Disclaimer: Alice and Tin Man don't belong to me, they belong to SyFy. The craziness, however, is all me.

Steam baths were a tradition older than Wonderland itself. The original inhabitants of the area had used them to stay warm during the country's bitterly cold winters. Legend had it that during one particularly brutal winter, Cheshire sheltered his people in a stone lodge. In his haste to save them, he'd forgotten to build a proper chimney over the fire. Snow fell over the opening and onto the flames, creating thick, warming steam. The remains of similar steam houses could still be found all over Wonderland. One of Giacomo's cousins was obsessed with uncovering, excavating, and documenting old steam houses. She'd even written a surprisingly entertaining and informative book on their origins, uses, and significance to the people of Wonderland.

Over the years the suovna, as the steam bath rooms were called, became places of rest, relaxation, and rejuvenation. Steam baths cleansed both body and spirit, for the heat drove all but the most basic of thoughts from the mind. In a country where the patron god was as untraditional as could be and kept no temples or priests, the steam bathpresented the closest thing to a ritual that the citizens of Wonderland could practice.

Jack closed his eyes and allowed his head to rest against the wooden wall of his private suovna. When most other rooms fell into disrepair, the suovna remained intact. The people of Wonderland might have neglected many things in their addiction to teas, but they'd at least held fast to their steam baths. It was no surprise that the suovna in Wonderland Palace had stayed in good condition.

The only place that had not boasted a suovna was the Hearts Casino. The Queen of Hearts had not liked to sweat. Jack imagined that his mother associated sweat with guilt and fear, which was why she had personally shunned the practice.

As always, the thought of his mother brought down a tidal wave of emotions that were ruthlessly put aside. He'd learned from a very early age to only present his mother with the emotions she wanted to see, or later on, the ones he wanted to show her.

She could be so very cruel when events did not play out to her satisfaction.

"He's just a child," Jack heard his father protest.

"He is my son and a Heart. He has no need for these nonsensical attachments."

Later, Jack could only watch as the birds he'd hidden in his room were taken away. He could not cry. He knew the punishment for crying.

A soft slap to the knee prompted him to open his eyes. Giacomo sat next to him, a birch branch in hand. "Stop it," the man commented. His own eyes were closed.

"What?"

"You're thinking too loudly. It's not proper steam bath etiquette." He handed him a spare branch, its leaves almost black in the dim light of the suovna. "Here. Do us both a favor and clear your mind. We think far too much as it is."

Jack wanted to bite back a retort. That was easy for him to say. Giacomo was a Club. It seemed infuriatingly easy for them to compartmentalize and rein in the high-intensity emotions that ran through all of the people of Wonderland.

He'd asked him about it once after a particularly brutal training exercise with Caterpillar. The Resistance leader had placed them in a room that mimicked the effect of the Eye Room to see how long it took them to break. Jack lasted but an hour before he'd attacked the walls with fists and feet. Giacomo sat there for an entire night before Caterpillar let him out with a nod of respect. "There is a time and place for all things, even emotions." When Jack had called him out on such a disgustingly vague response, Giacomo only laughed and said that Clubs had learned to channel their passions into intellectual pursuits. Even passion could be tempered by logic.

Jack found that explanation to be completely unsatisfactory. He had long since given up on trying to be like his friend. It was easier to stick with what you knew, and suppressing his emotions worked well enough. He'd found that if he denied his gut instincts and behaved in the exact opposite way, things turned out better. When he was a child, it was as simple as smiling when he wanted to cry and staying silent when he wanted to scream.

The principle stuck as he grew older. If he wanted to strangle a courtier, he held out a hand in friendship instead. By then the reaction and subsequent action were instinctual. It had served him well in his mother's court. If he tempered his actions, they would protect him. If he hid his emotions, then they wouldn't betray him. Emotions were so very easily turned and used against their masters. He'd learned that lesson from his mother.

