Author Note: For all you people who are wondering why Eugene's children do not recognize him as the thief in his story, that is just how I see it happening. The way it's been written so far, Eugene has been concealing his and Rapunzel's identities throughout the whole story, so why would he reveal the truth now? Plus, I still just don't see his kids knowing him on a first-name basis that much—or at least have it click until the very last second that he bears some resemblance to the rogue of his tale.

I also am going to go on a hiatus until Tuesday because I have a lot of stuff to do between now and then and as much as I would like—spending time on this wouldn't be the best thing to do. Sorry for the wait, but I'll try to get up another chappie on Tuesday! Thanks for the reviews, you guys are amazingly thoughtful!

Oh, and by the way, you all now want peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches :)

Soli Deo Gloria

Disclaimer: Disney owns Tangled, its story and its characters. I only own the sandwiches :)

Unfortunately, due to a misunderstanding that had occurred during his thievery days, the head chef of the royal kitchens absolutely refused to make anything Eugene requested personally. All he had stolen was the chef's secret recipe for cinnamon buns—as well as distribute it among every baker in town for a small fee.

However, upon being cleared by the king, Eugene had apologized and said that the only reason he had sold the recipe was that he was tired of having to return to the palace every time he needed to steal a good breakfast. Sadly enough, the chef had not appreciated his heartfelt apology, and therewith banished him from the kitchens for a month. But there really was no reason why the man had not forgiven him by now.

After all, Eugene thought to himself as he examined a jam jar, he had returned the lost princess.

"Well, Annie, while I may not cook half as well as the head chef and nowhere close to the expertise of your mother, I still make a mean peanut-butter and jelly sandwich."

He set the grape jelly and jar of peanut-butter onto the counter while his daughter got out the breadboard and a freshly-baked loaf. Eugene took out a knife and started to cut even slices from the loaf, humming as he worked.

Annabelle, with a practiced hand, began to spread peanut-butter over the pieces of bread. She was being quiet, however, which worried her father. Normally his daughter loved cooking—even if it was only a sandwich. Once a week she spent a whole day in the kitchens, learning new recipes and fixing new foods with the cranky head chef. Several times he had caught his daughter and his wife cloistered away in their favorite corner beside the stove, chatting animatedly about pastries and stews and who knew what else while the royal chefs and servants prepared dinner. What was wrong?

In an attempt to break the unusual silence, as well as to ascertain the cause behind his daughter's muteness, Eugene asked, "So, did you enjoy baking those cupcakes with Chef Armando on Wednesday?"

"His name is Chef Arnold, Dad."

"Are you sure? Because he came from the Torren Peninsula and they don't have normal names there." He finished cutting up the bread, adding, "Instead they have names like John and Robert and Catherine…"

"Isn't Grandma's name Catherine?"

Eugene faltered, "Well—yes. Um…"

"Can you open the jelly?"

The Prince Consort nodded and carefully unscrewed the lid of the jar. Then he returned to his task, mentally telling himself to think before he said anything in front of his mother-in-law. She would probably laugh it off—he knew she loved him for what he had done for her daughter—but the rest of Corona's nobility would not appreciate a mispronunciation of their queen's name. Over the years, he had learned that rich people liked things pronounced correctly. It was a strange quirk, yet he knew that prince consorts did not go around pointing out the strangeness of Duke Whatshisname or Count Thingymabob. Thieves may do so, but prince consorts were not allowed such a luxury.

Then he realized that his daughter had been tapping his arm for the past minute, and he lowered his knife.

"Dad, are you listening to me?" She repeated for the third time.

"Yeah. Um, yes, I'm listening. What was your question?" He began to put the lid back onto the peanut-butter.

"Did all that stuff really happen? I mean, in the story. Is it actually all true?"

Her voice was nervous, and he looked down at her in concern even as he debated the question. What part of the story was she talking about? She knew it all by heart, so what question could she have that he had never answered before?

Finally he said quietly: "Well, Annie, it is true. It all happened like I told you—like I've been telling you for the past several years."

