The rural fields outside of Satan City were normally very peaceful. The residents in that region enjoyed a mix of the amenities of the city, which wasn't but a 20 to 30-minute air-car ride away, and the quiet atmosphere that came from technically being located in the country. Movie theaters, bars, restaurants, and stores of several sorts were all within a reasonable trip's reach; but if you were to look outside their front doors, you would only see plains of ocean-like, long, thick, green grass, spotted by the occasional farmer's crop or barn. In the distance, tall, rocky buttes capped with green reached into the sky, which provided some protection against the storms that sometimes rolled across the continent. It was a lovely area in which to live, provided one had patience for the chaos that would occasionally rain down on their small and sparse community.

The farmer and his wife had been sleeping peacefully for an hour before they were violently shaken from their bed. At first, their small, humble home was filled by the sound of rattling pictures on the walls and the startled shouts of the two residents as they tried to figure out what was going on. After a moment, however, the shouts of concern subsided. The husband opened the curtains, revealing the occasional flash and golden dome of an explosion happening in the distance. Roughly 15 seconds later, they would hear the booming noise that accompanied it and their house would shake once more.

"It's happening again," the farmer said, his tone far too casual for what an average observer may feel it should be, considering the sight outside of his window.

His wife caught her breath, finally calming down after being startled out of deep sleep. She laid back down in her bed, pulling the covers back over her arms again. "Amaterasu and her necklace," she said.

The farmer chuckle heartily at his wife's old-fashioned superstition. "If it was Amaterasu," he started in a matter-of-fact tone he knew his wife wouldn't much appreciate, his country drawl exaggerated, "it wouldn't be happening over and over. It's just about every week now. I think it's secret weapons testing."

"Why would it be 'secret' if they're doing it right near the city?" she asked dubiously.

He shrugged, walking back to his side of the bed. "I don't know, but if you go out to those fields tomorrow, there will craters, I guarantee it. I've even seen some of the smaller mountain taken out. No other explanation."

His wife rolled her eyes and turned on her side. "How do you explain the screams?" she asked argumentatively.

"Those aren't screams," he responded with a chortle. "Those are the sounds of the shells speeding through the air."

"Not so!" she huffed. "I know a scream when I hear it. Sometimes it even sounds like words. And it's a woman, I can tell. Amaterasu!"

The husband laughed at his wife's expense. "You're certified crazy." He reached into his night table, pulling out a couple of cotton balls, which he shoved deeply into his ears. He rolled over with her, putting a large arm around her waist. "But I love you anyway."

The wife seemed content with that response, so she opted for sleep over a continued, unanswerable argument. Despite the continued explosions, they managed to fall asleep again.

The wife was at least partially correct. The screams were from a woman, but although her powers were approaching a god-like level, she was not the sun goddess; and although she was casting many objects down at the ground in anger, they weren't the beads of her necklace.

Pan gasped for air as she hovered in the sky, watching her latest volley of ki blasts hit the ground and making satisfying pools of gold before leaving ruined craters of earth behind. She'd done what her father had always taught her, to do her best to scare wildlife away and do careful checks for campers before letting loose, but those tasks had been a true test of her patience that particular night. Now that her heartrate had climbed and she had begun to sweat, the tension was finally, slowly draining from her shoulders, manifesting instead as little light balls that set ablaze everything they touched once they left her fingers.

Unlike her father, training was a comfort that would be with her for the rest of her life. It was her version of a pint of ice cream and a sad movie. No matter what was going wrong in the world, as long as she could find a couple of hours to herself, it always helped her refocus, expend her excessive energy, and put her mind and effort towards something that likely had nothing to do with the reason for whatever wrongness was happening at the time. Even on nights like tonight, when she knew she could only make the time for it if she sacrificed sleep, and it would inevitably lead to fatigue and soreness the next day, it was still worth it to her. It only cost as much as she was willing to pay.

The initial explosive reaction had ironically calmed her down a little, even though it had also served its purpose to warm up her body. Instead of lobbing random energy blasts around the field she was hovering over, she lowered herself to the ground, starting a more organized workout in the form of choreographed katas. As her limbs whistled through the air, she increased her speed and the ferocity of how she threw them, stretching her abilities. She was never one to make it easy on herself; at least when it came to exercise, that was mostly on purpose.

Mudo, his name echoed in her mind, driving the effort she was now putting forward in her motions. A walking, breathing mistake in the shape of an attractive man. She would never admit it aloud to anyone, but he'd been the only person in the history of her life to make her feel worth less than what she knew she was. What was worse – far worse – is that her father and mother had both seen it long before she did.

Smitten by the way he spoke and treated her as an equal despite their differences in years and experience, she'd allowed him to slither into her life and heart. She was 23 when they'd met, and he encouraged her to believe she was especially wise beyond her years – "not like other women". Now that the past was behind her and as crystal clear as the sun at noon, she could see the manipulation and her own naivete for what it was.

She was freshly in graduate school when they'd first met. Cocky and overconfident, he fed into it and made her feel as though she was in full control of their relationship. He'd gaslighted her by feeding into her ego, stroking it while molding it, so he could use it. She'd wanted their first kiss, but she wasn't sold on the way his hand had found its way under her sweater only moments later. When she put a stop to that, he poetically spoke of how she was too bold and brave for shyness. He'd convinced her that his continued presence in her apartment that night was something she'd chosen, and how much he admired her for having the wisdom and inner-strength to decide he was worth her time. It worked. He wasn't remotely close to being the first man she'd had, but it was the first time she consented without being completely sure it was something she wanted. That instance was only one of many examples of his worminess, but also stuck out the most in the sour memories she was reliving as she trained.

Life had prepared her for some of the less than savory people out in the world long ago. She'd seen plenty of violence already by the time she started college and thought she was prepared for what she would encounter there. She could break those types into a million pieces with a flick of her finger. She wasn't scared of them. Mudo had caught her off guard, and despite some discouragement from her streetwise mother and her bookwise father, she'd allowed it to continue for two years afterward.

He wasn't worth her time; he was a complete waste of it. And that was mostly why she was so angry at that moment. It was better that he was gone, but she wished it had happened a while ago.

Pan stopped her katas, taking a moment to check her watch. One hour was down already, and she felt like she had just started getting winded. A two-hour window was all she could afford that night due to the tight schedule she had to keep throughout the rest of the weekend.

Mudo had chosen to show his true colors during the most important week of her educational life. Her dissertation defense was scheduled soon, and because of a calendar conflict, it was due earlier than expected. Gohan was going to help her memorize it and come up with points the committee would likely pick on during the defense, but he had limited time and could only focus on it this weekend. She had two days to polish it to silver, and then she would be put on the stand. Her school's committee was notorious for declining requests for second chances and she wasn't sure the "Satan" name would be of any use on them. If she showed up tired from over-training and under prepared, there was a good chance she would fail.

Simply watching her time slip through her fingers brought the stress back. She jumped in the air, abandoning the calculated katas for more careless, ki-based training again. She wished she had a sparring partner, but her imaginary assailant would have to do.

Her arms and legs flew in a frenzy around her. Energy flew from her limbs, becoming more reckless and desperate as the routine wore on. Her power climbed, the electrical feedback travelling up her spine causing a smirk to form on her lips. Now she was finally in the zone. This is what she was really hoping to get out of the night.

Idiot, she cursed herself, pulling her hands back and charging them with power before pushing them forward, releasing a steady stream of energy that carved a swath in the ground below.

He's had too much of my headspace for too long. She turned, funneling her energy through her leg and kicking rapidly in the air. She was starting to get faster.

I should've listened to Mom and Dad! she mentally shouted. It was humiliating, at the age of 25, to admit that she had missed something that they easily spotted after just a few brief visits.

This could all be for nothing if I don't focus and it's all his fault! More fire burned through the air, but she felt a block – like a brick wall keeping it her power from being everything it could.

Not his – mine, the calm thought spread from the middle of the hot chaos going through her mind. Thoughts of her own failure took seed quickly. She hadn't given her thesis the respect it deserved, she'd spent two years with the wrong person – and here she was training as hard as she could, well into her twenties and she was still hitting the same wall on her power she'd been limited by for years. Her father had broken through it when he was a child, her uncle: even earlier. Yet, no matter how badly she wanted it, it always seemed just beyond her reach.

She began to power up, feeling the energy coming from within her chest. Her voice echoed across the plains as the grass bent to the breeze caused by the pulsations of ki emanating from her core.

The one person who could really help her past this block was gone, choosing to simply walk into the afterlife one day instead of being with his family. It was up to her, and she's been stuck for years. The granddaughter of Son Goku himself couldn't even manage the first level transformation. What would he think of her if he was there?

Water filled her eyes, although it burned away before it could make it down her hot cheeks. Considering everything that had gone wrong lately, this is what truly hurt. She hadn't just failed herself; she'd failed the Son name.

The kiai she'd been shouting got louder and more intense as her body shook and her fingernails drew blood within her own fists. The pulsations and spasms of energy grew faster, but were unnoticed. All she could see was her grandfather's face. He'd left the world to her and the rest of her family – and she couldn't do a damn thing for it as a quarter-blood. He'd be ashamed.

Something clicked.

Like a gear moving slowly towards a groove and abruptly falling into place, she felt something lock. The pulsations stopped – but they stopped at their peaks. There was a sudden leveling off to her power, but it was more power than she'd ever felt in her own body before. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open with shock, sensing the way her muscles had changed and tightened around her body. She finally looked down at her hands, still marred with streaks of blood, they were glowing with a golden light.

It had taken a perfect storm of despair and anger, but that she'd finally done it. What irony - that her despondency over not transforming was the very thing that helped her do it.

She let herself fall to the ground in a controlled manner, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment both in emotion and the amount of energy it had taken. She was on her knees in the grass when she was suddenly wracked with hard sobs. These weren't tears of disappointment or regret, these were tears of intense relief. She wasn't a failure, at least not in the way she valued most.

She fell to her hands, grabbing the green blades tightly as emotion washed over her. She didn't want to let the transformation go yet, even knowing that she could call on it on demand now. But she was so very tired and the weariness had hit her quickly.

