Author's Note: Thanks once more for the interest in this fic. Not much "happens" in this chapter in the sense of action, but there is a kind of funny scene and an emotionally deeper scene toward the last.

Chapter Fourteen: Grown Up

Autumn began to grow chill, and as the weather grew cooler, Rapunzel became more anxious about Eugene's safety. He carried Vale's knife with him and rode Maximus to and from his shop, giving him the advantage of height and a very strong, loyal, and intelligent horse, but the "Morse incident"—as she called it in her mind—weighed on her still. Even though he had been drunk when he was beaten, she had little doubt that Eugene could still defeat him in a fair fight with both sober. He was simply faster, fitter, and more muscled than the degenerate-looking character they had seen in the pub. But she also knew that a person who knew he couldn't win a fair fight would seek out an unfair one, resorting to ambush attacks or finding cronies to make it two or more against one.

And then one day, Eugene came home with a large bundle under one arm, a newspaper in his other hand, and a smug, but very pleased, smile on his face.

"What's this about? You don't buy the newspaper," Rapunzel remarked as he spread it out across the kitchen table, on top of the parcel.

"No, and I didn't buy this copy either—oh, don't look at me that way," he said, a hurt look coming over his face as her features twisted into a disapproving scowl. "I didn't steal it. Why would I steal a newspaper? The only illegal thing I do is sell that whiskey without giving the King's men their cut. George brought this to the shop and gave it to me. He said that there was something in there that would interest me. Take a look at this." He pointed at a small item.

Rapunzel hurried over to the table and peered down at the spot his finger was on. It was a specific item in the crime docket. "'Richard Morse, a vagrant, was arrested for public intoxication and public indecency. The date for his trial has been set...'" She looked up, meeting Eugene's eyes. "I guess that's good?"

"You guess? What isn't good about it?"

She grimaced. "Well, what if he told the authorities about you?"

Eugene frowned. "I didn't think of that," he admitted. "But still, what if he did? I'm sure the police are used to hearing criminals they arrest trying to implicate others. They can't investigate everything they hear from lowlifes." He looked at her. Worry was still on her face. "But if anyone does come asking, I'll let them see the entire shop. No one but you knows where the stuff is... I've made sure never to produce a bottle immediately if someone wants to buy some... always set up a meeting... and they can't just destroy the premises looking for secret hidey-holes on a tip."

Rapunzel still looked worried, but this mollified her a bit. Eugene stood upright and chuckled, pulling her close for a kiss. "You worry too much, Rapunzel. One thing to worry about goes away, and you immediately find something else."

"Well, now that you mention it, he won't be in jail for life, I assume."

"No," Eugene admitted, "but let's not concern ourselves with that until we at least know what his sentence will be." He folded the paper, revealing the parcel beneath it. "Now why don't you open this? There is something for you inside."

She smiled as she began to unwrap the package. She was pretty sure she knew what it was—it had to be those dresses he had commissioned for her a while back—but she had not managed to cajole any information about them from the women in the tailor shop, so she was eager to see what they looked like.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, holding up the top dress. It was a sleeveless dress of a grass green print. Immediately beneath it was a white blouse. "Is this supposed to be worn underneath it?" she guessed.

"Mmhmm," he said, smiling. "And on top of it, you wear—that."

The next item was a black corset that Rapunzel could already tell would lift up her bosom much more than she was accustomed to. She looked at the green dress and white blouse again. They were both rather low-cut.

She raised an eyebrow at him, but he merely grinned back. "There's more, my dear."

There was indeed. A cream blouse and three more dresses made in the same style as the green one emerged from the parcel, one a pretty mulberry shade, one navy blue, and one goldenrod. All were sewn from sturdy fabrics and all, she realized, would be flattering—even if they were more revealing than anything she had ever worn. She supposed she would just have to pull the material up to cover more than was intended.

"There's one more," he remarked idly.

Rapunzel lifted up the last dress. Unlike the others, it was not to be worn with a separate blouse, because it had full sleeves. It was made from a softer, finer fabric in dark green, and it was trimmed with white at the edges of the neckline and sleeves. It was not nearly as luxurious as some of the clothes she had seen well-to-do people wearing, but this, she could tell, was not an everyday work dress.

"You should have one nice dress," he said softly as she turned around, eyes wide with surprise, to face him. "It wasn't that much more expensive than the others, and I think it matters to have such a thing, even if you hardly wear it... just to know that it's there and not everything you own is intended for daily labor."

