Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Avignon, France - August 2024

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?” Elphaba’s back is to Glinda, but she can feel the weight of her gaze, something heavy and warm and still unfamiliar.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to be so damn pretty?” Glinda quips back.

Elphaba turns, smirk rising, “Oh, there’s the quick wit I was so taken by. You’ve lost your edge, Upland.”

Glinda scoffs, “Forgive me, I’m finding it ever so slightly hard to focus with all that going on,” she says, gesturing broadly at Elphaba, who stands leaning against the bathroom counter, pulling her hair up into a loose bun, naked save a towel wrapped low around her hips.

Elphaba feels Glinda’s eyes on her in the low light, the last remnants of dusk evaporating outside, several pilfered candles burning in their stands. The green woman stares back, unabashedly now. Glinda sits at one end of a large claw-foot bathtub, resting her head against the porcelain lip, arm thrown carelessly over the side of the tub.

They’ve been here together for a week now, and Elphaba occasionally has this strange sense that she hasn’t really even seen Glinda. They’ve been so tangled up in each other at every moment, faces always just inches apart, that Elphaba feels she’s hardly looked at Glinda from afar, always pressed too impossibly close.

She takes this one moment to gaze at her from a short distance. Glinda breaks into a lazy smile - a flash of white in the amber glow of the room. The tips of her hair are pulling moisture from the bath, curling even tighter. Elphaba's eyes trace the fine lines of her back tattoo where they bleed over onto the top of Glinda’s shoulders. She tries to take in every curve and sweep of her body.

“Now who’s staring?” Glinda asks, breaking Elphaba from her reverie.

Elphaba flushes, but somehow her voice comes out steadier than her knees. “Can you blame me?”

Glinda meets her gaze and Elphaba pushes off from the counter and takes one slow step forward, into Glinda’s orbit. The blonde raises her outstretched hand and runs a damp finger lightly up the soft skin of Elphaba’s calf, the only part of her she can reach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in her wake.

“Get in the tub, Elphie,” Glinda says, her voice somewhere directly between soft and dangerous. She pulls at the hem of Elphaba’s towel until it pools onto the tile. “Actually,” her voice brightens, “can you grab my drink first? I left it on the counter.”

Elphaba hands her the glass, damp with condensation, and clinks her own against it. “Cheers,” she smiles.

“Now get in,” Glinda demands again.

“Scootch up,” Elphaba gestures, going to slide in behind the blonde.

Glinda shakes her head. “Nope,” she grins. “You’re in front. I’m the big spoon.”

“I am so much bigger than you, though.”

“Yeah, and I can imagine people have been taking advantage of that and making you be the big spoon your entire life,” Glinda says as though it were a great offense.

“My entire life?” Elphaba echoes, laughter in her voice.

“Yes, it’s simply unfair,” Glinda announces. “It’s your turn to be the little spoon.”

Elphaba acquiesces and, with Glinda’s steadying hand, slips into the warm water, Glinda’s chest at her back. “I think you’re overestimating the number of people I’ve bathed with if you’re suggesting I’m often the big spoon.”

Glinda settles her free hand across Elphaba’s chest, pulling the green woman flush against her. Elphaba’s head falling against her shoulder, hand finding purchase on Glinda’s bent knee.

“Humor me, will you?” Glinda sighs dramatically. “Perhaps I just wanted to hold you.”

Something about the words or the way Glinda said them settled somewhere deep and pleasant in Elphaba’s chest. A match being struck - a spark and heat and steady light. Elphaba turns her head and lets her lips brush barely against the corner of Glinda’s jaw, the soft hair curling around it.

They fall into an easy silence. The only sounds in the room are the whispering of the candle wicks, the clinking of ice in their drinks, and the occasional kiss dropped against a bare shoulder or the curve of a neck.

Glinda’s fingers skate across Elphaba’s sternum, her collar bones. Tracing the lines of her as if to memorize by touch. Elphaba’s thumb follows a slow and even arch across Glinda’s leg, fingers curled around the back of her knee. Unknowingly, her hand finds the seam of her surgical scar. Elphaba outlines the scar tissue with a gentle finger.

She feels the weight of the silence shift. There’s nothing discernible about it, but Elphaba feels it anyway - perhaps a change in Glinda’s breathing, a new stiffness in her posture.

Instead of letting it go, Elphaba continues following the scar up and down across the surface of Glinda’s kneecap, not looking at it but feeling the slight ridge of tissue.

“What happened here?” Elphaba murmurs, as softly and gently as she can, face still halfway pressed into the other woman’s neck.

“ACL,” Glinda replies, clipped.

Elphaba leaves another easy kiss to the edge of her jaw. “I know that much,” she husks. “We don’t have to talk about it - not if you don’t want to,” she says casually. “I just couldn’t imagine.”

She feels Glinda soften beneath her. “Imagine what?” She asks, her voice still threaded with a thin wire of angst.

Elphaba picks her words carefully, aware suddenly that there’s still a lot of pain surrounding the injury, even if it’s not physical. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been,” she says honestly. “Not even just the surgery and the rehab - but the mental element. I don’t think I’d be strong enough to come back from something like that.”

Glinda doesn’t say anything for a moment. The quiet stretches out before them. Elphaba worries she overstepped. “I almost didn’t,” she admits quietly, just above a whisper.

Elphaba stills her hand and waits for Glinda, letting the quiet permeate until she decides whether or not to continue her thought. The candles flicker. Elphaba moves her hand to graze fingers softly across the inside of Glinda’s wrist as it sits against her chest. She hopes the steadying touch is enough to say what she’s not verbalizing: I’m here to listen, let me be what you need.

“It was so dumb,” Glinda starts again with a wet laugh. “It’s not like it was some big thing during a match and I went down hurt. It was a non-contact injury during a normal practice. I just planted my foot wrong and that was it.”

Elphaba hums but lets her continue. “And I remember lying there terrified. I was so scared. Not about the pain or the injury or the months of rehab I knew were ahead. But I just simply don’t know who I am outside of soccer and I was about to have to find out.”

Elphaba picks up her hand and kisses the inside of her wrist. “Did you think it was career-ending at that point?”

“Yeah,” Glinda says plainly. “I was in so much pain and all I could think about was how my life was never going to be the same. I was catastrophizing, I think. But the fear was real.”

“How’d you get over it?”

Glinda presses her face into the side of Elphaba’s head, huffing out a mirthless laugh. “There wasn’t another option. If I wanted to play again, I had to get over it. And I love playing soccer - there was no universe in which I didn’t try to come back.” She lapses into another brief quiet and Elphaba can practically feel her ruminating. Glinda pulls away and sips idly at the gin and tonic still dripping condensation in her hand as a way to buy her more time to think. Elphaba lets her.

“And now I’m healthy and playing better than ever but I’m left with that god-awful scar, and every single time I plant my foot, I feel a certain spike of anxiety and I wonder every time if I’ll ever not feel it,” she rambles. “Or maybe I never actually got over the fear, maybe I’ll be scared for the rest of my career.”

Elphaba takes the stoic, rational approach, not letting Glinda spin out on the emotion of it. “Do you think your game has changed?” She asks with genuine curiosity. “Do you think you’re more hesitant, more wary?”

“That’s the crazy part,” Glinda says, nearly astonished by herself. “As much as I’m terrified of it happening again, I never play it safe. I always go for the hard challenge, I always throw myself recklessly into every play.” She scoffs, as though just realizing this about herself. “I think I’m more scared to lose than to get hurt again.”

“I can definitely understand that much,” Elphaba says. “I hate losing more than I love winning.”

Glinda nods, and while Elphaba can’t see it, she can feel Glinda at her back. “I think it’s a disease,” she says seriously. “We all have it.”

Elphaba raises her hand again, tracing the ACL scar with a graceful finger. “Luckily for you, chicks dig scars.”

She feels the murmur of Glinda’s low laugh resonate through her chest. “Is that why you threw yourself onto the ground in the middle of an Olympic race?” She asks, gesturing with her drink at Elphaba’s right thigh, which has mostly healed, just an echo of the scrape that dashed her three-peat hopes.

“Easy does it,” Elphaba warns. “It’s still fresh.”

Glinda playfully nips at the shell of her ear. “Talk about it,” she demands. “You made me talk about mine - it’s your turn.”

“What is there to talk about?” Elphaba asks rhetorically. “I fell, I lost, I got banged up. That’s all there is to it.”

“Oh wow,” Glinda says slowly, drawing the syllables out. “For someone so good at making me open up, you certainly are terrible at it yourself, babe.”

Elphaba knows that’s not the part of the sentence she should be focusing on, but something about the term of endearment as it falls so seamlessly from Glinda’s mouth flips her stomach and hammers her heart against her ribs.

When she still doesn’t reply, still too struck by how a single word can shake the very foundation of her stoicism, Glinda leans ever so slightly forward, lips brushing against the curve of her ear. “Talk to me,” she rasps, fully aware of the effect of her low voice.

“Not fair,” Elphaba says with an unsteady lilt to her voice.

Glinda shakes her head, laughing. “What’s not fair is thinking you're exempt from talking about your feelings. I know it bothered you,” she gestures again to the lingering injury. “How are you feeling now?” She asks, pulling Elphaba impossibly closer into her chest, arm curling around strong green shoulders. Elphaba leans back into her, letting Glinda hold her tightly.

“Do you want the honest answer?” Elphaba asks.

“Obviously, yes, Elphie.”

“I’m fucking annoyed,” Elphaba says, plainly and without any malice. “I lost and I hate losing. I didn’t even lose because someone else was better than me - I could almost stand that.” She lets out a long exhale. “But I lost because of a freak accident and I’m not even allowed to be mad about it.”

Glinda nods but says nothing, urging Elphaba on.

“I’m not mad at the runner in the other lane, honestly. At least, I don’t think so. I’m just frustrated with the circumstances of it all. I don’t know that I would have medaled in the hurdles, but I didn’t even get the chance to try, to show my ability. And because it was a crash, I have to be a gracious loser, which stings in a different way.”

Finally, her tirade slows, frustration replaced by understanding. “So anyway,” Elphaba drawls, slowing her speech. “I lost, it sucked. I’ve hardly wanted to think about it, much less talk about it.”

“I guess that’s one of the differences between our sports,” Glinda says sagely.

Elphaba tips her head back to try to see the blonde. “What do you mean?”

“Just that, when I make a mistake, I take responsibility,” her hand comes off Elphaba’s chest and mimes holding it up in apology, as Elphaba has seen her do on the field, “and then I move on and reset. You don’t get to make a mistake - not that this particular instance was your fault, but in general, if you make a mistake, you don’t win.”

Elphaba nods slowly, “I’ve never thought about it that way.”

Glinda kisses the side of her head easily and says with a tinge of wonder or awe or anxiety, “That’s so much pressure. Zero room for error.”

“Well, someone else erred for me and I didn’t want to talk about it because I was annoyed and embarrassed,” Elphaba admits. “But we’re naked in a bathtub in the south of France, so I guess I got the girl anyway.”

Glinda tosses her head back and laughs openly and loudly. “Yeah,” she chuckles, “I would say the girl has been acquired.” She pauses briefly. “Did you really think that I would be less into you because you didn’t medal in one race?”

Elphaba grimaces. “How fucked up would it be if I said ‘yes?’”

“A little,” Glinda admits, voice still tinged with leftover playfulness. “I don’t care if you never win another race as long as you live,” she says, turning slightly more serious. “Look at me,” she pushes Elphaba's shoulder, who sits up and cranes her neck around. “Your success as an athlete doesn’t matter to me. Of course, I want you to do well, but I will like you regardless.”

Elphaba shimmies herself around, sloshing water until she’s sitting across from Glinda, knees pulled up to her chest. Glinda’s face is painted with an amused smile as the bathwater returns to relative stillness. “You better be saying something important right now, I was enjoying being the big spoon,” she teases.

Elphaba ignores her. “I was embarrassed. I looked at you and saw literally one of the most accomplished athletes of all time. And somehow you’re interested in me?” It’s not really a question but Elphaba’s voice hitches at the end all the same.

Glinda goes to speak, but Elphaba raises an eyebrow and holds her drink out, one finger extended from the glass, effectively shushing the blonde.

“You told me to talk - I’m talking,” Elphaba warns playfully, and Glinda holds her hands up in surrender and mimes zipping her lips closed. Elphaba smiles warmly and continues, “Anyway. After I ran you over at the airport, my coach told me I was crazy for not recognizing you because you’re ‘the face of women’s soccer.’” She puts air quotes around Dillamond's phrase.

Glinda rolls her eyes hard but keeps her promise and doesn’t interrupt verbally.

“It didn’t take long to realize that was true - you’re, like, famous as shit. And then, yes, I felt like I had something to prove. And I thought if you knew I wasn’t all that, if I couldn’t hold a candle to your talent, then you wouldn’t be into me.”

The confession rolls off of Elphaba’s tongue before she can stop herself. She’s not even sure she realized it was true until she said it. Neither of them says anything for a brief second. Elphaba takes a sip of her drink, eyes focused on the sky darkening outside the window but she can feel the weight of Glinda’s gaze on her.

“Believe me,” the sprinter says with a nearly self-deprecating scoff, “I know how lame that sounds.”

The candles burn, wicks sputtering.

Glinda finally speaks, pulling Elphaba’s attention back to her. “You know,” she starts quietly but clearly, “I watched your Trials.”

Elphaba nods, “You mentioned that before.”

Glinda hums. “I couldn’t sleep. I had just gotten back from camp and I was jet lagged and I couldn’t sleep so I flicked on the TV and the Track and Field Trials were on. It was like 1 am.” Glinda looks wistfully across the tub at Elphaba, who is finally uncurling her legs and intertwining them with Glinda’s.

“It was the middle of the night, and suddenly I was watching this woman absolutely blow everyone out of the water,” Glinda says with a smile that glints sharply in the candlelight. “So yeah, I looked you up, sue me,” she shrugs. Elphaba huffs and still doesn’t meet her eyes. “There wasn’t much, honestly. But it didn’t matter, I was already smitten.”

“That cannot be true,” Elphaba argues.

Glinda cocks her head, thinking. “I guess ‘smitten’ is the wrong word. I’m smitten now, for sure, but I suppose that didn’t happen immediately.”

“Told ya,” Elphaba quips, happy to be right.

Glinda continues, ignoring the green woman. “I did think you were insanely hot. I was attracted to you right off the bat.” Elphaba feels her eyes roll back before she can stop it - no one has ever been instantly attracted to her, and she can’t tell if Glinda’s story is a piece of revisionist history. Glinda huffs, “Elphaba, I am trying to pay you a compliment.”

The green woman screws her face up in an apology. “I guess I’m not entirely used to that.”

“You’re going to have to get used to it, I’m afraid,” Glinda replies, blue eyes sparkling dangerously. “So anyway,” she moves on, “I looked you up and, while there wasn’t a lot, what was there was striking. I was immediately intrigued. You’re just so good-looking,” Glinda smiles, shaking her head lightly at the memory.

Elphaba isn’t totally clear where Glinda is going with this story but she lets it happen, hoping that Glinda will re-find her point somewhere along the way.

“I’m going to compliment you again - are you ready?” Glinda jests, smirking. “I thought you were insanely hot - even just from the snippet of your qualifiers that I watched. You’re handsome and utterly gorgeous, and there was just something about the way you carried yourself that I was very taken by.”

Elphaba feels herself blush and hides a sloppy grin behind the lip of her glass.

Finally, Glinda arrives at her point. “All of this,” she gestures at the conversation hanging in the warm air, “is just to say - I liked you before I even met you. Before I knew you were charming and smart and thoughtful and excellent in bed,” Glinda says, and actually, honest-to-god winks, swooping something in Elphaba’s chest. “So no, Elphaba, you don’t need to win every single race for me to be impressed by you, for me to be into you. That happened a while ago.”

Elphaba takes a deep, steadying breath, unable to fully name the emotion lodged somewhere in her throat. She narrows her eyes and looks at Glinda - her face honest and open and lit by half a dozen candles and something akin to hopefulness.

“I like you very much,” Elphaba says finally, hoping the tremor in her voice comes off as genuine instead of frightened. “I appreciate how direct you are, too. I’m not always good at subtleties, but I like that I don’t have to guess with you.”

Somehow, Glinda smiles even more deeply, eyes bright. “I don’t want to waste any time talking around how I feel. Not with you.”

She’s perfect, Elphaba thinks before she can stop herself. “You’re perfect,” she says before she can stop herself.

Glinda sighs heavily, “I know,” she says, face contorted into a faux-grimace. “It’s a burden.”

Elphaba slowly shakes her head, grin blooming despite her best efforts to stave it off. “You’re something else, G.”

“Come here,” Glinda demands. “Kiss me. You’re too far away.” Elphaba obliges quickly, setting her glass down on the tile beside the tub and leaning forward into Glinda’s space, cupping her jaw with a damp hand, thumb swiping gently across soft lips.

Glinda closes her eyes and leans into her touch. Elphaba replaces her thumb with an even press of her lips, and Glinda responds immediately, hand coming to grasp at Elphaba’s elbow, tongue licking at her bottom lip.

The green woman pulls away before the kiss can get anymore heated, lingering a hairs breadth from Glinda.

“See what I mean?” Elphaba asks, eyes still closed, lips brushing against Glinda’s as she speaks. “Perfect.”

She feels Glinda huff out a quiet laugh before their lips meet again. She’s not even sure who closed the distance first; all she knows is that Glinda is here, still here, still kissing her, still choosing her. Something warm and unfamiliar settles into Elphaba’s chest as Glinda’s hand cups the back of her neck, and, for once, she doesn’t interrogate it. For once, she lets a good thing be good. Elphaba kisses her back with everything she has.

Chapter Text

Northern California - December 2024

Elphie: Just landed.

Glinda: excited to see u!

Glinda: i’m circling… nowhere to park

Glinda: call when ur out

Glinda is driving in exasperated loops around the San Francisco airport, the bustle of holiday travelers making the task nearly impossible. Though Glinda always has a soft spot for airports during the holidays - something about the levity and warmth and watching people hug their loved ones seems to do it for her.

Her parents had picked her up from here last week - the first time she had seen them in almost a year and the first time she’d been back home in a few years  - and she fell into their open arms, surprised to be blinking back tears. Somewhere deep down, she was always just going to be a little girl coming home.

And it felt nice, after all this time away, to be back in the city. Her parents had moved out to the hills just north of San Francisco, almost the countryside but not quite. They had a small piece of land with a house that was too big for just the two of them. Her dad had started trying to brew beer in the garage (something Glinda was sure Elphaba would have a thousand questions about), and her mom had taken up a small garden. It felt right for them. Glinda was happy to be visiting after so long, and trying to ignore the guilt that it had taken her this long to visit in the first place. The salt-laced wind off the bay reminds her of home and the winter sun feels warmer than in London.

The car behind her honks and Glinda is pulled, blinking quickly, out of her musings. She pulls forward as Elphaba’s name lights up her phone. Glinda had set her contact photo to a picture she had taken of the sprinter in Avignon - in it, the morning light streams in through a window and Elphaba is leaning her hip against the kitchen counter with a steaming mug in one hand and a small paperback in the other. Her glasses are on and she’s wearing an oversized t-shirt and boxer shorts. Glinda rarely picks up the phone quickly anymore, letting it ring a couple of times so she can steal a glance at the photo for a moment longer. She’s in love.

“Hi!” She says brightly when she finally answers the phone, “You’re here?”

“I’m here,” Elphaba confirms and Glinda lets herself grin like an idiot alone in her car. “Um… terminal two? Yeah. I’m outside terminal two.”

“Great, I’m swinging around that way now!”

Glinda comes around the corner and scans the crowd for her girlfriend. Everyone’s moving - gathering bags and children or hailing their own cars, but suddenly Glinda spots her and she has to tell herself that everyone’s heart thumps wildly like this when they see their partner. She pulls over as much as she can, throws her hazards on, and jumps out of the car.

Elphaba takes one staggering step back as Glinda barrels into her before strong arms wrap around her shoulders and she feels Elphaba laugh deep in her chest.

_________

They kiss at every red light.

_________

On the highway out of the city, Glinda steals another glance towards Elphaba in the passenger seat. The sprinter is already looking at her.

“Eyes on the road, Upland,” Elphaba chastizes.

“Can’t help it, you’re too pretty,” Glinda says matter-of-factly. “Did you… dress up?” She asks, suddenly noticing that Elphaba’s wearing dark jeans and a soft crewneck sweatshirt, long braid pulled over her shoulder.

Elphaba scoffs. “I’d hardly call this dressing up.”

“Sure, but you would live in sweatpants and sleeveless tees if you could,” Glinda says, reaching across as casually as possible and letting her palm rest on Elphaba’s thigh. “You look nice, though.”

She means it but Glinda has other motives with the compliment as she watches the flush creep up Elphaba’s cheeks. “So,” Glinda urges with a light squeeze and a glance over.

“So… what?”

“What’s with the real pants?”

Glinda watches Elphaba fidget slightly out of the corner of her eye. When she speaks, her voice is small and self-conscious, something she hasn’t heard much from the sprinter. “I just - I mean - I’m meeting your parents, right?” Elphaba stumbles out. “I figured that, if anything, was reason to try.”

The stretch of road ahead of them is empty and straight so Glinda swings her gaze to the woman in the passenger seat.

“Are you… nervous?” Glinda asks genuinely.

“Obviously, yes!”

“Oh my god,” Glinda says slowly, eyes trained back on the highway. “I’ve literally never seen you be nervous for anything before. And we met at the Olympics!” Glinda laughs. “I just straight up thought that wasn’t something you were capable of feeling.”

Elphaba mutters next to her, laying her hand overtop Glinda’s. “I don’t get nervous to run - I’m good at that.”

“We know.”

“But I haven’t really done this before,” Elphaba admits. “I want your parents to like me.”

Glinda softens, flipping her hand so she can intertwine her fingers with Elphaba’s. “Elphie, they’re going to adore you. I adore you. You’re adorable.”

“I’m not adorable,” she grumbles.

Glinda laughs loudly, “Sorry, I forgot. You’re mean and cold and aloof and in no way the world’s biggest softie.”

“Exactly,” Elphaba jokes back.

Glinda brings their joined hands up and kisses the back of Elphaba’s hand soundly and then uses it to adjust her sunglasses. “Really though,” she says, settling her arm back across the divide, “you’re smart and charming and delightful. And if nothing else, they’ll like you because I like you.”

Elphaba doesn’t respond, but the next time Glinda looks over, the set of her face is softer, more at ease.

Eventually, Glinda flicks on her blinker and they pull off the highway and through a small town before winding their way into the hills.

Glinda pulls into a gravel drive and takes the keys out of the ignition, looking across at her girlfriend, whose brow is once again furrowed with concern.

“You’re going to be fine, baby,” Glinda promises. “Come on.” She pulls Elphaba into a chaste kiss in the driveway of her parents' home before pushing her good-naturedly out of the car.

Glinda comes around the back of the car and goes to grab the sprinter’s bag from the trunk, despite her protests. “I’m a professional athlete, too, Elphaba, I can carry a heavy thing,” Glinda smirks.

They don’t even make it to the door before Glinda’s mom has flung it open and is pulling Elphaba into a firm hug, talking all the while.

“Oh, Elphaba, it’s so wonderful to meet you finally! Glinda has told us so much about you, we’ve both been dying to meet you.” She finally releases Elphaba from their hug but holds her at arm's length, and Glinda can’t help but laugh at the scene: all 6-feet of Elphaba Thropp grinning nervously down at her mother, who can’t seem to stop talking.

“Gosh, you really are tall,” her mom continues. “And so pretty! Of course, we had assumed anyone Glinda dates would have to be pretty - our Glinda does love pretty things.”

Glinda watches Elphaba blush dark green and she can feel a mirroring flush creep up her own chest. She slings Elphaba’s bag over her shoulder and sidesteps the two women still in the entryway, catching Elphaba’s eye and mouthing a very smug, “told ya.”

Glinda places a hand on her mom’s shoulder and stage-whispers, “Mom, she is very pretty and very tall, please let her go.”

She immediately drops her hands from where they had been holding Elphaba’s arms tightly. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I just got caught up. Elphaba, forgive my enthusiasm, Glinda just doesn’t bring many people home to meet us, and she’s been speaking so highly of you.”

Elphaba laughs graciously but Glinda can still hear the anxious undercurrent in her voice, “Not a problem,” she says. “Thank you for having me, I do hope I’m not interrupting your holidays, Ms. Upland.”

Glinda can feel herself rolling her eyes before she can stop it. Of course the first words out of her mouth are charming and perfect.

“Nonsense, we’re delighted to have you here. And please, call me Larena.”

Elphaba’s smile flashes genuinely. “Of course, Larena. Thank you again, really. I was preparing to spend Christmas training, so this is a nice reprieve.”

Glinda is halfway up the stairs at this point. “Elphie?” Both of the other women look up at her.

“Sorry, sorry,” Larena repeats, “I’ll let her show you around. Glinda, your father is at the grocery store - do you need anything?”

“Maybe beer that won't poison my girlfriend?” Elphaba gives her a look that Glinda waves off with a quick, “I’ll explain later.”

“Will do, dear,” her mom calls, now out of sight, “Give Elphaba a tour, alright?”

The tour is short. Glinda leads Elphaba to the guest bedroom at the far side of the house, drops her bag onto the ground, and immediately pushes her against the closed door. Glinda’s hands are under Elphaba’s sweater before the sprinter can even register what’s happening.

“What are you doing?” Elphaba hisses.

Glinda’s mouth has already found her neck. “I missed you,” she says between open-mouthed kisses. She can feel Elphaba’s pulse under her lips. It’s intoxicating.

“Glinda, what the fuck?” Elphaba whispers. “Your parents are literally in this house.”

Glinda doesn’t let up, teeth skimming lightly over her pulse point. She hears Elphaba’s breath shudder above her. “So be quiet then,” Glinda offers, fingers tracing the lithe muscle of her stomach.

She doesn’t take much convincing.

Elphaba’s hands are in her hair and pulling her into a searing kiss moments later. She pushes off from the door, and Glinda finds herself walking backwards until her knees hit the edge of the bed.

“Missed you,” Elphaba mumbles against her lips and the earnestness of it sparks a tremble in Glinda’s spine. They pull apart long enough for Elphaba to rip Glinda’s shirt ungracefully over her head and toss it somewhere behind her. Her bra follows and suddenly the only thing in the world that matters to her is Elphaba. Elphaba’s mouth on her, Elphaba’s hands flicking open the button of her pants, Elphaba’s tongue teasing a hardened nipple, Elphaba’s fingers curling just so inside her, Elphaba’s hand over her mouth as she comes, trying not to cry out. Elphaba’s whispered breath in her ear as she eases her back down, “Good girl, so pretty, I love you.”

Glinda’s breathing returns to normal.

“This isn’t like your childhood bedroom or something, is it?” Elphaba asks, eyes bright.

Glinda smacks her playfully, sitting up to look for her discarded clothes. “No,” she confirms. “They moved here last year. You didn’t defile anything sacred, don’t worry.”

Elphaba just gives her a dangerous grin.

_________

The rest of the afternoon passes pleasantly. Glinda’s dad returns from the store and Elphaba greets him with a firm handshake and a polite smile. She really had nothing to worry about, Glinda thinks as she watches Elphaba help her mom with dinner. She’s charming and delightful and parents clearly love her.

At a lull during the conversation at dinner, Larena leans over to Elphaba. “I know it’s been a little while, and I’m sure you’re hearing this from everyone, but I just wanted to congratulate you on your Olympic medals, dear. What a feat!”

Elphaba blushes but accepts the compliments.

“It was really something to watch,” Glinda’s dad, Hugh, agrees from across the table.

Elphaba’s brow furrows at this. “You… watched them?”

Glinda squeezes her hand where it rests on the table.

“Of course!” Larena says, nearly outraged. “You were exceptional! We don’t just tune in for soccer, you know. You were the talk of the town - the green sprinter who yelled at the announcer? It was a big story, we were all rooting for you, and that’s before we knew anything about your dalliance with our Glinda.”

Elphaba cocks her head in confusion which Larena misreads, “Oh, sorry. Glinda told me I shouldn’t call you green, I apologize. But that was part of the story.”

“Mom,” Glinda chastizes, but Elphaba just laughs clear and true, “No, no need to apologize. I’m very green.” She pauses to gather her thoughts. “I suppose I just didn’t realize people were talking about it here. I assumed you knew I was a runner because Glinda had told you so.”

“Not at all,” Hugh spoke up. “You were all over the place: news segments, articles, hell, even people at the bar in town were talking about you.”

Glinda gives her hand another quick squeeze. “Told you,” she said. Elphaba returns it with a smile.

“Well,” the sprinter says, “thank you for watching. Truly, that means a lot.”

“And now that we know you, we like you even more!” Larena says cheerfully.

Glinda watches something change in Elphaba’s face, her posture, her mannerisms, something. She can’t quite place it, but behind the smile, there’s something almost melancholy about her. Glinda wonders if it’s been there the whole time or if it’s just now solidified in that place behind her speech. She doesn’t say anything, just holds tightly to her hand and hopes the affection she feels for Elphaba can be transmitted through her gaze.

_________

The next morning dawns grey and dreary, fog rolling over the low hills and through the redwood trees. Glinda wakes, tucked against her lover, with Elphaba’s arm thrown across her waist, breath rising, steady and even.

She presses her face against Elphaba’s neck and breathes her in - all warmth and woodsmoke and something she can’t name.

“I love you,” she murmurs into emerald skin, a quiet confession in the grey morning light.

“Love you, too,” Elphaba rasps, voice thick with sleep.

Glinda pulls away quickly. Elphaba’s eyes are still closed but her mouth is curved up into an easy smile. “Hey, you’re supposed to be asleep!”

She cracks open one eye to look at Glinda, “So are you.”

Glinda narrows her eyes in a fake scowl. “How long have you been up?”

Elphaba turns more fully towards her, pulling Glinda closer into her. “Not long, I promise,” she says, hand coming to settle at Glinda’s jaw, thumb running a lazy circle against her cheek. “You’re so beautiful.”

Glinda closes the small distance between them and kisses Elphaba softly. “Who let you be so charming so early in the morning?”

“Hey, you were the one telling a sleeping woman how much you love her. I’m just trying to catch up,” Elphaba murmurs.

It honestly doesn’t matter what she says, the husk in Elphaba’s voice in the morning is quickly becoming one of Glinda’s favorite things and she can’t stand how little of it she actually gets to hear. They’ve only been together a few months, but Glinda’s already wondering how much longer she can survive without this - without waking up next to her every day, without getting these quiet, stolen moments.

Elphaba stretches, yawning, and breaks Glinda from her thoughts. “So,” she begins, “the only way I was able to talk Dillamond into letting me miss training was if I promised to run while I was here. Are there any good spots around here?”

Glinda perks up, “Oh yeah, I can show you!”

Elphaba gives her a look, “You want to come?”

“Think I can’t keep up, Thropp?” Glinda goads.

Elphaba just chuckles, “No, honey, I’m worried you’ll outpace me.”

Glinda can feel a grin pulling at the corners of her mouth, “Damn straight.”

The footballer quickly realizes her mistake as she jogs next to Elphaba on a quiet back road that leads the long way into town. Not that Elphaba is faster than her, they’re both just jogging lightly. The mistake is running with Elphaba. Everything she does is utterly entrancing, so why should this be any different? Glinda thinks.

