A/N: Do you realize that once you get past the first few of these, it becomes increasingly difficult to find things to say! Same routine about bottom info, same routine about law… same routine about everything. Enjoy the story!
It had been a day, or maybe two, Wonka had lost count. He had hobbled through the snow, back to the factory, through the cold gates and into the chocolate room. Mrs. Bucket was waiting at the door of their little cottage, shrieking as the paternal Bucket took the sleeping Charlie into his arms and turned inside the door. He was able to take no more, and he left. Like a coward and a hermit, he ran to his rooms in the uppermost corner of the factory, where he had been sitting ever since on the pale blue couch in the middle of a living room decorated with various shades of blue.
He was sans coat… his shirt, vest, and pants mucked with blood and muddy dry water. His gloves were dirty and yet Wonka had not thought to change them. He really hadn't thought of much in the past two days. Take that back, he hadn't thought of much but Charlie.
The questions had floated in his mind at all hours… Why? Who? It made no sense to Wonka, but yet… in the back of his mind, it did. He knew that children could be mean, but it was still mind-boggling to the Chocolatier that one or more would hurt Charlie – his heir! – so badly.
On the dawn of the third day, Wonka decided he had done enough hiding… thinking, he corrected. He had done enough thinking. He changed his shirt, vest, and trousers, selecting a medium indigo of each, along with a medium indigo coat which he paired with a pair of dull lime green gloves and a top hat with a band of the same color. Standing in front of the mirror, Wonka fastened his golden 'W' to his shirt before running a thin hand over his pale complexion.
With a sigh Wonka turned away from his reflection in an angry sort of way. He grabbed his cane and spun it lightly on his fingers before placing it tip down on the ground. He wondered for a moment if he should bring anything to Charlie… but what could it be? "Chocolate!" He exclaimed suddenly, the first loud noise his voice had made in three days, it made him jump. Of course this was the logical gift; Charlie was, after all, the heir tohis chocolate factory. After a quick trip back to the bedroom, Wonka emerged with a box of his personal favorite (The Whipple-Scrumptious Fudge Mallow Delight) and smiled despite of the heaviness of the circumstances and the situation. He mumbled to himself (something about being 'ready to boogie)' as he placed a hand on the door and turned the knob.
The cottage had always been, well, quaint? Was that the word…? No, maybe it was welcoming? Either way, it didn't lose its charm when it was 'relocated' to the large factory. Wonka noticed this as he walked across the field of swudge, nearing the Bucket home. The chocolate was gripped tightly in his left hand and in his right was his cane. At the door he rapped sharply on the wooden slats with the tip of his fist (and a little of the chocolate, unfortunately) and waited for Mrs. Bucket.
"Oh Willy!" She said softly, opening the door and ushering him into her home. "It's so good to see you…" But the Chocolatier noticed that she ended the phrase with a small sigh, almost inaudible, but he noticed.
"It's good to see you too…" He started quietly. He really didn't mind Charlie's family… but, it was still rather uncomfortable to speak to them fondly. Wonka decided it was best to jump right to the point and avoid anything uncomfortable at the moment… it might not have created a positive result. He shuddered and then smiled a small, false smile. "I was wondering if I might see Charlie?"
Mrs. Bucket laughed and then shook her head. "You needn't ask, Willy, he's been asking about you every ten minutes for the past two days! He would have come to get you but..." She turned her head away and scratched her eyes before sniffing loudly and then turning back. "Sorry dear… he's right down the hall, in our room. Go right in… He'll be glad to see you." She pointed down the small wooden hall, to a door on the right that was hanging crooked on its hinges before turning her attention to a loaf of bread that she was slicing.
"Thank you, ma'am." He mumbled already heading towards the lopsided door. Stopping outside of it, he breathed in deeply and released it slowly before entering.
There in the bed, covered by an ancient patchwork quilt and propped on about four down feather ash-grey pillows, lay Charlie Bucket. Bruises had painted a majority of his face an ugly color of purplish blue, his forehead and cheeks were scabbed and an awful dark crimson from the clotted blood, but perhaps the worse was that underneath Charlie's white undershirt, Wonka could see a bloody red line that had been sliced into the boys flesh. A line that formed a perfect 'W' on his chest. Wonka let loose and audible gasp and then gripped his hand to his mouth to silence it.
