Nothing Left To Win

There was something very inevitable about it all.

Of course he’d fail to save Alice. Of course he’d be caught. And of course it would come down to this. He could hardly have thought otherwise. He knew March, knew that there were exactly three consistencies in his behavior: his perfect retrieval record, his sadistic methods, and his obsession with one David Hatter.

What it came down to now, he supposed, was keeping Alice as well out of it as he could. There would be no shielding her completely, not now. The way he’d come charging in with a great bloody sword of all things had been a pretty big clue to how important she was to him, and March would use that. But if he could just keep the assassin’s attention on him, maybe she’d be okay. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt her.

Not that he supposed it matter, in the long run. The Queen would have all their heads for this in the end. But it was a long Scarab ride from the city to the Casino, about as long as a three-course tea party, and for that amount of time, he could protect her. He would protect her.

Not that any of this stopped his insides from doing a fair impression of the gyre and gimble when March grabbed them both roughly by the forearms and moved off into what turned out to be a smallish boiler room.

“Where are you taking them?” Jack demanded. Hatter caught sight of him struggling against the Suits before March all but threw him on top of Alice, unsettling his hat and nearly sending him headfirst into a wall of exposed piping as he did so. “What are you doing? Alice!”

The door closed just as Hatter managed to roll off Alice. He wanted to warn her, just a quick plea to let him handle it and not to draw attention to herself: but then March would hear, and he wouldn’t be able to pull this off. He really needed to be able to pull this off. Just once today, he needed things to work for him instead of against.

March turned to face them, the angle of his head the only sign of what he was looking at. “Funny Hatter. I wouldn’t have thought she was your type.”

He could feel Alice bristling behind him, so he answered quickly “I think we’ve already established that you wouldn’t know my type if it bit you on the prick, March.”

With no facial tics to give him away, it was hard to tell exactly what he was thinking, but from the way his shoulder’s tensed, Hatter thought he might possibly be getting through. If nothing else, March was angry at him now.

“That’s not the way I remember it,” he growled.

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed,” Hatter replied. “But your noggin seems to have undergone some scrambling of late.”

March tilted his head at him, and turned abruptly to Alice with a mechanical whine. “Let me guess: he hasn’t mentioned our relationship at all?”

“Relationship is such an inaccurate word,” Hatter shot back, before Alice could say anything. He had to keep March’s focus. “You were blackmailing me. Get over it.”

March laughed: it was normally a terrifying sound, and the fact that it was now filtered through a speakerbox made it even more unsettling. “It’s cute how you’re still deluding yourself that you didn’t enjoy it.”

“It’s absolutely hilarious how you’re still deluding yourself that I could enjoy anything to do with you.”

In one swift, fluid motion, March grabbed him by the shoulder and slammed him against the wall. All the breath left his lungs in a great whoosh, and then there was a leg pressing between his own and cold ceramic nuzzling his neck. He had time for one clear coherent thought It’s happening again before instinct took over and he began to fight, pulling at the handcuffs and twisting beneath the assassin, trying his very best to get free. Then, suddenly, he was free. March was on the floor and Alice was there, somehow on her feet and kicking despite the cuffs, looking absolutely livid.

Then March sprung to his feet and pinned her by the throat to the wall. Alice made a choking sound, eyes bulging and feet kicking uselessly as he squeezed the life out of her.

“Stop!” Hatter yelled, trying to put himself between Alice and March. “Don’t, please.”

March continued to squeeze; much more, and he would crush her windpipe.

“You’re right,” he said in desperation. “You’re right, I did enjoy it, just-”

March let her go, and she slid to the floor, blue-lipped and gasping.

“Whatever you want,” Hatter continued. “Just leave her alone.”
Just once, just once, he needed something to go his way.

March tilted his head again, somehow managing to convey the sentiment of a smirk. He put a hand on Hatter’s shoulder and pressed down until he got down on his knees.

Alice croaked a sound that was trying to be his name.

“I’m fine,” he said, reaching for assurances that wouldn’t set March off. “It’s okay. Really.”

March chuckled, and ran a hand through his hair. Rather than twisting away, or snapping at it, Hatter grit his teeth and let him.

Stall, he told himself. Stretch it out as long as you can. As long as his focus is on you he can’t hurt Alice.

“You’re always so much more cooperative when there’s a hostage or two around,” March remarked conversationally. His handcuffs clinked at the strain of keeping docile, and he couldn’t stop himself from looking up at the assassin, murder in his stare. “Though, even then you’re a lot of work. All that struggle, even when you know I’ve already won.”

“That’s what you think.” He won. Hatter won every time March was too busy bending him over his desk to notice who he was hiding, or who was getting away. “Notice how I’m not the one with a cookie jar for a head.”

