manniness | May. 11th, 2010

May. 11th, 2010

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The Senses

by Manniness

inspired by wanderamaranth’s stories:
Taste and Scent, Part 1 & Taste and Scent, Part 2

Summary: Tarrant notices Alice – really notices – when he watches her eat a pear and marvels at the erotic experience. Ever since then, things have been... different between them.

Rating: M (things get a little hot’n’heavy)

Disclaimer: Alice in Wonderland and its characters, storyline, setting, and other concepts are the property of Walt Disney Studios, Tim Burton, and Lewis Carroll. No copyright infringement is intended and no compensation was given to the author for creating this work.

*~*~*~*

The Pear Incident, as his mind stubbornly insists on calling it, had changed things. Quite a few things, from Tarrant’s perspective. For one, his eyes have begun to track Alice whenever she is within his sight. His gaze has begun to follow after her. His smile has begun to stretch until he is sure the gesture will one day bring the Madness upon him even without a Slice of Memory or a Dash of Anger. Feeling the stretch of skin when one of Those Smiles makes an appearance frightens him, for he can never be sure – not quite sure – of what he is attempting to hide behind it.

It’s best not to think about it at all.

However, oddly enough, Those Smiles never seem to upset Alice and it makes Tarrant contemplate the possibility that she might be able to see what he tries to hide behind them. Perhaps she can see his... fascination with her. And... perhaps she... likes it?

The very Idea makes him shiver.

“Are you all right?” Alice asks, her fingertips just brushing the fabric of his jacket sleeve.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine!” Again, he smiles too widely. And then, after a moment more, Tarrant realizes the silence between them is very... weighted. With expectation. Alice’s expectation.

“I’m sorry. What was I saying?” he manages, cursing himself for not only missing his train of thought, but for losing it all together. Imagine, an entire train, gone! How utterly—!

“Something about plans for tea tomorrow?” she prompts with a quizzical tilt to her head.

Ah! Ah, yes! Tea! “Thank you, Alice. Yes, would you care to take morning tea together tomorrow? I was recently conversing with the trees in the garden – I asked them if they ever tire of the same scene, you know – and they told me the most interesting fact–”

Just then, a slight breeze drifts by, stirring Alice’s hair and delivering the scent of her directly to Tarrant. Something within him tightens, tenses, growls with alarming intensity. He struggles to keep talking. Talking is Good. Talking means he will not do Other Things with his mouth.

“– They told me all of the trees can see any view from anywhere another tree is standing, which was quite interesting, I thought, an interesting thing, to be sure, to be able to see anywhere in Underland so long as a tree is available to look through, and then I suppose one would have to be on amiable terms with the other tree, which very well might be Underland’s most extensive network of intelligence, or perhaps foreign policy, which really makes perfect sense when one considers the fact that the queen often speaks with the tress and I have wondered about that on occasion, but now I, yes, it makes perfect sense.”

Tarrant clears his throat, glances at Alice, and fidgets with his cuffs, feeling as if he’s forgotten something... somehow...

Alice rescues him. “And why did that make you think of having tea tomorrow?”

Ah, yes! Tea! “Well, Alice,” he lisps. “The trees recommended a lovely spot for morning tea and I thought we might visit it and see if it is indeed lovely enough for the occasion. Not that morning tea is an Occasion, mind you, although if you were there, I wouldn’t doubt it would be. Would. Be an occasion. For tea. Yes, a tea occasion.” He gives himself a brief shake.

“I’d like that, Hatter,” she replies, smiling. “Shall I meet you by the water fountain after breakfast tomorrow, then?”

He nods.

Alice smiles. He watches as she draws a breath and her tongue appears for the briefest moment to touch her lips... those lips which he’d witnessed devouring the pear he’d offered her last week... His hands twitch as the memory slides into his thoughts, uninvited. He remembers her first, hesitant bite and then the passion with which she’d consumed it. He recalls the juice that had ran in rivulets from her fingers – those wonderful, nimble fingers – and the seed she’d swallowed...

Tarrant gulps.

