AN: It's been ages, I know. I'm so sorry. My new medication made me exhausted, but we've adjusted it now. Thank you for those still reading.
Sweat dripped into Fiyero's eyes, but he didn't slow. The burn of aching muscles always soothed him. If his thundering pulse and panting breaths filled his focus, he wouldn't have room for any other thoughts. Just as he liked it. Peaceful. Blank. Empty.
He fell back and chugged his water. Worth a run now? That peaceful slap of footfalls called to him, but his muscles groaned in exhaustion. He hung his head back with eyes closed. His arms ached. He dodged a memory of soft hands gliding over his arms. How did she still infect his thoughts?
"Still at it?"
He cracked an eye. Lieutenant Dight lounged against the wall with a smirk.
Fiyero sighed and shoved himself up. "Almost done."
"That legendary endurance, huh? No wonder you're the youngest ever Captain of the Guard." Yes, as if his proximity to Glinda and title to the monarchy were no issue. Dight dodged Fiyero's lazy swipe. "Hey now, I'm not your date. No pawing."
"You'd be so lucky."
"That is how I hear it, yes." Dight leaned in. "Tell me: is she as sweet as she looks? Or is the good girl thing just an act to wear glitter?"
"You're not particularly smart, are you?" Fiyero slammed his water back, but the bottle was empty. He stalked to refill it.
Dight grinned. "So the second?"
"Watch yourself."
"Just curious." Dight passed him a towel. "I'd never presume. Oz knows, no one would be foolish enough to try wooing her away, no matter how beautiful she is. That'd just be…" He made a face as he searched for the words. "Wrong. Like breaking up the moon and stars."
Fiyero fled toward the showers where he'd lose his unrequested shadow, but the fool had no self-preservation.
"And I've seen your moon. I'm dumb, but not dumb enough to try and compare."
He jerked to a stop. "Is there some reason you've come to irritate me, or you just felt the need to comment on my ass?"
Dight shrugged. "Can't it be both?"
Fiyero didn't dignify that with an answer. He whipped off his shirt and threw it toward his bag. Surely the idiot wouldn't hop in the spray with him.
"Yikes, Cap, what happened there?"
His pants followed next in the pile. "Nothing."
Dight slunk back as if the bruise might be catching. "If you say so. I'd need med leave for a smack that hard. And you're training on it, no less?"
Fiyero shed the last of his clothes and snatched up a towel. If Dight felt uncomfortable talking with his stark-naked superior office, he showed no sign of it.
"Is the pain tolerance a Winkie thing?"
"Go train." Fiyero flung the curtain closed so hard, the metal rings jangled. The water heated slowly, but he had no intention to wait. "Oz knows you could use it."
"Rude."
The pounding water washed over his shoulder and caught the edge of his bruise. He deserved it. He drenched his face in the freezing spray. The image of her haunted him, that shock rounding her eyes and the broken halves of her broom dangling from her fingers.
His heart stopped, and he couldn't breathe at the memory, so vivid. That sudden slam of hope and fear that shook him from the dull cocoon he sleepwalked in. That jolt in his gut as he realized the soldiers at his back, their monumentally small odds for survival. That electricity at her finally in arms reach.
"Ithu talankh ithulu ventu." The window exploded with a roar of wind, yanking her out into the dawn beyond. He raced to the window. Could she fly with her broom like that?
The wind sucked him against the pane, and his muscles trembled as he fought to hold on. She wasn't in the sky. She wasn't on the ground. Where? How? The soldiers on the ground scattered like dry leaves, swirled in dizzying circles. A heavy thud sent pain soaring through his side as something heavy slammed him in the pane. He teetered, nearly fell, but just like that, the wind was gone.
What did it mean? Was she dead? Were these sightings since just folklore? He didn't see how anyone could survive that, but he couldn't understand how Boq had either.
"Anyway, she sent me."
"What?" Fiyero's head jerked up, which earned him a mouthful of water. He could practically see Dight's smirk in his mind.
"Your stars. She can pencil you in if you can be there in…" Dight paused, presumably checking the clock. "Eight minutes."
