Elphaba awoke as if she'd not truly been asleep, but floating in some half-conscious state. She clawed her way up to alertness. The room she was in was unfamiliar; her eyes took a moment to adjust to the grayish stone ceiling crossed by dark wooden beams.
She didn't know where she was, couldn't remember- but then she did, terribly so.
That night- coming home, exhausted, hopeless, finding the door ajar and her lover's blood splattered on the floor. She shut her eyes to stop the scene replaying- she didn't want to remember that, no- and moved her memory forwards to the newer pain, the pain not of seven months ago but of a few hours ago. She sat up slowly, stretching, wincing at the soreness, and looked around.
Door. Window, chair- it was a simple room. Basket.
Basket?
Her heart pounding, her head spinning, Elphaba rose with difficulty and made her barefoot way across the room towards it, knowing what she'd find. When she was nearly there she stumbled and fell, snatched at the chair back and used it to keep herself standing until she could sit down. She shut her eyes as the room pitched sickeningly, once, and then subsided into stability, then opened them and looked down into the basket.
Oh, oh. Yes. She'd been right.
The child slept quietly, not stirring at all, tiny delicate pale fingers fisted in his blanket. She'd heard the maunts talking from her half-sleep, heard the name they'd given him, almost a name she'd have chosen herself. Liir.
Something rose in Elphaba like a burning wave at the sight of her son, nearly choking her- grief and instinct and a love so fierce she couldn't breathe. She reached out and touched his cheek, marveling at the softness; her hair fell into her face, and she twisted it up and back and somehow it stayed there. Then she sat up, tilted her head back, and let out a long sigh. The child- Liir- moved then, and she pushed the basket with her foot to set it rocking.
Liir. Her child, and Fiyero's, the son he would never meet. The thought ripped open the old wounds, and had she been anyone else Elphaba thought she would have cried. Damn love, damn it. Elphaba had lost most of the handful of people she had ever loved- Fiyero, whose tale had come to an end; Nessarose, whom she thought she probably wouldn't ever see again; Glinda, whom she'd lost, as surely as if the blonde girl too was dead, the moment that coach had pulled away. She couldn't go back to her past, and she had no future. So much pain. And all from love, from losing the ones you love.
She looked down at Liir again. The basket had stopped rocking, and she nudged it again with her bare foot.
It's a part of having- well, human emotion, she thought, hating the term but lacking a better vocabulary. One cannot help but love, and so one cannot help but lose, and bear the pain.
Even you, Liir.
I promise you, I will not be responsible for your pain.
She bit her lip, closed her eyes. Gave the basket another push. Shuddered.
Because I love you- and damn it, Liir, I do- I will not. I will give you no reason to love me. And so when I'm gone, you will at least be spared the pain of losing me.
Gingerly, Elphaba reached down and picked her son up out of the basket, cradling him closely to her chest. She kissed his forehead. One last, intense surge of that overwhelming love rushed through her. And then she put him back down, and sealed her heart in ice. She felt herself sinking back into that sleepless half-wakefulness.
I cannot love you, Liir, because I do, so much.
There's so much pain in this world, but I won't be the one to hurt you.
I promise.
Like I said, this is just expansion on a theory I've had for a while now. I apologize if you don't feel it's quite up to snuff- I ended up posting it right after I finished it, which I don't usually do. Either way, what do you think?