Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Stargazing ❯ Who You Are ( Chapter 4 )

Stargazing
Chapter 4: Who You Are

After three years of roaming the mysterious depths of space, you can imagine that I've had little - none, actually - human contact since I last left home. When I do stop on certain planets, I like to be subtle, usually covering myself with a dark cloak like I did on Karun and keeping to myself. With the persistent demands of my lifestyle, my stealth and hiding skills have been honed to perfection, and I rarely am the subject of any attention at all.

I'm definitely not used to all the attention I'm getting now.

So here I am, standing for the first time in three years on the fresh green grass of Earth, and my family and friends aren't doing anything at all. Everyone is just standing there, staring at me like they don't recognize me! For Dende's sake, have I really changed that much in three years? Do they not see the same fiery spirit and trademark tomboy of Son Pan in this young woman that stands before them? I look around, waiting for someone to say something, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing does.

Damn.

Sighing inwardly and feeling strangely disappointed, I decide to break the ice.

"So," I begin slowly but still confidently, "are you all just going to stare at me until the sun sets or can I get indoors before my armor rusts?" I say with the same sarcastic tone of voice that I'm known for. I throw a nonchalant smirk on my face to show them that it really is me, in hopes that they'll recognize the scrawny, defiant little girl that left them so long ago.

They don't.

I grit my teeth partly in frustration, and partly out of unease. The feeling of everyone's eyes boring into me is putting me on edge, especially since I'm so used to being overlooked in crowds of alien people so different from me. I prefer to hide in the shadows, the dark spandex of my armor helping to camouflage me and keep me out of sight, watching and waiting for the right moment to strike or to make my presence known. Right now, though, my instincts scream at me to run away from this disconcerting attention, and I'm just about to comply when...

Someone finally speaks up. It's my father.

"What do you think you're wearing?"

Well, honestly. You'd think that the first words you spoke to your daughter after three years of separation would not be the same six that just came out of his mouth. And besides, did they really think that I'd spend the next three years - years I'd spend growing into an adult - dressed in the same baggy clothes of my youth?

I think not.

I put my gloved hands on my hips like I had so often seen my mother and grandmother do. Growling under my breath, I grind out in a deceptively sweet voice, "Dende, Dad. I would have thought that you of all people would be familiar with Saiyan armor. From what I've heard, you did wear it when you were on Namek, you know."

He sputters indignantly, completely ignoring my remark, and my hopes of his changing the subject are shattered.

"Have you seriously worn these clothes out in public before?" he asks me angrily. I scowl, immediately offended.

"What if I have? It's no big deal. Do I really look that bad?"

"No, dear," my mother cuts in. "what he means is that your choice of attire is a bit more... revealing than he would like." She smiles proudly. "I disagree. I, for one, am happy to see you so grown up." She pauses, trying to reign in her emotions. When she finally continues, it's in a barely audible whisper.

"It's so good to have you back, Panny, we've all missed you so much," she finishes, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

My face softens, and I walk over to give her a hug. Soon, my mother, my grandmother and I are holding onto each other in a tight embrace, and everyone finally breaks free of their initial shock. I'm swarmed with greetings, questions, and welcoming hugs from the people I love most. I really am getting too sappy for my own good.

Hm. I guess I really have changed after all.

And you know what? Mom just called me Panny, and it didn't bother me one bit.

============================================================= ==

Trunks hadn't really been sure whether or not the beautiful woman who had disembarked from the space shuttle had really been their little Panny. For all he knew, she could have been some psychotic alien killer who had murdered his best friend and who was now masquerading as the girl all of them had been so anxiously awaiting for the past three years.

And then she had spoken.

In that moment, all his doubts had vanished. There was no mistaking that sarcastic drawl, that Vegita-like smirk, and the manner in which she had tilted her head and scowled.

It was Pan, alright.

But then she had changed so much. As he stood and watched her laugh, smile, and joke with her parents, with her grandmother, and with his family, he had felt so detached from her that it seemed he didn't know who she was anymore. She was the same person, and yet she was different - different in that he wasn't familiar with her interests, her dislikes, and her little everyday quirks anymore.

The level of intimacy their friendship had enjoyed three years before was now gone.

And he hated himself for it.

============================================================== =

I can feel it. He's watching me, I know. So far in the grand celebration that has followed my arrival, I've succeeded in avoiding him except for a brief smile and hello. But I know (with a certain amount of satisfaction, I'm not afraid to admit) where his eyes are looking and what they're focusing on.

