The good news is my Mac's back from the apple store and back in business!
Thank you for all of your lovely reviews last chapter!
The chapter was a doozy to write for some reason. I hope you'll enjoy it. As ever, let me know what you think.
*~o~*~o~*
Chapter 8
*~Monday~*
Rapunzel finishes the last note of the healing song, her voice seeming to echo in her ears. She keeps her eyes closed, feeling the warmth of the magic flowing through her. Mother sighs as she brushes through the blond locks behind her.
"Are you feeling better now, Mother?" Rapunzel asks, opening her eyes. She sees the last bit of glistening golden hair fade back to it's usual blond.
Mother stands up from the armed chair behind her. "Much better, flower. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Rapunzel flushes under Mother's praise. Compliments are rare, and when she receives one she likes to absorb the feeling fully. A grin spreads across her face and her cheeks turn pink with pleasure.
Mother tucks her dark hair behind her ear. "Well," she exclaims, her voice shrill, "I'm exhausted. And with those circles under your eyes, it seems you could use some rest yourself, flower."
Rapunzel's hands move to her eyes. "I do?"
"Why don't you sleep, flower?" Mother suggests, setting down the hair brush on the table and preparing to leave.
"Wait." Rapunzel turns on her stool. "Mother, I wanted to ask..."
"It's getting late, darling. Look at you, you're exhausted."
"But Mother." Mother is already at the door, her hand hovering over the knob.
She sighs, agitated. "What is it, Rapunzel?"
Rapunzel lower her eyes, losing her nerve. "I was just wondering," her voice becomes lower and lower in volume until she's mumbling, "if possibly, uh, since my birthday is in two weeks... if we could..."
Mother narrows her eyes. "Rapunzel, you know how I hate mumbling."
"Sorry." She lifts her head and pulls a lock of hair between her fingers nervously. "It's just, in two weeks I'll be eighteen."
"And?"
"I was wondering if we could see the lights this year."
Mother's grey eyes suddenly seem much darker. Her lips go taut, thinning into a small line. "The lights, Rapunzel?"
Rapunzel opens her mouth to speak, but Mother interrupts. "What is wrong with the view from your window?"
"Nothing," she whispers, standing from the stool. "I just thought it would... fun."
"Fun." Mother laughs bitterly. "Rapunzel, every year you ask me this question."
She lowers her eyes again. "I know, Mother."
"And every year, I give you the same answer."
"I... I know."
Mother walks up to her and places a chilly hand on her chin, lifting her face up. "Rapunzel, we're not going outside. It's a mean and horrible place."
But Mother doesn't know about Flynn Rider. She doesn't know that Rapunzel has her own guide to the outside world, bringing pink seashells and dirt and grass from the bottom of his boots into her tiny room. Whether she ever goes outside or not, she's had a taste of the world and she wants more.
"I don't want you asking this question again, do you understand?"
Rapunzel searches Mother's grey eyes. They're cold and unyielding. "Yes, Mother."
*~o~*~o~*
*~Tuesday~*
Rapunzel paces in front of her window, her fingers clenched nervously at her sides. She glances over the ledge for the hundredth time. The sun is low in the sky, but the day is already brightening, which means he's late. Both times he came, he came almost exactly at sunrise. It's been nearly fifteen minutes and she hasn't seen any sign of him.
She should have known not to let herself trust him. He took what he wanted and now he'll never come back. He'll forget about her, because she's nothing worth remembering, and he'll travel the world and be rich and happy.
And even if he doesn't ever think of her again, she's certain she'll think of him every day for the rest of her life. She'll think of that strange gleam in his eyes when he leaned in close. She'll think of how gently he pressed the pads of his fingers against her jaw. She'll go on for the rest of her life knowing that such things are possible and never be able to experience them again.
He tricked her and then he kissed her and left her alone and confused. She should have known better than to give him a chance. Men from the outside are cruel and selfish. Mother had always told her so, and she had been right.
It'll be better off for everyone if she just forgets this ever happened. No more listening for footsteps that aren't there, no more wistful glances out the window, no more hoping for what won't happen... She'll move on, Mother will never find out, and she'll force herself to pretend Flynn Rider never existed.
