After a Storm
Disclaimer: L. Frank Baum owns the original characters involved in The Wizard of Oz. Gregory Maguire owns the characterizations put forward in Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West. I own whatever I write/create. Don't steal and don't sue.
"Unless your list of spells has grown to include some kind of umbrella type maneuver, you better not open that window." Glinda, as she had taken to calling herself in the last few days, rolled her eyes. She turned on one heel to lean against the window casement, hip pressed against the small bit of jutting wood. Elphaba sat on her bed, glowering at the other young woman from under the blanket she had wrapped around her like a cloak.
"Oh, relax," Glinda said, waving a hand. "If you'd just take that bundle of wool off your head, you'd hear that the rain has stopped."
"Wonderful," Elphaba grumbled. "Don't open that window."
"Why not?" Glinda asked. "It's been raining for the last three days now, and I am sick to death of having to have the window closed. It's stuffy in here, and you know it."
"I'm not eager to have the wind blow in any water still dripping off the roof or the trees," Elphaba replied. She shrugged the blanket from her head, however, shaking free a few strands of her long dark hair. Glinda watched the flickering candlelight shine off Elphaba's hair, the strands appearing and disappearing in the black of the midnight room. She blinked only when new light, brighter and cleaner than the red and yellow of the candle, fell on Elphaba. Glinda turned to the window, her jaw falling slightly.
"Look," she said quietly. Elphaba looked up from the white light that deepened the shadows in the folds of her blanket. Through the window, she could see the black clouds of the dying thunderstorms rolling away. The near-full moon shone through the last tendrils of the clouds, and Elphaba started when Glinda lifted a hand and pressed it to the glass. The shadow of her fingers, slim and soft-edged, fell on Elphaba's face. It touched her cheek, and the corner of one eye. Elphaba only blinked when Glinda looked and saw the insubstantial caress.
"There's no wind," Glinda said, leaving her hand where it was. "Let me open the window, Elphie. You're too far away for any water to get to you." Elphaba continued to watch Glinda, blinking as though the nonexistent fingers on her face were tickling her eyelashes.
"Fine," she muttered. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, ducking her head down as Glinda used her free hand to unlatch the window. Glinda pushed the window open, sighing as the cool air of outside met and roiled with the warm air of their room.
"There." Her voice was bright, her breath near giggles. "Better already, don't you think?"
"Fine," Elphaba repeated. "Now are you finally going to go to sleep?" Glinda rolled her eyes once again, puffing at a curl that had fallen out of place to hang over her forehead. She made her way to her bed and flopped into it, burrowing under her quilt.
"Have I been keeping you awake and unable to read?" she asked, peeking her head out from under the quilt. "I'm so sorry, Miss Elphaba, the Thropp Third Descending." Elphaba frowned at her, the brown of her eyes nearly black under her lowered brows.
"I only ask because you've been staying awake as long as me these last nights," she said. "It's all well and good to read with your quaint little girl-snores in the background. It's another thing to try and read while you sigh and toss about in your bed."
"I do not snore!" Glinda protested, rising up on her elbows. Elphaba scoffed, shunting a hard breath through her nose while she smirked.
"At least your snoring is acceptable," she replied. "I should be thankful. Compared to what I've heard, you're downright adorable."
"You hush!" Glinda said, pulling her quilt over her head to hide the blush that appeared on her cheeks. Elphaba chuckled quietly, moving to lean back against the wall her bed was pushed against. She sat in her knifed way beneath her blanket, knees drawn at tight angles up to her chest. She waited and watched the puffy quilt twitch and move. If she listened, she could vaguely hear Glinda's quiet mutterings. If she strained, she could catch a few choice insults directed at her person, and her smirk did not waver. The mutterings soon tapered off, and the furious trembling of the quilt calmed.
"I don't really snore," Glinda said as she lifted the quilt from her head, "do I, Elphie?"
"Oh, you do," Elphaba replied. She turned to look out the open window, drawing a deep breath as a tiny breeze brought cool air to touch her neck. "But I already told you—yours are acceptable." No reply was given to her words, and she turned to find Glinda sticking out her tongue, eyes pinched shut. Elphaba smiled, but did not laugh. She took another deep breath, letting out a quiet sigh.
"Go to sleep, Glinda," she said. "There's no reason for you to be up this late." She shifted within her blanket, arching her back until Glinda could hear the muted pop of vertebrae.
