A/N 1: Warning: very long chapter ahead, likely to add even more questions to the ones you already have. XD This is, however, very central to a lot of plot points that have been hinted at already; in time you will see why T-Bell was so willing to help Neal, for instance. It's a story inside a story, and it is definitely not the last time you'll be hearing of the characters that appear here. To make it easier to understand, the parts in which Neal is talking to Belle will be in italics when the flashbacks begin.

A/N 2: Translation to the lines in Portuguese at the end of the chapter.

Chapter 6: Neverland

"A Favela da Terra do Nunca. Do you know what a favela is, Belle?"

"Yeah. They're like slums, right? Housing arrangements for the poor, widely spread in many places in Latin America, especially in big cities, like Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Close enough?"

"Well, kind of. That's what they tell you in books, I guess. But you never fully understand what they're really like… until you've been to one. A favela has a life of its own. It's like a parallel universe, you know? And Terra do Nunca…"

"Portuguese for Neverland, I take it?"

"How many languages do you speak?"

"Enough. I promise I will not interrupt anymore. Please go on."

"Wait, I think your interruption was very appropriate. Let me do things right here. I'll start from the beginning.

"It all happened eleven years ago. At that time, my father was still in jail, for reasons you already know. It was my wedding day, and obviously, he could not attend. Emma had just turned eighteen. We had known each other for some years… I never actually thought she would ever want to get married, you know, in the traditional way. When we met, we were both in the foster system… There had never been much room for frills. And she was more of a combat boot type of girl. I knew she had a thing for girly stuff, though, and she always looked gorgeous in a dress. But, to me, it never mattered. She was gorgeous anyway. And smart. Damn, she was smart. My father kinda fell in love with her, too, you know, in more of a… fatherly way. I remember she would join me whenever it was visiting day, and the two of them really enjoyed talking to each other… I think this is why he's so obsessed with trying to get us back together. I think he sees her as part of the family. Our family.

"But, anyway. Back to the wedding day. David and Mary Margaret had prepared a hell of a party, and I think she agreed to it because, in the end, she was just happy to have her parents back…"

Damn those stupid tie knots. The day he managed to do it right without making a fool out of himself in the process…

"Calm down, man, calm down…"

He fumbled with the piece of fabric around his neck once again, his throat constricted in a mixture of anxiety and sadness.

He wished his father were there.

There was a knock on the door, and he mentally thanked whomever it was for distracting him. Last thing he needed was to feel depressed during his own wedding.

"May I come in?" asked David Nolan, peeking from behind the door with his impeccable suit.

"Sure."

He cleared his throat when Emma's father walked into the room, and tried to look like he was in complete control of his emotions.

"Are you nervous?" he heard the man ask.

"Nah… No," he replied, faking a smile. Too bad his shaky hands were not cooperating. "Yes."

"That's only natural," said David, taking a step closer to him, and turning him around so that he could take care of the knot Neal was still trying to produce. "You should have seen me the day I married Mary Margaret. Legend says I looked as pale as a ghost, and honestly? I truly felt I would cry more than her."

"And did you?"

"Cry? Not really. The moment she showed up on the aisle… I just felt like laughing. I felt the luckiest man to walk on earth."

"Yeah, I know what it feels like…"

David finished tying the knot around his neck with a faint smile, and patted him on the shoulder.

"Course you do."

"I'll take care of her."

"I know."

It could have been the tie but, most probably, it was only his nerves trying to pull a stunt on him. Why was it so hard to breathe?

"I know you wish your father were here."

And David Nolan was not helping.

"Well, one can't have it all, can they?" he muttered, trying to look away when his eyes filled with tears.

"I know he's proud of you. I would be, if you were my son."

So much for the tears he was trying so hard not to spill.

"Thank God you're not the one wearing make-up, huh?" said David, as he pulled him into an embrace. "I know it must not have been easy for you to go through everything you went through. But trust me, I couldn't be happier my daughter is marrying you. You're a good man, Cassidy."

"Thanks, sir."

"Stop calling me sir! We're family!"

"I'm sorry, I… I just…"

"Well, call me 'sir' if it makes you feel better."

He let out a chuckle as he wiped his tears away with the hankie David had given him.

"I can never thank you enough for reuniting us with Emma."

When he looked up, he realized it was the other man's turn to look like he was on the verge of tearing up.

"We thought we had lost her for good."

"And she thought you both were dead…" he muttered. "I think… She would have found you anyway, you know? If only she hadn't gotten transferred from home to home that often… Whoever was pulling the strings did a good job leaving her in the dark."

