Trunks balanced from foot to foot as he watched his father blur in and out of sight as the proud Saiyan prince trained. The small boy clutched a paper, which was slightly crumpled from its captivity in his book bag. Finally after several minutes of patiently being ignored, Trunks cleared his throat. Vegeta paused mid-air and glared down at him.

"What is it, brat?" snapped the eternally cranky alien as he landed in front of his son.

Mustering all the courage that he possessed, Trunks held the paper out to his father.

"What is this? Did the fool of a teacher of yours have to send *another* note home? What have you done this time, boy?"

"No, it's not a note from Hamasaki-san," corrected Trunks hurriedly. "I drew this for you today in art."

Vegeta stared down at the picture. On the left side stood a stick figure with wild, flame-like black hair. Obviously, it was supposed to himself. Thick blue lines were coming from the stick-figure Vegeta's hands, pointing to a large scribble of red crayon.

"What is this supposed to be?" demanded Vegeta, pointing towards the crayon drawing.

Trunks stood on tiptoe to point-out the various elements of his artwork. "That's you, otousan," he commented, pointing to the scowling stick-figure. "And you're using your Big Bang Attack," he added, gesturing to the blue lines.

"And what, may I ask, is *that* supposed to be?" inquired the prince, pointing to the red blob that was being "destroyed" by his signature move.

"That's Kakkarot being blown up," replied Trunks, smiling proudly. He didn't know what a "Kakkarot" was, but he knew that his father hated it. He hoped to win his father's approval with the picture of him destroying his arch nemesis.

Vegeta's lips twitched involuntarily as he fought the repress the smile that yearned to break free on his face. He turned away to conceal his emotions. He thrust the picture back towards his son. Hesitantly, Trunks reached out and took it. Vegeta then completely turned his back on the small boy and returned to his training.

Trunks stared down at the picture that he held in wavering hands. He had worked so hard on it. He wanted to make his father proud. The small child bit his lip hard to fight back the tears that were beginning to sting the corners of his eyes. Without a word, he turned and silently left the gravity chamber.

Bulma looked up from the off-colored cake mix as the kitchen door was slammed open. Trunks stalked in, his face contorted in a mixture of anguish and fury. The boy marched purposefully across the linoleum floor to the trash can, where he discarded the paper he held in his hand.

"Trunks-kun….what's wrong?" asked Bulma, her lips turning down in a gentle frown.

"Nothing, okaasan," shortly replied the boy as he wiped fiercely at his face with the back of his hand.

"Wasn't that the picture that you drew for your father today?" she pressed, gesturing to the disposed paper.

Trunks shrugged his shoulders indifferently, refusing to meet his mother's eyes.

"Honey, what happened?" cooed Bulma, walking over to him and stroking his silken hair.

"It was nothing!" snapped the boy, pulling away from his mother's touch. "Leave me alone!"

Bulma watched helplessly as her son ran upstairs. A few moments later there was the sound of an angry demi-Saiyan youth slamming his bedroom door shut. The young scientist sighed and shook her head sadly. Glancing out the window at the gravity machine, she glared hatred at her husband. With a few curses under her breath, she returned to work, trying to fix the cake batter that she had most certainly ruined.

It was late at night when Vegeta finally finished training. The woman and the boy were most likely asleep. He was surprised, however, to find Bulma waiting for him in the kitchen. She sat at the kitchen table, drumming her fingers on the wooden tabletop in an annoying manner. Icy blue eyes locked on Vegeta as soon as he walked in.

"What are you doing up?" he asked gruffly as he headed straight for the refrigerator.

"I can't believe this. You really are a complete moron," snapped Bulma coldly.

Vegeta spun around and stared at her incredulously. His eyes narrowed and darkened. "Woman….:

"Oh, shut up, Vegeta," interrupted Bulma as she leapt to her feet almost knocking over the wooden stool she had been perched on. She placed her hands haughtily on her hips and her lips turned down in a disapproving pout. "You can be so clueless for being the great and mighty Prince of all Monkeys."

