REVIEWERS

DemiDevil: I am ultimately relieved, all through this time, you didn't send a band of rabid Whangdoodles over here. I mean, how would I have explained that to my mother? "Oh, yes, I'm sorry mum, I found a few stray . . . dogs. Yes, dogs. . . Can I keep them?" And yes, the sneakiness of Mr. Willy Wonka has never ceased to amaze me . . . I will never ever get over Mr. Salt's face when Wonka first appears next to him after that show. ":claps and giggles: Wasn't that just magnificent? I was worried it was getting a little dodgy in the middle part-"

":wtF:"

"- but then that finale! :giggle: wOW!"

Maleficent Angel: Yay! I'm so glad you're liking it so far, and I do hope this one proves satiable to your predilection as well! (gawd, I love big words. . .)

Ziggeh Mantranoodle: Aaaaaaaahahahahh! I cannot believe you said mating call, that's so ironic! Kay, well, since you did, I gotta tell you. One time, waaay before this movie, I was walking to lunch at school, and my friend said something. (I don't recall what, but it made me do this) So I spun around went like this.

Blblblblblblblblblblblblblblblblblblblbl!

With a big grin on my face, and was like, "That's my mating call!" Of course, I had meant to say 'battle cry' and I got a lot of weird look from my fellow classmates (especially the guys) as they walked on by.

It's so weird you said that. :sci-fi music:

Oracle Phoenix: :shields self from puppy dog eyes: No, NOT THE PUPPY DOG EYES! I can't take it . . .

OMG whenever I go into the Navy exchange (if you don't know, it's just a store) they're always playing CatCF on their televisions, and last time I went there, I did notice Dr. Wonka bought a Wonka bar sometime and kept the wrapper! I almost cried! That's so sweet . . .

And as for Charlie and Wonka's interaction, I swear, I feel 100 better since you said that. I'm so glad Wonka's in character enough, but that's not all it would take for the story to be right, ya know? I mean, Wonka's an awesome character, duh, but really unless he and Charlie kind of 'click', it's not going to work right. So I'm really glad you think so.

luthien-yavetil: My friend Kelsey says that. She goes, "UH OH!" Seriously, just like that. I nearly called her after I read your review and asked her if she posted a review on lately. . . She would have hung up on me.

Piscaria: I'm really glad you like the story, piscaria, and I know what you mean; those moments the movie hinted at but never quite explained. Oh God, I know, and it drives me crazy, which is why I had to start this story, cuz I had so many ideas I felt like my head was going to blow up! I swear, writing this story saved me from and untimely death . . .

Serpent of Light: Oh, wow, thanks so much! The best compliment over all is that it's like the movie, because that's what I really hope to keep it at. That was my goal when I started. If I can just keep it at that right level that the movie had, I'll be utterly thrilled. If I ever start to sway away from that, PLEEEAASE tell me. And the "MUMBLER" line. . . I just couldn't help but put that in. :giggle: By the way he yelled it at Mike in the Television Room, I thought I was going to hear an echo there!

PucktoFaerie: Ah, so cliffhangers scare you too, eh? I was scared just writing it, eh? And as for the Canadian comment, you thought that was random, eh? Well, I just wanted everyone to know that just because I said "eh" didn't mean I was Canadian, eh? But I'm glad you liked that chapter, eh? And I promise, no more cliffhangers unless I have a portable computer hanger around my neck so I'll have a backup if this one crashes again.

Eh?

Fxkoala: The transition between Wonka and the Buckets will be challenging . . . but, Oh God, so much fun. :SQUEE: But what's to become of them if they never make it out of the cave? Oh, snap! (I love that expression too, and the girl that sits across from me in science class has gotten me saying it because she says it all the time and I always laugh.)

MaRaMa-TSG: Oh what a lovely feeling it is to be fanned with compliments! :giggle: Thanks so much, I seriously never thought people would like it like this! Wow, though, does it feel great to know you do so far. . . It's like Gatorade for my determination to write more!

Chapter 7

Lethe and Locomotives

"Charlie . . .?"

A nervous giggle made its way into the dusty atmosphere as a figure peaked out from behind a pile of rocks and brushed his shoulder off. "Charlie, you okay?" It was dark. Willy Wonka reached up and switched back on the light on his hard hat, glistening up the crystal filled room, then climbed up on top of the broken stone that covered the ground. A little head poked its way out of the rubble and coughed from the other side of the room.

"I'm alright, Mr. Wonka." Charlie climbed out of the fortunately not-too-hard rock candy and stumbled to a standing position. Wonka released a breath. It would have really been upsetting if he had squashed his only heir. He stumbled over the rocks to the boy across the cavern, halting in front of him, then discretely looked him over. The hair that ruffled out from under his helmet was a bit mussed up, and there was quite a bit of sugar dust on the both of them, but other than that, he was fine. Charlie brushed himself off and looked up. The ceiling was still dark. He switched on his head light as well, illuminating the room even more as the light mirrored off the crystalloid walls. Wonka blinked, adjusting his eyes, then furrowed his brow and looked behind him.

