NOTE: Chapters 1 & 2 have changed, and we have also begun posting this story on AO3 in case anyone would rather follow it there. I was just waiting on my invite before. I know FF is a little dead, so I'd appreciate support there!

The nightmares started small. Furrowed brows and soft, distressed humming. Elphaba would wake to stroke Glinda's hand and whisper to her, and her mind seemed to calm. But in the middle of the night, the whitewake released its hallucinogenic poison on Glinda's mind as if fighting its hold on her with a vengeance. Her eyes moved rapidly under her eyelids, her heart raced, she broke out into a cold sweat that wouldn't let up, and her hands shook violently. There was no sleep for Elphaba or Fiyero after that. They did their best to hold her, talk to her, and let her know she was safe, but the drug - furious to be wearing off - trapped Glinda's mind in a private hell.

Words like "no" and "can't" and "hurts" started to make their way past her lips, which were particularly hard for Fiyero to hear, as he began to fear that everything he said or did to try and help was actually hurting her. He tried to describe to Elphaba what whitewake was doing to her at this stage, as much as he knew. How everything you hear and feel around you turns into a nightmare version of what you're hearing and feeling, and you grow delirious inside your head. Fiyero at one point suggested leaving Glinda in silence, not touching her, to see if it would be less distressing. Elphaba had apprehensively slid Glinda out of her arms, even though it felt wrong. Laying beside her, she had tried to steel herself in case the distance would help. But then, under an expression that looked so lost and alone, Glinda's quivering, sobbing, barely audible words called out to her specifically.

"...help…El…phie…help…"

Fiyero almost gestured for Elphaba to not intervene, but she was already holding Glinda again.

"Fiyero, just stay," she said firmly, but not harshly. "I know what I'm doing." She stood from the bed with Glinda in her arms - sprained ankle be damned. "She needs me."

Elphaba carried Glinda to the other side of the room. She made herself and her friend as small as she possibly could in the corner of the wall. Closing them into their own space, their own room, their own world. Grounding them to the floor as if blankets and beds would only rock and dislocate them.

With Glinda in her lap, Elphaba tucked the blonde's shaking hands between their two bodies, letting Glinda's head fall to her bare green shoulder as it did so many times, so many years ago at Shiz. And like those times, Glinda's heart began to slow, placed so close to Elphaba's. Her face relaxed.

Memories of the poppy field, of the train to the Emerald City, of pink lilac-scented tissues strewn about the floor, of their dorm room, of their beds and the times they shared them…

And the green girl who everyone else was afraid of or disgusted by all her life had realized that, for at least this person - for Glinda - she could be comfort. That she could slow the anxious pulse of the girl whose smile had her heart. That meeting that girl's eyes in a crowd would tell her she's never alone. That Elphaba's touch, however green it may be, could make that girl feel safe.

With both arms wrapped tightly around Glinda, the witch let her tears fall without abandon for the first time. Elphaba hugged her girl close, wrapping around the limpness in her arms and willing it back to life, back to her dimpled smile, back to being warm and silly and light and the only person who ever really made her laugh. Willing the girl that was lost in her own mind to hear her calling out.

"Come back to me…" Elphaba choked. "Come back to me…"

The witch willed it like a spell. Willing her power - whatever it was, wherever it came from - to bring her Glinda back.

Dawn came in a triangular blanket of gold that slowly lifted to illuminate the room. The cracked window created a spot of distortion trailing across the floor, like something cast from a zeotrope. Light inched its way to Elphaba's bare feet in the corner, then rose up the navy blue of Glinda's dress.

It was quiet now. The kind of quiet where even the minds in its space had to be calm. The kind of quiet that sleep and the night were supposed to have, but that the barnhouse wasn't offered the luxury of in hours past. There was a lightness about it, a gentleness to the weight, as if gravity itself could offer an apology. A release. An understanding.

Elphaba had been drifting in and out of sleep, occasionally sinking her head into the top of blonde hair. And perhaps because she was weaving in and out of consciousness, walking in and out of short dreams, Elphaba didn't process that the stir in her arms wasn't imagined. That her name, in its affectionately shortened form that was only endearing from the one who gave it to her, had not been spoken in her own mind.

But when Glinda pitched forward in a cough, Elphaba shot awake, reflexively reaching out a green hand to support her.

"Fiyero!" The prince flinched into consciousness at the sound of his name, rolling off the bed and looking momentarily boneless in the way he caught himself. Elphaba pulled eye contact with him. "Get her some water."

Elphaba was desperate in that moment to see Glinda's face - her eyes - to see Glinda looking back at her. She felt tears at her thumbs when she took the blonde's cheeks in her hands. Olive green eyes met with doe brown. Glinda started to cry, holding her hands on top of Elphaba's at her face, and bowed her head slightly. Elphaba knelt with her until their foreheads touched.

"I couldn't…I was…" Glinda's words came out in hoarse, broken sobs. "Elphie…"

"Hey, look at me," she whispered, swiping Glinda's tears, holding back her own only enough that she could still see the beautiful face in front of her. She never wanted to lose sight of it again. She held it up to her one more time, meeting Glinda's eyes. "I found you. I will always find you."