She moves to the kitchen and searches for the ingredients for pancakes, hope that the routine of cooking will distract her nerves. Pots and bowls clang together noisily as she pushes through a cabinet in search of a frying pan. Then, grabbing a bowl and spoon, she gets to work.
But, she eventually realizes, the problem is that she's cooked this meal a thousand times before. She hardly has to think about what she's doing, which means she can't help but think and worry and fret about him.
No. She won't waste another thought on him. She mixes the batter and holds the bowl over her frying pan, making sizzling circles of dough. When they start to bubble she flips them over with her spatula.
When she has nothing left to do, she finds some strawberries and begins cutting them into thin slices. It's unnecessary and tedious, but at least it's keeping her mind away from...
No! No more thoughts of him. He's crass and rude and selfish and evil and ugly and horrible and—
Thud!
"Ah!" A few strawberries slip onto the floor as her hands fly to her throat. She darts in a quick circle towards her window, where the crash has come from.
Her heart falters for a moment. Flynn Rider is hopping over the ledge.
"Flynn!" Her breath is caught in her throat again, like it usually is when he's nearby. He's here, he's really here, and he hasn't left her forever!
He stumbles into the room with less grace than usual, tripping over his foot and grabbing onto the windowsill to avoid falling flat on his face. His eyes scrunch up with tension and he breathes out a strained exhale as he finds his equilibrium. Then he straightens himself and peers up at her.
Rapunzel tilts her head to the side. He looks different than he had the day before. There's a streak of dirt across his temple and a new tear in his vest. But it's more than that... his face is paler and his eyes are darting around the room with a fretfulness that wasn't there before. He's sweating and his pants are damp from the knees down, like he's been walking through water. Two mucky puddles are forming beneath his dripping boots.
She tries to keep her expression from twisting with disgust. "Your boots."
He looks down at his shoes. "Oh. Right..." he mutters, pulling off the boots and setting them on the ledge under the sun so they can dry.
Rapunzel stares at the two leather shoes sitting on the sill. Strangely, she is reminded of her dream the previous day. Her face turns magenta and she has to turn her gaze to the floor, her hair falling over her face to hide it from him.
"Is that okay?" he asks, noticing her strange reaction. "You did say that was part of the rules, right? Taking my shoes off?"
"Yes," she agrees, pulling herself together and looking up again. "Thank you."
His eyebrows fold together suspiciously. "No problem."
She entwines her fingers and looks at the floor. Can he read her thoughts on her face? If he ever finds out about her dream, he'll be disgusted with her. He'll laugh at her. Dreams are poison to the mind.
"Hey," he says, his eyes widening as he remembers something. "I brought you a little something."
Her face brightens. "More shells?"
"Not quite," he mutters, digging around inside his leather satchel. "Even better than shells, in my opinion. And I have very good opinions."
Very good opinions. She mentally files that away to add to the list of things she knows about him.
"Ahah!" he exclaims, pulling out something boxy and blue. He holds it out for her.
She recognizes what it is immediately. Excitedly, she scoops up the book and opens to the little page. "The Encyclopedia of Sedimentary Geology and Marine Ecology," she reads aloud. She looks up at him, her nose scrunched with confusion. She doesn't recognize half those words.
He pantomimes flipping the page with his hands.
She grabs a chunk of pages and flips to somewhere in the middle of the book. She bites her lip, confused. There are hardly any words. Just sketches of odd looking things with captions underneath.
She turns another page, and is greeted with something more familiar. It's a drawing of a shell similar to the one Flynn gave her. She reads the caption below it. Clam shells consist of a wide variety of bi-valve shells in many shapes and sizes. Some are edible and some produce pearls. Most live in shallow waters and the species can be found in either fresh or salt water.
She flips another page. This time it's a picture of a river. A large bird is standing on one foot and pointing it's beak toward the water, preparing to capture a fish.
Flip. A little creature, a crab, is coming out of a shell that it had made its home.
Flip. It's the seashore, a sandy strip of land that looks out over the ocean. The water is cold and the wind is salty and she can almost imagine the foamy crests of the waves as they touch her feet.
