A/N: A request for a dear friend has brought forth (in my opinion) one of my best pieces.
Love is never a purely rational ideal. After all, if we were to forever be in our right minds, we would probably never fall in love in the first place.
Title: Dream With Me
Summary: "Close your eyes, Jervis." she murmured, her lips stretching in a way that could never be deemed sane. "It's time to dream with me."
Character Pairing: Alice Pleasance x Jervis Tetch/The Mad Hatter
Rating: M for sexual content
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman: The Animated Series, or any characters associated with the series. I only own this piece of fan fiction and my unrelenting love for Alice Pleasance and her Mad Hatter.
I put quite a bit of work and effort into this piece, and I would like to hear your thoughts on it. Please review. Thank you.
"I think we dream so we don't have to be apart for long. If we're in each other's dreams, we can be together all the time." ~ Author Unknown
What had previously been a mere trickle and sprinkle, as Grandma Lorina used to say, had suddenly turned into a downpour of cold droplets, all under five minutes. Alice shivered, body quite unprotected without her coat; her arms wrapped tightly around herself, trying to create some protection as she continued down the sidewalk. Her black shoes met rapidly forming puddles with a splash, sending tiny droplets up against her legs. She shivered again, firmly blinking away fat pearls of transparent liquid that clung possessively to her eyelashes and disrupted her vision.
By the time she rounded the corner, ducking under the overhang of a small bakery, her clothes were fully soaked—the purple silk of her blouse drawn tightly around her arms and waist; her dark grey pencil skirt was all but plastered against her legs. A draft moved past her, striking the painfully-sensitized nerves in her limbs; it would have been less troublesome if she were simply numb.
A shaking hand managed to lift and push the rain-soaked strands from her face; drawing in a calming breath, she turned another corner, this time finding herself facing down a darkened alley. Shaking her head again, she backed away with the intention of finding another route—preferably a well-lit one. No sooner had she taken a step back than a large, rough-skinned palm clamped down over her shoulder, fingers tight and unpleasant against her. Alarm rose within her almost instantly, and as she whipped around to investigate, her eyes met those of a broad-shouldered, rather bulky figure. After a few seconds, she recognized him as a player on the University's football team—a defensive lineman, or something like that. He was dark-haired with matching eyes, with a firmly set jaw and distinct brow that reminded her of Billy.
Her eyes closed firmly, willing her mind to push that thought away. She didn't need to think of him now—didn't want to, really.
"Hey there, gorgeous…" his voice was just like Billy's too—again, she privately cringed, all the while knowing that the thought of her fiancée should not make her feel so…disgusted.
Trying to put it all out of her mind, Alice quickly searched for the quickest escape routes. This man had made several advancements toward her in the past, some of them subtle, some of them far more aggressive. Each one had made her feel helpless—she hated feeling like that; hated it with all her being, but her petite stature up against a form toned with powerful, dominating muscles, and intentions fueled by testosterone was, no other word for it, completely helpless.
When he had made his advancements before, there had been someone there to comfort her. Someone who was there to listen when she needed to talk, who always stopped what he was doing to be there for her…to be her friend in ways that other men weren't capable of—or just weren't interested in being. Someone she could trust…could depend on no matter how difficult or frustrating the situation was.
But that person wasn't there now. He hadn't been there for almost three years.
"What're you doing out here like this, babe?" an exhale against her cheek, and she grimaced, nearly retching at the stench of tobacco and alcohol on him. "Did the poor little kitten get caught out in the rain?"
"No…no, I didn't." she replied, trying to keep her voice calm, her gaze even, "I just needed to find someone." It was a lie, but maybe it would dissuade him, "I'll be going now—"
"What's your hurry, hm?" he caught her by the arm, his large hand nearly wrapping entirely around the width of her arm, "I'd be happy to dry you off—maybe even warm you up…"
"Let go of me…" she whispered, but her voice shook and refuted what she intended as a command, "Please…" Oh, no, she shouldn't have done that! Iris always told her to be firm, never say please! It shows weakness! Be strong, be firm—don't give him any way to slip in!
