a/n: It seems this has become a series. I have more in the making. I can't help trying to give them better :'/
"Lady Chuffrey, your breakfast."
Glinda lifted her head from her crossed arms to stare at the door, as if that were enough to banish the servant beyond it. She saw the light beneath the door shift, and heard the maid tread off. She rested her cheek on her own greasy hair. She stared out the window, watching the sky turning navy to cool blue. The mornings were very dark in winter. All the lights and the shadows played tricks in such a season, everything was less clear.
She had seen Elphaba four days ago.
She was sure of it. She was not, in fact; how could she be. She only thought it may be so, hoped desperately it was so. That night Chuffrey had tried to touch her, and she couldn't bear it. She could not bear anything since that glimpse.
Glinda sat with her knees to her chest and her arms coiled tight about her, and inside she raged. Her emotions were balanced on a pin's point. They swayed, and they would tip over eventually, she could feel it. She would fall to a depression or she would rise to an anger so passionate she wouldn't know what to do with it.
Depression was the wiser choice. Let herself spiral. She could absorb the feelings and keep them in a small place, and eventually they would die with her. She should mourn Elphaba now and get it out of the way, then maybe she could fucking do something with her life.
Anger was dangerously proactive. It demanded satisfaction, resolution. All of the things she was sure she would never have. Anger squirmed; it moved on the precipice in a way that depression did not. Depression was an absence of movement. It was all the heavier, sure to drag her deep underwater where all of these hard things could suffocate.
What tipped the balance was Crope.
"Glinda, please come out darling. Your dear friends miss you. Me included." She did not respond to him. "I need new socks. You know I can't shop to save my life." Glinda, out of some thin and genuine affection for her friend, opened the door. Crope fluttered in, Glinda closing the door behind him, and took a proper look at her. "My god, your hair! When did you last wash? And your room, where have the maids been? Oh, Glinda, whatever are you doing?"
Socks. Hair. Room. Glinda. Friends. Everything reminded her of Elphaba. Elphaba, Elphaba, Elphaba! The whole world was her. Glinda pressed her hands to her head and screwed her eyes shut, her chest aching. When she opened her eyes, she felt how wild she must have looked. "I'm losing my goddamn mind," Glinda said shakily, pacing past him to nothing in particular. Crope watched warily. "I saw her," Glinda said. "I swear, I saw her."
"Where?" Any superficial effect of Crope's was gone.
"Lonsdale street. Off of it, down some little alley - it was nowhere, nothing - how must she be living -"
"Lonsdale," Crope said. He came to her, took her hands. "I'll do what I can," he promised fiercely.
"Don't," Glinda lamented, pulling her hands from his. "Let it die."
"I would have to hate you to not chase this," Crope said. "I love you too much for it. Now wash yourself up, and let the bloody maids in here."
She did as he said. With his passion, his seriousness, the scales had tipped, and she was not on a pin point anymore. She had not sunk. She rose with fire at her heels. She would find Elphaba, and she would do something to her, punch her maybe. Shoot her in the damn heart.
Glinda was alight in this manner for a good week, but by the end of the month it had almost petered off, and she was becoming bad again. Chuffrey had taken to avoiding her; she could hide her emotions well, but in their home she did not have the energy. She was angry or sad or empty, nothing.
Crope invited her to tea that week, not an unusual request by any stretch. They would often go to some fashionable cafe with the right level of privacy and complain about all the normal people around them.
Crope and Glinda both had their own contacts, their own special friends. For Glinda they were a society of rich ladies that preferred their own kind, and indulged in all manner of scholarly and not-so-scholarly exploration of the subject. For Crope the community was rather faster and certainly looser. He went to the bath houses, the docks, the poetry nights in Brick Crescent. He did not have the standing to join the secret pfaith cults - gents only - and so sank in with the avantgarde, the artists, who were as indiscriminate and adventurous as one could be.
They went to these places mostly for reassurance, for their own sanity. Neither of them had sex often. Sex was hard with loves still so freshly lost.
When she met him and they were seated she noticed very quickly he had news. They ordered their tea and scones with jam and saffron cream. Before any of it had come Crope took her hands and looked into her eyes like he was afraid she would faint.
"We found a lead."
Glinda just about threw the table to the ground. She managed to keep calm, her hands gripping his. "What have you found?"
