Just another enby with a pen-by (idk)

The dream before that, tossing and turning in a dusty bed in Kiamo Ko, the gun had been in her own hand and the barrel pressed to her temple. That one had tempted her at the time, she was ashamed to admit, and may have even spurred action if her love hadn't come back to her against all odds. Another dream; a blur of guards yelling questions without seeming to care whether she answered, the interrogation only an excuse for each crack of the whip or kick to her ribs. But both of those were nothing compared to when she'd dreamed that Fiyero hadn't been shot by the guards, but captured and tortured to death instead whilst she was powerless to stop it.

Elphaba shivered involuntarily at the memory, willing herself not to think of it. Beside her Fiyero noticed. He asked if she was alright and she couldn't help but let the truth spill out. “I keep having these strange dreams,” she admitted. “Nightmares, I suppose.” Strange seemed a paltry description.

“That’s not surprising,” he told her gently, if a little absently. “I’m sure I’d be having them too if, you know, I could.”

Elphaba sighed. "But that's the strange thing, they’re not even about real events. I should know; there’s plenty of material from our recent lives. But I keep dreaming about things that didn’t happen—all these ways it could have gone horribly wrong.” She was seized by the irrational urge to turn and throw herself into his arms, clutch him against her, reassure herself that none of those terrible dreams had come true. She didn't care that he wasn't human anymore. He was alive, and she was alive, and they were together. Compared to all she'd seen, fate had been kind to them indeed.

"It's making me see our situation in a different light," she said at last, deciding to save the clingy behavior for later, when they stopped for a break. "Like what you said before. We’re together, and alive. It could have been so much worse.”

Fiyero stopped walking.

Elphaba turned to him in surprise, noting a distant, hazy look in his button eyes that she didn't like. "Are you alright?" she asked, concern crawling up her throat.

He finally moved, shaking himself with a rustle. “I—yes. I’m fine," he said, almost to himself.

She frowned and took his arm, squeezing in a way that was comforting to her if not to him, since he probably couldn't feel it. She didn't know what was bothering him and making him so distant, and something told her that he'd just brush her off if she tried to ask.

Hopefully it wasn't something too serious. Hopefully he didn't regret going with her.