Hey! I'm back with another chapter, and it's a good one! :) Also, thank you for the reviews so far, guys. Reviews make me feel excited to write more!

The Onceler considered staking out the banquet hall where the mysterious red-haired girl always left his meals, so that she would have to come into his line of sight if she wanted to leave them on the table. However, he eventually decided against this. He was worried that she would detect him and simply find somewhere else to leave the food, like in his bedroom or out in the hallway. He also didn't want to seem too intrusive when she wasn't doing anything to harm him (although the idea of being intrusive in his own manor was admittedly a little odd.) Instead, he decided on a less overbearing approach and wrote a note, crept downstairs, and left it in front of his chair in the banquet hall. After several crumpled-up revisions, the final draft read;

Dear Miss,

I hope you're not dismayed that I am writing you a note when you clearly wish to keep yourself secret. I understand that you might be angry with me because of what has happened with the company, but I wanted to thank you for everything you're doing for Pipsqueak and I regardless. We greatly appreciate your cooking skills.

If you don't want to come out, perhaps you could write me back and tell me why you're here? I am mainly concerned that I don't have any money to compensate you for your services. However, I know that you are the girl with the copper hair from the first day, and my offer still stands: anything you might want from this manor is yours.

If you have any other concerns, please let me know and I will try to help. Thank you again for the delicious food.

Respectfully,

O. Onceler

He had gone out of his way to be polite, and he hoped that he hadn't gone overboard. He wanted her to write back, even though he was nervous about what she might say. Although the fact that she was voluntarily cooking him food meant that she did not want him dead, he know that it did not necessarily indicate any amiable feelings beyond that. His mistakes had ruined her livelihood- which, come to think of it, he didn't know that much about either. He was sure that he had never seen her before that day on the stairway. He would have remembered her luminous copper hair. Perhaps she had worked in the background of Onceler Fields, in the kitchens or in the processing/shipping center, but he knew that they had not hired any new people for at least eight months. He found it somewhat odd that she had managed to be completely unobtrusive for such a long period of time. Why? Perhaps she would explain it to him….

He snapped to alertness at the faint sound of the bell, and lifted Pipsqueak off the sheets of his bed as the little bear opened his wide brown eyes in excitement. He climbed up the Onceler's arm and flopped onto his shoulder, causing the man to huff slightly in amusement. Pipsqueak had never learned that although he was the perfect size for a cuddle-pet, he was a bit too large to be an ideal shoulder pet. However, the Onceler was focused on other things, so he humored his bear as he thumped down the stairs and hurried into the banquet hall, his thoughts buzzing with anticipation. The afternoon's meal consisted of minestrone soup, strawberries, and a tall glass of milk. There was a piece of white sheet paper on the table as well, with a strawberry bloom on top of it to hold it down. He unfolded the paper and let his eyes rove over the small, loopy handwriting.

Dear Mr. Onceler,

I am glad that you and your little bear like my cooking. Please don't worry about compensation. I want nothing. My only concern is that the water remains turned on throughout the ground floor level of the manor.

I have washed your towels, and you will find them on the clothesline out back. Also, there are several bags of marshmallows in the front room, which I have placed on a high shelf so your bear won't get at them. I thought you might want some comfort food. Don't eat them all at once, or you'll make yourself sick.

There was no signature. The Onceler turned the paper over to see the blank underside, and flopped down in his chair thoughtfully. Truth be told, this was not exactly the type of reply he had wanted. It was too vague and unspecific, and she had completely dodged the question of what she was doing here in the first place. Still, he supposed it was better than no reply at all, which would have been monumentally depressing. Pipsqueak was trying to climb down his arm to reach the strawberries, and the Onceler placed the plate in front of the nearest chair and allowed the little bear to sit on the table and stuff them in his mouth. After all, it wasn't as if his mother were around to complain about animals at the table anymore. "I think she doesn't want to talk to me," he mused despondently to his pet as he tucked in to the soup. "That's why she's hiding out and writing notes. What do you think?"

The furry mammal chirruped, and the Onceler sighed and turned his eyes down. "I can't say I blame her. I don't really want to talk to me either."

/

A day later, he lay quietly on the sheets of his bed, staring into a framed photograph which had once occupied his dresser. It was of his whole family, gathered in front of the manor together. They looked happy and relaxed, as though they might have just finished a picnic on the grass, but the Onceler knew the truth: it had taken him forever to assemble all of them in that spot and convince them to stay long enough to get their photo taken. His mother was constantly booked or double-booked with appointments to the hair salon, the massage center, the exclusive stores in town, and/or the ladies' tea club. The twins simply could not stand still for a large amount of time. He always had to drag them back to the front of the house, and when he finally got them there, another family member would have wandered off. It was difficult to pry his aunt off the couch when she was on it; and his uncle didn't see the value of a family photograph in the first place. Strange as it was, since they were so wealthy and carefree back then, but the man was always worrying. He was always looking into business deals and doing complicated calculations, afraid of losing even a dime of their fortune. The photographer had grown impatient and nearly left, and the Onceler had ended up paying her double the usual fee to stay. It was he who had wanted the picture of all of them in front of the manor. His other relatives had not seemed to care about it, even when it turned out so nicely.

