Trunks, it's – it's me… her words echoed over and over in his head. She'd said absolutely nothing in the small second of message Trunks had heard, but her voice had burned its way into his ears. He'd been making honest efforts to get certain tasks done during his Saturday hours, but every five minutes, he'd look from his computer down to his phone, switching regularly between the decision to delete the message or listen to the rest of it, even though he'd made no move to do either since early that morning.
She hadn't called again, which was good. He barely had the mental capacity to listen to a short message; he didn't think he could take a live conversation right now. He wasn't entirely sure why he was feeling the way he was, or even what it was he was feeling. Terrified? Less than 24 hours ago, he'd seen a clear path ahead in his life. He was finally content never to think of her again, and now she was occupying his foremost thoughts to the point that it was taking him 30 minutes to send a simple email. All over a simple voicemail he hadn't had the guts to listen to yet. Angry? That one made more sense. She'd given him up for her past, throwing away an offer to love her for the rest of her life because of something that happened in another lifetime. If she was coming back to pretend that didn't happen, or that he'd take her back in a blink like he'd always done, she had a surprise waiting for her.
Curiosity eventually won over, plus the belief that maybe she wasn't calling him for the reasons he was afraid she was. Maybe she just needed something from him, something he could solve with a quick check or a pulled string or two. Maybe she just wanted to say goodbye permanently.
"Trunks, it's – it's me… Can we please talk? Call me back – please." *beep*
"That's it?!" he exclaimed to an empty room, laughing wryly at himself for thinking it would be anything more. He let out an exasperated sigh and hit the delete button. At least that decision was made for him.
He checked the time. Despite the fact that he hadn't gotten much done and that he'd been mentally torturing himself for hours on end, the day had managed to slip by again. Pan's dojo "graduations" and awards ceremony would be well underway. He honestly wanted to go. He'd enjoyed seeing the kids and wondered if a few from that beginner class would be there. Surely Heiko had won "teacher's pet" or some other honor given to over-confident brats. But when she'd asked early that morning, he'd been so sure of everything. Even the idea of the parents and other teachers seeing him, recognizing him, and realizing he was there to be with Pan didn't sound like the worst idea in the world. Now it felt different. A nine-second message – had changed everything.
He closed his eyes, debating on whether or not to at least send Pan a message so she wouldn't expect him. He didn't want her to think anything was wrong, especially after their conversation last night. She'd felt the same way he had – nervous about telling her family they were involved, but eager to get it out of the way so they could start having a normal relationship and see where it took them. He didn't want to jeopardize that – not for a nine-second message.
Before he could think of what to say, his phone rang, making his heart jump into his throat. Luckily, it was just Bulma. Yes, he thought, berate me, criticize me for slacking off – anything. Just get my mind off of her for five minutes.
"Hey Mom," he greeted.
"Working?"
"Yeah – yesterday was – not the day I was hoping it would be," he answered. "I'm making up a few hours during a time when people won't know I'm here and can interrupt me."
"Well, stop," she said, "at least for a while."
He looked at the phone dubiously, unsure he'd heard what he did. "Why?"
He heard her take a long breath on the other side. Her weighted pause wasn't helping him feel more comfortable with the direction this conversation was going to take. "I got a phone call a little while ago – from a certain someone." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. There wasn't a question in his mind who she was referring to. He remained silent, so Bulma continued, "She – wants to come back to Capsule. I wanted to speak with you first before I opened that door again."
He cleared his throat, feeling a rawness there that hadn't been present moments before. "She's lived there since she was a child. Capsule's as much her home as it is mine," he answered.
He could hear her sigh in relief and realized she probably already told her she could move back in before she'd even called him, and was just waiting for a seal of approval. "I'm glad to hear that, Trunks. Not everyone could handle it."
I'm not really 'handling' it, he argued silently.
"I've got to get back to work now and…"
"Trunks…" she said, interrupting him.
He sighed, "yeah, Mom?"
"She said she called you last night and she hasn't heard back yet. Don't you think you ought to at least hear what she has to say? She might just need to apologize," Bulma urged.
"Mom, I – I have someone else now," he said.
"I know," she said. "Even though I don't know anything about this other girl, I'm not saying you need to give up on that. But – I know a thing or two about her past," she confessed. She had Trunks' attention with that revelation; he didn't realize Bulma knew much about her previous life, since she tended to keep people at arm's length. He'd been young and self-centered enough when she walked into their life that his memories of those days were fuzzy, at best. "I haven't gone into details with you because it's not my place, but trust me when I say I can understand her need to resolve certain – issues for herself. I just don't agree with her repeated proclivity to leave you out of it."
"I'm not really interested in hearing it now," he said, knowing deep inside he was lying. "She had years – decades to be honest with me."
Bulma sighed, unable to argue with his point. "Okay," she conceded. "But apparently she ran into Goten a few days ago…"
Trunks widened his eyes. No wonder he was acting so strange. Why didn't he tell me? he wondered, although it did answer the question of why he was suddenly pushing so hard to "meet" Pan.
"…she asked if you were seeing anyone, and he told her he didn't know. I don't say this often Trunks, but Goten had a good idea, so that's what I told her too. If you are happy with where you are, you should tell her that. But it needs to come from your mouth – not mine. So – just call her. Please."