In the middle of her exhausted sobbing, she unexpectedly felt something strange. A warm *ping* in her mind that had a very familiar energy to it. Her tears instantly ceased as her head shot up and she searched for him. She'd felt him like he'd been next to her, but when she looked, all she saw was the starry sky above her, and the waves of the grass as the light of her aura flashed over it. She was alone.

She sighed contentedly, knowing beyond a doubt what she had felt, even if everyone else would think she'd lost her mind. Looking down at her hands once more, she had a lot of curiosity about what the rest of her looked like, but there wasn't time for that, not tonight. With a controlled breath, she let the power dissipate, wiping the drying tears from her cheeks as she took off in to the air again.

Part of her wanted to go to her parent's house and wake up her father, but he needed a good night's sleep as much as she did. She could brag when she saw him the next morning. Bed was calling to her anyway, and by the time her apartment building came in to view, she was extremely glad she hadn't gone far to train that night.

A wide smile spread across her lips, more tears threatening to spill from her eyes when she saw the figure on her patio, siting on one of her chairs. Gohan was wearing his pajamas and a robe in addition to some tennis shoes, having obviously left his own house in a hurry. He sat patiently waiting for her return.

The moment her feet touched her patio floor, her knees wobbled and she fell forward, but the sheepish Son smile never left her face. Gohan mirrored the same smile back at her. Even though he'd chosen to ease up on his own training and didn't feel the need to walk in his father's footsteps the same as she did, there was no mistaking the way his face beamed with pride.

"You felt it?" she asked.

He walked over to her, helping her off the ground before he picked her up in his arms. She let him. It was either that, crawl to her room, or sleep on the floor. She could already feel sleep pulling at her, so she leaned her head against his chest.

"Of course, I did," he answered with a chuckle, maneuvering carefully around her messy living room so he could put her into bed. "I almost came out to meet you, but I wanted to make sure you had space. It can be – a personal experience."

She smiled at his consideration for her. He wasn't wrong and likely had a hint or two about the storm of various motivations that had managed to finally tip her over the edge. "Thank you."

"Grandpa would be proud," he told her. The statement was enough to make her heart soar. It was one thing to think it herself; it was another to hear it from her father.

He laid her down on her soft bed and helped her take off her shoes, putting a blanket over her once that was done. A shower and a meal were out of the question. She could deal with that tomorrow. "I think he is," she said, unwilling to use the past tense in reference to him.

He sat at her side for just a moment. "Just think – in a couple of days you'll pass your defense, and have school in the bag too. That's a big week."

She opened her eyes, looking up at him with in a way that it was difficult to miss the doubt on her features. "I'm not as sure about that one."

"I am," he said without hesitation. "Besides, we have all weekend to iron out everything."

She yawned softly, choosing to live by her father's unceasing optimism for the moment. "What time do you want me over tomorrow?"

"Sleep," he said. "The first transformation is taxing. I'll do my part of the review first and make some notes. Come over when you're energized."

"Thanks, Poppa," she said warmly.

He kissed her forehead, pausing to look down at her while she nodded off. It was nice to briefly pretend the girl in front of him wasn't an adult, and that she still needed him. But that was becoming increasingly untrue.

The sun was absolutely blazing overhead. The late spring season had brought a heat wave across the eastern half of the continent causing temperatures to soar and any chance of rain or cloudy relief to be demolished by the high-pressure system it brought with it. Most of the students around her were fanning themselves frantically, slowly melting in their black robes and caps, along with the colorful graduate stoles that insulated the heat around their necks like scarves. The speakers who had taken the stage seemed to have no appreciation for the torture they were putting the graduates and their families through, droning on about what the future had in store for these determined and now well-educated professionals who would be released into the world after the ceremony.

Sweat dripped slowly down the side of her face, but the smile that pulled at her lips refused to fade. Her eyes were as bright as her flushed cheeks, and her leg shook with impatience. She still couldn't believe she had passed her defense. She gave a lot of credit to her father for that. In fact, she owed a debt to him for more than just helping her prepare in the eleventh hour.

She'd started graduate courses late due to her need for a break after losing her grandparents in close order, and even though she shared just enough of her father's genetics to obtain the higher degree, it had taken longer than planned. He never once pressured her or stressed her out about the timeline. He simply quietly offered help when he could, letting her make her own mistakes and learn from them when the result turned out to be a lower grade than expected. When she did take him up on his offers, he was gentle, thoughtful, and was able to provide criticisms that support her, giving her the tools she needed to improve.

She turned her head, spotting Gohan in the crowd. Despite the sweltering stands and the flushed look of all the guests she'd invited, he was smiling broadly. That look of pride that had been there the night she'd finally transformed was still stuck on his face several weeks later. As silly as it looked on him, she hoped it never really went away. He met her eyes, flashing a double-thumbs up to her from his seat.

The day she completed her defense, Gohan had taken her out for a drink. He hadn't even waited to hear whether or not she had passed. He'd never done anything like that before, considering he often displayed behavior towards her that made her think he regarded her as a child still, but fatherly instinct and his over-protective nature gave way to pure empathy. If there was one thing he could relate to on an adult level, it was academic pressure.

Luckily, after years of incredibly hard work and weeks of waiting, she got news that she had passed. The committee had granted her a stamp of approval, even without having to rely on her connection to the Satan name, but it had easily been one of the toughest battles of her life. Now all she had to do was get through an overly long ceremony on this uncomfortably warm day so she could focus on what really mattered to her.

As soon as the ceremony ended, she would strip off the robes, change from her dress shoes into her boots, and take off to the lunch party her family had planned for her. After all, she had something to show off to her uncle and her long-time family friends – but it had nothing to do with the slip of paper in the fancy leather case she'd be receiving from the stage in a moment. After years of training, waiting, trying, fighting, bleeding, and crying, she'd finally achieved the golden aura of her ancestors.

Unfortunately, due to their lives and Pan's own schedule, Goten and Trunks hadn't seen her since it happened – and that's what she was truly looking forward to about that day. She hadn't seen Trunks since she was a teenager, and even though Goten stopped by her parents' house often, he rarely had time to spar with her. Now that she'd moved out on her own, it was likely to be even more uncommon that she'd have real time with him. She'd been trying to keep up with those two since she was three years old, so she was excited to see how she would measure up against them after being active while they were stuck in full-time jobs. They both had said they would come to lunch after her commencement – and she told them both to bring workout clothes.

Finally, much to the relief of everyone present, the speeches were done and the names were being read. Afterward, the students were released to their guests and families and the crown dispersed. True to her plan, she immediately stripped out of the hot robes. As soon as she got them off her shoulders, she was hit by a small brick wall that happened to also be her ten-year-old brother. She caught her balance despite her high shoes, and with a laugh, returned is fierce bear-hug with as much force as he'd given it.

"Goku" had been a surprise, but a welcome one. He was living evidence that Capsule Corporation's "Saiyan-proof" birth control shot wasn't exactly as advertised. The news had sent Bulma in an apologetic spin since she'd worked with Capsule's medical division on the project herself. Her parents had rolled with the unplanned second child though, but Pan had been there to help every step of the way. This meant she was very close with her brother – and couldn't imagine her life without the miniature version of her father's smile beaming up at her.

"Hey Goku," she said with a laugh. He pulled a now ruined bouquet of flowers from behind his back, handing them to her with a sheepish smile.

"Oops," he simply said.

She thanked him anyway, rubbing the top of his head to let him know it was okay.

A few of her friends walked by and waved while the other guests walked up to meet her at a slightly more reasonable pace. She'd noticed the stark absence of one particular member of the party when she'd looked into the stands earlier, but still hoped he was just running a little late. Goten snapped her attention off of the group's vacancy by punching her in the arm. She grimaced in pain, her laughter betraying her offended expression as she rubbed the sore spot.

"What was that for?!" she nearly shouted.

"Huh – I thought you'd be taking those a little better these days," he teased, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and hugging her so tightly, she nearly fell.

"Not fair, Uncle. You know it can still hurt if you're not braced for it," she complained with a chuckle.

Bulma walked up afterwards, wearing an oversized hat and sunglasses while fanning herself profusely. The heat was obviously bothering her more than anyone else – but since she stopped being able to use the dragonballs to make her body young, age was finally catching up to her a bit. Pan guessed it was more than just the sun causing her to sweat.

Bra was with her mother and offered a wave, but didn't say much. The two girls were close in age, but hadn't clicked together like Goten and Trunks had. They had little in common and two very different personalities. As a result, they'd never really gotten to know each other. Still, she appreciated her presence, especially since she'd already finished her post-graduate degree a while ago. She'd made the effort despite the boring ceremony and nonideal weather. This was more than she could say for the other Briefs member, who she'd once thought herself quite close with.

"Pan," Bulma started, grabbing her cheek as though she were a child. "We're so proud of you! Chichi would've been so happy."

"Thank you, Bulma," she said with a sad smile, giving the other woman a delicate hug and politely ignoring the cheek squeezing she'd given her.

"Our gift is waiting for you at your parents' house, but I wanted to make sure I remembered to give you this…" she said, digging through a large bag around her shoulder. Evidently, whatever she'd brought had sunk to the bottom because it was taking her a moment to find it.

Videl was standing slightly behind Bulma and out of her sight. Pan made eye contact with her, asking her a silent question when she saw her mother's eyes roll. It's a car, Videl mouthed.

Pan hid a sigh. It was probably a nice model and expensive, but she had no use for a car and never had. She wasn't sure why Bulma didn't know that.

"Here it is," Bulma said, finally pulling out a normal looking, white envelope. "Trunks sends his best and wishes he could've made it He had some – problems at work pop up."

Pan missed the way her uncle's lips twisted in reaction to Bulma's small fib.

Her heart sank once she realized he wasn't coming at all, but she took the envelope anyway. Once it was opened, she pulled out a card. On the front, was the "S" emblem of a popular comic book character. Her disappointment initially deepened, figuring someone else had picked this out on his behalf, oblivious to the fact that she was neither a child, or particularly big fan of that comic.