She can’t stop watching the smooth ripple of her muscles, the sleek lines of her form, even the sweat that gathers at her brow is attractive, Glinda finds.

It’s an easy two miles into town and once there, Elphaba buys her a coffee as they walk along the main roads back home.

“You know,” Glinda starts gesturing at Elphaba’s shorts and long-sleeved shirt, “I was really hoping for more of a spandex-and-sports-bra type situation.”

“I apologize,” Elphaba says, placing her hand mockingly over her heart. “I wasn’t too concerned with aerodynamics for our light jog.”

“Speaking of looking insanely hot,” Glinda segues, “you ready for tonight?”

Three weeks earlier, when Elphaba had texted Glinda to let her know that she had cleared her schedule for Christmas and booked her flights to the Bay Area, Glinda had waited exactly 24 hours – until her airfare was no longer refundable – to drop this particular bomb.

Glinda: just so u know, my parents always throw a fancy party in the city before christmas

Glinda: so pack something nice to wear

Elphie: Now you tell me?

Elphie: How nice are we talking?

Glinda: u don’t strike me as the dress type

Elphie: I’m not.

Glinda: hmm

Glinda: do u own a suit?

Elphie: Oh, this is nice, nice.

Glinda: yeah, wear the suit

Elphaba groans next to her, iced coffee in hand. “I don’t know, G. I’m terrible at parties.”

“You also said you were bad with parents and mine are about to adopt you, so I don’t trust a single thing you say anymore.” She watches another flicker of something pass over Elphaba’s face - Wistfulness? Anger? Glinda can’t tell. It’s subtle, just a twitch of her brow, the set of her mouth. But something changes for a split second. And just as quickly, she’s back to her normal self.

“What are you wearing?” Elphaba asks.

Glinda smirks. “You’ll have to just wait and see, I guess.”

“No fun,” Elphaba grumbles, taking her free hand and interlacing their fingers as they walk back home, sun beginning to burn off the marine layer.

_________

“Holy shit.”

Glinda doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but when she sees the cut of Elphaba’s shoulders in her suit, navy and velvet and perfectly tailored, she can’t help herself.

Elphaba turns at the sound and they both take a long moment to gawk at each other. Eventually, Glinda steps forward and brushes a strand of hair away from Elphaba’s face. Green hands drop to Glinda’s silk-clad waist.

“G, you look…” The rest of Elphaba’s sentence drops off as she fishes for the right words.

Glinda knows she looks good - champagne colored dress with a low neckline and a slit just high enough to be lightly inappropate - but watching Elphaba fumble for words only confirms it.

“You should play dress up more often,” Glinda murmurs, taking her in. The suit jacket hangs open, the starch white shirt beneath unbuttoned just enough. Glinda's fingers follow a thin gold chain that sits delicately against Elphaba’s collarbones, leaving a ripple of goosebumps in her wake. “This is a stupidly hot look for you.”

Elphaba dips her head and captures Glinda’s lips in a kiss that could easily get carried away. Glinda pulls them apart slowly.

“How much time do we have?” Elphaba asks, whispering, her voice filled with laughter. “Can I go down on you really quick or are we already late?”

“Girls!” Glinda’s mom calls from somewhere deeper in the house and Glinda lets her head fall into Elphaba’s chest, laughing.

“Seems like we’re already late, darling,” Glinda drawls, pressing a soft kiss into the exposed skin of Elphaba’s chest.

“Rain check,” Elphaba chuckles, hand falling to grab the soft muscle of Glinda’s ass teasingly, and Glinda just falls that much more in love with her.

_________

“So what exactly is this shindig?” Elphaba whispers out the side of her mouth as they enter the venue. Vaulted ceilings with high windows that look out over the glittering bay - Golden Gate Bridge lit up as a sentry. Trays of champagne and fancy finger foods litter the room, a jazz band plays quietly enough in the corner.

Glinda slips her hand through Elphaba’s arm, dolling out polite smiles to people she only vaguely remembers.

“It used to be some big donor schmooze-fest back when my dad was still working in the mayor’s office,” Glinda explains through her smile. “Apparently, it worked so well that even though my parents retired, they still have to host the event.”

“Schmooze-fest, indeed,” Elphaba muses as she grabs a glass of champagne off a passing tray. She offers it to Glinda, who shakes her head, “All you.”

Elphaba just shrugs and takes a sip. “You only drink champagne after you win the Olympics or something?”

Glinda grips tighter to her elbow, “If I start this early, I’ll be hammered before you know it.”

“Not your favorite event, I take it?” Elphaba asks smoothly.

“Not really,” Glinda confirms. “I was always trophied around as my parents’ golden child. Got old quick.”

Elphaba drops a quick kiss to the side of her head that does wonders to make Glinda feel that much more grounded. “Lucky for you, I was once told that green goes well with gold, so I fear we make a perfect pair.”

That is the last time they are able to talk to each other for what feels like hours. Glinda is pulled into a conversation with an old couple that she spends the entirety of trying to remember how exactly they know her. At some point, Elphaba is recognized by another couple and gets sidetracked and the next time Glinda looks up, her girlfriend is engaged in a conversation across the room.

They spend a while orbiting around one another, catching each other’s eyes through the crowd, getting pulled into one conversation or another as they try to rescue the other from theirs. There’s a comically bad timing to it all. 

When Glinda finally has an escape from a discussion with a banker about the 2023 World Cup (Which I didn’t even play in, thank you very much, Glinda thinks), she looks around to find Elphaba deep in conversation with her mother. Glinda watches with something akin to adoration as her mom places a hand top Elphaba’s. But even from across the wide banquet hall, Glinda can see the same crease of emotion that has flitted across Elphaba’s face several times already this weekend.

She makes towards them but only gets a few steps before someone is tapping on the microphone and beginning a speech thanking all of the event’s attendees and donors. Suddenly, Glinda’s mom is by her side and Elphaba is nowhere in sight. When the speech wraps up to polite applause, Glinda turns to her mom.

“Where’s Elphaba?” She asks, eyes scanning the room.

“I’m not sure,” her mom admits.

“Mom, you were literally just talking to her.”

“I can’t even find my own husband, how am I supposed to keep track of your lover, too?” Larena shrugs, “Must have slipped off somewhere while that guy was talking.”

Glinda wanders for a few moments, politely shaking off any attempts at conversation, while she looks for the sprinter. She finally finds her on a small balcony off a back room. The door to the outside is still open and she takes a moment to look at Elphaba, forearms braced against the railing, face lit by the city glowing below her.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?” Glinda drawls, stepping out onto the balcony next to Elphaba. The winter chill is a welcome respite from the warmth of the party.

Elphaba throws a lazy grin over her shoulder as Glinda comes to lean against her shoulder. Elphaba immediately wraps an arm around Glinda, pulling her closer.

“Oh, I missed you so much,” she laughs, relieved.

“You held your own,” Glinda jokes.

“You’re not here to drag me back in there just yet, are you?” Elphaba asks.

“No way. I’m hiding out here with you for as long as possible.”

Elphaba pulls her into a chaste kiss that doesn’t last nearly long enough. “You look unbelievably good, G.”

Glinda laughs and kisses her again. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

They stand next to each other, looking out over the city buzzing with light and noise. Glinda crosses her bare arms against the cold and Elphaba is taking off her jacket and draping it over Glinda’s shoulders before she can protest.

“Thank you,” Glinda says, slipping her arms into the too-long sleeves. “Someone was raised right, clearly,” she teases, and that same unreadable expression falls over Elphaba’s face again. “Hold on. What was that?” Glinda asks, an accusatory finger pointing up from within the depths of Elphaba’s long coat sleeve.

“What was what?”

“That look,” Glinda clarifies. “You’ve made that same face a handful of times and I don’t know it.”

“Maybe you don’t know all my faces,” Elphaba tries to deflect humorously.

Glinda doesn’t take the bait. “No, I do. This one is new. What’s going on with you?” Elphaba is quiet and stares out across the city instead of meeting Glinda’s gaze. “Baby,” Glinda says, too softly. “I’m sorry, this was too much, wasn’t it?” She doesn’t know if she means the party or the holiday or the long weekend with her parents, but she apologizes for it all anyway.

Elphaba shakes her head, “No, not at all. This was - is - everything. It’s amazing.”

“But something’s been bothering you.” It’s not a question.

“Maybe,” Elphaba says after a moment. “It’s silly. I just - I never had this,” she gestures behind her at the party still in full swing.

“A gala?” Glinda asks.

“Yes, but also…” she trails off. “Your mother is so wonderful. Both of them - your parents are exceptional. I felt so welcomed and cared for the moment I stepped into your home.”

Glinda isn’t fully understanding. “Of course you were. I told you, they’d like you for the simple fact that you make me happy.”

Elphaba shakes her head and Glinda’s confusion grows. “It’s not just that, Glin,” Elphaba says, rolling the sleeves of her dress shirt up despite the cold. Glinda wonders if she’s just looking for something for her hands to do. “What do you know about my family?” Elphaba asks suddenly.

“Not much. I’ve met your sister but that’s it,” Glinda admits, knowing that Elphaba already knows the answer. “I haven’t pressed because you’ve never seemed overly willing to talk about it.”

Elphaba scoffs, almost sarcastically. “There’s a reason for that,” she says.

Glinda cocks her head. “Do you want to talk about it now?”

“Yeah.” Elphaba’s voice is so small and vulnerable that Glinda wants nothing more than to pull her into her chest and hold her there, but instead, she gives Elphaba the space she needs to talk. “My mom died when Nessa was born,” she starts. “I don’t really remember her, I was only 3. But I have this sense of her, like a shadow. It seems weird to miss a shadow, but I find myself missing her often.”

Glinda doesn’t say anything and Elphaba still won't meet her eyes. She’s reminded of the first time she ever felt a surge of affection for the sprinter, a moment similar to this - Elphaba calling her from the Stade de France, being vulnerable and honest and easy to love.

She continues. “My dad never got over her dying, and I think he blamed me for it. I blamed myself for a long time - part of me still does.”

Glinda interrupts. “Elphie, love, whatever you think you did, you were a child. No one could hold you responsible for someone else like that. That’s not fair.”

Elphaba nods, “It wasn’t fair, I don’t think. But it still happened. So he never got over that and he certainly never got over me being green - or being gay, for that matter. He never showed me any kind of love.” Elphaba’s voice holds steady, almost clinical. “He loved Nessarose dearly and that dichotomy really put a strain on our relationship. It wasn’t until a few years ago that Nessa and I even had a relationship, and we still have to work for it.”

“What about your father?” Glinda asks. “Do you have a relationship with him?”

Elphaba shakes her head. “Not anymore. It was tenuous for a while, but after I began running professionally, he had a lot to say and I decided to stop listening. We haven’t spoken in a few years.”

“Do you miss him?”

“No,” Elphaba says plainly. “I miss my mother more than I miss him. He was never a positive presence in my life. I think sometimes I miss the semblance of a family that he and Nessa and I were able to cobble together, but that was dashed ages ago.”

“So I can imagine this is different for you,” Glinda assumes. “Being around my family, that is.”

Elphaba finally looks to her, eyes dark but dry. “I never meant to insinuate that I’m not grateful. Your family has been nothing but kind to me. I’m just not used to it - I genuinely don’t know what to do with that feeling.” Elphaba sighs and Glinda leans into her, head falling against her shoulder. “I don’t know what compelled me but I was trying to explain this to your mom earlier. She was way too nice about it,” Elphaba laughs dryly. “I think I came on a little too strong.”

Glinda chuckles lightly. “She already liked you, I promise.”

“Yeah, but now she thinks I’m some tragic orphan. I swear she was going to try to adopt me for a second.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Glinda laughs. “She has a soft spot for good people.”

They stand together in silence for a while, the noise of the city drifting up to them. Elphaba circles her arm around Glinda’s waist and Glinda lets herself watch Elphaba’s breath fog up into the cold air.

“I’m sorry you felt you had to look or act or be a certain way in order to be loved by your father,” Glinda says matter-of-factly. “That’s not what it means to be a parent. You deserved better than him.”

Elphaba inhales sharply. “I did, you’re right. But I’ve mostly moved on, he doesn’t deserve my time or even my anger anymore. I honestly don’t think about him much, I just felt the chasm between my parents and yours once I got to know yours a bit more.”

“I get it,” Glinda nods. And she does. This conversation makes the odd expressions Elphaba has been wearing make a lot more sense suddenly. “Seems like my parents are willing to be yours, too.”

“Funny,” Elphaba says. “That’s basically exactly what your mom told me earlier.”

“We’re more alike than I’d like to admit,” Glinda laughs.

“Maybe that’s why I like her so much.”

Glinda looks over at Elphaba, who is meeting her gaze with steady affection. “Come’re,” Glinda says with a smile, holding her arms open as Elphaba’s jacket swallows her frame. Elphaba folds her taller self into Glinda’s space and the blonde places an easy kiss to her ear. “I love you. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” Elphaba says quietly but clearly.

“There are my girls!” Larena startles them from their moment and Elphaba starts upright and out of Glinda’s grasp. “Come on, we’re blowing this joint,” she beckons them back inside.

“Isn’t this your party?” Glinda asks her mom.

“Yes, but it’s boring and the taco truck a couple blocks away closes at 11, so we need to leave now if we want tacos,” she says as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Glinda takes Elphaba’s hand. “Tacos?”

“Much more my speed. Let’s go,” she smiles, looking between Glinda and her mom. “Not that this party wasn’t delightful, Larena, it really was.”

“Kissass,” Glinda whispers loudly.

“Glinda Upland. Be nice to your girlfriend,” Larena scolds playfully as they sneak out a back exit. “She’s the lovliest person you’ve ever brought home and I would be absolutely distraught if you scared her off so soon.”

Elphaba grins from ear to ear. “You hear that, Upland? I’m lovely.”

Glinda groans. “Mom, she’s already got two Olympic medals, you don’t need to inflate her ego anymore.”

“Will you two stop bickering and get me an al pastor taco, please?” Larena huffs.

Glinda’s mouth hangs open when they arrive at the truck and Elphaba orders for them in perfect Spanish.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Glinda asks incredulously as the three of them stand together in the well-lit parking lot, balancing paper plates and trying not to spill on their nicest clothes.

Larena interrupts her, looking directly at the sprinter. “Elphaba, dear, I know we didn’t get to finish our conversation, but I want to reiterate that you are welcome to be a part of this family for as long as you’d like.”

Elphaba’s eyes are gentle when she responds. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much that means to me. And I apologize for unloading that whole story on you at such an inopportune time.”

Larena waves away her apology with a half-finished taco before turning to her daughter. “I’m happy you came to visit and I’m happy you brought her.”

“Me too, mom,” and Glinda feels a tenderness like coming home to a warm house after a long and cold day. She leans back into Elphaba’s solid form while they wait for Glinda’s dad to pick up the car and drive them back across the bridge.

_________

The next morning is slow, Glinda and Elphaba having fallen into bed well past midnight. Glinda wakes to a note on the nightstand.

Went for a run - be back soon.

Love,

E

Glinda burrows further into the comforter until Elphaba returns, creaking open the door slowly until she sees Glinda is no longer asleep.

“Oat milk flat white for the lady,” Elphaba says with a flourish.

“Oh, I love you so much,” Glinda says, sitting up and taking the proffered cup.

“Happy to hear it. I’m gonna hop in the shower,” Elphaba smiles, bracing one hand on the headboard and leaning in to kiss Glinda softly.

Glinda finishes her drink before rolling out of bed and quietly heading into the bathroom, shucking her clothes and slipping into the steam of the shower.

“Hi,” she whispers, pulling at Elphaba until their hips are slotted against each other.

“Hi,” Elphaba responds, lifting her chin with a delicate finger. Glinda rises up to meet her, and then her world narrows to Elphaba’s lips on hers, the slide of her hand at Glinda’s waist, the strong muscles of her arms under Glinda’s hands.

Glinda pulls back slowly, Elphaba’s eyes still closed. “As much as I would love to go down on you right now, I really don’t think you know how to be quiet enough.”

Elphaba bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “What is it with you and bathrooms, Upland?”

“God forbid I shower with my girlfriend,” Glinda grumbles.

Elphaba gives her a look and continues showering, pulling Glinda with her under the steady stream of water. After a time, Elphaba says quietly, “I want this all the time.”

And the statement hits Glinda in the center of her chest.

“So when are you moving to London?” She asks, intending to be humorous.

“Perhaps when I’m not in the middle of my degree,” Elphaba quips. “Unless you want to move to Boston?”

Glinda smiles sweetly, “Perhaps when I’m not in the middle of a contract.”

Elphaba hums, humor leaving the conversation somewhat. “Seems we're at an impasse then, love.”

Glinda turns the shower off, handing a towel to Elphaba before grabbing one herself. “It seems so,” she acquiesces. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want it, at some point.”

“We’ll get there,” Elphaba nods solemnly. “I promise.”

_________

“Where’s Elphie?” Glinda asks, bounding down the stairs and into the kitchen where her mom sits at a tall stool.

Larena doesn’t look up. “In the garage with your father, god bless her.”

“Oh no. She’s about to learn so much about hops.”

“Whether she wants to or not,” Larena confirms.

Glinda chuckles. “Somehow, I think she wants to.”

Glinda makes to go towards the garage and save her girlfriend from a lecture about home-brewing but her mom stops her. “She’ll survive. I wanted to talk to you.”

Glinda’s brow furrows and she comes around to the far side of the counter across from her mom. “What’s up?” She asks, voice betraying a hint of anxiety.

“That girl,” her mom takes off her glasses and points vaguely in the direction of the garage, where Elphaba is currently knee deep in a conversation about yeast. Larena’s voice begins to break, “You’re not a parent so you can’t understand this like I do, but I cannot tell you how awful a person must be to abandon their own daughter, especially a girl as exceptional as her.”

Glinda just nods, feeling the pinprick of tears already forming in the corner of her eyes.

“You hold on to her, Glinda. I’ve never seen you like this with anyone else. She brings out something in you that I haven’t seen before but you look happier than I’ve ever known you.”

“I think I am,” Glinda says. “Happier, that is.”

“Good,” Larena says. “I know we haven’t been perfect parents, I know we pushed you, maybe too hard sometimes, but I also know how hard you’ve worked to build the life you have.” She pauses poignantly. “Do you see Elphaba in that life going forward?”

“Yeah,” Glinda says slowly, meaningfully. “I do. I’ve never felt this way but I’m utterly sure of it.”

“Good,” her mom repeats. “I want you to be happy and I think she makes you happy. But I want to be very clear about something. This is a girl who has never had a good parent in her life. Even if you guys break up, I don’t want her to lose another family. I don’t know how you’ll juggle that one, but she will always have a place in this family.”

Glinda nods, tears spilling forth now. “I don’t blame you. She deserves the best. I intend to give it to her, and it means the world to me that you love her too.”

The door bangs open and Glinda tries to wipe her face.

“G, I just learned the difference between lagers and —“ Elphaba stops short when she sees the Upland women teary-eyed around the kitchen counter. “What — are you alright?” She’s at Glinda’s side immediately.

Glinda lets Elphaba pull her into her chest. “I’m okay - we’re okay, Elphie. I promise.” Elphaba presses a kiss to the top of her head. “I just love you so much.”

“I love you, too. You sure you’re good?”

Glinda nods against her, smiling across the table at her mom, who mirrors Glinda’s affectionate grin.

Larena reaches across the counter and squeezes both of their hands. “I love you girls,” she says genuinely.

“Love you, Mom,” Glinda smiles.

“Thank you, Larena,” Elphaba says, genuinely but still slightly confused by the scene she walked in on. Larena takes one more look at the pair and leaves them alone in the kitchen.

Glinda melts further into her girlfriend. “You’re the best of them, Elphaba Thropp,” she says, voice thick with emotion.

“Is that what you two were talking about?” Elphaba chuckles.

“Kind of, yes,” Glinda admits. “I love you, she loves you. You’ve got a home here if you want it.”

Glinda can’t see Elphaba’s face but hears the sharp intake of breath that suggests the sprinter was caught unaware by Glinda’s confession.

I think,” Elphaba starts and Glinda can feel the tremor in her chest as she speaks. “I think I might just want that,” she confides.

“It’s yours. I’m yours.”

_________

Two days later, Glinda and Elphaba repack their things and head back to their airport to board separate planes, to head back to the parts of their life that remain woefully separate.

After an extended goodbye, Glinda’s parents waving from their front stoop as the girls drive off, Larena turns to her husband, “So,” she says, twinkle in her eye, “which one do you have dibs on?”

“Excuse me?” Hugh asks as his wife follows him back inside.

“The girls. Which one do you want? I’m leaning towards Elphaba but only because I have a soft spot for her, and it makes more sense for you to have Glinda anyway,” Larena rambles.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Keep up, Highmunster,” Larena smiles, only ever using his full name in jest. “When they get married, which one are you walking down the aisle?”

He shakes his head. “Was there no possible world in which you led with the context?” They look at each other for a beat across the kitchen counter. “If you want Elphaba, I’ll take our daughter.”

“They’re both our daughters at this point. And yes, Elphaba deserves a loving parent to walk her down the aisle,” she says firmly.

“That’s settled then,” he laughs.

Chapter Text

London, England - October 2026

Glinda unlocks the deadbolt as quietly as possible, the sun only just beginning to turn the world cerulean behind her as she slips softly inside.

As it so happens, she didn’t need to take pains to be silent; Elphaba is awake in the pre-dawn, sitting with her back to the front door, one leg tucked under her, a novel in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. She is pointedly not looking at where Glinda drops her bag at the door.

Glinda leans against the doorframe for a moment, watching as Elphaba takes a nonchalant sip of coffee before placing the mug down too carefully. The lamplight casts a warm glow over the whole scene. Glinda watches for a moment longer, knowing Elphaba is painfully aware of her presence and simply pretending not to notice her. She watches as Elphaba’s shoulders rise and fall with her breathing, watches as she never flips the page of her book, watches as her spine straightens slightly as Glinda toes off her shoes.

Finally, Glinda gives in, walking slowly across the threshold to the back of Elphaba’s chair, arms encircling her broad shoulders from behind.

“Good morning, lover,” she husks into Elphaba’s ear. She feels the sprinter’s body exhale, melting against her.

“Don’t ‘good morning, lover’ me,” she says, voice still steely even if her posture has softened. “You were supposed to be home two days ago.”

Glinda kisses the sharp edge of her jaw. “How can I make it up to you, baby?”

“You can’t,” Elphaba says emphatically, but Glinda can hear the laughter at the edge of her speech.

Glinda moves around to the front of the armchair, slipping into Elphaba’s lap and threading her hands through dark hair, and only then is she able to pull Elphaba’s gaze from the page she had been staring at without reading.

“I missed you,” Glinda rasps.

“I didn’t hear from you for two days, Upland,” Elphaba says, almost exasperated. “I only knew you were alive because Milla sent me a photo of you asleep at some airport, telling me that your flights had been cancelled and your phone had been run over by a car.”

“That’s all true,” Glinda admits.

After what felt like an eternity, Elphaba’s dark eyes staring steadily at Glinda, she finally leans forward, lips barely brushing over Glinda’s. “How dare you,” Elphaba whispers, “spend 48 hours traveling and show up looking so stupidly hot.”

Glinda captures her lips in a soft kiss, heart drumming against her ribs. “I missed you,” Glinda repeats breathily against Elphaba’s lips.

“So, how exactly are you going to make it up to me?” Elphaba asks, mouth curling up into a half-smirk.

Glinda swoops back in and kisses her harder, hands still tangled in Elphaba’s long hair. Elphaba moans into her mouth and Glinda swallows the low sound. More than two years since they met and Glinda is still astonished by how quickly Elphaba can start shivers down her spine with a swipe of her tongue against Glinda’s lips.

Glinda pulls back eventually, mouth going easily to Elphaba’s neck while she takes the book out of her hands and lets it fall clunkily to the floor.

“I was reading that,” Elphaba says dryly, even though Glinda can hear the barely disguised hitch in her words as teeth scrape gently along Elphaba’s fluttering pulse.

“Now you’re not,” Glinda replies simply, voice muffled.

Elphaba’s now-free hands come to rest on Glinda’s waist, slipping easily under the hem of her shirt, thumbs running dangerously below the elastic of her bra. Glinda shakes her head where it still rests against the green woman’s neck.

“Nuh-uh,” Glinda chastizes, sucking a dark mark into her skin. “I’m making it up to you, don’t you dare.”

Elphaba leans ever so slightly closer, lips brushing against the shell of Glinda’s ear, voice dropping an octave. “And what if this,” she husks, fingers skimming over peaked nipples, “is what I want?”

It takes every ounce of self-restraint Glinda has but she manages to sit up enough to grab Elphaba’s wrists and remove her hands from under Glinda’s shirt. “Elphaba,” she breathes out, meeting dark eyes, “let me take care of you, baby.” Glinda runs her hand over the ancient and faded college t-shirt that Elphaba wears to bed, muscles starkly defined underneath the soft fabric.

Elphaba grins stupidly up at her, hands finding purchase at Glinda’s hips after being banished from under her bra. “It’s 6 in the morning, you’re really going to fuck me in the armchair?” Elphaba laughs.

“Not with that attitude,” Glinda says and makes to get up from where she’s been straddling the sprinter’s lap, bluffing disinterest. Elphaba’s hands grasp tighter at her hips and pull her back in, smug smile pulling at the corners of Glinda’s mouth.

“Please,” Elphaba whispers, looking up at the woman above her.

“Please, what?” Glinda asks, feigning innocence.

“Stay.”

Glinda raises an eyebrow, slipping once again under her t-shirt, trying to pull more from Elphaba, hands just barely ghosting over the taut muscle of her stomach, the soft skin of her breasts.

A dark flush creeps up above the collar of Elphaba’s shirt. “Please stay,” she repeats, urging Glinda’s hips lower, flush against her own. She drops her voice even further. “Please stay and fuck me in the armchair at 6 in the morning.” The daring flash in her dark eyes and half-smirk curling at her lips belies the desperate want in her voice.

Glinda’s tearing her shirt off without another thought; all she wants is the woman beneath her. All she wants is to pull that absolutely filthy moan from Elphaba’s mouth that happens every time she kisses a particularly sensitive spot against the inside of her thigh. That thought is banished once Elphaba tangles her fingers in Glinda’s hair and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of her jaw.

“So fucking pretty,” she mutters reverently into golden skin and Glinda’s shivers, pulling away so she can kiss Elphaba properly, tongue licking greedily into her mouth.

Elphaba takes off Glinda’s shirt and Glinda lets it happen, suddenly desperate to feel the heady rush of skin against skin. And then Elphaba is once again turning the tables, holding Glinda with one strong hand splayed across her back, the other grasping at the firm muscle of her ass while her mouth works deftly against Glinda’s chest.

“Elphaba,” she stutters breathlessly, “this is supposed to be about you.”

“This is about me, baby,” Elphaba responds without taking her mouth off Glinda’s tits. “Let me have this,” she demands.

Glinda suddenly finds she doesn’t have it in her to argue further as Elphaba scrapes her teeth lightly across a nipple. Glinda unconsciously grinds her hips further down. Elphaba’s hand stays braced tightly against her back while the other goes to undo the drawstring of Glinda’s sweatpants.

Suddenly, Elphaba pulls back and, with dark eyes and a wicked grin, takes two fingers into her mouth and Glinda’s breath catches in her throat as Elphaba’s tongue swirls around her own knuckles.

“Fuck,” the blonde mutters, hips jumping foward, seeking a friction that isn’t there.

Elphaba takes her fingers out of her mouth agonizingly slowly. “That’s the idea, love,” she smirks, hand trailing down Glinda’s sternum until she dips unceremoniously past the waistband of her pants and then time stops for Glinda entirely.

Elphaba’s mouth is back at her neck, lips ghosting over her throat, as fingers find purchase in Glinda’s wet heat. Elphaba’s hand at her back draws dull nails across her skin and Glinda is sure there are angry red lines trailing down her spine. She lets Elphaba touch her excruciatingly tenderly, fingers barely pressing circles against her clit, trying to still the movement of her own hips.

It goes on forever. Or no time passes at all. Glinda can’t tell anymore, not with Elphaba’s mouth working against the corner of her jaw, not with her long, green fingers parting her and silently asking permission. Glinda merely nods, wrecked, as Elphaba curls two fingers inside her.

And, all of a sudden, Elphaba forgets her previously languid pace and begins fucking Glinda in earnest. Fingers curling at a torturous speed, pulling a broken moan from Glinda’s throat as she grinds her hips in time to Elphaba’s fingers inside her.

Glinda tangles her hands into Elphaba’s silky hair, pulling her green lips to hers, though it ends up being less of a kiss and more of a desperate brushing of lips as Glinda gasps into her mouth.

Elphaba adds a third finger and Glinda’s rhythm falters. “Fuck,” she breaths. “Elphie. Fuck. I love you.”

Elphaba smiles so genuinely and brushes her thumb over Glinda’s clit. “You feel so good,” she whispers reverently and Glinda presses her forehead against her lover's as she rocks into her lap.

Her orgasm hits her out of the blue and suddenly Glinda is bowed over, face pressed into Elphaba’s bare shoulder, as she gasps, body shuddering around the deft fingers still inside her.

She stills, heart rate evening out, thighs trembling around Elphaba. “Holy shit,” she pants, her breath hot on Elphaba’s neck. “Fuck. I missed you.”

Elphaba huffs out a short laugh, removing her fingers slowly, leaving Glinda sated and empty. “You were only gone for a week, my sweet.”

Glinda pulls back enough to catch Elphaba’s gaze, an eyebrow raised, voice lowered, “And how many times did you think about me while you touched yourself?” Elphaba’s deep green flush and averted eyes tell her all she needs to know. “Exactly,” she says, bringing Elphaba’s hand up to her own mouth and running her tongue along the inside of the three fingers that had just been inside her as she watches Elphaba’s eyes darken with desire.

Glinda stands quickly from Elphaba’s lap, hoping a few deep breaths will mask the shake of her legs and blush on her chest. Elphaba lets out an affronted sound as Glinda takes a step back and out of her reach, pulling blonde hair back up into a tight bun. “Be patient,” Glinda scolds playfully, morning light finally cresting into the room.

“I have been exceptionally patient,” Elphaba argues. Glinda can’t help but take in the sight before her: Elphaba wearing just a pair of boxers, gazing up at her, coffee gone cold on the side table. Her features, sharp as an axe, all well-defined muscle and subtle softness - Glinda wonders absently if she’ll ever tire of looking at the woman below her.

“You’re so beautiful,” Glinda whispers adoringly into the bright morning air, closing the gap she had created between them, Elphaba’s hand caressing her knee as she steps closer. Glinda leans in, one hand braced against the back of the chair, and brings Elphaba into a surprisingly chaste kiss. When she pulls back, her fingers snap the elastic waistband of Elphaba’s boxer shorts. “Up,” Glinda commands easily and Elphaba complies even more easily.

Glinda drags the shorts slowly down long green legs and watches Elphaba’s throat bob as she swallows. And then she’s on her knees, ignoring the sting of the hardwood floor in favor of leaving a lingering kiss to the inside of Elphaba’s thigh, pulling an obscene moan from her mouth as Glinda knew it would.

“God, you’re stunning,” Glinda murmurs against verdant skin.

She dips her head once more, tongue running slow and firm through Elphaba’s gathering wetness and the sprinter drops her head against the back of the couch, groaning. It will never cease to amaze her - quiet, stoic, unflappable Elphaba Thropp growing wanton and desperate under her touch. It’s intoxicating, it’s sorcery, it’s everything, Glinda thinks, drunk on the taste of her.

