Author's Note: Alice in Wonderland belongs to Lewis Carroll, Tim Burton, and Disney - NOT me. I think this is one of my best works so far, and I would love to hear your opinion! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please R & R!

Scars

The Hatter had many scars. Some were physical – the scars on his side from an opponent's blade, the scars on his back from the torture he endured in the Red Queen's prison. Others were emotional; though not visible on the outside, they ran just beneath the surface of what was left of his sanity – hot, white scars that criss-crossed his heart, memories of the day he lost his clan in the flames, their faces forever frozen in fear burned into the back of his mind. All of these Alice had seen. She had been there when he was injured. She had watched in horror as the Red Queen's newly recruited guards from the Outlands had whipped him until he could barely stand – helpless to reach him in a cell of her own. And she had seen the madness he suffered from. But there was one particular batch of scars that he had thus far kept hidden from her – the scars on his hands.

There was the sound of shattering glass.

"Aaarrrghh! Bloody, stupid vase!" The Hatter glared down at the offending object – a once beautiful glass vase engraved with roses now broken into a million tiny pieces at his feet. His eyes gradually faded from red to amber to gold until they were nearly back to their normal green but just bordered on yellow because of the stinging sensation in his hands. He frowned. The queen would not be happy about this.

Though his fits of madness had become less frequent since Alice's return and the second and final defeat of the Bloody Big Head, they still occasionally occurred – sometimes out of the blue – and when they did, it was as if he had no control over his body, no awareness of what he was doing. This time he had been working on a hat for one of the members of the court when his hands suddenly began shaking for seemingly no apparent reason – a problem that, unfortunately, was becoming more frequent. Ultimately, it had caused him to ruin the hat. He became frustrated with himself, and that was when he had grabbed the vase, smashing it against his work table and causing it to shatter in his hands.

He heard footsteps in the hall and desperately hoped they did not belong to Mirana. He would have a very difficult time explaining why her favorite vase was broken and why there was blood all over his hands and the floor. The door flew open, revealing not the White Queen but instead the Champion.

"Is everything alright? I heard the sound of breaking glass and I – " Her eyes dropped to his hands, and she ran to his side. "Oh my goodness, Hatter! What happened?"

The Hatter shied away, hiding his hands behind his back. "I-it's alright, Alice. Everything is fine. It doesn't hurt that bad." But the grimace on his face made him rather cheap.

"Hatter, please. Let me see your hands."

He backed up like a cornered animal, eyes wide with something akin to fear. "No, no, Alice! I'm fine, really. I can take care of it." That was a lie. It would be rather difficult for him to care for his wounds when both of his hands were filled with shards of glass.

Alice was becoming a bit frustrated. Calmly but firmly she tried again. "Hatter, you cannot finish the court's order of hats until your hands are in better shape, so unless you want bloodstains all over those lovely white bonnets and caps, then I suggest you let me help you get cleaned up."

The Hatter hesitated. He trusted Alice – trusted her more than perhaps anyone else in Underland – but there were some things he'd rather not share with her. Or with anyone, for that matter. She knew many details of his life, but he wasn't sure if she was ready to know quite everything about him. His hands told quite a story – a story he hadn't shared with many and story that he didn't really want her to hear. He was ashamed of them and tried his best to cover them up most of the time, but the old bandages would have to be taken off if she was to get all of the glass out. She knew that they were stained with mercury, but she didn't know about the scars…Well, she would probably find out sooner or later anyway. He sighed in defeat.

"Alrigh'." There was the slightest touch of the Outlandish brogue to his voice. He slowly brought the hands from behind his back to let her inspect them.

Alice smiled gently, then glanced them over. "Well, let's see…They don't look too bad. I think the blood makes the wounds appear worse than they are. I think I should be able to get the glass out." She pulled out the chair at his table and motioned for him to sit down. "You just sit here, and I'll be right back with a basin and some water in a moment."

The Hatter did as he was told, slightly surprised that she had not noticed any of the scars yet. "Probably too much blood," he murmured. She would see for herself soon enough.

Alice returned momentarily, carrying a washbasin full of warm water, some towels and bandaging material, some scissors, and a pair of tweezers. She knelt in the floor at his feet and carefully dipped one of the towels into water. She glanced up. "This may sting a little."

