So…. I'm alive? After going through a very hard couple of months, I've finally felt up to writing again. I looked through my computer and found Chapter 10, only half written. And after reading some lovely reviews from some loyal readers who hadn't given up on this story, I decided to continue on.

It's not much, or very long, but I hope you'll like it.

Thank you to all of my readers. You are fantastic.

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Chapter 10

*~Monday~*

The pub is as dark as he remembers it. The windows are musty with dust and the lone chandelier hanging from the ceiling is missing three of it's eight candles. Flynn takes a deep breath; he can smell the odor of cheap beer. Good. He's planning on being drunk before noon.

"Give me a glass of whatever you've got brewed," he mutters to the barkeeper, taking a seat on the same stool he did last time. He puts an elbow on the counter, but quickly removes it when he notices how sticky the wood is.

A mug is placed in front of him, and he takes it greedily. The liquid is luke-warm but he doesn't think twice on it. It's mind-numbing and that's exactly what he needs. He needs a break, a vacation. He needs an escape.

No, he needs to remind himself who he is. He's not a thief for shits and giggles. It's Flynn Rider against the world. He's a soulless, conscienceless monster. He needs to stop feeling... emotions... for this girl and worry about his own skin. If he let's his focus slip he's going to find himself a one way ticket to Corona's penitentiary.

The stool beside him is pulled out by a large brute with a greasy mustache. "No tea today?"

Oh goodie. An old friend. Flynn rolls his eyes with exasperation.

"Someone's in a bad mood."

"Fuck off."

The thug barks out a laugh that rattles Flynn's stool. "Hey, Vladdie," he calls over his shoulder to the barkeeper, "Vodka for this good sir!" He turns back to Flynn and wags his bushy eyebrows. "If you're gonna drink with the big boys, then you're gonna want something stronger."

"Hey, it's Teacup!" someone shouts, his voice echoing around the room loudly enough to attract the attention of pretty much everyone in the bar. "Teacup came back!"

Vladamir the barkeeper chooses this moment to slap down a glass of vodka in front of him. Flynn grabs the glass and tilts his head back, finishing it off in one gulp. When he sets the glass back on the table, he's pleased to find that he already feels a bit fuzzy.

"Leave 'im alone," the thug with the mustache bellows loudly. If the rest of the patrons weren't staring at him before, they certainty are now. "He's feeling sensitive and he doesn't want to deal with you idiots!" He smiles through his scraggly mustache proudly and leans in to whisper close to Flynn's face, "Don't worry, kid, I'm looking out for ya."

"Tor!" Vladamir hollers across the bar at the mustached thug. "You better give me the sixteen crowns you owe me!"

Tor waves a hand dissuasively. "Yeah, yeah!" Then he looks over at Flynn. "Hey, Teacup, you got sixteen crowns on you?"

If it wasn't for the buzz of the alcohol, he'd probably be more annoyed. But as it is, Tor and the other's antics are quickly becoming background noise as he gulps down his next glass of vodka. He's never been much of a drinker, but right now he feels like a fish as he waves Vladamir over for his third glass.

"Hey!" another goon shouts, coming over to sit on his other side. "Whatever happened with the girl? You know, the blond?"

And there goes his buzz. It seems Blondie has a way of finding him everywhere he goes. "Nothing," he grumbles, tipping his glass back again so he doesn't have to speak. The last thing he wants to do right now is think about her.

"Come on!" the thug complains, hitting his fist against the bar like he's about to have a tantrum.

Tor is quick to defend him. "He doesn't want to talk about it, Greno! Can't you see he's feeling emotional right now? Just because you have the emotional capacity of a stick..."

Flynn doesn't bother listening to the rest. He slumps in his seat and puts his hands over his face.

Somewhere to his right, Greno asks, "What's his problem?"

"I dunno. Maybe something's wrong with him."

Something is wrong with him. Blondie must have done more damage than he thought when she nailed him in the back of the head with that paint jug. He's acting weak, he's losing his focus. He's... not acting like Flynn Rider. Flynn Rider isn't frightened or cowardly and he certainly is never guilty.

Above him, the two thugs are still arguing. "Look what you did, Greno, you killed him!"

"How did I kill 'im? I didn't even touch 'im!"

"He took one look at your ugly face and collapsed to his death!"

Tor and Greno keep up their fighting match-the subject has thankfully turned from who killed him to who's face is uglier-while Flynn lifts his face from his hands and signals Vladimir to hand him another vodka.

Then he drains the glass and waves for another.

*~o~*~o~*

It's hard to find fresh space to paint, but Rapunzel is feeling inspired. She searches her walls for an empty spot and fails. Her room is large, but nearly eighteen years has given her more than enough time to cover every surface with doodles and portraits. Even her floor is growing crowded with paintings of flowers and grass. When she was younger she'd wiggle her toes over it and pretend it was real.

Her face darkens at the memory. She's been so naïve. She's been dreaming about the outside world all her life and has never once taken the initiative to make her fantasy come true. She was scared... she is scared. But look at her now! She has Flynn and he's teaching her so much. He's her very own guide to life beyond the palace walls. Maybe one day she'll be brave like him and see the things he talks about for herself.