"Where's my cane?" Charlie glanced around and saw a black little stub poking out of the rubble. He bent down and pulled it out, revealing the top half of the chocolatier's cane. The man took it and sighed with dismay. The glass swirl top was cracked. "Good thing for these. . ." he noted after a moment, rapping on top of Charlie's hart hat. "That might've been our noggins." Charlie smiled and pushed the helmet back up on his forehead. He looked over the way the two of them had come in; it was completely blocked up.

"Is there another way out?" He asked.

"Huh?" Having been preoccupied with picking every speck of dust off his coat, Wonka looked up at the what-used-to-be entrance as well. He frowned.

"Not that I know of. . ." he replied, stepping over and looking at the walled up tunnel. "This was a dead end I think . . ." He stood there for a moment, hand on chin, then sighed and walked back. "Looks like we may be stuck in here for a while, Charlie. . ." He leaned back against a wall and laid his broken cane on the ground next to him, folding his hands and twiddling his thumbs. Charlie looked back at the jammed tunnel as Wonka continued. "But the Oompa Loompas will have heard the collapse; we're not too far from construction. They'll be sending out a search squad pretty soon if they haven't already." He looked up into the air and grinned to himself. "Clever little things . . ." Charlie sighed.

"Mum'll be upset I'm late for supper."

"Got a good excuse, though," Wonka said, watching his thumbs twirl around each other. He glanced up at Charlie for a moment. Charlie noticed and looked over.

"What?" he asked curiously. Wonka continued to stare, then slowly allowed a little grin to show, looking casually back down at his thumbs.

"You look like a powdered donut," he stated matter-of-factly. Charlie smiled and brushed off his cheek as Wonka glanced back up. "That didn't make any difference," he giggled breathlessly. Charlie finally rubbed at his cheek, then turned a bit.

"You should see yourself," he mumbled. Wonka stopped grinning and his eyes went wide. He paused with that expression, then opened his mouth.

"Nuh uh!" Charlie just glanced back and smiled. Wonka lightly touched his cheek with his index finger, then pulled off his black hard hat. He breathed onto it, cleaned it off with his sleeve, then looked into it like a mirror. Charlie grinned, and Wonka, once finished inspecting himself, put his hat back on and gave a phony little glare towards where Charlie was standing.

"You were worse. . ." he murmured. After a moment of dull silence, Charlie sighed and walked over to the wall, sliding down next to Wonka. The chocolatier leaned to the side a bit out of reflex, looking down at the boy. Charlie glanced over at the man's cane that lay by his feet.

"Can you fix it?" he asked. Wonka looked down to his candy coloured cane.

"Oh, yah," he assured, shrugging it off and swatting a hand in the air, "A replacement knob is all. . . I've got plenty of those lying around my room already." Charlie looked up at him curiously.

"Your room?" he repeated after a moment. Wonka looked down to him and smiled his signature white smile.

"Well, yah! Where do you think I sleep at night, the Pastry Room?" he giggled. Charlie hadn't even thought about where Wonka lived in the factory. But he was right; he couldn't sleep in the Pastry Room.

"Where's your room, Mr. Wonka?" Wonka looked up, considering how to map it out. After a moment he grinned and lightly tapped Charlie's arm.

"When we get out of here, I'll show ya. Kay?" Charlie smiled and nodded. The two stayed there for a while in their own thoughts. Charlie flicked at a pebble on the ground and Wonka tapped his fingers over themselves. After a moment, Charlie turned to face him again.

"How long do you think it should be until they find us? The Oompa Loompas." Wonka continued to look down at his hands but lifted his eyebrows and shrugged.

"A couple minutes . . . hours . . . years. . . Not too long." He kept tapping at his fingers and held a straight face. Charlie looked back down. It was hard to tell when Mr. Wonka was joking. Suddenly he shivered, and rubbed his arms. Wonka glanced over and paused. "Cold?"

"Just a little," Charlie replied, holding onto his arms over the thick silver jacket. Wonka watched him from the corner of his eye for a moment, then looked back down.

"They'll find us soon," he reassured. He hesitated, then suddenly swung himself up off the wall, walking out from it. "But there's no use in just sitting here while we wait . . ." He stuck on a smile as he stopped and spun around to face Charlie. "Let's brainstorm!" he said with the typical enthusiasm of Mr. Willy Wonka. Charlie smiled but stayed at the wall.

"Mr. Wonka, I don't think we can brainstorm in here. . ." he said softly. Wonka's face fell.

"Why not?" Charlie took in a breath.

