Hello hello! This chapter is a nice big one for you. Fun fact, it used to be twice as long before I figured out a way to split it up in to two parts. If you're sweet and wonderful and review this, I'll post part 2 very soon! :)

The place Fiyero picked for dinner was no Ozdust. It wasn't anything like Glinda's preferred restaurants in the Emerald City. It didn't have embroidered napkins, plates rimmed in gold leaf, or grand crystal chandeliers. But hey, the food was good and there was dancing, so in Fiyero's book that was enough to compensate for nut shells that littered the hardwood floors surrounding the bar and the bronze bobèches that brimmed over with an untold number of melted candlesticks on every table.

Still, Fiyero knew exactly what to do in order to pamper Galinda. He could act as a gentleman should when they entered and were seated, reuse a number of winning toasts to charm her, and remember all of her counterpart's favorite dishes from this restaurant's menu for recommendation before she even opened up the booklet. How to impress Elphaba, on the other hand, was a complete mystery to him. She sat herself before he had the chance to pull out her chair and questioned the source of the meats before he could even think to suggest a vegetarian item for her to try. She would come to relax once people got bored of looking over their shoulders at her and once she had a glass of wine in her system. Fiyero had them bring a bottle from Bright Lettins, which was famous for its age-old vineyard that sat conveniently at the bank of the Munchkin River, which Fiyero didn't prefer but Elphaba appreciated and Galinda savored.

Dinner conversation was pleasant enough. Good old Galinda, masterful raconteur that she was, kept them entertained and fed the flow of discussion while still engaging Fiyero and Elphaba as every well-mannered socialite should. But it was clear she had been waiting until the meal was over, for as soon as the waiter cleared their plates she was insisting to Fiyero that they dance.

He took her hand and they set off through the tables together toward the dance floor. He hadn't danced since the Ozdust – he hadn't the strong desire to, not after all of the artificial shows the two had put on week after week in the Emerald Palace – and as they spun about doing first a Gillikinese waltz, which was a medium-paced waltz perfect for starting out the evening, he realized he missed this. He missed dancing simply because he wanted to, because it was something enjoyable to do. And he missed the way she'd laugh and smile they spun together flawlessly to the rhythm, transitioning easily to an exuberant foxtrot.

As soon as an unhurried song began, Galinda had stepped in closer to him, and he sucked in an apprehensive breath as he accepted this change and adjusted his posture accordingly. It was innocent, he figured— he was being careful not to lead the girl on, and he could indulge her in a couple minutes of platonic intimacy after so many weeks of keeping her at length. She didn't waste the opportunity. Before long she shifted so she could rest her head against his shoulder as they moved languidly and he felt himself soften at little.

He could see Elphaba better with Galinda tucked against him. He had been sneaking peeks at her as he and Galinda spun about and she had been watching them. She was unreadable from the distance, without a distinct smile or frown on her face, and he wondered what she was thinking. But when the band had switched to the slow number she had finally disappeared behind her book. Why? Did she grow bored, or did she find seeing himself and Galinda so close disagreeable? He could barely stomach the idea of another man dancing with Elphaba, but his situation was vastly different from hers. He wasn't even sure if she cared at all what he did or who he was with, even if it was her best friend. Would he ever know how she felt…if she felt?

He felt his dance partner move from his shoulder and he finally returned his attention back to her. Galinda had looked up at him, her eyes shining through her thick lashes (Was there glitter on them?), and she seemed to be lifting toward him slightly with her gaze fixated on his mouth. He decided to take the moment into his own hands as the song winded down, swooping down to kiss her cheek sweetly as the song changed.

It was a brisk 4/4-time, perfect for a swing, and he readjusted his hands. "Let's jitterbug," he said with a grin, and satisfactorily wiped her disappointed expression from her face by leading her along with the animated ditty. He couldn't remember ever dancing this particular jive with her – it originated in Munchkinland, where a nasty insect known as the jitterbug lived that would cause violent muscle spasms to people it bit in the same sort of bouncy manner as this jive – but she knew the steps anyway. It seemed fitting given the way her cheeks glowed from the glasses of Munchkin wine she had so enjoyed, and soon any semblance of that missed kiss seemed forgotten as their quick steps moved them across the dance floor.

They ended the song to scattered applause, and Fiyero spun his head about in surprise, not realizing that their efforts had garnered the attention it had. The other couples had even stepped off the dance floor to watch them and were clapping for them appreciatively, along with some folks seated nearby. Galinda became simply radiant at the attention, curtsying cutely before she spun herself into Fiyero's arms for a tight hug. He chuckled, squeezing her fondly.

