He opened his eyes slowly, hoping and praying to the gods that he would find something behind them other than the plain drop ceiling that covered his office. Alas, the day wasn't a dream, nor had he managed to magically transport himself somewhere else during his short mental break. He was still in the same damn place, doing the same damn thing. His computer screen was still blaring white light into his face, his cell phone chiming happy little reminder tones telling him that he hadn't gotten anything real accomplished all day.

The week had been a slow-passing nightmare, and while it had mostly been out of his control and composed of the normal forest fires that come with a business of this size, there were aspects that were completely due to some sort of inexplicable, anxious energy that seemed to cause him to forget how to operate as a functional adult. Nothing was going right; he'd used the wrong presentation at a meeting and no one had bothered to tell him for nearly half an hour, he'd approved an invoice only to discover it was a phishing attack that sent his IT team into meltdown mode, and he'd somehow caused an industrial copier to catch on fire. For a tech-mogul who had started playing with circuit boards at the age of three, it was humiliating. He was expecting the mass resignation of his entire IT team to land on his desk any moment.

Despite the fact that the week was ending, he had very little to look forward to. The lack of progress on just about everything he had on his desk meant that weekend hours were a given. But he'd made a commitment on Saturday that he just couldn't break. Every time he thought work had become hellish enough to use as an excuse, he'd remember those large brown eyes, shining up at him like he wasn't the piece of shit he was and his resolve would melt.

Pan's reappearance in his life had not been the nostalgic panacea he'd hoped it would be when he landed at her dojo. Instead, it tipped his world even further off its axis. He was still very confused about what exactly his body had done to him that night at the bar. To make matters even worse, while he'd expected the sensation to fade with some daytime clarity and a return to the real world, it hadn't. He'd had her in the back of his mind all week.

The thought of training with her the next day caused a surge of dread in his stomach. He was looking forward to getting it over with so he could move on. It was very likely the only time in his life he looked forward to Monday.

He sat up in his chair, taking his feet off the desk as he returned to focus on what he was supposed to be thinking about. His email box had produced a new slew of messages while he'd been mentally torturing himself, and the large stack of papers on his desk still loomed there like a threatening monolith. Just as he'd chosen to conquer the papers first, a knock sounded on his door.

"Yeah?" he called.

His administrative assistant Mika poked a cautious head in. "Is everything going alright?"

"Sure," he answered in a lie he knew she would likely see through anyway, "just – wondering why I can't sign this stuff on the computer and give my hand a break."

"The IT staff said they weren't comfortable given the latest phishing attack and concerns…."

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, fair enough," he said with a tired sigh.

She smiled uneasily, looking behind her into her office. "If you're up for a break, you have a visitor."

He signed another document, and put it carefully in the stack. "I've got to get this finished and they can make an appointment."

"She said she's a friend - who seems to know what you like for lunch," Mika hinted. "She has a dozen bags, at least."

He immediately looked up from his documents with surprised curiosity. He swallowed hard, trying to stifle a small flame of hope in his chest. His mother wouldn't be asking to come in, Bra never brought him lunch, and there were only so many "she's" who knew his extreme calorie requirements. He attempted to quell his excitement, reminding himself that Mika knew his ex's name, and she wouldn't be so secretive if it was just her.

"O-okay," he nodded.

She disappeared from his doorway. A second later, the familiar figure walked through the door carrying two arms full of food and making it look like it might as well have been bags of feathers. For the briefest second, he was disappointed it wasn't who he'd hoped. The moment she smiled at him, that disappointment faded into nothing. The swiftness of the emotional shift was almost jarring.

"Lunch?" Pan asked, her eyes shining with the energy of the noon sun.

He genuinely smiled. "What is this?" He pushed the important stack he'd been working on to the side so she could put the bags down.

"Rio's!" she said happily.

His mouth dropped slightly and he looked at her in astonishment. She didn't have to twist his arm. He took a few containers out to examine their contents. One container held pasta with chicken. He peeled up the paper lid all the way back and inhaled slowly. "Oh – that takes me back." In no time, he'd grabbed a fork and dug in. Pan smiled in self-satisfaction. "Where did you get it?" he asked with this mouth full. "They closed the one here years ago."

She laughed, appreciating how much he seemed to enjoy the surprise. "He moved down near my parents. He said he'd saved enough on what you and Goten brought alone and retired early. He still owns a little location though. I put this order in a few days ago and – well, he asked me not to do this to him again for a while." She twisted her lips, looking playfully guilty when she said it. She had gotten a lot of food.

He chuckled and took another bite, swallowing roughly since he was eating way too quickly. "Aren't you eating?" he asked.

"No – this is all for you," she said cryptically. He stopped chewing in reflex, and looked down at his food suspiciously. "I didn't poison it, Trunks. I just want you to get your carbohydrates in – for tomorrow." She sat down in the chair across from him, emphasizing the seriousness of her statement.

"Ulterior motives…" he said. If he was going to use an excuse to cancel the appointment with her, he should've done it earlier. The containers of delicious smelling food and her pink lips grinning back from the other side of his desk made him too painfully aware that it was too late to lie. Maybe she would be amenable to it being kept short – but there was no backing out now.

He'd already mowed through his first container when he went searching for what to eat next. There was a bag entirely composed of garlic bread loaves. He grabbed one and threw one to Pan. She was still a Son – and he was sure she was secretly salivating, even if she hadn't gotten herself anything.

She took it gratefully and broke it open, eating it in relatively polite, small pieces.

"What time are you going to be there?" she asked. "Bulma said Vegeta starts early, so I was thinking of showing up around six."

He nodded in agreement, swallowing another bite. "I'll probably over around noon."

Her smile fell and she immediately protested. "That late? I'll be tired by then."

That's what I'm hoping, he thought. "You'll be fine. Just build in a lunch break, take a rest. I'll get you when you recharge." He knew that wasn't going to be how it worked; she knew it wasn't going to work like that – not after six hours with Vegeta under the stress of several hundred Gs in her new form.

She threw her bread on his desk and crossed her arms, a deep frown marring her bright façade, which brought him a little relief. Her annoyance and disappointment were obvious. He felt a pang of guilt, but at the same time, he thought this was the best solution that wouldn't disappoint her.

"You should have this one-on-one time with Vegeta, Pan," he started, doing his best to come up with this off the cuff and sound like he'd had this planned the whole time. "He's the last one, you know. It's important you learn what you can from him. You don't need me there to distract the both of you."

Her brow remained wrinkled although her frown softened slightly. She didn't buy it, not entirely. "I'm not even going to have the energy to show you what it looks like."

He considered that point. That was what she really wanted, right? That's why she didn't come looking for a spar five years ago, two, or even six months ago. She wanted to show off what she'd just accomplished. That's what really mattered; it had been one of her lifetime goals, after all.

He put his food down, wiping his mouth with a napkin and standing from his chair. He walked around to her side of the desk and sat on the top, crossing his arms and looking down at her. "Then show me now."

"R-right now?" she repeated, caught off guard by the suggestion.

"Why not?"

"Okay," she said, suddenly agreeable and somewhat excited. "Where do we go?"

He shrugged and gestured to an open area next to a meeting desk at the other end of his office, near a window. She could tell he used it as a launching/landing area for when he came in and left through the window. At least, that would explain the wear and tear on the otherwise new carpet in a particular spot, and the lack of nearby furniture.

"Trunks, I'm going to wreck the place," she said with a nervous chuckle.

"The transformation requires energy, but not violence. When you get it down, you should be able to do it without causing everything around you to fall to shit."

