"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! We are tonight's entertainment!" Welcome to my first venture into fiction for Batman: The Animated Series. A few boring things to take care of before we continue...
Rating: K+ (for safety, more than anything else)
Disclaimers: Nothing here belongs to me. Jervis Tetch and all other characters from Batman: The Animated Series belong to DC Comics, Bob Kane, Bruce Timm, Paul Dini, and anyone else involved I failed to mention. The titular song used here is You Don't Know Her Like I Do, by Brantley Gilbert. I own it not. There are several quotes/paraphrases from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland here, along with three/four of the characters from it. These belong to Lewis Carroll, not me.
Summary: She was more than a love...she was more than an obsession: for Jervis Tetch, Alice Pleasance was everything he could hope for. And now all that was lost. A songfic; takes place sometime between the end of Mad as a Hatter and Perchance to Dream.
Notes: "Eremophobia" is the fear of loneliness. Also, my thanks to Trumpeteer34 (the greatest Hatter writer I've ever known), who gave some very useful suggestions in the making of this story. I hope you, Trumpeteer34, enjoy it, if no one else does. Thank you.
Now, moving along...
You Don't Know Her Like I Do
"'WoUlD nOt, CoUlD nOt, WoUlD nOt, CoUlD nOt...Oh, CoUlD nOt JoIn tHe DaNcE...'"
Jervis Tetch felt empty, his eyes and body utterly still and emotionless, these words the only ones to pour through his mind.
How long had it been since he had seen Alice, face stained with tears and twisted in an expression of betrayal? Hours? Days? Weeks?
Alas...he was two days slow, no matter which.
He scowled. It was the Jabberwock's fault.
All. His. Fault.
Why couldn't he just leave them in peace? He had to control her...at least temporarily. He would have let her go in the end; he couldn't love a puppet. True, she would have been resentful at first, perhaps even hateful, but she was Alice. She would have understood eventually...right? Still, he hadn't wanted it to come to that. Never. But what else could he have done?
A tiny, gnawing insect of conscience bit him, saying he simply could have been the proper gentleman and allowed her to marry who she wanted.
He swatted the irritating bug away.
Alice and Billy...what was her fiancé, anyway? He had dressed the boring fellow up as the Frog Footman, but his name sounded more like another character...
Well, it no longer mattered. He'd been caught at last. Locked away in the dank rabbit hole of Arkham, he wasn't sure if he had moved from this spot in days. They had been bringing him food, bit by bit, but he ate it as he was, slumped over as he sat on his "bed." His legs felt numb...everything felt numb. His blue eyes were rimmed in dark circles from lack of sleep, his mouth forever turned down in grief, teardrops sliding off the tip of his long, beaky nose from time to time, his blonde hair unkempt and shadowing his face at all times.
He wanted to get out...he wanted an escape. He clenched his fists and growled softly. More than anything, he wanted blood.
Batman's blood.
But how could he get out at all? He hadn't moved. He would need to look for a way out...
Surely there was one, wasn't there? After all, that bloody clown seemed to escape whenever he pleased, and seemed to know every nook and cranny of the place. He had watched him hustle by the cell, often waving mockingly, laughing his accursed head off, as he did, at least once every day. (Or week; he still wasn't sure.)
The Mad Hatter sighed deeply.
"'DoWn, DoWn, DoWn...WoUlD tHe FaLl NeVeR cOmE tO aN eNd?'"
No one answered him. The cell was just as dark and bare as ever. From across the hall, Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, briefly looked up from the textbook he was reading to glance at the man, smirked, muttered something about "eremophobia," and then continued reading.
The Hatter never noticed.
"Ahem!" said a voice suddenly. "Excuse me, Hatter! Are you aware of what time it is?"
Tetch looked up, tired, expecting the voice to be that of one of Arkham's guards...
He stared.
Before him, foot tapping impatiently, spinning his pocket watch in one paw, was none other than the fabled White Rabbit himself. He was just as Jervis had imagined him to be: fur of the purest, snowy white, all neat and tidy, with wide, impatient-looking pink eyes, dressed in a waistcoat and checkered vest, a pink umbrella tucked under one arm, paws shrouded in kid gloves, a red paper fan tucked in one vest pocket.
Hatter blinked.
"No..." he murmered. "No, it cannot be..."
"What, what? Stop muttering to yourself, man!" snapped the Rabbit, shaking his watch angrily. "It's high time you got on time and hurried to the briny beach! Turtle is waiting."
