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A scream, piercing and awful, ringing off stone walls. The cruel light of day, a towering effigy in flames, and the hateful, joyous songs they sang as it burned.
She's run; so far, so fast, like if she tries hard enough, she can outpace her grief, but when she lands in a meadow of poppies, it's there to meet her, and she can run no longer.
Glinda Upland collapses, a strangled breath fleeing her throat as the sobs pour from her body, the cruel, taunting cheers still ringing in her head– The Witch is dead!
She can't pretend anymore– she's meant to go back to the palace, to act like Elphaba's death hasn't torn out her heart; her lungs too, the way she can't breathe but for wheezing, shuddering gasps.
She just can't do it.
The field of flowers is devastatingly familiar in bloom, wrenching something inside of her, of all the places, this was the wrong one to come to–
“I came out here on the first day of classes, when I'd been admitted to Morrible's seminar. I couldn't believe it– things like that just don't happen, not to me, and I felt like I was flying.” Elphaba murmurs a soft explanation, almost reverent, as they lay among the poppies.
All of her social deftness abandons Galinda in this moment, because for all her ease in navigating the surface, she's never been so adept at deeper, more serious interaction. Allowing others in, or being invited into others’ spaces.
“Oh. But…you brought me?”
Elphaba is matter of fact. As if it doesn't send Galinda's heart soaring, immense, uncontainable feelings swelling in her chest.
“You make me feel like that all the time. Of course I brought you here.”
In the grasses between them, sprawled as they are, their hands brush. Her heart shouldn't flutter at that. It’s just holding hands, for Oz' sake, it’s not like she’s some blushing virgin, and besides they've already kissed! But the confession, the first time they've ever alluded to what this could be, it's new.
It's never really been like this before. That someone saw her, behind the performance, and actually wanted her. Galinda, carefully, as though the moment might shatter, laces her fingers into Elphaba’s.
Her voice is unusually small and quiet. “Thank you, Elphie. That… I…”
She can't find the words. Earnest is not a word oft used to describe her.
But with Elphaba, she doesn't have to. The hand twined with her own squeezes gently.
“I know.”
– Glinda collapses into the dirt, a broken shell, muddy tears staining her cheeks as her face contorts in ugly, wracked sobs, and she wishes she'd thrown herself onto the pyre where they burnt Elphaba in effigy.
<><><><><><>
The years drag on, each longer than the last, the aches dulling but keeping their constancy, the weariness piling higher and higher. Oz celebrates the anniversary of the Witch’s joyous vanquishing five times, and each occurrence makes Glinda’s nausea curdle heavier in her gut.
Glinda– oh, why pretend she hasn't long since wrung out any validity from the gesture behind the changed name? Perhaps she wanted to impress Elphaba, envious of Fiyero being chosen to rescue the lion cub, but history has proved that choice right, hasn't it? Now the name exists as a cruel mockery. She's ruined anything noble it might have been.
Galinda Arduenna Upland has, upon further reflection, developed a wrinkle.
More than one– oh, that would have sent her into a tizzy before this all– frown lines, marionette lines, there’s a laundry list of lines, years of wear and stress and grief written on her face. The lines are thin, not too deep yet, but they’re undeniably there. Not a trick of the light. And sooner than they should be.
Perhaps that’s good. The people should know, on some miniscule, subconscious level, what burdens they’ve placed upon her, the cracks in the facade. Glinda the Good; some days, she despises it so utterly that she wouldn’t terribly mind if the entire Emerald City were cinders– the role, the name, the loathsome, juvenile wand that makes her feel like a circus sideshow.
(Real witches don’t need silly little wands. Too bad there aren’t any of those left.)
Yes, some days, she resents the adoring populace. How eager they were to proclaim her Good, when they crowed over the death of the best woman she’d ever known, the woman she–
Well.
What’s dead is dead.
And the faithless masses will never know any better. They go about their lives thinking that Goodness has triumphed, and they change their tune about Animals because they are fickle, and their sparkly, pink mouthpiece of Goodness has decreed it be so, ignorant to all the suffering they condoned in the intervening years, and they go on. They get to do that. Damn them, but they get to move on, while she spends every private moment with the ghosts of might-have-been and should-have-done.
To hell with the wrinkles; some days, it is a struggle merely to get out of bed. There are elixirs that could take the pain away, but to hurt is her due. For being too late, for being a coward, for only finding her courage after everyone who might have challenged her is dead or gone.
Her friends, the true ones, anyway, are dead too. The only reason she wakes up, manages to wrest herself from sleep is because it is all that she has left. Either eulogy, or apology, depending on the day– fixing Oz. She will drag it to true goodness if it absolutely kills her, and with every old poster of the vanquished Wicked Witch that she comes across, it gets a little bit closer to actually doing so.
On the days she feels she may have truly accomplished something, she thinks (hopes) that Elphaba and Fiyero would be proud of her. Today does not feel like it will be one of those days– the sky itself is sullen, setting a dreary tone, and thunder rolls in the distance. The rains are back– that, at least, is good, Quadling Country needs it after the drought.
As she slips out of her gossamer nightgown, preparing to don yet another amalgamation of taffeta and tulle (so multilayered that it weighs her down), she passes the dresser on which Elphaba’s hat has pride of place. Visible from nearly every square inch of her palatial suite, in some lighting it even looks…shrine-like. How very improper of her, to worship at the altar of the Witch herself.
Her fingertips trail the brim. It's starting to fray– whether from Elphaba's travels, or Galinda's devotional routine, she can't say. But she's compelled to touch it, as if some of Elphaba's righteousness will rub off on her.
(Some days, when she’s feeling particularly brave, or the crowds particularly draining she weighs the idea of donning it, drawing whatever strength she could from memories. But they would take it all wrong– perceived as a trophy from a vanquished foe, if anything– and the thought is so wretched as to make her stomach churn.)
She'd like to think that it does rub off, but really, Elphaba did the hard work. With the Wizard and Morrible gone, all that's left is…governing. And that doesn't feel very brave, but Galinda is suited for politics, for honeyed words and shrewd deals, so she's the reformist where Elphaba was the revolutionary.
It would almost feel like the hat is disappointed in her, but that's a childish thought. And there are no grand, sweeping fights left to fight.
Well, there is one.
But in spite of everything she's achieved, the rights returned to Animals and reparations paid from the Wizard's rule, it is this one remaining issue that frightens her most.
It's dearest to her heart, and after a life being selfish, she's gone the other direction since she's taken power, not seeking what she wants most.
And perhaps she's scared (absolutely, utterly, petrified) to fail at it.
A posthumous redemption for Elphaba Thropp. They will fight her on it. Like hell.
(If she could only do this, be brave for once, then maybe Elphie would be able to come home–)
Hm. Shaking her head, she catches herself. What point is there in self-delusion?
She really is too old for childish fantasies. Elphaba has been dead for years, and if some sorcery was going to bring her back, it would have by now. Galinda's certainly tried her damnedest, and every year, the dead spot in her heart seems to grow in mockery of her failure.
But either way, Elphaba deserves to be remembered truthfully, instead of the vile caricature from the posters and propaganda. There's a drawer on her desk, filled with speech after speech. Galinda's quite good at speechwriting. Except when it counts, apparently. None of them are good enough, convincing enough, it's practically a nightly routine to draft a new one. There is so much to be said, so much she should have said, so much people don't know, and Galinda's words are as inadequate as she's always been when it mattered.
That's tonight's problem, anyway. A bottle of wine, a quill, her resentment and her ghosts. The constant companions of Glinda the Good.
Sitting at her vanity, she begins to construct the mask. Her moisturizer is dry enough to start with primer to smooth the stress lines. Concealer, of course, and color corrector for the dark, sleep-deprived circles she's had since–
(The way Elphaba screamed, Lurline have mercy, how hellish a sound it was.)
