Okay, guys. Originally, I had not intended to switch to Hatter's POV at all in this story, I didn't see anything wrong with his truth room scene - or not much, anyway - so I was just going to leave it be. But, you all wanted it, so I wrote it. I like the way it turned out, really, so I'm glad you convinced me. I hope you guys like it, too.

Hatter was alive. For how long, he didn't know. Why, he could guess as he was dragged, all but carried from the roof, through the casino to the Truth Room, kicking and fighting all the way. His mind was buzzing like a hive of bees, each insect a thought zipping frantically around in his skull. Charlie had turned tail and fled and Hatter wasn't sure why he had thought any different of the man. Yes, he was. Because he believed in the best parts of people and when he didn't keep this foolish handicap in check, it almost always was to his own detriment. This time, it wasn't just himself who had been let down, it was Alice.

Spunky, little Alice who he'd tried and failed to protect over and over. In the Queen's clutches once more, the girl would not survive this time. The ring was gone, the Resistance possibly crippled, and all Hatter could think of was the ocean-eyed oyster who had dripped her way into his Tea Shop not seventy-two hours before. The girl had turned his entire life upside down, inside out, rightside wrong and everything in between. He wouldn't take back a second of it.

Okay, maybe one second. That one where he'd rushed into a half-assed plan at saving her and gotten himself caught. On a horse, with a sword like some kind of knight? Oh, lad, you must have been suffering tea sickness to have gone off like that. But other than that, nothing.

The Drs. Tweedle were most pleased to see him again, smiling their twisted little smiles and speaking their twisted little speech. Hatter knew what the Truth Room was, knew how it worked. He fought against the hypnotic influence, but he was only a man and, in the end, succumbed like everyone else. One more display of weakness. One more failure.

It was dark, so dark he couldn't see his hand before his eyes. He thought his hand was before his eyes anyway, but couldn't tell because it was so dark. Was that circular thinking? It seemed like a circle. Around and around, what's that sound? Someone crying. Was he the one crying? No, he didn't think so. He closed his eyes to listen closer and world lit up around him, exploding into light and sound.

He was in some kind of hospital, he thought. Doctors and nurses running about frantically around a bed. The giant surgical bulbs lasted light on the scene like an attack. Everyone was shouting, screaming. No, strike that. The doctors were shouting at the nurses, the nurses were shouting at each other, everyone milling about in a tizzy. Hatter -was that his name, Hatter? - wondered what all the hullabaloo was about. A man burst through the doors that had not been there a moment ago, his face a mask of fear and horror. He wore a black suit, white Spade at his shoulder and the number six. Two others, similarly dressed came in behind him. Since the doors were still partially open, their entrance couldn't really be considered a burst so much as a bump.

The two new men took hold of the first, pulling him back towards the doors they had all just come through. Well, that was just silly, wasn't it? Coming through a door just to go right back out the same way. The first man, Six, started shouting himself, adding his voice to the frenzied orchestra already playing their panicked symphony.

Above it all, like the trill of a violin, rose a singularly great and terrible screaming. This was coming from the bed at the center of the cacophony of sound and movement. Appropriate. A woman, wracked with pain, sweating, writhing. Her skin was pale as the sheets on which she lay, eyes so wide they were almost nothing but whites. She wore a hospital gown, blue with little ducks on it that seemed so wrong it was painful, open in the torso to reveal her far too round belly. She screamed and screamed without end, like a human teapot left too long on the burner.

One of the nurses abandoned her post, trying in vain to push Six back out the way he had entered. The man fought with the strength of a lion and wouldn't be budged. The woman reached for him as she screamed. A slash appeared on the taut skin of her stomach, blood spilling out over the paper-hued flesh. If her screaming had been loud before, now it was downright unnatural. The doctors redoubled their efforts, trying to save the woman from the monster killing her from within. Another slash, more blood and Hatter suddenly recognized the man trying to reach the woman.

"Dad?"

"Marinel!" his father shouted, trying frantically to reach his wife. His wife.

If this was his father and she his mother, that meant the horrible creature clawing its way out of her was… him.

Something in Hatter's mind broke and he started to scream himself, watching as his infant self so brutally murdered his own mother. One of the doctors looked up, separating himself from the frenzy and approaching where Hatter stood. "You can end it," the surgeon simpered, scrubs stained with his mother's blood.

"You can save her," a nurse agreed, joining the doctor, her pale skin and beady eyes identical to the other's above the white surgical mask she wore.

"How?" How could he be talking if he was still screaming?

"Tell us what you know," the doctor said reasonably, far too calm for what was going on only feet away. Another slash and Hatter's mother's screams had become deafening.

"Anything!" he promised. Anything to make it stop.

"The Great Library," the nurse said. "Where is it?"

"It's-" he tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't open. He had no mouth to open. Both the nurse and doctor looked at him in consternation. What the Hell had happened to his mouth?! His fingers searched his face, finding nothing but smooth skin where the orifice should be.

