(no subject)
Tiptoe Through the Buttercups 3/?
By: Thursday Saint Giles
Pairings: SECRET! (multiple slash pairings)
Rating: PG, for now (really don’t know how this is going to end up. Boys are so unpredictable)
Summary: Charlie finally gets a few answers, but those only lead to more questions, still.
Warning: Crossover (realise I forgot to mention earlier. Mostly because I thought everyone would realise immediately where I was going…) Nothing of the other ‘verse should be confusing, though. It is all pretty straightforward.
Author’s Notes: Okay, the story’s getting a lot longer than I expected, which is okay by me, so I no longer think this will be finished in 3 parts. Hope you’re in for a bit of a long ride…
First Chapter: Knee deep in flowers we'll stray
Second Chapter: We'll keep the showers away
Third Chapter:
Right off, Charlie couldn’t say if it was man or woman. He would have leaned toward woman, but sometimes Mister Wonka could look very much like a woman, and dressed very strange, and sometimes even seemed to be wearing a bit of makeup, so Charlie knew better than to make crack assumptions. But it was very pretty-pale, pale skin, whiter than even Mister Wonka’s, with bright blood red lips standing in stark contrast. Collar length, ink black hair fell around the soft curves of the face, concealing the eyes. It was dressed in a long robe of some sort that looked very expensive, like one of Mister Wonka’s jackets only richer and with a dragon design curling around the hip and up the chest.
The figure knelt by the river, delicately pulling the buttercups apart petal by petal, bringing each one individually to those sensuous lips and savouring each bite with soft sounds of pleasure. Charlie’d never heard sounds like those from anyone eating chocolate. Not even Mister Wonka. Though the very idea of hearing such sounds from Wonka’s lips made Charlie feel a bit hot in the chest. The moans coming from the figure contradicted its feminine image, low, throaty, and utterly masculine. Clearly he was someone who appreciated the candy. How could he be the to have caused such destruction, when every action he made now was careful and precise?
After the last petal disappeared, the man sucked his fingers between his lips one at a time, licking almost obscenely. He sat back on his heels and rose gracefully, swaying a bit in place, as if dizzy, and then took one hesitant step toward the shore. Then another. Almost as if in a trance, he lowered himself again at the bank of the river, hair once again curtaining his features as he bent over the river, hands outstretched, cupped together. Charlie knew he should do something to stop the man. Whether Wonka knew what was going on or not, he never approved of anyone contaminating his chocolate river.
“D,” A soft voice murmured, very near to where Charlie was hidden, and he jumped, realising it was coming from just above him. The man straightened, looking right in Charlie’s direction, his expression dull. Even in the dim light his slanted eyes were bright - shocking yellow on the left and piercing purple on the right. He regarded Wonka for a long moment, and leaned back on one hand, his pose welcoming.
Steps echoed over the bridge, the soft click of Wonka’s heels approaching the man. Charlie shrank further back into the shadows, watching as Wonka slowly came into view. D’s eyes followed Wonka’s progress, and he tipped back his head to look up at Wonka.
“This has to stop,” Wonka said at length, sounding exasperated and resolved all at the same time, in a way uniquely Wonka.
D looked away, tracing a single finger in the chocolate river and bringing it to his lips. Charlie was stunned at Wonka’s lack of response, and felt a spark of inane jealousy in his stomach. But there was such hollowness in D’s downturned eyes that jealousy couldn’t remain long.
“D,” Wonka said again, squatting beside the prone figure. He was still dressed in his day clothes, or maybe he’d just got up, Charlie didn’t know, but he looked remarkably fresh and well-rested for the hour. He caught the thin wrist as D moved to taste the river again. D’s eyes narrowed dangerously. It was a look reminiscent of the one Wonka got whenever he felt like passing out judgement on others, and one Charlie had learned to be wary of over the years. How odd to see such a familiar expression on such a foreign face.
D forcefully removed his wrist from Wonka’s possession and stood again, this time sure on his feet. “I do not need your concern, Mister Wonka,” He said stiffly.
Wonka sighed, getting to his feet more slowly and crossing his arms over his chest. “Then what are you doin’ here, Count?” He challenged, adopting that mocking, childish tone that so infuriated Charlie.
D’s hands curled into fists at his sides and he turned away, pacing down the length of the river toward the willow. He stopped there, his shoulders shaking, though from tension or anger or tears, Charlie couldn’t begin to guess. When he spoke again, his voice was even and cool. It was surprising, given his appearance, deep and smooth, with a thick Chinese accent. Charlie strained to hear, but could only pick up bits and pieces. “…do apologise…Tet-chan’s behaviour,” D said at length. “…have reprimanded him…pleased to know.”
“Now D,” Wonka said, and his voice sounded playful in a way Charlie’d never heard before. It was teasing, yes, but remarkably serious at the same time. Such strange contradictions of which Wonka was capable… “We both know that was not to what I was referring.” There was another long silence, and it became clear D didn’t intend to respond.
“You know,” Wonka said conversationally, perching on the low edge of the bridge, dangling his leg casually over the river. His voice was pitched low, and now Charlie had trouble hearing him, too. “…to say….not been yourself at all since your arrival.” The man didn’t immediately fall for the bait, glancing over his shoulder in a quick, annoyed gesture.
“I mean…years since I saw you last,” Wonka went on, undeterred and Charlie held his breath to better hear, “…were, same as you’ve ever been-reserved, cool, implacable. So I had to wonder, what could have possibly happened in the past six years to change you?”
D turned around a bit more fully, looking toward Wonka, his face darkening with every word. “I do not believe it is your place-” He began, but Wonka jumped to his feet lightly and spoke over him.
“So I had a little chat with Tetsu.” D’s eyes widened in outrage, but Wonka rushed on. “Figured…owed me one anyway, tearing…every night.” He drew his toe over the barren buttercup patch, eyes sparkling playfully. “…probably be pleased to know he wouldn’t tell me a thing…threatened me with a painful death. Quite a temper that one has…”
Charlie’s frown was growing by the second. Mister Wonka did not sound like himself. It wasn’t that he was surprised that Wonka was trying to get under the man’s skin, having been on the receiving end of such treatment too many times to count. But the manner in which Wonka spoke, even the words he chose seemed out of character. Charlie risked moving a bit more out of the shadows to make sure that it was, yes, Wonka approaching D. He didn’t know why he expected this to make sense, when nothing else currently was…but if there was one thing he could count on in the crazy unpredictability of the factory, it was Willy Wonka’s ability to never carry on a direct conversation in an even remotely adult manner.
“But then I ran across Pon-chan and Ten-chan, and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how eager those two are to share any business that isn’t their own. Ten-chan mentioned L.A. and then Pon-chan went on wistfully about missing ‘Chris,’ and from there the whole story spilled out.” Wonka almost sounded vicious and Charlie held his breath waiting for D’s reaction.
