Author's Note: Thank you ever so much for the support, guys. I read every review and do my best to respond to them when I can. Shout out to everyone who is enjoying this story so far!
The rest of the day passes in a blur. Galinda doesn't mention the incident even once, demonstrating a show of tact and subtlety Elphaba had never dreamed the blonde was capable of.
It's due in part to this that she consents, over dinner, to hear Galinda's animated opinions on the current state of the Gilikin fashion industry and her Momsie's valiant attempts to set it right at all costs. And whilst the whole thing initially seems rather shallow and insipid, a prime example of everything she had loathed about Miss Upland…by the time they're tucking into dessert, she has to admit the sheer volume of knowledge Galinda possesses on the topic is impressive.
And there's something ridiculously endearing about the way her roommate's entire face lights up at the mere mention of jeweled shoes, or lace-trimmed petticoats, or Vinkun silk scarves.
She hides her disappointment when Galinda insists on visiting the boys' dorms to have a quick check on Fiyero an hour or so before detention is due to start.
.
For once in his life, he's early to detention. Galinda, for all her frivolousness, is the one to remind him of his appointment, pulling away from a series of slow kisses and removing his hands firmly from her waist as the clock strikes half-past seven.
"Your roommate's rubbing off on you," he mumbles, but she just giggles and reminds him that she still dislikes the color green – before pushing him back into the corridor.
"Besides, if you get expelled for not showing up, I'll be without my prince and my Elphie..."
.
Given the rumpled state of Galinda's curls and high, bright patches of scarlet colouring her cheeks when she returns, she and the prince have clearly partaken in more than just a mere chat.
For some unfathomable reason, she can't get that particular thought of out her head, all the way down to the library.
.
At least the professor looks about as excited as Fiyero feels to be spending a good few hours of their evening holed up in poorest-lit wing of Shiz. In honesty, it looks more like a dungeon than a school's library – a thought which amuses him, seeing as the space is practically a cell for the time being.
Hopefully Morrible values her books enough that it's regularly cleaned, although given the state of several candelabras before him - thick with dust, save for the fingerprints which denoted recent use - it seems hardly the case.
Fantastic, he thinks, sinking lower into his seat. The last thing he needs is some sort of reaction to decade's worth of dust caked on every available surface.
A clock begins to chime and the door behind him is flung open. Elphaba – and right on time as well, typical. He's still mildly irritated from before, although the few students he's interacted with since class have all whispered congratulations for 'holding his own' against the 'witch'. It's almost astounding how stubborn his peers are to view Elphaba as the villain, but he doesn't question it. It isn't his issue, as long as his mistake hasn't touched his reputation. If anything, it's gilded it.
.
The familiar smell of old leather and crisp, woody parchment fills her lungs and irons out just a bit of the tension from her shoulders, in spite of the sight that greets her. Professor Nickidick is slouched in one corner, whilst Tiggular lounges in the other, chin slumped on one hand and shaded glasses finally discarded.
His expression is almost entirely unreadable, only the slightest hint of a smirk twitching his lips when Professor Nickidick instructs her to take a seat and she drags her own chair all the way down to the other end of the table – as far away from him as possible – before perching on the very edge of it.
It's nothing short of ridiculous how Oz-damned blue his eyes are, in the light of the setting sun.
Oh, they're bloodshot, to be sure – clearly last night is still catching up with him – but they're also every bit the bold, bright, crystal-clear shade Galinda always simpers about, she can't deny that. The colour is magnified somehow, in the half-light of the library, like the glow of a candle or moonlight caught on the water.
.
Her steely gaze draws no guilt from him, but when it doesn't pull away – what is she staring at anyway? – he feels the beginnings of self-consciousness.
It's not like she's interested in him. It's not like he cares whether or not she could be. He's certainly not interested in her. At all. Not in the way the half-light reflected off her hair, loose and tangled about her shoulders. Or showed the harsh edges of her features, or made her eyes glitter with cleverness untold, or –
He's almost thankful when the professor begins delegating tasks and rules.
.
As detentions go, it isn't the…worst in the world. She wonders errantly if the Doctor had something to do with the nature of her punishment, and swallows down guilt at the thought. Spending two hours in the library sorting, tidying and alphabetizing books is undoubtedly right up her street, though she doubts the same can be said for Tiggular.
