"Please pass the salt."
Fiyero dragged a hand over his face. This farce of domesticity made him long for another shot in the shoulder. Sarima tossed him a look and passed Glinda the salt. "Want me to peel the potatoes?"
"No!" Fiyero pushed between them. "I will."
Sarima's lips curled in a smile. "Shouldn't pull your stitches."
"Shouldn't give you a knife."
Glinda frowned at him. "Fifi, we've been through this." He grimaced at the name, particularly given the company. She handed Sarima the basket and a paring knife, and his jaw clenched tighter. "She's not going to murder us."
"Not now," Sarima cooed back.
"She needs us." Glinda turned up the burner and stirred the pot. "And we're not going to wallow in suspicion. Now drink your tea."
Fiyero's lips puckered, but he forced a drink. Ugh, so much lemon and honey.
Sarima waved the knife menacingly and grinned. "I don't see what you're complaining about. You're the one murdering me."
He rolled his eyes and sipped his tea. If only.
"No one's murdering anyone." Glinda plunked the oven door open, and the smell made his mouth immediately water. His attitude must be truly terrible if she had broken out the steaks. "Done?" They traded bowls, and Sarima set to making the salad.
"I think he likes it," Sarima teased. "His two wives making him dinner."
His jaw ached from clenching it.
Glinda huffed, but ignored the barb. Damn her goodly nature. She thought protecting Sarima would sway her loyalty, but Fiyero knew. A scorpion never lost its tail until the deed was done.
"Like my new haircut?" Sarima swung her neck. "You're staring."
"Why your hair?" He wanted to withdraw the words as soon as he'd said them.
"He's a sentimental fool." She touched the bristling tufts. Her head seemed so small without inky blackness swinging around her. "Or maybe he was thinking of you, husband. I can regrow hair for the wedding, but fingers are a harder task."
His stomach turned. Her own father. He'd known the man to be dangerous, but to do this to his daughter? Fiyero's eyes fell to the bruises that peeked through her sleeves and neckline.
Sarima tugged her sleeve down. "Why don't you go wash up?"
"And leave you alone with her? Never."
Glinda shot him a look, but didn't argue. They'd agreed. He'd hide the viper in their rooms, not let Glinda serve herself on a platter. When Sarima's knife landed in a back, it wouldn't be hers.
Sarima sawed the lettuce with gusto. "Suit yourself. He can't make me marry you if you die of infection, I suppose."
A knock came, and the girls swung to him. He caught Sarima's hand and removed the knife. With a jerk of his thumb, he sent her off to the pantry.
The walk to the door was a marathon, but he managed it with an even breath. A fleeting fear whispered that Sarima's father could arrange more surprises for him. Still, he forced himself to let go of the knife and opened the door.
"Captain!" The doctor clapped his arm. "Up and around, that's good to see. Not overdoing it though?"
Fiyero shook his head.
"Good, good." The doctor set down his bag, and frowned at the knife. Glinda came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Doctor! How kind you are. Please say you'll say for supper."
A shuffle from the pantry let him know how Sarima felt about that, and he had a vindictive spike of hope that the man would stay. Let her spend dinner alone in the pantry.
"I'm afraid not." The doctor dug out a thin bottle like a green flask and some tools. He set to studying Fiyero's shoulder, reflexes and general health. Day after day, they did this, but today when the man snapped his bag shut, he turned back. "I still think it might be too early, but I know you're determined."
"I am."
"I suppose I can release you, then." He lifted a stern finger. "With restrictions, of course. No heavy lifting or training. You'll need frequent breaks. Go slow, or you'll end up back here twice as long."
Fiyero bobbed his head.
"And the Wizard has a special assignment for you." Fiyero lifted his eyebrows as the doctor caught Glinda's eye. "His Ozness wants you as his private security."
She wrapped her arm around his waist with a bright smile. "Perfect. No one better for it."
His eyebrows drew together. "Has there been a threat?"
"Not to my knowledge." The doctor shared a coy smile with Glinda. "Some persuasion, perhaps, but no threats."
A dummy assignment, then. Fiyero pressed his lips tight together to stop his reply. The patronizing was almost worse than being sidelined here. Oz, he couldn't even train away the frustration.
His expression must have given him away. The doctor patted his arm. "Slow is fast, son. Be patient." He tossed together his tools and snapped his satchel shut. "You ought to be fine with a full dose, but if you find yourself groggy, split it into halves. And give yourself a half hour before you head out in the morning. I'll bring another by tomorrow."
"Oh!" Glinda bustled off to the bathroom and returned with yesterday's empty bottle. "Here. Thank you again."