“A human,” Wonka said into the hanging silence. “A blond haired, blue eyed, beer-guzzling, cigarette-smoking, meat-eating American. With a foul temper and even worse language,” Wonka wielded each word like a weapon.
D spun around and his eyes were bright, but his face was absolutely blank, his expression fathomless. Charlie didn’t understand what Wonka saw that caused him to take a step back, falling silent. “I didn’t…” Wonka murmured. “You can’t be serious. A human?”
D laughed, the sound bitter and edging toward hysterical, and cut himself off quickly. “A child, Willy?” They were speaking louder now, and Charlie could hear everything they said, but that didn’t help his understanding of anything.
Wonka pulled a face and crossed his arms defensively over his chest. “I’m not the one going around tearing up other people’s gardens and devouring unhealthy amounts of candy and spending all day languishing and all evening lurking about driving my apprentice batty with the effect of late night activities.”
“I do not wish to discuss this any further,” D said, his voice thick.
“Huh uh, D. You come knocking in the middle of the night and say you need a place to stay, and I welcome you with open arms, even knowing that you have a ship that dwarves my modest factory, and I didn’t question it, didn’t press. But you’re not being yourself, and now Charlie’s worried, and I can’t be myself.”
D lifted his shoulders and set them back stiffly, holding his hands in front of him. “I do apologise, Mister Wonka. I had thought, given our past acquaintance, and your debt, that I might take a brief rest here. However, I can see I’ve outworn my welcome, and will, respectfully, be moving along.”
“D!” Wonka exclaimed, and his frown deepened. “That’s not…you know you’re welcome here, whether or not I owed you anything. I just…I’m…things cannot go on as they currently are.”
“I don’t know what happened with your human,” Wonka said, and D flinched. Wonka continued on quickly, as if to appease the other man, “and I don’t need to-but you can’t stay here forever.”
Something wistful flashed briefly across D’s face, painful in its bright, brief intensity, and Charlie felt his eyes sting with tears, inexplicably. His heart ached with such longing, and he could not say why.
A sound from across the Chocolate Room startled them all. In the distance, the horizon was brightening, and apparently, the Oompa-Loompas had arisen with the sun, and their singing could be heard from the fringes of the room as they began to work. Charlie stifled a surprised shriek and felt his heart beating wildly in his chest-certainly they would hear-D jumped and even Wonka started, looking over his shoulder in surprise.
“My goodness, it is rather late…er…early, as the case may be,” Wonka chirped. “Perhaps this is a discussion better held elsewhere.” He held out his arm invitingly and without hesitation, D stepped into him, allowing Wonka’s hand to guide his elbow gently toward the exit.
Charlie straightened, his joints screaming at the quick movement after having been stuck in a crouch for so long. They were already too far away, and if he tried to follow them now, he’d be noticed for certain, and he still didn’t understand anything. If D was leaving, chances were he never would. Wonka wouldn’t tell Charlie on his own, and there was no way Charlie could ask without revealing he’d been eavesdropping.
But what had it all meant? They’d clearly known one another for a long time. Charlie’d always known Wonka was older…like, mum had once said that he was old enough to be his father, when she and his grandparents and father had discussed why Wonka didn’t have his own biological heir. And of course Wonka had to be at least that old, to have had his very own shop twenty years before the tour of the factory was ever held. Of course the man was a genius, but it still took time and money and connections and such to have one’s own shop. But knowing, abstractly, that Wonka was much older, and actually thinking of him that way were two separate things. Wonka didn’t look much older than maybe thirty, and he hadn’t seemed to age in all the time Charlie had been in the factory. The point was…no matter how old Wonka looked, he had to be at least forty, and probably older, and D couldn’t be more than twenty-five, on the outside. So how had they met? And how had Wonka come to be in D’s debt. And why did they keep using the word human, like…like they weren’t? It was ridiculous.
A headache was creeping up on Charlie. It had started from lack of sleep, over an hour ago, but then it had been a very negligible ache in the back of his head, but now it was moving up and around to his temples, making him feel as though someone very strong had taken his head between their hands and was pressing as hard as they could. He was exhausted, and he had to be up for school in an hour.
The day didn’t get any better. Charlie was in his last year of school, and he’d been seventeen for a couple months now, but he still didn’t have his licence. He didn’t have time between school and the factory for driving lessons, and he didn’t know why he’d really need to drive, when he spent nearly all his free time in the factory. But lacking the ability to drive himself meant he was stuck with the bus. Wonka had tried on several occasions to offer a chauffeured limousine, but Charlie already stood out enough at school-he didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself.
School didn’t start until a quarter after eight, but since he had to ride the bus, he had to be waiting outside the factory at seven-twenty a.m. sharp. Normally he finished any homework he’d neglected previously over breakfast, but he’d slept as long as possible to make up for the night before and so arrived entirely unprepared for his first class, Biology.
Charlie only had to take English, Mathematics and Biology to complete his GCSE, and had opted to fill out the rest of the year with English Literature, Latin, History, Psychology (in a vain attempt to better understand his mentor) and Business Studies and Economics. He’d wanted to take Art and Design instead of History, and Wonka was most supportive of the idea, but Mum and Dad though tit important to take what they called a ‘practical’ subject. Wonka had muttered for days about how practical Charlie’s school’s concept of ‘history’ was, but to no avail, and Charlie hadn’t wanted to argue with his parents, as they generally were very easy-going about what he wanted.
Biology wasn’t Charlie’s least favourite of his classes, by any length of the imagination, but it wasn’t the easiest. He’d thought it would be, likened it to candy-making in his mind. But creating new candies wasn’t about equations and learning formulas-it was about intuition and imagination, and he found, after working alongside Wonka for so many years, that learning biology was tough. There was a pop quiz on which Charlie completely zoned.
Second period was Business Studies and Economics. He’d jumped at the opportunity to begin the business track when he began his secondary education, knowing that Wonka hated the business aspect of…well, the business, so Charlie was eager to help. There wasn’t a great deal of homework in the class, ever, and he actually understood everything very well, so he spent the class in a desperate attempt to finish the history assignment he’d forgot the night before.
During lunch he tried to hide himself in the courtyard so he could maybe get a bit of rest, and finish his work. It was bitterly cold, so he hadn’t thought he’d be bothered, but he clearly underestimated the persistence of his friends.
“Charlie, what the hell are you doin’ out here?” Lydia demanded as she dropped to the ground next to him, shivering, drawing her coat tightly around her. “Bloody weather. Don’t it know it’s spring?”
Charlie sighed in sympathy. The factory was so hot, that every time he stepped into the winter air his breath was stolen away. It was difficult to adjust, and he took to wearing layers. “You finish that history shite?” Lester asked hopefully, peering over Charlie’s shoulder from behind. Really, he was a dear friend, but he could be something of a moocher, at times. Still, reprimanding him would be hypocritical when Charlie’d been meaning to ask Lester the same question out of desperation.
