Chapter 20
When I awoke there were vague nightmarish images chasing themselves around my head. There had been a nightmare haunting me during the night, a dream that was beyond my power to recall it. I couldn't remember much of it past the blood. I knew there had been blood, and…something else.
The skin around my eyes was raw and burning; there must have been fear-induced tears there during the night. It hurt when I tried to force the lids apart.
:Oh, damn! The oil's on his bedside table.: I thought, sitting up and probing with my hand to make sure Fiyero wasn't anywhere close enough for me to accidentally hit as I tried to close my fingers around the bottle. My hand brushed against his back and he cringed slightly; it must have been getting worse to hurt hum that easily. He had turned over in his sleep, nursing his injured arm to his chest. While I fought to find the bottle and tried to avoid touching Fiyero lest I do something to hurt him, Chistery scurried out from under the bed and flitted up into my lap.
"Not now, little one, I'll play later." I told him, setting him aside and struggling to keep my eyes open past the pain. I groped blindly for the bottle of oil, and once I did have it in my grip to my dismay there was only a little left filming over the bottom and sides of the bottle. I poured out what little there was and smoothed it over my eyes, leaning back to wait for the return of my sight. In the blackness behind my eyelids the images from the dream swam to the front, much clearer than they had been when I'd tried to recall them earlier. I didn't want to see them again now and I tried to push them away but it only made the visions more prominent and brought them into sharper focus.
::I was sprawled out on the floor, resting on my side. There was blood, dark and sticky flowing from my wrists, which were slack and resting palms-up on the floor. And in the midst of the scarlet mess there was the dull color of steel, or something else vaguely silvery…it was Fiyero's switchblade, my blood still sliding in large droplets from the steel. Then there was another hand, adorned with azure diamonds, closing around the handle of the knife. Fiyero raised it to his throat and then…::
I felt Chistery land in my lap. The images dissipated and I was unable to call them back to mind.
"No see sight?" the monkey chattered, climbing to my shoulder and laying a paw on my forehead.
"No, I can't see right now."
"Dream dark?" That comment unnerved me a little, but I answered anyway, half-hoping he would say something else like that. I wondered what he was getting at.
"Yes, it was."
"Nightmare nothing nice?"
"Not at all, little friend. Nothing nice at all." I said, humoring him, actually eager for him to continue. His words seemed to get more and more unsettling as he went on, but as they became unsettling they also made sense.
"Something silver there, silver switch–" he cut off mid-thought, turning to face Fiyero and scampering off my shoulder to examine him. I opened my eyes, ignoring the initial burning sensation that came with forcing them apart while not yet healed. Fiyero was moaning quietly, his face twisted in pain, sweat dampening his brow as he clutched his arm to his chest. It hurt to blink, but I hardly noticed. I went to feel his forehead, bracing myself for the sting. He was burning up; as my fingers made contact with his skin his eyes sprung open, glancing around frantically with a wild look to them like that of a frightened rabbit being cornered by a ravenous wolf. I sharply drew back my hand, drawing in a startled breath.
"Fiyero, what's wrong?" I asked, wiping the sweat from his face with the edge of the blanket.
"Nothing, I – I'm fine. It was nothing."
"You're hiding from me." I replied. "You were cradling your arm before. Might it have had anything to do with that?"
"The wound twinges on and off."
"I wouldn't call what it was doing to you a 'twinge', Fiyero."
"It was just a quick flash of an ache, nothing more. It was over as soon as it had come."
"Something's telling me I shouldn't believe you."
"Look, Elphie, I'm alright. You don't need to hover so."
"Yes I do. You're not letting on and it's my duty as your lover, and as of this moment your nurse, to poke and prod until you tell me what's wrong."
"It's nothing all that bad."
"'Nothing all that bad' my eye! I was the one who caused you that wound in the first place so the least you could do is let me do my best to set things right! Tell me, Fiyero, please, tell me what's been bothering you." He shook his head to refuse.
"Then let me have a look at it so I can assess the damage myself." He tried to jerk his arm away before I could lay a hand on the knot tying the scarf around it, but he hissed from the sudden movement.
"You see, something must be wrong, otherwise you'd let me tend to you."
