Three: Grief

He was waiting for her this time.

When Alice returned once more to the hut, she almost didn't bother to try the door. But there was a fresh feeling in the place, she thought…not entirely wonderful, like the rest of Underland…but decidedly different. A new kind of energy. So she approached the hut with mixed feelings of anxiety and anticipation, dreading what emotion the Hatter might be consumed by that day but knowing it would all have to work out eventually. She headed for the door.

It swung right open. The grass had been cut.

"Finally," she sighed, "An improvement."

Inside was still quite dark: he'd made no efforts to draw the curtains, but at least he'd made sure she didn't have to jump through the window anymore.

"I'd nearly forgotten what it was like to use a door," Alice called, searching the hut for her friend.

"I daresay the window was much more fun," the Hatter replied, nervously approaching her from the kitchen. He'd been terribly afraid to cut that grass, for fear she would not return to appreciate it. His days were now measured by how many times she visited, if at all. It had been a week in between the last visit, but this one, only a day.

There were definite improvements to this entire affair.

It was a little more than natural momentum propelling them towards each other, but they were not to know that just yet. They came to a gentle halt not two feet apart, the Hatter clutching his hat to his chest and Alice with her hands clasped behind her back. The space between them was not closed by a hug, or any form of physical greeting, though it felt intimate enough. Friendly enough. Alice's lips were turned up in a smile, yet they felt dry. She was trying to read his face for any sign of what inner turmoil possessed him that day. The Hatter's throat was parched. He'd been suffering the absence of her so much that morning…the absence of everyone. It was hard to fathom that despite his feeling so utterly alone, here she stood, a semblance of companionship. He twitched a little as he stared at her, voice without accent but irises still orange.

"You're not gone," he said very quietly, more to himself than her. His mind projected miserable thoughts that fought against what his eyes were clearly seeing. He tilted his head as if to shake them out from his ear. "No, she's not gone…"

"I won't be gone for a long while yet," Alice replied, tentatively reaching out to prise the hat from his grip, "So you'd better start looking your best for our trips." She placed the hat atop his head. He was never quite complete until he wore it, never made such an impression on her as he did when it sat atop his fiercely orange hair. When it did, a tiny landslide of unnamed emotion swept through her. For this, one of many reasons, she'd missed her friend.

"Trips." The word wasn't a question, it was a sceptical repetition. Was he slipping away from her already?

"Yes, that's right. There's a very important tea party you need to be ready for. But to get to that, you have to be able to go outside."

"What tea party?" he started to follow her to the door, filling each step she left behind so as to keep their proximity close. His gaze clouded. "I used to have such wonderful tea parties…"

"And you will again, Hatter. But first, we're going for a walk. Do you remember the outdoors? The wonderful world beyond this hut?"

He could see the ashen greys and the grief just waiting to drown him with every glance through the opened door. Two responses escaped him then, almost as if two different men offered a reply:

"There's nough' but sadness awaits me out in that world, lass."

After which he shook that voice from his throat and balked at her attempts to move him forward. "I've not been outside for a good long while, Alice. I – I don't think I'm ready."

She was beginning to guess the emotion that was taunting him this time.

The Haverlock Day, she thought, using the reminder to gather courage and boldly grasp his clammy hand. It will all lead there. "I think you're ready. It's a beautiful day outside, Hatter. Come on."

And she dragged him out into the world.

It seemed impossible that such pure sunlight could shine down on the birthplace of his heartache.

"Since when do I ever even consider the impossible?" he asked himself, the words so small they could not float beyond his own ears. It was entirely possible. It was astounding. Here was the sunshine, right where he'd left it.

A riddle sprang to mind, though not spoken in his own voice.

"An eye in a blue face saw an eye in a green face," he recited, casting his gaze to the furthest reaches of the clearing, where the most significant bones lay. ""That eye is like to this eye" said the first eye, "But in low place, not in high place.""

Giggling. Careful consideration. An abundance of children's hasty answers.

One correct guess, spoken by the youngest. A cousin.

"A sun on –"

"A field of daisies," the Hatter murmured, clutching more tightly at Alice's hand.

"Of daisies?" she enquired, caught up in her own whirlwind of thoughts. The light of day cast a grim spotlight on what had truly become of the Hatter: he was dreadfully thin, like a sapling in dire need of nourishment. His face was gaunt, meek, drowned, lacking lustre. He reminded her of the poor souls she'd seen in every country she'd traversed, those less fortunate wandering homeless right under the noses of the rich. Except where others had turned a blind eye, she'd made a point to let them they know she saw them, that they were indeed alive and acknowledged. It was the only kindness she could offer after a while, when so many others had been given the contents of her purse. It seemed she was the only one to see the Hatter, too. I see you, she thought, I know you're here.

