hi therrre i'm back with chapter 10. it's kind of a filler but then i don't really think any chapter is really a filler bc something always happens but yeah.. we've got the promised melena/elphaba 'bonding' time and there's some shiz stuff too so pls enjoy.
don't forget to leave a review and stay safe and healthy and warm xo

The World Keeps Spinning On And On

By IceK04

10

Complications

Behind a wall of misty uncertainties, a curtain of countless, perhaps notional failures of knowledge, insights, ideas and the conjunction of such, the mind wanders.

No aim and no sense to the thickened stream of thoughts, no reason, no cause. Realities blend into one another while the constant wondering of being and not being, living and not living and what's the sense of this—of life when it's so easily destroyed? And then there's questions that become answers, answers that become facts and facts that linger in the mind until another proves it wrong and you can't tell truth from lie and lie from joke even if you should because this is your own mind, after all.

When things get so twisted in the head that you forget your own name and the body loses interest in brainly commands.

And still, the mind wanders and wanders.

It was a realization that would've filled her with great satisfaction, had she been able to hold on to the thought.

But her mind was as if filled with honey and she couldn't reach anything beyond seconds ago.

"If I'm not very much mistaken," the voice reached through the mist and stabbed her in the center of her mind. Still there was no way she could've determined who the voice belonged to. "And I rarely am, it's a mild case of desert pox."

"Mild?!" Cried a second voice while a third one burst: "Pox?" In great exasperation.

A second of silence allowed her to sink deeper into the mist of thoughts. Then, she got pulled out brutally again.

"Mild, yes. Desert pox usually leads to coughing up blood, extreme dyspnea, nausea… these sorts of things."

Someone whimpered.

"Ah, doctor! You're supposed to calm her, not make things worse." A pause. "And pox, are you sure? Doesn't pox usually go along with those ugly blisters?"

"Yes, it does," answered the first voice. "But desert pox is a little different. I wonder how she caught that anyway, it's a very rare form of pox and uncommon in this part of Oz too."

"Well, where is it common?"

"In the Vinkus, I believe, although multiple cases have been reported in the Gillikin as well."

"You look somber, doctor, is something the matter?"

This time, the silence lasted longer, and the mist had almost closed its gap completely, pulling her deeper into chaos as the first voice finally rung out again. It sounded very dark and far away. "Well, to put it quite frankly, Ms. Spunge, most of those cases ended in the morgue."

Another whimper sounded.

"Lurline, Melena!" The voice, sharp and poignant, pierced her mind. "Quit the shaking! See what all that wine did to you? If you can't stop this, go outside, we're having an important conversation here."

Someone cleared their throat. "Where might she have caught it, doctor? How come she's infected but none of us is?"

"That, I don't know for sure, I'm afraid. It's hard to say who infected who and in the end that's not really what matters either, so I wouldn't focus on that. As for your other question… Although it is impossible to know just why and how some get infected and others don't, a reason for this infection in particular might be rather obvious, given the… pre-existing condition. There's no one like her, after all, and no one knows in which ways the skin condition influences the rest of the body, so…"

Something must've stopped the voice from finishing that sentence since it trailed off and lingered on for long, painful seconds. The silence was so thick with awkwardness that it seemed hard to breathe.

"I will return in a few days to check on her," went the voice on after a while. "In the meantime, you'll want to see to it that her body cools down. Cold, wet cloths on the forehead, fresh air. Bedrest, of course."

Some clanging and rummaging, metal against wood, wood against leather. "If nothing else works, we might want to try a venesection."

"Venesection? Isn't that a bit…?"

"Quite the contrary, Ms. Thropp, it's still a commonly used treatment. And you never know with the odd, don't you agree?"

But no one agreed or at least no one did so aloud.

A sigh echoed. "I will see myself out. Have a good day, Ms. Spunge. Ms. Thropp" -a stutter there- "I'm sorry for your loss."

Steps sounded, a door that opened and closed.

"Nanny, what do we do?" Asked a voice, so exasperated that it seeped through every crack in her mind. "Wet cloths, what a joke. There's no way to—and… venesection, Nanny, did you hear what he said? Venesection!"

"Hush," though it didn't sound much calming. "I'm sure it won't come to that. You know Fabala, after all. The little demon pulls through anything and everything, Oz be damned."

"Don't talk like that."

"You're worried?"

"Yes, I am. Is that so impossible?"

The silence afterwards weighed heavily, although it lasted no longer than a few seconds.

"Yes, to be honest, it is. And I must say you have a magnificent skill to hold your liquor. I wouldn't have been able to so much as walk up the stairs, had I finished two bottles of wine."