The people of Wonderland had been both blessed and cursed by the strength of their emotions. They loved with all of their hearts and hated with all of their being. They made the best friends and the worst of enemies. Feelings were the root of their logic and reason and the motivation behind every decision. It was a small wonder that they were such a volatile people, small wonder that they'd chosen a patron god whose moods were as varied as their own, whose very nature was chaos incarnate.

That was why the teas had been so popular. For years, the people had wrestled with their emotions, struggling to form some semblance of a life that was free from their whims and tempers. The teas had begun innocuously enough, as a way to simply tease the user away from any unwanted feelings. Under the Hearts, they had become something else entirely. The teas became a means of subjugation and control.

His mother had tried to use them to control him. Resistance training had quickly purged him of that addiction, as well as giving him a means by which he could resist their effects even if they were forced upon him.

And yet he still struggled with his demons, for that was how he perceived his emotions. They haunted him with their promises of release and relief. Jack knew better than to give in. There was a time when he'd allowed himself to give in and the rewards had been sweet. He'd never been happier.

But then he'd been betrayed. After that, the few times he'd lost control had been exactly that: a loss of control. His obsession, his wrath, and his hatred transformed him into something else entirely. A monster.

That side of his nature was horrifying and best left in the dark. And so he beat his demons back, locking them away deep inside where they could hurt no one. Especially himself.

It amused him to no end that his clan's motto was My Passion, My Strength. The Hearts' greatest weakness was their passion.

Those were thoughts best left elsewhere. Giacomo had asked him to quiet his mind. That was easy enough in a suovna. Jack reached over and ladled water over the hot stones, basking in the low hiss as the liquid vaporized, flooding the room with white steam. He used the birch branch to beat absently at his limbs, chest, and back to stimulate the pores and cells.

When the steam cleared, they were not alone in the suovna.

Jack and Giacomo tensed, their Resistance training kicking in. One of Jack's many deceptions towards Alice Hamilton included feigning incompetence in martial arts. The truth was that Caterpillar had taught them to make their bodies as lethal as their minds. The proof was written on their bodies, in the hard, corded muscle and old scars that told of battles fought and won.

Jack reached the unknown intruder first, pinning the person to the wall of the suovna with his arm against the throat. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"Your Majesty – Jack – it's me."

He knew that smoky voice. The body pinned between him and the wall was delicate and curvy; one that he knew intimately.

His body reacted immediately and Jack pushed himself away. It was only now that he felt the cold air from her entrance and welcomed it against his heated skin. "What the hell are you doing here, Duchess?" Now that his eyes had readjusted, he could see her, clad in a red dress that molded itself to her frame. Her lips were as red as the dress, and her blonde hair was slicked back into a long ponytail.

The surge of desire was a punch to the gut. He ignored it. The Duchess was very good at eliciting such a reaction from people. She could blind a man with her desirability, which was one of the reasons why he'd chosen to go along with Giacomo's mad scheme. They were counting on their enemies being too dazzled by her beauty to realize that she'd discovered all of their deepest secrets.

"Well?" he demanded when she did not respond.

"My report on Lord Grandin could not wait. I had to make my way back to the city as quickly as I could without rousing suspicion." She moved to sit at one of the lower benches, where the temperature was not as hot. In accordance with suovna etiquette, she was barefoot. "You cannot tell me that this is a bad place to report. Who puts ears in a suovna?"

She was right. Steam bath rooms were the ideal clandestine meeting place. There was no ventilation because the heat needed to be kept inside. No ventilation meant that it was almost impossible to listen in from the outside. Insulation further muffled the noise within a suovna. The high temperatures and humidity might not have deterred the advanced electronic listening devices that were made on the Other Side, but Wonderland was still far behind in that respect.

This suovna was also buried deep in the heart of the palace, in Jack's personal chambers. He and Giacomo had implemented a number of precautions to ensure its security. Even the best spies would be hard-pressed to actually slip into his quarters and eavesdrop.

Those blood-red lips curved at his lack of response. She did not appear to be bothered by the two men that towered over her. "Don't tell me that the two of you are being modest. Should I procure a towel for myself to put us on even ground?"

