WARNING: This work of fanfiction contains strong sexual content between two men, including mind control/hypnosis themes and women's undergarments appearing in places where women's undergarments would not usually be expected. If you're not physically, emotionally, and/or legally old enough to handle these concepts, do us both a big favor and press the Back button NOW. 

I don't own Batman: the Animated Series. Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. and its license-holding subsidiaries do. Characters and concepts are being used without permission. No profit is being made from this file. Happy Fun Ball is rather fond of using "snickersnack" as a verb.

...And that's enough of that. Enjoy!

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Fairy-Tale Romance

by Apricot the Gerbil

"You remind me greatly of Carroll's White Rabbit, you know. Remember him? Always bustling about, world-weary, meek, afraid... worrying over his watch and the orders it would bark to him, of needing to be this place and that." 

Jervis Tetch looked at the giant teapot nearby and smirked. A din of muffled, outraged swearing could still be heard echoing from inside it, but the Mad Hatter paid the racket no mind. "And now that I've relieved you of your ball and chain, as it were... at last, we may talk." Jervis lifted his teacup and took a dainty sip. His eyes never left his guest. "Tell me, is your outfit comfortable?" he asked.

The Ventriloquist blinked at him from across Storybookland Park's Mad Tea Party table, looking quite awkward in the lacy-ribboned purple and white dress he wore. He fidgeted his hands further into its apron's folds. "I... I think so," he said, and shot yet another nervous glance to the teapot, as if the doll stuffed within might know the proper response. "It sounds like he's getting really angry, Mister Tetch. I don't think it was very nice to--"

"Tut, tut," Jervis interrupted, whisking gloved fingers in the air to dismiss the thought. "Hatter, my dear Mr. Wesker. For tonight, 'Mad Hatter' will suit me, and Mad Hatter alone." Keeping his teacup in hand all the while, he stood from his seat, walked leisurely towards the older man's chair, and sat back down next to him upon the table's edge. "And I do apologize for any poor fit, but it simply had to be that dress, you see. Just as it had to be you. Out of everyone at Arkham, I knew you were the only one who would be proper for what I had planned, this evening. Without the presence of that foul-mouthed cur on your arm, you strike me as..." The Hatter's lips pursed as he searched for the proper word. "Such a docile soul, and kind. The very qualities I needed. Just like... her."

Wesker gave him a nod, even if his expression made it clear his understanding of what was going on here was murky at best. "...Your girlfriend?"

The Mad Hatter's eyes widened. He was silent for a moment, paling in grief. "Oh, if only she was... If only she could be...!" he managed, then buried his head in both hands. What was left of the tea sloshing in his cup pattered to the tablecloth, ignored, as Jervis tried to stifle his quivering lower lip. "Have you ever known loss, Arnold?" he asked. "Felt unfettered agony-- had to stare it in the face, every single day of your life?"

The Ventriloquist's brow furrowed. He looked to the teapot, but said nothing.

It mattered little, for Jervis's mind had already burrowed deep into the self-centered universe he called home. "Of course you haven't! Nobody can even imagine the sheer heartbreak-- the pain, of--" He paused in mid-stammer, his emotions wilting to a dull, dead-eyed quiet. "I saw her, you know. In the asylum lounge, some days ago, in the newspapers there. She was in the background of a photo. Off in the corner, almost lost by the camera, really... She's married now. To that devil who warped her mind, turned her against me. I knew that, no matter how many nights I've cursed the fact to the cold, cruel skies--"

The Hatter's fist slammed onto the table, making his guest's cup clatter and spit steaming wisps of tea around the saucer underneath. "But NO, that still wasn't enough! Fate saw fit to torture my beloved and me even more..." he growled to the walls of their playing-card maze surroundings. Flinging his teacup to smash upon the ground, the Mad Hatter's face crinkled in rage, masking a plume of hatred passionate enough to ruin the souls of saner men. "That husband of hers, that slime, that-- cretinous STAIN! He's poisoned her, planted his evil in my sweet little innocent Alice! You could see the bulge of that monster's spawn growing inside her, plain as day!! If only I could've saved her-- from him, from the whole traitorous world set on keeping us apart-- I'd've kept her clean! She could've found bliss together with ME, like the two of us were supposed to..."

