Strange Candy

Summary: On the turn of Charlie's twelfth birthday, a new threat to the factory arises. Charlie learns how important a friend can be. Wonka learns how difficult mentorship can be. Wonka/Charlie friendship, non-slash. Wonka/OC.

Notes: Wow…that's more reviews than I expected. (blinks) And good to know I'm not the only one who likes Wonka for being…well, Wonka. This here chapter is going to be longer…and probably funnier (and in my opinion, more in-character) and fun. Stuff. Duck. Wait, question: is it spelled 'chocolatier' or 'chocolateer'? I can never decide.

Oh, and…I can't promise updating this quick all the time. The next chapter might be soon, but…well, we'll see after that. I must write story before posting story. (nods) Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Consult previous chapter.

Chapter Two: The Sake of Tradition

It was a quiet Monday, with little business on the sidewalks as hardly a soul dared to leave their homes in the current weather. Visibly, the city was rather pleasant. A mild snowfall covered every inch of the lampposts, mailboxes and street signs and the sky was a dull gray. There were several, fat snowflakes floating on the breeze, dancing lightly in circles and cascading patterns. The air itself was bitter and cold, slicing through even the thickest layers of clothing.

Snow billowed around them as Willy and Charlie traveled along the silent street. Try as he might, Charlie could not prevent his teeth from chattering or his lips from turning slightly blue. The cold did not seem to hinder Wonka in the least, despite the incredible, toasty habitat in which he confined himself to for most of his life.

Willy said nothing, nor glanced his way. His cane wobbled with every step, perfectly shined, black boots treading stiffly upon the undisturbed layer of snow. But Charlie kept on glancing at him, expecting a flinch or a frown. Still, nothing happened.

"It's just on the other corner," the boy announced when they stopped to allow traffic through. "You don't have to come with me if you don't want, Mr. Wonka. I can buy it and bring it back out."

"Nonsense," the chocolatier quipped, tipping his head to look at Charlie for the first time since they set out. He squinted his eyes a little. "What kind of incredibly infamous chocolate genius do you take me for?"

Charlie smiled. "The good kind, I suppose."

"And would a good incredibly infamous chocolate genius let his best friend go and buy his own birthday candy all by himself?" Wonka wanted to know, leaning over on his cane.

"No," said Charlie.

"There you go then. Mystery solved." Willy straightened himself and started across the street. Charlie hurried after him, not wanting to be caught on the other side of the street when a warm, comfortable convenience store was within reach.

Charlie slipped past Mr. Wonka as the chocolatier opened the door. The bells hanging from the inside of the entrance jangled melodiously, which drew the immediate attention of the sole occupant of the store – the friendly clerk who had sold Charlie the winning chocolate bar and the golden ticket. Immediately, the man's face split into a welcoming grin.

"Charlie!" he greeted warmly as he leaned over the counter. "What a wonderful surprise! How's it going?"

"Fine, thanks," Charlie said a little breathlessly. He'd run across the intersection in a hurry to get warm.

"Who's your unusual friend?" the clerk wanted to know, referring of course, to M. Wonka, who was currently examining a package of Wonka's Peanut Fudge Crunch with profound interest.

"Oh, that's Willy Wonka," Charlie explained with a hint of pride and rubbed his hands together furiously to get the blood flowing in them again. He twisted his head around to get Willy's attention. "Mr. Wonka, I want you to meet Bernard. He sold me the winning ticket."

Wonka abruptly lost all interest in the packaged candy at the mention of the golden ticket and dropped the item back in the proper tray. Like a fervent admirer he glided over to the counter, his face aglow, and seized the clerk's hand in a furious handshake. "My dear sir, I cannot thank you enough for all you've done! To think Charlie might never have found that ticket if it weren't for you! Wow!"

Bernard's expression was a mixture of wonder and bewilderment as he released Wonka's hand. "So you're Willy Wonka," he said, grinning. "You're taller than I imagined."

"It's the hat," Charlie insisted.

"It is not," Willy shot back, glancing smartly at the boy.

"Is too," said Charlie.

"Is not!"

"All right, boys, take it easy," said Bernard, laughing.

"Sorry, sir," Charlie apologized, a little sheepishly. Quickly, he dug a few coins from his pocket and placed it on the counter in front of the Clerk. "We're here to buy a chocolate bar, actually."

"Oh," the gracefully understanding reply went. "Let me guess – one Whipple-Scrumptious Fudgemellow Delight?"