"It's beautiful," she said. She set the dress down gently on top of the others, then walked over to him and enveloped him in a hug.

He hugged her back. It made him feel so good to make her happy. He was a different person than he had once been, he thought as he squeezed her tightly. Rapunzel had made him more responsible and selfless. It wasn't like sappy romance poems had it, though. Whoever had first claimed that people who were in love never thought of themselves was either a bald-faced liar or a total fool, he thought. Being with her did not mean that he suddenly no longer had needs or no longer thought he was correct unless she agreed with him. The difference was that he thought of her too. If what they wanted was in conflict, they needed to consider each other's ideas before doing anything, and the consideration that mattered more than either one's personal need was what was best for them as a unit—what was best for their relationship, their marriage.

At the moment, he thought, what was best for them was for her to not have to be reminded of that tower, that adoptive mother, or even the more practical concern of her clothes not fitting right every time she went to get dressed in the morning. These were from him, they would have that association for her, and rather than painfully concealing her maturity, these clothes flattered her form.

And he couldn't say he had any objection to seeing her in dresses that did that.

The next morning, he was surprised and disappointed when she went to the wardrobe and put on her old purple dress from the tower. Why did she want to wear that instead? He frowned, but she didn't notice. Maybe, he thought, she just didn't want to immediately soil a brand-new dress. Yes, he thought, that was probably it.

But when she put on a tower dress the morning after, and the morning after that, he found himself becoming a little annoyed. Did she not actually like the dresses? What was this about?

He decided, about a week after he brought the new clothes home, to ask her about it—and so he did that Saturday once he saw her taking that purple dress out of the closet again.

She looked down at the floor, holding the dress in her hands. "I—Eugene, I like the dresses you bought for me a lot—"

"Then why haven't you worn them?" he pressed. "I got them to be worn. You said yourself that these dresses"—he gestured at the purple one—"don't fit properly. I can tell from the cut of the new ones that there is plenty of room in them for you and you'll just need to adjust the lacing of your corset. What's the problem? If you don't like them, why?"

She didn't want to answer. She continued to gaze at the floor, her face turning pink.

"Rapunzel, answer me."

She muttered something. He caught only a bit of it—the words "show too much of me"—but that told him all he needed to know.

"Oh, I see," he said. "I see. Let me guess: that woman not only insulted your looks as a matter of routine, not only told you lies about love and intimacy, but she also tried to shame you about looking grown-up."

She glanced up at him. The look in her eyes confirmed it to him. He continued, his irritation now squarely directed at the dead woman rather than the living one before him. "Rapunzel, these dresses are not indecent. They're just flattering. This is the way women's clothes are now. Haven't you noticed?"

"You're right about her, but I'm not used to showing that much!" she exclaimed at last.

"Not used to it? You show a lot more than that to me most nights," he countered saucily.

She turned fiery red at that allusion. "Flynn!" she said, the name slipping out involuntarily—but that was how she was seeing him at the moment.

He smirked at the use of the name. It had given him an idea. All right, he thought, if that's what she wants to call me, that's how I'll react. He marched over to where she stood and took the purple dress right out of her hands before she could stop him.

"Give me that!" she exclaimed, reaching for it, but he held it high above his head.

"No," he said. Then he tossed it back into the wardrobe, slammed the doors, and locked them. He put the key in his satchel and stared hard out at her, trying unsuccessfully to hide the smirk. "I can't watch you put on those old clothes, which you have already said pinch you, because of things that woman said to you to make you continue to think of yourself as her little girl. 'Not used to showing that much,' you say? Maybe you'll get used to wearing normal clothes after going about the house in nothing but your undergarments." He winked at the sight of her in her sleeveless white shift.

It was not an innocent wink, and her mouth fell open in outrage. "You—you good-for-nothing scoundrel—"

"Right you are."

She lunged for the satchel, but he merely laughed and caught her up in his arms, pinning her against him. She squirmed in protest, trying to push away, but he responded by planting a kiss on her forehead. With that sensation, she stopped fighting for a moment.

He laughed again. "Things are quite different from the day we met, aren't they?" he said smugly. "A much more equal balance of power." He let her go. "I'll unlock that wardrobe when you're ready to dress appropriately for an adult, my dear."

She stood glaring at him. "You are a rascal and I know why you really want to do this," she sputtered. "You just want to see me like this!"

"Suit yourself, Rapunzel," he said, walking toward the main room.

When he was out of the tiny bedroom, she glanced down at her feet. Pascal was there, looking up at her sympathetically. She bent down and scooped him up. "It's all right, Pascal," she said soothingly.

