Hi. What can one say when they've vanished off of the face of the earth for months? "Hi" doesn't seem enough and"I'm sorry" is cliche but true. I've had health problems that have caused chronic headaches; I've spent thousands of dollars and so many wasted months in search of relief and while I've had some, it doesn't bring back certain things that get lost during crappy times, like passion and attention span, which are important tools in a writer's kit.

Still, my love for all of you hasn't wavered. Neither has Fiyero's for Elphaba. Please enjoy a cheerful chapter, which is my thank you to all of you who have waited so patiently and have reviewed and favorited. :)

When Fiyero went to the refectory for breakfast, he preferred going early. He beat the crowds, received the freshest food, and was able to enjoy a quieter meal than what could be achieved by waiting a couple of hours. Students that awoke this early were usually few and far between and they typically were the ones that weren't so social.

Which is why he was rather startled when someone slid purposefully onto the bench across from him.

"How did it go with your father?"

Fiyero couldn't resist giving Elphaba's question and presence an amused half-smile. "Aren't you going to even bother proceeding such a question with small talk?"

"No," she said, like it was a ridiculous thought. With her, he supposed it was. "Are you going to answer the question?"

"Not immediately," Fiyero answered puckishly. Her long hair was pulled into a messy bun, reminiscent of the witch she might become who didn't have the luxury of combing her hair every day, and he couldn't help but appreciate her natural and unusual beauty. "I couldn't help but notice the light on in your bedroom quite early again today."

"Should I be concerned that you're paying such close attention to Galinda's and my bedroom window?"

"It's hard not to notice when it's the only other lamp on at cockcrow."

"And what of your light? Were you too preoccupied to sleep as a result of your father's visit?" she questioned, her expression too intelligent for such wee hours. He narrowed his eyes at her segue.

"Clever, Thropp. You first. Tell me why you're always up so early and I'll tell you how the royal chat went."

Elphaba glared, unhappily deliberating his deal, and her taciturnity piqued his interest. He grinned and leaned in, propping his chin on his hand, and watched her, purposely and cheekily displaying patience that they both knew she didn't have. She snorted at this but still looked away, chagrinned. "The showers are empty."

His playful expression faded in his confusion. "Huh?"

She rolled her eyes, her pursed lips pulling to one side in her annoyance. "It turns out," she muttered reluctantly, "that no matter how many times you catch the green girl washing, it's always funny."

"But…you…what…" he stuttered, unable to articulate his indignation. "But why? You're gorg—" He choked and garbled, catching himself. "I mean, you're, you know, slender. You've got everything in the right spots, and, um, it's all, like, proportional? I think! Not that I know— I couldn't know."

"I would hope not," she said dismissively, but still with a sardonic lift of her eyebrow.

"What do they say about you when they find you in there? No wait, don't tell me. I don't think I want to know."

"What, you don't want a good laugh too?"

"I like humor with a little more sophistication. Like: What did the Buffalo say to his son as he left for college?" He paused for dramatic effect, unable to resist grinning as he dropped the punchline: "Bison!"

"I'm torn between not wanting to acknowledge the stupidity of your joke and wanting to educate you on the differences between Buffalo and Bison."

"Admit it, it was funny."

"I refuse," she said, but with the tips of her lips tilting upwards just enough that he beamed in triumph. "What are you eating, anyway?" she asked, as if merely to change the subject. She grabbed his fork and poked at his breakfast, inspecting it for meat, much to his amusement.

"It's vegetarian and off-menu. Crumpet topped with herb-roasted tomato, poached egg, and a white wine lemon cream sauce. It's remarkable what food those ladies can cook up when supplied a regular bottle of top-shelf liquor."

"You've bought off the cafeteria ladies with booze?"

"You make it sound so crass. I've merely acquired their culinary proficiencies by way of donation of quality spirits when I have a particular epicurean craving."

"So you bought them with booze."

"I like to think that I bought them with my winning personality and charm and that the alcohol is merely a gift between friends."

Elphaba still had his fork and without asking coated it in some of the excess sauce on the plate and brought it to her perfect lips to taste it. He slid the dish halfway between them, giving her full access. She took the invitation and cut herself a bite of his gourmet breakfast.

He couldn't imagine in a million centuries that Elphaba, despite her boldness, would ever pick up the eating utensil of Galinda Upland – or even her sister! – and put it in her mouth. She was so careful of certain boundaries. She was too insecure, too apprehensive.

But not with him, it would seem. Small victory, he thought with pleasure.

"When was the last time you had seen your father before yesterday?"

He stole the fork back to stab a bite he wanted for himself. "I never even said that he was my father in the first place. Look at you, jumping to conclusions."

"I have eyes, Fiyero," she said, using said eyes to glare at him as he handed the fork back. "Give me some credit. I don't need an official announcement in the press to see the resemblance."

"Don't say that," Fiyero groaned.

Elphaba smirked while she chewed. "I'd think you'd be flattered."

"And if I said that you looked like your father?"

"I don't think Father would care for that much."

