I can't stop vidding this show. It's just so damned, achingly romantic and beautiful, and it's giving me so many vid ideas that it's hard to keep up with them all!
This one is set to 'The End' by Pearl Jam, song found thanks to mute_troubadour  

and her wonderful fics.
The video is about the season finale, about Henry's love for Suzy and yet how he knows he has to leave, to make things right. Again in this video I don't include the fact that he comes back, it would have been a little anti-climatic I think. 
The poems are excerpts from Alfred Lord Tennyson's 'In Memoriam', which I was reading and just found certain parts to echo things from the fandom. Plus his words are always so beautiful they couldn't hurt to add in.
Don't own anything, blah blah, enjoy!


Youtube link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sa-NO_CK1Uo


But YT butcherer the quality, so here's a better quality one on vimeo:

She’s never screamed like this before.
It’s an inside out scream, an unearthed sound, a soprano song that comes from every part of her body. His head throbs with the sound of it, the guilt drilling deeper with every new gasping breath she steals.
Because he did this to her.
This: a torture chamber full of silver instruments and people in white. This: her eyes screwed shut so tight he’s worried they’ll never open again. This: her body being carved out and emptied.
Nine months ago it had seemed like such a great idea.
He tries to whisper, but she can’t hear him. She’s drifting out of sync to the real world. “I’m sorry,” he says loudly into her ear, and she crushes his hand. Something cracks, but he can’t hope to feel it. She somehow manages to open her eyes against the pain, finds his eyes. Her expression asks, for what, and his hand gestures helplessly at her trembling body.
“Don’t be,” she gasps, “Don’t – ever –“another scream; his ears ring, “– Whose genius idea was this?!”
He manages a laugh. Of all things right now, she makes him laugh. “Usually I’d take credit for any stroke of genius...but I’m willing to share the patent on this.”
“Thanks,” she replies, subdued, until someone instructs softly that it’s time to push. 

Time is an illusion. Surely it was only weeks ago they were lying together on a picnic blanket, listening to the sounds of children, and he asked if she wanted one. He can still see her reply, clear as day, her face turning up to his and her eyes saying yes, please. Honestly, it’s been just a few days since she held that little white stick up for his inspection: positive, it said, and he ran through the lair boasting that their love was so incredible it could create life out of thin air. Was it not only hours ago that they had whispered baby names to the Brain Bots, gauging which word made them the most excited?
But it’s been months, actually been months, and now here they are and the air is electric and she’s crying like he never thought she could. The world is without colour, shape or substance beyond the sight of one another. They are jigsaw pieces jammed together, waiting to fit, and then it happens: one long clear note of silence, a final movement deep inside her – a gushing sound, a muffled thump – and someone else screams. Their someone else, their missing piece. They are no longer jagged edges but a whole beautiful picture. Their world has colours and shape again – blues and pinks and soft ebony, a full-moon face with a pointed chin and a very pointed expression: well, here I am.

And there are too many people in the room but yet not enough – he wants the whole world to see, to marvel and be awe struck by the magnificence of his daughter. They take her and clean her, for too long he thinks, too long, where is she – oh! She’s back with them again, placed against the soft rise and fall of her mother’s chest. She’s crying, as babies will, but not for very long. Unlike her father, she doesn’t seem to crave the attention. He presses his hand to her velvety damp head, marvelling at the long-awaited sight of blue skin against blue. Roxanne rests her head deep in the pillow, entwining her fingers with his. She watches his wondrous expression with amusement. “Are you still sorry?” she enquires, stretching her smile around a yawn. The baby’s fist wraps around his thumb.
“Look at that grip!” Megamind whispers fiercely, “With a grip like that she could give Music Man a run for his money!”
“I bet she can sing better too.”
Roxanne is transfixed by his pride. He’s utterly captivated, completely in love, and definitely not sorry at all. Good. Neither is she. They watch over their daughter together, exhausted in a perfect kind of way, and dream about all the ways she will change the world.
 

Epilogue

He was beautiful at dusk.

In those first wispy hours of the morning, just after waking, he was most often sombre-faced and a little bit tetchy. By breakfast he was complacent and conversational. In those hours after lunch, when Time was not important and the name of it less so, he was filled with a vigorous energy that shook the earth around him.

But at dusk, without ever trying, Tarrant was at his most beautiful.

She would never be tired of looking at him: his skin like milk – which she’d found upon some experimentation, actually did taste something like it – became pearlescent when infused with the moonlight. He had a habit of stretching out in his sleep and tipping his head back into the pillow, which meant that the bridge of his nose and the arch of his throat were struck by the moon and set alight. Sometimes his lips were turned up in a grin, and in those moments she’d have to resist the urge to kiss them and rouse him. Other times, when the day had been a challenge and he wanted nothing more than to disappear into sleep, his mouth would be nothing but a flat horizon under his nose. Those were the nights when she’d thread her fingers into his hair and massage his scalp. Sometimes she’d accompany the rhythm with a riddle. Most of the time this melted the frown; other times it didn’t. But no matter his expression he was always fascinating enough to occupy her time in those doleful hours when sleep evaded her.

Tonight was another matter.

Alice had more than learnt his sleeping face off by heart. If she closed her eyes she could see him etched onto the blackness of her eyelids. It felt as if it were more than the usual mess in her mind that kept her awake that night. Carefully climbing from the bed Alice pulled on Tarrant’s robe and wound it tightly around herself. The smell of it made her feel safe, and the downiness of the fabric kept her warm against the cool night air as she opened the door to the balcony. A breeze crept in and swept over Tarrant’s face. His nose twitched and his eyes flickered, but he stirred no more than that. The little balcony that jutted out like a defiant chin off the side of Tarrant’s home was her usual comfort place. In the few months since they’d left Marmoreal and made his old house fit for permanent residence it had become a favourite spot. They would eat breakfast whilst perched upon the railing, chatting and twittering like birds. They would dance in slow circles upon the grainy wood when the rain was good enough to drench them. It provided the most spectacular view of anywhere Alice had yet to see in Underland. To others it mightn’t have been so grand, but to her it was just as inspiring as the Water Fall Hills that lay beyond the White Queen’s home. Alice took a breath deep enough to let her taste the night air, and leant against the railing. She could just make out the shimmering outline of the White Castle and felt a gentle humming inside herself. No wonder Tarrant had chosen this place. Snud it gave a stunning, if distant, view of the castle. Queast it faced Witzend, the home of Tarrant’s friends. Both were equally as lovely to view in any light of day.

She began to think of the months that had passed them by. She’d never been very good at keeping track of normal time, and she was more than happy to find that here in Underland Time was not at all bothered by her ignorance of him. There were days when she’d felt like doing nothing more than sitting on this balcony and watching the clouds rove, and had roused from her daydreaming hours later to find that the day had not passed her by at all. She could not say the same for poor Tarrant, who despite having declared a supposed truce with Time, could not seem to find enough hours in the day. When he’d first taken up his old position of Hatter to the Queen she had been sure to give him few jobs and plenty of time to do them. It had been over five years since he’d done any millinery after all, and she hadn’t wanted to pressure him. But now that a fair time had passed the demand for his work had begun to blossom again. People from beyond Marmoreal and even the Outlands had begun to remember the terrific work of Tarrant Hightopp, the last of the best clan of Hatters, and word had spread about his return. At first he’d been reluctant to take any more work, remembering his promise to Alice, but she’d been adamant about encouraging him anyway:

“I said I would fix you and I’m not quite done yet,” he said worriedly.

“I’m not a cloak that needs mending,” she scolded him, “I’m much better now than I was. Besides, you should do what you love.”

“I love being around you.”

“Yes but that doesn’t pay anything, unfortunately.”

“I don’t hat for the money, nor would I ever accept coins in my purse for loving you.”

“Well then hat for the joy of it and love me because you can. I’m all right Tarrant, truly.” She pinched his arm playfully. “I’m tired of seeing your face anyway.”

He laughed and the conversation dissolved as they tumbled around tickling one another.

She didn’t mind that he worked a little more often, because he did so in the White Castle and it was easy for her to visit him. What did linger in her mind was the smallest worry about his mental health. Yes, everyone knew he was completely himself again. Yes, he had been the right kind of mad for months now. Alice just worried that one day if he was pushed too hard, he might relapse. There was always a possibility for such things. Admittedly, there hadn’t yet been a day when he’d come home without a smile on his face, even if he was a little tired. But that didn’t stop her returning his enthusiasm for kisses and questions of how she was feeling. As long they kept an eye on each other and were together on those intermittent days of bleakness, she figured they would both be all right. Gazing at Marmoreal, she began to wonder when she’d be ready for work. They had yet to discuss her future beyond anything other than her getting better. With a wistful smile she recalled her first discussion with Tarrant after the night she came home from England:

“If I am to stay…there are a few things that must be sorted.”

“Alice, you’re ever the logical thinker these days. I must teach you how to talk nonsense again.”

“Tarrant, I’m being serious.”

“I know. You’re serious far too often, you know. I myself try not to be serious for more than an hour a week.” 

“Tarrant!”

“Sorry. Please go on.”

“If I do stay here…I’m going to need some form of employment. I won’t be a housewife.” 

He tried not to choke on her casual use of the word wife. “You – we could find you work in Marmoreal, later, if you wish. I’m sure Mirana would enjoy your company.”

“And a house?”

“My home has been far too quiet for far too long. Even when I do talk to myself.”

She made sure to look him right in the eye. “And am I to be loved here?” she asked, her hands sliding up his arms. “Otherwise I feel I will get terribly lonely.”

He enfolded her into his embrace, noticing a curious sensation as their skin touched. It was definitely a kind of humming.

“Alice,” he murmured, “I give you my personal guarantee that every creature in Underland will welcome you. However I can’t guarantee they’ll love you as much as a certain madman.”

Tarrant was excellent at distracting her, she’d surmised. It was difficult to worry about the future when he led her on expeditions through Witzend forest, or they sat and drank tea by the edge of the Diamond Lake. She wanted to work, really she did. But her desire to avoid being stuck in a room with paperwork clashed with her apprehension of venturing out into the world again. Even Underland had its dangers, as her battle with the Red Queen had shown. Still, she had Tarrant and all her friends, and it was far better to imagine braving the unknown in Underland than it was to brave any place from her old life.

“My old life,” Alice whispered, standing up a little straighter. “Isn’t it curious to think that my old life was my young life?” She picked at her nails, contemplative. “Now here you are, Alice, older but somehow brand new.” She thought of her mother and sister, of how they’d been so sure she’d be able to visit them. She wondered how much time had passed, if they missed her. She wondered when she would start to miss them. It was a strange feeling, to want to miss someone. It was like guilt; maybe she was too content here and someone had to be wronged to balance it out.

And that was when she thought about Henry.

Did she miss him? Was that what this feeling was, this pain that surfaced when she remembered him? Or was that simply the hurt associated with horrific memories?

She’d not had much experience with those in her life, except her father dying…and that was a pain akin to this, definitely. She’d expected a grand goodbye when she finally stopped imagining Henry. A teary acknowledgement, a wave on the whisper of fairfarren as he faded from sight. But there was nothing of the sort. So far, he had just come to her less and less. In the reflection of her teaspoon she’d see a smiling man, and then he’d vanish. Days would go by before she’d again spot him lounging in a tree above them. Now, it had been several weeks since she’d caught sight of his reflection, at the very least. She wondered what happened to imaginary friends – or husbands – when they were no longer needed. Surely they didn’t just disappear? Was there a Heaven for ghosts that find themselves redundant? Henry had seemed so real, so tangible…but he had also been too perfect. A man that was both her father and the Mad Hatter? It wasn’t what she’d wanted, really, more what she’d needed. Someone who would offer constant comfort and help her hide from her troubles. But Tarrant was a decent mix of what she needed and what she wanted. He made her confront her demons…he challenged her…he made her laugh.

He loved her because he wanted to, not because she’d imagined he would.

Smiling at the crazy mad wonderful thought she returned to bed, settling down so close to Tarrant that her nose brushed against his.

And then from the corner of her eye she saw a flicker of light – or was it movement?

Careful so as not to wake him, Alice craned her neck toward the end of the bed and peered into the darkness. There was a tall shape in the shadows. Heart pounding, she strained to see what it was, but after coming inside her eyes had not yet adjusted to the lack of moonlight.

And then it came to her, the wild answer, the thought that made her call out tentatively –

“H-Henry?”

All she could hear was her heart thundering, the easy breathing of Tarrant beside her. And then –

“M’here, Alice…” murmured a sleepy voice very close to her ear. An enormous wave of relief flooded through her. That was just Tarrant talking in his sleep, and without opening his eyes he circled his arm around her waist and drew her into his chest. For one fleeting moment, it had seemed…but then the dim shadows came into focus and the tall shape at the foot of the bed was just – a hat stand.

Grinning, Alice curled her toes and sighed, pressing her face into his shoulder and at last feeling sleep take hold of her.

Fairfarren Henry.

There was just she and her Hatter, each as half-mad as the other.

 ***

If there had ever been one thing Helen had loved as much as she did her husband, it was the gardens of Kingsleigh House. When Alice thought of her childhood she could see rich black soil falling through her fingers, pretty dresses ruined by dirty handprints, flowers of a thousand colours blooming before her very eyes, and the ever present sound of her mother’s idle humming as she worked. For Alice the gardens had been a playground, where she could spend time with her mother uninterrupted by lessons or guests. She never quite knew what gardening had meant to Helen – how could dirt and brightly coloured flowers make someone so deeply relaxed, so completely happy? But she knew it shared some connection with the kind of love she had for Charles. Alice remembered her father dying, and some weeks later, waiting at the edge of the garden for her mother so they could enjoy their usual few hours together. But Helen never did continue their ritual. If not for her daughter’s insistence on hiring a gardener, the bed of sweet peas, begonias and petunias would have been left to die.

And for years after that, Alice would catch sight of her mother looking out at the flowers and the bags of soil as an inconceivably sad expression would cross her face. It was only a few years ago that Margaret had convinced her to make use of the conservatory again, and so that had become their mother’s favourite place in the mansion. She could sit and be surrounded by a whisper of her old life, but never have to stray so far as the gardens again.

Alice hadn’t been there in a long time, now that she thought about it. But the path was so familiar, winding like a snake through a thousand shades of green, that as her boots clinked on the tawny stone steps she felt like a child again. Everything seemed more vivid than real life should be, with plants shivering in the breeze and the colours burning her eyes. Her teeth began to chatter again and she realised – she wasn’t in some nice daydream, she was having a slight panic attack. Freezing mid-step, Alice clung tightly to the Hatter’s arm and focused on a small water fountain in front of her, trying to steady her breathing.

 “You’re not fine at all, are you?” the Hatter asked softly, weaving his fingers with hers.

“It’s too late to turn back, isn’t it?” she replied with a weak smile.

“It’s never too late – at least in Underland – I’m not so sure Time is the same person up here. I could try speaking with him if you like –”

“Is someone there?”

They both jumped at the voice. Alice’s mother and sister were both sat at the table in the conservatory, peering in their direction.

“I think it might be too late now,” the Hatter whispered. Alice nodded, took a breath, and they both stepped out from behind the bush that was concealing them.

Her mother and sister were sitting close together on the old wicker lounge in the conservatory, hands clasped together with a desperation Alice had never seen in them.

“You’ve come back,” cried Margaret incredulously, and sure enough the same look on her mother’s face confirmed they’d thought her to be gone forever.

“Of course, I –” Alice choked noticeably on the sentence. I was always going to come back...she glanced at the Hatter beside her and felt it somehow dishonest to voice the thought aloud. She coughed and repeated, “Of course.”

“Alice,” Helen murmured, letting go of Margaret’s hands to gesture for her younger daughter. “Alice...come here.”

Tears welled in Alice’s eyes but they may as well have been rain drops on her cheeks for all she felt connected to them. She was numb, lighter than air, slipping free of the Hatter’s grasp and running to the arms of her waiting mother. She allowed herself to be swept up in the embrace of Helen, disappearing in her fierce grip and for once not wishing to be let go. Margaret gave her sister’s hand a tight squeeze before standing up and regarding the man she’d come with, the man she’d run away from home to be with.

“Thank you for bringing her back,” she said, noting that he had not yet taken his gaze off her sister. 

The Hatter had to have a few short words with his eyes before they would drag themselves away from Alice. When at last he could focus on the sister, he realised what she’d said. “Oh no, Alice returned of her own free will – quite bravely, too,” he replied evenly. “I merely followed,” he added in a voice that clearly stated it was no trouble to follow her anywhere. Margaret’s head tilted to the side as she sized him up again. His voice had changed. It was smoother, more of one accent.

“You sound different,” she observed, “You sound a little more – if you’ll pardon the implications – together.”

He smiled tenuously. “I am a little more together. I’ m much more muchier, thanks to Alice.”

“Muchier?”

He nodded, leaving the term unexplained as he turned his attention again to Alice. Margaret pulled out the chair next to the lounge. “Please join us,” she said to the Hatter with a tender smile. But he had a strange look on his face, a carefully blank look. She wondered what he was thinking about behind the empty visage that made him decline her offer so sadly. “If you’ll excuse me I’ll just wait outside.” He retired to the edge of a water fountain, close enough to catch strains of conversation but seemingly unable to move. 

Still disconnected from the tears that were streaming down her face, still barely able to feel, Alice murmured something into her mother’s neck.

“What’s that?” Helen asked, “What did you say?”

Alice pulled out of the embrace and wrapped her own arms around herself instead. “I said I haven’t come back,” she murmured, eyes cast down at the table.

Margaret sat down on the other side of her sister and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I know,” she replied just as quietly. Helen was very still, and said nothing.

To show her surprise at the response, Alice merely blinked. “I hate to leave you...I have to leave you,” she continued in a dull monotone. Something briefly made her smile, and she at last looked up at her sister with wide eyes. “Have I made a rhyme?”

The lack of the Hatter’s presence had drained any strength she may have been feeling, but talking like him helped settle her. After all, it was the first time she’d been without him for a good few hours since discovering The Awful Truth and she found it distracting and almost painful.

“Surely you didn’t come here to make rhymes, sister,” Margaret said calmly, stroking hair away from Alice’s face.

“It’s much nicer to talk about rhymes than to talk about anything else.”

“But if we sit here rhyming all day we won’t get anywhere, will we?”

“Well what about riddles then?”

The Hatter would have been proud, Alice thought, in any other situation. But it wasn’t cheek that drove her to talk of nonsense, it was panic. The realisation that something was coming to an end: her relationship with her family, her attachment to this world. For it was true that even if she could still visit them, after giving her heart to Underland, things would be different. She’d be more of an outcast than she ever was. Nobody could ever know where she’d gone, and so meetings would be held in private like some guilty affair. Even at This Very Moment, as Alice sat with her mother and sister, she was beginning to feel incredibly exposed. She was a thorn in her family’s side, another sad black mark on the tapestry of their history. People whispered of the poor unfortunate Kingsleigh family: a dead husband and a vacant daughter. Society was cruel. No, Alice thought, this society is cruel. Corsets and stockings and whispers... and unbearable selfishness. This world is unbearable. This world was where she’d been attacked, violated. Yes, it had been far away from England but it was still too close. In Underland she was an entire world away from it, and only that was far enough. Alice started to tremble again, conflicted more than ever. If she left, it would be a complicated and difficult task to return without arousing suspicion. But more painful than that was the thought of staying. For even now, she could feel this world’s darkness closing in around her. Alice felt as if the tears were now carving tracks into her cheeks, and she was alone in this place going to drown with nothing of Underland around but the Hatter where is he? I want to go home where’s the Hatter? I can’t leave them but I need to –

“Alice!” Margaret cried, shaking her shoulder roughly. “Alice, where have you gone?”

Alice blinked again, dragged back into conscious thought. She looked up at her mother, and dissolved into sobs. The truth hurt more than she’d thought it would, now that she was away from the Hatter. “But I can’t leave you,” she sniffed as her mother’s arms engulfed her again, “I can’t!”

Helen regarded Margaret over the top of Alice’s head. “You always said you wanted to get out of London,” Margaret said carefully, “Now you can.”

“I didn’t mean for good,” Alice replied, though that was exactly what she meant. “How will we see each other? I don’t know the way Underland works, what if I can’t –”

“Well you’ll learn, won’t you?” Margaret replied, “You’ve always been so clever. You’ll find ways to see us.”

Helen was stonily silent, holding Alice tightly.

“I wish I had never complained about you,” Alice whispered, her sobs abating. “I wish I could take back every harsh word I ever said –”

“We know you never meant any one of it,” her sister replied, stroking her arm.

“I can’t go!” Alice said, catching herself wishing for just a moment that Henry was here. The thought made her tremble anew.

“But you must,” said Helen quietly.

Both sisters stared up at their mother.

“I found the letter on your desk,” she said steadily, “The letter from that Hatter. And Alice…” her voice cracked a little, “Alice you just have to go. He wrote the sort of things Charles once said to me...and that sort of love…it doesn’t fade, not ever. If you stay here, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. You’re too much for this house, my dear Alice.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “There were times when I thought I’d never understand you, but I do now. You’re far too wonderful for a place like this.”

Alice sniffed as Helen squeezed her tightly and kissed her forehead. “You’ll be loved there, more than any ordinary man could love you here.”

“But I need you...I need you both.”

“You’ve needed someone, for a long time. And now you’ve got him. And I’m sure he’ll do a better job of helping you than we ever did.”

“Don’t you want to help me?” Alice snapped desperately, “Don’t you want me to stay?”

But Helen wasn’t swayed by the tone. “Of course I want you to stay,” she whispered painfully, “You’re my daughter for Heaven’s sake. But what can I offer you here except a mother’s love? That wasn’t enough for you before and it’s not going to be enough now.”

It should have ruined her, the thought that her own mother wanted her to leave. But Helen wasn’t rejecting her, not at all. She was doing what a mother should: knowing what was best for her daughter. Alice knew that Henry was still with her, somewhere. She knew that it wouldn’t be too long before he resurfaced, regardless of where she was. Imaginary husbands didn’t just disappear. England was no help at all in keeping him away, as the last few months had proven. But Underland...

