She ran faster than she had in months. She flew down the alleys and side streets, her breath beginning to strain, a crick knitting in her side. The glow of street lights slipped past, strobing in the dark, lighting her hair for a moment, illuminating Rider's form in front of her for a split second before he disappeared into darkness again.
The exercise and adrenaline felt calming after the past few desolate days. It brought a certain numbing clarity, and she pushed herself faster, her feet patting over the concrete.
Everyone was chasing Rider. The league was out, chasing him or keeping tabs on her, it was impossible to tell. Snow White's helicopter circled the area, buzzing over her head, sending the white beam of a spotlight down into the shadows between buildings. It was another obstacle to dodge, and the helicopter was sneaky, appearing for just a moment above the buildings with a loud whir and a flash of light, then disappearing again as it passed, as if it was never there, a phantom in the night.
Snow White first appeared a decade before, in the midst of the worst blizzard the city had seen. The white helicopter appeared out of nowhere, rescuing fishermen caught in the frozen ocean, flying despite the gale force winds and blinding snow. She could find anything.
Rapunzel could feel eyes in the dark watching her, following her. She could feel the league closing in.
But there was some other force out as well, something darker, something that kept Rider running, twisting through alleys. She could hear their running footsteps now and again, their surprised and pained noises as they clashed into trashcans or lost their prey. They'd gain on Rider, then fall back as they missed a turn or hit a dead end. Then they'd reappear, catching up again or sending in a new wave, she couldn't tell. She had no clue who they were – yet another group that Rider had pissed off.
Her usual dark nights of solitude were beginning to get crowded.
Rider hadn't even made it to the auction house. He was by the helicopter and made a sharp right, as if taking another route to the heist, but then something had spooked him and he'd made a complete about face. She'd thought he would circle, throw everyone off and come back an hour later, when they'd thought he'd given up. But now she thought differently. He'd decided it wasn't worth it and taken off.
That was odd for him. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end as something chilled in her stomach.
She pushed the uncertainty down and focused on how smart she'd been to give chase rather than waiting for him at the auction house. She couldn't have sat still anyway.
Rider hadn't run this fast in a long time either. He hadn't made his route so circuitous, purposefully jumping locked fences and scaling hard-to-climb drainpipes. For the first time in a very long time, he was so concerned that he wasn't planning on letting Rapunzel catch him.
She glared, growling between clenched teeth as she chased him. She didn't care what he wanted or how fast he ran, she was going to catch him, and he was smart to be afraid of that.
She had avoided him for days out of embarrassment and heartbreak. She'd feigned sleep until he'd kissed the crown of her head, quietly pulled on his clothes, covered her with a comforter, and gone back to work.
She'd told Charlie that she was amazingly busy so she had an excuse to not stop by, so he wouldn't send coffee or pastries up to her apartment.
She'd held her breath and hugged herself when Eugene knocked on her door before he left in the mornings. When she didn't answer, he'd scribbled a note and taped it to her door. He said he was worried and hoped she was alright.
She could almost picture his face – sad, confused eyes and a clenched jaw. He probably had no idea what he'd done.
Idiot.
He deserved to have the tar beaten from him.
She ducked left as he swung onto a fire escape, making his way to the roof. Then she sped around, using her hair to help her swing through the sharp turns. Corner, corner, down a block, another corner. And there he was, landing just in front of her, and with another burst of speed she threw herself forward, knocking him to the ground before flipping back onto her feet. He rolled, coming up in a defensive crouch that broke when she flew at him again. Right kick, left jab, right hook. She had her hair in both hands, one strand like a lasso, grabbing at his blocking arms, one strand like a whip, blocking his escape. And he was trying to escape, trying to circle her and run again. She hit him in the stomach, then again across his jaw, snapping his head to the side.
"Gah! Shit!"
He stumbled back as much as she would let him. And she kept attacking, punching and kicking and he backed up faster and faster, beginning to stumble over his own feet. His back hit the wall and he gaped at her.
"Blondie, what the hell? Are you trying to kill me?"
Her eyes narrowed dangerously, all her anger focused to a single point of rage in her chest, and it felt as though that hatred would burst out of her and hit him square in the forehead.
"Blondie!" she screamed, her fists shaking in anger at her sides. "Don't call me that! Don't you dare!"
She seethed, moving as if to hit him again with her hair, and he flinched back against the wall, one arm coming up to cover his face.
Angry, heartbroken tears prickled in her eyes. She hated her tears. She hated the ache that had taken root in her chest. Her lower lip and her arms had joined her fists in shaking, and she clung to the idea that those reactions rose from pure anger.
He panted, looking painfully, stupidly confused. "I thought you liked that!"
Ugg! Her body recoiled from him, her shoulders coming up to cover her ears as if she could protect herself from his disgusting, infuriating stupidity.
Her eyes squeezed closed as she screamed at him again. "You called me the wrong name! The wrong name, you stupid, stupid jerk!"
He stared at her, slowly letting his breath even out, letting his mind catch up with her words.
His eyes widened.
His face fell.
"Shit, Rapunzel. I'm sorry."
"I don't care if you're sorry," she snapped. "You're a cheater and I hate you."
"What?"
"You're cheating on me!"
"Sucking face with your alter ego does not count as cheating!"
She glared at him.
"You can't be serious."
Her glare intensified, her muscles straining, begging to hit him again.
He gaped at her, visibly struggling to find words until finally grabbing hold of something. "But- Then- How are you any better here?"
"Because I knew it was you the whole time!"
"And what am I, a moron? Come on! Give me some credit."
"Did you sleep with Mergirl too?"
"What?"
"You know where she lives. You were in her house. You pretended to be all nice and she let you in and you - and you - and then in the morning you stole her TV. Were you sad I didn't have anything worth taking?"
"What? Why would- You can't really think that."
She blinked to try to hold back the tears.
Rider's face softened in concern and pity until he looked too much like Eugene. "You can't really think that," he repeated, his voice too calming, too gentle. She hated his voice and the way it confused her, turned her around.