He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face as his mother writhed on the bed, his father shouting and trying in vain to reach her. If they wanted to know what he knew, why would they take away his means of communication? The purpose of the Truth Room was to glean information out of people, not just torture them pointlessly!

The Truth Room. He was in the Truth Room at the Happy Hearts Casino. Hatter remembered and, in remembering, understood it hadn't been the twins who'd cut off his speech. He'd done it to himself to keep from spilling his guts. His mouth was right where it should be, bunny teeth and all, under his banefully adorable button nose.

"No," he ground out, looking away from the scene. Or looking at it, as every time he tried to cast his gaze somewhere else, there it was again. Even closing his eyes didn't work, as when he closed them, it turned out he was opening them.

"No?" the doctor demanded irritated. "Don't you want to save her?"

"Yes," he admitted, shaking as the horrible tableau went on and on.

"Then tell us what we want to know," the nurse insisted crossly. The man shook his head.

"She's already dead. I can't save her. She's already dead." He said the words over and over, not to them, but himself. His mother was gone, had been gone since the moment he first drew breath and there was nothing he would ever be able to do about it. This wasn't real, this wasn't even how it really happened. Hatter drew a deep breath and closed his eyes.

They actually closed this time and when he opened them, he found himself standing in the center of a room made of black and white swirls, shifting around him disorientatingly. The nightmare was gone, thank you Cheshire, but his ordeal was far from over. Dum and Dee glared at him angrily.

"You can't win," one declared, crossing his arms.

"This is our best game," the other agreed, hands on hips.

"Playtime's over," Hatter told them firmly. The two growled in unison and he could feel the power of the room trying to drag him down again. Again, he fought it, but it was a losing battle. There was no way to stop the Truth Room from dipping into his mind. So he let it.

Hatter locked up all the terrible thoughts, all the fears and pains, all the hopes and dreams; locked them up tight in a little box with a secret catch. That left only his empty mind which, as it turned out, was a lot like the inside of a lava lamp. He looked about himself at the shifting globs of neon green. Seemed appropriate somehow. The twins were fuming. If they had hair, he was sure they would have been tearing it out at that moment.

"Cheater!" one shouted, pointing an accusing finger at him. Hatter only smirked. They certainly were sore losers.

"New game!" the other declared. A door from nowhere opened and several Suits flooded in.

"Shit."

If they couldn't break him with mental torture, they would just have to do it the old fashioned way. Neither twin seemed to mind, so long as he was in pain. Every strike, every new hurt was followed by a demand for answers. Every demand was answered first with a smart comment, then with a grunted curse, and finally with nothing at all as they beat him down and down. The Tweedles and their contingent of Suits beat him and battered him, hit him with everything they had - including, he was almost certain, a crochet mallet at one point. But he never gave in. As cowardly as he was, as weak as he was, Hatter knew this was one thing he could manage - keeping his mouth shut, no matter what it cost him.

When he could no longer stand up to their abuse, the Suits sat the man in a chair, hands bound to the arm rests, and left him to the twins' sadistic toying. There were no more questions asked, no more mercy offered in exchange for answers, only pain and laughter. He tried to distract himself, thinking of anything and everything, but the only thing that worked was Alice.

The girl was the most remarkable person he'd ever met and he'd met some pretty remarkable people. Remarked about all the time, they were. Dropped into a strange world and in mortal peril, the only thing she'd cared about was saving her boyfriend. Okay, that whole thing hadn't worked out so well, but it was her selfless determination that was so impressive. She was smart, too, his little oyster. Resourceful and, great griffins, she could fight!

And beautiful. It had made his heart stop when he'd seen her standing up on that hill, bathed in the setting sun's fiery glow. He'd thought her attractive standing drenched in his office, that flimsy dress sticking to every curve, her lovely legs bare, but it was nothing compared to her looking over the city in a knight's raiment altered to suit her shape. She was stunning and it had taken him a moment to get his wits back when she had looked down at him and he saw that she was happy to see him there. Among the choir flies, Alice had been downright ethereal, like an angel out of a storybook come to life. Actually, Hatter had once seen an angel come to life from a storybook and it looked nothing like Alice in that moment, but it should have. Ye Gods, he'd almost kissed her. Almost. Damn that princely Prick of Hearts.

But thinking about Alice when he had failed her so completely, was more of a torture than the beatings and soon he was using the physical pain inflicted on his body as a shield against his mind. Hatter had taken far more of a beating than he thought he would have been able and still remain alive, much less conscious. His ribs ached from the fists and feet that had struck him there, his hair was wet with sweat and he just knew it was a right mess. More of a mess than usual. Something had trickled down from his right ear and half dried, making his skin feel tight and itchy - blood - probably from the mallet. That ear was still ringing and he vaguely wondered, if he had survived, if it would ever have stopped.

He let out a shout of pain when the twin dancing around him- he'd lost track of which was which long ago - jabbed him in the side with a cattle prod. No shame in that; pain was painful and it didn't make you weak to acknowledge it. And they'd been going at him with that fucking prod for the last ten minutes, the bastards. This latest shock had distracted him from the door opening, which it must have done, because there were suddenly four in the room instead of three. Mad March approached and Hatter started to shake again, knowing his time was just about up.

