Notes: This is the second (and final) part in a Christmas series updated for the LiveJournal disney_advent 2011.

Each chapter of this story has been rated individually. This chapter is rated T for implied sexual themes.

Summary: Christmas is the balm for potentially Serious misunderstandings.

Deck the Halls

"So now yah have time for tea?" Mally accuses.

Tarrant closes his eyes and sighs. This had been a bad idea. He shouldn't have come here expecting his seat to still be warm. It has been weeks – or perhaps months – since he's made time for Mally and Thackery. He cannot expect them to forgive him for the lapse of friendship.

"Family," he utters gruffly as he plops himself down in the chair at the end of the table. Mally and Thack can stay or go, but he does not have the strength to even pour himself a cup of tea let alone bow himself out of the room. He slouches against the cushions and tries to think of a song that might cheer him up. But each one that comes to him reminds him of Alice.

Mally heaves a blustery sigh. "What's happened, Hatter?"

He shakes his head. The words are too horrible to speak.

"Tea," Thackery whispers and Tarrant feels the edge of a saucer being pressed against his elbow which is resting rather rudely upon the table.

Tarrant opens his eyes, sees a clean cup filled to the brim with sugar cubes and sighs, a wistful smile tugging his lips.

"I have missed many teas," he remarks. An apology sticks in his throat. He doesn't want to apologize as he can't find it in him to regret missing those teas in exchange for the future he'd been so busily working towards. Earlier, that very thought had only renewed his rage and he had permitted it to. And then, once he'd exhausted himself, he'd shuffled beneath the very still holly, knees locked and arms bracing himself upright in the doorway. He'd waited for Alice there for a long time.

She hadn't come.

He tried to write a note but, somehow, the moment the quill touched the parchment his hands had suddenly become all thumbs, stuttered words, and scribbles.

He does not know how to make things right between himself and Alice. He doesn't know if he can. When that fear had opened up its jaws and nearly consumed him, he'd fled here, to the tea room, in hopes of simply escaping the darkness.

"Yah been workin' too hard," Mally says quietly as Tarrant continues to smile down at the sugar cubes.

"For Alice," he explains, perhaps unnecessarily. "For the Champion. I can't be a Champion," he continues with truth so sharp it is only marginally more tolerable than brutal honesty. "But I can be a hatter."

"The Hatter of all Underland!" Thackery corrects irritably.

"I am trying," he agrees.

"Maybe Alice don' want no Hatter of all Underland," Mally proposes. "Have yah thought o' that?"

He hadn't, quite honestly. "I—"

"Get th' lass somethin' pretty!" Thackery coaches him suddenly.

Mally concurs eagerly and presses, "Come on now, Hatter, what does the Alice like?"

It's a grand idea, and he adores his good friends even more for discerning the discord between himself and Alice without him having to relive the wretched memory of it, but unfortunately… "I haven't the slightest idea," he mutters, frowning.

But no, that's not true. Alice had mentioned something important, hadn't she? Something he could perhaps give her?

"Family," he repeats. "And Christmas."

"What's a Christmas?" Mally asks absently as she saws off a corner of scone with her sword.

Tarrant shrugs helplessly.

"Have yah buttered the gears?" Thackery suggests, swinging his pocket watch around for emphasis.

"I'm not sure buttering would aid in this situation."

"Well, there's nothin' for it, then," Mally says. "Yah'll have tah ask the Alice what a Christmas is. Then, after she explains it, then yah can give her one."

What a bizarre concept! Therefore, it is without a doubt— "A splendid idea!" Tarrant claps his hands together. "Truly, you are a mouse of many wonders, Mally."

"Naw," she mutters bashfully. "I was jus' imaginin' what Alice would say if she were here."

And, with a bit of luck, one day, she will be. He only has to mend their discord and prove himself worthy of her regard and perhaps, yes, perhaps…!

Tarrant implements his plan immediately following a very pleasant and invigorating tea, a hot bath, and a thorough grooming. Dressed in his very best, he tucks the two stolen strands of Alice's hair beneath his pillow and lies down upon his infrequently used bed.

"Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream," Tarrant sings softly, closing his eyes and folding his hands together over his belly. "Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream…"

And dream he does. The strands of hair do the trick, easily bridging the gap between his dreams and Alice's. In the next instant he is there, standing beside her bed as he had almost precisely one year ago (although without the assistance of any Alice strands beneath his pillow and oh what a challenge that had been!), watching her sleep. Only, this time she does not smile softly into her pillow. She is curled up in an Alice-y ball, her left hand clasping her right tightly in its fist. Her thumb rests beside Tarrant's ribbon ring and, not far away, he spies a tear stain upon her pillowcase beside her cheek.

Swallowing down the knot of guilt in his throat, Tarrant reaches out and gently brushes Alice's hair. She stirs, moving toward his hand and leaning into his touch.

"Alice," he whispers, willing the recent heartache and the previous weeks' misunderstandings as far away from them both as possible, "wake up, Alice. It's Christmas."

Alice opened her eyes to the best sight she could have imagined. Kneeling beside her bed, Tarrant Hightopp smiled at her with delight. His green eyes sparkled and his wild orange bows wiggled as she returned his grin.

"Tarrant?" she whispered.

He nodded happily.

Uncaring of the fact that she was dressed in only her nightgown, Alice tossed aside the covers and sat up. Tarrant giggled when she threw her arms around his shoulders. She did not ask him why he was here or how he had managed the journey from Underland. These thoughts did not even occur to her. The thought on the forefront of her mind was, in fact: "It's Christmas!"

"Is it?" Tarrant inquired gently, rubbing a bandaged hand over her back. Was it her imagination or did he nuzzle against her hair, inhaling deeply? Perhaps it was, she admitted as he leaned back and gave her a guileless smile. "And may I ask a question in addition to this one?"

"Certainly!"

"What is a Christmas?"

Alice stared at him for a moment before she reached for his hands and squeezed them tightly. "Oh, yes, that's right! You don't have Christmas in Underland. Well, come with me. Let's make some tea and see how much snow has fallen during the night."

Tarrant helped her to her feet, which she promptly slid into her slippers, and offered his arm. "Snow is welcome during Christmas?"

"Very much so!" Alice enthused. "Piles of it. White Christmases are the very best!" Although unfortunately rare in London.

"Curious," Tarrant remarked, a bemused smile stretching his lips.

Alice guided him downstairs and toward the kitchen. "Would you like a tour?" she asked. "I don't think my mother would mind." Although she might mind the fact that Alice was currently entertaining a guest while wearing only her slippers and nightgown…

Shaking off that thought, Alice pulled the tea service down from the cupboard as Tarrant lit the stove for boiling water. Rising on her tiptoes, Alice braced one hand against the basin and reached for the curtains. Twitching them aside, she gasped at the pearly, glittering landscape that the kitchen garden had become sometime during the night.

"Marvelous!" she breathed. "Tarrant, just look at this!"

He obligingly glanced past her shoulder. "It looks very white."

"Very right," she corrected him with a wide grin. They took tea and ate scones. And then Alice grabbed his hands and pulled him from the mess on the kitchen table and down the hall.

"Where are we going now?" he asked, grinning luminously.

"You haven't yet made the acquaintance of the Christmas tree."

He blinked with surprise when she tugged him into the parlor rather than toward the front door. And then he blinked a bit more at the tree standing against the wall in the room.

"Oh, no! It's bare!" Alice exclaimed, but even as the words left her mouth, she noticed a bag of brightly colored yarn, a stack of brown packaging paper and colored oils. "Well, I suppose we'll just have to decorate it ourselves." She didn't remark on the cheerful fire already burning in the hearth. She simply sat herself down on the rug and reached for an orange pastel crayon.

"What are we making?" Tarrant asked, sitting down beside her and removing a pair of scissors from his vest pocket.

"Anything we like," Alice declared. "Traditionally, we place candles on the tree and we hang up little angel dolls in white gowns, but this is our tree so, if we want to make little blue caterpillars, March hares, and Cheshire cats…" She grinned.

"I'm afraid the latter will not be of the vanishing variety," Tarrant whispered.

"That's all right," she replied. "They'll be less troublesome that way."