Something suddenly occurred to her, and a smirk formed on her face at the idea. She closed the bedroom door and darted quietly to where her dresser stood. A collection of hair implements sat there. She picked up a long, stiff metal hairpin and tiptoed back to the wardrobe.

At once she began working the lock. Wouldn't it be something if she managed to pick it? That would be a shock to him, no doubt. He probably thought that anything of the kind that he did—anything Flynn-like—was infallible and unmatched.

Click! The lock sprang open. She burst into a grin and opened the doors. Wasn't he going to be surprised?

Then she caught sight of herself in the nearest mirror.

Her gaze traveled over her form. She didn't often look at herself before she was fully dressed, so this was startling. Her shape was different from how she had remembered it. She had grown some on top, and the expected weight gain from pregnancy had already started, but for now it was well-dispersed. He was right, she realized—she wasn't girlish anymore. She blushed at the realization of just how he had managed to notice this before she had.

She gazed at her chest again, thinking about the new clothes. There was now more there than she was accustomed to, and it would fill those clothes much better. It wouldn't be as low in the neckline as she had imagined.

Her gaze shifted back to the open wardrobe, and she bit her lip. He had a point, she had to admit, and she suddenly thought that she did want to put on one of these dresses that he had given her... but now her pride was at stake. What to do?

If I put one on quickly and go out there wearing it, he'll realize I picked the lock anyway, she thought. Yes, that would keep her pride intact. At least she wouldn't have to beg him to open the wardrobe. She darted over to it and took out the green print dress and white blouse.

Rapunzel was good at getting dressed very quickly, and she was lacing up the black corset when he called out to her.

"Rapunzel, are you sulking in there?" he asked. "Please come out."

She tied the laces at the top and swung open the bedroom door. He was standing right there. When he saw the open wardrobe and Rapunzel fully dressed, his eyes grew wide.

"How—" he croaked.

Wordlessly she held up the hairpin.

"Oh," he said, somewhat deflated that she had picked his lock. "Oh. I—wow. That's impressive. But," he added with a grin, "I see what you're wearing."

"I should hope so," she said coolly, but a smile then formed on her face too. "I caught sight of myself in the mirror."

He smiled. "See? Not indecent. It... becomes you."

"It does," she agreed, walking out into the main room with him. "It really does."

From that point onward, no further controversy about the clothes took place.

He was running, boots pounding on the stairs as he dashed to the top of the staircase. A flickering light shined from under the door—a dying light—and he knew that he had to get into that room before the light went out or something terrible would happen. No one but him could do this. No one.

He reached the top of the stairs. The tarnished doorknob was before him. He reached for it and tried to turn it, but it was locked. He turned it harder. Still nothing. He let out a cry of anguish as the candlelight flickered faster from beneath the door. He tried to turn the knob again. Nothing. He began to beat on the door itself, fists bruising, fingers becoming bloodied by the force. Someone had to be there. There was a doctor there, he thought. Why wasn't the doctor letting him in? He had to get in that room or else his parents would die! His parents—and his brother or sister who wasn't yet born.

The light suddenly vanished, and he sank to the floor, the misery of the loss setting in. He had failed.

The door opened then of its own accord. No one was behind it—it just suddenly opened, and he got up on his feet again. Maybe he wasn't too late after all. He walked over toward the bed—

—And then he saw her. The person who lay lifeless in that bed, breathing no longer, was—was—

He woke up, heart pounding, and bolted upright in bed. His entire body was covered in sweat from the nightmare. He glanced next to him. Rapunzel slept soundly, her chest rising and falling in a healthy rhythm. It wasn't real, he told himself, trying to banish the hideous image from his mind. It wasn't real.

She was waking up, disturbed by his movements. He felt guilt wash over him as she came out of her sleep, blinking and quickly fixing her gaze on him as she sat up in bed.

"What's the matter?" she asked in a gentle but still sleepy tone.

He didn't want to respond. The dream was far too disturbing on many levels.

"Eugene." Her tone became impatient. "What's the matter? Did you have a bad dream?"

He knew then that there was no way to hide it from her. "Yes," he admitted, but he still didn't want to give her any details.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" she asked. "Since it obviously bothers you?" She reached over and touched his arm gently.

With that touch, his reserve vanished. "I dreamed that you died," he said bluntly, shame coming over him as he spoke the words, but vowing inwardly to see this through. "In the dream, I thought that I was trying to save my parents and couldn't do it, but... it was you instead."

