The Week of Ill Repute by Chudley Cannon

Disclaimer: No, of course not, it's all Maguire's and Baum's and good for them, too.

Author's Notes: I cannot stress enough how thankful I am for the support and the reviews and the comments – I apologize for leaving this for so long, but I never had any intention of abandoning it before it was finished (about two more chapters to go). The next chapter should come out a lot quicker, I should think. Or – here's hoping. Anyway, thanks again.

Chapter 5: The Crusade Through the Doldrums

"Oh." The figure lying in bed may have formerly been mistaken for a shapeless lump, but as a head poked out, blonde ringlets swinging, the shape was identified as Glinda, who promptly returned her head to the confines of the emerald sheets and said, "It would be good of you to close those curtains, you know, and let a person secure at least a few hours of sleep."

"Oh, but you had more than a few hours of sleep last night," said Elphaba, who was single-handedly identified as the perpetrator of Curtain Opening. She was awake and dressed in a starchy frock of a blue, almost black, color.

"I certainly hope you recant your statement on that," said Glinda grumpily, her voice muffled by the sheets she was burrowed underneath, "for you know that I couldn't sleep a wink with all that kicking you did."

An eyebrow rose. "I don't kick."

"Someone in the bed was kicking," said Glinda decisively, "and I can't very well go about kicking myself, can I?"

"Oh, Glinda," said Elphaba, shaking her head. "If anyone could, I daresay it would be you."

"I cannot, and certainly not for lack of trying, understand why we need to wake up so early." Glinda poked her head out once again and peered at the sunlight, which suddenly appeared iniquitous in nature. She was rather willing to bet that, although the sunlight was presenting itself rather intensely, it hadn't been doing so for long. That is, she felt that it had probably not risen very long ago, and thusly a few more hours of sleep were sufficient for normal persons.

Elphaba, of course, did not represent anyone within the bracketing together of normal persons.

"It's good to get an early start," said Elphaba, "for I don't know how long this will take us."

"How long what will take us?" grumbled Glinda, who finally emerged fully from under the covers and was presently working on stretching herself into a comfortable bodily state so that she could remove herself from the bed.

"Finding Halivan's family. Were you not listening when I told you I had received a lucky tip?" She watched with interest as Glinda stretched her arms above her head, the shift of the material of her new nightgown a rather fascinating sight against her legs.

"Oh, yes, I remember," said Glinda. "Stop gawping at me, you lecher." She had one eye open. Elphaba scowled. "You never said just from whom you received this lucky tip," Glinda went on.

"No, I did not, and I wasn't gawping." She gawped some more, purely on principle of contrariness. "It was someone who is just as concerned about the Animal situation as I am."

"Was it an Animal?"

"I cannot know that, for he was wearing a cloak."

"A cloak?" cried Glinda, now from the bathroom where she was changing. "You engage in secret rendezvous-es with cloaked gentlemen? What's the plural form of 'rendezvous'?"

"Amusingly, it's 'rendezvous'. And I would not call it such; it was neither secret nor really a rendezvous, and if I may be frank – he wasn't so much of a gentleman, either."

"Oh, was this while you were at the chapel?" called Glinda from the bathroom, and lucky, too, for Elphaba felt that she did a poor job of disguising her surprise.

"Yes, at the chapel," she said. It was probably, she was suddenly realizing, never a good idea to underestimate Glinda.

"Well, who is he? You are assuming I will believe that you both ended up in the chapel and you said, 'Where would I go about finding an Animal family in hiding?' and he said, 'Oh, I know that,' and that was the end of the conversation?"

Elphaba smiled slightly. "I never assume to pinpoint your beliefs."

"Good."

"While I was filling out the forms at the Palace, a vacancy in the seats sort of opened up and I took it, seating myself next to this—er, cloaked gentleman, as you call him. He, apparently, was going to see the Wizard the next day, and he had a speech prepared, written on paper and he was going over it."

Glinda returned from the bathroom, dressed and clean, and she went about making the bed, which Elphaba found funny, considering how Glinda had not even known how to make a bed when she first arrived at Shiz.

"Oh, did you see his hands? Or—were they hooves or paws or something?"

"No, those were cloaked, too."

"Oh."

"At any rate, I did sort of glance at the speech – for my safety, mind you, being seated next to an ominous man in a cloak. I was wondering whether I ought to fear for my life, you see, expecting to see 'The Systematic Execution of Everyone in Oz' emblazoned across the top. What I did see, however, was a dissertation addressing such sentences as 'the unification of Oz through an amputation of the Animal Banns,' which I find grotesquely verbose, don't you?"

