Chapter Text
Their alarm didn’t go off.
Glinda woke anyway.
Her eyes opened into gray morning and for a second she couldn’t place what felt wrong. The light was too high. The room too quiet. Then she turned toward the window, saw the stripe of sun already cutting through the cheap blinds, and sat straight up.
“Elphaba.”
Nothing.
She grabbed her phone from the crate beside the bed.
7:42.
“ELPHABA.”
He jolted beside her, half twisted in the sheet, hair flattened on one side. His hand went first to her shoulder, then toward his phone, then back again like he’d lost track of which problem to grab.
“What?” he rasped.
“We’re late.”
He blinked once, then looked at the clock.
“Shit.”
They moved together.
Glinda was out of bed first, pushing both hands through her hair as she crossed the small room. One foot landed on the cold strip of floor where the rug stopped and she hissed under her breath, then kept going, already reaching for the closet.
Elphaba swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, rolling his shoulders once as he woke up fully. He crossed straight for the kitchenette and set the kettle on without needing to look. The apartment was small enough that everything sat within reach if you knew where it lived.
“Coffee?” he asked.
“Yes. Please. God.”
Glinda pulled a blouse free, then her slacks, scanning the hangers with sharp focus. She dressed fast, movements practiced, then twisted her hair up and secured it with a clip she found by touch on the dresser.
Behind her, he measured grounds with quiet precision and poured hot water slowly, the way he always did. By the time she turned back, a mug was waiting on the table.
She grabbed it, took a quick sip that burned, swallowed anyway.
“Toast?” he asked.
“No time.”
He handed her a piece regardless. She took it and bit down while digging through her bag for her tablet and sketch roll.
He disappeared into the bathroom and came back a minute later dressed properly now, dark slacks, button-down already tucked, sleeves pushed to his forearms. His hair had been combed back into something neat. He was still buttoning his cuffs as he stepped into his shoes.
Glinda stood in the middle of the room trying to fasten the strap of one heel while balancing on the other foot. The buckle slipped once, twice. She exhaled sharply.
Elphaba crossed over and steadied her by the waist.
“Hold still.”
“I am holding still.”
“You’re vibrating.”
She huffed a laugh but stilled. He crouched and fixed the strap where it had twisted, fastening it properly before standing again.
She caught his chin lightly as he rose.
“Thank you.”
“Mm.”
Neither of them moved right away.
Morning pressed at the windows. The coffee in her hand still steamed. His hand rested warm at her waist, thumb brushing once along the edge of her blouse where it tucked into her slacks.
“Five minutes,” he said quietly.
“We don’t have five minutes.”
He leaned in anyway.
The kiss started quick. Then deepened. His mouth was still warm from coffee. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt and held there as he guided her back until the edge of the table met her hips. He kept it contained, one hand firm at her waist, like he knew exactly how far they could go before it stopped being a delay and started being a problem.
He pulled back with a soft breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
“Dangerous,” she murmured.
“Very.”
He reached past her for his bag, then nudged her toward the door. She grabbed her coat, checked for keys in a quick sweep of her pockets, and took one last sip of coffee before setting the mug in the sink.
“Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
They stepped into the hallway together, the door clicking shut behind them. Outside, the Emerald City morning was already in motion. He took her hand as they started down the block, matching her pace so they could drop her at the firm and keep moving toward Shiz without breaking stride.
They turned onto the busier avenue where the buildings shifted from cramped residential to polished stone and glass. Morning traffic had settled into a steady rhythm. People with badges clipped to belts and coffee cups in hand moved with purpose toward offices that paid more than either of them currently made.
Glinda adjusted the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder and glanced at him.
“I have to present the community housing draft today.”
He nodded once, already listening.
“To the senior partners,” she added. “Not just my supervisor. All of them. Which feels unnecessary and hostile.”
“You’ve redrawn that plan six times,” he said. “You know it better than they do.”
“I know it structurally,” she said. “I don’t know it politically.”
He huffed softly. “You’re presenting affordable housing with mixed-use space and sustainable materials. They either approve it or they reveal themselves as cowards.”
