A/N: Right now, my life is getting really hectic – I'm graduating and moving all at once, so please forgive my delay, as well as any in the future. But the fact that I'm still writing this thing is a good sign that I'll finish it!

This chapter wasn't planned, but I felt it rather nessisary once I thought about it. Plus, it gives Chess a cameo. My Chess was greatly inspired by the 1950's Chesire cat – as much as I liked the 2010 Chessur, I felt that he wasn't nearly michevious enough. But don't worry – Chessur will always be Chessur!

Thank you for all your reviews so far! I really do apprieciate them. I hope you enjoy this installment, and tell me what you think!

Things did not get better for Alice the next day as she hoped it would. As someone who moved so many times in her life, she usually had little problem getting comfortable with her new surroundings. It was the people she always had more trouble with. And it seemed in Underland, circumstances were much the same.

Alice sat at the top of a grassy hill that late afternoon, more than happy to be away from the White Castle. She felt like she wasn't wanted there, with so many people upset with her and others never sticking around to chat: McTwisp always had some "important date" to keep, Mirana was working with royal business, and Mally (the dormouse's name, as she had learned from McTwisp when he apologized profusely on her behalf that morning for Mally's behavior) was all but ready to stab the girl if she came within a ten-root radius. She hadn't run into the Hatter since the previous evening, and she had no desire to. She had a feeling that any interaction between the two of them at the moment without not bode well to ease the tensions that had boiled up the previous night.

The only one she could find comfort in was the Bandersnatch. He was asleep on the grass next to her, his massive head resting on her lap. She was no longer afraid of the creature; as fearsome as he appeared, he was no less then loving to Alice. He wanted nothing more than to be by her side. Occasionally, when a white solider would pass them by on the field, he would let out an intimidating, protective growl before the intruders scurried away.

He never growled at Alice. Since reuniting with her, all he did was nudge her playfully and affectionately rub its head against her arm, urging Alice to pet him. He would lovingly licked her face every once in a while, and although she never cared to be covered in slobber before (she wasn't much of a dog person), she would only laugh then rub him behind the ears as he so desired. She missed having someone she didn't have to worry about insulting or looking stupid in front of, someone who she could tell anything to, someone who just loved her unconditionally. Well…perhaps not unconditionally, in the Bandersnatch's case. The condition was just one she couldn't remember yet. But regardless, though the Bandersnatch was no Dinah, she was happy to have him in her company.

"This might just be my opinion, but isn't sitting alone with a Bandersnatch away from the populous a rather unconventional way of making friends?"

Alice gasped at the sound of smooth and silky voice that came from nowhere. In a few seconds, however, a sly and toothy grin manifested itself in front of her, along with two round, emerald eyes.

It was the evaporating Cheshire cat. Luckily, this time when he appeared, Alice didn't scream. But she still wasn't happy with the way he made himself known. And she also wasn't happy to have her peace interrupted and invaded by some strange cat's taunting.

"I thought you said we were 'dear friends' to begin with," said Alice tartly, "So I can't see why I should be down there making more."

"Contrary-wise, my dear, I can't recall ever meeting you before in my life," said the cat in the suspiciously chipper tone. Whether Alice's sarcasm was lost on him – or his sarcasm lost on her – was already a mystery. Such confusion only proved to make her more frustrated.

"Alright then," she said, sticking out her hand. "I'm Alice Kingsley."

"Chessur," replied the cat who, much to Alice's surprise, actually took her outstretched hand into his paw, which had suddenly appeared along with the rest of his body. "Call me Chess. Now," continued the cat, beginning to rotate in mid-air. "What brings you to Underland?"

Alice snorted. "That's a wonderful question."

"Really? From the way you said it, it sounds like a terrible question. Which is terribly insulting to the question in question," he said, as he evaporated and re-appeared on Alice's left, his grin even wider than before. "And if the question is upset, how can we hope to receive an answer from it, my dear girl?"

Obviously, using sarcasm with this cat wasn't a smart idea. "I don't know why I'm here," she said bluntly, hoping the cat would take the hint and evaporate somewhere else – somewhere far, far away. The Bandersnatch must've shared her sentiments, for he had been growling at the cat since he first appeared. Chessur, on the other hand, seemed to care less about the beast.

"It's not a question of knowing, it's a question of being," Chess said, his head now levitating on its own in mid air, which was distracting enough without his words being so riddling. "What are you doing being here, exactly?"