"The three necessities of brainstorming . . . Remember?" He counted his fingers as he recited. "Open space and fresh air, Peacefulness with less to hear . . ." Wonka rolled his head with a nod as Charlie counted each one. ". . . and inspirative atmosphere." Charlie paused, looking at the chocolatier with his big eyes. "It's plenty quiet in here, but we don't have a lot of fresh air . . . and . . ." He flicked a pebble on he ground. "I'm not sure about you but I'm not very inspired by rocks. . ." Wonka was looking at the ground with defeat and let his shoulders fall.

"Yah . . ." he sighed, then fussed with his coat for no apparent reason. He sighed softly again and walked over to a rock, leaning back against it, hesitating with his hands in the air, then fluttering his fingers to the tops of his legs. He wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands without his cane.

A minute passed. Then another. Finally Wonka sighed again, pouting slightly, and kicked a rock.

"Well, I'm bored," he stated, putting a slight emphasis on the word 'bored'. Charlie looked over to him.

"What time is it?" Wonka took out his pocket watch, glanced at it, then snapped it shut and nestled it back inside his jacket.

"6:23," he said, releasing a breath and looking back to the ground. Charlie looked to where Wonka had replaced his watch and paused thoughtfully.

"Mr. Wonka," he asked after a moment. "Where did you get that?" Wonka looked back up curiously.

"What?"

"Your watch," clarified Charlie, pointing to the man's coat pocket. Wonka cocked his head to the side, then pulled out the little timepiece and looked at it. It was gold, new looking as ever, and glistened in the dim light of the cavern. It was simple, in a beautiful way, and when Wonka thought about it, it was one of the few (very few) things that hadn't been customized directly for him.

"Wow . . ." he began, glancing up wistfully. ". . . Years ago . . ."

And it had been years ago.

Twenty-one years, to be exact, when Willy Wonka opened his first candy shop. He had just bought an empty little store room on the corner of Cherry Street, with barely anything to the right or left of it but dull wall space; the perfect place to start a new business and draw attention. It was much larger than it appeared as well, having a quaint little window front as its entrance, then opening up in back into a whole stockroom.

The man who was selling it was a jeweler, and lived in the back room with his wife and two children. He worked as a miner during the summer, and brought back the little he dug up to his store to put on the market as different types of fancy jewelry that every woman in town had their eye on. He was selling the store because he had struck oil in the mine, and was moving with his family to a real house where they wouldn't need to rely on his talent to care for them. Wonka had seized the opportune moment to begin his own career.

" . . . You've seen the back as well; there's plenty of room in the whole of it," the man said as he stacked up a pile of papers and put them into his brown leather suitcase. Willy Wonka stood in the center of the empty store, looking up at the ceiling. He turned in his spot, examining the room. The man glanced up, eyeing the other man's somewhat odd attire of a long raspberry-purple frock coat and matching top hat. He couldn't be very old, perhaps in his very early twenties, perhaps even younger.

"It comes off a wee bit elfin at first, true. But the inside does make up for its appearance," he continued. "Served us all well as a home through the years . . ." The top hatted man in the center of the room continued to keep his chin tilted upwards as he took in his surroundings. The floor was battered and an off gray colour, the same as the walls, and rather dusty. The window glass was cracked and aged, with rings circling to its center, and the lights hanging from the ceiling looked like they were about to fall off. Willy Wonka's big eyed expression didn't change when he responded softly.

"It's perfect." The jeweler smiled as he tucked away the last of his papers into his bag and snapped it shut. Wonka jumped a bit and came back to focus.

"It's a done deal, then?" The older man said with a bearded grin. Wonka gave a short little nod and came back to the counter, taking out the money he had been saving since before he could remember for this very reason, and setting it on the table top. He went back to looking around the room like it was walled with different words and he wanted to read each one. The jeweler picked up the little wad of cash and started to count it.

"So . . ." he began in his heavy Scottish accent. "What's to become of this little dwellin' here? If you don't mind me askin'." Willy Wonka turned his head away from the room and to the man at the counter. His eyes were certainly a sight, a striking colour to begin with, and were filled with a childlike energy and life. He smiled and looked down shyly.

". . . Candy store . . ." he said quietly. The jeweler grinned.

"Ah, a sweet shop, eh? Fine choice, lad. Good location. Especially to draw attention from tha' Prodnose and Slugworth an' Fickelgruber." Willy Wonka looked up.

"Who?"

"Oh, some o' the other sweet makers around town. Always competing against each other like dogs and a steak." The man in the top hat nodded vaguely, and the jeweler raised his stubby finger. "I'd be careful they don't all come after you with torches and pitchforks, now," he said with a laugh, and Willy Wonka smiled gently. The older man then stacked up the money and opened back up his bag. "It's all here, then," he said cheerfully as he slipped the money into his suit case. Something sparkled inside that caught Willy Wonka's eye. He glanced into the bag and noticed a chained golden oval sitting on a pile of papers next to a gold necklace and wrist brace. The jeweler noticed and smiled.