"I'll think about it," he simply said.
. . .
Pan checked her watch. It was starting to get late in the afternoon. She had been working on this event for weeks, and now that it was almost over, she was tired. The kids, on the other hand, were as wired and hyper as could be. She was going to have to start separating the age groups if she couldn't get them to settle down; it wasn't fair to the older students who had a tougher time passing their levels and had worked harder for them to be interrupted by a sea of endless squirms and giggles. Now that the little ones all had their rolled-up certificates, all they wanted to do was "sword fight" with them while the rest of the awardees waited for theirs. At least the adult cohorts didn't have to come to these things.
The speaker continued, unwavering in his determination to get through his list of names while Pan shot death glares at the troublemakers in the group. She'd put the littlest students in the front. That was a mistake. She thought it would enable the shorter students to watch their older counterparts receiving the honors of their higher ranks. Instead, they just proved to be a distraction to the entire audience.
She sighed, snapping and pointing at a particular student who was now folding his certificate into a paper airplane. He quickly stopped when he saw her face, but she knew he'd only be waiting for her to get distracted again. That kid was going to get a special red tag on his file if he kept this up.
Her eyes flashed to her mother up in the stands, who was smiling sympathetically at her from her seat. Videl came to every awards ceremony she possibly could and cheered loudly for each and every student, even at the locations that were further away than the Satan City dojo. She wasn't as eager to be a teacher, but it was her way of participating with the people who continued studying in her father's dojo. From her time fighting in the tournaments and working with the police force, Videl Satan had procured her own fan club, so many were excited to see her, and of course, the parents loved having the daughter of the World's Savior present to watch their kid receive honors. It was as close to the man himself anyone could get anymore.
Pan understood Trunks' absence, but was disappointed at the same time. There was hope that Videl would have seen the side of him Pan had seen in her classroom, the side that cared about what she cared about. Maybe it would've ameliorated some of Videl's concern; it definitely worked for Pan. If he had shown up though, she couldn't imagine her mother wouldn't have wanted to have a discussion - but maybe that would've been a good warm up for Goten. Her mother and Trunks always seemed to get along very well, after all. He called her "Sis" from time-to-time for reasons Pan didn't entirely understand, but Videl loved it. And there was no question that Videl would be much gentler on him than her uncle, and possibly her father. Her mother was slightly easier to predict.
The speaker who was reading the names stumbled on a particularly difficult name and it caught Pan's attention. She looked up at the stand, mouthing the name as exaggeratedly as she could. He eventually got it out, although his face was bright red. The student didn't seem to care, and she hoped the parents didn't either, especially considering that it was not exactly a native combination of sounds in the dialect of the region. She was glad he was past that particular little bump though. It meant there weren't too many names left. Just a few more minutes, and the students would be released to mingle and snack. Then, they could hit each other over the head as much as they wanted, when they'd be their parents' problem - and she'd be free until it was time to clean up.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She wasn't going to answer it, but when she saw the name on her phone, it changed her mind. She looked around at the sea of little ones, and they seemed to be willing to sit still for the remaining few minutes. The announcer's confidence had apparently returned for the remainder of his list too, so she ducked behind a large pillar away from the eyes of the parents and students and quietly spoke.
"If you're thinking about coming, it's a little late," she said in a whisper.
Her voice had been completely absent of anger, but he still felt bad. "I'm sorry," he replied with a sigh. "Something came up and…"
"It's okay," she said with a light laugh, sparing him from having to explain it. "It was a last-second invite and - It's been - messy anyway. The littles don't want to sit still, and they're completely distracting the older kids."
"Is it still going on?"
"It is, but it's almost…" The sound of a cheering crowd followed by hundreds of voices all talking at a normal volume interrupted her. The speaker had finished with his list of names and small speech wrapping up the afternoon. Parents were now beginning to funnel down the stands to their excited children who were eager to show them the goods they'd been handed during the ceremony. "...done," she finished in a normal voice.
"Hey - I know it's been a big day, but - would you want to take a break and get something to eat or something?" he asked.
Say 'yes', a little voice inside her whispered repeatedly, gnawing at the edge of her brain. It was almost more of an instinct than a conscious thought, like the feeling she got when she knew she was being watched, even before she saw anything, or the anticipation of being struck from behind by an opponent that was still in front of her. Say 'yes', the voice repeated, even louder than it had before.
She peeked out from behind the pillar, looking forlornly at the number of fallen programs and certificates that already littered the ground, and several of her fellow instructors were trying to usher the crowd into the refreshments room. The mess was already building up and they hadn't even gotten into the food yet.
"I - can't," she answered, trying to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach that was telling her it was the wrong decision. A sense of responsibility to her mother, the other instructors, and her grandfather's original dojo was winning out against that instinct. "You could still swing by," she offered, hopeful that might put her odd feeling at ease. "We have lots of food here, and you could meet some of the teachers…"
"No," he said, sounding very much like that wasn't the answer he wanted to give either. "I should probably take a page from your book and get some work done. It's not going to go anywhere if I just sit on it."
