…Yeah I know it's been ages. Life, jumping ship, intense TV fandom wars, weekly spoiler freakouts (seriously join a TV fandom and just try and keep your sanity – I challenge you) and just lack of inspiration all take their toll.

This fic has been a pain to write – some of it was written about two years ago and then left incomplete because I lost inspiration. But look! Over 4000 words! I managed to finish it!

Thanks to the wonderful scandalacious intentions – who insisted this didn't suck.

It had never been enough.

He knew he wasn't handsome or charming or well built. But he tried, he was kind and smart and devoted. He thought he'd make a great boyfriend or husband.

She didn't care.

How had it been his fault he had fallen for her? On that awkward first day at Shiz he had been sure he'd seen a fallen angel, with her flowing golden locks glistening in the sun, her eyes looking just like two of the most beautiful of emeralds and the way the entire campus gravitated around her; a mere Munchkin like him never stood a chance.

She never bothered to notice him.

Oh sure, she would smile at his complements, but the next moment she was flirting with some other guy whose name she could actually remember. But he didn't stop trying, he was sure he never would. After all, she was perfect, maybe one day he would be perfect for her too.

He hated the Winkie.

With just a toss of his hair and a charming smile and Galinda was under his spell. Couldn't she see he only wanted her for her body? That he'd just leave her ruined and heartbroken? He wanted to tell her this, but how could he? He'd spoil her happiness, and just when she was getting to trust him. She'd clearly seen his loving potential when she'd got him to ask Nessarose to the ball, if that was what it took to impress her than he would do it.

And it had worked, to an extent. Although it had been less to do with him and more to do with the strange friendships that had developed that night, but suddenly he found himself in a little group of Galinda and her friends. It was good, he was closer to Galinda than he ever thought he would be, Fiyero was… tolerable, he liked Elphaba – behind her general bitterness he agreed with her that it was nice to have someone whom he could have an intelligent conversation with. The problem was Nessa. Maybe it had been stupid of him but he hadn't realised how much a few words at the ball would make her attach herself to him. And he couldn't break it off, it just wasn't right. Not when he knew how heartbreak felt himself.

Yet even then, when the only problem in the world was Galinda not noticing him, he could sense the tensions growing. Elphaba, who had long resigned herself to teasing him about his crush on her roommate and trying the best she could to push Nessa away from him (or perhaps she was just enjoying watching him squirm – he never really could tell), started staring at the Winkie. She denied it strenuously of course ("Boq, despite what you think, not everyone is foolish enough to allow themselves to want someone they could never have.") but all the same she seemed most grateful when he changed the subject whenever Galinda brought up her dates with Fiyero or how she was sure that she could play matchmaker for her and a cautious, unspoken, truce was reached.

But, despite this, the first year passed in general happiness, the crisp winter turned into spring and spring into summer, and the five of them settled into their odd little friendship, the conflicts still brewing (and Galinda still rarely talked to him or remembered his name) but they were left ignored for partying or studying and, finally, those happy days after the exams when there seemed like there was nothing more perfect in life than sitting lazily by the lake, talking and laughing and watching the world go by.

He should have known, even then, that nothing could last forever.

A few weeks before the end of term Elphaba came hurtling towards them, in a way that was far too fast for a hot summer's day and betraying her emotions much more than she normally cared to let on.

"The Wizard! He wants to see me!"

And they surrounded her, with joy and goodwill towards her happy future, not knowing the loss it would bring, but, through the haze of genuine support, he noticed something – perhaps for the first time – the way Fiyero smiled at her and hugged her then afterwards settled and gazed at her in a way that was all too familiar – it was the way he gazed at Galinda when he thought she wasn't looking – the way Nessa gazed at him even when she knew he was looking. Most importantly it was the way Elphaba secretly gazed at Fiyero too. It spelt danger, of course it did – it spelt more danger than any of them could have ever predicted – but, in spite of himself, he couldn't help wondering, just a little, if this was his chance.

