No excuse except for finals and a jerk who gave me the most horrible review I ever received that made me give up writing for a while. But me posting this chapter is my reply of 'F*** you, I don't care if you like what I write or not.' So I hope that you guys like this chapter. It ends kind of abruptly but what happens next really has to go in another chapter.

I hope you all get thoroughly confused. ;)

Chapter 9:

"A 'friend'?" I challenged, "That really doesn't tell me much about you."

"No, I suppose it doesn't." His reply was cavalier and his…manner of how he spoke gave me a glance at his character; a man used to getting what he wants, kind enough, but would likely desert a friend at the drop of a hat if it suited him. Though he was an incredibly handsome man to behold, I decided then and there that I didn't want to get too close.

"Would you care for a drink?" He offered with sudden sincerity and motioned towards the bar.

"No thank you. I should be getting back; my friend is waiting for my return." Liar.

"What's in a drink?" He pleaded, but I couldn't place why his tone was coupled with that question.

"Alcohol." I replied, confused. My voice raised slightly at the back end of the word as if it were more a question than an answer. He laughed.

"No, sweetheart, I meant 'What is the harm in a drink?' Just one, little drink between friends?" That word again.

"I like to believe that I hold a higher standard of friends than men who grab women off the street and pull them into dimly lit taverns." My tone was sharp, much sharper than I had intended and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. True, I didn't like him referring to me that way, but that didn't give me the right to be cruel right off the bat to someone who had meant to help me. I should be grateful that he had come to my aide, even if I was resolved to be distant. Suddenly I couldn't look at him any more and I turned my head away from him in the direction of the bar.

The regret must have been evident on my face because I heard him release a half breath/ half laugh and repeat his offer in a gentle voice.

"One drink?" I bit my lip and deliberated for a fraction of a second before guilt got the best of me and I muttered a tiny "all right." In reply.

The man put a guiding hand at the small of my back and led me to the long table of polished wood. He sat me at one of the worn high chairs that creaked under my weight and took the seat next to mine. I took a moment to take in the wood of the bar top itself. The wood was for the most part and warm brown with a dark red tint with deep scratches and dents and water rings that looked as natural there as the wood grains. There were several trails of water streaking horizontally across the wood where the bartender had slid glasses to his customers. Slightly to the right of where I sat I could see where a man had carved his name into the wood, leaving pale lines against a deep red canvas. With my fingernail I absentmindedly began to pick at one of the dents and marveled at such a simple creation that must have been witness to hundreds of scenes of all emotions in this tavern; that had listened to thousands of lamented stories of wounded souls as they tried to drown their worries in a bottle of whiskey or beer.

The small thud of glass on wood as a drink was placed inches from my nose brought me back to earth with a start. I hadn't realized that I had been leaning closer and closer to the table in my examination. I quickly straightened up with rigid posture, a reflex that I had been taught by my mother through many painful years of training. Again my companion laughed, but this time it was more carefree and noticeable in the silent bar; it echoed off the walls and several customers turned to look at us briefly before returning to their glasses.

"You're a curious creature, now aren't you? What do you call yourself?"

"Alice." I muttered, picking up my drink and looking into it. It had a very warm smell, but I didn't fully trust it, so I carefully set it back on the bar and pushed it away with two fingers.

"You don't like whiskey?" He asked, glancing between me and the glass.

"No." My voice was louder, but not by much. He waited a moment for me to say something more, but I had somehow managed to lose every bit of my muchness the second that I had hurt him. It was probably best for me to keep my mouth shut.

I was surprised that he didn't feel the need to say anything either. Instead, he simply leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and gave me a crooked, questioning smile that made me very uncomfortable.

"What?" I asked loudly when I couldn't bear it any more.

"This is not going to be a one sided conversation. I have you here for however brief a time and I am determined to make it count. So you are going to talk to me whether you like it or not, Alice."

"Fine, then!" I stated, frustrated, "What's your name?"

"Sawyer."

"Is that your first name or last name?"

"Does it matter? I go by Sawyer, and since we're not doing business where you'd actually need to know my full name in all its glory, you can call me Sawyer." I hadn't been expecting an answer like that. It took me off guard, but in a good way.