"Of course, Your Goodness. Captain."
He bid them farewell, and Glinda held Fiyero still with a hand on his waist as her lips moved silently. Counting to thirty, he suspected, though he'd never asked.
"Need me to turn off the burner?"
Glinda whirled to glare at Sarima. "You've got to wait for us. What if he'd forgotten something?"
Sarima shrugged. "He didn't. I'm hungry. Burner or no?"
Glinda stalked back to the kitchen and clicked the knob off herself. Then she swept to the bathroom, where he heard the glug of the liquid and the thunk of the bottle on the porcelain.
"What a waste." Sarima tossed the peels in the trash. "Might as well sell it. Or save it up for our wedding night. Sure we'd both rather be on pharmaceutics."
"I'm engaged to Glinda."
She pressed her lips tight. "For now." Her fingers rubbed a spot on her wrist absently, and he took the knife to the sink. Whatever punishment she'd received, she'd clearly gotten the message. Hiding wasn't an option.
But neither was marriage. Not to anyone, as far as he was concerned.
Glinda swept back in. "You haven't finished your tea," she tossed over her shoulder as she breezed to the cabinets. Sarima chuckled and nudged it toward him, and Fiyero picked it up with a scowl.
He drained the cup and rinsed it.
Glinda rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek and a plate heavy with meat. She sat beside him with her salad, and Sarima helped herself to a large glass of wine. Glinda's hand found its way to his, and he returned a quick squeeze.
Despite her bravado, he knew his injury had shaken her. At least this ridiculous assignment would reassure her. And he'd be close by to keep an eye on Sarima.
That night, lying in bed, she curled up against his good side as she drifted to her dreams. Sleep evaded him. All this inactivity left him drowning in frustration. Her shampoo swirled around him, the scent of responsibilities. She couldn't control her frowns as she slept, and he brushed a finger over her forehead.
"Yero," she sighed, and his heart seized.
His eyes fluttered closed. The nights were the hardest. During the day, he had his vigilance to keep him occupied. But at night, his mind couldn't help wandering to the one that ought to be in his bed. Here in the dark quiet, she haunted him. The air whispered phantom feelings of her fingers in his hair. The taste of her skin on his lips. The curve of her hips under his thumb. So real. She couldn't be gone.
He gave into the delusion if only to feel her there with him again.
No, the mornings were the hardest. Waking up from the dream.
He swiped a hand over his weary face and eased out from Glinda. She wasn't much of a morning person, and their days went easier if he was dressed before she woke. The stitches had healed well, but even so, any stretch of that arm tugged the skin painfully. He felt half-Chicken as he slung on his uniform with his arm tucked against his chest. A one-armed captain 'defending' the Wizard. What a farce.
Still, it felt good to do something. He slipped quietly past Sarima feigning sleep on the sofa. An itch formed between his shoulder blades when he turned his back on her, but he wouldn't acknowledge it. He refused to give her the satisfaction.
Armed with the smell of coffee and bacon, he roused Glinda with a gentle shake. "Breakfast is ready. We're back today, remember?"
She cracked an eye and rolled over. He waved the coffee cup invitingly, and she shuffled up to take it.
"What are we going to do about Sarima while we're gone?"
Glinda sipped her coffee with eyes closed. "She's a grown woman. She doesn't need a sitter, dear."
"Can we at least lock the kitchen?"
She pursed her lips. "She's not going to poison you."
"Not me. You're the one she'd want to get out of the way."
Glinda rubbed her eyes. "It's too early for your paranoia dearest. She'll be fine. Bored, but fine."
"Bored is dangerous." She peeked up at him with a stern expression, and he held up both hands. "Fine, but I'm walking you in this morning. You're not staying with her alone."
Glinda dressed with her usual disregard for time, and Fiyero calculated how long that left him. Could he run with his stitches? If so, they had maybe another six minutes until he'd be inescapably late.
"You can go, really."
He passed her the hairbrush without bothering to answer.
She sighed and secured her hair into a simple, but elegant twist. "The things I do for you, dearest." She stood and collected her purse. "Let's go then."
He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek with a warm smile. "You look lovely."
She pursed her lips. "Charmer." She slipped her hand through his elbow, and they set off.
Glinda set a slower pace in that kindly unobservant way of hers. Only she could manage to coddle a man without the slightest injury to pride. It was a gift.
"Shall I collect you for lunch?"
She beamed. "I'll come to you, dearest. I'm to meet with the Wizard about then."
"Oh? What about?"
