It was still raining when Dig dropped Oliver and Felicity off in front of the hotel with a dubious "Good luck." The unspoken subtext: You're gonna need it.

A doorman in a red jacket hurried to pull the door open for them with a muttered, "Mr. Queen." Oliver and Felicity stepped into the lobby.

And a sea of lightbulbs exploded in their faces.

Felicity gaped at the horde of reporters smashed into the hotel's gilded lobby. For a moment she thought they must have walked in behind a celebrity. Ryan Gosling, maybe. Or Oprah. What other reason would the paparazzi have for staking out the hotel? Then, over the thump of her startled heartbeat, Felicity heard what they were all shouting—Ollie! Oliver! Where'd you go? Who's the girl?—and she realized the reporters were there for them. They had been lying in wait for them.

Well, technically for Oliver but still.

Felicity was snapped her out of her astonishment by an arm sliding surreptitiously around her waist. She glanced up at Oliver, whose face had settled into an impassive mask. "Sorry gents," his eyes fell on a female reporter, "ladies. No comment." He began to push through the crowd toward the elevators in the back of the lobby, Felicity anchored firmly to his side. Felicity ducked her head as lightbulbs continued to flash in their faces.

"How 'bout a smile for the camera, honey?" A stringy haired photographer made to grab Felicity's arm as they passed but his fingers never landed; he yowled and dropped his camera as Oliver twisted his wrist back on itself. "Hands to yourself, please," Oliver said with a cold smile.

After that the crowd parted a bit easier. Two over-eager reporters tried to slide into the elevator with them but Oliver fixed them with a glare so razing they backed out again with muttered apologies. The doors slid shut and a heavy blanket of silence settled over them as the elevator began to glide upward. Felicity's ears were still ringing with the reporters' shouts. She felt a warmth on her hip and realized Oliver was still clutching her, his fingers digging almost painfully into her waist. He seemed to realize this at the same time she did because he dropped his hand and looked away.

"I'm sorry," he said, and Felicity was left to guess what he was apologizing for. Holding her too tightly? The reporters? The entire night's events?

"Is it...is it always like that for you? With the reporters and the photographers?"

"Pretty much."

"I'm sorry," Felicity said, surprised but how angered she felt on his behalf. All of a sudden celebrities' objections to paparazzi seemed entirely justified. No one deserved to be ambushed like that.

"I can handle it."

"I'm still sorry."

When the elevator opened onto their floor Professor Taylor was standing just outside the doors waiting for them. Her frizzy hair was especially wild today, and that combined with the thin set of her mouth gave the professor a ferocity one would not expect from such a small woman. "Get your things," was all she said. "We're leaving."

"Ms. Smoak? The dean will see you now."

Felicity stood slowly. Her legs felt like jelly. She was freezing and hungry and terrified that she was about to be expelled. Somewhere in the back of her mind it occurred to her that she was still dressed in Oliver oversized clothes. Fantastic.

The bus ride back from Starling had not been fun. Professor Taylor had sat Felicity and Oliver in the very first row and then completely ignored them for the rest of the trip, except to occasionally throw alternating looks of disappointment and betrayal in their direction. Felicity's ears itched with the sound of the other students whispering and giggling behind her. She caught enough of the conversation to figure out that everyone thought she and Oliver had snuck out of the hotel for a fun night out in Starling's club scene. It was so far from the truth that she was tempted to laugh. But then she remembered how much trouble they were in the laugh shriveled up in her throat and died.

The receptionist ushered her into Dean Winter's office, past Oliver who was on his way out.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed. Felicity just shrugged at him. What could she possibly say? It wasn't his fault. He'd been shot. He'd needed her help. If she had to do it all again she would make the same choice. But that didn't sooth the feeling of panic that rushed over her as she stepped into the dean's office and the receptionist shut the door behind her with a definitive click.

"Sit," Dean Winters said, pointing at the lone chair across from his desk. Felicity did as she was told. Her eyes sought out the boy's rowing calendar but he must've have taken it down because the wall behind his desk was blank.

"Well," Dean Winters said, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on the point they made. "I can't say it's a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Smoak."
Felicity couldn't think of anything to say to that so she stared down at her lap.

"Mr. Queen told me what happened."

Felicity's eyes flicked up. "He did?"

"Yes. For once he seems to be determined to take responsibility for his actions. He told me that he snuck out to attend certain...festivities going on in the city. And when he realized he was too inebriated to make it back to the hotel he called you."

"Oh," Felicity said. "Oh! I mean, yes. That's what happened."

Sighing heavily, Dean Winters pulled off his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "I'm going to be frank with you, Ms. Smoak. You're a smart girl and so I'm sure you've come to realize as I have, that the world is not a particularly fair place. I'm afraid to say that this situation will do nothing dissuade you from that belief.

