Chapter Text
Year 1
“Good, good, good, good,” Glinda rattles off, punctuating each with her initials.
A couple of bills have finally passed and only required her signature for ratification. She piles the clipboards back into Pfannee and Shenshen’s arms without looking up, already cutting open a letter that she found on her desk upon her return from lunch with the new Governor of Quox. She waves her hand and the door opens; she smiles to herself, sensing her employees’ awe. Truthfully, she’s just as satisfied that the double doors swung open as they are. She’s been working on the particular spell for weeks at this point, ever since the Grimmerie first opened for her. It’s not exactly the most advanced, but it does the job— and it helps, truthfully, that it makes her think of Elphie.
“Get those down to the court—” her voice catches briefly when scans for the letter’s sender prior to even reading it, but she schools her features before Pfannee or Shenshen can notice— “before the day’s end. I want them in effect by tomorrow.”
“Yes, Your Goodness,” they reply in unison.
“Glinda,” she corrects, the corner of her mouth turning up slightly. “Nobody is better than anyone else, not here.”
“She’s so good,” Pfannee whispers as he and Shenshen retreat, following their orders.
Glinda rolls her eyes. She’s not sure if Pfannee and Shenshen have actually changed or if they’re just following her lead. Either way, it’s a start.
As the doors shut, Glinda’s heart slowly rises into her throat as her attention turns back to the letter. It’s typed. She supposes that makes sense, considering it’s from Boq. Part of her wants to crumple it up and toss it without even giving him the time of day—she’ll never forget the sight of the mob beneath her suite, how for better or worse she could hear his voice carrying through the crowd; the only part of Boq that remained the same were his eyes. And the eyes never lie. It’s the first rule of politics—but something else in her fights against it: nobody is better than anyone else, not here.
Goodness, it is so awful to have changed when it means you need to acknowledge the existence of a man that used to be in love with you. Ugh.
Even so, Glinda does think of her old life often—she can’t help it—and Boq was a part of it, of the nights where they’d sneak off campus and chase each other across the grass, when Nessa would inevitably beat them all at whatever sport they attempted that evening and Elphaba would trade shoes with Glinda so she wouldn’t have to walk home in heels.
Breathing in deeply so the smell of old parchment fills her nose, Glinda tries to put the memory aside. Her hands shake, crumpling the edges of the letter where she’s clutching it. She closes her eyes.
Suddenly, she’s eighteen again, writing home asking if it’s alright for Elphie to come home for half-term; nineteen, celebrating her birthday with a cake, a field of poppies at sunset, and her four dearest friends, whispering in Elphaba’s ear about some secret that she can hardly remember now. She wracks her brain too long for what it could have been, and then she’s almost twenty-five—though birthdays hardly seem to matter anymore—and she has her hand pressed over her mouth because she knows Elphie is right, she can’t be found here, and she hasn’t heard a sound from Elphaba since she closed the door between them. But Elphaba said everything would be fine, and she believes her, has to, because she can’t imagine what will happen if, if—
The sound of Elphaba’s agony rings in Glinda’s ears and she realizes she’ll destroy the paper entirely if she doesn’t put it down. She lets it drop onto the desk, the corners scrunched completely.
Thankfully, the body of the letter is still legible, and one particular section catches her eye:
While it is certainly the farthest from your problems, there are some things I have wanted to say for some time, the first being how sorry I am. There is hardly anything I could come up with that would ease what I have done, but I wished to say it anyway. You are the only one left to say it to. What an awful fact.
Glinda softens, though only barely. And while she doesn’t imagine it’s advisable—after all, it’s nearly impossible to imagine that she could ever forgive him—Glinda finds herself drafting a reply as she reads the rest.
I know it will be your birthday soon, he writes in the final paragraph. And while I do not imagine you will think of me at all on the day, I do imagine that with all of the activity, you may not have the time to celebrate. So, happy birthday, I certainly hope that you will have a strawberry cake, just like old times.
It’s only now that Glinda realizes she’s trembling. It’s true— her birthday was the furthest thing from her mind.
“Chistery?” she calls, knowing that he must be chattering away on the balcony with a few of the other guards.
“Yes, Glinda?” he pokes his head in, wings fluttering. His eyes narrow in concern when he sees her eyes shining with hurt. “Are you alright?”
“Oh, yes,” she assures him, sniffling. “I am. Could you– would you do something for me?”
“Anything.” He nods, approaching and finally perching himself on the chair on the other side of her desk.
“Do you remember that Tin Man?” she asks, signing her name again at the foot of her letter, and slotting it into an envelope.
“I do,” Chistery concedes, glowering a little.
Glinda giggles, despite herself. “Right. Well, could you find him?”
“You wish to bring him in for questioning finally?” Chistery asks, unable to mask his surprise— and satisfaction. He wanted to do as much the moment Glinda returned from delivering the news to the Ozians of Elphaba’s demise, but Glinda had refused. And, she’d refused to tell him why.
“Somewhat,” Glinda says slowly. “But, I’d like for you to give him this. And bring him back here.”
Chistery rubs his hands together in excitement.
“Unharmed,” Glinda adds, amused.
“You’re no fun,” he complains, but he’s smiling. “Of course. I’ll fetch him right away. I imagine with the increasingly sunny weather he will be… easy to spot.”
“You’re terrible,” Glinda jokes.
He winks at her with his green eye before he beats his wings to fly off out the open balcony door. “Be back in a clock tick.”
