Archive of Our Own

Oz was thriving. Through work and hard-work alone, it was no longer a wilting land, folding and caving under its own weight, desperately trying to maintain a façade of glitz and glamour despite its dark underbelly that would eventually swallow it whole. Although nothing dramatic nor earth-shattering had happened, and although most people could not see the severity of the issues from the outside, Glinda had found Oz in a state of profound disrepair. A weak autocracy: a myriad of bad decisions and ever-compounding small political errors and graceless slips had left the foundations of Oz’s Parliament cracked and brittle.

Decades of policies motivated not by politicians trying to achieve long-standing effects and good for the people, but rather trying to guarantee themselves a seat in the next election (at whoever’s cost that may come) had left Oz’s political panorama in a bleak and loveless state. Far too long had problems been swept under the rug, ignored in favour of dazzling smiles and soulless propaganda.

Needless to say, when our darlingest Glinda the Good was elected as ruler of Oz (oh yes, dear reade,r you read that right: democracy!), the land was not quite devastated, and, for anyone who wasn’t trying to look past the shiny gates and see the weak and tired lines in its gleaming façade, Oz was doing perfectly fine.  Our Glinda, however, did see past the gleaming façade (hard not to, with a wife as cunning and sharp as hers, and with a vision laser-focused on fixing injustices), and that was precisely why she was such a great leader.

So, ten years later (wide spanning re-election terms, Oz has), one could wholly and genuinely say – without needing to cross their fingers behind their backs or turn a blind eye to glaring issues – that Oz was doing well.  Actually, no, Oz was thriving; and in large part thanks to our very own, Glinda the Good – or so the headlines proclaimed each morning, printed in glossy gold ink that shone and sparkled when held in the correct light, elegantly displayed and organised over wide sheets of paper that smelled of heady ink and sobering thoughts.

“Glinda Excells as Oz’s Youngest Ruler” “A New Era of Hope!” “Beloved Glinda the Good Carries Oz on Her Shoulders and makes it look Effortless!”

Glinda liked that last one the least. Not because the work wasn’t real – she was practically grinding herself down to bone dust to make things better and reach everything all at once – but because it suggested she was doing it alone. And that was the worst lie of all. A single pair of shoulders didn’t carry Oz. It moved forward thanks to five hundred coordinated teams, endless logistical puzzles, and bureaucratic mountains conquered one form at a time. Thanks to ordinary people helping in ways that were often unseen and unpraised.

She’d argue this in long, winding rants to Elphaba, who’d nod along softly as she sat in bed – cozy, clad in boxers and a sleep t-shirt, with an unfinished book resting on her lap, one elegant finger laying where she’d last left off before being interrupted – and watch fondly as her blonde miniature tornado of a wife ranted herself to exhaustion.

And so, Elphaba would watch her wife go. Her heels’ click-clacks muted by the elegant carpets she stepped on as she paced in circles around their shared chambers. She’d reply to her hushed thoughts uttered deep in the night with urgency and passion, meeting only the kindest of green eyes as her audience. She’d hold her and kiss her and help her wind down after a day of endless meetings. And, as Galinda insisted, she’d agree that Oz’s progress wasn’t hers; it belonged to Oz itself: to the stubborn, shining hope of its people who believed they could do better. To people like them.

However, whether it was a joint effort or not, being Glinda the Good was no easy task. No matter how breezy Glinda managed to make it look.

She was everywhere at once, prancing from one borough to another, a force of nature getting. it. done.  She’d mastered the art of bending a perfectly arched eyebrow at a mouthy senator just in time to be sharp and intimidating without looking anything but graceful; of dazzling crowds with a simple smile (although the dimple only did come out when Elphaba was making her laugh); and of being genuinely good without being stepped over. Just as she had been trained to be her whole life: perfectly poised and witty without coming across as calculated, dizzingly beautiful and cunning, smart and sharp… a perfect package, all wrapped in blonde curls, frills, and cloud-like pink gowns.

Glinda was opening literacy centres, negotiating budgets, cutting ribbons on new hospitals, and drafting policy changes at dawn. There was always something, someone, needing her attention. Needing her charm. Needing her shine.

And although this was what fulfilled her most (aside from loving her wife), and what gave meaning to every waking moment, it did not make it any easier to sustain without balance. Glinda, however smart and good and determined as she was, wasn’t great at noticing that fact. And she was even worse at accepting it.

So, naturally, Elphaba saw the strain before the rest of the world did. Glinda did good work, but even good work could turn taxing and draining if done in an unsustainable way. When was the last time her love had taken a break?

She saw how the 'Glinda the Good'-ness of it all was taking a toll on her in the way Glinda stopped humming under her breath while brushing her blonde locks in the mornings. In the way her wife was slipping, even if unknowingly so, back into old patterns they’d worked so hard to end.

Elphaba noticed it in the way Glinda had begun to swap out breakfasts for an extra layer of sparkly lip gloss and a double-shot extra-large iced americano.

