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. The quote from "South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut" belong to Matt Stone and Trey Parker.

Sometimes I forget the culture the Oompa Loompas come from. Tupik-Ra was asking me about American politics and the concepts behind the presidential election. After explaining campaigning and debates and the resulting smear campaigns against each other, he asked, 'Why don't they just have an actual fight to the finish? Anyone willing to draw and shed their personal blood for their ideals is a better leader than one who just talks about it." Now that is something I'd like to see – DeathMatch! McCain vs. Obama – Stealth Phoenix

Chapter 49

Willy came around a few minutes later. It was with some astonishment that he realized that his eyes were already open and he finally was registering what was going on around him. Several Oompa Loompas were gathered around him, varying expressions of worry and concern on their tiny faces.

Dev-On was shining a pen light into his eyes.

"Ow…stop that," Willy groaned, swatting at the painful light. His head ached, but the nausea was gone, so he braced himself to sit up slowly. He was still on the floor in the hallway.

"Careful now. You gave yourself a good goose egg on the back of your skull. We're going to have to keep an eye on you tonight," Dev-On said, lending his weight to help Willy sit upright.

Taking a few steadying breaths, he rubbed the back of his neck and tested the knot, "How long was I out?"

"A few minutes. I think you need to take it easy for the next couple of hours, Won-Ka," the healer said unconvincingly.

Dev-On sighed, why did he even bother saying it anymore? His employer had knocked himself out more times than he cared to count and was bouncing around within a few minutes of regaining consciousness.

Willy furrowed his brow, blinking rapidly – he was thinking about something important. He's just come to some conclusion when he slipped. Now what was it…?

"Did we get the gobstoppers cleaned up? Anyone else hurt?" he asked absently, pulling himself slowly to his feet and fumbling with his hat and cane. He placed the hat on, winced as it rested against the bump, and adjusted it to sit a bit lower on his forehead than normal to get it off the back of his throbbing skull.

"Just a few bumps and bruises. We've already got the mess cleaned up and provided bandages to whoever needed them, "Dev-On said cheerfully. He was glad to see Won-Ka back on his feet.

Bandages…?

…Spencer and Reggie!

Willy gasped as he remembered what he had figured out to help the two men.

"Doc! I need your help. Veronica's brother, Reggie, and his partner Spencer are in the hospital. I think they're going to need a little pick-me-up to help them out." He said intently, kneeling down to meet the eyes of the diminutive physician.

"What kind of injuries are we talking about?" Dev-on asked thoughtfully.

Willy relayed the information that Veronica had provided.

Dev-On tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I see where you're going, but the formula now won't work for those purposes."

"I know – I was getting ready to head down to collect my notes from Mic-Ka when I fell." Willy admitted.

"I'll head back to the lab and see what I can come up with, join me there and we'll see if we can come up with something to help those two," Dev-On said decisively.

"Groovy. Excuse me…gotta blast." Willy said as he stood and strode for the Wonkavator, suppressing the remaining dizziness and blinding headache that assaulted him with the movement. People were depending him even if they didn't know it yet.

And he'd do anything to help wipe the disappointment from Veronica's eyes.

--

It was dark.

The steady beeps and hiss of the machines were soothing to her ears in this quiet womb-like atmosphere that pervaded the room.

Veronica opened her eyes and sat up from where she slouched next to Spencer's bed to glance at the clock. It was 4 a.m. and there was no movement from the figures in the beds. The lights were off and only one dim lamp behind the bed provided any illumination.

Spencer's head had been shaved, bandages covering the incision the doctor's had made to relieve the swelling on his brain. His normally handsome features were bloated and swollen, more bandages covering the left side of his face where the doctors had pieced the shattered pieces of his cheek and eye socket back together. Tubes running into his nose and down his throat to breath for him covered what little unmarked skin was left. His right leg, encased in its thick plaster cast poked up awkwardly from under the blankets and was braced from a hanging sling

His limp hand was clasped weakly in hers and she stroked her thumb across his knuckles, trying not to jar the IV dripping nutrients and saline into his veins.