And just then, just when Alice is about to ask him a question, or confess a thought, or share a moment of intuition – for one can never tell with Alice! – someone interrupts.

“Lady Alice? The game’s about to start.”

Alice blinks and turns with a slightly startled, confused air. “The...? Oh, thank you, Sir Geoffrey, I’ll be right there.”

He hesitates. “Very well.” Geoffrey glances at Tarrant who tries very hard to keep his dislike for the man hidden behind his smile. Looking quite disappointed that he won’t be able to escort Alice to the croquet field himself, the man turns on his heel and strides away. As Tarrant watches him go, that frightening Darkness within him swells. This is why he’d come to find Alice this afternoon. This is why he’d invited her to tea. This is why he smiles so very hard these days. It’s all for Alice and the men who have begun to notice her just as Tarrant has.

“Hatter?”

He comes back to himself with a start. “My apologies. I was... considering what sort of refreshments to prepare for tomorrow morning. Perhaps something light?”

“That sounds wonderful.” Alice glances over at the assembled courtiers on the pitch. “I ought to go now...”

His heart stutters a bit at the hesitance he thinks he hears in her voice.

“But I’ll see you soon,” she concludes, once more smiling for him.

“Yes, Alice. Tomorrow, after breakfast, at the water fountain.”

And then he watches her hurry toward the croquet field to receive a white, wooden mallet. If the man handing it to her whispers something that makes her smile, Tarrant tells himself he doesn’t notice. If the courtier standing on her right shifts just a little closer, he tells himself it doesn’t bother him.

Smiling, Tarrant returns to the castle.

*~*~*~*

What is so difficult about talking to the Hatter? Alice wonders. Ever since... well, ever since the... Pear Incident, as she’d begun to think of it, she’s found it oddly difficult to meet his eyes without blushing and feeling unaccountably flustered. The man had merely given her a pear. She’d been the one to practically inhale it right in front of him with no effort made at all on conversation or camaraderie. She’d become utterly lost in the experience that the pear had offered her.

Alice fidgets nervously as she makes her way down the steps of the White Palace.

Perhaps, that’s why she’s been so... anxious around the Hatter recently. She’s embarrassed that he’d seen her... like that.

How did he see me? she hears herself ask.

Several adjectives come immediately to mind. None of them are comforting.

Coming upon the water fountain, Alice allows these disturbing thoughts to evaporate. Perhaps she is struggling with something when it comes to her own behavior around the Hatter, but that cannot stop her – she won’t let that stop her! – from enjoying his company.

“Good morning, Hatter,” she says to the jacketed back and tophatted head of her dear friend.

He twitches and turns. His smile is radiant. “Good morning, Alice.”

“It looks like you were lost in thought just now.”

He scoops up the wicker basket from the edge of the fountain and offers Alice his arm. “I think I was. Thank you for finding me.”

“My pleasure. Feel free to call upon me any time you are in need of direction back to yourself.”

The Hatter giggles. “I’m afraid that would take up a considerable amount of your time, Alice.”

I wouldn’t mind, she hears herself think very clearly. Startled, Alice tightens her fingers around his arm. “Where are we going?”

“To that scenic place the trees recommended,” he repeats vaguely. “No need to worry that I know the way. I don’t, of course, but the trees do and they’ll tell us how to find it. I don’t suppose you speak Tree, do you Alice?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Then I shall have to teach you a few phrases so that, in the event that you should become turned around in the queen’s gardens – not today of course, but some other day when I’m not with you, well, that’s not to say that you ought to have me with you... or that you ought to have some other gentleman escort you through the gardens. In fact there’s no reason at all why you shouldn’t wander freely by yourself, but... yes, exactly.”

Alice gives his arm a gentle tug. The Hatter startles, blinks at her with an endearingly befuddled expression, and smiles.

“Apologies, yes, of course, if you should ever become lost it would be most inconvenient if you could not understand the helpful suggestions given by the trees.”

“Thank you. I’d very much like to learn to understand Tree.”

