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: You'll have to forgive me for the way I make Mr. Wonka seem so entirely juvenile in the coming chapters. It just seems to me that, while becoming so fixated with his chocolate and candy, that he wouldn't have had a lot of time to learn things most other people would learn in their lifetimes, especially since he spent most of his life shut off from the world. You'll see what I mean later.

Good old reviews. HoVis, you'll see soon enough. Thanks! Kokira…thanks, the Funny Word Glossary is supposed to be useful, too. You're about to find out, Cholate14…. Awwww…(hands Artoveli a tissue) Sorry! Uh…me. Here ya go. (hands over the chapter) Valerie, of course you can! You're reading it now, right? Hehe. Lynx Ryder, I do believe I will never get tired of hearing (er, reading) you yell at the characters even though they can't hear you. Hee hee! I know, isn't Galoompa a funny word? Thanks for the review, Drazzles. Moonbean…good prediction, but I do believe you'll find it's a bit different than that…

Disclaimer: Consult previous chapter.

Chapter Eight: Multiple Disguises

The man standing just on the corner of the alley was not a kindly man. Nor was he the sort that normally took to the streets, but then of course, this was a matter that he trusted to no one else. Even though it was cold, and the chewed-up jacket he wore was nothing more than the remnants of something that was once good, he was warmed by the very idea that brought him here in the first place.

He brought his chilled fingers to his lips and breathed, willing the warm air to take the frostbite out of them. How much longer must he wait? It had taken so long to scrounge up the money – and only then, he'd had just barely enough to get him by another week while he waited for an update from his "aid".

The bells on the convenience shop's door jangled merrily, and a man stepped out into the frozen slush. He strolled lazily towards the other man, pulling a cigarette from the pack he had just bought and a lighter out of the same pocket. He lit it as he came to stop beside the bum.

As he did, the light from a nearby post illuminated his face. He was a middle-aged, plump, balding man. There was a professional glint behind his eye.

"S-So?" stammered the first man, trying not to wrinkle his nose as a cloud of tobacco wafted under his nose. "What did you find out?"

The balding man grunted with amusement and grit his teeth around the cigarette. "That your man is one hell of a hard fish to catch, Mr. Salt."

The other flinched at that and he averted his eyes, trembling from the cold. "Don't talk so loud," he muttered, cursing the very snow under his feet. "I don't want anyone knowing-"

A cold, cynical laugh cut him off and the balding man coughed a few times before regaining his voice. "What? How could a man like you be possibly be worried about what they think?" he demanded gruffly, sweeping towards the street with a gloved hand. "They're more like you than you know. Every single one of them."

Mr. Salt glanced over his shoulder nervously. "What about…the woman?"

The man's eyes snapped to him. "She's taken care of. After tonight, there won't even be an April Banks. Not that she's any of your business."

"And…what about…him?"

"Who? The boy or the nutcase?"

Again, Mr. Salt flinched. "You know what I mean."

"Sure, we all live in that fantasy world," the balding man grunted. "As for your question…not yet. Let me work it a little more. There's a…few obstacles that need to be taken care of first."

"And then?"

Again, the balding man coughed. He dropped his cigarette into the snow. "It's payday."

It was Saturday. The hospital was busier than it was on any other day of the week, especially now that the weather had turned bitter and infections were spreading all across town from unattended sniffles and coughs. Even though Charlie prayed with all his hope and might, the sight of a packed parking lot was all he was granted when the elevator sped towards the Emergency entrance.

Charlie was a knot of emotions. Mostly, he felt sick inside, both anxious and excited at the same time. He also felt disappointed. It had already been five days since the incident with the chocolate river, and still no sign of Oswald. He hadn't even grown used to the ferret yet, and now he was gone, maybe forever. Somehow, the little furry body against his neck was a great comfort. Without it, the worst of his fears got the better of him…

The door to the elevator opened as it landed, letting in a jet of cold air. Mr. Wonka stepped out into the snow first, testing the snow banks with his cane for their depth. He began to wade through them with a taught expression; Charlie followed in close tow, making sure to step in Mr. Wonka's tracks to prevent his pants from getting ice on them.