In the days before her sister's departure Nessa clung onto him tighter than ever. Still, by the day his thoughts wandered more and more towards Galinda, his guilt grew – it was awful to lead Nessa on like this, but the thought of Galinda's disappointment, of Nessa's tears kept him a coward.

They threw a going away party the day before Elphaba was set to leave – it was a large thing with far too many people whom she had never been fond of. She'd come, of course she had – she seemed to want to make Galinda happy almost as much as he did – but he caught her halfway through, hiding in the cloakroom of the Ozdust, head stuck in a spellbook once again – looking paler than he'd ever seen her. She looked up as she heard him enter the room.

"Don't worry you'll be fine," he assured her, "you're the smartest person here."

She smiled at that, "Well, present company aside, I haven't had much competition."

He rolled his eyes at the comment, he'd found that was always the best way of dealing with Elphaba in this mood, "Come on, they're smart enough to realise the guest of honour is missing from the party."

She sighed theatrically and followed him back to the party then, not bothering to hide a reluctant grin.

Nessa insisted they left early fifteen minutes later. He forgot to wish her good luck – leaving that the last civil conversation he ever had with Elphaba.

It all changed in a matter of days – Galinda – Glinda now, returned from the Emerald City her beautiful face stained in tears and Elphaba not at all, those first few days were simply ones of confusion as new, terrifying, rumours of a girl who was his friend spread the country. No one in Shiz seemed to know what to think. Elphaba had never had many friends at school but everyone seemed a little reluctant to believe she could actually be evil.

By the time the summer had passed and the students who were not too scared to leave their homes had returned the uncertainty had vanished. Elphaba – the Witch – was evil, no one seemed to believe otherwise, even he was beginning to question it after a summer of his parents refusing to let his younger siblings leave the house in fear of her. There were only four of them who believed anything else; Glinda and Fiyero who stopped socialising – preferring each other's company to anyone else's and Nessa, dear sweet Nessa who cried every night, whom he could never really love but couldn't hate either, refused to let him go – and how could he break her heart after this?

But life went on, Glinda picked herself up and returned to the centre of attention – he loved her even more for it, the ability to survive, to want to make others happy even when she was down. Fiyero distanced himself from her, throwing himself into his studies and almost avoiding her – if he'd ever reluctantly thought Fiyero had true feelings for her he did not anymore – he hated him for it, for not loving Galinda the way she deserved and then he hated himself because he was doing exactly the same thing to Nessa. But Nessa was hard these days, gone were the tears from her sister's abandonment, she'd managed to convince herself that Elphaba was as wicked as she was made out to be, refusing to talk about her and even joining in the effort to capture her. And, despite himself, as the image of Elphaba slipped away to be replaced by the stories of the Wicked Witch, he started to believe them too.

Slowly but surely, his fantasies of Glinda faded away replaced only by the harsh realities of growing up.

There were moments though; moments when the schoolboy who wanted nothing more than the love of a beautiful girl came back and hoped. Every so often he thought he'd see her staring at him – a look of pity – maybe even of caring in her eyes or times she'd reply actively to his attempts to talk to her or the time she'd had a fight with Fiyero and come running to him.

And then there was the dance at the Ozdust – the one that Nessa couldn't attend but he'd thought he should go anyway. Fiyero had danced a few times with Glinda but was distant and inattentive. Glinda had spent more and more time at the bar, drinking more pink drinks than he knew existed. Suddenly she walked over to him with surprising determination.

"Wanna dance Bick?"

His heart leaped "Of course Miss Glinda. And it's Boq by the way."

It took her a second to focus, "That's what I said – Boq. I knew that – I actually pay attention to people," she answered – more loudly than she needed to if the words had been just for him.

So they danced, and the dance – the moment – was just as wonderful as he'd almost dreamed. So much so he almost didn't notice that she kept moving them closer to Fiyero.

