Author Note: So... I know I said I wasn't going to post anything but... I started this and I just couldn't stop... and I have almost an entire book to read and a paper to write by Friday so this was probably a stupid idea, but I wanted to get it done anyway. So it's done, and I'm happy. Scared about my paper, but happy about this! :) Anyhoo, prayers for the month of April, please! And especially for that paper that will soon swallow me whole! :D Thank you very muchly! :D and thanks also for being such faithful readers, reviewers, favers and all that jazz! :D you guys are awesome, and I'm glad you've stuck with me and these kiddos for so long! :D God bless each and every one of you! :D see ya'll again in May! :D
P.S. This is the start of a two-shot, so not that long! :D yay! :D
Soli Deo Gloria
Disclaimer: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story
It was approaching midnight. Or at least, she assumed it was. She had stopped looking at the clock hours ago. The reminder of passing time only made her more anxious. She did not need another reason to be anxious.
The sixteen year-old princess of Corona sighed, flipping through the pages of her geometry textbook. She still had five more chapters to review before heading off to bed. And then she would spend the rest of the night dreaming about squares and theorems and how to correctly calculate a circle, semi-circle, and even non-circles. Her brain had been swimming in letters and numbers for the past two days. But now—right now—was the crucial moment. She needed to pass this test. She needed to do well.
She needed to sleep…
Annabelle jerked upright, suddenly realizing that she had been using her math notes as a pillow.
"Oh no. Oh no-no-no-no!" She hastily searched for her pencil, shifting aside papers and textbooks and Tutor Reynold's (he was subbing for Perry while the latter vacationed on the peninsula) extensive, long-winded write-ups of what she had done wrong on the last exam. Annabelle abandoned her fruitless desk search and instead got onto her hands and knees, crawling around on the hard floor of the library. She emerged, victorious and slightly disheveled, from beneath her desk. Rubbing her head from where she had bumped it twice against the table's underside, the girl plopped back down into her chair.
Annabelle began tracing out a square, mentally adding up the sides and wondering if she could somehow use that information to calculate the volume of a cube like the problem required. A dull buzzing filled her ears, and the girl stared dismally at the guttering candles sitting on her desk. Each one had melted down to short, depressing stubs. Their flames gave off only so much light, and the rest of the library—the many bookcases and tables and chairs—remained in deep darkness. She could not even see the windows because of the shelves.
Then she checked her answer against the one in the book. It was wrong, again, and Reynold's annoying voice seemed to whisper softly: 'You've multiplied incorrectly, Princess Annabelle. Tut, tut, tut…'.
Growling in frustration, Annabelle tore up her feeble excuse for an answer and crumpled it into a ball, chucking it as far away as she could. She glared at the pitiful lump, resolved to do nothing more than wish it to a fiery death. But then she remembered who would be responsible for cleaning the library, and Annabelle quickly snatched up the paper and returned to her seat.
She tried to do the problem again, but the numbers slid from her mind as her thoughts slowly thoughts drifted to a more pleasant subject—the libarian's assistant.
Stanley Isaacs was almost eighteen now, and was as tall and as handsome as ever. Her friend Harriet of Orae said that he was too skinny, but Annabelle liked him that way. She also liked his short, red hair—and the way his blue eyes were so serious when he worked—and how he was always so kind and patient with her brother and sister even when they asked him stupid questions. And how he was so smart. How he understood and spoke literature in a way she had never heard anyone else explain it. And how he had that one, special smile reserved just for her…
"Annie?"
Annabelle jumped, knocking her textbook from the table as she tried to keep herself from falling out of her chair.
Stanley picked up the textbook, apologizing, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
"I—I'm not scared. You just startled me." She murmured, looking around. "It's so quiet in here most of the time."
"Right." Stanley grinned, setting the book back onto her desk. "Especially when it's twelve-thirty at night."
"It's twelve-thirty?"
"Was when I stopped working a few minutes ago." He nodded back to where the library workroom lay. "I just finished fixing those antique manuscripts your grandmother brought in yesterday."
She could tell. The young man had his sleeves rolled up, and he smelled wonderfully of glue and old leather.
Unaware of his friend's perceptive eyes, Stanley asked, "Anyway, what are you doing here this late?"
