*peeks around the corner* Umm hi? I know I have been horribly, utterly, totally MIA on this fic, but as I promised, it was NEVER truly abandoned even though it's been... Good lord has it actually been more than a year? *totally ashamed* I just had to get the crazy wonderland plotbunny away from the raptor it was chewing on. Plus, I'm a part of PriWriMo this year, which rocks for yall, because my personal goal is a chapter of HoW a week. Will I manage it in the long run? Who knows! But I'm sure going to try!

BTW, this chapter is... well... Odd. Cat decided it was her turn to be in charge, and her mental voice is just as crazy as the rest of her. Have fun!

(No I don't own Alice of Primeval. Quit asking already! ...though, yes, Cat belongs solely to me. And herself. And Duchess... and and and...

Chapter 4: Of Dreaming and Bookends

Cat barely noticed her Alicia Duchess had left at all, so focused was she on the man dreaming in the bed beside her. He was a nice sort of fuzzy, she thought, though rather fluffy in spots. His hair in particular was completely out of bounds, she decided. She sneaked a look toward the door, checking for Duchess or sneaky snaky card sharks, and seeing the coast was clear or as clear as a pile of sand and rocks and salt could ever really be, she turned back to the Stephen-deer and carefully attempted to flatten the hair on his forehead with one gloved hand. Obstinately, the fluff fought her attempts to tame it, and her right hand, now definitely aware of what the left was up to, joined in until she was rather spastically petting his hair in a vain attempt to get it under some semblance of control. Hopefully the Stephen was not quite so vain as her hands appeared to be, as clearly his hair would never lie flat properly. Shame.

The Cheshire flopped back down on the pillow of snuggly she'd claimed as her own, and surveyed the man beside her again, more for lack of anything better to do than because she liked the look of him. No body could like the look of him that much, she was sure, to just stare and stare and stare again for hours like a loon. Not at just a person, that would be dreadfully dull and not fun at all. Surely not fun at all.

Staring at a Stephen Hart-not-Heart's dreams, well that was another issue entirely. Any Cheshire worth her salt-and-pepper could dally for a day or more if the dreams themselves were worth the look. And hadn't the prissy Kingly Knave of Hearts insisted they needed more information about who and what the Hart-dear was? Yes, yes he had. That was practically an order if not an excuse for a Cat to wander her curious away about. She nodded to herself, her head bobbing like a bobbin in the fishy lake. She certainly wouldn't be looking without permission, no not at alls.

If the Stephen seemed a bit perturbed by the notion when he woke, well he surely should have sooner waked then, shouldn't he? Yes, yes, he should.

Firmly decided for the moment's contemplative times, at least, Cat pushed herself back up to sit then crossed her legs and set elbows on knees and hand on chins in the proper Cheshire posing pose. Her left hand shifted shiftily until her fingers crept close enough to her mouth that she could nibble on the nails without much effort. The glove had just leaped off on its own, she realized in shock; Duchess would be all hot and crossed when she saw what there was to see. Stupid, disobedient glove. Just like the Hart's hair it was.

She released the captive fingertips from her lips and shook her head to clear her mind to clarity and then opened her eyes wider than widest and looked into the once-a-Wonderlander's dreams.

They were strangely ordered for a Wonderlander, and she wondered whether that was due to his drifting in the deep and dark of Oysterland for quite so long. But how long? She asked as if the slumbering Stephen would answer her silent thoughts. He looked almost the King's age, but who could really tell when the days beyond the mirror were so steady and stable? Surely such a stasis state would stretch a Wonderland's sense of time, physically as well as mentally or emotionally or emotionlessly as might be the case this case. Either way, old and weary or young whipperlander, he had surely been there longer than anyone else since the Queen took power. Even with the back and forth of card kidnappers, none had every taken up residence as such. Such a thing would likely be dangerous for any Wonderlander. Any one at all.

The thought was enough to drive her to think more clearly than she had in quite some time. How this Stephen must have suffered over there. All alone. She reached out a hand again and stroked his forehead tremulously. Cat hadn't seen a dream of family, mother, father, sister, nuncle. No one while he was a child. Why had they gone and left him so?

The king hadn't said, hadn't cared to notice so she knew. Or if he had he'd kept it close, kept it buried in his heart-of-Hearts. She'd have to ask, she decided. It might be needful for her to know.

She gave him one last pat and then settled back into her pose. So, no family, for shame, for sure. What about a Clan he chose or chose him? If he had one, they'd be missing him for sure, a Stephen-deer like this one.

Cat peered past the layers of pain and guilt and shame for something long past littering over the heart of him. In between and below were tiny sparks of self-worth and loyalty and family and love and and and… sacrifice. The bitter tasting glimpse of it was enough to make her sit up straighter, she who was all too painfully aware of what a sacrifice was worth. Everything. Everyone a Hart chose to sacrifice for. He had someone waiting, he must, she says, he must.

Eyes unblinking, she forced herself to focus best she could, as fast she could while this clarity was still clarity and not some distant sanity. She needed to know. Needed it.

