Strange Asylum

Chapter Two: Left in Stitches

A/N: Slightly dark chapter ahead, just BTW. But Alice does finally meet up with Tarrant! Thanks for stopping by, and also many thanks for the very first review, darkxxstar!

Alice threw up the second she came around and managed to open her eyes. The merest glint of dawn's gray light stabbed her her brain, and she heaved pitifully - until her head went under water, and she panicked, choking.

Flailing, and slipping, Alice finally got a foothold, and managed to stand - or rather, slump. Coughing, nose and throat burning, she bent over to lean on her upper thighs until she got control of herself. Once she caught her breath, she became aware of a hideous thumping in her head. Swallowing against another wave of nausea, she took deep breaths until it subsided slightly.

Alice opened her eyes a bare slit, not because she wanted to, but because she had to find out just where the hell she was - and then she frowned, noting that she stood in what looked like a giant pond. It wasn't deep, but it certainly was odd looking. The water had movement; it looked like a small current was running against her, and it had a disgusting red tint to it. Something bumped against her shin, and Alice jerked, sending her head into a new level of agony. She almost fell over, because there was some kind of sludge sliding around her feet in the bottom of the pond.

Trembling, her nerves already shot, she looked down to see what had knocked into her - and squinted at the funny, ivory-colored round thing that was continually bumping against her in the current. What the heck was that? She blinked, leaned down a bit for a closer look - and abruptly screamed, and began to scrabble through the slippery mess to get anywhere, anywhere at all, just as long as it was out. of. that. water!

"Oh, God!" Alice panted as she clambered out of the disgusting liquid onto a grassy, stone-cluttered bank. "Oh, my freaky God!"

Alice hid her throbbing head in her hands as she tried to resist looking back at the water - or whatever it was - but some macabre fascination made her slowly turn her head, and she immediately began throwing up again, feeling an extreme anxiety attack creeping up on her.

Skulls! The entire surface of the water was dotted with floating skulls!

"Hush, stupid girl, or you really will wake the dead," snapped a deep, snobby, overbearing voice from somewhere near her ear, and Alice made the huge mistake of popping her head to the side to see who was there, and a blinding pain made her see a blot of bright indigo in a blaze of white. Then, mercifully, there was dark and silence again.

"- something isn't right, no, not right at all, not right, not right, she's not waking up! Why isn't she? Why isn't she?" an unfamiliar voice exploded into the air above her head, and Alice sluggishly came awake, but made certain to keep her eyes shut. She wasn't sure if she could open them now, anyway.

"The dim-witted chit most likely has a concussion, Hatter, I'm sure I told you this many hundreds of times already," replied the same dry, snobbish voice Alice had heard before. "Or do you recall the great bloody bump on the back of her head at all?"

A low growl came in retort, but Alice had to wonder if it had even come from the same person, it sounded so different.

"'Course I do, m'mad, not stupid, you bluidy floatin' cackle roach!" a voice with a decidedly scots accent roared back across the air.

Cackle roach? Alice silently repeated, bewildered. Surely he meant cock roach, right? Oh, her brain hurt...

"Please," she gave up, and moaned, feeling pitiful, "stop yelling. My brains are going to dribble out my ears...!"

"Oh, dear," came the first voice again, quietly lisping. "It's ever so much worse than we thought!"

"Don't worry, Hatter," drawled the snob, "one must first be in possession of a brain for it to dribble out one's ears."

Alice's mouth fell open in offense, and she tried to sit up way too fast. If there'd been anything left in her tortured stomach, she would have lost it, but luckily for the arms that reached out to grab her and hold her steady, she didn't.

Moaning again, and rolling her head around on her shoulders, Alice opened her eyes, and gave an almighty start.

The incredibly pale face that was so close to hers backed off, and great day-glow green eyes surrounded by frosty white lashes blinked at her anxiously.

"Alice? Don't be frightened...how you do smell?"

Alice, in spite of herself, snorted. "W-what?"

"I believe he meant to ask how you felt," said the snob, "though even you must confess to reeking more than just a bit."

"Absolem!"

"Bug off, butt-head!" Alice snapped at the cruel voice, and the owner of the glowing eyes in front of her cackled.

