Note: Oh, heck. I'll update when I update. Let's just say that the schedule will be no less often than twice monthly. At present, much more often.

Thanks to my four reviewers! You guys motivate me.

Chapter Three: Situation

"You are a little fool."

"No, I'm not. I know what I'm doing."

The image in her mind frowned. "You're weak. Too weak to tell him no."

"I can handle this."

"You can't handle yourself at all. You're weak."

"I am not!"

"I'm not really here, dear. Isn't it rather unhealthy to talk to your own head?" The black-haired lady in her imagination simpered.

"People argue with themselves. I've just put a face to one side of the argument."

That face seemed to shift its expression a bit. "I don't know what he sees in you. Your hair, for example. Look at it! Why would he be impressed with that? Plain and unattractive, just as I always told you it was. That's why it had to be—"

"Shut up!" Rapunzel actually spoke aloud this time. The sound jolted her out of her mental argument, and she blushed with embarrassment. She also realized she was shaking, she was so upset. Rapunzel really hoped the walls in this apartment were thick enough that no one would hear her telling a nonexistent antagonist to shut up. "I am losing my mind," she muttered to herself, getting up from the bed and taking a much-needed shower. She hadn't had one the night before, being too drunk to stand on a wet floor safely.

She tried to clear her head as she bathed. It irritated her to no end that sometimes when she was conflicted about something, her mother's image seemed to take the part of some sort of hostile attorney, grilling her mercilessly. She had tried to leave that life. It's because I betrayed her, she thought unhappily as she washed her short locks. Living in Fairbanks was one thing. We could still communicate—strained, but she did relent and get a phone line strung in the house so that she wouldn't lose me entirely. But then when I left for college... Rapunzel suddenly put her face into the stream of water, trying not to think about this anymore.

She forced herself to think about her—meeting—with Flynn. She would not call it a date. She hated to admit it, considering what sort of person she was sure that he was, but she still did wonder what he saw in her—if anything. She never supposed herself to be an interesting person to talk to; she had difficulty making friends for a reason, she figured. She knew her interests were quirky and could not fathom what interest of hers a rich, self-made young man would be drawn to. Even the explanation that he was simply interested in her physically didn't make a lot of sense to her. Her mother had been very dismissive of her looks once she became a teen. "It's a terrible shame, since you were such a beautiful child, but at least you're a sweet girl," she had said as she made up Rapunzel's face one time.

At least, she had said that for a while. Before Rapunzel began to grow restless with that house, that mountain, that town that barely deserved the name.

Now Rapunzel realized that she was not ugly, but she could not imagine herself to be more than a notch above average. Pascal had been the first person to tell her otherwise three years ago. She could just recall how startled and dismayed he was when she disparaged her appearance carelessly. She had attributed it to the kindness of a friend—after all, she had thought in ignorance, what would a gay male know about female beauty?—before realizing that beauty was beauty. Then, of course, Max had complimented her a couple of years later, but she still thought that their compliments could be explicable on the basis of friendship and kindness. Max and Pascal were never going to be attracted to her, so it wasn't in any way threatening or dangerous for them to tell her she was pretty.

Could Flynn actually think her pretty? She supposed it was possible. He had approached her in that club. Her. He certainly had nothing to go on other than her physical appearance, and perhaps her posture and bearing. Maybe he did. It was at least an explanation, though it did not make her comfortable. If he thought she was pretty, then the flirting might not have been just a habit. She was not at all prepared to deal with an attraction, least of all from somebody like that.

This turn of her thoughts reminded her that she needed to find out whatever she possibly could about his past. He had some serious explaining to do, she thought firmly as she turned off the water and stepped out.

The next day, Rapunzel slept till eleven, awakening to the sound of her phone ringing. She stretched and glanced at the display. Pascal.

"Heyyyy, 'Punzel," came the cheerful tenor of her friend.

"Morning," she said.

"Have a good birthday?"

She froze. Had she? At the time, she had enjoyed herself, she decided, whatever anxieties may have formed after the day itself was over. "Yup," she said. "I went out to that place."

"Get drunk?"

"Yeah," she admitted with a chuckle.