"Oooh…playing hard to get? I like that…"
"I said, let go!" she tried again, but there was a definite plea in her voice that showed weakness again. Why couldn't she just say no and be done with it?
Whatever he was about to say—if anything—never left his mouth. Less than a minute later—perhaps no longer than fifteen seconds, she couldn't be bothered to keep track of time now—his grip on her arm slackened, as did his jaw. There was a look of stupor on his face, as though he'd suddenly entered a trance. Instinctively, she drew her arm back to the safety of her chest. Though now free to run, she found herself oddly rooted to the spot, incapable of any other movement but to wait and see the identity of her rescuer.
A quiet "tut, tut, tut" came from behind the stupefied man, "Did your mother never teach you the proper fashion of how to treat a lady? Quite uncouth of you, young sir."
Her heart skipped a beat, fluttering wildly inside her chest. She knew that voice—the years couldn't erase that memory no matter how hard they might try. And he was here again—here with her, coming to her rescue as he had done so many times before.
The words drummed into her head for the past three years told her to run, to scream for help.
Her heart—the most underused of her organs, most assuredly—told her to stay.
"Now then…why don't you run along and do something useful?" a finger, covered in the white fabric of a glove, lightly tapped the male's temple, "Run along and tell the commissioner what you were trying to do, hm? I'm sure he'd be simply delighted to hear it."
The man—no, a boy not a man—gave a dull, empty-voiced answer and turned away, walking slowly, almost a shuffling movement, like a zombie of sorts. Alice slowly lifted her head, eyes finding a pair of startling blue eyes. Those eyes had once been filled with life, with a sense of enjoyment and pride in his work. Now, there was only hesitation…fear…perhaps even a touch of regret. He had taken action, now he awaited her verdict.
Sentence first, verdict afterwards.
Alice swallowed hard. She could no longer feel the sharp bite of rain against her skin—her body no longer cared to feel such trivial sensations. There seemed to be only one thing her body, mind, and even her heart were interested in doing—only one verdict she cared to pronounce.
She closed the space between them in four strides and threw herself into his arms, head pressing into his chest as the tears finally slipped down her cheeks.
He was just as warm as she remembered.
The costume factory was impressively large, with a high, nearly cathedral-like ceiling stretching far above her. The hallways had been narrow, almost cramped, but the room she found herself in now was expansive. There was a mess of electronic parts, lying dismembered, some parts cannibalized, others scattered about. Her rescuer was currently making a point of brushing some of these metallic remnants to the side, "cleaning house", so to speak. She recalled him doing the same thing every time she entered his office. The memory brought a smile to her face.
"You shouldn't have done that…" she murmured, carefully sitting down upon the wooden platform, next to an impressive throne-like chair, fit for royalty with crimson cushions and a silvery frame, "When the police find out, they'll know it was you."
"By which time it is my intention to be as far away from Gotham, the police…and the Batman," he added a distinctly bitter touch to his words, "And not stop my departure until I am safely tucked away in secrecy."
"Where will you go?" she asked softly, titling her head a bit to look at him more properly, hoping he would do the same.
"I have given thought to purchasing a little island somewhere, a place where I might live out the rest of my days in peace and quiet…" he mussed quietly, removing his hat and setting it down on a little desk, half of which was covered in saved mechanical parts. She hoped he didn't see the way her spine stiffened at his words. She didn't like to think of him being old, that his time might be running short. It sent unpleasant shivers up her spine and left a bitter taste on her tongue.
"Perhaps I might open a little sunbonnet shop," he added, eyes drifting down to finally meet her gaze. He found her smiling at his dream—a silly little notion of a foolish man, that's all it really was—and felt himself smile in turn. He had missed her smile greatly. Missed her voice, her laughter…the playful little gleam that came to her eyes while they sat in the privacy of his office, enjoying tea—he remembered the day he had introduced her to Earl Grey.
Such pleasant things…he had forgotten how to enjoy them without her company.
