The night is gnawing cold and starless, but there's the heat of him at her back, his arms close around her waist. She knows he's only trying to keep from falling, but no one has ever held her like this before.

The wind tosses them like leaves. They fly for hours. Once she swears that he whispers her name against her ear, his breath hot and his hands tightening, and for just a moment she lets herself think: maybe.

When she sees the smoke rising through the treetops, she pitches the broom down, relenting to gravity. Elphaba weaves expertly through the bare branches. These are the things she's learned, these last lonely years: how to run. How to hide.

The clearing is small: a little vegetable garden, fenced, well tended in the summer; a sturdy two-room cottage built by paw a generation ago. She hops off the broom as soon as they land, but it takes Fiyero a moment to get up. There's a cut on his forehead where he must have been scraped by a branch. The blood is already dry.

He stares at her, dazed and breathless. "Where are we?"

"A friend's," she says quietly. "We'll be safe here."

He stays close on her heels as she approaches the door. It's old and rough-hewn, and she hesitates for just a moment before she knocks. She knows the danger she brings to this house tonight.

An old Bear answers the door in a pink floral nightgown, and Elphaba gently pushes Fiyero behind her, out of view.

"Miss Elphaba!" Garnet's voice is a low rumble. She sets a heavy paw on Elphaba's shoulder, pulling her into something like a hug. "The things we've heard lately," she says softly. "I was worried sick."

"I know. I'm sorry I couldn't get in touch sooner." Elphaba bites her lip. "I need somewhere to stay tonight. And it's…a bit more complicated than usual."

She takes a step back and pulls Fiyero into the light. Garnet's dark eyes take him in. She wishes they'd been able to get him into something — anything — other than that uniform, but they'd done the best they could.

Whatever she's thinking, the Bear gives a short nod and waves them inside. "Any friend of yours," she says firmly. "Come, sit down."

The furniture in Garnet's house is far too big for humans. Elphaba's feet hang down off the chair; Fiyero's just skim the ground. The Bear sets out a a still-warm loaf of bread, and Elphaba barely hesitates before tearing off a piece with her hands. She can't remember the last time she ate.

In the warmth of the cottage her shivering subsides, and she lays her cloak and hat over the back of the chair. When the kettle sings, Garnet pours the tea and joins them at the table.

As they settle in, the Bear glances speculatively back and forth between them. After a few moments she says, looking at Fiyero, "It was you."

Fiyero tilts his head, questioning.

"There have been rumors about a member of the Guard," Garnet continues, her voice lower still. "A traitor to the Wizard, releasing Animals from custody, warning them of raids. For years now."

He doesn't say a word in response. Elphaba's face flushes. She'd heard those rumors too, now and again, but never for a moment had she thought—

"There are all kinds of rumors these days," Fiyero says, giving Elphaba a pointed look. She flushes deeper, wondering what he's heard about her. What he believes.

Garnet inclines her large head. "Indeed."

Outside the wind sings through the trees. Elphaba knows she isn't safe here — that she'll never truly be safe again — but in this warm cottage, miles away from her enemies, she lets herself breathe.

In this warm cottage, with Fiyero sitting across from her, so close she could reach out and touch him. It feels like he's visiting her from another life, from some parallel universe where she made drastically different choices.

The lion cub skittering away from the light. Fiyero's hand in hers. The flowers he brought her, that last fateful day. I'm going with her, he'd said earlier tonight, and Elphaba doesn't expect to live very long, but even if she makes it to a hundred she'll never forget the betrayal written all over Glinda's face.

Don't think about Glinda, she tells herself for the hundredth time tonight. Don't think about your best friend — your only friend. Don't think about what you've taken from her; don't think about what you've lost.

Glinda isn't here. But somehow, impossibly, Fiyero is.

In silence they drink their tea. Every time she glances up, Fiyero is looking at her. No, not looking — staring, bold and unrepentant. Her breath catches every time. She still can't believe that he's here.

Around them the night grows darker. Garnet starts tidying up the room, laying out a thick stack of blankets and mattresses on the floor before the fire.

"Please, don't go to any trouble—" Elphaba begins, but Garnet cuts her off.

"It's the least I can do."

Fiyero's eyes on her again, sharp and curious.

Garnet must see it, too. "Miss Elphaba saved my son's life," she says. Fiyero leans in and Elphaba looks away, still unused to hearing herself discussed with anything other than dull revulsion. "She broke him out of prison. They would have killed him, just for—"

Elphaba interjects. "I hardly—"

"Don't even think it." The Bear sets down two pillows. "You don't mind sharing?" she asks, but it's barely a question. Is it so obvious? Elphaba wonders, but how could it be? This absurdly handsome man in the enemy's uniform — how could Garnet believe that he could be for her?

In the pause, Fiyero answers for her. "No," he says, his voice husky and low. Their eyes meet and it's suddenly hard for her to swallow.

"I'm off to sleep, then," Garnet says, and not for the first time, Elphaba wishes she were better at reading Animals' facial expressions. "Good night, Miss Elphaba. And Miss Elphaba's friend."