"And us. Because I swear, we scanned all the foster homes you can think of in the nine years we were apart… And yet we could never, ever reach her. It was like… tracking a ghost."

"She's back," said Neal, finally feeling his nerves were giving him a break. "That's all that matters."

"And she's gorgeous," whispered David. "She looks like a princess in her wedding gown."

"And boy… gorgeous did she look. I know I shouldn't have done it, you know? But I just couldn't resist it. I had to see her. I had to… look at her before we headed out. So I peeked through the door to her room… and there she was. Her dress was simple, made of silk. It didn't cling much to her body, just enough to reveal the curve of her hips. Her hair was falling over her bare shoulders, in curls… and she was wearing pearl earrings. A real sight. I could have stayed there, watching her forever…

"But I guess that when they say that seeing the bride before the ceremony brings bad luck, they are not kidding. Next thing I know, I open my eyes and all I can see is a stinky old mattress and a bucket, in a cubicle made up of cardboard and bricks…"

To say the place was hot was an understatement. He felt his shirt clinging to his back, sweat trickling down his temples as he sat up in the poorly-lit room.

At some point, he had lost his jacket. His tie was now holding his fists together behind his back, and his head hurt as if he had been hit with a hammer. The music blaring from outside was only making it worse.

"Até que enfim," he heard someone say, in a language he could not understand, "a Bela Adormecida acordou."

He squinted at a young boy crouching in front of him, wearing nothing but a pair of flip flops, shorts and sunglasses.

"Aí ó, ô truta, qual teu nome?"

"What?"

Probably, not the best reply given the circumstances, but that was all his dazzled mind could come up with.

"Fala logo, caralho! Eu não tenho o dia todo não, ô!"

The boy, who looked angrier at each passing minute, nudged him with his foot to urge him up.

"I don't… I don't understand."

"Porra de gringo…" he heard the boy snarl.

Whatever he had said, it had not sounded good.

He stood up, trying to keep his focus on the boy next to him although his head was still spinning. Much to his surprise, the kid pulled a razor thin cell phone out of his pocket that would make his own Nokia 8310 look like some sort of pre-historic accessory.

"Felix, passa o telefone pro Pan."

He watched as the boy paced up and down the stifling room, and when his face was once again visible thanks to the rays of light coming from a miniscule window, Neal's eyes went wide when a tiny red dot appeared on his forehead.

"Kid, someone's aiming at you!

"Quê?" the biy asked, wrinkling his forehead as he held the phone to his ear.

"Somebody's gonna shoo-"

He never got to finish that sentence, because before he was able to, sprinkles of blood had already covered his shirt.

"Nice shot, Felix…"

Very, very far from there, at the highest part of a hill, a boy who didn't look older than sixteen patted a taller counterpart that was holding a sniper rifle.

"Turns out Pan was the drug dealer that ruled that land of nobodies. Apparently, the place had gotten its name because legend says that those who go in never get out. And it's easy to understand why, really. The slum is a freaking labyrinth. Staircases so tall and narrow that one bad move and you roll down to your death. Sewage being dumped a mere foot from where people sleep. You know what they say, right? Bad sanitation kills more than any poisonous plant. And, of course, the dancing and the music and the heat… Oh, Belle. You have no idea of all the traps that place holds. I'm sorry I'm telling you all of this before I get to Tamara, but you have to understand: things never ceased to get worse! I almost died from dehydration on my first week in Neverland. And then, I got food poisoning. When I got back on my feet, and decided to start looking for a way out, I found out no one but Peter and his closest henchmen spoke English, so I couldn't even ask for help. It was a living nightmare!"

"The view is breathtaking, isn't it?"

He had to struggle not to roll down the steep stairs after jumping in surprise at the voice coming from behind him. The view of the beach below them, so many miles ahead, was indeed magnificent… But that damn kid. How old was he? Sixteen? He didn't even look like the other people in that slum. He didn't seem to have been raised there, he didn't dress like the others, he didn't behave like the others.

Yet, there was no doubt whatsoever that he was the only one ruling the place.

"Baelfire, you look like crap."

The fact he had just been called by a name that only a handful of people in his life knew only added to his astonishment. The beard and the mane he was growing also baffled him; at what point had he started wearing flip flops and shorts, by the way?

What the hell was going on?

"Who the fuck are you?" he snarled in frustration, trying to do the math in his foggy brain. Unless he was very mistaken, almost one year had gone by and he had barely managed to get acquainted with his whereabouts. Of course, not knowing the language didn't help. The fact there was always someone watching his every step was just as much of a pain. "Why the fuck am I here, where…where am I?"