As they walk through the garden, Alice notices the Hatter tilt his head every once in a while and listen to the soft rustling of the blossoms on the breeze. Alice listens closely.

“There,” the Hatter whispers. “Did you hear it?”

Frowning, Alice nods. It had been so soft. Like a musical tone produced from fabrics rubbing together. “Orr...” she struggles.

“Orgal,” he corrects then gestures. “Left.”

The trees whisper to them and the Hatter whispers to Alice, translating. They turn right (Stang) and then cross a small brook before ascending (Ezel) a small rise and then...

Alice gasps at the sight. The castle and all of the gardens are laid out before them. Never has Underland looked so much like a dream to her.

“It appears the trees do know their scenery, don’t they?” the Hatter comments.

Alice nods. “So it does. Beautiful...”

“Yes,” the Hatter whispers in an odd tone. “Absolutely.”

Alice looks up at him and is startled to find his eyes just now nervously shifting away from her. “Come, come!” he continues brightly. “I’ve some curious things for you to investigate.”

Alice smiles. How well he knows her weakness!

With a flick of his wrist, a white table cloth is produced from the basket and laid out upon the short grass. The tea service follows and then two small covered dishes.

“What are in those?” Alice asks, leaning forward, reaching out.

The Hatter gently taps her fingers with his own. She startles at the feel of his thimbled middle finger. “Ah-ah-ah! No peeking, Alice! That would ruin the surprise.”

“What surprise?” she counters, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu.

“No, no, I shalln’t tell you. You’ll have to taste it for yourself,” the Hatter says, pouring the tea.

Alice picks up her teacup. “How am I supposed to taste it if you won’t let me open the lid?”

“Ah, a conundrum through and through,” he says sagely, his expression earnest. “I pondered that very thing last night and I came upon an unusual solution, but considering the nature of... well, yes.” He clears his throat. Alice sips her tea as he collects the dish in both hands and contemplates it for a long moment. When he looks up at her, his expression is oddly reserved. “I’m afraid if you’d like to try what I have in here, you’ll have to close your eyes and trust me, Alice.”

She smiles and sets her cup down. “Of course I trust you.” She closes her eyes. “All right then, I’m ready.” And it’s only after the words have left her mouth that she realizes how that might have sounded... to a man... on a private teatime tablecloth... overlooking a romantic view...

Alice feels herself blush.

There’s a small clatter of a lid and then silence.

“Hatter?”

“Ah, yes, well, I’m afraid... that is, Alice, you shall have to open your mouth for this.”

Hesitantly, she does. Oh, it feels so odd and awkward to be sitting with one’s eyes closed and one’s mouth open not knowing what to expect! Her fingers clutch the hem of her tunic. She hears fabric brush against fabric as he leans closer. There’s a whisper of a breeze against her cheek and then something small and round-ish is dropped into her mouth. She investigates it with her tongue, examining the odd shape and strange texture. And when she can learn no more of this odd, tasteless morsel, she takes a bite.

“Mmmph!”

She squeezes her eyes shut as the flavor explodes within her mouth. The most exquisite, wondrous, addictive taste she’s ever experienced. When the juice warms on her tongue and must – finally – be swallowed, she opens her eyes.

“That was...!” Her voice trails off at the sight of the Hatter. Watching her.

He blinks and smiles. “Did you enjoy that, Alice?”

She studies his expression, wondering where that look of... of... something unsettling has gone, but now she only sees innocent inquiry in his face. “Yes, I did. What was it?”

“It’s called a Squimberry. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of them?”

She shakes her head. “It was marvelous!” Her gaze drops to the once-again-covered dish in his hands.

“I don’t suppose...” The Hatter hesitates, his shoulders curving in a bit. Shyly, he asks, “Would you like another?”

Alice nods readily.

“Then, once more, eyes closed, if you please, Alice.”

“Why?”

The Hatter giggles. “They’re called Squimberries for a reason, I’m afraid. As they look rather – and make one feel rather – squimish.”

