I can't believe how long it's been. I'm a terrible author for keeping you all waiting so long! I'm sorry about that. I have a soul-sucking job. That's my excuse. Nevertheless, I haven't forgotten or given up on this story or any of you wonderful readers. I simply struggled more than I expected. Most of this had been written and rewritten multiple times until I could get it right.

For all of my reviewers whom I told I would have an update for them a long time ago, I apologize. This update was originally supposed to be three separate ones, all with little cliffhangers. I changed my mind. Hopefully, it was the right choice.

I think many of you will like this chapter. The rating is definitely a high-T. With that said, I hope you'll enjoy and please review!

The window had been left open.

With her broom clutched tightly between her knees, Elphaba circled the tower a couple of times, weighing the risks one last time before the drifted closer to the sill. She could only presume Fiyero or Glinda had done that purposefully, hoping for her return. She had no intention on lingering longer than necessary, however, and she knew it would disappoint them but she couldn't allow herself to care.

She climbed through the open window and the calmer air on the inside of the large space was only slightly warmer than the frigid wind that crept in. It was dark. The moon, though mostly full, was covered by the lingering, lifeless clouds that seemed to hang in the air just to remind Elphaba of her futility. Still, she remembered the layout of the room enough not to stub her toes or trip as she slowly, slowly moved through it. Her breathing, shortened from shivering, seemed to be the only sound that existed other than the faint echoes of life that barely managed to carry all the way up through the window from the dying city outside, and that fact calmed her and pained her all at once.

But then she heard a new noise. Before she could even think to panic, the sound of another's breathing mingling with her own reminded her of the trance she entered in Levin's home, when Fiyero's heartbeat pounded in her ears. Her own pulse began to race and her instincts told her to back away but something drew her forward, toward what appeared in the darkness to be the four-poster bed. Her eyes continued to adjust in the darkness and soon the moonlight-exposed rippled sheets that were now only inches from her weary eyes faded into pale skin. She was not alone.

She could smell his scent gently hanging in the air, like the warm Vinkun night. She could feel him, as though his presence was making the very cells of her skin try to reach for him, and against her better judgment she moved another step forward until the wooden frame of the bed hit her tender thigh.

She sucked in a breath, the pain in her body more than just physical as she took him in: the beautiful sheets that held her only hours earlier clung around his lower back, leaving nothing about his form below it to the imagination. He had kicked down the thick comforter down past his knees; it was such a human thing, thought Elphaba, one that she hadn't known him to do. He was obviously comfortable in the cold like she had learned to be, for as her eyes travelled toward the head of the bed she saw the exposed skin of his waist spread across his broad, bare back.

Her fingers itched to touch him and as though of their own will they reached out and ghosted over him. She could feel the heat of him, waves of it, and the sensation was drawing her closer than she should dare be. Her fingertips yearned to feel the source but she satisfied the craving by continuing to remember how he felt as her hand hovered over his spine and up one of his strong arms, the end of which disappeared under one of the down pillows. Just hours ago her own head was buried in them and she wondered if Fiyero had thought about that when he plopped face-first into them. She was so distracted, thinking about his strong jaw and cheekbone, she forgot how closely the back of her fingers lingered to him until she felt the ends of a few wayward hairs from his golden head contact them, sending a jolt though her. She pulled her hand away.

Elphaba felt like a fog thinned in her mind even though her body stilled hummed from the closeness to him. She hadn't known he would be here waiting for her but she should have; now it was too late and all she could think about was being in that bed with him, drowning in his scent and disappearing once more into the dreamless sleep she needed so desperately. She couldn't stop remembering what that back really had felt like under her hands as they made love, the taste of his skin, how the heat of him made her feel so safe and alive all at once, and the feeling of him wrapped around her as they both fell asleep.

Elphaba tried to pull herself away from him, but it was if her body knew it was for the last time and resisted, needing him. For the first time the reality of her decision truly hit her—after tonight, she would never see or touch or taste him again. She had consented to loneliness but the life she was choosing for the sake of her friends meant that she would never again feel what it was like to be held like he had held her, to kiss and be kissed and to love and be loved.

He had been attracted to her at her ugliest. He stood up to her at her prickliest. He waited for her at her most independent. He braved her at her most reckless and believed in her at her most feckless. He supported her at her weakest and, most importantly, loved her in spite of everything that was wrong with her.

There would never be another; of this she was certain.

In a few minutes when she would leave, she would continue to live, as would he. The sun would still rise and set any place they would be, their hearts would continue to beat regardless of her pain, and life would continue. But without him, she realized, it would be meaningless and empty. He had changed her. The spell she had cast for him had changed her. And though she planned on escaping Oz and continuing alone as she always had before, she was not that same person and would never be again.

