Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z nor did I create it, the rightful owners of the series are Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation. I'm just writing a story in the world Toriyama created with the characters he created. The story I make up is my own.

Chapter 1: Hairy Project

"Look here, officer, there happens to be nothing wrong with the way I parked. So if you'll just be so kind to stop waving that ticket in front of my face and put it in your pocket – where it belongs – I and my husband will finally be free to pick up our son."

"Afraid I can't do that, ma'am. Do you see that yellow stripe on the edge of the pavement? It means you can't park here."

"There's nowhere else to park and we're running late. Do you even realize who you're talking to? I happen to lead the company that provides your corps with the technology without which you'd hardly be able to even deal out tickets, let alone do anything else."

"That is none of my concern. Rules are rules. I'm putting you up for 10,000 zeni."

But the man whose hair grew unnaturally into a high point stepped out of the background and began to walk towards the man menacingly. Officer Henry didn't know what it was – but something about the air surrounding that man made his knees buckle.

"Why don't you tear that apart and go catch some actual criminals?"

His voice was soft, husky, almost a mere whisper – but the authority and domination present in there was enough to make the bravest man get the hell out of his sight. Henry swallowed, nodded, and took a run for it.

"That was uncalled for, Vegeta," the aqua-haired woman mumbled unconvincingly, an undertone of laughter seeping into her voice.

He grinned. "A bit of ki imbued with an intention to kill never hurts anyone," he whispered into her ear as he leaned forwards and put his hands on her hips from behind, leaving his hot breath to tingle on her left cheek.

Bulma flushed. Normally Vegeta would never have gotten so near her in a public place, but the street was practically vacated since all the parents had already gone into the building where they had to fetch their offspring, who'd been on an excursion.

"Stop teasing, 'Geta."

He sniggered and released her, amusement glinting in his dark eyes. She scowled at the excitement that had mounted in her stomach within seconds. Did he have to arouse her while he knew very well there could be no release any time soon?

Well, be darned; he could forget it. She put her arms around his neck, traced through his thick hair with her fingers and intentionally bit on his lower lip, then pulled back; pleased.

But her saiyan was playing mock-shock while the amusement in his eyes betrayed him.

"Have you no self-control, woman?!"

Knowing he wouldn't feel it anyway, she punched him in the ribs. He chuckled.

"Come on, woman. Like you said; we're running late."

She hooked her arm into his and wanted to walk forward, but he didn't budge and this time she registered real shock on his face, followed by anger.

"It won't make us look good if we don't appear as a couple, Vegeta. You know how it goes; we'll have to deal with gossip all over the place if we don't comply with at least a bit of the expectation. It's just an arm-lock; I promise I won't start groping you."

She neglected to add the "until we're at home, that is" that had been swarming inside her mind. This was not the time.

"Stupid human etiquette… Why did you insist on coming in a car that can't be capsulized, anyway?" her husband steered the conversation away from the topic as they began their walk to the brick building; arms hooked.

"Most of the parents can't afford decapsulizable cars. I want to appear normal, Vegeta, not like that super-rich woman who leads Capsule Corporation."

"Oh but you do want to be perceived like that woman; you thrive on it."

"Well fine, I do most of the time," she snapped. "Just not now, okay? I want the people here to see me as a fellow human and parent. I want to mingle."

"Mingle," he snorted spitefully.

She giggled and they passed into the glass doors that opened up for them.

"Mom, dad; you're late!" a purple-haired boy in khaki shorts and a blue shirt with a dinosaur print and a logo of his mom's company on the short sleeve shot at them before they could even set eyes on the interior of the parent-filled hall they'd just walked into.

"Always a pleasure, son," Bulma said sardonically. The boy huffed, a tuft of his sleek hair flying up and falling down again as he did so.

"Attitude, Trunks," his mother warned him. "Was it fun?"

"Nah, I was kind of bored. But we did get a cool project and I have an awesome idea for it! Dad, I'm going to need you for this one."

"What?!"

"Yeah," the ten-year-old nodded vigorously, "I need you to tell me about why saiyan hair grows into these sturdy, gravity-defying peaks. It's for science."

His father growled. "Saiyan hair does not grow, son; we are born with it and although it can decline if that trait runs in your bloodline, it stays the same throughout your whole life unless someone has the nerve to cut it."