She twined her other hand with the first around Fiyero's arm. "I'm not sure," she lied. So something he wouldn't want to hear. "But perhaps we could make some time to stop by and chat with Morrible. She's anxious to see you back up on your feet."
"I'm sure," he said dryly. "Fine, if we must." He deposited her with Fizul and jogged to the Wizard's study.
No one was there when he arrived. His brow furrowed. Perhaps he'd gotten the location wrong. He glanced at the calendar. Tuesday. No call for the Throne Room for another two days at least.
A strange map behind the calendar caught his eye. Kansas? Omaha? He'd never heard of these provinces. Were they past the Salt Desert and Quox? His eastern geography always felt a little fuzzy. The lines on the map seemed to shift, and he rubbed his eyes. Perhaps the doctor was right. This must be too soon for him to be back.
"Ah! There you are, my dear Captain." Fiyero spun to see the Wizard grinning from the doorway. "Why, you look as strong as ever! I'm so glad to see you recovered."
"Thank you, Your Ozness."
He advanced to set a hand on his non-injured shoulder. "How are you feeling?"
Fiyero's chin ticked up. "Up to the task, sir."
The Wizard slapped his back just hard enough to draw a grimace. "Marvelous answer! I must say, son, you never disappoint." He settled into the chair, and Fiyero fell into a parade rest stance.
"Might I ask, sir, what prompted this protection detail? Has there been news since my injury?"
"No, no. No news." The Wizard set down his coffee after a long sip. "Simply a feeling. The Witch might be bolder now, sensing weakness. Better to project strength, don't you agree?"
"I see." His struggle for an even tone made the words hollow, but the Wizard simply placed his reading glasses on his nose and squinted at a ledger.
"Oh, we might want to rethink prisoner security, too. Just in case."
Fiyero frowned. "Boq is here? I ought to question him." If he had reliable proof, perhaps Glinda would consider a rescue.
"No need, my dear Captain. Your very resourceful lieutenants have sprung eagerly into service in your absence." The Wizard withdrew his glasses and polished them. "I must say, I'm quite impressed at the loyalty you inspire."
Fiyero grunted. Considerate, perhaps, but not helpful.
"In fact, I believe they've acted on every piece of intel possible in the last few days. They seem quite determined to avenge you."
He crossed his arms. "The Witch didn't shoot me. Poor discipline did."
The Wizard waved a hand. "Details. Their determination is quite inspiring. Why, I think they have a couple raids out even now."
Without Fiyero there? His stomach twisted at the thought. If they found Elphaba without him...
The Wizard misunderstood his tension. "Please, please. Sit. I hardly expect anyone to crash through this moment." He gestured to a small table. "I know my study is not as familiar as your office, but I'm sure you'll find it comfortable enough. And I quite relish the company, truth be told."
So the day passed in the dull drone of pen and page. It drained him to the bone. Only his pride and apprehension kept his spine straight as the hours weighed on him one by one. And with each knock, he feared news of the worst.
Glinda came for her meeting, and the Wizard sent him to fetch coffee as they spoke in voices too low for him to hear. He'd just returned when a clunky thud of footsteps heralded Morrible's tiktok. Fiyero shifted to Glinda's side.
Morrible fixed her beady eyes on him one step in the door. "Ah, Captain. Back on your feet?"
He inclined his head.
"Good. Then we can get things rolling." She tipped back to her hideous tiktok. "Grommetik, go inform the photographer."
Glinda's smile never faltered, but she caught his hand. "I'm sure he has some other matters to handle on his first day back."
"Oh, I think a note ought to do it," the Wizard offered. "We can arrange it by Friday at the latest, yes?"
Grommetik shuffled to the desk with an awkward attempt at a bow, though its joints allowed no more than a tip forward from the knees and neck. It traded a small key for a pen and notepad.
That key ... It was so familiar.
The Wizard slid the key out of sight as Morrible mistook Fiyero's frown and pursed her lips. "No later, though. What better remedy against rumors than photos?"
"Rumors?"
Morrible turned on Glinda with a smile like a shark. "Yes. Proof that our dear Captain is in good health, and your fabulocious wedding is just around the corner."
"Quite." The Wizard stood and set a heavy hand on Glinda's shoulder. "Why, it's good for folks to know such cheerful news." He shot a wink that was meant to make Fiyero feel conspiratorial, but it only made his fingers tighten on Glinda's.
"If you'll excuse us, we've plans for lunch."
Morrible started to answer, but the Wizard waved a hand. "Go on. Show your pretty girl a nice time. Just be back by one. I know she's a lot more fun, but I'll need your help with some of these ammunition requests."