"I don't have it down – not yet," she argued. "I can call it at will, but it still takes a minute and it's not the easiest to do."

"Try it," he encouraged. "If it starts getting hairy, we'll go outside."

She looked at him uneasily, but seemed satisfied with his response. It was his office in his building, after all. She stood from her chair and walked over to the open area he'd pointed to earlier.

He could already feel her aura climbing slowly and cautiously, but it was only because he was carefully monitoring it. There were no outward manifestations of the energy yet, even after a few moments. At this rate, they would be waiting all day. "It's okay Pan. You can push it more than that."

"I haven't been in the 'student' role for a while," she said with a half-smile.

With his arms crossed, he watched her intently. A breeze was beginning to blow lightly from underneath her. The papers on his desk rustled as her energy expanded and her ki grew. She was keeping very careful control of the bloom, proving that even though the transformation was new, she was still an incredibly skilled fighter.

She spread her legs so they were slightly apart, getting a firmer grip on the ground and adjusting her weight for balance. Light began to emanate from her form. The ground shook lightly, but although she glanced questioningly over at him, he wasn't concerned. It was a small rumble. The building was built for strong shakes, and he wasn't worried.

The wind increased suddenly, whipping around the small space as her power abruptly spiked. Trunks watched in dismay as the papers he failed to secure like an idiot were now swirling around the room in a vortex. A light flash, and her hair began to stiffen. From her feet, a wall of golden energy erupted, blowing around her legs, her torso, and up her body like a maelstrom. The wave of light sent her short hair on its end, and there it stayed.

Those once considered important documents continued to swirl around them in a circle, but the twister of white paper no longer had Trunks' attention. He was struck; every ounce of focus was on her. Her entire body was consumed with gold. It radiated from her silhouette like an elegant cloak, shrouding her in an ethereal haze. The Saiyans would've treated her like a goddess just a few generations back, and there would be no question from him as to why.

The vortex continued to swirl around them, but she took a deep breath, calming her aura and steadying the transformation. With a small sigh of fatigue caused by the amount of control she was exerting, she opened her eyes.

His eyes widened slightly in shock of what was going on within his own body. This wasn't just rebounding. His theory had been centered around the fact that it was only because her features were slightly similar that he was feeling what he was suddenly feeling for her. But now – now they looked absolutely nothing alike. Her now emerald eyes flared like cold fire. She was pure energy, and he felt as though she could cut him in two from where he stood.

He wanted to say something. She was waiting for feedback, but the words wouldn't form. His mouth had gone dry, the blood in his body rushing to areas aside from his brain, making him feel both exhilarated and like a giant ball of garbage at the same time. He thought his plan was going to get him out of trouble, but he was suddenly trapped in a small room with it.

His eyes kept traveling from her hair to her feet, taking in the image in front of him with a mix of confusion, anxiety, and excitement. The breeze still blew from the ground beneath her although it had calmed, rustling the hems of her shorts and shirt, revealing even more tightened muscles. She was stronger, but still small-framed – a streamlined version of the male form. Despite her relatively petite size, she was all power and strength – everything she'd ever wanted to be.

"Trunks?" She wasn't blind to his stare, but she didn't know what it meant. The threads of Taani's teasing flittered through her mind, filling her with the dissonance of simultaneously hoping her friend was both right and wrong.

Her heart began fluttering when he didn't answer her back, which caused an ever-so-slight loss of mental focus. A tiny bolt snapped from her aura, finding the nearest attractive point. This happened to be his light switch, which sizzled in complaint as the lights overhead went dark.

"Sorry," she muttered and quickly tried to focus in again.

"It's okay," he finally said, "just take some deep breaths."

"I don't – have a lot of stamina yet," she said. She could feel her body trying to slip back to normal. It wasn't the transformation itself draining her, it was her attempt to keep it contained. "I could hold it for longer if I could power up, but…"

He stood and stepped closer, supportively placing a hand on her arm. "You're doing good. Learning how to hold it at different intensities for longer times, or how to transform without a huge powerup – this is all part of teaching your body how to handle it – like working out the same muscle in different ways."

She nodded in understanding. "You're a good teacher."

Silence spread between them, and she found herself having to compensate her energy output for how hard her heart was suddenly beating. His eyes remained fixed on her, but the more he stared, the more they were beginning to look almost disappointed.

"Does it look like it fits on me?" she asked, unwarranted self-consciousness welling up in her chest. "I know the form isn't exactly the same as it is with the rest of you. I'm not as strong, but I'm fast."

The strange look in his eyes remained, but his lips turned upward, creating a discord in his features that confused her even more. "Yeah," he said, almost as though he was dumbfounded that she would ever suggest otherwise.

Without a thought in his head, his hand moved up, brushing aside the one strand of her hair that still stubbornly obeyed gravity and threatened to fall into her eye. He could feel the electric-like buzz of her energy, and was focused on its sensation, distracted from what he was doing, and definitely not noticing that her bright eyes were looking up at him like she could read what was going through his mind at that moment.

She tentatively reached her own hand up to his, barely brushing his fingers when he was slammed back to the reality of the present. Like she had burned him, he pulled his hand back quickly, her name, her identity, and all the information he'd seemed to forget in the last few minutes flooded his brain again. He held his hand with his other one like it had caused him pain, stumbling to think of something to say that would give the moment grounding.

"Trunks…" she started, sounding abruptly argumentative.

He swore at himself, calling himself every name in the book within his head, wishing for literally anything to save him from the conversation that was sure to follow. She'd have to be blind to miss the obvious clues in that reckless interaction. He was just embarrassing himself at this point and she was probably wondering what the hell was the matter with him.

"Trunks!" His door slammed open, violently shaking the windows. He'd never been so happy to see his mother in his life, even after she'd once died. "What's going on?!" she asked with a panic. "The building was shaking!"

Neither of them immediately answered, but Pan allowed herself to slip out of the transformation. Her knees wobbled slightly; she was quick to blame the effort she'd exuded to control her energy for that reaction. It had taken more out of her than she thought.

Bulma put the math together quickly once the yellow had faded from Pan's hair. "Wait, was that you?"

"Y-yeah," she said. "I…"

"My fault. I should've stopped it earlier," Trunks interjected and with more truth than he'd intended. He momentarily looked back at her, his eyes quickly darting away as though he was afraid of her.

Bulma put her hand to her chest and exhaled in relief. "You can't scare me like that. And your employees…."

"I'll think of something and put out an email," he said with an understanding nod.

She seemed satisfied with his response, even though she still looked startled, and her attention went back to Pan. She relaxed and smiled as she walked up to the girl. "You look good in gold," she said cheerfully, giving Pan a light squeeze on the chin. Pan smiled politely in return, even though the action made her feel like it was a sign Bulma had forgotten how old she was. "Why does it smell like you're trying to kill a vampire in here?"

"Pan brought lunch."

Bulma grimaced and walked over the window, pushing it open all the way. The fresh breeze disturbed the fallen papers on the floor. "What are these?" she said, her voice already in a half-scolding tone.

"Uh…" he started, noticing the extent of the mess in his office, "my morning project."

"You mean the one the courier's going to be picking up in an hour?" She pulled her cigarette packet from her pocket, lighting one while as she looked pointedly at him.

"That'll really help the garlic smell, Mom," he said sarcastically.

She tilted her head, flashing him a look that let him know he needed to shut up and start cleaning. He was abnormally obedient. For the first time in potentially ever, he actually appreciated her marching into his office and ordering him around. Instead of arguing, he got down on his knees and started picking up the shuffled pieces of what had been an organized proposal.