"That was fun," she said cheerily. "I didn't expect that! I think I have just about one more in me like that if you're up for it! Do you know the Ugabu Jigaloo? Hardly anyone ever does but there's no better way to enliven a party than with the Jigaloo! I'll tell the band to play something in triple-time, then after I'll make you order us that delectable-looking chocolate cake—"

Fiyero wasn't listening. He had habitually glanced at Elphaba only to find she was no longer alone. Standing far too close for his liking was a man that he had never seen before and a chill ran down his spine.

"Galinda," he interrupted, pointing to their friend.

"Who is he?" she asked, obviously concerned. "Anyone else and I'd chalk it up to being sociable." They shared a worried look, for they knew Elphaba hadn't the patience for that. Fiyero took her by the hand and dragged her away from the lights of the dance floor and through the throngs of tables, weaving through until he could finally see Elphaba's face behind the large figure. Her features were hard, incensed, severe; even as often as he pissed her off he had never seen her look quite like that. Something was wrong.

He dropped Galinda's hand and gestured for her to wait a few feet back. She looked terrified and nodded vigorously in understanding.

"—just go away," he heard her saying, just as he became overwhelmed with the stench of body odor and strong, cheap liquor as soon as he cleared the last table. The man's clothing was drab and sweat-stained, like they were worn but not washed frequently, and his boots were covered in chunks of what appeared to be dried cement; in conjunction with his broad, sturdy back and the roughened hands he saw at his sides, Fiyero gathered that he was a construction worker, perhaps from the building project just two blocks away.

"Is everything okay over here?" he asked, stepping into their midst.

"This man was just leaving," Elphaba said sternly, acting as if untroubled.

"Nah, darlin', we're just getting acquainted," his said. His face reminded Fiyero of an old potato—brown, round, slightly misshapen and with little hairy moles protruding from his cheeks and chin, which was shaggy and unkempt like his graying hair. His smile was slanted, drunken, revealing yellow teeth, and if that wasn't enough, he closed one of his bloodshot eyes at Elphaba in an attempt at a wink. "She's a funny little sprite, isn't she? What is she, anyway? She won't tell us."

"She's a woman, actually. Look, how about you head back to your table and I'll have the barkeep send over a pitcher of beer to you. On me."

"Neh. I don't take money from rich little boys. But what the hell, free beer is free beer. Barkeep! A round on the pretty boy!" the man called, turning around and holding up his sloshing tankard and guffawing at a bunch of guys nearby at the bar. It was only then that Fiyero realized that Potato Face had friends, perhaps three more turned in their barstools, watching the show with jollity. He swayed on his feet as he tried to brush Fiyero away like he was an annoying bug. "So what are you, sweetie, hmm? You look like a cucumber. I love cucumbers."

"Maybe she's like a scallion," a man at the bar behind him slurred, pointing a hand rudely that looked like it could rip through metal plating if he so wished.

"A scallion, eh?" the man laughed gruffly. "Green on top and a differen' color on bottom? Come on, sweetie, give us a peek." Roughened fingers reached for the hem of her skirt but she swatted them away with the edge of her tiny paperback and she leapt out of her seat, nearly knocking the tall chair over as she did so.

"Don't touch me!"

"She's feisty, I like that," the ugly man said, smirking at Fiyero, who was working to contain his rage. "Is she your girl?"

"I'm nobody's property," Elphaba growled, swatting him away again.

"Please keep your hands to yourself," Fiyero said with more calmness than he contained. "Respect her wishes. She doesn't like it."

"She might if she gave it a chance," he said, his lips curling to reveal a sick grin he looked her over with greedy eyes.

Fiyero stepped forward, not sure which of the two parties he was protecting at the moment: Elphaba, or the man she looked ready to incinerate with the force of her stare. He suddenly was concerned that she could, in fact, ignite him with her mind; he had no concept of how advanced her sorcery was now or even how powerful it would be in the future.

"You're disgusting," Elphaba spat angrily, her hand gripping Fiyero's upper arm painfully tight. He could feel her nails even through his jacket. At least she stayed behind him.

"This isn't worth it, Elphaba," Fiyero said, putting a hand over the one clutched at his arm comfortingly and turning his head over his shoulder, daring to look away from the threat if it meant taming the fire in Elphaba. The sudden closeness of their faces seemed to be enough to shock away most of the ire, given her wide eyes and the wine-scented exhale that burst forth from her frowning lips.