“The Hatter’s the best thing for me,” she whispered. “This is what you were talking about all day, wasn’t it?” She turned to her sister now. “You know now, he’s the best thing.”

Margaret nodded. “I saw it. When you two were fighting the day we first met him.” She stroked another wayward hair from her sister’s face, and her voice became misty, watery. “Your eyes...they were so clear. I’ve seen you fight with Henry and they were always so cloudy. Even when you left me last time, ran off and left...your expression was so absolute. You need him.”

“We love you, Alice,” Helen added hoarsely, “And all that matters now is how you’re going to visit us. There’s no argument against you leaving.”

Alice nodded. There was nothing to left to say.

 ***

Alice hadn’t said much since emerging from the conservatory, but the Hatter didn’t mind. He was just glad for the chance to move around again, after sitting for so long on that cold cement water fountain. Not that he’d dare complain. He had nothing to complain about after what poor Alice had gone through. She’d come to him without the presence of her mother and sister, her shoulders set straight and her chin held pointedly high. She’d stood by him at the water fountain for some minutes, watching the reflection of his shimmering coat in the basin.

“You heard, didn’t you?” she’d asked very quietly, without making eye contact.

For what it’s worth, your mother has never sounded more like she understands you, he’d been thinking. But he thought maybe that was a bit rude and so simply nodded graciously and linked their hands together. For most of the walk back they were comfortably silent, Alice wiping stray tears away every once in a while. On those occasions the Hatter would glance at her worriedly – but not for too long, lest she scold him again for staring. He’d squeeze her fingers tighter and she’d respond in kind, staring into the distance with eyes as unfathomable as the night sky. Thankfully, the closer they got to the willow the more relaxed Alice became. The Hatter could see the tension in her shoulders ebbing, her lips abandoning their tightly pressed line. When they did reach the tree he stood aside and gestured for her to open it first, but she hesitated.

“Is something the matter, Alice?”

She let go of his hand, eyes searching the tree for something. “It feels different this time,” she declared.

“Different in what way?”

She glanced back in the direction of Kingsleigh House, then to him, then the tree again. “I’m…I’m not sure I’ll be able to get back.”

This news didn’t surprise him, but he didn’t let on. Being in this Otherish place made him feel disconnected and strangely normal, something he didn’t like. But Alice would soon belong to Underland, just as he did. He knew that eventually she’d find no reason to return to England, and the doorways would close up for her.

“What makes you say that?” he asked in a steady voice. He was quite proud of finally having a steady voice to use in these situations. His mad voice had never held much authority.

Alice didn’t respond, just placed a shaking palm against the tree trunk and studied the connection of her skin and the bark. Whatever she was searching for she seemed to find, because the next moment she nodded to herself and stepped through the trunk without looking back.

It was late at night in England, dark and chilly. But when they stepped out of the trunk in Underland their feet met grass that was warmed by the sun. The Hatter’s watch told him it was no longer the Haverlock day. They had been away for the entire night.

“How odd,” he said, “I half expected us to be ambushed by Chessur and the others.”

“I expect Chessur will show himself soon enough,” Alice replied, looking decidedly pale and tired. “For now, we shall have to be on our best behaviour in case he’s following us.”

They walked with no real destination in mind. They walked half-hoping to be greeted by their friends, but enjoying each other’s company all the same. They walked arm in arm, as each had dreamt of doing for so long.

“I suppose this makes me homeless now,” Alice said thoughtfully, after some time had passed. “What a curious idea.”

“But you have a home. Underland is your home,” the Hatter replied, glowing on the inside at the thought.

“Which is a lovely notion, but it doesn’t exactly put a roof over my head.”

“Personally I think having a roof over one’s head is overrated.”

“You wouldn’t say that if it started to pour down with rain.”

“Well, in that case, a rather large leaf would be sufficient enough.”

She made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh, more of a vocal smile, and their conversations came in dribs and drabs like this until they realised where they’d ended up. The grounds of the Hightopp Clan, where the Hatter’s shabby little hut stood listing to the side. Alice felt him stiffen beside her but when she looked, his jaw wasn’t tight nor his grip on her painful. He’d simply squared his shoulders defiantly and lifted his head higher.

“We can go if you want,” she said to him quietly, but he shook his head.

 “There’s just one thing I’d like to do before we find the others, if you’ll permit me.” He didn’t look at her as he said this, instead fixed his gaze on a particular mound of rotten wood and vines. Alice nodded and he immediately slipped free of her grip and went to stand at the mound that had once been his parents’ home. It had been many years since they’d inhabited it, since this whole clearing had been filled with life and laughter. Too many years too long. There was so much loss that he couldn’t begin to focus on any one thing. The Hatter missed, period.

But he could feel the difference this time, between madness and grief.

The last time he’d sat here and thought about his Clan, there had been a gaping hole. A vacancy inside him so large he thought perhaps if someone had pricked him they’d see his emptiness just below the surface. This time he didn’t murmur to himself, didn’t feel so overwhelmed that he might disappear.

He was still sad, but no longer mourning. The sadness was bearable, comfortable even. A weight he felt he could carry for the rest of his life and not feel like he was suffocating under it. Slowly he sank to his knees on the ground, reaching down to weave his fingers into the grass. The stark white of his hands glowed brilliantly against the dusty green and he closed his eyes, letting the smell of the earth invade his senses.

“I promise tae laugh and ne’er take myself too seriously,” he murmured with the deepest, oldest Outlandish accent he’d used in years. The words flowed from his heart and translated to his parents’ voices as he spoke. “I promise tae love harder an’ forgive faster, tae be conten’, in e’ery sense o’ the word. Tae be thankful for the air in me lungs, an’ the years I was blessed tae have with ye.” A breeze kissed his cheek; he lifted his face towards it. “I promise tae try an’ have as big a hear’ as ye both did. Tae be selfless. I promise tae grieve tha’ absence of ye physical bein’ for only a momen’, an’ then I promise tae set ye free.” He opened his eyes and looked back at Alice, who stood watching him silently. Then he spoke, without taking his eyes off her: “I promise I will nae give up on others, even if I’m ready tae give up on meself.” He turned back to the ground, but felt Alice coming towards him from behind. He felt the pressure of her hand on his shoulder. “The most important promise I cannae ever break, despite me failures and losses, the promise tha’ carries the equivalence o’ all the rest combined be this...I promise to make ye proud, with all that I am. Fairfarren, me flesh an’ blood, me hearts.”

Was he crying? He couldn’t be crying, not in front of Alice. He had to be the strong one now. The Hatter plucked a blade of grass from his parents’ home and brought it to his mouth. He kissed it, wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, and blew it into the air. Together they watched the wind pick it up and carry it away. Alice placed both hands on his shoulders and leant over him, pressing her lips to his cheek.

“I think...” he said hoarsely, voice returning to normal, “I think I’m ready for you to call me Tarrant now. It’s too big an insult to their memory for me to hide behind my trade any longer.” She nodded and caught the hand that he wordlessly offered, helping him to his feet. He offered no resistance as she slid into his arms, slipping her hands into his coat and holding him tightly. “Here we are again, you looking after me,” he said with an apologetic smile. “It really mustn’t be this way.”

“Don’t be silly –”

“If I’m ever not silly I’d like you to strike me, Alice.”

“Oh, I will. We’ve got enough darkness between the two of us to create a night sky. But what I’m trying to say is that we look after each other, you know.” She smiled into his lapels, however tired and weak the action was. “We’re really quite hopeless, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” he replied, kissing the top of her head. “I’d say we are.” 

 ***

To most of the creatures of Underland, this was a day to celebrate the Hatter’s return to the world. Only Mirana and Chessur were the ones with a double agenda. While the others surrounded their newly revived Hatter with praise, applause – and meek apologies in some cases – the pair made sure to keep a close eye on their Champion. She was seemingly fine, if a little quiet: choosing to sit a few seats down from her Hatter to avoid the hullabaloo at the Tea Tables. She conversed politely with McTwisp and the Tweedles, smiling in the right places whilst sipping at a cup of tea.

Frankly, it was the politeness that worried Mirana.

“She’s charming, yes, but not well known for her etiquette,” she said in a low voice to the Cheshire cat. They were situated at the lower end of the tables, having both lost in a game of musical chairs. Mirana didn’t protest; the one rule of the Tea Tables was that there were no rules and that included propriety and pecking orders. The Queen found it refreshing. And it didn’t hurt that she could unashamedly spy on the Hatter and Alice without it being obvious. At the moment Alice had excused herself from a conversation with McTwisp and seemed to be searching for something beyond the tree line.

“She does seem a little lonesome, don’t you think?” said Chessur, hovering at the Queen’s shoulder with his cold and neglected tea. In unspoken agreement Mirana rose and they swiftly took up place beside the Champion. “Lonely without your beau, love?” purred the cat, “Goodness, he’s not that far away.”

Alice stopped tracing pictures into an iced bun with a toothpick and turned her attention to the Queen.

“He’s not going to start this all the time now, is he?” she asked, pointedly ducking her head around the cat to talk to Mirana. “I certainly don’t think I like him calling the Hatter my beau.”

“How terrifically rude,” Chessur said indignantly. Then he grinned. “She must be fine after all.”

“She is the cat’s mother,” Alice replied with a lilting smile. “Since I’m not yours I’d prefer if you’d address me properly, Chess.”

“You know if you’re going to be this rude I think I regret your decision to stay,” he harrumphed, but there was nothing other than a teasing grin on Chessur’s face. This solicited further quietness on Alice’s behalf, and Mirana thought it best that she take hold of the conversation.

“You don’t regret it, surely?” the Queen asked her, leaning forward with her elbows placed demurely on the table. She clasped her fingers to a point. “Alice, you know he’s only poking fun –”

“I’m not at all offended by anything Chessur says,” Alice interrupted, her gaze wandering over to the Hatter again. Mirana followed her line of vision. He was now engaging in an increasingly vigorous breadstick battle with Mallymkun. 

“He’s different,” Alice remarked to Mirana, without taking her eyes off him. “He talks with only one accent, and he’s standing up straighter than I’ve ever seen. He can control conversations instead of falling victim to the ramblings of his mind.”

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

“But...nobody’s noticed. He seems almost different person to me, but it’s as if...it’s made him more familiar to everyone else.”

“Dear Alice,” Mirana laid a hand on her wrist, “This is the real Tarrant. Before he ever started to lose his mind. He’s the man we knew for years, who...who disappeared, for some time.” Her brilliantly white teeth vanished behind a faltering smile. “But you’ve brought him back to us,” her teeth appeared again with a pearlescent grin, “A brand new old Tarrant Hightopp. For that I can’t ever thank you enough.”

Alice seemed only mildly satisfied with this. Mirana met eyes furtively with Chessur, who took the hint and promptly vanished.

“I know this is going to be difficult for you,” she said to her Champion, grasping her hand firmly now. “I know that in your situation you’re going to want a familiar Hatter. But Alice, I assure you, he’s the same man! He’s just...not as prone to dissolving into fits of tears.”

“Yes, that role belongs to me now,” Alice snapped.

Mirana wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but she tightened her grip on the young woman’s hand all the same. “I’m going to give you quarters in the castle,” she said tenderly, “You and Tarrant. Both of you have...lost your footing, and I want to provide you with as much as I can.”

“Please, you don’t have to do that,” Alice responded ashamed of losing her temper but more afraid of being treated like a child by Mirana too. 

“You’ll have your own tower, as much space as you need,” said the Queen, reading her mind. “I’m not going to pry you for details, Alice, nor will I disrespect you by pitying you. I just want you to be close, and to be around people who are there to help when you ask for it.” Her hand now cupped Alice’s cheek lightly, and she tried to impart as much faith and kindness to her as she could. “Think of me not as a mother or a queen, but as a friend.”

A complicated swell of emotions rose to Alice’s throat. She missed her mother. She felt lonely, but overcrowded. She wanted to be near the Hatter – no – Tarrant – she hadn’t yet called him that. Mirana could be a first real human friend, not a rabbit or her sister. Finding it hard to speak, certain she would burst at the seams with all these feelings, Alice simply nodded and curled her fingers into the tablecloth. Mirana poured them both a fresh cup of tea, although Alice didn’t seem at all interested in drinking hers, and they sat in companionable quiet.

Both found themselves wishing the festivities would be over soon, when from a few seats down a handsome voice called Alice’s name. They looked up to see the Hatter strolling towards them on the table, this time careful to pick his way around the cakes and teapots instead of stomping through them.

“Alice, shall we retire before Brillig? I’ve bested Mally too many times with our breadstick battles and there’s no Battenberg left.”

It would seem casual to everyone else, the way he bowed and offered her his hand from above...but beneath his hat were luminescent green eyes searching carefully for hers. I haven’t been ignoring you, the look said, just getting all this out of the way. Careful to keep up their happy appearance, Alice responded with an affected laugh. “Well, if the Battenberg is gone, I’d say we should follow suit,” she replied, taking his proffered hand. “Your Majesty, could we retire to the castle?” she asked Mirana, who smiled and stood graciously. She’d had her horse and two others waiting nearby to take them home with her, just in case.

“That’s a fine idea Alice,” she replied, “Have a pleasant afternoon everyone.”

The Hatter jumped down from the table with surprising grace and landed neatly beside Alice. Mirana gestured for her three startling white horses to approach.

“Zanzibar will carry you, Tarrant,” she told him, “And Alice shall be carried by Arista. Along with Celina, these three are the finest horses of Marmoreal.”

“Please, we don’t require your flattery,” said Arista modestly, and flicked her eyes back to Alice. “It’s a pleasure to bear your weight, Champion Girl.”

“Thank you...but I haven’t done much riding,” Alice replied nervously.

“I shall move so smoothly you’ll have no chance of falling,” the horse promised kindly. Alice smiled gratefully and wound her fingers into Arista’s mane as they set off for Marmoreal.

 ***

There he was again.

A man in the corner of her eye: a shadow, a whisper of a ghost. Henry. As Alice allowed herself to be led through the White Castle by the Hatter she kept catching glances of her imaginary husband. She’d seen him at the Tea Tables as well, smiling at her from behind a tree before vanishing. It had taken a fair amount of will power to keep from running to find him. But it seemed she didn’t need to search for him – he wouldn’t leave her alone. As they’d arrived at the castle gates she’d been offered a hand to help her dismount from Arista’s back. And just for a second, that hand had been Henry’s – the encouraging smile had belonged to him as well. But then she blinked and it was the Hatter who caught her as she faltered and slipped gracelessly from the horse.

“Are you certain you’re all right?” he’d asked in a whisper, as she’d collided with his chest.

“I’m not certain of anything,” she’d replied, I’m mad.

“We’ll be alone soon,” he’d told her reassuringly, and Mirana had led them into the castle.

Now they were alone, together, with him gripping her hand tightly as they made their way up the winding staircase of the Snud Tower. Their footsteps reverberated off the cool white walls as they walked – one two, three four...one two, three four. But for every fourth step that resounded, Alice would hear another set. Five six, five six. And she’d look behind her, paranoid, to see a glimpse of Henry hiding just out of sight.

“Nobody’s following us,” said the Hatter, “There’s nobody there, Alice.”

“No one you can see,” she replied, dropping her hand from his. Thoughts drifted, eyes glazed over – she was in that familiar place again, where Henry teased her imagination and nothing could ever be sad or terrible. Not if she let herself be lost. She barely acknowledged as the Hatter bowed and waited for her to pass through the door to their new quarters. Once inside, he fumbled around for an oil lamp. The weak evening light filtered like watercolours through the windows. It cast a pale curtain across the expansive circular bedroom, which was filled with exquisite furniture and portraits. The carpet was thick and springy beneath their feet. Alice felt as if she were being buoyed along – floating higher and higher, ready to hit the ceiling –   

 “It was kind of the queen to give us a temporary home in the palace, don’t you think?” the Hatter asked over his shoulder. “I dread to think the state my poor house is in after so long. But we can…we can return to it together some day soon, if you wish. That is, if you want to live with me, I completely understand if you’d rather stay here – though perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself –”

He turned around to see her dark figure shaking in the middle of the room.

“Alice?”

She said nothing. He gave up his search for the lamp and headed straight for her, catching her just before she sunk to the floor. Panicking, he wrapped his arms firmly around her.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he murmured gently, rocking her as she tensed and curled into herself. “You’re all right, you’re fine. You’re better than fine, you’re perfect. You’re the most perfect, most wonderful, muchness-filled Alice I’ve ever known...” he continued with a string of nonsense, hoping his voice would sooth her.

But there was nothing he could do to stem the tide that was to come.

She was finally letting herself cry.

Only it wasn’t crying; the word didn’t do her justice. It was a fit, a seizure of the limbs and spirit, her heart drowning as her body sank. Fingers unfurled and stiffened like gnarled branches, her breathing became one rattled gasp in and out as she tried to cry through a closed up throat. It was mental pain so deep it couldn’t be portrayed on the outside.

Tears could fall forever and not alleviate her anguish in the slightest.

For the past year and a half she’d been a wife, someone with a supposed purpose. She thought there’d been another voyage to be prepared for because she’d become so ill on the last. She thought she’d had a future in the trading company and a respected position. But now what was she? Homeless, jobless, with no family…it wasn’t as if she were simply switching from Henry to the Hatter, and nothing else would change. She no longer had an existence in England, and so had to build a new one here. But right now she had so very little to build from: a frayed memory, an assaulted body, a personality that ebbed and flowed with her mind. The only gold brick in the pile, the only thing she had to cling to, was this man beside her. This man that she loved, had nurtured, and had saved – who now had to do the same for her. Would he want to? Who would? Her sobs filled the room, echoing.

The Hatter held her as carefully as if she were his own heart. He massaged her hands, which had stiffened so fiercely that the bones stood out beneath her white knuckles. They said nothing to each other, just existed: she the empty shell, him the light that filled it. Time was playing tricks on him: it could have been days that passed or hours, he couldn’t tell. Didn’t care. His patience existed only to be spent on her, eternally. When she resurfaced from the Deep Dark Place, the first words she spoke were fractured, quivering, but unmistakable: “I can still see him.”

He smoothed down her hair. “Yes, I thought perhaps that was the case.”

“But he…” her voice drifted away, she caught it and spoke into his lapels. “ He was never in Underland before. There was no need because he’s you. And if that’s the case…why is he still here? I know what happened now, so I can’t see any reason for him to stay –”

“I still see my family,” the Hatter interrupted with a whisper.

“Y-you do?”

The strength of emotion in his voice dragged a sudden smile onto his face. “Oh, yes.”

“Where?”

His mind wandered to his dreams, to the people he’d see in the corner of his eye, to pure laughter bubbling away somewhere inside himself. “In all the most important places,” he answered hoarsely.

“Forgive me,” said Alice after some time, “But they were real. Henry is…was…”

“The creation of your needs and wants, Alice. And don’t you still desire the same things? Safety, protection, comfort?”

“But that’s what I have you for now.”

This time his smile was sad. “Yes, well perhaps your mind hasn’t quite caught up with your heart yet.”

“So he will go away?”

“Do you want him to?”

It took her a while to answer. “Not just yet…” she made a point of searching for his gaze. “Is that okay?”

“It’s understandable.”

“Well, that will have to do for now.”

He circled his arms around her more tightly, breathing in her scent. Her trembling had died down now, her gnarled hands dainty and free once more.

“Alice,” he murmured, a thought occurring. “I never said….thank you.”

“For what?”

“For saving me.”

She placed her lips against his neck and held them there. “You’re very welcome. I’m sorry I’ll have to ask you to return the favour so soon.”

“It’s a task I accept willingly and whole-heartedly.”

“I don’t know how I could ever have complained about being the responsible one,” Alice sighed, “It’s far easier to be needed than needy.”

“It’s a much nicer feeling, too,” he replied.

“And what’s to become of me now?” she asked quietly, “Am I to start all over again?”

“We both are,” he replied sombrely. “I have missed four years.”

“You’ve got much more catching up to do than I have,” she admitted. A yawn suddenly escaped from within and she blushed dazedly. “I’m sorry! I’m not bored of you –”

But he just chuckled. “It’s quite all right. I’m tired too.”

They looked at the bed that stood a little ways off, and then back at each other. Something comfortably warm sparkled in their eyes, and by unspoken consent the Hatter gathered Alice up in his arms and took her to the bed. For a split second they paused, hovering at the edge of it. A moment passed, two, where Time suspended himself and they clung to each other with uncertainty. It was getting dark now; the first rays of moonlight shone in through the window and cast them in shadow. But then Alice smiled mischievously, tightened her grip around his neck and sent them falling as one into the downy sheets. They laughed nervously, kissed feverishly, and then fell asleep wrapped up in each other and contemplating nothing but the stars.

 ***

It wasn’t morning yet, that much they knew.

What else lay beyond the doors, beyond the window of their room, Alice and the Hatter weren’t sure of...and didn’t much care. They awoke like a chain reaction: she startled herself into consciousness, jerking against him, and he woke up rolling his shoulders back and turning his face up to the moonlight. The alabaster skin of his neck stood out, beatific. Alice wondered why she would suddenly feel the need to kiss it.

“Riddle me something,” she said instead. Her voice could have been the only one to exist, ever, with all the purity it held in that moment.

Without question, without opening his eyes, the Hatter nodded. “Down below the shining moon, around the trees: a sacred gloom. Running with the midnight sky –” he blindly but confidently reached out his hand and stroked her cheek – “Knowing the thing that makes you cry,” he opened his eyes at this. She was transfixed. “Night is my full essence, eternal light betrays my presence. Soaring through my endless task, shadows are my faithful mask.”

Alice tried to smile into his hand, but couldn’t quite manage it. “It’s darkness again, isn’t it?” she guessed. “But my own this time, not yours.”

He nodded again. “I hope you’re not offended. It was the first thing that sprang to mind.” He yawned and stretched out against her so they lay together like parenthesis.

“I’m not,” she answered, looking down at the little space between them, and their hands now joined together. When had that happened?

