I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. Negotiations are ongoing with the Oompa Loompas for work in exchange for chocolate-covered espresso beans. Mr. Turpik-Ra indicates however, they are also willing to reduce the amount of beans in exchange for cases of Red Bull and a shot on, "America's Best Dance Team." What hell hath Willy Wonka wrought? – Stealth Phoenix

Chapter 10

The next two weeks flew by – marked by long hours and daily teleconferences that stretched into the wee hours of the morning. Both individuals gradually relaxed enough to start calling each other by their first names and gradually a light flirting tone colored their conversations.

--

"I'm working on an additive to make the sugar more flexible – frankly, the shatter rate for most of these designs are heinous." She'd explained, breathless with the speed of which the words were pouring out of her."

"I'd be shattered if we got it there, only to have it break before we could present it," Willy said, shooting a rubber band at Charlie off-screen.

"Yes, it would be a shitter if it shattered." She fired back.

"Indeed, it would be a shitter if it shattered because it shuddered while shuttered. The shatter wouldn't have mattered if we'd have considered the batter better." Willy drawled, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

"You win."

--

Discussing the project soon led to other topics. Movies, books, music, pet peeves – all were common ground for sharing and arguing over. Willy mentioned candy in the making and she would mention updates on Reggie and Spencer. Willy found the relationship with her brother and his lover fascinating, and was secretly envious of that kind of devotion. He also found his spirits uplifted by Veronica's sly sense of humor and witty repartee.

--

"Honestly, does it really matter if a white dress is present if neither one of the people getting married is female?" she complained, not for the first time.

"What's the rationale, again?" Willy asked.

"Bad luck. As the token female in the ceremony, why should I have to wear the dress?"

"Because you would look better in it than either of them?"

"Yes, but Spencer's got better legs than I do – I've been telling him to wear the bloody dress."

"Even though I've never met them, I shudder at that particular thought."

"I have met them, and I still do."

"Ew."

--

Charlie found time to visit Veronica every couple of days on his way from school and she made sure to have enough treats on-hand (other than candy) that a teenage boy could find appealing. He quickly found himself as courier for the two plotting confectioners. He delivered samples of flavorings that Veronica would work into samples to be sent back to Willy at the factory.

It was Charlie's idea of making the structure more of a 3-D image than either of the two beleaguered candy-makers. The young man quickly programmed in a simulation on the computer of what he meant and the stunned silence on both ends of the communication was more than gratifying.

"Okay Charlie, you definitely earned a cookie on this one." Willy had said in an admiring voice.

--

It was during the second visit to the working kitchen that Veronica was showing Willy some of the properties of her special sugar recipe that she had recently developed that allowed her to manipulate it at a lower temperature. They were molding the pieces like play dough.

Willy rolled a head and placed it on a spindly body, "I've got some flavoring issues I need to bring up – I'm not sure what we've thought up so far is going to work."

Veronica finished her 'dove in flight' and placed it down on the counter with a thump – then took malicious glee mashing it back into a ball, "We've eliminated cinnamon, peppermint, coffee, toffee, berry, banana, vanilla and now chocolate. There's no way in hell I'm going to use broccoli – no matter how much you say you have left over. What's left?"

"I'm not sure some of those are actually out – I'm thinking of a combination. Charlie came up with a good one the other day - coffee/toffee/chocolate."

"Good lord. Getting the proportions right on that would be a nightmare. Not something I can do on this end."

"Yeah, I know. I'll have to blend it at the factory – I'm not sure, but I think they're starting to suspect something."

"You should probably just tell them we're having a flaming love affair – that would explain the long hours over here and the time we spend talking," she regarded her lump discerningly and poked it with one long finger.

"How about a rich red-brown with highlights of purple to compliment the flavor?" she asked.

Silence.

She looked up when he failed to answer. The Chocolatier was frozen mid-movement, violet eyes wide and unseeing at the figurine in his hands, "Willy?"

Willy was lost in thought. A love affair? Contrasting feelings careened wildly in his stomach and chest. He had realized that she was an attractive woman – he'd be blind if he didn't – and that their working relationship had relaxed into something he'd be willing to classify as friendship. But love? He had to admit that the thought had some appeal, but fear was also a powerful motivator.

The isolated man was subject to ancient and powerful forces battling each other–otherwise known as the head and well…not the heart, but somewhat lower and peripherally involved. His baser instincts howled to life and Willy's head was horrified by the trains of thoughts careening wildly through his mind. Somehow a heavy base beat porn soundtrack floated through his head adding a nightmare dimension to it all.

Willy slowly returned to reality to feel the object of his thoughts yanking on his coat sleeve.

"Are you there? Should I leave a message? Tap once for yes, twice for no, or three times for more hot chocolate." Veronica was becoming alarmed at his pale features, well, more pale than normal.

"Sorry – just something you said took me off guard." Willy said quietly. He rose to his feet and paced nervously.

"About the love affair? I do apologize – I didn't mean to offend you. I overstepped boundaries and I'm sorry." She was saddened and embarrassed. Willy was a wonderful friend and employer – she had enjoyed their time together. "If it makes you feel better, I'll make up some story about being involved with a long-distance boyfriend named Raoul who's doing charity work in the Congo – only he would have to be devoured by savage flesh-eating monkeys after getting ambushed by rebels."

