This update is dedicated to my dedicated readers. You mean the world to me.

"Yuav ua li cas yog ib niag—"

"Mmuhh," Fiyero grunted sleepily. He turned his head more into his pillow, which was much firmer than he was used to but was really warm and Oz, he was cozy…

"—pawg no! Cia li saib no pua!"

Noise. Bad. "Gyugh," he grumbled. "Hmummmy…."

"Fiyero."

"Cuhmfy. G'way," Prince Fiyero commanded authoritatively, hoping that clear demand would make the voice go away so he could keep sleeping.

"Fiyero, wake up," the voice said. "You're drooling on my boot."

"Muaj av txhua txhia qhov chaw!"

"Whuh?"

It was about this time that information started going into Fiyero's brain: he seemed to be on a floor of some sort, he was oddly comfy with his head against something both hard and soft, and that strange surface wasn't holding still very well. Oh yeah, and his arm was wrapped around the ankle of, sure enough, a boot that was quite familiar to him.

"Cov me nyuam! Lawv xav tias nws yog kuv lub luag hauj lwm ntxuav li tom qab lawv? Saib nyob rau ntawm qaug dej qaug cawv lout!"

"Elphie, why are you yellin' in Qua'ati? 'S loud."

"That's not me," Elphaba's voice, somewhere above and behind him, said, and at that Fiyero craned his neck back to stare at the green girl on the couch behind him on whose knee he was apparently sleeping. He wiped at his mouth and squinted hard at her, trying to get the two Elphabas he saw to merge into one, and when they were close enough together for him to be satisfied he saw her nod to their left, where three small, squat women with red skin were waving about screaming at them. No wait— that was just one red lady. Two. No, for sure one, and definitely red. Why were all the people here so colorful?

Quadlings speak Qua'ati. Quadlings are red. All makes sense now, he thought proudly to himself. A hand on his shoulder helped him sit up independently as Elphaba's sexy voice encouraged him.

"Qhov no yuav coj kuv cov sij hawm! Av txhua txhia qhov chaw! Kuv yeej tsis tiav!"

"She sounds mad," Fiyero mumbled, his mouth dry, drooping forward as he considered falling asleep again.

"That's because she is. Get up, get up!"

Having been too distracted by the two different nagging voices assaulting his throbbing head upon waking, it still hadn't occurred to Fiyero to figure out where he was. Or why he woke up with a jaw sore from sleeping oddly on Elphaba Thropp's bony knee, of all places. But with the nonstop stream of the language he couldn't comprehend assaulting his currently sensitive brain, all he could do was moan and cover his ears. That was probably why he didn't hear Elphaba's warning before suddenly her hands grabbed in the ticklish spot of his armpits pulled him an impressive distance upward.

Oh boy, there's the vertigo. He struggled, grunting and groaning, to get his bendy legs underneath him to make the world around him that was starting to resemble the girl's library level out once again.

He was totally still drunk. But he was pretty sure he was already hungover too if the pounding in his skull was any indication.

"Thov," Elphaba babbled then, her clear voice far too loud in his ears. "So kom txaus peb yuav tham txog no tsis—"

That wasn't Ozian she was speaking. He didn't think.

Whatever she said didn't seem to comfort the Quadling lady at all. "Yuav ua li cas yog muaj los tham txog? Koj qia dub nplua nuj cov me nyuam tuaj rau hauv, ua rau koj messes, thiab tsis nco qab hais tias ib tug neeg muaj mus ntxuav lawv li? Tau tawm, tau tawm!"

"Fiyero, it's time to go," she said, leaving him teetering for a moment as she swept up all of their strewn clothing in front of them, across the floor, on the fireplace screen… It should have been more of a turn-on than it was, seeing their little bits of clothing here and there, except that they were both entirely dressed save for his boots and socks and their outerwear, and more importantly, given the lack of sex. Dammit.

He should have helped her, but instead he swayed in place, his hands itching to cover his ears– what he would do to get that woman to shut up – as she shoved his socks hastily into his boots and threw his coat and her sweater over her arm hastily.