– since Kiamo Ko, anyway. A foundation that makes her look dewy and fresh again, the Good Witch, conscience unburdened, cheeks rouged and full of life.
Every day, she does this. Builds the armor of Glinda up with precise brushstrokes, the press of a sponge, the dab of her fingertips; it covers her pain, at least overtly, leaving it festering under the surface.
The dress, corset cinched tight– some days, it's the only thing keeping her from slumping like a ragdoll. Tight enough to choke, but she hasn't been able to breathe right for years.
And the crown, the stupid fucking crown, heavy with guilt. The wand, her regent's scepter, the reminder that she was always a silly, frivolous fraud.
She regards herself in the mirror again. The wrinkles are hidden under caked on foundation, only barely visible in the way it creases. They won't notice, but she will.
When did her eyes get so glassy and lifeless? She looks like a mannequin, which must be a promotion, since before the Wizard left, she was a puppet. A mannequin is useless and ineffective, but at least it doesn't move under someone else's behest.
The finished product is a thing she doesn't recognize. It's not her, she doesn't think there's hardly any of that left. Just…an image in the glass, painful to the eye.
Glinda the Good: pretty, pink, and perfect.
Prepared as she's going to be, Galinda's hand hovers over the doorknob. There's one last moment for herself, and then–
(Morrible's voice. “You can smile and look pretty, can't you? It may be the only thing you're good for.”)
No rest for the…Good, she supposes as she brushes the memory aside and opens the door. Ha. Elphie would have liked that, she always did find it amusing when Galinda made stupid little asides.
“Miss Glinda, are you alright?” A young man in the uniform of the Palace Guard asks, hovering protectively.
Oh. There's a stinging at the corners of her eyes. How…ill-timed.
“Never better, darling,” she simpers with a gentle brush of her hand, “must be allergies! You're a dear to worry, though.”
And then she flounces off to her first meetings of the day, hoping haste will be enough to keep the people she passes from noticing her reddened eyes until she can duck into a private area somewhere.
<><><><><><>
Solitude has never been her preference, but these days, it's Galinda's sanctuary.
She sheds the mask of Glinda and the armor that is her incredibly frilly dress, and she can finally halfway breathe again. As with every day, it was a whirlwind of appearances and negotiations; an excessive amount of motion that didn't move anything very far. It tugs at the back of her mind constantly, that her work isn't done, it can never be done and she should be doing more.
But exhaustion has gotten the best of her, and there will be no midnight oil burned tonight. Her balcony faces west– she's not sure if that was a cruel jest of fate, or a tragic coincidence, but the western sky has been terribly lonely every night these last years.
The sky is empty tonight, as Galinda checks it reflexively, but not the balcony. A silhouetted visitor against the fading light, that outline forever burned in her mind, unmistakable.
“Oh dear, I really am losing it, aren't I?” She asks aloud, with a hitch in her voice, her body knows the truth even if the logic of her mind can't admit it.
Elphaba's lips twist into that wry little half-smile she always did in public, like amusement was something unfamiliar to her face. If Galinda's being haunted, it's a very lifelike portrayal by a ghost.
“No such luck, I'm afraid.” Her voice– stars above, how long has it been since she's heard that timbre, warm and rich? Elphaba hesitates on the threshold, viridescent eyes holding Galinda fixed in place. It can't be.
Galinda's heart catches in her throat, the erratic pulse providing companionship to the words she can't force out.
Elphaba opens her mouth trepidatiously, a complete contrast from her normally sharp wit. “I'm sorry–”
“How could you?!”
The vitriol in her tone takes even Galinda by surprise, but anger has the reins now as she moves forward, sharp and jagged steps. Part of her screams that Elphaba's alive, this should be joyous, but really, Galinda's always been terribly insecure when slighted, it makes her blood boil and her tongue serrated.
“I thought you were dead, I grieved you, Elphaba! And you're alive? You never said a word?” She jabs a finger into the wiry muscle of Elphaba's upper chest, finding it as unyielding as the woman herself, the strong features of that green face withdrawn, closed. Like she always was with everyone else; despite the rage spilling from Galinda's mouth, that stings.
“I didn't mean for you to see me. I'll go– but you have something of mine.”
The jade of her eyes has always been terribly expressive, and right now that's a dagger through the heart. Loss, loneliness and worst of all, longing. Galinda knows that hurt. It's with her in the mirror every day.
They speak at the same time.
“You…weren't going to tell me?”
“My mother's elixir bottle– I want it back.”
Galinda crumbles.
(It rings in her head over and over. “I didn't mean for you to see me.”)
She was just going to take it and leave? Regardless of what they have– had – she'd just steal away in the night?
Worse still, the thought of Elphaba alone, with Nessa and her father dead– repugnant, neglectful deadbeat that he was, she knows Elphaba still wanted him to love her like any child would– and the last connection to her mother gone too?
Grief takes her out at the knees, and Galinda literally crumbles, slumping to the ground. Elphaba catches her, like she always would.
“Oh, Elphie, I'm so sorry.” Her whisper, frail and near-broken, is utterly pathetic, but she can't help it. Regret and shame and anger swirl in her chest, she's not even sure at whom or what they're pointed, just that there's a maelstrom of horrendous feelings tearing at her and Elphaba's arms feel like safe harbor. “Of course you can have it back– of course! I just– you were dead, and I couldn't – I looked for you, but– they were all I had to remember you by…”
Elphaba cradles her, and Galinda feels sick, she doesn't deserve it, but Elphaba does it anyway. “Shh, my sweet. I'm sorry. I…” Elphaba's voice gets tight, choked, uncharacteristically hesitant, “...I thought you'd be happier this way. All of Oz thought I was a monster, and…if I was dead, you'd be free to move on. You'd be free.”
Galinda's heart wrenches in her chest. “Move on?” She asks quietly. “Elphaba, I– I’ve only loved you, all these years. What was I going to do? Marry some man who only saw Glinda the Good? Some nobleman, like my family has expected since I was born, and be miserable in some sham? No one could compare to you.”
She looks up, meeting Elphaba's misty eyes.
“Galinda…” Elphaba's brow furrows, and she catches herself, looking away slightly. “I'm sorry, Glinda. It's just– your eyes haven’t changed. I forgot where I was.”
And then, like a spell, Galinda forgets too. Elphaba, her fierce, unbridled Elphaba, blushing slightly, unable to meet her gaze, Her Elphie, just like when they were young, the side of herself Elphaba only ever allowed Galinda to see, even after years apart, years of mistrust and conflict.
Her throat feels rough and hoarse. How many years has she wished for this, to be Galinda again, to do it over, to do it right this time? To cling to what she had, back when she didn't know how short their time was, and it seemed they had their whole lives ahead of them?
“No, Elphie, I don't mind it. Call me whatever you'd like, that name has gone rotten with the years– I wanted to be someone worthy of you when I took it and instead I only made it something foul. You can call me anything, just–” her voice catches. “Please don't go. I know I'm awful. That I don't deserve you after– after everything, but Elphaba, I tried. It was too late, and I'm not strong like you, but I'm trying every day to make up for it–”
A messy sob overtakes her, and Elphaba holds her tight. Despite everything, she holds Galinda in her arms.
“My sweet. Oh, my sweet. Save your tears. For now, it's just us. I missed you something terrible, you know.” Those long, elegant green fingers card through strands of blonde, comforting, a mirror of Galinda's own care for Elphaba when she used to have horrible night terrors.
Galinda blinks, laughing croakily through tears as she nestles into the crook of Elphaba's neck. “Even like this? You must think I’ve gone mad, furious one second and sobbing the next.”
“Never, my darling. I know how you are, and I have always loved you in all your moods.”
The promise is there, quiet.
Galinda pulls back slightly to look Elphaba in the eyes. They're red-rimmed too, tear-tracks beginning to dry along Elphaba's face.
“Still?”
“I never stopped.”