"I'm going to see you tomorrow," Pan started uneasily, "right?"

He didn't answer at first, suddenly feeling like this was an even worse idea than it was before. She crouched in front of him on the ground.

"Trunks…." she said again.

He made the mistake of looking up at her. Those eyes, big and dark, were staring down at him intently. The brightness that was normally in her expression was missing, replaced with concern and worry. She thought he was going to cancel on her, he surmised. Because she hadn't been blind and had picked up on what was now an impassible obstacle of awkward tension. Was there any hoping she still had some youthful naivete and would write this whole instance off as a mix of friendly respect and clumsiness instead of a moment of sexually frustrated stupidity?

Just get through tomorrow, he told himself, then figure your shit out.

He nodded, and noted that she visibly exhaled in relief. A small smile appeared back on her lips. "At noon," he confirmed.

He continued to pick up papers and watched from the corner of his eye and she said a quick goodbye to Bulma and then jumped out the window.

. . .

Pan waited until she was a fair distance away from his building before she stopped in the air and turned back to look at the familiar office park. She had not imagined what had just happened, and it was making her surprisingly – angry? Those damn flutters from her youth were right back in her stomach, where she thought they'd died years ago. It was too late to pretend that nearly a decade had been long enough to ensure their permanent demise.

She crossed her arms, reaching up to the spot where his hand had been as though it hurt. She'd been touched like that before; it hadn't led to anything good yet. And the look he gave her - that look usually meant going down one of two paths. The first one, you either talked it out or completely ignored it, but it almost always led to strange tension in her experience and that wasn't what she wanted for someone who had both been a close friend and was one of the few people that truly understood a large side of her. The other path would – well, it wouldn't be one Trunks would ever take with her. And even though she knew that mentally, and couldn't rationalize any differently, she was having trouble convincing her body of the same. He'd only come back into her life a moment ago – and she knew that the chances were high he'd be leaving again very quickly if she didn't handle this carefully.

She had a foreboding feeling about the whole thing. This was going to suck.

Pan arrived at the yellow dome in Metro West just after sunrise. The discomfort from the day before had ebbed a bit, fading with a fresh night's sleep and a reminder of how excited she had been for her plans. She'd spent a week nearly counting the hours like a kid at Christmas; she wasn't going to allow a few weird minutes to kill that for her.

Vegeta was outside on one of the lawns, his legs and arms both crossed as his eyes were closed. She set herself down on the grass nearby quietly, not wanting to disturb him. Meditation seemed like something out of character for him – but she knew he had quite a history and a volatile nature. Maybe this was just his way of….

"Stop staring," he said, causing her to jump slightly.

"Sorry," she muttered quietly. "I know I'm early, but…"

He stood and subtly nodded towards the building with his head. Somehow, she knew that was an instruction to follow him, so she did. His brow was knit deeply as though she was the least welcome thing in the world. She just had to remind herself that was how he always looked.

She instinctively kept her distance as they made their way through the old headquarters building, which was now solely a living space. She'd been enough of a brat as a kid to pretend she wasn't impressed, but the truth was, he had always intimidated her, and she could never quite hone in on whether that was based on respect or actual fear. He was full-blooded, the prince of her ancestor's dead planet, and while that didn't mean much now, it was still something she was in awe of, even if she rarely let that be seen.

True, Goku had always been his better and led the way in achieving new levels of power, but – Goku was also "Grandpa" to her. He didn't exactly hold the same mystique. But in the one instance she'd been alive and old enough to remember Vegeta and her grandfather really powering up, it was terrifying. Transforming once might've been her life's goal – and at one point, it was quite the accomplishment - but now it was nothing but a candle comparing itself to a star.

They rounded back side of the building to where the gravity chamber had been built. The special room was separated from the rest of the building through Capsule Corps' proprietary blend of thick insulation, which was evidenced in the heavy door that led in to it. Big, red letters were printed on the inside that read, "safety latch". She guessed Bulma had built in a lot of features to keep him from accidentally destroying the house, or someone without superhuman strength from accidentally walking in on 100gs of gravity.

She stepped in, taking in the shockingly large, airy space around her for a moment as she put her bag on the floor.

"There's water and a bathroom in here. Put your bag outside, or your things will break," he said, entering a security code on the panel so it would unlock the gravity controls.

"Right," she acknowledged and obeyed, throwing her phone in her bag and placing her bag outside the door. Before she did, she pulled out a small square of orange material, tying it around her head firmly. The old memento of her grandfather's was getting old and threadbare, and her grandmother was no longer alive to help her find scraps for a replacement. She hadn't worn it since they were still with her, but a once-in-a-lifetime training session with Vegeta seemed like the right occasion to bring it along.

"Engage the safety on the door so I can start the gravity," he instructed.

Again, she obeyed. When she turned back around, she saw him briefly glance at the bandana as if he recognized its source. It was almost imperceptible, but his razor-sharp eyes narrowed even further. If possible, he looked even more pissed than he had before. "How much gravity can you handle?" he asked gruffly.

There was no other discussion, and while part of her desperately wanted to hear him tell his perspective of certain events, his preference for concise conversation was actually welcome. There were no comments about how big she'd gotten or how much she changed, no emphasizing the passage of time that had occurred between visits, they were just down to business.

"I don't know. I've never trained with it before."

He sighed in frustration. "Then tell me when it starts hurting and transform when you need to."

"Okay."

He turned the dial. The large number on the screen read 100gs. She shrugged, feeling the weight, but it was not a huge deal. He turned the dial again. Now 150gs, she could definitely feel the strain on her muscles. If she hadn't transformed yet, this would probably be where she would need to leave it. Except, something about his fact said that this was still below his expectations. Without a response, he turned the dial again. 200gs lit up the dial and a second later, the world pressed down on her. She barely flinched, but it was enough for him to see.

"If this is too much, transform," he ordered her.

"It's fine," she lied. He reached over and turned the dial one more time. When 250gs hit, her muscles began quivering and she stumbled. He gave her a disapproving look. She held up a finger, and suddenly pulled off her boots and socks. Her balanced improved instantly, but she was still nearly at the line of her tolerance. "I can do more," she said defiantly, ignoring the little voice in her head that said otherwise.

"Damn it Girl, if you want your time in here to last more than 15 minutes, transform," he said impatiently.

She gave in and powered up, allowing her aura to flare quickly in contrast to what she'd done the day before. It was already getting easier. She looked with wide eyes down at her hands, feeling the stark difference in how 250gs felt to her body. It was surprising how much easier it was. In fact, it almost felt as though the extra gravity had disappeared. She had to look at the panel to make sure he hadn't accidentally turned it off.

His face turned, as though he was asking her a question. "I've – I've never felt this form make such a difference in my strength before. I mean – I obviously knew it boosted my power, but…"

"You need to find weighted armor or some other resistance," he interrupted her as he cranked the gravity up to 300gs, "or you'll stagnate quickly."

The heavy sensation reappeared, but in a manageable way. He seemed to have zeroed in on the best level for her. "Noted," she said.

The rest of the training was intense. She was immediately made to feel foolish for attempting to impress him early on because he very quickly saw every imperfection in her and pointed it out with unsympathetic accuracy. Her knowledge of martial arts ran deep, but Vegeta was brutal in his refusal to follow any set of rules. Teaching a particular form had left her forgetful and vulnerable to the unpredictable ruthlessness a real opponent could exert in a fight. It was a lot to get used to, but she was immediately grateful for it.

