Hello there! This is my first fanfiction of any sort; I've been wanting to write some for a while but it takes courage, you know? My credentials: advanced English in middle school, honors English freshman year, AP English the rest of the way. I've been writing since elementary school, so hopefully you won't have too many problems with grammar and spelling, that sort of thing.

This story is based on the 2005 Tim Burton movie of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The problem with writing this sort of fanfiction is there is no way to NOT have a Mary-sue, since there were no eligible females in the movie (at least, not without REALLY stretching things). While I realize there's always the option of going the Willy/Charlie route, I don't think my writing skills are quite advanced enough to tackle that particular pairing. So, my sincerest apologies for creating another Mary Sue in fandom. However, I've been reading the other fandom for this movie, and it seems that Mary Sues are somewhat well received, and that makes my job a little less daunting.

I must warn, though. This particular character is a bit unusual in that for most of the fic I will be referring to her as "he", for reasons shortly made clear. If gender-bending stuff isn't your picnic, move along! If it is, please take the time to leave constructive criticism, I could sure use it.

Willy Wonka, Charlie and the Buckets, the oompa loompas, and the factory are all copyright Roald Dahl (and later on to Tim Burton), they are not mine, though if they were I'd now be rolling in more money than I'll ever make in my entire life.

Jackie "Jack", and Aunt Josephine, however, belong to me.

Hugs and Starshine!

Jackie fell in a heap on the hard wood floor, sighing and trying not to sob with disappointment. Her face was black with soot, and she tried wiping it away with a hankercheife. For months now she had been trying to make her own hypothetical variation of a Swiss candy–which required precise timing and high temperatures to recreate—and every one of her experiments had blown up in her face. If she were the type of person to be discouraged after only one month of trial and error, she would have given up long ago and moved on to safer, easier hobbies like rugby and polo. But this was no mere hobby, and Jackie could not afford feelings of discouragement, even if her life's work—creating candy—had resulted in nothing but failure after failure.

Jackie–known as "Jack" to her teachers—attended university in Brighton, and intended to major in specialty cuisine (narrowing it down to confectionary after graduation)---that is if she even graduated. Which at this rate, the chances were looking pretty slim. She showed great promise with conceptual design–-she had a wealth of ideas to chose from, but turning them into a reality was often difficult, and it was rare that she ever got the end result that she'd started out for. And for a perfectionist like Jackie, this was the single most frustrating thing that could take place.

Standing up and brushing herself off, Jackie took off the giant goggles she wore for cooking purposes, and went into the bathroom of her tiny flat to wash her face. To be fair to Jackie, and to spare readers from fixating on a misconception of her physical appearance, one could in all seriousness point out that her gender was almost irrelevant. In fact, one could very much say that if one saw her on the street, one would in all probability assign the label of "twenty-something eccentric MALE university student." Indeed, 'Jack's' appearance and choice of wardrobe were no accident; 'he' had adopted the mannerisms and social status of the opposite gender since the age of puberty. If a reader asked him whether or not he revealed his true gender to his friends, he would in all likelihood reply that since he did not keep friends, he could not see how the answer made all that much difference.

Jack washed the soot from his face. His hair was long for a boy's, reaching past his shoulders, and parted to the side. He rarely combed it these days, and it had begun to look like a pale blonde mane, wild and unkempt, though he did usually sweep the tangled mass back from his ears, unless he was working, in which case it fell about his face and obscured an eye. Beneath the unruly edward-scissorhands-do was pale skin, dark noble eyebrows, blue eyes, and a pale mouth that was unaccustomed to speaking. Jack did not, however, like to bear skin, so his neck was usually wrapped in cloth, and his collars were always turned up, adding to his disheveled appearance. Jackie wore pretty much the same formula every day: billowy white or black button down shirt, black vest with silver buttons, gun-metal black belt, mens slacks, and heeled leather shoes. On the rare occasion that Jack left the school grounds or his flat, he adorned a militant black blazer or coat. And the gloves never came off, save for at night. Jack did not touch, or like to be touched by, other things. After a certain age of course, Jack had to bind his chest, and now it had become a daily routine.

No one, save his family, knew about this strange habit of transvestism. This caused a few embarrassing situations for him at school, what with a few girls trying their luck with him. Though Jack dressed like a boy; he had no interest in girls. Or, as far as he could recall, in boys either.

The only interest Jack ever possessed was in sweets. Others might think this a very boring fixation, but not for Jack. Jack actually ate very little in the way of sweet things, despite his adoration for them. He always harbored a secret fear of growing sick of chocolate, and then where would he be? His life's work, all for nothing. Not that much could be said about it now...

