The Envelope: Kiss Me (2)
*~*~*~*
Alice gently lifts the small, brass key from the Hatter's palm, ticking his skin quite deliberately and grinning at his helpless giggle, and then, kneeling, applies it to the lock on the miniature door.
"I do believe we may be overlooking a rather sizable issue," the Hatter cautiously reminds her.
She glances up, grinning. "Oh, I haven't forgotten," she assures him. "This is something of a tradition for me; this first glance into the garden on the other side."
"Ah!" he declares… and promptly gets down on the floor beside her. "In this case, two heads are also better than one!"
Laughing, Alice turns the key, tugs open the tiny door…
And gasps as churning, rushing water explodes toward them through the portal.
For a moment that feels unequivocally eternal, Alice merely gapes, her mind stuttering with incomprehension at the torrent. The Hatter is equally still and stiff with disbelief as the water spills into the room between them. And then, before she has really processed the situation - a slight to her ego which the businesswoman in her, who prides herself on her quick thinking and ingenuity, may never forgive - the Hatter lurches into the spray and scrambles for the open door.
"Close the door, Alice!" he bellows, lisping her name in his panic.
She blinks, returns to herself and her senses, and endeavors to comply.
The door does not budge against the power of the incoming water. She slips and slides, slams against the wall and then braces her shoulders against it. On the opposite side of the threshold, the Hatter does the same. Together they push-pull at the door, but they cannot close it. When the door is submerged completely and the Upelkuchen lost to the murky depths now flooding the room, the Hatter reaches for Alice's hands and pulls her away from the opening.
"How much water is out there?" she wheezes in frantic disbelief. "What…? How…? Underland!"
"I ken," the Hatter replies, grasping Alice's upper arms tightly even as he glares with iridescently yellow eyes at the water which continues to froth and foam as it gushes inside.
Alice longs for a moment to ask the Hatter what Underland had been like when he'd last seen it, but she fears that they do not have time for that. "Is there another way out of the Room of Doors?" she asks instead, mindful of the cold water now swirling around her knees. "One of these that we can open?" she has the presence of mind to clarify with a wild gesture toward the other doors.
This directs his attention away from the door that has betrayed them. He glances at the other doors in a seemingly random order, his water-logged brows twitching. "I cannae recall," he admits after a moment. "We shall have to make our own."
Before Alice can ask him how, he glances at the wrought iron table with its glass top and then at the rising, churning water.
"Where was it you fell this time?" he asks, his voice sharp with urgency.
"Where I fell?" she repeats. "You mean where I crashed through the floor?"
"Yes, yes! Fell, crashed, smashed, broke, collided, ram-!"
"There!" Alice shouts over his increasingly hysterical rant. "On the far side of the table!"
She does not tell him she is unsure of the precise location. Doubting herself will not help them now. With one hand on his hat and the other still around Alice's arm, he slogs through the spinning water currents. "Here?" he inquires.
Alice squashes her doubt and nods.
"Excellent!" He now reaches for the table and directs, "You on one side and I on the other. May the room forgive us for reopening old wounds, but I dare say that - considering the alternative - our actions are permissible!"
Understanding his intent, Alice helps him drag the heavy table over to the recently-broken and magically-repaired area of the floor. Praying that she has remembered the exact location correctly and knowing that the Hatter will need her help, she tightens her grasp around the edge of the table.
"On the count of three!" the Hatter warns her and Alice nods, bracing herself. They lift the table as high as they can and then…
"Five… four… three!"
The water resists them, splashes them mightily and the resulting waves push at them, but Alice throws her weight into the downward motion of the table, as does the Hatter. Her left shoulder crashes into his right over the tabletop as the legs slam into the floor. Alice glances up at him, panting and ready to suggest that they try again…
But then the tiles crack beneath her feet. She can feel edges of ceramic against the fabric and soles of her shoes. Alice has just enough time to look into the Hatter's anxious, yellow eyes and then the table is grabbed away from them. An instant later, Alice feels the grip of the water on her feet as she is dragged beneath the surface with a gasp.
In her lifetime, Alice has wondered what it would be like to fly, what it would be like to kiss the Hatter, to make love, to return to Underland, but she has never wondered what it would be like to be sucked down a drain while choking on dirty water.
Perhaps she should have. She might have been better prepared for this.
Alice resists the impulse to open her eyes. She clamps both hands around her nose and mouth and curls her body into a ball as the water carries her away. She has no impression of where she is now. She can only hope that this is the rabbit hole on the Ascot estate and both she and the Hatter are riding upwards. She can only pray that he has not been left behind, trapped in the Room of Doors.
Please please please please…
There is no room in her helpless panic for any other thought. The water pushes and pulls at her like a pair of impatient toddlers (and yes, she remembers that experience well!) slamming her against this and that: walls and large objects that she cannot risk opening her eyes to identify. Her lungs burn and her throat aches with the need to cough up the bit of water she'd inadvertently swallowed. And then - just when she is sure that the next time she bumps against something, she will lose her grip on her mouth, gasp for air, fill up her lungs and drown! - Alice lets out a cry as the darkness falls away and there is light, a cold breeze, and hard-but-grass-covered ground pressing against her.
