I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. – Stealth Phoenix

Chapter 2

*Clank*

"Okay, turn it just slightly…"

*Clink*

"Good. Now, eeeeaaase it over slowly and…"

*Sproing*

There was a groan of exasperation from the prone figure on the floor under the massive machine. The pointed toed boots with black pant legs rose slightly above the tops of the extravagant footwear to revealed brightly striped socks as the legs squirmed slightly with the effort being exerted underneath.

"Great – there went three hours of work down the toilet. Okay, Orville? See if you can reach the spring and kick it back over here. Let's try this again – if this doesn't work, we're going to have to order another one."

There were some muffled grunts and some softly breathed swearing as the spring snapped back and nearly took off the tips of the fingers carefully covered by thick leather work gloves. There was a wetness seeping through the canvas apron covering his chest and the figure under the machine tilted his head to see what was leaking.

"Argh! Get me a pan! Get me a pan! I've got hydraulic fluid leaking here…" the light tenor male voice yelped in alarm as more fluid seeped from the machine.

The flat rectangular pan slid next to him and he snatched it and placed it on his chest under the leak, "Thank you."

Blowing the thick mahogany colored hair out of his eyes once again, the man gritted bright white teeth and used what strength remained in his upper body to stretch out the spring. With trembling hand he managed to loop the extended wire over the protruding head of the screw and with frantic motions fumbled for the screwdriver.

"I think…I've…got it!" he announced triumphantly as the extended spring held and the fluid leak stopped. "You know, putting the hydraulic fluid drain behind the belt tension adjustment knob was a bad idea – maybe I need to retrofit this thing…" he thought out loud, tightening the screw with decisive jerks. He gently slid the half-filled pan to one side and nudged it out from under the machine.

"Hey Orville, check the fluid and make sure we're not running dry. Looks like a quart or two here." He called to the waiting pair of tiny feet in white socks and black sneakers that waited patiently by the machine.

The man pulled with his legs and scooted out from under the machine. The flat rolling platform rolled easily along the bright red concrete form to reveal the long lanky form of the machine's owner.

Willy Wonka heaved himself to his feet and with fussy gestures, slipped off the stained apron, grimacing at the feeling of the cool wet liquid saturating his clothes. He dropped the apron into a waiting wastebasket and stripped off the leather gloves, revealing latex glove clad hands. He tugged futilely on the ruined vest and dark shirt before noticing the dampness against his fingertips

Inspecting the fingertips of his gloves, he found that the spring had indeed ripped through the protective covering. He snapped the gloves off and pulled another set out of the inner pocket of his bright purple vest, doing his best to ignore the sticky feeling.

Crossing over to an industrial sink, he laid the waiting gloves to one side and washed his hands, convulsively, scrubbing at the pale skin with the provided medical-grade antibacterial soap, "Any luck?" he called out to his assistant.

There was a clang as the small face of Ori-Vil, maintenance supervisor of the factory peered down at his employer from atop the machine.

Ori-Vil was one of the tribe of Oompa Loompa that inhabited and worked at the factory. The diminutive members of the tribe only came mid-way up to a grown man's thigh, but their long years of surviving some of the most dangerous jungles in the world had taught them innovative ways of adapting to a world built for someone five times their size. Their cheerful outlook and common sense approach to many of the unusual problems that pop up around the factory were invaluable to Willy.

Orville held up a thumb in approval and quickly refastened the probe back into the machine. With a satisfied clap of his hands, he leapt off the top of the machine, twisting like a cat in midair to land neatly on his feet.

As Willy dried his hands and replaced the ruined gloves, Orville moved around to the control consol and flipped a switch. With a clatter the machine swung into action – multiple arms flashing in the light as it warmed, kneaded and wrapped his patented Laffy Taffy treats.

Nodding in satisfaction, he exchanged low-fives with his assistant, "Great job!"

Orville grinned up at the big man and with a mischievous smile, pointed to the clock on the wall. In the spirit of nonconformity, the clock in this particular room was a google-eyed cat whose eyes swung side to side with each tick of the clock. Its furry paws pointed out to Willy's dismay that it was in fact, 3 a.m.

"Good gravy – that late?" Willy groaned, clapping one hand to his forehead. "Veronica's gonna kill me."

Orville chuckled heartlessly at his employer's plight.

