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"But all the while I was alone,
The past was close behind.
I seen a lot of women,
But she never escaped my mind.
And I just grew…
Tangled up in Blue…"

-Bob Dylan

She had requested to be near the earth, in a room close to the grass, to the water, to the soil and hubris and humanity that breathed beneath her toes. She was not escaping one tower only to be shuttered away in another. It was hard for her parents to comprehend; in their world, to be sheltered was just a place. Their status allowed a certain luxury, of fantastic views and balconies overlooking Corona and ruling from on-high. Their daughter's room had remained untouched for eighteen long years, waiting so keenly for her warmth to return to the four-poster bed. How could they understand the utter suffocation of the stone walls? The odd vertigo she would experience peering out the bay window, clutching for phantom hair to anchor her, to catch her fall? No, she could not reside in the penthouse, not now at least. She needed to be grounded.

The first week out of isolation was, in a word, utterly overwhelming for Rapunzel. She didn't exhibit the usual signs of duress one may expect, however, from such overstimulation-no sobs of glee or terror, no foetal positions or raving spasms of madness. This was a testament, perhaps, to how much she had grown since the nascent leap from her tower, where the mere caress of grass blades or expanse of road made adrenaline cackle in her veins. She was still expressive, no doubt about that-eagerly bounding from one sensation to the next, whether it included baking dozens-upon-hundreds of pink frosted cupcakes (each with a particular name and personality) in the palace's cavernous kitchens, or sparking an impromptu game of hide-and-seek with the royal guard, bewildering the men as she jumped out of crevices and chests and barrels, and one time, an actual Han Dynasty vase. She would even affectionately refer to the antique as a "humping", in her delightful mispronunciation of new words that caused many to glare or giggle in reaction (due to ignorance, most likely, Eugene mused; how many people even cared what a hunping was, save Goldie?) Even in this constant stream of curiosity and pleasure and discovery, Rapunzel softly began to become less and less vibrant with every successive moment. Each night she would collapse, exhausted and drained, in her reading chair, a book sprawled on her lap, eyes fluttering in such a gentle way it took everything Eugene had to keep from peppering her with butterfly kisses as he would douse the lamps and cover her in blankets. Someone had to notice these things.

Yet, it seemed neither her parents nor anyone in the damned establishment really did. How do you show someone life, when all they've known were mere facets? Eugene pondered this, slouch-leaning nervously against a column, half-shaded by darkness. Not since his orphan days, and the years of thievery "apprenticeship" (even Flynn Rider was a tyro at one point), had he felt so invested, so conflicted, so…prone to contemplation. He was itching now, with the beginning of a headache-all this worry was atypical for his system. He needed a plan. He needed to help settle Rapunzel before she exploded or withered away. He needed…a cold drink.

A shadow rose slowly on the opposing wall, slanted from the torchlight down the hall. Eugene tensed. He was outside Rapunzel's room, and although he had never been explicitly told to "stay away" from said chambers, it was still but a mere week into this unfathomable gig. The tenuous terms of his pardon meant little to the royal guards; best to not tip-toe the line of sticky situation too much. He stole behind the column, prepared to see the grizzled, hairy faces of two night guards, when the steps became less pronounced, more light.

"Eugene?" the whisper was light and airy. Rapunzel, he breathed.

"Ah, I found you!" She abandoned the quietness as she engulfed him in a fierce hug, her eyes heavy and shadowed from lack of sleep. Eugene tousled her hair gently, feeling the softness wave from the roots. It was still spectacular. She pulled away from his grasp with a blush.

"I'm sorry…I know it's way past my bedtime, but…" She looked so, so tired, biting her lip with sad eyes. She had been going non-stop the past week, how her tiny frame could manage, Eugene couldn't comprehend.

"Eugene, could we talk?"

"Blondie, we're talking right now."

"Somewhere else? Your room? Please, I just…I don't want to be alone tonight."

Damn those eyes, those pools, that little twinkle. She grabbed his hand and tore him away, down the spiral staircases and through corridors and passages and marbled halls. Down to the courtyard, past the dangling shadows of Spanish moss, to Eugene's personal quarters. His accommodations for the moment were really one of the guest rooms, set aside for visiting dignitaries or diplomats-gorgeous, but removed from the heart of the palace. From any sense of permanence. Eugene tried not to dwell on what this meant; he had never had such luxurious arrangements before, and anxiety would only ruin the pleasure. They were inside now, the door shuttered and Rapunzel nervous and fidgeting on his bed, her hands tugging the duvet as he lit the lamps, bringing her into better light. She hadn't even changed out of her dress; just removed the corset, looking loose and tired, as tired as when he lay her down quietly hours before. Seeing her fierce spirit so vulnerable softened his face, as Eugene sat down, her head leaning against his shoulder, turned inward as if to lightly nuzzle.

