Author's Note: Erm...surprise? I've been sitting on this a while, trying to add more bits here and there, but really you've been waiting long enough. On a semi-related note, there's a new Candy Crush clone that's completely Willy Wonka themed, so if you've ever wanted to hear Gene Wilder tell you how great you are over and over, do check it out.

Charlie Bucket was thirteen years old. He'd always been a responsible boy, looking for ways to help his family as soon as he was old enough to realize they needed helping. Some of the adults in his life thought him too serious, but it was only that his life had been full of many serious moments and they had given Charlie a maturity beyond his years.

Not that he didn't still have his childish moments. He could be swept up by youthful exuberance or the excitement of his peers. He could make bad decisions due to his limited perspective and experience. And he was just beginning to realize that girls were very interesting in ways that he'd never considered before.

Still, none of this allowed him to be swayed by the way Ms. Mary Sue Weston pouted her lips, or gazed at him from under dark lowered lashes, or sashayed her hips as she walked. If she meant to be enticing, she failed thoroughly. Charlie was only confused and somewhat disgusted by her behavior.

He was only thirteen years old.

To be especially safe, as soon as he entered Mr. Wonka's office, he summoned Mr. Wilkinson. The older man's dour expression as he loomed over Charlie's shoulder did more for subduing Ms. Weston than anything Charlie could have managed on his own. The man didn't even have to speak, he just frowned dolefully at the woman and gave a disapproving sniff every now and then.

Charlie pasted a smile on his face. It wasn't as good as Mr. Wonka's false smile, but Charlie was working on it. "Well then," he said cheerfully. "Shall we finish up the interview now?"

Ms. Weston glanced between Charlie and Mr. Wilkinson as if weighing her options, then apparently decided on an innocent facade. "Oh," she whimpered. "Do you think it's necessary? Mr. Wonka doesn't seem to like me very much." She delicately dabbed at an invisible tear at the corner of one eye.

Charlie chivalrously pulled out a handkerchief, but he handed it to Mr. Wilkinson and let him pass it to the woman. Her pout suddenly looked much more realistic as she realized he was deliberately keeping some space between them.

Charlie pulled out her resume, glancing through it again to make sure it really said what he'd thought. "Oh I don't know, I think we should give everyone a fair chance, don't you?" He paused while Ms. Weston sniffled into the handkerchief and gave him a nod and a hopeful smile. "Mr. Wonka has the final say, of course, but a trip through the factory can bring out the worst in all of us." That much was certainly true.

"So why don't we call some of your references and see what they have to say for you?"

Ms. Weston dropped the handkerchief and paled, her sympathy routine forgotten. She opened her mouth but Charlie had already picked up the phone and was dialing.

"Hello, Granite Incorporated? This is Mr. Bucket calling from Wonka Industries. Yes, the chocolate factory. No, I'm sorry, you haven't won any chocolate. I'm looking for a Mr. Gary Stu Weston? You see, we're conducting interviews today for a secretarial position and he's listed as a reference for Ms. Mary Sue Weston. Yes, I'll hold."

Charlie smiled at Ms. Weston. "They're putting me right through, isn't that nice?" Her face had grown more ashen with each word Charlie said, and now she gave a small gasp, wringing her hands around the handkerchief in her lap.

He turned his attention back to the phone. "Oh hello Mr. Weston! Yes this is Mr. Charlie...ah they told you, of course. Your daughter? Oh I had no idea! How proud you must be, that she is striking out into the working world on her own! What's that?"

Charlie leaned back in his chair and frowned as sternly as he could manage at Ms. Weston. "I assure you sir, Wonka Industries is a very respectable company. Very respectable. No sir, it's just an ordinary secretary position, typing and filing papers and such. I beg your pardon sir, there's nothing disgraceful about earning a wage! What's that? Oh, of course, one moment please."

He held out the phone to Ms. Weston, who stared at it as if expecting it to turn into a viper and bite her. "He wants to speak with you," he told her with a grin, taking in her changed demeanor. She was huddled awkwardly in the half chair and looked like nothing more than a child waiting to be chastised. Which is exactly what Charlie had counted on.

He hopped to his feet as she gingerly reached for the phone. "Mr. Wilkinson, please see Ms. Weston out when she's finished her call. I imagine her father will want her to return home immediately, before she disgraces her family any further." Ms. Weston actually flinched.

Charlie whistled a jaunty tune as he strolled out of the office, immensely pleased with himself.

He had noticed that Ms. Weston had listed a man with the same last name as herself as a reference, which didn't seem particularly unusual to him at the time. Plenty of businesses were run by families, passed down from one generation to the next, so having a family member who was also a former employer made sense. Once he'd realized Mr. Weston was the Mr. Weston of Granite Incorporated, he'd wondered if the man knew what his daughter was up to. People who ran companies like that often had strict standards for what was expected of their family members, especially their children, especially their daughters. Working as a menial secretary would certainly not fit the bill. Mr. Weston had been apoplectic that his daughter would ever lower herself to mingling with such common folk.

