Review-thankies to ellina HOPE, ashley-smith, Wicked Seraphina, The Wonkamatic, HoVis, kessie, RussianPrincess, and Gail "the Whale." I cherish reviews. Whoever reviews this chapter will receive a transfer of $42,000,000 into their bank account from Mr. James Mdugo, former Secretary of Defense of Kenya as a reward for being my close personal friend.

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After nearly an hour, four more trips to the chocolate river, and much wasted cream, sugar, and vanilla extract later, Willy Wonka was still not satisfied.

"No, you see, you've done it all wrong!" He insisted, indicating Mrs. Bucket's most recent attempt with annoyance. "I specifically told you that you had to wait until the chocolate had cooled to exactly 102 degrees before the cream is added. You added it at 104 degrees. Not to even mention the fact that you stirred it counter-clockwise."

Mrs. Bucket, who by this point was nearly at the end of her tether, blew a stray curl of hair out of her face and put her fists on her hips, still clutching a wooden spoon.

"If I'm making all of these supposedly critical mistakes, why exactly don't you warn me before I make them?"

Willy paused a moment to consider this. "Because that way you wouldn't have any mistakes to learn from!"

Mrs. Bucket bowed her head in exasperation, closing her eyes and massaging her forehead with one hand, unwittingly smearing a considerable amount of chocolate across her brow.

With partial success, Willy stifled a giggle and raised his eyes to the ceiling in an expression of faux innocence. Actually, her last two batches had been more than satisfactory. She had gotten the knack of the process with relative ease and was now very near to having it mastered. The irrepressible candymaker, though, had been having a wonderful time instructing her and even a more wonderful time correcting her mistakes. Judging by the slightly murderous look in Mrs. Bucket's eyes, however, he thought his enjoyment was soon to come to an end.

At the same moment Wonka was thinking this, Mrs. Bucket was seriously considering how well the overturned bowl of frosting would complement Willy's haircut.

"Shall we start again, then?" Willy suggested cheerfully, handing Emma another cup full of chocolate. For 'insurance's sake,' they had gotten a double serving on their last trip to the river.

Gritting her teeth, Mrs. Bucket was about to empty the failed batch into the sink when she caught her reflection in the bottom of a pot hanging nearby. She felt a tic begin to form in her left eye at the sight of her chocolate-smeared visage.

"What're we looking at? Not zoning out on me, are you?" Wonka's face swam into sight next to hers in the bottom of the pan. Mrs. Bucket noted the complete lack of any chocolate on him at all. The contrast was, to say the least, not pleasing.

With sudden conviction, she knew what was to be done.

Willy drew back slightly at the sight of a cold, mirthless smile forming suddenly on Mrs. Bucket's face. His attention was so consumed by it, though, that he failed to notice her left hand sink into the cup of fresh chocolate (currently 106 degrees Fahrenheit) as her smile turned into a full-out grin.

Faster than she even knew she was capable of, Mrs. Bucket spun and delivered a handful of warm liquid chocolate directly into Wonka's (smug little annoying admittedly sometimes cute) face. It collided with a satisfying –SPLAT!dribble—and Mrs. Bucket smiled in pride at her handiwork.

Under the dripping chocolate, Willy had gone completely white. His mouth opened and closed inarticulately.

"You…" he finally managed a few moments later, as Mrs. Bucket was washing her hand calmly.

"Oh, there's no need to thank me, Mr. Wonka, I just thought you'd like a look at your chocolate up close and per—"

The splash of chocolate into her face was totally unexpected. What happened afterwards wasn't.

She knocked his hat off with one hand and delivered another generous amount of chocolate into his impeccable hair with the other. He countered with an equally generous amount aimed at her ear which ended up mostly dripping down her shoulders, and she topped that off and settled the matter altogether by picking up the cup and pouring what remained down his shirt.

They stood in silence for a moment, staring at each other. After a moment, Willy tugged on his collar and looked down it.

"Well, that was unnecessary."

Spontaneously, both of them broke out into gales of hysterical laughter. (A/N: see footnote)

That was how Charlie and his four grandparents found them ten minutes later.

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Not more than twenty minutes after being thoroughly splattered with melted chocolate by none other than his apprentice's mother, Willy Wonka stepped out of the great glass elevator (wincing at the brown droplets he left in his wake) into the entrance to his private chambers.

Willy Wonka's bedroom was a fantastical place. Firstly, the entrance hall was a massive cathedral of a place, running nearly as long as the entrance hall to the factory, though without the diminishing size at the end. The bedroom itself was a wonderland combination of candy and furniture, with the occasional piece of furniture made out of candy thrown in for good measure. Half of the furniture was located in key places on the walls or ceiling for emergency use in case of some kind of Earth-flippingly large catastrophe.

The floor was covered with a deep red, raspberry-flavored shag carpet and the walls with lavender wallpaper adorned with stylized silver W's of various sizes. Two massive windows on the far wall provided a breathtaking view of the Chocolate Room.

"Just my luck that the most fantabulous food in the entire world melts at body temperature," he muttered resentfully as he shrugged out of his coat and squirmed uncomfortably at the sensation of half-congealed chocolate trapped between his shirt and his skin.

He walked over to the windows as he unfastened his W-brooch and tossed it casually onto a nearby chair sticking horizontally out of the wall.

Situated in the middle of the vibrantly colored and entirely eatable wonderland below, looking plain and dull but undeniably quaint was the Bucket household. It had taken the chocolatier a while to get used to seeing the bland little thing outside his window, but now it seemed as if the view would be incomplete without it. This was his world, his everything; candy and the oompa-loompas and the Buckets. What were they exactly? His neighbors? His friends? His family, even?