"Good night," Elphaba says, her voice bright. But as soon as the door closes, she presses her face into her hands.

—

Over his still-steaming cup of tea, he watches her. After a moment she rubs her temples and looks up at him again. "We'll have to leave before sunrise. I've stayed here before. Someone could come looking."

He nods, silent. Where can they go? Nowhere in Oz is safe for her, not now.

"Fiyero—" she begins, but whatever she was planning to say, she stops herself. There's an ache and an urgency in her voice that unmoors him. What if she wants you, too? he wonders. He's barely allowed himself that possibility. It's been so many years.

In the dim light of the cottage, sparks dance in the darkness of Elphaba's eyes. They were one of the first things he noticed about her — after her skin, of course, he's not so different from everyone else. Darker than a moonless night in the Vinkus and depthless; her eyes had seen through him in an instant. Or you wouldn't be so unhappy.

Sitting here with her, in a stranger's home in the middle of nowhere, still in terrible danger, he thinks: I could be happy. Something else he hasn't allowed himself.

And now, faced with all kinds of previously impossible possibilities, he just says, "I've looked for you every day."

She tilts her head. The years have changed her. At Shiz she never stopped talking, not even for a moment; she was so full of ideas and restless energy. Now she chooses her words carefully and her silences stretch out long. Now he has to be the one to act.

Slowly, like she might startle, he reaches across the table to wrap his hands around hers. With his eyes closed her skin is just like anyone else's. He swallows hard.

Elphaba lets out a long breath. "All this time?" she asks.

He reaches up to brush his thumbs along the sides of her jaw, holding her face in his hands. She is warier now, thinner and worn; she is so beautiful it hurts to look at her.

When he leans in to kiss her, she meets him halfway. At first they are both gentle, uncertain, but then she sighs against his lips and he is lost. She opens to him, and it's torture to have the table between them so he gets up and pulls her to her feet, kissing her the whole time.

She catches his lower lip between her teeth, her hands tangle in his hair and come to rest looped around his neck. It's torture to have anything between them, even air. He collapses onto the stack of blankets, pulling Elphaba down with him. Her body settles over his. Nose-to-nose, her feet resting somewhere on his shins and every part of them touching. He feels like he's drunk.

He nips at her collarbone, then the space just behind her earlobe, and the sound she makes lights a fire inside him.

Glinda is — was, he realizes; he will never kiss her again, that part of his life is over — practiced and pliant and perfect, but Elphaba — Elphaba is a revelation. Fierce and bright. Her lips on his, her teeth and tongue, her hands tugging at his hair. The fire catches, and has he ever felt alive except when he's beside her?

He didn't know it could feel like this. He didn't know he could want someone so badly.

When he stops to breathe she's staring down at him, wide-eyed. He runs a hand down her side. The fabric there is stiff. "Like armor," he says, barely out loud, but her eyes only grow larger. He wants what's underneath, the heat and softness of her. He brushes a hand along the laces on the back and asks, carefully, "Can I…"

Elphaba bites her lip, then nods; her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen. They sit up together, her knees on either side of his hips, and he unlaces the corset and tugs it over her head. Beneath she wears a simple shift, dark gray, clinging just slightly to her breasts and hips. She's so much better than any dream he's ever had. When he smooths his hands down her sides, she shivers under his touch.

"The Wicked Witch," he echoes quietly. Torches in the street, men shouting from podiums, lies scrawled across the front page of every newspaper. His voice breaks. "Elphaba. How could they."

She's still breathless, but matter-of-fact. "The people need a common enemy. I was conveniently placed." She licks her lips, takes his hands in hers. "Fiyero, what are you doing?"

"Elphaba—"

"You can't throw away your whole future, not for—"

"Elphaba." He is insistent this time. "Before I met you, I'd never fought for anything." Her chin trembles, and she is so much older sharper stronger than he remembers, every perfect edge and hollow. He kisses her again, because he doesn't think he'll ever be able to stop. He says, "Let me fight for this."

By the time the fire burns down to coals her lips are bitten red and they are still mostly clothed, tangled in the blankets and each other's arms. They curl up against the cushions and he throws his arm over her waist, holding her to him like she might fly off into the night.

Back at Shiz if there'd been a yearbook category for it — Most Likely to Defy the Laws of Physics; Most Likely to Weaponize a Household Item; even just Most Likely to Learn to Fly — she'd have won it, hands down. Even before he really knew her, she was the most extraordinary person he'd ever known.

And now.

Her eyelids drift shut, dark lashes brushing her cheeks. Before she falls asleep she whispers, "Fiyero."

He winds his fingers through hers. "Yeah?"

"I didn't think anyone would save me." Her eyes are still closed. "I didn't think I could be saved."

He wants to say, I've loved you forever. He wants to say, You're the bravest person I've ever met; he wants to say, I'll follow you anywhere.

Instead he says, simply, "I've never thought you needed saving."

Elphaba brings their joined hands to her lips and exhales the heaviest breath he's ever heard. "Good night," she whispers.

And he promises, "I'll see you in the morning."