March fisted his hand in Hatter’s hair and jerked his head back. Strangely, the wordless sound of protest didn’t come out of his mouth, but Alice’s. Hatter tried to compel her to stay off the grid without actually acknowledging her; thankfully, March simply ignored her in favor of undoing the fly on his trousers.

“Open up,” he ordered.

“No,” Alice said suddenly, voice still hoarse. “Hatter, you can’t. Not for-”

March jerked on his hair again, harder this time, and Hatter yelped. When he was finished with that, he found that March was cupping his jaw.

“I don’t think you get it, Alice,” March growled. “I decide what Hatter does. Not you. Me.”

Well, he thought, somewhat hysterically as March forced his jaw open wide. I win again. Then there was a prick in his mouth, and it took all of his self control not to bite down as March moved his hand back up to his hair.

If there was one thing to be said about this, it was that he wasn’t actually required to do much. He didn’t need to act like he was enjoying himself, this time, and it wasn’t like could have said anything in this position. There was also the fact that March couldn’t do any fondling in this position, which made it a lot easier to just let himself go. But as for the rest… it wasn’t long before his jaw began to ache and the lack of air began to burn in his lungs. His gut twisted and rolled as March forced himself past the gag reflex, and his eyes watered. In spite of his earlier instructions to draw things out, he swallowed continuously and worked March’s cock with his tongue. He really didn’t want to dying choking on March’s cock, and as forcefully as he was breathing through his nose he couldn’t seem to get enough air.

After what seemed like half of forever, the hand in his hair tightened and he came. Hatter kept swallowing, the better not to choke to death, though he still hacked up a lung when March pulled out.

He should check on Alice, who was still crumpled on the floor not two feet away from him. But she would be either disgusted or traumatized by what she just saw, and he couldn’t deal with that right now. He looked at March instead, comforted by the familiar rage and hatred he inspired, even if it was all but useless now.

March finished redoing his trousers, and crouched down so that they were at about the same level. “Maybe the Queen’ll let me keep your head,” he said, reaching out a hand to swipe at Hatter’s bottom lips. Hatter drew back, snarling. “Maybe she’ll let me be the one to cut it off. Or I could ask her to let me keep you. The Head Bitch owes me for the whole cookie jar thing, don’t you think?”

“I think the first time you’d slip up, I’d punch your face in, cookie jar or no,” Hatter growled.

“Work, work, work,” March sighed, and then turned to Alice. “Your father bought me back with a few extras. Maybe he can give Hatter a sense of humility for next time around.”

“Not bloody likely,” Hatter snapped. March gave him a condescending pat to the head he couldn’t quite dodge and then, to his very great shock, stood and left them alone in the room.
He hadn’t even bought the whole “enjoyment” issue up again.

Maybe his acquiescence earlier was enough. Or maybe something had finally gone his way.

“Hatter?” Alice asked softly.

“It’s why Dodo doesn’t trust me,” he blurted out. His face burned, but he continued. “Dormie walked in once- he had no way of knowing. It’s not like I could tell anyone. So, he reported it, and as far as anyone in the Resistance knows, we were a couple, and March being killed gave me a very good reason for hating them all. Or I’m just a heartless bastard. So, there you go, then.”

He chanced a peek to see how she was, which quickly became a good long look. There were tears streaming down her face: he was pretty sure why, but he had to be sure, so he asked “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Alice repeated incredulously. The tears were for him, then. That was fine. If he were completely honest with himself, he was kind of glad there was someone who cared enough about him to cry over it.

Shame they were both going to be dead soon.

“Well, yeah, are you okay?” he replied. “I’m perfectly fine!”The semi-hysterical laughter with which he ended that sentence called him a liar, and Alice stared at him, lost and helpless. If it weren’t for the cuffs, she’d be flailing.

“But really, I’m okay,” he said, once he’d gotten himself back under control. “He’s done worse. He could have done much worse.”

The door swung open again, and two Suits walked in. The words I’ll be fine died in his throat, and what came out instead was “I don’t suppose one of you could put my hat back on? I don’t want to be underdressed for when I meet the Queen.”
One of the Suits actually did get his hat and perched it on his head, then the pair of them were marched to the loading ramp. Jack was there, looking faintly ill, and then much more ill as his eyes flicked in Hatter’s direction.

Oh. So March had gone and bragged then, had he? Hatter braced himself for whatever was going to come out of Jack’s mouth, but the prince seemed to feel no need to say anything on the matter, and it wasn’t like he was going to bring it up. Alice, though, misinterpreted his sudden unease and positioned herself between him and March.

Then the Suits at their backs pressed them forwards, and they walked into the Casino, the executioner’s axe gleaming a welcome at them from its place on the roof.