DAWN crept across the Emerald City's spires, turning their faceted surfaces from deepest jade to liquid gold. The first rays of sunlight caught Boq's tin surface in unexpected ways, scattering diamonds of light across the palace walls—a display that would have once delighted him, back when he was flesh and blood and prone to such simple joys. Now it only reminded him of how Ryn's brown eyes had sparkled in the lamplight last night, how the young Munchkin woman had looked at him with such unguarded curiosity in that quiet alcove.
His tin fingers drummed against the palace balcony railing, creating a soft metallic rhythm that seemed to echo the odd tempo of his thoughts. The morning air held just enough moisture to make his joints protest slightly, but he couldn't quite bring himself to go inside. Not yet. Not when the memory of Ryn's hand resting so naturally on his arm still lingered, as if it had always belonged there, making his heart clock tick in strange, syncopated patterns he'd thought impossible.
"Well," he muttered under his breath, his words tumbling out as if they'd been waiting all morning to escape. "This is—oh, brilliant, Boq. Just brilliant. Another fine mess." The faintest chuckle escaped him, wobbly and unsure, as he leaned against the creaking balcony railing."First, crying in corners like a—a drippy faucet, then… oh, what was it?" He pressed his tin fingers against his forehead, the faint tap-tap-tap echoing in the still air. "Right. Scaring that poor girl half to—" His voice broke off, a nervous little laugh slipping through. "Well, not quite. Not Ryn." The name hung there, soft and hopeful, as his tin chest gave a faint clank. "She didn't flinch. Not once." His words slowed, quieting as he let the thought settle. "Not like the others. She looked at me like I was still… just Boq. Not a—a squeaky, hollow shell."
Ryn hadn't been afraid of him. Since his transformation, others had judged and feared him, but not her. Last night, this beautiful, compassionate Munchkin woman had seen him as normal—as just another Munchkin man. She'd said his name last night—his real name—without hesitation or pity, and she'd not asked him any questions about how it had happened to him. No curious glances at his metal joints, no flinching at his oily tears, no painful questions about the flesh and blood Munchkin man he used to be. For the first time since his transformation, he'd felt…at peace. The sensation was so foreign he'd spent half the night trying to understand it, wandering the palace corridors long after the victory celebrations had died down.
The usual voices—the screams, the spells, the whispers—had stayed quiet for once. No Elphaba. No Nessa. Not even that first, horrible morning, waking up as something unrecognizable. Just silence. And her name. He lifted his tin hand to his face, fingers scraping against the metal surface. A sound like a sigh escaped his lips, and he moved his hand to his neck, feeling the joints growing stiff—he'd need to oil them soon. The memory of the young Munchkin woman lingered vividly in his mind—Ryn in the palace corridor, light streaming through the windows and glinting off her dark brown hair. Her warm brown eyes and her bright smile seemed unmatched in all of Oz. The thought brought a sharp jolt to his hollow chest.
He never imagined another woman, aside from Glinda, could stir these old, forgotten feelings. Yet deep inside, something fought against them. Though the feelings were light and breathless, a darker undercurrent stirred within him—a shadowy sense of wrongness, taunting him from the depths of his mind.
Do you really think she saw past the tin? The voice in his mind sneered. Still chasing after women who'll never want you...
"N-no," he whispered, straightening his frame with a series of soft clicks and creaks. "T-this is different." He adjusted his funnel cap for the dozenth time that morning—a nervous habit that had always worn a shiny spot in his tin waves—and pushed himself away from the balcony railing.
The courtyard below was beginning to fill with the usual morning bustle: servants hurrying with fresh linens, gardeners clearing away the remnants of last night's celebrations, and guards changing shifts with practiced precision.
Boq nearly smiled thinking about Ryn's kindness and modesty. Surely she'd find it annoying if he checked on her and dropped by the salons where she worked unannounced, especially so early in the morning when she would likely be busy with patrons …but the desire to talk with her again won over his doubts.
His tin hands trembled at his sides as he finally turned from the balcony, brushing against his metal frame with soft tinks that reminded him, absurdly, of rain. Had he still possessed sweat glands, they would have been working frantically indeed.