“Unharmed!” Glinda calls after him. He hums in reluctant acknowledgement.
***
“Chistery, you could have damaged the floor!” Glinda reprimands when Chistery and one of his fellow Monkeys drop Boq down onto the hardwood without a care— from the tallest point of the very high ceiling. Another thought strikes her: “And what did I say about not harming him!”
“He was unharmed when we entered,” Chistery mutters as he lands, but he does help Boq up— albeit rather roughly.
“I don’t think that’s what she meant,” Boq grumbles, wrenching his arm out of the Monkey’s grasp and pushing his arm back into position. He tugs the strap of his pack out from between the joint. “Oz.”
His voice sounds— tinnier than before, for lack of a better word. And of course, he looks different, though Glinda is trying not to—
“You can stare,” he tells her. “I do.”
With permission, Glinda allows her gaze to rise, taking in his new form. Her shoulders tense when she sees the Thropp family crest melted into his arm, just above his elbow. She hasn’t seen it since Elphaba held her hand that last time. He has a magnetic heart where his used to be— the work of the Wizard, no doubt, though Glinda is grateful for this one. It seems to have brought what’s left of Boq to the surface, more man than machine, at least for the moment.
“Glinda,” he breathes—well, actually, Glinda isn’t sure if he does breathe—as he tries to take a step forward, but Chistery steps in front of him, hissing a little.
“Chistery,” Glinda says softly. “Leave us.”
He turns to her to argue, his wings flattening. “But he may try to harm you, and I—” I made a promise.
Elphaba had made him promise to protect Glinda. Glinda knows as much; he and Feldspar have been her only true friends here in the last month and a half.
“He won’t,” Glinda replies. And if he did try, she knows she could handle it. “You may go,” she tells Chistery. “Please. You can stay on the balcony if it makes you feel better.”
Chistery bows his head, but he doesn’t fly out. Instead, he walks, stomping along. Glinda has to force herself not to roll her eyes in affection.
“I brought you something,” Boq tells her, placing his pack down and pulling out a box. “It got a little smashed in transport.”
He opens it. It’s a strawberry cake. He places it carefully on her desk.
“What are you doing, Boq?” Glinda asks flatly, and his neck creaks as he looks up at the sound of his name— his real name. She slams the box shut.
“Well, you’re the only friend I’ve got left, even Brrr—”
The statement sets something off in Glinda as she thinks about Nessa, about how in brief, Elphaba had managed to tell Glinda what had happened before it was all over, and how when she saw him out amongst the crowd leaving the city, she knew that whatever existed between those five old friends who feel so distant from who they all became was officially gone for good.
“We are not friends. Not anymore,” Glinda grits out, suddenly wishing she’d asked Chistery to stay. “How can you even think that we are? After everything? After all that’s been lost?”
“Okay! Right, you’re right!” Boq admits, backing up because Glinda is now brandishing her letter opener like a lethal weapon, rounding around her desk and swiping up her wand, too. It would be a bit comical if not for the fire in her eyes. “Bad choice of words! Perhaps not friends, but— but I loved you once, you know—”
“Do you feel pain? Because I’m start to think that maybe I could find a spell to make sure you do—”
“A spell?” Boq stops, his face creaking as it changes into something gentler, almost against his will. “Glinda, have you learned— magic?”
“For your information, yes, I am learning to control it,” Glinda says, her jaw clenching. She lowers the letter opener. “Though I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“That— that’s great!” he says quickly. “That’s everything you ever wanted.”
Glinda’s throat tightens and she slots the letter opener back into its place on her belt. She gets so many lately that she needs to keep it on her at all times— she’s not going to ruin her nails on horrendible envelope adhesive. “Yes. I suppose it was. Everything I ever wanted.”
For a moment, the office is terribly quiet. It gives Boq a moment to look around: among all the books, Elphaba’s hat sits in its place of honor behind Glinda’s desk, beside the Grimmerie.
“Just so you know, I don’t love you anymore,” he blurts out.
“Oz, you are horrible,” Glinda groans, but she does know what he means. It’s a bit of a relief, even if she’s not going to show it.
“I know,” Boq agrees. “I was horrible then. And I am now, still.”
“Well, I’ll certainly concede you may be the first man to ever admit such a thing,” she quips.
He laughs, stilted. Broken. “Maybe. But all I meant was that I spent so much time focused on what I wanted, I never thought about what you wanted. Who you wanted. I realized I never really loved you at all, not the way things are supposed to be.”
“Yes, well Fiyero and my engagement didn’t end so well either because I did the same,” she sighs, turning away. She can scarcely think his name without remembering his last words: Galinda, I am so sorry.
“He’s not who I meant,” Boq murmurs.
Glinda doesn’t answer. She stares forward, mentally tracing the edges of Elphie’s old hat. “You certainly grew a brain overnight.”
“She’s alive, you know. As is Fiyero. They had a plan,” he tells her, and Glinda feels the string of her spine tighten. She feels sick, all of the sudden, at the confirmation of what she’d only ever felt in theory. She thought Elphaba to be alive; Glinda couldn’t feel whole if Elphie really was dead, but she knew to never voice it aloud. She knew anybody she told would think she lost her mind.
“Gods, you’re still such a tattle,” she snaps, instead of telling Boq any of this.
“What?” He’s incredulous.
“You think I don’t know that she’s”—she catches herself—”they’re alive?” Glinda laughs coldly. “You think that once I truly came to my senses I couldn’t deducify as much? You must think me stupid. Goodness, more than never loving me, you don’t even know me, do you?”