“All right.” Again, Alice closes her eyes and opens her mouth. She even leans a bit closer, eager to have another taste. When she feels the brush of the berry against her lips, she closes her mouth quickly, catching the tip of a finger between her lips. Startled and apologetic, she opens her eyes and gasps. The Hatter is looking at her... looking at her... as if... like he...

She watches as his fingers twitch and he lowers his hand.

“Go on,” he says thickly.

With a small, contrite smile, Alice closes her eyes again and bites into the Squimberry. The taste of the second is even better than the first, if possible.

“Nnnngh...” she breathes and rolls the fruit around on her tongue. Overjoyed by the flavor, she murmurs, “Hatter, this is wonderful!”

“I’m glad you... like it,” he answers gruffly.

Alice opens her eyes and smiles, “I do. Very much so.”

Again he clears his throat and with rather jerky, uncertain movements, sets the covered dish of Squimberries aside and reaches for the next. Alice leans forward again, eyeing the dish curiously. “And what’s in that one?”

“Something quite different from Squimberries,” the Hatter replies, lifting the lid. Inside, Alice sees two small, blue fruit. They look oddly like largish apricots. “Batten,” he announces, offering the dish to her. Alice takes one and examines the fine, fuzzy skin with her fingertips. She lifts it to her nose and sniffs and...

“Oh!” She sniffs the fruit again. Dazed by the aroma, she opens her mouth to take a bite.

“No.”

Alice blinks and glances down at the hand on her wrist, pulling the fruit away from her mouth.

“Unfortunately, Batten doesn’t taste like much at all. It’s put to far better use as a scent, not a taste.”

She smiles and inhales again. The Hatter’s hand is still on her wrist and that somehow makes it better... “It smells so...”

“Aye... I know.”

Slowly, he withdraws his hand. Alice watches as he collects the second fruit with his dexterous, stained fingers. Holding it aloft, the Hatter informs her, “They smell even better, however, if they’re paid a bit of attention.”

“Attention?”

“You have to pet them, you see. Although I’ve met a few that preferred to be tickled.”

Alice watches as he demonstrates. His fingers rub gently against the skin of the fruit in odd patterns. His thumb brushes back and forth over it and his middle finger draws small circles against the fuzzy surface. Alice watches the delicate, soft movements of those stained fingers and actually... She becomes slightly... A little...

She watches, lips parted and eyes a tad unfocused as he brings the fruit to his nose, sniffs it, then looks up at her over it. His eyes are the most brilliant green and so... so much!

She licks her lips. She swallows.

With a smile, the Hatter offers the fruit to her. “Here. Smell.”

She stares at his fingers for a moment before she closes her eyes, leans closer and inhales.

“Ah!” The surprised gasp is wrung from her at the incredible sensation. Why, the Batten is even more aromatic now than it had been before! Unthinkingly, she leans closer still, reaching for the fruit and taking his hand in both of hers. The tip of her nose touches the furry skin of the fruit. Her lips brush the warm skin of a knuckle. She inhales.

There’s the sweetly warm, earthy tang of the fruit itself and then, beneath that, the scent of sweat, of musk, of a man. Before she can stop herself, her lips part and her tongue reaches out just enough to sample that skin.

The Hatter gasps.

This time, when Alice looks up and over the fruit at him, his expression is not innocent. She stares, overwhelmed by the intensity of it. She freezes, overpowered by the hot rush of confusion and something else blossoming within her. This time, when their gazes meet, the Hatter does not blink, twitch, glance away, smile... This time, he watches her back. Hungrily.

It’s the hunger that somehow manages to settle the churning tide of emotions in her. It’s the hunger that calls to her own, brings it to the fore, past the embarrassment and confusion and fear...

Alice tilts her head to the side until the tip of her nose is just a breeze away from the back of his hand, and inhales. She closes her eyes as she savors this new scent. The smell of him is unlike any other: spicy with the hint of musk. And yet mysteriously similar to pears and Batten: earthy and warm.

Her heart pounds with the desire to press the tip of her tongue against his skin and investigate this taste. But she hesitates. She can’t. It wouldn’t be... He wouldn’t... She’s not sure what would happen if...

