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: I'm surprised. You've all waited so patiently for this chapter and I'm oh-so-happy to give it to you…with explicit apologies, of course. Sorry. I've had a lot to do, and I nearly lost myself in the torrent of new obsessions…you other writers know what I'm talking about. Heh. But yeah. Thanks Trillah, for reviewing and reminding me of my duty…hehe, that's right, I said 'doody'…but no time to laugh about it now. On with the chapter.

As promised (in an allegorical way…hehehe…look it up.) I will explain most, if not all, of the unforeseen, cliffhangerish events that took place prior to this chapter. Oh, you must hate/love me…

Disclaimer: Consult previous chapter.

Chapter Ten: Fate

Charlie woke with his face pressed against cold cement. He lay quite still while trying to determine how and why he had come to be here…and exactly where 'here' was. The floor was smooth, which meant he was inside…but where inside?

Where were Mr. Wonka and Miss Banks? What happened to the glass elevator? What about the Oompa Loompas?

He groaned, now feeling the stiffness in his arms and legs. Tentatively, he pulled his arms beneath him and tried to sit up, but a sharp stab of pain in his forearm made him collapse on the ground again. A throbbing sensation started in his arm, filling the limb with an intense, bitter fire.

Someone had stripped his sweater off, which left him in a tee-shirt. The floor was just as icy against his back as it was before. Now that he had his vision back, he could see his breath faintly in the air as he exhaled, short bursts of vapour that bloomed and vanished into the air every split second or so. Charlie forced himself to relax and closed his eyes, trying to recall what had happened when he had followed Mr. Wonka the night before…

Charlie's heart pounded sickeningly. Mr. Wonka was in trouble! He knew he shouldn't have, but he had followed the chocolatier to his meeting with Miss Banks. And when those two men had come out of nowhere, Charlie had been hiding several yards away behind a post-box. He knew better than to try to shout a warning. They would find him, too, and there would be no one left to run for help.

And yet, despite all this functioning logic, Charlie could not make himself turn and flee. He tore his eyes away, blinking back tears of panic when the man holding Miss Banks captive announced his plans for Mr. Wonka. When he looked again, he almost bit his tongue in shock. His eyes locked onto Mr. Wonka's frightened face. Mr. Wonka was looking straight at him

Charlie's jaw dropped slightly, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. That was not just fear in the chocolatier's eyes, it was hurt. Charlie had broken his promise, and now Mr. Wonka was silently begging him to not do so again. All in that brief chance that their eyes met.

And then the man holding his mentor shoved him into the alley. Charlie was not sure why he chose that moment to dash back to the elevator. But he knew that he would lose Mr. Wonka tonight. He would not live to make any more chocolate or teach, or say witty things that were almost utter nonsense again, if Charlie did not find help.

He knew where he would find help, no questions asked. He would get the Oompa Loompas. Somehow.

To his utmost surprise, the moment Charlie and the elevator reached the factory, the courtyard was already swarming with Oompa Loompas rushing to and fro. As the elevator descended to the ground, they gathered like so many little magnets around its glass walls.

Before he could even get a word in edgewise about Mr. Wonka's predicament, the muttering, whispering crowd parted and a group of eight Oompa Loompas, suited entirely in black vinyl and sporting rather bulky-looking tool belts stepped forward. Charlie backed up against the far wall in order to let them board, which they did, lacking any explanation.

One of the 'specialized' Oompa Loompas punched a button that was, amazingly, just low enough for him to reach. To Charlie's further astonishment, that one button then lit up and split into six smaller ones. The Oompa Loompa looked over his shoulder, bobbed his head, and pressed his palm on two of those buttons simultaneously.

Charlie was almost thrown clear off his feet as the elevator rocketed into the night air. It came to an abrupt halt, tossing him into the air. And suddenly, it was off again, at a breakneck speed he had not known the flying machine was capable of.

His only rational thought during the extreme, yet insanely short spree wondered how the Oompa Loompas knew where they were going. He hadn't even told them where Mr. Wonka was!

So naturally, when the elevator veered away from the spot he'd been spying on Mr. Wonka and the FBI lady, a knot formed in the pit of his stomach. "No, wait! Where are we-"

The rest of his sentence ended up splattered against the glass, because the force of the elevator suddenly coming to another dead halt threw him against the doors. Charlie stumbled back, looking around him frantically. "Why did we-"

"Shhhhh!" chorused the gaggle of Oompa Loompas. One of them, apparently the leader of the 'rescue team', gestured downwards. Charlie looked through the glass floor.