"There is a chapel." Glinda was skeptical, and becoming angry, given hope over such an obviously mistaken lead. "The cloister of St. Glinda," Crope continued. "It's in Seddon - it's a second from Lonsdale."
Glinda blinked hard. "She wouldn't, would she?"
"She would, you know she would," Crope said, leaning over the table. "She was in love to her ears, of course she would."
"In love." Glinda sighed, or huffed, or sobbed. "I think she must have hated me, to leave me like this."
"Hate you? Never," he pleaded. "Glinda, for god's sake…" He glanced around the cafe pointlessly. Nobody paid attention here.
"Fine," she breathed, "fine."
They chased the lead. Hired rogues staked out alleyways, made inquiries. She gave these rogues all the relevant knowledge she could of Elphaba's habits and interests. Glinda would do it all herself were she in the position to do so. When she had time, she took small carriages down these tangled alleys, and watched the grey poor people through black-lace window shades. She did not have the courage or the knowledge to go on foot. She wished she did. She wished she would be the one to find Elphaba.
She had fantasies of that moment often. It would play out differently each time. She saw Elphaba in the street and caught her arm, and they went to a cafe, and Elphaba cried for the first time in her life. She saw her in the street and pulled her to some dark place and kissed her right there against the wall. She saw her through those lace windows, and opened the carriage door in her path. They had sex in the pure darkness. Glinda would reveal her identity only moments before she left her, just to hurt her, though it was only a fraction of what she was due.
On warmer nights she imagined finding whatever dirty little place Elphaba was living and there on the bed would be Elphaba, her hands between her thighs; or Elphaba coming to her; Elphaba on her balcony, sweaty from scaling the house, green skin gleaming, hair longer, eyes blacker than Glinda remembered. She did not like to think about how Elphaba may have changed physically. It excited her too much, it panicked her. The world would end the day Elphaba was unfamiliar to her.
It had barely been three years and already that sad process had begun. How did Elphaba's hands feel? She couldn't remember. She knew her hands were big but elegant, held her hips well, calloused only slightly from her occasional delinquent behaviour. She could not quite imagine them holding her.
In a way, Glinda was granted her fantasy. When the rogues got results they did not take or trap or contact Elphaba - they did not even see her. They only heard - from many sources - where she was living, and gave this information to Glinda, their job concluded.
Glinda held the information for some days. She could not quite believe it existed. Crope offered his support for the confrontation, or at least for the trip there. Glinda turned him down. If she could not go alone she should not go at all.
But she did go, of course. How could she not? She got the black carriage and sat some distance from Elphaba's apartment building. She watched with a pair of binoculars she had for the opera. Every time someone came or left her heart half burst out of her chest.
It was in the small hours of the morning when she saw her. She did not see her skin or her hair, but something about the figure, their movement and scale, their impatience, was surely Elphaba.
Glinda's sat back, staring at nothing. Her thoughts had been churning all day, and now she found them clotted and turned sour. But even as she thought terrible things - untrue things, irrational things - her heart beat hard, and she had this old feeling bubbling up inside her. She was going to see Elphie.
Glinda gathered herself together and stepped down from the carriage. She considered telling the driver to wait in case things didn't go well. She banished the thought and let the driver go for the night.
She went to the door and knocked. The landlord had obviously gotten out of bed to answer and stayed tight lipped until she paid up - it was nothing to her, but his eyes were wide with disbelief at her first offer. Elphaba's room was on the top floor.
Glinda knocked on the door. There was some shuffling, then a stretch of expectant silence. "Yes?" she called peevishly. Glinda closed her eyes. She heard footsteps coming toward her. "I know you're out there, you're casting a shadow under the door." The handle shifted but didn't turn - Elphaba was holding it still.
Glinda pressed her hand flat against the wood. She had no idea what to say. 'It's Glinda. I hope I'm not bothering you, I would have let you know I was coming if I could, but you're dreadfully hard to get hold of.' Instead, she beat her fist against the door very suddenly and very hard. She hadn't thought beyond that - her mind raced. "Open the door," she yelled, her voice gruff and obviously put on. Her face flushed. What the hell was she doing?
Elphaba sounded just as baffled as her. "Who in Oz…? Are you some prepubescent thug?" Glinda could hear amusement in Elphaba's voice. "Come try me when your voice is done breaking, boy."
