A/N: Hey there. I'm so sorry about my five-or-six month hiatus. And I have a perfectly good reason, but I'll put it at the bottom in case you're not interested.

So anyways, I'm back now and it feels good. It really does. This may be my longest chapter yet. I may not be updating as regularly as before, partially because I'm not 100% sure how all of the pieces I have written are going to fit together, but I'll see how it goes. The Storybrooke scene in this chapter is one of the first ones I wrote for this story. It's changed significantly since then, but the idea remains. With that, I leave you. Enjoy. And again, I'm sorry to keep you waiting.

Disclaimer: Do I still need this? Fine. If you recognize it, odds are it's not mine.

Chapter 6

"Well, I was sixteen when suddenly

I wasn't that little girl you used to see

But your eyes still shined like pretty lights

And our daddies used to joke about the two of us

They never believed we'd really fall in love

And our mamas smiled and rolled their eyes

And said oh my my my..."

/-*-*-*-\

As she fell, Alice thought off-handedly that it was a very good thing she was still wearing her riding trousers, as she was tumbling head-over-heels in a way that would have had a dress flopping over her head in a very improper way. She reached the bottom faster than she expected and so hit the floor with a 'humph' as the air left her lungs. Catching her breath, she looked around the room she had landed in. It was large and round with a marble floor and too many doors to count. Every door looked like it would take her somewhere different and exciting, but her eye caught on a looking-glass, similar to the one she had just fallen through. Shrugging, she figured that there was a good a chance as any that it would take her back home. Taking another deep breath, she stood and started towards it. Here goes. She stepped through, shivering again at the feeling, and her face fell when she looked around and saw that she was definitely not home.

Oh well. She turned to go back through the mirror and find a door that would take her home, and was shocked when she ran into solid glass. Oh no. Banging against it with her fists, feet, and a rock she had found on the ground, she found after a few minutes that the only thing it would accomplish would be giving her sore hands and feet. Defeated, she slid down the plain old mirror until she was sitting on the ground with her back to the glass. Her eyes closing in exasperation, her only thought was that her mother would be furious. So lost in her sorrow, she didn't notice the two short but strong men walking up to her until they each grabbed an arm and hoisted her to her feet. Only then did she gasp and fall back against the mirror.

"Who are you?" one of them asked flatly.

"And how did you get here?" asked the other in an eerily similar manner.

When she examined them, she noticed that everything about them was eerily similar. They each wore a pair of black trousers and a different colored shirt. The one on the left's was blood red, and the right's was deep blue, but other than that, they were identical. Both were completely bald and had schooled their expressions into cool indifference, as if it didn't matter whether or not she answered at all. Regaining her footing, she introduced herself as Alice King, and explained that she was pulled through a looking-glass. Upon her saying this, they looked at each other and then back at her in such perfect synchronization that she felt rather uneasy.

"Um, am I where I think I am?" she questioned hesitantly. They looked to each other and back at her again, and it made her nervous enough to say, "And could you please not do that anymore? It's unsettling."

"Well, Alice King," blue-shirt stressed her name, as if he doubted that was even her real name, "I suppose that all depends upon where it is you think you are. But if you think you're welcome here, then it isn't so, nohow."

"Contrariwise," red-shirt continued, not missing a beat, "if it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn't, it ain't. That's logic."

Alice, very confused for the third time in the past hour, sighed deeply and asked, "Could you please just tell me where I am?"

The two men looked to each other, nodded sharply, and looked back to her, replying in unison:

"You're in Wonderland."

Humming lightly as she dusted the shelves and tables, Carol considered the changes to her life since her release almost two weeks ago. Only two? she thought with a start. It feels more like twelve. However, she supposed, they say that time flies when you're having fun, and was she ever. Between her "tea parties" (and occasional girl's nights) with Ruby and her days with Jefferson, she was, for the first time in recent memory, happy. True, compared to the hospital, anything would be better, but the sentiment remained accurate.

The bell above the door rang and Carol looked up from her cleaning. The woman at the door, blonde-haired and wearing a red leather jacket, looked around for a moment, slightly amused for some reason. Carol cleared her throat and smiled warmly (she hoped). "How can I help you?"

"Emma Swan, Sheriff" the woman explained. "I need to talk to your boss."

"He's not to be disturbed," Carol replied. "Could you maybe come back later?"

"I really need to talk to him. And I'm not going anywhere, so disturb away."

Sighing, she set her dust rag and furniture polish on the checkout counter. "Follow me." The two women walked through the curtain into the break room and Carol gestured to a chair. "Please, sit." While the Sheriff did just that, Carol knocked on her boss's office door.

