Archive of Our Own ^beta

She would never admit it to anyone, but all Elphaba ever had really wanted was to be a girl. In the obvious sense, she was one, but she was never treated as such. She was always seen as something other — monstrous, freakish, whatever—when all she ever wanted was to be seen as a real girl, who could wear pretty dresses and crystal shoes and be called adorable and sweetheart and darling. To walk arm in arm with other girls, to have sleepovers, to have crushes and be crushed on and to laugh and squeal and dance and giggle. To have friends. To get all dressed up, twirl her hair, learn how to do her makeup. To have secrets and someone to share them with. To dream about falling in love and have it come true, to be kissed in the rain, to be called beautiful. To be seen as a person before a colour.

The older she got, the less realistic her dream became. When she went to school and the other kids called her names, it wasn’t as if she didn’t understand. Not only was she green, but she was always causing some sort of chaos, too. Glass shattering, lights exploding, books ripped from their shelves and onto the floor. It followed her like a swarm of flies, the green girl and her freakish consequences. She told herself it didn’t matter. She had much more noble endeavours. There were always things she cared about more, she always had somewhere to focus her mind, someplace to put her talents. She was clever, wise if anyone had ever bothered to ask for her counsel, and witty enough to hold her own against a bully and get to the jokes first. But she was lonely. She could never shake that longing she had carried with her as a young, friendless child. That yearning to be loved, or, not just loved, chosen.

Nessa loved her, she knew. But Nessa also spent most of her time being embarrassed of her. She knows she wouldn’t pick her if she had the choice. Dulcibear, too, had loved her, cared for her, looked out for her. But that had also been her job. Her father never loved her. She knew that much. She thought sometimes he feared her, feared what she represented: that his wife didn’t love him enough. She knew what he saw when he looked at her, and in her heart, though he never said the words, she knew he hated her. So Elphaba arrived at adulthood unloved and unwanted, and she accepted this to be as much a part of her as the green in her skin and the black of her hair. She was used to it.

Then came Glinda. 

*

It had amused her at first, how much she got under Glinda’s skin. To her, the ignorant, ridiculous blonde was no different to the kids she had encountered at every stage of her life. A little mean, a lot obnoxious. Not cruel enough to call a bully, but certainly cold enough to make her life miserable. But, like everything else, she was used to it. What she wasn’t used to, was getting a rise out of her. Normally, when kids were mean to her, they would laugh at her no matter what she said back. She couldn’t wield anything over them because they didn’t see her as on their level. But Elphaba’s coolly spoken words of retaliation bothered Glinda, she could see it. Her little barbs got under her skin. Even though Glinda had turned the whole school against her, it didn’t really bother her. Everyone hating her, ignoring her, not wanting anything to do with her, was bound to happen from the moment they saw the green. It was nothing new. And Glinda hated her, sure, but not because she was green or different or scary. Glinda hated her because of who she was as a person, which was new, and secretly a little thrilling, though incredibly depressing.

Glinda also didn’t treat Elphaba like she was beneath her. She couldn’t, because Elphaba was in Morrible’s class, and she wasn’t. Elphaba had magic, she didn’t. So on some level, because of her obvious envy, it felt like Glinda also respected her, just a little. She knew Glinda loathed her; she told her so daily (the feeling was so, so mutual). She was used to this, people hating her, but she had never really had the chance to hate them back. Strangely, it made them equals; in a world of faceless mean girls, it made Glinda different. With her, sometimes, Elphaba would fight back and it would feel like she’d won. That didn’t really happen, ever. So that little rivalry of theirs, in some masochistic way, was almost fun.

Almost.

She would never forget that night, at the Ozdust. That was the night where she had resigned herself to a life without girlhood, love, or friendship, and also the night she had, ironically, found all of those things in one moment. She supposed it was all built on misunderstandings. She had misunderstood Glinda’s intentions in setting up her sister, and she had misunderstood Glinda’s intentions in giving her that ugly old hat (which she now so dearly loved). And so she had shown up, hope in her heart and light in her eyes, to her first-ever party, and she had never felt more embarrassed in her life. The shock of it, the realisation of what this was, was like being drenched in ice water. At the height of her humiliation, it had disappointed her, not that everyone was laughing, or that Glinda had betrayed her, but that she had been so foolish. Her yearning for all those girlish things that she had suppressed for years, forced herself not to want, had reared its ugly head at the mere suggestion that Glinda might have been being kind to her. It was so unlike her to be so unquestioning, so trusting, that as she listened to her peers laugh and whisper and watched them point and stare and snicker, she didn’t blame Glinda at all. She blamed herself. Elphaba had let herself get so carried away in Glinda’s attention, positive or otherwise, that she had believed that she was different to everyone else. But in reality, it was still Elphaba who was different. She should have expected nothing less. She listened to their whispers and placed the hat down in front of the girl who made it all happen. I hope you’re happy.

And so she punished herself. When she wanted to run away, cry, or scream, she forced her body to move. She forced it to stay where it was, to bask in the discomfort of rejection. They wanted a show, she thought, so I will give them one. And so she danced, she danced imagining that she was being stared at because she was beautiful as if there was enchantifying music playing and cheering instead of biting whispers. She danced to ask them to look into their hearts and see that she was not so different from them. Was she not a girl with a body, though green, that could dance to the same music that theirs could? Was she not there just to live the same way that they were, to make it to the end of the day and maybe find little pockets of joy in between the waking hours? Was she not just a human being with feelings and a heart that was capable of breaking? Weren’t they all? And in her movements, she danced to take control, again, and she was so, so tired of always having to take control. Tired of having to manipulate the circumstances where they were going to laugh at her anyway, just this time in a light she chose instead of the light that was already on. Tired of having to be the first to make the jokes they were still going to tell. And so as she stood there, placing the hat back on her head, with tears in her eyes and her heart on the floor, daring them to laugh at her again, Glinda made her way through the crowd, stepped forward, and saw her.

Maybe she shouldn’t have forgiven her so easily. Maybe Glinda was not doing this out of kindness but out of guilt. Maybe she should’ve been more wary, considering trusting Glinda was the thing that had led her there in the first place. And maybe if it was anyone else but her, she would have. But as she watched Glinda mimic her dance, anxiously frowning and impossibly genuine, making a fool of herself in front of the people she always tried her best to please, she too saw Glinda for what she was. An equal, she realised, sure this time. Glinda had been seeing her for a long time, even if the outcome was less than desirable. And on that dancefloor, Glinda had seen her, and she had defended her, in her own little way, from this circle of hell of her own creation, and no one had ever done that before. No one had ever felt guilty, even. And so maybe her standards were low. But this was surprising in itself, this small act of humanity, and Elphaba had been made to feel a lot of things by a lot of people over the years, but never surprised. But before her father ever was there for her, before her sister once stood up for her, before even her teachers, who, while they praised and supported her, never defended her, before anyone would dare to even speak kindly to her in public, Glinda was the first to take her side. She had hugged Elphaba in front of all those people afraid to even stand near her, and that meant something. It meant a lot, embarrassingly.

And so, when Glinda had offered her hand, she took it. A truce, a new beginning. This would later turn out to be only the first of many other firsts that Glinda would be for her, and it was one of the few moments in her life that she would never look back on with regret.

*

Her decision to trust Glinda has been proven right time and time again over the past three months.

