Chapter 6

Elphaba wasn't sure if she was falling or rising. She felt light, yet foggy, like she was floating in a thick, heaviness that rocked her and protected her. Perhaps she was not yet born. Maybe all the pain and trouble that lurked at the edge of her consciousness had been a dream. She could start anew. She would emerge from someone else's womb, rose-colored and crying like any other infant. Grateful parents would smack her, and then caress her as she let forth a wail. They would embrace her in her normal-colored perfection, without any question as to her origin.

Perhaps she smiled as she floated in her dream. Perhaps a nurse noted it on a chart and wondered what would make someone in such suffering smile so genuinely.

Yet, for Elphaba, very little of what she dreamed tended to come true. Her warm, comforting cocoon brightened, became harsher until the light began to hurt.

If this is the Unnamed God, She protested, I don't want to go into this light. Sweet Oz, even the metaphorical light is painful! Her thoughts ran like this, distorted and somewhat crazed.

There seemed to be shadows that occasionally moved, sometimes speaking in an unintelligible garble. She felt a great, foreboding sense of being out of control, yet on this journey she was not driving. Her body heaved and swirled through levels of consciousness of its own accord. Time stood still. It felt like three minutes. It felt like three years. And then she surfaced.

Like the sting of cool rain on her intolerant skin, reality washed over her. Her eyes still tightly closed, Elphaba came to herself. She sensed a bed, a small room. She could hear muffled voices somewhere, yet their words were lost. She sensed darkness, stillness, safety. It was a new feeling. She decided not to open her eyes, lest she ruin it. She allowed herself to drift into sleep, not the same chasm from which she had emerged, but true sleep. Voluntary sleep. Healing. Sleep.

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As she had so often endured, morning came. The voices were louder, yet no more distinguished. This time, she opened her eyes.

Hospital, Was Elphaba's first thought.

Her eyes raked over the sparse, yet clean room. She lay on a small bed, unadorned, but mercifully clean and soft. The walls were stone, whitewashed and scrubbed clean. There was an oil lamp, unlit, on a small, square table by her bed. She recognized her dress, hanging over the one simple high-backed chair. Her boots sat side by side below the chair, looking wilted and tired. A silver cart of various medical paraphernalia sat in the corner.

She tried to grasp the day, the month, the year? The fog seemed to have moved inside her head, wrapping information in slippery wisps of which she could not take hold.

She sensed she could not move, perhaps because of paralysis, or some sort of brace? The pain began to ebb and flow, as though it moved with her blood through her veins. It found its center in her head. Her body throbbed, ached and stung, a three-way assault. Elphaba considered calling out, if she still had a voice, when the door burst open.

A nurse, or sharply dressed maunt, breezed in, clearly not expecting to find anyone awake. She stopped abruptly as her eyes met Elphaba's.

"In the name of the Unnamed God!" She squeaked, flapping her hands around. The irony of her statement was lost as she stumbled out the door, squawking for someone obviously more equipped than she.

I must look like hell, Was all Elphaba could think. Although I suppose that would be a change…

She didn't have time to finish the thought. A smartly dressed man who was either a doctor or a salesman burst through the door, followed by the flapping nurse and a Unionist priest.

It's like the start of a bad joke, She mused, finding her thoughts to be quite creative when she was out of her mind.

The man approached, producing a stethoscope and a small lamp. That answered the question as to his profession. He placed the stethoscope on her chest, and she flinched at the cold. She became very aware that she was nude beneath her thin gown. As he shone the light into her eyes, memories tumbled upon her, overwhelming her.

Naked. Pain. Rage. Shame. Pierory.

As the doctor reached to touch her, she seized his wrist. It was the most movement she could manage.

"Do not touch me," She hissed.

He met her eyes, not unkindly. He seemed to be searching her, looking into her soul. He seemed to understand. He backed away and sat in the chair. He shooed the other two out of the room to gossip elsewhere.

"I have to admit, we didn't expect you to survive," He explained, "and we do not know your name. We've sent word to no one, as no one seems to know you. If you'll tell us your name, we'll see that your family receives word. They can thank the Unnamed God that you're alive."

"What's wrong with me?" Was her reply. She would not release her name. She wouldn't give this stranger even that small piece of herself. It would only create a tie she did not want. And what family did she have that would care?

Sensing he would not get her name, the doctor leveled his eyes on her. "Your back is braced, fractured in three places, yet it will heal. Your spleen is destroyed, nearly bled you out. But your head was the worry. We still know very little of head injuries, but there was much bleeding, a possible fracture. We tried a new technique, letting the blood out. I suppose it has worked." His explanation was frank, to the point. He seemed to sense she was not one to have things sugar-coated.

Elphaba appreciated his honesty. He seemed to have genuine skill, to be very well trained. His medical knowledge seemed sound, unlike the crazy, Lurlinist healers who peddled potions and tonics made from things that would make your stomach turn. Dr. Dillamond, with all his love of life and science, would have been proud.