She bumped her shoulder into his. “You’re not allowed to call the partners at my firm cowards.”
“I can think it very loudly.”
They waited at the corner while a line of cars and city taxis rolled past. He reached over and straightened the collar of her coat where it had folded inward, smoothing it down with a quick, precise touch.
“You’ll be fine,” he said.
“I know I’ll be fine,” she replied. “I just want them to see what I see.”
“They will.”
The light shifted. They crossed with the rest of the morning crowd, then slowed as her firm came into view, all clean windows and carefully arranged greenery out front like a promise of competence.
She stopped just short of the steps and turned to face him fully.
“What about you?” she asked. “You have sections to grade and that lecture to prep.”
“Done,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Done done or ‘done at two in the morning fueled by spite’ done?”
“Done done,” he said. “Grading finished last night. Lecture notes are printed. I have Dillamond’s research summaries organized and ready for him before he asks. My only task today is making nineteen-year-olds care about migration patterns.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“It is a me problem.”
She watched him for a second, then reached up and smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from his sleeve, fingers lingering at his forearm.
“Dinner,” she said. “I want something that feels like we tried. Not just toast and whatever falls out of the cabinet.”
He considered. “Pasta?”
“With vegetables. Real ones. And that bread from the bakery on Mercer if it’s not sold out.”
“I’ll stop on the way back.”
“And candles,” she added. “We still have the little ones from last month.”
He nodded. “Candles we can do.”
“Text me when you leave Shiz,” she said. “If I’m still trapped in a meeting I want something to look forward to.”
“I will.”
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, firm and familiar. She closed her eyes for a second and let out a quiet breath that settled somewhere low in her chest.
“Go,” he said softly. “You’re going to be brilliant.”
“I know,” she said, but she smiled when she said it.
She turned and headed up the steps toward the glass doors, already reaching into her bag for her badge. He stayed where he was until she disappeared inside, then adjusted the strap of his own bag and turned toward the long walk to Shiz, the morning air cool and steady as he fell into his usual pace.
By the time Elphaba turned onto the Shiz campus path, the first lecture block had already started.
He knew it without checking the clock. The quad had that settled quiet it only got once everyone was inside. A few late stragglers cut across the grass with purpose. Someone from the music department hurried past with a cello case and an expression of deep personal regret.
He adjusted the strap of his bag and kept walking at a steady pace.
The history building loomed ahead, tall and stone-faced and unimpressed by excuses. He took the steps two at a time and slipped through the front doors into the cool, book-scented hush of the hallway.
Voices carried faintly from down the corridor. A lecture already underway.
He pushed open the office door he shared with Dillamond and stepped inside.
Dr. Dillamond sat at his desk with a stack of papers spread in front of him and a mug balanced precariously near the edge. He glanced up over the rim of his glasses.
“You’re late.”
“I am,” Elphaba said. He set his bag down, already pulling out a neatly clipped stack of essays. “I’m sorry.”
He crossed the room and placed the graded papers on the desk, aligned and tabbed. Then the attendance sheets. Then a small folder of research summaries, organized chronologically with notes in the margins.
Dillamond’s brows lifted slightly as the pile assembled itself in front of him.
“These are finished?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
Dillamond flipped open the top set and scanned the first page, then the second. A faint, satisfied sound left him before he could stop it.
“Hm.”
Elphaba hung his coat on the back of his chair and moved to the whiteboard, already picking up a marker. He wrote the day’s discussion points in a clean column, dates and regions neatly spaced, then underlined the section titles with a quick, practiced stroke.
“I printed the lecture notes,” he said, nodding toward the stack by the podium. “And I left your reference texts flagged where you marked yesterday.”
Dillamond looked from the board to the papers to Elphaba and back again.
“You overslept,” he said slowly.
“Yes.”
“And yet everything is finished.”
“Yes.”
A pause. Then a small exhale that almost sounded like amusement.
“Very well,” Dillamond said. “Go on, then. Rescue my morning.”
Elphaba picked up the attendance sheet and stepped into the lecture hall.
A low murmur moved through the room when he entered. Twenty-five students looked up with varying degrees of interest and guilt. He set his bag down on the front desk and glanced at the clock on the wall.