He reached to cup her face. "Oh, sweetheart."
She pulled away with a hiss, and her muscles snapped and she was attacking him again, striking out wildly and screaming and crying, and not caring about form as long as she hit him.
"Whoa!" He grabbed her wrists far too easily, holding them tight against his chest as she struggled to get away or push him or - or anything.
"Rapunzel! Listen to me."
"No!" she shouted. "You called me the wrong name! In bed!"
"It's still your name! Look, you were acting very Blondie-like and I slipped up. It was a stupid mistake. It's not worth getting this upset over."
"You like her more than me."
"Who?"
She didn't know what she was saying anymore. It was too much and as she squeezed her eyes closed, one of her tears broke free, rolling fat and hot and disloyal down her cheek, uncomfortable between her skin and her mask.
"Blondie," she whimpered. "You like her more."
For a moment there was silence. Then he shifted his hold on her, his hand finally finding her face when she didn't take the opportunity to punch him again.
"I like you," he said. "All of you. I don't care what you're wearing or what your hair color is. I'm in love with you."
It was exactly what she wanted to hear, something that would make her heart melt and make everything perfect, and yet all she could feel was hurt, as if her mind simply couldn't accept it. It couldn't possibly be true.
"How can I believe anything you say?"
He stiffened. His fingers stopped stroking her cheek, then fell away completely, and when he spoke again his words were so cold they made her shiver.
"I don't know. You just have to trust me."
She shifted uncomfortably, and it was his turn to glare.
"Great. Fantastic. I hope you sleep with lots of guys you don't trust. I'll make you a list of all the untrustworthy people I know. Have fun. And let me just say that I'm so glad we're having this conversation right now."
"Flynn-"
"What? What do you want from me?"
"I- I don't know! It's so confusing and- and... I don't even know your real name!"
He groaned, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "It's Eugene!"
She blinked at him, more confused than ever. "You... Really?"
He groaned again.
It didn't make any sense. All her reasoning skills said that she had no reason to believe him, that a lie about his name was just as easy and expected as a lie about anything else. She told herself that she only wanted to kiss him now because they were fighting and that's what they did when they fought. She told herself that she'd be stupid to believe that he – that anyone – could love her. She told herself she was only hoping for his affection because her hormones were raging and he was skilled at seducing her and he looked so attractive even wearing his annoyed face.
She told herself all of this, but when he sighed and met her eyes again she had no idea what to think.
She was losing her mind.
Her fingers had spread over his chest, one of his hands still covering them, still holding them carefully despite all his aggravation with her. Slowly she eased closer, freezing like a frightened bunny when he tensed, pressing on with even more hesitancy when he didn't pull away, their eyes locked together, both filled with uncertainty. She leaned in to kiss him, feeling his breathing grow shallow under her palms, watching his eyelids grow heavy, lower, and -
Thunk.
His head jerked to the side as she gasped and pulled away. Then he blinked one, and reached up to pull out the dart that had implanted itself in his neck.
For a second they both stared at it.
"Oh hell," he muttered, and stumbled back against the wall.
Rapunzel spun to face their attackers, taking a defensive position in front of him as eight men in dark clothes with covered faces came running towards them from the end of the alley.
She set her jaw in determination and gripped her hair in both hands.
"Who are they?"
"They don't like me," he said slipping further down the wall behind her.
"No one likes you," she snapped, and then they were upon her.
She ducked under a swing from a police club, grabbing her attacker's feet with her hair and pulling him to the ground as her hair grabbed a second man around the waist and jerked so he slammed into a wall. Leaning back with an arch of her spine, she dodged a punch then landed her own blow that sent the man reeling.
She moved with a fluidity they couldn't seem to hit, side to side, dodging attack after attack while her hair spun around her, throwing them back, giving her space. She grabbed one man by the arm, twisting him into a lock then kicked him away, immediately turning to land an upper cut to the next man's chin, ducking a punch, then grabbing the foot of a spinning kick to flip the man so he landed hard, his back against the ground.
She kept them back for a time, thinning their numbers by knocking a few down, but by the time she got the later wave down the first thugs had popped up again. She launched herself, using one attacker as a springboard as he doubled over from a hit to the stomach, and kneed one man in the face. He fell with a crunch and didn't move, and she rolled to the side to keep up the battle. The men didn't even pause to help their fallen comrade.
"We have to get out of here," she shouted, grabbing one man's wrist as he came at her, diverting his blow at the last minute and sweeping him off his feet.
"Yeah," Eugene said, trying to push himself up the wall and failing. It looked as though he'd lost all movement in his left side. "I told you it wasn't the best time."
One attacker tried distracting her in one direction, while another circled the other way to get to Eugene. She punched the first in the face, then whipped her hair around the ankles of the one heading toward Eugene and yanked him backwards, off his feet, his fingers clawing at the asphalt.
Eugene's legs gave out and he crumpled to the ground in a heap. He groaned, not even attempting to get up, not even bothering to open his eyes.
Then they came at her two at a time while two went for Eugene, and she barely managed to push them back, one of them landing a glancing blow to her face.
Then they dog piled her, and she switched tactics, sending spinning loops of hair in all directions, her hands moving so fast it was hard to follow. Her hair grabbed them by the wrists, by the forearm, by the leg or around their waists or any combination of limbs she could manage, and with a yank, she jerked them back over drainpipes and against barred windows, tying them in place so they couldn't move, lifting them off the ground where they flailed against their binds. She was a spider in the middle of a great web, and she worked, tossing loop after loop even as she began to run out of hair, securing her attackers as they loosened their bonds, throwing knots left and right and yanking to tighten her hair until they choked, squeezed against a wall.
And still it was impossible to get them all. With her hair like that, she was trapped herself, unable to move more than three feet in any direction without being pulled by the bonds of one of her captives. And, little by little, her captives were slipping free. One pulled a knife and cut himself loose. Her hair grew back immediately, throwing him back to tie him to a trashcan, but that had given the others the idea, and they were all breaking free and running at her, and she just couldn't stop them all.