"What the hell is going on? What is she saying?" he whined, fingers finding his temples just as Elphaba grabbed him by the elbow to drag him toward the door. A beam of light hit him in the face from one of the large upper windows and, being in the state he was, he tried swatting it away and would have cursed vulgarly if Elphaba hadn't chosen just then to answer his question: "Kumbricia's cun—"

"You brought mud in from outside, and that's the cleaning lady who gets to mop it all up," Elphaba elucidated, grunting with the effort of pulling his weight and carrying all of their stuff. "I tried to calm her down but can you blame her? There are footprints everywhere."

"I feel bad," he said, stopping so suddenly that Elphaba's grip on his side had her swinging around and tripping over her own toes. He started patting his sides determinedly.

"Fiyero! What are you doing?"

He ignored her to better focus on his goal. Shoving his bulky fingers into the small pocket in the front of his tight pants, he struggled to grip the paper he felt within it. "Ah, eureka. I'll be right back."

And he stumbled away, leaving her standing next to the exit with her arms full of their things while he padded barefooted across the cold stone floor to find the squat Quadling lady by the hearth, surrounded by muddy footprints, dropping a metal bucket so irritably upon the ground that soapy water splashed over the rim and the clank of steel on stone shot through his head like the crack of a bullet.

His whimper at the din caught her attention. He could see more clearly now; she must have been only about Galinda's height but twice her weight, her ruddy skin leathery with indecipherable age and her dark hair pulled up in a tight, strict bun. Her black eyes shot daggers into him – he could sense genuine hatred for him as he slouched before her, tall and sloppy and indisputably drunk – and as she began shouting again in her language he reached forward and grabbed her hand in his.

She was so startled by the action that she thankfully halted her shrieking. He could see this moment would be short-lived, however, so he rushed, "I'm very, very sorry. Really. I was dumb and I was inattentive and now you have to do more work. Here, I want to give this to you. For the trouble."

He didn't know if she understood, but she listened anyway and he opened up her strong, red fingers and placed a handful of folded, colorful bills into them purposefully. She gasped at the sum of money she now gripped and in a flurry of unintelligible words she tried shoving it back at him but Fiyero just smiled and strutted away. Well, more like tottered away, but stylishly.

He didn't say anything as he walked past Elphaba, who stood speechless by the door, for he was desperate for fresh air and pushed through the weighty wooden door to the crisp air outside with absolute gladness.

The forgotten sunlight from the rising sun caught him full in the face, blasting him with amplified brightness.

Oz, he was going to keel over. Or puke. Probably puke.

"I'll never drink again," he swore, burying himself in his hands.

"What was that in there?" Elphaba said. She sounded snippy, like she was unhappy, and he peeked through his fingers at her insecurely.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No, of course not." She seemed agitated, like she'd pace or twitch or wring her hands except she was still carrying all of his stuff. How embarrassing.

He reached out and took his things a little at a time and she continued to stand there, stiff and flustered, staring at him while he tried putting on his socks and his boots.

One thing about boots? They're hard to put on sober. He grunted and growled, pitching sideways into the wall as he struggled to slip one on.

"Why did you do that?"

He looked up, frowning and confused. "Because my balance is impaired?"

"No! Fiyero!" Now she definitely was agitated, but why he was still too intoxicated to know or care. "Why did you give her all that money?"

Was she mad about that? Maybe if he were perfectly sober he wouldn't understand either. Gosh, girls were confusing.

"I dunno." He pushed the last of his heel into his boot and stood up straight.

"You don't know."

"I just…she…uh…" He didn't do it expecting praise, and he certainly didn't expect criticism. He just did it. "I don't need it, and she probably does. What if she has 40 kids at home? Or a herd of cats curling around her legs when she walks in waiting for milk that she couldn't get because she's stuck here wiping up my mud all day? That's horrible. I can't do that to those cats."

"A clowder."

"You want chowder? Well, it's a little early, but—"

"What's wrong with you? No, a group of cats is a clowder, not a herd."