"Call me Pan. And this place… you can call it your new home."

"Why am I here?"

"Oh, you don't remember?"

"What do you think?"

"Well… Let's just say that someone hired me to take care of you."

"You don't say!"

"Yes, and you know I'm not telling you."

"I'll make you."

"You can try, but really? Look around. This is the not the US of A, my friend. And the only organized thing in this land, is the world of crime. That I happen to control, of course."

"How convenient."

"You don't believe me? Then wait and see. But I'll tell you this. You'd be better off working for me. Those who do climb the… social ladder, so to speak. Just think about it. Air conditioning. Hot water, good food, a pool… Not to mention you can be young forever."

Pan's eyes went wide, and he seemed to be savoring every syllable of the last word that had left his lips.

"Yeah right," Neal replied, with a slight frown. "What is it, do you snort the stuff you sell?"

"Oh, never. That's one of my golden rules. And the ones who break it pay a very steep price, ask the boy who welcomed you."

The boy made to leave, but then stopped dead on his tracks.

"Oh wait, did he even survive?" he asked, tilting his head with a raised eyebrow. "Yeah… I knew he wouldn't."

After a minute of silence in which neither of them spoke, he turned his head to take a final look at the man behind him.

"Just think about it, Baelfire. It's a good place as any for a fresh start."

"And he was right. The only ways to get out of that place were either by buying your way out or knowing people who could pull some strings. I had no money, or contacts. So I ended up doing the one thing I had told myself I'd never do.

I started working for Pan."

"Hey boss?"

"What is it, Felix?" asked Pan, who sounded much more interested in his Playstation 2 than in the boy by his side.

"Baelfire has been stirring shit again."

Pan let out a deep sigh, and finally put down his controller when his game of GTA came to an expected ending.

"What did he do this time?"

"He's changing packages again. Throwing away the dope and giving our buyers bubble gum and chocolate bars."

"And keeping the money?"

"No. He gives back the money and the address to a rehab clinic downtown. Fucking Mother Teresa…"

"How did he even get the address for a rehab clinic downtown? I thought I had made it clear that he was not supposed to have any contact with anyone that is not in level four."

"Then someone in level four must be helping him."

"Bullshit, there is no one in-"

Pan stopped mid-sentence, eyebrow raised as his mouth hung open.

"I'll take care of that later," he added.

"Do you want me to call him here?"

"Yeah."

Not five minutes had gone by when Felix re-entered the room with a tall, tanned man by his side. His head was shaved, and he was wearing checked ants and a V-cut white T-shirt, his strong features framed by shiny aviator sunglasses.

"What do you want?" he asked, sounding less than amused. By his side, Felix seemed to be fuming with anger.

"Baelfire, what do you think you're doing?"

"You wanted me to work for you, I'm working for you."

"No, you're not. You're screwing me up."

"What, have sales dropped?"

"Yeah, they have, and you know exactly why."

"Well, I told you I'm not a good trader. You should have given me something else to do."

"Well, I'll give you one more chance. You're off for the day."

The two boys watched as the taller man turned on his heels and left, one hand stuffed in his pocket as the other fiddled with his leather belt.

"Fucking creep."

"No need to be jealous, Felix. You're still my favorite Lost Boy, you know that, don't you?"

"I heard Baelfire found a way out of the slum…"

"Oh, did he?"

"Yeah. Looks like he's been monitoring the times the police comes for raids. He's planning to approach them."

"The police?"

"Yeah."

Pan let out a cackle, which was followed by a half smirk by his lieutenant.

"Felix, you know who to call, don't you?"

"About the levels, here's the thing. There were four of them in Neverland. The first one is where passers-by are usually allowed. There is some commerce, some residents, but overall, it's just a fraction of the whole complex. Level two things get more restricted, but you can still get there if someone from inside takes you in. The stairs are steep and the pathways are horribly narrow - you get to some hidden gambling parlors, part of the red light district, the dancing halls… Level three is where the buyers go to get the stuff they buy. It's where some low-level crooks hide as well. Now, level four… Level four is a different thing. It's like, a hundredth part of the space concentrating the entirety of all the infrastructure, and all the money. It's a place for the big shots, Pan and his officers, but not all of them. Only the ones that he trusts or, in my case, the ones he doesn't trust at all…"

He stared down at the automatic pistol he was holding: it had been nearly four years since he had gotten it from Pan.

The cartridge was still full.

As he looked around, he silently hoped that night wouldn't be the first time he got to use it.

