AN: I dedicate this chapter to Brumeier, who's been dropping hints that a story update was well overdue... thanks for the prodding.

If anyone is interested, she has a great little fic going, called "Love, Hatter", which is based on postcards. Great read. Check it out.

I do apologize to all my readers for my slower updates. I am fighting with both of my serial stories at the moment...

Okay, on to the story now... again sorry for the long delay. Enjoy.

He stayed behind the table far longer then he intended. The room was deathly silent now, no small feat for a place where one usually had to yell to be heard. March was on his knees, staring at a blank spot on the tea shop floor. For a moment, everything had frozen.

"March." The name broke across Andy's lips, as concern and fear for his friend short-circuited any other thought. He was at March's side in seconds, dragging the larger man to his feet, pulling him out the door and away from the tea shop. March was heavy, and at the moment wasn't lending much help, just mumbling Andy's name over and over.

Finally Andy dropped him against a broken wall in an empty building, momentarily collapsing against it himself. The sight and smell of the blood made him feel nauseous, but ultimately his concern won out.

"... the hell, March!" Andy's face was creased with concern as he tore open March's shirt.

March remained slumped against the wall, pale and wide-eyed, but laughing – a hideous, strange, mirthless sound, staggered between gasps of air.

"The blood ain't mine," March managed finally. He chuckled one more time, then his breath caught and came out as a hiss as the shirt pulled free from a gunshot wound in his shoulder.

Andy's eyes went wild.

"Okay, most of the blood ain't mine," March amended. His mind was slowly starting to clear, to calm, even though his body was still reeling in shock.

"What 'appened?" Andy's voice was thick with fear.

"A fight." March's eyes went dark, his face twisting slightly. "There were two of them." He paused for a long moment. "Suits."

He had just managed to lift a couple of bottles, conned them from another tea-head. Exhilaration and Lust. He had barely noticed the suit that was following him. Not until he was joined by another and they had March cornered. Their sites were set on the Tea.

He had taken the first round of hits without fighting back, but then it had changed. Something inside him snapped, broken like the bottle of Lust on the ground.

The feel of their blood had been intoxicating, but had sent his mind spiraling.

"They're dead," March finished off. He tried to avoid looking at Andy. He didn't want to see the stricken look that had taken over his face, or the way he was backing away.

Dead. Andy felt the bile rise in his throat.

…

The gun went off. The bullet hit the man's suit jacket, tearing a hole through it. And dark red began to ooze through the hole. The man dropped to the ground, writhing and swearing.

He stood there, in wide-eyed shock, still holding the gun, as March pulled himself up off the ground. March grabbed the gun from Andy's hand, pointed it at the fallen man and pulled the trigger.

The explosion had been deafening. Andy stared in horror at the growing pool of red. Blood. So much blood. He wanted desperately to look away but he couldn't.

Until March grabbed his arm, and pulled him away. And they were running, running until they reached the apartment, and collapsed, gasping for air.

"You... you just killed someone." Shock. Horror. Fear. "What do we do now?"

"I don't know. I've never killed anyone before."

…

Dead.

"What have you done?" Andy's voice was barely a whisper. March had killed two more people. Two more suits. March had killed two more suits and then come to the Tea Shop. Covered in blood. He had been seen by everyone there. And everyone had seen Hatter helping him away.

Images of his mother being dragged away, taken by suits, swirled to the front of his mind, and he collapsed against the wall and buried his face in his hands.

…

It was fifty-seven levels from the Tea Shop to the apartment, and March was in no condition to run. Andy knew that he wouldn't feel safe until they were back there and had changed the door again.

Andy had given his jacket to March. It was a tight fit, but at least it hid most of the blood. The wind tore through his thin silk shirt, and he shivered uncontrollably, but it was only partly due to the cold.

March focused on the sidewalk in front of him, and tried not to look at Andy. He swallowed hard around the guilt that rose in his throat to choke him. He hadn't been thinking straight. He had gone to Andy's Tea Shop. He had dragged Andy into his mess, and now they would both be a target. The White Rabbit would already be looking for him. And he knew that they would eventually find him. And he only hoped that he could somehow save Andy.