“Charlie, you look like hell,” Lydia said after a long moment. She was staring at him with her unnervingly clear eyes.
“Well, thanks,” He muttered, looking forlornly at the homework in his lap and rubbing his sore eyes.
Lydia made a ‘brr’ noise and rubbed her arms with her hands and against Charlie’s. “I’m freezing my tits off out here.”
Charlie shot her a dark look. “You know, I didn’t ask you to come out here,” He pointed out reasonably. It was a tone of voice he had to use a lot with Wonka, because reason was so foreign to the other man. Charlie was very good at it, and it annoyed Lydia to no end.
Lydia scowled, but ignored him. “Seriously, you don’t look so great. Were you up late creating some tasty new treat?” Lydia asked, with growing interested.
“Oooh!” Lester squealed in excitement. “Do we get to try?”
“Is it something chocolate? I mean, I know you’ve said you prefer leaving the chocolate to Wonka, but that model of Middle America you made was absolutely delish-all those magnificent flavours…I can’t say which country I liked the best.”
“No, come on, Charlie, you said you’d work on something anise flavoured for me next,” Lester interjected.
Lydia pulled a face and stuck out her tongue. “That is so gross, Lester,” She admonished. “I mean…no one would buy it.”
“People eat black liquorice, and it’s flavoured after anise,” Lester argued back.
Charlie smiled, inexplicably cheered up by his friends’ chatter, and let his eyes fall closed. He was glad they were distracted anyway. He never knew exactly what he could safely say about the factory, and what should remain secret. Wonka was so fiercely private; Charlie didn’t want to risk upsetting him. The less said about what went on inside, the better. Charlie was lucky enough that Wonka let him take samples of their new candies to his friends. It showed an enormous trust, since a sample would be all a competitor would need to steal an idea. Lydia had been wheedling him forever in an attempt to get a tour of the factory, but Charlie knew without ever asking that such a thing would be forbidden.
Some distant, dark part of Charlie rebelled at the idea that he was meant to inherit the factory, but couldn’t even bring a guest for dinner, or a sleep-over, and meanwhile, Wonka kept secret guests. Secret guests who went so far as to tear apart the Chocolate Room…Charlie imagined confronting Wonka on the matter…
Imagining arguments with Wonka occupied a lot of Charlie’s thoughts, when he was distracted or on the verge of sleep. It wasn’t that Charlie fought often with Wonka. It was just…when Charlie wasn’t busy making himself not think about Wonka in anything other than a friendly manner, his brain got away with him, thinking about Wonka in very…creative and explicit ways. But Charlie’s fantasies were never simple, and tended to stay true to Wonka’s character, and so whenever Charlie imagined approaching Wonka romantically, there was unavoidable argument.
They were in Wonka’s office, and everything seemed the same as the day before, but instead of letting Wonka walk away, Charlie grabbed his wrist. He stood and Wonka stopped in puzzlement, looking first at where he was held in Charlie’s grasp, then up at Charlie’s face. “Who’s D, Mister Wonka?” Charlie asked. In his imagination, his voice was deeper than in reality, but the way Wonka had to tilt his head back to meet Charlie’s gaze was real. It was still slightly thrilling to Charlie, towering over Willy Wonka.
“Charles,’” Lester shook his shoulder and Charlie started, opening his eyes.
“Oh no…” Charlie moaned. “Why’d you let me fall asleep? I had to do my work…”
“You looked miserable, mate,” Lester said with an apologetic shrug. “At least we’ll be in trouble together.”
Professor Archer had this way of saying “History” that made it seem dark and sinister. Maybe he’d just been influenced too much by what Mister Wonka said, but Charlie didn’t understand the importance of history in his world. Well, he didn’t want to be ignorant by any stretch of the imagination, and it was good to know the important things, because it was important to know from where one came. But really, would he ever need to know that in 1888 a bunch of stuffy gentlemen got together and decided to redraw the Durham County lines to move Sunderland, South Tyneside and Gateshead to a new county called Tyne and Wear? Well, okay, maybe if he ended up guesting on some strange game show that asked very obscure questions, but still.
When Lester and Charlie walked in the classroom, Charlie could immediately feel his professor’s eyes on him and pointedly did not look in the man’s direction. He knew it was better to deal with things quickly, what he liked to refer to as the ‘plaster method,’ but Professor Archer made Charlie feel very differently about things, indeed.
Class was tedious, as usual, an hour and thirty minutes of Professor Archer’s dry, monotonous voice reciting dates and names and events. Charlie always made an attempt to take notes, but without fail, he ended up in a daze, his note pages covered with doodles and scribbled ideas for new candies.
The bell rang and Charlie felt a pit of lead in his stomach. “Don’t forget to turn in your homework as you leave,” Professor Archer said, as the class began to move about and gather their things.
“Shhhiiiiit,” Lester moaned. It was not very reassuring. Charlie rummaged around in his backpack (official Wonka brand, though Wonka had made a few modifications, curly ‘CB’ replacing the double W, and in blues and greens rather than Wonka’s purples and pinks), producing the paper. He had tried, but the questions were so laborious. Not simple fill in the blanks with dates or something like that…no, questions on motivations and underlying causes for conflicts. Some of the questions were answered, anyway…
“Mister Bucket,” Professor Archer said from over his shoulder. Charlie fought the urge to jump. He looked guiltily up at the Professor.
“Sir?”
Professor Archer sighed, plucking the paper from Charlie’s fingers and scanning it. “Mister Bucket,” He said again, frowning, and taking a seat at the desk in front of Charlie, turning the chair around to face him. “I am rather alarmed about your performance in this class. I have spoken with your parents, and your other teachers, and it seems my class is the only one in which you are having particular trouble.”
That wasn’t entirely true. He wasn’t all that great at Mathematics, but Lydia had been tutoring him, and it was through her help that he’d been able to keep up so far. And he wasn’t the best in the class at sciences. But Lydia wasn’t around to help out with History. She was taking mostly math and science courses, as well as some engineering and computer science. It was just that with all the other classes he actually wanted to make an effort. With History…well, he found he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“I’m sorry sir,” Charlie said quickly. “I’ll do better, I promise.”
Professor Archer looked dubious and cleared his throat after a minute. “I’m concerned, Charlie,” He said. “I have to wonder if perhaps your duties at the factory are interfering with your schoolwork.”
“That doesn’t make any sense!” Charlie blurted out. He couldn’t help it. His mother had already said something similar, and scared Charlie to death, talking about disallowing him to work in the factory until he finished schooling. Mister Wonka had been furious. “You said yourself that I do fine in my other classes. Mister Wonka always tells me to make sure I do my schoolwork before I join him.”