He'd continued to imagine that Time had stopped outside. That he could be wrapped up in the cocoon of his insanity, resurfacing at any moment to find all as it was. But then he beganto remember the shouting, the violence, the weeping…it was no wonder poor Mallymkun and Thackery had deserted him. Of course everybody would want to move on. He'd been looking to the future after Frabjous Day as much as the next Underland inhabitant. So why then, upon the day, had he chosen to start clinging to the past with every fibre of his being?

Because Alice was to be your future and she left, said the voice in his head. With nothing else to go by, it was only a matter of time before he began to grieve for the loss of the old days. He felt himself being buoyed along, away from the hut. But it was too much, too fast. That hut was his rock, his lifeline, and he was drifting from it like a raft at sea. "No," he whispered, "I won't leave."

The energy left him, and he sagged against her. Light as he was, she couldn't bear his weight for too long. Taking his arm around her shoulder Alice led him to a place just shy of the hut, where its presence didn't seem to linger over her back.

"Let's just sit here, Hatter. Just here." She slowly sank down onto the grass with him, feeling his sigh against her collarbone. Her skin kept the warmth of it several moments after it dissipated.

Well, it was progress. They were outside.

Whether or not the Hatter was benefiting from this change was another matter. He was distraught, eyes hazy and unfocused as he glanced about the clearing, murmuring and sniffing as if about to cry. He folded his legs beneath him and leaned into her, unaware of the tight grip he now had on her hands. Alice stroked the back of his palm with her thumb, studying his lost expression and guessing where his mind had run off to so quickly. It wasn't hard to guess. He wore his emotions so closely to the surface, like no other man she knew. Today, she thought the only thing on his mind was loss. He was a man of passion and nonsense that had loved wholeheartedly and had it all stripped away.

He's a man who holds nothing back – who knew how to love – who never wavered in his faith – who knows how to fight –

He's a man.

Alice had to cough then, to clear her thoughts. "Dare I ask what's on your mind, Hatter?" she enquired, looking for a way for start the conversation. He looked at her, eyes ablaze, and he could have had the word mourning written on his forehead, so obvious was his trouble.

"I've lost my entire clan, lass: my family, friends… I've been captured, threatened and tortured by the lowliest coward of a man. I've go' friends no more sane than I that still think they've the right to pity me. I've not 'ad a good cup of tea in three years, there's a tear in my hat and the only person capable of understandin' me ran away the moment her duty was done. So I've go' a fair bit on my mind!" He'd taken his hands away from her and clenched them tightly against his lap.

"I didn't run away," she replied heatedly, covering his fists with her palms. "I had so much to do. I had people waiting for my return. People who needed me."

"I waited for your return," he argued, simmering down. "I needed you, Alice. Much more than anyone from that world above that you so naively call home."

"What do you mean? It is my home."

"Do you feel safe there? Do you have fun and go on mad ventures and drink tea whenever you like?"

She thought of her escapades with her husband. "I do now."

"But is your heart there?" he asked, not missing a beat.

She thought of her escapades here, with him and the others. "….most of it."

"And the rest?"

"Here," she admitted after a long while, "With a bunch of animals and a man whose real name I don't even know."

"Here," he whispered with a smile, "Here, here." Her confession was enough to plant a seed of muchness within him. He used it to push himself to his feet without her aid, and stride over to the far corner of the clearing. He removed his hat and held it at his side, head bowed to the grass. There were only rotting frames beneath the flourishing undergrowth to show that anyone had ever been there, but the Hatter could see it all perfectly clear: the homes tended to with pride and love, the maypole rising gloriously from the centre of the glade…and the people.

Every single one of them, adorned with a hat, laughing raucously and so very alive.

His lucid mood began to fracture. "I can see you," he murmured to the home that had been his mother and father's. "I can see what's not here."

He felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced at Alice beside him. The Alice, who'd come back to him but as of yet had not given any reason. He would wait, he knew, for as long as it took her to explain.

Because even if he leant towards nonsense and mayhem, life without reason was far too terrifying.

"My real name is Tarrant Hightopp," he began. "I was the son of the best milliner in the Hightopp clan. When I began to Hat the Queen, people simply called me the Hatter…and soon after that, the mad one."

Alice leaned forward subtly to check the colour of his eyes. They were a dim shade of amber, like mud under the midday sun.