"Well, I hope you didn't do anything scandalous while under the influence," Pascal said in a mock scolding tone.

Rapunzel laughed uncomfortably. "Now Pascal," she said, "you know me."

"I'm just teasing. Just wanted to check on you, really. Make sure you were okay."

"Everything's fine," Rapunzel said, wincing at the lie. What was wrong with her? She had never hidden anything from her friends—well, maybe not quite, but her past in the far north didn't count. That was before she met them.

"That's good," Pascal said. "Got any plans for the day?"

"Um... I thought I might watch some movies."

"Well, enjoy that! The Keys are great, by the way. You'll have to come with us the next time we go. I insist."

She laughed. "I may just take you up on that."

"You will! Max will personally haul you here on his back if necessary." In the background, Rapunzel could hear the deeper voice of Max saying, "Darn right I will." She laughed again. Pascal laughed as well. "Well," he said, "I'd better go. We're jet skiing today. You have fun this afternoon, 'kay?"

"I'll try to. You too! Later!"

"Bye."

She hung up the phone and stared blankly at it. What was her problem? Why couldn't she tell her friends about this? She was getting nervous about this stupid meeting tonight, and she had no reason to be. He was the one who was going to be put on the spot tonight, she resolved. Besides, she was absolutely not drinking anything, and if he tried anything on her, she would make sure to push him away and make it clear that it was not welcome.

However, as the day progressed, Rapunzel grew more and more nervous about the prospect of six o'clock. She sat at the computer for a little while, trying to relax with humorous websites, but she couldn't focus. Her thoughts kept wandering, and her fingers were so tempted to type "Flynn Rider" into the search engine again and read more. However, she knew that it would be a mistake. The only source that might give a hint as to his real motives and inner thoughts during the Crowngate case was the court testimony record itself, which was far too long to read and fully comprehend in a few hours, and even then it would just be a transcript. She definitely wasn't going to read what any blogs had to say about the case. Whatever point of view they were coming from, they would be expressing their own bias, and in any case, what were the odds that any of the writers actually knew Flynn? Slim to none, she was sure. She wasn't interested in anyone's speculations—"armchair psychology," to use a phrase that Max liked to say when referring to political commentators. Rapunzel gave up at last and paced around her common room until finally wandering in the kitchen and opening up her cabinets.

She stopped in horror. There was very little food. How had this happened? She groaned as she remembered. Her usual grocery day was Thursday. That was yesterday. She had missed it. She glanced at the clock on the microwave. Four o'clock already. She considered. Yes, she probably had enough time to go to the grocery store and stock up. And if I don't get back in time, I'll have stood him up, which will put an end to his interest anyway, she thought, then winced. For some reason, that idea bothered her.

She grabbed her environmentally friendly canvas bags and her purple purse before heading out and quickly walking several blocks to the Safeway. On the way, she passed a group of large men who appeared to be assembling posters, tables, and printed materials between the sidewalk and an alley between two buildings. She paid it no further attention; demonstrators were very common in this town. Everyone had a cause, it seemed, and wanted to draw attention to it. She kept going.

Once she got into the store, Rapunzel took a while. Her list was pretty long, but there was only so much that she could bring back on foot. She really needed to buy one of those folding dollies, she thought. However, at the moment, she would have to make some hard choices—and if she was subconsciously dawdling with the idea of avoiding Flynn, she certainly wouldn't acknowledge it. She wouldn't even look at her watch to check on the time. That carried a sense of responsibility and recognition of a schedule to meet. But at the back of her mind, she knew what was happening, and she was mentally kicking herself for doing this.

By the time she was checking out her groceries, she steeled herself for the bad news and glanced at the watch. It was 5:48. Well, you've done it now, she thought. You've made your choice. No way to get back home in time.

She had bought too much in spite of everything. The canvas bags, though very roomy, were dragging her down from their weight, and she was constantly having to stop on the sidewalk and adjust them to a more comfortable spot to keep the handles from digging into her hands or making her arms ache. She was sure she looked ridiculous, loaded down with bags that probably weighed half what she did and easily took up just as much space, dwarfing her slight, small frame. She was only halfway back to her apartment when her cell phone started to ring. She knew who it had to be before she even looked at it.

