Meh, this chapter turned into a bit of filler, but every good story needs a little of it, or else it gets too rushed. It also got very fluffy, because I thought Tarrant had suffered enough to deserve it. So enjoy that!

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After making her wait outside the door while he 'tidied up', the pair retreated into his workshop. It was nice to sit in the cozy little room, sipping tea and watching the madman bustle around in a frenzy of cloth, feathers, and thread. The wild snipping of his scissors and the steady, rhythmic whirring of his many sewing machines were oddly comforting to Alice. She enjoyed watching him work, and was pleased by the light it put in his eyes. Why, he was smiling so largely, she could easily see the endearing little gap between his teeth. Perhaps his laughter was a little too loud, and sometimes his smile faltered or didn't quite reach his eyes, but she could see that for the most part, the emotional blow he'd taken was healing.

He seemed to throw himself into his work, and Alice found herself wondering if it was to distract himself from the lost orders, or if he always had such passionate energy for hat-making. He flew through his designs, whipping out one masterpiece after another while she refreshed their tea. Then she would model them, giggling and fluffing out her hair while he smiled and nibbled on a scone. And when he pricked or cut his fingers with needle or shears, she would let out an exclamation and pull his hands into her lap to dab at the droplets of blood, which would make him flush and heat his belly, though she never noticed. He found himself wanting to be even more careless with his movements, just so she would cluck her tongue and tend his wounds. They became ever more careful though, because he hated putting that worried expression on her kindly face.

When a customer knocked on his door, looking for their new hat or dress or shoes or some other article or trinket, she would slip off her stool and greet them, and fetch their purchase while they spoke with Tarrant over another order. Many offered their condolences or support, which made Tarrant grind his teeth and respond with a false smile and thank you. These customers Alice would smile the sweetest at as she hurried them out, then she would drag the milliner back to his table and urge him back into his work.

Tarrant worked until the sun had gone past it's highest mark before he took a break. Normally, he would have worked until his eyes burned and his hands shook with exhaustion or the need to eat, but with Alice sitting beside him he was more aware of Time than he usually cared to be. So he dragged another stool towards the table and produced a platter of crackers and sandwiches from the tiny kitchenette hidden away in the corner of the room, and the two sat sipping yet more tea, reminiscing about the Tea Party, carefully avoiding the topic about the man. Both were thinking about it, though, and were wondering what Mirana's search party would turn up, and when they would report in.

Alice nibbled on her sandwich, carefully watching Hatter as he dunked his own into his tea before taking a bite. Humming in a disgruntled way to himself, he turned to the sugar bowl and scooped eight spoonfuls into his cup before dunking his sandwich again.

Laughter burst from her then, and didn't cease for a full minute. Hatter sat, a baffled smile on his face until she calmed down before speaking. "Are you alright?" He asked, his own laughter coloring his tone.

Alice nodded her head, still chortling. "Oh I'm fine, I was just wondering how you can stomach so much sugar." She grinned fully at him as his eyes glittered. "I don't think I've seen you eat anything but sweets since I've come here."

Tarrant smiled toothily at her. "I have thirty-two sweet tooths. Teeth?" He frowned and sipped his sweet tea. "More than one tooth would be a set of teeth, but is more than one sweet tooth sweet teeth? It simply doesn't roll off the tongue as pleasantly as a singular sweet tooth, do you think? Come to think of it, neither does sweet tooths..."

Alice laughed. "Perhaps we should just say you simply have a sweet mouth?"

Tarrant grinned. "Now there's a thing." His eyes suddenly narrowed as they roved over her yellow curls. "Hmm..."

Alice, in the way of people under scrutiny, became self-conscious and lifted her free hand to pat her head. "What? Do I have a feather in my hair from that goose hat still?"

Tarrant shook his head, still squinting at her. "No, your hair is nearly perfect. I was just thinking it needed a cutting."

Another burst of laughter escaped the girl as she dropped her hands into her lap. "I need a haircut? Well isn't that calling kettle black. You could use a trim yourself, hatman."

Tarrant grinned. "But you see, I'm quite Mad, and we Mad are expected to look Mad. If I were to try and tame such a mess, I would not look like such a Mad Hatter."

"What a strange sense of logic you subscribe to, Madman." She teased.

"Why, thank you." He laughed. His bushy orange brows disappeared beneath the brim of his battered old hat as he watched her. "So what about it, then?"

"What about what?" She asked, confused.

Hatter laughed. "Why, your hair, of course. It needs cutting."

Alice lifted a hand and tugged at her curls, frowning at him. "Does not!"

"Does so!"

"Not!"

"So!"

Alice clucked her tongue, grinning wildly as she reached out to slap his knee. "Does not!"