Tarrant agreed and set to work. Of course, with the speed at which he worked, the tree was decorated in mere moments, it seemed. She leaned back on her hands and watched as Tarrant placed a figure of the White Queen at the top of the tree.

"It's lovely," she informed him.

He stood back to admire the overall picture. "A very festive tree," he finally agreed.

As he admired the tree, Alice admired him, from his tattered top hat to his gaily striped stockings.

"Stockings!" she cried, scrambling to her feet and turning toward the hearth. There, leaning against the stones, Alice found two stockings, both pleasantly full. One was green with orange and teal stripes. She held this one out to Tarrant and collected a blue stocking with little white snowflakes embroidered on it for herself.

"I hope the second stocking is within this one," he teased, accepting it.

"If you've been good this year," Alice explained with a grin, "it will hold many nice things."

"And if I've been naughty?" he lisped.

Alice laughed. "Then you'll find nothing but coal."

"To warm my cold heart?"

Alice reached out and placed a hand against his chest. "Not cold," she said after a long, breathless moment. Looking up into his eyes, she whispered, "Definitely not cold."

"Mayhap ye're righ'," Tarrant brogued softly.

Alice stepped back, smiling apologetically. "Of course I am. You've no use for coal at all." She took a deep breath as Tarrant giggled softly. "Now open your stocking. I must see what's inside!"

He obliged, deftly removing first a yellow muffler, then a teal knit cap, and finally a pair of mittens – one brown and the other orange. Alice gasped and, looking down, discovered similar items in her own stocking.

"Of course!" she realized. "The snow!"

She raced into the hall and began pulling coats from the hall wardrobe and boots from under the bench. "Come on, Tarrant! And bring your mittens!"

Moments later, Alice's laugh reverberated down the quiet, snow-covered streets as she dodged a snowball. "I should have known you'd enjoy throwing things!" she accused, grabbing onto a lamppost for balance as she swung around, avoiding yet another projectile.

Tarrant's laugh had never been so delightfully mad. "I must introduce this marvelous pastime to Thackery!"

When he bent down to collect more snow from the front steps of the house, Alice launched herself at his shoulders. He seemed to be expecting her, however, turning just in time to grab her around the waist and toss her gently into the empty flowerbed.

"Omph!" she laughed, thumping his shoulders with her mittened fists. "No fair!"

"This Christmas has rules?" he asked. His snow-dusted eyebrows arched.

"Yes! There will be no ruining of the snow angels," she informed him, dropping her hands and waving them up and down in the snow to make an indentation in the shape of wings. She couldn't move her legs, caught as they were between his knees. "See?" she asked at the conclusion of her demonstration.

For a long moment, he merely studied her. At length, he finally murmured, "I do."

The intensity of his stare made her feel very warm and slightly nervous.

And then he smiled. "I believe I've caught an Alice Angel."

"Or maybe," Alice replied, reaching for the trailing sash of his top hat, "she's caught you."

"And gladly caught I would be." And then he leaned down and pressed his lips gently to hers.

"Was that a rhyme?" she asked him when he leaned back, ending the soft kiss.

He giggled and helped her to her feet and up the stairs. "It may have been. And if it were, it certainly would have been meant for your ears, dear Alice."

"What else of yours is meant for me?" she brazenly questioned.

"All of me is yours, Alice," he replied, his gaze solemn, "in time."

Standing on the steps, on the threshold of the house, she placed her hands on his chest. "All of you?" she confirmed in a tremulous tone, suddenly startled by the magnitude of his offer, his gift: himself.

"All that is me and mine will be yours if you have no objections, Alice."

"None whatsoever," she replied, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his chin, then another to his cheek, and then one more to the corner of his dark lips. "Would you mind terribly? Being mine?"

He shook his head slowly, brushing his lips against hers. "Do," he softly corrected. "The question is Do I mind? and the answer, Alice, is no, never, not in the slightest."

She closed her eyes and leaned into him. "That's good, because I don't want to let you go." Something nagged at the corner of her mind, some unpleasant memory that she ought to remember but, oddly enough, only danced further beyond her reach.

She sighed as Tarrant lifted her in his arms and carried her over the threshold. When Alice opened her eyes next, it was to the sight of a Christmas feast laid out picnic-style in front of the parlor hearth in which the untended fire sill blazed.