"Come in."

She opened the door to find him sitting at his work table, deeply focused on a hat. "I'm sorry Mr. Andrews," she began, half-annoyed and half-nervous, "but there's a woman here to see you. She says she's the sheriff. Is this a bad time?"

"No," he smirked, setting down the hat he was working on, "I'll be out in a moment."

"Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you, Carol."

Shutting the door, Carol turned to face Emma. "Can I offer you some tea or coffee?"

"Coffee, please. Black." Carol poured a cup and handed it to the waiting Sheriff's hands. After taking a tentative sip, Emma commented, "I haven't seen you around. Are you new in town?"

"No," Carol replied quickly, tensing. "I've lived here for as long as I can remember. I just, uh, never really went out very much." Smooth, she scolded herself.

After a slightly awkward pause, Emma tried again to make conversation, "What made you decide to take this job?"

"Well, it pays the bills for one. Also, there's just something about this place. It feels... familiar," Carol shrugged. "Then again, maybe I just like it."

Finally emerging from his office, Jefferson said, "Good afternoon, Sheriff."

"Jefferson," she greeted curtly, standing from her place at the table. "We need to talk."

"I figured as much. Miss Parker?" He turned to her, pulling his wallet from his pocket. When she approached, he handed her some bills. "Would you be so kind as to run down to Granny's and pick up some lunch? My usual, please."

"Right away, sir." She turned to leave, but Jefferson gently grasped her wrist.

"Wait." Taking an additional step towards her, he ran a hand through her hair. She lost herself in the moment as she, almost instinctively, leaned into his touch. When his hand re-emerged, a feather between his first two fingers, she was still swimming in his eyes. "You had a feather in your hair," he smiled softly. "Have you been trying on hats?"

"Yes," she practically whispered, trying and failing to not sound as affected as she felt.

"Good," he smiled. "Any that you like?"

"A few."

"Excellent," he breathed, allowing his eyes to drift down to her slightly parted lips.

Across the room, Emma cleared her throat, effectively breaking the spell.

Carol blinked rapidly and took a large step back, Jefferson's hands falling unceremoniously to his sides. "Right. Lunch," she reminded herself, all but fleeing the room. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Jefferson let her go, glaring at the sheriff. "Take your time." She scurried out of the room, grabbing her purse, and he heard her fast-walk out the front door. "And what exactly was that for?"

"I didn't come here to watch you play tonsil hockey with your clerk."

Jefferson raised an eyebrow. "I certainly hope not. And she's not a clerk, she's my assistant. Why are you here?"

Not having any of his crap, Emma planted her hands on her hips. "Did I not clearly say that if you ever bothered that Paige girl again I would arrest you?" Jefferson nodded, unsure where this was going. "Then why did I see her leaving your store?"

Relaxing, he shrugged, "Is it my fault her and her friends like to come in after school and try on hats?"

"She was alone."

"Maybe sometimes she comes by herself. I wouldn't know, because as soon as school lets out, I retreat into my office and don't come out for several hours. If my assistant was here, she would tell you the same thing."

"Well, she isn't."

"And you're not going to take my word for it."

"Nope."

"I expected as much. However, I do know whose word you can take." The man expectantly pointed in the direction of the front door. Before Emma could ask for more information, the bell above the front door rang and small voice called out for Carol. Retracting his finger, he smirked, "Right on time."

Emma turned from him and entered the main shop floor, stopping dead when she saw three young girls wandering about the shop and whispering amongst themselves. One she recognized as Paige Chapman, who was supposedly actually the Mad Hatter's daughter Grace. Another girl with golden ringlets was Gretchen Lockwood, the adopted daughter of the Osborne family, and the third girl, Tanya Bloom according to Henry, was short but slender with a pale blonde pixie cut and striking green eyes.

"If you'll excuse me," Jefferson said, pushing past her, "I have a shop to run." Taking his place behind the counter, he folded his hands on the flat surface. "How can I help you young ladies?" They immediately halted their whispering and turned to look at him.

"Is Carol here?" asked Gretchen.

"No. I'm afraid she's gone out for a late lunch. I'm Mr. Andrews, I own this store."

"If you own it," Paige commented, "how come you're never out here?"

"I spend most of my time in the back," he answered with a pointed look at the Sheriff, "making the hats."

Tanya smiled widely and cried out, "You make all of these?"

"And who is this?"

