Thank you to everyone who reviews and follows. To show my love, here's a long update. It's one of my favorites. Have fun!

Fiyero had no idea what time it was. It was really cold, for a storm had moved in that history indicated should have hit long after he retired for the evening. His breath, fouled by the stench of malt and mixed liquors, misted in front of him as he stumbled up the Crage Library steps; his mud-caked boots slipped on the slick steps as the icy rain continued to fall relentlessly down on him.

He tripped against the last stone step and fell forward with a graceless "thump" against the heavy wooden door, his inelegance having less to do with the blindingly thick sleet and more to do with the contents of his stomach, and he swatted at the old door handle only to find it locked. Dammit. Slumping against the surface he growled, cursing every Ozma he could think of. He cursed Tippetarius and Bilious and Initiata and stupid Pastoria, the regent too…

He was too busy unfairly blaspheming the House of Ozma to hear the unbolting lock over the rain and suddenly the door he was flush against cracked open. With a less-than-regal "Woah!" his face slipped against the wet wood and into the widening gap, slamming painfully against the edge of other, still-closed double door. And then a pair of arms caught him under the shoulders, saving him the further disgrace from a face-first landing on the stone entryway floor.

"Fiyero!"

"Ow." His head drooped against the shoulder of the thin but strong person that supported him and he breathed in her beautiful scent. She was so warm… "Hi Elphaba."

"My Oz, Fiyero, you're soaked through! Get inside!" she snapped, leading him in enough to be able to shut the heavy door against the roaring wind.

He tried to straighten himself up as she helped him in, but his first couple of tries were thwarted as his feet turned underneath him, like his legs were momentarily boneless and replaced with straw. Ha, third time was the charm he thought, and he stood up straight with a lopsided smile.

"Hi," he said again. She was so pretty. The Gillikenese braid – which was not her usual style but not unflattering either – was loose and a bit messy, like she had twisted bits around her fingers, and he considered reaching forward to do the same…

"What are you doing here?" she asked, distracting him from his momentary distraction.

"I was on my way home from dinner in Railway Square and it just started to rain. I was trying to get home and I saw the library and I remembered you might be in here…"

"You 'remembered'?"

"It was so long ago, I couldn't be sure, but there had been a bad storm and Glinda—"

"Galinda, with a 'guh'," Elphaba corrected.

"Yeah, that's what I said. Galinda was worried and had told me you didn't come home, so I thought…"

"You saw her tonight?"

"No, why?"

She sighed in aggravation. "You're drunk, Fiyero."

"Three sheets to the wind," he agreed. He followed her over to where the library's ancient hearth glowed dimly, lighting up the seating area around it in a soft orange glow. "I didn't plan on it. I went out for dinner. The Peach and Kidney's pub has a brisket that's to die for—"

"In fact, something did have to die for it," Elphaba quipped rudely, making Fiyero roll his eyes and sigh with great exaggeration.

"Don't ruin brisket for me, woman."

"I'm just pointing out the— Oh jeez, Fiyero!"

He had been so concentrated on her, excited to witness her berate him, that he didn't even notice when she did that he suddenly became top-heavy. He tried to steady himself but the balls of his feet – appropriately named, the thought in the moment – seemed impossibly round and the overcorrection backfired. He aimed for the arm of a chair nearby as he suddenly lurched forward but somehow Elphaba was there, catching him under his arm once again.

He slumped against her, grateful. She remained still and so strong, holding him upright as he collected himself. He took advantage of the moment before she'd inevitably push him away to drop his head into the crook of her neck. It was only then he realized that he had grabbed her when he fell— one of his hands was at her waist and the other had dropped against her collarbone.

Oz, she felt so good. He missed this so much; the longing within him had become so omnipresent that he was beginning to forget what she actually had felt like, but it all came crashing back to him in a wave of memories and sensation. He melded against her, wrapping his arm around her back and pulling them together, breathing her in the scent of her hair.

His fingers against her shoulder itched for the feeling of her skin. They slipped up the back of her neck, feeling the strength of her spine before settling just behind the corner of her jaw.

"What are you doing?" she said, her voice low in his ear. She didn't seem angry. He always expected her to be angry.

He nuzzled her neck with the bridge of his nose lovingly.

"You're so, so warm," he murmured. He longed to kiss her skin, to remember how it tasted. As he moved to do so she squirmed a step away from him.

"And you're freezing," she said, flattening her hand where his cold fingers had lingered under her ear. "There are still ice crystals dripping from you."

