Disclaimer: Hi! This isn't The Pixess- she's currently hiding in a closet to avoid a) moving and b) you killing her for lack of updating. She's sorry about that, BTW. This is her friend Melody, aka Gullible Human Shield who offered to do the disclaimer thing. So yeah, neither of us own Wicked. And I, unfortunately, had nothing to do with the making of this chapter. That I know of.

Let's recap, shall we? We've gone from "I-want-you-I'm-just-too-virtuous-to-admit-it" to "Don't ever touch me again!" to "I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOUR UGLY PRINCE FACE EVER AGAIN GET OUT BEFORE I CUT OFF YOUR AIR SUPPLY WITH MY SEXY GURTLE" over the course of about- he checked his watch- 42 hours. A new record.

Wait- did he just do math?

Fiyero shook his head; he had more important things to worry about. Like, why had he worn white on a coffee date? Was Galinda so popular that a court would rule for justifiable homicide if she killed him after she'd been dumped? In the miraculous event that he survived dumping Galinda, would Elphaba take him back (not that they had ever strictly been a couple, unfortunately)? Or at least, would he ever see her in that outfit again, holyshizkin-

Do. Not. Go. There. Focus. Tiggu. Lar.

He weaved his way through the crowded café- it was Friday evening, after all- and searched for the tell-tale signs of his "girlfriend." By the (ear-piercing) sound of it, she had gotten a head start on him; however, he didn't see any of the normal indicators to her presence- no large groups of girls clustered around a particular table, no loud, inexplicable giggling, no vivid spurts of pink in an otherwise pastel zone…

There! He finally spotted her; she was wearing navy, which must have been what had thrown his radar off. That and the fact that she had chosen the table closest to the back, which only had two stools- one on either side of the table. This was a far more subtle arrangement than their usual "dates", which generally consisted of them sitting in the middle of the room, so she could be at the center of everything and socialize with her friends if their own conversation grew to idle for her liking (which it always did).

Puzzled at this deviation- socialites like Galinda generally tended to perfect a routine, and any minor change was subject to great personal controversy- he made his way towards her, trying to shake off an odd feeling of foreboding.

"Fiyero, darling," she purred as he approached. He brightened as she gave him a peck on the cheek- not about the kiss, of course, but because she had refrained from calling him by that vomitifed pet name she had coined- maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Sorry I'm late," he told her, as though they had actually agreed on an appointed time to meet.

"It's alright," she said, her voice a bit more high than usual (if that were even possible). She appeared almost sheepish, and her blush seemed more than her usual face powder. It was rather unnerving, to be truthful.

"Um, did you order already?" Fiyero asked awkwardly, still wondering about her odd behavior.

"Oh, no, I was waiting for you- though the raspberry frappe looked rather good, if not a little large, but we could split it-"

"No thank you," he jumped in quickly.

"Well, alright," she replied timidly- Galinda, timid!- and scanned over the menu again. "Uh…there's 'Emerald Espresso', it's chilled coffee with mint chocolate and comes with a little flag in it with the Wizomania logo."

"I've never been much for musical theatre," Fiyero replied uncomfortably.

What is going on?! He wondered silently. This wasn't like any other time they'd been out- that consisted of him picking her up at her dorm, her ordering whatever she had in mind for him, then yakking about nothing until she decided it was time to leave. Now there was, like, this giant Cloud of Awkwardness hanging over them- could she possibly know what he had planned on doing? Sweet Oz, had Elphaba told her about- about everything?

Oh, he was dead. So very, very dead.

"Well, how's about this thing," Galinda continued, unaware that her seatmate was mentally composing his own obituary. "It's black coffee, supposed to be very bitter, made with dried hazelnuts- dear Oz!"

"What?" Fiyero asked, this last bit catching his attention.

"They call it a 'Morrible Mocha'," she explained, clearly horrified, for which he could not blame her in the least.

Galinda shut the menu abruptly, setting it to the side while eyeing him intently. It was a very un- Galindaish move and it made Fiyero's blood chill.

"Actually," she said, her expression unreadable, "I'm not so hungry- er, thirsty." She pushed a blonde strand behind her ear, clearly struggling with her words. "I think we need to talk about…something."

Oh Oz, she knows, he thought in panic. She totally, totally knows. She's going to grill me alive. There's gonna be screaming and crying and slapping and in front of everyone. I'll be the brainless bastard who cheated on Galinda Upland of the Upper Up Uppity- whatever the blasted moniker is!

But wait just a clock tick- why should he care? Even if Elphaba wouldn't have him (his stomach turned at the mere thought) he'd at least be free of the Galinda DeathGrip. That's what he wanted, right? Sure he'd miss her cheery greetings everyday...what brand of mascara was less clumpy than some other type (Maybelurline always won)...the long, pointless shopping trips where he as stuck standing around for hours on end, doing nothing but holding her reticule for her...