But Trunks jumped up and down excitedly, not understanding his father's reprimand as the refusal it was intended to be.

His mother's eyebrows furrowed worriedly, though.

"I don't hope you're going around school telling your father is an alien, son?"

But the boy looked practically offended; as if his mother had just slapped him.

"Of course not!" he piped up, "but we need to think of a structure of any kind of small thing, you know, molecules and such; leaves, noses, the little invisible beasts inside our stomach – and then we have to think of what has to be different about the structure if we want it to behave or look differently than here on earth. And saiyan hair already is different, so if I'd just learn what's different and get a hair, and get grandpa to examine –"

"Forget it."

"Why not? You won't miss it when it's just one hair!"

Gods! His father was so inflexible.

"I told you it doesn't grow."

"Just one!" Trunks whined.

"No."

Wait a minute… he didn't need his dad for this. Of course he'd get him to tell a bit more, but he could try Goten's dad, too…

"If I didn't know any better this 'awesome idea' of yours sounded a lot like cheating, Trunks. Aren't you supposed to actually learn to understand structures of things yourself? Why don't you just find out what the structure of a leave would have to be if you'd want it to be blue; like it was on planet Namek and is on New Namek you've been told so many stories about."

"Mo-hom, that's boring! And I'm really interested in saiyan hair! Really-really!"

Bulma sighed. She knew there was no talking him out of it; her son was as stubborn and as egocentric as they came, and how couldn't he be? He had the genes of both his parents to thank for it. She decided to drop it as someone familiar walked into their direction.

"Oh hey Theresa, hi!"

Father and son groaned. Ever since the aqua-haired diva had uncovered that her son tended to hang out with a boy called Josh while at school because her little mischief-maker had deemed him 'the coolest human' there, she'd started organizing play-dates and got in touch with the boy's parents, desperately trying to be 'normal'. But that was hard when you had an abnormal family…

While Bulma and Theresa started blabbing away like females couldn't help but do, Trunks saw his school-buddy glumly sitting near one of the banisters, his chestnut-colored hair ruffled and still a scratch visible on his knee from his reckless jump off the rocks they'd been allowed to climb on.

"I'll just go catch up with Josh, dad," he explained hurriedly as he ran towards his friend. The saiyan prince scowled. He'd have thought he'd at least have his son when his wife would find it necessary to 'mingle' – as if picking up your kids just had to become some kind of social event – but now he'd succumbed to the human sickness, too. Damn the human blood he got from her side… He gritted his teeth and decided to wait outside, taking place on the pavement against the brick wall and closing his eyes so as not to be disturbed.

"So did you see that baseball game on Channel 6 yesterday Trunks, the one I told you about?"

Trunks sent him a crooked smile. "Better," he bragged suggestively, leaving his friend in suspense a little longer. He waited for a while – rubbed his nose – smiled a bit more…

"I saw it in VIP-seats together with the famous Titan-player, Yamcha."

"Wow…" Josh practically drooled and it was especially this limitless admiration that Trunks loved about him. That – and he knew a lot of practical jokes the demi-saiyan had no means of learning anywhere else. "Where a little money and wealth can't get you, huh?"

His blue eyes sparkling, Trunks allowed his smile to broaden.

There was no need to inform Josh that Yamcha was his mother's ex-boyfriend and a good family-friend… no need at all. It wasn't as if he was lying – he was just assisting a school-friend in shaping a couple of own-made assumptions. Nothing wrong with that.

"Trunks! I just noticed your dad's already grown impatient and left. He's probably waiting outside or near the car."

"Coming!" he shouted.

"You'll tell me everything about seeing the game and sitting with Yamcha next week, right?" the brown-haired boy asked before his famous friend could leave, his dark blue eyes seeking reassurance as he gawked up at the junior martial arts champion.

"Every glory detail," Trunks promised with a thumbs-up. And he went.

A single father who had been eating a sandwich with his vermilion-haired daughter looked up as Bulma and Trunks came out of the glass doors; stunned by the beauty in her short cream dress, the turquoise hair cut to a little below her ears, flawless skin, simple but expensive ear-knobs… until he was pierced by the glare of two pools of nothingness and she was steered quickly out of his sight. He blinked. Man, that lady had gotten herself a delinquent!

