Chapter 8

Elphaba ran, following a dried canal basin which ran well out of sight from the streets above. The moon glinted off her hair, which rippled behind her, almost becoming one with the cape. Her limbs protested, her back ached, her lungs cried out for mercy. Yet she pressed herself on, relishing the simple freedom, the feeling of almost flying. She was unsure of her direction. She followed the canal until it plunged underground, and she ground to a halt. Slowly, she made her way up the access stairway to the street above. Letting her hair fall over her face in a silken, black veil, she assessed her surroundings.

The street was narrow, and deserted. Of course, she didn't expect much company in the dead of night. She followed the winding cobblestones, passing a bakery, a dressmaker, a tavern, all shuttered and dark. Elphaba felt little sense of direction, destination or purpose. She had survived yet again, against the odds and almost in spite of herself. She existed, drawing breath, unsure of what to do with another day.

In her head, she counted the days, the weeks, notched into her memory. She thought back to the calendar the doctor had so graciously hung for her. It was late spring by now, going on summer. The chill in the air was fading, and the days were warm. Even in the thick of night, it was not cold. She caught a reflection of herself in a storefront, suddenly, and was startled.

Gone was the young schoolgirl who had such high hopes for the world. The sharpness in her face was startling. She was clearly a woman now, and a commanding presence. Her hair flowed full and dark, much longer than it had been. The dress almost gave her curves. Almost. The cloak billowed around her, picking up the green of her skin and seeming to make sense out of it. Her eyes were bright, dark and searching. It was as if, for a moment, she saw what Galinda had seen, that stormy night in their dorm so long ago. Perhaps it wasn't beauty, true beauty, but it was something.

Elphaba shook off the thought and rounded the corner, trying to make sense of her whereabouts. The sun would rise soon, and she certainly couldn't be wandering aimlessly. She planned to find out from a very safe distance how far the story of the Bison and the Green Girl had spread.

With a start, she realized she was in the alley behind Hadrick's residence. She approached what she knew was the rear entrance to his walkup. The old, weathered door was wordless and still, barricaded with fresh boards. Trash was scattered about the sidewalk, evidence of a hurried search. She stood for a long time, staring, willing the stone walls to tell her something, to give her something back, or to make sense of it all. Yet there was nothing.

Except the broom.

There it lay amidst the trash, discarded and partially hidden. For a moment, she nearly walked on, but something stopped her. It was silly, since it was merely an object, a thing to clean floors, to help with a task that had been forced upon her. Yet in her great moments of need, it had come to her rescue. It had obeyed, throwing itself into the fray, and, quite satisfyingly, had drawn blood from Sir Peirory.

Elphaba reached down, and it nearly leapt into her hand. She held it, and could almost feel life within it. It fit her, like they had been made as a pair. It were as though something of her had been fused into the broom when she'd magicked it so long ago. And she couldn't very well leave another part of herself behind. She was running short on pieces.

Elphaba turned in a flurry of skirts and hurried away, just as dawn broke over the horizon. She arrived at the East Bridge winded and gasping for breath. The sun split the sky just as she curled up in a familiar spot, deep under the bridge. She wrapped the cloak around her and curled around the broom, clutching it much like a cat shelters its kittens, protecting that which is most precious. Then she slept.

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Elphaba woke, startled. She felt hands at her back, shaking her awake. It was an unwelcome presence in the privacy of her hiding place. She leapt upward, like an animal scared from its burrow and ready to fight. In one sweeping gesture, she swung the broom around and struck the intruder square across the face. He tumbled backward, clutching his cheek.

"Sweet Oz!" The man cried out and Elphaba raised the broom above her head, limber and ready to fight.

"Fae!" He cried out, and she hesitated.

"It is you…" He realized, turning so the light crept over his face. It was Frederick. "I almost wouldn't have known…" His words trailed off as he took her in.

"Why are you here?" She demanded, refusing to lower the broom. It nearly sparked as she felt both her anger and power flow through it.

"Calm down-" He started.

She hissed in response. "Why are you here?"

"We met here…remember? I thought that if there was any chance….then maybe here…." Frederick didn't finish.

Elphaba lowered the broom, but her anger burned, her frustration mounted. As Frederick scrambled to his feet, she turned and pointed a finger in his face, "Why the persistence? Why this constant need to trail me as though I am some pet project of yours? I have told you, I owe you nothing!"

"I'm not asking for anything!" He met her challenge, shouting in return.