"Shut your mouth, filthy hag."

"Ha," a laughter that went beyond the ways of loud. "Who are you calling filthy, here? May I remind you that-"

"No, you may not," snapped the other voice. "Why don't you go and tell Mr. Pinfs of the goings-on. I've had enough of your nonsense drivel."

The answer to that, though, was lost on her as she drifted away and into the thick mist of uncertainties again.

"Isn't it strange?" Asked Boq quietly, quickly as if the mere question was an impossible crime.

They sat at the garden table that stood all lonely and well hidden behind a large, old maple tree behind the Three Queens library which had become their number one meeting point during the autumn break. Of course, they, unlike some other certain people, could not afford the journey home for merely two weeks -at least Boq and Tibbett couldn't. And since Tibbett stayed, Crope stayed too because Crope would never venture out on the streets of the Emerald City on his own (meaning without Tibbett). And Fiyero stayed because the journey to the Vinkus and back would take up most of the two-week break. And also, he didn't have much to look forward to at home. There was his ever-unsatisfied father and his poor mother who suffered greatly from her husband's constant attitude and neither was enough of a reason for him to take off.

So, they met almost every day. At first at their usual table in the café but then Boq had spotted the weird tik-tok thingy of Madame Morrible not once but four times in a row and had suggested they'd find themselves a new venue. And this table, so far way from all the hustle and bustle and weird metallic spies provided the perfect meeting spot.

The only downside was that it rained maple seeds on them and though the green leaves had once been perfect for sticking on your nose and pretending you were whatever kind of animal; they now were rather annoying to the boys.

Sad, thought Fiyero to himself, how one loses the small joys of childhood when you grow up. Then, the once enchanting suddenly becomes irritating.

"What do you mean?" Asked Crope from above.

He and Tibbett had climbed the maple and now sat on a branch high above the ground. The two of them always took it a step further.

"She hasn't answered yet, that's what I mean."

Boq turned to look at them. He had been holding his face in the sun for several minutes since it was the first time in an entire week that the sun had dared to peek through thick clouds, and he claimed he looked halfdead next to Fiyero's naturally dark skin and the tanned one of Crope and Tibbett. Which was true, to be honest. Munchkins were pale by nature anyway but with Boq, nature seemed to have taken it a step too far.

"Who?" Asked Tibbett.

"Elphie."

"Oh," said Crope.

The mood changed immediately. It seemed that the mere mentioning of her name brought an end to all joy and laughter. Fiyero wondered what she'd think of that and was grateful for the distraction since he didn't want to think of her, avoided it at all costs actually.

"I just," Boq swung his leg over the bench, squaring his shoulders. "I thought she'd come here immediately and, I don't know, burst into Morrible's office to claw her eyes out or something."

"Claw her eyes out?" Tibbett dangled with his legs, the smirk on his face neither amused nor joyful. "I think she'd slice her neck like that creepy Grommetik sliced Doctor Dillamond's. To take a stand, you know?"

"You think she'd be able to do that?"

"I don't know," Tibbett shrugged. "She's wild."

"Guys," interrupted Boq. "That's not the point."

Crope leaned downward, probably further than was safe. "Then what is the point?"

"The point is," Boq drew a deep breath and then puffed it out through his nose, clearly frustrated. "She hasn't answered yet. No reaction at all. And that seems so unlike her. Don't you think?"

"Like I said, I don't know," Tibbett pursed his lips. "She's wild, that's what I think. Other than that, I don't get her. I don't get women in general; they confuse me."

Beside him, Crope clicked his tongue. "Same here. I've never understood them. This constant bitching, know what I mean?"

Boq shook his head. "Okay, point made. You don't get them. But I'm talking about Elphie. We know Elphie, right? At least a little bit, don't you think?"

He glanced around, almost as if desperate to get some form of agreement. "We know her well enough to know that, had she been here, she would've made a huge fuss about this, right? And now, she didn't even write back."

"Perhaps she's busy," said Fiyero quietly.

"So busy that she can't write a few lines back to her friends?" Boq challenged, eyebrows raised.

"It's politics," Crope shrugged. "I think I know less about politics than I know about women."

Silence reigned over them for a moment and no one really knew how to break it.

"I know that it's complicated," said Fiyero after a while. He stared at his hands fanned out across the tabletop. "In the Vinkus, it is. But that's because of issues concerning the tribes and…"

The skin around his neck turned a little darker and he had to clear his throat before going on. "Anyway, I don't think she's too busy to answer. Maybe she just didn't know what to write."

