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If The Shoe Fits

Disclaimer: I do not own Wicked. Or Firefly (that's gonna make sense about two paragraphs in).

Summary: Fiyero's found the girl of his dreams, only he has nothing to go by but a first name and her ungainly choice of footwear. She's beautiful and impassioned and just being around her makes him feel like he's finally awake. Only she's not quite all she appears to be. Fiyeraba. AU.

If The Shoe Fits – We Meet Again

Avaric frowned at his best friend, unmoved from the position he'd taken up nearly an hour ago. The position was not that much different from the one they'd been in a week ago. Once again the two of them were lazed languidly in Fiyero's central apartment, only now it had been stripped of everything but the two couches they lay upon. Additionally, Fiyero was not staring blankly into the distance but at a fragile looking glass slipper, which he held up to the sunlight, smoothing his hands over its seamless panes.

"Fiyero, you have to knock yourself out of this," Avaric said half-sternly, burying his concern under annoyance and frustration. "Your mooning like this over some girl is really disturbing my calm."

Fiyero didn't answer right away, his interest thoroughly absorbed by the piece of footwear. "Not some girl," Fiyero responded eventually, sounding distant and hardly attending at all to Avaric's aggravation. "The most beautiful girl I've ever met.

"You should have seen her, Av'," he insisted, sitting up slowly and cradling the shoe against his chest. His words were more poetic than either of them would have thought him capable of. "Eyes like molten chocolate. Hair as black as ebony. Lips like two rose petals.

"She is perfection," he finished with a dreamy sigh.

Avaric rolled his eyes. "And you said her name was 'Ella'?" he questioned, frowning once more.

"Yes, Ella," Fiyero confirmed. He paused a moment, looking slightly befuddled. "She never told me her last name."

"There's no 'Ella' on the guest list," Avaric pointed out. "Perhaps she was one of the wait staff."

"I already checked both lists," Fiyero replied.

"And I don't think she was a servant," he added, his tone defensive. "She was so refined and the way she moved . . . She had to be of noble blood. She spoke like a noble woman."

While he still had some doubts on that front, Avaric kept his protests to himself. If she had any decent peerage he'd have heard of her, even if she was the last surviving heir of the least important borough in Gillikus. Either she was a figment of Fiyero's imagination or Avaric's knowledge was somehow faulty, and as far as he was concerned, the latter wasn't even worth considering.

"I can't even think of anyone that would match your description," Avaric complained, "and I know everyone worth knowing.

"Maybe you should just forget about her," he suggested after a brief, thoughtful pause, mustering some sympathy for his friend. "Didn't she say it wasn't meant to last?"

"She said if we were meant to meet again, then fate would see to it," Fiyero answered, smiling a little as he recalled the moment. "I have to see her again," he finished more firmly. He was perhaps missing the point a little. "I've never met anyone like her, Avaric."

Shaking his head, Avaric tried to make his friend see sense. "It's simply not meant to be, Fiyero," he stated as plainly as possible, making no effort to soften his words. Putting it kindly hadn't seemed to work. Nor had subtlety. It was time for some hard truths about the workings of fate.

"The only thing you know about this girl is her name and that she has a penchant for unwieldy footwear," he went on. He frowned at the glass shoe, an extravagantly pointless accessory if ever he saw one and probably the best proof you could find of both her noble lineage and how perfect she was for Fiyero. "You're never going to find this girl. Not unless fate truly does step in and find her for you."

Fiyero was quiet for a moment or two as he absorbed Avaric's harsh does of reality. When he finally replied, there was less energy to his words, his argument deflated by Avaric's honesty.

"I know she goes to university," Fiyero offered with a weak show of determination, as though that information helped somehow to narrow down their search area. "She's studying history and politics. And she can't stand her roommate."

"Well that's handy," Avaric muttered sarcastically. "We'll just scour the universities asking all the history majors if they happen to be missing a glass slipper."

"Yes," Fiyero agreed, brightening at the thought and seeming to miss Avaric's sarcasm. He sat straight up in his seat, smiling and nodding at Avaric like a little puppy. "You can start Albion Academy and work your way to The School of the Unamed God."

"Me?" Avaric questioned with a scoff of disdain. "This is your girl, Fiyero. Your quest."