He lay back, sighing heavily and resigning himself to my incessant probing. "Just look, then, if you must." He sounded irritated, but resigned to the fact that we both knew I was right.
I undid the knot and the scarf fell away. The flesh around the wound was inflamed, much redder than it had been the night before. Something was definitely amiss.
"I think it's getting worse, Fiyero, maybe an infection. I don't know what's causing it, but I have to get you something else to serve as a bandage. This scarf is absolutely filthy." I tore through my things, finding a skirt long enough to tear up some without doing too much damage to it. Once there was a sufficient length of fabric balled in my hand I laid it aside and set to finding something to clean his arm with. There wasn't any oil left in my bottle and I dared not go near the water.
"Do you think you'll be able to hold out long enough to wash this yourself? You know I'd do it for you but I've no more oil and you know that water and I do not mix."
"I'll be alright." He shoved himself to his feet and gingerly trod across the room to the sink. Carefully rubbing some soap onto the wound he scooped water up into his hand he let it flow over the wound, clenching his teeth against the pain. After a short while I went over to him and dried it with a towel as gently as I could, muttering apologies every time he winced.
"Fabala, be quiet. Apologies can't serve as physical painkillers. If I was doing this myself it'd most definitely hurt more than how you've been drying it off."
I bit back a protest and continued to pat his wound dry. It was no use arguing with Fiyero; he always found a way to wear down my stubborn resolve until he could get me to listen to him. I silently cursed myself for giving in more easily than I used to, but in this instance, however much I hated to admit it, he was undoubtedly correct. He probably would end up hurting himself more than I'd been. His patience with me was infinite (the reason behind it I'd never been able to understand); his patience with himself was as small a measure as mine was when I was dealing with my own shortcomings.
Once I'd re-bandaged his arm I asked him if there was anything I could do for him. He opened his mouth as if to say there was, but decided against it and replied "No, Elphie, I'm fine for now. Come sit with me." I was sure he'd been about to ask me to sing but he'd thought better of it, thankfully.
I sat beside him and he wrapped his good arm around my waist; even still, he winced from the pain in the other that came about with even the slightest movement. We sat in silence for a while, just thinking and each being comforted by the closeness of the other.
Over the next few days he didn't ask me to sing again nor did he take me up on my promise to remember the song I'd invented at Shiz. He must have realized at last how much recalling old incidences had been wearing on me during my time spent here in the city with him. The memories tore at me, working at my nerves, which would ultimately cause me to become a shattered, hopeless mess, a mere shadow of my former self without even a fraction of the strength I used to have. I felt that what little strength I had left had been dwindling alarmingly with each new defeat I was thrown. Already I'd become vastly different from the woman I'd once been; I'd lost much of the hard edge that was once my best means of escape from the human race and I'd become more open in the process. The new openness came with vulnerability, a quality I would've liked more than anything to trade in for the edge I'd lost in its acquisition, but the loss of the vulnerability would drive me away from Fiyero. I couldn't do that to us, not again. I'd done the both of us enough damage already.
That damage worsened as the days went by. Every morning I would check the status of Fiyero's injury, which was becoming further inflamed as time passed, make him wash it again so I could put the salve I'd been using on it and then I'd continue to tear up the dress whose fabric I'd been using to bandage his arm. The wound was beginning to close up, but the surrounding flesh flushed ominously as it did so. I feared an infection and voiced to him my concerns over acquiring something to treat it with before it caused damage I couldn't repair.
"I've no oil to clean it anymore, and the longer that gash festers the faster the pain and the gash itself could become irreversible."
"It'll heal eventually. Don't worry so much, Elphaba."
"Look, love, I know it'll get worse if you don't do something about it. I'm not blind; I can see how much it's been bothering you lately, and it's only going to hurt more as time goes on. Please, let's try to prevent that before something we'll regret happens."
He sighed and gave in, his tone slightly irritated. "I'll see if I can find a way to get my hands on some oil and maybe some rubbing alcohol for it. Are you quite happy now?"
"I'm absolutely overjoyed." I replied dryly. "Thank you." He squeezed my hand and said nothing.
