Fire

by Heroes Fly-Minho's Hero Limps

There were times when Oz thought he'd never meet with the Witch again.

-Here we are! This is that Wizard of Oz crossover nobody asked for. But that I wrote anyway. :) I hope you like it because it was a lot of fun to write. Enjoy, everybody!-

-Fire-

Newt had sensed from the beginning that this was going to be a bad idea. But his advisors had all insisted on it and after two weeks, he ran out of arguments and excuses. Finally, he agreed to do as they wished. It's best for the City, they'd said. We can't have any more raids of our land or deaths or disappearances. This has to stop and it's your job to stop it.

Yes, it was his job. A great number of things were his job. But that didn't mean he was going to enjoy this at all.

The sound of insistent knocking on his door startled him from his thoughts. He was standing in front of a full-length mirror, in his bedroom of soaring summer-green walls and silver-framed windows. The boy staring back at him in the glass looked...strained. Stressed, yes, stressed was a better word. The only way another person could tell, however, was from the dullness in his gold-green eyes. Otherwise, he was the picture of a perfect prince: perfect black suit,

an emerald stone glinting at his collar, perfect white-blonde hair with the tiny streak of softest green in his bangs. He'd been born with the features that better helped him play the part; the part of the King of the Emerald City, that is. The great and powerful...

There was another series of thuds on his door and Newt jerked slightly. "They're expecting you, sir," a light voice drifted from the other side. A servant, most likely; most of them had timid voices and shy manners here in the palace.

"Tell them I'll be there soon," he replied.

His tone must have betrayed his misgivings toward the situation because there was a hesitant pause. "...sir, they insist that you hurry."

"They always do," Newt muttered, smoothing the front of his suit jacket. There wasn't going to be any more stalling from him. The palace advisors were all stubborn men and they were all older than him. There would be no arguments now, not after he'd already agreed to do this. "All right," he called to the servant. "I'll be right out."

After a last glance around the lavish room, he crossed the pine-colored floor to the massive doorway. With barely a pull of his hand at the silver handle, the door swung open with not a whisper of sound. He met the brown eyes of a younger servant, standing in her white dress with her hands folded in front of her. The smallest of smiles lit her face. "Are you ready, sir?"

"As I'll ever be," he replied, returning her smile.

Dipping her head, she stammered, "follow me." There was a tinge of pink in her cheeks as she led the way down the wide hallway of the palace.

Newt trailed behind in silence. Similar doors passed by on either side, though none of them were as grand as his own. His was tucked back away from the others too, so there was a bit of space between the king and those below him. Though he'd never really thought of them that way. They were just people, people like him. Or, er, he wasn't exactly a person as he wasn't human, but the point still stood.

Ahead in the hallway, he could see where it split off into three different halls. There were two people waiting there for him, both men with graying hair and deep black robes. His palace advisors. Newt's mood sank even lower at the sight of them. He was in for another lecture, it seemed. Bracing himself for it, he paused in the hallway just before he reached them. Turning to the servant beside him, he said, "you may leave now. I think I can find my way from here."

"As you wish," she replied with a little curtsy. Then she was away, skittering down the hall with her skirt swishing. She was probably off to gossip with the other servants about the meeting that was about to happen. After all, it wasn't often that the Great and Powerful held many friendly conversations with the Wicked.

Newt sighed when he glimpsed the advisors waiting impatiently for him. The expectant looks on their faces were enough to tell him that this wasn't going to be a painless experience. I never should've agreed to this, when it'll probably do nothing for the City but cause trouble, he thought, as he closed the last distance between them. "Janson," he greeted the first advisor, the one with the hooked nose and beady black eyes. "I'm glad to see you're not too busy to see me off."

"You're glad?" Janson repeated with raised eyebrows. "Well, that makes one of us then."

"You need to get in there now," the second advisor piped up. His bushy grey eyebrows were practically disappearing into his hairline. The worry etched onto his face was clearly eating at him. "Before HE completely wrecks the place!"

Newt raised a brow. "I doubt he would burn the palace to the ground right before a meeting with its king, Darwin. Especially when the meeting has to do with matters he cares about too."

Darwin tossed his hands up exasperatedly. "He won't care whether the meeting will do him good or not!" he protested in his squeaky voice. "All he cares about is—is...causing trouble and destroying things!"

"Exactly!" Janson agreed, stabbing the air with a finger for emphasis. "Which is why you need to start this as soon as possible."

Glancing back and forth between them, Newt exhaled roughly. "I told you we shouldn't have done this," he informed them flatly.

