Hello All!

This is my first venture into Alice fanfiction, but I must say that I absolutely love the miniseries in general and Andrew Lee Potts as Hatter in particular.

I was randomly inspired one day to switch the lines between Hatter and Alice while I was rewatching the series, and that suddenly sparked a fascinating idea about Hatter living in New York and Alice growing up in Wonderland. Thus, this story was born.

I hope you like it, so please read, enjoy, and review!

The world didn't quite fit in with David Hatter.

Others tried to tell him it was the other way round, but he knew it wasn't. Maybe it was because he was British and living in New York, people said, but he had seen pictures and movies set in England, and they didn't feel Right. They also pointed out that it probably stemmed from his being orphaned as a child, but it wasn't that either. It felt like the world around him was Almost Right. Like they knew the tune of his favorite lullabye, but sang the wrong words to it. Or used metaphors that sounded slightly off.

His own name wasn't even really his. The Hatter part was, that much he knew, but the David bit was lent to him by the rather melancholy gentleman who found him trying to defeat a much bigger boy in an alley in order to reclaim his hat. The older boy making fun of him for wearing an oversized hat was Hatter's first memory, although they estimated he was about the size of seven or eight years (He also thought it was odd that years had sizes, but he when he asked about it, they all gave him a Look and ignored him). Before that was a blur of memories of things he was told were odd, but felt very natural. Grinning cats. A buck-toothed dragon. Colored teas. And hats. Many, many hats.

The austere old man who had found him had rebuked both boys for being so noisy at a very inappropriate hour, then snatched the hat from the bigger boy as he ran past.

"Trying to be a bit of a David, were you?" He asked slowly, examined the well-worn straw hat.

"A what?" The small Hatter had asked, getting to his feet and brushing off the bits and gobs of rubbish.

"Going up against that Goliath." The man explained briefly, then sighed when the boy still looked confused. Handing over his hand, the man muttered, "Nevermind. Go home."

"Can't." The low-voiced gentleman raised his brow at this perceived impudence. "I mean, I don't remember where it is."

Sighing again, the man spoke as if every word was reluctantly pried out of him. "Fine. What is your name, boy?"

"Hatter." He responded promptly. Though everything else seemed hazy, he was certain of that, anyway.

"What's your full name, boy?" The man asked again impatiently.

Hatter thought hard. Was a full name the opposite of an empty one?

"Hatter." He repeated, hoping the grim figure before him would be satisfied with that. He wasn't.

"Your name is Hatter Hatter?" The raised brow was back.

The boy looked around quizzically. "There's only one of me. Why would I need two names?"

"Enough." The man was irritated now, though Hatter couldn't imagine why. It wasn't as if he was the one demanding full names and empty names and trying to give one boy two names.

Soon Hatter found himself at a police station, and was fascinated to notice that while he had an instinctual distrust of these uniformed men, they all seemed to respect his grim savior, as they all nearly fell over themselves with obsequious responses made up of "Of course, Mr. McTurle," and "Right away, Mr. McTurle", and "Are you sure you wouldn't like some coffee, Mr. McTurle?". He distrusted the Suit even more (though his jacket looked a bit plain), though he introduced himself as a 'child advocate', whatever that meant, and kept asking Hatter questions he didn't know the answers too.

"What is your name? Where are your parents? Who are your parents? Do you have any relatives? Where are you from?"

Hatter tried to remember, he really did, but it's no use remembering things if the few answers he did know only made everyone angrier.

"My name is Hatter, and I don't really remember my parents. I remember a Tea Shop, and hats. I think I'm from the Upper City."

The Suit and the man who found him stared.

"The Upper City?" The Suit asked.

"In Wonderland."

This response made the gloomy man narrow his eyes and the Suit blink in shock.

"Wonderland." The Suit repeated blankly.

Hatter looked between the two men and wondered why they were giving him such Looks. He would come to grow very accustomed to receiving these Looks, where people would glance at each other and him as if he had suddenly sprouted rabbit ears. Which he still thought was odd, because he seemed to remember a man who had rabbit ears.

The men were now talking amongst themselves.

"Did he have any sort of identification with him?"

"Just his clothes and his hat."

"What's a kid doing with a straw hat?"

"Porkpie." Hatter corrected the Suit. The men, who had forgotten he could hear them, both turned in surprise.

"What?" The Suit looked confused.

"It's a porkpie hat." Hatter told him, proud that even though he couldn't remember much else, he knew what his hat was.

"I didn't even know there were different kinds of hats," the Suit whispered to his melancholic counterpart.

"There are lots of kinds." Hatter said, wondering how adults could be this dull.

The gloomy man who found him looked at him sharply. "What kinds?"

Hatter blinked, then began to recite the list that naturally appeared in his mind. "Akubra, balmoral, beret, bicorne, boater, bobble hat, bowler, busby, capuchon, cloche, deerstalker, fedora, fez, flat cap, fruit hat, homburg, kepi, kufi, night cap, pith helmet, porkpie, skullcap, tam o' shanter, top hat, tricorne, trilby, ushanka-"

"Alright, that's quite enough." Mr. McTurle interrupted.

The Suit turned to his companion and tried to speak so Hatter couldn't hear. "I'm beginning to grow concerned that the boy may have some sort of disorder, or disability."

"Nonsense. Knowing the names of hats does not make one mad." His rescuer shot him a piercing look as he spoke, then continued, "Send him to St. John's Home for Boys. They treat their children well, but let them know that I will be visiting on occasion to ensure his well-being."

There were more 'of course, Mr. McTurle's, and then Hatter grew concerned as the man placed his hands on Hatter's shoulders in what felt like a very final manner.

"Now, David,"

"That's not my name." Hatter insisted, clinging to the one thing he was irrevocable sure of.

"No, but you can borrow it for a bit." Blinking, Hatter stared as the man gathered his words. "It seems you've lost your way. And that's alright. Many of us have." He sighed quietly, then continued, "But don't ever forget that you have a way. And yours is a very special way, Hatter. It's important. Keep looking for it, and perhaps, one day, you'll find it again."

The corner of his mouth twitched up in a peculiar grin.

"Or perhaps, it'll find you."

And with those words, Hatter was left with the thought that even if he was mad, perhaps he wasn't the only one.