Author's Note: I'm sorry to say that my writing partner PainicPanic (that is, Fiyero) has asked me to please apologise to you all on her behalf and explain that she is no longer able to continue with this story due to time constraints and personal business. I'm afraid I don't know any more details beyond that. We still have another chapter to post after this one, but following that, this story will be placed on hiatus. I can only apologise, guys. I really hope you enjoy these last few chapters.


Everything goes still, for a moment.

Fiyero freezes, something warm clamped around his wrist, squeezing his gash a touch too tightly and holding him back. The cage and cub forgotten, Elphaba has practically flown across the carpet of poppies, shouting and apologizing...for him.

She didn't mean it? When has she ever gone back on her word? She meant what she said, he's sure of it – and what she said was the truth. He is a coward and a disgrace – and the only thing he's good at is pretending he doesn't care. Although now, she's proven he can't even convince himself of that fact.

After years of this act, how in Oz can she just dismantle it all in the space of ten minutes?

His skin burns where she touches him. And he can't help but crave more. She's torn him open, he has nothing to lose. Who is to say he couldn't turn on his heel and close the gap between them, tilt her face to his and seal his fate with a –

.

The Cub yowls, and she realises with a jolt how close they are, how intently she's gazing at their linked hands –

"- I'm – I'm going to –"

She staggers back across the clearing, petals crushed and scattered in her wake, almost striding right past the cage before jolting herself to a halt. Focus, Elphaba, focus. The Cub, that's what matters. They're here to save the Cub.

She bends to peer through the bars. The tiny creature is curled into a ball of honey-coloured fluff in the far corner of the cage and her heart aches at the sight.

"Poor little thing, he's trembling."

Fiyero's footsteps are close behind her, his breathing just slightly uneven as he drops to his knees beside her, the silk of his sleeve brushing her elbow and focus, Elphaba, focus…

"The – the last thing I wanted to do was frighten him." Her voice sounds strange, false, too-casual. "And look what we've done."

.

We've. Look what we've done.

He crouches at the other end of the cage, finally shucking his jacket and folding it over his scratched arm.

"Better out here with us than back there with – well." He clears his throat and tries again. "He'll be fine. Soon as he's out of that cage. Although...I can't say the same for the rest of the class."

It's a hell of a way to try and start up a conversation – she's sensitive when it comes to her magic and whatever truce they've struck up is anything but stable – but it's all he's got.

"What…did you do back there to them? And…why didn't you do the same to me?"

.

She goes very, very still at that.

"...How should I know?" Don't think about it, don't think about it. Her mouth is dry, fingers slipping on the latch of the cage. "I've no idea. A lucky coincidence, most likely. Nothing more. What does it matter?"

His gaze is steady, unreadable, unflinching. Damn him, he's seeing straight through her. A shiver glides up her spine, but the feeling is neither as cold nor as unpleasant as it should be. It's like he's reading every one of her thoughts, flicking through her wants and needs and joys and fears like they're pages of a book. Those eyes see straight past the lurid skin of her face and straight into the deepest, darkest, most secret parts of her.

The knowledge makes her want to fly into a rage, and curse him into oblivion, and flee the forest, and…and simply sit here...letting him gaze, and gaze, and gaze at her...all at the same time.

A ray of sunlight filters through the leaves, illuminating something on his cheek; a thin scratch marring perfect, marble-smooth skin. Her insides twist at the sight – he'd injured himself, the idiot, injured that beautiful face for the sake of the Cub.

"Your cheek," she murmurs, swallowing hard as a trickle of blood runs down his cheek – there's something wrong about the sight, something that makes her heart ache, her hand twitching by her side. "You're…you're bleeding."

.

This is…new.

Instead of him trying to slip out from underneath her piercing stare, he's finally found a chink in her armour. He's never seen her be so quiet for so long – and instead of throwing up his usual walls in self-defence, he finds himself letting them fall, watching the flurry of emotions fly across Elphaba's face.

Anger. Fear. Shock. Longing. Loneliness. And...something else.

He moves without realising, trying to find it again, sitting up on his knees and leaning into the sunlight filtering through the trees.

She's never looked at him like this before.

"I'm...I'm what?" His hand flies to his cheek, wincing slightly as his fingers pull away, skin stinging. "I – I am. The cub must've scratched me or something."

.

"Yes. It must have."

Oz, they're close. Too close. His knees are brushing against hers, the sunlight throwing every perfectly carved inch of him into brilliant clarity. She can see a tiny scar on his cheek, a speck of mud in his hair – silly, insignificant little things that make her heart race in her chest and ache all at once, and dear Oz, she wants to touch him, she wants to –

"- I'll just – here, let me –"

Some vague, far-away voice inside her is screaming. Screaming at the rest of her to stop, to think, to pull back the hand she's lifting towards him, eyes steady on his as she reaches…reaches…

But then her skin touches his, and the voice falls silent.

