The snow made a soft crunching noise as her feet stepped through it, marking her existence on the once smooth surface. Each step penetrated the frozen flakes, submerging her concealed feet in layers of the cold fluff. Her feet were not chilled, having slipped on winter boots that morning, but with each step, a cold washed over her. A cold that she could never quite place, but one that attacked her every time she dared to make the trek, whether it were winter or not.

Pan shoved her un-gloved hands into her pockets, her fingertips stinging from the harsh weather of the afternoon. Her bag was slung carefully over her shoulder, bumping her leg with each step she took. Winter coat wrapped tightly around her and a scarf piled up over her nose, leaving only dark eyes to gaze around at the snow fallen world. She curled her fingers into a fist, in attempt to gather some heat, and was surprised when they brushed against something stashed in her pocket. She grabbed hold of the object and brought it out to see.

A candy cane. Pan smiled softly from underneath her scarf before breaking a small piece off to munch on while she walked. Must likely a gift from her mother. Pan never took food with her. That would imply that she would need it once she failed. It reminded herself that she still had doubts about where she was going. Where she was headed she shouldn’t need food, so there was no need to bring it. Which was why she remained money-less as well. No way out. She was going to make it this time.

But how many times had she said that? How many times had she promised herself that she would make it up there, but then chickened out at the last minute—minutes being flattering. She barely even made it near the house before she shrugged, gave up, and would mail her delivery to her recipient. What was worse was having to go back home. Everyone stared. Or, they used to.

They all seemed to have given up on him. They hadn’t forgotten him by any means, but what was the point? He didn’t want to see anyone. Anyone who had ever made it up to his house had been ignored and shunned. He simply wanted to be along. But for how long? It had been almost two years since they had really seen him. He could be dead.

Pan had tried to see him many times. She had once gotten so far as to get a glimpse of the house, before she had turned her heels and ran. Then she would have to go home. And they would stare. It seemed they had given up the thought that she would actually be able to get through to him. But she had not. All she had to do was get up to his house and see him. Simply see him and everything would be okay.

She had run a fantasy through her head. She would dash up the stone stairs, reach her hand to knock on the door, when it would open, her hand in mid-swing. He would be standing wearing comfortable clothing, cheeks flushed from sitting in front of a fire, soft smile on his lips. And he would be happy;

“Panny! Where have you been? Why haven’t you visited me?” he would cry, laughing, pulling her into a hug. She would giggle in response, enjoying being crushed in his strong arms again. Just like when she was a child. A child in need of comfort. he would invite her in, and they would share stories and fall asleep on a sofa, lulled by the wind beating harmlessly against the windows.

But it was a fantasy, and nothing more. No matter how many times she tried, Pan simply could not get to his house. The chill always overtook her. The chill of fear. He was in solitude for a reason. Even though she, nor anyone else, had any idea why, the fact was he did want to be along. Perhaps he would be angry. Perhaps he would be annoyed, and instead of a cheery smile, she would be greeted with his pity smile. The smile he used when she was a child—pitying how selfish or naïve she was. He would shake his head slowly, eyes scanning over her, as if in disbelief anyone could be the way she was. Looking at her in mock. He had always mocked her, whether he really realized it or not.

A faint anger rekindled within her from underneath the layers of protective clothing. He was one of the few men that had ever been able to infuriate her. All other perished in their wake. Did she really want to face that? Face his mockery? Face his taunts, and his ridicules? Perhaps her envisionment had been all wrong.

She would raise her hand to knock at the front door, and let her fist bang on the wood. Once. Twice. Three times. His face would appear in the window, with an idiotic grin of his face.

“Is it cold out there?” he would ask, able to see the sublimated air breathing from her mouth, the slightly stomping action she was doing to keep warm. He would sit there and stare at her. Laugh at her. Perhaps he wouldn’t even let her in. Sid she honestly want to go through that? Did she want to spend her Christmas day away from her family to be laughed at?

But he was her family too. And he had missed being part of her Christmases these past few years. And she had missed him. Pan knew that she wasn’t the only one, but the others had seemed to leave it be. Perhaps they knew something of his solitude nature that she did not. Perhaps they understood why he left in the first place while she did not. Perhaps they simply knew him better. But she couldn’t let it go. It had been too long. Today she would see him. She would march up to his small house and force him to talk to her. She wouldn’t chicken out like she had so many times before. She would succeed.