Boq doesn’t answer. He’s utterly still, not a creak to be heard. She wishes she could stop herself from lashing out—for once, it does seem that Boq’s intentions are, in some way, honest—and more than that, she wishes she could find the words to tell him about the night she said goodbye to Elphaba. The night that she lost her, and that unexplainable feeling that she would find her again, somewhere over the rainbow.
Part of her believed that it would only be in death that they would reunite. Part of her remembers the sound of the rifle cocking and the tremor of it in Fiyero’s hand as a song.
“I do feel pain,” he says finally. “It hurts me to think you believe that’s actually true.”
“Good,” Glinda replies, placing her hands against her desk to try to stop herself from shaking.
“I just didn’t want you to wonder,” he tells her. “You deserved… to be sure. To know that she lived.”
Glinda tastes salt, her eyes welling, but they never spill over. “I don’t think this life is very much about what we deserve.”
Boq hums. It echoes through him. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Biq?” Glinda says, opening the cake box again. Happy Birthday is smushed in pink frosting.
Boq’s face softens, the sound of tin scraping together into a smile. “Yes?”
“Thank you. For the cake,” she says, finally turning back to him. She goes back behind her desk, retrieving something from the drawer.
“You’re welcome,” he says.
“It’s now time for you to go,” she adds, her voice wavering.
“I know.” He doesn’t fight her. Perhaps— perhaps he does know her, in some capacity, in the same way that you remember your childhood through hazy regret. He collects his pack. It gets caught in his arm again, but he pays no mind to it. He begins to head towards the door—
“Wait,” Glinda says. “Take this.” She tosses a can of WD-40 at him. It’s the closest thing to tenderness that she can offer him: the gift of silence while he runs once more. He takes it, clearly touched as he places it into the space where a water bottle would go. “Thank you.”
Glinda nods. “And Biq?”
“Yes?”
“I hope to never see you again.”
“And I, you,” he agrees, tipping his head to her, and Glinda hears him suppress a laugh when she waves her hand and the doors open of their own volition for the second time today.
She’s sure to watch him go, and let them shut, before she swipes her finger through the frosting to taste. It’s sweet. And then, she spots the logo printed on the inside of the box. The cake is from the shop right by Shiz, the same place Elphie went for Glinda’s nineteenth birthday.
The realization makes it impossible for Glinda to do anything but scrub her hands over her face. She won’t let herself cry.
***
“Have you found her yet?” Glinda asks, striding through the hall towards an Assembly meeting with Pfannee and Shenshen once again trailing behind.
It’s been nearly two months since Boq’s visit, and in the meantime, Glinda has been searching for leads on anyone who may still be in contact with Elphaba— not that she’s telling any of her subordinates that she’s sending out search parties because their Wicked Witch of the West may be at large still.
“She’s difficult to locate, she really is,” Pfannee tells her quickly, adjusting his glasses. “She’s elusive, and clearly does not want to be found.”
“Have we ever considered she’s dead?” Shenshen chimes in, clearly trying to be helpful and failing. “She might be dead.”
“She’s not dead,” Glinda groans, halting at the doors of the Wizard’s chambers-turned parliamentary hall suddenly enough that Pfannee and Shenshen’s shoes squeak on the floor as they try not to bump into her. “But since nobody you've sent seems to know what they’re doing, I guess I will have to go out into the forest myself,” she concludes, reaching for the door to begin her meeting.
“Glinda, that’s ridiculous!” Pfannee exclaims. “You’re one person, and it’s not as if you can go into the forest alone—”
“Oh, but I’m not going alone,” Glinda says cheerfully. “You’re coming with me.”
“But— but I’m wearing my nice pants—” he tries to argue. “And I’ve never ridden a Horse!”
“Loser,” Shenshen cackles.
“You’re coming too,” Glinda tells her, her annoyance showing in the way her nose scrunches. “Now, I have a meeting, and then we’ll leave. Sound good?”
“Yes, Your Goodness,” they grumble.
This time, she doesn’t correct them.
***
“I don’t like this,” Pfannee says lowly. “It’s spooky out here.”
“It’s just some trees,” Shenshen quips before she almost falls off the Horse she’s riding, Josepf, dodging a mosquito. “Ew, ew, bugs, bugs, ew—”
“Keep it down,” Glinda hisses.
Feldspar snorts at the commotion. “Do they ever shut up?” he asks Glinda, craning his neck slightly to talk to her because she’s on his back.
“Never,” she whispers back. It’s good to have a true friend out here. It is dark. “But it’s better to have more pairs of eyes out here. She blends in quite well.”
“I’ve never met her,” Feldspar reminds. “Well, there was that one time—”
“You’ll know her when you see her,” Glinda tells him, beginning to braid some of the hair on his mane. She trusts him to navigate.
“If you say so,” he huffs, and as if by some measure of fate, they almost immediately happen upon a lit clearing— one that immediately goes dark as a fire is snuffed out. There are footprints that Glinda recognizes and she hears the sound of breath, scampering, whispers.
“Got her,” Glinda whispers, jumping down from Feldspar while Pfannee and Shenshen struggle to get out of their respective saddles.
“Careful,” Feldspar warns. “She might not be happy to see us.”
“Oh, she will once she realizes it’s me,” Glinda says confidently, but she pats him on the neck anyway, affectionate. “Just stay here. And watch those two.”
“We can watch ourselves!” Pfannee tells her as he trips over a tree root.