In the alley ahead, nothing and no one but an old man carrying shopping bags on his way home.

And then, it began.

"Ai minha nossa senhora!" he heard the man scream, as he flung his arms over his head, his groceries rolling on the floor as he tried to protect himself from the bullets now cutting the sky in a noisy, fiery frenzy.

Neal's heart skipped a beat as he scanned his surroundings, squinting as he tried to make out Pan's staff from the cops raiding the slum. His eyes eventually fell upon a man in uniform, aiming at one of Pan's lesser associates.

That was his chance.

He tiptoed his way towards the cop, only stopping when his gun was pointed to the back his head. And then, it was time to put his horrific Portuguese to use. Nevermind the heavy accent or the poor pronunciation of a few words; what mattered was that the man had put his gun down as instructed, and was slowly turning around to look at him.

"You're not from here, are you?" he heard the cop ask, in very clear English.

He raised an eyebrow, his finger still on the trigger as he took a step backwards.

"That's okay," the man continued, his deep blue eyes piercing his as he moved, hands still up in the air. I'm not either."

Part of him was relieved, but not relieved enough not to find his luck unusually good.

"Name's August."

"Neal."

"Neal?"

"Yeah."

"Do you mind putting the gun down, Neal?"

"I'm not a criminal."

"You don't make much of a convincing case holding a gun to my head. Put the gun down."

"I was kidnapped. I had to start working for him."

"Him? Who?"

"Pan."

He watched the other man frown, studying him from head to toe.

"So you're a drug dealer."

"No."

"But you said you work for Pan," August asked, a malicious smirk curling his lips. "What do you do, then? Sell flowers?"

"He kidnapped me," Neal snarled in response.

"Can you prove it?"

"If you get me out of here, I can try."

"Out of here? And take you were?"

"To a police station, to a Consulate, whatever."

"You want me to take you to a police station?"

"I have nothing to be afraid of."

"You're still holding a gun to my head, I'm not convinced."

Neal's eye twitched for a moment, before he finally put the gun down and handed it over to the man in front of him.

"Fine," August replied, his eyes never leaving his as he unloaded the gun and placed it into one of the sheaths in his belt. "I'll get you out of here."

As the two of them went down a series of poorly-lit alleys and staircases, Neal finally allowed himself to smile.

He was finally going home.

"So… Where are you from?" August asked, when they were finally out of the slum, driving away.

"The US."

"Where in the US?"

"California…"

"Nice place."

"Yeah…"

"Do you have a family waiting for you?"

He felt his mouth twitch slightly at the man's question. He used to, even if it had been for a very short period of time. But now…

"Not sure anymore…" he answered.

"I see…"

As they drove past a tunnel, Neal tried to remain positive despite the nasty feel at the pit of his stomach that reminded him that at that point, Emma and the Nolans, pretty much the only family he had apart from his father, probably had already forgotten all about him.

And that, of course, after judging him a legit son of a bitch for having abandoned their daughter on their wedding day.

When August finally pulled over in an abandoned parking lot, he felt his heart had sunk.

Leaning against one of the opposite walls, arms crossed against their chests, were Felix and Pan.

"You didn't honestly think I had bought the kidnapping bullshit, did you?"

Neal was not even listening anymore. His eyes merely darted from Pan to Felix as he searched for the gun on his waist, only to remember he handed it to the man by his side.

"What, did you steal from him? Is that why you're trying to run?"

"There you are, Baelfire," said Pan, after knocking on his window. "I take it you've met my friend August?"

"Here." In the meantime, Felix had approached August to give him a stack of money. "20 grand, as promised."

"You sold me out for 20 grand?" shrieked Neal.

"20 grand is a lot of money."

"You son of a bitch."

"Nothing personal. In this land, money is the only thing that counts. And I don't even know you."

"You're a cop! You don't have to know people to help them!"

"I am helping people," August replied, pulling Neal closer to whisper something in his ear. "Do you think I work for Pan because I want to?"

"Time to go," Felix interrupted, grabbing Neal by the collar of his shirt and dragging him out of the car.

"Kudos for trying, Baelfire," said Pan, who looked thoroughly entertained with himself as the trio made their way to a van parked nearby after August drove away. "But, next time, don't trust the biggest liar in the police force. No wonder his nickname is Pinocchio."