Perhaps, if she works quickly enough, she can finish their work in one hour rather than two. Perhaps she can get back to the dorm before Galinda goes to sleep. Yes – yes, that's what she'll do. The thought lights a little flame of hope inside her, and she jumps to her feet as soon as Nickidick leaves them alone, retreating to the other end of the library to smoke his pipe and read the The Ozmopolitan.
Her gaze darts to Fiyero's for the briefest of seconds. The sudden silence is deafening, echoing across the empty space between them.
And sweet Oz, those eyes –
"- Right. Let's get this over with. The faster we work, the faster we can finish."
Each word is like the crack of a whip. She turns on her heel and stalks away, pulling a handful of books from the nearest trolley.
.
For a book worm, he thinks, she's awfully vicious in the way she crams herself and a stack of volumes into one skinny isle of shelves, shoving books back into their spots one by one. A chunk of raven hair catches in the pile; she yanks it loose with one hand, glaring as if it purposefully stuck itself between the spines to spite her. He almost laughs. There's definitely more power in her hands than her lithe, slim figure and delicate –
He nearly falls out of his chair, catching himself at the last second and forcing two legs against the floor with a resounding thunk.
Oz. Had he really been staring - and craning to do so, no less - at Elphaba? His green-skinned classmate - he can't bring himself to say 'freak' like the others and he won't admit she's a 'beauty' - is the whole reason he's stuck in here and not in some broom closet with Galinda instead. He should be irritated and avoiding her at all costs.
But no. He's lounging in a decades-old chair, staring at the one girl who won't give him the time of day like a love-stricken child.
.
She's loathe to speak to him, but after several full minutes of hard work on her part and a grand total of nothing from him – well.
"Tiggular, if you don't get out of that chair this instant, I will call Professor Nickidick and point out how wholly and completely you are neglecting your detention." She kicks a trolley in his direction without quite looking at him. "Get. Up."
.
"Technically, I haven't violated a rule," he mutters, slouching to his feet and grimacing at the handprint he leaves on the first book he touches. "Yet."
.
"Good," she snaps, wrapping both arms around a stack of encyclopedias and a first edition copy of Muchkinland: Then And Now. "Keep it that way."
.
He ignores her, wiping his hand on his trousers with a grimace. The dust looks as old as the books themselves, and quite possibly it is too. Who reads Droughts of the Decades? Elphaba's smarting comment from the night before returns to him and he pointedly tosses the book onto the tabletop before wheeling his cart away.
Just his luck, of course, an unseen novel slips under one foot, sending him toppling back against the cart, which subsequently crashes into one of the shelves of books. It's sturdy enough not to tip over, thankfully, but the impact is loud enough to echo about the library and shower him with dust.
"Fantastic, just -" He barely manages a curse before doubling over with a sneeze.
.
"Tiggular!" she explodes, whipping around just in time to see the entirety of his mishap in all its glory. "Be careful, you idiot, those are spell b –!"
- She chokes off, the strangest feeling catching in her throat. Something light, and bubbly, and – and familiar, yes, of course, because Galinda had forced it out of her last night as well, somewhere between her ludicrous dance across the dorm room and the sight of her face when Elphaba had happened to mention that a single pair of clumpy riding boots were the only shoes she owned.
This is different though, this is – more. She stamps towards him, arms thrown up in frustration, but her face is crumpling, dissolving into…
"…G-Get up…" she coughs, pressing a palm to her mouth to stop it, but she can't, and oh Oz, the sight of him. Crumpled to the floor like a half-stuffed scarecrow, one arm hooked over the lip of the trolley, the other combing frantically through his freshly dusted hair, sending a shower of white straight into his open mouth – and when he sneezes, mid-curse, she breaks down altogether.
Laughter shakes through her entire body – the most wonderful, warm, easy feeling, as natural as breathing…even if the sound does resemble a mixture of crackling fire and nails on a chalkboard more than Galinda's sweet, wind-chime giggle.
"Y-You…idiot…!" she cackles, but the insult is softened, hardly serious, "you clumsy, hopeless…"
.