She wakes up to the sun on her face and a certain blonde nowhere to be seen. This was not unusual; Glinda liked to wake up early, but the room was perfectly tidy, which meant she had not yet gotten ready, which was unusual. Elphaba frowns. She could hear noise from the other room. Curiously, she makes her way into the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. The unusual tidiness of their bedroom was compensated for by the absolute disaster that was the kitchen. Glinda is in the middle of it, a flurry of pink and blonde, covered in—was that flour?

“What the hell are you doing?” she asks incredulously. She had never known Glinda to willingly set foot in the kitchen before.

Glinda turns and shrieks, making a beeline for her. “No, no, Elphie!” she cries, and with flour-covered hands, she grabs Elphaba’s arm and begins to steer her back towards the bed, all but bundling her into the sheets. She looks very cross, and very flustered. She has what looks like some sort of batter on her face. Elphaba can only look on at her, baffled. Glinda gives her a pointed look, nostrils flared, and points at her. “Stay,” she says, and then she runs off without another word.

Elphaba stares.

She tries to wrack her brain to figure out what could possibly have sent Glinda into such a state of, well, this. In the three months they have been in their little safe house on the outskirts of Winkie Country, Elphaba has not seen her cook once. The most she’ll do is chop a vegetable, stir a pot, or do the dishes. And she would complain about all of those things loudly and at length. Because, for all her changes, Glinda was very much the same. She liked things being done for her, still sometimes expected things to just happen for her. It annoyed Elphaba, sometimes, that she forgot that the world couldn’t work like that anymore. But sometimes she envied her, for Glinda had a hope that life would still be kind to her, even now, a hope that Elphaba had never had. She was open to asking for help and complained about things that didn’t matter, and she would pick flowers and paint things so their lodgings could look nice and she still did her hair every day. Her optimism made Elphaba bitter, sometimes, but when she was feeling kinder, and she thought about how much Glinda cared about things that didn’t matter at all, it reminded her that this life they had, although it was not a lot, could still be beautiful. Glinda was here, and they were trying to change the world together, and she was safe and happy and alive despite everything. It was a fragile thing, but she could hold it in her hands and call it theirs, and that feeling always won out, in the end.

Before she could think anymore about what Glinda could have been doing in there, she bursts back into the room with a plate piled high with what looks like pancakes. Elphaba is so, so very confused.

“Oz, Elphie,” she’s saying, balancing the plate awkwardly in one hand while trying to crawl her way up from the foot of the bed. Elphaba takes the plate from her, lest she drop it, and Glinda clambers up so she is kneeling next to her. “Cooking, how do you bear it? Those horrid little machines make the most dreadful sounds, and everything goes all over the place and-” she pauses, takes a breath. Pushes her hair out of her face and smiles at her. “Sorry, how rude of me. Happy birthday, Elphie,” she breathes.

Elphaba stares at her. “What?”

“It is today, isn’t it? I checked the calendar twice and I-”

“How did you know it was my birthday?” Elphaba is incredulous. Ever since Dulcibear died when she was about twelve, she’s never, not once, celebrated her birthday. When they were younger, Nessa always gave her her share of dessert, would maybe whisper her well wishes once their father had gone to bed, but as the years went on they both silently agreed it was less pathetic to not celebrate at all than to pretend. Since then, she’s never had reason to.

“I asked your sister, ages ago. Originally it was because I was going to throw you a party, but obviously…” Glinda is biting her lip, eyes searching Elphaba’s face anxiously. “You don’t look happy. You aren’t angry, are you? I woke up extra early and I used the frying pan and everything! I know you don’t like it when I get all fussy, but, it’s your birthday for Oz’s sake, I couldn’t just-”

Elphaba cuts her off with a shake of her head. “I’m just surprised, is all. I don’t remember the last time someone did anything for my birthday. I didn’t even know it was coming up.” She feels embarrassed to say it, especially to Glinda, who probably grew up with extravagant birthday parties and mountains of gifts and great pink cakes with icing and candles that she could blow out and make a wish come true.

Glinda looks completely outraged. “Well, that’s just awful! Thank Oz I remembered,” she says, and she sounds like she means it.

Elphaba huffs out a laugh, “So, you learned how to cook? As a birthday present?”

“Well, I don’t know how they taste yet.”

Elphaba makes a big show of cutting off a piece and putting it into her mouth, Glinda is watching her anxiously, nibbling on her bottom lip again. The pancake is, truly, one of the worst things she’s ever tasted. It’s salty, for starters, and the texture is like rubber. She has no idea how it could taste that bad; she was sure pancakes had maybe five ingredients. But Glinda is looking at her so hopefully, and so she swallows and grins at her in a way she hopes is reassuring. “They’re lovely, thank you,” she gets out, and Glinda frowns.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” she whines.

“No! It’s delicious, really! I’ve never…tasted anything like it,” she says, and she can feel a laugh bubbling in her throat.

Glinda huffs and takes a bite of her own, and her face is priceless. Elphaba can’t hold it in anymore; she bursts into laughter, doubling over until her ribs hurt and she can no longer breathe.

”I can’t believe it,” Glinda laments. “I thought I did everything right! I'm sure I used all the right…Oh, Elphie, I just wanted to do something nice for you!” She catches her breath and looks up at Glinda. She looks so mournful, and it sets her off all over again. Soon, Glinda joins her, collapsing into her side, and the room fills with the sound of their laughter.

“You’re so mean,” says Glinda, shoving her gently. She pouts, but there is a smile tugging at her lips.

Elphaba looks at her, knowing she must look so disgustingly fond. “I’m sorry! I appreciate it, I do,” she says, and Glinda sniffs. Elphaba wraps an arm around her to placate her, and she curls into her side. She presses a kiss to the top of her head. Glinda starts suddenly.

“Oh! I got you something else, too!” Elphaba raises an eyebrow.

“Did you cook it?” she asks dryly, and Glinda swats at her arm.

“Don’t be cruel, Elphie! Here, open it,” she says, handing her a beautifully wrapped rectangle with a pink bow on it.

She unwraps a little black book and opens it to the first page. ‘Dear Elphie,’ it reads. ‘You are my favourite thing to look at. Love, your Glinda’. She flips through the pages to see...herself. Pages and pages of little black-and-white sketches, all of Elphaba: bent over a book, smiling at something, asleep. There are ones of just her hands or her eyes, some portraits adorned with little hearts, others captioned with comments like “cute” and “sleepy Elphie :(”. It’s sweet, and it's thoughtful, and it’s so Glinda that her heart clenches. She knows that even if they were back to normal, and Glinda could have given her anything that money could buy, there is nothing she could’ve given her that would make her feel like this. She turns to smile at the girl who is currently shifting in anticipation.

“Thank you, Glinda,” she whispers, “Really.” She looks into warm brown eyes that stare back at her with so much affection. She is all at once so grateful for Glinda and her fuss and her unyielding optimism, and she is filled with emotion. “You didn’t have to do all this for me- I never…” She can’t finish her sentence because she will cry. She doesn’t want to cry.

Glinda frowns at her and pushes the plate of horrible birthday pancakes out of the way. She climbs into her lap and hooks her arms around her neck, and Elphaba is forced to look up at her, and it is like staring at the sun. Glinda beams. It hurts her eyes.

