A/N: Oh, I hope this chapter makes sense. I've gotten myself a bit of a cold (again). In any case, Happy Holidays, everyone.


"She looks beautiful," Bulma breathed, taking the picture gently from her daughter.

Evening found Trunks, Bra, and Bulma lounging around in the Briefs' living room. Bra had insisted Pan come over, and she promised she would just as soon as she had a talk with her boyfriend (at which Trunks had sneered, but had hidden with the newspaper, his favorite new alcove). She had also tried to get Marron over, but the blonde had a project she had to finish that night.

Bra had already had the pictures from the shoot printed, and the three were inspecting them. Well, Bulma and Bra were. Trunks was just bumming around on the couch.

He didn't get up from his perch on the couch just yet, still debating whether he should fulfill his curiosity and look at the picture. He didn't care, per se, he just wanted to know what all the commotion was about. He tried to fight his interest off with lethargy, but his nosiness won and he waved his sister over without a word. Bra gently took the picture from their mother's hands, as if it was Pan herself she was picking up and not a photo of her, and sat by her brother. Trunks took it from her, equally as careful.

"She looks weird."

Both Bulma and Bra looked highly offended, but Trunks ignored them in favor of inspecting the picture. Pan's fingers were delicately holding down the collar of her sweater, revealing a slender neck and a detailed view of her sharp collarbones. It was her face that was the central point of the picture, however. Her lips were parted and dashed with red, and her brown eyes were wide and framed with thick black eyelashes. But it was her expression that got him. Completely vulnerable, completely unlike the loud and raucous young woman who filed his papers and answered his calls and made his coffee so perfect that not even he could make a better cup.

"Trunks! That is so rude!" his mother snapped, making a snatch at the photo. But he moved it away from her, not even looking up from the glossy paper.

Past her make-up and beyond those thick eyelashes, that face of hers had planted a small thought in his mind. An idea—a memory he would never have—fed his vision for a moment. He could see her, almost, beneath him, giving him that look under the brilliant moonlight filtering in through his window. He could almost feel her under him, body soft and pliant, hot enough to sear his skin.

"She does," he argued, then broke the connection with his dream and sent himself back to reality, handing the picture back to Bra. She took it protectively, both women glaring at him. Forget woman scorned. He had just insulted an entire gender. "What? She does. She doesn't look at all like herself."

"Oh." And like, the anger seemed to be washed away from both women's faces and was replaced with understanding. Which, of course, completely confused Trunks.

"She just doesn't..." He was still on the defensive, but he didn't know how to finish the sentence without repeating himself, nor was he completely sure what his mother's and Bra's reactions meant.

"I think that means he finds her attractive," Bulma speculated, sitting down on the loveseat.

"I'll second that." Bra nodded, carefully slipping the picture back into the envelope. He took it from her, glaring.

"That's not what I meant." Carefully, he took out the pictures, looking through each one. They were all...sexy, and damn, was it hard for him to think that. This was Pan, after all. But some of those poses provoked a couple more naughty thoughts, and he scowled and put the prints away again. Shit. It was scary to think his mother and sister were right. "I just think she looks different, and it's weird."

"Very different," Bra agreed, making the word sound more like an innuendo than a description.

"Very weird," Trunks corrected, glaring.



Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Bra and Trunks were siblings. It was their petty little arguments that served as a great reminder, however.



"And you two are both stubborn as hell."

Trunks snapped his mouth shut, looking more than a little abashed. Out of all the people who could have possibly stopped them, it had to be the subject of their argument herself—Pan Son. She looked normal again, hair pulled up in a tight ponytail, face fresh and free of any make-up, and dressed in a pair of jeans and a striped sweater. Lips upturned in that sardonic smile he was so used to. Normal, safe Pan Son. No more fucking sex kitten.

Except, for some unknown reason, she still looked desirable.

He chalked it up as insanity and stood up, needing to get away from them. He didn't want to hear what Pan had to say about her little boyfriend, be it good or bad. "As much as I love you three, there's more than enough estrogen in this room to drive any testosterone away. If you need me, I'll be acting all manly in the GR." Jokingly, he puffed up his chest and strolled out, flexing his muscles with each step.

"He got that from his father," Bulma attested, and the girls laughed.

Chapter Three: Sweet Talk
by Clara

"Master Son!"

Goten straightened up, towel slung across his neck. Gel, a charming little girl of about six, was racing towards him at top speed. She was one of his most promising students, eager and quick to learn. She skidded to a halt before she could collide with his legs, and bowed deeply.

