I've seen you

which: if your approach to narrative is to optimize it to the point of creative sterility, sure! i guess it would be pretty fucking pointless, but in that case idk why you're bothering with Wicked or narrative in the first place. "willing suspension of disbelief" isn't just about practical considerations; it encompasses emotional credulity as well. yes, we all know Glinda and Fiyero don't stay together in the same way we all know we're watching a staged musical at the Gershwin and not actual historical events, but Glinda and Fiyero don't; nor do they know how inconsequential their relationship is in the story of Wicked. it is therefore the jobs of their actors to inhabit the characters (to act, even!!!!) powerfully enough that the audience stops fussing over bad faith efficiency considerations and get invested in the emotions of the present, but fewer and fewer of them do as the years progress. in fact, a depressingly outsized reason why i consider Katie and Ryan exemplary here is because they refuse to do this dumb imaginary math and play the scene for what it is.

so what, exactly, is this scene? well. excepting their brief non-exchange at the cornfields, this is the only time Glinda and Fiyero have anything approaching an honest conversation with each other. every other time they're onstage together there exists some kind of knowledge gap. even this conversation starts heading that way by the end, but before that the script forces them to have a glorious, horrifying minute of Mutually Assured Destruction Honesty. Thank Goodness tees up the Act Two status quo and immediately starts knocking it down; Glinda and Fiyero's argument does the same for Glinda and Fiyero.

the way in which this disaster specifically unfolds is up to how the actors have played their characters up to this point. with Katie and Ryan of course it's Pathetic Hot Mess Central: he's this bitchy twink of a bottom and she, sadly, does not hate fighting more than she loves winning, so they start going at each other like trapped feral cats, and then--not even ten seconds later--everything devolves to their Glinda-and-Fiyero default, which is, um. the same trapped feral cats but now they're grooming each other in some very fated effort to self-soothe

it's not that Fiyero forgets he and Glinda aren't actually in the same position power-wise; he definitely hasn't forgiven her for the engagement bullshit, but as soon as Glinda starts with her traumatized thousand-yard stare he just cannot bring himself to escalate this further, going instead right back to offering tactile and verbal assurance. then what are we doing here? it's we again. of course Glinda is just as miserable. they're a team. of course he'll take her with him when they get out of here--

then Glinda delivers the coup de grace. i can't leave now. not we. it's the dance Glinda does with everyone, every time: she's just like you, and you're in this together, except she's not either of those really. except the idea that she isn't somehow separate and distinct--special, better, more--compared to everybody else is unbearable. if she'd said we can't leave now the argument might have gone differently, but it would never occur to any Glinda to say that. there's no room in her world for anybody else.

this moment is, imo, one of the parts where you can tell just how much of the book was influenced by Cheno's specific approach to Glinda, because as written out on the page the dialogue skews pretty blatantly toward Glinda only seeing Fiyero as an extension of herself. she tells Fiyero she also hates what everyone's saying about Elphaba to placate but also, implicitly, to discipline: she hates it just as much, but she can keep her cool. the minute Fiyero tests their supposed solidarity she puts him in his place and reminds him she's actually the only one who matters here. i have an immense soft spot for this original spin tbh, especially since Norbie does such a good job of calling Glinda's bluff right after, but it is SO HARD to walk that tightrope. the alternative approach most Glindas following Cheno go for is one where i can't leave now is...kinda just what slips out, carried by the momentum of their argument. it still requires good chemistry and mindful setup, but you're not locking Glinda and Fiyero into as set characterizations as the original.

Katie has taken this approach in the past with other more hotheaded Fiyeros, but the issue here is Ryan kinda already foreclosed that possibility. Fiyero has just intuitively given Glinda what she needs most--empathy, some semblance of grace--and this Glinda knows and appreciates it deeply. so she in turn is going to give Fiyero what he is owed, what every Fiyero shows up needing: to be taken seriously. to be told the truth. (no, you're not; or you wouldn't be so unhappy.) she says i can't leave now, and she means it. but she doesn't mean it in the way Cheno's Glinda did, where it's this oh, how silly of Fiyero to forget everything is about Glinda; to Katie's Glinda, i can't leave now when people are looking to me to raise their spirits is just...true. whether she likes it or not, it's immovable fact. there's something very mundanely relatable about it, because Glinda's protest echoes the protests of many people who just graduated from college and cannot imagine any world beyond their first deeply toxic job. what is she supposed to do? quit??? find a NEW job?? unpossible. it's Fascist Disneyland forever

that people are "looking to her"--well, that really hammers home how Glinda is middle managing her own abuse and exploitation, doesn't it? she is more powerful than the average hapless Ozian, she is more powerful than Fiyero, and there's, y'know, that old adage about power and responsibility. people need Glinda--to assure them there's still a status quo, that comfort and prosperity remain possible--and when you're needed you can't take risks. the more aware you are of the impact you could have on other people, the easier it is to be a coward. people are looking to Glinda; she wouldn't dare refuse. not when she's always been so attentive to the feelings of others. not when her job for the past five years has been to look people in the eye, and validate their feelings (as terrifying as terror is), and lifting them up. she is doing something that matters. she's the ONLY one who can do this, for the good of everyone--

selflessness slips frictionlessly back into self-obsession. you can't leave, Fiyero snaps, because you can't resist this! it's imprecise and harshly unfair and Glinda cannot bring herself to argue back, because this is who Glinda and Fiyero are now, five years after they loved Elphaba and then lost her. this is how far they've traveled from you're perfect/you're perfect: now they tell each other the truth. now they are the only people in the world they trust will say the truth, even when it's ugly--especially when it's ugly. that's only fair, isn't it? everything beautiful in their world is a lie. it's the only thing they have for each other these days, and it hurts more often than not, but the truth freely given still counts for something between the two of them.