Author's Note: Wow, I hadn't expected such a reception for just the first chapter of this! Thankyou guys, really, some of the reviews you've left have just really made my day. I know that it's taken a while to update but that's just how I go with adding chapters, as it takes me so long to be totally happy with it before I post. Hopefully the next won't take so long!

***

Two: Despair

It was a credit to Alice's strength, the way she kept her wits and her emotions pulled tightly together in the hour that followed. Nobody was surprised that she'd taken control over the situation – she was the champion, after all – in fact they were completely relieved. This problem with the Hatter had been a dark cloud hovering in the skies of Underland for too long. It was a relief to surrender the responsibility to someone who actually had a chance of getting through to him. After the frightening ordeal that had been their reunion, Alice had walked calmly away from the Hatter's hut, back to the March Hare's home. She'd been clear and concise about what was to happen: the Hatter was to be visited much more regularly by his friends and moved from his desperately melancholic hut to a place with a correlating entrance to London, so that Alice could visit him more easily. She'd had to return home but told Chessur to inform the White Queen she should expect a visit from her soon. Clearly the people of Underland were not so equipped to deal with those who'd actually gone properly insane. Eccentric, a little mad…yes, but not poor Hatter, who could barely hold a sane conversation.

It was one thing to pretend to others that she wasn't bothered by it all…it was another to pretend to herself.

The moment Alice began her lonely walk back to the trapdoor she started to crumble. It was one petty little tear at first: a singular damp kiss on her cheek, but that was all it took. Her entire body began to tremble with the shock she'd not allowed herself to feel. She couldn't take a breath as great sobs escaped her. On and on they came, a tirade of awful diamonds that glittered down her skin to stain her dress. Alice had been quick to cry as a child, but just as quick to talk herself out of it. These days she was not so easily pushed, but this day it was too much. The joy of finally seeing her friends again was completely overrun by the shock and guilt of seeing the state of them, and finding out it had been this way for years. She broke into a blind run, hoping to reach the trapdoor before she fell apart completely.

"Come on…stop it," she pleaded, like she used to as a girl. "Stop crying!"

It was too much to keep herself from collapsing, let alone follow her own orders.

The forest became hushed, drawing its eyes away from the scene. The flowers closed their petals and the birds sat ruffling their feathers in the trees. Their champion needed privacy, and this little corner of Underland was happy to grant her a moment's peace.

"I was just tired," Alice said to herself, unable to believe how suddenly the whole afternoon had changed. "I was about to have a picnic with Henry…he's probably laying down the cheeses and wondering where I am…I can't go back to him crying like a little girl." Eventually her sobs became more manageable and she was able to brush the hair from her face and sit up straight. "Nothing was ever accomplished with tears, Alice," she recited to herself, getting shakily but determinedly to her feet. It seemed to her that Underland only let you leave when you were really needed to. It didn't matter if you wanted or were required to leave, but it seemed to know what games were afoot between the worlds and it certainly decided that Alice needed to leave that day. In the moment she stood up, the trapdoor swung open and a ladder tumbled down from above.

"Thankyou," she whispered to nobody in particular. She would be back, after all. Taking hold of the bottom wrung and hoisting herself up, Alice started the climb back up to the Otherworld.

***

"It might be naught for usal, Alice!"

She pursed her lips and dipped her head into the tree trunk, feeling the bark graze her skin.

"We can't say that," Alice ground out, fingers flexing against the trunk. "We haven't given this a proper go yet, McTwisp."

The White Rabbit watched as she collected her thoughts, facing the tree rather than him or the others. "What will you have us do? Summon the Bandersnatch and remove him by force?"

"I've been gone less than a week," she replied steadily, "And already you've given up? I hadn't asked much of any of you."

"I won't go back!" shouted Mallymkun as she stormed off, "Hatter is not meant to be that way!"

The March Hare twisted his ears in his paws. He threw a helpless look at the White Rabbit before shaking his head and following the Dormouse.

So far, Alice's plans had not gone well.

The Hatter was simply too much for his friends to handle. Mallymkun couldn't bear to see him so lacking in spirit and the March Hare was so jittery that he set his friend off within moments of arriving. To her credit, the Dormouse had suggested that Thackery stay behind and she'd continue to visit with McTwisp. However when they arrived that day to find the Hatter curled up and weeping, she'd run off.

It was hard to remember a lifetime of memories when they were swallowed by four years of hardship.

He also absolutely refused to leave his hut. They could offer no reason for this, as he would just sink down into his lounge and dig his nails into the arms as if they were a life raft.

