Part deux, as promised.

The cornstalks rustled about him, incessant murmuring that seemed in harmony with the cicadas that hummed so loudly in the night that Fiyero could feel it in the fractures of his bones. He spread his fingers against the damp ground, trying to find purchase on the spongy, gritty soil or the slippery decomposing husks that littered the ground.

Fiyero…

The sound of his name from his lover's lips was suddenly just above him and strong, lissome hands rolled him over onto his back. He couldn't will his eyes open quite yet, for the swelling, pounding, aching feeling in his head was all too much, and he was suddenly aware of the pain near his spine, reminding him of the hole placed there by the Gale Force soldiers when they nailed him to that scarecrow post. It flared up, fierier than the broken bones and broken skin and he remembered that he was left to die, to bait her in, and he wouldn't be the end of her.

Elphaba needed to run. They were waiting for her. To hurt her. She had to get away, to escape the soldiers before she could be captured.

"Dearest, you're gabbling," Glinda informed him, cleaning his face with a handkerchief the same way he'd known her to wipe away a spot of her lipstick from his cheek countless times before. "Elphie's perfectly fine."

Something within him told him, no, this isn't Glinda, it's Galinda, and the distinction was important… He opened his eyes. A lamp above him glared like the Munchkin moon in the dimness and he couldn't see through the haze it made.

He saw their faces then, one green and one fair, and though the brown environment faded and blurred around him between wooden bar and golden cornfield, the faces did not belong to witch either Wicked or Good. They were too young— worried, but not burdened.

It brought him back. He was suddenly more aware of the hardwood floor he was stretched across, of the peanut dust in the air, of the circle of strangers hovering around them. With the girls' help, he sat up, his ribs sore but not broken, and with clearing vision he looked around. He reached for the wound at his back, the pain of which was ebbing, only to find a piece of broken ceramic from the tankard handle had caught on his shirt. There was no blood, no cuts, just the pressure of the sharp point. He threw it away hatefully with a trembling hand.

"And really, calling those thugs soldiers," Galinda pattered on all the while. "They were as far from soldiers as they could be. Just think if they had been; oh, the complaint I could file!"

Galinda was fussing over him, batting the nut shells from his clothing and fixing his hair with her delicate fingers, muttering about his ridiculous need to be so noble and how getting knocked about like he did didn't lend to his appearance at all. Elphaba was kneeling next to her, hands hovering near him but not touching, never touching. Her distress was palpable; he felt pained in his chest that had nothing to do with his bruising ribs.

"'S'it too late to get you that chocolate cake?" Fiyero slurred to Galinda, desperate for levity.

"I'd fear the waiter wouldn't know where to bring it. I think our table was knocked somewhere over there," Galinda responded, gesturing away cutely for good measure. "But that's so thoughtful of you."

The next few minutes were a blur. The restaurant had resumed its cheerful drone after Fiyero had bought a round of drinks for the remaining customers whose evenings had been disrupted; even the bad-tempered bartender cracked a crooked smile and clapped Fiyero painfully on the shoulder on their way out when the prince handed him more money than was probably necessary to fix any damages.

As he staggered out of the bar with the girls in tow, all he could think was how terrible he felt. He felt recoiled, his consciousness set a couple inches behind his eyes and below his skin. His stomach felt like it was permanently flinching. He was already limping, thanks to the attention of Potato Face's boot, but with each step he took he felt like the dark street spun around him and that he left his equilibrium back somewhere on that bar floor next to his dignity.

"Fiyero, let us help you," Elphaba said from somewhere far away, but just then they were both at his sides, inviting his arms over their shoulders. Galinda was too short to make a difference, but Elphaba shouldered his weight on the bruised side of his body, the one the brute favored, and it was more than enough to compensate.

Dignity be damned, he thought, looking over at Elphaba just as she faced up at him. Their noses were but inches apart and he couldn't help but grin broadly at this small success. Emphasis on small success, since his busted lip and swollen features fought against his moment of triumph. He didn't care.