"I had a lotta fun today," Gel panted, straightening and looking up at him and smiling brightly. Goten smiled back. Whenever he had children, he hoped beyond hope they would be like Gel. Polite and sweet and energetic and already catty as all hell.

"I'm glad you did," Goten said brightly, ruffling her hair. "You've improved on your high kick. Have you been practicing?"

"Yes, Master Son!"

"Good." He crouched down so that they were at eyelevel, not wanting her to get a crick in her neck. But before he could say anything else about her skills, she was off again on a completely different tangent.

"I've been practicing my ki control too, just like you said. I blew up one of Mommy's vases last time, so I practiced a LOT." She emphasized just how much by stretching out her arms as wide as she could. "Miss Paris is here." The sudden change of topics nearly threw Goten off balance, and Gel leaned forward, confidentially. "She's mad."

"Thanks for the warning, kid." He straightened up, looking wary. Uub was walking in from the lobby, his normally cheerful face grave. Goten momentarily lifted his eyes to the ceiling, then smiled brightly down at Gel. "Don't worry about Miss Paris, okay Gel? I'll take care of it. Is your daddy here to pick you up yet?"

"Nuh uh."

"Uub will watch you until he is, okay? He can show you a couple more moves, if you'd like."

"Uh huh!" Already the little girl was off, running towards one of the practice dummies. Goten made his way towards Uub.

"You're in trouble," said Uub, skipping straight past the greetings.

"What did I do this time?" Goten scratched the back of his head, irritably. He had desperately been trying to estrange himself from his girlfriend, but to no avail. No matter how hard he tried to avoid her, she always managed to find something new to yell about.

"Have you seen today's Daily?" Daily was a popular magazine that did just what it said—came out daily. It was much like a newspaper, concentrating on current events such as the stock market and the news, but also had an unhealthy affiliation with the rich and the famous. It was much like a standard tabloid, if not quite as outlandish.

"No, I don't read that magazine." He raked his fingers through his hair, looking irritable. "Besides, it's only ten o'clock. I've been here and my apartment all day."

"Well, I guess you'll find out sooner than later." Uub gave him a pitying look. "She's waiting in the lobby."

Goten sighed, confused and having a feeling he wouldn't get anything else out of his friend. "Thanks." Uub patted his shoulder, as if someone dear had died, then made his way to the stray kids who were still waiting for their parents to pick them up.

Goten sighed and slouched towards the lobby. His good mood was already starting to dissipate.

He barely stepped through the door and she was already yelling.

"What the hell do you think you're doing! Do you know what you've just done to my reputation!"

"Paris," Goten said, gently. He rubbed his temples, already feeling the beginning of a headache form. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Mister! Did you think you could hide this little...affair for long!" She was spitting and hissing like a furious cat, claws ready.

"What affair?" His own temper was on the rise. How dare she accuse him of something like that?

"Oh, that's rich. That's fucking rich! Have you grown tired of me! Am I too old for you!"

"Paris, will you quiet down?" Goten hissed, glaring. The parents' of the students from his morning class were starting to walk in, and all of them were looking at them with interest. Rather, at him with interest. He missed something. That was the only thing he could think of. And whatever he had missed was something big.

"Don't you dare tell me to quiet down, you bastard! Here! Since you insist on playing so fucking dumb—" Goten winced again, hoping beyond hope that the kids couldn't hear them, "—look at this, you cheating, lying, prick!" She threw a copy of Daily at his chest as hard as she could, then turned around to sob loudly. He caught it before it fell and groaned.

On the cover, enlarged and incriminating, was a picture of Bra flinging herself in his arms. And, in large bold font at the bottom of the picture, "IS IT LOVE?" pretty much signed his death warrant.

"It's not what you think," Goten said, flatly. He was staring down at the paper with disbelief. How funny. They had made the cover without even doing anything.

Paris whirled on him, eyes alight with fury and lips pulled back in an animalistic snarl. She didn't look all that pretty anymore, face twisted in anger and betrayal. "What the hell am I supposed to think!"

"Well," Goten continued, coolly. "You could remember just who Bra Briefs is in my life." She seemed to wilt a little bit at that, confused. He was trying to keep his voice calm without sounding patronizing. "Have you forgotten already? It's been awhile, but I didn't think you would forget the Briefs."

"I know who they are." She was on the defensive now, confused and angry that he would turn the tables on her like that.