"Indeed," said Glinda, wrinkling her nose. "What a choice of words, 'amputation'. I suppose you decided he was your sort of person, didn't you?"

"I realized we might have a bit in common, yes. So, naturally, when he got up to leave, I followed him to—"

"The chapel."

"Yes, the chapel," said Elphie, annoyed. "He was convening with another cloaked figure and so I waited until he had left before I went in. He listened to all I had to say, all of it, and then he gave me the address of a boarding establishment in the city, where many Animals are living."

"And how did he know that you were… er, for the cause?" asked Glinda. "That is, what did he do to ensure that you were not just a law official undercover? Did you sign your name in blood?"

"Oh, the world knows that I don't bleed, so that is impossible," replied Elphie. "No, but we did speak for a long time. I told him all my feelings and ideas on Animals and I told him of the work Dr. Dillamond had been doing. I'm sure he is very good at screening the helpful from the unhelpful, you know, when he is recruiting and whatnot."

"Recruiting?" cried Glinda, imagining Elphie marching in a line with a sword thrown over her shoulder.

"It's some sort of… group of abolitionists and liberationists or what-have-you whose main concern, at the present, seems to be attempting to secure more rights for Animals, whether it be by force or peacefully."

"Attempting to secure?" asked Glinda. She locked the door behind them as they left the room. "Elphie, do you know what this sounds like? It sounds like terrorism."

"Oh, what do you know of terrorism?" retorted Elphaba.

"Well, knowing the definition is half the battle," said Glinda thoughtfully. "I just really don't think it's terribly safe—"

Elphaba stopped shortly and looked at her, appearing to teeter at the precipice of mild annoyance and genuine fondness. In a rare move, she opted for the latter somewhat. "Glinda," she said quietly, her eyes harsh pictures of soil. "In the event that I should get myself into an unsafe position, would I choose to bring you along with me?" She cupped Glinda's face between her hands and kissed her once, twice. "It falls upon me, I should think, to ensure the wellbeing of those who cannot hope to achieve the levels of astuteness that I have." She walked on.

Glinda followed her, rushing to keep up. "What the dickens does that mean?"

Through the din and crudeness of southern Emerald City, a toothless Munchkin woman smiled at Glinda and thrust out a tin cup as she walked by. "Oh!" cried a startled Glinda, stepping back. Elphaba, bless her, grabbed her wrist and dragged her away.

"It's best if you don't make eye contact," said Elphaba softly. "I know it's sad, but there's nothing we can do."

If there was evidence of poverty right within the northern gates of the Emerald City, it paled in comparison to the worn filth of the southern parts of the City. With a squinted eye, Glinda thought it might feel as though they were surrounded by death. But no, they were all alive, and this was even rather tragic. They would be better off dead, it seemed, these droves of dirty, starving, despair, the barefoot and the cold, the sick and ignored.

She shivered. "Elphie, tell me how long we'll have to be here."

"As long as it takes for me to find the boarding house," said Elphaba distractedly.

"Hell," muttered Glinda. "That could take ages." Elphaba gave her a dirty look and she decided she would perhaps remain silent for the remainder of the trip.

The trouble, Elphaba was realizing, was that she was not really the "protecting" sort, and as she and Glinda sauntered through what both felt was the more dangerous part of the majestic city, she started feeling as though she had to be the hero, or the defender of the two of them, and this just did not sit right. She, Elphaba, was many things – logical to a fault, analytical, exceedingly erudite, and yes, even brave in a number of situations – but she did not like how she had been saddled with the job of taking care of Glinda. She certainly loved Glinda, and that was an issue too, but she could not see why her life had suddenly turned into an affair of 'How's Glinda doing?' and 'Let's make sure Glinda is okay,' and 'What can I do to make Glinda feel safer?'

She also did not know how to stop the fanatical fixation with Glinda, either.

The boarding house was owned by a sweet, plump little woman who was so fiercely protective of her boarders that it took Elphaba and Glinda nearly a half-hour to adequately convince the woman that they meant no harm to any of her boarders. Elphaba told the story of their meeting Halivan and his stories of his families and his subsequent death. The story had been gone over so many times by now that she was beginning to regard it as fiction; the much sought after Halivan family was on the forefront of her mind, while her reason for seeking them out was becoming forgotten. It was almost as though she were grieving over Halivan's death, but forgetting the source of her grief.

