Trunks and Pan sat in silence for a few moments, each trying to put their pride aside long enough to admit that Bulma was right: their friendship had suffered a painful fallout.
But Trunks was the son of Vegeta, and Pan was Vegeta’s latest victim.
Pride meant too much to the two strangers at that moment.
After a few minutes, Trunks got up and crossed his office, leaning against the wall and staring out the windows. Pan followed him with her eyes, but left her chin remaining in it’s defeated flop against her chest.
“You know, Pan,” Trunks said quietly, watching her reflection in the glass. “If it makes you feel any better, I attempted to beat the shit out of my father after the party…wound up getting beat to a pulp and left for dead in the yard all night, but I did try.”
She snorted angrily. “Yeah, just what I need, my protective big ‘brother’, taking care of his ‘kid sister’.”
He winced at the sarcasm in her voice. Her continued to watch her face, and then leaned his back against the wall, turning his face to look at her.
“I wasn’t protecting my ‘kid sister’, Pan. You’re no kid anymore. I was part of what my father threw at you, you know.”
She raised her eyebrows, glaring at him, wondering at what the hell could have gotten into him.
He sighed, raked a hand back through his hair, the other hand deep in his suit pocket.
He had dressed carelessly again, it was a style that was very unlike him, but that—despite her anger—made Pan want to jump him sometimes. This was one of those times.
The other time had been at the party.
“Trunks, really, you can tell me what’s wrong,” she whispered, dragging him into a corner, away from everyone else.
He shook his head.
“Do you know how hard it is to tell the problem what’s wrong, Pan?”
She had stepped back. His face was so like Vegeta’s again, but still so much his own—dammit! Why’d she have to feel like kissing him when he was telling her to fuck off!
She looked at him, at the hair that hung in his face as he raked a hand back through it, at the rumpled white dress shirt, the black slacks, the—the sneakers!?
She stared at his feet, shocked that the president of all-mighty Capsule Corp wore sneakers to work…ah, obviously, he hadn’t been planning on staying at work today.
“Pan, I know you meant it when you said you weren’t going to say anything to Gohan…and it’s not that I don’t trust my mother…it’s just my dad has that uncanny ability to read into saiyan nature—of which we both fall pitifully helpless to…and your dad’s two steps down from genius. They’ll figure it out…as if the party didn’t make things all too clear already.”
She raised her eyes to his.
“Pan, look…I’m sorry about the other night…I didn’t mean to use you like that…I just…I don’t know.” He sighed again, shoving both his hands deep into his pockets.
Is this really the same guy that stood by and watched as Vegeta ripped me limb from limb?
“You don’t know.”
He shook his head. “I thought I did…but it’s not like my father didn’t scatter that explanation to the wind with his bit about ‘sayian bonding’ and ‘brat, the bitch is in heat and it turned you on’.”
Yep, same guy.
“What did you think, Trunks?”
He looked at her and shook his head.
“That you were someone else.” The words struck a blow in her mind, and she brought her knees up to her chest, hugging them with arms still sore from striking Vegeta.
Trunks immediately jumped up, crossing to crouch before her, setting his hands on her feet, looking up into her eyes.
“Pan, it’s—look, I don’t mean it the way it sounds—”
She glared down at him. Beaten, he dropped his forehead forward onto her feet.