Chapter 25

I know it's been forever. Please forgive the lapse, but writer's block is a hard thing to overcome. Don't think I've forgotten this story. I have the ending mapped out. I have certain key scenes already written. It's the in-between stuff that's giving me a hard time. I'll finish it. Just give me time. This has not been beta read, so all mistakes are mine.

The next day found Lauren in front of the bathroom mirror, contemplating her half-naked form. Lauren went by a very strict grading scale for women, herself included. There were six levels, because five was too prosaic and she couldn't think of seven. She felt each level defined a certain body state perfectly, and so far her system had served her well. They were as follows:

1.) Should be modeling for Victoria's Secret

2.) Able to get out of speeding tickets

3.) Wouldn't be embarrassed in a bathing suit

4.) Need to get out the stair master

5.) Could win Kirstie Alley look-alike contest

6.) Should be wearing a tarp, even in the shower

Currently she was a three, though dressed up properly she rated a two easily. Now though, she need to evaluate herself in more specific terms. She examined her face critically. She supposed there was something there to attract Willy, though she looked a little too fresh and innocent for her taste. After living with bubble-gum flavored and colored lip gloss for so many weeks, she was craving something dark and deep… preferably red. She also wanted her smoky eye shadow back. She missed the way it had made her look, mysterious and a not a little dangerous. Would Willy still like her if she looked like a Derringer? She frowned and pushed the thought from her head. It was immaterial whether he would like her or not because she was who she was. She had to stop thinking of herself as two people. There was a name for a person like that, and though insanity was becoming more socially acceptable these days, that didn't mean she wanted the term applied to her.

Besides, she was trying not to think about Derringer's right now, because if she did, she would have to acknowledge that she had completely and utterly betrayed her principles. She had sworn up and down that she wouldn't let this bizarre attraction gain any hold on her. She had promised herself not to get close to Willy or let him get close to her. Now she was actively seeking him out and enjoying herself when she found him. She was endangering the mission, she was risking hurting Willy, and worse, she was endangering herself as well. And yet she couldn't bring herself to stop.

If this was love, and she still didn't believe it could be any such thing, it was definitely as inconvenient as it had always sounded to her. Her eyes fell to her hair, now a short and unpretentious brown. It wasn't striking, but it definitely wasn't unattractive. Of course, blonde had suited her better… Heaving a sigh of annoyance she gave up on the mirror and pulled on her jeans. A pink striped button-up shirt followed, short sleeved, of course. Stepping into her sandals and hooking a pair of earrings into her lobes, she headed out of the slightly muggy bathroom.

"All yours," she told the impatiently waiting Charlie. Growling with less than his usual good grace, her pajama-clad 'cousin' stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door. With a shrug, Lauren headed to breakfast. There was nothing in particular to do today, which made it an excellent time to go into town. She had packages to pick up, after all.

It took her precisely ten minutes to reach the door of the nearest branch of Binder and Schmucks. She pushed it open and waited patiently until there was a salesperson free. After an exchange of information and the flash of a receipt, Lauren was the proud owner of two wrapped parcels. She tucked the small one in her satchel and hefted the larger one under her arm before waving a happy goodbye to the helpful associate. In fact, she was so pleased at getting the last of her packages out that she treated herself to a meat pie before returning to the factory. Licking the last of the gravy from her fingers, she stood up fifteen minutes later and once more headed towards the place she didn't want to refer to as home.

"Lauren, would you mind helping with the dishes?" was the first thing out of Mrs. Bucket's mouth when her niece tumbled through the door at an ungainly angle. "I have to finish shaping the bread."

"Sure, just let me drop these off somewhere where they won't get stepped on," Lauren replied, glancing about the room. Finally she just pushed the boxes under the bed, at a loss as to where they would incur the least damage. As soon as Uncle James got home, they'd be able to open them anyway. With mournful resignation, Lauren then fell upon the dishes as she thought longingly of the dishwasher at her apartment. Eventually that task, too, was completed, leaving Lauren with plenty of free time to contemplate her chipped nail polish and pruney fingers. "Aunt Emma, is it time for Charlie to be home yet?" she asked, trying to think of something to do.