Scowling playfully at her, the milliner balanced his saucer carefully on his knee and fisted his hands on his hips. "Your hair needs cutting, don't try to deny it!"

"And who will cut it, then?" She asked with a chuckle. "You?"

"Who else?"

Alice blinked, all amusement gone now as she studied the grinning lunatic. "You? Cut my hair?"

Hatter frowned, setting the cup and saucer aside. "I reiterate: who else?"

Playing with her curls, Alice shifted on her stool. "I... I didn't know you cut hair is all. Is it really that bad, then?"

Tarrant's smile returned as he bounced up from his seat and towards a pile of discarded cloth. "Oh yes, terrible really." He tugged a length of deep blue cloth from the pile and shook it out before swinging it over her head. "We can't have our Champion running around with a tangled mess atop her pretty head, now can we?" Pulling a pin from his hat, he threaded it through the back of the cloth, careful to twist the point away from her pale, peachy skin. Skin that quivered, likely with disgust, he couldn't help but think, when his rough, stained fingers brushed against the back of her neck. "Nae laddie, cannae hae 'at. But dornt worry yerself, we'll hae thes nest fixed in nae time."

Alice wriggled on the seat and fidgeted beneath the cloth as he plucked up a pair of shears from his worktable. "You won't take it all off and leave me bald, will you?" She asked nervously as he ducked behind a cabinet and produced a metal-toothed brush.

Grinning evilly at her, Tarrant used his foot to drag the chair around to face away from the standing mirror she'd modeled hats in front of earlier, so her new look would be a surprise. "Maybe, maybe not. Now, be a good boyo and sit still."

Snip.

Alice giggled madly and snapped her eyes shut as tugged on a lock of her hair, measuring it, studying it, then skillfully snip-snip-snipped away at the end. The lock of hair tumbled down her back as he gripped another hank and repeated the process. They spoke very little while he worked, reduced to giggles much of the time as the pile of golden curls on the ground steadily grew. Alice could almost feel a difference of weight on her scalp, and wondered if she was imagining it, or if he really was taking that much off.

With a final snip and tug of the brush nearly a half-hour later, Hatter grinned and stepped back to admire his work. When she opened her eyes, giggling again, and started to turn towards the mirror to look at herself, Tarrant grabbed her shoulders. "No no no! Not yet!" He told her, holding the wildly grinning girl in place. "Don't move! Close your eyes!" He waited for her to obey, making sure they were shut tight before bouncing away. When he returned, Alice could feel him tugging at her hair, fluffing it out, setting it into place. "Alright, look." With his foot hooked around one of the legs again, he dragged the stool around again to the mirror, and stood by nervously when she gasped and lifted her hands to her head. Her eyes were wide and her fingers danced nervously over her newly trimmed curls. "D-... Dae ye loch it?" He muttered, clasping his hands behind his back.

It was shorter, certainly, and thinned out a bit. There was a certain bounce to it whenever she turned her head, and he had shaped it to frame her face just right. He'd pinned a pretty, black satin bow on the crown of her head, giving her a softer, more feminine look. Images flashed before her as she slid off the stool to turn her head back and forth in front of the mirror, bringing up memories of her doing the same thing in her own childhood bedroom after a new haircut, a black bow threaded through her tresses. Alice spun to face him, arms spreading wide with excitement. "I love it!"

Tarrant felt relief and joy flood through him at the simple exclamation. "I told you a haircut was in order." He told her in a very matter-of-fact tone. "It suits you much better now."

Flushing, Alice spun away to face the mirror, grinning like a fool at her reflection. She studied herself for a moment before her nose crinkled up. "You don't think I look like a little girl with a bow in my hair?" She asked.

Studying her through her reflection, Hatter pursed his lips thoughtfully and stepped up behind her. "You always wore a bow when you were a girl. And you'd complain and scratch your scalp and take it out the moment you stepped out of the Room of Doors." Snickering, he lifted a hand to yank her hair. "I just wanted to see if you looked as silly now as you did then. And you look even sillier."

Gasping in mock outrage, Alice playfully batted his arm and lifted her hands to remove the pretty bow. "You're terrible."

"And you look very pretty, Alice." He mused, lifting a hand to absently stroke down the back of her hair. "Very pretty indeed."

Alice flushed. And when their eyes met in the mirror, it turned to a full blush that spread from the roots of her hair and down her neck.

Tarrant's hand brushed her curls again, eyes still locked with hers as his expression changed. She couldn't identify the mixture of emotions painted there, or the ones belonging to the colors that swirled through his eyes. His hand never ceased it's slow, deliberate stroking as they stood there, watching each other in the mirror. Slowly, the two turned from the mirror to each other, gaging emotions in one another's eyes as the silence stretched on.