"It's too late for that," Janson insisted.

"What, too late for me to say I was right?"

"No, I didn't mean—I just—just get in there, please!" Janson spluttered, wringing his hands nervously and casting glances at the hall behind him. At the end of it, a pair of large double doors sat, waiting. They were the doors that led to the great main hall of the palace and the place where Newt was meant to meet with the Wicked. "I hate having him in our walls," Janson muttered with shudder.

Darwin's blue eyes were very wide. "It's been so quiet since he arrived," he remarked fearfully. "What do you think he's doing in there?"

"Waiting for me," Newt answered drily. The two advisors blinked at him and he waved a hand in a dismissing gesture. "If you don't want to wait out in the hall because it's too...close to him, or something, you may leave. I'll deal with this and hopefully, it'll all be over in ten minutes."

Janson snorted. "Oh, I hardly believe that!"

Newt sent him a flat look. Janson cleared his throat pointedly and shifted his feet, long robe swinging. "Very well. We shall wait for the servants to call for us when you're finished."

Nodding once, Newt made to pass them and enter the hall. He'd only gone a few steps before Darwin's high voice called to him. "Be careful! There's something strange about him. Something not human."

Newt glanced over his shoulder at them. "I'll be fine," he told them calmly. "I'm not entirely human either, remember?" With half of a smile, he turned back to his task. The steps to the doors seemed to take years to complete. A feeling like icy water was trickling down his spine. Despite his calm exterior for the advisors, Newt was just as concerned as they were. He knew exactly what they meant by the Wicked not appearing human; there had always been something not quite right about him, some inner darkness that one could sense, but not really see. Newt steeled his courage to take the last two steps to the double doors. Taking the cool handle in his fingers, he gave a single pull. The door opened, leaving about a foot of a gap; beyond that, he could see the sleek floor of the main hall and a glimpse of a crystal chandelier on the ceiling. He glanced back. Darwin and Janson were long gone, hiding in a safe room farther back in the palace. It was just Newt now. Squaring his shoulders, he slipped through the doorway.

There was a quiet thud as the door closed behind him, sending the slightest of echoes bouncing about the high walls. To his left, another, even larger set of doors led out onto the steps of the palace. To his right, there was a set of stairs branching off to the upper floors. Directly ahead, there was nothing. Newt frowned. The room appeared to be empty. But surely, he had set the right date and time? This was when they were supposed to meet, wasn't it?

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a strange feeling came over him. It was as though cold breath tickled the back of his neck and down his back. Stiffening, he narrowed his eyes at a flicker of movement across the hall. A lone shadow in the corner of the room twisted as a darkly musical laugh reverberated off the domed ceiling. Newt's hands instinctively curled into fists as the shadow peeled itself from the wall to reveal the Wicked. The thing that looked like a boy grinned a ghastly grin of sharpened teeth.

"My, my, you do like to keep your guests waiting, don't you, Oz?" the Witch asked.

Newt grimaced at the sound of his last name. "Please don't call me that, Minho."

The Witch, Minho, arched his eyebrow. "I didn't realize we were on first-name status now," he remarked, splaying a hand on his chest. "I'm honored, O Great and Powerful."

"I'm sure you are," Newt muttered disbelievingly. Folding his arms across his chest, he observed the Wicked Witch of the West across from him. Of course he should've known Minho would dress inappropriately for a serious meeting with the Wizard of Oz. The Witch wore skintight black from head to toe, except for the jagged cape hanging from one shoulder. Newt fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Are you ready to talk?" he asked, lifting his chin.

Minho shrugged flippantly. "Ready when you are."

"All right," Newt replied, trying for a short serious tone, "follow me." He began to walk toward the massive stairway at the end of the main hall. On either side of it were doors leading into what he knew was the dining room.

"Why aren't we talking in here?"

Minho's voice rang out again, sinfully curling into the air. It halted Newt in his tracks and he looked back at the Witch in surprise. No one questioned the Wizard of Oz like that. He was always obeyed no matter what, not because of the power he wielded, but because everyone knew that he knew what was best. But Minho was proving to be a challenge. The snarky grin never left his face, golden eyes gleaming from the green-tinted skin. Newt glared. "Because anyone could walk in here during the day and the dining room is more quiet," he explained impatiently. "I'd rather have a bit more privacy, if you're okay with that."

Not waiting to see if Minho found this to be a suitable answer, Newt began walking again.