"Even the part about you being a thief?" She looked up at him with those brown eyes she had inherited—his eyes.

Eugene winced. He had been hoping—praying, even—that none of his children would point out that little detail. But Annabelle was smart, and, what was more, she was reaching the age when right and wrong became more complicated. Now, he knew that his life as a thief had ended long, long ago. He may remember some tricks of the trade, and he had the outmost confidence that he could still walk to the palace treasury blindfolded. He may even have wondered how much his wife's crown could fetch on the black market. But he was no longer a criminal. Those days were gone.

However, in the story, he was still the kingdom's most notorious bandit, and Annabelle had seen that.

Eugene nodded, muttering, "I…I was a thief, at one point in my life. I did bad things and I have no excuse for that. I was a criminal. But," he sighed, staring at the knife he had picked up, "your mother changed that. She changed a lot of things."

Annabelle started folding up the sandwiches, mumbling: "Did you actually—at the end, did you actually-?"

Eugene took his daughter's hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "Let's not finish the story until it's over, okay darling? Suffice it to say that it did happen, but it's not going to happen again for a long time."

She looked up at him, her forehead wrinkled in anxiety. Eugene smiled, "I promise. Besides, your mother wouldn't allow it to happen."

Annabelle smiled back, her cheeks dimpling with the action. He cupped her chin in his hand and chuckled, "There's my girl. I was beginning to miss those cute dimples of yours."

"Well, cute dimples are all a girl has." She said archly, rephrasing a line from the story she had been told all her life.

Eugene shook his head, "No, Annie. You've got much more than that. So much more."

She hugged him tightly, "Thanks, Dad."

Her father kissed her on the top of her head, "You're welcome."

"So," Annabelle started, picking up a tray of newly-crafted sandwiches, "when are you going to tell them that you're Flynn Rider and Mom's Rapunzel?"

Eugene shrugged as he got out a jug of milk and four glasses, "Not until the very end—unless they figure it out before then. That's what I did with you the first time I regaled you with the tale."

"Thomas is going to be so upset when you tell him what Flynn's real name is."

He frowned and set the full cups onto another tray, "Why would he do that? His middle name is Eugene."

"And he doesn't like it, Dad."

"Well I didn't like mine at first," Eugene smiled, "now look at me."

When Eugene and his daughter arrived back from the kitchens with lunch, they came upon an interesting sight. Within the sun-washed room, Thomas was waving his slingshot and running around in circles, laughing maniacally. Ginger, lugging a suspiciously familiar frying pan behind her, followed him with a look of severe determination. Thomas yelled gleefully, "You can't catch Flynnigan Rider! No one can! Hahaha!"

His sister responded back in a screech that probably broke several sound barriers.

Wincing, Eugene glanced at his oldest daughter and carefully handed her the tray of milk. Then, rolling up his sleeves, the Prince Consort of Corona strode into the midst of the royal children. Eugene easily seized the pan-end of the offending kitchen implement and lifted his arm upward. He was a bit surprised to find that Ginger had not let go upon feeling the pan being raised, but instead hung onto the handle and gazed at her father in open-mouthed astonishment.

"And just what, may I ask, are you doing?" Eugene asked as Thomas's threats of 'stealing your gold, and your silver, and your pet frog' echoed somewhere near his knees.

Ginger replied, seriously, "I'm Rapunzel and I'm trying to chase that intrud'n Flann Rider from my tower!"

"Are you? Well, leave that to me, Miss Rapunzel."

Ginger nodded and promptly let go of the handle, landing onto her father's feet. Eugene swallowed back an agonized groan as he limped away towards his son. Thomas, still issuing challenges for frying pan duels and threatening to steal 'everything but your eyebrows', did not notice his father until Eugene had removed the slingshot from his hand.

"How on earth do you keep finding this thing?" Eugene asked, holding it out of his son's reach.

"You keep hiding it in the same place—in that pot over there." Thomas replied, nodding at the flower-printed pot sitting in a nearby corner.

