Chapter 31
Watching Rapunzel fall into an uneasy sleep is one of the worst half hours of Eugene's life.
His mind goes into panic mode as he holds his body as still as possible, trying not to disturb her, trying not to touch her even though it's really hard not to – the sofa they're both on is really small, and the desire to reach out and comfort her just grows stronger and stronger.
Then there's the fact that his racing thoughts make him want to scream. They move so fast, slipping from one heinous thing he's done wrong to the next so fast that it's hard to focus on anything except the overarching tone of panic.
Eventually, her breathing evens out, although her eyebrows are still furrowed together and a little frown is painted across her lips. He curses himself, and very gently lifts her up to tuck her in bed, where she curls up in a ball and snuggles into his comforter.
He sighs as he watches her, then decides to make himself useful. Maybe if he's moving the thoughts will stop. Probably not, but it won't hurt to try.
He finds himself a pair of pajama pants and wonders into the washroom to splash water on his face and clean himself up a bit. It doesn't help him feel any less revolting and he can feel the beginnings of a headache form behind his eyes. He braces himself against the stone basin and looks at his reflection. He has the sudden urge to punch the image staring back at him, to feel the physical pain in his knuckles as he shatters the glass. He just wants to break something.
But he's broken something already tonight, hasn't he?
Shit. His moping is disgusting.
Like the rest of him.
…Ugggg…
He sets about gathering up Rapunzel's clothes, which are thrown about so happily that it's almost hard to look at them. He tries to fold them up neatly, but it's hard. He doesn't know much about folding clothes, especially great big piles of satin. After a few attempts it occurs to him that maybe they're not supposed to be folded.
He even tracks down her underwear, which he had intended to hide from her just to see that cute, annoyed purse to her lips and just so he could think about her walking out of his room without them while he was the only one who knew.
Also because he's a pervert.
A cradle robbing pervert.
Gaah!
He stores them all away in his closet, because at some point in the evening someone's going to notice that she's missing and a hundred guards are going to descend upon his bedroom. It wouldn't do in that situation to have all her discarded clothes on display. He doesn't think much about the larger evidence that there's a naked, deflowered princess snuggled up in his bed.
He stares at his stained sofa for a minute, one hand on his chin, the other propped against his hip as he contemplates what to do with it. He decides that flipping the cushions over is a good idea. There! No one will ever know.
Then he throws open the window above the window seat to air out the room. He wants to get rid of the smell that's been muddling up his mind and making it so hard to think clearly. (It's totally the smell's fault. Not something deeper.) The winter air will help with the thinking too. He grabs a robe for her out of his closet and sets it gently on the bed next to her, just in case she gets cold. Then he flops down into the window seat and stares off at the forest.
He imagines that he can see her tower in the dark. Then he thinks some very depressing things about her tower that are too pitiful to be repeated.
He briefly thinks about leaving. Not about running away (which is a such a step for him that he doesn't even acknowledge it) but instead he considers stalking around the castle hallways, just so that he can move. Pacing around his bedroom feels like it won't get him away from his problems. He stops himself because he wants to be there when she wakes up. He can't hurt her and then ditch her, even if he's just ditching her to walk to the kitchens.
This is another step for him and again he doesn't even realize that he's made the transition: he wants to be there for her in the morning. He doesn't know what he's going to say, or even if she'll want to see him because she probably hates him now. And she's never stayed in his room until morning before and she'll probably get woken up by the guards bursting in or by the page that shows up to shuffle Eugene off to his lessons. But he doesn't care.
His self preservation has completely disappeared.
He stares out the window and watches as the lights of the city slowly extinguish one by one, and he wonders what he's going to do if she hates him.
A gust of wind brushes through the room, and he shivers but doesn't move. Behind him he hears her shuffle, the rustling of fabric, the patting of her feet. When he turns to look at her, she's standing next to him shrouded in hesitancy and a robe that's far too big for her. Her fingers are barely visible inside the sleeves and the belt has been wrapped around her waist twice. Even though he's never bothered with the robe before, something possessive grips at him seeing her wear his clothes.