Her displeasure surrounding the appearance of a card instead of an old friend immediately melted the moment she opened it to read the message on the inside.

"You'll always be Super to me," read the card's prewritten text. She grinned madly. The word "super" had been underlined twice. A handwritten note continued underneath, scribbled in familiar handwriting that did not belong to his executive assistant, mother, or anyone else. The entire thing was cheesy, corny, and charming – all uniquely him.

Sorry I missed the big event. Both of them. Stay in shape because I plan on making it up to you when work isn't such a mess. (Sorry about the car. If you bring it back, they'll give you its market price. I'll make sure of it.) – T

P.s. Please spend this as recklessly and irresponsibly as you can.

It wasn't until she read the last line that she even noticed there was a check enclosed. When she read the amount, she nearly choked. It was more money than she'd ever had in her bank account in her life. She was not wanting for money considering her grandfather Satan had made her and her mother both co-owners of his series of dojos and beneficiaries to his estate. But this – this was enough to make sure she would be able to invest in their expansion and keep the chain in its top-competitor status well after Videl retired.

Even Bulma reacted in surprise when she saw the number of zeroes on the check as Pan held it. She kept her mouth shut though. It was his company now. "Oh – and I was supposed to mention one more thing," she added. "Vegeta said if you wanted to come learn how to focus your new power, he'd give you one, and he emphasized one, session with him in the gravity room."

Pan's mouth opened in honest astonishment. "With him?" she asked for verification.

Bulma smiled and nodded in confirmation. "He figured – no offense – that with Gohan and Goten preferring normal lives, you might appreciate some guidance from someone who, quote-un-quote, 'still gives a shit.'"

Goten chuckled despite the intended insult, mostly because it wasn't unfounded; Gohan shook his head, but also smiled, knowing how much that would actually mean to his daughter. True to his thoughts, Pan actually hopped a few times in excitement. Vegeta never once let her train with him – even when she'd desperately appealed to his expertise for help making the transformation.

This was way better than a car. "Thank you, Bulma!" she said excitedly.

Bulma shook her head. "Saiyans…" she said dismissively despite the smirk on her lips.

Bulma and Bra said their goodbyes afterword, citing the heat as their reason for skipping the rest of the party. Pan understood, and her suddenly happy disposition told the older woman she had mostly forgiven Trunks for not showing up. She wouldn't let him off that easily though, knowing the real excuse. She needed to have a chat with him.

Pan went home with her family afterward. She put the check in her old bedroom for safekeeping and then went to eat. Trunks didn't pass her mind again for the afternoon, but the card stayed with her for a very long time afterward.

It was nightfall by the time Bulma and Bra made it back to the yellow dome of Capsule Corp. Bulma dropped Bra off, then walked to the relatively new, tall building on the edge of the property, which housed the office staff of the growing company, and the update CEO office. It dwarfed the rest of the property, and cast an obnoxious shadow on the lawn of her private residence, but it was a sign of Capsule's prosperity, and reminded her of how much work she'd put into making the company grow.

Aside from the lobby, where a security guard greeted her, the building was as silent and dark as it should be on the weekend. There was only one person in the office that day, and she doubted he was getting much work done at that moment.

The elevator ride to the top floor was short and uninterrupted, another sign of the empty office. When the doors opened, she was greeted by a ghost town of empty cubicles. Dim, white security lights were the only thing guiding her to her son's large, darkened, fishbowl of an office. The blinds inside were up, so she could already see him sitting at his desk, confirming he was meeting her expectations.

He was leaned back in his chair with his feet up on his desk. He wasn't dressed for work. In fact, he was wearing rather sloppy, old clothes as though he'd picked something out of his dirty clothes basket from ten years ago. He was staring at a large bottle of dark liquor – likely praying to Bacchus himself that it would actually get him drunk. It wouldn't, of course. The blessing of an amazing alien metabolism was a double-edged sword.

She opened his door and leaned against the frame, but he didn't seem to respond. Whatever was going through his mind was keeping him thoroughly distracted. "That bad, huh?" she asked.

He waved his arm in the air, activating the motion-sensor to his office lights. The lights popped on all of a sudden and he squinted, rubbing the bridge of his nose as though they'd given him a sudden headache. He'd been just sitting in the dark, and as the screensaver on his computer proved, he was not exactly productive and hadn't been for a while.

"I was just – taking a break," he said quietly, knowing the moment it left his lips that she wasn't going to believe him.

"Yeah – so I see," she said sarcastically.

He heard the familiar sound of plastic and paper crumpling from her pocket and rolled his tired eyes. He hoped she'd remember where they were before she continued, but the cigarette came out anyway. With a quick flip of a lighter, smoke floated from its orange end and was already filling the room. "I thought you were going to quit," he complained.

She took a long drag, closing her eyes and savoring it for a moment before letting it slowly pour of her nose and mouth. "Yeah, me too."

"We're in my office, do you have to…?"

"Open a window," she interrupted dismissively.

She never understood how sensitive Saiyan noses could be. He already felt terrible – and now he was turning slightly green. He didn't want to continue this old argument though, not tonight. So, he stood up and did what she said, crashing down on his chair again afterward as though the small task had worn him out.

"Why would you come here to wallow? You're always trying to escape this room and now you're just – soaking in your misery inside of it."

He sighed, realizing he wasn't fooling anyone. If the liter of whiskey didn't reveal the truth, albeit in its untouched state, the dark circles under his eyes and the frown lines around his mouth surely betrayed his real feelings. "I guess because it's the one place I can go that doesn't immediately remind me of her. Also – it's not going to be spoiled by how shitty I feel right now."

She frowned in empathy with him and sat down across from him. "What was it this time?"

He sighed again, heavier this time, crossing his arms and lying his head down in them as they rested on his desk. "She said she had loose strings. Things she needed to 'make up for' in her previous life before she could start a new one."

Bulma twisted her head, taking in another long breath of smoke as she considered what he'd said. "Well – okay. That's not too bad. That's not anything permanent, she just…"

"I had asked her to marry me."

"Oh…" Bulma said, unable to ameliorate his concerns after this revelation. It was probably as bad as he feared after all.

He continued with more, speaking through a constricted throat in a gravelly voice. "She said she wasn't sure if she deserved a normal life." The roughness of it surprised her; it wasn't often that she saw this kind of emotion from him.

"And you argued with that, right?" she asked, "like a smart man?"

"Of course, I did. But it's nothing I haven't said to her before. She just – she doesn't believe me. Just like every other time we've broken up."

The office lights flickered off again, and Bulma waved her arm in annoyance to get them to turn on. "You are both hot and cold. You have been since you were teens. It just seems like you never get your timing right."

"No…" he agreed sadly.

"But she always comes back, Trunks," she argued, reaching across the table to pat his hands.

"Because she lives at Capsule," he argued back.

Bulma chortled wryly, her brow furrowing in frustration with her son. "You know that's not the only reason."

He contemplated that for a moment, remaining temporarily silent as he swished the liquid around in the bottle in his hand. "I don't think she'll be back this time," he said. His lips sunk further, if it were possible, a mix of grief and anger hardening his features and making him look 15 years older than he was.

He reminded her too much of his father right at that moment, and it made her feel helpless. "I know you don't want to talk to your mother in great detail about this," she said. "I bet Goten's done with Pan's party. Why don't you go pretend to get drunk with him?"

Trunks shrugged, for a moment lighting up ever so slightly at the thought. "He's been seeing someone pretty seriously. I'm not sure he'd be in the mood to hear about my issues."

"If Son Goten feels anything but empathy for you, he'd be the biggest hypocrite on Earth. He doesn't have the best track record either. At least when you're on and off, it's with the same girl," she said defensively. "He has a revolving door."

His lips turned upward for a split second. "He's been different lately, but – I get your point."

The lights went off again and Bulma growled lightly in aggravation. She stood up, flipping the light switch to the permanent "on" position so they wouldn't keep playing this game. "Speaking of the Sons," she started, "you were missed today."

His face softened a little more, the look of stress on his features melting away subtly. "It's been years since I've seen them. I didn't want to miss it, but..."

"I know. Pan was really looking forward to catching up with you," she said, "On the plus side - I don't know what you said, but that's the biggest smile I've seen a card get in my life."

"It might've been the check."

She chortled. "Come on. I know it's been a while, but you know her better than that." Bulma pulled out a container that she carried in her pocket for ashes, tapping the ash from her cigarette into it before stowing it away again. She crossed her arms and twisted her lips, thinking for a moment before offering her latest suggestion, "Maybe it wouldn't hurt to embrace your Saiyan half for a bit and go train. You know your dad would be happy to help."

He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and sighed. "I don't think getting my ass beaten is going to be the best thing for my mental health," he said.

"Okay, maybe not with Vegeta then," she said. "What about Pan? You know she wanted to train with you and Goten today. She seemed happy with the rain check; let the girl cash it in."

He thought about it, tapping his fingers on his desk as he considered the pros and cons of leaving this dark and comfortable den for the sake of fresh air and exercise. Not right now, he decided. He wasn't done licking his wounds, and his mental and physical energy wouldn't be in it.

"When I'm ready for that – maybe you're right," he conceded.

"I'm always right," she said with a yawn. "I'm going home. Whatever you decide to do, please remember to take care of yourself this time."

He granted her a shallow smile, but his eyes remained fixed on the unopened bottle. "I will."

She shot him a disbelieving look, but her own fatigue had caught up with her, and she didn't have the energy to make sure he followed through.

"Promise," he added, sensing her delay. "If you promise to try quitting again."

She smiled, satisfied by his response while ignoring his repeated plea. "Love you," she offered, hoping it would help, even in an infinitesimal way.

He finally met her eyes. The circles were still there, red streaks on his cheeks indicating there had been tears there at one time. Her heart broke for him; he was just about in his 40s, but he could've been eight again at that moment – when he still needed her in some small way. Part of her cursed herself for ever inviting that girl to live with them, even though she simultaneously still knew it was the right thing to do at the time.