Words escape her, the only sound Galinda can make is a sniffle, and she responds ‘neither did I’ with the only means she has left, planting her knees on either side of Elphaba's thighs to support herself while she presses their lips together.
It's exactly like the first time they kissed; Elphaba makes a quiet, surprised sound into Galinda's lips, softening into the kiss, becoming malleable as she molds herself to Galinda and then when that genius brain catches up, she kisses back hard, all yearning and desperation, pure distilled need.
Strong, firm hands find her waist, searing through the nightgown, and her body responds with urgency. How long has it been since she was touched like this? Sparks run through her veins, fever blooming everywhere Elphaba touches, but it's not enough– there's too much between them. Seizing the plump warmth of Elphaba's lower lip, Galinda sucks at it, getting a low moan in response.
How long since Elphaba has been touched like this?
Immediately, thoughts of Fiyero spring up unbidden– Galinda might have been forcing herself to fit some sort of perfect image when they were together, but Elphaba's feelings towards him have always been genuine, she knows. And she knows too that it's profane to be so envious of the dead, so possessive against a man who can't even defend himself, but jealousy comes as natural as breathing. For a second she feels the urge to ask if Elphaba ever let him touch her like this, but the so-called Wicked Witch has already seen too much of Galinda's own wickedness. There has to be a limit to Elphaba's ability to forgive her inner ugliness, and Galinda isn't eager to find out what it is, so she swallows her envy.
If he ever did touch Elphie, Galinda resolves to make love to the woman with such intensity that Elphaba will hardly be able to remember her own name, let alone his touch.
Her fingers scrabble at the laces of Elphaba's dress, the flashes of heated viridian skin under her fingertips spurring her forward as Elphaba's tongue darts to meet her own.
Elphaba moves underneath her, and Galinda finds herself hoisted into the air. Oh, Oz. She always was so strong. Pillowy, forest green lips track down the column of her neck as Elphaba carries her.
“Where's the bedroom?” She rasps against Galinda's neck, voice husky in a way that draws shivers.
“Just– fuck, Elphie, just– right here–” Galinda's hips rock against the granite planes of Elphaba's waist where her legs are wrapped, looking for something, anything. “Do you know how long– how often I used to think of you?”
One arm still around Galinda's waist, Elphaba’s other hand comes up to cup her jaw after a hungry kiss. She grins wickedly, like she used to when she'd gotten more confident in the bedroom. Galinda may have been the more experienced, but she was also far less patient, and Elphaba has always been a damned tease.
“I've been sleeping on stone floors and horrid straw mattresses for years. Forgive me this one indulgence, my sweet.” Her thumb brushes over Galinda's lower lip, far too lightly for someone whose pupils are blown this wide with lust.
There's something that's always worked in the past, that might speed this along. Eyes locked on Elphaba's, Galinda deliberately, sensually wraps her lips around Elphaba's finger, tongue swirling languidly.
“Fuck, Glin.” Elphaba bites her lip, revealing the gap in her front teeth that, quite frankly, has always made Galinda a little bit feral with affection for the woman. “Should've remembered you can never wait. But I want this to be good.”
She always was an overachiever.
Galinda kisses her hard, dangerously in love and desperate in need. “Elphie,” she whines inadvertently, “as long as it's you, it's perfect, just need you.”
At least– and small mercy this is– working blindly, she’s managed to undo some of the lace closure, the neck of the dress parting to reveal the curve of Elphaba’s shoulder into her neck, the corded muscle, the sharp collarbone. It’s not enough, she needs all of Elphaba as they stumble through the doorway to Galinda’s bedroom.
Her lips fasten to the pulse beating under green skin, and Elphaba makes a throaty, low groan, sitting at the foot of the bed.
“I want you.” Galinda murmurs frantically. “I want you.” She peppers the words with kisses, Elphaba always liked kisses under her jaw, along her neck. “Please let me do this for you.” She doesn’t want to beg but she absolutely will, there’s no pride left that could outweigh how much she loves Elphaba, how much she needs Elphaba to know that.
Being desired always undoes Elphaba, it's clear by the way her lips fall open unconsciously– she’s still not used to that, which was always criminal, in Galinda’s opinion, way back before Elphie had been the most hated fugitive in Oz. How other students couldn’t see that she was the most striking woman in the world had always been beyond her comprehension. She blushes a deep emerald, heat creeping up her neck, the tops of her collarbones. It is a tantalizingly lovely sight, better still when Elphaba makes a breathy little noise and acquiesces, helping Galinda get her out of the dress.
Everything is green in the Emerald City– Galinda’s suite no exception to that design trend– but Elphaba puts it all to shame. The green marble and gold inlay look entirely tawdry compared to the jewel of a woman in front of her, watching intently as Galinda disrobes her. Placing herself so earnestly in Galinda’s hands that she’s shot through with yearning from her heartstrings down to the pit of her stomach. Gently, so gently, like Elphaba is jade glass instead of lithe muscle and sorcerous power, Galinda lays her to the bed.
Elphie shrinks in on herself a little bit, like she’s ashamed. They went through it before, when they were together at Shiz, but she’d thought they’d worked past it, and–
Oh.
Galinda should have known.
“Oh, Elphie, sweetheart, it’s just me. You don’t have to hide– you’re still gorgeous.” How could she not believe that was true, when those dark eyes are still as fiery and passionate as ever; when each scar tells just how brave and strong she’s been; even the jut of her bones on a much gaunter frame is a testament of her resilience, fighting through starvation and being hunted because she’s Elphaba fucking Thropp, the Witch of the West, and she’d go through hell armed only with her conviction.
Elphaba’s lips part, then close again, her chest rising and falling as she looks up at Galinda, painfully vulnerable.
“You’re so damned beautiful,” Galinda murmurs as she slips out of her own nightgown, slotting herself between Elphaba’s legs to lean over the other woman.
“I know I don’t…” Elphaba pauses, eyes wide as their lips are merely inches apart. “I don’t look the way I used to. I wouldn’t blame you if–”
“What do you mean?” Galinda pulls back for a moment, really taking her in. Her body is scarred from battles past, her skin is drawn tight over more visible bones– obviously, life on the run has not been kind to her. And she’s aged, yes. Crows’ feet, dark circles, graying at her temples. The same stress lines Galinda herself has developed, but what does it matter? She’s still Elphie, still the woman Galinda loves.
“Absolutely beautiful.” Galinda declares, kissing a scar on Elphaba’s other shoulder. “I don’t look like I did back then either. You've always been perfect to me, Elphie, and you always will be. I’m sorry about the pain they caused, but your scars don’t change how I feel about you. Nothing does.”
She moves further down– the telltale burst-shaped scar of a bullet wound just above the junction of Elphaba’s arm and shoulder. Her lips brush it, and Elphie shudders lightly. Gasps Galinda's name lightly too, all breath and pent up longing. A jagged wound across her ribcage receives the same gentle devotion, Galinda's eyes never leaving Elphaba’s. Something demanding and furious wells up inside Galinda, that her adoring public could lay a hand on this woman, would dare to harm her, but she has to stifle it. They've taken enough from Elphaba, haven't they? But Galinda can give her this, can adore her the way she was meant to be cared for.
She makes to dip lower; Elphaba catches her softly by the chin. “Wait.” She implores, voice low and hungry. “Please, Glin. Just your fingers? I want to kiss you.”
How could she ever deny those breathy pleas, the dark blush cascading from Elphaba's cheeks to her clavicles, those pupils so dark with want? Shapely legs, carved from the finest malachite, part so wantonly for Galinda, inviting her in.
Elphaba’s arousal glistens on her folds, putting emeralds to shame. So warm it radiates, Galinda feels her mouth water– it's been too long since she got to taste Elphaba, but her beloved has made a request and she'll simply have to be patient. Crawling up to meet her, Galinda draws a knee up over one of Elphaba's thighs, laying on her side as she twines herself into her lover.
