Delays are to be blamed on HollyBush for inspiring me to start a new Wicked fic that I had planned on waiting to write until after I was done with this one. Details on that will come later ;)

This chapter is much shorter than my usual ones, and while it was meant to be combined with the next one it felt right on its own. It's also kind of fluffy, but that's to be expected after how last chapter ended, right? I mean, they were getting some sexy time.

Speaking of the last chapter, did no one catch the meaning behind the last line? Really, it doesn't matter, it was just a hint of something that will be revealed in this chapter. Which I will now let you read. Enjoy :)

Contrary to popular belief, Fiyero did not always share his bed with others. As happy as he was to have Elphaba tucked into his side, somehow sleeping like a baby, he was uncomfortable, afraid to move, and certain the arm on which she was laying was falling asleep more often than he was. Every now and again he'd drift off for a few minutes but then she'd shift slightly and he'd be wide awake again, staring at the ceiling or at her hair or the end of her nose. On top of it all, every time his eyes did flutter shut, the fear that he would wake and she wouldn't be there would nag at him.

All in all, it was a restless night.

Still, he wouldn't have traded it for anything. Their lovemaking was passionate and incredible, yes, but some of the intimacy he loved most was in moments like the ones that followed it, like when Elphaba chose to wrap and tangle herself around his body. She had murmured something about the sound of his heartbeat before she lost consciousness and he loved her even more than he already had for it.

He had been watching the sunrise when she had begun rousing. At first she merely stretched, her long thin body slithering against his side sensually until he felt her toes touch his under the covers. Then a sluggish hand slowly drifted across his bare chest, her palm flush against his skin as it began moving upward this time, sliding and tickling over his collarbone and neck before reaching his jaw, where her fingers slowly skimmed until she settled on the curve of his jaw. Elphaba lifted her head finally and propped her bony chin into his shoulder; her hooded eyes gazed sleepily up at him.

Oz, she looked beautiful, and he couldn't resist reaching through her tousled locks with a genuine smile.

"Good morning," he greeted, his voice a satisfyingly manly purr.

"Hi," she murmured groggily. He could feel her fingertips caressing his cheekbone, his stubble, his ear—her eyes seemed to follow them as she told him, "I dreamt you were a scarecrow."

"Are you glad I'm not?"

She nodded slightly. "Your face was painted burlap and all of your stuffing kept falling out. And even though you had no bone structure to hold you upright you danced anyway."

"Sounds like me," he grinned. She stretched up to him at this and kissed him, her eyes still watching him as her lips lingered on his; he couldn't resist pulling her into him more until he could watch those deep orbs disappear behind her heavy lids. He smiled good-naturedly as their slow kiss concluded. "Tell me more about Yero the Scarecrow."

"It's already fading from my mind," she said, shifting so she wasn't trapped so tightly under his him but rather on top of his chest. He wouldn't admit it, but it was a little more comfortable now that he could hold his head up with a lazy arm behind him as he listened to her. "I've had such vivid dreams lately I find it strange to be forgetting one."

"As have I," he said, twirling one of her long, soft locks around a finger before letting it spring loose. He continued to play with her hair as he mused, "Mine were sometimes like this: perfect. It would be just the two of us and I would get to hold you in my arms and you would tell me that you love me and that you wanted to be with me." She blushed at this, suddenly refusing to look at him, and because of that he just had to add, "And you'd be so stubborn, just a pain in the ass." Her gaze flashed up to his then, indignant and fierce, and before she could say anything smart he casually added, "Yeah, just like that."

She exhaled grumpily. "And you call that perfect?"

"Absolutely."

She smirked at him. "Maybe I would prefer you as a scarecrow."

"Would you dance with me if I was?" he asked then, and his sudden intensity caught her off guard.

"What?"

"Never mind. Stupid question."

"No Fiyero, why would you want to know if I'd dance with you?"

They had never danced together before – not during their younger years at Shiz, not in the forests when they were on the run – so perhaps it seemed arbitrary to her. But for him it wasn't.

"Just something in one of my dreams," he explained. "You told me that if you could do it over, you would have danced with me at the Ozdust—"

She suddenly shot off of him then, wrenching the sheet from between their interwoven legs as she pulled away from him, looking as though a bullet had pierced her. "No, that can't be."

He sighed, also sitting up. Her reaction was hurtful. What was so bad about the idea of dancing with him? "Lurine, you could at least play along with the idea. Way to hurt a man's ego."

"It wasn't real. You didn't dream that."

"I did, but if it bothers you that much…"

"No Fiyero," she said forcefully, as though whatever nonsense she was insisting was absolutely important. "Those were my dreams. You couldn't possibly…"

"What in Oz are you talking about?"

"Ever since I cast that spell, almost every time I've closed my eyes I've seen you. And the last time I had said that I should have danced with you at the Ozdust and the first thing you had to ask was whether or not I'd kiss you."

"And you said no," Fiyero said in remembrance, finally starting to catch on. Her hands went to cover her mouth as she stared at him in distress, and the wave of comprehension she must have been dreading hit him. "So wait, we were, what, sharing a dream? How is that even possible?"