"Love you too," he said.

She sighed and left him, trusting him to keep his word. By the time she got back down the building and out on the street, the lights of his office went out, and she could see his silhouette take off into the night sky. He was either going to fly to clear his head, or he was going to bed. Either way, she felt a little better for him. He'd dealt with the same heartbreak over the same person multiple times in the past; she knew he'd do fine this time too.

When Trunks wasn't working, the next few weeks were for remembering how to live normally. He did as much as he could to make sure he was keeping his promise to his mother. Unlike previous times in the past, at least he'd remembered to eat regularly, even though it was all mostly comfort food. He also went through the trouble of taking certain pictures off the walls of his apartment, something he hadn't done previously, when he'd been more optimistic that she would turn up again.

It was cathartic in some ways, sad in others. He'd gone through the cycle of anger, grief, and self-doubt before, but something felt very final about it this time. In a way, that brought him some peace and resolve, but the knot in his stomach refused to untie itself, and there was equally no amelioration of the feeling of numbness that spread throughout his limbs when he realized he would likely never see her again.

Even though roughly a month had passed, he still felt like a rock stuck under water. Her conflicted tone of voice haunted him in quiet moments, and the look on her face when she tore her hand away from his appeared in his mind every time he closed his eyes. Work was not helping this time and self-care had only gone so far. Taking her pictures off the wall of his apartment didn't make her suddenly disappear from his thoughts.

He considered what his mother had said, even though it'd been a while since she'd said it. She was selling Goten short. At the moment, he was in a relationship that was extremely serious to him. Unfortunately for Trunks, that meant he was less available than normal. He commiserated with him over the phone for a while a time or two, but he could hear it in Goten's voice – he thought this was just another one of those times, that she would come back, as she always did, and that they would be just as in love as they ever were. Trunks couldn't blame him. Goten was relentlessly optimistic and precedence wasn't helping that. Even though he knew better, Goten was sure it would end the same way it always did. Trunks appreciated their conversations for the value they had, but he knew beyond a doubt Goten was wrong this time.

Trunks' thoughts went back to the what else his mother had said that night. Maybe it was time for some exercise. He'd been catatonic long enough, and he owed a visit to Pan anyway. Plus, she'd never been one to turn down an offer to train with him. He felt more in line with the Saiyan half of him when he trained. She would completely understand – and likely be happy to help him get in touch with his emotionally-stunted, proud heritage – and he would feel better for it. At least, it would redirect his thoughts for a while and bring temporary relief.

Of course, that would have to wait for the weekend. Right now, he was stuck in an incredibly boring "working lunch" meeting with his board. The clock was practically ticking backwards, and he was tapping his foot under his desk just to keep from falling asleep. One of the most boring voices in the building was droning in complaint about a .02 zeni variance in the trending cost of one of their least-used materials. The other executives around him nodded, made notes, and "hmmd" at the seemingly correct moments – as though the small fluctuation was the worst thing happening on the planet right now.

How the hell are they still listening to this? He wondered, immediately scolding himself for how his own recent events, poor diet, and piss-poor sleep had seemed to be affecting his level of patience.

Despite a certain level of self-awareness, his brow furrowed as he stared at the man. Maybe if he looked angry enough, he could send the subliminal message that it was time to get to the point. He willed his father and all of his most angry-looking ancestors to give him the power to somehow psychically intimidate him into stopping early via the most intense start he could muster; like a spirit bomb of nothing but pissed off energy courtesy of 50 Saiyans all named Vegeta.

It did not work. It only seemed to make the man more fervent in his emotional reaction to the international politics that had caused this "outrageous, unrecoverable price gouging." Apparently, the only message Trunks had seemed to send him was the incorrect one that he agreed.

Whatever. Trunks took a relatively modest salary for the president of the largest company in the world; they paid their workers well, participated in fair trade practices and environmental initiatives when they could. In the 10 years it had been since his mother "retired" (as loosely as the term meant for her), the company had expanded services and remained as stable as rock while doing so. As a result, Capsule was healthy, well-regarded, and his people were happy. He didn't care about losing a little more money over a small, likely natural fluctuation in cost.

No - really, he could. not. care. less.

He gathered every ounce of will he had to continue to look composed for just a little longer. This was the kind of overly-detailed, pointless crap businessmen his age were supposed to be into for some god-only-knows reason. No wonder so many of his peers ended up in personal scandals – they were probably looking for any source of excitement besides having a coronary over .02 zeni. All he wanted to do was glide into the weekend so he could spend some time working out his neglected muscles enough to forget about one face for five minutes.

He kept looking at the window longingly, mentally scolding himself again. Businessmen your age don't fly out the window in the middle of meetings, he reminded himself.

He swore at some point he'd fallen asleep with his eyes open because whether he'd just successfully entered a zen state that allowed him to jump time, or someone finally told the man to give it a rest, the meeting was suddenly, blessedly over. He stood up a little too quickly, pausing barely long enough to utter a quick "thank you" to the other attendees before he whipped out of the conference room and back to his office.

"Still here?" he asked his administrative assistant as he rushed by her desk.

"Sir, it's only 1:45," she gently reminded him.

He stopped in his tracks, his shoulder slumping a little as he realized she was right. He turned slowly, looking at her defeatedly. "Why did you have to do that to me?"

She smiled sympathetically; he wasn't aware of it, but his mother had warned her about what had been happening in his life lately. She was supposed to report to the former CEO if he neglected himself too harshly. "Ready for a snack? Maybe that'll pick you up a bit."

He returned her smile, "that's a great idea."

Mika was an older woman who had been his administrative assistant since he'd started under his CEO title. She'd been around for a very long time and had seen a lot of oddities in that particular office. She wasn't clued in on everything that made Trunks different from the average corporate power, but she was extremely perceptive. She noticed that he was really quite muscular for someone who worked a 60 hour-a-week, sedentary job. She also knew that he ate a lot more than your average person – when he took working lunches with others in the office, he would eat barely a fraction of his normal lunch so he wouldn't distract from the topic or appear rude. On those days, he'd get lethargic or cranky by the late afternoon unless she ordered him more food that he could mow down in the privacy of his office.

Trunks retreated to his office for a few minutes, checking his emails that had backed up since the meeting. His assistant walked through the door only a moment later with a notebook. He hated that thing. That was her "here's the work that built up while you were away doing other work" list.

He sat back, waiting for her to start. "Your food will be here in 15 minutes. I assumed you'd be agreeable to that suggestion and had them start before your meeting ended."

"Safe bet," he said with a nod.

"There are some invoices that need approval from the medical science division," she continued.

"If they were already on the approval list, just push them through," he said.

"Also – your four o'clock canceled. Something about a family emergency," she stopped momentarily to cautiously gauge his reaction. When he perked up slightly, she felt it was safe to continue. "I've taken the liberty of telling the rest of your callers that you're booked until next week." His eyes met hers in a hopeful question. "I figured – with everything going on – you could probably use an early day."

A smile slowly spread across his face. "I could hug you, Mika."

She chortled. He was in rare form. Obviously, the day had been grueling, but when Bulma Briefs said her son needed a break, the administrator figured it had to be bad. "Can I be frank with you Trunks?" she asked.

He nodded, surprised by her informality. She was much older than him, but had never before referred to him with anything other than a "Sir" or "Mr.".

"You've been working too hard and I know you're dealing with some things right now. Take a couple days off. We'll survive. Ms. Briefs is here if we run into problems."

He sighed deeply and looked at her in appreciation. If she was gunning for a raise, it was working. "My mom's been over-sharing again," he surmised.

She shrugged. "She's concerned about you – as any good mother would be."

"Well, that's easier said than done," he responded, "but I'll keep it in mind."

She nodded and left his office, returning with his real lunch shortly afterward. He dug into it, answering what emails he could before setting a short "busy" message on his email auto-response. He was dismayed to see that the message didn't stop the onslaught. They kept coming – like a digital hydra that wouldn't die. But now that he'd resolved himself to getting out early, he was done. He turned off his monitor, put his laptop in his bag, put his office phone on forward, stood up, and closed his office door.

Mika heard his office blinds go down, followed by the "click" of the lock on his door. She smiled silently from her desk. She was good at playing his sentry when he needed space – and was already thinking of what excuse she would give the rest of his callers for the day. It did make it easier on her that no one seemed to ever see him leave the office – unless they happened to look up at the right time.

Trunks went into his private office locker/closet and hung up his tie and suit coat, grabbing a bag with some of his more casual clothes inside to take with him. He'd looked in his phone only to realize that he never got a number for Pan. He had contacts for the rest of her family, but the last time he'd seen her, she hadn't had her own line yet. Still, he knew where she was working – and surprising her might be fun.

He jumped out of his window, taking off into the sky towards Satan City.

Pan had taken over partial ownership of the chain of Satan dojos, along with her mother, upon the death of her grandfather a few years earlier. Buu was still around as well, but he mostly ate and watched television in the champion suite, lamenting the loss of his old friend. While he occasionally went out to meet the kids, whom he liked the best of all the students because they shared his love of sweet stuff, he never taught or made any decisions. That all fell on Pan and Videl and a small group of long-time trustees, who simply let him be and funneled a portion of the budget to keeping him well-fed and happy.

Videl was mostly busy raising Goku, although since he had gotten older, that had required less of her attention. She occasionally involved herself in the tougher business decisions such as budgeting and expansion, but it was clear she was grooming Pan to take over for her in that role quickly. Her real desire was to work with the Satan City police force, which she did on a part-time basis.

Pan had already picked up some integral knowledge about the dojo from her mother and some of the other trustees who also wanted Mr. Satan's granddaughter to take a public and important role in running things. She mostly controlled issues such as building upkeep, insurance, and vetted new instructors as well as taking part in some very uncommon advertising efforts. On the plus side, the name of "The Great Hercule Satan" still carried its own weight across the world, so there was very little reason to spend money and time on marketing.

