Disclaimer: I don't own Wicked. No sir.


He'd been in the library a full seven hours now, a record-breaking experience for him. Of course, over five minutes would have sufficed, too.

A book was propped up in front of his Ozmapolitan-worthy face, his cobalt-colored eyes gazing unfailingly at the second paragraph of Chapter 18: Gaiaology. He'd just finished the introduction and started into the meat of the chapter when he zoned out. That was about 6 hours and 50 minutes ago, and he was as good as asleep.

"I was wondering-" A voice interrupted his comatose state and he snapped back into existence, slamming back into his chair in shock. He lowered his book as she continued matter-of-factly, and found emerald eyes staring into his. "-if you were still alive. So I came to check."

"How long have you been in here?" His voice deep with grogginess, he ran a hand through his golden-sand locks. After the initial surprise, he found himself oddly at ease with the sudden ease of the abrupt appearance of this girl, this Elphaba-creature.

"Oh, about an hour or so." The green girl replied, nonchalantly, equally at ease. She'd leaned back in the stiff wooden chair and propped her long, skeletal legs upon the rickety wooden table, her ancient-looking black boots on top of his chaos of papers.

"And you just came to check on me now?" He arched his perfect eyebrows in a manner of a skeptic, rather than surprise.

"I really wasn't that concerned." She paused, turning her elegant neck to look out the window. The sun was setting over the Crage Hall dormitories, casting a purple-orange glow over the library and turning Elphaba brilliantly multicolored. "But I was bored."

"You flatter me." He replied to her dryly, but in rather good humor, for that was his nature. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten mad, aggressive, or hell – even passionate about something. Probably not the best disposition for a future ruler – but hey, what was a playboy-Prince supposed to do?

"Exactly what I was aiming for." Elphaba told him in her sarcastic way, smiling slightly, eyes still cast towards the window. "After all, your ego certainly isn't big enough already, querido."

"Damn straight." A moment passed by in silence before Fiyero's nose wrinkled in an oddly adorable way. "Wait, what did you call me?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She tossed a book into his chest and he clutched it to him before it slipped to the floor, glancing down at the cover. It was a large volume, ancient-looking with peeling letters. His eyebrows went up at the title – the language of the witches Kumbrica – and when he looked up again, she was gone, and it didn't surprise him very much.

It took him exactly five minutes before he opened the book and looked up the word, lazily; he already knew it meant something like "stupid" or "idiot" or "extremely aggravating, overstated, brainless, egotistic, silly prince-boy".

Of course, the Prince had completely misread the smirk she'd thrown at him with the book, as he was later to be wrong about 70 of the answers on the Chapter 18 test.

It meant sweetheart.