The Batten disappears from his hand, which turns and gently cups her cheek. She notices peripherally that his other hand has returned the Batten to its dish but her attention is on him. Slowly, he leans forward, his eyelids closing until only a hint of glittering emerald can be seen. He brushes her other cheek with his own and she hears him inhale against her hair. Alice closes her eyes, turns toward the vibrant locks beneath his hat, does the same and...

“Ngh...” The scent of him here is so much more fascinating and overwhelming than it had been on the back of his hand! She can feel the heat rising up from his collar and smell the hint of soap or shampoo. There’s something else she suspects is the scent of the jacket itself. Alice drops the Batten and grasps his arms to steady herself as she leans closer yet. The Hatter’s smallest finger presses gently against her throbbing pulse. She feels him shudder in her hands.

This, Alice suddenly realizes. This is the cause of her inexplicable and sudden embarrassment around him since the Pear Incident. This is why she feels so nervous and strange whenever she’s near him. This is...!

With a soft groan, the Hatter leans back, moves his gaze over her face in one complete – if wonderfully erratic – circuit, then leans in once more. Her hands tense on his arms when his lips brush hers – so soft! – and she pulls herself closer to him. Again, a fine tremor runs through him and he gasps. Alice opens her mouth to catch his breath, to taste it.

Yes, this is for taste, she decides, daringly touching his lips with her tongue. His moan sounds pained and Alice wonders why that is. For the briefest instant, she wonders if perhaps he doesn’t care for the taste of her...

And then she feels the brush of his tongue against hers and sensation and taste combine, explode, engulf her. She reaches for him, forgets about the tea service completely, and clamors toward him.

This is what she wants. This is what she craves. This is why the pear from the palm of his hand had been so irresistible!

His arm wraps around her waist even as his other hand still cradles her cheek. Her hair tangles around his bandaged forefinger, but she doesn’t care. She’s tasting him, smelling him, experiencing him so completely that nothing else can possibly encroach on that.

Except, perhaps, the feel of him as she presses one hand against his jaw and she slides the fingers of the other into his soft, soft hair.

And then there’s the sound of him: frantic breaths, small whines that vibrate from the back of his throat, and a growl from much deeper when she captures his tongue between her lips and draws it into her mouth as if sucking pear juice from her own finger.

And suddenly, he pushes her away, scrambles to his feet, turns and takes a deep breath.

“We cannae, Alice,” he whispers, sounding pained.

Panting, Alice demands breathlessly, “Why can’t we? Or you don’t...”

He turns and Alice feels her heart race and something deep within her heat and turn molten at the look in his eyes. “I wan’tae,” he says. That and no more. But, with a look such as that in his eyes, no more needs to be said.

“Then we will,” she replies, wondering at her own daring, wondering at how daring this sudden desire makes her.

He shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and says, “With your permission, I’ll court ye.”

Alice regards him, feeling restless and unsatisfied. “And how long will that take?”

“Two fortnights is th’ accepted...”

“That’s not acceptable to me.” She reaches out a hand for him, needing him, needing more of him. “Please, Hatter.”

“Please, Alice,” he counters, a desperate look on his face now. “D’nae... d’nae ask me teh, f’r if I touch ye nauw, I’ll take ye here and I d’nae wan’teh have ye this way...”

“What way?” she hears herself ask, her heart racing at the thought of being entwined with him here on this grassy hill, surrounded by whispering trees...

“Th’wrong way, th’bad way, Alice...” He sinks down to his knees on the far edge of the tablecloth, far beyond her reach. “Let me court ye, Alice. If... this is what ye want.”

When she doesn’t answer immediately, the Hatter looks away, ashamed. “I wan’ye tae much, Alice. Don’let me take ye here like a beast.”

She covers her face with her hands and sighs to hide the shiver of... something – something hot: desire – at the thought of him doing exactly that, exactly now, exactly here.

“You want this enough to marry me?” she asks. “Or will we... be together only as long as we’re courting?”