“Of course I did! Happy Birthday, Elphie.” She pauses, biting her lip again, and Elphaba should really remind her to stop doing that, she thinks, and then she changes Elphaba’s life, again.  “I love you,” she says easily, like she says it all the time, and Elphaba’s entire world shifts. Because she doesn’t think anyone has ever said that to her before. In two decades of life, she has never heard a single soul say those words to her, and she has certainly never said them to anyone herself. She hasn’t even allowed herself to think that Glinda might love her, although what else could this possibly be? And, of course, she loves her too, of course she does. The words are in the back of her throat, waiting, but when she opens her mouth, they don’t get past the lump in her throat, and she can’t say it. She thinks dimly that this is so embarrassing, getting all teary-eyed about three stupid little words, and yet, she can’t bring herself to care. She closes her eyes and lets the tears fall, and Glinda wipes her cheeks and whispers that it’s alright, and Elphaba kisses her, hard. She pulls Glinda in closer by her waist and feels her arms tighten around her neck. Elphaba pours her heart into her lips and hopes she feels the words she cannot bring herself to say.

Glinda pulls back to look at her. Her heart clenches in her chest. She thinks back to the start of the year and how she would have laughed at the thought of having anyone in her arms like this, let alone Glinda, perfect, beautiful, popular Glinda. She thinks about how maybe it was inevitable, that they were always orbiting each other, one way or another, how the flush of her face and the spinning of her head is not new, only different.

“I…Glinda-” she starts, and she wills the words to come out, wills herself to be able to tell this girl just how much she means to her, but they are dried up and stuck behind her tongue. Glinda just shakes her head, all dimples and bright eyes, and Elphaba knows she understands. Their lips meet again, hot and feverish. Elphaba’s hands clutch at her hair, at her clothes still covered in pancake batter, at the bare skin she is so familiar with now. Glinda’s mouth latches onto her neck, and she feels her fingers find their way beneath her night dress. As Elphaba flips them around and pushes her down into the sheets, she thinks briefly about how for once in her life she is grateful to have lived another year, grateful for the path she is on, no matter how dangerous, for it has brought her here. Then Glinda wraps her legs around her body from beneath her, kissing her long and slow, and she resolves to stop thinking at all.

*

They spend the rest of the day doing what they normally do. They start with magic; over the months, Elphaba had been training herself and Glinda in sorcery using the Grimmerie. Before Glinda got here, Elphaba had made enough progress that she could harness her power and do a good amount of spells without really thinking about them. Most usefully, she had learned to cast and maintain a concealment spell around the village she shared with this Animal community, keeping their homes from the detection of prying eyes. Now, she spent her time practising the most draining or difficult ones and trying to teach Glinda, who had learned enough of the basics from Morrible that this kind of informal training proved less challenging for her, but she still struggled immensely. Where Elphaba had lacked control, Glinda had almost too much of it, at times unable to access her magic at all, so it was difficult sometimes for both of them, though Elphaba didn’t mind. It was worth it to see her face light up once she managed something as simple as lighting a fire or filling a glass of water.

In the afternoon, they meet with their Animal neighbours and discuss their next steps. They have been slowly coming up with a plan to free the Animals that are trapped in the Emerald City dungeons. The meeting comes to a halt when they encounter an issue with how they will get the other Animals out of Oz. Glinda knows that in the dungeons, there are Animals as big as Elephants, who are slower and would be much more difficult to free without running into any problems. For many of them, Elphaba would be able to take on her broom, or they could ride with some of the flying monkeys if they managed to get to them fast enough. But the larger animals move slower and can not be transported through the air, and going by foot is far too risky.

“I mean,” Glinda says, tentatively, “How close are we in the other countries? Could we wait until we gain enough traction in the rest of Oz and free them at the same time as we confront the Wizard? I could write Fiyero today and see how far along we are.”

Elphaba considers her words. Fiyero’s involvement had been Glinda’s doing, clever as she was, as she had written to him before her departure informing him of her decision to find Elphaba. She had told him to tell her parents and her friends at Shiz that she had not been kidnapped, and she had gone of her own free will, to remind them of how close she and Elphie had been before the Wizard could get to them. They had managed to communicate with him through notes and chains of Animal conversation, and it seemed things had gone to plan. The Shiz students were still wary of Elphaba and what the Wizard said about her, but they adored Glinda, and they had all watched Dr Dillamond’s arrest and the cruelty of the cub in the cage. She had no idea whether they had managed to get them onside enough to spread it to their families, but it was more than she could have hoped for.

Elphaba had been gradually making connections with people outside of the Animal colony in which she lives, speaking with people and Animals in different villages, flying to the border between Winkie and Quadling, and seeing if she could change peoples’ minds about the Wizard and the Animals. She’s realised that the people who live on the outskirts are her best chances. Often, people choose to live so far out from the centre of Oz for a reason; many of them stay far enough away from politics that it’s easy enough to convince them of the Wizard’s flaws and the injustices being committed.

However, those whom she feels are more susceptible to Emerald City propaganda, she leaves to Fiyero, who plays the well-bred, well-liked, ‘concerned citizen’ of Oz who plants questions like, ‘Why have we never seen the Wizard do a single spell? Why does he stay hidden away from us?’ and ‘If he were really a Wizard, how did a schoolgirl witch manage to evade his great powers? I was in school with her; she was powerful but barely trained.’; little things that didn’t say enough to be damning as opposition, but enough to cast doubt around the already elusive figure of the Wizard. Fiyero split his time between charming the rest of Gillikin and trying to placate the more sceptical people of his home country with princely reassurances.

Glinda, on the other hand, painted as a kidnapped martyr by the Wizard and Morrible, has reworked the narrative in her favour. Once the rumours result in the tiniest of fractures in their faith in the Wizard, Glinda holds meetings and tells the people of Oz of the harsh treatment she endured under Madame Morrible, the lies they told her, and the things she saw. She puts on her most earnest smile and all but holds their hands as she says it, and why on earth would this beloved Gilikinese girl have any reason to lie?

Privately, Elphaba hates it, hates that they cannot use the real reason for all her rage, hates that it all has to be about them, and all about the Wizard, when it should really be about the Animals, about doing what is right, but she knows in her heart that this is the only way it will work. People, she has realised, do not often care about doing the right thing. They do not care about what is fair, what is just, or what is good so long as it doesn’t affect them. No, people care about scandal. They want a Story, one that comes with excitement and drama, one they can gossip about over their dinner and read about in magazines.

She knows, also, that she could not have done this without them, could not have made progress this fast without their help, and for that, she is so, so grateful. She had run off all those months ago with no plan, just the Grimmerie, her broom, and her unflinching rage, and she shudders to think how she would have fared without Glinda’s levelheaded reasoning, Fiyero’s status. Without their popularity, she thinks, wryly. Because between the three of them, they are causing quite a stir; sympathy for Elphaba grows, rumours about the Wizard’s credibility carry themselves across villages and cast doubt in communities, stories of Glinda’s experience as Morrible’s apprentice grow traction and produce a sort of outrage that only comes when a beautiful girl is violated, and the Wizard’s hold on the populace weakens, slowly. The whole thing works a charm, and unrest has already begun to spread like wildfire around the outskirts of Oz.

”We’ve done pretty well between here and Quadling, and we know that Fiyero has been working on Shiz and the rest of Gillikin, and his last note sounded pretty hopeful. I don’t know what things are like in Munchkinland, but they’ve never had any say in important matters in the past. We could be getting close to being ready,” Glinda continues, more confidently now.

Elphaba shakes her head. “If we have made as much progress as we think we have, then writing Fiyero detailing our plans is far too risky. We haven’t heard from him in over a month. There is no way of knowing that the Emerald City hasn’t already figured out that it’s him doing our bidding, and if it gets intercepted, the Wizard will be expecting me. But I suppose, we could see if one of the Birds can get any news about the state of things closer to the city, or if they can communicate anything with Feldspur. Word of mouth between other Animals is safer than letters,” she reasons. Glinda nods, sucking on the end of her pen, looking thoughtful.