With no lack of enthusiasm, Charlie nodded and added, "Please."

The clerk chuckled, chose burgundy-and-purple-wrapped candy bar from the wicker basket in front of his register, and handed it to the eager boy. "You know, I won't even ask why you're here when Willy Wonka himself is standing right next to you. I'll just assume you're about to tell me."

Charlie opened his mouth to explain again the reason he was buying his birthday chocolate, but Mr. Wonka miraculously beat him to it first. "It's tradition," said the chocolatier, as if that clarified the whole situation. "Okay then, are we all set?"

Well aware of how uncomfortable Willy was inside of unfamiliar buildings, Charlie merely shrugged and tried to avoid Bernard's questioning eye. He thanked the clerk, who smiled back, and ducked under Wonka's outstretched arm in order to head back out the door. Willy paused a moment in that sweeping gesture, before following the boy outside.

"That was fun," he announced merrily, using his free hand to adjust his hat. "Where to next, Charlie?"

Surprised, the boy pocketed his chocolate bar and looked up at the towering, blanch-faced man. "What do you mean?"

"Well, what were you planning to do for the rest of your birthday, silly boy?" the chocolatier wanted to know. "Say, I have an idea," he went on with a mysterious smirk. "Let's go eat somewhere."

Smiling slightly, Charlie looked up at the man looming beside him. "Really? Like where?" he asked.

The way Willy's face froze completely suggested that he hadn't a clue. His eyes slowly moved to one side, his hand clenching the handle of his cane a little tighter than normal.

Charlie's grin broadened. "Why not Alison's Diner? It's not far from here."

"Good choice. We'll go there," said the chocolatier brightly, as if the suggestion had been his all along. Without any sense of direction at all, he set off down the street in a flourish of snow and purple velvet.

Charlie just tucked his numbing fingers into his pockets and waited.

Surely enough, it was not very long at all before Mr. Wonka walked straight back to the boy and stopped shortly, a stiff, elusive tinge to his face. "So…which way was it again?"

The boy merely shook his head started off across the street at a trot. Willy glared sharply after him before stalking to catch up. "I knew that," he quipped sourly to himself.

-----

They settled into a booth seat, in the curiously busy restaurant. Wonka hung his overcoat on the seat next to him, resting the cane just against the fabric, where he could keep an eye on them. Charlie could not help but notice how often Willy let his eyes wander to his surroundings, and he wondered just when the chocolatier had last eat out. Probably never.

It was surprisingly not long before a middle-aged woman with thick layers of makeup and an apron appeared beside their table with a notebook in hand. "Welcome to Alison's Family Eatery," she said flatly. "What will you two gentlemen like this morning?

"Just pancakes," said Charlie. "That's for me. I think Mr. Won…my friend might need a little more time to decide."

"No, no," Willy interrupted, grinning. "I love pancakes. They sound great."

Strangely enough, Charlie found himself wondering if this Willy Wonka was the same Wonka he'd met a year ago. It was hard not to expect the odd chocolatier to say something completely out of the ordinary and quite possibly offensive as well.

The waitress blinked slowly, looking at Willy through half-dropped eyes. "Can I get you a coffee, sir?"

"Ew, no," Willy retorted before Charlie could intervene. "That horrible black stuff they get from car engines? You know, whoever invented it sure made a mistake rhyming it with toffee. They aren't alike at all."

"He'll have a hot chocolate," Charlie added hastily, wincing under the waitress's raised eyebrow. There was the Willy Wonka he'd been anticipating.

"Hey, that's a great idea!" Willy put his menu down, grinning. With the same enthusiasm as a young boy ordering his own food for the first time, he fidgeted and went on. "One hot chocolate, please, with extra chocolate. "

The waitress stared between the two of them with a blank expression, while the background noise rattled on. She wrote the order down on the notepad without blinking an eye. "Will that be all today, gentlemen?"

"Yes, thanks," said Charlie gratefully. Drearily, the waitress turned around and headed to another table, leaving the unusual duo to their own devices.

"Well, she wasn't very friendly, was she?" Willy observed, frowning.

Charlie shrugged. "Some people are just like that, I guess."

Willy sniffed. "I'll bet that's how grown-ups turn out when their parents don't let them have any candy."

That caused Charlie's grin to return, which clearly pleased Willy. "Maybe," said the boy.

