I do Not Own Tangled.

In hot pursuit Flynn tore through the forsaken harbour as if the hounds of hell were on his trail. Though in this particular situation the hound was a large brawny fella with sparse red hair and matching sideburns that extended to a chin that Michelangelo would have been proud to have chiselled.

He was a quick one, he'd give him that, but all that muscle can really weigh a guy down. Flynn on the other hand was leaner, younger, swifter, and has had more experience in dodging irritable company to last him a lifetime; Royal guards, relentless ex-flames, former poker companions catching a glimpse of the ace up his sleeve… please, they were his bread and butter.

Apparently it's only when you start ticking off homicidal delinquents with startling anger-management issues do you really find yourself in a pickle.

His choice of direction were severely limited. There was nowhere to go but forward. His left was blocked off by a grimy 30 foot parapet that presumably stretched for miles on end and turning right would prove even worse than futile- unless of course he didn't mind taking a dip into opaque God-knows-what infested waters.

Let's just say that the North Harbour wasn't exactly the most eye-catching establishment in comparison to the rest of the 'oh so glorious kingdom that is fair Corona'. This place was a ramshackle to put it kindly, not to mention dingy and on some days you could practically cut through the dense smog with a butter-knife.

The eerie silence it typically carried was shattered by the rhythmic scuffing of his boots on the cobblestone pavement and the bellows of curses from Flynn's sword-drawn pursuer.

Running faster and faster with no planned destination, the dull scenery flying by him was nothing more than a grey blur.
Unfortunately he wasn't going fast enough to surpass the putrid stench of rotting fish guts.

And to think he so close to finally sailing away, home-free, and as far away from HER as possible. He could have been half way to an exotic paradise of his choosing by now. No more royal guards. No more HER. No more ruffians and thugs chasing after him with pointy objects and a zealous desire to impale him. Not a care in the world, just the sand at his feet.

But alas t'was not meant to be.

Fore you see, instead of working on his well-deserved tan, Flynn was stuck gallivanting through in a glorified fish morgue just because SOME PEOPLE can't learn to let the little things go!

In the distance Flynn could see he was quickly approaching a stack of barrels, all neatly bound in the order of a pyramid. That gave him an idea. Granted, it wasn't the most elaborate escape route he had ever concocted but he figured beggars can't be choosers.

Picking up speed Flynn turned his attention to his well-worn satchel and awkwardly sought out his pocket knife.

When he retrieved it, Flynn held it with a tight grip and as he drew near the barrel stack he slashed the rope in one swift motion without halting. Fortunately the rope was already well frayed and came apart almost instantly as the weight of the barrels appeared too great for the feeble thread to hold. As soon as the base of the structure came apart, the rest followed suit with a clatter.

Flynn jerked his head around to see if his plan had brought the desired result.

He smirked with satisfaction as he turned just in time to witness the dolt tumble over the rolling barrels like a first rate jester. But still Flynn kept to his speed as he figured his plan would only provide him with a temporary delay. Sideburns got back on his feet soon enough and with his tempter reignited he was bulleting after the thief.

Phew… what this guy lacks in charm he sure gains with persistence.

Fatigue now kicking in, Flynn peered around for a plan a B.

Searching… searching… and-

Bingo!

Just a little up ahead he spotted a narrow walkway through the parapet. Although he wasn't 100% sure as to where it lead to exactly (he presumed the back alleys) but any other place had got to be better than here.

He abruptly made a sharp left turn, swinging his weight around a lamppost and into the tunnel, but not before noticing- belatedly- a hunk of wood that lay on the midst of the passageway. He stumbled hard to his face.

Smooth one Rider.

Lifting his head, Flynn glared at the object accusingly and saw it was an old torch that must have long since fallen from its holder bolted to the wall.

Hearing the rapid heavy footsteps coming in from behind him, Flynn seized the torch and leapt to his feet. Holding it ready, slightly above his head like a baseball player would, he mentally counted to three and took a deep breath waiting for the perfect moment.

1…2… enter thug-

3… WHACK!

And down he went sideburns and all.

"Sweet dreams Sleeping Beauty." He muttered before tossing his weapon of choice over his shoulder.

'Well, better get going before Tweedle-Dee tries to take a stab at me.'