She grimaced as he described the nightmare to her, but sympathy filled her at once, and she scuttled close to him. "I'm fine, though," she said. "I'm very well." She stroked his arm, collecting her thoughts as something occurred to her. "Have you dreamed that before—about your parents, I mean?"

He nodded, eyes looking down at the bed. "For years." His voice grew husky. "It was early winter when they died, like it soon will be now." He shuddered. Was that what had brought this on? "They both took ill within a day of each other. There was no one else around. I didn't know what to do... I just watched as this happened. My father finally asked me to summon a doctor to the house... but it was too late then." He put his head in his hands.

"That's why you have had the dream," she said quietly.

"No doubt," he said. "The doctor called it 'the grippe.' Something in their lungs." He trailed off, pausing for a moment as she moved closer and leaned against him. "And Rapunzel," he said, putting an arm around her, "my mother was going to have a baby."

She flinched at that, and he could tell that this revelation bothered her too. She couldn't speak for a moment.

"That's awful," she said at last, "and I'm so, so sorry. But Eugene—it's not going to happen to me."

"You can't possibly know that," he choked out. "I'm sure they didn't think it either when they were well. They became ill so quickly—"

"I still have some magic, and it has kept me from becoming ill. Don't argue, Eugene—I know this. I don't know how; I just do. We both have it."

"It's limited in what it can do. You can get hurt now and it takes time to heal."

She gazed down, biting her lip in thought. Finally she said, "Then the protection against sickness probably works the same way—limited, but still there. We just need to... help it. If we keep healthy habits, then everyday exposure probably won't overwhelm the magic. It's worked so far," she pleaded with him. "People can get diseases in the summer too, but we didn't." She took his hands in hers and looked him straight in the eye. "I'm not going to die, Eugene. Not until I'm an old woman, at any rate," she added with a small smile. "You wouldn't let me. You would go to a doctor as soon as I coughed. You were a small boy then, and a child can't do much of anything. A grown man is different."

He managed to chuckle at last. "You're right about one thing," he said. "I would get a doctor immediately if you became ill and it wasn't this normal pregnancy sickness. I trust you would know if something unusual came upon you—"

"Of course," she reassured him. It was true, though; she had a certain awareness of what was normal for her body and what wasn't. She leaned over and kissed him. "I would tell you at once. I hope you would do the same if you started to feel ill."

"I would," he said with a smile. He lay down on the pillow again, pulling her down with him. "We take care of each other."

"We do indeed."

She smiled, snuggled into him, and closed her eyes. He nestled under the covers, still holding her, trying to relax and recover from the dream. Losing her was the worst thing he could think of now, which was no doubt why he had dreamed it. After being helpless to save his parents and unborn sibling from a danger too ethereal to even think of as a distinct "thing," he now had a new family, and he was not going to lose it this time. She was right that a grown man was different from a child. He could do something now. He wasn't powerless. His parents had become ill around the same time, and he had been too young to understand the situation. There was no other adult who could watch out for them and see what was happening in time to catch the doctor. That was different now. He and Rapunzel took care of each other, as she had said.

When their baby was born, they would take care of it too. They already did, he supposed. Rapunzel was so careful of herself now, and he found himself thinking of it too. He didn't want her exerting herself too much, lifting heavy objects or doing other activities that might, he thought, be dangerous. They were already completely responsible for the baby's health and well-being—its very life, in fact.

That frightened him a bit, if he were honest with himself—though not nearly as much as he was frightened by the idea of losing his new little family. But still, even the happy future was an intimidating idea. He wanted to provide for Rapunzel and keep her from having to slave away at menial labor, the only kind she would be deemed qualified to do, but at the same time, she was still an autonomous person with the ability to survive in the world herself. They had a partnership, in fact, which would not be possible if she were helpless. A baby would be completely helpless, and that was something that he knew he would not be prepared for. Even in the orphanage, he had only interacted with children, not babies. He had never been responsible, even in part, for a thoroughly helpless human being before.

Well, he thought as he began to drift off again, this is what I want. I want to have the responsibility. I want to know that I can take care of this baby and provide for it—and her too. I want this. I want this responsibility. His thoughts began to repeat themselves, almost as if to reassure him, as he went back to sleep.

End Note: "Grippe" is an old word for flu. Apparently the term "influenza" was not used until 1703, and then in medical literature rather than common usage. That is around the time that this story is set, so I didn't have them use the word for that reason.

I am not finished with the Morse storyline.