“I suppose. That will take a while though, a good couple of weeks at best. Things could have changed for worse or better by the time it makes its way back to us.”

“I know, and the longer those animals are in there, the less likely they are to have their speech when we free them.” Elphaba sighs in frustration.

A Bull that lives down the road speaks up, then. Elphaba had honestly forgotten the rest of them were there. “I am still in contact with the family I used to work for in Munchkinland,” he says slowly. “I left on good terms. They wrote me yesterday saying the people are starting to ask questions about why we Animals kept leaving our jobs, and whether the Wizard is telling the truth about us. They asked me whether I could tell them the truth about why I left, about what I knew. I think things have spread faster than you think.”

“Thank you, Cassius,” says Elphaba, graciously. “That is useful to know. My sister is yet to return with any correspondence, but I know that there was discontent with the state of things in Munchkinland well before any of this…business.” She has tried to contact Nessa only twice, once letting her know that she was safe, and she was sorry, and once asking about her wellbeing and whether she would be willing to help her. Neither received a response. She wondered sometimes, what Nessa thought of everything. Whether she believed the Wizard, whether she would fight for her. She had considered, briefly, before deciding to head West, returning to her home to see her and her father, to house herself there. Part of her knew that if the Wizard’s guards had come to find her there, they wouldn’t have put up much of a fight for her to stay. Part of her thinks they would have let them take her away.

She pulls herself out of her reverie with a determined look on her face. “I think,” she says slowly, “I think it might be time for me to go back there. To face them. We won’t be able to reach the City with just words, they have to be shown. It sounds like we’ve done all we can to break down the confidence in the Wizard’s regime without putting ourselves in the firing line. I’ve learned to control my power, and now that the rest of the citizens of Oz have backed down from reinforcing whatever the Wizard tells them, most of the persecution now is happening where we can’t reach it.” She clasps her hands together and looks around their tiny living room at the faces staring back at her. “As soon as we can determine how much support we have from the citizens on the outskirts, we can figure out when’s best to strike at the capital. The only way this ends is with me going back to the Palace.”

A murmur makes its way through the group. She sees the animals nodding in encouragement, some looking slightly wary, but the overall response seems positive.

Glinda clears her throat. “Elphie. A word?” she says, and her voice is clipped and short.

“Yeah, just. One minute,” Elphaba says, looking at her distractedly. Her mind raced with ideas of how she might make her way back into the palace undetected, how she might get people on their side enough to fight back should things expand outside of the palace walls. “Anyone have any questions? It will be a little while, and I will keep you all updated, but we should be moving towards a plan to infiltrate the Palace and free the others soon. Thanks for coming, guys.” There are various noises of approval from the group, and then the Animals make to leave. Glinda is sitting beside her, stiff as a board.

“What’s up?”

Glinda says nothing. There is a crease in her brow. The silence stretches between them until the last one makes their way out.

“I know what you’re doing,” says Glinda at last. “You’re trying to leave me behind again.”

Elphaba turns to her, surprised. “What?”

“The way you’re talking. All your ‘I’s and ‘Me’s, You’re planning to go on your own, aren’t you? And leave me behind.”

“Glinda,” she starts, and then she stops. Because she’s right; Elphaba wants to go alone, wants Glinda here, safe, where they can’t hurt her.

“Well?” she asks, eyebrows raised, expectant.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” she tries, and Glinda rolls her eyes.

“Try again.”

“It’s not your fight! I’m the one they want. I’m the one who started all this, and I’m the one who has to finish it.”

Glinda pushes her chair away from the table and stands abruptly. “Bullshit,” she hisses, icily, eyes narrowed. “You made it my fight too from the moment you asked me to come with you. Just me being here makes it my fight.”

“That’s different. By that logic, it’s Fiyero’s fight, too, and all the Animals, and I’m surely not bringing all of them with me.”

“You’re deliberately missing the point!” says Glinda. She does not raise her voice, but every word lands like shards of glass. “What do you think I’ve been doing, talking against the Wizard, vouching for you? Do you think it’s all been fun and games? You know that they don’t want to hear it, that saying the wrong thing to the wrong person could get me sent straight to the city, straight to the same dungeons that we’re trying to free the others from. You know that, I know you do,” she says quietly. Elphaba almost wishes she had shouted.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Glinda. You’ve been so brave and so good at what you’ve done, but for all we know this could be a suicide mission. They’re probably expecting my return and are waiting to kill me. I am their Wicked Witch, after all. I don’t want to risk you, too.”

“Okay, sure. Let’s say that’s true. What, exactly, makes you think I’m going to let you walk into your death alone? What do you take me for?” Elphaba looks at her, seeing the hurt in her eyes under her anger, and she stands as well.

“It’s not that. I knew you’d try. I just don’t want you to. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you,” she rests a hand on her arm and feels her tense beneath her touch.

“And if something happened to you?” Glinda asks, “What would you suggest I do, then? Just put on a brave face? Go about my day? Don’t you know how much I-” her breath hitches, and she scowls, refusing to finish.

Elphaba says nothing. She thinks of Glinda telling her she loved her this morning, of her sketchbook filled with drawings and her lovely words, of the way she lights up when they lock eyes. She thinks of what brought her here that first night, how she had looked at her so earnestly and said she was keeping her promise, she was staying, and Elphaba could still pick her if she wanted. How she had given up everything because she missed her. She thinks that perhaps Glinda couldn’t stand it either, and perhaps she is being a little unreasonable.

“I’m sorry,” she tries, looking away. Glinda sniffs. “Glinda. I’m sorry. I didn’t think-”

“Clearly.”

She sighs. “If you come with me-” she starts.

“When I come with you-”

“-you have to promise me to get yourself to safety if they try the offensive... if things go wrong. I can protect us both, but don’t try to be a hero if anything-“

“Don’t try to-Ugh!” Glinda crosses her arms over her chest, indignant again. “Don’t try to be a hero? You mean the way that you do? The way you are doing right now? Do you actually hear yourself sometimes? Oz, Elphaba, why do you want to be a martyr so terribly? I thought we were supposed to be a team!”

“I don’t! I’m not trying to—I just want you safe! You have to know I would do anything to protect you, Glinda, and yes, that means making myself a martyr.”

Glinda’s scowls. “That’s not as noble as you think it is. You’re being ridiculous.”

Elphaba sighs and reaches out tentatively to take Glinda’s hands in her own. Glinda averts her gaze stubbornly. She sighs, “Before, I always planned for it to be this way. I always knew how it would probably end, being captured, or dying for what I believed in. I didn’t think I had anything to lose, back then, so I was okay with it,” her voice gets quieter now.

Glinda softens, slightly, but her jaw is strong. “I understand that Elphie, I do. But can’t you understand that when I say I want to be with you, that I’m here, that means for all the hard stuff too? You may have started this whole thing on your own, but it doesn’t have to be that way anymore.”

All this talk of endings brings horrible visions to the front of her mind. The thought of them killing Glinda instead of her, hearing her scream in front of her, the thought of them taking her away, the thought of it being her fault is almost too much for her to even think about. “I know. I just…You mean too much to me. I can’t lose you. I…I-” and she still can’t fucking say it. Glinda meets her eyes, finally. She nods once, the fight going out of her with the tiny bob of her head.

“I’m coming with you,” she says with a finality that Elphaba knows she cannot argue with. “I can’t lose you either.” And then she leaves, flounces off into the other room.

