NOTE: This first section really belongs in the emotional beats of the previous section, but it just fell here after some rework. I'll move it eventually but didn't want you guys to miss anything, so keeping it here for now.

They decided to leave her arm unwrapped for the night. Elphaba insisted, frightened that her unsteadiness in healing magic wouldn't stick or would cause some adverse affect. Glinda was in no state to argue, or even speak, really. She was no stranger to pain, but that spell…

Fiyero had carried her to the center of the bed, pretending like it wasn't a demotion - a suicide watch - tucking her in like a small, sick child between parents. Trapping her just where she was at in those first whitewake nights, even if it was done with care. It was still too saccharine for the heat that was roiling through Glinda's throat even before her arm was on fire. But she couldn't find words against it even if she had them. Not even in her head.

Glinda wanted to fight. She wanted to scream and break the walls down. She wanted to strike something, someone…maybe worse. But the walls around her were warm, and she didn't want to be cold. The words around her were gentle, even if sometimes whispered behind doors, speaking about her as if she wasn't there. The hands that held her loved her, and she'd never dream of tearing herself away. It wasn't like she even wanted them to be gone, she just needed to feel the act of defiance. An act of anything against what was being forced upon her. Anything that wasn't some plastered attempt to emulate the word so associated with Glinda that…

"Hold her down."

She pinched her eyes shut to forget - forget, forget, forget - until white stars dappled the inside of her eyelids and distracted her enough.

Rolling on her side, she tried to keep the past out of her head. Elphaba's smell, like the wind. Like her jacket and broom. Glinda nestled closer to it. Lips met her forehead, and a voice whispered in her ear.

"I love you."

But she doesn't want you. You're broken.

FUCK. OFF.

A hand touched the side of her face, stroking her furrowed temple. Glinda opened her eyes to meet Elphie's.

"You okay?" Elphaba whispered. Glinda didn't know what frustrated her more - hearing that question, or the fact that her answer to it would have been no. Elphaba's thumb gently tapped the center of Glinda's forehead. "It looks a little busy up there."

Busy. Angry. Addled with a drug she never wanted to take that never seemed to fully leave her. Or maybe she was just crazy now. Maybe they'd call her Glinda the Mad. A double entendre in this case.

"Can you talk?"

Glinda forced herself to take a huge inhale, closing her eyes when she let it all out. One word found its way forward again.

"Yes."

"I never know if it's the spell, or…" Elphie trailed off, her expression guilt-ridden. "The…pain. But that happens. It's hard to talk after. Broken bones, major bleeding, burns…it's going to be a painful fix. I've only done it when I had to. I…don't do it well."

Glinda looked down at her arm in confusion, which now barely even had a mark behind her branding. There wasn't much sensation there anymore, but perhaps that was temporary.

"What do you mean?" Glinda - once a vainglorious little "Galinda" who would cry at an unwanted freckle - found herself strangely disappointed to see the leathery twists disappear, as if seeing a piece of Elphie even within something she hated could never be a blemish.

"It's not supposed to be painful," Elphaba explained. "When done right. But I've had to, a few times, for the Animals. If it's dire or needed immediately."

Glinda watched her friend find her arm, pick it up, and inspect the healing of both her spell and the scars.

I'm disgustifying.

You're beautiful.

The blonde let her do it, even though she wanted to pull away. Because it was Elphie, she didn't. Even without much sensation there, she couldn't help but feel exposed when the witch seemed to notice how one piece of the branding was deeper than the others.

"Why didn't it heal, too?" Glinda asked in a small voice.

"That's not how it works, but I wish it was." Elphaba kissed her hand and, perhaps sensing Glinda's discomfort, released her arm. "Clerical sorcery, healing…I'm not an expert, but it's more like a bargain with nature for reversal. If you close someone's open wound, it's not going to make their childhood scars go away. They're already embedded."

Embedded.

Glinda nodded. She dropped her gaze to her arm, turning it over so she couldn't see what she didn't want to see.

"Aren't you going to ask me how?"

"Do you want me to?"

"…no."

Glinda let herself be pulled closer by Elphaba's arms, their foreheads nearly touching, their lips inches apart while Fiyero softly snored away on the other side of the blonde.

