Disclaimer: I do not own Wicked.
Notes: It is very important that you read this: I HAVE NEVER EVER SEEN WICKED. I have the soundtrack, the Wikipedia article, and mecelphie's fics to thank for this. So if I'm way OOC or get certain specifics wrong, now you know why. This is simply an idea I had that I had to write down. Hopefully it's okay for being what it is.
Unconventional
Regrets. Everyone has them. The statistics are still out as to how many people get to rectify them. I suppose we're somewhat of a success story, though our regrets weren't rectified in a conventional way. Though, nothing about us was ever very conventional.
It was five years, five Oz- and Glinda-free years (the former I was glad for, the latter…) when it came back to haunt us. Fiyero was out chasing crows (something he simply can't seem to stop doing, even now, an additional five years later) and I was watching, trying to enjoy myself.
Then a voice. "I found you." I nigh unto panicked and screamed for Fiyero, and both of us looked in the same direction at the same time, to see a disheveled Glinda, hay and leaves and sticks in her normally perfect hair, red-faced and obviously exhausted.
"I found you Elphie…Dear," she added, looking in Fiyero's direction.
Then she slapped me.
Then she cried.
Then she passed out.
She was tired, she said later. Tired of everything. For five years she'd been grooming a less baggage-ridden successor to take her place: a fresh-faced and kind-hearted but authoritarian and, yes, popular girl. And for five years she had been refusing to accept the "fact" of my death and Fiyero's disappearance.
Glinda, incorrigible as always, set herself up in a room and simply never left. Needless to say I was both terrified and ecstatic. I had truly never expected to ever see her again, and I was over the moon to have my best friend back, but I couldn't forget that she'd once been Fiyero's intended, and even now persisted in calling him "Dear" at every conceivable opportunity. Especially since five years of it being just Fiyero and me was beginning to wear thin. Our honeymoon was over, so to speak, and even though I knew he still loved me, I also knew that at one point not so long ago he loved her, too.
I was cooking (well, someone has to do it) and she was watching me, commenting on how she wished she knew how to cook as well. I was annoyed at something that day—I forget what—so I grabbed her arm and yanked her up, intending to stand her in front of the stove and make her slave over dinner for three. But as soon as I pulled her off her seat she took control and landed on me instead of beside me, as I'd wanted her to. Before I could fully fathom that Glinda had snatched the power right out from under my nose she was kissing me. I stumbled backwards and slammed against the wall but she refused to let go; she even held my face still. And for some reason I didn't try to extricate myself.
It took me quite a long time to notice that Fiyero had entered the kitchen and was watching us. At that point I managed to summon up the desire to push her off me. I was humiliated and angry, at myself and at Glinda, and almost at Fiyero for letting our relationship deteriorate to the point of me allowing someone else to kiss me and liking it.
"It's okay, Elphaba," Fiyero said, cutting into my apology. "I…guess I don't have to worry much about telling you…the same thing happened last night, with me and her."
Now I was furious. I turned on Glinda to yell at her but stopped when I realized she was crumpled on the floor, sobbing. "I love you!" she yelled, but neither specifically at Fiyero or me. "I love you, I love you, I love you…"
Both Fiyero and I knelt next to her simultaneously. I don't think either of us quite knew what we were doing, but we hated seeing her cry. In her usual display of unstoppable, thoughtless initiative she wrapped her arms around both our neck and dragged us to the floor. I somehow wound up on the bottom of the heap, with Fiyero on top. She was kissing me as fiercely as Fiyero did that night in the forest. I saw her grab Fiyero's hand and bring it down around my head; she brought his other hand around her waist. We were taking turns kissing each other: Glinda and I, Fiyero and I, Glinda and Fiyero, over and over and over. I don't know who pulled off whose clothes first; but I do know that dinner that night was ruined from cooking too long.
It was the most mortifying, and most amazing, experience I'd ever had. And, I realized later, the first time I was truly happy. I was not in the woods after having snatched my friend's fiancé out from under her nose. I was not leaving Glinda in the tower to follow my dreams. There were no strings attached, no losses to get gains. Just three people who still loved each other on the kitchen floor finally exposing the passion they had for each other.
Things changed, obviously. Glinda is not one to accept roadblocks to what she wants, so her things disappeared from the guest room and appeared in Fiyero and my room immediately. I had to enchant the bed to make it large enough for three. And she has a tendency to hog the sheets.
I'd forgotten how Glinda managed to bring light and glitter and renewal everywhere she went. Surprisingly, having her in our lives again brought back my and Fiyero's fire. I remember once she went to bed early, leaving Fiyero and I alone. Having the third party absent had become such a refreshing incident that as soon as the bedroom door shut, Fiyero was pulling an all-too-willing me into the living room closet.
Glinda's only complaint was that we were too loud; she couldn't sleep.
After a few giddy days of euphoria I realized that Glinda and Fiyero were doing likewise. And I realized also, to my surprise, that I was not in the least jealous. It dawned on me that they must have shared something deep enough to get them engaged in the years when I was off earning my reputation, a kind of slow-boiled intimacy that matched the potency of his and my instant mutual attraction.
I approached Glinda one day to tell her this, and it suddenly struck me just how hurt I'd been that day I disappeared and she refused to come with me. I had wanted her with me then, even more than I'd wanted Fiyero. And as I watched her moving around, humming a melody we'd learned at Shiz, I felt the want for her I'd had that day all over again.
"Glinda," I said, grabbing her wrist. "Come with me."
"Elphie?"
"Think of what we could do, together, unlimited."
She understood. I dragged her to the bedroom, locking the door to keep Fiyero out. This was between us, and us only. He pouted later because he hadn't been allowed to watch, earning himself playful slaps from both of us.
When I was younger, I had never thought myself capable of loving one person, let alone two. But then, I had always known I was unconventional. How could I not be, with my skin color? At least my loves are unconventional as well: a former prince turned scarecrow, and a socialite with a drive for reform. I was wrong before, when I told Glinda she and I were the greatest team there could ever be. We were missing Fiyero, the extra screw keeping us together. I was not happy without her or without him, and they without me or each other.
I sleep in the middle, because it bothers Fiyero when Glinda kicks. And now we have a second kicker, as well. It figures that Miss Worried-About-Her-Figure would become pregnant first. It drives her batty that she can't go shopping for the baby, because of course the Ozians would be all over her, demanding to know who illegitimately knocked up their precious Good Witch. I've decided I'm going to magic up the baby some clothes, fashionable enough to rival the best store in Oz. In between keeping Glinda from naming our child Gliphabiyero, which she is seriously considering.
And it is our child…it belongs to all three of us. Fiyero is Daddy, who teases and tickles, Glinda is Mommy who spoils and dresses, and I am Mother who disciplines and comforts.
Fiyero's arm stretches across my waist, and puts his hand on Glinda's belly. In her almost-sleep she snuggles closer to the touch and takes my hand.
"I love you," I whisper.
"I love you," they whisper back, to me, to each other, to the baby.
Some would call what we have wicked. I consider that a compliment nowadays, though Glinda prefers the term "unconventional". I actually do, too. No one mourns the wicked, but I would mourn losing this.
"Good God," I whisper, "we're one big ball of those stupid clichés we used to tell each other."
"Well, just for this moment," Fiyero laughs, "as long as you're mine."
"What is this feeling?" I answer back, trying to keep a straight face.
Glinda giggles in my ear. "We couldn't be happier. Because happy is what happens," she adds quietly, and she moves closer to me, as does Fiyero, "when all your dreams come true."