Chapter Text
Regret was a funny thing.
For much of her early life, Glinda had believed that regret was for weak-willed, indecisive idiots. Regret was for others who could not live with their past choices, not for her, never for her. Regret was foolish, and Galinda Upland was not foolish. She never regretted anything, not until Shiz. Not until Elphaba.
Now that she was older, and a little bit wiser, Glinda regretted everything. She regretted her treatment of everyone around her, of Elphaba most of all. She regretted not seeing the Wizard and Morrible for what they were sooner, for clinging to their approval for so long. She regretted her focus on popularity and not prioritising friendship, regretted Fiyero, regretted not reaching out to Nessa sooner, not speaking out about the Animals, not getting on the damn broom.
There were too many errors to count. Glinda supposed that it was simply the nature of getting older. Though, she was quite foolish in her youth, which certainly hadn’t helped.
It was all plainly clear to her now, though it was far too little, far too late. She could feel it in Elphaba’s heavy gaze–the weight of her mistakes.
“There is so much…so much I would change, if I could,” she whispered like a confession. Raising her eyes from the glittering wand in her hands, she could see the tears in Elphaba’s eyes shine in the low light. “I’m sorry I was too young and stupid to see the world for what it was.”
Elphaba’s lips quirked up into that little half-smile that’d enraptured her back at Shiz. It was sadder, now, filled with a melancholy that was learned from years alone. It hurt to see, in a bittersweet way. She had been free from the Wizard, but at what cost?
“I wasn’t much better,” she offered.
“No, you were,” Glinda gave her own small smile, her hands twisting on the crystalline stem of her wand. “You fell for the Wizard’s lies, but we all did. At least you were kind. ”
A small frown worked its way through Elphaba’s brow. “Who has the title of Good, again?”
“Oh, please, Elphie, we both know it’s all bullshit.”
A choked laugh spilled out of Elphaba’s lips, one of her hands coming up to cover her mouth. “You really have changed. I knew you had, but to hear you curse… ” Another laugh bubbled up.
Glinda’s heart swelled abruptly, warmed by the sight of Elphie laughing. “A little too late, I think,” she murmured, choked by her own emotions.
Suddenly, Elphaba’s smile fell, and she straightened. Wordlessly, with an urgency that was as brusque as it was startling, she turned to rifle through the shelves behind her, pulling out a familiar book. The Grimmerie. Lurline, Glinda hated that Oz-cursed thing.
“What do you mean to do with that horrendible thing?” She asked, wary.
“What if,” Elphaba started, opening the Grimmerie and frantically flipping through the pages. “What if it wasn’t too late? What if I could send you back?”
Glinda froze. The Grimmerie could do that?
“It could, theoretically,” Elphaba continued flipping the pages, and Glinda realised she’d spoken aloud. “I know I’ve read a spell like it.”
With a triumphant shout, Elphaba held the Grimmerie up, displaying the pages she’d settled on. The sprawling, thin script was curved in the shape of a clock, as unreadable as ever. The letters arched and twisted under her gaze, giving the written clock-hands the illusion of movement. A chill went through Glinda at the sight.
Elphaba slammed the book onto the table, and raised her hands. The image of it–her claw-like nails, her mussed hair, the hat– was striking. Glinda wondered if the Wizard had been relieved at how easy it was to turn her into a villain. Here, Elphaba felt unfamiliar and foreign, as though a stranger wore her skin. All that had made Elphaba so lovely and warm seemed to be stripped away in that moment, overtaken by the wilderness of the Grimmerie.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Glinda rushed forward, grabbing at the Grimmerie. Elphaba snatched it away from her hands at the last second. “You aren’t serious!”
“Of course I am!”
Glinda gaped at her, clutching her wand to her chest. “You– you’re… Why me ?”
The paper of the Grimmerie shifted under Elphaba’s hand, the words threaded through with gold. “I can’t cast it on myself. I don’t even know how well it’s going to work. But–you have the best chance of changing things anyway! Maybe you can prevent things from getting this bad.”
“I can’t,” the words were desperate, torn from her lips. They sounded less like a protest and more like a plea. “I don’t want to, let me stay here with you, I–I can't just leave you again.”
A stricken expression passed over Elphaba’s face. Slowly, she placed the still-open Grimmerie on the table, and stepped towards Glinda. As she approached, Glinda inhaled shakily, fighting the instinct to back away. She gripped her wand so tightly she feared it would break.
But, instead of yelling, or crying, or slapping her as Glinda expected, Elphaba raised her hands and rested them against her jaw. Her hands moved so softly against Glinda’s skin that she almost wept. When was the last time someone had done this for her?