She swallowed a nervous flutter; well aware that her question would either ground him or send him spiralling, and then asked: "What was your father like?"

He seemed to disappear into himself, his reminiscent smile folding away to nothing more than a quirk of his lips. It was several moments before she could get a response from him.

"Where did you go that time?"

"Home," he answered, in that bur that flared up time and again.

When he smiled benignly she realised he would say nothing more on the subject. Whether that was because he simply didn't want to or because his mind had wandered, she wasn't certain. All she knew was that his mood, lacking focus on any one thought, was quite catching. Already since the silence began, her mind had burst with a thousand little queries and opinions. But then his luminous, vacant eyes sharpened on her and his expression was not quite so benign. His hand slunk not entirely of its own accord to clasp her fingers. Since she'd broken the ice about physical contact he was more than happy to continue their newfound bond.

"I've always talked to myself," she admitted, changing the subject when he wouldn't say anything else. She inspected the joining of their hands: it was not quite an equal join, rather his fingers devouring hers in search of comfort. Would it always be this way, with him desperately clinging on as she tried to keep herself in check? "I have little conversations in my head, at least once a day. In London they tell me I must be a little 'off'. But it's a perfectly normal practise down here."

"It is an excellent habit to get into," he remarked, looking pointedly at her as he added, "Provided you're in the right place."

"London is the right place, Tarrant," Alice replied. "It's not Underland, but –"

"No."

"No to what?"

"Don't call me Tarrant," he said firmly.

"I was just curious; I wanted to hear –"

"I don't –" he broke off, forcing himself to breathe more calmly. "That name carries too much weight, Alice," he continued feebly, "I never want to hear it from you. Please. I'd much rather be your Hatter."

It felt peculiar to say anyway, Alice conceded. "All right…Hatter."

The conversation seemed to drain him, for he was quiet again. Or quite possibly he was just reminiscing once more. Either way, she decided to forget about taking a walk that day. She worried when he was this way, pensive and tense and switching from topic to topic. It was like he could only hold snippets of conversation before his mind told him to change subject. At least there's variety, she thought dryly. Sometimes Henry could talk for an hour about a singular idea. She loved hearing him talk, for his voice was so rich with contradicting youth and experience: a low timbre that spoke volumes to her. But at times it was not so much the way one said something as what they were saying.

And she doubted the Hatter would ever run out of things to talk about.

As if on cue, her friend stirred from his musings enough to recite another riddle:

"It canne' be seen, canne' be felt. Canne' be heard, canne' be smelt. It lies behind stars and under hills, an' empty holes it fills. It comes first an' follows after," with a pause he turned to her and finished: "Ends life; kills laughter."

The tone of it made her uneasy, but nonetheless she faced him with false light-heartedness. "I must brush up on my riddle solving skills," she joked. "I don't know."

He settled his beloved hat back onto his head.

What has filled my life – covers their graves at night – steals the shine from your hair – the Hatter turned quickly and gripped her arm, fast enough to make her gasp. "You do," he insisted, "You do know. You can find the answer, Alice. Think."

"I – I can't think –"

"It's the birthplace of shadows and the colour of night," he prompted, "It's the first thing you see when you close your eyes. It's the insides of an empty teapot." He squeezed her arm, face pleading. "It's everything I'm shrouded in."

She gazed into the glow of his eyes, hidden under the brim of his hat. "Is it…darkness?"

It was as if she'd given him some divine answer. He heaved a great sigh of relief, dropping her arm and hand, nodding. "Darkness," he repeated, staring out over the field of his clan, "Darkness."

Alice watched her friend, knowing then that she was not the only one to have fallen into a deep, dim hole.

***

It was a relief for once, to see them so empty.

Alice had arrived at the tea party tables hoping for a little inspiration to strike. She didn't need the others to be there; she just wanted to explore what had once been the Hatter's world and find what might bring him back.

His entire world, wrapped up into a little set of teapots and saucers and cakes.

It was late afternoon, possibly dinner time – she wasn't sure how long she'd been with him today. But nobody else was occupying the seats, so she wandered down the length of the tables and drank in the atmosphere:

Alternating seats. Azure-lined teapots. Ardent friendship. Things beginning with the letter A.

Biscuits. Broken mugs. Bent minds. Things beginning with the letter B.

Crumbs. Cold tea. Caring creatures. Things beginning with the letter C.

The entire alphabet of his world lay just at her fingertips.

Alice traced the arm of the Hatter's chair, noting that it too had been repaired since she last saw the dilapidated area. She'd half expected the others to leave off touching anything related to a madman, fearing that insanity might be contagious.

