"He finally asks." Stayne huffs, looking for all the world like a bored sinner in mass. "Really, Tarrant, shouldn't that have been your first thought upon seeing me? I can't believe it took you this long- no, I take that back. With your little mind, it really shouldn't be that surprising."
Alice frowns. "Stayne."
"Really, Alice, if you're going to chastise me every time I point out a fault in the mad hatter, you'll never smile again."
"I didn't ask, either." She points out, shutting Stayne up rather easily (she shouldn't be able to do that, he thinks, it's not a good sign, how considerate of her he's unconsciously being as of late).
Sighing, Stayne waves his hand. "Questions can resume upon finding a room to settle in and dry off."
"Or ya cud ansa now," Hatta snaps.
"And let dear Alice stand here and catch a cold?" Stayne rolls his eyes, then catches himself again. Maybe using Alice to manipulate Hatta is the easiest thing, but that isn't why he'd thought of it first.
But it works nonetheless, and no one seems to notice Stayne's annoyance with himself as they continue to their rooms.
Alice has to look at all the rooms in the hall before deciding, noting their differences, weighing pros and cons, wondering about their history. Stayne picks the one that looks the best-taken care of and settles in immediately (not that there is much settling to do, and frankly he probably lasts five minutes before he is back out in the hall, wondering what is taking Alice so long). Tarrant, being all cheerful and blubbering, follows Alice about patiently, insisting he'll take a room beside hers. Hamish's patience is so obviously feigned and strained that Stayne takes a great deal of satisfaction watching the man try to be as dopily devoted as the hatter.
And in that moment it strikes Stayne that they are all acting like a rather pathetic bunch of suitors stumbling over each other for a little girl's hand.
He then slams the door to his room behind him and locks himself in for the night. Never mind that he had told them he'd explain about the Red Queen and it is a good chance to get on Alice's good side, he is tired of playing the fawning admirer to the powerful women of Underland and he is certainly not on the same level as those two miscreants, and it doesn't matter if his survival depends on being in Alice's favor, he will not be mistaken for a love-struck fool, not even by himself, and he has tried living without dignity to stay alive and it had not been living and he will not do it again.
And with that, Stayne ignores Alice's knocks and half curious, half worried inquiries as to whether he is well, and instead reclines on his bed (the only furniture left in the room that actually has legs, as animals had not been enslaved as bedframes even before the creatures had fled-after all, they might have awoken the Queen if they collapsed) and tries to clear his mind until he can sleep.
His sleep is not peaceful. It rarely is these days.
Deciding Chess' preference for the woods, despite Quests' supposed speed, basically amounted to a warning that Quest is probably the more dangerous route, Lowell, Margaret, and Helen turn south. It gets dark quickly, and none of the group is certain whether this came about due to the natural progression of the day and night cycle of Underland, or because the trees simply denied any light not be allowed to shine within their domain. Either way, it is black as pitch, cold as ice, and not at all a pleasant place to be and Lowell keeps marching on out of sheer stubbornness, for he is not at all okay with how his wife and mother in law shiver and cower so (not that Helen cower, per se-more like glare icily at the blackness about her, as though daring it to approach while she holds her trembling hands still at her waist).
The journey, for the most part, is uneventful, for which they are all thankful. No sign of life makes itself known as they walk, not wildlife or any more talking flora or even their cat-guide. Somehow, Chess' absence is not all that surprising (why be helpful? When are cats ever helpful? Only when it suits them, that's when-crafty little beasties). Despite no dangers making themselves known, the constant feeling of threat hovers over them, dampening their spirits and making small talk and any hope of cheer rather impossible. It is with much trepidation that, when they finally come across a clearing after some time, Lowell proposes they stop and rest (not because he finds the clearing any less threatening than the rest of the forest, oh no. Only because the blackened ground is rather flat, the trees aren't hovering over them to make a lookout impossible, and he can tell they are all rather tuckered out from all the walking, the earlier falling (and falling again), and in general everything that has happened that day period). Thus, camp is made.
Lowell volunteers (grudgingly, and with no actual intention to follow through with the heroic proposition) to stand guard while the ladies sleep. Margaret rewards him with doe-eyed admiration and one of her more impossibly heart-pounding chaste kisses (he still doesn't understand how she can do that) before curling up beside her mother while Lowell props himself against a charred tree stump to feign watch until his charges are asleep, after which he will join them (after all, what good is he if he is to be tired after a sleepless night the next morning-if, in fact, it is night at all).
He falls asleep to the smell of ash in the air.
"Well, it appears we aren't getting our answers tonight." Alice sighs, stepping back into the room she's chosen for herself, where Hamish and Hatta have waited (with forced patience and stifled indignation, both trying to convince themselves that answers are all Alice had chased after Stayne for). "I'm sorry, Hatta. We'll just have to get at him again in the morning. But I promise he'll explain."
She says this with such confidence, and Hamish hates that this confidence seems to be in her trust that Stayne will be true to his word. How can she not see him for the scoundrel he is? It is obvious to everyone else.
Hamish almost chokes when the phrase "love is blind" skitters through his head.
Oh, no. Not that. He isn't having that.
"Maybe we should get some other answers for now, then." Alice and Tarrant both look at him, and he stands, tall and with his hands clasped behind his back. "Fill in some blanks, as it were. Have you two discussed what you've been up to since you've been apart? Tarrant, especially." He adds quickly, seeing Alice's horrified expression. "We obviously need to know what's going on in Underland now that we're here. How were things after Alice returned home?"
