The first thing Elphaba missed was the snow. The sight of naked ground and natural greenery made her squirm in her seat. A dusty Lurlinemas; the physical manifestation of the lost comfort zone. She had seen it from the plane. The borders the Kells drew between the province and the remainder of Oz; jagged incisors sprung up out of nowhere.

Based on the backseat commentary, Nessa and Shell were trying their hardest not to give Fiyero the satisfaction of their amazement. They'd witnessed more geography thirty minutes into their Vinkun sojourn than ever before. Then, halfway through the drive to Kiamo Ko, Nessa fell victim to an asset of a different kind.

"Look!" She slapped Shell on the arm, pointing out the window. "Boys! Everyone act like they don't care!" She turned towards Shell and moved her lips as if deep in conversation.

Shell stared at her, his eyes dead. "Teenagers these days."

"Who told Nessa about boys?" Fiyero demanded, trying to make his look in the rearview mirror serious, but not holding it. He couldn't help it. He was at the wheel of his original baby. Bless his parents for knowing to have it driven to the airport for him. "Nessa, dear, let me save you the pain. Boys are myths."

"I must say, you are one sexy myth," Shell told Fiyero.

Fiyero strained his ears to hear an agreement from the passenger seat, but it didn't come. "Let's play a game. If you're nervous don't pay attention to Fiyero."

Nessa caught on right away. "Better pull over. Someone's looking a little green."

Feeling his cheeks, Shell's expression turned to one of acceptance. "I always get carsick. I think it's the grass I ate as a child."

Before Nessa had the opportunity to retort, Fiyero declared, "And if you'll look to your right, you'll see the birthplace of Fiyero Tigelaar. Take it away, Shell."

"OzBeat's sexiest prince three years running, winner of the Wizard's Choice Best Smile competition and unfortunate beau of the dudette who isn't listening to the speech designed to get him lucky."

"Fiyero knows the only way he's getting lucky is if his search for the six-leafed clover ever prospers," Elphaba replied, proving herself a worthy multi-tasker. As the car swerved around the winding roads, her eyes were glued to Kiamo Ko and her thoughts surprised at her contempt for Fiyero's regal roots.

Overgrown vines snaked up the stone walls of the Vinkun stronghold, emphasizing the broadness of the windows and the subtle designs carved around them. With her own family of five having grown in a humble, eight roomed home, she couldn't find the necessity in a family of three residing in a home with an eight bedroom minimum. The prospect didn't seem like home at all. Just a building.

Fiyero navigated through the long route around the castle to give the Thropps a taste of what he had grown up surrounded by. The delicacy of the gardens, towers that touched the sky and- the most popular- the unwavering view of the ocean.

"It's blue!" Nessa cried.

Shell shoved her. "It's turquoise!"

"It's clear!"

"It's moving!"

"I saw a fish!"

"That's a rock!"

"Close enough!"

"Annnnnd..." Fiyero threw the car into park and hit the unlock button. "You have arrived," he announced in an automated voice. Shell tumbled out of the car, helped Nessa out with him and they were gone within seconds, treating themselves to an exploration.

"Don't go near the water!" Elphaba called after them, her voice resounding low and strained through the courtyard. Even if they heard her, Shell and Nessa didn't consider obedience a virtue. She hoped there were some friendly mermaids on standby.

"Are we ready?"

Elphaba turned her head to see Fiyero grinning at her. Did he always glow like that? "You know, there are two tickets available for the 3:15 flight. If we shift the clothes around just right, Shell and Nessa could fit into the bags and-"

Fiyero's glare cut her off. The glow faded. "Why were you checking flight times?"

"For when Shell swallows too much seawater and we have to make the emergency return home."

In the click of a tongue he had rounded the car and was prying Elphaba out of her seat.

"Stop! I'm sore! I need to stretch my legs!"

"Let's go." He had a firm, loving grip on her wrist and was pulling her towards the ornate archway opposite them, only to stop when his arm was yanked backwards. "You've got to be kidding me."

Elphaba was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the pathway, dragging him down on a diagonal and staring up at him with her signature defiance.

"Alright, we'll do this the hard way." Fiyero stooped over, hooked his arms around her and threw her over his shoulder. He nodded at a passing gardener, who was pretending not to have noticed the living, breathing spectacle that was Elphaba Thropp.

And what a surprise it was to the spectacle when Fiyero powered through her strategically aimed kicks and she heard, "Mom; Dad. This is Elphaba." She was thrown sideways as he spun a semi-circle.

Hanging her head in defeat, Elphaba sucked in a breath. Of all of the bad first impressions she'd made on people, this topped the list. She could only imagine the untameable tangles in her hair and the vivid strip of skin exposed now that she was hanging upside down.

"If you would be so kind-" she grunted as Fiyero tightened his grip, "-as to exert some control over your son."

"Fiyero, put the girl down!" the father chuckled. Elphaba couldn't help but admire the musical trill of his accent.

Not for long because Fiyero set her down (rather clumsily) and remarked, "She's afraid of you."

Elphaba's palm slammed into her forehead. "I've really grown to admire your son's unbridled honesty."

"It's in the genes!" Fiyero's father landed a playful punch on his son's shoulder and sent him reeling.

Fiyero balanced himself and placed a hand on the small of Elphaba's back, angling her towards the king. "Elphaba, this is my father, Marillot. If you were wondering where I get my looks from, it's not him."

Marillot caught Elphaba in the beginning stages of a bow and wrapped his hand around hers in an iron grip, shaking it vigorously. "None of that! We're all equals here!" As Elphaba's eyes roved over the queen, she wasn't sure she could trust the 'impeccable Tigelaar honesty' of that statement.

