((Disclaimer: I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. At all. So there. ))

Wow, this has to be one of the longest chapters yet. So, I hope you enjoy. Also, I didn't write –all- of the letters. I'll give credit to who did what at the bottom of this fanfiction chapter. Oh! I'm seeing the movie –again- before it goes out of theaters here. I'm buying it for my brother and I, so it is a gift for him generally being awesome. I love him so much.

Warning: This Fanfiction may contain Movie Spoilers: So, if you don't like them, watch the movie, then come back.

Chapter Nine Summery – Wonka feels very guilty for shoving off Charlie. But, what if Charlie doesn't forgive him? Also, there are more newspapers to read… and a Tabloid? No, This can't be good for Wonka.

Chapter 9 - Ageless

Nine o'clock the next morning and the snow had finally stopped being a torrent of swirling white, but a light and beautiful mist of powered snow falling gently from the sky. There was still a clean, untouched Four-Foot layer of snow lying on and around the massive Chocolate Factory. The air was an icy whip across their cheeks and stung with a cool bitterness. As beautiful the morning seemed to be, nobody, living in or near the small town by the factory, was outside doing their daily business, all to cold to try to venture outside.

Willy sat on his deep plum-red bed thinking idly to himself, recounting and semi-reliving the events of the past day in his head. So much had happened in one single day. He really didn't think it was possible that so much happened when so little time seemed to pass. First, they read the newspaper, met the new sheep, then he fell ill, and then he had a horrible nightmare. Then, they read some of those horrid letters. He argued with some Squirrels while Charlie went exploring, and Charlie found the Dreaming Room and ate one of his Dreaming Fantasies. Then, Charlie had a nightmare himself. After all of that, he had been very rude to Charlie and had promptly stomped off. Well, the day did start off very early that morning; was it Five o'clock?

His head started to spin with all the information. Or was it just his past fever? He placed his left hand on his head. No, he was over that. Must have been the information. He didn't know what to be more upset and confused about; his dream, or Charlie's. They were both so... similar. His, being himself not being able to reach a struggling Charlie getting shoved into a car. Charlie's, being Charlie getting dragged into a car, and seeing Willy Wonka getting attacked by some awful mean people. It seemed that they both worried about each other.

He sighed, and got up and off of his bed and walked, or rather, limped, towards his Living Room. He sat down on his Navy couch and looked towards his "Mail Chute". Letters. More of those gosh darned nasty letters there was even a package. He frowned at them for a moment. Should he really read them? Did he really want to see what nasty things these ones said? Well, there was this one nice letter from someone else. One. Maybe there were more.

He tried to take the large bundle with his right arm, but he remembered it was broken. Instead, he leaned over and took the bundle out of the chute with his left. He sighed; at least, he wouldn't have to read them alone. His eyes widened slightly, remembering the past night. He was so rude to Charlie then. Waving him off like he wasn't talking and ignoring his presence entirely. What if, what if Charlie wouldn't want to help him anymore? He frowned, no, he couldn't, he shouldn't, think that way. Charlie would always help him. No matter how cranky he seemed sometimes.

He pocketed the letters in the pocket of his red coat. Well, he would have to go and see Charlie. Make it up to him. But, none of this nonsense with Charlie worrying about him. No, none of that. He definitely didn't want to have to storm away again, fall silent, or change the subject. It would just make Charlie more... worried. He grabbed the package and tucked it underneath his arm.

He got up again, sighing once more. He limped towards where he had his extra cane lent against the wall by the Elevator. You see, Wonka didn't get his cane back; he left in such a hurry the night before that he plain forgot his cane and even the fact that his ankle was twisted. The worst part was, it was starting to hurt like mad now because of the poor treatment, and Willy guessed that he would have to keep off of it for an extra couple of days. Sometimes he even believed that he did things no-so-smartly.

He walked into the Elevator and the door shut quickly. He stood there for several minutes, contemplating whether to dash back inside to his room, or go see Charlie. What if Charlie was mad? What if Charlie didn't want to help? Well, he knew standing there like an idiot wouldn't help anyone... mostly himself. But, Charlie... he could be mad. What if... he was?

