Fiyero was wedged between the fumingly angry girl on his left and the fumingly drunk man on his right. He envied the person only having to face a rock and a hard place.

One quick glance to the left showed how very pissed off Elphaba was, and he knew she was known for doing remarkably inconvenient things when in a temper. She had continued arguing with the constables since they had left the pub, a never-ending stream of belligerent challenges to their integrity issuing from her until even Fiyero was annoyed. Finally the taller one spun around, his face red, and told her bitingly, "Shut your trap, or we'll throw you in isolation."

She was about to utter a hasty comeback, and though Fiyero knew she wouldn't mind the punishment so much, he didn't want to be without her. He got her attention, and whispering to her, he beseeched, "Damn it Elphie, please. Just let it go. You can take it out on me later if you want, but please don't make me spend the night without you."

She glared at him, somehow angry with him as if this was all his fault, but she didn't say another word. The other constable called back tauntingly, "That's right. Listen to your man. Maybe he can keep you out of trouble. Women." Elphaba's eyes flashed with rage, but his prayers were answered when the one apparently in charge chastised his lieutenant, miraculously appeasing her enough to remain silent.

Somehow they managed to make it the rest of the way there without further incident, though Elphaba stared pointedly away from him. Fiyero sighed. This was going to be a long night. Once there, mercifully they just threw them in a cell and locked it, holding the taunts to a minimum. If they had searched them, if they had touched Elphie, he didn't know what either of them would have done, but it would have been bad. Even picturing it made him feel decidedly homicidal. He'd become more than a little protective of her despite her obvious ability to take care of herself.

The drunk merely slumped over to one corner, passing out almost immediately in a cloud of his own stench. This left Elphaba and Fiyero relatively alone, which was more than he could have hoped for when this whole ordeal started.

Elphaba's acerbic voice cut through the silence. "Well, this is fantastic. Great plan Fiyero." Her bottled temper released now in its full fury, and he knew it was going to get a lot worse before it got better.

Frustrated, Fiyero took a deep breath, still not managing to swallow the defensive tone that colored his words. "What did you want me to do?"

She tilted her head insolently, "I don't know. Anything would have been nice."

"Well, it's not like you were accomplishing much. Insulting them wasn't really going to convince them to let us go."

"As least I didn't just stand there like a spineless sycophant. Oz, Fiyero, do you always just roll over and play dead?"

While she was a great person, she had a fantastic temper, and she wasn't picky about whom she let it out on. "At least I'm not always picking fights. And I fail to see how you getting locked up in solitary could have done us any good." She ignored his logic, too mad to admit he could be right about anything. "Why can't you just learn to let things go? Why is it always the hard way?"

"Oh, that's funny, coming from you, Mr. 'Dancing Through Life'. It's always the easy way with you, isn't it? Anything that involves a little work or risk, and you avoid it like the plague."

Her words stung. So that's how she saw him? He would have walked away if they hadn't been in this cage together. Unfortunately, retreat was not an option. Struggling to keep his composure, he walked to the opposite side to gain some much needed distance as he felt himself upset enough to say words he knew he would regret later.

From across the cell, her voice was cuttingly brutal in its honesty. "See. You don't stand up for anything, not even yourself. Isn't there anything you would fight for?"

Angry himself, he flung the word, "You," at her. He turned away, unable to even look at her. He trained his gaze through the narrow slits of window between the bars. "I seem to recall fighting for you was what started this mess."

She huffed, but didn't respond immediately, his words sinking in. The silence that followed filled the air with a presence, leaving his thoughts reverberating in his ears. She was right. He had never fought for her, too afraid of hurting one girl and being rejected by the other. He may physically have fought for her, but he had certainly never faced his fears even for her. The easy road just always seemed safer - smarter. Even now, realizing his mistake, he couldn't overcome it. He couldn't face her rejection. Why would she ever want a brainless coward like him? He was such a fool.

Eyes looking up at the ceiling as if for divine intervention, "You're right," they both said at the same time, whirling to face the other. "I'm sorry," again in unison, and Fiyero smiled.

"Me first?" She nodded tersely. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all that. It's not your fault."

She interrupted. "No, you were right. This is all my fault. I just get so angry, and…I say things I shouldn't. You've never done anything but try to help. You didn't deserve that."

He took a few steps toward her, "No, you're absolutely right. I always take the easy way. I should have stood up for you."

"No," she interrupted, "that wouldn't have done any good. We'd have just ended up spending the night alone and miserable."

"Maybe, but I still deserved everything you said."

"That's not true! I should have kept my mouth shut."

Sudden the absurdity of the situation hit him. "Why are we arguing now?" Closing the distance between them, he held out his hand, "Truce?"

She smiled and nodded, taking his outstretched hand. He pulled her suddenly to him before she could resist, and as he wrapped his arms around her, he could imagine he felt her lean into him. "I'm sorry I got us into this," she whispered.

"You didn't get us into anything. It's not your fault." He pulled her more tightly against him, and she let her arms circle his waist. "I believe I started that fight as I recall. Not to mention I'd still be tied up for ransom if not for you."

"I don't think you're much better off now."

She tried to pull back, but he wasn't ready to release her. "I'll get us out of this in the morning. I promise." She nodded, and he let her go regretfully. He sighed, wondering what they would do now with the long night ahead of them. Elphaba didn't seem in the mood for talking, and she had started pacing in the cell restlessly. If ever there was a creature in need of her freedom, Elphaba was it. He knew he needed to distract her or risk facing her unpleasant temper again.

He blocked her pacing. "You're going to wear a hole in the floor."

"Maybe that's my plan." He couldn't help but laugh at the image of escape through a tunnel Elphaba paced into existence.

