// When You Slip
Title: When You Slip
Rating: PG
Pairing: Elphaba/Fiyero
Warning: None.
Summary: She's been alone for so long, and maybe he has too. Act II, during and immediately after Fiyero's escape with Elphaba.
She had changed.
He still remembered - he couldn’t forget it, couldn’t even attempt to; the way her hair glowed against the white of her blouse, a faded suitcase gripped unsteadily in her fingers. How she had turned when she saw him coming, the faintest of smiles betraying her stern face. The way the flowers looked, trembling in her grip, stems laced against her long nails. She had been so awkward then; so confused and careful.
No longer.
Gone was the odd schoolgirl who would often cross his path at school. Now, she stood before him with a face of stone, a stance of undeniable dignity; the thick air of a woman who knew what she was doing. He knew, watching the elegant (beautiful, he thought, but pushed the word away) way she walked, that she had found something in those years of hiding, of being all alone - something that filled her with purpose.
It was intimidating, to say the least; something entirely different, to say the most.
Maybe he had known, then. The abrupt path his life would tumble down. The moment where he would grab her hand and know that, above all else, it was what he wanted.
Except that he hadn’t known it. Or if he had, he had buried it somewhere within him, too afraid of the wild, the impossible.
He hadn’t known it until he had said it, Glinda’s silver gown, her confused expression fading away into the background - the music, the lights, the people all meshing together into an entity that seemed so horrible, so unreal that he couldn’t bear to believe in it any longer --and then all he could see was her, her eyes, her form, her hand, outstretched, waiting, waiting...
I’m going with her.
He couldn’t remember much after that; only the stinging sensation of her nails in his palm, the chaotic rattling of his chest. They were running, but it didn’t feel like he was running, not at all. It felt like he was waking up. It felt like he was dancing.
He could hear the shouts of guards echoing down the staircases; the rush of heavy footsteps. A small corridor suddenly appeared, as if by miracle, as if by magic, and without another thought, he pulled her inside, if only to hide for a moment.
And there they stayed, listening, waiting for the footsteps to fade away.
He wanted to say a million things, then, crouched in that tiny space; her eyes on him, their gasps of breath filling any scrap of free room -- Where have you been? I’ve been looking, I’ve been searching forever, and now you’re here - I know it’s not true, none of it is, they’re all fools and I’m the only sane one left - you’ve been alone for so long, and maybe I have too ----
All he could manage was a weak smile, a whisper of “they’ll be gone soon,” that sounded so horribly awkward once it reached the air.
A spasm of pain shot through his arm; in all their panic, he had never let go of her hand, and now her long nails were digging into him.
“Ouch,” he muttered, and she immediately released him, as though frightened.
“Sorry,” she said, and it was the first word she had spoken since their abrupt departure. Even her voice was different; deeper. “Sorry.”
The footsteps suddenly increased in volume, shouts of “this way!” drowning the corridor so vigorously that for a lingering moment, it felt as though the soldiers were already there, poised for arrest. He heard her breath catch -- felt the way her body stilled against the stone of the wall. It wasn’t a careless reaction; she moved fluidly, without hesitation. She obviously knew how to hide. She had probably been forced to do a lot of it lately, he thought, with a twinge of sympathy. What she had been through - he couldn’t even fathom it --
“They could see us from here,” he said without thinking, noticing the telling slant of light against the far wall; the glimpse of winding staircase. “We need to move father down.”
It grew darker as they moved further away; she stumbled, grabbed his shoulder in prompt response -- allowed it to stay there long after she had regained her balance; something he was all too aware of (was the corridor getting smaller, or were they just growing closer?)
It was just too quiet. Yes, they were supposed to be hiding, and you can’t hide if you’re not quiet, but he had never been one for long, awkward silences; he had to say something.
“Listen,” he started, turning to her; she was merely a faint line of mingling green and black now. “I can get us out of here. There’s a door - the stairs, they’re right down this hall - and if we can get there, there’s only a few hallways to go through until -”
“Fiyero...why?”
