Author's Notes: Thank you for tuning in! And special thanks for anyone who has added this story to their Alerts/Favorites, or has reviewed. You're awesome.
Please note this chapter deals with the physical aftermath of Hatter's interrogation. Lot's of talk of blood. If that's alright with you, carry on!
Chapter 2: Breathing Is Part Of The Game
As they walk back to the Tea Shoppe, Alice can admit that she's panicking. Of all the horrifying, terrifying things she's experienced in the past few days, Hatter's current state tops them all.
They're quiet, he's quiet and that may be the scariest part. Even after the argument earlier on the beach, they'd bantered, an understanding that they were both stressed and hadn't meant most of what they'd said. Now it feels like she's walking with a ghost. In addition to the eerie quiet, she can't help but notice the way he's hunching over, holding his side and gritting his teeth. Not to mention the blood coming out of his ears. And his mouth. And on his hand. From too many places - far too many places.
"Hatter..." He raises his hand, an effort that causes him to sway on his feet and squeeze his eyes shut.
"Let me just get back to the Shoppe."
He hadn't wanted assistance from Royal Practitioners, despite Alice's very loud insistence. He did accept a ride to the general vicinity of his establishment, the Scarab leaving them in the area right before the bridge. Hatter didn't want the presence of the Suits worrying any of his customers or, more likely, the possible refugees that knew the Tea Shoppe as a haven.
He hopes against hope that in all the chaos no one's made it into the room in back - he doesn't care much about the Shoppe itself, but instead the area behind and above it. The only places he'd ever called home.
The place is deserted, the door hanging off the hinges. Hatter stops just before the stairs, looks up through the entrance to the tables thrown about and the chairs missing legs. He thinks better of it and heads around the side.
"Hatter?"
"There's an entrance to my flat, just over here."
"Through the bushes?" She asks skeptically.
"I do know the way to my own place." He continues on through the brush. It's only 3 or 4 feet thick, just enough to hide the path behind it.
He can't stop moving, can't stop putting foot in front of the other, because if he does, he knows he won't make it. And he's come this far.
"6 feet." He whispers softly to himself, counting the steps in between.
"4 feet." He grits out. The terrain, formerly an easy hop, skip and a jump, is now a battlefield of rocks and twigs and branches twisting into his path. He leans heavily against the side of the building, praying to reach the door before he loses himself.
Just a few more feet and he reaches out blindly, his hand landing on the carved wood of the handle.
"Thank you!" He isn't sure who he's talking to and neither is Alice as she stares at him.
"Hatter, you're worrying me." She chews her bottom lip as she looks him up and down. His breathing has gotten much heavier and he's breaking out in a fine sheen of sweat.
"Worrying myself a bit. Come on." He tugs open the pale blue door and stumbles into a dark hallway. He doesn't bother with the light switch. He just needs to get to the bathroom, or a garbage pail. Or a hole in the ground really. He can barely keep the contents of his stomach down as he climbs the single flight of stairs.
One more door at the top of the stairs and it opens up to reveal sky high ceilings, an eclectic mix of furniture in a myriad of colors and Alice's eyes can barely take it all in before Hatter is rushing towards a dark room in the back.
"If you'll excuse me!" He slams the door shut and Alice can hear him heaving, emptying what little left he had in his stomach and then some. Coughing and gagging and groaning and all sorts of awful sounds that have her pounding on the door until he opens it.
He cracks it just a bit and gives her a weak smile.
"Out in a minute?"
"Hatter! This isn't funny!" She knows it's panic that makes her raise her voice but Alice doesn't know what else to do.
"No. No it isn't." As if to illustrate this point, his stomach heaves again. His hands are on either side of the seat and he's throwing up god knows what and all he can think of is how embarrassing this is. And how painful. He can't help the shivering, the chills running up and down his spine and his arms. His muscles clench involuntarily as he spits to try and rid his mouth of the taste of bile.
He flinches when he feels Alice's hand graze his cheek.
"What happened to you?"
"I told you, just a few cuts and bruises."
"Cuts and bruises don't cause this." Before he knows it, she's removed his hat, placing it on the edge of the sink. He feels naked without it. Alice crouches down in front of him and gingerly takes his chin in her hand. She twists his head to the left and then to the right, paying careful attention to the bruising under his right eye and the swelling in his lip. She stands abruptly and reaches her hand out to him.
"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."
He doesn't look up at her, instead focusing on the deep blue of the floor tiles.
"Mind if I stay here? Just for a bit." He starts to sway.