Their conversation then led to the usual debate on chocolate inventions and candy designs. Charlie immediately brought up an idea he'd been chewing on for the past few days -- Caramel Balloons. Miniature, sticky balloons of rich caramel that popped in children's mouths. Willy was enthralled by it. By the time their drinks arrived, they had already devised three different possible names and the type of package that they would be shipped in.

Charlie took his milk and thanked the waitress politely. She all but ignored him, setting a steaming mug on the table in front of Mr. Wonka. The chocolatier delicately took it by the handle and waved dismissively with the other hand. Less than impressed, the waitress scowled at him and turned away in a huff.

At first, Charlie stared in bewilderment. Willy Wonka was certainly no less than blunt, but it was very unlike him to be flat-out rude. "Mr. Wonka," he whispered as he leaned forward. "You can't treat other people like you would Oompa Loompas, because they're not Oompa Loompas, they're real people."

Willy's fierce violet gaze snapped toward him from beneath the brim of his hat. "The Oompa Loompas are real people. They're from Loompala-"

"Yes, I know," Charlie went on quickly. "What I mean is, you're not exactly paying...these people to work for you with cocoa beans."

For a moment, Wonka seemed to stare off into space as he registered this. His arm hovered above the table, his fingers still curled around his hot chocolate. "Oh," he said at last. Haltingly, he brought the mug to his lips and sipped. "Oh, yuck!"

Charlie remained silent as Wonka made a face of absolute revulsion, near on gagging with disapproval. The chocolatier removed a small packet from a pocket inside his jacked, ripped it open and added it to his beverage. Then, with he proceeded to stir the new concoction with his spoon. The discarded packet read 'Wonka's Fabulous Frothy Chocolate Powder'.

Charlie couldn't help it. He snorted into his milk and came up coughing and laughing at the same time. Willy froze in mid-stir to stare at him, unblinking. "Oh, sure, you find it funny now, but you wouldn't be if you'd tasted it," he said matter-of-factly. "It's terrible. It's even worse than coffee."

"Okay, I believe you," was all Charlie said. And he meant it, really.

"Hey, where should we go after this?" Wonka dropped his spoon, the hot chocolate completely forgotten.

This came as a surprise to Charlie. "I thought we were going home after, because Mom and Dad-"

"Oh, Charlie, it's your birthday! It's the single most important day of the year! We should be celebrating!"

"Even more important than Christmas?" Charlie wanted to know.

The light darkened somewhat behind Wonka's eyes. "Of course, you silly boy. It's much better than Ch-" His voice croaked. He tried to force the word out anyway. "Chr...c.."

Not at all unused to this behaviour, the boy waited out Willy's frustrated attempts to win over the name of the apparently repulsive holiday. The family sitting across the aisle from them, however, were staring at them. This, he ignored. One simply could not spend a day with Willy Wonka and not be stared at.

Feeling suddenly curious, he interrupted Wonka's stuttering by asking, "What's wrong with Christmas?"

Wonka looked a little sulky. "Because millions of little children every year get candy bars and candy canes, and the very next day they bring all those delicious goodies to school and make fun of all the other children who didn't get any."

Wonka might as well have told him his entire life story. And like many other times before, Charlie sympathized with the strange chocolatier. "You didn't get any chocolate at Christmas?"

"Shhh! Don't say it so loud!" Willy leaned forward so quickly in his seat, the table jolted and sent little splatters of hot chocolate everywhere. More heads turned to investigate the clamor.

"Don't feel bad," Charlie rebuked. "I never got any candy at Christmas, either. I only ate chocolate once a year, on my birthday. It's all my parents could afford."

"How can that be if you were one of the lucky little children who found one of my golden tickets?" Willy asked confidently, as if triumphing over some unseen battle.

Charlie shook his head and launched into the story about his last birthday and the first two failed attempts at finding the golden ticket. Willy listened without a single word, keeping his pale, sun-deprived face unreadable for the better part of the tale. When Charlie reached the part about finding the money note, his eyes widened.

"Wow, then you were an even luckier little boy than I first thought," he said with a funny lilt to his voice. Then his expression sunk, as if remembering something sad. Much more quietly, he added, "I had a Ch...a Chr...a winter holiday present once. A little toy flute made of wood. It had three holes on the top and I even learned how to play a song on it before I got my br…my b…those metal thingies on my teeth."

Charlie was hesitant to continue on the same subject, as it was obviously not a happy memory. "What...happened to it?"