Annabelle shrugged, trying to be as vague as possible. "Just—working."
He took a second glance at the geometry book and moaned. "You've got to be kidding me! You're still studying for that math test?"
"Well—yes I am." Annabelle replied defensively, retrieving a fresh sheet of paper. "It's important and I have to do well."
"Annie, you've been at this for almost a week. You don't need to study anymore and certainly not until two in the morning."
"That was only one time, and I needed to pass that exam."
"You need to pass all your exams." He said dryly.
Annabelle nodded, "Exactly."
Stanley shook his head, pulling up a chair and sitting down backwards with the chair's back against his chest. He set his arms over its top, gesturing at the desk full of scribbled papers. "Your workspace, I presume?"
"Really more like my prison cell." Annabelle muttered, opening her textbook again. "I haven't left since dinner."
"That was six hours ago."
"I have a lot to study." She retorted, starting another problem.
He poked her in the shoulder, "You need to go to bed."
"Stan, leave me alone."
He poked her again, "You need to sleep."
"Stan."
"You are-." He stopped, watching as she wrote across the paper. Without a word he unexpectedly took the parchment away from her.
"Hey!" Annabelle reached for her paper, but he leaned back.
"What is this?"
She frowned, "I—it—it's a question about how much space a farmer needs to plow a sixty by eighty-foot field."
"You're drawing a circle." Stanley said, his eyes narrowing in confusion.
"It's a circular field."
He looked at her, "Annie."
"Look, I don't know—okay, Stan? I've been doing problems since forever and I just want to-," she set her head in her arms, mumbling, "-die and be done with it."
Stanley sighed, fighting against the urge to hug her. It would not be proper, and she did not need a hug. She needed help with math.
"How many problems do you have left?"
She gave a muffled: "Five."
"Okay, we can just-."
"I mean fifty-five."
Stanley raised his eyebrows in surprise. He cleared his throat, "Um, all right. We can—how about we just do one instead? Just one and then you can go to sleep."
Annabelle shook her head, slowly sitting up, "I can't do just one…"
"Annie, one more problem, then you're going to bed even if I have to get a guard to take you."
She glanced at him, saw that he was being dead-serious, and relented. "Fine."
"Good. Now why don't you try-," The young man reached across and flipped a few pages in her textbook, "-that one."
Annabelle pointed at the page, "This one?"
"Yep."
"That one—right there?"
He nodded, "Yes."
She sighed and started to read the problem, saying, "Sometimes I really hate you, Stan."
"At least it's only sometimes." He replied cheerfully, watching her.
Though she did not realize it, Annabelle had a certain tilt to her chin whenever she concentrated on something. It was, of course, adorable to anybody who cared about her. And the libarian's assistant cared about her a lot. So he quite enjoyed watching her work, even if the familiar brown eyes were tired and she seemed ready to collapse at the table. But she was still pretty. Always pretty.
Annabelle sat back, pushing the paper over to him. "Okay. Did I get it?"
He examined her answer in contrast with the book's. "Well you—you almost got it."
"Argh!" She pounded her forehead in frustration. "Why? Why can't I get this? Why do I even have to do this? What does being a princess have to do with understanding geometry? For goodness sake, Tom's going to be the one on the throne! Why do I have to know this?"
Stanley set his hand on her shoulder, trying to cut down the tirade. "Annie just—just calm down. Look-," he gently took the pencil from her and indicated a line of her math work, "-you just mixed up a few numbers, that's all."
Annabelle made a noise that sounded somewhat like a whimper.
He smiled sympathetically, "It's okay. Here—I'll go through it and then you can try again."
She gazed at Stanley as he set about lining up numbers across the top of the sheet. He wrote in a steady hand—firm and sure—rounding his twos and fives perfectly. No one else in the world could make twos and fives like he could. And then he began to work on the problem itself, using the data he had already recorded and inserting it into the neatly-scripted formula. Annabelle watched the candlelight reflected in the curve of his glasses, studying the face of the boy she had considered her best friend since she was seven. The narrow nose, stern cheekbones, and perfectly taut chin were as familiar as the back of her hand. The passing years had changed him slightly—made him older—but he was still Stanley Isaacs. And he was amazing.