He lifted his head, finally noticing the terror in Wesker's eyes. With the sudden, soothing calm of someone realizing they'd just sworn in front of a child, Jervis cleared his throat, taking a moment to straighten his floppy bow tie. "Let's... turn to happier matters," he said. "My dear fellow, do you know why you're here, exactly? What today is?"

"I, uh... I just..." Arnold bowed his head submissively, mumbling his answer into his lap. "Mister Scarface told me you were gonna break us out of Arkham if we came along to the park for a few hours with you. That you wanted to talk about some kind of plan you had, and then we could leave and do whatever we wanted. And you told me to go change into the dress, here... and that's all I know. Scarface doesn't like me listening in when he's talking to somebody," he said, ending with a quick "I'm sorry!" just in case.

The Mad Hatter frowned at him in pity. "That puppet of yours doesn't let you know very much, does it?" he said matter-of-factly.

"Well, he... he tells me what I need to know. And that's enough for me. I guess." The Ventriloquist bunched wringing fists into his dress, adding under his breath, "And he's a he not an it."

"...Of course he is," said Jervis, his voice patronizingly cheerful. "In any case. If you're familiar with the concept of 'unbirthdays,' you may consider your time here to be a sort of present. The gift of freedom, if only for a few hours, hm?" He lifted the top hat from his head and rustled one hand inside it, smiling as he grasped the cargo hidden within. "And while we're on the subject of presents... Here," he prodded, holding out a bundle of soft, silky yellow to Arnold, who took the object and stared at it with obvious confusion. "A wig. It's just for-- here, put it on."

The Ventriloquist looked at him, then the blonde strands... at the still-grumbling teapot... and back at Jervis again. The Hatter fingered the small card he held flat in his hat-hidden hand, silently praying Wesker's politeness would save the evening's mood from being sullied by the mind-control chip he'd made as a last resort. Things had been going so well, thus far. No complaints, no ugly arguments-- just as the Hatter had hoped. It would be a shame if this tryst were to suddenly steer towards nonconsensual shores, though Jervis always planned for the worst. The know-nothing quacks of Arkham may have tarred him with the label "paranoid" because of it, but the Mad Hatter was simply smart enough to know of people's cruel tendency to try playing by their own rules.

But all was not lost: Arnold rustled the wig onto the crest of his balding forehead without a word of protest. The front pair of small, comb-pronged underpinnings had nowhere to be hooked against, but after a moment spent figuring out their purpose, he made a determined effort to hook the back two combs firmly into what little hair he had left. The Hatter smiled at him, then patted his hands together in a muffled golf-clap. "Marvelous," he said, returning the control card to the pocket in his coat-sleeve with a subtle slide of two gloved fingers. He set his hat back atop his own spiky mass of dirty-blond, tapping it into place. "See now, that wasn't hard at all, was it?"

"Mister, uh, Hatter, sir...?" the Ventriloquist ventured, tucking a few stray hairs behind his ears. "Just wondering, I mean, but-- what is it you wanted me to... to do here?"

"Five years, Wesker." Through the shadows that loomed around the table from all sides, the Mad Hatter's grin beamed in a manner that could only be called Cheshire-like. "It was tonight, five long, lonely years ago, that my love and I shared our last moments together. Think of it: the two of us sitting here, sheltered by the balmy summer breeze... I can almost taste the happiness I was so close to reaching in that moment, even now." He swept an arm towards the fiberglass branches arching high above the table, closing his fist to snatch at the full moon floating in the sky... then sighed, gazing down at the fabricated beauty before his eyes. "If that masked miscreant Batman hadn't barged in on us, I'd planned to woo her-- show her the depths of my longing for her, in all the most intimate ways... right underneath this very tree," he explained dreamily. 

Jervis pressed his hand to his chest, momentarily lost to the fantasies spiraling through his brain. The wrinkle-creases that marred the face before him as the Ventriloquist's could scarcely be seen at all, he realized, if one only bothered to squint... "It was meant to be a magical night, Mr. Wesker. One of wonder. But even though the world has seen fit to tear Alice from my side, I've promised myself I shan't stoop to its level. Where Gotham chooses to sow misery, I'll mark our anniversary by recreating our love. And since Gotham has stolen my only true love, the closest I can hope for is to steal one of Arkham's own in return..."  The Hatter trailed off, still smiling at Arnold. "Dare I trust that my motives have been made clear?"

