Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of SyFy and Nick Willing and are only used for fan related purposes.

Gumshoe

chapter eight: the White Knight

The Jabberwock wasn't moving but, then again, neither were Alice or Hatter.

Hatter could hear her heavy breathing beside him and he knew without her having to tell him that she was waiting for him to just say that the big, bulky shadow across the way wasn't anything to worry about, that the goon was staking out that patch of the Tulgey Wood simply because it was a nice winter's night now that the snow had stopped falling. And Hatter wanted to say those things too, but he couldn't. As it was, he'd probably lied enough to her already to last her the rest of her stay in Wonderland—

—which, considering that Jack "the Jabberwock" Collins was waiting for them in the one place he thought he had left that was safe (well, safe-ish), could quite possibly mean the rest of her life. Not that that was any reassurance either, Hatter knew. When the Queen of the Red Hearts Gang was involved, the rest of anyone's life could be very short indeed.

What to do, what to do…

He could lead the Jabberwock into a trap, but he didn't have any prepared in this part of Wonderland; besides, he didn't quite fancy the idea of leaving Alice on her own and this was the closest he wanted the girl to get to the Jabberwock. He didn't know, either, how dangerous the Jabberwock would be alone; not, granted, that he wanted to take him on even without his posse. Hatter might have one hell of a right hook but the Jabberwock was pure muscle. One wrong swing could mean a broken hand and what good would he be then?

There was only one thing left for it. They would have to run. Again.

And to think that, before this whole Alice-Oyster-Queen's ring mess, Hatter thought of himself as one of Wonderland's bravest. Whether he was still on Hatter's trail or was just leaving this to the Jabberwock, Mad March must be having such a laugh at the way he was acting—if March actually laughed now. His time in the Looking Glass's backrooms had left Hatter's partner more of a robot than a man. Laughter, like running away from a fight, didn't seem like something March seemed capable of anymore.

Which was precisely why Hatter thought running away was the best move possible just then. Live to fight another day and all that malarkey.

Speaking out of the side of his mouth, Hatter leaned his head just slight enough so that Alice could hear him when he whispered: "Alice, when I give the signal, I want you to run."

For a moment he thought she was going to argue but then she turned, eyed the Jabberwock, swallowed, and gave a quick, curt nod. She was ready.

And so, it appeared, was the Jabberwock. As if he had heard their hastily whispered plan, the Jabberwock saw Alice nod, folded his fists menacingly and started forward. That was all the sign Hatter needed for him to turn and give the signal to move—which, seeing as how he was doing this all on the fly, simply consisted of him holding tight to his porkpie hat and yelling at Alice, "Run!"

Like a shot he took off, heading straight to his right. He knew Wonderland. If he turned right when he reached Mimsy and cut a couple streets back, he'd end up on Main Street before long. Good luck then to anyone trying to hunt them down. The best way to hide was in the crowd. It was a sound plan. Hell, it was a good plan. There was only one small thing he forgot.

Alice didn't know Wonderland.

And Alice, when he heard Hatter's yell, did not follow his lead like he expected her to. While he headed towards Mimsy Avenue, she ran in almost the opposite direction. She took off towards Gimble Way instead, an isolated street that ran parallel to the Tulgey Woods and led directly to Tears Lake. After that, well, unless she felt like taking a Polar Bear plunge in half a dress, heavy boots and Hatter's old maroon overcoat, there was nowhere else for her to go.

The Jabberwock, though… he was a Wonderlander. He was a fierce fighter, too, a big cruel man with hardly any brains, but he didn't need any brains to know which of the two he should go after: Hatter, who would be lost in the fantastical crowds on Main Street if the Jabberwock didn't catch up with him and soon, or Alice, who'd either freeze, drown or be captured at the edge of Tears Lake. The Queen of Hearts said there would be a bonus for getting Hatter, but the pay was all over some oyster—and the Queen distinctly said she wanted the oyster alive.

