I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Mr. Wonka is in bed this morning suffering from the aftereffects of hitting Simon's seabreezes too hard after listening to "My Heart will Go On" from the Titantic soundtrack for the fifth time in a row. He started gulping them during a heart (and ear) rending rendition by the crew from Candy Floss productions. Poor baby - Loompa Idol continues tonight!

Warning: Adult content ahead – not for sensitive readers if matter of adult sexual practices offend you. You have been warned!

– Stealth Phoenix

Chapter 22

Over the course of the next week, Willy was only able to see Veronica in glimpses from a distance. She threw herself into the new studio with unsettling dedication bordering on obsession. The Oompa Loompas she came into contact with were prompt in telling their employer what she had said and done.

"She's asking about our traditions," said Sherman the first morning after they had parted.

"Ver-Oni-Ka sat down with the Loremaster to hear our legends." Said Mic-Ka after Veronica had asked for and received permission to visit the chief in the Oompa Loompa village.

Willy had caught sight of her in the Wonkavator that morning as she headed out with a cheap knapsack and grim determination on her face. Dark circles rimmed her eyes and she looked tired.

"She's been interviewing Nei-Vil, Ori-Vil and some of the tribe's original hunters about horn swagglers, swangdoodles, schnozwhangers and our other frightful beasties."

Then there had been a period where she entered the studio and hadn't come out for three days. Monica was frantic with worry. She had taken to leaving trays of food outside the door only to return and find them, uneaten.

"She's asking for samples of the new flavors you developed, shall we give them over?"

Willy took the information with quiet nods and gave his approval when his workers relayed request for supplies. It had been a week since he'd last spoke with her and his heart was heavy. The Oompa Loompas were worried about him – his normally chipper attitude was cracking at the seams.

He'd even had to apologize twice for snapping at folks – once to Charlie who was quick to forgive since he knew the reason, and once to an Oompa Loompa who'd mistakenly added too much lime flavoring to a batch of lollipops Willy was working on. The Oompa Loompa in question had accepted his apology gratefully, but still reported the matter to Mic-Ka. The chief took the words with a heavy heart.

The growing love between Won-Ka and his mate was under much stress from Ver-Oni-Ka's mourning for her lost home, he thought. Mic-Ka had agreed with Sher-Man-Ra that her seeming attachment to the studio as a coping device was unhealthy and her avoidance of Won-Ka threw the secret preparations for the Exodus Ceremony of the Oompa Loompa into turmoil.

All they could do for now was help their employer and friend cope with the loss of his beloved.

She had e-mailed him from her studio, letting him know that the initial design had been scrapped, but her new creation would hold true to the dimensions they'd decided on. Willy felt the sting of rejection with that message, but quickly settled down into a zen acceptance and faith in Veronica, her abilities, and that she would return to him.

Willy made an effort to distract himself by throwing his energy into preparing for Christmas and the Exodus Ceremony. It was really no matter to keep himself busy, showing Charlie the ropes and consulting with the tribe the details and itinerary of the celebrations. Business was thriving with the renewed attention paid to it.

However, very tellingly, Willy did not approach the invention room unless he was supervising Charlie during testing.

He made no effort to create new candies. He had learned the hard way that when his heart wasn't there, the candy he made reflected that. Willy had decided not to inflict test subjects to that particular horror – there was still enough broccoli flavoring to gag a horse. He was patient that the urge would come upon him one again, but for now the days flew by in quick progression.

At night was a completely different matter.

He tossed and turned at night, staring at the stained glass above his head, trying to picture Veronica as she labored over her design. He could picture her, slouched over her desk area with colored pencil working furiously as she sketched, messy hair was falling unnoticed into her eyes and one hand propping her head as she leaned forward. He could almost see her thin scarred hand and they moved with the precision of a surgeon, deftly soldering small pieces together or kneading warm sheets of hot sugar.

He longed for her. It wasn't just her body he craved, but simple conversations – jokes and smiles shared that were better than any cup of hot coffee to start his day. The long rambling talks at the end of the day that delved into philosophy, history and any range of esoteric topics that relaxed him more than anything else.

When Willy was able to sleep, it was not peaceful. He tossed and turned, dreams and nightmares twisting the waking and dream world until at time he had difficulty telling if he was asleep or awake.

His nightmares were of Veronica being kidnapped, only to discover her lifeless body in the courtyard – a man's laughing face mocking him from behind his closed gates, "See! See you fool! I can get her at any time and any place – you or your factory cannot protect her!" Her body seemed so small and fragile – twisted into an unnatural position, pallor grey with lifeless eyes staring accusingly into his own.

