Well, she had been here over a month now, and nothing funny had happened. Wonka wasn't quite sure if he had expected anything or not. He had made it clear from the very beginning that Veronica was welcome if she needed a place to go. Which was another thing. How had he known that he could trust her? Just… automatically, no questions asked, without knowing her past, let her into his life, and invite her to stay. He supposed it had been that first time he had looked her in the eye. She had cracked then, the mask of the health inspector had fallen away for even the briefest of moments, and he had read her like an open book. He supposed that was it. But what had he expected to happen when she actually did come to stay? Initially nothing, of course. Personally, he had barely known her, and she hadn't known him at all. He would have just taken her in out of pity. But after… Valentine's Day, Wonka guessed, that changed. He expected something, whether good or bad, he had no idea, but he did expect something. Maybe it was just that, by Valentine's Day, he knew of Veronica's treachery and sarcastic wit… or maybe it was because he himself was beginning to come, ever so slowly, out of his shell. By now he was wondering if keeping her here would cause some sort of catastrophic, earth shaking event… The factory could… blow up… disappear off the face of the earth! Or maybe it was the outside world that he expected to change… Someone would miss her, something. He couldn't even fathom someone living out… there… all alone. Sure, he had been alone for over a decade, but he had been here, in the safety of his factory, and then he had been with the Oompa Loompas ever since. But she… she had been all alone. No family… Wonka still gagged unpleasantly on that word… No friends, no siblings, nothing. No one cared about her, not even her former coworkers. She had been… alone, plain and simple. And that was very sad to him. For as alone as he had been, he had existed for so long in his little world that he hardly expected anyone to care about the man behind the chocolate. As long as they loved the chocolate, he needed none of it for himself. How could she have thrived out there, and still come to him so… unscathed? She was much more socially adept than he, she was more open, willing to take risks he simply could not, for though he could leap a three foot gap into a wildly swinging glass elevator without a second thought, he just couldn't bring himself to jump that gap to actually touching her, letting himself be a part of her, and a true part of her life.

She brought out the best in him, and yet that still wasn't enough. So what was it that he needed? What was it that he lacked, and what was it that had happened to him to make him stay so isolated for so long? He hadn't thought that he had ever been attached to anyone before, but maybe that wasn't true. He had liked his old employees well enough… until they turned around and stabbed him in the back like he was Caesar or something… Yes, he knew well the tale of Caesar… He kept that book, along with many others, on an enormous bookshelf in his study. But he rarely went there anymore. He was far too busy with the factory.

Wonka had known for years that the factory could run of its own accord for probably months at a time without him checking up on it. The Oompa Loompas had everything well in hand. But he had to do something. He couldn't just sit around and do nothing when there was something, somewhere that needed doing. So he threw himself into his work. Besides, what else would he do with that time? Read? He had read every book in his collection at least three times through. Living alone in an unused factory for ten years gives one plenty of opportunity to catch up on their reading. And beyond that, the only reading material other than his personal collection was far too boring. He let the financing and marketing departments take care of that. He had mastered every version of the card game solitaire known to man, and even invented a few of his own. He had learned how to create whimsical topiaries of everything from dinosaurs to ponies to swing dancers and ballerinas, with nothing but a pair of pruning shears. The indoor gardens had had a very interesting phase a few years back, no two plants looked alike. His personal favorite had been an enormous hand… He had played a lengthy game of chess against himself. He had lost… He had retiled every bathroom in the factory by hand, even adding artistic murals on the walls of his own personal bath. The things he had taught himself to do while alone for so long would make Martha Stewart look like an amateur, and he had had entirely enough of all of it. He had kept himself busy for one purpose and one purpose alone; to keep him from having enough down-time to think about his situation. Had he never wondered why he had trouble sleeping at night, even though he had spent twelve hours on his feet? It wasn't just the uncomfortable, rock hard bed, it was because he had time to think, and thinking inevitably led to depression, which inevitably led to nightmares. That was the real reason he went to Loompa Land. He couldn't sleep anymore and wanted a cure. And he found one all right. The Oompa Loompas kept him busier than he ever could have imagined.

But he still had trouble sleeping. That's why he always worked until he passed out on the fudge room floor. At least until Charlie and his family (gag) came along. After that, he wasn't quite so lonely. He trusted Charlie, he was a marvelous boy. But that was it, he was just a boy. Young boys are inherently trustworthy, as they have not seen enough of life to twist them into untrustworthy, underhanded, thieving men. He didn't actually spend any time of consequence in his own bedroom until he met Veronica. Ahh, here she was, popping up in those rarely acceptable dusty corner-thoughts again! Veronica… but why would meeting her make him able to sleep without disturbance? He trusted her, plain and simple! And now he was back at the beginning of an enormous train of thought, after nearly an hour of thinking it!

And yet that still left the obvious unanswered question; if he trusted her, why couldn't he just let himself go and love her like he knew he should? Was it because he had never squared with his employees' betrayal? And if it was, how could he possibly do anything about that sixteen years after it happened? He sighed. Actually sitting and thinking about things was more work than actually working! Perhaps it was because sixteen years of thoughts had accrued in those back corners of his brain before he allowed himself to sweep them out…

He had given in to the inevitable and actually let his mind wander. He faced the thoughts that he had been afraid to look in the eye for years now. So why didn't he feel any better? What had he accomplished? He still couldn't allow himself to get any closer to Veronica than he had been. And what was that?

He had made the first jump on his own, taking off his gloves. But somehow it didn't seem very important in retrospect. It had been a big step for him then, but they were his hands. And it wasn't as though he never wore gloves anymore, it had just been the one time. After that… He had kissed her because it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. That's what always happened in books… The hero sweeps the heroine off her feet, and nothing's ever the same. Well, that was true, nothing was quite the same after that… But now she was needing things from him that he couldn't give. What was it she said she needed, sitting out in that snowbank so long ago?

"You…" Idiot, she needs you, and that's exactly what you can't give her.

But why? He didn't know how? He just couldn't. It didn't go beyond that. Whether he wanted to or not, he just couldn't give himself… Parts of himself maybe, his attention, even when he thought it better to be working on candy, his wit, to keep her spirits up, but…

It all boiled down to when they were together last. She had needed something of him then. And maybe he did give it to her, but was it enough, what he had done in the great glass elevator? And afterward? It had been so difficult to even make himself relax, to allow her to come closer. To allow her to try. She cared about him. And that was something that he was simply not used to. He was used to caring about things that didn't care back, chocolate, his name, his honor… Not even Charlie or the Oompa Loompas cared back, not really. Charlie was concerned for his well- being, but Charlie was eleven years old. Veronica was his equal, mentally. And she cared about him, not only that he didn't put himself in danger, but that he was happy. How long had it been since anybody cared if he was happy? Ever? She wanted him to be happy, she wanted him to be loved. She wanted to give him everything he had lacked for so long, but he was so wrapped up in telling himself that he didn't need it, that now that he did know he needed it, he couldn't accept it. And he couldn't think of a way to fix that.

"Willy?"

He snapped out of his reverie.

"Now, I'm no candymaking genius, but haven't you given that caramel enough attention?"

He looked down at the big copper kettle. Whatever it was that was inside it definitely wasn't caramel… at least not anymore. He sighed.

"I'll fix it tomorrow." He said, not letting his mood depress his carefree tone.

"Alright. I'll see you in the morning then." Veronica smiled and grabbed for his hand. He closed his eyes briefly as her thin hand slid over his. "You ok?"

"Lovely." Wonka said quietly.

"Good night then."