Cheers to Indy's Green Hat for guessing correctly!

Fiyero stared at his hand for a moment as it hovered, still, in front of room 216 of the Life and Social Science building late one afternoon. His skin was dry, near to cracking, and covered with little blond hairs, which may have been manly but certainly wasn't princely. He didn't care about that. He was taking a moment to be sure this decision was a smart one, for in this timeline it was a new one and new decisions put him on edge.

He knocked.

He checked over his shoulder, paranoid a bit that this little visit of his would be public knowledge if anyone saw him. Sure, he was here on a secret mission and everything, but he also had a reputation to uphold and hanging outside a professor's office like this on a Friday evening would just look bad.

He heard a bleat from the other side of the wood and Fiyero took the cue, pushing down on the door handle and slipping inside.

"Good evening Doctor," Fiyero said courteously. "I hope it is all right that I come in."

"Master Fiyero, this certainly is a surprise," Dr. Dillamond said.

He stood up from behind an enormous desk, where stacks of essay seemed to slide amongst each other to Fiyero's eyes and an interesting device the prince recognized as a dictation machine sat askew at one corner. Fiyero strode forward and held out his hand, in which the old Goat placed his hoof politely.

Fiyero was caught off-guard by its smooth surface and he vaguely wondered what the Goat equivalent of a manicure was. Goaticure? Oz, that sounded offensive in his head.

"I'm not used to having you in my office," Dillamond rasped.

Fiyero shrugged at this. "That's because I've never been to a professor's office before."

"Well, as flattering and disconcerting I find that, I'm sorry to tell you my office hours ended over an hour ago. Perhaps if you're having trouble with one of my classes we can speak about it on Monday." As if to prove his point, the Goat began pawing at the papers on his desk to drag them into his attaché case, but a couple of the papers missed and ended up on the floor. He bleated something that sounded distinctly like a swearword.

Fiyero rounded the table and picked up the papers before Dillamond had the chance, taking the moment with his head down to suck in a steeling breath. "My business here has nothing to do with my classes."

"No? Perhaps it should be. Your last essay on prescientific theory left something to be desired," Dillamond said firmly over the lenses of his reading glasses, clapping the papers between his hooves and turning to slip it into his bag. "Deciphering the disquisitions of early unionists and pagans is important in understanding how current scientific theories came to be—"

"Yes sir, I understand that."

They stood together. Dr. Dillamond was eyeing him curiously, and Fiyero tried not to allow himself be unsettled by the square pupils focused so intently on him. He gripped the strap of his shoulder bag tightly.

"Then why are you here, Master Fiyero?"

"I'm here about your research, Dr. Dillamond. Might we sit?"

"My research?" he said, surprised. His goatee quivered, perhaps from irritation. "Master Fiyero, don't think that you are the first one to come down here to harangue me about my research. It is easy for those in your position to scorn the plight of my kind, but—"

"Woah, hold up Professor," Fiyero said, gesturing defensively in front of him. "You misunderstand me. I am on your side."

"You are? My sincerest apologies to you then," he said, taking his chair while Fiyero did the same on the other side of the grand old desk. "I hope you'll understand. Periodic antagonism is just another challenge I constantly face in investigating such a controversial topic. I imagine the stress has taken its toll on me more than I would like to admit."

"That is why I am here, sir," Fiyero said. "I understand that you have had difficulty obtaining funding."

"Ah, yes, an unfortunate truth. Prior to the semester, the academic board – with pressure from the EC no doubt – threatened to pull my research grants if I didn't change the nature of my research. Naturally, the school is no longer backing my work."

"How are you affording your work then? Donations?"

"Dear boy, nobody is foolish enough to associate themselves financially to the work I'm doing, not when such things such as the Banns on Animal Mobility are making their way through the Hall of Approval. I've exhausted my personal savings in an effort to keep moving forward in my work. I believe in what I'm doing."

"Many people do."

"That's largely because those that do, understand what it is like to be underprivileged and disadvantaged by society. They're not in any position to provide me anything besides volunteering their free time to assist me, as your friends Miss Elphaba and Master Boq have been kind enough to do."

"I have heard from Boq that you have managed to make strides in your work in the last couple of months."