"Well you are a curious creature yourself, Sawyer." He smiled at me, a genuine smile this time, and didn't say anything more. Instead, he decided to test the waters to see if I would let him in to my mind for a short while. He took his glass, raised it to me, and took a sip. In reply I took a deep breath before raising my glass to my lips and letting to warm, harsh liquid run down my throat.

With that, we turned from a loose acquaintance to an uneasy friendship. We sat for a few hours, talking about nothing important, but everything that no one else bothered to ask. As the minutes passed, I found that Sawyer has a way on unwinding you; of pulling back your defenses one by one until he sees what is actually there. With me it took a fair amount of effort on his part and I really had to give him my respect for that. He started with asking the usual "where are you from"s and "where are you going"s, but eventually he managed to work his way through to childhood friends, my objections to the society circles of England, all the way up why I felt dying alone wouldn't be as morbid as everyone I know claims it would be. Frankly, I have no idea how we managed to get onto that last topic.

Eventually, we were coming out of some sort of joke when Sawyer said off handedly "What time is it?" The question woke me from the near dream state that I had been lulled into and I jumped up from the stool and clutched the watch hanging from my throat. I stood too fast in my haste and was rushed with lightheadedness, but by sheer force of will I forced my eyes to focus on the small hands and found that nearly five hours had passed since I had left the ship.

"Bullocks." I muttered, snapping it shut. Would Hatter be looking for me? I bit my lip and stared unwillingly at the door behind me. I wasn't ready to go yet.

"Do you want me to escort you somewhere?" At the sound of his voice I turned my eyes back to his ice blue ones. His face was saddened and the darker, jealous schoolgirl in me felt a rush of sick pleasure at his apparent unwillingness to see me go. I wanted to look away a moment to really deliberate this choice, but he wouldn't release me from those eyes. I almost felt something like fear because I don't believe that at that moment, whether from his wish or mine, I had the option to leave him behind.

"I would like that." I said through numb lips. The words didn't sound like they had come from me, but from another girl; probably no worse of a person than I was, but still entirely different.

Without another word he smiled and offered his arm, which I happily looped my hand through, and we walked out of the dimly lit building and back into the near blinding light of the outside world. I felt better being thrown into the new world because I was not alone anymore; he had found me and saved me in a way. I doubt that I truly needed saving, but the act still gave credit to Sawyer's morality. You know, it is nice to be a hero, but it is also nice to feel taken care of. I never got a lot of that at home after father died; mother turned as cold as a pond in winter when he left, and Margaret and I just…followed suit. Of course, Margaret had her friends and was able to recover in time, but I was so young. A child cannot be expected to morn on their own and move on, not after something like that. Why couldn't my mother ever see that? I know she always loved me and does to this day, but-

"Are you all right?" Sawyer asked out of nowhere "Your face is all scrunched up like you're having an argument with yourself. You really got to learn to relax."

"What?"

"Never mind. I lost you again to that world in your head." He rolled his eyes and kept walking with a small laugh that sounded rather condescending to me.

"Well how do you know that it is simply in my head, hmmm? What if my world were as real as you are? Though, I like to think that my world would be a bit more interesting than you, Mr. Sawyer." I playfully arched an eyebrow and smirked at him, which he returned with equal ruefulness.

"I guess you'll just have to take me there sometime. Now let's take this next left; there's something I want you to see."

It turned out that on the street that was the next left, there was a simply beautiful bookshop that was just right for me. The shop was painted a mahogany red with an enormous shop window revealing the yellow tinted light from inside. Even from across the sheet I could smell the ink and leather from the books that were so cramped onto every shelf. Through the window I saw a depressingly few number of people exploring those shelves that lined the walls from ceiling to floor with movable ladders scattered about them. There were so many books, stacks of them as high as my waist were everywhere on the floor, with only a few narrow walkways left to maneuver through the shop. I paused for a second with my mouth half open like a fool to try to take it in. It wasn't as neat as all the shops in London; stories here ran unruly and wild, but all in perfect condition and care. It was beautiful.

