"What do you mean, you don't have a body?" Rumpelstiltskin shouts and his angry voice is empowered by the vast empty space of the tower that serves as Victor Frankenstein's laboratory. "You said I pulled you out in the middle of an operation!"
"So you did, but I found you'd not want to take that," the doctor gestures at his operating table and the sorcerer nearly gags at the display.
"Oh how exceptionally lovely," Jefferson comments, stepping closer to Victor and sneaking an arm across his shoulder. "Does mommy know what kind of tools you're playing with here?"
"I would like you to refrain from such remarks, sir," Frankenstein says through gritted teeth keeping his face as expressive as a stone. "And keep your hands off me!"
Jefferson begins to giggle when the doctor shrugs his arm off.
"Oh why is that, Vic? Your assistant will be jealous?"
"I do not understand what you are implying, sir," the man replies coolly, raising his eyebrows in mild interest, which only makes the hatter laugh harder.
"And I do not understand why you keep calling me sir but I find it quite amusing!"
"Frankenstein, I hate to waste time. You said…"
"I know what I said, necromancer. Don't touch that!" he snaps and Jefferson drops the glass retort he was holding.
"Oopsie," he shrugs. "My bad, love. Not to worry, our lizard wizard will pay for it."
"What did you call me?" Victor spits out with disgust. "It's Doctor Victor von…"
"Oh I know your titles, love," the hatter waves his hand in the air dismissively and the doctor turns red in the face at such disregard to his persona. "No need to bore me with them again. You were saying?.."
"I was saying we need to take a little trip to get what you !" he shouts and it takes several minutes until the trio hears uneven dragging steps of his assistant.
"Yes, master," comes a polite reply when Igor enters the roombut he stops immediately when he sees Rumpelstiltskin. "M-m-master! T-that m-man!" He stutters, eyes bulging out which the sorcerer finds quite tiring and Jefferson – amusing; then again, what doesn't seem funny when you are slightly on the crazy side?
"Why does he call you master?" the hatter snickers. "Is it like some kind of perversion or fantasy role-play?"
"Get lost, you silly creature!" Victor snaps.
"In a castle like that? Easily, love. But then you're stuck with that grumpy character," he points at Rumpelstiltskin with his thumb over his shoulder; Igor keeps staring, his mouth falling slightly ajar and the sorcerer anticipates a scream of horror in approximately three seconds.
"Frankenstein, tell your twisted pet not to stare," he huffs. "Or I will turn him into a rat."
"Igor, I kindly ask you to treat our guests as normal people," the doctor says sternly, the end of his sentence being lost in another giggling fit of the hatter. "Now, I need the carriage with the usual set of instruments, as promptly as you can bridle the horses."
"Yes, master, it'll be done swiftly, master," the man makes an awkward bow but his eyes are still glued to Rumpelstiltskin. He makes his exit, awkwardly moving sideways not to risk turning his back at the unusual visitor who threatened to turn him into a rat.
"So, where are we going?" Jefferson inquires cheerfully as Frankenstein turns away and marches to the wardrobe. "Why do you have a wardrobe in the lab? Doesn't the smell get into the clothes?"
Victor shrugs and doesn't honour the last statement with a reply; he begins to dress himself meticulously, rolling the sleeves of his shirt down to cuff them and reaching to pull out a long leather coat he slides into effortlessly.
"We are taking a detour," he explains, finishing his attire with a pair of black gloves and a top hat. "I will hold up to my end of the deal."
"Why are you wearing that?" Jefferson squeals, pointing at the doctor's head. "It's plain stupid; who wears a top hat nowadays?"
"Pointless to argue, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin notes; the look on the doctor's face is priceless as he dumbly stares at Jefferson wearing the replica of his own hat, maybe slightly more worn with a wrinkled brim. The man takes hold of Victor's upper arm and urges him out of the laboratory. "Come on, let's go, I don't want to be stuck in this dull world longer than necessary."
The hatter's rambling about the ridiculous habits of people and even more outrageous style of dress doesn't cease for a moment during their bumpy ride in the carriage, thus giving Rumpelstiltskin a headache. He feels like it's a bad story scenario – going to the cemetery at night in the company of a mad scientist and an even more insane fairy tale fellow. He wishes he had just left Jefferson at his Caste or, better yet, asked Frankenstein to fetch what they needed in a couple of days with little fuss.
