Yes. It is official. I am now the weirdest person on Earth. MUAHAHAHA!

Where did I get the inspiration for this? I saw Phantom of the Opera on Broadway recently, and I bought one of those special programs that are more books with a lot of the pictures of different casts in them. As I was putting it with my others, I took out my Wicked one and started flipping through it. I came across the line "Are people born wicked? Or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?" Thinking, I thought this could very well apply to the Phantom. Looking at a picture of Elphaba, I realized they are actually pretty similar characters, if with very different fates (at least in the musicals, which are admittedly the only thing I know. Please don't kill me. )

So yes, I am pairing up Elphaba/Phantom. I am calling him Erik, even though his name was never stated in the musical. This takes place after the events of Phantom of the Opera and in the years between act 1 and 2 of Wicked.

Running. That was how he had been spending his life, running and hiding from all those who could find him. The world was particularly harsh now without the cold, dark confinement of the opera house, where at least there he was feared and obeyed. There, he was a haunting ghost; now, he is only a mortal man. And no physical blade could pierce him as deeply as Christine Daae had, leaving him alone to run.

The wood was thick. His hands were scratched and bleeding over his ripped white shirt from digging through the thorns, and though he was a strong person, his muscles suffered with sharp aches. He didn't know if they were still looking for him or just assumed him to be dead; he prayed for the latter.

The moon shone white above him, the only light on his path. He didn't mind, however, as he was used to darkness. In fact he reveled in it, the ultimate mask to his deformed face.

Finally, his body forced him to stop moving. His mind begged him to keep running, just in case they were indeed chasing him, but the rest of him refused. He collapsed against a tree, breaths heaving. Suddenly, sitting only under the shelter of trees, he felt extremely exposed. He had left his mask behind, it carrying so many painful memories he wished to abandon. Still, now there was nothing to cover the face he hated so very much. Anyone with a simple lantern could discover what he was. He could not fall asleep, no matter how much he wished he could.

Then, his worries proved true.

Voices sounded in the distance, voice hunting something. No, voices hunting someone.

"Where are you? !" They screamed. His breath quickened. Someone who could very well be him.

"Come back, you freak of nature!" His eyes shot open. Someone who was definitely him. He tried to push himself up, but his arms couldn't find the strength to do so. His heart beat fiercely, his mind frantic with fear. His legs were able to stand, but he didn't have the energy to run. Each step greeted him with searing, aching pain. He was simply too tired to escape. It was times like these he would usually use a trapdoor or another mechanism of the opera house to escape, but alas, all he had were woods.

"Stop running, girl!" The voices shouted again.

Girl?

He paused, supporting himself with a tree. So it, strangely, wasn't him they were looking for. But if not him…then who?

All of sudden, he heard fast crackling of twigs behind him, steps getting closer and closer. Gasping, he pushed himself from the tree. How he wished he had more energy. He once again tried to run, but the approaching person was much faster. The cracking grew louder, the person coming very near.

Where do I go? He shouted in his head, fear, an emotion so unusual to him, bubbling up. Spying a bush, he prepared to leap into it, but was too late. Exploding through the trees, the person collided right into him, sending them both down.

The figure stood, panting breaths indicating they too had been running for a long while. He studied them further. It wore a long black cloak, covering their entire body. However, a feminine figure showed through, much to his surprise. So this was the girl they were speaking of.

A hood covered her face. She stared back at him, not immediately looking away like most do. She must not be able to see me in the darkness, he concluded, gripping the ground beneath him.

They sat there in silence, the crickets the only sound. That is, until she finally spoke.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked, "They are chasing me. They will find you too."

Her voice…it in itself was nothing special. Still, she was not speaking to him with scorn, disgust, or hatred, no. Instead, she was expressing genuine worry over him. It…it was amazing, relieving, even soothing. He knew it was because she couldn't see his face clearly, but it still made him feel better than he had for quite some time. Only one other person had ever spoken to him that way, and she was long, long gone.

"Who are you?" He asked. He knew it was not the time, but he truly wanted to know. He usually did not try to acquaint himself with strangers, but she was one of the only ones in the world to show him kindness and concern.

"We'll find you!" The voices were closer this time, much closer. She spun her head back, jumping up from the ground.

"No time." She said. Gripping her hands, she hastily searched around her, grabbing two long sticks from the ground. "They stole my broomstick, so these will have to do." Falling back to the ground, she spread her gloved hands wide and begun to whisper strange words of a very foreign language.

