Work Text:
She sees him.
In the space of a moment when the setting sun paints the summer sky the precise shade of his eyes.
In the space between dreams and wakefulness, when the cold reality has not yet slammed on her and the warmth of her dream lingers on for just a moment longer before she remembers everything.
She sees him during her solitary strolls across the expanse of the royal gardens. He is sitting atop a branch, draped in his signature onyx, the bells of his hat jingling as he cocks his head and flashes one of his irresistible grins.
The breath leaves her body. Is he back? Was this all just a terrible dream?
But of course, it isn’t him. It’s just a blackbird. It looks at her a moment before flying away.
He will never come back.
The court of Hearts never saw a jester after him. The foolhardy king had once timidly brought it up, offering to hire a jester once more. The court was so lacking in humour and joy, after all. A subtle dig at her, no doubt. However, a single glare from her ensured he never brought it up again.
The nights are more merciful. For then she can dream.
In her dream, she does not wear a crown that weighs so heavily on her head. She has no kingdom to rule, no obligations toward her sorry excuse of a king.
In her dream, she runs the bakery she always wanted. Her days are filled with flour and cream, treacles and tarts and cakes. She is full of whimsy and icing sugar, and nothing can ever go wrong.
She hears the door open, followed by the familiar jingle of bells that has become so endearing.
She turns around and smiles at him. He smiles back, amber eyes lighting up. It melts her heart each time.
In this dream, he is her future. She can still bask in his warmth, tousle his midnight locks, press her lips to his warm ones. He will tell her that her kiss tastes like strawberry and she will laugh.
She says his name softly.
“Jest.”
He grins.
“Cath!”
***********
He sees him.
A sure sign that his madness has taken over completely. Yet it is a small respite against the unbearable reality.
Sometimes, he is sitting at the performer’s chair, juggling effortlessly, producing a deck of cards out of nothing with a flourish and a wink that sends Hatta’s heart racing.
Sometimes he’s examining his hats, complimenting them, trying them on. Sometimes he’s just sitting silently and sipping tea. He looks at him and smiles his sunshine smile, and Hatta nearly gasps.
He’s back, he’s back.
But the next moment he vanishes. The chairs are empty, the teacups discarded.
Of course. He is gone forever.
Hatta never went back to Chess. The White Queen wouldn’t want someone who has lost his sanity working for her, anyway. He stays in Hearts, the accursed land that took him away.
The Queen of Hearts visits sometimes. She usually says nothing, and he doesn’t deign to converse either. She is so very different from the girl who had stolen his heart. She is feared across the kingdom now, and Hatta wonders if he would be better off in Chess.
But she lets him stay, never calls for his head like she has done to so many others for the most insignificant offences. She lets him ignore her, and he tolerates her company.
He hates her, viciously. He is gone because of her. She was nothing but a spoiled brat of the nobility, without a clue of what the world around her is like. Now she is cold and cruel has the whole kingdom wrapped around her little finger.
Just like she’d had him.
Hatta feels the bitterness in his heart more acutely in her presence. If only they had never met her. He would have still been here, and maybe, eventually, he may have begun to see him the same way.
Sleep does not come easy. Sometimes he sleeps for nearly a whole day, other times he just dozes off for a short while in his chair in the cold and lonely tearoom that was once home to so much mirth and music.
But sleep is always merciful. For then he can dream.
In his dream, the tearoom is full of life. Haigha is pouring out tea, the lion sings and the turtle applauds, the old lady passes an offhand comment, the dormouse sleeps soundly.
In his dream, he is there. He is full of life and laughter, showing tricks and making jokes. Hatta is free to gaze at him as long as he likes. He has his back turned to him now, prepared to show a new trick at the tea party—
The dream ends abruptly. Hatta wakes with a start.
For a moment, he can still see him, though he is looking away. Hatta nearly chokes at the sight.
“Jest?” he calls out.
Hatta blinks, and he is gone. There is no answer.