Charlie stirred, looking up at Mr. Wonka. He smiled softly and genuinely. Wonka walked over slowly and sat, with some caution, on the side of the bed. After a few timid (and somewhat tense) moments, he placed the box of chocolate bars on Charlie's lap. "I thought you might need it, to you, know… make you feel… peppy!" Wonka threw his hands out in a small firework gesture.
"Thank you, sir…" Charlie commented, placing the chocolate on the nightstand and letting his hand linger on the box for a moment, as if it was a treasure that brought back good memories.
"How are you feeling?" Wonka asked suddenly, shifting on the bed to look at Charlie fully. "Did I wake you?" I was worried about you…That one he just couldn't find himself the words to say correctly. It would only sound weird.
Charlie looked at his mentor for a moment, staring at him with his large cocoa eyes. "No…" He said finally. "I wasn't sleeping."
"It looked like –" Wonka began, but Charlie cut him off.
"I thought you were Mum. I didn't think you would come see me." He said before he could catch himself. He looked at Wonka with sadness in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wonka, I didn't mean to –"
"Hush Charlie… I know what you meant." It was amazing that a child would be able to read him so quickly. "My question then becomes, why would you pretend to sleep if it was your Mum?" Charlie looked away, brushing a tear frantically from his face. Wonka stared at him a moment, confused, and then he began quickly, as he often did when he was nervous. "Fiddlesticks, Charlie, please don't cry, okay? If I upset you, let me know. I didn't mean to." He looked back at the boy only to find more tears rolling down his cheeks. "Now Charlie!"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Wonka… I'm just…" He shook his head and then sighed heavily.
"What?"
"I'm just… so… tired." He admitted finally, his eyes darting towards the lopsided door, making sure the Bucket's weren't listening in.
"Well then you should sleep, silly. When you're tired you sleep!" He placed his hands on the side of his face prayerfully and did a small sleeping gesture. "Didn't you know that from that schooling they give you everyday?" Wonka laughed his short laugh, trying to lighten the mood.
"I know that!" Charlie said suddenly angry. The tears rolling down his cheeks only highlighted the redness of the parts of his face that were not covered with bruises. His mentor's attempts at mood lightening had failed… "I do know that, Mr. Wonka. And I promise you, if I could sleep I would!" Make that failed miserably.
Wonka was taken aback at the sudden outburst… but, could he really blame Charlie? It was hard to imagine what was running through his mind at the moment. Wonka decided it best to let this particular subject drop.
Charlie, however, had seen the startled look on Wonka's face and immediately regretted his harsh tone. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wonka…" Charlie said yet again. "I shouldn't snap at you because of my prob –" He was cut off by the gloved hand of the Chocolatier, wiping his tears away ever so gently.
"I don't want to hear "I'm Sorry", Charlie." He let his hand linger in an unexpected fatherly manner before attempting to pull it away. Charlie caught it quickly and even with his frail grip, held on tightly.
"Can I tell you something, Mr. Wonka? Something that you can't tell my parents…" Slightly stunned that Charlie wished to confide in him and not his parents… let's face it, he wasn't the most sociable person in the factory, but Wonka nodded softly and tipped his head in a 'listening' fashion. "I haven't slept…" Boy this boy beat around the bush, Wonka thought… "Since you brought me back, that is. I woke up when you left, and I haven't slept since. I haven't eaten… I just stuff the food under the bed –"
"That would be why it smells like fish in here…" Wonka said suddenly, scrunching his nose and then smiling sheepishly, "Sorry, go on…"
"And I pretend to be asleep because Mum would worry if she knew… and that's the last thing she needs to do so I just can't tell her! I can't tell her, Mr. Wonka, I'm scared." The last words were said in the smallest voice Wonka had ever heard. Soft and frightened, but with the urgency that they needed to be said… He grasped Charlie's hand and pulled himself closer to his heir.
"Charlie…" Wonka started, unsure of how to begin, unsure of even what to say. "What are you scared of?" He concluded, though he had to admit it was the coward's way out. His heart felt that he should have been able to produce a long meaningful conversation, but all he could come up with was a question… one measly question.
But the boy didn't seem to mind. He jumped on the opportunity to discuss his problem, turning to Wonka and breathing deeply. His mouth opened several times as if he was unsure of what to say. "I – I…" He began, but then shook his head. It was not reasonable to go and tell such things to people such as Mr. Wonka. He was, after all, not one for any type of fondness. Charlie sighed. "Never mind." He finished, looking away embarrassed.
