Possible Side Effects, Ch. 7

[wanderamaranth]

Possible Side Effects, Ch. 7: A Decision is Made

AiW Fic. WiP.

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

She stepped through the garden, the wilted blades of grass shivering and shrinking away from her feet. The flowers bowed down low as she walked, faces flat into the dirt. She turned back, and the flowers stayed down, prostrate, as if terrified to straighten themselves. The sky was so darkly grey-blue with clouds it seemed as if the sun hadn't reached the ground in months. Withered leaves crunching under her weight were the only sound to be heard. There were no crickets, no happy yet clumsy fumble-bees, nothing.

"Come along, my dear." a voice called out ahead, and, relieved to be hearing any sound at all not caused by herself in this shadow of the White Queen's garden, Alice ran to it. The Knave was waiting for her just ahead in the path; he held out his hand without looking to see if she was even there. Alice took it, internally fighting the need to do so, but she had no control over the action. She was able to look up at him a bit, and she saw him smiling at her with a fond familiarity.

"Is it not a lovely world we have created, dearest?" he asked, gesturing to the grounds surrounding them. "These flowers will never dare mock you again. Although I still don't know why you did not allow me to simply cut them all down…"

Alice said nothing; her throat would not form the words of horror she wanted it to, when presented with such an idea. Stayne evidently took her silence differently.

"Ah, now don't be cross with me, sweetness." he said hastily. "We'll keep your silly flowers. I suppose it is better for all to have as many reminders of your Glory as possible. In one form, or another." He stopped walking, and looked upward, smiling as he sighed contentedly. Alice knew she would not want to see whatever it was that made a man such as he sigh so, but her eyes followed his gaze up, and up, and up…

To see nearly every creature she had ever counted as a friend in Underland strung amongst the vines of an ancient rosebush. The rose at the center of the tangle itself was asleep; Alice just wished she could convince herself that her friends shared a similar state of being, but she knew death when she saw it. Indeed, there could be no mistaking it. They were all lined up, a macabre parade of rose-bush scarecrows, placed into varying positions that mocked their attitudes in life. There McTwisp held a pocket-watch in his paw, the bony joints clasping it possessively; and there the White Queen was holding her arm aloft, reminding Alice of when she was in her kitchen, preparing an elixir to fix her height--and then there…

No no no no no a part of her mind chanted, but of course that didn't change anything; it still was. The flesh had melted away from his face in some spots, but the wiry hair sticking out from under the ever-familiar top hat was the same as ever. The fingers that she had last felt tracing their way across her lips, beautiful even in their damaged state, were now only held together with shredded bits of fetid skin.

"A lovely world indeed." Stayne repeated, his tone ringing with the satisfaction of a job well done.

The Hatter's head snapped up at her in a sudden movement, and if she'd been able to shriek she would have, muchness aside. His brilliant green orbs were not in place; there were just two sunken holes where they should have been.

"Bloody Big Head be not the only danger herein." his formerly lisping, almost musical voice hissed, in a mockery of itself. It was then and only then that Alice felt control of her body return to herself. She took full advantage by closing her eyes tight as she screamed, and screamed, and--

"Alice!"

A voice was calling her.

"Alice, please!"

It sounded as though it had been calling her for a little while, now, as it took on a desperate edge. Alice stopped screaming, her throat sore and aching almost immediately. Cautiously opening her eyes the merest fraction, she saw a large expanse of nothing--just a swirling light purple mist amongst darkness. Recognizing it as the dream-space where she had met with the Hatter the last two times she slept, she opened her eyes a bit more (though they were still only slit).

Bandaged and be-thimbled hands were outstretched towards her, hands that led up to lacy cuffs (a dashing turquoise) and patchy velveteen sleeves, all together seeming to say: I'd like to hold you, but I'm afraid. She followed those patched velveteen sleeves upwards until she reached his face, in full. It was as complete and healthy as it ever was, not a bit of that limiting rigor mortise in sight.

"Hatter!" she croaked, as cold shivers began to wrack her body. Wrapping her arms about herself, Alice almost bit her tongue as she continued with, "I'm fine." The lie was obvious from the way she stood, and the haunted look in her eyes.

Eyes that suspiciously looked a lot like the Hatter's.

It had been a few years (he thought) since he had last seen his own eyes. It had been a few years since he had seen a mirror, period. He'd barely left the tea-table to even visit the necessary room, there towards the end of their wait for Alice's return. Mallymkun had seen to his grooming--haircuts, shaving and the such. (Which likely explained the rather bushy quality of said hair, the Dormouse being a much better fighter than barber.) He knew, though, that the color now contained within Alice's irises was his own green. The how and the why of such a situation would have to wait, though. She had begun giggling, softly.