The snow seemed to be deepening which was a sign that she was getting nearer. He lived practically in the middle of nowhere. Off in a secluded place. She didn’t know how he got his provisions and such…had she ever bothered to ask? Maybe someone brought things over to him. Maybe he wasn’t completely alone…maybe he had a wife.

The thought surfaced but then sank just as quick. He wouldn’t be married. He had wanted to get away from the world, he wanted away from everything. But enough was enough. She would talk to him. Today was the day. Her bag continued to bump against her leg, the carry-on only carrying her gift in the spirit of Christmas—nothing else. She would not bring anything she could use as a get away. No money.

Pan’s breath caught in her throat as she abruptly stopped, recognizing where she was. The trees cast uncertain shadows over the yet to be walked on snow. They were all bare, having she their fruits of the year on the ground, once leaving an ideal autumn walking ground. But now it just looked dead. And a part of her couldn’t help but wonder if that was all she would meet at his house.

The house was nestled in among the dead and decaying trees. Winds rushed by, chilling her, and bringing the top layer of powder snow with it, scratching at her uncovered eyes and forehead. Her raven hair swung with the breeze, her clothes along with it, but her body remained unmoved. Her dark eyes watched the house intently, searching for any sign of life. The windows were mucked with dust and mildew, but even if they were spotless you would not be able to peek inside, due to the dark velvet curtains that were hung tightly over the windows. The snow was piled up the side of the house, untouched, the walkway still drowned in the snowflakes as if no one ever came or left.

Pan closed her eyes for a moment, before opening them, and stepped forward. With each step, her foot left an imprint to show that she had been there. Somehow, her marking this fresh snow was different that the others. It was more intrusive. It was almost wrong…a taboo. Each tiny step left a mark that would forever scar the snow lawn, until spring came and washed away all the memories winter brought with it. No matter what happened now, he would know. Every time he would look out his window after today, he would be reminded that she had been there. And how would that be?

Would he be angry? Would he loath every morning having to wake up to see her footprints in the snow? Or maybe he would smile at the thought that she had been there on Christmas. She would never know. She had no intention of trying to get inside his brain. She was sure she would be frightened to death if she ever saw what he was really like.

She often wondered what indeed he truly was like. Did anyone really know? He was very talented in hiding. He had built up so well this alternate person to show the outside world, she wondered if she ever really met the real him. Whether she had gotten to know and love the real deal, or simply an outward façade.

Love. It was what brought her back year after year. It was the strong force that kept her awake at night; wondering. Always wondering. Where was he? Is he okay? Endless thoughts about what he would be like. She hadn’t laid eyes on him for two years. She hoped he hadn’t changed.

Her toes were becoming chilled, for the snow had began to seep through her boots. Each step seemed to bring with it distance, but also uncertainty. She wanted to turn back. She wanted to turn heads and run for a good hour. Away from this. Away from what this would stand for. Yet something held her back. The truth was, she hadn’t seen him in two years, and she loved him. He was almost family. She had to see him. If everyone else gave up on him, she would not. She would be there. Just like he had always been there for her.

The snow fled from its spot with each crashing footstep up the stoned stairs. Her feet finally rested at the top and she stared at the door. Pain chipped and mildewy, she raised her hand and bit her lip. This was it. This knock would solve her two years of wondering. Would he answer with a smile, or a frown? More than anything, she wished she had some support. Some person to force herself to knock. Some person to force herself to stand her ground and not leave—as she had done so many times before.

Hesitantly, she knocked.

The knock echoed off, only being disturbed by the slight whistle of the rushing by wind, that caused Pan’s hair to breeze across her face. Silence ensued. Pan took a small step back before rapping again on the door, this time a little louder. She lightly stamped her feet to ward off the cold, and leaned to the left to try and peer into one of the covered windows. There was a small vibration in the material, as if someone had pulled at the curtains. Pan glanced hopefully at it, but no more movement occurred.

He knew.

He knew that she was outside, standing in the cold but he did nothing to make her presence known. He knew that she had come to see him, yet to invitation was outstretched to her.

This was worse than she had imagined. This was worse than the mocking smile. This was the worst she had felt in a long time. What had she done to make him want to desert her? What she done so wrong? Pan was simply deathly worried about her friend, and the common worry was not reflected back.

