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You’re beautiful.
The words replayed in her mind; over and over again.
You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.
Elphaba had never been actively told she wasn’t beautiful, but it always went unsaid. She was lucky that beauty had never been something she desperately wanted; even before it had become clear that she could never have it. It made it much easier to accept yet another thing that would not be.
She had never cared about whether she looked pretty – until someone made her want to care.
Until Fiyero.
Until tonight.
She wanted to be pretty for him. But it had still felt impossible.
He’d done so much for her, tonight alone. She wanted to give him something too; but she didn’t have much to offer. She hadn’t even been able to look at him as she slipped out of her dress.
She didn’t hate her body. Far from it. Her figure was the result of fighting for what was right. She looked the way she did because she was determined to stand up for what she believed in; come what may and hell to pay.
But there were drawbacks. She’d gotten used to sleeping in fits and starts and going days without a full meal.
Half of her was stronger than ever and half of her was wasting away.
All this to say, she wasn’t healthy.
And she certainly wasn’t pretty.
Yet she had seen something in his eyes, when she told him not to lie: pain; like knowing she felt that way about herself hurt him. And when he’d told her she was beautiful, she’d almost believed him.
Yes, Glinda had said the same thing in their room the morning after the party at the OzDust Ballroom, after she’d slipped a flowered clip into her hair; but it felt different here. With Glinda she had felt pretty and, yes, even loved in a way she had not before. But here, she felt desired.
When Fiyero had kissed her, Elphaba felt as if she were floating on air the same way Nessa had been earlier that day.
Had it only been that morning? It felt like a lifetime ago.
She never thought she’d be a woman anyone would want to sleep with, let alone make love to. But she knew, without a doubt that was what had happened.
Because after they had fallen into bed together, she had believed she was beautiful.
She was lying in bed with a man who thought she was beautiful, who threw life as he knew it away so that he could show her how beautiful he thought she was.
It felt bizarre in the most perfect way possible.
The entire day had honestly felt like one long quixotic dichotomy. Fiyero had helped her escape, even though it was the exact opposite of his job. He’d left Glinda, even though he was hers.
But the world was sparkling and her life was beautiful in a way it had never been before. Elphaba didn’t know how long it could last, so she would grab it and hold fast for as long as she could.
“Are you upset?” she whispered. “That I wanted to keep my clothes on?”
Even after falling into bed, even after Fiyero had shed all his clothes, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do the same.
Her cardigan had slipped off her shoulder occasionally, but she hadn’t taken it off completely. And she hadn’t ever made a single move to remove her slip.
It was short enough that doing so hadn’t been necessary anyway.
She felt free, but at the same time, she’d never felt so self-conscious; still fighting to stay a caterpillar even as he drew her out and made her a butterfly.
“Not at all,” one of his arms snaked around her shoulder, drawing them closer together, and the other gently stroked her cheek.
She believed him. Recent events made it clear she would believe anything he told her.
But she still felt the need to elaborate.
“I just supposed Glinda – ”
“– and I have done nothing more than kiss,” he interrupted. “And never in private. This whole thing was all for the public.”
“Even for her?”
Glinda had seemed devastated when they’d left together. Fiyero had all but left her at the altar.
From the moment Fiyero had arrived at school, Glinda had had her eye on him. They hadn’t known each other for twelve hours, had shared one dance, maybe a couple of kisses, and she’d already started planning their wedding.
Elphaba was sure tonight wasn’t what Galinda had expected so long ago.
And yet… she had ditched him at the ball to go home with Elphaba. She’d tagged along to the Emerald City. Even though she’d complained about him not paying attention to her not five minutes before jumping on the train, she’d still left him behind that day.
Maybe Glinda had been more upset at her than she was at Fiyero for tonight. Oz, Elphaba hated that thought, but it did make sense.
“You two will make up,” Fiyero assured her, like he could read her mind.
She liked to think she was good at guarding her feelings, but if there was anyone who would be able to tell what she was thinking, it would be him.
She hoped so. She couldn’t stand the thought of losing Glinda, so soon after they’d been reunited. She loved her. But she wouldn’t deny – even to herself, even now – that, in running away the way they did, she and Fiyero had treated Glinda very unfairly.
“I would never ask you to do something you weren’t comfortable with,” he continued, circling back to her initial question. “And I don’t need to see your body to know you’re beautiful, Fae.”
