Don't look here for either character ownership, or, indeed, much of a plot. Just a feel-good piece. Undeniably fluffy, with an additional Non-Jerk!Billy.

Summary: What happens, after twenty years have gone by and everyone moves on in life? The only thing you can count on is change.

William Travers poked his hat back with one forefinger and glanced up at the sign on the building, checking the name against the scrap of paper in his hand.

Here it was, then. "Pictures and Conversation—Used and Rare Books." The last shop in the entire city of Gotham that stood a chance of stocking the out-of-print cookbook Mabel wanted for their anniversary. Mentally crossing his fingers, Bill stepped over the threshold and listened to the cheerful "ding" of the bell above his head.

The shop was rather dusty and crowded, but the sunlight filtered in through the large front windows and lent a certain atmosphere of coziness. Mismatched bookshelves, some curved with age and exhaust, were planted around the store in a pattern that vaguely hinted at aisles but managed to be more like a labyrinth. In the middle of the shop, a sixty-something, grey-haired gentleman was leaning against a podium, a book propped on the surface. His reading glasses were slipping down his nose and one hand fiddled absent-mindedly at the rather stuffy bow tie around his throat. At the door chime, the man looked up and squinted over the rims of his glasses, flashing his rather large teeth is a bizarrely familiar way.

"Good morning," the man said, traces of an English accent lingering in his voice. "May I help you find something?"

"No thanks," Bill replied, looking at the man strangely, wondering if he had seen him before. "Just cookbooks?"

"At your right-hand side, sir, two shelves from the front."

"…Thanks." A brief smile momentarily creased the man's lined face, and then he was right back down in the book.

Bill headed back over to the shelves he had passed coming in. He idly glanced at the shelves as he passed. A familiar name caught his eye and dragged him over to the third shelf from the front; "Lewis Carroll." Reading the spines of the books in the shelf, he was surprised to find that the entire section was devoted to different biographies of the man; essays; critiques of the works; published diaries; even textbooks with his mathematical work in them.

How weird. Bill glanced back over his shoulder at the proprietor, but the man seemed not to be paying any attention. Shaking his head slowly, Billy shook his shoulders and moved on.

The cookbook section, if it could be called such, seemed to be almost entirely devoted to thick tomes on the subject of tea. A few volumes on the subject of hors d'oeuvres and cakes scattered the shelves, but that seemed to be the limit of the solids. Billy was just about to go over to the owner and get an explanation when a strange sight met him around the corner of the shelf. He ducked back to watch.

A lovely blonde woman, about 45, was reading over the man's shoulder. He seemed to not even notice she was there, obliviously reading as the beauty hovered over him with what appeared to be a steaming cup of tea in one hand.

She leaned forward and gently kissed his neck. The man jumped, spinning around with a hand on his chest. His shocked expression softened into one of wry, slightly-goofy affection.

"Feeling slithy today, my dear?" he asked, taking the tea cup as she graciously handed it to him.

"I had to get you to turn the page somehow, you slowpoke," she smiled. She cuddled up to him a little bit, leaning against him with her head on his shoulder and a hand on the book.

The man quickly turned red and squirmed. "My Alice, these are still working hours!" Billy choked on shock; it was indeed Alice Pleasance, twenty years older than he had last seen her. She had the same sweet smile, the same bright blue eyes, but so much more…what? Assertive? How had this happened in the years since they'd broken up?

Who was this man?

"Not my working hours," she responded playfully. "It's Saturday. These are your working hours. I get to play." She walked her fingers up the slanted surface of the podium.

"Yes, but when you feel playful, you resemble nothing so much as a particularly lovely Jub-Jub bird." The man took a sedate sip of tea, but did nothing to remove himself from the woman. "A particularly lovely and distracting Jub-Jub bird."

"These words you have for your office manager!" Alice said, in mock offense. She took a few rapid steps away from him and crossed her arm, her nose high in the air and a smile tickling her lips. "'You should learn not to make personal remarks; it's very rude,' Mr. Tetch!"

Tetch? Jervis Tetch? When had this happened? The last word of him that Billy recalled was an article in the paper at least a decade ago after the Gotham Laff-Off and the Hatter's defeat at the hands of his own technology. Apparently, the incident helped advance his rehabilitation treatment, though he was still incarcerated at the time. He hadn't thought of him at all since, as Alice was out of his life by then and he thought that his connection to the madman had withered away.

