Sometime after losing Elphaba to the Emerald City and before handing herself over to the well-clothed arm of the kindly and older Sir Chuffrey, Glinda found peace, if only for a few passing moments. The years following Elphaba's disappearance had found Glinda feeling imbalanced, like she was constantly going to topple to one side and never get back up again, the lack of Elphaba at her side and in her life shredding her equilibrium. Though she exuded all that was expected of a young beautiful socialite—poise, elegance, fabulous shoes—she felt in her heart that there was nothing to her life but chaos and turmoil.
She couldn't now, decades later with waning health, remember what year it had been. She had to have been in her early twenties, but a more specific time frame was annoyingly elusive. What she could remember most, though, was that her hair was the best it had ever looked—the bouncing curls of her school days had softened to gentler waves, homespun gold brushing down past her shoulders and along her back—and it had blended absolutely perfectly with the pin-straight, midnight strands of Elphaba's hair. She could remember how quiet Elphaba had become, the calm in the eye of the storm between the Elphaba of school and the Elphaba Glinda ran into so many years later on Colwen Grounds—operative Elphaba was as vehemently passionate as ever, but the passion was restrained in her actions and her eyes, her voice used far more sparingly. She could recall the musty smell of Elphaba's room and the mannerisms of the incorrigible kitten living with her, that it had been in early winter when it started and early spring when it ended, but dates and years and all other markers of time eluded her.
It was, ironically enough, in the back room of a boutique that she stumbled across Elphaba. The green woman, swathed in an aging black cloak around narrow shoulders, was so obviously not where she wanted to be, hiding in the perfumed shadows of a clothing shop. She had her back to the door when Glinda opened it, ear pressed to the wall facing the alleyway as she listened to the fading clomp of Gale Force regiments marching away. Glinda, preoccupied with the pair of gloves that she knew the shopkeeper was hoarding in the back, swallowed a startled cry when she saw the dark form jump in surprise when light flooded into the room. Elphaba had turned around, eyes round and wide, and her face darkened immeasurably when she realized who had just walked in on her.
Without a word, she tugged her hat down and ducked out into the alleyway, into the shadows.
Glinda, rooted to the spot in shock, was jerked out of her disbelief as the door clanged shut behind Elphaba. Scrambling around the stacks of boxes in the room, she flew out the door, barely catching a glimpse of Elphaba's cloak as it disappeared around a corner. Automatically, Glinda murmured the words under her breath to conjure up her favored mode of transportation, soaring up above the rooflines in her bubble, thankful for the fading light of early winter evenings that helped hide her in the sky. Staring down between buildings, she caught sight of Elphaba's dark figured, perceptible in dark alleyways and streets only by its movements. Determinedly, Glinda floated along above the oblivious Elphaba, until she disappeared into a warehouse.
Landing silently on the roof, Glinda made her way down the stairs into the empty building. Moving as quietly as she knew how, she followed footprints in the dust, down the stairs to below street level. Light leaked out around a door, and before she could allow herself a moment of be nervous, Glinda pushed it open.
Elphaba whirled around in the small room, mouth agape at the sight of Glinda standing in her doorway, homespun gold brushing her shoulders, standing far straighter than she ever had at school, a stubborn set to her chin.
Elphaba stared at her wordlessly. Glinda could imagine the cogs in her head turning as she tried to formulate the best plan for getting Glinda the hell out of there. As Elphaba's mouth snapped shut, her dark eyes darkening impossibly more, and her lips parted again in preparation to speak, Glinda could do nothing but hold up a single hand, palm out, halting Elphaba's words before they started. The presence she had developed in the past years was vastly different from the one Elphaba remembered from school, where people listened to her just to win a smile. This new Glinda's presence commanded a level of respect that even Elphaba couldn't deny, reminiscent of dignitaries and generals and the solemn farm-bred Quadling elders that brushed at the edges of Elphaba's memories of childhood.
Neither of them spoke, nor moved. Glinda's hand remained hovering in the air, so effective at locking Elphaba in place that she couldn't help but wonder if it was a spell of some kind. Long minutes passed, in which Elphaba felt she had never been under such intense scrutiny, Glinda's blue eyes sweeping along her form blankly.
The stillness was broken impossibly quickly, when Glinda finally muttered out an "Oh, hell," and strode across the small room, pushed Elphaba roughly against the wall, and crushed her lips to her former roommate's.
And so it began, with Glinda's petite form pressing Elphaba's angles and protruding ribs and hipbones against a wall below street level as the steady clomp of soldiers passed by above their heads. In a brief pause for oxygen, Glinda dared open her eyes from basking in the feel of a hand at the small of her back and fingers in her hair, and noticed flecks of gold in Elphaba's impossibly black eyes. Elphaba stared back at her, breathing heavily, and saw her reflection in the blue of Glinda's eyes, flaked with spots of black along the irises.