When the dance ended she looked at him for a moment, eyes blazing, "Thank you Boq, for being such a gentleman," and then she kissed him, fiercely. In shock he didn't react until it was almost over – when she abruptly stopped to glare at Fiyero, who had finally come over and, with a slightly apologetic look, had pulled her away.

The schoolboy's heart swelled so much it almost burst. But another, smaller part of him, a part that he could not yet place – felt he was being used – felt something almost like resentment. But the spark of hope overshadowed it all – at least for the moment. (Glinda ignored him for several weeks after that and he still couldn't quite handle Nessa's tears over his betrayal so he never spoke of it – but the spark stayed alight).

Then came the day when his life, once again, changed forever.

Nessa knocked on his door, sobbing, inconsolable.

"What happened?" he asked, instantly concerned.

"Father, father, he's… oh Boq he's gone!" she buried her head in his hands.

He wheeled her inside his dorm, head still reeling, tried to calm her down (what else could he do?). Eventually her sobs turned to words again.

"They said it was natural causes. But I know better – I know about the pills Mama used to take – the strong ones that he was supposed to throw out. He must have taken them, I know he did – it's all Elphaba's fault."

He tried to comfort her, but he didn't know what to say – to agree with her claims that seemed fairly outlandish or to defend the girl who he was not sure should be defended? So he simply held her close, stroked her hair and told her lies about how everything would be ok.

And when she said she felt like she had no one in the world loved her anymore he replied with words so jumbled between truths and lies he was not sure himself whether he was being selfless or taking the easy way out.

Eventually the sobbing stopped and she looked at him, so quietly and nervously that – when he looked back in the years that followed – he was still not sure he could have answered any other way, "Can you come back with me, Boq? I don't think I can face returning alone."

So he agreed – of course he did – he went back willingly and helped her for the first few weeks. After she slowly seemed have settled in as Governor he suggested he return to Shiz, but she begged him to stay a few more weeks, and after those weeks had passed she begged again. Eventually his suggestions turned to insistence so her begging turned to laws and he found himself tied to a girl who he could never love the way she wanted him too – a girl who was turning colder by the day.

Eventually there was nothing left of the sweet girl who had been so excited to be invited to the dance, but then again there was not much left of the caring boy who'd not wanted to hurt her feelings. Day by day the resentment towards her grew, until Nessa became the Wicked Witch of the East in his mind too and the only spark of hope he had left turned into a raging fire – Glinda, loving, sweet, beautiful Glinda must surely see how much he had suffered in her name and had to love him now.

Desperation turned into conviction, conviction so strong that when the invitation to Glinda and Fiyero's engagement party turned up it was not spurned – instead it turned into a plan. He had some money saved up, he'd leave quickly, before she noticed and arrive to see Glinda at the ball. Nothing was going to stop him this time. Nothing at all.

Then the Wicked Witch of the West turned up.

His memory of the whole event was fuzzy, he remembered Nessa calling her and rushing over to obey her – hopefully for the last time – then jumping when confronted with green skin.

He grabbed the nearest weapon he could see – the rather blunt letter opener – and warned her to stay back.

A look of hurt had flashed in her eyes "Boq, it's just me, I'm not going to hurt you!"

And maybe he would have believed her five years ago, but not now, not after he'd been surrounded by stories of the deeds of the Wicked Witch of the West, not when he'd seen the monster Nessa had become, why should her sister be any different?

"No! You're lying! That's all you ever do! You and your sister! She's as wicked as you are!"

"What are you talking about?" she asked, horrified.

And, as soon as the opportunity had been given the words came tumbling out, "I'm talking about my life. The little that's left of it. I'm not free to leave Munchkinland, none of us are. Ever since she took power, she's been stripping the Munchkins of our rights... and we didn't have that many to begin with!"

