A/N - It's been a while since I posted anything on here, but this has been sitting in my documents for too long now and I thought it was about time I let you all read it. Reviews are much appreciated.

Disclaimer - Not mine.

It was easier to resist her advances at first (easier but never easy) when they were subtle, in frequent, less urgent than they are now. From the moment Galinda became Glinda, you knew exactly what she wanted, but even when you teased and flirted and let things go further than you had ever intended, you never quite gave in. It wasn't that you didn't want to. It wasn't even that you thought your resolve not to would last. But when you had all the time in the world, what point was there in rushing? What hurry was there to cross the line you always knew you could never return from?

Time was on your side back then, or so you believed (a foolish dream if ever there was one!) so why not use it to your advantage? Why not, indeed!

Everything changed the night you ran to The Emerald City. Everything changed, and though you both felt it, neither of you dared to say a word. It was as though someone had picked up an hourglass and started counting down the time you had left together, and in the silence of this cruel, and unspeakable revelation, your determination slowly started to ebb away, bit by bit by bit, until it had all but abandoned you, the way you will soon abandon her.

Now it is much harder to push her away. When you can feel her body pressed against your own, warm and ready and trembling (from fear, you tell yourself, but you're fooling no-one; the only thing she is scared of is losing you) it is much more difficult to force yourself to say no.

She clings to you like you are her most prized possession; her vice-like grip suffocating in the most exhilarating of ways. And when she holds onto you like that, as though she will never let go (and how you wish those grasping arms really could keep you by her side forever), you long to give her everything she wants (everything you want). If only there were no consequences; no delicate hearts at stake.

At night she sleeps fitfully, haunted by unpleasant dreams she is never willing to explain. And when she wakes and allows herself to drift closer still (it seems she cannot bear for there to be even an inch of space between you, and you are beginning to understand that notion, despite yourself) you welcome her with open arms. Once you held her at a distance, the wall between you slowly crumbling but standing - for a time- all the same. Now you fear there is nothing between you at all, and you are certain it should bother you more than it does.

Tonight, she is more restless than usual. She murmurs something inaudible as she tosses and turns, the bed creaking in protest at the slightest movement. You wish you could climb inside her mind and erase all the visions that seem to trouble her so. You wish she would tell you what it is that troubles her so. You wish...all sorts of things you chastise yourself for ever thinking (but it doesn't alter your thoughts, or make your feelings go away; nothing will ever do that).

'Elphie,' she is awake now, and through the thin material of her nightgown you can feel her heart pounding against her chest.

'What is it?'

'You,' she starts softly, as her gaze falls upon you, 'you... don't leave me, Please, don't leave me.'

Her desperate plea comes from nowhere, and it startles you. For once, you don't know quite what to say.

Tears are brimming in those perfect, blue eyes and you pull her towards you and kiss her forehead, gently. 'Shh,' you whisper. 'It's okay. It's okay,' and you are sure you will do anything you can to make it so (anything, that is but make promises you know you will not – cannot - keep).

You hold her against you for a moment, your chin resting lightly on her head. When you pull back it is only so that you can look at her, and even then your movement is executed with reluctance; your arms still wrapped around her tiny waist as though, suddenly it is you, who is afraid to let go.

'Glinda, what did you see?' you ask, and the question hangs in the air for far too long.

She won't answer; she never does – the best you get are cryptic messages that even she doesn't seem to fully understand - but night after night you feel compelled to ask, as though your repetition might one day wear her down and force her to give in (Maybe, you realise you're not the only one with that particular tactic in mind).

She lies there in silence for a moment, then her eyes meet with your own and, for reasons you cannot fathom, something in her demeanour becomes different, changed. In an instant, every last hint of the naive, young girl she once was falls away from her, like a shawl that has become redundant in the intense, summer heat. Her grip on you is still firm, but it is no longer needy; her tears are replaced with a look you have never seen there before.

'Elphie,' she says finally, and even her tone is different; stronger, more determined, brimming with the same emotion that shimmers in her eyes. 'I have to...'

She doesn't finish her sentence; your lips are on hers before she really gets the chance.

The change in her has changed something in you, and you're both unstoppable now.

This cannot happen, you remind yourself, but even as the words run through your mind (half-hearted and void as they are) your hand is sliding down her side, the tips of your fingers tracing delicate patters on the soft, bare flesh that hides beneath her silky nightgown.

You kiss her with a passion you never realised you possessed and she returns it with even more fervour. Soft moans escape her lips as your fingers drift purposefully up her inner thigh, and your own body comes alive with need and desire.

You force yourself to ask, 'are you sure?', but you already know the answer; you've known it all along.

Glinda doesn't reply with words, instead she takes your hand and places it where she needs it the most. The action alone seems to make your longing all the more desperate, all the more raw, and you give in; finally, utterly, entirely.

You never should've started this, but as you touch her and kiss her and watch the last part of that wall tumble gracelessly to the ground, you can't for the love of Oz remember why.

It will not be until tomorrow that you can.

When you tell her that you're leaving and you see that look in her eyes (confusion, hurt, anger; a cocktail of emotions that never should have been allowed to dwell within such perfection).

When you kiss her goodbye, knowing only too well that it will be the last time you feel her soft lips against your own.

When you think of how she woke in your arms that morning, and looked up at you with a smile, and whispered words that made your heart melt and pound and scream all at once ('I love you, Elphie. I love you,').

Only then will you remember.

As you disappear into the crowd, hating yourself for making a decision that was never really yours to begin with (you had to do it, you couldn't have gone back, it will get easier...won't it?) you will tell yourself the only thing you can possibly think of to say; it never should have happened.

But it did.

It did.

It did.

And for all the heartache it may cause, it was beautiful, and real, and inevitable from the start.