"Mrs. Halivan and the children are in the third room upstairs and that is the saddest story I've ever heard," said the boarding house owner. "I liked that Mr. Halivan; he always complimented my cooking."

At the door to the third room upstairs, a shocking display of decidedly not brave qualities suddenly attacked Elphaba. She became stagnant and quite—well, Glinda was loath to use the phrase "ashen" because it implied a lack of pigmentation that did not line up correctly with Elphaba as a whole, but really that's what it was.

"What an idea!" the green girl said, somewhat to herself. "Let's go back. We can even walk."

Glinda looked mildly surprised, although she was more than she let on. "Go back?"

"Yes, I—Well, would you want a stranger traipsing into your home and telling you of your husband's death?"

It depends on the husband thought Glinda wryly, quite amused with herself and the situation entirely, if she was truthful. What she said, though, was, "Well, I was against it from the start, wasn't I? But you made good points—it isn't fair for Halivan's family to just wonder where he is until the end of time. Imagine waiting every evening for someone to come home, and then they never do. Why, it makes me sick just thinking of it." The entire thing made her sick, really, but she wasn't sure which was the most ill-making—the thought of never knowing that a loved one had died, or being the bearer of the sad news, as though she and Elphaba had been appointed officers of mortuary affairs or suchlike. Or, really, Halivan being dead in the first place, as if she hadn't just set out on what she thought was going to be a frivolous adventure, a few weeks of harmless Wizard visiting, where she could get away from school and be with her closest friend; Elphie, who brought out the thinker, the explorer, the social activist in her.

It was a difficult climate to adapt to, she decided. To go from thoughts of shabbily dressed Goats to a solemn face and a grave voice saying, "We regret to inform you that your Horse has died."

Glinda's amusement turned sour.

"Look, Elphie, we came this far, didn't we?" she asked helplessly, because it wasn't often that she was called upon to be the voice of reason and she'd liked things how they were, thank-you-very-much. "We might as well just—"

Abruptly, Elphaba knocked on the door. Her knuckles had gone strangely white.

The Horse that answered the door was very obviously female, although Glinda had assumed that you wouldn't be able to tell—and having known a sparse few Animals in her time, she decided to excuse her own ignorance. But this Horse, she had unquestionably feminine features, a gentler and milder slope of the muzzle, a leaner neck and abdomen with pronounced croups and hindquarters, long eyelashes, a softer, longer, more elegant mane. Embarrassed, Glinda decided that she wouldn't call her pretty or anything, but you could tell she was a woman.

The dress she was wearing helped, too.

Glinda poked Elphaba, who had adopted that white-with-nervousness thing again, but her companion stayed silent, staring at the expectant Horse with wide eyes and flared nostrils.

"Er, Mrs. Halivan?" asked Glinda tentatively.

"Can I help you?"

Awkwardly, she said, "We have news of your husband," and then winced at the gravity of the statement, adding on hurriedly, "We're friends of his."

Perhaps Horses were not apt at showing emotion, or perhaps Mrs. Halivan was the type to shun it, because the mare (or was it Mare, wondered Glinda) did not express any of the likely emotions one assumed one would see at the mention of a missing husband. She merely nodded and said, "Won't you both come in, Misses…"

"Glinda," she replied, finding inappropriateness in tacking on the accompanying accoutrements to her name. She gestured to the green stick of cowardice beside her and said, "And this is Elphaba."

"Please, both of you—come in."

The cramped room that they were ushered into seemed to encompass several functions at once – living, dining, sleeping, and everything in between. The lack of a second room suggested that there was no indoor plumbing, and the chamber pot in the corner confirmed it; Glinda blushed at the image of a Horse (or any type of Animal for that matter) attempting to crouch over a toilet. Or a chamber pot, really.

There were three Horses, smaller in size that must have been the children, who were sprawled out on the floor, books open in front of them. One was reading aloud to the other two. Two boys and a girl, if Glinda remembered Halivan's stories correctly, or was it two Colts and a Filly? She wasn't overly conversant on horse terms, although there were quite a few at the estate in Frottica, but it wasn't the sort of thing one ever cared to know unless one was standing right in front of the situation.

"Across the hall with you three," said Mrs. Halivan briskly, "and ask the Mule if she won't look after you for a little while."

This garnered more than a few grumbles, but they complied, the eldest taking the book in his teeth and trotting out on his back legs. "A beast, that woman," said one of them to its sibling. "With Monsters for children, if you ask me."