Pan shivered, and not from the cold.

How many years had she wondered out here? How many years had she put off her Christmas celebrations to go visit the man who had forgotten her. The man who had forgotten everyone. How many times had she made it to his house, but turned away? Turned away in fear of seeing the mockery. Fear of learning something she didn’t want to know. All of her time—and to be ignored.

Pan stood frozen on her spot, not moving an inch. She felt a cold that had nothing to do with the temperature, and she found herself wishing she could simply cry. Cry back all her years moping after this man. She wanted those years back.

Tears did not come easily.

Pan glanced away from the house and looked down at the bag she was carrying. She had designed her missions so that she would have to see him, or she would be stuck. It wasn’t good to fly home in the cold, so she was at am impasse. She would have to walk back the way she came. Inside her bag was nothing, save the brightly wrapped gift she brought for him. What would she do with it now?

Pan contemplated leaving it on the doorstep, but did he deserve it? Did he really deserve her compassion, when all he was doing was being heartless and cruel, leaving her outside to freeze in his radiating bitterness. Despite how much Pan wanted to be angry with him, she couldn’t. A small smile tugged at her lips. She should have known.

She should have known that he wouldn’t let her stop him. If he wanted to be left alone in solitude, no one would be able to stop him. That was the way he was. Sighing quietly, Pan pulled out the present, and made a gesture to se it on the lightly snow-covered doorstep, when a creak rang out from the eerie silence.

Pan shot her head up to look at the door. It had swung open part way…no one in sight. Cautiously, she pushed open the door and glanced inside. The hallways was poorly lit, if at all. She had to squint to make out the faint traces of furniture. She stomped her feet on the old rug that lay in front of the door, and slowly closed the front door behind her. Without the extra outside light, the house seemed even darker. Her fingers gripped the present in her hands nervously, and her dark eyes scanning aroudn the hall and entrance ways of other rooms for any sign of him.

From her left she heard a soft chime of clinking china, and leaned forward to get a look into the room. It was almost completely empty, she noted, being able to see better due to the burning fire in the stone fireplace. In front of the fire sat two armchairs, with a small beside table in between the two, holding two cups of steaming liquid on its surface. The furniture looked warn yet seemingly fit well with the rest of the décor in the house, which appeared to be shabby and mismatched.

Pan bit her bottom lip, pulling her boots off and setting them neatly by the door. She shrugged off her long overcoat, and tugged her scarf off, allowing fresh air to get at her once-covered face. Since there were no hooks or coat racks in sight, Pan simply folded the clothing twice over, and set it on top of her boots. He face was flush from being covered for so long, and she held her lip in a bite, still nervous. Seeing no slippers, she crossed the wooden floor into the fire room, instantly wishing she hadn’t worn her new pearl white sweater, because it sourly stood out in the otherwise gloom atmosphere. Her feet made a soft padding noise, but the softness was amplified in the eerie silence, making her feel intrusive and unwelcome. The fire danced off the chairs casting dark shadows on the walls. Swallowing the lump that was forming in her throat, Pan made he way to the chairs. She slowly glanced down to see what was in the mugs on the table, to see two cups of steaming hot chocolate. She allowed a sad smile to grace her features, as she noted two small white marshmallows floating in his cup. Just the way he liked it. Taking a chance, she stepped forward by the empty chair and found her smile deepening. He had been away too long.

He looked thinner than she remembered, his cheekbones sticking out more prominently, but not taking away an inch of his handsomeness. He had let his hair grow longer and more eve, and now framed his face, resting lazily under his chin, folding over covering his eyes. The small glimpse she could make out of them, were gazing straight into the fire, yet she could still see that they had not lost their intense blueness. His jaw was set in a hard position, neither frowning or smiling, and stressed, not relaxed. The fire’s light danced across his now pale skin, blending in with the dark sweater and old slacks he wore. Despite the firmness of his jaw, his fingers lay tiredly across the arm rest, seemingly at complete ease.

Pan didn’t know what to feel. It had been too long. She hadn’t seen him in two years, and what she was suppose to be feeling eluded her. How would she talk to this tempest? This tempest beyond the door. With a small choke she smiled, and felt unwanted tears gather at the corner of her eyes.