Willy would struggle to lung forward, to pick up her lifeless body, to viciously attack the man who mocked him. His body ached with strain, sobs choking his throat and tears blinding his eyes – only to wake up, sweat drenched, his heart pounding with suppressed fear and fury. He would usually arise, throwing himself into the maniac pace of his working life until he could finally exhaust himself into sleep once more.

Nightmares he could understand. It was the others that knocked him for a loop – causing him to snap irritably at everyone due to restless nights.

It was his dreams of Veronica as he danced with her at Reggie and Spencer's wedding, her soft warm body pressing close to his; her sweet smell hanging heavy in his nostrils. She glowed in his arms, her beautiful face smiling up at him with lazy sweet promise in her green-gold eyes. The ivory dress clinging to sweet curves, and she smiled as his hands pulled her close, to press her body into her own.

She tasted like honeysuckle and he eagerly pressed his lips to her own. Their kiss would start out slow and sweet, rising in intensity as he slid his arms around her waist and shoulders to feel her body against his own from chest to knees. He nudged open her soft pink lips and slipped a tentative probe of his tongue into her warm mouth. Veronica responded ardently, her small wet tongue slithering against his own in a sensuous dance of taste and texture. He moaned her name as she glided small butterfly kisses from his lips to his sensitive throat.

Her hair felt like wild silk as he ran his naked hands through her hair, gently encouraging her explorations and laughing at the sensation of her tongue tickling his throat before swooping down to capture her lips once more. Her gently shifting body, so soft and warm caused him to tighten and she whimpered as he nudged against her taunt belly. Their kisses changed, from soft and hesitant, to hotter and more demanding. She seized his head in her hands, running cool white fingers through his thick hair, knocking the hat from his head in her abandon. He caused her to gasp as he kissed his way hotly down the long pale column of her throat and nipped at the strong pulse with his teeth. She threw her head back, eyes closed and groaned as he cradled her, leaning over to kiss further down to the delicate valley between her small breasts.

"Veronica!" he gasped as she ground against him wantonly, and an evil chuckle vibrated against his chin as she reached down to gently caress his growing erection.

Now it was his turn to throw his head back and gasp as her clever fingers made his pants feel too sizes too small. She leaned forward to capture a terribly sensitive ear in between her teeth and growled softly as she suckled mercilessly. His secret spot discovered, his knees nearly buckled and she laughed softly.

"My turn," he murmured as he reached up to cradle her head in his hands before kissing her harshly – his passion making him clumsy. While her lips were engaged, his hands trailed down to outline the soft swells of the small breast that had so taunted him that night in their flimsy casings. Her whimpers caused him to grow harder and he groaned at the sensation. Her nipples were hard against his palm and he paused to explore their texture for a moment, making her pant with arousal. Greatly daring, he slipped the straps from her shoulders to allow the dress to fall away, gracefully starting to reveal her breasts to his hungry eyes…

Willy would always wake up at this point – the frustration of realizing it was just a dream was paired with his embarrassment of waking up with his erection straining the bottoms of his pajamas. Gritting his teeth, he had to close his eyes and try to pick up where he left off in his dream as he reached down to free the encumbered member and bring himself to completion. Thankfully though, after such a session, he would fall into a deep dreamless sleep for a few hours before waking for the day.

He hadn't had this many erotic dreams in almost thirty years. It was bad enough as a teenager; with his mixed feelings about the female form confused with chocolate making – those dreams just left him feeling more confused than anything else. It was a relief when his hormones finally settled down and the dreams vanished – until now.

The anticipation of wondering what was to come next was terrible, but he had promised to keep his distance to let her work – and the reports from his workers cemented her dedication in his mind. It was part of what he admired the most about her. In the mean time, he would just have to grit his teeth and bear it.

Two more weeks to go.

--

Veronica initially ignored the knocking on the studio door – there was a tricky bit of spot welding to be done and she couldn't drop it. "Hang on!" she called, gently using the soldering wand to hold a piece of green-black candy in place. She mentally counted to three and delicately lifted the pressure of her fingers. The piece held. Quickly, she returned the soldering wand to its holder making damn sure it wasn't going to tip over or resting against anything it could burn.

She sat up with a sigh and grabbed the bed sheet acting as a drop cloth she'd taken from her bed and draped it over her work to conceal it from view.

Veronica rose and limped over to the door, stretching sore limbs as she moved. Opening the door, she saw Sherman, dressed in his impeccable charcoal grey suit and natty plum colored tie. "Good Morning, Sherman," she said politely, crossing her arms and bowing. She hid her wince from sore back muscles.

"Actually, it's 'Good Evening'," he corrected. "Would you happen to have a few moments?"