He looked down at himself self-consciously then, noticing the beads of water falling from the angles of his body and wrinkles of his clothing. Then he realized the water had absorbed into her too. The thin material of her soft sweater – some sort of gray as far as he could tell in the dimness – was clinging to her, shiny in the flickering faint light of the fire. In a panic his hands moved to her stomach, feeling the wetness of the cloth. "I got you wet!"

"It's fine, Fiyero," she said, hurryingly snatching his fingers from her side and holding them in a firm, uncomfortable grip between them to keep them away from her as if she was ticklish. She couldn't be though; she hadn't been in the forest. But then again, this version of her was more averse to touch…

Fiyero figured out, perhaps too late, that he was betraying her boundaries. He was usually so cognizant of those. She was probably only tolerating his blatant invasion of her personal space because he was being a drunk sod.

"Sorry," he mumbled, rocking away from her in embarrassment.

She had grabbed a poker and stepped over to prod at the logs, shifting them around so cinders fell from the grate and air could flow between the ashen logs. She placed a new one in then, with care, and waited patiently as it eventually started smoking and sizzling in front of her.

He wondered how often the librarians left her in here late at night, leaving her to her books and to the fire. Because there was no one around but them, of that he was sure. He took a paranoid look around, just in case, squinting his eyes to focus his blurring vision to peer at the empty librarian's desk, the vacant tables and chairs, then beyond to the shadowed aisles of shelves, seeing nothing but the occasional spine of a undoubtedly boring book jutting out farther than the rest. He thought about asking about the librarian, but instead he became entranced by her skill with the chore and the concentration of her face as she watched the fresh log roar to life. It was easy to forget the bookworm and imagine the transient Witch of the West in moments like these.

"Why don't you, you know…" He gestured circularly at the hearth, feeling his face tighten in concentration as he mimicked the words he was trying to find. "…just toss a fireball at it?"

"What are you talking about?"

He frowned, seriously confused. "You know, like woosh…" He imitated an explosion between his hands. "…poof! Magic!"

"Who said I can do that?" she asked testily, throwing the metal screen in front of the growing flames so sharply it rattled and rocked before finally stilling.

"Uh…" he trailed off stupidly. It was she who revealed such a gift to him deep in the forest, when she relit their lantern for him with nothing but a wave of her hand. He decided to go with his go-to excuse. "Galinda told me?"

Elphaba sighed angrily. "She can't keep anything to herself, can she? I told her I didn't want her blabbing her mouth to people what I'm doing in sorcery class."

"But I'm special, aren't I? Exempt from that rule?" he asked, grinning crookedly.

"Apparently," she said, but sourly. "Have I mentioned that I confronted Galinda about the things you say she's told you? She said she doesn't remember mentioning half of them."

"Oh?" He couldn't bring himself to be as worried as he should be.

"And yet she admits it's entirely likely she did."

"Sounds like Galinda," Fiyero said cheerily.

"I love her, but I don't know what to do with her sometimes." Her eyes were hard, dark, as they fell from his down to his chest. "You should get out of those clothes."

He nearly fell over at her non sequitur. He must have heard her wrong. Or completely imagined it. "Uh…say what?"

"They're wet. You're going to get sick," she said then, her voice taking on a timbre he rarely heard as she avoided his gaze.

"Right. Okay." His hands moved to his jacket buttons, wondering how he had managed to get them done-up in the first place, and fumbled for an indeterminable amount of time with the stubborn fastener. His hands were shivering still and to be honest, he could hardly feel the damn thing, but Elphaba was watching him with those intimidating dark eyes so he kept trying. "I got this. Almost there...no, wait, no I'm not. Slippery little suckers. I think this one is getting smaller... I'm just going to rip them all off, m'kay?"

"No, Fiyero, just stop, I'll do it."

Her fingers interwove through his for a moment as she found the jacket button and slid it through its opening with ease. The other two buttons followed suit and he sagged, feeling inept. But then he tensed, for her hands were under the lapels of his coat. He trembled nearly violently at this and closed his eyes as her palms glanced over his chest, which heaved in response to her unexpected touch, and slid ever so lightly over his shoulders and down the taught muscles of his arms, taking his heavy jacket with them.