It was difficult to comprehend that anything she did with the Hatter was brand new. His scarred and calloused hands pressing firm against hers, the whisper of his breath on her cheek...even the feel of him so solid but tender against her – these little actions that only belonged to lovers now belonged to the two of them. And yet she couldn’t fathom that this was a new story for her, uncharted waters: she had, for some time, had vague memories of being this way with Henry. They were pretend recollections, of course...but that didn’t stop them lingering in her thoughts as she lay with the Hatter. Nor did it help that she kept catching glimpses in her mind’s eye of a man in China weighing down upon her – invading her space – breaking her –

She became determined to rid both those men from her mind and spirit.

“Kiss me,” she demanded softly.

He did, without hesitation. But it didn’t last long enough.

“Again,” she said, locking her eyes with his. 

This time he refused her. “You’ve never asked to be kissed before,” he commented.

“What does it matter? I’m asking now.” She slipped her leg in between his, felt him shift his weight closer. Her breath hitched.

“It matters,” he said, “Because you’ve never kissed me. It’s always been the reverse.”

“What if I kiss you now?” she whispered, and did.

It wasn’t filled with confidence, not the way she was trying to sound. Her lips met tentatively with his, but meet was all they did. The Hatter felt her shaking again beside him, and pulled himself away.

“What’s going on?” he asked gently.

She would not cry anymore. “Do you think...if I wasn’t m-mad –?”

“You’re not mad, you’ve been hurt –”

“Please, I’m as gallymoggers as you were, and listen to me. If I wasn’t this way – because of what happened – would I still want you?”

Her breathing was shallow; he watched her lips part as she waited for his answer. He threaded one of her wayward curls through his fingers. “I can’t answer that for you,” he replied, “But I know that I’ve always wanted you, whether I was mad or not. The moment I saw you again, no longer a child but an intriguing young lady – I was rather helpless to stop it.” 

“But don’t you notice the difference? Don’t you wonder if this need, this – feeling – is far worse and goes far deeper than it did before you were mad?” She squeezed his hand. “I don’t want to want you because of something in my head.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have much choice,” he replied, “There’s no disentangling one from the other. I love you because you’re wonderful, and I love you because you helped me.”

She studied his tender smile, the curve of his neck that disappeared into his cravat. Reaching out slowly, Alice loosened and removed the piece of attire before setting her sights on the buttons of his coat. He made no move to stop her, but she felt him tense and stop breathing all the same. “And I love you because...you make me remember,” she told him without looking at him.

He looked horrified, and she quickly explained herself. “Not what happened to me, I don’t mean that – I mean...you make me remember myself. Who I used to be before my father died, and who I was before I ever set foot in China. I don’t love you because it’s easier to forget all the terrible things when I’m around you – it’s because I remember all the best parts of myself.”

He hadn’t known. She’d never told him what he did for her.

 “Thank you,” they both said simultaneously. He for finally being convinced of her need for him, she for all the things she’d just told him. Alice had finished unbuttoning his coat, and they both knew what it meant as she continued onto his vest. The Hatter shook his head imperceptibly. His fingers curled around hers, stilling them in their pursuit.   

“I can’t take advantage of you, not like this,” he murmured.

“It’s not taking advantage if I’m asking for –”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I know perfectly well!”

Shouting would no doubt only drive him further away, but she wanted him closer than he’d ever been. Alice drew a deep breath and released it very slowly. “I want you, Tarrant,” she told him in a calmer voice. “I want to be a part of you, but I can’t because – because I’m tainted by him.” Tears threatened to fall again. “And I can’t bear it anymore, I won’t...” she sniffed, feeling his legs shift around hers. She opened her eyes to find his staring right back at her. His expression was nothing she’d ever seen on him, but knew without a doubt what it meant.

“Say it again,” he whispered. The words needed water; they were dry as dust.

“What –”

He pressed his knuckles to her cheek, wiping his thumb over her lip. He was a man transfixed, a man obsessed. “Say my name again,” he clarified. Commanded. Begged.

“Tarrant,” she breathed out, a last rebellious sob escaping against her will. The name felt like home, like forever, inside her mouth. “Tarrant,” she repeated, just to taste it again. “Tar –”

The last of it he swallowed as he kissed her.

It was absolution, hearing her say his name. He’d been hiding from the weight of it for so long that it was only uttered by the White Queen and a vanishing cat, because it was too much to bear from anyone else. But now here Alice lay, calling him to her: Come out Tarrant, come on. He heard it although she no longer spoke. Yes, he thought, drawing his hands up her back, I can be that man again. Because truth be told, he’d had a few doubts. Only a few...but no more. Not now that he was Tarrant Hightopp, the man who would take every good thing this woman had done for him and give it back to her a hundredfold. She wanted to hide inside him, to be free of the memory of that monster? He would take her so far into the depths of his heart that she’d cry his tears instead of her own.

It’s happening, Alice thought over and over. Not again, just happening. This would not be like the man in China. This would be a first time, a time with Tarrant. Not some sort of sick repeat, or worse – faux repeat, with Henry. Their clothes were obstacles slowly overcome in between whispered words of comfort. She was nervously expecting to be laid bare – quite literally – for him to appraise her, but he did no such cruel thing. He spent no time staring boldly at her exposed body, just continued to kiss her with his eyes closed – and learnt the parts of her by hand instead. His fingers ghosted across her skin like a balm, measured and tender in their movements. Down her neck, over her breasts, whispering across her stomach – each part he left reeling in his wake. For such care, Alice was more grateful than she could say. This was no examination, this was a learning curve. And she intended to learn him just the same. Her nails raked through his hair, turning it into a fiery mess before journeying down his back. There were scars she would ask about later, thin jagged lines that were scattered beneath her palms. Were these fading blights to his skin proof of what had transpired when he’d given himself up to get her to Marmoreal? How much more had this poor man suffered for her? She promised she would find out, and never stop thanking him if it were so. She was glad to find no other scars as she splayed her palm against his abdomen, brushing the very tip of something hard as she did.

The movement stilled them both. Tarrant breathed out stiffly against her cheek, at last meeting her gaze. He lay above her, every part of them pressed together with searing heat. Her splayed hand travelled bravely down, just to touch him, to feel him.

Was it possible to want someone too much? Because Tarrant wanted Alice, indefinitely, all of her: all eight fingers, two thumbs, ten toes, two eyes, one nose, two petite ears…

“Are – are you thinking of a riddle?” she breathed out, “Because you’ve got that look on your face.”

“Aye,” he replied softly. “One two,” he murmured, reaching down to take her left hand, counting the fingers and stroking them with his own, “Three four five. Once I caught a fish alive.” He reached for the other and repeated the actions, “Six seven, eight nine ten. Then I let it go again.” He let one hand fall to grasp the other and squeeze the tips of her fingers.

“Why did you let it go?” she asked in a shaky voice.

“Because he bit my finger so,” he replied, eyes fluttering.

“Which finger did he bite?”

He brought her right pinky finger to his mouth and nipped the top of it. “This little pinky on my right.” This time Alice blushed as a deep moan arose from her throat. He released her finger, planting his hands either side of her body as she settled her hands on his shoulders.

He started a blazing trail of kisses down her throat and she let him. Her mind was adrift, body electric, eyes filled with stars. As he placed his lips just beneath her left breast she arched her back. She was soaring away to some far off place while still feeling the weight of her body in the bed, and he watched her starting to disappear, worrying she might leave him behind. Hastily setting kisses across her breast and collarbone he slid up over her body until his mouth was finally in line with hers, and caught her lips as they formed a silent gasp.

And she was back!

He groaned as Alice dug her nails into his shoulders tightly and hugged him to her. She was so thin, almost bony against the broad spread of his chest. Later on he would have to teach her how to eat properly again. Cakes and tarts and strawberries dipped in chocolate – thoughts of such sweets burst before his eyes as his hand pressed into her hip, and then further down. His fingers slid against her, inside her, and Alice could make no sound. She tensed, head flung back into the pillow, eyes glowing. It was loose at first, the feeling that stemmed from his fingers: loose and flowing, spreading throughout her nerves without direction. But the more she concentrated on the pads of his fingers and the tip of his thumb laying down over her, the more she began to tremble with the strength of it. There was nothing but this for some time, nothing existing other than her faint cries and his unheard words kissed onto her skin. Before she could be wound too tightly, pushed too far off the edge, Tarrant drew his hands back. He silenced her disappointed groan with a damp finger against her lips, because this moment needed careful precision.

An understanding passed between them. He aligned himself with her and the last barrier was met: Alice’s face became an exquisite portrait framed by Tarrant’s two hands, and with a barely-there kiss he moved himself inside her. From deep within his chest came a sound that had been waiting to come for months, years even. His kisses deepened in strength and affection, he felt the friction of her skin around him…

And Alice cried.

The salt of her tears tasted strange as they dripped down toward his lips, breaking his concentration. Alice cringed uncomfortably, wringing her hands in his hair and squeezing her eyes shut. He lay unmoving inside her, wiping the hair from her face.

“I can stop,” he whispered, but she shook her head furiously.

“Don’t.”

“But you’re hurting –” he swiped his thumb over her cheek. “Alice, look at me.”

She did, openly and trustingly, winding her hands tighter into his hair. “I’m fine,” she told him.

“We both know what that means.”

“It’s – it’s all right then. Just kiss me.”

“There you go again, you demanding wee bonnie,” he teased, and she laughed breathily.

As their mouths fused together he began to move in slow increments, giving her time to get used to the feeling. It was a different kind of hurt than she’d expected. Not a breaking feeling, but more of a burn. Like old wounds being torn open. Which was most likely the problem, she conceded. But there was no time to be bitter about it because her nerves were starting to sing again. Eventually she forgot about the pain and listened to the music of them. She and Tarrant moved like a tide, rising and falling in waves to their own rhythm. With each roll of her hips the cold memories of China and of Henry became more distant. Not gone, but less important. Weights lifted off her chest that she hadn’t known were there. She could breathe more deeply than she had in years. Her fingers wound into the tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck. She closed her eyes and smiled. Drawn onto her eyelids, in the dark, she saw Henry’s face. Except he wasn’t her imaginary husband, he was almost not quite Henry. The tanned skin paled into something more like milk, the hair burst forth into a tangle of burnt orange. Tarrant was now more present in her mind than Henry, a triumphant thought if ever one existed. A multitude of information rolled through her: the smell of hot caramel and damp skin, the taste of cinnamon and tea, Tarrant’s fingers digging into her skin and the constant thought that it was him, him, him – no other man – not ever again – only him –

Sweet bliss was broiling inside her, overtaking any pain and shadowy unease that had originally clogged her heart.

They could never have imagined, all those years ago, that they’d finally be here. Kissing and clutching at one another and – in one moment of wild abandon – cursing unabashedly. The Oraculum had foretold Alice’s return, had set a dead line for the death of the Jabberwocky and given hope that the Mad Hatter would no longer be so. But it could never have told them the depths to which they’d fall, the lengths each would go to save the other...not the taste of Alice’s skin or the strength with which he would hold onto her. And they were glad – grateful, giddy with the thought – to have all this come as one beautiful surprise rather than lain out before them in detail. There would still be madness. It would be a chaotic future filled with noise and tears and laughter and riddles...but it was their future and that was the only detail that mattered to them. Tarrant’s back arched as he reached his crescendo and he begged her for a kiss. His every emotion was transferred to Alice in that single moment: toes curled, eyes rolled to the heavens and a burning, delicious fire raged through every part of her. The world turned upside down – or right side up, maybe, finally – but the only thing to stay clear and focused was the expression in one another’s eyes. His evergreen eyes, hers as deep as the centre of the earth – the heart and soul and slight touch of madness that they would never tire of reading from each other. 

As Alice’s arms encircled his neck a beautiful, wonderful thought came to her: 

This is how it feels. Real love. I need never imagine it again.

Peace: Part Two

She loved him.

She wanted to be with him.

She’d chosen him, the Mad Hatter, the man with mixed emotions, to fix her.

No matter how many different ways he said it he couldn’t grow tired of the notion. In fact, the Hatter thought, I doubt I’ll ever be tired of anything again. Not the total dark of night they were now shrouded in, not the fact there was so much more planning and hard work to come; he even found himself to be excited about throwing phrases and scones at the twitchy March Hare again. Nothing could ever be boring or irritating or distracting, not when he had Alice Kingsleigh resting in his lap and telling him she loved him. Of course, he knew that this was the easiest part. Soon would come the time when Alice would have to face her new reality – The Bad Thing about Her Husband, The Even Worse Thing That Caused It, and The Thing about Her Family Living in another World. He’d half expected her to have lost the plot by now, overwhelmed by all those Terrible Things. And in a small way she had, reverting to a somewhat child-like state after admitting her feelings. They’d been entwined together for some time now, but he wasn’t keeping track. He was revelling in the feel of her slight weight across his legs, in the way her hair tickled the pulse point of his neck as she rested her head on his chest. She really did give the impression of a delicate little thing, though he knew this to be the result of her tiresome inner struggles. The Champion Alice was lurking somewhere inside her just waiting to be found again. It was a bitter victory, he conceded. He’d won her heart but broken it a little in the process. He vowed to spend the rest of forever mending it for her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair for the hundredth time, wondering idly if bobby pins and thread would hold a heart together.

And for the hundredth time, she replied: “I know.”

She knew he was sorry for confronting her about the Bad Thing, but thinking about this made her stomach ache and her thoughts run wild with unease: in short, it made her feel like someone a little less than Alice, and she couldn’t bear that. Not when it was Alice the Hatter adored, Alice who had so many kind friends. Who would ever want this diminished, mad girl she’d suddenly become? She’d spoken all this aloud, tired of thinking thoughts, tired of her mind, and the Hatter collected her hand in his tenderly before replying:

“But you haven’t suddenly become anyone. You’ve been mad for a long time, just haven’t known it.”

“You knew it.”

“Not always. And now that I know…well, I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are.” She breathed in the silky smell of his jacket, soaked up the heat of his hand in hers. Henry never felt this real. Henry. Her stomach did a somersault.

“And your family loved you enough to try and protect you from yourself.”

“Yes, they did.”

Talking about her family also gave her the Less Than Alice feelings, so she chose not to think about them just yet.

“Why would you love me if you knew I’d gone round the bend?” she murmured.

“I could ask the same of you.”

She grinned into his lapel, but the guilt that followed immediately was almost too much to bear.

“Was that a smile, Alice? A real smile?”

“No,” she replied.

“I think it was.”

“I ought to know if it was or wasn’t a smile.”

“You’re allowed be happy, Alice. Even just a little bit.”

But it was hard to explain to him, the guilt she felt. There was still too much to worry about, come to terms with. Why should she feel even remotely happy when somewhere her sister was worrying about her, somewhere the White Queen pitied her…somewhere she was a girl who’d been broken?

“I can’t,” she replied in a hoarse voice, “It isn’t right.”

“Because you’ve caused so much trouble for others that you don’t deserve a little peace,” he said.

“That’s not – I –”

“That’s what it feels like, doesn’t it? Alice, I thought for a long time that I didn’t deserve anybody, any help, anything –”

“All things beginning with any?”

“Exactly. But you know why you troubled them, don’t you?”

“Because…because they care about me.”

“And they still do.”

He shifted slightly and she lifted her gaze up to his. “Alice, nobody in Underland knows about this except Mirana and I. Nobody pities you or feels any different about you. We all still want you to stay with us, and be whoever you want to be.”

Lowering her head onto his chest again, she sighed heavily. “All I want is to be Alice.”

“That’s an excellent choice, if I may say so.”

“But Alice has a family…” she murmured, experiencing sharp Less Than Alice feelings again. This time unable to ignore them, she steeled herself and boldly asked: “Can – can I go back to England?”

There was a silence so thick he could hear his very blood freeze at the words. It was hard to force out a voice through his tight jaw, but he managed somehow.

“Oh – but – what?”

It wasn’t as fun to see him flounder as she’d thought it would be. She took pity on him. “Not to stay,” she assured him, “Just to tell my mother.”

His brain was still functioning a few seconds behind his mouth. “Oh…oh!”

At last his panicked voice began to form actual sentences again. “Yes of course!” he answered, “Absolutely! But Alice, this time…could I…” he sheepishly looked at her from under the brim of his hat.

Alice smiled again, tipping his hat up so she could see his face clearly. He looked like a wary child.

“What is it?” she asked, placing her palm against his cheek.

The fluid motion gave him a sudden courage. “MayIaccompanyyou?” he asked in a single breath.

“You’ll have to use spaces, Hatter, I can’t understand you.”

“May I accompany you?” he said more clearly, “It’s just that I’m growing tired of waiting for you for days when you only spend a few hours from me. It’s almost like you’re cheating.”

He smiled hopefully and she waited for the twist of unease in her stomach to settle down. Taking him to England couldn’t be too terrible, could it? He wouldn’t quite stick out like a sore thumb…oh, bother. What did it matter if he did? He couldn’t be any stranger than she imagined she must have been, wandering the halls of Kingsleigh House chattering to a man nobody could see. There would no doubt be rumours following her disappearance after her visit anyway, so at least she’d give them something to talk about. And now that she remembered...what had happened...the Hatter was the only person she truly wanted to be with, wanted to attach herself to, wanted to crawl deep inside his heart and fall asleep and never wake up –

It was just much easier to worry about taking him along than it was to think of anything else.

“Cheating?” she repeated, pretending to be affronted. “I’d hate you to think so little of me. Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

“No, we absolutely cannot.” The Hatter watched the way she forced out a cheerful smile. She was all right now, at This Very Moment, but he knew that sooner or later there would be hell to pay for the things his Alice had learned.

 ***

“Hatter, you’re staring at me.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t realise; I apologise.”

“It’s all right. Hatter, you’re doing it again!”

“Am I?”

“Yes!”

“I’m sorry!”

“I don’t think you are!”

“I assure you I am at least…somewhat regretful about it.”

The Hatter simply tipped his hat up and let Alice roll her eyes – well, that is to say, he didn’t comment on it. He couldn’t physically stop her from rolling them – but they did turn a strangely pleasing coffee colour when they turned upwards…he shook his head. Yes, his mind was wandering quite easily at the moment, which was why he kept staring at her. But he was nervous! He was about to enter the Otherworld to meet with Alice’s foreboding mother for an unfortunate second time, and Alice wasn’t acting like herself! With her fast-changing moods and inability to choose between talking to him or empty air, she was acting more like a mad hatter than anyone else. Appreciating just how much work it must have been for her to care for him in the past few months, he resignedly took her hand and vowed to do his best.

His worries escalated when they reached the willow tree that served as a doorway and she no longer seemed like too much of anyone. Her shoulders trembled at odd intervals, calm one instant and frenzied the next. Her teeth chattered as she spoke once and the next her voice was perfectly mellow.

“Alice? Are you certain you want to do this now?” he asked her worriedly.

“I’m certain I don’t want to do this later,” she replied, teeth chattering again as if she were freezing.

“Come here,” he commanded softly, and he swept off his jacket and hung it around her shoulders. Alice was splintering. Soon, there would be no more fragments of her left. He knew this because he’d experienced it firsthand four years ago. But with the scent of him draped around her she seemed to settle, taking a brave breath and laying a hand on the bark of the tree.

“If I don’t go now, I might never,” she whispered, and waited for the tree trunk to fold into itself. The dark hole appeared, and she met eyes with the Hatter once for reassurance before stepping through. He dipped his hat to a better angle and waited until he saw her back disappear before following suit. He almost bumped into her when clambering out, for she was standing so close to the doorway. They continued to stand just inches apart for several long moments.

“There’s plenty of space out here, Alice, you don’t need to occupy just this little part.”

“I do if you’re also occupying it.”

The walk to Kingsleigh House was a silent one after that.

A silent and rather long walk, in which Alice took his hand and tugged him along like a child, her eyes fixed on the mansion in the distance. They exchanged glances, but not much in the way of words, and so the Hatter was left to only guess at what the actual meaning behind the looks might have been. While he pondered on what the last look she’d given him could mean he anxiously arranged the angle of his hat again, and she at last stopped dragging him along to speak with him.

“Your hat looks fine as it is, there’s no need to change it for the plimpteenth time,” she scolded him.

“Plimpteenth, Alice?”

“Yes, you’ve done it so many times now that umpteenth hardly sounds accurate. I’ve had to conjure up a new word for just how many times you’ve rearranged your hat.”

He flashed a genuine smile, both sheepish and proud. She couldn’t be splintering too badly if she could find the time to make up ridiculous words. “Plimpteenth…” he repeated, “You know, I think I like it.”

“You can have it if you want,” she said with a sort of half-smile, bouncing ahead of him now and quite forgetting where they were headed.

“Surely we could share it, at least,” said the Hatter, relishing the hearty conversation of nonsense that they hadn’t had in a while. He was barely aware that they’d now reached Kingsleigh House, happy as he was to see her taking the front steps backwards as she spoke.

“By all means take it,” she answered, “There’s plenty more where that came – oomph!” 

Alice collided with someone solid at the top of the stairs. A hand came around her waist just in time to stop her falling off the top step.

“Miss Kingsleigh, you must be careful,” said a man’s voice, a servant called Wheatley. When Alice realised it wasn’t the Hatter’s arm around her she tensed up and made to shove the man away, but he quickly let go once he’d steadied her. She nodded mutely, vaguely aware of a hot flush in her cheeks as she stole back to the Hatter’s waiting side where it was safe. There were several following seconds of awkward silence, in which Wheatley took in the sudden appearance of his dishevelled young mistress and her bizarre-looking friend, hoping for them to excuse him.

“Wheatley, could you please tell us where my mother and sister are?” Alice asked when she had found her voice.

“I believe that both Mrs Kingsleigh and Mrs Manchester are still in the conservatory.”

“Still?”

“Yes, they’ve been conversing all afternoon…” Wheatley faltered, feigning an uncomfortable cough. “They seem quite concerned about something.”

“Something or someone?” Alice enquired.

Again, Wheatley coughed. He was looking quite faint, and kept glancing fearfully at the Hatter. “I don’t – I’m not sure, Miss –”

“It’s quite all right, I know the answer,” she interrupted, looking to the Hatter with a tight expression and huddling closer to him. “Come on, the conservatory’s this way,” she said to him, and started off around the side of the building.

“You may want to do something for that cough,” said the Hatter to poor Wheatley, who watched them go looking more flabbergasted than ever.

