There were three pieces to the world outside of the glass elevator; the snow, the sky, and the house. Everything was white.

Charlie's breath caused a warm blur to form in front of his face. He used an arm to clear it, glancing over his shoulder at the same time. Mr. Wonka hadn't noticed. The candymaker seemed to be searching the walls for the right button (''It was here before the new layer of clear coat went on. They hid it from me on purpose, cheeky snozzwangers!'').

Charlie's hands were shaking. His mouth sucked in cold air while he tried to focus on only the house… only on the house… but not on the startling reunion that had just taken place inside it. (Discomfort/Confusion/Upsetting/HowCouldAnyoneChooseThat?) Charlie gawked at the worn brick structure covered in powder. Somebody lived in there –alone- and he hadn't watched his son grow up. The distance between them was over a decade long. (Distance/PersonalMoment/EverybodyThereWasAStranger)

''Hold onto your pants, Charlie. We're off!'' Mr. Wonka said, smacking the side of the elevator with his cane. No shining circle appeared to prove that any button had actually been pressed, but the elevator's reaction was immediate. Charlie's ears began to pop and the floor receded.

There really wasn't any good place to look. The sight beneath their feet was sickening; looking up gave Charlie the impression that an angry hand was pushing his head backwards, and he felt uncomfortable making eye contact with the man next to him. Charlie wasn't sure what sort of a message his eyes would send, which was risky because Mr. Wonka was very sensitive for an adult. (Stranger/WhoWouldTakeAStangerAlong?)

They fell.

His ability to think and understand his surroundings came back in front of the factory. They were inside the gates but outside the doors. Charlie made an embarrassing, terrified noise. He was worried that he was going to throw up.

''Chin up, Charlie! It's just a case of post-elevatic nausea. I haven't been able to pinpoint why the third time is always the worst…''

The boy didn't take a single step until he was sure he felt okay. When he was ready he followed Mr. Wonka out into the snow, acutely aware that the eccentric man might be leading him anywhere and (from his parent's point of view) he'd been unreachable for over thirty minutes.

Bigger than his hesitation or his responsible nature was this ache: I need to see the factory again. He could feel his heartbeat in all his limbs as the scent of sugar and cocoa bean went from welcoming to consuming. It seemed like, if his breaths became too deep, Mr. Wonka might realize he was still there and make him walk right back out of the factory. Charlie Bucket didn't know if he could do that.

The very first room was intimidating and way too hot. The walls were too grey. The carpet was too rebellious. Charlie locked his eyes on the door to the Chocolate Room. Please keep walking.

Mr. Wonka found the key easily.

''Welcome back, my boy,'' the chocolatier said, throwing the door open with a dramatic wave.

Charlie's coat was gone; he didn't even remember taking it off. The boy took everything in: the edible grass; the hill of the bridge; the Oompa-Loompas who were sneaking smiles at him. His mind spat up one sour little thought. I gave this up.

''Come, come,'' Mr. Wonka said, digging his cane into the grass impatiently. ''Follow me down the rabbit hole.''

Better than the taste was the smell. Better than the smell was the feel. Charlie reached his hand out to brush a tree as he followed his guide down to the river. It felt absolutely real.

''You're going to have to work hard to make up for these last few weeks, Charlie. It's best that your lessons get started right away.''

Between meeting Mr. Wonka's father and returning to the chocolate room, Charlie had been removed from reality. He began to fight his way back with a question.

''What are you talking about?''

That was a little too blunt. Elation and regret were sticking in his gut.

''Well, I wasn't going to drop this on you right away, but lately my creativity has been dammed by all sorts of depressing distractions. Having an apprentice probably would've prevented that, but what's done is done-''

''I can't be your apprentice or heir or anything, remember? I need to stay with my family.''

Charlie's tone was polite, but frustration was making him tense. The Chocolate Room was a dream, and it was only the smallest fraction of what was being offered to him. (Tantalizing/ThatOfferICan'tTake/SomebodyElseNeedsMeMore)

Did he bring me here hoping that seeing it again without my family might change my mind? (ThisIsCruel)

''Well… I suppose that there's no reason why you couldn't visit your family...''

''No, Mr. Wonka. Just… sorry. ''

Wonka's face scrunched up a little bit. ''Then why did you come with me to see my father?''

Charlie thought back through the day, trying to come up with the part that had led Wonka to believe that going with him to see his father meant becoming his heir. It was hard to get inside Wonka's head, especially when they were both upset.

''I was just trying to help you.''

