So, I had the idea for the fic after the death of Mr. Gene Wilder (R.I.P., you will always be remembered and loved!) and watching Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory twice a day. I wanted to have it finished before I published, but seeing how fluttering my inspiration is, I'm still not done yet. But I want to publish so bad that I'm doing it now.

Enjoy.

~~**I**~~

Fanciful Fantasies

Willy Wonka gently swayed his head to the tune playing from his piano, feeling the notes underneath his fingers. The slow notes, long and lingering, light and tingling.

"Come with me, and you'll be," Wonka hummed, ticking the notes to match his tone, "in a world of pure imagination." Pure imagination. A world of color and music, joy and wonder, light and butterscotch ripple.

"Of course!" Wonka exclaimed. "Strawberry butterscotch ripple!" But as soon as the thought came to mind, his face fell softly. "Oh, I forgot. Tried that already." It was one of his first creations, conceived from merely looking upon the whorls and curly cues that were painted all over his piano. Reds, pinks, browns, oranges and tans, along with a little bit of white. All painted by her over the course of several years. Several patches of little patterns that were all different but fit so cohesively against the dark brown wood of his piano. And not to forget the tiny strawberry painted on the high C.

Jacqueline had always loved strawberries, ever since they were kids and well into their college years. Even when he last spoke to her she doted on her lovely strawberry plants. And she had a strawberry-shaped face with a beaming smile that shined from the frame set on his stand. She gently held onto the hand of her infant daughter, having just kissed that little fist. And standing so close to her was her husband, holding that little child and kissing her temple. There was nothing as pure as they.

"'Her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love'," Wonka sighed dreamily. Pure love, pure life, and pure joy encompassed all she did. From the time they were children, they were drawn together by the 100% pure. The joy of fun and laughter and creativity.

"William! Wait for me!" A nine-year-old Jacqueline called after him, her copper hair streaming after her as she ran to catch up to him.

"No, we must hurry!" he turned around and called behind him, still running.

"The candy shop isn't going anywhere!" she cried, laughing.

"You won't say that once it's gone!" Young Willy called, but he did stop a second for Jacqueline to catch up, grabbing her hand when she did and hauling her behind him. Many of the adults viewed this action between the two of them as an oddity. Young boys and girls their age did not spend as much time together as Willy and Jacqueline did. Boys tumbled around on front lawns and in the middle of streets while girls sat and played house inside. But those two sat on opposite sides of a canvas, painting and singing songs and talking non-stop about sweets they wanted to eat.

And that's where they were headed now. To the candy shop, to try even more candy confections and combinations. Willy still had his list!

"Don't forget, we must put together chocolate and lemon drops!" he called.

"Lemon drops?!" she laughed.

"It's perfect! Sweet and sour!" Willy explained to her.

"But how will a hard candy taste with melted chocolate?"

That had Willy stumped, so much that he'd stopped running without realizing it. How could they perfectly mesh together the moment of sour flavor from a wash of melted chocolate? He hadn't thought of how he would do it?

"William?" Jacqueline voiced softly. She was the only one allowed to call him that. "What's wrong?"

"I hadn't thought of that?" he replied.

She shrugged slightly. "We could have a bite of chocolate, let it melt on our tongues, and then do the same to the candy? And then another bite of chocolate as to not run out."

Willy grinned. "Perfect!" He continued on, tugging on her hand to follow. Her breathy laughter skipped along the whole way.

Jacqueline had always been there to bounce ideas from, whether it was candy, music, or painting. She would spout off color combinations and he would put flavors to them, concocting all sorts of sweets between the two of them. She had that same twinkle in her eye in that picture as she did in that memory.

He imagined her to be the same today. It had been so long since they'd last spoken or even exchanged a single letter, what with him in Surrey and she still in New York. He has his chocolate factory to run and she had a child and a loving husband to care for. Oh, and portraits to paint. In bright colors, just like the cherry pink knitted cardigan she wore in that photo. It had been a gift from him, and the picture was also taken by him. Jacqueline, Roger and little Clarice.

How young was the little girl now? Ten? Twelve? No doubt she still had the same coppery hair and hazel eyes as her mother. Did she wear glasses like Roger did? Hard to tell. It had been so long. So long since he had last spoken to his closest friend. How had he lasted so long without someone he'd shared so many years with? But perhaps it wouldn't be that much longer. Perhaps he could see her after the contest. Yes, he could do just that!

He hadn't realized he'd stopped playing until a tap came at his elbow. "Oh," he exclaimed softly, looking down at one of the Oompa Loompas handing him the afternoon paper. "Oh, thank you, Loomis."

Unfolding the soft paper down, Wonka took in the headline that would be sent out within the hour. Honestly, he didn't expect the first page. Third, at least. But, placing the slight surprise aside, he read the heading:

Mr. Willy Wonka, the candy-making genius whom nobody has seen for the last ten years, sent out the following notice today.