Oh dear sweet Oz, Galinda was FINALLY going to break up with him!!!

"I've been thinking a lot about our relationship," she was saying, biting the corner of her lip.

Yes, very bad sign, keep going, Fiyero silently urged her.

"Now you and I have been going out for awhile now-"

Yes, Galindy, I have a calendar, I know this, he thought impatiently.

"And it's been fun- like, really, really, fun. Extraordinary, actually…"

Oooh, a word with more than six letters that isn't 'shopping', I'm impressed. He knew he was being unnecessarily cruel but didn't care; after all, it wasn't as though she could hear him.

"…and I realize it's probably not best to do this in public, I honestly don't know what's come over me, I didn't intend on doing this tonight…"

"But?" he pressed, unable to contain himself.

"But," she agreed, flushing. "It appears I simply can't help myself. I…"

I'm dumping you, Fiyero, it's over; I'm dumping you, Fiyero, it's over; he chanted pleadingly in his head.

"I-I want to take our relationship to the next level," she declared, voice shaky but firm.

Fiyero blinked as she reached across the table, placing her dainty hand over his. Wait, his mind screamed, WHAT?!

"Fiyero, sweetheart," she said, eyes sparkling like blue diamonds, "We're getting married!"

Yes, she's changing the scene here…you are allowed exactly three more seconds of squealing/cursing/lyao. And keep in mind, this could have been your ending last chapter (that shut you up, eh? XD)

"So," Nessarose said, drumming her fingers idly against an unresponsive knee, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Elphaba stuffed some blouses Galinda had draped across the floor in her quest for the Right Outfit back into the dresser; ever since Fiyero had left, Elphie had been a bundle of frantic agitation, which had somehow manifested itself in the form of a cleaning rampage.

"Talk about what?" she snapped, folding up what appeared to be- unless Nessa's tired eyes were deceiving her- a pink mini-skirt with an extremely poofy white dog emblazed upon it.

"Well, that small stroke you had awhile ago, for starters," she replied mildly.

Elphie dropped the poodle miniskirt. "I did not have a stroke, Nessie!" she cried, outraged. "He walked in on me while I was- you know!"

"Yes, I do know," Nessarose replied patiently. "I know that if you had seen Galinda or me or anyone else for that matter react so violently just because someone had walked in on them- half clothed, no less!-you would have called them a prudish, melodramatic twit and berated them mercilessly about it until the day they died."

Elphaba blinked. "Are you calling me a prudish, melodramatic twit?" she asked- not threateningly, just curious.

"No," Nessarose answered, a little taken-aback at her sister's calm reaction. "But I would like to know what the big deal is- I mean, it's just Fiyero. It's not like, I don't know, he'd look at you, or anything."

Elphaba could feel the heat creeping into her cheeks. "Why shouldn't he look at me?" she demanded.

Nessarose, thinking she'd struck a cord with the skin issue, quickly blithered, "Well I mean, of course there's no reason he wouldn't look at you- as a male, I mean- you know- it's just- he's with Galinda-"

"Who says?" Elphaba pressed, without thinking.

Nessa's eyes widened. "Um, everyone," she replied uncertainly. "Is there something I should know about, Elphaba?"

"Actually, yes," the green girl adlibbed quickly, "On second thought, I think I did have a stroke just now, I should go have the nurse check that out," she started backing towards the door, "Maybe Morrible would let me out of exams if I was sick enough, or at least give me an extension, how awesome would that be, extra study time-"

"Fabala."

Elphaba faltered.

Nessarose pointed to the bed. "Sit," she ordered.

Her sister obeyed, the look on her face not unlike that of a puppy who'd been caught nibbling on a slipper.

"Speak," Nessa said simply.

"I-"

"Coherently."

Elphaba glared at her. "I am not a dog, Nessie," she reminded her darkly.

"There are so many possible comebacks to that, why don't you save me the exertion of picking between them and just tell me what's going on."

And so Elphaba relayed the tale of the last day and a half. Her sister made a surprisingly good audience, only interrupting once (when she got to the bit about the closet, before she explained about him laughing. She had demanded, squealing, every detail about what they had done- as though she were hoping for a vicarious orgasm, or something).

When she finally through, Nessa merely shook her head. "Wow," she said, her voiced awed. "So while I was busy with my Boqie Doll, you were playing with Kiamo Ko Ken?"

"Shut up!" Elphaba cried, but was unable to keep a straight face. "At least," she wheezed through her laugher, "Ken was there by choice!"

"Oh yeah?" Nessa was giggling too. "Well I bet Boqie looks better in a dress!"