A little of everything, Wonka concluded after a moment of consideration. He thought about each one of his dear Buckets for a moment, feeling a surge of pride when he thought of Charlie, a generous amount of affection when he thought about Grandma Georgina, and a twinge of sorrow and inexplicable guilt when he thought of Mr. Bucket. When he reached Mrs. Bucket, he paused a moment.

What emotion did he associate with her? Certainly at the present a generous amount of poutiness mixed with a need for vengeance. How dare she pour chocolate down his shirt? Mrs. Bucket was nice, he supposed, in a motherly sort of way. At least…she was when Charlie was around.

But sometimes she was different. Sometimes when Charlie was asleep or at school or elsewhere, she would stop being the person who nagged and scolded and stifled and all those other annoying things parents are wont to do. These times, it seemed, she stopped being a mother and was her own person, with weak spots and feelings and all sorts of other things. She was the kind of person who cried over her dead husband and started chocolate fights.

No, Willy was entirely unsure of what he felt about Mrs. Bucket. She was, as he would so eloquently state it, "weird."

"Hmph," he murmured dismissively, waving his hand as if to brush away the thought. Thinking was certainly a strenuous activity.

He deftly unbuttoned his waistcoat and removed it, holding it at arm's length by the tips of his fingers as if it were a particularly disgusting rodent. With a carefully aimed flick of his wrist, he sent it soaring neatly into a hamper at the opposite end of the room. Wonka then turned and carefully assessed the damage to his shirt in a full-length mirror which (quite flatteringly, in his opinion) distorted his image so his head was gigantic and body was somewhat thinner than normal.

With a dramatic sigh, he began to unbutton the shirt as well. "Completely ruined. These stains will never come out. And on my favorite shirt to…"

The shirt soon joined the waistcoat in the hamper and Willy was now confronted with the image of chocolate smeared generously down his chest. He pursed his lips in thought, and quirked one eyebrow. With great deliberation, he daintily dragged a finger (still latex-clad) through the chocolate and put it into his mouth. Willy Wonka licked his lips and smiled.

"Huh…not bad."

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An hour later, freshly laundered and ready for action, Willy arrived at the door to the Bucket house. Mrs. Bucket was standing nearby, plucking sprinkle seedpods off a tree. She paused when he arrived, walking over to him with a slight smile. Willy noted that she too looked freshly scrubbed and her hair was slightly damp.

"Truce?" She asked, holding out one hand.

Willy paused a moment, lifting a hand and clenching his fingers slightly before slipping it delicately into Mrs. Bucket's. Her smile grew and she shook his hand once firmly before picking up the small bowl of bright orange pods.

"I was just finishing making dinner. We'll be eating in a few minutes. Are you going to join us tonight, Mr. Wonka?"

"So you finished the cake on your own?" Willy asked, disappointed despite himself.

"Well, I just used the last batch of icing I made. I tasted some and decided that it wasn't too incredibly disgusting. You don't have to eat any if you don't want to."

"Ah—um…" Willy mumbled. What a loaded statement! If he said he wouldn't eat any, it would be downright impolite and if he said he would, it would force him to admit he was wrong! "I'm, uh, I'm sure I've been forced to eat much worse before." He winced slightly.

Mrs. Bucket continued past him into the house, rolling her eyes once her back was turned to him. Some truce!

"Lovely!" She tried, but not too hard, to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

As they entered the house, Willy marveled at how quickly and completely the "mother" mask slipped over her real identity.

"Charlie!" She exclaimed. "Didn't I ask you to clear your school work off the table? And you're not going to get a scrap of food if you don't wash up first!"

"Yes, mum," Charlie muttered, gathering his books and papers into a disorderly bundle and heading up the rickety ladder to his room.

"Now Emma, don't be so hard on the poor boy. At least he was doing his homework," Grandma Josephine said, letting Grandpa Joe help her to her spot at the table.

"Yes, mum," Mrs. Bucket replied, unconsciously mimicking her son with remarkable accuracy.

Willy giggled and everyone looked at him curiously.

"Oh, um, er…nothing. Just thinking about a joke an oompa-loompa told me today," he lied unconvincingly.

The rest of dinner was relatively uneventful except for a few amusing and endearing comments from Grandma Georgina. Willy and Charlie had an animated debate about the pros and cons of powdered sugar. Mrs. Bucket was mostly silent except for reprimanding Charlie once for saying "shit."

Willy found himself thinking that while Mrs. Bucket would never say "shit" in a million trillion years, Emma probably would with only slight provocation.

At last, the main course was finished and the lights were dimmed. Mrs. Bucket appeared with the monstrously large cake, her face lit from below by a plethora of candles. Willy exited the house for a moment and returned with 5 oompa-loompas who performed a special rendition of "Happy Birthday" for Grandma Georgina.

As they watched the intricately choreographed number, Willy caught Mrs. Bucket's gaze. Orange candlelight flickered across her face and her eyes twinkled as they shared a secret smile.

Though Willy would never ever admit it, the frosting was delicious.

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(If this were a movie or someone else's fanfic, at this point I would be clamoring for lots of hot chocolatey schmex. Unfortunately I'm the author, so I'm not allowed to do that yet. Maybe in 20 chapters or so. TT )

Since I was denied my hot schmex, I decided to have the chest chocolate-licking thing. Blatant fan-service, but don't we all need that once in a while? Also, I tried to write some of the grandparents in this chapter. I'm usually only good enough to handle two to three characters at once. Though I would love writing some stuff for Grandpa George and Grandma Georgina, it's just too much to handle if they're all there at once.

Read? Review!