Fiyero shook his head, brushing off Avaric's opposition. "I have to go to school," he replied, with an affected sigh, clearly not eager to do so. "Dad isn't going to let me shirk my responsibilities for some girl. I have to at least make an effort this time."

Avaric glared but did not protest his task further. "And where will you be while I search the country for the girl of your dreams?" he asked disdainfully.

The pointed emphasis upon certain words appeared to go unnoticed by his companion, who answered the question without the slightest hint of guile. "Shiz University. Apparently it's the only top tier school I haven't already been kicked out of," he answered.

"After this it's second-tier, which will make it a lot more difficult to get myself expelled, but you know I like a challenge," he said with a grin, a bit more like the Fiyero that Avaric was used to in that moment.

Avaric rolled his eyes. "You know some people might say that you're squandering your existence, Princey," he said in a dry tone.

Fiyero just grinned, a wide, foolish grin.

Two days later Fiyero was making his way to Shiz in the style befitting to his status as the Crown Prince of the Arjikis. His carriage was lavish and comfortable with a soft velvet interior and ornate ebony furnishings. A pair of Vinkan Monchino's drew the carriage through the landscape at a steady pace, their stamina unmatched by any other breed.

It was the perfect mode of transport of Fiyero to make a princely entrance in. And he almost made it all the way to Shiz by such a mode, only to spot an empty rickshaw in the marketplace and decide that was how he wanted to do the last leg of his journey.

"Don't see why I have to be the one to pull your lazy ass," Avaric muttered as he grabbed the handles gingerly. "If you want to play with the rickshaw, when the King sent us a perfectly good carriage to use, then you should be the one to suffer."

Fiyero gaped in mock horror. "And ruin my boots?" he asked affronted. "C'mon, Av. It'll be fun," Fiyero wheedled. "It's not even two miles between here and Shiz.

"You can't be that out of shape, can you?" Fiyero prodded a finger in Avaric's side to emphasise the point. Avaric prided himself on his apparent physique, and so that last prod more than did it. Fiyero grinned and hopped into the back of the rickshaw as Avaric relented.

"Now hop to it, my good man," he said with a flourishing double clap. He arranged himself languidly in the rickshaw's seat, adjusting his sunglasses so he wouldn't have to face the glare of the sun. This was the best fun he'd had in awhile.

Avaric took off at a fast pace, deliberately jolting the carriage and driving it into any potholes he saw along the road. Eventually Shiz appeared in the distance, sitting at the bottom of the hill looking as prestigious as they would have you believe.

"Last chance to back out," Avaric commented, pausing once they reached to top of the ridge and throwing back a glance to his friend.

"It's Shiz or Hallstead's School for Boys," Fiyero answered with a grimace. "Onward, steed," he commanded with a laugh.

Avaric hopped to it, speeding down the hill at his top speed. For a little while at least. "Uh, Fiyero," Avaric called back to him after a few moments. "You ever been in one of these things before?"

"Once when I was about twelve," Fiyero replied.

"Do you remember how to slow it down?"

"No," Fiyero answered, voice deceptively calm. "You?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

It wouldn't happen . . . here in Oz.

The thought ran though her head like a song on repeat. She tried holding tightly to those words, as though she could make them true just by saying them over again in her head.

And yet nothing she did could make them true. It had happened. It already was happening, just as Doctor Dillamond said. And not just to the Animals. The great majority of Ozians were seen as outsiders in one way or another.

Animals were constantly being pushed out of their professions, left only with the medial positions that no one else would take. Individuals discouraged from ever speaking out about the cruel hand they had been dealt. The Quadling people had their country ripped apart in search of precious gems, and when none were to be found, they were left to fend for themselves as their whole eco system fell apart. The Munchkin people had it better than most – they were treated like some backwards cousin who was humoured at dinner parties because they were filthy rich. Munchkins were tolerated because of what they could provide as the breadbasket of Oz, but they were not accepted.

The Vinkans . . .

Her mind swept unbidden to the handsome Crown Prince of the Vinkus. The one who tried so hard to fit in with the rest of Ozian society. The one they only deigned to associate with because of he didn't look particularly Vinkan and because of the fame brought to him by his scandalacious reputation. The one whose title they mocked behind his back (a Vinkan prince being only as good as a Gillikin pauper).