It was a reckless moment to be so affected by her. But for just instant she was open to him, fleetingly vulnerable between the abuses she was undeservedly accustomed to, and his attention lingered too long.

"Well, lookie here, Pretty Boy seems to have a taste for vegetables." Potato Face leaned in closely, sending a noxious cloud of breath into Fiyero's flaring nostrils just as the prince turned back. "I bet she makes you wanna eat your greens. I bet you'd love to eat those greens."

He wouldn't let himself react. He was a royal, a former Captain of the Gale Force, and more importantly, he was simply better than these inebriated inbreeds. He wouldn't let himself react. He wouldn't react.

"Come on, Pretty Boy, tell us- you ever get down and plow that field?" he rumbled raucously, grin broadening. "Look at his face, he has! What's she like in the sack, eh?" He lurched forward again, his whisper harsh and gruff, like something grinding on rock. "What does she taste like, huh? Something spicy?"

The air seemed to coagulate around them as his ire intensified until he could see nothing but the filth in front of him; his muscles impulsively tautened and he burned with the desire to tear flesh from bone. It was only Elphaba's tight grip on his arm, holding him in place, and her murmured, "Don't," that kept him from smashing the nearest beer bottle across this man's ugly, tuber-y mug.

He took a composing lungful of air against his instincts. "You've had enough to drink," he told the man. "I'll get you a carriage home."

By now all of the tables in the area had stopped their jawing to gawk at the commotion. The muted buzzing only increased the tension both in the air and in the men. Potato Face scoffed. "We'll leave when we damn-well please and not just because some pretty Winkie told us to. Why don't you take that pretty face of yours somewhere else before I smash it in." His large, dirty hand swatted at Fiyero's head stupidly as he pushed the prince away, knocking his dark blond hair into his face.

Fiyero tried to concentrate on breathing as he pushed his bangs out of his face with a clammy hand. Breathe in, breathe out… Through clenched teeth, Fiyero growled, "Don't do that again."

"What are you going to do about it, Pretty Boy?" the man said with a harsh chuckle, swinging to cuff Fiyero once more. Instinctively, Fiyero caught him by the thumb and, committing to the reflex, used it to twist the man's entire arm around until the joint was locked tightly behind his back and he was grunting in pain.

It was only because he heard Elphaba deep gasp behind him and pull at his shirt that he resisted dislocating anything; he wanted to hurt this man, he wanted to kill him, but that was a suppressible primal, masculine urge. He was the imminent ruler of a vast, strong nation; he was a commander of the Emerald City's military force; and most importantly, he was someone who wanted to be deserving of the morally steadfast Elphaba Thropp. So, with some reluctance, he released man's hand with emphasis, glowering as the man lurched away.

"Come on," Elphaba gently urged. "We should take Galinda home now."

The reminder of Galinda was sobering, as Elphaba assumedly intended. Nodding, he peeled his glare away with difficulty and made to leave, preoccupied with thoughts of both girls.

He didn't remember the fist hitting his head.

He did remember tumbling into an empty table and knocking it and two chairs down. He remembered the bursts of light that filled his vision. He definitely remembered the pain that enveloped his whole cheekbone and temple. So it wasn't hard to figure out what happened.

"Stop, stop!"

But of course the man didn't heed Elphaba. Just as Fiyero turned back he was suddenly struck by the man's fist in his gut. It was a powerful blow, like being hit with a cannonball, annihilating the very breath from his body while he doubled over in pain.

"Fiyero!" Elphaba gasped, running forward and putting herself between the prince and the brute. Fiyero coughed, wanting to straighten up to protect her but unable to do so as he retched, choking down the contents of his stomach before they joined the peanut shells on the floor. "Leave him alone!"

"You could have stopped this, little froggie," he said in a tone meant to be enticing. "You still can. I just want to peek, to find out what you are."

"I'm a person," Elphaba spat, "and I had the misfortune of being born green just as you clearly dropped from your mother foul and ugly. We all have our crosses to bear."

Sucking back the nausea with wheezy puffs, Fiyero glimpsed up in fear to see the man startled by Elphaba's thorny remark. But then the man laughed raucously, the sound throaty and rough and awful but at least a laugh. He turned to his friends watching from the bar, who also hooted and snorted at his lead, which became all the louder as the man slapped his thigh.

Still, Fiyero was tense.

