A/Ns: Didn't this one come quickly? I didn't want to keep you waiting… or be fed to a cannibalistic Harry Potter look-a-like named Andrew.

Poor Wonka really gets it in the beginning of this chapter. Never anger a woman with a cane.

SpadesJade: Oh, Arthur is far from perfect for her. Is her nice and normal and comfortable and not at all inclined to threaten her carefully-maintained worldview? Sure. But can he make her truly smile? …I don't think so.

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Don't fade away, my brown-eyed girl
Come walk with me: I'll fill your heart with joy
But don't let them make you and break you
The world is filled with their broken, empty dreams
Silence is their only virtue
Locked away inside their silent screams

- "Don't Fade Away," Dead Can Dance

Sara whirled and slammed the butt of her cane into his gut without so much as a thought. Willy Wonka doubled over and stumbled backwards as his tall satin hat fell off his head, clutching his stomach and wheezing. She advanced on him, eyes flashing as rage pulsed through her.

"How dare you?" she hissed through clenched teeth. "Did I not make it perfectly clear that I had no desire to see you or hear from you ever again? Are you hard of hearing, sir, or perhaps suffer from short-term memory loss? Then let me repeat myself – I despise you, and everything to do with you and have no desire to interact with you again. Ever. You lured me here under false pretenses, taking advantage of someone else's hard work in courting me – "
Willy managed to get a word in edgewise, gasping for breath. She'd really hit him very hard.
"I… sent… the flowers."
"And now you lie to me!"
" 'M not lying."

He finally managed to stand up, leaning heavily against the wall, and started talking at an incredibly fast pace, not entirely sure what he was saying – but he didn't want her to leave, not before he'd explained, and not while she hated him! Normally it wouldn't affect him but the idea of her hating him made all his insides turn to ice.

"I sent them, like the book said, I think I got the meanings right, didn't I? The clovers for luck and hyacinths mean I'm sorry, because I am, I'm really sorry, I never meant for it to happen the way it did, I didn't know what the drink was going to do…"

His voice got squeakier as he grew more agitated, beginning to pace. This caused him to draw nearer to Sara and she shrank back without his noticing; he was that lost in his own confused attempts to explain.

"…I just thought it would cheer you up and make you smile, I didn't know it would do what it did, I didn't know and I was just trying to make you smile for me the way you do for Charlie!"

The last part of his speech was almost a shout. It wasn't very loud by anyone's standards, but it was so unlike him that he came up short and couldn't say anymore. Not that there was anything left to say. She'd either believe him or not, and Willy realized, unsettlingly, that for the first time the odds were not in his favor.

Sara continued to stare at him.

"You expect me to believe that?"
"…Yes?"

Completely at a loss for words, she slapped him. Quite hard.
"You monster."
"I am not a monster!"
"What would you have me call you? You stand there, in your ridiculous suit and your silly haircut, boldfacedly lying and expecting me to buy into your childish act like everyone else in my family has – "
"There's nothing wrong with my suit, I'm not lying, I don't know what you mean by an act, and I do not have a silly haircut!"
"Yes, you do!"
"Do not!"
"Do so! It matches your name!"
"There's nothing wrong with my name, either!"
"You are a manipulative, lying, vile little man and I want nothing to do with you!"
"You don't even know me!"
"I am leaving."
"You can't leave!"
"Why not?"
"…because!"
"What kind of answer is that?"
"My kind of answer!"

Sara put her hand on the doorknob and turned it violently; but before she could jerk it open, a purple-gloved hand landed over hers.

"Please don't go?"

And his voice was so different from their earlier exchange – soft and trembling slightly, almost terrified, like a child who knew they'd done something wrong and feared the punishment, no matter how venial the sin – that she couldn't stop herself from turning around and looking him straight in the eyes.
In terms of accomplishing her immediate goal, this was a mistake.
Because she didn't see what she thought she'd see there. She had anticipated a false gleam and merry twinkle, a thin veneer of sugar sweetness covering a cold, cynical nature as emotionless and calculating as any snake. It would fit with her past experiences.
She didn't see that. What she saw was softness, all the way through – softness and a terrible confusion.