Glinda ignores him, taking a few steps into the dark, towards the smoke. “Hello?” she calls. “Is anyone there?”
There’s a flicker of movement, leaves, the snap of wood underfoot.
“I— I’ve been looking for you since I heard that you were still alive. Please.” She hates how thin her voice sounds, how shaky.
The forest bears no reply.
Glinda sighs, looking over her shoulder at Pfannee and Shenshen who have only just managed to straighten themselves out. “You guys should go,” she tells them. “I– I don’t think you’re making her feel comfortable.”
“We’re not making her feel comfortable?”
“What does that even mean—”
“Go,” Glinda says sharply, annoyance starting to bleed through. “That’s an order. Now.”
Thankfully, her tone makes them scramble back onto their steeds, who seem just as fed up with them as Glinda, and then all that’s left of them is the sound of two receding gallops.
“Remind me to never introduce them to my friends again,” Feldspar quips.
Glinda laughs. “Yes, I’m sorry we dragged them into this. Though I’m guessing they’ll get Pfannee and Shenshen home in record time.”
“Certainly,” he agrees.
“Is home still the palace?” a voice asks. And Glinda stands up a little straighter, trying hard to conceal her relief.
“They don’t live there,” Glinda says, freeing the lantern from the holster on Feldspar’s side and lighting it. “I don’t think I’d ever know peace if they did.”
“That’s sensible,” the Piebald Deer that Glinda has been hoping to find for weeks agrees as she emerges from the shadows. Glinda last saw her in the crowd at one of her speeches, but after that, she was untraceable.
“Hello,” Glinda greets, relieved. “It’s so good to see you. I’m not sure you know—”
“That you’re the girl who was in love with Miss Elphaba?” she fills in.
Feldspar snorts. Glinda turns to glare at him, but she’s blushing. He grins at her.
Glinda hesitates. She’s never said that aloud to anyone. She never… felt like she could. But hearing another say it: the girl who was in love with Elphaba— it feels like the truest title she’s ever been given.
“Miss Elphaba talked about you a lot,” the Deer tells her gently, her eyes as kind as Glinda hopes to become, again. “During the bad years, and also before.”
Glinda’s mouth turns down in confusion.
“Oh, you didn’t think that Miss Elphaba only ever met with old Dr. Dillamond at his Shiz home one time, did you?” the Deer asks. “She became a regular visitor at his house before— before he was taken.” Her ear flicks in disdain. “And we were always there. Unseen. But I’d like to think she knew we were listening.”
“Elphie told me about you, back then, so I can’t help but believe she did,” Glinda agrees with her. “Though she never shared names. And then I saw you again in the crowd, but you were gone when I was finished, so I never got to—”
“I’m Penny,” the Deer tells her before Glinda can even ask. “I’m… flattered to know that Miss Elphaba cared so much about protecting us.”
“She always cared,” Glinda assures. “Still does.” She swallows, looking down. She suddenly feels ridiculous for having tracked this poor Deer through the forest. “Have you– um, seen her?”
Penny’s eyes soften. “Sweetheart,” she says softly, “us Animals have not heard a word from Miss Elphaba since her reported death. At first we thought it was just rumor, speculation, but— but we have come to agree that if she were still alive, she’d have shown her face by now. If not to everyone, at least to us.”
“But I heard…” Glinda starts. She doesn’t know how to explain that she saw Boq. Or the precious bit of hope she clung to before Chistery even flew him into her office.
“Falsities,” Penny tells her gently. “Trust me, little one, we Animals would like to think she’s still out there.” Penny’s friends begin to emerge from the shadows at the words: two Ferrets, a Tiger, a Rabbit, nodding along. “But– but you have to face it, as we all have.”
“Besides,” the Rabbit cuts in—he’s got a smoker’s voice—“you’re doing a mighty fine job at leading, as far as we can tell.”
“Then why are you still in hiding?” Glinda asks, despair clawing its way out of her chest.
“We’re not,” Penny says— and go figure the Deer has a flair for the dramatic. Suddenly, everything is alight; there are lanterns amongst the branches, and for the first time, Glinda realizes it’s not a clearing that they stumbled into, but a village amongst the trees. “We just heard strange voices, and you know— there are still those out there that would rather see us in cages.”
“I know.” Glinda nods. “I’m sorry we scared you.”
“Oh, you didn’t,” one of the Ferrets assures her. “It was your loud colleagues.”
Glinda laughs. “Of course.”
“We knew you’d come,” Penny continues. “We see the way you fight for us. And we know you do it for Miss Elphaba. In her memory.”
“Because you were in love with her,” the other Ferret interjects.
Glinda scrubs a hand over her face while Feldspar continues to giggle. “So you really haven’t seen her?” she asks, feeling her heart sink into her stomach.
“I’m sorry.” Penny shakes her head. “We would tell you. We miss her too.”
“Right,” Glinda says with a nod. “Well, thank you. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
“You didn’t, child,” Penny tells her. “We are always happy to meet a good witch. We haven’t since Miss Elphaba passed on.”
Glinda smiles sadly. “I’m no Elphaba.”
“No, you’re not,” Penny agrees. “But you’re still good.” She leans in, away from her friends. “And if you do believe that Miss Elphaba is alive, follow that instinct,” she tells her, quieter. “I would love nothing more than to be proven wrong. We all have a compass inside.” The Deer offers her a smile. “Trust yours. It is our most powerful magic.”
