Veronica skipped and danced and giggled all the way back to the factory. The sky was growing light now, and there were a few people on the streets, just beginning the endless stream of men and women on their way to work. A few stared at the unusual sight, Veronica in jeans, mismatched socks, and her best coat, and Wonka, bundled to the ears against the elements he so rarely faced. A very light, wet snow was falling, catching in Veronica's hair for just a moment before melting away. It looked like a veil of spun sugar, just barely there, a dream, then gone. Wonka watched her through his sunglasses. She was so bizarrely happy… What could possibly be making her so happy, they were just going back to do routine work… But she stood out in the street in the light of the strengthening sun, and spun about, dancing, looking up at the sky and letting snowflakes land on the tip of her nose. She ran her hands through her snow-damp hair and sighed. For the first time in two weeks, life would be good again. She wouldn't have to worry until she went home… and maybe that would be never.

Twice, Wonka slipped on the wet cobblestones. He never lost his balance, nor his dignity, but Veronica giggled, watching him slide on by. She leapt onto a long stretch of ice near the gutters and slid, skating elegantly. She hadn't had this much fun since… who knew when? And winter was just beginning to give way to spring, there wouldn't be another chance to do this until next year.

And then a large, wet snowball hit Wonka squarely in the back of the head. Well… in the scarves that carefully and meticulously protected the back of his head and his precious, perfect hair from the weather. He turned around, ungainly and yet somehow stately in all those layers, bizarre sunglasses tilted down on his nose, to see Veronica standing there, unabashed, another large, dripping snowball in her hand. He grinned. Veronica couldn't see this, for all the scarves, but she knew enough to duck when a chunk of slush came flying her way. And then she was off, running for the factory gates. She knew there would be an almost endless supply of snow there, all freshly plowed and piled against the inner wall. Wonka followed, much more slowly and unsteadily, unused to walking on such a wet and slippery surface. Veronica greeted him at the gates with a snowball that completely obscured the lenses of his sunglasses. He pulled them off and, quickly shedding several of the scarves too, seized another chunk of snow and hurled it at Veronica. This one didn't miss, but hit her in the shoulder, knocking her off balance and into one of the snowbanks. Satisfied, Wonka turned to the main doors, shedding his coat and bundling it with the scarves. For a moment, Veronica was afraid he was simply going to retreat in from the cold. But then he flung the extra articles on the steps and came running back, now free of his cane, outer coat, glasses, and all but one of the scarves. He bore no wintry weapon and it soon became inexorably clear what he was about to do. With a grin of pure evil, he leapt into the snowbank, just inches from Veronica. She shrieked and clambered away, flinging snow into his face. He whipped off his last scarf and flung it around her, pulling her back and immediately stuffing gloved handfuls of snow down the back of her coat. With a scream of mingled delight and shock, Veronica ducked the scarf and ran off, hiding behind a large pile of snow. She watched him advance toward her hiding spot, all the while scrabbling up the pile. He was right there, about to jump round and catch her off guard when she stood up.

"Looking for me?" She grinned, and then flopped into the snow, sliding all the way down the pile and running smack into Wonka, dragging them both into another snowbank. His hair was now tangled and stuck to his face, his wine-colored frock coat now a deep burgundy, and dripping wet. His hat was somehow still on his head, but Veronica vowed to change that and, quick as lightning, whipped it off his head, filled it with wet snow, and dumped it back on him, watching the snow slide down his face, collecting on his shoulders, and melting down his back. She watched him wince and shiver. That was payback for all the snow down HER back! His eyes narrowed at her for a moment, but he was still smiling. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and his breath was coming in puffs of fog. Veronica panted, soaking wet and freezing, she didn't even have a change of clothes. But it didn't matter. She had had a snowball fight for the first time since her mother had gotten sick, and it was wonderful. If only her mother knew she had had a snowball fight with Willy Wonka… If she could have told that to her five year old self, she might just have died of glee. She suddenly became conscious that Wonka was still watching her intently, expectant smile on his face. He leaned towards her. He was going to kiss her… The chicken wouldn't even let her kiss him a half hour ago and now…

He was barely millimeters away, she could feel his breath condensing on her cheeks, and then… He shoved a handful of snow down her back and ran away, giggling gleefully.

"WILLY WONKA, YOU CAN'T DO THAT TO ME!" Veronica roared, picking up the biggest chunk of snow she could carry and heaving it at him. It missed him by a mile, splattering on the bare ground. He watched her, hurling chunk after enormous chunk of snow in his general direction. None came even close enough for him to have to duck. Finally, she collapsed back into the snow, incensed, but utterly spent.

"I'm cold…" She muttered.

"I win!" Wonka grinned, approaching her. He sat down in the snow beside her, knees practically curled to his chest. He brushed a few stray hairs out of his face and cocked his head at her. She had closed her eyes and was breathing steadily, clouds of fog rising into the air and dissipating.

"'Ronica?" She opened her eyes in response to this unusual address.

"What are we?" She said at length.

"We're human beings, silly." Wonka smiled, not understanding.

"No… I mean, you and me. What are we?"

"I just told you…" Wonka said slowly.

"Stop that, you're just evading the subject." Veronica said quietly, looking up at the greyish sky. "Are we just the chocolatier and the health inspector, friends, what?" Wonka didn't answer her, so she just pressed on. "I mean… friends should know something about each other. I don't know anything about you."

"Poppycock. You know lots of things about me. I like chocolate, my favorite color is purple, I'm not a fan of holidays… until recently." Wonka said dismissively.

"But I don't know what makes you tick. You seem to know everything about me..."

"Not… everything." Wonka said, looking down at her. "I don't know your favorite ice cream flavor, or… umm… I don't know… well, lots of things." He was lying and Veronica knew it. Somehow, he was an impeccable judge of character…

"But that doesn't tell me what this is…" Veronica said, still staring up at the snowy sky.

"This? This is snow…" Wonka said with a feeble giggle, his weakest attempt ever at humor.

"Willy…" Veronica said sharply, then sighed.

"Well, what do you want?" It was such an unexpected question. There were so many possible answers, ranging from the basic and mundane to the most elaborate. But Veronica thought of none of these.

"You." Burst from her lips before she had time to censor the thought. Wonka looked down at her, startled. That had definitely not been the answer he expected. And finally, her eyes met his, almost frightened but level.