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They’ve been traveling for nearly three weeks in Wonderland, and Will is pretty sure that at this pace they ought to have crossed it in its entirety at least twice over. Not that he’s said as much to Alice, at least not recently. His complaining about the miles was nipped neatly in the bud about a week ago when she’d threatened to make him the Handmaiden of Hearts instead of the Knave if he didn’t shut up. Will’s no fool, he’s seen Alice with a sword, so he shuts up.
It’s not such a hardship really either, his complaints and snipes are more habit than anything. He’s used his sarcasm and biting comments to entertain himself, to distance himself, to protect himself, and considering how much he’s needed to do all three in his relatively short lifetime it’s no surprise that it is practically second nature.
Traveling with Alice has been different though. Talking with her as they walk is entertainment enough and though he still needs protection more often than not, it’s not of the kind sharp words can provide. Strangest of all he doesn’t want to distance himself, which is probably something he should examine but thus far he’s chosen to avoid the introspection. And so, somehow, the more cynical side of him has slowly started to fade as they have walked through swamps and forests, meadows and mazes.
They still bicker, nearly constantly some days, but the edge is gone, replaced by a fondness for the way her eyes go electric when he gets a good dig in, for the way being riled puts a flush on her cheeks and steel in her spine. Truthfully he’s just fond of her, god help him.
Of course all of this is made moot by the fact that they are searching out the love of her bloody life, and Will is pretty sure he doesn’t even begrudge her the happiness she is so sure is waiting at the end of this seemingly endless journey. The way she goes soft when she talks about Cyrus, it somehow gives him hope even with the ache in his heart that feels a little like jealousy.
He’s not deluded himself into thinking the jealousy is just about this one girl, he isn’t so far gone as all that, even if he has had a chance to appreciate some of her finer qualities marching behind her day in and day out. It’s more a feeling of wishing he could believe as much as she does in the power of love again. He’s turning into a sap these days, it’s ridiculous honestly. Still, there are times when they bunk down at night in as safe a space as they can find that he wonders if maybe really what he wants to believe in is the power of her.
They’ve stopped for the night even though it’s early, but they’ve reached a small copse of woods and it seems likely to be the best shelter they’ll find before full dark. The ground beneath the trees is covered in pine needles, which aren’t quite as uncomfortable as hard packed earth but have a habit of poking through the cloth of his sweater whenever he shifts. He consoles himself with the fact that it’s better than the weeping willow they’d slept under the night before, the damn thing hadn’t stopped sobbing the whole time and a particularly loud crying jag in the middle of the night means that at this point Will is pretty much ready to sleep through anything.
“You want to go get firewood or shall I?” Alice asks nearly as soon as he’s found a comfortable place to lie. What she really means is ‘Go and get some firewood Will’ and they both know it.
“How about you use one of those wishes to get us some wood and then neither of us will have to move,” he responds. She sends him a withering look for that but he’s already pulling himself back up to his feet so the force of it dies out quickly.
“Alright love,” he says, “No need to glare. I’m going.” He raises his hands in mock surrender, mouth quirking up into a half smile at the expression on her face – like he’s made this entirely too easy and she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He rather enjoys keeping her on her toes, so this time he decides there will be no strings attached to the offer and ambles off peaceably under the trees in search of suitable dead wood to burn. That was another mistake they’d made a week or so after they started this adventure. It’s all well and good to chop at a tree for sword practice if you’re moving on, but if you plan on sticking around a place long enough to rest you better make damn sure the wood you’re hacking or burning isn’t going to try to hack or burn you back. Now they stick to wood already dead and fallen when making their campfires for the night.
When he gets back to camp an hour or so later – time is strange sometimes in Wonderland, and the pocket watch he’d brought with him from Storybrook stopped working about the time he landed in the Marshmallow Swamp – he’s got an armload of sticks and a splinter deep enough in his thumb to make him cranky. The time under the trees has lent itself to that introspection he was trying so hard to avoid, and the pain in his thumb just puts an edge on his frustration that tips it into a dangerous mood. It’s made worse when Alice doesn’t even thank him, hardly seems to notice his arrival, as she continues on through what has become her nightly routine of sparring with ghosts.
Not literal ghosts, one has to specify that sort of thing in fairy tale lands, but her opponents are just as invisible for not being real. She feints and thrusts, slashes and ducks, in an intricate dance around the fire pit she’s built while he’s been gone. It’s quite a sight actually, though the novelty has worn off after seeing it night after night.
