A/N: The path for this chapter came from the awesome song "Savior" by Lights. The lines "Are we denying a crisis/or are we scared of admitting it?" were particularly inspirational. I felt that this was fitting for Alice's character in Burton's Underland. She may have recovered her muchness when she slayed the Jabberwocky, but we all slip and lose our muchness sometimes, don't we? Especially when confronted with something extremely important. So without further ado, chapter four. Thank you to everyone who read it for putting up with it, and I hope I don't get shot for this, heheh. (Side note: Isaac, if I go down, I'm taking you with me. *nods* )

Alice found herself once again in the Thinking Room, but this time accompanied by Tarrant. She expected to hear the snarky voice of the Room again, but strangely, it remained silent, as if Silence itself was listening and watching for what was to come. All was quietly dark for a few minutes, until she heard her companion take a deep breath, as if he was trying to pull the air to the very depths of his body. As the breath was let out slowly, the room began to lighten with multicolored hues, light and dark mingling to make a jumbled mess all around them. Swirling faster and faster, the Thoughts and Memories encased the whole of the room until Alice felt as if she were being pressed upon, and a bout of claustrophobia gripped her. Tarrant must have sensed this, for everything halted abruptly. Taking her by the arm and gently escorting her through the mess of voices and images, he brought her to stand before one and wordlessly gestured for her to view it, his eyes glowing gray from the light coming from the scene. Recognizing it for the one that he himself had interrupted during her first "visit" to the room, she leaned in closer to the Memory until the Thoughts were whispering to her. "She'll never know... she must not! After all, she wouldn't... couldn't! I'm simply a madman... and she's so Alice... I do so love her... if only she could..." The Thought faded out as Tarrant pulled her hesitantly from the Memory, the Alice in it still tangled in the bedsheets. The present Alice, however, only wished that she could grasp the concept that he loved her and she had not known. She had not known, but now she did. He loved her...

She turned to face the one who loved her (She had no reason to disprove this- Tarrant had said so himself, the Room never lied.) and softly, she said, "Tarrant."

Keeping his eyes to the floor, he said, "Alice." He had done it, he had actually done it. She knows, she knows, she knows, replayed in his head like Thackery's broken records in the yard beside the tea table. With an acute feeling of dread, he played with the end of his neck-tie, for something to do with his hands.

"You love me." It wasn't a question; it was more of a declaration of fact. She was looking for an affirmation.

"Yes."

"How long...?"

"I don't know."

"Tarrant?"

"Yes?" he croaked.

"I'm not... I... I love you, Tarrant-" she stammered, and with that a fantasy that had been lurking in the edges of his mind came to focus, unbidden. A scene with Alice and he, a garden, a ring; then a flurry of white and black and vows to be said; an extra seat sat between his and Alice's chairs at the tea table, with a child sitting between them: a mess of orange hair and brown eyes and high pitched laughter- "but nothing more than a dear friend."

That small Hope that had risen in him died a quick and painful death at those seven simple words. Seven words begat the Hope, and seven words killed it. Seemed fitting. Proper, even. "I see," he said, his voice quivering. They found themselves walking together out of the room- Tarrant's posture looking positively downtrodden- then lingering in the hallway. "I suppose... I'll go to bed..." he trailed off, thoroughly melancholy, yet determined in his own way not to let Alice see just how deeply she had cut him. Rejection surged through his every pore, making his heart break, and the smile he pasted on his lips as he gave Alice a parting goodnight seemed sickly and wrong.

Alice stood in the same spot for the longest time after she heard Tarrant close his door. Even when she heard the second kerosine lamp, among other items, shatter, she remained in the hallway. It wasn't until her legs gave way under her that she let herself contemplate what she had just done.

She had been frightened. So she had figuratively run far away from the windmill, as was her habit.

But Alice wondered, as she lay on the cold wooden floor, now that she'd run from the crisis and everything was different...

...Could she ever find her way back?

A/N: It's 1:55 A.M., give me a break- and some coffee, if you'll take pity on this insomniac. I don't think I'll be writing more to this (However, I didn't mean for it to originally have chapters, either...) so I'm going to end it here and leave the rest up to your collective imaginations.

Hope you enjoyed it, and thanks again for reading- you all are beautiful! ;)

May you have a serving of sweet tea with a side of a happier Hatter,

~Leiary.