As always, I don't own Wicked
Skin. That's the first thing she noticed. Soft flesh instead of scratchy patchwork cotton. They were holding hands like they'd done as they fell asleep.
Then she heard the sea; its midnight whispers as it crept up onto the pebbly shore before retreating timidly backwards. It was soothing, the sound that they'd both drifted off to.
Next was the sand (if you could call it that). It was pebbly and rough against her slender frame. This wasn't the beach she had been lying on earlier. Her and him on the tender sand together. Far away from Oz, past the "impassable" dessert. Seeing the coast for the first time.
Safe. Right.
"Fiyero." She croaked, only to be interrupted by a violent fit of coughing. It was only at this point that she realised that she was dripping saltwater, her dress heavy, and hair hanging limply in wet waves down to her waist.
Her throat was dry with salt and a pain rose up her sinuses as she lifted herself carefully to her feet, only to find that her head was playing same painful tricks on her as the rest of her body. She looked down. It was hard to make out his features in the dark, but it was clear that he was asleep; eyes firmly shut, breathing heavy, limbs twitching every now and then in that awful way that they did when he was having nightmares. Seeing him like this was frightening. He was in his old body, the body that she'd last seen when they were together in the forest. She'd seen him sleep then. Back then, only a few months ago, he'd been still and calm, protected from the world around him by his bubble of blissful dreams. But as the scarecrow he was different. Twitching, turning, mumbling. Yet here he was. His body was intact, seeming to have forgotten to show the scars that it ought to...but...
"Hey you!"
Fiyero grumbled, prying his eyes open while Elphaba whipped herself around to see the source of the voice: a man standing at the base of the cliff. She couldn't make out his face, but he was fairly tall with broad shoulders. His voice scraped through the air like gravel.
"Your friend drunk?"
She glanced down at Fiyero. His eyes were open but he made no attempt to get up. Instead he was waving his arms weakly over his face. She could see how someone might think he'd had too much to drink.
"No, he's fine." She snapped, moving herself quickly round to crouch by him.
"Elphaba...Am I...?" He looked at her pleadingly, unable to form the words with his wavering voice. She understood.
"Yes." She smiled.
He returned the smile and lifted his torso off of the ground with a wince.
"How did you-"
"I didn't"
Her reply was much sharper than she'd intended it to be, but she continued anyway in the same tone.
"Fiyero, look where we are."
He glanced around. The pebbles in place of sand, cliffs in place of mountains. His face creased up for a second before relaxing back into his default princely half-smile.
"We're safe." He squeaked.
"Yero...Yero, how can you say that, we don't know where we are, we don't-"
Warmth. Her hand was gripped by his. It felt like it used to.
"We're safe." He repeated. "We're together."