Glinda knew that Fiyero went places without her. She had no real reason to ask him not to - she knew he wasn't doing anything shady, he was too high-profile to get away with it. But she wondered where he went all the time...

When he wasn't around, when she didn't have something to do, Glinda thought of Elphaba. She hated thinking of Elphaba, and not just because she was afraid of what worry lines would do to her beautiful face. She missed her friend, regretted that she hadn't bothered to spend every moment with her when they'd roomed together. Being green wasn't so bad, was it? Glinda couldn't recall how she'd come to the conclusion that Elphaba's verdigris was a negative thing. She was a different person, then. She even had a different name.

"Fiyero?" Ten minutes of thought about Elphaba sent Glinda bustling around for a distraction. "FiFi?" She found a maid. "Excusify me," she chirped. "Have you seen Fiyero?"

"No, sorry, your Goodness," the woman apologized, shaking her head.

"Thanks, anyway," Glinda said, glumly.

Outside the palace, the carriage she and Fiyero shared was just returning as she looked out the front windows, surveying the city and feeling lonely. When she spotted it, she pranced down to catch up with the driver and inquire about where he'd taken Fiyero. "To the orphanage," the driver said, as if it were common knowledge that Fiyero went there.

"The orphanage?"

"Yes, ma'am, the one on Baum."

Glinda got there not long after Fiyero. He'd stopped to visit with some of the children, and, therefore, was nowhere near the baby he'd been visiting for four months. He didn't sigh with relief about that until later, however. When he first saw her, he was simply upset that she was there at all. "Glinda," she said, clearly surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she said, hoping she sounded pleasant. "I didn't know you came here. Apparently everyone else, did, though..."

"Yes, well, I like to come, it feels nice to give back" he said, fidgeting. A nurse discreetly ushered the children out of the room, affording the couple some privacy.

"I just don't understand it, though," Glinda said. "You're visiting them just because it makes you happy?"

"I like to visit with the children," he said. "How is that so hard to believe?"

"I just don't know why you'd come back by yourself, dearest."

"Why not?"

"Well, when we came before -"

"We came for the publicity," he grunted. "I come to spend time with the children."

He might as well have slapped her across the face. His words stung just as much as his hand would have. "I care about children!" Her response was foolish, she knew. Not articulate, not overly convincing. What had she ever done to prove she cared about children? "I do..." she added.

"Glin, this was just something for me. When you're busy doing other things, I come visit the kids. It's not a big deal, I wasn't trying to leave you out, I just didn't think you'd be interested." If she insisted on coming back with him every time, he'd murder her and bury her sparkly pink body in pieces all over Oz.

"I just feel so strangeified knowing you've been doing something that I had no idea about, darlingest. That's all."

He wanted to smack the childlike pout off her face, and scream at her to be an adult. He knew that it was because he felt like Fae was threatened by Glinda's presence, and felt awful about it, but couldn't seem to calm down and quell his anger. "Well, now you know."

"So, now what?"

"I have a routine," he said. "I should get to it."

Glinda knew that Fiyero didn't want her there. She didn't know why, but she didn't want to dwell on it in case the reason for it was hurtful. "Alright, then, darlingest... I'll see you back at the Palace, I suppose."

Her voice was small, and wounded, and Fiyero was torn. Asking her to stay would make her happy, and, after all, it wasn't her fault that she wasn't Elphaba. But he wasn't willing to hold and feed and rock Fae in front of Glinda, and so Glinda had to go. "I shouldn't be long," was all he could think to say.

When he'd finished reading to the children, and they'd been shooed off to prepare for bed, he made his way up to the nursery, hoping Elda was alone.

She wasn't. Could nothing go right tonight?

She smiled at him, apologizing with her eyes that they couldn't talk about the things they most needed to talk about. He was disappointed, but seeing Fae made him feel instantly better. Seven months old and she'd been perfect for every moment of it, he was sure. Beautiful, entrancing and precious, so very precious, he thought it might break his heart. Eventually, Elda managed to get him alone.

"They've never let a man adopt on his own before," she whispered. "They wanted to know why a man would, and said that they could think of no reason. Apparently, a man who can't make a commitment to a woman is in no position to commit to a child." Elda's voice revealed how stupid she found that logic to be. "I could have pressed for more details, but worried about revealing you. I'm sorry."

"No, that's perfectly understandable," he sighed, feeling trapped. Would he have to marry Glinda to keep Fae with him? Did he love the baby more than he hated lying to his girlfriend. Even if Fae wasn't his, and her resemblance was coincidence, he was still inarguably more than a little attached to the infant. "Elda, do you have any of the letters from the mother?"

Elda looked as though she'd been asked to kill the Wizard. "I do," she admitted quietly. "I have all of them."

"Would I be able to see them?" It was the only test he could think of. He'd know Elphaba's writing anywhere, any version of it. He'd noticed, in his brief time with her, that she had a few different fonts. One was rushed, furious and spiky. Another was graceful, and mostly used for very important final drafts of very important assignments. One was lazy... Who had ever heard of a man falling more in love with a woman simply because she wrote different ways depending on her mood, or intent?