"Actually, it's a great idea."

He glanced at her shocked face, "I mean, telling the Oompa Loompas that we're seeing each other. A grand all-encompassing love affair – although it wouldn't be true. It's just work. You're just a working friend. Not that you're unattractive or anything – because you're quite beautiful – I would be so lucky. I mean, if we were…like that…but it's not, so it isn't."

He sputtered to a stop and blushed.

"Okay. I'm going to be merciful enough to stop you there before you dig yourself in any deeper. If I were a mean woman, I'd leave you to dangle," she smirked at the disconcerted Chocolatier. "I do understand what you mean, and I appreciate your friendship." Veronica was laughing at the frantic expression on the man's face. This was too priceless.

He relaxed and assumed his abandoned seat. "Oh. Good!"

"…For a price." She smirked at him.

For a moment, Willy regarded her, studying her features with a serious expression and an air of disappointment around him. She grew uneasy under his gaze. "What? Did my make-up rub off? The bruise is nearly gone, just yellowish…"

"What is the price for your silence?" He asked in a low voice, his eyes shuttered, tone flat.

Veronica suddenly realized what he must have thought and gasped in alarm. She was ashamed of herself for manipulating the velvet-clad man like this – teasing him on a sensitive topic. Especially after what he had revealed about his life and what was held near and dear to his heart. She'd never betray that trust!

"Willy, no! Nothing like that! I just need a favor from you. Reggie and Spencer are going through with the bonding ceremony next weekend. I was wondering if you would be my date."

The butterflies were back and fluttering madly. Secret hope flared in his heart and his...not heart purred in satisfaction. Was she really interested? Willy had feared the worst when she asked for a price – memories of nearly losing his factory and his secrets still deeply scarred his psyche. He was relieved at her words, but still in turmoil about what she was asking.

"Date?! You want me…I mean you and me…together…out?

"If you're not comfortable, that's alright, I'll go solo. I just thought that since you were making such good strides coming out of the factory, this might be a good stepping stone," she was starting to babble, desperate to smooth over the situation.

"It won't mean anything beyond two friends having fun at a party – I know they'd be tickled to death..."

"How many people? I hate big crowds." Willy frowned at her.

Sensing weakness, she continued, "Only about 25 or so – all friends of Spencer and Reggie's from the theater district – you're going to fit in just fine. There's a chance that one or two celebrities that have stayed in touch might be there so they're hiring security for the event. Absolutely no press, I promise."

Willy waffled. He pondered the matter – still studying her face. Veronica was biting her lip in apprehension, brows creased in concern. He found his attention returning again and again to those small white teeth worrying the flesh of her mouth – the succulent, pink flesh…

Jerking his eyes to hers, he nodded suddenly, "Alright. I'll do it. But I want a promise that I'm not going into a hostage situation. If I want to leave after an hour, no guilt trips. Promise?" He glared at her sternly.

"Promise! Thank you Willy." Her hazel eyes lit up in pleasure and Willy found himself turning to his project in self-defense. If she knew the hold that she was developing on him…

"Now – the colors…"

--

Victor had a throbbing headache. The cause was primarily from the overindulgence of champagne at a cocktail party the night before, but it was aggravated by one person…

…Veronica Carmichael.

He snapped at an associate chef in the kitchen and the man skittered away as if whipped. Victor was to be avoided at all costs when he was like this. Rumor had it that a former souse-chef from Japan had committed seppuku when he had unwittingly popped his head into Victor's office during an episode and had his dignity shredded with blisteringly accurate personal insults.

Victor stalked the kitchen, looking for further victims. How had she managed to land such a lucrative contact with Willy Wonka of all people? The money he had personally lost for hosting that stupid holiday party for the former owners of her building was a small price to pay for such important information. The fact that the elusive Chocolatier had bought out the building just so he could renovate the building for her purposes…

…utterly galling.

The little tramp had probably salivated at the opportunity to get such a powerful man under her thumb. She hadn't fallen to his charms because she was already eyeing the bigger prize.

Victor noticed that a container of chives hadn't been replaced properly and was sitting open on a countertop without anyone nearby. In fury he flung the offending container across the room to smash into the while tiled wall.

"Who the fuck left that there? I will not tolerate sloppiness in this kitchen," he bellowed.

People scattered. Smoke breaks, sudden bathroom stops, or just plain running for the hills ensured that Victor was left alone for the moment. Satisfied that everyone knew their place, he stomped into his office and slammed the door.

There was no way in hell he was letting that snide little bitch get away with this. Willy Wonka should have approached someone more worthy of the honor – like him.

Motivated with the thought of revenge he lifted the phone and dialed an all-too familiar number.

"Jake's body shop," answered a tired male voice.

"Jake? It's Victor." He leaned back and put his croc-clad feet up on the desk.

"Vic! Long time, no call. How's the business?" Jake laughed.

"Pretty good for a kid from Hell's kitchen. Did you like that last case of crab puffs?"

"Loved it man! Could also do with some of those pepper and cheese stuffed portabellas that you had last year. My wife loved those."