So, it was no contest. He took off after the girl.

It was a good thing Hatter thought to spare a quick look behind him, turning just in time to see that Alice was already a block or two away from him and running full-speed ahead, the Jabberwock hot on her heels. Well, good thing because at the frantic pace she was going, Hatter might not have caught up with her if he hadn't noticed she was running directly opposite of him; then again, was it good that she was running toward Tears Lake with the Jabberwock lumbering right behind her?

"Not that way!" Hatter groaned, reversing gears as he spun around, turning so that now he was running after the Jabberwock.

The Jabberwock was a big man but for all his bulk, he was extremely quick-footed. He kept a good size lead on Hatter, but neither man made any headway on reaching the fleeing damsel in distress. Until, that is, the most predictable thing that could happen did happen: slipping on a treacherous patch of black ice, Alice took a tumble. One moment she was upright, sprinting, the next it was like she was flying, falling forward before she managed to tuck herself into a ball just in time to hit the asphalt.

Hard.

From his place not too far behind him, Hatter heard the Jabberwock's grunt of satisfaction. There was no way Hatter could get to Alice first, both men knew that, and it wasn't even like Alice had moved yet. She'd had the breath knocked out of her—if not worse—and she was currently lying motionless on the road; there wasn't any sign that she was going to start moving any time soon. Hatter mirrored the Jabberwock's grunt, pushing himself faster, harder, determined to beat the Jabberwock because if there was one thing Hatter knew, it was this: dead clients couldn't make with the favors.

She'd given up, but Hatter hadn't come this far to do the same. And maybe it wasn't only about the favor she owed him…

Putting on one final burst of speed, Hatter jammed his hat on his head—cause he'd be damned if he lost that—and was just about to fling himself at the Jabberwock's ankles when, suddenly, the Jabberwock wasn't there anymore. One minute he was there, the next he was gone, and Hatter only managed to stop himself from following the Jabberwock headfirst into a deep, dark hole that miraculously seemed to appear in their path. And then he understood: Alice hadn't fallen. She'd taken a dive, leading the Jabberwock right to the edge of the drop.

Hatter was out of breath, Alice was still lying flat on the asphalt, both of them watching the hole earnestly. There was a pretty damn good reason, too. After a roar that seemed the shake the street, and a long stream of grunted obscenities, the Jabberwock started to climb back up the rusted iron rungs, his threats growing louder the closer he climbed.

Whether frozen or just waiting to see when he would get there, neither Alice or Hatter made any attempt to get away. Alice folded her knees up to her chest, her shoes flat on the road now as if she was ready to just jump up and cut and run; Hatter followed her, dropping to his knees, crawling until he was just a hat's drop away from the open sewer's mouth. And then he waited.

It mustn't have been that great of a fall—that, or the Jabberwock was indestructible… Hatter was leaning toward that option—because the big man barely seemed dazed as he appeared again. His dark eyes were narrowed with hate and purpose as he reached to pull himself back on the open road, a cruel sneer twisting his cracked lips when he spied Hatter no more than an arm's length away. "You," he rumbled, his voice deep and gravely, "I'm gonna gut you—"

That was all he managed to get out before Hatter reacted. He reared back, his fingers on his right hand stretching, flexing and folding into his fist. A simple push back into the hole would've been enough but, adrenaline pumping, Hatter wanted to make sure the Jabberwock didn't climb back out again.

This time, when the Jabberwock fell, he fell hard. They waited a moment to see if he would start for the ladder again, Hatter absently shaking his sore fist as he did so, but they heard nothing. No cries, no yells, no eerily muttered taunts or threats. For the moment, at least, the Jabberwock was out of commission. For the moment, at least, they were safe.

For the moment.

Hatter sucked on his knuckles, wishing the Jabberwock's jaw wasn't so hard. It was a good thing that there was still tons of snow and ice lying around; the way his hand was throbbing, he needed a pack and quick. But not yet. As he wished the pain away, and only felt the swelling begin instead, he watched as Alice hesitantly approached the hole and peered down in the darkness. Only then, when she'd seen for herself that they'd taken care of Jack Collins however momentarily, only then did she allow herself a small, satisfied smile.