She gasped appalled, but he was too far gone to see the shock his words had caused, too far gone to realise she looked more like the girl he'd once been friends with – who'd always tried to calm down her sister when she'd got angry – than the Witch of the Wizard's stories.

Then Nessa came in – beaming, walking yet, even on two feet, she looked more like the young girl he'd first met than he'd seen in years – and something of the boy he'd once been came back to the surface as he looked between the two sisters in astonishment.

"You did this, for her?" a smile and a nod from Elphaba, a beautiful grin from Nessa and suddenly he found the courage to do what he should have done years ago.

"Listen Nessa, surely now I'll matter less to you and you won't mind my leaving here tonight..."

And then his memory went blurry, all he remembered was the shouting, and the screaming and his fear and the pain, so much pain.

He woke up dazed and oddly cold. But Nessa's voice was soft and gentle, until she saw him and screamed. Frantically he turned around, making an odd creaking sound, in an attempt to find a mirror. For a second he gazed at it – unable to understand why a metal statue was staring back. Then everything fell into place and he screamed too, attempted to run away in panic. Nessa ran towards him, begging him to stop – swearing it was Elphaba (and he believed her – why shouldn't he? He wasn't even sure that his memories of her (obviously faked) compassion were real,) but it didn't matter – her desperate cries of "Boq, please, I still lo…" made no impact on him – not love, or hate or guilt. Just nothing. He was empty and cold.

Nessa died the next day. She was crushed by a house apparently. A painful way to go for a girl whose life had been as carelessly destroyed as his had been. He tried to care. He didn't.

He wandered aimlessly for the next few days; a hopeless shell of the man he had once been. He wondered what was wrong with him and eventually came to the conclusion that it was the hollowness – this body the Witch had cursed him with had no heart. With his lack of compassion his hate for her grew. By the time he met Dorothy the fact the Witch was chasing her was as attractive as her hopeful words about the Wizard giving him a new heart. His world was black and empty and he wanted revenge. Sometimes he felt that only the thought of killing her – of finally gaining some control in his life – was the only thing spurring him on.

Dorothy's kidnap, for him, came more as an opportunity than a blow. The Ozians – who had quickly decided she was destined to be their saviour – were furious. They rallied outside the Emerald Palace demanding the Witch's death like never before. As her companions he, the Scarecrow and the Lion were seen as the leaders in any potential fight – and, as the Lion was terrified of his own tail and the Scarecrow seemed oddly quiet about the whole thing, the responsibility fell to him. He was glad it fell to him. It made him feel like, for maybe the first time in his life, he had power and he relished it – anything for some sort of feeling in this empty body.

The crowd were up to boiling point. He was sure with a few more words they'd be ready to charge the castle with him. That he'd finally be able to get revenge on the witches… the Witch, some payback for his life that was as good as dead; and maybe, just maybe, the possibility of a heart again. His eyes scanned the growing crowd and a flash of blonde curls caught his eye. Glinda. Suddenly he faltered and was drawn back to the days when life had been easy.

"And, this is more than just a service to the Wizard. I have a personal score to settle with Elph..." he stumbled – immediately berating himself for the slip – those days were long gone, no one, not even – not even Glinda – had been who he thought they'd been, "with the Witch!"

And with the support of the crowd they raced towards the Witch's Castle and the boy who'd loved Glinda and had been friends with Elphaba was nowhere to be seen.

The Castle didn't take long to invade – it was almost as if the Witch had given up caring whether she'd be caught or not. They stormed through the rooms until they came towards a locked door – behind which they could hear voices and screams.

With a few rams from his metal body the door was forced open and, with him in the lead, they hurtled inside. Just in time to see Dorothy throw a bucket of water at the Witch and her reel in pain and terror.

