Sorry this took so long. I have been dealing with more laptop issues and also this chapter was really hard for me, for some odd reason. Thanks to all my readers and reviewers!

Chapter XXIV: Turning the Tables

They had him lashed to a chair with ropes drawn so tight they ran dangerously close to cutting off circulation. Blood trickled down the side of his face where he had been struck, an unexpected physical act from the Tweedles who had built their reputation upon prying into a person's mind without ever having to use touch. He did not mind the physical pain so much. It brought him a measure of focus, ironically enough. He would much rather dwell on the physical hurts of his body rather than the raging sea of agony his heart swam in.

But the Tweedles were perceptive. They sniffed out his grief like a pair of bloodhounds, and that was the weapon they chose to wield against him.

"Brother dear, do enlighten, what sort of sound does a human body make when it falls over a thousand feet?" one of the twins sneered, a cruel smile etched on his pallid features.

Hatter stiffened in his bonds, drawing in a harsh breath.

"A splat, a crack, a splish, a splash," the other responded in a sing-song voice. They danced around Hatter, their malevolent cackling weaving around him in their wake.

"Just like Humpty Dumpty…although that oyster was certainly not so humpty, was she, boy?" a Tweedle, Dee or Dum, prodded.

"Hmm, yes, such a pretty little oyster," the other (or the same one) mused.

They continued to dance a circle around him, their remarks blending into one horrible litany.

"A pearl."

"Fierce."

"Dead."

"In pieces, no doubt."

"Fell off a wall."

"Had a great fall."

"And all the king's horses and all the king's men…"

"Can't put that little oyster back together again!"

The grief he felt over losing Alice was still so fresh, like a living thing. These taunts of the Tweedles slipped through his shoddy defenses and stirred it up. Tears welled up, spilling on his cheeks. His control deteriorated.

"Shut up!" he screamed hoarsely.

This seemed to only provoke more mad laughter from the doctors. They took extreme pleasure in poking at his emotional wounds. How this was to accomplish garnering information from him, he was not certain. Perhaps it was meant to break him down, drown in him misery until he no longer cared about the fate of the Resistance. The joke was on them. One could not break something which has already been broken. And, on a more maudlin note, selling out when he had professed just the day before to have thrown his lot in with the Resistance seemed like a betrayal of Alice. It would certainly make her death meaningless.

No…that could never be meaningless.

"Oh, but wait, perhaps all the king's horses and all the king's men can put the little oyster back together again…" The speaker leaned down as he spoke, lowering his voice to a mocking hiss. Hatter felt the sensation of ice trickling down his spine. His heart skipped a few beats as he realized the implication behind those words.

Death was not always permanent in Wonderland. There were times when the queen found someone too amusing or too useful to allow a silly thing like dying get in the way. Mad March had been her favorite and most successful assassin, though he had always walked a fine line between being an asset and being a liability. March did not kill people simply for the money or to please the queen; he had reveled in true pleasure over taking lives. The queen had not minded his homicidal mania. Indeed, she very nearly had reveled in it herself. So long as his violent tendencies were directed to those the queen considered undesirable (which was a lengthy list, so March had his picks), the man had basically been free to kill whomever he pleased whenever he pleased. Until he had lost his head, thanks in no small part to Hatter. It had not been him who had done the deed, but he had set it up and led March into the trap. They had all thought that was the end of the deadly assassin, but lo and behold, the queen had decided otherwise.

For just a moment, he envisioned having Alice back and his heart leapt. To see her once more, to hold her, to touch her, to tell her…Hatter swallowed as fresh tears welled up in his eyes.

One of the Tweedles spoke up, mirroring Hatter's thoughts. "You could have her back." His rancid breath wafted into the young man's nose.

"All you would have to do is just tell us some stories," the other brother said unctuously.

"We do love stories," the first one piped up.

"Especially those featuring books…libraries…great libraries."

He inhaled sharply at the intentionally unsubtle mention of the Resistance's hidden stronghold. Of course that was the golden nugget of knowledge they needed. If they found that center of power and destroyed it, the Resistance would never recover. All Hatter had to do was say some magic words. He could practically see how things would fall out as if it were etched in a script. Dodo, Duck, Owl, Dormie, all those refugees, they would all meet with horrible, painful ends. The rest of the Resistance members, scattered throughout Wonderland, would have no choice but to retreat once their identities would be betrayed. Dodo, for all his gruff and grizzled appearance, did not have the stomach for torture. He would sing like a canary if it meant avoiding torture.

"Hatter."

He froze, the breath literally stilling in his lungs at the sound of that voice. It was Alice's voice.

