I'm not even going to bother this time :P Those of you that read my fics know that I write so many at once because I get restless. So enjoy :)

Chapter 1: Prologue

December twenty-forth, eleven a.m., and Bulma Briefs opened her eyes. Slated light from the blind-covered windows filtered in and danced on her face. She yawned and stretched, then cried out and nearly tumbled to the floor.

"Trunks," she half-snapped, half-gasped, as she sat up. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to give you a heart attack," he answered with a smirk, immediately painting a picture of his father. "It's eleven mom. Get up."

"I'll get up on December twenty-sixth," she said stubbornly, childishly.

"I'm not doing this again this year. Get up before I—"

"Alright, alright," she groaned. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

There were several reasons why Bulma didn't anticipate the holiday season. Most lay in her past—the only subject that she had a problem discussing with her seventeen-year-old-son—but the most prominent was the fact that every Christmas she had to drive three towns over and spend a night at Trunks' father's house. And because of this fact, every other major day of any given year was hers. Which meant she only had to endure his company a handful of days.

She was nearly out of bed, when the phone rang—which was situated on the table on the right side of her bed. Trunks practically tackled her down, leaping across the bed, and grabbed the phone.

"Hello?"

Bulma kicked him in the side (but it was of course all in good fun) and glared at him.

"Hey dad…Yeah, she's right here…No…I told you—…Yes, I know…Fine, but you better—…Ok…" He turned to Bulma and smiled. "It's for you."

"Is that what you were lurking around for?" she asked, taking the phone. "Little sneak," she added playfully under her breath. Anyone that knew Bulma and her son knew how close they were. They acted like best friends, talked like best friends. No one walking past them on the street would even guess that they were mother and son. This was due to the fact that Bulma was so young when she had him, but mostly it was their close bond. "What do you want, Vegeta?" she said into the phone.

"How easily we forget traditions…and manners. How about, 'Good morning'?"

"How about you answer my question? I know we're supposed to be at your house by three."

"Yes you're still in bed at eleven."

"We're taking the jet. Fifteen minutes—Can we move on?"

Their relationship didn't used to be this way. Well, maybe. Seventeen years ago, before Trunks was born, Bulma and Vegeta were happy, dating, carefree young students. They were thirteen-years-old. And, while they fought constantly, they were so completely infatuated with each other that no one really noticed after a while. But, five months into their relationship, they made a terrible mistake. It was the night after Vegeta's parents died—he was distant and sad, but wouldn't open up to anyone. They went to his house—his quiet, empty house—after the funeral. Bulma didn't know what else to do, so she brought him to his room and, before she knew it, they were in bed together. But the plan had worked, he was better, at least at first. A week later she skipped her period and their relationship was over. For a long time after the baby was born they were fine, friends even. But slowly, as the years stretched on, they fought more and fought, before one day no one could remember a time they'd ever gotten along.

"Celipa will be there."

Bulma shook her head to clear her thoughts. Celipa—or Tramperella, as Bulma called her—was Vegeta's girlfriend of three years. And this was the first time he'd had the balls to even suggest such a thing. In all the three years, Bulma had only been unfortunate enough to be in the same room as her a few times. And that was plenty for her.

"Excuse me?" she all but stuttered. "I must have heard wrong. Christmad is about family, not some—"

"You can stop right there," he sighed. "We're getting married."

She heard the crash before she realized she'd dropped the phone. Trunks smiled meekly at her, but it only made him look more squeamish. He hated that his parents fought, and, being too young at the time, he couldn't remember when they hadn't fought. He was always in the middle of it, and he was beyond tired.

"You knew this?" she asked him, ignoring the phone.

"He told me a couple days ago. I promised not to tell you."

Bulma snatched up the phone, her hand trembling.

"Trunks already has a mother," was the first thing that popped into her head. "Why the hell are you getting married? You're thirty-years-old for Kami's sake."

"Well," he sighed angrily, "if I can't marry his mother, then I'm marrying Celipa."

"If you can't what?" she balked, but the line was already dead. "Trunks?"

"I'm not getting in the middle of this one," he said sternly, and walked out of the room.

Christmas number seventeen—ruined.

I know that was really short and had a lot of information at once, but that's because it's a prologue and I was only laying the groundwork for the rest of the fic. I hope it was intriguing enough that you all will read it when I continue.

REVIEW for more chapters!