Glinda feels breathless, all of the sudden, so full of hope that all of the air is gone from her lungs. She missed this feeling. “I will.”
***
“It’s a date, not a coronation,” Chistery grumbles while Glinda pulls things from his closet that he might be able to wear tonight.
He’s been working up the courage to ask out the Monkey that works at the bookshop downtown for weeks, and he’s finally done so— with much urging from Glinda.
“One should always look royal when going on a first date,” she replies. “Why don’t you own a brown tie?”
“Not sure, maybe it was my years in captivity,” he quips, but he snatches the outfit Glinda offers him all the same.
“Don’t be sour with me because you’re nervous,” she replies. “I’m the whole reason this is happening!”
“Well, I was the one who did the actual asking out,” he reminds her, flying off into his palace dressing room to change.
“And yet I pretended to be her for eons so you could practice,” Glinda sings. “I should go into acting.”
“You should not,” he calls from behind the door. “And it was only three weeks.”
“Eons,” Glinda insists, just to be annoying.
“Glinda”—Chistery emerges in a button down and slacks, navy sweater in his hands—”why don’t you ever go on dates? You know many wish to take you out, right?”
Glinda freezes where she was picking at the lint on her jacket. She turns to look out Chistery’s window. She made sure he had a wonderful view of the mountains from his balcony. “Oh, I’m not interested,” she says as breezily as she can. “You know how busy I am.”
“Yesterday you played Solitaire for two hours in your office,” Chistery points out. “And tonight you told me your plans were to drink as much red wine as it takes for you to find the gossip columns funny.”
“See? Busy.” Glinda schools her expression before she turns back to her friend. “You look perfect,” she tells him, meaning it. “Have fun tonight.” She catches sight of herself in his mirror. Goodness, she looks tired.
“Are you sure you’re alright for me to go?” he asks, fluttering over to perch on his desk beside her. “I can cancel.”
“No you can’t,” she refutes. “You have to go. You’ve wanted to ask her out for so long.”
“Well yes, but—”
“Go.” Glinda interrupts with a gentle smile. “That’s an order,” she teases.
He narrows his eyes at her. “Abuse of power.”
“Perhaps.” Her smile widens into a grin. “Please, Chistery. Go.”
“Okay.” He nods. “But should you change your mind—”
“I know, I know, I’ll crash your date and tell her about that time you got your foot stuck in a paint can—”
“You will not,” he huffs, his mouth twitching. “Nevermind, I don’t even care what you get up to.”
“That’s the spirit!” Glinda laughs. “Now go.”
***
In reality, Glinda’s plans include a distinct lack of wine. After all, it’s only on her precious off-nights that she can practice her magic without interruption. Tonight is one of the few she’s had in the last couple of weeks.
Migrating to her private quarters, Glinda allows the Grimmerie to fall open on the bed.
“Hello,” Glinda greets the book, as she always does, and immediately, it springs to life, the text practically floating off the parchment. She smiles. “I missed you.”
The Grimmerie flips to the last page she’d been working on: mendifying. It should be relatively easy—it’s less memorization than is required for doors to swing shut—and yet she can’t seem to get it right, not ever. All she has to show for it are a few pieces of broken glass that at least seem to stick together, but the cracks have remained. Glinda has no clue what she’s doing wrong, except—
“I know I’m not Elphie,” she tells the book for what feels like the hundredth time. She can admit it’s a bit ridiculous to talk to it, but as far as allies go, the Grimmerie has presented itself as a worthy confidant. Glinda’s come to learn that the more she shares with it, the easier the magic seems to come. “But you and I— we need to work together. At least until she gets back.” The Grimmerie lays motionless for a moment, as if asking her to say more, and for the first time, Glinda concedes: “If she ever does. If not, we’ll have to do the best we can to help people.”
The text shimmers once more. Glinda sighs.
“Not you too,” she mumbles, “I mean, shouldn’t we at least try to believe she’s alive? Shouldn’t we hope?” She clenches her first, and the broken glass fortifies, the pieces flying together until they’re in the shape of the cup she broke a couple weeks ago, the origin of attempting this spell at all. Glinda gasps. “Did I just—“
She looks down at her hands. The glass shimmers in the candlelight, and the words, which were already lifting off the page, dance around the room for a split second, joyful.
She did. She did it.
***
But she can’t replicate it.
No matter how she tries, the power is fickle at best. She managed to repair one heel of her favorite pair of shoes, but the other one remained broken despite her best efforts, so she had to have it sent to the cobbler. Her coat has a little tear on the inside, but she likes it too much at the moment to go a day without wearing it. Her favorite dress has a rip in the hem too.
In short, there are issues with all of Glinda’s favorite wardrobe pieces and there’s nothing she can seem to do to fix it— despite mendifying a glass three days ago.
And really, yes, she should know better, but as time drags on, there’s only one person she can think of going to. However much she hates it, it feels like the only way.
Which is how Glinda finds herself outside of Madame Morrible’s cell. The witch is forming mini cyclones in her hands, though the cell is enchanted so she can do nothing more. It was the first spell Glinda ever got right, and she’s guessing it had everything to do with who she was putting behind bars.
“Ooh, a visitor,” Morrible drawls. “Took you long enough.”
“Yes, well, I hoped to never come down here at all,” Glinda replies, giving a nod to the guard who accompanied her into the dungeons to tell him that he may leave.
Morrible notices.
“How brave of you.” She hums. “You’re here about the magic, aren’t you?” She’s so entirely smug that Glinda has to bite her tongue around a retort. But that’s what the witch wants. “Is it giving you trouble?”