With a quick pointless glance around her, she pulled the heavy chair out from the table and sank down into it.

"Doesn't smell like him," she murmured, "It's spiritless." She wriggled around in the groove of the seat, as if that might help. "It's just a chair," she was forced to admit with a sigh. "What did you expect, Alice?" she asked herself, straightening in her seat as if to supervise imaginary guests. Then she poured herself a cup of neglected tea, raised it to her lips, sniffed…and thought better of it. Tipping the contents onto the grass, she rested her elbows on the table – yes, her elbows on the table with nobody to admonish her! – and sighed. How could she ever get the Hatter to come here again? There were a few too many memories here for her to bear, let alone him.

Perhaps that was why the Oraculum depicted them in a different location: to start afresh.

Tea for one, she thought to herself, dismally staring into the dregs of her mug. Just me. Alone here. Not a single Hatter to spare.

"You still haven't told him have you? You great lump o–"

"Mallymkun!" Alice cried, mug clattering to the table. "You frightened me!"

"But you haven't, have you?"

"How do you know about my marriage? Only the White –"

"Tweedles!" shouted the March Hare, as Alice turned away from the Dormouse to find him quite nearly on her lap. "They overheard the White Queen!"

"Those boys…" Alice grumbled, pushing Thackery back a little, "I told you I wasn't going to say anything about it until the Hatter's feeling better."

"Why do you think that's such a good idea?" asked the White Rabbit as he clambered up onto a stool beside her. It was difficult to avoid questioning when surrounded by woodland creatures at every turn.

"I'm being interrogated by animals," she muttered, "This is absurd."

"No, this is Underland. What you're doing is absurd," said McTwisp. "You can't avoid the subject forever."

"I never said I would!"

"And pardon me," said a cat's grin, "But what, pray tell, does a Hatter smell like?"

"I can't say for certain that they all smell the same," Alice answered warily, put off by his sudden abstract question. The Cheshire Cat's face appeared to claim the floating grin, and it became clear his expression was that of impatience. Alice relented. "Well, my – our Hatter smells like…tea leaves and ash…and silk." She seemed to recover her thoughts, and turned a pale pink with embarrassment. "But you shouldn't have been listening to my conversation! It's very rude!"

"You were by yourself!" cried Mallymkun indignantly.

"They were still my private thoughts."

"If you wanted to keep them private you should 'ave kept 'em locked up here," said the March Hare, tapping his head vigorously.

"Enough of this talk," McTwisp interrupted, taking out his pocket watch to wipe it with a cloth. "We didn't come here to discuss how the Hatter smells."

"He smells with his nose!" shouted Thackery.

"We weren't discussing how the Hatter smells," Mally pointed out, "We were discussing whether or not it's rude to eavesdrop on someone that's talking to herself."

"Stop!" Alice shouted, "All of you! You're giving me a terrible headache."

Why did animals have to talk so much? Was it to make up for all their counterparts up in her world that could not speak a word?

"Well if you'd just let us know when you plan on announcing your marriage, we'd be happy to leave you to it," said the White Rabbit, while Mally huffed and the March Hare quivered into his mug.

"I believe Alice has every right to keep the secret to herself," Chessur said before Alice could project the fierce opinion herself, "The Hatter is a fragile man."

"Thankyou, Chess," she said exasperatedly. "Why exactly is it so important that I tell him in the first place?"

McTwisp turned to the Cat. "How is she supposed to ease his mind if she's not even aware –?"

"Pining!" shouted the March Hare, attention quickly focusing on the mug in his hand and nothing else. "…mug."

Alice blinked. Chessur rolled his eyes. "What did he say?"

"Hatter's pining," said Mallymkun, "But he'll stop when he finds out –"

"For goodness' sake, I think everybody should be allowed to keep themselves to themselves," Chessur interrupted loudly, "Including our dear mad friend." He coughed apologetically for his harsh tone, and added somewhat demurely: "I do love secrets, don't you?"

Alice scrutinised them all. Such strange company she kept. So many stories untold.

"At any rate," she said with an eye on the Cat, grateful for a pause to change the focus, "He's getting a little better each time I visit. It's easier to bring him back to the present when he drifts away." Though she thought of how she'd left him that day, asking the teapot why it refused to make decent tea. He hadn't wanted to go back inside but she'd helped him walk to the hut anyway. He was still weak, both in mind and body, and she'd worried he wouldn't ever go back in if left to his own devices. She'd pictured him sitting and staring at that patch of rotted wood for days on end until she visited again.