One hit her in the ribs and she was knocked down, unable to fall all the way to the ground as her hair caught her, still knotted to a fire escape even though that prisoner had long since broke loose.
Two of them grabbed Eugene's limp form, one taking his shoulders, the other grabbing his feet, and she couldn't get to him. She hit the one carrying his shoulders with her hair, causing them to drop him, but the maneuver cost her as in her distraction, the men attacking her directly hit her twice then grabbed her arm and spun her until she was locked in her own hair and even her arms couldn't move.
They grabbed Eugene again easily, dragging him away like a rag doll, taking him further and further from her reach, from her protection.
Somewhere overhead, the helicopter roared, so close and yet unable to see them. Even if the league came and saved her, they might just make things worse. They'd take Eugene away too. She was alone in a sea of adversaries.
Adversaries and hair. She struggled to untangle herself as a van burst into the alley, its headlights illuminating the scene and causing her to flinch away from the light. All the thugs had escaped their bonds. They piled into the van, loading Eugene like luggage, tossing him so he flopped lifelessly to the floor.
With a scream of aggravation and pain, she retracted her hair far faster than she should, yanking through all the knots, unraveling the mess until she was free, until she crouched in the center of a fan of limp and tangled hair, the ends jagged and snarled.
With a practiced movement of her hand, she swept the hair in front of her to the side so she could see once more, revealing her face, contorted in a snarl. She pushed herself to her feet, bolting towards Eugene as the van pulled away, moving before the thugs had even pulled the back doors closed.
She ran faster, grabbing her hair and throwing it to latch onto the van's bumper before it reached its full speed. The tress flew with less grace, less accuracy than usual, caught and snared on itself, little stray hairs sticking out then rejoining the main cord instead of forming a neat and contained rope. But it caught. It held. And she swerved to run along the side of the alley, briefly running up a wall and kicking the lid off a trashcan, landing on top of it with a clank, grabbing her hair as the van gained speed, and surfing along behind it with a sharp grating of metal on rough concrete and a shower of sparks.
The van pulled into the street at the end of the alley, making a sharp turn that had Rapunzel swinging up onto the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. She jumped the curb and pulled quickly at her hair, shortening the rope enough that she narrowly avoided smashing against a storefront. The van fishtailed before straightening, the open doors in the back swinging back and forth, and Rapunzel pulled, setting her jaw against the strain in her arms, dragging herself closer and closer to the van.
The men in the back shouted to the driver, who swerved, sending Rapunzel skidding out into oncoming traffic. With a flash of headlights and the blare of a horn, she yanked her hair to avoid one car, leaned to one side to drag against the side of another, then dropped nearly four feet of slack to avoid another car that had slammed on its breaks. She threw the rope of hair over the top of the car, and skidded around it before weaving her way back through traffic, back behind the van.
She pulled herself forward again, and she could just make out Eugene's leg, sprawled on the floor of the van. The thugs shouted more instructions to the driver, who slammed on his breaks and sent Rapunzel flying forward. She jumped, careened into the back of the van, and smashed head first into one of the thugs, sending her trashcan lid sailing straight into another's chest.
The back of the van filled with wild punches in the dark, people tripping over her hair, her kicks hitting indiscriminately in the small, crowded space. Hands pulled at her and hits landed on ever part of her body, yet they seemed just as disoriented as she was, and she fought on. At some point in the scuffle, she was pretty sure she stepped on Eugene. At some point she bit into someone's arm and they screamed a curse and fell back, giving her enough room to kick at the next shadowy figure.
Someone grabbed her, or maybe it was two or three people. They hauled her towards the back door as the van sped up again. She struggled, kneeing someone before they tightened their grip on her and tossed her awkwardly out the back of the van.
She grabbed the back door as she fell, her fingers slipping against its edge as she pulled and swung back and up and onto the roof. For a moment she stood there, her hair flying out behind her as she found her balance on shaking feet that slipping slightly as the van ran a red light.
She skipped forward towards the driver, but despite the lightness of her feet, they still thumped and rumbled against the van's roof, the metal denting under her weight and popping flat again behind her. She had just enough time to look down and note that that was not a good thing before a bullet burst through the roof, flying past her face.
She fell backwards with an undignified squeak and another rumble from the roof. A second bullet flew at her and she slipped precariously towards one side of the van before catching herself.
Great. The driver had a gun.
That would make it much more difficult to fly in through the window and kick him in the face before taking control of the van. That and how windows are harder to break than most people thought. And how she didn't know how to drive.
She didn't have a chance anyway. The van swerved, jerking back and forth, between cars and across lanes, sending her body sliding across the roof with nothing to grab onto. Her sweaty palms pressed tight to the van's slick paint job, but couldn't keep her in place as the van accelerated.
A sharp pull to the right and the van slipped right out from under her, sending her flying and tumbling into the street.
She hit with a thump and rolled, asphalt biting into her face, burning scrapes running down her arms, one of her knees twisting awkwardly. She came to a stop, tucked in on herself and spread across the yellow dividing line, and looked up with blazing eyes, pushing herself onto an elbow, spitting out gravel, and wiping blood from her lip.
The van screeched as it turned the next corner, and for a half second before it sped away, the text on the side of the van shone in the streetlights.
High Tower Laboratories.
Rapunzel thought she might be sick. Right in the middle of the street. Without getting up. Without even shifting her hair out of the way, because her muscles and her mind had frozen in horror and all she could see was the High Tower logo on the metal bracelet on her pale wrist, printed on the packets of food she ate, inverted on the plexiglass window of her room.
They'd strapped her to an operating table and injected her with liquids that burned through her veins in such agony that she pulled muscles in her sides and throat from screaming. They'd left her alone for days, with only the company of a teddy bear, a stuffed sheep, and a second-hand, pink plastic tea set, while they watched her careful actions through a two-way mirror.
