A/N: I'm sorry this took forever to get up... you see, I ran into this little thing called writer's block that made everything I wrote for this sound insanely insane. I finally had to trash and rewrite the entire chapter, and this is the result. More info at the bottom! Enjoy!

When he awoke, Wonka was immediately alarmed by the strange surroundings. The walls were of wood and were musky and brown, nothing like the gentle reds and oranges of his bedroom. He felt the quilt beneath him with a shaking, bony hand… it was not the scarlet and gold fabric of his own bed. This was definitely beginning to worry the Chocolatier… but it was then that he felt the deep breathing lump beside him. He knew instantly where he was. "Charlie…" Wonka whispered softly, looking down at the boy and smiling.

"At least he's sleeping now," Came a feminine voice from the door way. Wonka jumped. "I'm sorry Willy; I didn't mean to startle you." Mrs. Bucket said, wiping her hands on the tea towel across her apron. "Come on out, I have some fresh soup ready for late lunch if you would like. You look like you haven't eaten in days."

Wonka laughed nervously as he stood up. He gently placed Charlie back against the pillows, covering him with the blankets up to his chin. The boy still slumbered peacefully. "Yes please." He said simply, turning towards the door and following Charlie's mother to the kitchen.

At the wooden table, Wonka sat down between Grandma Georgina and Grandma Josephine, his normal place. Both of them looked at him with large twinkling eyes and then turned towards their soup. They always did that… it was just weird. Wonka had concluded long ago that it was just an old person thing… an old female person thing, because he was sure that Grandpa Joe and Grandpa George never did it.

"What are you thinking about, Mr. Wonka?" Joe asked him between bites of soup. "If you stare any harder at your soup you'll break the bowl." Wonka looked up and then smiled a large, nervous smile, giggled, and then took a rather large bite of soup. It ran in small rivers down the back of his throat, its meaty stock, mixed with bits of carrots, peas, and beans, was hearty and filled his stomach. Wonka had often thought of adding this to a piece of his three-course-gum… but, he could never do it justice.

Dinner continued much like that, with Wonka keeping his head down and eating. Mrs. Bucket was to family cooking what he was to chocolate Wonka decided, slipping his bowl away empty. The meals here were always warm, tender, and succulent, anything it should have been it was, and there was certainly Mrs. Bucket to thank for that. While Grandpa Joe and Grandma Josephine finished their meals, the other to grandparents went to bed to fall off to sleep (yet again) and Wonka listened to Mrs. Bucket hum a mindless, yet oddly familiar, tune.

He tired to concentrate on its simple melody for a few moments, and then he realized just why it sounded so familiar…

The woman was humming a small tune as she worked in a quaint kitchen that had been built circa 1940. Her sepia hair ran in long straight lines down her neck to her shoulders, stopping about mid back. Beside her a small child of only five laughed as the woman, his mother, took a delicate finger and placed a line of dark colored batter along the boy's nose.

He scrunched his nose and then shook his head, taking a finger and wiping the batter off. His mother laughed and then opened a package of chocolate chips and let him dump them into the batter. Together they poured the thick concoction into a metal pan and then the boy smoothed it out with a spatula.

When the mother had placed the pan safely in the oven, she returned to her son and bent down to his level, holding the large metal bowl and the spatula. "Are you ready for the best part, Willy?" The boy looked at her questioningly and then nodded enthusiastically, his shorter sepia hair bouncing up and down on his head.

"Yes mama…" She laughed a crystal laugh and her cocoa eyes sparked with excitement as she handed him the spatula, covered with splotches of the chocolate batter. He only held it and looked at it questioningly.

"Go on… like this." She ran a finger through the bowl and then popped it in her mouth. The boy imitated her and his eyes lit up as he tasted the batter. "See! I told you it was the best part. Come on… I think we can finish this up, don't you?"

The boy did not reply, for he was busy sucking on his finger which was tinted with the brown of the batter. She laughed yet again and then set down on a chair at the kitchen table. Willy scrambled over and sat on her lap and she hugged him tightly.

"Isn't it wonderful? Just imagine what it will taste like…"

"WHAT do you think you're doing?!" A booming voice flew towards them from the kitchen entrance. The man standing there looked intimidating in his bright white coat. His eyes were deep blue and his hair a snow white, but the look on his face was one of complete anger.