Her head is placed on Elphaba’s collarbone, looking up in supplication, waiting for Elphaba to take what she wants. Pink nails dig lightly into green skin– they’re short now, she keeps breaking them, but maybe that’s a good thing right about now. Idly, Galinda parts the warm velvet of Elphaba’s folds, fingers sliding through a desperately soaked slit.
Elphaba surges into a kiss, seizing Galinda’s lips with near bruising force, just as starved for it as Galinda herself has been, her tongue claiming Galinda's mouth. They fit together like they were meant to; lips, teeth, tongues– Galinda presses herself into Elphaba’s skin like she's trying to fuse them, her core dragging against Elphaba’s thigh in a rush of heavenly friction.
Shifting slightly, Elphaba turns to face her more, and the movement jolts Galinda's clit– she could nearly climax from that alone, she needs Elphaba so bad. Elphie takes Galinda's face in both her hands, possessing her so entirely, pulling her deeper into the kiss. Their legs twine together, wrapping and tangling until she's not entirely sure whose foot is brushing whose calf, whose ankle locked around the back of a leg. Kissing Elphaba makes her dizzy in all the best ways. It takes her breath away.
And oh. Speaking of breathtaking. Elphie makes a choked little moan into Galinda’s mouth when she first enters soaked emerald heat, just a finger at first, just re-familiarizing herself. Elphaba clenches around her, like she means to keep Galinda there forever, and so Galinda ventures a second.
It's heaven. Feverishly hot, so perfectly slick; she thinks Elphaba was made for her, or her fingers made to fit Elphaba. She darts away from ravenous lips, resting her forehead on Elphaba’s.
“Oz, Elphie, you needed this, didn’t you?” She breathes, mesmerized by how wide Elphaba’s pupils have gotten.
Her response comes in a ragged moan, as she curls her fingers exploratively inside Elphaba’s heat. “Fuck, Galinda, you have no idea,” Elphaba gasps, her exhalations brushing Galinda’s lips teasingly. “Please don’t make me wait. I need you.”
Galinda is hopeless; she could never deny Elphaba anything, and especially not now. As her fingers inside work over the spot that makes Elphie mewl for her, Galinda’s thumb seeks the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. Just a graze makes her jolt, breath shuddering into the crook of Galinda’s neck.
“You’re so perfect, Elphie. So, so good. Just let me take care of you.” Her earlier thoughts of ravishing Elphaba until the only name she remembers is Galinda’s have fallen by the wayside, replaced with the urge to love and cherish this beautiful woman with all the tenderness Elphaba never got. Softly, her thumb circles Elphaba’s clit; she’s so worked up that even the light pressure seems to be doing it for her, drawing the prettiest gasps and whines.
“I missed you so much.” Elphaba rasps into the underside of her jaw, lips brushing Galinda’s pulse, voice tight with emotion. “You have no idea how hard it was to stay away, to think I’d never see you again.”
Galinda’s fingers curl a bit more intensely, and Elphaba squirms, her thighs clenching tightly where they’re wrapped around Galinda’s leg, and the difference in texture, the firm muscle under the unconscious gyrations of Galinda’s hips makes her grunt into raven hair. Fuck, she’s always loved Elphaba’s thighs.
“Shh. It’s okay. I’m here now, darling, and you’re doing so good for me.”
A choked gasp, maybe a sob spills from Elphaba’s lips. “I think I wanted to get caught.” She admits, her voice frail. “On the balcony. I told myself I’d just sneak in and get my things, but– oh, Galinda, fuck– I wanted you to see me. I need you, fucking Oz, Galinda, I do, it drives me mad being away–”
Galinda bows her head, kissing away the tears that are beginning to form in the corners of Elphaba’s eyes. “I love you.” She manages to be brave, to say it aloud for the first time in at least five years, maybe more. And then it’s easy, the words just spilling out as they twist together and Galinda’s fingers work inside her Elphie, “I love you, I love you, fuck Elphie, I missed you too, but you’re here and you’re mine and I love you.”
That makes Elphaba flutter around her fingers– her breath beginning to come in shallow and rough.
“Are you getting close, my love?” She presses a kiss to Elphaba’s forehead, the skin nearly scalding, and Galinda doesn’t really mind being on fire as long as it’s with her. “Tell me what you need.”
It comes out in a broken whine. “You, Galinda! I just– mnh– want you to get off with me. Will you do that?” She looks up, eyes beseeching, leaving Galinda spellbound; how she ever said no to this woman, how she was ever foolish enough to let her go, she can’t fathom.
“Of course, my love. I’ll do anything you want me to.”
Elphaba’s breath hitches eagerly, lips frantically pressed to the column of Galinda’s throat with hot, messy kisses; her hands finding Galinda’s hips, strong and sure. Galinda can’t help the whimper that comes out as Elphaba flexes her thigh, rocking Galinda’s clit against it.
Her voice comes out breathy and nearly hissed. “My beloved, I missed you so fucking much, you're so good, my Elphie, so good for me, so perfect–”
Elphaba pulls Galinda tightly to her chest, burying her face in the crook of Galinda’s neck. It is damp, Galinda realizes, and she's not sure if the tears are Elphaba’s or her own. “I love you, Galinda,” Elphaba rasps against her neck, pressing her lips fervently to the skin like she can push the meaning deep into Galinda’s soul. “I've always– it was so hard being without you. I missed you so dearly, my sweet.”
Galinda kisses the top of her head as she curls her fingers, drawing a low groan.
They each know the exact words to unravel the other; Galinda murmurs “you're so good, so loved, Elphaba,” at the same time that Elphie croons, “it was always you, only you, you had my heart the entire time, Galinda.”
Elphaba clenches around Galinda’s fingers, her back arching off the bed, pressing right into Galinda, and really, all Galinda needs is the absolute vision of Elphaba’s head thrown back in the throes of pleasure, and she's following her lover. They climax together with harsh gasps, fading to quiet, contented sighs, pressing kisses to every inch they can reach as though this will be taken away.
“I love you so much.” Galinda whispers into Elphaba’s lips, their foreheads resting together. “I should have cherished you, Elphaba Thropp.”
Elphie looks up at her, an uncharacteristic openness in her eyes. “I love you. Truly, deeply. I should have told you sooner, when I think about the wasted time–”
Her voice catches, and she looks away briefly. Galinda, knowing better than to pressure her, and understanding the sentiment to the depths of her bones, just presses soft kisses; her brow, the bridge of her nose, her temples, anywhere and everywhere she can show Elphaba how much she's adored.
Finally, Elphie meets her gaze again, a small, sheepish half-smile on her lips. “I'm sorry I cried on you the first time we made love in…what, more than five years?”
And suddenly, a dam bursts, it's all so Elphaba and Galinda can't help laughing and crying too. “Lurline’s sake, Elphie, did you miss the waterworks on my end? You would call it making love – stars above, I'm in love with you, you beautiful, brilliant sap.”
She clutches Elphie to her chest, afraid somehow her beloved will dissipate into the aether if she lets go for a moment. “I can't believe you're really here. Oz, Elphaba, I–” the words fail her, and she resorts to what is simple and true. “I love you.”
Elphie smiles, wiping her own fresh tears, that beautiful gap in her teeth heartbreakingly charming. She nods solemnly. “Galinda Arduenna Upland, I am so madly in love with you. I'm sorry it had to be so hard.”
A thought seems to occur to her, and she giggles girlishly; Galinda would propose on the spot, if her beloved were not a fugitive from the state, presumed dead, and most importantly, if she had a ring with which to do so. Oz, she… It's her Elphie.
“I ruined your engagement party, for Oz’ sake. What a difficult lover I am to have.” She says, with a hint of wry self-deprecation.
Galinda swats her lightly. “Oh, please. Everyone knew that was the most lavender of lavender marriages there ever was. I'm just glad you weren't shot.”
