ATTN: I love this pairing so much that I've broken my own rule of no oneshots to start a collection of VxB themed ones. They're probably going to jump around the timeline, so…yeah. I've never written anything for DBZ before, so I really hope I got the characterization for these two right. Ratings may vary from chapter to chapter.

I:

I See Fire

Rating: T [minor suggestive themes]

He awakens with a thin layer of perspiration clinging to his scarred skin and the feeling of the sheets sticking to his back. The roaring thunder of battle fades back into the recesses of his mind and the quiet snores of the woman beside him overtake his awareness. Onyx eyes slide to the slender figure draped beneath the covers to his left and they trace over her form, following the curve of her hip up to the soft azure curls splayed across the satin pillowcase. He clenches his jaw and is careful to not awaken her as he slides out of the bed and retrieves his clothing, more out of a desire to be alone than any real consideration for her comfort.

The air carries a chill that makes him bristle when he seeks solitude outside on the woman's balcony. He contemplates taking a flight but decides against it; his energy level was still too low from the day's intensive training to clear the reach of this damned city's light pollution. He settles for stargazing from the balcony, despite the hazy view Capsule Corp has of the nighttime sky.

Vegeta scowls at the dull sound of car horns in the distance and the faint but ever-present scent of smog that seems to hang around this filthy city like a cloak. How he loathes this accursed place. If not for the promise of an exquisite challenge to his abilities come one year's time, he would have already destroyed this pitiful excuse for a civilization himself.

These pathetic creatures, these humans, they remind him of vermin. Clusters of them cropping up everywhere, breeding and devouring everything before them before turning on each other to fight over their diminishing resources like feral animals over a scrap of meat. It disgusts him; these wretched creatures had no sense of honor, no feeling of pride. They scramble over each other, petty and backstabbing in their insatiable quest for wealth and power. Saiyans would never stoop to such underhanded and deceitful methods of conquest: if they wished for something, they would take it with their own two hands. But these humans have no integrity. It reminds him of people he'd like to forget, people long since dead and done away with.

The very thought of the universal tyrant made Vegeta's stomach lurch. All at once he is back in his nightmare, back on Namek with a gaping hole in his chest and the sound of Frieza's laughter echoing from all sides. The intensity of his memories wind him, and his body aches with phantom wounds from the hundreds of thousands of times he's been beaten into the dirt like the dog he was. Vegeta's nostrils flare and his hands clench the metal rail of the balcony hard enough to warp it, the steel creaking and groaning beneath the stress of his grip.

"Vegeta?"

The voice is soft with sleep and with no small hint of concern, but for what Vegeta does not know nor does he care. If it is not concern for her own safety, then he decides that he has grossly misjudged the woman's intelligence. He questions it further when he hears the gentle padding of her bare feet on the concrete behind him. She does not touch him, but he can still sense as she approaches him. She freezes when he bites out for her to leave him.

"Are you stupid? No, I'm not going to leave you! It's freezing out here, you're gonna catch your death." She scolds him, and he can practically hear her teeth chattering as she speaks. He snorts, insulted at how weak she must find him to actually suggest that he would be susceptible to illness at such a measly thing as freezing temperatures, and he tells her so.

"Woman, I am not as weak as your pathetic race. I am more than capable of surviving temperatures such as these. Now for the last time, leave me."

It is the woman's turn to snort, and Vegeta's scowl deepens. "Your pride is gonna be the death of you, you moron." She mutters, crossing her arms before rubbing her hands up and down her arms to warm herself. "And my name is not 'Woman', it's Bulma."

Despite the lingering doubts of her IQ, her iron resolve cannot be questioned. Vegeta does not turn to her as she continues her stubborn approach to him, nor does he acknowledge her when she leans on the railing beside him. Her warm breath comes in misty puffs that swirl into the darkness surrounding them, and he can feel her shiver. "For real though, why are you out here so late? It's like, thirty degrees out."

"I do not have to explain myself to you." Vegeta snaps, patience waning. He does not look away from the faint glow of the distant stars above them.

Bulma's aquamarine eyes slide over his stoic face, noticing how his dark eyes rapidly scan the heavens above, as if in search of something. A faint realization floats into her mind, and her eyes soften with sympathy. "Oh," She muses. "Are you looking for your planet?" From the way every muscle in Vegeta's body visibly tenses, Bulma thinks that she must have hit a nerve. "Maybe I can help you," She offers, hoping to ease the sting of her unintended faux pas. "You know, I'm really good with constellations and astrono—"

"Hold your tongue, you insolent woman!" Vegeta hisses, turning to face her. "You know nothing of which you speak. Now leave me before I decide to rid this backwater planet of your relentless chattering once and for all. I will not tell you again."

"Well excuse me, your highness. I was only trying to help," Bulma snaps, crossing her arms. "And if you're so fed up with this backwater planet, then why don't you just go back to your own planet?"