Giacomo clasped his shoulder. "Jack, shall we sit and listen?"

Jack focused on the present. "Your instincts are correct, Duchess. Now tell us what you have learned." He returned to his seat, pretending that he had not heard her goading statement.

The Duchess was surprisingly business-like as she recited her report, despite her earlier provocative comment. "Lord Grandin spent the entirety of dinner attempting to convince everyone at the table to treat with Quox and Merry Land," she said brusquely. "He was a most enthusiastic ambassador."

"As he has been during most High Council sessions," Jack said dismissively.

She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow in his direction. "But has he paraded envoys from Quox and Merry Land into your council sessions?"

He wouldn't dare. Jack had rejected the advances of both countries at court. It was treason for a councilor to host foreign envoys after such an event. And to do so beneath his very nose…that reeked of insolence and insubordination. "Official envoys?"

"Of course not. Lord Grandin is a fool, but Lord Lucan Spade is not. No, these men were simply friends that happened to have very strong Quoxian and Merry Lander accents."

"Can you describe them?" Giacomo asked.

"The Merry Lander was obnoxious and flirtatious." She sounded merely bored, but Jack caught the quick flash of derision in her eyes and the sneer on her lips. "Full of wind and empty promises about what Merry Land could do for Wonderland."

"What can Merry Land offer?"

"He said that their alchemists can provide a better cure for the teas than the Outer Zone. On a more practical note, he offered food supplies. Apparently Merry Land has had a bountiful harvest."

"And what do you think?" Jack asked, surprising them and himself.

The Duchess spared him a glance and then shrugged. "Everyone knows that Merry Land's alchemists are nothing more than illusionists. A cure for teas is better derived from the antidote for Azkadellia's Vapors that Ambassador Raw has provided. And while there is no doubt that Merry Land has enjoyed a good harvest, so has the Outer Zone. Their demands may not be so dear."

He could not help but feel a stab of admiration for her. There had never been any question of the Duchess' intelligence. Her quick judgment in delivering the report here in the suovna was proof of that.

It was more than that, though. She had the uncanny ability to make quick and sound observations about people. She had an innate understanding of human nature. As teenagers, he'd been astounded at her ability to discern motivations and predict actions. The Duchess was also a master manipulator and could make people dance, quite unwillingly and unknowingly, on her puppet strings. After all, she'd learned from the best.

"Yes, the Outer Zone has been relatively staid in its requests. What of the Quoxian?"

The Duchess' lips tightened. "Tall, swarthy, and silent. Dangerous. Lord Grandin did most of his talking. Quox also offers food and in Lord Grandin's words, 'eternal friendship.'"

Another word for occupation, more like, Jack thought sourly. Quoxians were an uncanny bunch. Everyone in Nonestica knew that they were not to be trusted. "And did anyone appear to take the bait?"

She rattled off a list of names and both Jack and Giacomo marked them in their minds for further investigation. "Is there anything else?"

"Yes." Her dress had grown darker, both from the steam and her sweat. Her porcelain-pale skin was dewy in the faint golden light of the suovna.

Pay attention. He forced his gaze up only to find her staring straight back at him. Caught. But there was no smugness in her eyes, no curl of the lips to indicate what she thought. "Lord Grandin was most insistent that I should be sympathetic to these envoys. I wonder why?"

That was clearly a rhetorical question, for her tone was as dry as the desert sand.

"They want you to sway me to their cause because they cannot." That much was obvious. "They want you to be their voice in my ear. How did you respond to this?"

"With mild interest." Duchess lifted a shoulder negligently. "I thought it would be best to report and consult before I make any concrete action. I am allowed some degree of vacillation because I am a mere woman." The word dripped with disdain. "But I am not one to equivocate."

That was prudent. She could not act too interested or too disdainful if Jack and Giacomo wanted her to react in a different way. The Duchess was remarkable amongst the members of the court in that she was not flighty. She was not prone to large swings in mood. She was constant. That couldn't change.

"Yes, that is something we shall have to decide," Jack said.

"I presumed as much."