In the way that hearty meals, once warm, grounding rituals full of laughter that brought them a moment of peace, had somehow been replaced by rushed bites that tasted like cardboard over her desk, and cups of coffee bitter enough to make her eyes water. The comforting clink of silverware at dinner, meeting Elphaba’s loving gaze and curling into her warm embrace, nuzzling her face into her wife’s neck, watching the soft steam curling from a real meal… all traded for the sharp peaks of a caffeine rush and the deep lows of a gnawing emptiness in her stomach that she tried desperately to ignore.

The mindfulness Elphaba had so lovingly woven into their routine to ensure her naturally anxious wife didn’t spiral out of control – a minute of her palms pressed to her chest, a slow breath, a reminder that she was allowed to exist without performing – frayed apart with each overloaded day. Swallowed by back-to-back meetings and a jittering bounce of her knee under every table, a frantic rhythm she hadn’t heard in years. A terrified, familiar beat counting out her fear of slowing down. A warning her wife refused to heed.

Elphaba began to count the dinners that had been traded for a long sigh, a promise to come to bed soon, and a painkiller. She saw it in the tightness of her corsets – not for fashion’s sake, but because Glinda had grown leaner from skipping meals, she promised she’d “grab later.” Later rarely came.

The lights at their usual living quarters in the palace stayed on later and later. Cups of tea left untouched. Dinner plates returned to the kitchen, barely eaten if at all. Glinda’s laugh, once loud and effortless, now lagged behind her smile by a heartbeat. And her magic, that soft, barely-aware glow that followed her like sunlight, seemed to flicker when she stood too fast.

And so, Elphaba watched every slip with a tightening throat, because of course she recognised it. She knew her wife like no one else; they’d been together since their days back at Shiz, for Oz's sake! She knew the patterns. The black-haired girl just couldn’t quite believe her wife was falling back into it. It had been so long, Glinda had become so good at taking care of herself. And of course it didn’t happen overnight; it was a slow trickle. Still, once it had begun, she knew exactly how easily Glinda would work herself straight into nothingness. And, although Glinda’s ways were still being largely ignored by everyone else, Elphaba noticed everything. The green-eyed lawyer was always watching, and she was not about to let her wife work herself to death.

At first, she tried for subtlety. Nutritious snacks replacing bowls of peppermint candies on Glinda’s desk. Timers disguised as reminders for scheduled calls that conveniently included: “Eat.” “Stretch.” “Sip water.” She left love notes stuck to files Glinda would definitely open: “Remember you’re one person.” “You deserve rest.” “Remember your wife loves when you’re tired too :)”

Moreover, Elphaba took to taking more impromptu visits to her wife’s office, somehow finding time despite her own busy schedule at the firm (perks of being a founding partner!) to check up on Galinda. She'd enter into the large office without needing to ask her wife's secretary for permission, poking her head through the door frame before watching her love’s face soften immediately, melting into a gaze full of love and care. She looked so beautiful when she’d gaze up at her with those big brown eyes, long eyelashes fluttering with doe-like softness – although Elphaba couldn’t help but notice the deep purple eye bags that no concealer could fully cover.

And for a little while, it did seem to have the intended effect. Glinda obeyed. She’d laugh weakly, promise to do better, take a single forkful of food as though it were a favour she was gifting her wife. But most nights…

“Elphie, I can’t. I have to finish this budget review- they’re counting on me-”

“They will still count on you tomorrow,” the green girl would reply, voice low and soft as she leaned against the doorway to her wife’s home office. She was desperately trying not to spook the blonde girl, who had begun to look more like a tiny, wounded animal than the strong woman she remembered. When she was met with an impassive stare, she’d cross her arms tight with worry and frown, before muttering gravely. “They’ll need you in a state better than this, my sweet.”

But Glinda didn’t hear it. Couldn’t. Her mind never stopped whirring – fuelled by a strange fear and anxiety that had begun to take root in her mind, left too long unchecked as her bad habits and lonely hours grew longer:

If she stopped, people would suffer.

If she slowed, progress would slip away.

If she faltered… Oz might decide it no longer needed her.

She would never go back to being just Glinda.

Not when she had finally become everything, she was told she ought to be.

And nonetheless – who cared! It was fine. She was fine. She was FINE.

So, she kept going.

Days blurred into nights. Glinda’s glow dimmed. Like a tired candle sputtering in its puddle of melted wax. Her hands shook. Her jokes ran thinner. Her shoulders curled inward whenever she thought she was alone.

Elphaba grew quieter in her worry, but more protective. More watchful. More proactive. And so, she laid it on thick, adding to her pre-existing tactics: dropping by Glinda’s office unannounced with hot meals even more often; sneaking granola bars into the pockets of her tailored suits; setting calendar alarms labelled something corny like “Sweetheart, breathe”.

Glinda smiled at every gesture. And ignored them anyway. Just like she ignored her reflection, sharp cheekbones beneath a too-bright smile.