Even though she was being slowly dragged into a business leadership role, that wasn't what she wanted to do at all. She'd much rather trust most of the issues of budget, taxes, and employment law to the trustees and the staff the dojos already employed. She'd also gotten a sizable inheritance, so although she wanted to see it do well, the size and profitability of the chain wasn't as important as long as it was successful enough to keep it running in one form or another. The trustees disagreed with her priorities, but Videl didn't apply any pressure one way or another.

What Pan really cared about was teaching. She loved it. Ever since her brother had been born, she found herself more agreeable to the idea of working with young kids – getting them started right, helping them understand the importance of physical activity, and encouraging them to be independent and strong. Plus, they were a lot less likely to complain than the older students and could be motivated with stickers and lollipops.

For obvious reasons, she was the one of the favorite instructors in the chain and usually had a long waiting list for the age group she worked with. It wasn't just that she was the granddaughter of the dojo's namesake either. The kids legitimately loved her. She was gentle with her corrections, but persistent, and always willing to put more time into working with any student that needed extra help. The parents loved her too.

It had quickly grown from a part-time job to a full-time commitment the moment school was no longer a scheduling obstacle, and much to her dismay, her week much of her weekend now belonged to the business and its students. Most of Pan's days were split between operation issues within the dojo and teaching, but she always looked forward to the moment of each day when she could leave the offices of the dojo and step into the classroom. If she had any free time at all, that's where she could be found – walking room to room and observing the other classes, or giving her students extra help.

Trunks had seen the dojo's marketing, so he knew the gym was one of the buildings in the city with old-fashioned, tile roofs and signs. He didn't expect to see how large it was. Hercule Satan's retirement passion project was obviously doing very well for itself.

He landed at the front of the dojo, walking under the wooden gate as he looked around. The large doors were slightly ajar, revealing a shrine just inside. The large shoe locker and a stark change from tile to carpet implied he should take off his shoes, so he leaned down, undoing his laces and placing them within one of the cubbies near the floor.

Just as he leaned up, a young woman with a slightly star-struck expression greeted him. At first, he was concerned she wasn't going to let him in due to his not being a student or a parent of a student on record, but his reputation seemed to buy him a little faith in that department. She stumbled with her words, but pointed him towards the direction of the younger classes, which is where Pan normally taught.

Unfortunately, the woman hadn't been as specific as she should've been and he felt awkward about pressing her for more information given her overreaction to his presence, so he simply meandered in the general direction he'd been pointed towards. Although Pan' energy wasn't nearly high enough to pinpoint her location, he could sense her around, so there was no major rush. He was in the right place, at least.

The center of the dojo contained one large room with a tatami mat blocked into sections. That was obviously for large presentations, spars, maybe a testing room. The perimeter of the structure was broken up into smaller classes, which seemed full of students of various ages and skillsets. If Videl and Pan were as financially wrapped into the success of these dojos as he'd heard they were, they were probably doing rather well for themselves.

He passed by one particular class of older teenagers and adults and paused. Although he hadn't bothered to participate in any tournaments himself, it was difficult to ignore their existence. Tournament winners these days were like celebrities, being constantly reported on while the world for its next "Champion". Several of them looked as though they'd just wrapped up a lesson in that particular room.

A master class? he wondered, impressed. If that many of them were using the dojo, it was definitely doing well.

The door opened and students began funneling out towards the showers.

"S'cuse me," one of them said, brushing by Trunks' shoulder as he walked by. He had a terrible haircut that was peppered with gray; it looked a little like greasy waterfall.

"Hey," Trunks started, trying to ignore the odd fashion choice since he was a bit hypocritical. His hair style hadn't been in vogue for 15 years, and the magazines wouldn't let him forget it. "Do you know which class Son Pan is teaching?"

The other man opened his mouth to answer when he noticed who it was speaking. He jumped back in a start and pointed at Trunks as though he'd made some sort of threat. "Oh, hell no!" he shouted, surprisingly loudly. "Not today!" He quickly stomped away, leaving Trunks behind without an answer.

"Do I know you?" the dumbfounded Trunks shouted after him, but there was no answer. He did look vaguely familiar.

He shook off the confusing interaction and kept walking, deciding he was better off just looking into each room instead of asking anyone else for directions. Before he knew it, he'd ended up outside, where there was a class taking advantage of the courtyard. Those students were young – between six and eight. Something about the brightness of their faces and their focused eyes made him pause for just a moment to reminisce about when he was their size. He'd experienced a lot of different types of traumas in a short time, including literal death. How different life would've been if his biggest concern was making the next color belt.

The teacher came into view, walking slowly down the aisle of kids who were performing very simple, repeating katas as she watched. She paused once in a while to gently correct a form before moving further up the line, and the more she came into view from the doorway, the more she stole his attention.

Her short, nearly black hair was a little messy, but it accentuated a slender face and neckline, her eyes contrasting to the paleness of her complexion. He could only see her features from a limited angle as she bent down to help the students, occasionally turning her back to him, but he saw enough. His mouth had suddenly gone a little dry.

Dark hair, dark eyes… he noted sadly, a familiar pain appearing in his chest he had hoped would be gone by now. You definitely have type.

He inwardly reprimanded himself, but made no real effort to leave, feeling content to temporarily abandon his search for Pan in order to grant himself this small, comforting indulgence. The teacher moved to the front of the class and dropped their katas to focus on her obediently. She began instructing them on a new move, being careful to thoroughly explain each transition, where their limbs would fall in the move, and showing them what it would look like.

She was wearing a long, green tunic over a tight, black bodysuit instead of the traditional gi one would expect on an instructor. The ensemble was strangely familiar to him, even though he couldn't place it, and did very little to hide the obvious muscle tone built over her more delicate features. Even from his distance, he could see a beautiful balance between strength and agility, but her kind eyes and warm smile created a softness about her as well. Especially the smile. It added a quality of fire to her face he hadn't seen often.

He completely forgot about Pan in the moment, watching this stranger expertly instruct her class with the graceful movement of her limbs.

Be careful, he warned himself. The three weeks he'd spent in mourning over his last relationship seemed like it had crawled by to him, but it wasn't really a lot of time to have healed. He'd humored his temptation to go on a date too quickly after a breakup before, and he'd ended up rushing to bed, only for things to end as abruptly as they'd started. It never worked out.

He considered approaching her, wondering if he could manage the timeline a little better this time, but he pushed the idea back. It wasn't a good idea to start a new relationship before processing the end of his last one, and he honestly wondered if he even remembered how to flirt. Besides, Pan would beat the shit out of him if she caught him talking to a coworker when he could've been visiting with her.

Just as he was about to turn away and resume his search, she noticed him. Her brown eyes met his and that smile that had him so enamored doubled in size. She turned back to her students, holding up a hand as she instructed them to keep practicing. His feet froze in their place as she bounded over to the doorway of the courtyard where he was. What the hell did he do now?

He awkwardly put his hand behind his head, debating on what to say and how to handle it. He hadn't meant to be caught staring, and the fact that he was a random person in the building wasn't a good aesthetic. It was embarrassing, and he was scrambling to think of an excuse or a bullshit story about why he'd been ogling her from the shadows. He would have to hope Pan's name was enough to keep him out of trouble.

"Trunks!" she greeted happily, stopping so far into his personal space, that he instinctively took a step back. "I thought I sensed you nearby!"

A lot of strangers knew his name and face, but his brain was stuck processing the second part. There weren't a lot of ki-sensitive people around anymore, and he knew almost every…

…the blood suddenly drained from his face as the hamster wheels in his head finally started spinning again. Shit.

"Pan?!" he said, his voice coming out with an inadvertent quiver and squeak. Her unique energy was clear now. He'd been an oblivious dumbass not to notice it before.

She laughed and lunged at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. The embrace actually hurt, removing any remaining doubt of her identity. The blood went back into his face and pooled in his cheeks as he hesitantly returned the affection, but he only lightly patted her back, unsure of what exactly to do with his hands.

She pulled away quickly, saving him from having to figure it out himself. "Sorry," she said sheepishly, misunderstanding his stiff body language as potential distaste for the level of familiarity in her actions. "I just… It's been forever."

"Evidently," he said, unable to hide some of his surprise.

She cocked her head to the side, sensing some confusion or hesitancy in his voice. She didn't understand it herself. "The last time I saw you, you were dropping off a gift for my sixteenth birthday," she said, answering one of the many questions going through his head, "so – almost ten years."

He crossed his arms, looking at her in disbelief as he did the math himself. It didn't seem possible. She'd been practically an adult last time he'd seen her; he would swear by it. And it couldn't have already been ten years; there was no way his life had sucked away that time from under his nose. On the other hand, it would explain the way her face had changed, losing some of its cherub-like roundness in exchange for longer, more feminine features. It would also explain how much height she'd gained on him. Although he wasn't as tall in comparison to most men, and she was still shorter, but the difference between them had shrunk to a matter of inches now.

Saiyans are late bloomers, he reminded himself. He'd missed the years when she'd really sprouted, and now looked like a completely different person than the girl he'd known. Not completely different, he corrected himself. She still looked like a perfect 50/50 genetic mix of Gohan and Videl. He'd been stupid to not see it immediately.

Gohan… he thought. That's why I recognized the clothes. Instead of wearing an instructor's gi, she was wearing a subtle homage to her father's superhero past-life. It definitely doesn't fit the same on her as it did him.

He shook his head physically, literally trying to shake out the line of thought that his mind started entertaining. It was confusing on several levels to admire the way that bodysuit clung to her limbs.

Stop it.

"Are you okay?" she asked, watching his expression change and his discomfort increase.

"Huh? Yeah – no, I…"

"Did – you not recognize me?" she asked incredulously.

"Sure," he lied, terribly. She chuckled. "I came all the way here to see you. I just – didn't immediately sense you and I wasn't..."

She smiled, but raised an eyebrow. "I don't really use a lot of energy when I'm teaching."

He nodded in understanding. "Yeah, that – that would be why."

"But that doesn't get off the hook," she said. "That just means it's been too long since you made time for me." She narrowed her eyes and playfully punched him in the arm.