One of the strange men grabbed Mr. Wonka by the collar and pitched him against the wooden boards that blocked the alley. Charlie watched with mounting horror as the events unfolded. For the worst moment of his life, he was sure April Banks would shoot his mentor.

"Now! Please, do something!" he shouted at the Oompa Loompas. The leader only looked up at Charlie and shook his head gravely. The boy stared, slack-jawed. Why weren't they helping Mr. Wonka!

He threw his attention to the floor again, only in time to see Miss Banks open her hand and let the gun clatter to the ground. A surge of relief swept through him briefly, only to be replaced with alarm when the man behind her grabbed a handful of her blond curls and prepared to shoot the chocolatier himself.

At last, the leader Oompa Loompa jammed a small finger on the two bottom mini-buttons. The elevator plummeted, the large floodlights attached to the motors snapping to life. At the same time, Charlie lunged for another button – his thumb struck it, and the door slid open to admit a whirlwind of air and angry shouts.

"Mr. Wonka!" he cried, thrusting his upper body out into the opening. His eyes were not adjusting to the light from above; he tried to shield it from his vision unsuccessfully.

He was sure he felt the pain before he heard the gunshot. Something bit into his left arm, nicking him just below the elbow. He didn't even scream. He drew the bleeding arm close to his body, despite the raw agony it was causing him, and once against yelled for Mr. Wonka. Grappling the glass door with his good arm, he reached out with the injured one in a futile attempt to reach the chocolatier.

Suddenly, Mr. Wonka was jerked away, under the elevator and out of Charlie's field of sight. At once, he felt numerous pairs of tiny hands grab his shirt from behind and he found himself pulled back into the elevator. He thought he heard one of them say something in a scolding manner, but it wasn't clear. Then he saw one of them jump out of the open door. And then three more. And after a mere second or two, they were all gone, leaving Charlie alone in the elevator.

Charlie scrambled to his feet. Regardless of his wound, he staggered to the door once again and leaned out. The alley had become eerily quieter. Mr. Wonka, Miss Banks and the two men were gone. He saw three of the Oompa Loompas standing directly below the elevator; a fourth lying sprawled against the brick wall, looking half-conscious. Charlie held his breath and dashed to the other side of the elevator. Hands pressed against the glass, he attempted to make out the end of the alley, but he saw nothing but the glow the street lamp. And he heard distant gunfire.

He had to follow them! The other Oompa Loompas must have run after the two men in a futile attempt to catch them. But the elevator…he could stop them with the elevator. It was only thing he could think of that might buy Mr. Wonka some more time to reach the factory.

The elevator suddenly pitched to one side. It began to shake violently, as though it were being pummeled by a ton of falling bricks. The next thing Charlie knew, the humming of the engines died. And the glass elevator plunged.

Built as it was, it did not shatter on impact with ground. It did, however, send a violent shock through Charlie's body. The elevator groaned as it vibrated, then slowly began to teeter on edge. And then it fell flat onto its rectangular side, taking Charlie with it.

Miraculously, he was still conscious and, in spite of the pain in his forearm, he was unharmed. He began to dizzily grope for a handhold to pull himself out of the doorway that was now just above his head. His fingers met the cool glass of the doorframe. Gripping it, he hauled himself into a standing position.

All he saw was the vague shape of a man. And then someone behind him threw an arm around his shoulder and pressed a wet, horrible smelling cloth over his mouth and nose.

Charlie coughed and yelled for just a moment, before he succumbed to the fumes and passed out, sagging in his captor's embrace.

The memory of the incident was so vivid. And so was the injury on his arm. Numbly, Charlie lifted it in front of his face to examine it for the first time, and found that it was not quite as terrible as he'd first thought. Someone had wrapped a white bandage around it, though it was slightly stained by dried blood. But it was only a scratch – a deep one, but a scratch nonetheless.

Charlie slowly sat up, relieved to find a wooden box to his immediate left that he could lean on. After that awkward struggle, he at last focused on the room he was now located it.

What he saw both surprised him and, apparently, surprised the other occupants as well.

"Loompaland, he's awake!"

Now that, Charlie was sure, was the voice of an Oompa Loompa. Despite its sonorous tone, it still had the elf-like quality to it that only an Oompa Loompa could boast. And sure enough, there were three of them crowding around him. None of them, he realized, seemed to be hurt. And none of them were the leader of the 'rescue team', either. How he knew this…it escaped all logic, but somehow Charlie knew.

Still, he was put off by the fact an Oompa Loompa had spoken. They usually never said anything, preferring to use their traditional sign language and noise-making as their native tongue. They knew speech, of course, and spoke it when absolutely necessary.

