The smooth acceleration from zero to two; the muffled quiet of the car's interior, muting, but not quelling the rhythm of the engine's purr, muting, blissfully, the cacophony of the crowds' calls, brought the lately entering passenger calm after the crush. His hat and glasses finding their way to the leather of the bench seat, Willy leant his head against the trim behind the window, and closed his eyes. Charlie watched him for a moment, before turning his eyes to the parting of the Press and others before them. He had questions, but turning back, he thought better than to ask them: they'd keep. The retreat that he read in the slack muscles of Willy's face would be best served undisturbed. The whisper of the tires changed, strengthening, and Willy opened his eyes.

"We're through!"

"We are," said Charlie, as they gathered speed.

"Don't you think the windows in this are too small? And not enough? How can you see what's below you? Or above you? Compared to the Great Glass Elevator, this is claustrophobic."

"Do we need to see the road underneath us? Isn't ahead of us enough?" asked Noah.

"Do you have claustrophobia?" asked Charlie. As grand as all was in the Factory, it was possible.

Willy giggled in the back of his throat. "I don't think so, though I do like Space." His voice dropped to a whisper. "For so long, I had so little…" His eyelids lowered to hood his eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting in the wryest of smiles. "But I'm misleading you," he said, with more conviction. "I don't mean physical space." That reverie over, Willy sat up, pivoting to face Charlie. "How much of what I said after you got in did you hear?"

"Not much," shrugged Charlie. "I heard cheers, and then quiet," Charlie paused while he remembered. "I heard them chant 'Yes!', but then that stopped, and it was quiet again, and then you were in the car."

"And so I was." Relaxing, Willy closed his eyes for a second time, as he gave himself over to the embrace of the backrest. "I took a chance back there." Charlie was all ears. "I invited anyone who had visited your house when it was at the bottom of the hill to join us today."

Noah gasped, his hands tightening on the wheel. Willy chuckled.

"Based on my observations—no offense—I didn't think it much of a risk."

"I'm not offended," sighed Charlie, letting his eyes scan the scenery, rather than anything that might prove more intimate. "There was once a person who visited my house, but they moved away."

Willy's eyes snapped open, and just as quickly he closed them again. "Happens to the best of us," he said. The silence that ensued was as thick as butter.

"Stop the car!"

"I have to stop the car," came Noah's replay. "The light is red."

"Fab! Fire Drill!"

Two blocks from the Factory, Willy had erupted. Even before the stop was accomplished, Willy had his door open, his foot hitting the pavement as the car came to rest. Walking-stick in hand, top-hat on his head, he rounded the vehicle at the run, ducking back into the car in the front seat.

All that to change where he was sitting? thought Noah, keeping his thoughts off his face. Charlie giggled.

"Wasn't that fun? How come you guys didn't join in? A fire drill is a fire drill."

"I didn't know I was supposed to," said Charlie.

Willy frowned at the obvious—he should have thought of it before he spoke—reason why. After that, leaning forwards, he rested his chin on arms folded on the dashboard, his eyes darting about, as he looked ahead.

Whatever he was looking for he didn't find, but as they stowed the car until tomorrow, father and son knew that Willy had been looking for something important to him.

Having made himself scarce for the rest of the day, Willy—not that the Buckets were expecting him—likewise made himself scarce at breakfast next day. He was nowhere to be found.

"I'll go get Willy," said Charlie, finishing as quickly as he could.

"I'm ready whenever he is," nodded Noah.

Willy's office door was ajar, and Charlie peeked around the small space. Leaving the Bucket breakfast table, the Great Glass Elevator had gotten him here in minutes; it really was the most efficient way to get around the Factory. With its rockets and built in privacy, surely it was the most efficient way to get around the town, too. The thought perplexed Charlie. Willy must know that better than Charlie did. And yet, that wasn't happening.

The office gave the feel of emptiness at first, its high ceiling and sound absorbing carpeting giving it an ominous, cavernous feel, like an abandoned cathedral, but maybe it was only that daunting wall filled with recipes and designs, unprotected by supervision that gave Charlie that chilly feeling. About to turn back, beyond the desk and intervening furniture grouping, Charlie spied the top of a solitary head, with chocolate-colored hair, lowered above slumped shoulders. Willy was sitting on the floor at the window. Uncertain, Charlie straightened up.

"Charlie," came Willy's pleasant voice.

"Willy," said Charlie, inching further into the room.

"Are you ready for Round Two?"

Was he ready? Not particularly; surrounded by hoards, when he was used to the invisible life, took some getting used to; so far, Charlie was pretty sure he didn't like it. Willy hadn't turned his head. "How did you know it was me?"

"Does it matter? Come sit."

"Mum sent me to say it's time to go."

"Typical; as if I don't know that. Can I not see the courtyard? Can I not read a watch? Be daring. Forget the time. Come and sit anyway."

Charlie came and sat. There were clear panes interspersed in the huge frosted window at this level, as well.

"See anyone you know?" asked Willy.

As Willy was, Charlie studied the crowd. There were fewer media people today. "The crowd is getting smaller."

"So it is, but that's not what's up. See anyone you know?"

Leaning forwards, his elbows on his knees, chin in his hands, with hunched shoulders, Charlie gave the scene his full attention. He held the pose until it became uncomfortable, and leaned back. "I don't."

Silence reigned.

"Do you miss your friend?"

Were it not for the room's hush, Charlie didn't think he'd have heard the question. Even so, it confused him. "My friend?"

Giving Charlie a fleeting glance that was a question in itself, Willy, having no interest in eye contact, turned back to the window. He'd started this. He'd finish it. "The person who could have come to the Factory yesterday, on account of having visited your house. You said they moved away."