“Not particularly,” Glinda lies, waving her hand for emphasis. The window in Morrible’s cell pushes open of its own accord.
“A simple spell.” Morrible shrugs in disdain. “The sort of trick a child would show her parents.”
Glinda grits her teeth, her jaw working around her frustration. “You know, it is a wonder I ever looked up to you.”
“And it is a wonder that I look down on you even more than when you were my student,” Morrible answers coldly, releasing her cyclones so they make her singular pillow fly around the room and twist itself into knots.
Glinda balls up her fists, digging her nails into her palms. The pillow frees itself from the torture, flies through the bars and lands in Glinda’s lap. She looks down at it in shock.
“Impressive, I suppose,” Morrible concedes. “But your terrible poker face gives you away.”
Glinda breathes in deeply, shoving the pillow back through the bars. It lands on the floor. “You know what? Nevermind,” she laughs, hollow. “I don’t know why I thought anything you could say would be of help.”
“I don’t know why you would think I’d help you.” Morrible begins to spin the pillow in mid-air once more. “And anyway, you already have everything you might need; you need only reach for it, but therein lies your problem.”
“You speak in riddles,” Glinda scoffs, turning to go, taking the steps two at a time. Her chest aches.
“It’s about emotion, dearie,” the witch calls after her. Glinda is halfway up the stairs, out of sight. It’s the only reason she stops to listen. “Which I thought you had in spades, but it seems… you do not have what it takes to control it. If only you had paid attention in school, hm?”
Spots dance behind Glinda’s vision. She clutches on to the railing. She can scarcely think of Shiz without this feeling taking over, without remembering that there is so much she missed because she was focused on the wrong things. But— at least, this does give her an idea. There’s another she can visit, someone who will, hopefully, help.
She descends the stairs once more, only far enough that she can peek around the corner, offering Morrible a cutting smile. “Thank you,” she says. “For your cooperation.”
***
“Miss Glinda,” Dr. Dillamond greets, perched behind his desk, clearly doing some grading. His voice doesn’t sound exactly how she remembers— older, torn at the edges. But he looks well.
Glinda is glad to see as much even as she feels the ache in her chest return. She lowers the hood of her dark cloak. She wears it often— these days, it’s a hassle to be recognized.
“Hello, Doctor. I— do you have time for me?” She swallows her fear, and shame. “I can leave, if you would prefer not to see me.”
Dr. Dillamond hops down, coming around his desk. He has poppies growing out of a little pot on the edge. Glinda feels hopelessly adrift; she hopes he won’t send her away, even though she understands why he would.
Instead, her old professor only hums, tilting his head at her just so before he says, “Goodness. You’ve grown up very much.”
It’s as much of an offering as Glinda hoped to receive as he gestures for her to come sit. Front row. Where Elphaba used to. “Yes.” She bows her head. “I wish I were grown up when I first met you.”
“As do I,” the Goat admits. His ear flicks, kind. “But it is impossible to have always been what we are meant to become over time.”
It takes a moment for Glinda to understand what he means, and even as she does— “Yes, but, well, I was a terror.”
“You were. And now you aren’t,” Dr. Dillamond points out, shrugging as much as a Goat can. “Now, you’re making good.”
Glinda feels some of the sickness in her gut start to dissipate slowly, hesitant. It sounds so simple coming out of his mouth, but then again, perhaps forgiveness is far simpler than we give it credit for. “You’re too kind.”
“Perhaps.” The Doctor’s eyes are full of understanding. “But if I’m not, then what of those who have no kindness to give at all? We must help each other where we can.”
Glinda weighs the sentiment, and the knowledge that after how he has suffered, Dr. Dillamond’s heart hasn’t wavered.
“Miss Glinda?” he asks. “Why are you really here? I know you saw Penny.”
Of course. Glinda was foolish to imagine that they weren’t still in contact. “I came to apologize,” she says, the words so heavy they drag on the inside of her throat. “Not to hear you forgive me, but just to apologize. I was cruel, and horrendible, and childish—“
“Yes, you were,” he says. “And you were childish because you were a child.”
“I was eighteen,” Glinda points out.
“And would you trust an eighteen-year-old now, with anything?”
Glinda wouldn’t. They both know that.
The Doctor snorts in satisfaction. “Now, tell me the other reason why you’re here.”
Part of Glinda is floored by his intuition. She supposes that’s what has made him such a skilled professor, for those willing to listen.
“I guess I just wanted to know— why was Elphie such a good student?”
“Ah, Miss Elphaba.” The Goat contemplates for a moment, his voice thin with emotion. “Well, she was curious,” he begins. “And cared a whole lot, too much maybe.” He laughs; Glinda does too. It feels good. “And also…” He hesitates for a moment, before nodding to himself. “She had a sense that she was fortunate to be here. I want to call it gratitude, but it wasn’t that. It was more… a fear of time.” He frowns, looking away. “One that was founded, it seems.”
Glinda’s eyes sting. “Yes, it seems it was,” she agrees. “I’m trying to learn magic,” she confesses. “But there is nobody left to teach me, and though I don’t imagine I could ever be as good as Elphaba, I… would like to try. To do my part.”
“You already are,” Dr. Dillamond says. “You helped me to have this job again— and allowed for my Animal colleagues to regain their tenure here as well. Many more Animals have been reinstated to their positions, and what’s this I hear about the development of an Animal coalition in the Assembly?”
