AN:

And here you go guys!

I wasn't quite sure where to end this chapter, but I've been sick for most of this past week and couldn't write as much as usual. So I thought I better keep it short so I can give you an update that's still kind of on time… Or like one day late? Something like that…

The companion chapter in the Elphie-version is: "Reunions"

Happy reading!

xoxo MLE

Chapter Twenty-Six: A Second Chance

Bone-tired from a long night, Glinda landed her bubble on her balcony and let it pop. Fiyero quickly brushed past and, just like the gentlemen he always pretended to be, held the door open for her.

"Thank you," she sighed as she stepped over the threshold and into her apartment.

The scarecrow prince followed her and carefully closed the door.

"You look even worse than last night, Glin," he remarked ineptly and the petite blonde scowled at him. "What I mean, is that I probably should head back to my own room so you can catch some sleep as soon as possible."

His sheepish grin and the abashed look in his eyes always helped, and Glinda's expression softened almost immediately.

"No," she replied with a small smile, pulling back her hood and taking off the dark purple coat she had been wearing. "We still have to discuss a few things. Tomorrow I'll be leaving for Munchkinland again, as you know, and I have to be a hundred percent sure that you know exactly what you're doing when I'm not around."

"Hey!" Fiyero protested with a laugh. "Last time I checked, it was me, who was responsible for mission 'Whack the Weather Witch'.

"Oh no, Master Brainless! You might have been the one who convinced me to go through with this, but I'm definitely the head of this operation now."

Shrugging, Fiyero surrendered.

"Fine, Captain Goldie Locks. Let's hurry and begin this briefing, so you can kick of those ridiculous and by no means underground-work-suitable heels and drop dead in your fluffy, pink bed.

The beautiful witch scoffed at this jab, but didn't deign to reply.

"Tea or coffee?" she asked sweetly, at which her co-conspirer unsuccessfully asked for 'something stronger' instead, before settling for a flat white.

She sat down on her plush sofa, while Fiyero preferred to remain standing.

"Now. I have already arranged everything, so that there won't be too much to do while I'm absent. But the one thing that you have to do is important, so don't mess it up!"

Rolling his eyes, the Scarecrow nodded.

It took them about half an hour until everything was discussed and resolved. Already after the first five minutes, Fiyero had insisted that he understood his task and knew how to go about it - Glinda, however, had not been so sure.

Once he was back in his own room, he removed his shoes and flopped down on his bed, where he lay silently, idly staring at the ceiling for several hours. As a scarecrow, sleep wasn't essential for him and ever since he had regained his memory, nightmares were far too frequent an occurrence for his liking and the idea of closing his eyes and slipping away fast became more and more unattractive.

He had been right there - in the front row, so to speak - when they had killed the one person he had loved more than anything else in this world. He had heard her screaming as she had died in agony and it was those screams that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He deserved this, of course, but that didn't make anything better. His penance wouldn't bring her back.

The only thought that could console him at least the slightest bit, was that there soon would be vengeance and maybe some measure of justice. Morrible would only be the first, hopefully closely followed by the Wizard and other members of this corrupt regime. They would clean Oz of this scum and return it to its former glory, freeing the Animals and creating a place where equality and peace would be first priority. They had big plans, hoping to see them become reality one day, so Elphaba would be proud of them.

After their late return from business in the Emerald City's underworld, seeking out rogue resistance members and negotiating with guns for hire, not much of the night had been left. The dawn of the next day came as a relief for Fiyero and he chuckled as he thought of poor Glinda, cursing the bags under her eyes as she, too, had to rise early.

He rolled to the edge of the bed and lazily let first one foot, then the other drop to the floor. He pulled himself up and his shoes on, stretching a little and redistributing his straw filling where it had left his upper arm and collected in his gloved hand.

Once his morning routine was complete, he walked over to his desk and carefully opened a concealed compartment. The letter and the money were still there, he noted with relief, and so was the small pistol he would take to the meeting with his secret contact tonight.

A brusque knock on the door made him jump and clumsily fiddle with the mechanism that hid the little drawer so well.

"Just one moment, please," he called out, not quite managing an even voice.

It took him several attempts, but once everything was safely stowed away again, he scurried to answer the door.

Wordlessly, a footman handed him a note before he bowed and left again.

"Um… thank you," Fiyero mumbled as he unfolded the piece of paper.

He was summoned to the throne room. Immediately.

This urgent invitation did not sit right with the prince, and instantly, a host of possible worst case scenarios came to his mind. He wanted to run his hand through his hair as he was wont to do when thinking so hard, but there was no hair, and he only succeeded in sweeping off his holey straw hat.