Jack threw the now blackened cloth into the trash, and walked back to his room. There was one other thing that Jack was obsessed with, and if he wasn't trying to make sweets, he was preoccupied with worshiping the God of Confectionary:

Willy Wonka.

Jack kept a diary, but more than private thoughts, he kept inside every single article and advertisement related in any way to Mr. Wonka. In the margins he wrote his impressions, thoughts and ideas that reflected his adoration for this man and what he'd accomplished. Not to be mistaken for romantic love, Jack had grown up with the tales of the enigmatic candy man who, once reaching a certain age, seemed to stop aging altogether. He looked not a day older than the first picture of him in the newspaper, and that was thirty years ago. It was his chocolate that had inspired Jack from a very early age to make his own candy; the pastime soon became a full blown obsession.

And although he would never admit to it, Jack's biggest fantasy, when collapsing into bed after hours of failed experimentation, was to become Mr. Wonka's apprentice, to go live with him in that secretive factory and share his ideas with him, to create new varieties of candy together. In a way, his fantasy was safe. If anyone ever found out about this obsessive fantasy, at least it could never be said that Jack loved Mr. Wonka for his good looks. Being (quite obviously) a member of the male gender, the only love he could ever be accused of would be the weird, creative genius magnetism that Mr. Wonka was full of.

"I think...that's enough experimentation today." said Jack, glancing at his watch. 2:30 a.m., and on a school night. How was he going to stay awake in class tomorrow? Wandering in circles in his room, slowly undressing, Jack tried to calm his mind down. As usual, all he could think about was what had gone wrong this time in his experiment. He bit his lip, trying not to let the sense of utter failure overwhelm him. The best he could do now was hope that soon something would click, he would learn from his mistakes, and start making chocolate and sweets that people would actually eat. He knew it wasn't a flaw in his method; his note-taking procedures had been perfected over the years, nothing escaped his attention, but somehow the end results always seemed to elude him.

Finally Jack unbound his chest, peeled his gloves off, and slipped into the silk Pjs he wore at night. As he drifted off to sleep, the effects of his daily fixation replayed themselves in his head: blueberry, raspberry, peach, lemon, cherry, wintergreen, evergreen, lime, licorice, ice-cream. They swirled together, and even then he hypothesized which flavors would go best with what form of candy. Eventually sleep came to him, and Jack dreamed of sitting at a drafting table with Mr. Wonka. Together they worked out the perfect recipes, and everything they did would make sense, and Jack would be able to understand exactly why and how everything worked. Mr. Wonka would be intelligent, engaging, and would explain everything to him, taking time to make sure he understood the mechanics behind everything.

Together...what things they could accomplish...

Jack opened his eyes, he had been coughing. Something was not right. He smelled something awful, it was making his head swim. What on earth was that? The air was thick, and it burned his lungs. He realized it was extremely hot in his room; his sheets were soaked with sweat. He was facing the wall in his bed, what was going on in the rest of the room? Jack rolled over, and immediately his eyes widened and he tried not to scream. His room was on fire. The wall paper was peeling and melting off the walls, the ceiling turning black as flames licked over it. The carpet was nothing more than a blackened scrap, while the couch and table was a veritable inferno of rollicking flames, crackling and roaring in their intensity.

Jack had heard somewhere that if you stood up in a fire, you would most surely die of the heat; the only thing to do was to keep as close to the ground as possible. How long had this been going on? It was a miracle that the fire was more interested in devouring the side of the room opposite from the bed...but it also meant that he would have to somehow escape through that fire; as it was blocking the only way out of his room.

Acting quickly, Jack reached under his bed, pulling out his diary, putting on his slippers, and finding his briefcase he ran at a low crouch through the fire, only to find himself in hell. People were screaming downstairs. Flames covered everything. He could hear glass breaking. All thought of why and how fled. Taking a deep, smoke-infested breath, Jack ran down the stairs as fast as he could, only thinking to escape this raging inferno. Feeling faint with the heat and lack of oxygen, he briefly wondered if he would die here—but the thought of dying before having accomplished a single thing he set out to do drove him on, and before long he burst through the door to the freezing November air.

For a long time Jack simply knelt in the snow, breathing in the sweet fresh air, savoring the feeling of being alive. Gaining strength, he stood up only to face the entire student population that lived in the flat. Most were too busy watching the building going up in flames to notice him, but a few were staring. Jack lowered his head and tried not to betray his embarrassment. Folding his arms tightly over his chest, Jack shuffled to the back of the crowd and stood in the snow, looking up at his apartment being destroyed from the inside out. Suddenly guilt shot through him. Had he been the cause of the fire?

After only a week of living in a nearby hotel (all expenses paid for by the University), Jack was called to the headmaster's office. Indeed, the fire had originated from his room, probably a Bunsen burner left turned on in the night, and though no one was seriously hurt, he would have to be expelled for property damages, and for serious misconduct, however accidental.

