Facets of Madness, Peace Part Two Section Two
***
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.