Her stomach was tied into a knot as she stood in front of her closet staring at its contents as though it were an endless puzzle with no solution. She didn't own that many choices, not any more than the average person, anyway. None of the items seemed quite right, and the sheer number of options in front of her was creating a sensation of decision paralysis she'd never felt before. Did she wear a t-shirt and jeans? A sweater? Something nicer? Did she bother with underwear? Did she even have anything that looked like "date underwear", or was it all "athletic"? Did she use make-up or would that just throw him off since he wasn't used to seeing her with it? It's not like they were going anywhere. They were just going to hang out, probably - or - something. What did people do on these things again? Her mind seemed to have gone blank, and those were just a few of the decisions she needed to make before she left.
Should she bring a toothbrush, or was that too presumptuous? Despite having been intimate twice, they'd never slept together. Would he want that, or would he prefer his space? What if he wasn't planning on that happening at all? She chortled to herself as soon as the thought crossed her mind. No, that was probably a foregone conclusion. That was likely the reason he was willing to entertain these plans in the first place.
She caught sight of her reflection in her closet mirror. Her short hair was spiking up in weird places. Normally, it didn't bother her, but she couldn't seem to comb it down into submission that day. Why did she have to cut it so short again? Oh right, because it was easier to deal with when fighting, flying, and working with children, and all three activities defined the majority of her life.
She took her chest in her hands and pushed the flesh together, looking critically at the change in her profile caused by the illusion. She wished she had more than simple mounds for breasts, wished her hips curved a little wider, and wished the cut of her muscle tone in her arms was a little more subtle…
"Shit," she said aloud in her empty apartment, admonishing herself for the sudden lack of confidence.
Why does it feel like this is the first date I've ever been on? she asked herself, feeling frustration with how her nerves seemed to be frying her ability to think. It's just Trunks. Calm down.
Somehow, that final thought and its attempted assurance wasn't helping.
He'd flown into his top floor apartment through his balcony door, initially pleased with how things looked after requesting an extra visit from the housekeeping service. Everything appeared to be clean and neat, perfectly in its place. But - was it too clean? It looked sterile and cold, like he was rarely ever there. That was actually close to the truth as of late, but he didn't want it to look like that.
He took a neatly-folded throw blanket out of its storage cubby, wadded it up and threw it back on his couch. There - now it looked lived in, right? He looked around his apartment - no, it did not. Why did Briefs houses always have so much extra, empty space? Son houses were pleasantly cluttered with books or pictures and always felt like you were in a family home. All he had was a sparse spattering of decorative abstract art he'd paid someone else to pick out for him, most of which he didn't entirely understand or particularly like. The sharp edges of the dark figures didn't exactly scream "warm". The last woman his apartment had seen didn't seem to mind them…
But Pan is different, he reminded himself.
New strategy: a fire. Fires were always cozy and since it was a gas-fed set up, he didn't have to worry about building one or getting dry wood. Except - it was summer and had been abnormally hot that day. He didn't want to give her a heatstroke. Candles? He had some on his table. They'd never been lit and come to think of it, he wasn't sure if they were even real. Sure enough, he looked inside to find a plastic wick. He sighed, but figured his decorator was probably thinking he'd like the convenience of flipping a switch to light them, which wasn't completely untrue, but they didn't exactly create the effect he was looking for.
He turned on his TV, relieved to find it was still working since it'd been weeks since he'd let himself relax in front of it. At least that was something he had going for him. His DVD rack held all of the older movies he owned, samurai, kung-fu, slasher movies that had been her favorite at one point. But people change - had she? Was she still into that, or should he be looking for something newer to rent online? For that matter, would she want him to pick for them, or have her choice? He picked up an old DVD case which contained a movie about a master of drunken-style martial arts who fought better when he was literally drunk. The last time he'd seen it was with her and Goten, and they'd thought it was hilarious and fun. Would she want to watch it again, or would it be too on the "nostalgia" nose?
He put the case back on his shelf. Pan would definitely want to pick.
He went into his bathroom, abandoning the anal-retentive examination of his perfectly fine apartment to focus on himself. He brushed his teeth and washed his face, looking at his reflection for an extended period before drying the water off with a towel. To an outsider, he hadn't started aging yet, but there were days when he could see it. His eyes were just a little duller than they had been, and certain features had barely visible lines around them that would one day harden to wrinkles and crow's feet. Although he couldn't do anything to stop time, he wished he could at least get over looking tired and erase the dark circles under his eyes. Nothing made his own reflection appear older to him than looking tired. Would she notice it too?
Would you relax? He scolded himself as nerves bubbled in his stomach. It's just Pan. Somehow, the reminder didn't help.
He went into his bedroom, changing from his work clothes into something more comfortable. If his apartment didn't seem cozy enough, maybe he could at least look the part. Just as he was putting on fresh socks, the realization dawned on him that he hadn't told the doorman she was coming, and wouldn't know to unlock the elevator to his floor. As soon as he picked up the phone to call down, he heard a noise in his living room.
She was already there, fingering through his collection of movies as she waited for him to emerge from his room. He chuckled quietly and silently called himself a dumbass for ever thinking she'd use the front door.
"Sorry – it was open," she said, seemingly answering his unspoken thoughts as she pointed back towards his balcony. Her eyes lit up and she pulled a particular selection from the shelf. "Oh! Drunken Master! I haven't seen this in a long time!"
He smiled broadly, his shoulders dropping visibly as he relaxed, the tension of his previous moments leaving his body. The thought of starting all over again had been an overwhelming idea from the moment his heart had been broken. As soon as he laid his eyes on her, sensing her energy filling his home, those fears completely dissolved into nothing. His apartment finally held that warm, comfortable feeling he was looking for; it didn't take him long to realize it had arrived with her. How could someone hold the contrast of feeling old and familiar while simultaneously feeling new and exciting? There she was: two opposites in one package, and it suddenly didn't feel as though he was starting over at all.
"Me neither," he said, keeping those thoughts to himself for the time being.
He could see the pink on her cheeks. She seemed happy to be there, but maybe she'd shared a little of his earlier apprehension regarding the contextual shift. He wasn't too concerned. They had all night, and could take things as slowly as they wanted to.
"So – what do you want to order for food?" he asked, clearing his throat.
She shrugged and smiled. "I haven't been in Metro West in years," she reminded him. "I don't even know what's open anymore. Maybe you should pick."
He thought for a moment and nodded, immediately coming up with an option he knew she would like. Once she'd looked at the menu, Pan wanted to try just about everything, confirming he'd chosen well. Between dinner and the movie, at least there were parts of her still very recognizable amongst all the changes.
