Author's Note: I'm not entirely sure when this is set in the book. I created my own little pocket of time for the purpose of the story. Don't blame me, blame my muse. And I'm sorry if the characters aren't completely in character. Again, blame my muse.
Disclaimer: I do not own Elphaba, Fiyero or Malky. I merely borrowed them.
She and He
The room is biting and bitter despite the fire cracking the corner. The curtains blow silently in the night breeze. The light from the fire and moonlight are the only sources of light in the room. Fiyero lies alone in the bed, clutching only air. He sighs. The sheets still hold the outline of someone who once was there.
He misses her desperately and tries to remember the last time that he could feel her in his arms. It is just like she said it would be. They both are now only shadows of themselves; a suggestion of the people they once were, Elphie more than he. She's different now. She's piercing and fierce.
Fiyero wishes he could remember her smile or any emotion she once displayed that wasn't annoyance or anger. It never was like this before. He wants to recall before this, but the memory is fading and hazy around the edges. He is so scared that one day she won't come home.
Elphie enters the cabin silently and carefully; his opposite. Her eyes glow ominously in the moonlight and everything about her cries outspoken and outraged passion. Her boots are wet, and she slides them off delicately. She looks Fiyero in the eye for a moment and he notices the dark circles under her eyes. She turns away. She's quiet tonight and it worries Fiyero. But then again, she's always quiet.
He tries to force conversation. Her eyes are cold, hard mirrors, solely reflecting every question he pleads silently. "Where are you? Why did you leave me here?" they mimic. They are opposites, she and he. They both know it.
She collapses into the wooden chair, her black hair dancing over her shoulders. It's been so long since he has touched her. He wants to skim his palm over her pale green cheek like before, but he knows he can't. She doesn't appreciate actions like that anymore. But he still can't take his eyes off of her.
She looks at him again, this time furiously, and drags her cold eyes over the blue diamonds. She wants to leave again. It's agonizing being here, being forced remember how it was before. Sometimes she thinks about leaving and never coming back.
But she knows she's trapped.
Elphaba stares out the window of the attic, as if in a trance. She seems distracted by the fog reflecting in the sunlight. There is a creek outside, and she can hear the water rushing downstream. Her green skin almost glows in the sunlight and sprawled out in front of her are numerous long-forgotten documents.
The cat comes and rubs against her arm playfully. She doesn't even blink. She doesn't know he's watching her. Sometimes he doesn't like seeing her like this. But today he enjoys it. She's almost too radiant in her mute beauty for him to endure. His hands clench into fists as he tries to suppress his need to touch her.
"Why are you still here, Fiyero?" she asks harshly, when she realizes he's watching her. It sounds more like she's talking more to herself than to him, so he doesn't respond.
Her lips of ice are suddenly crushing his own. She is suddenly in his arms again only partial without his devotion. She's craving to get her point across. She misses him, she needs him, she loves him. He responds eagerly. She misses this, she thinks. She refuses to believe that it is really happening. His hands sweeping over her waist feels so surreal, like a faint breeze.
Her hands are running over his chest frantically. She doesn't want to be alone again. She closes her eyes as Fiyero's lips find her neck.
A vivid memory embeds itself beneath her eyelids. Fiyero is on the ground, bleeding. His eyes are glazed over morbidly and she feels something dislodge inside her. There is so much blood. Cold blood. She remembers the disbelief and panic. She remembers the impact and hysteria. She sighs, agitated. She wants to forget all that just for tonight.
They break apart for a moment, their foreheads pressed together. He speaks, but she's not listening to his words. She's feeling his breath on her flesh; it's so warm. It's almost as if he really was here. She wants to tell him she misses him, but he's still talking. She just wants to say she's sorry that she is the reason he died, but she is cut off by another kiss.
They are opposites, she and he. They both know it.