Elphaba couldn't help desperately kissing the porcelain forehead and cheeks, her lips catching tears. Glinda threw her arms around green shoulders, clutching at the braids behind them. She sunk into her like a cloak. Elphaba's hands met the back of blonde waves, and she brushed her fingers through them as if they, too, had just come back to her. As if whatever piece of Glinda she didn't confirm was there would slip away again. Pulling Glinda as close as she possibly could, holding her as tight as her fragile bones would allow, the witch was more than content to keep her there forever.

And she made a silent vow to herself that, if Glinda would let her, she would.

I won't leave you behind again.

Glinda wanted to fight the urge to sleep with every fiber of her being, with all five feet of willpower in her body, but she couldn't. The whitewake had worn off. Despite appearances, her mind and body never truly rested on the drug. Now they had to. Glinda wouldn't be trapped anymore, but she had to sleep.

Elphaba was just as exhausted, but she hadn't even let herself blink too long until Glinda's eyes were closed. And even then, with Glinda finally asleep in between Elphaba and the prince, Fiyero had to reach over and remind his lover that she was allowed to rest. He may not have been able to make Glinda feel safe like she could, but he could look after Elphaba. He could smooth the twist in her focused brow with his thumb, watching green eyes meet his, soften, and close. With a sweep down her arm, he felt her muscles relax. Her breathing slowed. Fiyero propped himself on his elbow, leaned forward over Glinda, and kissed Elphaba just as she fell asleep.

Gazing through darkness at the women entwined in front of him, he found himself remembering the Ozdust. Leaning into Glinda and quietly delighting in how putting a pink flower in her hair saw the drop of a more practiced smile, and revealed something almost a little shy. How when he drew her close on the dance floor and made her laugh - actually laugh, not her soprano giggle - he just wanted to pull back the admittedly adorable mask that this girl had on and see who he met underneath. Maybe she was a little like him. Dancing through life.

And then there was Elphaba. Maskless. Like no one he'd ever seen before. Or so he'd thought.

"I'll give her this much, she doesn't give a twig what anyone else thinks."

Glinda had seen what he couldn't see. What Fiyero thought he could always see.

"Of course she does. She just pretends not to."

And Fiyero had looked down at Glinda's face, no longer transfixed on his own, but on Elphaba. Then, he allowed himself to see Elphaba through Glinda's eyes, and the girl in the pointed hat took his breath away. Until that moment, Fiyero had thought he could see through most people. He had enough experience in fogging his own translucency and making it appear to the untrained eye like glass.

But here were these girls.

Hands touched.

Eyes met.

They saw each other.

And in that vulnerability that everyone else on the floor was too busy trying to turn into a dance of their own that could never compare, Fiyero saw them, too.

They were beautiful.

Glinda stirred in Elphaba's arms. Her breathing quickened, and her brows briefly pitched. Fiyero felt an ache in his chest, raising a hand to maybe touch Glinda's brow and calm her, like he could calm Elphaba. He wanted to help her, but his hand faltered. He didn't want to scare her. He didn't want to hurt her. He didn't know what she needed.

As if giving an answer, Elphaba's thumb began to stroke Glinda's hand. She leaned slightly into blonde hair.

"Shh…" Elphaba whispered, eyes closed, perhaps not even truly awake. The blonde let out one last whimpered sigh, then her face calmed and her breathing slowed.

With a tightness in his throat, the prince looked at two women he deeply loved. And with the sting of regret and the burn of self-loathing - looking at Glinda, bruised and sick and hurt - Fiyero had to ask himself:

When did I stop trying to see her?

"I'm Prince Fiyero Tigelaar," the prince said breathlessly. "I'm here to see the Wizard."

The guard in green stood stoic, his red moustache twitching slightly.

"No one sees the Wizard today without personal invitation."

Fiyero scoffed, running his fingers through sweat-soaked hair, shifting unsteadily on legs that had been riding for too long.

"My friend had an invitation," he tried, willing his energy to come off less frantic, standing taller. "Elphaba Thropp, daughter of Munchkinland's Governor Thropp. And her companion, Miss Gali - sorry, Miss Glinda Upland, of the upper Uplands. Miss Glinda and I are going steady, you see, and her family would be very concerned at the delay of her return to university." Fiyero leaned in slightly. "Surely the Wizard would understand my inquiry on the family's behalf. Lest the Upland family think their daughter is being detained without just cause in the Emerald City."

The guard paused. He made eye contact with a pepper-haired guard in a small balcony to the right of the door, who promptly nodded and disappeared.

"One moment, sir."

Fiyero shifted, then stepped back. He looked up at the emerald tower above, shielding the glare of the sun from his eyes. He didn't know what he expected to see - one of the girls fighting a guard to scream for help from a window? The balcony guard returned and shook his head at the door guard. Fiyero scoffed, not needing any more than that to see that he would not be admitted.

"Can you at least tell me if they were here?"

"I cannot say, sir."

Fiyero grabbed at his chin and nodded, hiding the clench of his jaw. He paced away a moment, as if he may leave, then bolted around the redheaded guard and started trying to pull open the door. When it didn't budge, he pounded his fists on the metal.

"Glinda! Elphaba!"

"That's quite enough," snapped the guard, dragging him off the door. Fiyero connected his elbow with the guard's nose and tried the door again, calling the girls' names.

Now, two Emerald Guards removed him, and another four appeared from the east side of the building with muskets. The prince was thrown to the ground at the bottom of the emerald steps, his head snapping back and hitting the dirt. When he straightened, somehow a heavily tinted green window caught his eye more than the four muskets pointed at his face.

A hand on the other side of the glass.