Hatter turned from sharpening his sword when Dee and Dum entered his tent, and it remained in his hand as he took in the sight of the bound and gagged girl they brought with them. She was struggling and shouting through the gag, but when she saw him, all of the fight drained out of her. Her eyes lingered on the broadsword in his hand, then snapped up to his, nervous but unafraid. And so green… So familiar…

"Found this one by the looking-glass," said Dee, interrupting his musings. "Says she needs to talk to you."

(He only knew which one was Dee and which was Dum due to their shirts. Today, Dee was in red and Dum was in blue. It was the only concession the Tweedles made in regards to their similarity to each other, and it was an uphill battle to get them to agree to even that much.)

"And how is she any different than the other spies the Red Queen has sent to find us?" Jefferson asked, testing the edge of the blade with his finger. Perfect.

"This one asked for Jefferson Andrews specifically," said Dum.

He tensed. Impossible. No one outside of the innermost circle of the organization knew his true name. No one else knew he even had a real name. "Remove the gag," he ordered stoically. They did, and before she could speak, he moved the sword to rest on her shoulder, just close enough to her throat to be nice and threatening. It did the trick, and she stiffened, but kept her eyes fixed on his. "Who are you and how do you know my name?"

"Because you told it to me," she insisted with a quiet intensity. "Jefferson, it's me, Alice. Alice King. Don't you remember me?"

"No," he breathed, eyes widening. No, I sent her home. She's safe. She promised. It's a trick. A trap. "Tweedles, you're excused. Feed your head." The two men by the door echoed the sentiment and ducked out. Once they were gone, Jefferson's features quickly contorted into angry confusion and he moved the blade so it brushed against the column of her neck. "How do you know about her?"

Panic began to seep into her tone, and her eyes flickered back and forth between his face and the sword. "I am her! Jefferson, please, you have to believe me."

"Stop calling me that. Who told you about her?"

"No one! Just let me explain!"

"Why the hell should I?" he snarled. "You're not Alice."

Her features hardened unexpectedly, and she hissed, "How do you know?"

So the girl had fire. Good. She'd need it. "Because Alice, my Alice, would never return to Wonderland." Not after she promised me she wouldn't.

"What if she was to return accidentally?" fake-Alice countered. "What if your Alice fell through a mirror and came to the one person she thought she could trust to get her back home again because that's what he did last time?"

Silence fell over the tent, and he removed the sword from her shoulder but kept it trained on her. "Alright, Alleged Alice. When my Alice came to Wonderland ten years ago, what was the first creature we encountered in the Tulgey Wood?"

"A Moss Woman," the girl answered without hesitation. "You defeated her using water from the marsh of a boggart."

"And what did I give her before she went through the portal?"

"Nothing. You kissed my hand and told me not to forget you." She smiled. "And I haven't."

It wasn't possible. It just wasn't. It's feasible the Moss Women might have gossiped about his last encounter with them, but no one else was around when he sent Alice off except for the bread-and-butterflies, who had no lips. He let his arm fall to his side and took a step towards her. Looking at her face, really looking, he supposed it might be possible that the girl was speaking true. His eyes raked over her features and took in her pixie-like nose and strong cheekbones, and then her eyes. Those all-too-familiar green eyes that silently begged him to remember. "Alice?"

A grin shot across her face and she relaxed. "Yes!"

He dropped the sword like it was made of fire and threw his arms around her. "I'm so sorry. If I'd have known…" You would have done the same thing, his mind finished. He released her and went around to unbind her hands. "Why did you come back?"

"I didn't mean to. I thought I saw something colorful in the reflection, I reached out for it and something pulled me through the looking-glass." Once they were free, she stretched her hands and brought them back around to her front.

Coming back around to her front, he briefly looked her up and down. "You've, um," he started nervously, scratching the back of his neck, "grown, quite a bit."

Alice blushed a deep crimson and her eyes dropped to her feet. "Yes, that tends to happen in ten years. You don't look too bad yourself."

"That tends to happen in ten years," he echoed teasingly.

"Apparently. So," she said suddenly, gesturing to the maps and weapons and sketches that littered the tent, "what's all of this?"

Simultaneously regretting and thankful for the change in subject, Jefferson picked up the sword he dropped and placed it in its case. "The Wonderland Insurgency," he explained. "Top secret resistance movement against the Red Queen."

"And 'feed your head'? What happened to, 'it's an old Wonderland tradition'?" jested Alice, raising an eyebrow. She had taken a seat in a nearby chair and looked up at him.

"Well, I did tell you I was lying," he shrugged, smiling. As he spoke, he crossed to a desk across the tent where a teapot and some cups sat and began to pour. "The Wonderland Insurgency has been underground for years before I was even born. When March and Dormouse took me in, they told me all about it."