Boq twisted his face into what he hoped was a warm, dignified expression, though the creaking of his facial plates suggested otherwise. His feet carried him away from the balcony and through the palace corridors, each step accompanied by the gentle scrape of metal against marble. The morning sun streaming through the stained glass windows warmed his tin surface as he charted his path through the hallways.
The Wash and Brush Up Co. wasn't far—it sat nestled in the palace's east wing, its ornate copper sign still polished to a mirror shine. How strange to think that this was where they'd all been transformed that day—Dorothy's hair curled and styled, Lion's mane trimmed, perfumed, and beribboned, the Scarecrow re-stuffed with fresh hay. Even Boq himself had been buffed and polished until he'd gleamed like new. They'd emerged feeling prepared to meet the great and powerful Oz himself, not knowing then how their destinies would unfold.
Now here he was again, drawn back to the same salon where their adventure had truly begun. Only this time, it wasn't the promise of an audience with the Wizard that pulled him forward—it was the hope of seeing Ryn's smile, of hearing her say his name again in that way that made his heart clock skip a tick.
The salon was already bustling when he reached its arched entrance, the morning air perfumed with hair tonics and polish. Several attendants moved gracefully between stations, but his gaze found Ryn immediately.
She was arranging combs and brushes at her station. Her dark hair was tucked beneath a matching white cap, drawn into two neat braids that made Boq's hollow chest clang with the memory of Dorothy's pigtails. But while Dorothy's had been the carefree plaits of a child, Ryn's were elegantly twisted and pinned—practical yet striking in a way that made Boq's heart clock falter in its rhythm.
Boq hesitated in the doorway, his joints creaking softly with nervous tension. Perhaps this had been a mistake. Perhaps he should turn back. But before he could act on the impulse, Ryn turned and caught sight of him. For a brief moment, surprise flitted across her face, but it quickly gave way to a small, hesitant smile.
Her eyes sparkled in the morning light, and she fiddled with the ends of one of her plaited braids as she said softly, "Hello, Boq. It's...it's wonderful to see you again." Her voice was warm, yet tinged with a hint of nervousness, as though she wasn't quite sure if he'd wanted to be noticed. Ryn's fingers fidgeted with a comb she'd been holding, spinning it absently between her hands. "I...I was hoping you'd stop by today," she added, her words hurried, as if she'd surprised herself by saying them aloud.
Boq's joints stiffened, the faint creak of metal filling the small gap of silence as he struggled to find the right words. His gaze flicked up cautiously, meeting hers, and the sight before him was unexpectedly soothing. Ryn's smile, shy but genuine, seemed to soften the air around them. Instead of the wariness he was so used to seeing, her expression reflected something that startled him: genuine happiness. He searched her face, almost bracing for the faintest flicker of hesitation or fear, but it wasn't there.
The sincerity in her expression was disarming, and the last thing she'd said played over in his mind on a loop: she was happy to see him. It was such a foreign thing to hear that he wasn't sure how to respond.
"Well, it is..." Boq stammered, his voice catching like a cog in need of oil. His gaze flickered downward as if searching for words on the polished floor. "W-wonderful to see you too," he managed, the syllables clicking together awkwardly. He shifted his weight, the faint groan of metal filling the pause. "I didn't mean to barge in." His hands fidgeted at his sides, and the soft scrape of tin against tin was nearly lost in the salon's busy hum. "I only thought..." He forced a tight smile that strained his face plates, the expression emerging uneven and crooked. "I-I mean, if you're not too busy..."
Ryn tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a flush creeping up her neck. "Oh no, you're not interrupting at all." Her voice was soft, almost lost in the gentle snip of scissors nearby. "I was about to take my break, actually..." She lifted her gaze to meet his, something hopeful flickering in her expression. "Would you like to sit? We could talk for a while."
Boq's heart clock skipped a beat, its rhythm faltering like a sputtering gear. "I'd l-like that," he blurted, too quickly, the words tumbling over each other. His joints creaked audibly, and he glanced around, catching a few curious glances from the other stylists. A wave of embarrassment tightened his frame, and his hands curled into nervous fists, the grinding sound making him wince.