"Look at me, such a ladies' man," Fiyero bragged boyishly into the night as they staggered together. He smiled down at Galinda next. "The two prettiest girls on my arms."

Elphaba, already stiff as a quoxwood tree as they trailed along the road frustratingly devoid of taxis, seemed to tense even further at that; her bony side grated painfully against his body with each step. "You're a fool, Fiyero," Elphaba snapped at him, readjusting him roughly, carelessly.

The cold air, her closeness, and her inexplicable anger brought her back to the forest grove those months ago, when she attacked him in desperation and lust in her fear of their likely capture. You're a damn fool, you shouldn't love me, you shouldn't…

"You say that a lot," he laughed miserably into the night, wanting to kiss her like he did then, forgetting for a moment Galinda's tiny collarbone was under his other hand, forgetting that she was there at all.

"When have I—" She stopped herself, taking an irritated breath. "You shouldn't have taken me out tonight. I'm a magnet for commotion."

"You mean you are one," Fiyero corrected affectionately without thought.

"Perhaps I am!" she bit back, visibly offended. "But I so much as said so earlier, and you did as you always do and didn't take any of it seriously!"

"What are you going on about, Elphie?" Galinda asked, leaning forward to look at her best friend as they walked.

"I tried to warn him! He should have left me at home when he had the chance, then none of this would have happened!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Galinda said just as Fiyero let out an amused snort (which actually really hurt).

"She was concerned for my reputation," he explained. He couldn't hold back a grimace as she jostled against him spitefully at his disclosure.

"I can't imagine this is your first scuffle in such a place," Galinda commented. "I'd say this has all been par for the course as a reputation would go. No harm no foul."

"No harm? Do you even hear yourself Galinda? He's bleeding!"

"It's just an expression, Elphie, no need to be so touchy. Fiyero knows what I mean."

"I'm feeling very respected now, actually." Even as muddled as he was, he couldn't miss her green scowl and harrumph at his flippancy. "What? No one is gonna mess with me now 'cause of you two."

"Oh Fiyero, I hope you'll forgive me for calling your people savages," Galinda said hurriedly, embarrassed. "I didn't mean—"

"It was just another one of your wiles, I know," Fiyero said, so lost in thought of the years he spent overlooking her honey-dipped half-truths that he didn't even notice her whine of complaint of her implied habit of trickery. "Still— war on my behalf. That's inventive. As if Father would give a damn."

"Of course he would, Fiyero, don't be silly. My popsie would do anything if it were me."

"Mine'd probably say, 'Serves you right.'" He scoffed to himself, coughing a little bit as he did. "Stupid. He wouldn't say that."

"What would he say?" Elphaba asked him, her voice becoming gentle and warm in a night that seemed anything but.

"Nothing." Fiyero watched his dragging boots against the tarmacadam, adrift. He imagined his father was there that night in the cornfield, staring indifferently up at him as he wheezed and trembled on that pole. "He'd say nothing."

Elphaba's hand flattened on his back with an unmistakable pressure. It was comforting.

Galinda cleared her throat gently, ill-at-ease with the silence. "Still, that was quite clever of us Elphie, you have to admit. Never in my life did I ever expect that I would cause such a big, bully of a man such a fright."

"We do make a great team," Elphaba agreed thoughtfully.

"Best there's ever been," Fiyero agreed heartily. He squeezed them both with fondness. "Shouldn't have even gotten involved. No fight you two can't win."

"Just be glad we did," Galinda scolded, slapping him lightly on the chest. "Taking on so many men by yourself—such hubris!"

"Where did you learn to fight like that, anyway?"

"In the Gale Force."

Elphaba frowned deeply at him. "The Gale Force?"

He copied her expression, befuddled, because it was the truth but it didn't make sense to her, and it didn't make sense to him why that was. But then the other truths came rushing back to him as the timelines unwound themselves from the knot in his mind and he spun within himself. Recognizing some sort of correction needed to be made, his mouth opened but instead of words some sort of empty filler noise spilled out—like his mental defense, his readiness for refutation, was whisked about his already buzzing brain and left its contents scrambled.

