Billie, Wonka, and the Chocolate Factory, a charlie and the chocolate factory fanfic

Billie, Wonka, and the Chocolate Factory

I was just one of many people working in Wonka's factory- this is before we were all fired and replaced by Oompa-Loompas, of course. I was in college, and I needed a steady job to help me pay my way through, and, well, it was a fun job and it paid well, so I took it. Day after day, I'd come to this marvelous factory, put on my gloves, and get to work doing one of the simplest jobs, keeping the chocolate river clean. If any stray blade of sugar-grass or if any human hair drifted into it- anything- it was my job to remove it.

It was easy work. Most of my time was spent daydreaming. The only real excitement I got was when something big fell in, like a coworker, and I had to phone in Wonka himself and let him know while I fished him/her out.

It was after I'd fished out my fourth coworker that Wonka called me to his office. I was absolutely clueless as to what he'd summoned me for. As far as I knew, I hadn't done anything wrong. I went to the office, my stomach twisted in knots, and I played with my sweaty hands behind my back as I tried to smile calmly and confidently as I entered the room.

Willy Wonka was facing his desk, which faced away from the door. He had his head down, and for just a silly little moment, I indulged in the private glee inspired by the whimsical curling of his golden-brown hair which stuck out at odd angles from beneath his brown top-hat. I'd always adored his curls to the point of girlish infatuation. I began to wonder, as always, how those curls felt- if they were soft or rough, how much they would bounce if I tugged them, thoughts like that- and then I began to wonder other things, such as whether or not he had the same whimsical golden hair curling on his arms, if his arms were tan or not, muscular or not, since I'd never seen them; he was always wearing that purple suit-jacket. It was just as I began wondering what his chest hair looked like that Mr. Willy Wonka suddenly sensed my presence and turned around.

"Billie!" he said, arms wide in an exuberant Y-shape, fabric stretching taut across his mysterious chest, impish grin lighting his face, charming blue eyes sparkling. I blushed. "You summoned me, sir?"

"'Sir'? Don't you think that's a bit formal? After all, you have been working for me for six months now. And excellent work, too, I might add." His grin widened.

I ducked my head, blush deepening. "Thank you, sir."

"Wonka," he corrected.

"…Mr. Wonka."

He sighed impatiently, grin fading a bit. "No- just Wonka. Well, I have some good news and some bad news- which would you like first?"

"Umm…" I really didn't know. I was terrified what the bad news might be, and probably too anxious and excited to know what the good news might be.

"All right, bad news it is then! Well," he said, spreading his hands wide and then clasping them together, "The bad news is, you've been replaced."

An icy rock settled in my stomach. "…What's the good news?"

He smiled widely, eyes crinkling. "You're being promoted!"

I could hardly believe my luck. "Promoted?" I repeated dumbly, not believing.

He nodded, giddy. "Yes, as of now, you are my personal assistant."

I gaped. "But… shouldn't that go to someone with… I don't know, more job experience or something?"

Wonka brushed the comment away like a pesky gnat. "All the workers with more experience have made themselves indispensable. They'll never be promoted- they're too good at what they're doing."

That did make some sense. "But… why me?"

He leaned forward in his chair. "Because, my dear," (my stomach clenched when he said 'my dear' and looked into my eyes) "-I have seen you daydreaming on the job, and I want to know what kind of ideas you have. I want to know what's going on in that pretty head of yours, what you're thinking when you gaze dreamily into the chocolate river and let your imagination run wild. Because, as you know, my factory is a place of pure imagination. I would very much like to know what sort of imaginings my imagination has inspired you to imagine."

No eyes were ever so childishly blue as Willy Wonka's. He had just paid a huge compliment to me, one which I felt was undeserved, but then, none of us ever really knew what was going on in the boss's head… still, that he'd picked me seemed highly fortunate and very unlikely.

"…Will you accept this post?" he asked, seeming a trifle unsure of himself for once.

For a few seconds, I couldn't make my mouth form the words. Then, "Yes," I said.

"Wonderful! You start now."

Working as Willy Wonka's personal assistant turned out to be just as strange and interesting as you probably think it would. Sometimes I was filing things, sometimes I was unfiling things, and other times we would just sit and talk about candy, ideas, and pure imagination. Some days, I was surprised when my shift ended, and went home feeling strangely sad.

I had been working at this new post for a couple of months when my last semester ended and my summer of job-searching began. I finally had my bachelor's degree, and I was looking everywhere I could think of for somewhere interesting to use it, but I kept coming up dry. Willy Wonka noticed the change in my usually sunny mood one day when I was searching for an old file on gum that made your teeth rainbow colors all at once. He placed his gloved hand on my forearm. I froze instantly. I could feel the warmth of his hand through his purple silk glove. Suddenly I was conscious of every muscle in his hand, every hair on my arm.

"You seem stressed lately," he said, golden-brown eyebrows puckered in concern, forming an adorable crease above his interesting nose. "Is this job too much for you? I mean, I used to do this all myself, but you've been such a big help…"

"N-no, no, it's not like that!" I reassured him. "It's just…" I looked away. "I have this degree now, and I can't seem to find a place to use it anywhere. And it's so frustrating, because I worked for so long to get it, and now I have debts to pay off…"

Willy Wonka squatted on the floor next to me. "Well… hmm. That is a bit of a predicament, isn't it?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully with one finger. Then, inspiration struck, lighting him up like a candle. "I know! Why don't I give you a permanent job… here?"

The thought had never occurred to me. Especially since… "But Mr. Wonka-"

"Wonka," he corrected tiredly. "Just 'Wonka'."

"-Wonka, what about all that talk about the spying you think has been going on? What about how you don't trust people to run your factory anymore? You said you might even fire them all just to get rid of the spies, and if that's the case, then I'm going, too, aren't I? You aren't making any sense!"

"When do I ever make sense?" he asked, completely serious.

That's when I realized I truly loved the man. Truly, madly, deeply. "Mr—I mean, Wonka— if you do fire everybody else, where does that leave me?"

"Well, here, of course!" he replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "If I fire everybody else, then I'm firing everybody else, aren't I?"

I smiled ruefully. "You've always had a way with words."

Willy Wonka smiled back. "You can't know that; you haven't always known me." He sat down, crossing his legs, and leaned towards me conspiratorially. "And if it's jealousy you're worried about, they'll never know- for all they know, I fired you two months ago."

"True…" Still, it bothered me that he would fire everybody else, but not me. But at the same time, it gave me a warm feeling I couldn't explain.

"Unless…" He peered at me suspiciously. "You aren't the spy, are you?"

I had never been so terrified in my life. "NO, sir!"

He winced. "It's Wonka!"

"S-sorry, sir! I mean, Mr—I mean, Wonka!"

His gaze softened. "I didn't think you were."

'Were' what? -OH! He meant the spy! It was so hard to think with him so close, with him gazing into my eyes with those bewitchingly childish blue orbs…

He cleared his throat. "Would you like the… permanent position?"

Something about the gravelly way he said 'position' made my blood heat. I could think of a few positions I'd like to have with Mr. Willy Wonka. But I had to stay focused—I nodded. My throat was dry.

"Well then… that's… that's that, then!" he finished awkwardly, standing slowly and brushing his hands off on his beige corduroy pants. I stared at his brown well-worn shoes, wondering if it was true, what they said about big feet… I stood up slowly too, looking in the opposite direction of Mr. Willy Wonka, wondering when it was I'd started feeling this way about him. I sneaked a glance at him, only to catch him looking at me.

His gaze darted away quick as lightning, and he spun around to walk quickly to who-knows-where, but he spun too fast and bumped his hip into a desk, stumbled, bumped his hip again, tried to walk around the desk, bumped his hip a third time, tripped over his own two feet again, and caught sight of the clock, which said we had three hours left. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, seeing as we were suddenly so awkward around each other. It seemed like an eternity doomed to be cut too short… "How about a coffee break? -I hate coffee. Let's have a hot chocolate break, shall we?" he offered quickly.

"Sounds great."

Mr. Willy Wonka took his hot chocolate with about half a pound of mini marshmallows, fresh from his own marshmallow room. I took mine with a candy cane. We clinked our mugs together, sipping them slowly and carefully not looking at each other, then finding our eyes inevitably drawn to each other's gaze and then quickly looking away again. "I never was one for awkward silences," he said, taking another sip of his hot cocoa. "But we've never had one before, so why should we start now, I wonder?" He seemed half-curious.

I shrugged, sipping my cocoa silently, at a loss for what to say.

We sipped at our cocoa for a couple more minutes before he broke the silence again. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"I, uh… I was just thinking about chocolate."

"Chocolate, yes… one of my favorite starting points! Do continue."

I blushed. What I'd been thinking about as I'd sipped my cocoa was licking melted chocolate off of Mr. Willy Wonka's long, spindly fingers. "Edible chocolate," I added for clarification.

His smile dimmed slightly. "Yes, well, I suppose all chocolate is eatable."

I bit my lip. "And…"

His golden eyebrows rose. "And…?"

"And- have you ever thought about making candy not just for kids, but for adults? Like… edible underwear?" I blurted out. Horrified realization hit me as I realized what I'd just said, and I ducked my head, my blush deepening until he began to speak.

"Hm, yes," he said thoughtfully, "the thought had crossed my mind… But what were you thinking of, in particular?"

I swallowed, hardly believing I was having this conversation. "Chocolate body paint."

"Yes! Chocolate body paint! Brilliant! Women everywhere would love to eat that, and who better to make chocolate than me? And then men would love it, too! Why, just think of how adventurous it would make their wives!" he exclaimed, his eyes lit with enthusiasm. "What other ideas did you have in mind…?"

I blinked. "…Ideas?"

He drained the rest of his hot cocoa and leaned forward again, eagerly. "For candy, of course! What else have you come up with?"

"Oh! Um…" Could I really divulge my candy-coated fantasies to this man, who so often starred in them? "W-well…" I tried to wipe all thoughts of him naked from my mind, but it wasn't working very well, with him staring at me like that. I took the last sip of my hot cocoa. "I thought, maybe…" I mumbled.

"I like where you were going with the eatable underwear. Classic idea! And it could come in all sorts of different flavors- different styles!"

"And some of it could be dissolvable by saliva!" I blurted before I could stop myself.

But before I had time to feel awkward about it, he added onto my idea with great enthusiasm, "Yes, yes, of course! It would all be dissolvable by saliva! And just think of all the naughty designs we could make- women's lingerie! Bring me some swimsuit catalogues tomorrow! And ads from Victoria's Secret! Who advertises for men- do you know? -Oh, never mind, we can make it up as we go!" It was a bit strange, seeing him so animated and childish, talking about such adult things. So strange it was almost funny.

It would have been funny, had I not been so turned on. "Yes!" I exclaimed. "And we could make something that flavors semen, so that when it comes out, it tastes like blueberries, or snozzberries, or root beer!"

His eyes twinkled. "You like root beer, don't you?"

I bit my lip. Of course he'd noticed. "I have… kind of an unhealthy addiction to it."

"I also noticed you really enjoy whipped cream," he added with an impish grin.

I nodded. "I love that stuff! I'd lick it off of anything!"

"What if," Willy Wonka said to me, his mouth mere inches from mine, "I told you," he said, eyes hooded, looking at my mouth, "that I could make saliva-soluble root beer-flavored whipped cream?"

I licked my lips. The chocolaty warmth of his breath was driving me insane. He was leaning towards me, our mouths a breath apart.

"Mr. Wonka, sir," the intercom crackled loudly, breaking our spell, "Buntley has fallen into the river again."

"That klutz!" Willy Wonka exclaimed, disgruntled. "That's the fifth time this month."

Mr. Willy Wonka stormed into the office the next day, fuming. I wondered briefly if one of his inventions had backfired again. He whipped off his hat and took a ball-shaped chocolate morsel out of his suit-pocket. "Do you know what this is, Miss Turtledove?"