His would-be paramour only shivered, sending trickles of sweat seeping down from under the wig. "Y-you want to... for us, to...?!" the Ventriloquist stammered, unable to even form the words. "Mister Hatter, I don't-- Mister Scarface, he's right here, he's gonna be--"

"Pish, tosh. Calm yourself, Mr. Wesker... there's nothing to be afraid of. Not here in Wonderland," said the Hatter. He cupped his hand to Arnold's cheek, leaning close as he began stroking the older man's face. "That brutish twig of yours can stab me through the heart once we're finished, if it wishes. I'll die a happy man!"

The Ventriloquist's eyes darted from the teapot to the table, his breaths huffing. Panic was rapidly setting in. "M-m-mi-- ster... Sc--sck!!" he choked out.

"Shh-shhh, shh." The Mad Hatter's fingers combed through the fake blonde curls, taking great care not to knock the wig out of place. He patted his squirming guest's shoulder with his other hand before stooping to brace both arms around Wesker's waist, gently hoisting him up to join the Hatter upon the table. "Hush now, darling. You're in no harm," he whispered to the Ventriloquist's ear, making sure to keep up a steady squint. He gave Arnold's neck a chaste kiss, then pressed the man back against the tablecloth. "No one can find us here..."

The glasses weren't working, Jervis decided. They'd have to go.

When he lifted them from Arnold's face, however, the frightened tears pooling in the other man's eyes were even harder to imagine away. The Hatter drove onward nevertheless, gathering the dress's petticoats to lift them out of the way-- only to have the Ventriloquist cry out and kick his legs pitifully, sobbing, "Please, Mister-- no... please-- help!!"

Jervis's eyes narrowed, his fingers clutching into claws against Wesker's skin. "You're ruining it for me...!" he snarled.

A strangle of noise left Arnold's mouth. "Y-you're crazy!" he squeaked, tossing the words with the same hopeless fervor as someone chucking pine cones to fend off a panther.

The Hatter tried silencing him with a gruff kiss. "We're all mad here... I'm mad. You're mad," he murmured, pulling away just enough to feel under the dress...

"Scarface!!" the Ventriloquist screeched. "MISTER SCAR--"

--and he fell silent, the Mad Hatter's 10/6 insignia humming to life behind his ear.

The Hatter stood over him, knees splayed to either side of Arnold's frill-covered legs, bristling. "You just had to spoil it, didn't you," Jervis spat, shaking his head. He raised the skirts to reveal the pink silk panties underneath, frowning at the bright-eyed, mouthless rabbit face that stared at him from over the bulges of a poorly-covered cock and balls. "Some people simply have no sense of romance," he said, heaving a mournful sigh.

Still, he hadn't gone through the trouble of escaping from Arkham Asylum to abandon his plan so easily. At least not without allowing his own little oyster to come out and play, to quote his mentor-poet. If the Ventriloquist couldn't muster the common courtesy to appreciate being given a role in that most joyous of stories, What Might Have Been, then he didn't deserve to have control of his actions as the scene played out, Jervis reasoned. And to destroy the mood like he did... The Hatter had no idea Wesker was such a rude soul at heart. He let go of the skirt and leaned to scowl into the blank, glassy eyes below him. "You're the one who belongs in Arkham," he huffed. "And Scarface doesn't even exist, you simpering twit. It's only you!"

As the words passed through the control card's hypnotic filter, Arnold's jaw stiffened. "M... mm, nnm..." he whimpered, his eyes flooding with new tears. The utterings were quiet, but grew strained-- as if the idea of not having that log of his was causing him actual pain, thought the Hatter. He found some small, twisted sense of pleasure in seeing the Ventriloquist writhe underneath him, in agony from a single truthful statement-- but no, he chided himself, this was not what this night was meant for. The memory of she who once wore that purple dress deserved better tribute.

"Fine, have it your way," the Hatter said, twinkling the fingers of one hand in the air as he rolled his eyes. "Scarface is alive and well. If it'll shut you up. Huzzah."