The reality of it all really settles over her then. She hasn't lost Elphaba. “Lurline’s crown, Elphie… it's really over. And you're alright. Oh… oh, that's–”
The relief is overwhelming, more than words can speak, and so they just allow a peaceful silence to settle in as they twine together, sharing body warmth and the comforting familiarity of old lovers.
<><><><><><>
They lay up against the headboard, Galinda resting on Elphaba’s chest, idly tracing the lines of her abs. Her braids are much thicker than the microbraids she had as a student, pulled into long side braids. Idly, Galinda kisses her neck.
There's so much she wasn't there for, but that conversation feels daunting, so she starts smaller.
“Did you do your own braids, when you were… you know, out there. On the run?” The thought makes her sad. Elphie always took such pride in her microbraids, and she had such a hard time finding someone to do her hair when she left home. When they got closer, Galinda painstakingly learned how to braid her hair the right way, and it always felt like a huge gesture of trust on Elphie’s part to allow her to.
She can feel Elphaba swallow heavily, and like a premonition, the answer comes before Elphaba speaks, accompanied by queasiness.
“...Fiyero did.” Elphaba pauses, exhaling a long breath. “I should have told you this sooner, but…I really didn’t plan for any of this to happen. I didn’t think I’d see you, I definitely didn't think we'd have sex. This is going to come as a shock, and I really wish there’d been a better way to tell you, but you deserve to know. Fiyero is…he’s alive. He’s not– he was altered by the spell, but he’s alive.”
She shouldn’t be shocked. Here, after all, is one old friend, returned from the grave, why doubt the possibility of a second? But it still hits a wall in Galinda’s mind– she mourned after all, and some things can’t be rewritten with just a handful of words. “What? How? Where is he?”
“We had a place out in the Northern Vinkus, on the border of the Thursk Desert– he wanted to leave Oz, but…I couldn’t bring myself to.”
“...oh. You were…with him. This whole time?”
Elphaba looks away sheepishly, chewing her bottom lip. “…yes. He said we shouldn’t tell anyone we were alive, not even you, that it was the only way to stay safe.”
“Oh.” Galinda hates how flighty and territorial her voice comes out, a half-octave too high. “Oh. Of course, I should have known, I mean– he left for you.” The bitter primness won’t go away, and in her haste to find something more natural, she lands on pathetic. “If you want to go back to him, that’s– I’d get it. He went with you, after all.”
Where I couldn’t goes unsaid, but it hangs in the air nonetheless.
“Glin, Yero and I–”
“I know I fucked it all up but I still love you, Elphaba! I know you loved him too, and it’s what I deserve, but just promise you’ll visit me, at least?” The words tumble out in a frantic blurt.
Elphaba kisses the top of her head. “Let me finish, my sweet?”
She can't help it– she really can't. Some of her worst insecurities revolve around the two of them. Elphaba has always been something incredible to Galinda– it was the cause of all her ‘loathing’. Green, yes, but more than that, strikingly beautiful, naturally talented, endlessly intelligent and, to Galinda's greatest envy, brave. How could she not have been jealous from the moment they met? No one else ever saw Elphaba that way, and it soothed the nasty little envious parts of her, that they'd never understand just how fraudulent Galinda herself was, how much of an imposter.
Until Fiyero.
Her ‘perfect’ boyfriend– she has to laugh, however bitterly, in hindsight, at what she thought her life would be like, the perfect sham marriage she'd concocted– he never looked at Elphaba like the others, more curious than anything. The way he'd use his smoothest lines (to Elphaba's annoyance), the way he always seemed to push her buttons; at the time, Galinda thought it jealousy over her boyfriend's wandering eye, when really, the sour twist in her gut was that it was a competition, and she knew she'd lose. Fiyero could offer Elphaba more than she could. He was impulsive like her, never pragmatic or cautious. And passionate. Confident and charismatic, what Galinda herself always pretended to be, but it only worked on the small-minded, where his charms were earnest, somehow getting through to Elphaba.
He's better suited for her, and she knows that. But Elphaba's affection is the only thing Galinda's truly wanted in life.
Perhaps it's cowardice, wanting to push Elphaba away before she can leave. Or self-sabotage, an attempt to prove that she's been right all along, to hurt her own feelings in an attempt to get over Elphaba.
The insecurities speak for her.
“But you were together romantically, yes? I mean, he was in love with you, you cared for him, you were all each other had– I know how these things go. And really, Elphie, I'm happy for the two of you. I know he'll make you happy, like I– like I couldn't.”
Elphaba pulls her softly into a kiss, a quiet, gentle thing that alleviates some of the turmoil surging through her.
“You are your own worst enemy, Galinda.” She says softly. “I promise, it's not the narrative you're constructing in your head. Forgive my bluntness, but I feel it's necessary. Fiyero and I were together. We had sex. I love him, but I was never in love with him, and he knows that. It was physical, it was two people looking for comfort in each other, but it was never like what you and I have.” Her face falls slightly, wistful and apologetic. “I think he wanted it to be, but I couldn't make myself reciprocate those feelings.”
Galinda's whisper is hardly there. “Why not?”
Elphaba sighs. “I don't fully know that myself. Love’s complicated.”
“But he was good to you? I mean, it may have been a sham, but we were going to be married, I know how he can be. Supportive, charming, a good listener…when he’s not thinking of someone else, at least. But I know how much he loved you. And I assume he was good in bed– we never consummated, probably the whole closeted lesbian thing, but he was kind enough to play along with the rest of it. So…” She means to say ‘what can I offer you that he can’t?’ but the words refuse her.
“...why not?” She ends uneasily.
“You’re not as subtle as you think, my sweet. But if it will ease your mind, the best reason I have had for my own questioning is that my heart already belonged to someone else. Do you honestly think he could compare to the first person I ever let actually see me?”
“I just…feel like a fraud. all these years of being their figurehead, being a coward, I don't know how you could still love me, I don't – and– and he was brave, he went with you, you picked him that day, with the lion cub, I've been asking myself why for years and I realized it was because you knew. You knew he could be so much more than me.”
Elphaba sighs again, this time into the top of his head. And then, in her simple, blunt way, cuts right to the heart of it. “That isn’t about you and I. That is between you and your guilt. Glin, I’m tired. There’s only so much fight a person has in her, and…I need to rest between rounds, not revisit the battles of our youth. You know how I felt about your choices, but the war is over. I love you. You love me. Isn’t that enough?”
Galinda doesn’t think so, not when some nights all she has is the guilt, eating her alive, but she tries to quiet that part of her mind. She can’t let Elphaba slip away again. “I just don’t get it. I love you. I want that to be enough, but I don’t want to trap you. I know I was your first, and maybe that’s skewing your perception, and I just– Elphie, I don’t want you to wake up in another five years and realize you hate me as much as…” She sniffs quietly, trying to keep it to herself. “... as much as I do. You could be happy with him. I want you to be happy.”
The thoughts are loud in Elphaba’s head, in the deliberate rise and fall of her chest.
“I could never hate you.” She begins, firmly but not unkindly, and then pauses, as if corralling the words into a shape that makes sense.
“The thing about Yero is that he’s always had some…I don’t know, concept of me. What I am, what I represent to him, and he's not entirely wrong, but… I don't know how to say it, you know interpersonal stuff isn't my forte, but it never felt like it was all of me. Here's an example: it's small, but I think it suffices. That night after the Ozdust, you were the first person ever to call me beautiful. And he told me I didn't need that. To be vain or whatever he thought, but that’s just it. I am proud of the things I choose to fight for, but I am still a person too.”
She pauses thoughtfully, one hand drawing idle circles on Galinda’s upper back. “He loves the cause and the rush that comes with it, the fight and the fire. I think he likes that I challenge him. I make him a better person. But I can't be that all the time. We had our passionate encounters, but I don’t know that we were ever tender. It was all running and stealing moments and…I worry that he loves the Witch more than he loves me.”