The Six Golden Tickets. Giving the opportunity of having six children allowed inside his chocolate factory. Six. It was her lucky number. She was born on the sixth month of the year, at six in the evening, her favorite color was the sixth in the rainbow (purple, as was Wonka's), she won ten dollars from a lotto scratcher by the lucky number six, and the two of them had met when they were both six years old.

And he sent out the notice on the sixth of the month. It was just right.

At that thought, an idea sparked in Wonka's mind. And before he left he checked the clock.

Six o'clock.

She was using blue. That had Willy in a bit of a slump. There weren't many blue foods, let alone sweet flavors other than blueberries and he wasn't in that mood. Everything else was more a purplish color. But watching her fiddle with the different tones of that one color distracted him. She had a bit of white in there, but again, only blueberries and cream came to Willy's mind and he was not of blueberry persuasion at the moment.

He scratched his head, trying to come up with some sort of idea for the school project, but nothing came to mind. When their charter school held another of their art festivals, the ideas poured from students. The art specialty school was famous for its art festival. It had, not only artworks as Jacqueline was working on, but moving pictures (one of their classmates, Joey, was near in making an animation in the like of Walt Disney, it was wonderful), photography, music students who played all around the park, face-painting (of which Jacqueline would help service), teaching dance, poetry, and a small concert during after the main activities, and of course, food. Willy was banking on having the most spectacular confection that anyone had ever tasted.

But the sixteen-year-old Willy was having no such ideas to back it up.

"You've been quiet, William," Jacqueline commented, glancing over her shoulder. She dipped her brush on her palette and turned back to the wall. She couldn't use her easel this time, as the canvas she was working on was far too big to hold it. Hopefully it would fit in the back of her father's truck come punch time.

"I thought you came for some peace and quiet," he chuckled in reply. Indeed, she was often at the Wonka house to get away from her noisy house. At least it used to be noisy and crowded with four siblings. It made Willy thankful he was an only child and not having to share a room with any brothers as Jacqueline had to with her two older sisters. Now it was just her and her younger brother, but the daily visits persisted and she was always welcome.

"From pesky little brothers, not my best friend," she replied with a grin.

Willy smiled but shook his head and said nothing. She said that yes, but on the contrary, Jacqueline had a close relationship with her little brother. Not as close as those two were, but close enough.

When he failed to respond, she put down her palette and turned to him fully. "What is it?" Her hazel-green eyes furrowed in concern.

"I don't know what to make," he replied simply with a shrug.

Jacqueline tilted her head. "That doesn't sound like you."

"It might be because I'm feeling blue," he said, nodding toward her canvas.

She glanced back at it and laughed. "Well, your sense of humor is still intact, so it's just a little slump."

"It's not a slump," he rounded back, picking himself up from the floor. "It's this blue you're using. There's nothing I can think up of with the color blue! And don't go saying blueberries!"

"I wasn't," she replied calmly. "And you don't have to watch me paint."

"But I love watching you paint," he told her. "It helps me think." But not pacing, which he didn't know why he was doing it now. This must have been a real slump.

Jacqueline caught him by the arms was he turned back to him. "William, calm down," she attempted soothing him. "We have three weeks until the festival. And this portrait isn't going to be finished instantly, either." She jerked her thumb at her canvas. Indeed, the first step of it was to cover the whole thing with a soft sea green and let it dry.

But that didn't comfort Willy. He pulled from her grip and jerked around, only to bump right into her painting table. He bumbled right into it and caused it to tumble.

"William, are you alright?!" Jacqueline cried, coming to his side and hauling him up. He was probably as messy as her overalls were.

"I'm fine," he told her. And thankfully he knocked the paints away from her canvas. He didn't want to ruin her project on top of being stumped about his.

"Thankfully this room is hardwood floor," Jacqueline commented.

Willy nodded. The art room. It was arranged by Willy's parents with how inclined to paint the two were. They both did as kids, though while Jacqueline continued to follow it, Willy did less and less. Regardless, the Wonka's allowed it to be itso-facto Jacqueline's art room away from home.

He looked down at the assortment of paints on the partially covered floor. It was mostly the blues that Jacqueline used, but there also was a purplish-red and yellow mixed in when a random thought crossed Jacqueline's mind for another project. The colors started bleeding together where they met and the two did spark something.

"Figs," Willy muttered.

"What?"

"Figs," Willy repeated. "Mama Jean's out picking figs." His mother loved her fruit plants in the back yard. The Wonkas were loaded with assortments of fruits and vegetables. Jacqueline often returned home with a basket full.

Jacqueline beamed. "Did inspiration just strike?"

Willy beamed right back before taking her hand and making for the back yard.

