Chapter Text
Fiyero sat at the lone desk in the back of his spacious office. The paperwork he’d been putting off was piling high, and he could no longer afford to ignore it. Five men had transferred out of the Gale Force, and he had to handpick their replacements. Trying to determine who was lackluster amongst the exceptional was an arduous task. One of the men had graduated top of his class and applied when the Gale Force was first established. Fiyero was so behind. The dish of hard candy caught his eye, and he reached for another sweet.
Outside, the storm raged on. Amplified by the mountains, the wind battered the town in a deluge of rain. The rolling thunder told him it would be some time before it broke. His men were probably out drinking somewhere, enjoying the free time. Nothing could keep them from the local dives. Fiyero preferred to keep his distance. He couldn’t stand their sneers about the Wicked Witch. His Elphaba. He tried not to think about all the sordid things they’d spout in their drunken rants.
Fiyero struck an X on the application and put it aside, preparing to look at the others. He didn’t need to check how late it was. He could feel it in his body. The dizziness that set in his chest and the tiredness in his eyes. But he couldn't sleep tonight. Not now.
Fiyero adjusted the light on the paper in front of him. A man from Quadling Country. Seventeen. Seemed inexperienced enough.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the window and bleaching the sheer curtains in an unnatural glow. The light deepened the hardwood floor to blood red. Thunder snarled overhead, the sound cut through the building and engulfed the room. The sound was unmuffled and raw like a scream that refused to be silenced. It left him with a hollow feeling as if it were his own.
These were the types of storms that moved across the Vinkus. When he was younger, he’d sit and watch the lightning dance across the sky. They were never this bad in the Emerald City. A familiar ache grew in his chest as he thought of home. He hadn’t been back since his days at Shiz. His parents hadn’t made it to the wedding, but they’d written their wishes.
The lamp sputtered, whining as it fought to stay on.
Fiyero stood, rubbing his eyes as he crossed to the fireplace at the front of the room. Leaning against the mantel, he watched as the flames lashed the logs. The smell of Munchkin Musk reached up to his nose. It was Glinda’s idea to use a more fragrant-scented wood for their rooms back at the palace. The winters were becoming increasingly hard, and it was her way of keeping their rooms smelling nice. He didn’t care for the unnatural aromas, much preferring the natural smell of the Quoxwood in the wilderness. His father took him on hunting trips far west. The night he first learned to shoot, he told him stories about an old hag that lurked in the woods.
He gave a sad sigh. Glinda did indulge him with some of the Vinkus scents. Though they were far from perfect, he still appreciated them when his homesickness hit the hardest. The Wizard even invented a way to ignite colored flames. Green being Glinda’s (and his) most favorite.
Still, Fiyero returned to burning Munchkin Musk. The name was evocative of nocturnal affairs. The scent dark and heady. Ambers curved like limbs, whittling down the kindling to a mess of char and ash. Fiyero leaned in deeper, allowing himself to be entranced by the scent of jasmine. The scent of her skin carring as Elphaba caressed his cheek. Enveloping as he smothered himself in her neck.
He shut his eyes against the sting of smoke.
That night.
———
He’d been fighting with Glinda and decided to stay at the embassy residence, where his parents stayed for business. It was easier to come and go without being questioned. Working with the Gale Force, he still frequently went out on his own to chase leads where Elphaba was seen. That was when he was still hopeful.
Elphaba barged her way in from the balcony like a vision. Her hat falling as her broom fell to the ground. Her breath wild as if she’d just been on the run of her life.
“Elphaba?” he gasped, nearly in panic when he saw the scuffs and dirt that caked her clothes.
He ran to her, capturing her in a vise-like embrace as if she would just as quickly disappear. She smelled strongly of pine, and something in her hair stabbed his cheek. Fiyero didn’t care. The last time he’d seen her felt like a lifetime ago; he wasn’t going to let anything stop him from holding her.
Elphaba stood stiff, arms trapped between them, only trembling as she allowed herself to be buried into his chest. Fiyero frowned, drawing back to take note of the way she held her arm as if nursing a wound. The jacket sleeve was tattered, her skin peaking through the weakened leather.
He reached up, caressing her arm.
Fiyero could still see she was shaken from whatever had happened. Roving militias were organizing to hunt her down. Besides issuing statements against it, there was nothing he could do. Had they done this? He shuddered to picture her caught under their barbed nets.
“This way,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
Fiyero guided her to the bathroom, Elphaba’s slow steps making him assume the worst.
“Let me take this off,” he coaxed, lowering her to the edge of the tub, needing to see what he was working with.
At first, Elphaba looked away, down to where one of the jacket buttons hung by a thread. The smear of clay looked too much like blood.
“Please,” he brushed her cheek, drawing her gaze.
Finally, Elphaba nodded, Fiyero closing the space between them to untie the cloak. She swallowed as his knuckles grazed her neck. The garment was heavy, resilient despite being weathered by wind and rain. He hoped it took the brunt of the attack.
Letting it fall around her, his hands went to the buttons of her jacket. Her body braced as if too afraid to let him see.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, forcing down his own panic. Whatever she faced, he would help her through it.