I scrutinized it. "One of your Snazzy Snozzballs, sir? The ones that are soft, but never melt?"

"The very same! Or so one would think! Which is why, as of right now, I'm firing everybody!" he stormed, turning on the intercom. "Everyone! Attention, everyone! Stop what you're doing and go home! And don't come back!" He turned the intercom off and sat heavily at his desk, throwing the offending fake Snazzy Snozzball across the room.

I watched it splatter on the wall behind me. "Um, sir?"

"Wonka," he growled.

"Mr. Wonka," I amended.

He stood up, face red, hair wilder than ever, and strode over to me, grabbing my shoulders firmly. "For godsakes, woman, it's Wonka! WONKA!"

I stared into his snapping eyes, at the great anger behind them- the hurt- the betrayal. I realized that a tiny corner of his magnificent brain was terrified that I had been partially responsible for the imitator Snazzy Snozzball on the floor behind me. "Mr. Wonka, sir, I didn't have anything to do with—"

He leaned closer, shaking a little. "I know." His gaze burrowed deep into my eyes. "How many times," he said in a soft, dangerous voice, like a panther waiting to spring, "do I have to tell you," he leaned closer, our noses almost touching, "it's Wonka?"

For a second, I couldn't move. I thought he was going to kiss me. He was so close I could feel his hot breath on my tingling lips. "W… Wonka…" I whispered, staring at his mouth.

He stayed there a heartbeat too long, and then slowly backed away. "I'm going away for a while," he said.

I don't know what I'd been expecting him to say, but it certainly hadn't been that. "Going… away?" I repeated dumbly.

"Yes," he said, relaxing his grip on my shoulders, but neither letting go nor backing away. "I need time to think, time to sort things out, time to explore the world for new ingredients to my candy."

It made sense. But… "Where does that leave me?" I wondered aloud.

"Well, that's the thing," he said gently, never taking his eyes from mine. Those wonderful baby blue eyes. "I was sort of wondering if you'd come with me."

"Come with you?" I realized I sounded like a retarded parrot, but he'd taken me so much by surprise, I had to make sure I was hearing him right.

"Well, you are my personal assistant, aren't you?"

Willy Wonka took me to a continent I'd never heard of. I can't pronounce it, much less spell it. He says it is the place where he has gotten some of his most brilliant ideas, some of his most valuable candy-making ingredients. The shuffleberries that add just the right amount of sweetness, the oakapples that add just the right amount of zing, the cocofruit pods that stick everything together- it all comes from there.

The forest seemed to go on forever as we battled our way through the thick undergrowth in the wet, sticky heat. We stepped over root after root, climbed over some branches, ducked under others. I felt out of shape, panting behind Willy as he valiantly made a path for us. I felt a bit guilty, too, since it seemed like he was doing all the work, cutting through the underbrush and forging ever onwards, while I just followed him.

Suddenly, a large angry beast charged at me, catching me in my right side and pinning me to a nearby tree. Wonka was on it with his machete before it could charge me a second time. He hacked at it bravely, dodged its every charge with sprightly nimbleness, his blue eyes wide and alive, sweat stains spreading on his undershirt. The beast fought back briefly, then seemed to think better of it and reared, roared, and ambled off angrily, huffing the whole way. I relaxed a little once it was out of earshot, but I knew I couldn't let my guard completely down. "What was that?"

"Are you all right?" Willy asked, gripping my upper arms and worriedly scanning my face.

I blinked. "I, ah…" It was hard to think when he was so close. "Um… I'm fine," I managed.

He loosened his grip on my arms and leaned against the tree I was still backed up against. His scent filled my nostrils. The jungle was steadily growing even warmer…

He sighed shakily. His breath warmed the side of my neck deliciously, sending tingles through my bloodstream. "Sometimes I wonder if it's safe for you to have come with me on this trip. Of course," he added, "it's too late now…"

"I'm fine," I squeaked. The jungle was much, much too warm.

He backed away and picked up his machete. He stared at me for a moment, concerned. "Are you sure you're all right? No bruises, contusions, concussions, or cracked ribs? Nothing?"

I smiled warmly. "I'm fine," I repeated.

Many such incidents followed. Every time a snozzwanger or a wangdoodle attacked us, Willy fought it off valiantly. Many times, our bodies were tantalizingly close, but they never quite touched. We never paused long- we forged on, day after day, and sought refuge in the trees at night. One of us would sleep while the other kept a look-out. Since I was afraid of the dark, Wonka tried to make sure there was always at least some light when it was my turn to play look-out. I admit I wasn't a very good look-out, since I spent most of my time looking at Wonka.

Near the middle of the third month of our adventuring, we stumbled upon what looked to be a pod of houses. There were five or six spheres, about five feet tall and five feet in diameter, hanging about twenty feet above the ground, connected by thick vines. We shared an exultant glance. Civilization!

"I wonder what the natives are like," he whispered to me excitedly.

I was concerned. "What if they're not friendly? None of the beasts we've come across so far have been friendly! In fact, most of them have tried to kill us."

He barely gave pause, moving forward. "I suppose there's always that possibility," he said, as if it was of no consequence whether or not the natives tried to kill us.

I, for one, was for survival. "They won't understand a word you say!"

Here he did stop. He turned to me, blue eyes sparkling. "That's where you're wrong. What we have stumbled upon here are Oompa-Loompas. We must be in Loompaland!" he stated reverently. "Not much is known about them. They are secretive little creatures, always hiding from the nasty beasts that inhabit this continent's rainforests- hardly anyone knows or believes they exist at all! But I have taken it upon myself to research their language. I have a book in my back pocket which translates every word they say! Of course, it translates it into French, but I speak French, as well, so it's not a problem."

I, however, do not speak French, nor have I ever spoken French, so I was somewhat miffed that I'd have no idea what either side was saying. Still, I trusted Willy Wonka with my life. I knew he'd never put me in any danger.

Three days later, we found their colony. Pods and pods of Oompa-Loompa nests nestled in the quagwak trees, centered around a bigger nest which Willy Wonka said must belong to the chief. He was as giddy as a schoolboy on Christmas break as he approached the chief's nest.

A group of tiny orange men in hunter garb burst through the underbrush and rushed towards us, pointing their spears at us. "Wonderful," Willy Wonka said, completely undeterred, "They will escort us to the chief!" To them, he smiled and touched his hat in a haphazard salute. The Oompa-Loompas frowned suspiciously, talking to each other in their native language, and, just as Wonka said, escorted us to their chief.

The chief was a fat Oompa-Loompa. He sat majestically behind his table, pounding green caterpillars into mush. The conversation that followed was never translated to English for my benefit. All I knew was that we went from being suspiciously held prisoners to being exulted guests. And by the end of the month, we had all the Oompa-Loompas on a plane back home, where they would work for Wonka for their rest of their lives, happily accepting chocolate as their salary. For, as Wonka explained, their culture centered around the worship of the cacao bean, which was apparently rare on that continent. The Oompa-Loompas saw Willy Wonka as some sort of god.

For about the first week or so back at the factory, Willy Wonka was entirely immersed in showing the Oompa-Loompas how his machinery worked and giving them tours of the factory, negotiating salaries, and performing other work-orientation activities with the Oompa-Loompas. I was barely needed at all, and spent most of my time in Wonka's office by myself, organizing his files. Considering how notoriously spontaneous and nonsensical Mr. Willy Wonka is, I certainly had plenty of work to do. Still, it was rather lonely.

Once the Oompa-Loompas were all settled in, Willy Wonka joined me in his office. At first he was shocked by the sensible organization that had suddenly descended upon his file cabinet. He blinked several times, leafed unbelievingly through the drawers, mumbling astonished remarks as he went, and then he closed the last drawer and turned to me. "Well done!" he said, his brilliant blue eyes still wide with wonder.

I smiled, blushed, and turned away modestly. "It was nothing…" I cleared my throat, rubbing my arm bashfully. "I had to do something while you were busy with the Oompa-Loompas…"

One corner of his mouth tilted upwards. "Sorry I left you alone for so long," he said apologetically.

"Oh!" I replied, surprised, "No, it's no problem at all! I know you had to give instructions to your new workers. They've come a long way, after all, and everything must seem so foreign to them…!"

Wonka nodded, the look on his face a mixture of wonderment and curiosity. "You understand them very well," he remarked, evidently impressed. He pushed off of the desk he'd been leaning on and stood up straight. "Well, we have lots of catching up to do! I think it's high time for another hot cocoa break!"

I'm afraid I didn't have many ideas during this particular hot cocoa break. Most of it was him telling me his new ideas and me adding to them. He controlled most of the conversation, interjecting exuberantly every few seconds when one brilliant idea led to another. I didn't feel too bad about not saying much, since he seemed like he was just eager to bounce his ideas off someone. I was enjoying just listening to him.

The conversation slowed after about an hour of this (one could never tell how long one of our 'breaks' would be). We had both re-filled our hot cocoa mugs several times. Willy Wonka took a sip out of his mug and set it down, looking curiously at me. "I apologize; I've been going on and on this whole time. Did you have any new ideas yourself?"

I thought for a moment. It was very hard to concentrate, with Willy Wonka leaning over the small table towards me like that, his eyes fixed on me attentively. I stared resolutely into my hot cocoa, trying to remember if I had any ideas to share with him. Nothing was coming to mind. "Um…" I started to say, then glanced up at Willy Wonka.

He was staring at me.

Willy Wonka suddenly seemed fascinated with my face. His beautiful blue eyes focused on first my right eye, then my left, and, like a caress, moved to examine my nose. He stared at the space between my nose and my mouth for the longest time. My heart was pounding so loudly in the otherwise silent room, I wondered if he could hear it.

"I never really looked at you before," he observed.

I nodded dumbly. I felt as if I'd just consumed an entire case of his Fizzy Lifting Drinks. I wondered for the thousandth time what it was about Willy Wonka that drew me so much to him. Was it the whimsical way his golden-brown hair curled out from under his hat? Was it the seeming lack of reason in his reasoning, the sheer genius driving his creativity? Was it the ironic tilt of his mouth, the clever sparkle ever-present in those bewitching, beautiful, baby blue eyes?

His gaze turned thoughtful. "Do you ever look at me?"

I blushed and hid my face between curtains of my wavy brown hair. "Well… yes." All the time, I silently added.

He smiled slightly. His gaze was intense. "And… do you like what you see?"

Again, I nodded.

"What is it you see?"

I was a bit taken aback. "Um…" I thought honestly, besides his obvious charm and physical charisma, what it was I liked. "A clever, creative man who's half-mad and drives me bonkers. –In a good way!" I added hurriedly.

His smile had an ironic tilt. "If I didn't drive you a little bit bonkers, you wouldn't be entirely sane," he said solemnly. He stood up to re-fill his hot cocoa mug again.

I stared at his back while he walked the short distance to the pot of hot cocoa. "But some of the most brilliant people in the world are mad," I commented.

"I don't see why they should be angry," Willy Wonka said seriously, helping himself to hot cocoa. "I find it counterproductive. –Would you like more?" he offered.

"I can get it myself," I said, standing.

Willy Wonka followed me with his mug, helping himself to the usual ridiculous amount of marshmallows. I smiled as I re-filled my mug. "Why are you smiling?" he said. The hairs on my neck stood. He was standing right next to me.

"Chocolate makes me happy," I said. I sound like an idiot, I thought.

"Do you know why that is?" he asked me in that gentle, serious voice. I shook my head 'no'. He stepped closer to me. "Did you know that chocolate has a chemical in it which imitates the feeling of falling in love?"

I set my mug down slowly on the table next to me. Willy Wonka's mug, I noticed, was also set on the table. "Can one tell the difference," I asked breathlessly, "between chocolate-induced love and real feelings of love?"

"I don't know," he said gently, "I've had a lot of chocolate today…" I don't know how we ended up so close- one of us, or both, had taken another step towards the other- we were so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body.

