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“Elphie. What are you doing?”
Elphaba groans and covers her head with her blanket. It’s too thin to do much good, but it’s better than nothing, particularly when it comes to the way that the light through the window that Galinda refuses to curtain bounces off every single one of her dresses and jewelry and also now that incredibly stupid wand that Galinda carries around everywhere.
(The wand is not stupid. Wands can be an important focus for magical power. Like playing a clarinet or trumpet, only instead of taking a bunch of hot air and turning that into something more malleable, it’s doing it with magic. The fact that this has never worked for Elphaba’s magic doesn’t make that any less true.
…probably.)
“El. phie.” Galanda punctuates each syllable of her new, somewhat affectionate (she hopes?) nickname with a tap of her wand. Two taps. Directly on Elphaba’s forehead. “Wake. Up.” Two more.
Elphaba groans again. Somehow, this is worse than when Galinda didn’t like her. How did it make this worse? “Go. Away.”
“I will not!” The slump of weight on the side of Elphaba’s bed, just next to her quite uncomfortable stomach, means that Galinda must be sitting next to her. Either that or a very large cat, and she’s pretty sure they don’t have one of those.
(Unless Galinda summoned one in her attempt to do any magic whatsoever – possibly, in this case, a side-effect of trying to get her out of bed. How that could suddenly make a cat, she doesn’t know. Her own magic is unpredictable at best; why shouldn’t Galinda’s be the same?)
This time, when Galinda prods her arm, it’s with the tip of one fingernail. Which is sharp, to an extent, but feels so much like a tinier version of Dulcibear prodding her gently with the tip of one claw that it’s oddly comforting. “Elphie. Get up. It will be absolutely horrendifying if I go to our first sorcery class together alone! Madame Morrible will throw me out!”
“That’s an exaggeration,” Elphaba mumbles beneath her blanket. “She won’t have to throw you out if she slams the door in your face.”
The prodding becomes a light slap.
“Feel better?”
“No.”
Galinda is pouting. Elphaba can tell by the tone of her voice. At least she hasn’t—
Now the weight that was on the side of her mattress is now thrown all the way across her stomach.
Elphaba groans a third time. This time, not from pain. “Galinda Upland, I am not a fainting couch.”
“You might as well be!” Galinda exclaims, her voice muffled. “You won’t even move that disgustible blanket to look at me!”
At least she isn’t fake sobbing. There is a limit to how ridiculous Galinda pretends to be in these moments. Sometimes.
“Galinda.” Elphaba struggles to sit up, made all the harder by the dead weight across her stomach and the sheer nausea of attempting to move. She takes a deep breath. “I can’t go today. Tell Madame Morrible I’m having another one of my episodes. She’ll understand.”
The weight shifts.
The blanket is torn from her face, and Elphaba winces. She shuts her eyes tight against the blinding light – because even if the blanket wasn’t doing much, it was doing something, and the amount of sparkle that Galinda is wearing right now makes her head hurt so much more—
“What is wrong with you today?”
“Give that back!” Elphaba rips the blanket out of Galinda’s hands – thin, fragile, easily breakable – and covers her head again. She takes another deep breath. “I’m sick. You understand sick, don’t you?”
“I don’t know the meaning of the word.”
“You knew the meaning of the word when Doctor Dillamond wanted you to turn in a paper on—”
Galinda slaps her again, just as light as before, in a way that would be considered playful if she wasn’t so upset. “You don’t know the meaning of the word, then,” she says, crossing her arms. “You’re never sick.”
“Only because you have never paid attention.”
It isn’t as though Elphaba ever missed one of the classes she shares with Galinda. She’s never had an episode on one of those days. Just sometimes after a particularly hard class with Madame Morrible – or just before one. She presses her fingertips into her aching head. It helps, but not much. “Sometimes,” she says into the silence, “my head feels like it’s on fire, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”
“Then you only need something cold.” Galinda pulls the blanket back down and places her hand on Elphaba’s forehead. “See? That helps, doesn’t it?”
Elphaba blushes a deeper green. Her gaze drops. “It…does.” She closes her eyes and feels herself finally settle.
Then Galinda removes her hand, and everything resets. “Perfect. Now let’s—”
“Wait.” Elphaba reaches out, takes Galinda’s hand (with some slight, unhappy noise from her roommate), and presses it back to her forehead. “It only works if you keep your hand here.”
This time, Galinda freezes, and Elphaba can almost convince herself she sees a soft pink blush creep along Galinda’s cheeks, same as the green across hers earlier.
But a clock tick later, Galinda rips her hand – and its comfort – away. “I can’t keep my hand on your head all day!” she exclaims. “I most certainly couldn’t call up a singularific ounce of magic like this, and Madame Morrible would laugh. at. me.”
As if that were the worst thing in the entire world.
(To Galinda, it might be.)
“Isn’t there anything else I can do that can—” Galinda stumbles on her words, realizing what she’s started to say, and changes them, “or, I mean, that can be done to help?”