"Leave us," the assassin ordered the twins. One of them was actually foolish enough to try and protest. "I said leave!"

Quickly, albeit grudgingly, they did as they were told. The one with the prod gave him one last parting jab, drawing another shout of pain. If Hatter had a hand free, he'd have shoved that wand right up the freak's ass and pulled the trigger. But there were more important things at hand - his own untimely demise.

"When is a raven like a writing desk?" he panted out, not sure why he'd chosen those words above all the others he could have said to his former friend and future murderer. "The clockwork's not ticking properly."

Maybe it was because they had been so close once upon a time. Maybe it was because those words had been some of the last they'd spoken the first time one of them killed the other. March's favorite riddle, Hatter's estimation of the other man's mental state. Where Robin Peddler might have been hiding: a city pub, "Maybe Crumbs in the Butter."

"Tell me where the Great Library is," March commanded. No reaction to the words. Why would there be? The man had been robotic and empty long before he got the voice to match. Hatter looked at the other, lips tight, jaw set, silent as the grave. "Yeah, I didn't think you'd crack."

It was nice to know that someone had faith in him, after all, Hatter decided. Well, someone other than Alice. She really had believed in him, hadn't she? Putting the ring in his hat like she had, telling Jack it was where she knew it wouldn't fall into the wrong hands. That meant she thought his hands were the right hands.

"In that case, there's no need to keep you alive." Hatter had known it would come to this. March pulled a knife from his sleeve, as Hatter had known he would. It was fitting it should end like this. He'd killed Matthew once, it was only fair that the other man a turn. "Too bad the girl is gonna lose her head tomorrow. She's a dish. Not really your type, though, Hatter."

It was just like March to get as many digs in as he could before finishing off his prey. Hatter's blood flowed like ice in his veins at the thought of Alice being… getting… His stomach rolled when he thought of her breathing her last breath. But she was still breathing now, wasn't she? Locked up somewhere in the airship, waiting to be executed. No one coming to save her.

Hatter's heart kick started again, his eyes darting around the room to take new stock of the situation. They were alone, not a Suit in sight. Even the twins had gone. And the only thing holding Hatter was a bit of strapping at either wrist. The bees in his brain started buzzing again.

"Twinkle, twinkle little bat," March recited the poem he and Hatter and Dormie had come up with at some point during a night of heavy drinking, which had become a favorite between the three friends. "How I wonder what you're at. Goodbye, Hatter."

March raised the knife and Hatter readied himself. "Goodbye, Matthew." His debt to the other man would have to be settled in another life. As the assassin lunged, Hatter kicked off the ground, sending the chair tipping backwards. The back hit the ground, jarring his injuries, but he barely felt it as he kicked out again, knocking his attacker back. Sliding his wrist down the arm of the chair, he gave himself the room to maneuver out of the seat and over the backrest.

Hatter got to his feet, lifting the chair as a shield between himself and March's razor sharp blade. He turned aside the first strike with the bent metal pipe legs of the chair. When the killer slashed at him again, this time a backhand, Hatter turned, offering up his wrist to the cutting edge. Like clockwork, the knife sliced right through the binding and freed his hand, his right hand, his sledgehammer. He reared back when the weapon came at him again, then snapped forward, putting all his momentum into the blow.

His fist connected with the rabbit head and the ceramic caved under his knuckles as easily as spun glass. March went down, twitching, the mechanism contained in the false head crackling and spitting sparks. Hatter lifted his boot and stomped on it, bringing an end to Mad March for the second time. He picked up the knife and cut through the strap that still held him to the chair and was free. Relatively free. He was still in the Truth Room, in the casino.

How the Hell was he supposed to get out? The moment he thought it, a door appeared. Good old Truth Room. Hatter started for the exit, but stopped just before grabbing the handle. He must look a sight, bloody and bruised. He'd be spotted right off as out of place if he ran out into the corridor looking like this. He looked around and on the ground a few feet away were his hat and coat. Wincing against the pain it cause, he pulled on the jacket. He ran fingers through his hair, trying to tame it just a little but before settling his hat on his head.

Yes, he was still bruised and bloodied, but at least he looked a bit put together. Right. Hatter opened the door and peeked into the hall. Empty. Lucky. He walked quickly, but carefully, retracing his steps the way he'd been dragged. His goal was the lift that would take him to the Royal airship, where he was dead certain Alice would be kept until tomorrow. This was crazier than trying to break her out of the casino in the first place had been, but that didn't stop him. His Alice needed him and come Hell or high water he would get to her. The ring, the Resistance, Hell, the whole rest of Wonderland could keep for the time being; it would still be there to worry about when Alice was safe and sound. Until then, nothing else mattered.

If you don't like the reasoning behind Hatter's rambling to March, I'm sorry. I tried my best to have it make sense. Hope this chapter lived up to your expectations.