AN: I know, I suck. Super busy with graduate school, but I am sorry it took so long to update. One way or another, I promise I will finish this story (and Resistance).

Fiyero yanked his jersey over his head as he sprinted in the doors to the gym. Late for the third night in a row. Not that he meant to be, but training with Elphaba took longer every day. He could never seem to keep track of time.

Master Bidsk waved him over, and Fiyero steeled himself for a lecture on punctuality.

"Not sure how you did it, son, but you're a miracle worker." The thickset coach tossed out. "I thought that girl was beyond all hope, and damned if she isn't almost passable now."

"Thank you, sir. She's very hard-working."

"Too much so. Stubborn as a mule, that one." He paused to yell some 'encouraging' insults at a few of Fiyero's teammates. "Can't imagine how you managed it, but if she can nail her final, I'll spot her the extra points to pass."

"Excuse me, Coach?" The man turned back to him, surprised he was still there. "I don't suppose there's any way she can still work up to an A? I know she's behind, but you mentioned extra credit before, and I know she'd really work hard for it."

He wrinkled his nose. "Few weeks ago, I'd have sworn she'd never have a prayer of passing. Isn't that enough?"

"No, I mean, that's great. But she's worked so hard, and I know how much her grades mean to her."

Bidsk frowned. "Well, she's got a 12. That's a long way to go. Honestly, son, she should be happy to pass at all."

"But if she retests, she'll get an A?"

He thought for a moment. "She'll have to earn it. Retest the sports she's failed and make up those points. Not to mention ace her final, but she can try if it's so all-fired important to her. Now get your ass out there before Tenmeadows loses the ball again."

"Great! Thanks!" Fiyero dashed off to join practice before the coach changed his mind.

Fiyero jogged up to the Crage dormitories, surprised to see Elphaba already downstairs and stretching. "You're down early."

"I finished my lessons yesterday. It's always lighter after a round of exams."

He made a face. "For you maybe." He would be swimming in corrections and tutorials if not for the blissful amount of extra credit he earned for a simple task he'd volunteer for anyway.

They set out for their two-mile jog at a slower pace than he preferred, but still faster than she'd managed the past couple weeks. He lost his thoughts to the rhythmic

slap of their feet on the concrete and the huff of her breath in the cool morning air. To her credit, she didn't back off. She'd insult, argue and scowl, but she'd push herself through whatever he set before her. How could his coach have such problems?

Speaking of, he cleared his throat. "So I talked to Bidsk." She grimaced. "You're close, and if you can get most of the way there, he'll pass you."

She flashed a small smile and glanced at him. "Thanks, Fiyero," she puffed. "I'd never have been able to do this without you."

"Yeah," he waved her off, "but that's not it. He said, if you want, you can still work toward an A."

She stopped jogging, and he turned back toward her. "Huh?"

"I talked him into letting you retest the practicals you failed, and if you do well enough on the final, it's still possible."

"What? How-"

"But you'd have to earn it all. No extra points." He forced himself to hold still as he watched the indecision flicker on her face. She clearly wanted to try for the higher grade, but her reluctance spoke of the disbelief in her chances. "I think you should go for it. I promise, even if I have to skip classes, I'll be there with you every step of the way."

"A generous offer, even if you would leap at the chance to skip class." She sucked on her teeth lightly. "What's the final?"

"You have to run a 4-minute mile, pass some muscle strength, endurance and flexibility tests and pass a body composition index. At least the last one is a easy pass for you."

"But I'd have to retest all the practicals I failed?" He nodded. "I don't know, Fiyero. I mean, I want to, but…"

"Try." He knocked her shoulder. "Please?"

"You know, if you worked this hard on your own grades-"

"I will if you want. But my grades don't matter to me, and I know you don't want a C." She winced. "Come on. You've got an awesome tutor now. That's got to help."

"Fine. But don't blame me if I'm hopeless."

"And slacking off." He grabbed her hand and tugged her after him. "Back to work."

She grumbled, but spurred her weary legs back into action. By the time they made it around the campus, even Fiyero had started to sweat. His teases were as breathless as Elphaba's retorts when they finally turned the corner to the university outdoor courts.

She muttered a curse and dodged back behind a tree. "Why is he always here?"

Fiyero ducked back beside her. "He's infatuated." She sneered, and he held back a laugh. "Can he help it if you're so interesting?"

"He can help not stalking me."

"How else is he supposed to pretend to run into you?"

"He isn't." She sent her eyes heavenward. "Why can't he leave well enough alone?"

"Oh, admit it." Fiyero leaned close and bumped her chin. "Deep down, you love the attention."

Her eyes promised murder. "I do not," she snarled. "I'm not a vain little-"

He cut her off before she could work herself into a tirade, no doubt full of insults to his good name. "Fine, then we can always move to my room."

"If that was a pick-up, it was terrible." He flashed her an exaggeratedly lecherous grin, and she shoved his arm. "Your room it is. Though I don't know what we'll do."

He waggled his eyebrows until she rolled her eyes and started toward Briscoe Hall. "Sure you don't want to invite Liam?"

"Now you're just trying to piss me off."

He tamped down a grin as he held open the gate. "Little bit."

She trailed after him through the boys' dormitory and up the narrow stairs to the suite. He unlocked the door and led her in, sweeping the debris of neglected assignments and dirty laundry out of the center of his floor. She propped herself against the doorframe. "So what's the plan?"

"You won't like it."

And she didn't, though he rather enjoyed the view she made rear-up on his floor. She struggled through a couple half-successful push-ups before he stopped her.

