"and I never come back to this town again (in my life)": gliyero intermission fic
ao3 link here!
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"It’s a joke. A bad one. The kind that she’s known for, made hundreds of over the years, that on some day they might even make together. But maybe it’s the mention of Elphaba, however light, or the weight of the day, or the crimes she is describing, so close to his own, but suddenly Fiyero’s more furious at her than he’s ever been."
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or; Glinda makes an ill-timed joke. Fiyero doesn't react well.
CWs: -Mentions of "total warfare" colonial tactics against Animals-- burning villages, killing innocents, taking children. Not depicted but mentioned a few times throughout as something Fiyero is complicit to and participates in, though he doesn't like it.
-Fiyero and Glinda argue pretty viciously, but neither of them ever physically hurt the other or are afraid of being physically hurt
Inspiration from prompts by @novelbear, @me-writes-prompts, and @urfriendlywriter on tumblr
fic under cut!
A/N: faintly implied gliyeraba (at least friendship) but I was scared to mention it in the tags bc I didn't want it distracting from the gliyero-ness because there's so few fics specifically about Them title from "No Children" by the Mountain Goats
Days like this are often fuzzy for Fiyero.
There’s somebody talking to him, he’s sure, but all he’s really aware of is Glinda on his arm. She seems to be doing a much better job of listening than he is, though he really can’t be sure when he’s like this. A headache is nestling in the base of his skull, throbbing dully the longer the conversation goes.
“Dearest?”
He blinks and focuses on Glinda’s worried face. He’s suddenly aware that people are looking at them expectantly, that they seem to be the main attraction of whatever party or event they are at. He swallows and drops his wide grin into a softer smile, more intimate but just as fake.
“I’m sorry, emerald, I’m just tired from the day.” With the words come back the painful truth. It had been a particularly harsh raid day, one where his status as Captain had meant his presence was demanded. Though he typically tried his best to tell rebels beforehand, or chose days where the least amount of people and Animals would be home, he knew that for the sake of his operation some days had to be wildly successful. That some nights would be spent laying awake, committing every Animal his men killed or captured’s faces and names to memory, hearing their screams echoing in his head until dawn. Then, with the light, stripping away the memories and folding them neatly in the back of his mind, and starting a new day.
And the nickname, ‘emerald’. Vomit rose in his throat every time he used it, but he had no choice. Morrible had decided it was appropriate, due to their environment, but to him it just felt shallow. If Fiyero had it his way, he’d call Glinda by her name, or darling, or even precious. Then again, if Fiyero had his way, they wouldn’t be here at all.
“Oh yes, of course.” Glinda says with her sickeningly sweet smile, turning back to the crowd with a giggle. “Those Animals don’t catch themselves, you know.”
A laugh from the crowd. Glinda says a few more words, he nods along, they kiss, they wave, they leave. Fiyero searches for any sort of emotion as they walk up to their room arm in arm, but keeps coming up short, even as he sees exhaustion start sinking into Glinda’s steps. The next thing he knows, they are in their inner chambers. Dutifully, he peels off his Captain’s jacket, and begins unbuttoning his shirt when Glinda speaks.
“Bad day, dearest?”
Her voice is so much different in here, lower and rougher around the edges, hoarse from her endless speeches. Fiyero sighs, abandoning his buttons to rub his hands over his face.
“The worst, darling. Yours?”
“Oh, it’s mind-numbingly similar to yesterday, and the day before, and the day before. You should hear how they go on about her. You’d think she was poisoning their water, or burning their houses down, or stealing their children from the way they talk! Like she’s some monster! At least you get to go out and have some fun.”
He freezes as his nightshirt slips over his head. It’s a joke. A bad one. The kind that she’s known for, made hundreds of over the years, that on some day they might even make together. But maybe it’s the mention of Elphaba, however light, or the weight of the day, or the crimes she is describing, so close to his own, but suddenly Fiyero’s more furious at her than he’s ever been.
“Excuse me?” He spits, and whirls around in time to see her wince.
“I’m sorry, dearest, I didn’t--”
“Stop calling me that.” He clips, hands shaking as he walks closer to her. They’re only a few feet away now, and up close he can see the details of her makeup, perfect and unmarred by the day, cheeks pink and lipstick on the edges of her mouth giving her a perpetual smile. It only makes him angrier.
“What?” Glinda says, obviously confused. She steps closer to him, but he recoils, and she pauses. Fiyero knows he should stop this, that she will let him if he does. If he apologies right here, their night will continue as normal, makeup wipes and showers and kisses, but this is the first time he’s truly felt something all day, and now that he’s started he can’t stop. So instead, he embraces the feeling, letting it spread from where it sits in his chest until it’s in every corner of his body, making home in his teeth and his lashing tongue and the blood coursing through them both.
“Stop calling me ‘dearest’.” He repeats, louder. “I’m not your dearest. I’m not your anything. Do you think I want to be here? Do you think I want to be doing this?” Glinda opens her mouth, but stops herself as he shakes his head. “I go out into Oz and I do what I have to do. For you ! For us ! So that you can keep giving your empty speeches and groveling at Morrible’s feet.” His head is spinning. When did they get closer to each other? He doesn’t know, but he could reach out and touch her now. Her face is a real red now, not the perfect pink of her mask, and this time she doesn’t stop the words from tumbling out of her perfectly drawn mouth.
