A/N: Ah, delays, always delays! Nevertheless, I remain determined to finish this story in a reasonable amount of – okay, maybe that's going too far – but I remain determined to finish this story!

The next morning, bright and early, Elphaba's phone buzzed and it was her mother's name flashing across the screen. Grabbing it, she hopped out of bed and cloistered herself in the bathroom so Galinda would have a harder time eavesdropping.

"Good morning, baby!" Melena chirped, alarmingly perky for her pre-noon self. "I was told – eighteen hours after the fact, thanks to your ever-forthcoming siblings – that you called."

"I did. I need to talk to you."

"Okay, but me first!" she rushed. "When I gave you that shirt, I meant for you to give it—"

"Mom, I slept with Fiyero—"

Straightaway, a pit opened between them, swallowing the shirt and the last of Elphaba's nerve. "You're not marrying him, are you?" Melena demanded. "Are you telling me what he said about spring weddings was serious?"

"—and now—"

"Because Elphaba, really, it's too soon."

Elphaba strived to be firm, but her voice came out strangled. "Please, just listen to me, just for a second."

"I am listening." Melena seemed to have stumbled into the authority that Elphaba had failed to command, as there was an edge-of-the-seat rigidness to her tone. "What is the one thing we've been telling you for years? Years, Elphaba."

"Always eat breakfast. Don't read in the dark," Elphaba tried feebly, rubbing her forehead. "Hold the railing."

"We told you to wait. We told you there's no rush. So you'd have nothing to regret." The reproaches slid through what Elphaba was sure were clenched teeth. "Do you realize how crappy you feel when you're the one deflowering your husband on your wedding night?"

"Do you realize how outdated that mentality is? Not even you believe it, if my source is to be trusted – but who knows. Hardly anything that issues from your mouth these days is the truth." Elphaba felt her cheeks burn and she tried to rein herself in. "Marriage is not a factor here. It never was for me."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that things were different for you! You had people lining down the block to propose! You could afford to take it for granted. I can't. No one wants me."

"That's ridiculous," Melena said, meaning it but knowing it bounced hollowly off Elphaba's steely insecurities. "Look, honey, I'm not a sentimental woman, but there are some things that have to be special. That's all I wanted for you."

"Oh, okay," Elphaba said acerbically, "so it's perfectly fine to send me to parties in skanky outfits and to tell me to put out, but when that actually comes to something then it can't happen because it's supposed to be special. Why am I even discussing this with you? According to Nanny and Aunt Sophelia, you've screwed half the population. How hypocritical—"

"Wouldn't that give me a better opinion on the matter?" Melena was channelling the ice age, by the sound of it. "A little flirting is harmless. You don't end up—" she gasped, "—tell me you're not pregnant."

"I'm not."

"Those tests can be faulty," she advised. "Don't believe them at first glance. I…people…have made that mistake more than once. Use multiple brands."

"I'm not pregnant!" Elphaba said vehemently. She heard Galinda stir in the main room. "That's not the problem."

Melena was silent for a moment. "I'm just trying to help," she murmured.

"You're not," Elphaba said, before she thought it through. "You think you are, but you're not. You don't let us do anything. You don't tell us anything. We're stumbling around blindly, like fools, walking right into these things."

"I told you why I don't…why I can't…"

"I'm not you."

"What are you talking about? My god, Elphaba, you want me to help and then you ignore me and then you insult me—"

"I'm not that girl. I'm not like other people. But I'm not better. I think I'm worse. I think—" Elphaba stopped, stranded in her own head. "You know what? This was a mistake. I didn't mean to bother you."

"Elphaba—"

Elphaba wrenched the phone away from her head and stared at herself in the mirror, trying to understand how everything could be changing while she stayed the same. Clearly she looked the same. Had the same voice, went by the same name, stuck in the same place. And she felt the same – like herself, like Elphaba Thropp, albeit Elphaba Thropp in a supremely shitty situation. So it was everyone else who was different; all capitalizing on some newfound kick that they got out of manipulating her, casting her as pawn in every game. There was Pfannee, of course, conducting her peers separately, working them into some kind of crescendo that roared around her whenever she emerged from her dorm. Now Galinda, too, only ducked underneath the barricade for long enough to pretend they were still comrades. Melena, formerly protective, seemed destructive in her efforts. And Fiyero. Fiyero.

Directing her attention downward, Elphaba snarled at her phone. Inanimate as it was, she could have sworn it was another game unto itself. She wanted to hurl it into the toilet and flush repeatedly. Or fill the tub to the brim and drown it. Throw it down and crush it beneath her heel. But she didn't.

She vacated the bathroom and set to gathering articles of clothing that would constitute an outfit, so she could change forthwith and make it to class on time. It was a brand new day.