Jack was handed a package of the few items they could retrieve from his room; a few clothes from his wardrobe, which was mostly spared, some coins, and (miraculously!) his goggles. Throughout the entire explanation, Jack was motionless, his face blank, even when they told his that the fire was his fault. Then they gave him the package, all that was left of his life at the university. A shadow passed over Jack's face, his shoulders sagged. All of his equipment was gone; years of investing every cent into a small cuisine oriented lab, all was lost.

"You have relatives to go to, don't you?" the headmaster asked.

"...oh yes. I'll manage." Jack said softly. His eyelids drooped. "I am deeply sorry about the destruction my careless mistake made. I hope the University will decide not to press charges against me; should they, however, you will find me most cooperative."

With that, Jack left.

Jack gazed out of the cab into the rainy winter scene. He wore a black turtleneck, slacks and boots, and from his briefcase he had procured his headphones and was listening to The Cure, embracing for a time the depression and dread that had sank into him over the past few days. After he'd left the headmaster's office, he'd heard some giggles directed at him. Jack sighed. Had it been that obvious that he was a girl under those pyjamas? No doubt word had spread like wildfire; now not only was Jack famous for his talent at failure, but also for his gender-perversion.

Fools. They judge so easily; they would not be so quick to point fingers if they were in my situation. What do they know about the pains of feeling out of place in one's body? Jack tried to comfort himself, but the words "pervert" and "failure" repeated themselves over and over in his head, and he could not shake them.

He had gone back to his flat and, without notifying any of his teachers (they would soon know what happened), began packing his few possessions. The closest relative he had was his aunt; his parents had died years ago. He had lived with her through highschool, and was glad to say goodbye to her, choosing to live full time on campus at University.

Jack closed his eyes, leaning against the cool glass of the window, picturing his life with Aunt Josephine. She lived in a squat brick house that was always too cold in the winter, and spent the day reading women's magazines. She was a woman about average height, in her fifties by now, with dirty blonde hair, a wide jaw, slightly crooked teeth, full lips, a delicate nose and large eyes. She had a husband, but they rarely saw him; he was usually taking business trips far away from home. Josephine didn't seem to mind though; she was much too unmotivated to work a demanding, high paying job, and was thankful for the money he brought to the house. She smoked constantly, the result of which gave Jack a horrible cough throughout highschool and University.

Jack's aunt spent much of her time at home watching old movies from the thirties, and memorizing the moves their starlets made. And while this had given Josephine the impression that women wearing men's suits (when tailored by Coco Channel, that is) were generally simply competing in a man's world with a more even playing field, the thought of a girl wearing men's clothes all the time without any sort of interest romantically in men (or in women for that matter; as Josephine would say, 'they had them in my time too you know') was, well...

"Jackie darling!" Jack shuddered and coughed reflexively, unloading his suitcase and tipping the cab driver. A wave of smoke and old perfume invaded his nostrils, and Jack felt his lungs seize up, and his face contorted rather comically to keep from coughing loudly in Aunt Josephine's ear as she hugged her niece. Jack was stiff as a board; though his gloves protected his hands from being touched, Josephine's face was flush with his, her oily and nicotine-streaked skin invading his personal space. However, when Josephine pulled back, her face visibly fell.

"Did all your dresses burn in the fire?"

"Aunt Josephine, you know perfectly well that I don't own any dresses." Jack replied, his voice alto and soft. He hated visiting family; it was always this way. They tried to act like they supported you, but you could always tell they were secretly hoping it was just a phase.

"...no, I suppose not." She said as they walked back to the house. "So, got yourself expelled from University, eh? What are your plans?"

"Well...I was thinking about continuing my studies in confectionary; if I could use your stove between meals, I could..."

Josephine closed the door behind them. "Now Jackie-girl, lets just drop this chocolate business. There are more important things in life that sweets, and besides you were never very good at that anyways..." Jack tried not to show his hurt, flexing his gloved hands at his sides. "You'd just be wasting your time, and time is not what you have. You're almost twenty! You need to start looking for a husband!"

"..." Jack stopped in his tracks on the stairs to his room. His eyes were wide. "H-hus-husband?"

"Why yes! You obviously can't support yourself out there, you need someone to support you financially. Why, that's what I did, and just look at me! Living easy, life's a picnic!" Josephine kept walking.

"Or, if you really can't stand the thought of marrying a man, I suppose you could try your luck on some of the girls in town; there are some wealthy ones who'd probably mistake you for a romantic poet or some other nonsense and fall for you. Just make sure they don't look under your clothes until you're safely married away...that would cause quite a scandal!" Josephine giggled.