Ryn stepped closer as if trying to shield him from the attention. "There's a quiet spot in the back," she offered, her fingers twisting the fabric of her apron. Pink bloomed deeper across her cheeks. "Away from everyone."
Relief eased through his tin frame as he followed her through the maze of styling stations. The salon's symphony of voices and clinking tools faded with each step until they reached a small table tucked into a sun-warmed nook. Morning light spilled through the window, catching the hints of copper in Ryn's hair as she pulled out a chair.
Boq lowered himself carefully into the seat, his joints giving a soft creak. "I...I hope I'm not pulling you away from anything important," he said nervously, his words rushing together. "I-I mean, I'm hardly in need of a trim these days." He gave an awkward chuckle and tapped his metallic waves with a finger, producing a faint clink.
Ryn's fingers toyed with the edge of her apron, her lips curving into a shy smile. "The morning rush won't start for a while yet," she replied gently. Her gaze flicked up to meet his before darting away, the flush deepening in her cheeks. "I...I'm glad you're here I wanted to...to make sure you were alright, after last night. Everything happened so quickly, and I wasn't sure if..." She faltered, her words trailing off as if unsure how to express the thought.
Boq shifted in his chair, his fingers curling nervously against the table's edge. "You mean after I made such a spectacle of myself?" He tried for a self-deprecating laugh, but it came out brittle. Adjusting his funnel cap, he continued, "Truth be told, I almost didn't come. Spent half the night pacing these halls like a wound-up toy soldier." He hesitated, his voice softening. "But then I thought about...you. About how kind you were. How you didn't look at me like I was some...clanking oddity."
"You're not a curiosity," Ryn said quickly, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "You're..." She bit her lip, seeming to struggle with the words. "You're just Boq. The way you told me last night."
"Just Boq," he repeated, the words fragile in his mouth. His tin frame shifted uncomfortably, his joints creaking as he leaned back in the chair. "It's been so long since anyone's called me that, I'd almost forgotten how it sounds." He glanced at her, his gaze tentative, almost pleading. "Though I suppose a rusty tin man like me shouldn't get too used to such kindness."
"Oh, don't say that." Ryn's voice was soft, but there was a firmness to it that made Boq's joints still. "Just because you're made of tin doesn't make your feelings any less real or any less important."
Their eyes met across the sunlit table, and for a moment, Boq forgot about his tin form, about the curious stares from the other stylists, about everything except the gentle understanding in Ryn's gaze.
"I...uh..." He finally spoke, his voice barely louder than the ticking of his heart clock. "You're very kind to say that. Though it's hard to feel very important when one's head is..." He gestured to his metallic waves with a rueful grin. "Quite empty."
Ryn's brow furrowed briefly as if considering his words. "Empty? I don't think so," she said softly, her tone thoughtful. Then, as if struck by a sudden idea, she leaned forward slightly, her expression bright with sudden inspiration. "You know, I've been thinking about what you said last night, about your hair." She gestured toward his metallic waves. "It really is beautifully crafted. Almost like...like mountain laurel, the way it catches the light."
Boq's heart clock skipped again, the comparison tugging at long-forgotten memories. "Mountain laurel," he murmured. "That's...that's what grew in my garden. Back home." His voice grew quieter. "They were my favorite."
Ryn's eyes lit up, and her smile grew. "That's a lovely coincidence." She reached up instinctively as if to touch his hair, then froze halfway and quickly dropped her hand, her cheeks turning pink. "I mean, it has its own kind of charm. Like you."
"T-they do?" Boq squeaked, his joints creaking softly as he straightened in his chair. "You're one of the first to ever say anything nice about them, aside from..." He hesitated, the words catching in his throat.
Dorothy's name hovered on the edge of his mind, and just the thought of her brought a swell of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. His eyes prickled with unshed tears, and he furiously blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. With a quick shake of his head, he pushed the feelings aside, though the ache lingered in his chest. Dorothy was gone, and he knew deep down his dear friend wasn't likely to return. He remembered he owed Ryn an answer and parted his lips to speak, though it took him a moment to find the words.
"Most folks just wonder why a tin man like me has any hair at all!" Boq adjusted his funnel cap nervously, then added in a softer voice, "Though it's...it's rather nice to hear."
