Little Black Dress

A Love Story.

By: Marley.

Pan landed lightly on the lawn in front of her friends' huge house. She glanced down at the box she'd tucked under one arm. It still looked pretty full, so maybe all the tapes survived the flight. With a shrug, she began making her way to the door. Vegeta's ki was way up there, so he had to be training somewhere around here and she was not about to get pulled in. As she concentrated on Vegeta, Pan tucked her hair back behind one ear. He was in the GR. She would be able to avoid him. She had to avoid him, he'd nearly broken her arm two days before and she wasn't ready to train again.

"Hello," she yelled as she swung open the door. No one answered, but she'd expected that much. The house was huge and people didn't wait by the door for guests to show up. Bulma was probably all the way downstairs in her lab.

"Could you be a little louder?" Trunks' cool voice came from the other side of the sofa as she entered the TV room.

"Jackass," Pan muttered without skipping a beat.

"Man-hating power lesbian," Trunks returned. Pan froze.

"…grow up," she shot at him after a minute. She stormed off without bothering to wait for a response or think of something more to say.

What was his problem anyway? They always argued that way when they saw each other, but today he'd been direct and especially cruel. He was supposed to tease her until they ended up sparring over it, calling it a draw, and getting something to eat. She slammed the door to the stairwell and stomped loudly on each step as she made her way down to Bulma's work area.

"Hello, Pan," Bulma called up.

"Bulma?"

"I'm around the back." Pan hopped over the railing and set off down a narrow isle between rows of bookcases. "Did you bring any videos?" Bulma emerged from a gap in the shelves ahead of her.

"Right here," Pan smiled. Clearly, the asshole in Trunks was from his fathers' side. Bulma was wearing an old pair of jeans that had faded and torn at the knees and a plain white t-shirt. She'd been growing her hair out since before her last birthday and it was currently all pulled back into a sloppy bun.

"Don't let him bother you," Bulma slid past her.

"Who?" Pan could feel her cheeks warming. Bulma could read people incredibly well and, as a Son, she was always wearing her emotions on her sleeve.

"'Who'…" Bulma chuckled. Pan followed awkwardly behind her. "Let's see these videos, then?" Bulma held out one hand.

"Alright," Pan regarded the box carefully. She'd placed a bunch of safe videos on top and stuffed the most embarrassing ones to the bottom, in case anyone else was in the lab. They were alone. What were the choices? Her preschool musicals, her junior high graduation, her parent's high school years- Pan grabbed that video and passed it to Bulma. "This one."

Bulma looked at the label before sliding it into a slot in the large, blue machine they'd stopped in front of. "Not a video of you?"

"I'd rather embarrass them, first." Pan nodded.

Bulma smiled and pressed a button. Again, Videl was taking out the robber at the bank. "I remember this," Bulma exclaimed and she reached out to touch the screen.

"The robbery?" Pan raised an eyebrow. It hadn't looked serious.

"No," Bulma said through laughter. "Making these for your parents."

"You made those costumes?" Pan hadn't ever really thought about how they'd come across the crazy jumpsuits before.

"Unfortunately," Bulma nodded as she walked away. "I tried to make uniforms that weren't silly looking, but Gohan refused."

"Why?" Pan laughed. Bulma went around to the next shelf and disappeared down a narrow aisle.

"I think he wanted people to believe that he was a moron," Bulma was yelling back. "I made a decent one for Videl, but your father insisted that they match."

"He would," Pan sighed to herself. Absently, she began flipping through the old videos again. It was sort of sad to see all her memories in a little box like this. There were videos of tournaments from before she was born. Even Goku was on some of the tapes. It was good Bulma was preserving all of them.

"I swear it was right here," Pan heard Bulma mumble as she moved things on the shelves. Pan wasn't a very emotional girl. Or overly feminine, as Trunks had pointed out, but she loved her family. "Aha!" Bulma shouted. "I found the suit I made your mother!" She yelled out.

"Great!" Pan shouted hesitantly over the rows of old machines. Did Bulma really think it was necessary to yell?