The moaning stopped. Arnold went back to staring at the moon; the barest hint of a smile tugged the ends of his mouth.

"But," Jervis continued, sounding much like a tourist trying to speak with a native islander, "Scarface is tired. He wants to stay as-leep, while we're here. Dreaming happy dreams. He's perfectly safe. And so are you, Mr. Wesker. So are you. You can feel free to re-lax." He paused, taking the time to construct proper instructions. When a person was set to obey whatever their own mind understood them to mean, words could be finicky beasts indeed. 

"Now then. I want you to think of the most pleasurable, sexually arousing moment in your entire life. When you hear me clap my hands twice, you're going to feel ten times as aroused as that. But don't say any names," the Hatter added quickly. The less he had to know about the Ventriloquist's love life, the better, he figured. "In fact, you don't have to say anything at all. I'm willing to help you find your relief if you assist me with mine, so you have nothing to fear."

Klopp. Klopp.

The change was immediate. The Ventriloquist rolled onto his side in a fetal curl, moaning faintly. His arms sank to fold tight against his waist, as though his body was crumpling from within. At his brain's first notice of another person nearby, Arnold dragged himself onto hands and knees to grab for the Hatter, staring up at Jervis with squinty blue eyes-- two reflecting pools of complete and total cluelessness.

It was only then, as the Ventriloquist's arms were wrapping around his shoulders in a fumbling, noose-like hug, that Jervis realized he hadn't thought to prepare ahead in the slightest. Blast it all, what was one even supposed to do before having sex with another man? How should he know? Wasn't there some kind of lubrication needed? He looked around at the meager offerings on the table. Tea? Would tea work? No, he wouldn't want to risk scalding anyone... Damn it, this wouldn't even be an issue if he'd been allowed his true love instead of a brain-scrambled knockoff!

His captive shared none of his patience. While the Hatter sat there deliberating over his next move, Arnold was busy nudging and rubbing his cheek across Jervis's body, desperate for skin to cling to, for simple contact. Despite the Ventriloquist's decidedly unladylike panting, however, Jervis found it easier to blur his partner's ineptitude into the naïveté and innocence he knew Alice would show him, now that Arnold's face was buried away in the fabric of his coat...

Fed up with having to wait, Arnold bent down to nuzzle against Jervis's lap, leaving only a headful of blonde hair to be seen. For one delicious moment, the already-wavering line dividing fantasy from reality in the Hatter's mind flickered like a bread-and-butterfly's wings-- a dissolve that mirrored the leap surging through his groin.

Inspiration could strike in strange ways, the Hatter reflected. Even if that inspiration was presently half-sagging off from his fair lady's head.

"As you wish, my dear," he said, pinning Alice's locks back in place with a smile. He carefully swept her hair to one side, allowing him room to pick open the buttons latching his coat closed. He unzipped and shrugged his pants down to flop at his hips, revealing the cockhead already starting to stiffen out through his briefs' front seam.

'Alice' wasted no time whatsoever, latching onto Jervis's prick like a kitten starving for Mother Dinah's milk. Arnold scarcely noticed the pleased gasping sounds coming from above him, or the hands smoothing down the fake hair on his head, consumed as he was with licking and lapping a wet gloss onto the tip. The sole thought that remained in the Ventriloquist's reptile-brain was that he needed to satisfy this person in front of him, somehow. Anyhow. He didn't know the reasoning behind it, only that the storm thudding in his balls would come to an end all the sooner if he did.

His tongue kept on the same shallow, up-down-up-down path without change, though the Hatter didn't dare scold Alice for her lack of creativity. It would only make sense, Jervis reasoned. The Alice he knew, the real Alice, was no lust-crazed harlot. And still, that gentle glide of her mouth, seeming to flick against just the right places each time... "Mmm, that's it... Make sure to get it nice and wet, darling," he murmured, adding with a smirk, "'Eat me,' and it grows tall. 'Drink me,' and it goes small..."

"Ummn," was the Ventriloquist's only reply.

Jervis couldn't be certain if it was the word's vibration against his skin that did it, or more from catching a glimpse of the saliva dripping slick from his love's opened lips, pooling down onto his cock. One thing was sure, however: he wasn't going to last long this way. "My dear, wait, let's... Let's move on, shall we?" he managed, pushing her head away. 