She rolls over roots and rocks, her dress and petticoats tangling in a soggy mass around her legs as she coughs and sputters. "Hat-!" She breaks off to retch on a rather unfortunately placed dandelion. "Hatter!"
And then the rushing in her ears subsides and she hears someone else hacking and wheezing nearby. She scrubs at her eyes, clearing them of water and mud and other muck even as she, wobblingly, sits up.
"Hatter!" she rasps, seeing him lying prone on the ground only a few steps away, panting-gasping-swearing-in-Outlandish up at the sky. Her relief makes her knees even weaker than they already are and Alice contents herself with crawling to his side.
"Are you-" She glances away to cough weakly. "Are you all-?"
"I've yet-" Cough. "-to take inventory-" Wheeze. "-but I believe so…"
"Your hat is missing," she reluctantly informs him as he cautiously sits up and then vigorously shakes his head, sending water droplets every which way.
"It will find me later," he mutters absently as he inspects the immediate vicinity. "How strange…"
"What is?"
"This place! Why, not a single drop of water floated away. One always does, you know."
Alice smiles wistfully. "I would have liked to have seen that…"
The Hatter glances around with more purpose this time. "Alice, do you happen to know where, precisely, is Here?"
She takes a moment to survey her surroundings and when she spies the corner of the picnic blanket in the distance, beside the trail, Alice's suspicions are confirmed. She experiences a moment of shock, however: so much has happened since lunchtime! She glances at the Hatter, at his kilt and mismatched stockings and the pocket watch he's now squinting at.
"Welcome to Upland," she tells him, marveling that he is here with her. In all her daydreaming, she had never imagined this. "And yes, I know precisely where we are: we're-"
"Alice?"
Both she and the Hatter startle at the sound of that abrupt and squeaky gasp. Alice turns and, there, over her shoulder, stands her lunch date from earlier. And he looks thoroughly gobsmacked.
"Hello, Hamish," Alice returns as she considers the effort required to stand up in garments weighed down with water.
She wonders if Hamish had actually seen her and the Hatter erupt out of the rabbit hole. He very well may have because, if she's not mistaken, that bug-eyed, slack-jawed, utterly blank expression is the harbinger of an Episode.
"I-you-that-! Not possible-!" he chokes, too stunned to gesticulate.
"Hamish, slow down and breathe before you speak," Alice commands. She glances at the Hatter and then toward the gnarled old tree. The rabbit hole is still there and the ground around it is wet, but there's no sign of the source. The water seems to have gone down again now that the pressure had been released.
When she returns her attention to the lord of the land, he seems to be taking her advice. At least partially. He is breathing more, yes, but it's clear that he hasn't managed to start thinking properly. "Nearly-not fifteen minutes and-what-!"
Waiting for him to regain his equilibrium could take all day, Alice muses. Granted, if he had seen the earth spit them out through the rabbit hole, he would be owed that time… and then some. But she doesn't think he had seen it. Not once does he glance in the direction of the gnarled tree or the portal at its base. His mind seems to be rather stuck on her inexplicably soaked and muddy appearance. The man is - and always has been - thoroughly (and unfortunately) logical. Even if he had seen their emergence through the rabbit hole, he will no doubt convince himself of the exact opposite. That is not to say that Hamish lacks imagination… but his imagination does not run toward fantastical, impossible things. Like Alice's.
She silently thanks the Hatter for that; without him and his sage advice on the battlefield all those years ago she might have been equally practical. How horrid! Alice spares a mischievous grin and a wink for the Hatter, who is watching Hamish's approach with wide, green eyes.
"You nearly-what with-an episode, Alice!" he finally articulates with some semblance of coherency. Drawing a deep breath, he clams enough to accuse, "Imagine turning the corner and seeing…! And hearing-babbling of the worst-!" Hamish blusters. "And who is this… fellow? And why are the pair of you sopping wet and covered in mud and-?"
"Lord Ascot," Alice interrupts in That Tone. The one that she'd adopted from Lady Ascot, interestingly enough, in order to better manage the woman's son. "Are you more interested in asking questions or in hearing answers?"
"I… the answers, naturally, madam!"
"Then I suggest you give us time to provide them."
Hamish glares briefly, his dignity clearly wounded in the presence of another male. One which Alice is permitting to actively assist her in getting to her feet. Now standing with his arms very chivalrously supporting her as she adjusts the sodden mass of cloth that had once been a skirt and petticoats, the Hatter glances over his shoulder at the remains of the picnic. His eyes narrow in thought… and he once more looks at Alice. Then he glances at Hamish, quirks a brow, and returns his attention to Alice again. This time, his look is expectant. She opens her mouth to explain away what clearly looks to be a romantic interlude in the forest, to reassure him that nothing had Happened here, before she'd tumbled down the rabbit hole and found her way under his kilt.
