A/N Well, I've been picking at it a little every day, and I've actually managed to produce a full length chapter! Still fluffy, but hopefully amusing. Next week is finals, graduation, and then…SUMMER!

Also, I have added about two pages to the last chapter. Nothing much happens in it, but it helped integrate the fluff a little more smoothly. If you're interested in reading it, all the new material is right at the beginning.

Disclaimer I have no right to the name of McDonalds and the mechanical reindeer are definitely based on the mechanical moose from Gordon Korman's No Coins, Please.

Acknowledgment This chapter is especially dedicated to those wonderful reviewers who left a note for the last very pathetic "chapter."

Chapter 23

Fluff: Part Two

Winnie the Pooh
Winnie the Pooh
Tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff
He's Winnie the Pooh
Winnie the Pooh
Willy nilly silly old bear

Winnie the Pooh (Disney version)

The food court was on the third level, and Dick walked all the way through it twice before finally deciding on a jumbo hotdog and waffle fries. Bruce shuddered and grabbed vegetable chow mein from the Chinese place next door before leading the way to a table by the railing, which overlooked the tree gallery. He'd inhaled half of his rice before he noticed that Dick had taken only a single bite of his hotdog and was picking listlessly at his french-fries.

"Not hungry?" Bruce asked tentatively, thoroughly puzzled. Not ten minutes earlier, the kid had been threatening to die of starvation.

Dick shrugged and used his fist to mash flat one end of a ketchup packet. He was frowning at it fiercely, as if the condiment were his new arch-enemy.

Bruce sighed inwardly. The kid was having mood swings like a PMS'd cheerleader. He'd been fine on the train, and then when they'd come into the store and seen the tree he'd looked like… Wait a minute. Bruce looked over the rail at the enormous Christmas tree as an unwelcome chain of thought slowly unwound itself.

"So," he began, using his chopsticks to elevate a piece of pineapple, "have you been here before?"

"Yeah," Dick muttered, and gave the ketchup packet a little pound with his fist.

"I bet," Bruce continued cautiously, "that your mom really liked the tree."

Dick hit the packet again, harder. The end exploded, spraying carnage across the tabletop.

Bingo, Bruce thought, as he reached for a napkin. "My mom really liked the tree too." He could, in fact, remember the year she'd been the one to light it. He remembered that she had worn white and had looked like the angels in the windows of the big cathedral.

Dick watched silently as Bruce cleaned up the spattered ketchup. "Where is she?" he asked finally, and he sounded a little startled, as if he had never considered the fact that Bruce must have a mother.

"She died," Bruce answered, surprised at how hard it was to say, even after more than twenty years. "But I like to come here and remember how much she liked the tree and how happy she was at Christmastime." He was conscious of lying as he said it. He knew that was how he ought to feel, but after his parents' death he'd buried that memory with all the others – buried it so deep that he hadn't thought of it until just now, when Dick's anguish called up the echo of his own. He instinctively braced, waiting for the rough wave of pain he associated with all thought of his parents. It didn't come. He found, to his surprise, that he had unintentionally told the truth. It was good to think of his mother on that day – the way her hair had shone around her head in a golden halo, the brilliance of her smile as she curled her hand around the switch and pulled, setting the tree ablaze with electric light. Under Ra's' tutelage he had released his anger, but in doing so, he had also set himself at a distance from his past, the good as well as the bad.

Bruce shook himself free of reverie and met Dick's eyes. "Isn't it a good memory, to think of your mom being happy?"

"Yeah," the boy said softly. Bruce could see that he was trying and trying hard. The flicker of smile wavered, died, and then Dick's face crumpled. He gave one valiant sniff before the sobs broke loose from his skinny chest, despite his efforts to muffle them with his hands.

Bruce wished that they were anywhere but here, in the brilliantly lit, echoing, overcrowded food court. The people at the next table were sending covert, curious glances their way, and a very short ways down the railing stood a petite woman in a dark coat who was staring at them intently.