He said it so gently, wrapping it around her as softly and tenderly as he had held her during their lovemaking.
“Fae?”
“You don’t like it?” The hand on her jaw stilled. “I mean, I –”
“No, I love it,” she reassured him. She had never thought one single-syllable word whispered in the space between them could make her feel so cherished.
“It just… surprised me.”
“You’ve never had a nickname?” he sounded amused. “Other than Elphie, of course?”
“Dulcibear called me Fabala, sometimes,” she answered, smiling wistfully.
She felt a pang of hurt thinking about her old nanny; the way she’d disappeared into the tunnel with all the other Animals; the only one who hadn’t immediately turned on her after learning about what she did to the Monkeys.
They would never see each other again.
“So did Nessa, when she was young and Elphaba was too hard to pronounce,” she continued. “But it’s just a variant. Not very unique.”
Her father had never called her Fabala. But then again, he did his best not to call her anything at all. When he did, it was because he had to; and more often than not he used her full name, so he could pretend he was accusing her of something every time they had to speak.
Elphaba was not sad he had died.
“I guess that’s what comes from being named after a saint,” she added wryly.
“A saint?”
“Saint Aelphaba of the Waterfall,” she answered; though she wasn’t expecting that to mean much – if anything – to Fiyero.
He blinked; but not out of recognition. He was suddenly awkward, as if he’d been reminded of something uncomfortable at the mention of the centuries-old mystical woman.
Determined to make him think about something else, she drew ever closer and rested her hand on his chest.
“Don’t worry,” she laughed. “I know I could never be a saint.”
“You could never be a witch, either,” he said softly, seeming a little brighter. “But actually, it was the part about the waterfall…”
“What about it?”
“People have been spreading a lot of rumours about you,” he sighed.
She arched an eyebrow. “And?”
She wasn’t sure why Fiyero was worried. Yes, knowing there were rumours being spread about her was painful. But she was no stranger to rumours. Even before she’d flown away with the Grimmerie that day, gossip had followed her. As a child. A teen. A student at Shiz.
People pointing at her and sneering, or talking just a little too loudly to be normal when they knew she was within earshot.
Whispers they wanted her to hear.
“They believe water will melt you,” he finished, somehow managing to look both sickened and contrite.
Elphaba scoffed: “Because I’m so evil that everything inside me dried up long ago and contact with liquid at all would do me in?”
Oz, people were stupid.
But now his comment back at the palace made sense. Why else would the guards comply with an order for buckets and buckets of water? Unless they thought it was the prime way to get rid of Public Enemy Number One.
She could see another flash of anger in Fiyero’s eyes. Anger on her behalf. Another sign he hated the way the world treated her.
A sign that… he loved her?
Did he love her?
It was so easy to imagine that it was so hard to believe.
“For the record, that’s false,” she added. She could’ve walked through a waterfall as easily as her namesake and not be harmed at all.
“Of course it is Fae,” he leaned forward and kissed her, long and slow. “You’re too good for it to be possible.”
“Say it again,” she whispered. She shuffled to rest her head on his shoulder, so close that his voice was right next to her ear.
“Fae.”
She closed her eyes and sighed. It sounded more beautiful every time she heard it.
All the other names she had gone by over the years paled in comparison. Not that any of them had ever meant that much to begin with. Every single one was incredibly common; all just variants of Elphaba – interchangeable with her actual name.
Even Elphie – Glinda said it with only sincere love and affection of course – was just a very basic diminutive of her name, not all that different from Nessa for her sister.
But this…
Elphie. Fabala. Fae. One of them was different.
Fae had no connection to her name. Fiyero had chosen it, for her, and her alone.
“I saw you that day,” Fiyero mused, his finger tracing a lazy pattern on Elphaba’s shoulder. “When I was searching through here after you wrote your message in the clouds.”
“I saw you too,” she replied. She tried not to look sad. There was nothing to be sad about now.
When he’d told the other guards that they couldn’t rest until they found the wicked witch, she had broken; as much as she would allow herself to break, anyway.
She didn’t know how, but she had convinced herself Fiyero would never do something like that; never stand alongside the Wizard; never think of her as a witch.
Seeing him pointing a gun around her hiding place had sent her crashing back to reality, and she had immediately started telling herself of course he would do something like this. After all, she had no way of knowing how much Glinda told him about their trip to the Emerald City. If she had told him anything.