One night, long after even the city lights had grown tired, Elphaba came looking for her. She found Glinda asleep upright at her desk again, pen in hand, cheek pressed into the margins of a policy document. Glitter gloss dried and cracked on lips that hadn’t eaten a thing since noon. She looked so young when she slept; she reminded Elphaba of the girl she’d met back at Shiz.

Elphaba didn’t wake her. She just slid her arms beneath Glinda’s knees and shoulders, lifting her with painful ease – she weighed so much less than she used to. Glinda murmured something incoherent into Elphaba’s collarbone, and Elphaba nearly cried. She tightened her jaw and held a little tighter to her love as she made her way down the corridor into their chambers.

In the low light, she whispered sweet nothings into golden curls, kissing Glinda’s forehead. Willing her to take care of herself before she’d have to call an intervention.

“I love you, sweet girl. I just wish you loved yourself a little more, too”

But morning always came. And the mask always went back on. The staff called her Glinda, and she let them. The public called her Glinda the Good, and she tried to live up to it. But Elphaba called her Galinda. My love. My sweet. And lately, Glinda looked far too tired to remember the difference.

Elphaba knew deep in her bones that a breaking point was coming. But she felt helpless to stop it; her wife was way too stubborn, and no matter how many times she’d tried to drill it into Glinda’s head, it didn’t seem to be going through. Her long rants and speeches where she’d try to convince Glinda to just listen and take a break kept being brushed off with a kiss, a caress of her jaw and a shrug that it was fine – “just a little longer,” she’d say; “one more clock-tick, Elphie”; and “oh darlingest you needn’t worry so much, it’s just that we’re in a busy season my love!”.

She didn’t know when the roles had swapped so dramatically. She didn’t know when the breaking point would come. But she was terrified of what would happen the day Glinda finally hit the ground she refused to see.

Soon enough, it was time for the Annual Emerald Gala. Hosted by Glinda’s people, it was a magnificent fundraiser that – despite being a glittering circus of political elbow-rubbing, performance philanthropy, and all in all a reunion of old schmoozes with way too much champagne – managed to raise enough money to deliver actual change, every year. The who’s-who of Oz attended, each hoping to be seen caring just enough.

This year, Glinda was the centrepiece. Not as a guest, not as a host, but as the symbol of progress they all loved to applaud.

Still, back in the comfort of their home, Glinda stood before the mirror, smoothing her gown with hands that trembled just slightly. The gown was truly a sight to behold. With intricate sets of patterns to which beautiful gemstones had been stitched, it evoked a classic Gillikin style but reimagined to fit the modern world perfectly. It was the epitome of class and perfection, much like Glinda tried so desperately to be.

Tonight, however, to Glinda’s eyes, the gown shimmered a little too brightly, catching the light like stars desperate to be seen. She caught her own eyes in the reflection and took a deep breath, before shifting her gaze to make eye contact with her lovely wife - whom she just adored so - through the reflection.

Elphaba lingered behind her, brow pulled tight, arms crossed in that familiar way she had when she was holding back panic. She came closer, resting her chin where Glinda’s neck turned into her shoulder, and pressed her front to her wife’s back, pulling her in by the waist, Elphaba’s hands gripping Glinda’s hipbones steadily. Glinda hummed and briefly closed her eyes, preening at the comfort that her wife’s warm touch brought her.

“Are you sure you don’t want me there?” Elphaba asked for the umpteenth time that evening, voice low, steadying. “I can reschedule. It’s just a partner's meeting – nothing urgent.”

Glinda smiled, soft but strained, leaning back against Elphaba’s chest and basking in Elphaba’s warmth even more. Her wife ran like an oven at all times, whilst Glinda always tended to be on the colder side.

“Elphie, I promise.” She pecked her jaw softly. “Go do your work. I don’t want to make you pause your life for me. I’ll be home before midnight.”

Elphaba shook her head and clenched her jaw for a clock-tick, before relaxing and sighing. She wouldn’t insist again – she’d been at it the whole afternoon, and right before her love had to leave wasn’t the best timing for instigating a quarrel.

“You’re burning yourself out,” Elphaba murmured into her curls.

“I’m not a porcelain doll, you know.” Glinda’s tease was light, but the exhaustion behind it wasn’t. She turned to cup a green cheek with her palm before kissing her softly. Their lips lingered as they stared into each other’s eyes for a second. Glinda smiled and scrunched her nose – almost fooling Elphaba that she was fine. “You worry too much, my love.”

Elphaba pressed her forehead to Glinda’s – lingering, breathing her in like she was afraid she might vanish. She squeezed her waist and slid her hands back down to her hip bones, giving them one last reassuring squeeze, and one last kiss to her blonde girl’s lips. Then, she let her go.

The minute her wife waved goodbye as she got into the chauffeur’s car, however, Elphaba felt her heart thump painfully in her chest. Her stomach churned uncomfortably; something was wrong, and her gut couldn’t be trying to make it any clearer to her. Worse than last week or the week before. She could see it plainly now, etched into the delicate lines of her wife’s face.