Another day or two passed like that before I was woken up towards midnight from an already restless sleep. Of the two voices in the room Fiyero's was easily recognizable, but the other was also strangely familiar.
"I've got you the things you needed. That should hold you for another two weeks or so. I – damn, Fiyero, what in Oz happened to you?"
"That's not important right now. I need to know if you can get me one or two bottles of oil and something that'll either clean this thing or a medicine or some sort that'll prevent further infection."
"The oil I know I can get you. I'll do my best by way of the medicinal request but I can't make you any promises, though."
"Thanks. This means a lot to us."
"'Us'? Who's 'us'?"
"No one, Boq. I meant me."
I tried not to stir or even breathe too loudly lest I give my presence away. Obviously Fiyero didn't want Boq to know I was alive, let alone here, and neither did I for that matter. What I wanted to know was why Boq was here in the first place. Fiyero was in for a full-scale interrogation once Boq decided to make his way out of here.
"To be honest with you, Fiyero, I really don't believe you're alone, judging from the lump lying asleep in your bed."
"Boq, I think it's time you left –" Fiyero began, but Boq interjected.
"I thought you were still in love with Elphaba. I see you've finally moved on; good for you. I guess the death of the Wicked Witch of the West did manage to do you some good after all." I heard Boq snort good-naturedly and thump Fiyero on the back. Fiyero bit back a cry of pain and Boq muttered a hurried apology.
"Anyway, I'm happy for you. You really did need another woman in your life; you spent far too much time yearning for the one that had been doomed from the start. I'm glad to see that you've let Elphaba go at last. Well, what does your new lady friend look like?" Boq prompted, striding over to the bedside. I prayed that he wouldn't see me, that Fiyero wouldn't let him get close enough to see me.
"Boq, no –" Fiyero started urgently, and judging from the gasp I heard escape his lips I guessed he'd tried to reach out to stop Boq with his bad arm. Boq pulled the covers away from my face, his fingers brushing against my cheek as he did so. I winced from even that slight contact, afraid of what would happen if he came to know I was alive. Boq drew in a sharp breath as the blankets fell back from my face.
When I awoke there were vague nightmarish images chasing themselves around my head. There had been a nightmare haunting me during the night, a dream that was beyond my power to recall it. I couldn't remember much of it past the blood. I knew there had been blood, and…something else.
The skin around my eyes was raw and burning; there must have been fear-induced tears there during the night. It hurt when I tried to force the lids apart.
:Oh, damn! The oil's on his bedside table.: I thought, sitting up and probing with my hand to make sure Fiyero wasn't anywhere close enough for me to accidentally hit as I tried to close my fingers around the bottle. My hand brushed against his back and he cringed slightly; it must have been getting worse to hurt hum that easily. He had turned over in his sleep, nursing his injured arm to his chest. While I fought to find the bottle and tried to avoid touching Fiyero lest I do something to hurt him, Chistery scurried out from under the bed and flitted up into my lap.
"Not now, little one, I'll play later." I told him, setting him aside and struggling to keep my eyes open past the pain. I groped blindly for the bottle of oil, and once I did have it in my grip to my dismay there was only a little left filming over the bottom and sides of the bottle. I poured out what little there was and smoothed it over my eyes, leaning back to wait for the return of my sight. In the blackness behind my eyelids the images from the dream swam to the front, much clearer than they had been when I'd tried to recall them earlier. I didn't want to see them again now and I tried to push them away but it only made the visions more prominent and brought them into sharper focus.
::I was sprawled out on the floor, resting on my side. There was blood, dark and sticky flowing from my wrists, which were slack and resting palms-up on the floor. And in the midst of the scarlet mess there was the dull color of steel, or something else vaguely silvery…it was Fiyero's switchblade, my blood still sliding in large droplets from the steel. Then there was another hand, adorned with azure diamonds, closing around the handle of the knife. Fiyero raised it to his throat and then…::
I felt Chistery land in my lap. The images dissipated and I was unable to call them back to mind.
"No see sight?" the monkey chattered, climbing to my shoulder and laying a paw on my forehead.
"No, I can't see right now."