Shaking his hand once more before letting it rest at his side, he caught sight of Alice's smile and knew that his suspicion earlier was right. "You fell on purpose," he accused.

"Well, yeah! I saw the hole but I was banking that that brute wouldn't. Who was that?"

"The Jabberwock," Hatter told her, edging closer to the dark hole again. He could barely make out the unmoving lump all the way at the bottom but the Jabberwock was there and if Hatter had his way, that's where he would stay. "He works for the Queen."

"So that's why you hit him again?"

He nodded.

"You're not like any detective I've ever met," Alice told him bluntly, her hands on her knees as she struggled to stand back up. Yes, she'd purposely taken a dive in order to trip up the Jabberwock, but, still, the ground was hard.

"No, I guess not," Hatter agreed before backing away and then, tilting his head slightly to the side, he asked curiously, "Have you met many before then, Alice?"

Alice opened her mouth to answer, to tell him that that wasn't quite what she meant but, before she had the chance, a door slammed somewhere behind him and the two of them jumped, preparing themselves for the worst, though what could be worse than the Jabberwock, neither one could say. It was just then that Hatter noticed the small cabin hidden amongst the bare strip of trees—and the grey-haired man dressed mainly in white walking awkwardly towards them, stooped over and carrying something barely inches off the ground.

"You there, vassal! Help me with this boulder or the beast will rise again!"

It wasn't a boulder: it was the coverlid for the open sewer. The old man was bent double from its weight and Hatter rushed forward to help him before he had a heart attack and murder was added to Hatter's list of ever-growing charges. Besides, keeping the Jabberwock trapped down there for as long as possible sounded pretty good to him. Hatter automatically reached with his bad arm and the pull on his shoulder made him groan. Quickly shifting the weight so that he wasn't relying on his sore side, Hatter helped the man carry the lid over to the gaping hole and, after positioning it just right, they both were relieved to let it go.

The heavy sewer lid hit the ground with a thud that broke up the night. It was only then that it occurred to Hatter how loud they were being, what with the Jabberwock's falls and cries, and now this man, hollering for the whole district to hear. Except no one would hear. It was a stroke of luck that they were down by Tulgey Wood when the Jabberwock attacked. No one with at least half a brain went this far south of Main Street, especially after dark—which brought Hatter's attention back to their… whatever this old kook was. He didn't look like a threat, but who was he?

The man looked like he was a hundred and had been the craziest loon in Wonderland for ninety-nine of those years. After Hatter helped him drop the sewer lid back in place—marveling at the trap it now appeared to be—he watched as the man drew out a cardboard cut-out of a sword and started waving it around maniacally, proclaiming himself the victor, the absolute slayer of the monstrous Jabberwock.

His clothes were varying shades of white, mostly clean; he was wearing what looked to Hatter like a flowing white nightdress tucked into a pair of grubby white coveralls. But that wasn't it. The man had gotten his hands—better yet, his saw—on a metal trash can and had cut it down until all that remained was a carved piece that fitted nicely around his somewhat tall and gangly chest. It was home-made armor, Hatter realized, and suddenly he knew exactly who he was dealing with just in time for Alice to finally pull herself back to her feet and sidle right up beside him.

After poking him in the arm hard enough to make him wince, Alice gestured for Hatter to follow her. She walked a few steps away from the sewer and its jubilant conqueror and asked pointedly, "Okay. Now who is that?"

Her eyes were wide as she took the old man in, a bewildered yet undeniably amused smile threatening to bloom. Gesturing with her hands, she pointed out his dress, his pants, his armor and Hatter knew exactly what she meant. Alice just didn't understand the eccentricities of a Wonderlander or Wonderland fashion. Then again, Hatter thought as he reflected on the old man's white dress and his armor, maybe he didn't either.