Elphaba knew the gala would demand more of Glinda than she had left to give. And so, in that moment, right as she watched her wife be whisked away, she changed her mind and made a quick decision: she would be attending the gala. Glinda’s stubbornness and partner’s meeting be damned.

She sprinted up the stairs two at a time, skipping every other step. She needed to get ready, fast. She just hoped she wouldn’t be too late.

The ballroom had been transformed into a cathedral of gold and emerald. Even when her wife wasn’t with her, the need to subtly reference her and their love seeped into everything Glinda did. And so, emerald chandeliers dripped from the ceiling with their crystals gleaming like captured starlight, swaying at the slightest breeze. Patterns of light danced across the polished dark mahogany floor, scattering in glittering shards and creating a shifting mosaic of green and gold that dazzled with every step.

Glinda was exhausted. But tonight was no time for that. The press was out in droves, hungry for both glamour and sound bites. Every senator wanted a photo with her. Every entrepreneur wanted her endorsement. Every ordinary citizen watching from home needed to believe that their beloved leader was tireless and shining.

If the cameras caught so much as a flicker of weakness, Oz would panic. The markets would wobble. The tabloids would feast. So, Glinda powered through the sleepless nights, straightened her spine, and stepped into her role. After all, she wasn’t just attending a party: she was the party.

And so, despite everything, Glinda looked perfect when she arrived. Cameras flashed. Applause rolled. The crowd swarmed their beloved ruler; each smile she gave was a tiny, heroic performance. She barely noticed how the ballroom lights pulsed too brightly. How her legs felt like they were made of paper. She was, after all, Glinda the Good.

Being frank, things were going smoothly. Granted, it hadn’t been that long, but Glinda was very pleased with her performance. She was a social butterfly through it all, and schmoozing and delighting all those around her had always been her forte.

Things continued that way for a while. The party was already in full swing, music swelling beneath the hum of strategic laughter and clinking glasses, when the double doors at the far end of the ballroom parted just wide enough to let in a lean figure in a deep burgundy suit that made several pairs of eyes widen openly. Elphaba walked with quiet confidence, steps assured and steady, her spine straight and shoulders set wide, the fabric of her suit catching the emerald light and turning it into something richer, darker – wine rather than gemstone – her micro-braids perfectly styled. How she’d gotten ready that quickly and looked that good was a mystery, especially to her wife, who had taken up to 3 hours to prepare for this same gala.

If Glinda had not been looking in her direction, she might have missed her entirely – despite the hushed whispers of awe and slight intimidation that cascaded around Elphaba as she made her way to where her wife was stood at – but somehow, out of all the faces in the crowd, out of all the hands trying to claim her attention, her gaze drifted toward the entrance precisely at the moment Elphaba crossed the threshold. And if Glinda hadn’t already been short of breath from the weight of exhaustion pressing against her ribs, this sight alone would have stolen the air from her lungs.

For the briefest fragment of time, she forgot her headache, forgot the cameras, forgot that she was standing on heels that her ankles were beginning to resent deeply. The room seemed to fall into a hush (not literally, of course, dear reader, music and chatter carried on), but in Glinda’s mind, everything softened at the edges. There was only Elphaba. Always only Elphaba.

Elphaba’s eyes found her instantly, and Glinda could see it, the panic and concern – marred with slight anger and desperation for having let her wife reach this point – still simmering beneath that well-practised calm. A storm held back by sheer willpower. Her wife might have been polite enough to socialise with those who stepped into her path, shaking hands and accepting compliments about Glinda’s leadership and her firm’s work in advancing Animals’ rights with gracious nods, but her gaze kept ticking back to Glinda like a compass refusing to point anywhere else. There was purpose in each step she took across that polished floor. She was here for one reason only.

When she finally reached her, Elphaba paused just close enough that Glinda felt that familiar warmth radiating off her even through all the layers of satin and ceremony.

Elphaba approached, calm poise belying the storm in her eyes.

“I thought you had a meeting,” Glinda breathed, and the words left her slightly more airy than intended.

“I do,” Elphaba said simply, offering her arm as if it were the most unremarkable thing in the world. Steading. Grounding. A safe port and a steady support to hold onto. “It can wait.”

There was no grand declaration, no scolding, no I told you so. Just a quiet decision, made without the slightest crack in her dignity. And somehow, that single sentence struck Glinda harder than a full sermon would have. She swallowed and nodded, ignoring the dizziness swirling at the edges of her vision, and placed her hand delicately upon Elphaba’s arm, letting herself lean just a little more than she intended to.

“Thank you,” she whispered, though she wasn’t entirely sure the sound fully escaped her lips.

They moved together through the crowd, Glinda clasping Elphaba’s arm like it was the only anchor keeping her upright, Elphaba subtly adjusting her stance to take more of Glinda’s weight without drawing attention. Smiles were exchanged with donors, with journalists, with colleagues – all while Elphaba’s fingers lightly, insistently, traced circles at Glinda’s wrist in the smallest of reminders: breathe.