Bruce shoved away his food and stood up, grabbing their bags before he stepped around the table. "Hey, buddy, it's ok," he crooned as he lifted the small boy. Dick threw his arms around Bruce's neck and buried his face in his fuzzy flannel shoulder as Bruce rapidly wove his way through the tables and entered the flow of people in the main corridors. He swung into electronics, and found it to be miraculously deserted. He gently deposited Dick on a bench and knelt beside him. The boy's sobs were easing, and he scrubbed a hand across his eyes, knocking the bill of his cap askew. Bruce pulled the hat off. "Hey, ok?" he asked, having no idea of what else he should say. Strike one, Mr. Wayne. With an unpleasant start, he realized it was Somerville's voice he was hearing in his head.

Dick nodded and hiccupped, still rubbing his eyes. They stayed frozen in uncomfortable silence, Dick refusing to look up, and Bruce searching desperately for a distraction. He finally noticed the elaborate display behind the bench. "Check out the trains!" he exclaimed, with more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary.

Dick scrambled around on his knees and stared intently. The display consisted of several tables at varying elevations, and across them was an elaborate electric train setup. Bruce waited a minute to let the kid regain his dignity before asking, "Shall we check it out?"

Dick nodded, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and grabbed hold of Bruce's hand. Bruce tightened his hold on the small figures and felt a funny tightness in the area of his heart. Poor kid. I feel as competent as a yak a tea party…

As they approached the trains, a small alarm bell went off in Bruce's head. He mentally replayed the scene he'd just witnessed and realized that he had noticed the woman from the food court furtively ducking behind a large pillar a short ways down the aisle. Bruce glanced uneasily around - this part of the store seemed to be a dead end, and the only way out was to go back past the pillar.

Keeping one part of his mind focused on their surroundings, he returned his attention to the display. A small but detailed train chugged through a miniature winter wonderland, complete with a station at Santa's workshop and a reindeer crossing where mechanical reindeer wandered back and forth across the tracks.

Dick dutifully stared at the whistling train, but his genuine interest was caught when Bruce pointed out the miniature masked men who were planting dynamite under the tracks. "These guys are going to blow up the train."

Dick tugged Bruce closer and bent until his nose nearly brushed the false snow. "That train's in big trouble. Hey, Bruce…Pops! Look!" Dick excitedly pointed to a pine tree beneath the trestle.

Bruce peered closer and then muttered, "Oh, no way."

Behind the tree, obviously ready to spring on the saboteurs, stood a tiny figure of Batman.

"That's so cool!" Dick was squeaking in excitement. "Those guys are in big trouble now!"

"A really charming setup. Are you considering a purchase, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce cursed silently. He had seen the food court woman approaching, but there had been no unobtrusive way to avoid her. He wondered whether ignoring her could possibly convince her that she'd mistaken his identity, but one look at her smug face told him that was a false hope.

"Excuse us," Bruce said flatly, and strode away, pulling a surprised and somewhat reluctant Dick behind him.

"Can't we look a little more?" the boy pleaded just as the woman said, "Look, Mr. Wayne, all I want is a couple of comments about the holiday – maybe a picture with the boy. What's it like having a child at Christmastime?"

He was striding fast now, Dick running to keep up as they burst into the middle of a group of shoppers. The reporter was hot on their heels. Bruce's eyes swept the corridor and hit on a very welcome blue sign. His long legs managed to put a short distance between them and their pursuer, and thirty seconds later he shoved through the door of the men's bathroom. The reporter followed.

A sudden silence filled the room as all movement froze. Bruce retreated to the far end of the sinks and awaited developments. They weren't long in coming.

The reporter had her eyes set on her prey, and she didn't see the man stepping into her path until she ran into him. He was big – both tall and broad. His head was shaved and his pectorals rippled beneath his muscle shirt. "Lady," he said, "I think you've made a mistake."

She flashed him a dismissive smile. "I just need to talk to him." She tried to dart around him, but a well muscled arm flashed out and caught her.

"Look, lady, I'm not some chauvinist that think women should stay in the kitchen – hey, my wife's got a better job than I do – but enough is enough." He took hold of both her shoulders and marched her toward the door. "You can burn your bras and vote pro-choice, but the men's room is still the men's room. And I think I speak for all of us when I say that we'd appreciate it if you'd use your own toilet." And with the final word he thrust her forcibly through the exit. A small round of applause burst from the other occupants of the room. The defender of the male right to privacy sauntered back through until he stood in front of Bruce. "My fellow man, I hate to break it to you, but you have got a serious problem."