"Out!" barked Mrs. Halivan. And once they were, in the interval of time in which tea would normally be offered and comforting seats gestured to, Mrs. Halivan said to Glinda and Elphaba, "They'll hear about the death of their father in good time; now, tell me."

"Oh! Then, you know?" asked Elphaba stupidly, the first thing she'd said to the widowed Horse, unfortunate a comment as it was.

"Do I look as though I haven't a brain, girl?" said the Horse sharply and Elphaba looked somewhat cowed. "I'd resigned myself to his death ages ago, although I confess to not having anticipated a notification. What do you expect me to think when you come in here with your grave tones and your somber expressions? How did it happen, at least, I've wondered that?"

There was a pause and an exchanged look between the University girls, and Mrs. Halivan said hastily, "Take a seat." They complied, sitting gingerly on the edge of a lumpy sofa while Mrs. Halivan lowered herself into a chair across from them, a strange entanglement where her tail stuck out through the back of the chair.

"How did you come to…"

"It was very recently, in fact," said Elphaba, finding her voice again. She told the whole bloody story, from what she knew, from Halivan being captured by Lacchus, their discovery of him and subsequent liberation, to the very end when it all fell apart. It was a difficult story to tell, which Glinda's sullen demeanor adequately expressed, but Elphaba thought it might be an even more difficult story to hear.

Mrs. Halivan sniffed when it was over, not sadly, but importantly. "He was always getting himself into one scrape after another. Too trusting, as well. I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't captured at all and just went willingly with that Lacchus man; yes, that sounds like something he would do."

Elphaba frowned. "I am sure that is not how it happened."

"Well, I imagine you must know my husband better than I," cracked the Horse sarcastically, flashing a not nice smile (did the bared teeth constitute a smile?) at Elphaba as she stood up. "At any rate, I suppose I should thank you for delivering the news. If you'll be wanting a reward of some sort—"

"A reward?" asked Elphaba, stricken. "For what?"

"What business is it of two normal girls—although, I question my tagging you with that label, never seen skin like that—" she said, gesturing to Elphaba, "if my husband lives or dies, unless they think they can get something out of saddling the poor, grieving widow with the bad news?"

She stalked away, reverting to all fours, and grumbling, "I've got slop I can feed you and that's all. We haven't got any—"

"Mrs. Halivan, you misunderstand," said Elphaba desperately as she and Glinda rose. "We don't want a reward. Really, of all things."

The Horse turned a sharp eye on first Elphaba and then Glinda, who said, "Your husband was our friend. It was our assumption that the family he told us about would want to know."

The Horse paused. "You sought me out just to tell me my husband is dead?"

"Yes."

"We thought it would be terrible to never know and always wonder," added Elphaba.

Mrs. Halivan's expression had softened marginally; at least, Glinda thought, she wasn't scary anymore. She took her seat in the chair again and Glinda and Elphaba followed suit, plopping back down onto the lumpy sofa.

"It's rare," said Mrs. Halivan thoughtfully, "that girls of your age should care what happens to my husband or his family. In fact, it is rare for girls of any age. Or people, for that matter."

"He was our friend," said Glinda simply.

"And we are a family hiding out in the Emerald City, for fear of persecution. We don't make friends." Her voice had lost its initial harshness, but her eyes narrowed, as if she were still waiting for a presentation of their ulterior motives. "It isn't the best of situations."

"Obviously not," said Elphaba with a quiet fervor that gave Glinda chills. "Like the man who killed your husband in the first place, who I intend on finding."

"And doing what?" asked Mrs. Halivan, amused.

"There is a sense of justice that I feel has gone unfulfilled."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," scolded Mrs. Halivan mildly. "No one expects a girl to go off on a justice crusade on behalf of wronged Animals. Save your energy."

Elphaba blanched at the tension of being out-and-out scolded, but recovered remarkably quickly. "Ma'am, your husband is not the first Animal whom I've grown fond of only to have him die," she said hotly, "and I'm almost entirely certain he won't be the last, so of course no one expects it, but I—"

"You're a child. Finish school, become a woman, fall into the stenciled outline of society, see if you still care about Animals." She laughed roughly, hollowly. "A young generation of liberal-minded Thinkers and every one of them feels it's their duty to protest on behalf of some wronged social group. If it wasn't the Animals, it'd be the Quadlings—" Elphaba's cheeks darkened and her eyes lowered—"or whoever. Elves, maybe, look like you're a cousin. Radical protestation doesn't come about over oppressed beings; it's just boredom."

