Chapter Text
Time slows down with the cacophony of a gun going off. Everything narrows to that one moment in time. The loud bang followed by a moment of total silence in which Glinda can hear her blood rushing through her ears. Her heart seems to slow down as her head swivels from one person to the next. Fiyero’s arm still hangs limply in the air, smoke drifting from the barrel of his gun. Glinda can’t imagine he shot her purposefully, not the Fiyero she has come to know. She remembers the other guards practicing their shooting in the courtyard. The guns were such a new invention, still so unstable in their nature, the way a firing mechanism could go haywire. Glinda never liked the contraptions, they were too loud, too dangerous. Misfires happened far too often. (He should never have risked pointing that gun at her. But Glinda is grateful that she decided to listen to her gut. A feeling telling her to follow him when he left her at that altar. She knew that something would go wrong.)
Her gaze breezes over the Wizard standing there in shock, he is of no consequence to her not at this moment. Then brown orbs hone in on the one person she never wished to see hurt. The one that she has been worried about for years, her safety always in doubt. Now she has been hurt by the hand of a person who loves her. (Fiyero or Glinda, it matters not whose hand held that gun if she is just as responsible for having convinced her to stay.) Green eyes are wide, shocked and filled with betrayal. Her black clothes obfuscate their vision, but Glinda can still see the dark stain beginning to spread over the left side of her chest. She thanks the Unnamed God, Lurline, anybody above who will listen, that he missed her heart and asks them to give her strength for what must be done next.
The world is thrown back into chaos. Time speeds up again between slow blinks of her eyes. Glinda’s heart speeds up until it is racing with adrenaline. She hears Elphaba let out an exclamation of pain as she collapses to the ground. Glinda chokes back the scream of anguish that wishes to unleash itself from her throat, echoing the excruciating pain that paints itself on Elphie’s face. Before she can think for even a moment Glinda’s hands ruck up her skirts as she sprints towards her. Her heels clack loudly in her ears accompanied by the resounding clattering of the broom falling from Fiyero’s hand. She pushes past Fiyero who still seems frozen by his mistake. Though mistake seems too kind a word to describe his actions. (If Elphie were to die, Glinda does not think she could ever forgive him. She puts that thought out of her head. Nobody is dying today.)
Glinda falls to her knees next to Elphie whose wide eyes shine with terror. The sheer amount of white fabric makes Glinda bristle. She shoves it all out of the way before changing her mind. Instead of trying to move it she digs her nails into the layers of tulle and rips until the white fabric gives way. She bunches it up in her hands, hesitating for just a clock-tick before nodding to herself and pressing her hands to the gunshot wound. The material quickly absorbs a sheer amount of blood, but there is still so much, too much. Glinda’s hands become sticky with the substance, coagulating beneath her fingernails. (Was this always where they were going to end up the moment Glinda left her to fend for herself? The truth of their situation sticks like the blood beneath her fingernails, guilt warring with anger at the Wizard, at Fiyero, at herself.)
She hears Fiyero stutter behind her, “I-I didn’t mean…”
Glinda cuts him off, she can’t hear his excuses now. He should have known better, he has seen the injuries on the men of the guard he has command over, the accidents that occur. She looks over her shoulder with venomous eyes and snaps at him, “It doesn’t matter what you meant to do, now it is done. Fix this mess.” Glinda punctuates her words by nodding at the Wizard who is looking down on her and Elphaba in shock. (Glinda wishes to lean over her body, to shield her from his eyes. Nobody should get to see her in this vulnerable state, this is not what she wanted.)
Fiyero nods at her and brings his gun to bear against the Wizard. The man takes a step back at the threat that seems all too real with the girl bleeding out on the ground. Fiyero begins to usher him towards the cage and Glinda leaves him to his task, focusing back on Elphaba. In the few moments she took her eyes off of her, her blood pooled beneath them with frightening speed. The edges of Glinda’s white skirts have become heavy-laden with the substance, staining the fabric pink. It twists her stomach to see the color in this moment, confirming only that her life is leaking away from her. With trembling hands Glinda rips up more of the fabric to press it against her wound, to try to stem the tide of that red river of blood.
Distantly Glinda’s mind reminds her that even if she can stop the bleeding, Elphaba is not safe here. She can’t call for the help of a doctor, because she would be captured. (If they would even bother to heal her instead of letting her die.) She needs to get her out of here, but she is too hurt to be moved. Panic makes her chest feel tight as Glinda tries to breathe, but it feels like she is choking on that air, on the sobs stuck in her throat. She begins to feel light-headed as her visions tunnels and black spots creep in at the edges. She feels that panic, that anxiety holds her in its grip as she drifts further away.
The weak hold of a hand engulfing hers makes Glinda’s eyes snap open. She blinks against the tears that have blurred her vision and finds a green hand clasped around her red-stained ones. Her eyes skitter up to find green eyes staring at her intently. Her jaw tenses as she tries to get a firmer grip on her hands.
