alice fic: the other side of the mirror [alice/hatter, t]
the other side of the mirror. alice, t, 1437 words.
That night, they do pizza. (They also do lots of other things, but that’s neither here nor there.)
"Honey?” her mother says uncertainly. “Do you know David?”
Alice chokes back a laugh and Hatter kisses her again, hands drifting up her arms and shoulders to slide through her hair. “Yeah,” she says, voice muffled against his lips. He draws back a bit, fingers smoothing her hair back from her temples, raking it away from her face, and she adds, “We’ve met before,” as he leans his forehead against hers and closes his eyes.
She’s gripping him like she’ll never let him go, hands fisted into the fabric of his jacket. She kisses his throat and he sighs into her ear, and she smiles.
That night, they do pizza.
(They also do lots of other things, but that’s neither here nor there.)
He soon gets a job working at a magic-slash-joke shop. It’s slow and tedious there, and she’s not sure if he’s happy, living like this, but it nevertheless keeps him in nice coats and weird hats and he keeps himself busy coaching the neighborhood kids in sleight of hand while he’s supposed to be manning the cash on weekend afternoons. Hatter’s a stern teacher, but a good one; “Oi,” he says when one doesn’t play close enough attention, snapping his fingers under his nose, “focus, yeah? Your thumb goes like this,” but even if no one else sees it Alice doesn’t miss the smile that twitches at the corner of his lips, and they all adore him anyway.
He gets in a bit of trouble when he starts giving lessons in lock-picking, but he smoothes it over quickly enough. Hatter’s a deceptively charismatic son of a bitch. She’ll give him that much.
He’s stretched out on his bed still fully-dressed when she gets in after work, his hat on his chest, fingers cradling it protectively even in sleep. She’s stiff and a little sweaty, and when she sits down on the bed beside him to take off her boots the lamplight that is thrown across his face picks out two fading scars, one sliced across his forehead, the other a white crescent under his eye. Alice remembers Wonderland, seeing him battered and bloody and tortured for her sake, and her throat closes up and she dashes one thumb gently across his cheekbone like she might smooth away these remembrances of what he’s done for her.
He catches her hand and kisses it, eyes still closed. She slides down onto the pillow beside him and leans forward to kiss his cheek. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to wake you up,” but he settles his hand over her hip, pulling her closer so he can bury his face in the crook of her neck. His hat is squashed between them.
That first formal meet-the-boyfriend supper with Hatter and her mother is stressful, to say the least. He is endlessly polite and pleasant and charming, but while Mom seems perfectly willing to be charmed it’s obvious that she sees through his act fast enough. She gives Alice a knowing look as she passes the potatoes but Alice can’t quite read it, doesn’t know if it’s a look of he’s a bastard but I like him or he’s a bastard and I don’t trust him. Hatter’s eyes are a little wild and desperate over his wine glass, and when the meal’s done Alice takes pity on him and hauls him out of the apartment for coffee.
“Jesus,” Hatter says, slumping on his stool. “I like your mum, but she scares me half to death.”
“Did you know her?” Alice asks, watching his fingers as he shuffles and cuts a deck of cards, splaying them out on the scarred formica. His hands slow, and he looks up at her.
“Did I know who? Your mother?”
“Alice,” she says into her mug of coffee, almost shyly. “You know, ‘Of Legend’. The original. I mean, you were in the book. You must have known her.”
He shrugs, dropping his eyes back down. “Yes,” he says, flipping a few cards over, pushing aside his tea. “I knew her.”
It’s a little chilling.
“So what are you, immortal?” It comes out sharper than intended, and she wishes she could’ve bit her tongue. She takes a drink of coffee instead.
His gaze goes back to her face. “Well, long-lived is maybe a better word,” he says slowly, deliberately, trying to gauge her feelings. “But in Wonderland? Sure. Here? I don’t know, to be honest.”
“Oh,” she says stupidly.
Because he’s Hatter, and maybe because he can’t help himself, it didn’t take a week before he began rebuilding his network of contacts among his fellow immigrants. “Well, it’s just logical, isn’t it,” he says when she asks. “There are plenty of Queen of Hearts loyalists left out there and you and I have big old massive red targets on our backs. Got to keep in the loop, my dear.”
They’re going through the park at dusk when one of the Queen’s Suits comes after them. They neatly dispatch him in less than two minutes; Alice barely has time to break a sweat.
“You all right?” Hatter asks, wincing as he shakes out that infamous right hand. His knuckles are bleeding.
“I thought it was kind of fun, actually,” Alice says.
“You’re bloody crazy, that’s what you are,” Hatter says, eyebrow lifting.
But he’s smiling.
“Just like old times,” Alice says. She tucks her arm through his and tugs him away from the fallen Suit where he lays sprawled in the grass. “I’m hungry. You want some Thai?”