Reggie made a noise from the next bed and she used the rolling stool to scoot over to tend to him. Gently reaching up to stroke his matted hair, she made a soothing noise and he drifted back into sleep. He had awoken from surgery briefly, but his confusion and inability to grasp what she was telling him told her that he wasn't really "there." He had fallen asleep mid-sentence as he asked her for a third time where Spencer was. IVs snaked from his hand as well – the bag had been changed little less than an hour ago under Veronica's watchful eye.

Tears leaked out of her eyes at her feeling of overwhelming helplessness. The only thing she'd been able to do was insist that they get the same hospital room. Even that had been more a matter of chance than anything she had actually done.

She watched his battered face, eyes blackened, nose braced and taped and lips split and swollen, trying to see if he was trying to resurface to consciousness. But he just took a deep painful breath and fell into deeper sleep.

Veronica stood and stretched her tired muscles. Sitting in one place on such an emotional tightrope was burning her out. She was used to activity, movement – but sitting in limbo waiting for one or both of them to awaken was torturous. She decided to walk down the hall to the machine to get another cheap cup of bad coffee in a flimsy cup with yet another stupid hand of poker on it.

As she walked down the hall, she veered off into the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face. She turned on the water and doused herself with several handfuls before looking at her reflection in the ghastly fluorescent lighting. Accusing eyes stared back.

This is your fault. Reggie faces a long painful road to recovery and a possible life without Spencer because of you.

The emotional dam finally broke and suddenly furious, she screamed and violently threw the wad of paper towels at the white tile wall. Crying in frustration, rage and distress, she flung toilet paper, punched the paper towel dispenser and savagely kicked at the trash can – denting it satisfyingly before sliding down to crouch sobbing.

Why Reggie and Spencer? Why hurt them? She begged of God in her mind. Why wasn't Willy strong enough to stand by her side when she needed him the most?

What was it about her that invoked Marcus and now Victor to despise her so much that they had been driven to monstrous actions against her and those she loved?

It was so unfair!

She indulged her emotional distress for a long time. Unlike her panic attacks that were mindless, reactionary fits, this was pure soul-blackening guilt that drove her.

By the time she subsided, her butt was numb, her throat sore and clogged and her eyes actually hurt with the amount of tears shed. Veronica sat back and sighed, she had reached a state of numbness.

Climbing back to her feet, she tidied the bathroom of her hissy fit with an air of embarrassment. She hurriedly turned the trash can so the dent faced the wall, it still listed to one side slightly, but she was hoping no one would attribute the damage to the noise she'd made.

Thank God no one saw that. I was acting like a child. I'm too old for tantrums; I don't know what came over me.

Sniffling, she blew her nose and sneered at her reflection, not daring to meet her own eyes again. She exited the bathroom, glancing to see if anyone had heard her. No one had judging by the quiet halls and the low-level of noise coming from the nursing station.

Veronica collected the coffee from the machine. She fumbled with it for a moment, the thin paper not muting the scalding heat of the liquid in the slightest. Slurping a few centimeters to get the level down to something she could carry, she started back toward the ICU room.

Veronica saw the scrub clad figure slip into the room before her. She trotted up, anxious to be there while either one of them were examined to find out the progress.

She paused outside the room to watch the figure, head covered by a surgical cap, surgical gown covering dark pants and mask across his mouth take a hypodermic needle out of his pocket. Cold terror seized her at the sight.

This was wrong – way wrong.

The doctors who had approached her earlier only wore regular scrubs, why was this one masked? Neither Reggie nor Spencer was due for any more painkillers or injections – the nurse had just checked them less than an hour ago.

Whoever this was, he wasn't a real doctor!

Realizing there was no time to call for help before this person could harm Spencer or her brother in their weakened state, she stepped into the room.

"Hey!" she snapped. When the figure whirled toward her, she flung the scalding liquid into his face.

He screamed, dropping the needle onto the bed. Not giving herself the time to be frightened, she shoved as hard as she could. The man tripped over the rolling stool she'd been holding vigil on and crashed to the floor.