Professor Archer held up a hand, forestalling any further argument. “Charlie.” His tone was firm. “Now, Headmaster Marcus agrees that this is a valid concern-”
“But-”
“If your grades don’t improve, I don’t think I can allow a pass for the year,” Professor Archer told him gravely. “Now, with the Bank Holidays approaching, you’ll have a bit of time off before the final semester. We’re going to be studying Asia at that point in time, with a focus on China, India and Japan. I have decided to give you an opportunity to redeem yourself. Pick one of the countries, and I want a full paper on the history of the country: government, tradition, religion, economics, and a timeline of all major events. It should be a minimum of twenty pages.”
“Twenty pages?” Charlie interjected in disbelief.
“Mister Bucket, you are failing this class,” Professor Archer reminded him. “If you would rather, the Headmaster and I are prepared to take actions about your work at the factory.”
Charlie’s eyes narrowed at the threat. He wanted so badly to say something, but he was worried if he did it would only make things worse for Mister Wonka. He briefly thought about reconsidering Wonka’s offer to give the man some experimental candy. “Fine,” He said, swallowing hard around his anger.
“Very good. Since break begins this Friday, I want your proposal for the paper on my desk by Thursday afternoon. If you need any assistance choosing your topic, or researching, the library has-”
“Mister Wonka has a great library,” Charlie bit out. “Its brilliant.”
Professor Archer nodded. “Very well. I will expect the paper by the second week of May. If you run into any problems, or need approval for your rough-draft, let me know.”
Charlie fought against and sneer and grabbed his bag, hurrying out to the hall. Lydia and Lester were waiting for him, and he told them what Archer had said, horrified to find he had to fight back tears. The Headmaster couldn’t really do anything about his life at the factory, could she? “What a git,” Lydia said, and as always, the word sounded funny given her accent.
“Yeah,” Charlie agreed miserably. He promised to catch up with Lester tomorrow morning for English Lit, and let Lydia drag him off to their Calculus class together. He made it through the rest of the school day in a sleep-deprived cloud of depression.
“You know,” Lydia said after Psychology (which she’d taken after her mother begged and pleaded for weeks at the end of last school year). “Geoff Pratchett, the quiet guy that sits in the back of English? He’s doing his focus on History. I think he’s got, like, three classes this year. You might ask him for help.”
It wasn’t a bad idea, so Charlie caught up with Geoff at the end of the day. He found him in the student’s lounge, reading a thick, ancient looking book. “Hey, Pratchett, right?” He asked, approaching.
“Yes,” Geoff answered in a soft voice, looking up with a blank expression. Charlie shifted nervously.
“Er…you’re a History major, aren’t you?” Charlie asked awkwardly.
Geoff closed his book. “Yes,” He said again. The conversation might go a bit more smoothly if the guy was a bit more loquacious.
“Well…er…I’ve been assigned some extra credit work, and I was hoping you might be able…” He trailed off, unsure how to phrase it.
“Bucket, right?” Geoff asked. Finally he smiled, just a hint. “Professor Archer is it? He can be kinda…stern.” Charlie snorted. That might be an understatement. Geoff looked sympathetic. “Well, what’s the assignment?”
“I’ve got to pick an Asian country and do a full report on the history of things like government and religion and stuff,” Charlie explained, feeling very ineloquent.
Geoff’s smile grew. “Doesn’t sound too bad. You’d probably be best off with China. Given how large it is, and the diversity of the regions, you won’t have any problem finding material.” His voice was soothing, an American accent, but not so nearly nasal as Lydia’s New England twang. “I have a few books, I could bring them tomorrow.”
“Oh, that sounds great!” Charlie agreed readily. He didn’t care which country, and if China would be easiest, that was fine by him. “Thanks, Pratchett.” They promised to meet at lunch the next day, and Charlie rushed to catch the bus before it left without him.
Charlie was going to throw his books on the table, drop onto his bed, and sleep like the dead for hours. Until tomorrow, at least. Longer, if he was allowed. That’s how it was going to happen. Until Charlie actually got back to the factory, made his quick trip across the cold courtyard and used the side entrance, immediately swallowed by warmth and dim light and he could sigh in relief.
At once, Charlie was set upon by Oompa-Loompas. They’d taken to going to Charlie before Wonka these days, unless it was a very serious problem. Charlie approved. Wonka always pulled faces when he had to do serious work, and got nervous when there was a problem the factory, and besides, Wonka was better at creating new candies, so it was better to leave him uninterrupted and let Charlie deal with business.
After a bit, his fatigue was forgot as he followed the workers around the factory, righting little wrongs (and sometimes big ones, when the Oompa-Loompas couldn’t reach). By dinner he was starving, and he’d moved beyond exhaustion into a sort of dimmed, peaceful state of being, going through the motions of eating without really tasting anything, or marking the motions.
It seemed pointless to go through any extra effort to go to bed early any more, since he’d normally be going to bed in a few hours, so he decided to head down to the Inventing Room. Maybe, just maybe, Wonka might say something about D…
“Oh, Charlie!” Wonka greeted, as Charlie arrived. He was wearing goggles and pushed them up to meet Charlie’s gaze. “I was hoping you’d come by. I actually wanted to speak with you!”
“Oh?” Charlie muttered, feeling that this was just another misdirection, another way for him to keep from being honest.
“Yes,” Wonka said readily. His smile was bright, but seemed fixed.
“About the buttercups?” Charlie prompted.
Wonka’s smile only faltered around his eyes. “Oh, that’s all been taken care of,” He said, waving a dismissive hand. “No, no. I wanted to speak with you on a matter which I suppose, is connected.” He got that faraway look in his eye. “An…acquaintance of mine has come to stay for a while. He’s recently relocated from America, and I’m afraid he’s a bit at odds as to what he should do with himself.”
Charlie couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and had to keep from letting his jaw drop in disbelief. “Is…is he the one who was doing it?”
“Well…not exactly, but really Charlie, don’t worry yourself about it. The matter has been dealt with. No one will be disrupting the Chocolate Room now,” Wonka said smoothly.
“So, can I meet your friend?” Charlie tried, deciding to take a different route.
Wonka’s lips twisted nervously. “Well…D is a bit of a recluse. I don’t imagine you’ll be seeing him around. I wouldn’t think on him at all, Charlie. I just wanted you to be aware of his presence,” Wonka explained. And as if that settled everything, he slid his goggles back into place. “Now!” He exclaimed, and clapped his hands together. “Come take a look at this, Charlie…”
He was annoyed with the brush-off, but really, Wonka had been more forthcoming than Charlie had any right to expect. It didn’t make him want answers any less, though. Maybe if he just gave Wonka some time? It was so frustrating, to be allowed only so close to Wonka, and no more. To not be trusted entirely. And now all this business with Professor Archer. What if Wonka got in trouble because of Charlie? Then any trust he’d earned at all would be destroyed. Everything was such a mess.
Charlie got back to his room just after nine and collapsed onto his bed.
Tomorrow was Wednesday, which meant he’d have to get his proposal together then, to have it in on time. He really should work on it, but even as he thought of it, his eyes were already drooping. Tomorrow, then…he’d talk to Geoff…
Charlie was asleep within moments.