"Ah, yeah, just a few things I wasn't able to get rid of before moving out." Wonka tilted his head as he looked at the shimmering circle. The jeweler continued to order the money into his bag, but turned behind him to the door that led to the back room. He called a few names, and a woman and two children around the age of five and six came out with their bags. The woman smiled, and the two young girls dropped their bags and played with each other. Wonka smiled back politely. The jeweler finished putting away the money, then, before re-closing his bag, pulled out the golden pocket watch and held it by the chain to Wonka.

"Here," he said with a smile. Wonka stuttered his mouth open to object, but the man set it on the table in front of him with a shrug and smile. "I've no use of it anyhow . . . Just think of it as a bonus with the shop." Wonka paused, then slowly picked up the watch and looked at it. "Well it was a pleasure doing business with you, my good man," the older man continued cheerfully as he picked his suit case up and put on his hat. "I hope the place proves well to your needs." Wonka looked back up quickly.

"Oh- Thank you very much, sir," he said happily. The man smiled as he turned around once more.

"And, eh, what might you name be, by the way?" The soon-to-be chocolatier across the counter opened his eyes attentively and gave a perfect smile.

"Wonka," he clarified. "Willy Wonka." The jeweler nodded with a grin as he and his family began out the door.

"Pleasure doing business with you then, Mr. Wonka." As they went out the door, the younger of the girls behind them spun around with a cheerful smile.

"Goodbye, Mr. Wonka!" she chirped as she gave a well practiced curtsy in her bright blue dress and her brown ringlets curled over her cheeks. Wonka smiled, glanced up, then gave a shallow bow as he gentlemanly tipped his hat to her. The girl beamed, obviously thrilled for the desired formal response. Her name was called by her sister outside, and she waved then scurried out the door to the rest of her family as they got into their car to drive away.

Wonka giggled softly then looked back down at the golden pocket watch in his hand with gentle curiosity. The only design on it was a small line-like one that ran around its edge. It was gorgeous in the simplest way. It glistened in the light, and Wonka could faintly hear it ticking in the quiet, empty shop. By the look of its unscratched perfect face, it seemed like it could last for years. . .

" . . . And it has . . ." finished Wonka with a wistful grin as he snapped shut the watch. He tilted his head up thoughtfully. "Haven't really thought about it since then until now. . ." He looked back over to Charlie, who was smiling softly. Wonka paused, then quirked his head the other way. "Why?" He swung the watch by its chain and leaned back coolly with a grin. "Ya like it?" Charlie laughed quietly and nodded.

"Yes," he assured. Wonka looked at the watch again, then stuck it back into his pocket with a sigh, walking over to the wall Charlie was at and slowly sliding down to a sitting position. He sat there for a moment just looking at the cavern ceiling. Charlie was doing the same, and, after about a minute, Wonka spoke.

"What's your favourite colour?" he asked suddenly. Charlie looked over at him. He was just glancing upwards at the cove, acting as anyone else would for a casual conversation. Charlie paused to think about an answer to the somewhat random query.

". . . Green," he replied after a moment, watching Wonka to see what he would do, as if there might be a reason for the spontaneous comment. The chocolatier just blinked thoughtfully. Charlie paused again. "You?" Wonka's head swayed a little and he looked ahead as he thought.

". . . Red," he stated after a moment, his lips slightly pursed. Red was definitely Mr. Wonka's favourite, Charlie thought. It was the colour of his coat. The chocolatier did indeed own many coats of many kinds that Charlie had seen him wear; greens, blues, purples, prints like checkers, circles, zig zags, even multicoloured ones. But the one Charlie thought suited him best and the one Wonka wore most was his maroon red one, and it was definitely his favourite.

"What's your favourite . . . pattern?" asked Wonka out of the blue. Charlie tilted his head.

"Pattern?" Wonka, still gazing upwards, nodded. Charlie thought for a moment, having never thought of the question before.

"Plaid," he replied carefully. "What about you?" Wonka opened his mouth.

"I like . . . . . . swirls," he stated after a moment. Just like the Nut Room floor thought Charlie. "What's your favourite number?" Wonka asked, sounding a little more alive. Charlie smiled. The questions were getting odder as they went along.

". . . Eight, I think . . ." Wonka squinted a little.

"Twenty-four . . . I think . . ." he mirrored. Suddenly his eyes lit up. "What's your favourite candy?" Charlie grinned.

"Chocolate," he stated, and Wonka nearly flew into the air with smiles.

"Hey, me too!" Charlie laughed softly. He never would have guessed. Wonka leaned back against the wall again, looking relaxed. He blinked thoughtfully. "How come?" Charlie looked over to him curiously.

"Why is it my favourite?" he verified softly. Wonka nodded at an angle. Charlie thought. Well it tasted good, of course. He had only gotten it once a year, but he didn't have any other candy during the year either. He finally decided on why he liked it. "It reminds me of my family," he said. Wonka knit his bows gently, and Charlie looked over to him. "Why do you like it?" Wonka continued to gaze forward, but lightly smiled.