She was so close to him then that he tilted his head forward and could smell the subtle scent of her soap in her hair. She simply had no idea the affect she had on him. He sucked in quiet, necessary mouthfuls of stale, library air when she moved away to drape his wet coat across the metal screen near the roaring fire to dry, unable to concentrate on anything but the feel of her inadvertently sensual touches.

"Your turn," he said throatily. She cocked an eyebrow at him and he grinned. "Mustn't get sick!"

"Fine," she said, and immediately peeled the sweater from her own body. His mouth dropped open at the sight of her curves being exposed to him in the soft lighting, with her bare arms momentarily raised above her head, creating an eye line to her small but shapely bosom and taut stomach, down around her hip…

"Happy now?" she asked, displaying her pullover for him before tossing it next to his coat. He just nodded dumbly, having clamped his mouth shut to prevent salivation. "So do you do this often? Go down to the pubs for brisket and stumble home reeking of booze?"

"Hardly. I used to. Used to be fun."

"What changed?" she asked curiously, turning back to him.

"I dunno. Grew up I guess. I bet it doesn't seem like it. I bet people still like to imagine that I'm this spoiled, carefree, party-hearty, lazy, drunk, stupid, irresponsible, messy, brainless, wild, useless, stupid—"

"You said stupid twice."

"—good-for-nothing rich playboy kid…thing," he finished, ignoring her interruption. "People think they know me—they don't. They didn't the first time and they definitely don't now."

"'The first time'?"

"Huh?"

"You just said 'the first time'. I don't know what you mean."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Well, at least we're on the same page," Elphaba muttered.

He exhaled loudly, suddenly maudlin, oblivious to her gripe. "It's just, I'm different, you know? But it doesn't seem to matter. Things are still the same."

"What do you wish was different?"

If she hadn't asked him such a generalized question, he might not have fumbled in figuring out where to start in order to realize, "I can't talk about this. This is all secret."

"Why?"

"Because people can't know. Not yet. It's bad. That's why I'm here, you know? That, and because of you."

"Because you knew I was in the library?" she asked, confused.

"No, because of magic. Poof!" He made another bursting gesture with his hands and snorted at it. He teetered in place. "The floor is squishy."

She heaved a long-suffering sigh. "No it's not. It's your shoes."

"Oh. You think so?"

Lumbering over to the floor in front of the popping flames and dropping down there, he started removing his boots, the bottoms of which were caked in mud, and then his sopping socks, throwing them into a pile by the hearth. He made a show of wiggling his bare toes at her and falling on his back to look at her with a stupid grin, giggling. It made everything spin a little bit faster, but it was worth it: He loved it when she looked at him like that, with her one eyebrow cocked high in incredulity and the other drawn down in annoyance. It was something so Elphaba.

"Better?" she asked sarcastically.

"Much, thank you. Any clothes you want me to take off for you?"

"Oh please." She dropped onto a reading chair close to the warmth, moving a book from its arm onto her lap. "Why do you even care what people think about you? You're this handsome prince."

"There you go, calling me handsome again. Don't think I'm not keeping track. That's twice now," he said, his outstretched hand holding up two fingers towards her as he tried to balance his upper body on his other arm. It wasn't working very well.

"With any luck you'll forget by morning."

"Never." He hiccupped painfully and cringed, hoping it was an isolated occurrence.

"Was tonight worth it? Going out and drinking, I mean?"

"Actually, it kind of was," he said, groaning as he hit his stomach, hoping to discourage more hiccups. Feeling it was safe to speak again, he explained: "I met this old man at the bar. We managed to finish a couple pitchers of ale together by the time they cleared our plates and then we took turns treating each other to different spirits. He never had Arjiki moonshine before. Have you ever tried it?"

"No."

"Don't. You won't like it. It's like, wooooo, strong."

"I can see that. What did you and the old man talk about?"

Fiyero smiled dreamily, leaning back to peer up at her. "His wife, mostly. Apparently she made a brisket twice as good as The Peach and Kidney's and he goes in there to remember her."

"When did she die?" Elphaba asked him quietly.

"Four years ago, but he swore that their love was eternal and he was just waiting to see her again."

"Do you believe in such things?"

"That love can transcend time and space? I dunno. I'd like to believe it," he said meaningfully. The familiar ache filled his stomach, and he sagged back, his head bouncing upon the rug under him. "It's been so long but she's still all he thinks about. He loved her so much. I get that." He rolled onto his side to look at her then, with his head propped up on his hand. "You know she had a lazy eye?"

"She did?" Elphaba asked, intrigued.