He trips over a root protruding from the ground as they walk across the yard; who bloody thought of planting trees there? And who doesn't take a lantern while going out at night? At least it's not a full moon to complete the cliché situation; only a slim curved line of the lunar disk visible in the sky of thin clouds gives enough light to see where they are going but not to make out the ground. The doctor is carrying two shovels and a sac voyage, lips squeezed into a thin line as he occasionally shoots whistling Jefferson a scornful glare.
"Will you stop that?" Victor snaps finally.
"Stop what?"
"Whistling. It's annoying and may draw attention to us."
"Fine," the hatter rolls his eyes but the silence doesn't last for long. "Oh, guys, guys, I've remembered something. Do you wanna hear a joke?"
"Not bloody likely," Rumpelstiltskin grumbles but he is not that naïve to believe his answer will discourage Jefferson.
"Listen, listen! So it goes like this: a scientist, a wizard and an absurdly handsome hatter walk into the graveyard…"
"Pardon me, but how could such a hypothetical situation be amusing?"
"Good gods, Frankenstein, it is not a hypothetical situation because we are doing it and stop provoking him!" Rumpelstiltskin pinches the bridge of his nose tiredly, regretting this affair more and more with each passing heartbeat.
"No, you stop," the doctor says. "Stop, because we're already here."
"What a lovely tombstone!" the hatter praises and luckily Victor doesn't comment on that to elicit another silly speech out of him. He leans the shovels against a nearby tree and puts his carpetbag on the ground, unclasping it and reaching inside.
"Wear this," he suggests, throwing a leather bundle first to the sorcerer and then to Jefferson.
Rumpelstiltskin unfolds it to reveal a long leather apron, the middle section of which holds old stains of something… well he doesn't want to dwell on what it is.
"I am not putting this on," the hatter scowls indignantly, pinching the apron between his thumb and forefinger and holding it on the armlets away from himself. "No, thank you, love, I'll pass. Is it love or master? Or, perhaps, you are a love master, Vic?"
"Dearie, do us a favour and shut up already!" Rumpelstiltskin hisses, his patience running low. "Pray tell, why do I need an apron?"
"If you want to getsoil onto your clothes, it's also fine by me," Frankenstein shrugs. "But you have to dig deep."
"Alright, alright. Jefferson, help me out," Rumpelstiltskin sighs and pushes his head through the loop of the apron, tying it up behind this back and trying not to think too much on things the doctor has done while wearing it.
"What was that?" the hatter swirls his finger in his left ear absent-mindedly, losing interest in reality completely.
"I said, stop propping up that tree and help me dig!"
"Why would I do that?" he asks with genuine concern and the man growls.
"Because it would be faster, that is why." He tries to break it out for the hatter, speaking slowly and clearly even as the irritation boils in his blood.
"Magic would be faster," Jefferson points out wisely and Rumpelstiltskin has to bite his tongue not to curse him on the spot. He doesn't want to waste magic in case Frankenstein tries something downright stupid and it would probably take him weeks to recharge the loss of power in this world.
"Screw both of you," he mutters, grasping a smooth wooden shaft of a spade and sinking it into the fresh soil.
"Later, love, if you insist," Jefferson calls mockingly, crossing his arms over his chest. "So, you want to hear the end of the joke?"
"No!" the two men shout in chorus and the hatter pouts.
He starts humming a song and Rumpelstiltskin cares to make out only the first line – "I'm digging in the dirt to find places I got hurt" – but that's enough for him to grit his teeth and double his efforts; he wants all that to be over, now. Jefferson keeps singing, loudly making occasional comments on the sorcerer's progress and not a single warning of the doctor or the threat of being found succeeds in making him stop.
"Gentleman, I am pleased to announce it all went rather smoothly," the doctor pronounces when they return to his lab.
"Speak for yourself," Rumpelstiltskin grumbles, dumping a heavy bag onto the floor and still feeling cross at the hatter who insisted on retuning to Frankenstein's castle because it was a lovely place and him and Betsy wanted to see it again.
"A drink before departure?" Victor offers, losing his posh and being quite a happy host once his fingers squeeze the fat purse of gold Rumpelstiltskin provided.
The sorcerer cares little for drink or the doctor's attempt at friendly play, but of coursethe hatter must take a drink and of course it has to be in the lab full of shiny cutting instruments, body parts and tangled wires spread on the rough stone walls.
Frankenstein disposes of his gloves (why did he even bother dressing up? the git didn't even do much apart from snapping at Igor to avoid road pots) and holds three glass test-tubes to the light to check if they are clean. Satisfied that the glass had not been stained, he fishes out a bottle of clear fluid and pours it into the tubes.
"Don't you have glasses, Frankenstein?" Rumpelstiltskin sneers but takes the doctor's offering.
