NOTE: Apologies if you read this while it was a formatting nightmare. I didn't realize the italics didn't paste at first for the panic attack scene, which probably made it look more insane, and not in the good "I'm writing a panic attack" way.

"That's why I'm saying we need to get to Kiamo Ko."

"Go, then. I won't stop you."

"I said we, Elphaba. You know I wouldn't go without the two of you."

"Maybe you should, if you're so quick to dismiss everything I've built here!"

"That's not what I'm doing! Fae—"

"Don't."

The knob of the barnhouse twisted and Glinda scurried back into the bedroom closet so as not to get caught eavesdropping. Footsteps entered, slamming a door behind them. A familiar huff of frustration. A regulating breath.

"Glinda?"

"In here."

Glinda made herself look busy. She hung her navy dress in the back section of the closet that she had made an unspoken claim to, along with any of Elphaba's clothes that weren't black. The blonde found herself with a new palette of dark blues and purples. Elphaba noticed her friend and shifted her weight to lean on the closet's doorframe, her tattered leather coat swaying a moment before its skirt settled at her boot-laced calves.

"You alright?"

Glinda bit the inside of her cheek, unveiling a joyless dimple.

"You don't have to keep asking me that."

She absent-mindedly began shifting coats and corsets on the closet railing, pairing like garments in Elphaba's collection together. One leather coat of hers was in much better condition than the one she wore. Glinda held it up, immediately pulling the scent of wood and wind. Of Elphie.

"How come you don't wear this one? It looks like the one you used to have at school." Glinda clutched it to her chest with a bit of a pout in the witch's direction. "I loved that on you."

Elphaba dropped her head a bit, letting out an amused smile and a breath that didn't quite become a laugh.

"It shrunk a little. I left it out in the sun to dry, now it's too tight in the shoulders for flying."

"Well, it still smells like you," Glinda said with a grimace. Elphie straightened herself off the doorframe.

"Smells like me? What do I—" She cut herself off at the sight of Glinda's ever so slightly devious smirk, watching the blonde slip herself into the coat. "Well, now I know you feel better, because you're making fun of me."

Glinda threw her head back in an exasperated groan and closed the distance between them.

"Elphie, why do I always have to be alright or better or telling you I'm fine?"

Elphaba met her eyes, started to say something, then thought better of it. She took Glinda's hands instead, holding them out to see the fit of the coat.

"It suits you."

"I know it does." Glinda raised her brows at Elphie and linked her left arm with the witch's right, escorting the both of them out of the closet and into the main room of the barnhouse.

They passed the couch and Glinda cheekily leaned all her weight until they crashed into it together. Elphaba caved to the unsubtle request, lifting her arm for the blonde to nest under. She floated a book of her current independent studies into her lap.

For a pariah and a fugitive, there wasn't much else to do for the past two weeks besides hope that their genuine appreciation of each other's company would help them forget how desperately restless they both were. Glinda couldn't be seen. And even if the Animals in the western resistance could still use Elphaba's help, it was too dangerous for them to associate with the witch. Fiyero and Feldspur took her place as best they could, helping her keep correspondence so they could still be somewhat involved.

Glinda drew her legs up and sighed into Elphaba's chest. Long, green fingernails delicately found their way into her hair, unmindfully curling and dropping ringlets of blonde. One of Glinda's blinks lingered no more than a second too long, and Elphie flexed her shoulder in a gentle nudge.

"Don't start," Elphaba warned. Glinda tensed, widened her eyes a second, and breathed cool air through her nose. Perhaps sensing the sudden rigidity, Elphaba corrected herself. "Or do. If you have to. You just—"

"No," Glinda interjected. "I told you not to let me. I need to actually start sleeping at night." Even though it felt like tearing herself away from a physical need, she detached herself from Elphaba and crossed to the kitchen. "Do we still have tea?"

"Left drawer, I think."