"So have I…" I whispered, staring longingly at his mouth.

His bewitching blue eyes were fixed on mine. He was leaning towards me, so gradually it was almost imperceptible, and yet the force drawing our bodies together was as irresistible as gravity. I must have been leaning, too.

"But," he said quietly, his lips nearly touching mine, "I don't think chocolate has ever made me feel this way before…"

"Me neither…" I whispered, finding it hard to breathe. We both leaned in just a little closer, so that our lips were just touching. The chocolate on his breath was intoxicating. My body tingled on every point of contact with his, especially my mouth.

The kiss was leisurely and gentle, like his voice. My arms traveled languorously up around his waist, lightly holding him even though I wished I could crush his body against mine and squeeze him with all my might. His arms rested lightly around me, as well, heat radiating through his gloves, causing two very warm spots on my back. He faintly increased the pressure of his lips against mine, tilting his head indiscernibly more as he did so.

My head was swimming in ecstasy. I increased the pressure more, tentatively hinting with my tongue. Obediently, he opened his mouth and tenderly introduced his chocolate-flavored tongue to mine. Marshmallow, chocolate, and mint met and mingled, marrying in a marvelous mixture inside my mouth. My arms tightened around his back and his arms tightened around mine. Sensations crashed over me in waves. My breaths became shorter, my body more desperate for his.

Abruptly he broke the kiss, searching my eyes earnestly with his. His precious blue eyes darted back and forth, back and forth, and then stopped, focusing for an instant on both of mine, and then he let me go and backed away. "Perhaps," he said, "we should not drink so much hot cocoa all at once." He glanced at me, then down into his mug. "It messes with our feelings."

"But-!" I retorted, my stomach tied in knots. "I've been wanting to kiss you for the longest time!" I blurted out, blushing heatedly.

He spun around to gape at me. His cheeks were tinted, his eyes bright. "You have?" he exclaimed incredulously.

I couldn't blush any deeper. Nor, apparently, could I speak.

He leaned close to my face, his childish eyes searching mine again. "Miss Turtledove," he said in a constrained voice, "is that true?"

His mouth was so close I could've kissed him again. But I just nodded.

He sprung away from me and paced up and down the office several times, muttering to himself and glancing frequently at me. Then abruptly he stopped, turned to me, spun around, looked at the clock, and spun back around to face me. "I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Turtledove," he said distractedly. He resumed pacing.

I glanced at the clock behind him. "Oh," I said absentmindedly. And I left.

It was one of those gray, gray Mondays in November when it happened. The snow fell like powdered sugar being lazily sifted into a large bowl, the wind casting it into little flurries here and there. The warmth of the factory was a welcome relief. I took off my coat in his office, looking out the window at the snow.

I jumped when I heard his voice to my right and saw him standing next to me, looking out the window. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he observed.

"Yes," I replied.

We stared at the snow for a while. Then, "I have something I want to show you," he said, turning to me. His bewitching baby blue eyes held mine in an unbreakable grasp. He strode to the door, gesturing me to follow.

He led me to his boat, helped me in- my heart skipped a beat when he offered me his hand and I grasped it, hoisting myself aboard- and we set off to his invention rooms. He stopped in front of the door labeled "Dairy cream, Whipped cream, Coffee cream, Vanilla cream, Hair cream". He helped me out of the boat- my heart skipped another beat when our hands met again- and opened the door, holding it open as I walked in. The room was strangely empty of Oompa-Loompas; there were only two of them in the room, and both were working on different machines and studiously ignoring us.

Willy Wonka stopped before his whipped cream machine, which had a small table in front of it covered with a lumpy cloth which obviously had something underneath it. He smiled uncertainly at me, his eyes twinkling with a curious mix of apprehension and anticipation. Then he swept the cloth majestically away, revealing several bottles of whipped cream.

I squinted, puzzled, looking from the bottles to Mr. Wonka and back again. He seemed immensely pleased with himself. He looked as if he had a smile just waiting to explode all over his face. "Go ahead," he said. "Try some."

Hesitantly, I reached out and grabbed a bottle. I struggled with the cap, my hands sweaty and shaking. Willy Wonka was just about to offer his help when I finally succeeded in opening the unruly bottle. "What do I… squirt it on?"

"Anything, anything! It doesn't matter! Or right into your mouth!"

My heart pounded. A thought flashed through my mind of licking the whipped cream off of Mr. Wonka's spindly hands. I shook my head rapidly to clear it, my face red. The room was almost silent but for the metallic sounds of his machinery. It was so quiet I wondered if he could hear the pounding of my heart.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked, excitement and impatience flashing in his eyes. "Go on- try it! I made it just for you!"

That got my attention. "Y…you did?"

"Yes, yes, now try it!"

I swallowed. Well, I thought, may as well. I squirted some into my mouth.

Root beer.

I closed my eyes in ecstasy, the perfection of the creaminess and the fluffiness caressing my tongue, the deep, dark, sugary flavor wrapping itself around my tastebuds. It tasted so good, I moaned. This was sheer perfection.

I was almost sad when it melted in my mouth and dissolved into nothing. It shrank and shrank, never condensing or liquefying- always staying that perfect fluffy consistency- until it was all gone. Echoes of the flavor were still present in my mouth. I opened my eyes and found Mr. Wonka rather close, his eyes shining like a Christmas tree. "Do you like it?" he asked.

"Yes," I whispered. "It's heavenly."

His grin exploded, filling his face with rapturous glee. "Now, I know it dissolves in the mouth- I made it to dissolve with saliva, just like you said- but I'm not quite sure what would happen if it was on the skin. See, Oompa-Loompas' skin is slightly different from human skin, so their test results were inconclusive—so I wonder how we might test that out? You know- for future customers!" he added sheepishly.

"Well," I said, feeling a bit bold and still in a daze from its sheer deliciousness, "You could try licking it from my hand."

His gaze met mine sharply. The air between us was heavy with unspoken words. Finally, he said, "I suppose it couldn't hurt…" He took the bottle from me with one hand, and with the other hand, grabbed my hand and cupped it into a bowl shape. He squirted a generous amount into my cupped hand and set the bottle on the table next to its abandoned cap.

"Cheers," he said, moving my hand towards me as if he were holding a champagne glass. Then he lowered his face to my hand and slowly, delicately, ate all the whipped cream. As he got farther down the pile of fluffy heaven, he flattened my hand until my fingers were spread. He amorously licked the palm of my hand with his hot tongue, licking each of my fingers individually, getting every last trace of sweetness. At first I watched him through half-lidded eyes, but by the time he started licking my hand, my eyes had once again closed in ecstasy. He kissed the palm of my hand lightly, released it, straightened, and looked into my eyes. He'd never stood so close to me before. "Does your hand feel… sticky, at all?" he asked in a husky voice.

I flexed my hand, testing. "Well," I murmured, wanting to give him an answer, but not wanting to stop 'testing' his new product, "I suppose it does feel a little sticky…" which was a lie, because my hand was, at this point, completely dry and, in fact, pleasantly moisturized, as if I'd just put on my favorite lotion.

"Hm…" he said thoughtfully. Then he stripped off his gloves. "I guess you'd better try it on me then. Who knows? Maybe there's a difference in skin chemicals on men and women…"

It took me a minute to register what he'd just said. I stared at his spindly fingers and realized it was the first time I'd ever seen him without his gloves. His fingers were long and a bit knobby, pale as pale can be, and his knuckles were delicately dusted with fine golden hairs. The contrast was mesmerizing.

Willy Wonka picked up the bottle with one hand and squirted a generous amount into his naked hand, then set the bottle back, slowly and deliberately, on the table. His eyes never left me. He held out his hand about six inches from his chest.

It was an offer I couldn't resist.

I tied my hair back quickly into a ponytail and set to work cleaning off Mr. Wonka's hand. Every mouthful of whipped cream was pure bliss. My eyes were almost closed the entire time. As I got down to his hand, I saw his breath hitch in his chest. I was relentless in my licking, determined to savor every last bit of it. Not a drop of this marvelous invention was going to waste. I licked the crevices in his palm, the creases between his fingers. I kissed his hand when I was done, looking into his eyes as I stood up. Mr. Wonka was slightly pale, his eyes half closed, and he looked a little sad that it was over.

"Any stickiness?" I purred in a voice I didn't know I had.

"N-no, none at all…" he murmured. "I wonder…" he said, eyeing me, "…if it works the same on the neck… After all, the hands sweat a lot more than the neck, and…"

I smiled. "You want to lick it off my neck?"

He gazed longingly at my neck. "Yes," he whispered hoarsely.

A warm shiver ran through my body. "You do realize I'd have to take off my shirt, right?"

He frowned for a second. "You know," he said, "it occurred to me just now that there is a better place to further test this product."

I raised my eyebrows. "And where is that?"

He smirked, eyes twinkling. "Follow me."

Mr. Willy Wonka lived in his factory. He took the entire tableful of whipped cream, wrapped it in the cloth that had been covering it, and carried it like a satchel to his bedroom. It was large and whimsical and colorful, just like I'd always imagined it would be. He had a couch which would've been at home in a Dali painting, lamps that looked as if they'd grown out of the floor, walls, and ceiling, and a bed covered with so many different patterns of blankets it almost gave one a headache just to look at it.

Willy Wonka placed the satchel of whipped cream on his nightstand and stripped off his jacket. "Can't get this dirty, you know," he explained. He set it aside and walked over to me. "Well," he said. "I, er… guess you'd better lay on the bed now," he said awkwardly.

I bit my lip. "Where should I put my shirt? You, er, said you want it off…"

"Yes, yes," he said distractedly. Neither of us moved to take off my shirt. "I guess the floor will do."

I unbuttoned it awkwardly, feeling his eyes on my skin, hungrily examining every new inch of it I revealed with the unclasping of each button. After what felt like half an eternity, I shrugged it off. We walked to the bed together. He grabbed the open can of whipped cream, uncapping it and placing the cap on the table. I leaned back on the bed, exposing my neck and chest to him. The whipped cream was cool and moist against my skin, which tingled in anticipation of his tongue.

Mr. Wonka began his feast. I leaned further and further back as he got closer and closer to my skin. I was almost lying down, propped up on my elbows, my head tilted back, when I first felt his tongue on my neck. Instantly, my nipples tightened and I felt an eager pulsing begin in my nether regions. My breathing became deeper and irregular, and his breathing came in warm puffs against my skin, still wet from his hot tongue. I could tell by the rhythm and force of the air puffs that his breathing was growing labored as well.

He licked his way up my chin. One of his arms went around me, and he was half on top of me, kissing his way up to my mouth as I laid back against the absurdly comfortable bed. When his lips finally met mine, I grabbed his head with one hand, pulling him closer, surprised for a split second that his hat had been removed, and buried my fingers in his golden-brown hair. It was even fluffier and softer than I'd imagined. His lips tasted like root beer. I opened my mouth to lick at the delicious flavor. His mouth opened against mine and we ascended into pure bliss. He tasted of root beer and promises and magic.

When we eventually broke the kiss, he gazed into my eyes, just far away enough that I didn't have to cross my eyes to look at him. He drew his hand to my throat, stroking it lightly. He smiled his crooked smile. "No stickiness." His hand wandered farther down, to my clavicle, caressing it, outlining its shape, going wider and wider, all the way to the shoulders, narrowing his strokes as he went farther down my chest until his hand rested restlessly between my two eager breasts. "I think," he said, "that perhaps we should talk about our feelings sometime."

"For each other?" I asked, my stomach clamping down on itself nervously.

He nodded sagely. Then he leaned down to kiss me lightly on the lips. "Some other time…" The back of his hand was hot on my chest. It strayed to my right breast, cupped it gently, and his thumb slowly stroked my nipple. His strokes were light and languorous. "I wonder if it is the same with breasts…?" He reached behind me and unclasped my bra. I slipped free of it, eager to find out.

