Chapter 13
Eugene has trouble sleeping. His sheets are cold and it's too quiet without the little wheezing snore that Pascal always makes. He keeps rolling over only for his arm to land on a big empty space. He wakes naturally at four in the morning, when Pascal would usually wake him up, and he realizes that he has sprawled out over the entire bed, as if he was searching for her in his sleep. He presses his face into his pillow and groans loudly.
Rapunzel can't sleep either. Pascal is not big or warm enough to emulate Eugene, so she turns one of her pillows sideways and snuggles up against it. Strange that she should become so used to him so quickly. She never used to feel alone before. There are too many thoughts running around her head, none of them standing still long enough for her to look at them, to tease them apart. It's like being attacked by bees.
It's almost dawn when she gives up on sleep and rolls over to rest her chin on her pillow and look Pascal straight in the face.
"Eugene tried to leave," she whispers. "I don't know why."
Pascal cocks his head to the side and makes a soft, comforting cooing noise.
"He must not be happy here." She bites at her lower lip. "He's used to having all sorts of exciting adventures, but now he's trapped here in the castle where no one but us really likes him."
Pascal nuzzles her hand with the side of his face.
"I shouldn't really keep him here if he's that unhappy, should I? It's not good to lock someone away when they want to be free."
The chameleon's eyes grow wider and he opens his mouth as if to protest, but then promptly shuts it.
"And I really shouldn't make him stay if he's angry with me." She sighs and absently curls Pascal's tail around her finger. "I just don't know what I did wrong. Do you know?"
He shakes his head.
"Maybe he just doesn't like me anymore. But… I don't know what changed. He used to like me, right? And I don't know what I'd do if he left. I'd be lonely."
Loneliness is a new feeling for Rapunzel, one that is worse than most of the other feelings she's encountered lately.
"I wish I could talk to him, but he said he didn't want to talk to me unless I needed something."
Pascal makes a whirring noise and nudges at her hand, encouraging her to get moving.
"I don't think this counts. I just want to talk. I don't need to talk."
Pascal rolls his eyes.
"He's already mad at me. I don't think he'd like it if I woke him up. You know how he likes to sleep."
Pascal has to give her that one.
She groans and drops her head into her pillow, muffling her words. "He's the one I want to cry on most."
Pascal stares at her prone figure for a moment, his eyes twitching back and forth with concern. He wants to help, he needs to help, because when she's in pain like this it feels like he's been kicked in the ribs. It's sharp and radiating and deep inside the worried knot of his little chest. The color begins to drain from his face. A moment later he begins to cough.
Eugene is pulled out of his half-sleep by a bang against his door and a feminine squeal of surprise. He locked his door and pushed the dresser in front of it again, just so she can't try something like this. The balcony door is also locked and blocked by one of the big arm chairs. He narrows his eyes at the door and waits for her to try to pick the locks. Instead she does something that she's never done before.
She knocks. Loudly. And there's something frantic about her voice when she shouts his name and raps against the door again, something frantic that pushes him out of bed to let her in.
"Eugene!" She shouts, throwing herself forward, her face a mess of tears, her eyes wide with panic. "He's sick, Eugene! He's sick and I don't know what to do!"
She thrusts out her small, cupped hands to show him the limp form of her chameleon, whose body has turned a chalky shade of grey, whose eyes are lidded and glazed. He lies on his side, his breath coming in quick puffs that have his lungs and his neck visibly pulsating in a rhythm too fast to be healthy.
Eugene reaches out and takes the chameleon from her with the upmost care. He and Pascal have been through a lot, and if he's honest with himself he's grown fond of the little guy. Seeing him like this makes his chest ache and his face contort into a frown.
"I don't know what to do," she says, choking back a sob and anxiously running her hands through her hair, forgetting for a moment that it's no longer its old length.
The truth is that Eugene doesn't know what to do either. How do you care for a sick chameleon? What even makes a chameleon sick? And how long do they usually live anyway? It couldn't be all that long, and - if he did his math right - Pascal is getting on in years. He swallows down the chilling feeling that Pascal's time might be near.
He moves to the washroom to get him a bowl of water. Lizards drink water, right? And that might very well make the little guy feel better.
God, it would devastate Rapunzel if Pascal died. The thought makes him feel sick, first as he thinks of how broken she'll be, and then again because now he's thinking about Rapunzel and that topic is still raw.
He sets the water dish down by the fire and holds the frog so he can take a drink. When it becomes clear that Pascal is too weak to do so, Eugene grimaces and sets him down carefully on a throw pillow and tries to coax the fire back to life. Lizards like being warm, right?
After this he can't think of anything else to do and sits down on the floor and stares at the sick little thing in disbelief. Rapunzel slips down next to him and pulls his arm into a hug as she presses her cheek against his shoulder. He stiffens, but she doesn't seem to notice.
"Will he be alright?"
