The amount of adorableness needed between these two characters is completely infinite.

I ship this so hard.

-Static

/*\

He was cold. There was no denying that. From a first glance, or a passing remark, one might think he didn't have a compassionate bone in his body. No one had ever seen him smile, and the only emotion he projected was abject annoyance at any and everything around him. He was married to his "evil" work, and there wasn't much else that defined his existence.

When she had first met him, she too had shared this opinion. He spoke brusquely, and acknowledged her only as a nuisance. Initially the only reason she had made any effort to stay in his domain was because it was neutral. His home equated to safety from his arguably psychopathic peers, and for the time being, she desperately needed that. As she got to know him better, it hadn't taken long for this reason to change into something else. Though his remarks irked her and she gained something of a complex about her coffee-making skills, she saw right through his words.

Even though he complained about her, and the trouble she caused him, it was clear that he cared for her, to some degree. First and foremost, he had allowed her to stay. The other Role-Holders always marveled at that fact, acting as though it was a minor miracle, and that had been her first clue. She started to notice other things. He would always tell her to use the only bed in the Tower because "I'm still working" and then promptly fall asleep at his desk. Not once had he forgotten to wait up for her when she ventured out into the world, even though he would have a cover story ready and call her absurd for thinking he cared about her absence. In the few instances she attained minor wounds - a scratch from a tree branch, or even just a paper cut - he would always make sure to vocalize the need to care for them properly, and would check her work to make sure she'd done it right.

He had even stood up to the insane Hatter when confronted about her state of residence. Though he did not like to concern himself with others, he had defended her right to live where she chose, even though he risked his own life in doing so, and he had never once mentioned the horrifying event to her. The only reason she knew about that was because of her semi-close acquaintance with a relatively loose-tongued knight.

To the point, in spite of his freezing exterior, he was by far the sweetest one of them all, and that was why she'd chosen him. Though the others promised excitement and adventure...

She would much prefer to be with someone who wouldn't kill her in her sleep. Though to be fair, there were many days when she'd be tempted to strangle the hermit with his own excessively long hair, more than she cared to admit.

Though it had long since become crystal clear to the two of them that they were attracted to each other - he'd kissed her and pushed her down on the table for flip's sake! - he'd regressed back to walking on eggshells with her. If anything it was worse than before. She had coaxed a kiss or two from him, but he absolutely refused to be affectionate with her, even in the privacy of what was now technically their home.

The woman huffed, and that shook her out of her daze. Wait, what had she been doing? She glanced down to the counter in front of her, and remembered. Right, she was making more coffee. Probably the most important resource in this household. She resumed her task and revived her train of thought.

Many times she had wondered why he was still so...what's the word?...shy. Perhaps it was because they'd never been formally wed? Could it be the unusual circumstances of their courtship? Or could it simply be that he viewed too few changes in their collective life together?

Her heart sunk a little at the thought. It was true, from the very beginning their relationship had been far too intimate to really be considered proper. He was a man, one that she was not related to, and she had decided to take residence within his home not one hour after she'd met him. She slept in his bed, let him see her in her nightclothes, did the chores in his house, and she prepared all of his meals on top of running errands for him. Going by certain standards, she had been his housewife from the moment she arrived.

At least, that had been a comment made by many of her friends.

In her anxious haze, she hadn't noticed just how ground up the beans were, and when she looked down, saw not a sandy consistency, but rather powder, just a little too fine for it to be in any way useful. She had learned enough to know that nothing good could be made from the pile of pulverized legumes. She sighed and threw the stuff out.

Time to start over.

/*\

When it became obvious that the night period would not return any time soon, she changed into her nightgown and began to crawl up the ladder to bed. Her partner, more observant than she sometimes gave him credit for, drew the blackout curtains for her, and lit a lamp at his own desk. Clearly, he intended to work for a good while more, but right now...

Right now, she wanted to be brave.

"I'm going to bed," She declared with a small yawn, and her hands paused on the rung. She thought over her next sentence, something she wanted to say with all her being, but still she hesitated. Her meager bravery dried up. No, if he rejected the offer it would only be embarassing and awkward for them both. Best to leave it be. "Goodnight," she chirped, and started up the ladder when...