"That sounds lovely," she said, still smiling. Her eyes fell to a small bag—burlap or perhaps leather—from which a vast collection of dolls had spilled. Curious as ever, she reached out, taking one carefully into her palm.
They were odd little things, seeming to have no real shape or form, save for the head and torso. Each was clothed simply, the clothes made from brightly colored fabric that felt soft to the touch—cotton, she suspected. She turned it slowly between her fingers, examining it from all sides while trying to recall where she'd seen something like it before. A brief moment or two passed, and finally she remembered—the Vreeland party (two nights ago, was it now?), where Veronica had been parading these dolls around, all too glad to share the adventures of the rainforest. She vaguely recalled snippets of the tale surrounding these dolls—tell them your problems, then put them under your pillow at night, and the dolls would simply take all your troubles away by morning. What were they called…?
"Worry Men…" his voice, softer than usual, caught her attention. Her eyes lifted back up to his face, finding a wary, maybe even frightened expression, "You've seen them before?"
"I was at Veronica Vreeland's welcoming back party," she answered. The calm, innocent expression on her face disappeared as she watched the way he tensed, "Jervis? What is it?"
"Did she…give you one, perchance?" he was clearly making an attempt to remain calm, neutral. He was failing miserably.
She paused, thinking over the details of that night. After a moment, she nodded, reaching into her pocket and pulling the little doll out. Naturally, carrying it around in the rain wasn't quite how they were supposed to be used, but having it there, close to her had given some inane comfort that, however ridiculous, was still present—a little like her own private worry stone, really. "I haven't used it. Truthfully, I haven't slept in the last two days, so they wouldn't do me much good."
He visibly relaxed, which only spiked her curiosity all the more (such a curious girl she was turning out to be). As he silently (though politely, as always) reached out for the doll, she surprised herself, closing her hand around the doll before he could take it. "Why do you ask?" she said quietly, "And kindly don't tell me it was idle curiosity, Jervis. Your curiosity is never idle."
His eyes widened briefly, surprised at her boldness, but then his smile returned. "I do believe you were my secretary for too long, Alice." he murmured, letting his hand drift up to his hat and set it down on a small end table, "The truth is…I wasn't curious. Though, if I am not very much in error…you are."
Approximately thirty-five minutes later (who was really tracking the time, anyway?), she was examining the little doll with a renewed admiration, wonder and curiosity and intrigue all present, mixed into an expression Jervis was (privately) finding utterly wondrous to look upon. The way the fingers of her other hand stroked slowly over the back of her little doll, the slender tip of her nail following the delicately grooved pocket that silently spoke of the microchip nestled within, with her eyes following every motion of her fingers, spoke of a respect for his skills—his trade, rather—that he had never expected. Oh, certainly he might have (and no doubt did) dream of it once or twice—allow his fantasies to explore how it might feel to have Alice not only know of his talent—the only one he possessed and would ever possess—but to have her admire it, to think it as fine an ability as any her fiancée could provide her, if not greater.
He found himself experiencing those old feeling of rage and grief at the mere thought of the Reynolds boy. With a quiet swallow, he forced them away. Alice's company should be enough to quell the fury. She was with him, not the boy.
"Complete control from one little device…" she murmured, lightly flipping open the tiny opening and drawing out an equally petite chip between her index and thumb. Her hands were just as he remembered—on the petite end of things (he remembered the feel of it when they first shook hands in greeting), with a smooth, elegant palm leading to slender, graceful fingers (how often had he secretly watched them fly across the key board as she typed, or quickly organize and file papers, or idly turn the page of a book?), and the delicate, oval shape of her nails (he never remembered her painting them any color as so many women do, save for some kind of natural gloss that always caught the light).
He remembered the way she touched his shoulder from behind when he was bent over some piece of work (important or particularly unimportant, it never mattered), letting him know she was leaving for the day. She never wanted to interrupt his work, not like the others.
But she was never like anyone else.
"It's incredible, Jervis." she murmured, and he had to fight down a thrill at the way her voice became nearly breathless. "I always knew you were brilliant, but this…it's simply fascinating!" her eyes lifted to his face, finding his expression a mix of surprise and delight. Surely, he could not have expected her to be so enamored. It had to be so—she had not expected it after all.