She thought at least her grandfather had been tough enough on her to make her a decent fighter, and in many ways, he had, but whether he'd been conscience of it or not, he never really went all out on her. Her uncle and father were very much the same, except they'd fallen behind on their own training and were losing some of the edge that they'd gotten in their youths. Training under Vegeta was thrilling and she absorbed every word he said the best she possibly could.

It ended much too quickly, and she felt she'd barely scratched the surface of what she could learn from him. She was ecstatic, but almost heartbroken at the same time, knowing that she was not likely to get further lessons from him.

He'd barely broken a sweat by the end of it, but she was resting on the tile ground, fighting to catch her breath. Her transformation had died a while ago and he'd made her continue in her normal form. She suspected that was more so he could keep this session short than anything. It had worked.

He'd given some weak excuse for cutting out as early as he did, but she knew it was likely also due to her being at her limit. On the plus side, the early finish left plenty of time for her to eat, rest, and recover for her next appointment – and would give her time to rebuild some of her mental focus.

. . .

Even though Trunks no longer lived in the residential Capsule building, he was not far. On the other side of the business park, there was a ten-story apartment complex, of which he owned the whole top level. It had a large balcony, which was ideal for convenient entrances and exits via the air. To fly from his apartment to either his office or the capsule dome took only a few moments. Unfortunately, that also meant that he had little to no excuse for being as late as he was running.

He checked his watch. 12:20. She was going to be mad, or disappointed… or maybe she would've given up or was so tired she would've already left by the time he arrived.

Or maybe, he told himself. You should just be an adult for once and meet her like you promised. He sucked in a deep breath and then jumped down.

She was still in the gravity room. He wasn't sure whether to be happy or disappointed. The previous night leading up to this morning had been full of tossing and turning. Frustration mixed with self-abhorrence, but he also would be lying if he would've denied thinking about her in other ways. The more his mind played over the way her almost onyx eyes had shined before glowing to emerald, the way her body had tightened and emanated strength as she transformed, and the eager, soft smile she'd had on her lips when she walked in his office, the more he hated himself.

It wasn't just her youth, her petite form, or the fact that she shared certain visual qualities to someone who'd just broken his heart that was drawing his attention. He was honest with himself with that fact now. If that was all there was to it, he could dismiss this easily, as he'd tried so desperately to up to this point. No, the display of power she'd shown combined with all of those elements and managed to drill themselves deep into a part of him that he'd tried to shove deep down within himself awhile ago. The Saiyan half of him was as gripped as his human half. She spoke directly to some very primal instincts of his – and it scared him.

She didn't acknowledge his entrance, even after he latched and locked the heavy door behind him. A weight formed in his stomach in fear of the potential conversation that was to follow about the day before. He'd been awake most of the night coming to terms with his own thoughts and the way his body was reacting to someone he'd never had an unchaste thought about in his life. He was going to have to process that and figure it out himself. But talking about it with her was not something he could bring himself to do.

"It's about time," she said, finally looking over at him. "I thought I was going to have to come rip you out of your office – or wherever you spend Saturday mornings."

Her voice sounded normal, but he failed to get a good read on her. The thought occurred to him that maybe he should be the one to start the conversation. Rip it off like a band aide and it clear the air that much faster. "Sorry," he started, scratching the back of his head as nerves built up within him. "I was, uh…"

She didn't seem to be listening, so he trailed off. Instead, she walked over to the control panel, doing the same things Vegeta did to trigger the gravity effect. "Vegeta left pretty early. He said he'd promised Bra a trip to the local outlet. I think he was taking pity on me and didn't want to bruise my ego." The main device in the room buzzed and Trunks felt himself press into the ground. "Do you mind if I keep it a little low? He kind of wore me out." she asked.

"Sure, but - we can do this later," he quickly suggested.

"No," she said emphatically with a snort. "It's hard enough getting time on your dance card, Trunks Briefs."

He was still trying to figure her out. Either she was oblivious to yesterday, or she was choosing to ignore it for the sake of keeping their relationship what it should be. He had considered the fact that she was only 25 and maybe she was inexperienced to this dynamic with men, but as soon as the thought appeared in his head, he dismissed it as a possibility. Memories of a certain person's fingertips drifting under the hem of her shirt as his hands rested familiarly on her waist completely crushed the very idea.

She turned around finally, lowering her stance into her preferred pose as she watched him expectantly. Her eyes were bright, focused, and staring at him in a challenge. Her lips pointed upward in a very subtle smirk. This was Pan, at her very typical best. There was nothing off about it, no apparent tension, and nothing that indicated to him that she had any intention to talk about the day before.

He smiled softly, some of his own tension melting as he momentarily studied her. So, she was going to ignore the whole thing. He was good with that.

"No Super?" he asked.

"Give me a warm up first," she complained. "I had to wait a while for you and I cooled down."

He nodded and took a deep breath, focusing his thoughts on the position of her limbs and her first moves. He sunk into a mirrored pose, and the contest started.

. . .

Sweat dripped down her face. The gentle buzzing hum of the gravity chamber was working with the now stale air in the room to increase her irritation at how difficult the relatively low 100gs was proving to be on her body. Her hamstrings and core muscles screamed at her to lie down on the cool tile floor – and this was still the "warm up".

He was faring better, and her feelings were very mixed about that. She'd been working out already all morning, but the break she'd had between partners should've restored some of her energy. He also hadn't been training nearly as consistently as she had been, so she should've closed the gap between them just a little. Of course, he had started from a higher level than she ever hoped to obtain. That came from both having less diluted blood and from having spending his youth horsing around with a sparring partner who was close to his level. She didn't have either of those advantages.

On the plus side, he was strong enough to provide the challenge she was looking for that day without being overwhelming. He was less intense than Vegeta, and unlike the older Saiyan, he wasn't knocking her back with every impact. She could go longer with him before he wore her out, and if she did it correctly, she could still find the upper hand in speed and technique. After all, only one of them actually worked at a martial arts dojo. Staying current with different moves and strategies was her literal job.

She'd dodged his last attack, so she quickly took a deep breath and went on the offensive, coming at him with a feigned punch before dropping at the last second to deliver an upward, solid kick to the center of his chest. It caught him by surprise and knocked him off balance, sending him flying backwards and towards the floor. He managed to stop himself from landing with a small ki blast and bounded back up, using his momentum to deliver a return kick. Luckily, she was able to get her left forearm up just in time to block it, and once his balance was off again from his outstretched leg, she pivoted on her feet to shrink their distance, then landed a punch with her right fist directly in his gut.

He saw it at the last possible moment and had braced his abdominal muscles in time, but the impact still caused him a quake of pain. He hesitated briefly while it passed, but came at her again as soon as it faded enough for him to move again. She was fast and remarkably good at blocking attacks; she was able to read him exceptionally well, and he wasn't sure if that was her training, or if she just remembered his typical style and tricks and was able to foresee his next moves.

That's what I get for not thinking up any new ones, he scolded himself, hearing a bit of his father's voice in his head.

He tried again, putting more energy into his speed than he had been as he failed repeatedly to land additional blows. Seeing his increasingly frustrated face at this renewed effort felt like a pretty good victory for the moment.