Her hand slid off the doorknob and she suddenly felt very, very tired.

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Wonka, I think I need to sit down."

Sara half-stumbled towards a chair and Willy took her elbow, supporting her without fully realizing what he was doing. Leaning on him and her cane, she sat down heavily at the table, her cane coming to rest against the edge like a superfluous fifth leg. Willy let go of her and took a step back, vibrating with nerves. Sara took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself. When she spoke, her voice was weary and dulled with strain.

"If you please – from the beginning?"

He told her everything. From when he'd first seen her smile in the garden (tripping over his words and making grand gestures as he tried to describe the light he claimed to see) through his plan to make her smile and the unforeseen consequences. He even brushed lightly over the details of the process he'd used to alter the chocolate, wanting her to know how much thought he's put into it and how little planning he'd done. She heard everything and understood it, for the first time willing to believe that his childishness was something more then an act.

When he was done, she had only one question.

"Why?"
"Because – "

He stopped, disoriented. She'd hit on the one thing he never thought about. He just did things, and justified them after the fact.

"Because?"
"Because – I don't know."

And then it was his turn to collapse in the chair across from her, interlacing his hands on the knob of his walking-stick and resting his chin there. He looked strange, so elegantly dressed and hunched over like an old man or petulant child.

"I don't know. But when you smiled… the way you smiled… I wish I had that. Not for something I made or did but for me…"

He straightened and looked across the table at her.

"No one's ever smiled just for me. Not like that. I want – could you let me try again?"

His voice was terribly small and unsure.

"Try again, Mr. Wonka?"

"I've been reading books, and I think I know how to do it the right way this time. I'm supposed to take you places, and give you things…"
"Flowers, chocolates, promises you don't intend to keep?"

Sara quoted the cartoon without thinking, not realizing it was the first time she'd thought of childish things in twenty years.

"Only I'd keep them."
"Would you, now?"
"Well, yeah. Broken promises would make you sad, and sad people don't smile. Everyone knows that. Besides, I have to get two out of three at least and you don't… like… c – … you won't eat – "

The words fell over themselves and got lost somewhere in his throat, at sometimes happened.

"Candy. No. I have never been fond of sweets."

Willy nodded miserably, slouching again. Sara looked away, around at the room. He'd gone through a great deal to arrange all of this. She had not spent two months in the factory without noticing how hard it was for him to speak to strangers, and to send her the flowers and set up the dinner he would have had to speak to many, outlining arrangements and menus…

All because he wanted to see her smile.

She could not believe in that. She couldn't believe in him – she didn't want to. It was impossible that he could be naïve enough to do all this and not know what it would appear to mean – but the proof of it was slumped with an air of defeat across the table from her, picking absently at the rapidly-cooling dinner for lack of anything else to do.

If nothing else, it would only be one more bad experience in a lifetime of rotten judgments and poor luck.

"Mr. Wonka."

He looked up.

"Perhaps it is my own fault, in that I always purchased the wrong kinds, or from the wrong makers. There are quite a few out there…"
"…like Slugworth. He couldn't make a decent candy if a pack of hornswogglers were after him."
I have no idea what you're talking about. "Yes, like Slugworth. It is entirely possible that, were I to try and learn to enjoy them at this stage in my life, I might not find them so unappealing."

She chose her words carefully. She knew – and knew he knew – that they were discussing something that went far deeper then candy. And if he didn't know… well. As said before, it wouldn't be the first time, nor likely the last.

"So, you'd be willing to try them again?"
"I believe so."
"I'll still keep the promises, though."
"How terribly generous of you."
"Well, I am awfully kind."

She thought for a moment the dryness in her tone had gone right over his head, until she saw the glint of humour in his eyes.

Sara thought she was beginning to understand.