Me.

Dende, how I want to turn around and gaze into the glittering blue pools of his eyes! I love - no, used to love - those eyes, and how when he was looking at you, it seemed as if the whole external world would disappear in an instant. He had one of those rare, beautiful smiles that concentrated on you and only you, that understood you just as you wanted to be understood, that believed in you just as you would like to believe in yourself. He had the uncanny ability to make you be at your best, and it was intoxicating.

But that no longer matters.

Because I learned that he could use his beautiful smile and mesmerizing eyes as weapons. He could wield them as he pleased, and they were like two deadly daggers, hidden until the moment when needed and then you were blown away with the unexpected. He could deceive with those weapons, manipulate others at his will, and indirectly push others to cater to his every whim. His smile, his eyes, his attractive appearance that he so willingly used to stun and awe all those surrounding him - they were all lies. Not a single one of them was genuine - they were all poisons that he brewed and poured down the throats of his every admirer, nonchalantly bending and taking their free will like the tyrant he was.

He wasn't the son of Vegita for nothing.

And so, that day, I drowned myself in this false portrayal of Trunks, now Trunks-ouji in my mind, in hopes to forget the love that had once burned so brightly in my heart for him. I resolved to forget everything and treat him as a Saiyan prince should be treated - with awe and respect, but always admired from a distance. There would be no friendship between us, not anymore.

Because it hurt me too much.

And because I convinced myself it was dangerous.

And so I retreated behind my icy shell in self-defense, and I was immune to his charms. After the first hour had passed, I could already act completely natural and uncaring around him, which, I could tell, disappointed and hurt him deeply. He had taken the loss of our friendship hard, and although he tried to hide it, I could tell he was shocked and pained by my distant, icy attitude towards him.

And I loved every minute of it.

============================================================== =

I politely excused myself from the conversation my parents and grandmother were holding and slid away and out of the room, sighing with relief.

Dende! I thought I'd never get out of there!

Heading towards the ever-familiar Gravity Chamber, I saw that the red light was on and that it was in use. Go figure. I pressed my still-gloved hand to the security pad - I had refused to change out of my armor, to my father's frustration - and the door opened with a whoosh. The red light faded as I walked in, and I was greeted by the dark scowl of a very beat-up but still somehow regal-looking Vegita.

He stood up from where he was doing pushups on the ground (blood dripping from his nose, arms, and gashed chest, making a mess on the floor) and nodded curtly.

"Brat."

"Vegita-ouji," I greeted respectfully, bowing my head slightly. 'Those years in space and finding out more about Vegita-sei have really changed me,' I mused. Shrugging off my thoughts, I handed him the small leather bag that still swung on my belt. "Sorry it took so long," I added as he took it in his typical no-nonsense manner.

He tipped it over and a small, palm-sized pendant spilled out onto his hand.

And as the light reflected off its surface, illuminating its intricate, detailed design, I saw Vegita smile genuinely for the first time in my life.

============================================================ ===

"Hey Trunks, man, where is she?"

Trunks looked around. "I don't know, I didn't see her leave or anything." He quickly scanned the building for her ki and honed in on it. "Don't worry about it, she probably went to find my dad," he added casually.

Charles shrugged noncommittally and shook his straw-colored hair out of his eyes, his stance relaxed and uncaring. Trunks, however, having known his friend for a very long time, caught the almost imperceptible look of disappointment that flashed in the vice president's eyes before they were instantly masked.

Charles began again in a nonchalant way, "So, when do you think you can introduce us?"

Trunks felt the corners of his mouth quirk up in the beginnings of a smirk and decided to play along. "Oh, I don't know, I imagine she'll be rather busy for the first month of her stay here. She has been gone for three years, you know," he replied easily.

He almost laughed out loud as he glanced quickly at Charles' face out of the corner of his eye. It was uncanny how he could just about read his friend's thoughts. He could tell with almost no effort that Charles was thinking desperately of a way to turn the conversation around and still keep it on the same subject topic simultaneously. Feeling sorry for his obviously (at least to him) struggling friend, Trunks laughed and clapped a hand on Charles' back.

"I'm just joking, man. Come on, she just walked in. I'll introduce you now."

Charles dropped his calm and collected façade and smiled sheepishly. "You know me too well."

Trunks smirked, and made a gesture directing his friend to follow him. Weaving expertly through the crowd, he led Charles toward the back entrance of the room and didn't stop until he was standing three feet directly in front of Pan, who merely smiled slightly and raised an inquiring eyebrow, slender but muscular arms crossed over her chest. Trunks felt his heart rate quicken.