He knew it was not real. There was no possible way it could be real. The Tweedles had gotten inside his head, honed in on his weaknesses and fears so they could chip away at his flimsy resolve. This was nothing but a projection of her from his memory. And, yet, after feeling so torn up by grief and longing, it was indescribably wonderful to hear her voice.

She was kneeling right in front of him, still wearing that blue dress and those raspberry tights. Her dark hair shined gloriously, falling over her shoulders in soft waves. His throat nearly closed in on itself, tangling up his vocal cords, when he looked up at her.

"You're not real," he finally managed to choke out, the words themselves like daggers to his heart. He closed his eyes, feeling the tears slip underneath the lids and down his cheeks.

"I know," the shade of Alice murmured gently. "But I could be real."

He let out a harsh, humorless laugh.

"I could be alive again. And then you and I could have a chance, Hatter. All you have to do is tell them where the Great Library is." The imposter wearing his beloved Alice's face reached out to caress the side of his face. By the Cheshire, the thing even smelled like her. He was nearly undone by that soft touch.

"I miss you, Hatter. Please, it's so cold…I want to be warm again," the Alice-who-was-not-Alice pleaded, her beautiful blue eyes filling with tears. She looked so lost, so afraid, and it made his heart hurt. If his hands had not been tied up behind the chair, he would have lost control and flung his arms around her.

For the moment, he allowed his grief-ravaged mind to indulge in the prospect of having Alice back. But, the reality was, even if she was resurrected as Mad March had been, there was no guarantee she would be as she was. In fact, it was well nigh certain what came back would be irrevocably changed from everything Alice was. Aside from the fact that Mad March had a ceramic rabbit-shaped head in place of his former human head, what had been brought back was even more monstrous than before. Besides, even assuming Alice came back completely normal, she would never forgive Hatter for striking such a bargain.

Of course, there was also always the strong possibility that the Tweedles were completely bluffing.

"Please," the Alice imposter implored softly. She leaned forward, bringing her face so close to his their noses touched. "Just tell them where it is so we can be together…forever." Then, without hesitation, the shade pressed her lips to his and they gave willingly.

Immediately, Hatter was bombarded by a sensation of wrongness. He remembered the sweet taste of Alice's lips, so warm and velvety soft. These lips were cold and unfamiliar, and it served to snap the young man out of the thrall.

He wrenched himself away from the shade with a vehement, "No!" The thing drew back, a hurt look crossing over its stolen features. The sight of it infuriated him. "You obviously don't know her. Alice would never sacrifice the lives of innocent people for her own life. She's—" he stammered, catching himself, "was too good for that. So you may as well sod the fuck off because I'm not telling you a thing."

The imposter let out a deep, resigned sigh, shaking its head before flickering out of sight.

"Oh, ho hum, it was worth a try," spoke the oily voice of a Tweedle.

They both stood in front of him now, their hands clasped together over their rotund figures. The brothers sported wide, maniacal grins, matching the malicious gleams in their beady eyes.

"I suppose we'll just have to resort to other means of persuasion…" one brother noted with anticipation.

"Ooh," the other replied gleefully. "I love these games."

Luck had been on his side so far. No one had tried to stop Robert as he moved through the halls, sidestepping casino staff and keeping his gaze downcast. Though his status in the casino was undeniably high, the man had rarely spent time outside his laboratory or his small apartment. He had isolated himself from most of the other casino workers. Psychologically speaking, such actions would normally be deemed unhealthy. But combining that with the fact that there was an obscenely high turnover rate for many of the other casino positions, it made it unlikely he would be recognized immediately.

Initially he had wanted to head for his lab. But as he had been walking, he contemplated the notion of bringing down the queen on his own. He had influence over his own laboratory staff, but not enough influence that they would risk losing their heads to the queen's ever blood drenched chopping block. As loathe as he was to admit it, he probably could use an ally.

And he knew just where to find one.

He felt the gun stuck in the waistband of his trousers with every step. Its weight felt strange, foreign. He had never used a real gun before; in fact, he had hated guns. He did not know how he would fare trying to use one. Hopefully, he could go through with his plan without actually using it, but having it on him did make him feel more secure.

Thinking of the gun made him wonder if Alice, who had demonstrated extremely advanced skills in combat in just the short time he had seen her, was trained in the use of one. He shuddered to think of his little girl as some kind of a soldier. He had never pictured nor wanted such a thing for his Jellybean, but, then, she had been a child of ten when he had last seen her. It was impossible for her to remain as she was.

The raw sense of grief and loss clenched at his heart, but Robert forced himself not to think on it. After he was finished avenging her (provided he lived, of course) he would allow himself to grieve. At the very least, he would have to try to bring word of it back to Alice's mother, his dear Carol.