Glinda scowled. "Oh, shut up and open the door Elphie!"
There was some kind of clunk or thud, and then a deep and awkward silence. The door opened. They looked at each other in absolute shock. Elphaba sucked in a breath. "You-" She blinked, and closed the door. There were the sounds of frantic movements. Glinda gaped in disbelief.
"You fuck!" Glinda was unaware she had the ability to produce such extreme profanity. She grabbed the door handle and unhinged whatever pathetic lock was on Elphaba's door; she burst into the room. Elphaba span around, eyes wide with fear, Glinda realised.
Glinda charged over to her. She stopped short, unable to touch her yet. Her whole body was shaking. Elphaba stepped back, her hands in the air. Her mouth was open, but she didn't speak. She was lost for words.
Glinda was not. With Elphaba in front of her, it came all too easily. She yelled, unaware of herself. "Where were you!? And what were you thinking!? Did you think that was clever? It wasn't! I could kill you!" Glinda pressed her hands to her brow, her eyes wide. "I could kill you, because you're alive." Her relief showed briefly, and then she was all red faced and glaring again. "But you didn't tell me! I didn't know, for three years! Do you know how awful that feels!?" She was crying, and she didn't want to cry, because Elphaba never took that sort of thing seriously. She didn't fall to sobbing - her rage kept her together enough for that.
"Glinda, my dear, the neighbours…" Elphaba said strangely. Glinda laughed harshly.
"Shut up, Elphaba."
Elphaba shut up.
She went on. She repeated herself a few times, more than a few times, and cursed frequently. Elphaba was frozen all through it, waiting for the fatal blow. Glinda had began pacing by the seventh "What were you thinking!?" She rounded on Elphaba. "What was your goal, exactly? To help me? To protect me?" She paused, and Elphaba seemed unsure whether to answer or not. "Well it didn't work!" Glinda snapped, and Elphaba blinked and wilted somewhat. Glinda felt bad for hurting her, and happy to see it, and she felt overwhelmingly sad still - she turned away from Elphaba. "God, I don't even - I can barely look at you." Elphaba drew in a breath.
She couldn't keep up the tirade. She peered at Elphaba's sock-clad foot. Elphaba, sat on the floor beside her lumpy straw mattress, in pants Glinda now noticed - Elphaba was wearing pants! Glinda burned. All of the spitting and yelling had not been exhausted, but overwhelmed. Glinda's arms and legs and chest ached with how lackluster it all was. She needed to make Elphaba feel this more viscerally.
Glinda advanced on her abruptly. Elphaba scrabbled to her knees, fearful of her intent. Glinda was a bit fearful herself - she wasn't sure what she was going to do, until she had Elphaba's face in her hands, and she was kissing her much harder than they'd ever kissed.
Elphaba made a surprised noise and fell back, her long legs springing up from beneath her as Glinda climbed onto her lap. Their incongruence got in the way of their kissing. Glinda was too rough, too reckless, and Elphaba was too unsure. Their teeth clashed; Elphaba's lip was caught and split, blood dribbling down her chin. Glinda frowned at it, annoyed. She kissed the cut gently, licked it up. There was still a coppery red stain when she was done. Glinda carried on down her neck, sucking and biting. Elphaba flinched and exhaled, her voice rougher than ever. Her hands came to Glinda's hips, moving over her waist, up her back. Glinda shuddered at the feel of them.
They moved together to the bed, Elphaba on her back, Glinda straddling her waist. Elphaba wore a men's shirt not quite buttoned all the way, the line of her clavicle and chest trailing teasingly beneath its hem. Her liberating outfit irritated Glinda immensely. Glinda reached for it and attempted the buttons, and then ripped at it when she got impatient. Her gloved hands ran over Elphaba's chest and ribs and stomach. She moved back and observed the 'v' of Elphaba's hips dipping beneath the hem of her pants, was maddeningly aroused by the scandal and look of it.
Glinda looked at Elphaba's face. Elphaba stared back. Her eyes were black, squinted unsurely, betraying a guarded desire. Glinda came forward to kiss her a bit, and it was less disastrous. Glinda took Elphaba's hand and reached beneath her own dress, brought those lovely fingers were they were most needed. Elphaba sighed when she felt it, and looked at Glinda so fondly it hurt Glinda. Not in a nice way. She didn't want that, couldn't take it yet. She screwed her eyes shut, braced herself on Elphaba's chest and rode her hand. Elphaba held her hips and groaned, moving beneath Glinda with the little mobility she could manage.