“All projects that have flourished on their own,” Glinda protests, conceding when he tilts his head at her again. “Okay, fine, I had something to do with some of them, but that’s only because they’re the right thing to do—” She pauses when she sees the Doctor truly smile at her for the first time since she arrived. “What?”
“You’re doing it because it’s the right thing to do,” he repeats back. “It’s just— I’m proud of you.” He blinks up at her slowly. “And Elphaba would be too.”
Glinda loses her breath. “Thank you.” She stumbles over her words; there’s so much more she wants to say, but in the end, all that comes out is, “I’m— really glad you’re as alright as you can be— after what you endured.”
“I could say the same to you,” he says, chuckling a little when Glinda gives him a look. Their troubles have been so very disparate these last couple of years. “I love all of my students. And it is an occupational hazard of being a teacher that not all of you can see how much we care, even when we wish, so completely, that we could simply stop.”
“I appreciate you caring,” Glinda replies. “I certainly didn’t deserve it.”
“But you do now.”
Glinda thinks again of her conversation with Boq. Her uncertainty must show on her face.
“Sometimes just by going on, we show how willing we are to overcome,” Dr. Dillamond tells her. Gentle.
“You think so?”
“I do.” He nods. “If there’s anything these dark years have taught me, it’s that carrying on can be the most powerful thing we do. Because anyone can learn to speak again, all that they require is an openness to learning once more.” Dr. Dillamond gestures to the door as his students—Human and Animal—stream in, chattering away. “I’d wager it is the same for your magic. And it seems you have the willingness in spades.”
It is so very close to what Morrible told her in the dungeons, but it means something wildly different to hear it from him.
“This is my three o’clock,” the Doctor says before she can reply. He turns to head towards the chalkboard, waving his students off who clearly have recognized Glinda.
“May I stay?” she asks.”Your History lectures prove far more edifying to me now than they did when I was in your class.”
“Of course.” His mouth turns up into a smile when he sees her pull a notebook out of her cloak.
After Dr. Dillamond’s class ends, Glinda leaves with everyone else. People stare, but she hardly pays them any mind. She separates from the throngs of students once they’re through the skinny hall.
With practiced ease, Glinda leaves campus on the fastest route to the poppy field. She needs to see it again, needs to arrive before sunset to watch the moon pull its way up over the horizon.
Feeling the last rays of sun on her face, Glinda climbs their old tree—the tree that the five of them used to sit under what feels like a thousand years ago, the one facing West—and she watches the sky turn her favorite shade of pink. The view is perfect, but there is still so much missing. She thought this would be her last stop.
Instead, once it's dark, she finds herself clambering back down—the footholds Boq used an axe to cut are still there—and heading back to Shiz, running across the grass. Thank Goodness she wore Elphaba’s boots.
Back on campus, Glinda hardly has to think about where she is going, taking the stairs to the top floor of the dormitory wing. It’s muscle memory.
Finally, she winds up outside of her and Elphie’s old dorm. The hall looks the same as it once did, albeit with a few more items in the case.
As she gets closer to the door, Glinda slows her pace, listening. Inside, there’s laughter, two voices, and outside, there are two pairs of shoes. They must be a shoeless dorm. Elphaba always wanted that, but Glinda was too stubborn. Before she can stop herself, Glinda finds herself thinking that she’d give Elphaba anything, now. Anything at all.
Glinda swallows a sob that threatens to force its way out just as she arrives at the welcome mat. She even raises her first to knock, but then she hears—
“I love you, you know,” one of the roommates says, as easy as breathing.
“I know. I love you too,” the other replies.
And then, in an instant, Glinda has gone.
***
From that night on, she spends a few hours after dinner flying around Oz.
She tells her cabinet that it’s purely for morale, that as rebuilding occurs, it’s to make sure everyone is being seen and heard. But it’s also more than that— Glinda knows that if Elphaba were to be flying between the trees at any time of day it would be evening.
It’d be easy to be mistaken for a bird from a distance, or to cast a spell to disappear amongst the leaves, and Elphaba did always love sunset.
So, Glinda performs several fly overs in hopes of finding her in the sky since she’s continued to be utterly unsuccessful on foot. Honestly, she can’t tell if it’s her imagination, but she does feel closer to Elphaba because she can touch the clouds.
***
“I’m sure I’m not the first person to ask you to dance tonight.” A woman sits down beside Glinda at the bimonthly Emerald City palace party; it’s the one tradition that Glinda kept from the Wizard, though the guest list is far bigger now.
“Truthfully, I don’t do much dancing anymore,” Glinda replies, kind, but she hardly looks up from her drink. She’s been at the bar for most of the night, not to drink much but because the bartender is quite a nice Giraffe who sticks her nose in whenever someone talks to Glinda for too long.
It’s been most helpful, especially considering that Glinda has spent most of the evening thus far mulling over her talk with Dr. Dillamond and his subsequent lesson—about how the development of governorships undoubtedly shifted perceptions of community—which made her think of the Thropp sisters all over again. She hasn’t stopped since.
“That’s probably why you have that crinkle in your forehead,” the woman jokes, and it does make Glinda look up, her eyes narrowing, about to attempt a clever quip of her own when she sees who’s sitting beside her:
“You’re a former Vinkus staffer.” Glinda recognizes her from the election that happened a few months ago; she left office with the former governor who retired. She’s tall, and handsome— which is wholly irrelevant but is partially why Glinda remembers her. Call her shallow. “Do your associates know you’re here insulting the Throne Minister about her stress tell?” Glinda asks, raising an eyebrow at her.