Trunks called in an order of food from a seemingly never-ending list. The restaurants nearby knew they would be on the phone for a while whenever he called; it was nothing new. Luckily, he knew the owners of all the good local places and paid well for as much of a rush as they could handle. The food wouldn't take nearly as long as it otherwise would if he were a normal customer.
While he was ordering, she sauntered around his apartment, studying the various knickknacks on his tables and the art in his living room. Everything was pristine; it looked like he lived inside a museum exhibit, as though there should be ropes and stanchions in place to keep visitors from getting too close. It didn't really seem like him, and she wondered whether he'd brought in someone else to decorate, or if it had just been so long that she misremembered what "him" looked like.
His living room was a little bare, so she walked down the hall to explore more. His voice was still carrying from the kitchen. He hadn't gotten to the payment part yet; it was still going to be a minute. With a quick glance towards him to make sure he wasn't watching her, she slipped into the master bedroom.
Heat rose on her cheeks as she pushed on his mattress to test its give. She was starving and wanted to watch the movie they'd planned, but she was also very much looking forward to rest of the night, wondering if they could get a quick moment or two in before the food arrived. Surely, after yesterday and his almost immediate reversal on his decision to keep her at arm's length - he was feeling impatient too.
His walls were almost completely empty except a few small mirrors and a couple of sporadic family pictures hung in odd, random places, she noted. There were no art pieces in this room and the two or three pictures hanging up were strangely small for the size of the room. Otherwise, there were just open, gray surfaces all around her. She thought it seemed off, until she noticed small, dark spots scattered around those empty walls at even levels and in patterns. Holes. There were pin-sized holes everywhere. He didn't have very much up now, but he had. She walked up to one of the walls to investigate further and accidentally bumped the side of one of his dressers. A silver frame on the top wobbled back and forth, and she reflexively reached down to save it. When she looked down at the picture inside the frame, it became clear to her why his room was so empty.
He was sitting on a park bench with his arm up around the back of it. She was leaning against him, looking up into his eyes as he took the picture with his other hand. One of them must've just said something funny because the smiles they had one their faces were abnormally bright and wide – natural, not posed. They looked happy – the happiest Pan had ever seen him, actually. An unpleasant tightness appeared in her chest, but before she could explore that feeling, she realized she couldn't hear his voice coming from the other room anymore.
"Damn," he said under his breath, walking up behind her and gently taking the frame out of her hand. "The housekeeper must've found that and assumed…" He stared at the object as though it was a precious yet painful burden, an impression that was confirmed when he went into his large closet and put it into a box he was keeping on the floor of several other similar-looking frames.
Not throwing them away yet, she noted. Just keeping them out of sight. The tightness in her chest grew a little worse. Every little hole on the walls of his room represented a memory with her, and he wasn't quite ready to let them go.
"I…" he started, scratching the back of his head as he came back out to the main room where she was still waiting. At first, he wouldn't meet her eyes. "…sorry." It was an odd thing to say, but she could tell he wasn't sure what else would dissolve the current tension.
"Is dinner on its way?" she asked, momentarily switching subjects. She was undeniably jealous of that picture, but the woman in it with him wasn't there; she was. She wasn't about to let envy ruin their night.
He seemed grateful for her diversion and nodded. "They're usually pretty fast."
She followed him back out to the kitchen so they could get table settings ready for their meal. There was quiet between them for a moment that felt slightly weighted. She wanted to know more, but wasn't sure what he would be willing to answer. He seemed to see the question in her eyes, looking up at her apprehensively when she began to speak again.
"How long ago was that taken?" she asked. She was attempting to sound casual about the subject, much like the conversation had been at the bar. He hadn't shared any details with her, but it was enough information for her to get the gist of what had happened. Evidently, the events of the last week had changed his feelings about sharing too much about this topic with her because his posture became slightly stiff.
He was in the process of putting a plate on the table and froze when she asked, hesitant about responding. "A few months ago," he answered simply.
So, that's why it wasn't with the others. It was likely so recent, he hadn't had the chance to hang it up before she left. "Was that in the arboretum?"
"Uh – yeah," he answered. He put his hands on the back of the chair he was standing behind, eyeing her curiously and hoping that was the end of her questions. The tension he'd had earlier had come right back, adding instant, visible rigidity to his shoulders.
"Did you ever find out where she was…" she started.
"Pan…" he interrupted in immediate protest, emphatically shaking his head "no".
"I'm just curious."
"Why?" he asked softly, although she could hear him starting to get defensive.
"Because I want to know more about you," she answered honestly, crossing her arms. Her posture mirrored his defensiveness, but her tone maintained its lightness as she explained. "I can't remember you ever bringing her up to Paozu and I only saw her at a couple of Capsule parties – but she was a big part of your life that I don't know much about. All I know is that it lasted a long time and seemed – off and on."
"Yeah, well – whenever she left, I had time to burn at the Son homestead, so – you never really overlapped."
She furrowed her brow in confusion. "Then you had some very big gaps of time without her," she inferred.
He nodded in confirmation. "Some of our 'offs' were longer than our 'ons'."
"… but she always came back?"
He didn't respond to that one. She could see his expression darken a little. The tightness in her chest returned.
'Whenever she left…' It had always been her choice and never his? No wonder he'd taken her back every time. He'd never been the one to break it off in the first place. Pan knew the next question was potentially over the line, but in the brief moment her doubt returned, the words slipped from her mouth anyway. "So – she'll be back again?"
A deep frown settled on his face. "Not this time," he said.
She could see the pain still very present on his features and it was hard to ignore the fact that he obviously still felt very strongly about the other woman. How could he not? She had entire decades with him.
"If she does…" she started, trailing off before she could finish the thought.
He walked over to her side of the table, stopping within inches of her. "That's not going to happen," he answered her unspoken question without a hint of uncertainty in his tone.
"You sound very confident," she said, noting how his brow twitched in reaction. She was about to change the subject again. She was pushing, and it was still very early for that.
He didn't owe her any explanation; they both knew that. But considering everything that could go wrong, and how fresh, new, and uncertain everything felt to both of them, he didn't want to hide something that might make her feel as though he wasn't taking each little step seriously.
"You were right," he started. "Running away from feelings, from difficult topics – is sure as hell not going to fix anything. I think I'm done waiting for someone who is just going to keep running every time the future comes up. If she did come back - I think I'd explain that it was too late this time."
There was an edge to his voice. Some unresolved anger was poking through his attempt at looking as though he'd processed through all of his grief, but it wasn't directed at Pan, and that was all that mattered to her.
"Really? Too late?" she asked almost disbelievingly, secretly hoping for elaboration, even if that still felt too far off to talk about yet.
