A/N: One of two pieces beginning the same way but ending differently. Takes place in the middle of the movie.

Tapping lightly on the door, Alice stood in the dim hallway, waiting for acknowledgement.

"Come in," a soft voice called from within, and Alice pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The room was dark and gloomy, shrouded in shadows, but it was next to impossible to conceal the wild shock of orange hair or the ghostly white of the Hatter's skin.

"Alice!" he exclaimed, startled. He dropped all of his tools in a haphazard pile and strode toward her, covering the distance of the room in a few strides.

Alice clutched her robe tighter to guard against the sudden chill. "Hello," she said.

When she made no move to say anything else, the Hatter tilted his head with concern. "Did something happen? Is something wrong?"

Alice shook her head. "No, no, nothing of the kind." She shrugged. "I just couldn't sleep."

The Hatter nodded in understanding. "Ah."

Again she tightened her robe. "Could you not sleep either?"

"Oh no, I never sleep." He paused. "Well, I do, but not well. Or recently. Especially on the eve of the Frabjous Day."

Her shoulders slumped. "Don't remind me." Heaving an enormous sigh, she trudged over to his bed and flopped down, sinking into the plush mattress. After a moment, the Hatter joined her, his frizzy hair tickling her ear.

"I wish things could be like they normally are," she groaned, closing her eyes.

She could practically hear the pout in his voice. "What fun is it to be normal?"

"Not normal normal, but this is so unlike my other dream."

Beside her, he sighed too. "Would a dream really be so brutal?" he said softly, almost to himself.

Alice chose to believe the question to be rhetorical. "In my dreams, everything is still bizarre but… peaceful. Happy. I feel as if I belong somewhere." She narrowed her eyes. "No one but pompous Hamish Ascot could belong in my world."

The Hatter remained silent. She crossed her arms indignantly. "I can't do anything up there. I can't say what I'm thinking, or smile too widely, or trip on my feet or wear trousers. I must be 'prim, proper, neat, meek, and perfect' at all times. Who wants to be all that when it's much more fun to be nonsensical?"

"I don't know," he murmured.

"But now things are hard here too." She sighed longingly. "One day I want to just stand up and start running, and never stop. Then I would never have to face anything, especially jabberwockys."

"But wouldn't you get tired?" Startled, Alice raised her head and gazed down at the Hatter, whose eyes seemed to be a thousand miles away. "Someday you'll have to rest, and jabberwockys and jubjub birds and pompous Hamishes won't always wait for you to catch your breath, you know."

Alice slowly sat up, letting her tangled curls fall forward to conceal her pink cheeks. "I hadn't thought of that."

The squish of the stuffing and the creak of the bed's frame alerted her to the Hatter's straightening up as well. "If life was so easy," he said, the Scotsman slowly seeping into his words, "then everyone could do it."

Without really thinking, she leaned sideways until her head landed lightly in his lap. "Whoever heard of a half-mad hatter being wise?" she mused aloud, her slender fingers absently spinning the spools of thread across his chest.

"No one, I'm sure," he responded, reaching down to tug a fat curl out of her eyes. As he did, she caught a better glimpse of his battered white hands. Reaching up, she ensnared his wrist and drew it down for a closer inspection.

"How did your hands become this way?" she mumbled curiously.

He glanced down and studied his hand as if he had never noticed its presence before now. "I don't know," he said, his eyes wide with astonishment. "They were always this way. I don't know…"

Even though he had to be several years, if not decades, older than she, his childlike innocence wrenched tremendously at her heartstrings. What she wouldn't give to be so sweet and naïve again…

"Oh Hatter," she whispered sadly, wrapping both of her hands around his and proceeding to kiss all five fingertips, all five knuckles, and the palm of his calloused hand. She didn't mind the taste of the tarnished thimbles, nor did she avoid the deepest scars or the newest cuts. Once every tiny pinprick had been kissed, she still refused to relinquish it; instead, she rubbed it between her perspiring palms. His hand was unnaturally cold.

After a few minutes, the Hatter slid his free hand beneath her head and lifted her up. Grasping her knees, he gently slid her beneath the thick, fluffy blankets, and only then did she restore his hand to him as he needed two to tuck in the blankets around her chin.

"Can you sleep now?" he asked, kneeling beside the bed.

She nodded sleepily. "I think so."

"Good." Rising, he started for his worktable, but her soft voice stopped him.

"I wish I could be as brave as you, Hatter," she yawned, snuggling into the blankets. "Then maybe I could slay the jabberwocky."

Spinning on his heel, he leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of her head. "Underestimation is an overexaggeration," he said quietly, smoothing down her mess of curls. Then he turned back to his worktable and his sewing machine whirred to life. Alice slipped into slumber listening to the snicker-snack of snipping scissors and the eerie, lilting tune of a Scottish lullaby.

"Dreams to sell, fine dreams to sell. Angus is here wi' dreams to o. Hush my wee bairnie an' sleep wi' oot fear, Dream Angus has brought you a dream my dear."

A/N: Lullaby - "Dream Angus," traditional Scottish lullaby.