"You should rest," The doctor rose to leave as he spoke, "Your story can wait until later. You must not move. Ring the bell for help. Too much movement at this point could be life threatening," He paused for a moment, "But maybe I shouldn't have told you that…"

Their eyes met, and she understood his meaning. He seemed to understand that her pain went beyond what he could treat.

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If, at some distant point in her tumultuous future, someone were to ask her if, in this moment, she had made the right choice, it would be hard to say. Elphaba only knew, as she lay awake while the moon made its way across the sky, that she had seen something in the doctor that made life seem a clock tick better than death. Did she like him? It was hard to say. He was still a man, a nameless man. The Unnamed Doctor. Yet he'd done more good for her than the Unnamed God had ever managed. For she imagined that some time ago, whether it had been weeks or months, when she had arrived here, he had had a choice. He could have shuddered at her freakish, scarred, other-worldly green skin and cast her out onto the street to die the death of those not worth saving. He could have had her mercifully euthanized, ridding the world of the anomaly that was Elphaba Thropp. It was not unheard of in these times for the unfortunate, the unnecessary, to be mercifully killed. Yet for some reason, he felt this green girl had a place among the living. She was worth his time, his patience, and his great skill. He had chosen to give her life.

Elphaba stared at the faceless moon, imagining in it the faces of those she'd left behind in her life.

Father.

The word struck a chord in her. She wasn't the sentimental type, but it felt as if the pieces of her feelings suddenly fit together and she could see the picture. Frex had seen her as a newborn, squalling and fragile and not having asked to be green, and seem to determine she did not deserve life. He might have smothered her, had he been a more hateful soul, with less religion coursing through him. Instead, she became his burden, his cross to bear for the sins he saw in himself. She was not a life, but a punishment.

The Unnamed Doctor did not see her that way. She did not have the emotional capacity left to understand, nor the trust to completely accept it, but he saw her. Somehow, she knew it. He saw her as a life worth having. He saw a person. And he had asked for nothing in return.

She fell into a restless sleep, hoping upon hope that she was not wrong. That he hadn't some secret agenda. She supposed she would know soon enough.

Tomorrow would come. But for Elphaba, she had chosen its coming.

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The Unnamed Doctor was there when she opened her eyes, making notes and examining several glass bottles on the silver tray. If he was surprised to find her alive, he made no mention.

"Are you in pain?" He asked.

"Yes," She whispered, finding that the ache in her head was more pronounced this morning, as if all the thinking had aggravated her injury.

"I need to inject this into your thigh," He seemed to be asking her permission, his syringe readied.

She stared at it for a moment, and then met his gaze. He gave no indication of moving. Elphaba lifted the blanket every so carefully, giving him barely inch of green skin to work with. The injection was quick, and he backed away swiftly, turning to clean the instruments.

He knows, She thought, and the realization made her stomach churn. The idea that he knew how she'd been used, ravaged and spat upon made her shudder. He knew she was a whore. The thought sickened her, because she had sworn, if she ever left Hadrick, that she would take the knowledge of what Peirory and the others had done to her grave. She felt a deep, abiding sense of shame, yet gratefulness nudged in beside the shame.

Even now, he looked into her eyes, and one did not look a whore in the eyes. "You have a visitor," He explained, "He's been here since dawn. Someone named Frederick. Should he know you are awake?"

Elphaba started to say no, but the doctor continued.

"He was there when they found you and brought you in. If not for that, he wouldn't have been allowed into the hospital at all."

She nodded, against her own will. She was human, after all. Her desire for human contact took over, like an instinct. Whatever soul she had was trying to save itself, no matter how hard her mind protested. Besides, Frederick knew how she got here.

So he was escorted to her room.

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Frederick entered slowly, looking as though he were afraid to breathe. Elphaba had never noticed before how short he was. His stature was almost boy-like, as though he might have munchkin running through his veins. Yet his eyes were as keen as ever, darting about the room to take in every detail.

That must have been his ticket into the the Resistance, She realized, those steel-blue eyes that don't miss a flick. She smirked a little to herself, for never before had she considered anything about Frederick. He served a purpose, which was all that had mattered. Then again, never before had she been immobilized in a bed, with nothing but her thoughts.

He pushed a clump of dirty brown hair from his eyes before he spoke, "I wasn't sure if I should come…"

"You must have had a reason. We're not exactly bound together by much," Her tone was cool.

A familiar, wounded look crossed Frederick's face. "I thought it was the right thing to do," He whispered.

"It's so good to know I'm in the presence of someone with such a large moral compass." The air was thick and stagnant with her sarcasm.

Neither spoke for a long moment. Frederick perched himself carefully on the edge of the chair, studying her. "Do you remember how we met?" He finally spoke.

Elphaba, who couldn't very well get up and storm out, was forced to recall. "Under the bridge…" She started.

