Disclaimer: Tangled belongs to Disney. The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins. I'm just fooling around with them.

A/N: This piece occurs within the Hunger Games universe but is obviously completely AU to anything in that setting. It is technically one-and-done, but I did write a later short entitled "Coping" that was meant to follow this piece as a sort of sequel. However, one small detail of the follow-up drabble is different from this story. That drabble is located on my Tumblr blog (linked in my profile) if anyone is interested.

Rated T for implications.

Smile For the Cameras

The hovercraft lifts me out of the arena. I find myself transported into an onboard medical facility, but I must not be in bad shape compared to the usual condition of newly minted victors, for all that they do is check me over, hook up an intravenous needle, and give me a dose of vitamins. I'm given food to fatten myself up again, and as I get a glimpse of myself in the reflecting glass, I realize that being in the arena has reduced me to a dangerously scrawny bag of bones. Still, I've got no major injuries and no infections, so I guess my time in the medical facility doesn't last all that long. I have no clear idea just how much time does pass, of course; they don't let me see the sun and I can't find any clocks in the room where they place me.

While I am there—and awake—my thoughts wander. I try not to think about the time in the arena. It seems like a really bad dream now, and it feels like a different person altogether who climbed trees... dexterously knotted that 70-foot length of rope into every kind of snare, lasso, and pulley... or bashed in her opponents' heads with a heavy pan. Especially that. I can't reconcile the violent killer in the arena with the person I have always been—or thought myself to be, at least. Maybe underneath the surface, at the primal animal level, everyone is capable of becoming that ruthless given the right circumstances. I don't know. It bothers me, so I don't want to think about it.

Instead I think about Eugene. The parachutes he had sent to me after I made the final eight, after Eugene had only one tribute left... No, I tell myself. Don't think about that either. I turn my thoughts back to the more pleasant topic. I got an awful lot of gifts from sponsors. I don't recall there being that many for a tribute from an outlying district before. Eugene must have really, really wanted to get me out of there. I think back to that look he gave me before I went into the arena. I don't think I was imagining that expression in his face, that look of longing, misery, and hopelessness. No, there must be a connection between the sheer number of gifts he got for me and the look in his eyes the last time I saw him. I smile to myself at the idea that he might have been thinking of me just as much as I was thinking about him while I was in there.

Finally I am escorted out and brought back into the Training Center to reunite with my team. I look forward to seeing Pascal again, my brilliant stylist who first turned us into stars... the four redheads on my prep team who were so enthralled with my hair... even annoying, superficial Effie Trinket. And...

When the door is opened, there they are. Instinctively, I launch myself straight at him. He envelops me in his arms. He's warm and comforting and—

"I'm so glad you made it," he whispers into my ear as he squeezes me tightly. Then he pecks me on the cheek. I feel a warm blush coming over my face and draw away to look at him. There is relief on his face, and hope, but there seems to be something else. Anxiety? Dread? Surely not... Now that I'm out of the arena, I'm safe...

I move in again with the pretense of seeking another hug. He obliges. "Is everything okay?" I whisper against his ear.

"I'll tell you more tonight," he says in a hushed tone. "Rooftop."

That doesn't sound good. Something is up. My heart starts to pound, the fear instinct with which I became so familiar rushing back full force. But I bury it. I bury this unknown fear and turn to face my team. I have to look happy. I just won the Games, after all. I can't look as if I'm afraid of something, especially since I have no idea what it would be.

That night, I emerge onto the rooftop and look around for him. He is waiting for me. I approach him. He gives me another intense, desperate look.

"What's wrong?" I ask him softly.

He grimaces in pain. "I... I don't know how to tell you this..." he begins. His voice cracks.

All of a sudden a chill of fear rushes over my body. "Eugene, did I do something in the arena that the Capitol doesn't like?" I ask. My voice is squeaky.

He shakes his head and takes my hands in his. His hands are rough and callused, but warm and comforting and strong. "It's nothing like that. It's just... there is something the Capitol sometimes does with—attractive victors," he gets out, his voice now breaking, his face contorted with disgust. "They... want to sell them."

The words don't immediately register with me. "What do you mean, sell them?"

"Sell their bodies," he gets out. He looks as if he is about to throw up.

Then it hits. I feel a shudder of horror wash over me. "Oh, Eugene! You don't mean that they want to—with me?" I exclaim, but I know the answer already.

"I started hearing it when you made the top five," he says sickly.

I slump down on the roof. This cannot be real. This is a worse nightmare than anything I faced in the arena. The idea of letting those cruel, inhuman piles of scum do that to me—no. I can't bear the thought of it. I will take my own life before I let that happen.

"Did they demand it of you?" I ask in a queasy voice, not sure I really want to hear the answer.

He looks old, far older than twenty-six. "They did. I refused. That's why I have no family now," he says. "My parents wouldn't let me do that for their sake." His words are flat and dead.

My stomach starts tumbling over as the implications of his words hit. I think of my parents. My father, mayor of the district. My sweet, gentle mother. Would I give in to the Capitol's demand if they threatened my parents' lives? Or would my parents sacrifice their lives for me too? I'm sure they would, actually... and the idea is horrifying.

I hate the Capitol. If I could burn the entire place down right now, I would do it. But I can't, of course.

I look up miserably at him. "Is there anything that can be done?" I whisper.

"The Capitol loves a good story." he says. Real pain is coming over his face. "I think there is one way out of it, and that's to give them something that they'd find even more desirable... something that would make them not want to—you know."

My heart beats wildly. He thinks there is hope. I must know what it is. "What do you mean?"

As he gazes into my face, he again looks ten years older than he really is. "Rapunzel, do you think... do you suppose that someday you could grow to care for me? To love me?"

Oh.

