AN: Bad news- this chapter got away from me and that's why it was delayed. I'm really sorry. Good news – it became enormous and had to be cut in half. Consider tomorrow's installment a bonus.

Chapter 35

The castle is in chaos in the week leading up to the wedding. Every member of the party planning committee looks as though they will either explode or faint and any moment. When they aren't hovering over a dozen servants working in an assembly line to make centerpieces, they're marching down the hall dictating lists of things they've yet to do to a frazzled looking scribe. Or they're having a panic attack in the kitchens because some obscure food item is missing a garnish. Or they're barging in, asking Rapunzel for her opinion, then giving up when she takes too long to decide and barging back out again to worry about it on their own.

Eugene offers to help. Not because he really wants to help, but because everyone is so stressed that it seems like the polite thing to do. Also because he's getting a bit jumpy and would like to have something mindless to do with his hands. Hanging decorations in the courtyard seems like it would do the trick for a few hours.

The party planning committee won't hear of it.

"You should be relaxing, Mr. Fitzherbert."

"I think we have all the help we need," meaning "you're going to screw something up."

"It'll be best if I just do that myself," meaning "I'm too hysterical to even delegate right now."

Eugene finds himself shadowing people, just to keep himself occupied and calm. Whenever he sits alone and unoccupied, he starts getting twitchy and eventually has to go track down Rapunzel anyway. He thinks it's best if he just avoids the tightness in his chest completely, even if that means following her like some kind of lost puppy.

He gets shooed away when it's time for her final veil fitting. What are the chances of a veil not fitting? And what is there to alter if it doesn't? He asks the king about this, because that's who he's attached himself to at the moment.

The king looks up at him from across his desk and a thick pile of paperwork. "Eugene," he says, "calm down."

So Eugene's grateful when Wesley finally shows up. When he's following Wes around it looks like they're hanging out and he looks like less of a loser. And following Wes around is a lot like following Rapunzel around in that they're both overly excited about everything and Eugene can tune out large portions of it.

"Hey, Eugene," Wesley chirps, popping his head into the study where Eugene and Pascal are sitting, working on one of Rapunzel's jigsaw puzzles.

"Hey!" He jumps up to greet his best man and get as far away from the evidence of his boredom as he can. Pascal is great and all, but it sucks to have him as your only companion. "Good to see ya. I'm starting to go craz- What is that?"

"Huh?"

"That." Eugene points to the Wesley's waist. "What is that?"

"Oh!" Wesley beams and pulls the satchel over his shoulder to hold it out for display. "Do you like it? It's an authentic Flynn Rider bag."

"You bought my satchel?"

"Yeah! Well, I bought a satchel. But I know it's not the real thing. You need yours." He looks up at Eugene hesitantly, the squint of his eyes giving away his anxiety. "Right?"

Eugene stares at him, not quite sure where to start with this one. "Ok, first off, you do realize that this is insane, right? Don't be like Flynn Rider. That guy's a jerk and you're starting to weird me out."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"So does this means that this is your satchel?" A certain delicacy sneaks into his voice, as if he's heard something and wants to find out if it's true without flat out asking. It makes Eugene wary.

"Probably."

"And… you sold it at the pub because you needed money?"

Eugene crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes. "What of it?"

Wesley sighs. "I would have given you money."

"What?"

He shrugs. "I would have."

"God! No!"

"Why not? I mean, you deserve some of it. Like an inheritance or something. I've got more than I need."

"That's the stupidest thing I've heard all day. And I spent the morning watching people polish silver." He was allowed to watch, but not allowed to help.

"Are you in trouble, Eugene? I can help you if you are."

"Just stop."

"I'm worried about you."

"Why? I'm marrying into royalty in three days."

Wes raises an eyebrow. When he does that the resemblance is uncanny.

"I don't want your pity."

"It's not pity."

"I still don't want it. And I don't want an inheritance and I don't want to talk about money right now. Aren't you supposed to be here to make my life easier? You'd better get on that."