Willy glared down at the little man, "Hey, I didn't have to come down and help you. I could have gone off to that ghastly dinner and left you to your own devices."

Orville spoke for the first time in many hours, "Yes, you could have."

Willy was still rambling, "I could have listen to pointless stories all night. I could have been bored out of my skull and pinned in by boney old ladies smelling vaguely of cats instead of crawling around under leaky machines, wrestling with broken springs." There was a humorous glint in those violet eyes even as it seemed like he was working himself into a frenzy over missing the charity dinner. "Darn it Orville – I could have had the rubber chicken!"

Orville gave Willy a knowing look, "Right."

One corner of the Chocolatier's mouth curled in amusement, "Yes. And you know how much I hated missing that."

The Oompa Loompa smothered a chuckle. Willy's tactics for missing public appearances were legendary and one of the closest held secrets of his maintenance supervisor. Any broken machine would constitute a legitimate excuse to gracefully bow out of going out.

Even if he had to order Orville to break the machine himself.

"Yes. It is a shame that you had to miss all of that to tend to a broken machine that just as easily could have been fixed by one of my teams in the morning without your assistance," Orville said in a carefully nonchalant voice.

"Indeed," Willy sniffed, tugging at his shirt sleeves to avoid Orville's eyes for a moment – forgetting about the ruined nature of the shirt in question. The faint hint of color at his cheeks indicated that he actually was slightly ashamed of his avoidance techniques, but not so much to actually give them up.

"Veronica will forgive you. Although, you should come up with something to get her out of attendance as well. You know as well as I do she hates going to those things almost as much as you do." Orville said.

Willy looked properly ashamed this time, rubbing the back of his neck and shuffling his feet, "Yeah. I know. I've got to come up with something to make it up to her…"

Orville pressed in eagerly, this was a point that had been weighing heavily on the tribe for months.

"How about a vacation?"

Willy stopped shuffling and looked at the tiny man in surprise, "Huh?"

"You two need to take a break and get away for a while. If one of you isn't careening off in some direction, the other is. You are both too busy and need to spend more time together. How do you ever expect to pass the marriage rites if you never see her?" Orville scolded.

The tall man collected his famous top hat and placed in on his head with a thump, rolling his eyes at the Oompa Loompa. He had been ignoring more and more blatant hints about his and Veronica's relationship from his workers over the past month. He knew they were getting anxious for some reason. Besides it wasn't like it was any of their business anyway…

"You two need to be learning of each other while you have the chance - your likes, dislikes and the tides of your emotions in close quarters. Where one speaks the other needs to be able to finish the sentence," Orville insisted.

Willy started walking toward the rooms' exit, glancing amused from the corner of his eye down at the determined man at his side, "Really? Is that what you think?"

The Oompa Loompa nodded, "Yes, it is the way of our tribe that once the woman has agreed to become the man's wife, that the couple is segregated from the tribe and regular duties before marriage for at least a month to allow them to grow together as a couple before taking on the challenges of the marriage itself."

Willy paused – for all that he has spent years with the tribe, this was the first he'd ever heard of this custom, "Really? The honeymoon before the marriage? Not a bad idea…"

"Yes – it is a good test for compatibility, especially for those who are in arranged marriages."

Willy mulled over the idea, "What happens when they don't get along?"

"We usually come by in the mornings to check and make sure that they're both still alive. We've only had to clean up the bloodshed and call Dev-On once or twice since moving here." Orville said in an off-manner way.

Willy was suddenly forcibly reminded of the sometimes violent nature of the gentle tribe. Each member was a capable warrior no stranger to bloodshed.

Yeah. Domestic disturbances are no joke around here…

"I don't think she'll have my guts for garters over being late, but the vacation is still a good idea. She's been running herself ragged and a break might be just the thing to recharge the ol' batteries. I vaguely remember starting to put something like this together before though…" Willy mused trying to figure out why the idea seemed so familiar.

Something tugged him to the dark days before the competition. Willy remembered talking to Spencer and Reggie about something…

Bloody explosion knocked more out of him than he cared to admit.

His memory of that time was still shaky and Sherman had warned him that not everything would come back. A vindictive former employer of Veronica's had placed a pipe bomb on his Wonkavator half a year ago and the resulting explosion had seriously injured Charlie and nearly killed him. Thanks to his miraculous Wonkavite he had healed quickly, now only a few thin scars and some truly awful aches and pains when the weather turned cold and damp remained.