Her mother constantly showers her with presents and valuables, but she's never had any need for new bracelets or silky dresses. She doesn't want material things, she wants freedom. But that's the one thing she's never allowed to have.

It's for the best. She needs Mother, and Mother needs her. The outside world is a dangerous place, full of dangerous people and bugs and fires and illness. So much evil. It's better this way.

She goes to her closet and digs around until she finds the three pink shells she'd hidden. They still smell like water and salt. She runs a finger over the bumpy shell ridges. How could something so beautiful ever be evil?

And Flynn... he's not evil at all. Sometimes he's a bit strange, but never evil. Not once has he tried to hurt her.

But then she blushes, because while Flynn has never tried to hurt her, he has tried... other things.

Like... kissing. She knows nothing about kissing. The only kisses she's ever received were from her mother, and those were on the cheek. But when Flynn tries to kiss her it is an entirely different matter. He looks at her so intensely that she feels as if her skin is bursting into flames. He makes her heart stutter and her throat become dry, and her body tenses with nerves because she doesn't understand.

She hears Mother's voice in her head, whispering in her ear. It's evil, it's sinful, it's so, so wrong.

But Flynn says it's not wrong. And he knows better than she does on matters like these.

She shakes herself out of her thoughts. There's absolutely no room to paint. Her walls are covered from top to bottom. And she'd like to save the space left on the floors for something more important. So she looks at the only place left...

Up.

*~o~*~o~*

It isn't until Flynn is halfway through the village that he realizes something is missing. He opens his satchel and digs through it to make sure everything is in place. It is. Then he pats all of his pockets to see if something has fallen out. It hasn't.

But then he remembers. In Blondie's haste to hide him from the guards, she never gave him one of her valuable trinkets.

Shit.

His breathing starts to increase and he runs an anxious hand through his hair. But then he reminds himself that Flynn Rider never panics. He'll get through this like he gets through everything else. He'll use his wit and his stunning good looks and his uncanny amount of luck.

He knows he's lying to himself. When Flynn Rider finds himself in a jam he runs. He's never stayed in the same town for more than a few days. He steals a few shiny items and skips town until it seems like the villagers have forgotten the look of his face. He sneaks away before the action starts. He doesn't own up to anything he's done because it's easier to just wait until the whole thing blows over.

And the thing Flynn Rider would do in this situation now is bolt. He won't sit around and wait for the Stabbingtons to catch up with him—that would be suicide. The twins are decent trackers, but he's faster. He'll cross the river and flee into one of the neighboring kingdoms for a few weeks. He knows a few seedy pubs with spare rooms, and a few landlords who owe him favors. Part of his is already calculating how long the trip will take on foot.

So Flynn Rider is going to run. He's going to go into hiding because two dumb thugs with beefy arms are trying to best him. He's never thought of himself as such a coward before. He's never felt guilty, or frightened, or weak, or cowardly... Not until he met a certain blond in a certain tower.

But thinking about her invites all sort of unwanted emotions into his brain, so he quickly pushes that thought aside. It'll be best if he just forgets about that strange girl. Whoever she was...

He goes back to his plans. He'll need about three days worth of food to be safe. He scans his eyes over the village street and spots the bakery just a few stores away. A tray of cakes and pastries are sitting out on a tray on the baker's cart. And the baker's back is turned as he hands a cookie to a little girl. It'll be only too easy...

He decides against it and reaches for a few coins from inside his satchel.

The baker smiles at him with chubby dimples, his tall white hat flopping over to one side. "What can I do for you, lad?"

"Just a few biscuits," he mutters.

The baker is in the middle of grabbing Flynn's order when something metallic crashes inside the shop. "Aghh!" the baker moans exasperatedly, turning his chubby body to shout through the doorway of the store. "Those better not have been the fruit cakes! They're supposed to be sent to the palace by tomorrow morning!"

"The palace?" The words pop out of Flynn's mouth involuntarily, his interest caught as soon as the word 'palace' left the baker's lips.

The baker looks pleased to brag. "We deliver goods to Her Majesty weekly. The Queen loves our scones. Buy a scone and see for yourself! The best in Corona!"

"The palace doesn't have it's own chefs?"

The baker doesn't pause at the question. He busies himself with scooping five biscuits into a paper bag. "I wouldn't know, would I? The palace keeps to itself."

Something prickles on the back of Flynn's neck. "Someone must know. Someone around here must work at the palace, right?"

"If there is, I don't know 'em," says the baker. He hands Flynn his goods. Then, as an afterthought, he adds, "The people in the palace… they stay in there."

They stay in there.

The baker's words… they remind him of something else. He remembers a question he asked, not so long ago, said half-jokingly. "You don't get out often, do you Blondie?"

Faintly, his mind recalls Rapunzel's response in her soft, lyrical voice. "Not really."

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Thank you again to all of my readers who are so wonderful. I'm so honored that you enjoy my drabbles.

As ever, let me know what you think.

Artwork that inspired this chapter is on my profile.

See you soon!