"He can't be coaxed, coerced or commanded," the White Rabbit had told her.

"So it's all down to us then," Alice muttered, yet she thought if there was anything significant McTwisp could do he'd have done it four years ago.

It seemed a lot depended on her meeting with the White Queen.

"Are you certain you can't tell me more about this meeting?" she asked, turning around at last to face him.

"All I know is that she's got something to show you and you're due to see it today. If we–"

"I'm afraid dear Alice is going to be late for her appointment."

Both heads turned at the grave announcement that had emanated from a disembodied cat head above them. The rest of his body appeared in a smoky blue mist and the Cheshire Cat went on to explain himself, in the way normal cats often don't. "I believe there is someone else in dire need of your time today."

His grin was not quite right, she noted. It seemed lopsided, fake. Her heart sank. "You've been to see the Hatter then, Chess?"

The Cat nodded, evaporated, and then appeared further down the further. "I dare say he's in need of a friend."

The White Rabbit huffed.

"A friend with no paws or claws," Chess corrected.

Alice nodded and hurried to follow the Cat.

"But you'll be late to Marmoreal!" called the White Rabbit.

"I'm always late," she murmured, "Perhaps everyone should set their clocks to Alice Time when I'm here. Come on, Chess."

***

The grass had swallowed up even more of the door.

As Alice prepared to hop in through the window again, she entertained the thought that the Hatter had adopted the method as well.

But the more grim thought stuck that he didn't leave the hut at all.

"Does climbing through a window to talk to a madman make me just as bonkers?" she asked Chessur, hoisting herself up.

"Don't you recall what I told you as a child?" he replied, "We're all mad her. This little act just makes you a good friend, love."

Alice smiled and climbed inside.

"You'll find him in the kitchen," the Cat called before evaporating.

There was no mumbling this time, no pacing or grumbling. What she could hear sounded quite optimistic: the chinking of cutlery and the rattling of what could only be a cup on a saucer. He mustn't be in such a state if he's making tea, Alice thought.

"Hatter?" she called out, just as casually as she might on any other day. She hoped the cheerful tone in her voice might keep the atmosphere light.

"Yes – yes I'm in here," the busy voice came from the kitchen. It was gentle with the hint of a lisp and no dark Scottish tone. Should she have dared to hope..? She relaxed a little and stepped into the doorway, into view – which was apparently not the right move to make. She only caught a glimpse of the Hatter's lucid green eyes before they melted into a deep orange and he dropped his spoon to the floor. It resounded loudly in the enclosed space, setting Alice's nerves on edge again. Her spirits fell along with his face as he turned sharply around to face the kitchen table. His shoulders shook with obvious silent sobs, his hands splayed against the table top. She stood helplessly in the door frame, unsure of how to proceed when even stepping forward had reduced him to this.

"Alice –" he gasped, the Scotsman in him rising to the surface, "I thought – you weren't – coming – back –" he had little time to get out each word before another fit of tears escaped him. His hands left the table top and came up to hug his own frame, unable to say more.

She refused to cry.

He didn't need her pity. He needed some more muchness, and she had enough for the both of them.

Alice wasn't an overly affectionate woman. She wasn't the kind to stand in her mother's embrace or hold her niece close to her chest…that had all died some time after her father. She'd always been the first to run into his arms whenever he'd come back from a voyage. But after his death she'd begun to think that maybe it wasn't worth holding onto someone if they were just going to leave anyway. Whether they vanished without warning or gradually faded from her life, nobody could stay forever. You couldn't miss the gentle hum of human contact if you eventually forgot what it was like.

But Henry had changed all that.

He'd shown her that she really couldn't live at all without that humming and it was foolish to try.

And watching the Hatter now, Alice knew that he'd been deprived of that contact for far too long. He flinched severely upon feeling the suddenness of her arms wrapped around him from the side, her face pressing into his arm. He twitched anxiously, waiting for the inevitable moment when she would pull away from him. When it became apparent however that she was not going to be moving anywhere, his body settled into the embrace with less reluctance.

"Hush," she murmured, "My poor Hatter. I'm here."

His sobs continued intermittently as he found her hands and grasped them tightly – too tightly. Alice winced at the strength of his hold but dared not make a fuss, for fear of his reaction. She wasn't afraid of him. She was afraid of his fragility, of hurting his feelings.

She finally understood why Mallymkun couldn't bring herself to stay with him. As they stood in the tiny dank kitchen, clutching each other like two halves of a whole, she saw that the Hatter was no longer a brave warrior or fiercely protective friend.

He was a child. He was changeable as the wind, though nowhere near as strong.