Carefully, he opened it, taking in the sight of her green skin, the most he’d ever seen. But he stopped seeing the bruise below her ribs, partially obscured by her body suit. There were other cuts and scrapes, but those were only minor.
“What’s the diagnosis?” she asked quietly when Fiyero didn’t respond.
“Some cuts and bruising,” he sighed, helping her shrug the rest of the jacket off.
Below her elbow, Fiyero could see the impression of the rope around her arm. Blood striped the skin from where the friction broke the surface. He ran his hand over it, the shallow wounds smearing slightly. It wasn’t deep, but that didn’t matter. They’d done this. Someone had gotten close. Enough to almost capture her. His eyes went back to the bruise, and his throat tightened.
“I don’t think it’s broken.” She said, rolling her wrist.
Fiyero nodded, relieved.
“Let me get something for it.”
Fiyero let a cloth warm under running water while he looked through the cabinet for some bandages and disinfectant, making sure to grab something that wouldn’t burn.
Once the water warmed, he returned with the cloth.
“It was a trap,” she said, growing still. Looking down, he could see some scuffs on her legs, though they didn’t appear to be bleeding. Fiyero didn’t push her to elaborate. He’d know eventually. Someone would be more than happy to brag about how they’d almost captured the Wicked Witch.
He pressed the cloth to the broken skin.
“You escaped, and that’s all that matters,” he said, his voice deadly quiet.
She didn’t respond, frowning as he wrapped the towel around her arm.
Reaching up, Fiyero picked a twig from her hair, brushing a few long strands back from her face. In the stark light, he could see how different she was. Her eyes shadowed, lines of worry etching her face where there was always quiet peace. A look he’d caught more than once when they were surrounded by friends or when she was buried in a book.
She watched him curiously as his fingers lingered, stroking the loose strands of her braids. The kinks like rosebuds among the soft curls at her roots. Elphaba’s temple flexed, her breath cooling the inside of his wrist, eyes glinting.
Fiyero quickly removed his hand, leaving to reheat the cloth, and returned to tend to the cuts on her body, the abrasions clearing to a fleshy pink. Once the towel cooled, he held it against the bruise, applying enough pressure to soothe the pain.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, feeling the tenderness under the rag.
“No,” she said, shaking her head, “not as much as before.”
His own body eased as it set in that this was the worst of her injuries. He applied the hydrogen peroxide over the areas he saw pink. The more he dabbed, the more her body relaxed, the full weight of her arm now resting in his hands. It pained him to think of all the other times she wasn’t so lucky. How she’d had to tough it out all on her own. Was this the first time someone had ever helped her?
Fiyero was interrupted from his spiral at the brush of her fingers on his side. The steady contact a much-needed anchor.
He’d felt that touch giving her the poppy. Her fingers curled around his as she took it from his hands. He’d told himself it was just a farewell present, but deep down it was a confession. A symbol of how much his thoughts revolved around them in that forest.
Madame Morrible was clear she was an enemy, but all he could picture was Elphaba comforting the Lion Cub. She would never cause harm to a living thing, let alone another Animal. The only thing Fiyero feared from her was her sharp wit (even then, there were times he enjoyed it when she eviscerated him), but under it all was a gentle soul who couldn’t help but see and wished to be seen. She’d seen through him that night they first met in the forest. Even when his reply had left her speechless, he could see her mind calculating. He knew she was going to be a challenge, and next time she’d have his work cut out for him.
When he had the rare dream, he was lying beside her. Her fingers curling around the shell of his ear as they sat under a starry sky. Despite seeing the deepest part of him, she didn’t flinch away. Just a tender smile at finally seeing the real him she knew was there. Now that was his most cherished memory.
Looking at her now, she was as small as he remembered. All the propaganda that bombarded him did nothing to change how he viewed her. How could it? The woman who, with a few words, broke the mask he tried to hide. Who saw that despite all the smiles and pretenses, was drowning while in a crowded room. For five years, he’d searched for her, and now here she was. In that time, her eyes now shone a weariness from isolation, once again desperately wanting to be seen.
Once Fiyero finished wrapping the gauze, they launched into each other's arms. Tears escaped his eyes as Elphaba hugged him back, the full weight he’d been carrying falling away.
“Oh, Elphaba,” his voice thick with relief. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“You were?” Her voice broke with surprise.
Was that really so hard to believe? He’d never stopped looking. How could he when she was in constant danger? When at any moment he might receive word that she was dead?
Fiyero held her tighter to reassure them both.
The threat of that news kept him up at night. Some mob finding her and enacted their own twisted justice. How much time had he wasted not telling her how much she meant to him? How seeing him for who he really was was the first act of love he’d felt in a long time. Then maybe he would have gone with her. Maybe he could have stopped everything from happening. Maybe he could have been with her instead of her having to fight alone.
Fiyero’s breath hitched as he was suddenly aware of the position they were in. Pulled into his arms, she partly knelt between his legs. Holding her tightly, he felt her racing heartbeat pierce through his shirt. He remained frozen, his thoughts too loud.
