As with the last chapter, I am not amazingly satisfied with most of this, and it may get edited. But then, it may not. It all depends. I still welcome any and all criticisms. Oh, and this chapter does have a naughty word for donkey in it. But if Peter Pan can do it, so can I!
Also, I have received numerous comments regarding Nicole/Wonka romance. While I was originally intending for such a thing to occur, I'm now not certain that I want it to. I do have a fair amount of fic written, regarding that aspect of their relationship, but it is not all innocent, and I fear that it rather detracts from the niceness of the story. I know that some of you have mentioned that it's all right, as long as it's tasteful, and I assure you, my darlings, that while I am a completely tasteless ass in and of myself, my Wonka muse is a noble man, and would not submit to smut. Unless I made him. Which I won't.
So, since you are the most important part of the story, dear readers, I humbly request your opinion. If the general concensus is a no, then I shall simply post the rest as alternate scenes. So please, let me know your thoughts, either in review, or email.
On with the show.
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Wonka and Nicole drank their hot chocolate in silence...there didn't seem to be anything to say. Wonka had professed to have forgiven Nicole, and she professed to believe him...but neither was truly sure of their statement. Wonka had placed his remaining glove on the nightstand gently, tenderly, and then placed a book over it, so that he wouldn't have to look at it.
Time passed, and the melancholy hanging in the air suffused both present, making them both wish that the other would say something - anything. The cocoa in their cups drained in synchronisation, each lifting the cup to their lips slowly and drinking, at the same time, though both were too caught up in their various upsets to notice this strange ritual.
Finally, the spell was broken when Nicole lowered the cocoa into her lap and turned her head. "If...if you'd like...you can...you can...cut my sweater in half," she sobbed, and only now did it become apparent that her tears had continued throughout.
Wonka's chocolate followed the same fate, sitting forgotten in his lap, while a strange and unpleasant tickling was felt in his nose. His throat felt as if he'd swallowed his whole cup of cocoa at once, and he felt his bottom lip begin to wibble. It was a somewhat alien feeling to him, but the aching in his chest wouldn't allow him to ignore it. A single tear, completely crystalline, slid down his cheek, and Nicole gasped slightly to see it.
She set her mug quickly down on the nightstand and leaned forward to her benefactor slowly, in case he would ask her not to touch him. She reached forward with a little rounded finger and brushed the tear gently away, sticking her finger in her mouth absently, as she tended to do with her own tears. To her mild surprise, it was bittersweet, not salty...but what else could be expected from Mr. Wonka? His eyes were threatening more, and she closed the gap between them with a sorrowful hug.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Wonka...I never meant to disappoint you! If I save my pocketmoney, maybe I could buy you a new...oh, but it isn't the same! I'm sorry!" she shook as she held him, and this time his arms around her were not comforting, but seeking comfort. It seemed Wonka was as distraught as she was.
But their sad, tender moment was not to last. A pleasant tinkling noise was heard, and Wonka's head raised up reluctantly.
"Oh, the phone..." he murmured, miserably, and opened his nightstand drawer to press one of his many buttons. The screen with which Nicole was vaguely familiar descended from the ceiling, pushing aside a pair of underwear, three and a half socks, and two old shopping bags to do so. An Oompa Loompa's concerned face appeared on its flickering countenance, and addressed the two soppy sadlings.
"Mr. Wonka, there's a problem in Marshmallowing. One of the mini-machines has split in two...what should we do?"
"Oh, I see," Wonka sniffed, and procured a handkerchief from his breast pocket before blowing his nose noisily into it. The Oompa politely ignored this breach of etiquette, and waited for his master's response. "Well...take it to my office," he continued, at length, "I'll have a look at it tomorrow."
"Yes, sir." And the screen discreetly retreated into its ceiling-hatch, thoughtfully replacing the socks, underwear, and shopping bags where they had been to begin with. But Nicole didn't notice them. She was too busy staring at the door to Wonka's office.
"Mr. Wonka," she began, distractedly, "Perhaps you should go look at it tonight..."
"No, my dear girl...it's far too late for working, and I admit I don't feel up to - "
"You said there was another half to your office?" Nicole interrupted, quite rudely, indeed. But Wonka did not seem to mind, though he stared at her rather strangely.
"Yes, of course there is, my pet...what of it?"
Nicole bit her lip and smiled, wiping the tears from her face absently with a sleeve, "I don't know if I want to tell you until I think it will work. May I have the glove again?"
Wonka bit back any negative comment he may have been planning on unleashing, and nodded silently. Having lived his entire life being possessed by a sudden, crazy inspiration, and having been balked constantly by friends and family members who didn't understand and insisted upon asking useless questions, he knew that the best thing to do would be to let Nicole have her head. She snatched up the glove and disappeared into his office.
He opened his mouth and made a small noise of protestation, but Nicole reappeared immediately and dashed forward, grabbing Wonka's hand procaciously. It sent a little happy shock through Wonka's confusion and sadness, and he felt Nicole's smile encouraging one of Wonka's own, twitching at the sides of his perfect mouth.
"Is the other half of your office far?" she asked, tugging gently but endearingly on Wonka's strangely bare hand. He rarely removed his gloves, for purposes of sanitation, but he knew Nicole to be a cleanly little girl, and his sensitive skin welcomed the touch of her four little fingers and her thoughtful little thumb.
"Yes...on the other half of the factory. It would take hours to walk..."
