Table: Singing
Title: Singing
Fandom: Wicked bookverse
Rating: PG
Summary: The Thropp family during their time in Quadling country.
Notes: For my table of wicked prompts.
Notes 2: For vampire_cookies , because she's awesome.
Shell was crying.
Frex sat heavily in his hard, wooden chair, staring ahead at the blank wall without appearing to see it. He had not moved for several hours, nor eaten or drunk in at least a day. His preaching was not going well. The Quadlings remained stubbornly unreceptive to his message, and his continued failure to convert them was leading Frex into a state of dispair. When Shell’s cries rang out, his head raised slightly, but otherwise he remained motionless.
Nanny, sitting across from Frex in the only comfortable chair, stared pointedly at him for a moment. Receiving no response, she huffed, and stood.
“And so Nanny is left to tend to the little ones again,” she muttered, disappearing into the other room to calm the baby. “With poor Melena in her grave and Frex away with that religion of his.”
Frex seemed not to notice.
“Elphaba.” Nessa’s small, clear voice rang out over Shell’s cries. She twisted in her sister’s lap to look at her. “Perhaps you could have gone to him?”
Elphaba laid a hand against Nessa’s cheek. “But if I had left, then where should you be, my sweet?” she asked.
Nessa leaned into Elphaba’s hand. A small sigh escaped her lips. “I suppose you’re right,” she murmured. “Father says one must do what one can.”
“But what can one do?” Frex asked above them, coming alive so suddenly that both girls jumped. “What can one do when one is so cursed as I?”
“You are not cursed, Father,” Nessa said earnestly. “Please. Shall we pray to the Unnamed God for -,”
“Ah, but if it is not he who is doing this, then what?” Frex groaned. “I am being punished.” He sounded as though he spoke only to himself. Elphaba was not entirely sure he realized they could hear him.
“Father, you are not,” Nessa said, distressed. She shifted, trying to stand, and Elphaba helped her to rise, allowing herself to be led towards Frex. Nessa made as if to sit in his lap, but halted abruptly when he gripped her small waist with one hand, his other taking a firm hold on Elphaba’s wrist.
“My punishments,” he whispered, staring at them each in turn. His eyes settled on Elphaba. “For my first indiscretions, I was sent a child with green skin. A monster.” Frex’s voice was hoarse, and his eyes blank. Elphaba did not react to his words. “Then, for my continued sins, a baby with no arms. Beautiful, but for the one thing that renders her forever powerless.”
Nessa shifted. “Father -,”
“But still unsatisfied,” Frex continued, his eyes shifting to the other room where Nanny still held a crying Shell, “the Unnamed God sought to punish me again. At last, a healthy child, but Melena - Melena -,”
“Father, don’t,” Nessa said. She sat suddenly in his lap, but still he appeared not to notice her. He remained unmoving, instead of holding her close to him as he did usually. Elphaba kept a tight, steadying grip on her sister’s shoulders. “Elphaba and I are not your punishments,” Nessa said again.
“But then,” Frex said in distress, “if you are not my punishments, then what are you? Devils? Demons? What else can you be but my penance?”
“Well then, perhaps we are,” Elphaba said.
Nessa turned wide eyes to her older sister. “What?”
“Nessie, look at us.” Elphaba nodded between them. “We quite obviously cannot be gifts, so what then must we be? And besides,” she gave a short, humourless laugh. “Father says it, so it must be true.”
“Elphaba.” Nessa’s lips were pressed together. “You mustn’t say such things.”
“Not even if they are true?” Elphaba asked. “Would you prefer dishonestly then, my Sainted sister?”
“Don’t -,” Nessa began to say, but Shell’s crying grew abruptly louder as Nanny appeared in the doorway, the baby in her arms.
“Imp of a thing refuses to take comfort,” Nanny said, rocking him automatically. “You may have been a feeble thing at his size, but at least you were quiet,” she added to Nessa. She shook her head at Shell, whose crying only increased, his little mouth opening wider.
“How I wish I had hands, so that I might clap them to my ears,” Nessa said despairingly. “Elphaba, won’t you calm him?”
“I don’t see what I can do,” Elphaba replied. “I’m so prickly I’ll probably only provoke him further.” But she leaned Nessa back against the chair anyway, freeing her hands at last.
“Here,” Nanny held Shell out to Elphaba. “Seeing as your blessed father won’t lend a hand, I suppose it is your turn.” She handed him over, and Elphaba took the baby, holding him awkwardly. His wails grew louder. “Do something, can’t you?” Nanny snapped. “Placate the little devil.”
“Devil,” Frex moaned again, bringing a hand to his face. “My child - a devil.”
“Elphaba, please,” Nessa begged. “Do something.”
Elphaba looked around at her family, jostling the baby in her arms. He squirmed, tiny face red and scrunched as he screamed.
“Please, Elphaba,” Nessa said again.
Elphaba opened her mouth, and sang.
It was a gentle hum at first, the first verse of one of her father’s hymns, but Shell stopped squirming, and Elphaba got louder. She made up a little song, of empty spaces and lost things, filling the tiny room with her voice.
When at last she stopped, the silence rang. Shell had stopped crying. He lay still, asleep in Elphaba’s arms. Elphaba met Nanny’s eyes, returning her small smile.
“Fabala.”
Elphaba turned. Frex was sitting forward in his chair, blinking. One arm wrapped itself around Nessa, and he pulled her close, and he extended his other hand toward Elphaba. “Come here,” he whispered.
Elphaba did as she was bid, perching on the arm of the chair with Shell still asleep in her hold. Nessa leaned against her, and Frex put his arms around the three of them.
“My children,” he murmured, pressing his face against them. “My loves.” He pulled back a little. “My Fabala,” he said, “sing to me.”
Elphaba closed her eyes and sang, a wordless melody that spoke of relief. Nessa joined in, humming a harmony and Frex’s arms tightened around them.
“My beautiful girls,” he whispered again. “My loves.”
“Yes, Father,” Nessa said, leaning into him. She looked at Elphaba. “That’s exactly what we are.”