Fiyero snapped the water off with a snarl. "And you felt the need to blather on?" He wrenched back the curtain and threw the towel at Dight's head.
"What? You're a fast runner. A solid four minutes to spare."
No time for it. He dragged his clothes on, the fabric sticking to his wet skin. So much for calm. "I'm the Captain of the Guard. I can't sprint through the palace, you idiot. Everyone will assume the worst."
Dight's mouth opened. But then he nodded. "Fair point. See, that's why you're the Cap. Keen head for strategy."
Fiyero rolled his eyes. "You've got the eighth squad, then. Don't go easy on them."
"Never."
He shoved his feet in his boots. "And don't run your mouth. Just lead the drill."
Dight frowned. "Spoilsport," he called after Fiyero, but he didn't spare a glance.
Fiyero took his pace as quick as he dared, not that Glinda would refuse him if he were late. He hated running her behind schedule. It inevitably led to whispers and giggles and insinuations of stolen kisses.
"You're wet," she said by way of greeting.
"Shower."
She lifted an eyebrow, and her nose crinkled in clear disagreement.
"I swear Dight does it on purpose to frustrate me." She set a small hand on his forearm, sympathy mixed with disagreement. "Either way, his annoyance skills are keenly developed."
She sparked a laugh like a waterfall. He could easily understand why all of Oz had fallen in love with her. Just as he could immediately pinpoint why he never would.
Her face fell. "I heard back from the Wizard."
The answer lay in her expression, but he needed her to say it. "And?"
"He read your report." She shook her head. "He's just disgusted; I think we all are. Poor Biq."
"But?"
A crease flared between her eyebrows. Sometimes he felt terrible for pushing her, but if he didn't, no one would. What happened to a conscience unexercised? Fiyero couldn't let her slide inch by inch into their moral quagmire. He wasn't strong enough to resist alone.
"The situation with her Eminence is too fraught."
Fiyero caught her chin and made her meet his eyes. "He's a person, Glin. Our friend. He's in pain."
She pulled free. "I know that. Biq was always kind to me. You think I want to leave him like that?"
"You can't persuade him?"
"I can, maybe. With time. But that's no help to Biq now." She moved to the window, and her lip caught in her teeth. "Did you really see her?"
He slid his arms around her, and she sank into him.
"She can't have done this."
He drew a heavy breath. It made little difference to anyone else if she did. "Is Boq lucid yet?"
"Biq, honey." She patted his arm consolingly at the correction, and Fiyero swallowed a smile. "I think so. That bottle still bothers me. I know I've seen it."
"Nessa said it was the Wizard's, a potion to reverse her paralysis, but it didn't work."
Glinda frowned. "Another story he'd prefer not to spread. If you're thinking to arrange questioning and accidentally find Biq missing, please don't." She worried her lip. "I'm actually a little concerned at his concern."
"Oh?"
She gave him a meaningful look. "People that concern him usually end up…"
"Concerning."
She settled her arms around his waist. "I don't want you involved if those concerns deepen."
He set a chaste kiss on the top of her head. He'd try to humor her, but he wouldn't blind his eyes to this. She shifted at his silence. She knew without the words spoken, but they were too practiced in disappointment to argue now.
She slipped away, and he let her go without a word.
"This came for you."
A thick envelope with far too much post for the thin message that rested inside. He didn't take it.
"You'll have to answer them eventually."
He lifted an eyebrow. "Do I?"
She sighed and turned the envelope toward him. "It's not addressed to you. Do you think the Wizard will champion your cause?" Sure enough, the respectful title lilting across the envelope held far too many W's to make Fiyero's breath come easily. "He won't," Glinda sniped tonelessly. "And I can't keep this. They'll only send another, and another. Eventually he'll discover its absence, and by who."
Fiyero snatched the letter up and crushed it. "I won't. They can caravan here and clap me in irons. I won't marry her. She's in hiding anyway. What does it matter?"
"They found her in Nessa's house."
He slammed the letter down. "Damn it, Glin."
She set a soothing hand on his arm. "I know. You shouldn't have to." He narrowed his eyes at her. Her reasonable tone usually meant softening him up for something he really didn't want. "I'd never ask you to do that." She linked their fingers, and despite his suspicions, his shoulders relaxed. "So marry me."
