Two years today, Fiyero thought. Two endless years ago, I lost her. I admitted to myself that I loved her, I pursued her, I found her, I made love to her, and then she was gone into the night.

Then he got up.

Waking up thinking about the lost love of his life wasn't Fiyero's favourite way to start the day, but he was used to it, by now. He thought to himself that he wouldn't go see Fae today, that he wouldn't survive looking at her on this day, and instantly felt like his life was empty.

The day passed slowly. It was a wretched day, weather-wise, and there was little for the Gale Force to do, people being holed-up in their homes, frightened that Elphaba would attack them because it was two years ago she'd defied the Wizard. The Gale Force had been called out in numbers, because the Wizard was just as stupid as the people he ruled, and they'd stood around smoking cigars, drinking, and trading vulgar jokes and stories until it was clear that nothing was going to happen that day.

Fiyero had dismissed his men, knowing full well that nobody was in any danger, anyway, and gone "home" to the Palace in search of a stiff drink. He'd found many.

Wandering the halls of the wing he shared with Glinda, Fiyero looked out the large windows at the tinge of green that illuminated everything in the city, and thought, against his will, of that night with Elphaba. He had thought of her, often, though he rarely let himself think of her as intensely as he wanted to. It was when he was asleep or drunk, and, therefore, not as much in control of his thoughts and actions as usual, that he sank into visions of her.

Tonight was no different. As he staggered along the runner of thick carpet down one of the tediously overblown and oversized hallways he saw every day, he remembered how it had felt to take her in his mouth, in his hands. To move on top of her, inside of her, to watch her while he made love to her.

"Yero," he heard her sigh, again, in his head. "Love me."

"I do," he whispered, out loud. He shook his head, but was unable to clear it. His thoughts were racing now, skimming the memory of being with her and hurtling straight toward new fantasies, desires he had for her based upon nothing they'd done that night.

He unbuttoned his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, feeling heat for her like a million furnaces under his skin, and looked around frantically for a source of fresh air, to help him clear his head. The balcony. He spotted the large glass French doors, and made a break for them, taking his brandy with him.

He put his drink down and gasped for breath, waiting for the air to cool him, hoping the weather could beat out the desires of his flesh.

He stared at the sky.

Fiyero spent more time than he really realized staring at the night sky. The blackness of it allowed him to feel like Elphaba might be just out of sight, and the rare movements above (of birds and other flying creatures, no doubt) could be her, they could be... He knew it was stupid, to tilt his head back and gaze skyward, looking for black on black, but it gave him hope, or reassured him, or felt bitingly painful enough to keep him awake.

"Fiyero?"

He turned his head instinctively toward the sound. She'd found him. She always did. He said nothing, he simply continued to look up at the sky.

"It's cold, Fiyero. Aren't you freezing?"

"I don't feel it," he shrugged. He didn't feel it. He didn't feel much of anything, anymore, beyond the sick dull ache of being Faba-less. What was cold, anyway? He was numb to the world outside Fae, Elphaba, and the fantasy life in his head.

"How long have you been out here?"

Fiyero shrugged. "I couldn't tell you." He couldn't recall when he'd wandered out and, as he had so many nights, simply lost himself staring up at the sky. He'd been doing it for two years... Why was Glinda here? She probably wanted something. "Are you alright?"

"Today is hard," she admitted. "It's been two years since..." He nodded, knowing exactly what she was talking about. It was strange to him that she'd felt the need to say the part about the two years. Didn't she know that he knew? "I miss her, Fiyero." He thought to himself that he missed Elphaba more than Glinda ever could, then realized that that was a selfish thing to think. Elphaba had been Glinda's most true friend, the only friend of substance Glinda had ever had. "I don't know what to do without my friend."

"It's hard, to be without someone who means so much to you," he agreed, remembering the feeling of just being near to Elphaba, and trying not to remember the rest of it.

"Is that how it felt to leave your mother and father, to leave the Vinkus?"

He nodded, wondering how dense Glinda really was. "It's hard to say goodbye." He remembered that moment, when Elphaba had slipped out the window.

"At least we have each other," Glinda tried. "And we can remember Elphie together, as she was. Because we know the truth about her." He stayed still, certain that the slightest movement on his part would reveal how much truth her knew about her. "And, someday, when I can, I'll clear her name. The Wizard and Morrible are like Father Time and..." she paused, thinking. "Mother Time." Oz, how stupid she could be. "They'll die sooner or later," she continued on. "And I'll have Oz's trust, and they won't be spreading lies about her, and she can come back."

"You think that will work?" He doubted it would. Not only did the people of Oz love to hate Elphaba, not only that, but... It would simply be too good to be true to be able to have her around once more. "You think you can bring the Enemy of Oz back and just promise everyone she's nice and they'll listen?"

"I can be very convincifying," she reminded him. Boy, did he know. "We'll get her back, Fiyero. We will."

"She doesn't belong to us," Fiyero said, staring at the moon. "She belongs to another."

Glinda stared at him, not sensing the jealousy behind his words, the anguish at their truth. "Who? Who does Elphie belong to?"

He sighed, almost inaudibly. Elphaba was mystical, epic, and so far above them in her radiance. They would never be worthy of her. He would never be worthy of her. "She belongs to the twilight and mist."