"Hatter!" She grabs his right arm and tries to pull him up. He lets out a heart wrenching cry and she drops him, steps back like she's touched fire. She has no idea what's going. He's laying on the floor now, unadulterated pain across his face as he grabs at his side.
"Hatter," She begins, her voice shaking. "You're scaring me." Alice tries not to, tightens her jaw so she won't, but she can feel the first tear slip down her cheek. "Please tell me what's wrong."
He's on his back, gasping for breath, trying to maintain his cool even as he feels the blood trickling down his abdomen. He fists the bright yellow mat under him and lets out short puffs of air.
"Bastards." He spits the word out, staring at the ceiling and trying to balance his anger with the very real need to lose consciousness and get away from this moment in time. "That bloody hurt."
"What? What hurts? Please? I don't know what's wrong. Is something broken?"
"I really hope not." He forces out as he tries to push himself up. Alice takes a step back as he uses the toilet and then the sink to balance. She's scared to touch him, scared to look at him because she knows somehow this is all her fault.
"Do you have a bed? Somewhere to lie down?" He glances at her, a slow smile spreading across his face and she blushes.
"That's a mite fast. Even for me, Alice." He limps towards her and she takes a cautious step back.
"You can barely walk, let alone stand. Unless, of course, you'd rather sleep on the bathroom floor." She clears her throat and squares her shoulders. She's got a bit of her bite back and it warms his heart just a little. Her eyes are watery and he hates it because this is supposed to be the part where they're happy, forever and always. Except for the very minor detail where he's pretty sure he's bleeding to death.
"To the left. Mind the grass."
Alice leads the way, walking on her tip toes so as not to poke holes in the grass with her heels. Hatter is not far behind, his getting feet heavier. He's near doubled over as he slides along the wall, watching the doorway come into view.
They're there now, Alice staring in awe at the bed and, in general, at the sheer size of the room. Huge, she thinks, would be an understatement. He had two sitting areas and what looked like a half bath tucked in a corner. A massive king sized bed, covered in deep brown sheets and pale blue pillows, sits in the center of the room, resting low to the floor. And the hats! Shelves upon shelves of hats. Hats of all different colors and sizes and fabrics. She doesn't think she's seen so many in one place in her entire life.
She spins to him, her face showing her surprise.
"This isn't at all what I expected."
Hatter glances past her, stares at his room and then looks back to her, confusion written on his face. "What?"
She shakes her head, storing the information and questions to ask later. "Let's get you out of those clothes." She reaches for him but Hatter avoids her, something close to fear flashing across his face.
"No! No. It's fine, thanks. I, um, I actually prefer to sleep in my clothes. Comforting, you know?"
"They're covered in dirt and blood. And torn. And they're damp. And," she clears her throat and points to a spot on his leg, "You threw up on your pants." It seems to dawn on him then, just how filthy he is and Alice can see him trying to shrink away from the clothing. "Where do you keep your sleeping clothes?" Alice looks around, eyeing the wall to wall closet opposite the bathroom.
Hatter blushes furiously. This time it's his turn to clear his throat. "I," he tries to straighten up a bit. "I generally don't wear clothes. To bed I mean. Of course I wear clothes; otherwise it'd be rather awkward."
"You sleep naked?" She quickly pushes the image from her head. As much as she'd love to continue that conversation, he isn't looking any healthier than he did two minutes ago. In fact, he looks seconds away from collapsing. "Alright, never mind. Where can I find you a clean pair of pants?"
He gestures in the general direction of the closet.
"Great. I'll get you something to wear and you have a seat and change out of those clothes." She leaves little room for argument as she walks away from him. He's thankful as he damn near crawls to the bed, his face a grimace of nausea and pain. Determined not to embarrass himself further, Hatter refrains from falling face first onto the large mattress and instead sits gingerly at the edge. The shoes and socks are easy. The jacket is a little harder, the leather heavy from moisture and mud and whatever else he was rolling around in for the last three days. He sucks in a deep breath as he slides the coat off one arm and then the other. Searing pain shoots up his side and he's back to breathing deep and short in hopes of not passing out just yet.
Alice is astounded by the amount of shirts the man has, ranging from normally colored button downs to a hideous white shirt with pink flamingoes running across it. Next to them are dozens of pairs of pants, at least half of them some variation of brown. She finds a black pair, soft and cottony, something that doesn't feel too expensive or too formal to wear in the house. She also pulls out a long gray button down shirt to change into later and tucks a dark pair of boxers underneath it. Alice doesn't really fancy walking around a random man's apartment with just a shirt.