"Yeah, that's how they met. In Red Sand. He worked as a clerk for the local eye doctor. She came in and he was immediately struck by her."

"Because she was strange-looking."

"No! He thought she was beautiful!"

"He did?"

"Yeah! He thought she never noticed him because he was just the shy little file clerk in the back, you know? But he finally worked up the nerve to go up to her. He asks her out and guess what she says? That she had her eye on him all along! Get it? Because she was always looking two ways at once?" He laughed heartily, slapping the floor.

"Very funny. Did she ever get her eyes fixed?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Really?" she asked, suddenly sounding anxious. Through one dramatically narrowed eye, he watched her chew on her lip. Finally, she asked timidly, "How did it not bother him?"

"He liked it about her. It made her special, you know?"

"She must have been so embarrassed about it."

Fiyero took in her green skin then; it was something he didn't think about much anymore, but it reminded him where her stress was coming from.

"I think when she realized that someone loved her exactly as she was, she got over that small detail pretty quickly."

"Small detail?" she repeated, skeptical. An arm wrapped around herself insecurely.

"Yeah," he said, rolling back to stare at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Teeny-tiny. Hardly noticeable."

The conversation hadn't been all one-sided. He had asked Fiyero if there was a girl in his life, and he told the man about Elphaba. He told her that he loved her deeply, that he wasn't sure if Elphaba would ever come to care for him the same way even though he would not expect her to. The man told him to remain steadfast. True love, he said, exists whether both people realize it or not, and it willingly waits for even the most stubborn to feel it and live it. Fiyero, being the man that he was, was agnostic spiritually and practically; he was the kind of guy that knew better to believe in anything too fiercely for risk of disappointment, but he realized if he was to believe in anything, true love wouldn't be so bad.

Moonshine can make romantics out of even the proudest of men, Fiyero's father always said.

The library fell into companionable silence. Minutes went by as Fiyero daydreamed about Elphaba and Elphaba, well, did whatever Elphaba did. He was still spread-eagle on the ground between her seat and the fire, being the classy royal he was, and after a while his bare feet were sweating and roasting against the grate.

"It's hot now," Fiyero bellyached, staring at the source of his current discomfort with scorn. The flames glowed gold and slightly pink against the ashy-black bricks beyond and the log smelled slightly spicy, as some Gillikinese breeds sometimes did, and it would have been nice had it not been so disagreeable to his toesies.

"Then move away from the fire," Elphaba said pragmatically, distracted. Why didn't he think of that? He craned his neck to peek at her; she was absorbed in an old, worn book. Predictable, he mused with a small, sleepy laugh to himself, feeling swollen with fondness. Taking her advice, he dragged himself across the floor like drunk snake with arms, wiggling against the old, faded rug until he could prop himself against the front corner of her chair. She jolted at his sudden closeness. "What are you doing?"

"It's nice over here. Are you mad?"

"No," she said pensively. "Just surprised, I guess."

"Good." He smiled to her, nuzzling her knee slightly and hugging the tall leather of her laced boot. Even though he was clinging to her leg like a child, he was in hog-heaven at being so near to her. He made sure to thank every drop of moonshine for getting him to this pathetic moment.

He loved her so damn much. He loved her more than brisket, more than sleep, more than dancing…

"Your hair is almost dry," she murmured. He felt the pleasant shock of the tips of her fingers against his scalp as she ran her hand through his hair, and he moaned softly at the sensation. To his utmost pleasure, she continued to stroke his hair, the gentle pressure of her touch causing him to all but melt onto her.

"'S makin' me sleepy," he slurred into the hem of her skirt, watching sparks from the fire float away into nothingness with fading focus.

"Then close your eyes. The storm doesn't sound like it's letting up any time soon."

"But't's a library..."

"The librarian won't be back until morning. She knows I'm in here."

"T'at's nice." He took a deep breath, comforted by her. "I like being with you. I don' feel so crazy."

"Prince Fiyero, you may be a lot of things, but I fear you're one of the sanest people I've ever met."

"That makes one'a us," he said with a sigh. Her nails were so gentle and perfect against his head. His eyelids were getting so heavy…

"I don't understand you, Fiyero," she said, as she often did. He nodded dopily against her knee. "But sometimes I forget I'm abnormal when I'm around you," she confessed in a whisper, "and I'm grateful for that."

Too tired to reply, he affectionately squeezed her booted calf, his eyes comfortably closed. Before he knew it he was fast asleep.