Even in the dark, he could see a glint of light reflected in her eyes.
“Well, it’s the fastest way out of here. Otherwise, we’d have to-”
“Not that. I mean...”
Her words fumbled in the gasp of air between them, and for a moment, he almost thought he could hear something slip away from her.
“Why did you...”
What could he say? How could he ever explain to her how - what had happened - what had changed --
“I don’t know,” he finally said; a faint whisper in his mouth. “It just...it felt like the right thing to do.”
He said it before he thought it, but he realized, strongly, undeniably, that it was true. It had felt right. No seconds thoughts; no moment of worry, of reluctance. He had felt it, somewhere within him, and he had gone with that feeling, and - well, here he was.
The footsteps had died away; the shouting dissolved into the faintest of echoes.
“Let’s go,” he said, turning towards towards the light, suddenly eager to escape, to get out -- only to feel a hand wrap itself around his arm, gently pulling him back. In a moment, her hands were clasped around his neck, urging him closer; breath harsh against his face.
“Kiss me,” she whispered, so quietly that he thought he might have imagined it. The feeling came again, the feeling that something was slipping away, slipping away as easily as a dress, a scarf from a neck - the deepness of her voice, the dignity of her stance, the change; for a fleeting moment, it disappeared.
“Please,” her voice cracked, and there she was, the awkward girl with a flower in her hair; her trembling hand on his face, wiping the blood away.
He could do nothing but comply; but feel the gentle way she slid against him as he met her lips, suddenly, strongly, and it was all he had ever wanted, more than enough, more than he could have ever thought possible. It was a million things that had no real name, even though he tried. Oh Oz, he had never realized --
He could be in love with someone like her, he decided, black hair thick around his fingers, her hands warm against his chest. Perhaps he already was; perhaps it really was that simple.
Escape could wait a moment longer. After all - even in the darkness, he could see her smile.
~
Rating: PG
Pairing: Elphaba/Fiyero
Warning: None.
Summary: She's been alone for so long, and maybe he has too. Act II, during and immediately after Fiyero's escape with Elphaba.
She had changed.
He still remembered - he couldn’t forget it, couldn’t even attempt to; the way her hair glowed against the white of her blouse, a faded suitcase gripped unsteadily in her fingers. How she had turned when she saw him coming, the faintest of smiles betraying her stern face. The way the flowers looked, trembling in her grip, stems laced against her long nails. She had been so awkward then; so confused and careful.
No longer.
Gone was the odd schoolgirl who would often cross his path at school. Now, she stood before him with a face of stone, a stance of undeniable dignity; the thick air of a woman who knew what she was doing. He knew, watching the elegant (beautiful, he thought, but pushed the word away) way she walked, that she had found something in those years of hiding, of being all alone - something that filled her with purpose.
It was intimidating, to say the least; something entirely different, to say the most.
Maybe he had known, then. The abrupt path his life would tumble down. The moment where he would grab her hand and know that, above all else, it was what he wanted.
Except that he hadn’t known it. Or if he had, he had buried it somewhere within him, too afraid of the wild, the impossible.
He hadn’t known it until he had said it, Glinda’s silver gown, her confused expression fading away into the background - the music, the lights, the people all meshing together into an entity that seemed so horrible, so unreal that he couldn’t bear to believe in it any longer --and then all he could see was her, her eyes, her form, her hand, outstretched, waiting, waiting...
I’m going with her.
He couldn’t remember much after that; only the stinging sensation of her nails in his palm, the chaotic rattling of his chest. They were running, but it didn’t feel like he was running, not at all. It felt like he was waking up. It felt like he was dancing.
He could hear the shouts of guards echoing down the staircases; the rush of heavy footsteps. A small corridor suddenly appeared, as if by miracle, as if by magic, and without another thought, he pulled her inside, if only to hide for a moment.