He squirted some whipped cream onto each breast, making sure the nipples were completely covered. Then he lowered his head and began the heavenly process again. My back arched in ecstasy. He finished cleaning off one breast quickly and made sure there was not a single molecule of whipped cream anywhere on that nipple. His tongue was quick, clever, and oh-so-hot. He was slow and gentle when he wanted to be, fast and frantic the next second, then slow and languorous again. Somehow, undoubtedly by some ingenious idea from his endearingly clever mind, the whipped cream on the as-yet-neglected breast had not deflated in the least while he'd been feasting on the first one. He did the same routine with the second breast, engulfing almost my entire breast in his hot, wet mouth when all the whipped cream was gone, sucking and teasing, gently scraping his teeth across the nipple while he sucked it, kneading my other breast with his hand.

Once he was finished with my breasts he came back up and kissed me hungrily. I tangled my hands in his delightful hair, and he kneaded my breasts with his delightful hands. There's something to be said for having long, thin fingers. And his hands, like his mouth, were oh-so-warm.

"It seems a little unfair," I said in a half-whisper, after the kiss was broken, "My shirt is off, I'm completely bare on top, and you're still wearing your shirt!"

He sat up and began unbuttoning it. "You're right!" he said. "And we have yet to find out how well it works when there's body hair involved. Does it stick to hair, I wonder?"

I watched him as he unbuttoned his shirt and shucked it off, mesmerized. His skin was just as pale on his chest as it was on his hands. A light smattering of golden hairs formed a triangle between his pectorals, disappearing for a few inches before starting up again in a rather narrow trail, which surrounded his cinnamon-role-like bellybutton and disappeared into the top of his pants. He had delicately outlined abs, wonder of all wonders, and his nipples were adorably tiny and rosy. His arms were neither thin nor fat nor muscular, but perfect. Just perfect. He leaned towards me and kissed me again. "All right, it's your turn."

I squirted a generous amount of whipped cream onto his chest and barely gave him time to situate himself before diving right in. Every mouthful was just as heavenly as the last. The flavor and texture alone were so heavenly that it was almost enough to send me over the edge. But I held back somehow and proceeded to torment dear Willy Wonka with my own hot tongue.

He'd been sitting when I'd squirted the whipped cream, so a small glob of it had fallen onto his stomach. I finished licking his left nipple and moved myself down his body to lick up the remaining glob. By doing so, it just so happened that my breasts fell on either side of a rather impressive bulge that was straining in his pants. I leaned into it as I licked his stomach clean.

I lifted my head, reluctant to remove my breasts from either side of his erection. He didn't look like he was overly anxious for me to move, either. "I w-wonder," he said breathily, "if, perhaps, it is different on, on genitals…"

"There's only one way to find out," I purred in that voice again. I unfastened his pants and found, to my surprise, that he was wearing no underwear.

"Laundry day," he explained.

I shrugged internally, more turned on by it than I was curious. "Does this stuff stain clothing?"

"Only one way to find out," he whispered, clearly not caring anymore whether or not it stained clothing.

The feeling was mutual. I squirted a dollop of the stuff onto his jerking member and wrapped my mouth around him, savoring the root beer flavor on the warmth of his skin. I had barely started licking when we both came simultaneously. Interestingly, his semen tasted like root beer, too.

We collapsed where we were. It took us several minutes to recover. When I opened my eyes, my head was resting on his thigh, and he was propped up on his elbows, staring down at me. "I tried another new product, as well. Did you taste it?"

"You mean, your…" I gestured vaguely with one hand. "…You know."

"Yes!" he replied enthusiastically. "Did it work?"

I nodded.

"Eureka!" he exclaimed.

"You were planning for us to end up here, weren't you?" I said.

"What do you mean?" he asked, trying to look innocent but looking sincerely impish instead.

"The… second product you tested."

He smiled wistfully. "I was rather hoping so, yes…"

I laughed. "But what if it hadn't?"

His eyes glittered. "Oh, it wouldn't have gone to waste." He stood began the process of getting re-dressed. "Well, I'd consider that a successful test! -Oh, and you can keep these if you want," he said, gesturing to the bottles of whipped cream.

I stared at them for several long seconds. It was tempting, to take them all and have them whenever I wanted them. But even more than that, I wanted to be licking that delicious confection off of Willy.

"I'll bring them back to the office and let you decide later, how does that sound?" Willy Wonka said, climbing back into his suit-jacket.

"Sure."

After that day, I was hopelessly in love with Willy Wonka. I followed him everywhere during my shift at the factory. Every bolt he tightened was precious, but not as precious as the movements of his muscles beneath that precious purple coat. I had it bad and I knew it. I couldn't take my eyes off him.

As for Willy Wonka, I wasn't sure how he felt about me. He would lose himself in his inventions, work his fingers to the bone, and was the quintessential workaholic. However, I found that quality endearing. Although he paid most of his attention to his work, his hands would linger whenever he handed me something, and whenever he gave me instructions, he would look into my eyes for a heartbeat too long and smile at me before going back to work.

Christmas drew nearer and nearer. It has always been my favorite time of year- the joy and goodwill and generosity, the love and brotherhood, are always so abundant around Christmastime. It does my heart good to see people so full of love and generosity. Willy Wonka was certainly no exception. He was secretly planning to give all the Oompa-Loompas the day off on Christmas Eve and Christmas day, and he was going to pay them double salary both days. He waited with gleeful anticipation to tell them about it. In the meantime, he was putting the finishing touches on his gingerbread house recipe and quality-testing the candy canes and chocolate Santas.

"You love candy canes, don't you, Billie?"

I looked up from the clipboard I'd been doodling hearts on. "Um, yes."

He smiled. "Try this one, then. I want to make sure it tastes just right." He handed it to me. His hand lingered, his eyes warm. My breath caught in my chest.

I unwrapped the candy cane and tasted it. "Root beer?"

Willy Wonka laughed. "Is it good?" he asked, eyes twinkling.

"It's wonderful!" I breathed. "But… you are making peppermint ones too, right?"

He laughed again. "Of course! I just thought I'd make some special for you. You can have them for free- think of it as a Christmas present. Or a job benefit."

I bit my lip. "'Job benefit' sounds so… formal."

Willy Wonka smiled at me. "Did you notice the decorations I added in my office?"

I looked around. "Well, I did notice the wreath, the garland, and the Christmas lights…"

He stepped closer. "Yes, and…?"

"Um…" I looked around, extremely conscious of how close his body was to mine, wishing he'd step just a couple inches closer. I didn't see anything else. "I don't see anything else…"

His eyes softened. The twinkle in his eyes was exaggerated by all the pinpricks of colored lights coming from the Christmas lights bouncing off the silver and gold garland. "Look up."

I looked up slowly. My eyes widened. "Mistletoe," I whispered.

Willy Wonka reached out and delicately cupped my chin with one spindly hand. He tilted my head gently and smiled, looking into my eyes. "You know what that means," he murmured. He slowly lowered his face to mine, kissing me with those lips that were meant to kiss mine. Warmth spread through me like hot chocolate, making me feel weak and happy, happier than I'd ever been.

His hand went from my chin to the back of my head, cradling me as he kissed me more firmly. I wrapped my arms around his waist, pulling him closer. I opened my mouth slightly against his. Immediately he yielded to my tongue, gently stroking it with his own. His other arm wrapped around my waist, holding me gently but firmly, as if I was a precious treasure that he would never let go, but that he was afraid to crush with the strength of his love. My knees grew weak. I could no longer support my full body weight. I leaned into him. He supported both of us, strong and sweet and kissing me.

His kissing slowed and gradually stopped and he pulled back his head, looked into my eyes, and then made a desperate sound in his throat, re-angled his head, and came down, kissing me again, harder, hotter, more passionately, holding me closer to his body, his arm tightening around my back. I kissed him back, matching his desperation. Something long and hard pulsed against my groin. I could feel his heart beating wildly against mine. His mouth was so hot…

His hand was hot on my back. His other hand moved to my shoulder, equally hot. I desperately wanted those hot hands to caress other places on my thrumming body. It was difficult to say which feeling was stronger- the want for him to strip off all our clothes and have me on his desk, or the ecstatic lifting and bittersweet aching of my heart.

He moved to kiss my left cheek, then my right. Then my nose, my forehead, my chin, my lips, briefly, the side of my jaw, my neck… My hands snaked up his back and tangled in his absurdly fluffy, ever-wild hair. He came back up and kissed my mouth again hungrily. My heart soared.

When we finally broke the kiss, both breathing erratically and only seconds from climaxing, we looked into each other's eyes, he made that desperate sound in his throat again, and he pulled me against his chest in a hug and buried his nose in my neck. I rested my cheek joyfully on his chest, tightening my arms around his waist.

"Remember how I said we should really have a talk about… feelings?" he murmured into my neck.

"Yes," I whispered into his chest.

"Did that answer your question?"

I smiled warmly.

He gazed at the clock on the wall behind me. His mouth formed a grim line, his eyes sad. "It appears your shift has ended, Miss Turtledove."

I craned my neck, not letting go of him. So it had. I turned back to face him again. "So it has, Mr. Wonka."

He smirked crookedly, his eyes ironic. He made no move to let go of me, either.

I bit my lip, my eyes darting all over his face. I didn't really want to leave yet.

His expression melted to one of sadness and regret. His lovely golden eyebrows knit together over his perfect nose, causing that adorable little crease to form above the bridge of his nose. I couldn't look away from his face. Neither, it seemed, could he look away from mine. Abruptly, he crushed me against his chest in a tight hug. I hugged back immediately, matching his force and need.

We held each other for a long moment before he let me go and backed away. He handed me my coat. "Well… have a scrumdiddlyumptious Christmas break, Billie."

I put on my coat. "You too…" I smiled, "…Willy Wonka."

His smile was sweeter than his river of melted chocolate. "I'll see you January 3rd, my dear."

I walked into the factory on January 3rd with a racing heart, savoring each and every smell, and the closer I got to the door of Mr. Willy Wonka's office, the more nervous I became. Once I go there, the door opened and Willy Wonka grinned at me. It was as if he'd been waiting by that door for me since I'd left. He grabbed my hands and pulled me to him, pointed up at the mistletoe I barely had time to observe, and kissed me firmly on the lips.

And I, of course, reciprocated the kiss enthusiastically. But it didn't last very long. He broke the kiss and wheeled me around into his office, taking off my coat for me and immediately launching into a discussion of all the new ideas he'd cooked up while I'd been on break. I smiled, loving his eager, workaholic nature, and listened with open ears, interjecting small ideas here and there whenever he paused to take a breath. As soon as I uttered something, his eyes would light up, and as soon as the last syllable left my mouth, he would add to my idea and twist it in his own way, add more to it, and come up with something absolutely astonishing in a matter of seconds. The man, clearly, was a genius.

For the rest of that first day back, he was very warm to me, accepting all of my ideas and even asking for my personal assistance with some of his projects. The time flew by. It took us both by surprise when I happened to catch a glimpse of a clock which told us my shift had ended half an hour prior. He was elbow-deep in machinery when I made the observation. "I can go back to the office alone," I offered. "I know my way around the factory well enough."

"No, no," he insisted. "This will only take a second."

It actually took several minutes. I'm not sure how long exactly… I was too busy watching his muscles work beneath the fabric of his suit-jacket. I longed to have his arms around me again. I jumped when he turned around and dusted off his gloves. I was embarrassed that he'd caught me looking at him, but he just smiled at me and said, "All done." Then he offered his elbow and escorted me to his office, like a true gentleman. During our walk to his office, I was in a delicious daze, feeling the warmth of his arm against mine, the gentle bulge of his arm beneath my fingers.

He opened the door for me and released me of his elbow, gesturing for me to go first. I giggled and played along, half-wondering why he was being so formal. I donned my coat and raised an eyebrow at Willy; he was still standing in the doorway. A thought occurred to me. I glanced above his head. And smiled.

