This story takes place post-musical, with some influences from the book.

It is dedicated to my dad and my aunt, who keep helping me buy theatre tickets despite the fact that I've probably spent way too much money on the show already.

And also, because disclaimers are the hip new thing to put at the beginning of your story: I don't own Wicked or related characters, etc. There, I said it, so kindly do not sue.

I was going to write something cool and meaningful up here, but I think I'd rather let the story just speak for itself.

Part One

Fiyero rolled over, mumbling under his breath. He reached out, still halfway asleep, but his fingers touched only cold, coarse sheet.

Instantly he was wide awake. "Elphie?" he sat up quickly. "Elphaba?"

There was no response. He half tumbled out of bed, frantically trying to shove the tangle of sheets off his legs. "Fae?" he called, lurching towards the doorway.

There she was, slumped over in the corner of the wooden chair, curled around a slightly crumpled old book. Fiyero let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Elphaba," he brushed her cheek and, still asleep, she flinched.

He cringed. He'd gotten used to the rough cloth and straw that made his hands, to the point where he could almost pretend like they were still his true flesh, but he'd forgotten how tough they were on Elphie's own green skin. "Elphaba," he grasped her clothed shoulder this time, "Fae, come back to bed."

"Fine here," she slurred, clutching the book tighter to her chest.

He knelt next to her, trying to ease it out of her grasp. "It's not yet dusk, Elphie. Come on, you need to sleep." He tugged on the book again and she jolted awake.

"Don't touch—oh, Fiyero," she leaned back into the chair again. "I'm sorry, I didn't… I mean, I only thought, I had this one idea and if I can find—"

"Elphie, we've been over this. Madame Morrible told you herself, there's no way to turn back a spell once you've cast it," Fiyero reminded her.

"And of course, Madame Morrible would never lie to me about something important, would she?" Elphaba returned, just as she always did. "There's a way to do it, I just have to figure it out."

"You don't know the consequences of reversing this!" Fiyero took the book from her hands and set it aside on the small coffee table between them and the fireplace.

"But if there's a possibility—"

"Elphaba…"

"Don't you at least want to try, Fiyero?"

No, he wanted to say. No, I don't. I just want us to make it out of this country, I want to make it far enough away that we can find our own happiness somewhere else. Somewhere better. Somewhere green skin and straw-filled limbs don't matter.

There was the lingering suspicion, festering in the back of his mind, that it was Elphaba herself who hated his new look, who could not love him as a scarecrow when he'd once been far more handsome, graceful, and smooth to the touch. This was ridiculous, of course—Elphaba had spent her whole life condemned by the difference of her skin. She surely had no objection to his own transformation.

"We'll have all the time in the world to decide that," he said diplomatically, silencing his doubts as always, "once we're out of Oz. And you can't travel if you haven't slept, and who knows the next time we'll be able to find a hotel as nice as this one?" Elphaba managed a half-suppressed snort of ironic laughter. "Come on, Elphie. While we've got a real mattress, we should take advantage of it."

She laughed. "I'm sorry, Fiyero. I guess you've never had to worry about finding an actual house with a real roof and proper heating for the night."

He shrugged. "Being Captain of the Guard came with benefits. But it doesn't do any good to have those things if you're just going to stay up all day reading." Fiyero rose to his feet and held out his hand to her. "You once told me you were wicked, but you haven't exactly been living up to your reputation lately."

Elphaba grinned—her title was no longer a sore spot between them. "Oh, now you're just trying to provoke me into doing something crazy. Lucky for you it's working." She took his hand, allowed him to pull her to her feet. "Back to the real mattress it is, then."

Elphaba jerked awake, and promptly reeled back from the beam of sunshine aimed directly between the window shades right into her eyes. She fell back on to the pillow, only vaguely aware of Fiyero's sleeping body just behind her.

Fiyero's rough, cloth covered sleeping scarecrow body.

Elphaba blinked very quickly several times before turning to look at him. His expression was serene, or maybe the intricacies of his features had just been lost to the straw and burlap. She reached out with her fingers and traced the edges of his nose. He didn't react to her touch. Maybe he couldn't even feel her.

Oh, how he must hate me.

Elphaba closed her eyes and tried not to picture the happy-go-lucky young prince who had once announced to her, "I happen to be genuinely self-centered and deeply shallow." He was so handsome and affable at Shiz; everyone loved him.

And now I've made him a freak. Like me.

Was she glad of this? Was she happy for Fiyero's misfortune? She didn't know. Certainly she was glad he was still alive to lie beside her now. She just wished she knew if Fiyero was as glad. Maybe living as a scarecrow felt like death already. It certainly didn't look like living.

