'm off to the restroom for a moment."

"Not at all—it's that way." Pan gestured out a door, then took a sip of wine.

A moment after he left Trunks asked, "Are you all right?" She looked at him strangely. "You look awfully pale, Pan. Are you feeling off at all?" She bit her lip, nodded as she set her glass down.

"A little bit. But I'm OK. Just a little bit of a cold." He raised his brows and looked her over carefully. "Just one of those little ones. Not enough to even take medicine." He didn't look convinced, but didn't say anything. "Come on, I'm fine—relax. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." She took another big sip of wine absentmindedly.

"You're drinking a lot," he commented.

"Not too much," she countered.

"Enough." He was a bit irritated by being taken so lightly, but Goten was approaching and he decided against an argument.

"Hey, I just got a call from Marron on my cell," Goten sat down and slid his chair up to the table, "she wanted to know if, after dinner, we'd like to meet up with her at a club?"

"I don't think Pan's feeling—" Trunks began.

"Sounds great." She interrupted. Trunks was the only one to notice her words were a bit slurred.

The beat of the club pounded through their veins like a pulse. The thrum and clash of loud music was the soundtrack as Goten and Pan slipped unnoticed into the hall. Trunks, knowing he would attract attention, had ushered them in before he was noticed and had only asked that they find a nice place to sit and wait for Marron. He opted to fight the battle of the paparazzi alone.

Goten and Pan found a cozy booth near the bar. The pleather seats were still warm from their previous inhabitants, and a half-drunken cocktail was setting on the table. Goten snatched it up and sat it on the table next to them that was already littered with drinks.

"Nice place," he commented after a moment.

"Trunks knows the best clubs in town," she explained in response. The strobelights were dazzling her eyes, she felt a bit dizzy, and she had to look away.

"He frequents them, I assume?" She nodded. Goten sighed. "You know, a lot has changed." He reminisced, and his words caught her attention. "He wasn't always like this. I mean, he was always confident and sure of himself—got that from his dad—and he got a lot of spunk from his mother. But this Trunks, the one today, only surfaced when he took over the company. He had had famous girlfriends and had thrown parties here and there, hung out downtown—but never like this. This only happened when he took over the company." Pan tried to disguise her surprise. "Can I get you something to drink?" Goten then offered hurriedly, like he had divulged too much.

"A margarita would be nice. I'm suddenly in the mood for one." Her eyes were still studying Goten's face, looking at him thoughtfully.

"Margarita it is. What kind?"

"A mega," she sighed. She thought she saw him hide a grin before he left her for the bar. She waited for him to come back, her eyes on the crowd. And now Trunks was there, slipping between dancers and then standing before her.

"Escaped the cameras at last?" she smiled. "But you've gotten the technique down by now. Goten went to get drinks." He looked alarmed.

"You don't need anything else to drink—"

"Psh, tosh." She flapped her hand. "You worry too much—lighten up. Dude." She laughed. A little too loudly. Trunks gave her a look that told her his point was proven but she only flapped her hand again. "I want a margarita and I'm going to have a margarita. Just a small one." In perfect timing, Goten came back and handed Pan her mega margarita, but she only sipped at it.

"She's drunk," Trunks pointed out to Goten.

"Just a little tipsy." Goten sipped quickly at his own drink to hide his laughter.

"And what are you drinking?" he asked, eyeing the bubbling liquid in Goten's tall glass.

"Lemon-lime soda." He answered flatly. "Have I ever been the drinking type?"

"I dunno," Trunks shrugged, "at that wedding that one time…"

"Every fourteen year old is curious." But Trunks was watching Pan. She was completely entertained by the salt on her glass rim. Goten's cell phone started ringing and he jumbled through his pockets to answer it. "Helll-lo? Yes? Yeah? OK—yeah. Yes. No, perfect. No, really. See you soon." He turned to Trunks. "Marron's running a bit late, but she is coming."

Trunks leaned forward on the table. "As long as Pan doesn't drink anymore." In one big gulp Pan downed the remaining half of her margarita.

"Whoa, she's amazing. I think you could make money off of that." Goten's eyes grew huge as he watched her. Trunks groaned.

Half an hour later the booze was definitely kicking in. Pan had danced with several strangers, told the bartender various jokes lacking humor, and kicked her shoes off under the table. But now she was sitting at the table, looking a little forlorn, her face flushed and the apples of her cheeks blushing. Her thick hair was a bit more limp than usual, and fell in loose waves around her face and about her shoulders. The clasp that had held her mane up before was somewhere on the dance floor, cast off during a Latin number.

