Chapter Thirty: Giving Thanks

Had he dreamed it? Was she lying beside him, still motionless and in pain? Well, that much, of course. But he could swear… but it had been late. How could he know?

He'd woken to check on her, as he did every hour, and she was looking at him with that sadness he'd come to recognize, that sadness it killed him to see. Gently, he'd taken one of her hands in his and kissed it. Before letting go, he was almost positive her grip had tightened somewhat. Maybe he only wanted her to get better so badly that he had imagined something, anything that pointed away from the path towards death she seemed to be headed down.

Finally pulling his face out of the silken texture of her hair, he took his hands from her waist and sat up. He watched her blink and tried to smile, for her comfort, but he hadn't smiled since the day she'd stopped speaking.

All at once, her lips parted and she pushed air through in an "f" sound.

"Don't speak. Please." He was amazed she had opened her mouth without help. "Do you want me to smooth the oils on you, now?"

There was no answer. He hadn't expected one. And those eyes were trying to say so much more than "yes" or "no".

"All right." He reached towards the bedside table and grabbed the bottle he kept. With as much caution as he could, he poured the thick liquid onto his hands and slid his hands over her stomach, her legs, whatever he could. He tried very hard not to think of where his hands were. Finally placing the oils back on the table, he said, "There you go. Feel better?" He felt like an idiot, talking to someone who may never answer.

Her tongue came out between her teeth and before he could stop her, she'd pushed out, "Thank you."

"Fae?" He stared, startled.

A smile played at her lips. She'd expressed as much as she could have in two syllables. She didn't attempt to speak again until the next day, when she ventured for three words.

The doctor had been in and out again, insisting that, though her fever had gone down half a degree, there was still most likely little hope. Fiyero had been horrified that the man had dared to say that in front of the quiet but very attentive Elphaba. He stared out the door as the man walked down the hall to the stairs. "I won't let you die like this," he whispered. With a heavy sigh, he moved back to the bed and dabbed the blanket at the tears in her eyes. She'd only become sensitive in her weakness.

"I love you." She forced out desperately. "Yero, I love…"

"No. Please don't tell me that." He shook his head. "Don't waste the energy. I know you do. And I love you, too." Cradling her like a child (though he knew she'd protest if she could), he brought his lips to her forehead. "I could swear you're a little less feverish."

"I want… before I…"

"No! You are not going to die, damn it!" He read the intention of the short phrases she'd emitted without difficulty. Softening his voice some, he murmured, "Please don't die." In more than two months, she'd been so sick she couldn't speak. Now she had whispered ten words in a day. Was it a miracle or was it close to the end?

"Fiyero," she begged. "Listen."

"You're going to talk if it kills you." He rolled his eyes.

"Talking will not kill me," she ventured.

"Keep talking. How are you talking?"

"Just… little words, please?"

"No more questions, I guess. Say what you wanted. I'm here."

There was a faint shake of her head. "Tired."

"All that talking wore you out."

"You."

"Don't you start that with me."

She loved that he knew what she was saying with so few words. "Won't."

"Good. Do you think you're getting better?" Only her opinion told him the answer, no doctor could decide.

"Don't know."

"I understand. I'll get you back to sleep. You were only up for ten minutes."

"Whatever."

And so she spoke little things each day, tried to move more each day. Fiyero would not let her attempt to walk, at first. In response, Elphaba, a good two weeks better, strained herself into a sitting position on the bed next to him, and then climbed on top of him. He was alarmed by now, but Elphaba was smiling sweetly. "Fae, we can't… you're still…"

"That's not what I was planning." Roughly, she kicked him in the shin.

"Fae!"

"Let me walk, damn it!" Still not of the energy to hop to her feet, she crawled slowly off of him and made to lower her feet to the ground.

"No!" She was not yet at her quickest, and he caught her wrist and pulled her back with the force of an arm. "Please. I've let you talk. Is that not enough?"

"It's not. I've been talking for almost two weeks now."

"I let you sit up. I let you move around. I'm just worried, okay?"

"Fine. Give me something to do." She folded her arms and stared at him with her challenge.

"We haven't talked that much."

"I haven't?"

"We haven't." As tenderly as he could, he hugged her. "Do you have any idea how scared I was?"

"We have to talk about this?" She was hesitant to admit that she, too, had been scared. She'd planned on telling him some things, maybe even treating him differently, but she hadn't found the words yet. Lovingly, she brushed her lips against his cheek and hid her face in his neck.

"We do, Fae." He lifted her chin and looked at her curiously. "Why not?"

"Nothing. I hate it when you get all… funny about it."

"I didn't want you to die, Fae. Isn't that normal? If I were you, I'd worry if I hadn't acted the way I did."

"You took care of me," she said softly.

"Well, as best as I could." He shrugged.

"You could have had a servant do it."

"If… if you… and I wasn't there…" He looked away.

"Yero my hero," she whispered, "It's okay. I think I'm going to be okay now."

"I don't know what I would've done if you turned the wrong way."

"Neither do I." She stared at him. "You really took care of me, though. No one's ever taken care of me the way you did, Fiyero. No one's ever loved me like you did."

"Like I do." He corrected.

She smiled. "Thank you so much. I was conscious for more than you think I was. I saw you cry. I hated it, but I saw it. And… I was terrified, too. I didn't want to die. I was lying there, silent, but my mind was screaming. I even prayed."

"You? Prayed? To who?"

"You'll laugh." She flushed.

"No, really."

"I'm going to tell you a story, first. Okay? A long time ago, before you were at Shiz, I challenged a certain religious figure to give me something undeniably good. Two days later, a boy with the most gorgeous blue diamonds painted on his stunning dark skin, walked into my life. Since then, that boy, a man, now, has been nothing but undeniably good to me. And I love you."

"Fae," he didn't understand, she could see it. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I was blessed with you, Fiyero, by some figure that I never worshipped or devoted myself to in return. And because I acknowledged that, I survived that sickness. Not only am I going to teach people not to be ignorant bigots out here, I'm also going to bring a certain religious faith."

"What would your father think, to hear you speak this way? Or Nessa?"

"They'd kill me. It's not the Unnamed God."

"Lurline, then?"

She laughed. "No, my Yero, Kumbricia."