"It seems we've switched places for a bit, Hatter." she said. "Should this not be the opposite? Me calling to you and you assuring me that you are fine?"

He stood awkwardly for a moment, his arms still outstretched, fighting the urge to walk to her and pull her close.

"Alice?" he finally said, for lack of anything else to say. (Which for him was quite amazing indeed!) He walked towards her, slowly, as one would approach a lightning bug one hoped to catch without being shocked. "Could you tell me…why are you wearing my eyes?"

A small furrow appeared between her brows. "Wearing your-? Oh." she was silent for so long, the Hatter began to think that would be his entire reply, until she finally said, "I was hoping you would be able to tell me. They…turned, after the last time I was here. Not immediately. It w-was" Alice began to lose the fight with her chills, as her teeth began to chatter when she spoke, "during my t-tea party. I w-was ill, a-and…I fell asleep, and…oh! My dreams…they're so awful, Hatter! I don't know that I can have even one more!"

At this, Tarrant withdrew a bit, one shoulder half turning away from her. "Including the dreams of me?" he queried. His entire countenance was of one preparing for rejection; even his bow-tie had crawled to the inside of his suit, seeking shelter.

She was silent for several moments again. That handful of moments the Hatter would count amongst the worst of his existence, and he had rather unfortunately quite a few dreadful moments to chose from.

"No." she said, when she did speak again. The frozen feeling that had built up within him (Winter concentrated fully in his abdomen would have been pleasant, comparatively, he mused) released from his chest completely with her next words. "These dreams, here with you, are the only thing that makes the others bearable at all."

He didn't know what dreams she was referring to; yet still he straightened, his clothes becoming brighter and crisper. Staring at her for a moment as if weighing the veracity of her statement, he waited barely a wink of Time's eye after that before he closed the final distance between them, and pulled her to himself. She was stiff and still in his arms, until he said, in a voice trembling and heavily lisping, "W-whatever dreams may come for you, Alice…I'll be here, waiting for you, on the other side of them. Just remember that."

At that, she collapsed into his embrace, sobs shaking her small shoulders. This wasn't like his Alice at all, acting so decidedly frightened, and he didn't like that at all, but oh, holding her felt so nice. Useful. Needful. So he stood and stroked her hair, murmuring even more-nonsensical bits of nonsense than usual into her ear until her tears abated.

"Now tell me, please…" he said, when all that was left to her was the sniffles, "what dreams these are that you speak of?"

***

"My sister is many things. Cordial. Naïve…." Iracebeth said, struggling to describe Mirana with terms that could be construed as polite, but would not bolster the listener's currently positive opinion of her, "but practical, she is not." Eyes slanted slyly, she asked, "Tell me--how often do you speak with the trees and flowers here?" Her stump itched, and oh! How she missed the use of both of her hands.

The man to whom she spoke, a courtier in the White Queen's court (whom was wearing what looked to be a devilishly uncomfortable pair of tight breeches and had more ruffles in his jabot than was healthy) said, "Daily." The eye roll that should have accompanied the dryness of that one word was not present, but could be heard in his voice, nonetheless.

"I thought so. That is very like Mirana." The tone Iracebeth used was not complimentary. "Tell me…" she said, slowly, as if just discovering a very important thought to ponder, "when was the last time you were served meat at a meal?"

A sharp intake of breath told Iracebeth she'd hit the hedgehog through the arch with this statement.

"Some time before Horunvendush Day." the man whispered. "Oh, but I would…" He stopped, collected himself visibly, then said, "I would never eat a living creature, milady! It is the practice of this court to only eat plant matter and animal fluids that have been willingly provided by the creature in question--or ones that have never had sentience."

Iracebeth graced him with a simpering pout. "Of course. I was just making idle conversation."

"Yes, well…Her Majesty did say she would try once again to cultivate a sausage tree, but after the last…incident…" here the man coughed, delicately, with his eyebrows raised. Iracebeth was intrigued.

"Incident?"

Flustered, the man hastily added, "Well, she's been understandably reluctant to begin experimentation again after such a creation. We are all Contentment itself, with all aspects of the White Queen's rule."

"As is all of Underland." Iracebeth added, ironically. (She still wished to hear more of this 'mistake' that her sister had made, but she must hold true to her main objective, and not be distracted by idle gossip.)