There was a brief silence as Jack and the Duchess sized each other up like wary cats. It was Giacomo that broke the stalemate by adding another ladle of water on the hot stones, briefly flooding the room with white steam. All the better if they could not see each other. "And what of Ambassador Raw?" His voice was quiet, level.

"There was no sign of him there, but I was not able to see as much of the grounds as I wanted." Lord Grandin's family had controlled Port Morraine long before the Great Alliance. He kept a grand house in the city as well as an ancestral home outside of it, just north of the swamplands.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You've been snooping."

The steam was still thick enough that he could not see her response, but her voice was cool. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I was under the impression that that is my job."

"You are hardly a covert operative, Duchess." The thought of her skulking around and the possibility of her being caught did not sit well with him. Grandin was nothing more than a pawn, but Lucan Spade was another matter. If he was truly behind all of this and had the backing of both Quox and Merry Land, they would do well to tread lightly and not call attention to themselves.

"I can assure you that I took every precaution. I am no wilting flower."

That was true enough. Wonderland was not a land for the weak, especially the Wonderland that had come in to being under his mother's rule. "I still will not have you taking unnecessary risks, Duchess. That is an order."

He saw the smirk this time. "Concerned, Your Majesty?"

Every single muscle in his body stretched taut at her low, amused purr. Jack did not appreciate her goading him.

Giacomo sensed his friend's turmoil and quickly took control of the situation. He leaned forward slightly. "Duchess, do you believe that Ambassador Raw is being held at Lord Grandin's estate?"

Her gaze slid over to Giacomo and the moment passed. "In truth? No. Lord Grandin would have been far too nervous that he would be discovered. Ambassador Raw must be imprisoned elsewhere. I would look to Lord Lucan's holdings instead."

The possibility had crossed Jack's mind. Lucan Spade had substantial holdings on the western edge of the rainforests, close to the Spine. That was wild country, full of dense, dark jungles that could had been known to swallow entire legions of soldiers. It was one of the reasons why Quox would have difficulty marching directly north to invade Wonderland, even if they kept to the Rainy Road. There was an old saying that what the forests took, the forests kept.

"Unfortunately, Lord Lucan does not entertain at his estates." The Spades were simply not known for their galas. They were a largely ascetic clan, a holdover from their military past. Jack and his team would have to be creative if they wanted to conduct a search out there.

"It is a shame that the tradition of a Royal Entry died out long ago," Duchess mused.

Giacomo nodded. The thought had occurred to him as well. "That is a possibility," he conceded. If the king were to undertake a formal tour of the country as per the old traditions, all of his liege lords were expected to extend their hospitality by feeding, accommodating, and entertaining the entire party. Such a ploy would make it relatively easy to inspect his lords' estates. "Unfortunately, the logistics and expense of such an undertaking are beyond us right now."

"And I expect that if Ambassador Raw were on Lord Lucan's estates, he would arrange to have him held elsewhere during the duration of the Entry." She shrugged. "That is what I would do."

"Indeed," Jack said brusquely, eager to have this whole strange situation come to an end. "Thank you for this illuminating report, Duchess. Giacomo and I have much to discuss. Rest assured that we will contact you soon to go over a new plan of action concerning our friends."

The Duchess inclined her head. "The pleasure is all mine, Your Majesty." There was just enough smoke and heat in that statement to make Jack grit his teeth in frustration.

Giacomo glanced between the two combatants. They were so equally matched in wits and the ability to play political games that he usually enjoyed watching them spar. This was not one of those times. It was bad enough that this suovna session – which was meant to be relaxing – had been hijacked (though he appreciated the Duchess' swift thinking). He did not relish being in the crossfire of Jack and the Duchess' particular brand of tension. "Well. I shall take leave of you both. I have matters to attend to." He stood and bowed slightly to Jack, inclined his head at Duchess, and swiftly left the suovna. As per Wonderland tradition, the Ten of Clubs' quarters were adjacent to the royal suite, so he did not have to go far.

The Duchess waited until he left before taking her leave as well. "Until later, Your Majesty."