"You smell different." Her voice was smooshed. Eugene raised an eyebrow.

"Like a ponce, right? I've taken more baths this week than my entire life! They scrubbed with at least five kinds of slimy soap. I don't want to know the ingredients, but they were pretty…nice. Nicer on you, probably." He nudged her chin gently with his thumb; she wasn't in a silly mood.

"You smell like everyone else, I guess. Just on top though." She nuzzled in a bit deeper, and Eugene suppressed a slight shiver. "Underneath it's like when we first met. Like…how the sun smelled. And wet hair." He tried to take this as a compliment; Rapunzel found weird things pleasurable.

"Goldie, you said you needed to talk? Is this about my cleaning habits? Because if so, that could wait until morning, rest makes your nose less wacky, I may have read that in an almanac once…"He stopped. His shirt was damp, Rapunzel's tears pouring forth now, as she sniveled and sobbed into his sleeve. It was worrisome, so he clutched her tighter.
"Rapunzel?"

"Eugene…I'm sorry, but I don't know what's wrong really and I don't know who to talk you and oh! I think I should talk to the queen…my mother, I mean. Moth…Gothel, I always told her things, and if not, I would ask Pascal, or read a book. But even books don't have…information or data on…this."She was sniffling again. "Feelings aren't really in the dictionary. Is that because no one else feels them exactly the same way? I just feel this big, great pressure all the time, like my chest is too tight. There's a lot to being a princess, you know. You have to walk a certain way, speak in a certain tone, and practice strange habits. It's as if each day were a play, like the puppet show we saw on my birthday…but I don't know my lines or what scene I'm in, and my jokes aren't even funny. I'm a terrible puppet, Eugene." She blubbered quietly, stopping finally for breath. It seemed Eugene's assumptions were…rightfully assumed. Shit.

He stroked her head, biting his cheek in frustration.

"Darling, breath. What you accomplished this week was…remarkable. You just met the world in a flash! The rest of us riffraff take lives to do that, and still can't do it with the same poise or…joy that you do." Rapunzel smiled sadly at this. "You even got me to play hopscotch and bridge and a million other card games I hardly knew existed."

"Or were hardly very good at." Rapunzel giggled now, wiping her eyes. "I made them up, to play with Pascal. He's quite the card-shirt, if you must know."

"Card-shark, dear. Or rather, card-frog."

"But what about the court ladies? I don't think they like me; I can never join in their conversations, they just seem to…complain and whisper secrets all the time. They say I ask too many questions. So I've learned to keep them inside, for later, to write down and search for in the dictionary or these things called Encyclopedias…father said they were "extensive". Or to ask the que…mother. Or you." Eugene put a finger to her lips, hushing her before she got worked up again.

"Those court-bitches just don't know the answers probably, and hate for you to see all the air in their heads." Rapunzel looked suddenly alarmed at this statement, as if the women were really balloons that would pop with the slightest bit of curiosity. "I know how hard it's been. Well, I don't, but I can see how difficult it is and understand why you feel so confused. I think…I think I'm going to speak to your mother tomorrow, if they'll allow me. See what they can do about the pace of activities, and maybe getting you into some form of school?" Rapunzel brightened at this. She had liked touring the church school the best during her second day reintegrated into the palace; the children all eager and encouraged to ask questions, with all those books and art supplies. It was something she had never conceived of in the tower…and yet, it felt so fabulous.

"School." She whispered. There'd be less people there, and all her inquiries could be analyzed, like lessons. Still…even that would feel so new. So foreign. She whimpered a little.

"Eugene…that's great. Thank you, really. But…I'm not nearly clever enough to go with other girls my age. I think. If they still have school for people like me, at my age. And wouldn't it be wrong to go with the younger…children?" Eugene pressed his forehead against hers, breathing her in. She shivered, as he clutched her closer, making her warmer, more stable.

"I don't know Goldie." His eyes were closed. "but you're not dumb. The queen will arrange something. It's more important that there's someone…who will respect you. Listen to you. Take it slow without boring you and your fucking quick way of catching on to things. Someone…"

"Like you!" Rapunzel brightened, as if she had found the key. Eugene looked suddenly sick.