Robert quickened his pace when he saw a group of agitated Suits thundering down the hallway. He avoided them by skirting down a side hallway, his hand reaching towards the outline of the gun beneath his shirt. The men were muttering amongst themselves as they passed, random words floating out to the scientist who had flattened himself against the wall.

"Attack."

"Surrounded."

"Defend."

Robert's brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of that gargle of syllables. The most he could guess was that the casino was under attack. The Resistance, maybe? That was extremely unlikely, however. The Resistance probably wanted to recoup after losing its risky gambit in attempting to wake him up. Although in the end their ploy had succeeded in waking him up, just not as soon as they would have wished.

He did not have time to concern himself with who may or may not be attacking the casino at the moment, however. Once he was certain the men were gone and there were no more following, he stepped out to continue his path. An attack on the casino could actually work in his favor, for it would draw out the majority of the combat-trained Suits to defend the perimeter of the fortress. Indeed, the man encountered no more Suits, or much of anyone, as he came to the large gray reception desk.

Passing by it with a held breath, Robert waited for the Diamond girl on duty to call out to him. He had toyed with the notion of outright asking her if the Truth Room was occupied as he suspected, but then decided it was best for him to keep his face out of other people's notice as much as possible.

He hoped the ally he sought was in the Truth Room. If he had been killed already, Robert's list of allies would have just been wiped clean. He had no idea which of his assistants or fellow scientists was in league with the Resistance, although he presumed there were more than just the two who had abducted him and brought him to the Hospital of Dreams. Besides, none of them would have the motivation he was looking for to destroy the queen's power base, and possibly destroying the queen herself. But he had seen the way that young man had tried to save his daughter. The crazy boy must have known he would have gotten himself captured by charging in so recklessly. He had been willing to sacrifice himself for Alice's freedom, for her life. And when his little Jellybean had fallen, the boy's grief and shock had been palpable.

There was another, deeper purpose to this grieving father seeking out the man his daughter had called Hatter. Robert hungered for the answers to the questions swirling around his daughter. How had she come to be here in Wonderland? How did she know how to fight so well? How had that boy come to know her; to care for her so deeply? Had he loved her? Had she loved him?

Though Robert had never been to the Truth Room, he knew its entrance as if he had passed by it hundreds of times. A single red door with no accents, plaques, or adornments, appearing to be perfectly ordinary and not at all forthcoming about the horrors it housed behind it. He reached for the handle, feeling his heart surge in his chest nervously. There was no telling what state of mind the boy would be in after being in the hands of the odious Tweedle twins. But Robert had made it all the way here, avoiding notice and capture. It was far too late to turn back.

He turned the knob and gently pushed on the door. Immediately, voices hit him. Mostly it was high-pitched laughter, what people referred to as cackling. Interspersed between those laughs were painful groans. The character of the groans told Robert that whoever was making them was gritting his teeth, trying his best not to scream. As the scientist ventured further into Truth Room, he came upon the scene.

The fat, bald twin menaces dressed in gray jumpsuits were circling a young man roped down to a chair. They both were taking turns jabbing the poor fellow in the ribs with what looked like electric cattle prods. Each jolt of electricity caused the boy to stiffen and ground out a muffled cry of pain.

No one seemed to notice Robert had joined the scene at all. He hastily reached down and pulled the gun out his trousers, willing himself to appear as if he had handled a gun his entire life.

"Clockwork's not ticking properly…must be crumbs in the butter," the tortured young man mumbled, his voice strained from the pain of all those jolts and jabs.

One of the Tweedles drew his electric prod back, preparing to stab at the boy again.

"Stop!" Robert commanded, holding the gun before him, his hand mercifully steady.

Three sets of eyes fell upon him. Two identical sets bearing a mixture of shock, dismay, and intrigue. The other set displaying an equal amount of shock coupled with confusion and a strange undertone of guilt.

"How interesting," one of the doctors commented.

"Yes," his brother agreed. The pudgy cheeks twitched.

"Carpenter wants to play, too?" The doctor lowered the cattle prod and started moving towards Robert.

"Stay right there and shut up," Robert ordered, lifting the weapon higher. He had heard too many tales of their exploits to trust either of the brothers. Their voices sounded like oil and poison mixed together. He knew what power they wielded, and he planned on never giving them a chance to use it.

Hatter had not spoken a single word. He was watching Robert intently, clearly confused about his presence. No doubt the boy was wondering why he, Alice's father, was here in the Truth Room. Those dark brown eyes flitted to the gun for the barest of seconds. Robert wondered if the boy thought he meant to kill him.

"Release him," Robert told the brothers.

Hatter jerked back in his chair, jaw falling open in open astonishment. The Tweedle brothers were also quite surprised to hear this command, exchanging confused glances before turning their pasty-faced glares onto Robert.