He supposed that now was a time that they would absolutely consider 'necessary'.

One of them made a brief comment to the others via hand signals. Charlie could not interpret this—he was only a beginner at their language (which was, surprisingly, very complex). And then the one who had spoken before turned to him.

"Is the Young Master feeling well again?"

It sunk in a moment later that he was being addressed and Charlie squirmed to lift himself higher so that he could sit perfectly upright. "I…I'm all right. Did…you do this?" he said, lifting his injured arm to indicate the bandage. "And…what did you call me?"

The three Oompa Loompas nodded their heads, apparently in response to his first question. They exchanged glances at the second, and chuckling softly, replied.

"You are the heir to the one who owns the factory, the Master who makes cocoa beans. That makes you the Young Master."

Though it was logical, Charlie was still not entirely sure he felt comfortable being called master of anything, even a young one. Trying to seem unaffected by it, he blinked and looked around the small room. It was about the same size as the Inventing Room, he guessed. It was full of crates and empty burlap bags all bound together with twine. The floor hummed lightly beneath him, assuring him that there were machines running somewhere nearby.

"We're not back at the factory, are we?" he said miserably, relaxing against the rough texture of the wood.

The Oompa Loompas shook their heads empathetically.

Just then, Charlie realized something. "Wait, weren't there four of you? Where's the other one?"

And the Oompa Loompas just shook their heads again, implying that they too, did not know the fate of their companion. Charlie could tell that it clearly troubled them, and why wouldn't it? To them, he was a fellow Oompa Loompa and quite evidently, one much loved. A lump formed in Charlie's throat when he thought of this.

"I'm sorry," he said, lowering his head. "I'm the reason this happened. I broke my promise to Mr. Wonka."

"I doubt the Master would agree," insisted another of the Oompa Loompas. Not unexpectedly, his voice was several octaves higher than the first speaker. "We watch you all the time. It's our job. The Master loves you very much."

That statement both made Charlie tremendously happy and horribly guilty at the same time. He managed a wry smile, but could not get past the action of lifting the corners of his mouth. He tried to swallow, but he found that it was painful and made the urge to cry even worse. "But I let him down. I thought I was doing the right thing, and…"

This time, when the Oompa Loompas exchanged glances, there was some unease between them. None of the three knew how to even begin consoling an eleven-year-old boy, much less a human one. Instead, the first Oompa Loompa, the baritone made a brief hand gesture to his teammates and tried to look cheerfully at Charlie. "We have been listening to the men talk for hours. The Master and the tall lady are safe. His attackers were taken to jail."

Hope surged through him. He leaned forward. "Did they say anything else?"

Again, the Oompa Loompas gave each other nervous glances. Charlie's spirits dropped. "We were unable to learn more, for the voices went away."

"Oh," said the young chocolatier, a bit plainly. "I don't suppose you found a way out of here, either. I wish I could get a hold of Mr. Wonka somehow, to tell him, to tell my parents…"

Charlie let that thought linger as he picked himself off the floor, using the crate behind him for balance. It dawned on him then that his present location was even not as empty than it had seemed on the ground. The walls were stone, lined with what appeared to be piles of coarse black powder. His gaze traveled along until it reached the door, and the last remnants of his hope died. Three, no, four inches of thick steel and a window no larger than his hand barred his to freedom. This was no storage cellar. It was a fall-out shelter.

"We investigated the entire perimeter," one of the Oompa Loompas explained in the background. "The black substance on the walls appears to be gunpowder and several of the wooden boxes have many containers of flammable liquid inside."

Of course, the meaning of this was no within Charlie's capability to grasp. Why would his captors lock him in a room that was ready to burst into flames at the mention of a spark? He knew why he'd been kidnapped. They wanted Mr. Wonka to pay all kinds of money to get him back, but then why…?

He did not finish that thought, for a loud rustling sound jerked his attention towards the corner of the room. A window had been cut into the stone, roughly two feet in width and breadth. It had been sealed up with packed dirt, but was located far too high up for Charlie to reach up and scrape it away. Not that he needed to, because it was quite clear that someone on the other side was trying to do just that. Bits of soil broke away and tumbled onto the stone floor as the peculiar scratching noises went on.

"Hey!" Charlie cried, scrambling over top of the stacks of crates to reach the window. He was only remotely aware of the Oompa Loompas, who were using their own methods of scaling the wooden mountain. "We're down here! Help!"

By now, he was standing on top of the pile of crates, staring incredulously at the window. He opened his mouth to yell again, but a tug on his left pant leg made him look down. An Oompa Loompa gave him a stern look, and he understood immediately. The more noise he made, the likelier it was that his captor would come investigating the commotion.