She rubbed at her face, finally grabbing at her hair in a way that made her seemed crazed. "It must have been the spell," she moaned miserably. "Oh no, no, no, no, no…"

"You told me you wanted to be with me forever," he repeated, starting to feel a bit angry as the pieces began falling into place. He remembered all the ways she had been pushing him away after helping him escape from the palace prison, even going so far as putting him at fault for everything wrong that had happened to her. Even in their fantasy she had tried to reason with him why she couldn't stay, even though she had made it exceedingly clear she wanted to. He didn't understand. "Did you mean it?"

She was still fisting her hair and the whites of her eyes were beginning to turn pink with stress. She wasn't answering him and he was becoming so sick of this.

"Did you?"

"Yes," she whispered. She was the epitome of vulnerability in that moment and his heart went out for her, even as she tried climbing from the bed and said, "I think it's time for me to leave."

He caught her hand and pulled her back. She simply looked up at him tearfully, as though pleading with him to let her go. He wouldn't do so. "Why are you running from me? No matter where you go, no matter what you do, you can't run from me. Whenever you close your eyes I'll be waiting. I'll never give up on you, no matter how angry or frightened or far you are."

"Fiyero—"

"And even though you might have convinced yourself you'll be better off leaving me and Glinda behind, I promise you that time and distance won't help. I went years without you and no matter how much I tried not to, I only ever wanted you more and more."

"Fiyero…"

"And as for your belief that someday I might go absolutely crazy and not want to be with you anymore, I can't let you walk away from something this perfect simply just because you think there's a chance it might fail."

"Fiyero…"

"And you'll never have to be alone again. Ever."

"Fiyero!"

"What?"

"Don't you let anyone else talk?"

He grinned sheepishly, feeling himself blush at the turn of events after so many years. "Oh, right. Sorry."

Her eyes turn upwards for a moment as she said with exaggerated exasperation, "You're so stupid."

"Foolishly optimistic," he corrected, and it was enough to cause her to eyes to crinkle at him and her lips to upturn of their own accord. As much as he wanted to see that smile, he wanted answers more. "Why couldn't you just tell me the truth? About how you feel, about your fears? Why did you only open up to me when you didn't think I was actually there?"

Her face became hard, like a statue's, as she tried to disguise her insecurities. "I guess I took comfort in thinking that the Fiyero in my head wouldn't run away."

"I'm not going anywhere." He reached up to brush his fingertips down her face, his thumb lingering over her thinned lips. "I meant it when I said I want to make you happy."

"Oh Fiyero," she said. "Don't you see that I'm not deserving of that?"

"Who in Oz could deserve it more?"

"Someone who isn't responsible for so much pain."

"You're not responsible. Morrible and the Wizard are."

"It's unreasonable to blame them for all of my actions and mistakes."

"That's as if saying the gun murdered, rather than the person aiming it."

"So I'm the will-less tool? Nothing but a pawn in their game?"

"Would you prefer me to make some other sort of analogy? Perhaps one that involves an incised snake, held by its head by a greedy and manipulative handler near innocents who are harmed by the creature's spitting venom?"

"So you're saying I'm poisonous?"

He glared at her interpretation and sternly amended, "Powerful."

"Cold-blooded?"

"Adaptable."

"Savage?"

"Defiant."

Their gazes remained invariably locked then, each challenging the other on until there would be one true victor, but then she cocked her head inquisitively, a playful glint in her eyes. "Would the snake be green?"

Fiyero couldn't resist a crooked grin at that. "Gorgeously so. It'd be a snake so enchanting its prey wouldn't stand a chance."

"And what would this prey of choice be?"

"Prince, of course," Fiyero said, yanking Elphaba to him so suddenly she actually yelped in surprise and a rare giggle escaped her. He ran his hands slowly across the tight plane of her stomach, around her sides and around her lower back and pulled her snug against him. He breathed in the scent of her neck, enjoying as she shivered at his breath, and pressed his lips against the smooth, creamy surface. "You know, it had been rumored that the Wicked Witch could shed her skin like a snake."

"I'm molting? Oh what a world."

His low chuckle tickled her and when she squirmed he kept her close and pressed their foreheads together. "I'll make you happy, no matter what you wrongly believe you deserve. I promise that I will."

"I know. I am not worthy of you," she said, kissing him deeply, and leaning into him so they fell back together into the plush pillows. It wasn't a promise of anything in return, but it was an acknowledgment of his pledge —it was acceptance. It was gratitude. And for the time being, that was good enough for him.

The last third just came out like that. I did not plan it but I could not bring myself to erase it, especially when that absolutely dorky and amazing mockery of Margaret Hamilton's Witch came out. Sorry about that. Plot will resume next chapter, but first I needed to show how much Fiyero's charm and love could pacify our beloved Elphie's inner turmoil. I think he's a good influence for her. But will it be enough to keep her in Oz? Find out next time...

Reviews are revered like the Unnamed God.