No, she didn't placate children or embrace her friends. But she could make an exception for this man, who'd gone someplace so far away she could hardly reach him. It didn't feel as if she were holding the Hatter: it wasn't a pleasant or joyous feeling. But it was his body, if not the man – something of him to grasp – and from this knowledge there stirred a humming in her spirit so subtle she barely recognised it.

But it was a nice humming, nonetheless.

The rumbling of his troubled voice reached the crown of her head.

"We've never been this way before," he remarked, observing their position through teary eyes. "It's…"

She thought of all the times she'd held Henry and every word had failed her. "Indescribable," she offered hazily.

"Everything can be described," the Hatter replied, just for a moment slipping back into the voice of his old self. "As long as there are eyes in the world and people to explain what they're seeing, then every object and person must therefore be describable in some way." He thought for a second. "Unless everybody in the world suddenly turned blind…or had a very limited knowledge of adjectives."

Alice's grin was so strong she thought it might leave an imprint in his jacket.

"Now that sounds like the Hatter I know," she replied.

"You know no Hatter," he murmured, his grip on her disappearing with the lisp in his voice. "I don't hat anymore, so I can't be the Hatter. And if I'm not him, then there's no Hatter for you to know."

Alice let go of him and tried to get a glimpse of his face, but he was suddenly determined to get away.

The sobbing had stopped but was replaced by something far worse: a mood that Chessur had deemed 'the melancholies'. She'd not witnessed this frame of mind before, but she could guess the signs already: murmuring, slumped shoulders, defeated gaze.

"Don't hat, don't think, no Alice…" he whispered, finding solace in the corner of the kitchen. He sank down and folded his arms across his knees, gaze cheerless and averted.

She suddenly realised why he looked so wrong.

"Where's your hat?"

He didn't even look up at her.

"Hatter? Hello?" she settled down in front of him, resting a hand on his arm.

"I'm not the Hatter so I can't wear a hat," he replied, but glanced in the direction of the kitchen table with a strange sort of longing. Sitting underneath the only chair was his top hat, looking beaten, neglected and, if possible, a little sad. Alice crawled over to collect it, patting off the dust and presenting it to him.

"Now there's a complete load of nonsense if ever I heard it," she said. "Just because you don't make hats anymore doesn't mean you can't wear them." Henry wears his all the time – the words nearly transferred from mind to mouth, a catastrophic mistake if ever she knew one. She vowed to keep her marriage a secret until the Hatter was more stable. He would certainly not cope with the fact she had a definite reason to stay in her own world. She wriggled his hat in front of his face. "And you are the Hatter, somewhere in there. Here, take it."

He remained stationary.

"I don't hat," he repeated, "I'm not your Hatter, Alice. I was never enough for you and I'm certainly not enough now."

Enough for what?

He just looked at her blankly. Had she asked that out loud?

She laid the hat beside him – noting how his fingers twitched and his leg shifted away from it – and slumped to a more comfortable position beside him. He sighed, a deep world weary sound that was far too heavy for a light-hearted Hatter.

"Why have they just left you here?" she queried. Surely none of this would ever have happened if he'd not been left alone.

"Why indeed?" he replied blankly. "We have none of your 'asylums' in Underland. There's nobody to –"

"How do you know what an asylum is?"

"The White Rabbit saw many strange things while he was looking for you up in that world of yours. They were not always pretty."

"No," she murmured, more to herself, "It's a little less kindly than it is down here."

The Hatter continued. "And I won't go to Marmoreal. I need to be close to the bones of my people. I have nothing else, you know."

"But you have me again, Hatter. And I won't leave until –"

"Until," he interrupted, breathing a deep breath that harboured a sob, "Until…I don't want your untils and your maybes and your only whens."

The smallest part of her was becoming agitated. She had to get to the root of his torment if she was to help him. "Then what do you want from me?"

The flame in his eyes died down to embers, shining green for just a moment. "Plans…" he murmured, so gently she barely caught the word that sounded so very like the Hatter.

"There you are," Alice whispered, like they'd been playing hide and seek, reaching out to grasp his thimble-covered fingers. "Stay with me, Hatter."

"But I'm not going anywhere Alice," he replied.

She nodded sadly. "Yes, you are. You've already gone."

And then the amber began to flare up again and the Hatter was mad once more.

"Don't hat, don't think, no Alice…"

***

The White Queen glanced at the butterfly on her shoulder.

"Are you certain she's to visit today, Absolem?" she queried for the third time. "I know dear Alice can be late, but never so much as this."

"It is written that she will come today, so that she may learn of those still to come," replied the butterfly, wings fluttering indignantly. Need he say anymore?