Veronica whirled and bolted to the door, taking a deep breath to scream for help.

"Veronica, wait!" cried the man.

She froze, I know that voice. The man's wide violet eyes regarded her in alarm.

"Willy?"

He pushed himself to an upright position on the floor and pulled down the surgical mask to confirm that, it was indeed him.

"Oh, dear God! I'm so sorry! Are you alright?" she said, helping Willy stand and take a seat on the stool that had incapacitated him.

She turned on one of the overhead lights to inspect the damage to the Chocolatier. Bright red splotches against his fair skin trailed down across one side of his forehead and neck, damp spots indicated where the coffee had landed.

"It's okay – nothing I haven't done to myself before," Willy said, grinning at the stricken expression on her face. "Just another lump for the collection. You know you're pretty handy with that stuff – was there a course of self-defense specializing in deadly use of hot invigorating beverages?"

"I thought you were someone trying to kill Reggie and Spencer," Veronica said defensively, handing him an over-bleached washcloth to clean himself up with.

"I'm not. Really! I just came by with something to help them heal a little faster."

Veronica's breath caught in her throat.

"Do you mean…?" she whispered, looking around suspiciously as if the walls had suddenly grown ears.

He nodded. Turning to pick up the syringe with latex-gloved hands.

"But you'll get caught! A miraculous recovery will just bring more questions…" she whispered to him frantically. Veronica was torn between wild hope and fear of discovery.

"Relax. I worked with Dev-On to develop a weaker version so that their recovery won't be quite as fast as yours, but still pretty darned quick," he said cheerfully, removing the cap and injecting the clear solution into Reggie's IV port. "Not to mention it will ensure they do recover," he said darkly, watching to ensure the precious fluid flowed in properly.

Wonkavite.

Willy pulled another syringe and did the same to Spencer's IV.

He re-capped the needles and returned them to the pocket of the surgical gown. No need to leave evidence of his visit after all.

Willy turned to see Veronica hugging herself, watching him apprehensively.

"There. By tomorrow morning, the Docs will come in and find that their injuries were not as extensive as they'd first thought. Reggie will be up and around in a few days. Spencer, once they knock off the drugs, will come out fit as a fiddle," he assured her.

Studying each other, they stood in silence for a moment before she moved toward him and he reflexively gathered her in his arms, taking comfort in a harsh situation from each other.

The tears that Veronica thought she had exhausted started slipping unheeded down her cheeks once again and she sniffled noisily into his shoulder.

"It's alright. I've got you. Let it out," Willy whispered gently, feeling her tremble with the repressed emotion.

"I already did in the bathroom, I think this is just fall out. Please, just hold me for a moment," She said tremulously, clutching him even tighter.

Willy wasn't about to let her go. He guided her back toward the rolling stool and took a seat, pulling her to sit comfortably on his lap while the tears streamed down her cheeks. He leaned his cheek against her soft hair and simply rocked, lulling himself with her warm weight and the gentle smell that followed her.

He wiped the tears from her cheeks with a soft thumb and she caught his hand with hers, regarding the limb with wry humor.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"Only you would manage to find the one place where wearing latex gloves is the norm," Veronica said, her eyes still red from crying, but her expression clearing.

He snorted and kissed the top of her head, "Mine are much more fashionable."

Willy turned his attention to the two incapacitated men. They looked so still and lifeless with their drab white hospital gowns and pale faces. Their vivid personalities had made them so much larger than life that when unconscious he was startled to discover how small they seemed.

"I'm so sorry this happened," he said softly to them.

"Me too. I'm glad you came though," she replied. "I feel better knowing you're here with me."

"Nothing would have kept me away voluntarily," he said, wincing as he thought of his injury. She didn't need to know about that.

There was a knock on the door, but before they could react, a nurse walked in. She stopped cold at the sight of the two of them in an embrace on the stool regarding her with equal shock.

"Visiting hour are from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir." She said briskly.

"He's family," Veronica said, shooting a warning look at Willy as he started to let her go to stand.