Glinda’s hands are at Elphaba’s knees, spreading her open even further and following the muscular lines of her thighs, tongue working deftly against her. When she next looks up, Elphaba is staring back, eyes blown dark and breath coming in shallow gasps out of a barely parted mouth. She looks utterly wrecked, and Glinda feels a prick of pride, being able to reduce her to these very base elements.

“Fuck,” Elphaba groans, hand coming to tangle in the whisps of blonde hair that have come undone. She’s not pushy or needy about it, just wanting something to ground her. Glinda smirks against her center, tongue dipping teasingly inside the green woman as the grip in her hair tightens.

Glinda lets a hand drift up to caress the chiseled muscle of Elphaba’s stomach until she’s brushing a thumb against the soft skin under her breast, eliciting another sharp sound from Elphaba as her head falls back once more and she lifts a leg to hook over Glinda’s shoulder, drawing her even closer.

“Good girl,” Glinda mutters against her, a surefire way to get Elphaba to melt even more deeply into her. She’s not ever sure if it’s something about Elphaba’s tragic childhood or her inescapable need to be perfect, that imposter syndrome following her everywhere, that makes Elphaba so sensitive to being called “good,” but regardless, Glinda figured that one out fairly quickly and uses it readily.

Sure enough, Glinda watches Elphaba bite down hard on her bottom lip to keep from crying out at the expression. “So good for me,” Glinda says again, and Elphaba gasps through clenched teeth. Too easy, Glinda smiles to herself.

And then Elphaba is drawn up beneath her mouth, eyes closed tight as her thighs trembling around Glinda’s head as she flicks her thumb over a peaked nipple. She lets out a strangled cry into the dawn air, body taut as a bow, and Glinda marvels at her as though it were the first time.

When the perfect muscles of Ephaba’s body stop trembling, Glinda sits back on her heels, placing a light kiss to the inside of Elphaba’s knee before wiping her chin with the back of her hand. She crawls back into Elphaba’s lap, green chest still heaving. Glinda leans close to her ear and asks, “So am I forgiven now?”

Elphaba’s brow furrows, “For what?” She asks, slightly disoriented, still coming down from her high.

Glinda barks out a genuine laugh, “Wow,” she drawls, “the sex was so good she forgot I was two days late coming home.”

Elphaba laughs lightly. “Give a girl one moment to recover, will you?” She grumbles, pulling Glinda into a steady kiss. “And no,” she says when they’ve parted, “I did not forget. I’m still mad at you.”

Glinda gets off her lap once more, standing this time, and stretches languidly, back popping several times. She opens her eyes to catch Elphaba staring - she blushes but doesn’t look away, naked and on glorious display herself.

“How could you possibly be mad at all this?” Glinda laughs, gesturing to her half-nude self.

Elphaba smirks, finally rising on slightly unsteady legs, to wrap her arms around the smaller woman. “I’m finding it increasingly difficult,” Elphaba admits, face buried into Glinda’s hair.

“I really am that good,” Glinda compliments herself.

“And so humble about it,” Elphaba laughs, extracting herself. “Come on,” she pleads, taking Glinda’s hand and heading for the staircase, “Let’s go to bed.”

“Elphie,” Glinda groans petulantly but takes her hand nonetheless, “I really don’t know if I have another round in me.”

Elphaba turns and raises an eyebrow, “Tapping out so soon, Upland? What happened to being ‘that good?’” Elphaba parrots. She doesn’t give Glinda time to respond, instead scooping the smaller woman off the floor and into her arms, Glinda’s legs going automatically around her waist with a surprised squeak. “Don’t worry, we’re just going to go to bed - no need for a reprise.”

Elphaba makes her way carefully up the stairs, Glinda still wrapped around her. “You’re insanely strong,” she hums appreciatively.

“You say that every time,” Elphaba says with a groan as she deposits her girlfriend undelicately onto the bed.

“That’s why I keep you around,” Glinda muses, yawning, suddenly overcome with the exhaustion of her terrible travel days. Elphaba digs through a drawer, not listening, until she emerges with another Harvard Track and Field t-shirt and tosses it to Glinda.

“Put this on,” she demands, pulling a new pair of boxers on. “We’re going to sleep.”

Glinda swims in the threadbare fabric, confusion written on her face, “You don’t have to work?”

Elphaba slips into bed next to her, “It’s Saturday, G.”

“Perfect,” Glinda smiles, collapsing into bed and pulling Elphaba’s long frame around her.

They’re almost asleep, breathing deep and synced, when Elphaba murmurs into her back, “Glinda?” The blonde responds with a vague sound, barely indicating she’s still awake. “How on earth did your phone get run over by a car?”

Chapter Text

London, England - April 2030

Elphaba’s in the middle of a lecture when her phone rings.

It’s not a big deal, the room is cavernous and her phone is in a tote bag hanging off the back of her chair, vibrating away, but it’s quiet and not disrupting the class, so Elphaba lets it ring. It starts up again a moment later.

Elphaba stops the lecture, “So sorry, let me turn this off,” she mutters, digging her phone out of her bag and silencing the call - it’s just Boq, he can wait. She resumes her lecture, and most of the class listens attentively, which is all she can ask for.

Suddenly, there’s a ringing from somewhere on her desk. It’s strewn with papers and books, so it takes a moment for Elphaba to find a nearly ancient landline phone amongst the mess. 

“I didn’t even know this was here,” Elphaba says softly before turning back to the class, “Okay, clearly someone needs to get a hold of me, give me one second.” The students murmur. “Dr. Thropp,” she answers the landline, still not used to the new title, her PhD only recently completed.

“It’s Glinda,” the voice says - Boq’s voice. Elphaba takes a moment, brow furrowed, to try to put these disparate pieces of her life together. What was Boq doing calling her on a landline in her classroom, asking about her wife?

“Boq, what?” Elphaba stutters.

“Glinda. She got hurt. She was just stretchered off the pitch.”

“Fuck,” Elphaba grits out, already gathering her things. “Where is she?”

Boq’s voice is clipped. “Still at the stadium, they don’t know if she needs to go to the hospital or not.”

“I’ll be there in 20,” she hangs up and takes a sharp breath. “My wife is injured,” she addresses her students, “feel free to go, do the reading for next week. I apologize for the disruption.” The murmur of the class grows as Elphaba grabs her coat. She hears someone moaning about how “Arsenal’s got no chance now if Upland’s out.” It takes everything she has to leave the room and not turn on this kid for talking about Glinda as a commodity, as a body on the field. But the need to get to her outweighs her need to teach this student a lesson.

Elphaba doesn’t even know how she got to the stadium. The next thing she does know, Boq is meeting her at the gates and ushering her through and into the locker room.

Boq retired shortly after the Paris Olympics and began a career representing athletes, both Elphaba and Glinda signing with him immediately. So it makes sense that he’s here, that he’s the first one to call Elphaba, even if it took her a moment to remember that he was acting as more than just a long-time friend.

“What do we know?” Elphaba asks, trying to keep the composure in her voice.

“Not much,” Boq admits, leading her through the lockers and into the training room. “They just took her back for an X-ray. We’ll get the results soon. She’s just through here.”

Elphaba pushes through the double doors and her heart drops. Glinda is sitting propped up on a stretcher, right leg extended and held in place with a complicated-looking brace. She’s surrounded by trainers and the team physician, her face is set in a constant grimace but her eyes are clear.

“G,” Elphaba breathes out, stopping short at the scene.

Glinda turns her head and suddenly breaks, as though she had been waiting for the safest moment to let herself cry. Seeing Elphaba rush in clearly cemented the reality of the situation for her, and a barely suppressed sob wracks through her body. Elphaba is at her side in a few long strides, pulling Glinda into her chest as carefully as possible.

“G,” the green girl repeats, voice laden with care, affection, concern. “What happened, my sweet?”

Glinda doesn’t respond right away, just burries her face into Elphaba’s shirt, hands fisting into the fabric. One of the trainers gives Elphaba a tight-lipped smile, more like a grimace, and pulls the others into the next room, leaving Glinda in Elphaba’s arms and Boq sitting on the bench, head in his hands, elbows braced against his knees.

After several long moments, Glinda begins to calm down, loosening her grip on her wife. Elphaba repeats her question. “What happened?”

Glinda shakes her head, face still pressed into Elphaba’s sternum. “It’s my ACL,” Glinda says, voice muffled but with such certainty that Elphaba’s heart breaks.

“You’re sure?”

Glinda nods, finally pulling away and trying to meet Elphaba’s eyes. “I’m sure. They took an X-ray to be safe, but I know. I’ve done this before.”

“Fuck,” Elphaba spits out.

Glinda gives a humorless laugh, “Yeah. Fuck.”

Elphaba glances over at her friend. “So what now?” She asks him.

“Depending on the results of the X-ray—”

“Won’t show anything,” Glinda interrupts mirthlessly.

“—we’ll have to head to the hospital for scans,” Boq finishes. 

Elphaba nods and looks back down at Glinda. “How are you feeling?”

“Exceptionally bad.”

“I mean, what do you need right now? The trainers, the physician,” Elphaba gestures towards the locker room where they had just disappeared to. “An Advil? A drink? What do you need?”

The joke puts a shadow of a smile on Glinda’s face. “I’ve been drugged up, they’ll start working soon,” she promises. “I don’t need anything. Just - don’t go anywhere?”

“Of course not. I’m here.”

_________

The hospital confirms what Glinda had already told them: a torn ACL.

“The good news,” the doctor tells them, “is that it’s not a very severe tear. We can surgically repair it, and you can expect to be good to go in about 9 months to a year or so.”

Glinda nods slowly. “How long would it take to get back to full fitness? This is the second tear. Do you think I could be back before the World Cup next year?”

“It’s not that cut and dry,” the doctor says. “You could potentially be back within the year but since it’s not the first time you’ve torn this ligament, it will take a more concerted effort to be back in action and on the pitch by this time next year.” He sighs slightly. “I know that’s probably not what you wanted to hear but I don’t want to give you any false expectations of your ability to return.”

Glinda doesn’t react and Elphaba watches as her eyes glaze over, lost in thought.

“Thank you,” Elphaba says for her. “I think we need to chat about this for a moment.”

“I’ll give you the room,” the doctor says, slipping out quietly.

The women sit in silence for a moment, absorbing the news. Glinda wipes a hand down her face, exhaustion showing in her features.

“So,” Elphaba starts slowly. “What do you want to do?”

Glinda is quiet for a very long time, so long that Elphaba begins to wonder if she had even asked her question out loud.

“I’m 32 years old,” Glinda says suddenly into the stagnant hospital air. “How long, realistically, do you think I have left in me?” She asks, finally meeting Elphaba’s gaze.

The former sprinter shakes her head. “You know I can’t answer that, G.”

“What made you so sure about your retirement?” She asks and Elphaba knows exactly where this conversation is headed.

She crosses the room and picks up Glinda’s hand, a tiny lowercase 'e' inked above the knuckle of her ring finger. “I wasn’t sure,” she says honestly. “I was filled with doubts. But I knew that I was never going to be sure about it. I also just felt a change in my body - I didn’t want to keep running until I killed myself. I knew I couldn’t compete at the same caliber forever and I wasn’t interested in driving ’til the wheels came off, if that makes any sense.”

“I think the wheels have come off,” Glinda nods at her splinted knee.

Elphaba continues. “You can come back from this, if you want to. It’ll be insanely fucking hard but if anyone can do it, its you.”

“Yeah. But do I want to?” Glinda asks earnestly.

“Only you can answer that question,” Elphaba says gently. “I’ll be with you either way.”

Glinda gives a deep sigh. “This fucking sucks, Elphie.”

“It does,” Elphaba confirms. “You wanna schedule this surgery and get out of here?”

“Will you buy me a milkshake on the way home?” Glinda asks genuinely.

Elphaba squeezes her hand, “Absolutely. We’ll get you drugged the hell up and get a milkshake in you asap.”

“You really mean that?”

“That I’ll buy you a milkshake? Obviously yes, Glin, that’s easy,”  Elphaba says, dumbfounded.

Glinda shakes her head, “Not that,” she clarifies. “That you’ll support me either way? Even if I chose to retire?”

Elphaba feels something catch and tug in her chest. “Yes, Glinda. I’m with you a hundred percent. Whatever you decide. I promise.”

_________

Elphaba helps Glinda hobble up the steps into their flat, strong arm curled around her waist, holding most of her weight. The green woman sets her down gingerly on the couch, piling pillows under her leg to keep it propped up.

“Be right back,” Elphaba promises, darting back out and grabbing their stuff from the idling cab: Glinda’s equipment bag, still full of sweaty jerseys and dirty cleats, Elphaba’s book bag, and a pair of milkshakes.

Elphaba drops their bags by the door and returns to her wife, handing off the strawberry milkshake and taking a seat on the floor next to Glinda, back pressed against the couch. The blonde drapes her free arm across Elphaba’s chest. They sit next to each other in the fading daylight, not facing one another, each thinking about the ways their lives are about to change.

“I’ve been thinking,” Glinda says slowly into the gloam.

“That’s dangerous,” Elphaba jests.

Glinda’s hand unconsciously traces the lines of Elphaba’s shoulders, the dip of her collarbones, and Elphaba leans into her instinctively. “I think I have to be done,” Glinda announces.

Elphaba just nods. “You sure?”

“Absolutely not,” Glinda says. “But staring down the barrel of a year of rehab just to maybe get another year of playing in doesn’t appeal to me. Two years ago, I would have thought about it more, but I’m already old, already been hurt before.”

Elphaba lets the statement hang in the air for a moment, wants Glinda to sit with the idea before she responds. “I can’t do it again, Elphie,” Glinda says, getting choked up now, voice trembling. Elphaba still doesn’t turn, just grabs the hand resting against her chest, brings it to her mouth, and lays a soft kiss on the inside of Glinda’s wrist.

“So then we won’t do it again,” she says simply, as though it is simple. “There is absolutely no shame in retiring.” She feels Glinda scoff behind her. “Just look at that, G,” Elphaba points with her chin at the shelf above their seldom-used fireplace, laden with medals and trophies and ribbons. “Just look at the career you’ve had. There’s no one out there who’s done what you’ve done. You should be proud of that.” Elphaba turns finally, facing Glinda fully but not dropping her hand.

“Maybe one day I can be, but right now I just feel cheated,” Glinda mumbles around her straw. “I’m envious that you knew yourself well enough to end on a high note - I pushed too hard for too long and now I have to end like this,” she gestures to her ruined leg.

Elphaba kisses her hand again. “It’s not fair, and it’s alright to be mad about it. There’s no right way to feel,” Elphaba reassures her.

Glinda looks hard at her, eyes icy and giving nothing. “How do you do that?” She asks earnestly.

“Do what?”

“You always know exactly what to say to make me feel less insane,” Glinda breathes.

“I’d like to think I know you fairly well, at this point,” Elphaba says with a short laugh.

“Biblically, you mean?” Glinda says, eyebrow arching, referencing a joke Elphaba had made years ago when they were just getting to know one another in Paris.

Elphaba snorts. “Witty even when you’re down for the count - that’s why I married you,” she shrugs playfully.

Glinda cracks a half smile, eyes still a tempestuous, stormy blue. “We’re gonna be okay, right?” She asks, voice almost pleading.

“We’re going to be okay,” Elphaba reassures her, steady and even.

Glinda nods once. “I don’t think I can make it up the stairs,” she admits, nodding her head towards the steep staircase of their old home. “Will you stay down here with me tonight?”

“Of course,” Elphaba sighs. “Let me just grab a few blankets and we’ll have an old-fashioned sleepover in the living room.” She kisses Glinda’s forehead on her way out of the room.

Glinda looks at her with exhausted eyes when Elphaba returns, carrying a pile of blankets and pillows. “I have one more favor to ask you,” Glinda says with a half-grimace. Elphaba cocks her head, inviting. “My parents have been blowing up my phone but I simply don’t have the energy…” she trails off and Elphaba hears the question in her statement.

“I’ll call them, baby,” Elphaba murmurs, setting the blankets down and closing the kitchen door behind her, hoping Glinda can’t hear too much of the conversation. It only rings once before Larena’s frantic voice spills across the phone.

“Oh god, Elphaba, we’ve been worried sick. We watched her get stretchered off and then barely heard a peep since then - just a vague update from Boq. How is she?” The panic is clear in Larena’s words.

“She’s okay,” Elphaba cuts her off. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

Elphaba sighs heavily, eyes flicking to the closed kitchen door, knowing Glinda is lying on the couch pretending not to be in pain. “It’s her ACL again.”

“Dammit,” Larena grimaces. “Hugh,” she says, voice quieter, “Elphie says it’s her ACL.”

Elphaba can hear Glinda’s dad in the background. “Shit. Again?”

“I think she might be thinking about retiring,” Elphaba admits in little more than a whisper. “I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you guys about it, though.”

“Where is she now?” Glinda’s mom asks.

“Just in the other room, the painkillers are about to kick in, I hope.”

“Do you think she wants us to come to London?”

Elphaba mulls the question silently. “I’m not sure. We both know what she’s like: too strong for her own good. I’m sure she’d like to have you here but I doubt she’ll be able to admit that.”

There’s another moment of quiet on the other end of the line. “Okay,” Larena says eventually. “She’s probably exhausted now but have her give me a call when she’s able, will you, Elphie?”

“Of course. I’ll keep you updated,” Elphaba promises. “Sorry it took me this long to call, it’s been hectic.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m glad she’s somewhat alright. Call anytime, honey. Love you,” Larena signs off.

“I will, Larena. Love you guys, too.” Elphaba hangs up the phone, pushing hair out of her face, the chaos of the day finally overcoming her in the stillness of the kitchen, the sky outside dark, somehow, the day having passed in a blur.

She shoves her phone into her pocket and slips quietly back into the living room. Glinda had fallen asleep during Elphaba’s short phone call, her leg still propped up and braced. The former sprinter leans against the doorframe, gazing at her injured wife from afar. In sleep, Elphaba can see the vulnerability in her and it nearly breaks her heart.

Elphaba pulls a blanket over her, dropping a feather-light kiss to Glinda’s cheek before settling onto the smaller couch across the room.

“We’re going to be okay,” Elphaba whispers, voice syrupy with her own exhaustion, looking across the dim room at her lover.

_________

Glinda Upland Announces Retirement After ALC Tear

The veritable superstar of women’s football for nearly the past decade has announced her retirement from professional sports.

In a statement published to Upland’s social media yesterday, she writes:

“This was not an easy statement for me to make, especially with the 2031 World Cup looming - but after speaking with my family, my friends, my wife, and my team, I have made the difficult decision to hang up my cleats.

“With this new injury, I knew I would never be able to give 100% of myself to the game as I have for the entire rest of my career. It’s a painful way to end my career but I wanted to be fully honest - for myself and my team.

“I don’t know who I am without this sport. I started playing soccer when I was four years old and never stopped, and, at this point, I’m not sure I know how to stop. I guess we’ll see what happens when I do.

“I’ve been so endlessly lucky in this life. Lucky to represent my country alongside some of the very best women I’ve ever met, lucky to be able to push myself further than I thought possible, lucky to do it in front of the best fans in the world.

“I really did get to live the dream. Nothing will ever be able to compare to the last eleven years - how could it? I got to wake up every day and work hard as hell and fight tooth and nail for every single victory and every single defeat. That’s unbelievably special.

“To my coaches who took my raw passion and turned it into a talent. To my friends and family who stood by and supported me through every step of this journey. To my teammates who showed up every damn day and played your hearts out for something bigger than sport. To my wife, who is the coolest and kindest and most exceptional athlete of them all. And to each fan who has ever supported this team —

“Thank you for everything.”

Upland got her first cap with the US Women’s National Team in 2019. After transferring from the Seattle Reign in 2021, Upland played the rest of her club career at Arsenal, helping the team to three Champions League titles and five WSL trophies. She captained the US National Team for six years, wearing the armband for the first time at the 2024 Paris Olympics. The US never lost a major international tournament with Upland at the helm of the team, winning the 2024 and 2028 Olympics as well as the 2027 Women’s World Cup.

Upland and her partner, former world champion sprinter Elphaba Thropp, reside in London, where Upland tore her ACL on Monday during a league match against Chelsea. This is the second time Upland has been faced with this injury, tearing her ACL in 2022 and missing the subsequent World Cup in Australia. Her retirement is likely a direct result of the injury.

In addition to her dominance on the pitch, Upland was a vocal advocate for LGBTQ and women’s rights. She and several other members of the USWNT sued the US Soccer Federation for equal pay between the men’s and women’s teams, securing the first agreement of its kind.

Upland has not hinted at her future but given her larger-than-life presence in women’s football, we can only imagine where she’ll end up next.

_________

The surgery goes well. The rehab is going well enough. Elphaba can see the exhaustion in her wife’s face when she picks her up from physical therapy every other day. She watches the toll it takes on her.

One evening, Elphaba hears Glinda’s crutches clatter against the hardwood floor into the kitchen. Elphaba turns around, flashing a wry smile at her, “Get out of here,” she jokes. “Go sit down, I’m nearly done with dinner.”

Glinda takes the teasing the wrong way. “My god, Elphaba,” she says sternly. “I’m not an invalid. You don’t need to baby me.”

Elphaba steadies herself on the counter before turning around slowly. She knows Glinda isn’t snapping at her out of anger or malice; she’s upset about the injury and the retirement and they’re both exhausted. It was only a matter of time before she snapped, though it doesn’t hurt any less.

“G,” Elphaba starts, voice low and steady, “I’m going to finish dinner and then we can talk, okay?”

Glinda doesn’t respond, just sets her jaw and clacks her way out of the room. Elphaba takes a deep breath, willing herself calmer. Suddenly, she feels as though she’s back in the call room, surrounded by anxious energy, trying to shut all of that out in favor of focusing on herself and her own breathing.

She finishes dinner, bringing a plate out to Glinda, who still hasn’t said anything. They eat in silence for a long while until Glinda finally speaks.

“I’m sorry,” she says, surprising Elphaba. “I shouldn’t have snapped.”

Elphaba looks at her with warmth, “Probably not,” she agrees. “Why did you?”

Glinda sighs. “I’m restless. I retired and I don’t even know what that means. I’m sitting around here, utterly useless and you’re just so good and so solid and so patient.”

“Why does that upset you?”

“I don’t know,” Glinda says honestly. “We’ve been together for years and you’ve always been this good and solid and patient, but I don’t like the idea that you have to be that way now. Because of me. I feel totally helpless and I hate it.”

Elphaba nods slowly. “It’s not a weakness to let someone care for you.”

“I’m leaning that slowly. I’m sorry it’s taken me like seven years,” Glinda says with the faintest hint of a smile.

“We’ve got all the time in the world, Glin,” Elphaba assures her. “I just don’t need you getting upset because I want to take care of you.”

“I really am sorry, that was shitty of me.”

Elphaba reaches across the table and puts her hand atop Glinda’s. “It’s alright, honey,” she says genuinely. “We’re both feeling the stress of this whole stupid situation. I’m surprised it took this long for us to get pissy at one another, honestly.”

“I love you, Elphaba,” Glinda says with conviction. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

The corner of Glinda’s mouth curls into a gentle smile and Elphaba feels her heart clench at the sight. “For being so good and solid and patient with me all the fucking time. I don’t deserve it and yet here you are.”

Elphaba shakes her head. “You deserve it all and then some, G.”

“Are we okay?” Glinda asks, a thin wire of anxiety framing her question.

Elphaba feels herself smile unconsciously. “We’ve never not been okay.”

“What about when I told you I loved you and it took you months to say it back?”

Elphaba laughs, true and deep, at Glinda’s joke. “Even then, my sweet.”

“What about —“

Elphaba cuts her off, smiling. “We’ve always been okay, Upland. We’re still okay now.” She changes the subject, “You can help me with the dishes if you promise to sit down while you do it.”

Glinda tries to backtrack playfully. “That’s not actually what I had in mind…”

“Too late,” Elphaba quips, bringing a stool into the kitchen and calling over her shoulder, “Sit down, dry the dishes. Now you can’t complain that I’m babying you.”

“Tyrant,” Glinda mutters jokingly under her breath as Elphaba tosses her a dish rag.

Glinda plugs her phone into a speaker and the two of them work quietly side-by-side as soft music filters into the warm air. Their conversation has dulled the sting of Glinda’s earlier lashing out and Elphaba, never one to carry her frustration, lets the words slide off her back. They’ve been together long enough now that sometimes Elphaba swears Glinda can read her thoughts.

“We should throw a party,” Glinda says suddenly, and Elphaba is reminded that, as much as Glinda may be able to read her, the green woman is constantly surprised by her wife.

Elphaba shakes herself of the thought. “What do you mean?”

“A party, Elphie. People, music, dancing, food, drinks - have you never heard of it?” Glinda laughs.

“Why would we throw a party?”

Glinda huffs. “First of all, one never needs a reason for a party. But the reason here is two-fold,” she lays out her argument. “One: we never celebrated your PhD, and two: I want a retirement party. Let’s kill two birds.”

Elphaba feels herself smirk. “We definitely celebrated my degree.”

“A fancy dinner and an excellent lay do not count as a party,” Glinda argues.

“Agree to disagree,” Elphaba concedes, still trying to temper her smirk at the memory. “So when are we having this party?”

Glinda finishes drying another dish, setting it gently on the rack. “Next week? My parents will be in town, Milla and Samira will be back from those friendlies in Ireland,” she says. “It doesn’t have to be a big thing, we can just have people over for drinks in the backyard.”

Elphaba nods, “Sounds nice. Let me text Nessa and Boq - I know they’re going to LA, but I don’t think that’s until next month.”

Glinda’s smile is golden and Elphaba is suddenly even more glad she agreed - anything to make her smile like that.

“Great!” she says brightly. “You can wear that new shirt I just got you.”

“I thought you said it was going to be low-key!”

“It will be,” Glinda nods, “but you look insanely good in it and it would be criminal not to let the people see that.”

Elphaba rolls her eyes but smiles deeply and genuinely for the first time in a while.

_________

Elphaba should have known that Glinda wasn’t one to be low-key about anything, especially not with Larena around to fuel her insanity. Which is how she found herself walking into her own home after work the following week to the Upland women in party-planning mode.

Glinda is sitting on the couch, right leg still propped up, only a few weeks post-surgery, directing her mother as Larena rushes to and fro, putting the finishing touches on a banner that reads, “Happy Retirement & Congrats on the PhD Party.”

“That is so wordy. What on earth is happening?” Elphaba asks, slightly stunned. “I thought this was a casual gathering of friends.”

“It’s a party, Thropp,” Glinda corrects, gesturing to the balloons that spell out "PHD" and "ACL." 

Elphaba lets her bag fall from her shoulder and thump onto the ground. “I thought we’d hyphenated our names a couple years ago?”

“Legally, yes,” Glinda says, not even looking at he wife, “but it doesn’t roll off the tongue quite as well.” Finally, she swings her gaze back to Elphaba. “Well? Are you going to get ready?”

“I suppose so,” Elphaba acquiesces, crossing the room and leaning down to leave a chaste kiss to Glinda’s lips.

“Wear the shirt,” Glinda mumbles against her lips as Elphaba pulls away.

“Yes, ma’am,” Elphaba says with a mock salute as she heads upstairs and into the shower.

_________

Milla and Sarima arrive while Elphaba’s getting ready and by the time she makes it back downstairs, it feels like the party is in full swing even though it’s just the three teammates and Glinda’s parents.

Elphaba wraps the newcomers in a tight hug, having become good friends with both of them over the course of her relationship with Glinda.

“Good to see you, Harvard,” Milla laughs and Sarima just rolls her eyes, squeezing Elphaba’s shoulder as she brushes past her to flop onto the couch next to Glinda.

As the evening wears on, more of their friends trickle in. Elphaba and Boq help carry Nessa’s wheelchair over the threshold and into the backyard where everyone gathers.

“Old house,” Elphaba grumbles, maneuvering the chair through the back gate, “sorry.”

The atmosphere is easy and fun and Glinda gets away with using a single crutch and leaning heavily on Elphaba while they catch up with their friends and teammates and family. Elphaba is deep into a conversation about Boq’s latest work drama - something about one of his athletes signing with some brand or another - when Elphaba looks up and around their small yard.

Glinda leans into her side, Elphaba’s arm thrown casually over her shoulder even though they’re engaged in two entirely different conversations, and the green woman holds a half-finished beer in the other hand. Milla is across the lawn, chattering animatedly with Larena, who is nearly doubled over with laughter - Milla has that effect on people. Sarima and Fiyero - Glinda’s charismatic and delightful ex-boyfriend, who somehow charmed his way into a genuine and meaningful friendship with both Glinda and Elphaba - are arguing over how long the burgers should stay on the small charcoal grill. Glinda’s dad is sitting across from Nessa and nodding intently at whatever her sister is talking about.

Elphaba looks at their home, their friends and family, their life, and feels a swell of adoration and pride and just plain love.

In a moment of spontaneity, Elphaba lifts her hand to her mouth and lets out a short and sharp whistle, hushing the gentle roil of conversation around her. She lifts her glass and her voice, “Thank you all for being here,” she says, looking around at her people. “We’re raising a glass to Glinda’s insanely long and stupidly successful professional career.” She pulls Glinda tighter against her, smiling down at the absolute love of her life. “Congrats, babe,” she says, slightly more quietly, before lifting her gaze once again. “To Glinda Upland - the best to ever do it!”

“To Glinda!” Their friends all shout in congratulations and laughter, lifting their various drinks in Glinda’s direction as the blonde blushes furiously beside her.

Eventually, she finds her voice, putting both hands up to stop the cheering. “We are also here to celebrate Doctor Thropp,” Glinda drawls, putting unneeded emphasis on Elphaba’s new title to another round of cheers and an elongated wolf-whistle from Milla. Elphaba feels herself flush as Glinda continues, “As if being one of the most winningest track athletes was not enough, Elphaba had to go and get herself a PhD. Cheers to the showoff!”

"And here's to the hottest couple this side of the Thames!" Fiyero shouts, spatula raised high in the air as everyone around him dissolves into laughter.

Glinda clinks her drink with Elphaba’s and as their friends and family celebrate, the two share a knowing look and Elphaba tries to say everything she’s feeling with her eyes: I love you, I love this, I am so endlessly grateful for the many ways in which you’ve touched and changed my life for the better.

Glinda just smiles warmly at her. “Thank goodness it was you,” she says, low enough that only Elphaba can hear.

Elphaba drops her voice just enough that she knows Glinda will feel it rasp in her chest, “I wish I could marry you again, Upland.”

Chapter Text

Cape Cod, Massachusetts - May 2025

Glinda pouts in the driver's seat, most of the traffic having been left behind as they crossed the bridge.

Elphaba sighs, “Are you mad that you have to drive or mad that you didn’t know about my college summer job?”

Glinda narrows her eyes behind her sunglasses and it takes everything Elphaba has not to roll her eyes at the blonde’s antics.

“I just don’t understand you, Thropp,” Glinda says dramatically.

Elphaba waits for her to continue but it’s clear that Glinda’s waiting for her to inquire. “And what is it that you don’t understand, honey?” She asks, voice nearing saccharine.

“You’re filled with secrets!” Glinda erupts.

“Not a secret,” the sprinter corrects but Glinda isn’t listening, tirade already started.