Stepping out of the end of the tunnel, Flynn grinned smugly at his accomplishment. Yep, he really had gotten out completely scotch free on this one. In fact it was almost an insult that she'd sent only one of her buffoons after him. As if one insignificant, albeit large, man could possibly take down the notorious, fearless, most-

WHAM!

His self-gloating thoughts were immediately interrupted when a brick-like fist collided with his gut.

The sudden blow was heavy. Flynn sputtered out a curse as he dropped to his knees and clutching his winded stomach. He stayed there for just a couple more eternal seconds as his attacker sneered menacingly.

Forcibly unable to draw in or out a single breath he was on the verge of suffocating (or so it felt) before at last sweet oxygen once again restored his lungs.

He glanced up to perceive his attacker before recognizing the familiar scar-inflicted face. He was a large brawny man with sparse red hair and a finely chiselled chin.

Sound familiar?

Well as fate would have it, this chap sneering before him was none other than the identical twin brother to Sideburns back there.

No joke, there really were two of them.

And around these parts they were known as the infamous Stabbington brothers.

The only difference between them- and not to mention the only possible way Flynn could tell them apart- was that this one, polishing his knuckles on his dark leather doublet, had an eye-patch covering his left eye.

He got to his feet giving out a chesty cough when he heard the haunting sound of a woman's dark chuckle emerging from the shadows through a darkened doorway behind him. Flynn grimaced, instantly recognizing the owner of the voice.

"My, my, my look at what the cat dragged in."

Flynn scoffed. More like sucker punched when his head was turned.

He cleared his throat and almost right on cue swallowed his grief and turned to give her his signature debonair smile. "Why Gothel fancy running into you here. My, aren't you looking radiant in the… smoggy glow of this rather uncomfortably secluded alleyway. You know not many women in such a delicate age can pull that look off."

Gothel stood right before him with her cold grey eyes fixed on Flynn; almost daring him to make a sudden movement.

Geez, it was like looking into the eyes of Medusa.

Flynn remained neutral despite the chills he felt coursing down his spine.

She was at best fifty years older than him. Her sunken eyes and wrinkled skin couldn't be hidden by the copious amounts of powder and other cosmetics that adorned her face. Her hair was an abundant mass of neat corkscrew curls that were possibly at one stage raven black, but now had altered to a dull salt-and-pepper grandma look.

Yet Flynn already knew from experience not to let the 'feeble old lady' appearance fool him. Gothel was Corona's most notorious con-woman. She was deviously crafty, as sharp as a whip and was always one step ahead of her opponent and anyone else who dared defy her.

With solemn echoing clacks from her heels on the cobblestone pavement, Gothel slowly circled Flynn as a vulture would do its prey. "Let's cut to the chase Rider. Where is it?"

He crossed his arms over his chest lazily and smirked, still keeping up with his undaunted Façade. "Back in the tunnel- he pointed with his chin- don't worry I left him in one piece for ya."

"Don't play dumb with me Rider. Where is IT?" Gothel demanded through gritted teeth.

He forced a dry chuckle. "Right, well about that... Funny story actually, you see I don't… necessarily… have it."

Gothel was silent. She visibly clenched her jaw tightly like she was restraining herself from lashing at him out at him or worse. Her deep breathing became more evident though her thick velvet cloak and was glaring up at him so hard Flynn quietly hoped she'd burst a blood vessel.

"All right Rider." Her teeth remained gritted. "I'll give you three seconds to recall what you've done with it." She gestured to Patch-Face on her right- "I would detest having to resort to such unnecessary violence on such a handsome face."

Flynn smirked again despite himself. "Yeah, well I don't recall things very clearly when it's my handsome face on the line. Call it a quirk if you may."

Oh he was well aware of the hole he was digging for himself, but his smugness was an involuntary reflex. What did they expect him to do? Drop to his knees and plea for their unlikely forgiveness. Nuh uh, Flynn always had to be the stronger man… figuratively speaking of course; I mean have you seen the size of this guy? His biceps were bigger then Flynn's head. But he sure as hell wasn't going to tell them what he actually did with it. He shuddered at the consequences.

Unimpressed by his latest smart remark, Gothel drew a deadpan expression and snapped her fingers signalling her lackey to take the lead.

Flynn held up his hands innocently. "Whoa, whoa easy there. C'mon we can work this all out-"

But with a little too much eagerness for Flynn's liking, Patchy fisted the scruff of Flynn's collar and socked him in mouth with his other hand using unmerciful force.