Eugene, recognizing the pot, smiled ironically, "Oh, would you look at that. I'm getting as bad as Rapunzel."

"Rapunzel! Ooo! Are you gonna finish the story now, Daddy?" Ginger had recovered from her fall and was now tugging on her father's shirt, wrinkling it in a way that would make his valet pale.

Eugene shrugged, replying casually, "Oh, I don't know. I thought we could just eat for a bit and then all settle down for a nap instead."

Ginger frowned, "Daddy, I want to hear the rest of the story."

"Really, Ginger-snap? Because, let me be perfectly frank with you-."

"Your name's Frank?"

"No, it's-."

"Flynn Rider to the rescue!" Thomas dove in and tackled his father about the legs, causing him to lose his balance and fall over. With a yelp, Eugene felt his face crash onto the floor and a rather too enthusiastic set of small fists pounding upon his back. He rolled over with a groan, only to have one of his son's polished shoes pressed upon his chest. Thomas raised his arms victoriously over his head, announcing: "Flynnigan Rider is the winner!"

Then Ginger pummeled him from behind, "Take this, you nasty Flann Rider!"

"It's Flynn!" Thomas protested, even as he and his sister began a wrestling match.

Eugene sat up and gratefully accepted a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich from Annabelle. Chewing thoughtfully, he watched as his younger children rolled across the floor.

"How long do you think they can keep this up?" He asked—though with his mouth full of sandwich, it mostly sounded like 'Ghow lon d'goo gink deycan keep disup?'

Annabelle frowned, "What?"

Eugene pointed at his mouth, trying to swallow, "Git's dapeanu'-bugger."

"Which one of Chef Arnold's jars did you use?" She asked him, delicately sidestepping her squabbling siblings and handing him a glass of milk.

After a quick quaff from his drink, her father replied, "Well, as you know, choosey dads choose—hey!" His sandwich was suddenly jerked out of his hand.

Eugene glared down at Pascal, who, using his super-long tongue, had just managed to nab himself lunch. Annabelle giggled as the chameleon proceeded to chomp down on his victorious catch.

Eugene frowned, "I can't see why you're laughing, Annie. That frog just stole my peanut-butter and jelly sandwich!"

Thomas stuck his head up, "Did you just say peanut-butter?"

Ginger stopped trying to put her brother in a half-nelson and smiled, "Daddy! Peanut-butter and jelly?"

Eugene nodded, grinning, "I know it's your favorite and that Chef Armando refuses to make it for you. Not to mention, it's the only thing I can make without burning something."

"Awesome!" Thomas immediately fell upon the defenseless tray of sandwiches, snatching one up and tearing into it hungrily.

Ginger took a bite out of her sandwich with the same amount of fervor as her brother, but Annabelle restrained herself and daintily nibbled on a sandwich's end. She was, after all, the eldest and had to provide an example. Of course, Eugene mostly knew it was because of what her grandmother had taught her in their etiquette lessons together. He idly considered, listening to the ravenous sounds his son was making, what teacher they would hire for Thomas. The poor man would probably be fleeing the palace after day one.

"Story?" Ginger asked, after a few minutes of steady chewing.

Eugene took a swig from his glass and picked up another sandwich, "Will you be able to hear through your brother eating?"

She nodded energetically, her jelly-smeared face resplendent with an eager grin.

Her father sighed, "Very well. Now where were we…" he snapped his fingers, "Ah, yes! The dam."

"So did Rapunzel get out?"

"Dig Glenn beeg up sumrocs?" Thomas asked around the peanut-butter.

"Not quite." Eugene said, wondering whom Thomas could have gotten his table manners from.

"Well, what happened then?"