Just then, the corner of the dirt barricade crumbled and revealed a small hole and…a furry little nose. The tiny whiskers trembled for a moment before withdrawing again. A moment later, the edges of the hole gave way to make it even larger, and a familiar rodent body came tumbling through.

Oswald squeaked as he struck the pile of burlap bags underneath the window. Charlie leapt from his perch and dashed to retrieve the unfortunate ferret from the mess of strings and rotted glue. Immediately, Oswald climbed onto his sleeve and ventured onto his shoulder.

Struck wordless with surprise and relief, Charlie could only reach up in wonder to take the object that was clenched in the ferret's teeth. It was an FBI badge.

"For the last time, Mr. Wonka, the FBI is already taking care of the situation!"

In an event of such severity, it was only natural that tempers and voices would flare. April was no given exception to this rule. Right now, she was very, very agitated.

Mr. Wonka himself was in such a state of frenzied worry, she had considered more than once ordering an emergency sedative to calm him down. She had discarded the possibility on the grounds of immorality. Besides, she wasn't even sure if a tranquilizer would have any effect.

Right now, those sharp violet eyes were giving her the stare-down from the enormous desk in the middle of the room. Behind him were many more desks, much smaller ones suited for the little men who were entering, leaving, bickering, standing, scribbling on and exchanging papers, running to and fro, and in some cases, giggling. One of them was standing on a rather tall stool, tending delicately to the wound the chocolatier had earned during the flight.

April was still trying to register their existence.

They were not the only occupants of the room, of course. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket were sitting in large, over-stuffed chairs to the side of the room. Mrs. Bucket was cradling Daniel and staring wistfully at the coffee table (or 'hot chocolate table, according to Willy) whilst her husband wrung his hands over and over again, looking about nervously.

Two more men stood in the room. One of them was Agent Wallstein, bearing his plump, aging body with the air of one falsely concerned. The other man was CEO of the International branch of the Bureau, Patrick Gollins, who had deemed the kidnapping of the heir of the most popular candy factory in the world worthy enough for his presence.

"Mr. Wonka," said Gollins gruffly, in the manner one uses when unsure of the sanity the addressee possesses. "What I think Agent Banks is attempting to convey to you is…we are one hundred percent sure that our agency can handle your…successor's disappearance-"

"Charlie didn't disappear!" the chocolatier interrupted surly. "He was kidnapped and…and hurt, and goodness knows where he might be! He might halfway to the North Pole by now!"

Gollins just cleared his throat. "Charlie is fine, Mr. Wonka. The best course of action now is to simply wait for a ransom note, and we'll play it from there."

"I don't understand," sighed Mrs. Bucket, he voice hoarse from crying. "Who would possibly want to kidnap Charlie? I knew Mr. Wonka had adversaries, but-"

"Slugworth and Prodnose?" scoffed Willy, leaning forward in his chair. The Oompa Loompa attending to his gun wound frowned and reached out to continue patting away at the gash. Willy looked sour. "Oh, they're clever no doubt, but neither one of them could possibly kidnap Charlie. They like Charlie. Almost as much as I like Charlie, and that, my dear Mrs. B, is even more than I can say! And I like to say a lot."

There was a slight pause where no one spoke at all.

Mr. Wonka leaned back in his chair, looking sullen. "I still think my Oompa Loompas-"

"-aren't the solution to the problem, Mr. Wonka, and most likely never will be," finished Wallstein, lumbering over to the chocolatier's desk. "You can't be sure who's watching the factory. Worst thing to do is get the press involved. Although I'm sure they'd have a field day if they discovered your…ehm, magical little workers."

"How is it he knows what he's doing?" said Gollins, gesturing at the Oompa Loompa tending the chocolatier's shoulder.

Willy blinked and glanced skeptically at the Oompa Loompa to his right, as though realizing there was one there for the first time. "Oh…Winslow?" He chuckled nervously. "These cagey little guys are the best learners in the world. Did you know it only took three days for them to learn how to speak English? Like they knew it all along. Heh."

"That doesn't quite answer my question, Mr. Wonka," Gollins pointed out.

"Doesn't explain why I like blackberries more than snozchberries either, but I'm not nitpicky," Mr. Wonka retorted.

The CEO's face tinged with red, a sign that he was not taking the chocolatier's evasion of logic pleasantly. "I hope you realize, Mr. Wonka, that should the FBI discover that you had any hand in this boy's kidnapping, your title and your factory can be revoked in a day's notice."