He doesn't know why, but he holds out a hand, and she easily slips into his embrace, letting his arm wrap around her waist, gliding down to sit next to him on the edge of the window seat. There's not enough room for both of them, even though he tries to scoot over as much as possible, so she easily slides into his lap to wrap her arms around him and snuggle her head under his chin.
He sighs and nuzzles his cheek against her hair. He knows that even when Gothel was mean to her, she would always run into the old woman's arms for comfort. So just because she's hugging him doesn't mean anything.
"You're cold," she says, pressing her hands more firmly against his back to try and warm him.
"It's winter," he says. He means it to be a wry comment, but it doesn't work out that way.
"You don't like being cold. Why are you sitting here?"
"Trying to clear my head." Also trying to make the room smell less like sex and leftover mixed vegetables.
She seems to understand because she nods and presses deeper into his chest.
"You need a blanket?" he asks.
"No."
He pulls her closer and swallows. He wants to ask, but he doesn't know how, so he wobbles back and forth a moment between staying quiet and spitting out something stupid.
"Are you- Does it still hurt?" He cringes, expecting her to shove him or start crying.
She shifts a bit and answers in a small voice. "Not much."
"… Good."
"… I'm sorry."
"Rapunzel, you have nothing to be sorry about. It's my fault."
"Why is it your fault?"
"Because I hurt you. You're an itty-bitty virgin and I'm a terrible, lecherous man."
She huffs. "I'm not made out of china. You don't have to coddle me all the time."
He sighs. "We're not starting this again. I care about you and I want you to be alright. That doesn't mean I'm going to lock you away in a tower forever. I'm not going to change, so you might as well get used to it." Or kick him out, which she might very well do.
It takes her a moment to answer and when she does it's a grumble. "You still don't have to be so overprotective."
"God! You are so stubborn!"
"And you're not listening because you'd rather be mopey."
"I'm not moping."
"You're sitting in the cold and staring into space."
"Still doesn't mean I'm moping."
"Frowning gives you wrinkles, Eugene, and no one likes a sulking hulk."
"Where did you hear that?"
"…Nowhere." Whenever Rapunzel says "nowhere" or "nobody" like that it almost always means "Gothel."
"I'm not moping, I'm thinking," he says.
"About what?"
"About how I should have stopped. And I should have been… I don't know, gentler or something. I should have warned you."
"That sounds like moping to me," she mumbles.
He rolls his eyes.
"Wait," she says, her back stiffening. "You could have warned me? Did you know it would hurt?"
"…uh…"
She pulls back to frown at him. "Does it always hurt? Everyone says it's supposed to feel good!"
"I- Well-"
"Did it feel good for you?"
"Oh hell."
"Eugene, tell me what's happening."
"Uh…"
"Eugene!"
"Ok!" He holds up a hand to pacify her (because that works.) "Ok… Sometimes it hurts the first time… for girls… I think."
"You think?"
"I don't know, I'm not a girl!"
"Well what about the other girls you've done this with?"
"Don't ask me questions like that!"
"Why not?"
"Because no matter how I answer you'll get mad."
Her eyebrows draw together in confusion. "No, I won't."
He groans and covers his face with his hand.
She thinks for a moment, finding another way to get information. "So this happens to other people?"
"Yes."
"So I didn't do something wrong?"
"No!"
"And you're not mad at me?"
"Why would I be mad at you?"
She ducks her head a bit. "I don't know."
He sighs and leans forward to pull her into a hug. "Oh, Blondie."
They hold each other for a moment as Eugene considers that they really ought to work on their recurring communication problems.
Eventually she pulls back and sniffs. "It'll be better next time?"
"I guarantee it," he says, brushing a lock of rumpled hair from her face.
She gives him a skeptical look. "Really?"
"Sweetheart, to make up for today, I promise I will blow your mind."
She wrinkles her nose. "That doesn't sound pleasant."
"It is. You trust me, right?"
"Yes."
"Well, you shouldn't. That's a very bad idea."
She smiles and shakes her head. "Shut up, Eugene."
"Hmm."
She leans in to kiss his cheek and then snuggles back against his chest.
"So," he says, clearing his throat and letting his muscles tense up again, "are we… ok now?"
