Without a doubt, this girl brings out the very worst in him.
The hours pass in silence, and he likes to say he does his share of work, sorting through the books that wait in a hundred years' worth of dust – but he keeps finding himself standing and staring. The devil-may-care prince he wants to be would've ditched this job ages ago - wouldn't have bothered even looking at Thropp - and the studious, dedicated prince he's supposed to be wouldn't have even earned himself detention.
So who was he, really?
Next morning dawns all too soon, but he still makes time before class to find Galinda, who babbles on about how she's been helping 'Elphie' become beautiful and popular. He doesn't really listen - she's beautiful enough as it is, some small part thinks - and loses himself in her lips and the overpowering floral scent of her perfume instead.
Elphaba, at least, looks as tired as he is when he makes it to class several minutes late.
.
She's still yawning when the Doctor enters the classroom, glasses askew and hooves trembling by his sides as he clears his throat.
"Doctor?" She blinks hard, shaking herself a little more awake. "Doctor Dillamond, are you feeling all right? What is it?"
Her voice raps out and all eyes in the class turn to her, but she doesn't care. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.
"My d-dearest students," the Doctor begins in a voice raw with feeling, his lip quivering in a way that makes her heart clench and she's out of her seat before she can stop herself – "No, no, Miss Elphaba, please –"
His eyes meet hers, warm and amber and absolutely firm – and she staggers to a standstill with one arm still half-outstretched towards him.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
His voice is soft with the same kind of fear they'd shared that very first lunchtime together, over stale sandwiches and slightly crumpled paper, a memory so precious and yet bittersweet in her mind, and those whispered words, crystal-clear in her head…Miss Elphaba, I've heard of an Ox, a professor from Quox, no longer permitted to teach…
...Permitted to teach…
.
Oz, what's going on? The whole class is abuzz - especially when Morrible herself strides in, followed by two stony-faced government officials clad in grey.
Of course, there are rumours aplenty of what's been happening in Oz. More and more positions closing, Animals being denied their rights - small ones, but rights nonetheless – not to mention the occasional whispers of resistance groups just...vanishing. None of it nearby, of course. None of it occurring in Shiz or just outside their door. None of it close enough to really matter.
Until now.
.
"- Madam!" Her voice is somewhere between a cry of rage and a desperate, choking attempt to reign herself in, to keep her head, to control the magic coursing through her veins like wildfire. "Madam, please, you can't permit this, you –"
"Miss Elphaba, don't worry about me, it will take more than this to stop me from speaking out!"
.
Dillamond doesn't stop shouting as they pull him away, the desperate cries of a dead man, a cornered animal. And while Fiyero may not possess Elphaba's passion on the subject, he feels like he's been dunked in ice as their professor disappears.
He feels even worse when he sees Elphaba's face.
This isn't right, she'd said. You'd rather tell yourself it's hopeless...than even try to fix things, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you?
True to her words, he does. He remains silent and still, keeping his head low and expression neutral. His peers are too distracted to notice how his smile has slipped.
Besides, it's not like he could've done anything...
.
"Miss Elphaba. Miss Elphaba, sit down."
Morrible's voice drifts to her as though from a great distance.
The Doctor is gone. The Doctor, her Doctor…her brilliant, impassioned, inspiring Doctor…gone. Dragged away by the very officials he'd so fearlessly spoken out against. Obliterated from the public eye by the same powers he'd condemned.
Silenced…just like all those other Animals.
The significance of it all weighs on her like a heavy cloak, her head throbbing as she tries take it all in. She drops onto the nearest bench without checking to see if it's occupied – a familiar faint, musky scent drifts in her direction, but there are more important things to think about right now than who she's sat herself next to.
.
He's genuinely surprised when Elphaba sits - well, more like falls - down onto the seat next to him, close enough that her shoulder brushes his. Oz, she's devastated. And it's clear whatever Morrible is saying to lessen the blow is going completely unheard – not that he's listening either, but for entirely different reasons.
He's seen her angry - furious, disgusted, curious, upset, passionate...but never devastated. He shouldn't care as much as he does, but – but Oz, he can't look away, he can't help but feel guilty.
.
She's so entirely lost in thought – thoughts of Animal Rights, and Dillamond's theories, and Morrible's indifference, and the stupidity of it all, the sheer injustice of the situation- that she hardly hears a word their new replacement lecturer is saying…until he pulls out a large, covered contraption that twitches and rattles so loudly she can't help but jerk out of her daze.