Glinda pretended she didn’t feel the slight tremor in her own hand when she lifted her glass for a toast. Pretended her knees weren’t beginning to wobble under the satin skirts of her gown. Pretended the feverish heat rising beneath her skin was merely the glow of attention.

Elphaba pretended nothing. She saw everything.

The green girl guided her wife toward the refreshment tables under the guise of mingling, though her touch never once left the small of Glinda’s back. She could feel the heat radiating through layers of fabric: wrong, too warm, feverish. Each new bead of sweat that gathered at Glinda’s hairline tightened something in Elphaba’s chest like a warning bell only she could hear.

Glinda raised her glass again, performing the way she’d trained herself to since youth, the corners of her mouth curled into that determined smile that had won over a nation. But when she laughed – polite, appropriate, perfectly timed – the sound came half a second early. A beat too eager. A little too brittle.

Elphaba leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of Glinda’s ear with a whisper so soft it could have been mistaken for a kiss.

“You need to sit.”

Glinda didn’t look at her, eyes pinned on the minister making conversation across from them. She shook her head minutely, the motion too quick, too stiff.

“Not now,” she murmured through her smile. “Everyone’s watching.”

Elphaba’s jaw clenched. “They will not care if you sit.”

“They will,” Glinda said, voice sweet as spun sugar and just as fragile. “They always care.”

Her hand adjusted its grip on the glass, and for the first time, Elphaba noticed how white Glinda’s knuckles were, how her fingers shook almost imperceptibly against the stem. As if sensing her gaze, Glinda quickly swapped the glass into her other hand but that one trembled, too. Elphaba placed her palm over Glinda’s, steadying gently. A subtle gesture disguised as affection. Her hand then moved and found the small of her back again, steadying: both a warning and a plea.

Elphaba’s jaw clenched almost painfully. “You’re burning up,” she whispered, trying again.

Glinda inhaled sharply as if bracing herself. “It’s just warm in here,” she countered, though her voice wavered in a way that gave her away.

Elphaba tilted her head, green eyes narrowing slightly, and her resolve turned steely. “That’s enough, Galinda. Let’s go home-”

Glinda interrupted her, forcing a laugh with her head tilting in practised charm.

“Oh, hush, darling. I’m-”

The word fine never came. As Glinda was trying to refuse again, the room suddenly lurched. The chandelier lights stretched and blurred like smears of emerald and gold. The beautiful, polished mahogany that was the floor sloped unnaturally beneath her feet. Sound thickened, voices bleeding into a distant, underwater roar. Her pulse hammered wildly against her temples.

Her fingers loosened around the glass. It slipped. Shattered on the floor.

Gasps followed, sharp and immediate. Heads snapped toward the spilt drink, but Elphaba did not look away from her wife for a single heartbeat. With reflexes honed by years of vigilance, she caught Glinda by the waist just as her knees gave out.

“Galinda?” The word cracked, uncharacteristically raw.

Her wife blinked up at her in confusion, eyes glassy and unfocused, lips parting like she was about to apologise for the mess – she was always apologising, that silly girl, even for gravity failing her.

“I… I just need… a second…” she breathed, but her voice sounded small, faraway, like a broadcast cutting to static. She felt dizzy, like she was drowning in sparkling water filling her head.

Elphaba’s grip tightened, one arm wrapping fully around her back, the other bracing the back of Glinda’s head as she lowered her gently toward her chest, shielding her from view.

“No. No more seconds.” Elphaba’s words were quiet but steel-edged, and the tremor in them betrayed a depth of fear she had been swallowing for weeks. “We’re leaving.”

The musicians faltered mid-measure. Cameras lowered. Whispers rippled through the glittering crowd. Oz was watching, as always, yet Glinda’s carefully crafted facade had finally given way, and she had fallen straight into the only arms that had ever been meant to catch her.

Elphaba’s magic sparked faintly at her fingertips as she lifted Glinda effortlessly into her arms bridal style – a subtle hum of her power, like a warning to anyone who dared step too close – and without waiting for some official exit, she strode toward the doors, her entire focus narrowed to the woman limp against her chest. PR crisis be damned; that was the last of her worries right now. She would not worry about something so trivial when her wife was weak in her arms, trembling like a leaf.

Plus, subconsciously, on a rational level, she knew Pfannee (appointed as Glinda’s head of Public Relations and Affairs ever since her first day in office) and her secretary would handle the situation flawlessly. If Elphaba hadn’t been so singularly focused on her wife’s wellbeing, so intent on getting them the hell out of there, she might have noticed them already circling nearby, slipping into polished damage-control mode. They knew as well as anyone that no one could – or would – take care of Glinda as Elphaba could.

Glinda’s lashes fluttered weakly as she came to, brushing her collarbone. “Elphie…? I… I didn’t,” she whispered, words slurring together before taking a sharp intake of breath, “I didn’t wan’ to worry you…”

Elphaba’s voice dropped to a fissure of heartbreak at hearing her girl sound so small. Clenching her jaw and gripping the tiny blonde girl a little tighter, she shook her head. “Too late, I fear.”