"Tell me about it. Hey, thanks a lot!" Bruce stuck out his hand, and the stranger solemnly shook it.

"You look familiar," the guy said, squinting at Bruce's face. "You a model or something?"

"Uh…something," Bruce confessed.

The man nodded knowingly. "Women go nuts over that kind of thing. You think she'll be waiting for you outside?"

"Probably." The incognito billionaire glanced around the bathroom. "I don't suppose there's another way out of here that I'm just not seeing?"

"Well…" The stranger drawled and glanced around. The other occupants of the bathroom had gone back to their respective business and were paying no attention to the trio in the corner. "I'm not supposed to do this, but I guess this is an emergency." He led Bruce and Dick over to a gray metal door and pulled out a bunch of keys. "It's my day off, but I work here," he explained as he unlocked the door.

At first glance it appeared an ordinary supply closet, but their guide swung sharply to the left and a narrow passage appeared. He let his guests squeeze past and then carefully locked the door before resuming the lead. "Store's got a whole network of service passages," he explained as they traveled quickly down the dusty path. "No one's supposed to know about them but the security and the custodial staff." He stopped in front of a door that looked exactly like the one through which they had entered. "This is the bathroom by Appliances. Can you find your way from here."

"Yeah, thanks. You really helped us out."

The janitor waved his hand airily. "I got nothing against women, but sometimes men just gotta stick together."

Bruce reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a folded card. "Hey, listen, if you ever need anything, give me a call, ok?" A moment later, he and Dick were hurrying past the washing machines toward an outdoor exit.

"I've had enough shopping," Bruce declared.

"Me too," Dick agreed. "Man, that lady was crazy! Was she a reporter?"

"Yup," Bruce said as they shoved outside into the freezing air.

"Huh, you and Miss Somerville sure don't like to talk to reporters."

Bruce looked down at his ward. "Hey, Dick, can you do me a favor?"

"Sure, Bruce."

"Don't ever tell me I'm like Miss Somerville."

Because their lunch had been cut short, they ducked into McDonalds and grabbed a couple of Big Macs. (Alfred would have had a fit, but he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.)

As Dick licked the last of the ketchup off his fingers he asked, "Can we visit Rachel? She works near here."

Bruce hesitated. "She's a pretty busy lady. She might not like to be disturbed when she's at work."

Dick shook his head. "She said I could come and visit her anytime."

"Ok," Bruce agreed, and emptied their trays into the trash. "Let's go."

Rachel was in a meeting, but her secretary told them that it would just be a few minutes if they were willing to wait. She seemed to be on familiar terms with Dick and handed him a fistful of miniature chocolate bars which he shared with Bruce.

It was only ten minutes before Rachel came through the door, heavy briefcase in one hand and a weary look on her delicate face. Her features brightened when she saw Dick. "Hey, kiddo!" She bent down to give him a hug, then glanced over at Bruce. Her eyebrows flew up. "Don't tell me, plaid flannel is the new black."

"We're in disguise," Dick informed her. "But it didn't work very well. Some crazy reporter chased us."

Bruce settled back in his chair and watched intently as Dick related their adventure at Gladelands. Rachel gave the boy her full attention, her face covered with amusement, her hand resting lightly on the boy's shoulder. She's really good with him, Bruce thought. She's really good with me, too. Rachel glanced over, and something of his thoughts must have been reflected on his face because she flushed and immediately looked away. But she didn't look upset. He knew that the whole Batman thing on top of his disappearance had been almost more than she could handle, but lately he'd begun to hope for…for something. Something he wasn't quite ready to put into words.

Dick finished his story and Rachel glanced reluctantly at her watch. "I'm so sorry, but I have another meeting in five minutes."

"Come to dinner," Bruce invited.

She hesitated, but when Dick added his pleading, she smiled and acquiesced. "I'll see you guys tonight."

As they rode the elevator down to the ground floor, Dick slipped his hand into Bruce's and leaned a tired head against his guardian's arm. "I like Rachel."

"Yeah," Bruce said softly. "So do I."

To Be Continued

A/N Responses to reviews for the last chapter only will be up on my homepage.