“I cannae touch ye while we’re courtin’,” he confesses, “an’ if I had ye, I wou’never be able teh let ye go, so, aye, I want teh wed ye. Ver’much.”

Alice lowers her hands and stares at him. “Four weeks...?” She’ll have to go four weeks without another kiss like that?! She shakes her head. “Don’t people elope in Underland?”

The Hatter giggles. “Aye, they do, but I won’do tha’wi’ye.”

“Why not?”

“Because I need ye teh be sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Ye’re sure nauw. But, on th’morrow, Alice? How long have ye been thinkin’ o’ doin’ this... with me?”

Alice closes her eyes. Botheration, he has a point! “You’re going to make me wait... four weeks to finish this?” She can’t even begin to tell him how cruel he is.

He gives her a gentle smile. “I’m goin’ teh try, Alice. I’m goin’ teh try.”

The End
(or... not the end... as there is now a novel-length continuation: The Courtship)
(^__~)

Because I enjoyed reading the responses by

wanderamaranth and

fiducia to this "Song Challenge" so very much I decided to give it a shot to see if it helped with a bit of writer's blockage. (^__~)

The rules and

wanderamaranth 's response can be found HERE.

fiducia 's response can be read HERE.

UPDATE: HERE is a contribution by

just_a_dram

UPDATE:

erratichippie 's shuffle-inspired series of drabbles: HERE.

UPDATE:

just_a_dram also joined the fun! HERE is another 10-song drabbling!

*~*~*~*

Ten Drabbles Inspired by Ten Random Songs
Fandom: Alice in Wonderland (2010)
Pairings: Alice and Tarrant (romantic) / The Bandersnatch and Alice (friendship)
Ratings: T+ (for angst)
Disclaimer: Alice in Wonderland and its characters, storyline, setting, and other concepts are the property of Walt Disney Studios, Tim Burton, and Lewis Carroll. No copyright infringement is intended and no compensation was given to the author for creating this work.

*~*~*~*

"The Poison" by All American Rejects

He sits down in the chair.

It's not his chair, so it must be Thackery's. Thackery doesn't use it, of course - if he did it wouldn't be available to a certain Hatter, now would it?

It's a comfortable chair. And there's plenty of space. Sometimes she sits with him here and he feels her long hair brush against his cheek, his nose, his chin with the aid of the breeze or the steam from the teapot.

He likes it when she sits on his knees, despite being far too old to do so with perfect innocence. And yet there is innocence here, in these moments when she reclines with him. Perfect moments that are only for the two of them, can only be for the two of them, because no one else sees her there. Here. In this chair.

He prefers it this way. She's his. He does not wish to share her with Thackery or the teapot or even the clearing. Only the two of them, in the chair.

They think he's mad, but he's not. He can feel the void between them most times, between the chair and Up There - a rhyme! - and when all is quiet, she falls down to him again, and lands on his knees.

In the chair.

*~*~*~*

"Grenade Jumper" by Fall Out Boy

She twirls in the rain.

Her mother thinks she's crazy, but that's nothing new. Every day should be mad and she's disappointed when it's not.

This is Life.

She knows this as only a Slayer of the Jabberwocky would. She Drinks in the chance to feel the world around her, is driven to taste it as if she has never noticed tastes before, as if she seeks redemption for having forsaken the chance to taste other flavors... A green-eyed, orange-haired, hatted flavor.

Sometimes she imagines he tastes like rain. And sometimes she imagines he tastes like dusty autumn leaves and crisp nearly-snowing breezes and humid, perfume-weighted air.

The seasons change and she remembers the taste of him she'd never had.

But she will.

One day, she'll stumble her way back to him. It will happen when she least expects it, she knows, so she tries not to expect it. Tries not to long for it.

Hence, the dancing in the rain. No, it's not mad at all. Not really. Not to Alice.

*~*~*~*

"Your Wall" by Revis

The hole is as dark and twisting as it ever is. And she falls. She feels as if she ought to know this place. It feels familiar; the terror is oddly muffled, redundant. Monotonous. And when she lands...!

She opens her eyes.

The dream again.