She tried to focus her eyes on his, but it seemed impossible, mostly since his were still a glaring neon green, and seemed totally out of focus themselves. After the third time of her right eye trying to follow the apparent drifting of his left, her eyes began to sting and water, and she closed them, trying to shake the bizarre feeling off.

"Oh, I don't feel right," Alice sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

The Hatter, as the snob had addressed him, leaned forward and gave her a concerned tut.

"What is it?" he rasped gently. "Have you gone sideways?"

Alice found herself trying to scowl and smile at the same time, and she gave herself a shake. "I don't know - maybe," she admitted with a small, helpless laugh, and a smile despite herself. She was discovering it was hard to even look at the man without the corners of her lips curling upwards. It was like he was bottled, concentrated hilarity, or something.

He looked a lot like a clown, but not. He was colorful, but also somehow washed-out. He had pale white, plum-shadowed skin that made him look almost ex-sanguinated. His hair was pumpkin orange, and electrified-looking, standing out from the sides of his head beneath an eccentrically decorated top hat covered in once-fine tapestry complete with an extravagant feather, a wide salmon sash, and exquisitely jeweled hat-pins.

The Hatter smiled at her inspection of him, his deep plum lips parting to reveal an oddly endearing space between his front teeth.

"Well," the deep voice announced, "if you're going to waste my time getting re-acquainted - again - I think I shall be on my way."

"Oh, yes - fairfarren, Absolem!" said the Hatter, and he gave an absent wave.

"And to you, Tarrant Hightopp. Until we meet again, you ungrateful brat."

Alice scowled and looked in the direction of the wave, ready to give this 'Absolem' a piece of her mind - but all she saw was a brilliant blue, winsome-looking butterfly drifting away through some undergrowth.

"You're not the same as you were before," The Hatter suddenly said thoughtfully. "Or before that before."

Alice looked at him helplessly. "What are you talking about?"

His unfocused eyes snapped to hers, and he frowned. "What?"

"What?"

He lifted a wicked orange brow. "What?" He shook his head. "You really should finish your thoughts before you give voice to them - makes conversing with you very difficult."

Alice squeezed her eyes shut. Patience.

It would have been too easy to give into giggles of hysteria, but instead she decided to ask him a question.

"What was that place? The pond - that water, where I was before?""

The Hatter's highly animated face fell. "Oh...you had the extreme misfortune of landing in the Red Queen's moat at Salazen Grum - her castle was here before she was exiled."

Alice gulped. "There were, you know...skulls in the water." 'God, where am I!'

The Hatter nodded solemnly. "Yes," he lisped, and Alice fought not to smile, "you were lucky, though," his voice dropped to a low whisper, "they used to be whole heads!"

Thinking back to what it was she'd been slipping around in, in the moat, she felt nauseous again. Alice didn't think she'd been all that lucky after all.

"I think I need a bath," she said, her face drawing up in disgust.

The Hatter nodded again, and gestured with elegantly cuffed hands to his legs where he knelt. "Me too, I'm afraid."

Alice looked down and saw the same muck that she could feel covering her staining his once brown boots, mismatched striped stockings, and a good bit of his pants.

"Oh!" she realized, "you saved me!"

The Hatter pulled a face. "Not really, no. I mean, Absolem, he was the one who found you floating in the moat - face up, thank goodness - and I was the first he came across when he flew to get help, and I did come to pull you out of the water - "

Alice put up her hands. "Wait, wait, wait - did you say 'flew'?"

The Hatter closed his mouth mid-word and gave an uncertain kind of nod.

Alice sighed. "He was...the butterfly, wasn't he? Of course it was, I have brain damage..."

The Hatter beamed. "You remember!"

Alice's eyebrows went up. "Remember what?"

"Oh...you don't remember." He sounded distinctly disappointed.

"Hm?"

"Well, at least you're the right-proper size Alice this time..."

Alice couldn't keep up with him. She suddenly became aware of the throbbing in her head again, and a brutal sting in her left arm. She tried to lift the filthy limb for the first time and she couldn't - but she did manage a mighty nice whimper.

The Hatter watched as she caught her breath and went completely still. "What is it?"