"Well, I am a stylist," Ryn replied, a playful glint in her eye as she twisted one of her dark braids between her fingers. "I notice these things. And..." She hesitated, her voice growing quieter. "If you ever wanted me to polish it for you...or help you with it somehow, I'd be happy to."
Boq blinked at her, his heart clock ticking loud enough that he was certain she could hear it. "You'd do that? For me?"
"Of course," Ryn said gently. Her blush deepened, but she didn't look away this time. "Though I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."
"Oh no, no, you wouldn't," Boq said hastily, his words tumbling out. "I mean, I-I might get a little squeaky...nervous squeaky, I mean. But it's only because you're so...I mean, you're very—" He clapped his hands over his face plates with an audible clang. "Oh, gracious, I'm babbling."
Ryn giggled, a sound like the tinkling of delicate bells. "I don't mind the squeaking," she said softly, her eyes warm. "It's actually...endearing.
"E-Endearing?" Boq repeated, his tin voice pitching higher than he intended. He fanned himself awkwardly with his funnel cap, as though that might cool the metallic heat rising to his face plates. "W-well, that's... That's a new one." He chuckled nervously, the sound rattling in his hollow chest. "Most people just suggest I oil up a bit more."
Ryn laughed, the sound like tiny silver bells, stirring something in Boq's hollow chest that he hadn't felt in years. "Well, then they weren't listening properly. I think your squeaking has its own...charm." Her gaze flicked to his, lingering this time. "Besides, if you didn't squeak, how would I know you're really here?"
Boq blinked at her, caught off guard by the way her words stirred something deep inside him. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, and for a moment he forgot about the squeaks, the creaks, the way his joints always seemed too stiff. "That's...kind of you to say. Really kind." His voice softened. "I can't remember the last time someone thought that way about me."
Ryn's cheeks flushed, but her smile didn't waver. "Maybe they just didn't take the time to notice," she said quietly. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her apron, and her voice grew shy. "I—I'm glad you stopped by. I've been thinking about last night, about how upset you were. I just wanted to make sure you were alright."
Boq's face plates creaked as his expression shifted. Her words were gentle, but they still brushed against the raw edge of his shame from the night before. He tapped his fingers against the table, the soft metallic rhythm filling the pause. "Truthfully," he admitted, "I'm still not sure why you stayed. Most people wouldn't. Most people don't."
Ryn blinked, clearly taken aback by the question. She looked down, her hands twisting in her lap. "I..." She hesitated, as though weighing her words carefully. "I suppose I stayed because I didn't want to leave you alone. You looked... You looked like you needed someone." Her blush deepened as she glanced up at him. "If that's alright to say."
Boq stared at her, unsure how to respond. Her words weren't pitying, and that made them all the more difficult to accept. "You...you didn't think I was just a rusting mess, then?" he asked hesitantly, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Ryn shook her head, her dark braid shifting over her shoulder. "Not at all," she said simply. "You seemed...human." She paused, her brow furrowing as though searching for the right word. "You seemed like someone who'd been carrying something heavy for a long time. And I thought...maybe I could help, even if just a little."
Her honesty struck something in him, a note so pure it made his heart clock stutter. He ducked his head, unsure how to meet her gaze without crumbling under the weight of it.
"You did help," he murmured after a moment, his voice low and earnest. "More than you know."
Ryn's fingers stilled in her lap, and her eyes softened. "I'm glad," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She hesitated, then added with a small, hopeful smile, "I'd like to keep helping. If you'll let me."
The offer settled over him like a balm, soothing the ache he'd carried for so long that he'd almost grown used to it. He straightened in his chair, his joints creaking softly, and found himself smiling—crooked, uneven, but real. "I...I'd like that too," he said, his voice trembling with something close to wonder.
Ryn beamed at him, the sunlight catching in her dark eyes and making them shimmer like polished glass. She started to say something, then paused, her gaze flicking to the window where the light was climbing higher. "I should probably get back soon," she admitted reluctantly. "The morning rush will start any moment now."
Boq's heart clock ticked in disappointment, but he quickly pushed the feeling aside. He couldn't—wouldn't—let her think he wasn't grateful for the time they'd shared.