"Yes you are," Her voice softened suddenly, becoming strained. "I can give time, energy, courage, defiance, even magic. But I cannot give you friendship. I do not work in tandem. I wasn't born for that."

"Well, I wasn't born to ignore suffering. It's how I came into my line of work, if it can be called that." Frederick stared at her, taking in her presence and power. He, now more than ever, saw greatness in her, if he could calm her irrational spirit.

She turned to leave, and he whipped a folded newspaper from his coat, spreading fully in her view. "They think you're dead, you know," He called after her.

Elphaba whirled around and took in the headline. There was her picture, trying to shield her face from the flashbulbs in her hospital room. Above, the words "Green girl dies, Only Witness in Bison's Trial." Her shock slowly faded, and resolution set in.

"I'm better off dead," She conceded. "Death certainly makes me invisible."

She turned to leave again, and Frederick called after her, "If he hurt you, he deserves to hang. Animals are subject to justice, too. We strive to make them part of our society, not to be exempt from its law."

Elphaba spun, pressing the broom against his chest to pin him against the wall. "You think you know it all!" She spat, "You think you have me and my life figured out! You think it's all written right there, neatly printed in black and white! It's all so clear to you, the right and wrong of it! Perhaps in your revolutionist mindset, you've never considered that right is not always right, and wrong is not always punished. Sometimes, it is impossible to wrestle any right, from the tangle of wrongs life presents!" She drew deep breaths, the power of the emotion coming dangerously close to overwhelming her.

"That is true," Frederick conceded quietly. "But if you want to continue to fight for the things we can discern as right, you need me."

That much was true. Elphaba held him in her steady gaze, considering.

Moments passed before he spoke, "I fear you," He admitted, "I fear what you have the power to become, for good or for evil. What can I do to make it be for good?"

She released him, and leaned back against the wall, clutching the broom to herself. She considered what she knew of evil. It seemed to be so pervasive in her life, like vines wrapped around and through her. She wasn't sure she could ever be entirely good, with so much wickedness woven into her. Yet she desperately wanted to work for good, to make something good in the world. Elphaba supposed she must at least try.

What was it about him that made her so angry? What had made her spill her greatest secret to Eliana, yet despise nearly ever word Frederick spoke?

The questions, It came to her. The quiet presence of both the maunt and the doctor ran in direct contradiction to Frederick's incessant needling, his constant pressing to know and understand her.

She finally answered his question, "Our lives, our pasts, what has made us who we are, is not for discussion. We are companions in a cause, soldiers in the same army. Our present is all that matters. In this way, we can work together."

Long moments passed as Frederick considered her words.

Their eyes met in mutual understanding. He wordlessly accepted her offer. He folded the paper and tucked it away. He would never know her story, but he had gained a measure of her friendship in exchange.

"You need a hat," He suggested, "to cover your face if you want to keep working, since you're dead and all."

The corner of her mouth lifted in her customary almost-smile. This Frederick she could deal with. She breezed away with him trailing behind, emerging from the bowels of the bridge just as the sun slipped behind the horizon. There was work to be done, and the hat was the first step.

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Elphaba strode quickly, enjoying the feeling of purpose. A mission, however small, was a mission. Under the cover of increasing darkness, she and Frederick made their way down back streets and through narrow alleys. They hardly raised an eyebrow here, as most of the passerbies were either drunk, ignorant, or more involved in hiding themselves than outing the green girl.

"Fae!" Frederick called in a half-whisper, "Fae!"

She stopped, turning to see him huffing behind her, jogging to catch up. Having not spent much time walking with company, she neglected to notice her legs were significantly longer than his.

"I would swear you're still running from me…" He teased.

"I might be," She quipped.

As usual, he could not discern whether or not she was joking. "Fae," He asked, "do you have any idea where one buys a hat?"

"I wasn't aware we had any money with which to purchase one," She answered, "Have you suddenly started spouting money out of your hindquarters?" Her humor was dry, but was humor just the same.

Frederick raised an eyebrow. "I'm simply asking if, as you run manic through the Emerald City, you have any idea where you're going?"

Elphaba stopped. Details. Sometimes, seeing the big picture left out some very significant details. She ran over in her mind her travels through the city. There had been the tavern, St. Aelphaba's, the fabric market, the printing press, the Animal Ward, and the seedy alleys and dumpsters where members of the Resistance passed information, not really knowing each other. She had not once ventured into any of the boroughs where the wealthy went to shop and buy such extravagances as hats.

"May I?" Frederick asked permission to lead.