"Ohh. Right. Okay. Nifty. Can always rely on you for good facts."

"So…basically, you did it for the cats."

"I don't know if there are cats. I just did it. I didn't realize it would upset you. Sorry."

"I'm not upset," she snapped, like his assumption provoked her. "Not at all! It was…nice. Really nice. I just didn't expect it. From you."

"I can't imagine why," he said, as he took his coat from her hands to lessen her burden. See? He was considerate.

The cool air was clearing his mind. It was as though he was suddenly seeing her with utmost clarity right then, and the way the sunshine, so absolutely clear, lit her features, he was completely mesmerized by her. Her irises, always so dark, were absolutely striking now, glowing with hues of green and gold and brown and blue. He had never seen anything else like them in Oz, like they were beyond this land, better than it, just like she was. They enthralled him, and this taste of purity he saw in them was addicting, pulling him in.

Elphaba, always uneasy by such attention, still hadn't moved. He expected it. It was inevitable, especially given her distrustful nature and her pinched brow. He actually rocked closer to her, still hypnotized in his scrutiny, and yet she still didn't move; feeling daring, he seriously considered indulging himself, consent to his every desire and sweep her into his arms and crash into her to caress, to lick, to taste, to nibble, and to altogether lose himself in those slightly parted lips that seemed to be waiting for him.

An enthusiastic wolf whistle caught his attention.

"Way to go Your Excellency! Ow ow!"

Some guys whose names he didn't even know were walking down the path, stumbling home after their own night of frivolity, the necks of beer and liquor bottles raised above their heads in toast to him.

He glanced down, only one boot on, rumpled, no coat, standing outside of the dark library while Elphaba only just slipped on her own sweater. Ha, he knew what this looked like. He grinned, cockily at the agreeable implication that he and Elphaba had a different reason to be tousled coming out of the closed library, and gave the strangers a thumbs-up in gratitude for their support.

They moved on, warbling some offensive song about a barmaid named Looseel, and Fiyero turned as he slipped on his other shoe, still smiling to Elphaba…who was not smiling in the slightest. He took in her unamused scowl with incomprehension. It's not like they actually did anything – dammit again, he should have at least kissed her – and those guys were too loaded too care or gossip about them or even remember later. "What?"

"You're an ass," she spat. "I forget how stupidly male you are."

He just shrugged and gave a sheepish grin, throwing a casual arm around her shoulder chummily. It was a testament to their strange rapport that she only recoiled slightly and didn't instantly push him away.

"If word spreads that I'm just another one of your dalliances—"

Another one? Were the rumors around Shiz about his flirtations really so successful? Damn it all.

"Why would you give a twig about that?" he questioned before she could have threatened to magic him into a rodent or balloon or a tooth or something.

"I don't," she insisted, slipping out from under his arm to begin her walk home. He followed. "Of course I don't."

Of course she does. She just pretends not to.

"No one would believe it anyway," she rushed, her voice just a murmur.

"Yeah," he sighed, "you're probably right about that." He became glum at the thought, for she was, had always been, and would always be, too brilliant, too impassioned, too ambitious, and too philanthropic for a guy like him. And he'd always be that carefree prince, wouldn't he? He came into her world that way and that world wouldn't let him change, would it?

At least it really didn't matter if other people believed it. He just hoped that one day she'd believe it, but that didn't seem likely.

Silence enveloped them, but not the good kind of silence they were usually so good at. It was different and he didn't like it. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, so Fiyero assumed she was cold. He held out his coat for her to take as they walked, in step, but she blatantly ignored it.

"Take it."

"I'm fine."

"Take it."

"No."

"Take it."

"No, thank you."

"Take it."

"Fiyero!"

He pouted but gave up, leaving the coat folded over his arm. He didn't need it. He felt hot, despite the cool morning, but he had the alcohol to blame for that.

"So…" He wanted to break the silence. "You know Qua'ati," he said, as more of a statement than a question, but trying to remember why. "Because that's normal, people know Qua'ati…?"