"Yes, Your Ozness."
Glinda tipped a small curtsy, and they slipped out. Fiyero caught her arm just beyond the doorway and set a finger to his lips. She blinked owlishly at him and shook her head.
His raised finger and her thinned lips settled it, and they pressed against the wall.
"How else?" came Morrible's voice, the murmurs just loud enough to reach them.
"But a child?" The Wizard's tone brooked disagreement.
"You read it, too. We need one from another world if we're going to..." He leaned close to hear, and Glinda's hand squeezed tight on his. A low rustle scrambled her voice until, "...my specialty, after all."
"I don't know. Sure, we know Kansas can…" Fiyero leaned too far, and his arm bumped the wall. The thud of Grommetik's feet spurred Glinda into a desperate tug on Fiyero's arm, and he followed.
They rounded a corner, and Glinda yanked open a room. He grunted as she pulled him inside, and she whirled on him with a horrified expression. "Oh, Fifi, I'm so sorry! Are you alright?"
He rubbed his shoulder gently. "Fine."
Her eyes rounded like a mournful kitty.
"Really, I'm fine." He brushed a hand over her cheek and then stepped back a pace. "Kansas...I saw that on his map. Do you know what they meant?"
Glinda shook her head so hard her twisted hair tilted like a carnival mirror.
"I could have sworn I'd heard that before: child of another world."
Glinda gasped. "That code from Mercus, remember? Oz, that was ages ago." She bit back a smile. "When you teased my Ozmopolitan quizzes."
He squeezed her hand in both apology and pride. "But what does it mean? Or have to do with Kansas?"
The door burst open, and he whirled Glinda behind his back. That left him with no good arm, but as Grommetik filed inside, the Wizard caught sight of them and laughed. "I didn't mean a tryst in the library."
They stared blankly.
Morrible pursed her fish lips at them. "Go on. Straighten yourselves up." She waved to a mirror. With that blush and wild hair, they certainly looked as if lunch was far from their mind.
"Oh." Glinda reached a tentative hand up and fixed her hair. "We were just…"
"Going." Fiyero tugged her out after him.
At the door, she turned to him, but he shook his head. They'd have plenty of time to work it out after dinner tonight.
Except the afternoon went on and on. Did the Wizard know he'd been overheard? Exhausted, Fiyero felt like a flattened paper doll, but he didn't dare seem eager to leave. Still, each moment he stayed risked Glinda entertaining Sarima alone.
He'd just opened his mouth when a tap came on the far side of their emergency tunnel. Fiyero frowned as Dight, Yuriq and Morrysun burst in, a limp Fox dangling over his shoulder.
Fiyero pressed up. "I see the first step toward security improvements."
The Wizard laughed and steepled his fingers. "Any news, then?"
"Fraid not, sir." DIght ducked Fiyero's eyes and turned to the Wizard. "Only this piss-poor informant blathering on about every business of yours he's managed to spy."
"Ah."
The Fox wheezed what must have been excuses and earned a solid thump from Morrysun. Fiyero's frown deepened.
"An excellent consolation prize." The Wizard beamed. "Don't worry, boys. She'll turn up."
Fiyero led them to the door and waited until the hallway to hiss, "And you burst through our emergency escape route why?"
The men slunk back.
"The damn thing pissed on me."
"Well, by all means then," he bit out, "give away our low security access routes. Your comfort is my highest concern." They ducked their heads, the sarcasm sharp enough even those dunderheads couldn't miss it.
"Sorry, Cap." Dight sighed. "We'll post security as a precaution."
"And advertise it to the entire E.C.?"
Dight flung out a hand. "What then?"
"Be less lazy!"
"We can't all be you, Cap!" The man dragged a hand through his hair. "Oz, should you even be standing right now?"
Fiyero narrowed his eyes. Dight tipped his head back, and the move highlighted the dark circles decorating the lieutenant's eyes. A corresponding wave of exhaustion rolled through Fiyero, and he shook his head to clear the sudden fog.
"Orders, sir?"
He blinked. "You two take the prisoner. Lieutenant, I need to see Boq."
Dight frowned, and Fiyero thought he might have misspoken. "That Tiktok-man? He's been interrogated already."
"I want to interview him myself." He forced his bleary eyes into the sternest expression he could manage. A bell dinged, and Fiyero turned back to the office.
"Yes, Captain. I'll arrange it." Dight whirled on the others. "Well? You need an engraved invitation?"
Fiyero opened the door without knocking, and his breath whooshed out. Was he hallucinating?