“G-glinda,” Elphie’s voice is soft as a whisper. She pauses to take a gurgling breath, that sounds like she is drowning. But still she tries to reassure her, to comfort her, “Breathe.”
Her voice grounds Glinda in a way that nothing else can. She nods before forcing herself to take deep breaths, staggering beneath that pressure that seems to bind her chest. Slowly she pushes out her stomach, breathing from deep in her gut, before letting the air escape from her nose. Slowly the pressure eases as her panic ebbs away. Glinda straightens her spine and presses her hands more firmly against the wound. She shakes her head to bring her vision into focus. She pauses when Elphie’s hand raises towards her cheeks. Glinda leans down to let her wipe at her tear-soaked cheeks with shaky hands.
“Thank you, Elphie,” Glinda murmurs in reply and sees the smallest smile pull at her lips. Her heart skips a beat when she sees the red blood staining the corner of her mouth. Beneath the layers of fear and terror, Glinda feels something spark in her gut. She is not familiar with the feeling and it is easy to ignore in favor of more important things. But when that buzzing, that burning is echoed by the vibrations coming from Elphaba’s bag, they become harder to ignore. If Glinda didn’t know any better she would think that this is what magic is supposed to feel like.
Elphie tries to speak before she is interrupted by a hacking cough that is accompanied by a glob of blood spewing from her mouth. Glinda shushes her, “Save your strength, Elphie, please.”
Stubbornly the other girl shakes her head, moving her hand over to the bag to tug at it. The task however seems to require tremendous strength as she is unable to open it. Her eyes growing more heavy-lidded sends another spike of panic through Glinda’s body. She does not wish to move her hands, needing to keep pressure on the wound, but she can’t ignore Elphie’s efforts when she looks at her with pleading green eyes. Take it out, they tell her. Glinda swallows thickly before removing one of her hands to tug at the clasps on the bag. It doesn’t require much effort as it seems the book within is bursting with magic, pushing at the seams to get out.
With her bloodied hand Glinda takes the leather tome out of the bag and places it on the ground. The book itself seems to push the blood away, keeping itself clean and protected. Glinda does not question the properties of this magical book, the Grimmerie has always been a peculiarity in her mind. She presses both hands to Elphie’s wound again. She is about to ask what she is supposed to do with a book that she can’t read when it opens for her of its own accord. Pages begin to flip in quick succession exuding a light that feels blinding in this dark backroom. It stops on a page filled with the shape of two golden hands. Her eyes skid across the pages trying to make out what it says or what the spell will do. All she is greeted with is a headache as she squints at the pages.
The Grimmerie seems alive, the words shifting and changing into different shapes as if rearranging themselves to become legible for her. (Like the book wants her to save Elphie with a spell.) “Do it,” Elphie chokes out, encouraging her by nodding at the book. Her skin has become a pale shade of green, no longer the radiant emerald instead a deadly sage.
Glinda squints at the book some more, her insecurities weighing her down, “You know I can’t read this.”
“You can do it,” Elphaba rasps as a gurgling sound pushes at the back of her throat, but she persists, “You can do anything.” (They are the same words of encouragement that Glinda impressed upon her years ago. She feels transported back to that day, the moment before it all fell apart. It feels like she is reaching back through time, finding a way to fix her mistakes.)
Glinda grits her teeth and presses more firmly against the wound. Glinda remembers their sorcery lessons back at Shiz, trying to conjure up the details on how to access that magic that is supposed to exist inside of her. She remembers Elphie’s words after another one of her failed attempts: Maybe it’s harder for you to make magic. Things have been kind of easy for you. So you don’t need it. Glinda needs it now, she begs the magic to respond to her.
She takes in a deep breath, focusing on that buzzing feeling that was pressing at her subconscious before. Her fingers tingle with the sensation as she takes in deep breaths to stoke the fire of that magic blazing to life in her gut. She opens her eyes to focus on the shimmering golden letters in the Grimmerie. Without thinking too hard on how she knows how to pronounce the spell, she lets the syllables wrap around her tongue, sounding out the vowels with an ease she has never felt. Glinda’s vision grows hazy again, this time caused by the spell wrapping around her, around them.
The healing spell pulls from her resources of energy, accessing magic that she never even knew existed. Glinda feels exhaustion pulling at the edge of her consciousness, but she pushes back against it. The fast flowing rivers of Elphie’s blood stop their pouring and Glinda lets out a sigh of relief. In her mind’s eye she visualizes the bullet, drawing it back from the path it bore through Elphie’s lung. As if magnetized by magic Glinda feels the pull of that bullet until it presses against her hand. She chucks the piece of metal aside before pressing both hands back to the wound.
The blood flow has been stopped, the foreign object removed, now all that remains to be done is the healing of the flesh. Glinda feels the magic weave together like a fabric, knitting the fragile tissue back together again. Time passes abnormally in this space around them. (Glinda is familiar with the feeling. Sometimes in the past she remembers the world being thrown into slow-motion like she has stopped the arms of a clock. But it seems preposterous to claim that she has the power to stop time. All she knows is that the passage of time is working in their favor at the moment, so she refocuses on healing Elphie.) She keeps repeating the spell over and over again.