Glinda returned the next day, and the day after, and every day after, making Elphaba swear that she could still be there. They spoke sparingly, finding peace with one another like they had never had at school—best friends they may have been, but their fights were legendary among all who knew them, far worse than they had ever been before their friendship. Instead Glinda rubbed oil along Elphaba's skin while Elphaba read silently from her somehow never-ending supply of books, or she lay half-asleep with her cheek against Elphaba's shoulder and her golden hair running together with Elphaba's black. The sight of her gold wrapped within Elphaba's black reminded her of the spots of gold in Elphaba's eyes, that she could only see when she was close enough to kiss the other woman, fingertips sliding along Elphaba's prominent cheekbones and outlining her eyes as she kissed along a green jaw, neckline, collarbone.
Glinda never had to ask why Elphaba was doing what she was, living in a hole underground and hiding from the world during the day so she could work at night, and Elphaba never offered the information. When they did speak, it was of simple matters—the antics of the kitten living with Elphaba, or some silly politician Glinda had dealt with, or a stupid market haggler Elphaba had argued with for a decent price on potatoes. Without words, there were no arguments; without arguments, there was the kind of solemn peace that Glinda had only ever dreamt of. Hours upon hours of laying on the narrow bed together, silent and awake, gold and black and white and green all tangled together within drab blankets; cooking together in the meager workspace that passed for a kitchen, as Glinda learned what it was like to actually prepare food; Glinda sitting up against the headboard, Elphaba pressed back against her between her knees as she read and Glinda's fingers probed endlessly in inky hair.
There was plenty to be said on both sides, but Glinda preferred their peace. Even in the midst of passion and sweat and sex, in bed or on the floor or pressing against a wall, when she felt like she was flying, it was peaceful. She knew that it would all end eventually, and she was determined to delay it as much as possible. She kept her mouth shut tightly against the questions she wanted to ask, the questions that she knew Elphaba wouldn't or couldn't answer; the declarations she wanted to make and requests that were begging to be voiced stayed locked in her chest in a desperate, stubborn attempt to prolong their peaceful affair as long as possible. That it had to end, Glinda reasoned, certainly did not mean that it had to end soon.
And it did end eventually. Months—more than a year—after it had started, it ended, as such things must. She felt that it was going to happen when she came through the door to see Elphaba sitting rigidly at the table, automatically slicing a tomato, eyes distant enough that she didn't even realize Glinda had walked in with a box of leftovers from the business lunch she had just left. Glinda felt her heart start to break immediately, but she bit her tongue. Walking over to Elphaba, she took the knife away, setting it down and pulling Elphaba to her feet. The golden flecks in her eyes were dulled, so quiet they were hardly visible, even up close. Glinda pushed Elphaba to the same spot on the wall where it had all started, kissing her wistfully as her hands went to work.
Hours later, as the pre-dawn patrol stomped by above them, Glinda lay cradled in Elphaba's arms, her face buried in Elphaba's neck. "It's going to end, isn't it?" she murmured into Elphaba's skin.
"It has to," Elphaba said softly. She lay on her back, staring blankly at the ceiling, fingers twitching occasionally against the sweaty skin of Glinda's back.
"I do believe we did better this time," Glinda said. She breathed in deeply, inhaling the smell of sweat and sex and oil and fresh vegetables that always seemed to cling to Elphaba's skin. She felt oddly calm, instead of the turmoil and fear she had expected when faced with having to go back to her life alone.
"I do believe we have," Elphaba agreed, and without looking, Glinda could tell that her lips were twitching into that half-smile that she found so unbelievably attractive. "Not once have I felt the need to strangle you with your purse strings."
"Nor have I desired to beat you about the head with one of your unfairly large books," Glinda said. She finally moved, her thumb brushing down over where Elphaba's hipbone jutted out, continuing down until she felt, rather than heard, Elphaba take a strangled breath. "Once more," Glinda murmured, lips and teeth closing over Elphaba's ear as she delighted in the tightness already stretching throughout Elphaba's angular body. "For luck."
As the breakfast patrol clattered by, accompanied by the cacophonous sounds of the market across the street starting its business day, Glinda stretched luxuriously on Elphaba's bed, feeling dark eyes flecked with gold following her movements as the soreness in her muscles protested her ministrations. Refusing to face Elphaba—for she knew that if she looked into those dark eyes too many times more, she'd never be able to leave—Glinda gathered her clothes and slid into them. She let her eyes flutter shut at the feel of Elphaba's hands at the small of her back, long fingers gently lacing up the back of her dress, brushing across the still-damp skin left exposed across her shoulders.
"Elphie," Glinda mumbled, turning, despite her best intentions, to stand nose-to-nose with the green woman, staring into her eyes. "I know you're loathe to hear it, but I'm quite in love with you."
"I know you are," Elphaba said softly. "Were I the kind who loved, there would be no one else I could ever love but you." She looked away ruefully, taking a step back.
"Don't be ridiculous," Glinda said curtly. "'The kind who loved.' Ha! Elphaba Thropp, you love more than anyone I know." She stepped back up to Elphaba, a pale hand resting against the black of Elphaba's dress, directly over her heart. "If you didn't, you would hardly be living in this shithole for a cause that has no direct bearing on your life."