Victor smiled; Jake was right where he needed him, "I'll be glad to Fed-Ex some over before the weekend. How's business in the body shop?"

Jake, aware in the change in Victor's tone said evasively, "Doing okay – you have some business for me?"

"Might. I've got an associate with issues. Remember Veronica?"

"The hot red-head with the smoking bod? Oh, man! Do I remember her…"

"She's got some problems that need to get hammered out."

"Really? Well I might be able to fit her in. Is she going to be really picky about how I fix her up?"

"I don't think so. She just needs some body work and maybe a tune-up."

He could hear Jake sigh in anticipation, "Bodywork, huh? How about sometime in the next two weeks?"

"Sure."

"I'm not sure what to charge you for this one. I've been thinking about her for a long time."

"You'll be doing her a favor. Consider the portabellas a nice tip on top of the tab. I'll even throw in a case of nice Chablis."

"You're the best Vic! Talk to ya later."

"Later, dude!" Victor hung up, satisfied that Jake would handle business.

--

Three o'clock in the morning – why was it always 3 a.m.? Veronica wondered to herself as she was jerked awake from yet another nightmare. She laid in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as she felt the cold sweat dry on her body and her heart rate return to normal. She swung her legs to the floor and sunk her head into her hands, her seawreck of tangled hair hanging around her face, sticking to the back of her neck.

She painfully pulled herself to her feet, muscles complaining at the effort. She felt like she'd been running a marathon while carrying a body – such was the exhaustion that washed over her. Veronica staggered into the bathroom to gulp the glass of water sitting by the sink.

Her stomach knotted suddenly and the hot taste of acidic bile filled the back of her throat. Warning received, she suddenly lurched for the toilet and threw up noisily.

After a few painful dry heaves, the urge subsided and she sank to sit by the side of the toilet, resting her head on folded arms.

This had been going on for years. Panic attacks, nausea, nightmare-ridden sleep. All the signs of post-traumatic stress syndrome for the event she had tried so desperately to push to the back of her mind – to forget.

Veronica turned and stretched a weak arm to the sink where the glass of water sat. She forced herself to sip the liquid, washing away the foul taste and hydrating her dry throat and mouth. She swirled the remaining amount in her mouth and spat it into the toilet before flushing the mess away.

Shaking, she managed to climb to her feet to look into the mirror. Grey complexion, dark circles around her eye, only emphasized more on the side where the remains of her black eye were fading. Her eyes looked dead - the glassy stare of a junkie making the color flat institutional-shade beige. Her hair was the only splash of color and it was lank and lifeless. God, what a mess.

"You're a real beauty, you are," she cooed sarcastically to her reflection.

The nightmares had faded to once or twice a month until she started working for Willy Wonka. Then over the past week alone, they had flared up until she was getting a couple of hours of sleep a night. Even that wasn't restful – dark dreams, memories and fantasy mixing to ensure that she felt stretched to her snapping point.

The dream always started the same way. Sensual wandering hands in a safe setting, her bath, bed or while she was working in the kitchen – skirting fingers delicately inflaming her. Veronica had never really seen any details of her mystery lover until this week, when she finally managed to glimpse out of the corner of her eye the source of the tantalizing touches.

They were slim hands in purple latex gloves gently skimming the sides of her breasts.

It was usually at this point when things went to hell. The hands were suddenly grasping, pinching, prodding painfully. She would find her limbs immobilized, terror seizing her throat making it impossible to scream.

Suddenly, the face would appear – Marcus.

His tall broad body would be overblown in terrifying proportions – looming over her like some terrible mountain. Cruel blue eyes gleamed like scalpels at her – his toy ready for him to play with until she broke.

Then she was naked, bound to the table – ankles and wrist chapped, joints aching from uncomfortable positions for far too long – and Marcus would be approaching with the poker, the tip glowing like a gleam in Satan's eye.

It was usually at this point she'd wake up screaming.

Veronica considered herself a bright woman. She knew that her growing attraction to her employer was mixed up with whatever hang-ups about sex as a results of Marcus's treatment. It was her burden to carry, and she considered it a price for surviving – one she gladly paid every night.

Her conversation with Willy this evening was obviously haunting her. His agreement to be her date to Reggie's wedding surprised her. Judging by his expression – it had surprised him as well. The rest of the evening had faded back into the comfortable camaraderie that was growing between them – but every now and then Veronica had caught him considering her with a speculative gleam in his eye.

Irritated, she splashed water on the mirror in the face of her reflection. Don't complicate things for yourself – life is tough enough she chided herself. She splashed cold water on her sunken features and returned to bed, ready for the moment to try and get more sleep.

Crawling back into cool sheets, she curled up on her side, hugging the pillow close to her body. She still craved touch, comfort, but couldn't allow anyone close enough to provide it. Veronica closed her eyes and smiled bitterly. Besides, imagination is usually much better than reality – much safer.

Still, as she drifted back to sleep, What would it be like to have a warm body spooned comfortingly around hers, cradling her through the night?

…warm velvet - a firm chest - pressing against her cheek…

…and smelling of warm peanuts.

She slept.