After a moment or a decade, the figures around him began to clear, faces and smiles and names and places becoming real when before they were only dreaming. The first to appear was the Hatter-not Connor-so that she'd all but met before, the smiling youth with so much madcap genius in his silly little smiles that Cat thought she liked the sound of him already. He had a mate, or so she guessed by the longing lusting loving looks that sparked off hot between them. Like bookends they were in the library Cat had never gotten lost in or so she would absolutely swear if asked. What library? Exactly. She nodded sharply at the thought and tilted her head, eyeing the little blonde bit again. Feisty that one, she decided with her locks as sharp as her tongue and temper. She might be sweet beneath the bones, though, or so the lickle lizard seemed to think that as it swooped and soured about of wings of not-envy green. The not-a-Hatter seemed sure of it, too, hovering about as if she'd melt like sugar before him. Not likely though.

Never mind her hand reached in turn for his. Didn't matter yet. Too many volumes between them. Bookends, bookends. Have to remove the issues before they'd end up side by side properly. Pity. They'd wrap themselves around her Stephen if they could, she realized. Keep him close and part of them. Part of the little family they were building around themselves and the pretty little home they'd made all unknowingly.

Another male came into view, and as he did he seemed to stretch and bleed into everyone's dream she could get her eyes on. The bookends certainly seemed stuck to him somehow. Was he a shelving unit? Hee, unit. She giggled a bit then hunched down and looked about a bit embarrassed. Fairly certain her impropriety had gone un-witnessed or remarked by everyone who wasn't in the room, she glanced tentatively back to the man, gaze certainly no where near his unit. He was…. Cutter, she discovered. Gracious what company her Hart-dear was keeping: a Cutter and a Connor. That just seemed unsafe some how. Intriguing, perhaps, but decidedly unsafe.

There was something about this scruffy one that drew the eye, much like the Stephen-deery did. Charisma. She repeated the word to herself, tasting it on her tongue to catch its flavor. Mmmm that was part of it, she thought, part of the lure that drew people in within his reach. He was unaware of it, luckily for the rest of the Oysters on the little island. The depth of his focus seemed to impress his own importance upon others, too. Not that… she frowned and leaned closer to the dream floating in thick air. This one, the Cutter didn't think himself of any importance at all. How strange…

Stephen thought otherwise. Stephen had… She shuddered and flinched away from her second glimpse of the nightmare Stephen had chosen to enter on Cutter's behalf. Had chosen without regret or hesitation or any of the normal sane emotions a body felt when faced with death and dismemberment and a journey down the gullet of a bloody not-a-wocky. Stephen, Stephen, Stephen, why oh why did you make such a deadly choice?

A woman suddenly stepped confidently out of the mist and into the forefront of Stephen's unquiet dreams. He frowned a little in his sleep, and Cat reached out to soothe him with her little hands against his cheeks, her eyes still fixed on the bitch before her. Something about the woman set her hackles ranging, and she suddenly fought the urge to claw her eyes out. Helen Cutter. Helen. Cutter. Every voice in Stephen's head seemed to scream it out in rage, in contempt, in in in despair, in fear, in desperation! Cat brought both hands up to her ears, trying desperately to block out the sound from her mind. Worse still were the whispers of her name, those somehow thick with desire and regret and a lingering wish for affection.

Comprehension flared in Cat's eyes and she shook her head furious at the lot of them.

What the bloody hell had Stephen been thinking taking up with a harpy like this one? Even more, what the hell had the Cutter been thinking to actually marry the witch? Every one of Cat's catastrophic instincts warned her far, far away from the influence of this one. Helen Cutter was just bad, bad, bad and vicious and every bit as selfish and self serving as the Queen of Hearts had been.

She was destroying them, Cat mourned, tears slipping from her open eyes without her knowing. The woman would rip every shred of the good and gracious parts of these two men and the Clan they worked so hard to become. All their hopes and dreams and quiet wishes would vanish if Helen Cutter had her way.

She wouldn't have her way, Cat decided, steel weaving its way inside to straighten her spine and solidify her resolve. She have to convince the Stephen-deer that the woman was now the enemy, no matter what had once passed between them. In Cat's opinion, the Helen had likely been an enemy of anyone but herself even before their past took place however many years ago.

Once the Stephen believed, the Cutter wouldn't be too far behind, if he wasn't convinced already. He might just be, Cat decided with another glance over to the freckly form of him. Clan was sacred, was more than family. Anyone who played Clan against each other was not to be trusted, no they bloody well were not.

Hopefully the Cutter had learned that by now. Hopefully they all would soon enough.

Cat finally allowed herself to sink down to rest her head back against her snuggly, her eyes finally drifting closed grateful their task was complete for now.

Her eyes shot open after only a moment though, realizing something before Cat even had. They would have to give the Stephen-deer back to those he came from. Oh the Jack King was not going to be pleased by this. No, no he likely wasn't. Not after all the effort and rabbity work it had taken to find the Hart-dear in the first place.

She nibbled her thumbnail. Maybe maybe maybe someone else could tell him so. Yes, that would be a proper plan. Leave the crazy Cheshire to do it and he'd likely be cross as cross. But maybe Duchess with her shiny and her slinky and her absolutely diamond will. Cat giggled at the thought; the King of Hearts wouldn't know what hit him if Alicia Duchess decided to stand against him. She wasn't all soft around the edge if she didn't really want to be.

Cat knew that better than anyone she did indeed. She shifted to her side, bringing the slumbering Hart back into proper view.

Only he wasn't all sleepy byes now was he? Bright blue eyes with confusion etched across them were drifting open to find her staring face. He blinked, and she grinned and sat up straight.

"You're awakened dear Stephen. That's lovely!" Cat grinned even wider as he blinked again. "Welcome to Wonderland my deer."