"Give him another hour, dear. He said he and Mr. Wonka were going to be attempting some new kind of cream filling. When they try new things he's always home later for lunch." She deftly molded the top of the loaves before covering them with a cloth to finish rising. "Bored?"

"Just a little," Lauren admitted. "Where are The Grandparents?"

"Out for a walk, I believe. They're probably thoroughly lost by now," Emma predicted. At Lauren's worried look she laughed. "The Oompa Loompas will take pity on them eventually and bring them back. No need to look so concerned." With those prophetic words, Mrs. Bucket returned to her domestic tasks, leaving Lauren to filch Charlie's barely-used Gameboy and retreat to the outdoors.

It was only when Charlie interrupted to inform her that lunch was ready did Lauren realized how long she had been trying to beat the high score. She was seeing little blocks in her mind, fitting themselves around random objects in her view. That was definitely the last time she broke her self-imposed rule of never playing Tetris for more than a half hour straight.

Lunch was a muted affair. Charlie was distracted by work, Willy was still in the Inventing Room, the Grandparents hadn't made it home yet, and Lauren was still trying to clear her vision of tiny multicolored squares. Besides, she had recently had a delicious snack in town and wasn't all that hungry to begin with. She escaped early, leaving Charlie staring mournfully at the sink full of dirty plates. She went back to her tree, plucking sweets as she pleased along the path. When she settled down again, this time with her notebook, it was to do some major thinking. She had been putting it off and it was high time she faced the music. She flipped to an empty page and began to make a list.

Reasons to Do It. She nodded, best to keep this vague, the better to conceal her true identity from the casual browser. Lauren paused thoughtfully and then quickly jotted down. "He's unlike anyone I've ever met. He makes me happy. He looks cute in purple and red." She paused again. "He makes me laugh."

Flipping to the next page she added the heading: Reasons Not to Even Think of It. "Could jeopardize the entire home situation. Would make returning difficult. Would invite additional questions. Could hurt Charlie and Willy's relationship, should it not work out." She paged back and added under the first heading "because I want to." She didn't think she would find a better reason to try. As a person who had become accustomed to getting her way, it was a compelling point. The only question was, did the benefits outweigh the risks?

She pondered deeply. Could she be happy living here, with Willy and the Buckets, for the rest of her life? She gave that a hesitant 'maybe.' Certainly not unless she found some way to occupy herself. For a moment Lauren found herself wondering if Willy would ever allow her to work for him in some kind of executive capacity, then she berated herself for even considering it. She already had an executive position, the highest one available, in point of fact, at her own factory. Slamming the book shut, she frowned horribly. She couldn't give up everything she had built in America for some random, fabulously wealthy, unusually interesting, incredibly attractive…. Losing her train of thought, Lauren began to contemplate Willy's beautifully shaped lips.

It was several minutes later that she recalled she had been trying to come to a decision. Pros and cons were clearly pointing towards not allowing things with Willy to further heat up, all except that last pro; though to Lauren's way of thinking, wanting to do a variety of unladylike things to the resident chocolatier was definitely a con. If she could only leave immediately, things would be so much simpler, but to arouse even the hint of interest in her return could be devastating. Suppose they got curious, or worried, enough to begin looking into her background again. They might ask to visit her, or even accompany her back to America. Unlikely, yes, but not impossible with Willy's wealth backing them.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lauren saw Charlie approaching. Her inner monologue would have to be tabled for now, but even as the Ziegler persona stole over Lauren, the Derringer side smiled grimly and promised to see the both of them again very soon. The hard choice hadn't yet been made.

Days passed. Mrs. Bucket took every opportunity to wear her beautiful new coat, a whimsical red and cream-colored design masterpiece. Mr. Bucket seemed to go everywhere but to work with his new portable CD player and Beatles Hits collection. Lauren was proud of bringing the 21st century to her supposed relatives, but sometimes the contrast with their surrounding was downright startling. They really should think of having the place fixed up a bit. It was too bad they had such sentimental attachment to the creaky old thing.

