AN: Oh. My. Oz. PLEASE tell me that I'm not the only one who's spent all day holed up in my room wearing a Wicked t-shirt surrounded by Wicked things doing nothing but reading and writing fan fics all day to celebrate the show's 8th Broadway anniversary and who's been up doing said things since before 3:00 in the morining and only emerging for things as nessecary (i.e potty breaks) AND that I'm not the only one whose mother had to bring her dinner (chicken & dumplings, baby, woot!) to her room for her because she flat out refuses to come out or be disturbed for anything, not even if the world is caving in on itself because she's just so freaking psyched over today's milestone!


He looked up and found a pair of dark, beautiful, but at the same time exhausted eyes watching him from the bed across the room. "Fiyero, I told you not to draw me," Elphaba muttered weakly. He smirked at the lump hidden under the blanekets that was his sick girlfriend.

"And you honestly expected me to listen?" he asked her. She closed her eyes. "Not really," she replied, "but I just thought that maybe since I'm sick today, you would at least wait until I don't look like a total train wreck to actually carry through." Fiyero sighed, abandoning the sketch he'd been making of her as he went to sit down next to her on the bed.

She tried to hold onto the covers, but she didn't have much energy to use for anything, so her grip was weaker than normal and he was able to get them away from her face without nearly as much of a struggle as it would have taken otherwise.

"Fae, being sick doesn't make you any less beautiful to me," he said. She smirked a little bit, and he felt some relief knowing that she was feeling well enough to make such a typical Elphaba face. "Even though technically speaking you're the one who got me sick in the first place?" she asked coyly. "Especially for that reason," he replied, gently kissing her forehead.

He knew it was true, what she'd said about him "technically" being the reason she was sick, though he wouldn't have said "technically" had he been the one making the statement. Mono-or, as it was so teasingly yet appropriately nicknamed, the "kissing disease"-had been going around campus, and Fiyero, being the brainless idiot that he was, had unknowingly passed it on to his girlfriend just a little while after Nessa passed it on to Boq.

Glinda had been lucky enough to avoid it by wisely using every excuse she could possibly think of not to kiss anyone, much to the extreme disappointment of every heterosexusal male on campus, along with the fairly small but still very-much-so existant population of homosexual females.

In the meantime, Fiyero had been spending a lot of time in the girls' room lately helping the blonde take care of her sick roomie, mostly because he was madly head-over-heels in love with the green girl (much to the exreme disappointment of every heterosexual female on campus, along with the fairly small but still very-much-so existant population of homosexual males), but also because he felt bad about giving her the virus in the first place.

"Yero?" muttered the girl in question as he absent-mindedly stroked her soft obsidian hair. "Yeah, Fae?" She intertwined her long slender fingers with his. "I love you beyond reason," she said, "but..." He raised an eyebrow. "But...?" he prompted. She took her sweet time kissing each of his fingers before responding.

"As soon as I get better, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to kill you," she finished. Fiyero smiled. "Quite frankly, love, I'd be very worried if you didn't," he said simply. And with that, he kissed her, not caring if he got sick, and even thinking that it would in fact be well worth it if he did.

AN: I was planning on just making this a one-shot, but if you guys want me to, I'll turn it into a mult-chapter. Please review and tell me if you think I should or if it's a stupid unoriginal story idea that I should've just kept to myself.

Disclaimer: Well, apparently since Christina's character in the school's fall play went and gave all her cousin's money to the Communist party, we only have exactly $14.11 left in our bank account total, and even though we tried reasoning with them, Stephen Schwartz and Gregory Maguire are still refusing to accept an IOU, a trade of any kind, and basically everything else that we've offered so far, BUT WE'RE DETERMINED AND STILL WORKING ON IT! *to someone in the background* Alright, MJ, looks like it's time to break out the hevy artilleries! Go and bring back the heaviest wooden baseball bats you can possibly find, we've got a lotta work ahead of us!