Elphaba nodded, surrendering the lead with much regret. "I'm compelled to ask, though, how you know how to find a womens hat store."

He stopped, staring at her for a moment before smirking. She was sharp, that was for sure.

Elphaba followed along behind him, still unwilling to walk in tandem. Her presence beside him might beg questions, and she had clearly meant that questions were not an option. Frederick wound carefully up and down side streets, keeping clear of the bustle and lights of the more upper class parts of the city. They found their way behind a busy shopping district just as the stores were shuttering for the evening. The masses of humanity were making their way towards the sights and smells of the late-night taverns and theatres. Their shopping done, the wealthy had money to burn on expensive tonics and shows not worth seeing.

As they waited for the last patrons to disappear, Frederick asked, "Have you ever seen a show?"

"I saw Wizomania once," Was her flat reply.

"I've never gone."

"A lot of hype, not much substance. Lots of people cavorting around, flipping and singing. The stuff of drunken silliness. Frivolous," She snapped her reply.

"And you've never, not even once, had a use for anything frivolous?" Frederick wondered aloud.

"You're asking questions again," She stopped him. Yet, deep down within herself, she had enjoyed the singing. And the company.

Glinda…

The memory came swiftly, and she stamped it out immediately, for her heart threatened to break again.

Taking the hint and not pressing her further, Frederick stood and made his way to a rear door, trying the knob. Finding it locked, he produced a small piece of wire from his pocket and began to work.

"A man of many talents," Elphaba chided him as he grumbled, though she quickly grew impatient with him, the wire, and the door itself.

"Perhaps I wasn't meant to have a hat…" She mumbled, her sarcasm not lost on Frederick.

"Got it!" He exclaimed, pulling open the door. "My lady…" He gestured toward the door with mock reverence.

Elphaba snorted at his attempt at formality. She swept through the door and found herself in a world beyond all that she knew. Glinda would have squealed and nearly lost her senses in the throngs of hats. The memory of her was thick and overwhelming in this place. The sting of it began to choke Elphaba.

"This one is absolutely you," Frederick interrupted her reverie. He held up a pink monstrosity, covered with beads and bursting with feathers. The brim flopped under its own weight. Elphaba was certain, even in death, that she could never wear that hat. But she knew who could, and that was all she could take.

"Where are you going? I was only teasing!" Frederick called after her as she burst out the door into the night. She took a few deep breaths, willing the memories of Glinda to leave, trying to shake off the sudden cloak of sentimentality that tried to overtake her.

"Perhaps I do not need a hat…" She mumbled, unsure that she could trust herself with this any longer.

"Fae…" Frederick started to argue.

It was then that she saw it. Just outside the door lay a pile of hat boxes, torn and disheveled. Their contents spilled out into the streets, revealing evidence of moths and neglect. They were obviously the rejects, that which did not sell. These were what the wealthy deemed unfit to grace their heads. From the midst of the pile, Elphaba pulled out a solid black box, unopened. She flipped back the lid and dust erupted and scattered. And there it was, unwanted, unneeded and too unusual, too different to be worn. Thrown out and forgotten.

It was black, but Elphaba thought she caught a hint of a pattern snaking its way up the cone of the hat. It could have been a top hat, except that it came to a definite point, in a defiant sharpness. The brim might once have been straight, crisp, and round, but time, or perhaps its own rebellion, had warped it into an undulating ring. The rise and fall of the brim seemed to speak audibly to Elphaba. Take me. Leave me, It said, I am who I am with or without you. I can fulfill a purpose, simply by being something you didn't expect.

The metaphor of it all was nearly too much for her. Elphaba clutched the hat to her chest, feeling herself in its unusual, angular strangeness. We deserve each other…The words came to her suddenly, and she was inclined to agree.

"Fae…no…" Frederick started to argue, "It's just too-"

He stopped abruptly as she slipped it on her head. He looked at her for a long moment.

"It's just too perfect," He finished, almost in spite of himself.

"Well, that's that then," Elphaba snapped, bustling away before Frederick could startling babbling emotionally again. Yet, as they walked, she couldn't help but catch her reflection in the dirty windows they passed. It was perfect, from the way it swooped low over her face, to the way the cone drew attention away from the green of her skin.

She was still caught up in the rare moment of happiness when they stumbled, wearily, back under the bridge. Just inside the dark crevice where Elphaba slept sat a cat, solid white with piercing eyes. The eyes studied them for a moment, before it spoke.

"They're going to hang the Bison tomorrow."

So it was a Cat.