The nurse raised an eyebrow, "Really? Why is he wearing a surgical gear?"

"I don't want to contaminate anything? I heard that 85 percent of hospital infections are transferred in the first 48 hours, so I'm taking precautions," Willy offered quickly.

The nurse snorted, but held her tongue while she took the readings from the unconscious Spencer and sleeping Reggie.

She noted the numbers on her clipboard before returning her dour stare at the couple, "Listen here, Mr. Wonka. You may take me for an idiot, but I'm not. I'll let you pass as a family member for now, but don't try to pull my leg or steal hospital equipment. Understand?"

Intimidated by her demeanor, Willy saluted, 'Yes, Ma'am!"

The nurse sniffed, satisfied that her warning had been received, "Besides, that disguise fools no one."

She turned her attention to Veronica, still perched in Willy's lap, "And you…I told you hours ago to go home and get some rest. We'll notify you if there's a significant change in their conditions. You'll do no one any good if you don't take care of yourself first."

Veronica found herself cowed by the authority in the nurse's voice and nodded.

The nurse nodded in satisfaction and left the room, firmly closing the door behind her.

"Thank you Nurse Ratchett," came a weak voice.

"Reggie!" Veronica gasped, throwing herself off Willy's lap to her brother's bed.

Reggie was awake – his swollen eyes looked blearily up at them.

"Good God, were you my doctor?" he asked looking at Willy confused by the surgical gear.

"Yes. I'm sorry Kenny, but we had to replace your heart with a baked potato," Willy said in a mournful voice.

Veronica grinned while Reggie chuckled painfully, "I never should have lent you that movie."

"Don't make him laugh, it hurts," Veronica admonished Willy.

"Where's Spencer? What's going on?" Reggie asked painfully.

"Spencer's in the next bed. He's being kept under to let himself heal a bit," she said tactfully.

Reggie tried to lean up to see for himself, but cried out at the movement.

Willy pressed him back with a gentle hand, "Ease up there, Cowboy. You've been through surgery yourself and shouldn't be jumping around too much or you'll shake something loose."

Reggie gasped a bit and closed his eyes. He was so silent that Veronica thought he'd fallen back asleep again, so she jumped when he spoke, "Did you talk to Cavenaugh yet? Did he say anything about the attack?"

"Just that they were looking into the matter. Reggie, you need to rest. You're safe here." She said quickly.

Reggie sighed, "This sucks."

Then he fell back asleep.

Veronica kissed him gently on the head before turning off the light, plunging the room back into the comforting darkness.

"Let me take you home. You're exhausted and stressed. Spencer probably won't wake until morning anyway and you'll be here bright and early," Willy said, draping one arm across her shoulders to nudge her toward the door.

She paused, giving the injured men one more look before nodding. Reggie had been a lot more aware of his surroundings this time around and she sensed that what she told him had actually been adsorbed. They left the room, closing the door quietly behind them.

Willy paused outside a door marked 'storage' and removed the cap and started untying the surgical gown.

"C…can I still stay with you at the factory?" she asked in a small voice, hating herself for even asking.

So much for Ms. Independent, she sneered angrily at herself.

"Of course," Willy said graciously, removing the gown and depositing it in the appropriate container. He opened the door and collected his coat, hat and cane concealed among the stacks of sheets, gowns and towels. He pulled them on, smiling slightly, "You need the sleep and I want to be there to ensure that you get it."

Troubled at the thought of not being able to go about a normal task like sleeping without his help, she frowned.

"What's the matter?" he asked, tilting his head curiously at her expression.

Too exhausted and mentally beat to explain her irrational feelings, she sighed and pushed her growing need for autonomy aside for the greater need of sleep and emotional comfort for the moment.

"Nothing I can talk about rationally right now. Ask me again tomorrow," she said tiredly.

Willy nodded, his violet eyes concerned. She was growing distant, and he couldn't understand why. He was consumed with the need to take care of her, to banish her worries and cares, to finally see her care-free and happy. But she seemed to be slipping further and further away.

Believe me, he thought, I will be asking.

Tomorrow.