Interlude
By Shahrezad1
Summary: "The transition is going to be a little…rough," a flicker of a wry smile passed over the Prince, making him almost look human for a moment, but Hatter didn't let it affect his true opinion of the man.
Disclaimer: David Hatter, Alice Hamilton, and Jack Heart/Chase belong to themselves and the very creative people that work at Syfy. I own nothing. Except maybe a few hats. ^^
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Chapter 2
"The transition is going to be a little…rough," a flicker of a wry smile passed over the Prince, making him almost look human for a moment, but Hatter didn't let it affect his true opinion of the man. Still, he was being fairly helpful. For a Suit, anyway. His advice so far was useful, at least.
"Traveling by mirror is a jarring experience and I suggest taking a moment to breathe afterwards. The Looking Glass is set up to resemble falling, but the path you're going to be taking resembles a…a passageway made of glass, frighteningly open, with a series of connecting doorways. Don't be alarmed, just keep stepping forward."
"Yeah," bobbing his head absently, the Hatter pulled at the odd fabric of his shirt, watching as it almost bounced back with his effort, "what did you call this again?"
"A T-shirt. Look, I need you to focus, Hatter," Jack continued, holding out a simple dark brown jacket for the shorter man to place his arms into. Instead he grabbed it from the imperial's hands, tugging the object on, himself, "Their world is amazing. But also horrifying. And as dangerous as any of the lower levels of the city. We need you to keep a cool head and learn their customs as fast as possible-there's only so much I can teach you, the rest you have to do on your own. After a while you'll become familiar with everything, but it'll be hard at first. As hard as it probably was for Alice."
"Yeah," a deep sigh shook his frame as he remembered those first few moments. The damp, continually wary vision of femininity standing ramrod straight before him, marked with a chattel's tattoo. She'd tried so hard to remain poised and confident under his leering gaze, but even then he'd been able to see her shaky foundation…and had been drawn to it, somehow. To the sheer, unadulterated, unbottled emotion coming off of her in waves and reaching him through her eyes and body language.
Snapping back into awareness, the Hatter remembered that Jack was awaiting an answer and quickly nodded.
"Yeah, um, okay I get it. It's gonna be hard, I'm gonna be disoriented. Maybe even lost," he picked up the black fedora he'd scrounged from among Jack's 'Oyster' things, a mismatch of shirts and shoes from a variety of eras. Most of which were gleaned from the donated wardrobes of other members of the Resistance who had passed through a time or two. But out of all the hats scattered across the room, the fedora was the only one he could find which was worthy of any sort of attachment.
Again the Heir Apparent's words interrupted his focus, "right. I've arranged for a Helper to meet you on the other side of the mirror. Your first time over is going to be to create a place for yourself-about a month before Alice follows me into Wonderland. From there you'll have a travel ring-."
"Wait, ring?" That was a new one. Or maybe it wasn't, and he just hadn't been listening?
"It was in the care of the Knights. We unearthed it in one of the levels of the Great Library a year ago; it actually belongs to an early time traveler from Wonderland, a Mr. Wells," whomever that was, Hatter thought with absentminded apathy, "which will allow you to go back and forth through the path with a timed destination in mind. Different times, same location, with exception of the Wonderland time-base, which will be this time and this place so that you can get everyone home without running into any…trouble."
"And the 'month before,' their time? Will I have to reintroduce myself every bleeding time I come back 'home,' then?" meaning he was stuck in the same spot; a perpetual Groundhog Day, as the saying was (curse those dirt-dwelling pigs and their burrowing, nose-driven, collapsible tunnels).
"No. We've got an anchor set for you. Here," and suddenly the blonde was shoving a hand mirror into his grasp, its outside backing chipped with age and inner glass as black as obsidian, "the main mirror you'll be using will recognize its signature and bring you back to it, so long as your ring doesn't set an alternate destination. Return your ring to its neutral setting and the mirror will come back to it, like a compass."
"Like a compass, right," that, at least sounded like it made sense. He echoed the words, parroted them back more than anything, and somehow knew by the Prince's look that he'd heard all of this before, but just hadn't been listening. But given his sudden and eminent departure, he was finding that perhaps in that act he'd made a mistake.
Really should have paid attention, Hatter ol' boy. But then again, I always was a cheapskate.
