She could not remember anything.

The doctor – Morrible said that the incident was being suppressed in her mind because it was such an unpleasant event, that her brain decided she would be better off if she did not remember it…..or at least that was one way of putting it. The Witch remembered from decades ago, Elphaba's life sciences course where this condition was once mentioned. It was known as amnesia or in this case (according to Dr. Morrible) retrograde amnesia.

She hated being bedridden like an invalid….which technically she was. The clock was ticking, each tick a second lost forever – so much time wasted….but then again, she didn't have much left to do. Nor, Irji, Sarima and her sisters were surely dead for it had years and nobody could survive in Southstairs that long; her plan to bring them back had been a failure as was her efforts to be forgiven. But perhaps in the afterlife…..

"For one thing, that's where Fiyero is waiting for me. And you know it."

Well then, perhaps salvation no longer required forgiveness – since they were together now. Elphaba groaned and shifted to her side, pulling the sheets with her and burying her face within its folds to suppress the sudden ache in her heart.

The afterlife must have been one of the most ridiculous concepts ever. In the beginning, one starts off pristine with equal potential, and then they are born and stray away from being equal, develop personalities, imperfections and perfections….then they die and fall back into line with the same, pristine, equalness – a release from the corruption that comes with life. So what's the point you're just going to live all over again? And for eternity.

They say life is cruel thought Elphaba. But the afterlife is crueller. But in her case, it was extreme.

It was then she realized with horror and despair that she had no where to go. Elphaba had never been a person to appreciate sympathy but lying in a hospital bed, recovering from a hit and run accident soon after the sudden death of her sister, she found that she would have liked to have someone who cared for her but any possibilities for that had died, betrayed her or simply couldn't care less. She was unemployed and being a Witch, welfare wasn't even an option so she had no income and was living in her dead lover's home (how sad is that?) with no plans for a future.

Her life was in ruins and death held no salvation – she was stuck.

Elphaba curled up on herself and pressed the sheets against her eyes, for the first time wallowing in self pity. Then she heard the door click open and footsteps toward the bed until she was aware of his presence looming over her.

"Miss?" when she refused to respond, he reached out and gently shook her shoulder. She groaned and hauled herself out of the bed sheets, sitting up and staring up at Dr. Morrible irritably, reminding him of an annoyed cat.

"What?" she said flatly, not in the mood for another check up.

Morrible's face made no reaction and he calmly took his folder from under his arm and flicked to a new sheet before placing it on the table by her bed.

"I'm simply checking up." he said evenly and sat down at on the chair facing her bed. Then he glanced up and peered at her, forming a quizzical expression. "Your eyes look red." he said and she shrugged.

"How many times are you doctors required to check up?"

"However many times you need it." he said lightly and turned his attention to a kind of rounded, triangular device he had been holding, making sure the wire hanging off it wasn't touching the ground.

"What's that?" she couldn't help but to be curios for she had been living in the Vinkus for eight years now and before that, at the Cloister of St Glinda. Besides during her early years in the resistance, she had almost zero exposure to any technology.

"A spirometre - to see if your lungs are working." he fiddled around with the device for a moment, making those strange beeping noises. "Uh how old are you?"

"Why in Oz do you need to know that?"

"I need the measurements" he explained, showing no signs of being annoyed as he was required, in fact he seemed almost amused. The Witch, satisfied with his explanation had been unprepared to answer any personal questions and had to think to remember. She was eighteen when she left Shiz, spent six years at the Resistance, another six years at the Cloister of St Glinda, eight at Kiamo Ko….

"I'm….I'm 38."

He entered the figure, his brow raised. "How tall are you?"

"5' 7."

"Have you ever smoked or suffered from asthma?"

"No."

He entered the figures then walked over to the slits in the wall and pushed in the end of the wire that was shaped squarely and had thin bits of metal sticking protruding from it. He sat back down on the bed, pulling out a tube thing from his coat pocket that was wrapped in clear plastic. The Witch watched, fascinated as he undid the wrapping and pushed the tube into a hole in the device before handing it to her. She received the device, feeling the strange smoothness of the edges and the heavy bulk of it. The surface was decorated with numerous buttons and had greenish screen.

"So what you do." Morrible was saying. "Is inhale to the max then exhale completely into the mouthpiece – and uh…."he fished in his pockets and pulled out a blue nose clip. "Put this on."

She obliged, feeling a little foolish with a rubber clip clamped on her nose and looked up at Morrible for notification thatshe could start. He nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching discreetly.

"Go ahead."

She inhaled until she felt her breath stop in the bottom of her throat then brought the pinched in end of the tube to her mouth and exhaled, the device beeping rapidly and slowing as she ran out of breath.

"Keep going, keep going….."

She could feel her face flushing and she struggled to continue….

"You can stop now."

She inhaled deeply, her head suddenly floaty as if her brain had left her head, causing it to become empty and for her mind to evaporate. She handed him back the device and he took it, peering at the screen and frowning slightly.

"Once more." he said. "And this time focus more on exhaling as fast as you can in the first second." he looked up at her when he was done resetting the device. "I'm guessing you'd like a break."

"Yes." She closed her eyes to rid of the light headedness. Then she opened them, her eyes widened at the sight and she blinked rapidly in disbelief, her mind stunned into blankness. Morrible looked over his shoulder at the area of thin air she was staring at.

"You alright?" he asked, his eyes narrowed.