"Hi," Flynn said after she answered. "I buzzed your door, but you didn't answer. You about ready?"

Damn him, she cursed mentally, feeling guilty even though it was only a thought. Rapunzel rarely thought in profanity, and it irritated her that he had gotten to her somehow—and she had to admit, finally, that he absolutely had. It was the only explanation for the way she had been acting all day. He really wasn't going to let her alone, either, unless she specifically told him to bugger off, and she just couldn't bring herself to do that. He had done nothing but be nice to her, and Rapunzel suddenly had it occur to her that he deserved the chance to explain himself. That was how the justice system ideally worked, after all, she thought. Innocent until proven guilty. If she believed in the ideals of constitutional government—and she would say that she did—then she should honor them in this situation, she decided.

But she said none of this to Flynn. Instead she let out a groan and said, sheepishly, "Actually, I'm really sorry about this, but I went out grocery shopping and kind of lost track of time."

"Oh." He paused. "Well, do you want me to pick you up?"

She hesitated. "I have some frozen stuff," she said truthfully. "I'm walking back anyway. I'm about halfway there, if you can wait maybe ten or fifteen minutes for me to drop it off."

"How much have you got?"

"A lot."

"I'll meet you and take some of it off you."

"Um... thanks," she said. Why is he being so nice to me? she thought in irritation. She kept walking, not bothering to look for him. He would find her with no trouble, the way she was practically buried in bags.

Before long she thought she saw him approaching in the distance. Her eyesight was perfect, and she was at the top of a small hill, giving her a clear view. He had on casual clothes—a dark aqua blue jacket, another white shirt with the top button open, and tan pants. She wondered vaguely why he apparently didn't like to wear the usual suit and tie (specifically, a red tie) that were almost the standard uniform of young politicos in this town, even for walking down the streets.

As she approached him, she realized that she was coming up on the protest group that she had noticed before. They were assembled now, and she was able to get a better look at them. There were about ten of them. It was an all-male group, she noticed; they were also mostly quite large. And somewhat scary-looking, if she were completely honest with herself. They looked awfully angry about something. Maybe that was just part of the protest, though. She caught sight of several t-shirts with slogans and symbols, including the anarchy symbol, the famous profile of Che that she had encountered in a unit about political propaganda posters in one of her art courses, and a grinning, pale face that she had seen before but couldn't remember what Pascal and Max had called it. Oh right, "V mask" was the term they used. Rapunzel was also able to read their posters. OCCUPY DC. OCCUPY SILVER SPRING. Okay, Rapunzel thought. She had seen that before too. Well, they might well be large and somewhat physically intimidating, but they had something that they had chosen to do. They were occupied, after all, and she wasn't going to be frightened just because they were big and burly. She ignored the group as she met Flynn.

"Hi," she said.

He stared at her.

"I know it looks ridiculous," she said, looking down.

"If I'd known there was this much, I would've swung by in the car," he remarked, relieving her of some of the bags.

"Hey," one of the protestors suddenly interrupted. Rapunzel and Flynn turned to look at him. He was a large, muscular guy with a mustache and huge eyebrows, and he had an artificial bionic hand. "You want some literature? Wall Street practically owns our government, and there's no accountability." He held a stack of documents in his normal hand.

Rapunzel was ready to accept the brochure just to pacify the man and get away from there, but Flynn had other ideas. "Uh, thanks, but we need to be somewhere," he said quickly and nervously, reaching down to pick up Rapunzel's grocery bags.

"Wait a second," the biggest guy of all, an angular-faced character with a bushy goatee, spoke in a menacing tone. He poked Flynn in the chest with an enormous finger. "Is this you?" He grabbed one of the brochures from his fellow protestor and opened it up. To Rapunzel's absolute horror, it bore a picture drawn by a courtroom artist of Flynn speaking to the court. –Only something wasn't quite right about the drawing, she observed with a frown. She could've done better than that.

"You must be mistaken," Flynn said, peering at the drawing with disdain. "The nose... I mean really."