"Don't be silly," Willy suddenly said a loud to himself, "Charlie wouldn't stay mad at me forever. I'll apologize. Charlie'll forgive me!" He frowned, "If not, I'll... I'll read the letters by myself, and talk to Charlie later." A smile crept over his face. "Yeah! That's what I'll do!"

He smiled with a wide grin and clicked the "Chocolate Waterfall" button. And with a click and a roar, the Elevator whizzed off downwards in a mad fury as it descended towards Charlie's home. Bang. The Elevator shot wildly off to the left and Wonka stayed still, as if he was standing in a waiting room. It finally stopped, and the Great Glass Elevator opened up into the great Candy Meadow, that housed the first ever Chocolate Waterfall.

Charlie was already there, but his back was turned away from the Elevator. Wonka jerked, breathed in sharply and found himself instinctively ducking behind a large Candy Lollipop. He gazed over at Charlie, biting his lip, trying to see what he was doing.

Charlie was laying there, on his front, with a whole bunch of papers. He was humming to himself and was writing furiously. He seemed to have taken no notice of the Great Glass Elevator's sudden appearance behind him.

"Look's like Charlie is too busy, I'll just go," he whispered to himself, and he turned to leave, still squatted low to the ground.

Of course, being Willy Wonka, he completely forgot the Elevator was made of glass and the fact that the doors were always shut when he had left it, not open. So... Wham! Wonka, his cane, the letters, and the package went sprawling onto the ground.

"Ow!" He grabbed his right arm for a moment, which complained with a sharp jolt. It is a well-known fact that fractured limps hate being slammed unsparingly against a clear, glass object. Or any object for that matter. "Fudged Fantasies! Dreaming Daises! Buzzing Snozzwagers! Whizzing Whangdoodles! Ow!"

Charlie looked up, and saw Wonka trying to get himself while muttering a large amount of nonsense words under his breath angerly. Charlie placed down whatever he was doing before, got up and dashed towards the distressed Chocolatier.

"Mr. Wonka, are you alright?" Charlie asked while placing a hand out for Willy to grab.

Wonka took it and levered himself up gratefully. "Thank you my dear Charlie. I am fine. It's just a well known fact that fractured arms don't like to get hit with out any forewarning," he said, straightening his hat and, rather un-expectantly, he gave a strange erratic laugh.

Charlie bent over and picked up the bundle of letters, and the package that was strewn on the sugar-grass lawn. He handed them over to Willy, who pocketed them quickly, and placed the package under his arm.

"Well Charlie, I suppose that you are busy, so... I'll be going," Wonka said, and he turned to leave.

"No!" Charlie said loudly, which stopped Wonka. "I, Er... wasn't doing much. Just finishing some work. It's done now!"

Wonka turned back around and grinned at Charlie, "I see. Kay."

"Umm," Charlie shifted on the spot. He had been worried all through the night and the morning, wondering if Willy was upset at him or not. Charlie glanced at Willy's face. He seemed to have forgotten about the whole thing. Didn't look mad at all. But, there was this look of worry and fear set far back in the depths of Willy's deep purple eyes. "Er... would you like to have anything to eat?"

"Yes please," Willy said with a smile. "If you do not mind." Charlie didn't seem mad or upset to him. Well, that was a good sign. At least... he thought it was. "Er, what do you have in mind?" he asked, ending it with another short nervous laugh.

"Mum probably just finished baking a nice loaf of bread. I bet she'd let you have some," Charlie said. "I bet if we go now, it'll be there waiting for us!"

"Yeah! Great idea!" Willy said, "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

With that said and done, and that strange awkward moment was finally over with, Charlie and Willy Wonka made their way happily towards the Bucket home. Both happy that the other wasn't mad at the other.

Charlie swung open the door. "Hi mum!" he called.

"Hello dear," Mrs. Bucket turned, and saw Willy poking his head in the doorway. "Oh! Mr. Wonka, come in! Won't you sit down? I have just finished taking this new loaf of bread out of the oven."

"Hello Mrs. Bucket," Wonka said, pulling his hat off of his head. "Thank you. I'd love some."

Charlie walked across the room at to a table, pulled out Willy's seat, then went tearing away quickly up to the ladder of his former bedroom. "I'll be right back Mr. Wonka!" Charlie called as he clambered up the rungs.