"You mean you wanna get me alone," Minho concluded, making Newt stop again. "Don't worry, Oz, I'm fine with that."

Gritting his teeth in annoyance, Newt scowled at Minho as he caught up and stood at the Wizard's side. "It is NOT about getting you alone. It's about what's best for my people during this conversation of ours. And stop calling me Oz."

"Whatever you say." Minho's shoulder lifted in another careless shrug beneath the shifting cape. When he turned his head away from Newt to study the chandeliers, a beam of sunlight from a high window flashed on the curve of his neck.

For a frozen second, Newt found himself caught in the smooth arc of Minho's throat disappearing into his shirt collar.

Then he mentally shook himself. What was he thinking? "Just—come on," he said, leading the way to the door on the left of the stairway. He listened to the sound of Minho's boots, heavy on the floor behind him. It was like a shadow leaning over his shoulder as he pushed open the door and emerged into the Grand Dining Room of the palace.

"You can sit, if you want," Newt said over his shoulder, as he began to round one side of the huge, dark wooden table. It sat in the center of the room, under more intricately designed chandeliers. Towering windows dominated the far wall, letting in the buttered sunshine and a marvelous view of the Emerald City. The tall buildings gleamed at him as Newt chose a seat by the windows.

"Hmm," Minho hummed noncommittally, running a clawed fingertip along the edge of the table.

Newt shot him a dubious look. "I'm not going to attack you as soon as you sit down," he deadpanned. "I just thought it'd be more comfortable."

"Oh, of course. I forgot you're the King of Courtesy." Smirking at Newt's frown, Minho chose the seat directly across from him. He tossed himself into the chair as though lazily taking his throne, bringing a knee up to rest his elbow on.

Give me strength, Newt silently prayed.

"So," Minho began grandly, "what is it you want to talk about? And please hurry, I have a busy schedule." He examined his sharp fingernails, dark lashes lowering over amber irises.

"A busy schedule," Newt echoed.

"Perhaps not as busy as yours, but I'd like to get this over with."

"Okay..." Taking a deep breath, Newt steadied himself. "Maybe we should start with how more of my people are disappearing every day?"

Minho dropped his hand in an accusing manner. "And you think I'm responsible, right?"

"You are the one with an entire castle of flying, rabid monkeys and I KNOW they're responsible," Newt told him. "We've had several sightings reported by the—"

"Fine, it was me," Minho interrupted, waving the conversation away with his hand. "No need to go into specifics."

Newt blinked. "But—"

"Oz, jeez, I admitted it was me. What else do you want me to do, sign a confession?"

Newt swallowed his angry retort. Cheeky witch. "So...you're going to stop attacking my people then," he said slowly.

"Mmmm..." The unruly raven hair of the Witch glinted in the light as he cocked his head. "Nah. I don't think so."

Newt's jaw dropped. "But you just said it was you!"

"Yes. I did," Minho agreed cheerfully. "But I find that I enjoy annoying you by kidnapping your citizens and dropping them off in random places in Oz, so I don't think I'll stop anytime soon." He glanced casually up at the ceiling, a smile dancing across his lips. "I love what you've done with the chandeliers, by the way."

Newt couldn't believe what he was hearing. "B—but—You can't just...ADMIT to kidnapping people and not stop doing it!" he spluttered. "That's not what this meeting was supposed to accomplish!"

"Right, right, the meeting was about getting me alone with you in a private room," Minho replied with a grin that was much too flirtatious for Newt's liking. "I almost forgot. Sorry."

Irritated beyond words, Newt growled through gritted teeth. "This meeting is about MY City and MY people and YOUR problems."

Minho's brow furrowed. "I have problems?"

"Minho!" Newt snapped. "You're completely missing the point! And if you're trying to infuriate me just so that you can keep playing your sick games, I won't have it!"

To his shock, Minho barked out a laugh. "What're you gonna do?" he asked tauntingly, leaning back in his seat. "Strike me down with your imaginary powers?"

Flaming anger ignited inside of Newt. "How dare you?"

"Don't snap at me, Oz, it's not my fault you're a fraud."

Newt was out of his chair before he could stop himself. He stood with hands planted rigidly on the tabletop, glaring at Minho. "I am not a fraud," he snapped.

Sighing, Minho rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh dear, I've done it now," he lamented dramatically. "I've pointed out the one tiny flaw of the Wizard of Oz: he is, sadly, not a wizard. I'm so sorry, I didn't know it was a secret." Sarcasm dripped from every syllable.