She didn’t slow, didn’t bow her head, and didn’t apologise. She simply continued to walk with the determination of someone who was holding their entire life in their arms. Someone opened the doors without being asked, the entire room parting like water around the woman determined to finally be allowed to take care of her wife.

Finally, Elphaba carried Glinda out of the shimmering cathedral of celebration and into the car already waiting for them. The cool night’s air briefly hit them and nipped at their skin, barely a minute outside, but enough to cause goosebumps to appear in her love’s arms. Elphaba held Galinda with the utmost care, refusing to let her out of her arms even when they sat in the backseat, desperation blooming silent and furious in her chest. She had known this moment was coming, but knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

The chauffeur, wise enough not to ask questions, shut the door behind them with a soft click that somehow sounded too loud even in Elphaba’s ears. She settled Glinda carefully across her lap, one arm braced along her spine, the other supporting the back of her head so it didn’t loll too much with the car’s gentle sway. Glinda blinked slowly, as though each attempt at reopening her eyes cost her precious energy she didn’t quite possess anymore.

“Elphie… m’tired…” she murmured, voice cracking around the edges.

“I know, sweet girl,” Elphaba whispered back, her thumb brushing a stray curl from Glinda’s damp forehead. Just looking at her wife having reached this point made her emotional, but she willed herself not to cry. Glinda needed strong support and maybe even a little bit of tough love. “You’ve been forcing yourself awake for far too long. Burning the candle at both ends, my love.”

Glinda nodded weakly, or tried to, her brows pinching with the effort, making her look like a pouty toddler – it took everything for Elphaba’s chest not to crack open at the amount of love she held for this woman. She swallowed once, twice, like she was trying to chase away the dryness clinging to the back of her throat and nausea enveloping her. Elphaba immediately reached for the chilled bottle of water the chauffeur kept stocked, unscrewing the cap with one hand and guiding it carefully to Glinda’s lips. The blonde took a few trembling sips before turning her face slightly away, breath shuddering out.

“That’s enough for now,” Elphaba assured, placing the bottle aside. “We’ll take it slow.”

The city lights beyond the tinted windows flickered in rhythmic patterns. Streetlamp, billboard, store sign, headlights. A pulse of brightness that made Glinda wince and try to burrow her face further into the crook of Elphaba’s neck. Elphaba angled her hand up, casting a faint shimmer of magic that darkened the glass just enough to soften the glare. Better.

Despite everything – the knot of fear coiled in her gut, the simmering anger at seeing her wife in such a state, the irrational guilt for letting her reach such a state, and the spark of adrenaline still racing beneath her skin – Elphaba forced her breathing to slow. For Glinda’s sake. One of them had to be steady.

She rested her cheek atop Glinda’s crown and allowed herself the briefest moment, exactly two heartbeats, to close her eyes. To feel the weight in her arms that she had missed carrying like this. To recognize how wrong it was that she had to nearly collapse for Elphaba to finally hold her.

“You’re safe,” she murmured into golden curls, quiet enough that perhaps only the night heard it. “I’ve got you.”

Glinda’s fingers, which had been curled loosely against the lapel of Elphaba’s suit, flexed weakly; a fragile attempt at returning the affection. Elphaba caught that trembling hand immediately, threading their fingers gently together and bringing Glinda’s knuckles to her lips.

“I’m sorry…” Glinda whispered again, the apology barely formed, like it hurt to let even those two syllables exist.

Elphaba’s jaw tightened again, not in anger at her wife, never at her, ever for something like this, but at whatever twisted logic had convinced this brilliant woman she must apologize for being human.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she said, firm but soft. “You hear me? Nothing. You just need to take better care of yourself, my sweet. You can’t keep going like this.” Then, quieter, barely above a whisper: “It scares me.”

Glinda made a quiet wounded sound – a hum, a sigh, maybe the start of a sob – and burrowed closer, as though trying to disappear into Elphaba entirely.

The car slowed as they climbed the hill to the palace residence and turned into the private entry. Before the vehicle had fully stopped, Elphaba was already shifting her weight, preparing to carry Glinda again. The door opened, and the cool air rushed in once more; this time bringing a brief reprieve from the heat still burning beneath Glinda’s flushed skin.

She slipped out of the car with Glinda bundled tightly against her chest, refusing the footmen’s offers of assistance with a sharp shake of her head. The staff stepped back immediately; they knew that look in Elphaba’s eyes. A look that promised she would not be interfered with tonight. Not with this.

Elphaba entered their chambers with purpose, sweeping past the threshold, knowing she held the most precious treasure in the world clasped in her arms. Her magic flared automatically, dimming the lights to something soft and non-invasive, unfastening stubborn clasps and tugging pins from Glinda’s hair as she moved.