"You shrieked like a mad woman over that Cat. I thought you'd take on the whole band of Animal Rehabilitation Agents yourself…" Frederick mused, "I knew you would be perfect. I knew you'd be better than me. But the the Resistance isn't about pride, it's about getting something done."

Elphaba did not disagree, but, not being one for much reminiscing, she yearned for him to find his point.

"I thought you'd died, you know," He almost sounded accusatory, as though she'd done him some great wrong.

"So?" She managed to raise one eyebrow in her characteristic way of questioning the world.

"The the Resistance would never have been the same…" Frederick shifted his gaze to the floor, afraid to compliment her to her face.

"How long have I been here?" She demanded, refusing to accept graciousness, even from someone as harmless as Frederick.

He met her eyes again, as if he were gauging her reaction. "Six weeks," He finally answered.

Elphaba swallowed hard over the questions lurking in her throat.

Frederick, for all his little annoyances, seemed to understand. He answered the questions she couldn't voice.

"I was at the pub down the street, where we exchange information," He began, "There was a commotion, people hollering that the ARA was at it again. Saying they'd arrested a Bison for having a servant in direct violation with the Code of Order."

Hadrick.

Her mind registered what Frederick was saying, but it was the ultimate conflict of interest. Her great oppressor now oppressed at the hands of those she had worked so hard to stop. It was victory and defeat at once.

"The ARA brought him out in chains," Frederick continued, "with this one fellow urging him along with a large stick, beating him across the back. He was an obnoxious fellow, fairly unkempt and badly in need of a shave. Yet he seemed to be in charge. Sir Pierory, someone kept saying."

Elphaba inhaled sharply, making her back throb. Still, she did not speak. Acknowledging his actions would make them real. She'd let him walk free rather than give voice to his cruelty.

"I started to defend the Animal. After all, he could easily have snapped this man's stick like a twig. He was enormous and obviously powerful, a beautiful Bison. I had just worked up the courage when they carried you out, mostly covered as though you were…" Frederick paused, obviously cringing at the memory. "But I could see your hand, just barely, and it was green. And who else in all of Oz is green?"

"As I have so often been reminded," Elphaba spoke, "no one."

"So I stopped and watched, not believing that you would ever willingly be anyone's servant," Frederick seemed in great turmoil over his story, as though he himself had not quite untangled all its truths just yet. "This Pierory caused a great disturbance, stirring up the crowd with his ranting of how this Bison had kept a female servant, and then in his 'mad Animal aggression', as they say, had killed you for refusing to obey him. By the time he was done, he had the whole mass of them throwing stones at the Bison and shouting that he should be hung for his lawlessness and cruelty." Frederick looked at his hands for a moment.

"They took the Animal away, with Pierory and his whole mob following along. I stayed to watch them take you here. That doctor asked if I was next of kin, or any relation, and of course I told him nothing. He only promised he'd let me know if you ever awoke," Frederick hesitated, as though he was working through many unanswered questions. "Which it seems you have…."

"You owe me nothing you know," Elphaba answered flatly, "You have no reason to care for me or my outcome."

Frederick looked at her sharply. "We are soldiers in the same army. Soldiers do not leave the wounded behind."

"It is an invisible army, and you know very well that you or I would easily be sacrificed to save the integrity of the whole. You owe me no more allegiance than that." She turned from him, tired and frustrated that he tried so hard to like her, to befriend her.

"Enough with the metaphors, Fae. Here you lie, unable even to move, and you cannot accept even a little friendship. I took a risk for you, to connect you to the the Resistance. Have I not earned just the slightest kindness?" He stared at her, his expression hard.

This inner strength, this determination, is what makes him useful, She realized. Still, she could not accept his kindness. The shield was too thick, wrapped too tightly around her heart in protective layers of hardness. She could not remove it. She simply stared at him, waiting.

Frederick stood, crossed to the door and met her gaze again. There was a hardness to him now, as well. Perhaps it was catching.

"I don't know that I'll be back," He tossed his words out, perhaps to see how they would land in the vast and unknowable landscape that was Elphaba Thropp.

She did not respond.

"You should know," He acquiesced, "they want you to testify. One of the ARA was here, interrogating that doctor. They want to hang the Bison, and they need your testimony. They want to make you a martyr for the cause of suppressing Animals, to use you as a poster child to prove that eradicating Animals is both justified and necessary. Perhaps that will make you feel something."

Frederick left her alone, shutting the door behind himself without another word.

The clock ticked. The sun moved through the sky. The world shifted and fragmented into an unending spectrum of shades of gray. To punish her oppressor was to stand with those who made her blood run cold with hate. For all her passion for justice, there was no clear justice here. Elphaba shut her eyes and willed her body well, willed her limbs to work and her head to clear. Healing was her only outlet. Healing meant that she could run, and running was what she knew.

Run from the family that resents you. Run from the school that only wants to use you. Run from those who try to stop you in your cause. And now, run from those who wish to make you a martyr for a cause that makes you vomit. Run from those who'd force you into the public eye, a place you cannot abide.

Run, She willed her body, Run…