A/N(And/Or Disclaimer, blah, blah, blah…): No, I don't own Wicked or any of it's characters or lyrics, or any of the ideas behind this. Yes, we fanfictioners are just authors too lazy to make up our own characters. If you don't care for this disclaimer, your free to shop among some of my others before every story. They're virtually all the same.)
The Good Doctor.
In a perfect world, it would have been an accident. The good doctor would have simply been working busily in his office that horrid night. Perhaps he had been performing some sort of domestic experiment for his area of expertise. But of course, the work wouldn't have been of any importance, just a little bit of observation.
And after some time, something might have called his attention. It could have been anything, a pot of tea, screeching angrily as it boiled over, or simply the door bell, a student asking for help on that week's assignment. Perhaps it was nothing at all, just something he imagined in the shadows.
In any case, the doctor had turned too quickly, causing him to seal his own fate by the very materials that kept him going about his business every day. The whole affair would, of course be an accident, no one would be to blame for his death. It would have been perfect.
Although, nothing can be considered perfect.
In a perfect Oz, animals and people would only die by accident. But it didn't take any brains to know Oz was not perfect. Otherwise Doctor Dillamond's death might have been insignificant, just another accidental death. No one would know that the whole incident was staged. No one would have known and it would have been perfect.
But Elphaba new better. The green girl knew more than anyone that Oz wasn't perfect.