"Of course. Were we ever not ok?"
"I guess not."
"It's cold," she repeats.
"Ok, ok."
He leans forward and reaches out to shut the window, and that's the moment when several loud bangs pound against his door.
"Open up, Rider!"
"When are they going to stop calling me that?"
Rapunzel shrinks in on herself. "I'm not supposed to be here, am I?"
"Nope. But they really took their time finding you."
"What?"
"What if you'd actually gone missing or something?"
"Eugene…"
"Security around here's atrocious."
There's another series of bangs and more shouting from the other side of the door.
"What are we going to do?"
He pushes himself up, half lifting her with him. "You're going to go in the closet and get dressed and then head back to your room. And I'm going to explain to these guys what my name is."
She makes a move to protest, but he just kisses her forehead, gives her a nudge in the right direction, and heads off to his door.
Four stern looking guards frown at him as he rubs the side of his head sleepily and blinks at them a few times. Just four of them? That's insulting. "I'm sleeping," he says.
"We're looking for the princess," one growls.
"Do you need directions to her room?"
"No. Because she's not there."
He blinks once at them and frowns. "What do you mean she's not there? Where is she?"
"That's what we're here to find out."
"You lost the princess? The one you just found?"
The guards' nervousness bubbles up to the surface, letting their bravado crackle away. Two exchange wary looks. One shuffles his feet. The other gulps.
Eugene rolls his eyes in disgust and advances on them. They take a frightened step backwards. "Well, what are you doing here? We need to go find her." He pulls the door closed behind him and starts marching down the hall. "She might just be in the library. Have you tried there yet? Tell me where you've already looked."
Shockingly enough, this works and the guards follow him down the hall towards the library. One starts to give him a report about where they've already looked and when she was seen last.
They march on determinedly, joined every now and then by different desperate patrols, to whom Eugene gives random orders that they should search this place or that place or report to someone or join forces with someone else. He mostly just sends them away from his room and does a lot of glaring. But the guards seem to respond to this and none of them question him.
It's bizarre and unnerving.
"Eugene!"
He comes up short and turns to see the queen hurry up to him. Worry is etched into her face and she looks as though someone has recently woke her up with the news that her daughter has been kidnapped again.
And now he feels like a jerk.
"Eugene, you're…" Her eyes narrow as she takes in his appearance. "You're not dressed appropriately."
"No, ma'am. Someone woke me up to help find something they lost." He shoots a glare at the nearest guard, who looks like he might shit himself. Eugene knows he's walking a tightrope now and the only way he'll pull through this is if he clings to the angry boyfriend act with everything he's got.
The queen seems to hold her breath for a moment as her eyes dart back and forth over his face. It's like she's reading something written on his forehead. He tries not to swallow too thickly. He tries not to let his face give him away. He tries really, really hard.
The queen's shoulders sink as she rolls her eyes. "Continue your search," she tells the guards. "I need a moment with Mr. Fitzherbert."
Gulp.
She crosses her arms and waits until the guards disappear before she speaks. "Is there something you want to tell me?"
"…No." And what kind of question is that?
"I was worried."
"I'm worried too."
"Oh, you should be."
Yikes.
"Mr. Fitzherbert, do you listen to a single word anyone says to you?"
"…Yes?"
"No. You don't," she snaps.
He doesn't really know what to say to that, so he stays quiet, which seems like his best option.
She takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of her nose. "Just tell me she's alright."
He takes a moment during which he decides that to continue lying would just annoy and confuse both of them. "She's fine."
"And you know where she is?"
"Yes."
She pulls her hand away and looks up at him. "What am I going to do with you?"
He shrugs.
She shakes her head in disgust.
"… Are you going to kill me? Because she kinda likes me and I don't think that would make her happy."
"Eugene, that's the worst defense I've ever heard."
"So… that's a 'yes' then?"
"That's a 'be quiet so you don't dig your hole any deeper.'"
"Gotcha."
"You can deal with the guards. I'm going back to bed."
"Yes, ma'am."
She turns and stalks back down the hallway. But then she stops and glances at him over her shoulder.
"You held out longer than I thought you would, you know."
And with that, she continues on her way.