The thought caused him to smile, an expression he hid, then made fast work out of putting on the new hat and picking up the new suitcase and followed the Prince out the door and into an entirely unfamiliar set of tunnels.
They were underground, in one section of the Great Library which apparently connected to the Hospital of Dreams. It was how they transferred new patients into the latter location without being seen, then brought them back out to rejoin the 'living' once they'd been successfully purged of all foreign toxins. Those same tunnels led to more locations than he had ever really thought about, miles and miles of connecting paths running through the city like a Wyrm warren. Just the concept itself, that this was how the Resistance had survived all those years, building and collapsing passageways willy-nilly while congregating in the center, gave him hope for the new pattern of government falling into place.
First there were the figureheads-Jack would be rounding up the Suits and Royals, who would all be showing their best faces. The Duchess, Hatter knew from old experience (did they really think that glow she wore like a mask was natural? She was just as common as the rest of them, her hair a dark blonde beneath all the Carpenter's chemicals), would weed out the backstabbers and the betrayers. She'd been doing that since she left them for court, belonging as she was to another faction of the Resistance from birth, and by now she would have sifted the Queen's old Rose Garden into a plot of allies and skilled ladies in waiting.
Hatter mentally smiled as he was ushered down the passageway to his destination, wondering how long it would take Jack Heart to figure it out. Caterpillar already knew, that was certain, but he wasn't saying much, which amounted to either humor at the situation or silent approval. Possibly both. Either way, he wasn't talking, especially after his recent last-ditch stint with the magic mushrooms-playing the sickbed invalid had its pros and cons. But as much as Jack thought he knew everything, that was one bit of knowledge ol' Davie Hatter had up his sleeve-the knowledge that the Prince and his reluctant feminine ally were two sides of the same polished coin.
Maybe Jack would free the emotions he felt for the Duchess once he learned the truth, leaving Alice solely to the Hatter. But who knew-they were both stubborn, and Wonderlandians all over were still tentative in regards to exercising their own feelings at this point, even the Prince of the 'New Regime.'
It came with being fed off the bottle for so long.
As for Caterpillar, he was to head up a council made of all the Resistance leaders. They would act as a series of judges, making suggestions for things Jack should investigate or perhaps form into new law, while reserving the right to null any bad decisions on his part providing they had information to support their claims. Mostly Jack was to deal with restoring the country from his position as appointed leader; making sure those who previously followed the Red Queen were no longer tyranny-inclined and, more importantly, finding a way to deal with the rising Addict problem.
A problem which was already being solved in part by the reintroduction of natural feeling into their society. Several court-appointed theatrical troupes were taking up old acts and plays, unearthed from the Great Library and concerning Wonderland's history and fairytales. The audiences so far had had a positive response, their feelings ranging from unadulterated, giddy happiness to empathic sorrow. Which was a definite improvement over feeling absolutely nothing.
In the meanwhile the counsel would focus predominantly on mundane tasks and backbiting; restoring order on their own, ever-so slowly.
Which led to his current position. O' course he was a few more steps down the line of responsibility, but that was beside the point. His job was an important one regardless of its relative simplicity, and if they were truly to wean Wonderland off of its pollutants then they were going to have to get rid of the sources themselves. Meaning a personal scarab ride home via the Good Ship Hatterly.
That is, once he knew what he was supposed to do, exactly.
Three more doors guarded by three sets of guards led to where he was supposed to be. And within that tiny room at the end of a tiny side-hallway there existed what seemed like a simple floor-length mirror. It wasn't grand like the Looking Glass or as smooth as a cup of warm tea, the surface etched as it was with scratches and abuse. Even the frame was rusted in spots, an oversight he knew would somehow be rectified now that the object was of importance. Still, the old antique rested on marble stand, edges cushioned in by bolts of velvet drapery. The room was spotless and simple, made of cold stone. But as the Hatter stood there he could have sworn that he felt a breeze coming from…somewhere. The mirror, perhaps? Bringing with it warmer winds?
"Here's the ring," Jack's terse words pulled him away from any further examination of the room as something hard and small was shoved into his hand. A look at the ring showed the object to be made of common brass, the top created to resemble a miniature watch face. Tiny toggles surrounded the face like spokes, each edge marked plainly in the clipped shorthand of lower-city dwellers.
Then shortly, much sooner than Hatter would have wished, the Prince was escorting him to the mirror, a single attendant expertly twisting some of the intricate ironwork upon the frame until something clicked and the surface melted like water, erasing all blemishes in an instant.