“Trunks,” she gasped out, hastily taking a seat. His eyes remained unmobed from the flames, as if he hadn’t heard her in the first place. “I brought you a present…it’s Christmas, Trunks,” Pan tried again, gently holding out the wrapped gift. Again, he showed no sign of awareness. She numbly set the box on the floor beside the table. Shifting in her seat, she folded her hands in her lap, looking at him in expectedness. He made no movement for the longest time, and it came as a sudden surprise when he sprang to life. His face swung jerkidly to meet hers, making it the first time she had looked straight at him. His piercing gaze ran over her face, as if he were looking and testing her out. To test out her motives. To see what she was up to. His eyebrows furrowed into a point and he mustered a glare that tore away at Pan’s nervous feeling.

“I know what day it is,” he spoke hoarsely, and accusingly. His face turned back to the fire so suddenly, she almost wasn’t sure if he had moved at all, but the distinct harshness of his words bore at her, telling that he had spoken.

“I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No one ever does,” he said, voice toneless, eyes gazing always on the fire. A thick silence engulfed the room, and Pan found herself once again picking at her sleeve nervously.

He seemed so distant. Pan laughed mentally. Why wouldn’t he be? Obviously he was distant if he had trapped himself in a secluded cable for the past two years. But this was a little beyond what she expected. No, that was wrong too. What had she expected? Nothing. Pan had no idea what was happening. She didn’t know where this was going. It was up to him now. Pan held her voice quiet, although she wanted to bombard him with millions of questions, she wasn’t sure how stable the ground was on which she stood. She didn’t want to set him off.

Despite being nestled in front of a fire, her fingers still stung dully form the early winter abuse, so hesitantly, Pan reached for the cup of hot chocolate. Carefully cradling the mug with her slender fingers, she let the warmth seep through and de-numb the tips of her fingers. She lightly inhaled the sweet scent of chocolate it gave off before gingerly taking a sip of it.

Instantly regretting it, she slammed her mug on the table again, and flicked her tongue on the top of her mouth to rid herself of the taste. Sure it felt hot. Sure it smelt delicious. But it was a bad apple. “My goodness, you still can’t cook. At least that hasn’t changed,” Pan spoke with a grin, forgetting where she was. She felt his eyes on her, and realized her mistake. How could she have sprung out with insults at him when she didn’t know what terms they were on? She was so dense. She bite him lip again, wishing she could draw blood from it. Punishing herself in a way for insulting a possibly mentally un-sound man.

Slowly, she turned her gaze towards Trunks. Pan was shocked to see his expression. His tired face was curved into a mocking grin, and his eyes flicked with amusement.

“Actually, you happened to drink my own. Perhaps this is more to your liking,” he spoke softly but strained, as if holding back a chuckle. He slid the second cup with marshmallows towards her and brought the one without towards himself. Pan raised an eyebrow in question.

“I though you loved marsh—”

“People change,” he retorted and took a sip of the liquid Pan had seconds ago refused. Cautiously, she dipped the tip of her finger into the new mug and tasted the gather drink on it. Sweet mint chocolate. She quietly gathered up the new much and let it warm up her hands as had the previous one.

“How can you drink that stuff?” Pan asked with a weird look, glaring at Trunks’ mug. “Is it even hot chocolate? It takes like bitter coffee.” Trunks responded by a mere shrug and otherwise did not answer. The silence returned, but this one was slightly less awkward for Pan. At least some form of conversation had occurred, yet she was still nervous to talk more to him. Her fingers involuntarily began to tap on the side of her mug, while her stare was fixed on the fire along with his.

Flames jumping and dying. The silence only being interrupted by the quiet cackle of the burning logs. Until sharply, Trunks turned in his seat to look at Pan.

“Why are you here?” he asked, eyes piercing to her turned ones.

“It’s Christmas,” Pan said again.

“I know…but you never came before.”

Pan looked at him carefully, trying to read his expression. What was in his eyes? Curiosity? Anger? Hurt? Sighing, she gently replaced the cup onto the table once again and shifted in the worn arm chair so that she was more fully facing Trunks. “Yes I have,” she replied.

“No,” he spoke with a tut behind it, “I think I would remember if you’d come by.”