Mittens, hats, and mufflers were happily tossed aside. Alice then leaned against Tarrant's shoulder as they filled their plates, laughed, and ate. When her stomach was finally full, Alice took a deep, satisfied breath and found herself suddenly – and very comfortably – lying upon the parlor floor, her head resting on Tarrant's thigh. His fingers combed leisurely through her hair.

"This is a lovely Christmas, Tarrant," she told him.

"Precious," he agreed.

"But it's missing something?"

Tarrant held his breath as she thought. And then the answer came to her. Sitting up and turning, she held out her hands to him in invitation. For the life of her, she couldn't guess why his eyes were so wide and his face so pale, but upon seeing her smile and offered hands, he relaxed.

"What is our Christmas missing, Alice?" he lisped as she helped him to his feet.

"Music," she told him and gestured toward a small harpsichord.

Tarrant faltered. "Oh, I'm afraid I'm not very good at—"

"Neither am I," Alice replied happily, "but there's no arguing with tradition."

She pulled him down onto the bench beside her and placed his hands on the keys. "Let's see how hideous we can be."

Giggling, he pressed a few keys. Alice selected a few of her own. And, strangely enough, as the song bloomed in the room, it didn't sound like noisy nonsense. It sounded wonderful. It sounded like a hatter's heartbeat and a dreamer's whispers. They played until she leaned sleepily upon his shoulder and only one hand remained on the ivory keys.

"Thank you for showing me what a Christmas is, Alice," he whispered before pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. Her last thought was one of argument. Rather than her showing him, it was he who showed her. Deciding to debate it with him later, Alice closed her eyes.

The dream comes back to her even before she opens her eyes. Alice feels the heat of tears scorch her eyes as she remembers the Tarrant of her dreams, the man who had been unabashedly hers in all ways, the warmth of him and the soft lisp of his voice. If only it had been real!

She cannot bear to think of the last week, of his distance and cordiality. She is accustomed to such from her colleagues, from the local people who stare at her and make her feel like she is Um from Umbridge, standing naked in the garden. As strange as it sounds, she only ever feels content and normal when she is with Tarrant.

But not recently.

No, recently she has been just as excruciatingly alone standing with him on the threshold as she has been in the middle of a crowded Chinese street.

What she wouldn't give to have him as he'd been in her dream, but even that is painful. Here, in this strange bed, strange house, strange land she has come to rely on him. He is the only one who understands her. His very presence offers her a glimpse of the home she misses so much. And now it's all ruined.

"Yes, let's spend another day feeling miserable, Alice," she chastises herself. Throwing back the covers, she stands with a deep sigh. "Onto the first order of business," she orders herself.

She washes up. She dresses. Today is Christmas, after all, and her presence will be expected downstairs, only now… now all she can think of is Tarrant sitting beside her on a blanket with a feast before them, a tree they'd decorated together, mismatched mittens in a heap by the door…

She pauses on the threshold of her room and reaches out at hand to brace herself. Thinking of the day filled with torturous reminders and unbearable pleasantries that stretches out before her, she shakes her head. "I can't do this. I just… can't."

"Alices can do all manner of brave and courageous things."

Gasping, Alice glances up and finds herself unalone in the doorway.

Tarrant continues, smiling with adoration, "In fact, I know one who is the Champion of Underland."

"Do you?" she hears herself breathe.

"Yes, I feel rather sorry for this poor fellow – a hatter by trade – who loves her more than his own sanity. He'll never compare to her greatness, never be able to offer her more than a few fabric baubles and dreams of Christmas. Of course, he'd rather bite his own tongue than inform his Alice of that fact."

Frowning, Alice replies with a single word: "Why?"

"She deserves so much and he has so little—"

"No," Alice says, stepping forward and pressing her fingers to Tarrant's lips. "Why would the grandest, maddest, most wonderful hatter in all of Underland ever doubt her love for him? Why would he think she would ever require more than what he could freely give?"

He blinks, his eyes suspiciously bright with emotion.