"Okay," she said. She covered one of her ears, trying to drown out the sound of some particularly excited children screaming, but he wasn't saying anything else. "Trunks?" she asked.
"Yeah, Pan?"
"Is - is everything okay?" she asked timidly. It wasn't the question she had in mind, but it was the only wording she had the nerves to say.
He took a while before responding, which only watered the small seed of uneasiness she felt growing inside. That kiss this morning - it felt fuller of "need" than she'd ever felt from him before. It should've set her heart on fire. Instead, it felt off - like he was trying to remind himself of something, and that combined with the strange exit then, and his momentary silence now, only served to support her thought that something was wrong.
"Yeah," he lied. "I'll let you get back to it. I'll see you later." He hung up, leaving her staring at her phone with a troubled expression on her face.
"That went well," Videl said from behind her.
She turned, willing her smile to return a little before she faced her mother. "Are you being sarcastic?" she asked.
Videl laughed, "no - actually. I know you only saw a group of young children pushing your last nerve, but the parents were ecstatic. They couldn't stop talking about the teachers, and the program… I think you're going to have more waiting list problems in the future."
"I feel like I missed the whole ceremony playing disciplinarian," she said exasperatedly.
Videl put a supportive hand on her arm. "Just be glad the other locations handle their own. You get a whole six months to worry about your next one!"
Pan sighed, but appreciated the words of encouragement from her mother. She'd needed them.
. . .
Trunks put his phone on the desk, pulling his hands back to his lap and staring at it as though it was about to come alive and attack him at any moment. He knew Bulma had a point. No matter how she'd left him, how much she'd broken his heart, she deserved a simple phone call. He just didn't want to make it. He wanted to go back in time, delete her message, ignore his mother, and fly off to Satan City to watch Pan's awards ceremony. Unfortunately, he was well aware of exactly how impossible that was.
He picked up his phone again, leaning back in his chair as far back as was possible, putting his feet on his desk. He took a deep breath and dialed, closing his eyes as the ring continued.
"Hi," she said.
It was difficult to feel as though he hadn't travelled through time. The moment he heard her voice, he was transported back to springtime, when he'd had the same nervous feeling in his stomach, but for an entirely reason - before she'd ran, when he was thinking about where the future was taking them – when he carried around a ring in his pocket for weeks trying to develop the balls to get down on a knee.
"Hi," he finally said.
"I know I asked you for a phone call, but can we meet? I'm back in my room at Capsule," she asked hopefully.
He stumbled, fighting for what to say. He couldn't think of any words at all, let alone the correct ones. "I – I can't," he finally said. He knew he couldn't see her, not face-to-face. It was torture just being on the phone with her. She stayed silent, anticipating he had more to say based on his intonation. She was right. "I'm with someone." The mental image of her face stung when he said the words.
"I – don't care," she said bluntly.
He could hear the emotion in her voice as her throat constricted despite her apathetic words. It felt like a knife to his stomach.
"That won't change what I have to tell you."
He rubbed his forehead, feeling the beginning of a headache on top of everything else. "You have something you actually want to tell me?" he said with unhesitant sarcasm, failing to hold in a dry laugh.
She sniffled in the phone. It was barely a sound – but the small noise suggested enough emotion to make him wince. There were so many unkind things he'd once had in his head to say to her. This was relatively nothing, but when the question came from his mouth, dripping with sardonic venom, he immediately regretted it, wishing again he could turn back time.
"Everything," she responded through her emotion. "I want to tell you everything – but I need to do this in person. I can't blame anyone but myself if you still hate me after that, but at least I'll be able to live with myself."
He thought about it for a moment, weighing the cost of seeing her in person to the benefit of having certain questions answered. He'd spent a large part of his life wondering why she left as often as she had, what was wrong with him, or with the two of them being together. She had only graced him with vague responses, meant to sooth, but never really to answer. He'd been gullible enough to accept it for face value every time in the name of getting her back, ignoring the fact that it showed a certain lack of reciprocity in what he thought to be love. He thought he owed this conversation to her; in truth, she owed it to him.
"I'm not sure that's a good idea," he started, knowing he would come to regret his next words, "but I know where to find you if I change my mind."
. . .
The sun had set by the time the last student left the dojo. Most of the instructors had gone home at Pan's insistence, but she stayed behind to finish cleaning. Not only did the floor need to be swept, but the trash needed taking out, the food needed to be disposed of, and the room where the stands had been needed to be reset. Normally, putting the bleachers back flat against the walls was a process that took a few people; the mechanism that was supposed to make it an easy transfer had been broken for a while. Instead of fixing it, she opted to lift the whole set herself, pushing it up and in manually – as long as nobody else was around to see it.
She sent energy through just her arms, making the dark room glow faintly. Although she went slowly to avoid breaking them, the stands went back easily, gliding just as they would if they were functioning normally.
"Whoa," a voice sounded behind her.
She jumped slightly, putting her hand against her chest as though she was trying to keep her soul from leaving her body. "Arán!" she shouted, "you scared me half to death."
He rubbed the back of his head, smiling sheepishly, reminding her of the mannerisms of someone else she knew. "That rack has got to weigh four times what you do. It usually takes a whole group of us to do it."