Anger began to boil up inside him. What was this girl doing? Gripping his fists, crawled toward her, ready to strike her away.

Just then, the sticks began to rise.

Startled, he jumped back. She sighed, pushing one of the sticks toward him.

"Get on."

He glanced at it, then at her. This was impossible. This must be a trick. He was an expert at sleight of hand and illusion; there was no way he would be fooled. Still, they were in the woods, she was nowhere near the stick, and she moved freely despite it staying perfectly level. He glared, even though she could not see. "I do not trust you." His deep voice grated against the words.

She swung her leg over her own stick. "Fine, then. You can come with me and fly to safety, or you can stay here and get caught by the people chasing me. Your choice." She stayed there, looking at him.

He grumbled to himself, hating her good reasoning, and climbed onto it. In a moment, she sped off into the night. He struggled to keep his grip, against the speed and his own amazement. His brilliant mind was baffled at how she could accomplish such a thing.

She, unlike him, however, seemed to be perfectly accustomed to flying, steering effortlessly through the trees. His mount followed hers, imitating every move.

"I feel so much better now." She shouted through the whistling wind around them. It slapped his face. "I didn't have time to do this earlier, but now we can definitely lose them without a problem."

He tried to stay balanced, but there was simply no way he could do it, especially given his little energy. His hands slipped down the stick, knots in the wood stabbing tiny pains into them. Squinting his eyes and holding his breath, he prepared to tumble down into the dark ground beneath him.

But as he was just about to let go, the girl slowed, and then landed. He fell to the hard but grassy ground with a thump, groaning deeply. She giggled, taking his arm and helping him back up. A kind giggle, not a taunting giggle. It sounded like tinkling bells.

"Let's stay here for a little while to rest." She said. "I'll make a fire…"

"NO!" He dove at her, gripping her arms and pinning her to the grass. "Don't you dare!" A fire made light. Light would reveal his face. He tightened her hold on her arms, knowing that he could break them if he wanted to.

She screamed, struggling against his grip. "Get off of me! I'll make you sorry! Do you think making things fly is the only thing I can do? !" She kicked her legs, then stopped. Her voice went deep and brooding, and she began to chant…

Sighing, he reluctantly let her go. He didn't know what she did to make those sticks soar like that, but he didn't want to find out, and, though he hated it, she did in fact scare him a bit.

"Why are you so opposed to a fire?" She asked, lifting herself from the ground and brushing the wet grass off her cloak.

He thought fast. "Fire creates smoke, which they could use to find us."

If he could see her expression through the hood, he would have sworn she was smirking at him.

"Not if the fire creates no smoke."

"Impossible." He foolishly said, as she seemed to take this as a challenge. Bending over, she spread her hands again, chanting once more.

No. She shall not see his face! Surely if she saw it, she would cease to be kind to him. He spun around, using the little regained strength he had to scamper off. He heard the cracking of a warm fire behind him, and it only urged him faster. He tripped and hit the ground, forcing himself back up again. Bits of grass flew from his body.

"What are you doing?" She called from behind. Standing, she ran after him, her own cloak blowing behind her. Knowing she was much faster, he surrendered, but gripped his head against the grass, obscuring his face. "What is wrong with you?"

"Don't look at me!" He wailed, resisting her efforts to pry his arm from his face. She sat back, breaths heaving. He could feel her eyes burning through him.

"What is up with you?"

"Is it light enough for you to see me?"

"Of course."

"Then I shall not look up."

"What are you trying to hide?" Her tone went softer, sympathetic. It relaxed him, just a little. "I can assure you it is unlikely to faze me."

"If I show you…" His breaths slow, his hands trembling. "You will undoubtedly abandon me."

"Of course I wouldn't." She laughed softly. A beautiful, beautiful laugh. "I could never abandon someone solely because of their looks. If you keep acting like this, though, I might."

He didn't want her to leave. He isn't sure what he'd do if she left. She, who was friendly yet stern to him, she who had helped him escape. She who, for a moment, made him forget about Christine.

Slowly and reluctantly, he removed his arm and looked at her, waiting for her to scream and run.

He heard her make a small yelp, her hand on her chest in shock. Still, it left just as fast as it arrived there, returning to her side.

"That?" She said, her voice wavering but genuine, "That's not…that bad."

He could only stare at her. How in all the heavens could she look at him, her gaze so strong, and not be terrified like everyone else? He must be dreaming. There was no way…

"Come to the fire. You'll catch your death of cold." She took his arm, to his further amazement, and dragged him back.