Alice looks at him – really looks at him – and remembers the dream. "You gave me a Christmas, a marvelous, perfect Christmas with you – the person I love most. What gift could be better?"

He takes a breath but says nothing.

"That's why you've been working so much, hasn't it?" she guesses, her heart breaking. "Because I was a champion for one day."

"For always," he replies gruffly.

"Well, I've retired."

"Have you?"

"Yes. I'm simply an Alice now. Just Alice." She hesitates. "Is that… enough?"

He grasps her hands tightly, his bowtie bobbing with the movements of his Adam's apple.

"Tarrant," she whispers, clutching his hands in return. "Why do you insist on working so hard?"

Managing to swallow some unwieldy emotion, he collects her right hand and studies her ribbon ring. After a year it is looking very sad and tattered, indeed. She should have mended it, but she'd feared ruining it with her blundering sewing skills.

He rasps, "Have you ever felt regret?"

"Yes, of course I have." A list readily springs to mind, many of the items therein describing her failures to the man standing before her.

Tarrant informs her, "I working so that your most recent regret will become your very last."

Speechless, Alice can only stand on her toes and press her lips to his. "Tarrant, I could never regret a moment shared with you, no matter the circumstances."

And then his arms are around her, his mouth is slanted over hers and the kiss steals her breath.

"All of me is yours, Alice," he had said in their shared dream and there is quite a lot of him. His strength and heat and passion and madness and riddles and rhymes. She recalls the unstoppable force he'd been this time last year upon her threshold. While she yearns to experience that fantastic madness with him again, she is not sure if she is ready to accept what would come after nor all that he – a man! – is capable of giving her.

"… in time," his dream self had amended. Reluctantly, Alice must agree.

When she bumps into the doorframe and Tarrant's hands move from her face to her shoulders, down her arms and then begin to span her waist she places her palms against his cheeks and pushes back with her kiss, trying to slow him, soften his affection. Only when she places her hands on his chest and gently shoves does he lift his head.

Gasping, he stares at her, an apology forming in his eyes behind the impassioned glaze. "Alice…"

"It's fine, but you were right. I… I'm not… You are a grown man and I…"

He sighs and takes a half a step back. Alice reaches for his hands, refusing to let him retreat too far. "Yes, I am a man, Alice, and men have insistent desires at times and you… You are so very Alice and I… I must apologize. I have been managing these desires very poorly."

Alice waits for him to elaborate, her mind full of questions that she doesn't even begin to know how to ask.

"Recently, I've behaved very badly. You needed me and yet all I could think of was…" He lowers his gaze, perhaps in shame, and speaks to their joined hands. "I'm afraid I shall have to begin managing these inclinations before they manage me. Do you understand?"

"No, I don't," she wants to wail in frustration but somehow manages to whisper in a level tone. "What do you mean by manage?" She can surmise the content of these desires, but how would they be managed?

"I mean, I should like your permission to think of you when I must."

She frowns. "Must you think of me?"

"Yes."

"That doesn't sound very enjoyable."

"It isn't." He looks even more desperate and weakened by the admission.

There's no hope for it; Alice is still dreadfully confused. "Tell me of these desires, of what you must do."

He shakes his head even as he replies, "It is like being a sprig of holly. Always observing but never partaking in the affection that is so very near."

"It sounds terribly lonely."

"It is, but the alternative is unbearable."

"And that would be?"

"Not permitting myself to think of you at all, which I have been attempting. Disastrously. I want… too much, Alice."

Beginning to understand, she reaffirms her grip on his hands. "Will you seek out the company of another because I cannot—?"

"No!" He actually shudders with disgust. "It must be you. Even a thought of you would be infinitely preferable to that."

"Then think of me."

He blinks, startled. "You are giving me your permission?"

Heat blossoming in her cheeks, she nods. She thinks she can guess now what he is asking her, what he needs. The specifics elude her, but – in all honesty – she's not sure she wishes to know the specifics quite yet. Someday soon, perhaps, but not today. "You have been here for me," she tells him simply, hoping he'll understand what she's trying to say.

And he does. Releasing a long breath, he sighs out a soft "thank you."

It is, after all, the very least she can do for him. She lifts a hand to his face, traces his nose and cheekbones, pets his wild, orange hair with her fingertips. "I want to make you as happy as you've made me."