And there they stayed, listening, waiting for the footsteps to fade away.
He wanted to say a million things, then, crouched in that tiny space; her eyes on him, their gasps of breath filling any scrap of free room -- Where have you been? I’ve been looking, I’ve been searching forever, and now you’re here - I know it’s not true, none of it is, they’re all fools and I’m the only sane one left - you’ve been alone for so long, and maybe I have too ----
All he could manage was a weak smile, a whisper of “they’ll be gone soon,” that sounded so horribly awkward once it reached the air.
A spasm of pain shot through his arm; in all their panic, he had never let go of her hand, and now her long nails were digging into him.
“Ouch,” he muttered, and she immediately released him, as though frightened.
“Sorry,” she said, and it was the first word she had spoken since their abrupt departure. Even her voice was different; deeper. “Sorry.”
The footsteps suddenly increased in volume, shouts of “this way!” drowning the corridor so vigorously that for a lingering moment, it felt as though the soldiers were already there, poised for arrest. He heard her breath catch -- felt the way her body stilled against the stone of the wall. It wasn’t a careless reaction; she moved fluidly, without hesitation. She obviously knew how to hide. She had probably been forced to do a lot of it lately, he thought, with a twinge of sympathy. What she had been through - he couldn’t even fathom it --
“They could see us from here,” he said without thinking, noticing the telling slant of light against the far wall; the glimpse of winding staircase. “We need to move father down.”
It grew darker as they moved further away; she stumbled, grabbed his shoulder in prompt response -- allowed it to stay there long after she had regained her balance; something he was all too aware of (was the corridor getting smaller, or were they just growing closer?)
It was just too quiet. Yes, they were supposed to be hiding, and you can’t hide if you’re not quiet, but he had never been one for long, awkward silences; he had to say something.
“Listen,” he started, turning to her; she was merely a faint line of mingling green and black now. “I can get us out of here. There’s a door - the stairs, they’re right down this hall - and if we can get there, there’s only a few hallways to go through until -”
“Fiyero...why?”
Even in the dark, he could see a glint of light reflected in her eyes.
“Well, it’s the fastest way out of here. Otherwise, we’d have to-”
“Not that. I mean...”
Her words fumbled in the gasp of air between them, and for a moment, he almost thought he could hear something slip away from her.
“Why did you...”
What could he say? How could he ever explain to her how - what had happened - what had changed --
“I don’t know,” he finally said; a faint whisper in his mouth. “It just...it felt like the right thing to do.”
He said it before he thought it, but he realized, strongly, undeniably, that it was true. It had felt right. No seconds thoughts; no moment of worry, of reluctance. He had felt it, somewhere within him, and he had gone with that feeling, and - well, here he was.
The footsteps had died away; the shouting dissolved into the faintest of echoes.
“Let’s go,” he said, turning towards towards the light, suddenly eager to escape, to get out -- only to feel a hand wrap itself around his arm, gently pulling him back. In a moment, her hands were clasped around his neck, urging him closer; breath harsh against his face.
“Kiss me,” she whispered, so quietly that he thought he might have imagined it. The feeling came again, the feeling that something was slipping away, slipping away as easily as a dress, a scarf from a neck - the deepness of her voice, the dignity of her stance, the change; for a fleeting moment, it disappeared.
“Please,” her voice cracked, and there she was, the awkward girl with a flower in her hair; her trembling hand on his face, wiping the blood away.
He could do nothing but comply; but feel the gentle way she slid against him as he met her lips, suddenly, strongly, and it was all he had ever wanted, more than enough, more than he could have ever thought possible. It was a million things that had no real name, even though he tried. Oh Oz, he had never realized --
He could be in love with someone like her, he decided, black hair thick around his fingers, her hands warm against his chest. Perhaps he already was; perhaps it really was that simple.
Escape could wait a moment longer. After all - even in the darkness, he could see her smile.
~