"Liar," said the first guy with the artificial hand. He shoved the brochures into the hands of a short, aging man who wore only a pair of pants and looked drunk. "It's you all right, Rider."

"Now, guys!" Flynn exclaimed, trying to back away, but the thuggish protestors were emerging from their enclave onto the sidewalk itself, closing in around the pair.

"And what's a pretty girl like you doing with a scumbag like this?" a guy with an enormous nose and pimply face asked Rapunzel gruffly. He didn't wait for an answer, immediately joining the mob surrounding Flynn.

"Escaped justice, you piece of shit?" the biggest thug snarled, grabbing Flynn by the front of his clothes. "You aren't going to escape this." He pulled Flynn off the sidewalk and into the area that the small group had set up for their protest.

"Put him down!" Rapunzel called out, but her voice was not loud enough, and it was lost. The thugs continued to haul Flynn away from the public sidewalk, dragging him into an alley between two buildings. Abandoning her bags on the pavement, Rapunzel dashed after them.

"I want him first," said a tall guy who was—for reasons Rapunzel could not figure out—wearing a V mask, along with what appeared to be a Viking helmet. She knew from living near DC for four years that some protestors liked to dress in costume, but still—

"I get to beat him first," the huge thug said sinisterly, leering at Flynn with unmitigated hatred. "I lost my damn apartment because of pieces of crap like this. Like your damn banker and Wall Street clients. Landlord went bankrupt and turned us out on the street."

"Gentlemen!" Flynn exclaimed, his face white with fear as they manhandled him. "We can work this out! I have money—"

"I know you do, and I wouldn't touch your money," another thug growled at him. "You know what happened to me, you asshole? I lost my job because the company went under! And you know why it went under, punk?"

"Wall Street scum," the biggest thug snarled, slamming Flynn down on a table the group and set up and rearing back to hit him right in the face.

"Stop it!" Rapunzel shouted.

Her high, light voice was jarringly out of place in the middle of this group, and it caught everyone's attention. The furious protestors all stopped to stare at her.

"Why?" the huge one said in a growl.

"Yeah, you give us one good reason we shouldn't beat this dirtbag to a bloody pulp and leave him to rot in the alley," another one said, cracking his knuckles.

Rapunzel's gaze darted rapidly over the group, searching their faces for anyone who might be able to be worked on. She saw no sympathy and no hesitation in anyone's eyes. Her eyes finally landed on the one with the bionic hand, the mechanical limb ending in a flesh-colored silicone glove. There was a certain sternness and discipline in his face, too, and he seemed to be regarded as a leader among the protest group, even if unofficially. Her mind suddenly raced. He had lost that hand to something. Maybe...

"Because of the law!" she exclaimed. "I don't like what he did either—"

Flynn's face fell as she spoke these words, his mouth dropping open in dismay at the realization that she knew.

"—but he did come forward on his own, and he held up his end of the deal! He didn't get off by slimy lawyering or some dodgy technicality! You've got to respect the law. I mean, that's what you're fighting for, right?" She stared at them, eyes wide and pleading. "A nation of laws, not men. Not public lynchings and mob justice. Right?" Rapunzel gazed desperately at the man with the artificial hand, really hoping that her guess about that hand was correct.

He paused, evidently affected by her words, then spoke gruffly. "Put him down," he said to the others.

"What?"

"She's right," he said. He held up his bionic hand and flexed the fingers. "I lost this fightin' for what she says."

A derisive snort escaped from Flynn, attracting the attention of the protestors again. "Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "Allergies."

"Shut it," the pimply-faced thug said to him. He picked Flynn up by the collar, lifted him off the table, and heaved him at Rapunzel.

"Hold on," the veteran with the artificial hand said, putting his natural hand on Flynn's shoulder. He glared angrily at the young ex-lobbyist. "I ain't doing this for you, slime. I don't know what you're doing with a nice girl like her, but you don't deserve her, and I hope she figures that out. Now get out of my sight."