"Kay!" Willy called back, and he turned to the hat rack and hung up his hat.

A couple seconds later Charlie came buzzing quickly down the ladder, and in fact jumped the last couple of rungs. In his hand was Wonka's original cane. The one he forgot the past night.

"Here Mr. Wonka," Charlie leaned it up against the wall near the door. "I'll leave it here for you. You forgot it last night."

"Heh, so I did," Willy sat down in the already pulled-out chair, and placed the package on the table. He grinned at Charlie, as he sat directly across from him. "Thank you Charlie, I'd loose my head if I didn't look in the mirror every morning."

Mrs. Bucket came up to them holding two plates with large slices of steaming new bread. She placed them in front of Wonka and Charlie along with a bowl with some butter and a knife.

"Here you are," she said. Turning to Charlie, she added, "your dad is going to be home soon, dear. Just went out to buy a couple of newspapers."

Willy shuddered. Newspapers; before, he would of thought of them as OK, but since yesterday. No. Ew no. He hated them. He realized that they would say mean things about people who didn't deserve it. His proof on the matter was that they were saying mean things about him and he didn't deserve it.

"Ew," he said under his breath.

Mrs. Bucket caught his words, and while giving some bread to the grandparents, she said, "Now Mr. Wonka, if you are to solve this problem, you need to know what people think of you. No matter how bad it seems to be. That is the only way to know how to approach this problem."

"She's right."

"She's right."

"She's right."

"This couch is lovely."

Wonka didn't say anything, but Charlie could swear he heard a small snorting noise. He snickered slightly at his grandmother's comment, then got started on his bread.

The both sat there for quite a while, silent, not saying anything to the other. Both looked quite concentrated on eating their bread. The grandparents were enjoying theirs as well and Mrs. Bucket sat in-between the table and the Grandparent's bed, eating her own piece.

The door swung open, and in came Mr. Bucket with large amounts of snow covering him from head to toe. Clumps stuck to his coat, and his hands were tucked neatly on the inside of it, trying to keep warm.

"Morning Buckets," he said happily as he shut the door behind him.

Mrs. Bucket stood up quickly, and took off his coat. "How's the weather out there, dear?"

"Horrible, it just started to snow more heavily. I swear, this isn't going to stop for another week." He turned to face Charlie and Willy, "Charlie, Mr. Wonka! How are you this morning?"

"Good, Dad," Charlie said with a grin. "Did you bring the newspapers?"

Mr. Bucket walked up to the table and plopped down a newspaper and a tabloid. "Mr. Wonka, you are now subject to the tabloids too. I thought you'd be interested in it."

Wonka gave another strange erratic laugh. "Thank you, Mr. Bucket." He slid the paper closer to himself, just looking at it. Nothing more.

"Well? Aren't you going to read it?"

"Oh, yes... that."

Wonka picked up the newspaper and saw that his picture was again at the front page, followed by a large article. It must have been a fairly recent picture, one of him leading the children into the factory. But, the children where cropped off, and only he appeared in the picture.

"Horrible picture of me. I daresay, I don't really look like that from the back?"

"Mr. Wonka..."

"Right, right... Keep your trousers on," he flipped open the newspaper to reveal the whole article. And he read a loud:

Wonka Hiding?

Wonka's factory showed no sign of responding to the last newspaper article that this newspaper had sent out. In fact, several of the newspaper readers had sent out letters to the famous Willy Wonka and none of them got a return note.

"Willy has never responded to anyone's letters before," said a former worker, "not even family letters. He just doesn't have the time. He's not avoiding you, he just doing what he normal does. Remember, this is -one- factory doing the work of hundreds, of course he'd be busy!"

Though, a lot of people are not too sure that this is the case with the Famous Chocolatier.

"He has a guilty conscious. He knows what he is doing is wrong, and he refuses to realize the truth. He knows that boy needs a better atmosphere other than a factory, and he is too self-centered to want to realize the fact. He thinks he's avoiding responsibility by avoiding us."

What is really Wonka up to? Has he disappeared again like he did fifteen years ago? Whatever happens, the case with the safety of the boy will be this newspaper's first priority.