By: Thursday Saint Giles
Pairings: SECRET! (multiple slash pairings)
Rating: PG, for now (really don’t know how this is going to end up. Boys are so unpredictable)
Summary: Charlie finally gets a few answers, but those only lead to more questions, still.
Warning: Crossover (realise I forgot to mention earlier. Mostly because I thought everyone would realise immediately where I was going…) Nothing of the other ‘verse should be confusing, though. It is all pretty straightforward.
Author’s Notes: Okay, the story’s getting a lot longer than I expected, which is okay by me, so I no longer think this will be finished in 3 parts. Hope you’re in for a bit of a long ride…
First Chapter: Knee deep in flowers we'll stray
Second Chapter: We'll keep the showers away
Third Chapter:
Right off, Charlie couldn’t say if it was man or woman. He would have leaned toward woman, but sometimes Mister Wonka could look very much like a woman, and dressed very strange, and sometimes even seemed to be wearing a bit of makeup, so Charlie knew better than to make crack assumptions. But it was very pretty-pale, pale skin, whiter than even Mister Wonka’s, with bright blood red lips standing in stark contrast. Collar length, ink black hair fell around the soft curves of the face, concealing the eyes. It was dressed in a long robe of some sort that looked very expensive, like one of Mister Wonka’s jackets only richer and with a dragon design curling around the hip and up the chest.
The figure knelt by the river, delicately pulling the buttercups apart petal by petal, bringing each one individually to those sensuous lips and savouring each bite with soft sounds of pleasure. Charlie’d never heard sounds like those from anyone eating chocolate. Not even Mister Wonka. Though the very idea of hearing such sounds from Wonka’s lips made Charlie feel a bit hot in the chest. The moans coming from the figure contradicted its feminine image, low, throaty, and utterly masculine. Clearly he was someone who appreciated the candy. How could he be the to have caused such destruction, when every action he made now was careful and precise?
After the last petal disappeared, the man sucked his fingers between his lips one at a time, licking almost obscenely. He sat back on his heels and rose gracefully, swaying a bit in place, as if dizzy, and then took one hesitant step toward the shore. Then another. Almost as if in a trance, he lowered himself again at the bank of the river, hair once again curtaining his features as he bent over the river, hands outstretched, cupped together. Charlie knew he should do something to stop the man. Whether Wonka knew what was going on or not, he never approved of anyone contaminating his chocolate river.
“D,” A soft voice murmured, very near to where Charlie was hidden, and he jumped, realising it was coming from just above him. The man straightened, looking right in Charlie’s direction, his expression dull. Even in the dim light his slanted eyes were bright - shocking yellow on the left and piercing purple on the right. He regarded Wonka for a long moment, and leaned back on one hand, his pose welcoming.
Steps echoed over the bridge, the soft click of Wonka’s heels approaching the man. Charlie shrank further back into the shadows, watching as Wonka slowly came into view. D’s eyes followed Wonka’s progress, and he tipped back his head to look up at Wonka.
“This has to stop,” Wonka said at length, sounding exasperated and resolved all at the same time, in a way uniquely Wonka.
D looked away, tracing a single finger in the chocolate river and bringing it to his lips. Charlie was stunned at Wonka’s lack of response, and felt a spark of inane jealousy in his stomach. But there was such hollowness in D’s downturned eyes that jealousy couldn’t remain long.
“D,” Wonka said again, squatting beside the prone figure. He was still dressed in his day clothes, or maybe he’d just got up, Charlie didn’t know, but he looked remarkably fresh and well-rested for the hour. He caught the thin wrist as D moved to taste the river again. D’s eyes narrowed dangerously. It was a look reminiscent of the one Wonka got whenever he felt like passing out judgement on others, and one Charlie had learned to be wary of over the years. How odd to see such a familiar expression on such a foreign face.
D forcefully removed his wrist from Wonka’s possession and stood again, this time sure on his feet. “I do not need your concern, Mister Wonka,” He said stiffly.
Wonka sighed, getting to his feet more slowly and crossing his arms over his chest. “Then what are you doin’ here, Count?” He challenged, adopting that mocking, childish tone that so infuriated Charlie.
D’s hands curled into fists at his sides and he turned away, pacing down the length of the river toward the willow. He stopped there, his shoulders shaking, though from tension or anger or tears, Charlie couldn’t begin to guess. When he spoke again, his voice was even and cool. It was surprising, given his appearance, deep and smooth, with a thick Chinese accent. Charlie strained to hear, but could only pick up bits and pieces. “…do apologise…Tet-chan’s behaviour,” D said at length. “…have reprimanded him…pleased to know.”
“Now D,” Wonka said, and his voice sounded playful in a way Charlie’d never heard before. It was teasing, yes, but remarkably serious at the same time. Such strange contradictions of which Wonka was capable… “We both know that was not to what I was referring.” There was another long silence, and it became clear D didn’t intend to respond.
“You know,” Wonka said conversationally, perching on the low edge of the bridge, dangling his leg casually over the river. His voice was pitched low, and now Charlie had trouble hearing him, too. “…to say….not been yourself at all since your arrival.” The man didn’t immediately fall for the bait, glancing over his shoulder in a quick, annoyed gesture.
“I mean…years since I saw you last,” Wonka went on, undeterred and Charlie held his breath to better hear, “…were, same as you’ve ever been-reserved, cool, implacable. So I had to wonder, what could have possibly happened in the past six years to change you?”
D turned around a bit more fully, looking toward Wonka, his face darkening with every word. “I do not believe it is your place-” He began, but Wonka jumped to his feet lightly and spoke over him.
“So I had a little chat with Tetsu.” D’s eyes widened in outrage, but Wonka rushed on. “Figured…owed me one anyway, tearing…every night.” He drew his toe over the barren buttercup patch, eyes sparkling playfully. “…probably be pleased to know he wouldn’t tell me a thing…threatened me with a painful death. Quite a temper that one has…”
Charlie’s frown was growing by the second. Mister Wonka did not sound like himself. It wasn’t that he was surprised that Wonka was trying to get under the man’s skin, having been on the receiving end of such treatment too many times to count. But the manner in which Wonka spoke, even the words he chose seemed out of character. Charlie risked moving a bit more out of the shadows to make sure that it was, yes, Wonka approaching D. He didn’t know why he expected this to make sense, when nothing else currently was…but if there was one thing he could count on in the crazy unpredictability of the factory, it was Willy Wonka’s ability to never carry on a direct conversation in an even remotely adult manner.
“But then I ran across Pon-chan and Ten-chan, and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how eager those two are to share any business that isn’t their own. Ten-chan mentioned L.A. and then Pon-chan went on wistfully about missing ‘Chris,’ and from there the whole story spilled out.” Wonka almost sounded vicious and Charlie held his breath waiting for D’s reaction.