Flynn didn't need telling twice. He scampered after Rapunzel, who was already dashing back to the sidewalk. Her grocery bags lay unattended, and she grabbed at several of them as he neared. He smoothed out his clothes, but didn't speak to her as he picked up the rest of the bags.

It was a silent pair who walked the rest of the distance back to Rapunzel's apartment. Finally, as they entered the Corona Heights complex, Flynn spoke. "Um... thanks for that back there."

"You're welcome," she said tightly. They did not speak again until after she had let them into the building and ascended up to her floor. As she turned the key to unlock her door, he spoke again.

"Well... I guess you..." He trailed off, unsure of what to say. She opened the door and let them both in.

"I know all about it, Flynn," she said. She didn't look at him and began putting her groceries away.

He started to help her. "Obviously," he said. "And yet you still want to spend time with me." As she turned around in astonishment at his nerve, he smirked at her.

"You..." She couldn't believe it. So much for the nice guy! I guess this is his other side, she thought. "You have some explaining to do, sir," she said, glaring at him.

"Of course. I'll explain anything you want me to."

"And if you think I did that because I liked you..." She put her hands on her hips. "I don't believe in vigilante justice, that's all! I don't want to see a public beatdown!"

"Naturally not," Flynn said, still smirking as he put up a box of cereal.

"Ugh!" She wanted to slap him for his arrogance. "You're awfully full of yourself for someone who just got saved from being beaten up, you know."

Flynn threw his arms out in defeat, and the smirk dropped from his face, leaving him looking wide-eyed and somewhat innocent again, the way he had looked when he set out her breakfast the previous day. "Fine! You're quite right. I'm really very grateful to you for that, you know. Truly, I am."

His words sounded sincere, but something about the tableau still irked Rapunzel. She felt as if he were making fun of her. "You should be," she said severely. She put up the last grocery item, a head of lettuce, and glared at him again.

"Well," he said, "after that, I feel like I owe you more than just a movie on my couch. How about dinner?" He looked expectantly at her.

"Flynn, I don't want to be wined and dined in some posh restaurant." She was tired of the "lobbyist" routine, and that sort of dinner sounded an awful lot like a date to her.

"That's not what I had in mind. I'm not dressed for that anyway."

"Yeah... I was actually noticing that before the, uh, incident," she said. "Do you not like wearing suits and ties?"

"Not really, no."

"Huh. I would've thought you would have done it a lot before."

"I did." His tone of voice seemed to indicate that he didn't want to discuss the subject anymore, and Rapunzel did not pursue it. "So, what about a pizza place?"

"Okay," she agreed. "Only I don't eat meat, so—"

"I surmised as much from your groceries. Split the toppings?" he said, smiling.

"All right. Just let me get ready. Maybe five minutes."

Flynn went into her living area and sat on the comfortable couch while Rapunzel darted into her bathroom and quickly brushed through her short hair. She frowned. She still had mixed feelings about it. It was her natural hair, which was more than could be said for her appearance for the greater part of sixteen years, but still...

Images suddenly filled her mind from her own memories and long-gone photo albums. Tiny Rapunzel, three years old, sitting on a carpeted form, long blonde waves falling down her back, as she smiled for the camera. Five-year-old Rapunzel, waist-length golden hair in a flower-studded braid, dressed in a pink sparkly dress, sitting at a play tea table and simpering sweetly as her mother snapped the picture. Eight years old, garbed in a floral sundress, straight waist-length blonde hair tickling her back and shoulders as she determinedly chopped off the gold curls of one of her dolls, cropping the hair very close to the doll's head. Eleven, her long hair in waves again, its owner dressed in purple satin, her cheeks covered in blush makeup and her eyes lined and eyelashes accented with mascara. She wasn't going to a party. She wasn't entered in a beauty pageant. She was eating dinner with her mother in their house.

"Dear, you are simply adorable like this! I've made you into the perfect little daughter."

A painful yank of her brush through a persistent tangle brought Rapunzel back to the current reality. She stared at herself in the mirror and sighed in discontent, but she realized that she had held Flynn up long enough. She worked through that last tangle, set down the brush, and came back into the main area of her flat.

