Holly Remembers
Title: Holly Remembers
Series: Part 2 of On the Threshold of Christmas
Author: Manniness
Rating: M (for some serious sensuality and steaminess... oh, and a sudden existential crisis which leads to Angst)
Summary: It turns out that doorways are rather agreeably amorous places!
Notes: Holly Remembers was written for the aiw_advent 2010
Alice remembers!
Alice... remembers!
“Alice... remembers... me,” Tarrant murmurs to himself through the grin that he cannot banish from his face.
“Ar, I know. You’ve only said so a Mad-March-Hare’s dozen times today!” Mally informs him in a tetchy tone. “An’ tha’s not counting from when yah started saying it twelve days ago!”
“Twelve?” Tarrant parrots, blinking.
“Thirty-eight!” Thackery announces. “Tha’d be a dozen tah mae reckoning!”
Mally glares at Tarrant over the undisturbed plate of scones and grouches, “Only thirty-eight? I’m sure it’s more...”
“And,” Tarrant adds, blithely ignoring the dormouse’s nattering. “She misses me.”
Thackery giggles. “A lucky thing, that! The Vorpal Sword’s meant fer Jabberwocks!”
“And I am not a Jabberwock,” he agrees, buttering a slice of bread with much gusto. “Fair laddies d’nae kiss Jabberwocks, do they?”
“No’ that I’m aware of,” the hare replies. “Mayhap tha’s a job fer unfair laddies?”
Tarrant considers that, his brows twitching this way and that, his eyes wide with worry for the theoretical unfair lads.
Mally sighs. “Well, at least that’s an improvement on your other mood,” she grumbles.
“Spoons!” Thackery agrees and Tarrant sits up straight with what he imagines must be quite a goofy grin on his face.
“I suppose I am,” he acknowledges.* “Did you know that Alices sometimes wear garden boots indoors?”
“Argh!” Mally declares. “Enough, ’Atter! Go on and have another visit with her and leave us in peace!”
“I love a gehd roman-tic story,” Thackery argues.
Mally rolls her eyes.
Tarrant frets. “I couldn’t possibly...! Well, it was only just yesterday afternoon that we crossed paths under the holly and-”
“Crossed paths?” Mally mocks him. “Yah mean she finally noticed you’d been waiting for her for hours on end!”
Tarrant clears his throat and inspects his bluest thimble. “Well... patience is a virtue, Mally,” he counters in what he believes to be an admirably reasonable tone.
“No, it ain’t,” she snorts. “It’s a pain in the-!”
“Crumpet!” Thackery shouts, slamming his fist down on the table in rapid succession, causing the tray of aforementioned confections to shimmy toward his place setting.
Tarrant considers biting back a grin at Mally’s consternated expression, but - in the end - decides against it.
“Blunderin’...” she mutters. “I’ve had enough o’ this!”
Tarrant leans over and peers at her from around the edge of the cloth-draped table corner as she slides down to the floor, her hatpin sword clanking merrily in its scabbard. “Where are you off to, then? We’ve yet to pass ’round the plum pudding.”
“I’m gonna do what you ought to have done before you invited us to tea to talk of nuthin’ but Alice,” she informs him, now striding toward the open parlor door. “I’m goin’ across the hall to yer workshop and checkin’ the threshold. I guess it’s too much to hope she’s waiting there for you for bloody once!”
“Mally!” he scolds her. True, he had been the one to initiate his and Alice’s repeated rendezvous over the last week-and-a-bit; and, true, he had manfully refrained from kissing her too many times; and, true, he’d rather like to dispense with that obnoxious “too” that precedes “many kisses” and simply touch his lips to hers as many times and as often as he likes (which would be Quite Often, indeed!) but surely he hasn’t been overly - unbearably - lovesick!
“Mally, Alice is busy today. It’s Christmas or some such thing Above and she is spending the day with her family!”
The door shuts behind the dormouse with an echoing thump!
Thackery looks up at the closed door and sneezes. “She’ll be back.”
“Aye,” Tarrant agrees, forcing himself to stay in his seat despite how his feet itch to dash across the hall and check the very threshold Mally had mentioned.
Thackery makes a comment about the design on his plate.
Tarrant agrees it’s lovely and has to bite his tongue from expounding on how Alice is lovelier.
The hare clears his throat and swirls his tea in his cup.
The Hatter adjusts his cuffs and centers his saucer in front of him.
A clock in the room - resentful because it had not been invited to take tea with them - ticks a bit and tocks some more.
Finally, Tarrant must ask: “Do you really think Alice might be waiting for me?”
Thackery twitches - a very versatile gesture which, unfortunately, means both yes and no, depending on the circumstances... but more often than not means Pass the sugar an’ mind yer hat, lad! Cat!
Before Tarrant can coax a verbal reply from his good friend, the door bursts open. The door knob squeals in fright as it zooms toward the wall.
“I knew it!” a voice crows, startling not only Tarrant and Thackery: the bird in the cuckoo clock erupts from its nest, screeching in surprise.
“Ouch!” the brass door knob grunts as it hits the wall.