The Hatter's lips twitched in a quick smile.
"You mean, Mock Turtle?"
"Yes, yes, whatever! He was a real turtle once, you know...come on!"
Out of nowhere, a hole appeared in the floor. The Rabbit opened up his umbrella and jumped in. The umbrella worked like a parachute, like the umbrellas in cartoons, and he descended leisurely, soon out of sight in the blackness.
Jervis whet his lips, creeping up to the edge, staring down into the darkness. He glanced to the side...
The Scarecrow was still engrossed in his studies, and there were no guards visible.
The Mad Hatter gulped, and jumped down.
He cried out in fear: without a dress or umbrella to slow his descent, the fall was much, MUCH faster than he had anticipated.
As the Hatter fell through the blackness, he felt something odd come over him. He looked at himself, amazed beyond compare as he saw his indigo overcoat, lime green vest, blue trousers, dark green bow tie, and gray gloves materialize, as if out of thin air, onto his body. He felt his treasured black top hat, 10/6 card, blue hatband and all, appear on his head.
Thump, thump! The fall ended.
Jervis groaned as he hoisted himself off the pile of straw he had landed on, brushing himself off. He looked around.
A vast beach came to his view. The water was the cleanest, deepest blue he had ever seen; he sighed, the color reminding him of Alice's eyes.
"'ThE sUn WaS sHiNiNg On ThE sEa, ShInInG wItH aLl HiS mIgHt,'" he recited softly. "'He DiD hIs VeRy BeSt To MaKe ThE bIlLoWs SmOoTh AnD bRiGhT...'"
"And this was odd, because it was the middle of the night."
The Mad Hatter turned fast to see who spoke.
Lying in the sand was a great, black and brown griffin, curled up like a cat as it slumbered. He realized it was talking in its sleep.
"The G-Gryphon?" he stuttered.
Gryphon must have heard him, for he snorted in his sleep, and awoke, raising his head, his golden bird's eyes gazing disdainfully at the Hatter.
"Ah, it's you," he said. "You're late."
"Um...yes, well...Rabbit told me the Mock Turtle wanted to talk with me."
"Come on!" said the Gryphon, up in an instant, and grabbed the Hatter by one hand with a taloned claw. The Gryphon pulled, and dashed off, half-dragging the Mad Hatter behind him, who yelped and put a gloved hand to the brim of his beloved hat.
The Mock Turtle was seated on a rock on the shore. He was wringing his blue-green flippers fretfully, sniffling and sobbing as he did, shaking his head mournfully. His brown calf's tail lay limp, his low expressions of apparent grief sounding vaguely like moos from his cattle-like head.
The Gryphon pushed the Hatter forward slightly as they came to a stop.
"What is his sorrow?" Hatter asked.
"Oh, it's all his fancy that," Gryphon said, rolling his eyes. "He hasn't got no sorrow, you know. Oy! Mock Turtle! Rabbit and I've brought this Mad Hatter: Mr. Tetch. He wants for to know your history, so he does."
The Mock Turtle gulped back a sob and gazed upon the Hatter, who tipped his hat politely and held it over his chest.
The half-turtle, half-cow creature sniffled.
"I'll tell it to him," he said, nodding. "Thank you, Gryphon."
The Gryphon nodded back, smiled at the Hatter (and this was odd, you know, because he hadn't any lips), and left.
The Hatter looked around for a moment, and then settled down to sit on an old crate that had washed ashore, and waited patiently for the Turtle to talk.
For a while, the Mock Turtle said nothing, but wiped a few tears from his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to calm his tears.
Hatter huffed.
"Hmph...don't see how he can tell me anything if he doesn't begin..."
The Mock Turtle cleared his throat and began thus:
"Once upon a time, I was a real turtle..."
"So I've heard."
"I went to school in the sea...the headmaster was an old turtle. We called him tortoise..."
"Why?"
"We called him 'tortoise' because he 'taught us!'" snapped the Mock Turtle. "Really, you are very dull!"
Jervis glared, but said nothing.
"We had the best of educations...in fact, we went to school every day, you know..."
"And how many hours a day did you tend to lessons?"
The Mock Turtle paused.
"Hmm...ten hours the first day, I believe...nine the next, then eight...and so on, and so forth..."
"'Curiouser and curiouser!' Is that why they're called lessons? Because they 'lessen' every day?"