"I don't understand."

The dean slid his glasses back onto his nose. "Mr. Queen is a five generation legacy. You on the other hand, an unknown scholarship student from Los Angeles."
"Las Vegas," Felicity said automatically.

The dean raised his eyebrows.

"I'm from Las Vegas," she said in a small voice.

"Of course," he responded smoothly. "My point is this: despite the fact that this entire debacle would appear to be Mr. Queen's fault, our handsome friend would have to be convicted of several murders before the board would approve his expulsion. On the other hand, I'm afraid they would have no such qualms about rescinding your invitation to study here. "

Felicity thought she might throw up. There was a least an 85% chance she was about to hack all over the dean's mahogany desk. She smoothed her sweaty palms down her thighs, trying to pull herself together. "Is the board...are they thinking about kicking me out?"

"Not yet. However I wish to impart on you the seriousness of the trouble you have gotten yourself into, and to make sure you understand that whatever privileges Mr. Queen may retain, they do not extend to you, whatever the status of your relationship with him."

"We're friends. That's all. And even if we were something," Felicity said stiffly, "that would be no business of yours. Or the board's."

The dean fixed Felicity with a tired gaze. "Ms. Smoak. I think we have gotten off on the wrong foot. Did you know that I attended Pembroke myself?"
"No," Felicity said unsure of why he was sharing this with her. "I didn't know that."

"I did. And like you I was scholarship student. Which is how I know that the world looks at people like us differently than people like them." He didn't clarify who he meant by 'them', but he didn't have to. He meant people like Oliver and Nyssa. People with power and influence and money. "I've had to fight for everything I have. I fought tooth and nail for the deanship. Many on the board were...averse to a granting the position to a non-legacy. I'm telling you this so that you understand that I am on your side. I want you to succeed. And that is why I am forbidding you from further fraternization with Mr. Queen under any circumstances."

Felicity stared at him blankly. "You're...what?"

"Forbidding you from associating with Mr. Queen," the dean said calmly. "He will be assigned another tutor and you will have no further contact with him."

Felicity gaped at him. "You can't do that! ...can you do that?"

"Oh, I can," he countered. "This is not public school, Ms. Smoak. If you dislike the way we do things you are free to leave. But I hope you won't. As I said, I am on your side. This action is intended to ensure you reach your true potential without being sidetracked by other...activities."

Felicity sat frozen as he continued. "If I find that you have been associating with Mr. Queen against my express command, you will be suspended. I am doing this for your own good, Ms. Smoak. I do hope you understand." He waved his hand toward the door. "That is all. You may go."

Felicity stood stiffly. Once out of the office, she drifted up the stairs and wandered through the empty halls, past skulking suits of armor and busts of disapproving old white men. Exhaustion made her limbs feel like lead. She was upset but she was also tired. So tired. All she wanted in that moment was to fall into her bed and sleep for approximately seven years.

Only when Felicity got to her dorm she found her bed already occupied. Oliver was sitting on it. He'd clearly been waiting for her. Avoiding his questioning gaze, Felicity pulled the door shut behind her and hovered there, afraid to get to close. "How'd you get in here?" she asked.

"Sara let me in."

"Where did she go?"

"Soccer practice."

"In the rain?"

"I guess." Oliver stood. The thumb and index finger on his right hand rubbed nervously together. "Felicity, I'm sorry—"

"Oliver you can't be here," Felicity interrupted. She tried to swallow but a hard, painful lump had formed in her throat. "You need to go."

"Look, I get it if you're mad at me. I just want to apologize—"

Mit. Mit. Mit. "Oliver you're not listening. You can't be here. Dean Winters has specifically forbidden me from fraternizing with you."

Oliver's brow wrinkled. "Fraternizing?"

"Hanging out with you." Felicity drew in a shaky breath. "If he finds out we've been in the same room for more than a minute he's going to suspend me. I can't get suspended. Forget MIT I'll be lucky to get into Las Vegas U with a suspension on my record."

Oliver looked stunned. Rain pounded against the window, melting the lawn and the lake and the rolling hills beyond all into a dull grey blur. "I don't know what to say," he said finally.

Felicity looked away, biting her lip and blinking back tears.

"I guess...I should go then." Oliver walked to the door. He stopped with his hand on the handle and hesitated. Then turned back pressed his lips to Felicity's forehead for a long moment. "I'm sorry," he said. "For everything." Something hot and wet rolled down Felicity's cheek. She wanted to say something, anything. She had gnawing feeling that she was losing something she hadn't realized she'd had to begin with. Oliver's name ghosting across her lips but it was too late. Cold air rushed into the space Oliver had filled just a moment before. He was gone.

Felicity wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve. The castle creaked softly around her and rain lashed harder against the glass. "I'm sorry, too," she whispered.