I walked to the door. He waited for me. Once I closed the distance between us, he took me in his arms and kissed me under the mistletoe. Warmth surrounded my heart like the softest blanket. His hair was like angels' silk between my fingers. He tasted of maple and peppermint and every kind of berry. He gently released me from the kiss, smiled warmly at me, his eyes brighter than the summer sky, and bid me good evening. "I'll see you tomorrow," he promised as I slowly let go of him.

I couldn't wipe the smile off of my face all the way home.

Most of January passed thusly. Every day, Willy Wonka would be waiting for me. Sometimes he would open the door for me and kiss me, sometimes the door was already open, and sometimes he would be fiddling with something on his desk and staring at the clock, and I'd take him by surprise because I was a few minutes early. Sometimes his kisses were light and quick, sometimes hot and desperate, but they were always, always soft. And every day, when one of us realized my shift had ended, we would go back to his office together and he would kiss me good-bye.

He was no different, really, during my shift. I mean, he was warmer and we touched more and more, half the time by 'accident', but he treated me with the same level of respect and enthusiasm that he always had. Our hot cocoa breaks were always pleasant, with us discussing new ideas and new inventions; our enthusiasm levels always matched, and our ideas always snowballed off each other. It was bliss.

When February began, though, he started acting… strange. Even for Willy.

He was getting jumpy, was sometimes nervous around me, and I couldn't shake the feeling that he was hiding something from me. Of course, working in a chocolate factory and it being February, Valentine's Day was never far from my mind. There was a horrible twisting fear wrenching my gut that haunted me with the possibility that things weren't working with him, for whatever reason, and that's why he was growing so suddenly distant. There was no question about it- he was definitely trying to keep me in the dark about something. He kept sending me off to fetch things when there were dozens of Oompa-Loompas who could've done the job just as well, and he wouldn't let me accompany him into certain rooms. "It's unsafe for females right now," he'd say, or, "This experiment is top-secret," even though he discussed most of his top-secret inventions with me.

As the fourteenth drew nearer, we both grew increasingly nervous; him because of whatever he was hiding from me, and me because he was hiding something from me. Our conversations grew somewhat stilted; there was an elephant in the air above our heads which we were both dancing around, and I didn't even know what the elephant was made of, or even if it was an elephant. It could've been a whale, or a camel, or a mountain, or a merry-go-round. I had no clue.

Finally the day arrived. When I got to the office, to my surprise, Willy Wonka wasn't there. I took off my coat, my stomach twisted into a thousand churning knots. I hesitated awkwardly after hanging it up and scanned the office. He's always here when I get here. Where is he?

I checked behind the curtains. I looked in the closet. Feeling increasingly silly and a thousand times more nervous, I started checking drawers, then stopped myself. He wouldn't be in a drawer. What am I doing? Something white caught my eye. There—over on his desk. I walked over.

It was a note. "Dearest Billie," it read, "You will no doubt have noticed by now that I am not in my office. Have no fear; I am quite well. You will find me in the Sugar Crystals room. I have instructed several Oompa-Loompas to take you there by boat. See you soon. Yours, Willy Wonka"

My heart was nearly pounding out of my chest as I got onto the boat. The Oompa-Loompas were all either studiously ignoring me or trying to and failing, and the latter group kept smirking at me and trying to hide their widening grins. Something was definitely going on, and it bothered me that I was the only one not privy to whatever it was.

The Oompa-Loompas kindly offered to help me off the boat, but I went the macho way and disboarded the boat on my own power. The only hand I want to hold is Willy's, my brain thought without my bidding. Even if it's just to help me off this boat.

I swallowed at the lump in my throat, staring anxiously at the sign on the door that read 'Sugar Crystals'. My stomach felt as if it was knitting itself into a sweater. After a long moment, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked in.

The Sugar Crystals room is one of the most beautiful rooms in the entire factory. Stalactites and stalagmites of rock candy grow from the ceiling and floors, and each stalactite and stalagmite is a different color and flavor. Many different caves and rock candy formations have turned the room into sort of a maze over time, just like a real cave. The lights for the room are in the ceiling and on the walls, so multi-colored lights seem to be coming from every direction. The resulting effect is soft, oddly euphoric, and a bit other-worldly.

There were no clues to help me through the maze at first. The Oompa-Loompas closed the door behind me with an echoing thud. And then I heard singing. "Hold your breath… Count to three… Make a wish…" I knew that voice. I followed the sound, but it felt like I was following the string attached to my heart, the string only Willy Wonka had ever pulled, the string that was constantly pulling me towards him, and him towards me. "Come with me… And you'll be… In a world of pure imagination…" It seemed almost as if he was singing to himself. "Take a look… And you'll see… Into your imagination…" Louder. I was getting closer. I thought I caught a glimpse of his brown hat through a window between two rather columnous stalactites/stalagmites which had fused together from floor to ceiling. "We'll begin… With a spin… Traveling in the world of my creation…" He was definitely getting louder. My hands became sweaty. I swallowed nervously. "What we see… Will defy… Explanation…"

That was definitely his hat I'd glimpsed! He was only a couple of turns away! "If you want to view paradise…" I ran the rest of the way. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest when I saw him. "Simply look around and view it…" his voice trailed off. I am viewing paradise right now, my brain thought. It's him.

Willy Wonka smiled at me. "Hello, Billie." He took a step towards me. "I gather you found my note?" I nodded. His smile widened marginally. "Good. Now, then… there's something I've been wanting to ask you…" Anxiety grabbed me around the middle and squeezed mercilessly. I could hardly breathe. Willy reached into his pocket and withdrew a small box. "See, Valentine's Day is a big day for me, and so I was wondering… well…" He opened the box. It was lined with black velvet. Sitting in its cushioned center was a trio of hearts; one milk, one dark, and one white, all chocolate. "…which kind of chocolate do you like best?"

I blinked, trying to calm my racing heart. "Um, milk…" I answered.

"All right. Well, I made you all three just in case. There's tons more in my bedroom, but I wanted to make sure I gave you the right kind, and I just couldn't think of a way to find out which kind you liked best without making you suspicious…"

I laughed hollowly. Relief and disappointment flooded through me; I wasn't sure which emotion was stronger. "It's a little late for that." My eyes, much to my chagrin, began to tear up a little. I looked up, trying to blink the tears away, and ended up getting an eyeful of Willy Wonka's lovely eyes looking down at me. When had he moved so close?

He kissed my forehead and handed me the box. "Would you like to accompany me to my room so I can give you the rest of your present?"

As if I'd say no.

True to his word, he had three gift-wrapped satin-covered velvet-lined bags tied with satin ribbons. All three of them had my name on them. "You can have all three, if you'd like," he offered, but I left the dark chocolate bag. I don't like dark chocolate.

"Well," I said, "thank you."

Willy Wonka smiled down at me, blue eyes dancing with laughter. He had the look of a gleeful boy who could barely contain himself. "That's not all," he said.

"Oh?" What else could he…?

"Open the bag."

Puzzled and intrigued, I opened the bag of white chocolates.

"Take one out!" he whispered excitedly.

I took one out.

"Try it!" he insisted.

I popped it into my mouth. And smiled. "Root beer…"

Willy Wonka gently took the hearts out of my hand and placed the bag on his bedside table. "Do you like your present?" he asked in a low voice laced with anticipation.

Some of the disappointment started to melt away. I'd been foolish to think he'd propose so soon… "Yes," I said, smiling crookedly up at him. He smiled back and hugged me tightly, rocking gently back and forth. Slowly, I became conscious of every plane and curve of his body. The feeling of euphoria faded a bit and began to be replaced by something hot rather than warm, something needy rather than generous and giving, something desperate rather than thankful, something I could tell by the pulsing bulge against my groin that Willy was feeling as well.

I tilted my head back and we kissed feverishly, melting into each other, becoming the kiss. It was like melting chocolate being brought to the boiling point. Tongue strokes grew deeper, stronger, faster, longer. It seemed like no matter what we did, we just kept getting hotter and hotter. One by one, our clothes fell to the floor. I don't know how it happened. My eyes were closed the whole time; we never stopped kissing, not even when we took off our shirts. (Thankfully, they were both button-downs.)

Somehow we managed to end up on the couch, with Willy spread over top of me. Really, it didn't matter how we'd ended up there. What mattered was that Willy Wonka, the love of my life, was making love to me.

His hands had deftly removed my bra and were massaging my aching breasts, which had been desperate for his touch. My own hands were roaming his back, memorizing each muscle, each bone, the softness of his skin, the sweet curls at the nape of his neck, the indentation where his spine was, the narrowness of his hips, the sweet round mounds of his buttocks. His breath was catching, and he was shuddering on top of me. I began to shudder too, inching towards climax. Abruptly, he stopped. Panting, he said, "We should stop." I begged to differ, which I let him know by rubbing my pelvis against his. He crossed his eyes and made that adorable desperate sound in his throat. "I don't want to… to push you too far…" he stammered, his breath coming in short bursts.

"We've already had oral sex," I pointed out.

"Well, that was… I mean… You barely touched it!"

"But I did touch it. With my mouth." I grinned wickedly. I humped him again, just for good measure.

His eyes crossed again. An adorable little moan escaped between his deliciously pink lips. "All right, all right! You did! But if we keep this us much longer, I'm… that is…"

"Do you have protection?" I asked boldly. For a virgin. But he didn't need to know that.

"…Yes…" He rolled off of me and jumped to his feet, strode across the room, and opened the drawer under his nightstand. He took out a thin square and closed the drawer and walked back to me. "Are you sure it's okay?" he asked, his eyes warring between concern and want.

I kissed him, opening the package for him. I smiled. "I want you to." I nuzzled his neck, kissed it, and rested my head on his shoulder while he rolled the condom on. He gently lowered me to the couch again, kissing me deeply all the way down. His mouth still on mine, he reached down between my thighs with one hot, spindly hand, parted them gently, and lowered his pulsing rod between the apex of my thighs. "Last chance," he whispered against my mouth. I kissed him fiercely, arching into him.

He entered me slowly, cautiously, allowing me time to accommodate him, to get used to the feeling of him inside me. I clung to him for dear life. It suddenly didn't seem possible to survive a storm of such intense sensations, to fit so much into such a small, unused space. I whimpered, burying my face against his shoulder. He panted against my neck as he slowly drew out, then gently re-filled me. I kissed his shoulder, panting, kissing his neck as he did it again.

He took my mouth, kissing me passionately and holding me securely to him, and began thrusting with increasing speed. Our breathing grew crazed together as we went faster and faster, until we couldn't kiss anymore, and we rested our foreheads against each other's, panting and thrusting, finding a rhythm, riding the storm, finding the crest of the wave, riding it, riding it, and suddenly the universe converged within itself, forming and re-forming millions of stars and galaxies, space-time exploding and re-assembling into billions of tiny pinpricks of light…

Willy lay, panting, on top of me when it was done. We held each other tenderly and didn't move for quite some time.

We must've fallen asleep at some point, because when I opened my eyes again, my lids were heavy and I felt extremely lazy. Willy didn't weigh all that much more than me, so his body weight pressing down on me was entirely comfortable. Still, there were places that had been pressed against for a bit too long for comfort. Willy watched me as I fully opened my eyes for the first time in what had probably been a couple of hours. He smiled gently. "You're so beautiful when you sleep."

"Have you been awake this whole time?"

"No, no—I've only been awake for about ten minutes now." He smiled reassuringly. I made a move to sit up, and he climbed nimbly off of me and sat beside me on the couch, entirely comfortable with his nakedness. I, on the other hand, was feeling a bit awkward. As I said, I had been a virgin (although Willy didn't know that) and although I didn't mind Willy touching me when I was naked, or even kissing me wherever he wanted (I couldn't wait for him to do that!), but I did feel a mite awkward with him staring openly at me the way he was. His gaze was almost like a caress. The little hairs on my arms stood up at full attention as his scrutiny passed up and down the length of my body, lingering in certain places which he seemed to find particularly pleasing.