Glinda glanced at Elphaba in an effort to gage just how well the girl was locking down her emotions. Elphaba spoke in a quiet, strangled tone. "And perhaps oppressed beings are oppressed because they don't attempt to be otherwise. It's nice to know that some are doing the Wizard's work for him." She stood. "We are terribly sorry for your loss, Mrs. Halivan." Glinda could not do anything but follow her and try to keep up as she strode out of the room and down the hall.

It was her fervent wish that it would be over, but Elphaba seemed to be on a tirade consisting of: "How dare…" and "If only there was in existence a society wherein cynicism was not so commonplace," and "No one's impressed with sacrificial independence, I should know that."

It was amusing, to say the least, although Glinda didn't plan on saying so, but the situation was very plain: that Elphie had met someone who was far too similar to herself, and she didn't appear to like it at all.

They stood in the sitting room of the boarding house and Elphaba was mumbling ferociously, rifling through her bag, her lips set in a hard, determined line. "What are you doing?" asked Glinda once she noticed that Elphaba was wrapping the remains of their money in a handkerchief.

"In the name of science, if you will, observe whether or not an acceptance of money is too much for Mrs. Halivan to take. Perhaps she'll do something correctly and—"

"That's all our money."

"Oh." She took out a bit. "Enough for carriage ride home and a few nights in a cheap inn. We'll leave the hotel; sorry, that's the last of indoor plumbing for sometime."

"Why does she get all our money, especially when it wasn't even our money in the first place?" asked Glinda, leaving the frightfully more important question unasked, that of 'why are you making decisions without my input?'

"Glinda," said Elphaba quietly, re-wrapping the money. "How many children do you have to feed?"

They left the money with the landlady's assurance that Mrs. Halivan would receive it, and they went back to the hotel where Elphaba decided they could checkout in the morning and one last night of a comfortable bed and a bath for Glinda to wash her hair in wouldn't be overly terrible.

"Sometimes I think you like Animals better than people, which isn't fair," said Glinda as they returned to their room, putting their things down. It was late afternoon and dispersing into early evening, the sun creeping up to the half-closed blinds and bathing the room in a show of shadow and verdancy.

The assertion felt true to her – it did seem often that Elphaba favored Animals over people, as if she hadn't been entirely satisfied with the value of people and so had moved onto the next rung down the ladder, but Glinda couldn't work up the proper amount of resentment like she felt she should. It was this love thing, this terrible inconvenient mess, making one see the best in the person of whom one was in love with and elevating and magnifying the good things they did while (she feared) glossing over the bad. Elphaba's deed was certainly a good one, but you'd think she'd saved all of Oz from uncertain tragedy with the way I'm carrying on and swooning, she thought disdainfully.

For she was carrying on and swooning and it was humiliating and she sincerely hoped that Elphaba didn't notice. If she did, she made no indication of it, for Glinda was openly staring at her lips as Elphie admitted: "I like some Animals better than most people." She added, "While I also like a one person better than I like anyone, I think."

The force of the statement caught her off-guard, because Glinda had been thinking of other things and noticing that Elphaba had very long fingers, very long indeed. "That's very nice," she said vaguely. "I knew that you could be nice to me if you really tried."

"Oh, I was referring to Avaric; who did you think I was referring to?"

"You can't fool me," said Glinda huffily. "I saw what you did today. No one without a soul would've done that. I think I've discovered your secret." She had, she was entirely sure of it, and it made her love Elphaba all the more, generating a desire to show Elphaba just how much she loved her, to hang on desperately to every idea that made her insides do that odd fluttering thing.

"It's all hearsay," said Elphaba, who was in good spirits and unwilling to debate the issue for now. "I won't confirm or deny." She took one of her books out of her bag and sat down on the bed. They were very slender, too, those fingers, and entirely all-out green.

"Are we going to the Palace?" asked Glinda, wondering if a departure from the bedroom setting would make things easier or harder.

"No."

"Well, we've no money for shopping and it's too early for dinner, so… what are we doing?"

"I hadn't realized activities were so nicely broken up into shopping and eating. I will be studying tonight, as Shiz doesn't disappear just because we're not there for it, and I suggest you do the same."

"I didn't bring any books," said Glinda, scowling, "and you know that."

"Pity. Read one of mine if it'll keep you quiet."

