Hands Touch (Lion cub scene, Fiyeraba, featuring Lion Cub)
Eyes meet. Sudden silence. Sudden heat.
"No, you're not. Or you wouldn't be so unhappy."
Silence, for a moment, whilst he considered that. I waited, arms folded, scowl cemented in place. His eyes...wouldn't quite meet mine...
"...f-fine," he shrugged, but I could see the slight tightening of his jaw, the lowered eyebrows; he hadn't seen that one coming, and he wasn't taking it well. Oz-damnit, Tiggular. Glinda would never forgive me.
"Look here –" I sighed.
"Nope," he interrupted, backing away, hands raised. "I give up. You deal with it. You don't want my help –"
"- I never said –!"
"I'll leave you to it –"
"But -"
- but what, what, what, Elphaba, and he was slouching away, hands stuffed in his pockets; rejected, rebuffed, infuriatedwith me, despairing of me, leaving me,because I didn't want his –
"- idiot, I do, I do -!" I blurted, and my legs lurched me forward, my hand taking on a mind of its own, darting out and catching his in mine and…
…and…
…and how...warm…his hand…was. How heavy. How different from Galinda's delicate, feather-light weight. And how different from father's cast-iron grip. How smoothly, how sinuously are fingers fastened. Locked in place. A perfect fit. How…natural it felt. How easy. How…pleasant. My eyes slid to his. His eyes on mine were very steady and very, very blue.
"- I – do –!"
- I tore my hand away, stuffing it into my pocket. My voice was too high. Too loud. The most ludicrous, insignificant little shudder dance up my back, my neck, over my shoulders. Ugh. Mad. Insane. Glinda must have been rubbing off on me.
I pushed my hand as far down as it would go, burying it out of sight. Fiyero's had not moved, simply hanging suspended in mid-air, outstretched to me, fingers still folded around my invisible ones. For Oz's sake –
" – I – so –!" I stammered, unable to think of a single Oz-damned quip for the first time in my life and feeling my eyes narrow to slits at that thought. "I…anyway…"
A low, growling moan sounded from behind me, making us both jump. The cub. Oh Oz, how could I have forgotten…
"It's all right – it's all right!" I blurted, jerking round and fleeing across the clearing to the covered cage. My jacket felt tight, hot – for Oz's sake, it wasn't even April, yet! – whilst my fingers slipped on the latch of the cage door. Get a grip, Elphaba, come on.
"It's ok…it's all right…" I muttered, finally snapping the stupid cage open and bending to gaze into its dark depths. The Lion cub was shivering to tip to tail, his eyes a wide, caramel-yellow as they fixed on me. My fists clenched. Oz, couldn't anyone see it was terrified? Who would dare do something like this? How could they? How could they?
"It's all right…shh…" I murmured, reaching a tentative finger out towards him – he shrank back, squeaking the tiniest rawrgh of a sound. I couldn't help but smile, just a bit. He was so tiny, so precious. And motherless too, if the professor was to be believed.
"You poor, poor thing," I whispered, stroking his left ear, his right ear, the little fuzz of buttery fur on top of his head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, for everything you've had to suffer. But you're safe now, all right? You're safe. And you're a beautiful, beautiful little Lion…"
He quivered under my touch, but didn't try to bolt, thank Oz. I stroked him very slowly, rhythmically, trying to stay as still as possible. Still, he shivered every time I touched him. Perhaps I should have just given up and stopped. Perhaps I was making things worse…
I cursed, drawing my hand away and pulling back to give him some air. "I was trying to help – I didn't mean to frighten you –"
"What did you mean to do?"
I jumped. I'd almost forgotten about him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Fiyero flop down beside me, hands stuffed in his pockets again, eyes locked on me. What was wrong with him – why was he being so…so…!
"Elphaba –"
He hesitated; coughed a laugh; shrugged…then fixed me with eyes as blue as cornflowers and bright as jewels and oh my Oz, Elphaba, just listen to yourself, what did Avaric spike the drinks with at dinner last night…
"Elphaba, why was I the only one you didn't…you know…do it to?"
I opened my mouth – then closed it again, noticing his cheek. Argh. Ouch.
"You're bleeding," I muttered.
He said nothing. Just stared at me.
"Tiggular?"
Nothing. No words. Just his eyes. His unblinking gaze.
"He must have…"
…must have what, must have what, come on, Elphaba, wake up, must have what…!
"…scratched you."
Blink. Just once. A single blink, a half-smile, a shift of the lips. Those perfectly full, even lips.
"Yeah. Yeah, maybe."
The movement of his jaw oozed blood from the cut, trickling over the jut of his cheekbone. My hand was out of my pocket and reaching for him before I consciously made the decision to do so. It was instinct that did it, years of instinct, of father's gaze, of his expecting those split-second reactions, those obedient attendances. My fingers traced the skin of Fiyero's cheek, swiped ever-so-softly at the wet warmth of the blood, close enough to see every freckle on his forehead, close enough to meet his gaze, eyes that widened as they stared into mine, and merciful Oz he was –
"- I – I have to get to safety."