"Fine." He pauses a moment before trying one more time. "Do you want your satchel back?"

"No! You bought the stupid thing. It's yours."

"You sure?" He gives Eugene a skeptical look. "Why would you sell it in the first place?"

Eugene shrugs. "I don't need it anymore."

Oddly enough, this seems to satisfy the kid and he takes a seat at the puzzle and starts frowning at it in concentration, absently scratching Pascal's eyebrow.

Eugene takes a seat too and hesitates a moment before asking the real question here. "Just out of curiosity, how much did you pay for it?"

"Three thousand crowns."

"You're kidding."

"No."

"Ugg!" Killer is an ass.

The night before the wedding, Eugene doesn't even attempt to sleep. Instead, he paces around his room problem solving for all the different things that might go wrong the next day. The problems he comes up with include tripping and falling, Rapunzel tripping and falling, the king tripping and falling, over sleeping, over eating, losing Pascal, lighting his floating lantern on fire, the pub thugs lighting their floating lanterns on fire, the thugs lighting other things on fire, and the thugs starting a brawl, bursting into song, and just generally embarrassing him. His solutions are all some variation of finding Goldie and waiting for the whole thing to blow over.

Speaking of which, "Oh, you're up."

He turns to see her standing in his doorway, looking so beautiful that she makes him stop pacing. She makes him forget what he was thinking about. "Can't sleep."

"Me neither. I'm too excited."

He draws her into his arms, bending to capture her lips and draw her up against him. She's light in his arms as she bounces up onto her tiptoes and gently sighs. Her curves press against his chest, supple and soft, her tender lips yield to his caress, her fuzzy robe depresses under his hands.

He pulls away before she can lure him deeper, before the feeling changes form lighthearted joy to smoldering need. He can't pull himself very far, and his lips brush hers as he speaks. "You can't stay tonight."

"I know. I just came to bring you something."

"What's that?"

"Tea!"

She takes her hand from his shoulder to show him the teabag tucked into the palm of her hand.

He raises an eyebrow. "Tea?"

"Everyone's been worrying about your feet getting cold. I think there's supposed to be a cold snap or something this evening. Or maybe there's something wrong with your fireplace, but I don't think that would make a difference because it's spring and it's not very cold out and my fire hasn't been lit for a month. Of course it is colder in your room than it is in mine. Tomorrow we'll both get to sleep there! But anyway, everyone is concerned about you. They don't want you to get the sniffles. The cook said that the tea would help with that. It'll make you warmer too. And it'll help you relax if you're as excited as I am. I'm so excited! But I'm sorry you're not feeling well. Do you think you'll get better soon?"

She presses the back of her hand to his forehead to check his temperature, still holding onto her teabag. He rolls his eyes.

"That's not what…"

He trails off as he looks down at her smiling face. She looks too happy to let her in on exactly how little everyone seems to think of him. And she brought him tea. It's impossible for her to get more adorable.

"That's sweet of you, Goldie."

She beams at him and presses the teabag into his hand, before pulling him into another kiss. He lets this one get away from him, as she rocks against him, and pulls his lower lip between her teeth, and he grows dizzy and warm and intoxicated by the movements of her tongue. The teabag crumples as it's clutched in his fist, all the tiny leaf shavings crunching into dust. He clings to the swell of her hip with his other hand, rumpling her robe to feel the silk beneath and the skin beneath that.

He's cut off just before he lets out a moan when someone knocks. Someone he hates. It doesn't matter who it is.

He considers just ignoring them, but Goldie slips back down off her tiptoes and smiles up at him through her eyelashes. "I shouldn't be here. I'll go back to my room once they leave."

This is not at all what he wants to do, so he steals another quick kiss before agreeing. Giggling softly, she slips into his closet to hide.

He takes a deep breath and runs a hand over his face, then opens the door. In front of him stands the king flanked by Hookhand, Wesley, and a few of the more agreeable guards.