"Why Charlie you said nothing… nothing that I could hear anyway… were you speaking a new language? Amazing if you were!" Wonka laughed and looked at Charlie, who had fresh tears running down his face. Fudge, this kid leaks more than a watery whipple wad. "Maybe…" He reached out and lightly touched Charlie's chin, drawing the child around to face him. His tone was suddenly serious. "Maybe you're scared that something else is going to happen to you? That someone else is going to hurt you? Maybe that's why your scared Charlie… maybe you just don't feel exactly safe?" Charlie looked at Wonka and nodded quickly and childlike.
Wonka bit the bottom of his lip and then smiled knowingly. "But Charlie… you needn't be afraid."
"Why do you say that Mr. Wonka?" Charlie said, disbelief filling his voice. Mr. Wonka, however magical he was, couldn't change something with just a few words.
"Because your mum and dad are here, silly. They won't let anyone hurt you again. And…" He paused a moment, questioning whether or not he ought to continue.
"And?" Charlie prompted, running a finger over the smooth rubber of Wonka's glove, trying not to make eye contact with him. "And what else, Mr. Wonka?"
"I'm here Charlie…" He said in a soft voice, a twinkle growing in the deep purple orbs of his eyes. "And I tell you, my dear boy… as long as I live, as long as this factory is here, as long as the Oompa-Loompa's keep eating cocoa beans…" He smiled at the last statement; Charlie even managed a weak laugh. "I'm never ever ever ever gonna let anyone hurt you again, kay?"
Charlie looked Wonka in the eye, biting his lip. "Promise?" He said finally.
"With all my heart, I promise."
Unexpectedly, Charlie threw his arms around the waist of Wonka, and after the initial shock, Wonka returned the gesture and held it. "Never Charlie… and you can take that to the bank!"
"Thank you Mr. Wonka…" He mumbled into the indigo folds of Wonka's coat. "You're amazing…"
"And you are a sleepy little boy…" Wonka said, attempting to pull out of Charlie's embrace, but finding it difficult. Eventually he had released Charlie and scooted towards the end of the bed, smiling softly. "A very sleepy little boy."
"Wait… Mr. Wonka…" Charlie said suddenly.
"Yeah?"
"Do you think… maybe, just for now… maybe you could stay?" Charlie didn't add that he wanted Mr. Wonka to stay, that he would feel safe if Mr. Wonka would stay… but it seemed that the man already knew it and he nodded.
"Of course I can Charlie… but just this once." He walked back over to the bed and sat down beside Charlie, who quickly wrapped his arms around the waist of his mentor and sighed sleepily into the fabric of his coat. Wonka placed a hand on Charlie's blonde hair and stroked it unknowingly.
"Thank you Mr. Wonka…"
"None of that!" Wonka said slowly. The Chocolatier felt his eyes getting heavy, and it was then he realized that he, like Charlie, had been without sleep for several days (if not a week, but he didn't really want to talk about that part) "You should sleep now, my dear boy. Sleep and do try to dream… who knows what you'll think of… possibly something amazing. Like candy birds that molt sugar feathers, or…" He yawned kindly, closing his eyes. "Or hats that you can eat… or..." Another yawn, "Chocolate that changes your eye color… or…" Wonka smiled to himself and yawned yet again. "You obviously get the idea…"
Author's Thoughts: Phew! That was a long one (nearly twice the length of my first chapters, and you can take that one to the bank!)… but I just couldn't find a place that would break it properly but… hey! You've already read it have you not? I loved the entire idea of this chapter, of Wonka comforting Charlie because he found comfort in no one else. And the whole bit about Wonka promising to look after Charlie warmed my heart. I hope I receive the same reaction from you! Let me know!
Those things I threw in that I feel are of some importance to mention –
Candy birds that molt sugar feathers, hats that you can eat, Chocolate that changes your eye color – just some of my own thoughts on good candy… forgive me if they already exist! XD
The foreshadowing bug has me again! – Wonka not sleeping? Sounds like a plot opener to me! dum dum dum
The Bloody 'W' – Yea… that one… that I prefer not to mention. Will it play into the story? It better because the thought of it makes me want to cry for Charlie… Kidding! Don't shoot me! It will come in down the road… I can't tell you how far but it will!
Look A Plea for HELP! - Chapter Titles – ARE TERRIBLE! I've just never been good at that sort of thing… if you have a suggestion let me hear them!!!!
Final reviews? Love it, hate it? I don't care, just please review. Flames are accepted (not to be confused with appreciated)… I have a fire extinguisher ready, trust me!