Well, I thought, two can play at that game. And so I indulged in scrutinizing the naked body of Willy Wonka.

His body, truly, was a work of art. Oh, he was no Greek statue, but in my eyes, he was perfect. Most of him was long and rather thin, although understandably he was nicely rounded with fat here and there so he wasn't a skeleton (the fat, undoubtedly, from his sugary diet). Golden curly hairs were sprinkled in all the right places; my favorite spot was the upside-down triangle on his chest. He barely had any muscles on him, just enough that one could tell they were there. His skin was rather pale, except for his darling little rosy nipples. Every time I looked at them, I just wanted to cuddle against his chest and kiss them.

When our eyes met again, he was smiling widely at me with his mysteriously white, adorably semi-crooked teeth. I blushed. I knew he knew I liked what I'd seen. But what I didn't know was… "How long have you… had feelings for me?"

His eyes softened and warmed, like a marshmallow over a campfire. "I think I started falling for you while you were applying for a job at the factory. There was just something about you… I think it was your attitude that got me. Always cheerful and optimistic, creative, determined… The first time I caught you daydreaming on the job, I could scarcely look away from you. I wondered what you were daydreaming about, whether it had anything to do with me…"

I was stunned. "That long?"

He nodded thoughtfully. "At first I didn't think much of it. I liked you; but I thought that was about it. But ever since the first time I caught you daydreaming on the job, I had trouble getting you out of my head. I knew you deserved a better job than the one you had, but all the positions were full. Finally, the curiosity was just too strong, so I decided to promote you so that I'd find out what you'd been daydreaming about. Imagine my surprise when I found out you'd been using your imagination the whole time- not just thinking of things you had to do, or remembering something, like most people do- you were really using your imagination that whole time you were daydreaming, and you were using it in order to imagine new candies! I think I've loved you since our first conversation about ideas. We do make a great team, don't we?" he asked, eyes twinkling.

"We do…" I said wonderingly. To think he'd loved me all that time.

"It's a little strange for me to admit, but… I've never felt this way about anyone before! To think, I've found somebody I can share my ideas with, work on my inventions with, even go on expeditions to Loompaland with!" He hugged me. "I never dreamed it was possible!"

I smiled. "I did. I dreamed about you all the time. Daydreamed, that is."

He inched his face towards mine, blue eyes twinkling humorously. "And I daydreamed about you as well." He kissed me softly on the mouth.

I fingered his curls tenderly. I worked my fingers gently through his hair, getting closer and closer to the roots. He closed his eyes, slumping forward a bit. I sat behind him, removed his hat, and buried my fingers in his hair. He leaned back slowly and propped himself on his elbows so I could easily have full access. I knelt, my legs spread so that his head was floating between my thighs, and took full advantage of the position.

It was one of the most relaxing afternoons I've ever had. He let me play with his hair for about an hour, and then my hands got tired and he asked me if I would like him to return the favor. His hands were expert, deftly stroking my hair from root to tip without ever snagging it. When his arms got tired, he let me stroke his hair again for a bit and then we snuggled, me with my head on his chest, our arms around each other, until my shift was long over.

Months passed. We made love frequently. Sometimes we'd walk through the factory holding hands. Life was bliss.

Then one day, after several sessions of passionate love-making, Willy caught his reflection in the mirror and paled. I was on my feet in an instant. Worry clenched my stomach as I walked to him and placed my hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

He continued staring at his reflection. Slowly, he raised a hand to his whimsical hair and gingerly, he touched it. He was transfixed.

After several minutes of silence, he announced, "I have a gray hair," in a low, scratchy voice with an undercurrent of desperation.

Relieved, I let my shoulders sag and hugged him. "It's just one gray hair, Willy."

He shook his head gravely. "My dear, I am getting old…" He slowly put one arm around me.

I tightened my hug for a fraction of a second, then looked up at him. "So? You're getting older. I am too. Are you afraid you're too old for me? Because that's silly- it's the same age difference it's always been, and I've never minded it. Why worry about it now?"

Willy shook his head gravely again. "It's not that… It's… I am getting old. …I need an heir. Someone to take over this factory when I am… when I am…" He swallowed. "…gone."

A weird squirmy feeling tortured my insides. "Well, why don't you have children with me, then?"

Again, Willy was silent for what was almost an intolerable amount of time. He was acting so unlike himself, I was beside myself with worry. Finally he spoke: "We should sit down…" He led me to the bed and we both sat down, with our arms still wrapped around each other. He looked into my eyes. "I… have a confession I need to make." That weird twisty feeling intensified. "Those… condoms we've been using," he said, "…They're an invention of mine." He paused. He looked troubled. "I thought… I thought I had gotten it right the first time, but… well, I guess I didn't take into account the acidity of the vagina, and… well… it broke." He allowed a second for this to sink in before he went on. "So of course I went to work right away on fixing the problem, and I thought I had, but… well, let's just say that you should be pregnant by now."

My arms had loosened their grip around his waist. My palms were sweaty. "When were you planning on telling me? Why didn't you let me know?"

"Well, sometimes I wouldn't know the condom had broken until I found it several days later- you know how we get sometimes," he smiled. He saw the look on my face and his smile faded. "Oh, Billie, I would've let you know! But you never turned up to work pregnant, or nauseous! And… well… it got me to thinking: why was I not impregnating you? So I got myself tested, just on the off-chance, and, well…" his voice trailed off. He stared somberly at a corner on the floor for a very long time. Then he said it: "I'm infertile."

I felt as if I'd been punched in the gut. I'd wanted to have a family with this man. I wanted to marry this man. Even after what he'd told me, even after what he hadn't told me, I still wanted to marry this man. "…We could adopt," I suggested.

He shook his head vigorously. "It's not the same! How would I know if it was the right child? I can't simply walk up to an orphanage with a list of requirements and audition children! Life doesn't work that way!"

Never had I thought Willy Wonka would ever utter such a cynical, pessimistic, logical sentence. Willy Wonka was the man of dreams and hopes and optimism! Willy Wonka was a man who would forever be a child at heart! Obviously, his infertility was severely eating at him inside. I gently touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry…"

He turned away. Tears began to well up in my eyes. I felt stupid for not noticing the hurt he'd been going through. But he'd hidden it so well!

"You want a family," he said in a low voice.

I didn't say anything. I did want a family. I had always wanted to be a mother- that was one of the only things which had kept me going when I was in college.

"I can never give you that," he said quietly.

I didn't know what to say. I wanted to say something to comfort him, something to bring back the Willy Wonka that I'd loved for the past two years, something to make him smile again. But I couldn't think of anything.

And what's worse, I knew that what he was saying was true.

"Perhaps it would be better if you went home for the day, Miss Turtledove."

I stayed with him for a few more minutes on the bed, but neither of us made a move and neither of us spoke a word. He was deep in thought and had closed himself off to me. I was alone.

Eventually I stood up and slowly dressed, watching him all the while, trying to think of something to say, some way I could bring back the sunshine in him which I adored so much. But there was nothing to say.

So I left.

When I showed up to work the next morning, Willy Wonka was in his office putting things into a box. I thought naively that he was simply organizing things. I should have realized that the Willy Wonka I knew so well never organized things.

"What are you doing?" I asked brightly, hoping that we could put yesterday's fiasco behind us and move on, hoping we could somehow brush over it and fix things.

He kept his back to me as he answered, "Gathering your things. I'm almost done."

Gathering my…? "Why?" I asked with a false smile.

"So that you can take them home." He didn't even look at me.

I took a step closer to him. "Why would I want to do that?" I asked.

He stilled.

I took another step towards him. "…Willy?"

Willy Wonka turned to me with a pained expression, looking over my shoulder. His eyes looked dead. I had never seen him look so much the opposite of himself. "Perhaps it would be better if you found someone else…"

I leaned heavily against the nearest piece of furniture. "Wh… wh… why?"

He continued his eerie stare, not moving his eyes even after I'd leaned. "Just… just try, Miss Turtledove. There has got to be someone out there that's better for you than me. Someone your age. Someone… who can give you a family," he gulped, "just like you've always wanted."

"You're… you're firing me," I said tonelessly.

He winced, his eyes still unmoving. "I have to. You'll never find someone else if you're here with me."

"But I don't want to find someone else!" Tears were running down my face.

He turned away from me again.

"Can't we talk this over?" I pleaded.

He paused. "What is there to say?" he asked gravely.

My mind was a tortured criss-cross of questions and emotions. Unfortunately, it was much too scrambled to allow me to think of anything to say.

Willy Wonka took my silence as an affirmation of his fears, handed me the box, and sat behind his desk, facing away from me. "Just go…"

I stared at the box. I stared at Willy.

He straightened in his chair. "JUST GO, DAMMIT!" he yelled, slamming his fists on the desk. Frightened of him for the first time in my life, I made my way hastily to the door and glanced at him one last time as I closed it behind me. He was bent over his desk with his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking.

He'll come to his senses in time, I thought hopefully.

For days after that, I sat by my phone vigilantly, both day and night, waiting for Willy Wonka to call me and tell me he'd changed his mind. I barely slept or ate. Whenever the phone rang, I'd jump and answer it before it had finished ringing the first time, my hopes higher than the sun in the sky, only for them to plummet back down into the center of the earth when I heard the voice on the other end and realized it was not Willy.

Relatives came to visit, but I told them I was sick. They said they understood and they generally left me alone, not lingering too long. My mother sent me a couple of casseroles.

After about a month of languishing by the phone, I realized painfully that he was not going to come to his senses and call me. I started half-heartedly looking for a job in the want-ads, still seldom leaving my home. I couldn't eat chocolate or anything chocolate-flavored. I dreaded the thought of some misguided soul offering me something made at the Wonka factory. I think seeing the name alone would have been enough to break me. I'd be on the ground, sobbing, and no one would understand why.

I finally happened upon a job by sheer dumb luck. It wasn't all that interesting, but it paid well enough that I didn't starve.

Nights, I didn't sleep well. Usually I'd stay up, painting or writing poetry or watching old black-and-white movies.

After working at my new job for several weeks, I was assigned to a more interesting post which was more in my field and I immersed myself in my work. The whole while I was doing so, I couldn't help but be reminded of dear Willy Wonka's workaholic tendencies. I really did cry whenever I saw a Wonka bar.

Still, somehow I managed to carry on.

Several years had passed. I was standing in front of Willy Wonka's factory, waiting for the gates to open. I was hidden in the thick of the crowd. No one knew that I was there.

Finally the doors opened, and Willy Wonka walked down the pathway to the gates where the five winners of the golden tickets stood. He seemed dazed by the bright sunlight, as if it had taken him by surprise. I wondered how long it had been since he'd last been outside.

Willy Wonka walked slowly down the pathway, scanning the crowd nervously as he went. I held my breath, my heart pounding against my will, wondering if he would see me, simultaneously hoping that he would and that he wouldn't.

At last, Willy's eyes scanned the part of the crowd where I was standing. He slowed to a stop, about ten feet from the gate, his eyes wide, and slowly fell. My heart caught in my throat. Then, the clever man turned his forward fall into a somersault and stood, blue eyes glittering and livelier than ever, and greeted the children.

It was good to see Willy Wonka back to his old self again. He was absolutely alive with those children. A part of me wondered if his sudden liveliness was an act, or if it had anything to do with the glance we'd just shared. I cursed my heart for feeling the way it did, for leading me to his factory that day. I needed to get back home before the grandparents noticed I was missing.

Willy Wonka finished talking with the five ticket winners and had escorted them all within his gates, which he shut behind them. He led the children and their guardians into the factory. My son, Charlie, was the last one in.

