More than once, it has occurred to me that I should've made this story take place during the summer. A nice Fourth of July celebration might have been a good equivalent to the lanterns from Tangled. Well, it is what it is, and it's too late to turn back now.

After watching the movie again, I realized something that I didn't really get the first five or six times around. Besides being beautiful and atmospheric, the lanterns that the people of Corona release are symbols of their hopes and dreams; figuring that in made the scene a thousand times more touching. Or maybe I'm just a sap.

Which might be hard to tell, cuz it seems like the romance in this story has been a bit slow to get started. Thank you to everybody who's been reading, and leaving helpful reviews. Hopefully this chapter will stoke the fluff beasts' appetites without going overboard.

Chapter Six

Applause sank in, like a soft rain, fading beneath Gothel's skin, an assuring sound of appreciation for her talents. Lips curling up in a smile, the woman gestured to her audience, silently thanking them for what she had taken in return.

It was no where near what Rapunzel could do with her voice, but Gothel's ability to steal, bit by bit, from her watchers had been enough to keep her going for long enough, and it was what she relied on now that the girl was gone. Her thoughts revolved around the high-spirited girl as she saw two familiar hulks slip in through the club's front door. The lunch crowd wasn't much to boast, not in this neighborhood, at least, but Gothel would make do until Rapunzel was returned.

She slipped off the stage and to the small, closet-like excuse of a dressing room in the back. The girls that had served as her backup singers were quick to scurry out of her way, like mice before a stalking kitchen cat.

Gothel tugged at her face, scrutinizing the reflection in the dressing room's mirror. The bright lights were unflattering even on the most youthful of faces, and she'd had to work overtime to paint herself into something decent. Even her clothes did not hang right, but she was saved from that embarrassment by the bulky winter coat that the weather and fashion required. After peeking inside of her heavy hand bag and exiting, she was not surprised when her two escorts-cum-drivers were waiting outside of the door.

"Hello, boys," she said smoothly. They each made an identical gesture of tugging on their hats.

"Hello, Miss Morse," said the more talkative of the two, Ron, following her as his one-eyed brother, Junior, lead them out. "Quite a performance you put on."

"It pays the bills, Stabbington."

She climbed into the wide back of their shining Alfa Romeo, not looking back as Ron pulled them away from the curb and into noontime traffic. Manhattan had changed much since she'd arrived on its shores just short of eighteen years before, but she had grown immune to the chaotic progress of the world. There was not much that surprised her anymore.

Rapunzel's disappearance, however, had been unpleasantly unexpected. She'd believed her child to be perfectly happy. She'd done everything she could to insure that Rapunzel was perfectly terrified of the world outside of the Ansonia, and would never dare to venture beyond the apartment. Gothel's confidence in that was enough to have her believe that Rapunzel had not gone of her own free will: she would have had to have been taken.

Who would take Rapunzel, Gothel did not know. Anybody else who knew that the girl was alive were themselves long dead. The Ansonia's security had been little help, and the same story from the police-with a city as large as New York, it would be nearly impossible to find a single girl, if she was even still in the city at all. There was little Gothel could do to prove that Rapunzel even existed, since she'd done so well to keep the girl a secret.

That anyone realized just what Rapunzel could do was even less likely. Rapunzel had kept her alive, and Gothel, in return, had done all she could to keep her happy. Perhaps, she had gained some happiness in return. Even while she knew that her use for Rapunzel would have been over had the Gala gone on as scheduled, Gothel could not imagine a life without her.

Slightly more infuriating than that was imagining anyone else reaping the rewards of Rapunzel's gift. Lifetimes of suspicion and despair made her wary of even the Tatiascore, despite their dealings over the years. Scipio and his gang of well-dressed thugs were not exempt from her scrutiny, something she made sure did not show on her face as they pulled up to the brief space in front of Torregrossa's, an Italian restaurant that boasted the most coveted tables on the West Side, and discreet seating for those who had less than legitimate business to attend. It was not hard to see why it was Scipio Tatiascore's favorite place for lunch.