People streamed in and out of the rotating doors to the entrance. Mr. Wonka jumped and reeled away from a couple as they shoved their way past him, one of them limping noticeably. He turned to Charlie, who just shrugged. Eyes widened, the chocolatier turned stiffly towards the building again and started off.

Luck seemed to approve of them, at least. Despite the fact that the waiting room was jam packed with all kinds of sniffling, moaning, grumbling persons, there was no line for the front desk. The couple that had nearly toppled Mr. Wonka were just sitting down, looking rather disgusted by their surroundings. As Charlie and the chocolatier neared the desk, a middle-aged woman looked up impassively.

"Are you registering, or visiting?" she drawled.

Charlie, who found the nurse almost familiar, placed his hands on the counter. "Just visiting," he replied. "My mom-"

"Room?" the nurse interrupted.

Rather shocked by her bluntness, Charlie stuttered, "I…I don't know the room number. It happened just today. If you could-"

The flat-faced woman raised a hand. "Fine. What is the patient's name?"

It was right about then that Willy, who had been pondering the most puzzling of expressions for the past minute or two, finally recognized the nurse. "Hey, I know you!" he exclaimed suddenly. "You're that unpleasant waitress lady from the diner Charlie and I went to! I would recognize that ghastly perfume anywhere. My grandmother used to wear it."

It was indeed the same 'waitress lady' Mr. Wonka referred to, and she looked ever the more unpleasant than he narrated. Her long lashes blinked slowly and she seemed to study them with the intensity of a viper.

"But if you're a nurse, why were you working at the diner?" Charlie wondered, now realizing why the nurse had seemed so familiar.

"I got laid off," she replied firmly. "That was my temporary, higher paying job. Look, do you know you mother's name or not? If not, amscray."

"Sorry," Charlie apologized fervently. "Her name is Sarah Bucket. She's supposed to be having a baby."

The nurse raised an eyebrow. "Oh, that one," she said drearily. "Third floor, third hallway to the right, room three forty-four. Here's your visitor badges; don't take them off. And dear," she went on, leaning forward slightly. "Don't worry about it. Your mother is just fine. I see this thing all the time."

Charlie was slightly taken aback by her sudden change of attitude. A smile automatically lit up his face. He thanked her quickly, took the visitor's passes and started towards the elevators. Mr. Wonka walked briskly after him, nearly crashing into a wheelchair in the process.

"So? Which do you think it is?" quipped the chocolatier as they passed a row of medicine carts.

"Which what?" said Charlie, handing Mr. Wonka the second badge. The chocolatier took it, examined it with a repulsed grimace and tidily fastened it to his dark blue, velvet jacket. Charlie had learned long ago that Mr. Wonka hoarded hundreds of different colored suits of the same design. Right now, he wore a plain black top hat, as his usual one "simply didn't fit" the color he wore.

Mr. Wonka grinned broadly. "Your little brother, of course." He paused. "Or sister. Or maybe both. I don't know."

Charlie looked at him as they stopped to wait for the elevator. "Both?"

"Twins," chirped Mr. Wonka. "You know, one boy, one girl. Two more mouths to feed. Twice the candy. Gosh darn, I'd forgot about that! Guess I'd better start making more. Hey, I wonder if babies like candy?"

Charlie laughed, despite the gloom of the situation. "I don't think babies can eat candy. You'll have to wait until they get older."

This clearly fretted Mr. Wonka, for he stood for a moment with a slightly agape mouth. "How much older?"

The boy shrugged, just as the stainless steel door in front of them slid open and revealed the empty elevator. "I'm not sure. Whenever he or she isn't a baby anymore."

Mr. Wonka watched as Charlie climbed into the tiny little lift and paused. "Oh," he said, and followed his heir into the elevator. A few people, a doctor and a nurse passed by the open door as they stood in silence. Then the door closed and the elevator lurched into motion. The time seemed to creep by as they slowly ascended to the second floor. There, the elevator stopped and the door slid open again.

A little elderly woman in a pale green hospital robe, large spectacles and a short cane started to enter the lift. However, she seemed to be attached to a vertical metal pole; a bag of clear liquid hung from the rack at the top of it. She struggled to lift the contraption over the metal rim that separated the floor and the elevator. The small wheels kept on snagging on the steel lip, which she did not appear to realize was happening. Concerned, Charlie lurched forward to put his hand over the door before it could shut on the poor lady.