Surprisingly enough, it was none other than Mr. Bucket who took immediate offense to this. Charlie's father jumped to his feet, jittering slightly with the repressed urge to sock the hefty man. "I beg you pardon, Mr. Gollins, but I feel that you have overstayed your welcome. Willy?"

Willy seemed to snap out of a strange daze. "Um…yeah, of course. A-Actually, I kind of…think I'd rather be alone for now. If it's okay with Mrs. B…Mrs. B?"

Charlie's mother looked up, forcing a small smile. "Of course, Willy. It's been a long night, for everyone. You've been through a great ordeal. You need rest…" She sighed.

"You look like you could do with the same," remarked April, ignoring the stares of the men around her. "Giving birth to one son and finding out another was abducted on the same day. I thought my life was over-dramatic."

"Banks, I need you and Wallstein back on the streets, doing your jobs," said Gollins, turning away from Mr. Wonka's desk and stalking towards the door that led to the way out. "I want results from the blood found inside the elevator and prints by nine o'clock this morning. Your other assignment is hiatus until further notice."

Wallstein just shook his head and followed Gollins out the door. Mr. Bucket helped his wife to her feet, whom offered Mr. Wonka a reassuring glance before allowing herself to be led out of the room. This left Willy and April alone with the Oompa Loompas.

Then, oddly enough, without so much as a word or hint to their reasoning, the Oompa Loomaps stopped working as a whole. And as a whole, they began to move off in lines, exiting the room via smaller doors on the sides of the rooms. Even Winslow, who had finished bandaging his employer's injury, climbed down from the stool and joined the others. Before long, April and Mr. Wonka truly were the only ones remaining in his office.

Willy twisted his head left and right, clearly perplexed by the Oompa Loompas' behavior. "Well, that's weird," he said, scrunching his brow oddly. "Huh."

April stood with her arms crossed. She said nothing as the chocolatier stood up, removing his coat from the back of the chair and carefully putting it back on. Then he circled around the desk and was just about to pass her when he paused, turned, and gave her a strange look.

After a moment, he put his cane out in front of him and frowned. "You're going to say something mean, aren't you."

As mildly amusing as she found this, April shook her head. "Words fail me, Mr. Wonka."

"They do that for you, too?" The chocolatier grinned insincerely.

"I thought you would have realized by now," she went on firmly. "I'm immune to your adorable clown act."

To her utmost, yet clinically hidden surprise, Mr. Wonka's fake grin faded instantly. And he looked almost…serious for the moment. Modest. Human.

"Yeah, well…" Willy spun sharply and began to stalk away.

April inhaled deeply, wondering just what she was doing. "Wait."

Willy waited. In fact, he stopped so suddenly, it could be said that he had been expecting her to stop him in the first place.

Which was ridiculous, of course.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" April wanted to know.

Without turning back to face her, Mr. Wonka nodded, his top hat bobbing with the action. He leaned onto his case without saying anything.

April struggled with her conscience. "F-Fine. I admit it. You were right. I…regret that I suspected you for the…the poisonings. Are you happy now?"

For a moment, she was sure he was going to nod again. Instead, the chocolatier brought himself about to meet her eye-to-eye. "Would you be amazed to know that I'm not?"

She smiled. For real. For the first time. "Would you mind telling me why?"

"Would you mind if I didn't?" he said.

The air between them was near on breathable by now. Perhaps it was the fact that they had just shared a life-threatening experience together, nearly faced death in the same instant and conquered evil, but she was beginning to understand him. In some way, somehow, the way he was, was so entirely…human.

Human, or…Truman? A voice taunted her in her mind. She shoved it aside.

"Mr. Wonka," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Right now, I'm not April Banks, FBI agent, patriotic American. Let's just say I'm April, a quickly aging, grouchy woman who wants to apologize for acting like a…like…"

"A wicked Wangdoodle?" he suggested.

"Sure, a wicked…whatever that is," she agreed. "I'll assume that's bad. But I acted like one. And I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said, a little sadly. "I kinda got used to being…y'know…but…right now, all I want is for Charlie to be back. I deserve to be tossed in the garbage chute and incinerated. And I'd do all that and more, oh so much more, just to…to have him back."

"You will. Of that I'm going to make sure, come hell or high water," April promised. It was strange, the feeling of the cold, melting ice sliding off her heart. "We'll find him, okay?"

Mr. Wonka looked distant, if at all responsive. "'Kay," he replied softly.

Sneak Peek: Another reason FBI agents shouldn't be trusted, a startling discovery, and of course, the plan of action.