Almost as if in response, thunder rumbled in the distance. Boq craned his neck to look at the grey sky. "I guess the Shiz University Post was right with the weather forecast for once," he turned to the other boys. "That thunderstorm is probably gonna hit Shiz soon."

He slowly rose to his feet and picked up his bag that had rested on the bench next to him. His eyes found Fiyero's. "Are you coming?"

"Sure, sure."

Hastily, Fiyero stood up. His fingers smoothed out the few wrinkles in his shirt. Then he looked at Crope and Tibbett.

The pair had slowly climbed down the maple again and now stood there, fingers hooked in the belt loops of their trousers.

"We still have to put some books away," explained Crope and pointed at the library to their right.

Fiyero and Boq nodded. They were quick to say their goodbyes as the thunder swelled in volume, turned, and hurried away.

At first, they walked in silence. There was nothing to be said, they felt, and they weren't so close anyway. But then Fiyero had to think of the letter and the books and the lack of response, the letter, the books and Elphaba. And Elphaba's hair and Elphaba's smile, however rare it might be. And the scent of her seemed heavy in the air around him and his chest tightened as if in great pain.

He didn't know whether Boq considered him a friend, but he thought of Boq as one and hoped the feeling was mutual. And friends could talk to each other and so, he figured, he could talk to Boq.

"Boq, have you ever… kissed a girl?"

The Munchkin's steps faltered for a second and he turned his head away, clearly to hide furiously reddened cheeks.

"I-I, well," he stammered. One hand curled into a fist and he pressed it against his leg, perhaps as a way to calm himself. "I have, yes."

"Mmh," Fiyero captured his upper lip between his teeth for a second. "Me too. I kissed Elphaba the day she told me she'd leave."

Boq stood rooted to the ground, thunder or not. His eyes were wide in surprise. "You- you, I mean… Elphaba?"

Fiyero refused to look at him. "Yes. Elphaba. And she, um, slapped me in the face."

"Oh."

"I guess I deserved it, though," he tried to shrug it off but couldn't. "I caught her by surprise."

Boq's eyebrows rose high. "I can imagine."

Lightening tinted the world blue for a moment and the boys jerked into a walk again.

"I just thought you should know," somehow, Fiyero's voice became smaller and smaller with each word he said. "Because I thought… maybe that's the reason she isn't writing back. Because she's still angry with me."

"Well," Boq raised a hand to stroke at his hair as a big raindrop hit the backside of his head. "I don't think she's that resentful, I'm sure she'll come around."

He smiled a lopsided smile at the other boy. "I'll tell you as soon as a letter arrives. You'll be the first to know."

Then, he whirled around and jerked into a run as to avoid returning to his dorm soaked to the skin.

When the mist gave way again to more than just incomplete musings, someone was singing quietly -not necessarily to her, the voice seemed to far away for that, but perhaps to the sky behind the window. She couldn't understand the words, her mind seemed too heavy, her thoughts too slow to hold on to the meaning of them, but she could hear the melody, sweet and quiet and almost alluring.

"Oh," sighed the voice and stopped its singing. And again: "Oh. Thank you, dear."

"Is she even alive?" Asked another voice, this one clearly male.

"Of course, she is."

"Why 'of course'? Father isn't alive, Momma, one day he was and the next he wasn't. Can't the same thing happen to her?"

"Oh," this time, the sigh sounded almost watery. "Shell, dear, that won't happen again, I promise it won't."

"But you can't promise something like that, can you?" The voice demanded. "The Pater said you can't, and Father said the pater is always right."

"Well…"

"He also said sometimes people we hold dear die just like that and it's God's will and we can't do anything against it. He said God loved Father so much, he took him sooner to him. But Elphaba doesn't even believe in God. She thinks it's nonsense."

"Shell, I- the doctor said it's a mild case, she'll pull through."

A beat of silence. Then…

"She's very strong, you know?" Said the boy's voice.

"Oh?"

"She grabbed me so hard, I thought I would die. You know, first, she screamed. I've never heard anyone scream like that, Momma, it was terrible."

"Me neither," murmured the other voice but the boy went on.

"And then, she grabbed me, first the collar and then the neck and she squeezed so hard for a second, I thought she'd strangle me."

"Oh, dear Oz, why didn't you say-?"

"It didn't hurt that much, anyway. And then she fainted and… well, Father always said sinners have to suffer and I thought if she dies now and God knows that she just almost killed her own brother, he might make her suffer. And she's suffering a whole lot without God adding to that, I think."

In the distance, a door opened.