"What on earth happened to you, Alice?" Hamish inquires softly, suddenly, and with unprecedented succinctness.
The truth is out of the question, so she replies, "The lake happened to us."
Hamish gapes. Alice wonders if his shock will last long enough for her to describe the exact nature of her relationship with Hamish to the Hatter, but, alas, it does not.
After only two attempts at speaking, Lord Ascot finally concludes, "That… is not possible, Alice. The lake is on the other side of the estate and I've only been gone a few moments…"
"Your appointment?" Alice wonders aloud, momentarily distracted from the predicament. The Hatter's hand comes to rest rather possessively on her waist and she can't help but enjoy it.
"Cancelled. Marshall was on his way to inform me," Hamish replies with a dismissive (if somewhat twitchy) wave. His eyes narrow as he gives the Hatter a more thorough survey, from his scuffed and worn out boots all the way up to his matted and muddy orange hair. "But never mind that! Who is this man, Alice?"
Ah, an excellent question. One that Alice has been quite remiss in investigating, honestly. She had never been formally introduced to the Hatter and is ashamed to say that she'd never caught his proper name. Alice can't very well tell Hamish that he is The Hatter… can she? But… upon further reflection…
"This," she informs him, raising a hand and scandalously placing it on the Hatter's shoulder, "is the Hatter to the White Queen, Mirana of Marmoreal."
"I… beg your pardon!" Hamish stammers.
Alice bites back a grin. She turns to her companion and, with a rueful smile that she shares only with the Hatter who appears to be rather surprisingly uncertain, says, "He didn't believe me. Perhaps if you introduced yourself…?"
"Of course, Alice!" the Hatter replies readily, clearly happy to assist her. "Tarrant Hightopp," he announces with brassy pride. "Royal Haberdasher to the White Queen!" Still grasping Alice's waist with his right hand, he cautiously extends his left.
When Hamish merely stares at the offered hand, the Hatter whispers in an aside to Alice, "Have I misjudged the custom? Perhaps..." he muses before Alice can reassure him, "mayhap his kind e'en bite th'hand tha' feeds them."
"His kind?" Alice parrots.
"Oh, aye. The man cannae e'en speak the Queen's English. 'Tis a ver'bad sign. Unfortunately irregular," the Hatter informs her.
She snorts out a very unladylike laugh at the thought of an irregular Hamish. "Oh, no, no. I'm afraid Hamish is frightfully normal," she whispers back. "He's a business associate and a family friend. In fact, that's his rabbit hole and-"
"Alice!" Hamish hisses urgently.
Startled, she looks up at the present Lord Ascot and is startled by his alarmed expression. He raises a hand and gestures frantically across the space separating them. "Step away from him, Alice."
Choking on her own disbelief, Alice replies, "Whatever for?"
"That man," Hamish stage-whispers, "is clearly a lunatic. Come over here this instant!"
Slowly, she shakes her head. What in the world…?
The Hatter's hand tightens on her waist. "I d'nae trust him, Alice," he burrs softly. "He's wantin' sommat from ye. Ne'er trust a man who cannae speak the Queen's English."
Alice raises her hands. "Stop it, the both of you."
Amazingly, they both do. Hamish freezes mid-gesture. The Hatter pauses, his body very solid beside her despite the occasional shiver.
"Alice…" the Hatter hesitantly whispers, "you can understand everything that fellow says?"
"Quite clearly. Can't you?" she asks, puzzled.
The Hatter shakes his head.
Hamish interjects into the moment, "Alice, this is no time for games! Who knows where that fellow has come from or what he wants! You are in danger. Now, step away!"
A moment of pure silence envelops the scene. Once Alice has blinked three times, glanced at the Hatter, and then focused once more on Hamish, she responds quite calmly, "I decline, Lord Ascot."
"You… you…! That was not a request!" Hamish whispers hoarsely. "For your own safety, Alice, please employ some common sense! The man is clearly addled in some way!"
"Addled?"
"Do I need to point out the obvious? He is speaking in tongues!"
Startled, Alice steps back into the Hatter's embrace - the precise opposite of what Hamish had intended. Lord Ascot's face reddens with frustration. Before he can explode and leave his elderly mother the tedious chore of raising William and James on her own, Alice announces, "But I can understand him!"
"Alice, that's not possible-!"
Bloody non-believers! She looks at the Hatter and says, "Say something."
He frowns at her. "Something."
"Thank you."
"You're most welcome."
Alice looks back at Hamish. "He's perfectly comprehensible, Hamish. It's you who is being stubborn."
"The bloody hell I-!" Alice's lifelong associate pauses, lifts a hand to the bridge of his nose, possibly contemplates the wringing of necks, and then mutters. "Why am I bothering? Mad woman…"
Alice grins, thoroughly and unrepentantly entertained.
By the time Hamish finally takes a deep breath, drops his hand, and opens his eyes, Alice has managed to school her expression into one of polite interest. He says with all the pompousness that he feels the situation warrants (which appears to be quite a lot), "Let us take this discussion back to the house. You'll catch your death out here, soaked as you are."