In fact, she hadn't expected any of this. If someone happened to tell her two (nearly three now) years ago that she would be here, tucked away in an abandoned costume store, with a man condemned as a kidnapper, a madman—a freak and a monster—she would have laughed aloud at the absurdity of it.
As it were, she felt absurdly at home with him. She felt safe, just as she had always felt with him.
Her eyes fell to a small assortment of dolls resting on the arm of his chair, their tiny bodies disassembled and chips lying discarded in a waste bin, "What happened to those?" she asked, indicating them with a light gesture.
"Oh, just a tidbit of technical difficulties." He replied, looking remarkably carefree about the matter. "The chips short-circuited. It's nothing too disastrous. It will only require a few minor alterations before they'll be up and—"
The abrupt halt in his speech brought her eyes back to his face, finding him looking rather abashed and shameful. She felt a tiny twinge of guilt prick at her heartstrings. He had seemed so at ease, talking about his technologies, only for him to seemingly suddenly remember who he was talking to.
"You don't have to be so hesitant with me, Jervis," she whispered, her hand slowly rising up to rest on his arm. He stared at her hand for a long moment, as though making sure he wasn't hallucinating. When he found her smiling at him, he allowed himself to believe this was not some fanciful delusion. Her smile was too real to be from a dream.
Alice sighed, leaning back against his leg with a content expression. A thrill went straight through his spine, and he found it very hard to keep a jubilantly satisfied smile off his face. She hadn't ever been this close to him before, and any instance where she might have consented to do so existed only in his wildest fantasies—or at least, it had. To feel her against his limbs, her warm weight light and solid was far above anything he could ever ask for.
"Even after all this time," her low murmur brought his attention back to the blonde head resting against his knee, "you still never cease to amaze me, Jervis. You were always a surprising person, always full of unexpected talent that bewildered and fascinated me all at once, but it seems so much clearer now. Like you were hiding a part of yourself from me all that time…but now it's like you don't have a reason to hide."
"All things considered," he answered, the fingers of his left hand twitching with the urge to touch her hair, to feel those soft locks slide against his skin, "it would seem there is no longer a need to keep secrets. After all, it was my actions that exposed my best kept secret to you…"
His voice had become much more somber, almost depressed. Yet there was such a melancholy air about it, so much so that she couldn't help but feel the emotion in his voice was not simple sadness, but regret…guilt.
"Why don't you tell me what you felt you had to keep that secret?" she whispered, not yet looking at him—she didn't trust herself to meet his eyes, "You promised me you would never keep a secret from me. You said you trusted me…that you knew you could tell me anything and everything." Slowly, her body shifted to balance on her knees beside him, a submissive stance if not for the determination in her eyes. "But you didn't trust me, did you? Not enough to tell me everything."
"And had I trusted you with my heart, Alice…" his voice was much quieter now, a strange tightness slipping into his features, "What would you have done? I bared all that I am to you that night…tried to speak to you through my actions, for words are but a pittance to offer. And the next morning…" there was no mistaking the darkness swirling in his eyes now, and it both frightened and elated her for inexplicable reasons, "there you were, bearing the ring of another man. What could you expect me to do?"
Her eyes closed for a moment, forcing back the tears that bit and stung at the corners, soaking her eyelashes until they felt heavy, immovable. Still, she opened them once again, facing him more directly this time, unwilling to break the eye contact this time. She felt a small surge of satisfaction when he appeared captivated by her expression, unable to tear his gaze away.
"I expected you to trust me." She whispered, feeling far stronger than she ever expected. "I expected you to not betray my trust the way you did, Jervis. And if nothing else…" she leaned closer to him, her hands wrapped tightly around the arm of the chair to support her, "you owe me an explanation of why you did that to me. That's all I want."