Jacqueline Bowman held her thumb up to the smudge long since dried on the portrait's upper left side. The smudge was a bit larger than her own thumb, the owner having bigger hands than she, and never failed to bring a smile at the corner of her mouth.

Willy Wonka was quite the coordinated man, but he did make a few stumbles every once in a while. And he hadn't stopped apologizing when he accidentally tried picking up the canvas when he shouldn't have.

It had been oh so long since she'd last heard from him. A letter from ten years ago was it. Months after, he'd closed his factory due to his competitors stealing his recipes. Jacqueline wanted to so much to contact him and just talk to him, but he'd all but fell off the face of the earth. His parents only got a short word from him every several months. And after he reopened his factory, no one had seen him, Jacqueline included.

She missed him. He'd been her one best friend throughout childhood. Even though she was well involved with her community, there was something she felt that was...missing from her life. Or perhaps she was feeling it harder now that her husband had been dead for a year now.

Jacqueline sighed. It felt both shorter and longer than just a year since the car crash. Her dearest Roger. After sixteen years of building a life together, the rest was taken prematurely from them. Even their two-story house was all but built by the two of them, like breaking down the wall of the small office room and the bedroom next to it to make a music room for Roger. And then making the garage into an art studio for Jacqueline. Also the gazebo in the corner of the backyard and the extension of the porch. Extending a small sitting area in the family room that looked out into the street for when Jacqueline wanted to sip hot chocolate and watch the snow fall. All of that had been done together. And now...? The ache in her chest was more repetitive than anything, always having her placing a hand on her chest as if the movement could chase it away. This time it did like clockwork, but Jacqueline didn't feel much better afterwards.

She stepped into the kitchen and held her hand over the oiled pan to see if it was hot enough before cracking some eggs and then pulling down the filled toaster nearby.

Making her way down the hall, Jacqueline gently opened the door to her daughter's room. Her bright red hair could just be seen poking out of the sheets as well as her toes at the bottom. She was also snoring.

Her daughter hadn't taken Roger's death much better. She barely left her bed for a week after she lost her daddy. And there was nothing Jacqueline could say to make her feel better. She could only rub her daughter's back after she had cried herself to sleep. But in the end, they both picked themselves back up and continued on. They managed.

Jacqueline approached the bed and nudged her daughter's leg. "Wake up, Clara," she cooed.

The fourteen-year-old groaned loudly. Jacqueline chuckled, nudging harder. "It's time to get up, sweetie."

Clara just groaned harder.

Jacqueline snorted. "Up, Clarice." Her daughter was not a morning person.

With one last grunt (her daughter did not favor her full name), Clara shoved her bright sheets off. She would be another minute or two.

"Breakfast will be ready in a bit," Jacqueline told her, heading back to the kitchen. She had just finished drizzling honey on the scrambled eggs when she heard Clara plop down at the table and pour herself a glass of orange juice. Jacqueline slid two plates of eggs, toast and sausage for both herself and her daughter and settled at the table.

"Don't be so glum, sweetheart," Jacqueline chuckled at her daughter's dead-tired morning face. "It's Friday. You and Dot finished your history project and after school we'll go to Uncle Thomas's candy shop."

It had the right effect on her daughter. Clara's eyes lit up slightly behind her wire-rimmed glasses. "Can I get two Wonka bars this time?" she asked.

"Perhaps," Jacqueline replied, smiling when Clara sprouted a grin. "If you two bring home an A." She laughed when her daughter groaned. "You'd better get an A. That portrait of Queen Elizabeth is some of my best work!" Their assignment was on old historical figures and the girls had chosen the old English queen as the subject.

Clara rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'm sure Mr. Andrews will give high marks to your brushwork," she deadpanned. "But we'll still go out for Wonka Bars after school, right?"

"Of course," Jacqueline said, "but you'll have to get an A if you want your two chocolate bars."

"What if I get a B+?" Clara asked.

"We'll negotiate," Jacqueline told her with a wink.

The glamour and luxury was something Jacqueline couldn't quite get used to, but at least she could understand the appeal her sister was drawn to. It was too loud and frivolous and almost a waste of time. Almost. She had to admit there were times when large parties were fun and memorable. The warm lights, the boisterous energy, the mixed scents of women's perfume and men's cologne, and the light music made a beautiful setup. And her dark blue evening dress did make her feel more beautiful.

And the only reason Jacqueline agreed to go out tonight was because she couldn't say no to her older sister when she visited from California. After making Clara and her friends dinner (insisting the girls not wait up for her), Jacqueline dressed and was dragged off to a lavish party, catching up with her older sister. She divorced yet again and was Margery Wakefield once more. Jacqueline hadn't known until she'd inquired about her brother-in-law, to which Margery replied shortly with, "We're divorced." Jacqueline said no more, but couldn't help her disappointment.