He was silent for a moment, debating on whether to say what he was thinking, and what he was sure she wanted to hear. They were only on their first date, after all. At the same time, since the moment she'd appeared in his living room, it really hadn't felt like it.
"There's someone else. I don't think there'd be any reason to hide that from her," he answered, meeting her eyes in a mutual understanding of that tentative phrase. He was being purposefully vague as a form of caution, but he meant what he said.
She smiled softly. There was always a chance that he was saying it to placate her in hopes she would drop the subject and move on, but Trunks wasn't Muda, and she wouldn't deny the immense relief she felt just hearing the words.
"Can we change the topic now?" he asked with a nervous chuckle, reaching up and timidly touching her cheek, as though he still wasn't quite sure he was allowed to. "I had a lot of ideas for tonight, but – talking about bad memories wasn't one of them."
Blood rushed to very pleasant places when his deep voice quieted and said those words. His fingers barely brushed against her skin, but felt hot where they'd made contact with her face. They'd shared some intense, physical moments, but there was still a surrealness to the fact that this change had happened.
There was a very large part of her that found it difficult to believe those blue eyes were looking down at her like that, touching her like he was. She half expected him to pull away and claim it was all some sort of practical joke.
She put her hand on his as it stroked her cheek, but unlike last time, he didn't yank it away in a startled panic. She gently pulled him closer and stood on her toes, leaning up to kiss him, just for confirmation that she wasn't imagining the look on his face. She wasn't; his soft lips rested against hers with as much eagerness as she had towards him, his arms wrapping around her so he could pull her even closer.
The door buzzer sounded from the elevator, keeping the contact from going any further. They shared a quick glance, each silently agreeing that food was really the only acceptable interruption to what they'd almost started. Sure enough, their extra-large order had arrived astonishingly fast, leading Pan to wonder just how big a tip Trunks usually gave them.
Trunks had never seen Pan eat so little. She rushed through a plate and then sat and stared at him until he acknowledged the fact that she wanted to move on from dinner. The moment he wiped his mouth and put his napkin down, she reached over and grabbed his arm, pulling him in the direction of his bedroom with a surprising force.
Smiles were stuck on both of their faces as they crashed down on his mattress, pieces of clothing coming off one-by-one in an almost careful way compared to how it had been before. There was no preamble this time, no pointless attempts at denial, no fear, or feeling inequitably vulnerable with expressing themselves honestly. It was just the two of them with all the time in the world, continuing the process of exploring, learning, and teaching each other until their bodies surrendered to sleep.
. . .
He awoke in the middle of the night, surprised to find himself alone on his still sweat-soaked bed. For a moment, he figured she'd gone home and was a little surprised by that thought, until he heard the quiet clank of dishes from his living room. He debated on whether to stay in bed or to join her. The day had been long, and those circles under his eyes weren't going to fade without sleep, but the more he thought about it, the less he cared.
He wished he could've taken a picture, but he did his best to etch the image he saw on his couch to his memory forever. She had a supernaturally large plate of food balanced on her lap; the blanket wrapped around her front in a way that barely covered her nude body; her bare feet were up on the edge of his coffee table, already leaving smudges on the once spotless surface; and her entire form was illuminated in the darkness by the flashing light of the TV screen. The volume was down almost completely, but he already knew what she was watching. The whole picture caused a pleasant warmth within him, and the rise of a feeling in his chest that he wasn't willing to name yet.
He chuckled and leaned against the wall, laughing again when her brown eyes looked sheepishly up at him from beneath her exceptionally bad bed head. "I wanted to watch the movie."
He didn't say a word or make a complaint. Instead, he walked over and sat down next to her on the couch, silently prompting her to share the blanket. He stole some bread from her plate then leaned back on his couch until he was comfortable.
"How far into it are you?" he asked with a yawn.
"Just started," she answered through a mouth full of food.
"Perfect," he said, turning up the volume so they could enjoy it together.
Sato Mika was a gift to Capsule Corp – an angel in human form who had landed on their property more than 20 years earlier to interview for a simple clerk position. Years went by, technologies changed, and when her job was made redundant by an automated process, the company did everything they could to encourage her to apply for any open position within the company so they could hold on to her talent. This included the position of Executive Assistant, under Ms. Bulma Briefs herself.
Bulma, who had gone through three administrative assistants in the period of a year, was frankly, drowning. The company had grown exponentially under her, and was no longer the mid-sized, relatively modest business that her father had started simply for a little bit of income while he played around with gadgets and animals. Bulma had to learn how to operate this new corporate machine from scratch, and keeping track of things like board meetings and press releases wasn't exactly her forte'. Within a few weeks, Mika had not only read Bulma accurately enough to develop an organization system that worked best for her, but had completely redesigned their data retention process and communication flow through the CEO's desk. Bulma doubled her salary before she'd been there a month, and threatened the lives of any headhunters that came near.
When Bulma "retired", a term she used very loosely, she begged Mika to stay on long enough to help Trunks acclimate to the new role, making sure he knew that there would be hell to pay if he ever took her for granted. The request and warning were needless though. Mika loved her job, loved the pace, and loved the notoriety of working for the CEO of the largest corporation in the world. Plus, Trunks was more level-headed than Bulma, overall calmer, and in some ways, reminded her of her oldest son. Capsule's willingness to pay her significantly above market also helped motivate her to stay exactly where she was.
Mika's entire job description could be condensed down to simply read, "sentry and time keeper", and she thrived at those duties. Normally, Trunks' email box would be full of hundreds of new emails. Most of these would've come in the night before after he'd left, but there would always be leftovers from the previous day as well. It was her job to sift through them, deleting the ads, and messages from the public riffraff, forwarding the messages from the media to his communications department or PR manager, replying to any message that requested information she was able to supply, and sorting the rest with color-coded priority tags so he would know which ones to look at first. After organizing his constantly overflowing email inbox, she would move to the voicemails, again sorting through them, responding to meeting requests per his preference (interviews with his favorite magazines were always at the top of the list and tech-based sales calls were at the bottom), dealing with angry stakeholders or at least warning him ahead of time, or even fielding requests from his mother.
For the past couple of weeks, however, he had been throwing her for a bit of a confusing loop. When she sat down and opened her email application, it said that all of the messages were read. They were also already color-coded. The first time it happened, she'd restarted her computer, thinking that something was wrong. Now, it had officially become a trend. She looked down at her phone, also noting that the little, red indicator light for new voicemails wasn't lit. He had already checked those too. In fact, she could also smell coffee in the air and the scent was originating from his office – meaning she couldn't even do that for him.
She sighed and opened her bag, pulling out a thick book. She normally didn't dream of reading during work hours, but he'd left her nothing else to do.