“A human,” Wonka said into the hanging silence. “A blond haired, blue eyed, beer-guzzling, cigarette-smoking, meat-eating American. With a foul temper and even worse language,” Wonka wielded each word like a weapon.
D spun around and his eyes were bright, but his face was absolutely blank, his expression fathomless. Charlie didn’t understand what Wonka saw that caused him to take a step back, falling silent. “I didn’t…” Wonka murmured. “You can’t be serious. A human?”
D laughed, the sound bitter and edging toward hysterical, and cut himself off quickly. “A child, Willy?” They were speaking louder now, and Charlie could hear everything they said, but that didn’t help his understanding of anything.
Wonka pulled a face and crossed his arms defensively over his chest. “I’m not the one going around tearing up other people’s gardens and devouring unhealthy amounts of candy and spending all day languishing and all evening lurking about driving my apprentice batty with the effect of late night activities.”
“I do not wish to discuss this any further,” D said, his voice thick.
“Huh uh, D. You come knocking in the middle of the night and say you need a place to stay, and I welcome you with open arms, even knowing that you have a ship that dwarves my modest factory, and I didn’t question it, didn’t press. But you’re not being yourself, and now Charlie’s worried, and I can’t be myself.”
D lifted his shoulders and set them back stiffly, holding his hands in front of him. “I do apologise, Mister Wonka. I had thought, given our past acquaintance, and your debt, that I might take a brief rest here. However, I can see I’ve outworn my welcome, and will, respectfully, be moving along.”
“D!” Wonka exclaimed, and his frown deepened. “That’s not…you know you’re welcome here, whether or not I owed you anything. I just…I’m…things cannot go on as they currently are.”
“I don’t know what happened with your human,” Wonka said, and D flinched. Wonka continued on quickly, as if to appease the other man, “and I don’t need to-but you can’t stay here forever.”
Something wistful flashed briefly across D’s face, painful in its bright, brief intensity, and Charlie felt his eyes sting with tears, inexplicably. His heart ached with such longing, and he could not say why.
A sound from across the Chocolate Room startled them all. In the distance, the horizon was brightening, and apparently, the Oompa-Loompas had arisen with the sun, and their singing could be heard from the fringes of the room as they began to work. Charlie stifled a surprised shriek and felt his heart beating wildly in his chest-certainly they would hear-D jumped and even Wonka started, looking over his shoulder in surprise.
“My goodness, it is rather late…er…early, as the case may be,” Wonka chirped. “Perhaps this is a discussion better held elsewhere.” He held out his arm invitingly and without hesitation, D stepped into him, allowing Wonka’s hand to guide his elbow gently toward the exit.
Charlie straightened, his joints screaming at the quick movement after having been stuck in a crouch for so long. They were already too far away, and if he tried to follow them now, he’d be noticed for certain, and he still didn’t understand anything. If D was leaving, chances were he never would. Wonka wouldn’t tell Charlie on his own, and there was no way Charlie could ask without revealing he’d been eavesdropping.
But what had it all meant? They’d clearly known one another for a long time. Charlie’d always known Wonka was older…like, mum had once said that he was old enough to be his father, when she and his grandparents and father had discussed why Wonka didn’t have his own biological heir. And of course Wonka had to be at least that old, to have had his very own shop twenty years before the tour of the factory was ever held. Of course the man was a genius, but it still took time and money and connections and such to have one’s own shop. But knowing, abstractly, that Wonka was much older, and actually thinking of him that way were two separate things. Wonka didn’t look much older than maybe thirty, and he hadn’t seemed to age in all the time Charlie had been in the factory. The point was…no matter how old Wonka looked, he had to be at least forty, and probably older, and D couldn’t be more than twenty-five, on the outside. So how had they met? And how had Wonka come to be in D’s debt. And why did they keep using the word human, like…like they weren’t? It was ridiculous.
A headache was creeping up on Charlie. It had started from lack of sleep, over an hour ago, but then it had been a very negligible ache in the back of his head, but now it was moving up and around to his temples, making him feel as though someone very strong had taken his head between their hands and was pressing as hard as they could. He was exhausted, and he had to be up for school in an hour.
The day didn’t get any better. Charlie was in his last year of school, and he’d been seventeen for a couple months now, but he still didn’t have his licence. He didn’t have time between school and the factory for driving lessons, and he didn’t know why he’d really need to drive, when he spent nearly all his free time in the factory. But lacking the ability to drive himself meant he was stuck with the bus. Wonka had tried on several occasions to offer a chauffeured limousine, but Charlie already stood out enough at school-he didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself.
School didn’t start until a quarter after eight, but since he had to ride the bus, he had to be waiting outside the factory at seven-twenty a.m. sharp. Normally he finished any homework he’d neglected previously over breakfast, but he’d slept as long as possible to make up for the night before and so arrived entirely unprepared for his first class, Biology.
Charlie only had to take English, Mathematics and Biology to complete his GCSE, and had opted to fill out the rest of the year with English Literature, Latin, History, Psychology (in a vain attempt to better understand his mentor) and Business Studies and Economics. He’d wanted to take Art and Design instead of History, and Wonka was most supportive of the idea, but Mum and Dad though tit important to take what they called a ‘practical’ subject. Wonka had muttered for days about how practical Charlie’s school’s concept of ‘history’ was, but to no avail, and Charlie hadn’t wanted to argue with his parents, as they generally were very easy-going about what he wanted.
Biology wasn’t Charlie’s least favourite of his classes, by any length of the imagination, but it wasn’t the easiest. He’d thought it would be, likened it to candy-making in his mind. But creating new candies wasn’t about equations and learning formulas-it was about intuition and imagination, and he found, after working alongside Wonka for so many years, that learning biology was tough. There was a pop quiz on which Charlie completely zoned.
Second period was Business Studies and Economics. He’d jumped at the opportunity to begin the business track when he began his secondary education, knowing that Wonka hated the business aspect of…well, the business, so Charlie was eager to help. There wasn’t a great deal of homework in the class, ever, and he actually understood everything very well, so he spent the class in a desperate attempt to finish the history assignment he’d forgot the night before.
During lunch he tried to hide himself in the courtyard so he could maybe get a bit of rest, and finish his work. It was bitterly cold, so he hadn’t thought he’d be bothered, but he clearly underestimated the persistence of his friends.
“Charlie, what the hell are you doin’ out here?” Lydia demanded as she dropped to the ground next to him, shivering, drawing her coat tightly around her. “Bloody weather. Don’t it know it’s spring?”
Charlie sighed in sympathy. The factory was so hot, that every time he stepped into the winter air his breath was stolen away. It was difficult to adjust, and he took to wearing layers. “You finish that history shite?” Lester asked hopefully, peering over Charlie’s shoulder from behind. Really, he was a dear friend, but he could be something of a moocher, at times. Still, reprimanding him would be hypocritical when Charlie’d been meaning to ask Lester the same question out of desperation.