Glinda did not pay attention to any of this. She found herself, bizarrely, trying not to acknowledge Elphaba. But it was impossible. Even as fingers brushed that place inside her that made her shake and curl, she was dazedly aware of how the whole room smelt like Elphaba and oil and the tea she liked. Elphaba held her exactly the way Elphie held her, and the sounds Elphaba made were so painfully familiar. Low and rough and unexpectedly melodic, just like three years ago, just like in Glinda's hundreds of dreams and fantasies.
What Glinda would give to not feel as she did. She wanted Elphaba to be making those sounds against her ear, against her throat. She wanted to feel Elphaba's hair in her hands, she wanted to be naked and damp against her, both rutting indiscriminately and loving it.
She realised that she did not feel comfortable with that anymore.
She came distractedly. She fit her thigh between Elphaba's and moved against her until Elphaba had shuddered and purred and gone still. They lay beside each other, panting and flushed. They couldn't speak.
They must have drifted off. Glinda woke to a black, eerie room. Glinda leaned up, peering at Elphaba. It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a fantasy. She had woken up, and when she reached out to brush her fingers against Elphaba's arm, she found it solid and warm, covered in fine black hairs, more tanned than Glinda had remembered, and real.
Glinda turned to face away from Elphaba. She pressed her hands to her mouth and shook. She attempted to collect herself futilely. Her mind thought treacherously of Elphaba loving her at Shiz, Elphaba leaving her, Elphaba's absence, Elphaba seeing her and trying to escape. The absolute cruelty of it. The lack of concern, of love. Glinda gasped, sputtered, finally sobbed hard, pressing her face into her arms, trying desperately to stop everything coming out. She hoped Elphaba was asleep, at least.
It was naive of her. Elphaba was not a sleeper. Elphaba was an overthinker. She stared at the wall as Glinda's back shuddered against hers. Elphaba didn't know she was capable of emotion at this level; she got angry and a bit sad and sometimes very fond, but this was an extreme depth of guilt. And hate. Elphaba, for sure, had felt that before. She had hated herself for a long time. Forever, maybe. Not like this.
Elphaba moved as little as possible, covering her ears as best she could. She still heard it. Her chest was physically aching, something she'd thought was only a cliche in books she did not read, and it spread through her rib cage and guts and head until she thought her body might actually be shutting down. Her cells had seen the whole fiasco and had decided to end it. How could she deserve to exist, when she'd made Glinda Arduenna cry like that?
Glinda stopped eventually, her breathing becoming slow and deep. Elphaba lifted herself on her elbow and peered down at her. Her classic statuesque portrait, her reddened nose, her swollen eyes, her blotchy red cheeks. Elphaba wanted to kiss her desperately. She answered the call of nature instead, squatting over a little pot in the corner of the room, peering at Glinda's sleeping form self consciously.
Elphaba's lip was awfully painful. She cleaned it up with her oils and held a sort-of-clean rag to it. She stood in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do. She couldn't leave. Though she had considered it, and felt very ashamed of herself. The worst thing she could do to Glinda was disappear again.
It was only the scared part of her that wanted to leave, of course. The warmer part of her, the part of her she always put aside, wanted to hold Glinda and apologize in any way Glinda saw fit. She would endure punishments if she must, she did not know to what extent she had hurt Glinda. She hoped - even prayed - she had not hurt her to the point of giving up.
But Glinda had come to find her. She had searched after three years. Elphaba's mind had ways to distort these things, convince herself they were from anything but love or affection. Perhaps she should just let Glinda speak. Whenever she woke up.
Elphaba cleaned up. She threw out the pot's contents, folded and stacked clothes, blankets. She moved her boxes and lone chair into a less abstract arrangement. She brought a pan of milk to a boil to make tea and oats, laced them with honey. Glinda woke to their aroma or to the light through the windows, which had crawled up close to her face.
She sat up in bed and watched Elphaba serve their breakfast in silence. Elphaba came over with a bowl and her cleanest mug. Glinda took the bowl - Elphaba put the mug by the side of the mattress. She got her own food hastily and sat on the floor at a moderate distance from Glinda.