I did not bother to hold back any of my enthusiasm as I half ran across the street into the store without bothering to see if my companion followed. Upon passing through the wooden portal, I found the yellow glow I had seen from across the way was both warm and welcoming. I smiled and ran down the first few rows, my fingers stretched to each side grazing the leather bindings. Then I began to search. I climbed one of the ladders and hurriedly took book after book off of the shelf. I read the back, flipped and read a random page, and placed them back until I happened upon a work of Shakespeare I enjoyed. I tucked it under my arm and continued on. I scoured the shop for anything that I felt I needed to read; two works by sister authors, the Belles, a collection of the works of Tennyson, and two books of exotic biology (one of birds and one of plants and flowers). Finally satisfied, I found the counter where a kind old man with large glasses stood behind the counter chatting with a strapping young man on the other side. The clerk noticed me first and stopped talking to look at me and the young man turned his head as well and gave me a heart-stopping smile as he noted my load.

"Did you find something that you like?" He joked.

"Yes I did, thank you." I replied smugly and set down my stack on the counter with a near defiant air. But I made a blunder with my confidence and the precarious stack wobbled, sending the top book falling to the floor. I quickly leaned to make a grab for it, but in the time that it took me to make that small movement, Sawyer had dropped to his knee and caught the book before it hit the ground.

His movement was too fast. There was no way that he could have done that and I believed that he noticed his error when he saw the disbelief and suspicion on my face. He smiled and blew off the incident, placing the book on the counter with the others and standing. He looked at me with a grin that, though not threatening, still frightened me and his eyes were cautious, nervous. I was frozen until the clerks voice finally broke through my consciousness when he told me the amount that I owed him. Flustered, I reached for my purse and asked for the amount again.

"Oh, there's no need. I'll pay for that." Sawyer objected, searching various pockets for his wallet.

"No, really I can't let you. I-"

"-I insist." He now had one hand on his wallet and he placed the other gently on my significantly smaller hand that was digging through my purse. I drew my face up and his face had changed again while I wasn't watching. He no longer grinned, but his eyes bore a message for me that he refused to say out loud; so instead he tried to portray it with his gesture of paying for my goods. It is probably unfair to tell you what the message was since I myself did not discover it until further reflection at a later date, but here it is; He was dangerous, but he had no intention of harming me and was apologetic that he had frightened me.

"Thank you." I muttered and he paid for the books and left the glorious establishment.

We did not speak any more as walked down the street in the direction of the harbor, but Sawyer did not leave and I did not want him to. After a while the silence became comfortable again. He carried my books and smiled like anything and soon I even felt comfortable enough to loop my arm through his as we approached the Wonder.

"Well, I guess this is as far as I go." I said regrettable as we reached the plank of wood that connected sea to shore. He handed my books back to me and gave me a small smirk as an idea came to his mind. "…what?" I asked, studying him.

"Oh, nothing." He assured looking down and taking a small step back. I raised an eyebrow to show that I did no believe him and opened my mouth to question him further when the cry of "ALICE!" from the dock caused me to turn and notice the Hatter scurrying down the plank as fast as he could in his too-large boots. Naturally he fell and ended up tumbling down the rest of the way to my feet.

"Tarrant, are you alright?" I asked, helping him up.

"I'm fine." He replied, but his voice was airy and sounded choked off. He patted down his shirt as I began my lecture.

"You need to be more careful where you walk. One of these days you're going to hurt yourself and-" I was cut off by the glare that Tarrant was giving to the man standing behind me.

"Charlie, how nice to see you again." He stated; his words cold and stiff.

"Tarrant, always a pleasure." Sawyer returned, his words were not as brittle, but they were far more sarcastic.

"How is your father doing?" Tarrant grabbed me by the hand and pulled me slightly behind him. Sawyer lowered his gaze from Tarrant's face to our joined hands and then back up. Suddenly his mood changed again to the happy, strange man that I had met in the bar.

"Well, I guess I'll be seeing you, Alice. Stay out of trouble." He winked and set my books down near me, then nodded at Tarrant and left without another word. As he retreated he shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and whistled. What a curious man.