"Ready then, Hatter?" Jack Heart's voice came distantly, like an echo on the sea, and Hatter longed to verbally let loose his sudden fear of the unknown but couldn't even speak. Swallowing hard, he nodded, hand clapping down automatically upon the hat he was liable to lose. Never mind the fact that his usual Pork-Pie hat was in the baggage, having managed to smuggle the thing unnoticed into a hidden pocket.
Just because he had a new one didn't mean he was going to lose the old, particularly with it being the hat he had chosen at the age of fourteen for his particular occupation. It was a mark of his 'clan' line, and a mark of his status. Did the Suits really think he'd leave it behind, all for a silly new Oyster-style one?
This thought was his last as he was shoved in without any to-do, reflexive inhalation marking his surprise. What followed was instantaneous and cold as a Lover's betrayal. But entirely different than anything he'd ever experienced before.
So this is what they meant by 'Falling Through the Rabbit Hole', he'd heard the phrase from Resistance fighters and Suits alike but had never quite understood the cross between freefall and a tumble into an icy lake. Then everything was passing by in a flash of color and sequentially patterned entryways.
He didn't remember coming to the other side, and in the vague mental wanderings of one caught up in near-unconsciousness he wondered what it would be like if he never found his way back out again.
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"I think he's coming around," the words were gruff but congenial, coming from a voice somewhere above him and to his right. When it spoke again he couldn't quite hear what was said, but recognized the whistle of a tea pot somewhere near it.
Meanwhile a light weight gentling binding him drew tighter and Hatter's senses registered the feel of rough fabric. It warmed him up against the leftover chill which had decided to linger, like Ratty 'round some of his regulars, but made moving near impossible as it had been tucked down beneath whatever he was laying on.
A love seat, his subconscious supplied.
Thanks, yeah.
Welcome.
The inner conversation would have worried any other man, but he wasn't any other man-he was a Hatter, and Hatters were known for their own brand of eccentricity.
You should probably wake up now, the voice continued.
And so he did. And was immediately blinded by the light.
"Aagh!" something intelligible tore itself up his throat, like a Borogove on a bad day. He would have protected his abused sight with blocking hands if he could have, but they were bound by the blanket enveloping him. So he settled for jamming the lids immediately shut. Only allowing himself a small peek once he'd lost the customary twinkling of bats behind his eyes.
"Wolf, can you dim the lights?" a quiet voice asked, sounding both young and motherly at the same time. Immediately the assault became less fanatical.
"Thanks, hon."
"You're welcome," the man responded quietly, and by that point Hatter was aware enough to hear the affection in his voice before footsteps brought him closer. Carrying with him a fresh-brewed cup of tea, the one ambrosia which he dared brave the light for.
So Hatter blearily opened his eyes, the two orbs feeling like stale teacake. The tinned kind. Within his direct line of sight the female sat, holding a simple china mug in her hands and leaning slightly over him in concern, consequently holding down the blanket's edge. Well, at least that explained why he couldn't move.
"Hi there," the young woman spoke quietly once his eyes had cleared of fog. She smiled softly, if ironically, and for a second a vision of long, dark curls formed before fading out into the real woman's features. Short hair replaced long, and a romantic heart-shaped face became a pixyish tomboy. The outfit she wore moved from artful polka dots and bold color t oa very pale ice blue, but Hatter didn't mind (allowing the odd superimpose memory to be bottled away for later sampling). He'd become quite fond of that particular shade of blue.
"How are you feeling?" a scruffy man entered the edge of his view, hair flopping against a wide, creased forehead and his jaw badly needing a shave. He, too, brought up an image of someone else, although it was fainter in memory, if just as scruffy.
"Like I got tramped on by an army, then fed to a Jab-erm, monster," his brain flipped the word, just in time, as the prone Wonderlandian realized quite suddenly that he didn't know how he got there. Cards, he didn't even know where 'there' was! This minute tightening of his features caused an answering worry in theirs, which he tried to ignore as he rolled out the charm, "where am I, if you don' mind me asking? And, aha…how did I get here?"
"We were hoping that you could tell us that," the young woman responded calmly if cheerfully, then went on to explain, "we were just closing up shop when we saw you stumble out of the park. You looked like you'd been mugged-."