Parking out front was, of course, out of the question. "I'll pull around," Ron grunted as Junior opened Gothel's door. The younger Stabbington led the singer into a smoky, quiet room, hushed voices slipping out from thickly cushioned booths that filled the restaurant. The light was mild, the smell a mixture of tobacco and cooking herbs. Gothel paid no mind to the other patrons, moving around Junior and crowded tables and toward the stairs in the back that would lead up to the second floor, and the private dining rooms, where Scipio already waited. Her heels were quiet on the plush carpeting of the stairs and the hallway that opened up at their top. Doorways were blocked off with red curtains, and from behind one she could hear the soft murmur of voices.

Gothel's lips pursed. She had expected Scipio to come alone, as he always had whenever they met. Approaching the curtain, she paused, signaling Junior to stop as she listened.

"Saw him with my own eyes, gov," came a drawl that she had heard somewhere, once before. "She's with him, alright. Sweet little biddy, too."

"You can't be sure she is Gothel's." That was Scipio.

"But you should've seen him jump! It's her. He knows we've got him by the goose eggs."

"After we sent him for that diamond and he never came back, he would know he was in trouble." Scipio sighed. Gothel could imagine him wiping at his brow with his usual greasy handkerchief. "Now he's only made it worse for himself. "

"We don't know where he is now, boss, but that won't take long," the first voice was all too eager. "What'll we do with 'em when we have 'em?"

"Rider can follow in his father's footsteps in a pair of cement shoes, for all I care. The girl," Scipio's voice trailed off in thought. "Once we've taken care of the old lady, I suppose we can convince the girl to part with her sizeable inheritance."

Gothel looked back at Junior; his face had grown suddenly pale. He snatched after her as she threw open the curtain, crossing the private room with swift, raging steps. Scipio sat at the head of the rectangular oaken table, behind him, a window with the view of the boulevard. A scrawny mouse of a man was at his side, one that Gothel recognized as Claude. They'd spoken once before, when Scipio had directed her to enlist the man's help to find Rapunzel. He'd promised to be discreet, and now she could see why.

Her hand delved into her purse, and Scipio felt the cold kiss of her revolver against the underside of his chin before he could react to her dramatic entrance. Claude was another step behind, jumping away from the table with a ratlike squeak.

"I'm afraid you're the one who's made it worse for himself," Gothel said icily. Scipio's head was bent uncomfortably, but he said nothing, no expression flickering across his face as he stared at her. "Sent him for the diamond? You intended to cut me out of the deal, Tatiascore."

Gothel was ashamed of herself for not seeing it coming, though she'd intended to do just the same, at least until all of their plans had hit a snag. Her frown deepened, and the room resounded with the click of her revolver's safety.

Scipio cleared his throat, glancing at Claude, and then at the younger Stabbington, who had frozen in the doorway, pistol in one too-large hand. Claude had found a small knife somewhere on his own person, but made no move to use it, apparently rooted in place by shock.

"You're a loose end, Gothel," Scipio finally said. "Loose ends are bad for the family. You understand."

"All too well," Gothel replied. "All that trouble for a diamond. But you've taken my little girl now, Tatiascore. Where have you got her?"

Scipio only sneered. With a snarl of frustration, Gothel pulled her gun away from the mob boss and pointed it at his sniveling right-hand man. Claude quailed as she shouted, "Where is she?"

"With Rider!" He bawled, backing away, knife forgotten in his quivering grip. He was not accustomed to being held at gunpoint. "The stupid wank!"

He did not suffer that for long, as the metal returned to Scipio's throat. "Rider?" Gothel asked. "Who is Rider?"

Scipio answered almost offhandedly, "Helpful man, that Flynn Rider. Why don't you ask Junior over there? He and his brother are quite familiar with him."

As if summoned, Ron appeared beside Junior, taking in what was going on with a decidedly more calm expression than his younger sibling.

"Rider ain't ours anymore," Claude said quickly, nose running. "He was supposed to go in and get it and get out. We didn't think he'd run out on us."

They hadn't known Gothel had a girl in that apartment. The woman's mind worked furiously: she'd never heard mention of this Rider, and while he may have worked for the Tatiascore once upon a time, it looked like he'd found his way onto their bad side-and with Rapunzel in tow.