"Where are they? I've thought about them, too."

He paused. "Dead. The Red Queen killed them." He saw her face fall as he turned and brought her a cup. "Her troops did a raid of the Tulgey Wood about two years ago, looking for resistance followers. They found March and Dormouse, along with our former leader, the Dodo. They were all executed, but they had appointed me head of the organization if anything were to happen to them the previous year."

Placing her hand on top of his around her teacup, her eyes met his. "I'm so sorry." She took her tea and asked, "So, what are your plans?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you," he sighed, leaning against a table. "Surely you understand."

"Yes, I think I do."

"I really am sorry. But, surely things have changed for you as well?"

"Well, not quite so drastically," Alice sighed, slumping in her seat. "The aristocracy is a bore, as always. I've only turned eighteen last month, and my mother has already begun to line up suitors for me."

Jefferson's grip on his teacup tightened and he felt cold inside, but he forced himself to relax and ignore the strange feeling of wrongness in the pit of his stomach. "Oh?" he asked, praying she didn't note the tightness in his tone. "And how is that coming along?"

"Dreadfully. They're all terribly dull company," she replied. If she had noticed his reaction, she didn't show it. "All they talk of is trust funds and propriety and what wonderful husbands they'd make because their father owns this, or their mother is descended from a long line of that's. Not to mention, some of them are at least twice my age! Can you believe that?"

"Appalling," he agreed, suddenly feeling a lot better for reasons he refused to look too closely at.

"I keep telling her, I want to marry for love. Is that so much to ask?" she implored, sipping tea.

"Not at all. I'd say it's your right to decide who you're going to spend the rest of your life with. It's a very important decision, and politics should be kept out of it."

"Exactly," she punctuated with a nod of her head. "Why is that such a difficult concept for her to understand?"

Jefferson could only shrug. "Some people just don't understand love because they've never truly had it."

"Have you?"

Looking deeply into her eyes, he couldn't be sure what possessed him to say, "Perhaps." (At least that's what he told himself.)

He held her in place with his gaze for a moment longer, before she jumped up, looking anywhere but him. "Well, now that I've found you, what say we get me back home? This was, after all, an accidental adventure, and I really must be going before anyone notices my absence."

"I'm afraid it won't be quite as simple as that this time," he sighed, standing.

"Why not? Just grab your hat, give it a spin, and off I go."

He laughed softly, taking a few steps towards her. "I don't have my hat."

"What?"

"When the Queen's troops raided the woods, they found my hat. They interrogated March and Dormouse, but they refused to give me up. When they left, they took the hat with them. I imagine it's hidden deep within her castle somewhere. The good news is there haven't been any portals sighted, so she probably hasn't figured out how it works."

Slumping back down in her seat, Alice huffed out a breath. "So, how am I to return home? I got the feeling that the looking-glass was a one-way trip."

"Yes, that's generally how it works." He swirled his remaining tea in the cup, then tentatively suggested, "You could always stay." Alice looked at him abruptly and he explained. "We're planning something big very soon. Something that will remove the Red Queen from power. Then, her sister the White Queen will assume the throne, and all will be well in Wonderland once more."

She actually considered the idea, biting her lip and seemingly fascinated with the dregs of her tea. "That sounds like a wonderful idea. And I have missed all the colors, but I have to go home." She stood and handed him her cup. "As dreadful as she is, my mother will miss me. As will my brother and sister. Surely you understand."

"Of course."

"And besides, if the Red Queen is gone, couldn't you go in and get your hat?"

"Yes, I suppose I could," he mused. "Either way, we won't be ready for some time, but we're getting close." Placing their cups back by the teapot, he smiled at her. "So am I safe in assuming that you'll need a place to stay until then?"

"Well, I should think so," she smiled in return.

"Wonderful." He walked over to the entrance flap of the tent and stuck his head out, calling out, "Walrus, could you come here for a moment?"

A moment later, a dark-skinned man with a thick handlebar mustache entered the tent. "Yes, Hatter?"

"Walrus, this is Alice," said Jefferson. "Alice, Walrus." She held out her hand and Walrus bent and kissed it, his whiskers tickling her skin. "Alice will be staying with us for a while. Would you kindly show her to an empty tent?"

"A tent?" Alice asked tentatively, frowning softly.

Jefferson smiled. "I think you'll find it quite comfortable," he assured.

"Right away, sir," said Walrus.

"Get some rest," said Jefferson to Alice. "I imagine you need it."

Holding out his arm for her to take, Walrus smiled, "Right this way, Miss Alice."