"Oh, that," Charlie shook his head. "You didn't ask why they came to my house. That was someone from my class. They were bringing me school work I was missing. I'd been helping Mum with my grandparents. They all had colds, and she needed more hands than she had. I missed some school on account of it, and when the teacher asked for a volunteer, they brought me the work."

"Oh." Willy closed his eyes. What a mistake; as usual, there was a landmine about, and he'd stepped on it.

"They didn't come again."

Boom. "I'm sorry I brought it up."

"It's okay. They might've become a friend, if they hadn't moved."

Landmine mitigation: there was no denying that Charlie was a thoughtful lad; and, ya never know, they might've. Willy could salvage this. Plastering a smile on his lips, he raised an index finger to emphasize his point. "Ya gotta be quick about things like that, but these things usually are. Look at you and me."

Chuffed at the compliment, said out loud, for anyone to hear—though there was no one else here to hear—Charlie leaned forwards again. "Look! I do see someone I know. I see my Dad."

"I don't," said Willy, rising to his feet. "Let's get going."

They got going, with Willy scanning the crowd as intently from the window of the Rolls as he had from the window of his office. When the Factory disappeared behind them, he settled in his seat.

"Why'd you stop?" asked Charlie.

"It's only the reaction to the Factory that I'm interested in."

"Whose reaction?" asked Noah, speaking over his shoulder.

"Some one's," said Willy, turning his head away.

His father let it drop, but Charlie had been in the office this morning. He knew. Reaching into his backpack, Charlie took out a scrap of paper. 'Do you think he'll show up?' he wrote, folding the scrap and handing it to Willy. Unfolding the paper, and reading, Willy took the pencil. 'Not in a million, gajillion years,' he wrote, letting Charlie see what he was writing as he wrote it, 'but if he did, it'd be worth it to see his face.' Charlie nodded and reached for the paper, but Willy kept it, tearing it into itty-bitty shreds, that with a flip of his wrist he let go like confetti. The conversation was over.

At school, as at the Factory, media was scarce that morning, but the children made up for it. Willy, alighting from the Rolls with Charlie following, was all smiles. The chant of yesterday, filled his ears. "We want to see the Factory!"

"No doubt you do," Willy told them, in the somber tones of an undertaker, "but just now you'll see your School. It's that time of day. Charlie, run along. The rest of you kiddies … you do the same." Willy let his eyes wander over the crowd, taking careful inventory. "There's so much less than nothing to see here."

With that, Willy tucked himself into the front passenger seat, with Noah putting the Rolls in gear so that the click of the door and the movement of the car were simultaneous.

"I like your timing" said Willy.

Charlie skedaddled through the throng. Save for the brake lights of the Rolls as it prepared to take the street, there was nothing to see.

Pick-up time was different. Willy had arrived early enough to have the time to lounge against his shiny car, a sheaf of papers in his hands. It gave the Principal enough time to sidled up to him to have a word, but that couldn't be helped.

"Do you have to come here?" asked the grizzled dragon. "Can't you let Charlie's parents handle this chore?"

"Chore?" Willy drawled. "A man of your position thinks children a chore? Shall I alert the media? They're right over there."

It was true, they were right over there, fewer for some reason, and the Principal's face and neck turned a shade of red that would shame a ripened tomato. "No, please don't, that would make it worse! But can't you do something?"

"Something? I am doing something. I'm waiting. Is it some other something than the waiting something that I am already doing that you'd like?"

Following at first, the Principal had gotten lost, but Mr. Wonka had finished on an upbeat note, and was smiling at him with a happy expectancy that should have reassured, but didn't. Swallowing, the Principal answered: "Yes."

"What?"

"I said, 'yes'."

"I heard you say, 'yes'. What what do you want me to do?"

"What? What what?"

"Yes, exactly; what what? I'm asking you."

"How should I know!"

Mr. Wonka giggled, and waved the sheaf of papers. "I know!" The doors were opening, the wave of children about to descend on them. "You can distribute these papers to the children who want them." Willy thrust the papers into the Principal's hands.

"They're blank"

"Of course they're blank," said Willy, turning back to face the onslaught, an insincere smile lighting his face. "They haven't been filled out yet. They're permission slips for children who want to visit the Factory."

The tide of children had reached them, with staff doing their best to deflect the worst of it. "Run along to the buses, or to your parents waiting for you in the parking lot," they called, their calls going unheeded.

Charlie had done his best to put himself at the head of the pack, and been aided by the others in that aim. If, they figured, they were with Charlie, they had a better chance of swaying Mr. Wonka. "We want to visit the Chocolate Factory! We want to visit—"

"I believe you, everyone," said Willy raising his voice only enough to get their attention, "and if you want to get that done, see your Principal. He has the paper you'll need to have your guard, guardian, or guardians sign, to make it so."

In a flash the tykes turned like a school of fish, the Principal their new target. Willy laughed. The press of the surrounding throng forced the Principal further from the car. He waved a sheet of paper in the air, even as others were torn from his hand. "What do I—"

Charlie was already in the Rolls, the door left wide open. Willy neatly joined him, and closing the door, stuck his head out the window. "Do?" crowed Willy. "Wing it! And thanks for taking over the chore! Ta!"

The Rolls rolled out of the drive. Charlie, kneeling on the seat, stared out the rear window, enjoying watching the mob mob someone other than them, and marveling that his Principal should find himself in such a predicament. Willy was smiling broadly, and Noah was keeping his thoughts to himself. Half-way home, Willy leaned forwards. "At the next light, we're gonna do a fire drill."

I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in any of its many forms, and there is no copyright infringement intended. Thanks for reading; reviews are nice; so are favs and follows, and I thank you, one and all, for one, some, or all.

To all who have a birthday today, Happy Birthday! A rare event for rare people... Reviewers, thank you ever so for your reviews. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, as I enjoyed them.