"There." Stanley straightened, running a finger along his work. "If you don't forget to add in the ratio of the square, and remember which number goes in the denominator, you'll get the right answer." He looked up at her and tapped his spectacles, "Believe it or not, Annie, it's not just the glasses. I'm actually smart, too."
Annabelle stared at him for a long moment, her face unreadable. Then she suddenly seized Stanley by his shirt, yanked him forward so that his chair rose up on two legs, and kissed him as if she had been dying to do it for the last few years. Matter of fact—she had been.
About five, maybe ten seconds passed as the princess of Corona kissed the librarian's assistant. Five to ten, frantic seconds' worth of unresolved attraction rather rapidly and enthusiastically getting resolved. Very enthusiastically. Some might even say passionately, but only just.
Then abruptly, Annabelle released him. She was shocked, utterly dismayed at what had just happened. She had not meant to do that. Not—not like that.
"Um…" Stanley said, apparently stunned with his glasses askew and his eyes wide.
Annabelle let out a high-pitched, nervous squeak of fear and bolted for the doors, leaving Stanley alone in the library.
A small grin crept across Stanley's face, and he adjusted his glasses more securely on his nose. He made a mental promise to himself to help the princess study math more often. And then he noticed that Annabelle had left her geometry book along with a pile of notes and paper.
He could take it to her tomorrow—right before her exam started.
Then he would have to have a word with the prince consort.
"Eugene."
Someone was poking him in the back. However, since he knew exactly who that 'someone' was, the prince consort chose to ignore the prodding.
"Eugene—wake up."
More poking. Did she really have to do this so late at night?
"Don't make me get Pascal."
Eugene's eyes popped open, and he slowly rolled over to look accusatorily at his wife. "You wouldn't."
"Try me." Rapunzel smirked, triumphant at last.
Her husband let out a low moan and placed his hand over his eyes, muttering, "What is it, dear? Why did you wake me up?"
"I'm hungry." She said, setting her head against his shoulder.
"We just ate dinner."
"That was yesterday." Rapunzel replied.
"Then wait until breakfast."
"All I want is a bowl of cereal." He could almost hear the pout in her voice.
"Yeah, well, all I want is to toss a few sheep over the proverbial fence, but clearly, that's not what I'm going to get tonight."
His wife sat up slightly, "What?"
"Rapunzel, go back to bed. I'm sure you're not that hungry." Eugene rolled over, intent on returning to his slumber.
Rapunzel played with his sleeve, "Eugene. Please? For me?"
"No."
"Please?" She begged, squeezing his arm slightly. "It's just a short trip."
Eugene shook his head, responding, "Dear, you've got a pair of perfectly good-looking legs that can take you all the way down to the kitchens and to your bowl of cereal."
"I also have a perfectly good-looking husband who can go to the kitchens for me." Rapunzel whispered into his ear.
He agreed, "Yes, you do. But right now, your perfectly good-looking husband is going to sleep."
"Eugene please, please, puh-lease?"
"Now you sound like Ginger-snap."
Rapunzel propped herself up on her elbow, gazing at her husband's dark form. "You're not going to go, are you?"
"Nope."
"Okay." She sounded resigned to her fate. "I'll just go myself."
"Atta girl." He mumbled sleepily.
Rapunzel rolled her eyes, already sliding out of bed. "Thanks."
"Shhh… I'm sleeping."
The lost princess ignored him and began to pull on her bathrobe. She also added a few remarks, speaking loud enough so her 'slumbering' husband could hear them.
"After sixteen wonderful years of marriage—three beautiful children—and keeping my dad true to his pardon-," she tied the robe tightly about herself, muttering, "-not to mention-," she reached into her pocket and withdrew the lump she knew was her chameleon, "-willingly suspending work anytime he wanted a vacation—and being practically gorgeous in every way!"
Eugene snorted, trying to keep himself from laughing.
"You would think-," Rapunzel glanced at Pascal, who had already climbed up to her shoulder, "-that a simple bowl of cereal wouldn't be too much to ask."
Pascal squibbered in agreement.
"That's mutiny, Pascal." Eugene declared.
Rapunzel smirked, "Oh, you know he's never been on your side."
Her husband raised his touseled head, "Do you really want me to get you cereal?"
"No." Her smile broadened as she lit a candle. "But thank you for asking."
"Goodnight, Rapunzel."
