Our Way

Chapter 1 - Preparations

"Oh, look, Bulma! That one would look so cute on you!"

"Mom! I've told you a hundred times. . .NO!"

Bulma tried to walk past the store, but her mother grabbed her hand and pulled her inside before she could even voice her protest.

"We want to try on that dress in the window," Mrs. Briefs announced to the entire store. Bulma covered her eyes with one hand and shook her head. Her face felt like it was on fire with embarrassment.

"What do you mean 'we', mom?" she muttered. "Are you planning on squeezing both of us in it?"

"Don't be silly, dear," her mother twittered. "That would make it too hard to dance with your father."

Bulma groaned, but her mother was already talking with the two salespeople that had practically run each other over trying to cater to the rich wife of the Capsule Corp. owner. Before she knew it, she had been stripped, dressed, pinned, and plunked in front of a half-circle of mirrors.

"Mom, for the last time. . ." She started to protest, but the sparkle of the dress under the lights drew her attention to its flattering design. She couldn't help but turn back and forth to see it from every angle.

"It's so beautiful!" her mother cried. "We'll take it!"

"But, mom. . ." she tried to argue again. This time, though, her mother had already left to pay for it.

Bulma looked at herself in the mirror. Even with her critical eye, she could find no fault in the dress. The cut was perfect, the fabric was perfect, the detailing was perfect. The only thing not perfect was the fear in her eyes.

"I can't believe we found this beautiful dress so quickly," Mrs. Briefs said as they headed toward their waiting car, Bulma juggling the oversized dress box. "I mean, we only went to. . .what, nine stores?"

"Ten," Bulma grumbled, practically tossing the box to the driver before dropping onto the seat. Her feet were sore from following her mother around all morning, but she didn't look forward to going home, either.

"I can't wait to tell your father that you're all set!"

Bulma sighed. No matter how hard she tried, her mother just wouldn't understand. And now she had to go home and try to explain this mess to Vegeta. He wasn't going to be happy to hear their wedding date had been set for them.

"Absolutely not!" Vegeta roared. "This is preposterous!"

Bulma lifted her tired head from her hands and sat back in her chair. All in all, her announcement had gotten the response she expected - total obstinance.

"Vegeta, please, keep it down," she said. "You'll wake everyone in the house, and I had a hard enough time getting Trunks to sleep the first time."

"Well I won't do it!" he declared, just slightly quieter than before. He turned his back to her and crossed his arms. Bulma thought he looked like a pouting child, but forced herself not to snicker. Laughing now wouldn't help his mood in the least.

"It won't take long," she promised. "Just a couple of hours and then you can go back to training."

When Vegeta didn't answer, Bulma's hopes grew. She knew that his lack of response meant that he wasn't completely ruling it out. . .yet.

"Listen, I tried to explain to my parents what you said about the Saiyan culture," Bulma said. "But here on earth, having a kid together doesn't qualify as proving you're married."

"Well, it should," Vegeta grumbled.

"Here, we have to do things more publicly."

"It shouldn't be anyone else's business."

"It has to be done according to our laws." Bulma sighed before adding, "Especially with my father being who he is."

Vegeta snorted.

"I'm serious, Vegeta," she said and went to stand beside him. "Whether you like it or not, your son's mother is heir to the Capsule Corp. fortune. Trunks will be running the company one day. Not that I'm a stickler for formalities, but this is our son's future we're talking about. Don't you think he deserves to grow up with everyone knowing his parents are legally married?"

She could tell he was close to relenting by the way his shoulders relaxed. Moving closer, she lay a hand on his arm and looked up into his face.

"Please, Vegeta? To put everyone's mind at ease, would you do it for him?"

"No," he said. "But I'll do it anyway."

"Come on, Vegeta. It's time to go get your monkey suit," Dr Briefs called from the hallway.

Vegeta choked on his mouthful of breakfast. "My what?!" he sputtered.

"It's just an expression," Bulma explained. "He means your suit for the wedding."

Vegeta was relieved when they arrived at the tailors and the suits turned out to be normal clothing and not what he imagined a 'monkey suit' to be.

"This is my future son-in-law," Dr. Briefs introduced him to the tailor. "Fix him up with a nice suit for the wedding, won't you, good man?" We'll be back in a jiffy, won't we Kitty?"

For once, Vegeta wished the old man would stick around, even with the feline that seemed permanently attached to his shoulder. He felt very uncomfortable alone with the tailor and hoped all the prodding and measuring was normal. He jumped, nearly knocking the bespeckled little man through the store wall when his inseam was taken. But since he had ignored Vegeta's reaction and went on writing numbers on his little tablet, he let it slide. That time.

"My, my," the tailor tutted as he measured Vegeta's neck and shoulders. "You are going to be a difficult one to fit. Let me see what I've got in the back."

When the little man disappeared into the back room, Vegeta looked over the racks of clothing and grimaced at the mannequin. Everything looked so uncomfortable. He wondered why he couldn't just do this in his own clothes. Having special outfits to go through a ceremony, when he was already married by Saiyan standards, was almost too bizarre a concept to grasp.

"You can just slip this shirt on and see how it will work for you," the tailor said from behind him.

Vegeta discarded his own shirt and donned the offered one. He had a little trouble with the tiny, pearlized buttons, but he finally managed them all. The tailor bustled around him, pinning and marking the shirt in various places.

The jacket, Vegeta was glad to discover, was not the long, tailed one on the mannequin. It came just to his waist, but the sleeves were too long. The tailor quickly remedied that with a handful of pins, then began fussing over the shoulders.

Vegeta looked himself over in the mirror and found himself pleased with what he saw. The black coat complimented his dark hair and features. The cut drew attention to the breadth of his shoulders and emphasized his small waist. The white of the shirt brought out color in his face that normally only appeared during battle. He had to admit, if only to himself, that he looked damn good in this suit.

"That looks very nice, Vegeta," Dr. Briefs said, coming around a rack of pants and plopping himself down in a chair. "Almost done?"

"We have the pants left," the tailor said around his mouthful of pins. "And then there's the cummerbund, the shoes, the gloves. . . No, don't do that!"

Vegeta had crossed his arms, his muscles tensed in annoyance. Several pins popped out of the strained cloth and flew across the room. The tailor gasped, but Dr. Briefs just laughed.

"He tends to do that quite often," he told the flustered little man. "Better let it out a bit or he'll end up splitting it right down the middle during the ceremony."

It took a great deal of willpower on Vegeta's part to keep from ripping the clothes to shreds and flying off straight through the roof. But he had already agreed to this performance, so there was nothing he could do but grit his teeth and suffer through it.

Bulma owed him, big time!