I realize what he means now. The Capitol audience, given the opportunity to watch a victor-mentor romance unfold, would be invested in that, cheering it on. I don't think it's ever happened, so it would be a real novelty. They would not want to come between us. They love a good story, as he said.

But is this what all the gifts were about? Making it look, to all those wealthy sponsors and the Capitol people, as if he is in love with me? Is this real or just a front he's willing to put on, a role that he's willing to play, if it will save me from this fate? I have to know.

"I already care for you," I whisper. "It's all I could think about when I was in the arena—getting out and seeing you again." I lean against his chest and wrap my arms around him. He breathes in deeply and encloses me. I realize that he is trembling. He seems unable to speak, so I continue. "But I don't understand," I say, looking up at his face though we remain wrapped together. "Do you care for me now, or do you just not want to see that happen to me?"

It's not easy to tell in the darkness, but I swear I see tears forming in his eyes. His voice is husky when he answers. "I hate them," he whispers in a very quiet yet fierce tone. "I hate them so much. Yes, Rapunzel, I care for you. Sitting and watching you in that arena has been absolute torture, especially since I knew I wasn't supposed to play favorites with my tributes. I felt guilty about how much I'd fallen for you, but I couldn't stop it. I meant to tell you about this on my own terms, in a better way than this, so that you could feel like it was truly your choice about what you wanted to do. They took that away from me," he chokes out. "They've contaminated it with this. I am so sorry it has to be mixed up with this Capitol filth... but yes, it is real."

His words seem to echo around inside my skull. He means it. It's not just a desperate, chivalrous move to save me. He does care for me.

I reach my arms around his neck. He realizes an instant later what I am trying to do. In spite of the present circumstances, a smile forms on his handsome face, and he leans forward to capture my lips with his. His hand finds its way to the back of my head, his fingers entwining in my hair, as he gently parts my lips. I close my eyes and block out everything but this sensation and the feelings, giving way to the hope, love, and desire that helped carry me through the arena.

We're going home, I think. We're going to be together. He loves me.

I don't know how long we stand there on the roof like that, but we finally break apart. He gazes down at me contentedly for a moment. Then his expression changes again, and that sadness comes over him once more.

"You're going to be all right about tonight?" he asks, his eyes filled with concern.

I nod. "I'll be fine," I say, placing a hand on his chest. "I'll be able to sleep well, knowing that... it's all true." I smile shyly. "And how we'll be living next door in the Victor's Village at home, so we can see each other all the time. I think this will fade away once we're back there and can let this relationship proceed naturally."

He winces. "Oh, Rapunzel," he says unhappily. "You're so positive and optimistic. It can't happen that way, sweetheart."

The fear seizes me again. "Why not?" I ask.

"Because... the Capitol audience has to see it." He looks into my eyes. "They have to see it on live television in the post-Games interview, but it must be out there, where they can talk about it, already by then. I know how these people think, if you can call it that... they live on rumors, the juicier the better. If we're going to pull this off, we have to give them plenty. They have to be talking about us, not as a prospective couple, but as a couple already who were so happy after the Games that they just couldn't wait. Do you understand what I'm saying?" His face is lined with pain.

I'm beginning to. It occurs to me that when he asked me if I would be all right tonight, he wasn't referring to my first night trying to sleep outside the arena and the medical facility.

Unless I've taken this too far in my mind, it's apparent now that my body isn't truly my own. I either give it over to the Capitol in the near future, or I give it to him tonight so that the gossipy prep team, and who knows who else, can see my bed unused the next morning and the pair of us in his. Sure, I realize that it would happen anyway in the future, but that would be our choice, and it would have nothing to do with starting rumors for the benefit of this shallow, self-absorbed city.

Yes, I understand. I understand that I lost the ability to truly control my own destiny as soon as my name was drawn. I understand that any choice I would ever make from that point onward would be made with reference to the Games and how something looks to the Capitol. I understand I'll never truly leave the arena, if even a personal decision like that is something they can indirectly control. They took away the purity from Eugene's confession of love, and now they're taking away this intimate decision from us. They take the districts' children and the products of our labor. All they do is take.

I grasp at what little freedom of choice I still have. At least I do have the ability to choose who gets to have me, and at least it is the person I would have picked anyway. I'll just try my best to push the circumstances out of my mind tonight.

He apparently can tell that I've arrived there, for he reaches out and squeezes me again. "I am so sorry it has to be this way," he says in a choked voice again.

"It's all right," I whisper. I lean into him. "I told you I was in love with you... I'll be okay. I've thought about it anyway," I say into his ear. That's true enough. The fantasy did cross my mind a time or two in the arena, though I wouldn't allow myself to think too much about it. It seemed so hopeless at the time, and thinking of such a thing was a distraction from what I needed to be doing.

He grins back. "Well, then, I've got something to work with," he says. He wraps an arm around my shoulders and gives me another squeeze. "I'll try to be gentle... and make you happy. Just try not to think about them, okay?" he says quietly.

I agree with this idea. I will give them as little as I can. I'll let them have the sights of tomorrow morning—or maybe even tonight, because I wouldn't be a bit surprised if the place is bugged. I have no choice but to let them own the timing of this. But I will not let myself think about anything but Eugene for tonight. They won't have that.

I take a deep breath as we go back into the building. When we're back inside, he whirls me around almost violently, wraps me in his arms, and plants another kiss on my lips. Instinctively I allow him to deepen it. We stand there, locked together. Somebody passes by and stops cold at the sight of us. I don't look away from Eugene to see who it is. He finally breaks the kiss, pulls away, and lifts me up in his arms to carry me to bed. I wrap my arms around his neck.

He leans in next to the shell of my ear. His voice is barely audible but nonetheless grim. "Smile for the cameras."