"Naturally."
"Well, that means the eleventh day was a holiday..."
"Of course it was!"
"How did you manage on the twelfth?"
"I...I c-c-can't remember!" sobbed the Mock Turtle. "I was too distracted b-by that time..."
The Hatter cocked his head curiously.
"Distracted?" he repeated.
The Mock Turtle nodded and sighed.
"Th-there was a young turtle at our school...her name was Celia..."
Jervis felt his heart sink.
"What happened to her?"
Turtle mooed out a long, low, sad moan.
"I became this!" he wailed. "When the studies were completed, I became a Mock Turtle, and she refused to have anything to d-do with me! I-I-I l-lost her f-forever..."
Jervis sighed and gazed at the ground.
"I know how that feels..."
"Of course, she isn't the cause of my tears..."
Tetch looked up fast.
"Come again."
"I quickly forgot her for the most part," said Turtle with a bit of pride. "She was no good for me, you know!"
The Hatter growled softly; they weren't talking about Celia now, he realized.
"Shut up," he snarled.
The Turtle's eyes widened.
"Now, there was no c-call for that!" he gasped.
Jervis sighed. There was no use talking to this one...
But the Turtle did like songs...
"Look, old friend, thanks for calling," he sang. "It's good to know somebody cares. Yes, she's gone, but I don't feel like talking...it might be just too much to bear."
Turtle glared at him sternly and sniffled.
"To hear somebody say that it stops hurting?" he responded, questioning. "To hear somebody say she wasn't worth it?"
"Right!" snapped the Hatter, and stamped his foot, rising angrily. "Because you don't know her like I do! You'll never understand! You don't know what we've been through: that girl's my best friend! And there's no way you're going to help me; she's the only one who can! No, you don't know how much I've got to lose! You don't know her like I do!"
For a moment, the Mad Hatter and the Mock Turtle glared at each other in silence, the only sounds being the Turtle's sniffles, the Hatters seething breaths, and the splashing of the waves on the shore.
After a moment, the Hatter sighed sadly, and turned away, hands folded behind his back, hat brim shadowing his tragic blue eyes.
"Tell me," Turtle whispered. "Why does it hurt you so m-much?"
"Alice...Alice was the only person I could call a friend," Jervis said. "She was the only one who cared. As a boy, the Alice of Wonderland seemed so perfect; kind and civil to everyone she met, no matter how high or low on the social status they were, and no matter how ugly they were..."
Here he smirked.
"Well...I suppose the Duchess and the Queen were exceptions to that rule. You know, Carroll described her once in a newspaper article about his stories. I don't recall the entire article, but the three words he used to describe her were 'curious, kind, and loving.'"
"Y-you were enraptured...y-y-you n-never imagined you c-could find an Alice all your own."
"Correct. And when I did..."
Now it was the Mad Hatter's turn to sob.
"I can't forget...I'm drowning in these memories! It fills my soul with all the little things, and I can't cope...it's like a death inside the family! It's like she stole my way to breathe..."
Slowly, the Hatter turned back to the Mock Turtle, who this time shrank back from the anger in the blonde-haired madman's azul eyes.
"So don't try to tell me I'll stop hurting, and don't try to tell me she wasn't worth it, because you don't know her like I do! You'll never understand! You don't know what we've been through..."
Here Tetch turned away again, wrapping his arms around himself in self-comfort.
"That girl's my best friend...and there's no way you're going to help me," he repeated, a bitter bite to his voice. "She's the only one who can! No you don't know how much I've got to lose..."
The Hatter sobbed again, a tear rolling down his cheek on each side.
"You don't know her like I do..."
Without another word, the Hatter collapsed to his knees, still hugging himself, and closed his eyes, beginning to weep at full strength...
He never noticed the sound of his companion's own sobbing change to the low moans of other inmates.
He never noticed the splashing of the waves changing to the splashing of water on flowers from Poison Ivy's cell nearby.
He never noticed the sand on his knees change back into the cement floor of his cell...
And so, when he opened his eyes, and saw where he was, it made sense for his sobs to grow stronger.
No, you'll never know how much I've got to lose..." he sang to himself. "You don't know her like I do..."
The Scarecrow watched the blonde haired man in the top hat cry himself to sleep over the edge of his textbook on the origins of fear.
He shrugged, smiling.
"Definitely eremophobia," he said to himself, and thought no more of the matter.