13 Across: Like the good old days; Tranquil or peaceful (7)

Cautiously optimistic would be the best way to describe his parents' deserved reaction to Fiyero's successful accomplishment of his first semester at Shiz. He'd done surprisingly well on his finals- if Fiyero did say so himself- but it wouldn't be the first time that he'd started off at a school well, and then eventually slipped into old habits. So Fiyero didn't blame them, but he found himself wanting to prove to them that this time truly was different. He didn't know how to do that though, didn't know how to explain it without mentioning Elphaba and he wasn't prepared to acknowledge that aloud just yet.

The first Sunday of the summer after he arrived home, Fiyero wandered into the library. His parents exchanged a visible look of surprise as he collapsed onto the couch.

"Are you lost, son?" Ibrahim asked.

"Nope," Fiyero replied. "Cookie, anyone?"

"Yero, we just had lunch," Kasmira chuckled, and Fiyero shrugged as he took another bite of cookie.

His mother tilted her head gently as she watched him arrange the throw pillows on the couch to his satisfaction. "You don't have plans, sweetheart?"

Fiyero glanced at them and then rather intently at the cookie in his hand. "Ah, no. Not right now."

There was another brief pause, and Fiyero could only assume was his parents exchanging another glance.

"Alright, shall we begin?" Ibrahim asked, and something churned in Fiyero's gut to hear how pleased his tone was.

"Yes," Kasmira agreed.

"One across: 'Not home.' Four letters."

"Away," Kasmira replied promptly, and they were off.

Fiyero finished eating his cookies, just content to take it all in. It was such a different mood from the last time he'd been home, before leaving for Shiz. It would be so easy, and it was so tempting, to credit that change to a certain green girl. But honestly the past few months were all a blur now. Fiyero couldn't be sure when it had all started, if there had been the initial seeds of change planted within him before he'd even gotten to Shiz; or if that moment in the clearing with Elphaba had been the spark, and the shift had happened in those two months before he'd gotten up the nerve to offer Elphaba friendship.

"Yero?"

Fiyero jerked out of his thoughts, turning to his parents. "Sorry, Dad. I missed that one. What was it?"

"Seven letters. 'More sugary', starts with an S."

"Oh… sweeter?"

"That works," Kasmira agreed. "That makes seventeen across echo."

"Works for me," Ibrahim nodded. "Oh, here's a tricky one. 'The largest city in Ev.' Seven letters. Is that Okelaba?"

Kasmira frowned. "I know Brike-in-Whitlyt is the capital, is that not the largest? Do they mean in terms of size or population?"

"It doesn't say. It could be Arkala, but that's only six letters."

"It's Naporia," Fiyero said confidently. "It's the largest town by area in Ev."

"Did you take an Evian Geography class at Shiz and fail to mention this?" Ibrahim teased him.

Fiyero snorted. "Yeah, right. No, a friend at school read a biography of Queen Xylia the… I want to say the Fourth? The one whose court tried to manipulate her and she messed with them?"

"Ah, yes. That was Xylia the Fourth," Ibrahim nodded. "She came to visit my grandparents when they were on the throne, I think. I didn't realise there was a biography on her, I'd like to read it."

"Next time I write to Elphaba, I'll ask her what it was called," Fiyero said.

"Elphaba," Kasmira repeated. "That's the Governor's daughter, isn't it? In Munchkinland?"

"Yeah," Fiyero said warily, eying his mother carefully.

She laughed at his expression. "You'll forgive us for being curious about the friends you've mentioned in your letters, sweetheart," she said lightly. "Don't think it escaped our notice these past few months that any question we asked about them when we wrote to you were conveniently ignored."

"Well yeah, I'm not six anymore, Mom," Fiyero complained. "You don't need to check to see who I'm hanging out at lunch time with."

Ibrahim snorted. "We're not running background checks on them, son. But we'd like to know what's going on in your life. It's called being an active parent- that doesn't stop just because you're an adult."

Fiyero made a face. "I guess."

Kasmira took pity on him, thankfully. "Let's keep going, dear. I've got to meet with Rilla at three, remember?"

Ibrahim nodded. "Right. Okay, next clue. Famous Quadling poet-"

"Shyla Pour," Kasmira answered before he'd even finished reading the question to no-one's surprise.

Shyla Pour was his mother's favourite poet, and Fiyero knew the quote she was going to recite before she'd even uttered a word of it.

"Beyond the blush of youth, those halcyon days are streaked with gold, the darkling sky beckons me forth."

"That quote is too long to fit on a throw pillow," Fiyero quipped.

"If the pillow is big enough you can fit anything on it," Ibrahim joked and Fiyero laughed.

Kasmira sighed. "Yero, it wouldn't hurt you to develop an appreciation for poetry, you know."

"I get the quote, Mom," Fiyero reassured her. "When you're old, everything seems better in hindsight."

Ibrahim stifled a laugh behind his hand, and his mother shook her head softly. "Very eloquent, sweetheart."

"You didn't say I'm wrong," Fiyero grinned at her.

They finished the crossword and Kasmira rose to her feet, straightening her skirts.

"Well, I should be home in time for dinner. I'll give Rilla your love, shall I?"

"Rilla's not coming for dinner?" Fiyero asked in disappointment.

"Let's pretend you want to see your aunt because you miss her, and not because she still brings you presents when she visits," Ibrahim teased him.

Fiyero grinned. "You're the one always saying tradition is important."

Kasmira rolled her eyes, kissed Ibrahim goodbye and then surprised Fiyero by crossing the room to where he sat, bending down and kissing the top of his head. She cupped his face in her hands, while Fiyero looked at her in confusion.

"I'm very proud of you, Yero," she told him gently. "And I'm so glad to see you so happy."

Fiyero didn't know what to say. "Thanks, Mom," he eventually mumbled awkwardly. When she left, he looked over at his father.

"What was that about?" he asked.

Ibrahim just smiled and returned to the newspaper, which was not an answer at all.