The dim half-light of dawn is just leaking around the edges of Alice’s curtains as she steps out of her shoes and pushes Hatter’s coat off his shoulders, walking him backwards toward the bed while he kisses her roughly, hands sliding around her waist and up her back. “Hang on,” she says when he tugs at her zipper futilely, “I’ve got it,” and he pulls away to rip at the buttons of his shirt while she twists to try and unzip herself.
“Dammit,” she says impatiently, breathing hard.
“Come here,” he says, and he lifts her hair to undo the catch at her collar. She turns and kisses him again, slowly and sweetly, and her hand slips down his chest to fumble at his belt buckle with impatient fingers. He kneels and begins peeling her red tights down her legs, kissing her white bare skin as he goes, and she shivers, feeling herself go weak. “God, I love you,” he says into the hollow of her knee, and she sits down hard on the bed and draws his face up to hers to kiss him frantically, her heart pounding in her ears. His hands slide through the thick darkness of her hair and she pushes him down onto the bed, rolling to pin him.
“Hatter,” Alice says as her hair swings in his face. His hand slips around her neck and he pulls her down to kiss her where her pulse throbs in her neck, mouth trailing along her jaw, teeth grazing her skin.
They’re sitting up on the roof. Alice isn’t afraid of heights anymore - she doesn’t like them, exactly, they’re never going to be best friends but she’s not afraid of them - but it’s still nice to have Hatter’s arm around her waist under her coat, her hip pressing against his, his hand warm across her ribs as their legs dangle out over the edge of the roof. She opens her mouth to speak and then closes it, feeling silly.
He spins his hat around his free hand. “What is it,” he says.
“Nothing,” she says, and she lays her head on his shoulder, kicking her feet out a little and feeling a dangerous plummeting rush in the pit of her stomach when she gets a glimpse of the lights down on the street below. “Well, I’m a little bored, actually.”
He taps his hat against his knee and is quiet for a moment. “You know,” he says carefully. “The Looking Glass goes both ways.”
Her feet still. “We could go visit Charlie.”
She can hear the smile in his voice. “We could, at that.”
“Check up on Jack.”
“Well, if we have to,” he says into her hair before he presses a kiss behind her ear.
She elbows him lightly. “Hatter.”
He swings his legs back over the ledge of the roof and stands, feet crunching on the gravel; she twists back to see what he’s doing and he’s holding his hand out to her, his hat back on his head. He’s grinning, a sly light in his dark eyes.
“My lady Alice,” he says.
That night, they do pizza. (They also do lots of other things, but that’s neither here nor there.)
"Honey?” her mother says uncertainly. “Do you know David?”
Alice chokes back a laugh and Hatter kisses her again, hands drifting up her arms and shoulders to slide through her hair. “Yeah,” she says, voice muffled against his lips. He draws back a bit, fingers smoothing her hair back from her temples, raking it away from her face, and she adds, “We’ve met before,” as he leans his forehead against hers and closes his eyes.
She’s gripping him like she’ll never let him go, hands fisted into the fabric of his jacket. She kisses his throat and he sighs into her ear, and she smiles.
That night, they do pizza.
(They also do lots of other things, but that’s neither here nor there.)
He soon gets a job working at a magic-slash-joke shop. It’s slow and tedious there, and she’s not sure if he’s happy, living like this, but it nevertheless keeps him in nice coats and weird hats and he keeps himself busy coaching the neighborhood kids in sleight of hand while he’s supposed to be manning the cash on weekend afternoons. Hatter’s a stern teacher, but a good one; “Oi,” he says when one doesn’t play close enough attention, snapping his fingers under his nose, “focus, yeah? Your thumb goes like this,” but even if no one else sees it Alice doesn’t miss the smile that twitches at the corner of his lips, and they all adore him anyway.
He gets in a bit of trouble when he starts giving lessons in lock-picking, but he smoothes it over quickly enough. Hatter’s a deceptively charismatic son of a bitch. She’ll give him that much.
He’s stretched out on his bed still fully-dressed when she gets in after work, his hat on his chest, fingers cradling it protectively even in sleep. She’s stiff and a little sweaty, and when she sits down on the bed beside him to take off her boots the lamplight that is thrown across his face picks out two fading scars, one sliced across his forehead, the other a white crescent under his eye. Alice remembers Wonderland, seeing him battered and bloody and tortured for her sake, and her throat closes up and she dashes one thumb gently across his cheekbone like she might smooth away these remembrances of what he’s done for her.
He catches her hand and kisses it, eyes still closed. She slides down onto the pillow beside him and leans forward to kiss his cheek. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to wake you up,” but he settles his hand over her hip, pulling her closer so he can bury his face in the crook of her neck. His hat is squashed between them.