"Goodnight, Inquisitor." His voice rumbled softly, as he spoke the nickname. He had given it to her in a moment of rare humor, just a few weeks after she'd fallen down the hole. She had asked so many questions, and made so much noise, that the man had come up with it at a moments notice. He had never used it often, but - in the beginning - on the occasions he did it infuriated her. The word seemed somewhat negative, and it made her feel as though...she were being judged somehow, being made fun of. That was until she learned how it was used here.

The nickname was not malicious in any way. It was merely meant to describe her overwhelming curiosity over every and anything that was her new country. She wanted to know everything there was to know, and for a long time, her companion had been her primary company, making him her main source of information. Naturally, most of her questions went to him, so on a day when she made him an especially good cup of coffee, he had smiled at her - nothing near a normal smile, it had been but a mere twitch of his lips - and called her the 'Inquisitor', the one who wishes to know all.

To have the privilege of viewing that tiny smile in regards to the silly name had made it a little worth the embarrassment.

Fast-forward to now, and she had to bite her lip to keep from grinning. Recently he had quit using it. It belied affection, and - though it dismayed her - he disliked being affectionate. He refused to even tolerate her holding his hand. To this day, she didn't know why, but either way...

A fraction of her courage had returned.

"You can come with me if you like." She murmured softly, shyly, so quiet that he almost didn't hear her.

Almost.

He jumped at the words and glanced up at her, his momentary panic quickly hidden and replaced with a glare.

"That's hardly proper." He grumbled, resuming his work on the clock. Her heart froze.

Wait, what did he mean by that? She asked, but he refused to answer, and that only made her angry.

She pulled up the chair at the other side of the desk and quickly swiped the clock away. His eyebrows scrunched and he opened his mouth to lecture her when she held her hand up, and the message was clear.

Don't you dare speak yet. Puzzled, though still irritated, he remained silent. A second later her voice rang out through the room, the walls echoing the most unexpected and unwelcome of sentences.

"Do you not love me?" She inquired, tilting her head at him. His clock stopped and the breath was knocked out of him. How-how could she-?! Why would she ask him something like that?!

"No, I-" But his denial was quickly interrupted.

"Then what's wrong? I have made it clear that you mean something to me. Is it...one-sided?"

Oh dear God, why?

"Absolutely not. Why would you-?!" But she had pushed away from the table and made for the door.

"Then why won't you do anything?" She asked, "You've never rejected me, but you seem reluctant to be anything other than landlord and tenant." Then she turned, her arms crossed, her eyes glaring furiously. "If you don't want me here then tell me. Now." At this point, the man had leaned back in his chair, staring at her with a mixture of confusion, anxiety, hurt, and just a hint of anger and pride.

"Where did this come from?" He deflected. She uncrossed her arms and turned away again.

"Because," she whispered, then louder, "Because I've been here so long. It's been five years now, by common law this tower has become ours. Legally speaking, I am your wife." Then she whirled, intent on making her displeasure known, "And I will not be wed to someone-EEK!" She squeaked on the last syllable. When had he left the desk? And how had he made it all the way over here without her hearing his footsteps?! Taking advantage of her surprise, he had snatched both her wrists and pinned them to the wall.

What the hell did he think he was doing? Then her gaze flickered to his. Was-had he really accepted the challenge?

"You will not be wed to someone...?" He trailed off. Her eyes narrowed,

"I will not be wed to someone who does not want me." She snarled, and pulled her wrists from his grasp, leaving his hands to rest on the wall.

Well, that certainly wasn't expected.

Emotions raged through his expressions once more, but the primary visual was...hurt. He felt hurt.

"You think I don't want you?" He whispered, but he gave her no time to respond. His lips crashed against hers, and he lightly pushed her against the wall. If she struggled to get away from him, he'd let her go, but for the moment he was trying to make a point. After almost three minutes he stopped. As abruptly as he started, he pulled away and glared at the woman before him. Her breath came and went so fast she was almost hyperventilating. Her cheeks were flushed and he was sure he looked the same. Her eyes had glazed over a little, and she looked absolutely shocked. As she calmed down, her demeanor took on a more confused air.