"If only he was so lucky," Fiyero flattered gently. Elphaba's expression became strained at this, shaking her head at his wasted charm. "Are you having issues again with Governor Frexspar the Godly Ass?"

"'Godly Ass'?" she repeated, one side of her mouth raising wryly.

"Are you offended?"

"Perhaps I should be," she admitted, and they shared a small, mellow smile appropriate for the early hour. "But no, I haven't spoken to my father in some weeks, except through Nessa. I realize I prefer it that way. Have you been corresponding with yours? Is that why he visited?"

"He never wrote me back. I wasn't prepared for his arrival."

"Did it go poorly?"

"Actually," he said, grabbing her fingers where they were gripped around the fork and guiding the next bite of food into his mouth, much to her faux vexation. He spoke through the mouthful in a very impolite way. "It went fine."

"Just 'fine'?"

"I'm satisfied with that. Lowered expectations limit disappointments. I think that is something he and I have in common in regards to our relationship with one another."

"What did you speak about?"

"Oh, you know, normal king/prince things: Money, politics…you."

"Me?"

"Why, yes. Out of all of my friends, he found you most intriguing."

"What a surprise. Let me guess: 'Is that her natural skin color or does she dye it for attention?' or 'Does it change hue depending on her mood?'"

"The latter would certainly be helpful, but no. He was more interested in your…what's the word? Matrilineality."

"The Thropp line? Why? Nessarose would be the interesting one then; I'm not inheriting the governance."

"That's exactly why." She didn't need to know that it was also because the Winkie prince was also smitten with her. Somehow it didn't seem pertinent thing to explain at that moment. "He thinks Governor Godly Ass is threatened by you."

"By my magic, perhaps."

"Not by your magic. By you."

"That's absurd."

"Is it?" Fiyero challenged, watching her carefully as she became agitated and uncomfortable. "You're the brilliant one. The political one. You have ambition and conviction. Your sister, on the other hand, is submissive and acquiescent. Which would an egotistical regent choose given the option?"

"You give my father more credit than he deserves. The reason, I think, is far simpler than any of that."

There was no reason to elaborate. He knew what she would say: She was green. It was the foundation of every self-doubt she would have in her life because it was the first thing everyone perceived and judged her for.

"I don't know how well you know this, but most of my people – the people of the Vinkus – are dark skinned," Fiyero told her, and Elphaba nodded. He nearly kept the thought to himself, afraid to ruin the jollity of their banter, but her fiery eyes were focused so intently on him that he felt validated and invigorated. "When I was a boy, many of my friends were ochre. Vinkun royalty has been bred with wealthy Gillikinese for generations, which lightened our skin in the way that your family has been bred to be tall. I doubt you can disagree that those with pale skin are favored in society."

"I have noticed a preference," Elphaba commented, snarky.

Fiyero took a moment to watch her green nails pick at a particularly deep scratch in the table; Fiyero wished to reach out and take her hand in his, but there was no fork or object in it to use as an excuse for such an action this time and without being sure of how she might take such an action, he didn't risk it.

"I can't explain to you how often I've wished that I could look more like my people."

She was clearly unsettled and shifted in her seat. "Why?"

"To look at things another way," he said with a broad smile as he took another bite, pleased with himself.

She shook her head at him and let out a heavy sigh, likely questioning his good sense. "You bewilder me sometimes."

"Which is one step closer to rendering you speechless, which is the ultimate challenge," he pronounced with a cheek full of yolky bread.

"There's the Fiyero we all know and tolerate."

He nearly quipped, "You love me, admit it," but managed to resist. He would probably hyper-analyze her reaction until he made himself nuts trying to determine whether she did, or even worse, would straight out deny it, and either way it was far too early in the morning for such fretting.

"I remembered him being bigger," Fiyero said instead. "My dad."

"He was, once," she jested, but her eyes expressed a pleasure that heartened him more than his father's approval ever would. "Do you think he's finally proud of you like you wanted?"

Fiyero shrugged. "Turns out I don't care anymore."

"Then perhaps there is hope for me as well," she mused, that beautiful smirk in place. It fell away with a cursory glance beyond him and to his disappointment, she took that moment as her leave and she began to walk away without a glance back or even a thank you for eating his breakfast. Not that one was necessary— anything of his was hers, no question or hesitation.

She proved that perfect etiquette was overrated and he loved her for that.

"Bye son!" he called at her back, unable to resist a last jab in her direction.

She spun around at the doorway just long enough for him to grin widely at her exasperated expression and stern finger pointed in his direction, "Don't make that a thing."

He laughed as she slipped out of the refectory. Once Avaric dumped himself in her seat, he realized the timing of her exit was no accident.

"What's for breakfast?" Avaric said, dragging his finger through the leftover sauce on his plate without asking. Suddenly craving proper etiquette again, Fiyero suppressed the desire to criticize his manners when his friend began sucking the yellow cream off his digit obscenely, moaning suggestively.

Fiyero let out an exaggerated sigh, already missing Elphaba. "Classy, bro."

The next chapters are written. If you take a couple seconds to review and tell me your thoughts, I'll get them up very soon! :)