"Thank you," she smiled, taking his arm. They walked out of the tent and down a row of several more at a leisurely pace. After a moment, Alice asked, "So, your name is Walrus?"

"No," the man laughed. "We've all been assigned code names and partners. Hatter really has done wonderful things for the Insurgency."

"It does seem quite efficient," she agreed. "And who is your partner, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Not at all. I'm partnered with Carpenter."

"Is he good with wood?"

"Sort of," he shrugged, "but he works more with metal. He's crafted most of the weapons for the organization. Swords, arrowheads, those kinds of things."

A touch confused, Alice said, "Well shouldn't he be Blacksmith, then?"

"Our names are actually based on an old poem," Walrus clarified. "Same with Tweedledee and Tweedledum, the gentlemen who escorted you to our base of operations."

"That's putting it mildly," huffed Alice.

"I'll admit they're a bit rough around the edges," he conceded, "which makes them excellent enforcers, but they sort of grow on you."

Alice raised an eyebrow. "You'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it."

"Of course. Here we are," he announced, stopping in front of a rather small-looking tent. Alice looked at it disbelievingly, but took a breath and stepped inside.

That breath quickly left her lungs as she explored the area. There must have been some sort of enchantment on the tent because it was at least twice the size of her bedroom at home. The walls were a light lavender and when she looked up, they met in a point at the top adorned by an elaborate crystal chandelier. A king-sized bed rested in the corner alongside a vanity and an armoire and there was a wash basin behind a partition and a small chest filled with soaps and perfumes of varying fragrances. "My goodness!" she finally gasped. "This is where I'll be staying?"

While she was looking around, Walrus simply looked on with a knowing smile. "Yes. I'm sure you'll be very content here. Hatter is very accommodating."

"Yes, I can see that," she breathed. "Thank you very much, Mr. Walrus. And, um, feed your head?"

"Feed your head, Miss Alice," he smiled and ducked out of the tent.

Once he was gone, Alice laughed and smiled widely as she continued to survey her surroundings. I think I may like it here.

5,000 Space Bucks goes to whoever can tell me who Paige's friends are. (Sorry, I watched Spaceballs the other day.)

Also I've decided on a face for my Alice. Meaning the face and voice I try to put in for Alice while I'm writing. I've chosen Tatiana Maslany because she has the right facial structure and eyes and apparently she can do anything.

Song is "Mary's Song (Oh My My My)" by Taylor Swift because how could I not?

So. My reason. It's kind of a long story, but I'll try and compress it as best as I can. (Trigger warning: suicide)

I was extremely invested in the Drama program at my high school, and this past year we got a new director. She was an English teacher at a Catholic middle school and basically had no experience running a Drama program at all. At her sort of "getting to know you" meeting before the school year started, she handed out a syllabus that talked about her evil plans for the year. I sort of glanced over what I needed to read and didn't give it much thought. However, when I got home, my mom, who read the entire thing, pointed out that she was basically going to give every performance for the fall to the Musical Theatre class, which was just added that year. I wasn't in the class because I didn't have room in my schedule for two acting classes and when the school has tried to do a Musical Theatre class in the past, there were never enough people signed up to make it happen, and I didn't want to risk it. So I picked Acting 3, which shared its class period with Acting 2 and 4. My mother was outraged, and I was heartbroken. I went on the troupe's Facebook page and "thanked" the director for taking away the one thing that makes school worth going to. When classes started, all she did for the first few weeks was play games, and no one seemed to be taking the class seriously, so I dropped it. At that point, I just fell into a tailspin. I mourned the loss of my stage. Hell, I'm tearing up just writing this and it's been almost a year. My mom, voice coach, and I looked into a few local community theaters so I could maintain my skills, but I lost interest after a while. I started losing my appetite, my grades started slipping because I just didn't care. In short, having my stage ripped from under me launched me into a depression that culminated in an attempt to take my own life on December 17, 2013. I will remember that day for the rest of my life. I put a bottle of nail polish remover to my lips and the only thing that stopped me from drinking it was looking at my bookshelf and realizing I had too many books I still wanted to read. I wrote a note to my mother for her to find in the morning telling her what happened, and we got me help. I went into therapy and started taking anti-depressants and I'm doing so much better now. I have more energy and happiness than I've had in a very long time; I'm thinking clearly and precisely and I have so many ideas for things to write. I have friends and family who support me, and… hell, I might even be in love. The incompetent woman who killed my stage is being replaced for this year, but I won't be seeing how the new one does. I'm moving two hours away from here to attend a performing arts high school by where my stepdad and his son live.

And that's what I did over my summer vacation. Cut. Print. That's a wrap.