"Theoretical ones, yes."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I'm limited in my ability to verify my findings, though I imagine that perhaps in a couple of years I might be able to stage the necessary trials to do so. Still, what little I have been able to ascertain has the potential to refute many widely purported assumptions about Animals, which could, in the long run, bolster furtherance and the mindfulness needed to contest the Animal Banns. It will all be of little good if I have to indefinitely suspend my research, but until that day I will keep toiling on."

"You know as well as I do that the Wizard will silence you before long."

"Ah." The Goat closed his eyes, one of his hooves scraping across the hardness of his desk sullenly. "Yes, I'm aware of that fact."

"It's not a matter of if, but when," Fiyero asserted, leaning forward with his forearms on the desk in front of him so he could see Dillamond's unsettling Goat eyes more clearly behind his reading glasses. "Doctor, if such a fool existed who was in a position to back you, would you be able to accelerate your work? Say, by the end of the semester?"

A rough guttural sound of disbelief escaped Dillamond, and he struggled as he said, "Well, yes, hypothetically—"

Fiyero stood and taking his shoulder bag in his hand, he dumped out its contents out over the huge desk, where bundles of paper currency cascaded over one another and over Dillamond's uneven stacks of documents, some nearly slipping off of the surface entirely. The noises the Goat made as he gaped, open-mouthed, at the colorful Ozian currency spread across his work surface could only be described as warbling, with the trills interrupted by small choking sounds as he attempted to find his words.

"Master Fiyero!" he said, standing up to look the young man in the eye. "My dear boy, the reform this could bring! For a deprived scholar such as myself, at this moment possibilities seem endless! Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

"Yes, sir. This is something about which I have given much thought."

"I-I cannot begin to express my gratitude. To think, I could actually pay my research assistants now, should they accept it! They will be so overjoyed to hear what you have done for us—"

"Actually, Dr. Dillamond, I have conditions," Fiyero said. "No one will know the source. I wish to remain an anonymous benefactor."

"I can understand your need for secrecy. Public support of this cause is likely to be severely damaging to your status in Oz."

"I don't care about that."

The Doctor gave him a look that was far too keen for Fiyero's liking. "Do you wish me to keep this from Miss Elphaba as well?"

"Especially from her."

He scoffed lightly in incomprehension, but nodded nonetheless. "You know, students take their role as an audience member in their classrooms so seriously that they truly underestimate how much their educators see of them, as though we aren't at the front of the classroom staring back."

"Sir?"

"Your fondness for Miss Elphaba is not lost on me, even if it may be on her."

"Oh." He had no idea how uncomfortable he would be talking about his love life until this moment. "Right."

"I do have to wonder if you're doing this all for her."

"I'm doing it for Oz, and no other reason," Fiyero said. The prince sighed heavily through his nose. "However, I would be lying if I said it wasn't because of her."

He gave Fiyero a knowing look. "Then why conceal from her the truth? I can imagine if anything would warm her to you it would be this."

"I won't have some debt of gratitude be the basis of any rapport we may have. No—she will remain in the dark about this, and that is my one condition."

"If you insist."

"It is in your interest if you do not go around telling people of this either, beyond your trusted few. There are those at Shiz loyal to and in contact with the Wizard who are best kept in the dark. Should you manage to carry on your research as if nothing has changed, you have until just before the semester's end. Then the Wizard's men will come for you anyway and any chance at your reform will be over."

"How do you know this?"

"I have connections to the Palace," Fiyero said evasively. "The Mobility Banns will come to fruition within the year and more will follow without the proper opposition. Let us be that opposition."

"I will get started immediately," he said seriously. "And I will offer you updates on our progress, should it interest you."

"Very good," he said, taking the Goat's hoof and shaking it once more. "Take care, Dr. Dillamond. I shall see you on Monday."

"You as well, Master Fiyero. Before you go, keep in mind what I said about prescientific theory. The importance of it cannot be understated. You should consider reviewing it over the weekend."

There was a certain gleam in his eyes that made Fiyero consider some sort of subtext. The answer came to him from an unpleasant forgotten memory from years before. "Son of Kumbricia!" he cursed. "We're going to have a pop quiz on Monday, aren't we?"

"That you are," he said. "Don't believe this means that I will offer you any other preferential treatment after this. My grades cannot be bought."

"I hadn't expected any. But, just for argument's sake, I did pay a lot," Fiyero said rascally as he departed, getting a half-hearted harrumph in return.