Elphaba closes her eyes. “Turn the lights off. Cover the window.” Get rid of all your sparkly everything, she doesn’t say, as Galinda leaves her side. There’s a limit to what Galinda will do for her, she knows, and if the sources of light are gone, then the sparkling won’t hurt as much – if at all. There’s a large, heavy thump as the softer sunlight from the window disappears, and Elphaba opens her eyes to see that Galinda has covered the window by standing on a chair and throwing one of Elphaba’s heavy, woolen black cloaks at it. She chuckles.
Galinda whirls to her. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.”
Galinda’s eyes narrow into pinpricks as she examines Elphaba for any sign of weakness, then relax when she finds none. (Or, at least, none that she can exploit.) She hops down from the chair. “That makes you better?”
“It helps,” Elphaba says. Then she slumps back down on her bed and covers her head with her blanket again. “Now, I sleep.”
“But—”
“If I don’t sleep, it’ll get worse, and then we won’t have class tomorrow, either.” Elphaba stares at the wall ahead of her, masked by the thin blanket. “If I sleep, then maybe tomorrow—”
“Is there anything else?”
Desperation. A hint of a whine. Pleading. And – there – the slight stamp of Galinda’s foot, the sound of her heel clicking on the floor. Elphaba can imagine her stance clearly, the hands still clenched the way a child’s might be, but held at her sides instead of in front of her, shoulders tense but not hunched, that same pink blush angrily darkening her cheeks, and the slightest fire of determination flickering within her dark brown eyes – a small spark lightening dead brush.
Galinda is at her most beautiful when she is like this.
(Elphaba will never tell her that.)
“One thing.” Elphaba rolls over on her mattress and pulls the blanket away just enough for her eyes to peek through. “When I was young, my nanny, Dulcibear….” She winces at a sudden sharp spike of pain, but before she can press her fingers to her head, Galinda places her cool hand there instead. Her breath catches.
“Go on.”
Galinda’s voice is soft. Too soft. Gentle, and it always unnerves her when Galinda tries to be gentle.
Elphaba takes a deep breath and forces herself onward. “There was a special honey she would put in my tea. It always made me feel better. She left some behind when my father sent her away, but….” Her eyes narrow. “I used the last of it on the train ride here.”
I didn’t expect to stay.
“Sent away?” Galinda echoes, voice taking on an annoyed tone. “If she was helping you, then why ever would she be—”
“My father didn’t want the stain of having a Bear on our staff.” Elphaba’s tone grows harsh – harsher even than she intends – and she stops just short of snarling. He’d never given her a clear reason, but the older she’d gotten, the less and less Animals were on their staff. Dulcibear was the last, and then—
But Galinda passes over that entirely, focusing instead on— “Of course! A Bear would know about—”
“Galinda.”
“Yes, I know, that’s speciesist, not all Bears know everything there is to know about honey—”
“Galinda.”
“—but I’m sure I heard Shenshen talking about a Bear herbalist in town—”
“Galin--”
But it doesn’t matter. Galinda is already up, already at the door – and the sharp spike of pain from even that small glimpse of harsher light causes Elphaba to throw up one hand in defense and turn away.
“I know just what to do! As always.” Galinda beams brighter than the sun. “Don’t worry, you’ll be perfection just as soon as I—” She shuts the door behind her before she finishes the sentence.
The hum of her lingers in the ensuing silence.
Then Elphaba shakes her head, rolls over, and covers herself with her blanket again.
Galinda hustles through city streets, a thin piece of paper clutched tightly in one hand.
Well, to be quite fair, Galinda would not like anyone to say she was hustling. Or bustling. Or any of those other sorts of words that suggest that she’s hurrying towards anything any less than…well, anything. She takes determined, measured, quick steps in her intended direction. She doesn’t rush. That sort of thing is for lesser people, and she isn’t – and has never been – a lesser person. Ever.
So it would be correct to say that Galinda walks in a quick but determined way through the city streets, occasionally stealing glances at the crude map Shenshen created for her. She had, of course, sidestepped why, exactly, she wanted to find a Bear herbalist, but she keeps thinking of the way Shenshen’s eyes went wide when she asked.
(“No, it’s nothing to do with Fiyero—”
“Oh, you don’t have to say anything, Galinda dearest. I know just what you need.” Shenshen reached into her clutch and pulled out a bottle of pills. “These will take care of any—”)
Galinda shudders. A horrible conversation, to be sure, but she had survived it. As if she would need someone else’s help to find—
Not the point.
The point is that Shenshen’s map is not nearly as helpful as Galinda wants it to be. Her eyes narrow as she stares at it again. “What is that even supposed to be?” she hisses, staring at a drawing that might be a house and might be a booth and might be a smudge and might be nothing at all. She turns the map around. “This is absolutely—”
But before she can say confusifying, the crowd bustling around her – actually bustling, unlike Galinda herself – parts just enough for the glimmer of a shop to peek through. Or…not a glimmer, because that sounds like it shines, and this shop has no hint of a shine about it. If anything, it’s shrunken back within its set, the shingles broken, the roof’s arc sloped down so low that if there are any windows, they’re impossible to see from this distance.
