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“So I was asking myself,” says Bulma, swirling her wineglass, “who I could share this with who wouldn’t post it on the internet. You gonna narc that I was taping where I shouldn’t?”
Gohan stares at the freeze frame of Vegeta standing, veins of his neck bulging, in what could be guessed for a kids’ classroom but for everyone being too tall. It’s well-lit, colorful, and even if everyone is blurred out, he can see the legs of the circled metal chairs.
He takes a sip from his own glass. “Aunt Bulma,” he asks carefully, “why were you filming Vegeta in a group counseling session?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? Besides getting sued, of course.” she replies.
“Ethics?” he tries.
She waves a hand. “I blurred them out, it’s whatever.”
He thinks on how he came to be in this place, in his life, and Bulma’s living room.
He and Videl like to have a fairly equitable household. They take turns doing laundry and dishes. They take turns with changing, accidents, feeding, middle of night cries-- and if sometimes they do these things together, well, life doesn’t always have to be about efficient scheduling.
(Even if the effort for a half-Saiyan makes him wonder how his mother did so much alone.)
She still went through the birth, and a lot of trouble and stress beforehand. She has right to being the night off drinking buddy.
And she was, until Vegeta himself was the one to bail them out. Videl recommended a more moderating influence, and told him he needed a chance to let go with someone who understands the crazy of their lives.
Her wine nights are with his mother now, who doesn’t appear on the news when she needs bailed out.
He loves and trusts his wife. He cannot tell her that Bulma is a large part of the crazy, when he knows his beloved’s appeal is partly her streak of things that remind him of everyone else he loves.
He goes ahead and takes a swig of his wine, and steels himself. “Why was Vegeta in group therapy?”
“Oh, shit, I forgot to tell you about the court order!” Bulma cackles. “Remember when that guy dumped coffee on his shirt, and got backhanded into a car?”
“Ah.” says Gohan.
“You’re so smart! I’m glad you’re old enough to be a drinking friend.” says Bulma.
A creeping fear rises over Gohan. “Where is Vegeta right now? He’s not here, right? Our hearing is pretty good.”
Bulma’s grin looks like it hurts. “ Community. Service .”
“Tell me it’s not with people.” Gohan begs.
“Animal shelter.” says Bulma. “They’re going to upgrade him to small children on good behavior. Not even my money can buy that entertainment.”
Gohan’s face makes a complicated journey. “Is that-- safe?”
“Actually, yes!” She snaps her fingers. “He gets on great with kids, when he knows to treat them like he learned to treat mom’s good dishes. They’re like cats. They love that grumpy shit.”
“Dad still doesn’t know how to treat good dishes.” Gohan grumbles.
She toasts him. “To dishes Goku has broken.” she intones.
“Aye.” says Gohan, taking a moment to stare into his glass in memorium of a pattern he really liked before drinking.
He goes ahead and downs the rest of the glass. “Alright, hell, show me the video.”
She tops him back up and hits play.
“Are you trying to tell me,” says Vegeta, unable not to grate every statement, “that I only blew up planets to cope, because my so-called ‘father figure’--” he spits this, and Gohan realizes a moment later he means Frieza-- “blew up my own planet, and valued me only for my ability to slaughter?”
“I think we’re having a breakthrough moment!” says a cheery voice behind a blurred face, in a nice blazer that Bulma might go for on a different shape.
“This is stupid.” says Vegeta, and ripples with such explosive energy that it creaks the seated audience back a few inches, blanching him golden. “Leave. Now. I’m going to blow up the building.”
There’s a cut to fire engines and alarms in the background, and the same blazer. A hand that has to be Bulma’s reaches out to pat one padded shoulder.
“He let the building evacuate first! This is really progress. I’m so proud of him.” she says in-video as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
“I thought he was having metaphorical delusions,” says the therapist, dazed.
The video ends there.
Bulma laughs enough for both of them, as Gohan takes sharp breaths through a hand over his face. His expression feels from the inside like it can’t decide if it’s grinning or horrified.
“Those were the best parts.” she says with a sigh. “I’m still editing the kitten videos, but those can be group viewing, I didn’t need to reinvent the buttoncam for that.”
Gohan remains silent for a long, long moment.
“...What’cha thinking, kid?” Bulma asks.
“You know who’d love to see this?” says Gohan, as it dawns on him who would make, perhaps, the best person he knows to recruit to his hell slide into wine-mom-hood.
“Ooh, who?” says Bulma.
“Piccolo.” Gohan replies, with the feeling like something he can never unsay is leaving him.
“Ohhhhhh, shit. You’re right!” says Bulma, and picks up her phone. “Green bastard better have it on him. I forget, does wine work on him? I can invent something if not!”
Auntie Bulma really does have a smile like a shark, he thinks. It’s a good thing there’s plenty of wine.