"I do but if I send Igor to fetch proper kitchenware, he'll probably smash them upon seeing you in the light again."
"I see the time you spend with the hatter wasn't wasted; apparently, who has the audacity to call humour is contagious," the man fends-off half-heartedly, too tired to truly be angered. He wants to be back in his Castle, to slide into a warm tub to wash off the stench of soil and death that is clinging to his hair, to get into bed and wrap his arms around Belle. It feels like it's been centuries since they parted and he is stuck in this personal hell with the doctor who hasn't got an ounce of humour and the hatter who cannot stay serious for a second; all the Dark Ones combined couldn't have committed as many sins.
"To our prosperous cooperation," Victor toasts.
May it be another dozen years before we see each other again, Rumpelstiltskin thinks acidly, keeping his face straight.
"And Betsy," the hatter interferes, making the sorcerer's eyes hurt from rolling them so often.
"And to Betsy, whoever this fair maiden may be," the doctor agrees, rewarded with the biggest grin Jefferson could manage and tips over the test tube.
"What is it, exactly?" Rumpelstiltskin inquires, watching Victor's face scrunch up as he swallows.
"Watered down alcohol," the doctor explains and reaches for the bottle to pour himself another measure.
"Hope it's not poisonous to people from our world," Jefferson drawls pensively, sniffing the fluid but then shrugging and draining his portion.
Rumpelstiltskin is torn between doubts and rapidly growing anxiety to find himself in the company of the drunken hatter. He shivers at the idea and has no choice but to put the glass to his lips.
Strangely enough, the fact that he crawls out of the hat on all fours in his great hall doesn't seem as humiliating as it should. The sun is still high and the mercilessly bright rays make his head throb unpleasantly and his eyes shut against his will.
"You're back!" the excited shriek makes it only worse as his stomach turns at the overwhelming stimulation of his senses.
Gentle hands try to lift him and he fights weakly only to find himself propped against something hard and angled that digs into his spine and he grunts. Insistent hands stroke his face and it's nice, he likes the touch until treacherous palms deal him a smack across his right cheek.
"Oww," he whines, opening his eyes and straining to focus them on the blurry image of white and blue and chestnut that his mind refuses to identify. "Second shelf on the left, round green jar," he croaks, wincing at the sounds of his voice. "My head, Merlin's balls, my poor head."
The hands disappear and he idly wonders if he should retch on the carpet or try to transfer himself to the bathroom without splitting himself in two. Maybe if he concentrates hard enough, he can conjure a night pot but his head drops onto his shoulder and the man decides he's quite content like that. If only that pounding stopped.
"Dearie, I have never noticed how heavy your steps are," he comments, words slurring together as his tongue feels too think for his mouth. "You make a dragon's walk sound light as a pixie's."
She huffs and cradles the back of his head, pressing a blissfully cold glass to his lips. The potion slides down his throat, calming his unsettled stomach and erasing the unpleasant dizziness and pulsing pain from his head.
"A dragon, huh?" he opens his eyes to find Belle bent over him, hands on her hips but she looks more amused than insulted. "Now that's a compliment a girl doesn't hear often."
"You're a saviour, my dear," he says and grasps the hand she offered to stand up.
"So, what happened?"
"Frankenstein and his vile drinking habits happened," Rumpelstiltskin grumbles, shivering at the memory. How did it even get to that point? "It's a new record of getting wasted under the course of several hours and I didn't even have even a half of their share."
"I suppose, you've obtained what you needed otherwise you'd not be able to return here without the doctor, right?" Belle jerks her chin in the direction of a shapeless sac on the floor. A miracle they did make it, the man thinks. "Is he all right?" she adds worryingly as the sorcerer bends down to inspect the third man.
"Oh I'm sure he is," he sneers and to confirm his words, Jefferson, sprawled on the floor, makes a loud snore. "Remind me to never take him to the doctor again, no matter how good of an idea it might seem."
He waves his hand over the bag, making it vanish and cocks his head, eyeing the hatter critically.
"Do you think he needs a pillow or won't he care?" he asks Belle.
"What did you do with the body?" She takes the pillow the man offers and gently raises Jefferson's head to slide it under him in an attempt to make the hatter comfortable. The girl also picks up the hat, placing it next to him so that it's the first thing he sees when he wakes up.
"Preservation spell to store it where our curious friend won't find it," he explains and Belle gasps.
"That's not fair! You promised to give it to him!"
"I did and I will, as soon as he helps you with the hat."