"Why, how could I make amends to you, dearest Alice?" Tetch responded, putting his tea down and playing along. "Slaying a Jabberwock in your honor?"

"That's what I get for loving a scientist, I suppose. A man with no kind of romantic imagination." Now she sighed, pouting. "If only I had known when I met you! 'The moral of that is: be what you seem to be.'"

"I suppose I do have another idea to gain your favor once more," Jervis replied, coming over close to her and resting his chin on her shoulder. He murmured against her neck and Billy strained to hear, but he still couldn't make head or tail of the conversation—he assumed they were quoting from Alice in Wonderland, as per the man's obsession. Having never read it himself nor known Alice to've, Billy was quite out of his depth and surprised that Alice knew as many quotes as she did. "'I daresay you're wondering why I don't put my arm 'round your waist. The reason is, that I'm doubtful of the temper of your flamingo. Shall I try the experiment?" His hand was resting on her other shoulder and began to slide down her arm.

Alice blinked and turned her head so that they were quite close together. "'He might bite,'" she said in a low voice, putting a hand over his as it settled on her side.

"'Very true. Flamingos and mustard both bite. And the moral of that is—'birds of a feather flock together.'" The arm was now snaking along her waist, the hand flat against her belly.

"'Only mustard isn't a bird.'"

"'Right, as usual. What a clear way you have of putting things!'" He kissed her cheek, and she abruptly turned around in his arms and faced him.

Putting her hands on the side of his face, she grinned and said, "Why, 'that's nothing to what I could say if I chose.'" She was leaning in for a kiss when Billy decided that he'd seen all he ever wanted to see. He grabbed a huge book of brewing tips off the shelf of teas and let it smash to the floor.

Alice jumped back from Jervis, flushing bright red. Now, she was all naivety and innocence, the Alice he remembered. Jervis looked rather flushed, himself. What they brought out in one another!

"Sorry," Bill muttered.

"Why didn't you say there was a customer?" Alice whispered, looking rather like a girl with her hand stuck in a cookie jar.

"An incredibly distracting Jub-Jub bird," was all Jervis replied, sipping his tea.

Alice batted a hand at him and smiled softly, pleased. She wandered towards Billy.

"Can I help you find something, sir?" she asked. Billy looked at her for a moment, wondering if there would be a spark of recognition in her eyes. True, the beard, moustache, and graying temples obscured him a bit, and he'd certainly gained some creases in his face over these past years; but Alice had always been an observant girl.

"D'you have a copy of the "I Hate To Cook" Book? I can't seem to find anything like it amidst all the tea books," he said.

"I think we have a copy…" Alice turned her attention to the shelf, getting down on the floor on her knees and running her fingertips along the spines of the books.

She pulled out a thin volume after a small struggle and presented it to him. "Here you are, sir. Sorry about that. We tend to specialize." She stood up and dusted off her knees. "Need anything else?" Apparently, Alice didn't recognize him at all.

No point in bringing it up, he supposed.

"No, thank you, ma'am. Just this." Alice smiled and escorted him back to the counter where Jervis stood with his book. The ex-Hatter smiled at him and he nodded in return.

"Five dollars thirty, please," Tetch said, and Billy handed over the exact amount in cash. "Thank you."

Billy touched the brim of his hat and walked away. At the door, he paused. "Congratulations, Mr. Tetch."

Tetch looked surprised and a bit mortified. "Er…thank you, Mr….?"

"Lizard," Billy replied, heading out the door. He paused on the sidewalk, then headed home to his wife.

A/N: I decided it was high time everybody got a happy ending. I really don't know enough about Billy to make a certain judgment on his personality--he has, what, two lines? I just know Alice liked him, so he must be nice-ish, and that he's all wrong for her. The fact that Jervis is rehabilitated is not as far fetched as some might think; after all, the Riddler was reformed after being in a coma. Surely having the Joker steal your stuff and manipulate you with your own weapons is traumatizing enough. Plus, our Jerv has the love of a good woman on his side.

I am inordinately fond of the idea of his owning a used and rare book shop. One shelf for all things Lewis Carroll, two shelves for all his various and sundry copies of Alice in Wonderland and books on the subject pertaining to the aforemention, and one shelf for tea. It's practically a whole shop right there! Alice would probably have to keep a salaried job, though, because it's hard to make a living selling used books in a city like Gotham.

I wonder what would happen if Harley, Ivy, and Crane could see this situation. Ooh! Plot bunny!

Bonus points for anybody who spots three non-spoken Carroll references.