A/Ns: Would like to thank all you lovely reviewers. I never expected to garner this kind of response, and I will endeavor to continue to entertain you all to the standards established in the previous chapters.
Hopefully.

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I was spinning free, whoa
With a little sweet and simple numbing me
Tell me, what do I need
When words lose their meaning?
What a dizzy dance, whoa
But the sweetness will not be concerned with me

- "Sweetness," Jimmy Eat World

Breakfast at the Bucket house had always been a casual thing. Before the factory, it had been because Mr. Bucket had to eat early and leave for his job, the old folks often slept in until noon, and the children had to go to school somewhere in the middle of this. Usually Mr. Bucket would wake up first in the cold bruise-colored predawn and make some coffee. He would leave just as Mrs. Bucket was waking up and kiss her good morning and goodbye as she poured a cup of tea and set to work washing the dishes from last night. This never took very long, and so she would sit and watch the sun rise before going inside to wake up the children and send them off to school with a bit of toast clutched in their hands and a warm hug. Eventually the grandparents would wake up – Grandpa Joe first, usually, and Grandma Josephine; then Grandpa George and last Grandma Georgina, though with her mind in the state it was, her waking state was little different from her sleeping one.

Since moving in to the factory, the routine had altered slightly. Now Mr. and Mrs. Bucket could sleep in, as Charlie had informed them very solemnly that he was quite old enough to wake himself up on time and make his own breakfast. The grandparents – with the exception of Grandpa Joe, who usually was up about the same time Charlie was – had not altered in the slightest, though perhaps they slept a bit later now. Charlie would leave for the day's work with Mr. Wonka, and Grandpa Joe would go out to "help" in the garden. In all honesty, the Oompa-Loompas never let him do any of the really important work, but it made him feel useful, which is a very important thing when you're old.

Sara had fit as neatly and naturally into the new routine as she had into the old, rising some time between Charlie and her parents and going out into the gardens (waving to Grandpa Joe and the Oompa-Loompa gardeners in passing) with a book. Therefore it came as a mild surprise to her parents to find her sitting quite serenely at the table, newspaper spread out in front of her.

"Good morning, mother, father."
"Good morning, Sara."

Her face and voice were perfectly composed – almost a little too composed, but Sara was like that, sometimes. They had learned not to press her; their eldest daughter was a strange and secretive creature to them, and had been ever since she was crippled all those years ago.

"I thought I should probably tell you I'll be going out today. I think I've imposed on you for long enough – the Landons should be coming back from their holiday in a few weeks, and I'd like to live on my own in the meantime. I was going to go looking for an apartment today."
"Well… that's fine, Sara, of course," Father said, puzzled. "But you're not imposing on us."

Sara ignored him.

"Thank you. I should be back in the late afternoon – I've been looking over the want ads, and I already see a few places that might suit me."

She folded the paper and stood, using the table to support herself as she took hold of her cane and tucked the folded want ads in her purse.

"Please tell Charlie where I've gone when he comes by for lunch, if he asks."

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The first apartment Sara visited, while beautiful and convenient, was far more expensive then the ad had led her to believe. The owner had not mentioned that certain utilities were not included in the rent cost; furthermore, it was located on the fifth floor and the elevator, a kind tenant informed her, was almost always out of order.
The next one was more to her tastes, but the building did not seem very well cared for, and her prospective floormate did not fill her with confidence. She didn't like the way his eyes roved over her body, or the way his expression lit up with glee at the sight of her cane. She had encountered men like him before, who had assumed that crippled was the same as defenseless, and he gave off every sign of being a man who had never experienced a good stick of hardwood jammed between his legs.
A third apartment was examined and dismissed, and then a fourth as the sun slowly climbed down towards the horizon. The fifth and final one did not seem very promising – a simple brownstone set in among other brownstones, it was located a not-inconvenient distance from the town center on a rather attractive street, but by then Sara had almost given up on finding an apartment and was contemplating the horrifying thought of having to avoid Charlie's mentor for the next few weeks.