Vegeta turns on her so quickly it leaves her gasping. In an instant he has her backed against the rails, the cold of the metal and concrete almost piercing against her back. She does not know which is worse; the cold seeping into her body or the burning intensity of the Saiyan's gaze. His voice is low and dripping with poison as he speaks.

"Do you know why I do not return to my home planet?" Vegeta demands, his tone scathing. "It is because there is no planet to return to. It was destroyed years ago by that bastard, Frieza."

Bulma's eyes are wide with shock and her stomach immediately knots itself with guilt at her brashness. "Vegeta," She whispers, and the pity in her voice makes him sick and angry all at once. Her voice thickens with tears when she sees the chaotic storm of emotion in his usually steely eyes. "Vegeta, I didn't know."

"That is because you know nothing." He bites, stepping back before turning on his heel. Bulma watches him stalk towards the other end of the balcony and a profound understanding overtakes her. Before her is not a proud prince, but a wounded man. Despite Vegeta's insistence on presenting himself to be an impermeable powerhouse, Bulma has now had a glimpse of a man who has suffered loss on the scale that by the will of Kami she would never know. For the entirety of the time that she has known him she had never once considered the conditions under which he had come to be under Frieza's command. Now that she knows the truth about his home planet, a startling amount of his behavior made sense and it only served to make her heart clench painfully in her chest.

"Vegeta wait," Bulma exclaims, straightening up from her cowering stance against the rail. The Saiyan Prince is poising himself to jet away into the inky night sky, but if she allows him to do that she doesn't think that she could look at herself in the mirror come sunrise. "Vegeta!"

Shock is the first thing that passes through his mind when he feels the woman collide with his back, and anger replaces it when he feels her thin arms snake across his chest. Her cheek is pressed against the curve of his spine, and he can feel the dampness of her tears. It only serves to upset him more.

"Release me, woman." Vegeta demands harshly. Her soft curls tickle his skin as she shakes her head fiercely. He clenches his fists at her insolence, teeth bared. "I said release me!"

"No!" Bulma says defiantly, her grip on the Saiyan tightening. Her voice softens as she shivers in the cold against him. "I'm sorry for what I said. If I had known, I wouldn't have said it."

"Your apology changes nothing." Vegeta says. "My planet is gone, my race is eradicated, and I am trapped here on this abominable planet with you miserable creatures. No amount of repentance or pity will change that."

"Are we really all that bad?" Bulma whispers quietly.

"All that bad?" Vegeta scoffs. "You claim to be an intelligent race, yet every human I have had the extreme misfortune of interacting with has proven the exact opposite. You pride yourselves with acts of charity to soothe your own consciences for the disgustingly underhanded behavior you exhibit in your wars. You believe yourself to be an advanced civilization and yet only a miniscule amount of you humans have ever been beyond the safety of your own solar system. You're a weak, cocky, pathetic race. You all disgust me."

Bulma's small hands fist against his bare chest, and he hears the hesitation in her quiet voice when she asks him, "Do I disgust you?"

Vegeta is silent as he looks down at the small hands on his chest, so pale and delicate against the tan of his own skin that the juxtaposition makes him frown. He thinks about her question, about her. It is true that she infuriates him to no end with her disrespect of his rank and her loud, shrill voice. Bulma can work her way beneath his skin like no other can and it bothers him in more than one way, but despite her brashness and her temper, he will admit to himself and no others that the challenges she poses him gives him some strange form of relief from this excruciating purgatory. He feels her lips press against the span between his shoulder blades, and he grunts.

"You have your uses."

Vegeta ignores the small upwards quirk of her lips as she continues to leave feather-light kisses along the heat of his back. Despite his earlier spite towards her ignorance, the feeling of her fingernails dragging lightly down his chest rekindles the sparks of his growingly familiar desire for her. Vegeta turns in her arms and meets her apologetic blue eyes. Those eyes seem to read him in ways that make him uncomfortable, but the familiar hum of want dulls his sense. He supposes that there is nothing wrong with indulging in the very scarce pleasures that this planet can provide him, especially with one of them waiting so willingly in his arms.

He dips his head low and breathes in the musk of her, hands tracing her form through the thin material of her robe. Bulma's skin is cold to the touch and Vegeta is reminded of just how cold it is outside. She shivers at the heat of his touch, whispering her apologies against his lips as they make their way back into the warmth of her bedroom. As she falls back onto the bed she questions between their mingling breaths, "Does this mean you'll stay?"

Vegeta's calloused hands slide off the fabric from her slim shoulders, indulging in the sweet taste of her neck as he growls low, "If you make yourself of use."

And she does, kissing him hard on the mouth again and again in the hopes that every touch of her fingertips will act as the salve to the wounds in his heart. She moves against him with purpose, holding tight to him and the shard of humanity she saw in him tonight. And as the sun rises and she falls back into a slumber beside the heat of his form, he too returns to a sleep that for the first time in lifetimes is free of blistering reds, replaced by a soothing shade of blue.