"Okay, straighten your neck. And try to keep your shoulders still." He dropped to the floor beside her to demonstrate.

She pushed the fine hairs off her forehead. "Easy for you. You have all those muscles to do it."

He forced back a cheeky grin but couldn't suppress an arrogant, "Yes, I do. And how do you suppose I got them?"

She shoved herself off the floor and grunted, "Genetics."

He rolled onto his side. "I suppose I do have some advantages in that area. But you're not without your own gifts there, you know."

"Brains," she panted, "do not help," her arms shook, "with pushups."

"Not your only talent, but fine. A challenge, then. Ten push-ups; that's all. For ten measly push-ups I will do whatever you want."

She dropped back to the ground. "Including shut up?" He mimed a key for his lips, and she sighed, "Do I have to start over?"

"Nope. Seven more to go, and you'll have a blessed minute of silence from yours truly." She jerked herself through them with perhaps the worst form he'd ever seen, and then collapsed in a heap.

He grinned and mouthed, "Good job."

She eyed him for a long moment, a hand propped on her hip. Then with a wicked grin, she said, "So Galinda wants me to cut my hair."

His jaw dropped, and he barely caught himself from launching into a tirade on how she should absolutely not cut her beautiful hair. Oh, so that's how she wanted to play it. He leaned back and forced a nonchalant shrug.

"So you agree?" Humor lined her face as she taunted him. "Maybe I should do it now, before Galinda gets her hands on me and turns it into a layered atrocity."

She reached for his scissors, but he tackled her to shake a finger in her face. She laughed. "Alright, you can talk. It's too odd with you quiet."

He grinned, "Terrorist. Holding my favorite hair hostage."

"You're so strange."

"True. But your minute's up. Ten more please."

She let out a hassled sigh, "Ugh, can't we go hit baseballs again? I felt like I was getting the hang of it."

He brushed a bruise on her elbow and lifted an eyebrow. "If you want, but I thought you were avoiding Liam?"

She rolled onto her stomach rather than answer and lifted herself in a more stable push-up. He corrected her form and sent her through another set. Then another. At forty, her arms started to shake, so he broke the last set into two reps of five. "Almost done," he encouraged as she propelled herself up with a weary wheeze. "You're doing great."

She shot him a fiery look, and he backed off, hands held out. She finished with a groan and rolled onto her back to catch her breath. "My arms feel like Jell-O."

"Good. That means it's working."

"What's next?"

"I like to do crunches next. Give your arms a break. Ever done crunches before?"

"Horribly, I'm sure." He gestured to show him, and she fumbled through the exercise. His back ached just watching. "Okay, stop."

Her head dropped to the ground and lolled to look at him, awaiting instruction. It'd be easier to show her. He pulled off his shirt, and she rolled her eyes. "Is that necessary?"

"Stop pretending you don't like it." She scoffed, but her blush gave her away.

He demonstrated a damn good sit-up if he did say so himself, lecturing her on the placement of hips and minimizing back strain. All the while, she studied his toned stomach with a no doubt purely rational eye, barely blinking. And of course he couldn't resist showing off for her a little more than necessary. He might be sore the next day, but the impressed expression that shone through her guard made it more than worth it.

"Alright, your turn. And don't strain your neck this time. Use your abdominals."

She managed a better attempt this time. He knelt beside her to press her shoulder back. "Straight," he reminded. "Don't pull on your neck."

After ten, she was aching. He gave her a break; then pushed her through another ten. Then fifteen. Then twenty, though she rushed the last two and had to redo them. She groaned, "This is torture."

"Come on. Let's get you to twenty-five and you can stop for today."

"Twenty-five?"

He took in her tired expression and desperately wanted to go easy on her. But she was counting on him to train her, and he had to push her if she wanted to reach the goal in time. "Come on. Slow and steady. Focus on your breathing."

She started the set when the door swung open and a noisy Avaric barreled his way through. "Seven o'clock. Zita's bringing her roommate for you, so you better not wimp out on me, or I'll- why's the artichoke on the ground? She does know she's not really grass, right?"

"He does know that asses don't need to talk, right?"

Fiyero point a finger at her, "You, focus on your crunches. And you," he pointed to Avaric, "out. You can come back when we're done training."

"But I want to watch the artichoke turn colors."

"Out," he led his friend out by the shoulder. "I'll see you tonight. Philosophy Club?"

"Nah, Ozdust. Her roommate's a little skittish. Crazy hot though. And I'm sure your little prince act will charm the pants off her well enough. Zita swears she wants you bad."

"You're disgusting," Elphaba huffed from her fifteenth crunch.

"You're a vegetable," Avaric tossed back as he slipped through the door. "Seven. No excuses."

Fiyero shut him out and turned back to his pupil. The disapproval screamed from her face. "We broke up, Elphie. The whole point is to move on."

"I didn't say a word." But the grim set to her lips had its own silent accusations.

"Galinda's moved on. Who's she with now, Gregory? I don't see why I'm not allowed the same." But even as he denied it, his conscience prickled at the thought of Zita's mystery roommate throwing herself at him. Like it or not, he had a reputation to uphold, and a scandalacious prince does not sit at home on Friday nights.

"Your business."

"Then stop yelling at me about it," he snapped. She made a face. "You're yelling with your eyes, and you know it."

"Fine." She snapped her eyes shut, but his mood had already ruined. She finished the set, and he sent her off with a half-hearted encouragement. Why it got under his skin, he couldn't say, but suddenly he felt as if he had something to prove.