"Uh… yeah. Yeah, he'll be fine." She looks up at him and for a moment their eyes meet and she offers him the smallest of teary smiles before he clears his throat and looks away and throws them into a tense silence.
Pascal's eyes blink wearily.
"Why'd you bring him here?" he asks. "Why not to a doctor or a vet or… one of your new friends?" He can't keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"I don't know," she whispers. "I'm so scared, and you're so good at taking care of things."
He snorts, not really knowing if he should be flattered or feel like she's taking advantage of him.
The side of Pascal's neck continues to jump.
"Eugene?"
"Yeah?"
She takes a deep breath, her breasts pressing against his arm. "This is the worst day ever."
"You think so?"
She nods. "I guess tomorrow might be worse."
"Why's that?"
Her voice drops even lower, as if hoping that the chameleon can't hear her, as if whispering it will make it untrue. "Because Pascal might die, and you're going to leave, and I'll be left all alone."
He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "He's not going to die. I told you I wouldn't leave. And there's not much chance you'll be alone for long."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh please."
She pulls away from him to look up into his face, what she finds there is concerning. "You two are my best friends. And I…" She trails off and shakes her head.
"You what?"
"…I want you to be happy. If – if your dream has changed and you want to leave then- then I think you should do what makes you happy… even it if makes me sad."
He stares down at her for a minute. "Do you want me to leave?"
"No! I want you to be with me! And I'm sorry that I haven't been spending as much time with you as I should, and I'm sorry that you hate it here. Maybe- maybe we could run away, we could go somewhere and have an adventure and we could be outlaws and- and-"
"Whoah, whoah! What?" He turns to take hold of her shoulders and give her a very confused look, because this is honestly the last thing he was expecting.
Her eyes brim over with tears. "I don't know," she whimpers. "I've had a very bad day." She throws herself into his arms and weeps and all he can think to do in his confusion is hold her and run a hand through her hair.
He can only make out bits and pieces of the sobbing ramble against his chest. "It was horrible. He kissed me and it was horrible, and then you were mad at me and you wanted to leave, and then my mother started telling me about love and I started thinking and I think that the only love I have really is for my mother and you and Pascal, and it's just all really confusing, and now you don't like me and Pascal is going to die!"
"Ooook," he says, trying not to get his hopes up because it's entirely possible that he hadn't heard her right and she just rambled something about Maximus instead of what he thinks she said, but what he thinks she said suddenly makes him feel lighter, fresher, buoyant. "Let's start with that horrible kiss. Now what happened? Was it really that awful?" It must have been, as she's crying about it.
"Soooo bad," she moans. He resists the urge to grin and pump his fist into the air. "He just came at me, and it was all wet, and it just wouldn't stop."
"So you wanted him to stop and he wouldn't?"
"Yes! And now I don't know what to do!"
Bad-freakin-ass!
Except not, because molesting his girlfriend is not ok.
"Don't worry about it, alright?" He presses his lips to her forehead. Suddenly he feels like he can take on a whole army of bitter, handsy guards. "I'll take care of it." And he'll enjoy taking care of it too. He's going to beat the man senseless, not because he's jealous, but because the creep dared to hurt Rapunzel. He's going to stand up for her honor and protect her and feel like he's actually doing something productive.
"That's that settled," he says. "So let's move on to the part where… you love me?"
She nods, lowering her gaze and sniffling.
"Seriously?"
"I think so. I mean, I don't know, but you're my best friend and I don't know what I'd do without you, and if you really want to leave then I'll go with you, or we can change things here so that you like it better."
"Shh, no, you're not going anywhere. Your place is here."
"But where's your place?"
"Next to you," he says. "Sorry, Goldie, but you're stuck with me."
She stares as if she doesn't trust herself to believe him.
He leans forward to rest his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry I freaked out on you. I was having a bad day too."
She offers him a small smile. "I told you not to freak out."
He laughs. "Yeah. You did."
"Are you going to keep freaking out on me?"
"I'll try real hard not to."
"Alright."
"Ok."
"I love you, Eugene."
"Love you too, Blondie."
He rubs the tears from her cheeks with a thumb, and she chokes out a muffled little giggle. He wants nothing more in the world but to kiss her (well, maybe a little more than that), but her jagged breathing and the redness of her cheeks and eyes reminds him that there's still one problem they have to face. He sighs with the knowledge that this one won't be as easy.
"And as for Pasc-"
He freezes.
He stares down at the throw pillow, where the chameleon is resting fitfully, back to his comfortable shade of bright green.
"What the hell?"
Pascal looks up at him with an obnoxious smirk, and winks.
Eugene can't move for a second, as if his brain just can't process what's happening, as if all the gears in his mind have stopped turning. Then things click together, and Eugene explodes. "You lying, manipulative little fucker! Do you know how worried we were about you?"
The frog rolls his eyes and gives him a look that says, yeah, right, soooo worried . Then before he goes back to sleep he gives him a smirk that says, you owe me.