She shot a hesitant glance over her shoulder and decided that her work could wait a few moments. Veronica grabbed the messenger bag she was frankly afraid of leaving any room without, gently took a small long wooden box of highly varnished wood and placed it inside the bag before slinging it across her body. She exited the room and made sure that the door closed firmly behind her.

"We promised Won-Ka that we would not intrude, Ms. Carmichael," Sherman chided, noting her caution.

"It's for your safety more than mine," she lied smoothly. "I've moved some stuff around and don't want anyone to get hurt."

"As you wish," he acknowledged. They walked for a few minutes.

When Veronica had asked to learn more about the Oompa Loompa and their ways, Monica had introduced her to Sherman. She now understood the role he filled as the spiritual leader of the tribe and the position of trust he held as the confidant of the Chocolatier that haunted her thoughts. They had struck up a tentative friendship and now she welcomed the occasional intrusion from the shaman as a short break from her obsessive work. It was one of only two times she ever left the workshop.

"You missed another meal. Monica is concerned," he gently scolded her.

She ducked her head bashfully, "Sorry – I lost track again. If you don't mind, can we grab a sandwich or something I can take in with me?" Her stomach was now announcing its great displeasure at being ignored once again. The pangs were so pronounced, she actually felt mildly nauseated.

"Only if you promise to have some tea with me as well so we can talk," Sherman said.

She agreed and he guided her to a small room that doubled as a kitchen for the workers. She bent from the waist and politely asked the small man for a ham and swiss sandwich, pickle, and mixed crudités. He nodded and as they lingered, a worker balancing a plate on his head with the required items approached. She took it and thanked them for their help – handing each a chocolate-covered espresso bean as a tip. They eagerly took it – her tips had become a widely-sought after delight as the Exodus Ceremony grew closer.

Sherman chuckled at their antics - although they were worried about her relationship with their beloved Won-Ka, she was still widely respected and liked for her efforts to thank the Oompa Loompas in their own manner and customs.

Sherman led the way to his office and she quickly took a seat on the chaise lounge, sitting cross legged with the plate in her lap. "Would you like some?" she asked, biting into the sour pickle.

'No thank you. Would you like some tea?" he offered, putting the kettle on to boil.

"Is this going to be a session?" she asked suspiciously. Veronica had privately admitted to having some problems that she wouldn't mind talking about to a trained psychiatrist, Sherman had cheerfully offered his services. Knowing that Willy trusted him with his deepest secrets made it easy for her to follow with attempts to reveal her own.

"Only if you want it to be – I've got 'Constant Comment' as well," Sherman offered diplomatically.

"No – I need to start working through my issues. I just don't have too much time," she said, chewing her lip in thought for a moment before finishing off her pickle with one savage bite.

Sherman ignored the weak protest and prepared the special tea to help relax her enough to talk without prompting her panic attacks. It had taken two visits before he'd realized what she was suffering from and made efforts to soothe her before they started now. Veronica had grown highly skilled in disguising her weaknesses.

He handed one steaming mug in her size, taking a smaller mug of a different tea for himself. She sipped appreciatively before setting the mug down to nibble on her sandwich.

"Last time we spoke, you told me of your panic attacks. Have you determined what triggered them as we discussed?" Sherman asked, noting her appetite had dropped off when confronted with talking about her problems.

"Yes. When I get too overworked or stressed. I also notice they tend to happen when…"she fiddled with her food and blushed, "…when I...um, get aroused or worked up…in that way."

It had cost her a large chunk of pride to admit that.

"I see – emotional surges, then. How are these elements connected?" Sherman asked, sipping his own tea. He maintained a casual body position, and his apparent ease with the topic set her at ease as well. After all, she was talking to someone from a culture who ran around half naked in a jungle, how could she be embarrassed.

"It started…after…" she set the plate down and grabbed the mug, taking a large swallow to gather her courage to talk about her past.

"It started after the attack. The panic attacks happen as a result of what went through when I was in college." She whispered, staring into the wisps of steam. The tea started to set in and she could feel the trembling muscles on the verge of full lock-up relax.

"Is this something that you feel comfortable telling me?" Sherman asked, in a low soothing voice.

"No, I never want to talk about it again. But what I want and what I need are two separate things," she said, her eyes at half-mast and breathing slow and steady. Speaking of things she both wanted and needed…

"I have something for you to pass on to Willy for me," she said in a sleepy voice. She reached down to her bag and pulled out the polished wooden box to set on the table next to the chaise lounge. "Would you please give this to him? It's important."

"Of course. Now make yourself comfortable – we may be a while. Whatever is waiting for you back in your studio can wait. This is the most important thing right now," said Sherman hypnotically, his deep voice low and soothing, like being wrapped in a warm blanket after walking exposed through a blizzard.

Veronica drank back the rest of the tea and swung her legs up to rest reclined on the couch.