The Wizard's informants must have found out about his nightly escapades, of that much he was certain. Since Dorothy had left, he had not once been summoned again. Except for Glinda, everyone thought him useless and well, brainless. To say the truth, he had been quite content being left alone, whatever the reason.

But now the only question was: how much did they know? He had been sent a note, not an army of guards; he hoped this to be a reliable indication that he was not too deep in trouble. Yet.

Steeling himself for the things to come, he held his head up high as he marched past the guards stationed in the hallway and left and right of the gigantic, green double doors to the throne room.

'Here goes nothing,' he thought as he cleared his throat and demanded entrance, declaring that he had received a formal invitation.

The guards chuckled, but opened the heavy doors and let him pass. Barely two steps into the room, however, he stopped short. He heard the doors slam shut behind him with a roll of thunder and then only the pounding of his own heart.

His eyes firmly trained on Glinda, who was standing in the middle of the room, he wanted nothing more than to rush towards her and make sure she was all right. He had dragged her into this, certain that it was the right thing to do, that they both owed this to Elphaba. Now, however, confronted with the possibility that they both might have been discovered, he blamed himself, questioning furiously how he could have been so stupid and endangered yet another person whom he cared so much about.

When he finally met the blonde, they exchanged courteous nods.

"You seem anything but pleased to see me here," Glinda noted haughtily, sending a cold smirk in his direction.

Fiyero replied with a stiff kiss on the back of her hand.

"I'm truly sorry if I made this impression, Your Goodness."

Using this proximity to his advantage, he added quietly, "What is going on? Why are you here and not in Munchkinland?"

"I don't know. My trip has been cancelled," she whispered back. "I didn't know you were going to be here either."

"Do you think they found out?"

For the briefest moment, Glinda's mask failed and the prince could see the distress in her face.

"I… I don't think so," she finally answered, sounding little convincing."

When the doors opened once more, they both swiftly took a step to the side, brining a reasonable amount of space between them and pretending to ignore each other.

In marched the Lion and the Tinman and the young witch and the Scarecrow both released a small, barely noticeable sigh of relief. With some luck, this was not about mission 'Whack the Weather Witch' after all.

"Good morning friends," the Tinman called as he entered.

He did little to hide his slight surprise and amusement at finding the Scarecrow in the throne room, but seemed otherwise unperturbed, since for him it was nothing unusual anymore to see the Wizard. After Dorothy's departure, he had been quite dedicated to spreading the word about the Wicked Witch's death and His Ozness' grandeur. The Lion was the closest thing he had to a friend and accompanied him every now and then - Glinda and Fiyero had always been shaking their heads over the sheer irony.

"Good morning," Glinda replied to the Tinman's greeting, flashing him and his companion a radiant smile.

"Morning," Fiyero muttered, faking a yawn.

Before there was enough time for an almost unavoidable, awkward silence to settle, Madame Morrible, and finally, His Wizardness himself entered the room via a back door. Both wore severely grave expressions on their faces, and Fiyero's stomach once again seemed to heavily drop a level lower.

The Wizard took a seat on his throne, his press secretary moved to stand right next to him; everyone else inched closer in worried anticipation.

"This morning I received a troubling report from the western Gillikin," the Wizard announced with a deep sigh. He paused then, seemingly searching for the best words to deliver the terrible news.

"Please, Your Ozness," Morrible urged impatiently, "there is no point beating around the bush."

He only sighed some more and with a sort of stifled, but clearly exasperated huff, she asked for permission to share the upsetting information.

"The Wicked Witch of the West is alive."

Fiyero sucked in an enormous gulp of air and held it, worried about what else might escape his mouth if he were to release it. Lurline must have heard his hurtful cries and silent prayers and given him a second chance! In any other situation, he would have broken out into wild laughter, kissing the herald of this joyous message's feet, jumping about and turning summersaults.

But, unfortunately, it had been Morrible who had uttered the words with so much distaste and he was standing in the middle of the Emerald Palace's throne room; any sign of such inopportune enthusiasm could cost him his freedom or even his life.

His jaw set and his hands clenched into fists, he dared casting a look over to Glinda, who was shockingly pale, as if all blood had drained from her body. She positively appeared about ready to faint and collapse. Just in case, he shuffled a few inches closer.

