This is one of those random ideas I get when I wake up at midnight and remember that I have a notebook and pencil stored under my bed. Sorry it's so odd and short!

Disclaimer: Wicked does not belong to me, I'm afraid.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Happy birthday," Meg whispered as she leaned into to kiss her boyfriend James again.

"You've already wished me a happy birthday four times," he said with a grin after they pulled out of their kiss.

"One for every minute," she said, gesturing to the alarm clock that read 12:04 AM, "Do you really mind?" she asked as she rubbed his chest.

"Not if you keep doing that," he said and removed his already out of place clothing.

They had only just tumbled onto their bed when Meg's cell phone went off from their small kitchen table.

James sighed and sat up. Meg looked at him apologetically and hurried to answer her phone. She knew who it would be even before she got up. The ringer, "I Hope I Get It" from A Chorus Line, was set for only when her agent called.

"God, I hope I get it! I hope I get it! How many people does he—" sang Meg's phone before she picked it up.

James, who was very used to Meg's agent making deals for her at strange hours (and often at the most inopportune of times), merely ran his fingers through his hair and tapped a foot while waiting for her to return.

When she finally did, she looked as though her grandmother had died and then come to have early-morning breakfast with her in Czechoslovakia. Meg's face was whiter than even the most sun-deprived of Caucasian girls, and her mouth was slightly open. Her eyes were vague and far away and she walked stiff-leggedly over to their bed and sat down on the edge of it with difficulty. It appeared to be a real struggle of her willpower to make her knees bend.

James crawled over to her and caressed her shoulder.

Meg stared at the wall.

"You all right?" he asked concernedly.

Meg stared at the wall.

"What happened?" he asked.

Meg stared at the wall.

"Your grandmother didn't die, did she?" he hazarded.

Meg stared at the wall before realizing what he had said. Then she turned to him with a condescending look on her face.

"My grandmother is healthier than a twenty-year-old," she said.

"Oh. Right," he said, "Well, are you going to tell me what happened, then?"

She looked up at the poster over their bed for a moment. It was an Idina Menzel/ Kristin Chenoweth signed Wicked poster, and she had insisted that it be hung there.

"I'm to play Elphaba," she squeaked.

---------------------------------------

The Ancient Egyptians believed that to give something a name was to make it real. In this (and many other things) they were spot-on correct.

And so, endless and improbable expanses of fabrication away from Meg and her dream-come-true, Elphaba Thropp woke herself with a shiver and the eerie feeling of being watched by someone or something not of her world.

This was the sixth time this had happened to her in nearly four years, but as always, she contented herself with making sure that her husband, Fiyero, was beside her and that their newborn baby girl was still sound asleep in her crib at the foot of their bed. When she was reassured that nothing important was out of place, Elphaba went back to sleep with a sigh.