“Where’s th’ Bandersnatch?!” Thackery shouts, collecting the nearest teapot and tensing to spring off in a frantic dash for safety.
“What did you see in the doorway!” Tarrant excitedly demands, his bow tie fluffing up to his chin and jaw.
Mally fists her paws and plants them on her mousy hips. With a smug grin, she informs him, “What makes yah think I even went across the hall to look? Eh? Maybe I was just listenin’ at th’ door ’cause I knew yah wouldn’t be able to talk about nuthin’cept her!”
Deflating with disappointment, Tarrant blindly reaches out and removes the teapot from Thackery’s grip by its spout. Sighing, he sets it on the table with a clunk!
“Sit down, Thackery. There’s no Bandersnatch.”
“Ar. Al’righ’ then...”
When Tarrant turns back to the table, he finds himself on the receiving end of Mally’s rather unsympathetic smirk. Tarrant glances left, glances right, and then - lowering his chin a bit - whispers, “Have I missed something, Mally?”
“Yer missing it right now,” she tells him.
“Am I?”
“Alice.”
“Alice?”
“Alice,” she repeats with a firm nod and a gleam in her dark eyes, “dressed to outshine the White Queen, is waitin’ for yah on the threshold if yah’d deign to-”
The door to the tea parlor slams shut behind him before Mally can finish her sentence. It probably wouldn’t have been all that exciting a conclusion in comparison to the climax, actually. Truly, nothing could sound better to his ears than “Alice is waiting for you”.
He gives himself a shake as, despite the mental assertion, several other phrases - each more blood-boiling and heart-swelling and mind-boggling than the previous one - crowd and clamor for his attention. But he does not permit them leeway! He will see Alice, he knows. That is enough. And, with a deep breath, he steps into the doorway beneath the holly.
*~*~*~*
“Mally was right,” he hears himself whisper. Alice turns toward him and answers his observation with a smile and sparkling eyes.
He continues, “You do look lovely. As always, Alice. Lovely as always.”
She grins at the pronouncement and reaches for his hands. “I missed you. It simply hasn’t been Christmas today without you, not after you’ve given me this wonderful gift-” Her gaze leaves his to briefly encompass the threshold, the door jamb, the holly, him... “-and...” Her smile takes a turn for the muchy at this point. “... all those kisses.”
“Are you quite sure I didn’t steal them, Alice?”
“Not a one. All were freely given.”
“This one as well?” he inquires, leaning toward her and brushing his lips across hers. The warm nearness of her and the gentle sigh that escapes her lips makes his ears shiver and his spine tingle and his toes curl. She kisses him back and his fingertips dare to dance over the ringlets that have escaped her rather restrictive and uncelebratory hairstyle. The kiss is brief, but he lingers, leans in, and breathes in her scent directly from that warm place beneath her ear that her up-swept hair has revealed.
He shudders with delight at the unanticipated opportunity.
“Hm,” Alice replies. “Have you just come from tea?”
He leans back, startled and pleased that she seems to have enjoyed his scent as much as he had enjoyed hers. “Yes. I’m afraid I was boring Mally into a very irritable mood, which is why she came to see if you were here, by any chance.”
“I’m glad she did.”
“I am as well.” The words sound horribly inadequate as a measure of his true gratitude.
Alice continues, her fingers warm and strong around the one hand of his that she still clasps. “It was lovely to see her again. It’s a shame we can’t fit a tea table in the doorway or I might be able to sit down with all of my friends and you.”
“You count me out amongst your friends, Alice?” he inquires, unsure if he ought to be Concerned or Overjoyed.
“I count you apart,” she admits. “Because that classification is rather crowded, and while I don’t mind crowds, especially friendly ones, I’d rather not share you with them.”
“You wouldn’t?” he prompts, mesmerized by the flush in her cheeks and the eager happiness in her eyes.
Alice shakes her head. “I’d prefer to spend time with you in a place that is only for you and I... no matter how kind and generous our friends are.”
“They are kind enough to understand and generous enough not to intrude,” he replies, thinking of Mally’s knowing smirks and Thackery’s joyous shouts. Boisterous they both may be, but not here. Not now...
He lifts his other hand to frame her face. He does not ask for this kiss, but she lifts her face toward his, sensing his intent. How many kisses has she given him? More than enough to return him to prison should it suddenly be judged that he had stolen them!
Tarrant inhales sharply as her fingers dance along his neck, under his collar before questing into his hair. He feels Great Regret when Alice pulls back.
“It’s getting late,” she whispers, not looking happy at all about that fact. “Dinner will be starting soon. I must go...”
“Dinner?” he asks, pressing a kiss to her temple. “This is Christmas Dinner? The one you mentioned previously?”
Alice nods. “Yes.”
“With a multitude of guests?” he murmurs against her cheek.
She sighs. “Too many. With dancing and pleasantries and all sorts of boring propriety.”
Something about her words rings through his head and, suddenly, Tarrant understands why she is wearing this incomparable garment with her hair styled and her Alice scent mixed in with what must have been the perfumed water of a midday bath.