"I'll be back soon." She quietly opened the hallway door, and went out.
"I suppose he's right, Pascal." Rapunzel said, walking down the long corridor, her bare feet nearly silent on the carpet. "And he does have a bit of work to do tomorrow."
Her chameleon nodded, sniffing hopefully at the air.
She smiled and moved her candle away from herself, "Too much smoke, Pascal?"
Pascal shrugged slightly.
"Well, maybe if Eugene is lucky, I'll bring him something to eat as well."
Pascal gave her a doubtful expression.
Rapunzel arched an eyebrow, "Yes, I know that's too good for him. But he's Eugene and I love him, so I'll probably find a danish or something."
Her chameleon let out a faint, inquisitive rumble.
"Don't worry, I'll find you a danish too."
Pascal looked pleased.
Rapunzel laughed, "You're welcome. Now, it's just one more corner and then-," she frowned at the light spilling out from the kitchen door. "Who on earth is up at this hour?" Suddenly, Rapunzel caught a waft of a warm, chocolate something. Then, immediately after, the smell changed to cinnamon and then to a thick, sugary coconut.
Uncertainly, Rapunzel entered the palace kitchens.
It was as if she had walked into a bakery shop.
Just at her left elbow, arrayed out on the counter, were plates and plates of cookies. All kinds of cookies—chocolate chip, snickerdoodle, butter-pecan, raspberry jelly, mint, nutmeg, and even super cocoa chunk. And then on the shelf above the counter, where formerly had been several pots, was a batch of cupcakes, already frosted with various hues of pinks, blues, and greens. On the other counter sat a half-finished three-layer cake, most of its sides and top smeared over with chocolate icing. Next to it was a pineapple upside-down cake, round pineapple slices each bedecked with a bright-red candied cherry. Then next to that cake was a mixing bowl of more batter, along with a host of ingredients such as sugar, flour, a nearly empty carton of eggs, and coconut shavings.
Rapunzel slowly trotted forward, seeing a fresh pan of danishes, all of them already sprinkled with glaze and honey, resting on the long table in the middle of the kitchen. The pan sitting beside it had neat, tight little dough balls—peanut butter, she thought—resting carefully spaced across its surface. A platter of powdered lemon bars sat next to another dish of tiny donuts. And there also seemed to be another cake in progress, since one layer was already sitting on the cooling rack. But there was more: a fresh loaf of raisin bread perched on a cutting board; a pan of banana muffins stood beside it; another set of blueberry muffins were already displayed prettily on a plate; and a pie—a full-blown apple pie complete with cinnamon topping and golden-delicious filling—teetered on the edge of the table.
She quickly moved forward to rescue the pie, and had just found a safer place for it when a hurried shout of "Sorry, Mom, got to get these onto a rack!" made her jump out of the way.
Annabelle, flour-streaked and frizzy-haired, ran past her mother, yet another pan of cookies in her arms. She began piling cookies next to the waiting cake layer, her hand rapidly moving from pan to rack. Finished, she set the pan aside and headed over to the counter to continue stirring whatever batter was in the mixing bowl.
"Um, Annie?" Rapunzel joined her daughter, watching in bewilderment as Annabelle cracked two eggs into the mix. "Sweetie, what are you doing?"
Annabelle shook her head, slamming her spatula against the sides of the bowl. "Got to finish mixing this up before the cinnamon buns finish. There's also a coffee cake in the oven—need to hurry or it'll burn."
"Annie—Annie what-?"
"No time to talk, Mom!" She said briskly, leaving the bowl and picking up her knife to start frosting the cake again.
"But-." Rapunzel tried setting her hand on her daughter's arm.
Within a second, however, Annabelle had abandoned the cake to pick up the pan of dough balls. "I completely forgot about these."
"Annie." Rapunzel took her by the shoulders.
"Not now, Mom, I've got to-."
"Annabelle!"
The girl stared at her for a long moment, breathing hard, her cheeks pink under the white flour. She seemed momentarily petrified, a thousand thoughts and ideas coursing through her mind. But with a deafening clatter, the pan had fallen to the kitchen tile, and Annabelle buried herself in her mother's arms, crying.
"Sweetie, what's wrong?" Rapunzel asked, stroking her daughter's hair and showering flour onto the floor.