Glinda nudged at the porridge with her spoon. Elphaba blinked, her eyes falling to her hands. "I'm sorry," she managed, her voice thick.
Glinda cleared her throat. "What for? I like porridge." She took a bite and didn't seem disgusted.
"Not… for that." The silence was dense as a blanket. Elphaba sighed shakily. "May I speak plainly?"
"Please do," Glinda said quietly.
"I…" Elphaba stared at her. She almost smiled. "It's good to see you," she said softly. Glinda's eyebrows drew together. Elphaba faltered. "And again, I apologise. I have no excuses for you," Elphaba said, and that was true. "I was scared. I convinced myself I was doing good. I am not sure I deserve your companionship anymore. I understand if I have lost that privilege. I think, because of my actions, that however this unfolds… however we unfold, should be ultimately decided by you." Elphaba could not hold her eye. "It is the least I can give you."
Glinda rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Oh, Elphie," she breathed. Elphaba was flooded with affection. "You still don't get it, do you?"
"Probably not," Elphaba said self deprecatingly.
"You were my life, you know. I lived for you. Stupid girl I am, I still do," Glinda said warily, not looking at Elphaba. "All I truly wanted was you. The money, the houses, the dresses. They lost all their colour. All I could see was brilliant green." Glinda's mouth twisted, her chin trembling. "And then you took it from me," she breathed shakily, finally looking at her. Elphaba flinched. "I feel broken now. You broke me." Glinda pressed the heel of her palms to her eyes. "Take responsibility, you awful person."
"How…" Elphaba leaned forward, not quite daring to touch Glinda. "I'd do anything."
Glinda stared at her lap, obviously thinking hard. "Love yourself," she said. "I love you, Elphaba. I always will, God save my soul. But I cannot love you for you. I cannot inspire love in you," Glinda said, struggling to put across her meaning. She sighed frustratedly . She stood up, much to Elphaba's alarm, and went towards the door.
"Wait-!"
"Come find me when you're ready," Glinda said. She put her hand to Elphaba's cheek. "I would leave my whole life for you," Glinda said gravely. "I would drop everything, do you understand? But I will only do it if you ask me to."
Elphaba blinked. "I can't-"
"Then I won't." Glinda opened the door. "I will not hurt myself for someone who cannot let themselves be happy," Glinda muttered, and left.
Elphaba wanted to chase her down and stop her, talk to her, explain - but what was there to say?
Elphaba was quite listless for the rest of the morning and afternoon. She had been knocked and dazed by it all. Elphaba lay on her mattress and held Glinda's ultimatum in her hands like a rare stone.
What to do. The idea of asking Glinda to give up everything for Elphaba was laughable to her. She was not so arrogant, so presumptuous. But Glinda had invited her to. If Glinda was asking her to, why did it seem so impossible? Why did the idea terrify Elphaba to this extent?
Glinda would know. Even now, Elphaba underestimated Glinda. She had - as she always would - seen through Elphaba. Elphaba had forgot that about her. Every time Glinda said something that illuminated Elphaba's nonexistent soul, she came away surprised, pleased, and a bit intimidated. Glinda would know.
As she pondered this, Glinda's words from that night and the morning after played back over and over in her head. They contained nuggets of knowledge between the anger and resentment. Still, thinking of them only upset her.
Elphaba checked the time and recalled she had a contact to meet with late that night. She let this distract her for a while - she cleaned up and got dressed and met them, and received a tip, a new self-directed assignment. She came home with information to put to use. Her routine now.
She was surprised to find Fiyero sat with Malky by his leg, a cup of tea in his hand. Her other routine. He looked up at her. "Hello… oh, did you forgot I was coming by?"
"I must have," Elphaba said, unwrapping the scarf around her neck and face, pacing into the room. "I have been distracted today, I apologise."
"No skin off my back," he said with an easy smile. He scratched at Malky's ears and chin as Elphaba scribbled down what she'd been told, then made herself a cup of tea. "I saw there were two dishes when I came. Did you have a guest?" Fiyero did not ask this accusingly, just curiously. It would be a first for her to have a guest other than him. Elphaba found herself becoming unaccountably nervous anyway.