"My arm...my head," she groaned. Lifting her eyes to his, she noticed her sight beginning to waver. The greenery, gray sky, and ruins she'd just now noticed behind the Hatter began to haze, and swim. She felt her eyes drift to the side to keep up with the wavering landscape, and closed them before she got any dizzier.

"Why, Alice! You're turning red!"

"Just bleeding, I guess," Alice mumbled, feeling light-headed. "M'okay."

"Bloody, bleeding, bump! Oh, 'B' words, bad, not good! Don't worry, Alice, I shall take you to the White Queen - surely she can fix you!"

"Okay," Alice said again, and all was quiet for what seemed like a long time. Then a bird chattered loudly nearby, and a flurry of movement in front of her made her open eyes again.

The Hatter was sliding his hands under her legs and back, and she made a faint sound of protest as he lifted her against him and carried her over to a little hay-filled cart.

"Shh...rest!"

"It's ruined, now. You'll need a new coat," Alice murmured. "S'really too bad about this one, though - I like the color."

The Hatter didn't respond as he wrapped a long scarf around her arm and tied it off.

"Cold," Alice gave a shudder.

"I know, I know," said the Hatter breathlessly, and he covered her with a heavy throw, frantically patting down the edges.

The musty blanket covered her head, and the fringe on it tickled her nose, but Alice was too hurt, and too tired to do anything about it. Instead she just closed her eyes and drifted off as the small cart began to roll forward.

The clatter of wooden wheels on the stone drive at the front of her castle drew the White Queen's attention from a slightly drooping blossom tree, and with a swift goodbye that was only slightly rude, she hurried forward to see who was visiting.

Approaching the entry, she heard unbelievably heavy breathing, and was shocked to see a dirty, sweaty, grimacing Royal Hatter hurrying up to her, pulling a hay cart, of all the odd, undignified things!

As soon as he saw her, the Hatter came to an abrupt stop, panting, and his attempt at a bow was more like resting, bent over, with his hands propped upon his knees.

"Tarrant? Whatever is happening? Are you quite all right?" Mirana, asked in alarm.

At the sound of her voice, a half dozen knights arrived, swords drawn, and with a small frown of irritation, she waved them off.

Catching his breath, the Hatter looked up at her and shook his head. "It is...Alice," he croaked roughly, and a convenient servant quickly arrived to offer him water.

Surprised, Mirana clapped her hands together in delight. "Alice? Wonderful! She has returned to Underland?" Her excited voice again brought an audience, only this time it was a small crowd of nobles from her court, curious and all ears.

"Yes," the Hatter agreed, wiping his face with a handkerchief, "but I'm afraid she has returned to Underland...damaged."

The Hatter stepped out of the way and allowed the Queen to see the blanketed bundle on the small cart behind him. As the Mirana moved forward, he pulled the plaid down to first expose Alice's dirtied face, and then her bandaged arm and hand. He gently unwrapped the scarf he'd tied around Alice's still bleeding arm, and the ugly laceration gushed again.

"Oh! This wound...!" The White Queen covered her lips and choked delicately, looking as if she might become ill at any moment.

"Can you fix him?'" The Hatter asked anxiously.

"Her," Mirana absently corrected him. "I can help her - but of course, I will need you to stitch these cuts for me..."

The Hatter made an unintelligible sound in his throat. Stuffing the handkerchief back into his cuff, he took his hat in his hands, and began rotating it nervously, by its brim. "Me?" he squeaked. "S-stitch? Her...erm, flesh?"

Mirana gave him a sympathetic look. "Well, I cannot do it. Don't worry, you'll do fine."

The Hatter gave her a painful grimace in return. "I...do not doubt my skills, your Highness...only my sanity."

Mirana, gingerly feeling Alice's head for the source of the matted blood in her hair, paused and turned back to him.

"Tarrant," was all she said.

The Hatter dropped his eyes to the hat in his hands and breathed deep. After a moment, he seemed to straighten his back and regain a touch of confidence.

"I shall endeavor do my finest work, your Majesty."

"I know that you will, dearest friend." Mirana lifted a delicate hand, and instantly a white knight came to lift the unconscious Alice from her nest.

"No!"

Mirana flinched. "Ahem...yes, Tarrant?"