"Hmm," she said in mock confusion. "Maybe it's just working right tonight or something." It wasn't that she hid her strength. She used to show it off, but she found as she got older that people treated her a little differently when she blended in. Friends she'd grown close to, coworkers, romantic prospects – those were all people she only selectively revealed her powers to, and even then, it was usually a little at a time.
He looked at her disbelievingly. She wasn't sure he bought it, but he didn't seem fixated on the issue either. "I thought I was the last one here," he said.
"So did I."
"Ah – well – someone decided to flush their old belt down the boy's room toilet," he said with a chuckle. "It didn't go well. I've been working on it for a while."
"Do you know who?" she asked, the edge of anger in her tone.
"Nope!" he answered surprisingly chipper. "But it's fixed now. Something to watch out for in the future, I guess."
She crossed her arms and made a sound resembling a growl. "I swear every time I think I like kids, one of them goes off and does something like this."
He nodded in commiseration. They stood in silence for a moment as her mind went over whether they could expel the culprit immediately according to their agreement, or if it had to be an established pattern to their behavior. Conversely, the more she thought about it, the more she realized that was something her uncle and Trunks might've done when they were younger. Their mischief knew no bounds and they turned out fine. Maybe one mercy wouldn't be so bad.
"You want a soda?" he asked, holding out a can.
She accepted it, eyeing it carefully before popping the top. "You didn't find this in the boys toilet too, did you?"
He laughed heartily; she smiled self-satisfactorily and took a sip, sitting down on a folded chair for a moment so she could take a break. He sat down next to her and pulled out his own can, joining her in her break. She didn't necessarily mind. Her thoughts had been pretty overly-focused on her earlier conversation and she welcomed the chance to concentrate on something different.
"Thanks for your help," he started, "with that one student's family name." He tried to pronounce it again, but slaughtered it once more.
"No problem – I'm just glad you were willing to announce them. Public speaking is not exactly my favorite thing in the world."
He nodded. "To be fair, it's not exactly a new role for new for me," he said. She looked at him in confusion. "I'd been reading out the names for years before you started here."
"Oh," she said with a subtle cringe. Even though she'd been working at the dojo for a while, she hadn't started getting "elbow deep" in the inner-workings of it until she'd graduated and started immersing herself in it full-time. Her learning curve was still curving, and while she'd gotten to know the staff to a point, there were still wide gap in her knowledge. This was much worse than normal though. Aràn had practically grown up there; she should've known more about him than she did.
She drank more of her soda, watching him from the corner of her eye. His dark auburn hair didn't show a strand of gray. His face was laced with freckles, which was not very common in the world at the time, but she didn't see a single wrinkle or line. He barely looked old enough to have been around for as long as he had been. "I could – use a refresher, I think," she hesitantly admitted. "When did you start?"
"Working here or just being here?"
"Both?"
"I don't actually remember. I started under Mr. Satan back when he began taking kids as his apprentices," he said. "My parents were trying to use me to fulfill their fantasies and become a star… or something. I was really young."
She smiled brightly. "Really?" she said, fondly remembering her grandfather. She was still a toddler at that point and too young to remember, but Videl had talked about that period of time. He'd grown older and a little more fragile, and even though his later fights were always staged, he'd chosen to take on younger apprentices, who were less likely to hurt him during stunts, and had lower bodyweights to maneuver. He'd eventually started a children's program, appealing to the "loveable grandpa" persona he'd developed in his later years. "You were a 'Junior Apprentice?'" she asked, her memory suddenly jogged about that program.
He wobbled his head side to side and shrugged. "I was in training," he admitted. "I never made it to the stage, but I stuck with the dojo until I aged out of. And then I took my final exams and – came right back here to teach."
"That is dedication," she said.
"Well, I wouldn't have had a very good childhood if it wasn't for Mr. Satan. My parents didn't think I was very useful to them otherwise," he started, blushing lightly when he looked back at her. "I'm sorry – that was probably a little too much information…"
She shook her head emphatically. "But I'm glad you said it, Arán," she said. "My grandfather was more a showman sometimes than a hero, but he did some good in this world that people don't often remember. It's nice to meet a person who does."
He furrowed his brow in slight confusion. "He defeated Cell, that's pretty heroic."
She didn't argue. Gohan didn't mind him taking the credit for that fight; it had spared him some pain and trouble. Plus, the obese, pink alien living in the penthouse suite was evidence that he had been a hero. It just wasn't a memory anyone in the world seemed to have except her immediate family and the Briefs.
"True," she simply said, crossing her fingers subtly where he couldn't see.
"So – I guess it's good you asked," he said after some silence, "you'll need to know your staff if you're going to be running the place."
She shook her head adamantly. "That's not what I'm here for. I don't need to run anything."
The confused look returned to his features. "Then why did you step in? I'm sure the board could've hired an operations manager or something."
She lowered her gaze to the can in her hands, tapping the aluminum lightly on the sides. "I guess I'm here to protect it," she admitted. "My mom can only do so much on her own and some of the other board members just want to turn it into a profit factory. I'd like to – make sure everything that has his name on it keeps some integrity to it."
"That's a lot of work to do just for the sake of his memory."
"It's not just for his memory. I want to make sure the art doesn't get polluted," she said.