The picture of the beach is shaking, and then she realizes it's because her hands are trembling. This is all too much... She thinks of Mother, of all the times she told her that knowing less was more. She'd never quite understood what that meant. But now she thinks she gets it. Knowing that all of this life is just beyond her window hurts her like nothing she's ever felt before.
But it's also incredible. It's addicting and she wants more. She wants to devour every page of this book, read every small word, study every sketch until she's memorized it from cover to cover.
"Well?" Flynn asks.
The book falls from her hands and drops onto the floor. In an instant, she throws her arms around his neck and presses her forehead against his shoulder. "Thank you!" she whispers breathlessly. "Thank you, thank you."
Only seconds later, she realizes what she's doing. She peels herself away and takes a quick step back like he's burnt her. "Sorry."
He's looking at her with an odd expression. The gleam in his eyes reminds her of the way he looked yesterday before he kissed her. It makes her cheeks flush scarlet.
He shakes his head to himself, running a hand through his dark hair. "Thought you'd like it, since you liked the shells and all..." He seems suddenly uncertain.
"I do like it," she assures him. "It's the nicest thing anyone's ever given me."
"Then your birthday presents must be shit."
"Shit?" She says the word curiously, testing the syllables on her tongue.
He looks at her oddly, his forehead creased together like he's trying to solve a puzzle. "You don't get out often, do you Blondie?"
She shrugs. "Not really." But she'd rather not talk about that. Grappling for something else to say, she gestures behind her, towards the kitchen. "Are you hungry?"
*~o~*~o~*
Apparently he is, because he digs into the pancakes like he hasn't eaten in years. She finds his ravenous appetite fascinating and a little gross but mostly very flattering because Mother never eats anything she cooks.
While he stuffs pancake after pancake into his mouth, she finds herself babbling mindlessly to him. "I usually only make pancakes on Mondays. But today is Tuesday. I don't really know why I decided to change my routine. Tuesdays are when I make omelets. Oh, I can make omelets tomorrow! But Wednesdays are when I'm supposed to bake muffins..."
She doesn't really know why she's saying this all out loud, but she feels like she has to fill the silence with something, or her eyes will wander to his lips and then she'll start thinking about things, particularly about yesterday.
She rests her elbows on the table and props up her chin on her entwined fingers. "I can make different kinds of pancakes too. Do you like cinnamon? I think I have some cinnamon."
"Cinnamon's great," he says through a mouthful. "Damn," he exclaims, grabbing another bite on his fork. "These are stupendous."
"Really?" Her heart lurches again. He thinks her cooking is stupendous.
He nods, moving on to the strawberry slices and gobbling them down.
She feels a large beam spread across her face. "I'm so glad you came. When you were late today I thought you'd just taken off, but you came back and I'm so sorry I didn't trust you."
Flynn suddenly chokes, coughing into his palm. He gulps down the lump of food heavily, looking like he's just swallowed something bitter.
"Are you okay?"
He brushes off her concern. "You trust me?"
"Yes," she says brightly.
"That's probably not the best idea."
"It's not?"
His amber eyes stare into hers. It's unnerving and uncomfortable, but she doesn't look away. "Look, Blondie..." He pauses.
His face is pale again, making the streak of dirt on his temple darker and more prominent against his features. She notices it and smirks.
Her sudden shift of expression sidetracks him. "What are you smiling at?"
"There's a big smear of dirt on your face," she giggles. With a finger she points to it, just to the side of his right eye.
At first he looks a little shocked. Then a bit annoyed. Then guilty. Finally, he seems to give up warring with himself and settles back into his chair.
He smirks at her, his eyes gleaming again.
She smiles back.
*~o~*~o~*
What in the world is going on in Flynn's head, you may be wondering? What happened with the Stabbingtons?
Is Flynn going to teach Rapunzel more curses?
Are they ever going to acknowledge that they kissed the other day?
Well... you'll just have to wait.
How did you like this chapter? The R/F interaction? Let me know. I love love love reading your responses.
Hugs and kisses. Comment please. Thank you for reading!