They'd tortured her for years, experimenting and documenting. They stole her whole life and denied her humanity.
And now they had Eugene.
A car horn pulled her back into the moment and she rolled out of the way just in time, finding her feet and pushing herself out of the street, back into the dark as the helicopter passed over once more.
She was moving before she even thought it through, too dazed and numb to process her actions, her heart clenching with fear. One foot placed steadily in front of the other, as if she were drawn there by a magnet, by a string she could never sever, she traveled through the winding back streets towards High Tower.
Going back was crazy, and he mind rebelled, shutting down, showing her flashes, faces, memories, all the reasons to stay away that had her shivering in her own sweat.
They'd put needles in her arms and poison in her veins that made her feel stretched or mindless or invisible, stuff that made her crazed and ill. They'd given her tests to find the extent of powers – how many strings of numbers could she remember, how much blood could she lose, how long could she go without sleep, how strong was she, how strong was she when terrified.
Some people were born with super powers, others were granted theirs by accident. And others were made, experiment after experiment, human trial after human trial. All to create the perfect soldier, the perfect weapon.
They would do all that to Eugene. In her fear she was so certain.
She had to go for him.
She couldn't let him be tortured.
She couldn't let him become a failed experiment like her.
She's dead and can't hurt you anymore. Her whispered words surprised her as she hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud, trying to calm herself, trying to stop her hands from shaking. For the first time she looked around, noticed where she was and realized where she was headed, what she was doing.
If she did this the league would know. They wouldn't see it as a victim desperately trying to protect others from her fate. They'd see it as a clear signifier of her inevitable betrayal. Saving Rider would shift her banner from the side of good. It would make her an outcast. She would be hunted. And the league knew where she lived.
The dark alley stayed still around her, undisturbed by her internal debate. She clasped her hands together and kept moving.
High Tower looked the same. It sat quiet and unassuming across a short, manicured lawn. Its walls curved artfully, sweeping in and then out at an angle from the ground so the higher stories leaned over the grass. The white floodlights were reflected in in the dark blue glass of the front facade.
It shouldn't have looked frightening. It shouldn't have seemed to tense in the stillness of the night as if it were about to leap forward and consume her, ripping into her with great, glass fangs. No one else would feel the dread eating away at their stomach as they looked at the building.
Rapunzel had only seen it from the outside a few times. First when she escaped, then in photographs in the newspaper. It had looked like a cheery nod to modern architecture in those instances as well. They'd kept her captive for years and no one suspected from the outside. From this angle, no one could hear the screams of tortured souls imprisoned within.
She pressed her lips together, set her shoulders back with her head held high, and walked forward.
The doors in High Tower were never locked.
The glass front doors slid open automatically before her with a soft whir and the stomp of her heavy boots against the tile. The security guard, seated at a curved desk on the other side of the lobby, gaped at her a moment, then glared and snarled and rose to his feet, drawing his gun. A knot of hair wrapped around his wrist, jerking his arm to the side, sending a bullet flying past her head, missing her by inches as she ran forward, leapt over the desk and slammed her elbow into his face. He hit the ground with her above him, blood spluttering from his nose as he cried out and coughed, clutching at his nose. The gun fell from his hand and skittered across the floor as his hands were bound with a flick and hauled over his head, away from his injury.
She pressed a boot against his chest and leaned forward, her face a frighting mask of dangerous, rage induced loathing as she growled down at him.
"Where is he?"
"I don't-"
"Where is he?" She pressed harder against his chest, pulling at her hair to make his arms stretch painfully. "The man they just brought in. Where did they take him?"
"The- the-" He coughed with a splatter of blood, which only made her hate him more. "The East wing," he gasped. "Third- third floor."
She dropped her hold on his arms and he whimpered before she slammed his head against the tile, knocking him out cold.
She reached under the desk and yanked out all the power cords for the security system. The little black and white televisions lined up across the desk fizzled and went blank. It wouldn't save her from being spotted forever, but if they wanted to use the system they would have to reboot it and that would take a few minutes.
She didn't know the exact layout of the building, but she had a basic idea and knew which way was east. She hurried down to the row of elevators and was glad that when she pushed the button, one of them was already there, its doors opening smoothly with a happy ding, again as if there was nothing at all wrong, as if she hadn't just broken a man's nose.
The ride up was short but tense. She didn't like being in such a confined area and kept expecting the elevator to jerk to a stop then fill with gas.
She adjusted her grip on her hair and slipped to one side so she was out of sight when the doors opened on the third floor. No one strolled in, and she peeked into the hallway to find it empty, then she slipped out just as the doors closed, bumping slightly against her back.
The halls were lit for the night with slightly less intensity than in the day. All the side rooms were dark – offices whose workers had gone home for the night, or labs whose occupants slept. She found herself peering into the rooms through the windows (this time with the High Tower logo printed the correct direction), looking for signs of prisoners, of experiments that shuddered under their covers or would leap out of the darkness to press snarling faces against the glass. The rooms were too dark and what she could see only brought further flares of panic.
She pushed on, through the empty hallways and through the double doors that marked the east wing. Her mind spun and her breath grew more shallow and the hallway seemed to stretch and twist before her, but she kept moving. She was silent as a ghost and shocked that no one had found her yet. It would happen at any moment.
It was like a nightmare.
Voices echoed down the hall, two of them, sounding irritated and tired. She ducked around a corner as they approached, sneaking the quickest peek to see they were two of the men she had fought in the alley and in the van. One growled and pushed back his hood, pulling at his dark scarf to loosen it from his nose and mouth.
He took a single unhindered breath before Rapunzel grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him down, smashing her knee into his uncovered face. The second man started to shout - in surprise or for help she'd never know because his voice died with a single punch to the side of the head.
She stood over their collapsed forms. They weren't so tough when they weren't in a group.