Tarrant looks at Alice, and Hamish wished he hadn't said anything. The man struggles for several seconds, his face changing between agony, despair, rage, and eventually settling on the most forced smile that Hamish has ever seen. It hurts to look at.
Alice's face mirrors it. For once, she has not missed any of what had flashed across the Scotsman's face, and she herself looks as though she knows, without a doubt, that every emotion there, every bit of his pain, is somehow her fault. And she hates herself for it.
"Oh, things were, uh, rather swimming after... " He looks down, left, right, and then smiles wider, his throat bobbing. "Well, the White Queen took her rightful place as queen of all of Underland, and the Red Queen was gone, and everything was peaceful and lovely and there was work to be done, so much work, and we set out to get things done right away. Busy times, very busy, you see, and I wasn't able to visit the White Queen's castle very much, no, not much at all, but but! Everything was much better, very much. Yes."
He nods, as though that is the end of it, and Hamish's brow rises. He glances at Alice, who is biting her lip.
"So what brought you to my garden, then? I mean to say, why did you come looking for Alice if everything is going so well?"
"I was busy," Tarrant repeats, shooting an oddly non-threatening glare Hamish's way. "Very busy. Things to be done, rebuilding a kingdom."
"Yes, I know but—"
"But not terribly many things." He admits then, looking away. "At least, not for a man of my profession. Mostly laws and things, not hatter things. And while I tried to do non-hatterish things and be helpful and then enjoy my tea-time and whatnot, I was keenly aware Time was doing that thing I don't like where I want it to be a certain time so that a certain thing might happen—"
His eyes shoot to Alice then, quickly, as his ramblings grow.
"And it just wasn't that time and that thing wasn't happening and waiting was hard and I wanted there to be things to do but there wasn't and that just left more time to be wanting the thing that I couldn't have and it just wasn't a good time for me all around but Time never really was good for me anyway, ever, you'd think he would have stopped holding a grudge by now but no Alice was gone and she said she'd be back before I knew it so I tried knowing it hoping she'd be back and she wasn't so then I knew I must be doing it wrong so I tried not knowing it but that didn't help either and—"
And Alice can take no more. She moves a slow step back, and Hamish's heart almost stops, certain she will run, and the Hatter will be even more broken than before, but then she throws herself forward, wrapping her arms around Tarrant Hightopp, whose rambling cut off instantly. She buries her face in his hair, holding him tightly, and he appears frozen in her grasp.
"...I missed you, Alice." He finally whispers.
"I'm so sorry, Hatta." She replies.
"I've been a good dream, haven't I?" He asks, and she pulls away just enough to gaze down at his open expression, his pleading eyes.
She smiles. "The best."
He smiles back, lip twitching. "Will you dream of me again, then?"
"Of course."
"Will you still miss me when you wake?"
"Wake? Who says I ever have to?"
Hamish wishes he weren't here. Hamish wishes he were anywhere else. Hamish Ascott would rather have been locked in Stayne's room with him than here, watching this. He feels like he is seeing something very personal, very private.
He can't breathe. He can't swallow. He can't move. He can't think.
And he is so painfully aware that it could be Tarrant Hightopp who will be given the honor of having Alice look at him so lovingly for the rest of his days. Or, if it isn't Tarrant, maybe she will reign in Stayne as her sister had Lowell. Or maybe it will be some other man, some stranger, or some woman or someone else. Anyone else.
Anyone in any world will be lucky to have Alice Kingsleigh's love. It will just never be him.
That thought strikes him then, so painfully, that he feels his own stiff lip tremble.
Alice could fall in love someday, and it will never be him. Alice could live her life a spinster and be perfectly happy, but she couldn't be happy with him. Alice could have everything, be anything, but not with him.
He hadn't realized until that moment that he'd still held onto that tiny shred of hope. That, in changing himself, in growing, he might become a Hamish that Alice would turn her eyes toward. Would be proud of. Might care about.
It had been a foolish thing, that hope. And losing it is more painful than anything in his entire life.
Finding his legs, he walks out.
He isn't three feet from the door before that soft hand he knows so well takes hold of his own.
"Hamish." Alice is smiling up at him.
His eyes burn. He tries to blink it away. His host smile is in place without even thinking (useful things, masks, terribly useful). "I trust I've sufficiently gotten things started. You can take it from here. I wouldn't worry about him figuring anything out, you can ask all the questions you like and I doubt he'll notice anything amiss—"
"Hamish." Alice repeats, a bit of a laugh in her tone.
He smiles harder, his chin jerking in a nod. "Yes?"
"Thank you." Her expression is still cheerful, but a bit puzzled. "I know I've... torn apart your world a bit."
"A bit."
"I've hurt a lot of people." Her smile slips away. She glances back at her open door, then turns her curious face to him again, watching his eyes, seeming to search for something that Hamish doesn't know. "I know that now. I didn't mean to, but... Hatta and... and Stayne, even, he says some things and I think he doesn't want me to know but... And Hamish, did I hurt you, too?"
"Never." He replies instantly, all too aware of the thudding in his chest, the pounding in his ears, the aching in his heart.
She stares at him for a long moment, then steps up on her tiptoes and places her lips lightly against his cheek. Then she slips away, watching him as she walks backward towards her room. "Hamish Ascot, you are one of the best liars I've ever known."
She has turned back around and Hamish watches as Tarrant perks up at her return, standing to greet her, and she puts her hands in his. Their mouths open, talking, but Hamish can't hear them at all.
Alone in the hallway, he murmurs to himself, "I'm a gentleman."