Hatter winced as the white towel touched his skin and began absorbing the blood, staining the towel a deep crimson like an army of red marching against the white. Army. Blood. Red. Bloody Red Queen. His mind was racing. His eyes, no doubt, were turning the color of the scarlet towel. He could feel the madness creeping in. No, Hatter! Don't think like that! Not in front of Alice. You don't want to hurt her. He sucked in a deep breath between his clenched teeth and grimaced, trying to keep his sanity.

" Sorry," Alice apologized. She glanced up, noticing his eyes were slightly more amber than they had been when she'd walked into the room. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Silly Alice. If only you knew.

"It's alrigh', Alice. I 'ave been through much worse pain…" He smiled sadly.

Alice frowned. "I know." She placed a gentle hand on his arm. "But now the Red Queen is gone. She cannot hurt you or the ones you love anymore."

"Aye, but she still haunts mah dreams…" He tried to calm his accent. He didn't want to frighten her, but talking about Iracebeth always made him on edge. "Of course, she is not the only one who haunts them," he added a bit softer. There was a faraway look in his eyes. He was referring to Alice herself, of course, but the girl was so intensely focused on removing a bit of the glass from his right hand that she had not heard the last part of what he said.

"Perhaps Mirana has a potion she could give you to help with those dreams," she suggested.

He smiled slightly. That was Alice. Always thinking of how she could help others. Suddenly, he jerked back instinctively at the sharp pain his hand. Alice had removed a rather large shard of glass, and it hurt surprisingly more than he had anticipated. His eyes flashed red, and without thinking, he raised the injured hand as if to strike her, but one look into her eyes stopped him. He looked over at the hand, as if it had done something of its own accord and was not attached to the rest of his body, then looked back at Alice. Slowly, he lowered it. And then the shame set in.

"I'm sorry, Alice. I-I didn't mean to – That is, I would never intentionally – Oh, I couldn't bear it if I ever – "

"Hatter!" She gazed up at him and gently pulled the hand back to its original position over the washbasin. There was never a moment of fear in her eyes. She knew Hatter better than to think that he would harm her.

"I'm fine," he wheezed. His eyes were blue with shame and concern. "I really am sorry, Alice."

She smiled back gently. "I know. It's alright, Hatter. It is my fault, actually. I should have been more careful in removing the glass."

She worked in silence for awhile, carefully picking the fragments out of his skin and washing the blood from his fingers and palms. But there were a few stubborn pieces that refused to come out. They were lodged in the bandages that covered his thumb and the fabric that covered his lower palms and wrists. She prepared to make one last attempt with the tweezers when the Hatter's hands suddenly began to shake. She looked up.

"Hatter, you're shaking! I know the last big bit of glass hurt, but you must stop moving if you want me to remove it. I promise to be more careful this time."

The Hatter glanced down apologetically. "I'm sorry, Alice. Truly, I am, but I am afraid I have no control over them…It's been getting worse, lately."

"Lately?" Alice looked worried. "Hatter, how long have you been having this problem? It could be something serious."

"For as long as I can remember making hats, but more frequently after the Red Queen came to power. I think it has something to do with the madness." He looked rather embarrassed. His hands had finally stopped acting like they had a mind of their own. "It's so frustrating, Alice…It's why I ruined that hat I had been working on for Lady Ghemaine." He nodded in the direction of the now slightly deformed hat sitting on his desk. "Oh, and I worked so hard on it, too!"

Alice smiled again. "Well, that explains the broken vase." She knew by know what sort of things would set him off.

The Hatter frowned. "Mirana will not be pleased to find her best vase in such a state."

"Oh, Hatter, I'm sure it will be fine. It's just a vase – and yes, I know, it was a family heirloom – but vases can be replaced. Friends cannot. The important thing is that you did not harm yourself…well, not too badly, anyway." She moved to pull back one of the bandages.

"Alice, wait!"

She looked back at him questioningly. "Hatter, I have to get under the bandages so I can get the rest of this glass out."

"I know, Alice, but – " He paused, his voice lowering and slipping back into the Scottish-sounding brogue of the Outlanders. "Ye will nae like wha' yeh see."

She shook her head. "I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"Why dinnae' ye take a look fer yerself?" He held his hands out toward her, waiting. He bowed his head, slightly, as if in defeat, so that the rim of his signature top hat just barely hid his eyes from her. He did not want her to see his shame.

He felt the bandage on his left thumb loosening, then heard a small gasp.

"Tarrant, what happened?" He did not respond. "Hatter?"