He cursed and pulled back, but she kept her fingers locked with his.
"Why not?"
He leveled a look. "You know why not."
"I know I'm not her, but surely I'm better than Sarima." The words came out half-questioning, and he smoothed a hand over her cheek.
"Of course you are." He gathered her to him. "But you deserve better than that." She deserved someone who loved her, or at least someday could. He could be her protector, but he couldn't be her husband.
"Do I deserve whoever the Wizard will marry me to? Because you have to see that's the path he would take."
His jaw clenched. Lurline, was there no end? He shook his head and tucked her close.
She buried her face in his chest. "I know, and I'm sorry."
"I won't drag you into this."
She huffed. "Hardly dragging if it's my idea."
He shook his head. "You don't have to play martyr."
She pulled back, eyes flashing. "From you?" He frowned, and she pushed free. "What exactly is your plan, then? Run off and leave me alone here? Marry the woman who will absolutely murder you in your sleep? I've managed you this long, haven't I? What does a title matter?"
His jaw ticked up. "It matters."
Her lips pressed tight, as if she regretted what she was about to say, and he tensed. "If she's gone-"
He shoved back, and she reached after him with sorrowful eyes.
"You said she went through the window without her broom. Yero, what-"
"No," he snapped.
"You have to face it that she might be-"
"I said no!"
The door clanked open. "Oh, apologies." The owl-faced assistant ducked his head. "I thought…I mean, I heard…everything alright?" He wrung his hands, clearly wanting to escape back to his desk.
Glinda turned a cool smile toward him and set a placid hand on his arm. "Thank you, Tizl. Everything's fine. My dear fiancé had trouble keeping his excitement to himself."
Fiyero bit back a grimace.
"But really, dearest, you'd better get back. We can discuss the announcement later."
He drew a long breath in through his nose. "As you wish." He pressed a kiss to her temple on the way out, and whispered, "But don't think we won't."
She flashed up a soft smile, certain of her victory. She might be right. Discussions were hardly their strength.
He stormed back to the Squadron yard. "Got your shower?" Lieutenant Dight teased, but Fiyero didn't waste his breath.
"You call that technique?" The men immediately snapped to attention, but Fiyero shook his head. "Mountain climbers."
Eyes flicked left and right, but no one dared a grumble. They fell to position. Dight edged closer. "Cap, we've done those. They're at the end."
"Weak form means weak muscles. How do we fix that?"
Dight spread his hands wide. "They're just tired. I didn't take it easy on them, like you said."
"How?"
He fixed Dight with a stare until the man sighed. "Training."
"Straight backs, low hips." Fiyero fell to position, the familiar ache comforting. "Why don't you join us?"
"Yes, sir." Dight fell in without a smart mouth for once.
Fiyero drilled them through several exercises without pause. He modeled the technique and accepted no less. When he finally stopped, they were panting. He pushed up.
"I know you're tired. You're sore and hating my guts. But tired is when it's most important to demand the best of yourself. Cut corners now, you pay later." He fell to a plank, and the thuds behind him said they'd followed suit. "Focus your breath. Trust the technique. Sharpen the edge against fatigue. Push through, and you'll be stronger. You'll have it when you need it."
"Yes, sir." Dight panted beside him, and the men chorused behind in a shout.
Fiyero pushed through, relentless. He had to believe his words. He had to harden himself, strong enough not to break. No matter how they tried, he'd build himself stronger. No cutting corners.
She couldn't be gone.
A huff caught his ear, and his gaze flicked to Dight, arms shaking as he tried to push up. Fiyero jackknifed to his feet. "Alright, up." The men staggered up, and he nodded. "Good work. Your run can wait until sundown, but go hard. Take pride in the fatigue. Master it. Dismissed."
He clapped a hand to Dight's shoulder, and the man gazed back with admiration. "You're a machine. Oz, you look like you could do a hundred more."
Fiyero slapped the man on the back again and veered toward his apartment. He'd shower there and hopefully preserve the calm.
"Unstoppable," Dight murmured at his back.