"W...wife?"

"Not that I think that sort of thing is proper, mind. The very thought of a woman playing husband to another woman is just...well...here's your room!"

For the next few days, Jack did not leave his room. He felt unclean; the very thought of...of marriage made him ill. He was too young, besides! Another man...that was just...ew. Jack could not possibly see it working. And a girl...oh please! Besides, marriage meant...sex.

"Bleeeargh!" Jack heaved into a flower pot.

Sex. It was an activity that Jack never, if he could possibly help it, thought about. Sex was a double edged knife that perverted friendships and twisted simple love. What's more, sex meant physical contact. Skin on skin. Absolutely no respect for personal space; invading it in every way. Jack had developed a nasty habit of vomiting whenever he felt nervous or overwhelmed; it was hard to control, and so many things made Jack nervous, most of all people touching him. It wouldn't do at all to vomit on one's lover. It would mean possibly opening one's heart to another person, and Jack had decided from the very start of highschool he wouldn't be doing any of that.

That wasn't stopping Aunt Josephine however. When Jack came down for breakfast finally, Josephine was looking at Jack in a very calculating way.

"Aunt Josephine?" Jack coughed.

"I've invited a friend over for lunch. He'll be here in a few hours, you should get cleaned up."

"But I just took a shower. I'll be dressed as soon as I finish my breakfast."

"You're hair is a mess. I swear you never brush it. Let me just..."

"Aunt Josephine, no."

"Just a little bit, I promise I'll be gentle. At least get all the knots undone."

Jack bolted to his feet, nearly tipping his chair over.

"I know what you're trying to do, and I promise you, it won't work." With that Jack ran up the stairs to his room. Josephine sighed.

The next few weeks were a horror for Jack. Visitor after visitor came by, trying to court what Josephine had described as "a shy girl looking for love in her life." At first Jack refused to wear the girly clothes that Josephine lay out for him, but when one rich lech cornered Jack and tried to coax him to take his binding off, he decided that wearing dresses was alright, and he would simply have to scare them away with his disagreeable personality. Soon though, Josephine's list of rich male friends was running out, and she was growing more and more impatient with Jack, and often the night dissolved into shouting contests between them. Finally she started inviting girls over, telling them she had a "lonely shy nephew who was too bashful to seek out companionship without his aunt's help." This usually lured the girls in, thinking they would meet some tragic poet, but usually Jack simply sat the girls down and talked to them for hours on end about chocolate and sweet-making. They could only feign interest for so long; but Jack was totally sincere. He figured if he found one girl who was just as enthusiastic about chocolate as he was, he would somehow tolerate marriage. Of course, some girls he met were horribly direct:

"So, how big is it?" Jack spit out his tea into his cup and gaped at the woman.

Or they were completely unprepared to deal with his poor conversation skills:

"Do you have any favorite styles of music?"

"Yes."

Silence for another twenty minutes, the poor girl looking expectantly at Jack, while he sipped at his tea. Eventually he grows bored, looking at the girl critically, "You're not very good at this, are you?"

"I've had enough of this!" Josephine screamed as she stormed up the stairs. "You're lazy! You do nothing to help out! You just sit on your ass all day and scare the guests I've worked so hard to get here!"

"Well maybe I'd be a little more willing to help out if you didn't insist on treating me like some blushing bride to be sold on the market! Ever think that I don't want to get married?" Jack screamed back from the doorway, leaning on the banister.

"Oh please! Everyone knows it's a girl's dream to walk down the aisle! Why do you have to be so stubborn and just accept the fact that you're a woman and that society has some expectations of you!"

"Why does gender have to matter so much to you people! It makes me sick! I wanted to live here and someday be able to open my own confectionary business, but all you can see is some pervert who refuses to submit himself to the demands of a spouse!"

"You are a pervert! And there is no way you are ever making it in the confectionary business, you're just in denial. In the mean time, I waste my resources on you, and you refuse to help yourself by accepting help from someone who would like to in exchange for your hand in marriage!"

The argument went on much like this for the rest of the night. Jack's eyes were watery with tears at his aunt's cutting criticism. His coughing fits were getting worse and worse as the night progressed. Finally, Aunt Josephine burst through the door of his room and said,

"You have one week to leave this place. I don't want to hear from you again after this."

Jack thought hard. Who else could he go to? He thought Aunt Josephine was his only living relative. Finally it dawned on him. Aunt Josephine had had another sister, besides his mother. Jack enquired as to her whereabouts, and Josephine only said, "Bucket. London."

A/n: Hope that wasn't too hard to get through. Sorry that Mr. Wonka was mentioned only briefly in this chapter, but I had to focus on character development and exposition first. I promise lots and LOTS more of him in the coming chapters, mmkay?