Around the middle of the day, Mika heard the elevator ding and the cubes grew a little quieter. That usually meant that a certain presence had appeared on the floor. She was hoping she was coming with something to do that would make time flow just a little faster.
"Good morning, Mika," Bulma greeted in a friendly tone.
"Hello, Ms. Briefs. He's finishing up his last phone conference. I think it's running long," she said. She wasn't able to hear what was being said through the walls in his office, but she could hear his general tone. He'd been using his "let's wrap this up" voice for a while, but it didn't seem to be working.
Bulma sighed and sat down across from Mika, letting him have his privacy for the end of his meeting. She wasn't there for anything super important anyway. The two women sat in silence while Bulma waited. Mika felt uncomfortable with opening her book again in front of her, so she clicked around her screen, pretending to be doing something other than refreshing the inbox to make sure nothing else had come in. The moment something did, it immediately vanished. He'd already reviewed and deleted it.
Now he's even multitasking, she thought grumpily. She'd never been a clock-watcher before, but there wasn't much else to do.
Bulma noticed the book on Mika's left, complete with giant, swishy letters and a picture of two characters in an overly-dramatic, romantic pose on the front. "Waiting?" she asked, choosing to make small talk instead of sitting quietly. "Is it any good?"
Mika blushed, very aware of the fact that her book looked like the stereotypical, trashy romance novel. "It's – not exactly high fantasy," she said. "The dialogue is clunky and it's full of silly tropes. Oh, and there's some weird time-travel nonsense in it too, with convenient mechanics, to say the least, but… Well, it's sappy and I've been told there's a happy ending, so…"
Bulma nodded in understanding. "Have you read The Monster?" she asked.
"Uh – haven't heard of it."
"It's schlocky – also full of tropes. But the main character is a strong, independent heroine who has a steamy love affair with anti-hero and enemy from another world. He has a sordid past absolutely full of misdeeds, dark, moody - but she can't help herself. It's angsty – but I don't know – in a strange way, I can relate to it," Bulma said. An odd, dreamy look appeared on her face that Mika chose to ignore. She was just glad there was something to fill the silence for the moment. "It doesn't have a great ending – but at least it gets spicy on its way there."
Mika chuckled, "noted," she said, writing the name of the book recommendation on a nearby sticky pad.
"Oh, is that Lydia?" Bulma suddenly asked in surprise, pulling over a picture Mika had on her desk. The young girl in the picture was wearing a white gi and was making a pose as though she were in the middle of a kata. There was also a giant banner in the background promoting the Metro West Satan Dojo. "She's getting so big!"
"I know," Mika said, a prideful smile spreading over her face. "Every time I blink, she gets older."
"I love her little outfit. Reminds me of Trunks at that age - so cute. Does she like martial arts?"
"Yes, she started at the dojo a couple of weeks ago. She's doing very well," she said, again displaying evident pride. "I was very grateful to Son Pan for getting her in. She'd been on the waitlist for a long time."
"Oh, you should've mentioned something," Bulma said. "We're close friends of the Sons. Didn't you know that? I'm sure we could've spoken to Videl or Pan earlier."
"I knew about the Sons," Mika said, "but I didn't know the Satan name was a relation. I guess I should have figured that you'd be in the same circles…."
Mika didn't have to say the rest for Bulma to understand what she was implying. "Briefs" and "Satan" were some of the most famous names in the world, and although his estate was slowly and modestly decreasing due to Videl's unwillingness to continue using his name for extreme profiteering, they were also among the wealthiest families in the world. As long as those dojos remained as popular as they were, that wouldn't likely change by much.
"Oh, no - that was a complete coincidence," she continued with a chuckle. "Son Gohan met Videl Satan in high school. We were actually very surprised to learn exactly who he was dating." For many reasons, she completed silently.
Mika tapped her fingers on her desk. She could still hear Trunks speaking in his office, and could tell that it would still be some time before he was available. There was more silence between the women, but she could see that Bulma was content to wait in front of her desk until he was finished.
"So," she started, attempting to make the conditions a little more comfortable through small talk. "Mr. Brief's friend - Goten - is also related?" Goten came to the office from time to time, although he was one of those guests that didn't seem to like to use the door. She was slowly figuring out that seemed to be a quality in common with all of the Sons.
"Correct," Bulma said. "Goten is Gohan's brother."
"And Son Pan is…"
"Goten's niece; Gohan's daughter."
"Oh!" Mika exclaimed to her surprise. Bulma looked at her questioningly, given her sudden volume. "Oh – she just doesn't look young enough…" she explained. That was just an excuse to play off her overreaction. Pan had been coming to Trunks' window more often in the last few weeks than Goten ever had. When she did, Trunks would take an uncharacteristically long lunch. This was fine, as far as Mika was concerned, because he'd also been abnormally productive and his absence provided her with the opportunity to do some actual work. Whenever he got back though, he'd take a shower in his private bath, change clothes… it wasn't hard to put two-and-two together.
Seems complicated. Not my business though, she told herself.
Bulma nodded, making some off-handed remark about genetic gifts and aging Mika couldn't quite hear clearly. Silence fell between them again; Mika wished her boss would hurry up. It wasn't that she didn't get along with Bulma as her former assistant, but she was usually busy, and had plenty of things to speak about that weren't on a personal level. She was not comfortable with knowing too much about the Briefs, especially since they seemed to be a bit off-kilter from the rest of the world in so many ways. It served her career and bank account better if she ignored all of that, and the Briefs seemed to appreciate her lack of overt curiosity in return.
"The Sons have always been very important to us," Bulma said, continuing a conversation Mika hadn't really wanted to start in the first place. "I grew up with Goten's father. Son was – like a quirky little brother and Gohan – Gohan was so old for his age. Most of the time we spent together, I felt like he was looking after me, not the other way around. When Son died…" she started, mentally cringing at the inaccuracy of the term, given that he'd simply chosen to "go to the afterlife" one day and then disappeared, "…Gohan felt like I needed more consoling than he did. And then there's Goten, who might as well have been a second kid for all the time he spent growing up with Trunks. We always had an excuse to stay close."
She paused, taking out a cigarette. To Mika's relief, she didn't light it yet, but she was playing with it in her hand. "We used to have these little get-togethers all the time - us, the Sons, some of our old friends. Since Son died, we haven't really found much of an excuse," she said sadly. Pan's graduation had been the last time she'd even seen most of them, and a menopausal heat flash had caused her to cut that short. Of course, it hadn't helped that Yamucha had married into a large family, Krillin had difficulty getting around due to some health issues, and the others had seemingly fallen out of existence to her point of view. The "parties" would be quite small now, even if they were still happening.
