Chapter Two

(Chocolate and Company)

Tap-tap-tap.

A mouse, scuttling down the corridor, looking for cheese.

Mice and rats, that's what they were; skulking in the shadows, looking to steal and ruin and destroy. This one was rather ragged, with dirty cheeks and shabby skirts, but she had a black case with her. No doubt poking among the factory, looking for recipes, looking to line her pockets with the wealth he had accumulated. To fill that black box with chocolate and tote it back to whoever was paying her. Or was she just a curious onlooker, filled with superstition and determined to win a bet placed by the other rats?

Wasn't that just it, though? He made chocolate—but they ignored the chocolate and wanted the money. It all came down to the money.

He had watched her from the window, saw her fit through the bars which was supposed to keep out the world. Prying eyes and greedy fingers, even after he had boarded up the windows and wrapped chains around the gates, they still crept in. No matter how tightly you sealed a pantry the mice could still sneak inside.

She had been hesitant, sneaking forward through the snow, low-bellied, knowing she was doing wrong. It was rather funny to see people sneaking along, dark inky blotches against blue-white snow. As if he couldn't see them. As if they could hide from what was straight in front of them.

The snow was piling up and she had used his own footfalls as a path, creeping steadily up the walk; he could almost pretend her whiskers were twitching. Ah, how well they fit with his allegory!

It was only then that he had remembered taking the chains off the gate two days ago. In an odd humor he had flung open the doors and stared at the street, wondering how they would react if he simply strode down the road. Wouldn't they all gasp and shrink away, fleeing before him, a farmer setting out poison?

He had half a mind to greet her at the door and fling her out into the snow, seizing her black case and keeping it.

But…

It had been so long. Over a year. And no visitors. Not another soul to speak to but the echoes of his factory. And despite his best efforts, his most pleasant smiles, the machinery never spoke back. Machinery was standoffish that way.

So he let the mouse inside.

He baited the trap—turning on a light, hastily writing a note and putting it against the door. Would she run in fear? Or would she take the cheese like he knew she would?

She slunk down the hallway, covered in snow and ashes, looking for all the world like a lost chimney sweep. Fingers shaking, she plucked the note from the door.

"It's old," she said tonelessly, her voice small and swathed in shadows, "It's old and he put it up a long time ago for a laugh. Very funny, Mister Wonka."

Crossly, he called out, "It's not a joke."

A high, thin scream—and she whirled around, seizing her black case as though she might throw it at him.

"Mister Wonka?"

Oh, how he knew that tone! Reverent, hushed, all dripping with lies and false flattery. Oh Mister Wonka, you're so clever. Oh Mister Wonka, could you show me how to make that kind of chocolate? Oh Mister Wonka, do you think I could take some of these home, my little boy just loves them?

He limped forward, into the circle of light. "Didn't you read the note?" he snapped, wintry and bitter as the wind outside.

"I am so sorry," the girl rushed (for she was a girl, all awash in feminine sensibilities, what with her rosy cheeks and dark eyes). "I didn't think anyone would be here, especially not after…all this time."

"Desert my factory?" he cried, spreading his arms. "I built it. I'm not going to let spies drive me out of business and out of my home."

She was looking at him like one looks at a mad person. Frightened. A little pity. Mostly shock. "M-Mister Wonka, please excuse me," the girl curtsied quickly, bobbing her head. "My name is Amy Sweet. I only came here to get out of the cold, I promise you."

Pretty manners for a pretty mouse. Quite the interesting curio.

"I see," Wonka said, half under his breath. "My, a sweet."

More fear this time. "Amy," she corrected.

Pretty but stupid, how could she not see the invisible stairs? "Out of the cold? And you come to my factory?" he asked. How long would it take before she tripped over her own lies?

"There's no place else," the sweet one said, a little dully, "save the church. And those beds are for mothers and children. I am…quite sorry. I'll leave, if you want me to. I didn't think there would be anyone else here."

"And yet you didn't run away."

Don't all mice run away when caught in the act?

"Of course not," she said, her spine stiffening, "I don't run away when one starts a conversation. How rude."

He cocked his head to one side. Was that…?

Chocolate.

His chocolate.

He smelled it on her.

In an instant he stepped closer and she pressed her back against the wall, backing away from him. "I'll leave," she said abruptly, making as if to dart to one side. The fear building up in her had peaked, evidently.

"Where did you find it?" he asked, leaning in. She ducked under his arm but he plucked the black case from her grasp neatly.

"Give that to me!" she shouted, suddenly angry, her sooty cheeks coloring.

"You had some of my chocolate," he pressed, holding the case out of her reach. "Where did you find it?"