"I'm. Here. Because. I'm. Here," said Alice, enunciating each word until they were as sharp as the tips of daggers. She normally wouldn't speak so sharply to a stranger, but the cat was already getting on her last nerve. But she also had a feeling that Chess was enjoying riling her up and getting under her skin – and that she hadn't been the first victim of his talent to annoy.

"I am because I am, and I am because I do…" Chess muttered to himself quizzically, in complete disregard to her frustration. With an irritated sigh, Alice was finding out that no matter what she said or how she said it, that cat couldn't be discouraged from his pestering – his sickening grin would just grow larger.

"Why do you keep talking like that?" asked Alice, unsure if she could tolerate his antics for much longer.

"Why do you sit here on a hilltop all alone, with nothing but a fearsome Bandersnatch for company?" he rebutted slyly while managing to balance his head on his upside-down body. "Could it be that, perhaps, you would rather besomewhere else –" his toothy grin turned dark and mischievous – "yet you're afraid of being with someone else?"

He had hit the nail on the head. Although that cat was bothersome beyond belief, he definitely wasn't stupid. Unfortunately, Alice found that to be the case with most people in society. It didn't make dealing with them any easier – as was the case with this curious cat.

"Well, perhaps I haven't been overly-eager to meet with him, it's true," said Alice with some uncertainty, "But I haven't been avoiding him. I just haven't seen him. I don't know where to find him."

"He's at the royal millinery, the third doorway in the fifth hall on the second floor," said Chess while examining his claws. His body then slowly began to disappear, like mist on the murky sea, leaving only his head behind with that haunting grin plastered upon it. His round eyes widened with mischief, his crooked teeth skewed at an impossible angle, and he laughed.

"What are you waiting for?"

And then he finally disappeared for good.

She found the Hatter exactly where Chess has told her he would be.

As soon as she opened the door, she was hit with an explosion of color. In Mirana's white, monotone castle, to enter a place like this was quite a shock to Alice. Patterns and shades decorated every inch of the wall, almost hiding the Hatter's own colorful attire within the midst of it all. His hat was barely recognizable amongst the hundreds that stood beside him and on the wall behind him.

She hesitated by the door at first, but was quickly lured in by the intriguing shapes and details that were scattered all around her. Maybe it was just because she had been in this castle of white for two days, but she couldn't imagine such vibrant colors existing even in her own world. It was as if the Hatter had created these colors himself.

But awe was quickly swallowed by worry when she finally approached the Hatter, who was so hard at work he didn't even look up when she came in. At that moment, he was working with an old-fashioned sewing machine, while repeatingly dunking some fabric into an orange liquid. His hands worked nimbly and precisely, never even having to look up to grab an instrument or fabric beside him. It was not hard to tell that he was a master at his trade.

She wasn't sure how to speak to him. Wouldn't he be unhappy to be distracted while he worked? Would he lash out at her again in that Scottish brogue? His head was buried so deeply into the fabric in front of him, she couldn't see what color his eyes were. Would they turn green at her presence, or amber? Or even maybe that heartbreaking shade of murky blue? Alice really hoped it wouldn't. She came here to make amends, not make him feel worse.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She closed it again, and turned to face the array of hats that were standing on stilts from the wall. She started to reach for one, but quickly pulled her hand back. But she did smile at them.

"These are lovely."

His head jerked upwards with surprise. He looked confused for a moment, his eyes a strange shade of violet and orange, but then turned to a darker shade of his usual green as he finally recognized her.

"Thank ye," he muttered, turning his head downwards again to work, but she could see him watching her from the corner of his eye. There was no particular malice or distaste in his stare. Just…interest.

"Can I try one on?" she asked. Still not looking up, the Hatter nodded. She picked one up and sat it atop her head, and looked in the mirror. It was purple, with ribbons of red and blue exuding from its unbelievably high top. Alice giggled a bit. She looked ridiculous with it on, but she could tell that it was marvelously made. Even costumes didn't have this much detail and care put into them.

"That one doesn't suit you at all!" burst out the Hatter suddenly, as if he was trying his best to keep the comment from escaping. When she turned around, Alice saw him muttering to himself fiercely in some language she couldn't understand. His cheeks turned red when he noticed that she was looking at him.

"Be grateful you don't know Outlandish," he explained bashfully.