“You know, most people just offer up facts about themselves. Or it comes up naturally in conversation. They don’t wait to be asked directly about key details of their lives,” Glinda rants. “Like when I found out you didn’t have your driver’s license? That should have come up at some point, Elphie. Just like the two years you worked as a bartender on Cape Cod.”

Now Elphaba does roll her eyes, pointedly. “How was this supposed to come up? I don’t know what your summer jobs were,” she says, making what she thought was a valid point.

“I have only ever had one job - play soccer.”

“Touché,” Elphaba concedes. “Well, some of us come from underfunded sports and need supplemental income. And if it makes you feel better, it was not two years - it was two summers, and I was exceedingly bad at it.”

“You’re not bad at anything,” Glinda huffs, still pretending to be upset.

Elphaba scoffs playfully at her girlfriend.

This particular conversation began two days earlier, after Elphaba’s graduation. Boq and Nessa had gone back to Los Angeles, and Glinda still had nearly a week before she had to return home to London.

Elphaba had flopped gracelessly down onto the bed, leaning back against the headboard, breath coming in ragged gasps. Glinda grinned up at her and ran a thumb across her chin and bottom lip.

“I have a surprise for you,” she said, eyes twinkling dangerously in the dark of Elphaba’s bedroom.

Elphaba groaned, coming to lie more fully next to the blonde. “Give me a few minutes,” she pleaded, “You’re insatiable.”

Glinda smacked her playfully with the back of her hand, “Get your mind out of the gutter - that’s not what I meant.”

“Thank god,” Elphaba whispered, “My turnaround time is not that fast.”

Glinda ignored her. “Anyway,” she continued, “I booked us an airbnb on Cape Cod for three days - we’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Are you serious?” Elphaba asked, excitement building in her voice.

“Dead serious,” Glinda replied. “That was your actual graduation gift - not keys to a house you didn’t ask for on a different continent,” she said, referencing the day before when she had tearfully asked Elphaba to move in with her in London.

Elphaba could feel the smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Where on the Cape?” She asked.

“Provincetown, I think? Right at the very end.”

Elphaba nodded, “That’s going to be so fun. I haven’t been there in years.”

Glinda blinked at her, “You’ve been before?”

“To the Cape?” Elphaba asked, dumbfounded. “Yeah, I lived there. For two summers.”

Glinda’s mouth fell open in surprise. “How do I not know that about you?”

Elphaba shrugged, pulling Glinda closer into her body. “I don’t know, never came up, I guess.” Glinda just hummed, and Elphaba could hear the suspicion in her tone. “It’s not a secret, it just was never brought up. I’m sure there’s plenty I don’t know about you,” she suggested.

“You know everything there is to know about me,” Glinda half laughed. “My life hasn’t been that interesting.”

Elphaba pulled away to look her lover in the eyes. “Is that a joke? You’re literally famous.”

Glinda huffed gently. “So what else don’t I know about the mysterious Elphaba Thropp?”

“Hmm,” Elphaba pretended to think. “I broke my arm when I was like 10?”

Glinda shook her head, “Nope, I knew that.”

“What about the time I overslept and nearly missed my call time for World’s last year?” Elphaba supplied.

“Knew that one too.”

They went back and forth - Elphaba offering little anecdotes of her life, Glinda knowing almost every single one, having heard them from Elphaba at some point or another.

“See?” Elphaba had said, “You do know me. So what if you don’t know everything - we’ve got time, my sweet.” And with that, Elphaba had placed a gentle kiss to Glinda’s temple and they’d fallen asleep together, limbs tangled together like a knot.

But for whatever reason, Glinda refuses to let this particular fact of Elphaba’s life go, and now they find themselves rehashing the same conversation as Glinda drives through the leafy, tourist-filled towns of the lower Cape.

Elphaba’s voice takes on a dramatic and teasing tone as she continues, grabbing the blonde’s free hand and squeezing tightly, “Glinda, my dear, my darling and insane lover, I am not keeping secrets from you about my storied past as a terrible bartender.” She watches Glinda try not to crack a smile under the facade of indignation that she had been wearing.

“I’m just reminded that, even though we’ve been together for almost a year,” Glinda starts, tone slightly more melancholy than Elphaba expected, “we haven’t actually spent all that much time together. I blame it on the distance,” Glinda continues, “but I’m always surprised to learn these tidbits of your life. I love it - I just want to know everything now.”

Elphaba smiles over at her and Glinda glances at her out of the corner of her eye. “I love you,” Elphaba says plainly. “And you will know everything, I promise. There’s no rush, though.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“And I think you forget that I’m not great at this,” Elphaba muses.

“Not great at what?”

“At being in a relationship,” the sprinter clarifies. “I haven’t really been with someone who cares before - not like this. Not in a way that would suggest something solid and lasting.”

Glinda hums, “That’s like, insanely sad, Elphie.”

Elphaba waves her off, “That’s not what I mean - we don’t have to get into my tragic romantic history - I just mean that no one has ever stuck around long enough to learn these little pieces of me, so I don’t know how to be forthcoming about it. I didn’t think it mattered that I used to live here, so I never talked about it.”

“It matters to me,” Glinda says firmly.

Elphaba smiles softly, “I know that now.”

They fall into an easy silence, Elphaba’s phone hooked up to the speakers and playing something acoustic and vagely sad. (“Very on brand,” Glinda had teased earlier). Every now and then, Elphaba points out a landmark that she remembers from the summers she spent here during undergrad, not wanting to go back to living with her father in Los Angeles but not being allowed to stay on campus. A friend of a friend owned a restaurant and was looking for seasonal workers - Elphaba had jumped at the opportunity to stay on the East Coast and rake in a summer’s worth of tourist tip money, even if she wasn’t a particularly good bartender.

“Just down that way,” Elphaba points out into the trees, voice growing thick with reminiscing, “there’s a secret pond that only the locals know about - I used to go swimming there in the evenings sometimes. It was so peaceful.”

Glinda looks off in the direction Elphaba had indicated, but the pond was invisible from the highway. “Sounds like it was special to you,” she murmurs. “We should go. If you want to.”

Elphaba feels a sudden surge of affection for the woman next to her - a woman willing to fly across the globe to attend her graduation, to plan a surprise weekend away, a woman willing to wander through the sandy forest just to find a hidden lake from years ago that Elphaba spoke about with fondness. Even if Glinda feels as though the green woman is full of mystery, Elphaba feels tremendously known for the first time.

“I’d love to take you there,” Elphaba says, barely above a whisper, as Glinda turns into the oystershell driveway of a small, shingled house along a quiet street in Provincetown.

“This is insanely cute,” Glinda announces as she pulls the keys out of the ignition.

Elphaba has to agree - there’s a small garden in the front and a weathered back porch. They’re a few blocks from the main street, dotted with ice cream shops and art galleries and lobster shacks. She’s been here enough to know that many of these shops have subterranean bars and clubs that open late for nights of drinking and dancing and revelry - what Provincetown is truly known for.

But for now, they hold hands and wander down the main street, Glinda pulling Elphaba into little stores and stopping her in the middle of the sidewalk to kiss her quickly.

At some point, Glinda drops her hand and dips into a crowded coffee shop, leaving Elphaba leaning against a lamppost outside, promising, “Be right back, don’t go anywhere.” And when she returns, she passes Elphaba an iced coffee with exactly the right amount of cream.

The sprinter looks at her girlfriend, dumbfounded. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says.

Glinda beams up at her, “I know,” she says brightly, mouth curling into a playful smirk. “That’s what makes me so nice. Also, you got that look in your eyes that suggested you were about 15 minutes away from caffeine withdrawal, and I had to get ahead of it.”

Elphaba finds herself wondering, not for the first time, how on earth she had gotten here.

She thinks back to the conversation they’d had in the car this morning - and yes, maybe Elphaba is 26 years old and never been in a long-term relationship (which she chalks up to her standoffishness, her busy schedule, her general disinterest, her greenness - any number of things, really), so yes, maybe she doesn’t exactly know the steps to this particular dance but all of a sudden it doesn’t seem to matter. Not when Glinda seems to know her better than she has ever known herself. Not when Glinda hands her a coffee she didn’t know she wanted and takes up her other hand again, interlacing their fingers and pulling Elphaba further down the street, as though she hadn’t just upset the very foundation of Elphaba’s understanding of relationships.

Elphaba blinks back to herself and Glinda’s looking at her, head cocked, mouth set in a private smile. “Where’d you go?” She asks gently.

Elphaba returns the grin, “Just thinking.”

“You’re an addict!” Glinda laughs, shaking her head lovingly. “One afternoon without your cold brew fix, and suddenly you’re staring off into space, ‘just thinking,’” she jokes, putting air quotes around Elphaba’s answer.

Elphaba rolls her eyes and lets out a short huff that could almost be a laugh before she pulls Glinda into a soft kiss that lasts perhaps a split second longer than it should. “I love you so fucking much,” Elphaba whispers when they part.

Glinda, to her credit, doesn’t ask what’s come over the green woman, merely gives her a smile that could outshine the sun and drawls, “Hmm. I guess I like whatever you’re just thinking about.”

They find themselves on the back deck of a seafood restaurant, the late May sunshine throwing warm shadows across the patio. Glinda’s drinking a teeth-achingly sweet lemonade and has rolled up her shirt sleeves in a fruitless effort to even out her stark tan lines. Elphaba is settled across the picnic table with the dregs of her coffee in front of her and a plate of fries between them.

Glinda finishes off her lobster roll with surprising speed. “God,” she groans, “I love being off season. I’m going to eat a million French fries and drink half a million fruity cocktails.”

“I do that even when I’m in season,” Elphaba laughs, popping a fry into her mouth to illustrate her point.

Glinda holds a cupped hand up to her mouth, pretending to speak into a microphone. She drops her voice slightly and puts on a stern face, “We’re here with Elphaba Thropp, the fastest woman in the world,” she begins, padrodying a sideline interview, “Elphaba, how do you stay so fit when you eat so many French fries?”

Elphaba throws her head back in laughter but leans into Glinda’s invisible microphone when she holds it out across the table, “I am not the fastest woman in the world,” she says curtly.

Glinda returns the mic to herself, tone still low and serious, “We’re here with Elphaba Thropp, utter and total buzzkill. Elphaba, how did you get so strong and pretty?”

The sprinter leans in again, keeping up the bit, “I lift a lot of heavy weights and have a girlfriend who has a particularly odd idea of what it means to be pretty.”

Glinda drops her hand, “You’re dumb,” she says jokingly, voice back to normal. “At least you didn’t cuss me out - that was probably the most normal interview you’ve ever done.”

Elphaba laughs hardily again, “That’s what happens when you don’t have an agent or any self-control - I go rogue in sideline interviews and then there’s no one to spin it into a positive story.”

“No one except me, you mean?” Glinda smirks, reminding Elphaba of the piece Glinda has written in support of the sprinter after the aforementioned interview when Elphaba had snapped at the announcer. “Why don’t you have an agent?” She asks around another fry.

Elphaba shrugs, “Before the Olympics, I didn’t need one. Nor could I afford one, honestly. And it’s been such a whirlwind since then that I really just haven’t thought about it. But Boq is thinking about representing athletes, now that he isn’t competing. I’ll probably sign with him if he does.” 

Glinda perks up at the mention of Boq’s potential new role. “I didn’t know he was looking into that. Let me know if he does, I’ll join you.”

Elphaba didn’t realize that Glinda was looking for a new agent, or would trust someone as new to the industry as Boq would be. It would be one thing for Elphaba to sign with him; they’ve known each other for ages, and Elphaba is still a relatively lesser-known athlete, even after her Olympic success. Glinda, on the other hand, has had an agent forever and, as one of the most famous women’s soccer players in recent memory, needs one a lot more.

“You don’t like your agent?” Elphaba asks.

“Absolutely hate her,” Glinda says nonchalantly, taking a pull of her drink. Elphaba raises an eyebrow, urging Glinda to explain. “She approached me when I was really young and naive, and I felt like I had to sign with her, and, while there are some things she’s great at, she’s kind of a bad person,” Glinda says plainly.

“How so?”

“She’s really media savvy and knows exactly where to put me so I get the most sponsorships and the most limelight, but she takes issue with just about everything else.” Glinda sighs, and Elphaba feels like she can guess where this is going. “She didn’t want me to come out, she didn’t want me to break up with Fiyero, she didn’t want me to publish that article during the games, and she certainly didn’t want me to go public with this really hot sprinter I’ve been dating.”

She says it so casually but Elphaba can read underneath her tone, can see the hard set of her brow, the shifting of her jaw. It bothers her.

When Elphaba doesn’t respond, Glinda continues, “So yeah, I’m looking to drop her. But our contract goes through the end of the year.”

“I didn’t know any of that,” Elphaba says slowly.

“Because I haven’t told you. I’m embarrassed that there’s a person in my life and on my payroll who serves as the antithesis of everything I care about,” she says matter-of-factly. “I didn’t know it when I signed with her, but now I just basically ignore everything she says about the non-soccer part of my life.”

Glinda looks at Elphaba slightly apologetically, like it's her fault that someone took advantage of her when she was young and newly famous. “And!” Glinda chirps as if suddenly remembering something, “She’s an idiot. I’m more popular now with you than I ever was with some guy. Being with you has like, shot me right back into the stratosphere of popularity.”

Elphaba laughs, “I mean, I know the feeling. You’re the only reason anyone knows my name.”

“Not true but whatever,” Glinda dismisses her. “I’m just saying, not only do I love you a lot, but you’ve been great for my image, too.”

“Upland, you were pretty universally adored even before our Olympic rendezvous.”

Glinda points an accusatory finger at the runner, “How can you say that?! You didn’t even know who I was!”

“I’m never going to live that one down,” Elphaba shakes her head fondly, finishing her coffee and putting her sunglasses back on as they head off the patio and towards the wooden docks of the harbor. “And for the record, I’m not with you because you’re universally adored and stratosphereically popular.”

“How good of you, Elphie.”

“I’m with you because you’re insanely hot.”

_________

The next day passes slowly - Glinda makes coffee in the morning and they watch the sun slowly turn the bay a blinding cerulean from the back porch. Elphaba takes Glinda to the secret pond she had pointed out the day before, they roll the hems of their pants up and stand in the shallow water as Elphaba teaches Glinda how to skip rocks across the glimmering glass surface of the water. 

By the time the evening rolls around, sun balancing on the horizon, they’re both pleasantly drunk on the warm air and sunshine, sitting sleepily side by side where they had begun the day on the porch. So Elphaba is slightly surprised when Glinda yawns and instead of pulling Elphaba into bed, she declares, “Alright, get up. We’re going out. Wear something hot.”

“Going out?” Elphaba parrots incredulously.

“Yes, Elphaba. That’s what people do when they’re young and fun and in a town full of gay bars,” Glinda says as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re going dancing.”

“Do I look like someone who goes dancing?” Elphaba asks rhetorically even as she stands and heads to root around in her duffle bag for ‘something hot’ to wear.

Glinda studies her from across the room. “You look like someone who fucks women in the bathroom after dancing with them.”

Elphaba feels herself blush at the memory. “You instigated that,” she argues pitifully as the tips of her ears flush a deep emerald.

The blonde crosses the room and slips her hand up the back of Elphaba’s shirt, scratching blunt nails gently along her spine. “You complaining?” She asks in a low voice, removing her hand much too quickly before turning on her heel and replacing her shirt with something much more low cut.

Before Elphaba can catch her breath again, Glinda is back in front of her fixing the collar of her sleeveless black shirt, muttering, “Do you even own colors?”

“Glinda, I am colors,” Elphaba tosses back.

“At least tell me you have that gold chain that you wore to my parents' party last year,” Glinda begs. “That was so sexy,” she practically purrs.

Elphaba narrows her eyes at the blonde, feeling the effect of her icy eyes. “Side pocket,” she points at her bag, and in a matter of seconds, Glinda is demanding Elphaba turn around so she can secure the necklace around her.

“Perfect,” Glinda says, more to herself than to Elphaba.

_________

The bar they end up at is dark and pumping loud music through a speaker system that had seen better days. But Glinda’s smiling and weaving easily through the throngs of people, Elphaba following in her wake, until they’re leaning against a bartop that’s only somewhat sticky.

Glinda leans back into Elphaba. “What do you want?” She asks loudly over the music.

“Just a beer.”

“Boring,” Glinda says to Elphaba before turning to face the bartender, who is giving them a look Elphaba knows all too well these days. “She’ll do an IPA,” Glinda gestures to Elphaba. “Could I have a tequila soda?” The bartender nods and returns in a few moments with their drinks, but Glinda has other ideas. “Could we also grab two tequila shots - whatever you have is fine, I’m not picky.”

“Upland!” Elphaba scolds from behind her. “I thought you said you were too old for shots.”

“I lied,” Glinda says easily, her smile bright in the dim room as she passes Elphaba the shot glass. “Cheers, I love you,” she laughs, clinking the glass to Elphaba’s and throwing the shot back.

Elphaba grimaces and shakes her head against the burn in her throat. “You’re a bad influence.”

Glinda says nothing, just takes her cocktail and slips back into the crowd, leaving Elphaba to pay for the drinks.

When the bartender hands her card back, he leans over the bar to whisper-yell to Elphaba. “Hey, is that the soccer player?” He asks, and Elphaba had known this would happen the second she saw him looking at them, trying to rack his brain to remember why they looked familiar.

“Yeah, Upland,” Elphaba responds plainly, wanting to get back to wherever her girlfriend had ended up.

The bartender raises an eyebrow, “You know her?”

“Biblically.”

He gives her a confused look, which Elphaba waves off without explaining the joke as she signs the receipt. “She single?” He asks, misreading the entire situation.

Elphaba laughs openly, “Famously not.”

“Damn,” he curses.

“Sorry, pal,” Elphaba gives him a look that she hopes is both sympathetic and scathing before grabbing her beer and wandering back into the crowd, scanning for blonde curls among the dancing bodies.

Glinda's back is to her, and Elphaba is immediately reminded that she is a terrific dancer, body moving gracefully despite the upbeat music and frantic crowd of people around her. Elphaba steps in behind her, slipping her free hand around Glinda’s waist and pulling her back flush against Elphaba’s front. The blonde startles briefly at the contact but softens instantly once she glances over her shoulder to find the green woman.

The sprinter leans forward, lips brushing the shell of her ear, “The bartender asked me if you were single,” she says. “What should I tell him?”

Glinda laughs brightly and tips her head back against Elphaba’s collarbone, “Give him my condolences, I only sleep with Olympic medalists.”

“Hmm,” Elphaba hums into her ear. “What about World champs?”

Glinda lets the hand not holding her drink float up and tangle in the thick hair at the nape of Elphaba’s neck, pulling her down slightly, and leaves a wet kiss at the corner of her jaw. “That works too,” she says, voice low and dangerous, hips swaying against Elphaba’s.

As much as the green woman might not be one for dancing, she quickly realizes she would do almost anything to see Glinda as carefree as she is now - dancing and singing and pressing herself into Elphaba’s lean body, glass held aloft as Elphaba slips her hand under the hem of her shirt, palm pressed flat against the firm muscle of her stomach.

Eventually, they take a breather, grabbing another round of drinks to take out to the back courtyard. At the bar, Elphaba slings her arm around Glinda’s waist, catching the bartender's eye with a smirk as Glinda leans heavily against her.

Glinda lets her head thunk against Elphaba’s shoulder, looking up at her, “Are you… being possessive right now?”

Elphaba has the decency to look somewhat ashamed but doesn’t move her hand from where it curls around Glinda’s hip, “Perhaps.”

Glinda picks up their second round and ushers Elphaba out a back door into the cool night air, salt blown in from the sea, the sound of boats rocking against their moorings. It’s a stark and refreshing change of pace from the heady dance floor.

Elphaba takes a deep breath and a deep pull of her beer, leaning against the shingled wall next to her girlfriend. “Sorry,” she says with a half grimace.

“What for?” Glinda laughs. “Draping yourself over me just to get under that guy's skin?”

“Yeah,” she drawls slowly, “that.”

Glinda stretches up onto her toes and kisses Elphaba soundly but chastely. “You know, I always found it super off-putting when guys did that to me, but there was something kinda hot about you doing it.”

Elphaba chuckles into her beer. “Maybe you feel that way because you’re a lesbian, G.”

“Yeah, that’s probably it,” Glinda nods sagely. “I like dancing with you, too,” she changes the subject, grin wide and honest.

Elphaba finds herself mirroring Glinda’s smile, reaching out for her waist to pull her closer, “Me too. You’re very pretty.”

Glinda leans forward once more but stops infuriatingly short of Elphaba’s lips. “Why don’t you finish your drink, Elphie,” she suggests, voice tinged with recklessness, “and come dance with me again.” She gets impossibly closer, lips brushing Elphaba’s, “And then you can take me home,” she breathes and Elphaba gasps against her mouth, but Glinda is pulling away before Elphaba can kiss her senseless.

“Not fair,” Elphaba murmurs, taking a long pull of her drink, eyes never leaving Glinda’s.

“Get to it, Thropp,” Glinda says with a curved smile, nodding at the bottle still half full in her hand.

Instead of finishing the beer, Elphaba leaves the bottle on a table and drags Glinda back inside with her, hands finding her waist instantly as she pulls the smaller woman against her.

Glinda just laughs brightly and genuinely, “Someone’s eager, it seems,” she jests, hands running over Elphaba’s shoulders and into her hair.

And then they’re kissing, hard. It’s all tongue and teeth, and no one is paying them any mind. They’re dancing still, but it’s more like moving with the ebb and flow of the people around them as they lose themselves in each other.

Glinda sinks her teeth softly into Elphaba’s bottom lip and pulls it teasingly. “You’re so fucking hot,” Glinda says, voice rumbling out from her chest amidst the noise of the bar. Elphaba fists her hands into Glinda’s shirt before she does something inappropriate for the setting. She’s quickly realizing how dangerous this is. Glinda, normally, has an inexplicable ability to turn Elphaba into putty under her hands. But here, a couple drinks in, with Glinda breathing warmly against her collarbone, a dangerous smirk playing on her lips, Elphaba is ruined already.

“Can we just go now?” She yells into Glinda’s ear, hips slotted against each other, grinding out a faltering rhythm. 

“Only because you asked nicely,” Glinda jokes, “And beacuse I want to fuck you so bad.”

Elphaba’s knees buckle briefly at her candor and she nearly stumbles on her way out the door. When they burst out into the spring-warm night, neither moves to head back home. Instead, Elphaba stands in front of Glinda, grinning at her in the soft glow of the yellow streetlamp, the blonde mirroring her soft smile. Even though they’d spent the last couple of hours dancing and grinding and touching one another, in the chill and the quiet of the mostly empty street, Elphaba feels almost shy.

“Come on, hot shot,” Glinda says eventually, voice soft and halfway to teasing, “Let’s go home.”

_________

Despite the promises made by the thumping bass and wandering hands and grinding hips of the previous hours, the short walk home settles something that had been vibrating between them. They don’t touch, walking in the middle of the deserted streets, knuckles brushing against each other lightly every few steps. Elphaba can feel Glinda’s eyes flick over to her several times, catching her looking once but Glinda just holds her gaze with the suggestion of a smile playing at her lips. Elphaba feels something catch in her ribs, as though her heart were kicking hard against her chest.

They move slowly. Shouldering open the door and toeing off shoes. Glinda leans against the doorjamb and watches Elphaba with careful eyes as she shrugs off her jacket.

Elphaba gives her a quizzical look when she meets Glinda’s gaze. “This is like the eighth time you’ve been caught starting,” she hums into the quiet house, lit by a lamp in the corner and the moon off the surface of the sea.

Glinda’s private smirk grows into a true smile, “I just really like you a lot,” she says genuinely and Elphaba wonders for a moment what she’s not saying, if there’s space behind the words for meaning she can’t access. “And you’re easy on the eyes.”

Elphaba scoffs but steps into Glinda’s space, hands finding the curve of her waist, lips finding each other. “Let’s go to bed,” Elphaba suggests when they part for air, voice low. Glinda nods and takes a green hand in hers, leading Elphaba through the twilit house and pushing gently against her chest until Elphaba’s sitting at the edge of the bed, Glinda stepping between her knees.

The softness of the night supersedes the frenetic energy they’d felt in the club as they undress each other languidly. Glinda pulls her own shirt over her head, Elphaba’s mouth following across the expanse of pale skin as she deftly unclasps Glinda’s bra, letting it fall down her arms before tossing it somewhere behind her, to be found again in the morning.

Elphaba takes her time, holding Glinda’s hips where she still stands in front of the green woman, licking a broad stroke from her navel to her sternum, tasting the sweat from earlier in the evening and drawing a quiet moan from Glinda’s mouth.

Glinda tugs at the hem of Elphaba’s shirt and she begrudingly takes her mouth off Glinda’s chest so she can pull it up and over her head. “So pretty,” Glinda mutters above her, hands skimming over her bare sides as Elphaba takes a nipple in her mouth, rolling her tongue over it, stuttering Glinda’s hips.

Because they’ve been apart for most of the last year, Elphaba finds that sex often becomes a frenetic and delirious reintroduction to each other, frantic “god, I missed you”s gasped into the intoxicating air around them, orgasms wrenched from one another quickly and loudly. She sometimes forgets she’s allowed to move slowly, intentionally, lazily. She does so now, savoring every small sound falling from Glinda’s mouth like honey.

Glinda takes a half step away, and Elphaba leans back to take her in: naked from the waist up, flushed, a bruise forming at her collarbone, and a glint in her eye that Elphaba knows all too well. “You okay with the —”

Elphaba nods quickly, cutting her off, “So okay.” Glinda just huffs out a short laugh, roots around in her bag, and tosses the strap-on onto the bed next to where Elphaba is already shimmying out of her pants.

It’s only a matter of time before Glinda is pressing into Elphaba’s lap, thighs slotted over green hips as Elphaba guides her gently, a filthy moan pulled from Glinda’s mouth as she sinks down, slowly taking the length of the toy.

Her hands tangle almost painfully into Elphaba’s hair as she adjusts, eyes snapping open suddenly, blown dark and wide. “Fuck,” she groans, breath hot against Elphaba’s mouth.

“You good?” Elphaba asks, hands still at her hips, holding more gently than the situation calls for.

Glinda eases down even further and Elphaba feels the movement against her own wet heat. “Fuck,” she breathes out again. “Yeah. You feel so good,” she says with an experimental roll of her hips that leaves them both gasping. Elphaba’s hands leave Glinda’s hips, scraping dull nails down the column of her spine until Glinda’s arches further into her.

“Lie back,” Glinda demands, pushing lightly against Elphaba’s shoulder until she’s pressed into the mattress. She braces herself against Elphaba’s toned stomach, setting a torturously slow rhythm, hips rolling languidly against Elphaba as the green woman watches with awe at the place their bodies meet, at the sight of the strap-on disappearing inside the blonde, each of her unhurried thrusts hitting Elphaba in exactly the right way.

“You’re so good, G,” Elphaba praises, hand sliding over a strong thigh to grab at the firm muscle of her ass. “You take me so well.”

Glinda’s rhythm falters at Elphaba’s words and she presses harder against the green woman. Elphaba snaps her hips up to meet her, doing away with the leisurely pace and urging Glinda faster.

“Fuck, Elphie, yes, more, please,” Glinda begs in a litany until Elphaba swipes a thumb across her clit and then any dicernable words leave Glinda’s mouth, replaced by a series of gasps and groans, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

Elphaba takes up where Glinda left off, “You’re so beautiful like this,” she murmurs, her own breath coming short as Glinda rocks against her.

She only lasts a few more moments, stunning and flushed and wrecked, before her hips stutter and stop altogether, Elphaba having to continue the furious pace from beneath her until Glinda moans out her name and pulls every muscle taut. For a brief moment, the scene is suspended, silent, Glinda on top of her, strap-on buried in her to the hilt, mouth open in a soundless gasp, green fingers dimpling pale skin.

And then she’s falling against Elphaba’s shoulder, pressing her face into Elphaba’s neck, blonde hair falling around them both. Elphaba’s hands are running soothingly down her back, pulling her close.

“You’re so fucking good at that,” Glinda mumbles into her neck after she had caught her breath.

Elphaba huffs, “You did most of the work,” she reasons, easing Glinda off of her gently as the blonde groans softly at the loss. “Sorry,” Elphaba mutters apologetically.

Glinda shakes her head and kisses Elphaba’s neck, “You’re fine - I just want you inside me, like, all the time.” Now it’s Elphaba’s turn to let out a startled, soft noise - Glinda’s forwardness turning her on all over again.

“You can’t just say shit like that, Glin,” Elphaba grumbles as she undoes the straps at her hips. 

Glinda rolls onto her back and laughs, grinning up at Elphaba. “Awe, did that get you all hot and bothered again so soon?” She teases, adoration thick in her voice. Elphaba doesn’t respond, just finishes removing the harness. “Wait,” Glinda says slowly, brow furrowing. “Did you come?”

Elphaba feels herself flush, “I mean, it’s not—”

“Oh, baby, sorry. Say something next time,” Glinda apologizes, and before Elphaba can respond, she’s being pushed back onto the bed, Glinda straddling her again without fanfare.

She doesn’t spend long teasing, Elphaba is still halfway gone from Glinda riding her earlier and the blonde can tell. She kisses Elphaba deeply, hand coming to palm at her breast before her mouth follows the long line of Elphaba’s body - down the column of her throat, across her ribs, the dips of her abs, the sharp points of her hip bones. Glinda leaves a lingering kiss to the Olympic rings tattoo at the top of Elphaba’s thigh before dipping her head and running her tongue through the remaining wetness between her legs.

Elphaba’s hips buck on their own accord and she can feel Glinda smile against her, throwing an arm across her hips to keep her still.

It doesn’t take long, as worked up as she already was, for Elphaba to feel herself begin to come unwound under Glinda’s mouth. She would be embarrassed by how quickly she finds herself on the edge of her orgasm if all her thoughts weren’t occupied by the woman between her legs.

“Glinda, I’m - fuck,” Elphaba pants out. “I’m close, please, baby.”

“I know,” Glinda murmurs against her and the vibration of her words sends shivers through the green woman. “I got you, come for me,” Glinda all but demands. It’s all Elphaba needs to hear, back arching off the mattress, sensation suddenly too much as she comes hard and loud against Glinda’s mouth.

By the time her breathing returns to normal, Glinda is lying next to her, fingers carding through raven-dark hair. Elphaba rolls onto her side, curling her body across Glinda’s, head on her shoulder. Glinda leaves a soft kiss on the top of Elphaba’s head and stretches out to turn the lamp off, darkness and quiet falling over them.

“We should go dancing more,” Glinda muses sleepily, arm tucked around her lover. “Especially if this is what happens afterwards.”

Elphaba can hear the smile in her tone but doesn’t respond, just hooks a leg over Glinda’s and kisses the slope of her neck before listening to their breaths match and sync and slow until they’ve fallen asleep in each other's arms.

_________

They sleep late, the sun already burning through the morning chill by the time Elphaba pads into the kitchen to make coffee. Glinda’s not far behind her, hair mussed and eyes still filled with sleep as she comes to lean against Elphaba’s side.

“Morning,” Elphaba says softly, placing a mug in Glinda’s hand and a kiss on her cheek.

“G’mornin’,” the blonde replies sleepily.

They sit at the counter, trading quiet smiles and chatting about nothing until Elphaba hears a noise from the other room. 

“I think your phone is ringing.”

