A/N: And we're back!

I'm not going to waste another minute: read, review, and above all, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Wicked is still not mine.

"You wanted to speak with me, Director? Sorry, force of habit – you wanted to speak with me, High Overseer?"

"Please, Brrr, you don't need to stand on ceremony: I've known you since you were a cub. Call me Elphaba. But yes, I wanted to speak with you concerning your requests concerning additional service to the Pottery. For one thing, I noted your use of the term: the department's going public, so the use of our euphemistic title is no longer required... unless you're interested in something more covert?"

"That's correct, High Overse- Elphaba. I wanted to know if you were continuing experiments on the potion we were given."

Elphaba considers this for a time. She has been keeping a very close eye on the once-Cowardly Lion for some weeks now, and knows that Brrr and his fellow volunteers have been especially enamoured with the effects of the shapeshifting potion that proved so instrumental to the Wizard's downfall. She can't imagine why, of course: why would anyone want to be anything other than their true selves, perfected and eternal? Except on a purely pragmatic, temporary basis, the notion of shapeshifting is nothing short of abhorrent – and as such, it's for pragmatic reasons alone that Elphaba is permitting continued research into this new transformative elixir.

"Research is already underway, headed by Dr Ossuary and Dr Broil," she replies at last. "But why do you ask?"

Brrr has the decency to look a little sheepish. "Well, I've been keeping an ear to the ground here in the department for a while: according to the grapevine, the research team is having a little difficulty getting to formula to perform to specifications – and by the sounds of things, Ossuary and Broil are taking it out on just about everyone in earshot. Now… if I've heard correctly, you're working with a new variation on the old potion. Is that right?"

"True enough: national security requires that a few examples of Morrible's plague be seen in public from time to time, and that means longer, more impressive transformations. Unfortunately, our test subjects seem to be having some difficulty adjusting."

"And all the subjects are new to this, right? If none of them are familiar with the process of transforming, maybe what you need are experienced test subjects – veteran shapeshifters."

Elphaba's eyes narrow. "You're seeking work as a test subject?"

"Pretty much, yes."

"You're sure you wouldn't like something more… prestigious? Believe me, it's within my power if you want it."

"Thanks, but right now, I'm looking for something that doesn't scare me or make me anxious or make demands I'm not ready for; I'm looking for a job that can make me feel… stable. I mean, when I was down in the trenches with the other researchers, I felt as though I had meaning in my life. I felt as if I genuinely belonged, and I don't mind telling you I haven't felt that way since I was separated from my mother: I haven't even fit in among other lions since then. Prides reject me out of hand, because I'm an embarrassment to them, a "betrayal of everything a lion should be" they say. But down here, as a test subject…" His brow furrows with the effort of putting something almost intangible into words. "It feels right."

"But why the shapeshifting potion?"

"Strange as it seems, I learned some skills while working with that potion – and true, the shapeshifting powers wore off weeks ago, but if I can put that experience to use, I think I can really help people down here." He offered a shy, awkward smile. "Besides, that night when the Wizard fell was the first time in my life I felt truly fearless; I'd like to find that feeling again if I can."

Elphaba sighs. "Very well, then. I will notify Broil and Ossuary that to expect your assistance as a test subject – and a consultant."

"A consultant?"

"As you say, you have experience. Perhaps they could benefit from your advice. On that note, would you know of any other members of staff who feel their talents would be better served in experimentation?"

"Well, I can think of a few. Gartosk, Kettlebam, Tabbernham, Corvi… uh, most of the Animals who took part in the display that night, really; there were also a few Munchkins and Gilikins who wanted to know more about what the potion was like, so if you're looking for willing non-Animal participants, I can name a few who might want in." He takes a deep breath, absently playing with his tail with his left paw – a sign of hesitation, Elphaba realizes.

"Doctor Dillamond also said he wanted to help out in the research department," Brrr admits at last.

"Truly?"

"I wouldn't have brought it up if he hadn't been serious."

"But why would he do that? I offered him his old job at Shiz – with a pay rise!"

"I think he's a little concerned about you, Elphaba. When I last spoke to him, he said something about how you were taking serious risks with some of the expert you were working with, how they were either going to kill you or try to corrupt you to their beliefs. So he wants to be here to keep an eye on the departments… and he didn't much fancy being the idea of being a clerk or a secretary, so he decided on being a test subject with the rest of us. I mean, he was one of us on the night of the Wizard's fall."