Is that what his brogue was, then? She started to blush herself, and she took off the hat and put it back on the pedicel. "I'm sorry."

"Nae, it's not ye, luv," he said quickly, his voice wobbling with a weaker version of his brogue. "It's me. Ah…get easily mad at meself, I'm afraid. An' the Outlandish loves tae come out when Ah'm upset-"

"Hatter?" she interrupted nervously.

"– as you can see" he finished, shaking off the brogue at the end of his ramble. Alice wasn't given time to ponder on this, for a second later the Hatter, as if unable to contain himself, snatched another hat from beside him and stood to place it on Alice's head. In a blink of an eye, he was at his work desk again.

"That one is better for your shape and size," he explained while still not looking up, obviously trying to keep up his façade of hard work as he talked to her.

A wide smile broke out on Alice's face as she looked at herself in the mirror. This one was silver, much smaller, and bejeweled with blue stones and glittering ribbons. There was nothing tacky about it, but it held more personality in one of its stitches than a whole hat back home did.

"You're absolutely right," said Alice, doing a little spin in her dress. He could almost make out a hint of a smile on the Hatter's red lips as she turned around gaily.

"Did you make all of these hats yourself?" she asked, carefully putting the beautiful hat on a nearby shelf. There were dozens of shelves aligning the walls, and the room must have been as big as a lecture hall in her university. Her brain hurt at the very thought of trying to mathematically figure out how many hats were in here.

"Yes," he said while he rolled out an opaque shade of fabric. His eyes slightly drifted in her direction, and he added shyly, "I also made that dress, as well as the one you wore yesterday."

Alice literally gasped out loud. If the rows and rows of individual hats wasn't enough of a wonder, the fact that the dress that made her look like a princess was made by this man nearly knocked her off her feet. She was wearing another wonderful dress today; bathed in dark blue, it was more modern then her previous dress, and shorter, but its silver sleeves and sparkling satin gave it touches of history that made her feel like lost royalty. She was ready to ask for her jeans to wear again that morning, but then she had the same problem she had with her previous dress – once she tried it on, she just couldn't take it off.

"What spells do you put on these dresses?" she asked with a light laugh, "Because I think they're too captivating for their own good."

Finally, something close to a smile showed at Alice's tease. "I'm glad you like them. I made you quite a number of dresses while I was waiting for you to come back –"

He stopped. His eyes turned a bluish green, remembering. And his smile was gone.

Alice bit her lip, her own cheer dismantled by the damage those dark eyes could do. She waited in the silence, unsure of what to say.

"What's your name?" she then asked softly, stepping closer to him.

He was quiet for a moment, with no physical reaction whatsoever, but she could tell by the furrow of his giant brows that some battle was being waged within his own mind. "Everyone calls me Hatter," he said finally. Alice knew he didn't really answer the question, but decided not to press it. She was the one who had broken his heart after all, even if she hadn't meant to.

He chuckled darkly, masochistically. "Most call me the Mad Hatter."

And now they had come to it. That 'madman' insult obviously still stung from the previous evening. She still felt terrible about it, but she couldn't apologize for it and magically make his hurt go away. But then, Alice had an idea - and she decided to take a different route altogether.

"I'm mad too, you know," she said matter-of-factly, brushing her figures against the feathers on a green hat nearby. She focused on those feathers very hard, letting her words sink in, and didn't look at the Hatter until he decided to speak.

"You, mad?" he exclaimed in disbelief.

"Well, mad is a relative term," she admitted, "The more common use nowadays is 'mental illness'. Which sounds worse than 'mad' if you ask me."

He didn't chuckle at her comment as she hoped he would. His green eyes were completely fixed on her in puzzlement. "But, why?..."

"Well," she started, turning around to carefully learn against the shelf. "In my world, we actually study the human mind. It's called psychology. In the past two-hundred years or so, tons of different theories and names for madness have sprung up. It's rather…well, insane how many 'mental diseases a person can have."

"You have a mental disease?" he asked doubtfully.

"I was diagnosed with OCD when I was ten. Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. Except in my case, I don't have any compulsions. My obsessions are all in what I think, not what I do. Which makes it harder to treat, I've learned."

"Obsessive about what – if you don't mind me asking," he asked, embarrassed by his forwardness, at least for a man who's mannerisms (somewhat) belonged in the Victorian era. Most of the creatures and people here behaved in the same twisted-Victorian style - almost old-fashioned, but very topsy-turvy. For example, Alice doubted that milliners made hats like these in the 19th century.