"Hmmm… Well, as far as I can remember, our dashing thief and his attractive, golden-haired companion darted into the shaft. Flynn found the frying pan as he crossed the threshold and he handed it to Rapunzel. Almost immediately after they had gotten to safety, rocks, knocked loose by the torrential wave from the dam, shut over the entrance and submerged them in complete darkness. Water was still gushing in, however, so Flynn and Rapunzel backed away from the entrance in the hopes to escape the flow. But, as they stepped away, they both felt hard stone underneath their fingers where the mining tunnel should be. Flynn felt the wall in increasing fear. No. No! There had to be a way—ouch!" Eugene clutched at his left hand, "He had cut his hand upon a sharp rock during his search. Next to him, Rapunzel banged uselessly at the stones with her frying pan, Pascal muttering encouragement in his little reptile language. The water was rising dangerously fast, now, dampening their clothes and making the whole situation infinitely worse."

Eugene imitated taking a deep breath and bowed his head, "Then Flynn plunged into the depths of the pool that had accumulated about them. He opened his eyes underwater, trying to penetrate the dim gloom of the onrushing current. He couldn't see however, and he blindly tried to feel the rocks for some gap or looseness, but he only succeeded in making his lungs burn from lack of oxygen. He quickly dove up and took another breath before heading back down into the cold water. He had to get out of here—Flynn thought desperately—he had to get out of here and he had to get Rapunzel out of here so she could see those stupid lights. Wait—was he actually admitting to caring about the girl?"

He asked this question to his audience, who simply continued to chew at him in munch-ridden silence. Trying to cover up his smirk, Eugene continued speaking.

"Knowing now that his attempts were futile, the thief swam upward and broke the surface of the water. He leaned against the rock, wiping his hair back from his forehead as he muttered, 'It's no use. I can't see anything.' Beside him, he just made out Rapunzel's huddled, shivering form. Then there was a splash and with shock he realized that the girl had actually gone into the water herself! Was she crazy?

"Flynn quickly dove down and grabbed her around her waist, pulling her back up with him. They both gasped as they reached air. The water level had gotten noticeably higher now—it was getting close to their shoulders. Flynn gingerly reached out and peeled some of Rapunzel's long, wet hair out of her face. 'Didn't you hear me? It's no good, it's pitch-black down there.' He told her, hoping that she would give up so she could stay alive for just a little bit longer."

Eugene's face fell, "And then Flynn heard crying… real, honest-to-goodness crying full of horrible regret and sadness. This wasn't like how Rapunzel cried out in the forest—this was pure, heart-rending grief. He felt horrifyingly numb with the pain of it. How could he, the great Flynn Rider whose career of ingenious exploits was about to be cut short, actually feel this badly for—for this girl? Slowly, he heard what she was murmuring through her tears. 'M-mother was right, I should have never have done this. I'm s-so s-sorry Flynn…'

"The thief frowned. She was saying sorry to him? He—whose very existence had gotten her into this mess—and she was apologizing to him? For a second, Flynn just stood there, feeling the water lapping at his arms. Then, a strong emotion he hadn't experienced in years filled him and he said, quietly, 'Eugene.'"

Eugene's children opened their mouths to say something. Although, thanks to the peanut-butter, their father could pretend he had not heard them—or understand them, which was, in reality, quite true.

He spoke softly now, "Rapunzel looked at his form in the darkness, 'What?' The thief shrugged, replying sheepishly, 'My real name is Eugene Fitzherbert. Someone should know.'"

Thomas, after valiantly combating the peanut-butter obstruction in his mouth, blurted, "Eugene? What kind of sissy name is that?"

His father frowned and pointed warningly at him, "It's my name and yours and it's far from sissy! You, me, and that thief happen to have that in common—the non-sissy, undoubtedly macho name of 'Eugene'."

"And a few other things besides." Annabelle muttered, to her father's amusement.

Ginger touched her father's hand with her sticky, grape-jellied fingers, "Daddy, what happened next?"