It takes all of Elphaba's willpower not to shake her head in exasperation. She knew from her experiences with Morrible that teachers rarely surrendered the role of mentor, even when their students became vastly more important and knowledgeable than they were: they wanted to keep advising them after graduation, to keep depositing little parcels of advice in their laps in the hope that they might accept them; they were like parents in that respect – always nagging and wheedling for their now-adult children to heed their word. Doctor Dillamond was far kinder and far more reasonable than Morrible by far, but he still had that troublesome parental streak.

Not that her actual parents were any better: the Wizard's mind, now chained to the thinking engine beneath the palace, continues to churn out a vital stream of data occasionally peppered with pleas for Elphaba to kill him.

And as for Frexspar, he's been left hovering around her aboveground offices like a ghost, anxiously awaiting progress reports on Nessarose. Nessa, who has long since climbed out of his shadow and is slowly blossoming into her own person, Nessa who is slowly becoming a masterful witch in her own right, Nessa, who longer needs to answer to her dear father every day of the week. Now that his favourite daughter has outgrown him, Frexspar is now trying to ingratiate himself to his eldest – the child who, unknown to him, is not his: he does not hope to gain some status for himself by doing this, nor does he hope to achieve some kind of secret victory for his daughter. He does this because, now that his precious fledgling has flown the nest and his waning health has forced him out of the governor's mansion, he has nothing else in his life. Loathe as he is to admit it, he is lonely… and after the troubled upbringing of his eldest, he no doubt feels as awkward as he looks in his attempts to make contact with Elphaba, perhaps secretly dreading that she will turn him away after all the grief he visited upon her. But he does not know his eldest.

She forgives him.

She forgives them all. After all, she is the only one who can bring them absolution.

In the meantime, Dr Dillamond will soon be taught that his fears are unfounded: the researchers will benefit from his experience, and he will be shown that Elphaba has nothing to fear. He will see that she is building a utopia, not merely for this generation, but for all eternity.

"Very well then," she says. "With any luck I will be able to assuage his fears over time. Now, go and inform your friends of their new positions: Dr Broil and Dr Ossuary will expect you in the alchemical sector at 7:00 tomorrow morning. Perhaps, if you prove as adept as you say, I could even enlist you in utilizing this potion to motivate my citizens; you could be one of my Public Opinion Managers – how does that sound?"

Brrr grins widely, bearing his fangs in an expression of purest exuberance that Elphaba has never known him to wear before. "Thank you, High Overseer," he babbles, wringing her hand joyously. "Thank you!"

And with that, he is gone. And once again, Elphaba cannot fathom why he could possibly be so happy about such an arduous task…

"Elphaba? Are you alright?"

It took a second or two for her to respond for this with a distracted nod and a mutter, and even longer for Elphaba to remember where she was. It took a little effort to grasp the fact that she was no longer reliving the events of her other self's past, but standing in Dr Kiln's private surgery in her own present, but somehow she managed to claw her way back to reality.

"Fine," she muttered distractedly. "Just lost in thought, I guess."

Why was she flashing back to Alphaba's past while still conscious? Dream-memories couldn't occur while you were still awake, could they? After all, the whole point of these psychic experiences was that they were the mind's attempts to accept interdimensional information it couldn't normally absorb while fully conscious. Had she just been tired, dozing off and lapsing into a dream state?

Had this happened before? She recalled lapsing in and out of dream-memories while the Mistress of Mirrors had been patching her up, but surely that was just an effect of the surgery, or something to do with the head trauma or the blood loss or something like that. Wasn't it?

And more importantly, what had she been doing? Why was everyone staring down at a slumbering patient in bed?

It took a moment of concentration, but at last she remembered what had led them into this lonely tower of the palace: they'd been up here to check on the Lion, who was still recuperating from his ordeal down in the Hellion's nest; the First of the Shapeless had been interested to see how well his other self was recovering, and had asked for a detour into the surgery before discussing terms with the Mentor.

Below them, ensconced in life support systems and intravenous tubing, Brrr lay in bed. A day of alchemical nutrition had put some meat back on his wasted frame and restored his atrophied muscles, and the scars he'd acquired at the hands of the Hellion were slowly healing; Kiln had even managed to re-attach his severed tail. All the same, Elphaba couldn't help but shudder at the sight of him: not only was he showing no sign of waking up any time soon, but every time he flinched in his sleep, Elphaba couldn't help but remember how he'd trembled and shuddered when she'd first rescued him from the classroom.

Once again, she thought he'd been saved, but once again, he'd only been left with deeper scars.