"Then I won't," said Elphaba. Glinda exhaled, not even realizing the tension she was holding until then. Her head dipped slightly, inadvertently putting her best friend's neck and chest in her field of vision. The sleeveless nightgown left too much for Glinda's imagination and she may or may not have fixated on it more than once.

"Elphie, can I ask you something?"

"Anything, love."

Love. Glinda started to feel warm. A fluttering in her chest. Could she ask? Wasn't she already asking with her eyes - with their closeness? Was it the spell keeping her voice back, or her own cowardice?

Kiss me.

Glinda wished she didn't have to ask. She wished she knew just what would be okay. That Elphie would kiss her, and that Glinda could just take Elphaba's beautiful fucking face in her hands and press her lips against them until they both had to come up for air.

"Don't be afraid. I won't drop you. I'm going to carry you, okay? Wrap your legs around me. Lock your ankles. Tuck your head. Breathe."

Even as terrified as she was, as sick as she was, Glinda remembered wanting nothing more than to kiss Elphaba's neck while their hips were flush against each other. To find her lips after, and crash her own against them under the moonlight in that Emerald City alleyway, to feel themselves fall back against the brick wall and hold it for leverage. For Elphaba to drop her broom, for the danger around them to slip away like magic, and for the witch to grip her by the loaned leather coat and never let her go.

"Glinda? You look flushed."

With the frustrated sigh of being too scared to say what she really wanted to say, Glinda tried to at least do what she might have the courage to do. She scooted towards her and tucked her head under Elphaba's chin, feeling her heart calm at the intimate smell. Glinda had always let Elphaba hold her. She relished it when she did, even back at Shiz. But she never held Elphie quite the way she wanted.

So Glinda pulled their chests against each other, feeling Elphaba's breasts against her own through the fabric of their nightgowns. She put a hand behind the swell of Elphie's hip, pulling it to her own. Her other arm tucked itself under where Elphaba lay on her side to weave black and brown braids through her fingers. Under the covers, Glinda's foot found where Elphaba's ankles rested against each other. She invited herself between them, hooking herself in at the knee, trying to ignore the shudder when fabric lifted and silken emerald thighs embraced one of Glinda's legs. Just feeling every possible part of them touch that she could - entwined as they could become.

"Is this okay?" Glinda held her breath for the answer.

"Of course," came the whispered return. Elphaba found her own place in the embrace, mostly wrapping arms around Glinda's shoulders to pull into the closeness that the blonde was breathing in like oxygen. The fierceness of her need stung her eyes, but tears didn't fall. She felt Elphaba's chin shift at her head, noticing something. "Are you okay?"

"No." Glinda's voice broke on too short of a word to try and fix it. She steeled her resolve not to cry, trying to feel the skin against hers and live in the fantasy that Elphaba wanted it there as much as she did. "But this helps."

NOTE: Here's where I'd say the actual chapter starts.

Glinda awoke with a start, the sweat on her chest and brow chilling her atop emerald sheets that she'd refused to tuck into. She looked at the walls, at the tall stained glass window with the night moon coming through, so cold and looming and alone. Tears fell again into a pillowcase that was still wet.

Glinda rolled over for a dry pillow to ruin, only to find herself screaming.

A set of eyes - one emerald, one amber - peered through the darkness. She shot to her feet and instinctively retreated to the other side of the room, falling into the corner and cowering, her face in her hands.

"Please don't hurt me!" she begged. "Elphaba didn't mean - I'm sorry! - she wanted to help you! I know she just wanted to help you! It was whatever was in that nasty Grimmerie!"

Glinda heard the shuffle of footsteps in a simian gait, approaching her slowly. She pinched her eyes shut, covering her ears as if she could still hear the flying Monkeys screeching at her through broken glass.

"The Wizard will speak to me in the morning," she tried, desperately willing her voice to become solid. "He'll be very cross with you if he finds out you—"

Glinda opened her eyes to see that the Monkey wasn't, in fact, coming to rip her delicate face to shreds.

He was holding out her light pink jacket.

