Disclaimer: If I owned Alice in Wonderland, I wouldn't be writing. I'd be living.

...I have no excuse for myself. Except, well, all the usual ones. Like life, college, homework, work, lack of general free time, lack of inspiration, family emergencies, etc. Anyway, I tried to make this chapter a bit longer (just a little...) to make up for it, but it's still not much. I'm practically dancing around two plot points here, I hope everyone knows that. And again, sorry for the wait.

Alice huffed, crossing her arms. "You make it sound so dramatic."

Stayne rolled his eyes. "You were drowning. Not dramatic enough for you?"

He could still see it in his mind, though his sneer hid his thoughts well. She had turned back to her family, and was saying something, but all he could focus on was the back of her head. Her damp, golden curls, slender, porcelain neck – and the image of those locks disappearing under the surface of the ocean, arms flailing in desperation and the echoing screams of the young woman.

Overlapping with that memory was something that honestly got to him – if only just a little bit. It bothered him, and that bothered him even more (because really, something like this just shouldn't bother him because frankly nothing like this had ever bothered him before). Because when Alice had been out in that water, fighting for her life against the ocean waves (and in a skirt, no less), he hadn't seen the woman before him now. Not the champion, the woman who'd stood on the battle field against him, who'd spurned his advances, but just that small head of gold, standing before his trial, the only one to defend him those many years ago...

Stayne had killed before, many, many times with absolutely no qualms about it – would again, in fact, if he felt like it. He'd had every intention of turning beautiful, fully grown Alice over to the Red Queen for what would inevitably lead to an execution of the beheading sort (really, the bloody woman had no creativity or finesse whatsoever, but she typically got the job done, so he had tried not to complain and get the axe turned upon himself). That hadn't bothered him either. Maybe it would have, eventually, when he'd gotten more time to think about it and the implications had sunk in, but then again, he hadn't had any time to think at all before jumping in that ocean to save her, had he? Really, the whole debacle made so little sense to him that he didn't even want to think about it, for it was giving him a headache.

He slumped back into the armchair, still not caring that his clothes (mostly cotton and leather) were still drenched and had begun soaking the upholstery when he'd sat the first time. He barely fit in the tiny thing (he hated furniture. Always too small!) and his discomfort only added to his annoyance. He kneeded his temples, sighing audibly so as the bring the room's attention back to himself, completely disregarding the fact that he was interrupting an apparent conversation already in progress. "Dear Alice, when shall I be getting some dry clothing? This house must indeed suffering from a sad lack of service to let a guest – the hero who rescued the youngest child from a terrible death, no less! - go on wearing such so drenched an outfit. Why, I could be catching a cold right now."

He let his eye reach up slowly to meet those of the lady of the house, satisfied to see his barb had hit home and she was staring him down coolly. Lady of the home, indeed. It was easy to see where her fair daughter had inherited her poise. Insulted, Alice's mother carried more dignity within her than the Queen of Hearts had ever shown in all her petty, spoiled years, on or off the throne. Pride, oh she'd had heaping mounds of pride, but true dignity? The real bearing of a queen? It had always been the White who walked with such a thing.

And that was exactly the reason why Iracebeth had been so convenient a tool (though she'd worn on him more often than not, the wretch).

Stayne took a moment to notice the eldest daughter had the poise, too, but was obviously the more sheltered of the family. Barely breaking through the face of an insult suffered was the indignation that possessed her mother. He didn't waste much of his attention on her, though, and was looking to Alice within seconds, his appraisal of the women going almost unnoticed.

Almost.

Alice took Stayne's rudeness in stride, something he was beginning to think she would only grow better at, sadly. She wasn't even ruffled by his comments. She saw past the barbs in his words and found only what needed her immediate attention. "Right, sorry Stayne. We obviously don't have anything that will fit you, of course, but I'll get a courier sent out to fetch a tailor. We'll have some measurements drawn up and get you some proper fitting attire made. Until then, I'm afraid you'll either have to suffer through the damp clothing or wear something too small for you. We've still got some of my dad's things packed away upstairs. I can find you something, if you'd like, but that's the best we can do at the moment."

Stayne was pleased to see that this suggestion visibly bothered Alice's elder sister, and it was the arm of her husband wrapping itself around her should that brought her polite, hostess face back to the surface. Their mother, however, seemed to be in complete agreement with Alice, despite her immediate dislike of her guest. "I actually already have one of Charles' boxes open, we were going through some of your old drawings he'd kept before you arrived. I'll go pull some of his more sizable articles out."

"I'll send for the tailor." Her sister smiled, turning to follow after her mother. Her husband hesitated only a moment before following.

