"Help me, Sister Halfrida," she said. And she ducked under Fiyero's they maneuvered him to a pushing chair. "We are going out today, my love. To the bathhouses. I think you will feel much better then," she whispered in his ear.

Sister Halfrida sighed in dismay. Why did Sister Aelphaba delude herself so? They all knew the poor man had gone mad from his ordeal.

She was, in fact, aware of the whispers among the other maunts. Not that she cared anyway, if Fiyero had lost his mind from all that horrors, than so be it.

She covered him with a thick woolen cape and hood, pulling a hood down low over his face. It was chill out and there was still the chance that the firelungmay relapse, so she added a scarf, wrapping it around the bottom of his face.

She donned a thin veil, for it was not unusual for a mauntto do so. She spoke to him the little she had learned of theirold friends. He remained silent, showing no sign that he heard her or that he was even aware of what was going on around him. She sighed to herself and kept quiet the rest of the way.

Inside the bathhouse it was warm and steamy, a welcome change from the biting cold. "So kind of you to extend your charity to the infirm," she told the hostess.

A man came to help strip Fiyero and move him into the tub. It was for that reason that Elphaba did not shed the heavy garb until they were alone secure in the private room. She slipped a pair of arm length leather gloves on to protect herself. She turned on the tap and let the hot water rise to his neck.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself. She began unwrapping the bandages around his eyes. She hadn't seen it before and she wasn't sure she wanted to.

The eyelids had sunken in slightly and there was a mass of scar tissue around them. She stifled the urge to touch them for fear they may still be tender, she was unsure of how recently it had been done.

"Oh Fiyero..." There was a tiny change in expression at the sound of his name. Are you here, she asked, softly. But what ever it was was over now. She sighed and wondered if maybe she had imagined it.

She sponged the water into his hair, and then worked it up into a lather. She spoke in soft tones on what little information she had of their small circle. She sang quietly, a hymn from her childhood, though she didnt believe the words. She put his hands to her face, kissed his forehead. All this she did hoping to bring him around. To bring him back.

Water. He was, at first, only dimly aware of it. It teased at his consciousness. The voice, it was the same one he had heard before. It pulled at something vaguely in his memory. But before he could gain purchase the voice of Jemmsy cajoled, And how does that make you feel? His body stiffened. His fingers brushed metal.

It was the tank again, he realized with a growing sense of alarm. Inside they had shoved him and locked him inside again and again for hours and sometimes days. There was no sound, there was no light. Just an endless stretch of nothingness. And what was worse, they had saturated the water with salt, so if he had tried to drown himself, it would prove impossible.

He panicked. "No! Let me out!" Why was this even happening? He had already confessed everything to them, even of things that he had not done.

Fiyero's shrieks startled her. She dropped her sponge. He tried to stand up, she tried to stop him, but there was little she could do without getting wet. Two of the men rushed in at the sound of shouting. They looked like a couple of brutes, she noted with a sinking feeling.

They seized him by the arms, roughly. "Don't hurt him," she cried. "Can't you see hes been hurt enough?"

She needn't really concern herself with him. The two men yanked him out of the tub and he fought back. One of them lost his grip and slipped on the wet floor. His head hit the metal edge with a clang. Dazed he touched the spot and his fingers came away bloody.

Later on, back at the mauntery, Elphaba faced the inevitable.

"What were you thinking?" The superior maunt cried.

"I thought that a trip out would be good for him."

"The man is clearly deranged. There is a reason why we keep them here."

"I know."

"A man nearly died, Sister Aelphaba."

"It is not his fault. He was frightened. He thought they were attacking him. He cannot see to know the difference."

"It is more than that and you know it. He is mad. Yes, I know his is a tragedy and also, that you harbor some kind of affection for the poor soul but facts are facts."

"I know. It is my fault. I will take him away from here."

But the Superior Maunt was aghast at the notion. "A man like that should not be in society! For his safety as well as that of other people."

"Then I will hide him away from the world. I know a place. It is quiet and he could recover or perhaps find peace. We will not be bothered there."

"I can't agree to it."

"No, you don't have to but I am going and I am taking him with me." Elphaba left without waiting for a response.

They had him bound to the bed, for obvious reasons. But it was horrifying to see. And probably horrifying to be in.

Her suspicion of this was realized as she moved closer. He tugged at the leather strappings around his wrists and whimpered and begged in a most pathetic way. In his mind, he couldn't escape the torment of that place.

She sighed and resigned herself to the fact. She took his hands in hers and gently unbound his wrists. The skin had chaffed a little there. She lifted them, kissed them both. Rubbed her own hands over them and looked at his face. Nothing, no sign of recognition. She gave a little laugh and smiled a sad little smile. She kissed his forehead. "Its okay. I still love you and you are still beautiful."

Notes: Don't worry guys, he's not really crazy. He's just regressed a bit, and is struggling with the psychological trauma of his captivity. PTSD does not always occur immediatly following a tragic event, it can be delayed by years even. Eventually he will be alright, but it won't be easily come by for him or Elphaba.