Wonka jolted, startled from his momentary daze. Slowly, his eyes traveled from Charlie, to the surface of the dark chocolate that pooled in his mug. "I haven't the foggiest. One day I opened the box and it just wasn't there."

The boy looked into his glass. "I'm sorry."

"My dear boy, whatever for?" Wonka said loudly, to some extent with shock. "You certainly didn't steal my flute." Then as a serious afterthought, he added, "Did you?"

Charlie chuckled and shook his head fiercely. "Mr. Wonka, I wasn't born then."

"Of course you weren't," came the unexpectedly cheerful reply. Willy had resumed stirring his hot chocolate with an intensity that seemed unnatural. He bore a very broad grin. "That's what makes you so special, Charlie."

Charlie didn't quite know what to say to this, so he took another long sip of his milk and remained silent.

"Wow! It's Willy Wonka!"

Just like that, the childish, gleeful outcry had an impact on Willy that not even the worst insult to candy would have made. The chocolatier grabbed the edge of the table with his gloved hands and went completely still, a horrified scowl twitching on his lips. Then in a flash, he whirled out of his seat, collected his hat and cane, and began stalking towards the door and promising escape.

But the alarm had been raised, and the way to freedom was already barred with four happily grinning, syrup-streaked faces that happened to belong to four little children. Wonka inhaled sharply and stopped short, staring at the children as if they were pythons, and not preschoolers.

"Mr. Wonka, Mr. Wonka! Mr. Wonka!"

"Can I have some candy?"

"Is your hat really real? I want one just like it!"

"I saw him first! Mom!"

By this, Mr. Wonka was already backing away from the children, clearly unwilling to attempt to break through them lest he come in contact with one. His lips were pulled in a tight line, unaware that half of the restaurant was now staring at him, now regrettably aware of his identity.

Just then, Charlie stepped out from behind the frozen chocolatier and placed himself between the overexcited children and Wonka himself. His Whipple-Scrumptious Fudgemellow Delight was no longer in his pocket, but his hand. He reached out and placed the chocolate bar in the sticky hands of the oldest youngster. "Here," he said calmly. "You can share it."

And like a pack of rabid hyenas, the children laughed and squealed at their unjustified present. Immediately, they began to fight amongst themselves over the chocolate and forgot all about Mr. Wonka, who was now looking at Charlie as if he were a ghost.

"Hurry, let's go before anyone else tries to stop you," Charlie directed hastily. Wonka melted a little, enough to lift the corners of his mouth in an uneasy smile, but that quickly faded. He edged himself around the children instead, fleeing out the door and into the snow.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wonka," said Charlie, once they were both safely a few lampposts aware from the diner. "I should have remembered."

Willy tapped his cane on the sidewalk adamantly. "Poppycock!" he scolded with a tugging frown. "It's not your fault, Charlie. I feel horrible that you just…gave away your birthday chocolate for…for me."

Feeling slightly embarrassed, the boy averted his eyes and shook his head. "Don't worry about that," he said softly. "It's just a silly tradition."

"It is not!" argued the chocolatier, not for the first time that day. "Look at me, I invented silly and that, my dear boy, isn't silly at all!"

"But I always share my chocolate on my birthday. Besides, you're right, there's plenty more of it at the factory," the boy explained. He shivered reluctantly as the frigid air swept over him. "We should probably go home now. Mom and Dad are going to worry about us."

Now, Mr. Wonka knew for a fact that Charlie wanted anything else than to return to the factory. After all, it wasn't every day he left, now that he was so busy learning about the functions of the rooms, the Oompa Loompa language, secret ingredients of different candies and the basics of becoming a chocolatier.

"Okay," Willy said grudgingly. "But only because it's so darn cold out here! Maybe now the Oompa Loompas can give you their surprise!"

Charlie brightened at the idea. He'd forgotten about the 'surprise' discussion this morning. Suddenly, he didn't feel as bad to have lost his traditional chocolate bar.

"Sure," he said. "I call pushing the button."

Willy half-gaped as Charlie suddenly raced past him, towards the glass elevator that was waiting on the corner of the block. The chocolatier walked briskly after him. "Hey, you always call pushing the button!"

A breeze stirred the snow in a fantastic, white tumult that adorned the sides of the streets and blew across the sidewalk. Charlie's voice carried through the wind lightly. "I need the practice!"

And besides the setbacks, he decided that this birthday was so far, one of his best ever.

Sneak Peek: A mysterious disappearance, an unexpected reappearance and the fright of Charlie's life.