"Ya did'n answer my question the other day." said Fitz as they headed out, his speech slurred.
"What question?" asked Elphaba.
"Do um…..do you 'ave kids?"
He saw her look away, retreating in that state of depressing contemplation which he had just gotten her out of. Finally she shrugged. "I can't say."
"Ya can't or you won't?" he was definitely drunk. Drunk and courageous. "Is it that Liir kid?"
"I can't say." she repeated. "And therefore I won't."
"You have a scar –"
"I know I have a scar!" she cut him off sharply and he decided to drop it. He shoved his pockets and looked ahead at the yellowish light from the street lamps reflecting off the cobblestones and shop windows, creating heavily contrasting shadows. It was rather solemn looking but in a nice way. Like the Wicked Witch of the West, sighing as she shoved her hands in her pockets. "Sorry." she said.
"Nah it's me. I talk too much when I'm drunk."
"I once got in a lot of trouble for talking too much."
"You talking too much?" he said jokingly. "I thought you were on a vow of silence!"
She smiled but then looked at the ground. "I did one of those as well."
"Why?"
She paused in thought. "For talking too much." she decided.
"Do you regret it?" he turned to look at her, the brim of her hat casting a black shadow over her face and whatever expression she might have had. It was impossible to read her.
"It would be selfish to regret it." she replied in almost a monotone, not looking up. Fitz continued to walk, his steps slightly off as he had to keep in mind to remain balanced.
How could Elphaba be the Wicked Witch? He thought. It would be selfish to regret it – what kind of wicked being would say something like that? Something so profound and selfless. He thought over the rumours about the Witch, about Elphaba and was suddenly enraged at the gross distortions brewed by Madame Morrible and her regime. He didn't care he was her only, precious nephew; he hated her for this but knew he could never say anything. He'd just live to regret it, even if it was selfish of him.
He laid his arm across the Witch's shoulder, not sure why. He simply wanted to reach out to her, to such an exotic being, full of mystery and secrets that seemed forbidden to him, even while she was right beside him, in his car, on a bar stool talking about his work or the antics of his aunt's tick tock creatures. He could feel the warmth of her, the shape of her bones under his arm like a reminder that for all the mystery, speculation and scandal that surrounded her, she was still real and present at least in body.
And she was unhappy, he thought. Sad.
"You know," he said as upbeat as he could manage. "Ya really could do with some cheerin up."
"Oh and what will that do?"
"It'll cheer you up. That's the whole point see."
"And how do you suggest I manage that?"
He turned to face her, their toes almost touching like before. "I could come in and give it a shot."
"I'd like to see you try."
He paused. Did she mean it? "I'm sure you would." he declared bravely and thank Oz! She chose to scoff at him instead of landing a slap or some other form of humility. They continued through the front doors of Kiamo Ko, both of them filled with premonitions that something was going to happen, was about to happen although the nature of it was beyond them. Media and stereotypes were not so frivolous.
"We'll have to be quiet." said Elphaba. "Everyone's asleep."
The castle felt like a display to Fitz. He was like a tourist, observing the iconic, ancient home of the Royal Vinkus Family passed down for hundreds of years, maybe even thousands, making it as out of place as it was impressive in this age of rapidly forming technology.
"Do you pay proper'y tax on this?" asked Fitz.
"No the land was bought a while back." she replied as they entered the stone roomed kitchen. It was incredible – all four walls were made of large hunks of polished rock that hadn't been cut down to flatness, making the walls bumpy. But the floor was flat which was essential. The place had been innovated slightly to make it more suitable as a home, with an electric stove and fridge and…..that was it. Torches lined the perimeter of the room, lighting the place with a meagre, orange glow. It was very dark and the light that did manage to come through was heavily in contrast. But Elphaba preferred it.
And so did Fitz as he looked about the room and at the Witch. It made everything so dynamic.
Elphaba turned to meet his stare, black shadows highlighting the edges of her features, her skin appearing to glow in contrast "Um do you want coffee?" she asked, feeling suddenly awkward.
He knew what he wanted but wasn't sure if she was the same. Come to think of it, he was never sure of her; he had been too meek to find out and she never gave anything away. Well he was going to put an end to that, he decided. He had come this far tonight and wasn't about to let the moment pass. He wordlessly stood up, feeling slow, his feet planting themselves in front of the other, not stopping even as he got close to her. Elphaba could hardly comprehend what was happening and she opened her mouth to speak, to protest, to hold him off, or to welcome him.
She didn't know and was too late as he kissed her, tasting scotch in her mouth, on his tongue.
She freezed, standing rigidly, her arms at her sides while he pressed closer, leaning down on her. She tried to think but could only comprehend. It felt too familiar, too nostalgic, the stone floor beneath them, the same solidness as the wood at the corn exchange, the torches and candles giving the same orange light, the only light she allowed as he undid the buttons of her shirt, her arms wrapped around his neck, his hands trailing down her ribs as she kissed him back, relishing at the novelty…
Then Becky barged through the door.