That first formal meet-the-boyfriend supper with Hatter and her mother is stressful, to say the least. He is endlessly polite and pleasant and charming, but while Mom seems perfectly willing to be charmed it’s obvious that she sees through his act fast enough. She gives Alice a knowing look as she passes the potatoes but Alice can’t quite read it, doesn’t know if it’s a look of he’s a bastard but I like him or he’s a bastard and I don’t trust him. Hatter’s eyes are a little wild and desperate over his wine glass, and when the meal’s done Alice takes pity on him and hauls him out of the apartment for coffee.
“Jesus,” Hatter says, slumping on his stool. “I like your mum, but she scares me half to death.”
“Did you know her?” Alice asks, watching his fingers as he shuffles and cuts a deck of cards, splaying them out on the scarred formica. His hands slow, and he looks up at her.
“Did I know who? Your mother?”
“Alice,” she says into her mug of coffee, almost shyly. “You know, ‘Of Legend’. The original. I mean, you were in the book. You must have known her.”
He shrugs, dropping his eyes back down. “Yes,” he says, flipping a few cards over, pushing aside his tea. “I knew her.”
It’s a little chilling.
“So what are you, immortal?” It comes out sharper than intended, and she wishes she could’ve bit her tongue. She takes a drink of coffee instead.
His gaze goes back to her face. “Well, long-lived is maybe a better word,” he says slowly, deliberately, trying to gauge her feelings. “But in Wonderland? Sure. Here? I don’t know, to be honest.”
“Oh,” she says stupidly.
Because he’s Hatter, and maybe because he can’t help himself, it didn’t take a week before he began rebuilding his network of contacts among his fellow immigrants. “Well, it’s just logical, isn’t it,” he says when she asks. “There are plenty of Queen of Hearts loyalists left out there and you and I have big old massive red targets on our backs. Got to keep in the loop, my dear.”
They’re going through the park at dusk when one of the Queen’s Suits comes after them. They neatly dispatch him in less than two minutes; Alice barely has time to break a sweat.
“You all right?” Hatter asks, wincing as he shakes out that infamous right hand. His knuckles are bleeding.
“I thought it was kind of fun, actually,” Alice says.
“You’re bloody crazy, that’s what you are,” Hatter says, eyebrow lifting.
But he’s smiling.
“Just like old times,” Alice says. She tucks her arm through his and tugs him away from the fallen Suit where he lays sprawled in the grass. “I’m hungry. You want some Thai?”
The dim half-light of dawn is just leaking around the edges of Alice’s curtains as she steps out of her shoes and pushes Hatter’s coat off his shoulders, walking him backwards toward the bed while he kisses her roughly, hands sliding around her waist and up her back. “Hang on,” she says when he tugs at her zipper futilely, “I’ve got it,” and he pulls away to rip at the buttons of his shirt while she twists to try and unzip herself.
“Dammit,” she says impatiently, breathing hard.
“Come here,” he says, and he lifts her hair to undo the catch at her collar. She turns and kisses him again, slowly and sweetly, and her hand slips down his chest to fumble at his belt buckle with impatient fingers. He kneels and begins peeling her red tights down her legs, kissing her white bare skin as he goes, and she shivers, feeling herself go weak. “God, I love you,” he says into the hollow of her knee, and she sits down hard on the bed and draws his face up to hers to kiss him frantically, her heart pounding in her ears. His hands slide through the thick darkness of her hair and she pushes him down onto the bed, rolling to pin him.
“Hatter,” Alice says as her hair swings in his face. His hand slips around her neck and he pulls her down to kiss her where her pulse throbs in her neck, mouth trailing along her jaw, teeth grazing her skin.
They’re sitting up on the roof. Alice isn’t afraid of heights anymore - she doesn’t like them, exactly, they’re never going to be best friends but she’s not afraid of them - but it’s still nice to have Hatter’s arm around her waist under her coat, her hip pressing against his, his hand warm across her ribs as their legs dangle out over the edge of the roof. She opens her mouth to speak and then closes it, feeling silly.
He spins his hat around his free hand. “What is it,” he says.
“Nothing,” she says, and she lays her head on his shoulder, kicking her feet out a little and feeling a dangerous plummeting rush in the pit of her stomach when she gets a glimpse of the lights down on the street below. “Well, I’m a little bored, actually.”
He taps his hat against his knee and is quiet for a moment. “You know,” he says carefully. “The Looking Glass goes both ways.”
Her feet still. “We could go visit Charlie.”
She can hear the smile in his voice. “We could, at that.”
“Check up on Jack.”
“Well, if we have to,” he says into her hair before he presses a kiss behind her ear.
She elbows him lightly. “Hatter.”
He swings his legs back over the ledge of the roof and stands, feet crunching on the gravel; she twists back to see what he’s doing and he’s holding his hand out to her, his hat back on his head. He’s grinning, a sly light in his dark eyes.
“My lady Alice,” he says.