"Wake up sleepyhead! We have work to do!" Wonka said brightly. He was sitting on the end of Veronica's bed, though she had no idea how he had gotten in. She had locked the door when she went to bed. By now she knew to get up without complaint and move as quickly as possible. She didn't want him poking her painfully in the ribs with that cane of his again.

"It's Valentine's Day. I'm your Valentine. Aren't we gonna do anything special?" Veronica asked suggestively. Wonka looked confused for a moment. Then he smiled slightly, kissed the tip of his own purple gloved finger, and pressed it to her lips for a fraction of a second before seizing her by the wrist and dragging her from the room. Well… it was something…

It wasn't until the middle of breakfast, when she was finally sitting in one place long enough to think, that she realized fully what he had done. Butterflies appeared suddenly in the pit of her stomach, and Wonka urged her to eat… Her ears went all pink from embarrassment, and he giggled at her. She was practically on the edge of her seat. What would today bring?

As it turned out, Valentine's Day brought nothing but more of the same. Veronica found herself sitting, very glumly, at the same table she had sat at for three days, staring at the same chocolates and the same Oompa Loompas as she had seen for three days. Worst of all, Wonka was ignoring her again. It seemed that the chocolates were now producing the desired effect, but around noon, after scrupulous testing, Wonka decided it was more of a Scottish accent than an Irish one, and that just wouldn't do. He turned to ask Veronica's opinion and she gave him a swift and snappy reply.

He was behaving as if this wasn't even a holiday. Veronica had known that it would be "Valentine's Day—Willy Wonka style" for days now, but she didn't know "Willy Wonka style" would mean ignoring it completely.

He didn't ignore it completely, Veronica reminded herself. But she had had to remind him first…

Finally, late in the evening, Wonka turned to her.

"It's dinner time." Was all he said.

"We get dinner tonight? Must be some sort of holiday… oh wait…" Veronica muttered sarcastically.

"Well, don't just stand there. Do you want dinner or not?"

"Please." Veronica replied tartly, not looking at him.

He conducted her into the great glass elevator, and as the doors shut and it took off, Veronica resumed her usual display of shrieking and swaying. Though she could now stay on her feet, she still kept her eyes tightly squeezed shut. Finally, they stopped moving.

"You know… That's really getting old. Seriously, it's not that big a rush." Wonka said, stepping out.

"We… We're not in paradise." Veronica said.

"'Course we're not. The Buckets are all asleep by now."

He was leading the way to who knows where. Seriously, the only label on the door read "Who knows where" in big, bold letters.

"This is my general purpose room." Wonka smiled. "We'll be eating here tonight."

"Wonderful. I could have just made my room here…" Veronica said dryly. She still had not looked at her companion, nor had she allowed him to take her hand as he had tried to. So Wonka simply opened the door and stepped inside, not waiting to see if she would follow or not.

"Oh. My. God…" Veronica was staring at what appeared to be a tiny room, lit by thousands of candles lining the walls. At the center of the room was a small table, draped in a white tablecloth, and two elegant looking, straight backed chairs. Veronica finally looked at the candymaker, whose pale face was illuminated in the glow of the candles, though the shadow from his hat was playing strangely across his eyes. He was smiling that smile again, not the forced one, but the one that suited him perfectly, showing off his too-straight, gleaming white teeth just enough, without being creepy. A hint of apprehension tugged at her. And regret. All day she had been nothing but a grouch, there was no way on this earth she deserved this. And he had not even hinted at anything more than a full day of work… Yet here they were, in the most perfect room in the entire factory.

Wonka could feel the butterflies in his stomach… they were apparently practicing difficult aviation maneuvers in what was evidently too small a space. They were banging around everywhere. His palms were sweaty. He hated it when his palms were sweaty. That meant he needed a new pair of gloves. He wasn't yet ready to admit how nervous he really was, but he really, REALLY hoped that Veronica was in a better mood now. He had been planning this ever since he had broken down and asked her to be his Valentine, and the Oompa Loompas had done everything perfectly. With a small stab of regret, he wished they had come to dinner earlier, but he knew that an imperfect candy would nag at him the whole time… He never would be able to devote the required amount of attention to Veronica. Namely, all of it. He looked to her for approval.

"This is… amazing." Veronica whispered, feeling more and more lame by the minute. How could she have been so terrible earlier? "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." She wasn't sure if she was referring to the room in general, or just him.

"The best kind of prize is a surprise." He replied serenely.

"I don't deserve this…"

"'Course you do. You've been very helpful." Wonka said, attempting to control his impulse for forced cheer.

"Thank you…"

"Sit."

Veronica sat down at one of the straight backed chairs. Too late, Wonka thought of seating her, and he looked very bashful when he sat down. There was the slightest rose tint to his cheeks, and he looked at his feet in embarrassment. Veronica smiled.

"So… What's on the menu?" She asked, somewhat awkwardly. She was quickly reminded of her first dinner date, in the eighth grade.

A pair of tuxedo-clad Oompa Loompas served them dinner. Veronica was surprised by how well they could cook.

"And… the Oompa Loompas did this?" She asked.

"Yes. They're very talented." Wonka smiled.

Dinner consisted of some sort of roast, with a savory chocolate sauce. The pair ate in silence, and Veronica hoped against hope that this night didn't turn out like the date in eighth grade. She had never spoken to that boy again.

Finally, when they were finished, and the plates had been cleared, Wonka looked up. Veronica's grey eyes sparkled in the candlelight. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, thoughtfully. He repeated this process a few times, clearly at a loss for something adequate to say. He looked at his gloved hands for a long time, Veronica watching expectantly. And then he did it.

He peeled off the gloves, one after the other, and set them on the corner of the table. Then he reached out and took Veronica's hands, living flesh on living flesh for the first time in almost two decades.

"Happy Valentine's Day." It was almost a choked whisper.

"Happy Valentine's Day." Even in the candlelight, it wasn't hard to see happy tears gathering in Veronica's eyes. She squeezed his hands lightly. They were very soft, for having no physical contact with anything but the inside of his gloves for years.

"Happy Valentine's Day."