"Ready?" he asked, a flirty smile spreading over his face.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she muttered, pulling at the ends of her hair. Flynn frowned at this, quirking his brows in concern, and she quickly stopped doing it. They left the apartment without a word.

Flynn had parked in the short-term visitors' area of the parking garage. He unlocked the vehicle, opened the passenger door to let her in, and then got in himself. He put the keys into the ignition, but rather than cranking the car, paused in hesitation. "Rapunzel," he said.

"Yeah?"

"I hate to even ask this, but... you really don't seem to like your hair that much. Why? The length suits you, and it's such a nice brunette shade."

She stared back at him, frozen, her eyes wide in alarm. She couldn't answer.

"Is it because of your name?"

She shook her head mutely.

"Okay," he said, frowning. "If you don't want to discuss it, that's fine. But I promise, your hair is really pretty, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

She nodded. "Thanks," she said in a half-swallow.

Rapunzel quickly realized that Flynn was heading out to Fairfax. It wasn't a bad trip. Some of the rush hour traffic had dispersed—though not much, she thought with some irritation when they got caught behind a light in a line of traffic that moved so slowly, the light had changed twice before they reached it. But at last, the close buildings gave way to space, greenery, and breathing room. Finally Flynn pulled into an Italian restaurant in Fairfax. Rapunzel looked around at the other people going inside. No one appeared to be dressed formally, she thought with a sigh of relief.

They went inside and were soon seated at a table. Flynn hesitated at the wine list. Rapunzel looked up, realized what he was doing, and gave him a silent nod of permission to order some, briefly recalling her plan not to drink anything alcoholic but deciding that this wasn't really what she'd had in mind. He had said this would be okay if she didn't drink too much and had some food, and she had apparently decided to eat half a pizza. He ordered a bottle and went ahead and ordered a pizza, half pepperoni, half vegetarian.

"Pepperoni?" Rapunzel asked, stifling a giggle. It seemed so ordinary, so unlike a notorious high-rolling lobbyist.

"I'm really a regular guy underneath," Flynn said in a faux-offended tone.

"Sure you are," she said, the smile fading from her face. Why did he have to allude to that subject?

He smiled weakly back at her. "Rapunzel," he began, "you're bound to be wondering some things."

Well, clearly he did want to discuss it. "You could say that, yes." She folded her hands and looked directly at him. "But first of all, there's something else I want to know. What on earth do you want from me? I mean, you've been"—she hesitated, not really wanting to use the word she had in mind, but unable to think of another—"pursuing me pretty doggedly. What are you after?" She lowered her voice a tad, but gave him a glare to compensate. "If this is all some elaborate seduction attempt, then you had better give it up, because it's not happening."

Flynn drew back, blinking. "I... wow, Rapunzel. I'm not going to say you're not hot"—he winked, which made her wince in embarrassment—"but for now, I just want to get to know you. Really know you. You're interesting and different. I saw a lot of people who were all more or less alike, or at least they didn't want to get to know me well enough to prove otherwise. But you're intriguing. You're obviously smart, but you're also interesting in other ways."

"That's just hard to believe," she said, frowning.

"But that's really all there is, Rapunzel." He leaned forward, looking into her eyes, trying to read them. "Is it so hard to believe that I'd find you interesting?"

"Nobody except Pascal and Max ever found me interesting. Just strange and silly." She looked down, her eyes smarting with tears, as she cursed herself for saying this, for confessing something so personal to him.

"Well, that I can believe. Most people are absolute scum," he said in a suddenly icy, grim tone.

She looked up, startled at his change of tone, but he was looking away at something else. She turned her head and realized what it was. Their meal was here.

Author's Note: Needless to say, this chapter contains the first specific reference to current events. It turned out a lot more overtly political than I intended, and for that I apologize. Let me say right here and now that I don't mean any offense to anyone who participated in Occupy. It's just that, in order to have a variant of this Tangled scene in the story, I needed to have some group that would conceivably want to beat Flynn up, and I don't find a drunken bar brawl all that believable in this specific setting. However, a particularly thuggish set of Occupiers (there was violence and vandalism in places, as with any protest) seemed to fit the bill. They really would not like this version of him.