He'd been relying on his legs for a lot of this spar and she recognized that pretty much immediately. He was trying to take advantage of the height difference that remained between them, but it also seemed like he was purposely avoiding using his fists as much as possible. However, he also realized she'd picked on that. That realization should've shifted the advantage back to him, but it caused a moment when he second-guessed himself when winding up for a spin kick. The half-second of hesitancy left her plenty of time to deflect it and use the inertia he'd created to spin her own body around. With a loud "smack", the ball of her foot collided with his cheek. His eyes widened and he stepped out of striking range, giving her the "hold" sign while rubbing the side of his face gingerly.

"Stop being so predictable," she said with a laugh. "Are you taking it easy on me?"

He wrinkled his brow and looked at her with slight offense, but knew her jab was accurate. "I definitely know better than that," he said with a snort of humor. "Kind of glad you decided to go barefoot. I'm supposed to have an interview next week."

Pan leaned over and rested her hands on the top of her legs, allowing her core muscles a small break and her lungs to catch up with her for a moment. "I'm having some trouble finding my balance in the gravity," she explained. "I feel like I can grip the floor better in my bare feet."

"Do we need to turn it down?"

"No!" she emphatically protested.

He chuckled, realizing that was the obvious answer.

She bit her lip, hesitating before suggesting, "I need a water break, but - I think I'd be ready to get into it for real, if you're up for it."

He nodded. "Sure," he said, glad he sounded more casual about the idea than he felt.

She walked over to the water closet area of the room and grabbed two specially reinforced water canteens that were stored there for use when the room was going, throwing one to Trunks as she opened hers and gulped some of it down. Trunks leaned against the wall, but she took advantage of the time off to temporarily let gravity win, setting herself on the floor. For a moment, there were no sounds in the room except for the machine itself and their tired lungs filling with air.

Trunks didn't like the silence. A moment ago, he'd been focused, driven, and actually having fun. Now, those intrusive thoughts were beginning to drift back in. He was stuck in a small room with her; he knew this was going to be difficult. He just had to get through this next hour or two, then he could go home, shower off, and laugh about the insanity of the last week.

"Why are you overusing your legs today?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"I didn't notice I was," he lied. "Habit, I guess?"

She looked up at him skeptically. "No – you're usually more balanced than that. Are you sure you're not trying to go easy on me?"

"I'm sure," he said truthfully. Using his arms would mean closer combat. He had started it subconsciously to keep her at a distance. He'd noticed it shortly after starting – probably around the time she did as well and started taking advantage of his repetition to gain the advantages she had been. "And we haven't sparred in a while, so how do you know what I'm normally like?"

The comment stung a little, and he knew it did as soon as it left his mouth. She'd tried on several occasions to find time with him when she was younger, until she'd finally accepted that he was just too busy with work and life. Her brow twitched downward, but her tone didn't indicate she was as hurt as he was afraid she would be. "So, you're saying you've only gotten worse at this?"

He deserved that. "I don't know. I'm tired," he answered back, hoping she would take that at face value.

She seemed to. The conversation stalled for a bit as she finished her water and stood back up. She started stretching, feeling out her tired muscles for how much more she had in her. Unfortunately, she seemed barely affected by how long and difficult her day had been. Sweat still dripped down her face, though it wasn't pouring as hard as it had been a moment ago. It was hot in the room, so it was no surprise to him that she chose to take off the thick green gi that covered the top half of her body.

Shit…

The clothes she had on underneath were the same skin-tight layers she'd had on before. The breathable, light, and flexible material that composed the liner for Saiyan armor was made of made perfect sense for a training session like this one. She had every reason to wear it and hadn't done so just he could stare at the way it hugged her form. He turned his head away as though he she had just gotten indecent, running a hand through his moist hair as a deep frown appeared on his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, noticing the sudden change.

He shook his head, but didn't look over at her. "Nothing."

His tone had changed, she noted. Nerves were starting to get the better of her. She was beginning to sense some impatience. She didn't know what had been going on in his head the day before, not for sure, anyway. Taani had her ideas, and yesterday seemed to only confirm that - but whatever it really was, he seemed more and more irritated by it. Pan could easily see the same result of it on the horizon as she'd experienced before: tension, strangeness, and eventual distance. She would rather he still thought of her as a child.

She subtly peered at him from her peripheral. His eyes were still fixated on some part of the opposite wall. "Can we do this again sometime? My schedule has opened a lot since I graduated and I usually get weekend afternoons off…" she offered. She left the request vague and open-ended for a reason. He didn't have to commit to a day or time. If he just gave her a general 'yes', she would at least know that this odd dynamic that had appeared between them wouldn't keep him out of her life for another ten years. That could be enough – for the moment.

He rested his head against the wall. "Uh," he started hesitantly. Her stomach dropped. "Work has been kind of crazy..."

Alright, ignoring the issue wasn't working. The only other option was to talk about it. She hated that option; it was uncomfortable and she never seemed to express herself right, but she would do anything to keep him from resenting her for something she couldn't control. "You've been acting a little off since that night at the dojo," she started carefully. "I thought it was just because it'd been so long – or maybe because I'd changed a little…."

Warning sirens began blasting in his mind's ear. He had thought he was going to get out of this day easily and he was stupid for it. She had trailed off for a moment, but he couldn't think of what to interrupt with that would refocus her attention on anything else. "Can we just fight?" he asked plainly, knowing she would see right through his attempt to change the subject.

"Look," she continued, beginning to lose patience herself, "whatever it is - I just need to know if you're still going to be here. I don't know why you feel so uncomfortable around me now, but we've been friends for too long for me to just accept that and let you go."

He sighed, dismayed with her appeal to their history because she knew that would work. "Yes, you – you're different. That's all," his tone was relaxed, as though it wasn't a big deal, but she could see the unease on his face and feel it in the very aura that sprang from his body. "I was surprised. I haven't changed at all in these years and you've become almost a completely new person. It just threw me off."

He was both telling the truth and lying, and she knew it. Regardless, he wasn't saying much of anything.

"Is it because," she started, again being extremely careful about choosing the next few words, "I kind of look like her?"

His mouth opened and shut a few times, but his eyes grew wide as the question struck him silent.

"I've never actually spoken with her, but I've seen her and…"

"No," he answered quickly. It was the most honest he'd been during this whole conversation. He'd told himself that in the beginning, when he was making excuses. They both had fiery, independent energy, a bit of a temper, and similar coloring, but that was where their similarities stopped. He'd been fooling himself from the get-go by telling himself that lie. It didn't even feel the same inside of him. Everything about this was unique to Pan.

She nodded, attempting to accept that as an authentic answer, even though he still wouldn't look at her. "Then…?"

He sighed loudly through his nose and turned his head, effectively cutting her off, looking straight at her until she would meet his eyes. His eyebrows were turned up, that same look of disappointment covering his face that had been there the day before. "Can we please just fight?" he pleaded.

Her heart sank; she hadn't been careful enough. She considered pushing it further, but didn't see the point. He was not going to give her any more than that. "Okay," she said softly, wondering if that short exchange had just ruined her attempt to reenter his life, and if this would be their last time seeing each other for yet another decade.

Relief washed over him when he felt her ki rise, knowing she wasn't going to dig any more. In a flash, she transformed. It was shockingly faster than she previously had changed – but emotion did tend to enforce its power. He transformed as well. He was slower at it than her, but he was distracted by the new suggestion of anger in her eyes and the way that one lock of golden hair seemed to fall perfectly in front of her heart-shaped face.

