"Your Ozness, he means no disrespectation, please understand! You see, we all went to school together..."

She was leaving - and it sent a wave of panic through him, a wave only satiated by calling her name so that she might stay, turn back, and give him time to follow her.

It would be so easy to stay, or so it would seem. Respected and admired, one half of the most beautiful couple in Oz. Comfortable. Complacent. Not an Enemy. Only it was harder and harder, with each moment, minute, hour, week, month, year, to be what everyone wanted him to be. To pose and smile and know that it was all a lie.

He felt the moment sinking in and wanted it to end his life. He wished for death, for the freedom of staring at this creature until the lights went out, to die knowing her beauty. He'd earned it.

He'd watched the re-enactments of Glinda's summons to the Wizard, watched the beautiful golden-haired puppet twinkle and dance. Watched the monstrous green creature they called The Wicked Witch be snuffed out by water and mashed by the feet of all those who hated her. He watched Glinda smile and allow it. He'd watched it over and over again, until he thought he might throw himself off the tallest tower, screaming the truth the whole way down.

It might feel good to fall. He would land in a puddle of soggy Witch Puppet materials, crumpled and broken, but physically surrounded by her, instead of just feeling her in the air like the ghost of regret and true mad unending love whispering around him.

At night, when he dreamed, he was with her. The hours of sleep with her felt like flying, like a cool breeze on his face, like flying, like fresh air. Like knowing the truth and meeting it head on.

When he was awake, he was lying. Lying to everyone, about everything. Saying he was happy, actually saying "I'm always happy" and almost choking on it.

"No you're not, or you wouldn't be so unhappy..."

He'd spent years waiting for this moment. Doing his best not to say anything negative about her, while still retaining everyone's trust. Physically nauseous to see the look of love in Glinda's eyes, and, weak with ache for a woman he'd spent barely a moment with when he'd been a child, he'd sickened himself as he'd closed his eyes and pretended he was inside someone else, green dancing behind his eyelids.

"Maybe he saw green and thought it meant go."

He'd woken next to Glinda and rushed somewhere to expel the deceit and poisonous treason that rose in his throat. He'd done it night after night.

It would be so easy to stay, or so it would seem. But, looking into her eyes, knowing he'd really left years ago, knowing he wanted nothing more than to be near her, Fiyero Tiggular, Captain of the Guard, walked to The Wicked Witch of the West and took her green hand, knowing the signal to go couldn't be any clearer than a shining green beacon, this woman, this voice of truth and symbol of integrity.

Glinda's words could not turn or lure him back. The sound of her voice, broken and confused, held a millionth of the pain he'd felt not to have his arms around the woman he now clung to. He didn't turn back. Let her hate him. It would make it easier for her, anyway. "Fine, go! You deserve each other..."

He hoped so.

He led her out of the palace, never once releasing his hold on her. "You shouldn't have done that," Elphaba said, concern coming out like anger. "You're an enemy now, allied with the Wicked Witch. There is no coming back from this, there is only capture, and death."

He kissed her, and knew, now, without any uncertainty, that, yes, it did feel good to fall.

"I'd rather die by your side than live by anyone else's."