“Just because I never made it to your door doesn’t mean I didn’t try,” she retorted back, an old anger starting to resurface. It was so like him to turn the tables against her. To make him seem like the forgotten victim. Who had been forgotten? She was the one that spent days wanting…needing to see her friend again, but did he think of her while he was off ‘being alone’. He had no right to make her feel guilty. He should feel bad. He had put her entire life on pause, and tossed it into a dusty corner.

“What stopped you?” he asked, mock and slight anger in his tone.

“Fear,” she replied honestly.

“Fear of what?!” he cried, unfolding his arms in the air.

“Fear of how you would be!” Pan shouted, jumping from her seat. “And I was right. You ignored me out there. Do you have any inkling of an idea how hard it was for me to walk here not knowing what to expect. To put my feelings and emotions through hell for you?!” Pan yelled, swinging her arms with emphasis. Trunks stared at her then said quietly;

“I let you in.” Pan lowered her arms and frowned. She hated him. She really did. how could four little words spoken in such a sad tone instantly make her forgive him for all the emotional harm he had thrown at her. He had simply disappeared from her life without a trace. Did he think everything could be perfectly okay again? Obviously he did. And he knew what buttons to push to get it. She sighed and slumped down into the arm chair again. She let her mind calm down before turning to him with a tiny grin.

“So tell me then. Why did you let me in” Trunks didn’t seem to be expecting that question. His eyes darted around the room before landing again on Pan.

“I don’t know…I…my God, Pan. You look so different.”

“What?” Pan asked, her head tilted with a quirky grin. “Are you changing the subject?”

“Erm, no. Honestly though, you look more…” he shrugged and a smile tugged at his lips. She couldn’t help matching it.

“You haven’t seen a girl in how long, Trunks? Don’t go thinking I’m anything special. I’m just plain ol’ Panny,” she said with a small shrug, reverting to picking at the arm chair to avoid his direct gaze.

“Yes. You are just Panny. I’m glad you haven’t changed.”

“Trunks! You aren’t making sense! You just said I looked different,” Pan pointed out, annoyed. He grinned and took a sip of his drink.

“I mean, you haven’t changed in the inside. Your still the little girl I took around space those years back.”

“Actually,” Pan said with a mock frown, “I believe ‘I’ took you. I was first pilot of the ship, remember?” Trunks’ face broke into a smile once again and he too leaned back, letting the worn soft fabric support his back.

“How could I forget?”

“Well, I can’t really say the same about you, now can I?” she asked, grinning. The statement seemed to strike a nerve, for Trunks fell into a quiet revieve, the smile gone. She wished she could take it back. But she couldn’t. Her only choice was to work with what she had started. “You have changed, Trunks,” she whispered softly.

“People generally do that when they’re alone for three years.”

“Two,” Pan corrected quietly. He glanced sideways at her and nodded with a quirky grin.

“Yes. Two. Two long years. No one was around to influence me. No one was around to change who I am. I changed into me.”

“Trunks,” Pan said with a sigh, “I don’t understand.” Trunks shifted in his chair, sitting upright, and turned to focus on Pan.

What don’t you understand, Panny?” he asked, as if she were the naïve twelve year old girl again. Somehow, on this day, it comforted her to feel like a child.

“Why are you here?” she asked, pain etched in her voice. Pleading. Trunks closed his eyes in a blink that stayed closed a bit too long. He opened them just as slowly as he had closed them, and took a moment to get his thoughts in order.

“I needed to get away from them, Pan. Don’t you ever just need to get away? I…I wasn’t me. I didn’t want to finish life the way I was. If I did, I was get an early nervous breakdown.”

“Are you sure that’s not what happened? I mean, you just upped and left for two years. What did you think we would do?” Pan asked, searching his eyes for answers, so she wouldn’t have to wait until she slowly drew them out verbally.

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “Part of me wanted you all to come after me. Another wanted you to stay far away.”

“So you were just messed up, and decided to tackle it without help? That wasn’t wise. Everyone has problems Trunks…our family is there to get us through them. That’s what they’re for; especially around the holidays,” Pan lectured softly. Trunks’ expression didn’t change. If he was affected by her speech, he didn’t show it.

“The weren’t just ‘problems’, Pan…I just needed…I really needed to find out who I am,” he explained quietly. His face was contorted into a pleading of understanding. He needed to be related to. Pan glanced him up and down before sighing and leaning into her chair.