"O-Of course," he said, nodding hastily. "I don't want to keep you from your work. You're already too kind to spend your break with me."
"It wasn't a kindness," Ryn said softly, standing and smoothing her apron. "I wanted to." Her voice lingered, quiet but sure, as though the words carried something fragile and important. "Maybe...you could stop by again? Later, when it's not so busy?"
Boq blinked at her, his heart clock ticking a faster rhythm. "You'd...want to see me again?" The question escaped before he could stop it, his tin frame tensing in anticipation of her reply.
Ryn smiled shyly, brushing one of her braids back over her shoulder. "I'd like to," she admitted, her tone tinged with quiet determination. "I think there's more to you than the tin, Boq. I'd like to know what that is. If you're willing to share."
The sunlight caught her smile, sending a jolt through his hollow chest. For the first time in years, it didn't feel quite so hollow. He nodded, his face plates creaking with the motion.
"I'd...like that very much." His voice was careful, deliberate, as though the words might break if spoken too quickly.
Ryn hesitated, then added softly, "You're special, Boq. Different in a good way."
"D-different in a good way?" Boq repeated, his tone wonderingly. He leaned forward, his voice lowering. "You're quite different yourself, Ryn. Most people just see the tin and run the other way. But you..." He paused, his tone softening. "You stayed."
Her hands stilled in her lap, and when her gaze met his, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Maybe I didn't want to run."
The words settled between them like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Boq's joints creaked as he sat straighter, his tin features frozen in surprise. Goodness, if he had his heart now, it would be racing.
"I was thinking..." Boq began hesitantly, his hands twisting together, "that is, if you'd l-like to...maybe we could go for a w-walk sometime? When you're not working, of course."
But before he could finish, the sound of footsteps echoed behind them, accompanied by familiar voices drawing closer. The sudden intrusion shattered the quiet moment, pulling Boq back to reality.
"Found him!" Lion's booming voice carried across the salon. "Told ya he'd be here, didn't I? A Lion's nose knows!"
Boq stifled a groan of frustration as he turned, his neck creaking as he did so, to see his friends approaching, led by the guard who had once served as the Wizard's attendant. With the Wizard gone, the man had chosen to remain in the Emerald City, now serving Lady Glinda with the same stiff formality. His elaborate green uniform seemed even more starched and pristine than usual, the brass buttons gleaming under the morning light.
"Tin Man, here you are, but now, this is most irregular. Her Goodness, she calls for you. She requests to speak with you in the East Solar," the guard huffed, drawing himself up to his full height - which, given the salon's low-hanging chandelier, forced him to develop a peculiar sideways lean that he pretended was entirely intentional.
Boq felt as if all the oil had drained from his joints. Glinda wanted to see him?
The guard's carefully waxed mustache performed a complicated dance of disapproval as he came to stand before Boq and Ryn's table, nearly knocking over a display of hair tonics in his attempt to maintain his dignity.
"According to Palace Protocol Manual Version 7.3, Spring Edition," the guard announced with the gravity of someone heralding a royal birth, "all summons must be received with appropriate promptness and decorum, NOT-" his mustache quivered in vexation- "while engaging in unauthorized follicular festivities!"
Boq barely heard him, his tin mind whirling with memories at the revelation that the Good Witch of the North wanted to speak to him alone. The same Glinda who had walked past him countless times in the corridors of Shiz, her eyes sliding over him as if he were merely part of the scenery. Even on the day Dorothy left Oz for good, when he'd stood right before her, tin and hollow but still the same Boq who had once carried her books and memorized her schedule just to catch glimpses of her between classes, she had met his gaze only briefly—and there hadn't been even a flicker of recognition in those perfect brown eyes.
"..Her Most Luminous Goodness Lady Glinda the Radiantly Punctual has specifically requested your presence," the guard continued, producing an elaborate scroll from his jacket with such flourish that he nearly knocked his ceremonial hat off. His mustache trembled with the pride of someone presenting a priceless artifact. "Complete with not one but THREE proper seals of urgency and the new green binding that Her Most Effervescent Goodness introduced just last week!"
"Now see here—" Scarecrow began, but the guard silenced him with a flourish so elaborate he nearly took out a shelf of hair ribbons.