Cage, the lecturer pronounces it, with a casual sweep of his thick, luxurious wool coat and a nasty smile she doesn't like one bit. Cage.
The worst tastes odd in her mouth, cold and unfamiliar. What in Oz is this man trying to teach them?
.
Cage?
He jerks his gaze from Elphaba's face to find one of the grey-clothed men tugging away a blanket to reveal a mess of metal bars surrounding...is that a lion cub?
What's a cage?
Neither he nor Elphaba voices the question, but he knows a similar thought as crossed her mind. The contraption is vaguely familiar, memories surfacing of holidays taken to far off kingdoms, of castles with rooms filled with exotic creatures...all kept behind metal bars. At the time, they'd been curiosities and, later, the butt of many a joke.
But now, it no longer holds the same amusement.
.
She has to clap a hand to her mouth to stop herself crying out.
Dear Oz, it's a cub. A real life Lion cub – there's no mistaking the gleam of heightened awareness in its eyes, brimming over with intelligence and focus and feeling far beyond that of any normal animal. The poor little creature is curled into a ball of trembling, butter-coloured fur in one corner of the cage, and her heart jumps to her mouth at the sight. Something that small, that precious, that innocent – and they'd locked him in a metal prison?
"…Actually for the animal's own good, you see." She catches the end of their new professor's proclamation, the absence of the capital letter impossible to miss, and her jaw snaps together audibly –
"If it's so good for him," she hisses through clenched teeth, "then why is he trembling? Hm? Look at him – look!" She's already half out of her seat, jutting a finger in the cage's direction, anger coursing through every inch of her body. "Are you blind, Professor? You call that good -?!"
.
He's more than a touch sceptical, and it's clear he isn't alone. Animals have always run free, save for those imprisoned for criminal offenses - although, nowadays, he's heard the definition of such offenses has become rather elastic.
Not that he cares - he doesn't! This isn't his business, this hardly affects him, he doesn't care, he shouldn't care...
…But Elphaba cares…
"Yes," the Professsor's reply is punctuated by a sharp smack against the cage, sending the cub scrambling to the other side, "it is. As I was saying, one of the benefits of caging a lion cub this young is that he will never, in fact, learn how to speak."
.
"No…" Her voice is barely more than a whisper: she feels as though all the air has been knocked out of her by those five terrible, impossible words. "Never learn how to...no."
It's too much. Too much to take in, too much to comprehend. First Dillamond, now this? Cages and Lion cubs and silence of progress? Has the world gone mad?
Her thoughts splinter into fragments, spilling out of her like they always do, and she spins in her seat to face the class, to cry out –
"Did you hear that? A world where Animals are kept in cages and never speak? The very idea – Oz, it's unthinkable, outrageous -!"
No one's listening. They're all too busy falling over books and bags and sending each other flying in their attempt to reach the professor's desk, crowding around the cage to gawp at the Lion cub. The only person still seated is –
"- Tiggular," she almost gasps in relief, because anyone is better than no one, and his eyes are wide and blue and fixed on hers, "did you hear that, did you hear what he said? What are we going to do?"
.
If it is possible, Elphaba looks even worse than before – and yet he can't help but stare, captivated and struggling against the instinct to reach out, to say something, to help.
She's beautiful, yes, but not just that. She's passionate and devoted and clever and destructive - of his hard-won habits and carefree facade. So he's stuck, torn between standing up and leaving...or standing up and joining her.
"- Tiggular." She's speaking so fast and he's thinking about too much - thinking too much, period - to process everything at once.
"What are – wait, we?" he blurts.
Most of the class has crowded around the cage now, the lecture continuing in muted tones. What's she talking about, what could they do? He wasn't going to do anything of his own volition. This wasn't his fight, this wasn't his problem, this wasn't...Oz, his attempts at convincing himself to turn away are quickly failing.
Now, of all days, he had wishes he had skipped class.
"There's nothing to do." She doesn't seem to hear. "Thropp, there's noth – Elphaba! There's nothing we can do!"
.
"Well, somebody has to – has to -!"
No, no, she shouldn't. She shouldn't, but she is. She's going to lose it. Any second now. The magic churns through her veins, pulses through every cell in her body, anger and desperation fuelled into sheer absolute power. Too late to even try and stop it.