Then Mr. Wonka did something that baffled him. The chocolatier, a kindly look set upon his pale face, reached forward and carefully aided the old woman over the troublesome obstacle. She, with a smile that caused her face to wrinkle fiercely, hobbled the rest of the way onto the elevator with the pole rolling beside her.

"Thank you, young man," she rasped, beaming up at him. "You young folk are all so kind. Are you a doctor?"

The chocolatier giggled as the elevator began to ascend again. "Dear me, of course not! Are you looking for one?"

She nodded, still smiling wistfully. "Yes. His name is Dr. Freeman."

"Really?" said Mr. Wonka in the kind of tone that burst with such cheerfulness, many would consider it to be fake. But Mr. Wonka was never fake. "Well, I do hope you find him."

Charlie had to hide a grin behind his hand. Mr. Wonka didn't seem to notice that the old woman was slightly batty, but then again, Mr. Wonka was always a little batty himself. At least, in a good way. Not the actual clinically batty way.

The old lady was still gazing at the chocolatier. Mr. Wonka, who was trying his best to stare straight ahead, glanced sideways at her, betraying a little edginess.

But she only went on smiling. "You have nice clothes," she said.

"Thank you," said Willy cheerfully. "Yours are very…" He looked over the hospital gown and grappled to smile again. "Green," he finished.

Right then, the elevator opened yet again to reveal a woman and a man, both in white coats. Immediately, their eyes fell on the elderly lady and one of them reached forward. The male doctor gently helped the patient out of the lift and aided her down the hallway with the second doctor in close tow. The old lady looked up at the man as she was led away and asked naively, "Are you Dr. Freeman?"

"Look," said Charlie as they stepped out of the elevator, pointing to the door across the lounge. "That's Room three-oh-one. That must be the way."

"Really?" remarked Mr. Wonka with a slight skewing of his eyebrows. "You know, none of this hospital stuff makes sense to me."

"Because the Oompa Loompa's help you if you get hurt?" wondered Charlie, looking up at his mentor.

"Nope, because I never get hurt," Wonka beamed. "And that, my dear boy, is why safety is so important when it comes to making chocolate. Being safe is key when it comes to machinery, I always say."

Charlie was trying to hang onto Mr. Wonka's words, but he found himself constantly distracted by the urge to make a run for the hallway on the right. After a moment's hesitation, he tugged on the chocolatier's sleeve. "Let's go, Mr. Wonka."

That was all. "Let's go, Mr. Wonka" was all he could think of to condense every ounce of his impatience to see his mother. The hospital noise rattled on in the background and people sidestepped to avoid them with odd, degrading glances from the vertices of their eyes. A troublesome silence broke between the two, but it was obvious that Willy was not offended in the slightest. On the contrary. He was actually feeling rather…foolish for have becoming so abstracted.

"Fizzing Fizz Buttons, that's right!" he quipped, tapping his cane on the ground. "Hurry up, Charlie, there's not another moment to spare! There's a brand new Bucket to meet!"

Nothing at all could prevent Willy Wonka from charging into the kinds of things he should avoid, like bad situations, glass elevator doors, and busy hospital lounges. The latter was not so serious an episode, but there were always a select few occasions where something just wasn't quite right. And when a hospital lounge has a TV where select special Oompa Loompas have not censored select special types of programming for the greater good of their employer, there happens to be something very dangerous about the hospital lounge in question.

It was one of those kinds of lounges where everything was just maintained enough to ward off complaints. There were several, cheap couches surrounding a single television set; its screen was facing towards the elevator. The room was packed with people transfixed on the small, electronic box.

Mr. Wonka stalked right past one of the couches without a glance backwards, but something peculiar caught his eye. He stopped very suddenly. Charlie nearly crashed into him from behind and stumbled back, startled. Willy's head turned ever so slowly towards the screen of the TV. His body was completely rigid.

The channel had been set to the local pop music station. A music video was currently flashing across the screen—one of those dramatic punk-rock types where everything happens in slow-mo and no one understands the lyrics. The song was about war.