"I miss those days. I'd do anything to keep that family close," she added with a long sigh. "But – Goten and Trunks are still good friends, so at least I get to see him – and I hear Trunks has recently trained a few times with Pan, which is great. She always looked up to him – just like her uncle, so maybe I'll be seeing more of her too."
One of Mika's eyebrows shot up, but she remained silent. The logical, rational, professional part of her knew she had to stay as far away from this topic as possible. Although, the smaller part of her that liked trashy romance novels silently hoped she was within earshot when that particular shit hit the fan. She cleared her throat. "Ms. Briefs, is there anything I can help you with before Mr. Briefs becomes available? I'd hate for you to have to wait much longer."
"Oh – no. I'm actually here on a personal note," she said at first. "Although – the mid-year report is due soon. I might as well bring that up…"
"He's already finished with that."
Bulma blinked a few times, struck momentarily silent. "He's – done?"
She nodded. "It's in final review with Legal and then I'll be sending it off for print." Mika knew why Bulma was so astonished. Trunks usually waited until the last second on that, and then worked an entire panic-stricken weekend to get it done at the last second. Usually, Bulma had to step in for at least a section or two so he didn't have a coronary.
"He's early?"
"Oh, yes," Mika said. "He's been very productive for the last few weeks. He's taken the initiative to write the agenda for the next board meeting too, if you'd like to take a look."
Bulma crossed her arms and looked at her incredulously. "What's going on?"
Mika chuckled, "I don't know," she lied, "but I'm afraid he's been so efficient lately, he's going to work me out of a job."
Bulma chortled. "I'm sorry, but that's difficult to believe. A month ago, he was manic to the point of nearly setting the building on fire."
"He seems to have found his stride again."
Bulma narrowed her eyes skeptically. "You have to know something. I know your power of observation better than anyone. What's going on?"
Mika put her hands up defensively. Hell no, she answered mentally. "I couldn't tell you."
Bulma was about to push further when the door to the CEO office finally opened. "Hi, Mom," Trunks greeted. Mika sighed quietly in relief. "Sorry – that ran long. Supply chain issues."
Bulma followed him into his office and shut the door behind them. "Anything to worry about?"
"No – just a very small increase in price and a very stubborn vendor. I negotiated them back down."
Bulma slipped the cigarette she was holding behind her ear and crossed her arms, choosing to sit on the front of Trunks' desk across from him instead of standing at the window to smoke. "I hear you've been having a pretty good month so far," she said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"Yeah – it – hasn't been bad," he answered vaguely.
"So – you're doing better, then?" she asked. "Because it seems like this time around it might be pretty permanent and you don't usually bounce back so quickly."
He sighed and looked down at his desk. "Well, maybe I was ready for it to be permanent this time," he responded, his tone a little too casual for her comfort.
She narrowed her eyes even further, leaning over towards him so she could look closer. She put her hand under his chin, forcing him to look up at her. "Are you seeing someone else?"
There was no point in him lying to her to any great extent. Like his father, Bulma also seemed to have great instincts about people, though it was normally reserved for her children. She also liked to dig abnormally far into their sex lives, and although Bra never seemed to mind, Trunks never really got used to discussing too much with his mother. This thing with Pan, whatever it was, was completely off the table for open discussion, for a number of reasons not limited to their complex relationship with her family.
"Here and there," he answered, hoping it was enough truth to get her off his back.
She released his chin, still eyeing him doubtingly as though she didn't quite believe the dismissive nature to his tone. "Fine. Keep your secrets," she said, "as long as they seem to motivate you in the right direction."
"So – Goten…" he said, immediately changing the subject to what he'd asked her there for in the first place.
"Right! How did it go?" she asked excitedly.
"She said 'yes', which was inevitable, but apparently the big gestures all went off without a hitch, including the Clydesdale-drawn carriage and the fireworks."
"Oh – wow… He really went all-out."
Trunks chuckled. "He's already in debt and they haven't even started talking about the wedding yet."
Bulma scoffed and stood up, going over to the designated area Trunks had set for her to be able to smoke in his office. "And here I thought he was finally maturing a little."
"He's getting there," Trunks said with scoff. "He just – gets a little over-excited."
She nodded in agreement, flicking her lighter and starting her cigarette. "That's definitely true. So where do we come in? You said he needed a favor?"
"He was hoping to host sort of an engagement party in the old Capsule Conservatory. I figure I'm probably going to be his best man, and that is sort of my role. Plus, he wants the opportunity to show off to her family."
She chuckled. "I don't see a problem with it. How many? When?"
"Around 40," he said, "she has a large family and he wants to invite some friends. Also – very soon. Apparently, certain people have been expecting him to get around to this for a while."
Bulma rolled her eyes, correctly imagining that Goten had received a little pressure and that her family was likely old fashioned. "Will the Sons be there?"
"I can't imagine they wouldn't be," he answered.
"Great!" she said a little exuberantly, thinking about what she had said earlier regarding how rarely she saw them anymore. She went on about the details, including possible dates and catering options. He was a little caught off guard regarding how excited she seemed to be, but he was happy to see it. She did love to host parties, and hadn't had the excuse to do one in a while. He sat back and relaxed, grateful that this one task didn't seem to entirely lie on his shoulders – and Goten would be happy with anything she planned. She was very good with this type of thing and would have everything set within days.
Once she finished going over a verbal checklist, she made some notes on her phone and extinguished her nearly spent butt on his balcony. "Alright, well, since you have everything handled so well here, I guess I'll start working on this," she said, getting ready to relinquish his office back to him.
"Thanks Mom."
"Oh – and you should think about bringing 'here and there' to the party with you. I'd like to meet her," she said with a wink. She was out the door before he could reply, but the message was received.
"Maybe…" he said quietly to no one, tapping his fingers on the desk in thought.
Since Capsule Corp headquarters had been moved to an office building years before, the yellow dome that once held the entirety of its operations had remained relatively quiet. For the first time in a while, it was buzzing with excitement and the voices of happy people, jovial over the recent development of a certain couple. The old conservatory of Dr. Briefs was now a simple arboretum with a few beautiful gardens enclosed within, and was filled fairly full of strange but happy faces, many of whom already held a telling blush of alcohol consumption over their cheeks.
Trunks didn't recognize anyone except a select few who had been mutual friends of him and Goten over the years. Most of the people belonged to his new fiancé's family.
He had shaken dozens of hands by the time the official festivities were scheduled to start. Most of them were delighted to be in Capsule Corp's old conservatory, even though it didn't hold animals any longer, speaking to the CEO of the largest company in the world; a few pretended to be unimpressed. He put on his best face and bowed or shook hands depending on the preferences of the person he was meeting, vowing to tolerate how close this seemed to feel to his normal empty, corporate platitudes for the good of his best friend.
