AN: This one is up a little quick--I think I made my brain bleed with the editing process. So enjoy.^_^ Don't get too spoiled with the promptness please. The next one is going to take me a bit of time--in the middle of it now. Have patience, and I'll deliver the moment I have something up to par.
Hey, I actually got three reviews for the last chapter--I think that's a record. Thanks to those responsible.
"Elphie, how did you do it?"
The Jackal Moon had begun to blink, but it leered at them in an odd way, as if to learn their secrets and keep them at ransom. Glinda held enough secrets to fill the moon. And Elphaba…
"Do what?" They lay side by side in a bed of leaves. Glinda leaned her head so that it rested against Elphaba's shoulder.
"Leave."
"Oz?" The blonde nodded. Elphaba grinned and waved her fingers. "Well, by sky."
Glinda sat up suddenly. Scraps of brush clung to her golden curls. The witch nearly laughed. She wondered if Glinda Upland had ever lain on bare ground before. But the blonde did not notice her amusement. "The broom—Chistery and I had searched for it, everywhere. We thought it was lost—or taken." She paused. "It's why I came here tonight."
Elphaba shifted, looking up at her friend. "And you found—"
Glinda sighed and laughed. Her smile coaxed a like gesture to Elphaba's lips. "I found my life had not yet ended."
"Glinda—"
"What was it like?"
The witch drew a slow breath. "It was beautiful, in its own way. Parts of it. There are oceans."
"Oceans?"
Elphaba laughed. "We were awed as well. We lived next to one for a while, but Fiyero tended to mold."
"What else did you see? Were there mermaids or sea dragons?"
"No—altogether, there's a great deal less magic than here. Even my own spells were somewhat diminished."
Glinda gazed at the sky, contemplative. "We should go there."
"What?"
The blonde turned to her friend, grasping one of her hands. "Elphie, take me, please. I want to go—I want to see it all, what you've seen."
The green woman sat up, frowning. "Glinda, I've only just come back. We belong here."
Glinda turned her face away. Elphaba could not but note the pain in it. "What is there for us here?"
Elphaba leaned forward, trying to catch her friend's gaze. Glinda avoided her eyes. "Glinda, life—everything. This is our home. We are this place."
"It's not who I am!" The force of her words took the witch aback. When Glinda at last looked up, tears glistened brightly against her eyes. "They all love me, adore me, but who am I? I am nothing, Elphaba. Without you, I became more than I ever imagined—alone. But I was nothing."
Slowly, as if skittish of startling the petite blonde, Elphaba took a pale hand between both of her own. "Glinda, listen to me. When I left here… I was not complete. You're not alone. There's good we can do here—even still, I believe there is." Glinda looked away, her breath quickening. "But this time we do it together."
Sighing, Glinda turned her hand to clasp Elphaba's. "Even death could not slow you down."
The witch smirked. "No rest for the wicked."
"Don't say that," the blonde snapped, perhaps too vehemently. "That infernal word—I've had to listen to it for too many years." She turned her head away as she blinked back salt and sting. "And I've indulged it."
"You promised," Elphaba said quietly.
"Yes, I used to think it was the cruelest thing you ever did to me. I didn't know about your elaborate performance headlining Dorothy Gale."
"Glinda—"
"You're a wonderful performer." Glinda raised her chin, in the charming way she had of issuing an air of influence—Elphaba had known her to employ such tricks all the time they'd been friends, and before. "It was so moving," she continued, "I cried."
The green woman turned her face sharply, chastised. "Glinda, that's not fair."
"Isn't it? Why didn't you stay, Elphie?"
The witch ground her teeth, determined not to show tears. "They were trying to kill me—"
"They were always trying to kill you," the blonde interrupted. "Why did you go?"
Elphaba sighed, failing in her determination. "I couldn't— After Fiyero,"—her voice wavered—"and before him Dr. Dillamond and Nessarose and Boq…"
Glinda's brow furrowed. "What happened to Boq?"
Elphaba looked up, eyes widening. "You didn't know? Nessa, she tried to… And then I…"
"Elphie,"—Glinda touched her friend's hand—"you're not making sense again, dearest."
The witch drew a breath. "Another spell. Two, actually. I did what I could to save him." She paused. "He became the Tin Woodsman."
Glinda gawped for a moment and buried her face in her hands. "All of my college friends!"
"Boq was your friend?" When the blonde looked up at her in indignation, Elphaba's breath hitched. "I mean, you couldn't even remember his name."
"He was a dear! So sweet… and a bit annoying. But I was different back then, all right? I never wished any harm on him."
"I suppose he didn't cope so well either… Far worse than Fiyero, even."
"Fiyero…" The name tasted strange to Glinda. He had been so much to her. And then, to Elphaba—he had nearly torn them apart. In so many ways, tragedy had mended what wayward love had rent asunder. "Whatever happened to him? If he didn't return with you?"
"We parted paths." Elphaba spoke calmly. Glinda felt an eerie chill. "Not on ill terms, but… He needed, more than anything, to find who he was to become, and I was no longer a part of it. Our futures parted. He did not wish to return here, so he stayed—or went off, his own way, I believe was his intention."
"I do hope he's all right—Lurline bless him, whatever his faults."
Elphaba gripped Glinda's hand tightly. "And what of my faults?"
"Elphie,"—Glinda shook her head—"we should go. Enough of… all this."
"You know I can't. You can't. Running doesn't work for us, my sweet."
Glinda stared at her hand in Elphaba's, milky white against a sinful green. She was still not yet certain she hadn't dreamed herself into death.
"They tried to kill you," she whispered.
"That's just the trick," the witch said excitedly. "No one knows I'm alive."
"Elphaba,"—Glinda hesitated, as though holding her words at bay would delay their truth—"they'll be looking for me."