“Trunks…I know what you mean. Believe me I do. Do you think you’re alone? Do you think you’re the only one that goes around being someone they’re not. We’re shaped by what other people want us to be…you were able to break from that chain. You got free. If taking two years off from life, let you find out who you wanted to be…if these two years have made you happy…then it’s good you took them. No matter how badly it affected us,” Pan finished, flickering her eyes to the fire, away from his as quickly as possible. Trunks regarded her oddly with a small smile on his lips.

“You think…I did the right thing?”

“I think you did what was right for you. You faced your inner demons.”

“I suppose,” he agreed softly. “I’m surprised, Panny. I didn’t think you would understand.”

“Then why did you let me in?” Pan asked, turning sharply to face him. He seemed to be taken back by her question, he jerked slightly from his lent forward position, and was forced into a silent reserve.

“I…maybe I just hoped you would. I missed you, Pan.”

“I missed you too, Trunks,” Pan said, her smile showing on her face again. She seemed satisfied with his answer, and they both turned to the fire, thoughts unsure where to go. Pan still had questions she wanted to ask the man, but they seemed to be caught in her throat. None of them seemed to be the right kind of thing to ask. Trunks was in some sort of psychological adventure on self discovery. How do you talk to a man who’s on one?

In reality, Pan felt almost angry at Trunks. She envied him. He had simply left the world behind and learned who he was. How many times had she wanted to do the same thing? To simply put life on pause to gather her bearings. But she never did. She never had the courage to just leave behind her family. No matter how many nights she would sit and know—just know that the world saw a different Pan than she lived. She envied him for being able to take the step to get where he was. She admired him. But Trunks was Trunks. No matter how he changed from now on, it would be the way he wanted himself to be. Pan didn’t know if she could do that. She didn’t know if she wanted to.

Yes, the person she was had been shaped by people’s expectations and regards towards her. And they had shaped her well. Pan wasn’t even sure if she wanted to be who she was inside…it wouldn’t be her anymore. It was confusing. Maybe it had worked for Trunks. In fact, she was almost sure of it. She could see it in his eyes. A hidden joy and satisfaction that he had been able to accomplish what he had set out to do. It had been worth it. No matter how much it had torn Pan apart to have him skip out of her life for two years, it had done him good. He was happy. Deep down, she knew it wouldn’t be long before Trunks decided it was time to leave this isolation and join life again. And deep down, she hoped he would let her introduce him back in.

Pan leaned back in the chair, satisfied of her visit. She had learnt that Trunks had simply shut himself off to learn who he was. It was something everyone must do at one point int their life…Trunks just took two years to do it. Pan smiled. She wouldn’t need to. As long as she had Trunks, her best friend, to guide her, she knew exactly who she was.

She took her eyes off the fire for a second to glance over at Trunks, deeply happy that she had made it to see him. It had been too long away from him. Sensing he was being watched, Trunks turned to look at her. They stared at each other, Pan waiting. She noted the look on Trunks’ face, however small it was, and recognized the look. He was concentrating, trying to figure out how to word what was on his mind. Taking a sip of her hot chocolate, Pan waited his question. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him turn back to the fire.

“Have you ever wondered?” he asked, pale eyes staring into the fire. Pan glanced towards him waiting for him to finish his question. Trunks remained motionless, save for the slow blinking of his eyes, and the shallow breathing.

“Wondered what?” she asked uncertainly, tipping her mug for another sip. Trunks continued to keep his stare on the dancing flames, almost in a trance, as he answered.

“Wondered about life,” he responded.

“Life?” Pan repeated with a sigh. “Yes.”

“I mean…have you ever thought about where your life could have gone,” he said, explaining his previous question. He turned his head to the side to look at her, the movement looking almost strenuous on his part. Pan once again was slightly shocked at how tired his eyes looked, when moments before they were so lively. The topic of conversation was bringing him down, but since he brought it up, he needed it to be discussed.

“All the time,” Pan whispered, staring at him, unsure of what she was saying, her mind and voice working separately. Trunks nodded slightly, but didn’t return his gaze to the fire, instead kept it on her.