And she was close now, she could feel it. They must have brought Eugene in. There wasn't any point in trying to hide their bodies, so she moved on, pushed forward by this small victory with more clarity and determination than she'd felt before.
She rounded a corner as the overhead lights flickered, and she paused, tensing, thinking it was the alarm system. But there were no sirens, no flashes of red light, nothing like when she was last in these hallways.
A moment later the flicker died and she pushed on, anxious for some sign of Eugene, almost hoping to come across more thugs to mark the way to where they were keeping him.
As she entered the next hall, the lights flickered again, but this time they were accompanied by a buzz and a burst of wild blue light from one of the side rooms. She rushed forward, nearly sliding into the door to look through the window.
And there was Eugene, strapped to a table, his eyes squeezed closed, screaming with pain she couldn't hear as huge, blue bolts of electricity assaulted his body from all sides. They lit the room with a rolling blue light, and rather than short bursts like lightning, they held in a kind of suspended stability, each tendril twisting slowly as his body twitched, flickering the occasional new branch with a short burst of sparks. The muscles in his arms tensed and pulled against his restraints, his sweat beading against his skin before hissing and evaporating.
She looked down at the door handle and clenched her jaw.
The doors in High Tower were never locked.
They would just shock you if you tried to open them without the proper authentication. They conditioned her that way to never try to open doors.
But she couldn't go to Eugene yet anyway. If she was in there with him, she'd just be electrocuted as well.
Her eyes swept over the room, landing on the two way glass, and she pulled herself away from the sight before her to slip to the next room. As observation room, it was not meant to keep anyone inside, so when she reached out with a shaky hand, the door opened with ease. In the crackling buzz from the speakers piping in sound from Eugene's room, no one noticed Rapunzel's presence.
There were two more of the thugs inside, their arms folded across their chests as they shifted uncomfortably, apparently unwilling to watch Eugene's torture. A woman in a white lab coat stood before an array of buttons and knobs. She did not have the thug's qualms and stared at Eugene with narrowed eyes and pursed, frowning lips. She was sickly thin, her graying skin sagging from her bones. Rapunzel recognized her as one of the doctors and it took all her strength not to scream, vomit, and crumple into a sobbing ball in the hallway.
With a turn of a single, fat knob, the electricity died in the other room. In the relative silence, she could hear Eugene's heavy breathing, amplified and staticy through the intercom.
The doctor flicked a switch and leaned forward to speak into a microphone, her voice high and harsh. "Where did you put it, Rider? I want that ruby."
He just breathed, in and out, a twitching shudder working its way into the sound. Rapunzel felt her heart break and wondered if he was even capable of forming words.
"I paid you to steal a ruby, and I expect you to deliver the goods."
Eugene's words came out haggard and panting. "That's what you get... for paying in advance, Yzma... Live and learn, huh?"
Yzma scowled, then flipped off her side of the intercom and cranked up the fat dial again with a viscous twist of her wrist, as if she were wringing Eugene's neck.
He made another horrible noise as the lights flared. This time it lasted only a few seconds before the doctor was interrogating him again.
"Where are you keeping it?"
Eugene gasped. "You think... I still have it? … I sold it... ages ago."
"Lies!"
"Got a fortune for it too."
"No. You still have it. You're holding out for more money."
"Got all the money... I need... I was gonna... skip town... with my girlfriend... and get a dog."
With an aggravated scream that buzzed between her clenched teeth and sent droplets of spit flying, the doctor snatched the microphone out of its holder and squeezed it as she shouted. "I will rewrite your genetic code and turn you into a hedgehog and then crush you with a shovel! I will chain you to a pile of bricks and drop you in the ocean! I will poison you slowly and then stab you in the face! I will give you a puppy and then eat it in front of you!"
Eugene's wheezing laughter could just barely be heard under her screaming, and she grabbed the knob again and once more the room was flooded with shifting light and Eugene's pained gurgling. The lights in the hallway flickered more violently than previous attacks, the brightness of the electric bolts more intense.
After far too long, the doctor shut it down and glared, crossing her arms angrily over her chest.
One of the thugs shifted. "He's blacked out."
"I see that," she snapped. "Go revive him."
Rapunzel held her breath, tensing in her crouch as the thugs grumbled and headed toward the door. A moment before they would notice her, she popped up, throwing the door open and using her hold on the handle to push herself up even faster. Her fist connected just under the first man's jaw, knocking him back off his feet so she could kick at the second man. They both stumbled back in confusion, then fell into more aggressive stances.
She'd lost the element of surprise, but she narrowed her eyes and snatched up two handfuls of hair, twirling them slowly in front of her. The doctor screamed in the background, asking who she was and how she got there, yelling at the thugs to stop her.
The man on the left pounced, and Rapunzel snapped her hair, knocking his feet out from under him a moment before his hands grabbed her shoulders. He fell to the floor so hard she could practically hear the shudder of his jaw as it connected with the floor. She turned, blocking two punches and a kick from the man on the right with spinning whips of hair that lashed out in front of her. She ducked another blow, then threw one of her own at his stomach. The man on the left came at her again, but with another yank of her hair, he fell back again, rolling almost to the doctor's feet, causing the old woman to shuffle back on her tiptoes to get away.
The man on the right lunged at her, and she twirled to avoid him, kicking him in the back and sending him head first into a filing cabinet with a crash that echoed through the small, dark room. She let the last man get close to her before stopping him short as her hair snapped around his torso in a thick rope, locking his hands to his sides. Before he could make a noise she stepped forward and headbutted him, releasing the hold of her hair so he could collapse to the floor.
Then she turned on Yzma.
The doctor recoiled against the desk, one bony arm coming up to cover her face. Her eyes bulged out of fear, her mouth turned down so that her skin both stretched and sagged.
Rapunzel seethed and stalked forward, shoulders tensed, her hands tight and twisting in her hair. The woman slipped further along the bench, trying to get away until she bumped into the wall and could go no further.
Then she stilled. She blinked in recognition, her spidery eyelashes flickering.
