It was a few hours after night befell that Cheshire had gone back to Rocket.

The campfire was but ashes swallowed in the dark with few dying embers fighting to stay lit. The sky cleared of its concealing clouds revealing the grin of a moon pasted above. It highlighted the mist, turning it silver but no less ominous.

The raccoon had curled himself to a ball between the roots of a dead tree while hugging his bazooka. He didn’t look too happy with his brows furrowed to the center of his face and every once in a while, he muttered vague curses. He was sleeping or at least that was what he was trying to do but was failing miserably.

He opened his eyes when he attempted to change positions and caught the floating cat staring at him emptily.

“S-smug-face?” Rocket rubbed his eyes and squinted to Cheshire, “So you’re finally back after telling me we’d move out at night.”

Cheshire was deep inside his thoughts, analyzing the features in Rocket he undeniably found cute when he realized that he was spacing out too long. Shaking himself awake, he fanned his hands open to the environment. “Look around,” he said, “The night is still young and I told you, we’d move out when I return.”

“Whatever.” Rocket waved him off and stretched his limbs before strapping his bazooka on his back. “I assumed you would be back when the moon came out. You could have at least told me you’d be later.”

“I made myself clear,” Cheshire folded his hands, “We’d move out when I return.”

“How about drop some details next time,” Rocket copied Cheshire’s gesture to mock him, “Not just vanish and leave me with some questions. That—was totally not making yourself clear.”

Cheshire paused before he could say a word. He was still in pain from the Mad Hatter’s modifications earlier and he tried his best not to show it. He heaved in a deep breath and swallowed the pain away. “Let’s… head out,” Cheshire flexed his back and floated ahead.

Rocket walked behind the hovering cat when he noticed that there were blood-splashes dried on Cheshire’s clothing. Wherever that cat went to earlier, Rocket thought, probably didn’t end up very smoothly.

Their journey was walked in silence… by Rocket at least. Unlike Cheshire, Rocket had to jump over arching branches and sometimes trip his foot on ones hidden under the fog. While the cat simply floated over every obstacle.

It wasn’t fair that the feline got to fly while he got to count the number of times he fell and not to mention the strain on his legs was starting to manifest.

“How much longer do I have to walk?” Rocket asked. Everywhere he seemed to look at was the same painting—an endless sight of silhouettes ahead. It was though as they walked a loop without even knowing it.

“Patience,” Cheshire purred. He kept his eyes fixed on the way and maintained his pace in the air.

“Easy for you to say,” Rocket jumped over a root, “You’re just flying.”

“I have the ability so I’m using it,” Cheshire replied monotonously, “If you could, you would as well.”

“No shit,” Rocket agreed, “If only I had my jetpack.”

“Very well then,” Cheshire patted his hands as if they were ridden with dirt.

He landed just in front of Rocket and bent down, palms open behind him.

“What are you doing?” Rocket asked not because he didn’t know (It was an obvious gesture) but because he felt uncomfortable.

“I’m easing your complaint of having strained legs,” Cheshire looked over his shoulder. Rocket opened his mouth to speak but Cheshire interjected before he could say anything. “Seize the opportunity, you won’t have it again.”

Thereafter, Rocket shut up and walked towards Cheshire. He stepped one foot forward and bent down, placing his hands on Cheshire’s shoulders. Cheshire locked his hands behind Rocket’s legs and waited for the raccoon to relax on his back.

Rocket took it slow, breathing nervously as if he was about to pilot alien technology for the first time but after a while, he finally leaned against the feline’s back. Cheshire shuddered the moment Rocket leaned in but he bit his tongue and swallowed the pain.

“Don’t be overdramatic,” Rocket spat, “I’m not that heavy.”

Cheshire looked over to Rocket. “Forgive me,” he chuckled, “I was just surprised having it touch my back.”

Rocket smacked him on the head once, “Don’t start with me.” And then he was surprised that he was able to land a blow on Cheshire for the first time. “Hey, I actually hit you.”

“So you did,” Cheshire stood up and then jumped to the air.

“You better hold your tongue starting now,” Rocket warned in a chortle, “Or there’ll be plenty of where that came from.”

“I’ll try my best,” Cheshire wriggled his lower back, “But I’m kind of enjoying feeling it.” And another smack landed on his head. Cheshire kept on, “I just felt it move against me. You like it.”