She would regret leaving him for the rest of her miserable life. But, she reasoned as she finally fell away from the bed and toward the large oak desk, regrets were a part of life and she was well-practiced at carrying them. Just because she would wake up every day wondering what her life would have been like had she stayed didn't justify the imprudence of doing so. She had made this decision for Fiyero's and Glinda's sakes, not her own.

Elphaba collapsed into the grand chair and hadn't realized how greatly she was upset until she reached for a pen with trembling fingers. Perhaps it was just fatigue, she realized as gravity's weight grew on her seated form. Her movements were sluggish as she pulled the pen and a piece of loose paper towards her body and tried to focus on her goal: she needed to write goodbye. It was a simple task but as every second ticked by the prospect of forming words became more and more challenging.

What words could suffice? She turned her weary eyes in the direction of the bed. She couldn't see it very well in the darkness. Her love lay there, so peaceful and wonderful. What could she write to him to express her regret and her sincerity? Should she say, vaguely, that she was to leave Oz forever in hopes he wouldn't think to look for her? Could she bring herself to tell him to move on and find happiness elsewhere? And what should she say to Glinda, her first and only true friend?

She pushed the pen tip against the parchment and scratched "Dear Fiyero" onto its surface. The movements were familiar but the script itself was rough and unattractive from disuse. At least it was legible, she thought hazily. She sighed and dropped her head onto her arm, wishing the words would write themselves.

Rebelliously, her body loosened slightly, for the knowledge that as long as Fiyero and the world slept she was safe here in this tower. She was invisible, nonexistent even, just another shadow left by the waning moon. She blinked, determined to clear her diming vision, and attempted to remember the last time a haven like this wasn't akin to pen and paper: a luxury, taken for granted. It didn't help that having her lover so close was comforting. His soft, even breathing, perceptible only because of her heightened sense of hearing, was hypnotic. His presence was like a warm blanket, one without holes or dirt or scratchy needles stuck into the woven fabric but rather something soft and thick and freshly laundered, or like warm chamomile from her favorite childhood mug…

Her eyelids became heavier and the difference between the darkness behind them and that of the room became indistinguishable. She no longer felt the pen in her hand and was too drowsy to even comprehend if she had dropped it or if it was still held in her slackening fingers.

She mustn't fall asleep, or else they would find her. She mustn't fall asleep…

Seconds later, Elphaba was dreaming.

Her eyes opened slowly, sleepily, and she recognized the tall, flush trees that guided her eyes to the clear, starry sky high above her. The air was calm and mild and the clearing glowed in the luminance of the mostly full moon. She was obviously back in the forest with Fiyero, wrapped in nothing but her cloak and one of his arms. She sat up slightly, concerned only because she wasn't disoriented or discomforted by this notion. She looked down at him.

He seemed to be stirring from sleep as well, but Elphaba had a moment to take him in. Here in her dreams she felt safe to openly admire him again, from his slightly pouting lips to his beautiful naked body, and a contented sigh escaped her as her hand glided across his strong abdomen. In this dream world, it was unmarred by the wounds the real Fiyero had suffered and she was relieved that here she did not have to face the burden of blame.

His head turned toward her before his eyes even opened, but when they did they bore into her own, dark blue and beautiful. He did not smile but one of his hands reached up to brush one of her rogue locks of hair from her face before it rested against her raven head.

"Is this real?" he asked, and his voice warm and thick like Yunamata honey. She shook her head.

"No, this is a dream," she told him regretfully, her thumb rubbing against the smoothness of his stomach. Her skin may still have been fair here but their bodies were whole as they were when they occupied this spot in reality; she felt no pain, no fatigue. If this weren't proof enough, the silence of this world around them and the way the trees faded into grey oblivion around them was certainly indication enough that they were truly alone again.

Alone. This was reassuring and she started wishing it could last forever, but then the fear that this fantasy would crumble away like the others hit her like a battery rammikin to the gut. It caused her heart to hurt and her body to yearn for him so strongly. Just for this moment, he was absolutely hers. She did not need to hide her love or protect anyone. There was no one to inhibit or judge them. And she was going to take advantage of this illusion as long as it existed for her.

Sending him a wily smile, she dropped her lips to his chest and kissed his skin there, her hands gliding across the golden plane of his abdomen to explore him—to remember him. They were only together a small handful of times but she recalled vividly the spots that made him shudder with pleasure and that was where her fingers itched to go, craving the involuntary flexing that would occur under his skin with even the slightest pressure. He was ticklish, and while other women may have discovered that in his life, it was now her secret.

