She went to throw on her cloak and discovered it was missing; racing across the courtyard not even caring if she was seen. It didn't matter. Something had happened to Glinda. Something had happened and the boys hadn't told her until a day later.
She'd spent the evening muttering spells under her breath, anything that came to mind. Spells for protection. For healing. Anything she could think of because she didn't know what happened. She'd never been in the boy's dorm, or even to their part of campus, and she had no way of finding Crope's room.
But Glinda needed her, and she would knock on every door she had to if it meant being with her.
How could she have been so stupid? She had done this. If she hadn't pushed her away, if she had just not gotten her involved in the first place, then Glinda would be safe.
Maybe she would hate her, but she would be safe, and wasn't that better?
She raced through two floors, listening for sounds, because most everyone had gone home so she could eliminate some rooms that way. And she would have kept going like that had she not run into Crope in the hall.
"Crope!" she called, and he turned.
"Elphaba."
His eyes were narrowed, and she was surprised by the hostility in his face. She rushed up to him.
"Crope, what—how is—"
He set his mouth in a flat line, and she frowned. "Crope, what is it?" She clutched desperately at his hands, but he swatted her away.
"She can't remember anything," he said, turning away, and she had no choice but to follow him.
"Anything?" Elphaba whispered.
"No, not—not like that. About what happened to her. She remembers fighting with you, and that's it. She doesn't know why she lost her memory, or why we found her wandering around the Suicide Canal."
Elphaba blanched at the name.
"Crope, then what…?"
"Do you get it?" he snapped, and when he turned to face her again there were tears in his eyes. "She did this because of you. She went out in the middle of the night trying to prove herself because of you. She got hurt because of you, because if you weren't so damn stubborn, if you didn't—"
He shook his head. "Forget it."
"Can I see her?"
"I don't think that's a good idea," Crope said. "It took us ages to calm her down and convince her you weren't coming."
"Calm her down?"
"She's afraid you're mad at her. Goes into a frenzy if we mention it. I think… I think it would be best for you to go," he said, and it was the gentlest thing he had said to her since she'd seen him.
"Please let me see her," she said. They were stopped in a stairwell, and Elphaba found herself looking up to Crope as he stood a few steps ahead of her. She took a step up so they were at eye level.
"Let me make this right," she said. "Glinda… Glinda is hurt because of me. You're right, I know that. But if I can heal her, if I can just find Dillamond's research, I can fix this," she said, and her voice broke. "I should never have involved any of you."
"Elphaba, that's not—that's not what I'm saying."
"But it's the truth, isn't it?" she said. Crope fell silent.
"Can you heal her?" he asked, and didn't let her reply before turning and walking further up the stairs.
"I can try."
She saw him nod. "I'll help you find the research."
"Crope, please…"
"If you think we're letting you do this alone after what happened to Glinda then you're stupider than you look, Elphaba Thropp," he said, and opened the door into another hallway. "Come on. My room's at the end of this hallway."
She followed him, even though the further she stepped down the hallway, the more she wondered if she was doing the right thing by involving them at all, and if everything would be better if she just—
disappeared.
Crope's room was much like Elphaba and Glinda's own, if a mirror image. Fiyero was sitting on a bed Elphaba assumed was Tibbett's, if only because there were no sheets on it at all.
And in Crope's bed, was Glinda. Elphaba felt her fists clench at the sight of her.
She had caused this. This was her fault.
Glinda was curled up with her back to the three of them, fists clenched under her chin. Her hair was limp and matted, and around her as a blanket was Elphaba's cloak.
"She won't take it off," Fiyero murmured, and Elphaba felt a shooting stab of pain in her chest.
"When… when did you find her?"
"Early this morning," Crope said.
"I went for a run around seven, and…" Fiyero waved his hand towards her. "I couldn't think of what to do, so I brought her here."
"You should have brought her to me."
"She didn't want to see you," Crope said.
Glinda stirred, clutching Elphaba's cloak tighter around her shoulders. Crope turned back to Elphaba.
"She hasn't been very responsive," he said in a low voice. "Someone may have magicked her, a curse, something."
"Who?" Fiyero asked, but Elphaba already knew who.
"She went to see Morrible," Elphaba said, voice tight. "She… she felt like she had to."
She didn't say why. They all knew.
"Do you think she asked about Dillamond?"
"I don't think we'll know what she asked," Elphaba said. "I don't think she remembers."
"Do you think…" Fiyero started again, but Elphaba set her lips in a thin line so her mouth nearly disappeared.
"Whatever Morrible did to Glinda, it's a powerful spell. I honestly doubt Glinda even remembers meeting with her."
"Can you fix it?" Crope asked, and she turned to look at him. The look he leveled her with was one of hope, of pity—but also of anger. Of blame.
This is your fault.
"I don't know," Elphaba said. "But I'll be damned if I don't try."
"Glinda?" Elphaba said, pushing her way through the boys, kneeling and placing her bony fingers on the smaller girl's shoulder. Glinda stirred.
"I'm here, my sweet," Elphaba whispered. "I'm here."
She leaned her head on Glinda's shoulder and the boys looked at each other uncomfortably as Elphaba began murmuring spells and prayers unsee her breath, a blasphemous mix of both, anything she could think of to heal the girl she loved, hoping and wishing and praying it wasn't too late.