He chortled to hide the gasp. It actually hurt. That's what you get for sitting on your ass for so long, he thought, wondering if sparring was such a good idea since she'd obviously been keeping up with herself much better than he had. He could see the evidence of her continued training under her sleeves and down sculpted legs that were longer than they had any right to be considering her total height.

"Trunks…"

He snapped himself out it, desperately attempting to knock himself out of the trench his mind had wandered into. "Hmm?"

"Not that I don't like seeing you, but why are you here?"

"Right – I owed you a raincheck, remember?"

She beamed at him, happiness filling her brown eyes. He smiled despite himself. Her excitement helped ground him a little. The short, spunky Pan he'd had adventures with in her youth was more evident on her glowing face now.

"Wait – tonight?" she asked, her smile fading as she glanced back at her students.

"Yeah, you…" he started, stopping immediately when he realized why her excitement had faded. "You have plans," he finally concluded. "Of course, you do. That's what I get for trying to make it a surprise."

She bit her lip and looked apologetically up at him before glancing back at her students. They were getting the new set of movements wrong and she needed to get back in to finish the class, but she didn't want to say 'goodbye' so quickly either.

"Come with me!" she suggested. "I was just going to meet with some friends, but they're pretty relaxed with new people. We can still eat and catch up."

He looked down at his clothes. He was still wearing the slacks and button-up shirt he'd had on at work. The clothes he had in his bag were very obviously of the workout variety. "I don't think so," he said. "I'm not exactly dressed to go out with a group of college kids."

She snorted and crossed her arms as she raised an eyebrow, making him wonder what he'd said that was so wrong. "None of us are in college anymore. Most of them finished faster than I did and are already living in cubes during the day. You probably have more in common with them than I do at this point."

He found himself actually considering it. It wasn't like he had anything else planned, and his alternatives included going home and falling asleep reading the news on his phone. That didn't really seem like the way to celebrate getting an early day off.

"Come on," she asked pleadingly, "please?"

He looked down at her eyes, sparkling with light as they stared at him. He was suddenly finding it difficult to swallow, and wondered if spending more time around her in his current mental state wasn't overall a very bad idea.

"Okay," he hesitantly agreed.

Her smile lit up again, helping to convince him he wasn't making the worst call in the history of Friday night activities, but the little voice growing steadily louder within his mind didn't like it one bit.

"Give me half an hour. I need to finish up with the kiddos and change."

He nodded, watching her turn back towards her class. Perfect, he said to himself, that'll give me just enough time to beat some fucking sense into myself.

He felt stupid – and more than a little guilty for letting himself get so worked up over this girl. He was on the rebound. He wasn't being rational. He missed female company and sex. His emotions were all over the place and were messing with his mind. He only started looking at her in the first place because she had similar features to what he'd lost. Yes, that was it. He just needed to find a way to drill it into his head that this was Pan – not his ex, and despite the fact that they were visually similar in some ways, she wasn't the one he missed. The baffling attraction he'd felt was a misdirect – transference of a sad and lonely mind.

He refused to allow himself to gawk at her anymore and chose to kill the remaining time by perusing the halls of the dojo. Trophies and ribbons littered the walls along with pictures of dozens of classes and "star students" who had gone on to win tournaments. Then of course, the dojo would not let you forget who had been its main attraction. Pictures of "Mr. Satan" wallpapered every space that wasn't reserved for a student. Trunks sighed in relief. That face was as good as a cold shower, and now he felt like he was thinking clearly again.

One photo in particular caught his eye. It was a family portrait. An adult Videl was standing in front of an older Hercule, who had Pan perched his shoulder. She was smiling and flashing a "victory" sign. She had to have been 12 or 13 by then – maybe even younger. This was the right image for him to see before his mind took too far off in the wrong direction. The portrait of young Pan on her grizzled grandfather's shoulder couldn't have been any better at reminding him of the reality of the situation.

"Ready?" Pan asked from behind him.

He smiled, prepared for a perfectly reasonable and sane rest of his evening. When he turned around to respond, though, his hopes were dashed. She had changed into jeans, but the suit she had been wearing under her gi was still serving as her top. Only now, without the baggy material over it, it revealed the cut of her strong stomach muscles, and almost indecently highlighted the swell of her breasts. It was the same material as Saiyan armor. He'd worn it a thousand times himself, but he'd never seen it on a figure like that before.

"You okay?" she asked again, aware he had gone silent. She wasn't blind to the way his eyes lingered on her, or how his smile dropped when it happened, but she was misunderstanding why. To the outsider, he seemed disappointed.

You've changed,she told herself, and it represents how much time has gone by, that's all.It's not you.

He nodded. "The sky's pretty cold today, are you sure you don't want a jacket or something?"

She held up the one she'd been holding and put it on, giving him a quizzical look. He simply nodded as though she was imagining things, and took one more long, thorough glance at that picture of Hercule before they took off.

. . .

Trunks was not sure what to expect of Pan's friends or where they were going to spend their time. There was a fear in the back of his brain that a club involved. He hadn't been to one of those since he was younger than Pan, and that had been more Goten's insistence. He was too old to be brushing up against the sweaty bodies of strangers while he danced like a jackass as he pretended to have more fun than he was because he couldn't get drunk enough to really enjoy it.

The other side of him wouldn't have been entirely surprised if it was some sort of barbarian larping association where everyone just got together to fight for fun. Both seemed equally possible when it came to Pan.

He was relieved to see it was actually just a trendy, quiet bar on the edge of the city. Fairy lights lit the entryway, a welcome sight over his fear of strobe lights and fog effects. The inside was cozy and had several areas for intimate parties. Most importantly, there weren't a lot of people there, something else he wasn't sure he'd be fond of. The music was playing relatively quietly, and everyone seemed more interested in games and conversation than anything.

His relief must've been written all over his face because as soon as they touched down, Pan chuckled at his expression. She took his hand, pulling him in encouragement towards the door, and although he wasn't shy, he let her lead him like he was resisting the idea.

The group of people at the main, central table were obviously who she was looking for because the moment they walked in, they all greeted her warmly. Hugs and smiles were shared as Trunks waited patiently and quietly for her to finish. He got the impression it had been a while since she'd seen them, which might explain why she'd surprised him by turning down a spar. He never thought he would ever see the day, but maybe that was his fault for boiling her entire personality down to a few bullet points and framing every assumption about her around them.

After the initial greeting, the noise died down very quickly. Trunks became awkwardly aware that he was being stared at by the whole group. He stumbled to say something.

Pan started introducing him, but it was hardly needed. "Hey guys, this is…."

A woman from the group spoke up, interrupting her. "Of course - the granddaughter of Earth's Champion would be buddies with the freaking president of Capsule Corp," she said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. "Do all the richest people on the planet get together for family picnics or something?"

Pan shot her a dirty look, her cheeks growing pink. "Taani…" she scolded.

"Not as much anymore," he spoke up in a factual tone. "They used to happen a lot more often."

She hit him lightly on the chest for the small joke, but seemed to relax once she knew he wasn't offended by her friend's welcome. It was inevitable that he would be recognized pretty much wherever he went. He'd been living with that fact for a while. The group chuckled lightly and seemed to appreciate the evidence of a sense of humor, resuming their natural rhythm in short order as they folded him into the conversation without making a large deal over his identity.

It was actually a nice change. Normally, people hung on his every word, either trying to get a read on him or pick up information on stocks and tech as though his word could shift the world market. If they spoke back, they'd often try to puff their chests, use big "business" lingo, not understanding that his job wasn't the beginning and end of his interests. He enjoyed listening for a change, especially when it was a real conversation. The fact that some of it centered on what he'd missed in Pan's life wasn't hurting either.

They all seemed nice – except for one of them. There was a member of the group who had sidled over when they walked in. Pan never said anything in objection, but Trunks could feel the uneasy tension in her energy when he appeared. Trunks already didn't like him – but he couldn't put his finger on exactly why.

A lull in the conversation spread over the table for a moment and Trunks jumped at the opportunity to ask more about Pan from the people who had seen her during the years he wasn't there. Her friends had said nothing but good things, making her out to be smart and adventurous. That was no surprise to him at this point in the night. They also illuminated the fact that she had not gotten any less hot-headed in adulthood. Her temper had caused her trouble a time or two, which is part of the reason graduate school had taken her longer than planned. This – was also not a surprise.

"You blew up your advisor's car?!" he asked in shock, reacting to a story her friends had happily shared despite her insistence that it wasn't something he needed to know.

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and bit her lip nervously before hesitantly offering a response to the allegation. "He kept contradicting himself," she argued defensively. "He'd tell me to revise an entire section of my paper and as soon as I would, he'd tell me to change it back. Grandma Chichi had just passed and Grandpa… It was pissing me off."

Trunks didn't need her to fill in the blanks. He nodded and took a swig of beer. That must've been a terrible time for her.

Even though Trunks didn't say a word, the member of the group that had earlier set off something negative in Trunks' instinct spoke up in her defense. In the better lighting, Trunks could see the gray layered in his hair and the fresh crow's-feet around his eyes. He was either older than the rest of them, or had lived a much harder life. That wasn't enough to raise the alarm in Trunks' head on its own, but some of his subtle behavior hadn't helped. As the conversation had continued through the night, his body language and eyeline towards Pan had become more intrusive and obvious to Trunks. To make the matter worse, while Pan would react and sometimes respond to what he was saying, she avoided looking over at him.

"To her credit," the man started, "she managed to do it in such a way that none of the campus cameras saw her. They couldn't ever prove who it was, so she never got into any real trouble."

"But it did take them six months to find her an advisor that would work with her," Taani said.

Trunks shook his head looked at Pan with mock disapproval, his grin spoiling the truth of how funny he found the tale to be. "Does your father know about this?" he asked in a sarcastic, scolding tone.

"Oh, please," she said with a laugh. "You can't tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing."

"No!" he said defensively, "not unless your uncle was up for helping. And when we did engage in mischief, it was much more subtle – like when we put my principal's car in the school's swimming pool. That involved real finesse."