Glinda rushes into the bedroom where her phone had been charging on the bedside table. “Dammit,” Elphaba can hear her curse under her breath. She emerges a second later, draped in one of Elphaba’s hoodies, phone in her hand. “Speak of the devil,” she tells Elphaba. “It’s my agent, I should call her back.”

Elphaba nods and Glinda slips out onto the back porch, closing the sliding glass door behind her as she puts the phone up to her ear. Elphaba watches from inside the kitchen, struck by the way she moves - how she paces across the deck, free hand gesturing when she talks, or how it settles at her brow or against her mouth when she isn’t talking. Something about the simplicity of watching her take a phone call makes a certain warmth bloom in Elphaba’s chest.

Suddenly, Glinda’s eyes widen and she pulls the phone from her ear, tapping on the screen rapidly. She’s still talking, so Elphaba assumes she must have put the call on speaker while she looks down at the screen.

After a moment, she looks back into the house, catching Elphaba’s eye and gives a face that’s equal parts grimace, apology, and amusement before pointing down at her phone emphatically. She mouths exaggeratedly, “Check your texts,” and Elphaba’s confusion grows.

She grabs her phone from the other room to a flurry of notifications and a text from Glinda - sent one minute ago. It’s a link to an article. Elphaba clicks on it as she wanders back into the kitchen. Outside, Glinda’s conversation has turned into an argument if her body language is any indication.

The article loads and Elphaba is greeted by a slightly out-of-focus photo of… her and Glinda. At the bar. Taken at some point last night by an anonymous source, it shows Glinda flush against Elphaba amid the crowd, a green hand pressed up underneath the fabric of Glinda’s shirt. Glinda’s head is tipped back against Elphaba’s shoulder as Elphaba buries her face into the exposed column of Glinda’s neck.

It’s not subtle.

The headline reads, “Olympic Sweethearts Get Hot & Heavy at Gay Bar in Provincetown, MA.”

Elphaba snaps her head back up to where Glinda is standing outside, waiting to see her response. There’s one brief moment of suspended eye contact, each waiting for the other to react first.

Elphaba watches as Glinda, face set in a half-grimace, slowly but surely dissolves, smile cracking open her face. Elphaba can’t help but feel a wild peal of laughter bubble up from somewhere inside her until they’re both doubled over, gasping for breath, at how utterly ridiculous the whole situation is.

Glinda wipes tears from the corner of her eyes and, though Elphaba can’t hear her through the window, she’s hoping the blonde had the forethought to mute the call before the manic laughter erupted from them both. Eventually, the footballer pulls herself together enough to wrap up her phone call and ease open the sliding glass door back into the kitchen.

They don’t say anything for a long moment. Elphaba just watches as Glinda tries very hard to keep her smile in check.

“So…” Glinda drawls, laughter creeping into her voice again.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Elphaba asks, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I am in big trouble,” Glinda says. “And I’m blaming it on you.”

Elphaba is incredulous. “On me?!”

“Well, it’s certainly not my fault! You looked too good - it can’t be helped!” Glinda argues.

“Oh god,” Elphaba mumbles, hand covering her face in shame as she tries not to laugh again. She looks over at Glinda, who still hovers at the threshold. “Is this actually a problem? Are you actually in trouble?”

Glinda shrugs and steps further into the kitchen, dropping her phone next to Elphaba’s and sliding into her space. “Not with anyone that matters,” she says plainly.

“Your agent?”

“Not happy,” the striker concedes. “Told me it was ‘bad for my image,’ but honestly, we both look pretty hot so it can’t be that bad.”

Their phones buzz at the same time from where they’d been lying on the counter, startling the two women. It’s a group text from Milla with a link to the same article they had just been discussing.

Milla: get some, Harvard

Glinda and Elphaba respond simultaneously:

Elphaba: Shut the fuck up, Milla.

Glinda: she did, don’t worry

Chapter Text

Northern California - July 2029

Glinda trudges down the stairs behind Elphaba, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She had woken earlier, her cheek pressed against Elphaba’s side - the green woman propped against the headboard, glasses perched on her nose, notebook in hand.

“What’re you doing?” Glinda had mumbled, burying herself deeper into Elphaba’s shirt.

Elphaba dropped her pen into the centerfold of her notebook, hand coming to card through Glinda’s hair, scratching lightly at the nape of her neck. “Good morning,” she husked. Glinda, not getting the answer to her question, raised a hand and tapped lightly on Elphaba’s open page, face still hidden against her side. Elphaba chuckled lightly. “Just writing,” she confirmed and Glinda peeked her head up to see, only to have Elphaba wrench the notebook away. “You can’t look,” she said sternly.

Glinda’s eyes narrowed, fixing her lover with a sharp gaze. “Elphaba. Are you writing your vows right now?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” Elphaba said too quickly.

Glinda let her head fall dramatically against Elphaba’s bicep. “Oh my god. Elphaba ‘11th Hour’ Thropp strikes again. I can’t believe I’m marrying you.”

“You still have… eight hours to change your mind,” Elphaba deadpanned, checking her watch. 

“Are you really writing your vows eight hours before our wedding?”

“No, Glin,” Elphaba promised. “I wrote them like months and months ago - I’m just doing some last-minute editing.”

Glinda made a satisfied noise and dropped a kiss to Elphaba’s cheek. “Well, hurry up and edit. I need a coffee.”

Elphaba had rolled her eyes and dragged Glinda out of bed, forcing her into a pair of sweats before pulling her down the stairs of her parents’ house.

Larena greets them now in the kitchen, arms tossed up dramatically. “What happened to tradition girls?” When Elphaba and Glinda share a confused glance, Larena continues, “You’re not supposed to see each other on your wedding day!”

“Well, we already have so it’s slightly too late to belabour that point,” Glinda says slowly, sleepily. Elphaba presses a mug of coffee into her hands before pouring one for herself.

Larena smiles brightly at them, “So!” She begins, too energetic for the early hour. “What still needs to happen?”

Glinda’s eyes are closed and she leans heavily against Elphaba, who answers the question for her, “Not too much, I don’t think. Milla’s coming over around noon to help us finish setting up, but really, it’s mostly done.”

“Except your vows,” Glinda grumbles under her breath.

Larena’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

Glinda perks up, indignation waking her more fully, “I just woke up and Elphaba here was still writing her vows!”

“That’s impossible,” Glinda’s mom says dismissively. “She sent them to me like two months ago.”

Elphaba nods, looking sideways at Glinda, “Told you.”

Glinda shakes her head as if to rid herself of a fog, “Why are you sending your wedding vows to my mom?”

Elphaba shrugs, “Needed a second opinion and I don’t have my own mom. Who was I going to ask?” She jokes, “Boq?”

“Fair point,” Glinda concedes, turning to her mom now. “And to answer your question: no, there isn’t a lot left to do. You need to take a very deep breath and remember that this is going to be exceptionally small and lowkey.”

“I know, dear,” Larena sighs. “I just want it to be perfect for you girls.”

Glinda takes her mom’s hand from across the kitchen counter. “This is not one of your galas with the mayor. This is 30 people in your backyard who are going to drink champagne for an afternoon and maybe make a couple of speeches.” Her tone is loving and placating and right on the edge of laughter. “And look at her,” Glinda chuckles, gaze sweeping back over to Elphaba, who pauses mid-sip of coffee, eyes wide, “I get to marry that hot piece, of course it’s going to be perfect.”

“Glinda Upland. That’s disrespectful,” her mom chastizes, but laughs anyway. “Just be ready to go by 10, we have to go into the city to pick up your dress,” she calls as she walks out of the room

Glinda freezes and feels her eyes go wide as Elphaba swivels on her, finger pointed and mouth agape. “You don’t even have your dress?” Elphaba asks, stunned. “You have the audacity to get mad at me for editing my speech but you don’t even have your wedding dress?”

“I’ll have it by 10 o’clock?”

Elphaba sets her cup down and quickly tries to grab Glinda’s waist but the blonde gets the jump on her and slips out of her grasp, finding safety on the other side of the kitchen island.

“Too slow, Thropp,” Glinda goads as Elphaba skirts around the counter, trying in vain to catch up to her fiancée who keeps rushing around the kitchen in a frantic loop, laughter bubbling easily into the morning light, coffee abandoned on the counter.

“I have four Olympic medals for running fast, you can’t win this,” Elphaba pants, trying to change direction and catch Glinda off guard.

“You’re retired!” Glinda squeals as Elphaba catches up to her, wrapping strong arms around her waist and hoisting Glinda into the air, feet kicking.

“How dare you?” Elphaba laughs, setting Glinda back down but keeping a firm hold on her, pressing a smattering of sloppy kisses to the side of her head.

“You’re a menace, Elphaba,” Glinda sighs dramatically but leans into her regardless.

“You love me,” the green woman corrects.

“Nah, I’m just marrying you for kicks,” she says plainly. “Of course, I love you, dummy.”

_________

Glinda stands on the back porch, looking out over the verdant garden, native wildflowers sprouting up on the edges of the lawn, the sun warm in the July sky. She had spent the previous evening pointing and calling out directions as Elphaba moved a ladder around her parents' backyard, hanging soft strings of lights across the eaves of the old house.

Her dad had built a small wooden arch that he’d propped up, which was now just waiting for Glinda to decorate it with flowers and leafy boughs.

At some point in the last six months of planning this wedding, between meeting with wedding planners and caterers and photographers, Elphaba had looked at her with pleading eyes. “Can we please just not do this anymore?” She’d asked earnestly.

Glinda’s heart caught in her chest. “What?”

Elphaba took both of her hands and looked her in the eye before continuing, “I know you’re like stupidly famous and we both make more than enough money to justify a fancy-as-fuck wedding in some ancient castle but the more we do this, the less I want it.”

“Want what, Elphaba? Are you calling off our wedding?”

Elphaba's eyes widened comically. “No! God no, sorry,” she corrected herself. “I just am sick of this,” she gestured around to the printouts of various wedding venues around London. “I don’t want to have some extravagant wedding just because we have the funds and feel like we need to. We don’t need to. I just want something quiet and casual and us.”

Glinda didn’t respond for a second, trying to remember why exactly they had been doing all this when she didn’t even want it either. Perhaps Elphaba was right, she’d spent so long in the public eye that she started planning a wedding as though it would also be part of their public persona.

Sensing her hesitation, Elphaba continued, “I mean, unless that’s what you want. Something outlandish and extravagant. Then, by all means, we’ll do that. But I don’t really think you do and I really don’t.”

“No, you’re so right,” Glinda mused, “I just never looked up and realized I didn’t want that.” She closed her computer and swept the papers onto the ground dramatically. “Fuck it, let’s not do any of this,” she smiled.

“Thank god,” Elphaba laughed.

Which is how she now finds herself with a fistful of hardy flowers and vines and a roll of twine, making her own wedding trellis while Elphaba was off ensuring that Milla had gotten officially ordained by the state of California.

It wasn’t what she had imagined, though it was, perhaps, better. It was a wedding that allowed them both to just simply be themselves instead of being athletes, household names, famous in their circles.

Caught up in this thought, hands busy making bouquets of bright flowers, Glinda doesn’t hear footsteps over the gravel walkway until her dad is standing across from her, hand shielding his eyes from the sun.

“Need any help, honey?” He asks.

“Here,” Glinda says, shoving a handful of lavender at him. “Can you hold these for a second?”

They’re quiet for a moment, Glinda working, humming under her breath, Hugh watching in companionable silence, which he eventually breaks, voice lingering somewhere near awkward.

“So,” he begins. “Are you feeling ready?”

“Not quiet, I think I need like 10 more minutes, but honestly, it’s looking better than I anticipated,” Glinda says, taking a step back to admire her handiwork.

“That’s not what I meant,” her dad says slowly. “I mean, are you ready for this? To be married?”

Glinda stops her hands. “Yes,” she says with conviction. “We’ve been together for five years - there is no more clearly good thing in my life than her.” Hugh just nods and Glinda narrows her eyes. “Do you disagree?”

“No,” he says plainly. “I adore Elphaba. I think she’s damn near perfect for you, I just wanted to hear it from you,” he smiles.

Glinda returns the smile, “Thanks, pops. And yeah, I’m very ready. I’ve been ready.”

“Good. I’m happy for you both - you deserve something good together.”

Suddenly, Milla is bursting through the back door into the warm afternoon, smile bright from even this far away. “Glinda Upland!” She shouts loudly from the porch, seeming more excited than Glinda herself, “It’s your wedding day!”

“It is indeed,” Glinda yells back, “Get down here and hug me!” She turns back to her dad and says more quietly, “I love you, thank you.” Before he dips his head in acknowledgment and heads back towards the house, passing Milla on the way in with a kind greeting and gentle squeeze of her shoulder.

And then Milla is knocking herself into Glinda’s small frame in a way that is vaguely reminiscent of the many times they’ve lept into each other’s arms on the pitch. “Are you not so excited to be gay-marrying the hottest woman on earth?” Milla asks her, laughing deeply.

“I am so excited,” Glinda admits. “Where is she, though?” Glinda looks around, scanning through the back doors for Elphaba.

“I made her take a shower; she had just been on a run,” Milla explains, disbelief written on her face. “How are you guys so insanely chill about this? I’ve seen you more stressed to plan a team dinner than you are right now.”

Glinda shrugs, “Honestly, I don’t know. I couldn’t be less nervous if I tried. It’s basically just going to be a party, but everyone will watch Elphaba and me kiss exactly once in the middle,” Glinda says simply. “That’s not a very stress-inducing event.”

“Maybe for you!” Milla exclaims. “You get to kiss that very hot woman and I have to do all the hard work.”

“Stop hitting on my fiancée, Mills.”

“I’ll consider it,” she says. “Anyway, I’m here to ask you if there’s anything in particular you want me to talk about. Or not talk about, I suppose.”

Glinda blinks at her, hands still filled with flowers. “Like. In your speech? The one you’re going to give when you officiate my wedding? In an hour?”

“Yeah - anything I need to steer clear of?”

Glinda turns to face her friend more fully, this woman she grew up with, this woman who she considers her closest friend, this woman who is officiating her wedding and has not yet written her speech.

Milla senses her frustration and tries to get ahead of it, “I know what you’re going to say. ‘Why haven’t you thought about this already, Milla?’” She says in a poor approximation of Glinda’s voice. “I decided to wing it, just kinda speak from the heart, off the cuff kind of thing.” Milla shrugs nonchalantly.

Glinda still doesn’t respond, just closes her eyes and breathes deeply for a moment, steadying herself. What is it about her, Glinda wonders, that she only associates with people who insist on doing things at the very last second.

She opens her eyes, and Milla is smirking dangerously, trying to hold back a grin, and Glinda clocks her lie immediately. “You asshole!” She cries.

“I couldn’t help myself,” Milla says, finally letting her laughter spill over. “Harvard told me you almost had a conniption when you thought she was writing her vows this morning so I had to fuck with you a bit.”

“I loathe you.”

“No, you don’t,” Milla reminds her. “I wrote my thing days ago, I promise. And I don’t even make mention of the time I walked in on you guys in Brazil when Elphaba was basically —“

“Okay, that’s plenty. Thank you, Milla,” Glinda cuts her off sternly before Milla can finish her sentence, but the tips of Glinda’s ears flush red at the memory anyway.

Milla laughs raucously, amused by her own joke. “Alright, Glin, you gotta get ready. People are going to be here any second and you’re dressed like a lesbian farmer.” Glinda looks down at her clothes, Elphaba’s worn jeans, several sizes too big, belted at the waist and cuffed at the hem, and an old US Soccer t-shirt with only 4 stars at the crest, smudged with dirt. “Want help with the dress?” Milla asks.

Glinda nods and finishes with the last few flowers before following her best friend inside.

_________

After Milla (and Sarima and at one point her mother) had helped Glinda into her dress, draping the fabric this way and that, Larena pushes a lock of hair gently behind her ear and hugs Glinda fiercely.

“I love you,” she says, already choking up. “And I love her, and I love you two together. You’ve made a beautiful life together.”

“I love you,” Glinda echoes, trying to keep her own emotions in check. “I’ll see you in just a second,” she promises, and Larena slips out the door, leaving Glinda alone with her thoughts.

She gives herself one last glance in the mirror - the dress is perfect. Nothing too ostentatious but still beautiful - and it fits like a glove. With a last look, she smoothes the fabric just to give her hands something to do before turning for the door. Before she can reach the handle, there’s a knock on the other side.

“Yes?” Glinda calls out quietly, hesitating at the doorknob.

A throat clears on the other side of the door. “It’s me,” Elphaba says, voice quiet and clear.

“Elphie,” she breathes, both of them just inches apart on either side of the door. “You alright, baby?”

Elphaba chuckles, “So alright. I just wanted to say hi before the… You know. The thing.”

“Our wedding?”

“Yeah, that.” Glinda can hear the smile in her voice and is reminded suddenly of the year and change they had spent at the very beginning of their relationship - Elphaba finishing up her Master’s in Boston while Glinda still lived in London. She remembers falling so deeply in love with Elphaba’s voice, learning how to read its every intonation, the meaning behind every pause, as she’s doing now from behind a closed door.

“Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts, Thropp,” Glinda jokes, knowing she isn’t.

Elphaba huffs out a laugh, “Not at all. I’m actually really excited, and I wanted to tell someone how excited I was but turns out you’re the only person I wanted to tell.”

“Which is why you’re standing outside my door moments before we get married?”

“Well, are you going to open the door?” Elphaba asks.

“Absolutely not, I want you to lose your mind when you see me - no sneak preview,” Glinda deadpans.

“Damn.” She hears a soft thunk on the other side and assumes it’s Elphaba leaning against the door. She drops her forehead to the grain of the wood, knowing Elphaba is doing the same just a few inches away.

They stay like this for a moment, being separately together. Elphaba breaks the silence, “I just wanted to say how much I love you. I know I’m about to go publicly and legally declare it, but I wanted to tell you privately as well.” Glinda can hear a slightly unsteady intake of breath but she doesn’t say anything in response and Elphaba continues. “I really do love you, with everything I have. I’ve led a particularly charmed life and I’m just lucky that you’re at the center of it.”

“Elphaba,” Glinda breaths, struck in the middle of her chest by the unexpected sentiment. She gathers herself. “Can we just get this over with? I don’t want to spend another stupid second not being your wife.”

Elphaba chuckles from the other side of the door, “Let’s do the damn thing, Upland. I’ll see you out there.”

“I love you.”

_________

It’s perfect.

The sun is just beginning to dip behind the line of the hills, casting everything in a warm, golden haze.

Glinda watches from the wings as her mom walks Elphaba down the gravel path serving as an aisle. Watches as Elphaba offers her mom a crooked elbow and a heartfelt smile. Watches as they lean their heads together and whisper conspiratorily to each other the whole way, Larena kissing Elphaba’s cheek quickly before taking a seat in the front row of rented chairs.

Milla, already standing beneath the makeshift altar, holds a closed hand up to Elphaba, who rolls her eyes with a smirk but returns the proffered fistbump.

It’s perfect.

And Elphaba looks perfect - fiddling with the cuffs of a dark navy suit that had clearly been custom-made to fit her. Colorful orange and yellow poppies were meticulously embroidered into the deep blue fabric of the jacket, trailing up the sleeves and mirrored at the lapels.

When Glinda meets her beneath her flower-adorned trellis, she lays a gentle hand against Elphaba’s chest, fingering the lapel of her jacket, the ridged thread of the embroidered poppy under her thumb - hit once again by how thoughtful the woman before her is, designing a suit to match the flowers splashed in ink across Glinda’s back.

“Hi,” Glinda breathes, struck nearly dumb by the sight of Elphaba in front of her, oblivious suddenly to all the people gathered around them.

Elphaba cracks a private smile, “Hi,” she replies. And, forgetting herself or the situation, leans in to kiss Glinda, who stops her with a sure hand at Elphaba’s chest.

“That happens at the end, babe,” she says, eyes sparkling with laughter that’s echoed by their friends and family and Milla, who stands beside them.

“You’re so right, my bad,” Elphaba chuckles at herself, pulling further away from the blonde, squeezing her hand tightly as it falls from its place at her lapel.

Milla’s speech is perfect. The normal snark and humor that she seems to speak in every sentence with is replaced with genuine thoughtfulness and tenderness towards her friends, though she does mumble a quick, “shit, sorry guys,” when she gets unexpectedly choked up in the middle of her speech. Which is perfect in its own kind of way.

And then Elphaba is pulling the small black notebook from the inside pocket of her coat and looking at Glinda with a type of vulnerability that she hasn’t seen in the green woman for a long time. Glinda watches as she gathers herself, takes a steadying breath, and meets her eyes with only solid, raw affection.

“Glinda,” she begins and the blonde could laugh at how easily the single word, the way Elphaba utters her name, makes her feel entirely undone. “There’s nothing I can say here that could even hold a flame to last five years I’ve gotten to spend with you. To try to distill this into one speech would be to do a disservice to our time together. But I do want to make mention of one moment in particular that I feel is emblematic of everything you have come to mean to me.”

Glinda knows the story, of course. It’s the exact same moment that she often thinks back to when trying to pinpoint when exactly her life had turned a corner, the moment she can point to that delineated her life into its “pre-Elphaba” and “post-Elphaba” segments.

Elphaba continues, “I think you know what I’m about to say,” she smiles warmly as if reading Glinda’s mind. “It was almost exactly five years ago today, and I was preparing for my first Olympics. In my mind, those games, those races, would be the moment that defined my life and career - there was nothing else that mattered more to me."  She sighs, catching Glinda's gaze. "In hindsight, there was a phone call that ended up mattering more.

“I had just had a difficult conversation, and to this day, I don’t know why I called you,” Elphaba admits with a half-chuckle. “I really don’t. It would have made a lot more sense for me to call any number of people: my sister, my friends, my colleagues. But for some reason, I picked up the phone and I called a woman I had basically never met, barely knew, but felt some kind of inexplicable pull towards. And that has made all the difference.

“You sat on the other end of the line and just let me talk, listened to me, showed me what it meant to care about someone without a single string attached. I didn’t know it at the time, but I think I fell a little bit in love with you during that phone call. I fell in love with your steadiness and your compassion and your thoughtfulness. I fell in love with the way your eyebrows pull together when you think. I fell in love with the way you made me feel.

“So thanks for picking up the phone, G,” Elphaba says with a deep and genuine smile, “and for every other time you picked up the phone since then, for every time you made me feel cared for and loved and seen. I love you.”

Fuck it, Glinda thinks, as she grabs Elphaba’s sharp jaw and pulls her into a surprisingly soft kiss - one that rings, I love you, I love you, I love you out into the gold light of the evening.

“Sorry,” Glinda says unapologetically when she pulls away. “I simply couldn’t help myself.”

Milla laughs behind her, “We won’t count that one,” she promises and gestures for Glinda to read her vows.

Glinda sighs disbelievingly, “I don’t—I mean, how am I supposed to follow that? I had a whole thing planned, and it’s all just out the window,” She laughs, tossing a hand up to indicate how undone Elphaba’s vows had made her. “I should have gone first!” she exclaims with mock frustration.

“Okay.” The blonde inhales sharply, grounding herself before beginning. “Everyone knows how we met,” she says to the small crowd, though she can’t seem to take her eyes off Elphaba before her. “The airport run-in, your utter shell-shock, my fumbling and not getting your number, only to spend the next two weeks flirting shamelessly over the phone. It’s one of my favorite stories to tell so I know you’ve all heard it.” Elphaba blushes lightly while their friends nod and chuckle, confirming Glinda’s point.

“What you don’t know,” she says to Elphaba, “What none of you know, is that that’s actually not the first time I tried flirting with you.” Elphaba’s eyebrow jumps, confusion written so plainly on her face that Glinda can’t help but crack a deep grin. “I know, I’ve kept a secret for five years, nobody thought that was possible.”

“After I had watched your Olympic Trials - just by chance one night when I couldn’t sleep - I was so in awe of you that I messaged you that exact day. And I don’t know if the message just got lost in some ‘requested’ folder on Instagram or if you saw it and ignored it or what - but you never wrote back.”

“What did it say?” Elphaba asks, so clearly interrupting Glinda’s rambling speech.

Glinda huffs, “I don’t even remember but I came on very strong. Something like, ‘Hey, just watched your trials, see you in Paris.’ But I do know that I asked you out for a drink when the games were over.” In the back of Glinda’s mind, she wonders briefly about the speech she had written and attempted to memorize, how it was graceful and poised and thoughtful and nothing like whatever was coming out of her mouth right now. It doesn’t matter, though, Elphaba is looking at her like she’s the only person on earth, which is enough to keep Glinda rambling on.

“Anyway, you didn’t respond. You’d totally ignored me but somehow I was fully undeterred because I was just that into you. There was something about you that I was so struck by that I couldn’t let it go. And yes, you running me over in the airport was absolutely an act of kismet that led us to this moment but I cannot overstate how much I was hoping it would happen, how much I wanted to get to know you.”

Glinda smiles at the memory, at the face of disbelief Elphaba is making. “I had this idea of you - you were this astonishing but mysterious athlete, brooding and unflappable and exceptional. Which was all correct, by the way.” Elphaba laughs deeply. “But then we started talking and everything that I was so struck by was real. You were real. And suddenly you were standing in front of me, a fully fleshed-out person who was astonishing and brooding and exceptional.

“I hardly knew what to do with myself except that I wanted to know you, knew I wanted something real with you. So I went all in and, other than picking up that phone call, that was the best decision I’ve ever made.”

She barely even knows what she’s saying, emotions taking over; all she knows is that it couldn’t have possibly held up to everything Elphaba had just said, though Elphaba’s misty eyes and wry smile might suggest otherwise. Glinda makes the mistake of flicking her gaze to her mother at who is crying openly despite the chaotic nature of her daughters' speech, which just makes Glinda choke up even further.

“Thank you for making space in your life for me. Thank you for being exactly who you are. Thank you for letting me know you. It’s been the highest honor of my life.”

Elphaba is looking at her with open affection written across her face. “I love you so much,” she whispers low enough for just Glinda to hear, voice breaking ever so slightly.

They exchange rings again, this time just simple gold bands, and Glinda can feel the stupid grin plastered on. Finally, Milla announces, laughing, “Now you may kiss.” And then Elphaba’s hands are on her waist and Glinda lets a thumb brush against Elphaba’s sharp cheekbone. They’re both smiling too much to kiss properly.

It’s perfect.

The rest of the evening is filled with dancing and drinking and singing and eating, surrounded by the people dearest to them. Elphaba takes off her suit jacket sometime over the course of the night, and only then, with the coat carefully hung on the back of a chair, and Glinda held gently against her chest, does the blonde notice the embroidered “G” stitched into the fabric of Elphaba’s breast pocket.

“You’re something else, Thropp,” she murmurs against the slow music, finger following the stitches of the lone letter.

“I think it’s Upland-Thropp, now, actually,” Elphaba hums and Glinda can feel the vibration of her words in her chest as they sway slowly together.

They drag themselves up to bed late, the last of the partygoers waved away at the door, their closest friends all staying the night - Boq and Nessa in a guest bedroom while Milla and Sarima curl up in borrowed blankets strewn about the couches in the living room. Glinda drops a sloppy and dramatic kiss to everyone’s forehead, Elphaba already halfway up the stairs, calling out, “Goodnight, I love you all so much,” voice slurred from exhaustion and perhaps half a glass of champagne too many.

A chorus of “Love you, too, Fabala,” “G’night, Harvard,” “I adore you both,” “Congrats again, guys,” rings out into the dark house as the newly minted wives fall into bed, barely taking the time or energy to undress.

Glinda manages to shimmy out of her dress and Elphaba collapses onto the sheets, wearing only a pair of boyshorts and her dress shirt, unbuttoned halfway but still on. Glinda crawls into her space, pulling a strong arm across her waist and Elphaba presses unconsiously closer.

“Thanks for marrying me,” Elphaba mutters against blonde hair, sleep pulling heavy at her bones.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat, love.”

They fall asleep in moments, tangled in each other - exhausted and still slightly tipsy and so utterly loved.

It’s perfect.

Chapter Text

London, England - June 2024

Glinda tosses in bed, sleep evading her as the late night creeps further into morning.

As much as she loves playing club soccer in England, the only major downside is that all the National team camps happen stateside. It’s a lot of transatlantic flights, a lot of jetlag, and a lot of ruined sleep schedules.

She had returned home earlier in the evening, dropping her bag at the door and beelining for a hot shower, hoping the exhaustion of a long travel day would override her time-zone-addled brain.

No such luck. Her phone blinks up at her, harsh and bright: 1:03 am.

“Fuck it,” she mutters to herself, getting out of bed for no reason except that she just simply cannot fall asleep.

The kitchen is lit by an orange glow, light spilling forward from the city spread out in front of the large windows. Headlights from a passing cab slice through the dimness, painting the walls in exaggerated shadows before disappearing altogether.

Glinda never really understood the British tendency towards tea, always reaching for coffee herself, but keeps a kettle and a small stash of tea bags on the counters. A leftover relic from when she lived with Fiyero that she hasn’t yet parted with - kept only because so many of her friends and teammates are from London and do have that British tendency towards tea.

But now, an hour past midnight and four hours until sunrise, Glinda finds herself dunking a bag of mint tea into a coffee-stained mug. Steam rising in the dark as she fixes an exhausted stare into some middle distance, lost in thought.

They’re a month out from the Olympics, having just returned from a series of send-off friendlies and a particularly grueling camp. Glinda understands it, likes it even - working that hard, sweating that much, getting the entire team into the best shape possible. At the end of camp, it felt as though they were operating like a well-oiled machine.

They’re a month out from the Olympics, and Morrible had taken her aside and told her, in no uncertain terms, that Glinda would be captaining the team for this tournament. That wasn’t even something that had been on Glinda’s radar. But suddenly she looked around and was one of the more veteran players on the team, one of the most consistent, one of the hardest workers. And so the armband fell into her lap, whether she wanted it or not.

They’re a month out from the Olympics, and Glinda wants it so bad it hurts. She wasn’t on the World Cup squad the year before, her ACL tear too fresh, and it ate at her. Watching her team underperform on the biggest stage in women’s football from the comfort of her couch was one of the hardest things she’s ever had to do. Sidelined and helpless, she vowed to make it back to the pitch in time for the Olympics, to help her team place better than third.

They’re a month out from the Olympics, and Glinda flicks on the TV, just to keep the silence at bay.

“— and remember, the top runners in each semi-final heat will move on to the final and from there, only the top three runners will be going to Paris,” the announcer blares into Glinda’s quiet flat. “So we’re looking at the best athletes in the country vying for really very few spots,” he continues as Glinda squints up at the bright screen, trying to make sense of what she just turned on.

A new announcer picks up where the first one left off, “Absolutely correct, Tibbett,” he begins. “We’re looking now at the first semi-final heat of the Women’s 200 meters, and we’ve got tons of talent in this lineup right now. In the inside lane…”

But Glinda’s not listening anymore, her attention grabbed by a woman in the background of the screen, not the runner the announcers are talking about but the one right next to her, in the second lane.

Had someone asked Glinda what about this particular runner had caught her attention, the most obvious answer would be her skin: bright and emerald green - all of it.

And yes, this is the first and foremost thing Glinda was struck by about the runner. But after a very brief moment of being taken aback by her verdigris, Glinda quickly realizes it was that and everything else she’s struck by.