"Everyone I ever knew," He whispered, but loud enough for her to hear, "saw me as a monster, as an atrocity, as a…freak of nature. Why—"

"Did I not react that way?"

He paused. "Yes."

She fixed her gaze on him, something so alien to him it made him want to look away. He resisted that urge, however, and continued looking at the hooded girl.

She raised her fingers to grip the tips of her other hand's glove, stopping.

"Promise me you will not shout?" She asked, her worried voice yet another thing new to him. He nodded. He would do anything for her at this point.

Flinching, she slowly pulled off the black glove. He had to hold back a gasp. Her hand was a brilliant emerald green, unnatural and strange. She bent her fingers down, giving a small sob from inside the hood.

Suddenly, he felt reality return to him. "It's painted!" He snapped, knowing he must sound like an angry child, "You are lying!"

"Feel it."

He stopped in shock. She was actually asking him to touch her?

He let his hand move out to grip hers, expecting her to pull away at the last moment. Astoundingly, she didn't, and his fingers were able to feel hers. There was no rough crinkle of paint or residue of makeup, only bare, soft skin. She was truly green. He threaded around her fingers, not wanting to let go. He was touching the hand of a willing woman. He almost couldn't believe it, not after what happened with…the other.

She pulled back her hand, his mind shouting in desperate despair. He couldn't bear for her hand to leave!

However, she was simply pulling down her hood. Her emerald face shone through, large eyes meeting his. Shining black hair tumbled out as well; more gorgeously raven black than any hair he had ever seen.

"This is why." She mumbled.

"You're beautiful." He said truthfully. Despite her green skin, her face was quite attractive, eyes deep and passionate. His hands itched to meet hers again.

She groaned, rolling her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous." She looked down at the fire, which was burning without wood nor did it light the surrounding grass.

"I'm not." He touched his own deformed face. "I'm hideous. You're simply a different color."

She grinned, even though she obviously didn't believe him. Her eyes still at the fire, she lost herself in thought. Quietly, mindlessly, she began to softly sing.

Her voice was sweet and smooth, drifting over her breaths. He listened intently. Music was his only escape, his only method of slight happiness. Since he left the opera house, he had lost it. It returned to him, dark yet sparkling, coming out of a green lipped mouth. He unintentionally began to sing along with her.

She smiled again, singing louder. He did the same, his tenor mixing with her soprano.

And so their sweet music lived, filling up the hair like starlight. Pumping his blood through his veins, making him live again.

After not nearly enough time, she stopped. "That was nice."

"An understatement, my lady." He said so quietly she could not hear this time. Still, singing with her reminded him of singing with someone else, another beautiful girl with an equally beautiful voice…

"Christine." He whispered.

She glanced up at him quizzically. "Who's Christine?"

Who is Christine? How could he explain her without going into rage? How could she understand? "I…" He gulped, forcing the words out, "I…I loved her."

"I loved once." The girl admitted. "But he was in love with another girl. Pretty. Popular." She gave a weak smile. "Blonde."

"She…she was too. Rich. Stable." He paused. "Handsome."

"Hm." She giggled that amazing laugh again, her hand folded under her mouth. "I've been travelling the world, looking for a place where Animals can be safe. I seemed to have come too far; they don't even seem to be able to talk normally here at all!" She shook her head, frowning.

He dismissed her idea that animals could talk, how insane it may be. He's done much more insane things…some things he had come to regret. She was probably regretless.

"Why do you not go home?"

Her eyes trembled, obviously fighting back tears. "I…I'm hated. Extremely hated, actually. I don't even have my sister or best friend anymore."

She had a sister and even a best friend? She was green, she was "hated," but she managed to have a best friend? How is that possible?

"What about you?" She dried her shiny eyes. "Where are you from?"

He glared at her darkly. She nodded.

"I see you don't want to tell me."

"Indeed." So many horrible memories haunting him, returning to his now mortal mind. She nodded, gripping her hands together.

"I'm sorry."

"Do you have a mother or father?" He looked at her again, only to see a solemn face.

"Barely." She whispered, gripping her hands tighter, "My mother is dead, and my father hates me. My skin always disgusted him."

They sat silently there, listening to the fire crackle. They were so similar, he realized, so similar, yet so different. While she was kind and even seemingly a bit social despite her condition, he was the opposite. She was an incredibly strong person to stay that way. He could never imagine…as she combed through her hair with her long fingers, he dreamed of what it must be like to touch her, her face, her lips, her body…

"Do you have a name?" She asked him suddenly, dragging him out of his thoughts, "I just realized I don't know it."

