The threat of being gagged kept him silent. The guards were frustratingly unresponsive to his questions. It was unnerving to watch his headless body being dragged along in front of him. He cringed as his feet banged against the ground. At least he couldn't feel it. Jefferson never would have expected to be able to find an upside to being decapitated, but apparently his head couldn't feel any pain from his body.
He was taken into a surprisingly cheerful looking room. The large windows sparkled, letting in a great deal of sunlight. His body was deposited unceremoniously on a long white table.
"Right side up, if you please," a male voice admonished the guards, "You ought to know better by now."
As Jefferson's body was flipped over to lay on its back, the speaker came into view. He was a short bald man with a few remaining strands of silver hair. Jefferson's eyes followed the new arrival nervously.
"What do we have here?" the new man asked.
"A thief," the guard holding Jefferson's head responded, shaking the head slightly to emphasis his point. Jefferson gritted his teeth and closed his eyes as his world was set spinning again. "'E's ta be locked up after you're done with 'im."
"Alright," the bald man agreed readily enough, "Set him down."
Jefferson involuntarily let out a sigh when the pressure on his hair abruptly released. He opened his eyes again to find himself positioned a bit lower. He was level with the table that his body was resting on.
"This won't take long," the bald man said to Jefferson's head.
"What are you going to do to me?" he demanded.
"I'm going to put you back together," he replied, opening a bottle and wetting a cloth with the contents. Jefferson's nose wrinkled as he recognized the scent. His eyes widened as the man approached.
"No..." he whispered.
"Oh trust me," the bald man said, "You don't want to be awake for this." He covered Jefferson's nose and mouth with the cloth, and the sweet smell of chloroform filled his head.
Jefferson's head was pounding. He was laying on a hard surface. His hand went to his head as he forced his eyes open. Fortunately for his poor head, the room was dark. He pushed himself up into a seated position. Some vague memory of being on a white table pushed its way to the surface.
Thinking back on it later, he realized that he probably should have noticed that his head was attached to his body again sooner than he did. He blinked and stared stupidly around the room.
"Welcome back," came a voice.
He looked up, blinking a few times at the bald man.
"Here," the man brought him a cup, "You should drink this."
He regarded the cup suspiciously.
"It's just green tea," the man said, "I promise."
Jefferson took it, and sniffed it, then cautiously sipped the tea. The man had been telling the truth.
"Drink it slowly," the man advised, "You have to get used to being together again."
"Back... together..." he repeated, reaching up and rubbing his neck. He flinched at the unfamiliar rough feeling on his neck. "What?"
"The stitches will take a little while to heal," he nodded, "In the meantime, don't worry at them. You don't want any more scarring than there will be." He gave Jefferson a smile, "And you don't want them coming undone."
"Stitches," he repeated.
Stitches. Holding his head back on. His head had been cut off. Cut off. By the Queen of Hearts. His hands shook slightly and he had to put the cup down. His stomach lurched.
"Hey, easy now," the bald man set a hand on his shoulder, "I know that it's a bit of a shock, but you're alright." He smiled, "In fact, you're a bit lucky."
"Lucky?" Jefferson repeated incredulously, "How am I lucky?"
"Well, somebody's always on staff, just in case the Queen feels like beheading someone," he replied, "So there always needs to be a Stitcher handy. I'm the most experienced."
The portal-jumper really had no idea how to respond to that one, so he didn't.
"Ready to stand?" the man asked.
Jefferson nodded. He braced his hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet. He only swayed a little. Under the careful supervision of the Stitcher, he took a few hesitant steps forward. After walking the length of the room, he let out a relieved sigh. "I'm alright," he breathed.
"Of course you are," the Stitcher said with a nod.
"Thank you," he said softly.
The door opened and the sound of heavy boots made Jefferson look up. He involuntarily took a step backwards away from the four guards that had entered.
"The Queen commands that you come with us," one of the guards said, "If you will not come willingly, we will have to use force."
Jefferson slowly held up his hands, palms up, and walked towards the guards. "She told me that I can go home-"
"Once you make a new hat," the guard finished, "Come."
The room he was given was a the top of a tower. There were big windows, giving him plenty of natural light. A small cot was tucked in a corner. A huge work bench dominated the center of the room. The walls were lined with shelves filled with bolts of fabric, spools of thread and ribbon. Everything that one needed to make hats.
"Do not leave this room alone," the guard warned him, "You'll have food and water."
"And after I get my hat to work?" he asked.
"Then, as the Queen commanded, you should use your hat to return to where you came from."
Jefferson nodded. "I just have to get it to work."