She’s tall, taller than everyone around her by a good couple of inches. Her posture is straight and proud and Glinda watches her breathe, looking confident and composed despite the imminent race. Something about the way she moves suggests a certain ease and comfort - where everyone else around her paces or jumps or fidgets in their lane, this woman is still, almost contemplative. Her face was striking as well, all knife-sharp angles and strong features, long, dark hair pulled back. She’s beautiful, in an unconventional way - stunningly so, Glinda thinks.

“Who the hell is that?” Glinda whispers to no one, only vaguely aware of her mouth slightly agape as the camera pans towards this green sprinter.

“And in lane two,” the announcer continues, but this time Glinda listens intently, “now this is someone to watch out for - Elphaba Thropp. She’s 25 and running out of Boston these days.”

The woman on the screen - Elphaba Thropp - gives a single, terse wave when her name is announced, and Glinda can’t help but notice the starkly defined muscles in her arms as she does. In fact, every single muscle is starkly defined: her shoulders are broad and she, without flexing, sports a perfect six-pack.

Glinda is entranced.

“That’s correct, Crope,” the other broadcaster picks up. “Thropp missed out on the last Olympic cycle, placing 5th in her heat at Trials here in Eugene in 2021. She wasn’t really on anyone’s radar until fairly recently, when she came away from Worlds with a silver medal in this distance.”

“And now she’s the talk of the town - no one really knows much about this kid but to go from not even coming close to making the Olympic team to being a silver medalist in the World Competition in three years is remarkable. She’s one to watch this week for sure.”

“Runners to your marks,” the loudspeaker blares. Glinda can’t take her eyes off the green woman as the camera cuts to a wider shot of the whole track. She watches as Thropp places her hands behind the white line, every movement confident and precise and perfect.

“Set.”

All the runners raise into a crouch in unison. The stadium is silent until a gunshot breaks out and in a flurry of perfect synchronized movement, the runners are out of their blocks and heaving, somehow still gracefully, down the track.

At the final straightaway, Thropp has pulled ahead so far that she takes a moment to glance behind her and, seeing no one close, throws on the brakes well before the finish line. Glinda finds that, at some point, she had put down her mug and was now standing in front of her TV, hands clutched into fists of anticipation as the green woman wins handily.

“Easy work for Thropp.” The broadcaster is back. “A quick 22.08 for Elphaba Thropp with very little competition. We’ll see her later today for the finals. Let’s check in with the winner - Tibbett, down to you on the track.”

The camera cuts to a sideline interview with the woman that Glinda finds herself suddenly very taken by.

“Elphaba Thropp, congrats on a decisive first place in your semi-final heat. How does it feel?” The interviewer asks as the sprinter wipes a towel down her face, streaked with sweat, strands of dark hair sticking to her forehead, as Glinda watches, awestruck.

“Feels good,” she says in a voice that sits deeper than Glinda would have expected and a sharp smile that affects Glinda more than she would have expected. “It wasn’t the fastest time I’ve ever put up, but it doesn’t have to be. I’m trying to qualify for three races so I need to be congizant of not overdoing it during these earlier heats.”

“You didn’t make the Olympic team last year,” the announcer begins and Glinda watches the sprinter’s face harden, a firmer set of her jaw, a flicker of something in her dark eyes. “What’s different about this Olympic cycle?”

Thropp raises an eyebrow in either amusement or annoyance, Glinda can’t tell. “I’ve had three years since that poor showing. I figured I could either let it eat at me or I could let it motivate me. I’ve worked hard since then and hopefully you’ll see it pay off here and in Paris.”

There’s something about her, Glinda thinks. She’s stoic and well spoken and slightly mysterious and clearly a little aloof and so insanely pretty.

The interview ends and the broadcast cuts to men’s shotput which Glinda doesn’t even pretend to watch, grabbing her phone and Googling, “Elphaba Thropp.”

Her online presence is fairly minimal - an Instagram that has been used once in the last six months (a post after her silver in the World Athletic Competition) and a handful of articles, both about her inability to qualify for Tokyo and her one medal at Worlds.

“God damn,” Glinda mutters, trying to learn more about her without much success.

_________

Glinda manages to stay awake long enough to watch the sprinter win her final heat with the same ease and grace that she had won the first race, though this time she finally cracks a bright smile as she officially makes the Olympic team. Glinda finds herself mirroring the grin in her empty flat.

She wakes up on the couch hours later, a kink in her neck, the TV still on, and her phone still open to Elphaba Thropp’s nearly non-existent Wikipedia page. She opens another page and types, “Elphaba Thropp Olympic trials results.”

E. Thropp Results:

200m - First Place Finish

400m - First Place Finish

400m Hurdles - Third Place Finish

Thropp has qualified to represent the US at the Olympics in all three distances.

She dials a number quickly and waits for long seconds as it rings.

“Humh?” A voice answers on the other line.

“Milla. Thank god you’re awake. Have you ever watched Track & Field?” Glinda’s barely woken up but already going a hundred miles an hour.

“What?”

“There’s this sprinter and she’s stupidly hot and I think I’m in love with her.”

There’s a muffled rustle on the other line before Milla’s voice rings out more clearly. “Glin, I’m very happy for you but it’s literally 6 am and we got back home like 8 hours ago. Please let me sleep.”

“I’m so sorry but this cannot wait. She’s stunning. And so fast. I’m going to send you a link to her trials that I just watched —"

Milla sighs, “I love you with all my heart but don’t have time for this. Do what any normal person would do and slide into her DM’s.”

Glinda brightens at this idea, “Oh, you’re so right! Thanks, Mills! Sorry to wake you up, please watch the video I sent you, I promise it’s worth it.”

“I will not remember this conversation,” Milla says without malice. “Goodnight, Upland. Go back to sleep.”

Heeding her teammates' advice, Glinda swipes back to her Instagram and does the embarrassing dance of writing several messages and erasing all of them, suddenly shy.

congrats on the win

just watched ur race at trials

ur so fast!

“This is dumb. What am I doing?” Glinda says to herself as she waits for her coffee to brew. She shakes her head. “No, this is fine, it doesn’t mean anything. Milla said everyone does it,” Glinda announces, changing her tune, hyping herself up.

hey! congrats on making the olympic team. hopefully ill see u in paris… wouldn’t mind grabbing a drink when the games are over, either. good luck xx

“This is fucking insane,” Glinda says firmly but hits ‘send’ before she can talk herself out of it again, her stomach flipping with an anxiety she isn't entirely used to. It's not bad, she decides. 

_________

Glinda gives up all hope of the sprinter responding to her message when a full week passes without a word from her.

Not that Glinda had expected a response. She’s never been one to so blatantly hit on someone like this but she finds she can’t quite shake the woman from her mind. But the lack of response doesn’t sting; it was a long shot anyway and so Glinda goes about the rest of her life. A last couple weeks training with Arsenal before heading back to the States for a final camp and then on to Paris with the team, putting this from-a-distance crush on the back burner.

It’s not until she’s in Paris that she remembers the unresponded-to message.

“Every fucking bag is identical,” Milla hisses, searching for a luggage tag on yet another black duffle bag coming off the baggage claim belt.

“And gigantic,” Glinda agrees. “I’m always annoyed that we have to fly to the States only to come right back here. Would have been way easier to come from London,” she complains.

Milla doesn’t respond and Glinda stops wrestling with her bag to glance over her shoulder and see that her friend has moved on to another pile of luggage, searching for her own “Team USA” duffle.

She swings her head around only to have someone slam directly into her. “Shit - watch it!” Glinda snaps and immediately winces at her tone.

(If someone had asked Glinda now about the singularly most defining, most significant moments of her life, she probably wouldn’t say this one. She would probably point to when she was four years old and tottering through life and kicking a soccer ball for the first time, or last year when her grandmother passed, or when she tore her ACL and spent the next months recovering. But if someone were to ask her, five, ten, 30 years from now, to point to a moment that changed her life entirely, that set everything she knew about herself into perfect balance, the moment that made all the difference in her life, she would, without hesitation, recall the next few minutes.)

“I’m so sorry,” a gravely voice mutters surprisingly close to her ear. Glinda bites back a gasp of surprise. And only then does she realize there’s a strong arm around her waist, keeping her from tripping fully. Without thinking, she settles her hand against a green bicep, ropey with muscle.

“No, I’m sorry,” Glinda concedes, thumb sliding unconsiously over soft skin with a gentle squeeze. “Shouldn’t have snapped at you - long travel day.” She’s only slightly disappointed to find the arm gone from around her as this stranger picks up her toppled bag with ease.

It’s only now that Glinda looks up and, while the green hands should have given it away, finds Elphaba Thropp meeting her gaze, still standing slightly too close. Glinda swears she feels her heart kick hard against her ribs, struck anew by the woman in front of her, the woman she’s been nursing a miniature-crush on for the last month.

“You’re… Elphaba Thropp, right?” She says, hoping she’s playing it cool enough. Elphaba’s face contorts to one of confusion, forehead furrowed, brow raised. It’s remarkably endearing. She’s remarkably good-looking.

“Yes?” She says and Glinda has to keep from laughing - it’s so clear that no one has ever recognized her before, and even clearer that she doesn’t recognize Glinda either.

She’s even more stunning in person - tall and lithe, with a face like an axe and a voice that’s almost comically attractive despite having only said a handful of words. Glinda wants very badly to replace her hand where it had fallen from Elphaba’s arm.

Now, Glinda fails entirely to keep her cool. “I thought so! I watched the Trials in Eugene. Holy shit, you’re fast!” She watches Elphaba blink as she tries to keep up with the turn of events. Glinda opens her mouth to say something even more embarrassing, she’s sure, when Milla cuts in and saves her from herself.

“Upland! Let’s move it!”

Glinda glances back at her team, bags gathered, moving towards customs. “That’s me!” Glinda says for some reason. “Gotta run. Elphaba, wonderful meeting you. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again in the village. Good luck.”

“Uh - yeah, yeah, you too,” Elphaba replies but Glinda is already shouldering her bag and slipping into the throng.

She glances back once but Elphaba is already lost to the crowd, raven-dark hair and emerald skin blending into the sea of people. “Shit,” Glinda mumbles to herself, wiping a hand down her face, embarrassment prickling in her gut. “What is wrong with me?”

“What is wrong with you?” Sarima says, materializing at her side suddenly.

Glinda sighs, resigned, “I just majorly fumbled an encounter with maybe the hottest woman I’ve ever seen.”

Sarima balks. “You like girls?”

Glinda returns her confused look. “Where have you been?” Sarima has the decency to look halfway apologetic as she shrugs. “I thought we were friends, Sarima!” Glinda jokes.

“I don’t know! You were with that guy when I joined the team, I just kind of assumed.”

Glinda bumps playfully against her shoulder, “You’re fine, I came out a while ago - well before you were on the team. Though I’m surprised you didn’t see anything about it online.”

Sarima shrugs again, “I don’t do social media at all so I probably missed it.”

Glinda furrows her brow. “You have an Instagram. We follow each other.”

“Oh yeah,” Sarima waves her hand dismissively as they shuffle forward through the long line to customs. “I don’t actually. My sister runs it. I know it’s important to have but I hated it so I just make her pretend to be me.”

Glinda nods slowly. “So, when I send you stuff and you respond ‘haha,’ that’s…”

“Yeah, that’s my sister, sorry.”

Glinda huffs out a half-laugh, shaking her head at her younger teammate. “Oh my god. You’re something else.”

“Not all of us are cut out to be as popular as you are, Cap.”

Glinda rolls her eyes. “Alright, well to catch you up on all you’ve missed: Yes, I was dating that guy for a while but we broke up —“

“I knew that much,” Sarima interrupts unhelpfully.

“Because, actually, I like women too much,” Glinda concludes.

Sarima nods, pointing back in the general direction of the baggage claim. “That woman in particular?”

“Yes!” Glinda says, excitement renewed. “She’s a sprinter and so pretty it makes me want to cry but I just ran into her and was decidedly not normal about it.”

Sarima waves her off with an amused smile as they get to the front of the line. “You can’t have fumbled that hard. I’m sure you’ll figure it out and like probably get married or something,” she says, calling loudly over her shoulder.

“A girl can dream,” Glinda mutters under her breath.

Chapter Text

London, England - November 2027

“Okay, so why did you bring me along then?” Milla asks after Glinda shoots down another one of her suggestions.

“Honestly, Mills, I thought you would have better taste. I should have brought Fiyero.”

Milla’s mouth hangs open at this. “You want to bring your ex-boyfriend with you to buy an engagement ring for your girlfriend?”

“To be fair, I often forget that we used to date,” Glinda says lightly.

“You were together for multiple years.”

Glinda continues gazing into the jewelry case, “Yes, but it was so long ago and also I was gay the whole time so I’m not entirely sure it counts.”

Milla shakes her head, “You’re unbelievable.”

“He would likely have better suggestions,” Glinda snarks back. “Look at this one and tell me if it screams, ‘Elphaba.’” Glinda holds out a thin silver band studded with tiny diamonds along the circumference.

Milla considers it for a moment, “I think she’d like it.”

“Wrong!” Glinda nearly shouts, making a game show buzzer noise to indicate just how incorrect Milla was. Luckily, the store is virtually empty and Glinda has no problem being lightly obnoxious to her best friend. “That was a test and you failed.”

Milla turns the ring over in her fingers. “I don’t see what’s so bad about it,” she admits.

“First of all, she only wears gold jewelry so negative points for that,” Glinda begins. “And secondly, it’s too dainty. It needs to be a thicker band, one stone. Or maybe one larger stone and two little ones on either side. I don’t know the terminology but you know what I’m saying,” she rambles.

It’s particularly difficult, Glinda thinks. She’s always been one for sentimentality, nostalgia, tradition. She was hoping to propose with a piece of heirloom jewelry, a ring she knew her mom still had hidden away somewhere. Unfortunately, that plan was dashed when Larena gave the very same ring to Elphaba as a birthday gift last year.

It was actually quite touching. Glinda had entered her own kitchen to find both her mom and her girlfriend, misty-eyed and clutching tightly to each other’s hands. Larena explaining that she wanted to be sure Elphaba knew she was a part of their family, that she considered her a daughter. She knows how much the gesture meant to Elphaba, who still wears the ring on her index finger every day.

But it does mean that she now has to find another ring that Elphaba will love, will want to wear every day.

“Seems like you kind of have it all figured out, which brings us back to my original question: why did you bring me along?” Milla asks again, breaking Glinda of her reverie.

“Because you’re my friend and I want you to be here even if you suck at this.”

“How sweet,” Milla deadpans.

The associate behind the counter had started edging closer after Glinda’s buzzer outburst, clearly trying to keep an eye on the duo and ensure Glinda can’t wreak any more havoc.

“Anything I can assist you with?” He asks, far too politely.

Glinda smiles sweetly. “Yes! I’m looking for a ring. I’m going to propose to my girlfriend and, obviously, it has to be perfect. Actually, I’m going to wait for her to propose first, which will likely be years and years from now because she is a known idiot but I’m getting a ring now so I can be prepared to counter-propose.” She’s out of breath by the end of her run-on sentence and both Milla and the employee are looking at her with a mixture of confusion and concern.

“Anyway!” She says brightly, moving on. “I’m thinking gold, probably circular-cut stones. Do you have pink? Is that a color that occurs naturally in stones or am I making that up?”

Milla puts a hand on Glinda’s arm and looks at the attendant. “We’ll be right back, please just give us one second,” she smiles before pulling Glinda aside. “Hey. Dude. What the fuck is going on with you at this exact moment?”

“Great question,” Glinda feels herself take a deep breath. “I think I’m nervous?”

Milla nods. “You want it to be right.”

It’s not a question but Glinda answers anyway. “Yeah. I mean, it’s Elphaba. I want to get married to Elphaba and I want it to be right. I want her to like it.”

Milla holds Glinda’s shoulders gently. “Glin, I’m only going to say this once because I’m no good at sincerity but I mean this wholeheartedly. I like Elphaba. A lot.”

“Hopefully not too much,” Glinda interjects.

“A really normal amount,” Milla assures her. “But anyway. I like her. I’ve gotten to know her fairly well. I’d consider her a dear friend of mine. And I have noticed that she is utterly and totally obsessed with you. You could propose to her in a coal mine and she would be ecstatic. You don’t need to make yourself insane trying to be perfect for her. You already are. Whatever you pick will be perfect because it will be from you and again, she’s like, fully fucking crazy about you. Which, I don’t entirely understand, but to each their own,” Milla smirks.

Glinda lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “You are the only person I know who can be so nice and so mean at the same time.”

Milla swivels her friend back around and whispers loudly, “Be normal.”

By the time they return, the man at the counter has pulled out a few different options based on Glinda’s nearly nonsensical ramblings.

She points at one, the perfect one. “Can you do that but in gold?”

He nods, “Easily. But it will take several weeks to make.”

“As mentioned, I have years and years, probably,” she smiles fondly, knowing she would gladly wait that long and then some.

_________

Elphaba is sprawled out on the couch when Glinda gets home. The sprinter cranes her neck over the arm of the sofa, looking at Glinda upside down, goofy grin plastered on her face, glasses sliding off her nose.

“Hi there,” Glinda murmurs, kissing her inverted girlfriend before sinking down into the opposite end of the couch.

Elphaba tracks her movement, righting herself finally. “How was your day?” She asks, poking Glinda in the ribs with a socked foot.

“Good,” Glinda says around a yawn, picking up Elphaba’s foot and pressing the pad of her thumb into the arch of her foot, and Elphaba softens at the touch. “Tired though,” Glinda admits.

“You have tomorrow off?”

The blonde shakes her head, still kneading her hands into Elphaba’s sock-clad foot. “Weight room in the morning but no field practice. You doing anything in the evening?”

Elphaba shuffles for her phone amidst the papers strewn across the coffee table, a telltale sign that she had been avoiding her grading. Finding the device, she swipes open her calendar. “I have office hours until 4 but then I’m free,” she announces. “Why? Wanna grab dinner?”

Glinda smiles, “The Thai place by the park?”

“Count me in,” Elphaba grins back.

Ocassionally, Glinda is struck by moments like these. She knows that, probably, this conversation, this moment, isn’t one she’ll remember on her deathbed. But to collect a lifetime of these moments, the mundane, insignificant seconds she gets to spend across the couch with Elphaba - the thought of it makes her feel full to the point of overflowing.

Elphaba is gazing at her now with an expression caught between affection and concern. “Where’d you go?”

Glinda shakes herself of the introspection. “Nowhere,” she promises.

“Come shower with me?”

“Don’t you have so much grading to do?” Glinda asks, voice alight with laughter as she gestures to the small mountain of paperwork surrounding her lover.

Elphaba is up and pulling Glinda upstairs by the hand, “Yes, but this is so much more fun.”

The mirror is fogged over when Glinda finally turns the water off, room thick with steam. Elphaba stands with her back to the blonde woman, pulling her damp hair into a messy bun at the back of her head. Glinda slips her arms around Elphaba’s waist, pulling her front to the green woman’s strong back as Elphaba melts into her embrace. Glinda presses her face into the damp skin between her shoulder blades, breathing in the familiar scent of her. Something woodsmokey and cloven. She leaves a lingering kiss there.

Elphaba sighs with a hum that Glinda can feel more than hear and says, voice low and rumbling, “I want this forever.” It’s somewhere close to a whisper, a prayer.

You better, Glinda thinks with a smile.

_________

Boston, Massachusetts - May 2028

Nessa’s chair glides alongside Elphaba as they stroll through the glittering aisle, perfectly lit glass cases, diamonds catching the light and throwing it back at them. Nessa cranes her neck as Elphaba points at a few different pieces.

“It’s not too obvious?” The younger Thropp asks, “An emerald?”

Elphaba shrugs. “Probably is,” she admits. “But she doesn’t get to spend years telling me how much she likes the color green and expect me to pick a different color stone.”

The sprinter gestures to one of the rings and the man behind the counter lays it out on a small cloth. Elphaba picks it up, turning it this way and that before handing it to her sister. “What do you think?” She asks.

“It’s beautiful. But what will she think?”

Elphaba is back in Boston, has been for several months. With the Olympics looming large again, she moved back to the East Coast to train with Coach Dillamond in earnest. She loves the training staff she’s been working with in London but no one knows her better, knows how she runs, like her longtime coach. So with six months until the games begin, Elphaba moved back to Boston, away from London, her job, her girlfriend.

And it sucks.

She’s never been homesick before. She spent her youth wanting to escape the towering shadow of her father, moving out of Los Angeles to do so. Even though she lived in Boston for years, it never really felt like a city she considered hers. It was only after moving to London with Glinda that she understood what it meant to be home, to be stationary and settled and home. So now that she’s back here, away from her home and her job and her girlfriend, it’s harder than she anticipated.

But, if anything, the distance made Elphaba realize, in stark detail, that she actually did not want to spend a single second of her life not being with Glinda.

So Elphaba had called her sister and, in that matter-of-fact but still wildly sincere way that only Elphaba knows how to manage, said, “I want to propose to Glinda but I don’t know where to start” and Nessarose had flown to Boston the next week to help Elphaba pick out a ring.

“I think she’ll like it,” Elphaba murmurs, which is not true. Glinda will like it, Elphaba knows this for a fact. The same way she knows how Glinda likes her coffee. The same was she knows that Glinda will make a strangled little noise if she kisses a very particular spot just below her ear. The same way she knows exactly how Glinda’s match went just by the set of her shoulders when she steps through the door.

“I think so, too,” Nessa agrees. “What’s her ring size?”

“Six and a half,” Elphaba says. She knows that, too.

“And you’re sure about gold?” Her sister asks. “It’s not exactly traditional, you know.”

Elphaba nods slowly, looking down at the ring — gold band with a cut emerald set deep in the middle, flashes of green light bounce back at her. “Green goes well with gold,” she says sagely.

Nessa gives her a short laugh, “Whatever you say, Fabala.”

Elphaba gets the ring. Makes sure it’s inscribed but refuses to tell her little sister what the inscription says, insisting that it’s personal and private, but mostly because she’s worried Nessa won’t understand or worse, will find it silly.

Kismet.

Elphaba isn’t even sure Glinda remembers how she opened that phone call in Paris, but the sprinter thinks about the phrase more often than she’s willing to admit. Sometimes she looks at Glinda in the dull, quiet moments - doing the dishes, reading in the oversized armchair, fresh out of the shower, asleep and tangled in the sheets when Elphaba wakes before her - and lets the word rattle around in her mouth. Kismet.

It makes sense. Glinda is the only thing that has ever felt right, an act of fate, an act of utter and total luck, a preordained, perfect, insane thing.

_________

The next afternoon, the sisters grab lunch before Nessa has to head back to LA to resume her own training, Paralympics on the horizon.

“So,” Nessarose begins, “how are you going to ask her?”

Elphaba looks up from her bowl of ramen, chopsticks frozen in midair, “I was just going to ask,” she says, suddenly uncertain. “Does it have to be a big thing?”

“Not necessarily,” her sister says. “Just do what feels right.” Elphaba nods but doesn’t respond, letting the table bask in a short silence. Nessa speaks up again, “Are you going to tell him?”

Elphaba’s brain rattles through all the options of who Nessa might mean when she says “him.” Boq? Fiyero? Dillamond? Any of her colleagues at the University, none of whom Nessa knows by name?

Drawing a blank, Elphaba finally asks, “Who?”

Nessa’s one-word reply puts ice into Elphaba’s spine. “Father,” she says flatly.

Elphaba feels herself closing off, leaning away from the table, arms crossing in front of her chest unconsciously. She doesn’t mean to. It seems the defences she had put in place all those years ago are still fully intact.

“Don’t do that, Fabala,” Nessa chastizes, watching her sister shift her jaw and avert her gaze. “He asks about you, you know?”

Elphaba scoffs, can’t help herself even when she knows how childish it looks. “He has my phone number. He can ask after me himself if he really cares.”

Nessa looks at her with something akin to pity in her eyes and Elphaba doesn’t want it. “I’m not trying to upset you,” her sister reassures her. “I mean, when was the last time you even spoke to him?”

“It’s been years. Probably before Paris.”

“So he doesn’t know?” Nessa asks pointlessly. “About Glinda? About your job, your running? Any of it?”

“Not unless he heard it from you,” Elphaba says, voice tinged with frustration. “Or the press. I’ve not exactly been out of the news if you know where to look,” she says, referring to her recent trio of medals at the World Championship.

“Are you going to tell him?” Nessa asks again.

“About the ring I just bought? So I can propose to my girlfriend, who is a woman?” Elphaba asks rhetorically, incredulously. She knows Nessa has a different relationship with their father and it has long since stopped bothering her. What is bothering her is this new line of questioning from her sister. “I’m not sure if you remember, but that’s not something he was okay with, even abstractly. I can’t imagine he would be thrilled to get a call from his estranged green daughter announcing her engagement to a woman.”

“He’s getting better. He’s trying,” Nessa insists.

“Not hard enough, clearly.” Nessa opens her mouth to respond but Elphaba cuts her off, “I don’t want to hear it, Nessa. Really, I don’t. I’d love if we could just drop this and enjoy the rest of your time here.”

Nessarose screws up her mouth, trying to decide if she should keep pushing the subject. Elphaba meets her pleading gaze with a steely one and the conversation ends.

_________

“Hi,” Glinda answers the call cheerfully, hair still damp from the shower. “I forgot how pretty you are.”

Elphaba doesn’t seem to register the compliment, a hand running across her jaw contemplatively. “Do you think I’m a bad person?” She asks abruptly.

“Okay. Well. That’s not where I thought we’d start this call,” Glinda says with an affectionate half-smile. “And, no. I don’t.” Her voice is even and honest. “In fact, I’d venture to say you’re one of the least bad people I’ve ever met.”

Elphaba looks across the camera at her, unsure. Glinda sets her phone down and pulls a sweatshirt over her head, one of Elphaba’s oversized Harvard hoodies that Glinda refuses to let her throw out.

“Elphie, honey. What is this about?” Care radiates from her voice.

The sprinter takes a deep and steadying breath. “Nessa thinks I should talk to my dad.”

“About what?”

“I’m not even sure,” Elphaba admits. “She wants me to try to reconnect, it seems. She asked if I had told him about you, about us.”

“Have you?”

“No, I haven’t spoken to him since before we met.” Elphaba worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “Is that shitty of me?”

Glinda cocks her head, “I don’t think so. Do you want to talk to him?”

“Not really. He doesn’t seem hugely interested in being a part of my life and I’m not interested in being the bigger person here.”

“Well, I think that answers your question,” Glinda says plainly.

Elphaba furrows her brow. “It can’t possibly be that simple though,” she muses.

Glinda shrugs from across the phone, across the ocean, “Kinda seems simple to me. You don’t want to talk to him yet. Maybe you never will. So don’t.”

Elphaba continues to look at the blonde, the disbelief must be clearly written on her face because Glinda sighs and pulls her knees up to her chest. She’s curled up on the couch in the living room; Elphaba would put money on there being a glass of wine on the side table next to her, a book left bent open, a basket of unfolded laundry on the floor somewhere.

Lost in this thought, she barely realizes Glinda has started speaking again. “Elphaba,” she says with an affection that the green woman hopes she never gets used to. “You’re one of the most insanely brilliant people I know. But there’s always this absolute torrent of thoughts going on in your head at all times,” Glinda chuckles lightly at her. “I can see it in your eyes occasionally, don’t pretend that’s not true. Sometimes it’s my job to just spell it all out as clearly as possible; otherwise, you’ll overthink yourself to death. And we can’t have that because I happen to be fairly fond of you.”

Elphaba shakes her head slowly, feeling a small smile tug at the corners of her mouth. “You’ve always been able to do this,” she says, awestruck. “To shut me up, I mean. I don’t know how you manage it.”

Glinda gives an exaggerated toss of her hair, “Years of practice,” she jokes.

“I don’t know about that,” Elphaba says. “You’ve been good at it since the jump. You must have some kind of magic.”

Glinda’s smile softens to something quieter, private. “You’re not as difficult as you think, Thropp.”

Elphaba smirks back, tone shifting playfully, “You calling me easy?”

“Exceptionally,” Glinda laughs. “All it took was one quick slide into your DM’s and now you’re locked in for life.”

Hopefully, Elphaba thinks to herself.

Chapter Text

London, England - November 2030

Post-retirement Glinda Upland suddenly has a bad habit of showing up unannounced. The ACL is healing well and, without the constraints of the demanding schedule of a professional athlete, Glinda isn’t totally sure what to do with all her newfound free time.

Elphaba has found that this manifests by Glinda just sort of showing up randomly in places she doesn’t necessarily expect to find her. Elphaba knows there’s a deeper issue at play, one motivated by Glinda’s growing sense of restlessness, boredom, uselessness, but honestly finds her wife’s sudden appearances somewhat delightful.

Last week, for example, Elphaba had found Glinda leaning against a wall outside the gym, stopping the green woman in her tracks out of surprise.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Elphaba had asked, slinging her gym bag over her shoulder.

Glinda merely shrugged, linking her arm with Elphaba’s free hand. “I just wanted to walk home with you.”

Elphaba placed a casual kiss to the side of her head. “Lead the way, my sweet.”

Two weeks before that, Elphaba was sitting in the front of a lecture hall, students all head down, frantically writing in blue books while they took a midterm. Elphaba had pulled the short straw among the department faculty and had to proctor the exam. She had long since finished grading her own students' papers and now flipped pages of the novel she was working through, checking her watch every few minutes, wanting very much to be out of the exam room herself.

Abruptly, the door swung open and every head in the room picked up to see what the disturbance was.

Glinda stuck her head into the room, somehow not seeing the sea of undergraduate test-takers, “Elphaba,” she said, too loud for the silence of the room. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She moved to more fully enter the lecture hall and Elphaba was too surprised by the intrusion to stop her until she had nearly reached Elphaba’s desk.

The green woman stood finally, cutting off whatever Glinda’s next sentence was going to be. “Glinda.” She whispered sternly, eyes wide, and gesturing to the rows and rows of students who had stopped the scratch of pencil on paper to stare at the blonde interruption.

“Oh,” she said, so very quietly, as her gaze cast out across the rest of the room, realizing her mistake.

Elphaba placed a hand at the small of Glinda’s back and ushered her back to the door she had just entered from, calling quietly over her shoulder to her students, “I’ll be right back - do not cheat while I’m gone. I will know.”

A few people snickered, but shortly, everyone returned to their work, and Elphaba pushed Glinda out the door and into the hall, letting the door click closed behind her.

Glinda wore a grimaced apology on her face. “I am so sorry,” she said sincerely.

“What are you doing here?” Elphaba asked, intending to be stern but finding it difficult not to laugh at Glinda’s expression.

“I wanted to see if you were free for lunch and you weren’t answering your phone,” Glinda explained.

“Oh god,” Elphaba said, hand trying to smooth the crease at her brow. “I left my phone in my desk so it wouldn’t go off during the exam.” She checked her watch. “This should be over in like an hour. Do you want to hang out in my office and then grab a drink after work?”

Glinda nodded with a smile that could blind and Elphaba pointed her down the hallway to her unlocked office before she slipped back into the lecture hall, shaking her head affectionately at the blonde.

The day after the gym episode, Elphaba texts Milla.

Elphaba: Hey, is Glinda just like showing up places? Without warning?

Milla: yes!

Milla: I thought I was going insane but she’s come over to my flat unannounced like 3 times recently

Milla: not that that’s an issue, it’s just different. Unlike her

Elphaba: Yeah, she’s been doing it to me, too.

Milla: I think our girl needs a job

Elphaba: Or a hobby, at the bare minimum.