"Pascal?" she asked.
Rapunzel hesitated, the word hitting her with physical force.
The doctor's face split into a huge, false smile that only made her fear look more manic. "Pascal!" She threw out her arms as if for an embrace, as if to say, Well there you are! Ta dah! "You're back! Look at you. You've gotten taller." She clasped her hands together in front of her chest and grinned in a mockery of pride, fluttering her eyelashes.
Rapunzel's stomach rebelled, and she only kept it in check by shooting out a hand, grabbing the doctor by the throat, lifting her off the ground. Yzma's smile disappeared, her thin hands clutching Rapunzel's wrist.
She'd been here before, holding a cruel doctor's life in her hands in a darkened room in High Tower. Yzma seemed to recognize the situation as well.
Rapunzel's hands shook, the world spinning beneath her feet. Her breath came in long, shallow pants stressed by more exhaustion than she thought humanly bearable.
"Don't speak to me," she said, and she was shocked at the sharpness in her voice, how little it quavered, how little it broke. "Don't touch me or cross me or look for me. Don't you lay another finger on Flynn Rider. If you touch him – if you come near us - if I ever lay eyes on you or anyone from High Tower again, it will be the last thing you ever do."
The woman nodded as much as she could, then gasped as she was released, a gasp that cut off abruptly into a short squeak as Rapunzel twisted her around and locked her to a filing cabinet. The woman huddled in on herself, cradling her arms to her chest as if they were bruised, trying to look small, helpless, pitiable.
The woman feared her. Someone who had caused her pain, who'd treated her like a child or an animal, like nothing more than a poorly performing test subject, someone who had made her so terrified as a child that she went for weeks without speaking, was now looking up at her with a look that could very well have graced Rapunzel's face a decade before. She had no idea if this was justice or a tragedy, and she both comforted and sickened herself by noting that the doctor would live.
She flew to the next room before she had to look at the doctor another moment, before she burst into a fit of rage and ripped off the doctor's sunken face or fell to the floor weeping. She had to save Eugene.
She kicked the door open and the rubber soles of her boots stifled the electric shock.
He lay slumped on the table, looking absolutely awful with bags under his eyes and his hair standing on end, and it took her several moments to quiet her own pumping heartbeat before she could find his pulse or confirm that he was breathing.
"Rider? Rider, look at me. Come on, baby, wake up." She patted his cheek frantically and kept doing so even as he groaned and moved his head.
She bounced on the balls of her feet, checking frantically over her shoulder towards the hallway where the sound of shouting was drawing closer.
"Come on, Rider. We have to go."
"'Punzel?" he mumbled, his words slurred, his eyes closed. "Where have you been?"
"Here and there. Can you walk?"
"Mrphf. No. My legs won't move."
"They're still strapped down."
"Hmm. Makes sense then."
As the commotion in the hallway grew louder without any sign from Eugene that he could open his eyes, much less stand, Rapunzel kicked the breaks off the operating table and pressed all her weight against it until it started rolling, slowly gaining speed towards the door. The turn into the hallway was not done with grace and the side of the table slammed and scraped against the far wall, causing Eugene to groan.
And then she was running just to keep up with the momentum of the table, moving far faster than she should have considering the sharp turns that dropped into their path. Shouts came from behind, from ahead, and it wasn't long before they swerved around a corner and came face to face with three thugs. Their eyes widened briefly, one took a breath in preparation for a shout, and Rapunzel threw herself over Eugene, barreling through them with the heavy table like bowling pins, before slipping down again to run behind the table once more. She stepped on one of the thugs as she did, then threw herself to one side and fishtailed the table into the next hallway on the left, kicking off the wall to get it moving in the right direction.
They were in front of the elevators then, the elevators and four armed security guards who did not look happy.
She ducked her head as the first bullet flew, running faster until she sent the table and Eugene slamming into one of the guards, pulling him down under the table, which immediately crashed into the wall and toppled to one side. She spun in a crouch and caught one guard by the arm, twisting to put the man between her and the next guard, who leveled a gun at her and shot. The guard in her arms jumped and gurgled, and Rapunzel snapped her hair around the third man before pushing her human shield into the shooter, aiming a punch at the face of the third attacker, of the last man standing.
She slammed the button for the elevator, kicked one of the men on the floor so he wouldn't get up, then dropped to kneel next to Eugene. He was still strapped to the table, which had landed on one of the guards. One of his eyes opened to glare at her, but she could tell his headache was too painful for him to really mean it.
"Not. Cool."
"You make a good battering ram," she said, grappling with the belts that held him in place until he slumped to the floor with another groan.
The elevator dinged and she hauled him to his feet, throwing one of his arms over her shoulders. "Almost there."
She heaved his stumbling body into the elevator, feeling the ragged movement of his chest against her shoulder as he breathed. They began to descend and she bit her lip, knowing that a hundred security guards would be waiting for them in the lobby. She had no idea how she would fight through them while keeping Eugene on his feet.
The lights went out, then pulsed red, the painful, wailing alarm thrumming in her ears. Eugene flinched back against the noise, but Rapunzel was overcome with uncontrollable tremors. It was so much like last time that she almost threw Eugene's arm off her shoulders to get away from the contact.
The elevator jerked and stopped and she used it as an excuse the prop him against the corner, to take a breath and feel less confined, to occupy herself by prying open the elevator doors.
They hadn't gone far, about three feet of the ceiling of the second floor was visible at the bottom of the elevator door. It'd be a five foot drop, but that seemed like nothing. Anything to get out of that tiny elevator where the alarm seemed to box her in, to imprison her.
"This way," she said, and she was surprised to find Eugene already kneeling next to her, looking haggard but still sliding out of the elevator and dropping to the floor. He reached to help her down, but she gave him a look and ignored his offer. They moved down the next hallway at a much faster clip. Maybe the adrenaline was kinking into his system.
Two unoccupied hallways later, with the red, pulsing light burning into her eyes until she thought she might never see properly again, they found a stairwell, and she kicked it open, unsurprised to find it electrocuted.