Soldiers in tan-and-brown army uniforms threw themselves into the sand, the barrels of their automatics illuminated by the sparks erupting from the tips. Men paused dramatically before their bodies were riddled with bullets. Corpses dropped everywhere, and the Americans advanced.

The screen simulated this chaos until the song came to an end. Mr. Wonka stood, hypnotized by the rather bewildering scene he had just experienced. He felt confused, but not because he did not understand the video, but because he could not believe that this could possibly be. Fear immobilized him, blanching his already pale cheeks whiter than dry cotton.

Those people were…dead! Why had those other men shot them? He had known, but could not possibly accept that guns made people die. If guns could kill people, then could it possibly be that…sick people, they—

No! It was utterly preposterous! Why would his mom lie to him like that? When people got sick, they went to sleep. Yes, that's right. People who grow old die. People who get shot die, but sick people, they…they just go to sleep.

Sleep and death. Willy shuddered with illusory cold. Could death just be sleep? Was it possible that, because she was afraid, his mom had lied?

Charlie realized what upset Mr. Wonka after he followed his intense gaze towards the TV. At first, it didn't occur to him that the chocolatier might not have understood what was on the screen. Then he remembered the misunderstanding by the chocolate river, Mr. Wonka's ignorance of guns and warfare, and he noticed—

"Mr. Wonka, don't look!" he cried, seizing his mentor's sleeve and tugging on it fiercely. The chocolaiter stood like a manikin, unaware that the boy was even there.

Again and again, Charlie tried to revert Mr. Wonka's attention. But there was no hope of it until the song ended and the next video began. After a painful moment, the chocolatier directed his eyes on Charlie.

"'Kay…" he said at last, as if the effort took an entire breath. "Let's…keep truckin'."

Charlie gaped at the chocolatier as he turned his blue velvet back and began to walk briskly towards the far end of the lounge. In a mad dash, the boy caught up with him and pleaded.

"Wait, Mr. Wonka, I can explain-" he started anxiously.

"No, it's okay, I already understand," Willy butt in, planting his feet heavily with every step. "After all, we learn something useful every day." Suddenly, he slowed and eventually came to a stop in the middle of the hall. He rounded on Charlie and crouched to his eye-level. "You did something very dangerous, Charlie."

For a moment, Charlie didn't understand. A moment of uneasy silence passed, before he realized Mr. Wonka was referring to run-in with the FBI agents. He lowered his eyes to the floor. He hadn't thought it that big a deal, but perhaps it only seemed that way because Mr. Wonka hadn't known exactly what he'd done…

"Hey! Eyes up, chocolate boy!" Willy quipped with no trace of strictness. Charlie jolted his gaze to Mr. Wonka's face. "Promise me that won't happen again, 'kay? If I'd known for just a second what could've happened to you!"

Charlie's shoulder's tensed and he began to protest, "But Mr. Wonka, they were-"

"Baloney! Were, weren't, wasn't, was, Wonzabees!" snapped Mr. Wonka, drawing a few strange looks from the hall inhabitants. "I know terrible peril when I see it, Charlie, and that mean lawyer could've…could've…gosh darn, I can't even say it!"

The hurt in the chocolatier's voice pricked at Charlie's heart. He hadn't even thought about how Mr. Wonka would react to his…apparently brash act. Even so, he felt an overwhelming need to justify himself. "He was going to hurt you, Mr. Wonka."

"Maybe. But that's no reason to scare the bejeebers out of me!" Willy reasoned, and pressed his lips into a thin line. "C'mon, stop dawdling and promise me already! Please?"

Seeing no other alternative, and compelled by the urgency Mr. Wonka displayed, Charlie nodded his head reluctantly. "All right, then. I promise. I'm sorry."

Yet oddly, the chocolatier didn't look at all convinced. He lifted a corner of his lips quirkily before extending one of his arms out in front of him, his little finger raised in a peculiar manner. "Pinky swear on it?"

Charlie hooked his pinky finger around the chocolatier's and they shook, sealing Charlie's solemn vow to never put himself in danger again. Or so Willy thought. He stood up with a genuine smile, ruffled his heir's hair, and tried to look cheerful. "Well, then! We've delayed, we've dallied, and now we must depart! Are you excited?"