"Why did you do that?" She asked, "You won't even let me brush your hair out of your face half the time, but when I confront you about it, you kiss me." Her troubled glare reverted to his face. "You complain that I'm confusing but you are doubly so." And with that she moved away back to the bed, but for him, this conversation was far from over. He grabbed her wrist, and her steps faltered.

"Fine." He muttered, "Fine, I'll tell you. Sit down." He led her to the desk, and pulled out the chair for her. Now more perplexed than infuriated, she sat down and watched as he slumped down into his own chair. He held his face in his hands a moment as she patiently awaited his explanation. He set down his glasses, and leaned back in the chair, glaring at her. "Before I tell you though, you need to promise me something."

Needless to say, the woman was intrigued.

"What?"

"You will not use this against me." The woman responded without missing a beat.

"Of course not!" The man nodded, and took a deep breath.

"The reason I dislike to be touched...i...ause...m...everle...lish." He mumbled the last part too softly to be properly heard.

"Can you repeat the last bit?"

"I don't like being touched because I'm severely ticklish." He growled. She looked at him, and he looked at her. For several minutes, the room was thick with tension, and it only got worse. For a moment she wondered if this was some sort of trick, a wild prank but...the look on his face completely blew that theory out of the water. No, this wasn't a trick. He was telling the truth. She was the first to blow up.

"Seriously?!" She yelled, standing up in one sharp movement. "That's your problem?! That's it?! Julius, I thought you didn't love me."

Before he could respond, she circled the desk and kissed him, the fury clear in the way she gripped his shirt. She had sat herself down in his lap and pulled his face to hers, completely ignoring his discomfort. After a few moments, the tension in her body faded, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, gently clasping his hair in her fingers. He knew that she would not let go anytime soon, but he couldn't seem to force himself to calm down. Eventually, though, he relaxed, and wrapped his arms around her, lightly pecking her lips as she pulled away.

"Well," she panted, breathless, "Did I tickle you?" He shook his head and buried his face in the crook of her neck, lightly kissing her skin. His confidence grew when her grip on him unconsciously tightened.

"Not at all."

"Then will you reconsider my offer?" She asked, lightly pulling her fingers through the silky strands of his electric blue hair. He only hummed and lifted her up, carrying her. She squeaked as he set her down in front of the ladder leading up to their bed. He momentarily marveled at the thought. That mattress and sheet set had been "theirs" for a very long time but...now it was "theirs" in a vastly different way. The thought was actually quite appealing. He took off his jacket and shoes, and blew out the oil lamp.

"You first," he said, and followed soon after.

"You're not in your nightclothes." She lightly pointed out, just a little confused as he pulled her close in the darkness.

"Alice," He answered, feeling uncharacteristically bold, "I do not plan on sleeping."

The resulting look of blatant surprise and excitement on her face had been absolutely worth it.

/*\

She lay curled up against his side, clad in nothing but his shirt. His shoulder pillowed her head and his arm loosely wrapped around her waist. Her leg was hiked up across his stomach, his free hand lightly stroking her hair, and she was tracing intricate patterns into the bare skin of his chest. For many minutes they simply lay there that way, recuperating. Throughout that hour they had spent together, he had whispered apologies in her ears. He hadn't meant to make her feel unwanted. He didn't mean to reject her affection. It was not his wish to alienate and wound her. He absolutely adored her.

And he had done a wonderful job proving it.

"B-b-but I thought you sa-AID...that...that you don't like to be touched." She'd panted,

"...It's alright if it's you." Had been his response, right before he'd leaned down to kiss her again.

Now here they were. She lightly traced the outline of his collarbone, before pausing.

"You know," she stated mischievously, "You don't seem ticklish..."

"Alice..." He warned, but it was too late. Her fingers had already slipped to his sides, and he tried to keep from laughing as his muscles clenched and shied away.

By the time it was all over, a small part of him had sincerely wished he'd let her leave, in spite of the fact that she had apologized several times.

/*\

Now that was just silly. However, I thought the premise might be cute. Opinions?

-Static