After staring in confusion for a moment, coming down from her terror, the Monkey bowed his head. He briefly brought his hands to each of his forearms, still with the garment in his left, imitating someone shivering, then held it out to Glinda again. Tentatively, she took it. He made a shivering motion once more, nodded towards her, and Glinda slipped her arms into the sleeves. It wasn't much, but it felt warmer than the bed. More like home.

She watched the Monkey exhale as if in relief, but with a sadness that came to his tan, wrinkled brow. His lips started to move, a small grunt emerged, but he became frustrated with that and instead found himself at the window. He gestured for Glinda to follow. Shakily, she rose to her feet. A furry blue hand pointed towards the statue of the Wizard in the square.

"The Wizard?" Glinda asked. The Monkey nodded with a huff. "What about the Wizard?"

He took his right index finger to his forehead, then collapsed the hand down to his other.

"HMPH…LEEF," he grunted. His lips twisted with some difficulty, hands slapping together as he made the motion again from his temple to his hand. "EE-LEEV."

"Leaf…leave?" Glinda guessed. "I can't leave. They won't let me." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't—."

"BEE-LEEV," the Monkey tried again. Forehead. Hands. "BEE-LEEV." And he pointed to the Wizard statue.

"Believe?" Glinda could see in the enthusiastic nod of the Monkey's head that she had guessed right, but his expression remained foreboding for a reason she couldn't understand. "Believe the Wizard?" A sharp nod, and a grunt. "Of course. I'm sure I can trust His Ozness as soon as—"

"NO!"

The Monkey gripped Glinda's hands, not hurting her but in a way that was so intense that she let out a short whimper. When he saw how he scared her, he bowed his head again and squeezed her hands. He patted them gently and dropped them. Then he held out two furry palms that faced himself, fingers outstretched, and closed them into two fists as if he was gripping a rope.

"RUSS." He made the gripping sign. "NO. RUSS."

"Don't trust," Glinda translated. "Don't trust the Wizard."

A sharp nod. The Monkey once again pointed to the statue of the Wizard. Then made the sign that came down from his forehead to hand. Suddenly, she understood. At least, she understood what he was trying to say. Not the implications of it.

"Believe him."

"From the eastern resistance - as in Nest Fallows?" Elphaba donned her coat and hat. "How in Oz did he get all the way out here?"

"On his own, Miss Fae," Qaurel fluttered. "All the way from the East. He can't speak. Please hurry, without you he won't have much time left. It might need that dark book of yours, wounds are not all new. He flew all this way specifically for us - for our help, or to help us, perhaps both - but he was accosted by the Emerald Guard."

"You said he flew?"

"Yes, miss Fae," clarified the Bird. "A Monkey. One of yours."

Elphaba froze. The flying Monkeys who hadn't become ferocious and wild at the result of her spell all those years ago were usually loyal to the Wizard. If they pretended not to be, they were often spies for Madame Morrible. She hadn't heard of any Monkey loyalty in the resistance. Their entire culture and community was under the Wizard's thumb. Even the ones who could prove themselves worthy double agents of information could not fully separate themselves from emerald clutches without risking the lives of their families, or without risk of their own torture. From what Elphaba understood, their roles as protectors and guards were a piece of their culture, and it had been specifically connected to the powers in the Emerald City - whoever held them - for generations. For some it was a pride, others a chain.

Through the corner of her eye, Elphaba saw a toss of champagne blonde in the bedroom doorway. Imperceptible to Qaurel and the window, the witch waved a forceful hand at her side as if to tell her, get back.

"How do we know we can trust him?" asked the witch. "You say he's already at the chapel? At our base?

"Viceamus vouches for him, as well as Jasper Rye. They'd heard of his work in the east. But just in case, no one is there except them. I dismissed everyone so we could bring you without any rabble about kidnapping and the like. Please, Miss Fae–"

"I know, I know…" Elphaba retrieved her satchel and The Grimmerie. She didn't want to stall. She wanted to be there and help, but the problem of leaving Glinda here alone to possibly hurt herself again or bringing her along at risk of exposing her was not an easy one to solve. Fiyero was north towards the Kells for a night, trying to get word on the troops of Emerald Guard that seemed to be stretching out in small groups across Oz. Despite his disapproval, Qaurel did know Glinda was here. He'd known since the first day, even if it was somewhat unspoken between them. The witch sighed, nearing the Bird and lowering her voice. "I might have to bring her."