The foyer of the townhouse was well-lit and clean, with low-key decorations and a purely inoffensive color scheme. The landlady's apartment was the only one on the first floor and Sara knocked, composing herself for another interview.
When she opened the door, the landlady turned out to be a wizened, kind-looking old woman with great big eyes blinking owlishly behind catseye glasses. She peered at Sara, then croaked out:

"Eh? Who are you?"
"My name is Sara Bucket, ma'm. I know that this is rather short notice, but could I possibly have a look at the room you have to let?"
"Ah, come for the second floor, have you then? Alright, let me just get my keys…"

Sara followed the old landlady up to the second floor, where she unlocked the door and gestured for Sara to enter. She did, and gasped.
The first room was small but comfortable and fully furnished, with a hardwood floor, a few tasteful carpets, and a cluster of chairs and a sofa around a fireplace. Bookshelves – filled with books! – covered the walls, with the exception of the one immediately to Sara's left, which held a window overlooking a small garden. A door set in the left corner of the right-hand wall led off to what the landlady told her was the kitchen, and another door in the opposite corner of the same wall led to the sole bedroom, which according to the landlady – Mrs. Pritt – came equipped with a full bath.

"It's fully furnished, you can do as you like with the trappings if you'd rather use your own. The books are yours, too. My sister used to live up here, until she passed, and she would have wanted them to go to someone who'd use them. You seem like a reader."
"Mrs. Pritt – " Sara stuttered and tried again " – Mrs. Pritt, I am very sorry for wasting your time, but there must have been a misprint on your ad. I could not afford all of this."
"No misprint. I don't need much to keep this old place going and as long as we've all got a roof over our heads, who cares?"
"Really, I – "
"You want it?"
"Well – "
"Come down to my office, we'll go over the paperwork."

Twenty minutes later, Sara found herself outside again, dazedly clutching the deed and keys to her new apartment.

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Willy was puzzled. He hadn't seen Sara all day, which was admittedly a normal state of affairs as he spent so much time inventing and training Charlie, but he hadn't even seen her when he dropped Charlie off for lunch, and that was rather unusual. He'd asked one of the Oompa-Loompa gardeners, and they said that Sara had left the factory early, which was also unusual to his way of thinking. Why would anyone want to leave? There wasn't a thing she could possibly want that wasn't either already there or could be ordered without every having to leave the gates.
He definitely wasn't worried, though. Not at all. The odd feeling in his stomach was probably due to a bad batch of his latest experiment. Which was going rather splendidly, by the way, now that that nasty business with the purple polka dots and green tongues was sorted out.

It was when he saw Charlie home for dinner and she still wasn't there that he asked Mrs. Bucket.

"Sara? Oh, she's been looking for an apartment."

Willy's mind went blank and his face froze in a grin, as sometimes happened when he was confronted with something he had not expected.

"Apartment?"
"Yes," said Grandpa George. "Can't say I blame her, she's getting far too big for that cubby in the back."
"Dad – "
"Well, it's true. She's a grown woman now, ought to have a place of her own."
"I just hope she isn't too disappointed, the market's terrible from what I hear." Mrs. Bucket took her place at the table and spooned some potatoes out on her plate as she spoke, then began to pass the plate around. Willy didn't notice as it passed by him, as he was trying to absorb this new information.
"If her room's too small, I have other rooms in the factory that she could use. Or I could build one."
"I don't think it's that, Mr. Wonka."
"But why would she want to leave? All her family's here."

That was Charlie, asking the most important question, as always. Willy beamed at him.

"Oh, I don't know, Charlie. Probably she just feels it's time she stopped living at home. She is nearly thirty."

The slanted door swung open and Sara stepped through, intent enough on closing the door without losing her grip on her cane and by extension her balance that she didn't notice Willy was there.

"I'm sorry, everyone – I lost track of time – I found a place, though, she says I can move in tonight – "

Sara turned from shutting the door, saw Willy, and froze.

"And… I was thinking maybe I should."