"That is also what I aspire to," he confesses.

Alice opens her mouth to assure him of their joint success.

A soft knock on the door makes Alice sigh with frustration.

"Alice? Are you awake yet, dear?" Mrs. Warren calls.

"Pardon me, Tarrant," Alice murmurs and then raises her voice to the visitor at her sitting room door, "Yes, Mrs. Warren. I will be down very shortly!" She gives Tarrant a sad smile. "Someday," she says, "we won't have to worry about interruptions all the time."

"Someday," he agrees. He then pulls her hand to his chest and leans in to press a lingering kiss to her cheek. "Happy Christmas, Alice."

"It is now," she answers. "Happy Christmas, Tarrant."

His response is a luminous smile. She moves to leave the threshold but then pauses and turns back to say, "I've been told that New Year's here is an evening of special magnificence. I'd very much like to dream that with you."

"Then I will tell you how. Tomorrow, dear Alice?"

"Tomorrow, my hatter."

Smiling, she steps out of the threshold, releasing his hand only at the very last moment. Tomorrow cannot come soon enough, but it will come and that is all that matters.

On the Threshold of Christmas, Year 2

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Alice says she has to pack which will take all day (and all she's taking with her are a few bags … she needs the time to make smart decisions about what few items she'll find most useful).

Alice and Tarrant have tea on the threshold, seated on the floor, Chinese style. The Hatter eventually provides cushions for this.

Tarrant frets over what to give Alice who, essentially, has the entire world of upland. Maybe Thackery suggests a spare? What does Tarrant give her, then? I don't want to use magical items, just something that has a witty use. Like a scarf that can be folded and unfolded.

I want the two hairs to be significant. Alice has two of his and he has two of hers. (He will take them in this story in order to give her some gift?)

Will Tarrant come through at some point? Not for an emergency but for some other reason?

Chinese New Year's? In 1870, it was on January 31st. Fireworks? Can Tarrant watch them with her? See them reflected in her eyes? Maybe she has to describe them to him. Alice will show him sketches and photographs and prints of the places she visits. She buys spices and cloth and such and shows them to him.

Alice wouldn't be on the ship for Christmas – she'd be staying in a house while she's setting up the trading office. This will help. Maybe there's a Christmas party and she claims to be too ill to go but she stays in her room/office to dance with Tarrant on the threshold.

Alice is feeling a little lost, away from home for Christmas.

Alice is staying in the "commodore's" quarters, opposite the captain's quarters across from the dining room. Perhaps a few people from her company are bunking in the dayroom.

So one story about Tarrant or Alice flashbacking over packing for the trip and taking the trip and Alice has given Tarrant a glimpse into another world and what is he going to give her in exchange? (Does Tarrant understand the significance of Christmas gifts? I'm not sure Victorians really gave presents. Or maybe only to children.)

Something is wrong with Alice.

Tarrant frowns fiercely as he regards the young woman standing on the threshold. She waits with her back ramrod straight, appointment book open in hand, lips moving as she mutters in silence and glares with a passion at the scribble-ridden pages.

He waits for a moment, studying her in her preoccupation and feels a shiver spiral out from the pit of his tea-warmed stomach.

Once upon a time, Alice would have turned toward him immediately with a glowing smile at the ready and a warm kiss.

"I missed you."

"Hardly, you are very much on target, my Alice."

"Luckily for us both! What are you working on today, Tarrant?"

Once upon a time, he had stepped into her doorway from his workshop in Underland and she would be babbling with delightful madness.

"I can't take much with me on the voyage – space is ever so limited, you see, so I must prioritize my essentials and thank goodness I won't have to wear a corset because if that were the case, I think I'd mutiny – that's what they call it, did you know, when the crew rises up against the ship's captain, but I don't think I'll have to worry about that, either, because I've met the captain and he's a lovely gentleman—"

Once upon a time, she had sobbed against his chest and confessed to a dreadful condition called seasickness.

"I swear—"

"You mustn't swear, dear Alice."

"Ugh… I've never felt so ill. If this boat is hit by one more wave—"

"I shall hold you tightly until it passes. That way, if you lose your feet, perhaps mine will be able to guide yours back to where they ought to be."