Nicole's face fell. "Oh. I see." She released her grip on Wonka's hand, to his vague disappointment, and cast her eyes to the floor. "Perhaps I should just go by myself...you could get some sleep..."
"Don't be ridiculous," Wonka stated suddenly, arching his back like an affronted peacock and frowning, "Not only would you get terribly lost, but I also have a much better, and faster way, of getting there..."
Nicole had, for some reason, expected a sedan chair, toted by Oompa Loompas. But she chided herself on her foolishness, for obviously an elevator made more sense. All the candy must have been affecting her normally keen little mind. Wonka gestured for her to get inside, first, and followed, tying his velvet dressing robe more firmly about himself. He looked vaguely across the inside of the compartment, staring in earnest at all the little buttons covering every surface. Nicole was rather awed and somewhat amused by many of the names: The Shearing Room, Perfumed Octopi, Little Things, Bigger Things, Quite Large Things Indeed, The Solid Room, Marshmallowing, The Room For Little Baby Oompa Loompas, That One Room, The Room of Requirement, The Chocolate Dungeon, The Overt Se -
"Ah-hah!" Wonka cried, and pressed a neat half-button labelled simply "Right." There was no response for a moment, and Nicole wondered if perhaps the elevator was out of order, but then Wonka turned and smiled at her and said, "Perhaps you'd like to hold my hand again. This could be a bit turbulent."
Nicole's heart skipped a small beat, though she was not sure why...perhaps it was apprehension at the upcoming ride. But nonetheless, she slipped her comparatively stubby hand into Wonka's elegant, smooth one, and not a moment too soon. The elevator suddenly lurched hugely to the right, and Nicole swung around Mr. Wonka like a ball on a tether, just barely missing cracking her head on the thick glass walls. If she'd hesitated a single moment to take Wonka's hand, she could have done herself an injury.
The elevator swung to the left and right, from forward to back, and also up and down; with each jerk sending Nicole into a different direction, until Mr. Wonka, who seemed to be completely immune to the movement, was forced to wrap his arms around her shoulders to keep her from zooming about like an overactive canary. Once he did, Nicole's eyes eventually managed to open, and her stomach began to settle. Wonka stood like a pillar in a storm against the constantly changing force of gravity; indeed, when once they swung upside down, not a single hair on Wonka's head changed positions, his hat remainingly primly atop him as if it had no idea what was going on. But though Nicole's hair did not posess the same will-power, and she was forced to clasp her skirt rather tightly to keep from being exposed - this was a glass elevator, after all - she found the journey rather enjoyable.
"I realise," Wonka said, patiently brushing Nicole's hair away from his mouth as they flipped once again, "That this is rather uncomfortable if you don't have a knack for Standing Still, but I assure you it's faster than anything else. Do you know...I used to have a sedan chair, but the Oompa Loompas who carried it always complained so bitterly that they didn't get to ride inside of it...often times I found myself breaking down and carrying it for them; the children are so sweet when they laugh."
Eventually, the ride was over, and Nicole let her skirt go free, and attempted to pat her hair back into place. Wonka smilingly conjured her a hairbrush that was bright pink and slightly transparent. It was redolant in the smell of strawberries and looked positively delicious, with little chocolate-coloured bristles, and thin licourice laid into the handle like filigree. Nicole smiled and ran it through her hair a few times, and then, most impudently, licked the back of it. It tasted like plastic and hair laquer.
"My dear, why ever did you do that?" Wonka asked, retrieving the brush from a Nicole who was pulling a face because of the unpleasant flavour. He wiped it off anxiously on his handkerchief before the both objects disappeared somewhere in Wonka's robe. "That was my hairbrush, I doubt it would be very tasty..."
"Er...nevermind," Nicole said, blushing bright red and trying not to laugh. "Where is your office?"
"Oh, just about halfway down this hallway," Wonka replied, with no hint that he even remembered the events of the past half a minute. He smiled, and led Nicole to a most promising-looking door. He pulled a keyring from the depths of his robe pocket, and sorted through about half of the present keys until he found one that seemed to be quite broken, completely bisected. He inserted it partway into the lock and turned it three-sixths to the right. The door came open, and he half-turned to Nicole and let the two of them inside.
In the room was, indeed, the right half of everything in Wonka's office that Nicole had come to know. There was the western hemisphere of his globe ("Do you know, Nicole, I almost didn't buy that until I realised it was half-priced!"), there was the other half of his safe, the other half of his chair, his desk, his diploma ("-Onka, -Angdoodle, "-Iggle")...and there, just what Nicole had been looking for. She rushed forward and grasped the handle, pulling the door open with a great mixture of happiness and apprehension...
She squealed delightedly, and snatched up a small object lying in the bottom of the cupboard, "Oh my goodness, Mr. Wonka, it worked! Look, look!" She practically flew up to Wonka's bemused form, waving a purple, shiny, fingered flag. Wonka's jaw dropped, and he snatched the glove from her in disbelief.
"My glove! The very one! Look, there's even the chocolate stain on it, from when I - " he caught Nicole's innocent young expression, and a discomfitted grin spread across his face, "Er, nevermind. My dear girl, this is wonderful! I must have been a half-wit not to think of it myself! As a matter of fact...this is very helpful indeed...I have a pair of pants that could benefit from this."
"Pants?" Nicole asked, confused, "Why ever would - "
"Well, they're half-assed, of course!"