She found his pulse under his skin and her lips lingered on the spot; when she brought her fingertips up to tease the skin on the sides and back of his neck she thrilled as she felt his heartbeat quicken at every added touch. Hearing the rhythm in his veins brought on a swell of feeling she couldn't contain. She sighed, grateful and content, and breathed out his name in a way that made his hand lace tighter into her wild hair. He was alive and he was hers.

Even though this was a fantasy – and a lovely one at that – part of her still couldn't believe this was happening; that it was Fiyero Tiggular – the boy she had such a crush on in school – whose body she had at her will, whose breath she controlled, whose eyes existed only for her. It made her flush with heat all over and her insides tighten with desire.

She slithered over him, stretching lazily on his body, until the curly blonde hair of his strong legs tickled her feet and their torsos were flush on one another. Her mouth and the end of her nose moved up to tickle the column of his throat and up his chin, and she felt his breath catch as her breasts slid against his chest. The sudden, if slight, movement caused a shock of sensation in the sensitive skin there and she shivered.

The grip of growing pleasure wasn't the only one that clenched at her gut; her underlying anxiety warranted the need to look up at him. His azure eyes looked dark and gray in the pale moonlight as they bore into hers and she found them hard to read. She brushed a hand against his brow as she calmly inspected his features, her thumb dragging slowly across it while her fingertips disappeared into his hairline, admiring the softness and coolness of the locks as she combed them away from his face. He was so beautiful.

Her eyes flickered down to his mouth and it seemed so full and inviting. Dipping down, she brushed her lips on his slowly for a moment, savoring the feeling of him, but she yearned to taste him more fully. Her lips parted to take his, but he wasn't reciprocating, even as her tongue begged for entrance.

"Kiss me," she demanded, her gaze dancing between his eyes, but seeing that he was remaining obstinate she bent down to leave hot kisses across his jaw line and took his earlobe between her teeth. He gasped at this and she teased him further, whispering breathily against the moistened skin, "Please…I need you…"

It thrilled her when her words brought forth a deep, greedy growl from him. He suddenly gripped at her, the hand laced in her hair clenching the roots to jerk her away from his sensitive ear while the other seized her tightly behind the knee. She had only a moment to glimpse the black in his gaze before he brought her down and crashed their lips together, roughly and impatiently kissing her open mouth. She didn't allow herself to catch the breath he stole from her and kissed him back, allowing him to wrench her leg around his waist.

"You need me?" he repeated between hot kisses. The rushing in her mind and his relentless mouth on hers kept her from doing more than whimpering, especially as his fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs, hard enough to bruise, to pull her more firmly against him. "You need me?"

Couldn't he feel how much she desired him? "Yes…"

Her body was on fire, tingling with sensation as he sat them upright, his mouth hungrily attacking the skin down her neck and to her heaving chest below. Her nails dug into his scalp reactively as the contact began to nearly be intolerable, thoughts disappearing amidst a frenzy of fervor and something inside of her tightening in anticipation. Fiyero's hot breath against her perspiring skin sent chills throughout her and when his hands moved up to her hips she was certain he was finally both going to feed and relieve her growing ache.

But then he lifted her from him and dumped her abruptly on the ground next to him.

He rolled to his feet without a word and snatched up his pants from the grassy floor. Blood pounded painfully in her ears and filled her face as she stared at him with wide, stunned eyes; he refused to look down at her, instead focusing on buttoning the front of his slacks.

She was trembling as she also stood, clutching her cloak to her chest. Flustered and humiliated, she stammered angrily, "What the hell is your problem?"

"You are," he retorted, finally turning to face her. She was frightened to find his gaze colder than the night air against her flush skin. His face, usually so handsome and gentle, was hard as if it had been carved from stone and his hands were clenched so tightly at his sides that the veins and muscles of his arms popped with tension. "Did you already forget how you treated me? How you just left me? I haven't!"

Dizzying memories of every shared touch and glance and word from the last two days replayed in her mind and Elphaba's mouth became dry as she stumbled back a step. Was this her subconscious punishing her for her callousness? Did the man of her dreams now exist to persecute her for the regrets she wanted so desperately to forget in wakefulness?

Arousing her was cruel, yet she needed no epiphany to understand that this echo of Fiyero had only done onto her what she had been doing onto him. She had kept him trapped in a living dichotomy since she had found him again, resurrected but damaged; her façade of bipolarity in the last two days was by far the crueler of the acts as he attempted to heal and cope with his personal trauma.

She wished she could blame her body for her selfish behavior, but just because it existed in a different setting than her mind didn't mean it was a separate, blameworthy entity. And the form in front of her was merely a projection, a manifestation of her latent desires, tempting the very thing she was willing to sacrifice for some greater good she couldn't recall with him standing before her: love.