She swallows, her throat moving against the top of Galinda’s head, her voice getting quiet, the way it always did when Elphaba would open up so slowly. “I need to be soft too. Now more than ever. It’s not just about the storybook romances, it’s…the little things. Like when I used to lay in your lap and read while you painted your nails, just…being quiet and together. I can’t imagine that with him. I don’t know what he and I look like in the mundane. And I think– or I’m afraid– he’d hate it. But I need to be a whole person.”
Galinda finds Elphaba’s free hand, squeezes as her voice falters, nearly breaking.
“Sometimes…I need someone to take care of me. Like you did.” Elphaba finishes, a shadow of a whisper.
“Oh, Elphie. I’d love nothing more. I… well, I know exactly what you mean. And you deserve that.” Tears prick the corners of Galinda’s eyes. “I do so miss just being with you. Life hasn’t been that peaceful ever since.”
The tightness is audible in Elphaba’s throat as she tries to lighten the mood, something that’s never quite been a strong suit with how dry her humor is.
“Anyway, he tried his best with my braids, but of course, we never had the time for a proper session. He was never quite as attentive as you were.”
Galinda laughs through tears, feeling the years they lost like a tangible cloud between them and yet, Elphie is warm, and alive, and with her – that chases some of it away. “Of course not. How could he understand the magic of girls’ braiding nights?” Her voice catches in her throat, and she has to say it, so earnestly held is the sentiment. “How could he be as attentive as me, when I’ve only ever truly had eyes for you, Elphaba? Do you know you were the first person I really, truly loved? And the only one since?”
The blush warms Elphaba’s chest where Galinda lays. “You just say these things– you always did, and I never knew how serious you were, but it used to drive me mad–”
“Oh, I’m entirely serious. I may have a million doubts, but never about my love for you. And…if you'd like, I would love to braid your hair again.”
“So you’re not going to try and talk me into ending this?”
For a brief, blissful moment, it feels like it did when they were young, and she’s able to stop herself from saying no promises, because it’s very likely she will get those neurotic little doubts again. But not right now– in this moment, she really feels like Galinda again, or maybe Glinda, on the train, when it felt like there was an entire world of possibilities laid out for them. “Please, Elphie, as if I don’t know how stubborn you are. If your mind’s made up,” she waves a hand airily, “who am I to stop you? You can be quite determined– it’s one of the things I love about you.”
Elphaba’s arms circle her tightly, and she presses a firm kiss to Galinda’s temple. “Good. Because to be honest with you, it’s been miserable trying to convince myself I could live without seeing you again, and now that I’ve got you, I’m not letting go. I love you.”
She looks up, just staring into those pretty green eyes for a second, looking at the glimmers of moonlight reflected in their depths and luxuriating in the fact that she can look deeply into Elphaba’s eyes again.
And then, of course, she has to kiss her. Soft, longing, a conversation without words; ‘I missed you,’ ‘I’m sorry,’ ‘I’m glad you’re back,’ and a million other things in the blink of an eye.
“Let’s rest. You said you’ve only been sleeping on horrid mattresses, you deserve something nice, and I may have an ulterior motive, because I’ve found it quite difficult sleeping without you all these years, Miss Elphaba.” She doesn’t mention the nightmares. Elphie has enough to worry about, and maybe they’ll fade now that she’s back.
“I could say the same, Miss Galinda. I have so truly, deeply missed you.”
In Elphaba's arms, the world feels for the first time like it isn't off-kilter. Cradled against the solid weight of her body, Galinda feels safe. An unfamiliar feeling; a dizzying, powerful one, an old one. She's safe. And more crucially, so is Elphaba. No more worrying about witch hunters, or if the Gale Force has caught up with her, if she's struggling all alone in the dark and cold.
Elphie is safe. Perhaps selfishly, the most important thing Galinda thinks she's ever accomplished.
Beneath her, Elphaba's chest rises and falls gently, her breathing quiet and even. It makes her heart ache – Elphaba's never been an easy sleeper. The cold, dark halls of Colwen Grounds were never a home for her, and it showed in the furtive, skittish way she'd lie down in their dorm, tossing and turning, shrinking in on herself like she was trying to hide.
She must truly be exhausted to fall asleep so easily. Or, and Galinda doesn’t dare to hope this far, Elphaba feels as safe with her as the other way around.
Moonlight spills in, gently illuminating the room as Galinda lays on her side, looking at Elphaba.
She's gotten old before her time too. Little strands of gray at her temples (although, honestly, they make her look dignified and intellectual), strong furrows in her brows. The skin of her face is stretched tighter, gaunt in the way that only hunger can truly make someone. Galinda resolves to cook her an obscenely large breakfast– today, and for the rest of their lives.
But she's still Elphaba. So achingly beautiful, stern and striking, that Galinda can hardly stand it, can hardly understand why someone so divine would want her. Asleep is the easiest way to look at Elphaba, because when she's awake and looking back, the full force of her comes to bear; her insightfulness, the clever way her eyes gleam, the elegant, precise way she moves. It makes her blindingly radiant, like staring at the sun, but how lovely the view!
Pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, Galinda already can't wait to see her again, and her last thoughts are of Elphaba when sleep comes to her.
<><><><><><>
Elphaba is there again.
Burning. Hunted. The home she'd taken shelter in, ransacked in the night, lit afire with her still inside, scrambling to get out before it was too late, the dying, strangled bleating of the nice old Sheep who'd been brave enough to shelter resistance fighters. Tears running down her face as she took flight, not strong enough to save him, them, anyone –
She jolts awake, cold sweat coating every inch of her, the urge to scream high in her throat and rising. A choked sob escapes her lips, and then–
Gentle hands on her back. Warmth. Lips pressed gently to her bare shoulder.
“You're safe, my love.”
Galinda's voice is kind, soothing, like it was in their dorm when she had nightmares of Colwen Grounds, of the jeers and the violence, being chased out of schools and stores and everywhere in between.
Elphaba's jaw clenches furiously to keep another sob from getting out, silent until she can trust her shaky voice again. This is still hard, even if she wants it. No, needs it. She still has her pride, and it's hard to accept comfort. How pointlessly contradictory and difficult she is! A wonder Galinda never moved on.
“I'm sorry. Go back to sleep, my sweet – it was nothing. Just a dream.”
Of course Galinda sees through her, she always has. “I'm quite familiar with night terrors, my love. You'd do the same for me. Remember that storm, when it felt like the entire university would collapse, and I asked you to hold me, before we were a couple? That was far less consequential than this.”
Elphaba spares a glance over her shoulder, hoping the dark will conceal the tears, and Galinda's arms are outstretched for her. “Come here.”
Her tone brooks no argument, and Elphaba's ability to hold up a facade crumbles, nestling herself to Galinda’s chest. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you, and I'm sorry I'm– I know I'm not the easiest to care for, and you deserve someone normal, who you could actually be seen with, you should leave me –”
She's surprised at just how steely those brown eyes can get. “Don't be preposterous, Elphie. You're going to upset me. I have loved you with all of my heart since the night we danced, even if I didn't know it at the time. It is not a burden to care for you, to love you– it is my greatest joy. You know, for the most intelligent woman in all of Oz, sometimes you say things that are just quite ridiculous. Come now. Let's jostle around until I can spoon you.” She smiles so earnestly and brilliantly that there's no doubting her. “We really should find a spell that makes you not quite so tall, or makes me taller, the better for me to be the big spoon.”
Despite her tears, Elphaba laughs. “I'll get right on that, my sweet.”
Galinda cocoons Elphaba in her arms, and the scent of her perfume, vanilla and fresh pears, brings Elphaba back to a time when life was easier. It is so…comforting that she shudders softly, the nostalgia overwhelming, and yet, there's no sorrow in it. Despite the strife, the years of pain and solitude, she's with Galinda again. Back then, they thought the entire world was in front of them; now it genuinely is. It may be hard, it may be frightening and unknowable, but the war is won, and together there's nothing they can't do.