So he watched as the girl he'd once known – who'd sit down next to him and engage him immediately in a debate on their latest Life Science topic, who'd tease him mercilessly about his crush on her roommate but offer him a guilty smile in the way of thanks when he disclosed any information about Fiyero – scream in agony, melting to the cheers of the Ozians. It was the most horrific death he could have ever imagined. He expected to feel something once the Witch had died. He didn't feel a thing. Not pity, not sadness, not vengeance, not hate, not satisfaction, not hope, not even relief. He wondered if he would feel something once the Wizard gave him a heart.

He didn't. The Wizard, for all his wonders, could not fix him. There was nothing left of the Boq who had entered Shiz, so kind and loving. He was hollow the Wicked Witch of the West had cursed him to suffer like this for eternity – an eternity of hollowness, surely there was nothing worse in the world?

He watched, later, as the Wizard, Dorothy, and her dog left Oz, trying, trying so hard to feel what he once would have felt. But nothing came, the heart he had been given was as cold and useless as the tin it was made out of.

Glinda came towards him and he looked up, expecting the normal rush of love and affection to swell in his chest. But it didn't, not anymore. He barely recognised her. Instead of the sweet, kind, beautiful girl he'd always he saw an icy, cold, manipulative woman – whose beauty only reached her surface. He wondered when she had changed – or maybe she'd always been that way and he'd never noticed.

A month passed. A month of celebrations and congratulations from people he did not, could not, care about. Finally it was decided that the Witch Hunters deserved medals for their valiant efforts.

Many showed up. Most of them didn't matter, all of the rabble who'd waved pitchforks at the direction of the Witch's Castle received awards and words of congratulations from Glinda. He ignored them only exchanging polite formalities with the Lion – Dorothy was long gone and the Scarecrow was nowhere to be seen.

He was the last to be called up. He avoided meeting Glinda's eyes as she gave him his medal – somewhat hesitantly. As he left with a mumbled "Thanks," she grabbed his arm, almost panicked.

"Wait!" she said softly, so only he could hear, "Do you mind staying a minute?"

With nothing left to lose and nowhere left to go he nodded.

It was late evening by the time the last stragglers left the room. He waited obediently – still not meeting her eyes.

She smiled, I hope you had a good time today Tinman."

He said that he had. She looked at him, clearly expecting something more, when he didn't reply she hesitated, paced for a few moments, looked round the room and turned again towards him.

"I trust you are as joyful as the rest of us that the Wicked Witch is dead."

"I am," he confirmed bluntly.

"And you are… happy that you took part in it?"

He felt something, a little, or maybe he was just imagining it – he hoped he wasn't, or maybe he hoped he was – he didn't know anymore, "Of course, anything for my country."

She looked at him for a long moment, as if trying to gain the courage for what she was going to say next, there had been a time when he'd thought he'd known her better than anyone else in Oz – but he'd never seen the expression she now wore.

Eventually she spoke quietly, nervously, "That day, with the Witch hunters, the Witch… you almost called her by her name. You almost called her Elphaba."

He nodded, there was no use denying it.

"How did you know it? She hadn't been called that in years."

"Because I knew her once," he said simply, "and her sister," he added darkly. He hesitated and finally raised his eyes to meet hers, "I knew you once too… Miss Galinda."

She blinked, astonished, then moved closer, eyes now studying him, "Were you at Shiz? I can't quite remember…"

"I'm not surprised," he snapped, "I was always too short, too plain, for you to see me as anyone but some pathetic boy who stalked you or someone you could manipulate."

Her eyes widened, "Bick?" she whispered.

"It's Boq," he said angrily, turning away.

"I'm sorry… I shouldn't have… Boq, wait!" she cried, desperation plain in her tone, "Don't leave me… We're the only ones left."

He turned to look at her, tears streaming down her face, the fear and panic were still there but also genuine care and kindness shone in her eyes. There, at last, now everything was gone, stood the girl he had always hoped she would be back when times were simpler.

He was silent for a long moment, just watching, until her lips twitched upwards and she moved towards him.

He stepped out of her reach, "You're the only one left," he said harshly, and walked away.