Eugene balked, then balked again when he realized how hard it was to climb stairs.
"Almost there."
"You already said that and it wasn't true."
"That makes us both great big liars." Her hand fisted in the back of his shirt as he slipped a step, catching himself on the hand rail, his fingers digging into her shoulder.
"I resent that," he said.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
They burst through the emergency door on the ground level, stumbling out into the night. The alarm was cut off as the door eased shut behind them, plunging them into silence so thick she thought she might have gone deaf.
And, with the clear night air welcoming her home, she suddenly found it hard to breathe. It was over and she was free again and suddenly she was shaking harder than ever. It was too much stress in too short a time and she'd been outrunning it for the past several hours, but now that she had come to a halt, it all caught up and crashed down on her.
Eugene's arm tightened around her, almost like a hug, and he guided her forward across the grass lawn, across that last stretch of dangerous, open ground.
Nearly to the safety of the shadowed streets, something bit into her shoulder and she stumbled. Then she jerked out the dart embedded in her flesh.
The sky turned darker, her legs wobbling and heavy beneath her, her mouth full of cotton. The world lurched beneath her and she realized several seconds later that Eugene had swept her off the ground. He pulled out a gun she didn't know he had grabbed, and in a dazed, disconnected way she heard Yzma scream to not let them get away. She heard shots rip through the air.
She lost consciousness focused on Eugene's clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.
Rapunzel woke slowly, all the aches and strain in her body coming to light before she could question where she was.
She'd slept in her suit, which felt stiff against her skin, pressing unattractive wrinkles into her arms and the back of her knees. He mask bit into her temple, distorted slightly by her head pressed against her pillow. Although it was still firmly in place, it felt now as if it didn't quite fit, like her face had changed shape in her sleep. Her hair was short and probably blonde as she had no memory of changing it. All the grime and dirt, the sweat and ick of her adventures had accumulated against her scalp as her hair retracted in her sleep.
She needed clothes that were less stale and a shower with a great deal of scrubbing. She needed to let her skin and her whole body and mind breathe. She knew that most of the stiffness and achiness she felt wasn't from sleeping in her suit. An aspirin would help that. An aspirin and another twenty minutes of sleep. She snuggled deeper into her pillow and further beneath the warm blanket.
Blanket?
In High Tower, blankets were rewards for good behavior, and she had not demonstrated good behavior.
In High Tower, the sheets felt stiff with bleach and disinfectant and never smelled this good. These smelled like cheap laundry detergent. Like Eugene.
Eugene!
Her eyes snapped open and there he was, lying next to her, watching her, holding very still and contemplating her face with one arm around her waist and one arm propping up his head.
"Hey." His voice was warm and soft, gentle like a lullaby. And her heart was pounding from the fear for their safety that had just flared inside her, or from the relief that they were safe, or from the absolute perfection of waking up in his arms.
She didn't know what to do with it all. Throwing her arms around him and crying seemed a good idea, but she held it in.
"You're watching me sleep?"
"No. That would be creepy."
"Then what are you doing?"
"I was thinking." He reached up to run a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face. "I like being able to see your freckles."
She stared at him a moment, searching his face for something teasing, for some glimmer of smug victory as he watched her take off her mask in front of him. But there was nothing. He hadn't taken it off for her even though he had removed her heavy boots, even though he knew what lay underneath.
Hesitantly, she reached for her face, pausing for a long breath before she peeled the mask free, leaving her skin feeling cold and clammy.
He smiled slightly, his fingers moving to breathe life back into her cheeks with the faintest of touches.
"There they are."
She dropped her eyes in sudden shyness. "Can you see them without your glasses?"
He laughed, the mattress trembling as he did. "They're just reading glasses. They barely have a prescription."
"Ah."
His hand snuck up her spine to stretch across her back, pulling her closer, and he ducked his head to press his forehead to hers. For a moment they stayed like that as she tried to control her breathing. Was she still shaking, or had those started up again since she woke?
He pulled back a bit, tracing his fingers over her face, as if committing her form to memory.
"Does your hair change other colors, or just blonde and brown?"
She thought about saying no, keeping the very last of her secrets, but the thought was swept away almost immediately. She took a breath, and on releasing it her hair changed, color shimmering out from the roots. A deep, faceted red washed through the blonde. It held a moment, then shifted to an inky black like paint spreading from a spill. Then it eased into the palest of sun bleached blonde.
He watched her wordlessly, then grinned and scooted slightly closer in interest. "Can you make it blue?"
She laughed and shook her head, her nose brushing his, her short hair beating against her cheek.
"What color is it naturally?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "What's natural?"
He thought on that a moment, his fingers finding their way back to her hair. He probably shouldn't touch it too much, but he didn't comment on its grossness.
"Which is your favorite?"
Again she thought about lying.
She lowered her eyes, hoping that he wouldn't be too disappointed. "The brown."
His hands wrapped tighter, more securely around her back.
"Did I ever tell you I have a thing for brunettes?"
She thought she might melt, and when her arms eased around his shoulders and her body molded flush against his, she almost thought she had. She was tired and dizzy, and safe and warm, and he was looking at her with such raw emotion. His hands sent shivers through her skin like the air before a lightning strike.
Or maybe she was just shaking anyway. Maybe he was still covered in static.
She couldn't believe this was real. That they had survived. Maybe they hadn't. Maybe this was some horrible dream or hallucination and she would wake back in her cold, narrow bed in High Tower.
Her hands trailed over his back and shoulders, trying to soak in the warmth of him, to convince herself he was real and solid and alive. A hand ran through his hair that still stuck up in odd ways, then down to cup his cheek, and she looked into his eyes which seemed relieved despite the dark shadows that surrounded them.
He pressed a kiss gently to the palm of her hand, his eyes closing in reverence. Then looked up at her and smirked. A full on, obnoxious, Flynn Rider smirk.