"Why thank you, Hamish. I was beginning to think you'd dropped your manners a good dozen paces behind you," Alice tells him, leading the way to the trail from the grassy knoll. Tarrant keeps his hand (rather possessively) on her waist and his eyes on Hamish. Alice marvels silently that his concern could be so great that he doesn't even object to leaving his hat behind… wherever it has got to.
"The invitation was not extended to him," Hamish declares, deducing the undeniable fact that the Hatter intends to accompany Alice every step of the way.
Alice glares at him. "Lord Ascot, I am not leaving him out here."
"Well, of course not!" he readily agrees. "I'll have him very kindly escorted off the premises. I'm sure Marshall would be more than capable-"
"No."
"No?"
"Would you truly be so inhospitable to my rescuer, Hamish?"
"Hm," he replies and ungraciously relents. He refuses to lead the way, stubbornly keeping pace on Alice's other side and as close to the Hatter as he dares. Alice rolls her eyes and marvels in silence: the trek down the trail earlier in the day had been long enough as Alice had been dreading yet another unwelcome marriage proposal. She recalls thinking that surely the trek back would seem faster. Oh, how wrong she is.
At the midway point, Alice decides that a dose of strategically placed normalcy is necessary and raises the issue of the abandoned picnic things. Hamish quickly assures her that he'll send someone to collect them. And then, with this tentative truce established, he dares, "Alice, what on earth happened to you?"
"I told you, Hamish. The lake happened to us."
"The lake, Alice? But how could you possibly…! I was only gone a few minutes and…!"
"Well, you explain it then, Hamish!" Alice challenges, dangerously close to losing her temper. She is wet and cold and worried about the Hatter and the fate of Underland and who bloody cares how they had ended up utterly sodden next to a rabbit hole? "Go on and give us a better explanation for why we look-" Alice trails off, gesturing to herself and the Hatter communicatively.
Sour-faced, Hamish admits, "I can't."
"Then the lake it is," Alice declares.
Hamish sniffs. "You're lying to me."
"I am being logical, Hamish. Please take a moment to appreciate the difference."
He glares briefly at the Hatter who, gamely, glares back. "And this man rescued you from drowning, then? In the lake that you couldn't possibly have fallen into?"
"He saved my life," she informs him and that is the truth!
Having known each other most of their lives, Hamish cannot deny the veracity of the claim. He says instead, "I won't have this lunatic in the same house with my sons."
"He's a hatter, not a lunatic."
"I see. And just what sort of hatters does this place - Marmer or some such - produce?"
"Marmoreal," she corrects him.
Hamish archly raises a brow at this. "Know quite a bit about it, do you?"
"Not as much as the Hatter-" she begins.
"That I do not doubt," Hamish mutters.
"But enough and I am seriously contemplating fetching a good, long stick to use for a bit of whipping if you do not cease this juvenile behavior at once!"
"It is not juvenile for a father to worry about his sons' welfare while in close proximity to a man who can't even use the Queen's English!"
Alice gapes at him. Then she looks at the Hatter, who returns her stare.
The Queen's English. Oh, good gracious. Could that possibly be what the problem is here? Hamish's queen is the Queen of England and the Hatter's queen is the White Queen and…!
The implications of this are… staggering, indeed. Especially if Alice is correct. If her hunch is accurate, then why does she understand both of them? And why do both of them understand her?
Oh, bugger. This will surely give her a headache. Thankfully, the grand house with its equally grand bath tubs and steaming bathwater is now in sight.
"Hamish," she says slowly and deliberately, pausing at the edge of the wood. "I will only say this once, so please heed me. I can understand the Hatter very clearly. Why this is the case, I am not sure. But I ask you to please accept that he is perfectly comprehensible and safe. I give you my word."
Beside her, the Hatter frowns thoughtfully. Hamish studies her and then his uninvited guest before, at last, nodding. "I hope that your trust is not misplaced, Alice. For it may not be only you who suffers."
Alice declines to concern herself with a reply. Hamish is being a complete and utter man and, thus, is not worthy of more time or effort on her part. She focuses on the Hatter as he contemplates whatever thought has snagged his attention. He has been very quiet and she frets over this. He should not be intimidated into holding his tongue; he certainly hadn't been when faced with the Red Queen! No, her Hatter should declare his opinions, shout his objections, giggle at his own rhymes, and air his concerns freely, should he have them. And, from the look on his face, he has many.
She is about to ask if he's all right when a blur of motion catches her eye.
"Aunt Alice!"
She summons up a grin for the twin ten-year-old boys barreling toward her across the lawn. Beside her, the Hatter stiffens. He glances from Alice, to the fair-haired and be-freckled boys, and then back to her again. His eloquent silence and wide-eyed look ask the question more effectively than words could have.
The boys are almost upon them and the Hatter's hand falters - for the first time - on her waist. He begins to pull back. Alice grips his right hand with hers and holds it in place, answering the wordless query in silence.