If Glinda, with her pampered upper-class lifestyle, couldn’t resist the allure of a life next to the Wizard despite knowing full well how horrendible he was, why should Fiyero be any different? He was also rich and privileged and used to living in luxury.
“Oh Fae,” he moved his finger to under her chin and tilted her face so she was looking at him. “I’m sorry; I –”
“Why didn’t you do anything?” she interrupted. “Wasn’t capturing me your job?”
“I couldn’t take you in then,” he insisted. “Not with the others there. They would’ve locked you up immediately.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My goal was to find you,” he continued. “But nobody needed to know it was simply to see you again, not to capture you. To see you and… tell you I love you.”
I love you.
She thought you’re beautiful was beautiful; thought Fae was beautiful.
But no one had ever told her they loved her. It was yet another thing she’d accepted she’d never get – even platonically. Hearing someone tell her they loved her romantically felt unfathomable.
But it had happened. It was real. He loved her.
Fiyero loved her.
How had she ever thought anything bad about him?
This silly rich boy, who had appeared and dragged everyone off to worship him at some cultish social gathering, was willing to throw life as he knew it away, to be with her.
To be with her.
It was a tiny bit unsettling knowing he’d been chasing her the way he had; but given the circumstances, it made sense. And nestled in his arms the way she was, she couldn’t fault him for it.
Besides, had she not done the same thing? She hadn’t said anything, but Nessa had been right when she challenged her motive for crashing the wedding, saying it was about Fiyero.
She had hoped to help the Animals; to expose the Wizard. But deep down she knew her sister was right.
She’d gone there for him.
Love makes hunters of us all.
“I love you too.”
He shifted, forcing her to sit up as well and face him straight on.
“I want you to know, that I’m not going back to them,” he said seriously. “No matter what happens next.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. She could feel tears forming in her eyes. “That means a lot.”
It was after all, not a matter of if, but rather when. They both knew he was never going to be respected the same way he was before, no matter what happened tomorrow.
But knowing that wouldn’t make a difference to Fiyero; that even if the Wizard and Madame Morrible wanted him back in some capacity, he would refuse, meant more to Elphaba than she had expected.
“When I heard that rumour about water, I was furious,” he explained. “I wanted to leave. Had Glinda not been there, I would’ve.”
She could sense his anger – this time at himself – and it hurt to see, in the same way it hurt him to see her put herself down.
As hard as it was seeing the two people she loved the most so close to the two people she hated the most, Elphaba understood it wasn’t easy to get out of situations like that once you were in them.
Especially when you cared for the person standing next to you, who didn’t want to leave the same way.
Maybe Fiyero could’ve done something different. But if he’d done what he did to find her, and for the reasons he claimed, it seemed like it had been merely a very messy way of doing the right thing.
She’d told him once she was a commotion. What was one more disaster?
But she couldn’t let him continuing thinking this way; not when he was the reason that, as long as she lived, she’d never feel quite so bad about herself.
Maybe the way things had gone down tonight was the way it was always supposed to for them.
He’d cornered her once she was already inside the palace. While she’d had her broom against the Wizard’s windpipe, he’d had a gun trained on her with the rest of the Gale Force behind him, waiting for a command.
After all but pushing the Wizard back into whatever cage like area he had in the room, Fiyero had handed her back the broom, a clear indication that if he had anything to say about it, she wouldn’t be staying there.
She’d been one movement away from capture, and he’d sent everyone else out of the room so she could escape.
And then – astonishingly – he’d followed.
“Don’t worry about it,” she whispered. “Not now. You’re a hero.”
“I’m not,” he shook his head adamantly. “I could’ve found you on my own. Instead, I joined forces with those monsters. They’re the wicked ones. Not you.”
“I got out because you found me,” she said, cupping his face in her hands. “You’re my hero.”
If it had been any other guard who had caught her, she would no doubt be on her way to Southstairs right now. They wouldn’t put their most wanted fugitive anywhere other than the most impenetrable prison in the land.
They’d eventually have realised the water thing was stupid and false, and with the Grimmerie on her person, there would be no need for torture. They would’ve simply sent her off to be locked up as tight as the Animals in that hidden room Chistery had shown her.
And if you went into Southstairs, they said, you didn’t come out.
“Yero, my hero.”
Maybe that was just as basic a nickname for him as all the ones she’d had as a child.
But it was solely hers – and solely for him.