"Okay. Finally, we're getting to Tamara. Sort of, actually. I told you it was a long story. Here's the thing. As time went by, I got round to mapping out some places of interest in level four. I met someone… A foreigner, just like me. I don't know why I took so long to find her, though now that I think about it, it occurs to me she might have been hiding from someone else. I don't know. She sure was shady as hell, but truth is that I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for her. Til this day, though, I don't know her name... People used to call her T-Bell, because of the fairy tattoo covering half of her arm. Freaking Neverland. You know what the weirdos labeled the dope they sold? "Pixie Dust". I'll tell you, that Pan guy must think the place is his own theme park. I saw no Captain Hook, though. Huh. Guess he didn't want risk losing his post as main star of his freak show…"

"Knock, knock…"

A short woman in her thirties sprang from her chair, her blond hair falling from the loose bun on top of her head as she walked towards the door.

"I hear you've been helping our friend Baelfire," said Pan, as soon as she opened the door. "Is that so?"

"No," she replied, not a nerve in her face betraying her words.

"If he finds Tamara, you know what happens to you, don't you?"

The woman's eyes flashed with anger.

"I know who you're working for. How dare you?"

"Working with. Not for. With," he corrected, raising a warning finger. "And hey, money doesn't grow in trees. The payment is nice, I don't really know why you're complaining."

"I don't want any of the dirty money you're getting," she snapped. "Have you forgotten who you're dealing with?"

"Tatiana…" Pan let out a sigh before letting himself fall on a chair. "I do like you, but you have to let go of the past. What happened to you was most unfortunate, but… It's been what? Sixteen years now?"

"It doesn't change a thing! I can't believe you took this job up."

"Why wouldn't I? Do you forget that you were a job as well, when you first got here?"

"It's different."

"Really? How so?"

"He has a family to go back to."

Pan tilted his head to the side, studying her face for a very long time.

"You have been warned," he said, before walking out.

She was about to take a seat when another soft knock on the door made her jump.

"Are you insane?" she shrieked, as soon as Neal's head poked out from behind the door. "What are you doing here? Pan just left!"

"I know, that's why I'm here."

"Well, guess what? He knows it. I can't do this anymore, I'm not gonna risk my neck for y-"

"Please," he interrupted. "You once told me about someone who could help me, how do I find him?"

"Her, you mean," she corrected. "Forget it. She stays in level one, hardly ever goes to two. And you know Pan is keeping an eye on you, you'll never be able to get there."

The woman stopped talking for a moment, just to cross her arms and frown as she stared at him.

"By the way, what the fuck were you thinking? You looked for the police?"

"I didn't kn-"

"Pan owns this place, all of it!"

"Well, yeah, thanks for the update."

"You're screwed."

"Tell me how to find her."

"Why do you even care?" she yelled. "It's been what, five years since you've been gone? Do you honestly think Emma has been sitting around, just… waiting for you? She never even answered your e-mails! The phone numbers you have no longer exist!"

Maybe he had taken too long to send her an e-mail, just for starters. He had only been able to access the Internet when he started working for Pan, and as to calling the Nolans… It was not as easy as it looked, not when he had to rely on other people having credit on their prepaid phones so that he could waste their money on endless calls that never reached their destination.

"I have to try," he whispered, sounding much more defeated than he had intended to.

He watched T-Bell let out a sigh, hands on her head as more strands of hair fell from practically inexistent bun.

"Fine," she said at last. "But you'll have to do exactly as I say,"

"The plan was simple: since I was not allowed to go to level one and Tamara had no access to any level higher than the second, we would have to meet halfway. She was in charge of a project in the community: she would teach girls how to dance and help them start their artistic career. Pan let her do her job as long as she never messed up his business, and that included never going to where his officers met their buyers and such. She hardly ever went to the nightclubs on level two because all kinds of crazy shit went down when people got carried away; she thought it was a bad example to her kids to get caught up in the mess. But if we were to meet, she would have to make an effort. The trouble was, again, that Felix wouldn't give me a break, so T-Bell accepted to be the distraction…"

"What do you mean, she passed out?" asked Pan, raising an eyebrow as he pressed his cell phone closer to his ear. "You found what in her food? Pixie Dust? My Pixie Dust?"

Something was rotten in the state of Denmark.

"Felix, I need you to get to T-Bell's place. She's up to something."

The boy was about to leave the room when Pan called out to him.

"But make sure to check on Baelfire first. I wanna know where he is."

As Felix walked past the gate to Pan's mansion, he pulled out his cell phone with a very annoyed expression on his face. How he hated to be Baelfire's babysitter. The lad could be run over by a cable car for all he cared. It would make his life easier…

"Is Baelfire in the alley?" he asked, as soon as another of Pan's officers picked up the phone.