'Oh, boy,' he thought, fighting down a blush. Having been the world's most desirable bachelor for countless years in a row before he was engaged to Marron, Trunks had always had his fair share of women, and he definitely knew how to keep his cool when around a pretty girl he particularly liked. It was natural to him - all he had to do was smile sexily and speak in his smooth, silky voice, and his handsome appearance and innate charisma would do the rest. Before long, the girl would be putty in his hands.

But Pan?

She was a different story.

She was positively gorgeous, there was no way getting around it. He couldn't help himself if he were completely intoxicated by her beauty. Her independent, upbeat attitude and utter determination at honing her fighting skills only further appealed to him, fourteen years his junior aside. When he was around her, he felt like he was nothing but a stammering, blushing, pathetically shy pile of spineless mush (as he had been when he was twelve and thirteen), not the smooth, cool, and completely irresistible Trunks Briefs, president of Capsule Corp. and the most desirable man on the planet. But nevertheless, he hid his discomfort.

He was a master of deception.

He was Vegita-ouji's son after all. The Saiyan prince, growing up on Frieza's ship and working as a mercenary starting age six, had mastered the art of hiding one's emotions, and Trunks had inherited from his sire this extremely useful ability.

For once, he had to actually put forth some effort into keeping his cool when speaking with a girl. Even if it was a girl who was clad in skin-tight spandex and thin armor that molded to her curves, doing nothing to conceal her shapely figure.

Trunks swallowed inwardly and forced his nonchalant mask back into place.

So she was intoxicating. So what? That didn't mean he had to like it.

============================================================== =

Charles was a great guy and was actually very much like Trunks - he was raggedly good-looking, charming, well built, and extremely highly thought of among the ladies.

But that wasn't the half of it.

Sure, he put up a front of being a suave, debonair, handsome man, but underneath the misleading mask of being a womanizer lay an extremely bright mind - a great intelligence and an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, and a bright, burning ambition and inner strength. Behind Trunks and Bulma, Charles was most likely one of the brightest men on the planet.

Which was no surprise, considering he had graduated from Oxford University at the top of his class.

That was the reason that Trunks had taken so quickly to him. A decade after having taken over the company from his mother, the president of Capsule Corp. had taken the corporation to new heights, raising both sales and profits exponentially. CC had expanded almost infinitely since Bulma's time as its leader, and the new president needed a good, reliable, and smart right-hand man who was able to handle both the pressure of running a global monopoly and who could also keep up with him in the intelligence department.

Enter Charles Whittier, fresh out of college, an ambitious but simultaneously humble young man who had what it took to be the best.

Thus Trunks had taken him under his wing. The young British graduate was ten years younger than his superior, and so had eventually come to be somewhat of a younger brother to Trunks. He shined brightly, coming through when the company needed it, and yet never let his successes or his rapidly growing wealth get to his ego. Charles was really a man of strong morals, and he was always primarily governed by his love of learning. He was painstakingly loyal, always friendly and cheerful, and was one of the few "normal" close friends that Trunks ever had. So Trunks had always thought extremely highly of his vice president, holding him in the highest regards and thinking of him as a younger brother, a friend almost as close as Goten.

But that would eventually slowly but surely begin to change...

======================================================== =======

I was pleased to find that Trunks' charm had almost no effect on me the next time he approached me that night. The way he walked up to me with his friend was completely normal, and I was grateful for the calm atmosphere. To be telling the truth, I was getting quite tired of playing mental games with everyone I spoke with, keeping myself constantly vigilant and forever watchful. My life in space had never been easy, but it had been an escape, and now that I was home, I was beginning to feel blessed just for the chance to relax and be myself.

'But you can't,' I reminded myself. 'At least not when you're around Trunks.'

I could tell instantly that he was going to introduce me to his friend, and I took this opportunity to size the man up quickly as the proper greetings were made. My arms crossed over my chest plate and my eyebrow raised in my typical sardonic manner, I gave him a once-over as he told me his name.

"Charles Whittier. It's a pleasure to meet you." He smiled slightly, a bit wary of my cold exterior, and held out his hand at first tentatively but then with more confidence.

Hm. This one must have more courage than I originally expected.

I smiled warmly to throw him off, a stark difference from the front I had been used to holding up for the last three years, and grasped his hand in mine. "Son Pan." I grinned. "So you're the esteemed vice president I've been hearing so much about," I said cheekily.