"You mean someone who was in the Gale Force taught you that stuff?" asked Galinda curiously, saving him.

"Right," he agreed, nodding aggressively. "Yeah."

Mercifully Elphaba said nothing – What misgivings could she have anyway that would matter when the truth was as outlandish as time travel? he thought bitterly – by the time Crage Hall was finally in sight.

"I know this evening wasn't without its hitches," Galinda said as they stopped in the main doorway to say their goodbyes. "But aside from that I had a lovely time with you, Fiyero." Elphaba stepped away to let them speak and without her nearness Fiyero was already feeling the hollow pangs of loss; and then it was just the stunning blonde left, solely filling his personal bubble.

Ha, personal bubble. He smiled deliriously at Galinda, amused with his own mental pun knowing that her personal bubble was pink and could fly, and she beamed up at him in return. Her blue eyes sparkling even in the dimness of nightfall. Her favorite perfume wafted pleasantly in the air. Her small hands were on the back of his wrists, her thumbs caressing over the blonde hairs and the fingertips teasing his palms.

He felt wrong.

"I really had such fun dancing with you tonight. We're quite perfect together, really. Dance partners, that is."

He had fun too; it wasn't that he didn't. It wasn't that she wasn't sweet and funny and charming and perky and the like. It was that letting down his guard in front of Galinda meant going down a road he didn't want to travel again; after all, she always managed to get her way.

"Uh," he said, suppressing a grimace in front of her that was as much from pain as it was from outright discomfort and turning it into a strained smile. "Yeah. We are."

"You owe me an Ugabu Jigabu and a slice of chocolate cake," she said winsomely, and because he wasn't shell-shocked enough as it was, Galinda stretched onto her toes to kiss him at the unblemished corner of his mouth. She lingered a moment too long for the affectionate gesture to be only friendly and the neglected nerves flared up with a thirst Galinda wasn't meant to and could never slake. "Don't think I won't be collecting."

He gave a tense chuckle. "You got it."

"Good night then, dearest. Do feel better."

She twirled away, her blue and purple skirts spinning about her hypnotically as they were made to, and seemed to float up the steps to the main entrance to the female dormitory. She paused, realizing she was alone, and turned about calling pleasantly, "Aren't you coming, Elphie?"

"I'll be right there, my sweet. Go on."

"All right," Galinda said, but her expression faltered, dimmed by doubt and something else Fiyero couldn't comprehend as her sapphire eyes flickered over to Elphaba. "Don't be long. Pleasant dreams, Fiyero."

Galinda was then gone, and he and Elphaba were finally alone.

"Gonna help me home?" he asked hopefully. He lifted up his arm, inviting her against his side again and hoping he didn't appear too eager. Although she seemed to have misgivings now that Galinda wasn't also there, she caved and fitted herself against him once again so they could make their way across the lawn to Briscoe Hall.

Fiyero could admit that he was slumped against her more than was necessary – then again, in his defense, the little embarrassing breathy grunts he exhaled as he moved weren't exactly fake and it wasn't as if he wasn't still genuinely woozy – but she bore him without a complaint. She gripped him to her like a strong, snug side-hug, her thin arm fixed about his back to secure him as they fumbled together in the dark, her hand on his stomach to keep him from pitching forward.

He should have been focusing on making his slack feet move better, but it was impossible. He couldn't ignore the sensation of her hand above his navel. It was cold – he remembered now how she always seemed cold to him, at least in their first moments of touch – but somehow it seemed to blister him with heat as it slid against his shirt and his tattoos underneath and sent his nerves alight.

The diamonds. A rush of self-satisfied vanity filled him as her astute fingertips subtly explored his abdomen; had he not been so pathetically engrossed in her – in the glossy waves of her thick, gorgeous hair, in every brush of their bodies against one another, in the study of the profile of her face which glowed hard and smooth like marble under the moonlight – he might not even have noticed. But he did take notice, and how, of every tickle of movement against his sensitive skin.

And yet Elphaba gave nothing of her curiosity away. A part of him couldn't help but wonder if it was all just in his head, which recently had been at the receiving end of some very large knuckles.