Vegeta slammed his fist down on the table and leaned forward, practically snarling at his wife. She matched his gaze steadily, refusing to be intimidated. This was one of the qualities that had made Vegeta fall for her in the first place. Frowning, he tried to rid his mind of the distraction of his feelings for her.

"What is your problem?" demanded the prince.

Bulma didn't reply. Instead, she simply pointed to a piece of paper that lay on the middle of the table. Vegeta glanced down at it. He instantly recognized the drawing.

"It's the picture that the brat drew. So?"

Bulma sighed and shook her head. "I had to fish that picture out of the garbage this afternoon," she explained. "Your *son* threw it in there right before barricading himself in his bedroom all night."

Vegeta gave her a puzzled look. The anger in her eyes melted as she realized how clueless he really was.

"Why did he throw it away?" asked Vegeta, picking it up and staring down at his stick-figure self.

"He thought you didn't want it," replied Bulma softly, pulling her robe closer around her.

"What on earth gave him that idea?" snapped Vegeta, looking inquisitively at his mate. She gave him a "where-do-you-think-he-got-that-idea-from?" look. Vegeta grunted. "I can't believe that child is my son. He is much too foolish."

Picture still in hand, Vegeta marched off. Bulma smiled slightly and shook her head. Humming merrily to herself, she set about the task of fixing herself some hot chocolate.


*three weeks later*

Trunks found himself once again patiently waiting in the door way of the gravity chamber, watching his father as he trained. After several minutes, Vegeta finished his workout. Flipping the switch to deactivate the intense gravity, the prince turned to his son. Vegeta grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat from his face as he walked over to the small boy.

"What is it, kid?" grunted the Saiyan, peering down at the child with intense obsidian eyes.

"I need your help for an assignment," replied Trunks as he gave his father a pleading look.

"This isn't going to be like the time that we tried to make a model of the solar system with those cursed Styrofoam balls, is it?" questioned Vegeta warily.

Trunks ducked his head as he chuckled. He all too vividly remembered his father struggling with the infamous science project. For weeks afterward, just the utterance of any of the nine planet's names sent Vegeta into a catatonic state. "No, otousan. It's not like that. Hamasaki-san wants us all to bring in something that "characterizes" our parents. Like a trademark. Something that makes them unique." Vegeta raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'm going to take okaasan's dragonball radar. And I was wondering if I could maybe take your white gloves to class."

Vegeta studied his son before him. Trunks fidgeted under his father's intense look. Finally, the prince grunted and shrugged his shoulders.

"Do as you like," answered Vegeta. "They should be in the second drawer of the dresser in my bedroom."

"Domo arigatou, otousan!" shouted Trunks. He turned and ran back towards the house. Vegeta smirked slightly as he watched his son disappeared indoors.

Trunks ran up the several flights of stairs that led to the private living quarters of the Briefs's family. Quietly, he tiptoed into his mother and father's room. Normally he wasn't allowed in there, especially at night. Trunks grinned, feeling as if he was doing something covert and illegal.

Opening the designated drawer, Trunks rummaged through stacks of blue spandex uniforms. Finally, he found his father's signature white gloves. He snatched them up and stuffed them into his pant's pocket. He was about to slam the drawer shut when something caught his eye. A corner of a piece of paper was showing from under the clothes.

Glancing around to make sure he wasn't being watched, Trunks pulled out a stack of paper. On top was his drawing of Vegeta's triumph over the mysterious Kakkarot. The rest of the papers were all the other pictures that Trunks had made for his father over the years.

The boy stared in disbelief at the papers in his hand. He had always thought that his father had thrown his drawings away. Trunks swallowed back heavy emotions that threatened to emerge.

He almost sacredly set the stack of pictures back in their place in his father's drawer. Grinning to himself, Trunks set off towards his room. He couldn't wait for tomorrow when he would be able to tell all of his classmates that he had the coolest dad in the world.