Willy tried to grin weakly at her. She wasn't looking at him – why wasn't she looking at him? It was very uncomfortable, being stared through as though he wasn't there, or even worse, as though he was and she just… didn't want to see him…
But that couldn't be it.
Could it?
She wasn't smiling.

"So," Sara continued. "As I'm not particularly hungry, I'll just go pack my things now."

She swept past the table – past him! – and into her room without even saying hello.

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It didn't take long for Sara to pack. She owned very little – a few days worth of outfits, basic toiletries, some notebooks, and a few worn, loved books. It was sobering to realize that the sum total of her earthly possessions could fit into a medium-sized carpetbag, and at the same time reassuring. Years of extreme poverty had taught her the difference between what she needed and what she only wanted, and she would never be so attached to a place because of material goods that she couldn't pack up and leave whenever she needed.

Much as she was doing right now, in fact. At least nothing could ever tie her down. A cold comfort, all things considered. She had seen Charlie's face fall when she announced that she was leaving – the idea of hurting him had almost made her reconsider, then she had seen him – hateful man! – sitting at the table and knew she couldn't stay. The easy thing to do, the right thing, was to tell her family, but how could she do that? That would be tantamount to asking Charlie to choose between her and Mr. Wonka and she could never hurt her little brother that way.

Damn the man. What had possessed him? If he'd wanted a woman he could have gone out and found one. He was rich, and handsome – she couldn't deny that – if he put himself on the market they'd be lining up for blocks to get at him. Was using her just some sick game – a matter of convenience – she wasn't pretty, she knew that. She cultivated a plain and foreboding appearance specifically to deter and avoid men. Men were a distraction; sex was just a lot of pointless grappling.
And the fact that he had looked like a kicked puppy when she refused to acknowledge him was completely irrelevant! It was all an act – everything he did was so calculated and insincere – no grown man could possibly be as innocent and well-meaning as he pretended to be, and she was the only one who could see it.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she focused on her breathing, forcing them back down until her throat was strained and sore with the effort of not crying. She had read a Chinese saying somewhere about swallowing bitterness – there was no better description for what she was doing. For what she had always done.

That's quite enough self-pity, Sara Bucket.

She stomped down on her impulse to cry one last time, just for good measure, stiffened her spine, picked up her bag, and walked out to say goodbye to her family. And if she was gripping the head of her cane just a little too tightly and tapping it against the floor just a little too hard, well – no one seemed to notice.

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Willy Wonka paced the entrance hall of the factory, not entirely sure what he was doing. Sara hadn't smiled. He hadn't made her happy – it had all gone wrong – she didn't even want to look at him!
She was leaving the factory because of him. And it had to be because of him. He was childish but he wasn't stupid. Hadn't he set up the perfect tests for his prospective heirs? Hadn't he invented non-melting ice cream? He knew it was because of him.
She was leaving.
She couldn't leave!
He wouldn't let her. He'd explain and she'd see and she'd let him try again – yes. He'd try again and he'd get the mixture right this time, or he'd find a different way. He couldn't just fail. That wasn't the way it worked; you kept trying until you got the result you wanted, or a different result that worked just as well. But he couldn't try again if she left!

He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed her striding past him and had to hurry to catch up with her.

"Sara?"
"I have nothing to say to you."
"Last night – I can explain that – I didn't get it right – "
"There is nothing to explain!"

Sara whirled around and glared at him. He stepped back as she advanced on him, voice rising with every word.

"You drugged me, and you slept with me, and I am leaving! The only reason I am not going to go to the police this second and have you brought in on charges of rape – " and here Willy flinched as if struck " – is because that doing so would hurt Charlie and I would rather take a knife to my neck then do anything to hurt him. So count yourself damn lucky, Mr. Wonka. You bastard."
"But… that's not what…"
"Get out of my sight!"

Her skirt swirled around her legs as she turned and stalked towards the door again, so quickly he had no time to react.

"Sara… wait, I can explain… I didn't mean to… I can explain!"

The door slammed shut behind her.

"…I'm sorry?"