She'd recognized the irony in that goal a while ago, given the fact that Mr. Satan had been a key figure in morphing the perspective of martial arts towards one of spectacle and celebrity, but she was trying grow the Satan name beyond just Hercules's ideal of stardom and riches that came from his career. Her efforts to turn the dojo in a legitimate martial arts mecca wasn't just aimed at a tribute to Hercule Satan, but was also meant to be in memorial of other grandfather, her grandmother, their friends, and everyone in their lives who had studied and trained hard only to regularly put their lives on the line for other people. The least she could do was make sure they were honored with some sort of legacy that wasn't completely buried in secret.
He nodded. "That's an incredible reason to do anything," he said with a smile. "And that explains why you do so much more than teach – like taking on the planning for this event, or updating the records…"
She slapped her face with her hand, causing him to trail off. "I forgot – I still have a lot of that to do and I told myself I'd have new rosters and student summaries to the teachers by Monday so they'd get them before the first class. I started on the adults, but I haven't worked on any of the kids…" She stood up immediately, throwing her empty can into the nearby trash bag as she started walking toward the exit. "Would you mind taking out the last little bit?" she asked on her way out. "I need to go get more files and get them home."
"Sure," he said with a nod, "but – uh Pan?" She paused at the doorway, looking back at him in expectation. He put his hand behind his head again. Part of her wished he would stop that. "Since I don't have to worry about you being my boss for the time being - would you want to continue this conversation – over dinner sometime?"
She was grateful for the darkness in the room and the distance she'd gained between them when pink rose in her cheeks, but realized he could probably see it anyway. "Oh – I don't – think that's a good idea," she stumbled over her words.
"Right – sorry," he said awkwardly. "I mean – the whole coworker thing is always pretty risky."
She smiled at him despite her better judgment, enjoying the attention although she was trying not to play into it. He was nice looking, in his 30s, and obviously had at least one huge thing in common with her. If he had asked her a few months ago, she might've considered it. "For the record: I'm seeing someone - but also for the record - I usually like taking risks," she resumed her trip out the door saying nothing further, disappearing down the long hallway leading to the administrative offices.
He couldn't stop a smirk from appearing on his lips despite the gentle rejection. "Duly noted," he said to the empty room.
A little while later, Pan had finally put the last file in a special Capsule box, hitting a button on the side to fold it into its impossible size and watching it practically disappear with a puff of smoke. The Capsule went into her bag, and she threw the bag over her shoulder so she could take off and get started on the second half of her working weekend.
Just as her feet left the ground, she set them down again. She was about to head toward Metro West, but her apartment held the rest of the files she was still working on. Far off on the horizon, she could also see a nasty cloud brewing in her path, and while she was powerful enough to survive a bolt of lightning, it wasn't pleasant to get struck, or to deal with freezing rain and wind shears.
She looked both directions: north and west, and as she was trying to make up her mind, the little voice from earlier reappeared. West, it was saying. Go west, interrupt whatever he's doing, and sit on his lap until he's begging for you.
She smiled at the idea. The temptation to do the irresponsible thing and procrastinate on work was already pretty high, but the earlier tone of his voice had worried her too. For some reason, her gut was telling her that she needed to see him and fix whatever was wrong, and to do it immediately.
"Don't be clingy," she whispered to herself. Even though he'd given her carte blanche to his apartment, she knew he liked her independence, and enjoyed the comfortable periods of space they had between their moments of inseparability. Plus, he was working too, and the amount she had to get done between then and Monday was almost insurmountable. It would be best for both of them if they had a productive and separate weekend.
Besides, just one day ago, he'd been started talking about a possible future and expressed a willingness to take a major step forward with her. That little voice inside her was probably her subconscious expressing nervousness about the idea of telling Goten, and the exciting mystery of what was in store for them.
Maybe… the voice said, sounding unconvinced within her own mind as she rushed off to her own apartment.
. . .
Chicken shit, he called himself, looking out the large window to his balcony as he slouched deeply into the couch in the corner of his office.
It was the middle of the night now. He'd gotten nothing new done. At some point, he gave up on his work, choosing to spend the rest of his time looking longingly at the bottle of whiskey he'd still barely drank from as it sat on the coffee table in front of him. He desperately wished he could get drunk on it; maybe if his inhibitions dropped, he would follow his instinct, straight towards the decision he really wanted to make.
Where did I even get that from? Right – one of the board members for my birthday. He said it was "good", that it tasted like vanilla and toffee or something like that. It just tastes like bad, spicy tea to me.
He laid his head on the couch back cushion, staring up at the ceiling tiles and the overly-expensive recessed lighting he'd had installed to try and make it feel less like the office it was. Logically, he knew Pan wasn't at his apartment. He'd been carefully focusing and looking for her ki all night, and felt just a spark of it when she took off. He wasn't sure where she'd gone, but it wasn't in the direction of Metro West. The problem was, she was too good at quashing her energy, and since they were still trying to sneak around, she never let it slip too high when she was at his place. He couldn't be absolutely sure she wasn't there.