Emotion was a funny little thing. There were so many emotions to begin with—most of them identifiable, but others weren't…at least not to the extent that you can understand what they are and why you're feeling them in any particular context or situation. But then again, even the most basic of emotions could be the most obscure at times. People feel sadness for inexplicable reasons, situations where perhaps they should feel happiness or relief. People feel regret and an overwhelming sense of guilt when they should find security and comfort.
She knew this all too well. After all, she had felt it to an unimaginable degree that fateful night.
Watching him dragged away, wrists bound in metal cuffs, his head bowed, his expression that of a broken man, had wrought such terrible feelings inside her. Feelings she should not have felt while watching her kidnapper taken to the asylum while wrapped in the protective arms of her fiancée.
Billy…
She should have been more contemplative regarding his whereabouts than she really was. He could be at home, or more than likely, he had been calling for the last two hours, trying to check up on her as he so often did these days. He would have received no answer, and now he would be at her house, trying to peer through the windows and find any sign of foul play that would prompt another call to the police. His intentions, however well-meant, were steadily wearing on her nerves. And despite the fact that she still wore his ring on her finger, despite the fact that she was once again in the presence of her kidnapper, her desire to think about Billy was all but diminished. All that mattered now were the words coming out of Jervis' mouth.
"Why?" he repeated, his voice tight and coarse with emotion—emotions he must have been storing up for months, perhaps even years without her knowing. "Why, Alice? Because after years and years of waiting for someone like you—someone as beautiful and caring and warm as you—I could not permit myself to stand back and lose you. So many times I watched you, with those young, strong men surrounding you, courting you and sweeping you off your feet, only to throw you back to the ground once they were done with you. I could not catch you, could not dare allow myself to be so close to you that it might be possible to catch you when you fell, but I could be there to pick you back up. And I did, oh so many times I was there to pick you back up, to be the shoulder you needed for your tears, to be the hand that gave you comfort and compassion. And so many times I watched you smile at me, told me how I was and would always be the only one who cared enough to stay with you. So often I thought this might be the one, this might finally be the time when I would be able to have you, to keep you for myself long enough to tell you all that I wished, to bare my heart and give you all the trust you required of me. And then, just like water, like a little bird you would slip through my fingers once again."
He barely paused to draw a breath before continuing, and she didn't have any strength or will to try and stop him. "You seek my trust, Alice? How can you expect or hope for my trust when you never allow me the chance to give it? Never had I hoped that you could ever truly be mine, not until I heard you were finally rid of that…" he couldn't find a word fit for a lady's ears. Trusting she would know what he meant, he shook it off and continued, "I finally saw a chance, one last hope. And that night, truly I thought I had you. I believed with all my heart that you would finally consent to be mine…to let me show you my heart and take it for the broken shell that it has become. But once more, I lost you. I saw the ring…I saw that he was going to claim you as the others never had…and I lost myself in rage and fury. I couldn't lose you…not after I was so close to having you, my Alice. What I did…the way I did it…" the pent-up frustration seemed to quell, to fall away to despair and regret. Her eyes watched him slump back in the chair, looking utterly defeated. "It was crude and disgraceful and barbaric, Alice. But there was no other way I saw to keep you…to save you."
A heavy, weary silence followed. She felt so many, many things—things she didn't understand. She was happy—happy he had finally told her everything, all those things she'd wanted to hear, to be told just so she might make some sense out of it all. But she was also heartbroken—no other word for it. Hearing why, finally hearing him explain it to her as he did, being able to know the reasons—inane or not—why he had done what he did…it made so much sense that it shattered her completely.
He understood how wrong and cruel his actions had been. He understood the kind of pain it had put her through—suffering the anxiety and terror of being kidnapped from her own house, all at the hands of her employer and friend. He understood her frustrations and her anger, which somehow made them all the more obscure to her own understanding. How could she still hold anger in her heart when he knew of its existence?
Feeling emotion—being able to feel—was supposed to be so simple. Now she couldn't say what was more confusing—feeling or understanding what she was feeling.