That made them both crack up all over again, finally succumbing to the strain of exams and would-be lovers in the form of a laughing fit.

"You know what we need?" Nessarose asked, wiping her eyes once the attack had subsided.

Elphaba shook her head.

"A- oh, what's it called?" she wondered, furrowing her brow. "You see girls do it all the time at plays and cinemas…"

"When have you ever been to either of those?"

Nessa waved her off. "And Miss Galinda and her friends have them all the time…"

"Don't say 'slumber party'," Elphaba protested vehemently. "I won't do it, and there is no conceivable way for you to make me, so don't whine."

Figuring she was only within her rights to make a Frex threat once a day, Nessa replied haughtily, "Fine. If not a slumber party, then at least a…Girl's Night In?"

The green girl sighed. "Rosie," she said, softening, "I hate to break it to you, but they're only three things I've come to associate with the phrase "Girl's Night In': snacks, makeup, and dress up. We're college students, which automatically means we have no decent food, and Galinda has banned any junk food from the room due to her clear-complexion obsession; no make-up known to mankind works with my skin tone, and I have as much business in anything pertaining to Cosmetology as a blind straight man with no thumbs; as for dressing up, Galinda's closet may be a fashion mecca- in fact, it may be the Fashion Mecca- but the odds of me putting anything on from there are exactly 525,600,000,000 to one, and you take-" she broke off, realizing what she'd been about to say.

"And it takes me too long to get changed," her sister elaborated, stone-faced.

"Nessa…Rosie…" Elphaba stammered, horrified at herself. "No, I didn't mean it like- I mean we can still- it doesn't matter, it's not like we're on a time- Aargh!" she cried, clenching her fists. "Roll up to the damn vanity, Oz knows I need the practice if I'm going to pass that blasted course, I don't know why I let Galinda talk me into taking it in the first place…"

Nessarose brightened. "You mean-?"

"Yes, yes, haven't you heard unseeing, thumb-less heterosexuals are the wave of the future?" Elphaba snapped. "And don't you dare tell anyone about this, or I'll cripple you worse…

"We're getting married!"

Fiyero twitched; there was so much BLATANTLY WRONG with that statement (statement! Not even a proposal, as if the whole thing were already settled!) he didn't know where to start.

"Galin-" no, there was too much. He couldn't even begin to articulate- if he kept his mouth open, he'd surely regurgitate all over the table. He glanced around, terrified that someone had overheard her.

"Fiyero?" Galinda questioned anxiously as his eyes darted about. "Did you hear me?"

And there they were, like a Godsend- two gay little angels.

"URGH!" Crope groaned dramatically, grabbing a stool from the nearest table over and flopping down dramatically next to Galinda. "What a day- Galindy darling, where have you been hiding yourself, I've been looking everywhere for you, I'm going to need such a facial treatment after today, and no one does them like you can."

Galinda blinked as though she couldn't quite believe he was there. Tibbett took his own chair and set it down beside Fiyero, giving him a polite, tired smile.

It was then that the Prince got an idea. The Prince got a wonderful idea. The Prince got an awful idea. The Prince got a wonderfully, awful idea.

Don't you dare, his conscience piped up.

Well what choice do I have? He argued.

What choice? His conscience was sardonic- almost like Elphaba, he noted wistfully. You can suck it up, be a man, tell her the truth yourself and leave The Most Perfect Couple in History alone so the universe doesn't unravel.

"Well, yes, darling, I'd be happy to do it later but Fifi and I-" Galinda started to say, but Fiyero cut her off.

"Oh, hard day, Crope?" he asked attentively, trying to look as interested as possible.

You are going to rot in hell for this, Conscience informed him. Aren't your own screwed up relationships enough without-

Between hell and GalindaTiggularland, which would you prefer?

His conscience, interestingly, had no retort to that.

Crope stretched, clearly happy to have an audience. "It was horrible," he bemoaned.

"No pun intended," Tibbett added.

"Ick, I didn't catch that, thank you dearest," he said warmly before launching into his monologue. "That old harpy kept going on and on- and she never tired, blathering on about how the sound system is an important element of Shiz's overall student corruptivity and nostrils falling off or whatever it was she was saying, I'm sure I don't know- and she just kept going, and going, gaining steam all the time, like she was a bellows or something-"

"She certainly swelled up like one," Tibbett chimed in.

"Precisely!" Crope cried, knocking Galinda's purse off the table as he gestured widely. "So sorry, dearie," he said briefly as the blonde scowled at him. "But anyway- she just wouldn't shut up, all afternoon, we only just got out, missed exams and everything-"

"That's terrible," Fiyero said sympathetically. "You must be starved- order anything, my treat."