Her throbbing pulse throughout her body and her burning face overran her thoughts once again and she cared not that he was only an illusion. Her temper flared at the spiteful trick she had just endured.

"It was for your own good!" she snarled through gritted teeth.

"That's not for you to decide!"

"Am I to assume now that you're so adept at decisions?" she asked, adding cruelly, "Because I have yet to be impressed."

"That means nothing coming from you," he snapped. She wasn't sure if she should be impressed by his gall or insulted by his words. Then he exhaled, angrily, revisiting a conversation from long ago. "You really do think I'm stupid, don't you?"

"No, I don't think you're stupid. Just foolishly optimistic."

"Why? Because I want you to stay with me?"

"Yes!" she said. "What do you expect, Fiyero? That we'll get some happily ever after together?"

"Why are you certain that we won't?"

"A witch by any other name still reeks of deceit," she stated. "You're under this assumption that all of Oz can be fooled by this spell I cast and one of Glinda's makeovers, but you saw how her parents acted! What difference did it make?"

"That was only after we told them who you are."

"They didn't trust me before they knew. Moreover, you and Glinda saw through this ruse in mere moments."

He exhaled gruffly, as though he had given up holding back a harsh truth: "That's because she and I are the only ones who ever really looked at you."

She wasn't offended. Perhaps he was right— Boq, someone she had once thought of as something close to a friend, had no notion that the strange woman in the Pine Barren was the very witch who cursed him, but then again he was so self-involved he couldn't see beyond his metal shell. Were other Ozians any different? Were Fiyero and Glinda the only exceptions? It was illogical but her consistently negative experiences with people certainly lacked reason.

Surely out of the few in her life left living, Glinda and Fiyero would be the ones to know her best, but she had known them for only months at best. It was with a sharp pain of longing and shame that she remembered how brief their time together had been. She had only a few short days alone with Fiyero.

"We hardly know each other," she pointed out sadly.

"How else are we going to get to know each other?" he responded, as if it was the most obvious question in the world.

It wasn't the point. This was a commitment, one that she was certain if he were more informed he wouldn't want to make. She faltered from embarrassment, knowing the words she was anxious to confess were coming free from her lips. "What if…you don't like what you learn?"

His expression hardened at the implication. "I may not know your favorite color or constellation, but somehow, I do know you. And you know me. Admit it."

"Fiyero, don't you understand?" she asked desperately. "Even if you are right, we could never be together!"

"Glinda—"

"I'm not talking about Glinda! I'm talking about Oz! You were just engaged to her. You ran off with the Wicked Witch. You can't just suddenly be serious with someone new! Unless we left, went somewhere where no one knew your name, we can't have a relationship lest someone guesses the truth because once they do, we are all dead!"

"Then let's leave!"

"Leave Glinda?" she asked. "Leave all of the luxuries and comforts you take for granted? I assure you Fiyero, it's not an easy choice to make."

"For me it is."

"You're sweet and naïve."

"Don't patronize me!"

"I don't mean to. I envy you for it."

His face screwed up in confusion and she sighed. Was there any harm in vocalizing her deepest fears if no one truly existed to hear them but herself? This was but a dream after all. "Someday you'll look at me and you'll resent me." He tried interrupting but she continued more forcefully, "You'll realize what a mistake you've made and you'll be miserable. And I fear that when that day comes, you'll be too good of a man to say anything."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because it's what you did to Glinda, isn't it?"

He tensed at this truth but brushed it off. "It won't happen, Fae. It's not the same."

"Isn't it? One day, you'll finally see the truth; that, really, truly, I'm just bitter and damaged and difficult. And when that day comes you'll suffer in silence because you've committed yourself and you won't want to hurt me."

"This is different. You're different. I've never felt like this before about anyone, or anything. I can't go back to how I used to be even if I tried. I wouldn't want to."

"But what if you're wrong?"

She felt so pathetic as she admitted her fears, even if it was just aloud in her own mind. It wasn't actually Fiyero standing there. But Oz, he seemed so real. His gaze was like dry ice as it burned painfully into her, blistering like the Vinkun sun, and his nostrils flared with every life-sparing breath he took.

"Then I'll tell you."

"I don't believe you."

"I promise, Fae. I don't act with you. I don't think I can. You drive me absolutely crazy in every way, but I respect you too much to lie to you about something like that. But it isn't fair to either of us if you wait for that day to come!"

"It doesn't matter anyway," she pointed out, wishing it did. This world – this Fiyero – wasn't real and the promises and assurances he made were nothing more than salve for her pain. "It doesn't change anything."