But that didn't stop Margery from striving for companionship and scoping out the many handsome bachelors at the party. Some for herself and even hints for Jacqueline.

"He's a handsome one," Margery leaned in and whispered to Jacqueline, inclining her head to an indeed handsome dark-haired man.

"Then go talk to him," Jacqueline retorted, not missing Margery's subtly.

"I didn't drag you out here so you could huddle at the sidelines," Margery said, taking a sip of her champagne. "It's still healthy for women our age to socialize with handsome men."

"He's probably no older than thirty," Jacqueline replied. "A boy, really." A year shy of forty herself, she was not going to dally with young men, if she were to dally at all.

"That's the point," Margery suggested slyly. "He'll make you feel young again."

"I have a daughter for that."

Margery snorted. "I thought children would make you feel old."

"Depends on the child," Jacqueline replied. Going to the chocolate store every Friday, painting together, and playing music with Clara did bring some of the old childhood nostalgia every once in a while. It reminded her of her time with William.

"What about when she's left the house?" Margery asked.

Jacqueline shrugged and shook her head. "I haven't thought of it. And why are you trying to pair me up anyway?"

In a spare moment of compassion, Margery wrapped her arm around Jacqueline's shoulders. "Roger won't hate you for moving on. You don't have to spend the rest of your life alone for the sake of his memory. You deserve to be happy."

Jacqueline smiled sadly, glad that her sister wasn't entirely superficial. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to go on a string of dates you set me up on."

Margery groaned and rolled her eyes. "Well, if you're not going to have any fun, I'll have to for the both of us." She downed the rest of her champagne and made for the handsome young man, Jacqueline staring after her, scandalized. She watched as her older sister tapped the man's shoulder and moved her hand down to his, gesturing toward the ring of dancers. He replied with a soft smile and allowed her to lead him over.

How did Margery do that? Not that Jacqueline wanted to do the same herself, but it was remarkable how her older sister could almost command the men around her to take interest. Then again, she'd caught Roger's eye quite quickly and held it effortlessly, as she reflected every once in a while. Roger called her the apple of his eye and even wrote songs about her which he'd sing while playing his guitar on the picnics in the park where they first met. Ironically, Jacqulene had the romanticism in her life that Margery strove for but couldn't yet achieve.

But she couldn't be too judgmental of her sister's lifestyle. Margery was always like that long before she stepped onto Hollywood and pursued an acting career. She handled herself well enough.

Jacqueline couldn't imagine if Roger were to ever gain that kind of recognition in this time as a musician. Not that he would have been the Frank Sinatra or Elvis Presley or Buddy Holly, but he could have made a decent name for himself. No, instead he was just a small local musician and studio recorder.

For all her artistic talent, Jacqueline couldn't quite get the hang of instruments the way Roger and, in effect, Clara had. Sure she could play the piano and guitar, but her rhythm wasn't always the best. Even now she cringed at the many times she brushed the wrong note.

William was wonderful on the piano, having been taught by his mother from a young age. It was an off-hand hobby of his, which had in fact brought him and Roger together as they performed on stage a couple times with Roger's band. That had been when Roger and Jacqueline had gotten engaged. Roger and William weren't exactly friends, but they were very amicable. They were like a forked road, going in the same direction but still two different paths.

She missed him. She missed them both. Her husband and her best friend.

A flash of blonde hair and a top hat caught Jacqueline's eye as she sipped from her glass. Wait a moment, who on earth ever wore top hats anymore. And to a party like this no doubt.

Willy Wonka. He was here?

He couldn't be. He was a recluse. And for the past ten years. But that blonde hair. Jacqueline would recognize it anywhere. She made for where she saw the hat, idly setting her wine glass aside. While the ballroom wasn't overly crowded, Jacqueline still had to maneuver around people as well as tables.

"Excuse me, miss. May I have a dance?"

Jacqueline turned to the man who gently grasped her hand. Asking her to dance? "What?" She looked back at her needed direction. "Sorry, I'm looking for my friend." She took her hand and strode away, still keeping an eye out for the top hat and curls. It just appeared from behind a tall, broad man and made way out of the ballroom.

"Jacqueline, you're not leaving already, are you?"

"No, Margery," Jacqueline replied softly, turning to her sister. She had not yet abandoned her young dancing partner. "Just stepping out for a minute." She stepped away.

"You can't leave here already," Margery told her.

"I'm not," Jacqueline pressed. "Just one moment!"

Jacqueline escaped her sister and made her way to the doors. He was long gone from her line of sight before he left the room so she looked both ways down the hall for him. The hall was much more empty, but she no longer saw any sign of him. No hat. No curls. Not even a bright colored coat. Had she just imagined him?

Hope you enjoyed and were inspired to watch Willy Wonka!