"Really?" Glinda furrowed her brow at the cabinet above the drawer, reaching up to a higher shelf where she could have sworn she remembered a small drawstring pouch. She found the bag of what she assumed were tea leaves and brought it to the counter, not noticing that Elphaba was standing up behind her. "See, I thought—"

"Glinda—"

The white powder inside of the pouch gave Glinda a stutter in her chest. Then, in an accelerating wave, she began to feel her pulse pound in her throat and neck. She turned a shaky question of a glance towards Elphaba.

"You…? Why do you have this?" Glinda looked at the whitewake once more, then back at Elphaba, who looked like she wanted her to take it.

She wants you to take it.

She kept it so you would take it.

Wait, no she didn't. Did she?

"I'm so sorry, I took it from Morrible. I should have told you. Just in case we needed it - in case we had no idea how to help you, so we could—" Elphaba stopped. She came closer. "Glinda, hey, look at me…" She tried to take the porcelain face in her hands, but there were too many hands and the nails were too long and Glinda pushed them away.

"You can't make me take it." The words felt like they were supposed to be a thought, but Glinda heard them from her own mouth. Then twice more in her head, as the thought they were supposed to be.

"What? Glinda, I'd never want you to take that again."

Of course, that was the truth. Elphaba wouldn't. Right? Morrible's voice rang in her mind, but she could hear Elphaba join in on the words.

Clearly you're useless without it. Let's get you into a room, dearie. We'll talk with the Wizard tomorrow.

"No, don't leave me alone with him…"

Glinda gripped her head, shaking it, and started backing up until she hit the wall.

It's the drug, she reminded herself. It'd done this before. This wasn't real. It's the drug. It's not real.

But it had been weeks. The whitewake should have been out of her system by now. She was supposed to be in control now.

"You've been dosing me?" Glinda shook. "Or someone's been…?" She knew the thoughts weren't hers. She knew the Elphaba standing in front of her was putting away the whitewake on the highest cabinet shelf, not holding it out to her like the other Elphaba that looked wrong. Glinda kept reminding herself: she knew, she knew, she knew…

The blonde slid against the wall until she sat on the floor, and Elphaba descended with her. Glinda's voice came out so small under the cave she'd created with her head in her hands.

"Elphie, it's supposed to be done by now."

"Remember what Fiyero said about some of the lingering side effects? You were on it for weeks, love."

Who's her love? That's not you.

Her love is not for women in crystal gowns.

She could never love you.

"You…you call him 'love', not me." She might have said that or thought it, Glinda didn't know.

Is this really your Elphie?

"She said she loved me, though."

Then she showed him your scars.

Glinda pulled at her hair through fear and confusion, and Elphaba left her. But someone told her to take a deep breath, and she did.

Cold hit Glinda's face in the form of a damp, white cloth. She held her breath. When it came down, Elphie was there. A solid Elphaba, no tricks, no delusions.

"Breathe," the witch told her. Glinda did, locked onto olive eyes like they were her only tether to sanity.

The familiar, terrifying weight of exhaustion began to settle on Glinda. A threat of dreams that she wouldn't be able to wake up from, sleep where the drum of the heart was a hammer to the chest, silks being moved by hands that weren't hers, whispers through a nightmare of,

How was the watch?

Good.

And their laughter. Emerald laughter that started as fog and turned to black tar that sat inside her head and made every word, every touch, every rip, every burn stick. Until it was stuck.

It was still stuck.

"She said that? She said don't leave me alone with him?"

"It was a panic attack."

"Did she mean me?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. She wasn't making much sense."

"Why would she be afraid of me?"

"She's not, Fiyero, and you've got to stop being afraid of her. I can't…" Voice breaking. Crying. Hushed whispers that Glinda couldn't decipher until a small, "I can't do this alone."

Rustling fabric of an embrace. A long one, ending with a kiss.

Glinda didn't pretend to be asleep this time. She sat on the left side of the bed in her chemise and her arm wrap, her back flush against the headboard. Her knees were drawn up to her chest. Fiyero and Elphaba entered the bedroom together, freezing momentarily in matching looks of guilt at the sight of their conscious housemate. Glinda wasn't accusatory, though. She just pulled at a loose string on her bandage. There was a strange resolve, knowing what she had to do.