“For your information, I do not,” Rocket hit the cat for the third time. “Keep on. I actually enjoy hitting you.”

“It’s just the frustration of not getting to hit me earlier getting satisfied,” Cheshire said.

***

The mist never looked so oceanic before, Rocket thought. Since he rode Cheshire, getting an above head perspective of the ground he walked made him realize how thick the fog was. And it literally looked like it had an unreachable depth—like he could drown from it, never reaching the surface again. And then there were the trees which looked trimmed, dwarfed.

It’s not just the perspective Rocket was bedazzled by. It was also their pace—their movement. They had certain grace midair—elegance like vapor dancing with the wind and it felt soothing. Rocket’s never felt this serene before and it was made possible thanks to the peculiar feline he rode.

They glided on the way until Rocket could make out something else in the distance. They stopped by the rim of the forest as Rocket stared into a vast gorge. The edge of the forest was a cliff where the mist dropped like an elegant waterfalls to hundreds of feet in darkness. Down in the ravine, at the very middle was the figure of a castle.

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“That is where your ship was taken,” Cheshire said, “The most dangerous place in Wonderland… except at night.” Rocket was so dumbfounded he hasn’t noticed Cheshire land on the ground. “Do you mind?” Cheshire asked.

Rocket snapped out, “H-how’re we gonna get there?”

“Same as how we got here,” Cheshire evaporated, dropping Rocket on the ground.

“Hey, what gives?” Rocket stood up and patted dirt off his suit. “I thought you were going to carry me down the cliff.”

“I am,” Cheshire walked in front of Rocket. This time, instead of bending down, Cheshire wrapped his hands around Rocket’s waist, pulling their lower bodies to touch against each other.

“What the hell are you doing?” Rocket squirmed but only managed to distance his head away from the feline.

“If you don’t want to fall, you better hold on to me,” Cheshire stretched his smile further. Without waiting for Rocket to hold on to him, he jumped in the air and dove towards the cliff head first, pulling Rocket with him.

Rocket yelled as they were falling normal speed towards hundreds of feet in darkness and out of impulse, he embraced Cheshire a little too tightly than expected. The moment his hands locked around Cheshire’s body, they glided down like leaf falling with the wind.

Rocket opened his eyes and realized their descent was a gentle flow. Luminescent turquoise dots paired with that perpetual smile met his face. “I established just now that I want to kill you,” Rocket whispered.

“Do that and you fall,” Cheshire laughed. He angled them horizontally so that Rocket was sitting on top of him, reducing the chances he’d fall out of a poor grip. His hands, which were around Rocket’s waist relaxed behind his head as he glided on the air like lying on a hammock.

When they reached the ground, Rocket was eager to get off, squirming his way out of the Cheshire cat.

“Do you not wish to ride the rest of the way?” Cheshire asked.

Rocket pretended to have fixed the straps of his suit and patted away imaginary dirt just to look away at his companion. “I’m all rested,” he muttered, “I’ll walk.”

“Just tell me if you feel tir—”

“I said I’m fine,” Rocket interjected, “Are you deaf or plain stupid? Don’t underestimate me. I’m not weak.”

Cheshire clicked his tongue and sighed, “Says the one who complained previously.”

“I covered quite a distance, okay?” Rocket snarled, “Now lead the way. I’ve stayed here long enough.”

They started out at the bottom of the highland and slowly made their way through the glen. There were an abundant number of boulders atop plateaus that seemed unstable, that seemed like the slightest push of the wind could send it falling. Then there were stone arches connecting from one end of a high wall to another. Rocket remained cautious the first steps along the way since he didn’t trust the boulders that could anytime fall.

The floating feline landed on the ground, making Rocket halt to ask if there was any danger.

The cat simply used his legs and began walking as well. “Just to empathize and ease that incessant rambling going on in your head.”

“I wasn’t rambling!” Rocket denied. He tapped his finger on his bazooka and after a while asked, “Could you read minds too?”

“I could read actions,” Cheshire replied monotonously.

Rocket spat, bested again.

There was something odd about Cheshire, Rocket began to notice when the feline had made contact on the ground. There was too much effort on the steps he takes like there was difficulty in walking. And every once in a while, Rocket would notice him shudder and limp a few steps before getting ahold of his balance once again.