Fae.
"Ah, thank you Captain. Please disarm our guest."
Not a hallucination, then. He stood frozen, unsure what to do. She was right there. Oz, so close. He'd spent years in pursuit of this moment with no plan other than to protect her and never leave her side again.
Only now, he couldn't go.
The cruelty of fate stabbed at him. How could he abandon Glinda to Sarima? Boq to his fate? Leave this golden opportunity to find out the Wizard's plans?
"Yero." The word held so much unspoken.
That fog in his mind whispered promises that this was all a dream. Though the Wizard's taunts were about Fiyero, he couldn't focus on them. His thundering pulse dulled them into a constant chorus of what to do, what to do. She couldn't stay. He couldn't go. He could find no solution.
"All that vigilance."
The Wizard's taunt slammed into Fiyero's gut. For what? For her to slip through his fingers again?
"But our dear Lady of Goodness can be counted on." Fiyero blinked. Could she? No, he couldn't abandon her, not with Sarima a lurking punishment for his sins. "Medicine is quite good for the soul, isn't it?"
The fog pressed again, and he drew a sharp breath. The pain medicine. No. She'd dumped it out, every night. Hadn't she?
"So, as the kindly man I am, I'll give you one more chance. I doubt he'd really want to kill you, even if it were his choice. You won't make him just for a little book, will you?"
He met her eyes at that. Lurline, he had to get her out of here.
"I haven't got it anyway," she sneered, and hope seized in him.
Fiyero steeled his chin. "Silence, witch." He gripped her arm. "We'll loosen that tongue of yours soon enough."
Her eyes tore through him, and he nearly crumbled. The Wizard rubbed his hands together gleefully, and Elphaba swirled her hand. Fiyero caught it before she could form the fireball, and stepped up to trap her hand between their chests.
He ground out, "Perhaps some water, Your Ozness."
"RIght. Yes. A wise precaution."
Fiyero prayed the man would go himself instead of sending for someone, but he rang a bell. She pushed back, and he grimaced at the streak of pain through his shoulder.
That spurred the Wizard to the doorway with a cry for help, and Fiyero took the opening. He spun them through to the hidden tunnel.
The blinding white pain made the world turn, but he tugged her onward. "Let go of me," she hissed, writhing this way and that.
He hauled them out into the night and fell back against the wall. "Go," he panted, and she mounted her broom at once. "Wait!"
She turned to him, and he flung himself at her. She pushed into the air, and he fell awkwardly against her broom with a hiss. He clutched it tightly.
"Get off!" she snapped.
He meant to. He had to stay. But his hands wouldn't let go. He flung a leg over and shook his head.
A shot rang out, and Elphaba folded low to the broom. It bucked, and they were off, careening wildly through the night sky. Fiyero hung on tight as the unnatural motion jerked and swayed. He'd done many foolish, dangerous things in his day, but this was a definitive winner. His knuckles white and his stomach churning, he shut his eyes to the whirling scenery.
When they finally landed, he dropped in an aching heap on the forest floor.
"You idiot!" She yanked her broom behind her. "You could have killed us!"
"You're welcome," he gritted out. "Or would you rather I carve you up for the Wizard?"
She glared at him, and he struggled up to his feet. It must have been a pathetic display because her rage dissipated.
"You idiot," she repeated, with sadness instead of heat. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking we need to go back for Glinda and Boq before the whole Force knows I've gone with you."
She swept away from him. "The palace is that way." She flung a hand behind them. "Should be easy enough to say I bewitched you."
"True, too."
She swung back with a glare that could slice steel.
"You left me." He crossed his arms, refusing to be cowed. "Don't leave them."
Her eyes flicked down. "You don't seem any worse for wear."
He lifted an eyebrow, and she flushed at the unintentional implications of her words. He took a step toward her, and she fled back to match.
"Go back then."
He should. The thought of Glinda twisted his stomach with failed responsibility. And the hurt between them billowed so raw, so insurmountable. But he shook his head.
Her fingers dug into her elbows, the knuckles white. "How can I trust you?"
"I don't know." The answer spilled with such honesty that she drew a step toward him. "How can I trust you?"
"You can't," she whispered. "I'm not sorry."
He sagged. "Me neither."
They stared at each other, awash in misery. Lurline. Time had etched itself painfully on her, and his heart contracted as she turned. So much they'd suffered, both of them, all of them.
He'd never considered that when he found her, when she brought him back to life, when she made him feel in vivid colors again - that all of those would be shades of hurt.
"So now what?"
He hadn't the first idea.