"Papa!" Willy said, smiling up with his teeth showing exactly what he had been doing. They were covered in a dark brown chocolate. The man only looked at him with hatred in his eyes and then snatched the spatula from him.

"Go! Brush your teeth! I'll talk with you later!!!"

"Oh, Wilbur… he was just…" The woman pleaded with him, holding Willy's arms with her soft hand.

"GO WILLY!" The boy's father bellowed, pointing up the steps of the small house. "NOW!" Scared silly, the boy scampered up the stairs, tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes.

In the upstairs bathroom, Willy brushed his teeth. He spat out furiously and then turned off the water, going to sit on the top step where he could see, sort of, into the kitchen.

"What did you think you were doing, Annie?" His father's voice said harshly. "He's going to look like every other child I see if you keep this up!" On the stairs, Willy looked down at his shoes. It was his entire fault… Willy thought.

"Heavens Wilbur… he's a child! Let him…" But his mother's velvet voice was cut off by the smashing of a glass dish as the pan and bowl hit the side of the wall. Willy winced. "Wilbur! What's the matter with you?"

"I don't want to hear it from you, Annie. He's my son too!" Wilbur said slicing through the air with his crisp voice.

"Maybe you should be around…"

Wonka shook his head, trying to erase the sound of her voice from his mind; Mrs. Bucket had turned to face him from the sink, where water was running sans destination. "Willy? Are you all right? You were mumbling… You look faint." He looked up his forehead furrowing as he thought about what had just happened. He smiled a small genuine smile and then nodded.

"I'm all right… I was just…" He paused a moment and then caught Mrs. Bucket's eyes. "Think –"

"Charlie!" Mrs. Bucket cut across the man's words loudly, and confused, Wonka turned to look at the small hall way leading to the bedroom. In between the wooden walls stood Charlie Bucket, dressed in shorts and his white undershirt. His face was creased from sleep, but his eyes were incredibly bright. "What do you think you're doing out of bed, young man?" She asked, rushing over towards him and picking at his shirt and trying to turn him back to the bedroom. It was a very flustering moment, until Charlie's voice could be heard over his mother's worried mumbling.

"Mum… I'm fine." She stopped and stood up, looking at her son in the strangest way. "I just needed to get up. I'm feeling much better, really…" He placed a hand on hers and then moved over to the table, sitting down and turning to look at Willy. He smiled softly and Mr. Wonka returned the smile heartily.

"Oh all right then…" Mrs. Bucket said, walking, semi-stunned, back to the kitchen sink. "Can I fix you some soup, Charlie? Are you hungry?"

"Mrs. Bucket." Mr. Wonka cut in, standing up and straightening his coat. "I thank you for the wonderful dinner but," He pulled his pocket watch from its chain and opened its golden lid tenderly. "I really must be going. There's work to be done." He walked over to the door and placed a hand on its knob.

"Can I go with him, Mum?" Charlie asked his mother.

"I won't have it, Charlie. You've only just woken up… you haven't eaten… and you certainly…"

"Please Mum…"

"Now Charlie… Listen to your mom." Wonka this time.

"Oh Mum, I promise I'm feeling better." He stood up and walked back and forth, as if trying to demonstrate something unseen. "I'm not tired or hungry or sick or anything."

"Honestly Charlie! You've only…"

"Oh please just let me go out! It's only in the factory after all… and I'll stay with Mr. Wonka the whole time. I promise!" Wonka could honestly say that he had never seen Charlie put up such a fight about something; he was, in fact, quite passive when it came to most things.

Mrs. Bucket was unsure about saddling the Chocolatier with the responsibility of look after an ailing twelve year old boy – her ailing twelve year old boy, no less. The thought of them scampering around the factory all afternoon worried her the most. What if it was dangerous? Her pretty face contorted into a look of fear. "What if you get hurt again?" She said in an incredibly small voice. She sniffed loudly and turned towards the sink, drying her eyes on a towel.

"Now Mum… don't get upset. I was only asking. I'm sorry." Charlie's voice sounded hurt and distressed. "I'm sorry Mum."