Looking at it, Galinda shudders again, but for an entirely different reason. Still, she presses forward – those quick, determined steps. As she opens the darkened door, a bell tings overhead, and something – or someone – shuffles in the background, followed by the slightest of growlings. She steps toward what looks like the front counter and waits until a large black Bear arrives. “Hello,” she purrs, lips curling into what she’s sure is an enchanting smile. She runs a finger along the desk. “I was just wondering if you could—”
“We’re out of the pills,” the Bear growls out. “Should be done in a few days. I’m sure you can wait until—”
“No, no, no, that’s not what I—” Galinda huffs. “Why does everyone think—” She shakes her head and holds out a hand, composes herself, and then settles back into what she knows is a beautifying smile. “I’m here for a friend—”
“Out of those, too.”
“—who is suffering from some sort of….” Galinda’s eyes widen. Elphie hadn’t told her exactly what was going on, just that she was having an episode of some sort. One that hurt and made the light painful. She glances up at the Bear. “Do you know of any disease that makes light hurt?”
The Bear nods slowly. “Was the pain here,” he gestures to his forehead, “or here?” This time, he gestures lower, possibly to his stomach.
Galinda points to her forehead. “Here, I think,” she says. “Cold on her forehead….” Her voice trails off, and her gaze softens as she remembers the way Elphie flushed a deep green. “Cold seemed to help.”
“Migraine,” the Bear says very matter-of-factly. He turns away from her and begins rummaging through the pots and potions on the shelf behind him. Eventually, he stops. “Here.” When he turns back to her, he holds a large closed goblet containing a golden liquid inside. “Honey made by bees who took their pollen exclusively from poppies. Very rare.”
Galinda hums. “And very expensive, I’m sure.”
“More than those pills you didn’t want.” The Bear sets the goblet down on the counter. “One teaspoon, mixed into your friend’s tea. No more, no less.”
“And this will make her better?” Galinda asks, reaching out to take the goblet in both hands.
The Bear nods. “She will sleep the sleep of the blissfully innocent, and when she wakes, the pain will be gone.”
“Sleep?” Galinda’s eyes narrow, and she draws her hands back. “She was just going to sleep. How does this—”
“The pain will be gone,” the Bear repeats, his dark eyes glowing golden. “A migraine such as your friend has can last days or longer without the proper help. Or have you not noticed—”
“Of course, of course, I’ve noticed,” Galinda lies, waving a hand dismissively. It isn’t that she’s never noticed the days Elphie spends slumped over in her bed, groaning something unintelligible at her; it’s just that she’s never cared. And why should she have? If Elphaba wanted to waste her time in bed instead of studying magic with the esteemed Madame Morrible—
Maybe she should have been paying attention.
Galinda reaches under one of the swirling swathes of pink fabric about her waist, draws out a pink woven bag full of coin, and plops it on the counter next to the goblet. “Is this enough?”
Elphaba smells the tea before Galinda even opens the door.
It’s the scent of a thousand and one brisk autumn days, the weather fighting between the frigid winter and the fiery summer causing explosions in her head; the reek of chortling classmates pelting her with mud, the screams as her magic reacts to their hatred, and the ensuing pounding of her overwhelmed brain; the soothing hum of Dulcibear’s voice, the gentle touch of her claw, and the honey-infused chamomile tea she always made on those worst of all days. She slowly pushes herself up with one hand, the blanket falling away from her face as Galinda gently pushes the door open.
“You found it.”
Galinda hums in a way that sounds more like a laugh than anything. “Of course, I did,” she says. “When have I ever given you cause to doubt my intrinsic wonderfulness?”
Elphaba bites her tongue.
“Well?” Galinda sets the teacup gently in Elphaba’s hands then sits on the mattress next to her again.
But Elphaba ignores this for the moment, instead taking the tea and drinking as much of it as she can in one gulp. It tastes the same as she remembers it – chamomile smooth on her tongue, sweet honey sharp against her back teeth. “You’re perfect,” she rumbles out, leaning forward and pressing her forehead against the soft curve of Galinda’s neck.
Galinda freezes. Her mouth forms a perfect little o, but no sound escapes. Then her lips curve into a gentle smile. “You’re right,” she murmurs. “I am perfect.”
Elphaba gives her a light shove.
“I was kidding!”
Elphaba isn’t sure that she is, but she doesn’t have the strength in her to fight. “Thank you,” she says, settling back against her headrest. “For the tea.”
“You’re welcome.” Galinda brushes the back of her cool hand against Elphaba’s forehead. “And tomorrow, we can have our first real—” She cuts herself off, eyes going wide. “Madame Morrible,” she whispers.
“You didn’t tell her.”
“Shiz.” Galinda jumps from the bed and without another word hurries from the room, the door slamming shut behind her.
Elphaba chuckles, takes another large gulp of her tea, and considers. Then she smiles.
Maybe the Ozdust wasn’t a fluke after all.