Elphaba feels her words lingering in the empty space. She has never known it possible to love someone so much that you’d fight them over it, that you’d walk alone to your own death for it, but still be unable to verbalise it.

She hears Glinda's expectant sigh through the thin walls. Hears her deliberately slam a door, and knows she is 'sulking' dramatically on the bed, waiting for Elphaba to come and make it up to her. Elphaba grins, and she follows. 

*

The next couple of weeks are filled with plotting and planning. The Owls took to the skies to communicate with Animals in hiding closer to the Emerald City, the ones who were clever enough to lie low and pretend they couldn’t speak. They had caught wind of brewing unrest even inside the city, people demanding the Wizard say something, that he dispel the rumours. There have been strikes, petitions, and protests, more than they ever expected. Everything the Wizard has done so far to mitigate the situation has not been enough because the one thing the people wanted to see, was the one thing he did not have. Magic. People were beginning to see through his fancy words, his grand distractions. They were demanding answers about what happened to Glinda, and what they did with the Animals who were once their teachers, their colleagues, their friends. Their plans had worked even better than they had hoped. She and Glinda agreed to work quickly, so as not to lose the momentum that had been built up.

As the days progress, they gather that there is a large protest planned throughout Oz, which would be the perfect time to aim at the palace, for the guards would be dissipated throughout the City to manage the crowds. They know that it runs the risk of being predictable, that they could be running straight towards capture, but it appears there is no better option. Instead of worrying about the worst, they spend their days practising ways to protect themselves, drafting the best ways into the palace, communicating with their allies how to signal to them that there is danger.

When the day comes, it is almost summer, and they are ready.

“Elphie,” Glinda says quietly, “No matter what happens, whether we can do this, or, or we can’t…  I am so proud of you, okay?” There is a tremor in her voice, and Elphaba can almost taste the fear radiating off of her. Glinda is nibbling at her lip again, playing with her fingers, nervous habits all coming out.

Elphaba tilts her chin towards her and strokes her jaw with a long finger. “Hey,” she says, “look at me. I know what I’m doing.” Elphaba kisses her, feels Glinda push back against her lips softly. She can feel the furrowed brow against her skin, feels her trembling shoulders under her hands. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise,” she says, and means it.

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Glinda says, lips in a thin white line. Elphaba says nothing, she just wraps her arms around her shoulders and squeezes. Love you, she thinks. It’s there, waiting. Caught behind her fear and her determination and her sorrow. This could be the end of it all. She may never get this again. Glinda squeezes back, arms around her waist. They part, and Glinda takes a shuddering breath.

“After you, my sweet,” she bows dramatically to lighten her mood and holds the broom out to her. Once Glinda is sat on the back, a pink cape around her arms, Elphaba moves to sit in front of her. Automatically, she feels her thin arms wrap around her waist, her warm weight against her back.

They shoot off into the sky, and she prays, for the first time since she was a little girl, asking God to take away the green and bring back her mother and give her a father who loved her. This time, when her heart calls out to the God she stopped believing in, she prays that their freedom will last.

*

They fly over the cities and see the crowds of people in the streets like flies over honey. When they dip low enough, she can hear their cries of outrage, their demands. She can feel the heat of fires, taste the frustration of the citizens of Oz in the air. It feels like change.

It’s almost sunset by the time they arrive. The Emerald Palace glitters against the orange of the sky, and as they land at one of the turrets, neither girl says a word. The only sound is the wind and the angry cries of the people below. Elphaba knows they are both remembering the last time they were here together, scared and afraid with a broom between them, and thinking of all that has happened since.

They decided in advance that they would first make their way to the Dungeons, see what they were working with, and deal with the Wizard afterwards. So Glinda leads her down into the body of the Palace, down the disused staircases, through quiet corners and hallways, with the familiarity of someone who once called it her home. They don’t speak; they daren’t breathe too loud. They reach a set of double doors that block them from the main building, great black panels of timber twice their size, padlocked and bolted, and what looks to be welded. Elphaba focuses her mind and brings her hand up, the one holding the broom, willing it to open. With minimal effort, she sees the bolts loosen, the locks uncurl, and the door open with a creak. Glinda squeezes her hand in excitement.

Elphaba is dimly aware that it should not have been this easy. She knew there would be reduced security, but none at all felt suspicious. The landing is completely empty, the only sounds being their footsteps and their shallow breaths. They make their way down yet another grand staircase, and eventually, they reach the main floor, the corridor where they had once been chased by flying monkeys and guards with sticks and guns. It had been so loud, so difficult to escape. The silence now unsettles her, something feels very, very wrong. She voices her thoughts to Glinda, “Something isn’t right. It shouldn’t be this easy.”

“I know. Maybe it’s all the protests. We should keep going, anyway. The dungeons aren’t far from here.” Wordlessly, Elphaba grips her hand and lets her lead her further through the maze of glass. It’s completely silent. They reach an unlocked door, which makes Elphaba raise an eyebrow, but Glinda nods to go through. It leads to another very narrow, very dark staircase, and Elphaba briefly vows to never use another set of stairs ever again. They head down, still wary of the silence, palms gripped between them and sweating. Once they reach the bottom, there is nothing there. There are cages, the same way that Glinda described, but all of the doors are open.

“What-” Glinda starts, looking around in confusion. “What have they done with them all?”

“I don’t know,” says Elphaba, trying very hard not to panic. Then, her eye catches something. “They can’t have been here all that long ago. Look,” she points to the bars on one of the cages and sees spots of dark liquid sliding down the silver metal. Blood, she thinks, but she tries not to think about where it could be from. “It’s not dried yet. That can’t be from more than an hour ago.”

“We have to go,” Glinda says, understanding. “We have to be quick.”

They run back up to the top of the stairs and wordlessly head to the Entrance Hall, where it had all begun to go horribly wrong all those months ago. And finally, they hear sounds. Behind the golden head of the Wizard, there is movement, something that sounds like metal scraping across the tile, and Elphaba thinks of the chains and the cages and wants to burst through the door. Glinda grabs her arm and holds a finger to her lips.

“We don’t know when she’ll… the most likely…. the beasts…” She hears a female voice, snippets of a conversation that appears to be about herself. She thinks it is Madame Morrible, which she mouths at Glinda for confirmation, who nods, eyes closed.

“There’s been more…other countries…dangerous,” the second voice is definitely the Wizard. At whatever he said, they hear an impatient growling and snapping from what she assumes is a big Cat of some sort, and is closely followed by the crack of a whip, and a yelp. Elphaba flinches and Glinda squeezes her arm. Eyes frantic, she points to the space behind Elphaba, where a guard is standing a few meters away from them. He has yet to notice them, and Elphaba quickly fumbles for a spell. Sleep, she thinks, pointing the end of her broom at the guard, and he thuds to the ground. Though the spell works, the sudden sound draws the attention of the others.

“Who’s there?” bellows a second guard, and Elphaba can feel her pulse all the way to her fingertips. She looks at Glinda, panicked, and tries to tell her to focus on the Animals while Elphaba distracts them, all with her eyes and frantic pointing. She nods rapidly, wide-eyed, and she hopes they are on the same page. Well, she thinks, this is what she came here to do. Shooting one more meaningful look at Glinda, she hops on the broom and wills herself to float upwards, above the golden head of Oscar Diggs and into the eye line of the enemy. She holds her focus, dares not look down, and thinks of the poppies in Dillamond’s class. She puts the guards to sleep, all four of them, and watches them collapse one by one. It is only by the time that the last couple are falling, that anyone thinks to look up.