"Her Most Punctual Goodness," the guard announced, his chest puffing up so dramatically that several of his uniform buttons strained in protest, "was quite specific in her request for the Tin Man and only the Tin Man." His eyes narrowed to suspicious slits as they darted between Boq and Ryn, voice dropping to the tone of a conspiracy theorist uncovering a vast scandal. "Though I'm sure she'll be fascinated to hear about these unauthorized salon-based assemblies. I'll just need to file an Improper Location Discovery Report..." He began to extract what looked like an entire filing cabinet's worth of paperwork from his seemingly bottomless coat.
Boq wrung his hands together anxiously, the squeaking of his joints providing a nervous percussion to the guard's paper shuffling. "Did... did her Goodness say what—"
"Certainly not," the guard cut him off with prissy precision, his mustache achieving what appeared to be a perfect figure-eight of scandalized propriety. He leaned in close as if sharing a state secret. "If Her Gracious Punctual Luminous Goodness Lady Glinda the Administratively Efficient wanted you to know, she would have filed the appropriate pre-meeting agenda forms. In triplicate."
Ryn had gone very still beside him, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. The intimate warmth of their earlier conversation evaporated like morning dew under the guard's bureaucratic frost.
The interruption left a chill in the air. Boq froze, caught between the sharp authority of the mustachioed official and the lingering warmth of his unfinished conversation with Ryn. The man's clipped voice sliced through whatever excuse Boq might have mustered, his patience—if it existed at all—visibly fraying. "Are you deaf as well as tin?" he snapped. "Now!"
"Yes, I-I'm coming..." Boq stammered, rising from his chair with a series of soft creaks. His tin features twisted with regret as he turned back to Ryn. "I'm so sorry about all this. I'd hoped..."
Ryn stepped aside, her expression gentle as she shook her head. "Go," she said softly. "It's alright. We can talk again later—at a better time."
"Forward march," the guard sniffed with the delicate disdain of someone who'd discovered a spot on their pristine uniform. He began striding toward the door with such a perfect posture that he appeared to be trying to impersonate a ruler. "And do try to minimize squeaking during transit - you haven't filed a Public Ambulatory Noise Permit for today." His mustache led the way like a particularly officious divining rod as he paraded them through the salon's grand entrance, each boot click against the marble floor a crisp reminder of proper palace protocol.
Boq's joints creaked with every step, his mind lingering on that sun-warmed corner of the salon, on Ryn's unfinished words. The last thing he saw was her silhouette against the morning sun, one hand half-raised as if to call him back before the guard's precisely measured steps carried him away into whatever uncertainty awaited.
As they hurried down the emerald-lined hallway, the Lion nudged Boq with a massive paw, nearly sending him stumbling. "So," he rumbled in what he probably thought was a whisper, though it echoed loudly off the palace walls, "word around the palace is one of the maids saw you with a lady in the corridors last night. Was that her?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"Getting rather cozy in that salon too, weren't you?" Scarecrow added with a knowing grin, stuffing rustling as he leaned closer. "Never knew you had it in you, my friend!"
"I-I don't know what you're talking about," Boq protested weakly, his joints creaking more loudly with embarrassment. "We were just t-talking."
"Oh ho!" Lion's laugh boomed through the corridor. "Is that what they're calling it these days? 'Just talking'?"
"Don't forget the part where you asked her for a w-w-walk," Scarecrow teased, mimicking Boq's stutter with playful affection. "Very smooth, by the way!"
"If you three don't mind," the guard's sharp voice cut through their banter, "Her Goodness is waiting. Perhaps you could save your... gossip... for a more appropriate time?"
Boq had never been more grateful for the guard's stern intervention, even as his tin cheeks seemed to heat with mortification. Still, he couldn't quite suppress the tiny spark of joy that flickered in his hollow chest at the memory of Ryn's smile, of her gentle acceptance of his mechanical quirks. Even his friends' merciless teasing couldn't completely dim that warm glow.
"Quiet in the ranks!" the guard barked as Lion opened his mouth for another comment. "And pick up the pace, if you please. Her Goodness doesn't like to be kept waiting."