His eyes then followed Glinda's gaze, firmly trained on the press secretary, whose ice-cold stare was directed back at the petite blonde in return. The terrible fishwoman's eyes were like those of a lurking predator, and she clearly was ready to jump and attack if the younger witch would make but one wrong move. No matter how unfortunate this form Elphaba had turned his body into was, in this moment, Fiyero was incredibly grateful not to have to withstand the same scrutiny Glinda did. How she could bear it was a mystery, for he knew for certain that he could not.

The Tinman, just as stunned as everyone else in the room, finally regained his composure.

"I'm deeply sorry, Your Ozness, to have failed you. This Witch is cunning; I should have known. Please, let me rectify this. I promise that I won't disappoint again."

The Weather Witch seemed pleased and very ready to accept the desperate creature's offer. The Wizard looked more skeptical.

"The last time an entire host of witch hunters was not enough to help you slay the witch for good. What makes you think that you alone could accomplish such a task?"

"But my friends will accompany me in this quest," the man of tin replied confidently. "Won't you, boys?"

He first looked at the Lion, who briefly had to remind himself that he (supposedly) possessed courage now, then at the Scarecrow, whose face was contorted to a grimace.

Walking up to him, his chest thrust out in a display of bravery and pride, the Lion promised to stand by his companion and to finish what they had set out to do when Dorothy had still been part of their fellowship.

Fiyero, on the other hand, could not pledge his allegiance so easily. Nervously twiddling with his thumbs, he stared to the floor.

"What is it old pal?" the Tinman asked him in surprise. "You set forth to save our lovely Oz once before, I'm sure you can do it again?"

Fiyero's gaze wandered back to Glinda. She still looked thoroughly befuddled and might not even have listened to their conversation at all. The thought of going with him had popped into the prince's head as soon as the Tinman had suggested another mission to kill the green witch and even before the silver-coloured pile of junk had even asked for anyone to stand with him. What better way to protect his beloved Fae than acting as a double agent?

But then there was Glinda. Obviously, protecting Elphaba took first priority and automatically overwrote any other plans they might have had, yet leaving Glinda behind and alone with those monsters – for a second time…

"Can I… can I think this over?" he finally asked and he knew how pathetic this sounded. "Just one night," he insisted, "and you shall have my decision in the morning."

Madame Morrible tsked at him in sheer annoyance, the Tinman called him a bloody coward and stormed out of the room, followed by the Lion who slowly waddled past the Scarecrow.

When the doors fell shut behind them, Glinda finally snapped out of her stupor. Blinking, she looked from one person to the next, trying to gather what had happened.

"Well," the Wizard announced, sending Fiyero an unimpressed glare. "I guess the mission would not be able to leave before tomorrow anyway, so take some time to make up your mind, Scarecrow. But perhaps, should you decide not to accompany your valiant friends, it might be time for you to leave the palace anyway and find a proper home for yourself. Our hospitality and gratitude for your services have been thoroughly proven and this seems to be the right time to move on."

And with that everyone was dismissed and asked to return to their respective apartments.

Later that day, Fiyero had visited Glinda, consulting with her and making sure that she was going to be fine if he really were to leave. The logistics of their mission – not fully abandoned, but definitely postponed considerably – would be left for the blonde to deal with and this prospect caused him terrible headaches. He only hoped that their underground associates would accept their pay without complaint and not harass her because the plan had changed so suddenly.

On his way to the kitchen, where he was going to snatch some bread and cheese (just for the taste), he ran into the Tinman. Far less angry than before, the squeaky thing asked him out for drinks and food, so they could talk things over. Having not much to lose, he agreed.

"All right, Scarecrow," the Tinman almost shouted so that half of a crowded tavern could hear, slamming his first empty beer mug on the table. He, too, did not need to drink for sustenance, but clearly enjoyed it thoroughly. "Now tell me you have made up your brainless mind and decided to come with us."

Indecisive, Fiyero played with his still half-full cup of wine, painting red circles with the few drops he had spilled.

"You never told me, you know? Why you hate the witch so much."

The other man looked at him incredulously.

"Everyone hates the Wicked Witch," he sneered.

"But with you it's something more personal, isn't it?"

Fiyero remotely remembered him inferring something along those lines.

Apparently considering whether the straw man was trustworthy enough to hear the full story, the Tinman eyed him from head to toe before taking a swig of his freshly arrived beer.

"I haven't always been like this," he finally said, gesturing towards himself and snapping his fingers against his chest to produce a hollow clonk.

Fiyero's eyes grew as wide as saucers. This was all he needed to hear; the rest was easy enough to guess.

"You mean… you mean, she turned you into… this."