He'd just finished greeting some distant, second or third cousins of the soon-to-be-bride's when he looked towards where he'd seen Goten last. The younger Saiyan was laughing and roughhousing with some younger brothers of the bride.
This should be his job, he thought with some exasperation, though he didn't move from his spot.
Before his thoughts could go any further, he felt the familiar weight of a hand on his shoulder and turned to greet them. It should've brought him some relief to see the face of someone he finally knew in the midst of strangers who expected his professional performance, but instead, he felt a small knot within the depths of his stomach.
"Hey Gohan," he said, unable to hold back the uneasiness in his voice.
Gohan greeted him in return, issuing a polite whisper of gratitude for hosting the festivities so their house was not as inundated by the crowd of people. He laughed nervously, and humbly replied that it was not a big deal. Pan grinned at his obvious discomfort, finding it to be an odd cross between endearing and frustrating. Although his eyes travelled between Gohan, Videl, and even Goku as he said his "hellos" to each one, he refused to even glance at her – like she didn't exist. It should've been something that made her mad, but she found with surprise that it wasn't the emotional reaction she was expecting. Instead, she found it a little amusing.
Videl was next. "Hey, Sis," Trunks joked, calling her by the title he'd used as a bratty kid. She smiled and kissed him on the cheek.
"Goku is starving," she started apologetically.
"It wouldn't be a Briefs party without a Son Goku shoveling down half a table. We planned for it," Trunks said with a smile, "and there's plenty."
Gohan and Videl walked towards where Goten was playing. Goku bowed deeply and formally before joining them. Trunks laughed at the deep gesture from the child, and returned a slightly less dramatic honor.
He could see Pan approaching from the corner of his eye, and looked towards Gohan once again to make sure his attention was directed elsewhere before he risked acknowledging her. When he finally turned to look at her, her hands were resting on her hips in mock offense, and she was leaning in, making exaggerated eye contact with him. He would almost be concerned, but the half-smirk on her lips said she wasn't as pissed off about the situation as she appeared to be.
A smile pulled at his own lips despite his best efforts. Her mock-angry face contrasted to the bright yellow of her sundress and the pools of honey in her brown eyes. He couldn't help but find her adorable at the cusp of irritation. She folded her arms and walked by slowly.
"Coward," she whispered as she passed him, though the smile still graced her features. Trunks was not done with his hosting duties and wouldn't be for a while, so she left him to continue those chores, choosing instead to watch Goten try and introduce his fiancé's family by memory to Gohan and his relatively small brood. He did moderately well, considering the number on her side.
Family and old friends continued to pour in, some familiar, some new. Goten had vastly under-estimated the number of people attending, but they had planned for that to an extent, plus the appetites of six or seven Saiyans. The caterers were scrambling as more attendees began arriving, putting out extra tables and places, as well as warming up more food.
Bulma was taking it upon herself to make sure everyone knew where the appetizers and drinks were, and she was having an absolute blast at it. She was currently cornering Krillin's daughter Marron, who she hadn't seen since she was a young teenager. He hadn't seen his mother smile so widely since Son and Chichi were still alive. It was good for her to have a small connection to her old life, even if the poor girl seemed a little overwhelmed at having Bulma's undivided attention.
Trunks didn't have to try to mingle; a lot of curious family members walked up to him to ask questions about the business, or the building. He had a few people pitch ideas to him, which was nothing new, and one asked for a job, which was a little awkward, but also not unique. All-in-all, it was nothing he couldn't handle, but it was still very exhausting. As he watched Goten, beer in hand and laughing with Gohan and his soon-to-be-brothers though, he realized he owed him – big time.
After appetizers and drinks were had by all, and the number of people trickling in had finally stopped, dinner was served. Trunks found the first seat available at a long table near Goten and sat down with a heavy plop, realizing after hearing a soft, familiar laugh that he had sat down across from Pan. Videl and Gohan were next to her on one side, Goku on the other, and his mother was next to him, luckily with her attention focused on Marron as they continued speaking about her family and what they'd been up to.
Trunks swallowed hard. He and Pan had agreed not to immediately inform anyone that they had been seeing each other, but that was only until they had figured some things out. That was several weeks ago, and if he was honest, he was no closer to defining exactly what was going on. Her sarcastic chiding from earlier aside, he had no idea where her thought process was either. He suddenly felt very stupid for not having that conversation with her on the many nights and lunch breaks they'd shared together before this event, but to be fair, there were other things they'd rather be doing with their limited time.
"How have you been Pan?" he asked, scolding himself over how overly-formal and awkward his voice had sounded to his own ears.
She smiled, and played with the food on her plate a little before answering. "Good. Work is really piling up though."
"At the dojo?" he asked. A server brought him a large plate by his earlier request, but while he'd been looking forward to it up until that point, he couldn't bring himself to eat quite yet.
She nodded. "We added an additional cohort to the rounds, so I don't have as much time in the middle of the day as I used to. Which is a shame because I'd been taking lunch picnics lately – and it looks like I'll have to give those up for a while."
He leaned back in his chair, relaxing a little as he rolled up his sleeves. "So – is your day getting any longer? Or is it just enough to fill up that hour at lunch?"
"Oh no – I still get off around six. I make lesson plans and eat, but generally I have the rest of the night," she looked up at him with a coy smile. This was an incredibly dumb conversation, but it was also innocuous, and the knot that had been in Trunks' stomach relaxed as he realized she was content to continue the status quo for at least the time being.
"I have been working on my work flow a little too. I've been taking long lunch breaks, but I think I'm going to start skipping those in favor of a shorter work day."
"So, you'd actually be leaving work in the daylight?"
"During the summer, sure. I'd have a schedule more like yours – as an example."
Bulma looked over at him and furrowed her brow, breaking into the conversation. "You're finally making headway on some of your backlog. Don't change anything too much!" she gently ordered with an inflection that indicated she was slightly tipsy.
Pan chuckled quietly, shoving a big bite of food in her mouth to prevent from making too much noise. "I don't know, that sounds like a good idea to me," she argued with a full mouth.
He nodded, and started eating finally, the momentary discomfort he was feeling ameliorated by their coded conversation. "I'm going to miss those lunch breaks though," he said, daring a look and a small smile. A feeling of self-satisfaction rose in his chest when she returned it with a subtle blush on her cheeks.