"Just so." he nodded, and started to walk away. Half-way through his righteous stroll, though, he paused and looked over his shoulder, just as the former Red Queen knew he would. She wore a smile, a huge, vapid smile, and waved airily at him. His head whipped back around and he walked faster, embarrassed at having shown his hand in such a manner.

A grin curled up at the sides of Iracebeth's mouth. "Mother was right about one thing, then." she purred. "The way to most men's loyalty is through their gullet."

A brief shadow flickered across her face, as the Queen wished that 'most' was totally inclusive to 'all'. If that were so, she would not be in this situation--Mirana would have her Court; she would have her own, her King at her side…but no. Eyes flashing, Iracebeth refocused the blame back to the one with whom it belonged. If Mirana had simply kept her hands and other…things…to herself!

But no. Her sister had needed to prove that the one thing, the single thing she most excelled at (besides ruling her portion of Underland) was not enough to keep her King's attentions to herself. Mirana had the ability to make any and all love her with just a bat of those ridiculous eyes of hers; Iracebeth's strength lay in her tarts.

Iracebeth was prodigiously proud of her tarts. When she baked them, she herself saw to every aspect of their creation. She'd pick the squimberries, carefully roll out the crust, weigh and boil the berries and sugar--all herself. It calmed her considerable temper, and filled her with peace at the knowledge that this--this was something she was good at, nay, that she excelled at, with tangible results.

Her husband, the Red King, would eat her tarts, and while he ate, his whole face would alight in a smile, and he'd declare, "None can compare to this wife of mine!" while she would bask in the warmth of his praise. Until the day her sister decided to challenge his declaration. Soon, there were no smiles, no warmth-filling declarations. Just Iracebeth, sitting alone in her kitchen, with trays and trays of uneaten tarts.

If Mirana had not felt the need to prove to her that she could make any one in all of Underland love her, then things would be different. The Queens would support each other, as they were always meant to do. As she had told that Alice girl, years ago, when she was briefly a Queen herself. (Alice, another creature her sister stole from her! Was she not even able to have a pet that did not love the younger woman more?)

She'd had only one option. It was not one she relished, but it was the only one that her pride allowed. So she'd ordered his execution.

That morning, after the deed was done, and indeed, for every morning after that, before any Court business was seen to, before any petitions were heard, or decisions made, she would go to her kitchen and bake. She churned tarts out at a furious pace, but none were allowed to taste her pastries. They were the one thing her people truly loved from her, so it was the one thing she would deny them. She'd learnt her lesson. When you shared the best of yourself, people would eat all of it they could, and then walk away. They'd be full, and happy, peaceful with themselves, and you would be left with nothing but their crumbs.

She had thought that perhaps Stayne was different, but that was not to be. His actions on the Frabjous Day disproved her of that, her last fantasy. She would now live for herself, as she always should have done. If he returned as they had discussed, she would take him as her King, yes--but she would expect nothing from him. No gentleness, no affection, and certainly no love. It would be better that way.

Everything would be better, especially Underland, without her sister there, as well. For Iracebeth, it could hardly get worse.

***

When Alice awoke, she felt steadier in countenance, if not in truth. Her limbs felt leaden with exhaustion, as though she had not slept at all, and that itself was a form of truth, she supposed. She and the Hatter had remained, through mutual decision, in that blank stretch of mist for as long as possible, as they had much to discuss. Her eyes being one of the topics (of which neither one of them had satisfactory answers, so it was agreed that subject would be put aside until either had anything of a useful nature to share) and, just as importantly for Alice, the how and why of their being in the swirling mist to begin with.

"Please do not think that I do not enjoy your company…" she had hedged, when bringing the subject up-- (They had just previously been in a lively discourse over adding of different substances to tea; the Hatter being of the opinion of the more variety, the better--while Alice believed a good cup of tea could stand on its own, without too many things added to it. What more did one need than cream and sugar? The Hatter's lips had curled in a half-smile, almost dare she say it, a smirk--as he said in a rolling burr that "A great many things improved with variety"--after which he flushed so mightily and immediately dropped his gaze to his thread-spools in such a way as made Alice think that perhaps this once, her curiosity would be better left unsatisfied.) "however, do you know…how we came to be here? Once I could say was a rather singularly realistic dream."