Morrible and the Wizard stare up at her. She stares back. The hall is the same as she remembers it. It is all still green, marble tiles and floors, torches of fire hoisted along the walls and crystal light fixings that hang from the ceiling. The hideous mechanical gold head of the Wizard of Oz. His looming presence, ever enduring. Behind them are open double doors leading to the entry hall to the Palace. She can just about make out the Animals trailing down the steps into the hall, hooked up to chains by their paws, their wings, their legs. Many of them are cowering or trembling; she can see dried blood matted into fur, and pain in their eyes. The chains lead to the front doors, which are open. She wants to look closer, see if she can spot Dr Dillamond, but she knows if she lets her gaze linger, their attention will be drawn to Glinda, who is currently running, light on her feet and fingers to her lips, towards the hallway.

“Miss Elphaba,” says Morrible. “We’ve been expecting you,” she says coolly, though her careful expression does not mask the surprise in her eyes as she looks around at how Elphaba controlled her power, and how the guards remain sound asleep.

“Am I early?” she asks, darting across the ceiling. She has no idea where all this bravado is coming from, but she keeps her mind focused on the Animals in the corner and tries her best to divert their attention away from where Glinda is currently trying to unlock the chains.

“You know, after everything I did for you, I was surprised to learn of the little rebel movement you’ve been stirring up,”she says. “You’ve been causing a lot of problems for someone so…” she trails off and gestures towards her, a glint in her eye. Elphaba wondered if her cruelty was always hidden beneath her kindness, her encouragement.

“I had no doubt you’d hear about it,” replies Elphaba. Her grip on the broom handle is firm, and she wills her voice not to shake. “I wanted to know what exactly it was that you’d do about it, considering that all I’ve told anyone is the truth.”

Morrible laughs joylessly, sweeping her hand through the air, and Elphaba feels a gust of wind almost knock her from her position. Almost. For once, being in front of Morrible, she has complete control of her power, control of herself. Madame Morrible’s hold over her existed in the fact that Elphaba was wildly insecure and afraid of her abilities, eager to please so she could make good with the Wizard. That wasn’t true anymore. Elphaba gracefully swoops down from her perch above them and lets her broom clatter to the floor. She watches as Glinda whips around at the noise, alarmed. She is almost done with her spells.

The Wizard, who has up until now been largely silent, looks both impressed and disappointed at once. “You could have been great, had you stayed here,” he sighs. “We could have built so much here, together. But now… well. We can’t just let you continue as you are.” He walks closer to Elphaba and gestures to an area to her right, where sure enough, where the Grimmerie once was, is a table with some fancified little tea devices and some green mugs. “Come along now, I’ve prepared for your arrival. Let’s see if we can work something out.”

His hands are in his pockets, and he appears to be completely relaxed and unruffled. It angers her. She wants him to be afraid, wants him to feel what she felt when she learned her life as she knew it was over. She wants him to hurt, the same way she did.

“I’m not here to talk,” Elphaba says instead.

“What are you here for then, hm? To fight?” he shakes his head and huffs out a laugh. “Don’t be absurd. If you start any funny business, we will just have to kill you,” he says, resigned. He says it so casually that Elphaba doesn’t even register fully what he’s said.

“That’s your solution?” she says coolly, though her heart is thudding. “Even without me here, you’ve done enough damage to your own reputation by not responding to your people when they needed you. Can’t you hear them?" she gestures vaguely to the double doors, where the cries of protest of the citizens of Oz can be heard faintly. "Even if you beat me, where does that leave you?”

The Wizard hums again, walking away from her to the corner of the room. “People only care about things like revolutions if they know that there’s a better option. With you gone, who will take over as their fearless leader? Who will make them care? People like to feel safe, they like to be led. It will be old news by next week.”

Secretly, Elphaba knows the Wizard might have a point. She knows that most of the people who were withdrawing their support for the Wizard were doing it because they thought they should, not because they had any real care for the Animals or Elphaba’s mistreatment. She has no idea what would happen if they did kill her, or if they were unable to keep reaching people. If she was honest, she had never really thought about what might come next, what came after.

“She’s not the only one,” Glinda speaks up then, already finished with her task. She has made her way to the other side of the room, but Elphaba notices that it looks as if the Animals are still chained up, even though she saw each cuff be lowered gently to the ground. They wouldn’t suspect a thing, she thinks. Clever girl.

“Ah, Miss…Glinda. I see you’ve made your return!” though his voice is calm, Elphaba notices the Wizard’s back stiffen minutely. “Listen,” he says broadly, walking towards Glinda, “You’ve always been a lot more reasonable than your friend here. Let’s forget about your little disappearing act, why don’t you and her sit down so we can talk about this like adults, hm?”

“Let’s not,” Glinda scowls. “What could you possibly have to say to us? We already know the truth about you and what you’re doing. So do your people. Words aren’t going to change any of that.” Elphaba is pleasantly surprised. The last time she had seen Glinda interact with the Wizard had been a lot different; she thinks part of her expected Glinda to return to herself, to leave her at the first offer of a real life again. She scolds herself internally and knows she is being unfair, thinking of Glinda’s set jaw and her determined ‘I’m coming with you’.

The Wizard says something about remembering the power of words, but she tunes him out and lets Glinda handle the pointless back-and-forth fluff conversation the Wizard insists upon. Instead, she turns her attention to Morrible, who has been unusually silent, noticing that she has busied herself with that ridiculocious tea set, and is beginning to pour two cups. Just before she turns to halt the Wizard’s spiel about the greater good and the common enemy, she sees, in the corner of her eye, a glint of green between Morrible's long fingers, and she freezes.

Elphaba doesn’t even think. She throws her hand out, and the next thing she knows there is a green glass bottle clutched in her hand, snatched from Morrible’s hands. The sorceress looks startled, but Elphaba pays her no mind. She looks down at the tiny glass bottle in her palm with the same grooves and curves she knows by heart and knows, instantly, that something terrible is happening. She can feel ice creeping into her veins. “What is this?” she asks, so quietly she isn’t actually sure if she has spoken aloud.

The Wizard says nothing but looks shiftily at Morrible, who remains silent. 

“What is this?” she asks again, feeling her body start to tremble. She can feel her magic coursing through her, feeding on her emotions in a way she’s not felt in a long time.

Glinda is at her side in an instant, gripping her other hand. “Elphie? What is it? What’s wrong?” Her voice sounds wrong, like she’s hearing it from far away. Elphaba’s body feels like lead. She thinks she may collapse.

Elphaba cannot speak. She simply holds her palm out to Glinda, hoping she will understand, hoping she will make the connection she is making, simultaneously hoping she will see it for something else, desperately hoping she is wrong.

“Oh, Oz,” whispers Glinda, and Elphaba’s heart sinks. She can feel Glinda looking at her, can feel the concern and pity radiating from her, but she doesn’t look. Can’t look.

“What, ah, what seems to be the problem ladies?” says the Wizard jovially. He has his composure back, and Elphaba wants him dead. “I assure you this is nothing but green elixir, helps with… ah, truth-telling, and the like. So we’re all on equal ground. Nothing to cause a fuss about.”

Glinda spins around at his talk of elixir. “Were you going to drug us?” she asks, clearly alarmed.

“No, of course not, we would all-”

“It’s your fault,” says Elphaba, without her consent, interrupting him. Her brain feels like it has fallen out of her skull. She can’t think.