The Witch could hardly believe it – she couldn't believe it. There standing in the middle of the room was her - a little green girl about 8 years old or so wearing a plain, black frock and an expression far too sullen for a child of that age, her brown eyes wide, innocent but at the same time cold. The Witch suddenly remembered her relatives – her mother in particular telling her not t o stare for she tended to scare people with the intensity of her gaze. Now she saw what they meant, she was literally seeing it.

Young Elphaba cocked her head at her older self.

"What are you doing?" she said in an accusing, remorseful tone which sounded strange being said in a little girl's voice. A little girl watching her older counterpart and is disappointed with how she is destined to turn out. The Witch could only stare, wide eyed, her mind still blank from the shock and all she could think was what the hell? Dr. Morrible peered over his shoulder, his face with filled concern and curiosity. There was nothing but thin air.

She couldn't be hallucinating could she? He thought, horrified at the realization. They'd have to keep her in if that were the case for tests, treatment, and therapy - he could be stuck with her for months, even years!

"Uh miss?"

She snapped to attention, inhaling when she realized she ad been holding her breath. "Yes, yeah?"

He looked at her curiously, dreadfully. "Did you see something?"

"Well it's…" she looked over his shoulder and saw the space, heavy with emptiness. She blinked, utterly at a loss. "Um no." she said slowly. "No it's nothing."

"Okay then." What would happen if I let this go? Wait no, I should run the scan – I have to…..but hell, this is the Witch, her head's already messed up. He picked up his folder and absentmindedly flicked through the pages, just to occupy his hands while he let his intentions swirl around his core, attempting to dominate one another until he came to a decision. "I'm going to send you through a scan." he finally decided. "For your brain."

"What's wrong with my brain?"

"Well, it's possible that…." You're going through a first break psychosis. "That when you smacked your head, your brain could have suffered some long term damage." Why can't we just tell patients the truth instead of weaving around it? They always figure it out in the end that it's all bullshit… but then what would I say? You're probably psychotic and I have to run a scan to make sure? She'd kill me – she's probably criminally insane being the Witch and all that.

"…I always thought IV drips were clear." the Witch was saying.

"Hmm, the IV?" how did we end up talking about that?

"It's….orange."

"Yes, it's a new um thing they're doing – its all for the better." He looked down before the Witch could retort and hastily reset the spirometre. "Try this again." he said and handed the device to her. She took it and breathed into the mouth piece, causing the device to beep rapidly.

"Keep going, keep going…..stop" she gasped for breath, her face flushed a brilliant green. He took the device and saw that this try had been successful.

It's good. I'll have the results by tomorrow" he had a nagging inkling that he was forgetting something, leaving him with a hollow feeling. He was meant to give her something…..the pills! "Oh yeah." said Dr. Morrible and he reached into his pocket. "These are for any pain you might experience; take two a day at the most."

The Witch received the container and proceeded to unscrew the lid and peer at its contents.

"What are these?"

"Morphine."

The Witch scowled in confusion. "Aren't morphine tablets blue?

Shit. "Yes but these are new."

To his relief she didn't press the subject further set the container under the table lamp. Nobody question's doctors he realized. Not even the Witch.

"How's your energy level?" he was required to ask.

"You asked me that yesterday." she said lightly….almost jokingly.

Fitz smirked at her sarcastic sense of humour, his lip curling and exposing the tip of his laterals, giving him a boyish, playful look.

"Well get some rest then."

Morrible thought back at his previous perception of the Wicked Witch, amused at his misconception. To think he had thought her filthy, scrawny old hag like the Witches in the picture books of his childhood – cackling madly and terrorizing the population for no particular reason. It was funny how in children's stories the Hero who is purely just a Hero, faultless and loved by all goes to conquer the villain who is always portrayed as purely just a villain – they scare the hell out of random – random citizens then go off and relish in their own wickedness. But the question is why? What's the point to it all? It's not like they accomplish anything out of it – they just make themselves into fugitives in the end when they're hunted down by the Hero.

But this Witch was full of character – fiery, sarcastic, and defiant yet, far more intelligent than she cared to let on. And she was seeing things and showed signs of hypervigilance although she didn't seem violent or maybe it was because of brain lesions? He wouldn't know for sure until the scan results came back. She was a realistic version of a Witch with personality, a motive, a history….. the rest were caricatures of Witches, meant to keep stories simple.

He found himself standing by her bed, transfixed as he watched her drift off, wondering with fascination if she might have cast a spell on him while his back was turned.

He watched her, his eyes tracing every outline, the sharp angles of her face that seemed almost animal like in a way, her ebony hair curled around the ears, the long elegant neck that lead down to the round bone where the arm met the shoulder, down to the protruding collar bones and down further to the curve of her ribs, down, down, down…..

And for a moment, he found himself drawn to the novelty of simply reaching out to such an exotic creature and he stepped closer, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Dr. Fitz Morrible to triage, Dr Fitz Morrible to triage." Why couldn't they just call him Dr. Fitz?

He quickly turned on his heel, grabbed his notes and left the room, adjusting his coat.

Fitz still wasn't sure what to make of those funny orange pills or the orange tinged IV for when he asked, he didn't receive a clear answer. Perhaps he should run a blood test to see what it was….yes that was a good idea. He'd run them tomorrow.

I just realized I made Fitz kinda creepy here

Reviews are always welcomed….if you want to….