To my surprise, instead of shaking my hand, he raised it up to his lips and placed a light kiss over my knuckles. Hiding my initial surprise expertly, I grinned even more widely, a mischievous tone entering my previously neutral tone of voice.

"Well, Trunks, you'll have to introduce me to more of your friends. I hope all of them are as charming and good-looking as this one," I winked good-naturedly at Charles. He laughed, and I decided that I liked its pleasant, reassuring sound.

"The pleasure's all mine. You don't get to meet someone as stunning and unique as yourself everyday," he replied smoothly and without hesitation.

Oh, man. This guy was a total flirt.

But oh, well. I just got home for the first time in three years! Can't I have a little fun too?

I smiled sexily. "No, you don't get to meet someone as stunning and unique as me more than once in a lifetime."

He laughed, and I felt a bit more comfortable acting like I'd always wanted - flirtatious, but hard-to-please and overall unattainable. It felt good.

"And clever, too!" he exclaimed. "But then again you must be, to have been sent on a confidential research expedition by the Prez, here." He made a gesture indicating Trunks, who raised an eyebrow amusedly.

Huh? Confidential what?

And then it clicked.

"Without a doubt," I covered up smoothly, not missing a beat. "And I'm sure you've been anticipating the results of my research for a very long time. But of course," I gave him a significant look, "it was, after all, a confidential mission. You'll have to swear to keep the knowledge of all of my data under wraps." He nodded, understanding completely.

"So, let's say we get together sometime to discuss your findings? What about," he hesitated falsely for a brief moment, gesturing with his hands, "maybe... seven o'clock tomorrow night?"

I smirked, amused at his forwardness. "Will this... ah... discussion require formal dress?"

"...It might."

I smiled. In general, Charles was a pleasant, well-rounded and witty guy. To his credit, not once did I catch him ogling my figure during the conversation, which was a lot more than I could say for other men I'd encountered in space. His quick wit and clever humor was entertaining, and I could tell that we'd get along just fine. I decided that I liked him enough to try and see if his companionship would help me forget my previous infatuation with Trunks.

Not that I was having any difficultly doing that, of course.

"I accept your offer," I said warmly, then switched to a more businesslike tone. "Now if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I promised Vegita that I'd spar with him outside." I made as if to walk away but then stopped and turned my head towards Charles at the last minute. "Until tomorrow night, then," I nodded in acknowledgement, then winked suggestively.

"I'll see you here at seven," came the swift reply. He smirked, a rather close copy of Trunks' and Vegita's trademark look. 'Not bad, actually,' I thought.

I walked out of the building, away from its bright and cheerful lights, into the darkness where Vegita and an impending ass kicking awaited.

========================================================= ======

Trunks didn't know when it all started, but he sure as hell didn't like it.

Since when did Charles' flirtatious and friendly personality start pissing him off that much? Not since... not since ten minutes ago!

Here he had stood, trying to nicely and modestly introduce his friend him to Pan, when that... that impetuous flirt had initiated a sequence of events that had made his blood boil.

First, he had had the audaciousness to kiss Pan on the hand when she meant just to shake it. Sure, Charles did that to just about every good-looking girl he came across, but... but still! Trunks had had to suppress the urge to punch him in his stupid face when Pan had laughed and even flirted back. He didn't know from where this sudden, unprecedented wave of envy came from, but it made him mad.

Which made him confused as hell.

Sure, he had admitted to himself that Pan had grown up into a very attractive woman. But that was no reason for him to lose his head like that. For Dende's sake, Charles had no idea how close to death he had just come! Why the hell was he, Trunks Briefs, an engaged man, fighting other guys - no, not just other guys, Charles, for Dende's sake - off of Pan of all people? Why should he give a gay Ginyu about whom his close friend and vice president dated, even if it was one of his best friends (who, he added mentally, barely acknowledged his existence ever since she had returned)?

Charles was a great friend, almost like a brother. He was loyal, understanding, and very much like Trunks.

But then why the hell did he have the urge to go out there and rip his friend's head off? Why did he go green with envy and mad with jealousy every time Charles and Pan shared suggestive, playful looks?

Only Dende knew.

And then Marron had finished a conversation with Bra and had walked over to him, lovingly wrapping her slender arms around his waist and burying her head into his shoulder, hugging him in that gentle, caressing way of hers.

Trunks only returned the gesture out of habit.

=========================================================== ====

===============================================================< /div>