"Yes, he is," answered a dark-haired boy, whose head happened to be at the receiving end of Neal's gun. "He'll be dealing all day long. I'll be with him."

"Good. What is your location?"

"Rua do Tchau."

"Are you kidding me?" Felix stopped dead on his tracks, looking around. "Why did you go so far?"

On the other side of the line, Pan's officer looked up at Neal, who tilted his head slightly after raising an eyebrow.

"Things are busy today'" the boy lied. "Must be the holiday. Lots of buyers… And they all want some privacy."

"Pff…" Felix snorted, before heading to the most distant alley in level three. "Whatever."

"Good job…" said Neal, as soon as the call was over, covering the office's mouth with scotch tape and leaving him behind, tied to a bed in some unknown residence in level two.

When he finally made it to the nightclub where he was supposed to meet Tamara, a fist connected to the side of his head much before he could make sense of his whereabouts.

"The fu-"

"Shh, shhh…" muttered a man, whose blue eyes were made even brighter by a very thick layer of eyeliner. "Quiet, love, just be… quiet… and listen."

The man's eyes darted around, and Neal followed them. The other people in the poorly-lit joint seemed too busy with their dancing partners and drinks to even care about them.

"You wanna see Tamara, fine, I'll let you," the man said, his voice grave and menacing as he grabbed Neal by the collar of his shirt. "But you screw her over, and I'll rip your guts out, do you understand?"

"What the hell are yo-"

"Are you deaf?" the man hissed. "I asked you a question. Do you understand?"

"I do, I do!" Neal stuttered, as the other man tightened his grip around his collar and nearly strangled him.

"Jefferson, give it a break," he heard a female voice say. "I can take care of myself."

He was finally able to gasp for air when his back slammed against a chair, and a woman wearing a while dress and a couple of very large ivory bracelets showed up from behind Jefferson.

"Are you Tamara?"

"I am. I take it you're Baelfire."

"Actually, name's Neal. Neal Cassidy."

"So you need help to get out of here."

"Yes."

"And what do I get in return for helping you?"

"Nothing."

"At least he's honest," said Jefferson, raising an eyebrow as he poured some cachaça in three shot glasses.

"Have a good night, Mr. Cassidy," said the woman, quickly getting to her feet.

"No, wait, sorry," Neal said, grabbing her by the arm. "Look… If it's money… I don't have money. I'm sorry."

"Oh, you don't have money?" she asked, a smirk curling the corners of her mouth. "You're wearing a Michael Korrs watch and an Armani shirt, and I'm supposed to believe you don't have money on you?"

"This… T-Bell got me these. I don't… I don't get paid, she's the one that got me these things, she says I have to look the part."

"Well, that you do…" muttered the man by his side, downing his shot in one large gulp.

"I don't… I don't have money."

"Why does Pan want you so much?" asked Tamara, taking the other seat by his side.

"Someone is paying him to hold me captive. I don't know whom."

"Look, I don't know who you are," she explained. "I help you out, Pan screws me up. There is a bunch of kids that depend on me."

"What… What can I do for you? Just tell me. I need to find a way to get back to my family."

"Who's your family?"

"My fiancée. My father. And my in-laws."

His heart was racing as he watched the two individuals by his side exchange a worried glance.

"I've been here for almost five years…" said Neal. "I just… You're my last hope. You're an American citizen, right? Can you take me to the Consulate?"

"Jefferson?"

The other man leaned back on his chair, fumbling with the silk scarf around his neck as he smiled.

"There is a way to get him out of here…" he said, his deep blue eyes piercing Neal's.

"How?"

"Tomorrow… Carnival begins. You know what that means, right?"

Tamara raised her glass with a very entertained expression on her face.

"Yeah… Chaos."

The two of them kept looking at each other, clearly coming to certain conclusions that Neal failed to grasp.

"Probably the only time of the year when even the world of crime takes a break," added Jefferson.

"What do you have in mind?" Neal asked at last.

"How about…" Jefferson was pouring himself another shot when he spoke, a devious grin broadening at every word, "…an extreme makeover?"

"You have no idea what extreme makeover he had in mind. For now, all you need to know is that Jefferson was known as Mad Hatter, mainly because of his obvious talent in making headpieces… But not only headpieces. Costumes, in general…"

"Jesus Christ Almighty!"

"What?"

"Jefferson?"

"That obvious, huh?"

Neal stared at the French maid towering in front of him, auburn curls falling over her, or rather, his bare shoulders. If it weren't for those blue eyes… he would have never guessed.