"Rumpelstiltskin, that's cheating," Belle snaps disapprovingly but he's not a bit disturbed by it.
"I am known for keeping my deals, but could you say that about him?"
"Rumpelst…"
"No use arguing. You make the hat, he gets it. It won't be any other way!" he says marching out of the hall feeling her judging eyes burn his back.
"No, no, no and no!" Belle sighs in despair, watching Jefferson twist and turn her hideous attempt at sowing the hat. "As much as I appreciate the asymmetry, this is just…" He shakes her creation violently, his eyes wide and appalled. Ever since Rumpelstiltskin informed him that he was not getting anything until the required hat was complete, Jefferson has been nothing but cranky, moody and snapping.
"B-but…" the girl triesbut he doesn't listen.
"Garbage," he decides, tossing it away.
"Jefferson!"
"Rubbish! Complete and utter trash. Another piece of fabric you ruined. Your failure is insulting to the craft of hat-making. There is not a drop of magic in this litter!"
"How can I make it if you're not telling me how it should be done!" After days spent sowing even Belle's patience is running short. Her fingers are tender from the prickles of the needle that marked them more than once. In most cases it's not because of her clumsiness or being careless, but because her tutor has a bad habit of appearing behind her or shouting something that startles the girl. Even despite Rumpelstiltskin's soothing salve which he applies to her fingertips to heal them, they are still achy and she's beginning to hate the needle, swearing to never pick it up anytime soon. Jefferson doesn't make it any easier, constantly criticizing her or simply dozing with his legs propped on the table and his top hat over his eyes. He springs up immediately at the smallest chance to beat her up over her futile attempts at creating a proper hat. "You haven't even given me any template!"
"You should find your own way! You should let your feelings guide you, not some irrelevant measurements!" he fumes. "Stop wasting my time! I'm beginning to think you're doing it on purpose. You and your beloved lying lizard have tricked me and are doing your worst to keep me away from my family!" ranted the hatter who, exhausted from his diatribe, closed himself into a stiff and purposeful cloister.
With silence ringing in her ears, Belle sighs, feeling guilty. The hatter is the first person she met who hasn't judged her for being with Rumpelstiltskin, who accepted them without a hint of surprise and who was robbed from the opportunity to go to the land he desired until the hat was complete.
"Jefferson, I am so sorry," she says quietly, reaching out to pat his hand and he sighs.
"I know, love, it's not your fault. Hats can be stubborn and whimsical, I know that," he says and clasps his left hand over his mouth. "I hope Betsy hasn't heard that," he whispers and Belle smiles.
"I'm sure she hasn't, but if she did…" the girl reaches behind her head, pulling a green satin ribbon from her hair, "here, you can appease her with this."
The hatter takes the ribbon, running it between his fingers thoughtfully before solemnly taking the hat off and tying it around.
"Deepest gratitude and admiration from Betsy and me, love," he says, placing a brief kiss to her palm. He turns her hand, running his fingertips across her wrist and down to her calloused fingers. "You are getting blisters," he observes with regret. "Would you mind taking a break?"
"Not at all," Belle consents, after hours spent indoors and licks her arm through his elbow, following the man outside.
They take a leisurely stroll around the castle and when Jefferson turns to lead her to the gardens, they hear a soft clatter of hooves.
"Oh hello there," the hatter turns to Llyr and reaches out to pet his nuzzle before Belle can stop him. To her surprise, the kelpie closes his eyes and butts against the man's hand.
"Usually he's not so welcoming," she says apologetically, but he smiles.
"I am good with horses, magical or not. Used to keep a large herd back at home," he says sadly.
"What happened?" she doesn't mean to pry but at the same time can't help being curious.
Jefferson doesn't respond immediately, running his fingers through the kelpie's mane.
"I lost them," he says simply and Belle's heart throbs at the bitterness and pain in those three words. "Grace is all I have left and even she was taken away from me."
"Is Grace the one who is trapped in Wonderland?" she guesses and the hatter nods gravely, not meeting her eyes.
"Would you like to see her?" he suddenly offers and Belle smiles at him.
"Of course I would."
Jefferson reaches inside his coat, pulling out a thin folded sheet of paper. He opens it with great care, revealing a child's drawing.
