Disclaimer: I own nothing. At all. Nothing. Not even the pebbles on the ground these people walk on. Not mine. Nope.
"I can't thank you enough, Charlie!"
Charlie Bucket tilted his head to one side, frowning. He was face-to-face with Willy, who looked flustered, amazed, confused, and horrified at the same time. To any other person, this would seem like a feat, but to the people who knew Willy Wonka, this was completely normal. Willy was a man of many emotions, let alone complex ones. It may have seemed that he had few emotions, but—as young Charlie recently found out—it was quite the opposite.
"What, exactly, did I do, Mr. Wonka?" he asked, looking directly into Willy's face, seeing if he could find out what happened just by searching his face.
Willy gained a giggly look. He looked around, making sure no one was listening, and then he said, in a low whisper, "I met someone." He held one hand up to his own mouth daintily, as if he had made a sly mistake.
Charlie's eyebrows shot up. "You met someone? What does that—?"
"He's very handsome, Charlie."
"Oh." Charlie's eyes widened. "You're thanking me? I haven't even met—"
"Charlie…."
Charlie sighed. He was so confused, yet he understood everything. He, in fact, was the one that led Willy Wonka, the famous Candyman, out of the depths of the evil demon closet that he'd been hiding inside ever since he was Charlie's age. As much as he d to think that the chocolatier was what he was, Charlie was proud and glad that his mentor had finally found his way in life. It wouldn't have happened without…him.
"Mr. Wonka," Charlie said quietly. "What's his name?"
"James. Well, to you—if and when you do get around to meeting him—it's Mr. Barrie. Gosh, even I still call him Mr. Barrie."
"When did you meet him?" Blimey, Charlie thought. He's got a crush on an author….
Willy sighed, looking as if he'd fall into another flashback. "This afternoon. He's very nice." He looked slowly into his younger friend's eyes. "I think I might like him, Charlie."
There was a recognizing silence. Charlie didn't just see excitement in Willy's eyes; he saw fear. Right away he knew there was something about Mr. Barrie that Willy was afraid of…something sacred; something that shouldn't be touched.
"It's okay, Mr. Wonka. I'll…I'll help you."
Willy squealed and stood up, throwing his hands in the air with joy and turning to walk away.
Charlie gazed after him sadly, suddenly regretting the very day he came across that blasted Golden Ticket….
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Peter Llewellyn-Davies stared at James, one eyebrow raised in question. The older man was just gazing into Peter's notebook, not really reading the play he was supposed to read. He was just…staring at the page.
"Mr. Barrie…?"
James slowly—very slowly indeed—looked up at Peter. One look at the boy's face, and he swallowed. "I'm…I'm sorry, Peter. I can't…seem to concentrate…." When Peter sat down next to him at the dining room table, James carefully closed the book and sighed, resigning to his invasive thoughts.
There was a brief silence, only broken by the faint sound of Peter's brothers playing out in the backyard. They were in the vast African desert this time; George was a pharaoh with many servants and scribes. Jack and Michael were unfortunate travelers who were begging at the mighty pharaoh's feet for food and shelter.
The boys had asked Peter if he wanted to join them, but he said no. He wanted to show Mr. Barrie the play he had written.
Apparently, none of that was happening.
"Peter," James said quietly, not looking at the young boy who was swinging his legs back and forth under his seat. "I want to ask you something."
"Anything, Mr. Barrie."
James's brow furrowed with deep focus. He had been running this question over in his head the entire time he'd supposedly been reading Peter's draft; every time he'd switched words around or added words or even deleted words in his head, he was never satisfied with the question he was going to ask. Not even now, as he was so close to asking it, did he like the question. Yet he felt he could trust Peter with this; after all, he was trusted to take care of the boys after Sylvia—
"You remember…Mr. Wonka, right?"
Peter's legs stopped mid-swing. He looked up at James, not sure as to why he asked the question. It wasn't as if Mr. Wonka could easily be forgotten. "Of course."
Knowing that wasn't the question, James inhaled deeply. Then he exhaled. "Well…does he…does he seem like the kind of person—" he looked at Peter "—who someone could be…attracted to?"
Peter frowned thoughtfully. He picked up the pen from its place next to the abandoned notebook and tapped it lightly on the surface of the table. "I'm not sure. I suppose it depends on what women are drawn to…."
James violently shoved aside the fact that Peter was giving out romance advice and instead focused on the fact that hello—Peter didn't know yet. He didn't know that James had come out….
Amazing, James thought, rubbing his face with his hands, inwardly groaning. Just…bloody amazing, Jimmy, you've forgotten to mention to the poor boy about your little difference….
Well, he found himself retorting to his inner voice. It's not as if I can say, "Peter, I'm gay," can I?
"You're what, Mr. Barrie?"
Oh…shite.