She glides the back of her hand across his cheek, wiping the blood away, and Fiyero's breath hitches in a way that does terrible, treacherous things to her insides. His skin is warm and impossibly smooth, every bit the perfect, chiselled statue he resembles, frozen to standstill beneath her touch.

He tilts his face almost imperceptibly, aligning it to the curve of her palm, those eyes meeting hers with something unnameable, something that burns in the cold afternoon sun, and a shiver winds its way down her body that has nothing to do with the wintry weather…

.

Her hand caresses his cheek and words escape him. As much as the cut stings, he can barely feel it as his skin burns upon contact. Whether it is her doing or simply the blush, he doesn't know - nor care, not when she has shifted so close he can drink in every detail of her beauty through the golden glow of the afternoon.

She is no swan, but no less beautiful. Her features are far from delicate or soft, but the sharp lines and defined angles are mesmerizing. His eyes dart from the curve of her slender neck to the slight part of her dark lips to her wide eyes, devoid of their usual anger or disappointment and instead full of wonder, simply...

"...Beautiful," he breathes and a shiver passes over her. Fiyero is prepared to offer his jacket - lost somewhere in the grass - to lean in and wrap it around her shoulders, let himself leave a kiss on her cheek, or perhaps if he is so bold, her lips.

They are close enough. If he were simply to lean forward a little, he could –

"Fiyero!"

It's faint, but familiar enough to break the spell.

"Fiyero! Dearest!"

"I – I'd better get to her –" He's babbling, staggering to his feet, reaching for his coat and a decent excuse. "I mean it – he – the Cub, get the Cub to safety and –"

.

"Yes, we should – we need to hurry up, we mustn't be caught -!"

Her voice is too fast, too high, blurting out words that make no sense. The Cub – they've got to free the Cub, yes, that's it, that's why they're here, Oz-damnit.

She shakes her head furiously, trying to clear it, and makes a dive for the cage at the same moment he does, the warmth of his chest colliding with hers for the briefest of moments –

" – Let me," she blurts, refusing to meet his gaze, though her cheeks are burninglike hot coals; every cell in her body is screaming at her to run, to get as far away from him as possible, quickly, quickly, before Galinda sees you... "Get out of the -!"

"Fiyero, dearest! Where are you?"

Galinda's voice makes them both freeze dead in their tracks, the sound of it drifting through the trees again like some ethereal spirit – sweet and delicate as ever, yet strained with unmistakable worry, and it's her fault, it's all her own stupid fault for flying off the handle and causing this mess and dragging him into it and then...and then…

Oz-help me, she thinks, feeling the colour drain from her face, and then…

.

When they collide, it isn't so much the force that knocks the wind from him but rather the look she gives him afterwards. He had thought her beautiful when she was seething with anger and mellowing with pity – but seeing her now, he thinks there is nothing that could hold a candle to her. He could stay like this for the rest of the afternoon, Elphaba's slim frame tucked against his chest – sharp wit, flushed cheeks and all, the two of them simply marvelling at each other -

"Fiyero...dearest?"

But Glinda is growing ever closer and well, somebody has to do something…

"Let me -" He wrenches himself away, swearing he only imagines the kiss dropped to her hair, before he snatches the cage and his coat and runs.

.

Seconds later, he's gone. Vanished into the woods with a clink of metal and swish of that perfectly tailored jacket before she can so much as open her mouth to stop him.

The woods are quiet, and still, and lonely around her and she cannot bring herself to move. The wind drifts through her hair, tugging stray pieces across her face and tickling her neck, but she makes no move to brush them away.

She is too busy drowning. Choking. Feeling the cold wash of sheer, absolute shame drench her from head to foot as she scrunches her eyes tight shut and presses both hands to her temples because she won't, she can't, she isn't thinking about blood on her fingers, or smooth skin beneath her fingertips, or smarmy grins that made her heart race, or terribly tight silk shirts, or laughter that filled her with warmth, or absurdly blue eyes that burned her to the core and damn you, damn you, damn you a hundred times over, Fiyero Tiggular…

Dear Oz, what has she done. What...has…she…done.

.

He loses himself in the tangle of branches and brambles before even thinking of stopping. And when he finally does, lungs and legs burning, the clearing - the golden afternoon sunlight and, most importantly, Elphaba - are far, far away.

For a moment, perhaps, he believes this distance will set things right. Will clear his mind, allow his consciousness to remind him why this - why she – is a horrible idea.

But no matter what he tries, after the Cub has been set free and disappears into some bush, he cannot simply slip back into himself. Not with Elphaba's voice in his head and his skin still smarting where she'd touched it.

Even when he races back out into the open, finding Glinda worryingly distraught, hair and make-up almost mussed enough to be considered messy, he can't seem to find himself. No matter how he clutches at her or leaves heated kisses on her pinked skin.

Oh Oz, he can barely feel the blonde's touch.

Damn you, Elphaba Thropp.

What has he done?