In Munchkinland, Melena slammed the phone into the receiver and sunk into one of the kitchen chairs with her face cradled in her palms. She blamed herself, naturally, because Elphaba blamed her. Poorly handled, were the words that came to mind upon reflection, along with: you don't tell us anything. We're stumbling around blindly. Although, what was there to tell? The truth, maybe, but what good would that do? What good did it ever do? Truth meant change and things had been fine, so why jeopardize the balance? But the balance has already gone to shit, she reminded herself, and you're sitting here asking yourself questions while Elphaba is paying the price.

The price, Oz, the price. Fiyero's company, which had made Elphaba undeniably – and beautifully – happy and whatever sense of belonging she had carved out for herself at that school. What was left? More questions, she thought, Mother of the Year. What else could be left? Wasn't it obvious? Elphaba was being ostracized, she was driving everybody away, giving up, turning in on herself. Turning into her mother.

"What's the dealio?" Shell asked from the doorway, diving into the ocean of pressure that had risen around Melena. He had been listening in, but hadn't gotten much from his mother's side of the conversation – just that Elphaba was in one of her mindlessly-interrupting-the-other-person moods. "Everything good?"

"Your sister irks me," Melena answered with that tired-but-toughing-through-it smile of hers, extending a hand to him.

Shell drew forward and clasped it. "That's alright," he said, squeezing. "Nessa irks me too."

"Elphie, do you know anything about the seminar?" Galinda asked. She had been sitting on her bed for some time, debating whether or not passing on a couple of verbal lacerations was worth the risk of overdressing.

Elphaba rubbed her eyes as she heaved herself up onto her elbows. Annoyed as she was at having been woken up, she was still secretly thrilled at being acknowledged. "I have no idea," she admitted, disappointed by her own meagre contribution.

"Pfannee said she came up with the idea herself," Galinda said, "and that Morrible took to it instantly. Thoughts? To me, it says skinny jeans."

"It says this is bound to be about me."

Galinda rubbed her elbows, eyes fixated on the opposite wall. "Well, it applies to all of us. We're all required to attend." She pushed the covers to the edge of the bed and brought her feet to the floor, so she could claim the bathroom first. "Who knows? It might be…what's the word?"

"Enlightening?"

Her eyes lit up and she nodded vigorously. "Meet up with me beforehand. We'll sit together."

Elphaba studied Galinda, formulating her reaction carefully. She thought that she detected the same edginess behind the offer that there had been in the early stages of their friendship, when Galinda had expected her to decline. "Thank you, Galinda," she said softly, deciding too late that she'd read the situation incorrectly, "but I couldn't possibly endanger your reputation like that."

A frown tugged on Galinda's lips and the room suddenly felt overcast, though the sun was peering in through the window. "You're not making things better for yourself, you know," she said angrily, but also – in some obscure way – lovingly. "You push us away and then you tell us we're not supporting you. I was offering sincerely, Elphaba, because I care about you."

She plodded off, having said her piece, and Elphaba reached toward her night-table to check her phone. She scrolled through her messages – the old ones, that was, for there hadn't been new ones in days. It was strange to think that she had once been annoyed by Galinda's GOOD MORNING, ELPHIE! texts from across the room. Because now she would pay just to get one.

Being fashionably late was an art that few at Shiz University had mastered.

There was the class of pre-determined dweebs who arrived early to everything: Elphaba, Boq, Crope, Tibbett, their like. Then there were the almost-popular kids who had improved but weren't quite there yet: Pfannee, Shenshen, Milla. And, finally, there were the ones who would have developed the talent even if it weren't inherent: Galinda, Avaric, Fiyero; those who always arrived fifteen minutes after the mark, no matter where they were or what time it was. Those who were naturals.

Elphaba had grown up surrounded by naturals in her family, but (as her agonizing punctuality made evident) she herself wasn't a natural at anything. There were no expectations for her, except perhaps Melena's – recently thwarted – and Morrible's – the thwarting of which was well underway. Have you any thoughts? Any inclinations? she asked herself. None. She had none.

Most people she met said that their parents wanted them to be a teacher/doctor/lawyer/politician or, in extreme cases, whatever would give them a sense of fulfillment. Frex had wanted Elphaba to pursue politics, but Melena forbade it. So there was science. Or history; she could specialize in something. Or literature: could she be a writer? She certainly had the time for it, and the solitude, but she couldn't escape the feeling that it wasn't the right fit. That none of them were. That she was destined for nothing. Not unlike Melena.

This was what she thought about incessantly – in class, during meals, at night – and it was what she was thinking about as Morrible swept into the auditorium. Elphaba knotted her hair around a pen and leaned back, while Morrible lectured half-heartedly about punctuality being a crucial component of attendance, greeting the stragglers with her finest leer. When they were all seated, however, her enthusiasm grew tenfold.