She laid Glinda down gently, easing her down onto the mattress with infinite care, one hand still behind her head until the pillow met it, the other smoothing down the crumpled satin of her gown. She moved the almost limp girl, placing her slightly upright atop the seemingly endless amount of decorative plush pillows that adorned their bed. Smiling fondly for a clock-tick upon recalling how insistent Glinda had been about owning said pillows in the first place, before falling back into present time, biting her lower lip in worry.

Glinda groaned quietly at the motion, eyelids fluttering.

“Almost done, darling,” Elphaba murmured, softly cupping Glinda’s jaw and worrying her thumb over her lover’s lip. “We’re home.”

Glinda’s nose scrunched and twitched, reminding Elphaba briefly of the cutest little rabbit, before she shivered slightly, her arms instinctively curling inward to conserve heat – and Elphaba exhaled shakily through her nose at the sight.

The armour was finally off. Glinda the Good was gone. Just her Galinda remained: fragile and oh so very tired… and Elphaba had never loved anything more fiercely in her life.

“Let’s get you out of this gown, my sweet,” she whispered, her voice steadying even as her heart thundered behind her ribs. “Then a cool cloth for that fever.”

Glinda blinked up at her, eyes glassy and unfocused, trusting completely without a word. Elphaba smiled, a small, pained thing.

“I’m here. I’ve got you,” she promised again, and this time Glinda heard her. Her shoulders loosened almost imperceptibly, as though some invisible tension she’d been holding by sheer force of will finally gave way now that Elphaba had said the words out loud. It was subtle, but enough to make Elphaba’s heart twist in her chest.

“’m sorry ‘bout the gala…” Glinda mumbled, lashes lowering clumsily. When she got like this it reminded her so much of the young girl she’d met at Shiz it was almost painful. How’d it been so long? “Didn’ mean t’… ruin it. They’ll all… talk…”

Elphaba shook her head, a quiet huff leaving her lungs that was almost a laugh, if it hadn’t been weighted by so much worry.

“Let them talk,” she replied, fingers already working at the delicate clasps of Glinda’s gown with careful precision, making sure nothing tugged or pinched more than it needed to. Her wife never really said anything about it, but Elphaba was so sure these gowns were practically sensory hell. Just the idea of wearing one made her skin prickle. She couldn’t wait to get her wife out of the gown and into soft pyjamas. “You scared me half to death, Galinda. I couldn’t care less what any of them think right now.”

The bodice gave a little as she eased it looser, the strain at Glinda’s ribs finally releasing. Glinda let out a slow breath she probably hadn’t realised she’d been holding since before the gala even began. Elphaba slipped the sleeves down her arms, manoeuvring fabric around limp limbs with the sort of practised gentleness that comes from years of fastening and unfastening zippers and buttons after long days. She folded the gown over the back of a nearby chair rather than leave it puddled on the floor; somehow, it felt wrong to treat something Glinda loved with anything but care, even if she had nearly worked herself into collapse wearing it.

Underneath, Glinda shivered again, bare skin prickled with goosebumps both from the chill and from the fever still simmering under the surface. Elphaba murmured a quiet apology for the cold as she reached for the softest of her own sleep tops from the dresser, one of the worn, oversized ones she favoured on rare lazy mornings. It smelled like her and she knew it’d bring her love comfort. She guided Galinda’s arms through the sleeves slowly, supporting each elbow, smoothing fabric down her sides, taking a moment to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist before letting go.

“Better?” she asked softly.

Glinda made a faint affirmative noise that might have been a yes if she’d had just a little more strength. Her head lolled to the side, cheek sinking into the pillows, curls fanning messily around her face. She was so beautiful even when exhausted. Elphaba’s heart fluttered in her chest – sometimes it still shocked her, the amount of love she could harbour for just one tiny blonde person. Elphaba brushed her blonde curls back with careful fingers, thumb lingering against a flushed temple. Heat radiated from her skin, far too high for Elphaba’s liking.

“Right,” the green girl muttered, more to herself than to Glinda, who seemed to be in a far-off land in her own mind – torn between exhaustion-induced sleep and, at best, a sort of dazed wakefulness. “Cool cloth. Fever first, scolding later.”

She crossed to the adjoining bathroom and ran a clean flannel under cool (not icy, she knew better than to shock her system) water, wringing it out until it was just damp enough. For a heartbeat, she rested her own shaking hands on the edge of the sink and closed her eyes. A nasty flash of fear ran through her spine, unforgiving memories of taking care of Nessa her whole childhood, taking a sick turn.

“She’ll be okay,” she told her reflection, quietly. She took another deep breath. “You got her out. She’ll be okay.” Whether she believed it fully yet or not didn’t matter. She had to act as though she did.

When she returned to the bedside, Glinda’s eyes were half-open, hazy but still tracking Elphaba’s movement. That small, soft smile tugged at her lips again, stubborn even in exhaustion.

“There you are,” she whispered, voice frayed. “Knew you’d… fix it.”

Elphaba’s chest ached. “You’re not something to fix, my love,” she said gently, laying the cool cloth across Glinda’s forehead and smoothing it into place with careful strokes.