No matter how much one prepares oneself, there are just some shocks in life that are too hard to face. Such was the impact of Willy Wonka visiting my house via crashing through the roof in his Great Glass Elevator. Charlie was, of course, enthralled with the man, as I had once been.

Willy didn't see much of me the first time he visited our house. He shook hands enthusiastically with my husband, said a quick hello to me while still looking distractedly around the house, and greeted each of the three still-in-bed grandparents even as he was doing calculations in his head of how to move us all to his factory.

I thought it an ironic twist of fate that my son would be the heir to Willy Wonka's factory, bitterly remembering the fight we'd had over that same subject. While we ate dinner with Willy and discussed our future, I tried my best to stay civilized, but there was a war going on inside me. I had thought I'd buried all emotions for this man years ago, but apparently I had underestimated their strength. For the first time since I'd married my husband, I began to seriously question my reasons for doing so.

Willy's offer for our family to live in the factory was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, we finally had heat and food. On the other hand, more intensely emotional memories were dredged up. No one else had ever known about my affair with Willy. Therefore, no one knew what was eating at me.

It was during that first dinner in Wonka's factory that the dots were finally connected in Mr. Wonka's wonderful brain. He was entirely engrossed in talking with Charlie about candy when Charlie asked for a re-fill and offered his cup. I took it and poured more water into it, then offered some to Mr. Wonka: "Would you like more water, Mr. Wonka?"

Mr. Wonka raised his glass, turning to me halfway through his response, "Sure, Mrs. B-…" He paled. The muscles in his hand all quit at once; his glass crashed to the floor. 'Billie' he mouthed. He couldn't tear his eyes from me.

"Feeling all right?" I asked with mock concern, my voice cold.

Willy shook his head no and excused himself.

Dinners after that were a bit awkward. Willy would try his best to pay all his attention to Charlie, but it was just too difficult. Eventually he stopped eating dinner with us altogether and refrained from visiting us at all. He and Charlie spent the days together, and in the evenings, Willy would return to his quarters.

One night, my husband, Roger, caught me looking out across the chocolate river. I was watching Mr. Wonka part with our son and make his daily trek back to his quarters. In his usual blunt way, Roger went right to the point. "Look, Billie, I'm not sure what happened between you and Willy Wonka in the past, but it's obviously bothering you. Do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head 'no'. I didn't want Roger digging any deeper than he already had. Sometimes his insight was unnerving.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "Billie, you know it's not like me to pry, but I'm worried about you. I've seen the expression on Mr. Wonka's face when he looks at you, and I've seen the expression on your face when you look back at him. Two people who have just met do not exchange looks like that. I don't know when you two met before, but something obviously passed between you."

I didn't say anything. I mentally kicked myself for being so careless with my facial expressions, but then, I've always worn my heart on my sleeve. There was nothing that could be done about that.

Roger coughed, then continued. "It almost seems like he's always trying to say he's sorry, and like you're always telling him he'd better be." He laughed. Then he coughed.

His cough had been getting worse lately. He'd been sick since before we'd moved in, but the change in climate apparently hadn't helped to cure whatever it was. His coughing attack had him doubled up on the ground, which was not all that unusual anymore. He had several fits like this every day. Still, I couldn't help worrying. I knelt beside him and waited for the coughs to subside. It was taking longer than usual.

Then I saw the blood sprinkled across the ground by his mouth. Cold fear spread through my veins, paralyzing me.

Noticing something was wrong, Charlie ran the rest of the way up the hill, crying, "Dad! DAD!"

We had laid him out on the couch and pressed a warm rag over his forehead. He turned to me with a weak smile, his eyes sad. "I'm dying," he declared.

Charlie dropped the bucket of warm water he'd been holding. No one bothered to pick up the spill. The room was utterly still.

Roger sighed. "Don't look at me like that. It's not as if I want to go."

Grandpa Joe sat up in bed. "But you're still so young! If anyone's dying here, it ought to be one of us!" he said, gesturing to Grandpa George, Grandma Georgina, and Grandma Josephine. The three elderly folks nodded in unison.

"Roger…!" I said, stunned.

He frowned chastisingly at me. "Billie, you've known I haven't been feeling well longer than anyone else has. Surely you'd noticed I wasn't getting better."

"Well, yes, but- dying?" I retorted.

"'Fraid so," he stated.

"It's not fair!" Charlie said, tears streaming down his face. "We're rich now, Daddy! We can fix you up! We can make you better!"

He just shook his head morosely. "No, son. While you and Mr. Wonka were working yesterday, I went to the doctor's office to see what they could do. It's too late. There is no cure."

Sadness descended over our house. Charlie always seemed slightly more cheerful when he came back from working with Willy Wonka, but his face unfailingly fell whenever he saw his father on the couch. Grandpa Joe suggested that Charlie should bring Willy to dinner once, just to cheer the place up, since Mr. Wonka was always so full of childish delight. I told Charlie he had permission to do so.

I was only half-surprised when I saw two figures walking up my hill the next day around dinnertime. My treacherous heart lifted once again at the sight of Willy Wonka, and I tried my best all the while he was there to look anywhere but at him, but of course my eyes were drawn to him like a moth to a light. He seemed to be having the same problem. He made it all the worse by commenting, "You know, Mrs. Bucket, I was unsure about Charlie's invitation to dinner until he mentioned that you had given your permission for me to do so."

I just smiled wanly and answered politely that it was for Charlie's sake that I'd given permission. There was awkward silence for a few seconds before Grandpa Joe got the conversation going again with a witty comment about something having to do with candy—I don't remember what it was; I was too focused on trying not to be so focused on Willy.

Grandpa Joe retired early to bed. The other three grandparents were already asleep when he climbed in. He was asleep in a few short minutes- I guess talking about candy really tired him out- and Charlie began to yawn, too, so I suggested to Mr. Wonka that he and Charlie wrap things up so that Charlie could get some shut-eye. Remorsefully, they did, and I went to the door to let Willy out. I paused, hand on the handle, waiting for him to walk to the door.

Charlie said one last thing and hugged Mr. Wonka good-night, then glanced at his father one last time before retiring to his own bedroom upstairs. I opened the door for Mr. Wonka. "If I could speak to you alone for a minute?" he asked in a low voice when he was in the doorway.

"I'll be right back," I announced quietly to no one in particular, and followed Mr. Wonka out the door.

He led me to the top of the highest hill, the one right behind our house. Then he sat down on a toadstool made of fondant and frosting and gestured for me to do likewise. I did.

"What is it you'd like to talk to me about?" I asked impatiently. "I don't have all night, you know."

He nodded. "Forgive me," he said, "It's just—how ironic that your son is the heir to my dynasty!"

My mouth formed a grin line. "Yes, the irony was not lost on me. Now, if that's all you had to say, I think I should be going—"

"Wait!" he said, putting out a hand to grab my sleeve. I looked at him over my shoulder. "For what I did… Can you ever… forgive me?"

I tore my sleeve away. I turned quickly on my heels, hiding the tears that had suddenly welled up in my eyes, and walked away briskly.

He didn't follow.

To my surprise, Roger was waiting for me when I returned. "Billie," he whispered. I rushed to his side.

"Yes, what is it? Do you need some more medication?"

He batted the suggestion away weakly. "About Mr. Wonka…" I froze. "…I think he still loves you."

I stared unbelievingly at him.

He smiled weakly. "I know you've only ever seen me as a friend." He paused so he could cough, his spasms shaking his rattled frame, until he wheezed pathetically and relaxed again. More blood had come up. He wiped his mouth, grimacing. "And that's fine. I won't lie, I've always hoped that someday you'd grow to love me as much as I love you, but sometimes life is a little funny that way…" he laughed weakly, and his laughing turned into another cough, which ended with more wheezing. "Look, I'm not much longer for this world. You know that."

I nodded sorrowfully.

"Well," he said, pausing heavily, "When I'm gone, I want you and Willy to try to work things out together. It doesn't have to be right after I die—heck, you could start talking about things now if you wanted to, although I'd prefer you wait—but it's obvious to anyone with eyes that you two have a lot of feelings left unspoken, and it's high time you came to an end of some sort about that."

I pressed the rag against his forehead and stood up. "You're overly tired. You should get some rest."

He weakly reached out and grabbed my wrist. A treacherous part of my mind thanked him for not contaminating the wrist Willy Wonka had touched, the wrist which still burned from his grasp, light though it had been. "Remember what I said, Billie."

I backed away and he let me go. I hastily made my way to my bedroom and spent most of the night tossing and turning, trying not to fall asleep and dream of Willy.

True to his word, and despite the pills Roger took to relieve his symptoms, Roger showed no sign of getting better. I felt as if a weight was pressing down on me. The weight was ten times worse whenever I saw Mr. Wonka. All I could think about when I looked at his familiar spindly figure was that even as my husband lay dying just a few short yards away from me, my sorrow for his impending death was less than the yearning of my heart when Wonka was near.

Many times, Wonka would send Charlie home with gifts for the family. He sent special bars of chocolate for me and Roger; mine was a cure for depression and Roger's was a throat soother/ coughing suppressant. I always went into a corner where no one could see me when I ate my chocolate, so that no one could see the tears running down my face. The magical bars unvaryingly lifted my mood, gave me more energy, and helped me to carry on.

But they could not fix my troubled heart.

A coughing spasm woke everyone up one night. I practically flew to the front room to see what I could do for my ailing husband. He was coughing so hard he was vomiting. Charlie was already at work getting a mop and a bucket to clean it up. All four grandparents were watching intently and chatting fretfully amongst themselves, trying to figure out someway they could help.

The coughing went on for several long minutes. Roger was wheezing and gasping, trying to catch his breath, and blood kept spattering his bedsheets. He was covered in a sheen of unhealthy sweat.

Abruptly, his coughing stopped. His eyes rolled back into his head and he was still. Terror gripped the room as Charlie picked up his father's wrist and felt for a pulse. His eyes were wild as he bent his ear to his father's chest.

Roger wasn't breathing.

He was buried three days later in a cemetery near where we used to live. Willy had been quick in removing the body and sending it to a proper funeral home, and he spared no expense in paying for the funeral. "Your expenses are my expenses now," he explained gently.

Things were sad for a while. Charlie and I spent some nights cuddling in my bed, filling each other's loneliness with whatever comfort we could. We cried together until we both fell asleep.

They say time heals all wounds. It didn't seem like it would, at first, but as the months went by, the general mood about the house slowly improved. By summer, things were pretty much back to normal. Willy Wonka started coming to dinner again. He'd gotten into the habit of bringing edible bouquets and setting them on our table as a centerpiece, saying the place needed to 'brighten up a little'. Charlie and Willy were just as chummy as ever, and seemed to be growing closer.

One day Grandpa Joe pulled me aside while I was doing dishes and Charlie was out with Mr. Wonka. "Seems to me Mr. Wonka is putting a spring in everyone's step again," he commented.

I smiled elusively. "Yes, it certainly would seem so, wouldn't it?"

"Seems to me he fits this family like a glove."

I dried a dish and put it away, not looking at him. "What are you saying?"

"All I'm saying is, it seems to me that this family was missing something until Mr. Wonka came into our lives. And if I remember correctly, you were another worker at his factory before he shut it down. I don't remember where I saw you, but I know you were there. And it seems to me you and Mr. Wonka have some sort of history together. So it got me to thinking—maybe you and he had something going on while you were working at the factory. Anything's possible with Mr. Wonka. So I was thinking—"

"You do an awful lot of thinking, Grandpa Joe. But believe me, if there was anything going on between me and Mr. Wonka, it ended years ago, and I haven't looked back since," I finished with some undue venom.

Grandpa Joe backed down. "Well, all right, if you say so. But judging by those pretty bouquets Mr. Wonka keeps sending, I don't think he feels quite the same way about it that you do."

"Those bouquets are for the family."

Grandpa Joe shrugged. "Whatever you say."