"Now. Let's start from the beginning, tell me about the young college student named Veronica Carmichael…"

She spoke for a long time. The tea managed to flatten her emotional tone down so it felt more like relaying the plot of a rather involved movie rather than the emotional nightmare it was. After relaying the information for the first time, she felt rather relieved. She had managed to get through it without collapsing! Sherman asked a few questions and she answered them as honestly and openly as possible – her embarrassment and humiliation a simple nagging background noise rather than the shrieking cacophony it usually was.

Veronica was drifting off to sleep as she felt the softness of a blanket drawn up over her. With great effort, she opened her eyes to regard the tiny man. Sherman had an expression of sadness and infinite compassion on his face, "Rest."

"Thank you," she slurred, her eyes drifting close and she fell asleep for the first time in three days.

Sherman patted her hand before moving away to take the case and quietly leave the room.

There was a pair of Oompa Loompas moving down the hall talking animatedly with each other. Sherman reached out to snag the arm of one. They gave him their immediate and full attention.

"Have someone watch the door. Ver-Oni-Ka is finally resting and will want to return to her studio as soon as she awakens. We'll need to bring her some breakfast – coffee and plain toast and a pre-packaged sandwich to take with her before escorting her back. I need to go deliver this to Won-Ka before speaking with Mic-Ka." Sherman ordered.

The two men shot a startled look at one another before nodding and bowing. They took up stations on either side of the door to act as tiny honor guards in bright yellow jumpsuits.

Sherman hurried down the hall to Willy's office. He had been ensconced within all day, working – or so he claimed. Sherman knocked twice before an unusually gruff voice said, "Come in."

Willy's hat was on the statue of William Shakespeare again. His jacket was off and hung on the coat rack along with his usual cane. The man himself sat behind the cluttered desk. He looked tired and slightly disheveled. There was a five-o'clock shadow coloring his pale cheeks and Willy looked up from his paperwork, running on hand through his hair to make it fly up even more. "Hey Sherman!" he said wearily, "Just finishing up the accounts. I remember why I usually avoid doing this now."

"I managed to pry Ms. Carmichael out of her studio," Sherman announced. Willy brightened considerably and stood up to come around the desk. The tiny man climbed into a seat and the taller man perched on the edge of the desk, "And? How did she look? What did she say? Did she ask about me?"

Sherman held up a hand, silently asking for forbearance. Willy halted his questions with great effort and waited.

"I managed to get some food into her. She was able to take me into her confidence," Sherman said.

"And?"

"I cannot share with you what she confided. I give her the same courtesy that I grant you. She took tea and fell asleep at the end of our session – I believe she'll be out for a few hours," Sherman replied, watching the Chocolatier fidget.

"However, I can tell you that you weigh heavily on her mind and she works hard to free herself of the constraints that keep her from exploring the possibility of a relationship with you."

Willy smiled a bit sadly at that.

"Ver-Oni-Ka is an amazingly strong woman. Her perseverance is to be admired and cherished. When the time is right she wishes to share with you what she had shared with me this evening. Only then can you make your decision on whether or not to court her."

Willy was silent. He already knew the answer to that!

"She greatly admires you and misses you too Won-Ka. Have patience."

Sherman offered the wooden box.

"What's this?" he asked, taking the box from the Oompa Loompa.

"Ms. Carmichael asked me to bring this to you. She said it was important."

Willy opened the box to see a strange assortment of flowers and plants within. It took closer inspection to realize that they were made of candy – finer than any he'd made.

There was a pink carnation, a deep red rose – just beginning to flower with shades of orange and peach streaking the leaves, a sprig of rosemary, an oak leaf and some strange flowering plant it took a moment for him to recall – celandine.

He puzzled over the assortment for a moment before a wide smile creased his face. He turned to dive across the desk, lunging for the computer terminal, falling across to crash on the floor on the other side in his haste. Willy's smile never faltered.

"What is this?" Sherman asked wondered, watching the taller man with concern. Had he finally snapped?

"It's a riddle – and a message." Willy said, fingers flying across the keyboard.

Something came up on the screen and the blue-green glow made Willy's pale skin and stubble look ghastly. But the light in his violet eyes was livelier than ever before.

"She's saying, 'Have patience and strength, for I love and desire you. Good things are to come'," He said, throwing back his head and crowing with delight.

"You get this from assorted shrubbery?" Sherman asked, amazed? "How do you know this?"

Willy was dancing around the desk. "The Victorian language of flowers, my friend."

Sherman could only shake his head in disbelief – Willy ignored him and continued his victory dance.

"Thank you, Sherman. Have I told you lately how good you really are?" Willy pranced over, gave the small hand a hearty shake and bolted out heading for the invention room.

He had candy to make!