Random thought: Some people think that Mr. Depp's Wonka is unsavory because of his resemblance to Michael Jackson. However, if you listen to "Thriller"/"Billy Jean"/"Beat It" it becomes undeniably clear: pedophile or not, those songs are day-amnsexy.

Reviewer thankies to: The Wonkamatic, Lady Baelish, Whale of the World, ashley-smith, RussianPrincess, sherryf101, Anon (haha), CheshireAlice, hikari-no-tsubasa, NightDemoness, Ruthie, and HoVis.

My reviewer list is growing! That's good. I want to spend even more time on this next chapter!

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"My dear bo-ooooooooy!" Willy Wonka's cheerful falsetto punctured the quiet of the morning like a pin to an over inflated balloon.

Charlie winced ducked his head, hunching lower over his plate of eggs as his mentor swept into the house.

Mrs. Bucket, noting her son's behavior with a raised eyebrow, glanced over to Willy, who was standing expectantly with both hands folded atop his cane. "Good morning, Mr. Wonka."

One corner of Wonka's mouth pulled back in a distracted smile and he nodded slightly.

"The very same to you, Mrs. Bucket," he said breezily before returning his attention to his apprentice. "Charlie! Do I have a day planned for us! First we're going to discuss taffy dynamics then test some of the new chocolate electronics out and—hey, is something wrong?" He furrowed his eyebrows in a look of consternation.

Charlie was still hunched over his breakfast, attempting to avoid Wonka's eyes. "Um…Willy? I'm really sorry, but Grandpa Joe promised he would take me out for a day in town. I really can't cancel on him…" he trailed off and risked a glance at Willy.

The chocolatier had stiffened perceptibly, his face reflecting hurt and disappointment for a moment before a look of exaggerated cheer dominated his features.

"Ah…I see how it is. Well, that's good because I had a lot of important things to do today as well…lots of prior engagements. In fact, now I have time for that quality afternoon I planned to spend with…uh…" His eyes darted around the room. "…Mrs. Bucket!"

The was a loud "clang!" as Mrs. Bucket dropped the pan she was washing into the sink.

"Whoops!" She blushed slightly. "Willy, I'm going shopping this afternoon. I'm sure you wouldn't want to—"

"Nonsense! I'm just glad I've finally found a free Saturday without Charlie to pin me down. Now we can do all that...stuff that we'd planned to do." Willy waved a hand dismissively, his face nonetheless now in more of a grimace than a smile.

Charlie looked incredulously from his mother to his mentor and back.

Mrs. Bucket had turned back away from them to the dishes, throwing on the impenetrable shield of maternity that came with such tasks. "If you insist, Willy," she winced slightly at the tongue-slip. "I'll be leaving at 11."

Looking somewhat ill, Wonka shifted uncomfortably and began to edge towards the door. "Er…alrighty. See you then…I guess."

With that, he slipped outside

"Charlie?" Asked Grandpa Joe, emerging from the small back room Mr. Bucket had built two years ago for the grandparents. "Are you ready to leave?"

"Yeah, Grandpa Joe, just a minute." Charlie hurriedly wolfed down what remained of his eggs, put the plate into the sink, and pecked his mother on the cheek as he pulled on his jacket. "See you, mum. Don't let Willy get to you too much, okay?"

"I'll be fine." Mrs. Bucket smiled faintly and waved at her father and son as they began the short hike through the Chocolate Room and entrance hall out to the city.

She sighed and ran a distracted hand over her hair.

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Willy paced back and forth across his room, pausing every few turns to contemplate his fire engine-red grandfather clock.

10:33, it droned in a distinctly cantankerous way, time to get ready. You're going OUT today, my boy. Shopping. No empty cemeteries or unobtrusive shoe-shine chairs. This is the real thing. Right into the middle of the stifling press of humanity.

It sounded, above all else, icky.