Meanwhile, the First of the Shapeless was musing over his body with something not unlike bemusement. "Terrible shame," he was saying. "I haven't had an occasion to wear my own version of this body in close to twenty years, but to see it in this condition… well, my counterpart's had a very rough time of it, hasn't he? Still, he's on the mend, that's the main thing. Once body's healed, the mind may follow as they say."

Glinda shook her head, clearly bewildered. "I still don't understand how you could have been the Lion in this world. I mean, I've seen some pretty weird things since I ended up here: I've seen Elphaba as a dictator, I've seen myself as a head of state, and I've seen Dorothy as a bogeyman – sorry, Dorothy – but this really takes the cake. How could you have become a shapeshifter, much less founded the Amorphous League?"

"Oh, I can't take sole credit for founding the league, Glinda: there were at least thirty to forty of us "Public Opinion Influencers" to start with, and I was just the most experienced of them… and the first to begin using the powers I'd gained without permission. When we finally split from the Empress's think tank – once she started calling herself Empress instead of High Overseer, in fact – they decided that experience made me worthy of the title."

"…we have reason to believe he may have been misappropriating doses of the potion."

"Unlikely. The potion is strictly regulated, and all ingredients used in its creation are monitored at all times: they can't have been signed out without the requisition being recorded, and they can't have been stolen without our quartermaster noticing. Unless you're suggesting that the quartermaster's turned corrupt as well, then I can't see how it's possible for Brrr to have acted in this way."

"But surely with the potion, he could have-"

"The potion lasts only for approximately three hours at present estimates, six if restricted to small transformations. Brrr was supposed to be at Shiz for this assignment, yet this "sighting" you refer to was on the outskirts of the Emerald City. Even if he took the shape of a bird or a horse, he would have had immense difficulty reaching it within the time frame. If he'd taken a shortcut via the train line, our sentries would have seen him, so the only way he could have been practising in that region of forest is by misappropriating potion supplies – which, as I've said, is not possible. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that Brrr cannot logically be to blame for this incident."

"What then, Overseer?"

"I would suspect that someone is testing an alternate serum, but for now that remains conjecture. Tell Chistery to continue his sweeps of the area."

But as her spymaster leaves, Elphaba is considering something else: the full extent of the potion's effects have not been analysed, least of all after the latest efforts to improve its effects. What if a rogue operative – not necessarily Brrr – had been shapeshifting without permission, but without the aid of stolen potions? What if this renegade had developed the ability to sustain the metamorphic effects of the serum for longer periods of time?

What if such a process could even be made indefinite?

This would be unthinkable, unacceptable, but unfortunately not outside the realm of possibility. Yes, if such a thing could be possible, Elphaba will have to keep a closer watch on Brrr and his fellow influencers from now on …

"Elphaba? Elphaba? You're drifting again."

She blinked rapidly, hastily recalling where she was and what she'd been doing. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I… don't know what came over me there."

That settles it, she thought absently. Once we've finished this conference, I am going straight to Dr Kiln and getting a check-up, because this is clearly not normal. I don't know what could be causing this, and for once, I don't care if it's part of the Mentor's plan or a total coincidence; this needs to be investigated as soon as feasibly possible…

…as soon as this little diplomatic mission is over and done with, of course…

"Is the final test ready to begin?"

"Lintel reports that the gift baskets are primed and prepared for activation, Your Radiance. Which one of them do you wish to test at this time?"

"Well, we can't use one too close to Greenspectre without prompting an investigation, and we can't use any that landed near Loamlark now that border security has increased tenfold. So, the simplest and most logical region would be the forests beyond Pelagraeus Lake; we have at least two or three gift baskets deposited there. I leave the selection process entirely up to you."

"Very good, Your Radiance. Both the gift basket and the troops will be ready within the hour, along with the transmission mirror you requested that they bring with you."

"And what of the Rough Departure?"

"The Rough Departure and its duplicates are already undergoing preliminary field tests, Your Radiance: Lintel reports a 100% fatality rating. Probes confirm that all test subjects entering the portal are invariably disintegrated by interdimensional radiation within the first five minutes of immersion. As you specified, the region selected is utterly inimical to organic life, 'more an offshoot of the multiversal substrata than actual dimension,' as Lintel put it."

"Was that all he said?"

"He added that even if the target actually survive transportation and immersion, it would never be able to escape: the portal cannot be opened from the opposite side. Then he said that he felt as if he was 'gonna be small for a little bit,' then lost about five years of age; he should be speaking again after his nap, according to the nurses."