"Bad, bad idea. I am the worst example to follow. I never went to school! Real, proper school anyway. I'm good at stealing and lying and being despicable…and fantastically handsome." Rapunzel giggled. "But…book smarts? Life smarts? You'd be consulting a loser, darling. And frankly, that ol' captain would just think I was corrupting you."

"What if I want to be corrupted?" She looked so earnest, and sultry, at once. Eugene gulped. Did she even realize the implications of what she just uttered?

"You don't. Corruption leads to empty stomachs and jail time." He waggled his eyebrows at her, so she wouldn't become upset and remember how close he was to…never mind. "You're going to become something awesome, like an artist or a star-scientist or a frog and cupcake expert."

"Those exist?"

"Now they do. You need someone wise and brilliant. Not me. Not a thief whose sole source of knowledge came from a cheap, mass-produced adventure novel." He kissed her then, gently on the forehead, as if to try and bring closure to the discussion. But Rapunzel untangled herself from his grasp, and walked over to the window, nervously pulling at her hair. She was lost in thought.

"Rapunzel…what is it? Don't like the plan?"

"No, no…I do. But I still think…I still want you. Maybe you could teach me all the things you know. Like how to make people smile, or how to be sneaky. So I can come here more often!" She was so fucking adorable. He launched off his bed and caught her up in a great embrace, smelling her hair, her scent. She idolized him and he was terrified, terrified, that one day she would see she was so wrong. Terrified that his plan for her to get more comfortable would suddenly make her realize he was nothing in this world, terrified she would become the princess and see a sea of possibilities…and he wasn't necessary. But he couldn't deny her this opportunity, couldn't deny her…happiness and comfort. Maybe he was getting soft, or their adventure had shifted him, but for once, his fears and worries weren't taking precedence. Rapunzel needed a real tutor.

"Goldie, I'll teach you whatever I can. Just don't be upset when all it turns out to be are a few bad jokes and re-enactments of Flynnigan Rider…wait." He breathed, and loosened his grip on her, suddenly struck by an idea. Rapunzel needed grounding, needed something to frame and put into context all these experiences. When he was a kid, what helped him understand the world the most?
Books. He could show her books, show her his book, and maybe, just maybe, help her grasp the chaos of life just a little better. He gazed down at her wide, bright eyes, so green and yearning. Made him smile. At worse, it would give him an excuse to press his body against hers, talk with her alone, see her approving gaze for that much longer. He was capable.

"Blondie, I have a plan!" He swept her up giggling, unto the bed as he reverted to his Flynn Rider persona, roguish and showing off. "Babe, let's strike a deal…if you promise you work hard and enjoy your education from the experts during the week, I promise you I will teach you the depths of my knowledge…or shallows, to some, from the pages of my favorite novels…The Adventures of Flynnigan Rider!" She squealed with delight, pulling him down with a oomph! Onto the duvet, tickling and giggling into his beard.
"Yes, oh yes, Eugene! I would ADORE story time! We could even dress up…as princesses or pirates or leprechauns!" She liked leprechauns. And gypsies. And probably unicorns, once she discovered them. Eugene had hit the jackpot here. "But when shall we start? Tonight, oh please?"
He laughed, ruffling her hair and grazing her side with his finger. God, what he wanted for tonight…

"I'm afraid not dear. You are up so late, and still tuckered. You would doze off through the first tale. Besides, I don't have a copy yet. I say we get you back upstairs to your room so Pascal isn't too worried and you can up in time for breakfast. Deal?"

She sighed into his arms, as he scooped up her small body and pressed it gently against his chest. She was smiling contently, eyelids resigned and heavy as he stepped back out of the chilly courtyard and up the steps, trying not to cross paths with the guards. He could hear her whisper though, as they approached her hall.

"One day Eugene, my room will be on the ground…right next to yours…and the library…and a garden. No more towers for me, no more…"

He looked at her sleepy form with a hint of sadness.

"I promise…" he murmured to empty ears, her breathing steady and drawn out now. "No more, ever again. You'll be grounded soon, my princess. I just don't know if I can do it."

A.N.: Thanks for reading my tale! The story will be heavily influenced by Bob Dylan's lyrics and songs. Why? Because what is more bizarre than Tangled and Bob Dylan's hoarse genius combined?

Kudos to anyone who recognizes the albums each chapter title comes from. Reviews are always welcome!

~hippie