The Onceler's reverie was broken by a sudden scratching at his door. Looking up, he saw that Pipsqueak had left his place on the bed and was prowling around by the doorway, scratching to go out. He tilted his head in confusion. "What is it, Pip? It's nowhere near dinnertime yet. There's no food for us downstairs."

The bear whined and continued to bat at the door. The Onceler reached inside his nightstand drawer and pulled out a white, spongy treat. "C'mere, have a marshmallow. You have to be patient." When Pipsqueak still did not come, the tall man raised his eyebrow in perplexity and stood, moving over to the entrance. "No? Not even for a marshmallow? Geez, what's out there that's so…."

He pulled down the handle and opened the door to take a look into the hallway. At that moment, the little bear shot through the doorway and began to trundle away with surprising speed. The Onceler did a double take and ran out into the hallway after him. "Pipsqueak-? Pipsqueak! Where do you think you're going? Come back!" He pursued the galloping bear around corners, through corridors, and down a flight of stairs into more corridors. To his surprise, Pipsqueak was not heading for the front room where the banquet hall was located- in fact, he seemed to be going in the exact opposite direction. Since his legs were exponentially longer, the Onceler had not anticipated how hard it would be to catch his little pet. Every time he drew up alongside him, the bear would run a circle around him or dive through his legs and continue on. He was nearly tripping over himself trying to grab the fleeing furball. It was not until Pipsqueak paused at a fork to sniff the air that he realized that the walls no longer had paintings hung on them, and he had no idea where they were. "Pip….? Where are we….?"

The little bear hooted and began to trot away down the right hallway, prompting the Onceler to follow him. The hallways that they walked down were bare, painted a scratched dark blue. The floors were chipped and scuffed from being passed over by many pairs of feet. Every now and then they would pass by a closed door, but Pipsqueak did not seem interested in them. The Onceler was fairly certain he had never been here before. His interior decorator had obviously never made it this far. The hallways looked so dreary. They felt so economical, as if there were no other purpose to them but to conduct people efficiently from one place to another. And they smelled….spicy?

The Onceler drew in another deep breath of air, blinking his eyes in surprise. There was an unaccountable spicy smell pervading the air, lingering around every corner they turned. It grew stronger as they moved deeper into this new place, and Pipsqueak began to trundle faster once again. After a few moments of uncertainty, the Onceler snapped his fingers as realization leaped into his mind. They were in the servants' quarters- they had finally found them- and the place they were heading to could only be the kitchens. That meant….

Pipsqueak paused outside a door that was hanging halfway open, slightly larger than the others. A noise which sounded like sizzling was coming from within. The Onceler would have preferred a moment to compose himself, but his pet didn't hesitate, rearing up and placing two front paws on the open door. It swung open further as he dropped down and scampered inside, and the Onceler had no choice but to follow him, drawing his shoulders together as he did so. The insides of the kitchen were huge and mostly illuminated by the shine of metal. However, his attention was immediately drawn to a different sort of gleam, over in the corner by the oven. The back of the red-haired girl was to him, and the shine of her copper locks made all the silver metals around her pale in comparison. She was cooking something in a pan on the stove, using a spatula to prod at it occasionally. For a long moment, she did not seem to realize they were there, and the Onceler could think of no better idea than to stand still and stare at her hair. Then Pipsqueak hooted curiously, and she spun around quickly. Her wide green eyes took them both in, raising the spatula defensively to her side. Then her expression relaxed and she lowered it back down to the pan. "So," she said to him, "you've finally found me."

"I….have," he replied, taking a step closer and glancing all around him. Hand towels were hanging from the shelves, dishes were drip-drying on the rack, and various foods had been set about on the center table of the cooking area. The smell of warm spices was very strong. "Although it was really Pipsqueak who found you, I guess….he led me here. You must be using some strong sort of ingredient that he can smell from upstairs. He does that all the time, whenever I try to hide food….it's the darndest thing." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and mentally smacked himself for his awkward rambling. The girl tilted her head, gazing down at his pet, who was now gamboling around her feet. "Anyway, I….I hope you don't mind me intruding in the kitchen. I was just….curious."

"Oh no, not at all," the girl said, flipping over the things she was cooking in the pan. The Onceler could now see that they were two good-sized slabs of chicken. "You do live here."

"Yeah….I guess," he replied, his shoulders slumping a little. "Hey, uh- could I ask you a question? If you don't mind."

"Sure," she answered, sliding the cooked chicken off of the pan and onto a nearby cutting board. He watched as she began to cut the slabs into small bits, her stainless steel knife flashing with efficiency.

"I was just wondering, um….why-why you're still here. Why you stayed behind. I mean, everyone realizes how bad this is. The company's gone under. I can't pay you, there's no-"

"Mr. Onceler," she declared, turning around to face him as the oven beeped, "I meant what I said in my note. I don't want anything from you. Much like you, I'm-" she paused and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, causing him to look up at her in interest. "I'm trying to sort through my own affairs right now. I never thought Onceler Fields would implode so quickly and everyone would have to leave. I have a place I can go to, but someone else is occupying it until fall. I assumed that I would be staying….here for spring and summer, like I've always done. Besides, I have some things here which I still need to attend to."

