Elphaba shrank back from the window as the thunder crashed again. Even though she was in the farthest corner of the room, still the threat of pervading wetness scared her. With a sigh, she returned to her book, trying to focus.

Another crash: but this time it was the door slamming open to admit a drenched Glinda. On reflex, Elphaba pulled back farther into her chair, and Glinda, turning from depositing her bag near the door, looked inquisitively at her. "Miss Elphie, you look like you've seen a ghost."

Elphaba shook her head, attempting to resume a normal position. "It's nothing, Miss Glinda. Nothing at all."

"It's the water, isn't it? Oh, drat." Glinda picked up her forgotten umbrella from under her bed and set it in a stand in the closet. "I come in soaked," she continued, "and you cringe as if I'd burst in brandishing a knife. What is it with you and water?" She turned back to the closet, working out of her wet jacket.

"It is nothing I am going to-" Elphaba's voice suddenly went quiet as if someone had jammed the clockwork of her speech. Glinda turned to find her roomie staring at her curiously.

"Miss Elphie," she said impatiently, "you and your surprises today. What is it now?"

"It's nothing," Elphaba repeated, faintly. "And the issues I have with water are not ones I am going to discuss at this time." Her voice grew stronger as she said this, sounding forced; when Glinda next looked back, the green girl seemed completely engaged with her book.

"Well honestly Miss Elphie," said Glinda, in high dudgeon, "you needn't be so sharp about it." She collected a towel and dry clothes, shutting the door firmly behind herself on her way out.

Once she was gone, Elphaba looked up at the door, shaken. She felt her cheeks heat, and buried her face in her hands. The book, forgotten, slid to the floor.

The way her rain-soaked clothes had hugged every perfect curve of the blonde girl's body. How the water seemed to make the cloth almost translucent…

Oh, sweet Oz. Stop right there, Elphaba Thropp.

Sometimes, thought Elphaba, pressing the cool back of her hand against her still-flaming cheeks and forehead, she was less fearful of the storms outside then she was of the ones in her own head.

That was fun. How was it, for a first try at slash? Review, pretty please, with saffron cream on top, 'cause I'm not a cheapskate like Horrible Morrible.