Before he even had a chance to react, Glinda emerged from the bedroom with her coat, having already fashioned her hair in a braid with a scarf over it.

"I can help." She handed Elphaba her broom. "I'm coming."

Glinda didn't recognize him at first. She was in the back of the chapel, sitting in a pew as instructed by Elphaba, so she couldn't see well. His fur was covered in wounds and viscera. She had to fight to keep her stomach from lurching at the sight of it, so she didn't get a good look at his face, especially from this far away. But when the Monkey pitched forward in a cough that spewed blood, his eyes bulged before falling back unconscious.

One emerald eye, one amber eye.

Glinda's heart faltered at the sight of him. Relief and guilt wove together in equal measure. She thought he was dead. Then again, it was Morrible who told Glinda as much. That was three years ago.

"His tongue has been cut, but we can't find the wound," said the man with long, dark hair - Viceamus, Glinda gathered. He had cloth pressure applied to the wounds on the Monkey's chest and side. Blood pooled in his mouth, choking him even when his torso turned sideways, turning his lips as blue as his fur when he wrestled for air.

"His tongue was already cut," Glinda interjected, standing up. What she didn't care to share was that it was her fault. His tongue was removed by force because he got caught speaking to and comforting a young, frightened Glinda who was otherwise all alone in that cold palace. It was the first time they'd hurt him for looking after her, but it wasn't the last. "It has to be something else." Viceamus studied the blonde apprehensively, then returned to his examination.

"Internal bleeding, then, perhaps?" he said mostly to himself. Viceamus began prodding at the Monkey's chest. "It's time for that book, Miss Fae."

Elphaba, who had until that moment begun to parse through the Grimmerie, stopped short and looked at the blonde.

"Do you know him?"

"You know him, too - it's Chistery." In defiance of the entire flight over where Elphaba had made it clear that Glinda was to remain quiet and invisible for her own anonymity, the blonde ran to the table. Before the witch could protest, Glinda stood firm in front of her. "He helped me for years. He was my friend. He is my friend." And through the vagueness that Glinda knew she had to keep here, she willed Elphaba to understand.

With a tension in her face that the blonde knew was only out of worry for Glinda's safety, the witch returned to the spellbook.

The blonde noticed with a pain in her heart that Chistery's hands had been mangled and crushed, and that the injury was not new. She took one of them into her own, even in its addled state.

"He can speak with his hands if you fix them," Glinda offered.

"And who will understand him, Miss?"

Glinda shot a glare back at Qaurel.

"I can," she said firmly. "Speech may be one form of communication, Master Qaurel, but it's not the only one."

"As long as we can understand him, it doesn't matter," Elphaba diffused. "I'll find communication…. Communication instead of specifically speech. Maybe that will give him his hands back…" Elphaba whispered over the Grimmerie, and the room took on the soft yellow glow of the book that obeyed the witch. "Hands, understanding, close the wounds…" And the book fell to a page illustrated by two open palms - perhaps with somewhat claw-like fingers - in front of a silhouetted head.

Elphaba began to chant over the glow of the Grimmerie, as adept as the first time Glinda saw her. Glinda gave Chistery's hand one more squeeze before stepping back.

It started with a pop. Wrists bending backwards until the long simian fingers were flush with the lower forearm. Only his left hand snapped forward, fingers outstretched, fingernails lengthening and browning like claws. A crackle seemed to echo under the skin as digits twisted into some semblance of a place, something functional, even if not exactly where they were supposed to be. Glinda put a hand over her mouth and stumbled slightly backwards.

Elphaba's chanting continued, the book illuminating her face and making her eyes look more emerald. If the fracturing of bones alarmed her, even Glinda couldn't tell.