"You're late!" William declares, obediently skidding to a halt when Hamish holds out a hand to stop the boy from dirtying his clothes on Alice's ruined dress. James, however…
"I was waiting for your stories!" he hollers as Alice stumbles back a step under the force of the child's momentum. Luckily, the Hatter's arm across her back assists in steadying her. "Did you go to China again?" James presses, oblivious to the awkward scene around him.
Alice laughs. "No, I went to another place entirely. And I will tell you all about it just as soon as I've cleaned up!"
"And will there be pictures?" he presses.
"Absolutely. Now, tree frog, let me go. Aunt Alice has an urgent engagement with a hot bath before dinner." Gently, she extracts his arms from around her hips.
James grabs her right hand in his sweaty left to compensate for the separation. "I will escort you!" he announces, and then looks at the Hatter. "Who is he?"
"No one of consequence," his father replies stuffily.
William gives the Hatter a haughty look, following his father's example. James, however, is not so easily detoured.
"All actions have consequences," he informs the assembly. And then pointedly asks the Hatter, "How did you manage to avoid them?"
Alice giggles. "How very smart you are, James," she replies when the Hatter, who apparently cannot understand James, either, says nothing. "We shall have to investigate that further. But later."
And, praise be, he subsides.
"The two of you run up to the house and alert Mrs. Martsen that we'll be requiring two hot baths in separate guest rooms," Hamish directs. William dutifully complies whereas James feels compelled to give the Hatter a long, considering look before acquiescing.
Hamish scowls after them, irritated by James' conditional obedience. Before anyone else can interrupt her again, Alice turns to the Hatter, who is watching the twin boys race each other across the wide lawn, and explains, "That was William and James."
"Which is the tree frog?"
"James," Alice replies with a grin. "And he's just like us: wonderfully mad. I don't doubt he'll be quite curious about you-"
"You are not to go near him!" Hamish inserts, fatherly concern overcoming whatever objection he might have raised to hearing one of his sons called mad.
Alice resists rolling her eyes. Barely. "Yes, yes. We've already established that. Hatter," Alice continues, turning back to him, "Hamish is understandably wary of your sudden appearance here. These sorts of things don't tend to happen."
"How frightfully boring."
"I agree." She sighs, sifting through her hazy recollections of her childhood visit (or, perhaps it had been visits?) to Underland. She had rather dropped in on them, hadn't she? "Well, as Hamish is their father, it's his right to decide whom his children may and may not be left unsupervised with-"
"Oh, yes, quite within his rights, in that case. I shalln't intrude where I'm unwelcome."
In thanks for his generosity and understanding, Alice squeezes the hand still resting on her waist.
After a few more steps and bit of brow-twitching, the Hatter ventures, "Aunt Alice?"
"Oh, well, not really," she replies. Although mindful of Hamish's presence, she refuses to withhold a full explanation from the Hatter. He deserves one. "Their mother passed just after they were born, poor dears. At the time, I was an apprenticing with Lord Ascot - Hamish's late father - at his trading company. I spent quite a good deal of time here when I wasn't traveling, so I suppose I am a bit of an honorary aunt."
"Ah," the Hatter breathes out, relieved. He quickly deduces, "So, there is a second wife I've yet to meet in this family?"
"Er… no, actually."
The Hatter's eyes narrow. "That was a picnic for two back in the woods."
"Er, it was, but-"
The Hatter glares at Hamish and tightens his arm across Alice's back. She considers brushing him off and scolding him for the male posturing but, were she in his shoes, in a strange land, confronting an Underlandian woman who has designs on him, Alice admits her reaction would likely be very similar. She lets the infraction slide. Just this once.
Hamish manfully ignores the one-upmanship and directs them to the kitchen entrance. Explanations are needful again, this time for the benefit of the rumor-mongering staff. The maids bemoan the state of her dress and Alice blames the lake. She then publicly thanks her silent and orange-haired savior, and makes the introductions.
"But why is Mr. Hightopp wearing that Scottish garb?" one of the less-inhibited maids asks for everyone present.
"Oh, they're terribly comfortable," Alice replies. "And quite dashing, really." And that comment - combined with the hand on her waist - answers all sorts of unspoken questions, Alice is sure. Not that she really minds. Surely, openness will save everyone time and trouble in the long run.
The boys had done their job in passing on their father's wishes and the guest rooms are nearly ready. Alice accompanies the Hatter to his, whispering as the footman putters about preparing the bath, "How are you? I imagine this all very overwhelming."
He giggles abruptly. "Rather. Overwhelmed in Upland."
Alice chuckles. "Are you saying that I must have been underwhelmed in Underland?" It hadn't felt that way!
The Hatter's delighted grin fades and an expression of profound sadness passes over his face.
Alice does not hesitate to reach out to him. "Everything will be fine. We'll get cleaned up, have dinner, and then discuss what's next."
"What is next?" he inquires a bit desperately.