“You wouldn’t be leaving me,” Elphaba whispered, so close that Glinda could feel the feather-light touch of her exhale, “You’d be saving me.”
“Elphie…” Glinda closed her eyes against the burning tenderness. She didn’t deserve it.
Elphaba swiped her thumb across Glinda’s cheek, catching a tear that she hadn’t noticed. “ Please, Galinda,”
Maybe it was her use of Glinda’s old name, the one she hadn’t heard in years, and years, and years. Maybe it was the desperation in Elphaba’s voice that was only matched by Glinda’s heart. Maybe it was the regret she felt, twining up her spine, wrapping around her lungs.
Regret was a funny thing, after all.
“Okay,” she said, and took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll do it. How does it work?”
Elphaba let out a noise that sounded like a combination of a sob and a laugh. Her hands dropped from Glinda’s face as she walked back to the Grimmerie, and she already mourned the loss of their warmth. “I’m not fully sure. It’ll ‘send you back’, but it’s not clear on exactly what that means. It does say that the future will remain in a limbo state until the past catches up, though, so you’ll have time.”
She exhaled sharply. Okay. She could do this. Elphaba looked up at her with wide, blazing eyes, and Glinda could do little else but nod. She was always weak for Elphaba, and she was tired.
“Thank you,” she said. It wasn’t enough; it couldn’t encompass the gratitude she felt, but it would have to do.
“No,” Elphaba took her hand, bringing her closer to the faint glow of the Grimmerie. “Thank you. ”
And just like she had all those years ago in that tower, Elphaba cupped her face, and kissed her. It was easy, and desperate, and filled with all the longing of their years apart, and Glinda never wanted it to end.
But, nothing lasts forever, and they knew that better than most. Elphaba pulled away, untangling her fingers from Glinda’s hair, and Glinda pried her fingers off of Elphaba’s waist. It was a familiar kind of pain, and Glinda accepted it with a kind of grim determination.
Elphaba spared her one last look, and Glinda nodded.
Instantly, the chanting began. Glinda hated the sound of it, the cadence, the rhythm of words tumbling out of Elphaba’s mouth. It reminded her of blue feathers, and wings that shouldn’t be there, and the horrendible broom. The sound was piercing and musical, demanding that she listen.
As it had in the past, the Grimmerie lit up gold, the flow of magic through the air stinging against Glinda’s cheeks. It tasted like ozone, like rainfall, like poppies. The yellow glow illuminated Elphaba’s face, her sunken cheeks, her tired eyes. The light of the Grimmerie left an ugly stain on her skin, turning the vibrant green sallow and sickly pale. She looked hollowed-out and exhausted, the painful years having taken their toll.
Finally, the lilting words stopped, and Elphaba looked up. The Grimmerie’s glowing letters turned her hazel-green eyes into molten copper. Glinda had never seen anything more beautiful.
“If you remember me… don’t let me be alone?” Elphaba asked, small and unsure in a way Glinda hadn’t seen since they were young.
“Oh, Elphie,” she whispered. With her free hand, she reached up to cradle Elphaba’s cheek, thumb tracing the edge of her too-sharp cheekbone.
“I’ll always remember you.”
The Grimmerie exploded into golden light, and Glinda the Good knew no more.
***
“Maybe you can prevent things from getting this bad,”
Regret is a funny thing.
Glinda– no, Galinda – shot up in bed, her throat raw, her own screams echoing in her ears. Tears slipped down her cheeks, surely turning her eyes red and cheeks puffy, but– but–
El– no, no, what was her name? The name of the strange Green girl in her dream, the one who had died alongside her– No, had she died? Glinda wasn’t dead. She felt dead. She felt like she was dreaming–like she was drowning. What had happened?
Momsie and Popsicle slammed the door to her room open– what was she doing in her childhood home? She hadn’t been here since she graduated– and rushed to her side, whispering words of comfort as they wrapped their arms around Glinda– Galinda, why was she thinking that?
Wordless, choked sobs wrenched their way out of Galinda’s throat, helplessness flooding her body. She didn’t even know why she was crying, much less why she felt like there was an inescapable ache deep within her core. It hurt, like she’d lost something important, something fundamental, but she didn’t know what.
She wasn’t remembering something. Something important. Something that was crucial to her very being , something that mattered more than all the people in the world combined. She wasn’t remembering some one, someone who she had lived and died with.
Who wasn’t she remembering?
It felt wrong to not remember the one who’d given her this task– what task? Why did she feel like she was supposed to be doing something?
What was happening?