"You won't lay a finger on her," Gothel hissed, pulling back the aged revolver's hammer. For the first time, she saw fear pass through Scipio's eyes. "And I will make sure you never so much as see that diamond in the papers, Tatiascore. Consider the deal off."

She moved her hand, and pulled the trigger. Scipio's scream chased the sound of the gun blast, echoed by shouts from the rooms below. He clutched his left leg, his thigh now a ground-up mess of bone and blood.

Claude howled. Gothel only told him, "He won't die. Not right away," before moving away from the writhing mob boss. The Stabbingtons watched her approach, making no move to help Scipio-but no move to shoot her, either. They were large enough that their guns seemed like toys in their hands, yet they were transfixed by the smaller woman who had reduced the most powerful crime lord in New York City to a sobbing wreck.

"How long had he been planning this, boys?"

Neither of them answered immediately, but when Gothel turned the gun's chamber, Junior was the one to confess, "Three months. He'd been planning since you were picked to sing at the Gala."

Gothel's nose wrinkled. "Listen. You are no longer with that sorry Sicilian over there. You work for me."

Ron was uneasy, his gaze moving from Gothel to Scipio and back again. "Why should we do it?" He demanded, though the belligerence in his tone was weak.

Gothel knew this game. She had used it on Scipio, and countless other men before him, and she knew she would do it plenty in the future.

"Rider ran out on you," she reminded them gently, though loud enough to be heard over Scipio's cries of agony and Claude's similar noises of distress. "If he'd had the diamond, he'd surely have left with that, but instead he's got my daughter."

Casually, she brushed bits of gore from her coat. The Stabbingtons looked at each other, not altogether certain. She had them trapped between a revolver and a hard place.

"You will help me find my daughter," Gothel continued. "You'll get the reward you never would have gotten from the Tatiascore, and certainly not from your foolish partner. And that isn't even the best part."

Ron's eyes narrowed, though he and his brother both lowered their pistols. "What's the best part?"

"Revenge on Flynn Rider."

I am going to write this ransom letter even if it kills me.

The irony of the thought was not lost on its bearer. Flynn Rider knew very well that if he didn't, it would kill him. If he did, there was still the very real possibility that he'd be caught by the police, or the Tatiascore, and he'd still end up dead. And of course he would not discount the times he'd nearly strangled himself directly because of the flax-haired girl he'd found himself tangled up with.

Flynn stared at the page in his right hand, clutching a pencil in his left. As he stared at it, he recalled that he'd snatched the paper right out of Rapunzel's sketchbook. On the page before it had been scribbles of geese and people, and even a few leaf rubbings.

"Why do you do this stuff?" He'd asked that morning, pulling on his jacket to leave.

"I used to draw because I didn't have anything else to do," Rapunzel had answered from the bed, laying on her belly, charcoal skimming the page with a rough sound. "Now I'm drawing so I'll remember everything we've done so far."

Flynn knew she would remember their time together, but not for the reasons she thought she would. She seemed happy at the moment, but once he was through, once he'd written his letter and gotten his money, he knew that she would hate him.

But she didn't hate him when he'd reached for the doorknob, heading for another dreary day at the docks. The weather, at least, had improved. She didn't hate him when she'd bounced off his bed, plucking up his cap from where he'd left it on his bedside table. Hardly a narrow space between them, she'd offered him his hat and grinned, "Have a good day at work."

That small phrase, no doubt uttered by a hundred thousand housewives all through Manhattan at the same moment, had sounded very strange to Flynn's ears. Like something he had wanted to hear, but never expected he would-and had no idea how to behave now that he had.

"Thanks," he'd mumbled elegantly, tugging the cap over his ears and shoving through the door before her upturned face could convince him to feel terrible about leaving her alone all day. Again.

Well, not quite alone. She had Ms. Ward to help with chores, but he would not wish his aggravated landlady on anyone. Rapunzel, however, seemed immune to her strict Irish-Catholic standards of behavior, and Flynn could not help but suspect that if the Tatiascore, for some reason or another, appeared at his tenement, guns blazing, Ms. Ward would probably put up a helluva fight.

He shook that thought from his head. Even if Claude's appearance the day before had been a warning, not even the Stabbingtons knew where he lived, and Five Points was a dangerous maze to outsiders. Rapunzel was safe, for now.