Tarrant felt strange. His head was swimming as if he'd taken a shot of good, strong whiskey. She looked so pretty standing there, eyes wide and cheeks heated. He experimentally let his fingers brush the side of her bare neck as they stroked down her hair. This time when she shuddered and sucked in a shaky breath, he couldn't detect the disgust he was used to seeing when he made contact with a customer. Her flush only darkened and above it, her eyes hardened. Not in fear or anger, but what exactly, he couldn't tell.

Her hands hung uselessly by her sides as Alice watched him, her breath catching whenever he touched her neck or shoulder with his thimbled and bandaged fingers. Colors flitted into his ever-changing eyes and disappeared again before she could fully identify them or name the emotion they signified. Except for his arm, no part of the Hatter moved. They stood staring for how long Alice didn't know, until her Muchness suddenly seized her in a death grip and shook her like a doll. "Hatter?"

Tarrant's hand froze and he instinctively began to pull back. "Ah... I'm sorry, I-"

"Hatter?"

The milliner froze again as he watched her, eyes wary. "Yes?"

"I should very much like to kiss you."

Heat flooded through him, from the tips of his neatly trimmed toes to the top of his mercury-stained head. His hand left her hair to join its brother so his palms cupped her cheeks, holding her suddenly determined, always pretty face delicately between his hands. Tarrant had to bend to reach her level, and Alice had to push to the tips of her toes, so they met in the middle with the briefest, chastest of kisses.

It was so much Muchier than their last kiss, when she had just pecked the corner of his mouth to distract him from his tantrum, though she wouldn't remember that. It made him crave more of her kisses, made him want to hold her, touch her- He mentally shook himself as the clouds of distracting Madness threatened to roll over his mind, just in time to feel her hands slide up his chest and grip his shoulders. His eyes widened as she stood on her toes again to meet him, only to draw him down again as she settled onto the flats of her feet. More of their combined Muchness was poured into the kiss, longer and more insistent than the first (or second, really) had been.

Tarrant suddenly found his arms were around her, waist and shoulders, holding her to him so that her own arms were trapped between them as his mouth claimed hers.

Honey. He thought almost dully. Honey and Squimberry muffins. That's what she tastes like.

Alice wormed her arms free and pushed them up, locking them around his neck as he pulled their bodies together. Their lips mashed together once, twice, thrice more, never battling for dominance or shying away, simply exploring, testing. Alice's knees felt week as the fingers of one hand found a grip in his shockingly orange tangles, holding her to him and him to her.

She couldn't help but think this was terribly improper, somewhere in the back of her mind. Couldn't help but wonder what her mother would think if she saw Alice in the company of a man, without an escort. An older man, an admitted lunatic, at that. Snogging with such a man where anyone could walk in on them. It was so scandalous, so outrageous.

She pressed the length of her body against his and purred into another kiss.

Tarrant picked her up neatly, a quick bend of his knees and a swoop of his arm under her knees, and set her on the edge of his worktable. This way, neither had to bend or strain, and he could simply lean in instead of down to taste her-

He broke them apart, hands lifting to her shoulders to hold her at arms-length. She looked so annoyed with him for stopping the kiss that he had to let out a quick, breathless laugh. "Alice, I-" Knock knock knock. Tarrant made a disgruntled sound and leaned in to rest his forehead against hers. "-Really hate people." the two shared an airy laugh as he pecked her forehead and turned away from the table, carefully adjusting his hat while behind him, Alice straightened her hair and tried to quell the heat that colored her cheeks.

When the Hatter opened the door, both were presentable again, neither betraying any sign of what had transpired. Any frustration with the intruder vanished from his face as Tarrant recognized his queen. "Majesty! What a pleasant surprise!"

Mirana smiled softly at him, peering over his shoulder to then smile at Alice. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"Only a little noon tea." He lied easily. "How can I hel-" His smile dropped as he suddenly realized there were four of the Chess Knights behind her, and a small group of men in dark, pressed uniforms. "What's going on? Has something happened?"

Mirana's smile faded into a sorrowful, guilty expression. "I'm so sorry, Tarrant, I couldn't change their minds. I did everything I could, but..." Her gaze flicked to Alice as the blonde slid off the worktable, concern for their mutual friend radiating from her in giant, palpable waves. Steeling herself, Mirana forced her eyes back onto Tarrant's as she opened her clasped hands, revealing a pair of bent, bloodied scissors cradled in a black handkerchief. "They have to look."

There on the handle of the scissors was the Hightopp clan's family crest.

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Shoooooo-oot. How'd those get there? After all that fluffy goodness too.

You should hit that review button and tell me exactly what you think about that BS. Go ahead, do it. I dare you. TRIPLE-DOG-DARE-YOU!