Did he simply turn off when she wasn't there? Perhaps she was awarding herself too much credence. She wasn't the whole reason for his life, was she?

But then what had Chessur been trying to hide from her?

She had an idea. But she didn't want to believe it.

It would make things more than a little complicated.

***

The Hatter didn't like much care for the indoors anymore.

He'd finally given up arguing with the teapot that refused to answer, thinking wistfully of the times when every cup had been sweet and comforting.

His mother had made such soothing tea…but there's no one to soothe me now –

He shook the thought away. Now that he'd given up the fight, there was not a lot else to do. He surveyed the scarcely decorated hut, wondering for the first time what it was he'd been doing for four years. It seemed as if that one trip outside had woken him from some kind of stupor.

That one trip with Alice.

Oh, she really did make his days a little better.

More than a little better: brighter. Busier. Bolder. Many a thing beginning with B.

Beautiful.

"Hatter!"

Alice's curious voice floated in from outside, music to his ears. He very nearly lost his hat in his mad rush to answer her. She'd barely knocked a third time when he swung open the door, beaming.

"Why, hello again!" he exclaimed, overcome by the sight of her. "You're positively popping up everywhere these days!"

Her mouth formed a peculiar yet lovely shape, the smile she only ever wore for him. "It's nice to be popping up instead of falling down an awful lot of holes," she remarked, relieved to find him in a lucid mood. "Sorry to call in again but –"

"Sorry?" the Hatter repeated, his voice dropping into a melancholic octave. "I do hope you're never sorry to see me, Alice."

Her hand was quick to find his arm with a reassuring grip. "Oh no Hatter, I didn't mean that. I just thought you might be busy."

He glanced pointedly around the hut. "What might I be occupying myself with?" he asked forlornly, and she awkwardly said nothing. The brogue had taken over his voice again. "I used to be the life of the party, Chess said," he murmured. "I used to have many a thing to do…" he coughed. "Excuse me, lass. What did you return for?"

She'd ignore his relapse, Alice decided. Maybe then he'd forget he was upset. When she was mad at Henry he'd sometimes simply pretend he hadn't noticed, and eventually she'd talk to him and forget all about her problem. It was an irritating method, but she had to admit it worked quite well.

"What did you mean when you said you wanted plans from me?" she asked carefully.

"Hmm?" he scratched at his head, trying to hide his embarrassment. He hadn't meant to tell her about his hopes. "I don't believe I said such a thing, Alice. Perhaps you should have that memory of yours checked. The March Hare tells me that eating Flying Fish is good for the memory."

"Flying Fish?" Alice repeated with a curious smile, but told herself to stay focused on the conversation. "No, sorry. Never mind. You said you wanted plans from me."

The Hatter ducked his head down. "Did I now?"

Alice cleared her throat. "Well, I don't know what kind of plans you were expecting…but I thought you should know I've planned a dinner."

His gaze flickered up from beneath the rim of his hat. "Dinner?"

It was not what he'd had in mind. He'd dreamt of…a great deal more. This is a mere stepping stone, he thought, a single move in a game of chess.

"How delightful," he said, when he could think of no cleverer comment. His fingers had, of their own accord, gripped the doorframe tightly. The scratch of his nails biting into the wood was clearly audible.

"It's not tonight," Alice said, noting the tension in his hands, eyes. "I just thought I'd let you know in advance."

"When is it exactly?"

She placed her hand over his, the warmth of it kissing the cold from his skin. "It's not exact…it'll be whenever you're ready, Hatter."

He allowed his nervous frown to evolve to a relieved smile.

"I thought we'd start off with dinner…and then move onto the more important occasions."

He remembered her proposal from earlier that day. "Like the tea party?"

She squeezed his hand. "Yes, exactly like the tea party." Reluctantly, her grip lightened and she stepped back from the doorway. "I really must go home now, or I'll be late to see my mother." He started to quiver then, just slightly, but she simply had to go. She hardened her resolve and turned to walk down the path.

"Alice?"

Never able to ignore the call of his voice, she stopped to turn. "Yes Hatter?"

He brought his arms up to hug himself anxiously. "I don't believe I've actually said so yet but…it really is very lovely to see you again. I…I missed you."

And there it was: the spark of light in his eyes, the answer to the question she hadn't asked. But things will only become complicated if you allow them to, she thought to herself. She stared at the man who had once been the Hatter, but had declined into a far sadder kind of person. He wasn't back yet, not even close.

"Yes," she murmured, "I miss you too."