She says, "Well, I would like you to accompany me to my home, but I shall have to introduce you to my mother and sister before we arrive there. It would be quite a shock if…"
The Hatter's frown deepens. Alice pauses as he lifts his hands and gently tucks grubby locks of hair behind her ears. "You said… In the Room of Doors, you said…" He pauses, his brows drawing together in sorrow. "You said you'd stay and yet you have a mother and a sister…"
"And I love them very much," she agrees, "but I wanted…"
The Hatter watches her expectantly. She meets his gaze, studies the depths of his green eyes. Yes, she had wanted him. And now she has him, here, in her world. Perhaps she should not be so quietly thrilled about that. Perhaps she should be thinking about how to get him back to his home…
"Your bath, sir," the footman announces. "Madam, if I might escort you to your room?"
"That won't be necessary, Marshall," Alice replies, tearing her gaze away from the Hatter. "I know the way." She turns toward the door, shivering when the Hatter's warm hands fall away from her. Circumstances permitting, she has not been without his touch since she'd found him asleep, waiting for her beside the little door to the garden in Underland. "I'll be back shortly. We'll go down to dinner together," she promises.
He nods, his throat working in silence. Just before the door closes behind her, Alice glances back and notes his dirty hands, his fingers curled into fists at his side. She gives him a brave smile and a happy wave. As she hurries to her own room and hot bath, she wonders if that reassurance, meager though it had been, will be enough. She has a niggling of an idea of what this experience must be like for him: trapped in a world where he cannot understand the language, where the people believe him to be somewhat frightening, where he feels frightened as he frets over the fate of his world. Indeed, what phenomenon could have occurred to submerge Underland in water? And just how deep is it? What has become of the White Queen? Of Mally and Chessur and Thackery and the Bandersnatch and the Tweedles and Bayard and...!
Oh, it is frightening!
"Here, Miss Alice, step into the water. You're shivering," the maid points out and Alice complies, shedding her soiled clothing and stepping into the bath. Her worry for the Hatter turns what is normally a self-indulgence into a chore. When the maid announces her intention to have Alice's dress laundered downstairs and then departs on that very errand, Alice washes as quickly as she dares, dries herself hurriedly, stumbles into the rather out-of-fashion gown provided by Lady Ascot, and totters down the hall in unlaced shoes.
And it's a good thing she'd made the effort, too. Her concerns about the Hatter had not been unfounded. She listens to a good deal of crashing and slamming going on inside his room as she clomps up to the obviously shaken footman standing in the hallway.
"What happened?" Alice asks as she draws near.
"I've no idea, Miss Alice! One moment he was perfectly civil - if rather incomprehensible - and the next-!"
"I see. Please wait a moment and I shall investigate." Despite the man's sputters, Alice knocks softly and then, without waiting for a customary invitation - which she strongly suspects won't be forthcoming if the Hatter has lost himself in a rage! - she opens the door a smidgeon.
"Hatter?" she calls through the narrow opening. The stomping and swearing in Outlandish cease at once. She enters the room.
And nearly turns right back around and exits it.
The Hatter is standing with his back to the door, his hair washed and somewhat dry. She tells herself to focus on those frizzing strands rather than the rather well-shaped, pale arse in plain view. But... well… one glance surely wouldn't be too unforgivable, would it?
Perhaps it is, Alice muses, as one glance turns into blatant staring. She steps backward, shutting the door firmly behind her and simply gapes at his nude form. Oh, now she truly does wish that their interlude earlier had occurred following a complete disrobing. His shoulders are not broad but they are strong. His back curves slightly at the base of his spine in such a way that it might allow for a rather greedy water droplet to cling there despite a good toweling. His thighs are well-muscled and dusted with auburn hairs that make Alice's fingertips curious as to their texture.
She clears her throat. "Hatter?"
"Alice," he sighs. "Th' bligh'er took mae things."
She swallows, struggles to remember how to use language properly, and then concludes, "To the laundry."
"I want them back," he insists. "They're all I have. I…" He clears his throat and the dregs of his rage vanish. "I'll wash them myself."
"All right. Just a moment." Alice turns, cracks open the door and relays this request to the footman and the three maids now staring back at her in askance in the hall.
Once she has gotten the footman to repeat the request back to her - "Return his things immediately. Yes, Miss Alice." - she closes the door soundly, resolutely ignoring the raised brows of the women still gawping openly.
"Marshall will bring them up presently," she assures him, forcing herself to turn around despite the fact that he is utterly nude and she is well aware of the fact that she should not be looking.
He nods. "Thank ye, Alice."
She takes a fortifying breath and crosses the room. Cautiously, she places a hand on his shoulder and measures the temperature of his skin. "Here," she says, reaching for a men's robe and then holding it out to him. "You'll catch a chill if you- ahem, yes, well… I would recommend putting those clothes on," she continues with a nod toward the men's attire laid out on the bed.
"I'll not wear anything of that Hamish's," he insists stubbornly.
Alice opens her mouth to argue but he when he sends her a rather yellow glance over his shoulder, she stows her argument. "Very well. I'll ask you to consider wearing something, however. At least until replacements can be located." She unfolds the robe and holds it aloft with a meaningful shake. "Bear with this robe for a few moments while I sort this out."