"What about all those Animals out there who are in need of you? Are you going to forget about those Animals as you intend to do with me?"

Her pounding heart clenched at his question. She wrapped her arms around herself, thinking of all of the creatures that were still suffering because of everything she had failed to accomplish. The pain was almost overwhelming as she admitted, "There's nothing more I can do for them."

"Of course there is. Stay here with us. Help Glinda. She needs you."

"Glinda's smart. She'll be a good leader."

"You and I both know she won't last long. Glinda's great at dealing with things on the surface but she's a disaster when it comes to real things. I don't give her long until she is overrun by someone who won't care as much as we do. How will you feel then? When some greedy politician tramples upon anyone or anything that can't defend itself simply because he can?"

She fidgeted at this, wishing it didn't affect her so. It was no longer her concern, she told herself. She planned to escape Oz and whatever was left behind wouldn't matter anymore. But the ghosts of Dr. Dillamond, of Rainer, of Glinda and all the others who believed in her and relied on her would surely haunt her. Could she forget?

"You have the opportunity to finally change things," he continued earnestly. "To accomplish everything you've ever dreamed of. And for once, Oz will be on your side because you'll be Oz. Imagine what someone like you could do with that kind of power."

"Doesn't that make you afraid? I'm…" She faded off, frustrated. "…wicked."

"And what do you know of wickedness?" he asked softly, sweetly. It made her heart hurt against her ribs as though it was trying to force itself through them to get to him and she sighed, wanting to find relief from the pain. "No. You're the most selfless person I've ever known. You'd make such good."

It sounded so wonderful. Part of her yearned for it, still, as imprudent as it was. The rest of her would forever remain cynical, corrupted by the Wizard and his claims of humble origins and paternal impulses.

"You believe too strenuously in a capacity for good," she told him, adding in a sad murmur, "So foolishly optimistic. I'm sorry, Fiyero. I can't."

"You mean you won't."

"I have nothing left to give."

"You're so young, Elphaba. Have you forgotten that?"

She had. Her weariness reached her bones, weakening every tendon and muscle she possessed. No amount of rest could repair the damage. She became unfocused, searching within herself for a youth she had long lost. "I don't feel young."

"I think you feel young," he teased, risking not only a step forward but a hand down her side sensually. She nearly recoiled at the sensation that erupted from every inch of the exposed skin he touched; the cloak that draped down her front became even more tightly clenched in her hands.

He risked a step closer and rested his head against hers; she could feel his roughened knuckles caress her face. A heavy breath fell from him, exposing the seriousness that still existed despite his flirting, and his hand settled low on her back to pull her nearer.

"Just tell me the truth. Do you love me?"

"Yes, but…"

"Stop," he murmured as his blue eyes squeezed shut. "Do you want to be with me? Don't tell me what I want to hear, tell me what you want."

His eyes opened again under a worried brow, and as her own locked with his she felt the words slip from her before she even had given them conscious thought: "I want you."

For the first time, he smiled, and though it was sad it made her heart hurt from its beauty. "You mean that?"

"Yes," she said honestly. "I wish I never had to wake up so I could stay here forever with you."

"Me too."

"What else do you want?" she asked, curious what her subconscious would reveal.

"I want to make you happy. When you left with me and I could finally hold you in my arms and call you mine, you smiled and laughed like I had never seen you. I want to spend every day for the rest of my life trying to make your eyes light up like that again."

Was it too late for that? Part of her was surprised that she had ever been capable of such joy then, before she ever knew she was responsible for the death of her sister. How she missed her, missed how things could have been.

"If I had a chance, I would do everything different," she said, her voice thick with grief. "I wouldn't have trusted Morrible and the Wizard. I wouldn't have left Nessarose and my father. I would have graduated from Shiz and gone into nonprofit work or something that didn't involve dodging gunfire and wondering from where my next meal would come."

Thinking about the past made her remember about the young, scandalacious prince she had decided she didn't like before she had even met him. She was so naïve then—she distrusted the only person who would never wrong her and blindly believed in powerful man in Oz without even learning his name. If only she could turn back the time-dragon clock… "I would have danced with you at the Ozdust, Fiyero."

"You told me you don't dance."

"I would have tried," she said, knowing better than to think her younger, more willful self would have accepted the hand of the "silly rich boy". She was such a fool.

"What would you do after we danced at the Ozdust?" Fiyero asked, a smile widening playfully. "Would you let me kiss you?"

"No," she said with a teary laugh, wishing this had been her life. "You would have had to work for that."

"Hopefully something easier than two years in the Gale Force and countless wild goose chases."

His joke did not make her laugh; instead, she felt the weight of her regrets only stronger. "I'm so sorry, my love. I've hurt everything I've ever touched and I've ruined any chance at that happy ending you want for us. It's too late."