Wonka placed the newspaper down and gave a scoff. "That was short and pointless," he said, and he slid the newspaper across the table, and away from himself. "The things that these people think of. I'm right here aren't I? I haven't gone anywhere."

"But, you give no proof that you are here, Mr. Wonka," Mr. Bucket said while sitting down beside Charlie, folding his fingers. "You have also done nothing to say you have any opinion on it at all."

Willy didn't respond and picked up the tabloid. It had a close-up picture of his face, and they seemed to put great emphasis on his teeth.

It read:

Willy Wonka and Plastic Surgery? Pg. 13

He sighed and turned the pages, reading aloud:

Willy Wonka the great Chocolatier has astounded and amazed candy goers for nearly twenty years now. But, the only change in his appearance these last fifteen years is his hair length. In fact, nobody knows exactly when this profound celebrity was born, and when asked at the opening of his factory, he responded with a simple. "I don't know."

He doesn't know, or he doesn't want -us- to know. Many doctors and surgeons believe that most of his facial features have been reconstructed through plastic surgery. Dentists believe that his teeth are in fact false, for nearly nobody who eats chocolate as much as he does, can keep a set of pearly whites like that.

Willy's face is indeed a mystery. Either behind a candy or behind a strange set of large sunglasses, Willy's former appearance is seen as a mystery. Wonka seems to be a man afraid of getting older, and he wishes to stay young and ageless as long as he can muster under the blade.

But, for how long has he done this?

Wonka thrust the paper down angerly. Charlie looked at Wonka with furrowed eyebrows. Even though it was just a tabloid, what they said was kind of true. Wonka didn't seem to have aged at all in the past twenty years. Was what they said true? Is it really all fake?

"No," Willy said, looking at the faces of the Buckets and Charlie. "It's not true. I hate doctors, I hate dentists, I hate... getting... cut. Ew. I'd never do that. Disgusting. One of the worst things you can do to a person. Believe me, if I'd do that, I would have changed these," he pointed to his purple eyes, "a long time ago. With one of those contact thing-a-ma-jiggers."

Charlie shook himself, what was he thinking? Willy hated to go to the doctor for even a checkup. Why would Wonka want to get surgery? He suddenly felt guilty for believing the tabloid for even a second. How could he do that to Wonka?

"Sorry," his voice sounding as sorry as he felt, "I didn't mean-"

"It's OK. It's what these things are supposed to do," he jabbed his finger accusingly at the tabloid. "All they do is splatter out useless untrue facts about people. Anything to get people to read this useless slop."

Mrs. Bucket finally sat down at the table herself, and leaned closer to Willy. "But Mr. Wonka," she said, "How old are you? What they say about you not knowing can't be true."

"I don't know."

"Seriously?"

"Yea, I really don't remember. You see, I haven't celebrated my birthday since I was around Charlie's age. So, I could be anything."

"Okay... do you know what year you were born? Your birthday?" Charlie asked.

"I don't know."

"You can't have forgotten your own birthday!"

"I did, and I have. The only person who knows when it is, is my Fa..." his face screwed up to one of agony and he stopped talking.

The Buckets exchanged looks. "Your Father?" Mr. Bucket asked.

Willy just nodded numbly, and looked down at the table. He looked up and placed on a large fake grin. "Yeah... him." He face fell again.

The Buckets didn't say anything at all. They didn't know what to say at all. Mrs. Bucket broke the silence, by pointing at the bundles of letters that poked out of Wonka's pocket.

"Are those the letters? If they are, you'd better read them."

Wonka nodded, and pulled the bundle out and set it on the table. He took in a breath. Did he really want to read them? I have to. Otherwise, I won't know what people think. I won't know how to solve this icky problem.

He pulled of the top envelope, which was crudely stuck together, and had a tight un-neat scrawl with the address and return address on it. He looked up at the Buckets and Charlie, who were watching intently, and he gave a short nervous laugh.

He peeled off the envelope, and opened up a letter, that had the same, untidy tight scrawl. He read it aloud:

Hey Wonka,

You're nasty! Freaking utterly absolutely gross! How can you keep a little boy in your factory like that? I hope they take him away and send him back to his family where he belongs, not with a jerk like you.