Trying to catch his breath before entering Marmoreal, the Hatter wondered how Alice could stand running away so often. He’d just run the entire distance to the White Queen’s castle, and it was not an experience he wished to repeat any time soon. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he took a deep breath and entered through the enormous archway that led into the gleaming castle. Instantly a conflicting wave of relief and apprehension washed over him. It felt wondrously good to be here at last, but at the same time he felt as if he were trespassing. It had been such a long time, how could he still be allowed to enter the Queen’s court?

“No,” he heard himself murmur, “Now is not the time for fear. Alice needs me.”

He squared his shoulders, repositioned his hat to a more daring angle, and strode towards the White Hall. As he passed he could feel a subtle vibration in the air – which built up to an audible humming, and then loud, clear notes. A cacophony of jarring discord that beat in time to his heart. He’d thought at first he had begun to play music in his head to make the moment seem dramatic. But it was actually the trees. The pink-leafed trees that lined the entrance to the White Hall, who had obviously benefited from the White Queen’s singing lessons in the past four years. The last time he’d passed their swaying ranks they had not managed anything more than a sweet whisper of a tune.

“You’ve definitely improved,” he told them, though he knew these trees to be listeners rather than talkers. “And you’ve even learned to set the atmosphere! If I wasn’t in such a great rush I would tell you I’m very impressed.”

He thought he heard their tone drop to something not quite as over-the-top, something more welcoming, and smiled as he continued on. The doors were already open as he approached, which was mildly disappointing as he’d hoped to throw them forcefully open to gather everyone’s attention. The better he had them listening, the sooner. He stifled a giggle at the thought, feeing giddy now with anticipation as he strode purposefully through the White Hall. He was ready to burst in equal parts excitement and apprehension, because surely he should not be storming the castle on his own without permission? But he had to find Mirana.

“White Queen,” he berated himself, “Or Your Majesty. I must remember my manners.”

At last he found a sign of life: at the foot of the largest staircase, a fish-servant was scrubbing the marble until it shone.

“You there,” said the Hatter, ignoring the look of shock and fright on the fish’s face.

“Where is the Queen? I must speak with her!”

“She’s – she’s in her office, sir,” the fish replied, “But she’s terribly busy, I don’t think –”

“Then I shall have to make her day regrettably busier,” he interrupted, and began taking the stairs two at a time.

He bounded over the top step and bolted down the corridor at a speed that was most indecent in a Royal Castle, narrowly avoiding a frog-servant who had unfortunately found himself in the way. Flinging himself around a corner, he at last reached the beautifully engraved white door that signified the White Queen’s Office. It took all his restraint to at least be polite enough to knock.

“Come in,” called a strained voice from within.

“Your Majesty,” he said at once upon entering the room, “I have terrificle news –”

“–Tarrant?” Mirana exclaimed, casting her usual airiness aside. Her quill dropped onto parchment with a delicate splattering of ink to accompany it and she gazed at him open-mouthed. It was a good few moments before she had the good grace to close it and simply stare at him.

Her reaction reminded him once again of the irritating fashion of manners, and he hastily bowed before approaching her desk.

“Your Majesty, I have terrific – terrible - terrificle news of Alice,” he said again, in a sombre tone he hadn’t expected to use. He even dared to splay his hands on the wooden desk and stare imploringly down at her.

There was a pregnant pause, in which they both could see how their clever friend Time had seen fit to change them.

Mirana had not seen her former Hatter in just over a year, though not for lack of trying. In the first year of his madness he had shunned her more than any of the others, making it so difficult to visit that she had been forced to admit defeat. He hadn’t let her inside his hut, nor had he ever said anything to her other than an aggressive ‘go away’, barely recognisable in his heavy accent. In his second year, he had cried so intensely during her visits she feared his very heart would break at the next sight of her. The third year he gave no acknowledgement of her existence at all. The fourth…she had stopped coming. Her world was rebuilding itself and needed a leader with a mind set on the future, not the past. And that point, the Oraculum had shown them Alice would be coming, and her guilt had given way to anticipation. But now she could truly see the damage his years alone had done: despite the time spent with Alice again he was still thin, his clothes in need of repair. His hair, strangely enough, had not grown an inch. It looked as if it had simply given up, turned a dark muddy red and was now not bothering to shine. His face bore the expression of an impossibly tired man. It was exhaustion so bone-deep that a million years’ rest would not erase the lines under his eyes.

But his eyes…they gave her the answer she’d been hoping for. They were burning bright green, so brightly that she could see the beginnings of rebirth in him: the very tips of his hair were that impossible orange, his face was tired but excited, and he had at least patched up his torn cravat.

“Dearest Tarrant,” she murmured, “Why didn’t you let me help you?”

The Hatter studied her carefully, noticing the tension in her posture that had never existed before. Her heavy lidded eyes showed no sign of the wayward fluttering they were once famous for. But her gaze was steady, her hand clutched tightly in a ball, like she were gathering muchness within it. She looked like a woman trying very hard not to be overwhelmed. His mouth opened and closed over the words he’d been about to speak – the words about Alice. Thrown off balance by her tender use of his real name after so many years, he instead cast his mind back – with significant difficulty – to remember why he’d turned her away in the first place. “I…I blamed you, Your Majesty…” he whispered, ashamed. “I blamed you for not persisting with Alice, persuading her to stay. And then…then I felt as if I’d failed you. I was the Royal Hatter, and I had abandoned you…but of course with that came the thought that I was merely a Hatter. What great betrayal had I committed, really? I was never an important part of your life, Your Majesty.”

He closed his eyes gently.

She smiled sadly. “Please call me Mirana, Tarrant. You’re a friend, not just a Hatter, and I won’t have you think so little of yourself ever again.”

This time when he bowed it was out of respect, and gratitude, and all the good things that politeness should be about rather than mere tradition.

“Now what is it that you’ve come to tell me?” she asked, more calmly than she felt. After all, why was he here and not with –?

“Alice isn’t married,” the Hatter breathed out. “She’s just mad.”

Mirana kept her face carefully blank. “She’s just….mad.”

“Gallymoggers!” he confirmed, “Bonkers! Mad as a March hare, barmy, round the bend! Call it what you wish, she’s ill!” he clenched his hands in fists on the table and his eyes desperately searched hers for understanding. Mirana was now not sure what to make of him. He had seemed so much better, so much more like his normal self…she peered closer, but no…there was no discernible trace of madness in his gaze. But how could their Champion be mad? Alice was a daydreamer, yes, but she was also quite level-headed and sound.

“Your Majesty?” the Hatter enquired when she still said nothing. “Mi-Mirana…please, I need your help. I must help Alice.”

She cleared her throat. “What did you say? She’s not married?”

Now they were coming to the delicate part of the story. The Hatter sighed heavily and started wringing his hands in front of her. “Aye, there’s no husband. She’s just imagining him.”

Oddly, Mirana noticed that his voice seemed to be changing. It was not an aggressive tone, nor was it his gentle lisp-tainted sound. It was a subdued, deeper voice, with just a hint of his brogue. It was vaguely familiar coming from him, a sound she hadn’t heard since before…

“I have to help her, but I don’t know what to do,” he continued, starting to pace. “I need a woman – well, that is to say, I need another woman – not that I’m not happy with the one I’ve got – well, I don’t quite have her, I almost do – but that’s not to say I own her, almost or not –”

“Tarrant!” she cried, trying not to smile. He was too much like his old self. Though he did wince as she used his name again. Mirana wondered briefly if the memories behind it hurt him.

“I’m fine,” he bit out, “It’s Alice that’s not.”

“What makes you think she’ imagining Henry?”

And with an expression that wiped the almost-smile from Mirana’s face, the Hatter told her of the assault, of the madness, of the husband nobody could see. When he was finished he was quite red in the face, both with anger and unease, and couldn’t stand still. All that could be heard was the cracking of the Hatter’s knuckles as he paced the room, casting furtive glances at her. Taking a few calming breaths, Mirana pressed her face into her hands and stayed that way for some time. At that moment she was immensely grateful for the years of Royal training that had taught her how to be logical despite emotional distress. This was a tender subject, and she needed to think of something perfect or Alice would be lost.

She would have to speak with Absolem…but no one else. The Hatter was adamant – and completely right – that nobody else in Underland could know of this. Of course, once she did ask the butterfly, he would more than likely advise her to read the Oraculum and find out what should happen. However, not only were the oracle’s illustrations open to interpretation, but it was against Mirana’s personal rule. She didn’t believe in living her life by how it was predicted. That was why she only allowed the Oraculum to be read once a month unless something as important as the Haverlock Day was discerned from a reading. The Haverlock Day…it was only three days away. But maybe they could just borrow from it? A few ideas? The Hatter had given Alice a list of his feelings for her. But feelings couldn’t be read, they needed to be seen. He needed a grand gesture. If Alice could see how focused, how almost completely cured he was…If she could see that he’d overcome his own madness to help her with her own, then surely she would listen?

“All right, I know what to do,” she said at last, emerging from the cover of her palms. The tone of her voice was warbling on the verge of something powerful. The Hatter stopped moving and met her gaze with equal force. “And you must succeed,” she told him, “Because Alice must choose to stay. The thought of who she becomes when she’s up there, in that world…I can’t bear it.”

“Nor can I,” replied the Hatter quietly.

Later, when their plan had been set, Mirana sent for McTwisp. She asked him to gather the Hatter’s friends, and they met soon after along with Absolem and the Tweedles. Mirana was watching the Hatter speak animatedly of his plans for Alice, and the way the others were trying to look surprised about the idea of a tea party for two. He didn’t know that this notion was borrowed from the Haverlock Day they all knew about. Nor did they know the definite reason for his sudden urge to impress Alice. Mirana followed the way he waved his hands for emphasis, his eyes glowing, and smiled to herself.

“I thought the Haverlock Day was when Alice would cure the Hatter,” she said in an undertone, “Not the other way around. You and the Tweedles read the Oraculum wrong, Absolem.”

“I read nothing wrong,” replied the butterfly, “I did say the Hatter would be cured on the day, did I not? I only neglected to mention that Alice would benefit from the day too.”

“So you’ve noticed too, have you?” replied Mirana with a smile, still watching the Hatter.

“He’s definitely almost cured,” Absolem declared. “He’s almost as mad as he was before.”

“Do you think we should tell him?”

“Where would be the fun in that?” replied the butterfly.

 ***

It was all to do with timing.

If Chessur had just happened to be heading to Marmoreal when the Hatter had, it was not his fault. If he also just happened to be visiting Mirana at the same time, he couldn’t be blamed. If he had then been about to materialise in the Queen’s office when he realised the Hatter had beaten him there, it only made sense that he would simply stay as an inconspicuous grin on the wall and wait his turn.

If he happened to overhear every bit of their conversation, really, it wasn’t exactly his fault.

It had all been rather poor timing, just like Alice now being more than late to return to the Hatter. And really, seeing as he now knew of the importance of the Hatter’s plan, it would be wrong not to try and find the girl and find out what the devil was taking her so long.

It had nothing whatsoever to do with a heroic wish to help Alice, he would argue, if anyone dared suggest it. It was simply that he couldn’t bear seeing a perfectly good afternoon tea go to waste. No, it wouldn’t do to let everyone know he had a soft side, or else he’d be asked for help so often there would be very little time left for grinning. It didn’t take long to find her that afternoon.

“You have an unusual habit of lurking in doorways, love,” he commented, un-vanishing himself at her side. She was pacing around the willow tree to her world, looking distraught.

“I like having a view of both sides,” she replied without looking at him. She was throwing glances over her shoulder at the tree. Thinking that it was not an overly interesting thing to be glancing at, Chessur cleared his throat loudly to focus her attention.

“Or is it simply that you’re unsure of where you want to go?” he ventured. Seeing that a simple fake throat-clearing was not going to work on her, he gave up on any pretence. “The Hatter’s waiting for you,” he told her.

“The Hatter’s always waiting for me,” she replied distractedly, flicking a hand as if to brush him away. She stopped pacing and finally seemed to see him. “Henry was here, Chess.”

“Oh?”

“That’s all you can say? Oh? My husband was here, Chessur, just a second ago! He’s never followed me before, but he was – he was there –” she pointed at a spot just beyond the closest tree, “– and then he was gone! Do – do you think he’s gone wandering off? He loves new places, he always said – but why wouldn’t he talk to me if he was just there –?” she was pacing again, and Chessur got the distinct impression she was no longer speaking to him.

Desperate times, he thought. “The Hatter’s gravely ill, I’m afraid,” he announced loudly.

“The Hatter’s always wait– what?” Alice ground to a halt, staring at the cat. “What did you say?”

“He’s taken leave of his senses, completely, and it’s caused a brain fever. He’s terrifically sick.”

A heavy, heavy weight dropped somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach. She wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to digest the news calmly, but panic was setting in fast. Panic, nausea, helplessness, unease, help me, oh please let this be a mistake –

“Take me to him,” she bit out, “Please.”

With his feeling of victory being marred only slightly by guilt, Chessur led the way. He kept a watchful eye on her as he glided through the trees. She was still holding herself as she stumbled after him, a glazed expression on her face. There was something wrong about her. She looked pale and grey, like she was fading out of sight. Maybe he wasn’t the only one with evaporating skills. Or maybe it was more important than ever that she get to the Hatter right away.

At any rate, he was very glad when they finally reached the place.

They stopped at thick copse of trees, the other side of which resided the Hatter.

“I shall leave you to it,” he told her, but she looked around at him wildly.

“To what? What am I supposed to do? I’m not a doctor –”

“Good, because he doesn’t need one,” he replied, gesturing at the trees and then vanishing from sight.

Alice closed her eyes, recognising the Panic, the Nausea and the Helplessness that had made a sudden acquaintance with her in the last few days. She wasn’t used to being the weak one, the frightened one. But ever since her kiss with the Hatter she’d felt like she’d been knocked off her feet. Things that were once so straight forward now felt twisted and difficult. What rational woman would rather spend time with a madman than her husband? What would drive someone to turn their back on their family so easily? How could she be the one to help, now, if it felt like she was the mad one? Taking a deep breath, she pushed her way through the trees and stumbled out the other side.

And found she had another impossible thing to believe: just the sight of the Hatter was enough to make her feel sane again.

He was sat at one end of a long table alight with candles, and instantly she felt herself being drawn towards him, cares be damned. He was not on his death bed, nor was he raving mad. The Cheshire cat had obviously played a cruel trick, and she made a mental note to be cross with him later. For now though, she was burning with curiosity. The Hatter was yet to display any obvious emotion. What was he doing out here alone in the evening?

“Hatter, what have you been doing?” she asked gently, approaching the warmth of the glittering table.

But as she looked closer at the set up she realised it was far more intricate than a simple tea party. The setting sun illuminated the table in a rich pink hue, broken up by splashes of light from flickering white candles. There were scattered red and white roses, like drops of blood in snow. Delicately frosted cakes surrounded silver and black teapots and cups.

Perfect, shining teapots with not a single crack in them. He’d clearly gone to a lot of trouble.

He was gazing at her expectantly, his eyes impossibly wide with an emotion she couldn’t interpret. It was hard to see the colour of them in the light. “Hatter, you did all this for me?” she spoke the realisation out loud.

When he replied, it was with a voice she hadn’t heard before. By Underland standards it was exceptionally ordinary, but up in England it could have been charming. It was certainly less mad than the voices he normally used.

“Well I certainly didn’t do it for the March Hare. Please,” he gestured to the seat beside him at the head of the table, “You must sit.”

She sunk into the padded chair and was overwhelmed by the heat and the heady scent of the candles. The flames danced across his face so it was difficult to read. Alice glanced at him nervously, thinking of the picture in the Oraculum with the two of them…

“How long did this take?” she asked in a dry voice.

“A few hours, at most. I was adamant that it would be perfect.”

“How strange,” she replied, thinking of the short time she’d just spent in England. “I was only away for a few hours as well. The two worlds must be running alongside each other for once.”

“Actually,” he said carefully, “It’s been three days.”

She blanched. “Three days?”

He said nothing, just watched her. She peered through the shadows at the long table before her, and realised with a pang of guilt…the cakes were indeed looking harrowed and stale, the tea pots were not billowing steam. The intricate little candles were burning very close to the quick, with wax drying in lumps on the table. Her heart sank.

“I’m so sorry, Hatter. You must be furious with me.”

But the sudden realisation that it had been three days made her insides squirm. If three days had passed…then it was Haverlock Day. This wasn’t an innocent, pretty tea party for two. This was the night the Hatter would say something to make her finally fall for him, absolutely, earnestly, completely. She would betray her husband, but accomplish what she’d been working towards for months: curing the Hatter. I don’t think I can do this, she thought, despite the fact she’d up and left her sister and Henry to run back to him. Instantly, maybe even without conscious recognition, she hardened her resolve and prepared to ignore anything even remotely enticing that might come from him. No, he was not going to trick her into falling in love with him. She’d cure him some other way.

And although he was feeling sharper and more clear-headed than he’d felt in years, now was not the time for clever tricks. Now was the time for embracing the truth, or they would both be lost.

“I’m not furious, Alice. I’m not even remotely agitated,” he told her in that same, measured voice. He rested his chin in his hands, elbow sitting unnoticed in a bowl of cream, and settled his calm gaze on her. “I’m actually rather grateful.”

Alice copied his movements, raising a dubious eyebrow. “Nobody has ever been grateful for lateness, Hatter. You’ve had to kill Time on numerous occasions just waiting for me.”

“Time and I have an agreement now, in which any errors on my part relating directly or indirectly to Alice Kingsleigh are to be excused and or forgiven,” he recited quickly, “Given that it happens so often and it would be a simple inconvenience if Time were to take offence to every little thing I did in the future.”

“But that still doesn’t explain why you’re grateful.”

“What does one do with spare time?”

“This isn’t a time for riddles, Hatter.”

“But this isn’t a riddle, Alice. This is a confession. I used my spare time to think, of course.”

Now aware that she’d also let her elbow rest on something that wasn’t just table cloth, Alice finally averted her gaze to wipe the crumbs off herself.

“Oh?” she replied distractedly, “And what have you been thinking about?”

He watched patiently as she moved the cake away. “Ravens and writing desks…and things that begin with M,” he answered.

“So the usual, then?”

“The unusual, actually: matrimony, misunderstandings…and madness.”

This got her attention. She felt her resolve harden again. He was going to tell her why he would make a better husband than Henry, why he wasn’t too mad to love her. She was ready for it. “And what did you come up with while thinking of such things?” she asked.

“That I’m not the one who needs help, Alice,” the Hatter whispered, “It’s you.”

So it isn’t tonight after all, she thought, He’s still deranged. “Hatter…” she murmured sadly, laying a hand on his arm, “I thought you were getting better.”

He wasn’t going to be swayed. “No, Alice, really –”

“–I thought today you’d be –”

“I’m fine! I am! Alice, please listen –”

He was gripping her arms firmly. She looked down at his calloused, pin-pricked hands wrapped around her and felt as if she were suffocating.

“Please let go,” she bit out, her vision blurring.

“You must listen –”

“I will! I’ll listen just – just let go!” she begged, choking back a sob.

Instantly he did, and she felt a prickling relief roll down her spine.

It took her a moment to realise the harsh breathing that filled the air was her own. The Hatter did nothing but watch sadly as he waited for her to calm down. “You’re getting worse,” he uttered, “Don’t you see, Alice?”

“Why am I like this?” she replied in a hushed voice, “I never…I liked it when we touched, Hatter. But now…”

“May I tell you a story?” he asked, and she nodded. Tentatively his fingers sought out hers, his thimble-topped thumb stroking the back of her hand. He waited until this little motion calmed her before starting to speak. “Twas just shy of Brillig when a Hatter, mad as myself, for it was myself, called upon the help of his once-forgotten friends. Twas three days ago when I held grave concerns for these involved parties-thrice: this tea party you see before you; myself, for I was sure to lose any marbles I’d gained if this plan were to fail…and most of all you, Alice. I held concerns for your muchness and your mind, both of which had taken such a slithey beating you weren’t aware of it.” Half of her was poised to flee, half felt itself listing towards him, eager for more information. The stroking of her hand remained a constant, subtle force that kept her rooted to the spot. “But by the end of the second day, when the tea was sadly cold and the Bread-and-Butter-Flies had thieved their share of food, I began to think about what I was thinking about.”

His mesmerising voice changed in pitch, to a sound that tamed the resolve inside her. “I’d been pondering the future, your future, without sparing a single thought for myself. And so I sat in my favourite chair, and pondered til I could ponder no more, and at last I came to a wonderful conclusion. It’s the reason why I have gone so long without an outburst of any measurable sort; why I can’t spare a thought for my past because I’m obsessed with the future.”

They bowed their heads together, until the brim of his hat cast a shadow on her cheek.

He met her gaze and whispered with absolute conviction: “I’m not mad anymore.”

Alice could no longer feel his thumb on her skin, she was numb, she was frozen.

She believed him. Believed him.

“I’ve been so consumed by thoughts of helping you that it’s no longer of any importance if you stay here or not,” he continued, sensing her walls starting to crumble and prodding at the weak points. “All that matters to me is that you stop imagining husbands and avoiding being touched. There are far more interesting things for you to imagine, Alice. All I care about is making you better…” he tried to swallow but found his throat was dryer than it had ever been, “…and not…not what will happen to me if you choose to return to England. It’s no longer about my madness and my terrible memories, Alice…it’s about yours.”

A very complicated series of thoughts were running through Alice’s mind:

I believe him – why do I believe him? Because he’s telling the truth – how can you tell? Because I know what he’s talking about – no I don’t – yes I do – no – yes I remember – oh no I don’t want to remember this – no it can’t be true if I don’t say it is – it doesn’t work like that  - I remember I remember –

“A-Alice?” the Hatter murmured, squeezing her hand, and her eyes burst open to find his mere inches away and more green than she’d ever seen them –

“This isn’t how it was supposed to be!” she burst out, “The Haverlock Day is about you being cured –” the pain that resided deep inside her flared to an excruciating level. She fisted her hands in her dress and shut her eyes tight. “It’s not true,” she said fervently, “I’m not mad, I’m Alice, I’m the Champion, I have a husband and –”

“There’s no marriage!” the Hatter cut in desperately, “There’s only your mind and this ring –”

She felt his hands slide up her throat, there was a sharp tug, and before she could scream it was over.