"Yes, well, as inspired a plan as that is, I told you, I'll get us out of this in the morning." She sighed in response, and he queried, "You do trust me, right?" Another heavy sigh, and she nodded reluctantly, turning to go sit down on the narrow bench in the corner. "Wait!" she froze, spinning to face him at his sudden outburst. "Don't sit there. It's filthy."

Her voice full of scorn, "I'll try not to let it hurt my delicate sensibilities."

"Your dress is white. It'll ruin it." Sure, they could always have gone back to get another version, but Elphaba wouldn't have let him. He had such an irrational attachment to the dress that encouraged her to flirt with him, and he felt a desperate need to protect it.

"Somehow I think I'll get over it."

"No. Don't. Please?" He moved to block her way, as surreptitiously as he could, and though she noticed, she didn't comment on it. The delicacy of her dress aside, the concrete was freezing, and he didn't want her to catch a chill through the thin fabric. Of course, that explanation would only have resulted in an extensive lecture about how she could take care of herself as well as almost have guaranteed she would stride immediately to sit on the bench.

She took one look at his patented puppy-dog eyes, and almost growled in frustration. "What is your deal with this dress? It's just cloth."

"But…it's so beautiful." She shook her head at his unreasonable response.

"Well, what do you want me to do? Stand up all night?"

He grinned. "Well, you could always take it off." She glared at him, and he laughed, "Fine. You're no fun at all." She moved toward the bench again, and he called, "Wait! You could sit on…" he looked around frantically, "my shirt since I don't have a jacket. That way your dress isn't ruined"

"No, Fiyero. For once you're going to keep your shirt on."

He pouted a little. "Well, then you'll just have to sit on me." She arched her eyebrows, and he sat on the bench, patting his lap suggestively.

She replied dryly, "No thanks. I'll just stand."

Having found his amusement, he smiled, "Suit yourself," and he lounged back against the wall with several annoying noises of relaxation to taunt her with. She resumed pacing, but he knew with the seed planted in her mind, it was only a matter of time before she wanted what she couldn't have. Given the freedom to sit, she wouldn't have lasted two seconds before she would have wanted to pace again. Denied that freedom, it was suddenly all she wanted.

Sure enough, she stopped pacing, turning to him. "You're serious?" He nodded solemnly, fighting the levity he felt. "The stupid dress means that much to you?" He nodded again, not chancing to say how much more its wearer meant to him. She sighed, defeated, "Fine. Have it your way." To his utter surprise, she actually perched on his lap, though she leaned away from him, precariously supporting her weight on her legs.

"See. Was that so bad?"

She made a soft sound of disgust that made him grin broadly. Silence reigned, and he noticed her shivering, the thin fabric still not protecting her against the cold.

"Come here. I promise not to assault you. Just imagine I'm a giant pillow again." He pulled her into a more balanced position, and she glowered at him. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her to lean against him. Heaven. He was clearly in Heaven. She shifted, and he tried to think about anything except how good she smelled and how soft she felt. It was quite hard work to behave in spite of his thoughts so dirty they could turn her white dress black.

"This is ridiculous. Why can't I just sit on the bench?"

He pouted, trying to make her laugh but also trying to make her stay. She rolled her eyes. "What's the matter? Am I that irresistible?" he baited.

With her trademark dry sarcasm, "Of course you are. Look at me swooning."

"And I'm not even trying yet."

She raised her eyebrows, "Yet?"

He considered his alternatives, and opted to let himself pretend to be pretending to flirt. It was a great outlet for his actual desire to flirt with her. Unleashing his inhibitions in the pretense of pretension, he let his eyes wander over her seductively. "Would you like me to start?" She had carefully given no reaction, guarding her thoughts with that cool façade that she was famous for. He leaned closer, whispering now, "I'd be happy to oblige."

She squirmed slightly, though otherwise she held up her cool front. "Why would I want that?"

He tucked her hair behind her ear, letting his hand linger. "Am I making you nervous?"

"Are you trying to?"

He grinned at their baiting. "Is it working?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Why are you answering me with questions?"

"Why not?"

He had to concede to the master, recognizing he had met his match. "Ooh, you're good." She smiled smugly, and he had never wanted her more in his life. Well, maybe when she had been wearing his shirt...

They lapsed into a silence, which, while not uncomfortable, was not exactly comfortable either. He was painfully aware of her body against him. She shivered again, and without thinking, he rubbed her arm to warm her. As he became aware of the movement, it slowed and lightened, going from comfortably friendly to awkwardly sensual, and it drew her stare to his hand. His breathing became suddenly shallow as he was again reminded of their close proximity. Leaning toward her, his lips brushed her hair. Her head snapped up to face him, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open with astonishment, and he couldn't help his gaze's drift to her lips. The air was filled with tension, and for a second his imagination ran wild with him merely a passenger. His head inclined a minuscule millimeter toward hers before he could fight the attraction, and she leapt away from him as if he had electrocuted her.

"You know, I think I'll stand after all." She crossed her arms, resuming her pacing though definitely more jumpy now. He sighed, running his hand through his hair. What was wrong with him? If he didn't cut it out, she was never going to speak to him again, if she didn't kill him first. With a deep breath, he willed himself to remember she was technically his girlfriend's best friend, and much as he wanted to pursue her, she was thoroughly and completely off-limits.

"Sorry, that was out of line."

"Don't mention it." Whether she was dismissing it as unimportant or not wanting to acknowledge it happened, he couldn't say. Either way, she didn't seem inclined to resume their conversation. He was frustrated as he could almost see her hard-earned trust in him dissolving. His eyes followed her in her relentless track back and forth across the floor, and he recognized the resemblance. They never did seem to make any progress.