"If you knew the truth, you wouldn't dare to say that to me," Newt shot back.

"Did you really think it was that much of a secret?" Minho asked, eyebrows raised a fraction. He began counting on his fingers as he spoke: "you're grandfather was a fake, your father was a fake, God knows that weird one that showed up five years ago was a fake... You're just another link in the chain."

"A fake," Newt repeated, spitting the word.

"There's nothing wrong with being a fake."

Newt decided right then that being the calm and superior one didn't matter anymore. His rage had reached the breaking point. "Does this look FAKE to you?" he snarled, and a blast of heat enveloped the room. The emerald stone at his throat glowed brilliantly, as green-and-white ribbons of light cascaded from his hands and slithered across the table.

Minho's eyes widened and he scooted his chair back before the light could reach him. Then he yelped when it slipped off the table and skittered across the floor toward his legs. "Dammit, Oz!" he cried, jumping from his chair and raising his arms to his sides. Twin orbs of dancing flame spurted into life in his palms, the sizzle of dark magic humming in the air. Sneering at the light creeping toward his feet, the Witch threw the flames at the floor; they hit with an explosion of sparks and spread into a protective circle around his boots, halting the light before it reached him. Lowering his arms, he sent Newt an offended glance. "What the hell was that for?"

"That was for saying I wasn't a real wizard!" Newt retorted, straightening up and subconsciously touching the stone at his collar. It still felt warm.

"I was making an observation," Minho replied in a hard voice. "I didn't know I was wrong. You didn't have to ATTACK me."

Newt snorted. "I didn't attack you. It was just light."

"You know I hate light magic," Minho scoffed, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Making sure that there was no more magic around him, he carefully let the flames at his feet puff out of existence. The buzz of black magic left the air.

"You're hopeless," Newt said. He tugged at his jacket sleeves and tried to cool off. "I can't believe I thought anything good would come of this."

"Yeah? Well, you're ridiculous."

"Very mature, Minho."

"You're not doing so bad yourself, Oz."

"Stop calling me Oz!"

The two glared at each other from across the table.

Newt's hands shook at his sides with the willpower it took to not attack the Witch with his magic. He should've known this wasn't going to work. The Wicked Witch of the West was born to be a devious, double-crossing asshole. Newt had made a mistake in coming here. He should've just banished Minho from here for good, or capture him and lock him away. It was the only way to make sure that his City was safe. Now, he was going to have to come up with a new way to protect his kingdom.

"Leave," Newt ordered icily. "Now. I have no more to say to you."

Minho flashed him a savage grin. "Trust me, I didn't want to listen to anymore from you anyway." Spinning away, he strode toward the door they'd come through, cape billowing like a black stain in the air.

Newt fixed his gaze on the tabletop below him and struggled to calm down. He couldn't have his anger take control of him. It was dangerous to everyone living here, not just Minho. He glanced up again when the door closed with a resounding bang. He looked at it for a moment. The Witch. He'd just allowed the Witch to leave, without making sure that he really left. He could be wreaking havoc somewhere or planning to, anyway. After their disastrous conversation, Newt had to assume that some kind of revenge was coming.

In a brief flash of panic, he hurried around the table. "Minho!" he called, striding quickly to the door and grabbing the handle. "Wait!" He flung the door open without a second thought and darted through it.

And crashed straight into the Wicked Witch.

"What the hell—?"

"Ow! Watch it—!"

Newt's desperate scramble to right himself got his ankle hooked with Minho's and his nose colliding painfully with Minho's chest. The two stumbled around each other, Minho swearing under his breath. Finally, they were stopped by Minho's back hitting a wall and staying there. Newt waited for the dizziness to leave his mind and lifted his gaze up to meet Minho's. He immediately felt more mortified than he'd ever felt in his life. They were chest to chest, Minho's hand resting on his side to steady him. That inky cape was caught on Newt's shoulder, somehow warm through his suit. He tried inhaling a steadying breath, and smelled ashy fire and burning paper. His reaction embarrassed him even more. He flushed from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

"I—I—God—Sorry, I'm sorry," he stammered, and made to take a step back. Space opened between them and he felt a little better.

The space was obliterated when Minho suddenly snatched the cape at Newt's shoulder and pulled; the action wrapped the fabric fully around Newt's body and reeled him back in against Minho's chest. He gasped, planting his hands on Minho's shoulders in a vain attempt to free himself. "What're you—?"

"You're not going anywhere, wizard." The words were spoken into Newt's ear, low and dangerous.