Breathing heavily, she opened her eyes to find the Hatter holding her broken necklace in his open palm, with the ring resting atop it. Picking it up, she noticed something she’d not seen before: an inscription on the inside of the white-gold band.

Safe travels, my daughter, it read.

And Alice realised this was not a wedding ring at all.

It was just the good-luck charm her mother had given her before she set off for China.

The Hatter watched her, transfixed, heart racing…but all the energy left him at the look on her face. “He’s not real, Alice,” he murmured, plucking the ring from her limp fingers and setting it aside. “I’m real.” He gathered up her hands and pressed them into his chest, so that she could feel his heart beating – had she ever truly felt the beating of Henry’s? – And sat so close his nose brushed against hers. “You dreamed him up, like you thought you’d done with me, except I am real and I love you and I do want you to stay for all the evers there ever are –”

She tore her hands from his grip and got to her feet.

“I can’t!” she cried, “I can’t love you!”

“Why not?” he pleaded.

“Because…because if I love you now, then I always have,” she whispered, “If I love you…then it’s true. All those terrible truths…it all happened –”

“But I’m going to fix you, Alice!” he replied, “I’m going to fix you like you did for me –”

She took a step back, though any distance between them made her ache anew. “This isn’t the same thing –”

“Alice!” the Hatter thundered, eyes ablaze, and because he was deathly sick of her running away, he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him and kissed her.

Alice wanted to scream. She very much wanted to cry out, or make some form of protest, but in all honesty she could no more protest to this than she could fly to the moon. And she’d tried that at five. It hadn’t ended well. No, the urge to fight was leaving her and for once, she let it go. Because this wasn’t surrender – there was no battle – this was an alignment, a joining of forces, Alice and the Hatter, converging to fight her demons. 

Because this was like no kiss they’d ever known.

The slow burn rippled its way from their mouths to their heads and hearts within seconds, so it was all they could do to hold fast to one another to keep from shattering. Desperation upon fear, determination upon love, the emotions entwined and lay down over their souls so it was difficult to define the exact reason for their actions. The way he tilted her chin up with a finger reminded her of the way Henry would kiss her, but the way he tasted was something completely Hatterish. The moan that escaped her throat was a sound she’d made for her husband, but the sheer firmness of her grip on the Hatter was something all their own.

Henry – Hatter – Henry – Hatter - ­

The names ran over and over in her mind until it was hard to know which man she was with. And then the Hatter brought the palm of her left hand up to his mouth and looked into her eyes to say that yes, he’d known it was for him all along, the H. He placed his lips against it, claiming it, and she suddenly thought how foolish she’d been to think it could ever be for anyone else. Slowly he lowered her hand and dipped his forehead to hers.

Alice could do nothing but tremble in his grip. His eyes were not quite orange and not quite green. They bordered so slightly on the edge of each other that it was impossible to tell what colour they were. There were no answers to be found in them this time.

“Are we mad or in love?” she whispered against his cheek. He reached between them to link his fingers with hers, and sought out her gaze once more before replying:

“Why can’t it be the same thing?”

And from this answer she knew that if anyone in the world were to understand her, it would be him, and she would be fine, some day, with his help. 

“Yes,” she murmured suddenly.

“I’m sorry?”

“You asked me a question a little while ago and I’m giving you an answer now.”

But he’d asked her a lot of questions, and this didn’t help clarify the matter at hand. Until she pressed her lips to his cheek and sighed against his neck. He drew back a little to completely take in the sight of her.

“Alice, are you saying – after all this – do you love me?”

She nodded with the sort of smile that told him she was terrified of her confession. But she’d been scared for so long now that it hardly mattered, and if he was to fix her like she’d done for him, confessing seemed a good place to start.

“Absolutely, utterly, completely,” she said, and the Hatter wore a grin that could rival the Cheshire cat’s.

 End of Part One

Author’s Notes:

Okay, I’m just going to have to accept that I’m NOT a speedy updater, no matter how hard I try. I just get distracted easily or can’t find the time or just get too involved in editing it a hundred times. And with this chapter (which is the last), it seemed to go on FOREVER so I’ve decided, rather than come up with another chapter (because I like the name of this one) I’m splitting it into two parts. Here’s the first part, the second is basically written but in fragments and random paragraphs that need putting together. And then there’s an epilogue! Which I’m quite excited about! J So enough of my usual apologies and rambling, here’s part one of the last chapter, I hope you enjoy it!
And sorry but the whole chapter wouldn't fit on my post so this is Part One of Part One, the next one will be on my journal somewhere!

Seven: Peace (Part One)

“I think you may be in what most people call a predicament, Tarrant.”

The Hatter had trudged back to his hut with a spring in his step, mind buzzing with thoughts of Alice returning. But it was rather difficult to feel good about it when the Cheshire cat appeared at every turn, following his movements and talking of things he didn’t understand. Until now he’d never appreciated just how distracting it was to be followed by a floating cat head.

The Hatter turned away from the head, trying to concentrate on making his tea. “I don’t know what you mean Chess. Please, I’m terribly busy –”

“You know perfectly well what I mean, old boy,” Chessur interrupted, “Alice is rather lovely, is she not? She has no great penchant for grinning, mind you…but she can learn. She’s rather talented.”

“She’s very talented and she has an inspiring grin that she just doesn’t care to share with you,” the Hatter replied waspishly. His hands were trembling so much that the teapot was making a dreadful chinking sound against his cup.

The cat’s eyes widened more, if possible. “There’s no need to get snippy, Tarrant. I was merely suggesting –”

“I’m merely suggesting you stay out of my business, Chessur.”

The Hatter sat down at his dingy little kitchen table and toyed with his cup of tea. Looking around at his hut, he began to see how truly awful it was: cramped, lifeless and dark, with not a single colourful hat apart from his own. No wonder Alice had been so set on getting him to leave it. With a pang he thought of his old house, his real home, and wondered what had become of it.  

“You were in such a good mood a second ago, what’s changed your mind?” Chessur asked as he settled down on the table in front of the Hatter.

“Perhaps I just don’t like being pestered by vanishing cats.”

“Now Tarrant, that doesn’t sound like you. I thought you were starting to feel yourself again?”

There was a smug tone in his voice that irritated the Hatter. It sounded as if his friend was gloating that he wasn’t really cured.

“I am myself, I haven’t always been but I am now and that’s how it’s going to stay,” he replied determinedly. He pushed the cup of tea away. “It’s just that I’m worried about Alice, that’s all.”

“Is it the wedding ring?”

The Hatter’s expression turned from one of sourness to sadness. “Oh, Chess, you have no idea.”

The cat disappeared then reappeared a few inches from his friend’s face. “Then give me an idea, Tarrant,” he said quietly.

His mouth opened for a moment, lip twitching, but then he just turned his gaze away and tugged his hat down over his face. “I can’t betray her,” he murmured. “I can’t tell you.”

“Well what about the White Queen?” the cat persisted, “Can you tell her? Or Absolem? If you don’t trust me, could you trust them?”

The Hatter looked up, expecting to see a hurt look on the cat’s face. But there was nothing other than curiosity. “The White Queen might understand…” he said, mostly talking to himself.

“Mirana would most definitely understand,” Chessur encouraged him, tail flicking with excitement.

“She’s a woman, after all,” he continued, as if this were a sudden realisation. He tilted his hat up again.

“She’s very much a woman,” said Chessur. 

“And she would know just how to treat the situation,” the Hatter went on, ignoring Chessur. His eyes were glowing more brightly with every thought. “After all, Alice didn’t sound at all like she’d been speaking with her sister or mother…”

His curiosity burning now, Chessur was hovering so close to the Hatter that his whiskers brushed his cheeks. “Come on then Tarrant, let’s hurry to Marmoreal.”

“Yes,” he murmured, “Ye – no.”

As quickly as he’d stood up, the Hatter sank back into his chair. He looked despairingly at Chessur. “I surely won’t be welcomed into Marmoreal, Chessur,” he said forlornly. “Not after everything I’ve done.”

“What have you done?” replied the cat, unable to contain his exasperation. “What have you done other than fall victim to an illness that took control of you? I can guarantee we are all just waiting for you to come back to us, Tarrant.”

It was like someone had switched a light on in the room.

It must have cost Chessur, who so often had the most unreadable expressions, a great deal to announce how deeply they missed him. The Hatter cast his gaze over his shabby hut once more and felt the walls closing in. He could smell dust and unrest, and with a tip of his hat to his friend he hurried for the door and vowed he would not be returning.

 ***

This time she didn’t know where to run. She didn’t want to go to Kingsleigh House, nor did she want to remain anywhere near the Hatter.

The thing Alice was most certain of was her uncertainty.

How long had it been since she’d referred to Kingsleigh House as ‘home’? Not for the first time in her life, Alice didn’t know where she belonged.

Which was why Henry found her slumped on the grass and staring at the trunk of a willow tree.

She was aware of nothing but the texture of the tree’s bark, of the damp smell of the grass and the feeling that no matter which side of the tree she was there would be a gaping hole left somewhere inside her. With all this running through her mind she didn’t acknowledge that the warm something resting against her arm was another human being until he actually spoke.

“I find that oak trees make for much better company. They’ve got a great sense of humour, where as willows just sit and sulk with you.”

Alice laughed, but it sounded hollow amongst the relative quiet.

“That was pathetic!” Henry teased, “Honestly I’ve heard better laughs from an oak –”

“Then go and talk to an oak tree!” Alice snapped, hugging her legs to her chest.

She wasn’t angry at him, not really. It was just that when she saw Henry she remembered kissing the Hatter, and felt so guilty it was easier to be picking on him than tormenting herself.

Henry frowned, but shifted himself closer to her. She huffed irritably and hugged herself tighter.

“Why are you staring at trees?” he asked quietly.

“I’m not staring at trees. I’m staring at a tree. Just one.”

“Well why this particular one? It’s not overly interesting, to be honest.”

“You wouldn’t understand, and trust me, you probably don’t want to.”

“I want to know everything you’re thinking, Alice. You know that.”

With a sigh Alice let her head fall onto his shoulder and closed her eyes. “If I told you that I’m thinking about running away, what would you say?”

“I’d say when are we leaving?” Henry replied without a moment’s thought.

“We…” she murmured so quietly he didn’t hear. “No, I didn’t mean…”

“What about your mother and sister? Wouldn’t you miss them?”

“I miss my father!” she burst out suddenly, “I wish I could see him just one more time! I wish he would tell me what to do.”

She felt him kiss the top of her head. “I think he would tell you to forget about what everyone else wants, and do what you think is right for yourself.”

She lifted her head to stare at him. The colour of his eyes, his hair, the shape of his face…for just a second, he wasn’t Henry. For just a second she could hear her father’s voice coming from his mouth, see Charles Kingsleigh’s smile on her husband’s face.

“What do I do, daddy?” she whispered. 

“Whatever makes you happy,” he replied, just as quietly.

“Alice! I’ve been looking for you!”

Margaret’s voice shook her from a very deep thought, and she jumped violently. Looking back at Henry, he was now just her husband: an oddly familiar man with a sweet smile who was hopping to his feet and telling her he should be going. But much worse than being with Henry when she wanted to be on her own, was being with Margaret. Alice rolled her eyes as her sister came marching over. Henry had already vanished in the trees and she was now stuck facing reality.

“Why have you been looking for me?” she enquired in what she hoped was a polite voice.

“You’re going to listen to me this time,” Margaret said, sitting beside her sister and grabbing hold of her arms. “You’re going to listen because it’s very important, do you hear me?”

Surprised, Alice nodded.

“I know about the Hatter,” Margaret told her slowly, like she was talking to a child. “I believe his story about Wonderland and so does mother and we want you to be able to talk about it with us.”

Alice felt like someone had just poured cold water over her.

Of all the things she’d expected her sister to say, this wasn’t one of them. She shut her eyes tightly and reopened them, hoping she’d just imagined that Margaret was there. No such luck. “It’s – it’s called Underland, not Wonderland,” she said shakily.

“Right,” replied Margaret in an off-hand way. “But that’s not important, what matters is that –”

“But it does matter,” Alice interrupted, tugging her arms out of her sister’s grip. “I only called it Wonderland when I was six. Only ignorant people call it that.” She was suddenly feeling strangely protective, like something in her care had been threatened.

“I – I’m sorry,” Margaret replied earnestly, eyeing Alice curiously. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“How can you know about it if you can’t even remember the name properly?” Alice asked shrewdly.

Margaret was exasperated. She’d expected her younger sister to be grateful to have someone to talk to, not to be downright impolite. “Well there was a rather large amount of information for me to learn, you know. If the name of the place happens to slip my mind again I hope you won’t take offence.”

“I’ll take offence to whatever I like,” Alice said stubbornly, her gaze flicking back to the willow tree. “You’ve just blatantly announced that you know all about my secret haven and you don’t even have the good grace to care about what you call it!”

“Alice, you’re being ridiculous! Aren’t you more curious about the fact I know at all? Don’t you want to talk about –?”

“I know how you’ve learned about it,” Alice replied testily. “I suspect mother has had somebody follow me. I suppose you’ll be climbing through there next –” she gestured at the tree – “And harassing my friends because you don’t approve of them, just like you do with Hen –”

She felt the sharp impact of her sister’s hand across her cheek.

It lasted only a second, but the stinging was still there when the tense silence was broken minutes later. “I don’t know what’s happening to you,” Margaret said in a trembling voice, “But I’m just trying to help. You think I’m the bad person? You think your own mother is to blame? We’re the ones being weighed down, Alice…by you. You think it’s easy to sit and watch while your sister is tormented by things she won’t talk about? And then to keep your mouth closed while she goes ahead and blames the ones trying to help her?” There were now tears making tracks down Margaret’s tragically pretty face. “You’re not Alice anymore…at least not when you’re with us. But this Hatter person seems to think you’re fine. I just want to know why you can be Alice around him, that’s all.”

Alice could feel a sharp pain somewhere inside her that made the stinging of her cheek seem like nothing. She thought she had no idea what Margaret was talking about…inner torment…blame…except she did. There was some awful poison inside her that made her unable to see why her family was being so protective, and why she was becoming this woman that resented her husband. Overcome with the pain of it all, she reached out and wiped the tears from her sister’s eyes, and they wrapped their arms around each other in a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry I slapped you,” Margaret cried.

“I’m frightened of what’s happening to me,” Alice whispered.

“What is happening to you? What is it?”

“I – I can’t…” Alice just squeezed her sister more tightly. “I just want to be happy again…”

“Let me help you, sister, please let me help.” Margaret pulled away and they sat together on the grass, sniffing back tears.

But Alice couldn’t reply. Something of what Margaret said had triggered a memory.

“Let me in, Alice, I can help. Honestly I can,” implored Henry as he held her. She shook her head, unable to speak of what had happened because she’d made herself forget. Alice began to think of all the times she’d gotten a whiff of foul cologne when there was no man around…of when she’d be touched innocently by the Hatter and vicious images in her head would make her shrink away from him. She began to wonder why there was such a large block of her life that she barely thought about: her time at sea, her apprenticeship…

“What’s wrong?” Margaret asked as Alice’s face became heavy with a frown.

“I think I remember…” she murmured, “I remember something….”

But at that moment a loud crunching sound in the undergrowth told her that Henry had returned, and sure enough she looked up to see him picking his way through the trees. For once the guilt was overshadowed by ecstatic relief, and she got to her feet and ran to him like a woman possessed. Margaret sighed heavily and watched with a wary expression.

“Where did you run off to?” Alice asked, allowing herself to be swept up into his arms.

“Nowhere important,” he told her, “I just wanted to leave you alone with your sister.”

“But why did you come back? She’s still here.”

He shrugged. “I thought you might need me.”

Unable to explain why this aggravated her, Alice’s brow furrowed. “You know that I’m fairly good at accepting things without explanation. But why do you never have a solid reason for things I ask?”

“Isn’t you needing me a solid reason?”

“But how? How did you know I was missing you?” She slipped free of his arms and turned back to Margaret. “Does Lowell ever come home to you with clams of that?” she asked her sister, but Margaret looked confused.

“Claims of what?” she replied blankly.

“Henry said he came back because he thought I needed him!” Alice exclaimed, “Did you not hear him?”

“I – no, I didn’t. Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

Alice impatiently stamped her foot. “Well? Has Lowell ever had the great intuition to return to you without being called?”

Margaret shook her head, unable to speak.

“Why are you mad at me for being a good husband, Alice?” Henry enquired, looking put out. “Don’t I treat you fairly? Don’t I look after you?”

“Why does everyone assume I need taking care of?!” Alice shouted, rounding on them both with a cold gleam in her eye. “I’m a grown woman! Honestly, the only people who don’t trail after me like nurses are –” she broke off, about to speak of her friends in Underland…and the Hatter. When she was in England, people treated her like a child. When she was in Underland, they treated her like a hero. How had she ever gotten mad at them for needing her so? How had she ever been so ungrateful to wish they didn’t rely on her so much?

A burning desire to go home filled her very veins. Where was the one place that she could be herself? Where were the people who trusted her judgement, who treated her like an equal, who asked too much because they never doubted she could handle it? The answer was blazing inside her head, her heart, like someone was calling her: Underland.

Settling her gaze on the willow tree, Alice turned her back on the pair of them. “Margaret, Henry is about see something he won’t understand,” she said evenly, without taking her eyes off the trunk. “Please explain it to him.” She placed a hand on the bark and instantly a dim hollow became visible in the tree.

“Alice, what –?” but Margaret could only watch as her sister climbed inside the hollow without a backward glance and disappeared. The dimness then resolved back into the solid bark of a tree, like nothing had happened at all.

Maybe if she hadn’t slapped her sister, she’d have stayed. Maybe if she’d been better at pretending to know what Henry was talking about. Perhaps, even, if she’d simply stood her ground and physically stopped her from going. But none of her wistful thinking did any good. The clearing remained resolutely empty around her and Margaret knew one thing, at last: that Underland had won. She didn’t bother to look around for the man she was meant to be explaining it all to, knowing he wasn’t there at all.

 ***

Author’s Note:

Here you go, a nice long chapter to make up for the time between updates. Once again sorry it took a while! As I said, I like to make sure it’s all good before I post, and with the terrible flooding here in Australia I’ve been too busy to write much at any one time. The worst of the flooding was just 40 minutes away from where I live! Scary! So I thought I was lucky and that I should go and help, so I’ve been volunteering for the clean ups on weekends.

Anyway, I didn’t write the poem in this, it was written by Lewis Carroll for Through the Looking-Glass. But when I read it I just thought it so sounded like the Hatter talking about Alice to Underland children, and then maybe after she leaves the second time he writes about how wistful he is and how far away she seems. I hope it doesn’t count as plagiarism or anything because it’s not me using the poem for something else, it’s just the Hatter writing to Alice. 

Six: Lust

 The Hatter felt like he’d been accused of something nasty.
Henry was Alice’s husband, a barrier between him and his love, and therefore he liked to imagine him being a villain who had stolen Alice away.
“I beg your pardon?” he queried, staring at the two women who were, in turn, staring right back. Without removing her eyes from him, the younger lady came forwards and cleared her throat.
“This is…incredible. It’s you – well, almost you.”
“How can I be almost me? I am me,” he replied, “Unless you think I’m this Henry person, in which case I can assure you I’m not almost him at all.”
The older woman, who vaguely reminded him of someone, shook her head and regarded him coldly. “The man’s a fool,” she said, “Talking utter nonsense like that.”
“Contrari-wise, I have the utmost respect for people who talk nonsense,” the Hatter retorted, feeling irritated. “Now are you going to tell me where I am and who you are? And more importantly, who you think I am?”
The cold woman looked like she was fit to say something mean – but the younger one cut her off. “You’re on our estate, belonging to the Kingsleigh House on the outskirts of London. My name is Margaret, and this is my mother Helen. And you,” she moved closer towards him, “You’re the man my sister has been imagining.”

Kingsleigh. “You’re Alice’s family?” The Hatter regarded Helen in a new light. Of course she looked familiar; her stern face looked just like Alice’s when she was cross with him. Margaret didn’t much resemble her sister, except maybe her expression which was close to what the Hatter liked to think of as Alice’s Curious Face.
“Yes, we’re her family,” said Helen, “So would you care to tell me what you’ve been doing to her when you chase her through trees and shout at her?”
“Doing to her?” he repeated, “I haven’t done anything to her, I – hold on. Did you say she was imagining me?” He felt disappointed. Alice had gone through that with him last time, thinking he was just a dream. Did nobody at all in England believe in his world?
Helen’s face saddened, but Margaret looked excited, like a riddle was about to be solved. “When Alice left home to journey to China, she was perfectly fine. She was herself. But something happened.” At this her face turned dark for a moment, though it soon passed over. “But when she returned to us, some months ago…she came back with a husband that nobody could see. She was happy only when speaking with this imaginary character called Henry. She doesn’t even realise that we can’t see him.” 

The Hatter was struggling with the information. He took his hat off and spun it in his hands. “But she can’t be gallymoggers; she can’t…” he murmured. “She seems perfectly all right to me. She’s just…Alice.”
“Well you seem to be getting the best of her,” Helen said enviously.
“She’s so removed whenever she’s home,” continued Margaret. “She keeps to herself, either up in her room or outside in the gardens, and doesn’t speak a lot to anyone. It used to be once every Sunday that she’d go out to the woods for a picnic. She’d pack up her basket, chattering away to someone we couldn’t see, and go wander the grounds.”
“But that’s changed these past few weeks,” Helen added, “Now she never stays at home if she can help it. At first we left her to it, because whatever it was that she was doing made her brighter and a little more respondent. We didn’t dare interfere.” She lost her voice very quickly, looking down. Margaret continued the story.
“Now she’s beginning to stress. She has dull conversations with her pretend husband, and tries to look as if she’s happy. And I had to know what had changed, so I followed her, saw…saw that tree. And now I know: you’re Henry. You have the hair and the hat, and your name starts with H. She’s been making up Henry because she misses you.”