Pan chuckled. "Let me guess, you bought him off with a new car or something?

He shrugged and smirked. "Guilty."

"That's what I thought," she argued. "Rich privilege has gotten you out of a lot of trouble, but that doesn't mean you didn't get into it in the first place."

"Maybe with the law," he scoffed, "but you're never really out of trouble with Vegeta around."

The man he didn't like piped up again, "what a strange name."

Trunks didn't really feel like humoring him. "It's foreign," he simply said dismissively. Pan hid a snicker.

Time went on and the group started dwindling down, separating into smaller groups or leaving due to the late hour. The bar was open late, so Pan decided to buy another round, essentially bribing him to stay so they'd have some time to themselves. He didn't mind at all. She got up and walked to the bar, leaving Trunks alone at the table, when another one of the group members suddenly approached him and held out his hand.

"Hey man," he greeted. Trunks was in a pretty good mood, so he politely smiled and shook it, but there was a familiar sensation about this greeting that indicated where this was going to go – and he'd heard it hundreds of times before. "I'm Tashi."

"Hi Tashi," he said dryly, already expecting the next sentence.

"So - I run a start-up tech consulting company…"

Trunks did everything he could to keep from rolling his eyes. He was a friend of Pan's, so he'd do her the favor of pretending that this was a unique conversation and wasn't one he'd heard more times than he could count. He wasn't listening at all though. His eyes were fixated on the bar, watching Pan as she smiled and laughed with her friends as she waited for her beers. His earlier reaction to her seemed like a weird dream. Being with a group had ameliorated his initial feelings, but they hadn't disappeared entirely – and he was beginning to feel like an old, dirty man for entertaining it as much as he had.

The man he didn't like – he'd heard his name, but had already forgotten it. Why was he setting off so many alarms? He'd barely said three words all night. But whenever Pan spoke, his eyes would drift to her lips and sometimes to other places, and he would focus on her in a way that made Trunks wonder if he was listening to her story, or just using it as an excuse to be nearby. He wondered guiltily if maybe he saw a little too much of himself in the interaction and that why he felt so judgmental – but at least his excuse was a little more legitimate.

I'm rebounding – and suffering from temporary insanity as a result of a big surprise, his inner voice offered the logical justification to satiate the discomfort of his own earlier thoughts for the hundredth time that night.

Just as he'd decided he was being a little hypocritical and mean towards the stranger, that guy walked up behind Pan and whispered something in her ear. Trunks couldn't look away, and strained to hear, but the bar noise was just a little too much, even with his enhanced senses. His eyes narrowed as the man's hand came to rest on the bare spot of her back; his fingers were spread wide, his forefinger slipping ever so slightly under the hem of her shirt.

Pan's frown deepened and her back tensed in reaction to his intimate contact, but she could've crushed those fingers and the rest of his hand to dust if she wanted to and she wasn't. The fact that she was restraining herself told Trunks maybe there was some context there he didn't understand, but that didn't stop heat from filling his head, or his aura from slightly flaring almost subconsciously as his stare remained fixed on that stranger's hand and where it was going.

Her eyes snapped up when she sensed the energy coming from the table, meeting his gaze and noticing the hard expression on his face. Her returned eye contact alerted him to how he'd unthinkingly reacted. He forced himself to relax, which dropped his ki, and looked away, willing the innate scowl off of his face as best as he could.

Blood rushed to Pan's cheeks and she brushed the hand off from her waist. She turned so that her back was to Trunks and said something curt to the man. Whatever it was, it caused him to put his hands up in surrender. He laughed nervously and seemed to back off after that, but although his expression revealed a poor attempt to seem nonchalant about whatever she'd said, he'd grown considerably paler.

"…so your RX207's flaw in its power converter results in the same failure as the earlier RX206 and RX205b models, which could be resolved through…."

"Tashi, shoo," Pan interrupted in a scolding tone as though she were speaking to a naughty puppy.

Trunks was honestly surprised he was still talking. The entrepreneur handed Trunks his business card, which had been conveniently located in his front pocket. "Yeah – anyway – give us a call if you want to collab on something," he said, exuding an incredible amount of overconfidence in his pitch considering his audience hadn't heard a word. Trunks smiled weakly and nodded as he walked away, again showing more patience since he was a friend of a friend than he normally would to someone droning on about some alleged flaw on a Capsule product.

Pan sat down again, handing him one of the bottles she'd been holding. He accepted it gratefully, just to have something to do that wasn't talking about what had just happened. She seemed content to focus on the drink in her hand as well, refusing to look up at him.

The silence had abruptly grown thick between them after a night of easy conversation. She tapped her nails against the bottle, filling the vacuum with her high-pitched clinking.

"He's harmless… mostly," she finally said.

Trunks cleared his throat. "Not my first rodeo with start up entrepreneurs."

"Oh, uh – no, I meant Muda," she corrected.

Right – Muda, his inner voice dripped with the negative intuition he had about the other man, but he was doing his best to keep that from being any more obvious than he'd accidentally already made it. "He seems…"

almost as old as I am, he continued mentally.

"…handsy," is what came out of his mouth. He immediately grimaced in reaction to having said it. It wasn't much better than what he'd censored.

She scoffed in offense. "Okay, Dad," she said.

That was not a response he wanted to hear. "No, I just mean…" he started defensively, frustrated that better words wouldn't come out of his mouth.

"He's an ex," she interrupted, answering the question she knew he was having trouble asking.

His face lit up in surprise as he looked back at the other man, now busy speaking with the others in the group back at the bar. "Him?" he asked incredulously. "But he's…"

"…45," she said, again answering his question before he could ask it.

He laughed, his shock doubling. Even older than me, he thought, shutting that thought down before it could go somewhere he didn't want it to go.

"Shit, Pan," he combed his fingers through his hair, still chuckling more in astonishment than in humor. "Does Gohan know that?"

She smiled sheepishly, taking a long drink out of her bottle before answering. "I might've – implied that he looked older than he was. It didn't help anyway; my dad hated him."

Good call, Gohan.

"You - you might've saved his life with that one," he said in a sarcastic tone, though they both knew there was a little truth to it.

"Don't be so surprised. I'm – pretty sure I've told you I like them older," she stated, once again looking at the table and pushing down the flush of embarrassment that particular memory brought with it.

He cleared his throat again, not entirely sure what to say in response. It was not a comfortable memory for him either, but flashing back to that moment when the 14-year-old version of her got a little too comfortable with their proximity did provide him some welcome equilibrium. Not as much as that picture of her grandfather, but it helped.

"How does a man that age find company with a group of college students?" he asked pointedly, glancing back at Muda again. He was getting a rather clear picture of why his intuition was raising red flags about the man.

Pan twisted her lips. "Again – not in college and half-way to 30," she emphasized, "and he just sort of hangs around when we're together as a group. I think one of the guys has kept in touch."

She stopped there, but both of them knew there was more to it than that. Trunks met her eyes, raising an eyebrow, silently bidding her to continue with the part of the story she wasn't thrilled to admit and the real reason her parents had never been fond of him.

"He's a professor at my old school. We met him there."

His eyes narrowed and while he kept his ki in check, she could see the rigidity in his posture.

"Calm down," she continued. "He wasn't mine. He teaches 101 classes to new students fresh from high school. I didn't even meet him until I was 23." He looked only slightly relieved with that addition. "You don't have to get so worked up over me," she added, a hint of bitterness in her next words, "especially if you're not going to bother looking in for a decade at a time."

His lips twitched downward as though the impact of that statement had hit him hard, but he took a drink, merely replying, "point taken."

"We broke up two months ago – so, pretty recently," she explained. "I think maybe he's had enough to drink tonight to forget that."

"Oh," he said in surprise. It was coincidentally just a couple of weeks off from when he'd become newly single as well. "So, it was – obviously amicable," he said sarcastically.

She smirked, but was unsure of how to really answer. She didn't want to admit how much Muda had affected her, or how naïve and vulnerable she'd been in their early relationship. "I'm willing to tolerate him on a basic level, for the sake of some of my friends."

"I don't know if they're very good friends if they invited your ex. He doesn't exactly seem to know his boundaries have changed," he remarked. He knew he was skirting the line. The fall of her expression made that more than evident.

"I can handle myself," she said sharply.

He met her eyes again, gifting her an authentic and soft smile as a peace offering. "I have absolutely no doubt about that." It worked; her smile returned.

They fell silent for a moment, and she looked back down at her half-empty bottle. "I don't think he'd be as bad without you here though," she started. "He was always a little territorial, which – was one of the many reasons we didn't work."

Trunks tried not to think of what signals he might be giving off that would've marked him as a threat to the other man. Whatever they were, he hoped she didn't see them too. Temporary insanity… he repeated the mantra to himself.

"So, what else did he do? Did he cheat?"

She scoffed. "Is he still breathing?"

He laughed louder than she expected at her retort, causing a grin on her lips to spread. She was debating on telling him the truth – that she recognized Muda's ability to say all the correct lies to her to get his way, that he fed into her ego, that she only finally saw it when she realized he was starting to do it to other people too. It was all embarrassing to remember, and no one but Taani had heard the full story. Trunks was one of the last people in the world she wanted to know about those flaws.

"Let's just say it was a major learning experience," she said, biting her lip before continuing, "especially about putting too much faith in things people say when they're just saying it to get something they want."

He nodded emphatically in complete understanding. Even though his last relationship wasn't like that, he'd fallen victim to that scheme a number of times. Sometimes it was from women, but most of the time, it was from people who pretended to be friendly to get something out of him.

"Two years though, that's – a good amount of time," he said. "It's hard to imagine just being in the same room with them, let alone making any attempt to be friendly. Then again, I've never understood how some people can stay friends afterwards anyway."

She twisted her head and looked at him quizzically. "You've never been friends afterward?"

"No, never," he said flatly. "You have?"

She nodded. "Muda is the exception, actually. Eventually I've lost touch with most of them, but that's just like any friendship that isn't super close. I've never really had a problem with it though."