Elphaba went into the closet to change. The cracked door - rather than closed - was noted by both Glinda and Fiyero. Black cotton sleeves coming off leanly-muscled emerald arms. The prince eventually sat in front of Glinda's view, and she found herself leaning slightly to keep it peripheral.

"Glinda?"

"Hm?" The prince's eyes brought her off of green and onto blue. She saw some variety of asking if she was okay begin to form on his lips. She took his hands in her own before the tired phrase could enter the room. "Fiyero, I'm not afraid of you."

Words failed for the prince, but he kissed Glinda's forehead and held it there long enough for the two of them to feel their history. They parted only when - at least for tonight - uneasiness around the past could be sighed away.

It wasn't a six year erasure, but it was a start.

Glinda waited until well after Elphaba and Fiyero were asleep before slipping herself out of a green embrace. She dropped onto quiet, lithe tiptoes and took Elphaba's broom from the front door. Returning to the bedroom closet, the blonde pulled a stack of Elphaba's books from the wall. She stepped atop them with a bare foot, balancing the broom in one hand with her other hand on the wall. The splayed end of the broom handle knocked a dress down from the shelf above.

The fire in the main living area simmered low. Glinda sat in front of it with her teal gown in her lap, embellished with crystalline sequins. The material was soft, but cold in her hands. It smelled fake, like soaps and perfumes. Nothing like here. Woolen threads that scratched a little but kept you warm, carrying scents of earth and dust and life. Here, things were real. No masks, no makeup, no disguises, no tricks of the light. Just genuine flame.

The silk almost smothered the embers, but eventually the fire burrowed through. Sequins crackled in small sparks of violet and azure. Crystals abandoned their sewn place as well as their luster, dropping into soot and ash below the logs. The garment disappeared, feeding a taller blaze.

Glinda the Good unwrapped her arm to behold her branding. She traced a finger over the deepest cut. The oldest, even if not by much. The tall, sharp line that anchored the "D" in "GOOD". The only one she did herself.

Fiyero awoke to muffled cries and the smell of something organic burning. Elphaba had already bolted up and was swiping the empty spot beside her. She made eye contact with the prince upon discovery of the missing blonde.

"Glinda!"

The prince flew at the door that they hadn't left closed and was met with resistance. Elphaba blasted it open, sending a chair and her broom flying on the other side, splintered wood falling around the doorframe. At the fireplace, with the cloth of her bandage in her mouth to stifle herself, Glinda was holding her arm in the flame.

Fiyero tackled Glinda and rolled the both of them away from the fire, smothering any embers into the rug. By the time he pinned the blonde with her back against his chest and her arm held out for his examination, Elphaba was already waving her hands and chanting over one of her books. Glinda fought against him for a few thrashes of her small form, ultimately resigning herself to looking at the ceiling with tears in her eyes. Tears of pain, tears of anger, tears of sadness - Fiyero didn't know, but he held her with care. Even if he was forcefully keeping her in place and stilling her arm for Elphaba's magic.

The witch stumbled on foreign words of lost languages, and Fiyero recalled her sharing that clerical sorcery had always been her weakest medium. Glinda threw her head back in agony, eyes wide, screaming into the cloth she bit. Bubbling, blistered skin began to shrink and crack.

"I'm sorry!" Elphaba lamented. "I'm sorry, I'm trying!"

"Keep going, you can do it," said Fiyero. In her torment, Glinda fought him less, and he brought one hand to her forehead, keeping her from looking. But the prince watched in horror as the skin of Glinda's arm pulled itself inwards at several points in the burn, dragging flesh back together. Papery, leathery light skin began to flush itself with dull peach atop what used to be black and purple.

Elphaba fell backward into her hands, catching her breath. Glinda was still, but with her eyes wide open. Fiyero removed the cloth from her mouth and wiped the sweat from her forehead. Shakily, fearfully, she peered down at her arm. Fiyero looked with her as Elphaba also leaned forward.

Embedded in pale skin that now had some unusual variations in thickness, tautness, and lines, the "GOOD" scar remained.