"This is classy," Bulma stepped over a shipping box and into the little area cleared at the bottom of the steps. Pan turned, hadn't she left in the other direction? There was some black material bunched in her fist. "Gohan was crazy for keeping Videl from wearing this." Bulma laid it down on the table next to Pan and wiped some of the dust from her cheek with the back of her hand.

"That is nice," Pan nodded, looking back up at the image of her mother in a violently colored outfit. "Nicer than that," she pointed at the screen as Videl kicked a bag of zeni out of some guy's fist.

"I know," Bulma threw her hands into the air. "I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen…" Bulma went back to working with the machine in front of them. Pan looked back at the suit. It was just a pool of shiny black and silver materials. "Try it on," Bulma's voice startled her and she looked up. Bulma was watching her.

"I couldn't…" Pan insisted.

"Come on!" Bulma was on the move. She rounded the table quickly, snatching up the outfit by one of the pant legs and pushing Pan toward the employee bathroom behind the stair well with the other. This was crazy. "You just have to! I'm sure it's held up all this time…" Ms. Bulma was talking so fast she couldn't get a word in edgewise. "Just try it for me?" With a final shove through the door way, her friend's mother slammed the wooden door shut behind her. "Take your time. You have to come out and let me see it, when you're done, though." Pan looked down at the garment. "Okay, Pan?"

"Fine," Pan called back. Pan hadn't seen Bulma move so quickly since Bra set the tablecloth on fire at the Charity Dinner ten years ago.

So, she was putting this on. The fabric was soft in her hands, but offered some resistance, like a swimsuit. Pan held it out in front of herself. The arms and legs were collapsed on themselves and the bodice looked like it might fit a sixth grader. She was probably a lot bigger than her mother had been. She was five centimeters taller, nevermind her weight. This was not going to be pretty. Pan cast a sideways glance at the long mirror over the row of sinks. Her skeptical image was glaring back. Eyes lined heavy with black pencil and mascara glared at her from under an uneven fringe of bangs.

She shifted. Her jeans were snug and had a low waist, with a flared leg to cover the black sneakers she always wore. Her black leather jacket matched, with a row of dull silver buttons up the front and a straight collar.

'Man-hating power lesbian,' Trunks insult came back to her. Was this what a lesbian looked like? She pushed her bangs back from her flat face. She looked Japanese like her mother. Her father's features were sharper, more angular. The short layers of her hair fell back into place at random as she unbuttoned her jacket before shrugging out of it and unlaced her boots before kicking off her jeans.

The little suit in front of her seemed to glare back up. From the moment Bulma had first laid it out, it had been daring Pan to try it on. She felt goose bumps raise over her arms as she slid her right leg into it. The material clung to her skin. Pan wondered fleetingly if it was the same material Vegeta always wore to train. It came awkwardly over her hips, as though it might not unroll far enough to reach past her chest. As she slid her arms through the tight sleeves, she supposed it did fit her after all. How it looked was another matter entirely.

Pan winced as she bent down to adjust on of the pant legs. She toyed with it a moment before berating herself. If her fat legs really looked like sausages, she'd pull it off and Bulma would never get to see it. Pan snapped upright and let out a slow breath before glaring into the mirror.

It fit.

It fit well. Her legs didn't look like sausage links, at all. They looked long and muscular. The silver stripe that tore down from one shoulder made it look almost as though she had a chest. Pan poked her waist.

"Pan?" Bulma was yelling from the other side of the door. "Come out here."

"In a second," Pan yelled. The material must have been stronger than it seemed. It was giving her a waist. She turned around and looked at her reflection from over her shoulder. She had a waist from his angle, too! And her butt looked good. Pan smiled. She flexed her arms and her triceps looked solid.

"You look good!" Bulma exclaimed as she burst in.

"I-" Pan took a step backwards, away from her.

"It's a pity you'll never use it, though," Bulma sighed, turning to walk out.

"Yeah," Pan called after her. "…I'll, uh, get changed." Was it a pity she'd never use it, really? "Be right out." Pan stepped back in front of the mirror, though. She looked mature. She looked like a super hero. Her father had told her keeping a secret identity was no easy business and using one meant fighting crime with the police. Pan didn't know how to fight crime and she didn't like police. She sighed longingly as she slid her hands over the curves of her hips.