“All the years of floating seemed to have made you forget how to use your legs, huh?” Rocket remarked and kicked a pebble along the way. The pebble landed on an area where Cheshire was supposed to step and when the feline landed his foot on the bulky structure, he stumbled immediately.

Rocket snorted and then broke out into laughter. “What… the hell was… that?” Rocket said between his breaths. “You know, I prefer flying over walking too but it never dulled my senses in walking.”

Cheshire panted and pushed himself up but using his back made him falter and once again meet the ground.

“Just go back to the air,” Rocket wiped a tear from laughing and then walked over to Cheshire. Offering a hand, he said, “Let me help you.”

Although reluctant, Cheshire reached for Rocket’s hand but it distanced as his hand neared.

“Come on, let me help you,” Rocket was grinning widely.

Cheshire reached, Rocket distanced until eventually the cat had enough of Rocket’s plays.

He evaporated and then materialized standing in front of Rocket. He pushed his tongue out and squinted his eyes as to mock Rocket and limped ahead to lead the way.

“You’re really not going to fly?” Rocket yelled to the distancing cat and there came no response. He caught up with Cheshire and intercepted him on the front.

The cat looked at him curiously and knew he was up to no good having seen the smile from earlier lingering on his face.

“What you’re doing, it’s empathizing, you said that,” Rocket began, “If you really wanna empathize,” he reached for his bazooka and offered it to Cheshire, “Carry this. You said you’d never held big guns before, right? Here’s your chance.”

If Cheshire could frown, the corner of his mouths would be dropping as low as they could reach. He examined Rocket’s bazooka with his eyes before running his hands against the fine metal. One hand, he placed under the gun’s diaphragm and the other on the trigger.

Rocket adjusted so the base of his weapon would be pushing against Cheshire’s shoulder. “That’s the proper way to hold it,” Rocket said, “In the count of three, I will be letting go…” he chortled. “One…” Rocket began to laugh, “Two…” he placed a hand on his mouth, “Three.”

When Rocket let go, Cheshire felt the weight of the gun pull him down. He could have been able to carry it if he didn’t rely on the smallest muscle on his back which still ached from the Hatter’s surgical operation. His fur bristled and his back cramped. One second he held the gun, the other he was belly-flopped on it.

He felt his back throb in indescribable pain but all was hidden by the visage of his perpetual smile. A tear had escaped Cheshire’s eye as a nervous response from the wounds on his back and some muscles that landed against the edges of the bazooka. He pushed the weapon out from under him so that he would be lying flat on the ground.

Rocket laughed louder than before, louder than ever as he found it funny.

Cheshire miscalculated. He underestimated the weight of the weapon since he saw Rocket carry it with one hand.

“Now you held a big gun,” Rocket bent down, “How does it feel?”

Cheshire managed to let out a chuckle, just to refine the visage he eternally held. “I guess it’s too much I could handle.”

“You always have a better response,” Rocket snorted, “Even when you’re lying on the ground you’re still smiling.”

“What can I say?” Cheshire tried getting up, “Big guns hurt at first,” he fell down. Once again he evaporated and reformed standing. “Shall we get a move on?”

It wasn’t that funny anymore, Rocket thought. Well it was but not that much. He realized that the way the cat moved wasn’t just because he forgot how to walk. There’s something Cheshire wasn’t telling him.

“Smug-face,” Rocket caught up. Up close, he noticed that Cheshire trembled every time he took in a breath and trembled when he let it out. “I don’t really care if you float. Either way, I won’t run out of things to say in my head.”

When Cheshire realized that what Rocket said was of no relevance, he simply walked ahead.

Rocket intercepted him, putting a hand on the cat’s shoulder. They look at each other before Rocket dropped his bazooka and copied an earlier gesture of the feline back in the forest. He bent down, offering his back for a ride.

“Don’t misunderstand,” Rocket said and smiled, “I simply want to empathize,” he chuckled and imitated Cheshire’s voice with the posh accent, “To ease the incessant rambling going on in your head.”

Cheshire was hesitant but he took the offer eventually. He bent down and pressed his body against Rocket’s back as he crossed his arms on Rocket’s chest, resting his head on Rocket’s shoulder.

“You weigh like you’re nothing at all,” Rocket commented. He carried his bazooka with one hand and with the other he kept behind Cheshire’s leg. “Lead the way.”