"-or pois-ah, drugged," her companion said. She sent him a displeased look.
"So Wol-my husband Warren carried you in."
Huh. 'Warren.' He distinctly recalled (okay, it was a bit fuzzy, yeah, but only just a bit) her voice calling him 'Wolf,' earlier but he could always be mistaken. Then again, maybe he wasn't the only one guarding his words.
Another epiphany made itself known by tap dancing on his forehead right after, helping a headache move in and unpack, "hold on, did you say shop?"
Shop. It just had to be a shop. A bleeding shop where they serve tea. Lovely.
"It's actually a restaurant," she demurred, not seeing his immediate, if exhausted relief, "Hood's Rest. But to a few it's known as…The White and the Wolf."
The restaurateur seemed to hold her breath for a time, as did her more patient spouse. And at first Hatter wondered why they seemed so…expectant. As though the name was supposed to mean something to him.
And then, abruptly, it did.
His dark eyes lit up, and recognition washed confusion clean away. He was in the Oyster world. The Otherland. He was here to meet a set of Helpers, they were called, who were supposed to get him settled. His suitcase-where was his suitcase? It had all the papers in it, and things to pay for his lodging, and a letter to explain the situation. By all things great and felt-covered, he'd found the people he was supposed to search for from the start. Or more like they'd stumbled on him.
If his arms had been free he would have snapped his fingers.
"The White and the Wolf, yeah! And that would make you…Vir-Vir-Virgella?"
She grinned triumphantly at her husband, hands on her hips, "Virginia. But close enough. And this is Wolf. Warren is his…stage name, I guess you'd say," flirtation rolled between the pair like a kitten with a ball of string, and Hatter wondered for a moment at the strong emotions they were so boldly emoting. Couldn't they…feel the glow they were shoving off? Or were all Oysters that thick-skinned, emotionally-speaking? He could begin to feel it getting to him, and he wondered with rising alarm if he was going to be dealing with such a bombardment all of the time.
"I'm Hatter."
"Just Hatter?"
"To match, 'Just Alice,' I guess," he muttered, but she didn't seem to hear that. Wolf, however, gave him a sideways grin, as though knowing exactly what he meant by the comment. And who knew, judging by the possessive nature of the emotion of love the man sent curling round his wife, maybe he did.
"Sheesh, you and Wolf, honestly. What's wrong with you men, always having a single descripatory name and no Surname?" still, she didn't seem too irate over the matter, and the Hatter left off with a shrug.
Her husband gave her a roguish grin and a hug from behind, before walking away, "it's what makes us Fairytale men so attractive."
And then Hatter had to double-take. Twice.
Fairytale men? Us, as in plural? And was that a tail?
Shocked brown eyes met their opposite in the other man, and he felt his porkpie hat somehow tumble off his head. How had that happened, he wondered distantly? Till Virginia brought him back to the moment at hand.
Speaking of hands, she finally stood to loosen the blanket for him, and with sudden clarity he realized that mayhap she'd already known about his sledgehammer and had acted accordingly, if innocently. That sly little Helper…
"Wolf's from another world, too. In case you didn't notice."
Right. Like he coulda missed that one. Sarcasm colored his gaze, but she merely presented him with a smirk.
"So," she clapped her hands together, and he noticed absently that the nails were cut serviceably short, "we've been told the basics. You're a Wonderland native with roots to the Resistance. Which was apparently successful."
"It will be. It's not yet. Successful, that is," and then with their blanches of surprise he had no choice but to start the tale right from the beginning. It was a good thing he had a cup of tea to quench his thirst.
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"And now you're here to help the Oyst-people who were kidnapped?"
"Stolen, yeah."
"And time is moving at the pace it needs to, until you reach when everything really started?"
"Ye-p," habit made him pop the last syllable, but unlike Alice the Mrs. Wolf didn't start at it. They really were two entirely different people, personality-wise, Hatter found himself thinking, and then he was off into a daydream of memories. Until Mr. Wolf interrupted.
"Well, what are you going to do after that?"
"Find Alice."
"As simple as that?" the woman was dubious.
"As simple as simple can be."
"Well…do you know her cell number?"
"Her what?" he absently asked, taking a bite out of an apple he'd been bestowed with some time during his narration. It had an odd taste to it that made him pause a moment, a kind of sourness that tasted almost false, before it turned over to an aftertaste. Interesting. All the apples in Wonderland were almost sugary sweet, then berry-flavored. He marveled on the effort it would take to crossbreed the two so-very-similar plants, and was off on another curious little thought detour.