Here she blushed herself, at the memory of what occurred during that first visit. Each very carefully did not look at the other. Determined, Alice continued with, "During the second visit, though, it became apparent to me that these visits were mutually occurring. And this being the third…"

"Three is a lovely number, but four is especially lovelier." the Hatter said, pulling his top-hat off and putting it to rights: adjusting the clan-identification card, tightening the sash wound around it, brushing imaginary dust off of its flat topped surface. "That is to say, it is my fault."

"Your fault?" Alice had asked. "Are you telling me you wished for this to happen or something of the like?" She had said the question with an air of disbelief, but immediately felt contrite when the Hatter very firmly stared down at his lap, all nervous actions gone. (They had, after the first hour of being in the purple fog, risked sitting down--the reasoning being if they were able to stand without seeing where their feet rested, then surely the same principle must hold true for their bottoms? Just in case, though, the Hatter had insisted on being the first to sit, and he took a mischievous joy in pretending to fall through into nothingness--that is until he realized the full depth of Alice's panic at such an Idea, after which he sat upright abruptly and began apologizing profusely. That was one Idea, he decided, that should have been immediately placed in the Unused Jar.)

In fact, he hardly moved at all. His eyes were wide, unseeing of anything there, it seemed. "Hatter?" she said, gently, and he blinked twice, hard. Then he said, "I'm fine. That is, yes." He firmly placed the top hat back on his head, as if this proved his assertion.

Alice could only assume he was answering her question, but she wanted to be sure. She disliked being incorrect in an assumption. "You…wished for us to come here?"

The Hatter heaved a great sigh, then turned and looked at Alice, fully in the eyes. (He felt a small start, as he had this entire visit, at seeing her eyes so un-Alice-like, but firmly shoved that aside To Be Thought On Later.) "Not per se, this exactness. The wish was…" he looked away. He'd thought at first it'd be easier to admit to her, perhaps less embarrassing, if he was looking into her eyes, but that wouldn't do, as she didn't have her eyes, she had his eyes, and he was always rubbish at facing himself. "I wished for a great many things, but the uppermost was to see you, in any way, at all, again. I believe."

Unconsciously scooting a bit closer to him, where they sat on the ground, Alice reached with one hand and touched the far side of his face, gently. Just the tips of her fingers brushing along the jaw-line, but it was enough to make him shake. "You believe?" she said, softly.

Oh, he didn't want to have to admit the full depth of his madness to her, not in this place that seemed made just for the two of them, not while she was touching him--but what else was there for him to do? She deserved nothing less than full disclosure.

"The…Badness…came upon me. I do not recall exactly what it was that I wished for, when I drank the Jabber down."

Her fingers left his face, abruptly, and he winced, very slightly, though he had told himself he would do no such thing if that were to be her reaction. She spoke, and that meant that she hadn't left altogether, so it would be alright then, wouldn't it? Her voice was sharp with disbelief. "You wished with Jabberwocky blood?"

He nodded. Alice's hand more firmly returned to his face, the whole of it stroking the side, fingers on his brow bone, palm against his cheek. "You could have wished for anything. Anything you truly wanted."

"Aye." had been his reply.

"And you wished for me?" She felt very strange at the idea that he would do such a thing. It was definitely not unhappy, and…something agreeably twisted at the bottom of her stomach, and her breath came shorter than it should, and she just felt so…humbled. Yes, that was it. She felt humbled that the Hatter would feel such a depth of emotion for someone like her, just a silly little girl who didn't even know if she was dreaming or not the majority of the time she had conversed with him!

"Aye." he said, again, still not meeting her eyes.

There was no thought to her next action. She'd already been thinking of it incessantly, in the moments she had between thinking of all the other things that had been demanding her attention--it had always been there, like a sore tooth. It throbbed and it ached and you went about your day, but it still pulsed there, an undeniable presence. So this needed no thought at all. She was just so gratified at his attentions, and so curious, despite the undercurrents of guilt that nipped at her for even entertaining such emotions--so she closed the rest of the distance between them, and after carefully removing his top hat and setting it upon the ephemeral ground, kissed him.

It took the Hatter several heartbeats before his mind and body caught on to Alice's actions. When they did, though, he pulled her tighter to himself, and pressed her mouth more firmly to his own. It was everything he could have wanted it to be--it was glowing and warm and pleasant and all those other positive adjectives and he didn't want her to stop please Alice don't stop and--

She broke away with a gasp. "Stop, please." she breathed, and he must have made some needy sound (as if he didn't feel emasculated enough, what with her wanting to…do that, and then with the not wanting to do that!) because she said, "I'm sorry. I just…I don't even know what I'm apologizing for!" Her voice was Frustration itself. "Do you see?"

