Chapter 6.
A/N So here it is. From Europe this time, and still in doubt but also excited and scared and curious :) I've decided to continue this, simply because I love writing it and I've nearly finished it all, so it's worth a shot to see what you think.
Thank you so much to those who reviewed! I have many fuzzy feelings for you!
If you don't want to continue into AU territory then please stop reading here and pretend it's only got 5 chapters :)
A Wicked Witch.
The Wicked Witch.
That's who she was now, in the eyes of Oz.
How had that happened?
Elphaba's mind had always been too quick for her own good. This is where she paid for that.
She simply couldn't imagine staying with the Wizard, joining him in his quest to silence every Animal in Oz, in order to keep the people appeased and him in power.
She wouldn't.
She couldn't.
But now here she was.
It was cold and it was dark, and she had no idea of where to go but more than that; she was alone.
She hadn't been alone in quite some time.
But then, she'd been alone her whole life before that, so she'd cope.
The question was: how?
What was he going to do exactly? Where was she going to go?
She thought for a moment, the tiniest moment, about going back to Shiz. To pick up some of her things, to say goodbye. To her sister, to Galinda.
To Fiyero.
Fiyero.
If she went to see him, she'd never be able to leave.
But she would not be able to be near Shiz and not go and see him.
No matter how much she already missed Galinda, and even her sister, no matter how badly she wanted to say goodbye to her room mate, to thank her and just see her one last time, it didn't compare to how much she wanted, needed, to see Fiyero.
Her entire body seemed to ache for him. At the mere thought of him, her insides clenched and her heart...
She loved him.
Completely and utterly.
She pointed her broom in the opposite direction.
She needed to get as far away from Shiz as possible.
3 years later...
The green was everywhere.
And not just in the Emerald way of the Emerald City.
Posters of her, that didn't resemble her in the slightest, had been put up everywhere.
Her name had been replaced by her new title.
Elphaba Thropp existed no more.
The Wicked Witch of the West was all that remained.
Every day, he'd run for the paper, to see if she was mentioned anywhere.
Every day, he was afraid that she was.
Every few days, there'd be some story about the horrible things she'd supposedly done. The Animals she'd tortured, the buildings she blew up, the things she'd destroyed. The people she'd hurt. Killed.
They got worse with time.
She was the people's greatest fear.
The land's most powerful witch and most dangerous terrorist.
Oz' worst enemy.
He missed her.
Oh, how he missed her.
Every poster, no matter how unflattering and incorrect, reminded him of her. The real her. The shy and slightly awkward girl who had no clue as to how alluring she was.
Every shade of green made his heart constrict. Hopeful, because every time he sees green, he thinks for one second that it might be her. That maybe….
But it never is.
And after all these years, the mere sight of the color makes him bitter, because it is never the right shade. No matter how hard he looks.
He had to face facts.
She was gone and she wasn't coming back.
She'd up and vanished right out of his life.
He remembered all too well, the days he'd spent in silence, thinking, nothing but thinking, when his girls had been off to meet the Wizard. The plan he'd made to speak to Galinda, then to Elphaba, knowing what he was about to risk and but willing to do so to get a chance at what he wanted, who he wanted, more than anything. So he'd gone to the station, nervous and on edge, but ready for whatever would come his way.
Ready for anything but what had come his way.
She'd gone.
Gone.
He'd tried to wrap his mind around the fact and failed miserably.
How could she be gone?
Even now, three years later, he didn't understand how he woke up every day to a life that included his hunting down the woman he loved because she was considered a dangerous terrorist.
Back then, he hadn't been able to comprehend at all, what possibly could have happened to make her disappear. Make her have to disappear.
What had happened to make her, suddenly, the greatest terror in Oz. A Wicked Witch?
Galinda wouldn't talk at first. She'd cried, sobbed against him for hours, and then she'd gotten up, sniffled a bit more, straightened her dress and her back and gone back to her dorm. From that day on, he'd seen mostly fake smiles and true determination on her face.
He'd asked her later, much later, and she'd told him.
He never told her about his feelings for Elphaba. Never told her he'd planned to break up with her.
He hadn't been able to. As much for his own sake as for hers.
It was only the two of them then.
And it was only the two of them now.
Today, three years later, the charade was still going.
Glinda was Glinda the Good and Fiyero was ….
Captain.
Fiyero Tiggular.
Captain of the Gale Force.
How bout that?
His parents were proud.
Glinda couldn't be happier.
The people of Oz adored him.
He hated himself.
He hated what he'd become. What he pretended to have become. He hated that he lied his way through life now, day after day. About who he was. About what he wanted. What he did.
And he hated that he did it all over a woman he'd never dated, hadn't slept with, hadn't even kissed, for Oz' sake! A woman he'd seen last when she'd been a girl, full of hope and plans and dreams.
Who was she now? What had she become?
He knew the answer didn't matter.
He also knew he couldn't take much more.
He was in the pub with his men. His comrades in arms. Former fellows and current followers.
He was drinking with them, a little away from them. Part of the group, but only at the surface. He sat with them tonight and pretended to be one of them. Not because he wanted to, but because the one thing he wanted even less than to sit and drink with men whose main point of discussion and main purpose in life was the Wicked Witch of the West and her painful demise, was to go home and face Glinda.
Glinda and her smiles that rarely reached up to her eyes anymore. Glinda and her pet names and endearments and pink dresses and fluffy pillows. Glinda and her love for him that wasn't quite genuine but real all the same. Glinda and his love for her that wasn't quite real but genuine all the same.
He was drinking too much. He knew that because he was thinking too much.
He shouldn't drink. Drinking never did him any favors.
Elphaba.
Elphaba.
Elphaba.
Oz, where was she?
He dreamed about her every night now. Another reason not to go home.
Every night, he'd close his eyes and she'd be there. It made him never want to wake up. It made never want to go to sleep.
It made him go out and search even harder.
Without success of course. He couldn't run the risk of finding her, catching her, with his men present. As Captain of the Guard, hunter of the Wicked Witch of the West, he led his men in the wrong direction, creating more fear and awe among them for the powers and the cleverness of this woman. This thing.
As Fiyero Tiggular, hunter of Elphaba Thropp, he kept track of everything that could mean anything.
Also without success. So far.
It made him want to throw things. It made him want to punch people.
It made him want to actually break down and cry sometimes.
The longing for her was so intense, the pull he felt, the power she had over him so strong...
He couldn't rest. He couldn't let go. He hadn't relaxed in over three years. Every fiber of his being was on alert because what if he missed something? Anything?
So he sat at the bar, nursing his drink and he listened.
He listened to the conversations around him. The bragging of his men. The grunts of the bartender. The music from the jukebox. The cards and fiches hitting the table in a fierce but friendly poker game.
And he heard his men talking about all kinds of bullshit. Shit that had mattered to him a long time ago. Shit that still would have mattered to him if he hadn't met her.
But he had and so it didn't. Not for a long time now.
But then one of them said something that made Fiyero put his drink down and sit a little straighter. Something about a witch.
Not the Wicked one of the West. A different one. Another one.
One who was apparently doing business in the city. Something shady to do with fortune telling.
Fiyero didn't believe in fortune telling. But then he hadn't believed in fortune for a long time either. He hadn't believed in bubbles for transportation, the Wizard being the root of all evil or schoolgirls that turned into terrorist witches overnight. And he hadn't believed in girls with emerald skin that could steal his heart away.
So he paid attention.
He listened.
And he made a decision.
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