Archive of Our Own

Seventy-five years.

Seventy-five wonderful, exciting, passionate years… and what he wouldn't give for just one more.

Even in her old age she still had that fire—that spirit—that had drawn him in when she'd first come traipsing about Wonderland. He could still see it in his mind's eye when she'd stood before him in his old office; soaked from head to toe as her fitted blue dress clung to her like a second skin.

"This place… where am I?"

"Oh, Wonderland."

Thinking about the disbelief she'd had still caused him to smile—though it was tinged bittersweet nowadays. He'd been told that any of his memories were likely to feel sorrowful while everything was so fresh, but that they would get better with time. Of course, he wasn't exactly on the best of terms with Time since the stubborn git hadn't been able to spare more for her. It was a cruel reminder he received every time the "well-wishers" tried to comfort him. It was taking more and more effort not to snap at each of them.

"Although that was over 150 years ago, so it can't be the same girl. Oysters don't even live that long."

But that was the rub, wasn't it? To fall for the Oyster who'd fallen in his lap and damn the consequences. They were so blissfully in love, so quickly, that he hadn't considered the differences between the people of her world and his until twenty years had passed and the physical ones were made plain. She'd started to gain lines around her eyes from all the laughing and smiling they'd filled their lives with, overnight it seemed. Whereas he still appeared to be a man in his prime, and not a day over thirty according to the easily swindled carny at the age-guessing game. They'd ignored it all, of course. Laughed it off as good genetics on his part, but privately, a seed of worry had been planted in him.

"What'll happen to me…if I get stuck here?"

"Then I'll take care of you…"

After their grandchildren came around and she was well into her sixties, people began to look down on his precious Oyster when they were out together. Her hair was just as stubborn as the rest of her, holding onto bold strips of color among the gray, and while she was nimble and energetic for her age, he moved with the spry bones of natural youth. After one particularly embarrassing encounter where a snobby woman had loudly remarked how disgusting it was for the two of them to be together while they were celebrating their fortieth anniversary, she'd broken her stubborn denial and cried when they left over how it bothered her. He'd never wanted to punch a woman in the face so badly in his life until then.

"Who are you?"

"A friend…I hope."

In an attempt to lighten society's burden on her, he began dyeing his hair. She'd been angry at him upon the reveal. Claimed he looked ridiculous with gray hair and a baby face. Then a teen couple had approached them during their afternoon walk. Said they hoped to still be so in love at their age. She'd stopped complaining after that. Mostly. It wasn't a perfect solution, but he'd finally gained those laugh lines he adored on her face just around his eyes. So there was that at least.

Not too long after their first great-grandchild had been born, however, she began to slow down. No amount of cosmetic trickery could fool others into thinking that they were similarly aged anymore and, at her insistence... he stopped with it altogether. It wasn't until her final days that he'd developed a noticeable amount of his own natural gray hairs.

She'd simply played with a cluster, smiled, and softly called him a slacker.

"Da'?"

He jerked out of his thoughts and wiped the tears from his face before looking up at his eldest child. The sun was far lower on the horizon than he remembered it being, and the burning in his knees and calves confirmed that he'd been sitting and staring for quite some time.

Their children appeared to be cursed with his genetics. The oldest was nearing sixty-seven, but neither of them looked much older than thirty. It was a heavy weight on his heart to know that they were likely to suffer this fate as well.

"Do you need some more time with Mum?" his son inquired, and he shook his head before slowly pulling himself upright. His knees protested the action, but his son was kind enough not to comment on it and just offered him assistance.

"Nah. Best if we push off really," he stated with a false lightheartedness that had become a second skin these past two weeks. "No need to hold everythin' up on my account, yeah?" His son saw through it, but knew better than to press and simply nodded before walking down the hill toward their cars.

David Hatter watched his son go before giving one more look at the stone that marked his wife's resting place.

"You have no idea how much I missed you…"

He placed a hand on the marker, lightly caressing it as if she could feel his touch. "You always were one to rush on ahead of me, love. Try not to get so far that I can't come find you again, though, yeah?"

Smiling wistfully at the engraving, Hatter turned to walk down the hill and meet his family before his emotions could take over once more. She'd probably hit him when they did meet up in the next great adventure for what he'd put on the marker. Or kiss him. One of the two.

Probably both.