Charlie could only count his blessings that success and fame hadn't turned Mr. Wonka into the type of man like Mr. Weston.

The Inventing Room had always been the heart of the factory. Even before there was a factory for it to be a part of.

Willy didn't have any fond childhood memories of doodling his plans onto scraps of paper late at night in his bedroom, nor any of gesticulating with wild enthusiasm as he explained his latest ideas to proudly beaming parents. He never kept a journal or constructed prototypes of what he imagined. He just...invented.

It started with an empty room, a place where he would put the things he found. At first it seemed like an entirely random assortment of odds and ends, anything that Willy saw that tickled his fancy for some reason or another. He couldn't have written it down if he'd wanted, couldn't have explained it to anyone if he'd tried. He'd sit in the room, daydreaming, staring at his piles of junk, and suddenly he'd just...know. This bit connected to that part, with this gizmo on top and wrapped around with that stretchy thing. Power it up and with just the right ingredients, he could create a scent or a taste or a feeling that had only existed in his dreams.

The ingredients were actually the trickiest bit for Willy. He knew what the end result should be, he knew how to build the machine that would get him there, but what to put into it...how to blend the flavors just so, or whether to bake or boil or -

"Have you tried boiling it, and then baking it?"

Willy blinked. "Beg pardon?"

Ms. Stolp was peering into a vat of smooth lavender-colored cream, breathing the scent in deeply. Lined up in a row next to it were similar vats colored in teal, lime and fuschia. She'd already sniffed those.

"You have been baking, yes?" She nodded at the assortment of similarly colored puff balls littering the tables near the vats, raising an eyebrow at Willy.

He glanced from Ms. Stolp to the vats and back again. Intrigued, he stepped closer, tilting his head in a short nod. "Yes?"

"But the consistency is…" She frowned at the puffs.

"Yes," Willy nodded, more decisively this time. "Exactly."

Ms. Stolp leaned closer. "Boil first," she said with a conspiratorial wink. "Then bake. Trust me."

"Hmm," he murmured in response, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "But what-" He looked around.

Ms. Stolp had already moved on, examining the next of his creations with the same scrutiny she'd given the first.

He glanced around. Oompa Loompas milled about the room, some at work tracking various experiments in progress while studiously avoiding the tall interlopers, others hurrying about almost aimlessly, as if trying to look busy when really they just wanted to keep an eye on him. Willy smiled to himself. He couldn't blame them, after the trouble his guests had caused them today.

Ms. McCaine still lingered near the entrance. She seemed overwhelmed by the unusual cacophony of noise that the assorted machines produced. Personally, he found the mixture of smells more disconcerting, but he supposed if you didn't know what anything was, maybe things would seem a bit much if one experienced them for the first time all at once.

Clearing his throat, he strode quickly after Ms. Stolp, casually shutting down a few of the more superfluous devices as he passed by them. It really was a waste of resources to have them all running when he or Charlie couldn't be there to observe them.

He tried to keep an eye on Ms. McCaine even as he listened to Ms. Stolp's very interesting suggestions. Ms. McCaine had finally begun to wander around the edge of the room, looking over everything she passed with a mostly bewildered expression.

Ms. Stolp noticed, of course.

"Well," she said with a sly smile. "I do think I've monopolized you long enough." Willy jerked his attention back, but found she too was watching Ms. McCaine. "My dear!" she called. "I believe you are fond of caramel? You must see this over here! Oh Mr. Wonka, do show her." She patted his arm and then slipped away before he could react. "I'll just be over here looking at this delightful taffy!"

Ms. McCaine wove her way through the tangle of equipment, a smile twitching on her lips as she approached. "She thinks she's very clever, doesn't she?"

"She does. She is." Willy shook his head and mused out loud, "I think we might actually make very good partners."

"P-partners?" Ms. McCaine blushed and cleared her throat. "Oh?"

Willy found her reaction fascinating. "Yes," he murmured, watching her carefully. "She thinks through things very differently from how I do." He frowned. "Or maybe we'd destroy each other. Two sides of the same coin, you know?"

Ms. McCaine nibbled her lip as she watched Ms. Stolp enthusiastically exploring every nook and cranny of an elaborate taffy pulling machine. She stepped closer, speaking just loudly enough that Mr. Wonka could hear her over the surrounding noise. "It would...mean the world to her," she offered tentatively.

Willy tilted his head. "Would it?"

Ms. McCaine nodded, smiling up at him. "Oh yes, she told me a bit about it. Food is not just her profession, it's her passion."

"It shows," Willy replied. They were really standing quite close. "What's yours?"

Her startled gaze met his. "My what?"

"Your passion."

"Oh!" He was very aware of how prettily her face flushed this time. "It's, um...well, it's…" She was still looking into his eyes, or maybe he was looking into hers. She seemed to realize it at the same time he did, quickly lowering her lashes as her blush darkened even more. "It's…"

The room exploded.