"As headshiztress," she said, "I consider myself something of your figurative guardian. It is my duty to safeguard your integrity while you're in residence here, as well as to prepare you for the future in which that duty will be left to you. Lately, it has come to my attention that your collective behaviour – that is, the behaviour of you, the second years – has been questionable. And so, to rectify this, I have crafted an assignment, which I believe will benefit you greatly; an exercise, as it were, in both responsibility and cooperation."

Avaric raised his hand.

"Tenmeadows, I'm not taking questions. This isn't kindergarten."

Avaric's hand dropped.

"Now, straight to the point." Morrible flourished her arms, as if working a wand. "Welcome, students, to Parenting 101!"

Elphaba groaned aloud, incurring looks from everyone in her vicinity, and ducked her head to revoke it.

"Can I have two volunteers?" Morrible scanned the audience and Elphaba all but rose from her chair, foreseeing the outcome and longing to get it over with. The headshiztress beckoned accordingly. "Ah, Miss Thropp! Come forward!"

Every eye in the room was glued to Elphaba's back as she ascended the steps to the stage. She was sure she'd had nightmares of this sort; just, in those, she'd been naked and she hadn't been choking on silence. So it's not a nightmare, she thought, it's hell, plain and simple.

"And one more?" Morrible called, projecting into the void.

"How about Fiyero?"

Fiyero startled at the sound of his name and a flurry of arms jostled him to his feet so that Avaric could shove him towards the stage. There was no shame in his journey. His gait was casual and people clapped him on the back, bantering with him as if he was passing through a hallway. When he joined Elphaba, he asked, "What's this about? I was asleep until thirty seconds ago, no joke. Are we in trouble?"

Elphaba angled her body away from him.

"Cold shoulder, I see."

Morrible cleared her throat, strangely unostentatious in her manner, and caught Elphaba's eyes, communicating wordlessly that this was some kind of test. That, undoubtedly, her expectations had not been altered since their last meeting. She stooped over the bin that had been dragged in at the beginning of the seminar and straightened with a plastic baby doll in her grasp.

Elphaba cursed.

Pointing at the doll, Fiyero squinted as if it were something completely foreign to him. "What the hell is that?"

"You tell me. You're the parents," Morrible answered easily, proffering the doll to its father. The audience hooted. "For the next week, at any rate."

"Madame," Elphaba said tightly, "isn't this ridiculously high school?"

"Nonsense," Morrible tutted. "These dolls are used in a variety of courses at this school; those centred on child care and…well, others."

Holding it at arm's length, Fiyero cocked his head to the side, trying to gage the baby's makeup. "Dude, this can't be my baby. This is creepy."

As if it had heard the insult, the doll burst out into a shrill wail and he jerked away, throwing it to Elphaba. She caught it by the head before it hit the ground and forced it at him, but he pushed it back towards her. Refusing, she loosened her grip and dropped the baby, which cried louder as it collided with the ground. The screeching echoed throughout the auditorium, piercing the air, and one person's chuckle quickly multiplied into the thundering laughter of hundreds.

Fiyero shifted uncomfortably, side to side, and then picked up the baby to hide the dismay that had drained the colour from his face. "This is new," he muttered.

"What? Never been laughed at before? Don't worry, you'll get used to it," Elphaba said. "After twenty years, I consider myself something of a professional." But she turned back towards the booming crowd and couldn't mask the rage that was welling within her, too much to be contained for long. No one noticed the gleam in her eyes or the jut of her chin; the tics that bespoke the impending flood – only Galinda, who was slumped inward amidst her peers, at war with her instincts.

Acting on a second's impulse, she seized Avaric by the wrist and hauled him onto the stage with her. "Madame," she announced, "we'd like a baby too!"

After that, the noise lulled and there was a moment of room-wide deliberation, of watching Galinda declare that Av Junior is the worst name ever so don't even, before everyone was lined up in pairs, awaiting a child of their own.

Elphaba, forgotten, thrust her baby into Fiyero's arms and returned to her seat, numb beyond tears. She pulled her knees to her chest, feet flat on the seat, dissolving into a red-tinted trance while Morrible explained the full assignment.

Each pair, it transpired, was to care for their baby for a week, ensuring its well-being. If not, the baby has some near-inexplicable way of knowing and, consequently, so did Morrible. (Crope and Tibbett, immediately convinced of the presence of a hidden camera, set to unscrewing their baby to confirm it.) Following the week, the parents were required to turn in a report that discussed the demands of parenthood and what their first experience as such had taught them. Morrible then finished by reassuring the students that any couple who failed to complete the assignment would suffer the consequences in both their academic and social spheres.

