She didn't know how long they had been wandering,she had stopped counting the days a while back. It seems the desert they were in more than lived up to its name: impassable.
Barren and harsh, and the camp they set up did little to nothing to help. she would have long forgone putting on a brave face against the elements if...if it weren't for him. He stayed vigilantly by her side long after she thought no one would, and long after she thought she deserved it.
But still, here he was. Her dear , wonderful Fiyero, a man who's face she could hardly bare to look at. It wasn't that she didn't love him, sweet Oz she did, it was the guilt.
Everything, he gave up everything for her, and he should have so much more.
"Fae,"
Elphaba flinched when she felt the hand on her shoulder, but she did not turn around.
"Hey, it's nearly nightfall, you need to rest."
She felt Fiyero wrap his arms around her waist, straw prodding into her skin. she took his hands, knowing full well that he couldn't feel a thing.
"I will, I promise."
"You always say that, but I don't think I've seen you get a full night's sleep in weeks."
She turned and looked up at him, his face a painted and sewed caricature of one that she was forgetting more and more each day.
He always joked that his features were, in fact, a work of art that anyone would be lucky to have hanging up in their cornfield.
He joked, but she loved every stitch and brushstroke to her grave.
She rested her hands around the back of his neck. "And I'm fine."
"'I'm worried about you, please, at least sit 've been walking for days. Elphaba..."
"So have you."
"You know as well as me that it's really not the same given...well-"
He indicated the body he was stuck in
"You know."
She kissed his forehead and sighed.
"Of course, Yero my hero."
...
She was different since they left Oz, he knew that. The guilt in her eyes, the way she just seemed so tired, and though they packed lightly through the deserts, her shoulders still seemed to hold weight that he could not quite see.
What he always told her was true, that he didn't regret anything, that he would have protected her millions of times over if he had to. she never seemed to hear him, and so he watched as she withered, crushed under a burden that seemed to grow each day.
Even in her dreams, she couldn't seem to escape. When she had finally found sleep, head resting on his chest, he could hear her whispering, see her clinging to him. He could only guess what sorts of dreams would cause such a fitful sleep, and guess he did.
He couldn't help it, not being able to sleep gave one a lot of time to think unpleasant thoughts.
He missed sleep. It was one of the many things that he had lost, probably forever.
He could not taste, nor could he smell.
He couldn't feel anything, not the wind that made his lovely Fae shiver, not the ground beneath his feet.
He couldn't feel her lips, her hands...none of it. Oh how he missed it.
Not only that, but he felt useless.
There were so many limitations that came with being a scarecrow, all of which lead to feeling completely helpless. He never felt like he was alive since the night of hell and pain, he was a spectator.
He was all but a shadow walking among the living, and it was driving him mad.
All of a sudden, he heard her cry out.
She sat straight up, breathing heavily, with terror evident in her eyes.
"Shhhh, it's okay, it's fine..."
He grabbed her hands.
"We're fine, we're fine."
Her eyes darted around her surroundings, looking for the images of torture that plagued her rest.
"Right, of course."
She looked down at their hands.
"Fiyero?"
Hearing her say his name was fantastic. Even when he was an important figure in Oz, everyone called him Scarecrow, no one thought to ask his name...not that he could have told them the truth if they did.
"Yes?"
She looked into his eyes, "we should keep walking."
...