"Huh," said a new voice. "Shell, boy, what are you doing in there? Lurline, Melena, don't you think one sick Thropp is enough? Boy, out of here, now. Don't look at me like that, young man, I'm not in the mood for games."

An exasperated groan sounded, then steps hurried away, and someone sighed.

"Has the fever broken?"

"Obviously not, I mean, look at her."

"Mmh," huffed the other voice. "There'll be soup for lunch. Will you come downstairs?"

"We'll see."

The door closed again, and she was entirely grateful for the silence after.

When she woke, it was the exact opposite of the salvation she'd thought it would be.

A tremor went through her entire body, she trembled with the effort to keep calm. But then the pressure in her chest rose to be unbearable and before she'd even opened her eyes, she already shot upright. Beside her, something (a plate?) dropped to the floor and broke soundly into thousand pieces. Breaking porcelain apparently brings bad luck if one is to believe to the mindless babbling of Glinda Upland but then who gives a fuck about bad luck when-

Elphaba slammed a hand onto her mouth.

"Oh no," gasped Melena -Melena?! -, jumped up and disappeared.

Only to reappear right in front of her, shoving what could only be the dustbin from underneath the small desk into her lap, just in time.

Fingers clutching the edge of the bin, her entire body twisted and shook, bile rising into her mouth that she tried to keep down simply because she always worked against her body.

But nature has a way of getting its way every single time, no matter the circumstances and certainly without a care in the world for what happens to Elphaba, and so, eventually, she just had to let her mouth snap open.

Of all sicknesses, she'd always hated stomach flus the most. Naturally. It was this losing control over her body that bugged her so. She had no control whatsoever over how and when her body tensed, twisted, made her bend over and retch into this stupid dustbin.

Tears of pain welled up in her eyes and wasn't it ironic that they only made the pain worsen? Because now, her eyes were burning, and tears slipped down her cheeks and she couldn't even wipe them away because she was too busy holding on to the bin for dear life. Though she didn't hold her life so dear right now. (Or ever.)

Meanwhile, Melena had -to Elphaba's great surprise- not left the room, nose scrunched up in disgust but had moved to sit beside her, a hand fisting black hair in Elphaba's neck to hold it back, the other resting on her shoulder.

"Oh, Fabala. It will be alright."

"Hell, it will," Elphaba wanted to grit back because clearly the woman didn't know a single thing about being alright after all—look at her, she's an alcoholic at—what? 38? But again, she was interrupted by her own retch.

It was horrible. It was disgusting. Humiliating, even.

"Nanny!" Called Melena and Elphaba reached behind her, hands grabbing at whatever part of the woman she would find, green fingers digging deep.

It was a warning and Elphaba prayed to whatever God or deity people believed in that she'd understand. Nanny was the last person she wanted to witness this. Because then, it would haunt her forever and the old hag would never let it go.

Melena didn't call for her again. Thank. Oz.

She just tightened her grip on Elphaba's shoulder, grazed a finger across her cheek and said, though barely understandable over the sound of Elphaba's heaves: "It's okay."

And perhaps Elphaba only imagined this -she was absolutely out of it after all-, but she thought for a second there Melena had added a quiet 'dear'.

Elphaba's heart convulsed along with her body and all she could think was what could there possibly be inside of her to be thrown up? Because she was pretty sure she'd just lost all meals of the last year in a few minutes. Or hours? She really didn't know.

When at last her heaves subsided and left her to pant and groan and gasp, Melena stroked her fingers through the sweaty strands of black hair and carefully loosened her fingers, one by one, from the dustbin.

"Let me just…," she said, but never finished her sentence and instead, got up and hurried out of the room.

Drawing a shaky breath in, Elphaba let her head rest against the cool wall beside her. The air was stuffy and thick with the horrible stench of vomit and she scrunched up her nose and closed her eyes as if to will herself away.

"Fabala."

She winced terribly, eyes fluttering open, searching for the source of the interrupting sound. Melena entered the room, carefully closing the door behind her.

She was carrying a cloth and one of the wooden buckets they usually used for dirty laundry. "Don't fall asleep just yet, you need to take this" -she frowned at the small bottle in her hand- "whatever this is. It's supposed to help."

"I wasn't falling asleep," Elphaba murmured, barely opening her mouth. "And there's no way I'll drink one of Nanny's 'miracle cure' drinks. They are poison."

Against all expectations, Melena did not snap at her or roll her eyes. No, she slowly, almost hesitantly -as if she didn't know if it was okay- sat down on the edge of the bed and withdrew a silver spoon from the bucket.