"In either case, too late to crash now. I'm heading to the office to get some work done. You go ahead and get some sleep – I don't want to see you until this afternoon," Willy said absently to Orville.

Trying to bludgeon his brain into recalling any hint about what had been discussed was useless. He'd have to submit to actually asking Spencer or Reggie about it.

How embarrassing.

In either case, he'd catch up with her in a few hours once she got up and he'd bounce the idea of her then. A break might do them both good.

Completely distracted by the new train of thought, Willy turned toward his office, oblivious to the sticky mess on his shirt and vest.

----

Orville grinned as he crossed his arms and bowed to the Chocolatier. Finally! He thought with some relief. They'll set a date and actually be formally bonded. I know Chief Mic-Ka is waiting for these two to settle down and start popping out children for us to play with.

Discussions had ranged far and wide about the continuing resistance of the two taller people in the natural progression of their relationship. Most of the tribe waited with baited breath for the formal word of their bonding to be announced. The women kept a close eye on Ver-Oni-Ka for any tell-tale signs of morning sickness or a thickening waist. All were frustrated with the lack of progress. Sherman was the sole voice of defense for their employer and his beloved.

"Things will happen in their own time. Our wishes are not always theirs – and sometimes such wishes may not come true at all," Sherman had said, again and again with some hint of sadness in his eyes. When pressed he would maintain his professional confidentiality and change the topic.

Won-Ka will be a good father no matter what Sherman hints at, Orville thought. Jerking himself from getting to far ahead into his thoughts of the tribe's plans for their employer, he hurried back toward the village, hoping to share his thoughts with his family once he awoke.

----

The sun peeped over the horizon and directly through the window of the bedroom and into Veronica's closed eyes. Cringing, she rolled over with an inarticulate sound of protest, pulling the covers over her head.

There was a moment of drifting peace as she contemplated allowing the soft grey blanket of sleep to reclaim her. Then the call of duty pulled her mind from its daze and back into the waking world with a brutal snap.

Groaning, Veronica pulled herself upright, batting at the covers and kicking her feet wildly to free herself from the warm cocoon that encased her. Blearily, she unsteadily staggered into the bathroom to brush teeth and pee before pulling her hair back into a messy short ponytail.

After splashing cool water on her face she felt reasonably conscious enough to approach her new habit.

Running.

Pulling on pants, sport bra and long sleeved shirt she stretched out her limbs – feeling the aches and muscle burn of her previous day's exercise.

It was a better habit than her six cups of coffee a day, but it still didn't make mornings any more bearable.

She slid her feet into running shoes and made sure the socks didn't bunch up to leave blisters. Grabbing her decoy hat with its short fringe of dark hair around the perimeter and sunglasses, she made sure her own now distinctive locks were concealed and the dark fringe framed her face appropriately before sliding the glasses home.

A few minutes later had her running up the street in the brisk autumn air, easily finding her pace thanks to the input of the music pulsing through her ears.

She passed the few lingering media quickly, satisfied that they didn't even turn an eye to give her a second glance. Running at the same time every day had made her routine, and the disguise, although simple, deflected their attention enough to let her pass.

She lengthened her stride as one of her favorite songs came on and she had to work hard to maintain the rhythm.

Horrible as cutting short her sleep cycle was, she highly enjoyed the early morning scenery with the sluggish bustle of the city around her. The morning light was kind to the bright colors and personal touches to the row houses of the neighborhoods she ran through. Traffic was light and there were dark blue shadows lurking around cars and buildings adding beautiful contrast to the world around her.

This is the kind of inspiration that kept her going.

Every day people doing every day things.

She contemplated this as she allowed herself to slow to an easy pace once again as the music mellowed. Mothers and fathers guiding sleepy children out the door and off to school or day care. Delivery trucks parked and running in and out of businesses – a few acknowledged her greetings. Birds chirping in the cool air even as the ever growing roar of traffic started to burst in on this scene of tranquility.

This is what life was all about. People from all walks of life wanting better opportunities for their children, worried about paying bills, trying to keep their businesses afloat and wanting a little happiness for themselves.

Veronica was thankful every moment of every day for the opportunities she'd been given. She considered it a calling to see to it that more opportunities like hers was shared with as many people as possible – people who needed and deserved it.