Oh, Alice. Poor Alice. The Hatter was too confused to be pleased that she was obviously thinking of him so much.
“How can you know what he looks like if you’ve never seen him?” he asked.
“She’s done sketches of you and her together.” She looked at him closely, in wonder at his appearance. “Well, you’re a little different, admittedly. Henry has normal coloured skin, much calmer red hair and brown eyes. He wears a top hat half the size of yours, and a long brown coat. He actually looks like a mix of our father and you.”
The Hatter just couldn’t fathom what they were saying. How could this be true of Alice? Yes, she had a great imagination, but to this extent? That wasn’t creativity…that was madness.
“But why?” he asked, “Why dream up a man like that?”
“I suppose she just wanted someone who would protect her.”
“From what?”
“It’s not a pleasant story,” she murmured.
Helen watched the man like a hawk, jumping a little as he moved towards Margaret, but he only did it to clasp her hand. “Tell me,” he said softly.

“Don’t,” Helen warned, feeling protective of Alice. “I don’t want her story being thrown about.”
“Mother there’s nobody here to eavesdrop,” Margaret snapped, misinterpreting her warning. “I promise the Kingsleigh name won’t be disgraced.”
“I don’t care about that,” she replied, “I want Alice’s privacy to remain intact. She’s has so much of it taken away already.”  
Softening, Margaret went to her mother and put an arm around her.
“I’ve fought too hard to keep her safe,” said Helen weakly, “I don’t want to betray her now.” She felt a sudden tremble take over and had to sit down. The Hatter knelt before them, waiting for Helen to be seated comfortably with her daughter’s hand in hers.
“I’m not a stranger, Mrs Kingsleigh,” he told her kindly. “I’m Alice’s best friend. Please, tell me so I can return her kindness and help her. I won’t breathe a word of it to anyone.” He smiled lightly and added, “I’m quite good at keeping secrets.”
Margaret looked imploringly to her mother, and when she nodded her acquiescence, she took a steadying breath to start. “Alice had made plans with Lord Ascot, an old business partner of my father’s, to become an apprentice with his trading company. They were to sail to China, to be the first to do business with the country to such a vast extent. But before reaching China they docked at a port in Hong Kong…” she swallowed hard. “She just wanted to explore for a while, they told us later. But…Alice never held much stock with rules. So ignoring their warning to take a crew member along for safety, she set off on her own. And she was…she’s always been so pretty…someone cornered her and…” Margaret broke off.  

A memory sprang to mind, and the Hatter’s throat turned dry.
“I’d spend months at a time crossing the ocean, the only woman on a ship filled with men…I learnt how to defend myself.”
“Were you ever hurt? Betrayed?”
“Once…but I learned after that.”
What if she had made herself forget? What if she hadn’t just been teased by men on the ship, but viciously assaulted on land, and had blocked it from her mind?
He was aware that Margaret had started talking again, and forced his rage down so he could concentrate.
“…found her in an alley, just left there. Her clothes were ripped and she was bleeding.” She cleared her throat, held onto her mother more tightly. “Of course they’d come so far and it just wasn’t possible to turn back without reaching China. So she stayed in a cabin on board being looked after while they finished their business. They told us she just slept the rest of the way to China, but didn’t stop murmuring in her sleep.”
“What – what was she saying?”
Margaret’s eyes grew misty. “Stop.”
He threw his hat onto the ground in anger.

“Gradually on the voyage home she began to function again, but she still wasn’t right. And then she started boasting about this ‘Henry’ person she’d met, and fallen in love with and…you know the rest.”
It was very hard to speak, but he made an effort. “Surely she has some memory of the assault?”
“We don’t know. She never says anything important. She just becomes uninterested if we try to talk about any of it; thinks that we just don’t like Henry and that for some reason she was dismissed from her apprenticeship.”
“But what I want to know,” Helen said suddenly, finding strength in her voice, “Is who you are? If she’s invented this person to distract her from what’s happened, why you? How are you her best friend when we’ve never met you?”
“Because I’m not from your world,” he told them bluntly. Subtlety was not his strong point.
“I’ve had enough of jokes and madness,” Helen said sharply, “If you’re not going to be serious –”
“I’m telling the truth! I’m never serious, at least not when I can help it, but I do regard myself as a generally honest person.”  
“Then where are you from?” Margaret asked evenly.
“Underland.”
“…Underland?”
“I’m the Mad Hatter, former Hatter to the White Queen of Marmoreal. I live in a world very different from this one, where only the best kind of daydreamers and madmen from yours may find themselves. Alice has been visiting me for some time now.”

He hoped they wouldn’t ask why she was visiting him so often, as he didn’t want to tell them about his madness. But they seemed utterly speechless, so he was spared the questioning. While they tried to gather their thoughts, he realised he’d been holding a fairly normal conversation for a good ten minutes now, with no interruption. He had not broken down in tears or raged out at her tragic story. He had reacted like any other Underland inhabitant might, no more or less.
The others had doubted him, but he honestly believed Alice had cured him.
“I don’t know what’s worse: my daughter being involved in imaginary madness or being involved with…with…” Helen looked at the Hatter exasperatedly.
“With Underland?” he offered.
“With a real madman!” she cried, and both Margaret and the Hatter looked taken aback. “You’re clearly in need of help! Honestly, daydreamers and white queens? This is complete rubbish.”
Oh, no. The Hatter could feel himself growing angrier. Not because of Alice now, but because of her mother. “So if you don’t believe in it, it’s not real?” he asked quietly, tensing up. “You’re saying that everything I stand for, my world, my friends…my whole life, is just some absurd story that I should be ashamed of because you think it’s in my head?”
“Well Alice invented a whole story about her supposed husband –”
“Because she was attacked! What reason would I have for making this up if I were trying to help her?”
“Maybe you’re not really trying to help! Maybe you’re just –”
“What about the tree then, mother?”
Both Helen and the Hatter’s gaze flicked to Margaret.
“Why did Alice and the Hatter climb out of a tree? They didn’t know we were watching, so they wouldn’t have set it up for a joke.”
Helen was dumbstruck.
The Hatter was beginning to think Margaret was definitely more like Alice than her mother. 

 ***   

                          
A boat beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July – 

Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear –

Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.  

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.
 
Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near. 

In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die: 

Ever drifting down the stream –
Lingering in the golden gleam –
Life, what is it but a dream? 

 --- I penned this the night you left us for the second time. I remembered years ago telling children of the Hightopp clan about the fantastic mischief you managed as a child. You mightn’t remember too well, but we got off on the wrong foot the first time we met. We were such a carefree, rude trio, Mally and Thackery and I…and I’m sorry to say we weren’t as polite as we could have been. You held your head high, however (that was a great sentence then, only halfway through and I’ve already used four H’s), holding your own against our rudeness. Even then I could see the muchness within you as you nit-picked Mallymkun’s story of treacle wells. And then before I could finish the perfect poem of petite Alice, a terrible grief stole the quill from my hand and I couldn’t help myself. I had doubted my own reality, thinking that if you weren’t here then perhaps I was still asleep at that Tea Table, dreaming and dreaming, destined never to wake, for what was life without the young woman I had hoped to see and – hold – hand – and Alice
Sorry, I’m fine. I’m still not that good at keeping my thoughts in order, but I’m fine.
 

And yet why should they be forced into submission, simply to make sense to another?
This is what you’ve done to me, Alice.
I never spoke with the intention of making sense before. You make me want to choose my words carefully, so that everything I say might make an impression upon you in some way. Have I made a rhyme? I know some are doubtful that I’ve recovered, mostly because I can’t seem to hold my temper (but others get angry and you don’t hear them being called mad! And I honestly never realised how much the March Hare twitches – it’s very distracting and would make the most collected person a little anxious). Ten seconds ago I was certain that I’d never be well enough to leave my sanctuary. Now I can’t stop thinking about that sunshine you showed me, and the grass we ran through, and how much I’ve missed Underland. My people are gone and I’m alone, but not really alone, I have my friends and I have – you. And I’m not sure if I’m cured or I’m just filled with wishful thinking but I don’t think it matters. I love you, Alice, and I want to be your best friend and I want to dare to hold your hand and hold your waist and dance with you and have tea parties every hour and make you all kinds of hats and show you my real house and

Sorry, I’m fine. Really fine. The point is, if I want to do these things with you I don’t see why it should matter if I lose my temper sometimes or cry a little because I miss my family. I love you because for four years I haven’t cared that I was beyond mad, and now that you’re here, I want to be better. I love you without really knowing the ins and outs of it, because I’ve never quite loved someone like this before. You’re stubborn and curious and sometimes too tall and sometimes too short and you’re not afraid to shout at people and then in the next instant comfort them. You do what you think is right, even if that’s leaving – which is a complicated thing indeed, if I am to love you for that. It doesn’t quite benefit me, but you’re just so…so very Alice when you do the right thing that I can’t help but realise what a slurvish, frumious fool I was to go mad just because you didn’t want me.
But then why would you?
I only fought against the Big Head every day of her reign because I knew you were coming. I only believed in you every step of the way. I only came to your aid when it seemed the Jabberwocky was overpowering you. Why should you love me at all when you have a perfectly acceptable husband at home?
But then if he was perfectly acceptable, why would you return to me time after time, even when I had already given up on myself, even when I tried to hurt you. And if you love this Henry so much why did you not talk about him before, or –

I’m sorry about that last paragraph. I let my bitterness get the better of me and had to walk away from the parchment. You’ll notice I’ve still included it though, simply because those last words are true of my feelings, if not so harsh and strong as they are written there. I’m not sure what else to say…I’m trying not to sound as if I’m forcing you to read this and choose…but it’s difficult. Because I do want you to stay with me. Couldn’t you imagine it? Alice and the Hatter, free at large with all of Underland to play with! We could spend hours trying to reason why a raven is like a writing desk. We may even come up with the answer (though I still don’t think there is one). I just hope you’ll read this and come away with something, even if you won’t come away with me.
Love,
The Mad Hatter.

Alice poured over the Hatter’s letter a thousand times until she knew it off by heart. Then she took out her wedding ring from its hiding place and thought of Henry. He was her husband; she had loved him for a good long time now. She had fallen for him because he had seemed so familiar already, so trustworthy, so unlike the other men. But that was also how she felt about the Hatter.
She remembered the first time she’d met Henry. He had just appeared on the ship, like a godsend, a friend when she had none:

She stared at the ocean. She stared at it for so long that she thought if she closed her eyes, all she’d ever see again was blue. Thoughts seemed to be swirling around her head but they didn’t make much sense so she tried to ignore them. A pain was gnawing at her navel. She idly scratched the front of her dress and rested her gaze on the ocean with more resolution.
“You know if the wind changes your face will be stuck that way. You’ll be looking mildly intrigued for the rest of your life.”
“I’d better change it then; I don’t want people thinking I’m interested in their politics and idle chatter.” She tore her eyes from the water and looked at the man before her. His smile was surely one she’d seen before.
“Have we met?” she asked.
“We have, just now. I’m Henry.”
“Alice Kingsleigh.” They shook hands. She glanced at some of the crew on deck; none had paid him any attention. “How did you get on board?”
“I thought you could use some company.”
“That’s not an answer at all.”
“It would be if you were asking why I’d come over.”
“But I’m not asking that. I’m asking how you got on board if you’re not a member of the crew.”
“I just became a member. Just now.”

This seemed good enough for her.
“To be honest I’m more of an adventurer than a sailor,” he said, casting a wary eye at the water. “I like new places better than the travelling. You’re very brave for coming out here, so far from home.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I understand. We’re the same, you and me. You want adventure and different worlds…but it’s not always safe.”
She didn’t say anything to that. A pang jolted through her again and she winced.
“Are you all right?” he asked. 
“No,” she told him without meaning to. She never spoke of her pain if she could help it, so why should he be different now? “I’ve been ill. I feel sore.”
“You’ll be fine. You’re a survivor, and a strong one at that.”
They’d only just met; he couldn’t have known that, but she took it for granted because she liked talking to him.  
“It feels like I haven’t spoken to anybody in months.”
“I couldn’t tell. You’re pretty good at it.”
She laughed and her face lit up, all thoughts of pain gone.
“There,” said Henry, watching her. “If the wind could change right now, you’d be that beautiful forever.”  

Infuriated with herself, Alice groaned and rubbed her eyes, feeling the pangs of a headache. Who did she want? Who did she need? Where did her heart lie?

In her aggravation she grabbed a quill, dipped it into ink and inscribed a fat, thick H onto her palm. She re-dipped the ink and went over the lines that made up the letter, so harshly and so many times that she began to scratch the letter into her very skin. She didn’t feel the sting of it, nor did she pay any attention to the tiny specks of blood that gathered in her palm. She was breathing hard, staring at the letter on her hand, and telling herself to look at this in times of doubt and remember which man had taken her heart. It was suddenly much later when she looked up at the clock, and realised with a start that she must have fallen asleep. Calculating the hours, she understood why. It would have been about two days since she’d last had any rest. Her stomach was beginning to grumble as well, and just when she was thinking about sneaking into the kitchens her bedroom door burst open.
Henry was standing in the threshold, eyes ablaze, his hair a mess as he ran his fingers through it.
“Quickly Alice my love!” he shouted enthusiastically, “They’re coming! We must hide!”
Alice subtly slipped the Hatter’s scroll under a book, but gave no indication that she found his entrance frightening. “Not now, Henry.” 
“But Alice!” he cried, dashing over to her and gripping her shoulders with dramatic desperation. “The fiends are coming to tear us apart! Haven’t I told you before? Constant vigilance! That’s how we survive!” When she didn’t respond, he dropped the act and eyed her worriedly. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Alice replied, staring at the door beyond him. He had thrown it open just seconds ago, so why was it closed? “I’m just tired.”
Henry took her hand as she stood, and gathered her close in his arms. “Too tired to play games? That doesn’t sound like you.”
“Well that’s how I feel, so it must be me,” she replied tersely.
He gave her hand a squeeze, a wickedness lighting his eyes again. “Unless you’re an impostor.” The mischievous air was returning again, and this time she just had to laugh.
“I might be,” she conceded, “But if I was I’d never say, would I?”
“Unless you’re a really bad impostor,” Henry replied, grinning. “You’re a new recruit of the enemies’ and you always give yourself away.”
“Are you calling me foolish?”
“Alice Kingsleigh? Foolish? Never!”
“The very idea!”
He hushed her suddenly. They could hear soft footfalls coming to her room.

“They’re here,” he hissed, “Come, we must hide.”
Ignoring her half-hearted protests he dragged her into the closet, pulling the doors shut quickly. Pressed up against him in the dark, Alice had a sudden flashback of being in the closet with the Hatter, almost in this position. Her good spirits faded quickly.
“Are you going to hit your head too?” she asked bitterly under her breath. He hushed her again, flashing a wicked grin. She heard the bedroom door open and an irritated sigh fill the room.
“Alice, I can hear you in there,” the voice of her sister called. “Stop this silly game and come out, I have to speak to you about Henry.”
“Henry,” Alice grumbled, “Have you been teasing Margaret again?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he whispered. “She adores me.”
“She ignores you. I told you to stay clear of my sister, she’s not very pleased with you yet and she hasn’t been in the best mood.”
“She’s never in the best mood. She’s always in the worst mood.”
“She’s exhausted! The baby is keeping her up and she’s always trailing after me for god knows what reason –”

“Alice!” 
Rolling her eyes, Alice squeezed past Henry and clambered out of the closet.
“Yes, Margaret?” she enquired coldly. Henry came out and stood right beside her, but her sister looked only at Alice.
“We need to discuss your husband.”
“It’s a little rude to talk about someone when they’re standing in the same room,” Alice replied. She took Henry’s hand.
Margaret looked like she was keeping her face carefully blank.
“Can you please ask him to leave him, then?” she asked evenly.
“Ask him yoursel –” but Alice looked, and Henry had already disappeared. She suddenly felt very irritated and hungry. “I haven’t had dinner yet,” she said.
“That can wait,” Margaret said, “Please ask Henry to leave the room.”
“He’s gone! Margaret, whatever you have to say I’m not interested. Whether you like him or not Henry’s my husband and until his estate is ready for us to live in he’s going to continue to come here.”
“Alice will you just listen for a moment! I know about the Hatter.”
But Alice wasn’t paying her any attention. She was trying to remember when she’d felt Henry’s hand leave hers as he left the room. But she could only recall that one moment he’d been there and the next he wasn’t. She felt a sharp pain, but this time it wasn’t from hunger.
“I’m going to the kitchens,” she told her sister weakly. “I haven’t had dinner yet.”
And Margaret watched sadly as her little sister drifted absently out of the room.   

 ***

This time, she found him in the bedroom.
She’d kept herself away from Underland for a full two days while she tried to sort out her feelings, but it had been time wasted. She was more frustrated than ever, with the Hatter, with Henry…and with herself. So Alice had given up hiding from him, thinking it was probably a rude thing to do to someone who had poured their heart out to her. But when he hadn’t answered the door, she’d come in through the window and began her search. He was tangled in his bed sheets, looking like he was having a terrible time. She’d never seen the Hatter asleep before, but she’d always imagined him to be a deep sleeper who maybe grinned and occasionally laughed while he dreamt. But there was no joy on his face. He looked pained, irritated even, as he twisted around under the sheets. His eyelids fluttered constantly and he moaned every so often. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his skin. He wasn’t wearing a shirt – she felt a blush heat her cheeks as a bare white arm snaked out from under the blanket. Afraid to venture closer, Alice watched him from the doorway with curiosity. She thought of how odd it was to see a man sleep, to be so vulnerable.
“But you have seen it before,” she told herself in an almost chastising voice. “Henry sleeps next to you, doesn’t he?” What a strange thing to think then, that the Hatter was the first man she’d ever watched.
“Alice…”
She started, but her voice hadn’t woken him. He was muttering her name while he twitched fitfully, something reminiscent of a smile on his lips now. It suddenly seemed wrong to be watching him like this.

Feeling maybe now was the time to wake him Alice tiptoed to the bed and sat gingerly on the edge next to him. He shifted closer to her warmth and his movements settled down. She studied his face intently, laying a hand on the sheets beside his arm and leaning over him. He moaned quietly again, making Alice slightly uncomfortable. But she was determined not to leave Underland again until she’d spoken with him, even if she had to wake him up so early in the morning.
“Hatter,” she whispered, feeling nervous. His lips twitched. “Hatter, wake up –”
She gasped loudly as his eyes flew open and he grabbed her arm.
He held on firmly, his fingers very warm on her skin. A strange image flashed through her mind – grimy hands with a rough grip, strong, forceful hands – ­and she lost her balance and fell a little closer to his face. Neither of them said anything for a long measure of time, their eyes fixed each other. Almost imperceptibly the Hatter’s gaze flicked to her mouth, and Alice felt her insides squirming, and thought that this would be a scandalous position to be in if found by someone else –
“What are you doin’ here, lass?” he croaked in that Scottish voice, and she felt a shudder down her spine but couldn’t answer. Suddenly his orange eyes melted to green and he looked down at his grip on her arm as if unaware he’d been holding it.
“Sorry Alice,” he mumbled softly, relinquishing his grip, and she hastily stood up.

“You looked like you were having a nightmare…moaning and twisting around…” she replied, her voice shaky. “I wanted to wake you up…to save you from it.”
The Hatter surveyed her standing there, in his bedroom, alone with him, watching him sleep…and remembered he hadn’t been moaning because of a nightmare.
He coughed forcibly and tried to lighten his smile and the heavy atmosphere.
“If you’d let me change clothes I’d be happy to spend more time with you, Alice. Outside the uh…bedroom.”
She looked like she’d been roused from some deep musings. “Oh! Yes, sorry! I’ll just – wait outside…” she backed out of the room and sat down to wait on the grass.
When she was gone, the Hatter let out a shaky breath. Sneaking into his room, sitting by him on the bed, hovering over him so closely…if she was trying to distance herself from him because of Henry she was going about it in entirely the wrong way. Was that how they hid their feelings up in England?
“Strange girl,” he muttered, climbing out of bed and changing into his usual clothes with difficulty – he seemed to have gotten a case of wobbly legs. “Then again, that’s why I love her – wait, Henry!” The events of yesterday came rushing back now that he was awake. Alice’s assault, her madness, her mother and sister…She must have made herself forget if she was brave enough to enter a man’s bedroom, the Hatter thought to himself.

After convincing Alice’s family that he genuinely was from Underland and that he and Alice were best friends – he’d neglected to mention his love for her – they had made a plan. Margaret would tell Alice she knew about the Hatter and Underland, all of it, in the hopes that Alice would open up and talk to her sister about something real. Once they established these conversations they hoped it would make Alice forget about Henry, because she wouldn’t feel so isolated and alone. She might even talk about what happened on her voyage, and they could work out how to help her from there. In the meantime, the Hatter’s job was to do nothing.
With a frown, he admitted it wasn’t his favourite part of the plan.
Helen had told him sternly he was not to tell Alice he knew Henry was a lie. It would only upset her, she’d said, to find out the only person she really trusted was now sided with her mother and older sister. No, the Hatter’s job was to continue to spend time with Alice, keep her as happy as possible, and wait for Alice to open up to her family.
Which probably meant he shouldn’t keep vying for her heart’s attention.
Sighing, the Hatter resigned himself to a long day of hiding his feelings – but it was going to be difficult, because from the moment Alice had touched him today he had felt on edge. 

She was waiting outside in the sun, her expression heavy. Now that he knew her terrible story, he couldn’t help thinking how vulnerable she looked.  
“Shall we go for a walk?” he asked, holding out his hand.
This was a mistake. The moment she took it he felt hot under the collar. As they walked arm and arm through the woods he waited for a good moment to casually slide free of her grip. The longer they touched, the more he felt compelled to talk of forbidden subjects: his love for her, Henry, her family…and the silence they walked in was not helping matters. His thoughts were buzzing around like Bread and Butter Flies.
“Hatter, I wanted to talk about what happened yesterday,” she said carefully. “And about the letter you gave me.”
The Hatter didn’t think it possible to feel this anxious without suffering a heart attack. “Oh, that?” he replied meekly.
“It was sweet, very sweet…”
“And?”
“And I don’t know what to say to you,” she sighed, examining her left palm with a meaningful expression. “I want to talk to you about it but I just don’t know how I feel.”
That was a lie. They both knew how she felt.