So, he chose instead to spend the sleepless night on the couch in his office, giving himself nothing more than a headache and a backache, and an even larger pile of work he would have to conquer later. All to prevent seeing his ex, and having to look Pan in the eye and tell her that she was back, at Capsule, and that his feelings for her weren't quite as buried as he'd thought.
"Coward," he whispered to himself.
If I go to Capsule and see her - and she wants to come back - I'm going to end up letting it happen, he said honestly to himself. I've never turned her down once, no matter how thoroughly she ran the knife through my chest. And if that happens, I'll be ruining something very good – something that could've been great – all in the name of potentially making the same mistake all over again.
And what happens if she just leaves again? Pan will be gone. She won't put up with the same shit I've put up with for decades. She's – stronger than I am.
"Trunks…" a quiet voice sounded behind him.
He chuckled dryly, unsure of whether he should be happy she was there, or frustrated with her random appearance in the middle of his sulking. She always seemed to know when to show up. "What are you doing here Mom?"
She yawned, making her way to the chair across from where he was and sitting down. She was wearing her pajamas and slippers, and had nothing but a thick blanket covering her from the chilled night. It was quite a trip from the yellow dome to the Capsule offices if you were going on foot. Whatever she was up to, she was determined.
"I saw the light on," she said. "And given the circumstances of the day, I sort of figured you would be here. Is the whiskey working at all this time?"
"I only had a sip," he said. "I think at this point, I'm just trying to get comfort from the bottle itself."
She chortled quietly and crossed her legs, resting her elbow against the arm of the chair and resting her head in her hand. She sighed heavily, her brow arching sympathetically as she examined him. It was beginning to be a familiar expression. "She's settled in – for now," Bulma said. "She told me you finally called her back, but – she wants to see you."
"I know," he answered.
"Do you want to see her?"
He took a deep breath as though he was preparing a grand answer, but the complex web of thoughts surrounding both her and Pan wouldn't make their way to his lips. He wished he could just tell his mother everything. If she knew the full context, maybe it would make her understand why this was not a simple decision, nor one to be taken lightly.
"I don't know," he simply said. "Do you think this time would really be any different?"
She twisted her lips, looking towards the floor as she considered his question. "I don't know – but you've loved her since you were old enough to have those feelings. Would it be so bad to try?"
He looked at her dubiously; she knew the answer to this question, and to make a point, he wasn't going to say it again.
"Right," she said, rolling her eyes. "Mystery Girl…"
Her flippant response and attitude weren't entirely her fault, he realized. If she knew everything, she might be taking him more seriously. His impatience with it was growing; he was getting tired of trying to defend it without revealing anything. From Bulma's point of view, it probably should be an easy decision. He'd given her no reason to think he was seeing anyone special enough to compete with a first love.
"Like I told you before, I'm not trying to convince you to give up on that. You've bounced back faster, you're happy, you're productive at work… But it seems impossible to me that you'd develop the same closeness with this new person that you had with her. To trade months for decades just seems wasteful and I can't imagine this girl is any better for you than…"
"It's Pan." Despite weeks of dread over the thought of revealing this, the words slipped from his mouth surprisingly easily.
Bulma's eyes snapped up to his. For the moment, her expression was blank with the exception of rapid blinking as her mind processed the name that had just tumbled from between his lips. "Excu… what did you just say?" she asked with a soft laugh, thinking her ears were playing tricks on her.
"It's Pan," he repeated, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "Pan – is the person I've been seeing."
She scoffed loudly and shortly, a single staccato laugh emanating from her throat as she looked at him with wide eyes. "That's a big coincidence," she said. He could already see what was coming. "How many 'Pans' do you know?"
He leaned forward in his couch, his back thanking him for the momentary stretch as he put his head in his hands. "Just the one," he said, his voice muffled by his palms.
There was nothing but dead silence in the room for a number of moments. Just as he thought to look up and check on her, the springs of her chair squeaked as she shot out of it and began pacing around in a circle a few times. He could hear her chewing on her thumbnail, a habit she did when she worried about something. Her breath was coming quicker too, and he wondered if she was starting to hyperventilate.
"Of all the fucking days to try and quit smoking…" he heard her say under her breath. "And you're… you are saying you're seeing her – romantically? I'm not misunderstanding that?" she asked pointedly.
"Yes, I'm seeing her romantically," he said, a line of pink rising on his cheeks as he looked her in the eye in the off-chance she might've thought he was joking.
"Oh god…" she said quietly, leaning against the back of the chair from her place behind it as though she needed it for support. Her eyes suddenly snapped back up at him, her brow furrowing in anger. Again, he knew what was coming, and the pink line grew darker before he could try and control it. "Are you – are you having sex with her?"
He swallowed hard. This wasn't an abnormal sort of question for her to ask, but he never got used to Bulma being that vulgar, and now he had to say a particular set of words that he'd been too scared to even say to himself until weeks after the gravity room floor.
"I am – we're – sleeping together," he said mumbling the last part as he tried to shake off the feeling that he was 16 again, having "the talk" with her after getting caught in his room with a girl for the first time. "Not that it's your business."
"Not my…?!" she started, shutting her mouth quickly as she realized it was pointless. The color drained from her face and she slumped back down in the chair limply as she held a hand to her chest. For a second, Trunks wondered if she was physically okay. She wasn't saying anything else, and he was hopeful that maybe it was because she was planning her next words carefully. "How did this even happen?"