"Where I am from, they called me the Phantom of the Opera." He answered her. She made a confused look. "But you may call me Erik."

"Where I am from, they call me the Wicked Witch of the West." She did smirk now, "But you can call me Elphaba."

"Elphaba." Erik repeated to himself. It was an odd but beautiful name, quite foreign.

Elphaba looked off to the sky, the stars twinkling in her eyes. "This has been a…mostly pleasant night, I must say." He smiled to himself. So the feeling was mutual. Softly, she began to sing again. He joined her, making up the tune as they went along. The magic lived again, dark and mysterious, like a wolf howling at the moon. She lay her head back, hair flowing down her arched stomach. Elphaba hummed on, swaying back and forth…eyes closed, chest out…

He reached forward and kissed her.

He had never done such a thing in his life. In fact, he had only been kissed once in his life, by Christine. But this…this was very different. It was by his own accord, and the feeling…it was an entirely new taste. Like tiny fireworks, like the world melted away around him. The feeling of a woman's lips on his was almost too much of a sensation for him to handle, an explosion of pleasure in one tiny touch. But just as soon as it started, Elphaba's hand shoved against his chest, pushing him away.

"T-too much," She shook her head violently, "No…not now." Anger churned with sadness in him, knowing that his face had a least bit something to do with it. She breathed heavily, but smiled. "It has been nice. Still, I'm not comfortable with that. I did enjoy myself, really, but that was just…that was just too much." Her face fell, "Besides, I have to return to Oz soon."

"Excuse me?" He squinted his eyes into a glare.

"I must return home tonight. It's a land very far away; I'm unfortunately unlikely to be able to return."

No.

No.

"You cannot leave." Erik growled. Surprised by his tone, she stood. He stood as well, facing her at eye level. "You cannot leave me."

"Sir, I—"

"No." She raised her arm to defend herself, but he simply grabbed it and held it. She winced in pain.

"I don't want to hurt you!" Elphaba pushed him back with her free arm, but he simply took that one two, forcing her against a tree. "But I will if I have too!" Her breaths were quick and frantic, more confused than frightened. His eyes were wild with primitive fury, his face tight in rage. His hands held her arms so tightly she could tell they were bruising.

"Don't leave me." His voice was low, scratching like rusty pipes rubbing against each other. She once again tried to squirm out of his grip, but he only pressed closer. Elphaba stopped struggling, eyes growing dark and her own anger shining through.

"Relika trosono elikan belai DIANTIN!" She screeched above the night. Like a lightning shock, pain shot through Erik's hands. He fell to the ground with a scream, holding his burning fingers. By the time he was able to bring his face up, Elphaba was already on her stick and speeding away, clearly with no intention of even looking back.

"No! Come back!" He cried after her, voice breaking.

She disappeared over the treetops.

This time, he collapsed in misery. Once again, he forced away a lovely woman, someone who may have loved him. He grabbed into the wet grass with his filthy hands, moaning with despair. Her land was far away; he will never see her again, the one person in the world who truly understood him. No, she did not. She could not. She didn't know the things he had done. She would have probably left him much earlier if she did.

Erik looked up to the sky. It lay out like a blanket above him, sprinkled with stars. The chilled air hung in silence, broken only by the tiny sounds of surrounding crickets. Leaves swayed in the soft breeze, rustling. Everything around him was at peace.

Slowly, his eyes shut. What was he still doing here? He should have left as soon as he could to find some form of shelter. Elphaba's fire had long gone out, and the cold bit his skin. He felt almost naked, sitting in that open field.

And then, a hint of the sun peeked over the horizon. The day was starting. The light was going to rip away the last scrap of protection he had left. He buried his face, the face he despised so deeply, in his hands. Just days ago he was the Phantom, a legend feared by all. A wizard. A god. And now, now he was nothing. Powerless. All he can do is hide.

He looked up once more, praying that Elphaba would be flying back to him; that she had changed her mind. She was not, of course. Why would he mock himself like that?

Christine.

He had not forgotten her. Not one bit. Elphaba hadn't replaced his pain; no, she had only heightened it. No one, not even someone just as strange as he, could love him, it seemed. Was it completely his fault? Possibly. Probably.

Forcing himself off the ground, he brushed himself off. It was back to running. There was nothing else.