"Oh, but that is quite not possible—"

Robert cut him off. "I thought I told you to shut up. Untying him does not require talking."

"I don't think Dear Carpenter would use such a nasty little weapon," the Tweedle on the left remarked tauntingly.

At the sound of that horrid name which the queen had forced him to masquerade around while committing atrocities, Robert lost sight of his patience. Truthfully, he had thought the safety would have been on. When he squeezed the trigger, he was more surprised than anyone when the crack of the bullet sliding through the tube at terrible speed sliced through the air. The small projectile hit the left twin right in the neck. Hatter and the remaining twin were treated to a brief splatter of blood before the wounded man crumpled to the floor with a gurgling moan.

Stunned by what he had just done, Robert seized the moment to whirl the gun around on the other twin. He had no time to second guess his unintended action or to dwell on the inevitable guilt over taking a human life which would arise. Besides, it was not as if the world was exactly bereft with less Tweedle.

The second twin wasted no time in obeying Robert's order. He dropped his electric prod and crouched behind Hatter's chair. Once the ropes were loosened enough, the boy shook them off and jumped to his feet, shaking out his arms and legs to re-invite the cut off circulation. Then his eyes met Robert's. It was like looking into a mirror, seeing those eyes with a depth of grief, remorse, and anger to rival his own turmoil. Both men nodded at each other, as if to acknowledge the morbid emotional kinship they shared.

Robert broke off the eye contact, his gaze traveling behind Hatter to the mad doctor, who had retrieved his electric cattle prod, lifted and preparing to swing down on the younger man's head.

"Look out!" Robert shouted in warning.

Hatter spun in a show of remarkable dexterity after enduring such physical torture. His left arm shot out to block the strike, cutting the Tweedle's stroke short in mid-air, and swiping it aside before delivering a straight shot punch to the face with his right arm. The force of the blow could be felt from where Robert stood, and he watched as the pudgy man's neck snapped back much farther than was healthy for a human neck. Vertebrae snapped and within a few seconds, this Tweedle had hit the floor to join his brother.

Hatter stood, staring at the body in silence for a few moments until he muttered, "That was for Alice, you fucking wanker."

Oh, yes, Robert then remembered his daughter had had a visit with the Tweedles. The thought of what those perverted sadists had put his child through lessened the self-disgust he felt over killing one of them.

"So are you here to kill me, too?"

It was not just the question which caught Robert off guard. The way the boy had asked it, as if he was half-hoping it may be true, was what truly had captured his notice. The older man shook his head at the younger, his eyes softening with sympathy. "You tried to save her," he said matter-of-factly.

"I failed," Hatter replied, his voice hitching. He swallowed and glanced down at the floor. "She'd be alive now if it weren't for me."

Robert inclined his head. "Maybe, but have you considered what would have happened to her here? The queen would have had her killed or...drained."

Hatter did not reply to that remark, but Robert could see the way his entire frame shook with the weight of his feelings. This boy was a born and bred Wonderland native. Ten years of working with oysters and Wonderlanders had taught the man how to recognize the differences. And, yet, this boy was feeling just as freely and genuinely as if he were from his own world.

He loved her…

"If I were going to kill you, my boy, I would have done it already. And besides, if anyone here is responsible for what happened to Alice…it's me." He saw his daughter's face when she had realized her own father did not recognize her and had scornfully thrown her desperate entreaties back in her face. "I didn't even recognize her when I first saw her. I should have known…what kind of a father doesn't recognize his own child? I didn't know who she was until…"

Hatter nodded in understanding, silently telling Robert he did not need to explain what the trigger to his awakening had been.

Clearing his throat, Robert continued. "Perhaps if I had known her for who she was, none of it would have happened…But we can't change what happened. We can't undo the past," he paused as thoughts of his particularly sordid past assaulted his mind, "no matter how much we may want to."

"So, if you're not here to kill me, then what do you want with me?" Hatter asked him succinctly.

Robert sighed, his gaze wandering down to where the corpses of the Tweedle twins lay on the floor of the Truth Room, a pool of blood having formed beneath the one he had shot. Drops of blood were splattered all over the dynamic black and white circles. "My daughter died trying to save you, Mr. Hatter, so I gather you must have been important to her. But, also, I want you to help me."

Hatter's brows knit together in puzzlement. "Help you do what?"

The older man's gaze remained fixed to the dead Tweedles, his voice growing hard as steel. "To put an end to all this madness."

Ha, bet you all thought Alice was gonna save her honey? Daddy beat her to the punch.

Please review…I know it took me a while to get this out, but I really do thrive on feedback. So, don't hold back!