The sweet one stopped and looked at him warily. "A friend of mine bought it at the shops. It was one of the last, apparently." She looked up at him, mouth a firm, irate line. "Give me my case."

One of the last…

That pain never left him. So many creations left alone. So many things left unmade, so many inventions. Weren't they safer in his head? Where none could break in and steal? But they withered and died with no sunlight, no delighted shining from children's faces; the ache of having those unspoken inventions languish within his mind—it was almost too much to bear. Was it selfish to want Wonka's chocolate to simply exist? In the way mountains and oceans existed? Perhaps not sold (spies and rats, they were everywhere), but simply existing.

"Would you like some more?" he asked simply.

She took the case from his unresisting hand and hugged it to herself. "Some more what?" she snapped.

A sweet one with a bite of impatience. Heat mixed with sweetness, sugar and pepper in equal amounts.

"Chocolate."

"Of your chocolate?"

And it was like watching a lily break open for the first time, a new, fresh joy on her face. It never changed—that same reaction whenever someone heard Wonka Chocolates.

"Of my chocolate, yes."

"Yes. Yes, very much so."

And so she stayed.

They sat in the empty factory surrounded by machinery, the strong steel framework covered in dust and cobwebs. She washed her face and hands and smoothed her hair, eating chocolate slowly to make it last. Children devoured candy in great handfuls, but she savored each morsel as though it might be her last; and he watched every expression, a man dying of thirst drinking in her enjoyment.

That was what chocolate was supposed to be. Enjoyed. Loved. Not locked away in the dusty brain of their inventor.

"It's rather spooky here," Amy remarked, looking up at the high ceilings. She sat with her legs folded beneath her, prim and proper despite the dark surroundings. "All this dust and dirt…why did you stay here? Why not move?"

He rested his head against the cool metal of the Wrapping Machine, which used to enclose each chocolate bar in smooth foil. Shiny, bright foil, like dying stars.

"Starshine," he said quietly. "Starbright. Softer than starshine." A half turn of his head, and then, "Speak a little louder next time, will you? Just a trifle. Thank you."

He didn't look at all like she had expected him to. He was taller than she expected, with unruly blonde hair and an untucked shirt. His pocketwatch was broken and his green vest seemed scuffed; those eyes though, they were much too bright and contained two heaping handfuls of madness. A gentle kind of madness. Perhaps slightly contained. And he seemed softer now, after they had opened a box of his Willy Wonka Surprise In Every Mouthful! variety pack, which contained a dozen different kinds of candy.

"Go on," he urged her after she had eaten half the box.

"I couldn't possibly," she protested. Ladies didn't turn into gluttons, even when confronted with delicious candy.

But she could. And she did.

Fireworks and splendid things, like bright rockets, they all burst in her mouth upon closing her lips. Spicy hot peppermints, luxuriously smooth chocolates, thick gooey taffy and crunchy toffee, it all contrasted and bloomed into sparkling whirlwinds in her mouth. Taste—surely that was the prince of senses.

How surreal and odd, to be sitting in the broken-down factory of Willy Wonka, sharing a box of his creations with the inventor himself! How envious the other people would be, but she wouldn't tell. A thing like this was nearly a dream, and you couldn't share a dream, otherwise it might disappear into gossamer clouds. You lorded it over people in a queenly smile or a slant-eyed glance; I shared chocolates with Willy Wonka, the smile might say. And they would never know it, no matter how hard they would agonize.

"I'm sorry you had to close the factory," Amy said at one point.

He had closed his eyes and hummed a little tune.

Madness, in double-fisted handfuls.

Delightful madness.

When dawn crested and the snow was turning from blue to white she left, tucking her black case under her arm.

"Thank you," she said, and had a brief impulse to touch him. He seemed to sense this and backed away. "For everything. It was a lovely night."

Polite ladies would say that. But she meant it, too.

Those bright, mad eyes twinkled. "Come back tomorrow night. I'll have more chocolate."

And the door slammed shut.

Chocolate and company.

What they both wanted so very much.

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Just a bit of fluff and nonsense, getting inside Wonka's head. In answer to what "verse" he is, it's a mix of four sources—Wilder Wonka, Depp Wonka, Book Wonka, and my own little splash of dark bitterness.

{Six reviews received}

Special thanks to: Yuki Suou, Military-SweetHeart, Turrislucidus, DragonOwl, and two guests: Me and Guest.

Thank you all for your kind, kind words! I'm sorry this took so long to update, but I've reached an impasse in my main fanfiction and needed a little romance to break my heart, lol. I hope you continue to follow it! I'm surprised it got any attention at all, but I'm rather addicted to writing Wonka's thoughts now. Haven't quite gotten the hang of his dialog yet, but I'm working on it!