“Dancing,” he repeats, freezing. “Pleasantries. Propriety... proprietary... property...!” He gasps.
Her hands cover his. “Tarrant?”
There will be lads at this dinner, he realizes. Young lads with fortunes and dreams and charming smiles. Lads who are not so old, so mad, so poverty-stricken, so used-up and heartbroken...!
He shudders. “Alice...” Oh, how he wishes he could be one of those men for her - a man who is just contemplating his first, brave step into a new world rather than stumbling along the underused, overgrown, and ill-maintained rutted track that stretches between his past and a monotonous future.
How ridiculous of him to think that Alice would be happy walking that road with him!
“Tarrant,” she whispers, petting his work-abused fingers and tartan-covered hands.
Alices need freedom, a free range, as it were! There is no adventure awaiting him on his path! His adventure is over, done with. The White Queen reigns again and his family is still dead and how can he ask Alice to be his Everything when he has nothing to give her?!
Nothing except a good-bye.
He leans away, opens his eyes, stares into hers which are shining with youth and vitality and curiosity and questions and...
And if this is to be his good-bye to her, then let her Remember it!
Alice gasps when he reaches for her, presses his mouth to hers and takes full advantage of her surprise. The other side of her lips is warm and wet and - in this moment - just for him! She is his now - right now! - and he is hers and he knows it is not possible for a thing to be possessed, owned, for all time. He tells himself that this moment is enough. He will take this moment. He will give Alice whatever she will allow him to bestow, for, truly, whatever is left of his shattered soul is hers, has always been hers and he will die before he sees it in the hands of another!
Alice...
His every thought is of her as he Reaches, Gives, Impresses his existence upon her, for if she will remember him, then he will never again be lost.
*~*~*~*
Alice gasps as the kiss deepens beyond anything he has given her before. This is not a friendly kiss, nor a courting kiss... This is a bedroom kiss. The kiss of Lovers. Her heart pounds and she can feel heat dancing under her tightly bound hair along her scalp and on the crooks of her elbows and behind her knees and... Goodness! She feels hot in the most unlikely of places. In fact, a place that she hasn’t had much interaction with at all suddenly becomes rather insistent at making her acquaintance...
Or perhaps it seeks to make Tarrant’s acquaintance and she moans even as her hips press mindlessly against his. She thinks, perhaps, she hears some sort of growl from him but she can’t be sure and she’s not about to stop the proceedings and ask!
He crowds her and Alice stumbles back until she comes up against the door jamb. It presses squarely between her shoulders, along her spine, and against her tail bone. She tightens her grip on Tarrant’s lapels - when had her hands wandered over there? - and pulls him closer. One arm comes around her waist, pulls her away from the wooden frame and presses the two of them together - presses that unspeakable part of her against the unspeakable part of him and oh it is a pleasure to make his acquaintance!
He shifts, widening his stance and Alice wishes he would hold her with both arms - perhaps with one hand in her hair? She rather likes it when he dares to be so familiar! And, yes, one arm is like steel around her waist but the other, she senses, is above her head, his hand clutching the door frame for balance. She supposes she could open her eyes and confirm that, but, actually...
She pushes toward him and pulls him toward her and she wants...!
“Tarrant...” she murmurs when his mouth frees hers and migrates along her jaw and down her neck. “Ahhh...”
“Hmm,” he agrees, his hips pressing against hers, rolling in a rhythm that is both strange and necessary... A rhythm that is known to her instincts and...
Dear Lord, is it supposed to feel this way?
She feels as if she might futterwhacken right here, in his arms!
“Please...” she whines, rubbing against him in an approximation of the vague, abbreviated motions he is making toward her.
He gasps, presses his teeth against her skin. “Alice... I...”
For an instant - a glorious instant - he moves impossibly closer! The layers of cloth between them cannot insulate his heat from her. He’s so very warm that she nearly expects their clothing to melt away like butter on watchworks. She gives a thought for the uncomfortable angles of the wooden door jamb and decides that this - whatever this is... whatever this will become! - will be worth a few bruises... And then...!
Alice struggles for breath, startled. Tarrant stands opposite her on the threshold, his hands on her arms and looks as if he is trying to brace himself away from her.
“I beg your pardon,” he mumbles in a rush. “I should not... I musn’t... I must go. Fairfarren, Alice.”
“No, Tarrant! Wait!”
But it is too late - he is already gone.
*~*~*~*
Notes:
* Thanks to Master Researcher wanderamaranth , I learned that “spoons” is Victorian slang for “to fancy” or “to have a crush on” someone. As in: “That lad is spoons for her.”
Also: The reference to the Hatter being in prison is from Lewis Carroll’s book: Through the Looking Glass.
And: I did zero research about Christmas dinner customs in England during the 19th century so I have no idea if it was popular to have large dinner parties or not.
Finally: Yes, I suppose I am evil for leaving things like this. Thank goodness there's a Part 3, eh? (^__~)
P.S. Now, who wants to invite Thackery over for Christmas dinner? C'mon, you know you wanna!