Suddenly the Grimmerie resettles itself and slams shut of its own accord. Glinda gasps and blinks repeatedly as if to clear the haze of sleep from her eyes, like she is waking up from a dream. Magic still buzzes through her veins and shimmers around Elphie’s wounds. She moves her hands to find a golden handprint like the ones in the Grimmerie covering the place where Elphie was grievously hurt before. It dissipates after a moment like it was never there. Leaving only blood-stained dark fabric and green skin that slowly regains its luster again.
Color returns to Elphie’s cheeks as well before her eyes blink open. No longer half-lidded and tired, now clear and wide open. She takes in a gasp of air, the rattling of her lungs gone. Glinda wants to cry out in relief. Elphaba has never looked more beautifully alive. Without thinking she leans down and presses her mouth against Elphie’s. She still tastes faintly of blood, but Glinda does not mind. It means that she survived, that she will live. Their mouths move together in a dance that seems practiced, but is anything but. Glinda pulls away to pepper her mouth and cheeks and nose with feather-light kisses. Wishing to remember the contours of her face.
“You actually did it,” Elphie murmurs full of wonder.
“Don’t sound too surprised, darling,” Glinda gasps with mock offense, but pride swells in her chest. (She saved her Elphie.)
Somebody clears their throat next to them and it pulls Glinda’s attention back to the present. Reminding her there are other dangers besides death that could hurt Elphaba. Glinda leans back on her heels and looks towards Fiyero who is moving awkwardly from one foot to another. His gun still hangs limply from his hand. Glinda wishes she could make it disappear. (Vaguely she feels a tingling at the back of her mind as the Grimmerie buzzes beside her as if ready to open on a whim. An interesting development for another time.)
“What?” she snaps at him, standoffish with this man that she cares about and yet can’t stand to look at.
“She needs to get out of here before the guards return,” Fiyero tells her, his eyes moving around nervously as if to check for hidden threats. (Or perhaps simply because the sight of them together hurts him somehow.)
Glinda nods agreeing with his words. She turns back to Elphaba, “Can you get up?”
“Yes,” Elphie tries to push herself into a sitting position. Her arms tremble beneath her weight, still weakened after her loss of blood. Glinda quickly wraps her arm around Elphaba’s waist to offer her support. She begins to stand, tugging Elphie along with her, taking on her weight, carrying her if she has to. Glinda can be strong for her, she will not let anybody hurt her.
Once they are both standing upright, Elphie tries to shift away from her, moving like she is ready to stride out. But the moment she tries to stand on her own two feet, her lack of vigor betrays her. Glinda’s heart speaks before her brain can even catch up, “Let me come with you.”
Elphie shakes her head, “No, it’s not safe.”
Glinda grits her teeth against her obstinacy, “You can’t walk by yourself, you need help and I am offering. Let me come with you the way you asked me to years ago.”
Green eyes gaze at her longingly, wanting to say yes. Glinda presses another kiss to her lips, her grip around her waist becomes more fierce. She pulls away, pressing their foreheads together, “Please, Elphie.”
“Okay, my sweet,” Elphaba nods, giving in somewhat reluctantly, but there is a hopeful yearning that seems to blossom in her eyes. Glinda strokes her cheek and smiles at her. She leans down to pick up the Grimmerie and the fallen broom, while Elphie holds on to her shoulder for balance. Glinda puts the book away carefully, before gripping the broom in her left hand while her right arm settles back around Elphie’s back like it belongs there.
“I am coming with you,” Fiyero interjects. Glinda feels Elphie flinch minutely at the thought as her eyes fall to the gun in his hands. She shakes her head and glares at him. (She does not want him anywhere near her Elphie.)
“No, you need to fix the mess you have made here,” Glinda tells him sternly, “Distract the guards while we get away and then get out of dodge.” (Even after everything she does not wish to see him get hurt. Curse her sentimentality.)
Fiyero seems ready to protest before his eyes fall on Elphie’s bedraggled visage. He nods in understanding and agreement, “Kiamo Ko is one of my family’s unoccupied castles, go there if you need a place to stay. Be careful.”
“Until we meet again,” Glinda says and means it.
She supports Elphie as they stumble out of the backroom until they reach a balcony. Glinda’s face is whipped by the cold air of night. The broom, just like the book, seems to know its own power better than Glinda does – it hovers at the edge of the balcony ready to take them away. She awkwardly puts one leg over it with skirts still stiff with dried blood. She tugs Elphie along with her. She is a warm presence leaning into her arms, against her chest. A comfort, a balm to Glinda’s soul. (Alive, alive, alive. Her heartbeat screams with every beat.) Glinda sends up another prayer hoping they will make it out of this alive before pushing off of the ground. The balcony falls away from them as they shoot into the dark air. Far far away from the Emerald City, leaving together as they should have done years ago.