"Is this ok?" She turns to see him sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but his boxers and shirt. His hands rest on his thighs and his eyes are squeezed so tightly shut that she thinks he might scream. She walks over to him quickly, dropping the clothes onto the bed. She kneels down in front of him, pushing his discarded clothes to the side.
"Hatter?" She whispers up at him. He doesn't open his eyes, doesn't even acknowledge that she's there and it scares her to death. She reaches up slowly, watching for any sign of movement. She grazes her finger tips across his cheek and pushes his hair out of his eyes. "Hey." She whispers it softly, gently and he relaxes, if just a little.
"Hello." He says with just a hint of a smile and Alice smiles back. She can see that he's in pain, can almost see the tears in his eyes with each breath he takes. Her hand is on his knee now, rubbing small circles and distracting him.
"Do you need help?" She looks up into his eyes even as he tries to avoid hers.
He thinks about saying no, lying and doing it on his own in agonizing slow motion. Thinks about it for two seconds before his bravado fails.
"Yeah." He says it so softly that Alice wants to cry. While he was one for theatrics, Alice knows that he isn't playing at anything, isn't pretending. And she knows it kills him to ask and the pity in her eyes is the last thing he wants or needs. So she ducks her head and reaches for the first button.
She gets to the third button before she feels him tense. She looks up but he isn't looking at her, instead staring intently at the wall. She can see his jaw working, clenching and unclenching. He doesn't say anything so she continues.
It's at the fifth button that he starts to shake. His skin is cold under her fingers as she slides the final button through the hole.
The shirt is caked on with blood and she almost loses her lunch as she pulls it free, centimeter by centimeter, pushing the skin while pulling the fabric. She has to stop when he lets out a choked sob. Beneath the torn shirt are bruises, burns and blisters. Horrible misshapen areas of skin. Dozens of bruises in clusters of threes and fours, overlapping and covering him. They're mostly centered on his right side, wrapping around his rib cage.
Hatter takes a deep breath and several more before he can speak.
"Go on." His voice is nowhere near steady but it's all he can muster. His head hurts something wicked and if she doesn't do it now, he may just leave it to grow into his body.
Alice needs to take a breath too. She needs to remember to keep breathing; it would do neither of them any good if she passed out. But she doesn't know what she's supposed to with this. Doesn't know what it means that these ugly marks were for her, all her fault. She takes caution as she removes the rest of the fabric until the shirt falls easily from his shoulders.
"Do you have any antiseptic? A clean wash cloth? And bandages?" She rises, running her hand nervously through her hair.
"In the first bathroom."
"Right." She doesn't say anything else, just disappears down the dark hallway. Hatter takes this moment to shove his fist in his mouth and bite down hard to keep the screams from escaping. It wouldn't do to let Alice know just how much that whole thing had hurt. Peeling away skin and scabs and blood to reveal the bloody flesh beneath and he barely makes it to the bathroom before he's heaving again, nothing left for his stomach to give up.
Alice can hear him but she won't go in there, can't. She gently closes the bathroom door and for the first time since she's seen him, lets herself cry.
She's never been the crying type, instead expressing it through violence. She would much rather throw a two hundred pound man in one of her training exercises than spend the night crying over the hundreds of things she regretted. But this was different. Earlier, when Hatter found her in the casino, he seemed so happy. And she'd felt something she hadn't with Jack or any of the men before him. When he told her they were just cuts and bruises, she foolishly believed him. And now, now that she sees what he's endured for her, her heart hurts so badly that she thinks it could break.
Alice runs the cold water and splashes it on her cheeks. Her eyes are red and puffy and there's nothing to be done about. Instead, she busies herself searching through the cabinets, grabbing things as she sees them until her arms are full. She grabs his hat between her fingers and heads back to the room.
The black pants hang low on his narrow hips as he walks back from the bathroom.
"Feeling any better?" Alice pauses and tilts her head to the side.
"A little, given that half my body is covered in welts the size..." He stops, glancing behind him. "What?"
"You have tattoos?" He pulls his hands behind his back in hopes of hiding the markings from her. They weren't something he broadcasted and not something many people in Wonderland were aware of. There were very few types of people in Wonderland that carried markings and given his lineage, it wouldn't take much to figure out what his meant.
"Yeah, no nothing fancy. Just a few things from my youth. Thanks for, um, bringing my hat back. Get's a bit lonely without it." He throws a smile in her direction, but she doesn't take the opening.
"Huh." She seems distracted by them and it makes Hatter uncomfortable.
"Do you want me to...?" He motions at the items in her hands.
"Oh!" She breezes past him, instead resting her findings on the nightstand.
