Part Three

She was still quite upset the next morning, and so although the Hatter appeared almost immediately, she was resolved to ignore him for at least a good half hour. Just so he learned his lesson.

He followed her at a distance as she moved about the deck, breathing deeply the fresh air, free from corsetry. There was no one to force her into what was viewed as "proper," no one to admonish her when she neglected to put on stockings. As a matter of fact, with care and precision she had managed to remove all stockings from her trunk while her mother's back was turned; she could go about barefoot on the ship, if she wished, and no one would say anything about it. The thought reminded her strongly of her fantasies of a desert island, and she lapsed back into them quite happily, till a cough to her left reminded her that she was not alone.

The Hatter had mimicked the posture she'd adopted, wrists on the rail, hands clasped, leaning forward. He was looking directly at her when she turned her gaze in his direction, and gave her a wide and hopeful smile. She turned her glance out to see again immediately, but could not keep an answering smile from creeping into existence. Just the slightest quirk of her lips, an inwards and upwards tuck of the side of her mouth; but he caught it immediately.

"There, I knew you were feeling better! Perhaps it's because I've caught you before breakfast. Are you still believing impossible things?"

"Indeed I am," she answered. "One of them being that you're here with me, again. Supposing the wind blows off your hat and it falls into the sea?"

He clapped a hand down on it at the suggestion, frowning slightly, and Alice's smile emerged in all its glory.

"I'm glad I believe in impossible things," she said. "But I'm gladder still that you're here, figment of my imagination or not."

"Which begs the question, my dear," he recounted precisely, "as to whether it is you or I who are the figment? Who is the figment, I mean. Who are--- is--- am I? Are you? Who's to say?" He shook his head, sputtering to a stop. "Beg pardon. I became verbally entangled there for a moment."

"That, beyond all things, is not surprising," she chided him gently, but she took a step towards him along with the comment, and her nearness made up for the slight derision which she displayed for his odd habits of communication. He brightened up immediately, shifting position till the sleeve of his peacock-colored jacket just brushed her bare arm; although, of course, neither of them could feel a thing.

"What I mean to say," he went on, "is, are you the dreamer and I the dream, or is it the other way around? How do we know which of us is dreaming the other?"

"I don't think this is a dream at all," said Alice. "I've never had a dream that was quite this pleasant. I mean to say," she amended, blushing under his suddenly direct gaze, "what with the fresh air, and the pitch of the ship, which is most enjoyable---"

"And the company," said the Hatter knowingly.

"And the company," allowed Alice. There was a vague familiarity in the way in which he was looking at her, putting her in mind of a brief moment, long ago, in the castle of the Queen of Hearts. He had asked her then--- rhetorically, it must be assumed--- why she was always too small or too tall. Well, she was the right size now, the right and proper Alice size, head reaching to his chin; and when everything else seemed to fit, of course one or the other or both of them would be mostly, if not completely, imaginary. The Hatter seemed to have forgotten this fact, however, and though one hand remained firmly holding his hat in place, the other now crept sideways, reaching for hers; and he had drifted closer, almost without realizing it; and she could not look away.

"I don't think I've ever—" whispered the Hatter.

"---seen you look so happy," said Mr. Carter, from behind them, and as Alice straightened up with a slight gasp, the Hatter disappeared. She slid her hand along the railing towards where he had so recently been standing, but there was nothing; and the slight warmth that she fancied she felt would of course be left by the sun.

"I was---" said Alice.

Carter took a step towards her, a slight smile appearing; the sort of smile he saved for Alice and only Alice, and gave away to no one else. She felt the weight of his regard like an anchor, dragging her down.

"You were what?" he questioned softly. Alice caught his gaze, and held it.

"Happy," she said, shortly, and moved away.

Alice's mother had always taught her to be as polite as possible, and though she found herself increasingly confused by her reactions to Mr. Carter's resemblance to the Hatter, she also felt that she was being unfair. Certainly, as she had mentioned to herself before, it was not his fault. He was only meaning to be friendly, of course; and if anyone was to blamed, perhaps it should be Captain MacManus, for assigning the unfortunate sailor to look after her.