And he did see. Shame (such an inconvenient fellow!) filled him, from the bottom up. "I should apologize to you. I never--"

She placed her hands over his, just when he was going to lift them up to properly demonstrate his remonstration. "Let's just…not speak of it?" For Alice, that was what you did with these things, these confusing and tempting and wonderful things--they were just not spoken of. To speak would break the magic, she felt, or somehow cheapen what was--and she wanted neither.

"Of course." Hatter said, though there was nothing less he wished to do. "Cessation of conversation concerning all prior activities shall commence…now-ish."

Smiling then, that same sad, sweet smile she had given him just before evaporating for the first time, with her own vial of Jabberwocky blood, said, "It's almost morning, besides.. I will see you tomorrow night?"

Without waiting for an answer, she began fading, becoming nothing more than wisps of smoke within moments. "Wait!" he called, but it was too late. She was gone, and he had been so involved in all of their Conversations on Important Things that he had not told her one of the most important things of all. He'd not told her what the cost of traveling here, to Somewhere Else, would cost her, if repeated nightly, as it seemed she would be, with them not having control over it.

He hadn't been able to tell her that his foolishness, the very wish she kissed him for having, might kill her.

But because Hatter had not been able to tell Alice this, she was unaware of that dire possibility, so when she did awake, she was as described before: a bit steadier, a bit clearer-headed. She rose, and after her morning ablutions, immediately set to writing Stayne (for she had firmed that in her mind, that it was indeed he, and she was not going mad for thinking so!) a brief note, telling him to visit her residence at his earliest possible convenience. She dusted it, and immediately set it in the hand of a footman, with instructions it was to be delivered immediately. Alice was not sure (as neither had been the Hatter) if her illness would improve on its own, with it having every appearance of being an Underlandian condition; the Hatter's revelation that he was the cause of it, (although the Hatter did not come out and say, "I drank the Jabberwocky blood, and it's making you ill, with all of its pulling you about" Alice was, despite appearances, a rather intelligent girl, and was able to piece that together.) put paid to that. Alice saw one path before her. She needed to return to Underland.

There would be no cure for her here in the Aboveground for a problem plaguing her due to an Underlandian concoction. (Ingested by another, no less!) Hence the letter to Stayne; she doubted he had come to Above through a rabbit-hole. Alice wanted to know how he had traveled there, and hopefully, get some information from him on what her dreams could refer to. (Even though, after the first dream she'd had last night, the last person at all, anywhere, that she wished to see was Stayne, she knew this was her most practical of options.)

Her main concern was what she was going to tell her mother. She didn't wish to lie to her, but saw no possible way she could reveal the truth. ("Mother, dear, I'm just popping off to another world that I've previously accessed through a rabbit-hole--you remember Hamish's proposal, certainly?--and I'm not sure when I'll be back, so don't hold supper for me, hmm?" Yes, that would go over splendidly.) The thought did niggle at her that perhaps she needn't tell her anything at all; when she had gone to Underland previously, it appeared as though hardly any time had passed here in the Above--but things were so topsy-turvy there, she was not willing to place any wagers that it was constantly that way.

When she reached the bottom of the stair, a servant was waiting with a small stack of correspondence in hand. "Miss Kingsley, letters for you, mum." she curtsied, before handing them off and scurrying away. It had been some time since she had letters of any sort that were not business, so why--?

She saw with a bit of surprise that they were all from gentlemen whom had attended her party the day before, each of them pledging support for her new venture to Jakarta! She opened one after the other with growing haste, joy alighting her features. At the very bottom of the stack was an informal missive from Lord Ascot, where he wryly (for she could tell his emotions from the slant of his figures) informed her that her being ill so violently actually convinced them that she would be a safe investment; for if she was willing to host such an event while so unwell, and was so determined to see it through, they believed she could do no less for a business venture so dear to her heart.

It was wondrous news, truly--but she did not know what to think, or feel of it, now that she knew she had to return to Underland, and did not know when she may be able to return. She tucked the letters in the pocket of her skirt, and walked into her mother's less formal parlor, where she was taking breakfast for the day. "Hello, mother."

"Alice!" her mother smiled. "How are you feeling today? Better, I hope?"

"Yes, quite." Alice said. She smiled, and she knew it had a nervous edge, but there was nothing to be done for it. Best be out with it, then, and have it said. "Mother, we need to have a discussion. May I sit down?"


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