“Pardon? You have to speak up, see, there’s no point in barging in here and causing all this commotion if-”

“It’s your fault,” she says, louder this time, voice breaking. She wills her eyes to focus on him, wills herself to reach into her pocket and pull out the identical bottle she has carried around with her all her life, her only thing tying her to her mother, the only thing tying her to “you. You made me like this, you did this to me, you-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” the Wizard holds his hands up in confusion. “What are you talking about? What’s with the little tantrum going on here, Glinda, what is she talking about?”

Elphaba feels a jolt in her stomach and both bottles go flying at the Wizard’s chest. He stumbles backwards, surprised, and catches the bottles as a reflex. The chandeliers above them begin to quake. Morrible starts towards her, saying something, but Elphaba simply holds a hand out and the sorceress is thrown backwards against the table, both of them careening into the wall. She hears Glinda gasp; she ignores it. Her eyes stay on the WIzard.

“Where did you get this? Why are you-” she watches the Wizard realise in real-time. There is not a sound in the room. Even the Animals remain silent in the outside halls, as if they too, know that something of great magnitude is happening a few feet away from them. “Oh,” he says, at last, his voice quiet, “Malena Thropp.” It is not a disappointed sound, nor a happy nor a devastated one. It is not anything at all.

“Did you know?” she asks flatly. She still has not come back to her body. She thinks of being a young girl, green and hated, wishing the Wizard would one day make it all better for her. Make it all go away. Her stomach churns.

“No! No, never! Imagine what I could’ve done...what we could’ve done, had you been mine from your birth!” the Wizard looks at her wide-eyed. His voice is filled, bizarrely, with wonder. “I always- I always longed to be a father. How remarkable that-that this could happen! Of course, it caused such an unfortunate, ah, problem for you,” he gestures at her vaguely, “but how fascinating!

“Fascinating,” she repeats. The chandeliers tremble again.

Glinda, who Elphaba knows has been anxiously watching this entire exchange, lets go of her hand. She walks slowly towards the Wizard, and Elphaba cannot see her expression, but the slope of her shoulders is sure and strong.

“It’s not a problem,” she says matter of factly. Her frankness almost brings Elphaba completely back to reality. Almost. “It’s not a problem, and she…she never would’ve been yours. She is certainly not yours now.”

Madame Morrible interjects, finding her voice despite struggling against the forces pushing her away from them. “Insolence! You should be thanking the Wizard for blessing you with his greatness. You would be nothing without him,” she hisses. “He gave you life.”

“Oh for goodness sake. He didn’t give her anything,” Glinda says, rolling her eyes impatiently. “Elphie is good, and she is honest, and she is magic. You,” she says, pointing her finger at the Wizard’s chest, “You are a coward. And you are a liar, and you are weak. Whatever she has in her, she received none of it from you.”

It stirs something in her, hearing Glinda talk like this. Her voice is biting, cold, in a way she has never heard, even at her cruellest she has never sounded like this.

The Wizard eyes them both, his eyes darting between Elphaba, who remains rooted to her spot a few feet away, and the blonde directly in front of him.

“Elphaba,” he pushes past Glinda and starts towards her, “I know this is a shock to you, but won’t you reconsider now? Your magic, my power…Think of how great we could be!” he whispers, in front of her now, his hands ghosting her shoulders.

Elphaba feels another surge of rage. “Stay away from me! Don’t touch me!” She screams, and she doesn’t even have to move before the Wizard, too, is flung backwards against the wall. He struggles, but he remains pinned against the wall by invisible bonds. She has no idea how she’s done it. Her magic surges around her, the ground shakes, green tiles break away from the walls to the ground, crashing to the floor and shattering, little pieces of her lying in their jagged edges. The flames in the torches seem to grow, ready to lick at the walls and the floor around them. Her mind is racing. Morrible goes to respond, but out of the corner of her eye, she sees the cloth from the table wrap itself around Morrible’s hands, tying her in place, and she knows her power is moving so far out of her reach that she barely registers it. She can feel something stirring in her, something she hasn’t felt since the last time she was here. She feels dangerous.

In the chaos, she levitates the chains that once bound the Animals, lets the metal whizz around the room threateningly. With one hand she guides it to the locked doors of the Palace, using it to pull them open.

“Go, now!” she calls to the Animals. “You’re free. All of you! Go!” She hears a rumbling: Animals running to escape the palace. She sees Chistery nod at her once, watches him and the Monkeys shed their armour and take their leave.

“If you leave,” shouts the Wizard towards them through his struggle, “Your families will never be fed again! You have no jobs, you have no-“

“Enough!” she shouts, turning back to him, still pinned against the wall. She raises both of her hands, levitates the spears held by the sleeping guards. They shoot towards him, embedding themselves into the wall around him. 

“Elphie!” Glinda lets out a yelp, sounding very alarmed.

She sees the wall around the Wizard crack and relishes the fear in his eyes. She knows that this is out of character for her, that this is quickly running out of her control, but she hasn’t felt this level of pure, unbridled emotion maybe ever. It terrifies her, it thrills her. She doesn’t think she could stop if she tried. The ground shakes threateningly. “You will let them go. Unless you want to face the fate you intended for them? For me?” she doesn’t recognise the tone in her voice. She thinks, perhaps, that it is something resembling wicked.

She feels the flames in the torches grow, climbing slowly to the ceiling, threatening the adults pinned beneath them. She knows somewhere in her heart she wouldn’t hurt them, doesn’t even think she could, but in this moment, she wishes more than anything that she could, that she were strong enough to make him suffer, and that seems to be enough for her power to take a life of its own.  She hears the alarmed screams of Madame Morrible, thinks for a horrifying minute that maybe she will burn the place down whether she wants to or not, let them all go down together, Wicked Witch, her Wicked pseudo-mother and her Wicked Wizard creator. And Glinda.

“Elphie! Elphaba, stop,” Glinda’s voice is high, she is running towards her now, wide-eyed and clearly afraid.  “Stop! Please! Elphaba, you’re-”

“No,” she replies, sounding nothing like herself. “I can’t-“

“Elphie! Listen to me!“ Glinda grips her shoulders with both hands. There is an urgency to her voice that brings Elphaba back to herself, though her rage still casts a cloud over her eyes and adds fuel to her fire. Glinda is unflinching. “I know you’re upset,” Elphaba lets out a laugh. It sounds a little hysterical. She can feel wind rushing against her skin, so sharp it feels like shards of glass, and she has no idea where it is coming from. It could be Morrible, trying to defend herself. It could be her. Defending herself, attacking herself, destroying herself. “I know you’re upset,” Glinda repeats, “But you have to calm down. This isn’t what you came here to do.”

“Isn’t it? They’d do it to us if they had the chance.” She doesn’t understand how Glinda is so unruffled.

“You aren’t like them,” she insists, her eyes ridiculously earnest. She hates her, for one terrifying second. You don’t know anything, she thinks, angrily, unreasonably.

She explodes. She points a trembling finger at the Wizard. “Glinda, he made me! Of course I am like him. Everything wrong with me, everything, he…it’s all him, Glinda. He ruined me, and it made them all hate me, and then he did it again.” Elphaba thinks about being a young girl, her father hating her, her mother dead, alone through no fault of her own. She feels tears burning her eyes, assaulted with how unfair it all is. She lets out a sob as the chaos continues, objects go flying around the room, the grand structures collapsing, flames licking at the walls and threatening to engulf the entire room. It scares her a little, her anger mixing now with panic, her magic unable to be harnessed.