"I did. Nothing important."
Fiyero hummed. She jumped slightly when his hands came to her waist. He leaned against her back, his warm palms resting on her ribs and belly beneath her jacket. "A business partner?"
Elphaba smiled sardonically at that. "Yes." He kissed her neck. She leaned away, pressing her hand to his hip to push him from her. "Not today, I can't-"
"You smell different," he said. Elphaba peered back at him. His eyes looked over her face, his eyebrows drawing together. "Did you… put on perfume?"
"Yes, just for you."
"I'm serious. You smell like roses." Elphaba's eyes cut away from his. "Fae. You know… I would not be angry," he said carefully, reluctantly. "I know you are stressed."
Elphaba stepped from his hands. Fiyero watched her expectantly. Elphaba rubbed at her brow. "She found me."
"She found you." His eyes flickered with comprehension. He laughed. "Ah. Oh, wow."
He turned, and looked more upset than she'd expected. "Fiyero. You knew what this was…"
"What this was?" He looked at her in shock. "It's a 'was' already? Does she truly have such a hold on you?"
Elphaba scowled. "Be reasonable."
"I do not see how I am being unreasonable," Fiyero said. "Glinda Arduenna pops in, and suddenly we are a was! I feel very special." Fiyero pressed his hand to his chest, and looked wounded. "I feel truly loved."
"You know I never meant it that way," Elphaba said stiffly.
Fiyero sighed. "I know."
"I did not think you meant it that way either, truth be told."
Fiyero rubbed his chin. "I didn't," he said quietly. "Not like… I did not want to make you my wife, or have kids." He rubbed the back of his neck, looked at her insecurely. "I just thought…"
"Just thought what?" Elphaba asked gently, trying to be kind.
Fiyero's hand dropped to his side. He smiled sadly. "You're my favourite person in the world."
Elphaba returned the smile. She had a very real affection for Fiyero. She had come to know him well. She had not really had anyone except Fiyero for almost a year, and they'd developed a relationship neither of them could really define.
And they had filled needs that others could not. Fiyero needed an uncomplicated lover, someone that understood his struggles. Elphaba needed a warm body. An effective distraction, a distraction she could trust.
"Thank you for everything, Fiyero."
"Don't thank me," he said quietly, as if offended. "You're speaking like we can't be anything anymore."
"Of course we will be friends. Always."
He seemed satisfied with that, though it was quite forced. At least he was trying. He cleared his throat, glanced around the room. His eyes settled on the unmade bed. He became teasing. "Are you going steady now?"
Elphaba laughed gruffly. "No."
His eyebrows rose. "You aren't back together?"
"It is not so easy, I'm afraid."
"I see. And we cannot…"
"No." She looked away. "I have hurt her too severely as is."
They were quiet. "I see," Fiyero said eventually. He sighed. "You are very in love." He said this to rib her.
Elphaba stared at nothing. In love. She had come to fear the term intensely. When directed or placed upon her, she went into a sort of lockdown that cut short any emotion or vaguely hopeful thought. Because it was impossible for her. The universe had made it clear she could not truly be loved. Even to like her was hard, her friends had made that clear. Only masochists loved when they could not be loved back.
"Yes," she said tremulously. Fiyero's eyes snapped to hers.
"Oh, Fae."
"I don't know what to do." She sat back on a crate, her face in her hands. Fiyero rubbed her back.
"Do what you must," he said kindly.
Fiyero stayed a while longer. She told him what Glinda had said, and he had seemed impressed. He gave his advice, encouraged Elphaba. Most of it was generic and forced, went over Elphaba's head. One thing stuck with her.
"You should take what she says as true," Fiyero said, semi distracted, staring out the window. "She always wanted that, you know - I remember from Shiz. She always wanted you to take her seriously."
Elphaba had taken her seriously, did take her seriously. She adored Glinda. She had also foolishly convinced herself she somehow knew better than Glinda, even about Glinda's own happiness. It was painful to confront that. It'd lead to perhaps the biggest mistake of her life. What the hell did Elphaba know about happiness? Elphaba knew only how to struggle through.
Doing as Glinda asked would not be arrogant or presumptuous. Glinda had asked her to do it. It was far more arrogant to deny her out of some greater wisdom. No, that was not the problem. The problem was that Elphaba knew her place. Elphaba got the sense Glinda had seen this, too. She was not looking for Elphaba to prove her love to Glinda. She was inviting Elphaba by her side.