"I still disagree." His nose brushed against hers. "You could be my secret."

"And you, mine?" she mocked lightly, her nose scrunching up and pulling away from his at his cutesy move.

He nodded, combing his fingers through her hair. "Just picture yourself at one of Glinda's stupid balls. I'd reach for your hand and spin you out on the dance floor and hold you close, and once the song is over I'll do my best to kiss you. And all of your Animal friends would be there, watching me make a fool of myself." He continued to stare at her, study her, and she realized it odd that for once she wasn't discomfited at his undivided attention. "You have the chance to start over, Elphaba."

"By changing who I am."

"Not who you are," he corrected. "Just people's perception of you."

"I'm scared," she confessed.

He smiled kindly, his hand brushing comfortingly over her hair. "I know, but you're not alone anymore, Elphie."

"I've never had anyone to rely on before."

"Maybe that's been your problem," he suggested. "You've been trying to change the world all by yourself and it's too much. Let me help you. You can trust me."

Elphaba doubted whether she could ever fall prey to his confidence, as a voice continued in her head reminding her of the flaws to his ideals and every mistake she ever made, but at the moment she was content to merely take comfort in him. She smiled gently, grateful for him, and stretched up to kiss his lips softly.

She released the cloak she had been clutching so tightly in her hands, letting the last guard down between them, and finally let him pull her close in a consoling hug. She rested her head upon his shoulder, her arms wrapping around his strong torso, and breathed him in, letting the smell of him surround her and soothe her tender heart. Soon she would wake and be forced to accept the consequences of her actions again because despite his contention, nothing changed. She would still have to leave him.

Regardless of the direction she pointed her broom come morning, while she was here she could pretend as though she would follow her aching heart and choose him. She would find contentment in him and hold him tight. His chest was warm and his beating heart was mesmerizing and lulling her once again. Against her will, her eyes fell shut and she told herself she would not return to reality; she would do whatever it took to stay with him. So she focused on the solidness of the muscle against her face and holding tight to his sturdy frame, but it wasn't enough: when her eyes opened, the pressure against her cheek was not that of Fiyero's body but that of hard wood.

She sat up panicked and attempted to focus on her surroundings, but unlike the well-lit clearing of her vision, the shrouded moon's light barely penetrated into the space. Where was she? She put a hand to her face, where it was sore from where it had rested, and found the skin to be cold and clammy; the frigidity solidified her fear that she had indeed returned to the real world of degradation and disownment she dreaded. She was seated stiffly at the desk on which she attempted to write a goodbye to Fiyero, where she had made the mistake of closing her eyes for a moment too long…

A lamp sputtered on behind her and she whirled about, alarm inciting her nerves as she sought out the source. The lamp on the bedside table, though only casting a soft orange glow in the large room, reflected off the eyes of the love of her life as he sat up and stared directly at her.

Fiyero had jerked up out of a short but deep sleep with a knot in his gut and an unexplainable grip of urgency on his heart. He clumsily sought out the knob of the lamp at his bedside, wincing momentarily as the dim light hit his swollen, heavy-lids, but straightened up as its illumination caught on a movement in the night.

It was Elphaba. He stilled instinctually, for he saw her filled with tension like a frightened alley cat, and there they waited – their focus unwavering from one another – for the other to make the first move.

She looked terrible. Even in the faint light he could see the bruising under her eyes, more pronounced than ever, and an unhealthy gauntness in her cheeks that daylight hid. Finally, her eyes darted away from him toward the open window, ending their contest of hesitation and stubbornness, and he also risked a glance away to see an undecipherable sheet of paper under one of her arms.

"That's it?" His face screwed up with irritation as her eyes flickered back to focus on his again. "You're just leaving a note?"

"I'm sorry," she murmured. Her voice was throaty, as though she had also only just awoken, and with a façade of indifference she forcibly pushed her weak body out of the chair and ungracefully made for the ledge.

He didn't hesitate to roll off the tall mattress, even though his body attempted to resist this, and he stumbled after her. She had already grabbed her broom and was part of the way out into the dark when he called after her, "You know I'll come after you."

Elphaba took his bait and hesitated to an uneasy standstill. "You'll never find me."

"It won't stop me from trying. I'll look in every corner of Oz then beyond it until I find you again."

A heavy sigh fell from her lips. With one hand on the window frame and her head and shoulders exposed to the unsympathetic wind, she turned to look at him. Even sickly she was a vision, ethereal and mesmerizing. Her long hair swirled and whipped around her, as wild and gorgeous as she was, and her eyes seemed black and infinite as the starry sky.