The Hatter looked as surprised at his outburst as everyone else in front of the great hall. He shifted, and cleared his throat.

"Please," he asked in a much softer voice, "may I carry her?"

Mirana, relieved, gracefully inclined her head. "Of course. To my solar, please. I'll want her close." She looked at her ladies-in-waiting and they needed no more than that to know to quickly disappear and collect her potions.

Mirana stepped aside as the Hatter approached and carefully lifted the girl into his arms. The solemnity of his expression as he looked at Alice's face brought tears to Mirana's eyes. Dabbing them discreetly, she followed them directly, waving off her guards.

As they moved inside, and approached the grand staircase, Mirana admired the determined strength of her friend as he climbed before her, cradling his burden, and never once faltering, despite his apparent exhaustion.

She was so pleased that her champion - her friend - had returned. Ages earlier it seemed, in her heart-of-hearts, she had hoped, perhaps, that The Alice would stay, and not only help Mirana herself ignore her own inescapable dark side, but also The Hatters.

Sadly, it had not happened, and Alice had left...but with a promise to come back.

And she had.

As they arrived in her private solar, Mirana directed the organization of hastily collected mattresses and pillows, hot water for a bath for Alice, and the arrangement of herbs, powders and other tools needed to treat her champion's grievous injury.

"Only Alice would receive worse wounds simply upon entering Underland, than fighting the Jabberwocky," she heard the Hatter say as he stood by the temporary pallet Alice lay upon. Once the girl had been bathed and treated, she would be moved to a more comfortable bed.

Mirana took a moment to carefully cleanse her hands, and the Hatter's, before she took up a damp cloth and began wiping the grime from around Alice's wound. "I must agree," she told the Hatter sadly. She put down the cloth, and took up an anti-septic solution, and a bulbous instrument with which to irrigate the wound.

"After it is clean, I will need you to sew up the wound. I believe she is fully unconscious at this point, but I'm afraid this will hurt," she told the Hatter regrettably. "You may need to hold her down."

Looking beyond aggrieved, the Hatter gave his fingers a resolved wiggle in preparation, and placed his hand upon the still girl. Once he was pressing down firmly, he looked up at Mirana and gave a slight, uncertain nod.

Mirana tried to smile, and look reassuring, and then she handed him the irrigation tool...

When the wounds were cleansed, and Alice had finally stopped crying out and thrashing, the Hatter released his hold with stiff movements, and slowly backed away, his level of anxiety clear in his disturbing eyes. His limp fingers dropped the cleansing supplies on the floor.

Mirana, her own nerves tattered, wiped her forehead, and moved to remove the Hatter's sash of bobbins and his coat. He jumped, and she laid a hand on his arm to calm him. After a tense moment, he allowed her to take the ruined coat, and the hat that was somehow still upon his head.

He cleared his throat, and blinked a few times, before lifting his hands and pushing off the fingerless gloves they were wrapped in. They went into the coat and hat pile, along with the colorful bobbins and thimbles he habitually wore on his fingertips.

While he cleansed his hands and discolored nails again, Mirana accepted the items he'd need to close Alice's horrific cut from a hovering lady.

A lamp was set nearby as the Hatter settled himself on a stool near the pallet, and Mirana held out the cloth-covered tray of purified scissors, needles, and thread.

The Hatter's hand was shaking as he reached out to flip off the cloth, and his whole appearance was one of extreme weariness...but when he took up the thread and curved needle, his hands were suddenly steady, and his eyes clear, and filled with purpose.

As he leaned over Alice's arm, Marina took several steps back to stand with their tiny audience of two ladies-in-waiting, and a silent white knight. She told herself it was because she wanted to give Tarrant some room, but it was truly because she had a difficult time handling the sight of such carnage.

The Hatter worked quickly, and skillfully, carefully laid aside his tools when he was done. He was washing away the blood when Marina hesitantly stepped up beside him again, and she gasped.

"Why, I can barely see the stitches, Tarrant!" she softly exclaimed. "What skill! She'll have you to thank when there is no evidence of a scar left!"

Tarrant didn't answer, and Mirana looked to see that the poor man had quite simply disappeared, leaving his coat and hat behind.

To be continued