"It's nothing Nanny mixed together, trust me, I wouldn't let you even get near that stuff, it never helped me, that's for sure. It always made things way worse," she uncorked the small bottle. "The doctor prescribed it-"

"The doctor?" Elphaba cut her off. "Then I'm also not going to drink it. He wants to poison me too, I bet, so he can cut me open and examine me."

"Elphaba," now, Melena did sound a little annoyed. "He's a doctor, he won't poison anyone."

"I'm not anyone," grit Elphaba. "I'm me. I'm green. He's always been interested in me because of it, you know that."

She fixed suspicious eyes on the spoon that slowly filled with a thick, brown liquid.

"He prescribed it to the whole family, Elphaba," Melena turned to place the bottle on the nightstand, then inched closer, spoon raised higher.

"What?" Elphaba recoiled. "You think I can't take my own medicine now?"

Though the words lost a lot of their sharpness when she was trembling the way she did, when her head pounded, and her heart raced, and her body seemed to have lost all strength. Still, Melena's lips pressed into a thin line. "You're sick, Elphaba. And this is not just the flu, all right? So, let me help. Quit this stubbornness and just let me do this, okay?"

Elphaba huffed "If it gives you such satisfaction." And forced her mouth to open and her tongue to wipe the brown liquid off the spoon as it was pushed into the gap between her teeth. She almost threw the stuff right back up. It was the most disgusting thing she'd ever tasted.

"Well?" Asked Melena after a moment. "Was that so bad?"

But Elphaba refused to answer.

Melena sighed. "Now, go to sleep."

The green girl raised an eyebrow. "Go to sleep? Don't you think I've slept eno- wait!"

On a sudden idea, she shot upright and Melena started so badly that she almost knocked over the open bottle of medicine.

"I wrote a letter."

"P-Pardon me?"

"I wrote a letter, and the letter is important," a hand found its way to Melena's arm and her long fingers wrapped tightly around it. "I need it. Can you- can you bring it to me?"

For a moment, Melena seemed to contemplate saying no, but then, she slowly rose to her feet, nodding. "Where is it?"

"On my desk. It's supposed to be," Elphaba drew a deep breath. "On my desk."
"Alright. Stay here."

Elphaba almost laughed aloud. Stay here. Well, what else could she possibly do? But her head was pounding so hard that she couldn't bring herself to even smile.

When Melena returned, it was with a single white piece of paper that had a few stains of ink on it.

"The office is a mess," said the woman as she handed her the letter.

A flurry of green fingers was the answer. Elphaba didn't possibly have the time to say more. Brows knit tightly together, she read what she'd written.

"No, no, no," she muttered quietly. "No, this is not enough. She won't understand."
She reached blindly for her nightstand where she knew a set of pens was waiting in the top drawer.

Then, she bent low, read again, and wrote:

I'm talking tea served not around teatime, Glinda, and nothing else. I'm so sorry for your loss, Ama Clutch was one of a kind for sure.

Say hello to the others,

Elphie

At first, her shaking hand was inclined to go back and correct the silly nickname, but she had already made the mistake of raising a hand to her pounding forehead and sure enough, the letter and the pen were taken from her.

"Elphaba, you need to rest," said Melena forcefully. "You're getting yourself worked up about a letter and-"

"This letter is important," Elphaba cut her off. "It's extremely important and it can't wait. It needs to be delivered today per express."

"Today?" Echoed Melena. "Per Express?"

"Yes, it can't be delayed."

"Mmh."

Elphaba slowly sank back into her pillows. She couldn't suppress a groan. Tiredness was seeping into every single ounce of her body and made her limps heavy.

Melena hesitantly leaned over her and placed a hand on her forehead. Her brows knit tightly together. "The fever hasn't broken yet."

"What a surprise," murmured Elphaba. "I feel great, can't you tell?"

"Shh," said Melena and backed away to stand up. "You need rest."
But on a sudden idea, Elphaba reached out for her and held onto her hand, keeping her down.

Her voice was thick with sleep and gleaming with fever. "Why care now?"

Her mother sighed deeply. "Fabala, I- I just lost my husband. And no matter that I didn't… feel so strongly about him anymore" -she really wished she'd be able to concentrate more- "he still was my husband for almost 20 years. I- I can't lose another one of you."

Something flared up in Elphaba's chest that she couldn't place. So, she said: "You lost me years ago when you decided I wasn't good enough."

Melena's breath hitched. "Elphaba, I-"

"Please," Elphaba raised a heavy hand to stop her. "I'm tired."

Silence followed close after and then, Melena drew a deep breath.

"Alright," she said quietly. "I'll stay here."

Elphaba didn't object.