The feeling of letting her hackles down is foreign– Elphaba's been on alert in every moment for the last five years of her life, and old habits die hard, but Galinda makes her feel truly safe, and cautiously, tentatively, Elphaba takes the first, hesitant step in lowering her defenses.
Perhaps she won't sleep with one eye open for the rest of the night.
Galinda's murmur is full of quiet conviction.
“I love you, Elphaba Thropp. Now and forever, until the ends of Oz, you and only you. I know that's not always easy for you to believe, but I will keep saying it until it is, and then beyond that. Until my dying day, I will love you.”
Her chest feels tight, but it's a good tight. “I love you too, Glin. You know words aren't my thing…but you have me. Entirely. As much as you want.”
The embrace tightens around her, and Galinda kisses the nape of Elphaba's neck softly. “That’s okay, dearest. I have words enough for both of us. Now rest. You need it, and I'll be here if you have another nightmare.”
But, for the first time in as long as she can remember, Elphaba sleeps soundly.
<><><><><><>
Elphaba’s awake before her, and Galinda’s heart hurts.
In all the time they were roommates, Elphaba was never a morning person. She’d groan and complain if Galinda was up before noon on the weekends, and when they were together, she’d coax and cajole Galinda back into bed, greedy for affection or really, anything that kept the blinds closed and lights off.
That she’s up early now, and not making a fuss about it…well, Galinda can read between the lines, the pain of life as a fugitive clear as day.
At least she seems rested. As she leans on the balcony railing, observing the city below, Galinda can’t help but marvel at her. A stolen silk robe, purloined from Galinda’s closet, no doubt, covers her only slightly, the ties coming loose. Elphaba doesn’t seem to mind, the hem of the garment fluttering lightly in the breeze. It’s terribly distracting– the broad, defined muscles of her shoulders and back, shapely legs bare, the elegant way she drums her fingers on the railing idly. The woman just looks like poetry. She turns to regard the horizon, the sunlight painting her profile in gentle gold, her expression peaceful (to Galinda’s great joy).
“Are you going to stare all morning?” Elphaba asks idly, regarding Galinda out of the corner of her eye, those wonderful, kissable lips curved into a tempting smirk.
Oh, those lips will urge her to preposterously, ridiculously, oppressively lovesick action– she could write sonnets about them! – if something isn’t done soon to sate the feelings rising up in her chest. Drastic measures are necessary!
Galinda sprawls languidly across the bed, shedding the sheets in what she hopes is a seductive manner. “Until you stop looking like that, I think I shall. Unless you can think of something better to do with our time?” She purrs.
Languidly, Elphaba strolls back to the bed, hips swaying gently. “You’re incorrigible, Miss Upland.” She leans down, tilting Galinda’s chin up into a long, lingering kiss, but when Galinda tries to tug her to the bed, Elphaba pulls away with a quiet sigh.
“I’m sorry, Glin. I really need to go. The sun’s coming up, and people will see me, and then the whole fake-death was for nothing–”
An old, painful wound that never healed right tears right back open in her chest. How can things go wrong so fast? Galinda really should be desensitized to it by now, but Elphaba leaving immediately chokes up her throat and sets the corners of her eyes burning with salty tears.
She’s absolutely not above begging, not this time, not when she’d finally gotten Elphaba back. “Can’t you stay? Please? Elphie, it was– I did this all for you.” Her voice abandons her, becoming small and frail. “Every day of the last five years was in your memory.”
Elphaba’s lips quiver, just for a second, and it breaks Galinda’s heart. She’s always so strong. Too strong to be selfish. “My sweet, I can't. You know that. It wouldn't be safe, they'd turn on you–”
“I don't care!”
“I do! I cannot bear the thought of–” She looks away, features stormy, and she wipes her face with a sleeve. When she looks back, she puts on a brave face, taking Galinda’s hands in her own. “I will return, Galinda. Don't I always come back to you? When we were young and we argued, when we were on opposing sides of the war– didn't I always come back?”
Once, you didn't, a part of her mind protests, except Elphaba's very presence disproves it. But what if this is the time it doesn’t happen, then?
“I could come with you. I'm ready now, I'm stronger– how many years too late! but I am. Elphaba, I am yours, I've always been yours. Nowhere is home without you, my love. Elphie, please, don't make me beg.”
“No, I– we can't. Your place is here. They need you here– you’re doing actual good, and I can’t be so selfish.”
“Then let me, Elphie–” It’s pathetic, and she knows she can’t. Damn it all, but after Elphaba, she can’t just…give up on progress. Because she’s not Good, never was, but Elphaba made her better.
A sickening realization dawns on her that she’ll just have to live with the dread of what ifs again– what if Elphaba gets hurt? What if Oz is never ready to forgive her? What if all they can have is stolen nights and fleeting mornings?
Elphaba sees the battle raging on her face, gently cupping her chin. “I swear I’ll return to you, my love. I will always return. Glin, I promise, it will be sooner next time.”
To salvage the wounded remains of her pride, Galinda crosses her arms and puts on a faux-annoyed huff, like this is all fine and they’re just having a little tiff and her heart isn’t falling out of her chest.
“It had better. Or else I will find a spell, one to– to bewitch the whole of the West so that every road, river, even every airstream leads to here, so that every compass points east and you feel a constant pull to return!”
Those perfect, verdant lips curl into the gentlest smile anyone has ever given another person.
“My sweet, why do you think I deigned to stop by here and argue with you all those years, when there were bounties on my head, mobs calling for my blood? You never needed a spell to bind me, Galinda Arduenna Upland. Of the Upper Uplands.” She quips, with a gentle smile and a wink, a slight tease. “Surely you realize that by now. Even if I was still in hiding, my thoughts would only be of you; I’d ask every passing Crow for news of your well-being; I’d gaze at the moon gleaming off emerald spires and squint for a glimpse of a rose among them.”
Her forehead rests softly against Galinda’s, the fervor in her voice making Galinda even more choked up. For a second, they breathe together, and then Elphaba tilts Galinda’s chin up gently, blessing her with a soft, reverent kiss.
“Yes, well, I– well. It would have been presuming– and a woman so remarkable as you, I would be quite conceited to assume I had some unique hold on your heart–”
“I could say the same, couldn't I? No one sees me like you do, Glin.”
“Not even him?”
“No one.” Elphaba pauses, her throat bobbing as, like Galinda, she tries to clear some of the restriction they’re feeling. “If you’ve always been mine, I should say the same is true in reverse. Even when I hated that it was true, when we were on opposite sides, I was always yours. There is not a person alive who will keep me from coming back to you when the time is right, I swear.”
“I love you, Elphaba. Just…make that time soon. Please?” She lets go of Elphaba’s hands, and her lover throws on her black dress again, cinching it only partially. “I’ll watch the sky for you.”
Elphaba smiles, a dance of fondness and melancholy on her face. “All my roads lead right here.” Gently, she caresses Galinda’s lower lip with her fingertips, before darting in for a last kiss. “I love you too, Galinda.”
Her departure hurts less this time. The rising sun paints her in shades of coral and amber, her cloak tucked so as not to leave a dramatic trail as she did in their youth. Hell and Oz, but she’s fast. Elphaba flying away has often been one of the most bitter sights of Galinda’s life, but at the same time, there never stopped being a magnificence about it.
And this time, there’s hopefulness too.
The mask of Glinda the Good isn’t quite so heavy, nor so tarnished, when Galinda prepares herself for the day ahead.
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Elphaba feels decently sprightly for a woman one year returned from the dead, but some things just have a way of sapping one’s energy.
Planning to visit one’s own gravestone amongst that number.
She knew it was there, theoretically. Galinda’s mentioned it in passing, but she doesn’t like to talk about it. Elphaba herself doesn’t really like to think about it. Being back on campus is reckoning enough for the past, some days.
But it’s the anniversary of her death–
(a holiday no longer celebrated with joyous bonfires and revelry, but the tangled mire of half-forgiveness, societal guilt and discomfort, lingering ghosts.)