Elphaba’s hands slid to the center of his chest, pushing her inches from his face. Fiyero’s breath held as the space between them became too sacred. The beauty marks speckling her skin were a constellation he’d memorized. Each one in its place, with new specs orbiting around the old.
Slowly, Elphaba stood, and his gaze followed her, his chest aching as her breath washed over him. Even in shadow, her eyes captured his. Fierce with a perception that made them glow with their own inner light. Overhead, the lamp illuminated his face. Even if he wanted to, Fiyero wouldn’t be able to hide. Why would he want to?
Before he could say anything, Elphaba’s lips crashed into his. Her lips finally giving him permission to breathe. The kiss was slow, overwhelming, as he poured everything else that had been left unsaid. He loved her. He always had. From their first meeting to seeing her at the Ozdust. A bit of her reminding him of who he used to be.
Elphaba didn’t pull away, her lips becoming more passionate as her hand slid down his hip.
Fiyero broke away, gasping for air.
“Are you okay?” he asked, clasping her hand, trying not to think about how that made him feel.
Elphaba panted, closing her eyes as she leaned into him. Their noses brushing with her nod.
“I thought—” she stopped, her voice trembling.
Fiyero pulled her against him.
“I know,” he whispered, nuzzling her cheek. “You’re here, and you’re safe.”
Elphaba held him tighter, placing a lingering kiss on his neck. Fiyero savored the feeling. He’d dreamed about her, dreamed about this, but a part of him worried that she wasn’t in the right frame of mind. How much of this was from nearly dying? There was no doubt that she loved him, yet it felt strange crossing that line. And he was still worried about her injuries.
Fiyero ran his hands over the well-worn lattice of her clothing, loving that she could make something so elaborate. His fingers found the bruise, causing her to pull back.
“It’s swelling,” he said, tracing the size.
“From crashing down a hill,” her voice a little defensive.
Fiyero’s brows furrowed. There’d been rope, that much he knew, but falling? From her broom? He’d arrest every last one of them and throw them in the darkest dungeon.
“Hey,” Elphaba said, grabbing his chin. “I’m okay.” Her fingers thumbing the stubble along his jaw. The shaken look in her eyes was gone, replaced with a familiarity that eased him somewhat. In the mixtures of green, he could see a shadow of shame.
Fiyero stood, wrapping his arms around her. The feel of her solid form making him smile.
“Fae, I’d fix a papercut if you let.” He never wanted her to think she shouldn’t be here. That coming here was burdensome.
Elphaba cackled, freed from years of being trapped. Fiyero’s smile widened as he joined with his own steady chuckle, pulling her tighter. He’d missed it so much; to finally feel it in his bones was dizzying.
In that moment, everything fell away. No Wizard, no mobs—it was just them. She was just a beautiful sorceress and he a prince, both hopelessly in love. Falling into their old selves and shedding the masks that had been forced upon them. Their laughter melted into a kiss, one she was more than eager to continue. Fiyero’s hands were careful, while her fingers dug into his hair, burning away the last of his restraint.
———
Fiyero forced himself to stare into the searing glare of the fire. That night was twelve months and thirteen days ago.
Elphaba was gone the next morning without a word, the spot beside him grown cold. He knew better than to check, but check he did. The rooms and the bathroom, empty. He’d walked back, growing numb as he sat back down, her scent still there. The sinking rejection left him hollow. It was only then that he felt it. Her red ring she’d pressed onto his finger. Fiyero blinked back tears as he turned his hand over, the color glowing from the morning light. She wasn’t coming back.
He tried to rationalize it, but she was long gone, leaving before daybreak. He had told her he’d leave with her, that he’d go to the ends of Oz to be where she was. Had she dismissed it as passionate declarations?
Fiyero had told her that he loved her. She’d repeated it. Was that not enough? Was he not enough?
Had she thought he hadn’t changed? That he was just some prince who couldn’t take anything seriously? Those thoughts followed him as he tracked her across Oz, weighing on him most when he questioned Animals. He would have thought they’d have something, but they insisted they knew nothing.
You can’t be trusted.
The repeated thought picked at his deepest wound. Of course, all they saw was a failed prince who was working for the government. Whether or not he could convince them, Fiyero still helped when he could. Telling them a raid was coming or using Feldspur to smuggle messages between towns. It helped quiet his thoughts.
Fiyero visited Munchkinland, but Nessa once again was no help. In her eyes simmered an enticing callousness of one left behind to pick up the pieces. He felt it lingering at the back of his mind, ready to pounce. She just used you, like all the others. No, he wouldn’t allow himself to wallow in such bitterness and lies.
After having her, this new reality felt like clutching sand. His men hated him, constantly making them run exercises that pushed them to exhaustion. Fiyero didn’t care. Using them was too high a risk. Glinda was worried, fearing he was driving himself mad. But he wasn’t mad. He was the most rational he’d ever been.
Seeing her, he knew she was real. Holding her, he’d grasped the mirage. If she’d found him, he could find her again.