She knew Fiyero did not blame her, believed she had done the right thing, was even grateful because he somehow thought she'd saved his life, despite his new fear of all things fiery.

Elphaba shoved the covers away—it had suddenly all become too much to carry. She hated this, hated her perpetual guilt, her desperate need for forgiveness that could not come as long as Fiyero insisted there was nothing to forgive.

I should have stayed.

The thought lingered constantly, refused to allow her a second of peace.

I should never have left Fiyero in that cornfield.

Elphaba struggled to her feet, her sweat burning into her skin. She fumbled with her cloak, her fingers stiff and sticky. She had to get out, she was smothering, she needed air. She couldn't quite grasp the door knob, finally shoved it open, stumbled into the hall.

The words came back, as though from a nearly forgotten nightmare.

You'd rather preserve your own freedom than your friends! You were scared. You couldn't bear to sacrifice it, not even for them.

She tried to force it away. Yes, well, who could?

You know who could, the ghost of a thought persisted. And who did.

Elphaba let out a cracked cry as she nearly tripped down the staircase in her eagerness to escape the stuffy hotel room that had become far too crowded with unnecessary words.

And you had the audacity to claim you loved him.

Elphaba finally burst out on the front lawn of the building, almost frantically clambering on to her broom. Could she never escape, never breathe?

I'm sorry Fiyero! she screamed silently as she hurtled into the sky.

Fiyero was tired of waking up alone.

He crawled out of the bed, taking a moment to double check the sheets for loose straw before pulling on his hat and shoes and pants, but not in that order. He straightened the hat point in the mirror and started into the main room, pausing for a moment by the window to check that it was truly moonlight outside, and not the sun.

"Moon's getting full, Elphaba," he said absently, and when there was no response, he turned around.

The room was empty, and her magic book lay still abandoned on the coffee table where he'd placed it during the day. He reached for it automatically as he crossed over to the bathroom and rapped twice on the door before pushing it open. "Elphaba?"

The small toilet chamber was vacant as well. Fiyero had to remind himself to breathe as he ran back to the bedroom. Elphaba's cloak was gone, as were her boots and her broom, so she'd probably just gone out to pick up some food. Unless she'd been captured by someone who believed her magic broom would work for anyone, and wanted to trying flying. But then, her book probably wouldn't still be here, right? Unless her broom was part of her legend but this new book was not.

Fiyero had to close his eyes and sit down. You're being paranoid, he told himself. Elphaba can take care of herself. She obviously left of her own volition. When she comes back, you can ask her to leave a note next time, but there's no sense in getting all worked up now because she's just off picking up supplies like she… never does…

Fiyero launched himself towards the door. He had to find her, if for nothing more than to soothe his own fears. He wrenched the door open just as Elphaba reached for the knob from the other side, putting them very awkwardly face to face so neither could move forwards.

"Where were you?" Fiyero asked finally, moving aside to clear the doorway for her. She brushed past him silently, and he peered out the door to make sure there was no one else in the hallway before shoving it solidly shut. "Elphaba?" he turned to face her again.

"I just went out for a minute. I feel like I haven't seen the sun in ages," was her unsatisfactory response.

"It's just—I didn't know where you were," he said lamely. "Let me know when you leave next time, please?"

"Sure," Elphaba's voice held no inflection. She stared out the window, her back to him.

He walked over and reached for her shoulder hesitantly. "Elphie? Is something wrong?"

She laughed at that and he started. She laughed with her whole body, bending at the waist and letting loose a long and bitter cackle "Just some old nightmares catching up to me, that's all," she said when she could finally regain a straight face.

"Nightmares?" Fiyero said carefully. "About what?"

The first time she'd had the nightmares, Fiyero had asked her what they were. She had tried to explain, but he'd only gleaned that they were about what had happened between her sister's death and their reunion before she'd had to stop. After that night, she'd never told him what had happened, what she'd done, and he had never asked.

That didn't mean he wasn't curious.

"Elphie?" he repeated.

She shook herself, as though she were only now waking up. "Same thing as always," she answered shortly, picking up her broom again. "Are we going tonight or what?"

"Yeah," he glanced around the room, mentally checking to make sure they hadn't left anything lying around. "Let's… let's go."

Post Script

If you also write fanfiction stories yourself, you know how amazing it is to get feedback. If you don't: well, it's very, very much akin to the feeling of someone giving you a sandwich after you've gone all day without food. This is my first Wicked fic, so anything and everything you can write in that little review box would be carefully considered and much appreciated.

On the flip side, I know sometimes I like to just read and appreciate without commenting until I've read the complete story. So even if you don't have the time to review right now, thanks for reading. =D