Big deal, Elphaba thought.

"Knock, knock." Not bothering to wait for an invitation, Fiyero strode into the girls' dorm. "Give me a place to sit. I'm with child." He cleared the bed of Elphaba's books with a single sweep of his arm and flopped down beside her.

Galinda was sprawled on her own bed, playing with her baby's feet. "They're kind of cute," she said. "If you look really, really, really hard." She narrowed her eyes to slits and tilted her head as far as it could go. Then she lifted her baby to her face and kissed its forehead. "Who's my little baby boy? Who's my little-wittle baby-waby boy? You are! Yes, you are!"

"How do you know yours is a boy?" Fiyero asked, watching her with amazement – and a little concern.

"Because girls are annoying," Galinda answered flippantly, fiddling with the baby's hands, not looking up. "If you don't believe me, try having a conversation with the one next to you."

"Oz to Elphie," Fiyero said slowly. No response. He tried to pry the book out of her hands and was no match for her iron grip, so he waved a hand up and down inches from her face, over and over. "INTERRUPTION. INTERRUPTION. INTERRUPTION."

Elphaba reached for the baby, discarded at the end of her bed, and forced it into his hands. "You take it today until Wednesday and I'll pick it up Wednesday night and keep it until this is over."

"But this is an opportunity!"

"Indeed. It is an opportunity," Elphaba agreed, "for everyone to humiliate me. And since I'm not going to let that happen, I will pick it up on Wednesday night and keep it until this is over. Under no circumstances will you, the baby and I be in close proximity to each other."

"We're supposed to do this together, Elphie. Elphaba. It's Parenting 101. Not Mothering 101. Not Fathering 101. Parenting 101."

She continued writing out notes, not missing a beat. "On the condition that you leave me alone, I'll do the whole report," she said. "Hell, I'll even get you a B+ which, obviously, would be something entirely new to you."

"But I want to do it together." Fiyero laid the baby over Elphaba's textbook, covering her work. "How can you possibly say no to this face? Look into those unblinking eyes."

Instead, Elphaba looked into his eyes. "Go away," she said forcefully. "Please."

"On the condition that you come by my dorm later to say hello to your daughter."

"Maybe."

"Definitely."

"By the way, it's a boy. Girls are annoying."

As Elphaba followed Galinda down the hall, she couldn't fathom why she had decided to listen to Fiyero. Well, she could fathom it, but wouldn't admit it. And there was also the element of Galinda's intervention, she supposed, since Fiyero had somehow conscripted her in his reintegration ploy. Not that it's going to work, she thought, not that I deserve it.

"Look, Fiyero, we have guests," Avaric said, summoned to the door by Galinda's rapping. He kicked empty pizza boxes into the corner of the room and tossed discarded clothing onto the floor in their place so as to free the ratty sofa for them. "Have a seat, ladies."

Galinda wrinkled her nose in disgust, for she'd seen far too many pairs of underwear in the cleared pile of dirty laundry, and took to the bed. Elphaba, past caring, made for the seat. Fiyero leapt over the back and landed beside her. "What did you think of the history lecture today?" he asked, right off the bat, hoping she wouldn't comment on the fact that he hadn't been there.

"Profoundly boring."

"Totally." He nodded. "That's why I didn't go."

"I'm sure it was."

Fiyero squirmed, assessing his surroundings for a new lead. "Would you like to hold your baby?" he said, clinging to the first he found.

Elphaba, in the process of shaking her head, was distracted by the screech of Galinda's baby, which apparently could get frustrated by too much love, as well as none at all.

"Our baby's going to take its first steps soon and you're not even going to be around," Fiyero said, sharing her fascination with the family across the room. He nudged her playfully. "I wish you would make more of an effort in this relationship."

"Relationship? As in my idea of a relationship or yours?" Elphaba brought her hand to her mouth and rubbed her lower lip. "Because if we're going by yours, then I think we're doing just fine."

"Ouch."

She'd ruined it, she could tell, if it was even possible that the sorry attempt at amends hadn't been doomed at its outset. She crossed her legs, uncrossed them, and tapped her heel against the couch.

"So I guess parenting isn't really working out for you," Fiyero said quietly, giving it one last go.

"No," she said, exasperated, "it's not. Because I'm not a parent. And I don't intend to be. Oh, don't look at me like that." She met his eyes full on, boring through him as surely as his were boring through her. "I'd never agree to any kind of relationship with you. I wouldn't do that to me or you or the kids. People already pity that piece of plastic for having me as a mother, isn't that bad enough? I'm not fit for any…" Abruptly, she cut herself off, deciding it wasn't worth it to continue. "This was a mistake. Please stop acting like there's something left to salvage. Just, please, stop."

For good measure, she pushed the baby further away from her. And then she left.