PS: I hate your candies. Go Slugworth!

-Tom Grakev

Willy and the Buckets cringed. He placed the letter down quickly. He gave another short nervous laugh. "Well... -heh- he didn't seem so... -erm- happy."

"Read another one Mr. Wonka. I bet there is a really nice one for you in there," Charlie said with encouragement, handing him another envelope. "Just ignore him."

"Yeah..."

He took it, and opened it up quickly. It looked as though this one was printed off. Wonka turned the paper round and round, and even looked at it upside down. He couldn't understand what it was trying to say. He handed it over to Charlie, who shook his head. Obviously, he didn't know either. So, they left the letter unnoticed by the edge of the table.

But, incase you are wondering, it read:

D34R W1LLY W0NK4,

1 H4V3 L00K3D 47 7H3 N35P4P3R5 4ND 1 F0UND 7H47 7H3Y 4R3 4LL C0MPL373 1D1075. 3V3RY 51NGL3 0N3 0F 7H3M. 1 B3L1V3 1N Y0U 4ND L177L3 CH4RL13 8UCK37. JU57 K33P 0N 7RUCKK1N' 4ND M4K1NG CH0C0L4735. D0N'7 L37 7H3 N35P4P3R'S D15C0UR4G3 Y0U, G37 4 L4UGH 0U7 0F 7H3M! WH3N Y0U G37 4 CH4NC3, 7RY 4ND 73LL P30PL3 7H3 7RU7H.

FR0M, 7H3 L337 M4573R 0F CH0C0L473.

P.5. Y0U R0CK. D0WN W17H PR0DN053, 5LUGW0R7H 4ND F1CKL3GRUB3R!

Willy grabbed another one. The envelope had beautiful unicorns and Pegasus' on it. Willy smiled; he had a good feeling about this letter. But, you never know, you can't judge a book by its cover. He peeled the envelope open slowly, and pulled out a paper that had unicorn stationary on it. He grinned. It was looking more promising than he thought. Unfolding the letter, he read the purple-written letter.

Dear Mr. Wonka,

Hello, my name is Alice, and I love your chocolate and candy! I can't imagine living a world without the wonderful Willy Wonka!

My mother has been telling me about the stories in the newspapers. The reporters are worried that your factory is not safe and think that the contest winner, Charlie Bucket, should not live there. I don't think those people are being fair to you. Yesterday, the doctor who treated you was on TV. He said that your arm was only fractured and that your ankle was only sprained. The doctor also said that you were like a big kid and that you asked for a lollypop when your treatment was over. That made me laugh!

People shouldn't believe everything that they read or hear. They shouldn't make up their minds until they know the whole story. I hope you can make them listen to the truth. Please say, "Hello!" to Charlie, for me. I think he is the luckiest little kid in the whole world (and he's cute too!). Me and my mom are going to buy extra chocolate and candy until your problems are over, O.K.? We believe in you!

P.S. I am enclosing a drawing of you and Charlie.

He sighed out of relief and happiness. That letter wasn't so bad. In fact it was...

"Wonderful," Charlie said, "That letter was wonderful. See, Mr. Wonka? People support you. Let's look at the picture."

Willy looked in the envelope, and saw, that there was in fact, another piece of paper. He pulled it out and un-folded it.

The picture itself was very well drawn. It looked as though the girl had used a photo for reference, for all the colours were very accurate. The overall drawing was very nice. It showed Willy and Charlie standing in a wonderful grass field with tons of Chocolate Bars stacked around them. They both had huge grins on their faces, and Charlie was holding a golden ticket.

Willy chuckled and handed the picture over to Charlie, who grinned.

"I think it looks a lot like you Mr. Wonka," Charlie said while handing it to his mother.

"Heh. So it does!" Willy grinned happily. "Well, that wasn't so bad." Maybe he could do this.

Willy Wonka merrily picked up another letter. The Envelope was pure white, and had a lovely little rose sticker at the corner of it. The writing was neat and very easy to read. He turned the envelope over and opened it up rather happily. Hoping that the next one would be as great as the last.