Willy Wonka tended not to think of himself as a cowardly person. He had done a great number of courageous things in his life, from slaying snozzwanglers to facing a 24-year overdue dental inspection.

It was not that he was repulsed in general by people, but rather that over 15 years without human contact, he had grown very comfortable with solitude. Other people…well, they could be sneaky, conniving, lying, cheating, and downright mean. They spent their days out in the world, touching things and doing stuff in God knows where. They were, all of them, coated with foreign substances. Possibly dangerous. In the factory, he knew in general what types of things there were to be touched and what happened if you touched them.

Out there, all there was was the unknown.

Out there…

10:42, the clock interjected.

However, he could hardly prove to Charlie that he really had a life outside of candy if he stayed in the factory. Then there was Mrs. Bucket, who would wait for a while then sigh, roll her eyes, and mutter "typical" before leaving. She would be perfectly polite to him later, but in her eyes, he would forever be condemned to the status of anti-social, untrustworthy, and worst of all, liar.

10:48, the clock cleared its throat expectantly.

Willy stopped pacing.

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Mrs. Bucket looked at her watch. It was 10:57.

She checked her hair in the slightly cracked mirror in her room (also a recent addition) and pulled on a slightly worn gray pea coat. In all actuality, she had no idea what the weather was like outside. It was mid-October, she knew that, but inside the factory the TV reception was at best a faintly flickering fuzzy image with no recognizable sound. Mr. Wonka had mysteriously dismantled the TV Room soon after they had moved in, mumbling something about "having created a monster and destroying it before it fell into the wrong hands." So they usually went on guestimates when it came to outdoor attire.

She glanced at her watch again. 10:59. He probably wouldn't come. He had made his point in front of Charlie, and she wouldn't come out and say that he hadn't gone with her. However, if her son asked, she couldn't very well lie.

She began to walk through the door and upon opening it ran directly and forcefully into a black-clad chest.

"Oof!" It said. Mrs. Bucket rebounded back a few feet and once she regained her balance looked up to see Willy Wonka grimacing slightly and adjusting his hat. Atop his usual garb he wore his long black coat and a pair of those ridiculously large, circular sunglasses which he seemed to treasure so much.

"Excuse me," Mrs. Bucket said hurriedly. "So you decided to come?'

"Decided? My dear woman, I planned to from the start!" He laughed uncomfortably.

Mrs. Bucket looked unconvinced but brushed past him anyway and started toward the exit. "Well then, tally-ho."

"Yeah, sure, tally-ho," Wonka muttered and, after a moment, followed.

The cold autumn sunshine shone unrelentingly down as they emerged from the main factory door. Willy winced and seemed to shrink down into the collar of his coat.

"You're sure you want to do this?" Mrs. Bucket asked hesitantly.

"Heh…heh…what's…er…not to like? There's gonna be shopping and...people…and good times!" He looked suspiciously to his right and left before traipsing off across the courtyard. Mrs. Bucket had to walk nearly double-time to keep up with his long strides.

As with every time she exited the factory, the gates opened silently and smoothly as they approached them and closed after they passed. At the curb, Wonka came to an abrupt stop.

"M'kay, I'm out," he announced suddenly, giving a tremulous smile. Mrs. Bucket had the feeling he was very close to bolting back into the massive building. She dug in her pocket and brought out a small, worn slip of paper.

"First we have to stop at the grocery store," she sighed. "Charlie's cleaned out the cupboard for the third time this week." She turned to the right and began walking, only to realize 10 yards down the sidewalk that Wonka wasn't beside her. She turned and stalked back to where he was still standing motionless on the curb, grabbed his arm firmly, and pulled him after her.

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It didn't take long for Mrs. Bucket to develop the distinct impression that she had acquired a second child, at least 25 years older but markedly less mature than her first.

He trailed after her poutily down the aisle, up the next, and down again. She pushed the cart slowly but steadily, pausing regularly to pluck items off the shelf.