There were tearful mumbles, but none of them were very decipherable.
Rapunzel ran the past week over in her mind, trying to figure out where all this pent-up emotion had stemmed from. Only one thing stuck out, and she guessed, "Is this about that math test?"
Annabelle merely cried harder, shaking as tears fell from her eyes. Clearly she was quite upset. It had been at least a full two years since Annabelle had cried this hard. But a math test?
"Oh, Annie. My sweet, sweet little girl." Her mother shook her head, murmuring, "Don't worry about it. I'll have Tutor Reynolds move the exam if you need-."
"It—it's n-not about the m-math test…" Annabelle sniffled, glancing at her mother.
"Then what-," she recognized the look in her daughter's eyes, and Rapunzel sighed, "-oh. So it's that, then. Don't worry, dear." She held the girl closer and began to rub her back reassuringly.
"M-mom?" Annabelle asked after a minute's near silence.
"Yes, dear?"
"I left some stuff in the ovens."
"Okay. Well, just-," Rapunzel walked her over to a stool and sat her down, "-stay here for a minute and I'll take care of it."
She went over to the ovens, carefully removing the hot pans and setting them down either on the stove-top or, depending on the quality of the baked goods, in the sink. Then she raked the fires down to embers, and returned to find Annabelle wiping at her face while Pascal soothingly patted her elbow.
"All right." Rapunzel said bracingly, pulling up a stool of her own and sitting down. She took her daughter's hand in hers, squeezing it comfortingly. "Now, what happened?"
She hiccupped, replying nervously, "I—I can't tell you."
Rapunzel smiled, "Annie, you've baked half the kitchens' dessert supplies for a month. What's going on?"
Annabelle took a deep breath, closing her eyes, "Mom, I really don't-."
"Annie."
She nodded, "Okay. Okay, I'll—I'll tell you."
Rapunzel waited for her daughter to take a second to compose herself. Annabelle gulped and attempted to wipe the flour from her face. Then she said, "I—I was in the library studying for my geometry test."
"I gathered that."
"And then St—Stan came over to help. He was very nice."
"He's always nice."
"I know." Annabelle said sadly. "He's so kind and smart and—and he was helping me with math and you know how much I hate math."
Rapunzel smirked, nodding, "Almost as much as your grandfather does."
"Yeah. And Tutor Reynolds is so boring and conceited. He just knows so much and expects me to know it too—but I can't possibly know that much! And I don't even know why I have to learn geometry anyway and-."
"Annie, you're getting off topic."
"Oh—sorry." The girl apologized sheepishly.
"It's okay, dear. Now-," Rapunzel gently tucked a piece of hair behind her daughter's ear, "-what happened with Stan?"
Annabelle bit her lip, "I—I kind-of…"
"Hmm?"
"Oh, Mom!" She burst into tears again, crying, "I attacked him!"
Rapunzel frowned, "You did what?"
"I kissed him—right on the mouth! I didn't even know what I was doing! I just sort-of did it! And now I can never see him again!"
She sighed, correcting, "That's not true."
"And I can never go to the library again and I love the library!" Annabelle said in deep despair. "I have to move to Auxuria or Pharx—doesn't matter as long as it's far away!" She looked at her mother, asking, "Will you help me pack?"
"You're not moving anywhere." Rapunzel said calmly.
Annabelle shook her head, "But I can't be here with him—not after what I've done."
Rapunzel smiled, "You didn't do anything wrong, Annie. There's nothing bad about a first kiss."
"Oh no! I didn't even think about that! Mom-," she exclaimed dramatically, "I completely ruined my first kiss!"
Her mother narrowed her eyes, "No, you didn't."
Annabelle gazed at her, lower lip trembling.
Rapunzel sighed and held out her arms, "Come here."
The girl hugged her again, sniffing miserably. Rapunzel glanced around at all the baked goods her daughter had created. She knew Annabelle tended to bake when anxious, but this was a tad ridiculous. However, she also knew—as she had always known—out of her three children, Annabelle would be the one to have a panic/sobbing attack about kissing what could be her future spouse. Thomas would probably resolve to keep the secret to his grave, and Ginger would be so happy she would crow it from the rooftops. Annabelle, on the other hand, was a different matter.