There was a long silence while Mrs. Bucket turned the towel over in her hands again and again. Mr. Wonka stood by the door, his eyes focused intently on the boy and flashing ever so often to the woman at the sink.

"I don't know, what do you think, Willy?" Mrs. Bucket asked Wonka.

"Me?" He pointed a hand at himself and then shook his head. "I don't think I have a place in this!"

"Of course you do!" Mrs. Bucket spoke up, trying to get an answer out of the man. Charlie looked at his mentor with a tiny flicker of hope in his cocoa eyes. "It's your factory… what do you think?"

"Well you're quite right it is my factory. But he's your little boy! He should listen to you!" Charlie's eyes fell and so did his small smile. Wonka immediately felt terrible, what was he thinking? "However, I don't see how it could hurt to let young Charlie out of the house for a little while." Charlie's mother sighed and then nodded.

"Go get dressed! Dress warmly now!" Mrs. Bucket relented. Charlie smiled and ran to his mother and embraced her. She wrapped her arms around him gingerly and took a moment to hold him there, her child that was safe. She said a small prayer that things would remain that way.

Charlie eventually wiggled his way out of his mother's embrace, giggling as he said, "Thanks Mum! You're the best." He then ran off to his room, smiling all the way.

The two adults stood in silence for a few moments before Wonka spoke up. "I'll look after him, you don't need to worry about him. He'll be fine."

The boy emerged from the back room, dressed in a plum red sweater and a pair of black slacks. They had been a gift from Mr. Wonka about two weeks after Charlie's family moved in. The pants were of the softest woven texture, not at all scratchy or itchy or uncomfortable, and the sweater was as soft as velvet, only not as delicate. It was comfortable, like the pants, but warm too. It was one of the finest things he had ever owned, and Charlie would admit that to anyone.

"Why! Don't you look handsome?" Mrs. Bucket exclaimed, smiling at her son. "Both of you." The woman noted, looking at Wonka and nodding her head slightly. He smiled sheepishly and then picked up his cane that was lying near the door.

"Well Charlie, whaddya think? I think we ought to be off! There is far too much to do!" Wonka turned the door knob and opened it stepping out into the brisk meadow of swudge grass.

Mrs. Bucket ushered Charlie over to the door of their home, fussing with his hair and stopping when he wrapped his arms around her waist. "I'll be fine Mum. I promise."

She swallowed hard and then pulled her son back by his shoulders. "I know you will darling… now go have fun!" She playfully shooed him away and Charlie raced to join Mr. Wonka, who was making his way across the field. She couldn't help but laugh at how comfortable they looked together. Mr. Wonka, chatting away as he walked, every step punctuated by the tapping of his cane against the edible landscape, and Charlie, leaning intently towards Mr. Wonka, listening to his every word with a true interest.

They were great for each other… Mrs. Bucket knew that, and she also knew that there was, at the moment, no one else she would trust her child with… no one but that magnificent, kind man who had so gratefully taken the entire family into his home. She looked up again to find that both of the boys had vanished into farther parts of the factory, those parts blocked from her view.

"I know he'll take care of you."

Author's Thoughts: Hmm... I liked that chapter, though it was pretty much uneventful. Seriously... nothing happened, but I was happy at the overall effect. I do tend to picture Charlie's mother as a bit of a worry-wart, so when I write I think I write her that way... always fussing and doting over her only son.

Those things I threw in that I feel are of some importance to mention:
The Flashback and all associated with it: I have no idea when Willy's mother left him, or how she left. Since I said I wouldn't use any none-canon characters I can't really explore her in detail, so I think a flashback here and there is okay. I picture her as a loving woman, youthful and entergetic. I think Willy would have her eyes, and her warm heart. His father, on the other hand... I picture him as someone who doesn't know how to love. To me, he was a very, very mean man... and even though he finally did reconcile with Willy (the final scenes of the moive) I don't think that Willy would be able to let the years of abandonment, hatred, and pain he felt go so quickly. That's all I have to say.

To My Reviewers So Far: ChocolateCaribbean & Lawks... thank you muchos! hugs you and hands you chocolate of the finest quality I really must say it helps me along to get great, in depth reviews like yours. They make me feel all happy. I'm glad you like this story, and I want you to know how much I value your opinion. Thanks again!

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!