"Well, then you should know that Bra Briefs' older brother, Trunks, is my best friend, and has been my best friend since I was practically born." He crossed his arms tightly across his chest, glaring at her. "The Briefs are practically part of my family. Since when did you give a damn what the paparazzi did? Of course they're going to try and dig up as much dirt on the Briefs as they can, they're the world's richest people."

"Oh, hell." Immediately, as if the wind was taken from her sails, Paris deflated. "I'm sorry, Goten, it's just that all my friends have started talking because of this, and she's just so young."

Goten continued to frown. "You need to quit obsessing with your age, Paris. You're still beautiful, and just because you're not twenty anymore doesn't change that. Now, I need to go assure the parents that everything is alright." He gave her a slightly accusing look, at that.

"I said I was sorry," Paris said again, starting to look irritable again. "And I don't obsess with my age." But she picked up the magazine again, straightened out her shirt, and walked out, without a goodbye, a kiss, or an 'I love you'. Watching her leave, he couldn't help but to feel a bit hypocritical. Hadn't he just recently been thinking inappropriate thoughts about Bra? And there he was, chastising his girlfriend for being suspicious. Goten sighed. He was going to have to patch things up with her, if he wanted his life normal again.

Even though he had a feeling things had already gotten out of control.


"You're going to get fat."

Trunks looked up, surprised. He had been ignoring her, the jerk. Trunks was sitting at the edge of her desk, munching on some mochi and Pan, of course, was desperately trying to ignore him, but this was proving to be futile. It was hard to disregard someone who was acting as a paperweight to the paperwork she was supposed to file.

"I don't think so."

"You will. You're going to end up round as a whale—"

"Whales aren't round."

"And when that day comes, I'm going to gloat. A lot."

Trunks took a bite from his mochi, looking thoughtful. "I don't think it's possible for me to get fat. Saiyajin metabolism is pretty remarkable."

"You will, if you keep eating like that."

Trunks grinned, probably just to annoy her. Which he was doing a good job of. "I think you just want me to offer you some. I was going to, but now I don't think I will."

"Your hips are going to get humongous." She was frowning at having been found out. So what if she wanted some? She hadn't had mochi in ages.

"I think those are your own internal fears coming out." He took another bite, expression that of exaggerated bliss.

Pan gave up on trying to type and swung her chair back so that she could face Trunks. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"I'm sure I do. But I'm bored."

"Bored. The president of Capsule Corps. doesn't get bored."

"How would you know? You're not the president."

"Yes, but, don't you have like, five billion things you need to do?"

Trunks looked thoughtful, finishing off the last bit of mochi and licking his fingers. "Well, let me rephrase that. I'm bored because I'm procrastinating."

Pan snorted. "Lazy."

"And? I'm allowed to be, some days." Trunks stood up and stretched, and Pan found herself looking at his rear. To see if it had gotten any bigger from all those sweets he'd been eating, of course. Just earlier he had come back with a box full of éclairs, straight from France. And ate them all sitting right at the corner of her desk, not even offering her one. But there was no change at all, which was really no surprise. Perhaps it would take a couple of days. Hopefully. "Want any coffee?"

Her astonished look seemed to take him slightly aback.


"Since when did you offer me coffee?"

"I'm feeling generous, and it's a once in a lifetime thing. Take it or leave it."

"Promise you won't mess with it?"

Trunks rolled his eyes. "I'm not thirteen anymore, Pan."

"Yeah, but you are a sadistic fuck. All right, I'll take a cup."

"More cream, less sugar?"

Pan blinked, surprised. "Right on the dot."

He set the box of mochi in front of her, several still in there. "Here, have the rest. I'll be right back."

She stared at his retreating back until the door closed behind him, then looked down at the box in front of her. He had been acting especially weird this morning, much less distant and a lot more talkative. He kept engaging her in repartee, teasing her until she finally snapped at him and trapping her in idle talk for several minutes until she would remind him that one of them had to work. He would go quiet for a little bit, eating his sweets, before starting the cycle all over again.

And before that, the night before, he had made some joke about estrogen and testosterone and had strutted out of the room as if he was some sort of tomcat. Was it her imagination, or was Trunks loosening up? Maybe Goten's visit had done him some good. That thought was relieving, to say the least. And it made her happy. As much as she was loathe to admit it, she missed the old Trunks she knew, the one who used to ruffle her hair whenever he saw her, the one entertain the both of them for hours with shadow puppets, the one who used to buy her ice cream when she had a bad day, when some person or another insulted her for something petty.