He read it out loud like all the others:

Dear Willy,

It's been so long since I've contacted you. I read in the newspaper that you got hurt. I know that you would never do such a thing. Please do be careful though. Your father will be livid if he finds out that you were injured. And be careful with that little boy as well. I sent over a sweater, I do hope it fits you.

I don't suppose you remember me, but I do remember giving candy to a little ghost on Halloween nights every year! Good luck, Willy. Don't let those reporters (and nasty letters) get you down.

- Mrs. Harvey

Wonka looked at the letter with widened eyes. Mrs. Harvey? She was still... alive? Wow... He stared at it for several moments with extreme happiness.

It was Mrs. Harvey who gave him the first ever piece of chocolate. He was sure that it was that exact piece that lay close to the fireplace, untouched by flame. He grinned in spite of himself. Mrs. Harvey was one of the nicest, kindest, people he knew. She never got mad, and she never, never told his father when he had some chocolate chip cookies and milk over at her house.

And here she was, after all those years. She was still thinking of him. Still worried for him. Still being... Mrs. Harvey.

Charlie glanced over at Willy's thoughtful face and smiled. It must be a -good- memory. Whoever Mrs. Harvey is, she must have been really nice to Mr. Wonka.

"Mrs. Harvey?" Mrs. Bucket suddenly said. "Is she that sweet old dear who gave Charlie his first ever Chocolate bar?" She looked at Mr. Bucket with wonder. "For his fifth birthday if I recall."

Mr. Bucket thought, "It must be." He took the letter from Willy and examined it; "I'd recognize her writing anywhere. It is."

"Weird."

"She was that Mrs. Harvey? She knew Mr. Wonka, when he was my age?"

"I suppose she did. Wonderful woman."

Willy grinned, "I liked her a lot. Let's see what kind of sweater she made me."

He pulled over the package, which he now knew that it contained one of Mrs. Harvey's great, warm, sweaters. He opened it quickly, and pulled out a lovely plum-red sweater. He frowned; there was only one problem. It was much too small. For him anyway.

"I suppose that Mrs. Harvey forgot that I'm not eleven anymore," he said, then he grinned wildly and laughed. He handed the sweater over to Charlie. "Here, you're eleven right? Even if you're not, it'll fit you all the same."

"But Mr. Wonka-"

"I can't wear it, now can I? It's much too small, you see."

Charlie grinned, stayed silent, and folded up the sweater, setting it on the table.

There were only two letters left. But, they seemed different. Very different. Both looked so formal and becoming. Willy picked the top one up first, forgetting about Mrs. Harvey and the sweater. The envelope had its address and return address printed on it rather than being written on.

"I wonder who that is," Mrs. Bucket asked, looking at the formal letter.

"I don't know, but it looks important."

Wonka grinned nervously, not sure whether to open it or not.

"Come on, Mr. Wonka. Open it up. I want to see!"

Authors Thoughts – This was really easy for me to write. The only reason why it took so long is because I had someone read it over Wolfgurl89. This was interesting for me to right, I had to touch on many different things. And yes, Wonka finally hits the elevator. Whether I already did it in the fiction, I forgot. But, it's still funny, no? There is one things else. I am proud of my title. I have -no- idea why. It's just a title. I like the sound of it... "ageless", hehe... sounds serious.

Wonkaland Info –. Not a lot.

The letters? Were –not- all done by me. Nope. I asked people if they could write letters to Willy. So they did. Here are who wrote what:
Letter #1 - Hellsfirescythe
Letter #2 – Me
Letter #3 – IDOL HANDS
Letter #4 - Hellsfirescythe

Wonka's arm: Yes… it is –still- broken. Lol. It has only been a couple of days. Some people have been wondering if it was broken or not because I make no reference to it usually. Yes, it is still broken, I just made no reference to it.

Chapter Ten Preview – What is this mysterious letter? Hmn… There seems to be two of them.

To the Past Reviewers: Merci pour vous reviews!

To My Beta-er: Dear Wolfgurl…. ….

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-tackle glomp- I LUFF YOU. Merci, merci!

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Important Note: Please Review. I wanna know if any of you liked it. Plus, I may feel like updating faster if I know that people actually read what I write. (No flames... I'll only feed them to Gloop, although, I don't think even he likes flames. I think I'll dip them into Chocolate first.).