The chocolatier did not respond. Charlie stared at his shoes, listening to the Oompa-Loompas work around him. They seemed to be wandering closer than they did when he was on the tour. Was that because the tour had been a special event or because they couldn't help themselves anymore?

Nothing made sense. Mr. Wonka's logic didn't make sense; the Oompa-Loompas' behavior was unsettling... Actually, Charlie was beginning to feel trapped. The strange creatures had drifted towards Charlie and Wonka until they made a lose ring around the pair. Every one of them seemed to be occupied with something, but... His eyes flitted between their tight red suits and slick black hair. Black and white striped sleeves. Facial expressions he couldn't read. All of the sudden he was desperate for something familiar.

Charlie spoke quietly. ''Please let me go home.''

It welled up too fast for him to do anything about it. One moment his voice was shaky, and the next a tear had followed his words. It made a curving path down to his chin, where it hung limply. He smeared it on his hand.

''There must be no weeping, crying, sobbing, wailing, moping, doping, bawling or bleating in my factory. It makes the candy canes droop! Throws off the whole mood of the party,'' Mr. Wonka yelped in distress.

Charlie could've sworn he heard a sympathetic coo behind him. It was the kind of noise a person might make when a baby sneezed. He stared at Mr. Wonka in surprise, not because he thought that the sound had come from the older man, but because of his agitated reaction to one little tear.

''No, really, it's okay. I just can't stay here-''

Someone was tugging on his pant leg.

Charlie looked down immediately, fighting the urge to swat the insistent hand away. His dark pants were hand-me-downs from the son of one of his father's coworkers and they weren't near tight enough. The Oompa-Loompa who met his eyes was barely double the height of the teddy bear he was holding. Everything from his arms to his feet was unusually slender. It was clear that this one was a midget even among his own species.

''You're all quite short, aren't you?''

Violet's eyes burned at Wonka's ignorance. ''Well yeah, we're children.''

Charlie wondered what baby Oompa-Loompas were called.

''Is that bear yours?'' Charlie asked, feeling Mr. Wonka's staring gaze as he spoke.

It was a cream-colored bear with a red bowtie and a bag of hard purple candies in its paw. The Oompa-Loompa pushed it in Charlie's direction, looking up at him with gumdrop eyes. Now everyone had dropped the pretense of working to stare at the interaction between the two young creatures.

''What's your name?'' Charlie tried again.

The Oompa-Loompa made one small motion with his hand.

''Ivan,'' Mr. Wonka offered.

''Thank you, Ivan,'' Charlie said, taking the bear even though he wasn't sure it was Ivan's to give.

The moment he lifted the stuffed animal into his arms an adult Oompa-Loompa –Charlie couldn't tell the difference between the genders- made a long series of signs at Ivan. The young male looked a little sheepish and scampered off.

Charlie didn't think that Mr. Wonka would use child labor. Ivan had probably been playing in the chocolate room when he wasn't allowed to… that or he wasn't supposed to approach Charlie. The older Oompa-Loompa might even have been one of Ivan's parents.

''Mr. Wonka…'' Charlie said, twisting the bear around in his hands. ''I think you've already got a lot of families in the factory.''

Mr. Wonka's eyebrows shot up at that, but they quickly narrowed as he lifted Charlie's chin with the top part of his cane. The boy stood very still.

''Do you want to live in my factory?'' Mr. Wonka asked. ''If your family was horrible like mine, would you choose to come here?''

''Yes.'' (Horrible?/OfCourseIWantThis)

''Is that what you'd want too?''

''My dear boy, when I pick an heir the heir is promptly picked. Unpicking a picked heir would be, well, a pickle!''

Charlie had no idea how to respond to that.

''What I mean is… If we both want the same thing then we must simply decide to stop stopping each other from accomplishing it. You decide to move in, and I'll decide that your, uh, family can come too!''

Charlie knew that Mr. Wonka didn't like hugs, so he just smiled really big.

This story is dedicated to Turrislucidus, who has a fabulously deep understanding of this fandom and a refreshing dedication to making sure it gets the attention it deserves.

I wrote this story because I've always been interested about what happened during and between the two times Mr. Wonka made his offer to Charlie. It never seemed quite right in my mind that Wonka would've decided it was okay for Charlie's family to move in just because he shared an awkward hug with his father for the first time in years. I think those two Wonka men have a long, hard road ahead of them if their relationship is really going to be repaired. In the meantime, this is one idea of how Charlie ended up moving in after all.

Write On!