Still a little troubled over Mr. Wonka's concern for him, Charlie sighed. "I sure am."

And he was.

The light on the wall was dimmed, making it difficult to see the bed or the woman in it. She was lying, propped against a mound of white pillows under the glow of the single lamp. Her hair was slightly damp, but a few hours of relaxation had returned her t her usual colour. Although her eyes were closed, her breathing was still regular and her hand was gripping another for comfort as she rested her body.

Mr. Bucket sat in the vinyl chair beside his wife's bed. The door creaked open, and Charlie appeared in the doorway.

A man entered the room behind Charlie, and shut the door with a gently click. For a moment, Charlie just stood and gazed at his parents. Then Mr. Bucket smiled a comforting smile, and beckoned with his free hand.

"Come over here, Charlie," he said softly. When Charlie moved forward and Willy did not, Mr. Bucket gestured again, even more insistently. "And you too. You're very well part of this family as I am."

The chocolatier struggled to grin nervously and edged forward, giving the bed and its occupant a distant, almost raw look of unease. This room was incredibly, oddly familiar. Even the smell seemed memorable. Generally, when Mr. Wonka remembered things, they were not pleasant things.

"Everything went smoothly," Mr. Bucket explained to his unblinking son, as if not quite believing it himself. "But she is very tired, and she needs her rest."

"Charlie…?"

Charlie's jerked to his mother. Her deep brown eyes were open and staring directly at the gentle-faced Mr. Bucket with such tenderness, it was very clear why they had married. Then she smiled as her gaze passed on to Charlie.

"Sorry…I'm a bit tired," she said with a laugh. She looked towards Mr. Wonka briefly. "Good, the both of you are here. I was worried you couldn't make it, Mr. Wonka."

When addressed, the violet eyes of the chocolatier dropped to the floor and just the barest of red tinges dusted his cheeks. "And miss out on all the excitement? No way!"

"Mom, are you all right?" Charlie wanted to know suddenly.

Mrs. Bucket nodded and reached out to touch his cheek. "I'm just fine, Charlie. And so is your new baby brother."

Charlie's face lit up and an excited grin possessed his face. He glanced over at Mr. Wonka, who had his hands resting on top of his cane. The chocolatier's expression clearly read, "Told you so."

"What's his name?" said Charlie.

"Daniel," said Mr. Bucket. "I promise you'll have plenty of time to get to know him. Right now, your mother is going to sleep. And you're going back to factory to do the same."

Mr. Wonka was intent on staring at the far wall. The last bits of memory finally came together, and the reason for the room's familiarity abruptly came clear. This was the room his mother had lived in, slept in, for nearly three years before she…

Fell asleep.

Despite Charlie's protests, Mr. Bucket was resolute in his decision to send him home. The hospital only allowed one visitor to stay overnight, anyway. Charlie's father gave Mr. Wonka meaningful look. "Would you mind taking Charlie with you back to the factory?"

Willy's mouth twitched, but he betrayed none of his thoughts. "Of course I don't! I mean, wouldn't," he said brightly. "G'night, Mrs. B! Coming, Charlie?"

Charlie gripped the end of the bed in earnest. "Are you coming home tomorrow?"

"Bright and early," promised Mrs. Bucket. "Good night, Charlie. And Charlie--"

"Yes?"

"No candy or chocolate before bed."

"I won't."

Before they left, Willy paused just inside the door of the room. He turned around haltingly to look at the bed – and Mrs. B in it. Both of Charlie's parents smiled warmly at him, and though he tried to return it, it was scarcely the ghost of a true smile. This room smelt…just like her.

"Mrs. B?" he said tentatively.

"Yes, Mr. Wonka?"

Willy's pretend smile faded, and he even looked a little…sad. "Don't…sleep too long, 'kay?"

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket were left staring at an empty doorway, wondering for the world what had just taken place.

Funny Word Glossary

Fizzing Fizz Buttons – a kind of candy that, when placed in the mouth, immediately warms up, melts and becomes fizzy. Kind of like warm soda, but better.

Wonzabees­ – Mr. Wonka has to get his honey-syrup from somewhere, doesn't he?

Sneak Peek: A nighttime visitation, a rather embarrassing moment, and a great homecoming for more than just Charlie's parents.