"It was the first candy I ever had. . ." Charlie thought for a moment.

"I asked you that on the tour. What was your first candy," he recalled, then looked over. "Didn't you remember?" Wonka continued to stare ahead, but furrowed his brow slightly, like he was thinking. Charlie hesitated, then remembered something else. "Was that your . . . flashback?" he asked awkwardly, not quite sure how to use the word. But that was how the chocolatier had described it, so Charlie thought that was how he should refer to it as well. Wonka didn't change his expression but nodded gently. Charlie looked back down at the ground and played with a rock. "Do you remember back all that way?" He kept playing with the rock. "How old were you?" Wonka let out a breath.

"Around you age," he replied. Charlie looked up at him curiously.

"That old?" Wonka's eyebrows were raised and his expression blank. He shook his head a little, seeming uncoordinated, like his thoughts and actions were simultaneous.

"I wasn't supposed to have candy," he said, sounding tired. Charlie looked back at the ground to play with the rock. That made sense, his father being a dentist and all. He didn't know it had taken Mr. Wonka that long to try a piece though.

"Your dad finally gave you your first piece then?" But Wonka shook his head lightly, his appearance a little gloomier.

"He didn't know I'd had it. . ." He paused. "I eventually told him what I wanted to be, though, when I grew up I mean . . ." Wonka's face fell a little. His expression reminded Charlie of the same one he wore when Charlie said he wouldn't come to the factory; hurt. ". . . He didn't seem very happy about it . . ." he continued, his voice quieter. Charlie fidgeted with the rock.

"I'm sure he was happy, Mr. Wonka. . . He probably just didn't know how to show it." Wonka widened his eyes wider as he gazed out to no where. He lightly shook his head once more.

"No . . ." he began, ". . . he showed how he felt pretty well when I got back h-" He stopped short and opened his mouth, glancing down a little. Charlie paused, then decided to assist.

"Home. . .?" Wonka's expression softened, just a little. After that moment, though, that instant, he widened his eyes, quickly glancing over to where Charlie was, and gave a fake pushed on little smile and nod. He released a breath, pursing his lips, then suddenly swung himself off the ground with his cane and got to a standing position. He paused with his mouth opened.

"I'm just . . . gonna walk around a little . . . my feet are falling asleep," he giggled nervously and strode out to wherever he planned on going in the empty little cave.

Charlie stayed sitting there, not quite sure what had just happened, but not feeling well after it. He looked out to where Wonka stood with his cane, rocking back and forth on his heels, trying to erase whatever he was in his mind by looking at absolutely anything and everything there was to look at and holding onto a pleasant high-browed expression. Charlie looked at the ground.

Why hadn't Wonka finished that sentence, anyway? He had just stopped before "went back home". . . Charlie hesitated, thinking of Mr. Wonka's old home, Dr. Wonka's home, where Dr. Wonka's home was . . . They hadn't always lived all the way out there, had they? Wonka would have had to go to school when he was younger. Dr. Wonka would have needed more patients than he'd get where he lived now. But . . . if they hadn't always lived out there-

"Ow!"

Charlie looked up to see Wonka let his cane tumble onto the ground and take hold of his right hand. Charlie got up and started over curiously.

Wonka looked at his hand, and winced when he saw a little red slit in the latex. He hesitantly pulled off his purple glove, revealing a smooth pale hand and a little cut on the palm of it. He pouted with dismay, having forgotten about the broken glass knob and his bad habit of wringing his hands around the top when he was feeling . . . less than content. He sighed sharply, and reached into his coat with his other good hand, not noticing Charlie had come up next to him. The boy blinked, finding it rather odd to see Mr. Wonka's hand that colour of . . . hands.

Wonka pulled out a miniature first aid kit, no bigger than a fist, with, where a red cross would usually be, a large red 'W'. He popped it open, pulling out a long bandage, and set the kit down on the ground as he began to wrap the bind around his injured hand, rather awkwardly at that. After a moment of attempted self medication, Charlie glanced over to him then back to his hand.

"Here," he said, taking hold of the bandage, and causing Wonka a jolt of mild surprise. Charlie gently wrapped the binding around the chocolatier's hand, then it up tight enough to keep it there but loose enough to be of comfort. Wonka carefully pulled his hand back, looking it over, then glanced back up at Charlie and giggled anxiously.

"Thanks," he said softly, hesitated, then quickly stretched his glove back on with a squeak. Charlie watched but didn't ask. He never did, and he probably never would. He didn't ask a lot about Willy Wonka. The chocolatier flexed his bandaged hand into his glove, then picked back up the little first aid kit and began putting it away. Charlie noticed something and smiled.

"Pear shaped first air kits?" He remembered that from the elevator wall. Wonka glanced over to him and grinned, patting his coat where he was putting it away.