If only. Fiyero felt like he'd been nothing but stopped. Stopped from following her. Stopping from protecting Glinda. Stopped from helping Boq. Crushed under the weight of all these burdens that sought to grind him to powder.
He straightened his spine, his tattoos burning his memory with Tiggular crest. A diamond didn't grind down. He'd grind back.
An hour until patrol.
What was his plan? "I'm going to find her," he promised the wind. "She won't get away this time."
"So focused," cooed a mild voice, and he spun to face the Wizard. "I definitely made a good bargain with you."
"Your Ozness."
"Captain."
He shifted back, wishing he'd taken the time to shower after all. "Did you need something, Your Ozness?"
"Many things." That false smile. Fiyero tried to mirror with his own, but fatigue stole it away. The Wizard ran his eyes over Fiyero's rumpled sweaty form. "I wasn't quite sure about you when your beauty vouched for you, you know. Quite the reputation behind you. But look at you now! I doubt anyone could find a more dedicated captain."
Fiyero held every muscle still. "Thank you, sir." He'd managed a polite tone, but the words left a sour taste in his mouth all the same.
"This bottle you found…"
His forehead crinkled. "Sir?"
"At the scene of the attack." Fiyero's mind whirred as he tried to catch up, but he held his tongue. "It was empty?"
"Yes, sir."
"I see." The older man tutted a moment, and Fiyero fisted his hands. No one to see. No, he'd never manage it. He couldn't put Glinda in peril for a foolish urge to wring the bastard's neck. "It's just, Her Eminence's bottle remains half-full. So where did this one come from?"
"I thought it was-" But he caught the trap. He shrugged. "I'm afraid I haven't questioned the Thropps, but I had believed it to be hers." He wouldn't confess to knowing it was the Wizard's. He wasn't clever, but he also wasn't brainless enough to serve himself up on a platter.
"Mmm." The man toed a step away as if thinking, but Fiyero waited. Silence made the better bluff. "Have you questioned her tiktok?"
"He's not a tiktok."
"Oh?" The Wizard lifted an eyebrow.
"Glinda already-" The Wizard's eyes sharpened with a shrewd light, and Fiyero bit back his complaint. "Apologies." Disgusted, huh? Didn't look like it.
The Wizard smiled in that false kindness. "Now, son, no apologies. You think I expect you to call your fiancé, Her Goodness?" He chuckled. "That'd be a mouthful for the wedding night, eh?"
Impotent rage stained up the back of Fiyero's neck. His fists clenched against his back tight enough to hurt, but he held his tongue.
"No need to be embarrassed." The Wizard patted his arm with that damned smile still draped on his face. "I'm thrillified for you both, naturally. When she told me the good news, I thought, what spectacular timing. That's just what we need to bring everyone some cheer – a celebratious wedding!"
Fiyero grimaced a smile. The Wizard pressed his tighter.
"Well, we'll work on that." He patted Fiyero's arm again and slipped back. "You focus on that tiktok. We need to know what he knows about the Witch."
"Yes, sir," he forced out.
The Wizard's eyes twinkled. "A man of few words."
Fiyero drug a hand through his sweaty hair. "Apologies, sir. We had an endurance training."
"I'm all for preparation, but take care of yourself, son. It's alright to take a breath, enjoy that pretty girl of yours, dare I say, even chance a smile." The lurking threats might have been his imagination, but he doubted it. The Wizard's set a hand on his shoulder that he longed to shake off. "The Witch won't snatch it all away while you're not looking."
Fiyero's gut twisted, but he forced a charming smile. "Yes, Your Ozness. Sound advice."
A soft squeeze, and the hand was gone. "Let me know what you learn."
Recklessly, Fiyero chanced, "I'll find out what he knows."
"I have no doubt."
The Wizard strode back toward the palace, and Fiyero closed his eyes against the temptation of the man's back. He spun around to shower. He'd have to hurry to make it on time.
Tomorrow he'd need a plan. Boq couldn't stay in this state, no matter what the Wizard thought. And something about the man's questions bothered Fiyero. The Wizard must be anxious to tip his hand like this, but over a bottle and some perceived failure? The man was a vain fraud, but surely there had to be more.