He doesn't expect her to laugh, of all things, to pitch backwards from the force of it. His head jerks up, dislodging more dust in the process, and he finds her shaking, head thrown back in a fit of amusement. It's hardly Galinda's delicate giggles, but its genuine and all-consuming and he stares through watering eyes.
He barely notices the insult – he's far too enamoured, breathing shallowly through his mouth and ignoring the resistant tickle of dust in his nose as he watches her. He's almost…pleased, with her laughter at his expense. He's seeing a side of her he knows only a handful of others have.
She shouldn't look as entrancing as she does, cackling and hunched over and breathless as she clutches at her stomach.
"Insult my intelligence as you please, but I am hardly clu -" He's nearly on his feet, only to collide with his trolley again. The floor, he decides, is where he'll remain for the foreseeable future as Elphaba only laughs louder. "And I - I...am not hopeless."
Even to his own ears the protest sounds childish, his breath hitching as he scrubs at his nose.
.
How strange, she thinks, to see that swaggering, devil-may-care mask fall away – much like Galinda's shallow persona had at the Ozdust last night. Beneath it, Tiggular seems younger, rougher around the edges, frustrated and confused in such a schoolboy-ish way by most mundane of everyday tasks that she can't help but grin to herself.
"Dear me, Tiggular, if only your fanclub could see you now." She falls to her knees beside him, shaking her head at the thought as she begins to scoop up fallen books. "Such a blow to your illustrious reputation. How ever would you live it down?"
She laces the words with sarcasm, but there's no malice to it. In spite of all that's been said between them, the situation is too funny, too ridiculous for that.
And it's hard to feel any kind of real…anger towards Tiggular, when he's splayed on the floor in front of her with books spread all around him like some kind of bizarre avalanche and that silly, endearing look of bewilderment frozen on his face.
.
"If they could," he replies smoothly, "I fear they'd be danger in falling more in love with me than before. Who can resist a little weakness?"
He plays it off, fighting the urge to cough as he flashes her a grin, the look ruined only when he's forced to turn away with another two sneezes. If he receives detention again, he resolves, he'll ask for anywhere but the library, no matter the cost.
"I would hardly call this little fiasco a blow," he continues, turning back to her as he fights to force his persona back into place. "No one but yourself has seen my...slip-up and, being Galinda's friend, I can trust you not to," he steps closer, thankful for the few inches he has on her despite the heels on her boots, "jeopardize me, can't I?"
.
Her heart thuds like a hammer as he steps towards her, nails digging into the soft leather of the book she's holding. Ugh, last night had been bad enough – the cocky smile, the swagger, the closeness of their bodies under the dimmed lights of the Ozdust – but here in the library, it's a hundred times worse.
.
For a moment, the air seems to stand still, and his attempt at salvaging his untouchable, golden persona is shot as soon as he looks - really looks - at the girl in front of him. The oil lamps cast a yellow glow, softening her features - not that he truly minds the hard, jagged lines - and reflecting off her irises. His heartbeat is in his ears as her lips part and he briefly wonders if they're as soft as they look, if they taste as sweet and spicy as she smells, and if her hair is as silky as it appears, cascading down her shoulders in soft waves.
Fiyero Tiggular has never known nervous.
But now, standing between dusty books and dusty shelves with an unconventional beauty inches from him, he thinks the twisting of his gut and the tightness of his chest is exactly what it must feel like.
.
The library is bathed in the light of the setting sun. It pours over the flawless features of his face, illuminating every speck of dust in his hair, clinging to the eyelashes that frame gleaming, teasing eyes. The sight does the strangest things to her stomach, something warm and secret coiling into a little knot and what in the name of –
"For Oz's sake, stop that."
The words burst out of her and she forces herself to stamp forward another step, jutting her chin up to meet his gaze – it's just a little stuffy in the library, that's all, and she feels queer because she's had so little sleep.
"That act might work miracles on Galinda, but you should know better than to keep trying it with me. Need I remind you we still have over five hundred books to sort? Preferably sometime before dawn? We have no time to waste pretending to be Prince Charming."
She punctuates the words by shoving another stack of books into his arms, taking care not to let her skin brush his – though a terrible, treacherous little part of her is suddenly aching to.
"Get back to work, Tiggular."
Author's Note: There will be more.