The king paused for a moment before muttering a curse under his breath. He had to follow her and provide some sort of explanation about her presence. She could hardly leave his quarters in a sweat-soaked dress without drawing unwanted attention.

The cool air in his bathing chambers was soothing, but not cold enough. It was customary to end a steam bath with a brief submersion in cold water or better yet, a frozen lake. Jack thought that a frozen lake was a marvelous idea. She should have looked ridiculous out of the low lighting of the suovna. Instead, she looked as desirable as ever.

The Duchess looked over her shoulder at him. "Don't worry, Your Majesty. I just need to do something about my hair and makeup." She reached for a stack of towels. "May I?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You have clothing here." When they'd begun the charade, he'd had quarters prepared for her to keep up appearances. He silently debated his options. It would look strange if she just came to his quarters, where he'd obviously been consulting with Giacomo, and simply left. There was no way around it. They had to go and make an appearance together. He shut his eyes in frustration. He had planned on spending most of the day at the Great Library to consult several key governing texts.

Lunch was a possibility. Then he would still have time for reading. "We'll take lunch together."

She paused in the middle of toweling her arms. "I'm sorry?"

"You cannot simply leave the palace after such a short visit. It will look strange. Surely you're aware of that."

Her eyes met his in the mirror, glimmering with just the faintest hint of mirth. "That's an oddly accusatory tone of voice, Your Majesty. You act as though I planned this so that I could spend more time with you."

"We both know that's hardly the case." Jack turned away and thus missed the way her levity faded. "I assume you brought a coat?"

"I did."

"Good. You can freshen up in your quarters while I shower. I will come and fetch you shortly."

The Duchess gave a small, mocking curtsey. "I hear and obey."

Jack turned his head slightly to watch her leave, his eyes riveted on the long length of pale leg revealed by the short skirt of her dress. Her ankles looked oddly delicate when not encased in her usual heels. Then he stepped into the shower and turned the water on full-blast, making sure that it was icy cold.

Only one stone remained between him and freedom. One stone, and he could make a hole just wide enough to squeeze through and escape.

But he had to be patient. He'd worn his claws down to ragged, bleeding stubs with the constant scraping at mortar. Still, the ease at which he moved was surprising. There were times when the mortar seemed to crumble away like sand beneath his fingers. He tested the mortar in other parts of his cell out of sheer curiosity. There, they had set up as hard as the rocks they anchored.

Raw couldn't make any sense of it. It wasn't as though that portion of his cell was particularly damp, not that he thought that water could do something like that. He was no Glitch, but even he knew that mortar had to be waterproof.

Still, he wasn't going to question it. He'd been scraping away at his prison for days now in the hope that he could escape before his captors could try and sway him to their cause with methods other than darkness and isolation. He hadn't broken under the witch, but he hadn't been her prisoner for too long. Everyone broke eventually. Raw did not want to take the chance that it would happen to him.

A horrible thought crossed his mind. Was this a ploy of theirs? Allow him the hope of escape, only to capture him and drag him back? It would be the worst type of torture. It would drive him mad to be consigned to darkness once more after breathing fresh air and feeling the sun on his face. His imprisonment had already begun to do strange things to his mind.

When he slept, his dreams were fractured and vivid. He dreamt that he had wings: enormous limbs covered in tawny gold feathers that bore him aloft, high over the wet and rainy forests that covered the southern half of Wonderland. In those dreams, those wings pointed south. Pointed home.

Which didn't make sense, of course. Home was west, over the Spine and across the Shifting Sands. And Viewers couldn't fly – he'd proved that after plunging over a cliff with DG, Glitch, and Cain to escape the Papay. Raw had to tell himself that it wasn't real.

Just like the cat – only that was a hallucination, not a dream. Raw wondered why, out of all of the possible hallucinations, he had a cat. And not just any cat, but a beast of one, striped in various shades of gray so dark that he could have sworn that they were purple and eyes that glowed gold like two miniature suns in the darkness.