Lauren slapped down that un-Ziegler-like thought and pasted a smile on her face as she walked back towards the familiar willow tree. She was working on her needlepoint, which was coming along better than she'd thought it would, and it was making her grumpy. The squinting to see the stitches, the neck-aches, and the pricked fingers were all making her irritable. Were she to be completely honest, though, she'd admit that she'd awoken cranky anyway and the reason was obvious. Willy hadn't stopped by to see her for four days.

She could understand if he was busy, but really, would it completely ruin his schedule to take five minutes just to say hello? Lauren was annoyed that she missed him and annoyed at herself for being irritated, because his staying away was really the best thing for her. Thus it was, perhaps, understandable that when the prodigal confectioner finally turned up, around four that afternoon, she was just the slightest bit tetchy. A Derringer in a tetchy mood was unpredictable and certainly not something that anyone of Willy's temperament could be expected to deal with.

"Good morning, Lauren," Willy said obliviously. He sat down beside her, flashing a brittle thousand-watt smile.

"It's afternoon," she commented, careful not to make the stitch she was sewing too large.

Willy gave a nervous laugh, his instincts no doubt screaming at him that something was dreadfully wrong. "Yes, well, I kind of lost track of time, what with all the inventing I've been doing…"

"Really?" Lauren said, her voice neither interested nor dismissive.

"Uh-huh."

Repressing a victorious smirk, Lauren deadpanned. "So you've been in the Inventing Room for the last four days?"

"Yeah!"

"Except for yesterday afternoon when you and Charlie watched the 17-hour Starsky and Hutch marathon in the TV room," she interjected, almost pleasantly.

"Right, except for that…" His eyes shifted to the corner to peek at her guiltily. The silence stretched out, coating the room like that horrible, fake-cherry tasting cough syrup. Finally Lauren pricked her finger, threw down both needlepoint and thimble, grimced, and broke the spell.

"Willy, I really wish you would just tell me what's wrong," but her eyes were more demanding than pleading. "I can't read your mind and avoiding me isn't going to solve anything. You know, I'm only here until the end of the month." Willy nodded, looking like a chastened schoolboy, but he didn't speak. Lauren sighed in vexation. "I'm guessing it's because of the last time we were under this tree…" Willy blushed and avoided her direct stare. "And I'm assuming that you are either afraid of it happening again or disgusted at its having happened at all."

His eyes snapped up to meet hers, then leapt away to focus on the landscape behind her head. His blush deepened. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, then made a kind of croaking sound. Finally he managed to get the words out. "It was…. a little…. overwhelming."

"I see," said Lauren. She didn't, really, but it seemed like the right thing to say. Besides, she knew that later, after she had calmed down and reminded herself that everyone had hang-ups that interfered with their life, she would accept his neurosis with more grace. In fact, if she had had time to go back to Charlie's room and think about all of this a bit more, she might not have instigated the incident which would set Derringer-Wonka relations back months.

"I still liked it," he was hastening to assure her. "I just-" He couldn't seem to find the words to finish the sentence. Another pause expanded between them, filling up all available space. Little known fact, silence is a fluid and conforms to the shape of its container. Willy's brow commenced furrowing in search of a better phrase than 'can't seem to be near you without wanting to throw up.'

"Willy," Lauren said, her voice soft and low. At her tone, he flinched slightly, then shivered. She watched as his hands started to shake. Leaning over towards him, she smiled as he inched backwards away from her. The thrill of the chase filled her with adrenaline and her previous pique only compounded the sudden rush of desire. Moving swiftly, she cornered him against the tree trunk, and bringing her face close to the side of his, blew gently onto his ear. He shivered again, clenching at the swudge-grass with both hands. Lauren moved one finger over to trace swirls and patterns over the top of his hand, distracting him from her next move. Now, instead of blowing gently, she was breathing directly onto his skin. He inhaled sharply, turning his head almost reflexively and bumping noses with Lauren in the process. Their lips barely skimmed as Lauren threw herself backwards, startled by his movement. Willy scrambled to his feet, swallowing convulsively, and gave her a wretched look.

"I just can't," he said, sounding firm and not a little scared. He walked away without allowing her another word. Had Lauren been a weaker person, she might have been tempted to weep, or curse, with disappointment. Instead she gathered her tattered dignity and discarded needlework together, then headed back home.