"Uh… hey, guys."

"Hello, Eugene," the king says. "You don't look ready."

"Ready for what?"

Hookhand makes a snorting sound that's as disgusted as it is disgusting. "We're throwing you a party, idiot. Put on a shirt. No one wants to see that."

Eugene crosses his arms over his chest and tries to keep the irritation out of his voice as he addresses the king. "Umm, thanks… really… but it's late, and I kinda have a big day planned tomorrow."

Hookhand snaps at him again. "Don't be a jerk, Rider."

"Yeah, it'll be fun," Wesley says.

"And it's not like you were going to sleep anyway," the king says.

"I really don't think-"

The king makes a small, dismissive gesture and says, "Get him."

Before he has time to react, Hookhand and Wesley sweep forward and grab him by both arms to drag him back into his room to get him ready for his severely unwanted bachelor party. He starts struggling when he realizes that they're headed for his closet, and he manages to knock Wesley loose, but Hookhand is a mountain. He's like a force of nature from which there is no escape. He squeezes his eyes closed in preparation for the oncoming tongue lashings and punches, or ridicule and wolf whistles. There's really no telling which one it will be.

Instead, there's nothing as Hookhand drags him inside and glares around the little room.

"You have too many clothes. It's disgusting."

"More disgusting than the unwashed bear skin you're wearing?" He doesn't know where the comeback comes from. His mind's in panic mode. They're going to find Blondie. And where did she go anyway?

"Shut up, Rider."

"My name's Eugene," he says, shrugging the man off. He glances around surreptitiously, trying to find her hiding spot. Is there a secret tunnel in here or something? It'd be really shitty timing to find that out now.

"I don't care. Hurry up. I'm thirsty."

Eugene grabs a shirt at random and shrugs into it. "You don't care what my name is, but you want to throw me a party."

"Like I said, I'm thirsty."

"And we all know you can't drink without me."

Wesley looks up from inspecting a pair of boots and grins. "It's not a party without you, Eugene."

Hookhand lets out a sarcastic, "Aww," as Eugene snatches up a pair of pants and changes as quickly as possible, stuffing the teabag into his pocket, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, and throwing on a vest without bothering to button it.

"Is this dressed enough for you?"

Wesley hands him his boots.

"Whatever," Hookhand says, giving him a shove to get him moving. Out of the corner of his eye he catches Wesley wave at a dresser as they leave. The dresser reaches out a thin hand and waves back.

They don't have time to go all the way to the Snuggly Duckling and most of the gang is in town anyway for the wedding, so Eugene is dragged to a little pub in town. It's much nicer than most of the pubs he's frequented, not that it's so ritzy as to make him feel underdressed, but the glasses are clean and there are no obvious signs of vermin.

He's paraded over to a table already occupied by Big Nose, Vladimir, Attila and Fang. One of the guards shoves him into a chair, and with everyone else spread out in front of him, looking at him intently, he feels like he's at the head of the circular table. The king takes the chair on his right so that he won't try to get away for fear of being rude. Hookhand takes the seat on his left so that if he does try anything it has only a slim chance of working.

Someone buys him a beer, but he can't tell who it's from. It doesn't taste like piss, which considerably narrows down the suspects, and he takes a guess that it's from Attila.

"Alright, everybody settle down," Vladimir booms over a chorus of groans. His voice is so low and growling that it demands attention even when he's not shouting. "We all know why we're here: to give Rider a good send off."

"More girls for us!"

"Dumbass, there will never be more girls for you."

"Shut up."

"I think," Vladimir rumbles, "that we should all give him… uh, advice or something."

The table reluctantly agrees, because none of them really know what you're supposed to do at a bachelor party except get drunk and buy a lap dance, and the second of these ideas isn't going to happen. They all like Rapunzel and this pub is too nice to host that kind of business and the king is there.

Eugene gives them all a look of burning skepticism. "You guys are going to give me advice?"

"Yes."

"Have any of you even been in a relationship before?"