Trunks' heart thumped wildly in his chest as the overexcitement from the Super Saiyan form took hold. Aggression, pride and cockiness increased noticeably in this state. Every emotion was amplified. If done right, the thrill of the fight would boost energy and stamina in the fighter, but controlling those reactions and steering them towards a positive outcome was always easier said than done. He knew of a few times when it had led to serious mistakes that had caused unnecessary casualties and damage. He'd been at least half responsible for one of those moments, but he certainly wasn't alone. It affected all of them equally.

If her narrowed eyes and set frown were any indication, she was already feeling some of those effects. He momentarily wondered if his father hadn't covered that in her morning training, but that was a pointless waste of a thought. Of course, he hadn't. If anything, he would've told her to lean into it, but admitting any sort of emotional drive behind his actions was something Vegeta just did not do, even if it were painfully obvious to any spectator.

Trunks suddenly started feeling something akin to intimidation. If she looked ethereal the day before, she now resembled an angel of destruction. Her eyes narrowed beyond what he'd ever seen on her face. She looked dangerous, like a ball of fire set on burning straight through him.

As had been typical for her, she made the first move, sending energy into and up her arm as she swung towards him. It had been predictable, so he reached up to block it by grabbing her first in his own. It hurt. She had powered up her punch, putting real strength behind it. If he hadn't have blocked it, it would've done actual damage. She wasn't playing anymore.

She stared at their hands, looking as though she was reevaluating her tactics. Before he could even suggest that she calm down, she was trying a new strategy. Speed was again her best attribute, but if he thought she'd been fast before, it was nothing compared to her level now. Her hands flew around him, blurring in a fury before he could try and block or throw anything of his own. She was keeping the combat close now, preventing him from using his legs and shortening the distance he'd been keeping between them this whole time. He was close enough to feel the sweat dripping from her hair.

For the next stretch of time, he was completely on defense. So much for being too tired for me, he thought wryly, regretting his father's decision to cut her morning as short as he had. Trunks managed to block everything she threw at his face, but his ribs and gut were taking a beating. She had bruised at least one rib; he was certain of it.

Finally, she managed to sneak in a strike to his face. It landed with such an impact that it caused him to lose his balance and stumble back a few steps. The taste of blood appeared in his mouth and he saw stars for a second. With a swipe of his thumb across his lower lip, he verified that it wasn't spit trailing down his chin, as he'd hoped.

"Pan…" he said sharply in warning.

Her expression softened for an instant, but before she would let the regret slow her momentum in this fight, she phased out of his vision, materializing behind him and delivering a swift kick to his side. He brought his arm up just in time, but the power behind it once again knocked him off his stance. In the midst of his stumble, he brought his hands together, lobbing a ki blast at her core so she wouldn't use his imbalance as an opportunity to attack again.

She'd crossed her arms in front of her face, preventing it from hitting her chest. Steam rose from her forearms as her energy burned away his attack, and before he could read what her next move was, there was a return volley headed in his direction. He turned his whole body at the last possible second, feeling his tank burn away in spots as her own blast missed him by millimeters. It landed at the other end of the chamber behind him, causing cracks in the heavily reenforced wall.

His eyes widened as he looked back at her incredulously. She's taking this too seriously. With a quiet growl, he repositioned himself for another round, raising his ki higher to compensate for her increased ferocity.

The match from that point might've lasted ten more minutes or another hour. He wasn't sure. It cost them both a lot of energy, but she wasn't relenting and he wasn't about to let his guard down, or she might tear him to shreds. Trunks was not pulling his punches. The problem was, not many of them were landing. He had greater strength and power, but she was lightning itself, moving at a rate he couldn't keep up with.

She was wisely using her innate advantage, phasing in and out of his vision as she seemingly materialized in thin air for surprise hits to unguarded areas of his body. He should've stopped the whole ordeal and let her think that she had won. By all accounts, she already had if he couldn't land anything solid. But as the fight went on, escalating by small degrees, the old thrill that had been absent for years began to creep up within his power-ridden consciousness. He didn't want to give up.

Finally, she managed to make a mistake. Either fatigue or poor planning led her to accidentally repeat a patten to her movements for three rotations; he wouldn't allow her a fourth. When she slowed just enough to attack on her last round, he'd predicted where she would be, finally landing his fist onto her face.

She fell back onto the ground hard, causing chips of tile to fly up with her impact. She was still for a moment, her ragged, hard gasps for breath being the only motion from her body.

His pride in his success turned into sour regret when he realized she had a healthy trail of red dripping from her nose. "Are you okay?" he asked, snapping back into reality. "That's enough, I think."

She sat up, holding herself up by one arm as the other smeared the blood from her nose across the back of her hand. An odd smirk appeared on her lips as she looked up at him, a daring look in her eyes that should've alerted his instincts. He ignored the warning sign, thinking that maybe she was just pleased with the challenge he'd finally given her.

He stuck his arm out, offering to help her up. She took his hand, but instead of using it to stand, she whipped herself around his back, taking the appendage with her. She held that arm fast to his back while her other arm wrapped around his neck and her legs wrapped around his. He struggled against the hold, but the more he did, the more he was knocked off balance. They landed together hard on the floor, taking the brunt of the impact on their sides, but she was still firmly holding on from behind him.

To call his expression "shocked" would be an understatement. Of course, Pan knew it would catch him by surprise. This wasn't a hold used by any of the Saiyan fighters. This one was designed to give a weaker, smaller person the upper hand via leverage. It came straight from her mother.

"Pan…" he attempted to complain, his voice strained by the pressure on his throat.

She loosened the arm around his neck slightly. Knocking him unconscious wasn't the goal. "Why won't you talk to me?" she asked into his ear, the breath from her mouth stirring around his cheek.

He stayed silent, not for stubbornness, but for not knowing how to answer. What was he supposed to say? That intrusive thoughts about her had been making him miserable since he ran into her in Satan City? That he'd lost sleep thinking of her? Where was that supposed to get them? He was sure this was just momentary insanity – not something worth the embarrassment of admitting.

Her scent filled his nose, burning at the tips of his brain as she held him there. He could feel the soft curve of her chest as she breathed hard against him. You've never been anything more complicated than 'Goten's niece.' How the fuck am I supposed to go from that to anything else? He rested his blond hair against the cold floor despondently. He still hadn't thought of an answer he would admit out loud, but she was not loosening her grip any further for him.

"Is it because you don't take me seriously?" she asked, anger tipping her voice. She had been right. This was pain. Asking him these questions made her feel sick to her stomach. But before he left her again, she needed to know.

"No," he answered quickly. And if you had grappled me from the front, you'd have some proof of that, he thought, bitterly angry at the direction his blood flow had taken.

Her energy bled through their clothes, covering him with her almost soft aura while causing heat to flow from the top of his head to his feet. This needed to end soon.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he refocused. She gasped, feeling his aura exploding, but didn't let go until he ignited in a surge of renewed energy, suddenly bursting from her arms and sending her sliding across the floor. Once she stopped, she stood up quickly, betrayal written all over her expression.

"Cheater," she said.

There was no humor in her voice. He had climbed to a rung on the ladder she couldn't reach. Small tendrils of lighting erupted from his sharpened his form. His golden hair was slightly spikier, and power was radiating from him like sunbeams. He'd transformed again.

She huffed in frustration, but was not ready to resign so quickly. She lowered her stance again, his eyes locking with hers in a silent question of whether or not she wanted to keep trying, or let it go. The chips in the tiles from her earlier impact floated around her for just a moment in the deep gravity before she exploded back towards him.

