Disclaimer: I own nothing. At all. Nothing. Not even the pebbles on the ground these people walk on. Not mine. Nope.

By the way...don't think James Barrie isn't one of my favorite authors, because he is. Just clearing that up for someone.

Willy found he couldn't get any sleep that night. As a matter of fact, he couldn't get himself out of his day clothes and into his nightclothes; he was so restless. He'd only just met Ja—Mr. Barrie, and yet he couldn't wait to see him again. The man was nice, he didn't lie there.

But something in the back of his mind told him that he didn't want to see him again. Willy didn't like this thought…yet it was there. It was nagging him ruthlessly as he sat on the Swudge Grass in the Chocolate Field, staring at a point right next to the Bucket house. It was just…annoying…the heck out of him.

Don't go there, the voice teased. You don't want him…he's not good for you.

"Of course he is. You saw how nice he was this afternoon…."

You don't know him, Willy.

"But I want to…I do."

"Mr. Wonka, dear, why on Earth are you talking to yourself at this time of night?"

Willy looked up, startled to find Mrs. Bucket standing in the front doorway. She was hugging herself; she appeared to have just woken up. Willy hoped he hadn't woken her…he started to feel guilty.

His feelings showed, actually, according to the slight tremble his bottom lip took on as he watched Mrs. Bucket walk across the slight distance between them. She sat down beside him and, without warning, took him into her arms in an embrace only a mother could give. The minute they made contact, Willy couldn't hold the tears back any longer. He let them pour right out, as well as his thoughts, fears, and questions.

"I don't know what to do," Willy wailed into Mrs. Bucket's shoulder. "I met this man at the park…as I'm sure Charlie told you about…and I'm pretty sure I like him…but given I've only known him for less than three hours…I'm not sure if I like him…not only that…but I've got these voices…and they're telling me that I don't like him…which is rubbish because I do like him…and I'm so confused…what do you think I should do?"

Mrs. Bucket sighed and gave the back of Willy's head a soft pat. "I think you should take a walk outside, dear," she said quietly. "The fresh air should help. Just…be careful, please. And don't stay out too late!"

Given that Willy was already on his way out of the factory before Mrs. Bucket even got a chance to finish her sentence, she had to shout the last part out.

She chuckled and went back into the Bucket house, very convinced that Wonka was a drama queen.

In…a matter of speaking.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The boys just gaped at James, standing on the stairs going from (by coincidence) tallest to shortest as the stairs declined. James was standing near the stairs, looking up at them with partial shame, partial exasperation. They'd been standing there for three minutes now, just silent.

"Well," James broke the silence in a near whisper, looking at the railing of the staircase. "I suppose since you four are all choosing to make me feel more uncomfortable than I already was…." He gave a nervous half-smile. "I'm going to go for a walk. If one of you is awake when I get back…." He grabbed his coat off the coat rack and sighed. "Just get to bed, boys."

When he heard eight footsteps slowly climbing up the rest of the stairs, James sighed again and looked around, patting his pockets. He couldn't feel his keys…where had he put them? He wasn't sure…he wasn't sure of anything anymore. He didn't expect the boys to react in the way they did to the Earth-shattering news…nor did he expect himself to say his thoughts aloud when he "told" Peter. He'd been disoriented since Sylvia died, and meeting Mr. Wonka apparently made things worse where his common sense was concerned. Of course, two and a half hours isn't quite enough for a person to come to the conclusion that they're attracted to someone else…let alone thinking non-stop about said "someone else."

James's confusion was confirmed when he blinked, finding himself staring at the dining room table. There were his keys…and there was Peter's notebook.

James picked up both the keys and the notebook, then left the house.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It hadn't been very long before James ran headlong into someone. He was so immersed in Peter's play that he left his sense of reality behind and forgot to look up every once in a while to avoid the situation he was currently in. The notebook went flying out of his hands, yet he wasn't knocked over. He just stood there, staring at his empty hands, and frowned.

"Terribly sorry," James said, looking up. "I wasn't paying attention to—"

The abrupt silence between Mr. Wonka and James was tremendous. They stood staring at each other, their jaws hung slightly open, both of them totally not expecting the encounter.

Several red flags went off in Willy's head, yet he ignored them all. This is entirely too coincidental, he thought. What are the odds that I'd come out for a late night stroll and Mr. Barrie is walking at the exact same time and something smells like cinnamon….

"Too close!" he suddenly shouted, jumping backwards in fright. He nearly tripped over his own cane, but James reacted quickly and grabbed Willy's arm before he fell over. The contact set off fire alarms in Willy's mind, and they kept going as James—still holding on to Willy—went to get the notebook back.

"I'm glad I ran into you…quite literally," James said, swinging back over to Willy. He nearly ran right into him again, but Willy stepped back.

"You are?" squeaked the frightened chocolatier.

James nodded. "Ay. I wanted you to read this. It's very good so far." He held out the notebook to Willy, who stared at it, at a loss. "Peter wrote it. You remember Peter?"

"Mr. Barrie, I don't know—"

"Let's take a walk."

Part of Willy wanted to walk as fast as his semi-crippled legs could carry him back to the factory where everything would be peaceful and he could just sleep and wake up the next morning not having to worry about anything. That same part of Willy wished he'd never even met Mr. Barrie.

However, another part of him wanted to stay; it wanted to talk to Mr. Barrie. That same part of him was the part of him that told him to stay calm.

So he took a deep breath and followed Mr. Barrie.