"I am!" Big Nose shouts, a delighted grin lighting up his hideous features.

Everybody groans.

"Stop talking about her!"

"We don't care!"

"You just made her up anyway!"

"I did not!"

"If you didn't then she has brain damage."

"Or she's blind."

"And has no sense of smell."

"Or taste."

"You dare insult my lady's sensory perceptions?"

"Yeah. Bring it."

The king clears his throat before the first punch is thrown, and as easily as that they all drop it, settling begrudgingly back into their seats, which creak under their weight. Thank God the king is here. He'll keep things within some sort of limits.

Or his presence will make the whole thing ten times more painful. Having his idiot friends give him crude advice in front of his future father-in-law was not high on his list of things to do this evening.

Eugene takes a deep drink of his beer.

"You need to be nice to her," Big Nose says. The table mumbles an agreement. "Like give her compliments and things."

"Especially about things that probably shouldn't be complimented. She probably feels bad about those."

"Like her haircut."

Eugene glares at them. "Watch it."

"Oh come on, it looks awful."

"Yeah, when is that gonna grow out?"

"It's not," Eugene growls. "That's how it'll look forever."

"What?"

"Forever? That's stupid."

"Poor kid."

"Did she cut it herself or something? She does get carried away sometimes."

"I hope she didn't pay someone to make her look like that."

"It looks fine," Eugene snaps. Actually, he thinks it looks more than fine. He still feels a pang of guilt whenever she reaches for hair that isn't there, but the overwhelming attractiveness of the new look generally crushes those thoughts. It's just so grabbable now, like he can fist his hand in it and pull her close and make her look all disheveled.

"There ya' go!" Big Nose says. "That's a good start."

"But how's he going to complement her little-"

"Stop trying to find faults with my girl," Eugene says through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, let's find faults with Big Nose's girl."

"She's stupid."

"And ugly."

"And easy."

"SHUT UP. You haven't even met her. She's lovely and delightful."

"It's not bad that she's easy. Don't want to be in a situation like Rider."

"My name's Eugene."

"That reminds me." Hookhand swivels in his seat to face Eugene. "I've got advice. See, when you fuck her for the first time-"

"Oh God."

"-you need to be careful, 'cuse she's really little."

"Yeah. Don't break her."

"And make sure she's enjoying herself."

"Oh, that's my advice. You see, there's this move you can do where-"

"I don't want to hear it," Eugene says, signaling for another drink.

"It's not that hard to do. I think even you could pull it off."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means we hate you."

"Yeah, I can see that."

The advice during his second beer only grows more graphic, with descriptions of how to go slow but still enjoy himself that are so bizarre that he's sure none of them have ever attempted it. (They haven't.) None of them even consider the possibility that Goldie would be anything other than a demure little flower, much less that she's a handful and a half. They don't know that he has a pair of scratches on his shoulder from her fingernails and a bite mark on his abs that haven't quite healed yet from the last time they fooled around. They don't know, and he's definitely not going to let them in on the secret, so most of their advice doesn't apply to him (even if it is good advice for someone else, which he doubts.)

And anyway, where do they get off giving him advice? Idiots.

The thugs and the guards grow more irritated with every passing moment in which Eugene doesn't pull out a pen and start taking notes. Meanwhile, Wesley is following the conversation so intently that he looks like he wishes he had a pen of his own. The king is humming something under his breath, drinking his beer and looking up at the ceiling with a little smile, having gone momentarily deaf.

The realization that the men sitting around the table are somehow, against all odds, actually his friends is an odd one.

After Eugene finishes his beer, he orders a mug of hot water and tosses in the teabag from his pocket with a little plop.

"What the fuck is that?"

"Tea. Goldie gave it to me."

"Ugg. That's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard."

"Tea? You've gotta be kidding."

"Tea from your girlfriend? When you could drink… anything else?"

"Shit, Rider. You are so whipped."

He plucks up his mug and gives them a blank look. "My name's Eugene."