This time, the contest was not so close. She knew it wouldn't be, but she wasn't going to easily surrender to that fact either. The speed that had been her advantage in the last round was now bettered by him. Every time she took aim, he dodged. One punch came close, but instead of landing, he'd grabbed her forearm, simply tossing her away. She powered up and tried throwing ki blasts at him, but he blocked those as well, even absorbing the energy so it wouldn't harm the room again.

She clipped behind him, thinking he hadn't seen her move. Sending power to her leg, she attempted to aim a kick at the back of his knees to knock him down, but it didn't work. He'd been following everything, his vision now boosted by the additional power of the second level. When her leg swung, he used her own momentum against her. She was knocked to the floor.

"Stop," he pleaded with her. This form was hard for him to hold, and was quickly taking his energy. He was too far out of practice and she was doing better than she probably thought she was – better than she should be considering his boost of power.

She stood back up, running at him yet again, but her growing impatience ruined all subtlety. She jumped, making a ki blast form in her hands that she'd intended on disrupting in front of him. Before she could get that far, he caught her mid-jump, spinning her around and slamming her against the wall. She struggled to get free for a second, twisting her arms around so that her wrists would slip through the weak points at his thumbs, but he held her arms tightly at her sides.

Her aura flared as her temper did. Again, sending a rush of her energy over his skin. They were too close – and he had been the one to put them there. Her fierce eyes met his, but neither spoke.

Power down, an ever-quieting voice screamed in his head, recognizing that this form was exaggerating feelings that were already unwelcome to him. Lightning crackled around him and that dying voice was quickly silenced completely, as though the Saiyan half of him had shut off the human half from its imploring thoughts of reason.

He could feel the heat from her body and the breeze from her quickened breath mix with his own. His heart was pounding in his chest as he held her there in place. Excitement grew stronger inside of him, his blood flowing in a rush as he looked into her intense gaze. She shifted in his arms as though to put up just one more struggle, but the anger that had been there moments before had melted into something else. She was asking him for something, her eyes travelling to his lips evidence to the fact that her mind was in the same place his was.

He shook against her, the last vestiges of sanity and self-control leaking from him, melting as the warmth between them became nearly unbearable. Neither was sure who had made the move towards the other first, but suddenly, two sets of hungry lips were exploring each other with almost aggressive eagerness.

He released her wrists, moving his grip to her hips so he could pull her even closer. Their bodies pressed so hard against the other that clothes were barely a formality. It hurt how much he needed her then, but he pulled away to breathe and to think with the last brain cell that hadn't been burned away by her lips.

His brows arched in a shadow of regret and confusion as he searched her eyes. Any chance of denial or of distraction was gone. The evidence of his feelings was undisputable and there was no going back now. Part of him thought to apologize, to put her down, walk out of the room, and jump into the nearest, ice-cold lake he could find.

"I… sorry…" he said, his voice coming roughly and quietly as he fought for words.

She frowned at first, but though softened his grip on her, he didn't let go. He still very much wanted this, he was just still trying to hang on to a sliver of what the world had been just a week and a half ago. She looked into his eyes again, her mouth curving into a light smile. He felt her hands between them, and looked down to see her removing the sash around her own pants.

He made no move to resist when she took his hand from her hips. His breath went ragged as she placed it against her bare stomach. He could feel the defined muscles underneath the layer of velvety skin and studied the contours carefully as she guided his hand down her body.

He could've pulled away at any moment, but he didn't. He shuddered against her, nearly startling her with how strong his response was to this simple touch. She gasped when he abruptly grabbed her again, spinning her around so he could take her to the floor. They landed roughly, but neither was deterred by the impact for long.

Clothes when absent very quickly. She pulled desperately at the edges of his shirt and he obliged by taking it off the rest of the way. Her shirt was next, the tight under-armor layer peeling agonizingly slowly from her body.

His broad, muscular chest made contact with hers he leaned down to rest part of himself on her and their hands and eyes mutually explored the newly exposed flesh. Her fingers went behind his head and into his stiff hair before winding down his neck and to his chin, beckoning him to kiss her again. He obeyed, and her heart went into a frenzy as his lips explored hers before moving on to her neck and shoulder.

Her eyes fluttered open as she gipped his hair, almost wishing he would power down so she could enjoy the sight of his lavender head flowing over her body. But just as she had that thought, a branch of electricity came off his aura, causing the hair on her arm to stand on edge. Their energies enveloped one another's entirely, their mutual power lighting up the room with a golden haze.

His name melted from her lips followed by a gasp as her body shook to his further attentions. She could feel pleasure rising quickly and wouldn't need much more of this. Just as she was about to crash over the edge, he stopped, pressing against her instead and kissing her once more on the neck…

...and then nothing.

She opened her eyes in confusion to find him staring down at her, his eyes filled with reluctance. She could see the question in his expression and wanted nothing more than to find a way to make him stop thinking from that point on.

No, don't come to your senses yet! She mentally screamed. Not when we're already this far!

She positioned his hips between her knees and pushed on his chest, encouraging him to turn over so that she was now on top of him, sitting in his lap. His face still showed hesitation, but the ease of this easily suggestable movement informed her that this wasn't a lost cause yet. Her hand slowly travelled down as she allowed herself to enjoy the definition of his chest and his stomach. Pleasure ripped through her when she heard his breath quicken again once she reached his belt, driven by her touch.

She took control after that moment, making sure those last hesitations of his burned away in the fire and electricity between them. They did. He was quickly as adamant as she was about chasing the same thing.

It didn't take long; it didn't need to. Her body shook against him again and she felt the wave building before slamming into her like a brick wall. Despite her desire to the contrary, she cried out, holding onto him as the aftershocks continued. He was right behind her, her vocality pushing him over the edge. He fell partially on top of her, his arm taking some of his weight, digging his nose into her neck while he enjoyed his own satisfaction.

She wrapped her arms loosely around his shoulders, savoring the feeling of his weight on top of her, and his breath cooling the hot skin of her neck and chest. For a moment, she did everything she could to stop time. In some ways, this was the best part – but it was very shortly to end. Post-clarity was very often a bitch, and while she didn't there was anything worthy of regret, she would put money on him feeling differently based on everything that had happened since Satan City.

A few far-too-short moments later, she felt a cool rush of air between them. His lavender hair fell limply in front of his eyes. Neither was sure when it had happened, but they'd both dropped back to normal. Blue eyes on brown, they simply stared at each other for a moment, the hum of the gravity chamber once again being the only noise to break the silence.

She could see the wheels in his mind turning through his expression, varying between surprise and guilt. Sure enough, he quickly sat up, sitting on the floor with his back turned to her as he hurried to redo his pants. She suddenly felt very exposed; it wasn't fair that he was already as dressed as he needed to be and her clothes were scattered around them. Drawing his knees up to his chin, he wrapped his arms around his legs, dropping his face so that his eyes and expression were hidden from her. Although she couldn't see his features, she could hear his angry whispers cursing at himself. The room that had been so oppressively hot just a minute ago had quickly grown very cold.

She tried to ignore the dread rising in her belly and began gathering her own items. At least he was giving her privacy. There wasn't a lot of dignity in crawling around on all fours in the nude while your partner showed obvious regret at having ever touched you.

"Pan…" he started, his voice muffled as his head was still covered by his hair and arms. "You're on something, right?"

She nodded, despite the fact that he couldn't see her. She knew what he was alluding to. It was a fair question, though a couple that been thinking things through more carefully would've gone over this ahead of time. "The Capsule shot. I'm not due for a booster for years."