Any doubt the Hatter had left as to whether Alice wanted it or not vanished; in fact, she seemed heartbroken at not being allowed his seed, the way she fussed and carried on when made to stop. "All in good time... Believe me, I've been waiting all my life for this moment as well," he told her, guiding her into proper position for their lovemaking. Crouching in front of him, facing away... They didn't have to be looking each other in the eyes, Jervis thought. Soulmates needed no proof of the other's identity during coitus-- why, to suggest such a thing would be an insult to their devotion!

His trust in the bond between them both was so strong, in fact, that the Hatter felt no need to see what awaited him under those ruffled skirts. Searching for that silk band and tugging it down to uncover the treasure it hid was enough. "Oh, my..." he breathed, pushing inside the virgin tightness of that warm, enveloping not-a-colon. "Goodness, this is your first time with a man, isn't it? I can tell." His eyes lit up at his own mind's realization. "Ahh, darling, it's just as I'd hoped: you've saved yourself for me! I assure you, I'll do my best to be gentle."

True to his word, the Hatter kept his motions slow-- pausing at every overwhelmed "aah...!!" from underneath him, whispering encouragement down the curve of a snow-white neck as he leaned to breathe in the scent of those long, golden tresses. "There, there, my love. It won't hurt for long. You'll see... Soon enough, this will feel perfectly natural."

He had barely eased himself two inches in when he stopped trying... but, then, the Mad Hatter was no brute. A delicate rose such as his Alice needed no rough touch prying her petals apart. Instead, he pressed his hips close and away, rocking small circles inside her. With a shiver and a low, dove-like coo, Alice's body arched to allow Jervis the blessing of deeper knowledge, more personal than any fingerprint-- sheltering his erection as he ventured onward, wrapped in her steady grip.

And somewhere, amidst the jumble of limbs and sweat, it happened.

He'd finally reached it.

Two bodies, souls, moving, joined as one in the moonlight. There was no city, no Batman-- nothing at all, save for the happy sighs and moans of Alice, and Jervis's true self, the Mad Hatter, together. No wigs, no living decoys. No masks. Only bliss.

Wonderland.

He gasped his love's name as he came.

The Hatter could barely move after feeling such mighty power flood through him; it was only the trembling of the body hugged close to his chest that roused Jervis from his trance. "What is it, my sweet?" he asked... and frowned, seeing her arms still shifting clumsily, burrowing against her groin, making soft, needy "huhhh... ah...!" sounds as she pawed at her skirts.

"Oh, my dearest, I do apologize-- I had no idea..." he said, slipping his hands underneath the lace. When his fingers touched silk, he smiled. "Please, allow me to help. It's the very least a gentleman should do."

He truly did enjoy coaxing out his partner's orgasm, for the last shards of paradise were still deeply lodged in his senses. There was no unsightly masculinity under Alice's dress, no scrotum he massaged through her panties until he felt his beloved clutch tight and moan in ecstasy.

In the Mad Hatter's own private Wonderland, the droplets spattered across the tea-party tablecloth were merely the morning dew, not something belched from the penis of another man at least a decade his senior.

And when the Hatter pulled out, there was no sour sludge of feces and semen skimmed over the folds of his foreskin... only the milk and honey of sweet Alice.

No matter how it pained his heart, however, Jervis Tetch was eventually forced to return. He drew away from the Ventriloquist to tuck himself in, hike his slacks back up, and button his coat, finally lifting what little of the wig hadn't already been jostled off Arnold's head with a weary sigh. Such was the fate of all love here in Gotham City, where dreamers' dreams went to sicken and die...

"You'll remember all that we did. You'll remember nothing you heard me say," the Hatter instructed, his words sounding hollow enough to have been rehearsed... and he pulled the card away from the Ventriloquist's scalp.

At first, Wesker was silent. He lay where he was on the table, his waking groan the only sign he was back to the realm of conscious thought. When the Hatter placed his glasses in his hand, Arnold slipped them on without seeming to wonder why they'd been off in the first place. "Thank you," he murmured, and sat up, still on his knees-- then hissed in pain, as buttocks came to rest on heels.