Alice points to the bed. "I think you should lie down." That smile is back again, this time tinged with something much more serious than she's used to seeing. Alice has to look away when it's clear that he has no intention of doing so.
Hatter knows this is no time for flirting, but then again, what was time at all? Hadn't he learned this just hours before? And if he was going to fall unconscious in the next few minutes, what difference did it make if he did so with a smile on his face?
He crawls onto the massive bed and leans back, his head propped up on impossibly plush pillows, his face a smirk and a frown all rolled into one.
Alice pours the brownish liquid onto the yellow cloth and looks back at him, her eyes reflecting sympathy.
"Tell me if you need me to stop."
He nods solemnly. He knows it'll hurt - the stuff burns like hellfire, but it was this or risk massive infection and die. Not much of a choice really.
Alice starts off with the easy ones - at his hairline and his lip. He winces only slightly when she touches them but doesn't say anything. She brushes the hair out of the way as she wipes the blood from his ear. There are no cuts, no bruises there and it worries her because under no circumstances is it okay to bleed from your ears. He still hasn't told her what happened and Alice starts to realize that she doesn't want to know.
The silence between them is mutual, if not comfortable, and Alice uses this time to think of things to distract both him and her from what she's about to do. She brings the cloth to his stomach and pauses.
"Ready?" Two very deep breaths and he nods. Alice presses down gently, trying not to disturb the exposed flesh and forming scabs.
Within seconds, Alice sees his right hand clench and unclench, grasping nothing but air. His jaw is as tight as his muscles. She leans in, careful not to shift him and her knees dig into the gray shag carpet surrounding the bed. She blows softly, letting the air cool the burn and the sting. She notes the relaxation in his posture and tries to focus him on it.
"You know," she begins. She dabs at the open wounds on his side. Hatter hisses through clenched teeth. "I've always been partial to tattoos." This seems to perk him up.
"Yeah?"
"Um hmm." She hated those massive, sprawling things that men got on their chests and backs. Too much clutter for her liking. No, Alice was a fan of the smaller ones, things with personal meaning. And in just the right location, a tattoo was known to be one of her few weak spots. Particularly tattoos on the back of the neck. Or the inside of a wrist.
Much like the one Hatter was sporting.
"The one on your arm up there looks like a language we have back on my side of the mirror." She pours a little more of the solution on the cloth and continues, flinching every time he does. "What does it say?"
"It's more a symbol really. Like a crest. Nothing words can explain." She glances up briefly; his face is tense and she has a feeling it has nothing to do with her ministrations. She doesn't push it, instead looking at the smaller one on his wrist.
"What about that one?"
"Well," He clears his throat, in territory much more familiar to him. "That is the family crest."
Alice pauses. As far as she knows, most normal families didn't have crests, here or in her realm. They were generally reserved for royalty and the very, very rich.
She takes a moment to look around, takes in her surroundings and starts to realize that she's missing something here. Something very important. She looks at the tattoo again and it almost seems to be moving, shivering just beneath the surface of his pale skin.
"So, how does you go about getting a tattoo in a place like Wonderland? You just walk into a shop, draw a picture and some guy does the rest?"
Hatter scrunches his face. "No..." The word is drawn out and confused. "Is that how they do it there?" At Alice's nod, his confusion grows. "How?"
"There are parlors." She's applying a salve now, something clear and astringent and wrapping thick gauze around his abdomen. "You can either pick out something they've got prepared, bring something of your own, or talk to the artist and see if they can help you come up with something original. Then they draw the design with a pen and ink over it. There's a needle they use to inject the ink into your skin."
Alice chances a look up to see the horror on his face.
"That sounds absolutely horrible." Alice shrugs, in some sort of agreement.
"I'm guessing yours just appeared?" It's not so far fetched, seeing as she has a huge mark on her arm that refuses to be washed, scratched or scrubbed away, with just the use of a light.
"Something like that." His tone doesn't leave room for discussion, and it's just as well; her knees are starting to hurt and she's done as much as she can. All that's left is to change the bandaging at some point and hope that it heals on its own.
She sits there for a moment, her hand resting just next to his fresh bandages.
"Do you mind if I used your shower?" But when she looks at him, Hatter is very close to sleeping, drowsily nodding yes and she isn't even sure he knows what she said.
Alice takes it as a good sign that he's sleeping of his own accord, versus being unconscious. She drapes the shirt and boxers over her arm and gathers as much as she can in her hands.
She keeps her head down, feet treading carefully over the grass pathway. She's so tired and all she wants to do is shower and rest. As she exits the hall, it's that very thought that leads her to a very important observation.