But she could still feel—feel relief and regret and some bittersweet emotion that could not yet be named. And she could still understand that the man sitting before her was a broken, hollow shell of what he once was. And she could understand the overwhelming sense of grief that filled her at the very thought of him being little more than a shadow, no more than a costume and a name that didn't completely belong to him. She could never see him as the Mad Hatter, not completely. He was still Jervis…her Jervis.
Her hand slowly slipped into his, fingers sliding so neatly through the narrow loop of his thumb and index. Her thumb came to rest on the back of his gloved hand, running slowly, tenderly along the cool fabric. After a moment, she felt his eyes on her, staring in disbelief and what she could only think to be faintly kindled hope.
She wasn't sure whether to smile at his expression or cry at the fear she could still see lingering in his eyes. But as he lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing a soft, unspeakably warm kiss to her knuckles, she found herself smiling as she hadn't in months—perhaps years. And she certainly hadn't smiled this way from any kiss or touch Billy had given her.
Of course…Billy had never been able to make her smile in the way Jervis did.
Billy had never made her feel as safe as Jervis did.
Billy had never been as kind to her as Jervis was.
Billy…Billy just wasn't anything like Jervis.
"You were always the first one I knew I could go to," she spoke quietly, but deliberately, "The one I knew I could trust to be there whenever my heart was broken, whenever I thought I would never trust another man again. You were always there when I needed you, and you never seemed too busy or preoccupied to talk with me. No other man ever did that for me…except you."
Slowly, she guided his hand back to her lips, kissing the solid ridges of his knuckles just as carefully and gently as he had kissed hers. "I wish we had understood each other sooner, Jervis. I really do. Maybe then things would be different."
"Perhaps they would be, or perhaps they wouldn't." Jervis answered softly, lifting a finger to brush along the warm slope of her cheek. The longing she saw in his eyes sent shivers down her spine. Billy never looked at her like that.
"All the same," his voice was softer now, saddened and heavy, "what might have been has long since failed to be."
Alice looked at him for a long moment, never releasing his hand. She released a soft sigh, her eyes briefly closing, eyelashes brushing against his fingertip. As she opened her eyes once again, there was a strange light present that had never been evident before.
"Forgive me, Mr. Tetch," she murmured, "But I don't believe there is an atom of meaning in that."
The look on his face might have been comical, might have actually made her laugh if the situation had been different. Instead, she leaned her cheek into his touch, simply waiting for his answer in patient silence. A few short minutes later, he finally found his voice again.
"You…you've read it then?"
She allowed herself a small smile, perhaps if for no other purpose than to reassure him, soothe the concerns and fears so evident in his expression. "Yes." Alice murmured, "I once wondered why that story, of all others, would be your favorite. Now I understand."
"Do you?" the words were probably intended as a statement of fact—perhaps to deride, perhaps to reaffirm—but they reached her ears as a question.
To answer him, she first turned her lips to his palm, both relishing and cursing the soft fabric that obscured the feel of his skin. Her eyes opened though she had no memory of closing them, finding his expression fearful and intrigued, but his eyes were afire, gazing down into hers as though searching for answers to questions she did not yet know—perhaps he didn't even know.
It was mesmerizing to be looked at this way…to have her very heart and soul searched. She knew—oh, she knew—it should frighten her, disturb her to be so thoroughly examined this way by a man like Jervis…this man who had done things to her that were neither respectable nor sane, that were inexplicable and threatening. He had kidnapped her for God's sake, forcefully taken her from her home and stolen her away to a secluded area. He had undressed her himself—there could be no doubt of that in her mind now—exposed her for his purposes and transformed her into a little puppet for his pleasure.
It was becoming increasingly easier to forget those details. Or perhaps…perhaps she was not forgetting them. She'd been told the terrible details over and over and over again until it seemed they were permanently engrained into her mind. She knew what he had done, she knew how wrong it had been (and still was), and she knew that no explanation he could ever offer her could ever answer every question, could ever make complete and absolute sense and possess total logic.