Once upon a time, he had been met with a tea service on the floor beneath the holly.

"They take tea on the floor here in China! Isn't that marvelous?"

"Delightful!"

"Here, I'll pour. I'm afraid I don't have any sugar or cream…"

And he had been Quite Content. He'd had the liberty of seeing Alice daily, of hearing her tales of this exotic place called China and drinking strange tea and eating strange sweets and fruits and he had adored his time in the threshold beneath the obliging sprig of holly with Alice. His Alice. She had made it very clear that she is determined to remain his Alice. He had given her a ring of ribbon, heartbreaking in its simplicity and thrift, as a token of his inability to refuse her anything. He had wanted something better than a worn out hatter for her then. Now he cannot imagine a day passing without her in it. Now he cannot release her to a grander future. Now he would be driven irreparably mad were she to turn away from him. And, frighteningly enough, he had been content in his need for her.

Alice, on the other hand…

Once upon a time she had smiled, rhymed, bantered, and reached for him. In recent visits, however, his Alice has been an Almost Alice. The frown lines upon her brow never clear completely and her mind seems elsewhere. Today, it appears she is Not Hardly Alice. Instead of meeting him on the threshold at their appointed time with happiness clear in her eyes, she scowls, mutters, and presses a hand to her forehead as if she has a headache.

Tarrant has never been so terrified.

Once upon a time, he would have taken this to mean that Alice has tired of him.

Once upon a time, he might have stepped back into his workshop quietly, taken down the holly and left it on the threshold for her to find.

Once upon a time, he could have been happy for her.

Not now.

"Alice?" he lisps softly, uncertainly. His fingers twitch and gravity seems to shift, pressing him toward her but he keeps his feet – impulsive creatures that they are – firmly planted.

She doesn't look up.

Tarrant watches her lips continue to move and her brows continue to beetle and feels his heart twist into a leaden ball in his chest.

Unable to do otherwise, he hovers awkwardly beside her. At last, he manages to clear his throat.

Alice startles and turns. "Tarrant! I'm sorry. I was…" She glances down at the diary in her hand and, with a huff, tosses it onto some supposedly nearby surface. Tarrant sees nothing. One moment, the book is in her hand and in the next she has cast it aside. He does not hear it fall or see it tumble onto the stack of fabric bolts that would have been in its path in his store cupboard.

"It's nothing," she continues and smiles.

Or rather, she tries.

"Alice," he whispers tremulously, reaching for her hands.

"Tarrant? Are you all right? You look pale."

He supposes he is.

"What has happened?"

"I fear I've lost something terribly important. Something vital."

Alice's concern eases and her smile is more ready this time. He is almost reassured. "Well, then, where did you last see it? Let's start there and work our way out."

"In," he gently corrects.

"In," she echoes agreeably. "Come now. Where did you last have it?"

"Here," he replies, his thumbs moving restlessly over the back of her hands. "Alice."

Her frown returns as she tries to puzzle out his meaning. He wishes he could explain further, but he simply can't. Won't.

In his solemn silence, she seems to find her answers. "Tarrant," she sighs, closing her eyes briefly. The retreat alarms him. His Alice has never hidden from him before. "I don't know what's come over me recently. This last month or so has been… trying."

He wonders what trials she's faced that she hasn't confided in him. He wonders why she hadn't. He wonders if Alice has chosen to live beyond this threshold. He wonders if he has the strength to join her in her world. He wonders if she would still want him if he did.

"Do you remember," Alice says suddenly, "the night I couldn't sleep and I found you here waiting for me?"

"I couldn't sleep, either, as I recall," he replies, remembering that evening well. The moon had been full again, both in Upland and Under, painting them with its silvery blue glow.

"It's like that."

"What is?" he presses urgently, sensing some meaning to be had in her words.

"This feeling inside me. The longer I'm here, the harder it becomes to just close my eyes."

For now, she has a Christmas celebration to attend. With a heart warmed from her day spent with Tarrant, Alice crosses the room, opens the door, and heads downstairs to join Captain Warren and his wife.

That's all for this year. See you again next December!