“Good morning,” he said. “I appreciate your patience.”
A few of them straightened instinctively. One closed a laptop that had clearly not been displaying course materials.
He picked up a piece of chalk and turned to the board.
“Today we’re looking at migration patterns across the eastern provinces during the mid-Third Age,” he said, writing the date across the top. “If you did the reading, this will feel familiar. If you didn’t, this is your chance to develop an impressive ability to nod thoughtfully.”
A ripple of quiet laughter moved through the room.
He turned back toward them, fully settled now, the late start already absorbed and handled. The material sat ready in his head. The notes were in order. The morning had caught up with him, but only just.
—
The room was already full when Glinda started.
Every seat along the table was taken. Dark jackets. Rolled sleeves. Watches she recognized from firm bios. She stood at the screen with her tablet resting flat on the table and began without waiting for a cue.
“The revisions address circulation first,” she said. “Then cost.”
A few heads lifted. Someone kept typing.
She moved through the first set of drawings steadily, explaining the load redistribution and the reason for widening the stairwells instead of trimming the units. When she reached the third slide, a voice cut in.
“Have you accounted for long-term maintenance on—”
She held up one finger, polite, calm, and finished her sentence anyway.
“—without compromising daylight or access.”
Then she turned to him.
“Yes. It’s built into the materials spec on page six.”
Her hand rested on the table as she spoke, thumb grazing the edge of her wedding band once before she shifted to the next point. No one commented. No one needed to.
They interrupted her twice more. Each time she waited, then completed the thought she’d been pushed off of, as if it belonged to her regardless of who spoke next.
Her supervisor watched closely from the far end of the table, expression neutral but attentive. He’d warned Glinda about this meeting. About who would be in it. About how easily they dismissed things that didn’t sound like them.
“This isn’t conceptual,” Glinda said, voice even. “It’s executable. The numbers work.”
One of the partners leaned back, skeptical. “It’s ambitious.”
“It’s practical,” Glinda said. “Those aren’t opposites.”
That earned a pause.
She finished with the budget, cited the codes without glancing at her notes, and closed her tablet.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then her supervisor nodded. “Thank you. That was thorough.”
As the room shifted, chairs scraping, side conversations starting, the same partner who’d interrupted her earlier glanced back at the screen.
“Send me the final drawings,” he said.
Glinda smiled once. Professional. Controlled.
“Of course.”
She gathered her things and stepped into the hallway, heart still steady, already pulling her phone from her bag.
Glinda barely made it three steps down the hall before her supervisor called her name.
“Galinda.”
She stopped and turned back, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder. He closed the conference room door behind them, the muted hum of voices inside dropping away.
“That was solid,” he said. “Better than solid, actually.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “I’m glad it translated.”
“It did.” His gaze lingered a beat too long, drifting from her face to her hands still loosely folded around her tablet, then back again. “You handle pressure well. Not everyone does.”
She smiled, polite and practiced. “It’s part of the job.”
He chuckled, leaning one shoulder against the wall. “You make it look easy.”
Glinda felt the shift then. Subtle, but there. The compliment stretching just a little past professional. The way his tone softened, as if they were sharing something private instead of standing in a hallway full of people who could round the corner at any second.
“Still,” he went on, “you’ve got presence. Clients respond to that. Partners too.” His eyes flicked down again, briefly, before returning to her face. “It’s an asset.”
She laughed lightly, the sound already familiar in her mouth. The one that kept things smooth. “I’m just doing the work.”
“Of course,” he said. “And doing it very well.” A pause. “We should grab coffee sometime. Talk about where you see yourself headed. I like to invest in talent.”
There it was.
Her shoulders stayed relaxed. Her smile didn’t falter. “That’s kind of you,” she said. “My schedule’s been a little packed lately.”
“Busy is good,” he replied. “Ambition suits you.”
She nodded, still pleasant, still agreeable, already easing a step back toward the exit. “Thank you, Corven. I really appreciate the feedback.”
He smiled at the use of his name, clearly pleased. “Anytime, Galinda.”
