A/N: Argh! For the third and final time I'm re-editing this chapter. First time was because I posted and then sat up all night thinking "oh my god, it did nothing I intended". So I put in some extra conversation to further the character relations. No it's not slash, I would have warned you. If it seems a bit cosy, just think next time you see a bunch of drunken lads who are good mates ;) Apologies to those of you who already read and reviewed. It's not changed all that much, hopefully improved. Second time I edited was because I didn't click 'save changes' and so this author note and the separating lines didn't appear. Damn it! Anyways, hope you guys enjoy. DFQ xxx
It seemed like an eternity for the group on the other side of the void to rush into the elevator and cross to the assaulted platform. Out of the smoke, Oompa Loompas fled from all directions in fits of coughing.
"Sparrow? Crane?" Mort shouted.
"On the bright side," Mr Wonka muttered anxiously whilst fanning the fog, "they've gotta be okay, or we'd not be here."
"That's on the assumption that the universe can't cope with a dimensional paradox," said the writer.
William scowled and snatched his cane back from Mr Rainey.
Edward, who had walked blindly into the mist without further thought, called from somewhere ahead.
"Here!"
Mort and Mr Wonka hurried towards the voice, only just managing to stop themselves from tripping over two figures on the floor.
Jack Sparrow, his face and hands dusted with soot was crouched beside the still form of the constable. Ash had smothered Ichabod's clothes and skin; shell fragments had scored thin cuts on his palms where he'd tried to shield himself.
"Well there's a surprise," Mort grunted. "He's fainted again."
"He didn't faint," the pirate growled. "The fool jumped in the way of that bloody explosion. It was aimed for me."
"Mr Crane saved you?" William asked, astonished.
"Aye, and that's exactly why he's a fool. 'E knew I was immortal, Devil knows why he pushed me out the way."
"You're immortal?" Wonka and Rainey cried.
Jack sighed.
"'E did try to tell you earlier – ow!" he said, breaking off as the chocolatier's cane cracked him in the ribs.
"Is he all right?" Edward asked of the constable.
"Son, do I look like a doctor?" the pirate snapped.
Mr Wonka dipped his hand into one of his pockets and pulled out a compact mirror. He knelt down, flipped it open and held the glass above Ichabod's mouth. A faint trace of steam frosted the mirror.
"He's breathing," said William. "Let's get him to the elevator."
Mort and Jack lifted the unconscious Crane between them and moved back to the edge of the platform once the smoke had fully cleared.
"Buck up, Sparrow," the writer uttered, seeing Jack had fallen unusually quiet. "You said it yourself, wasn't your problem. He just chose a stupid time to learn bravery."
"Little whelp called me my proper name when 'e did it, too," Jack said ruefully. He coughed as Mort raised his eyebrow and added with a more masculine air, "Nice moves back there with the mosquito things. O'course you don't get points for being half a lunatic."
"Same back at you. For a romanticised version of the scum of the ocean you know how to handle yourself."
The hint of a male bonding session was short-lived as both the writer and the pirate walked face first into the elevator door.
Some hours later, the sounds of inebriated merriment were bouncing around the walls of the Chocolate Room. Whilst Mr Wonka finished off the last repairs to his machine, the rest of them lounged about in their preferred circle on the hill of sugar grass beside the river, having discovered the delights of the chocolatier's infamous Butterscotch, Buttergin and his most prized and recent Butterrum.
"I love this man," Jack was slurring, his arm around a weary and woken Ichabod. "That's to say I love 'im almost as much as me ship and not in fact like a woman."
"-ing women!" Mort hiccupped before far-from-soberly burying his face in the chocolate soil.
The rarity of Crane's laughter burst out as a girlish giggle. Clearly he'd overdone it on the scotch too.
"I must say, this stuff beggars belief," he said, swigging at his liquor. "It's magnificent, it's saccharine, it's -."
"Frothy," Jack finished.
"Indeed!"
Edward was smiling at the drunkards as he sipped from a mug of hot chocolate with the aid of a long liquorice straw. For very little reason at all he was wearing Mort's (sorry, Shooter's) black hat, which he had found abandoned on the hillside. Although he was not old enough to enjoy the adult beverages – the limit in his hometown being the age of twenty-one – he was still fascinated at the effects it was having on his companions.
"You know, Bodders," said Sparrow, jabbing the constable in the shoulder with one of his least grubby fingers. "I really thought you was a goner back there. Seein' you as you are is like watchin' a man struck down with a cannonball get up and walk away as 'appy as Larry."
"I agree. I was rather fortunate that it missed me."
"Missed you? It blew up in your face!"
"Well it wasn't a real explosive. It wasn't designedto kill anyone. It only served to rattle my insides. I'm thankful it wasn't one of the ones we sprayed with Mr Wonka's potion."
"You're not wrong, mate," the pirate concurred. "But what possessed you to take the fall for someone like me? You can't stand me, and you knew full well I 'ave this curse."
Ichabod puffed out his chest haughtily.
"Mr Sparrow, though you may irk me to the very limits of my being on numerous occasions, I'm not one to pass judgement on someone in the face of danger." He hesitated over taking another gulp of his brew and furthered, "What's more, you said yourself you weren't sure of the extent of your invuln'r- inv'r – your immunity. How was I to know you wouldn't be blown into a cloud of tiny piratical pieces?"
"Fair game," said the grinning sea captain. "We're square."
Ichabod clinked his tankard with Jack's. Almost immediately after, the pirate's stomach growled.
"My word, are you still hungry?" the constable asked, struggling to remain sitting upright.
The pirate winced.
"Been 'ungry all the time. No matter 'ow much I eat I still feel I could eat a horse."
Daredevil snorted from over the hill. Jack hurriedly made amends.
"Apologies. It must be the curse. Doomed to starve till I gets this bloody trinket back where it belongs is my guess."
Ichabod nodded lazily and pushed away from Jack, not realising he had been the pirate's only support. Seeing that the decoratively attired man of the ocean didn't look too unfazed at falling flat on his back, the constable addressed the matter of the journey home.
"Yes, I suppose we should all be getting back really. Mr Wonka, how's the machine coming along?"
The chocolatier emerged from behind the humming contraption; Oompa Loompas swarming around it like an anthill.
"My workers are running a few tests and all seems to be in order again but, hold on, don't get overexcited. It's only fixed for what it did before. I don't know about you guys but I don't plan on bringing any more of you …me…back. The process is gonna have to be reversed, but that shouldn't be too hard." William took his hat off and rummaged inside. "All we need is the- oh."
He frowned and put the hat back on.
"What's wrong?" said Ichabod.
"I coulda sworn I put it in there," Wonka was muttering.
By now everyone was looking at him. Even Jack had managed to summon enough spatial awareness to sit up.
"What?" they asked.
"Nothin'. I've just…uh…misplaced the lollipop. I'm sure it won't be far away…"
"Can't we just use another one?" Crane asked.
Mr Wonka shook his head.
His guests groaned.
"We're never going to get home."