"Are you ready?" Jefferson asked, fanning himself with a mischievous smile on his lips.

"Ready for wha-" Neal's voice died in his throat when he realized what awaited him. "Oh, no. Please, Gods, no."

"What? Carnival is not the time for inhibitions, love," Jefferson trailed off, touching the corner of the other man's mouth with the tip of a very long, glittery nail. "Plus, if you want to get out of here unnoticed… You'd better let me take care of you."

In the meantime, three levels above them, T-Bell sat quietly on her couch, her pierrot costume fitting her blues like a glove.

Sooner or later they would come for her.

"Knock, knock…"

Sooner than later, apparently.

She stood up, dragging her feet across the tiny living room of her shack. Her loose purple blouse and wide white pantaloons almost made her tiny frame disappear in a sea of fabric, and the dunce cap on her head only made her look even more like a child.

The first thing she saw when she opened the door was Felix's sniper rifle pointed at her.

And then, nothing else.

"Did you hear that?" asked Neal, while one of Jefferson's assistant tried to attach a wig to his head.

"What?"

"A gunshot."

"Darling, I hear gunshots from the moment I wake up 'til I go to bed. I'm quite sure it was just… fireworks."

Maybe it was. But, for some reason, his heart was racing.

"Now look at you," said the Mad Hatter, as he applied some mascara to Neal's fake eyelashes. "Aren't you a diva now?"

Neal swallowed, feeling horribly uncomfortable in the tight red dress he had been squeezed into. And the fake nails… the wig… the platform shoes… Not to mention the contacts and the massive layers of make-up!

"Ssshh…" whispered Jefferson, his eyes wide as he turned his head to look at the door behind them. "I think they're here."

In the adjourning room, Tamara was holding the door open to a very distraught Felix.

"I know he's here."

"He? Who's he?"

"You know what Pan is gonna do to this dance studio of yours?" said Felix, entering the room as he clutched his rifle even harder. "He'll burn it down, with all your students inside it."

"He might try," Tamara responded, looking thoroughly intimidating despite her modest height and the flamboyant pharaoh costume she was wearing. "But his beloved lieutenant won't be around to help, because I swear I'll blow your brains before you make it to the top of that staircase."

She fumbled with her tunic for a moment before a shiny Thunder Ranch revolver emerged from inside her vests.

"Well, now…" said Jefferson, entering the room just as Felix and Tamara exchanged the most poisonous glance known to human kind. "If it isn't Felix, the second-in-command."

He stopped by the boy's side, his muscular arms flexing as he placed his hands on his hips.

"Are you looking for a costume?" he asked, with his usual devious smirk. "I might have a spare Catwoman somewhere in here," he said, before taking a step closer to whisper something into Felix's ear. "Or would you prefer to be a princess?"

The boy pushed Jefferson away, and took advantage of the moment he taller man staggered backwards to point his rifle at him.

"I know you're hiding him, where is he?"

"He's not here."

"I know he is," Felix hissed in response. "And no one leaves this place until I find him!"

In the meantime, Neal had approached the group, trying to keep his balance as he walked on high heels for the first time in his life. That was the moment to put the Mad Hatter's talent to the test.

If Felix recognized him, it was all over.

"Wanna look around? Go ahead," Jefferson responded, glaring daggers at Pan's lieutenant. "But remember that Carnival brings more money to Neverland than the cheap dope you sell. And Carnival is my territory," his extremely grave voice was a stark contrast to his feminine figure, and even Neal forced himself to take a step backwards not to get scorched by the man's ire. "At least today party beats crime. But go ahead, go tell your boss you screwed up this year's parade by holding me captive. That is, if you can still talk after I punch all your teeth out."

Baffled by the lecture he had just been given by a man wearing a mini skirt and stockings, Felix's eyes darted around until they fell on Neal's face.

And there they stayed, for what felt like an endless minute.

"Are you a man or a woman?" the boy asked at least, his gaze lingering on Neal's hips and then on his fake boobs.

Luckily, Neal had time to lower his head before Felix spotted his Adam's apple.

"W-Woman," he stuttered, in what he hoped was his sexiest womanly voice.

Felix's eyes remained glued to his for another moment, before the boy shook his head and slammed the door closed behind him as he left the studio.

"I need to give you some vocal training," said Jefferson, trying to stifle a giggle.

"Sod off," Neal replied, quickly turning to look at the woman staring at the door with a wrinkle of concern. "Are you okay?"

Tamara stood by the door, still silent when Jefferson approached her.

"Don't let that jackass get you down," he said. "The kids will be fine."