"Pan, are you all right?" Trunks leaned over the table and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, then slid his fingers behind her neck. "You're feverish and I can see you're trembling—we've got to get you home."

"No," she said adamantly, "I have to stay. I want to have a good time." In her state she was transported into a childish innocence. Trunks' lips pressed into a thin line and he shook his head.

"Pan, no, we've got to get you home. This isn't a good time." His words weren't convincing, though, and she slid out of the booth and attempted to look lively. Her attempt didn't work, however, and she tottered for a minute before catching her balance against the table. "That's enough," Trunks stood up. "Goten, I'll take her home and be back, all right? Wait for Marron—"

"No!" she pleaded again. "I want to stay! I want to have a good time with you all!" Her eyes looked into Trunks and she bit her lip hopefully. "You're all going to come back here and dance and drink and talk—I want to too."

He deliberated for a moment, cast his eyes down, and then looked at her again. Finally he said, "Please, Panny, let me take you home." She looked down in defeat, then nodded slowly. "Goten," he turned to his dark friend, "I'll be back—call me if you need anything." They walked towards the door of the club and then began up the stairs.

"Pan," he began quietly, "I'm sorry—but you really need to be home in bed."

"It's all right," she said, "I…" She stumbled on the steps, caught herself. "I…I understand…" She turned to him, her brows furrowed. And then she fainted.

Pan awoke to the city lights flashing past the glass window of the car and the radio playing quietly in the background. She smelled a subtle hint of men's cologne, felt warm arms around her. The car turned a corner, she sighed, and he ran a slow hand through her hair.

"You awake?" he asked quietly, "We're almost home." She didn't answer and soon fell asleep again as the car rocked her; her body perfectly comfortable nestled in his arms.

She awoke again when the elevator gave a soft, familiar ding! He was carrying her, the doors slid open, and he began down the hall to her apartment door. "We're home," he announced, managing to unlock the door and slide through it still carrying her. He kicked the door shut behind him and crossed the room and began down her slim hallway to her bedroom. "How are you feeling?"

"All right,"

"You don't have a high fever," he explained matter-of-factly, lying her down on her bed, "I just think the alcohol was too much for you tonight." He sat down next to her legs and watched her carefully. "Can I get you anything?" he asked.

"No, thank you. Are you going back to the club now?"

"Not if you don't want me to." He said simply. "Do you want me to stay?"

"But—they're waiting for you." She insisted groggily.

"They'll be fine without me," he smiled, "do you want me to stay? Either way, I'm getting you some medicine." He disappeared into the bathroom in search for some. "Maybe I should," he called, "you still don't look well, Pan." She rolled over on her side and closed her eyes. She didn't feel up to talking.

Trunks continued to rummage through cabinets until he found a bottle of thick red liquid with a measuring cup atop the cap. "Take this," he kneeled next to the bed, poured the dose into the plastic cup, "I promise it'll make you feel better." She scooted to the edge of the bed and manage to gulp it down. "I'll be right back, and I'll bring you some water." He slipped out of the bedroom and down the hall. He grasped her cordless phone from its base and dialed Goten's number. He rested it on his shoulder as he rinsed out the measuring cup at the kitchen sink.

"Goten? I think I'm going to stay here a bit—she's not doing that well. I'll give you a call tomorrow." He waited for Goten's response and then, "Bye." He shook out the clean cup and sat it on the dishrack to dry. He looked around her apartment. It was disconcertingly clean; the television remotes in a row on the coffeetable, the throw blanket just so on the side of the couch. Her coats were all neat on the hanger by the door, the coffeemaker spotless on the countertop. He smiled to himself and went back into her bedroom.

She was fast asleep on top of the blanket, curled on her side, her hair spilt on the white pillow. "Panny?" He touched her shoulder softly. She didn't even twitch in response. He gently slid the comforter out from under her, pulled it up to her shoulders and adjusted her head in the pillow. Notoriously a deep sleeper, Pan didn't make a sound. She didn't budge either when he kicked off his shoes and crawled onto the bed next to her. She only sighed when he wrapped his arm around her waist and rested his forehead in the crook of her shoulder and neck.

Soon after he fell asleep as well.