She turned before the conversation could stretch any further, heels clicking softly against the floor as she headed for the elevators. Only once she was alone did she let out a slow breath, fingers tightening briefly around the strap of her bag.
She didn’t want to make waves. Not here. Not yet.
Outside, the city noise wrapped around her again, grounding. She pulled her phone free and typed with quick, steady thumbs.
It landed. I’ll tell you everything later.
—
Elphaba was waiting across the street when Glinda came out of the building.
She spotted him immediately. Button-down sleeves rolled, bag slung low at his hip, paper sack folded carefully under one arm so the bread wouldn’t get crushed. He looked up when the doors opened and his face shifted the way it always did when he saw her, attention settling fully, like the rest of the street had agreed to wait.
“Hey,” he said when she reached him.
“Hey.”
He leaned in and kissed her forehead, unhurried, the kind of kiss that assumed time even when they were both pretending they had none. She exhaled into it without meaning to.
“Mercer had the bread,” he said. “Barely. I also got the good tomatoes. And basil. And the pasta you like that cooks fast.”
“You’re perfect.”
“I know,” he said, then smiled so she knew he was kidding. Mostly.
They started walking, falling into step the way they always did, shoulders brushing now and then as the crowd thinned the farther they got from her office. He shifted the bag once, making sure the jars didn’t knock together.
“So,” he said, glancing at her. “Tell me everything.”
She hummed, noncommittal, eyes forward. “It went fine.”
“That’s not everything.”
“It landed,” she said. “The numbers held. No one threw anything.”
“High praise.”
She smiled, small, and tucked her hands into her coat pockets. He waited, giving her space to keep going. When she didn’t, he nudged her lightly with his shoulder.
“You okay?”
“Tired,” she said easily. “Just one of those days.”
He studied her face as they crossed the next intersection. Her posture was the same. Her pace steady. Nothing obviously wrong. But she hadn’t launched into details. She hadn’t mimicked anyone’s voice or complained about the questions or reenacted the interruptions with dramatic flair.
He slowed half a step so she had to look at him.
“You sure?”
She met his eyes and smiled again, warmer this time, reassuring on purpose. “I promise. My brain just feels like it’s been sanded down. I don’t want to think for a little while.”
He nodded. Accepted it. Adjusted.
“Okay,” he said. “Then we won’t think. We’ll eat pasta and light the candles and you can tell me tomorrow when you feel like it.”
“Thank you.”
He reached for her hand then, fingers warm around hers, grip easy but solid. She squeezed once, grateful for the quiet permission to be done for the day.
They walked the rest of the way like that, grocery bag swinging lightly between his steps, the city settling into evening around them. When their building came into view, she leaned a little closer to him, letting her shoulder rest against his arm.
He didn’t comment on it.
He just walked them home.
—
Dinner settled into the apartment slowly. Warm light. Full stomachs. The soft clink of dishes put away and the faint smell of basil still hanging in the air.
By the time Elphaba finished in the kitchen, Glinda had already claimed the couch. She lay stretched along it on her back, head tipped toward the armrest, one knee bent so she fit properly across the cushions. The candle beside her flickered low, catching along the curve of her cheek and the band on her finger when she shifted her hand against her stomach.
He watched her for a second before crossing the room.
“You disappeared,” he said quietly.
“I’m right here,” she murmured.
He sat near her hips first, turning slightly so he faced her. His hand settled on her thigh without thinking about it, thumb moving once in a slow line upward like he was checking in without words.
She let her knee fall open to make space.
“Still tired?” he asked.
“Mm.” Her eyes moved to his face. Softer now. Less guarded. “Come closer.”
He slid off the couch and onto his knees on the floor, settling between her legs. Close enough that his hands could rest comfortably on either side of her thighs. He didn’t rush in. Just stayed there for a second, looking at her properly.
Her fingers drifted down and caught lightly in his hair.
He huffed a small breath through his nose, mouth tipping into a faint smile. He was already toying with the lace under her skirt.
“Do you need some head, Mrs. Thropp?”
Her lips curved immediately.
“Yes please, Mr. Thropp.”
The words hung between them for a second, warm and private. Married. Still new enough to feel like a secret they kept just for themselves.