"I suppose, only... You could never anyone." Elda didn't even wait for him to promise he wouldn't; she exited quickly to fetch the pieces of paper.

Fiyero felt a little dizzy when he had them in his hands. There, in front of him, was a blend of Elphaba's two most common writing styles. She must have wanted it to be nice for her child, but not had the time to take her time. He scanned them, knowing they were from Elphaba, reading various sentences and practically hearing Elphaba say them. But he couldn't bring himself to really read them. These pieces of her, these most intimate hopes, were too much of her heart for him to bear, and it would destroy him, to read her. "Who else has seen these?"

The question was so quiet, Elda had to think about the sounds she'd thought she'd heard to decide what he'd actually said. After a moment, she responded. "Nobody. I have seniority here, material like this isn't to be opened; it comes directly to me."

"You can't ever tell anyone that you've read them, that you've seen them, that they arrived, or that I've seen them. You must hide them, in a very secret, very safe place... I'd take them myself only I know I can't without saying why, and without taking her with me..."

Fae was his daughter. His flesh and blood, his love for Elphaba. That's what she was; they had made her together, on a night so full of emotion and revelations. He'd tasted and touched and held her, pouring his love for her out until he realized that it would never run dry.

His need for Elphaba was endless, his love for her was the same.

"Fae," he murmured, looking down at the baby. He had stopped himself from analyzing the baby too much, lest he begin to draw comparisons out of blind hope rather than common sense or evidence. But he could see everything that was Elphaba and everything that was him in the baby, now. In this girl, his daughter. His and Elphaba's daughter. "I'd need to be married to adopt her?"

"Yes, sir."

"I can't."

Elda knew why. It was clear that Fiyero wasn't happy in his life, and Glinda the Good was the main part of his life. "I understand."

"I can't get married, and I can't not adopt this baby." It seemed as though he was talking to himself, now. "Could I support her, for awhile? Sort of... semi-adopt her? And you could hold onto her, just for awhile? I'll support all of them, I'll contribute whatever amount you want to this place -"

"Fiyero," Elda's voice was heartbroken, and she felt enough pain for him to know the only way to get his attention was to use his name. It worked. He looked at her, his eyes alight with fear. "You've contributed a great deal to this orphanage, or have you forgotten?"

He had. That was the reason he and Glinda had come by in the first place; to hand over an oversized cheque. Glinda posed with the cheque, and actually handed it over, but the idea to donate, and the money behind it, had been Fiyero's. He hadn't known why. They'd donated to all five orphanages in the city, and he'd tried to see every single child. The children of the Baum Street Orphanage were the last stop. The nursery was on the top floor. Fae's crib was in the far corner.

He might have forgotten all other orphanages if he'd seen her first. Or, maybe, he wouldn't have made the effort to cross the room if he'd known he had four more trips like this ahead of him.

Fate?

it was possible. Everything to do with Elphaba seemed to echo with destiny.

"I'll contribute more, then," he shrugged. "At least to cover caring for her. Though it does seem unfair to the others..." He looked into her eyes. "Can it work? Can I... reserve her?"

"I'm sure you can, but I'm not sure how long it could last."

"I just need to work out some details," he explained. "Before I can adopt her. But I will."

"Are you sure Miss Glinda will want to adopt?"

He said nothing for a few moments. What could he say? 'Even if she doesn't want to, I'll make her by threatening to leave her'? 'She'd do anything to make me happy, and I'm going to take advantage of it'? 'She'd better do as I say, or I'll marry her, poison her, then play the grieving widower'? "I'll have to talk to her."

He handed the letters back to Elda, and made to leave. "You will take care of yourself, Master Fiyero," Elda said, not so much a request but a reminder. "Get some sleep, some fresh air, keep your head clear..."

"Of course," he said, faking a smile. "Why wouldn't I? I'm a Prince, I'm the hero of Oz." His voice was full of disdain, of sarcasm. He sighed. "You will hide those well, won't you?"

Her eyes dropped to the letters she was holding in her hands. "Yes, of course." She knew there was something powerful about the parchment. Fiyero was a Gale Forcer, and understood politics and secrets better than she could. If he said it was important to keep them secret, it was probably for reasons she'd never even dream of.

He made it around the corner of the building before throwing up. He was glad he never had the carriage driver wait; he felt like walking. His mind was fuzzy with all the things he had to think about. Fae was his daughter, and he'd have to be married to get her, but he couldn't marry Fae's mother, because she was an Enemy. He didn't want to marry Glinda, but had to to adopt the daughter he'd made with her best friend. He'd made a baby with Elphaba.

Oz.

He wanted to make a million more.

The memory of moving with Elphaba came back to him, as it had many times before, rapidly and forcefully. He felt himself aroused immediately, and knew the only way to get through the feeling (well, the most decent way, given that he was walking to streets of the Emerald City) was to simply breathe deep and keep walking. Her skin glowed in front of his mind's eye, her touch screamed along his flesh, and his lips buzzed with the feeling of being entwined with hers.

It was very possible that he could never have her like that again if he was married. Divorce... didn't happen. But she would have told him to choose Fae over her, he knew she would have. The choice would have to be made, as sickening as it was.

So, who could he have, his daughter, or her mother?