The hot water slid over his aching muscles with a gentle caress. The perfume of Glinda's soap surrounded him, and he pressed down the anger. So much for talking about it. She'd just pattered right over to the Wizard. Oz, women. Did none of them think he ought to have a say in his life?
He shut off the water and scrubbed a towel over his face. Well, like it or not, he did have a say. He shoved on his uniform and combed his hair with precision. He'd find her. No time like the present.
OZOZOZOZOZOZ
Fiyero tipped his head back. Twilight streaked the sky with purple, batting away the orange streaks of the dying sun.
"Getting dark," Dight commented, and Fiyero grunted. "Might throw a shoe in this forest in the dark."
"Your intel said west?"
"That, or a sighting near some tavern along the outskirts."
"Captain," a voice called, and Fiyero swung to face the two men. "They found a little house."
"Inside?"
"Waiting on you, sir. Your orders." Fiyero nearly laughed at the irony, a former rulebreaker giving out orders. He gave a terse nod and galloped recklessly in the drawing shadows.
His heart pounded. If she were inside, what then? He'd have to act fast. His men might follow be obedient, but they weren't blindly devoted.
The ramshackle building lay before him, weathered with neglect. He dismounted and strode up to the men tensed before it. "Movement, sir, but no clear sight. Waiting on your order to engage the target." His heart thundered in his ear, but he didn't slow until he'd reached the door. He swallowed hard and swung open the door.
"Shut the door, Yero," a voice hissed, familiar enough but the wrong gender.
He stepped to block the view, and Mercus slid forward.
"They're outside?"
Fiyero nodded. His eyes searched the narrow room, but there were no other doors, no other rooms, and no one else save a pair of Bear Cubs.
Mercus caught his inattention. "She's not here, sorry to say. I'd love someone to get me out of this one."
A crackle of sticks outside. The soldiers closing the loop, just as Fiyero had taught them. But he'd planned to fly out, not smuggle a burly freedom fighter. "Tunnel?" he asked without any real hope.
Mercus shook his head. "Look, mate, nothing for it. You've got to do it. Haul me in, interrogate me, I get it. Don't blow everything for this. They'll get word out, and I'll be back out on the streets in a blip."
Fiyero met his eyes. That wasn't likely, and Mercus knew it. "You haven't been on the other side of my sparring in a while. You might not offer so readily."
His friend tipped up his chin. "I can take it. Just do me a solid and slip me some whiskey first."
Fiyero shook his head. A trip to the palace could mean far more than a beating, and Mercus knew it. But what else could Fiyero do?
"Captain?"
He heard the click, and before he could think, he jerked up to block the shot. It seared across his shoulder, exploding in pain but not fatal. He shoved Mercus out the window with his other arm and hissed, "Run." Then he aimed a shot wide.
Mercus spared him less than a millisecond, but the gratitude showed clear. Foolish, perhaps, but Fiyero wouldn't bury his friend to save his own neck.
"She's here," he shouted. "Eyes up. Don't let her get away." He clutched his shoulder, the sticky wetness flowing fast.
"Captain!" The nearest soldier clasped his arm, and Fiyero bit out a cry. "She shot you!"
The boy slammed a hand over the wound to staunch the flow, and the world turned fuzzy. "You did, you idiot." He glared over the pain. "You wait for orders, private. Always."
"Yes, sir," the boy returned. His shaking hand felt like murder on Fiyero's shoulder.
"Get a grip, or get someone who can." Fiyero sagged, the world tilting white. The boy called out, and Fiyero realized with a calming breath that those aiding him couldn't search the deepening shadows for his friend.
He seized the diversion and leaned into the pain. He let the world swim, and fade in a series of clammy hands and worried eyes, as he willed Mercus to get out of range. With a fleeting thought, he felt glad that he hadn't found Elphaba after all. He needed to find better plans.
A wave of nausea rolled through him as they dressed the wound, and he retreated into the darkness behind his eyelids. His breath puffed out. Steps fell around him, and he turned them into the footfalls of his daily run. Peaceful. Blank. Empty.
One word echoing in the darkness like a beacon.
Run.