"If I leave now... I won't be able to come back, will I?" she asked, turning around to look at her friend's face.

"Maybe... Maybe it's time to pay your family a visit?"

"I can't leave them behind..."

"You'll be a walking target if you return to Neverland after today. Pan will have all his officers track you down."

All of a sudden, Neal felt his throat tighten. Up until then, he had not realized what the actual price of helping him out of that place would be for Tamara.

"You'll be better off joining our friend there on his trip," Jefferson added.

"What trip? He doesn't even have a passport! And I... I don't even have money to buy flight tickets!"

"You won't have to," Neal interrupted. "We just need to get to the airport."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I'll explain everything when we get there."

It was not as easy to get to the International Airport of Rio de Janeiro as one would have thought. But, at the very least, the fact the streets were all taken by merrymakers too busy partying to notice anything unusual going on meant that a pharaoh, a French maid and Jessica Rabbit driving around didn't exactly draw that much attention.

"You can fly a plane?" asked Tamara, leaning against the passenger's seat as Neal told them his plan.

"Yeah."

"How? I mean... Were you in the army or something?"

"No. But I once knew someone who taught me."

"Curious," said the man at the steering wheel. "Most people learn how to drive a car... How to ride a bike... But no. You learnt how to fly an airplane. I like that."

Neal, on the other hand, was less than amused at the memories that conversation was eliciting. Yeah, he had learnt how to fly a plane from someone that, right now, he would simply like to forget he had ever met.

"Well, this is it. Isn't it amazing that we can actually get to the runway without much of a hassle?" said Jefferson, as he parked his car just outside a forgotten entrance to the airport and made his way part a decomposing fence. "Bless this country!"

In less than a minute, the trio was staring at the plethora of aircrafts moving around in the runway.

"I hear British Airways has some decent onboard services..." said Jefferson, while Neal scanned the place in search for a more feasible target than an Airbus.

"I guess that one will do," he said at last, pointing to a private jet that was just being prepared to take on its passengers.

Given their attire, there was no point trying to be discreet when walking towards the aircraft. It was no surprise, then, when an airport inspector approached them on the runway, demanding their immediate removal from the area. It took Jefferson a lot of creativity to stop the man from starting a scene, and when his "celebrities trying to run away from paparazzi" story failed to make an impression, he had to resort to his least favorite way of getting things done.

Bribes.

"And there goes whatever had been left of my budget..." he whined, seeing the inspector leave the place with a satisfied smile after he had handed out the money he had conveniently hidden in his cleavage.

"Jefferson..."

Neal had already entered the aircraft and taken care of its only crew member when Tamara turned on her heels to talk to her friend.

"They will be fine. Pan knows better than to mess with me."

"I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too."

"We have to go," said Neal, showing up from inside the cockpit.

"You," yelled Jefferson, wiping his tears away as Tamara pulled away from his embrace. "Take care of her!"

"I can take care of myself!"

"Of course you can..." Neal heard the other man whisper in response, as he closed the jet's door and returned to the cockpit with Tamara by his side.

"What the hell am I doing?" she asked, eyes darting around as Neal prepared for take-off.

"I'm not sure. I thought you were supposed to take me to the Consulate?"

"It's a public holiday," she panted. "Everything's closed."

"Oh, that explains-"

"-us hijacking an aircraft? I don't think so."

"Try not to think too much about it."

"I'll just have to believe you know what you're doing."

Neal swallowed, and there were so many things going on in his mind that he barely remembered he was still wearing platform shoes and a wig. Not to mention a dress, and fake nails. At that point, though, all he could afford to worry about was whether or not he would get permission to land somewhere without getting shot down by the authorities.

"Well... Worst case scenario, there is always the Bahamas..."

"What did you say?" asked Tamara, who by now was sweating buckets.

"Nothing..." he muttered, so quietly the woman by his side was barely able to hear it. "Nothing..."

Translation:

"Até que enfim a Bela Adormecida acordou." = "At last… the Sleeping Beauty is finally awake."

"Aí ó, ô truta, qual teu nome?" = "Hey, what's your name?"

"Fala logo, caralho! Eu não tenho o dia todo não, ô!" = "Spill it, fucker! I ain't got all day!"

"Porra de gringo…" = "Fucking foreigner…"

"Felix, passa o telefone pro Pan." = "Felix, get Pan on the line."

"Ai minha nossa senhora!" = "Holy Mother of Christ!"

"Rua do Tchau." = "Goodbye Street"

cachaça = distilled alcoholic drink made from sugarcane juice