Author's Note: Hello my fandom, I know it's been a few months now, but can we take a moment to mourn Gene Wilder? No one else quite understands like you do.

Amalda was feeling a bit better after the impromptu chocolate/rock fight. Though the method was childish, she couldn't help feeling her confidence rise after standing up to a bully like Ms. Weston.

As she and Ms. Stolp helped each other clean the chocolate from their faces and hair, Ms. Stolp made a comment about the loveliness of Amalda's skin, leading her to blush and offer a stammered complement on Ms. Stolp's thick curls. Soon she found herself exchanging beauty tips and other such feminine small talk. Amalda had never put much stock in "girl talk" in the past, but she could see that it was putting Ms. Stolp at ease after her embarrassing incident with the Oompa Loompas, so she made a valiant effort to participate. Of all the other applicants, she liked Ms. Stolp the best.

Over the course of the next hour, the Oompa Loompas produced a large, rickety ladder, Ms. Weston fell halfway down the ladder in an attempt to land in Mr. Wonka's arms (he stepped aside to talk to Mr. Bucket and pretended not to notice when she crashed the last few feet into the dirt), the Oompa Loompas graciously helped Ms. Weston tidy her clothes as much as possible, and Amalda's conversation with Ms. Stolp evolved into something more personal.

"My family, we have run the bakery our entire lives," Ms. Stolp said of herself and parents. "Now they are older and I do not want them to work anymore, but that would mean hiring at least one other person to help me run things. Between the cost of supporting my parents and paying an extra person," she shrugged. "I can't do both."

"How would working for Mr. Wonka help though? Wouldn't it take you away from them?" Amalda asked.

Ms. Stolp nodded, uncertainly. "True, but only temporarily. To say that I have worked with the great Willy Wonka would surely improve my shop's popularity to the point where money would be no issue. And besides," she muttered, almost under her breath, "Mr. Wonka has focused solely on candy. Who knows what fruitful partnership we might find if he could expand to other baked goods. With my expertise…" She sighed. "Well, we shall see, yes?"

Amalda nodded uncertainly.

Ms. Stolp shook her head suddenly and fixed her gaze on Amalda. "Enough of that. What about you, dear?"

"M-me?" She stuttered, surprised by the abrupt change of topic.

The other woman nodded encouragingly. "Yes, yes, what do you do? Do you have family?"

"Oh, um...no, not anymore."

Ms. Stolp's face immediately turned sympathetic and she patted Amalda on the arm. "Oh, you poor dear!"

"Oh no, it's fine," Amalda hastened to reassure her. "You see, my father was, er, a bit of an adventurer. He could never stick to a steady profession, so he was gone a lot. Sometimes he'd come home with money, sometimes he'd come home without anything, and sometimes the money would come without him." She smiled at the other woman's astonished stare. "It was enough for my mother to take care of me, and later I took care of her. When she passed a few years ago, I tried to track down my father, but none of his previous contacts had heard from him in some time." She sighed ruefully. "He always said one day he'd wander into something he shouldn't."

"And now you are all alone?" Ms. Stolp asked, her voice kind.

Amalda shrugged off the woman's sympathy with a chuckle. "Well, yes, but I take after my father. Any odd job will do, and some of them lead to the most interesting places."

"Is this where the gorilla comes in?"

Amalda looked up, her ears turning pink as she realized Mr. Wonka had apparently been paying careful attention to their conversation for some time.

"What does a gorilla have to do with anything?" Ms. Stolp asked in confusion.

"Well, er," she began, flustered, but at that moment a harried Mr. Bucket joined their group, glancing over his shoulder anxiously. Amalda followed his gaze and saw Ms. Weston stalking towards them, waving away the Oompa Loompas who were still helpfully offering various sticky things that might repair the rips in her clothes.

"Shall we continue the tour?" Mr. Bucket asked, edging further away. Amalda and Ms. Stolp quickly agreed, but it was Mr. Wonka who inserted himself smoothly between the group and Ms. Weston, offering her his arm. Ms. Weston was so shocked that she actually stopped to stare at him before recovering herself enough to bat her eyes coquettishly and thread her fingers around his elbow.

Mr. Wonka's face was expressionless. "I believe the final stop is the Inventing Room, is it not?"

He led Ms. Weston to the head of the group, the other two women following obediently and Mr. Bucket bringing up the rear.

No one mentioned that Ms. Lauper had not returned.

Seeing that Ms. Stolp had been distracted by the impending visit to the Inventing Room, Mr. Bucket sidled up to Amalda and said quietly, "Mr. Wonka told me what happened."

Amalda nodded. "I thought as much." Her eyes wandered to where Mr. Wonka strode stiffly with Ms. Weston all but draped across his side. "He didn't have to do that though," she murmured.

Mr. Bucket blinked. "Do what?"

She nodded to the disparate couple. "He's keeping her distracted so she won't come after me again. Or you, or anyone else."

"Oh, I see...yes, that's a terrible sacrifice for him to make," Mr. Bucket responded, eyeing the clinging woman. Amalda shot him a sharp look, but read nothing but genuine concern in his face.

"No one likes to have their space invaded unexpectedly," she said softly. Her momentary gratitude faded as she remembered someone invading her space, very intimately, not so long ago. She narrowed her eyes at Mr. Wonka. What game was he playing, kissing her out of the blue like that? Was he going to kiss all the applicants?

Mr. Bucket was giving her a very odd look and Amalda hastily smoothed her face and gave the young man a small smile, but he merely nodded to her and stepped forward to exchange a few words with Ms. Stolp. Amalda wondered what in the world her expression had looked like.

Willy was doing his best to ignore Ms. Weston's presence while simultaneously keeping her attention focused only on him. Luckily, Ms. Weston seemed content enough as long as he wasn't actively avoiding her.