"He just-," Annabelle mumbled, staring at a nearby tin of brownies, "-he just sat there—staring at me as if he couldn't think anymore. And he's my best friend, Mom. You don't go about kissing your best friend."
Rapunzel raised her eyebrows, "I thought we already had this talk. Didn't I tell you it was all right to like him?"
"'Liking him' is a bit different than sucking his face off." She replied sarcastically.
"I'm sure it wasn't that bad."
"Well, I—I guess the few seconds when I didn't realize what was happening, I was happy." Annabelle admitted.
Her mother tilted her head, "Well—that—that's good, dear."
It was a few moments before Annabelle spoke again. "Mom… what can I do now? How will I ever face him?"
Rapunzel shrugged, "You'll manage. And truth be told, dear, I'm surprised you waited this long."
"What?" Annabelle glanced up at her mother, confused.
She smiled at her, "Sweetie, you're sixteen years old. You've liked Stan for a very long time. Maybe now you can take your relationship to the next level?"
"But I don't know how-."
"You've already started it, Annie. Kissing Stan showed him that you're ready for something more intimate and I'm sure he will respond."
"'Intimate'?" The word seemed unusually charged with meaning. Exciting but—also quite unnerving at the same time.
Rapunzel softly slid her hand under her daughter's chin, causing Annabelle to look at her. "Yes. You're reaching that stage of life now when you'll be learning how to have more—shall we say—adult relationships."
"'Adult'?" Somehow that word sounded even more exciting and dangerous.
"To a certain extent, yes. But right now, what you really need to know is that everything will be all right. You haven't done anything wrong. You don't have to leave the country. And you've just kissed your best friend and you should be happy about it." Rapunzel smiled, asking, "You are happy, aren't you?"
She hesitated before nodding slowly, "I—I think so."
"Think so or know so?"
Annabelle took a deep breath, deciding, "I am happy." A little grin crossed her face, "I just kissed Stan."
Rapunzel nodded, "Good. Now, I think you should go to bed."
"But what about—what do I tell him?"
"Let him do the talking, dear. That's usually the best thing to do—or at least it was with your father."
Annabelle's eyes suddenly widened. "Dad."
"Yes, I remember when he-."
"Dad's going to kill Stan."
"Annie-."
Annabelle got to her feet, murmuring quickly, "I've got to warn him—he has to leave the country! Do you think Auxuria's far enough? Maybe if he wore a fake mustache and kept a guard dog and-."
Rapunzel interrupted, "Hey, don't worry about your father, all right? I'll take care of everything and Stan will still be very much alive and healthy tomorrow morning. Though, considering the time, it would be this morning."
"What time is it?"
"Three-ish, I think. Tell you what, dear. I'll have your math exam rescheduled for later in the day and you can sleep in as long as you need to." She saw the butter grease and batter still stuck to her daughter's arms, and added, "Though you might want a bath first."
The girl nodded, "Okay. Um—and the kitchen?"
In the corner, a poorly-balanced pan of blondie squares decided to tumble off the counter with a crash.
Rapunzel winced, "I'll take care of it."
Annabelle hugged her again, saying quietly, "Thanks, Mom."
She kissed her on the top of her head, "I love you, Annie."
"I love you too."
Her mother smiled, "You'll be fine—everything will be all right—tonight is a good night. And whatever you do, don't worry about your father. I'll handle him."
Annabelle laughed slightly, and then spotted something green lying on the counter next to her. She gasped, "Pascal!"
Rapunzel looked down and groaned, "Oh no… Pascal how could you?"
The little chameleon was sprawled on his back amid a pile of crumbs. He was snoozing peacefully, front feet rubbing a rather ample belly. He had eaten an entire muffin.
The lost princess stroked Pascal's tiny head, asking quietly, "What kind of muffin was this?"
"Lemon poppy-seed." Annabelle whispered, listening to the chameleon's snores.
Rapunzel sighed, "Oh dear. Well—at least he'll sleep tonight."
Eugene looked up as his wife entered their bedroom, "Ah, so the lost princess returns without any help from her handsome thief. And did you-?" he frowned, noticing the platter of baked goods in her hands. "Okay, that's it, you're amazing."
Rapunzel smiled, "Thank you, but why?"
