A/N: Here's another story, yay! As always, send me a message if any references confusify (hee hee) you. Also, I have, as promised, shamelessly borrowed inspiration from Veronika Green's story Under the Moonlight. Read it, it's awesome.

Disclaimer: Wicked itself is like a giant fanfiction, which I do not own.


Fiyero is an idiot, an absolute moron.

Damn, he'd better be right about this.

If he's wrong, it will not go well.

Well, actually, it probably won't go well anyway.

We're in Southstairs, and that absolute genius told the Gale Force I'm pregnant. Moron.

Well, it worked for Elizabeth Proctor.

After my horribly failed attempt to kill Madame Morrible, I ran faster than I knew I could back to my hideaway. I had no particular reason for hurrying back there, but the streets were fill of loud and noise and cheer and to run felt good in my legs, and the air clear in my lungs, and it filled me with a sense of almost surreal calm.

I could face anything.

My sense of calm lied.

I ran back to the room above the corn exchange and opened the door and froze.

Five, no six, no seven-maybe-eight, Gale Forcers stood beating Fiyero. Blood, so much blood, everywhere- my head spun in circles, dizzying me, as if I were the one who had lost all the crimson mercury painting the room.

"Fae," gasped Fiyero, he was alive, how could he be alive, were his veins not empty and his life covering this place in death?

I fell to my knees trying to make the room stop moving, making a small thud, but apparently distinguishable from the awful thuds of Fiyero's beating, because a Gale Forcer turned and was about to kick me hard in the stomach, pain I would gladly accept, pain I at this moment deserved, for failing, for not inflicting pain on Madame Morrible but instead bringing it down upon Fiyero, who had done nothing. But it didn't come.

"No!" screamed Fiyero with surprising strength.

"What?" asked the Gale Forcer in disbelief, astonished either that Fiyero could summon that much energy or that he dared protest at all.

"Don't do that, she's pregnant, and the Wizard would…because…" before his false reason could burst forth, he collapsed.

"Fiyero!" No, please, not another death, no more pain on my shoulders- I pulled myself up and half-ran to his side. Thank God, he's still breathing, please don't let it stop- Elphaba, did you just- pray? Oh, never mind, I can't analyze my spiritual pathology right nowI bent over Fiyero, hands hovering, searching out the worst wound, the most blood. I plugged the place spurting blood in frightening amounts with the flat of my hand, and, although on some level I was aware of it, I seemed unable to feel the pain from the tears staining my face.

"Hey, witch, get away from there," yelled one of the Gale Forcers. Witch, I wish, then maybe I could fix this! I thought. I began murmuring any spell from the correspondence course I'd taken that I could think of, and I suppose this scared the Gale Forcers somewhat, as they didn't drag me away until I was finished ripping a scrap from the edge of my skirt and somewhat staunching the blood flow, and it wasn't until the Gale Forcer who had spoken before pulled me up by the scarf, nearly cutting off my air, that I realized how much easier it would have been, and more effective, to have used the scarf.

Damn. He hoisted me a few feet in the air, bringing me closer to strangling. Red dots danced before my eyes, or was that just blood?

"Take them both to Southstairs," he spat, and then dropped me on the ground in a heap. I cursed him.

"And watch her," he added, looking a bit frightened of my words despite himself.

Words had power, I was beginning to more fully understand. And the only reason my nonsense words did was because of other words, the ones branding me a witch, and why? Because the Wizard had said, probably, or maybe they'd just guessed. Fiyero had said the same when he first saw my hideout, after all.

Their cruel rumors lent me power. People say that insults are only to make the tormentor feel more powerful, but at least where I was concerned, they were quite wrong. If I was to be called a witch, then I would use it to my advantage.

And if I was to be called pregnant, well, that might not hurt. Well…now…but right or wrong on Fiyero's part, it was going to turn around and bite me in the butt sooner or later. And curiously, I was finding I somehow hoped, not just for my sake and Fiyero's, but really hoped, he was right.

Damn. What was I thinking? I needed wine. Or coffee. Shit. What was I thinking?