Newt hated the way he shivered. "Let me go," he said sternly.

"I don't think so," Minho replied, in a voice like liquid velvet. "I wanted to get something from this meeting and I intend to now."

His palm slid around to Newt's back, holding both the cape and the Wizard in place. The heat of his hand seeped through from where it pressed into the small of Newt's back. Newt struggled with the new and terrifying urge to sigh in bliss. What was happening to him? "Get off of me," he mumbled, as a familiar hum filled the air around them. Dark magic. Minho was using dark magic on him, making him feel...

"You don't want me to."

"You don't know what I want."

Minho chuckled, dark and deadly. "But I know what I want," he murmured. "After that atrocious conversation, I deserve some sort of reward. I want the Great and Powerful to fall apart."

His other hand was inside the cape, sketching patterns into Newt's waist. It dropped to trace a teasing fingertip up the side of Newt's thigh to his hip. When it rested there, thumb circling dangerously close to his belt, Newt bit his tongue to stop a whimper. "Bastard," he slurred, the black power Minho was using sinking through his bones and tangling his thoughts.

"What happened to all your politeness?" Minho asked in amusement.

"Shut up." Newt feebly turned his face away from Minho's, but it was no use. Minho nosed his hair and breathed in, letting out a tiny hum of satisfaction. Newt's skin tingled to know that Minho was inhaling his scent. What was he doing?! This was incredibly wrong on so many different levels!

"Mmm, you smell like mint," Minho murmured. The smugness in his tone suggested he knew exactly the effect he was having on Newt. Newt stiffened when two fingers touched his chin and coaxed his face up to look Minho in the eye. His stomach dropped at what he saw there. "Newt," Minho whispered, and Newt's heart felt like it froze. "Kiss me."

The Wicked began to lean in and Newt jerked his head back. Through the fog of dark magic clouding his senses, he stuttered out, "n—no."

"Don't you want to?" Minho asked in a breath. His thumb was resting on Newt's belt buckle.

"Yes," Newt breathed out. Then he gritted his teeth. "I mean—no. I mean—"

Minho snickered. "You said yes," he whispered. His hand on Newt's lower back pulled him closer, until their bodies were flush together. Every muscle of the Witch's form was touching Newt's and he suddenly couldn't breathe. He shouldn't do this. He was the King of the Emerald City. He was the Wizard of Oz. He was—

He was kissing Minho.

Everything else fell away. He couldn't even register the sound of black magic in his ears anymore. All there was was this: Minho's lips insistent on his, soft and tasting of flame, Minho's arm around him, and Minho's single quiet noise of pleasure trapped against his mouth. Newt closed his eyes and realized that he was kissing back, a hand cupping the back of Minho's neck. The moment lasted for thirty breathless seconds. Then Minho's thumb left his belt buckle and slid mischievously lower. The slight pressure made Newt gasp raggedly and break the kiss. Grabbing Minho's wrist, he dragged it away and pinned it beside Minho's head.

They stood like that, breathing heavily. Newt's face was burning. "D—don't touch me," he panted. "Not like...like that."

Minho's mouth curved up into a smirk. "That doesn't mean I can't touch you at all, though, does it?"

"I don't know what it means," Newt argued, shaking his head. "I just... We shouldn't have done that."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, you're a witch! And I'm..."

"Acting much too innocent right now," Minho finished for him. Sighing, he leaned in to place a surprisingly light kiss on Newt's nose. "I've never kissed a Wizard of Oz before..."

Newt rolled his eyes. "And it was bad, I know," he muttered. Then he blinked when Minho cupped his cheek. His skin felt cool.

"It was the exact opposite," Minho replied. He grinned another rakish grin. Then he abruptly released Newt and slipped out from between the blonde and the wall. "I'm sure we'll be seeing much more of each other soon," he called over his shoulder, cape swinging back into place as he walked.

Newt stared at those broad shoulders under the tight clothing Minho wore. Then he cursed at himself for doing so. "Wait, what?" he asked in a squeak. "You can't be serious. This'll never work. This was just a...mistake."

"Actually, it was basically what I've been planning the whole time." Minho tossed Newt a lazy smile, eyes golden and glowing. Newt's heart skipped a beat. "See you later, Newt," Minho said and before Newt knew what was happening, the Witch had vanished out of the double doors of the palace. He stood there, alone, for several seconds. What was he going to tell his advisors? Instead of panicking, however, he found himself strangely...smiling.

That night, the Great and Powerful dreamed of the Wicked.