"Jes' keep goin'. It gets worse…"

Alice looked somewhat startled. Not frightened of him so much as frightened for him. If the rest of his hands looked worse than the mangled piece of flesh that had once been a thumb, he must have been through quite a lot. She hesitated briefly, then began slowly cutting away at the fabric that covered his wrists and lower hands. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw.

As the fabric fell away, several scars appeared. They were old, no doubt, having long healed over, but just looking at them brought tears of empathy to Alice's eyes. There were burns so bad she could hardly see how he had any skin left on his palms. Angry white streaks wound across one of his hands and up part of his wrist, forming a sort of web too tangled and confusing to be the result of any deliberate action on his part. His wrists, she could tell, had been rubbed raw and healed over countless times. These marks she recognized as the struggle against shackles. She could only wonder about the others. "Oh, Hatter," she whispered.

"Di' ye nea wonder why Ah always kept 'em covered, lass?" He smiled darkly.

"I…I did, but…"

"Well, now yeh know…"

"Hatter," she tilted the brim of his hat back slightly so that she could see his eyes. "Hatter, what happened to you?"

He avoided her eyes, afraid to see the disgust he was sure must have been there. He sighed and made an effort to control his voice. "Alice, did you ever wonder why they call me the Mad Hatter?"

"I thought it was because you went mad after the Horvendush Day."

"Ah, yes but do remember that when you visited Underland for the very first time as a child – back before the Red Queen took over – I was still the Mad Hatter then…Not mad in the rather violent sense that I am now, but still…a bit off." He grinned maniacally then, exposing the gap between his top teeth. Then he was serious again. "Alice, I don't know what it is, but every Hightopp who has ever been a hatter has eventually gone mad. Sometimes it would just be a few little things here and there…a few answerless riddles here, a few too many giggles there, a few hallucinations now and then…But other times…Other times, it was much, much worse. I was the first one in my family to experience the changing eye color. Maybe it was because both of my parents were hatters…Or perhaps I was born mad…Whatever the case, I also started to develop some of the more severe problems associated with hatting when started working as an apprentice for my father. Remember the shaking I told you about earlier? Well, sometimes my hands do not behave as though they are my hands. They do not care what I am doing or what I am holding. They simply start to tremble."

"But what does that have to do with – "

"See my thumb, Alice? That happened when I was working on a hat with my father. I started shaking and the machine we were using to sew up the hat, well, it just decided to sew my finger right up along with it! Those scars that form that lovely little road-map across my right hand are the result of trying to cut up potatoes for dinner one night…Of course, my hands did not care that I was using a knife and peeling myself instead of the potato! And this," he said, indicating a large burn on his left hand, "this is what happens when you try to light a fire with hands as untrustworthy as mine. Nearly burned the house down, I did! It terrified me, Alice…That's why I ran on the Horvendush Day…I was absolutely mortified of fire after that little incident…Ah shood 'ave stayed." He felt himself slipping into the brogue again. "Ah shood 'ave stayed tah fight, but Ah ran! All because o' me stupid fear and these stupid 'ands of mine!"

He felt another set of hands on his face, and he calmed. "Sorry, Alice. Where was I? Oh, yes. So, I started wearing things to cover my hands so that I didn't receive strange looks from others…Well, no stranger looks than normal I suppose!" He giggled.

Alice hesitated. She didn't want to upset him. "And the other marks? The burn on your right hand and the marks on your wrists?"

The Hatter lowered his eyes again, this time because he did not want her to see the tears pooling in them. "Tha' burn on mah right 'and…It 'appened after Ah went back tah look for survivors from the Jabberwocky attack…" He felt one of the tears slip down his cheek. "Ah received it while Ah was pickin' through the burnin' remains of our village…and Ah found…" He choked back a sob. "Ah found mah li'l sister…or what was left o' her."

"I'm so sorry." He noticed that there were tears streaming down her face, too.

He continued on with the story as if nothing had happened. "And these," he emphasized, holding up his wrists, "these are from many years of bein' chained fer mah own good."

Alice was furious. "Chained for your own – Hatter, who did this to you? Who would do such a horrible thing?"

The Hatter somewhat smirked. "The White Queen would."

Alice gasped. "Mirana did this to you? But why?"

"Dinae' blame 'er, Alice. After Ah lost mah family, Ah went completely mad – and not in the good sense. Ah was dangerous, Alice. If Ah 'ad been loose, I would 'ave 'urt others as well as mahself." He paused awkwardly, getting his voice back under control again. "So that is the story, Alice."