Eugene smiled, "Well, Rapunzel was surprised to hear this handsome, slightly sarcastic, thief admit that his name was not really Flynn Rider. He had probably revealed his deepest secret to her, thinking that they were both going to die. And so far, Flynn had proven—in a somewhat indirect way—that she could trust him. So, smiling, Rapunzel revealed her secret: 'I have magic hair that glows when I sing.' Flynn bucked back, retorting, 'What?' Suddenly realizing what she had said, Rapunzel clutched at her hair and repeated slowly, 'I have—magic hair—that glows when I sing!' The water was rising past their necks now and Rapunzel, using her last breath, sang out 'Flower, gleam and glow, let your power shine'—weuhoom!" Eugene gulped another deep breath of air, closing his eyes tightly and bobbing his head down again.

He opened his eyes and stared at his children, his cheeks bulging with air. Letting it out, Eugene said, "Flynn could sense light in the water. He opened his eyes and gazed, dumbstruck, at Rapunzel's trailing mane of hair. It was gleaming like fire from the very sun! How was this possible? Then the thief noticed something, and swam down towards a small opening in the rocks below. He used his big hands as Rapunzel joined with her smaller hands, shoving aside stones and dirt and trying to reach the other side. Then, moving back, Flynn punched feverishly at the rock.

"His fist knocked aside the final stones and he felt it plunge out into open air. This punch, combined with his weight, Rapunzel's weight, and the water's weight, broke the rocks loose and they all fell out into the stream that lay just beyond the quarry. After a very hasty swim, Flynn, Rapunzel, and her pet fr-."

"Chameleon, Dad."

"-Pascal all collapsed onto the grassy bank, sucking in the cool, sweet evening air. It was sunset—and the world about them had been tinged a hazy, pinkish color. It would have been very beautiful had they not just escaped drowning. Then, after a moment of coughing, Rapunzel exclaimed 'We're alive! We made it!' and got to her feet, dragging her long wet hair up with her. Flynn lifted his face up from the ground, his eyes wide as he said, 'Her hair glows! I did not see that coming.' Rapunzel called to him, 'Eugene.' The thief turned to Pascal, 'Her hair actually glows.' 'Eugene.' Rapunzel said again. Flynn, his nerves now completely shot, yelled at Pascal: 'Why does her hair glow?' 'Eugene!' Rapunzel shouted. 'What?' He roared back, holding his injured hand and glaring at her. She smiled and said, 'It doesn't just—glow…' Flynn looked from her to the frog sitting in the grass beside him. He asked, his voice constricted in panic, 'Why is he smiling at me?'"

"Because he likes him." Ginger said, smiling.

Eugene grinned, "Oh, I don't think that's quite it, Ginger-snap. Anyway, as Flynn still struggled to deal with this new turn of events, something else was happening in another part of the forest. Mother Gothel, fingers wrapped firmly about her dagger, hid as a banging sound came from the duckling-printed trapdoor resting within a hollow, dead tree trunk. As soon as that idiotic thief got out, she would end his life with one swift stab and regain her lost flower. Gothel prepared to dive in as the trapdoor burst open, but she saw, to her extreme disappointment, that it was only the Stabbington brothers. Both were soaking wet and choking from the flood their arch-nemesis, Flynn Rider, had managed to create in the quarry.

"Bush-face growled angrily, 'I'll kill that Rider! I'll kill him!'"

"Not before Flynn gets him!" Thomas vowed, taking a rather savage bite out of his sandwich.

His father ignored this comment and renewed his narration, "As the brothers continued to complain about Flynn, Gothel paused. These two could be useful—they could even help her get her flower back. An idea formed in her mind, and she ascended a nearby boulder. 'Yoohoo! Boys!' Gothel held out the satchel in her hand. The Stabbington brothers stared on in disbelief and then unsheathed their swords, ready to attack the defenseless woman. But then, she rolled her eyes and tossed the satchel to them. 'Please,' she said, watching as they fought over the crown, 'there's no need to be dramatic.' Bush-face gazed at the shining crown in his hands, a wide leer spreading over his face. Then Gothel said, 'If that's all you want. But, of course, that's not even the best part.' The two men frowned, 'What's the best part?'

"Gothel smiled evilly and held out the artistically-challenged wanted poster of our beloved thief. She said, in a sing-song voice, 'It comes with revenge on Flynn Rider…'"