Regardless, however, she attempted to avoid him as much as possible. The marked resemblance to a man left behind in another world caused her more pain than anything; the Hatter's appearances as the days went by were less and less frequent, more and more fleeting. He put it down, when she inquired as to the reason, to his share in rebuilding Underland. Things were going along well there, he assured her; there were only a few pockets of resistance which had to be dealt with. And of course Mirana had seen to it that only the most humane methods were being used. But he looked tired, and there were new lines around his eyes and mouth; he responded to her questions without enthusiasm, and seemed most to want to sit with her and keep her company in silence.

She left things as they were, but as the days passed and China drew ever closer, she made up her mind to impress upon him why she was not best pleased with Underland's apparent plan of substituting new acquaintances for old. She equipped herself for her argument in the only way she knew how: calling to mind as many memories as she could, of both the first trip to Underland and the second. There were many, more from the most recent journey; but even those of her childhood, blessed by time with a fuzzy sort of rosy vagueness, had returned little by little in bits and pieces and dreams, till she could piece the visit together in some semblance of order.

Eventually, she felt that the time had come.

He did not appear quite so tired on this occasion; was seated next to her in the cabin, lounging back with one leg crossed over the other and his head leaning against the wall. She seated herself on the bed and arranged her dress neatly.

"Can you stay for a few moments?"

"Certainly, my dear." He sat up straight, and his eyes narrowed with the pleased look of a smiling cat. "I'm always happy to be in your company, as I'm certain you know by now. As long as you don't actively kick me out of your cabin, I'm happy to remain."

"Only," Alice went on, "I do have something I wish to speak to you about. It's perhaps not entirely pleasant."

"Things which are not entirely pleasant," said the Hatter, "are my speciality." His face dropped for a moment. "Sadly. It's not the best speciality to have, I must say, but it's better than not having one at all. Although I suppose you could say it's my secondary speciality, as the first would of course be hats, and there's nothing unpleasant about hats. Unless they're poorly-made, and even a poorly-made hat has its merits. I recall one that was made for a Lioness I once knew--- did I ever tell you about the Lioness? Her husband got himself in trouble with a Unicorn, and everyone stopped speaking to her. But I said---"

"Hatter," said Alice. It was the third time she'd said it since he began speaking (he had heard none of them), and came out almost as a shout. He subsided immediately, shook his head a bit.

"Sorry," he said. "What was it you wanted to say, my dear?"

She took a deep breath. "It's about Mr. Carter."

"That young sailor?" His face seemed to slip into a freeze, of a sudden, as though he was very keen not to let on what he was thinking. His eyes dropped, and he turned his attention to the bandages on his fingers. "Nice fellow, I'm told. Once you get to know him."

"He is perfectly nice," Alice was forced to agree. "But that's not why I wanted to talk about him. There's a problem, you see."

The Hatter looked up at her from under his rampant eyebrows.

"There's always a problem," he said, somewhat darkly.

"But in this case a very specific one," Alice went on. "It seems, from what Queen Mirana has told me, that he has been almost---" the word failed her for a moment before she grasped at it, "---designed to be a companion to me."

The Hatter considered this statement for a moment, then nodded. "That is a very good way to put it. Not entirely accurate, of course, but an admirable effort all the same." He gave her a grain, as though she had to be rewarded for her adeptness with the language, but she ignored it.

"You mean to tell me you did know, all this time?"

He gave a slight shrug. " 'Course."

"And you were fine with it? You had no objection to this being set up?"

"Alice, my dear, you are getting overheated. I must warn you, jungle fever is a constant danger on long sea voyages. And that's not even taking into account scurvy and the like---"

She stood, and he perforce stood, too.