Mirana would have to be satisfied with that.

"Your Majesty!"

She sat up in her throne immediately as the doors to the White Hall were thrown open and McTwisp came hopping in.

"Your Majesty, I can't apologise enough for the delay –" the White Rabbit huffed and puffed, working himself into a tither as he bowed before the queen.

"There is no need to apologise, McTwisp," said the White Queen, "You did all you could to inform Alice of her appointment." She stood as she spotted a figure entering the Hall. "Whether she chooses to uphold it is not something one can easily control," she murmured with a wry smile. The rabbit gratefully took up a seat beside the throne and breathed a sigh of relief, glad to have finally arrived. The burden was no longer on him.

"Alice," Mirana greeted the figure approaching, a mess of blonde curls and a pastel green dress – with no corset or stockings, she guessed.

"Your Majesty," replied Alice smoothly, trying to stay calm, for ever since she'd stepped foot in Marmoreal her temper had been growing. All around her on the journey to the White Castle had been signs that life had flourished in Underland during her absence: the Tweedles had taken residence in the castle, like sons to the queen; Bayard's pups had grown into fully fledged tracker dogs; the Bandersnatch was rearing cubs of its own with a mate. Everyone else's lives had gone on, better than ever before…save the Hatter. All Alice wanted was to enjoy a tea party with her greatest friend in Underland, to see him Futterwacken and work at his hats with that passion that never ceased to make her proud. Didn't they want that as well? Why was it all up to her?

Mirana braced herself: she knew that the Champion Girl was upset.

"I trust you've been well, Your Majesty?" Alice enquired tightly.

"I think perhaps we should discard the formalities for now," she replied quietly, a little guiltily. "We both know the tragic reason for your visit."

Alice held her chin high. "I was told there was another reason?"

"Yes, we have something to show you. But that can wait a moment."

"We?"

"Are you so blinded by rage that you failed to spot the obvious blue butterfly against all this white?" said a familiar voice that caught her attention.

Alice shifted her penetrating gaze from the White Queen's face to her shoulder, and for the first time saw that an old friend was also privy to the conversation.

"Absolem," she sighed, "I thought something terrible had happened to you."

"What harm could befall a butterfly?" replied Absolem, and Alice could think of no answer. What indeed? But the last time she'd seen the butterfly had been two weeks after her arrival in China, when he'd suddenly disappeared from her side.

"I grew tired of being involved in your business," he explained in a monotone, "And the salt in the sea air interfered with the quality of my smoking."

"Yes, it's very hard to poison oneself when there's so much fresh air about," she replied sardonically.

"Tell me, Alice," Mirana interrupted, "Was it a grand affair? Your wedding?"

Complete silence. Alice stared dumbly in surprise, until she followed the queen's gaze down to where the pendant on her necklace had slipped free of the cover of her dress. It wasn't a pendant, it was a ring: white gold with two glistening sapphires.

Her wedding ring.

Hastily she tucked it back into the top of her dress, where nobody could see it. She tried desperately to think back on her meeting with the Hatter, hoping it hadn't been on display in front of him.

"It – there was no wedding," she stammered, thrown off the course her anger had been heading.

"No wedding?" Absolem repeated, "Then you're not married!"

"I'm married in every sense of the word," she replied defensively. "We've just had no ceremony."

"May I ask why?" said Mirana.

"Henry and I are both a little rebellious when it comes to pomp and circumstance. I met him on my way home from China. We don't believe marriage is necessary prove our love. We returned to London boasting wedding rings, so as to avoid a scandal, but we've had no actual ceremony." A smile had become evident in her voice, and her hand had slipped unbidden to fondle the ring around her neck. "It's our own little secret. Mother would have a fit if she knew."

"Secrets are just lies that haven't grown yet," remarked Absolem.

"They're not if you both swear not to tell anybody," she replied, "Then I won't have to lie about it."

"Why would you want to lie about such a sacred union?" asked the White Queen.

Alice's hand dropped from the necklace, the reason for her visit soaring back to the surface of her mind. "I don't know what the Hatter would do if he knew I wasn't going to stay," she said quietly.

"Is that the only reason?" asked Mirana, dark brow raised.

"What other reason could there be?"

"You two were so close," she continued carefully, "I just thought perhaps you might keep your Henry a secret so as not to dissuade the Hatter from any…advances…"

Alice flushed a deep scarlet – not of embarrassment, but the colour of someone offended – and just for a second reminded Mirana so much of her sister.

"How dare you," she ground out, "I love Henry. The Hatter and I have always just been friends. I worry about his state of mind, perhaps much more than anyone here does."