The prince with the beautiful blue diamond tattoos that he tried to hide in order to blend in. She thought it a disgrace to see someone so beautiful trying so hard to look like everybody else. It was almost tragic.

Every time she heard Galinda and her vapid friends blathering on about Prince Fiyero and his party (apparently ShenShen had been in attendance and had several dances with the prince before some Winkie cow interrupted them and ruined the party for everyone) she had to leave the room to stop herself from blurting out how wrong they all were. She'd only spent a couple of hours with him, but she felt she'd found out more in that time than Galinda's massive collection of gossip magazines could have told her.

He was more like her than anyone would realize. Despite of his good looks, his title, and his reputation, Prince Fiyero was as much of an outsider as the rest of them.

He was just much better at pretending he wasn't.

It gave her an unexpected sense of kinship with the prince. Prince Fiyero wore his mask just as she had worn Ella's – he pretended to be the uncaring playboy prince that the masses desperately wanted to hear about, hiding his Vinkan-ness under the appropriate gestures, and fancy, Gillikin dress.

Perhaps he had left his mask on too long and it had become permanent just as Ella's might if she attempted the spell again. Perhaps it was just easier to pretend and fit in than it was to be his own self and stand out.

Elphaba could see the allure. For a moment, when she first arrived at the party and nobody stared, she considered making the spell permanent. Her life would be so much easier if she could just . . . not be green.

But then she'd seen the way these girls were with each other, saying one thing to your face and another behind your back. She'd left the party, seeking solace with the books and ended up with a prince who had lost his way. A sign, without a doubt, that she was meant to be Elphaba.

Ella would just have to –

"Get out of the way!" a voice called, unexpectedly jolting her back to the present.

She'd been so caught up in her own thoughts that she hadn't even seen where she was going. Or realized that she was nearly stepping out onto the road in front of a speeding rickshaw.

One that was clearly in violation of all laws and regulations regarding vehicles of that nature, she mentally noted with a snarl. It skidded to a stop, very nearly running up onto the sidewalk as it did.

"Hey!" she called back, stalking towards the rickshaw and its occupants with a stern look on her face. "I want to see your license."

The rickshaw's driver, a young man about her own age with blonde hair and hazel eyes, gave her a dubious look.

"My rickshaw license?" he asked with an incredulous scoff.

"Yes," she answered, the stern look not shifting from her features. He didn't look particularly intimidated, so she raised her voice to try and get her point across. "If you had even the slightest concern for other people, you would – "

"Hush, Miss. Can't you see my master is trying to sleep?" the young man cut in, much to Elphaba's ire. He sent a gentle look towards the passenger in the cart. "Isn't it the sweetest thing?"

Elphaba ignored him, glowering as she knocked loudly on the side of the cart.

"Quit it, you'll disturb him!" the young man demanded, his tone less subservient than it had been.

"Damn right I will," Elphaba muttered to herself, slamming her fist against the rickshaw and ignoring the pain in her hand. "Wake up, you lazy, good-for-nothing . . ."

The young driver caught her wrist in his hand, pulling her away. "Do you realize who this is?!" he questioned fiercely.

Elphaba glared back at him and tore her hand from his grasp. "I don't care who he is," she stated firmly. She turned her attention back to the passenger, who appeared to be waking. "Your cart nearly knocked me over and you're sleeping!"

The man in the cart stretched languidly, giving a dramatic yawn. "Of course I'm sleeping," he said as he slowly sat up. "It's daytime."

A surprised gasp caught in her throat at the sight. Golden brown hair lukewarm caramel, luminous skin the colour of milky coffee, and eyes the colour of storm clouds. It was the last thing she expected to see when she looked into her cart, and yet she shouldn't have been surprised. He'd been a near constant feature of her thoughts for the last week, and now here he was in the flesh after nearly running her down with his cart.

Neither man seemed to notice her gasp, chatting to one another and ignoring the interloper like so many of her Shiz classmates tended to do. Her stomach turned with disappointment; it was like he didn't even care, like she wasn't even there. His mask was back and it hurt more than she'd ever imagined, seeing him pretending to be so indifferent.