"Don't mind him," Hatter told her, without any hint that he'd just figured out who that man was himself. "He's as mad as a box of frogs."

"What's wrong with him?"

Following Alice's stare, Hatter watched the old man as he did some sort of jig. He shrugged. "Can't really say. Sometimes he thinks he's a knight, other days he's a pirate. I've heard he stands still outside the Looking Glass every now and then and pretends he's a pigeon. Harmless, but definitely mad."

"Ah," piped up the old knight suddenly, his pointer finger high in the air as if making a valid point, "but not deaf." He had a surprisingly rich voice, all high-breeding, rolling r's and no trace of a dropped present participle in sight.

Alice and Hatter locked eyes, both of them thinking the same thing. They obviously hadn't walked far enough that their voiced didn't carry on the winter wind. The self-proclaimed knight had heard them—worse, he was lucid enough to join in on their conversation. It was like a switch, crazy to sane faster than Hatter could say "twinkle, twinkle, little bat".

Hatter readjusted his trusty hat and went about summoning a charming, dimpled grin to his face. "Yes, well," he began politely but stopped when he noticed that the old knight was practicing his parries and lunges with his cardboard sword. Polite flew out the window. "We're gonna be goin' now. Come on, Alice."

He gave his hand another shake, fairly certain at least three fingers would be joining his shoulder as tender and bruised tomorrow morning—if there was even a tomorrow morning to come to. The Jabberwock's unexpected appearance at Tulgey Woods dashed all of Hatter's plans. He had no doubt Mad March was still out there waiting for him, and he knew damn well not to return to his office with Alice or without the Queen's ring. Right then, all Hatter knew was that the farther away he got from the Jabberwock and this old white knight, the better.

Except Alice, it seemed, had different ideas.

"Hatter," she called after him, "wait!"

He should've known it wouldn't be as easy as that. With Alice, it never was. He closed his eyes momentarily, took a deep breath and said, "Yes?"

"Shouldn't we thank him?"

"Thank him?" Hatter echoed. First she got him shot by one of his former allies, now she wanted him to thank an old geezer who wasn't sure if he was a knight, a pirate or a pigeon? "What for?"

Alice was tugging anxiously on the sleeves of her borrowed overcoat, throwing looks down at the knight who, sometime between finishing his swordsmanship and Hatter starting to walk away, had dropped to his knees in front of Alice, presenting his flimsy sword to her. Hatter recognized those looks at once: she felt bad for the crazy knight, sorry for him even. Hatter bit back a groan. Sympathy in Wonderland was as good as signing your own death warrant. Hadn't she learned from the frozen stiffs in the back alleys? You've got to watch out for yourself. It was as soon as you started watching out for someone else that you were in trouble.

No one knew that better than Hatter.

Still, damn it, he couldn't say no to her, not with her flashing those big baby blues up at him like that. Huffing, Hatter barely glanced down at the knight as he said quickly, "Yeah, yeah, thanks, granddad. Blows me how you lifted that lid in the first place but it's appreciated. Alright," he snapped, turning back to Alice, "can we go now?"

She hadn't budged—and there was a good (or not so good) reason why. The knight had managed to snag one of Alice's hands between his two ancient ones. Acting like Hatter wasn't even standing there, he proclaimed loudly, "My fair maiden, it's far too dark for a creature as lovely and as beautiful as yourself to wander these fierce streets. Please, allow me to house you…" he sniffed, "…and your vassal, indeed, for the night. It would be my honor."

There was a touch of red coloring Alice's pale cheeks at the knight's words. She opened her mouth to answer but, before she'd said anything, Hatter reached out and pulled Alice's hand free from the old man. Without letting go of it, it was Hatter's turn to bring her away from the knight in hopes of a private conversation. But, considering Alice yanked her hand back after they'd only taken a few steps, there was little chance that the conversation would be unheard.