Glinda’s hands keep her firmly in place. “Stop it! You are so much more than whatever this bottle has to do with anything. Listen,” she looks at her urgently, a palm on each side of her face. Elphaba is dizzy with panic. She feels her throat constrict. “You are strong and you are powerful and you are so, so much greater than him. This is bigger than him, I know you can’t have forgotten that.” Glinda’s eyes search her face. Elphaba knows she is right, and knows she is about to ruin everything if she doesn’t control herself. She feels her anger settle inside her and give way to only sorrow. Her tears are coming faster now, her head propped up only by Glinda’s firm hold on her. She lets those hands and her warm brown eyes bring her back to earth. The ground stills, the flames recede, though she still feels her magic pulsing in the air, still feels it seeping out of her like a gas leak.

 “I know,” she says finally, distant, embarrassed. Her voice is small.  She feels so young all of a sudden, so small. “I do know that. I just…I would’ve been normal if it weren’t for him.”

Glinda pulls her close, resting her forehead against hers. Elphaba leans into the touch, and feels some of her pain fall away. “Maybe. And I would’ve liked you a lot less. The world needs you just as you are, Elphie. Your bravery, your talents, your heart…would you have still cared so much about this if you were exactly the same as everyone else? Who else but you?”

“It’s not fair,” she says quietly, aware of how petulant she sounds, feeling distinctly like a child again.  “You don’t understand-”

“You’re right, it’s not fair. And no, I don’t know what it has been like for you. You can blame it all on him, every last bit. But I know you now, and I know that you are perfect and that I love you exactly as you are. And if I could keep you all to myself, I would, but I know you wouldn’t let me be so selfish. So I won’t let you be either. You came here to do good, not get revenge.” There it is again, those three words, reminding her that to someone, she is more than whatever that bottle did to her mother, did to her.

Elphaba nods, wiping her eyes. She lets those words wash over her and she finally can take hold of her magic again, can finally breathe again. She lets everything fall to the ground, lets everything return to equilibrium. She hears Glinda sigh with relief, and is mildly horrified at how quickly her emotions got away from her, how her power spun out of control so fast. She is dimly aware of the Wizard being released, hearing the thud as he hits the ground. In her exhaustion, she barely even registers it. She holds onto Glinda like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers to her, only to her, “for scaring you. I wouldn’t have…I never would’ve hurt you-“

“I know that,” Glinda rolls her eyes, still gripping her tightly. “I wasn’t scared of you. I was just worried you’d get ahead of yourself and give them something to use against you.”

“I couldn’t stop it,” she says, afraid of herself.

“You could. You did.” Glinda squeezes her once more, before letting go and turning to the Wizard. “Okay,” she says, projecting her voice in a way that would never betray her previous fear and panic. “I think it’s time we come to an agreement. It’s fairly obvious that you don’t have any real power, and are certainly ill-equipped to deal with anything that threatens your already fragile position. You lie to the world to get them to love you, and they still don’t. You may as well just tell them the truth. Tell them that Elphie is the rightful heir, that you could never read the Grimmerie. Tell the what she is to you. That the green is nothing to do with her wickedness, but because of your own selfishness-“

“And tell them that you’re leaving Oz because you never belonged here. Tell the truth about the Animals, that you lied to keep your power. Tell them what you did, to all of us. Tell the truth, and then leave,” Elphaba finishes, finding her voice again. “I won’t think twice about sending you out of here myself.” It's an empty threat, she knows; she is completely exhausted, and has no desire to cause any more harm, no matter the cause, but she knows that display of unbridled power will be enough to make him believe her. 

“You must have lost your mind if you think you can make such demands of the Wizard,” says Morrible incredulously. In the chaos, she seems to have been freed from the cloth bonds. Her voice lacks its usual grandeur. Elphaba had honestly forgotten she was there. They all turn to look at him.

“No,” says the Wizard. “They’re right. I can’t stay here. Not now that….” he shakes his head. “I am truly sorry, for the way these things have turned out, Elphaba. If only I could rectify the pain I have caused you.”

“You can’t. But you can do the right thing, for once. You can rectify everything else.”

He nods at her once, obviously defeated, afraid of her, too.  He walks towards the giant gold statue of his head and addresses the citizens of Oz one final time. Morrible is speechless, it appears, as she follows him to make his final appearance as the leader of Oz. The girls are left alone in the wreckage.

*

The last thought Elphaba has of the Wizard, her father, is that she never really needed him after all. He grants your heart's desire, she’d been told. But as she listens to him apologise for his shortcomings on a nationwide announcement and all but beg for forgiveness, she realises she got everything she wanted all on her own. She’d always thought when she was younger her greatest wish would be not to be green anymore. But as she grew, she realised she didn’t hate the green so much as she hated how it made people treat her. And that had changed, too. She’d gained friends, she’d done good, helped the Animals, found a family, made a home. When it came down to it, her true heart's desire was, pathetically…Well. Elphaba is staring at her.

Glinda’s face is flushed, her hair is sticking up, and her eyes are shining. She’s not sure how long she’s been zoned out, but it must’ve been long enough for Glinda to get a little impatient, because her brow is furrowed in a mixture of urgency and concern.

“Elphie, come on, let’s go! Elphaba!” she’s saying. She tugs at her hand. “Come on, we have to make sure the Animals get to safety and there’s still Morrible to deal with, and the guards and-”

Elphaba struggles to keep up with her. She knows, vaguely that what she’s saying is important, that she should probably listen to her. But nothing seems quite real. They’ve won. They’ve done it, they’re alive, and really she couldn’t have done it without her and she loves her, so much, for all her stubbornness and her levelheadedness and her unending patience.

The shock of it is overwhelming. She feels like she is underwater, drowning in her relief. Green eyes find brown, and she can float again. She crests, and it finally comes out, like she’s coughing it out of her lungs, “I love you.”

Glinda pauses to look at her, and the laugh she lets out is like a song. Her smile is so huge that it would be worth almost dying all over again. “Elphie. I know,” she says softly. There is a happy tremor in her voice.

“I’m sorry I didn’t…that I couldn’t say it before. But I felt it. I’ve felt it for ages. I love you,” she says, and feels shy and unstoppable all at once.

Glinda throws her arms around her neck and kisses her roughly, all teeth and stretched lips because she can’t contain her smile. Elphaba feels sick with happiness. “Thank you for saying it,” she says sweetly, “I love you too, of course. You know that.” She then seems to remember their surroundings and tugs at her hand again. “Please can we get out of here now?”

Elphaba looks around at the rubble, at the broken glass bottles, at the singed walls and shards of tile, the bewildered guards who are only now waking up from Elphaba’s spell. “Yeah,” she agrees. “Yeah, I think we’d better.”

*

Nearly a year since she was named the Wicked Witch of the West, Elphaba Thropp is the rightful leader of Oz, being the only one who can read the Grimmerie in its entirety. But it’s not what she wants. The first thing she does, after freeing the Animals and restoring their rights is put forward a motion for nominees for a real, elected government to come forward, with Animal and human representatives from all countries that make up Oz. The second thing she does is move into the Palace. It is almost unanimously decided by everyone around her, that this is where she belongs, although she is reluctant to take it. The only reason she does is because Glinda so obviously adores it, and has so clearly missed being surrounded by beautiful things. And anything Glinda wants, Glinda gets. She supposes she has gone completely soft, and she loves it. This is her only rule, now, to keep her softness, and let her anger mellow out from crashing waves to calm still waters.  And so she remains, this great green Witch in this great green palace, and by her side is the great (but not-so-green) love of her life. She is a very happy girl.