Reluctantly, he complies, cautiously inserting his arms through the sleeves. Once Alice settles the collar in place at the back of his neck, she strides over to the door, opens it, and finds two additional maids in the hall whispering to their cohorts. With a wry expression, Alice deliberately clears her throat and makes yet another request on the Hatter's behalf. It takes a significant look to get them to scatter, but they do, promising to complete their tasks.
This time, when she closes the door and turns back around, the Hatter is standing just behind it and less than an arm's length away. He leans toward her, his expression urgent. Alice does not hesitate to wrap her arms around him.
"This is terrifying," he murmurs into her neck as his longer arms pull her close, "I hope you don't mind me saying so, Alice. You out-much me in muchness. To think you came to Underland with only-!"
"Hush," she croons, her heart breaking for him. "Things are frightfully unsure now, I know. But we will find our way. We make the path, you know," she reminds him as she pets his nearly-dry hair.
"Yes, yes, of course," he replies with a bit more cheer and enthusiasm. Leaning back, he muses, "Although, I suppose that Hamish would be rather upset should we make our path right through his estate."
Alice chuckles. "All the more reason to relocate ourselves as soon as possible."
A knock on the door concludes the moment and Alice reluctantly steps away. She answers the summons, passing the basket of grubby Underlandish wear to the Hatter and then accepting a pile of carefully folded clean clothing from the maids.
"But-!" is all she hears of the footman's protest before she kicks the door shut in his face.
"If you've no objections, I'll assist you with your wardrobe," she offers, moving to lay out the second set of clothing on the bed. The Hatter is already - and very speedily - dealing with his laundry in the bath water still remaining in the tub.
"I am very agreeable to accepting your assistance, Alice." Grinning, he glances up. Although he gives her his attention, only his left eye is truly focused on her. The misalignment is significant, Alice knows, but she does not know him well enough to deduce precisely what sort of happiness is the cause. "The very thought of refusing you anything I find a most perplexing conundrum."
She smiles, her heart warming. "In that case, I should like a kiss for my services," she teases him. "Where is…? Ah, yes! Here it is." Spying the collection of bits and bobbins from the Hatter's jacket pockets, she passes over the still-corked bottle of Pishsalver and collects the envelope - curiously, it's still perfectly white and perfectly dry - and opens it.
But what she reads there is not what she had expected… or perhaps she had. Yes, given the obvious language barrier between Hamish and the Hatter, Alice should have deduced something like this.
She studies the crumbling instruction card, her gaze following each cursive line of the backwards letters. She steps away, toward the men's vanity, and holds it up to the mirror. And in the mirror's reflection, she easily reads:
Kiss me.
She sighs.
"Alice?" She doesn't stir as the Hatter comes up behind her. "Why are you reading the instructions mirror-wise?" he inquires gently.
"I'm not," she replies slowly.
For a long moment, there is only silence and the occasional sound of water dripping from recently wrung and hung clothing.
"Ah. I see," the Hatter replies, reaching for the envelope and trailing his fingertips along the edge. "As I'm from Underland, it is I who is backwards here, not everyone else."
"That's ridiculous," Alice replies, his self-depreciating tone reminding her of a much younger and doubt-filled Almost Alice Kingsleigh. "Of course everyone else is utterly backwards here! Inexcusably so! Why, a corset is considered proper dress! And stockings! Now, I ask you, who in their right mind would voluntarily-!"
The Hatter's lips waylay the question. He dips toward her and nuzzles quite deliberately at Alice's mouth. She instantly abandons the tirade and returns his kiss. His mouth is warm and he tastes like the scent of Tulgey Wood and Alice finds herself in his arms with her bare palms pressing against his bare chest. He gasps into her mouth as her fingers explore in tiny circles against his skin, pushing the robe open, bit by bit.
"My apologies," she whispers, coming to her senses suddenly. Eyes averted, she tugs the robe shut once more before it somehow ends up warming his ankles and toes. "I haven't even assisted you yet, as promised."
The Hatter grins rakishly. "Mayhap 'tis th' custom fer Underlanders teh pay afore th' services are rendered."
"In that case, I shall gladly accept the reimbursement and get on with the promised services."
The Hatter complacently drops his arms, but he - rather deliberately - leans in to press almost-kisses along the side of her neck. She helplessly reaffirms her grip on the robe lapels. Sighing, she rubs her cheek against him, his soft hair tickling her nose.
Alice spares a thought for the unlocked door and the sound of footsteps approaching… and then decides that she doesn't care. Let the whole house see her in here, in the room and in the arms of an undressed man!
"So sorry, Alice," the Hatter lisps against her jaw.
"Hm?" she manages through the haze that has wrapped her up in pleasant tingles.
Just then, a very authoritative knock comes at the door. She knows, unquestionably, to whom it belongs and sighs out her disappointment. Hamish will surely have an apoplexy if he sees her in here… but the Hatter does not step away. He lingers, his lips pressed to her skin as Alice clutches him closer and suddenly she knows precisely what he is doing! What he is trying to do! What he has done!