The three paused momentarily in the doorway, all turning the look at Alice collectively. The blond sighed, but joined them in their exit. Obviously, there was to be whispered conversation about her rescuer in private, an idea that had Stayne rather amused.

The Hatter and the pale ginger against the wall, however, stayed put, both eying Stayne with great dislike. The Hatter's was much more pronounced, and Stayne actually found himself smiling at him. "Something wrong, Tarrant? Your face is the epitome of distaste."

"Ahs i' well shud be, wi' tha likes 'o you en tha room." He replied, still bristled and ready, despite the lack of weapons at their disposal. But then again, men didn't really need forged weapons, did they? Being readily equipped with fists and feet and what not, they were more than prepared for a brawl of a more primitive sort, which suited the pair just fine. And in any case, there was plenty of furniture, should more violence be necessarily. And it usually was when Stayne was involved.

"You know, Tarrant," Stayne grinned, a wonderfully terrible thought occurring to him. "I couldn't help but notice the lack of reaction on Alice's part upon seeing you. In fact, she seemed much more concerned with protecting me from you. What a strange turn of events."

If Stayne had thought Tarrant was bristly before, it was nothing compared to his condition after Stayne's words. He became stiff as a board, and lost was the anger that had been seething from his being, replaced instead by a general gloom that clouded the fierce light that had been in his eyes.

Oh, struck a very sensitive nerve, did I? Now this is laughable.

"I suppose you just didn't make as much of an impression upon your champion as I had thought. Myself, however...well, I did save her life, after all. I'm sure she feels indebted to me, maybe even a bit taken with my gallantry-"

The Hatter cut into the knave's sentence with what was a hardly intelligible growl. "Ya've got qui'e tha fantasay goin' on' en' tha' head 'o yours, don' ya?"

"It seems closer to fact that you are the one living in the fantasy, my dear Hatter. Just what did you come here for?" Stayne was on a roll here, and he knew it. If ever there was a chance to hurt his adversary with mere words, now was it, and he proceeded with flourish. "The fair Alice Kingsleigh has paid you no mind at all, making it very obvious that she hasn't given you much thought since she left, let alone missed you. Did you really think she would? Did you think you could come her, whisk her away, and she'd be ready to take up her mantle again as your Champion, glorious and at your side, to aid the White Queen in her time of need? Now that, that, precious hatter, is pathetic."

He spat the last word, laughing, smiling (and it was a cruel smile, the cruelest he could muster, and his laugh realer than any he could remember uttering, for the hatter was shrinking under his words, being crushed, absolutely crushed, and Stayne loved it). Tarrant looked about to reply, to defend himself in some pitiful way, but Stayne wouldn't let him even begin. The giant of a man stepped up, forward, towering over the pale milliner, lowering his head to him to whisper in his ear. "My my, Mr. Hightopp. Your world is just falling to pieces right in front of you, isn't it? Has been, for years and years, and more and more just keeps slipping through your fingers and falling away into the darkness, disappearing. Your life, your mind, it's all going. Did you think that, just because Alice had road in on the Bandersnatch to save the day, Underland would right itself again? That Tarrant Hightopp would bring his family name back to its former glory, that the White Queen would rule with perfection instantly, and that peace would suddenly coat Underland in beauty and light? No world works like that, Tarrant. Especially not Underland. Nothing can be the way it was, not ever again. And coming here changes nothing. Nothing at all."

Stayne stepped away, slowly, quietly, watching and waiting and knowing. He could almost here the timer in his head, the second ticking away, counting down...

Until it all boiled over, and Tarrant Hightopp erupted.

Hamish had priorities. They were simple ones, yes, but they were the ones that were important, that took meant more than anything else (and there was a great deal of things that meant something to Hamish in this world, for he would willingly admit he'd been rather blessed in his life). He'd always felt his own life had a nice, comfy spot at the top of that list (and for good reason, for he was a Lord, a beloved son, and he was worth something) and his parents came right after. Alice and her family had also made their way right up that list, more so since he'd been rejected, something that had quite surprised him. When one was turned away so flatly, one should drop all interest in the one who obviously couldn't see what was good for them. His pride, his very family name, was at stake in such matters.

And yet.

Somehow, the Kingsleigh family just kept moving up inside, invading his thoughts, mattering more and more even though he should have been pushing them out. And Alice...Well, somehow, Alice had went from prospective bride to practically his sister in a matter of hours, and that position had apparently cemented itself despite the confusion it had caused (and was still causing) him. Somehow or another, in some way or other, Alice would always be a focal point of Hamish's life, would always be someone of the utmost importance to him.

And that's why, despite his growing comradery with one Tarrant Hightopp, Hamish was now rushing to the Kingsleigh's kitchen instead of back in the sitting area, where the screams and crashes and all around cacophony of pandemonium was coming from.