The meal continued throughout the afternoon. Toasts had been given, and speeches were made, and now most people were fluctuating between conversation, more plates of food, or touring the gardens within the arboretum. Goten was busy speaking between Gohan and his fiancé's family, making sure they were all properly familiar with each other and nervously explaining away their side's strange metabolism so that they would ignore the piles of food being served to that end of their particular table. Bulma was focused on playing hostess, ensuring everyone had enough food and drink, while simultaneously making sure that everyone knew just how impressed they should be with the location in which they ate. She was really hamming it up for them, but she was having fun, Goten seemed to appreciate it, and so Trunks didn't mind as long as he was minimally involved.
Trunks unexpectedly found himself spending most of his time talking with Pan, and was completely unsure of whether that'd been a subconscious decision on his part, or happened coincidentally. Despite all the time they been together recently, they hadn't run out of things to say. Pan told him all about her kids at the school, including the bright and shining performers, the big-hearted students who tried hard, but needed extra help, and the annoyance of dealing with some of the parents. She loved every student under her. The only ones she wasn't absolutely head-over-heels for were the ones who only started at that dojo to work under her name, believing that Satan's granddaughter's tutelage would somehow be a shortcut to stardom. Even then, she recognized that was probably mostly their parents' influence.
She asked about his work too, but he was afraid to go too far into it. It wasn't that he didn't think she'd understand, but that he thought it would bore her to tears. By this point in his conversations about it with Goten, his eyes would start to glaze over, and after so much complaining, Bulma would've started criticizing his lack of tenacity. Only one person seemed to be willing to listen to him drone on about work to this degree, but she'd left him. While Pan did give him grief on a regular basis for pouring so much of himself into such a stuffy position, she listened intently, empathizing with him and relating to him on a level that had surprised him at first. While her mother and a board were mostly in charge of the dojo's business, she'd grown an understanding of how some of it worked. The politics and customer-facing roles they played were both similar in some aspects. Both of them also dealt with larger-than-life heritages and the pressures that came with that as they were integrated into the nature of the business itself.
As the afternoon turned into evening, the crowd began to disperse as the skylights overhead started taking on the golden glow of the sun outside. Most people left the table so the caterers could clean, and Trunks and Pan decided to walk around the arboretum and continue their discussion. In an effort to keep work from completely taking over their time together, Trunks changed the subject to better topics: food, music, movies, fun. He'd been happy to learn weeks ago that many of her traits had stayed the same. Now that they were having a deeper conversation, he was able to how consistent she really was. Of course, he already knew that she still liked old, cheesy king-fu movies, and she'd still choose to train any day over most of the things her friends did for fun, but she was also open to new things, and less determined to remain a stereotype of a punkish tomboy. The conversation that night was allowing him time to learn about some of the many experiences college had provided, and how much self-actualization she had really achieved in just a few short years.
On the other hand, he'd mostly remained the same from what she remembered: deep down wishing he could get into a little bit of trouble on most days instead of being the responsible adult he often pretended to be. He also admitted to liking some of the media attention he got as the CEO of Capsule even though he acted like it was a burden, but hated that it seemed to come with an open pass to critique every decision he made that led to even the slightest drop in stock prices. It wasn't information that necessarily surprised her, but hearing him admit his inclination to entertain some vanity was interesting.
Eventually, they circled back to the beginning of their path. They were up a slight hill, looking down at Gohan and Goku who were engaged with Goten and his soon-to-be in-laws in a yard game. It seemed to be a good bonding moment, and Goku was happy to be around some of their kids, who were only a few years older than him.
Pan leaned against a tree, watching her little brother struggle to keep from throwing a bean bag too hard. This is good practice for him, she thought, realizing that if her parents did the same thing with Goku as they did with her, he'd be going to a normal school soon. He was growing extremely fast.
"Where are all the animals?" she asked, suddenly realizing that she'd only seen birds and some insects since they'd been there. "I swear I remember a bunch of cats, dogs, maybe even some horses?"
Trunks nodded, "they've mostly died off or have gone to other places. We still give a lot of money to animal conservation causes, but we haven't had them on site since my grandpa died."
"That's too bad," she said with legitimate disappointment.
"I've thought about bringing the program back, but – it's not exactly a profitable venture. And it would need more space, a staff…"
"You just got done telling me how mad you get when people focus on every dollar Capsule does or doesn't make. I'd say make them extra pissed and do it just to spite them. Who cares if it loses a little money? Plus, people would love you for it. Good PR is priceless."
Trunks smiled, appreciating the expression of support to the idea he'd been ruminating on for years. Initiating the order for the first phase of the required infrastructure would be the first time he'd really done something this large without a care for Bulma's input, but he hoped she'd see it the way Pan did.
"I'm not – imagining the dinosaur, am I?" she asked, recalling it from deep within her memory.
"Bones? No – his ashes are over by the river. There's even a little plaque."
A sudden cheer erupted from down below and the in-laws were high-fiving each other in victory. They'd beaten the Son boys at the game they were playing, but Goku was obviously having fun despite the loss. Gohan patted his son on the back in support. To an outsider, this might be confusing, but Pan knew he was likely just happy he was getting close to the target, which would've been extremely difficult for someone not used to pulling their punches like him. To make it an even sweeter defeat, the in-laws were setting up for a rematch; Goku seemed ecstatic about having a second chance.
Pan clapped from her spot up on the hill, earning a wave from her brother and a look from her mother, which she returned, thinking nothing more of it.
"It's – probably going to be a late night," Trunks said with a sigh, realizing the core group didn't seem to be near wanting to wrap the event up.
"Does that mean you don't want me to come over?"
He turned his back to the crowd below, unwilling to even risk a chance of his voice carrying, knowing exactly how sensitive Gohan's hearing could be. He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned in a little closer to her so she could hear. "I'm saying it might not be worth your time. Tomorrow's another early day, too."
A smile spread across her lips slowly as he spoke. "Even if I do all the work?" she asked in a normal voice.
"Pan…" he started, taking on a warning tone.
She chuckled. "I'm sorry," she said in a returned whisper, putting up her hands. "This is a little too close for comfort."
"Thank you."
"Then I guess the answer to my next question would be a 'no' too…." Despite his better judgement, he met her eyes questioningly, curiosity piqued. "I was going to ask if you wanted to revisit the gravity room while we were here."
He made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan, pink rising to his face as images from their last trip there flashed back in front of his eyes as though it had just happened. He bit his lip, and her smile brightened. She could tell he was thinking about it. "Vegeta – he's always in there – and he'll probably be late tonight. He's trying to avoid everyone." His tone was laced with frustration, as though he was disappointed in the realization himself.
She twisted her lips, thinking further. "I'm pretty sure I've never seen your old room…" There was an intriguing thought, but she hoped it wouldn't push him in the wrong direction. She'd still been a child when he lived here. She didn't want him to think too hard about that fact.