Willy looked around sullenly, striking his cane against the floor with unnecessary force every step of the way. His sunglasses rested atop the brim of his hat, and his coat was unbuttoned slightly. His attire had drawn a few odd looks from the haggard-looking, middle aged women that filled the store, but luckily so far no one had realized who he was.

When Mrs. Bucket paused to examine a new brand of corn syrup that had replaced the kind she usually got, Willy peered over her shoulder and cleared his throat with unnecessary volume.

"Are we nearly done?"

"No, Willy, we're not very done at all," she said sweetly. "You're going to have to be patient."

He set his mouth into a small frown and retreated to lurk around the shopping cart. Mrs. Bucket half expected him to ask if he could ride in it. Checking a smile, she settled on the corn syrup and hefted it into the cart.

Half an hour later, when they finally reached the checkout, Mrs. Bucket's cart was groaning under the weight of the food it bore. Thank God Charlie had hit puberty before he'd become the heir to a major international corporation! She would never have been able to keep him alive on cabbage soup.

Mr. Wonka was sorting through the candy display, stopping occasionally to check ingredients and giggle a bit. He finally reached the large portion of the shelf devoted to his candies and, after a moment's perusal, hefted every single box bearing his name into his arms. After Mrs. Bucket finished paying for her items, he dropped them heavily in front of the cashier.

The long-suffering man looked up at him, nonplussed. "You have some kind of sweet tooth or what?"

Wonka gave him a blinding grin. "Let's call it quality control."

The cashier looked somewhat disturbed, but began to ring up the candy all the same. Willy, the very epitome of discretion, pulled out a bright purple credit card emblazoned with his trademark golden stylized W.

The cashier accepted it mechanically, gaping at the card, then at Wonka, then back to the card again.

"W-william H. Wonka?" He read loudly. Heads turned. Willy's smile began to look strained.

"Yee-ah." He said through clenched teeth. "Look, I'm kind of in a hurry, if you could—"

"Oh, of course!" The cashier fumbled the card through the slider, dropped it, slid it through again, dropped it again—

Shoppers were beginning to drift over to the register, looking at Wonka curiously.

"Are you Willy Wonka?" A small child asked shrilly.

"Erm." Willy's smile twitched and faltered. He began to edge backwards, only to find he was trapped against the candy rack. Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea! His inner monologue shrieked.

Suddenly, though, just as he began to feel cornered by the steadily closing shoppers, he saw a hand snatch his credit card from the cashier, and felt himself being dragged toward the exit.

"Here," Mrs. Bucket thrust his card back into his hand, and devoted both of them to the three heaping grocery bags she was carrying while violently yet skillfully kicking the half-empty cart along in front of her. "I swear, you can't go 5 minutes without making some kind of scene, can you? Now, c'mon. Help me carry the rest of these bags."

Wonka wordlessly did as he was told as they continued rapidly through the parking lot, staring in open-mouthed admiration at Mrs. Bucket. Over the top of the bags he, watched her striding in front of him. Sure, she was dressed in a ragtag combination of a knee-length skirt, Wellingtons, an old gray coat, and an overly large blue sweater, but he suddenly saw her true strengths: order, sense, and direction.

All of these tended to be foreign concepts to Willy, but could identify them when he saw them. Up until now, he had simply associated their presence in Mrs. Bucket with motherhood, but in actuality they were parts of her character. Motherhood gave them a direction; her love towards Charlie, but they appeared in everything she put her mind to.

Mrs. Bucket turned around just in time to see Wonka, who was gazing unseeingly into the distance above her head while he walked, collide forcefully with a streetlamp and fall, along with a shower of groceries, to the pavement.

He spat out a container of yogurt which had mysteriously gotten lodged in his mouth on the way down.

"Ow."

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Meh…somewhat dissatisfied with this chapter, but I'm not sure if I could rewrite it. Ah well, I'll forge on. The next chapter will be better. I promise.

Read? Review!