He continued this action again.

And again.

Patchy then put some more swing into the last blow and knocked Flynn back onto his knees.

Flynn spat blood from his busted lip, hoping that he hadn't swallowed any teeth. Running his tongue along his jaw he was relieved to find them all present and accounted for. He breathed through his nose, mastering the pain, and gave them a weak red-toothed smile. "Alright, well now I'm defiantly not going to tell you."

Bracing himself, Flynn knew the track he had decided to take was going to earn him some more thumps. But instead, to Patchy's disappointment, Gothel raised her hand and ordered him to halt on further assault. "You know Rider; there's only one thing that I hate more than people who take what rightfully belongs to me- and it's when they think they can get away with it." Flynn noticed Gothel clutching a pendent of some sort that hung on a long chain around her neck. "You took everything I worked for and now you're going to pay me back one way, or another. And of course, being the kind and compassionate woman that I am, I've decided to grant you a choice." Gothel pulled out his wanted poster from under her black cloak. "Now let's see here…" She pretended to examine it and clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "Well, someone's been a naughty boy"- she smirked- "…yep, wanted dead or alive and included with a rather handsome reward."

"Well I don't like to toot my own horn."

Gothel rolled up the crinkled piece of paper and tapped him on the chest with it, ready to conclude her point. "So basically Rider, I could give you a chance to miraculously recall as to where it was you have misplaced my money and let you walk a freeman or I could kill you right where you stand and still make a profit out of it. I'm giving you the final say."

"Well that is mighty generous of you." He muttered passively.

Damned if he did and damned if he didn't. What the hell was Flynn supposed to do now? He could tell her and suffer the consequences or not tell her and suffer anyway. Think Rider, think. Come on, he needed to do something; A trick, a lie, a scam… Anything! But for once to his amazement he, Flynn Rider thieve-extraordinaire, couldn't think of any possible strategy to pull over their eyes. The Stabbingtons were no problem, just distract them with something shiny then make a break for it. But Gothel… she was a different story. Clearly after years and years (and judging by those wrinkles, some more years and years) of conning, hoodwinking and trickery, Gothel knew every trick in the book. God damn it, he hated being at a disadvantage… especially to an old lady.

"Look I'm telling you I don't have it anymore!"

*Fingers snap*

Patchy draws out a dagger to Flynn's throat and…

"YET…I don't have it yet but if you give me a few weeks, a month tops I swear I can get it all back."

"I liked the whole killing him part better." Commented Sideburns as he emerged from the tunnel rubbing a tender spot on his scalp while shooting death glares at Rider in passing. "Whatever shuts him up faster."

Perfect, that just what our little party needed anyway, Flynn thought jadedly as they both took their positions towering over him, smirking ominously. No doubt imagining how good Flynn's head would look nicely mounted over a fireplace.

But fortunately after much scrutiny, Gothel spoke her proposition. "Alright Rider we'll play it your way. You have three days to get it all back."

"Three days? He echoed. "Are you kidding me? I can't get all that back in three days! It's impossible…"

Flynn immediately felt the tips of both a sword and dagger aimed at his throat.

"Your pretty face buys you a lot I bet. But unfortunately not my time… Three days Rider, take it or leave it."

He swallowed discreetly as he felt the heat of adrenalin drain from his body like a gash in a flour sack. "No problem."

"Wise choice." Her accent dripped with sadistic smugness.

"But afterwards when I do get it all get back- and I will- I walk out a freeman, no hassle, no trouble. We part out separate way for good. Capeesh?"

"You have my word, no harm will come to you IF you complete the task. Now do we have a deal?" Gothel asked, leering at him with stretched out a hand.

Flynn stared at it cautiously for a moment, half-expecting it to transform into a scorpion at any given moment. He locked his jaw and took her pale, veiny hand in a firm shake sealing the deal. As the Stabbingtons once again lowered their weapons, Flynn exhaled in both relief and in anxiety. He quickly dusted off his vest and knees before giving them a quick salute and heading down the best direction to the town square. But before he could take a step, Gothel snapped her fingers again and had Flynn pinned back against the wall to receive one final message. "And just to be clear Rider, that no matter where you run, no matter where you hide. I will always find you, and I will always catch you. So if you try and escape me again… I will kill you."