It wasn't a far walk to the front of Briscoe Hall. They stepped apart; the air between them seemed to vibrate with something that hadn't been there just minutes ago, like the static in the air right before lightning cracks, and sent his heart racing.

It didn't take long for that tension to mutate. Now that the buffer of air was between them again, it seemed to solidify into that boundary with which they both were most familiar. He wouldn't cross it and she daren't.

Dejection sunk in his gut.

She was clearly trapped in her own head, if her unfocused, restless eyes were any indication. He had seen her blurt out her thoughts often enough to recognize when she struggled to contain them, and he had a feeling whatever she was thinking was something he probably didn't want to hear.

Of course she broke. "Fiyero, about what you did tonight…"

"Let me guess," he said, saving her the trouble of hurting him since his skull was thundering enough as it was, wanting to get this done before the last of his wits waned. "I shouldn't have gotten involved. And you don't need a man to fight your battles for you. And I'm dumb."

"Well, yes to all of that," she admitted slowly. "But that wasn't what I was going to say."

"Oh. What were you gonna say?"

"Thanks, I guess." She seemed to speak to his chest, pensive as she strained to find the words. "No one's ever…stood up for me before."

"I can't imagine anyone's ever felt like you needed them to."

"I don't need them to. I don't." He believed her. "But…"

"What is it?"

"It's just…for the first time…I feel…like I'm not alone."

It was such a simple thing, so innocently stated.

It broke his heart.

It would have been so easy for him to make a consolatory, kneejerk remark, no matter how true it was. Her words weighed on him too much for such simplicity. His perspective was a loaded one because once upon a time, when they first found haven after their escape from the Palace, he stared into her eyes and was faced with unfathomable depths of her loneliness.

It wasn't just because she had been a dissident. It hadn't been because she had been hunted and in hiding for years. It wasn't that she only ever had one friend and she had left her behind. It wasn't because her own family could barely stand to look at her.

No, it was all of these things and more he couldn't name.

She had held his hand so tightly it had almost hurt; it was if she had feared that if she let go she'd never feel another one again. And maybe, if he hadn't been standing there, she wouldn't have.

It was so undeserved that he didn't couldn't bring himself to say anything then either; he had crashed himself onto her and kissed her for the first time and kissed her and kissed her…and she kissed him back.

As he faced this younger, less fraught version of the green girl, the desire to kiss her was practically unbearable. But it wasn't a need like it had been then, like he had been giving her a kiss of life that could save her.

"I suppose I've just accepted that I'd always be on my own," she confessed. "But Galinda made it so people actually listened to me tonight, to recognize me as something other than a nuisance or an object. Even if it was just for a moment. She ascribed value to me, to my name, that I was never allowed before."

"She's secretly shrewd, that one."

She smiled at that, and that alone practically undid all of his sorrow.

"You…and Galinda… Think of what we could do— together."

His grin was delighted but dopey. "Yeah."

She seemed to roll her eyes at herself then, like she realized who she was talking to, and he wished he had said something more intelligent. "I should go. You'll manage the rest of the way?"

"Undubetibly. Indubededly."

"Indubitably?"

"That's the one." She seemed unconvinced and guilt-ridden, like she blamed his stupidity on herself, which really discounted the years of hard work it took to not be able to pronounce indubitably properly aloud. "Go home and memorize the dictionary some more. I'll see you bright and early."

Fiyero was glad he sent her home when he did because he was quite a sight as he schlepped his ungainly, sore self a path up the three flights of stairs to his room, veering a little with every pulse of his head. None of the guys he saw gave him any mind, accustomed as they were with the drunken lumbering of their dorm mates, even as he slipped off his suspenders mid-stairway and lurched into his door a second before he fully unfastened the lock. He kicked away his boots and passed out the moment he hit the pillows.

The response for the last chapter was incredible. Thank you to everyone who reviewed and thanks to everyone reading. Keep up reviewing like that and I bet I'll be motivated to post the next chapter really soon, which has a bit of Fiyeraba in it. :)