Flynn laughed softly to himself. A week ago, he didn't have anyone else's safety to worry about but his own. He was working overtime to assure himself that the concern he had for Rapunzel was the same as a farmer's concern for his chickens. He'd already worked too hard on this investment to see it go south. As nice as it was to have someone to keep him company, another warm body to fill the silence in his ramshackle little room, he reminded himself that this was strictly business.

He was doing her a favor, Flynn knew. She would not last in the hands of the Tatiascore. Which is why he had to buckle down and write this damn letter, so he could get her back in the Ansonia, with her mother, where she belonged. He wouldn't have to worry when he was thousands of miles away, maybe on a private island, somewhere warm and sunny. He'd be tanned, well rested, and most importantly, alone. There would be no one to tell him to have a good day at work, because he would put that whole working scheme behind him.

Rapunzel wouldn't come away entirely bitter, he hoped. He'd shown her the nicer bits of the city. Even that Museum. She'd gotten what she wanted, and he would get his due. He could only hope that maybe she wouldn't hate him that much. As much as he enjoyed seeing the way her nose wrinkled when she was irritated, he had a feeling that his inevitable betrayal was going to result in something much less forgiving.

Flynn groaned in frustration. He was getting nowhere with this ransom note. Folding the paper and shoving it back in his pocket, he looked up in time to watch Captain Tannenbaum and Max pass by the wharf's fence. The white dog glared at him with unnatural hostility, and Flynn felt no shame in glaring right back. The mood he was in at that moment, he was fairly sure that if the dog ever bit him, he would bite right back.

"Rider!"

Flynn turned at the sound of his supervisor's voice. "What!" He bellowed in return, thoroughly disgusted with himself, and by extension, everyone else.

His supervisor was unimpressed. "You're coming in tomorrow," he said flatly, scribbling Flynn's name on the clip of papers he always had with him.

"What? Boss, you can't do that," Flynn protested. He was not in the mood. No doubt Rapunzel would be disappointed, too, but Flynn remembered that he didn't care. Not much.

"The hell I can, Rider. You know Mondays are busy, and Dmitri threw his back this morning. Wrap up your lunch, you son of a bitch. You can either come in tomorrow or not come back at all."

The shrieking whistle that signaled the end of Flynn's break made him wince. "Yeah, sure," he said to his supervisor's retreating back. He had half a mind to make good on the threat, but until Rapunzel was gone, and his job done, he would have to put in his hours like every other man.

He tried to avoid thinking about the girl for the rest of the day, but like most things he'd put his mind to, it seemed to be impossible. He overheard the other men of the docks talking about places they'd taken their dates over the weekend, to shows, or to the seaside, or even upstate for Armistice Day celebrations. Flynn found himself make a mental checklist of places to take Rapunzel that she might enjoy seeing before shoving it out of his mind. As he lifted and heaved and pushed to and fro, he remembered that they just wouldn't have the time.

Besides, now that she'd seen some of the city, she wouldn't be so frightened. He didn't know why Gothel had been so determined to keep her up there, but at least she'd had a taste. Maybe she'd be able to go out on her own, learn the city without his help. Hell, he might even see her around, and she'd forgive him for being an absolute piece of work and they could grab a bite to eat and he could see her smile in the soft lights of Uptown...

He had to stop. Once Rapunzel was gone, he was going to jump town, leave her and the Tatiascore, Five Points, and even his Tagnoski friends behind. Tonight, at least, he'd be able to show her a good time, but that would be the end of it. It would be simply a waiting game after that, if he could ever get his letter written.

More than once, Flynn's cohort's conversations would turn to the nights that followed their outings, and he was determined to avoid listening to those altogether. Not that he couldn't appreciate them, but the idea of Rapunzel, cute as she was, she was too innocent for it. Too good. Not like the floozies that the men around him kept. He was fairly sure she didn't know a thing about what happened between a man and his dame, else she would have been reluctant to sleep in his bed, let alone spend the last few nights in his apartment. It would also explain why she'd been immune to the usual effects of the smolder.