"Ah. Then I think all is as it should be, at least for now. Tell Lintel's technicians that they can begin the test – and make sure Lintel's in a position to watch it happen. He'll be grumpy if he missees all the excitement."

"At once, Your Radiance."

"Oh, and Alearhn? Once you're finished, I'd like to see if we have any contacts among the Strangling Coils. Branderstove's coffers are not bottomless, and he'll soon run short of funds to pay his men with; they'll want to back to proper mercenary work sooner or later, no matter what the Leviathan promises them. And I have a sneaking suspicion we may have something that will interest Colonel Gloss…"

"So… Brrr-"

"Please, Mentor, you don't want to get me mixed up with the unfortunate lion you have recuperating in Dr Kiln's surgery. Besides, I am no longer that person; I have changed too much in too many ways to possess the same identity as he – in much the same way as you have, as the Empress has, as Dr Coil and the Mistress of Mirrors have."

"I can hardly call you First of the Shapeless all the time. Forgive me, but I'm not familiar with precise terms of reference among the League; you've been a little too adept at keeping yourselves hidden."

"Just call me the First. Or Leoverus, if it helps disambiguate somewhat; it's not my real name, of course, but I have gone by it in several past guises."

"Very well then, First: to begin with, I feel we should establish the terms of our alliance. I'm sure you know what we want of you by now, of course, but what is it that you want from us apart from a sanctuary within the Deviant Nations?"

"Well, for a start…"

Somewhere at the far end of the conference table, Glinda sagged in her chair and wondered what the hell she was doing here.

They'd only arrived in this secluded chamber about ten minutes ago, and she was already losing the will to live – not because the conversation was dull or the subject matter excruciating, but simply because she felt unbelievably guilty just by being here. It seemed as though everyone had a good reason to be in attendance except for her: the Mentor and the First of the Shapeless (now sculpted into a roughly bipedal form) were the key participants; Kiln was the physician and scientific advisor; Leafcutter was the First's bodyguard; Elphaba and Dorothy were given leave to attend on the grounds of their magical knowledge (along with a small retinue of Dolls); there was even a large mirror sitting at the head of the table so that the Mistress of Mirrors could mediate between the two leaders.

As for Glinda, she had no earthly clue why she'd even been invited to this meeting in the first place: she had nothing to do, nothing to say, nothing to contribute, and no real position. The last time she'd been of any use to anyone had been when Elphaba had desperately needed her around to hold a magical sink, a job that literally anyone with a pair of thumbs could have accomplished. Was there some vital seating arrangement she wasn't privy to? Was this part of some obscure tradition she wasn't aware of? Was it traditional to have at least eight people at the table lest some terrible numerological misfortune befall them all? Or was there a religious law to have someone completely useless around just in case a sacrificial offering was called for?

Glinda could only swelter in silence as the meeting dragged on, her neuroses swelling hideously with every passing second: she'd never felt more utterly worthless in her entire life, nor had she ever felt quite so trapped. She wanted to be here for Elphaba in case she needed help, but what help could she possibly render? What good was she? Everything she'd ever achieved in her life had been due to someone else's efforts, either because she'd been given the best help imaginable, or because Morrible or the Mentor had been using her as a pawn. And what about her few moments of heroism? They'd been arranged in advance or just spectacular flukes; at the end of the day, she'd earned a few photographs from journalists, the odd glowing review in the newspaper articles, but she was still just a sidekick to the real hero of the story, a dilettante with a lucky streak and no talent. Outside of that, she'd helped nobody, screwed up everything she'd ever touched, and ruined so many lives it would have been funny if it hadn't been so sad.

The more she thought about it and the more she tried to rally her confidence for some kind of reaffirmation, the more her self-loathing grew. She wasn't sure what had inspired it: maybe it had been her uselessness in the fight against the Hellion; maybe it had been the moment she'd realized that the so-called Good Witch of the North was now in danger of being beaten in the magical stakes by a traumatized child – whatever the case, it was gnawing at Glinda with a vengeance. She'd felt guilty before, yes, but she'd never hated herself as much as she did now; she'd never felt Elphaba's brand of self-reproach.

What was Glinda even doing at this table? Why did she have to be here? Why couldn't she just leave the room and hate herself in private?

Why – couldn't – she – just – fucking – vanish?

Meanwhile, the conversation was still lurching onwards in the background; thankfully, it sounded relatively cordial so far.