"You rescued me."
She bristled out of instinct, her eyes narrowing and shoulders tensing. "I did not."
"Preeeetty sure you did. That's what it's called when you throw yourself into harm's way to keep someone safe."
"I stopped a criminal organization from kidnapping and imprisoning one of Corona's citizens. It's my job to do that sort of thing."
"A citizen who really ought to be imprisoned."
"I can make that happen," she threatened.
"Uh huh."
"I can."
"Then why didn't you leave me there?"
"Because..." Finally he voice broke. "Because no one deserves that."
His cocky attitude fell away and she realized he had only put it on to draw her out, to change the mood. But then again, maybe he did it for his own benefit too. It was replaced with something like unease, like he was afraid for her. "You've been there before," he said slowly.
She nodded, ducking her head to avoid his eyes.
And then she was talking, saying things that had gone silent for so long, things covered in cobwebs that flinched in the light of day.
"They called it the Pascal project. Trying to make people invisible. I guess for spying. They tried for years. All sorts of tests. When that didn't work they switched to making me blend. Match a background. Change what I looked like. That never worked the way they wanted either. They didn't like how much I failed – how much they failed.
"I think there were other projects too. Super strength, agility, intelligence. Sometimes I'd hear the doctors talk about them. Just little snippets. I guess that means there were others like me, but when I broke out, when I tried to rescue them..." She shook her head to shake away the sounds of their cries.
Eugene moved to pull her tight, and she could feel his nervousness, his shock in the tension of his arms. He ran a soothing hand through her hair, then thought better of it and shifted to rub her back.
"And you came back for me," he murmured, more marveling to himself than speaking to her.
She shrugged. Of course she had. She'd never seen it as a choice.
Then she sniffed, because if he could change the mood and be a jerk than she could too. "And anyway, no one else is allowed to take you down. I'm going to do it. It'd be unfair after all the trouble you've caused me. All the work I've put into chasing you and stopping you and wearing you down."
"You think you're wearing me down?" She could hear the smirk in his voice.
"I know I am."
"No. That's not it. If anything it's the other way around and I think it's time you admitted that you're crazy about me."
"I'm crazy because of you."
He pulled back, his eyes lit with tired good humor. "And I'm crazy because of you! We're quite the pair."
She rolled her eyes.
"No really," he said. "Do you know how many crazy things I've done since meeting you?"
"Do you want me to count?"
"You can't. There are too many. You see? It's crazy."
She huffed and changed the subject. "Where are we?"
"My apartment."
Her eyes snapped back to his face and he shrugged at her shock, making a vague gesture with his hand for her to look around.
She just kept staring. "The one in Heron Park?"
He pulled back in surprise, then narrowed his eyes, saying slowly, "Cliffside, actually."
She beamed for the first time in days. Cliffside was basically Heron Park. They were right next to each other and Cliffside was so small that it didn't really count.
"I was right! I was so close! And now I've found it!"
Eugene continued to look uncertain and suspicious. "You found it? No, I brought you here."
She ignored him and looked around excitedly.
His apartment was nice. It was neat and sparse with bright white walls and pale hardwood floors just coming into focus in the gray morning light. His bedroom was slightly smaller than her studio, and she could see through the door that as a whole it was much larger. A black and white poster of the skyline hung above the head of his bed in a simple black frame.
All in all it felt a bit too nice. As though it had been designed. As though it wasn't lived in.
"Is this where you keep your stash?" She had an urge to go dig around in his closet in hopes of finding treasure, but her fatigue and the firm hand wrapped around her back kept her in place.
"My what?"
"All the things you steal."
"You think I keep them here? Just leave them lying around for the hell of it?"
"Not lying around. I'm sure you hide them somewhere."
He let out a deep breath as if picking his words carefully. "Not that I've managed to steal anything at all lately-"
She gave him a smug grin.
"- but I sell whatever I get as soon as I can. What would I do with diamond earrings? No." He put his hand over her lips as she opened her mouth. "Don't answer that. And you're acting a bit too excited about being here. You're going to give me a complex, thinking you're just after the goods."
"I've been trying to find this place for months. And now I'm here!" She didn't mention how he'd already given her a complex and it would really only be fair.
"You could have just asked."
"That's no fun."
"It'd be a lot of fun. And how is it more fun to be dragged here unconscious?"
"If I'd have asked, it would be like giving up and you would have won. But since you brought me here because you were out of options, that means I won."
He stared at her, his eyebrows furrowing as he blinked several times to try to make what she said make sense. "Winning?"
"Uh huh."
She sat up to get a better look around.
"I was out of options, you know. The Sorority of Thigh-high Hooker Boots knows where you live and they're probably there waiting for you."
She didn't want to think about that.
Damn it, if she couldn't go home, she couldn't change clothes.
Her shoulders slumped. Was she on the run from the league now? Could she live a normal life again or would she have to leave the city and change her name? Could she still fight crime or had she forced herself into early retirement?
Eugene cut through her thoughts. "You still don't trust me."
It wasn't a question of an exclamation. It was a statement of fact tinted with fatigue and hurt.
She turned to look down at him. He was frowning, his eyes on the bedsheets.
She realized belatedly that she had slipped out of his arms.
"Is that really surprising?"
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "No. It's not. I'd just hopped."
She didn't know what to say to that. Of course she believed him and trusted him and obviously she would go through hell to save him. Despite how much she fought it, to control it and hide it, the depths of her feelings for him couldn't be more clear.
But some habits die hard.
"Would you mind if I took a shower?" she asked.
"Hmm? Oh yeah." He pushed off the blankets and stood, showing that he hadn't bothered changing clothes either. He dug through his closet a moment, then handed her a folded shirt and a pair of boxers.
She stared down at them a moment.
"Unless you want to live in that cat suit forever." She was glad to hear some of the teasing lilt back in his voice even if it was just a hint.
She scowled at him and pulled the clothes against her chest, while he laughed and bowed her into the bathroom.