What did she ever see in him? She was magnificent, existing beyond him, never to be contained or controlled. He was sad to note that Glinda's request for her to stay in the Palace with them threatened to do just that to her, but in stuffy dresses and tight up-dos rather than chains and rags. Elphaba, with her rebel spirit, would rather endure torture than hours of idle, pointless society chit-chat; perhaps she saw no difference between the two.

As he tossed around in bed last night, all he could think about was his hurt in her leaving how she did. Maybe it was because he had one last chance with her, or maybe something within him changed in the couple hours of rest he managed to get, but he wasn't angry anymore. Nevertheless, his heart remained with her, and his intentions were sincere because, without her, he remained hollow and lost.

He needed to grow up. He needed to be a bigger person than he was. But damn, this was hard. Was the reason she had been vacillating in her behavior because she had been suffering as he was now? Between the inherent need to be selfish and the self-sacrifice required for someone else's wellbeing, or in her case, the greater good?

As much as Fiyero didn't like it, he knew what needed to be said. What needed to be done. He filled his lungs with a huge breath, hoping it would steel his nerves.

"I'm won't stop you anymore. I get that you think that's what you need to do and I know that's why you've been pushing me away. I'll let you leave, just not like this."

The arm that held at the window frame seemed to catch some of her sagging weight as she mulled over his words with eyes clenched closed. Carefully he neared her, approaching her as he had animals he had hunted as a boy in the Vinkus, with silent steps so as not to spook her out into wind and out of his life forever.

"No one is chasing you, Elphie," he said quietly, before remembering his recent promise. "At least not yet. I'll make sure to provide you with a little bit of a head start—give you a sporting chance."

Her countenance changed then as she smiled, clearly unintentionally but oh so beautifully, and looked back up with him with eyes glinting with a mirth he didn't think expect of her. His ribs hummed with the acceleration of his heart at this and he felt himself soften at her, a goofy grin pulling at one side of his mouth. Feeling braver, his bare feet slid forward over the carpet once, twice, and a third time until he was looking down at her. She had fallen back against the tall window casing and peered up at him through those gorgeous, thick lashes of hers.

He could still see the fight within her was far from over, but with this tiny victory he risked reaching forward and cupped her cheek. She turned into his hand and her warm exhale tickled over his wrist, sending shivers down his spine. Her skin was icy, pale but pinched with pink, and her brow was so contorted with quarreling emotions that the veins and muscles under the surface created delicate shadows that caused him angst.

He hadn't meant to screw things up so bad. He hadn't meant to ruin her. She was independent by nature and his inherent need to protect her motivated him to save her from capture from his own soldiers at her dead sister's feet, but in turn it was he who needed to be rescued. The way she had broken into the Wizard's own prison proved that he was dumb to fear that being thrown in a cell would mark the end for Elphaba Thropp, Wicked Witch of the West. Even gravity couldn't hold her down.

"I'm sorry for everything I've done to hurt you," Fiyero told her sadly, watching her eyelids sag heavily as she nestled against his palm.

"Oh Fiyero," she said in a soft sob, shaking her head ever so slightly. "It is I who should be sorry. Look what I've done to you!" Her hands waved fretfully between them before she put them flat against the disfigured skin of his stomach. He hissed and grimaced at the contact, but the lingering soreness as though he had done hundreds of crunches would not undo him, not when it was she whose fingertips danced across the raised, sensitive scars, igniting a fire just beyond the pain. His reaction caused her to yank her hands back with a look of panic, but he grabbed one back, returning it to the crisscross marks with deliberation.

"It's okay," he swore, his thumb brushing against her temple in an attempt to soothe her.

"No it's not! Glinda's parents are right; I'm a menace, I break everything I touch—"

He knew fighting with her would be futile, but he blamed sleep deprivation for how he chose to shut her up: he leaned forward and kissed her. She whimpered into his mouth but he would not relent; not out of some sort of master plan or obstinacy, of course, but because he needed this, he needed her. And Oz be damned, she kissed him back, her hands spreading out against his belly to his sides, pulling him into her, actually allowing him to physically trap her against the window frame.

He had kissed so many girls in his life – it was easy, required no thought, and was pleasurable – but never before had it felt so intimate or as personal as it did with Elphaba. His heart raced as he tasted her, felt her against him, and, as stupid as it was, felt her within him. He, Lord Fiyero Tiggular, Arjiki Prince of Kiamo Ko, Mightiest Stalker of the Thousand Year Grasslands and Chieftain in the Great Kells, was putty in her hands. Their embrace was warm, tender, and emotional, seeming without end as each kiss led to another and another, each deeper than the last, until they were gasping into each other.