As if to prove me wrong, that night when Willy Wonka visited us for dinner, he brought two bouquets; one was the customary centerpiece; the other was a 'special' bouquet for 'Charlie's mother' to 'cheer her up' because 'she looked like she needed it'.

After he'd left, I investigated my bouquet to see if there was anything special about it. I tasted a daffodil.

It was root beer flavored.

I tasted each flower individually, seeing if there were any other flavors. They were all root beer. I ate a couple daffodils and decided to eat a rose.

When I opened the rose, a note fell out. "Meet me by the foot of the chocolate waterfall at midnight. –W" I looked at the clock. 11:55, it blinked.

I made my way to the foot of the waterfall, where Willy Wonka stood in the shadows. He stepped out into the moonlight and smiled at me. "Hello, stranger."

I frowned. "What is it, Willy?"

His smile widened. "You called me Willy."

I blushed. "What is it, Willy?" I repeated gruffly.

He stepped closer to me. "Last time I tried to apologize for what happened between us, you wouldn't listen. I wanted to try again."

I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms.

He cleared his throat. "Mrs. Bucket, for what I did to you all those years ago, I am truly and deeply sorry. I panicked. I was rash. I thought you'd never forgive me, so I didn't even try to ask you back… In fact, I went a little crazy," he admitted, running a nervous hand through his wonderful whimsical hair. "I went into my office one day and suddenly I felt like I was only half a man- half a man, you see. So I went and I sawed all my furniture in half. Everything in my office has been cut in half… Charlie noticed it. He asked me what I'd done that for, and I told him it was an artistic expression. –I was a fool to ever let you go," he concluded. "Can you ever forgive me…?"

I thought about all that had come to pass over the past year. My son had won the one thing that made his dreams come true. He had inherited the dynasty I'd wanted to one day provide an heir for. By doing so, he'd facilitated the reunion of two old lovers, neither of whom had thought they would ever see each other again. My husband had died.

I looked around the room. Twenty years melted away as I gazed over the chocolate river. I was young again. I had the biggest crush on Willy Wonka. It was my foolish dream to one day catch his eye. And yet somehow, it had happened. I remembered every kiss, every caress, every tender glance. I remembered the way he used to hold me.

I remembered that day… the terror in his eyes, the worry in my heart. The way he looked at me. The way his precious eyes had clouded over and turned dead as he told me to leave his factory. My heart ached all over again. I sat down heavily on the sugar-grass, hugged my knees to my chest, and cried.

The whole time, Willy stood there patiently, observing me. He didn't say a word.

After I'd cried long enough that my tear wells seemed to have dried up, I heard a scurrying sound nearby. I looked around, startled. Willy was sitting next to me. "Don't worry," he said, "it's just an Oompa-Loompa. He wanted to know if you were all right."

I hadn't heard anyone talking. "How do you know?" I asked curiously.

Willy smiled mysteriously. "Oompa-Loompas are very shy, empathetic creatures."

I sighed. "So much time has passed…"

Willy nodded. "And yet sometimes it feels like no time at all…"

"So many memories…" My eyes were drawn irresistibly to his. I was surprised to find his eyes looking deeply concerned and gentle. They were no longer childish.

"I never did say it, did I…?" he said gravely.

"Say what?" I asked, scanning his face, remembering every detail perfectly. My heart was warming towards him. All he had to do was breathe, and my heart warmed towards him. If he moved, my heart would flutter. If he spoke, my blood would heat. Even after all these years…

He looked into my eyes sadly. "Would you want to hear it now? –I'm sorry I made you cry…" He reached up a gloved hand and gently wiped away a tear, stroked my cheek, and trailed his hand down the side of my face. I found myself leaning closer.

"Hear what?" I wondered aloud.

Willy Wonka's bewitching blue orbs bored deep into my eyes. "I love you."

My heart skipped a beat. The next thing I knew, I was on top of him, kissing him feverishly, and he was on the ground below me. It took a few seconds for both of us to realize that I'd knocked him to the ground, but by that time both of us were too focused on holding and kissing each other to care how we'd gotten there.

I woke up late the next morning. Charlie had already gone for the day, and all four grandparents had awakened (and three of them had fallen back asleep). I was too happy to care. I waltzed into the kitchen, humming 'Pure Imagination' to myself as I prepared my breakfast.

Grandpa Joe chuckled. "I can hear you in there," he teased.

I giggled, pouring my milk. Grandpa Joe walked in and leaned against the doorframe, smiling knowingly. "I couldn't help noticing you tip-toeing to your room rather late last night…" he observed.

I smiled mysteriously. "What were you doing up so late?" I asked.

"Me?" he replied. "How about you? What were you doing, sneaking out of the house around midnight and coming back after two?"

I just kept smiling and eating my cereal.

"Mr. Wonka seemed to know something about it," suggested Grandpa Joe.

"Oh?" I replied composedly.

He nodded. "Charlie was asking why you were still in bed. He was worried you might be sick. Mr. Wonka patted him on the shoulder and told him you were probably just tired, and that you'd been talking with him late last night about something of rather pressing importance."

"Hm," I said serenely, "I wonder what he meant by that…"

Grandpa Joe grinned at me from the doorway. "In any case, Mr. Wonka says he'll be joining us for dinner tonight. I take it that plus your sunny mood this morning means you and he are on better terms now…?"

I nodded, still smiling. I couldn't seem to stop smiling, but it didn't matter. I was too happy to care.

Sure enough, Mr. Willy Wonka joined us for dinner again that night. There were two more bouquets, one for the family and another for me. This time when Willy Wonka gave me my own special bouquet, he said, "For you," with a twinkle in his eye, bowing with a flourish as he presented it to me. I smiled and laughed, accepting it and smelling it. "They're lovely!" I exclaimed.

Everyone was staring at me. Grandpa Joe was the only one not agape.

Mr. Willy Wonka straightened, one hand still behind his back from his bow. He nodded hello to the rest of the family and made his way to the table. "And what are we having for dinner tonight, Mrs. Bucket?"

"Cheesy potato casserole," I replied with a smile, "And you don't have to call me 'Mrs. Bucket' anymore. I'm a widow."

"Then what should I call you?" he inquired politely.

"Billie," I responded. Everyone was still watching me. My happiness was like a warm bubble inside me, glowing where no one else could see. I put the casserole on the table and served everyone, then sat down next to Willy (Charlie always sat on his left; I sat on his right).

"What in tarnation is going on?" Grandma Josephine said rather loudly.

"Yeah!" added Grandma Georgina. "I thought you hated Mr. Wonka!"

"Oh, I never hated him," I answered flippantly, smiling. I could feel Willy warming next to me with happiness. I leaned against his shoulder. Willy set his fork down and rested his cheek against the top of my head with a contented sigh.

Grandpa Joe jumped up triumphantly. "I KNEW IT!" he shouted.

"Knew what? Knew what?" pried an irritated and befuddled Grandma Josephine.

"I think we have some explaining to do…" Willy commented tranquilly.

"Yes, I suppose so…" I answered.

"They're your family," he said gently.

"True," I replied lazily.

Grandpa Joe was bursting at the seams with excitement. "It's true, isn't it? You were one of the workers at Mr. Wonka's factory! There really was something going on between you two while you worked here!"

I raised my head from Willy's shoulder and glanced at Willy, who was gazing at me calmly. Turning my gaze to the rest of the family, I explained briefly how I had come to work at the factory, how I had become Mr. Willy Wonka's personal assistant, and explained tactfully that our discussions of ideas led to love. I told them of our adventures in Loompaland, and Willy Wonka interjected more and more, filling in my story as I went. Charlie, in particular, was fascinated by our adventures in the jungle.

I was a bit sad when I got to the part of the story where we'd said good-bye. I explained that Willy Wonka had desperately wanted an heir and that he wanted me to be happy, which was why he'd let me go. Willy said I was being entirely too charitable, explained that he'd been foolish and pig-headed and told the real reason for his unique office décor.

"So…" Grandma Georgina said, awed, after our story had ended, "You loved each other all that time…? Even after being apart for all those years…?"

We nodded in unison, then turned to each other in surprise. "But you were married!" he said.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I loved Roger in a way. It's just, what I felt with him was so… tame. It was really more like friendship. He was generous, dependable, honest, trustworthy- I knew he'd never do me wrong…"

"We know you loved him," said Grandpa Joe. "Otherwise you wouldn't have married him. But I have to admit, I was a bit surprised when you said yes. I always felt there was something a little off in your relationship, but I couldn't put my finger on it…"

"Charlie's obsession with getting a golden ticket must have been awfully interesting for you, then!" said a still-awed Grandma Josephine.

I nodded. "It was. But how could he not love Willy?" Willy smiled at me and held my hand. I leaned into him, resting my head against his shoulder again.

"But what about you?" Charlie asked Willy. "You told her to leave! Why did you do that if you still wanted to be with her?" he asked, confused.

Willy sighed. "Love is rather complicated… And like I said, I was an idiot. I spent years trying to come up with a way to get an heir. I had long given up on ever seeing your mother again," he said, addressing Charlie, "when I finally invented the plot with the golden tickets. Imagine my surprise when I walk out of my factory for the first time in years, only to see none other than your mother watching me from the back of the crowd!"

Five pairs of eyes turned to me simultaneously. "You were at Wonka's factory?"

I smiled ruefully. "Yes. I snuck out. I wanted to see him one last time, just out of curiosity, to know how he was doing. My heart just about stopped when our eyes met…"

"Yes, and I tripped," he added. His arm had slipped around me at some point.

"I thought that was just for show!" Grandpa Joe exclaimed.

"No, I really did trip. I just managed to turn it into a somersault at the last second. Believe me," he said, turning his attention to me, "seeing you again made me happier than I'd been in years."

I laughed. "And then when I suddenly appeared in your factory, married to someone else…"

"And having mothered the heir to my factory, no less!" he added.

"So, in other words…" Grandpa Joe said, putting it all together, "You've come full circle."

Willy Wonka and I looked at each other. He had delicate wrinkles around his eyes and a light frosting of silver in his golden hair. I had bags under my eyes and I weighed ten pounds less than I had back then. And yet… "I suppose we have," I stated solemnly.

"We're not quite done yet," Willy Wonka said, his eyes twinkling.

"Oh? What's left for us to do?" I inquired.

He pulled a ring out of his pocket. "I wanted to give this to you on Valentine's Day," he said, "but then I realized it was much too early, and after that the timing just never seemed right- I suppose I'm the one who wasn't ready… Billie, sweet Billie…" he got down on one knee, holding out the ring to me and looking into my eyes. "Will you marry me?"

The wedding took place in Wonka's own chocolate factory, six months later. The Oompa-Loompas had written an entire musical score to accompany it, and they all sang beautifully. It was really something, seeing my entire family in Wonka's factory, and even moreso to meet his family. He only had a few surviving relatives, as he was an only child and his mother had long since passed away, but we did meet his father and two of his favorite aunts.

Wonka and I had to tell our story again, to all the wedding guests. I suppose it took them by surprise that, only just over a year after Roger had died, I was marrying another man, and Willy Wonka, at that. (Yes, I could see how that would need some explaining.)

We've been on many adventures since then, and there will doubtlessly be more adventures in the future. I've regained my position as Willy Wonka's personal assistant, but since Charlie gets more and more control over the factory each day, Willy and I have more and more freedom to go exploring. Charlie was shocked at first by all the ideas his old mother had locked up in her skull about candy-making, but he slowly got used to it, and now all three of us frequently swap ideas.

What? You want to know more, you say? About specific adventures I've had and such? -Well, I'd be delighted to tell you more, but I'm afraid I have an elevator to catch, and who knows when I shall return? In fact, I think I see him coming now. –Yes, that's him, there's no mistaking it.

Well, farewell. It's been a pleasure meeting you. "I'm coming, Willy!"

"Already?"

[END]