Hatter intended to have his say regardless.

"Alice—"

"What's your problem?" she interrupted hotly.

Hatter stepped back as if he'd been hit but recovered nicely. "My problem? I'm a detective on the run, tryin' to keep you safe and sound long enough to find your boyfriend. Remember him?"

"Of course I remember him. And I don't think I'm going to find him right this very minute, Hatter. It's cold outside, and that man, he's offering us shelter. I say we go."

"I say we don't."

"Why not?"

It did not go by unnoticed that the two of them were acting like children arguing on a playground. Hatter was two seconds away from crossing his arms over his chest and pouting that it wasn't fair, that him and Alice were playing and why should they invite someone along with their game? Except it wasn't a game they were playing and only his pride was keeping him from admitting that his offer sounded pretty good.

But his pride was a stubborn bastard and Hatter found himself shaking his head. "No, I just don't think it's a good idea. It could be a trap."

"The only trap around here was the one that caught the Jabberwock," Alice pointed out. She was too right, too. "I mean, look at him. You said it yourself: he's harmless."

Hatter glanced over his shoulder at the knight. The old man was spitting on his sleeve and buffing the front of his trash can-armor, seemingly oblivious to their conversation. He was off again. "Maybe I was wrong, okay? Just because he's ninety, it doesn't mean he's harmless, Alice," Hatter retorted. "He carried that lid all the way from that hovel of his, didn't he?"

"You helped him."

"Yeah," Hatter said quickly, already regretting his rash act of helping the old knight, "'cause if the Jabberwock got us, we'd be dead." One day she'd been in Wonderland, and look at what Alice was doing to him! Remember the danger, remember the threat, remember who's going to be stuck inside the Looking Glass if they don't get a move on… "You want to stick around and wait for him to get out again? 'Cause, I'll tell ya: he's gettin' out and he'll be comin' for us first."

"He can get in line," Alice snapped. "It's late, Hatter, and I'm tired. He's offering us a place to stay—"

He could almost feel the pout forming on his lips. "You a place." Okay, maybe Hatter was a bit tired, himself. And it was hours past teatime (and, despite Alice's best intentions, that brown drink back in the bookshop didn't count).

"You, too, Hatter."

"You just want to stay because he called you beautiful."

"You don't because he called you a vassal."

"I'm not a vassal, I'm a detective!"

There was a knowing look in Alice's eyes that Hatter chose not to recognize. She pursed her lips—trying not to smile again—before choosing her words carefully. Hatter could be stubborn but he was no match for Alice. "Anyway, we came here to hide in a safe house, right? Let's hide. I don't think that monster will ever expect us to stay nearby—he probably thinks we're long gone by now. We can start looking for Jack first thing in the morning, too." She paused, doubt catching up to her again. "You… you're still going to help me, aren't you?"

If it wasn't for the fact that Hatter was expecting her to ask him that at some point or the other, he might've been left without an answer. He knew she was his client, he knew he gave his word that he would help her but, well, with the appearance of the Jabberwock now, he didn't know what he was going to do. So he settled with saying: "That's gonna be one hell of a favor, Alice." And he left it at that.

That was all Alice needed to hear.

"Thank you, sir, for your offer. We accept!"

The old knight sprang to his feet with more agility than Hatter would've given him credit for as he saluted Alice. His knees cracked loudly, however, as he pretended to doff a hat that wasn't there, bowing in Alice's direction. She raised her eyebrows at his theatrics but smiled, warming up to the old man in a way she hadn't shown Hatter once since they got thrown on this… adventure together. When the knight straightened again and offered her his flowing sleeve, she took it with only the tiniest hint of hesitation.

And Hatter, feeling that this was quite possibly the dumbest thing he could do in a long list of stupid things he'd already done that night, and perhaps even feeling a little jealous, followed behind the two of them, almost certain he could make out the Jabberwock's revived threats through the thick slab of metal that was all that kept him from getting to them.

- stress, 09.21.10