She turned away and went back to work with the knife on the other piece of chicken. The Onceler didn't know what to say. Nothing in her tone had sounded particularly accusatory, but even so, the fact remained that her precarious living situation was entirely his fault. Grasping at straws, he replied meekly, "Is that why you didn't want to come out? Did you think I'd…."

"Ask me to leave? Yes," she said briskly, whisking the diced chicken into a giant green mixing bowl. "If you still feel that way, I'll understand. This isn't my home, after all, and you're in the middle of an immense personal crisis. People tend to want to be alone when they're going through those."

"No, I d- I- uh….then why- why'd you do this?" He indicated toward the meal which she was in the process of making. She looked up at him again, her eyes like emerald spots in an aqua sea.

"I wanted to make sure you had good food, at the very least. Besides, you probably would have died of starvation or something if I hadn't set up a regular meal delivery system." She coughed into her hand, and he could tell from the shape of her eyes that she was trying to disguise a laugh. He didn't know what to do with this knowledge.

"I…."

"It took you four days to find the kitchens, Mr. Onceler. And it sounds like you only found them because of this little one here." She tossed a spare bit of chicken to Pipsqueak, who yelped happily as he caught it in his mouth.

The Onceler fiddled with his sleeves, knowing that she was right. "Well, I- I just want to thank you-again- for all the good food, and for cleaning the manor too. And, um, you can stay here if you want to. I was never planning to kick you out. I just wanted to know who you were. Speaking of which….what's your name?" He said this all rather quickly, and the copper-haired girl smiled sincerely.

"I'm Audrey."

"Audrey…." He rolled the name around in his head and found that it fit. He liked it. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Can I, uh, help you with anything? I don't know much about cooking, but I can follow directions…."

He reached for the pan on the stove absentmindedly, and the next moment he found his hand rapidly encased in two smaller ones. "No, don't touch the metal part! It's still hot enough to burn you."

"I'm sorr-" He took a step back in surprise, and felt something hard clang into the back of his head. Pipsqueak squealed and Audrey put her hands to her mouth as he turned disorientedly away from it, directly into another hard thing. He finally had the sense to duck, and discovered that a row of pans was hanging out to dry on a rack above his head. Blushing furiously, he maneuvered away from them, wishing he could pull his hat down over his head and disappear into it.

"Oh dear, you don't seem to have much luck with pans, do you? You're so tall; if I had known you were coming, I would have hung them up higher. Come here." Hiding a smile in her hand again, Audrey led him safely through the maze of pans and pressed her fingers against his head. "Does this hurt?"

"No. My skull's pretty thick," the Onceler quipped, daring to risk a tiny grin.

Audrey nodded. "In that case…." She glanced slowly around the kitchen, and he could sense that she was surreptitiously searching for a very simple culinary task which did not involve fire, hot metal, or sharp objects. "….Why don't you wash the strawberries and then put them in a bowl?"

She indicated to a wire contraption on the counter in which a group of the fat, red berries were gathered. The Onceler approached it curiously. "What is this thing….?"

"It's called a sieve," Audrey called out, beginning to pour pre-measured amounts of cheese, spices, sauce, and a green leaf-ish thing into the mixing bowl with the chicken. "You keep the strawberries inside and put it under running water. The water runs back out the holes, and the berries stay put. Make sure you shake it just a little, so they get washed from all sides. It cleans out the dirt and chemical particles still on the surface of the berries."

The Onceler could not help it; at the word 'chemical,' his fingers twitched and he almost dropped the strawberries into the sink. Audrey's eyes glazed over him, and she turned politely back to her mixing bowl, pretending she hadn't seen anything. He tried to focus on washing off the strawberries, but he couldn't help that his eyes kept running fixatedly over their soft red skins, as if searching for chemicals which he knew couldn't be seen with the naked eye. Eventually, he gave up and watched the reflective shine of Audrey's hair instead.

There were so many things he wanted to know about her. Where did she live during the fall and winter? Didn't she have a family that could take her in? Why had she worked here, and what had the job meant to her? What were the things which she still needed to attend to? All of these questions burned in the base of his throat, but his brain obstinately dumped water on the flames. All of them were too personal. Although he was more than relieved that he'd finally found her, he didn't want to push his luck by intruding any further than he should on a first meeting. However, there was one question which he considered fairly innocuous.

"Hey, Audrey-" he placed the dripping wet sieve back on the counter, tilting his head in puzzlement. "Where are you getting all these strawberries from? Did you order them in bulk from somewhere west of here?"

The copper-haired girl smiled wanly, opening up the oven's door so that a wave of heat swept over him as he stood at the sink. "You really don't know that much about your own places, do you?" she asked him as she slid into the oven a perfectly rolled batch of chicken enchiladas.