Hatter's apartment very clearly lacks a living room.
Alice's head darts from side to side, taking in the bathroom, the kitchen and the twenty foot banquet table lined with tea cups. She confirms that, yes, there is a definite lack of guest space. Save for the benches at said table, there wasn't a place for guests to sit. Or sleep for that matter.
Which meant that she would be sharing a bed with Hatter. A very large bed. But sharing one none the less.
A sigh escapes her, a reflection of her exhaustion with both the events of the past three days, and the new obstacle placed before her.
The shower is surprisingly hot and it's everything Alice needs. She's cold to the bone. Her body has been numb for days now, what with falling into a lake several times and being in constant fear. It falls over her, washing away long nights spent on the forest floor and uncomfortable afternoons on horseback. Washes away sweating goons in suits and the damp smell of charcoal that's settle in all her clothes after spending one too many nights in front of a camp fire.
She tries to wash away the guilt, though she thinks there's nothing that will take that away. Her hands shake as she slides them down her arms, watches as the liquid soap lathers and tries so hard not to think about what she's been through.
Alice has lost her father and she's come to grips with it. It hurt, dear God did it hurt, to watch him slip away from her so soon after she'd found him. But Alice always knew, even searching all those years for him that he would never be hers to keep. He'd gone for whatever reason, and never came back. She never thought she'd find him, never thought she'd have a meaningful conversation with him and convince him to come back to her. No, her search was to answer the why.
Why did he leave her?
Why did he leave her mother?
Why didn't he say anything?
Why hadn't he called?
Coming to Wonderland had answered all of those questions and given her back a broken man. One, who after all these years, could still hurt her. Who couldn't remember her name.
She knows it wasn't his fault, not the disappearing and not the amnesia but even before that moment in the Casino, when he'd died in her arms, she'd let him go. Forgotten about him because there wasn't any going back. Even if he remembered her, even if they toppled the Queen's reign, he could never come back with her. And so, when Hatter pulled Alice away from her father's body, she'd left that piece of herself there too.
No, it isn't him who Alice feels guilty or sorry about.
Her stomach clenches and she reaches out. Her hand lands on the cool tile in front of her and Alice just has to breathe. Just breathe and not think about it, not think about it because her brain can't take it, and her heart might die.
So stupid
Just a few cuts and bruises and damn it, she was so fucking stupid. She'd heard his breath hitch when he'd hugged her. And for fuck's sake, cuts and bruises don't amount to bleeding from your damned ears. And he'd smiled at her like everything was fine, like he wasn't bleeding from a dozen wounds and two seconds from losing consciousness. And when she'd insisted he see the Royal Practitioners, Hatter had actually raised his voice at her then, not yelling, but leaving no room for argument and she was so very stupid for listening to him.
Alice clenches her hands in attempt to not punch something. She's moved past the crying to the anger but here, in this foreign place, she doesn't know what to do. Back home, she'd go to the dojo and take her emotions out on one of the punching bags or one of her fellow instructors but here...here, there was nothing to do but face it.
She could have lost him. That's the part that really gets her. She could have lost him, never seen him again and she was so happy when she heard that familiar whistle, saw him standing there seconds before they took out the guards. She'd hugged him then, hard, and he hadn't said anything at all except that it felt good and maybe that's the part that gets her too. She doesn't do declarations, doesn't blurt out feelings and sure as hell not to someone she's known for just a few days, but she wanted to tell him that it felt good to her too. That for long minutes, she thought she was alone in this, without him and it scared her senseless. But she didn't and she feels stupid for that too.
The tears start to fall and this time, Alice lets them. She thought he was dead and in that moment, she was angry at him because he promised that he would take care of her and she deserved it, deserved to have someone that would look after her like her father was supposed to and like Jack was supposed to except Jack wasn't Jack, was he? No, a spoiled prince with a fiancé and a she-devil of a mother. When this was all over, where would she be? And if the mirror didn't work? What then?
She thinks about it and she feels herself changing. It means something monumental to Alice that her views of the future take into consideration the future of another person. Almost certainly, Alice's ending to this magical adventure was always based on Hatter, whether or not the Looking Glass worked. She considered inviting him back to her world, showing him things that he could only imagine. And if she'd been stuck, well, she knows that he would be there to hold her up. This, more than anything else, is what made her angry. Selfish as she could be, she was angry because he did almost die, and for her, and all she'd wanted from him was a way to move forward, past herself and past her hang-ups about men and life, and past being Alice.
Alice thinks that maybe, given all that has happened...maybe she's the crazy one.