This Trunks hardly had the time of day for her, and that hurt. This Trunks would much rather insult her than compliment her, despite her achievements or how amazing she looked. This Trunks looked at her funny.

She sighed and resumed typing, irritable that her thoughts seemed to mostly revolve around Trunks since she had started work as his secretary. She should be thinking of Tote at odd hours, but it seemed like now she hardly thought of him at all, even when they were talking on the phone.

But hey, at least all of her thoughts about Trunks weren't exactly positive. Most of them involved an unhealthy amount of violence. That thought caused her to grin slightly maliciously, which was the first thing Trunks saw when he got back.

"Dreaming of beating me up?"

Pan glanced at Trunks, smile falling away. "Not quite." As close as she had been to Trunks, she wasn't exactly going to tell him that yes, it pleased her to imagine fighting with Trunks. Perhaps it was her Saiyajin side that supplied her with these malevolent thoughts. Instead, she swiveled her chair to face him, picking up a mochi that she had previously forgotten about.

Trunks had two mugs off coffee in his hands, and a rolled up paper still in its plastic wrap under his arm. He settled back on her desk, handing her the cup of coffee and tossing the paper to the side.

"Thanks," she murmured, taking a sip from her coffee. Perfect. Better than she could have made it. Trunks mimicked her, taking a long drink from his own, but he ended up frowning and putting his mug to the side.

"From now on, only you can make my coffee. I seem to have forgotten how."

"What're you talking about? You just made the best cup of coffee I've ever had."

Trunks gave her a perplexed look, then seemed to choose to drop it. "How did everything go between you and your boyfriend?"

Was it her imagination, or did his voice drop at least twenty degrees every time he mentioned Tote?

"He says he forgives me." She was already on her second mochi, half of it gone.


"That's what I said. He said he forgave me for getting a job and refusing to move in with him." At Trunks' disbelieving look, she merely shrugged and finished off the last bit of mochi. "I told him I hadn't apologized for being independent, and I wasn't going to any time soon. We had a bit of an argument for twenty or so minutes."

"And then?" Trunks asked, venturing to take another sip of his coffee. Once again unsatisfied, he set the mug back down.

"Well, after we finished screaming, we had a much more calm discussion, in which I told him that he would just have to accept that there's no way I'm going to be moving in with him any time soon. He told me he wouldn't wait forever."

"I can't believe you're actually dating this prick." Trunks shook his head, seeming disappointed. At once, Pan was on the defensive.

"He's not a prick. Just...just...he wants to move quickly, apparently."

"Are you that blind? He's a control freak. He wants you to be the perfect little housewife."

"He is not a control freak!"

"Oh, uh huh. Let's see, he doesn't want you to have a job. And...I'm guessing you haven't even told him just where you're working?" Pan fidgeted, embarrassed. She hadn't, but for a very good reason. No sane guy would be happy for their girlfriend working as Trunks' secretary. "I didn't think so. And he wants you to move in with him. And, to top it all off, when you don't do any of this, he expects you to apologize."

Pan swallowed angrily, not knowing how to argue that one. Tote did sound awfully controlling, but how could Trunks know anything about their relationship? Sure, there were some rocks in the road, but she was happy for the most part, and how dare he make her doubt her happiness. She had never had a guy dote on her so lovingly, especially not one as attractive and wonderful as Tote.

Dende. She was not going to let Trunks ruin her life in that aspect.

"As if you have any room to talk," she hissed. Trunks looked down at her, blue eyes dark and angry, and she had no idea why he was so mad.

"What the hell did you say?"

"You heard me, Mr. High-and-Mighty. We haven't seen each other for four years, and you didn't even say hi to me that first time you called! You treat me like shit! You call me weird! It's like everything we've gone through has been reduced to nothing!"

Trunks slammed his palms on her desk, but she didn't even flinch. "I'm your boss!"

"You were my friend, first!" She was trembling with fury, and somewhere in the middle of their yelling match she had gotten to her feet. She couldn't stand the idea of looking up at him anymore, wanting desperately for them to once see eye to eye.

They glared at each other now, unable to think of more things to yell at each other for without repeating themselves. There were tears of anger stinging the back of Pan's eyes, but she refused to let them fall and give him the satisfaction.

"I took this job because I thought I had an opportunity." Even to her own ears, her voice sounded hurt and betrayed. "But now I'm just stuck here under you."