There was no reason, there was no sense, and there was no real logic in him. She knew it as sure as she sat here beside him, holding his hand to cradle her face. If there ever had been any real sanity left in him—she would like to think it had existed some how, some way during the six years they had worked side by side as friends—it was gone. The only link he still had to reality—a truly dreadful and ugly notion—was the woman sitting next to him. Her touch, her voice, and her presence was the only glimmer of realism that existed to him, and even she—Alice, his Alice—knew the thread frayed every passing minute of every day of every year. Soon, it could very well break. Even she as his link to reality and sanity was of little value to him. "Alice" was not just the woman who had been his companion and employee for six years. "Alice" was also the woman who had haunted his dreams and filled his fantasies for years—exactly how long was irrelevant to her. Time has no effect on the truth.
She wondered just how long it might be until the Alice of his life and the Alice of his dreams were no longer two unique entities, but one whole being—a woman who's existence blurred all lines between reality and fantasy.
Her name would become that of a woman who existed solely to keep him living...in his mind.
"Yes," Alice murmured, "I understand now…I understand everything. Within those pages, in those words is a whole different world from what we live in. It's a place where anything and everything can happen…a place where you can make your own happiness, without anyone's voice in your head telling you that it's impossible to dream…to be happy…"
He offered a small smile, running the pad of his thumb along her lips, slow and careful as though he was trying to memorize every tiny detail, forever engrain it into his memory. The longing and hope in his eyes was almost heartbreaking to witness.
The tranquil silence was abruptly shattered by a crack of thunder resounding throughout the night. Alice's hold on her former employer tightened unconsciously, clutching to his arm like it was her lifeline. The ugly sound that accompanied the fierce rainstorms Gotham was forever cursed to endure brought uncontrollable tremors to the very core of her being. She hated storms—always had, always will—and more often than not, she'd been forced to suffer through the ordeal alone. Mother had never deemed it ladylike to cower at the sound of something "so absurdly insignificant".
She realized that Jervis might think the very same thing. Oh, of course he would…how could a man like him think a little rainstorm was something to panic about? It was ridiculous and childish…surely he would think her as mad as he was!
A gloved hand set down upon the crown of her head, the broad fingers warm and reassuring as they slowly stroked through blonde waves. Peace settled over her senses—his touch almost drug-like in how rapidly it calmed her—and she brought her head to rest against his leg. Had she been in her right mind, she might have considered the thought that Jervis was doing this to coax her into submission, to wait until she was completely and utterly within his control and then proceed to finish what he'd begun two years earlier.
But she wasn't in her right mind. And she didn't want to be in her right mind. It was a terrible place to be, trapped in a world of logic and reason. Why would anyone want to be in such a place when they could be elsewhere? When they could be in a place where anything and everything you could ever want was already waiting for you, wanting and waiting to be claimed?
It was uncommon nonsense to think anyone would ever want to leave such a place as this.
"Alice," a low murmur lingered in her ears, comforting and soothing, "I would have you stay with me tonight, for the simplest reason of not wishing you an ill-fated venture back home. But come morning's light, you must leave."
Her blissful reverie was broken with his words. Not his invitation to stay the night, but the thought of leaving him, of returning to a world that seemed so dark and cold compared to the beauty and warmth of his world. She was safe with him—had he not proven this night, overpowering that brute and coming to her rescue?
Once again, it was frighteningly easy to forget the means by which he had saved her—the very same means he had used to overpower her, not so long ago.
Slowly, she brought her body to an upright position, meeting his somber, regretful gaze with determination and understanding—oh, yes she understood…she understood everything so clearly now. Understood what she wanted…what she needed.
"Alright," she nodded, brushing her hair over one shoulder. It was enthralling, the way she felt his eyes helplessly trace the slope of her bare neck, following the line of her soft pale flesh to where it was broken by a sudden strip of black—the straps of her camisole. There was no mistaking it now—the longing, the desire, the hunger…it was all there in his eyes, clear as the break of dawn.
"I'll go." She sighed, accepting his hand and pulling herself onto both bare feet. "Could you just…do one more thing for me, Jervis?"
She should not be doing this.
"Of course," he nodded; the polite gentleman that he was never refused her even the smallest request, "What is it?"
