"I thought you were dead."
He didn't say it in an aggressive way; in fact he barely even raised his voice. He sounded more strained than anything, but in any case, it had certainly been enough to shut Jervis up, if for a moment. It wasn't exactly the explanation he'd expected, but it was an explanation nonetheless.
'Thought I was dead? That's all very well and good,' the contused haberdasher thought, now standing before his partner safe and behind bars yet again, 'but how is that any kind of excuse?' If Jonathan had been so wretchedly worried about his safety, then where were the relieved kisses and protective caresses upon their reunion? Shouldn't he have a gentle word or two in mind by now, all of the things he'd surely regret bottling up after Jervis was lowered securely into this imaginary grave of his? But no, when the Hatter was ushered back into their shared cell three days prior, his so-called swain had barely uttered a word in greeting, clamming up to an even more severe degree than usual. It was almost as if he hadn't noticed his absence at all! Jervis awaited a response and then verbally prodded before poking him roughly in the shoulder and demanding to know the meaning of this near-silent treatment. Even then the Scarecrow had resisted, but now, supposedly he'd been worn down enough to spit out a legitimate answer, despite how little sense it made.
'There's glory for you,' the Hatter thought sarcastically, dark-faced and impatient. "If you've been so beside yourself this whole time, then why don't you bloody well show it?" he pressed in the wake of a sorely uncomfortable silence, stamping his tiny foot in some attempt to appear sturdy.
At this, Jonathan's brow lowered to a surly, obstinate effect. He shook his head in disgust, more to himself than anyone, dismissing Jervis and the remainder of his confrontation by reaching across the bed for a book, causing the smaller man to fume.