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Eugene Fitzherbert may have come first, may be the name he embraced now, but Flynn Rider had given him power. Reassurance.
Before Eugene’s thieving career under the name, hearing Flynn Rider reminded people of tales of a rich, adventurous man. It wasn’t so bad that he was instead an infamous man, as long as he was acknowledged as the latter half one way or another.
As long as various forces of guards thought of him that way when they chased him down, shouting that the thief was getting away. As long as fellow criminals thought of him that way as they cursed him when he inevitably stabbed them in the back. As long as normal citizens on the street thought of him that way when they gasped, looking back and forth from his wanted poster to him, and so on and so forth.
What more could he ask for? It was euphoric, the way he was able to pull off this persona of his. The years passed and his transition continued, the spare funds from the riches he stole providing for him just fine. As long as he was Flynn Rider, he was set. It was to the point where there was no need to think back to the insecure boy who, with each turn of a page, immersed himself more in the book character who became his very own definition of a man. Eugene was pushed into the recesses of himself.
He had felt Eugene — his insecurity — still sometimes, when he took a glance at the frequently inaccurate and unflattering depictions of him on wanted posters. Because come on, he worked so hard to shape himself up into who he was, and they did that to his features? It felt stupid how it genuinely frustrated him. He knew they would never know how hard he had worked for his outward appearance to match the one that had always been in his brain. There was no reason for them to care. They were catching a criminal, not dedicating a well-meaning portrait to Flynn Rider, who was now detached (only for the most part, this proved) from his days of nervously crossing his arms over his chest in a lousy attempt to shield his body and neglecting mirrors and showers and proper hygienic care because hey, maybe it would be easier to pass if he came off less clean and more rugged, however much he craved to be more on the put-together handsome scale of things. He couldn’t manage that back in the orphanage, and certainly not in his first couple of years on the street.
Then there was Rapunzel, so vibrant and now free, and he was trapped underground with his surroundings rapidly filling with water, confessing that he was still Eugene Fitzherbert, that underneath it all there was still him, much more a boy than a man due to his own neglect of himself. Flynn Rider left him behind to rot. Rapunzel picked him back up and pushed him to look inside himself and change.
And then they were one. Eugene Fitzherbert and Flynn Rider, once so distant, now one person again, even if Flynn Rider’s tendencies (specifically his illegal ones) were in the past now. Though he had changed, Eugene couldn’t just exist with a chunk of his history entirely disregarded, no matter how sordid. He might have not realized that back then, so anxious to abandon any semblance of weakness, but it was true.
That was why he found that a lot of today’s events stung just a bit. First, he was faced with the simple, “you were Flynn Rider, now you’re Eugene,” as he initially freaked at being recommended for the position of Captain of the Guard. Eugene didn’t mind that remark all that much. Rapunzel was just saying that he was no longer a legendary thief, and had proved himself worthy to the kingdom time and time again. But then Rapunzel looked at him like he was being completely silly when he despaired over his imposter, telling him to let go of his jealousy.
“Legacy?” She scoffed. “You were a thief. Behind each stolen item is someone who’s sad, or heartbroken that it was taken. Is that a legacy to be proud of?”
Opening his mouth and starting to defend himself, he stopped when Rapunzel still stared disapprovingly up at him. It wasn’t like she was entirely wrong, or that her idea of helping the imposter move past a life of crime instead of bitterly locking him up and moping over his stolen identity was horrible by any means.
Was he supposed to be entirely unphased, though? True, his actions when he went by Flynn Rider were nothing to be proud of, but just the pseudonym had given him comfort and confidence for a long period of time. He wasn’t going to pretend to intimately know Brock Thunderstrike and what went on in his mind, but with that name? And he still chose the name Eugene once adopted? The repulsion Eugene had once felt for himself, body and voice and everything so entirely wrong… Was it selfish for him to not be able to imagine that his and Brock’s experiences were entirely the same?
He heaved a sigh, rubbing at his eyes and pushing back some of his fallen hair out of his face in the process. The gel’s hold had weakened as the eventful day went on, especially due to, well, nearly drowning. Again. Eugene heard the door click open, and Rapunzel’s face came into view. She was smiling, and he couldn’t help but offer one in kind, no matter how exhausted he was from his whirring thoughts. She squeezed inside, closing the door behind her, and crashing down on the bed beside him.
Eugene appreciated her presence. It was soothing. The silence rolled on though, and he started to grow tense as it gave his mind ample time to spiral.
“Hey,” she finally said, searching his face. Rapunzel frowned now. “What’s wrong?” His girlfriend read him like an open book — why did he expect any less?
He knew she wouldn’t buy it, but still replied, “The water flooding my lungs is still getting to me?” It was phrased more like a question, making it less plausible as a truth. Rapunzel raised an eyebrow, about to poke Eugene further before he finally bit the bullet. “It’s just… Brock.”
“Oh.” Her frown deepened, likely in confusion. “I know you still don’t like him, but at least he’s not going by Flynn Rider anymore? And even so, you did agree that there was no legacy to protect, just a criminal to reform?”
He cringed. He hoped Rapunzel didn’t notice.
“That’s the thing,” Eugene sighed. “Just… Um, hear me out for a second here?”
Rapunzel nodded slowly, understanding as ever. His lips quirked upward in a small smile. He loved this woman with everything in him.
“The things I did before I met you… I don’t agree with them. I would never go back to how I lived then, and realize I probably hurt many, many people stealing,” started Eugene. “So in that sense, there was no legacy to be proud of or look back on. But in the end, I am still Flynn Rider. I can’t separate from myself, just my actions from back then. I used to do that with Eugene Fitzherbert. I pretended that I was never him, never a desperate kid who dreamed of waking up so-called real man…”
The princess’ mouth was open in an o shape as she processed the information. Eugene bit his lip, looking away to collect himself for a second. He took a deep breath. “But in the other sense, being Flynn Rider brought me so much solace. And — you don’t need to reassure me of it or anything — it made me feel like a real man where Eugene back in the orphanage failed. I don’t know.” Eugene shrugged. “I didn’t want him to steal that. It probably sounds a little dumb, I’m sorry—“
“Eugene.” She interrupted. He blinked in surprise, but was relieved to see a warm and welcoming expression on Rapunzel’s face. “It’s not dumb. I’m not going to pretend to understand exactly how you feel, but I’m sorry for not completely listening earlier, however disagreeable your word choice seemed.”
“It’s fine, Sunshine. You were right too. Brock will get another chance, just as I did, thanks to you.” Eugene felt his shoulders relax — he wasn’t quite sure when they had gotten so tense in the first place — and the slight race of his heart slowed to normal.
He moved to press their foreheads together. They breathed in tandem, the quiet no longer awkward as it had been before they talked. Just peaceful.
“Well, you’d better get to sleep soon, Captain,” Rapunzel playfully punched him in the chest. “If Varian is up for it tomorrow, he’ll probably need to have your supervision in putting together the Rooster. I heard it went quite poorly under Lance’s supervision.” She giggled, leaning in further to press a chaste kiss to his lips. He accepted it graciously, grinning now.
“Yeah,” was what he managed to say breathily. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” She didn’t need to say it; he could tell by her undying support and understanding and all the other little things that would take a millennia to properly list. Eugene greatly appreciated the verbal confirmation anyway.