Sighing, she wished for a moment that Willy shared her perspective on giving back. It was the reason Veronica felt such massive guilt saying "no" to the invitations – the ones pleading for her help. He preferred to donate time and money on a case by case basis – to actually get to know the person and make sure their needs were legitimate.

Veronica couldn't fault him on that – but she also wanted to help as many people as possible and the best way to do that was through organizations.

Same goal – different approaches.

She finished her long route and ended up in front of her building with the shadow of the factory looming over her. Veronica slowed to a walk and kept moving – around the corner at the end of the block and climbed the fire escape in the alleyway. The roofs were connected and she easily hopped over the low walls as she headed back toward her building. Pausing to stretch out her hamstrings, she waved at the factory, knowing that at least one if not more of the security cameras was tracking her progress. Smi-Li and his crew took their duties seriously and she always made a point of acknowledging their hard work.

She pulled off her hat and ruffled the damp hair as she opened the door to the stairwell and clattered down the stairs toward her apartment.

To her stunned surprise, the door was ajar and music was pouring out.

Freezing in alarm, she listened for a moment.

An unearthly howl emerged from inside and the sound sent the hair on the back of her neck straight up. The noise keened and tried to match the wail of the electric guitar that was the main melody of the music.

Despite the frisson of primal fear from the horrible noise, she grinned and pushed open the door to survey the source of the emanations.

Willy was dancing around her kitchen, putting the finishing touches on a pancake breakfast, complete with orange juice and the haunting savory scent of bacon. His jacket and hat were off and there was a dark stain of some unknown substance across the chest of his shirt and vest. Unusually, he seemed oblivious to the mess on his clothes and was crooning into a spatula as he worked.

Something must have distracted him - he was usually so fastidious.

Not sensing her return, he let out another heart-stopping screech as he carefully placed sliced melon carved into whimsical flowers as a garnish on each plate.

It took a massive effort to conceal her laughter at Willy's attempt to sing along with Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody. Poor man couldn't understand that he had a complete lack of talent when it came to singing. If there was a polar opposite of Pavarotti – he was it. The last time they had tried karaoke, there had been a flood of calls to the suicide hot line and animal control.

"A devil put aside for me…for Me…FOR MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!" he shrieked, striking a dramatic pose with arms cast wide.

Veronica closed the door with a thud and Willy jumped, looking guilty. A faint flush crossed his pale cheeks and he cleared his throat nervously, "Good morning my sweet. How was your run?"

"Good. It was lovely. How are you this morning?" she asked amused, dropping the hat and glasses on the table by the front door.

"Fine!" he squeaked, then nervously clearing his throat again, tried for a normal male register this time, "I'm fine. Are you hungry?"

She smile and nodded at his flustered behavior.

He graciously pulled out a chair and allowed her to seat herself before laying the napkin in her lap with a bow.

He's trying to make up for ditching me last night, she realized.

Not that she was ticked off at him for using any excuse to miss the dinner – she was more or less annoyed at herself for not coming up with a better excuse to miss herself despite her altruistic leanings.

Veronica snagged the lapel of his jacket as stood, dragging him back down to her seated level. His wide lavender eyes stared surprised into hers and she didn't keep him in suspense for long. Leaning forward she delicately kissed him.

Willy's apprehension melted away and he rested his weight on the back of the chair and the table as Veronica nibbled on his lower lip in a way that made his ears tingle in delight. He returned her kiss with interest and it was a few minutes later that they finally broke apart - breathless.

She released him and opened her eyes, "Thank you. You really didn't have to do all this – you were forgiven as soon as I got home."

Willy's smile rivaled the sun for its brilliance and her heart leapt again at the realization that all that happiness was directed at her.

He sighed theatrically and took his seat across from her at the small table, "Whew! I'm glad you're not too cheesed at me."

Grabbing a strip of bacon, she nibbled at it, "If it gets me breakfast like this on a daily basis…" She sat up straight and with a bored and blank expression in her eye deadpanned, "I'm so pissed. You naughty man. How dare you. How dare you."

Willy had to chuckle at her performance – words usually yelled in anger lost their bite when recited like the lines of a bored actor in some existential play.

She shot him an impish grin and grabbed her orange juice, "There - consider your deviant behavior corrected. Pass the pancakes please."