Of course, Rapunzel was no floozy. She was not an ordinary girl in any sense of the word, Flynn knew-and forced himself to stop thinking about. There was work to be done, and he wouldn't be able to collect his ransom if he was knocked overboard or crushed under a carelessly handled crate.

But at least he'd have significantly less to worry about.

He didn't have anything else to keep his mind busy on the walk home until he bought the Sunday edition of the newspaper from one bedraggled boy. It wasn't much different from that morning's by way of headlines, and like the ones he'd collected over the past few days, still had no word of a millionaire singer's missing daughter. If he could have suspected of Rapunzel of lying about being Gothel's daughter, he would have called her out on it by now-but she'd made it clear enough that she had no such bad intentions.

Not like he did.

Flynn tucked the paper under his arm as he ducked into his building, taking the steps two at a time, glad for even the slight warmth the fragile walls offered. Outside, light was fading quickly, the cold winter day devoured by the night.

He paused when his hand touched the door to his room. It was unlocked, and he heard only the buzz of the radio. His mind was aflurry with images of Rapunzel being carried off by the Tatiascore's faceless thugs, or the police, or whatever misshapen threats his mind could conjure.

Cautiously, he pushed the door open, fearing what he'd find-or wouldn't find-inside.

Rapunzel, fortunately, was very present. The spare bed had been pushed up against his dresser to make room for a tin tub in the center of the room, in which the girl bathed, her back to the door. The soft noise of splashing surrounded her, drowned out by a trumpet from the radio's dying speaker.

Flynn was sure he should have cleared his throat, coughed, something, but he was transfixed. The blue light of the early evening sank in through the window, falling across Rapunzel's slim figure. Her wet hair clung to her bare back and arms and floated in the water, highlighted like the gossamer strands of a spider's web. He could barely see the curve of her cheek, the shell-shape of one ear as she pushed a washcloth against her neck, movements slow. Time itself seemed to cease as he stared, though he knew he shouldn't. She was not the same girl who'd been traipsing through the grass of Central Park, pressing her nose to the windows of Fifth Avenue or cooing at the stuffed bodies of North American animals; she was something almost ethereal, intangible, astoundingly vulnerable. Almost like a cliff note, he noticed that she was humming along with the music.

The newspaper fell from the crook of his elbow, hitting the floor, destroying the peace of the scene. Rapunzel's face jerked around, and she let out a horrified squeal. Her arms wrapped around her torso and she ducked, trying to make herself smaller, and almost ruefully, Flynn realized she was not as ignorant as he'd thought her to be.

Flynn had the awareness to pull his jaw off of the floor and shout, "Sorry! Sorry!" He bent to grab the paper and close the door at the same time, nearly shutting it on his own skull. He half ran, half fell down the stairs and back outside, into the bracing cold, but his face still felt impossibly hot. It would be another half hour of circling the block before he dared to return; a very difficult half hour, where the thoughts he'd been avoiding all day now threatened to swallow him whole.

Author's Note

Long winded notes from the author on this chapter, herpaderp.

What I've been most concerned about, recently, is my characterization of Gothel. I've gotten great feedback on Flynn and Rapunzel, which makes me feel pretty fantastic, but Gothel, I have to say, is one of my favorite characters of all time. Donna Murphy's performance was off-the-charts. I'm almost hesitant to even call Gothel a villain, because it's not until the end that she really goes bananas. I'm sure Gothel, in the beginning of my story, did not come off as mothery and lovey as she does in the movie, so I tried to soup it up a bit here. It might not have worked.

Now, before you think I fluffed up this chapter just because of reviews, I'll tell you that I've had this story planned out from the very beginning, so it would have been a fluffier chapter whether or not folks asked for it. But, the fact that you did makes me think I've got the pacing right where I want it to be, and that means I'm learning, and I really couldn't do it without the help of everyone who reads and leaves helpful reviews. Thank you to everybody from the bottom of my spaztic little heart, and I promise it get significantly fluffier from here on out.

PS. The whole bathing-Rapunzel, I confess, was an entirely selfish event. It was inspired partially by old concept art from a darker version of the story, as well as just an image that popped into my head. Hopefully I'll have the skill to produce it one day-the image of a girl and gossamer hair, lit up by the moon. It seemed very ethereal and angelic in my head.