She knows this dream so very well that she feels not fear and startlement upon waking but sorrow.

She sighs.

She looks at the mirror and wonders if instead she'll see The Hole twisting sideways through the wall: in the dream she always falls through a looking glass that turns into a rabbit hole. And she falls until she reaches the wall. The wall.

His wall.

She knows that's what it is. He is keeping her out, away from him. And she doesn't know why!

She'd once tried to beat her dream-fists against it but it had only forced her to open her eyes that much sooner.

She wonders about this boundary between them, this obstacle. And she wonders - if a knock or a call or a cajoling shout will not reveal him to her, let her in - perhaps it will take a sacrifice.

Perhaps her blood.

She's desperate enough to try.

*~*~*~*

"Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol

No one understands. Not really.

They see a Champion and a Hatter. They see a Lady and a Milliner. They see an older man and a too-young woman. That's the problem. They see.

Alice closes her eyes and reaches out a hand across the field of lush grass, brushing past the drooping daisies that grumble when she disturbs their napping. She reaches and before she has really extended her arm much at all, she finds his fingers - bandaged, bruised, be-thimbled.

He sighs. She smiles.

The sun whispers across their faces and the clouds drift by above them. The breeze tickles her hair and he giggles softly. She keeps her eyes closed and lets her fingertips wander along his hand, over his cuff. She memorizes the pattern of the antique lace with deliberate intent and a studiousness that she'd never showed in her studies. He's hers to learn, to experience, to have, to know. And seeing him is only one aspect of the wonder that he is: Tarrant Hightopp. The Mad Hatter of Mamoreal. The Leader of the Secret Resistance against the Bluddy Behg Hid.

This is her wonderland, she knows. And Tarrant Hightopp submits to her discovery in all senses.

*~*~*~*

"Sweet Sacrifice" by Evanescence

The march hare twitches. The dormouse swallows thickly. The Hatter's fingers tighten around the hilt of the claymore.

This is the moment. The last moment, or the first moment. In any case, it is the Only moment. It is Alice's moment.

He doesn't want to watch her greet that thing, lift that tiny sword - for how can that small thing do a single harm to the Nightmare of Underland?

This might be Alice's moment. Her Only moment. Her Last moment.

But she is his Alice.

His friend. His Only friend. And if she dies, she will be his Last Friend.

The Bandersnatch has never been known for his charm, for his pleasantness. His smell is enough to put all other creatures off. That Alice never noticed it... he adores her for that. Worships her for that. Would do anything for her for that.

And so here he crouches on the edge of battle to watch. For that is what she requires of him in This moment.

*~*~*~*

"Lie in a Sound" by Tresspassers William

The moonlight is a soft shower against skin and sheets and even the bedroom slippers beside the bed. He doesn't sleep despite the lullaby of it.

No, he never sleeps in the moonlight. His memories do not permit it, for he always Remembers a different shower of moonlight. A different moment of pale perfection wrapped in the embrace of night. The moment he'd swept his hat from his head and dared himself to join her on that balcony, dared himself to proposition her with the riddle he'd hoped she would never unravel.

Some mysteries are best left enjoyed rather than solved. He thinks she'd understood that. In the end.

But he will not think about that now.

Now he will remember the sight of her in the pale dress of Mamoreal in the light of the moon.

"I'll miss you when I wake up."

"So will I, dearest Alice," he murmurs.

He sighs into the moonlight, his hands keeping himself company as he makes shapes in the light, watches the shadows play on the coverlet. He's gotten quite good at them. Especially the rabbit in the waistcoat. He considers sending it to her - would she follow this one? The shadows from his hands in the moonlight?

There's power in shadowy things, he knows. The shadowy things he feels when he thinks of her prove that. Or are they the shadowy things she feels? For they'd never really determined whose dream that night had been. Whose dream he is. Is he her dream or his own?

"I'm not waking up, Alice."

He won't. And so he sits on his bed in the moonlight. With the shadows.

*~*~*~*

"Alien" by Thriving Ivory

He looks over his shoulder.

London.