"Is this how you go through life?" she asked sadly, not realizing that she'd spoken aloud until their conversation halted to make room for her words. She corrected herself, turning the same fierce glare she'd worn earlier towards the prince. "Nearly knocking people over and not even noticing them?!"

He turned his attention towards her, those grey-blue eyes of his narrowed with curiosity as he studied the hue of her skin. It was a brief flash of intelligence, gone as quickly as it appeared as he sent her a smirk and glanced towards the attending rickshaw driver for approval. "Perhaps the driver saw green and thought it meant go."

It was a joke in poor taste. And sadly not the first time that she'd heard that particular analogy.

Frustrated, Elphaba did the only thing she could do. She muttered a long suffering curse and walked away.

"Are you okay?" Avaric asked lowly, glancing at the enraged green woman from the corner of his eye.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" Fiyero asked nonchalantly. His legs were slightly shaky as he got to his feet, but he played it off as nothing. It wasn't like he'd feared for his life or anything, not even with them careening down the hill at high speeds with no way of stopping.

Avaric let out a laugh. "You totally fainted," he sniggered. Fiyero looked affronted.

"I did not faint," he answered. "I was just so relaxed that I fell asleep."

"Is this how you go through life?" the green woman interrupted, her words sounding forlorn and distant.

Fiyero turned to look at her, something in her voice seeming vaguely familiar to him although he couldn't know what. He didn't attend to that odd feeling for long, letting it be overtaken by the sudden bought of curiosity as he study the odd pigmentation of her skin. She was almost the exact same shade of green as the grasslands at the beginning of spring.

'How I wish I could be there,' he thought sadly to himself as she continued to speak, her voice – even at its harshest – making him feel strangely homesick.

He could feel Avaric's gaze upon him and sense the expectations that went with it. So he smirked at her and offered what he thought a particularly shallow and pretentious comeback. It was certainly better than telling the truth – that they'd simply lost control of the cart that he'd stupidly abandoned his carriage for. Or that he was actually kind of sorry that he'd nearly hurt somebody because of it.

She gave out a cry of frustration at the petty insult and then she was on her way, muttering under her breath as she left.

They both watched her in silence until she seemed to just disappear into the crowd of students loitering around the courtyard. Avaric spoke first, attempting to dissipate the unsettling feeling she left in her wake with his usual sarcasm.

"Well, that was intense." He turned to Fiyero, laughing as he took a good look at his friend. It broke the odd tension that they were left with, easing them back into their usual roles. "It seems we've just had a run in with the resident wicked witch," he guffawed, laughing loudly and unashamedly.

"What?" Fiyero asked, clearly confused.

Avaric just laughed, pointing to Fiyero's attire. Following his friend's gesture, the prince looked down and couldn't help but notice that his pants were suddenly two sizes smaller.

"For the love of Oz," he muttered, pulling at the stretchy material that was fitted to his thighs like a second skin. He bent awkwardly, examining himself from every angle. "Actually, I look quite good like this," he commented impressedly. "They're surprisingly comfortable and they make my ass look all firm and muscular."

Avaric rolled his eyes. "Could you be any more of a girl right now?" he said flippantly. "Oz she must hate you," he laughed.

Fiyero looked at his friend incredulously. "Hate me?" he asked, still examining his new tight white pants. "Would you do this to someone you hate?" he asked, turning slightly so that Avaric could see him at his best angle. Which was currently all of them, thanks to said witch. "Clearly she is madly in love with me and wants me to look my best.

"She's no wicked witch at all," he continued with a cheer. "She's some sort of good witch that clearly appreciates the finer things in life," he finished with a self-assured nod to himself.

"Like your ass?" Avaric asked sarcastically.

"Precisely," Fiyero said with another nod.

"Whatever," Avaric said, shaking his head. Clearly he did not agree with Fiyero's assessment. "I guess I'll see you soon," he said, clapping his hand to Fiyero's. Fiyero shrugged as he returned the gesture.

"I'm sure you won't last any longer at this school than you did at any of the others," Avaric commented blandly, uncertain despite his words.

"I don't know," Fiyero replied, his mind on the green girl who's explosive presence had left him feeling both apprehensive and anxiously eager in her wake.

"I think Shiz just got interesting."

~ to be continued ~