He released a breath he'd been holding. The "Capsule Shot" was a proprietary blend of hormones and other anti-clotting chemicals created by Capsule Corp to provide a stronger-than-normal, safe birth control for the women in Saiyan couples. Too many surprise babies had happened to not realize the Saiyan blood was making them a bit more fertile than normal. It was a very effective combination, and a huge relief to hear she'd taken something he knew he could trust.

He went back to being silent, although he didn't immediately get up to leave either. The excitement of their Super Saiyan forms was gone, as was most of their energy. Fatigue and soreness were already setting into her entire body, as was a feeling of nausea. The longer the quietness stretched, the worse the feeling became. She had known from the moment it started that this might not end well, but she also expected to feel something positive, like pride or satisfaction in sharing this with him. Having him was something that had previously been only a dream or an occasional shower-time fantasy in her younger years, and even those had grown uncommon. She never imagined there'd come a time when he'd want her too.

But now, his empty reaction and refusal to even look at her was making it hollow, and she feared it would rob her of even the opportunity to enjoy the memory. As much as she'd been looking forward to spending this afternoon with him, she suddenly wished she were literally anywhere else in the world.

"Can we just pretend this didn't happen?" he asked, finally breaking the silence.

She scoffed quietly. "Would that actually work?" she asked, sarcasm lacing the question she already knew the answer to.

He ran a hand through his damp hair; his returned silence was her answer.

"I enjoyed myself," she started. "If we have to leave this at that simple face value without taking it any further, then I can do that. But denying - and running from it isn't healthy and it's just going to drive me a little crazier every time I see you."

"Pan," he started argumentatively, though nothing followed for a moment as he searched for words. "I'm sorry," he started again, rubbing the back of his neck, a sign he was about to say something extremely uncomfortable. The nauseated feeling she'd had doubled, and she could sense what was coming next. Truly, it was the only response from him she couldn't handle, and he was about to throw it in her face. "I can't just – this was… a very bad idea."

There it was. He kept talking, saying something about how terrible they would be together, their ages, that it wasn't her fault, and something about "boundaries", but it faded into nothing in the background. It was only a longer version of the "It's not you, it's me" speech and it was all blending to a dull roar she'd both heard before and even said herself to a few potentials. She'd had him back in her life for barely a week, and he was already done, but he still wasn't even giving her the courtesy of looking her in the eye while he said it.

When she didn't respond immediately, he assumed she understood, and stood up to leave through the heavy door. "I guess I'll see you in another ten years then," she said with a little more edge than intended.

Her words and tone caused him to stop at the door and he finally turned his head, granting her one more moment of eye contact. He opened his mouth to argue, but the words stuck in his throat and died with a sigh. He pushed some commands in a panel, lifting the gravity and setting the auto-repair bots, then cranked the handle to leave.

. . .

"Running from it…" she'd said. She wasn't wrong to refer to it like that. The moment he walked out of the gravity room, he had to resist the temptation to blast through the roof just to get out of the building faster. The halls of his childhood home seemed to wind more than ever before, and felt as though the front door was abnormally far.

To make his exit feel even longer, he'd run into his father and sister coming back from whatever errand had cut his morning with Pan short. Bra said something he hadn't processed and didn't respond to. The suspicious look from his father and his narrowed eyes had killed every last thought in his head. Rationally, he knew he'd been acting strange, probably looking like a kid who'd gotten his hand caught in the cookie jar, and that was likely the reason behind Vegeta's searching glare. But the eldest living Saiyan had instincts – almost supernatural abilities to read situations and people – even if he didn't always react to what he read correctly.

Not 'almost', he reminded himself. Vegeta and Bra both shared certain telepathic abilities that had skipped him in the genetic gift line. With the amount of swearing going on his head right then, he might've been blasting the news through a mental megaphone for all he knew. The thought sent his pulse to a nearly dizzying height.

He brushed by both of them without a word, hoping a little paranoia had gotten the better of him and he should just be glad it wasn't Goten stopping by.

The sky had developed the late afternoon haze present within the summers of Metro West. It was later than he thought when entered his apartment window. Time had flown; it was no wonder he was as exhausted and hungry as he was. Before he could eat or focus on anything though, he needed to wash himself free of the layers of sweat on his body, and free of her lingering scent.

The hot water of the shower felt good. It served its purpose in relaxing him, warming tired muscles, and rinsing the vestiges of her presence down the drain. In other ways, it was working against him, sending glimpses of reminders of her heat and the moist surfaces of her velvety skin to the ends of his nerves. He closed his eyes, letting the water run over him as he rested his forehead against the hard, tile wall.

With an exceptional effort, he managed to focus his thoughts, reminding himself of chaste moments when she'd been nothing but a cute, overly-clingy accessory to his visits with the Sons. He momentarily regained his senses, clutching for the memories he had of back in time to support the idea that he had been goddamn crazy to let what just happened take place. Memories flashed through his mind of holding up a 4-year-old in victory after she'd just beaten her overly-confident and sloppy uncle at a tournament; attending a family barbeque where the stubborn 8-year-old had on the most ridiculous dress her grandmother could've handsewn only to ruin it by sparring and tearing it to shreds; a short teenager who was way too pissed off for her own good, all the time; Gohan, proudly holding up his newborn so he and Goten could see.

He relaxed, a sigh escaping in relief. That seemed to work. The tension had left, replaced by bitter regret and embarrassment as sanity creeped back in slowly. How did you even let it go that far?

No sooner did that thought cross his mind did the very clear, recent memories resurface, wiping out the chaste thoughts that had been working so well just a moment before. How her steady, unquestionably certain eyes had been locked on him while she invited a very willing hand to feel her excitement. And how excited she had been…

He groaned, and shut his eyes tightly again, trying to will away the memories of her voice in his ears.

He immediately reached out and turned the shower dial to the left, allowing the water to cool down a little. It worked momentarily, but thoughts continued of her stretching her developed and toned muscles, her smile and bright eyes, the golden veil of energy flowing over and around her…

This time, he turned the dial completely to the left. Cool water turned cold and it felt like ice fell from the head. It went from uncomfortable to nearly painful, but it worked. He quickly scrubbed, rinsed, and jumped out as soon as possible, shivering as he dried off.

He felt like an absolute coward, real chicken shit as his thoughts returned to normal. She'd wanted to talk about it, to face it head on before it escalated to something irreversible. That was the mature and brave thing, but he had dismissed her efforts to do just that, left her on a cold floor and ran as fast as he could without attracting attention while feeding her a fragmented script and the ten most over-used and pointless breakup lines ever thought of as he was half-way out the door.

Part of him wanted to call her and explain in better detail what was going through his head, let her have her voice in it, and then work with her to come up with a solution that involved him being able to look her and everyone else in her family in the eyes again. It was the right thing and could actually salvage the situation.

However, as he laid down on his bed, unlocked his phone, and scrolled through his address book, he remembered the problem with that plan. He didn't have her number. He would need to call one of the Sons. An unpleasantness surge travelled down his spine. Speaking with any of them was the last thing he wanted to do. Dealing with Pan would be an eventual necessity if they were going to fix this, but hearing Goten or Gohan's voice was something he couldn't stomach right then.

He covered his eyes with his arm and groaned in frustration. Since he couldn't do anything about the situation in that moment, all he wanted was an early night to bed. But the longer he laid there in his silent and lonely apartment, the more the wrong thoughts began to creep up on him again. The harder he fought them, the less successful he was. The frigidity of his shower was quickly wearing off in his warm apartment, and he could feel his body starting to react. This was going to be a long and sleepless night.