And all at once the leer twisted into a sneer and the man made to grab at Elphaba – perhaps her hair – calling out at her, "You bitch—"

Adrenaline and ire ripped through him in that moment and Fiyero uncurled himself and burst forward, sending a trembling front kick directly into the man's core with enough force to send him flying back before his fingertips ever touched her.

The powerful kick threw Potato Face flailing back into the clutches of his associates. Stunned to silence but not to inertness, two caught their friend while the third hurtled the heavy tankard of beer at Fiyero's head. Fiyero ducked and lifted a wooden, beer-soaked chair in front of him just in time to shove the giant man away with it, who had run at him with enough force to tear him from his feet had he not been ready. Another man swung out at him just as he recovered and he raised the chair in front of him – he could hear the sickening crack of the wood as the force splintered it – and he threw it forward to catch the man full in the face. A different snapping sound and the burst of blood on his boots told him he broke the man's nose. In his periphery he saw the other man lunge forward at him again and ducked a wild swing from the side, catching the man's momentum and flipping him over his shoulder to the hard ground below with military instincts his partying-playboy self never had.

Potato Face ran forward then, and like a dance he used to know, Fiyero's body moved independently from his immediate thoughts. He interrupted the wide punch as it flew at him by striking at the man's jaw, twisted the outstretched arm around until he could jab the susceptible and vulnerable nerve in the armpit and clip the man's rough chin with the heel of his palm. The beast crumpled.

A holler from his right was his only warning against the fourth man's attack and Fiyero dropped his elbow just in time to guard his torso. The blow he suffered to his radial nerve vibrated in his bones and his nerves went alight with painful sensation that rendered his hand somehow simultaneously limp and tense as well as the rest of him momentarily paralyzed. He could do nothing to stop the man from grabbing his jaw and tossing him back into their table, which fell with the sharp shattering noise of breaking glass and Galinda's scream.

He didn't lose his footing though, regardless of the table leg's best efforts to trip him. He straightened up just in time to deflect another punch sent his way, then another. The man's fists ricocheted off of his forearms and wrists with juddering force but adrenaline kept bringing his throbbing hands back up in front of him. Fiyero finally saw the opportunity to effectively deflect the man's wrist and strike at the man's throat with the opposite hand, leaving him crazed and coughing and disoriented. He brought up a knee with precision to the outside of the man's leg and he too fell, but the onslaught of brown and din and odor overwhelmed him as suddenly he was rushed by two of the men at once.

Large hands seized him with strength like vices, twisting his bruised arms so forcefully he cried out in pain. He buckled, but the men kept him upright; he couldn't slip them. He couldn't fight. He tried. He couldn't.

Potato Face, who Fiyero had dazed but not incapacitated, stood in front of him. He was grimacing, Fiyero saw with satisfaction, and clutching at his side just under his arm joint, but he was burly and he was mad and Fiyero felt the blood drain from him as he met the man's eyes. There would be no mercy.

Elphaba's hysterical cries caught his attention and he looked at her. Galinda had her restrained, but just barely, with the thin white arms wrapped tight around her and the thin green girl struggling vigorously against her.

"Don't! Please!" she cried, her wild eyes whipping around to the circle of onlookers. "What is wrong with all of you? How can you all just stand by and do nothing?"

He met her gaze then, grateful to know she was safe, just as knuckles smashed into his face with uninhibited power and his head snapped back hard from the force. Delirium called to him and he sagged, wilted, in the arms of the thugs on either side, and he considered caving to it. But then a boot struck him hard above his knee, then again horribly close to his groin, then a fist hammered again and again to his tightly clenched abdomen and into his ribcage, and Fiyero was gone—back to the cornfield, where matching boots and rifles of soldiers rained down upon him, shattering his bones and kicking dirt into his punctured lungs…

But then the air changed. He felt the charge in his skin, making his hair stand on end. He felt the chill just under it, like icy water cascading under the surface. He remembered the high-pitched ringing sound temporarily drowning out everything else. And it brought him back to the present, because he it was something he had only felt once before in a classroom long ago.

Elphaba was about to lose her cool.

He was trembling: from pain, from the horribly familiar flavor of blood, from the resonances of battery from the Gale Force that lingered in his psyche as traumas sometimes do, but he shook his head as if to clear away the fog. He was not in the cornfield. These were not trained soldiers sent to kill his love. This was only a dumb bar fight. And that wasn't worth the potential consequences of Elphaba having a magical conniption in public—especially one that he was wholly responsible for and should never, would never have happened had it not been for him.