Elphaba's mouth opened, lips quirking; Glinda could see the arguments forming in her eyes, as they had so often in a debate at school. Cutting her off abruptly, Glinda put a finger against her lips.
"Don't," she whispered. "Don't argue, because you can't win this one, Elphie. Of the two of us, I've much more experience in this particular area, and I know that I am right. You've got the most beautiful heart I've ever seen, Elphaba, and I find it quite vexing that you insist it's naught but a block of stone. So please," she continued, thumb tracing feather-light across Elphaba's lips. "Shut up."
Elphaba looked down at Glinda, a full head taller than her, as always, looking properly cowed. Her eyes shone with spots of gold as she stared at the smaller blonde, and Glinda felt like she might lose her breath at the sight.
Stepping away brusquely, Glinda grabbed her shoes, sitting down at the table to cram her feet back into them. Elphaba set the silk scarf Glinda had worn down onto the table in front of her, staying silent. The peaceful feeling Glinda had felt when she'd woken earlier was fading, the vestiges of panic and pain picking at her heart as her time to leave grew closer. Stubbornly, she tamped down on it, determined to let this end as painlessly as possible. Even so, her fingers trembled visibly as she wrapped the scarf around her neck, hiding a light bruise on one side of her throat, a fading bite mark on the other. Her mind drifted to the marks she had left on Elphaba's own long neck, blooming dark, almost purple, against her green skin. Glinda's hands shook harder.
She forced herself to stand. Elphaba handed Glinda her purse, heavy with coin. Pursing her lips, Glinda unthinkingly opened up the purse and retrieved her wallet, setting it on the table.
"Glinda," Elphaba said. The exasperation in her voice was evident. "I require neither your money nor your charity."
"Actually," Glinda said tartly. "You rather do. Don't think I haven't seen you skimping on meals when I'm here, or worrying about finding the coin to buy milk for that evil cat of yours. You're going to take this gift, and you're not going to argue, because we both know that you're leaving me again and you don't want to fight with me before you do."
Elphaba stood in the middle of the room, hands on her hips defiantly, head cocked to one side and teeth bared as she glared at Glinda. The blonde felt far younger than she was, the poise she'd cultivated wavering in the face of the always-intimidating Elphaba. She crossed her arms over her chest, matching defiant pose for defiant pose, and glared right back, chin stuck out stubbornly.
Suddenly, Elphaba chuckled softly and mirthlessly, shaking her head. "You're right," she said dully. "How I came to be one who accepts charity from a future trophy wife, I shall never want to know."
"Be nice," Glinda said. "You know fully well that when I bag a martinet, I can do just as much for whatever cause it is that you're fighting for as you do. And without, might I add, living in a hole."
"Martinet? Surely you can at least find yourself a duke or something," Elphaba said with a smirk. "Truly, you're rather pretty when you don't look like a sweaty street urchin…"
Glinda laughed—a full bodied, rich laugh, one that she'd so often swallowed in the presence of others for the sake of propriety. Elphaba's tart humor had always had a way of pulling it out of her.
"I'll do what I can," she promised. The laughter faded from her eyes, and she sighed. "I should go," she said softly. "I've a brunch meeting, and I can hardly show up looking like this."
"Right," Elphaba said, her voice reluctant. She stepped forward swiftly, pulling Glinda into a crushing embrace. "Oz help me, I'm going to miss you."
"Me too," Glinda whispered into her shoulder, fighting tears. "I know you have things to do, but I'd much rather you just come back with me."
"I can't, sweet," Elphaba said. "You know I can't."
"I know," Glinda said. "I do. But I worry when I don't know where you are."
"I can take care of myself," Elphaba said.
"Yes, well, I'd rather do it for you, because then I know where you are." Glinda tightened her hold, fingernails digging into the thin fabric covering her back. "Good luck, Elphie."
"Thank you," Elphaba breathed, her cheek pressed against Glinda's hair.
Glinda loosened her arms, pulling back enough to press one last kiss to Elphaba's lips, before she took two steps back, taking her out of arm's reach. Itching to cling to Elphaba again, Glinda's arms wrapped around her midsection.
"You should go," Elphaba said.
"Yes," Glinda said. She turned to the door, pulling it open slowly. Looking back over her shoulder, she smiled sadly at Elphaba. "This isn't it, is it? It's not our last meeting."
"No, Elphaba said obstinately. "It won't be."
"But it is an end," Glinda said. Despite her best efforts, a single tear escaped, trailing down her cheek.
"Just for now," Elphaba said, her voice thick.
"Just for now," Glinda echoed. With a watery smile, she tightened her grip on her purse and opened the door the rest of the way. "I hope you find the peace you're fighting for, Elphie."
"And I you, Glinda," Elphaba said.
"I already have," Glinda said softly. Another tear, tracing down the same path as the first. "And I'm leaving it with you." Resolutely, she turned away and stepped through the door, pulling it shut behind her.
And so it ended.