"I grew up in Quadling Country," she reminded him. "For a few years, anyway." Looking up at him and seeing his interest, she continued, seeming at once unwilling and indifferent. "My father, before he took up my mother's governorship from her grandfather, spent his years grieving her by doing missionary work in the south." That sounded almost respectable, Fiyero thought. "The people of Qhoyre and the funny little low towns, built on the boggy ground, weren't very responsive to his slants about the generous nature of the Unnamed God. Nessa and I lived the life of gypsy children, slopping from settlement to settlement while my father preached. Invariably, they would relent out of hospitality, but you couldn't say their hearts were in it. I think I sensed a great deal more than Papa did how ineffectual we really were."

"We?" he repeated, wishing to know her part in it.

She paved on, having not heard him. "Men from the Emerald City began to drain the badlands to get to its ruby deposits; a wasteful effort, really. They managed to chase the Quadlings out and kill them or round them up in internment camps and leave them to die. They despoiled the badlands, raked up the rubies and left." Fiyero remembered their first history class together in this timeline, in which Dillamond spoke of the ruby raids. He didn't realize at the time that she had had a front-row seat to it. "The Quadlings struggled against them with ill-argued proclamations. They resorted to totems, for their only weapons against the invaders were slingshots, and rallied around my father the evangelist."

"You're bitter," he noticed, hearing it not in her words but in her tone.

"Papa would point to me as proof," she explained, not denying it. "I was a tool." Now he saw it more clearly, the deep resentment she rarely showed, but now that the ball was rolling she couldn't seem to stop. "My dear father used me – and Nessa less so, because of her trouble moving about on the narrow trails – he used me as an object lesson. Looking as I did, they trusted him partly as a response to the freakiness of me. If the Unnamed God could love me, then imagine how that god would be to the unadulterated them."

"You must hate him." He certainly despised Frexspar the Godly. How could anyone make a spectacle of their child like that? How could a father bring shame and humiliation to something so pure and innocent? He was a hypocrite – and frankly, a dick – to exploit a little girl to distribute the affection of his god. Especially a little girl who would end up being as remarkable as Elphaba Thropp.

"How can you say that?" she said, steaming. "I love the mad old tunnel-visioned bastard. He really believed in what he preached! I think he considered it work well done."

"But you don't."

"How do I know?" she asked, expecting no answer. "The state carried on, sure, but there was no outcry throughout Oz proper. Nobody was listening. Who cared about the Quadlings?"

"After how they viewed you, why do you hold such allegiance to them?"

"They were frightened and manipulated! Why should they have done differently? I was miserably shy and ashamed of my color but that was nothing compared to the hardships they faced. Yet still they were good people. They invited us in and offered us damp little cakes and lukewarm red mint tea and listened to my father from the beginning, even before they had any reason to."

She stopped then, and Fiyero – having a hard enough time keeping up with her with his feet weighty and clumsy as they were – tripped over himself in an effort to brake.

"Thank you, Fiyero," she said curtly, and though her gaze was dark and intense it avoided his. "For helping her. You probably didn't know what you were doing at the time, but I do. So…thanks."

He knew, but saying so wouldn't matter. He grinned a lopsided grin and finally she softened, smirking slightly in return.

It made him brave.

"I'm going to get food at the refectory. You should join. You know, with me. Breakfast, that is. Breakfast with me," he stammered, feeling daffy but unabashed. "Though, I should warn you now, I plan on eating every single piece of bacon they have. And like fourteen fried eggs."

"I don't care about the eggs."

"I know," he said, still having hope. "You coming?"

Elphaba shook her head, sending his stomach falling somewhere he couldn't determine in his disappointment. "I think I'm going to go back to the room and sleep. If what you told me last night is true, then Galinda will be worried for me anyway." She smiled then, softly and beautifully, clearly relishing the thought of a friend concerned for her. He sometimes forgot that she had missed out on so many of the subtleties of love and friendship in her sad life and he was so glad for Galinda.

"Okay. Remind her of our lunch date."

"As if she'd forget," Elphaba said, walking away.