The Ventriloquist's brow arched high above his glasses' rims. His head darted to take in his surroundings, as if seeing them for the first time. "I-- didn't, we, we just-- ohgod...!" he whispered, his face paling a sickly white. He clamped a hand over his mouth, looking set to retch any second, but all that leaked out was the same stream of panic-stricken stammering. "Oh god... we really... I really really did..." 

"Yes, we did," said Jervis, who moved to give the Ventriloquist a few hearty pats on the back. "And if your response was any indication, it's flattering to know you had such a good time."

Arnold's arms jerked out without warning, grabbing for the Hatter's coat and yanking him closer. "Does this mean I'm gay?!" the Ventriloquist demanded, his frightened grip making the lapels tremble and twitch along with him-- and he paused, eyes nearly popping from his sockets at the realization that he'd pulled this other man within hugging distance without so much as a second thought. He let go of Jervis with a weak, disgusted "euuhhh--!!", his hands retreating to curl under his chin. He stared off into the distance, rubbing numbly at the cold sweat shaking down from his face.

"Well, I don't consider myself to be," the Mad Hatter said cooly. He smoothed the crinkle-lines from his coat, explaining, "You see, that's what makes Wonderland the wondrous place it is! People can grow tall as trees, swim for miles across teardrops, men can become women-- and when it's all over, life returns to the way you left it, with everything still as it was... and regardless, whatever the two of us did here, it doesn't have to matter. I'll never tell anyone if you don't." A sly grin curved along Jervis's face as he added, "Although I must say, you certainly showed a surprising change of heart towards the idea midway through, didn't you?"

"No, y-you don't understand!" chattered Arnold, looking too terrified to even cry. He tugged the dress's lace sleeve-ends into twists without noticing as he worried his hands against each other. "I-- I never had a problem with gay guys, but-- Scarface, he hates 'em! If Mister Scarface hated... me... I... I don't think I could..." 

The Ventriloquist stopped short, quaking at the sound of Scarface's voice. "Dummy! I ain't kiddin' no more-- hustle yer ass over here NOW!" the teapot echoed. "I been lyin' on my arm so long it's crampin'!"

Wesker looked to the Hatter. A wordless plea for help wavered from deep in his throat.

"It's all up to you," Jervis said, smiling smugly.

Bowing his head and nodding, the Ventriloquist forced down a wet-sounding gulp. He hurried down from the table to fish Scarface out.

Being plucked from his teapot prison seemed to do little for Scarface's mood; the first words from his still-motionless mouth were angry enough to send Arnold's grip on him fumbling. "Bout TIME, yuh no-good-- What da...?! Dummy, whadda hell ya doin' inna dress?!"

Arnold looked at his clothes and cringed, his face flushing red. He returned the mobster doll to its proper spot on his arm, quick to answer with a politely-quiet "Sir, I'm sorry, it's just-- It's not what you think. It was cold out here. It's the only thing Mister Tetch could--"

"Yer sweatin'. What happened?" The doll's eyes rolled down to reveal a pair of narrowing lids. "Ya betta not be makin' any plans wit' Limey Boy 'ere behind my back! Don't even try tellin' me ya don't know dat's dangerous," Scarface warned icily. He pointed his tommygun at the ribbons crossing Arnold's chest.

The Hatter raised an eyebrow, wondering how easily Wesker might break under the strain of questioning... but, no, it seemed the Ventriloquist was no stranger to white lies himself. "W-we just talked! Honest!" Arnold sputtered. "He gave me some tea and we talked. Nothing important or anything. Small talk, that's all. And it's only--"

"Yuh didn't answer me," the doll on his arm hissed. "Why. You. Sweatin'?"

"The... the dress, it's a little warmer than I'd've... than..." Arnold's mouth quivered, straining to hold back the salt that burned in his eyes. He dabbed his free arm's sleeve against his forehead, catching tears as he wiped at the sweat, then turned away from the table. "I'll go change back..."