No woman in their right mind would ever consider doing this.
Alice took a small step forward. She could feel the warmth of his body, within reach yet torturously distant, "Just…"
She was not in her right mind.
"…close your eyes."
And she did not want to be in her right mind…ever again.
Her hands settled on his chest, soft fabric and cool, slick buttons pressed to her palms. Never before had she dare be this close to him—not while she was awake, anyway. In dreams…in her dreams, anything was possible.
It was remarkable, really…undeniably fascinating just how perfectly their mouths fit together.
She relished the soft moan that thrummed against her lips, melted into the tight embrace he wrapped her in—hands cupping her face, her head; fingers spearing her blonde locks; his mouth returning her kiss to a more desperate, yearning degree than she ever deemed possible. He crushed her against his chest, holding her and kissing her so feverishly that she thought he might draw every last breath from her body until she was limp and lifeless in his arms.
He would think this—all of this, all of her—naught but a dream. She knew it, accepted it and understood it as he moved to kiss her throat, and she moved her head accordingly to bare the soft flesh to his advances. He would remember this fondly, hold it near and dear to his heart as one treasures a particularly beautiful dream, one that brings them great joy. She would remember this as it was—as a beautiful reality for both of them. She would remember it as fondly as he would—consequences be damned.
His hands moved beneath the hem of her shirt, free of the cotton obstruction, warm and broad against her stomach. The cloth yielded to his touch as he guided it to the base of her chest, where the voluntary rise of her arms permitted him to discard it to the floor. Hot, searing kisses laid upon her chest—down her collarbone, across the top swells of her breasts—burned her clean through, igniting every nerve in her body. Her eyes remained closed, devoting her body completely to sensation, imploring every sense in her body to memorize this, forbidding her mind and body alike to ever forget this…to ever forget him.
Her spine met the wall, trapping her between immovable object and unyielding man—one who she had complete intention of surrendering to with her whole being. Both arms lifted to wrap around him, left hand curving to cup the back of his head, keeping his attentions on her neck, on her shoulders, and most especially her chest. Every kiss was deliberate, every nip and bite and lick intentional, all of it conspiring against her senses to leave her completely in his thrall.
His hands slid down the firm line of her stomach to find the clasp on her skirt. Propriety and respectability were forgotten as her right hand joined his, helping to push the damned thing to the floor. A sigh of relief escaped as the still-damp, heavy cloth released her legs. Never one to waste time—precious time—his hands moved down once again, letting his fingers splay out across her flesh, indulging and reveling in the feel of her supple limbs, of her heated body.
Alice was not content to simply lie idle—the teachings of her youth seemed irrelevant and absurd more than ever now. Her hands moved to his front, skillfully plucking the buttons on his waistcoat before moving to those on his shirt. No longer was she content to allow inhibitions and fear dictate her actions, delegate her hopes and dreams. If this was but a dream, if she was to wake up from this fantasy with morning's light, she saw no incentive for her to remain bound by society and sanity. This night belonged to them.
She moaned aloud, unable to stop herself, as her fingers touched his bare skin for the first time. He paused, his touches abruptly ceasing and leaving her body to crave more. She felt his mouth open against her neck, but any protests or worries that might have come forth died in the low, desperate sound he released when she pressed her mouth to his skin, returning every kiss and bite he'd bestowed upon her. She paused only for the briefest moment, readjusting her placement against the wall to a slightly lower angle, and then made use of her mouth on his chest. An undoubtedly pleased sound resonated through her ears.
"Oh, Alice…" he breathed, "My Alice…I dream. I must be dreaming…"
She only smiled and stood straight once more, her hands rising to drag the shirt from his shoulders and leading it to the floor. Again, her arms wound around him, pressing their bared torsos together and willing herself to never the resulting sensation. Come the break of dawn, she prayed to never forget this night, to never allow regret for what was soon to transpire between them.
"Don't open your eyes, Jervis…" Alice whispered against his mouth, her lips stretching with a smile that could never be deemed sane. It felt wonderful to smile like that. "It's time to dream with me."