Alice simply stared at the hands that were before her, stunned. She had known that the Hatter hadn't had an easy life, but this brought things to a whole new level. Who would have ever guessed that a man so unusually optimistic and chipper as Tarrant could have gone through so much?

The Hatter realized that she had been staring for quite some time. He knew this had been coming…She thought he was disgusting…hideous…How could hands as ugly and uncontrollable as these ever properly hold the woman he loved? Well, they were not courting yet…Now they probably never would… "I know they are horrid to look at, but – "

"NO!" He felt her gentle, soft hands wrap around his own. "Do not ever say that! Never, ever, EVER believe that, Tarrant!" She carefully used the tweezers to remove a shard of glass from his deformed thumb. "They are beautiful, Tarrant! They are the most beautiful hands I have ever seen!" She felt the tears flow as she worked on another piece of glass stuck in his palm. She dabbed the blood away.

The Hatter closed his eyes, as if in pain. "Ye dinnae 'ave tah lie tah meh, lass. Ah'm sorry yeh 'ave tah see meh like this."

Alice sniffed back more tears. "Hatter, I'm NOT lying! They ARE beautiful! They are beautiful because they tell your story."

He tried to smile. "Aye, it's not a pretty story, though."

"Perhaps not, but the man who they belong to is." She looked into his eyes, into his heart.

"Alice, Ah know as well as ye do that Ah am nae among either Overland's or Underland's standards of handsome."

There was a look of defiance in her eyes. "Now you listen to me, Tarrant Hightopp! You are the bravest, kindest, strongest man I know. You have risked your life for me. You have fought the madness for years, and you have faced the Jabberwocky that destroyed your clan. You were a friend to me when no one else here was. You are a true warrior and a true gentleman. Your hands may be scarred, but they are most gentle and they make the loveliest hats that I have ever seen in either of the two worlds. You may not look normal, but that does not mean you are ugly. People who think you are unattractive only believe so because you are different from what they are accustomed to. You are unique. And no matter what anyone standards say, it is the present within that matters, not the packaging itself! A present can have all the bows and ribbons in the world and the shiniest, most beautiful paper, but if there is nothing inside the box, what use is it? It does not matter what a man's appearance is like if he does not have good heart. And you…You have a heart as large as Underland itself!"

Then she did something that he was not expecting. She took his hands in hers and brought them close to her face. And then she began to kiss them. Each and every scar, each and every finger. He could feel her salty teardrops seep into the cuts, bringing a new stinging sensation. But he did not care…He was mesmerized.

She looked up at him again. "Hatter, you have the most beautiful hands I have ever seen because they tell the story of a crazy, mad, wonderful man…The story of the man that I love."

Love? Did he hear her correctly? The Alice, the Champion of Underland, loved him?

"Alice? Did…did you just say that you…loved me?"

Alice looked down, a bit embarrassed. "Yes, Hatter, I did. At first, I thought of you as sort of a brother…but now…the more time that I spend with you, the more I am realizing that I love you in a completely different way…If you hadn't invited me to stay in Underland, I might not have realized it until it was too late to come back for you, but after we have been through so much, I cannot deny it." She looked back up at him, back into those sparkling emerald eyes. "I love you, Tarrant Hightopp."

The Hatter was stunned. "Impossible…" he whispered.

Alice smiled. "Only if you believe it is."

And suddenly, he had the urge to kiss her, but kissing a lady – especially and Alice – when she did not want it would be most inappropriate. "Alice?"

"Yes, Hatter?"

"M-may I try something? It's completely up to you, a-and I understand if you don't want to because who would really want to kiss a mad hatter, but maybe, if you wouldn't mind, then perhaps we could – "

"Hatter!"

"I'm fine," he said hoarsely. "Thank you." He looked rather ashamed of his outburst.

"Hatter?" She placed a hand on his cheek and turned his face so that he was looking at her, his eyes tinged slightly yellow with uncertainty. "I would like that very much."

His hands were shaking again, but this time, it was not because of the madness. He gently placed his rough, scarred hands on either side of her face and carefully drew her lips to his own. It was a quick, chaste kiss, but it said more than he could ever express in words alone. His eyes had turned a soft violet. "Ah luv yew, Alice."

And the scarred hands caressed her cheek. The hands that would eventually place a ring on her finger. The hands that would one day hold their child. The hands that would always hold Alice's heart.