Chistery shrieked into consciousness, his torso twisting to the side as he coughed blood, his shoulders heaving, mouth agape and gasping for air when the viscera cleared from his throat, eyes bulging in pain. The wounds on his chest folded over themselves until they closed. Chistery fell back, his head at an angle to observe his right hand as it also cracked forward, more slowly than the other, and the Monkey growled through each splinter of reformation.

The tattoos on his chest glowed like the Grimmerie under Elphaba's face. Runic and ancient symbols made new waves and lines that traveled down one arm, ending in the palm of the Monkey's large hand and encasing it completely in gold from the wrist down.

He pinched his eyes closed, and grimaced through the reforming of his other hand in its agonizingly sluggish repair. He seemed to be growing faint.

Glinda slowly neared the table again.

"Chistery?"

She caught Elphaba's eyes despite the witch's focus on her spell, perhaps trying to urge her to stay back even as she was nearing completion. In Glinda's hesitation of the witch's warning, she didn't notice Chistery's gold hand fly towards her and grip her arm. Though she seemed to be nearly finished, Elphaba immediately stopped chanting.

"Let her go!"

Then for a moment, for Glinda, the world went away.

With the touch of Chistery's gold hand, it came to her like knowledge. Like fact. Somehow in Chistery's voice, images of the signs Glinda knew in her head, while at the same time the communication couldn't be described as a string of words. She was just certain of what she now knew.

Elphaba pried Chistery's hand from Glinda's wrist and squared the blonde in front of her to make sure she was alright.

"His brothers," Glinda said urgently. "His brothers and their children, they're in a caravan of cages with only one injured guard escorting them. He took out the others but would have died there if he didn't come here. He wouldn't have been able to help them at all. They're east of Kumbricia's Pass. His brothers know where all the Emerald Guards are moving, but they have their children. They're threatening to kill them all. Elphie, if you hurry—"

Elphaba looked between Chistery and Glinda in confusion. Chistery, with desperation on his face, signed brother, nieces, nephews, please - Glinda was surprised how much sign she remembered - and the Monkey gestured for the witch to take his hand.

"Let him touch you, that's what happened," Glinda rushed, dragging the witch's hand towards the Monkey. "That's what your spell did. That's how he told me."

Elphaba let Chistery touch her arm with his gold hand, and it seemed the same realization psychically befell her. But the witch's eyes darted anxiously between the door and Glinda.

"I can't leave you."

"Elphie, go!" Glinda begged. "He has no other family - please!"

Elphaba looked uncertainly at Qaurel and the two other resistance leaders, then back at Glinda. She breathed herself into resolve, then glared at the three rebels with hooded eyes that could kill and a husky, dark timbre that made even Glinda shudder.

"If you try anything, try to tell anyone she's here—"

"She's safe, Miss Fae," Qaurel promised.

"Go," Glinda emphasized again. Elphaba shakily took Glinda's face in her hands, fear pooling into her eyes, the likes of which Glinda hadn't seen in six years. The blonde felt the fierce protectiveness radiating through green fingers. "Please, please, please, be safe." Elphaba pulled a fair cheek to her lips, then Glinda's forehead. And with her satchel and broom, the witch raced off.

Passing over awkward glances from the Animals and returning a short but practiced smile - Oz, she thought she was done with having to do that - Glinda focused her attention back on Chistery. The Monkey began to sit up on the table, feathered wings unfolding at his back. She tried to assist him. His gold hand took her arm for support, then he suddenly startled.

"Chistery?"

The Monkey's expression sombered, needing to look away a moment. He brought a pointed knuckle to his left cheek in a small circle - a sign he created for her years ago, referencing the placement of her dimple. Then his fist circled at his chest, signing sorry, sorry, sorry…

Glinda leaned back a moment, steeling herself, acutely aware of Qaurel's confused looks and wishing he and the other two would just leave them alone.

"Chistery, I don't blame you for anything," Glinda whispered.

The heterochromic eyes met hers, with a small shake of the Monkey's head. And with an outstretched finger, despite it being covered by her sleeve, Chistery traced the exact placement of Glinda's deepest scar. With tears in his eyes, he placed his golden palm on top of the "GOOD" branding he couldn't physically see, but somehow did.

In her head, Glinda heard,

"You still are, you know."