“Charlie, you look like hell,” Lydia said after a long moment. She was staring at him with her unnervingly clear eyes.
“Well, thanks,” He muttered, looking forlornly at the homework in his lap and rubbing his sore eyes.
Lydia made a ‘brr’ noise and rubbed her arms with her hands and against Charlie’s. “I’m freezing my tits off out here.”
Charlie shot her a dark look. “You know, I didn’t ask you to come out here,” He pointed out reasonably. It was a tone of voice he had to use a lot with Wonka, because reason was so foreign to the other man. Charlie was very good at it, and it annoyed Lydia to no end.
Lydia scowled, but ignored him. “Seriously, you don’t look so great. Were you up late creating some tasty new treat?” Lydia asked, with growing interested.
“Oooh!” Lester squealed in excitement. “Do we get to try?”
“Is it something chocolate? I mean, I know you’ve said you prefer leaving the chocolate to Wonka, but that model of Middle America you made was absolutely delish-all those magnificent flavours…I can’t say which country I liked the best.”
“No, come on, Charlie, you said you’d work on something anise flavoured for me next,” Lester interjected.
Lydia pulled a face and stuck out her tongue. “That is so gross, Lester,” She admonished. “I mean…no one would buy it.”
“People eat black liquorice, and it’s flavoured after anise,” Lester argued back.
Charlie smiled, inexplicably cheered up by his friends’ chatter, and let his eyes fall closed. He was glad they were distracted anyway. He never knew exactly what he could safely say about the factory, and what should remain secret. Wonka was so fiercely private; Charlie didn’t want to risk upsetting him. The less said about what went on inside, the better. Charlie was lucky enough that Wonka let him take samples of their new candies to his friends. It showed an enormous trust, since a sample would be all a competitor would need to steal an idea. Lydia had been wheedling him forever in an attempt to get a tour of the factory, but Charlie knew without ever asking that such a thing would be forbidden.
Some distant, dark part of Charlie rebelled at the idea that he was meant to inherit the factory, but couldn’t even bring a guest for dinner, or a sleep-over, and meanwhile, Wonka kept secret guests. Secret guests who went so far as to tear apart the Chocolate Room…Charlie imagined confronting Wonka on the matter…
Imagining arguments with Wonka occupied a lot of Charlie’s thoughts, when he was distracted or on the verge of sleep. It wasn’t that Charlie fought often with Wonka. It was just…when Charlie wasn’t busy making himself not think about Wonka in anything other than a friendly manner, his brain got away with him, thinking about Wonka in very…creative and explicit ways. But Charlie’s fantasies were never simple, and tended to stay true to Wonka’s character, and so whenever Charlie imagined approaching Wonka romantically, there was unavoidable argument.
They were in Wonka’s office, and everything seemed the same as the day before, but instead of letting Wonka walk away, Charlie grabbed his wrist. He stood and Wonka stopped in puzzlement, looking first at where he was held in Charlie’s grasp, then up at Charlie’s face. “Who’s D, Mister Wonka?” Charlie asked. In his imagination, his voice was deeper than in reality, but the way Wonka had to tilt his head back to meet Charlie’s gaze was real. It was still slightly thrilling to Charlie, towering over Willy Wonka.
“Charles,’” Lester shook his shoulder and Charlie started, opening his eyes.
“Oh no…” Charlie moaned. “Why’d you let me fall asleep? I had to do my work…”
“You looked miserable, mate,” Lester said with an apologetic shrug. “At least we’ll be in trouble together.”
Professor Archer had this way of saying “History” that made it seem dark and sinister. Maybe he’d just been influenced too much by what Mister Wonka said, but Charlie didn’t understand the importance of history in his world. Well, he didn’t want to be ignorant by any stretch of the imagination, and it was good to know the important things, because it was important to know from where one came. But really, would he ever need to know that in 1888 a bunch of stuffy gentlemen got together and decided to redraw the Durham County lines to move Sunderland, South Tyneside and Gateshead to a new county called Tyne and Wear? Well, okay, maybe if he ended up guesting on some strange game show that asked very obscure questions, but still.
When Lester and Charlie walked in the classroom, Charlie could immediately feel his professor’s eyes on him and pointedly did not look in the man’s direction. He knew it was better to deal with things quickly, what he liked to refer to as the ‘plaster method,’ but Professor Archer made Charlie feel very differently about things, indeed.
Class was tedious, as usual, an hour and thirty minutes of Professor Archer’s dry, monotonous voice reciting dates and names and events. Charlie always made an attempt to take notes, but without fail, he ended up in a daze, his note pages covered with doodles and scribbled ideas for new candies.
The bell rang and Charlie felt a pit of lead in his stomach. “Don’t forget to turn in your homework as you leave,” Professor Archer said, as the class began to move about and gather their things.
“Shhhiiiiit,” Lester moaned. It was not very reassuring. Charlie rummaged around in his backpack (official Wonka brand, though Wonka had made a few modifications, curly ‘CB’ replacing the double W, and in blues and greens rather than Wonka’s purples and pinks), producing the paper. He had tried, but the questions were so laborious. Not simple fill in the blanks with dates or something like that…no, questions on motivations and underlying causes for conflicts. Some of the questions were answered, anyway…
“Mister Bucket,” Professor Archer said from over his shoulder. Charlie fought the urge to jump. He looked guiltily up at the Professor.
“Sir?”
Professor Archer sighed, plucking the paper from Charlie’s fingers and scanning it. “Mister Bucket,” He said again, frowning, and taking a seat at the desk in front of Charlie, turning the chair around to face him. “I am rather alarmed about your performance in this class. I have spoken with your parents, and your other teachers, and it seems my class is the only one in which you are having particular trouble.”
That wasn’t entirely true. He wasn’t all that great at Mathematics, but Lydia had been tutoring him, and it was through her help that he’d been able to keep up so far. And he wasn’t the best in the class at sciences. But Lydia wasn’t around to help out with History. She was taking mostly math and science courses, as well as some engineering and computer science. It was just that with all the other classes he actually wanted to make an effort. With History…well, he found he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“I’m sorry sir,” Charlie said quickly. “I’ll do better, I promise.”
Professor Archer looked dubious and cleared his throat after a minute. “I’m concerned, Charlie,” He said. “I have to wonder if perhaps your duties at the factory are interfering with your schoolwork.”
“That doesn’t make any sense!” Charlie blurted out. He couldn’t help it. His mother had already said something similar, and scared Charlie to death, talking about disallowing him to work in the factory until he finished schooling. Mister Wonka had been furious. “You said yourself that I do fine in my other classes. Mister Wonka always tells me to make sure I do my schoolwork before I join him.”