He was at a loss as to how to answer that question. He could probably share the dirty details of that first day and she wouldn't blink an eye, but it wasn't something he wanted to tell his mother. Once more, she probably wouldn't understand the pull towards Pan he'd felt during their first time, which had sheared like a hot knife through his common sense, as if the very blood in his body had needed to be with her. And even though Bulma certainly had her history with volatile and dicey relationships, he wasn't entirely sure she would see this the same way she saw her own risky decisions.
"It just – sort of – did," he said, bracing for her reaction because he knew she wouldn't let him off that easily.
"Bullshit," she snapped. "I raised you with more sense than that."
He rolled his eyes and tried again. "I ran into her after her graduation. I hadn't seen her in a long time," he started slowly, "and she'd changed so much, but she's still – stubborn, and she's strong, and funny, and warm... I gravitated towards her differently than I have before and – we were pretty much lost in it the moment it happened."
He wasn't sure if his choppy, broken and heavily censored words were conveying what he wanted to since he was skipping over a lot, but when he looked up, the color had slightly returned to her complexion, even though she looked perturbed by his explanation. There was some hope she was seeing his point of view, at least a little.
"That would explain a one-night stand," she argued, "but this has been going on for weeks…"
"Months," he corrected.
She sighed. That hadn't helped. "So - this is an actual relationship then?" she asked disbelievingly.
He nodded, beginning to feel a little defensive. He understood this was a shock to her, but her reactions were starting to feel as though she wasn't seeing the seriousness he was trying to convey. "I feel an energy with her that I've never had with anyone else - and I mean anyone. Pan reminds me of some things about myself I tend to forget – and she fits with those pieces. Even just 24 hours ago, I was thinking how much I wouldn't mind waking up to that energy for a long time, and embracing the part of me she matches for once in my life. Just giving that up..."
Bulma opened her mouth, this time in more subdued shock at what he'd said. She sighed heavily again, brushing her hand through her hair, as though she was still trying to figure out how to react.
"Do you understand now?" he asked. "Why this isn't such an easy decision to make? I know myself - If I go to Capsule tomorrow and see her, I'm going to fall into the same trap I have before - and if she has any feelings left for me…" he trailed off. Unsure about which potential outcome made his stomach twist the worst. "I'm going to end up losing one of them."
For the briefest moment, the sympathetic look flashed back on her face and Trunks thought he'd made his point. Now maybe she could see how insuperable this was – and stop pushing him towards a certain direction. Now that she knew who he was dealing with, she was sure to leave him alone and let him make this decision on his own.
Instead, the sympathetic expression melted back into irritation, surprising him. "It should be an easy decision, Trunks," she said, the pitch of her voice matching her face. "The fact that you're even thinking about this like it's a choice – is disappointing."
"Mom?" he asked, genuinely wondering what was going through her mind and what she saw that made this seem so simple.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose in annoyance. "If I could actually figure out time-travel, I'd send you back to the day this all happened and make you undo it," she said, her voice almost forming a low growl he'd rarely heard from her before. "Do you have any idea what the Sons are to me? To us?! Gohan's daughter – are you shitting me, Trunks?"
He was taken aback by her desperate tone, looking at her in confusion. "I… "
"Does Goten know?"
He scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. "No, but I was going to tell him - soon."
"So, this entire time he's known about this mysterious person you've been seeing, but he had no clue it was actually his niece. Do you actually think he's going to be fine with it?"
Trunks opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Bulma sighed heavily, taking an additional deep breath. She started again calmly. "Your ages…" she trailed off, and he could see the words forming before she said them.
He knew that was going to be brought up at some point, but Bulma was the last person he expected to hear it from. Gohan and Videl, sure. The media would undoubtedly eat it up. Maybe even Goten might raise a concern. But coming from Bulma, it was almost laughable.
"First, Pan is an adult; she has agency and she knows what she's doing. Second, you jumped into bed with Dad without knowing jack shit about him. You told me that yourself. He could've been twice your age," he argued carefully. "And don't forget – I don't exactly line up with either of them," he added, a note of bitterness on his tongue he couldn't withhold.
"I know that. You know that - but the last time you spent any great amount of time with her, the last time you were publicly seen with her, she was 15 – and you were an adult. Do you know what that might look like to someone on the outside?"
He crossed his arms and looked away, willing the wave of anger and slight nausea that was building in his gut. "No one I actually give a rat's ass about would ever…"
"I'm not talking about the family," she said. "Capsule's so big now. Your more of a celebrity than I ever was. They watch you – so does the Board."
He laughed dryly, running his hands through his hair as he fought with himself over the volume of his voice. "And that – is officially the last argument I thought I'd ever hear from someone who literally gave the board the finger when they suggested marrying Dad for 'better optics'. You've never cared about any of that before."