“Insulting you?” the woman laughs, running a hand through her short, dark hair. “You misunderstand. I find it rather charming. Beautiful, even.”
The compliment catches Glinda off guard. She blushes. “Well.” She raises her glass in mock cheers. “You’re the first in a long time.”
“Honored, then,” the delegate replies with a wink, leaning in a bit so she can sling her arm over the back of Glinda’s chair. Her hand lands on Glinda’s waist.
It makes Glinda shiver. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. Slowly, the corner of her mouth turns up—she can’t deny the heat in her cheeks—but she can’t shake the way her heart is growing heavier by the minute. “Hold on, I— I’m so sorry,” she breathes, leaning forward a little so the woman’s hand slips off.
The staffer pulls her hand away. “No, I’m sorry, Your Goodness. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was just— I heard a rumor that you were….” The woman clearly feels unsure about finishing the sentence.
“Single?” Glinda laughs. Somehow, her uncertainty eases some of the tension. “Trust me, I very much am.”
The woman laughs too, clearly relieved. “That, and that you’re interested in… in women.”
Glinda looks down, some hair curtaining her face and partially concealing her barely-there smile. She hesitates before steeling her courage. It feels a bit insane to be here, in this moment, now— for this to be the moment where she finally feels ready to say it aloud, but it’s been years of wrestling only to realize she’s been fighting herself on the mat. It’s time.
“I— yes, I am,” she admits, some weight she didn’t even realize was there lifting off of her shoulders. But still— “It’s just– things are complicated at the moment, and I—”
“You don’t have to explain to me,” the woman rushes out. “I get it.”
Truthfully, Glinda knows there’s no way that she really could. But it’s lovely to hear someone say it, to be understood in name, because it’s impossible to be understood in the flesh. “Thank you,” she says softly. “Now, could you please excuse me?”
“Of course.”
At that, Glinda gives her one last smile before she slips out of her chair and, yes, flees. She can’t think of what else to do.
***
That night, Glinda can’t fall asleep. She tosses and turns, flicking the heater on and off and on again, but all she can think about is the nameless woman’s hand on her waist, her lower back.
For a split second, it felt good. For a split second, she thought… she thought she could be a different version of herself tonight. But she should have known better. It’s an odd thing—to remember you’re destined to be alone—but Glinda is doing her best to embrace it. She can’t imagine being together with anyone else the way she was with Elphaba, that deeper sort of feeling, that closeness that could never come from proximity itself.
Glinda forces herself to take a deep breath, reaching for the Grimmerie. She keeps it on the empty side of her bed, next to the funny little green bottle under her pillow. Pulling the book into her arms, Glinda closes her eyes, replaying the night that Elphaba gave it to her. Every detail of her face. The scent of some floral perfume that she must have started wearing after leaving the Emerald City that first time. The warmth of her body, the press of her palms against the small of Glinda’s back. Her voice.
And finally, Glinda lets herself cry. She’s tried not to these past months, thought that it would help somehow, to convince herself that she’s okay.
But she’s not. And she may never be again. Admitting as much—if only to herself—feels like something she ought to have done a long time ago.
Sometimes just by going on, we show how willing we are to overcome. Glinda hears Dr. Dillamond’s voice. She squeezes the Grimmerie tighter, letting her tears soak into her pillow as she thinks about what it would mean to go on this way. And how going on doesn’t always mean that you want to, but you still do because what a blessing it is. What a blessing it is— to have time.
Eventually, in the early hours of the morning, Glinda dozes off, and for the first time since the Melting, she dreams. She dreams of Elphaba, of the way she said I love you, and it soothes something, the playback of it in her head. She dreams of those last hours, how Elphaba promised that everything was going to be fine, and when Glinda rolls over to wake, she finds herself believing it, somehow, in a way she didn’t know how to before.
She is. She’s going to be okay— whether Elphie returns or not, Glinda knows she has to be. Because she has a responsibility, not just to the promise she made to Elphaba, but to everyone else. And perhaps, for the moment, everyone else should be a tad bit more important. Because Elphaba isn’t here, but they are, and they deserve someone who will finally do right by them simply because it is the right thing to do.
Sliding the book back into its spot under her second pillow, Glinda finally rises for the day. Mindlessly, she gets dressed, pulling her favorite dress from the hanger before remembering it has a tear. She searches for it, figuring she should at least tag it with a pin because the mendifying spell is never going to work, so she should just have it sent off, but she can’t find it. Huh.
Perhaps Chistery had it repaired without telling her.
Regardless, she pulls it on; it’s yellow and flowy in the skirt. She’s missed wearing it.
Next, she reaches for her jacket, sliding her hand inside to find the rip in the lining, but that’s also gone. Curious.
It’s only when Glinda makes her way downstairs that she realizes what’s happened, when she sees that the picture frame she chipped a few weeks ago—the one holding the black and white photograph of her, Elphie, Fiyero, Nessa, and Boq from one of their nights at the Ozdust—is good as new.
Somehow, she just knows: she mastered mendifying. But just to be sure, she reaches for the same glass she broke and fixed months ago, letting it drop to the floor once more. Then, she waves her hand.
Before the glass can even fully shatter on the ground, it's remade, good as new.
Glinda smiles to herself, picking it up and using the pitcher to fill it so she can have a drink. Her throat is a little dry, and she has to address the Assembly in an hour.