"Isn't there—well…" She climbed onto the bed, as well. Elphaba had removed her shoes and was sitting up with her knees against her chest in a position that looked both alarmingly uncomfortable and peculiarly attractive. Glinda removed her shoes as well. "Isn't there something else we could do?"

"Like what?" asked Elphaba, who was already far too engrossed in her book.

"Like—Elphie, what will happen when we get back to school?"

"What?"

Was she not paying attention on instinct or on purpose? "When we get back to school? What happens, then?"

Elphaba gave her a hard look. "I very much doubt I'll pass any exams if I can't study for them, is that what you're asking?"

"No."

The book was discarded on the bed and a sigh heaved from its owner. "I am purposely missing the point so as to force you to say what you're thinking; I should think you would recognize this tactic, as I use it all the time."

Glinda thought for a moment. It was that sheet of black hair, it was distracting. "Oh, I see."

"So, what is it?"

She was unsure of how it happened, although in years to come Glinda would try in vain to recreate the situation in her mind, to reconstruct the events as they unfolded, her lips coming closer, the book falling off the bed, the cold fingers becoming scorching as they trailed over shoulders, collar bones, poked under straps and pulled down. Shifting and removal of clothing, sliding under covers, moving against flesh, too. It was all terribly trite and ridiculous and the most wonderful feeling she had ever had, that heavy black hair that she so coveted was everywhere at once, on every part of her, in every sense.

And some of it was clumsy and sometimes Elphaba cursed softly and sometimes neither girl felt impassioned, sometimes both girls felt only frustration, sometimes it was warm and it was so cold outside, the rain, the beating against the windows, the wet evaporation into still darkness.

Sometimes Glinda cried. Sometimes it felt so good, Elphaba's persistent hand, that she sobbed and shouted at once.

And some of it, most of it, was quite beautiful.

A cauterized streak of moonlight invaded the bed, flitting like a nuisance over facial features, fingers, skin. Glinda yawned and stretched, turning toward the window. "Elphie?" she said quietly.

Elphaba stirred, opened one eye. She was startled to find the moon nestling in bed with them. "Yes?" She slid one arm across Glinda's shoulder, sliding closer to her. She didn't think of herself as the type to smell someone hair, but she did it anyway.

"What are we going to—I just wanted to know if you were awake."

"Yes." She slid one hand along the bare flesh of Glinda's side; rounding it, she grasped at the flesh there, the soft stomach that yielded and trembled at her touch. Glinda took her hand, lacing their fingers together. The moonlight illuminated the contrast of them, lit up the beauty and blurred the imperfections. Elphaba looked. It was pretty, this big deal of green on white. She was one color, but Glinda seemed to be many at once, the pinks and whites and peaches.

"Good."

"You were going to say something?"

"Was I?" She was distracted now. Not even facing Elphaba, she could nearly feel the green girl's slight smile.

"Yes, 'what are we going to'…"

"What are we going to… Oh." She had cut herself off for a reason, so afraid was she of the answer to any question in the vein of 'we'. "Oh. I was going to say, what are we going to do when we get back to Shiz?"

Elphaba was silent for awhile. "Finish our education, I suppose. You'll go on to be a famous sorceress, I'm sure, known across Oz for her beauty and power. I'll… Oh, I'll recede into the background as usual, perhaps—"

"That's not what I meant and you know it." She turned around to face her. Elphie's hand slid to accommodate her, settling on the small of her back. "I mean, about you and I—is it 'you and me,' actually? At any rate—what happens to us when we go back to Crage Hall?"

She was startled to see the blank look on Elphaba's face, as if she had finally for the first time caught her in a state of not-thinking, or not-knowing. It was disconcerting, as if Elphaba actually did not know what to say.

She articulated this with, "I don't know what to say, Glinda."

"Well, say you won't forget that I love you when we're back in school," she replied desperately. "Say nothing will change."

"Nothing will change."

Glinda bit her lip. "Now, mean it."

Elphaba's silence was deafening, throbbing. Glinda buried her face in the bare green shoulder, abrupt, desperate, uncertain. "Oh, Elphie," she mumbled, "please make some sort of promise, anything, please."

"I promise—" And she stopped and she glanced at the moonlight and she shut her eyes from it. Her hand found its way to the nape of Glinda's neck, the damp hair. "No one will ever touch me where you've touched me; I promise that. Your hand—" and she took said hand and pulled it—"is the only hand to touch me."

The blonde shifted her face toward the pillow for fear of stinging that bare green shoulder. "Okay," she said.

Elphaba nodded. The week had gotten shorter.