"Capsule isn't the same animal it used to be. You inherited a burden of success and you've only made it bigger. With success, comes more responsibilities and not all of them will always make sense or be fair," she said gently. "But at least consider the fact that Gohan thinks you're like an uncle to her. He trusted you to keep her safe, just like he's trusted both you and Goten with her since she was little. He's a reasonable man, but this is – these are unreasonable circumstances. And he's been training again…"
Trunks chuckled dryly again. He hadn't been expecting such a volley of attacks against him, especially considering how carefree Bulma had been known to be as a young girl. There wasn't a part of him that thought this was fair, and he couldn't help but wonder if she would be releasing such an onslaught if Pan was literally any other person in the world.
"You're overreacting," he argued, knowing honestly that the thought of Gohan wringing his neck had crossed his mind a few times before. "I've already thought about a lot of this and none of it is a big enough issue to be worth ruining…"
"Really?" she interrupted sardonically. "If you've already considered all of this and you still don't care - then why have you been keeping it such a secret?"
The question was like a cold hand, slapping over his mouth. His brain short circuited as he fought for a response that didn't seem ridiculous and silly in hindsight. "We – we wanted to figure it out and make sure it was worth the gamble," he said, remembering their conversation on the hill near the archipelago. Pan had been agreeable without a pause to the idea of hiding it, but it had been his suggestion, and now he was feeling a non-insignificant amount of regret over that decision. "We haven't had the chance to see where this could go. Two and a half months wasn't long enough. I – I should've been honest with Goten to start, then maybe it wouldn't have been such an obstacle…"
He was talking mostly to himself at this point, but Bulma was able to pick up the pieces of context to generally understand how hard he was mentally beating himself up. She stood up, walked over to the couch and sat next to him.
"I know that this is going to sound hypocritical coming from me," she started, "but sometimes gambles don't pay off."
He looked over at her, noting that her hand was now sympathetically resting on his shoulder.
"I've already lost Son and Chichi. If a short fling drives a wedge between us and I lose the rest of them…" she trailed off, her eyes filling with sadness. He didn't agree with what she'd said, but the problem with growing up as a "momma's boy" was that it didn't really matter what he believed. He saw the look on her face and his chest filled with empathetic tightness.
"If they let that happen, they wouldn't be very good friends," he said quietly, repeating aloud what he'd been trying to convince himself of for weeks. "And it's not a fling."
She put a hand under his chin, pulling his face over so that he was forced to look at her. "Our family wouldn't be here if it weren't for them," she said sternly. "I owe my life to them too many times over to count, and not just Son, but Gohan too. You and Bra – and even your father wouldn't be here if it weren't for the Sons. Namek, Cell, Buu, Babi – I could go on - and that's not even including how many times I nearly got myself killed as a teenager," he frowned at what she'd said, but understanding and reluctant comprehension was reflected in his eyes before he tore them away from her. "In any case," she started again, her cadence lighter than it had previously been, "the love of your life is waiting to see you. All she wants is to lay everything down at your feet in hope you'll decide to pick it up again. This thing with Pan is still so new. You'll get over it; she'll get over it. And if no one else knows about it except me, there's really no harm done. We can pretend it didn't happen."
His frown deepened at the last phrase. He'd said something similar to Pan on that first day, and knew it was an imbecilic suggestion the moment it left his mouth. There was no pretending it didn't happen – ever. Not after the first time, but certainly not after months. Son Pan wouldn't accept that response.
He looked straight back into his mother's eyes. The energy wasn't there to argue her other points, and maybe that's because he couldn't, but there was still one point he needed to make: "Pan isn't a mistake."
She shrugged, her reaction to his statement being a little more casual than he was expecting and would've preferred. "You might find you feel differently someday," she said. It was the gentlest, most motherly way for her to say, "yes she is."
Bulma left shortly after that, Trunks telling her that he needed some more time to consider everything and to hopefully get a moment or two of sleep so he could continue to think clearly. She hesitantly left him to his own thoughts, and there wasn't a question in his mind that she wanted to stay in order to make sure he made the "right" decision.
At that point, he knew it was a miscalculation for him to have told her it was Pan. He thought the truth might balance her argument a little better, help her see the extent of what he was going through, and provide some better advice. Instead, she'd tilted completely to one side, and while he was surprised, he couldn't exactly say she was wrong about some of it.
At the same time, there were a lot of things she couldn't understand, and the more he thought of her side of the argument, the more those came to light in his own mind. He couldn't describe to his mother how it felt to be with Pan; it was difficult to define in his own words, and there were elements he wouldn't want to go into with his mother anyway. One thing was for certain: she significantly underestimated the feelings that could be planted and bloomed into only two and a half months. Maybe it was helped by their past, maybe their physical compatibility and shared heritage, but whatever it was, he knew his feelings for her were significant. Nothing Bulma could argue would ever invalidate that.
. . .
Night brightened into daylight and when he awoke from a very short sleep, he grudgingly accepted what he needed to do. If Pan was a viable option for his future, he was going to have to deal with his past. Otherwise, it would just get in the way of anything that could develop. There was only one way to do that, and as reticent as he was to admit it, his mother had a point. He needed to go to Capsule.
That afternoon, he stood on the balcony of his apartment. For the first time in a while, he knew the next step. His stomach turned in knots, his heart pounding loudly as he called her. He nearly buckled at the sound of her hopeful voice as he worked up the courage to say his next words.
"We need to talk."