"For pear shaped pockets." Wonka put away the little white box and sighed. He reached down and picked up his cane, being wary of the glass top. "Gonna need to remember not to use that . . ." he murmured. There was a pause, when suddenly a soft breeze hit the two. Barely a breeze, even, more over a fan from a distance, a whist of thin air. Wonka noticed it, however, and cocked his head to the side. He looked over to where it had come from curiously. He walked over to the wall and held up his hand, feeling for the air. He then got closer, paused, then spun back around and beckoned Charlie with his hand.

"Comm'er . . ." he said excitedly. Charlie scurried over and Wonka pointed out a little slit in the wall; a passage that had been covered by a rock. Charlie peeked through it, then leaned back out.

"Help me move it," he said as he started to push the rock aside. Wonka hesitated, not quite sure, then pushed the upper part of the stone Charlie couldn't reach.

"This is why . . ." he said as he pushed, ". . . it really is a bummer that . . . you're all so . . . short . . ." Charlie chuckled breathlessly as they moved the stone out of the way enough for the two of them to slide through. Charlie popped through, followed by Wonka.

On the other side was a long cavern, apparently already hollowed out. Going from the left to the right was a long tunnel, and going down the center of the tunnel was a pair of tracks. Charlie blinked curiously, then looked up to Wonka, who was suddenly grinning wildly. He looked down to Charlie, then paused, glancing around the room. He spotted something and darted down to the right side of the cavern, to a wall. Charlie followed halfway.

"Mr. Wonka, what is this?" Wonka giggled as he reached the wall where a large green button was.

"Hold on . . ." he said excitedly as he pressed down the button. Nothing happened. Charlie waited, then looked back to Wonka, who to his surprise, was looking directly at him with a little smile, obviously expecting that exact reaction. Then the ground began to rumble, and for a moment Charlie thought it was another avalanche. But Wonka just swayed back smoothly with a grin. It reminded Charlie of when they had moved heir house to the factory. The rumbling grew to more of a loud vibration, and it startled Charlie when he suddenly heard from down the left passageway a

WoOh-WhooOOOOH!

It was just then that he recalled something once again from the Great Glass Elevator wall, and looked over to Wonka. He was about to speak when something slide its way on the tracks in front of them. As is slowed, Charlie could tell what it was; a train.

It was rather a small train for making such a racket, but utterly beautiful, with a sharp edged smoke stack, peppermint shaped wheels, and a large red 'W' on the front. The body was silver and absolutely smooth. It slowly chugged to a stop and emitted a puff of gray smoke. Everything was calm again, and after a moment, Charlie turned to Wonka with a smile.

"The train station." Wonka grinned and walked up to the train. He spun to face Charlie again and put his hand to his mouth.

"All aboard!" he called, then dropped his smile and replaced it with a pause. "Well one aboard . . . and me, that makes two . . . so. . ." He did his math as Charlie got onto the train with a giggle. The two boarded the train and Wonka pressed another button in the front, causing it to slowly start up again. It chugged . . . . . . chugged . . . . . . chugged, chugged, chugged chugga chugged, blew its horn, and chugged again until it was blowing out smoke and gaining speed down the tracks.

Charlie and Wonka were at the front of the train. Charlie looked around the little area they were in and noticed a little seat against the wall behind him. He fell into it with an exhausted sigh. Wonka turned around and giggled.

"What's wrong with you?" Charlie smiled.

"Nothing, I'm just tired," he said, his voice proving his statement. Wonka tilted his head to the side, then pulled out his pocket watch. He widened his eyes and took in a breath.

"Oh gosh, it's later than I expected!" He put away his watch, spun back around and pushed on a lever, then commenced on pushing and pulling and twisting all different kinds of buttons and knobs and switches. The train eased its way into full speed. Charlie sat up more.

"What time is it?" Wonka, still facing forward, sighed.

"Eight-fifty. Exactly." He pushed down another lever, and the train gave a little jerk as it switched gears. "We'd better get you home before your mom blows her wings. . ." Charlie leaned back again (he really was very tired), and hoped his mother wouldn't be too worried.

"I didn't know we had made it all the way to the east side of the factory," Wonka said breathlessly, more to himself, once they were going down the darkened tunnel at a fast pace. Charlie looked up.

"What do you mean?" Wonka grinned.

"Well, even though they're still digging downwards, the mine ends on the east side of the factory where the train circles. That wasn't the actual station itself, though; the actual station is all the way on the west," he swung his arm and pointed out the right side of the train, "side of the building!" Charlie looked to where he pointed, then back up to him.

"The train goes all around the factory?" Wonka nodded proudly.

"Yup."

"How do we get to the Chocolate Room, then?" Wonka turned to face him and smiled.

"Now didn't you see on the map? We can cut straight through to the Chocolate Room." Charlie thought for a moment, then noticed a bright green lever by Wonka's knee and remembered something; the green line on the map, the one that hadn't had a label. That was for the train. Charlie smiled up to the chocolatier.