Elphaba: Thanks, Mills. Glad I’m not the only one who sees it.

Milla: I got you. Let’s grab a beer soon, I haven’t seen ya in a second

_________

Elphaba realizes that showing Glinda exactly where her perpetually unlocked office is located was, perhaps, a bad idea.

She’s just finished up an undergraduate seminar on US intervention in Latin American politics and is walking back to her office with an over-eager second-year student. They’re discussing the reading for next week as Elphaba shoulders her way into her office, only to find that it’s already occupied. 

“Upland?” She asks, surprise lacing her voice.

Glinda grins up at her from where she had settled herself in Elphaba’s desk chair. “Hi,” she says brightly.

They gaze at each other for a beat, Elphaba trying to decide if she’s more concerned by this new pattern of behavior or if she’s just happy to see her wife in her space. It’s probably a bit of both, she decides.

“Dr. Thropp?” A voice behind her reminds Elphaba that her student, Manek, is still lingering behind her.

She clears her throat, stepping from the doorway. “Sorry,” she says to him. “Uh - Manek, this is my wife, Glinda, whom I was not expecting to be here,” she smiles as she says it, letting Glinda know she’s not actually annoyed with her unforeseen presence. “Glinda, this is Manek, who is a student of mine.”

Glinda nods and says hello back while Elphaba searches her bookshelf for the book she had promised to lend to Manek.

The boy speaks up while Elphaba scans her shelves. “Are you… the footballer?” He asks, eyeing Glinda somewhat suspiciously.

Glinda just laughs graciously, still seated behind Elphaba’s desk. “Yes, I used to play for Arsenal,” she admits.

“Yeah, and she captained the US team for like seven years. No big deal or anything,” Elphaba jokes, looking over her shoulder with a dangerous smirk.

“Didn’t you win the World Cup?” Glinda just nods, still smiling. “And the Olympics?” He asks.

Elphaba stretches up, finding the book she had been looking for. “Twice,” she answers for Glinda, back still turned.

Manek whistles appreciatively. “That’s so cool,” he says, taking the book Elphaba holds out for him now.

“It’s pretty cool,” Glinda agrees. “What do you study?” She asks, genuinely interested.

“Political Science,” he confirms. “Dr. Thropp is my advisor.” He turns back to Elphaba, “How did I not know you were married to an Olympian?”

Elphaba laughs, loud and true, “I don’t know, Manek. It’s not a secret.”

“That’s dope,” he says, looking between Glinda and Elphaba with an open smile.

“She’s got more medals than I do,” Glinda says nonchalantly, eyebrow raised at Elphaba.

Elphaba watches her students' eyes widen. “What?” He asks, caught entirely unaware.

“Okay, how do you not know that?” Elphaba asks him jokingly.

Elphaba finds that most of her students tend to know about her previous career. She only retired two years ago, so during much of her tenure, she was still actively training and going to comps, flying off to various international races and calling in substitute teachers. The newer students and those who don’t care about Track & Field or sprinting or American star athletes are less aware that she’s an Olympic medalist. It’s not a secret, but Elphaba tends not to talk about it with students, wanting them to respect her as an academic more than a once-famous sprinter.

But occasionally, there are moments like this, when a student first learns of her athletic achievements. Elphaba never got used to being famous, even when she was at the height of her career, and so even now blushes furiously in her office as Manek learns about her array of Olympic medals.

“You?” Manek asks unbelievingly.

“I know,” Elphaba laughs at his expression, throwing her hands up. “Hard to believe.”

“Hardly,” Glinda cuts in, pointing at her wife, “She has four Olympic medals and like a dozen World Championship wins.”

Elphaba averts her gaze, rubbing at the back of her neck in embarrassment. “I mean, that’s an exaggeration - it’s not —”

Glinda cuts her off, “She’s being humble. She’s literally one of the most accomplished sprinters of all time.”

“Glinda,” Elphaba says in a low, warning voice.

The blonde pretends to look sorry but smiles widely, “We’ve embarrassed her, Manek. Just Google her when you leave here - she’s very fast.”

The boy's mouth hangs open as he watches the two former athletes volley jokes and compliments at each other. “This is the coolest day of my life,” he says with awe and both women dissolve into laughter again.

“Okay,” Elphaba says finally. “Let me know what you think about that,” she points at the book in his hands, “and I’ll see you next week.”

“Nice to meet you, Manek,” Glinda says as the student turns to leave.

“You too, Ms. Upland.”

Glinda groans and drops her head dramatically onto Elphaba’s desk, “Do not call me that.”

Manek is already halfway out the door but Elphaba can see his anxious expression and calls after him, “She’s fine, just insane. Bye, Manek.”

Elphaba swings the door closed behind him, leaning against it as she turns to face her wife. “Hello, lover,” she says with a smirk. “What brings you to the hallowed halls of the PoliSci department?”

Glinda flashes a fatal smile, coming around and perching on the edge of the large desk strewn with papers and notebooks and at least three empty mugs. “Obviously, I am here to be ravaged on your desk,” she says, arms outstretched.

“Hard pass,” Elphaba says, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing but stepping forward into Glinda’s orbit. Something about her, even when joking, is entirely irresistible. Glinda lets a hand fall to the unbuttoned collar of Elphaba’s shirt, tracing along the edge of the fabric, across the jut of a collarbone.

Glinda tuts, “You used to be more fun.”

“I used to have a door that locked,” Elphaba counters, though she knows that it wouldn’t take too much more convincing before she was found in a compromising position.

“That didn’t stop you that one time in Brazil —”

Elphaba leans in and kisses the blonde sharply, stopping her midsentence, “I recall - thank you, G.” Glinda just giggles, releasing her hold on Elphaba’s shirt and letting her step out from between her knees. The green woman gives her a narrow-eyed look but begins gathering a handful of papers and a book, tossing it all in her bag. “Come on,” she says, holding a hand out, “take a walk with me.”

_________

The high November sun cuts through the worst of the chill in the air, Elphaba content to throw a wool coat over her blazer and hand off her heavy jacket to Glinda, who now walks along the canal next to her, drowning in the fabric.

“You look tiny,” Elphaba muses, glancing over at her wife. “I mean, you are tiny but you look exceptionally little right now.”

“Are you being mean or is that a compliment?”

“Neither, just a fact,” Elphaba says plainly. “You’re very cute.”

Glinda hums, quiet for a moment before piping up again, “And by the way, I’m 5’7”, that’s well above average height. You’re just a skyscraper of a woman.”

Elphaba gives her a pointed once-over, gaze lingering on the oversized jacket dwarfing the blonde. “Whatever you say, babe,” she placates sarcastically.

They amble down the path alongside the canal, houseboats bobbing against their moorings, smoke wafting up from their small chimneys, almost invisible in the pale sunlight, birds calling from the reeds. Elphaba worries her bottom lip between her teeth, needing to talk to Glinda about her unsustainable retirement plan of just wandering around London aimlessly, but being congizant of needing to approach the topic lightly.

“Something’s bothering you,” Glinda says. It’s a fact. She’s always been able to read Elphaba in ways that the green woman isn’t even sure she understands herself. That’s what it is to love someone, isn’t it? Elphaba thinks. To be known in ways that are utterly unknowable?

“Not bothering, per se,” Elphaba stalls.

“Here,” Glinda pulls her off the path and into the park, “Let’s sit somewhere not freezing and talk about it.”

The blonde buys Elphaba an iced coffee (“Iced? Are you serious? You’re a maniac, Elphie,” Glinda had said.) and holds her own warm cup between two hands.

“So,” Glinda begins, “What’s ‘not bothering’ you?” Elphaba reaches across the table to grab one of Glinda’s hands but is swatted away, “Absolutely not, your hands are freezing. And you’re starting to worry me. What’s wrong?”

Elphaba sighs. “I talked to Milla the other day,” she starts. “She said she’s been seeing a lot of you.”

Glinda’s face morphs into one of utter confusion, but she laughs regardless. “I am not having an affair with Milla, if that’s what you’re trying to imply.”

“Jesus, Glin, I know,” Elphaba says with a shake of her head, trying to find the right balance between concerned and supportive. “She said you’ve popped by her place a few times recently. And you keep showing up on campus, or outside the gym.” Elphaba holds up a hand when Glinda tries to interject, “I’m not upset about that,” she says quickly before Glinda can spiral. “I like it, I like seeing you when I don’t expect to. I’m just worried about you.”

“Worried how?” Glinda asks, voice suddenly small.

Elphaba barely knows where to start but opens her mouth and hopes she finds her point somewhere along the way. “You just lost something hugely important to you - maybe the most important thing ever,” she says. “And I know you’ve worked through a lot of the emotions that came with your retirement but not only have you lost the thing you’re most passionate about, but you’ve lost the thing that takes up actual hours of your day.” Elphaba’s hands dance in the air between them as she gesticulates. “I’m worried that you’re unmoored and trying to fill your days with meaningful things without knowing how.”

Glinda blinks up at her slowly, brow furrowed.

Elphaba continues, “And I’m not saying that you have to go out and get a normal, lame-person job like I did. But I do think you need some kind of avenue, something to pursue that you like. Take up painting! Or start a podcast or a clothing company or coach a minor league team if you want. I don’t think it matters what you do. You have such a dogged personality that to be left without anything to do is probably bad for you.”

Glinda watches her quietly for a long moment. “Have you been talking to Larena?”

Elphaba startles at the segue. “What? Not about this. She sent me a photo of a bird she saw yesterday but that’s it.”

“A bird?”

“Yeah, somehow she’s under the impression that I really like birds, or maybe she just really likes birds? I don’t understand it, but I adore her so I pretend to be into birds for her.”

“I would love to come back to the bird thing at some point but no, that’s actually not what I’m talking about,” Glinda digresses. “She called me last week and said basically the exact same thing. That I need an outlet, that having literally nothing to fill my day isn’t good for me.” Glinda gives Elphaba a slightly sad smile. “Seems as though you both know me fairly well.”

Elphaba breathes a sigh of relief, standing from the table and pulling Glinda back into the park, walking slowly around the man-made lake. “And I mean it, I’m not annoyed by the surprise visits, they’re delightful. I just think it might be an indication that you need direction in your life.”

“I know,” Glinda concedes. “I know, I feel it too. Sorry I made you slap me around in order to understand it. I just think I’m still in denial a bit, I’m hoping that I’ll miraculously recover and be the athlete I once was.”

Elphaba nods knowingly, lovingly. “It’s hard.”

“It’s insanely hard,” Glinda agrees with a mirthless laugh. “But I know I made the right decision. Every passing day is a testament to that, as much as I hate to admit it.”

“What do you mean?” Elphaba asks, sipping her drink.

Glinda looks away, casts her gaze across the park. “It’s not the same as the first time. I felt myself healing and getting stronger and getting back into form but something about this second tear, this second surgery, even if I was trying to get back, I don’t think I’d be able to. It just feels different.”

Elphaba doesn’t respond, just looks at Glinda’s profile, breath fogging in the cold air.

“I’ve been thinking about it since my mom called. I meant to talk to you about it sooner, but you know, I was still harboring delusions of grandeur, of coming back.”

“I don’t think that’s delusional,” Elphaba says softly, “I just think grandeur might look a little different than what you’re used to.”

Glinda nods, coming to stand at the edge of the water. “I think you’re right.” She looks up at Elphaba, eyes filled with adoration. “Have I told you recently how much I love you?”

Elphaba cracks a soft, private smile, one that was tailor-made for the girl next to her, “Yes,” she says, almost bashful, “but I could stand to hear it again.”

“I love you very much, Elphaba Thropp. Don’t let it get to your head.”

“It’s Upland-Thropp and I love you, too.” Elphaba wraps an arm around her shoulders as Glinda leans heavily into her. “Let’s go home.”

_________

A few days later, Elphaba wakes up alone.

They’re both early risers, but Elphaba is almost always up and brewing a pot of coffee before Glinda even makes an appearance, eyes narrowed with sleep, hair mussed. Even when Glinda does wake up before Elphaba, she always stays in bed, warming the space next to her, until Elphaba blinks awake to bright blue eyes.

So it’s strange to wake to an empty bed.

Elphaba fumbles for her glasses and, not finding them on the bedside table, walks slowly downstairs as if underwater. Glinda is sitting at the table, laptop open, typing furiously. She has Elphaba’s glasses perched on the top of her head. The blonde doesn’t even look up as Elphaba enters and she can’t tell if it’s because Glinda doesn’t notice her or just simply doesn’t care.

“Are you wearing my glasses?” The green woman asks, squinting.

Glinda’s head snaps up to where Elphaba stands in the doorway. “Yes. Sorry,” she says, taking the glasses off and handing them to her wife. “I thought they would make me smarter,” she explains as if it makes perfect sense.

“Did they?” Elphaba wipes away a smudge on the lens with her t-shirt before placing the glasses on her own face.

“Unfortunately, not. I always wondered if that was your secret weapon but turns out you’re just smart on your own.”

Elphaba has to work at not rolling her eyes at Glinda’s antics. “Why do you need to be smart at… 6 in the morning?” She asks, checking her watch, leaning her hip against the table next to Glinda’s laptop.

Her wife looks up at her with a type of fierceness that Elphaba hasn’t seen in a while. “I think I’m figuring it out,” she says. “I still have a reach, a following. Somehow, I’m still popular even though I retired.”

“Baby, being retired doesn’t mean you suddenly don’t matter,” Elphaba interrupts, voice stern, trying to dispel Glinda’s doubts. “You’re always going to be popular because you’re talented and funny and smart and very hot and everyone is always a little bit in love with you.”

“Flatterer,” Glinda quips. “But now let me talk.” She takes a deep breath before launching into whatever had dragged her out of bed before dawn. “I still have a reach. If I can’t play football, I want to use that for something else, something good.” Elphaba nods along. “But I don’t know anything except football. So, how do I use my following and football to do something good?”

She stops talking and Elphaba realizes she’s supposed to answer the question. “I don’t know, G. How do you?”

“I didn’t know either but I think I’m getting somewhere,” she says. “I think it has to be public-facing, that’s where the popularity thing comes into play.” Elphaba is trying her best to comprehend and asks no follow-up questions in order to keep Glinda on track, as easily distractible as she is. “What I’m trying to say is that I think I should start some kind of media group - a podcast or a web series that highlights women’s football or even women’s sports as a whole and use the revenue from adverts to invest back into that community. To create an organization that gives girls and young women the tools to pursue sports professionally.” She catches her breath and watches Elphaba watch her. “I think it will be a lot of work but I don’t think it will be hard.”

Elphaba just nods, absorbing everything Glinda’s just told her. “Okay,” she says slowly. “How can I help?”

Glinda’s smile could outshine the sun.

_________

The next several months are spent talking to investors, gathering with sponsorships, Glinda takes online courses on video and sound editing and decides that she’s terrible at it, so she spends time interviewing and hiring an editor.

Elphaba chats with some of the women she was on the circuit with, asks if they’d be willing to be guests on the podcast.

Glinda spends long hours on the phone with Milla and Sarima, wanting to know if they have the capacity to co-host with her. Ultimately, neither are able to commit full-time as they still have club contracts and now serve as the face of the National Team. But both are enthusiastic about being able to host when their schedules allow.

Glinda hangs up the phone one day, Milla letting her down gently. Saying, “You remember what it’s like, Glin, the schedule, the pressure. I want you to succeed, I want to do this with you, but I can’t promise any kind of consistency, and that seems unfair.”

It makes sense, even if Glinda is slightly disappointed by the reality of it.

So she hangs up the phone, looks across the kitchen to Elphaba and says, “I think it should be you.”

“What should be me?” Elphaba asks distractedly as she hands Glinda a glass of wine and pours a beer for herself.

“You should host it with me.”

Elphaba pauses mid-pour. “Me?”

“Yeah, Elphie. People like you. They like us together.”

Elphaba shakes her head, putting the can down. “I have zero on-camera charisma. Remember that interview?”

Glinda rolls her eyes, “Baby, that was so long ago and every interview you’ve done since then has been normal. Relatively.”

“I just - why me?” She asks earnestly.

Glinda steps into her space, tilts her chin with two delicate fingers until Elphaba meets her gaze. “Because I want it to be you,” she says plainly. “We have good chemistry, people like us already. And you bring something different to the table.”

“What on earth could I bring to the table? ‘Here’s Elphaba Thropp, who had a successful but insanely short career and now works in higher education.’ That can’t possibly help your ratings.”

Glinda surges up on her toes and kisses Elphaba firmly, solidly. “I value your perspective,” Glinda says when she pulls back. “Also, no one on earth watches sports more than you do. You’re well-prepared. I want it to be you.”

“Alright,” Elphaba acquiesces with a slow nod. “But I reserve the right to say ‘told you so’ when it crashes and burns because your co-host isn’t as hot as you are.”

Glinda rests her forehead against Elphaba’s shoulder. “If only you knew the number of video montages people still make of you.”

Elphaba throws her head back, barking a sharp laugh into the air. “And do you watch these video montages, pray tell?”

“Duh,” Glinda jokes, pulling away and stepping back across the kitchen to her abandoned glass of wine. “I have a whole folder in my phone. How do you think I got through all those cold, lonely nights when you were off at some comp?”

“Don’t be crass, Upland.”

“I’m not. So, you’ll do it?”

Elphaba finds, as always, that she is virtually incapable of saying no to Glinda. Especially when she looks at her like this, open and slightly vulnerable and filled with a certain excitement that Elphaba would never dream of crushing.

“Of course. If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Glinda confirms.

“Alright, then. I’m in.”

_________

“Hello and welcome to the inaugural episode of The Up & Up!” Glinda chirps from across the room, situated in front of a small video camera and a microphone. “This is super exciting. I’m Glinda Upland, and we have with us the world’s favorite woman and our esteemed co-host,  Elphaba Thropp.”

“The world’s favorite woman?” Elphaba asks, laughing.

“Well, I didn’t take a poll but I can imagine you’re in the top ten most universally well-liked women on earth,” Glinda teases. “Anyway! Thropp, tell us a bit about this project.”

“Sure thing,” Elphaba says, glad to have some direction. “The Up & Up is a brand new media platform geared specifically towards women's sports - people who play, watch, enjoy women's sports in any way. It’s all happening here. Upland and I are both women and were both athletes at one point, so we figured that qualified us to speak on the subject.”

“Correct,” Glinda cuts in. “We have a whole season of content with some very exceptional athletes who have agreed to chat with us about their work and their lives and their hot takes when it comes to women’s sports.”

“Because Upland is the coolest person of all time, she’s just announced the launch of an organization that operates alongside The Up & Up. All the money raised by the podcast and merch sales will go directly to supporting women-focused athletic collectives in underfunded communities.” She feels herself grinning widely. Elphaba finds that she suddenly loves being able to highlight the work her wife is doing in this public forum. It’s been a few years since she retired and, in that time, she hasn’t had the same platform, hasn’t kept up her social media presence, so now that she’s being thrust back into the limelight to some degree, she’s glad she gets to do it on her terms and be able to sing Glinda’s praises at the same time.

The rest of the episode goes well, Elphaba thinks. They record about an hour of footage and then Glinda sends it off to her new intern/editor. They get the polished clip back the following week and Elphaba stands behind Glinda’s chair as she uploads it, watching the loading bar creep closer and closer to one hundred percent.

The response is immediate.

@rightsidestrongside: can’t believe this took so many years. what a great concept and so excited to see more!

@heart-thropp: didn’t realize how much we’d missed these gay idots omg

@an_okay_time: obsessed w this

@woso99: lol at them calling each other by their last names. As though they're colleagues and haven't been married for years.

@gaylindaupland: god is smiling upon us this day they’re so fucking perfect together

_________

The camera blinks up at her again.

“Welcome back to The Up & Up, I’m the show's namesake, Glinda Upland, and as always, our astonishing co-host, the only woman to win three Olympic gold medals but never set an Olympic record: Elphaba Thropp.”

“Okay, I feel like you probably could have run that intro by me. Thanks, I guess,” Elphaba blinks, laughing. “What’s our topic of the day, G?”

“We’re talking about something that sucks! Retirement. We’ve both done it, some of us were more normal about it than others, some of us went lightly insane, and we’re going to chat about all of that, whether you want us to or not.”

“This has been a topic of conversation in our household a lot these days. In fact, this whole series is a direct result of Upland’s retirement. Talk us through that choice,” Elphaba invites.

Glinda nods, “You’re right. I, obviously, was forced into what many would consider a somewhat early retirement for a footballer. If you’re new here, I tore my ACL a second time last spring and realized there was no coming back from that, not at the caliber that was required to play professionally, at least. So my retirement was a surprise to everyone, myself included. And let’s just say, I did not handle it well. Would you agree?”

“At the risk of getting in trouble later, I would have to say that you did not handle it well at all,” Elphaba says with a sincere smile. “We figured it out eventually, which is what matters, but there were definitely a lot of hard moments. You didn’t have the luxury of planning a retirement, figuring out what came after soccer, until abruptly you were thrust into a part of your life that was suddenly ‘after-soccer.’”

“You’re right, and I also think you’re maybe giving me too much grace. I was a disaster for a while.”

“That’s to be expected, G,” Elphaba says, looking across the room where Glinda had her own mic set up, gazing at her with so much affection it feels almost visible in the air around them.

“Elphaba, you have to look into your own camera,” Glinda chastises.

“Sorry, sorry. Glinda wanted this to appear professional so she’s making us pretend we’re not on opposite sides of the same room,” Elphaba chuckles.

“Anyway,” Glinda digresses, “I struggled with the abruptness of my transition out of professional sports. I found myself without soccer for the first time since I was a child and I was totally adrift. But Elphaba called me ‘dogged' and then suggested I pursue something I was passionate about which was the kick in the pants I needed to stop moping around.”

“Some amount of moping is healthy. But I’m glad you found this, I’m glad you’re finding the things that matter to you off the pitch. Sometimes it takes a while,” Elphaba says softly.

Glinda nods. “Sometimes it takes a while and sometimes it happens well before retirement, as in your case. Say more.”

“Yeah, well, I had a completely opposite experience when it comes to athletic career,” Elphaba admits. “I never actually thought I would be any good as a sprinter. My first Olympic bid was laughably terrible, so I didn’t start racing internationally until I was like 25 and then it all happened really quickly after that.”

“What happened quickly?” Glinda asks. “Your unprecedented and meteoric rise to fame?”

“That’s being much too generous, but essentially, yes.” Elphaba can feel herself blushing. “I did well in the 2024 Worlds and the subsequent Olympics and then I retired after the 2028 Olympics. My career was basically four years long.”

“But what an impressive four years.”

“And so, because I never banked on making it big as an athlete, I had a backup option. And honestly, half the reason I went to grad school was because it allowed me to keep running at Harvard, which is where my coach was based. I just got lucky and ended up being good enough at academia to make it a secondary career. I had this sort of built-in safety net.”

“But that was, in some ways, more difficult,” Glinda counters.

“How do you mean?”

“Just that the entire time you were active, were operating as a world-class athlete, you were also getting your master's degree from Harvard. Or working full-time as a professor,” Glinda explains. “Most of us were just allowed to be athletes but you were doing two incredibly demanding things simultaneously.”

Elphaba isn’t totally sure what she expected when she committed to doing this podcast with her wife, but it certainly wasn’t this: an hour of throwing compliments at each other from across the room and then publishing it for whoever was interested enough to watch.

Glinda continues. “So what does post-retirement from professional sports look like for Elphaba Thropp?” She asks.

“Well,” the green woman starts, “it’s been two plus years at this point. At first, I was really restless, just physically. I mean, I went from training for hours a day to nothing, and my body wasn’t used to the stagnancy. I had to take up running and biking and going to the gym as a hobby instead of as a requirement. But now, I’ve settled into my life. Sometimes I miss the competitive edge that sprinting provided, but mostly I’m happy. Really happy.”

Glinda presses her lips together to try to keep a smile at bay. “Good,” she says evenly. “Me too. Or at least, I’m getting there.”

They look at one another for a beat and Elphaba absently hopes their prolonged gaze will be edited out. She finally finds her voice again, “So,” she clears her throat, “What’s next for the esteemed Glinda Upland?”

Glinda spreads her arms and laughs, “You’re looking at it, babyyy!” She sing-songs the last word and Elphaba tosses her head back with a hearty laugh. “But really,” she sobers slightly, “I’m doing this. I’m talking about sports with my wife and raising money so more women and girls can participate in sports. That’s pretty cool, I think.”

“It’s very cool,” Elphaba agrees.

“Now, listen to these ads so we can make that sponsorship money, and then we’ll be back to chat with the captain of the US rugby team. I love my job!” Glinda signs off.

_________

“Elphaba has a sister,” Glinda says into the microphone.

“Yep,” the green woman confirms, not entirely sure what Glinda’s about to say, but she had received feedback from their editor that Elphaba needs to be more communicative and not let Glinda monologue as often during their podcast sessions.

“Nessrose,” Glinda says. “We know her, we love her, she’ll be a guest on The Up & Up next week.”

Elphaba nods, still not understanding. “Correct.”

“Elphaba, what’s it like having a sister?”

“Um. Shouldn’t we discuss that next week when my sister is here to defend herself?”

Glinda huffs. “Answer the question, Thropp.”

“What’s it like having a sister? For the most part, delightful. Nessa is a world-class athlete as well; she has three Olympic medals under her belt in archery. She’s whip smart and impossible to fool. She’s my sister - I adore her.”

Glinda continues and Elphaba silently hopes whatever she says next will make more sense. “Sounds nice,” she says. “I wouldn’t know because I do not have a sister.”

“We know. You’re very obviously an only child,” Elphaba teases.

“I resent that,” Glinda deadpans. “I may not have a biological sister, but I do have something you don’t, Elphaba. I have a Sarima.”

Ah, Elphaba thinks, now this makes some amount of sense. The taller woman laughs, “I would also like to think I have a Sarima, but looking at our seating arrangement, it’s clear that she is yours and yours alone.”

It’s true, partially. Sarima was sitting on the couch next to Glinda, sporting a shit-eating grin, the blonde’s arm tossed affectionately over the younger player's shoulder. Elphaba was kept at bay across the room, Glinda maintaining that it looked more professional to have a split screen for the web series element of the podcast.

Glinda smirks, “Correct. Dear viewers, this is America’s very own star forward and my favorite pseudo-sister of all time. Sarima, introduce yourself.”

She leans forward into Glinda’s mic, “Hello.”

“Profound stuff from the kid,” Glinda teases. “Thropp, I’m not sure if sprinting works this way but Sarima here was my first real rookie. Obviously, she is no longer a rookie but she was the first teammate that I took under my wing, so to speak.”

Elphaba hums. “Track doesn’t necessarily operate like that, simply for the fact that it’s not a team sport. There are definitely friendships among runners, especially if you have the same coach or team, but ultimately, we’re all trying to beat each other,” she explains. “Sarima, what was it like joining the national team when you did, just before the Olympics?” Elphaba asks, bringing their friend and current podcast guest into the conversation.

Sarima laughs lightly, “It was insanely nerve-racking. I had been to a couple camps and gotten a few caps to my name before the 2024 Olympics and I knew most of the girls on the team but holy shit, nothing can prepare you for that kind of pressure. Neither Upland nor I were on that World Cup squad that lost the year before so we really felt like we had something to prove at those games.”

“And prove something you did,” Glinda interjects. “Do you remember any of your stats from Paris?”

Sarima looks wide-eyed, shaking her head. “Hardly. I think I had three or four goals over the course of the tournament?”

Glinda points to Elphaba, “Elphie is our numbers girl here.”

“Sarima, you played all but 47 minutes of the entire tournament, scored four goals, and assisted on three more,” Elphaba announces with a beaming smile.

“Damn,” the girl says, clearly impressed with her younger self. “What were Upland’s numbers?”

Elphaba types quickly, “Um… let’s see. Okay, Upland scored six goals, assisted on two, and played all but… 19 minutes.” Sarima whistles.

“But also, remember that I was captain of the team at this point, one would expect numbers like that from me. Those are insane stats for a rookie,” Glinda reminds her.

“What stands out to you most about your first years on the National Team?” Elphaba asks, going off script but genuinely curious. She knows Sarima well but rarely do they all talk so candidly about their jobs, especially the non-technical aspects of being an athlete, which, Elphaba supposes, is exactly what this project is designed to do.

“It was hard. So much harder than playing club. But it was also more rewarding,” Sarima says honestly. “I loved working that hard, surrounded by other people who also loved it. And I do, genuinely, feel lucky that I ended up opposite you, G,” she says, nudging her former teammate with her shoulder. “I didn’t say it enough at the time, but playing across from you, learning from you, being yelled at by you, it all made me a better player and maybe even a better person.”

Glinda is turned to face Sarima, her smile, previously bright with joy, was tempered by something close to wistfulness. She takes a sharp breath, “If I respond to that, I will start weeping, so we’re just going to move on,” Glinda says, trying to blink away the emotion lodged in her throat.

Sarima tucks herself back into Glinda’s side in a way that Elphaba can only describe as, yes, sisterly. She loves watching them interact, always has. There’s something about Sarima that brings out a different kind of care and affection in Glinda. It’s clear to Elphaba that her wife feels a certain responsibility for Sarima, or did at one point, and the echo of that responsibility hasn’t fully faded.

“Okay, next question,” Glinda announces with a faint smirk rising on her lips. “How does that armband feel?” She asks pointedly.

Sarima drops her head into her hands for a split second, emerging again with an astounded sort of laugh. “It feels so incredibly weird, Glin. I honestly don’t know how you did it for so long,” she admits. “It sometimes feels like it’s about to crush me.”

Glinda smiles warmly, “I just want you to know that it never, ever gets easier.” All three women bark out a short laugh. “I mean it, unfortunately,” Glinda continues. “The crest is heavy enough as is - Thropp, I know that’s a feeling you understand, too. But the captain's armband on top of that? Crazy.”

Sarima nods, “It is crazy. Every time I put it on, I have this massive spike of anxiety and the only way I can calm myself down, talk myself out of that feeling, is by telling myself, ‘If Glinda Upland can do this for seven years, I can do this for one match.’ And so far it’s worked.”

Glinda’s shaking her head, “This is supposed to be a podcast about sports, not the ‘flatter your friend’ hour.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth,” Sarima says plainly. She swings her gaze away from her former teammate and toward Elphaba. “Thropp, you have been awfully quiet.”

Elphaba raises her hands in apology. “I got caught up watching you two be sappy about your friendship,” she says before turning back to her own camera set-up. “Let the record state that, while she is not my little sister, I adore Sarima endlessly. But I do have one major beef with her.”

“Which is?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sarima got me the drunkest I have ever been after the LA Olympics and I haven’t forgiven her for that hangover,” Elphaba says matter-of-factly.

Sarima throws her hands up in mock frustration, “That was years ago and entirely your fault!”

Glinda cuts in, “I’m so glad I started a podcast so I can listen to them argue about this again.”

“And, you know what, Thropp,” Sarima is still going, finger pointed accusingly at Elphaba across the room, “you better get ready for another hangover because, unbeknownst to you both, I am here to celebrate.”

The couple both give Sarima the same look.

A wicked grin spreads across her face. “I’m not in London just to visit you two retired old ladies, I am here because I just signed a contract with Chelsea.”

Glinda takes exactly one second to stare slack-jawed at her friend before she jumps off the couch and pulls Sarima into a bruising embrace that resembles a crazed goal celebration more than it does an actual hug.

“Drinks on me, I suppose,” Elphaba says with a deep grin before cutting off the camera.