"…We'd be more than happy to integrate into your settlements, abide by your laws, vote in your elections and contribute to society," the First of the Shapeless was saying. "We'd even make arrangements to police ourselves, so as to prevent the abuse of our powers for criminal ends. However, none of that can happen until you can supply us with one or two rather important resources."

The Mentor sighed. "I was wondering when we were going to discuss this. This is a staffing issue, isn't it?"

"In more ways than one. First of all, the surviving members of the Amorphous League have all reunited in a secure location – all but one, to be specific. I believe it's time that Omber Landless was reassigned from the post of radio operator and returned to our ranks. After all, I think it's time that our old friend was rewarded after so many years keeping the faith alone in the wilderness."

"Done. What else can we do for you?"

"The other matter at hand is, as you say, a staffing problem: you want us to work as spies, warriors, saboteurs, even assassins… but unfortunately, after Unbridled Radiance's many pogroms, we simply don't have enough members for the kind of activities you require of us."

"How many people do you have?" Elphaba asked, eyes narrowing.

"Including Omber? Ten in total."

"Ten?"

"As I said, Unbridled Radiance has taken its toll. We once had almost a hundred members, but then the Empress found a method of detecting us and suddenly it was all too easy for them to hunt us down; by the time we were able to perfect a means of avoiding detection, they'd killed nearly half of us, and the war scythed through just about everyone left. And then there was that rather ill-advised assassination attempt on the Empress, but that's another story. The point is, we need new members – dozens of them, if not hundreds – and as the ruler of several million eagerly deviant citizens, I'm sure the Mentor can supply them in earnest."

"I can hardly order them to join," said the Mentor darkly. "I can initiate conscription in dire circumstances, but I can't conscript people into voluntary organizations like the Irredeemables. It'd be a violation our principles. Frankly, extreme measures aren't necessary: all you have to do is advertise your presence and make it known that you're accepting new members; curiosity alone will guarantee a steady induction rate. After all, you're living legends, remember?"

"True, but it won't be enough to ensure the members we need for a war effort. We need an additional attraction, something to get the public's attention."

"My personal endorsement? Those of my forces who've seen your membership in action?"

"That would help, but I was thinking that the best way to lure the citizenry into our ranks would be… assurance. People don't just need proof of power or virtue, they need proof of safety. I mean, the Irredeemables can offer their personal assurance that the surgeries used to augment them are perfectly safe, yes?"

"Of course," said Kiln indignantly. "But what proof would you need?"

"A new member to demonstrate to the public that our potion and initiation rites pose no threat. Ideally, someone the public knows; someone famous, someone respected, admired, that sort of thing."

The Mentor nodded sagely. "Then I shall offer myself."

"Mentor-"

"You can't dissuade me, Dr Kiln, not when so much is riding on this deal."

"Unfortunately, I will have to agree with the mage-surgeon in this matter, Mentor; your health problems – the heart trouble, the scarring, the magical curses – all of them make initiation into our ranks unfeasible at best and dangerous at worse."

"Alright," the ancient administrator grumbled, "Feel free to select anyone here! Dr Kiln, would you like to volunteer your services?"

Kiln looked as if he'd been forced to choose between celebrating Lurlinemas or his birthday. "Believe me, nothing would give me greater pleasure," he sighed. "The research alone would be nothing short of extraordinary… but I still have my duties to attend to as your physician. Besides, I'm well-recognized, but I'm not exactly photogenic."

"For crying out loud, I'll volunteer," snapped Elphaba. "I'm a national hero, so I'm the perfect endorsement. Happy?"

"Uh, we don't know how the potion would react to the witch-crystal, unfortunately-"

"Oh gods almighty, what do you want, you people?! Dorothy, do not even think of putting your hand up."

"But-"

"But nothing, young lady, you've been through enough. You're already the new Hellion, you're not becoming a shapeshifter on top of that."

Suddenly, everyone was talking at once: everyone wanted to put their name forward or to stop someone else from putting their name forward; the Mentor was trying to keep order, the First of the Shapeless was trying assist even though he was literally rippling with laughter as he did so, Leafcutter was attacking the refreshments with the kind of desperation only exhibited by people trying to ignore a public argument, and the dolls (completely oblivious to anything outside their "mother's" safety) were plaintively asking Dorothy what was going on.

And through the chaos, a voice rang out: "I'll join the Amorphous League!"

In the silence that followed, it occurred to Glinda that everyone was staring at her, but even with that, it was another five seconds before she realized that she'd just volunteered.

A/N: Any guesses as to what'll happen next? Let me know!