She was growing more enraged by the second. "And frankly Your Majesty I don't understand why you of all people have done so little for him. Why is it that I'm the only one trying to help him? Why has he been left to rot as if he doesn't matter? Because he does matter, very much! I'm tired of being the one to fight every battle in this place!"

She hadn't meant to raise her voice, but it was hard to stop once she'd started. She was a little like the Hatter in that respect, only he was not there to calm her down, like she'd done for him so many times.

"I'm…I'm so sorry," she said in a trembling voice.

"No no, you have every right," the White Queen replied in a hushed voice. "You see Alice I am bound by my vows to do no harm to any creature, and you must know that this spell has had an effect on my personality. I am weakened by any thought of disturbing the peace. And for most occupants of Underland, this is a peaceful time. If I were to suddenly demand they leave their comfortable lives to assist in the rehabilitation of a ma – someone such as the Hatter…it would cause a great strain on us all."

Alice was not convinced. "With all due respect, that's hardly an excuse, Your Majesty."

There was a sharp intake of breath from behind them as the White Rabbit gasped.

"You must stop speaking to the queen in such a manner, Alice!" he hissed. Mirana merely shook her head.

"But there is a more definitive reason why we have laid the task on you," she continued, "Come, it's time you saw what you came to see."

Alice was not fazed by the rabbit's admonishments. She'd been in her own world for too long, constrained by the rules and expectations of an English society. Well, the expectations at least, she thought. There weren't really any actual rules about etiquette and manners…she wasn't breaking any laws by being impatient or speaking her mind.

Although she was often treated as if she were.

Maybe that's why she felt so liberated around Henry…or whenever she was in Underland.

They rarely expected her to hold back on her thoughts.

"Where are we going?" she asked, following the White Queen out of the Hall and down a series of corridors.

"To the Reading Room," Mirana answered. "You see, Absolem can no longer read it very easily since his transformation, so he's been teaching the Tweedles how to do it."

"Read what?"

"Yes, and what a joy that is," the butterfly added with a hint of sarcasm, "Those two are the very definition of contradiction. They can never agree on the interpretation of the images. You can't imagine the work involved in educating them."

"But they are such eager boys," Mirana said fondly, "And you must admire them for trying."

"Your dear departed sister tried to conquer Underland…should I admire her?"

The two entered into a rather brief but heated discussion, and left Alice to her thoughts.

Once she was spared the conversation, she had the time to realise what it was they were talking about.

Before she could voice the thought, they stopped outside a large wooden door.

The White Queen knocked once.

"The door's unlocked!" shouted a boyish voice from within.

"Contrari-wise, the door is locked! We'll need to open it!"

"No it ain't locked, I said! How'd we get in if it were?"

"Oh yeah."

Ignoring the argument, Mirana pushed the door open and led them into a well-lit room. In it was a long stone table adorned with piles of books and scrolls. Upon two chairs sat chubby twin boys jostling for position over a particularly large scroll.

At the intrusion they both turned around, smiling in surprise at the visitors and jumping to their feet to bow.

"Hello boys," said Mirana, "Alice has come to see the Oraculum."

"Allo Alice!" said Tweedledee, rushing to grasp her hand. "Why is it you come to us again then?"

Alice had met them down in the castle courtyard not fifteen minutes ago.

"She said she'd be coming up to see the queen, recall it?"

"Oh yeah. But she ain't said nothing about seeing no oracle!"

"She ain't known about the oracle when she met us before!"

"Oh."

"Boys," Alice took it upon herself to interrupt, "It doesn't matter what I knew when. I'm here now, and I'd really like to see the Oraculum if it'll help me with the Hatter."

They both nodded and rushed to see who could unfold the bottom half of the scroll first.

"Carefully now," warned Absolem, "You'll tear the parchment!"

Chastised, Tweedledee stepped back and allowed Alice to move closer to the scroll as his brother unfurled it. He pointed to the scene she was meant to see, and Alice felt a spark of hope alight inside her.

"This is why we know that helping the Hatter is down to you," said Mirana.

At first Alice thought it was the tea party at the March Hare's home, until she realised the tables and chairs were in the shadows of a forest glen, and nowhere near the windmill house. It seemed to be night, for there was heavy shading and candles drawn all over every table. There were enough scones and cakes and precious teapots for ten, but only two of the seats were occupied.

Occupied by what was clearly a drawing of herself and the Hatter, sporting their very own Cheshire Cat grins.

"This being the Haverlock Day," said Tweedledee, "The day you fix the Hatter."