"I knew there was a good reason I loved you," he said, digging into his food with gusto.

"I thought it was all that wild hot monkey sex?"

"That too…"

Willy gestured at the stack of letters by the side of her plate, "Here – you should probably weed whack through the mail while you eat. Remember what happened last month and you missed your electric bill?"

She grimaced at his pointed reminder. Just because she had the cash didn't make her any better at remembering to pay on time – it just rankled to get reminded of her shortfalls. The bill in question had slid off the mountain of junk mail on the table by the front door and been ignored until the sudden reminder as the lights cut out during a rare movie night on her couch. He'd taken the opportunity to bug her about it weekly ever since.

"If it wasn't for Doris, you wouldn't be in any better state you know," she reminded him, riffling through the pile and eliminating anything that offered a lower mortgage, insulation or health insurance.

She came across a hand-lettered envelope and glanced at the return address while directing a forkful of pancake to her mouth.

Willy glanced up when Veronica froze with the fork half-way to her mouth.

"Veronica?" he asked when she failed to move after almost a minute.

Her expression was muddled. Disbelief, anger and a strange mix of hurt and hope warred across her face.

"Ronnie?" he prodded, resting on hand on her arm.

"Huh?"

"What's that?"

"A letter."

Willy leaned over to read the envelope at an angle.

"Carmichael? Relations of yours?" he asked, not sure what to make of her response.

Veronica managed to shake herself out of her frozen stupor, "No…I mean yes…"

Willy raised an eyebrow at her and she flushed in response, even as she dropped the letter like it was a hot coal, "It's nothing" she finished lamely.

"Hmmm… Nothing which knocks you into a zombie like state," he said archly, reaching out a finger to drag the envelope across the table for his examination.

Her hand snapped down and slammed on top, making him jump, "It's nothing" she insisted with a growl.

Despite that everything her body language was screaming at him to DROP IT, Willy persisted.

"If it's nothing – then you won't mind me taking a look," he challenged.

The conflicted expression was back and he took the opportunity to snag the envelope from under her hand and examine it closer.

"It…It's from my parents," she said shortly, hoping he'd take the hint to put it down.

"Really? I thought you were out of contact with them?"

"I was…I mean I am…this is rather out of the blue." She stuttered.

"So open it and see what they want."

Veronica dropped her fork and tried to run a hand through her hair in agitation, forgetting it was still pulled back in the messy ponytail. The scraggly strands leapt out in wild disarray.

"I'm not interested in what they have to say. Why should they bother me now after all these years?"

No stranger to parental conflict, Willy decided to try a tactic Sherman used that had always worked on him – silence.

"S'not like they cared when I was flat on my back broke and living hand to mouth. They made that quite clear when I refused to not side with them when Reggie came out of the closet." She protested, twisting her hands.

Willy said nothing.

"They have nothing I want to hear," Veronica said miserably, her stomach churning.

He toyed with the envelope, saying nothing, but his invitation was clear as glass to her.

"Fine – you open it," she sighed in exasperation. "If it's more rubbish about family values and the "good decency" of abolishing homosexuality I don't want to hear it."

Taking the butter knife, he slit open the envelope with neat efficiency. He removed the heavy paper and the small puff of air that emerged as he did so carried the faint fragrance of her mother's perfume.

She rocked back at the intensity of the memories that assaulted her with that one small reminder of home. Veronica remembered being cuddled close as a child when frightened or hurt; of the soft voice reading bedtime stories or guiding chubby little fingers in her first attempts in the kitchen. The intensity of the longing to just go home and feel that safe and loved once again was enough to make her breath catch and tears fill her eyes.

Closing her eyes, she had to forcibly remind herself of the time that had passed and that the larger-than-life figures that lingered in her mind as reminders of her childhood had turned out to be regrettably human in their faults.

Willy read the words in silence and she found herself trying to read the words in the change of his expressions instead of the actual paper they were written on. The flickering emotions were too rapid to read and she felt her anxiety rising the longer he held his silence.

"Well?" she asked hoarsely.

Willy set the paper down and the expression of sympathy was so strong that she reeled.

"Veronica – I'm so sorry," he whispered, taking her hand.

"What? What is it?"

"Your father's very ill - your mother is asking you and Reggie to come home."