"Dream dark?" That comment unnerved me a little, but I answered anyway, half-hoping he would say something else like that. I wondered what he was getting at.
"Yes, it was."
"Nightmare nothing nice?"
"Not at all, little friend. Nothing nice at all." I said, humoring him, actually eager for him to continue. His words seemed to get more and more unsettling as he went on, but as they became unsettling they also made sense.
"Something silver there, silver switch–" he cut off mid-thought, turning to face Fiyero and scampering off my shoulder to examine him. I opened my eyes, ignoring the initial burning sensation that came with forcing them apart while not yet healed. Fiyero was moaning quietly, his face twisted in pain, sweat dampening his brow as he clutched his arm to his chest. It hurt to blink, but I hardly noticed. I went to feel his forehead, bracing myself for the sting. He was burning up; as my fingers made contact with his skin his eyes sprung open, glancing around frantically with a wild look to them like that of a frightened rabbit being cornered by a ravenous wolf. I sharply drew back my hand, drawing in a startled breath.
"Fiyero, what's wrong?" I asked, wiping the sweat from his face with the edge of the blanket.
"Nothing, I – I'm fine. It was nothing."
"You're hiding from me." I replied. "You were cradling your arm before. Might it have had anything to do with that?"
"The wound twinges on and off."
"I wouldn't call what it was doing to you a 'twinge', Fiyero."
"It was just a quick flash of an ache, nothing more. It was over as soon as it had come."
"Something's telling me I shouldn't believe you."
"Look, Elphie, I'm alright. You don't need to hover so."
"Yes I do. You're not letting on and it's my duty as your lover, and as of this moment your nurse, to poke and prod until you tell me what's wrong."
"It's nothing all that bad."
"'Nothing all that bad' my eye! I was the one who caused you that wound in the first place so the least you could do is let me do my best to set things right! Tell me, Fiyero, please, tell me what's been bothering you." He shook his head to refuse.
"Then let me have a look at it so I can assess the damage myself." He tried to jerk his arm away before I could lay a hand on the knot tying the scarf around it, but he hissed from the sudden movement.
"You see, something must be wrong, otherwise you'd let me tend to you."
He lay back, sighing heavily and resigning himself to my incessant probing. "Just look, then, if you must." He sounded irritated, but resigned to the fact that we both knew I was right.
I undid the knot and the scarf fell away. The flesh around the wound was inflamed, much redder than it had been the night before. Something was definitely amiss.
"I think it's getting worse, Fiyero, maybe an infection. I don't know what's causing it, but I have to get you something else to serve as a bandage. This scarf is absolutely filthy." I tore through my things, finding a skirt long enough to tear up some without doing too much damage to it. Once there was a sufficient length of fabric balled in my hand I laid it aside and set to finding something to clean his arm with. There wasn't any oil left in my bottle and I dared not go near the water.
"Do you think you'll be able to hold out long enough to wash this yourself? You know I'd do it for you but I've no more oil and you know that water and I do not mix."
"I'll be alright." He shoved himself to his feet and gingerly trod across the room to the sink. Carefully rubbing some soap onto the wound he scooped water up into his hand he let it flow over the wound, clenching his teeth against the pain. After a short while I went over to him and dried it with a towel as gently as I could, muttering apologies every time he winced.
"Fabala, be quiet. Apologies can't serve as physical painkillers. If I was doing this myself it'd most definitely hurt more than how you've been drying it off."
I bit back a protest and continued to pat his wound dry. It was no use arguing with Fiyero; he always found a way to wear down my stubborn resolve until he could get me to listen to him. I silently cursed myself for giving in more easily than I used to, but in this instance, however much I hated to admit it, he was undoubtedly correct. He probably would end up hurting himself more than I'd been. His patience with me was infinite (the reason behind it I'd never been able to understand); his patience with himself was as small a measure as mine was when I was dealing with my own shortcomings.
Once I'd re-bandaged his arm I asked him if there was anything I could do for him. He opened his mouth as if to say there was, but decided against it and replied "No, Elphie, I'm fine for now. Come sit with me." I was sure he'd been about to ask me to sing but he'd thought better of it, thankfully.