They had made it down thirty-six levels when they saw it. The large, droning, metal scarab. It was hovering over the lower streets, its spotlights illuminating the byways below it. They flattened themselves against the wall, as the scarab passed them by.

March cursed as he looked over the edge of the sidewalk at the levels below. Suits. Lots of them. And further down he could see another scarab. It looked like White Rabbit had called out their entire army. There was no way they could make it back to their apartment, not without being noticed.

Save Andy. This is your mess. Your fault.

March clenched his eyes shut for a long moment, then turned and faced Andy Hatter. His only friend. His family.

Andy knew what was coming. He could see it in March's eyes. And his heart started to crumble as he shook his head, no.

"Andy, listen to me. You have to get out of here. You have to get away and hide. Run like hell." March stared intently into Andy's face.

"No!" Andy cried out. "Hatters and Hares, remember?"

"Not this time." Tears were burning the back of March's eyes. They were already spilling from Andy's. "Sorry Andy. I didn't mean..." His voice failed him, and for one quick moment he reached out and pulled Andy into a crushing hug, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. Then he pushed the boy away, as hard as he could. "Now get the hell outta here!"

He didn't look back. He couldn't look back.

"Goodbye Hatter."

…

He wasn't sure what kept him going down. The levels below were swarming with suits. If he went up, he knew he might be able to hide, at least for a while. But Andy would go up, at least he hoped. And if Andy went up, he had to go down.

It was the only logic he had left.

But he wouldn't give up without a fight. He pulled out the blade, its hilt still stained with blood. He held it at the ready, even as he shrank into another doorway as the scarab passed over him. It kept going, its lights combing the streets below.

He made it down four more levels before they confronted him. Even with Andy's jacket, the blood was still visible on his shirt. There were four of them, flanking him within seconds, and several others rushed to join them.

The scarab circled back, its light catching him straight in the eyes and making it hard to see. He slashed out with his knife, catching one suit across the arm. He howled in pain, and dropped back, but the others were on him in a moment.

He had thought that they would shoot him. He figured he'd be riddled with bullet holes and left as an example. But instead of bullets, he felt fists and feet connecting with his body. At one point, his knife was wrenched free and sent skittering over the ledge to fall to the levels below.

Blackness was starting to crowd his vision, even in the bright light of the scarab's spotlight. His ears were ringing, his arms not responding. A few more seconds and he would be mercifully unconscious.

But then he heard a sound that froze his blood. A cry. A muffled shriek of rage.

Andy!

…

"Goodbye Hatter."

The words had barely been audible, choked out as March was walking away.

Andy stood there, in stunned silence, for a long moment, watching his friend's retreating back. He was reeling with how fast their lives had unraveled.

There had always been danger. There had always been some fear. But they had made a life for themselves – Hare and Hatter. And it had been a good life.

But then he had tried to swindle the wrong man, and March had been forced to kill. Then Tea became a part of their lives...

And now March had killed again, and made them both into fugitives. And March was walking away. Maybe forever.

Andy choked on a sob, feeling utterly alone and not knowing what to do.

So he did the only thing he could think of. He followed March.

He kept his distance, and kept himself well hidden. March wasn't looking for him, otherwise he would have easily sensed the younger boy's presence. He followed him down four levels, barely daring to hope that they could make it all the way home.

Andy had to dart into a broken building to avoid the bright beam of the scarab's spotlight, and when he emerged, he was alone on the street. He panicked. Where was March?

Then he heard a yell, and the starts of a scuffle, coming from around a corner ahead. He crept forward, staying in the shadows and watching for a scarab.

March was surrounded. There were suits everywhere. The scarab was turning, coming to hover above him, the light casting the fight in horrifying shadows on the wall. Andy clung to the darkness, trembling as he watched hit after hit raining down on his friend. March's knife came free, clattering over the edge of the walk, and March dropped to his knees.

Another fist hit March's face. And something broke in Andy.

An unearthly shriek ripped out of his chest, and he launched himself forward. He knocked over two suits, one barely avoiding plummeting to his death, as he charged toward March, his fists swinging.

But he never landed a punch. He felt himself being grabbed firmly from behind. Then something hard struck him in the back of the head, and he was thrown into blackness.

…

AN: … please read and review! I love reviews. As always, constructive criticism more then welcome.