Trunks pulled away, as if stricken. He turned around abruptly, his shoulders tense. "You can't just move up in this industry through connections. I'm not going to play favorites because of our history together." He said all of this with his back to her. "You have to prove yourself before I promote you."

Pan sunk back into her chair, small body still shaking with adrenaline. She had been all but ready to fight him and oh, what a disaster that would have been. Three days into her job, and surely she would have been fired. She sat completely still for a moment, lost and helpless, then slowly turned back to her computer and stared blankly at the screen. She didn't want the mochi anymore, or the coffee, or any of the little pity items Trunks would bring to her.

She was right in her first reaction, when she had told Bra "no". This had been a horrible idea. What was she thinking, working as Trunks' secretary? Saiyajins, no matter what rank, were not supposed to feel inferior in any way. It was why Trunks was the head of his own corporation, why Bra owned her own production, and why Goten had opened his own dojo. Even her father led a research team on the historical aspects of otherworldly beings, and was putting together a series of textbooks. Pan was the only one who worked beneath someone.

And wasn't how it always was? First her family supporting her, then Tote wanting to take care of her, and now Trunks being her boss. Was she really that inept?

What did that say about her? Was it because she was only three-fourth's Saiyajin?

Oh, hell. She was getting an inferiority complex.

She could feel Trunks looking at her again, but she refused to meet his eyes.

"Pan..." He felt bad for her. It was as bad as him pitying her.

"I need to go back to work." Her words were quick and mechanical.

"Pan, I..."

"Thank you for the coffee and the mochi, Trunks." She didn't want to hear his apologies, because he had nothing to apologize for. She brought this upon herself. Already she had resumed typing, attempting to clear her mind from the horrible.

Trunks backed down, grabbing his coffee and the paper and walking back into his office. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Pan stopped typing and slumped over her keyboard. Moments later, she could smell the acrid scent of cigarette smoke, and she immediately felt guilty for being the one who drove Trunks back to his cigarettes.

She needed to find another job. One that she could the head of. The top-dog. One where she could be completely and utterly independent, without being under anybody. It would be hard, but everyone else had done it, and at such young ages.

Sighing, and feeling both determined and worthless, she worked on her project. She would think of something. She always did.

Her concentration was abruptly broken, however, when Trunks came storming out of his room, power level up and looking as if he was about to murder someone. Which, apparently, was what was on his mind, because he was stalking to the door with an evil intent on his face. Pan, completely forgetting about her hang-ups, leapt to her feet and rushed in front of Trunks, grabbing his shoulders in an attempt to stop him from murdering...whoever he was going to kill.

"Let me go." If anything, his power level spiked again.

"Trunks! What the hell is your problem!"

"I'm going to kill him!"

"Who? What are you talking about?"

Trunks lifted a copy of Daily and thrust it towards her face, nearly smacking her with it. She took it with one hand (there was no way she could focus with it pressed up against her nose like that), and groaned.


"Trunks, calm down. I can't believe you'd get this worked up over something this trivial."

Trunks spluttered, offended that she wouldn't take him serious.

"Come on, Trunks. Goten and Bra hadn't seen each other for years, of course they're going to hug like that. And the paparazzi is doing what it does best, digging up trash on your family."

"How do you know?" Trunks asked, accusingly.

"Because I was there, you doofus. Goten was picking me up from the model shoot, and they had a happy little reunion. Nothing else happened." She neglected to tell him about the look Goten had given to Bra, one that was almost hungry. And the 'come hither' look Bra was giving him didn't help matters any, either. Maybe there was some attraction between the two of them, but hopefully it was just primal and they wouldn't act on it. Whatever it was, she wasn't about to tell Trunks about it. She loved her uncle, and didn't want to sic Trunks on him.

Her words and her voice seemed to sooth him, however, because he relaxed and his power dropped. He raked his fingers through his hair, looking slightly abashed.

"I just want to protect her."

"I know, Trunks."

"She doesn't need another guy hurting her."

"There's nothing to worry about."

"I trust Goten, and all, but he does have a history with girls."

That struck her as kind of funny, since Goten was warning her about the same thing about Trunks. She kept the giggles at bay (this would be a bad time to get the giggles). "He won't do anything bad to her." He fully relaxed, and Pan carefully pulled her hands back. "You gonna be okay, Trunks?"

"Yeah. Yeah, thanks." He smiled uncertainly at her, and suddenly she remembered that they were at odd ends. She tried to smile back, but it wavered with the strain and died away before it could be anything real. She shrugged and went back to her desk, leaving Trunks standing there and looking as lost as she felt.