“Would you rather we changed the subject?”
She smiled gratefully. “Yes. Please. For now, at least.”
He racked his brains for something interesting to discuss that was safe, but before he could stop himself he blurted:
“What does your family think of Henry? Do they approve of your rushed marriage to a man they hadn’t even met?”
Alice felt familiar pangs in her stomach. She dropped his arm – he felt his body heat lower considerably – and began toying with her finger nails as she walked. 
“They…it’s been difficult,” she admitted. “They very rarely acknowledge him when he visits.”
“Visits? You mean you don’t live together?”
“Well no…he’s been overseas for so long that his father’s estate isn’t suitable for use. See, he decided to travel when his father died, and he’s inherited the property but hasn’t returned to it. Once it’s organised we’ll be living together.”
“Then where does he stay when he’s not with you?”
She flinched, as if the questions were painful to answer, each word a struggle. “He’s my husband,” she answered vaguely, “He visits often enough. What does it matter where he stays?”
“Is he a better man than me?”

“Hatter,” she growled warningly, “I thought we weren’t going to talk about this.” 
Helen was going to murder him, but he couldn’t help himself. Being alone with her, in these secreted woods…it was doing things to do him. He felt possessed. “Alice,” asked exasperatedly, “Can you even remember how you met him?”
“Of course I remember meeting my husband!” Alice answered indignantly. “I was having a bad day. The crew were avoiding me and I’d spent a lot of time in my cabin. I was ill and they went out to work while I stayed on the ship. And he was just…there.”
“And didn’t the others think it was odd, that this man just appeared on their ship?”
“They didn’t pay him any attention. He said he’d just joined the crew. He said he understood me, and said I was very brave for going out there. And I told him I’d been ill, and he said…he said I would be okay. That I was strong enough to survive.” She frowned. “It sounds like an odd thing to say to a stranger but it didn’t occur to me then, because I just wanted someone to be there for me. And I felt like I just knew him, right from the beginning.”
The Hatter looked on the verge of commenting, but she was no longer listening. The conversation was draining; she kept feeling pangs of unrest. Looking around, she realised they had walked so far she didn’t even know where they were. Oh, if she got lost and couldn’t make it home in time for dinner her mother would have a fit. She was always worried about her being home after dark.

“Don’t worry, we aren’t lost,” said the Hatter, watching her as she craned her neck around to check their path. “I know Underland like a Zipfarg knows his Shrinefack.”
A smile tugged at her lips as she gazed at him. “And is that…well?”
He grinned. “It means I know it well, yes.”
Grateful for the end of their earlier conversation, Alice leant into the Hatter’s shoulder and sighed. “I remember you once said you were friends with Time, is that true?”
He nodded.
“Do you think you could have a talk with him?” she enquired with a smile, “He seems to take great pleasure in making sure I’m late to everything.”
The Hatter nodded very seriously. “I’ll see what I can do. I did kill him, after all. He was terribly upset about that.”
“Does Time generally hold grudges?”
“Only against those who don’t respect him. Those who think they can escape him, but they don’t realise how patient he is. He’ll catch up with you in the end.”
They walked on in silence, mutually deciding upon the path they walked.

“Would you like to hear a riddle?” asked the Hatter quietly.
“Yes please,” Alice answered.
He drew himself up. When he usually recited riddles his voice grew heavy and Scottish, but this time it was just as gentle as ever. “This thing all things devours – birds, tress, beasts, flowers; gnaws iron, bites steel; grinds hard stones to meal; slays king, ruins town, and beats high mountain down.” 
Maybe she'd been spending too much time with him, but she answered straight away this time.
"It's Time, isn't it?"
"That was a little obvious wasn't it?
"You made it easy for me. Why would you do that?
Before he could answer she flicked her gaze around them. The land was no longer full of thin trees and oversized mushrooms. Instead there were trunks so thick they had to stand close together to walk between them, and bushes with a hazy outline so she couldn't quite tell what shapes they were. The air seemed strange, hard to breathe in. The hair on the back of her neck prickled.
"I think we might have taken a wrong turn," Alice said thoughtfully.
"But we don't have a pre-determined route, so we can't have made a wrong turn," the Hatter pointed out, examining their surroundings. "Though I'm almost a little certain we should have avoided these woods."
“Oh?” she drew closer to him. “Why’s that?”

“The reason escapes me, but…” they both stopped in their tracks. “Actually, the name of it escapes me too.”
“How can you forget if…” Alice trailed off. A strange feeling was washing over her, a sort of warmth.
She found she was suddenly very calm, at peace. The blurred shapes of the bush were fascinating; she squinted as she tried to make out what they were. The closer she got, the blurrier they became.
“What are you doing?” asked a man’s voice behind her.
“I’m looking at the…these…” she couldn’t find the words for it. She turned around to face the owner of the voice, and felt herself blush. He was handsome, in an unusual sort of way. His eyes were deep amber and they seemed to penetrate her soul. “Who are you?”
“Don’t be silly,” he replied, “We were just walking together. I’m…I’m…”
He looked very puzzled. She couldn’t help laughing at him.
“Well what’s your name then?” He sounded annoyed but she didn’t miss the way his lips parted slightly and his eyes flicked over her.
“I’m…not sure,” she replied dazedly. “Should we be worried that we don’t know who we are?”
“I don’t know,” he confessed, and stepped towards her. “Whoever you are, you’re very pretty.”
She blushed again, stepping towards him. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re quite…quite…” she breathed out heavily. He stood so close that his shadow fell upon her face.

With one hand on her arm, he raised his other to eye level and examined it with interest. It was a pale hand, calloused in some places and scarred with pin pricks in others. There was dirt under the fingernails, and a thimble on the thumb.
“What do you suppose you’ve done to have hands like that?” she asked him, watching the way he flexed his fingers nimbly and feeling a hitch in her throat.
“I’ve no idea,” he replied, dropping the hand and picking up hers instead. “That seems to be about all we can say, isn’t it?” They both watched as he threaded his fingers through hers, examining them closely. She didn’t have overly soft hands, like another woman might have had. They looked like hands that someone had tried to tame: manicured nails that were cracked and dirty in places, smooth hands with grass stains in places. “You seem to be some kind of larrikin,” he said, and his voice had become thick with an accent she thought she should probably recognise. Then he turned her hand over, revealing a thick letter ‘H’ on her palm, marred by fresh scratches and dried spots of blood.
Frightened by the sight, she snatched her hand back. “Does it matter who we are?” she asked defensively, as he started to feel his way along her collar bone and gently caress her swan-like neck. He stopped with his hand tilting her chin up to him.
“I don’t think so,” he whispered, and they descended upon each other. 

Lips on lips, eyes shut tight, noses brushing against each other – they moved with perfect synchronicity, as though spontaneous bouts of kissing were a regular occurrence between them. He dipped his head closer to hers, adjusting his angle, and bid with his tongue that she open her mouth to him. She did, avidly, allowing him to devour her from the inside out. They were flushed from head to toe, burning alive; her skin seared as he clamped his hands on her wrists and dragged her closer still. It made perfect sense, that these two should find each other in the woods. At least that’s what ran through his head as he kissed her. They knew nothing but their attraction to one another and why couldn’t that be enough? He felt her lips start to pull away and groaned, but she looked far from finished with him. Licking her lips, she backed away and let out a joyous laugh. Then, flashing him a sultry look over her shoulder, she began to run. Laughing too, feeling dizzy, he gave chase. It was a dance between them: they wove between the thick trees with an almost feverish speed, meeting up and kissing before running again. There was no sound in the woods but the pounding of their feet on the forest floor, their mad laughter, the smacking of their lips as they rounded on each other. When their chests were both heaving and their heads too dizzy to walk, he caught her by the waist and pushed her against the nearest tree. Panting, she reached up and knocked the hat off his head, winding her fingers into his hair and tugging his mouth down for another kiss.

Apparently he was good at multi-tasking, whoever he was, because while they kissed he began to pull at the ties on the back of her rumpled dress. Feeling the fabric loosening, she thought that fair was only fair – she slipped her hands beneath his coat and began tearing at the buttons of his vest.
“You’re beautiful,” he hissed, still working at her dress. “Bold, brave, brilliant –”
“Things beginning with B, I know,” she replied, without having the faintest clue what they were talking about. Feeling her footing slip on the huge roots of the tree, she dug her fingers into his arms for better purchase and threw her head back as his tongue moved over her neck. They roved up her jaw line until returning to her lips once more and she gasped at the strength of the kiss, at the meaning there must have been behind it. She gasped again when suddenly her foot slipped completely and they tumbled down beside the tree, into open air. He tried to break her fall but it didn’t quite work. He fell half on top of her, panting heavily, and she laid spread on the grass with her hands still clinging to him and –
Alice blinked.
She gazed up at the Hatter, lying over her. Their breathing was erratic, their skin flushed pink, and they were no longer in the strange woods. She licked her lips, realised she could still taste him. Panicking, she let go.
“Alice, I’m sorry –”
She waved her hand at him and ignored his attempts to help her up.

Legs feeling far too weak to support her Alice put a few good feet between herself and the Hatter while she waited for her heart to stop racing. He looked shame faced. Casting an eye around for his hat, he kept his eyes averted as she tied up the back of her dress with trembling hands.
“Alice,” he said again, quietly, “I’m –”
“What was that?” she interrupted, “What did that place do to us?”
Understanding had dawned on him, and the realisation both made him feel guilty and incredibly happy. “It doesn’t have a name, because nobody who’s entered can remember it,” he explained slowly. “It’s the place where creatures lose their identities.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well we couldn’t remember who we were, could we? In there we had no names, no memory or pretence. There’s nothing but the emotions you’re feeling at the time…and acceptance. Because you don’t know anything else.”
He waited for this to sink in.
“So we just…because we felt…”
He nodded. “I am sorry it happened this way, you know.” He was looking at her like he was waiting to be admonished.
“No, of course, I know you are,” she waved his apology away, deep in thought. Her cheeks had gone bright red. “Hatter, I – I kissed you…”
“I know,” he said in a small voice. “Bit hard to forget something like that.”
“Oh, I really have to go,” she said emphatically, “I’ll be back – Hatter, I’m sorry –”

And this time, because he knew she would definitely return, he let her go without protest.
Alice ran away from the Hatter yet again – why was she always doing that – ran until the land started to look familiar again, finding her own way back to England.
She was breathing harder than ever when she finally arrived at the trapdoor that would lead her away. Resting for a moment, Alice clutched at the stitch in her side. It was still only early, not even lunch time yet. The forest was fairly quiet around her.
“Stupid, stupid girl,” she cursed herself. “What are you doing?” Even as she said it she found her fingers toying with her bottom lip, which was still tingling from the Hatter’s kiss. There wasn’t much of it she could remember – it was all just one big blur – but the best she had was the taste of him: something sweet, tea perhaps, which would be typical of him…but something else too. It was a sharp taste that lingered on her tongue, a flavour akin to spices or coffee…it awoke something inside her. 
“What an infinitely puzzling development,” came a sly voice from the air.
Alice jumped a foot and scowled. “Chessur!” she hissed as the cat appeared above her. “Why do you always seem to appear at the most opportune moment?”
“Why indeed?” answered the cat. “But here’s a more interesting question: Are you aware of the mess you are about to enter into?”
He had been watching. Of course he’d been watching. “How long have you been following me?” she demanded.

Chessur tutted. “You make it sound so sordid when you say it like that. I’ve just been…keeping an eye on you.”
“For how long?”
“Since you arrived this morning. In my defence, the Haverlock Day is drawing ever closer and I’m the only one inconspicuous enough to check that things are moving along without interrupting you.” He looked smug. “I should say it’s gone well so far.” Alice narrowed her eyes at him. “You knew this would happen,” she said accusingly, “That’s why you didn’t want me to know about the Hatter’s feelings early on, and why you didn’t want me to tell him about Henry. You wanted all the secrets to flourish.”
The cat was now reclining above her head, lazily examining his claws. “I only did what I had to in order to ensure the Hatter would be cured.”
“So you thought that helping him fall in love with a married woman would be helpful?” 
Chessur tutted again. “You’re usually much cleverer than this, Alice. No dear, I thought that helping him fall in love with you would be helpful.”
“But I am a married woman!”
“Yes but that doesn’t hold so much as a candle to the fact that you love the Hatter.”
“But –”
“There’s no point denying it, Alice.” Chessur’s voice had changed. He’d stopped hovering so airily and was now fixing her with a stern gaze. “I’ve known of your impending dilemma for some time.”

“And what would you know of my dilemma?” she asked defiantly, folding her arms.
“More than you, I dare say.”
“Oh? Go on then…enlighten me,” she gestured at him brusquely.
“It’s easy to see from the outside looking in,” said Chessur mystically. “You should have seen yourself with Tarrant, on the day you defeated the Jabberwocky. But how could you see yourself, poor child, when it was happening to you?”
“You’re not making sense, Chessur,” Alice snapped.
“I’m a grinning, blue cat that vanishes,” he replied in an uncharacteristically testy voice. “When would I ever make sense? Now, listen. There were two kinds of madness to see that day. Most obviously, with poor old Tarrant. But the other kind I saw in you. In your eyes, that pain one would associate with leaving. There was too much pain in those eyes of yours for you to ignore it. I knew you’d return, long before the others did. Before the Oraculum showed us.” 
“What are you saying? That I was in love with the Hatter even then?”
“No, I’m saying you soon would be. If you had stayed, you would at least have had a chance with him. But you left at that crucial moment, and so you spent the next few years wondering what might have happened.”
Alice narrowed her eyes shrewdly. “So you’re saying I fell in love with him while I was away from him…because I had secretly wanted to stay just to know if I could love him…” this was giving her a headache. She squeezed her temples with her fingers. The Cheshire cat regained some of his old merriment and chuckled at her.
“You know there’s a much clearer way of saying it than that,” he said. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
“True, but time heals all wounds. So which is it? Does time apart make us want to be together or does it make us forget each other?”
Chessur eyed her carefully, and to her annoyance he began to fade slowly out of existence.
“Wait!” she shouted, “Answer me Chessur! Which is it?”
His lantern eyes and wide mouth were all that were left as he spoke:
“I’ve never thought of love as a wound before, Alice.”

Author’s Note: I know it takes me a little while to update but I’m just so intent on getting it right that I force myself to reread absolutely everything in each chapter a few times before I post it, so I’m sorry you have to wait a bit. Though not as long as last time hey! And with the holidays it’s been a madhouse at my home, it was ridiculous trying to find time to write when I really wanted to because my adopted grandpa stayed over for two weeks and I spent the whole time looking after him. Ah! Anyway, here’s the next one! Hope it exceeds expectations, or at least upholds them J

Klotchyn: heads up, pay attention.

Guddler’s scut: theif’s ass

Frumious: filthy with a very bad smell

Nunz: don’t leave, not now.

Five: Love

“Why would I lie about something like this?”
Margaret was almost in hysterics as she paced up and down the carpet of her mother’s bedroom. “I saw it with my own eyes, mother! Alice climbed through that tree and –”
“Margaret, lower your voice,” hissed Helen worriedly, glancing at the closed door again. When her daughter had arrived at Kingsleigh House out of breath and wild eyed, Helen had been terrified that something might have happened to Alice. But instead Margaret had begun ranting about seeing her younger sister climb inside a willow tree and disappear. It was complete nonsense. Not the kind of thing her eldest daughter usually indulged in.
“I don’t care if people overhear, mother, this is important!”
“This is absurd!” Helen replied, “If the servants were to get wind of this then the entire town would know by sundown that now both the Kingsleigh sisters had lost their minds.”
“But I haven’t lost my mind,” Margaret argued, “I followed Alice into the woods north of the Waverly Estate. I saw her stop at the base of a willow tree and…I don’t know how exactly…but she touched the wood and the trunk opened and she climbed inside! I sat and waited for an hour, mother, and she still hasn’t come back! We need to –”
“What, Margaret? Send a search party into the tree to find her? The heat must have affected you.” 

Helen softened at the distraught expression on her daughter’s face. Life wasn’t easy on any of them these days. Maybe she was simply imagining something that might help dear Alice out of the depths of her illness. She stopped Margaret’s pacing with a gentle touch and gazed into her concerned eyes. There were already worry lines across her face, her mouth pinched in a tight line. The past six months had taken a heavy toll on the family, most of all Margaret. Between worrying over Alice and caring for her newborn daughter she hardly had a moment to herself. However, Helen could see that beneath the wrinkles and frown was the proud, determined expression that seemed so similar to the one she often saw on Charles and Alice.
She gave a tired sigh.
“You honestly believe what you saw, don’t you?” Helen asked quietly.
Margaret nodded firmly, eyes ablaze. “You must come with me, down to the tree. You can see for yourself when she returns.”
Glancing at the bedroom door once again, Helen felt her resolve wavering.
“Very well,” she said, “Show me this cursed tree.” 

 ***

“The Oraculum’s wrong,” said Alice, for the fourth time that evening.
“The Oraculum is never wrong,” drawled Absolem from his perch on the White Queen’s shoulder. “Do you honestly think that a thousand year old parchment could make a mistake about something as simple as a kiss?”
“But this isn’t a simple kiss,” Alice argued, pacing the Reading Room’s length. “This could possibly be the most complicated kiss of my life. Don’t you understand? I’m married. So why would I kiss the Hatter like…” she swallowed and glanced again at the intimate image on the scroll. “Like that?”
They had been talking about this for hours now. The sun had set. The Tweedles had disappeared. When Alice and Absolem still hadn’t emerged from the room, Mirana had lost her airy, happy expression and gone to find them.
“Why did you say this was ‘lovely’ news?” Alice rounded on the queen, who sat quietly at the end of the table. “Did you think this was something to be celebrated? My betrayal to my husband?”
“You and the Hatter share a special bond,” Mirana replied, “I just thought this would make you happy. I hadn’t considered your obligations to London.”
The trouble was that it did make Alice a little happy.
The happiness was very deep down inside, of course - underneath the confusion, anxiousness and concern. But it was a definite kind of happiness nonetheless.
Not that she would ever dare to admit it.

“None of you ever consider my life in London, do you?” she retorted, lashing out now that she felt vulnerable. “You don’t ever think that maybe I’m tired of being dragged back down here to solve all your problems!”
“Now Alice, you know that’s not true,” Mirana said evenly. “There’s not a single creature in Underland that would make you return against your will. That’s not how it works. Only those who seek it out….deep in their heart…can ever set foot here. Even if you don’t realise it’s what you want.”
“I’m going to set this straight,” Alice said suddenly, feeling panicky. “I’ve been taking the slow path with him for too long now. I’m going to shake the Hatter out of his insanity, and there’ll be no need for the Haverlock Day and then I’m going home and I’m not coming back. I’m needed in London. My mother and my sister –”
“–And dear Henry, don’t forget,” Mirana interjected.
“Yes of course him!” Alice shouted. “He’s the one I’m doing this for! I can’t keep coming here any more! It’s ruining my life in England!”
“Or is it that it’s made you see what little you have in England, and it’s frightening you because you wish to stay here?”
Alice glared at Absolem.
She felt as if she were falling down another Rabbit Hole, as if things were growing beyond her control. Her pulse quickened as she began to search for a way out in her head.
Closing her eyes, she saw Henry’s face illuminated by sunlight. He was smiling that glorious smile of his, green eyes shining. Then he was telling her that it would all be okay, that she was strong enough and brave enough to get through this, just as he had when she’d first met him.
“I’ve slain once before,” she said, opening her eyes to Mirana. “I destroyed that Jabberwocky because I thought I had to. Don’t expect me to do the same to my marriage."
She slammed the door very loudly on her way out of the room.

 ***

 Chessur was floating upside down and drinking his tea.
The March Hare was fidgeting too much to be doing any one thing. His paws were a confusing mix of gestures as he fumbled around and cried random words in a taught voice. 
It seemed like a perfectly ordinary Tea Time, but Mallymkun was less than satisfied. 
She was perched on a slice of batten berry, holding her chin in her paws. She sniffed at her tea with little interest.
“Suppose Hatter doesn’t get any better…” she ventured. Though she aimed her question more for the Cheshire cat, the March Hare chose to answer.
He flung a scone at her – which she narrowly avoided being knocked off the table by – and cried ‘Oraculum!’ loudly.
Chessur turned right side up, the contents of his mug spilling upwards and floating away as he did so. “Thackery’s right Mally, have faith in the Oraculum. It hasn’t been wrong before, now, has it?”
“But if Alice is married –”
“Love is a terrible thing, I’m afraid. It follows its own path and doesn’t take into account trivial matters like marriage to another man.” 

At the Dormouse’s raised eyebrow, Chessur hurried on: “I’m not saying that dear Alice is at heart an unfaithful person. I’m just….alluding…to the idea that she mightn’t know she’s in love with another.” He indifferently watched his tea floating away. “Of course nothing is confirmed.”
“Oh that’s all you do,” snapped Mallymkun, “Plant ideas in people’s heads and watch ‘em fester. You were never like that before, Chess!”
“Well we’ve all changed in the last four years, have we not? For instance, I’d never have thought a certain tough little Dormouse would become afraid of a little extra madness in her friend and cease to visit him.”
Mallymkun was about to argue when the March Hare suddenly dropped his cup and saucer with a loud crash.
The pair turned to him curiously, but he just sat there squeaking and shaking, pointing beyond them.
There was a path that finished at the edge of Witzend forest, which led people to the March Hare’s home.
On that path, bathed in dappled shadow and walking jauntily towards them, was the Mad Hatter.