They walked in silence for a moment before Scarecrow softly cleared his throat. "Actually, Tin Man, while we have a moment…" He glanced at the guard's back, then lowered his voice. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you. I'm…I'm leaving Oz."
Boq's joints locked mid-step with a harsh screech. "Wh-what? L-leaving? But…but why? You're now the most brilliant mind in all of Oz! The palace needs you, the people need you—"
"The people need to learn to think for themselves," Scarecrow said quietly, something in his voice suddenly striking Boq as oddly familiar. "And besides, there are…other matters. Things I need to set right." His painted features shifted into an expression Boq had never seen before – something almost princely in its determination.
"Other matters?" Boq's voice rose sharply. "What could be more important than your duties here? Than your friends?" His frame tensed, the metal creaking. "First Dorothy leaves, now you—"
"Keep your voice down," Lion rumbled softly, his tail coming to wind around Boq's wrist in a gesture that was intended to be reassuring. "Look, I know it's a shock, but…things are changing. Even I've got my paws full these days. What about helping the newly vocal Animals settle into city life? Did you know we're opening a school? Right here in the Emerald City?"
But Boq barely heard him, his focus fixed on Scarecrow. There was something in his friend's stance, in how he held himself... Something that tugged at memories from before the tin, before everything changed...
"You're not just leaving," Boq said slowly, his voice hollow. "There's something you're not telling me." His gaze lingered on his friend's painted features, catching something unfamiliar in his expression - something that tugged at distant memories but remained frustratingly out of reach.
Scarecrow met his gaze steadily, and for a moment, Boq saw past the painted burlap to something—someone—else. Someone he thought he'd known long ago, in a different life. "Tin Man, please understand," Scarecrow began, but his words were cut short by the guard's sharp voice.
"Gentlemen!" the guard's sharp voice cut through the tension. "Her Goodness is waiting! Whatever drama you're enacting can surely wait until after—"
"Y-you're right," Boq cut in, his voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "It can wait. It can all w-wait." He strode forward stiffly, pushing past his friends, trying to process this new betrayal even as his mind spun back to Ryn's gentle acceptance from earlier. Everything was changing too fast, spinning out of his control like a loose screw.
Behind him, he heard Lion murmuring something to Scarecrow about "giving him time" and "a lot to take in," but Boq kept walking, his joints creaking with each determined step. He had enough to worry about with Lady Glinda's summons while processing this sudden change.
They reached the ornate double doors to Lady Glinda's private study in the East Solar, their emerald surfaces etched with intricate patterns that seemed to shift and dance in the palace's enchanted light. The guard stepped forward, his gloved hand resting on the golden handle.
"Her Grace will speak with the Tin Man alone," he announced, shooting a pointed look at Lion and Scarecrow. His mustache bristled as he added, "I trust the two of you can find your way back to your…various duties, whatever those may be, without assistance?"
Boq didn't turn to look at his companions, though he could feel Scarecrow's painted eyes boring into his back. His fingers clinked together nervously as the guard opened the door, revealing a slice of the sunlight room beyond. The morning light caught something crystalline within, sending rainbow fractals dancing across the corridor walls.
"Her Goodness awaits," the guard prompted, gesturing for Boq to enter.
As he stepped through the doorway, Boq's mind whirled with everything that had happened since dawn – Ryn's smile in the salon's warm light, her gentle words about his tin hair, the promise of tomorrow's meeting now hanging uncertainly in the air. And beneath it all, Scarecrow's mysterious announcement of departure stirred up memories of others who had left Oz behind.
Boq paused at the threshold, his fingers gripping the doorframe. "Scarecrow," he said quietly, not turning around. "When were you planning to tell me? Really tell me?"
There was a soft rustling of straw. "After your meeting with Ryn," Scarecrow replied, his voice carrying that same strange, familiar quality. "I thought... I thought you deserved one perfect morning."
Boq's joints creaked as he nodded once, sharply, still facing forward. "Well then," he said, his voice hoarse. "I suppose we both have our secrets to keep."
He did not dare let himself look back as the heavy doors closed behind him with a soft click that echoed through his hollow chest like the final tick of a clock, leaving him alone with whatever fate Glinda the Good Witch of the North had in store.