Way to be subtle.

He mentally stuck out his tongue in response.

Crope blinked. "Oh-kay," he replied, thrown for a minute. Tibbett, meanwhile, wasted no time in leaning across the table for a menu (Fiyero taking advantage of this by subtly brushing against his calf. He didn't appear to notice.)

Barely glancing at his own drink list, Crope lost no time in re-launching into the story. "So anyhow," he pressed on, "Blah blah blah, yakkity yak- like, we understand, woman, take a breath- or better yet, a breathmint. I mean, don't you hate it when that happens? When someone keeps talking and talking on about nothing with no end in sight and you just want them to SHUT UP already?"

"I have absolutely no idea what that must feel like," Galinda replied coolly, looking about ready to throttle him.

Crope sighed and patted her hand. "You're too lucky, my dear, you really are," he assured her.

Deciding it would be best for everyone's physical well-being (and criminal records) to change the subject, Fiyero picked up hi menu and blurted quickly, "So, um, the 'Touring Company' looks really good- chocolate milk mixed in with ground- um…uh," he pretended to struggle. "Sh-shanan- Tibs, can you read that for me, please?"

Tibbett raised an eyebrow, either at the uncommon use of a nickname or the trivalness of the word. "Shanasho Beans, you mean?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yeah, those!" Fiyero cried, slapping his knee as though the question had been plaguing him all day; even Galinda was fixing him with a bewildered stare. "I've never heard of them before," he continued breezily, trying to ignore the fact that he felt like a complete tool.

"Um, well, they're really healthy; strengthens the vocal cords and all that," Tibbett explained, eyeing the Prince nervously. "Most of the time they're black, but I hear if you grow them near really Big Apple trees they turn green every now and again."

Okay, seriously, just stop; what good is this going to do? Galinda is too slow to notice when you have legitimate feelings for someone else- do you really think she's going to pick up on your pathetic attempts to impersonate a g-

"Fascinating," he said, giving his famous tilted-head-all-teeth smile, the one that was rumored to send several ladies of the court into fainting spills. There turned out to have been a gas leak, but whatever- it certainly seemed to have an affect on Tibbett, who flushed and promptly became very interested in the drink list. Fiyero ducked his head in the menu as well, sneaking a peak across the table as he did so:

Crope was gaping at him, mouth opening and closing without sound, while Galinda in turn was glaring at him and- unless the Prince was quite mistaken- totally unaware of any faux flirting that may or may not have been going on.

Told you so, Conscience chided.

Yeah, but you couldn't have told me before I invoked the wrath of the male-Galinda?

Oh, that wasn't me, that was my cousin, Karma? She can be a real bitch.

"Hang on, Tibby," Crope said, holding up a slender white finger to silence his lover. "My feminine instinct tells me that we may have just interrupted a very serious romantic discussion at an extremely awkward time."

Tibbett blinked. "I thought I was the fem this week," he said, clearly trying to gloss over the situation.

Crope was impatient. "No, darling, your butch today- remember, your voice is all scratchy since you snuck all those confiscated cigars out of Morrible's desk whist she was lecturing us?"

"Oh, silly me, where is my mind," Tibbett replied, waving a hand dismissively. Joking appeared to be the best strategy to soothe his frazzled lover. "I remember now, the part where she was swelling up like a Pufferfish?"

"No, dear, while she was getting her second wind- honestly; just like a man. Shall I have our anniversary tattooed on your forehead as well?" Crope shook his head, standing up. "Come along, we've both got extra studying to do now that your little prank got us in so much trouble."

So abashed he didn't even argue that it was a mutual idea, Tibbett got up to and quickly slunk behind the other boy.

Fiyero, feeling guilty but still needing a way out, said "I'll walk you boys there, I needed to pick up something I left at my dorm anyway-"

"No," Crope cut in quickly, "We weren't headed back to my dorm, we're headed to the library, that's on the other side of campus- don't tire yourself with a walk,"

And with that, he grabbed his boyfriend by the arm and led him out, muttering furiously the entire way.

"Um, I really have to get that thing," Fiyero lied, tugging on his jacket again.

"Fiyero!" Galinda cried as he hurried out the door, "Wait!"

He knew he was awful to leave her like that, not to mention possibly break up Croppett, but he honestly just couldn't take it anymore. He wasn't big enough to do this, it had gotten out of hand- he needed someone to bail him out, to make it all just go away.

Fortunately, he knew just the person.

Tell ya what: I won't do the I-know-who-it-is-you-don't-ha-ha-ha dance if you leave Pixie a really nice review; seriously, she's having a crappy time with this move and all, and I just know a review would make her day. SO DO IT! DON'T MAKE ME USE THIS THING! -banishes disposable razor threateningly-.