Rise and Fall Chapter 2: How Far, an alice, 2009 fanfic

AN: Wow, thanks very much to everyone who reviewed! Here's chapter 2... let me know what you think. Cheers!

HOW FAR - Martina McBride

There's a boat, I could sail away
There's the sky, I could catch a plane
There's a train, there's the tracks
I could leave and I could choose to not come back
Oh never come back

There you are, giving up the fight
Here I am begging you to try
Talk to me, let me in
But you just put your wall back up again
Oh when's it gonna end

How far do I have to go to make you understand
I wanna make this work so much it hurts, but I just can't
Keep on giving, go on living with the way things are
So I'm gonna walk away
And it's up to you to say how far

There's a chance I could change my mind
But I won't, not till you decide
What you want, what you need
Do you even care if I stay or leave
Oh, what's it gonna be

Out of this chair, or just across the room
Halfway down the block or halfway to the moon

...

Hatter had spent much of the first week in the storage locker, staring at his melancholy reflection in the looking glass. They had rescued it from the warehouse, some months ago, when word of the impending demolition reached them. They couldn't bear for it to be destroyed with the building, even if it wasn't a portal anymore. Jack had sealed the looking glass from the Wonderland side, and now it was nothing but a mirror.

But that hadn't stopped Hatter from reaching out his right hand and pushing it against the glass, just in case it would let him through. It had been unyielding, and Hatter had almost breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't truly wanted to go back. It was more the principle of it. Alice was the only reason for him to be in this world, and he was sure he had lost her.

When Alice had moved out, he had been beside himself – calling her multiple times a day, leaving messages, even stopping by her mother's apartment. And she had eventually come back, albeit largely due to her mother having enough of her moodiness and kicking her out.

It had been five days since he had left, unable and unwilling to fight with her anymore, and she hadn't called. Not even once.

He had pulled his hand from the glass and resumed packing when she had walked in. He had noted that she looked pale, and when she saw him, she had also looked nervous and uncomfortable.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were in here," she had mumbled, placing a box on the floor.

"S'okay," he'd replied, and then an awkward silence had fallen. Neither had moved. Finally he had taken a deep breath. "Alice..."

But then he had noticed her eyes were looking past him, staring at the looking glass, with so many emotions swirling in her face that he hadn't been able to discern them all. He had turned to see what she was seeing, and there was the clear handprint on the mirror's surface. He had cursed, apparently audibly.

"You were trying to go back?" Alice's voice had been tight and high, and she had started to tremble.

"Yes... no. Not really." His attempt had sounded feeble, even to him.

"Oh my god." Her eyes had grown terribly bright and wet. "You were just going to leave..."

"No." He had reached out and grabbed her arms.

He had watched as her pain had quickly turned to anger, to fury. "Let go of me!" she had hissed at him.

He hadn't. He had tightened his grip. "Alice, I wasn't going to leave, not really."

She had wrenched herself free, and taken a step back, her eyes accusing. "You already left me."

He had swallowed down his first reaction, to accuse her back - "You've left before." Instead, he had taken a steadying breath, and had told her, "I had to leave, Alice. I can't take it anymore, what's become of us. I don't know how to fix it, but I just can't fight anymore." He had backed down once again, but he had still seen the anger and the fight in her, the fire in her eyes as they locked again on the incriminating hand print.. So he had tried again. "I'm glad that the looking glass didn't work. I don't want Wonderland. I want you, us. The way we were."

Alice's reply had been a sword to his heart. "I don't believe you."

…

He had kicked a box, ignoring the sound of its contents shattering. He had barely heard it over the shattering of his own heart. And he hadn't been back since.

If he had, he would have noticed a smaller hand print, clearly pressed into his larger one, on the surface of the looking glass.