He sighed again, seriously considering it against his better judgment. "Your parents are right there - and Goten…"
"...is distracted, and your mother is drunk."
He put his hands in his pockets, considering her additional arguments. "They're bound to sense some energy from this distance," he added, remembering exactly why he'd moved to the opposite side of the house as his parents when he was a teenager. It was impossible to sneak around if you weren't watching your ki, and unfortunately, Vegeta never cared enough about potential childhood trauma to try.
"If they ask, we went off so I could show you some of the new moves I've been teaching my kids."
"While you're in a dress?" he said incredulously.
She lifted the skirt just a little, revealing a pair of shorts underneath. "It's a bad idea to fly around like I do without something else on."
She was looking straight up at him, her brown eyes nearly pleading with him for a moment alone. He couldn't ignore how warm it made him feel to know he was wanted. It wasn't like he couldn't get that from somewhere else if he bothered to look, but it would be nearly impossible to know its authenticity, or what it was any given woman was really wanting from him.
Coming from her, it was different. There would be no big surprises from her; she was a known-quantity who wore her mind and heart on her sleeve. He wasn't going to wake up one day to find that she'd left, realizing there was decades worth of a life she'd been hiding from him somehow. Although the nature of their relationship had changed, she had always been there, a stable figure in the background that he took for granted way too long. She was a constant, and in a very strange way, that made him feel more secure about everything. Maybe that's why he'd been more productive at work, more willing to take chances. She was affecting everything within him, not just his sleep schedule and energy levels.
That feeling he'd had that first night in his apartment began pleasantly rising in his chest again, as it had a few times since their first real date. He still didn't want to give it a name, but it was significantly less frightening than it originally had been. The presence of the people he'd been so hyper-aware of all day suddenly faded into the background, and he found himself so suddenly indifferent to them knowing the truth that he almost moved in to kiss her right then and there, audience be damned.
Goten's distant cheer for his nephew's latest bean-bag throw cut through the haze, sobering his thoughts fairly instantly. But although he backed away from her ever so slightly, the warmth of that feeling remained, and so did the smile on his lips. "I'll go first. But give me a few minutes before you follow."
She chuckled and scoffed. "That's just going to make it look even more obvious," she argued, although she accepted the compromise.
She remained leaning against the tree, watching him try and fail to walk inconspicuously towards the living quarters of the building and starting the count in her head for three minutes, give or take. Her eyes went down to her family on the grass below, watching them so absentmindedly as the seconds ticked by that she didn't even notice her mother's worried stare.
When she hit "180", she took off like a light, running just down the other side of the hill and out of sight before flying off. She decided to be cute, leaving through the main door and flying up to the window attached to the room in which she felt his presence from the outside. He shook his head when he saw her levitating outside, making some snide comment about her refusal to use doors as he unlocked it and quickly pulled her inside.
They never made it to the bed. Everything he'd been feeling moments before, the warmth, the lightness, the sudden assurance that everything this was, whatever this was, was good - he tried his best to pour it back into her, to make her feel the way she'd made him feel in the best way he knew how. Before she realized what he was doing, her shorts and everything underneath her sundress was gone, and his arms were underneath her, holding her as he pinned her against the wall, never letting her go until he knew she was spent.
When he finally put her down, her knees nearly buckled. Even though he had done the hard part, her lower body continued to tingle pleasantly, leaving her legs momentarily nearly useless. "Happy?" he asked, of course referring to how she'd gotten her way.
She nodded as she caught her breath, wishing she could tell him exactly how much without potentially scaring him away. She fixed her dress and leaned back against the wall, willing her heartrate to return back to normal.
"Your hair got away from you a little," he said with a smile.
"So did yours," she replied, "there wasn't much else for me to hang on to."
He thought about making a smartass reply, but the words never came to him. Instead, he put his hand against the wall, leaning down towards her until their mouths met softly. She breathed deeply against him, reaching up to hold his face in her hands, pulling him more forward and deepening the contact. It was long, sweet, and no longer driven by physical needs. It was hard for her to accept the idea that there might not have been anything behind it on his side, but that definitely wasn't the case for her. She wanted desperately to express verbally what she'd just tried to say physically, but her words died on her tongue, held back by the question of whether he would still want to continue this if she said it.
When he pulled back, his blue eyes stared into hers for a moment, making her think he also had something to say, but when he finally opened his mouth, the only words to come out were, "better get back to the party."
She agreed and they both took a small detour into the bathroom to eliminate all evidence. He looked perfect again within seconds, not a hair out of place and smelling fresh since he'd washed up. She still looked a mess, and had telling, red splotches across her chest, so she told him to go back first.
Once she cooled off and straightened her hair, she went back into the arboretum, choosing to enter from the living quarters ring as well, not far behind him. Trunks was doing his best to straighten the smile on his lips, but she didn't even try. Her mind was everywhere except on the party, but she felt so confident that they had successfully sneaked away that she didn't even think to hide her expression. Unfortunately, she was wrong.
Trunks looked around to survey the remnants of the still very active party, suddenly noticing the despondent and exhausted faces of the caterers. Goten had ordered another wave of food, which he and Goku were currently destroying as Gohan watched with slight exasperation. Despite his best intentions, Trunks' rumbling stomach made him think that wasn't such a bad idea. The waitstaff was unprepared for this second onslaught, and as the day had turned to night, probably made the mistake of thinking they were going to go home soon. Although she wasn't eating, Bulma was no better, and was keeping the alcohol flowing to the family members who had stayed behind. She was going to keep this event going as long as possible.
"I'm going to go make sure the caterers know they're getting overtime - and tips - lots of tips," he said to Pan, leaving her side as he went off to find their manager.
Pan was about to join the Son men at the table when she heard her name from behind her. "Pan…" Videl said quietly, nearly in a whisper.
"Mom?" Despite the jovial debauchery still going on around her, Videl's face was not a happy one. Instead, her arms were crossed, her brow knitted in concern. The expression caught Pan off guard, and she found it difficult to swallow all of a sudden.
Videl gently grabbed her arm, pulling her with some surprising force away from the table and the crowd. Pan looked forlornly back at the food she was missing out on, but as nervousness inexplicably built inside her, her hunger quickly diminished.
"What's wrong?" she asked, trying her best to sound relaxed and unworried even though she was being nearly dragged against her will into a shadowy portion of the room.
When they'd gotten far enough from other people, Videl turned and stood directly in front of her daughter. Although the gardens had grown dark and the lights weren't shining where they happened to have stopped, Pan could still clearly see Videl's disappointed eyes searching hers.
There weren't many times in her life she was legitimately afraid of getting in trouble with her mother, but as the older woman stared her down, searching for the words to begin, Pan suddenly felt a twinge of real fear.