It had first appeared five days after he'd discovered the loose stones and crumbling plaster, about ten or eleven days into his captivity. It had a tendency to stay in one corner of his cell, washing its fur or batting absently at a toy that he could not see. It was never around for very long. If he looked away and then back, it was usually gone.

Sometimes he swore he could hear it purring. There were also times when he'd woken up thanks to an immense amount of pressure on his chest, as though a large feline had curled up with him during the night. However, the cat was never there when he opened his eyes. He couldn't make heads or tails of it, except that he always felt better after those nights.

Raw knew that he should have been concerned with his mental state, but in light of his potential escape he couldn't bring himself to care. There was no harm in pretending that he had company. The dream cat was beginning to grow on him. What would his friends say if he acquired a kitten when he returned to the O.Z.? Certainly Tutor would not be amused.

He moved slowly now, carefully picking away at the mortar. The pain was excruciating. Tiny flakes of mortar dug into the tender skin around his claws, aggravating portions of it that were still raw and bleeding. The rest of the blocks rested beside him in tidy stacks. Once this last piece of stone was gone, he would have to carefully replace them from the outside. He didn't want the means of his escape to be so obvious. The longer it took for them to realize how he'd gone, the longer it would take for them to find him.

Not that he had any intention of getting caught.

It was night outside of his cell. Once he'd cleared away the first two stones, he'd been able to keep track of the passage of days. The first gust of fresh air had nearly brought him to his knees. Three days ago, the sun had been shining. He'd been able to stick his head out and enjoy its warmth on his face for a brief period before he returned to his work.

It was raining quietly now and his cell smelled of wet green things. It smelled of life. Raw picked up the pace.

Minutes – or was it hours? – later, the last stone was removed. Raw did not even think twice. He carefully transferred all of the loosened stones outside and shimmied out of the tiny opening. Once outside, he allowed himself a few deep breaths before painstakingly replacing the stones.

Only then did he allow himself to observe his prison. It looked like nothing more than a windowless stone shack. For such a small prison, it was ruthlessly effective. A cautious patrol revealed that there was only a small, overgrown path leading to the shack, and no permanent guards. The lag between meals suddenly made sense – they had to be brought through the forest.

He turned to observe his surroundings. The forest around his prison was very different from the coniferous forests that surrounded Wonderland City. These trees were enormous and gnarled, covered in moss and lichen. The ground cover itself was full of ferns and bushes that came up to his waist. Exotic blooms were everywhere, some of them as big as his head. He was in the rainforests.

South. Wonderland was a rainy country by even the O.Z.'s standards, but the southern portion of the country received nearly twice as much precipitation as the capital. His captors had been very shrewd in picking this place, for it was obvious that the forest was the true prison. Raw felt a surge of despair. Had all of his hard work come to naught?

The rustling of a nearby bush jerked him out of his self-pity. Raw tensed, knowing that he had little strength with which to fend off any attackers. He suddenly regretted his inability to make "psychic attacks," as DG had once absurdly suggested. He wasn't certain what a psychic attack entailed, but he was in no position to reject any type of offense.

But it was just his big gray cat, blinking solemnly at him in the rainy gloom.

Why was he still hallucinating?

The cat flicked its tail and twined about his ankles before ambling away. It certainly felt real. It stopped on top of a tree root and shot the Viewer a glance with those unnaturally yellow eyes that could only be described as come here.

Raw debated his options. It was nighttime and he already knew that no matter where he went now, he was already hopelessly lost. He could always follow this strange mental impulse now and change his direction during the day when the suns could guide him.

The cat moved off as soon as he followed. Moonlight passed over its face and he could have sworn that it was grinning.

Please review!

I swear, I love writing BAMF!Duchess. Or BAMF female characters. There's just something about writing strong, nuanced, real women that just makes me happy, not that it doesn't extend to my male characters (even if they're not exactly mine...?). Is it any wonder that my thesis is on gender ideology? Yeah, I didn't think so.

Blame the whole sauna thing on the fact that I'm going to Helsinki for a conference at the end of the summer and one of my officemates is a sauna-crazed Finn!