Ok...the Obsession...yes Capitalized...has taken full force now. **

Title: The Itch

Chapter: 1/?

Rating: M for later on. Only implied now.

Peoples: Alice/Tarrant. Other AIW2010 characters may appear. Not my fault.

Summary: Tarrant has and Itch only one other can scratch...or death may find him swiftly.

His clan had called it 'The Itch'. With capitalization even. Not particularly creative for such a marvelous group of people he used to call family but perhaps the name was so simple because the condition was so severe. It was random, a full blown case could come on in a second of time or it could slowly grow and eventually everyone caught it.

It had entered his mind, when he dared think on the matter for more than a few seconds at a time, that being the last of his clan may pose problems. If the Itch happened to take him inappropriately, there would be none to advise him. And if the Itch could not be properly…scratched, what then? He doubted that anyone else in Underland knew of the horrid things the Itch could make you do, it seemed to be something the Hightopp clan had suffered from alone.

It was on the night before the Frabjous day that he had felt it for the first time. Although he had dismissed the idea of it being The Itch. It couldn't be. Simply nervousness for the small woman at his side, lit by the moonlight – nae – glowing in it. Her blond hair looked so soft. All he wanted to do was touch it. Well, maybe stroke it. Well, maybe twist some around his fingers and play with it, lift it to his nose to smell the sweet…but he resisted because it was her. And he was him.

On Frabjous day he had felt the stirring of The Itch again but dismissed it as a twitch of battle anticipation. Surely everyone was as tightly wound as McTwisps pocket watch. The Itch had spurred him on, fighting brave and fierce. And it had seemed to completely disappear as she lifted the bottle to her lips, making her choice to leave Underland…to leave him.

Three days after her departure, it found him again. And it was certainly odd because the moment he felt the tingle in his fingers he had looked around, anticipating the head of golden hair to be moving toward him, her eyes, her lips…but she hadn't returned. Only the Itch had. And it was there to stay.

It grew, making his skin creep and crawl with itches he could never scratch. Starting on his fingertips, bandaged and discolored as they were, small sensations that made him want to touch. Everything. The rough old velvet on his jacket was extremely pleasurable; it itched the tips of his fingers satisfactorily and didn't try to stab him to death as Maly had after he stroked her tail experimentally. The texture of the tail had looked the right combination of rough and soft to work, how was he to know she would react that way? See if he would try to help her should she need to itch a scratch…nonono…scratch an itch. But as it spread up his fingers, causing them to twitch more than ever, and slowly slither up his arms, he began to worry that there would be nothing to quell the bothersome feeling. Well, nothing he would admit to. For to admit that there was a problem meant there needed to be a solution somewhere but he didn't need a solution because there was not a problem.

As days turned to weeks, weeks to months, he became more irritable with his friends. They didn't understand how severe the itch had become and he refused to address the reason why it was there in the first place. All they wanted to do was return to their previous joys. The rightful Queen held the throne and life was generally most pleasant for the inhabitants of Underland. Yet the tea tasted different…

"HATTER!" Malymkin had shouted his name three times before he slowly released March. Were they talking about something? All he could remember was the taste of the tea, bitter and horrid. The mad hare trembled slightly as he waited for his friends fingers to loosen enough for his arms to wiggle free. It had been a bad temper tantrum that had come from nowhere. He may have been mad but usually his friends could tell somewhat when the spells were coming on.

Tarrant stood quietly, waiting for his eyes to focus again. The itch never left now, running over his legs, up and down his arms, curling around his neck and down his spine. It was enough to drive anyone mad, and since he had already been halfway there…

"Hatter?" Maly's voice was softer, closer, "You need to go and see the Queen…"

"DOUN WIT THE BLODDY BIG HEED!" he shouted suddenly, turning on Mally with red in his eyes.

"NO! HATTER!" Maly shrunk into a tight ball, yelling upwards into the madness that had overcome her friend. "THE WHITE QUEEN! OUR QUEEN! MIRANA!"

Tarrant stood slowly, breathing deep, trying to repress the rage that had burst forth. The White Queen. Capitalized. Looking down, he saw Maly still in a protective scrunch and tears came to his eyes. Maybe Mirana would know a cure, some other way out of this madness.

"Yes…yes…" Tarrant sighed, worn out from the constant battle of his emotions and that constant itch. "I will go Maly. I am sorry I waited so long."