It was rather fascinating, Willy thought, how his skin crawled at the touch of Ms. Weston's fingers on his arm, yet he had found it completely irresistible when the opportunity presented itself to kiss Ms. McCaine. Amalda. She deserved the less formal address after their encounter.

His own impulsiveness had surprised him, though not as much as it surprised Amalda. He couldn't help but smirk at the memory of her poleaxed expression, cheeks slightly flushed as she gaped at him. Was this...attraction?

He frowned, reviewing the events that had led up to that moment. He certainly hadn't been planning to kiss her. The day's events had him feeling very unbalanced, and a stranger in his private rooms, in his very bed, had almost been worse than the circumstances that put her there. Somehow Amalda had sensed his discomfort and her earnest attempts to reassure him had been endearing. Yet it had also been irrationally irritating to know that someone had this power over him, that one word from her in the wrong ear could spill details of his private life to the whole world. Part of him wanted to see her as off-balance as he was, and the impromptu kiss had certainly had that effect!

As if she wasn't unsettled enough, after nearly drowning. He scowled at himself. Attraction and insecurity where no reasons for a gentleman to force his attentions on a woman. Perhaps he owed her an apology.

But then, she had seemed perfectly fine at the Oompa Loompa village, chatting easily with Ms. Stolp. Her revenge on Ms. Weston was something he was privately pleased about and he almost regretted forcing the two women to a truce, but his factory was not a battleground. If only he could trust that this was the end of it.

A touch on his cheek drew him rapidly from his musings and he found one of the woman in question, now clinging much more tightly to his arm than was necessary, with one hand raised to caress his face. He realized he'd been glaring at nothing as they walked.

"So serious," she pouted, then squeaked as he caught her wrist tightly and leaned towards her. Her eyes widened as he brought his face close to hers.

"What do you want?" he murmured, quietly so that none of the others could hear. "Why are you doing this?"

Something slyly intelligent flashed through her eyes and was gone, but Willy recognized the cunning expression for what it was. Ms. Weston didn't care about the job, or the factory, or even about Willy. But the fame and fortune that would come from being Mrs. Willy Wonka? That she sought with greedy single-mindedness. She hid it quickly behind a vapid smile, but he knew.

"Oh," she said breathlessly, keeping her voice as low as his, "but I'm just taking advantage of the situation you created."

He blinked. "What?"

And then she threw herself at him. Again.

Willy was caught off guard by the sudden attack and his first involuntary reaction was to catch her. He staggered backwards, his back smacking into the wall of the corridor as her arms went around his neck. She closed the short distance between them, pressing her lips firmly against his. He heard gasps from the others, but was almost too stunned to move.

Then she shrieked and was ripped off of him. Willy gasped and nearly fell to the floor before regaining his equilibrium.

For a long moment, he couldn't move. He breathed a long, slow breath, feeling strangely emotionless. Carefully, he straightened his top hat and retrieved his cane from the floor, not taking his eyes off Ms. Weston.

Ms. Stolp and Amalda had her pinned against the far wall. She had been struggling like a wildcat, but froze when she was him watching. Charlie was by his side, hand outstretched but not quite touching him. "Mr. Wonka?" he asked worriedly.

Willy took one step forward and everyone, even Charlie, flinched. Willy paused, took another deep breath, and lowered the cane that he didn't remember raising. He released his white-knuckled grip on it. He hadn't been intending to hit her, though it probably looked that way. He planted it solidly in front of him, but no one looked reassured. The other women released Ms. Weston and step away from her cautiously.

"Ms. Weston," he said in a voice was flat and dull. "Get. Out."

"Oh, but Willy-" she simpered.

"GET OUT!" he roared suddenly, startling everyone. Ms. Weston actually trembled, but Willy felt no sympathy. He could feel himself shaking as well.

"You don't really want to do that," she said, a quiet threat in her voice.

Willy inhaled, but before he could say anything else, Charlie laid a hand on his arm. Willy went still and Charlie quickly let go with a soothing gesture. "Mr. Wonka, let me handle this. Why don't you go on to the Inventing Room with the others?"

Willy felt both of his eyebrows raise incredulously. "Let you…? Charlie, I don't think-"

"Please, sir." There was a serious quality to Charlie's voice that Willy rarely heard. "I can do this." He didn't wait for an answer, just took Ms. Weston's arm and gently but firmly pulled her away, heading toward Willy's office. Ms. Weston shot an unreadable look at him over her shoulder and Willy shuddered.

"Shall...shall we continue?" he asked unsteadily, still not sure that leaving Charlie alone with Ms. Weston was the right decision.

Ms. Stolp and Amalda glanced at each other and nodded.

"Yes, we shall!" Ms. Stolp said firmly. "I am so looking forward to this. The stories that the children told were so astonishing."

"Oh, yes!" Amalda added with enthusiasm. "It all sounded so magical, it must be almost as impressive as the Chocolate Room. I can't wait to see if with my own eyes."

As they began to move down the hallway again, Mr. Wonka was drawn along in the wake of their conversation. He still felt dazed but no one seemed to expect him to actively participate, so he let the women's voices wash over him. He was grateful they both stayed a short distance away from him, pausing only to make sure that he kept pace behind them.

Each step further away from Ms. Weston and closer to the Inventing Room, one of his favorite rooms in the factory, loosened the knots of anxiety in his shoulders. At last he could walk with some semblance of his usual stride, a slight bounce in his step and his cane whistling through the air beside him.

The women noticed the change in his demeanor as well. Amalda smiled at him, but it was Ms. Stolp who was bursting with questions and had clearly been restraining herself with much difficulty.

"Is it true," she asked in an exaggerated whisper, "that you have gum that turns people into blueberries?"