He leaned in slowly. One hand slid up along her thigh to her hip, steadying her where she lay so she didn’t shift on the cushions. The other rested briefly on her stomach, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing before moving back down to guide her leg comfortably over his shoulder. He tugged her underwear down around her ankles before tossing them somewhere over his shoulder.
She adjusted for him, hips angling closer to the edge of the couch so he didn’t have to reach. Her hand stayed in his hair, fingers spreading there as he lowered his head.
The first touch was light. Testing. Familiar. He paid attention to the way her breath changed before anything else. The small lift of her chest. The way her lips parted on a slow exhale.
He kept it measured. Mouth moving in a steady rhythm that let her settle into the sensation instead of chasing it. When she shifted slightly beneath him, he followed the movement instead of correcting it. One arm slipped under her thigh to support the angle, keeping her comfortable while his other hand stayed at her hip, thumb brushing there in slow, grounding strokes.
Her head tipped back into the cushion. A quiet sound left her before she could stop it. Her fingers tightened gently in his hair.
He stayed patient. Let it build gradually. Each time her breathing caught, he adjusted just enough to keep her hovering in that edge where tension finally started to drain out of her body. The tightness in her shoulders eased. Then her stomach. Then her legs, which relaxed around him as she let herself stop holding everything together.
“That’s it,” he murmured softly.
She didn’t answer with words. Just a deeper breath and a slight lift of her hips that told him to stay exactly where he was.
He did. Kept the same steady pace until the release moved through her slow and full, leaving her loose against the cushions afterward. Her hand slid from his hair to his cheek as he lifted his head, guiding him upward.
He rose carefully, one hand braced beside her shoulder so he didn’t put his full weight on her as he leaned over her. She pulled him the rest of the way down and kissed him, unhurried and deep, still breathing through the last of it.
“Hi,” she whispered.
He smiled faintly against her mouth. “Hi.”
She kept him there a second longer, one hand resting against the back of his neck, the other flattening against his chest like she was checking that he was still right where she wanted him.
He let the quiet stretch.
Then, very softly, against her mouth, “Okay. Now tell me what happened.”
Glinda went still under him.
Her fingers kept moving at his neck, but the rest of her paused. She let out a breath and closed her eyes for a second like she needed that small darkness to line things up.
“It went fine,” she said.
He didn’t answer.
His thumb moved once along her side through the fabric of her shirt. Steady. Present.
She opened her eyes and looked at his collar instead of his face, smoothing it even though it sat perfectly straight.
“They liked it,” she said. “The numbers held. No one had anything useful to criticize.”
He waited.
“One of the partners kept interrupting,” she added. “I handled it.”
He nodded once.
“And Corven stopped me after.”
That got his full attention. He didn’t pull back. Just listened more closely.
“He said I did well,” she went on. “That I have presence. That clients respond to that.” Her mouth tipped slightly. “He’d like to ‘invest in my future.’”
Elphaba’s hand paused at her waist.
“What does that mean?”
“Coffee. Career talk. Guidance.” She made a small motion with her fingers like she was brushing dust away. “It’s how things move forward there.”
He watched her face. The careful neutrality. The way she kept her tone even.
“Do you want that?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” She exhaled and finally looked at him. “Saying no closes doors. Saying yes opens… complicated ones.”
His thumb started moving again, slow along her side. Grounding.
“You don’t owe anyone access to you,” he said.
“I know.” She reached up and touched his cheek. “I also know how this industry works. I’m not naïve. I can manage it.”
He held her gaze. Searching, but not pushing.
“I just didn’t want to bring it home and turn it into a whole thing,” she said. “I wanted one night where I didn’t have to think about how to navigate a man’s ego.”
He leaned down a fraction and rested his forehead against hers.
“You never have to make yourself smaller to keep something,” he said quietly.
She smiled at that. Real this time, if tired.
“I’m not,” she murmured. “I’m just… strategic.”
Her hand slid back into his hair, keeping him close. He stayed where he was, weight braced on his arm so she never had to hold him up, breathing steady with hers until the tension in her shoulders eased again.