But Elphaba could not see herself there. She couldn't see herself beside Fiyero either, or anyone, really. But thinking of Fiyero was not half as devastating as thinking of Glinda.
When Elphaba imagined herself alone, the absence of Glinda stood out. There was a lack of their easy domesticity. A lack of bodies in the bed. Less hairs in the bathroom, with none of the variety. A harrowing loss. She had grieved for these things in her first year in The Emerald City. She pretended - to herself - not to mourn them still.
What she missed the most was just talking to Glinda. Whenever. About anything. All of Glinda's conversation had been a delight to Elphaba. Watching her change, grow, rethink. Learning from her.
Elphaba recalled a time from Shiz. It was after Glinda had become Glinda, when they were more than friends and already kissing whenever they could possibly find the time. Glinda had been studying with Elphaba, and had shown Elphaba the margins of her notebooks. They were full of perfect circles. Glinda could draw them freehand; she said she'd drawn them all through school, and had got it down to a fine art. She drew circles as Elphaba watched on, hawk-like. The width of a coin or the width of the page - both were, by all appearances, flawless.
Elphaba, young prat that she was, went on some condescending spiel about how true perfection wasn't technically possible, wholeness was a lie, God was dead. Glinda had ignored her, drawing spirals and helixes and circles with a mathematical precision Elphaba couldn't quite believe.
She had been genuinely impressed. She had been fascinated. She thought it gave some insight into Glinda's world view. The circles were a private and genuine thing, and they represented perfection. So clean and simple it was almost boring. How very Glinda that seemed. It all made sense. Elphaba had chuckled, shook her head. Glinda Arduenna had been figured out.
This theory didn't hold up in reality. Glinda was a practitioner of magic, an unpredictable and often messy pursuit. She had appreciated the artfully asymmetrical. Things scarred and aged, things in decline, so long as they were beautiful. And she had appreciated Elphaba. You couldn't get less perfect than that.
That whole mystery - Glinda "You're Beautiful" Arduenna - was nowhere near figured out. Elphaba had been having a right crack at it, but she simply didn't have the time. And what a shame that was! And how exciting it was to consider how different Glinda was now! Elphaba almost wanted to take up her ultimatum just for that. Access to this Glinda, this young woman who had hunted her down and kissed her so roughly, and been so familiar and so wonderfully changed.
By end of this and more agonising, Elphaba came to the conclusion that the only option she had was to see Glinda. What would happen then, she could not say.
Elphaba knew where Glinda's estate was, obviously. She had never gotten close to it, afraid to tempt herself into something drastic. Now she found herself scaling the wall to the courtyard, and peering into black windows of the second floor. It was not so late that they would be in bed - Elphaba did not want to catch them in tucked in and surely together, but she figured it may take a few nights to chance upon Glinda in their chambers alone.
There were two balconies. One had a flower wall and the other did not. Elphaba guessed her best bet was the flowery one. She considered throwing stones. She picked up a handful from the white gravel around the fountain and hid in the shadow of a cherryblossom tree, and pelted the glass for a few minutes. The doors opened soon after. A figure came to the edge. They could just as easily have been a servant, until Elphaba noticed that they did not come with a light or even look around. They stood at the edge, and looked out over the night, stoic. Then they went back inside, their doors open, some light now radiating from within their room. Lucky her. Elphaba slipped across the grass and scaled the flower wall.
She fixed her askewed robe and shirt and peered into the room. Glinda was perched on the foot of the bed, her hands folded over her lap. Elphaba meandered into the room, glancing about. It was… nice. Not as grand as she'd imagined Glinda pulling. She stood before Glinda. "Where is your husband?"
"Asleep."
Elphaba's eyebrow arched. "This isn't your room?"
Glinda's eyes fell to her lap. "It is."
"Ah." Elphaba's fingers tapped her thigh. "Not the palace I pictured you in. Surely you have some servant boy to bring you grapes and white wine in the early hours, right?" Elphaba's eyes flickered. "Or servant girl."
Glinda smiled. "I'm afraid I don't. I lost my servant girl some years ago."
Elphaba waited, and then realised the joke, and grinned, clapping her hands together. "My apologies, mistress."
