A/N: All right, this is a songfic slash oneshot thing based on Clay Aiken's gorgeous song 'Sacrificial Love'. The first time I heard it I thought of Glinda immediately, but hadn't got around to making a oneshot for it until now. You should definitely look up the song if you haven't heard it; it's amazing. Enjoy!
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Sometimes I feel like I'm chasing the shadows in your eyes
Losing my footing and looking for something I recognise
You tell me you're here for forever but act like you're passing through
Which one's the real you?
Which one's the real you?
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Moonbeams shone on the empty bed beside her. Glinda heaved a sigh, biting back tears as she woke up in the middle of the night to find that Fiyero had once again disappeared while she slept. She slid from the bed, draping the linen sheets, far more comforting than her boyfriend yet far less costly than what she had given up to be there, about her shoulders like a shawl. The soft 'trrr' the sheets made as they slipped to the floor, spilling at her feet like a flood was oddly soothing, a stark contrast to the horrible silence it broke.
She glided across the cold floor like a night angel, her pale face luminescent, gently lit by only the stars and moon. Tears trembled on her eyelids, her vision blotting even as they promised to fall. As she turned to make her way to her study, the place where Fiyero was more often than not, she heard a soft cough in the opposite direction. She turned, more weary and lonely than curious, to see a form outlined through the glass doors. Fiyero was leaning against the balcony rail and, judging by the soft tinkle she heard, drinking again.
The tears fell, crawling haphazardly across her reddening face, slipping into the corners of her mouth, salt distorting the tang of sleep she still tasted on her tongue. When had they become like this? She couldn't remember when they had gone from the fairytale-like couple to a mere fairytale. When was the last time he'd smiled at her, or kissed her without an audience or prompting?
"Fiyero?" Loneliness ate at her soul. She wished, more than anything, that she had a friend.
He made a grunting noise in response, tilting his head slightly. He didn't even bother to look up.
"Fiyero, will you please talk to me?" she asked meekly, her voice breaking as she wiped at the tears dampening her cheeks.
He sighed heavily and turned around, setting his glass on the sill. "What do you want me to say, Glinda?" he answered warily, despair eating at every syllable he uttered. More than anything, he sounded tired, as though he felt the same exhaustion- the exhaustion that didn't come from sleeplessness or overuse- she felt seeping from every pore in her body.
Helplessly, she laughed, the light-hearted giggle she had been known for in days past long gone, transmogrified into a harsh, humourless sob. "I don't care what you say, Fiyero," she said, moving towards him and clutching her sheet-shawl tighter, "but damn it, say something real. I don't know you anymore."
He snorted. "Neither do I," he whispered, more to himself than to her, and picked up the glass again, draining it in one long swig.
Words escaped her lips before she could control them. "What happened to us, Fiyero?"
He shook his head silently. The moonlight shone on his face at just the right angle and Glinda realised that he was also fighting back tears.
"I don't know, Glinda," he murmured, turning and moving past her into the bedroom again.
The tears started again, and how she hated them. It seemed that was all she ever did anymore: lie and cry. As she watched her boyfriend shuffle to the edge of the bed and sit down, the words blubbered out of her. "Do you love me?" she asked, barely refraining from asking if he had ever loved her.
"Of course," he whispered, not even missing a beat, a fact for which her threadbare heart was grateful. He turned towards her, a bit of guilt infused with the melancholy in his expression. "I just… sometimes wonder if it's enough."
"Love?" she said, looking for confirmation.
He frowned. "Time."
She tried to tell herself it was enough. Love had to be enough, even in a world where words could condemn and truth could kill. Time had to be enough to get through this. Surely it made sense that the Wizard could accept Elphaba, that he could tell the Ozians the truth, that their wounds could be healed, that her heart would eventually be mended, no more tears spilt. It would just take a little while, that's all.
Even if her heart didn't believe it, her head did. It was enough. It had to be.
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Are you only practising until you find the real thing,
Taking up space until you find yourself that perfect face?
Are you looking over my shoulder,
Am I enough or just your sacrificial love?