"Stop," he coughed, before mustering up the strength to repeat: "STOP!"

It seemed his sudden authority shocked his attackers enough to pause the assault. He wrenched his eyes open and glared at the lout whose hand was fixed in midair as if to strike him again, defying him, before turning to look at Elphaba. It seemed he had staggered her as well, for she was frozen in place, watching him with bated breath.

The air stopped vibrating. Good. He winked at her and cocked a quick grin to Galinda, who was entirely pink in the face with silvery streams of water down each powdered cheek.

"Had enough, Pretty Boy? Worried for your delicate skin?"

Yes, he had had enough, but Fiyero was a brainless fool at his very core and let it show at far too many inopportune times for his wellbeing: "Actually…you hit like a girl," he laughed breathlessly, hyperaware of the stinging of his lip as it stretched with his cheekiness. Brainless indeed- his excuse was that it felt like the contents of his skull had been reduced to goo that made everything become all muzzy and woozy. That seemed valid. "I just wanted to tell you that I have no intention of paying for that beer any longer."

Potato Face, too witless to have a rejoinder, just snarled and moved as if to backhand him.

"Will you stop this nonsense?"

It was Galinda. Apparently, she had tired of standing by, relegated to restrain Elphaba, for she seemed to release the green girl with enough impatience that Elphaba stumbled aside clumsily.

"Who is this? How did I not notice a sweet thing like you?"

"Isn't that the issue?" Galinda harrumphed, stomping over in front of Potato Face with a stern finger waving in his face. "Do you have any idea how special this night is for me? I wore my best makeup, my newest dress, and slaved to get my hair just right! It was all perfect! I was going to dance and be gay and have the most wonderful evening, yet I've watched while you've reduced my date to a pulp! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"The man needed a lesson in respect."

"Don't you presume that you have anything to teach about respect!" Galinda shrilled, stamping her foot impatiently. "You managed to assail and insult both Fiyero Tiggular, the heir apparent to the Arjiki throne, and Elphaba Thropp, the Thropp Second Descending of Munchkinland! Moreover, you've offended me! I am an Upland – of the Upper Uplands, thank you very much! – and as such I have more influence in this province than your tiny little mind could even fathom!"

"Heir apparent?"

"It means prince, you horrid man!" Galinda snapped.

That just made Potato Face laugh hysterically. "You're telling me that this Winkie is a pretty, prancing prince? Ha!"

"And a gentleman to boot," Galinda commented, her eyes twinkling affectionately for a second as she looked over at Fiyero. "So unlike many of his people. In fact, I shudder to think of the atrocities that would come to you brutes should the Arjiki clansmen find out how you've harmed their charming prince! The Vinkus can be a rather savage place, I understand. They're a proud people, you see. Not as forgiving as dear Fiyero here."

"That's not to mention the political ramifications that could ensue," Elphaba added, following her lead. "The Arjiki could blame Gillikin for what happened to their prince, demand retribution, and attack. The Emerald City would be forced to intervene, leaders of Gillikin and the Vinkus would be calling to Munchkinland to pick sides, and as the governor's daughter I would be forced to explain how I was witness as Gillikinese men assaulted me and my friend, the Vinkun heir apparent."

"As a Gillikinese citizen of high-standing, I must say that it is in the interest of our whole state if you will drop him now. I think the other patrons of this establishment would be inclined to agree."

It was only then did the men truly take note of the silence of the bar, of the dozens of eyes watching the exchange, and realized that with the girls' declarations that they were in a very hot spotlight. The circle around them tightened, the bartender that was once serving them beer was among them with a pistol and his impressive mustache bent into a frown.

"I think you boys best be leaving now," the bartender decided.

The men did as they were asked none too politely, for as they released Fiyero he fell forward onto the hardwood and crashed painfully against it. He could feel the heavy footfalls vibrate in the wood as the men stormed out, slamming the door behind them. The bartender muttered something crude and Fiyero could feel him walk away too, each step pounding and trembling in the ear pressed down, littered in amongst the drone of mutterings of the shuffling, dispersing crowd. Sharp edges of the peanut shells stuck onto the side of his face and to the stinging, bloody mess that was his lip and chin. Noises cut at his ears, jarring, shocking. His body throbbed from the inside out.

As far as Fiyero was concerned at that moment, he was quite comfortable. He considered falling asleep. He didn't realize he had.

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