– and she is, above all else, a very curiosity driven woman.
The last of her students file out of the lecture hall, her teaching assistant bringing up the rear. “Have a good day, Professor Thropp!”
She wonders if the girl is young enough not to know her as the Wicked Witch, but it seems unlikely. She didn’t just vanish from collective memory in the years she was playing dead. Probably just a careless slip of the tongue. After all, assisting in a history seminar…she’d have to know the significance of today for Elphaba.
The weight of occupying Dillamond’s old classroom is heavier today. She hopes he’d be proud of her, but apparently, if her own TA doesn’t remember history not even a decade old, her skills as an instructor leave something to be desired.
She never did find out what happened to him, she muses as she walks through the musty halls, although historical precedent doesn’t paint a particularly rosy picture. On the other hand though, Galinda emptied Southstairs of political detainees, and if Chistery is any indication, Animals deprived of their speech can eventually relearn it. Perhaps he fled to Ev, or Quox. Perhaps one day, he’ll return for his old post, though she could hardly blame him for swearing off Oz entirely, as she almost did. It would be nice to see him again, though.
The poppies sway in the wind, and Elphaba hesitates on the threshold of the field, as though stepping across will shatter the once happy memories this place held irrevocably. Idly, she wonders if there’s still the faint outline of where she and Galinda laid in the grass and told the truths of themselves in hushed tones. Surely, there must be some record that they were there, even dulled by time.
But she doesn’t find it on the way to the gravestone. Maybe that’s as it should be. Those girls don’t exist anymore, shed piece by piece, a day at a time, until they woke up as women at war with each other, and then lovers reunited, and the thousand other facets they became in between. The Elphaba of back then lives in that time, it’s just for her, and no amount of striving will change that. Life will never be that easy again, so relatively carefree in hindsight. She’s seen the world and been changed by it, as everyone must.
With mourning top of the mind, she finally finishes the journey to the cliff where the meadow ends, and in a small patch of earth, there’s a simple headstone.
Elphaba Thropp
The inscription is simple, but it stings her eyes with tears.
I will never know another love like yours, but I will try to be worthy of you.
It hurts. The lost years, the fights, all of it. If she mourns the girl she once was, at this university, then she also has to mourn the woman she lost in their fights. The idealist, scorned by the world, rendered a monster. The opportunities she missed– the one question that has haunted her for years: are you coming?
What could they have done if they’d figured it out? If Galinda had come with her, or if Elphaba had stayed. All the bitter acrimony, the lonely nights, the push and pull of being at odds, yet drawn to each other.
But she’s lucky enough to have gotten a second chance.
Galinda’s voice is soft from behind her, and somehow, Elphaba isn’t surprised that she’s here in Gillikin. They always seem to find their way back to each other; it just feels right that she’d be there.
“I had meetings in Wittica today, and figured I’d stop by. Your students told me you’d be out here. Horrid, isn’t it? I couldn’t bear to look at it myself, after I’d made it. I haven’t been able to stomach coming back here for years.”
When Elphaba speaks, her voice is choked and messy. “...I think it’s beautiful, even if it hurts.”
Galinda kisses her neck softly, arms encircling Elphaba from behind. “Beautifully tragic, perhaps? Like a girl I once knew.” Her voice is soft, wistful, but loving, and Elphaba is reminded that the past remaining there can also be a source of solace. It will never return, but it will also never change– they were young, once, and in love, in that moment fixed in time; just as now they’re comparatively old, scarred, but still in love.
“You’re still a little bit ridiculous, Galinda Upland.”
She feels, rather than sees, the genuine little smile; pressed into the column of her neck as it is.
“Yes, I suppose I am. And yet, you love me. Now come. Lay down with me, like old times.” She tugs Elphaba’s shoulder, spinning her around to reveal a beaming face atop a mountain of pink tulle. The sun is shining so brightly on this, the anniversary of her death, and because Elphaba is who she is, she thinks perhaps the weather still celebrates the Witch’s death with a small, sardonic laugh. But the entire world could cheer at her death, and as long as Galinda smiled at her like that, Elphaba would be better than ever.
Still, she resists the request; partially because she is and will always be stubborn and defiant, and partially because the past lies where it does– what if disturbing it only leads to disappointment?
“I'm a professor, Glin. It wouldn't be dignified. And you're the regent of the entire country. We can’t be rolling around in the dirt and grass.”
Galinda cocks her head to the side, crossing her arms with a huff nearly exactly the way she used to. “Then whatever is the point of being in power? I’m the regent of Oz, and I want to lay in the flowers with the woman I love! To hell with appearances.”
Elphaba’s already most of the way convinced, but Galinda makes it really unfair, giving her best pleading look, and so she surrenders, allowing herself to accompany Galinda in laying among the poppies. Their hands meet with the confidence of age; fingers and palms that have long since learned exactly how to fit together.
And she can’t recapture the past, but it’s not so bad being here in the present with Galinda either, their bodies forming new outlines in the grass. Eventually, those blades will grow out, this too will vanish, but she’ll have Galinda by her side to form the imprint anew, over and over because they have each other now, and there’s nothing to make them let go.
“Do you remember the last time we were here?” Galinda asks softly, turning her head to study Elphaba’s face.
“Of course.”
“I think that was the first time I knew I was in love with you.”
It still makes her throat close up a little, the simple earnestness with which Galinda says it. And still, it hurts, thinking about all the words that went unsaid with hesitation, the wasted years, what might’ve been, but easy was never for them. They’re here now, and Elphaba knows the memory still holds true today. It’s a promise going forward.
“For me, I think it was when we danced.”
Galinda lays her head on Elphaba’s shoulder, looking up with utter reverence. “You always did jump first. Leave me to take my time being brave. Because I felt it then, but I couldn’t say it to myself.”
“We’re here now.”
The poppies sway in the breeze, Galinda wrapping an arm around Elphaba as if she’s worried that she, too, will be caught by the wind and swept away again. She’s gotten more tactile as they resumed where they left off– like she’s either afraid Elphaba is some sort of apparition, or like she’s making up for lost time, depending on the day; but Elphaba has never minded Galinda’s touch. It’s grounding. A reminder that they have each other, and despite everything she was told growing up, she is loved.
For a while they just lay there peacefully. The air in Gillikin is crisp, weighted with nostalgia, and if she closes her eyes, she can imagine she’s back there, a girl of twenty with her whole life ahead of her, but Elphaba finds she doesn’t want to. Their love is stronger for what they went through, even the times that hurt making them better people. To love Galinda as a university student was to feel what it was like to fly for the first time, but now, it is knowing that she can land. The first time she got on the broom, after all, she wasn’t sure if she’d crash into the ground.
It is knowing that they can survive the descent, that she will always have a place to come back to, that getting on the broom was not an end, but the beginning of a new chapter.
She hears the playful pout in Galinda’s words.
“Do you think you'd ever teach in the Emerald City? I miss you.”
And Elphaba smiles to herself, because Galinda’s always been a little preposterous, and that’s something she’s quite fond of. As if her daily commute is some onerous thing, and poor Mrs. Upland is a wife waiting at the window for her lover to return from a far-off war.
“My love, there’s a limit to what even you can accomplish for my public image. People may have forgiven me to an extent, but there? You would have riots. Gillikin wasn't as touched by the war. Much easier to forgive.”
Without looking, she knows Galinda is putting on a little dramatized sulk, and she grins.
“Besides… it doesn't take me that long to get home. You see me every night, perhaps an hour after you get home at most. And I love any excuse to fly– don’t you?”
Galinda laughs softly into her shoulder. “My love, I could see you every tick of the clock and it wouldn’t be nearly enough. But…you’re right. I do too.”
She rolls atop Elphaba, kissing her madly, pulling only an inch away to stare in Elphaba’s eyes as they laugh like they’re young, and the field of poppies is brighter than ever.