A/N: You know, I've just relized that it's been over a year since I started this. It's weird, since I've never had a fic that's taken me this long. -sigh- Well, just putting that out there. As always, I hope you like this one :)
Disclaimer: Not mine. 'Wicked' belongs to Gregory Maguire.
031. Sunrise.
Time Was
"Don't. It's cold," I said as I watched her stir and rise from bed.
"I'm up anyway," she answered me, half asleep yet, her voice drowsy and sheepish. "Why are you up so early?"
I shrugged. Really, there wasn't a reason for my awakening; I just couldn't sleep. Something was bothering me—I could not pinpoint what exactly though. "Next week's Lurlinemas," I commented, changing the subject huskily.
She didn't make any move to indicate she'd heard me. She had put on a nightgown and was close by. Then, "The sun's just rising. We should go back to bed."
"I want to be here with you." She was ignoring the fact that I knew I wouldn't be able to be here, with her; and I was ignoring the fact she didn't want to argue, not now. But I needed to let her know. She wouldn't listen later.
"You can't. You can't," she was not asking for permission—she was commanding.
But why can't I? Tell me the real reason! "Elphie, it's Lurlinemas, for Oz's sake—"
"No." she was strict, and she had her resolute look on. She softened then. "It's early, love, let's get some more rest." She walked over to bed, and let her robe fall to the floor as she got in, inviting me to a more personal moment. I was upset with her, and even though it was minor, I shot her a look.
"I should get going," I didn't look her way next—I just grabbed my clothes and started dressing up.
"Love?" she asked, confused, really confused. It was rare, even for me, to hear such confusion in her voice—that feeling of perplexity is almost scarce within her.
"I've business to attend to." I lied; I knew, and she knew, it was a poor excuse of a lie; but I was mad.
She didn't say a thing, and I didn't speak a word either. Just then, after putting my boots on and grabbing my coat, did I look at her: she was baffled—was she sad? I thought I could see some tears welling up, but just shook the idea out of my mind—she couldn't be crying, not over this; could she?
I couldn't stand the look on her face anymore, so I just glanced another way. Dashing to the door, I looked back just one last time, to see, to watch, to glimpse at her soft yet pointed face, trying to understand her, to explain myself, to communicate and to protest. And there, I saw it—the pain. No, I did not want to cause her pain—seeing her like that was disturbing, heart wrenching, wounding even, and it pained me. But yes, I was mad, and yes, I thought she got my point (by awful means): being traded by business, even for lies, is hurtful.
It pained her, but it pained me. And I just left. I left her and I didn't even say goodbye.
I would have said something had I known it would be one of the last times I'd ever see her again.