I sat beside him and he wrapped his good arm around my waist; even still, he winced from the pain in the other that came about with even the slightest movement. We sat in silence for a while, just thinking and each being comforted by the closeness of the other.
Over the next few days he didn't ask me to sing again nor did he take me up on my promise to remember the song I'd invented at Shiz. He must have realized at last how much recalling old incidences had been wearing on me during my time spent here in the city with him. The memories tore at me, working at my nerves, which would ultimately cause me to become a shattered, hopeless mess, a mere shadow of my former self without even a fraction of the strength I used to have. I felt that what little strength I had left had been dwindling alarmingly with each new defeat I was thrown. Already I'd become vastly different from the woman I'd once been; I'd lost much of the hard edge that was once my best means of escape from the human race and I'd become more open in the process. The new openness came with vulnerability, a quality I would've liked more than anything to trade in for the edge I'd lost in its acquisition, but the loss of the vulnerability would drive me away from Fiyero. I couldn't do that to us, not again. I'd done the both of us enough damage already.
That damage worsened as the days went by. Every morning I would check the status of Fiyero's injury, which was becoming further inflamed as time passed, make him wash it again so I could put the salve I'd been using on it and then I'd continue to tear up the dress whose fabric I'd been using to bandage his arm. The wound was beginning to close up, but the surrounding flesh flushed ominously as it did so. I feared an infection and voiced to him my concerns over acquiring something to treat it with before it caused damage I couldn't repair.
"I've no oil to clean it anymore, and the longer that gash festers the faster the pain and the gash itself could become irreversible."
"It'll heal eventually. Don't worry so much, Elphaba."
"Look, love, I know it'll get worse if you don't do something about it. I'm not blind; I can see how much it's been bothering you lately, and it's only going to hurt more as time goes on. Please, let's try to prevent that before something we'll regret happens."
He sighed and gave in, his tone slightly irritated. "I'll see if I can find a way to get my hands on some oil and maybe some rubbing alcohol for it. Are you quite happy now?"
"I'm absolutely overjoyed." I replied dryly. "Thank you." He squeezed my hand and said nothing.
Another day or two passed like that before I was woken up towards midnight from an already restless sleep. Of the two voices in the room Fiyero's was easily recognizable, but the other was also strangely familiar.
"I've got you the things you needed. That should hold you for another two weeks or so. I – damn, Fiyero, what in Oz happened to you?"
"That's not important right now. I need to know if you can get me one or two bottles of oil and something that'll either clean this thing or a medicine or some sort that'll prevent further infection."
"The oil I know I can get you. I'll do my best by way of the medicinal request but I can't make you any promises, though."
"Thanks. This means a lot to us."
"'Us'? Who's 'us'?"
"No one, Boq. I meant me."
I tried not to stir or even breathe too loudly lest I give my presence away. Obviously Fiyero didn't want Boq to know I was alive, let alone here, and neither did I for that matter. What I wanted to know was why Boq was here in the first place. Fiyero was in for a full-scale interrogation once Boq decided to make his way out of here.
"To be honest with you, Fiyero, I really don't believe you're alone, judging from the lump lying asleep in your bed."
"Boq, I think it's time you left –" Fiyero began, but Boq interjected.
"I thought you were still in love with Elphaba. I see you've finally moved on; good for you. I guess the death of the Wicked Witch of the West did manage to do you some good after all." I heard Boq snort good-naturedly and thump Fiyero on the back. Fiyero bit back a cry of pain and Boq muttered a hurried apology.
"Anyway, I'm happy for you. You really did need another woman in your life; you spent far too much time yearning for the one that had been doomed from the start. I'm glad to see that you've let Elphaba go at last. Well, what does your new lady friend look like?" Boq prompted, striding over to the bedside. I prayed that he wouldn't see me, that Fiyero wouldn't let him get close enough to see me.
"Boq, no –" Fiyero started urgently, and judging from the gasp I heard escape his lips I guessed he'd tried to reach out to stop Boq with his bad arm. Boq pulled the covers away from my face, his fingers brushing against my cheek as he did so. I winced from even that slight contact, afraid of what would happen if he came to know I was alive. Boq drew in a sharp breath as the blankets fell back from my face.