"I knew I'd find you out here."

Trunks jumped slightly, looking around for some place he could put out his cigarette without being found out. But his attempts were futile, because Bulma merely placed a hand on his arm and shook her head. "I already knew you were smoking, Trunks. I may not have Saiyajin sense, but it's hard not to smell cigarette smoke when you're right next to it. Don't bother putting it out, I know as soon as I leave you'll just light another one."

"But Mom, it's disrespectful—"

"Please. Your father is one of the biggest bastards on this side of the universe, do you think I can't handle a little disrespectful?" Bulma leaned on the railing, pulling her shawl closer. "I think it's a disgusting habit, but you're a grown man now."

They were standing on the balcony at the north end part of their house, where Trunks had thought he could smoke without being caught. Apparently, however, his mother could hunt him down no matter where he was. He asked her about that once, and she shrugged and smiled and said that it was a mother's intuition.

"I'm sorry."

"It's...okay, sweetheart. Well, it's not, but hopefully whatever's stressing you enough to turn back to that horrible habit will get better. You know, you're more than welcome to talk to me about whatever you want, honey."

He was wondering when she would get around to it. "It's nothing, Mom."


Trunks raised his eyebrows, and Bulma gave him a slightly wry smile. "It looks like your father is rubbing off on me a little more than I'd like. Tell me what's wrong."

Trunks sighed and, despite being highly aware of what he was doing (and more than slightly ashamed by it), he took a long drag from his cigarette. "I don't know. I'm just really confused."


"I got in this pretty bad argument with Pan earlier today. At one point it looked like she was ready to attack me, and honestly now that I think about it, I probably deserved it."

"Oh, Trunks, what did you do?"

"I called her boyfriend a prick." At Bulma's surprised look, Trunks shook his head. "Well, he is one. He's a control freak who doesn't want her to work and wants her to live with him in his perfect little house and be his perfect little wife."

Bulma remained quiet, allowing her son to continue.

"But she turned it around on me. Started calling me the control freak. That I'd been a jerk to her ever since she stepped back into my life. I tried to tell her it was because I was her boss, but..."

"...but that was the wrong answer."

"Unbelievably wrong." He raked his fingers through his hair. "But she wasn't angry by then anymore. Just...really hurt. I don't know, Mom. Am I going about this the right way? I don't understand her anymore. She's changed so damn much."

Bulma hummed, playing with some snow on the railing. "I don't know. It seems to me she's not the only one who's changed."

"What do you mean?"

"You're both adults now, Trunks. I think it's important you remember that."

"You think I've changed?"

"We all grow up." Bulma turned to him, giving him a sad, nostalgic smile. "You haven't had real fun in a long time."

Trunks opened his mouth, but found that he was at a loss as of what to say.

"I think a vacation might do you good."

He closed his mouth and shook his head. Bulma was the second one to make such a suggestion in the span of two days. Capsule Corps. really must be taking it's toll on him. Had he really become that big of a jerk? He sighed and flicked his cigarette over the railing.

"You know. I think you're right."

"Of course I am. Maybe you can meet some nice girl and settle down. Family is always a wonderful thing to have, Trunks."

Trunks groaned and shook his head. "The last thing I need in my life is another girl. I've got more than enough of you guys to deal with already."

Bulma hummed again. She was making a detailed little snowman, and Trunks, as usual, was more than a little impressed by his mother. You could place any type of material in her hands, and she would create something with it.

"It's just scary to think that you've settled already."

"There are no more adventures in my life."

The little snowman his mother was creating bore a strange resemblance to his father. He had to smile a bit—she even got his scowl down.

"That's why you've got to make some." Seemingly satisfied by the miniature version of Vegeta, Bulma stepped back and turned to her son. "Seems to me like things are already starting to get exciting, but perhaps I'm just a silly old woman." She kissed Trunks on his cheek and made her way back inside. "Don't stay out too long. Pedestrians may end up thinking you're weird for standing around in a shirt and jeans when it's freezing out here."

end chapter three

Well, seems like I'm putting out these chapters faster than I thought I would. Hopefully I won't run out of steam, though things may slow down soon due to a heavy work schedule, a cold, school starting up again soon and my social life. Anyway, I'll probably be introducing Marron soon—I've wanted to add her in, but she would probably be awkward in any of the earlier chapters. I may end up posting a Trunks/Pan or Goten/Bra one-shot in the near future.

Thank you to all who have taken the time to read this story! You have my adoration.