Glinda hummed at the touch, her eyelids finally easing shut, the lines between her brows unfurling just a little. Elphaba perched on the edge of the bed, one knee tucked up, posture slightly upright so she could reach everything she needed: water within arm’s length on the nightstand, spare cloth on the other side, a small vial of potion the palace physician had insisted they keep for such occasions resting by the lamp.

“Small sips,” she coaxed, sliding an arm behind Glinda’s shoulders and lifting her just enough to bring the glass to her lips. “Come on. For me.”

Glinda obeyed, as she so rarely did when she was overworking, which somehow made Elphaba even more anxious. She took a few gulps, coughed once, then relaxed back into Elphaba’s support with a soft sigh. The green girl lowered her carefully, adjusting the pillows so her wife remained slightly upright, enough to keep her from feeling like she was drowning in her own dizziness.

“Does your head hurt?” Elphaba asked, fingers trailing lightly along her hairline. “Throat? Chest?”

“Head,” Glinda admitted, eyes still closed. “An’… everythin’ feels heavy. Like I’m… full of sand.” She made a face. “Very glamorous. Just what the tabloids ordered.”

Elphaba snorted softly despite herself. “Oh yes, you’re absolutely dreadful,” she said dryly, running her thumb along Glinda’s cheekbone in a slow, soothing line. “I’m certain they’ll all abandon their admiration for you at once because you dared to be mortal for an evening.”

Glinda’s lips twitched in the ghost of a smile, but almost immediately, her expression crumpled, and a tear escaped from the corner of one eye, slipping down into her hairline. Her lips curled into a deep pout, like that of a toddler trying desperately not to cry. She tried to turn away, embarrassed, but Elphaba caught her face gently between her hands.

“Hey,” she murmured. “None of that.” She sighed. “My sweet girl... My poor girl you must be so tired. You’re allowed to be tired, Galinda. You’re allowed to fall apart a little...”

“I don’t like… when you worry,” Glinda whispered, voice wobbling, a tiny hiccup between words. “You’re always doing so much. F-for the Animals, for y-your clients, and then for me as well, and I jus’ thought if I could keep it together a li’l longer-” Glinda huffed a weak laugh, another tear escaping. “I jus’ didn’ want to be… more work for you.”

It felt like someone had reached into Elphaba’s chest, cracked it open, found her heart and squeezed. God, she loved her wife.

“You are not work,” she said firmly, every syllable threaded with quiet conviction as her eyes glossed over. “You are my wife. You are my family. Taking care of you isn’t a burden; it’s a privilege. It’s what I want.”

There it was again: that slightly wounded, disbelieving look Glinda sometimes got when kindness was turned too directly onto her. As though complimenting Oz made perfect sense, but complimenting her personally was baffling.

“As we’ve grown up, I’ve seen you turn into the most selfless, loving, and courageous woman. You make me proud every day, my love. I know how much you’ve grown.” Elphaba let out in a hushed whisper, love and care impregnating every word. She sighed shakily before continuing, cupping Glinda’s jaw gently. “But baby… you’re spending all your time taking care of everyone else,” Her gaze softened. “Let me take care of you again. For once. Please.”

Glinda swallowed, then gave the smallest of nods, like it physically cost her pride something to allow it, but she was too exhausted to keep fighting. “Okay,” she whispered, and the word felt like a surrender. A good one, this time.

Elphaba exhaled, relieved, smoothing the cloth over her forehead again and brushing a kiss to the damp edge. She tugged the duvet up around Glinda’s shoulders, tucking her in with gentle, practised hands.

The green girl then quickly made work of untying her tie, shrugging off her suit and dress pants, and quickly putting on a comfy top. Leaving her in just her boxers and an oversized t-shirt she’d owned since university, she slipped onto the bed beside her sweet girl, still slightly upright against the headboard. With one arm, she gathered Glinda carefully to her side, letting the blonde’s head rest over her heart, their legs tangling under the blankets.

“Sleep,” she murmured into the top of her hair, fingers tracing lazy circles between her shoulder blades. “I’ll wake you if you start muttering policy in your sleep again.”

Glinda made a faint sound that might have been a protest or an amused noise, but it quickly melted into a soft, steadying rhythm of breaths as the combination of warmth, cool cloth, and Elphaba’s presence finally coaxed her over the edge into something that resembled rest.

Elphaba stayed awake, listening to her breathing, counting each inhale and exhale like a prayer. Her own eyes burned with unshed tears, but she refused to close them just yet. Not until she was absolutely sure Glinda was sleeping deeply. Not until the fever began to ebb and the frantic pounding of her own heart slowed to something closer to normal.

Only then, much later, did she allow her head to tip against Glinda’s, eyes drifting shut, one hand still resting protectively over her wife’s ribs.

She would let herself sleep. For a few hours. Tomorrow, there would be talks and doctors and, yes, probably a little bit of righteous scolding. But tonight, there was this: two women in a darkened room, one finally resting, the other finally allowed to hold her, both of them breathing in time.