During the ride home, both Trunks and Vegeta complained continuously about how faster flying would have been while the self-proclaimed genius drove them home. It didn't stop until she threatened them with violence – a threat so laughable when sitting in the car with two males who could obliterate planets if they wanted to – even her underage son – that it immediately became the subject of a lively, teasing discussion in which father and son teamed up against her until they reached their destination. She sighed tiredly. The things she had to cope with… At least it had kept them busy.

But apparently the purple-haired boy hadn't forgotten about his project, and when his grandma was cooking, his mom reading a magazine in the living room and his father in the hallway on his way to his indoor gravity room; he cornered him.

"Say dad, why is Gohan's and Goten's hair so much more saiyan-like than mine?"

Vegeta groaned.

"Are you still set on that?"

"But it's true! Gohan's and Goten's hair both grow, like mine does; but they have more peaks and it's sturdy."

He furrowed his purple eyebrows and pierced the onyx of his father's eyes with his blue, fiery depths, as if he was the one to blame for the nature of his hair. That did it, of course (as the boy had very well known it would).

"It's all your mother's fault," the saiyan prince started his tirade. "Her genes left you with weak, silky, purple hair that is subject to nature's every whim; absolutely inexcusable for a saiyan crown prince!"

Trunks gulped. The way his hair had turned out was obviously something his dad considered to be very bad. He transformed in an attempt to turn his father's harsh judgment around, having his hair turn gold and spiky; standing upright like a saiyan's would.

"See?" he said while jumping up and down, showcasing his power while allowing his golden aura to glimmer and sparkle. "I'm a worthy prince, now!"

His father snorted and looked away. Noticing his father's disapproval didn't fade away, Trunks turned back to normal, fidgeting in a disappointed agitation.

"Geese Vegeta, do you want our son to develop an inferiority complex or something? It's not his fault for having a more human hair structure. Nor is it mine, by the way."

"Stay out of it, woman. He asked me, not you. Son; Kakarot's brats have more saiyan-like hair because his woman's got a family with a bit more thick and sturdy hair, for as far as that's possible for a human. Just look at Goten's grandfather. You however come from decades of silkiness; and apparently the laws of nature don't allow superior genes to overrule lesser ones when it comes to the traits of a proud people."

But his son wasn't paying him attention anymore; he was looking at his mother, quite frightful. A vein was throbbing on her forehead.

"Vegeta," she started darkly, "what did we agree on calling me 'woman' in front of our son?"

But before the saiyan husband could open his mouth to respond, their son stuck his nose into the brewing argument; thinking he had something important to say on the matter.

"Why would you call someone something she is? I mean, c'mon dad; you'd have to call me 'man', then."

That broke the tension and his mother chortled. "'Boy' is more like it, son."

Vegeta had cocked an eyebrow. "I call you 'brat' often enough."

The ten-year-old sent his father a dark look and piped up again, not planning to give up on the irrevocable logic his mind had just produced. "That's different – that's offending. When you call me 'man', or mom 'woman'; you're just stating a fact. Nothing you should be making a fuss about, mom, it's not as if he calls you wen –"

"Out! To your bedroom; now!"

He just needed a second of looking into his mother's eyes to see she was livid, and he hurried away. He had that new turbo-laser in his bedroom anyway, so it wasn't that bad of a punishment.

Her husband, however, wasn't impressed and laughed heartily.

"The boy's right. Wench is more appropriate."

"Is that so, asshole?"

But both their eyes were glimmering and it only took a split second until their faces seemed to melt into one as their lips met; until they lost themselves to the electricity that had been sparkling all day. It only took minutes until the saiyan prince was dragging his mate towards their bedroom; the gravity room forgotten. After all those years; the passion never faded.

In the meantime, Trunks had left his turbo-laser neglected in a corner of his bedroom as he was trying to get his hair to behave more saiyan-like in front of the small mirror with a bright blue star-shaped frame that hung on the white wall. But he knew very well that the only way he could achieve that was gel – tons of it.

He wasn't giving up, though. He'd thought of millions of plans to get his way on this project already. He knew what course to take. He'd leave for Mount Paoz first thing in the morning.