"And you've a reason?" Glinda asked, opening her eyes and glancing about the room. "I don't see any of your books, for once. Staying up for Nessa's sake, or Nanny's?" Elphaba did not answer, only watching Glinda's eyes. Glinda's gaze ceased its wandering and met Elphaba's. She stared as much as Elphaba did, the two of them as quiet as the breeze that came through the window. In the moonlight, as brilliant as any in Glinda's memory, the green of Elphaba's skin was stark and immutable. She looked at Elphaba's face, marveling at the solid split between black shadow and grass green that fell just to one side of her prominent, not quite dislikable nose.
When Elphaba blinked, Glinda's gaze moved from the woman's cheeks to her eyes. Though half her face was in shadow, the moonlight still glanced into both eyes enough for Glinda to pick out each fleck of bronze-gold amidst the rich topsoil of her irises. Elphaba's head tilted barely an inch, and Glinda's eyes went to her hair. Not for the first time, she bit the inside of her lip to quell the urge to touch Elphaba's hair. It shone as her eyes did in the light, taking on the same white glow of the moon at the proper angle. The trait was one Glinda had noticed before: all the color of the nearest, brightest light could be given to Elphaba's straight, black hair if looked at properly.
"Go to sleep," Elphaba repeated. "We have classes tomorrow."
"You tell me why I should listen to you, and perhaps I will," Glinda said. She smiled, nearly grinning at the slow quirk of Elphaba's eyebrow.
"I just don't want you bumbling about all day tomorrow," Elphaba replied. "The last thing either of us wants is for Horrible Morrible to start asking questions of us. Not now, after the Doctor and with Ama Clutch as she is." Glinda said and did nothing for a full minute, staring at Elphaba's face with her jaw hanging slightly. When she moved, it was to lie back down on her stomach and pull the quilt around her neck to her chin.
"It's just like you to mention them," she murmured. "Bring them up when I least want to hear it." Elphaba's eyes dropped to the floor as Glinda's closed. They remained quiet but for their breathing. Glinda sniffed once, the sound muffled by her mattress.
"Elphie?" she asked. Elphaba grunted her questioning reply, and Glinda looked at the other young woman with some wetness in her eyes. "I know you hate it, but—just a small song? Please? I swear I'll close my eyes and go to sleep as soon as I can if you do."
Elphaba looked up from the floor to Glinda's face. She saw the flush that accompanied the onset of tears, and the glittering drops of water that made two parts of her mind flinch. The first flinch was for the burn she could imagine on her cheeks. The second was for the idea that Glinda was near to crying. Elphaba looked to the window, and Glinda laid her head back down on the mattress and bit her lip. She nearly sniffled, once, and with every intent of muffling the sound. Elphaba began to sing.
The sound was gentle, crooning and calm in the manner of all good lullabies. Glinda did not listen for words or messages, and she did not look back up at Elphaba. She kept curled under her quilt, eyes closed in an effort to hold the song in the forefront of her mind. The sudden desire to have Elphaba's long-fingered hand caressing her hair, her face was pushed, firmly, to the back and bottom of her thoughts.
Elphaba stopped singing when she heard Glinda's characteristic ladylike snores. They were as rhythmic as her singing, Glinda's breath deep and slow. Elphaba looked at the woman in the bed across from her, tracing the lines of moonlight that swept in and out of the golden curls swaying with each breath that caught them. She followed the curls' waving to Glinda's lips, barely parted to let cool air pass through. They were soft pink, cleaned of the lipsticks and glosses Glinda wore during the day, only a few shades darker than her cheeks.
She took note of the creases and valleys of Glinda's lips, thinking on how Glinda's small red tongue would dart out to moisten and soften those creases just before she talked, or after she laughed. Elphaba's eyes lingered, heavy and half-lidded, until she nearly unfolded her legs to stand and stride to the other bed. She shoved the idea to test how supple Glinda's lips were against her own to the recesses of her brain. In a flurry, she tugged her top sheet free of the mattress and began to rearrange her bed.
Her pillow was moved to the bottom of the bed, her sheet pushed down to cover her feet. Elphaba fumbled with the blanket and lay with her position reversed from what she would call normal. As long as she could watch Glinda's eyelashes glint in the moonlight—in dreams or not, she neither knew nor cared—Elphaba did not care.
—end—