"Bad thoughts, really. Fear that maybe I'll do something incredibly inappropriate, like insult a stranger for no good reason in public – or hurt someone I love. Of course, the fact that I fear these thoughts mean that I'll probably never do them, as such is the case with most people who have OCD. And my bad thoughts have gotten much better over the years as well. But they still come back to haunt me every once in a while." She looked into his eyes. "I think that maybe you know the feeling?"

He didn't respond. Instead, he turned his head and stared at the wall. And Alice wondered why she was telling him these things. She hated talking about her OCD with strangers. She only knew this man for a few minutes so far, at most! But, unlike with most strangers, she didn't fear for him to misjudge her about her mental illness. Probably because he knew that feeling as well. Too well.

"It was also theorized that I might have aspbergers, since my ability to read social cues at the young age were nil," she continued with a snort. "But the fact that I became fluent in sarcasm as I got older disproved it."

She wrapped her arms around herself, a wry grin on her face. "And a few years ago, I was also diagnosed with depression. But I assume that happens to most people who lose their fathers."

Hatter looked at her. His eye color was surprisingly neutral. She couldn't detect what sort of emotion was hiding behind them. Was he thinking sardonically of her excuses for madness? Was he pitying her? Or did he not judge her at all – because he has lost a loved one himself?

"My point is," she said, her voice now softer with understanding, "Everyone is mad in their own way. Most people probably don't know they're mad, or try to hide it. But they all are. And anyone who tries to deny it is delusional or a fool. At least, that's my opinion."

It could've just been her imagination, but Alice thought she saw his eyes turn a slightly brighter shade of green. "If that's true," he said, his voice now a bit more jovial, "Then what sort of madness would you diagnose me with?"

That was a good question. Scientifically, he seemed to be suffering from many sorts of madness. But the most glaring suspicion was the liquid that he was soaking his fabrics in. The orange substance was easily recognizable by the former university student – mercury. She had studied the effects of mercury poisoning in chemistry class, and the Hatter seemed to fit many of the symptoms: red cheeks, swollen figures, and extreme mood swings.

But Alice didn't want to say that. Because she knew his madness extended further then to just a medical condition – it was a part of his personality. It was the kind of madness her father had, and the kind of madness she wished she had herself.

"You have a very special kind of madness that's…not easy to define," she said, sitting down on a stool beside him. "You see, every kind of madness has the ability to destroy, from murder to their own minds. They don't have to be completely destructive; most mental illnesses are like my OCD, which create little dents in our self-image and thought process. Almost all people fear this power madness has over them, and they try to destroy it in return. "

"But," continued Alice, noticing how the Hatter's expression fell at her words, "There's also a special kind of madness. Only a rare few people have it in my world. It's the madness that doesn't only destroy – it creates. And the people who have it never try to get rid of it. They embrace it. They enjoy it. Although it can throw them in for a bumpy ride every once in a while, they never really suffer from it in the end. Because the price of madness doesn't compare to the reward of creation."

"Y-y-you," he stuttered in surprise, "Think I'm that sort of mad?"

"I know it," she said with a smile. She stretched out her arms and gestured all around her. "Because all of this was created by you. Because you create beauty. It's as simple as that."

Even his bowtie was perking up now. He opened his mouth, but no incoherent words came out. Just laughter. Alice felt a weight slide off her shoulders at the sound. Both of their spirits were higher in the sky then they thought possible just the night before.

"Listen," she said, turning towards him, deciding to take this chance while she could. "I want to meet with you again. I think that you'll be able to help me with…with my memory. I promise I won't be as awful this time around."

The Hatter's face lost some of its glee, but his eyes were still florescent green. At least the thought of seeing her as not-Alice didn't drag him into a pit of depression and fury now.

"I have to work," he said, returning to his desk and placing more fabric on the sewing machine. He hesitated, then said: "But I'll meet you at sundown at the castle entrance, if you desire."

Alice nodded, a little disappointed since she would have no one to hold a conversation with after she left him (apart from that dreaded cat), but knew it was probably best if he had some time to himself. She left,and closed the door behind her, smiling with satisfaction. Perhaps she could make things right between them, and recover her memory - and perhaps then this world would start to make sense.