“You think this is what I want?” She starts, her voice so scathing it could almost kill. Anyone else may have been shocked, surprised even-- but she and Fiyero are two halves of a ragged, ugly heart, tearing itself in two rather than surviving another second near each other. “To be stuck here in this palace, only leaving for another round of propaganda tours and ribbon-cutting ceremonies and lunches? Having to hear every sordid rumor, allegation, condemnation, or crude word about her, and having to sit there like it’s true? I work every day to learn as much as I can, speak as well as I can, be as perfect and Good as I can, and it’s never enough for anybody! So don’t you dare say it isn’t enough for you! This is all I have!”
They’re face to face now. Tears are pouring down Glinda’s cheeks, her words lodging in Fiyero’s heart like bullets, but his ears are still ringing with screams and begs and pleas for mercy and he can’t focus on anything else.
“Don’t you get it, Glinda? I’m the monster. I’m the one out there doing all of those things they accuse her of. I’m the one burning villages and killing innocents and imprisoning rebels, and when I’m not, I’m the one ordering my men to do it. How can anything be worth that? How can anyone?”
“ I need to be!” She yells, and the devastation in her voice nearly pulls him up short. “ I need to be worth it for you! I need to know that I’m coming back here every day to somebody that doesn’t hate me for what I’ve turned him into. Everything you’ve done, you’ve because I brought you here, and I’ll hate myself for the rest of my life because of it, and I’m still not sorry, and I would still do it again, because I’m so, so, so tired of being Good!” She drops to her knees in front of him, puffy dress spilling out around her, and sobs into her hands with a scream. Fiyero stands there for a moment, mind whirling faster than a tornado, surprised to feel tears in his eyes as well. He doesn’t know what to think, or do, or how to fix any of this, and his brain is racing ahead but his mouth must still be tangled in the ropes of anger lashing at him because when he opens his mouth he does not say something kind, or reassuring, or even forgiving.
“You’ve never been Good. Not for one single moment.” He’s desperately trying to stop himself, but the gate is open, and everything he promised he’d never say to her is stampeding through his lips, pushing past teeth and gums and tongue on its rampage, leaving him unable to put them back again. “You brought me here because you didn’t have the guts to get on that broom because it was too hard, so you made it my problem too. You let them do this to me. You kiss me with the same mouth you laugh at the Wizard’s jokes with. You touch me with the same hands that let go of her. You’re trying to make up for the fact that you’re the reason you don’t have her by pretending this is hard for you, but it’s not. You love it, you love this life you have, you love keeping me here like a trophy and making it my job to fix your mistakes and find her, and you’re selfish and you’re cruel and I hate that I can never leave you here no matter how much I want to because I’m in love with you. Why? Why did you do this?”
He’s yelling, and she’s screaming that she’s sorry into her hands, and they both know she’s lying, and his tears are sliding off of the hair gel that holds her crown of curls perfect and she’s reaching for him but he doesn’t care, and now he’s on their balcony in a nightshirt and his Captain’s pants even though he looks ridiculous and it’s far too cold outside and he’s shoving something in front of the door so she can’t follow him and gripping the railing and wishing it was Elphaba’s broom instead, and he can’t tell if she tries to push open the door or not but he’s pretending he doesn’t care and not believing himself for a second, and that’s how he stays for a long, long time.
It’s hours later when he comes back inside, taking off his boots and hoping his socks will muffle his footsteps in case she’s asleep. He thinks she is, at first, on the far side of the bed with her back to him, curled up under their sheet, silent and still. He slips off his pants and pulls up his soft, loose ones for sleeping before making his way over to his side of the bed. He’s only lifted up a corner of their sheet before she turns, and he pauses when his eyes meet hers. Her makeup is long gone, hair loose and slightly damp. For a moment, she looks like the girl he fell in love with.
“Hey.” He says, still unmoving.
“Fiyero.” She whispers, and reaches out her hand to him. As gently but quickly as he can, he’s sliding into their bed, pressing fervent kisses to her hand as they pull each other together.
“I’m so sorry.” He’s murmuring, words cut off by the kisses he’s now putting on her face, her neck, anywhere he can reach. “I shouldn’t have said those hideodious things to you.”
At the same time, she’s trying to pull him into kisses, hands firm in his hair. “No, dearest, no,” she’s muttering back, “please forgive me. Forgive me for everything I said to you.” Then he finally gives in to her efforts and they’re kissing and kissing and kissing and holding each other like their lives depend on it (they do), and then he pulls back and cups her cheek with his hand to stare at one of the most precious people in his life.
“You’re worth it.” He says desperately, pressing their foreheads together. “You’re worth all of it, Glinda. I love you so much and you’re worth it.” And neither of them are entirely sure they believe it, but they pretend they do anyways, and when Glinda falls asleep in his arms Fiyero squeezes his eyes shut and starts reciting the names of the Animals whose blood are on his boots by the door.