"Her telephone number. So you can call her up and meet her."
"Call her? I don't think she's close enough for me to call. It's not like she's 'cross the room or anything like that."
Over his head Virginia and Wolf made eye contact. The former continued, "well, do you have her address?"
"No. But she did tell me where she lived one time."
"And?"
Their insistence was starting to make him focus, senses tingling with something sharp. Hatter fought the feeling, "She's in a new area, she mentioned. A new place."
The female Helper's eyes scrunched thoughtfully, short curls bouncing in a way Hatter found both interesting and bizarre. Did all women here have shorn hair? And if so, where did Alice fit in the mix?
"Did she say what kind of new? As in a particular construction site or a housing development?"
"No, nothing like that," he shook off the line of question impatiently, adrenaline still rushing through his system at the thought of just being in another world, and being so very, very close, "It was…was in the name. New something. I've got it fluttering 'bout like little bats in the belfry, twinkling away. It was something new, I know it."
The couple exchanged a look he couldn't quite interpret, before the woman finally spoke, "do you mean New…York?"
Joy pumped through him at the burst of recognition. Yes! Yes, that was right! He was finally on the right track. Beaming, the Hatter snapped dramatically and grinned a devil-may-care Cheshire grin, "exactly! That was it-New York! SO! Where can I find this York that's new? Do you think I'll need a map, or should I just go by foot and follow the 'yellow brick road' and all that?"
The enigmatic look continued between the restaurant owners, only this time it was the husband's turn to roll out a response, thick brows furrowing a steady series of creases above and between his temples, "huff, puff. I hate to say this, myself, but…you're standing in it."
Thoughts derailed, Hatter paused, "what?"
Virginia motioned helplessly, but Wolf could only shrug. So she once again took the helm, "this whole area-the area with all the lights and the cities that spike up without organization-this is New York. New York, New York in fact. A city within a state. It's…Hatter, it's the largest city in the United States. There are eight million people in the city alone, and over twenty million in the State."
Dread was starting to freeze his lips, along with other mental functions, "States?"
"Kingdoms. Ruled by local bodies, who are ruled by overall judges for the entire…" she searched for a word, waving her hand, "unified group of kingdoms, with an elected…figurehead. Um. Leader, who can veto bad ideas or suggest good ones. Hatter…I really don't know that you're going to be able to find Alice, even knowing her whole name."
No. It couldn't be true. He couldn't have come all this way, just to…
To…
Ah, Cards!
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AN:
Wow! I didn't expect such a strong response at all, particularly as all I expected this ever to be was a one-shot. I actually had to reorganize my plot and all that jazz. –laughs-
I really tried to keep a Hatter frame of mind for all the writing, but I have a feeling a bit of "Primeval"s Connor got thrown in there as well. In which case I apologize, but justify the addition by saying, "it's all Andrew-Lee Potts anyway." –laughs-
Wolf and Virginia belong to the world of The Tenth Kingdom, another miniseries. They're there because I think that they're the perfect people to understand the issues of being lost in translation, or as the case may be, lost in fiction.
The two names for Virginia and Wolf's restaurant come from my indecision as to its title. ^^; I like "The White and the Wolf," but all my friends think that it's…less than creative, I suppose? XD It was a friend who suggested, "Hood's Rest," and I like it for the double verbal pun, as their restaurant is in New York.
The concept of 'Helpers,' which aid people crossing over from world to world, comes from the 1987 television series, "Beauty and the Beast," with Ron Pearlman and Linda Hamilton (ha. Another Hamilton). I thought it would be appropriate, given what Helpers do for those who are underground and how everything for that show is also set in New York.
Sorry for jumping ahead, and skipping his explanation-I really didn't find it necessary to cover a plot we're all more than familiar with. I hope you don't mind. Also, I like the first half more the second. But what can you do? –helpless shrug-
This chapter is dedicated to all the wonderful people who reviewed (honestly, you made my day!) and the people who favorited and alerted all over the place.
Thank you: PiningOverPadfoot, EtherealDemon, duchessfaleen, Rue Mo, Brumeier, ayumidah, Imagine-Me-A-Song, Alana-kittychan, and many more.