He swished the beer around in his hand, suddenly wondering how many guys she was talking about. Not my business, he scolded himself. He didn't need to be wondering about the amount of that sort of experience the girl in front of him had. This was already a strange topic for then to be sharing, as it was. Temporary insanity… he repeated again, hoping the "temporary" nature of it meant it would end soon.

"My ex – tends to run away when things go south. Or – she runs off, which causes things to go south. I guess I've never had a real chance to try," he answered.

"Okay," she said, confusion and surprise evident in her tone and on her face. "A singular 'ex'? I remember when you were my age. There were a lot of girls."

His face darkened slightly. He'd regretted going down that road in their conversation the moment he'd said it. They'd been having a good talk and he hadn't thought of that particular person all night. Now, he could feel the pit that had been in his stomach for weeks coming back at the brief mention of her. "Yeah, well – the only one that ever really mattered," he answered.

Pan leaned back in her seat, needing no elaboration. Everyone knew who that was. "Where is she running to?"

His brow furrowed deeply as he mindlessly played with the label on his bottle. He didn't have a real answer to that, which was part of what caused him so much anger and frustration every time she disappeared. She knew he'd go with her, but she never wanted him to. "She says she has debts – from a time before me."

Pan narrowed her eyes as she tried to wrap her head around that statement. "Are you the one being cryptic, or is she?"

"Both," he answered, hoping Pan wouldn't ask for more information. He didn't want to have to explain the complexity of her existence or how her lifetime unnaturally lined up with his, even though it shouldn't have. Pan hadn't even been born yet when it all happened. She had no idea.

Pan didn't ask. When he looked back up at her, she was simply staring at him, a small, sad smile on her lips that was more than likely sympathy. "I'm sorry," she said simply.

Despite the return of the dull stomach ache he'd been fighting for weeks, he returned her smile. "Thanks," he said authentically, meaning it several ways. At least he'd managed to go a few hours without thinking about it again; that was record breaking for him.

"Recent?" she asked, seeing the unsteady tone of his expression.

"Yep," he said in a falsely chipper tone, his lips turning downward again.

She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table, forcing him to turn his focus back to her and look her in the eye. "Is that why you suddenly wanted to spar?"

He shrugged. "I said I owed you one."

She shook her head, wholly doubting the response. "And I dragged you out with a bunch of strangers instead…"

"No – no, this was good too," he insisted. "I had a good time – and I learned some very interesting things about what you've been up to," he teased, before switching back to complete sincerity. "It was – really nice to see you again."

"We could still…"

He checked his watch. "It's – wow. It's later than I thought and I haven't pulled an all-nighter in 20 years."

She crossed her arms, frowning as deeply as he'd been a moment ago. She didn't mean to trigger the goodbye, but she could see it coming. She didn't want him to leave yet.

"Maybe next weekend?" she asked, determined to hold him to his promise so she could see him again. "I'll be in Metro West anyway. Vegeta - sort of promised he'd help me with gaining stamina in the new form."

Trunks blinked in surprise, looking at her incredulously for a moment. It faded quickly. Getting time with Vegeta wasn't easy. "That was probably my mom's doing," he said, unconvinced it was entirely true. He was pretty certain his father saw the level of their ancestor's spirit present in Pan. That fact, as well as her achieving the transformation despite her blood dilution undoubtedly won her some favor.

"That's fine. It's better than a car. Anyway, she said something about him being more agreeable on a Saturday morning."

"Yeah, you don't want to think too hard about what that means," he warned.

She grimaced. "I didn't think so."

"I don't want to get in the way of that," he argued. "It might be the only chance you get."

"You wouldn't be getting in the way," she insisted.

He shook his head in disagreement. He'd been honest about having a good time, but the evening had also created a slew of new confusion and physical reactions that were far from welcome. He was beginning to think staying home and falling asleep to the TV would've been safer. As the bar quieted down for the night and the fairy lights reflected in her eyes while she spoke, he realized it would be better for them both if he went ahead and headed in that direction.

"Work has been crazy anyway," he continued, "and I'm usually in the office…"

The chair he'd been sitting in squealed against the tile floor as he stood up, exaggerating how empty the bar had become and how alone they were. She stood with him. He had his planned goodbye on the tip of his tongue, but before he could speak, she reached out and grabbed his forearm with one hand and his hand with her other. His eyes met hers again, big, brown orbs asking him for something. Her grip was as gentle as it could've been, but his arm might as well have been in a vice. It was suddenly very difficult for him to swallow.

"Trunks…" she started. She wasn't begging. She didn't need him; she had a life of her own, as he'd thoroughly learned that evening. But she wanted him. Part of her was still that clingy kid, and that thought brought him some ease, although it didn't last for long. "I know you weren't always comfortable tonight."

"Why would you say that?" he asked sincerely, a shadow of nervousness rising right back up in his mind. He hoped his temporary insanity wasn't making itself known to her. That would be a nightmare.

"I could see it on your face," she said. "I mean, I sat you down in the middle of a group of strangers, and – I'm almost a stranger myself at this point."

A lightning bolt of guilt struck him directly through his heart. He opened his mouth to argue, but couldn't think of a retort before she continued.

"It's just because it's been ten years. I've changed a lot and we're just not close anymore," she explained. "But – I don't want to wait another ten years and make it worse. I – I really missed you."

She could've asked for anything in the world at that moment. Those eyes were the same as they'd been when she was four – big and gazing at him like he was a much better person than he actually was. He didn't deserve for anyone to look at him like that.

"Saturday," he said, unable to resist the simple request. He had a feeling she was going to give him more of a workout than he bargained for, but - maybe he deserved to have his ass kicked.

Her face lit up like a light as a contagious smile spread across her lips. He felt his own face unwilfully mirror hers, though he was sure it didn't let off the same glow that she did. His eyes stayed locked with hers for just a moment too long before the gentle sounds of the remaining bar customers faded back into his consciousness, returning him to reality. Heat rushed to his face as his stare fell. The dissonance that had been gnawing him all night now boiled over as he found himself lost. Her hands were still on his arm, and as chaste an action as it was, the small contact was all he could focus on.

His face fell as he gently pulled himself away, mentally cursing at himself as he struggled with the temptation to run as far away from the moment as he could. For hours, he'd been telling himself he was just sad and lonely, but he also knew that if she were any other unrelated woman on the planet – this night might be ending differently.

She resisted asking the same question she'd asked repeatedly that night, but the abrupt change in his disposition was clear. "Are you okay?"

"Tired," he responded, flashing her an uneasy half-smile. He backed away with sudden urgency, but before she could ask anything further, he quickly shut it down. "Good night, Pan."

She watched him leave the bar and felt the small spark of ki as he took off in flight back towards Metro West. She blinked in confusion, looking at the now vacant space in front of her as she tried to figure out the oddness that had just occurred. She hadn't missed the change on his face, or the way he'd looked at her. She still believed his reaction was just from unexpected unfamiliarity with someone who had once been close – but there was also a small modicum of doubt growing in her.

Taani, the friend who had teased him when they first walked in, came up behind her and put a friendly arm around her shoulders. Her thick, curly hair tickled Pan's ear, but she still stood frozen, watching the door, barely acting as though she acknowledged the other woman.

"So," Taani started in an exaggerated, sardonic tone that stretched each syllable, "'an old friend'?"

"Don't…" Pan said firmly, feeling no need to finish the end of her warning. It wasn't just aimed at her friend; it was directed at the tiny seed that was currently taking root in the back of her brain.

Taani chuckled. "I could've cut that with a knife. I swear I thought he…"

Pan shook her head emphatically, her brow knit tightly as if to express actual anger over what her friend was beginning to imply. "It's not that," she insisted. "He grew up with my uncle. I might as well have been his niece too."

"But's it's been a while, right?" she asked, having known Pan long enough to know that Trunks hadn't been a part of her life in a while. The various conversations they'd had that night only confirmed how long it had really been.

"Since I was sixteen," she answered quietly.

Taani smiled as though she knew a secret Pan didn't. "Plenty of time for change, all around."

Pan opened her mouth to argue, but Taani pulled away in favor of winning the small argument, depriving her of the opportunity for a rebuttal. Taani just didn't understand; it wasn't her fault she was missing a lifetime of context and even further family history. But if she knew where they'd both come from, she'd find it just as preposterous and would probably laugh at the very thought of having suggested it.

Unfortunately, Taani's words had seemed to water the seed that was already growing. There were two possibilities that would explain his strangeness that night: either Taani was correct, which was extremely unlikely, or he just found her as unfamiliar and uncomfortable company due to their time apart. She wasn't sure which one was worse.

Old sensations she'd long buried scratched at the back of Pan's memory. Those feelings were just puppy love – the adorations of a teenage girl who was beginning to discover herself and desired something familiar and safe to latch on to. Despite the pleasantness simple crushes could cause, those feelings had also been painful. While single during their adventures, Trunks had reconnected with his long-term girlfriend by the time that sixteenth birthday party rolled around. It was so long ago, she didn't remember much about that night, but she did remember the distinct sensation of her stomach turning when she overheard him talking to Goten about how in love they were again.

She was happy when she'd finally matured enough to rinse those feelings out of her mind. It had taken longer than she would've liked to admit to do it successfully though. If she were honest with herself, she would've realized much earlier that it was the reason why she'd finally given up trying to be his friend once he'd blown her off too many times.

Pan pushed those thoughts as hard as she could from her brain, attempting to regain the feeling of joyous nostalgia she'd been experiencing around the reunion up until that point. She looked back at Taani, who was speaking with her boyfriend and the small group of people who were still around. She was unreasonably angry with the other woman for her brief suggestion, but Pan knew she wasn't the right target.

She set her jaw, determined to will her feelings and thoughts back in the direction they'd been until just a few minutes ago. It was just a weird night, she told herself. She just needed to focus on something else, like her class lesson plans. Maybe that's what Trunks needed too – just reassurance and a reminder that she was still the same girl he'd been close to once. She left the bar shortly after, set to do whatever she could to bring back the comfortable and easy friendship they'd once enjoyed.