His nose wrinkles at the smells. His ears want to pull his hat down over them to shut out the noise and the sound and the brashness of it. He does not like it here. No. Not At All. But Alice is here. Somewhere.

He Knows.

The streets are dirty and he wonders if he'll ever get the smell out of his shoes. But as they're quite far from his nose, he imagines only Mally will complain. When he goes back.

If he goes back.

He steps into a hat shop and despairs. How boring. All of them. How utterly lacking in imagination and color and muchness and hope and Alice-ness! But however, he is not here to critique these meager attempts at headwear. He has very little time. Yes, very little. Time is rarely obliging and he must make the most of it!

He rings the bell on the counter and waits. And waits. He rings again. And there!

Movement.

He clutches the edge of the counter in his gloved fingers, holds his breath... And there! He takes in the sight of her: her loose hair tumbling around her shoulders, her blue jacket and trousers...

"Can I help you, sir?"

... and then her eyes. He looks into them and smiles.

"I'm looking for a new hat," he says.

*~*~*~*

"Sally's Song" by Amy Lee

She couldn't stay. She'd known it all along. So she'd made Plans.

There was the letter (would he find it, tucked inside his hat?) and the stockings (would he notice them under the chair at the teatable?) and the necklace (her mother will kill her for "losing" it but she feels it will be safe in the pocket of his jacket) and - most importantly - the vial of half-drunk Jabberwocky blood that she'd let slip through her fingers.

Had he caught it?

She doesn't know.

Doesn't know!!

But she hopes he had.

As she soars up through the hole, she hopes with all her heart that he'd caught it as swiftly as he'd thrown those little golden scissors at Stayne.

Tarrant has a mission to complete - the return of her things to her - and she expects him to follow through on it!

*~*~*~*

"Here We Are" by Breaking Benjamin

The rain plunks into the teacup.

He glares at it. For no other reason than he feels like glaring at something.

It's raining again and his hat is being useful.

He shuffles his feet beneath the table, his boots squish-squelching in the mud.

He reaches for his pocket watch and then moves to throw it over his shoulder without opening it or even listening to its non-ticking. He gives up. She's not coming.

But he doesn't throw it.

Something caught along the chain - something golden and delicate - glitters and glints. A necklace.

How very odd.

How had that gotten there? And whose is it?

All very Good Questions.

He fidgets as he studies the small, dark pendant: a simple ball of some indigo stone.

His feet shuffle, tuck under the chair. He digs into the earth with his toe and... drags something out from under his seat.

He squints down at the muddy ground at... a stocking caught on his shoe.

Odd again.

What is going on here? Why, the next thing he knows he'll get hit on the head by falling objects under his hat!

He startles and looks up at the brim.

Had something just...?

Yes, he thinks it had!

He removes his hat and a small letter tumbles over his brow and onto the soaking tablecloth.

He picks it up, reads it, and smiling, pulls out the half-full vial of Jabberwocky blood he'd caught as it had fallen from her fingertips.

And drinks.

*~*~*~*

"Lithium" by Evanescence

She watches the rain and presses her face against the window. Autumn. Nearly winter. And the glass is cold against her skin. She breathes and her breaths mist against the glass. Trapped.

She knows the feeling.

And oddly, she feels betrayed. Hadn't she saved him? Saved them all from the Red Queen? Hadn't she slayed the Jabberwock? Hadn't she donned the armor? Hadn't she done everything they'd ever asked of her?

"You didn't stay," she reminds herself.

Still. She'd done everything else, hadn't she? Returned a hat. Hefted the Vorpal Sword. Been the Right Alice...!

All she asks is for him to rescue her. Just one more time. And properly this time!

Although she'd appreciated his strategy with the Red Queen - keeping her secret...

Although she'll never be able to thank him enough for poking the Jabberwocky at that Crucial moment..

She wants a proper rescue. Just once. Just once she wants to Matter enough to warrant that!

*~*~*~*

O~kaaaay... those of you who think there was enough angst in there to accommodate the population of a small country (say, Andorra) raise your hands! (^__~)