_________

It’s several more weeks of chaos, of taping new segments and social media campaigns and Elphaba still having to do her real job, before things settle down for them. After Elphaba finishes off the semester, she takes Glinda out to dinner in Marylebone and lets her lean an exhausted head on her shoulder on the tube ride home.

They’re in bed later that evening, Glinda’s hands scratching hypnotic patterns against Elphaba’s scalp, her head resting against Glinda’s chest, a toned green leg thrown haphazardly across her hips.

They’ve done this a thousand times. They’ll do it thousands more. Elphaba knows it will never get old.

The hand at the base of her skull stops its ministrations. “Do you remember what you said when we got married?” Glinda asks all of a sudden. Elphaba can hear the way her brow wrinkles, which shouldn’t make sense but somehow it does. She knows Glinda without even having to think about it, like when you hear the beginning of the next song on your favorite record before the first one is even over.

“Be more specific, love.”

“When you knocked on the door and told me you had ‘lived a particularly charmed life.’” Glinda recalls.

Elphaba nods against her chest. “I remember.”

“I think I finally understand what you mean.” Elphaba lets the sentiment hang in the air, letting Glinda fill the silence with meaning if she wants to. “I always thought it was soccer that made my life so special,” she says, voice gilded with vulnerability. “Turns out it was just the people that soccer allowed me to meet. All the exceptional people I played against and next to. All the people who coached me and supported me and cheered for me. The community it’s given me. That's the charm of it.”

Elphaba listens to Glinda’s heart beat in her chest, steady and sure and true. Glinda’s hand comes to brush against Elphaba’s cheek, and Elphaba tilts her head to lay a kiss to the center of Glinda’s palm.

“And you, mostly,” she finishes.

Chapter Text

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil - July 2027

Glinda: come over

Elphie: You’re insane.

Glinda: i mean it

Glinda: come over

Glinda: pls

Elphie: Don’t you have to play a World Cup semi-final very soon?

Glinda: yes and ill be so much better at it if you come over and help me relax

Elphaba doesn’t respond for a moment and Glinda tosses her phone aside. Leave it to Elphaba Thropp to be responsible and un-fun, Glinda thinks with an affectionate huff. The sprinter isn’t wrong; the USWNT is on the doorstep of playing in the semi-final of the World Cup. It’s no small feat. But Glinda finds herself alone in a hotel room, trying to calm her brain and body after a gripping win against England in the quarters earlier in the day. There’s always a buzz rippling just under her skin after winning a match; that’s the addictive part of soccer for her.

Though she knows it will be the one match of the tournament in which the US isn’t a fan favorite, she’s not even particularly nervous to be facing Brazil in the semi-finals in a couple days. The preparation has been done, the team has been working towards this since the end of the Paris Olympics. So, Glinda reasons, sneaking her girlfriend into the team hotel won’t actually distract her from her job. But it might just help quiet the racing thoughts, the leftover excitement from the game.

Her phone buzzes again, finally.

Elphie: Fine. Be there in 15.

Too easy, Glinda thinks.

Ten minutes later, there's a soft knock at the door. Glinda pulls Elphaba inside quickly, hoping no one on her coaching staff happened to be wandering the halls as her impossible-to-miss girlfriend ducks into her room.

“Hi,” Elphaba says, grin flashing bright and easy. Glinda’s knees go a little weak every time, even years later.

The blonde doesn’t respond, just surges forward and grasps Elphaba’s sharp jaw, pulling her into a messy kiss. Elphaba lets out a short laugh against her mouth but responds instantly, arm circling Glinda’s waist, hand settling at the base of her spine. Glinda bites softly at Elphaba’s bottom lip.

“Bed,” she murmurs, voice coming out raspier than she intended. Elphaba nods, mouth at Glinda’s neck, and slowly pulls her further into the room. The sprinter's knees hit the edge of the bed and Glinda gives her a playful shove until she falls back into the sheets with a soft huff. Glinda takes a moment to look at her girlfriend, splayed out as Glinda stands over her, Elphaba’s shirt riding up slightly, thin swath of skin visible above the waistband of her low-slung shorts.

The hum of anticipation pulses through the room, silenced only by Elphaba’s quiet smile as she brings her hands to rest casually behind her head. Glinda leans over her and presses her mouth against the exposed skin at Elphaba’s hip. The green woman squirms below her. Glinda works her way up, pushing the fabric of Elphaba’s shirt up as she goes, leaving open-mouthed kisses to her stomach and ribs.

She pulls Elphaba’s shirt over her head and kisses her hard, all teeth and tongue, letting the high intensity, high energy of the day bleed into the bedroom.

“God, I love when you get like this,” Elphaba half-laughs, breathless.

“Like what?” Glinda mutters, nosing at the corner of her sharp jaw, hands under Elphaba’s bra.

Elphaba’s voice is filled to the brim with reverence. “You have all this extra energy to burn up. It’s hot.”

Glinda hums against her neck, “Is that why you came over?”

“I came over because you asked,” the sprinter said matter-of-factly, as though Glinda’s isn’t currently stradling her waist with her hands on Elphaba’s tits. “That, and,” she continues, voice finally cracking, finally affected by Glinda’s presence, “I find it nearly impossible to say no to you.”

Glinda sucks a bruise into her collarbone. “So… if I asked to wear the strap-on?”

Elphaba raises a perfect eyebrow. “You or me?” She asks, voice low and smooth.

“Me.” It’s not unheard of but it is a reversal of their usual roles. But, as her girlfriend had mentioned, Glinda had energy to burn and there was something about winning this match that set her ablaze in a certain way.

“As long as you don’t pull a muscle again,” Elphaba teases, pushing up to a seated position, Glinda still in her lap.

The blonde sighs dramatically, suppressing a laugh as she stands. “You always say the most romantic things,” Glinda taunts.

Elphaba is propped up, leaning back on her hands, head cocked, watching Glinda shed her clothes and adjust the straps at her hips. “Laugh all you want,” she jokes, “I’m just making sure America’s sweetheart is in perfect working order.”

Glinda finishes and leans back over Elphaba, resting a hand high on her thigh. Mouth against Elphaba’s ear, she whispers, “I am already perfect and I will be even better when you shut up and let me fuck you.” She hears Elphaba gasp lightly. “Now strip,” she demands with a too-sweet smile. “Please.”

Elphaba is naked and underneath her in a matter of moments as Glinda slowly sinks the length of the toy into her. An unholy noise falls from Elphaba’s lips, somewhere between a groan and a gasp and something that sounds suspiciously like Glinda’s name. The blonde finds a similarly desperate sound ripped from her throat at the sight: Elphaba below her, thin luster of sweat across her chest, one leg hooked around Glinda’s hips, pulling her further in. She looks wrecked.

Glinda moves slowly, intentionally, trying not to let the erratic thrust of Elphaba’s hips disrupt the building rhythm. “You look so fucking pretty like this,” Glinda muses, voice rough and low, and Elphaba just gasps sharply, rolling her hips to meet Glinda’s and drawing an echoed moan from the blonde woman. Glinda has one hand braced against the bed next to Elphaba’s head while the other runs teasingly across her jaw, down the slope of her neck, as she pulls her into a deep kiss.

Green hands scrabble along Glinda’s back, trying to pull her impossibly closer. Glinda picks up the pace when she can tell Elphaba’s close and the sprinter moans loudly, Glinda swallowing the sound with a kiss.

“Fuck — G. I’m — please,” Elphaba begs, nearly nonsensical.

Glinda hums, “What do you need, baby?” She asks, tenderness in her voice juxtaposed by the sharp roll of her hips, strap-on buried deep inside of her lover.

“This,” Elphaba pants out. “Don’t stop. You’re fucking perfect.”

“I love you so much,” Glinda murmurs, redoubling her efforts and Elphaba’s gone. Her hands tangle into blonde curls, eyes screwed shut, forehead pressed tightly to Glinda’s, keeping her as close as possible.

It’s a moment before Elphaba takes a breath again. Glinda holds herself over the other woman, watching her catch her breath, watching her eyes blink open slowly, an almost drunken smile breaking out across her face.

“I really love when you get like this,” she whispers reverently. Glinda just huffs out a laugh and pulls out of her girlfriend, who lets out a soft sound at the sudden emptiness. She feels Elphaba’s eyes track her across the room as she removes the straps at her hips. “My turn,” Elphaba says definitively when Glinda turns back to the bed.

“I think you just had your turn, babe.”

“Obviously I mean it’s my turn to fuck you. Get back over here,” Elphaba demands.

“Cute.” Glinda rolls her eyes playfully and saunters back to where Elphaba still lies, hands behind her head, one leg propped up, looking endlessly casual, as though she didn’t just beg for Glinda to fuck her.

Elphaba holds a hand out, which Glinda takes gingerly, throwing her leg back over Elphaba’s hips. Elphaba’s hand skates across her thigh. “I love you,” the green woman says simply.

Glinda smiles down at her, struck time and time again by Elphaba’s candor, her honesty, her genuine adoration. She dips her head, meeting Elphaba’s lips softly.

“You’re so beautiful,” Glinda breathes against her and Elphaba tugs lightly at the back of her thighs.

“Up,” Elphaba commands. “Higher.” Glinda shifts herself forward until her knees are bracketing Elphaba’s head. “Good girl,” Elphaba praises as she begins to pull Glinda’s hips down to meet her mouth.

The hotel room door beeps as it unlocks. “Hey, Upland, have you seen — oh god, what the fuck?!”

Glinda all but jumps off of Elphaba, who turns to cover Glinda’s body with her longer one. “What are you doing here?” Glinda yells at Milla, who still stands in the threshold, hand clasped firmly over her eyes.

“What is she doing here?” Milla asks, still yelling.

“I think it’s pretty fucking clear what she’s doing here!” Glinda shouts back.

Elphaba manages to throw the blanket over them and rolls off of Glinda, sitting up in bed with the sheet clutched to her chest. “Milla, you can open your eyes, I guess,” Elphaba mutters.

“I’m too scared,” the midfielder admits, hand still in place.

“Care to explain why you’re still here?” Glinda grumbles.

“I was trying to see if you still had my phone charger,” Milla explains with an exasperated sigh.

“Uh, yeah,” Glinda says, scanning the room. “It’s in my bag,” she points.

“I’m not opening my eyes.”

“So, what?” Glinda asks. “You want me to get up and hand it to you while I’m buck naked?”

“Definitely not.”

Elphaba interrupts, “Milla, you’re going to have to just let your phone die,” she said matter-of-factly. “Unless you want to see one or both of us naked.”

“I mean…” Milla starts, tone teasing.

Glinda cuts in. “Okay, that’s plenty. I’ll bring you your charger in 30 to 45 minutes,” She promises. “Give or take.”

Milla begins backing out of the room, eyes still slammed shut. “Damn. 45 minutes?”

“Please leave.”

“Just go, Milla.”

“Okay, bye. Have fun, you guys.”

The door clicks shut behind their friend and a pregnant silence permeates the room. Glinda and Elphaba still have the sheet pulled up to their shoulders and Glinda is staring off into some middle distance, lost somewhere between annoyance and embarrassment.

Elphaba breaks the silence first, voice even. “Hey, Glinda?”

“Yes?”

“Quick q.”

“Hit me.”

“Why does Milla have a key to your room?”

Glinda finally swings her gaze back towards Elphaba, propped against the headboard next to her. Elphaba is already looking at her, mouth screwing up as she tries not to smile. Glinda just sighs deeply, “Technically, she is always my roommate but she always stays with our keeper.” Glinda shakes her head slowly. “The key was for emergencies. And also you’re really not supposed to be here.”

Elphaba hums, letting the sheet fall from her chest. “If I recall, someone begged me to come over.”

“Are you complaining?” Glinda purrs.

“A bit,” Elphaba teases with a half-grin. “I didn’t appreciate the interruption.”

Glinda turns until she’s slotted against Elphaba’s side, running a hand down her toned stomach. “Then I suppose we’ll have to pick up where we were,” she says quietly, voice intentionally low, breathing against Elphaba’s ear.

Elphaba grabs at her hips and tugs until Glinda is again situated in her lap. “This is starting to look a bit closer to where we left off,” the sprinter says with a self-satisfied smile. Once again, the green woman eases Glinda further up the bed until she’s resumed her position hovering above Elphaba’s mouth. “That’s better,” she hums, leaving a soft kiss on the inside of Glinda’s thigh. Glinda shivers above her.

Elphaba grabs her hips gently and pulls Glinda down to meet her mouth and then every thought that isn’t Elphaba flies fully out the window. Her tongue dipping into Glinda, her fingers pressing dimples into Glinda’s hips, her gaze, strong and steady and full of so much love that Glinda feels herself stutter at the sight.

She grips the headboard and rolls her hips unconsciously against Elphaba’s mouth. “Fuck, Elphie,” she encants. “You’re so hot.” She can feel Elphaba smile against her, humming, vibrations shooting directly to Glinda’s core. It's only a few deft strokes before Glinda comes hard and quickly, Elphaba’s tongue working her through it, hands steady at her waist.

Glinda swings ungracefully off her girlfriend, falling against the headboard, legs wavering. Elphaba grins up at her, expression somewhere between awe and adoration. “That was decidedly not 45 minutes,” Elphaba chuckles.

Glinda sets her eyes in a narrow glare. “What makes you think we’re done?” She snarks back, hand coming to brush dark hair back from Elphaba’s face.

_________

An hour later, Glinda knocks on Milla’s door, phone charger in hand. “Sorry, Mills,” she says, smiling.

“No, you’re not,” her midfielder says tiredly.

“You’re right. See you tomorrow, champ,” Glinda smirks, turning back down the hallway.

“Not champs yet,” Milla calls after her.

Glinda looks over her shoulder, “Let’s win a couple more games, then. Goodnight.”

_________

Elphaba’s sporting an old Seattle Reign jersey. What started off as a joke (Elphaba wearing one of Glinda’s ancient National Team jerseys) turned quickly into a bit (Elphaba scouring the internet to find the most obscure Upland jersey possible).

So now she wears an exceedingly ugly kit and bites her knuckle nervously from way up in the box seats as Glinda adjusts the ball on the penalty spot, Larena clutching tightly to Elphaba’s shoulder. The Jumbrotron cuts to a close-up of Glinda's face, set and determined and unbelievably calm.

Sarima has just been on the end of a hard challenge inside the penalty box that got more of her shin than it did the ball, and Glinda had emerged from their impromptu huddle as the elected penalty taker.

The entire stadium watches with bated breath. They’re playing Brazil, the one game all tournament in which the US doesn’t have the overwhelming majority of fans packing the arena. Milla had scored early in the second half, giving them a tenuous lead. Glinda’s PK could make all the difference.

Elphaba looks on as Glinda takes four measured steps back from where she had placed the ball, lining herself up with practiced precision. The giant screen shows Glinda look between the ball and the keeper, exhale one grounding breath, run a stuttering route up to the penalty spot, and slam the ball over the crossbar.

The stadium lets out a collective gasp before thousands of Brazilians cheer in earnest. Elphaba feels herself deflate. Glinda’s larger-than-life visage shows a set jaw and flinty eyes. Teammates clap her on the back in consolation before resuming play.

“Holy shit,” Fiyero says from behind Elphaba. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her do that.”

Larena shakes her head. “Happened once before when she was at Arsenal. They ended up losing some tournament because of it. She beat herself up for a few days after.”

Elphaba watches the tiny blonde dot on the field that is her girlfriend and can almost see the stiffness in her posture, the frustration radiating off her.

Nobody says what they’re all thinking: better hope they don’t lose.

_________

They don’t lose.

Milla’s one goal holds them over through the rest of the second half and then they’re through to the World Cup finals.

Elphaba: Congrats, baby. So proud of you.

Elphaba: Want us to wait at the stadium for you?

Glinda: don’t worry abt it

Glinda: we’ll be a while

Elphaba: Call when you can. Love you.

Glinda: love u xx

Elphaba looks up from her phone. “She says we shouldn’t wait around for her.”

Everyone in their party gives a knowing nod. “Let’s grab a beer while we wait,” Fiyero suggests, tossing an arm across Elphaba’s shoulders, leading Hugh and Larena out of the crowd. The sprinter takes one moment to ponder the ways in which her life has changed over the last three years as Fiyero buys her and Glinda’s parents a round of beers at a small dive bar outside the stadium. She never expected Glinda and she certainly didn’t expect the small family of people that came with Glinda. And yet here she is, Glinda’s ex-boyfriend and her dad deep in a conversation about the US strategy against England for the final match as Larena leans across the table and places a gentle hand atop Elphaba’s.

“I’d be willing to bet she’s going to want to see you,” she says softly.

Elphaba nods into her drink. “I told her to call when she was ready. Not sure she will be, though.”

“You know,” Larena starts, “I’ve only seen her miss that one PK years ago. And it ate at her. So she went out and put the work in and became one of the best damn penalty takers out there.” Elphaba nods, understanding the feeling. “She had this idealism about it: work harder than anyone and never make a mistake like that again. So I can imagine this mistake might hurt a bit, even if they did win.”

Elphaba notices the conversation next to them falls quiet as the boys listen in to theirs. “If there’s anything in the world I can understand, it’s that,” she says honestly. “I didn’t qualify for Tokyo, and I was so set on showing that that wasn’t my best that I overcorrected my way to an Olympic podium.”

“Show off,” Fiyero mumbles teasingly.

Elphaba ignores him. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I understand the feeling, I understand what it means to fuck up and fuck up again.”

“We all do,” Larena says, “in some way.” She takes a sip of her drink. “All I’m saying is that Glinda used to call me when she lost a game, or thought she played poorly. But she hasn’t done that in a while.”

“Maybe she just hasn’t played poorly,” Fiyero quips.

“Or maybe she’s just found someone who understands it better,” Larena finishes.

As if on cue, Elphaba’s phone buzzes in her back pocket. “That’ll be her,” the green woman smiles, accepting the Facetime call. “Is this Glinda Upland, World Cup finalist?”

“Where are you?” Glinda asks, undoubtedly able to hear the din of the bar in the background. The blonde is clearly still in the locker room, leaning against the inside of her locker, hair down and messy, face exhausted.

“Having a beer with your entourage,” Elphaba says, spinning the camera around so Glinda can see everyone. They wave at her.

“Aw,” Glinda pretends to pout. “I want to have a beer with my entourage!”

Elphaba brings the phone back around to herself. “And to think,” she says teasingly, “all you had to do was lose a soccer game and you could have been here with us. You couldn’t even manage that.”

Fiyero leans in closer. “We’ll have a drink when you win the next one, darling,” he promises, and Glinda rolls her eyes playfully.

Glinda’s voice is small when she speaks next. “Are you guys still nearby?”

“Yeah, not far.”

“Could you…” Glinda takes a steadying breath. “Could you come back? Just for a bit? I wanted to be alone and then I was left alone and suddenly I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“Of course, G. I’ll be there in 10.” Elphaba closes out of the call and exhales sharply. “Looks like you were right again,” she relents, tilting her head at Larena as she stands from the table. “Yero, finish my beer?”

“Gladly.”

“Give her our love,” Larena instructs.

_________

The door clicks open and Glinda slowly raises her head to find Elphaba leaning casually against the doorframe, gaze filled with adoration.

“Hey, hot stuff,” Elphaba quips and Glinda can feel a smile tugging across her face despite her poor mood. Elphaba pushes off the wall, closing the door behind her, and makes her way over to where Glinda sits against her locker. “You good?” Elphaba asks needlessly.

Glinda scoots over slightly when Elphaba nudges her knee, coming to sit next to her. The footballer lets her head fall against the wall with a quiet thunk. “I’m a little bummed,” Glinda says honestly. Elphaba hums next to her and Glinda can feel the sounds vibrate. “It’s been a while since I’ve done that - I feel really lucky that we got away with a win.”

“That’s a tough one,” Elphaba says truthfully and without cruelty. “I saw you walk up there and assumed it was a foregone conclusion. So, yeah, it was very odd.” Glinda wonders why she called Elphaba if this was her version of providing comfort. “But the neat thing is, it actually doesn’t matter that much.”

“I mean—”

“Nope,” Elphaba says firmly. “It literally doesn’t matter. It was exactly one bad kick. Fewer than two seconds of bad soccer. You played 90 minutes of really good soccer before and after that. No one will be talking about it this time tomorrow. I know you think it’s a major failing, but it was absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of that game or even this tournament.”

Glinda narrows her eyes, still trained on the ceiling. She should probably stop being surprised by Elphaba at this point. She was expecting the sprinter to come in here and let Glinda complain and wallow, but instead, she very quickly and easily shuts Glinda up, quiets her brain. She rights her head and looks over at Elphaba, who’s sitting close and already gazing at her.

“Okay.”

Elphaba’s eyebrows shoot up, surprise etched openly on her face. “Okay? It was that easy?”

“Yeah,” Glinda concedes. “You’re right. I need to shake that off and focus on England now.”

Elphaba’s smile brightens. “Could you say that first part again?”

“You’re right, Elphaba Thropp,” Glinda says, rolling her eyes.

Elphaba swoops in and leaves a too-quick kiss to the corner of Glinda’s mouth. “I know I am. Thank you for being reasonable.”

Glinda leans against Elphaba’s shoulder, tugging on the hem of Elphaba’s shirt. “This is such an ugly kit, Elphie. Why are you like this?”

Elphaba’s laugh is loud in the otherwise quiet room. “Half the damn stadium is wearing your name, I’ve gotta stand out somehow,” she chuckles.

Glinda’s hand falls to Elphaba’s bare knee, thumb swiping over the small tattoo in her own handwriting. “You can have it,” Glinda says softly, “if you want.”

“Have what?”

“My name,” she explains. “All you have to do is ask.”

Elphaba laughs again, but something about the sound feels slightly unsteady this time. “I’ll keep that in mind, my sweet.”

Glinda huffs out a sound that lands somewhere between disbelief and affection, tilting her head up and pressing a lingering kiss to the underside of Elphaba’s sharp jaw. “Thanks for coming,” she murmurs against green skin.

Elphaba squeezes her knee, “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Not even drinking a beer with my ex-boyfriend?”

“You know,” Elphaba starts, “I actually really like him."

Glinda smiles, “I knew you would.” This isn’t the first time the two have met but it’s the first significant chunk of time Elphaba and Fiyero have spent together, especially without Glinda around as a way to grease the conversation. So she’s happy they’re getting on, becoming friends, even. “I do have very good taste, you know,” Glinda jests.

“And you’re always so humble,” Elphaba laughs, standing and pulling Glinda to her feet. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to your hotel.” Glinda's eyes brighten but Elphaba cuts her off, “No, I’m not staying. I got in too much trouble last time.”

“Coward,” Glinda mutters, gathering her things.

_________

The pace of the game is brutal. Both teams are relying on their physical fitness to make long runs into the back half, hoping to tire their opponents out and capitalize on any mistakes caused by exhaustion.

The styles of play are so similar that Glinda finds herself getting discouraged towards the end of the second half when the scoreboard blinks a very frustrating 0 - 0.

“Alright, gals,” Glinda begins after trudging into the locker room between full time and extra time. “We’ve got half an hour to win this game and I would really love it if we did. We need to change up the strategy slightly. I want to maintain possession in the attacking third as much as possible - we don’t need to make these same kind of quick runs to the box that we have been, clearly they know how to look for and defend that. Keep the ball at our feet, make good passes, hopefully they’ll be so focused on the attack that we can change the pace.” Her team nods. “Anyone else?”

Milla speaks up mid-stretch from where she had sprawled herself on the floor. “We have to be prepared to go to PKs, too. Everyone pick your location now, don’t get to the penalty spot without knowing where you’re going to slot it.”

Glinda’s approach was optimistic. Milla’s was correct.

Another scoreless half an hour and they’re lined up at midfield, arms around each other’s shoulders, as the English captain makes her way to the penalty spot. If she misses, it’s game over; the US would win. If she makes it, then Glinda must make her own PK. Either way, Glinda tries to swallow the lump in her throat as the other captain makes her run.

The US keeper guesses wrong and they’re tied at four apiece. Glinda could end the game, could win the World Cup, with a single kick. She claps Milla’s outstretched hand and walks with the ball under her arm into the penalty box. The stadium is nearly silent, the weight of the moment subduing the crowd. Glinda isn’t thinking about any of it. She’s not thinking about her missed PK earlier in the week, she’s not thinking about the significance of this shot, she’s not thinking about Elphaba, who stands in the first row of seats, hands wringing nervously, she’s not thinking about her teammates behind her, anxiety boiling in their guts.

She’s not thinking about anything.

She places the ball down on the spot, lines up her shot, doesn’t look at the keeper. Glinda takes one deep, slow breath, starts her run-up, and slots the ball perfectly into the side netting.

She falls to her knees, the stadium louder than she’s ever heard, only outdone by the thundering of her teammates as they jump off the line and race towards her.

_________

“We’re here with the captain of the US team and the scorer of the winning penalty kick, Glinda Upland. Glinda, what are you feeling right now?”

Glinda shakes her head in astonishment. “I barely even have words for this,” she says honestly. “I mean, I was on the 2019 World Cup squad, which was really special. But I was a rookie and spent a lot of time on the bench so to be here, to have the team look at me and ask me to be a leader for this tournament, to have them put their trust and respect in me is incredibly humbling.” She barely knows what she’s saying, giddy and exhausted and so unendingly thrilled. “It’s an honor to be on this team, to play with these women. Winning this tournament was the only thing that mattered to us these last few years and to pull it out in such nail-biting fashion is truly incredible.”

“What does it mean to you to be back on the podium in this World Cup after having missed out in 2023 due to injury?”

“It means absolutely everything. I can’t possibly explain it. It’s the kind of redemption arc that people make movies about. It’s the kind of thing you fall asleep thinking about when you’re a kid and here I am, winning the World Cup with my best friends. There’s no way to describe this feeling.”

There’s a flag draped across her shoulders and a medal around her neck and a trophy in her hands.

“And not only did you just win the World Cup but you’re holding the Golden Ball for most outstanding player.”

Glinda holds up the trophy and examines it for a moment. “Yeah, this is really surreal,” she says, making the interviewer laugh. “I’m not saying they made a mistake but I can think of about 22 other women who would just as easily be holding this right now.”

“Well, maybe you should pass it off to one of them - looks like you’ve got some folks here to celebrate with you.” Glinda turns to see her parents and her girlfriend making their way towards the pitch. “Thanks for chatting with us and congrats on winning the World Cup, Glinda.”

“Thank you,” she says to the announcer before turning to look directly into the camera. “Thank you,” she repeats to whomever might be watching. She leaves the trophy at the desk and then she’s taking off down the pitch, running directly into her mother’s arms, tears of elation finally falling.

Her mom doesn’t say anything, just holds her tightly and Glinda lets herself feel it all. She steps back and Larena has unshed tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, which just makes Glinda laugh wetly around her own tears.

She turns to hug her father and catches sight of Elphaba wrapping long arms around Milla and Sarima simultaneously. Elphaba’s yelling something that Glinda can’t hear over the still-deafening din of the crowd but based on the way her teammates burst into laughter, she has to imagine it’s something lightly crazy. And then she’s being enveloped by her dad, who just says, over and over, “I’m so proud of you,” and Glinda cries a little more.

And suddenly, Glinda’s being shoved towards Elphaba, who turns from her conversation with Milla just in time to catch Glinda as she hurdles herself into the sprinter's arms, pressing her face into Elphaba’s shoulder.

“You did that!” Elphaba shouts much too loudly into Glinda’s ear. “You just won the World Cup!” She pulls away and looks down at Glinda with so much joy and love and excitement that Glinda feels she could combust. Elphaba wipes at the errant tears trailing down her cheeks, keeping strong hands at Glinda’s jaw. “You’re absolutely incredible,” she says with reverence.

Glinda crashes back into her, pressing a messy kiss to Elphaba’s lips, hoping it can say everything she doesn’t have the words for: Thank you, I love you, You mean the world to me, I probably could not have done this without you.

Glinda pulls back, grin plastered wide on her face.

“Thropp, show her your kit!” Milla hollers and Glinda takes a half-step back, fingers tugging at the hem of the shirt Elphaba had picked for this match.

“You never wear the current jersey,” she says, aware of Elphaba’s long-standing bit. “What’s special about this one?”

“So glad you asked,” Elphaba says and, with a dramatic flourish, rips off a piece of painters tape above the crest that Glinda hadn’t noticed.

Underneath are five embroidered stars.

Glinda nearly doubles over with laughter, astonished once again by her girlfriend. “You’re insane, Elphie,” she says between peals of laughter. “Where did this come from?”

“I had it custom-made!” Elphaba defends. “You don’t like it?”

Glinda sobers slightly, pressing her hand against the stars on Elphaba’s chest, “No, I love it, baby. But just… what would you have done if we didn’t win?”

“You were never not going to win, G. I put the tape on because it felt like bad luck to be so forward about it.”

Glinda kisses her again. “You’re something else. I love you.”

“You just won the World Cup, Glinda. How cool is that?” Elphaba asks, elation for her girlfriend written all over her face.

“It is so fucking cool,” Glinda agrees. “You guys are going to come party with us, right?” She asks, looking around at her “entourage,” as Elphaba had called them.

“Absolutely,” Fiyero grins, pulling Glinda into a staggering hug.

"I'm there," Elphaba agrees with a laugh.

_________

This after-party is less official than after the Olympics, Elphaba thinks, walking into an overly loud bar near the team hotel, Fiyero in tow. US jerseys are lined up at the bar and gold medals glint in the low light. The music was loud and distinctly American - Elphaba had a feeling that Milla had managed to take over the bar's speaker system.

She scans the room for Glinda, finding her engaged in a conversation with a teammate across the room, a drink in each hand. Elphaba rolls her eyes and pushed Fiyero up to the bar, signaling for a round of beers.

Suddenly, Glinda is at her side, two shot glasses clutched in her hands. “Hi,” she says brightly. “I was saving a drink for you.”

“Hi,” Elphabab responds. “I didn’t really think they were going to run out of drinks but thanks anyway,” she smiles.

Glinda doesn’t respond but leans around the sprinter to speak to Fiyero. “Thanks for coming!” She yells over the music. “I’m going to steal Elphaba and we’re going to go dancing but you can hang out however long you want. Shenshen has a sister who's here and very pretty if you want a straight person to flirt with.”

Fiyero laughs, “You invite me here and then pawn me off on some stranger?!”

“I wanted you to have a good time, and, as mentioned, she's pretty. Just your type,” Glinda yells before turning back to Elphaba, foisting one of the shot glasses into her free hand. “Cheers, I love you,” she says before throwing back her own shot and then dragging Elphaba further into the room.

Elphaba loses track of time. All she knows is that Glinda is, understandably, still giddy and now slightly tipsy, and spends the rest of the evening pressed flush against Elphaba. She dances close to Elphaba, only peeling herself away briefly to dance with another teammate every now and then but always finds her way back to the sprinter before long.

At some point, Elphaba’s beer long since finished, Glinda pulls her again into the bathroom. And, though they do little more than make out before someone pounds on the door, forcing them back out with faces flushed by both embarrassment and each other, Elphaba is reminded of the night they met.

So much is the same, she thinks, the low lights, the loud music, the alcohol, the gold medals, the thrum of elation. Even more is different: this time, there is no undercurrent of anxiety, no unspoken discussion about who goes home with whom, no unasked questions about the future.

Just Glinda’s body pressed against hers and her mouth at the shell of Elphaba’s ear, asking, “Do you want to get out of here?”