Lowell was already poking his head out of the kitchen when Hamish rounded on him, shoving him back into the room and shutting the door behind him with a good solid slam. And then he turned and smiled at the confused gathering.

Helen immediately stepped forward. "Hamish, what on earth is going on in there?"

"It's Stayne, isn't it?" Alice asked, looking rather angry (and still beautiful, heaven curse her, he was never going to get over this if was going to keep on looking so radiant no matter what face she wore). "I knew I shouldn't have left him alone, he was bound to cause a ruckus. Here, let me-"

She made a move towards the door, which Hamish was effectively blocking with his frame (which really didn't put up that much of a barrier, except that none of the women would actually try to remove him just out of propriety – something that wouldn't stop Lowell if he didn't convince Margaret and company to stay put, and quickly). "No!"

Alice stopped short, looking confused at his outburst. Hamish hitched his smile back in place, nodded, and continued, voice now level and within normal decibels. "No. I don't think that would be wise. It is not Mr. Stayne making the noise, I'm afraid, though I do put full blame upon him for causing it. It's Mr. Hightopp...he's...well, a bit prone to fits, you see, and I'm afraid your other guest knows just what buttons to push to set him off."

"Hamish Ascot," Helen began, lowering her chin in what was undeniably a disapproving glare. "Just what is going on in my sitting room?"

Hamish felt the bridge of his nose pinch in frustration as his smile fell away, and he sighed. "Oh, probably the same thing that happened to my mother's. I'll be certain my father reimburses you for the damages. I am terribly sorry, I should never have brought him here after this morning-"

"You brought an unstable, potentially dangerous man to my mother-in-law's house!" Lowell roared, finally getting a handle one what exactly Hamish was rambling on about. He'd known Hamish was hiding something about that man, and Hamish had known Lowell had known, and now it was all but proven and definitely not going to turn out in his favor. Why oh why had he ever decided he wanted to help that crazy hat maker?

"Well," Hamish began, having not yet pieced together his own pathetic defense, but was cut off by yet another loud crash, and the echoes of a most unearthly howl, like an animal, wounded, dying, broken.

Disturbing, yes, indeed the cry could only be that of a man who wasn't wholly a man, and Hamish felt torn by it. Was it truly the fault of the man when he was so uncontrollably mad?

Suddenly Hamish was thrown forward, the kitchen doors behind him having been pushed open, catching him in the shoulder blades and propelling him from his sentry post. He caught himself on the edge of a counter, thankfully missing the Kingsleigh women and instead knocking the wind out of himself. Trying to catch his breath, he turned, and found that Stayne had apparently come to join them, grin still in place.

"Now, why is everyone hauled up here in the kitchen?" He asked playfully, leaving the doors open behind him for all to hear the full brunt of the Mad Hatter's raging pain. He was obviously taking joy in the horror etched on their faces. "Is it dinner time already? Can't say I'm averse to a warm meal."

"What did you do to that poor man?" Alice demanded, rounding on her towering rescuer with all the fire Hamish had come to expect from these beauties.

"Me? I didn't do anything." Stayne replied, popping an apple up from the fruit basket and taking a bite.

"Liar." Hamish replied haughtily, finding his air again enough to resume a role he was used too, and much more comfortable with: being a pompous snitch. He turned to Alice immediately, trying to ignore the fact (as best he could, but it was rather difficult, what with Stayne having to stoop not to touch the ceiling, he was so large) that the dark haired man was almost twice his size and extremely intimidating. "He was egging Mr. Hightopp on, with insults and such, and then whispered something to him. That's when he became so upset. That man," he nodded to Stayne, who glowered back. "He did it on purpose."

"Stayne!"

Taking another bite out of his apple, the addressed merely shrugged. "So maybe I did provoke him a bit. It's not my fault he's off his rocker and is now tearing apart your lovely sitting room. You really shouldn't have let in trash like a Hightopp into your home, in any case. Wish the Jabberwock would have killed him when it burned the rest of them."

SLA-P!

Margaret gasped audibly, and the rest of the room stood staring, immobilized, at the two before them. Stayne still leaned against the counter, his left hand clenched on the wood surface, glaring down from an awkward angle at the fierce and indignant Alice.

She'd slapped him.

In his right hand, Stayne's apple caved between his fingers, crushed.

"That's enough, Ilosovic." She said calmly, firmly, meeting his one eyed glare with her own sizzling undercurrent that, despite the extreme size difference, made them look on even footing. His eye narrowed, but he made no move in retaliation. After a moment, Alice turned and strode out of the room.

Stayne was her responsibility, and that made this her fault. She intended to make it right.

Barely dodging a flying teacup, Alice stepped into the sitting room.