"I thought you didn't want me to forget you! You were afraid that I would, if I came back to my world. You said---"

"I know what I said," he interrupted. "I may be mad, Alice, but I'm hardly forgetful. I did worry that you would forget me. But you haven't, you see, and young Mr. Carter is a guarantee---"

"He's no such thing."

"---a guarantee that you won't, you see."

"He's an imitation," she seethed, her irritation having grown out of proportion to the length of the argument. "Why should you send me an imitation? You're worse than my mother, expecting me to be married to Hamish Ascot simply because he's a Lord!"

"I'm nothing like your mother!" said the Hatter, clearly offended by the implication.

"It's exactly like my mother! Why on earth should you send someone who looks like you, who talks like you, but who clearly isn't you---"

"On earth indeed, Alice," said the Hatter sharply, cutting across her words as cleanly as though with his sword. His eyes were darkening with the tell-tale signs of anger, his voice thickening as he spoke. "You insisted on coming back to your world instead of staying in Underland like any sensible person would have done."

"But I'm not sensible!"

"I know that!"

"And that's no excuse for trying to thrust me into a relationship with a fake."

"We were trying to be kind---"

"But I don't want him!"

"What do ye want?" he hissed, with the sort of anger he had shown so briefly before, long ago, when she told him she did not slay. "Actin' like a spoiled child, ye are, Alice. When we've done everything we could for ye, to thank ye for what ye did for us. The Queen chose so carefully."

She stood, and shook her head, feeling on the verge of tears--- a grown girl like her! And when she hadn't cried in so long!"It's not right. Whatever you do. It won't be right. I thought you, of all people, should understand that."

He seemed to be catching himself, taking deep breaths and coming back to his more usual self, losing the broad angry words of Outlandish. "We tried everything to set it up," he went on, the lisp slowly reappearing as the brogue became lost. "If you could only see what we did for you, Alice. If you only knew, only---"

This was too much for her.

"I thought the entire point of me going to Wonderland," she said angrily, "was to prove that I needn't do what people expect of me just because they expect it. That I have the choice of what I do, and no one can force me into their own roles just by saying so."

She found, to her great embarrassment and distress, that her fists were clenched, tucked against the fabric of her frock; that she had stomped her foot exactly like a spoiled child; that the Hatter, eyes paling back to their more usual shade, was looking downcast and chagrined, head drooping till the hat fell off it. It landed with curious soundlessness on the cabin floor, and was, more curiously, ignored.

"Only we do so want you to be happy," he murmured, chin on his chest.

She could find nothing to say to this, only stood silent and watched him. When he moved at last, head still down, he did not disappear as she expected him to, but went to the door. There he stood with his back to her for a moment, before he straightened his shoulders and lifted his bare mussed head. It was with a faint smile apparent in his voice that he began, "Alice, have you any idea why---"

But she was still angry.

"No," she said.

He dropped his head again, and went through the open door without attempting to say anything further. The breeze from the open porthole, chilling Alice as it passed, slammed the door after him. She stood with her arms clutched about her for a moment, feeling such surges of emotion--- oh, regret, certainly, and the remnants of anger, at this world separating her from the Hatter, and at herself, and a powerful need--- that she fairly reeled under the onslaught. There was only one thing for it: chase after him, and hope he had not disappeared again.

She clutched at the door handle, flung it open. The familiar face presented itself to her, green eyes wide, the mouth startling into an O; and though she knew full well it was impossible, she believed it nevertheless, and reaching upwards caught his face in her hands.

"But I don't want the figment," she said, "only the reality. I am spoiled, you see."

Drew him downwards for a kiss, stretched upwards to meet him, met him plane for plane on this world, on all worlds, and all elbows and arms, wrapped herself around him. He clung to her in turn, real and solid--- real. solid.--- beneath her hands; quite warm; quite open to possibilities.

She did not open her eyes till she had dropped away from him again; and saw what she had feared all along to see.

"I say," said Carter, and gulped. "All I meant to ask was if you fancied some tea."

"This," said Alice, "is not going to work."