"You were gone for barely fifteen minutes—how on earth did you make that many cookies and brownies and—and—are those snickerdoodles?" Eugene raised his eyebrows, a grin crossing his face.
She nodded, "Yes, they are."
"Rapunzel, may I just say you are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me and I just want to express how much I deeply love and adore every single-."
"Go ahead." His wife scooted the plate of desserts across the quilt. "There's plenty."
"Thank you, my sweet, sweet, oh-so sweet wife." Eugene immediately selected a particularly large cookie, licking his lips.
Rapunzel turned to her dresser and set the candle down.
"I've got to tell you-," Eugene took a bite of the cookie, talking between mouthfuls, "-jou are one ah gah mowst ahmazang wahgmehn in gah wor'."
Rapunzel closed her eyes. Three-.
He swallowed, and immediately picked up another cookie. "Seriously, I don't think anyone could be as awesome as you are."
Two-.
"Ah mean snickahdoogles—righ?"
One…
"Hah mahny guys cahn sah thah-." Eugene stopped, staring at the half-eaten cookie in his hand. He slowly turned his face upwards to find that his wife was smiling at him. Swallowing the cookie in his mouth, Eugene asked quietly, "What is Annie doing down in the kitchens at this hour? She made these cookies—I can tell. She always puts too much cinnamon on 'em."
Rapunzel shrugged, sliding onto the bed, "Well, Eugene, she um—she was-."
"She always bakes when she's upset about something. I remember that one time we ended up with three different cakes because she got a B on a history exam." Eugene gazed at his wife in deep concern. "Rapunzel, what happened? Is she all right?"
Rapunzel sighed, "Do you remember that she has a math test today?"
Eugene's eyes narrowed into suspicious slits, and he growled: "Reynolds."
"Well, he is administering it but-."
"I knew he would be too difficult for her! For goodness sake, the guy thinks everyone should be a genius! And he has a streak of meanness that beats the pants off of any schoolmaster I ever had!"
Rapunzel rolled her eyes, "You never had a schoolmaster."
"Doesn't matter. Oh, if I could just get my hands around that scrawny apple-core of a neck I would-!"
"Eugene, Tutor Reynolds has nothing to do with it."
Ignoring his wife, Eugene plowed on, "For just once you'd think he'd show a little bit of compassion. I mean, Annie is the kindest, gentlest girl in the world and she in no way deserves-."
"Eugene-," Rapunzel grabbed his arm, frowning at him sternly, "-Tutor Reynolds has done nothing more than his job. He's not the reason we now have half a bakeshop downstairs."
He gave a curt nod. "Okay. Okay—then what is? Is Annie all right?"
"She's fine. I've already smoothed things over and she's gone to bed now."
"And what about that math exam?"
"She'll take it late this afternoon when she's ready."
"And why was she baking like your mother does when your dad threatens to shave off his beard?" Eugene asked carefully.
Rapunzel took a deep breath, "Well—because something really, really wonderful happened tonight."
"Yes?"
"Something that—that—you should be happy about."
"Ye-es?"
"Something that means a lot and—and-," Rapunzel threw up her hands, "-oh, I give up. Annie kissed Stan."
Eugene stared at her for a full three seconds before immediately rising to his feet and striding to the door.
"Eugene, wait-."
He shook his head, "No way. No way. NO WAY am I waiting! That book-toting punk kissed my daughter and now he's going to fulfill a long-held desire to be a greasy spot on the floor!" Eugene turned around, stamping his foot for emphasis.
Rapunzel groaned, "Did you even hear what I just said?"
"Yes, you said 'Annie' and 'kiss' and 'Stan', and none of those words should ever be in the same sentence!" He declared, vehemently making a slashing movement with his right hand.
"Yes, exactly, Annie kissed Stan."
He nodded, "I know. And now I'm going to kill him."
"Eugene—Annie kissed-."
"How many times are you going to say that horrible sentence?" Eugene asked, pained.
Rapunzel cleared her throat, "Listen to me: your daughter kissed the librarian's assistant. She kissed him. She did it, Eugene—Stan was just an innocent beneficiary."
He snorted disbelievingly, "Innocent."
"Yes. He did nothing wrong. And neither did she."
Eugene took a deep breath, and then cocked his head slightly. "You're—so—so you're saying that our daughter—our Annie… she started it?"