"So we don't need to go all the way around the factory until we get there?"

Wonka grinned excitedly, and reached out to the green lever next to him.

"Not if I do this," he said with breathless glee as he pulled it towards him, and the train went jerking to the right as it began down another dark tunnel and to their destination.

Charlie Bucket and Willy Wonka jumped out of the elegant silver train as it eased its way to a stop on its tracks. They walked out on the platform, which narrowed as they went, and it opened up to the Chocolate Room. The platform was small in the great stone wall of the room, hardly visible at all, and it didn't surprise Charlie that he had never noticed it before. There were probably still other things he'd yet to notice in the Chocolate Room. They stepped onto the grass and up towards the boy's house. Once nearly in front of it, Charlie looked over to Wonka, who happened to be checking his pocket watch at the moment anyway. The Chocolate Room was already dark.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Nine O-four," Wonka sighed.

"Do you think Mum'll be m-"

"Good HEAVENS, where have you two been?" Both Wonka and Charlie looked ahead at the figure clutching her skirt and scampering close to them. Charlie slowed down, and Wonka stopped completely. "I've been worried out of my mind!" Mrs. Bucket noticed their apparel of sugar coated winter coats and hard hats. "What happened?" Charlie took off his hat.

"Mum, I'm really sorry. We were in the mine, and-"

"Mine?"

"The rock candy mine, and there was an avalanche, so we-" No sooner had Charlie gotten the word "avalanche" out was Mrs. Bucket clutching him like he's fall apart if she didn't.

"An avalanche? Oh, no wonder you're both so covered in dust! Come on, come on, get inside and wash up and- Charlie, you're freezing!" She exclaimed and she put both her hands on his pale little cheeks.

"It was cold down there, Mum, that's why we wore th-" She squished him again.

"Oh goodness, come inside, come on, you two can wash up, and I'll make something warm to drink, and . . ." she went on in one breathless insistence as she ushered Charlie inside. Charlie went in front of his mother, and Wonka, who was standing still where he'd stopped, swayed awkwardly.

You two? Did that mean . . . him? But his question was answered when Mrs. Bucket turned back around to him and beckoned with her hand. "Well, come on. I'm sure you're no warmer than he." She gave him the friendly smile that always made everything feel so much less daunting, and he hesitated, then carefully walked into the house behind the others.

Mrs. Bucket shut the door behind him, then rushed over to the kitchen and put some hot water onto he stove. A fire was blazing. Charlie had taken off his jacket and hat and dropped them by the coat hanger. He was over by his father at the moment, talking, probably telling him of his day. The grandparents were already asleep. Wonka took off his hard hat and jacket and carefully set them on the coat hanger, as well as leaning his broken cane against the wall. He smoothed out his maroon coat, and looked up to the kitchen where Mrs. Bucket was bustling about. He fidgeted with his gloves for a moment, particularly the right one, which was coming off due to the bandage underneath, then walked over to the Charlie's mother.

"I'm . . . terribly sorry about all this, Mrs. Bucket," he said when he'd approached her at the stove. She looked over.

"Oh, don't you worry about a thing, Mr. Wonka, these things happen," she assured him as she moved the pot off the stove. "Especially in a place like this. I've begun to believe there's no telling what could happen," she laughed softly. "As long as you two are alright, there's really nothing to worry about." There was that 'you two' again. The tea pot started to whistle, and Mrs. Bucket hurried over to take it off. She did so, then looked back up to Wonka. "Oh, go on and sit down, dear. Make yourself at home." Wonka paused, then nodded and made his way over to the sofa where Charlie was now sitting. The chocolatier carefully sat down on the right side of the sofa by the arm. Charlie looked over to him and smiled cheerfully. Before Wonka could respond in one way or another, Mrs. Bucket appeared in front of them with a tray of two bowls and two mugs.

"Here you are," she said as she handed them each a mug and set the tray with their supper on the table in front of them. Charlie grinned.

"Thanks Mum," he said and he went to take a sip. Wonka nodded.

"Oh- Thank you." Mrs. Bucket sighed peacefully and went back over to the stove, stirring the soup in the pot. Wonka looked into his mug at the dark brown liquid inside. He tilted his head to the side, then cautiously took a sip. To his left, Charlie spoke up.

"It's hot chocolate, you know," he assured him. Wonka nodded as he looked over, then paused and giggled at Charlie's chocolate moustache. The boy, sensing what was so funny, smiled and wiped off his mouth, taking another sip of chocolate and setting it down on the table. He went to work with his supper. Wonka hid a smile behind his mug, then set it down on the table and decided to do the same. From the kitchen, Mrs. Bucket tightened her apron.

"So, Charlie, there was an avalanche?" she asked curiously. Charlie sipped at his soup and nodded.

"Yeah, but we're fine, mum. I promise." Mrs. Bucket let out a breath.

"Still, that must have been awfully frightening!" Charlie swallowed down another spoonful of soup and shrugged.

