*Knock knock*
Bulma opened the door to Trunks’ office, smiling at Pan, who stood there, nervously combing her fingers through her hair. The girl had had enough sense to dress up, but to stay casual about it. Her black slacks were pressed, but rumpled from the flight here. Her light blue blouse was ironed and smoothed. The jean jacket over top allowed for the image of a high school senior, but remove the jacket—instant business woman.
Aside from the tattered sneakers.
“Pan,” she greeted warmly, opening the door a little further, pulling the girl inside.
“What?!” cried Trunks upon hearing the name of the visitor…heartbeats before falling out of his chair. “Mother!” he hissed, jumping up behind his desk, his fingers edging towards the button to open the windows.
“Are you ok, dear? Bra said you were doing better, but that—Trunks, push that button and meet untimely demise.”
“I’m trying not to think about it,” Pan replied quietly, her eyes straying past Bulma to Trunks, who had jerked his hand back at his name. “Being told I’m just a ‘low class, never-amount-to-nothing, fighter bitch’ doesn’t help to heighten one’s self-esteem. Especially in the context of which it was brought up.”
Bulma rubbed her shoulders, then steered her to a chair in front of Trunks’ desk. “Yes, well, I plan on keep you and Vegeta separated until he can come down from his ‘throne’ and ‘mingle’ with the rest of the world.”
Pan snorted.
“Bulma, why’d you call me down here?” Pan asked, desperate to shift the subject, and also extremely curious as to why she’d been called to come visit…and Trunks’ not knowing she was coming was enough to get anybody’s interest piqued.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?” Bulma replied, grabbing her son by the shoulders and dragging him around his desk, shoving him down into the chair next to the one Pan was seated in.
“Well, yeah, but Curious George never died…and seeing as how I’m part monkey, I think I’ll survive,” Pan tried, bringing her feet up onto the chair with her, cross-legged.
“Sure he died…that’s why the books stopped…the story Curious George and the Meat Shredder was just too gruesome for children’s literature.”
Pan looked at Trunks in disbelief, almost on the verge of laughing, but still to put out about their “date” from two nights past to muster up the courage to laugh at his joke.
Bulma leaned back against the front of Trunks’ desk, watching the two of them. “It’s always a good sign when you two are sarcastic and witty. It means you’ve acknowledged your problems and that life goes on.”
They stared at her. A moment passed, and nothing was said. Another moment passed. Then, all at once, from both parties: “Bulma—” and “Mom—”
She held up her hand and cut them off.
“You both told me about what happened at the beach. And I promised you both that I would tell no one. And I’m not telling either of you what the other had going through their head at the time. I’ll spare you both that. I’ll keep my promise. Gohan will not find out, ChiChi nor 18 nor Videl will find out about this through the gossip wagon. And I guarantee that Vegeta will never learn of any of this. And if he does, I have ways to keep his mouth shut.”
They stared at her. Pan risked a glance at Trunks, only to catch him looking at her through the corner of his eyes.
“Alright, Bulma—that’s all fine and dandy and good, but—but why call me down he—”
“Ms. Haruna, Trunks’ secretary, is going out of town this week to attend a family function. Normally, I would take over and keep the teeny-boppers at bay, but I’m caught up with plans for Bra’s birthday party.”
“Why do I not like this?” Trunks whimpered, staring at his mother with large and imploring eyes.
Pan could only stare at him.
From one extreme to the other…last I saw him, he wanted Bulma denounced a witch and swinging from a tree branch…now he’s treating her better then any god of Earth could ever hope to be treated—by anyone!
“Pan, I would like you to sit in as secretary.”
She jerked her head around, black hair skittering about her face and shoulders.
“WHAT?!!?!?”
“It’s just for five days. You know the routine by heart, and know enough about the business to keep Trunks from having a nervous breakdown.”
“Bulma—”
“He’s already had his midlife crisis,” she joked, “and you snapped him out of that quickly enough. Or at least enough to get his job done and to keep him from killing a certain blue-haired person.”
“Bulma, that hardly—”
“Mom, I would really rather not—”
She held up her hand again.
“Also, you have the ability to run him down and drag him back into this office should he try to escape it through the window.”
Pan dropped her head in defeat. Trunks stared at his mother, and something dawned on him.
“Ms. Haruna wasn’t leaving last week…you have your own ulterior motives for this, don’t you?”
“So what if I do?” Bulma replied, moving away from them to the doors. “So long as you two find that friendship you lost, I would think my ‘ulterior motives’ would be well appreciated.”
And with that, she closed the door behind her.