Tiggular's gaze meets hers, horrified realisation dawning just a split-second too late – and her last thought before it all explodes is one of dust-covered books, and cocky grins showing perfect teeth, and laughter shaking her entire body, and a warm hand catching her wrist in his, and those eyes, and not him, please Oz, not him –
.
In the split-second before the room erupts into chaos, he's terrified that this time she won't miss.
There's no bolt of light, or flash of colour, or grandiose gesture beyond Elphaba's splayed palms. The Professor arches back with a scream, the rest of the class scattering in a frenzy of limbs and shouts. Several desks fly back, papers ripped from bags and books sliding across the floor.
.
She turns on her heel with arms outstretched and fingers grasping stupidly at thin air – but there's no way to undo what's been done, no way to reign in the kind of power she's let loose.
Oz, what a sight. She's not even sure what she's managed to induce, this time: students spasm in every direction, whilst the professor jerks and twists as though trapped in some kind of silent fit. She claps both hands to her mouth at the sight, staggering back against the nearest desk –
- "Stop!" her voice breaks out, thin and pathetic amongst the din of yelping, terrified students. "Stop, stop it!"
.
Fiyero staggers back as well, seconds before his entire body seizes up; he isn't unaffected, but he doesn't fall into a strange fit like the others.
Instead, the classroom melts away and for a split second, he can hear things - people.
"She...the Wizard...Fiyero -" It's Galinda, he recognizes her voice.
"Water will -" All he can feel is unimaginable loss.
"It'll make you happy too, right?" Galinda again but...sadder, more world weary. What on earth -?
"Let the green girl!" He feels so sure, so ready to give it all up for -
"FIYERO!" It's drawn out and desperate and...familiar.
White hot pain erupts across his back -
- And whatever that was...fades.
It's your choice.
Fiyero finds himself hunched over, near one of the overturned desks, the final three words echoing in his mind.
His choice? Over what?
Elphaba is a few feet away, pale and breathless, her chest heaving. There'll be punishment for this, he's sure. This kind of outburst, without Dillamond to lessen the blow – she'll be expelled, or worse. He glances her way again, stomach sinking. No matter what he tells himself - Oz, he does care. Far too much.
It's your choice.
Their peers and professor continue to twist in some convulsing dance and in the centre of it all, the cage and the cub.
He could help.
It's your choice.
His resolve hardens when his gaze turns back to her.
He could. And he will.
"Just don't...don't move. And don't get mad at me."
He pushes himself to his feet, head aching with echoes of whatever just happened, and snags the cage. There's nothing they can do now except run. No plans, no regrets.
"Come on!"
.
Her head swings between them both. Professor Silence-of-Progress is doubled-over and twitching on the floor, a mess of students still thrusting and jerking around him as though pulled by invisible puppet strings…whilst Fiyero hovers by the door, wide-eyed and sweating and clutching the cage with one arm, the other outstretched towards her.
But it's the Lion cub's mournful wail – and the wide caramel eyes, burning at her through the bars of the cage with the kind of pure, unbridled terror that would have broken Doctor Dillamond's heart – that make up her mind for her.
"Yes," she breathes, "yes, we'll set him free, we'll get him outside -!"
The professor makes a sound like a strangled cat, one hand clawing the air in protest – but they're already halfway out the door.
"Follow me – know the way," she pants as they thunder down the stairs, the cage shaking between them, "through – East Wing, down to the ground floor –" She's trying to take the cage from him, trying to grab it with one arm, but he keeps jerking out of her reach, "- through door – kitchens – Tiggular, give me the cage -!"
.
Fiyero follows her through the halls, heart pounding and the cage rattling against his chest. His head throbs in tune with their echoing footsteps, and the cub - unaware of its rescue - claws at him through the metal bars. An unlucky swipe leaves a cut along his jawline, several more tearing up his sleeves and palms.
But he keeps going, because he is a coward and he cannot find the courage to break away and turn back.
It's your choice.
Especially not when she's leading.
"Just keep going!" He wrenches the cage out of reach, dodging hanging pots and pans as they charge through the empty kitchens. "I can manage it!"
His legs and chest are burning when they finally stop at the edge of the grounds, mud staining their boots and wintry air clawing at their cheeks. For a moment, he forgets the cub, letting the cage hang at his side as he tries to catch his breath, tries to organise his thoughts and comprehend what he just saw...
…And what he just did.