“Me too,” he said quietly. “Sometimes it nags at me for days.” Pan nodded, her eyebrows barely slanted, as she concentrated on his words. “Does it ever haunt you Pan? Does it ever gnaw at your very existence until you can’t take it anymore and you find yourself gone? Gone from the world and from everyone? Does this plague inhabit you as well?” he asked, eyes filling away from their emptiness to an emotion Pan couldn’t place. She swallowed. Trunks’ mood had changed drastically. From joking with her, he was monotonously asking her questions she wasn’t sure she wanted to answer.

“Sometimes,” she whispered.

“And what do you do, Pan? What do you do when all these thoughts on where you should have gone come knocking at your door? How do you drive them away?”

“Is that why you are out here, Trunks? Trying to find such a deserted, secluded place that these thoughts won’t be able to find you? Is that why you are here? Locked away from all of us? Is that why you are hiding?” Pan asked. Maybe there was more to this than simply trying to discover who he was. Pan bite her lip. It was as if…Trunks was depressed. Seriously depressed. She didn’t like it.

“I’m not hiding. Just escaping,” he spoke quietly, yet firmly. There was a slight edge to his tone, her words taking a taunt at him. “Yes…this is how I drive them away.”

“Does it work?”

“No.”

“I see,” she replied, tearing her stare away from Trunks to look at the fire. Not only was the fire easily the most interesting object she could look at when avoiding Trunks’ stare, but it was almost the most enchanting.

The flames leapt to and fro on the burning log. Escaped sparks flashing away from the source and jumping to the hard wooden floor before quickly drying out. Those that tried to escape died; only those that stuck together were able to burn bright.

“So? What do you do when they arrive at your door?” Trunks asked her again.

“I let them in,” she responded, eyes remaining fixed on the fire. Watching as more and more sparks left the log only to disappear in the darkness of the room.

“You welcome the thoughts of your mistakes in life?” he asked, quiet shock evident in his voice. Pan fidgeted in her chair before answering, not all to comfortable with where the conversation might lead.

“Yes. Sometimes I like to think about where I could be.”

“Doesn’t it make you sad? Angry? The things you want are long gone. you wanted too long. Your chance has been flushed down that drain,” he spoke, his hands gesturing as he spake. Pan made a small shrug.

“A little, I suppose.”

“How do you cope with it?”

“I make wishes,” she replied, a small smile forming on her lips. Trunks glanced at her somewhat shocked. His eyes were unreadable and he softly picked at some wearing threads on the arm of his chair.

“You wish your troubles away?” his eyes still held remains of shock, Pan noted curiously. When the double-meaning of her words caught up with her she let her smile deepen.

“Not with the dragon balls, silly,” Pan said, amusement ringing in her tone. “The old fashioned way…Shooting stars…Birthday candles…”

“Do your wishes ever come true?” he asked. Pan made a defiant shrug and slouch in her chair.

“I made the same wish…but…I’m too afraid to ever do anything to help it along,” she replied quietly. Trunks tilted his head and gazed. His eyes seemed to be reading through her, inspecting and dissecting. Seeing through her actions.

“You wish for…?” he started, letting his voice drift off, leaving her to finish the sentence. Pan looked at him sharply and turned away.

“I wish to change the way my life has gone. Something that I have wanted for a long time…I wish for that.”

“Oh.” A small sadness took over his eyes and his stare returned to the fire. The flames jumping…and dying. “Is he really worth all your wishes?” he asked quietly. Pan turned to face him quickly, he look that of surprise and anger. With a small sigh of defeat she leaned back in her chair and sighed.

“Yes. Yes, he is worth it,” she replied.

“If he doesn’t want to be with you, he must be a pathetic shell of a man, Pan. You are the most deserving woman I know. He must be incredibly stupid.” For the first time that evening, Pan allowed herself to laugh a real laugh. Laugh at how his praise could make her feel lightheaded, and laugh at the put downs of her own wishes.

“Thank you. Thank may be true, but I still think he’s worth it.” The determination was replaced with disappointment for a second, before his eyes fled.

“Then why don’t you take a chance and help your wishes along?”

“I already have,” Pan replied, her smile reappearing. “I came here.” Pan smiled in embarrassment, clutching her mug tightly in her hands. Trunks turned to look at her, letting the meaning of her words take affect. Slowly and hesitantly, he gave her a small grin in return.

“Merry Christmas, Pan.”

“Merry Christmas, Trunks.”

The Endo