Oh, smart Hatter, Alice praises him even as she shivers under the onslaught of his hot breath. She's tempted to congratulate him. How wonderfully underhanded he has been, capitalizing on each and every opportunity to demonstrate the fact that his place is at her side and no one will budge him from it! The steadying hand on her waist had been innocuous enough. The subsequent male posturing had been within acceptable boundaries. But now…!
Oh, he had reeled Alice in all right, like a fish on a hook. She had fretted over him all throughout her bath, had charged to his rescue at the first sign of trouble - like a true Champion! - and he had upped the ante. She had walked into his room and stayed despite his nudity, despite the fact that many married couples do not even take such liberties with each other! And all because she alone could resolve his conundrum. Or so he would have all and sundry believe.
A personable fellow like the Hatter could certainly have found a way to communicate with Marshall for the safe return of his things, or he could have indicated with gestures that they were not to be touched. He had done none of that. He had created the very situation that had demanded Alice's mediation. He had ultimately, without saying a comprehensible word, made both his position and Alice's Very Clear to All.
Only a truly mad Hatter would devise so delightful an opportunity. He had turned his weaknesses into strengths. Using the very language barrier that had so befuddled him earlier, he had set the scene… and Alice had gladly played her role. When Alice had not shied away from his nudity, she had more or less declared to the entire household, that this strange, wonderful man is hers. Alice's own actions admit it: she has chosen the Hatter. The point is as simple and profound as that.
The Hatter had given her that opportunity. And what's more, if she had it all to do over again, with full knowledge this time of his strategy, Alice would not have done a single thing differently. Especially this: the wanton enjoyment of his sensual attentions.
But! Enough is enough.
As painful as it is, Alice forces herself to back away from him. "Stop it, Hatter. Hamish has no claim to me and I believe I've already made it abundantly clear that I prefer your company in comparison to all others." Certainly the sacrifices she had been prepared to make in order to join him in Underland illustrate that!
The Hatter growls mutinously, "Aye… bu'mayhap it isnae clear teh him."
She considers Hamish's actions from earlier: he had been concerned on her behalf, frustrated with her reticence, and wary of the Hatter… but he had not - for one moment - been blatantly jealous.
She replies, whispering over the continued knocking at the door, "It will be in time if it isn't already." Alice stares him down until his brows twitch with guilt and the knocking on the door has metamorphosed into impatient pounding… which Alice pointedly ignores.
Alice's lips twist into a wry smile as she regards the Hatter's bashful demeanor. Not for one moment does she believe the only thing he feels is embarrassment. Oh, she doesn't doubt there's a good bucket or two of Victory in there somewhere. She's actually rather proud of him for holding his own so well under these highly abnormal circumstances.
The summons at the door pauses and the rumble of voices in the hall seems to indicate that Hamish is conferring with the traumatized footman.
"I may not have participated in the past, but I've seen this game played many times," she whispers. And then she decides it's time to erase that woebegone expression and she frames his face gently in her right-sized hands.
He regards her with his brilliantly green eyes in silence. As she holds him, Alice recalls the moment they had embraced, just inside the door. She remembers his delighted grin at her offer to play the part of valet. She still feels tingles in her belly as she recollects that moment in front of the mirror when the answer to the mystery of the miscommunication had become evident which had led to Alice's vigorous defense of him and the resulting, impulsive kiss… No, it is not all part of the game, the claim, the possession - thankfully! - but the game must stop here and now. Alice will not tolerate a fiction between the two of them, not when there are so many delightful realities to explore.
"We will get through this together. I am with you." She thinks of the instruction card in its envelope on the vanity and, smiling, says, "Trust me."
He grins toothily and with boyish delight. "I do, Alice. I do."
"Thank you," she breathes. Knowing she shouldn't, she leans forward and kisses him. He lets her. Hamish chooses this moment to renew his assault on the door, but - thankfully - the ruckus isn't loud enough to infringe upon Alice's enjoyment on the Hatter's soft groans of appreciation which heat her blood to near-boiling. She would give almost anything to have Hamish simply give up and walk away.
Then again, "Be careful what you wish for" is not a mere collection of random words, is it?
Smiling deviously, Alice breaks the kiss. The Hatter examines her expression for a long moment before playful anticipation begins to sparkle in his eyes. Sensing his expectation, she nods toward the door and asks, "Shall we let Hamish in so he can have his little episode? Then he may stomp out of the room and leave us in peace?"
The Hatter giggles. "Yes, let's."
They do. And Hamish's flummoxed and flabbergasted reaction to finding Alice in the private chamber of a barely-dressed lunatic is entertaining, indeed. Entertaining but not the least bit heartbroken or even all that shocked. He blusters and objects mightily before retreating just as Alice had predicted he would.
As she gently combs the Hatter's wild hair with her fingers, Alice glances at the door, considers Lord Ascot's chronic need to propose and, for the first time, wonders at it.