His wife smiled, "And finished it too, I think. Though it was a little hard to tell what she was saying with all the crying."
"So she-," a faintly proud expression appeared on his face, "-she kissed him, eh? Knocked him flat?"
"Well, from what she said he was quite surprised." Rapunzel answered, trying to figure out why he was smiling.
Eugene let out a little laugh, "Heh. Imagine that. She ah—she surprised him?"
"Yes, dear. Why do you find that so funny?"
He glanced at her, his grin widening, "She stole his thunder."
"What?"
"You know—'his thunder'—the boy lost his manliness because she made the first move."
Rapunzel smiled slyly, "Oh, that's right."
"See? Ha!" He pumped his fist joyfully, laughing. "Annie, Annie, Annie—you are most definitely, your-."
"Mother's daughter?" She cut in.
He shook his head, "Well, I was going to say father because-."
"If I remember correctly, Eugene-," Rapunzel interrupted, casually tapping her chin, "-didn't I steal your thunder?"
Eugene froze mid-victory dance. He opened his mouth somewhat, replying hoarsely, "Can't remember."
"Really? Because I certainly can and, if I may say so, I kissed you first." She smirked at him.
Her husband sighed and bowed his head, "Yeah, I know."
"So you can't really laugh about Stan, can you?"
"Guess not." He muttered.
Rapunzel patted the bed, "Come and sit down, dear. You're not going to go kill anybody tonight."
"What about tomorrow?" Eugene asked, obediently returning to his wife's side.
"No, Eugene."
He pursed his lips, gazing at the far wall. "You know, it really isn't that de-manning. Her kissing him first."
"Oh really?" She asked archly.
"Yeah—it's just-," he shrugged, glancing away, "-something that happens."
Rapunzel laughed and began to rub his shoulders, "Chance phenomenon, right?"
"Yep." He grinned at her.
His wife smiled and leaned forward, slipping her arms about his neck and hugging him. She then sighed and murmured into his shoulder: "You do know Stan's going to come talk to you tomorrow, right?"
"Not necessarily."
"Eugene, please. You know how much he's liked her and for how long. Trust me—you were getting suspicious when he was nine."
"Well, he was quite a sneaky little-," Eugene stopped at her expression, "-right."
"But now he's practically eighteen, Annie is sixteen, and he will probably be knocking on your office door tomorrow afternoon." His wife kissed his cheek, whispering, "All I'm saying is be nice."
He frowned, "Do I have to say yes? I mean—don't you think sixteen is a little young to start courting?"
"Would you rather have them running around behind your back sneaking kisses and 'sweet nothings' and-?"
"Sixteen's not bad."
Rapunzel smiled, shaking her head, "Nope. No, it isn't. But you know Annie would never do anything like that."
Her husband replied, "Considering she freaked out over kissing him tonight, probably not. But—she is old enough now, I suppose…"
"And?"
"And I promise to not do anything stupid tomorrow."
"And?"
"He'll live."
She raised an eyebrow.
"He'll still have all his limbs, don't worry. If you want I'll even get Thomas to handcuff me to my chair." Eugene offered.
Rapunzel's green eyes brightened, "Tom would like that."
"Yeah. So-," He looked at her, "-bedtime?"
"Will you be all right?"
He shrugged, "Hey, like you said, Annie's old enough now. And, what's more, I really have nothing to worry about."
"Do you want another snickerdoodle?" Rapunzel asked, already holding one out to him.
Eugene let out a sad sigh. "Please."
Chewing thoughtfully, the prince consort watched as his wife withdrew a round little chameleon from her bathrobe pocket. He pointed, "Wah happened tah gah frog?"
"He ate a little too much, that's all."
"Hmm-," Eugene looked at the plate of baked goods, "-not such a bad idea, eating yourself to unconsciousness. Maybe I'll forget everything that's happened tonight."
"I highly doubt that."
"Yeah… Rapunzel?"
"Mmm?" She had already lay down, her eyes closed.
"Do you think she's ready for this?"
"I do. But the real question is, are you ready for this, Eugene?"
"I don't know."
She took his hand, and somehow that made him feel better.
Wow, those folks sure talk a lot, don't they? :) hope you enjoyed it! :D