Now, with the pain in his thumb and the lack of any appreciation stinging even more than that, he finds himself rather annoyed with the whole thing. He shuffles over to the ring of stones she’s set to drop his armful nearby and when she twists past him without even looking his way he sticks out a foot to trip her. It’s petty and probably stupid considering she’s the one holding a sword, but he just can’t seem to care all that much in the moment.
Even more annoyingly he misses, or more accurately she avoids. She jumps right over his foot completely, lands nimbly on the other side without even a stumble, but then stops anyway to turn on him, sword pointed and fire snapping in her eyes.
“Why did you do that Knave?” she demands imperiously. She only ever calls him that when she’s angry, but he’s feeling like fighting himself so it doesn’t matter much.
“Anyone ever tell you you’d make a good stand in for the bloody Queen with that attitude of yours?” he says, avoiding her question completely and glaring at her while sucking at the wound on his thumb.
“If my attitude is that distressing to you, you can leave at any time!” she snaps back. It’s been her standard refrain as they travel, said with varying degrees of frustration every time his complaining or doubts are voiced too loud or too long. The worst part, the very worst part, is that she always sounds sincere.
“Believe me I know,” he returns, stepping closer so that he can return her glare in kind, “You’ve made it abundantly clear how very little you need me around here, except of course when there’s firewood needs carrying.”
“Well then why are you still here?” she asks, throwing her sword to the ground angrily and facing him with hands on hips. “If I’ve made it so clear that I don’t need you?”
He doesn’t know when this turned into a fight, but it is one now and he’ll be damned if he’ll back down first even if he’s pretty sure he’s the one who started it. He’s angry, can’t even really say why except that he’s tired of being so unnecessary to her when she’s started to feel so necessary to him. He means to say something disparaging and petty again but what comes out is simply the truth.
“Maybe I need you!”
The clearing goes quiet as if even the trees have stopped to listen and she’s staring at him with her mouth hanging open in surprise. He can’t meet her eyes, digs fingers into the splinter in his thumb and focuses on the sharp pain of it instead.
“You don’t,” she says after a minute but it sounds more question then statement, and hell with it, in for a penny in for a pound.
“I bloody well do,” he argues, “You’re infuriating and stubborn and reckless, and I’m pretty sure you’re going to get us both killed one of these days. You drive me crazy, but damn it Alice you’re also brave and good in a way I haven’t ever been and yet you make me want to try. No one’s made me want to be a better man my whole life until you, love, so don’t say I don’t need you. Because it’s just not true.”
There’s a tittering sound that drifts in the air around them and Will is pretty sure the trees are laughing at him. Which is just bloody brilliant, really, now not only is he stuck in Wonderland but it’s only a matter of time before word spreads throughout the whole bloody land that the Knave of Hearts is gone over a girl. He turns away to glare at them, trees are such unabashed gossips, and regrets not taking a few of their limbs down on his firewood hunt earlier.
He might as well have swallowed a mouthful of the Caterpillar’s mushroom for as small as he feels and he hopes Alice at least sends him away quick and with as little humiliation as possible. She’s deadly quiet though, which isn’t boding well.
When he dares a glance her way again she’s looking down at that necklace of hers, the one she’s told him is tied to Cyrus’s heart. It’s not glowing at the moment but he doesn’t take it as a sign, there doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to when it glows at least as far as he’s been able to work out. It means something to her though, he can tell in the way she runs her fingers over it slow before looking up again and meeting his eyes. She looks fierce, eyes snapping with that same fire they carry when she fights, and even though he’s pretty sure she’s about to hit him he can’t help but thinks she looks beautiful.
She doesn’t hit him, instead says quietly, “I need you too.”
That is pretty much the last thing he ever expected to hear, but despite the little bloom of hope in his chest he can’t help but poke at it.
“Do you?” he asks.
“Of course I do!” she shouts, heat back in her voice. “You think I can manage this on my own? I don’t even know which direction we ought to be walking most mornings, and everything in this whole bloody world wants to kill me! I’d be dead ten times over without you at my back, much as I hate to admit it. Without you I wouldn’t have even started this, wouldn’t know that Cyrus is out there alive somewhere. This time it's you that's given me my heart back Will, of course I need you.”
It’s not everything. He knows she still loves Cyrus, knows the heart he’s apparently given her back belongs to someone else and he’s likely going to die getting her a happy ever after that doesn’t even include him. But it’s more than he ever expected, and he finds it is enough to be needed by her, even if only a little.
“Besides,” she adds, lips twisting into a half smile when it’s clear she’s won him over, “Someone has to carry the firewood.”
He laughs at that, the last of his hurt melting away under her coy gaze. He’s already followed her to the ends of the earth, he might as well continue. It’s not like there’s anywhere else he’d rather be. Not anymore.