Glinda's smile dampened. She sighed, looking away, exposing the elegant lines of her neck, her hairline just beneath her cropped golden curls. She was in quite an immodest night gown that Elphaba had not noticed at all, obviously, who cared about that? She was fine. "What have you come to say, Elphaba?"
Elphaba did have some vague plan. She was going to explain her current situation, the life she led, and make sure Glinda was truly on board. It sounded more like talking her out of it. But something about being here distracted Elphaba. Glinda seemed like such a wife. Sitting on a bed, in a room, in a huge house she did not own, with a mysterious man in the other room. Her fashionably cropped hair, her night dress. Did she wear that for Chuffrey ever?
"Only once," Glinda replied unsurely. Elphaba hadn't realised she'd asked it out loud. Glinda peered down at her chest, adjusted its fit on her. "Do you like it?" she asked, and sounded younger, like herself in Shiz. Elphaba hands twisted together.
"Oh yes," Elphaba said warmly. "You look lovely."
To give Elphaba such a look. It was unfair. Elphaba wiped her hands on her shirt, struggling for control. "Chuffrey seemed to enjoy it," Glinda said offhandedly, and Elphaba's fists clenched.
"That was cruel."
Glinda laughed. As if Elphaba had the right to call her cruel. "Well?" Glinda asked. "What are you here to say? Anything but what I asked for, I'm sure."
Elphaba searched Glinda's face. She wasn't playing at indifference; she looked openly vulnerable, and angry, and ready for however Elphaba chose to hurt her. Elphaba's hand came to her mouth. "I'm in love with you," she said. Her script was already out the window, and she was terrified. Glinda's eyes widened.
"You've never..."
"Leave Chuffrey." Elphaba blinked, and committed herself to the request. "Um. Please."
Glinda's mouth fell agape. "Truly?" she asked.
"Yes."
Glinda stood. A smile slowly developed until she was beaming. They drifted toward each other like magnets. She took Elphaba's face in her hands, staring at her with such reverence. Elphaba felt herself getting quite emotional. "Chuffrey's never seen this night dress." Elphaba sputtered out a laugh. Glinda grinned to see it. "He's nothing to me," she murmured, and pressed her lips to Elphaba's softly. "Nothing." They kissed more firmly, and Elphaba hissed, both of them pulling away.
"Busted lip," Elphaba said with a little smile. Glinda's eyes softened.
"Oh, Elphie," she cooed, brushing her thumb over it gently. She pulled her into the ensuite, where she had medical spirits and balls of cotton. Glinda looked embarrassed as she cleaned Elphaba's lip. "I did quite a number on you, didn't I?"
"I survived," Elphaba said with a smirk. The alcohol stung. "You were upset…" Elphaba's voice became heavy with guilt. Glinda's face fell slightly.
"I was." There was a pause. "And I still am. I would be lying if I said otherwise."
"I know."
Glinda put away the spirits, the cotton, sat on the lavatory opposite Elphaba, propping her face on her hands. "It's going to be a while until we're how we were before," she said quietly. Elphaba's chest constricted.
"Do you… feel differently about me?"
"No-" Glinda hesitated, sighed. "Yes, but not fundamentally. Maybe fundamentally." Glinda shook her head. "You severed us. Now that needs to heal. There may be permanent damage." Glinda glanced at her. "We'll see."
Elphaba settled, with that example to work with. "Sometimes things are stronger once they heal. Muscles have to tear in order to grow."
"Still love your biology, I see."
"Of course," Elphaba said with a smile.
"Maybe we will be stronger," Glinda said softly. "I hope so."
They fell into comfortable silence. The other conversation hung above them like a threat. What were they going to do? Glinda would leave Chuffrey. What then? Move in with Elphaba? Live on her own? Would she get a job, and be an independent woman, her parents' greatest fear? Would she drop off the map, like Elphaba had?
They did not confront these things yet. Glinda stood and took her hand, and led her to bed. She locked the door, pulled shut the curtains, extinguished the light. She slipped in beside Elphaba and pulled her arm over her body, fitting herself to the curve of Elphaba's front. Elphaba had forgotten the peace she experienced with Glinda sleeping in her arms. She lay awake for hours, perhaps out of old muscle memory, trying not to be overwhelmed by her.