 Mallymkun clutched her chest, little heart full of hope, while the March Hare continued to stammer and quiver.
The Cheshire Cat, who never took anything at face value, stiffened with apprehension and flexed his paws.
“Klotchyn, everyone!” the Hatter shouted, bounding towards them with an almost deranged enthusiasm. He ushered them closer, jumping up onto the tea table and looming large before them. “Come come, I have a time to make and no apology to spare.” He frowned, shook his head. “No, reverse that. Now. The apology. I have been the most frumious kind of guddler’s scut.” He swayed slightly on the table, his shoe slipping in a bowl of cream. The trio of animals simply stared at him, each with a different expression on their face. “For you see, I have been mad. Terribly mad. I was trapped in my own misery for so long that I couldn’t see a way out, and I’m sorry to say I frightened my good friends away.” At that point his gaze wandered to the Dormouse. “For which I don’t blame you, Mally. For all the ferocity in your heart it’s still really quite tiny and I didn’t expect it to hold up against the depth of my troubles.”
“Oh, Hatter…” the Dormouse wiped a tear from her eye and threw herself at his shoe, hugging it tightly. Hatter crouched down on the table and patted her head.
“Your tea’s gone cold!” Thackery cried, flinging a spoon at him and pointing at the head of the table, where a lone cup of tea sat untouched.

Chessur was suspicious. “So tell me, dear friend,” he said, “What has brought on this change of heart?”
The Hatter’s whole body seemed to melt. He sank down onto the table, lying over mugs and plates and cakes without a care. Resting his head on a teapot cosy – which was when Chessur noticed he wasn’t wearing his hat – and staring at the sky above, he answered in a bewitched voice: “Love, Chess.” Absently he stroked a loaf of bread that was squashed next to him. “Love has brought me back to all of you.”
Mallymkun exchanged a worried glance with her friends. She cleared her throat. “W-what kind of love, Hatter?”
“Only the best kind,” the Hatter replied, stretching out and sticking his elbow in a cake in the process. “It’s the loveliest, head spin-inducing, maddeningly perfect kind of love that sends shivers down your very spine to think of it.” He sighed heavily, eyes glazed, and seemed as if he were about to sleep until Chessur appeared hovering above his placid face.
“Is it…Alice?”
“Alice,” the Hatter whispered fervently, crossing his arms around himself. “She’s got me all…all tingly, Chess.”
The cat hummed thoughtfully. “And Alice feels the same, yes?”
The Hatter’s peaceful expression turned to one of fury in an instant, but before he could say anything McTwisp interrupted the scene and his anger vanished.

“What – what are you doing here?!” the White Rabbit shouted rudely in utter surprise.
Chessur was still pondering over the flicker of rage he’d seen in the Hatter’s gaze, and didn’t reply.
“Hatter’s cured,” Mallymkun called, though not sounding so sure now.
The focus of their attention now sat up and leapt from the table with childlike energy, running to meet the rabbit.
“I’m in love, McTwisp,” the Hatter muttered conspiratorially, as if now it were a great secret. “Alice has cured me with her love.”
“I see,” McTwisp replied nervously. “I need to speak with your friends in private, if I may,” he added. The Hatter seemed to think nothing of it. He bowed graciously as the White Rabbit hopped over to the others. The Hatter made a flourishing motion with his arm and out of his sleeve fell a small scroll. He unfurled it and began to read over it intently, soon forgetting them all.
 “I don’t believe he’s cured at all,” Chessur murmured. “I believe that what we’re seeing is simply another exaggerated emotion.”
“Even if he was better, once Alice tells him she can’t stay he’s just gonna lose it again,” said Mallymkun sadly.
“Gallymoggers!” cried the March Hare.
“Quiet, Thackery,” they all hushed, turning to see if the Hatter heard, but he was now too busy dusting off his coat and singing to himself.

“This is terrible,” McTwisp moaned, “Everything’s gone wrong. Alice is coming right now to find him, to tell him that she’s had enough and she’s going home…”
“Alice has given up?” Chessur enquired, surprised.
“She says she’s going to…to shake him out of this. And then…then she’s gone.”
“I knew she’d crack eventually,” Mally said bitterly, pacing the table. “That ruddy –”
“He’s not ready for her to leave,” McTwisp interrupted, “There’s still two weeks until the Haverlock Day.”
“Well we’ll just ‘ave to be better at helping him,” said Mallymkun, “Call him over ‘ere for some tea.”
“Excellent idea,” said Chessur, “A little tea should revive his spirit.” 
“But look at him!” cried the White Rabbit, jabbing a paw in the Hatter’s direction, who was now mumbling heatedly to himself and squeezing the scroll tightly. “We need to keep him away from Alice until we can persuade her to stay the course that’s been set.”
“I’ve never had a tea party that didn’t do me some good,” said Chessur. “I think our friend might benefit –”
“No! He’s not ready,” said McTwisp, and the discussion soon devolved into an argument.

The Hatter paid no attention to them.
He held a very important piece of parchment in his hand, a list so vital to his future that it made him jittery to think of it. His happiness had threatened to burst at Chessur’s question earlier, because it had upturned his whole reason for suddenly finding himself so happy. If Alice didn’t feel the same way, why would she continue to return to him like she had? He was certain her talk of marriage was a mistake. A terrible dream. And all he had to do was give his list to her and she’d surely be his. Not mine, he corrected himself, Alice could never belong to someone, like a sock or biscuit. Trying not to think of what she would taste like if she were a biscuit, his fiery excitement was now giving way to a case of nerves and impatience. He began wondering just when he’d be able to present the scroll to –
“Alice!” he shouted, as the object of his desire suddenly burst through the trees.
She was all sort of…red faced and messy, he noticed...but he was nevertheless mesmerised by her.
And she was by him, apparently. 
Upon seeing the Hatter Alice gave a strangled cry and threw herself at him.
“You terrible – couldn’t find – thought you’d – something stupid!” she couldn’t get a sentence straight, just hung from him with the strength of someone desperately relieved. The Hatter laughed, overcoming his momentary shock and hugging her tightly to him. She was so…soft, her dress silky, her hair sweet-smelling. All manner of things beginning with S.  

“Though I do approve of random babbling now and again, Alice, I think you ought to try finishing a sentence. I’m finding it hard to keep up with you.” He was beginning to worry he’d never let go of her when she suddenly wrenched herself from him and smacked his arm. Quite hard. Frowning, it was then he noticed she was holding his hat in one hand.
“Why is it you’re always retrieving that for me?” he asked, nodding at it.
“Why have I got this?” Alice brandished the hat vigorously; she heard the Cheshire Cat moan about tearing the fabric. “I’ll tell you why I have this. I came back to your hut hoping to talk some sense into you. I was feeling very cross and determined when I came knocking and you didn’t answer your door. And then what did I find?”
He was about to answer but something in her eyes told him she wasn’t really asking.
“Nothing! No Hatter, no note and you’re most prized possession left discarded on the floor. I imagined the worst!”
“Well you do have a fantastic imagination –”
“I thought you’d done something dreadful!” Alice shouted, “After the way I left you today I thought you’d gone off and – and…” she trailed off, unable to finish.
The Hatter was smiling. She was worried about me.
“But you’re not…you’re here,” she said curiously, “You’re here with your friends and you’re smiling.” 

“Quite an eye for observation you have,” Chessur drawled from the background.
“And now I can’t be cross with you because I’m just so relieved to have found you, and it’s not fair because I was all set to shout.” Her voice was weak. “So what’s going on? Why are you here?” 
Her yelling seemed to have sobered him, quelling any thoughts of erupting with emotion.
“It’s magnificent Alice,” he told her intently. “After you left I had time to think, which is very good for a brain like mine. My thoughts tend to chase each other and I need time to sort them out. And what I came up with…put me in such a wonderful mood. It’s as if I’m…reborn. Because of you!”
“Me?” Alice’s gazed flicked to the animals slowly edging closer towards them. Their expressions said something was going on that she wasn’t aware of.
“I have something to show you, Alice, something very important –”
“But first, I think a little Tea Time might be in order,” Chessur interrupted. He had no idea what the Hatter wanted to show the girl but he had a feeling she probably wouldn’t take it well.
Alice seemed to have forgotten all about her plan to abandon him. “Yes,” she agreed, handing his hat to him, “I could definitely do with a drink.”

They realised they were all quite hungry, as the sky above was now an inky blue and splattered with stars. The day had disappeared so quickly. Everyone took up their seats, but as Alice threaded her arm through the Hatter’s and led him to his seat, there was an awkward pause.
This was the first time he’d sat with them in four years.
“Quite an important moment, don’t you think?” the Hatter asked, flashing a nervous smile at Alice and leaning in a little too close. She nodded, butterflies suddenly taking refuge in her stomach, and sat down beside him.
Chessur assumed a nonchalant look while keeping a close eye on them both. McTwisp tutted under his breath and sat furthest away, glancing at his pocket watch to let them all know he thought it was much too late for this sort of thing. Mallymkun and the March Hare found they couldn’t remember the protocol for Tea Time. They were fidgeting and glancing around and not at all ready to start throwing scones and flinging cream. Their nervousness soared higher when the Hatter began whispering fervently to Alice, and she nodded reassuringly.
“You’re going to be fine,” she told him in an undertone. But as everyone was now very obviously watching him as they went about their business, he grew embarrassed and twitchy, staying quiet.    
Biting into a large piece of cake, Alice tried to encourage him to do the same, but he was too anxious.

“I have something to show you,” he kept saying to her quietly.
This wasn’t working. She wished they’d stop eyeing him so suspiciously, even though she had an idea of why. He’d seemed too carefree when she ran into him, his eyes following her too much. She suspected that he wasn’t cured at all; just that today’s emotion was something quite strong to do with her. And the way he kept whispering to her, it seemed he was desperate to get away from the tables and be alone. It didn’t help that the March Hare was shivering more than ever and blinking in their direction constantly.
What they needed was something to distract them all from him.
Alice paused in the act of holding the sliver of cake to her mouth, eyes widening with an idea, and flung it haphazardly at Thackery.
It splattered across his body with a thick, wet sound. They all stared. Thackery blinked yet again, now frozen. Very slowly, he licked the icing from his lips, wiped off a big hunk of sponge with his paw, and lopped it at Alice’s head.
The second it hit her with a splat he let out a great big, mad giggle, and the fight began. 

Scones were launched across the table like missiles, with Mallymkun fighting them off with a knife. The March Hare grabbed a spoon and used it to lob great heaps of cream at the Hatter, who retaliated with a barrage of biscuits dipped in jam. Chessur was doing his best to look dignified about the whole thing, but Alice caught him using his tail to flick a slice of cake at a rather worried looking McTwisp. The White Rabbit sighed, shrugged, and then hid his pocket watch safely away and began fighting Chessur’s tail with a breadstick. There were no more cautious glances, no more whispers or twitchy hands. They all forgot that their friend was ill, including the Hatter himself, as they dug their paws and hands into chunks of cake and jam and threw it into the fray. Laughing so hard her ribs ached, Alice stuck her hand out in time to bat away a scone coming for her. Nobody noticed when she stopped fighting back and just sat there, watching them all. If only life could be like this in England, she thought, it would be so much more enjoyable. She noticed as Thackery and Mallymkun began a swordfight with breadsticks that the Hatter no longer giggled madly. Instead he laughed, actually laughed, the way he had in the forest when they’d both shrunk. And it was his friends that were helping him here, she thought, not just herself. There was energy about him that she alone hadn’t been able to ignite. Thinking back to the list she’d made, a pleased smile graced her face, and she sighed, relieved.
There were still things worth living for.
It looked like she could cross that off her list. 

“You know, the Cheshire Cat is usually the one with the smug grin,” said a voice from beside her. The White Rabbit had hopped onto the seat next to her. “What are you looking so pleased about?”
“It’s working McTwisp,” she said triumphantly, “Look at him! He’s doing so well!”
“You have been a great help Alice,” he replied, “It’s a shame you can’t just stay,” he said without thinking, and Alice stiffened. How could she have forgotten her reason for wanting to leave? But worse than this was the sudden silence that fell around the table. The Hatter had heard, and ceased his actions immediately.
“You’re not staying to finish the fight, Alice?” he asked meekly.
“Of course I am,” she replied hastily, “McTwisp didn’t mean that.”
“Then what did he mean?”
But before she could say anything, he continued. “He meant stay in Underland, didn’t he? You’re still going home.” He wiped cream from his eye and threw down a tart he’d been holding. “So it wasn’t a dream after all,” he mumbled to himself. Mallymkun, who was closest, tried to put a comforting paw on his arm but he shucked it off.

“And you all knew, didn’t you?” he asked of his friends, who had gone quiet. “You thought I wouldn’t notice she’d left if you just kept me busy.” 
“Hatter, listen,” said Alice, “There’s something that’s going to happen, and I can’t be there for that. I –”
“Alice would you accompany me back to my hut?” he asked, with a sudden determination.
“I – well, yes.”
“Excellent.” He barely spared the others a glance as he jumped from his seat and strode to the path that would lead them back to Tulgey Wood, where his shabby hut resided. Befuddled, Alice had no choice but to share a confused look with Chessur before hurrying to catch up with the Hatter. He remained ahead of her, keeping his fast pace, and she thought he wasn’t going to speak to her until they reached his hut. But as soon as they were deep in the forest, well out of ear shot, he stopped in his tracks and turned to her. His whole demeanour seemed to have changed. He wrung his hands in front of him and hung his head. “I’m afraid I didn’t do very well back there, did I?” he asked. “I lost my temper. That was my first Tea Party in a long time and –”
He kicked a large mushroom. “I lost my temper.”

Now completely thrown off, Alice patted his arm in what she hoped wasn’t a condescending way. “It’s – it’s all right,” she told him, “We can try another day.”
He seemed to brighten at the thought of that. “Yes,” he murmured, “Another day.” 
They started to walk again, the Hatter taking Alice’s arm in his, and traipsing on in silence until they reached his hut. She was trying to figure out just what was going on inside that mind of his. He was behaving more erratically than she’d seen him in do in a while.
As they stood at the threshold of the door he seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but she cut across him quickly.
“It’s been a long day; maybe you should just be alone for a while. To rest and –”
“Nunz,” the Hatter said fervently. “No Alice, nunz, nunz.”
She didn’t know what the Outlandish word meant, but by his desperate tone she could guess.
“Well I can’t stay too much longer; everyone at home will be worrying about me by now –”
“Time runs differently here, remember? It’s only been a few hours in your London. Not an entire day.”
She looked put out that he’d waved away her excuse for leaving.
“What a day it’s been,” he murmured, standing awkwardly at the door.
Alice made a nondescript hum of agreement.
Eventually the silence was too heavy for her.
“Is there something –?”
“You’re a good size,” he blurted, and she detected the hint of a blush on his pale cheeks.

She couldn’t think of what to say. “Oh?” 
His eyes wandered over her shyly. “I like…you’re not tiny, not large…or odd-sized so our eyes don’t meet properly and you just sort of fit into the world and you’re right and –” he broke off, taking a calming breath. “You’re a good size,” he repeated with a sigh. Alice’s stomach filled with butterflies again. Without realising it they had both entered the doorway and were now leaning against each side of its frame. There wasn’t much space between them, but the way he was looking at her made it feel like no space at all. He was gazing at her, couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, because she was the real Alice and she kept coming back to him and even when she was yelling at him she was pretty and – 
“Hatter, will you never stop looking at me that way?”
He snapped out of his reverie to realise that Alice, pale-skinned and tight-lipped Alice, was now flushed with colour from head to toe.
Because of him.
“Does it bother you?” he asked, speaking with that humble, soft lisp again.
No, she thought, Not at all. And that’s when she realised she’d mistaken her nervousness for unease. But it wasn’t uncomfortable at all, being with him like this. It was like he said – she just fit here, next to him. Out of every little piece of madness that existed in Underland, this made perfect sense to her. She could spend every moment wandering through the forests and plains being confused by caterpillars and patronised by daisies, but the instant she was with the Hatter, she felt like the only important thing, no matter his state of mind, was to be there with him.
With the man that she’d been dreaming about every night since she was six years old.

“Why me?” Alice whispered, “Why can’t this be someone else’s dilemma? Why can’t I be happily married and have children and be proper and dull in London like everyone else?” Her voice was so small and weak that he might have pitied her, if the truth hadn’t been burning inside him like a wildfire.
“Because you’re meant for much more than dreary old London, Alice Kingsleigh,” he whispered.
It was a strange feeling, to know she was falling in love with the wrong man.
The Hatter was impractical, illogical and ill-minded even, but he was more entertaining and interesting than any man she’d ever met. He was brilliant and daft, bizarre but somehow right, fierce and gentle. He was a thousand men rolled into one.
And he lived in another world.
It was this fact alone that labelled him ‘the wrong man’. It wasn’t because he could be dangerously moody, or because he wasn’t her husband. It was simply that she knew if she were to choose him, she’d have to leave everything she knew.
But what did she know?
Cold, selfish London. A proper, aristocratic mother. A sister who lived happily with a scoundrel.
If these were the things she knew, then Alice thought she might be better off not knowing anything at all. 

The Hatter took a step closer. His coat made a rustling sound against the front of her dress. “You asked me why I’d lost my mind…”
Her heart was beating fast. “Yes?”
“Well it was because…” No time like the present, he thought. “I loved you. Even then, I loved you…and you left.”
What a strange reaction, she thought, to find her eyes suddenly fill with tears. Blinking them away furiously, she felt herself tipping towards him, and he her. But at the last second she dipped her head down so that his lips brushed against the crown of her head.
“A-Alice?” he stammered nervously, as he dared to skim a hand along her forearm.
“Hmm?”
“Do you – do you love me?”
She trembled, couldn’t lift her head away from his coat. “I can’t…” she murmured into his lapels. Her voice was breathy. “H-Henry…he’ll be wondering where I am.”
At the mention of her husband’s name, the Hatter withdrew his hand from her arm.
But it wasn’t the thought of Henry that had kept Alice’s lips apart from his. It was a kind of fear, a tension in the pit of her stomach. A voice in her head telling her that this had happened before, in another place, a terrible place, and it was painful and terrifying and –
Alice drew back from him further. 

“I really do have to go now.”
“Have to or want to?”
“I don’t feel like telling you that difference, Hatter. I’ve got to go.”
She began picking out the path that led her to the willow tree. He followed quickly.
“I still haven’t shown you the thing, Alice!”
“The thing?” she didn’t slow down, so he sped up, now walking backwards in front of her to try and make her catch his eye.
“Here.” He thrust the scroll into her hands. “I’ve made a…a little collection, of sorts…about you.” He was too desperately serious to blush. This was the crucial moment to beat all crucial moments. “Of my feelings, thoughts, observations and desires…in regards to you.” 
She stared at the scroll in her hand. The Hatter’s soul lay bare? For her?
“But…why?”
“I wish to submit it to you as evidence that I can love you enough.”
More than him. They both knew that part without it being said.
She regarded him steadily, her pace slowing. “This isn’t a competition, Hatter.”
“It isn’t?” he seemed genuinely puzzled. “Then how will we know whom you’ve chosen?”

“Who’s to say that I’m making any choice at all?” 
Something hardened in his features then, a sort of stoic reserve. A stone, a lump of coal with a diamond inside. “But if you had to choose, right at this moment, who would it be?”
They had reached the willow tree. Feeling very panicky now, Alice stroked the trunk and it slid open to reveal a dark hole. “I don’t... I don’t have to make the choice, so I won’t.” She clambered through it, barely aware of where she was going as their argument continued.
The Hatter followed her through without a moment’s hesitation. “One day you will, Alice!” he shouted, panicking too, but also a little cross. “All roads lead somewhere! And someday ours will come to a fork, and it will become his or ours and you’ll have to choose one.”
She climbed her way out of the darkness, into the rosy-hued world of England at sunset. “Hatter, you’re losing your temper again.”
“Choose!” he shouted, his voice laced with different tones, “If you had to choose right now, could you? Would you?”
She finally turned around to face him. He was breathing heavily, his expression deadly serious. But she noticed his sparkling eyes weren’t lit with fire. They were still just green.
Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came.
“No,” he murmured, “I didn’t think so.” 

Alice began to run.
She didn’t care that the Hatter had just followed her through to her own world, that she’d arouse suspicion at home by barging in red faced and teary eyed. That Henry would be so worried about her that he’d not let up until she confessed. What she cared about was putting as much distance between her and the Hatter as possible, because she was afraid of what had happened. Afraid of the way she’d felt, still felt, and because she knew if she stayed, she might just fall apart in front of him.
The Haverlock Day is still to come – you can’t leave him like this – you can’t leave him – you must read that scroll – you’re going to lose yourself –
“Shut up!” she pleaded, willing the thoughts to stop chasing her. A few shaky tears were now tracking their way down her cheeks. She’d reached Kingsleigh House, but she dared not go in like this. She gripped her aching side, taking refuge behind a stone statue, and tried to calm down, though there was nothing to be calm about. Her best friend, who she happened to love, was mad. Her husband was perfect, but she couldn’t ever love him enough. Her family treated her like a child, and rejected her marriage. Wiping the tears from her eyes, Alice clutched at the ring around her neck and sank onto the ground. And then as if she’d called him, a shadow fell over her, and she looked up to see Henry above her.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, crouching down and pulling her into his embrace. But Alice just gave a sigh that was too world-weary for her years, and didn’t answer. 

 ***

“Choose! If you had to choose, right now, could you? Would you?”
Margaret and her mother could see that they weren’t the only ones who couldn’t get the question out of their heads, because the stranger who had uttered it seemed to have an expression of utmost regret on his face. He’d watched Alice leave with frustration at first, but now it seemed he was just angry at himself. They studied him in shock as he unclenched his fists and hung his head low.
He was so…familiar.
It also seemed that he was not going to run after her, as he just stood in front of the tree, looking forlornly in her direction. Then quite suddenly he shook himself, as if just waking up, and looked around at his surroundings like he’d only just noticed where he was.
“A-Alice’s world,” he stammered, his voice now very timid.
They had no idea what he meant by that. Helen was rendered speechless, too completely shocked to even move. As Margaret studied the man further, stepping out from behind a bush, she suddenly realised where she’d seen him before. Before she could stop herself, she gasped loudly. Helen grabbed hold of her daughter’s arm and squeezed tightly as the man finally spotted them, and his eyes lit up with surprise.
“It’s you,” Margaret cried out in astonishment. “You’re Henry!”