"That's Grace," he points to a stick figure in the centre, wearing a triangle of bright pink and a red smile that goes far beyond the corners of her face. "And Alice," he says with a broken tenderness, tapping his finger at a woman with yellow hair sticking straight up. "And me, of course," the man with a black square on his head holding a sphere with a stick. Guessing by the spiralling grey thing, Belle thinks it must be a teapot. The hatter snatches the paper away from Llyr who attempts to chew on its corner and just as carefully hides it away. "Alice and I were so proud when she drew that. Years ago…when we still were a family," he adds dreamily and Belle chokes on her words. She wants to assure him everything will be alight and he will get his daughter back to start over; that it is never too late to seize the chance for happinessbut they finish the walk in silence, each of them engrossed in their own thoughts.
Despite his insistence on quitting for the day and trying tomorrow, Belle picks up the needle again. She bites her bottom lip in concentration, carefully measuring each stitch. She thinks of the hatter and his child, separated from each other, lost in different worlds. She thinks of Rumpelstiltskin, probably pacing in his turret waiting for her to succeed. She thinks of times she has felt happy with him and times when she felt vulnerable. She recalls Regina and her lover who now lies broken in the middle of the sea; Alice with blonde hair, who she never knew but feels like they could be friends.
Magic or not, the first hat is finished within two hours and she sets working on the matching one without a pause. The hatter doesn't say a word, perched on the edge of his chair and leaning forward with his whole body, but his close attention doesn't bother the girl a bit. She tries to remember everything that happened to her during those two years, good and bad, the times she smiled and the times she cried and when she makes the final knot and bites the thread off in a haze, she knows that this time it worked.
"You did it," Jefferson says, clapping his hands together, half-amazed and half-proud. "You actually did it, love."
"I wouldn't have without your help," Belle says and squeaks when he scoops her in his arms and swings the girl around.
"What the hell am I witnessing, exactly?" a grumpy voice comes from behind, making them break apart. "Hatter, can't I leave you two in the same room, unattended, without you getting your hands all over the girl?"
"It's not like you two are engaged or something, right?" the hatter says smugly, breaking into a grin at Rumpelstiltskin's confusion. "Oh stay calm; I am not stealing your not-bride. Unless you ask me to, love," he winks at Belle. "Just whisper a word and I will take you to any land your heart might desire."
"That is a discussion I would not like to return to again," the man snarls, pulling the girl against him possessively and she pokes his chest reproachfully.
"Behave, now. And I am happy to announce that it's done." Belle picks the hat up, proudly displaying it as Rumpelstiltskin's eyebrows shoot up.
"But, sweetheart, it's… it's orange," he points out in bewilderment and the hatter nods enthusiastically - almost sending Betsy flying to the floor.
"Excellent observation, old friend. Now I see why they call you the wise Dark One – it takes a lot of skill to recognize something obvious for what it is."
"Why is it orange?" the sorcerer ignores the snippy remark, turning his eyes to the girl.
"Because I ran out of black felt."
"You could ask me for it," he says begrudgingly, shooting Jefferson a dirty look. "Unless someone here wanted to mock me."
"Pfft orange is in fashion now. And don't even think of messing with the colour, you can disrupt the fragile magic there, I tell you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have my own happy ending to attend to. A delight meeting you, my dear," he bows to Belle whose name he still hasn't asked, "but not so much with you," he informs Rumpelstiltskin. "Now, which way?.."
"Second floor, third door on the left. Don't leave a mess after your departure," the sorcerer offers and Jefferson, raising his hat, leaves the room without any further word.
Rumpelstiltskin's heart races in his throat as his fingers knead the brim of Belle's ridiculously orange creation.
"Are you ready?' she whispers and he nods, his dry lips refusing to form a word.
She gives him a nervous smile as they sit at the table opposite each other. He doesn't know how it should work and feels like a complete idiot, hoisting it on top of his head and watching the girl mirror his movements. Unlike him, she looks confident – she's always been so patient and brave with him. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes and lets the magic of the hat engulf him. It's gentle as the whisper of a breeze, careful and light, unobtrusive but strong nevertheless. His chest might burst from all the feelings downing him – hope and despair, knowledge it won't be easy and acceptance of him, frustration and tenderness, and most of all, shining through everything he sees - the warm embracing feel of her affection.
When the blur of images stops and he opens his eyes, he meets a sea of worried blue. She is paler then usual and almost on the verge of tears. How long has she sat here, waiting for him to remember? Rumpelstiltskin reaches for her face, unable to restrain a smile even as her lashes are damp and her lips all bruised because of him.
"I remember now," he whispers against her skin. "I love you."
His lips swallow the sob of relief she makes and her arms fly to his shirt grabbing the fabric to pull him closer. She kisses him desperately as if she's afraid he will push her away and vanish, as is there is no tomorrow for them now. But he knows that this time, there is happiness in their future, as bright and tangible, as his love for her.