"You get ova here foist! I got sumthin' ta say t'da Hat," said Scarface, tipping his head towards Jervis. When the Ventriloquist walked close enough for the doll to face the Hatter, Scarface raised Arnold's arm to stare him in the eyes. "I got a feelin' sumthin' happened 'ere. Sumthin' you 'n Dummy ain't tellin' me about. An' I don't like nobody keepin' secrets, see? I'm gonna find out soona 'r later, 'n even if Meathead here did sumthin' stupid like usual, I'm da one dat keeps 'im in line. ME. You kin throw all duh fancy-schmancy tea parties ya want, but pen me up like dat again 'n you're gonna be singin' dat 'God Save Duh Queen' song a' yers widdout yer Crown Jewels, ya get me?"

A spray of ammo from the doll's gun punched tiny holes into the ground between the Hatter's spats.

"...Understood, good sir," said the Mad Hatter with an even-faced grin.

"Now get outta dose freakin' girl clothes!" Scarface ordered his host. "Last ting I need is you goin' all Norman Bates on me 'n shit."

"Yes sir," the Ventriloquist mumbled, heading towards the fiberglass tree his tuxedo was draped behind with slow, dragging steps.

---

When the trio finally left the maze, Jervis held open the park's front gate for his guests. He winked at Arnold as he passed, mouthing his promise once more: It stays here.

The older man merely ducked his head-- in agreement? In fear? It was difficult to tell-- and carried Scarface out into Gotham's waiting embrace without saying a word.

The Hatter watched the Ventriloquist walk down the gloomy city sidewalks until only a smudge on the horizon could be seen slinking into some nameless alley. How strange, the Hatter thought, that anyone would want to leave this heaven of his... 

He clanked the gates shut, then turned to stroll past Jack's beanstalk and Hansel and Gretel's sugar-glittered gingerbread house. He knew the layout of this place better than he could remember what his own home or office used to look like, he mused... not that the trappings of his life as Jervis Tetch had ever done him any good. The Hatter smiled back at the cat that grinned at him from high in the branches overhead. Had not Carroll himself shed his mortal name, "Charles Dodgson," when penning characters that defied time's ever-dissolving memory?

"Oh, will you, won't you..."

His ambling walk became a skip, capering and twirling, as the Mad Hatter spread his arms and sang. The Caterpillar, the Tweedle twins, the Mock-Turtle, even the mighty Jabberwocky-- all his friends seemed to be smiling, happy to welcome him home at last.

"Will you, won't you..."

He had found Alice. Played the world at its own unfair game.

"Won't you join the dance...?"

And he had won.

---

The Joker looked up from his attempt at solitaire with an all-aces deck, hearing the security latches begin to clank open. He grinned even wider than usual at the man the Arkham guards escorted through the cell-block doors. "Well, spank me silly and call me a taxi! Look, everybody-- good old Mr. Tetch is back!"

Leaving a handful of hearts and spades to flutter to the floor, he jumped up and pressed his face against bulletproof glass, straining to see the Hatter walk down the hallway. "Who was it this time? Batman? The Commish? Or maybe that one slob... you know, the cop with his own jelly filling?"

"Quite the contrary, old bean," Jervis replied over his shoulder, his smile wide enough to rival the Joker's itself. He nodded a greeting as he passed Two-Face, who was flipping his coin in much the same manner as other men would twiddle fingers. "I turned myself in!"

Two-Face gave his silver dollar a terrifying smirk. "You hear that, laughing man? Looks like all three of us lost the bet," he rasped to his neighboring cell.

"Hmph. Not my fault I'm stuck with a bunch of unpredictable freakazoids," the Joker scoffed, crossing his arms haughtily.

While Nygma paused from his crossword puzzle to offer Jervis a brief, if distracted, hand-wave, Professor Crane only shook his head at the returning Arkhamite. "Really, Mr. Tetch. I must say, I expected better from a mind such as yours. Why bother escaping at all, if you'd return to your padlocks the very next day?"

The Mad Hatter stretched out upon his bunk-slab in his asylum grays, both hands nestling to cushion the back of his head. "It's simple, Professor. I don't care if I'm in here or out there. It doesn't matter anymore," he said, watching the clear barricade for his cell slide into place and clamp shut.

He gazed up at a ceiling that now seemed filled with starlight. "Now that I've found my home, I'm free to escape whenever I wish."

--fin--