The royal couple easily had ten years on Frex and Melena. The king was massive by all dimensions, but all the more loveable once his red face and clear sapphire eyes broke into their near-constant, jovial smile. By contrast, his wife was tall and slight with pensive grey eyes and hair that bore dignified streaks of silver. She was wearing an expensive looking skirt-suit. The kind Aunt Sophelia had worn on Lurlinemas, knowing full well Melena couldn't afford a frayed thread of it. Queens and princesses were involved in a completely different side of politics than their husbands and fathers.

Suddenly, Elphaba blushed, realizing that she had been expecting crowns and ballgowns. To cover for herself, she held out a hand to the queen. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

The queen's handshake was the ghost of a touch and for the swiftest of seconds. Elphaba almost missed it.

Fiyero picked up on none of the tension whatsoever. "And that's the mumsie, Baxiana." He went in for a hug and was greeted with enough warmth to heat the Emerald City over the course of winter.

"We've heard so much about you," Marillot whispered to Elphaba in an awfully loud voice. She noticed the exaggerated look he cast towards Fiyero. "Every time your name comes up, Fiyero starts to...what's the word?"

"Fangirl?" Shell suggested.

The four adults turned to acknowledge the stealthy newcomers. "Exactly!" Marillot exclaimed, spreading his arms wide to welcome the siblings. "You must be Shell!"

"Hear that, Ness? The king knows my name."

"And Nessarose!" Marillot continued, not having paid attention to Shell's comment.

Nessa twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "Hear that, Shell? The king knows a Nessarose, but not a Sheltergod." She shrugged. "Maybe that's because there's not a Sheltergod that exists anywhere in Oz."

"Not according to my birth certificate."

Marillot's booming voice interrupted Nessa and Shell before Elphaba could intervene. "Why are we lingering in doorways? Let's have a look at your rooms!"

The Thropps quickly learnt that Kiamo Ko resembled most other castles, making Nessa the most comfortable. She gravitated to Marillot in a way she couldn't towards Fiyero.

"Looks like Nessa's in her element again," Elphaba murmured. The corridors were empty, but the portraits of gorgeous, olive-skinned Tigelaars silenced her. They all looked as though they were enduring deep, emotional torture. Not unlike Baxiana's expression when Elphaba's voice sounded.

"You mean sucking up to royals or sucking up to someone else's dad?" Shell said, loud enough for Nessa to receive the audible blow. Marillot, who wasn't informed enough to comprehend the insult, continued on with a story about the time Fiyero threw a beach party and was hitting on girls with a clump of seaweed stuck in his hair.

Nessa and Shell were shown to their rooms and given a chance to settle in. (Nessa began sorting through her clothing, while Shell investigated the length of the drop from his window to the ground.)

"What time should we come down for dinner?" Fiyero asked.

"Any time," Baxiana answered flippantly. Her accent was softer than her husband's, but all the more brilliant. "Your father and I will be busy with preparations for Lurlinemas."

Marillot's brow creased. "But-"

Elphaba couldn't have missed the way Baxiana's heel stomped her husband's toe. She herself had done it to Fiyero so many times.

"That's right. Lurlinemas preparations." Marillot winked at Elphaba. "The woman's always right."

Fiyero opened his mouth to argue, but his parents were already rounding the corner in the direction they had come.

Elphaba had organized a tedious run-through of all of the worst case scenarios during the three hour flight. She had prepared herself for pitchfork-wielding mobs and walking in on deserted palaces, but the reality of the situation seemed so much worse than anything she could have imagined. Now lodged in Fiyero's former bedroom, unrolling t-shirts, she had too much time to think. The room's absolute lack of personality only reiterated the superficiality of the "home."

"Pretty cool, huh?" Fiyero was resting his elbows on the window sill, absorbing the familiar view. The twilight had passed, pulling up a starry sheet in its place. Unlatching the window, he forced it open and the music of high tide flooded in.

"I especially love your mother's smile."

"She's just stressed. The holidays are always a lot of work for her." Fiyero conveniently chose to begin hanging shirts in the closet.

"Oh." Elphaba paused mid-fold. "She does the cooking?"

"That's not what-"

"Do you have any siblings? No. Does she have any siblings?"

"No."

"Then it seems the only thing she has to be stressed about is me."

Fiyero laughed hollowly. "Now that's a little bit conceded."

Overturning the entire luggage onto the bed, Elphaba took out her rage on an innocent cardigan, chucking it across the room. "Just watch. Tomorrow we're going to have so much fun," he was saying all the while. "We'll go swimming and we'll eat until we're popping buttons and we'll have the conversations that need to be had..."

Elphaba had arranged the last of the clothing into their appropriate piles, but in the process of lifting the heap, was forced to set it down again. Out from the soft coverage of the t-shirts rolled the stupid globe Fiyero had given her twenty-four hours previous. Taking it into her hands, she gave it a slight shake and watched the snowflakes take possession of the miniature city.

Fiyero's arms circled her waist and his chin settled on her shoulder. He stared at the globe in her hands until it was still. "You're worrying over nothing," he said. But she wasn't sure who he was speaking to.

Pulling away to ease the unexpected rift, Elphaba grabbed the final items out of her baggage. Tape and baby monitors. Fiyero stared at her incredulously. "What are those for?"

"Didn't you see the rascals scoping out escape routes?" Elphaba slid the roll of tape onto her wrist, making a bracelet of it. "The last thing we need is for the seeds of promiscuity to bear fruit."