"I guess. But we had the hard hats, so we didn't get hurt. . ." He looked over to Wonka's hand, then back to his mother. "Well, not from the avalanche anyway. In the crash, Mr. Wonka's cane top broke, and he cut his hand on that, but . . ." Charlie trailed off as his mother's eyes went wide and she looked towards the chocolatier on the sofa. Wonka looked up at the sound of his name.

"Hmm?" he said as he swallowed. Mrs. Bucket was looking at him.

"Oh my, is that so?" She was addressing him, and he hesitated before opening his mouth. He paused again and gave a sideways little nod and shrug.

"I-it's nothing . . . just . . ." He looked down at his hand, then carefully took off his glove and held his bandaged hand up a little. Mrs. Bucket gave a mild gasp and turned to Charlie.

"You needed to wrap it up? Oh . . ." She trailed off as she set down the towel she'd been holding and bustled over to Wonka on the couch. She sat down on the sofa arm and took gentle hold of his hand. He straightened up nervously. "Well, let's see . . ." she said as she unwrapped his hand, revealing the little inch-long gash. Wonka winced again, and looked away a bit.

"Oh," Charlie's mother sighed with dismay. "You poor dear," she said, still looking at his palm, as she gently set her hand on his cheek. Wonka took in a breath, then released it and gently smiled as she took her hand back and continued examining his. He cleared his throat, feeling more comfortable, and looked back to his cut.

". . . Does . . . that look infected to you?" Charlie grinned to himself on the other side of the sofa as he pretended to finish his dinner.

About an hour later, once they were both finished with their meals, the two chocolatiers sat on the sofa with chocolate filled mugs. Wonka had insisted he leave after supper, but Mrs. Bucket wouldn't let him and sat him back down with another mug of hot chocolate. So there he sat, not necessarily unhappy about it.

Charlie had told his parents, in detail, about his 'adventure' that day, and even though Wonka had been there when it all happened, he as well listened to the story with careful ears. Charlie told them about how they had cracked the candy wall earlier that day, then set off deeper into the cave. And he told about how they skipped rocks, and then the avalanche happened. He told about where Mr. Wonka had gotten his pocket watch (Wonka himself had the pleasure of adding to that part of the story as well.) He told of how they found the crack in the wall of the cave that led to the train station, but Wonka noticed a part Charlie had left out. He didn't say anything about their . . . conversation before Wonka cut his hand. The chocolatier had been sure, within all of the boy's excited rambling, Charlie would have let it slip if not mention it on purpose. He seemed to let other things like that out without any deeper thought to them, like Wonka's pocket watch, or his hand. But those had been different anyway . . .

The chocolatier looked up at Mr. Bucket reading in his chair and Mrs. Bucket cleaning in the kitchen. He looked back down into his mug. Well, whether Charlie was aware of it, even fully understood it, or not, Wonka was thankful with all he had that it hadn't mentioned by the boy. It wasn't that he didn't like his family. It was just easier that way . . .

Suddenly Wonka released a little gasp as he felt a modest weight on his left arm. He looked over and raised his eyebrows. Charlie was asleep. He had been tired. Wonka slowly gave a soft smile and brushed some remaining sugar dust off of the shoulder of the little boy, who nestled closer into the chocolatier's arm in sleep. Wonka paused, then leaned back again and took another little sip of hot chocolate, deciding not to leave just yet.

He wouldn't want to wake him.

Author's Notes: Once again, I'm terribly sorry about the really REALLY LONG delay.

I'd blame it on my computer, but he might shut down on me. We get along fine usually, but sometimes we can't help but have little spats, and that's when the delays occur. I promise to try and get along if he does.

The Three Rules of Brainstorming: Clever, isn't he? :giggle: Well, it sounded like a "Wonka-ish" kinda thing Mr. Wonka would teach Charlie. Those rules work, too. . .

P.S.

I know inspirative is not a word.

But if they ever make a Wonka dictionary

(and they will)

It'll be in there.

The opportune moment: Alright, alright, I am SORRY but I could simply not help it . . . Come on, the PotC 2 trailer was just released (all my love to miss Violet Beauregard on the forum for posting the link to download it on yousendit a while ago; darling, you made my life a brighter place that day) and I am freaking, flipping, wigging out, blowing my wings, and everything else. I mean, come on, there are cannibals. Cannibals make everything more interesting. Right?

Pear Shaped First Aid Kits: Kay, well, pears are pretty small, so I always kind of thought of those as portable little first aid kits. As for the pear shaped pockets, I'm not sure where Mr. Wonka gets coats with those, so you'll have to ask him yourself.

Chapter 8 Preview: All that time I couldn't write wasn't wasted, I assure you. Lots of brainstorming. Lots.

Well, the after math of Miss Veruca Salt (which I have been longing to do since I started this story), and we'll see everything fits in to everything else. . . Also, Wonka gets a surprise . . .