Rain asked me to write this. Her prompt was for me to write about a certain something, an event, which will become clear to you as you read, but I don't like to write about things head on. I like to write about the aftermath. My story titles are the GREATEST THING EVER, aren't they? So descriptive. GOD I'm amazing. :P

They sat on the bench on streetside for a while, watching but not really watching the traffic and the people walk by. Alice opened her mouth a few times, but then closed it every time with a new expression of thoughtful consideration on the matter. The Hatter, for his part, seemed to have broken his eyebrows, for they were stuck in the up position and made him look like he had just heard a word that couldn't be spoken or a color that couldn't be seen, as if he couldn't process its fleeting nature. His left hand crossed over was a dead weight in her lap, and she had forgotten she was holding onto it with both of hers when he suddenly spoke, though it was very soft, and Alice started when he did.

"Now what?"

It was a very good question. Usually when people do things without thinking about them, there are consequences, but when you know that there are consequences but they don't come immediately, it's a bit offputting.

"Do you feel any different?"

He looked around, up and down the street, as if the street car would suddenly produce a sign flashing out the answer.

"Not really."

"Neither do I." She guessed she would have felt a monumental change—perhaps it was the idea of it, the notion of subsumption, that had her convinced all along that she would walk out of those doors a different person altogether.

"I mean, it's not really transmogrification or anything, is it?"

"I think we'll feel different later," said Alice, and then felt a curious kind of nervousness solidifying within her. Things were going to change. Things would be different. Later, when it was dark. She wasn't going to think about it just yet, though. The newness of it all was still a shock.

"How does this work? What do people do? Not in the traditional sense—I mean after that, and even after everything else. What will next week be like? And the week after that?"

"I suppose we'll find out," she ventured to guess, but he still seemed in awe of the very idea of it. "I suppose," she said again, and he darted his head to turn and look at her, "I suppose we ought to be in concert, in alliance or harmony, oughtn't we?" He waited, and then he put both hands under her knees and pulled them up and over and across his, and then he put her arms around his middle. "What are we doing?" she said with a bit of a grin.

"We're like a Penrose triangle," he said, "You hold onto me, and I'll hold onto you, and we'll both keep each other up, you see?"

"Penrose triangles aren't real," she replied kindly, "Those are impossible objects."

"Prove me wrong, I dare you." He began twisting the curl along her jawline between his fingers gently. They sat like that for a bit, with the changing landscape of people, and Alice put her cheek against his shoulder and said very quietly to his heart where it sat,

"God help me, I love you so much." And she very nearly began to cry, but instead she sat up straight and ran the flesh of her thumb gently over the end of his nose. He blinked complacently and let this go on for a bit before he said,

"Run off with it, why don't you."

"Maybe I will," with a bit of challenge.

"You could shear it and go on a round-the-world tour, just the two of you, smelling the smells that smell. Hopefully more good ones than bad."

"No, I think I would miss the rest that's attached to it," this quietly and with a bit of reverence before she said, "But if you wake up in the night and it's gone, you'll know what's happened." He nodded seriously.

"Are you going to keep doing that? I feel distinctly as though I'm being mocked," he continued after a few more moments of her inspection. He was joking, of course, but a bit contrite, Alice said,

"I do like your nose, you know. It has a pleasing shape and such a wide septum." He frowned and shifted his arm so that it went around the small of her back.

"I can't help it, it just grew that way."

"It makes you look honest and generous and very deep." He bumped her nose with his.

"Does it?"

"It is very large, though."

"Then I do not think we shall get along, you know, if you secretly think those sorts of things. My nose and I are the closest of companions." He sighed and shook his head, falsely rueful. "It'll be a third wheel, constantly coming between us. Driving a wedge into happiness. We might get into arguments or even a heated discussion." Now he looked almost thrilled at the idea.

"Well, before we do that, shall we have some luncheon? I'm rather hungry."

"What about that cafe?" He pointed across the street.

"Oooh, are you going to carry me?" She wiggled her feet up and down, excited.

"Heavens, what a thought, woman. Carry you all the way across the street."

"I was hoping you'd carry me across the threshold of that house of yours."

"You've got legs!" His mock outrage was plentiful.

"I do, very nice ones, I think," she said, and moved her skirts a bit to the side to look at the stocking just above her boots, which they both admired in the open sunlight, right there on the street. "You ought to spare them, being so tall and dashing and strong as you are." She looked up at him from under his chin, winsome and dreamy.

"Yes, well," he said, folded his arms and blushed charmingly, looking very pleased with himself, "Those things I am, aren't I?"

"But you are not as loyal as I thought you would be," she replied in turn, "You haven't even kissed me yet, and we've been sitting here at least..." she turned to look up at the church clockface behind them, "Ten minutes now."

"Goodness, I hope no one comes to steal you off," in a deadpan voice. "They might convince you to run from me, and the ink isn't even dry on those papers. I should find myself at a tremendous loss in what to do if I did not hear your voice down the corridor in the mornings."

"You could fix that, you know," she said. And he did. "I do think," said Alice in between the ardent way he was fixing things, "That I should really like," on another break, and it was a while before she spoke again, "Cold ham for lunch." He squinted his eyes and nodded in perfect earnestness.

"I like you."

"I like you too."

"I also enjoy ham."

"A characteristic we share."

"But I love you far, far more than that. Or even a fresh-blocked Bicorne sitting in the window." It was a high compliment, and Alice felt no small measure of pleased astonishment that she could appreciate just how fulsome he was being.

"How convenient a feeling," said Alice brightly, "Did you know we're married now?"

"That is convenient! Well, we shall have to buy rings, won't we? You can't go through the world wearing a cigar band—I don't even like cigars."

"Oh, are you going to get me a fine setting?" He held her hand before his eyes.

"Nothing as fine as your lovely hands, mind you, but something large and ostentatious, I think, something to make the queen jealous."

"Nothing so big, I hope."

"A bride who doesn't want a rock the size of a snooker ball!" he cried. "I never thought I'd meet you."

"Well, I do want to be able to lift my hand, you know."

"Oh, is that so? I can make an automated system to feed you chocolate bon-bons and drape you in cashmere. You have only to call for the tea service when the afternoon light grows long..." He was about to begin rhapsodizing when she gently placed her hand at his jaw.

"No, I should long for the use of my left hand, if only so I can put both palms around your face like this," she said, "And tell you how handsome you are in all those freckles after we've had a row." She pushed a white curl behind his ear.

"Be careful, darling," he said softly, "They might jump off and onto you, and then where would you be?"

"Resplendent and happy," said Alice, and kissed him again.