Nicholas: Because Brumeier is awesome. I felt like I needed to continue this but I couldn't think of anything. Sure enough, another of her songfics gave me the inspiration I needed. I'm not sure how-or even which one anymore ^_^-but I rather like how this turned out. This is assuming that the Queen had Hatter punished in the Truth Room, much like my fic First Time, without Mad March. Enjoy.

"How is it?"

With a surprised lift to his eyebrow, Hatter stops unbuttoning his shirt and turns toward the voice at the door. He knows that honey-smooth, silky tone even with the foreign hint of actual concern laced in with the beautiful, enticing poison. The concussion makes him waver a bit, but he braces himself on the desk behind him and tries to focus his vision on Carlotta prowling to him with the feline grace of a lioness to her prey. His breathing is heavy and his entire body sore and crumpled. It has been a horrible day, enough to drive one mad…but Hatter isn't mad today.

"Oh, you know," he says, chuckling into his wince as the stretch sets a deep ache in his chest. "It only hurts when I…everything."

Suddenly, she was almost upon him, lifting her hands to pull his shirt out of the way. The touches are soft and careful over the countless burns and bruises that dot his torso; the lack of sex or seduction behind it just makes the whole situation more awkward. "What have they done to you?"

Hatter looks down at her, trying to read the expression on her face as something other than heartfelt, honest worry. He doesn't like that she cares; he doesn't like that she isn't here to do those things. Taking her hands in his, he holds them away from his body, grimacing at the tug on his aching muscles. He can't do this. He's either much too sane or much too hurt, but he just cannot have her here like this. Back in The Room, he'd considered things he might ask of her tonight—restraints maybe, or asphyxiation—to take his mind off the pain, off of what they were trying to make him think about. Those doctors. He shudders.

"Stop." It's quiet, subdued, almost a plea.

For a moment, she obeys. Hands limp in his grasp, she scans his face and leans in to get a good look at his eyes. What she sees there seems to enlighten her, puts a twisted expression on her face. "They've broken you." It isn't a question.

"What?"

Tugging her hands away, she steps back and considers him gently. "You're…you're different," she elaborates, awkwardly fiddling her hands, "I don't know what they did to you in there, but this is the…sanest I have ever seen you."

He can't bring himself to laugh at that. "No need to insult me," he quips instead.

As she smiles, she looks saddened; her entire form is shrunk just a little—but enough that Hatter notices. She's so uncharacteristically uncertain, she is almost childish. Eyes averted, she sighs heavily before speaking. "I can't fix this, can I?"

There is little thought or hesitation in Hatter's response. "I don't imagine so, no."

She takes a moment to gather herself. It is almost as if she's lost a sense of purpose; she's lost all of her power and withered away from a ethereal, amazing, lovely creature into a regular, crumpled young woman. All of her magnificence and allure melts away and Hatter even begins to wonder how he thought of her as anything but average, standing in her somewhat modest, royal blue dress and dainty, little hat. When she finally looks up again, she is years older and a bit more than plain. "So there is no reason for me to stick around, then? That was all you needed me for?"

As he starts to shake his head—spare her a harsh dismissal—he stops and looks at her. It isn't fair to keep up the charade anymore, there isn't any point. He needs to stop lying to her. "No, I guess not," he mutters, pressing his hand against his head where the throbbing ache was starting up again. "I don't love you."

"I know," she says. Some of her stature is back and her demeanor is starting to make a quick recovery. "It's been fun, though. Hasn't it?"

The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, tugging painfully at one of the cuts on his cheeks. "It's been…intense. Don't let me say that you aren't a very strong, dominating woman. Just what I needed some days, honest."

Carlotta grins, a little bit of warmth and glow coming back to her face. "Well, if you ever need anything in the future," she states, leaning up to him, "you know where to find me." Up on her tip toes, she slips a hand carefully around the back of his neck and presses her lips to his just one last time. It's short and bittersweet, and when she pulls away, she doesn't feel any better. Against his mouth, she whispers, "Will you be alright?"

"Me?" His eyes are squeezed shut in pain, but he's still smiling. "Are you kidding? I'm always alright."