Seeing that he understood her perfectly Flynn was once again realised and free to go. "I really do hope that whatever it was you misplaced my money on was worth all this." Those were Gothel's final words to him before she disappeared back into the shadows with the Stabbingtons tagging behind her.

Flynn didn't wait for them to change their minds again. He immediately turned on his heel and left but not before muttering almost inaudibly:

"It was."

In the lateness of the evening it had occurred to Flynn, belatedly, that he was now settled in semi-darkness.

Yet not bothered enough to go search for a candle, he ignored the navy tinge that filled his disorderly bedchamber and just sat on the window casement where he loosely hugged his knees to his chest. Perhaps he was too old to curl up like this, but his childhood habits never did get away from him; he'd spent more nights than he could count in this hedgehog style- prickles out to fend off the world.

He sighed in exhaustion and ran a hand over his stubbly face, breathing in the stale scent old copper coins from his fingertips. He was exhausted.

Never had he pulled off so many hits in a day before. Usually, under different circumstances, he'd just lay back, relax and then in his own time take whatever really caught his eye. You know the big things, the flashy stuff like jewellery, or priceless artefacts, or works of art that some people would have the gall to call a masterpiece.

However those kinds of heists usually took weeks or even months to plan out without a hitch.

And they all required quite a generous amount of organizing, of planning , of going over tactics, coming up with multiple escape routes, and even costumes if need be. And Flynn only had three days!

He'd have to pull the crime of the century to get that old hag off his back.

He shuddered at the mental image.

It was all going be a piece of cake. He had said. Easy money… Done and dusted within a week. He had thought. Just dazzle them with a few elaborate and then make off with their stash before they knew what hit'em.

Well, at least that part of the plan worked out better than expected. He'd give himself props for that later.

Because unfortunately it was all downhill from there.

He knew from the beginning that breaking loyalty to Gothel was a death sentence. No one had ever escaped her bony grasp and lived to tell the tale. That was probably the key element that attracted him to this little setup. That if he was going to out with a bang, he'd do it in style. And what better way to do so than to be remembered as "Flynn Rider: The one who got away." He smirked at the multiple implications.

And yet, reviewing his little predicament, it would appear Flynn was in fact no exception to her untarnished record. So that spiel she gave a few hours back wasn't just something to rattle him. It was a warning, reminding him that she always got her man at the end… one way or another.

And with those two lug heads stepping in as her muscle… well…It was kind of hard for him to forget any time soon.

He creased his forehead as he tallied up the day's score in the head. "…and then there was the poker game, the purse, that street vender around the corner and… oh right, on the way over here I found a nickel under my boot."

This was just pathetic. He is the kingdom's most wanted criminal for crying out loud! A thief extraordinaire, a conman, a drifter, a flimflammer…

To roll it up into one he was Flynn Rider! And Flynn Rider did not earn such a prestige reputation by lifting spare change!

He left the shutters open so could see the moon riding among the clouds, lighting the topmost flag on the palace.

"Now there are some people who really got it easy", he scoffed as he subsided his agitated mood. Flynn always caught himself fantasising about having the life of a king. To lounge around in a castle of his very own while servants waited on him hand and foot. He'd have personal chefs serve him elaborate meals on a silver- no, gold platter every morning, noon and night. And just the very thought of him being literally surrounded by more gold and jewels than he could hardly spend in a lifetime almost makes him salivate like a dog.

He'd be lying if the thought of raiding the castle hadn't crossed his mind once or twice over the years. It was, of course, on many a young thief's bucket list to be the first, and quite possibly the only, to swiftly breach the impenetrable walls and discover chambers filled to the brim with all his heart's glittering desires. But ever since Princess what's-her-face was born they guarded that God damn castle as if the whole island would spontaneously combust and end of all life as we know it.

Oh no, God forbid anyone should dare touch a hair on her highness's precious head.

He had heard rumours, that the penalty for intruders was immediate death. No trial, no warning; Just a short drop to a sudden stop. He subconsciously started to rub his neck but then immediately shook his head dismissively before any more grisly images came to mind. Besides, he already had more than enough on his plate than to start worrying about rope burns.

And anyway, tomorrow was a new day and the market place should be busy enough to keep him occupied, for the morning at least. He then remembered overheard the jewellers going on about some big, important shipment they were expecting very soon. Maybe he should drop by and check it out, and then maybe he can come up a real plan to save his skin.

But that he knew would take a miracle.