Now it was definitely time for a generous gulp of his wine. Somehow he had never considered that Elphaba could have transformed anyone else but him, even though he had to admit that a man made of tin was something rather unusual. Now the next question was why she had done it and why this fellow was so angry with her. Surely, she would never have done it out of malice.

"So, what happened? I doubt she just one day showed up at your doorstep and magicked you simply for sport?"

Heaving a deep sigh, the Tinman dropped his head, staring at the drink in front of him.

"This is actually quite close to what happened."

"What!?" Fiyero couldn't, wouldn't believe it.

"I used to work for the Governor of Munchkinland, Nessarose Thropp. She was the witch's sister."

Fiyero nodded, trying not to let on how familiar he was with the Thropp family.

"Well, one day the witch came to see the Governor, or something, and what else happened that day is a little blurry in my head. I can remember an argument and a magick book and the next thing I know, I wake up, trapped in this horrid, cold body.

"I don't know exactly how this came to be, but I know that it is Elphaba's fault," he spat.

"… that's the witch," he explained a clock-tick later, for this wasn't really common knowledge.

Once he had finished his tale, he was surprised to find the Scarecrow scowling at him.

"So you don't really know what has happened, but you blame the witch?" Fiyero recapped with a frown and a startling intimidating growl in his voice.

"What do you mean, 'what happened?'" the Tinman asked exasperated, having expected sympathy rather than criticism. "She turned me into tin, that's what happened! What else is there to know?"

"Maybe she saved you or something?"

"From what!?"

"Well, exactly! That's what you should try to find out first!"

At this point it was immensely difficult for Fiyero to pull himself together and not punch a series of dents into the woodman's metal hull.

Emptying his drink, the Tinman briefly considered the Scarecrow's words.

"Elphaba is a powerful sorceress. I'm sure that she could have transformed me back if she had wanted to."

"Maybe you overestimate her powers because that's what everyone has been telling you," the prince suggested snappily.

"You clearly haven't seen her powers! We went to school together and once in a while she'd literally blow up with magick. I've seen enough to know what she is capable of."

"You knew her well then?"

Despite his fury, the Scarecrow grew more and more curious about the identity of his drinking partner. There had been hundreds of students at Shiz, however, and the chances that he had actually ever talked to the man next to him were slim.

"Well… no, not that well," the Tinman answered awkwardly and Fiyero immediately recognised his words as the blatant lie they were.

Boq, was the first name that came to his mind and he struggled to keep a straight face. As much as he wanted to, he could not reveal himself to his old pal if they were to be enemies from now on.

"You know, Tinman," he said quietly, fixing his neighbour with an arctic glare, "there is no point for you to go out there, risking your life as you hunt the witch. You don't owe the Wizard anything, because he never gave you that heart you wanted so badly. If you had even the tiniest heart in all of Oz beating in your chest, you would not feel this way about an old friend. You wouldn't betray her like this.

"Good night."

With that, Fiyero rose form his seat, angrily tossed out some shiny coins and dejectedly walked out of the inn without looking back.

He took the long way home, wandering through the streets aimlessly. The Tinman really was Boq, had to be Boq. Out of all people in Oz, that Dorothy girl just had to run into Boq and Fiyero, these days a tin woodman and a scarecrow. Now the icing on the cake would be if the Cowardly Lion was actually his and Elphaba's little Lion cub, Fiyero thought, shaking his head and laughing mirthlessly at this absurd idea. He should visit Glinda before going to bed, he decided, and tell her these rather upsetting news. She needed to know.

Once back at the palace, he made a beeline for Glinda's apartment on the second floor. Hopefully she was still awake.

The guards standing by her door weren't – snoring, they leaned on their halberds and enjoyed a little nap. He lifted his hand to knock, but hesitated when he heard voices from within. This was unusual, for Glinda rarely dealt with diplomatic matters after dinner. He pressed his ear against the door and tried to decipher some words, but all he could find out, was that both voices sounded distinctively female. The visitor had to be a friend of hers.

Hoping that this lady, whoever she was, would not overstay her welcome, he pulled over a stool from around the corner and waited.

Time passed and the ozdamned door in front of him would simply not open. Enough was enough, and he decided that it was time to crash the girls' little midnight tea party.

He jumped up from his chair and impatiently banged his fist against the door, almost – but only almost – waking one of the guards from his blissful slumber. Not waiting for an invitation, he ripped open the door and stormed inside the room.

Glinda stood with the back to him, but whirled around as soon as she heard him enter, shielding a tall, cloaked figure from his eyes. When said figure snapped her head up in alarm, he spotted a hint of emerald green and he stopped dead in his tracks.