Professor Archer held up a hand, forestalling any further argument. “Charlie.” His tone was firm. “Now, Headmaster Marcus agrees that this is a valid concern-”
“But-”
“If your grades don’t improve, I don’t think I can allow a pass for the year,” Professor Archer told him gravely. “Now, with the Bank Holidays approaching, you’ll have a bit of time off before the final semester. We’re going to be studying Asia at that point in time, with a focus on China, India and Japan. I have decided to give you an opportunity to redeem yourself. Pick one of the countries, and I want a full paper on the history of the country: government, tradition, religion, economics, and a timeline of all major events. It should be a minimum of twenty pages.”
“Twenty pages?” Charlie interjected in disbelief.
“Mister Bucket, you are failing this class,” Professor Archer reminded him. “If you would rather, the Headmaster and I are prepared to take actions about your work at the factory.”
Charlie’s eyes narrowed at the threat. He wanted so badly to say something, but he was worried if he did it would only make things worse for Mister Wonka. He briefly thought about reconsidering Wonka’s offer to give the man some experimental candy. “Fine,” He said, swallowing hard around his anger.
“Very good. Since break begins this Friday, I want your proposal for the paper on my desk by Thursday afternoon. If you need any assistance choosing your topic, or researching, the library has-”
“Mister Wonka has a great library,” Charlie bit out. “Its brilliant.”
Professor Archer nodded. “Very well. I will expect the paper by the second week of May. If you run into any problems, or need approval for your rough-draft, let me know.”
Charlie fought against and sneer and grabbed his bag, hurrying out to the hall. Lydia and Lester were waiting for him, and he told them what Archer had said, horrified to find he had to fight back tears. The Headmaster couldn’t really do anything about his life at the factory, could she? “What a git,” Lydia said, and as always, the word sounded funny given her accent.
“Yeah,” Charlie agreed miserably. He promised to catch up with Lester tomorrow morning for English Lit, and let Lydia drag him off to their Calculus class together. He made it through the rest of the school day in a sleep-deprived cloud of depression.
“You know,” Lydia said after Psychology (which she’d taken after her mother begged and pleaded for weeks at the end of last school year). “Geoff Pratchett, the quiet guy that sits in the back of English? He’s doing his focus on History. I think he’s got, like, three classes this year. You might ask him for help.”
It wasn’t a bad idea, so Charlie caught up with Geoff at the end of the day. He found him in the student’s lounge, reading a thick, ancient looking book. “Hey, Pratchett, right?” He asked, approaching.
“Yes,” Geoff answered in a soft voice, looking up with a blank expression. Charlie shifted nervously.
“Er…you’re a History major, aren’t you?” Charlie asked awkwardly.
Geoff closed his book. “Yes,” He said again. The conversation might go a bit more smoothly if the guy was a bit more loquacious.
“Well…er…I’ve been assigned some extra credit work, and I was hoping you might be able…” He trailed off, unsure how to phrase it.
“Bucket, right?” Geoff asked. Finally he smiled, just a hint. “Professor Archer is it? He can be kinda…stern.” Charlie snorted. That might be an understatement. Geoff looked sympathetic. “Well, what’s the assignment?”
“I’ve got to pick an Asian country and do a full report on the history of things like government and religion and stuff,” Charlie explained, feeling very ineloquent.
Geoff’s smile grew. “Doesn’t sound too bad. You’d probably be best off with China. Given how large it is, and the diversity of the regions, you won’t have any problem finding material.” His voice was soothing, an American accent, but not so nearly nasal as Lydia’s New England twang. “I have a few books, I could bring them tomorrow.”
“Oh, that sounds great!” Charlie agreed readily. He didn’t care which country, and if China would be easiest, that was fine by him. “Thanks, Pratchett.” They promised to meet at lunch the next day, and Charlie rushed to catch the bus before it left without him.
Charlie was going to throw his books on the table, drop onto his bed, and sleep like the dead for hours. Until tomorrow, at least. Longer, if he was allowed. That’s how it was going to happen. Until Charlie actually got back to the factory, made his quick trip across the cold courtyard and used the side entrance, immediately swallowed by warmth and dim light and he could sigh in relief.
At once, Charlie was set upon by Oompa-Loompas. They’d taken to going to Charlie before Wonka these days, unless it was a very serious problem. Charlie approved. Wonka always pulled faces when he had to do serious work, and got nervous when there was a problem the factory, and besides, Wonka was better at creating new candies, so it was better to leave him uninterrupted and let Charlie deal with business.
After a bit, his fatigue was forgot as he followed the workers around the factory, righting little wrongs (and sometimes big ones, when the Oompa-Loompas couldn’t reach). By dinner he was starving, and he’d moved beyond exhaustion into a sort of dimmed, peaceful state of being, going through the motions of eating without really tasting anything, or marking the motions.
It seemed pointless to go through any extra effort to go to bed early any more, since he’d normally be going to bed in a few hours, so he decided to head down to the Inventing Room. Maybe, just maybe, Wonka might say something about D…
“Oh, Charlie!” Wonka greeted, as Charlie arrived. He was wearing goggles and pushed them up to meet Charlie’s gaze. “I was hoping you’d come by. I actually wanted to speak with you!”
“Oh?” Charlie muttered, feeling that this was just another misdirection, another way for him to keep from being honest.
“Yes,” Wonka said readily. His smile was bright, but seemed fixed.
“About the buttercups?” Charlie prompted.
Wonka’s smile only faltered around his eyes. “Oh, that’s all been taken care of,” He said, waving a dismissive hand. “No, no. I wanted to speak with you on a matter which I suppose, is connected.” He got that faraway look in his eye. “An…acquaintance of mine has come to stay for a while. He’s recently relocated from America, and I’m afraid he’s a bit at odds as to what he should do with himself.”
Charlie couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and had to keep from letting his jaw drop in disbelief. “Is…is he the one who was doing it?”
“Well…not exactly, but really Charlie, don’t worry yourself about it. The matter has been dealt with. No one will be disrupting the Chocolate Room now,” Wonka said smoothly.
“So, can I meet your friend?” Charlie tried, deciding to take a different route.
Wonka’s lips twisted nervously. “Well…D is a bit of a recluse. I don’t imagine you’ll be seeing him around. I wouldn’t think on him at all, Charlie. I just wanted you to be aware of his presence,” Wonka explained. And as if that settled everything, he slid his goggles back into place. “Now!” He exclaimed, and clapped his hands together. “Come take a look at this, Charlie…”
He was annoyed with the brush-off, but really, Wonka had been more forthcoming than Charlie had any right to expect. It didn’t make him want answers any less, though. Maybe if he just gave Wonka some time? It was so frustrating, to be allowed only so close to Wonka, and no more. To not be trusted entirely. And now all this business with Professor Archer. What if Wonka got in trouble because of Charlie? Then any trust he’d earned at all would be destroyed. Everything was such a mess.
Charlie got back to his room just after nine and collapsed onto his bed.
Tomorrow was Wednesday, which meant he’d have to get his proposal together then, to have it in on time. He really should work on it, but even as he thought of it, his eyes were already drooping. Tomorrow, then…he’d talk to Geoff…
Charlie was asleep within moments.