If he was the one to pull away he knew it would have been impossible for him to not utter the words "I love you" and if he did, that moment of weakness might scare her away again, so it was almost a good thing that it was she who finally broke away from him, immediately leaving his lips with a feeling of loss and his heart heavier than Dorothy's farm house. But then she murmured his name, her breath close enough to entice his tongue to seek out hers again, and he kissed her fervently. One of his hands was still laced in her hair the other ran down her side, making a detour over the thin material above her breast as it moved down to her lower back so he could pull her against him and let her feel his desire for her.

Somehow he managed to clear his mind enough to huskily insist, "Stay…" and he leaned inward more to pander to her neck, causing her to quiver and meld against him as he nuzzled the sweet skin near her collarbone.

Even though she had stretched to give him better access, she sighed gloomily. "Fiyero…"

Her tone was disappointing but not unexpected. The prince moved his gaze up to her eyes, which seemed really big as they flitted timidly between his, and waited, able to see the need in her face despite the darkness. This was a two-way street, he was proud to observe. She just needed to give in.

"Stay," he said again, "just for tonight. You're safe. You can leave tomorrow. But let me have one last night with you."

His stomach twisted under his aching abdomen as she shook her head silently, her lips thinning and her chin trembling as though she would cry. Immediately grief began to crush him, like rocks cascading on a thin pane of glass, and he felt himself breaking.

This was it. This was the end. He said he'd let her go and he meant it. He just didn't know how he could physically do that without falling apart into a hundred pieces.

Her eyes had begun to glass up with tears. Did it matter that his did too? Was this horrible, private moment relevant in the overall judgment of his manliness? Did he care?

But then her head began to slowly move up and down. "Okay," she whispered, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. She seemed to be reacting to his facial expression, for immediately he beamed broadly, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"Yeah?" he asked excitedly.

"Yeah," she said, her nodding more perceptible, and he yanked her into a tight hug. Broken laughter escaped from the lungs he was sure had been failing only moments and he felt euphoric.

"Are you crying?" His grip loosened enough for her to reach up to touch the rogue, not-masculine droplet of salty betrayal that slipped down his cheek and his brow furrowed at the implication.

"No!" he tried, but was emotional enough that his voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat, trying to make it sound more like a scoff. "Something…must have flown in my eye. From outside."

"Oh," she said calmly, her head resting against the wood casing behind her as she continued to watch him cleverly, and her gentle smile twitching into a smirk at him.

"Why? Is it a turn-off?"

"On the contrary," she told him, a playful glint entering her deep, sad eyes.

He felt invigorated. "If that's the case, then I was totally crying."

To his delight it was she who then kissed him, rocking up on her toes to do it. He wished he had remembered he was standing right next to a large window hundreds of feet above the ground before he had let her make him so lightheaded.

"Elphie…"

She ignored him in order to nip at his lower lip in a way that was driving all thought from his mind. Sweet mother of Ozma, he was going to die. Die happy, yes, but he was going to die at the bottom of this tower. He couldn't think.

"Anyway we could…" Oh dear Oz. "…move away…" Moan. "…from the window?"

She cackled at this and pushed him off of her – which was probably a good thing because he couldn't bring himself to do it himself – all the while keeping her hands touching him as she guided him towards the bed.

"You actually think I'd let you fall?"

"It's too late for that," he said smoothly with a wink, loving the exasperation that washed over her.

"Seriously, where do you get these lines?" she grumbled as her trembling fingers – aftereffects of her strong emotions she couldn't hide – reached for the tie at his waist as they shuffled backwards through the darkness.

"I swear, they just come to me," he told her with a charming grin. She shook her head at him, her hands struggling with the knotted drawstring as he tugged her the rest of the way. She collided into him as his legs backed into the mattress and Fiyero swooped in time to steal a swear word from her parted lips.

"I love you," he finally murmured between kisses.

She didn't respond but he didn't expect her to; instead, he chose to focus on undoing the seemingly tiny buttons at her back, wanting to rid her of this – in his opinion – far too conservative dress. How on earth had his huge, clumsy fingers managed to fasten these bastards only hours ago? At last she seemed to notice his distraction and growled in annoyance.

"Just rip the damn thing off, Fiyero!" she snapped, shoving him backwards on the bed. He grinned, dragging her up with him, and did as she asked with immeasurable satisfaction.

Elphaba was an enigma, to be sure; a volatile mixture of incredible intelligence and fiery emotions. How he had convinced her to stay, he wasn't sure. But as long as she was here and was his, he wasn't going to waste a moment more worrying or wondering about it. He was simply going to chalk it up to something she had called him in a dream he recently had: he was foolishly optimistic.