II : The Outside

A/N- The location of the chocolate factory is never really disclosed anywhere. In my mind the city is a bit of a cross between NYC and London, which I have deemed "New Manhattan" for all intents and purposes. Not that anyone really cares.

Rights go to their rightful owners.

Review? *winks at you with both eyes*

"I know she's capable of anything, it's riveting." - The Weeknd (In the Night)

Charlie did his schoolwork primarily through the mail now that he was Willy Wonka's heir. The press and paparazzi refused to leave him alone for the first two weeks after he moved in and after one particularly stressful encounter, they all agreed he would only go into school for tests, quizzes, and that sort of thing. It was nice, because he could wake up later and do his work when he liked, but sometimes Charlie wanted his teachers back. His parents were always rather busy and he could never get a straight answer out of Mr. Wonka.

At any rate, our favourite heir finished his studies at a record pace and was ready to leave at one-thirty that afternoon. Not so for Willy Wonka. He was attempting to procrastinate for as long as he possibly could. Luckily Charlie caught on and fairly dragged him out the side entrance. The front gates would have attracted far too much suspicion from the public.

It had snowed lightly during the night, leaving a thin, powdery blanket over the city.

"Let's cut through Hyde Gardens and catch a cab down to 17th Street where all the sweet shops are," suggested Charlie. "And we could see your old shop!"

"Whatever you want," said Willy, who was rather caught up in trying to become invisible.

It had begun to snow again, and the tops of their shoulders were dusted with fat flakes. The backs of the many benches scattered about were heaped in snow. Seeing his opportunity, Charlie scooped up a handful and tossed it at the back of his mentor. Said target spun around upon impact.

"You're going to very much regret that," said Mr. Wonka, scooping up his own handful of snow and chucking it at his heir.

Twenty minutes later found them strolling leisurely down 16th Street, examining the festive window displays.

Charlie was suddenly struck with a thought.

Before the factory, he had often frequented a little patisserie just around the corner from where they were now. Charlie hadn't thought about that particular place in quite a while. He felt a little guilty about that, to be honest. After all the owner had done for him, too.

Rain pours out of a dreary grey sky. It skates along the rooftops and cascades down windowpanes. It collects in the gutters and pools in depressions on the sidewalks. Charlie Bucket sloshes through it with difficulty.

Squeezed between a tailor and a hair salon, a cheerful yellow storefront catches Charlie's attention. Through the glass he can see dozens and dozens of fanciful cakes. In the glass counter there are scads of macarons and frosted biscuits and eclairs. Shelves on the back wall hold hundreds of glass jars full of varying amounts of what is presumably loose leaf tea. Painted in flowing script on the glass before his eyes are the words:

17th Street Tea and Confectionery

Since 1975

Montgomery and Montgomery

On the door there is a "help wanted, inquire within" notice. Hesitantly, Charlie pushes the door open. A small silver bell tinkles.

Charlie is at once captivated by the delicious smell of the little shop. So distracted is he, that he fails to notice the curious figure emerge from the French doors to the back room.

"May I help you find anything?" asks said figure in a pleasantly deep voice, and Charlie jumps about a foot in the air.

"Oh! I didn't mean to startle you," says the now-fully-noticed woman standing in front of him.

Before him stands a tall (well, maybe not tall, but taller than his mother) and stately woman in a mint apron. She is of indeterminate age, and the bottom half of her short, white-blond hair is dyed a dark coffee brown. Or maybe the top half of her short, dark coffee brown hair is dyed a white-blond, Charlie can't quite tell.

Recovering his speech, he says, "Um, your sign in the window says you are looking for help…?"

The lady knits her brows together. "You're...a bit...young…don't you think?" She sees the look on his face and hastily adds, "But if you could sit down for a bit, we could discuss it over look starved."

In the end, he does not acquire a job, but he does make a friend, and every Tuesday after that he goes to 17th St. Tea and Confectionary to take tea with Francis Abigail Montgomery. Every Tuesday evening he is sent home with a cake or a tin of biscuits or a jar of loose leaf tea. Sometimes Miss Montgomery helps him with his studies, for she is terrifically smart, and other times they talk and she tells him about foreign politics and fantastic adventures and the newest flashy sports cars. On occasion she will let him come into the back and watch her frost cakes or whip egg whites into meringue.

Until one Tuesday when he comes to three hundred and seventeen 17th Street, the windows are boarded up and the cheerful OPEN sign is missing. The door is locked, but there is something stuck in the mail slot. Being a curious sort, Charlie tugs it out.

He unfolds the slip of paper - it does have his name on it, so he assumes it will be alright to do so - and reads the note:

Charlie-

I'm going away on business for some time. I do not know when I will return. I'm dreadfully sorry I didn't get a chance to say goodbye, but it couldn't be helped.

Yours truly,

Francis

He comes by faithfully every Tuesday for months after that. Then once a week becomes once every other week and then he stops going altogether. And then he finds a Golden Ticket and forgets all about three hundred and seventeen 17th Street and the wonders inside he found inside.

Charlie had to fairly run to catch up to Mr. Wonka, whose long legs walked much faster than Charlie's, especially when motivated by thoughts of potential forced social interaction.

"Mr. Wonka! Do you think we could go see about something for a minute?" asked Charlie. Certainly Miss Montgomery had returned by now, it had been well over a year!

Five minutes later they stood across the street from 17th Street Tea and Confectionery, which seemed to be very much open, judging from the window full of cakes and the OPEN sign hung on the door.

"Would you like to have some tea?" Charlie fairly bounced with excitement.

Willy twitched an eyebrow. "Just so long as I'm not expected to fraternize with the competition," he said petulantly.

"It's cake shoppe," contradicted Charlie. "They don't even sell chocolates."