“Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree,

Counting all the monkeys he can see,

Stop, Kookaburra! Stop, Kookaburra –

That’s not a monkey….That’s me.”

-Kookaburra Song

Chapter 37: Dance the Polka-Dot…

“Do we have to?”

Doreit finished checking herself in the mirror, adding the final touches of chapstick and making sure that her braids weren’t lopsided. She smacked and pursed her lips for his benefit, smiling sweetly afterwards.

“Yes, Willy. I don’t care what you say. You need sun. If you want me to scarf down an entire muffin, then you’ve got to have a whole afternoon outside. And that’s final.”

She heard him sigh in despair. But the mirror caught his sneaky expression.

“Well…you don’t have to eat the whole muffin…”

Her head pivoted and she fired an annoyed look at him.

“Well, thanks very much, but you’re still going outside with me. Honestly, I don’t know what all the fuss is about. You’ve easily accompanied me and Charlie before...” She returned to her reflection, smoothing out invisible wrinkles in her coat.

“Yeah…But that was different.”

“How so?”

“Well…Charlie was with us, for one thing, and the whole, er, outing was essential for your, ah…m-monthly.”

Doreit’s eyes grew wide with mortification and she avoided his stare in the mirror.

“How on Earth did you know that?” she asked him irritably. “I certainly didn’t tell you. In fact, I remember clearly not telling you.”

Wonka’s face was pink now, and he fiddled with his fisheye sun-goggles. His left foot shuffled, too.

“Well…I was curious at what you had in the bag…you know, just to make sure you weren’t a closet Slugworth fan of the vitamin genre…and I uh…peeked!”

She covered her face and moaned.

“I cannot believe you…” The model plunked her forehead on her palms repeatedly for awhile, as if to erase that particular bit of embarrassment. “That really was not my day at all…I can’t believe you…Do you - ? Urgh! You know, this whole conversation actually makes me so happy that they’re gone again.” But as soon as she realized what she’d said, Doreit paled, then colored red, and quickly changed topic. “So. You’re still coming wit– ”

“Wait just a lil’ second there, cupcake.” Wonka interrupted her, his face disturbed. “Your things…stopped?”

She paled again. And clapped a hand to her face. And sighed in frustration.

“Yes…” Emerged from clenched teeth.

His mouth twitched worriedly.

“Uh-oh.”

“Hmm…yes.”

Wonka winced again, and was thoughtful for a moment.

“Is that…normal? That’s not normal, is it?”

“Unless I’ve suddenly turned fifty overnight, no…”

When she looked up, she could see his upset face plain as day, despite his eye appendages. He set his features and determinedly shoved on his hat.

“Fine. I’m going. And you’re definitely, posilutely, no-takebacks – knock-on-wood, consuming that muffin when we get back.”

“Aha. Now this is more like it!” Doreit announced, pushing her shades up her nose and breathing in deeply.

The two of them were walking along the paths in the central town park, where Fitz had dropped them off in the limo earlier. Thankfully, today seemed to be a slow day for the media paparazzi, since nobody looked as if they recognized them. Huh. Either things were awfully busy elsewhere or there was some secret plot or something else going on...

It was rather chilly out, the kind of chilly that wasn’t capable of freezing a person to death, but was certainly allowed to cause quite some fair discomfort. If the sun hadn’t been out and decided to warm them, it would’ve been dreadfully annoying to walk here in the first place. Doreit tugged the cashmere scarf closer to her neck. Wonka shivered a little beside her.

“It’s too cold.” He complained, crossing and rubbing his arms. The fish-eyes glanced at her accusingly. “Tuh. ‘Let’s go to the park! There’s no way we’d be interested in Peppermint Pine Forest!’ Lovely idea, Doreity.”

She sniffed, and chose to acknowledge him coolly from behind her sunglasses.

“I know you’re unfamiliar with the concept of fresh air, Willy, but if you didn’t waste a million gallons of oil in heating up your factory to one bajillion degrees in almost every room, you wouldn’t have that much of a problem adjusting, now would you? Even I don’t think it’s that bad out! Honestly…”

“Hmph.” A muffled grumble issued from the mass of pulled-up-collars around his face. “It’s still cold. No, strike that! Make it freezing!”

The model sighed, and yanked him closer to her, rubbing his arms furiously. He relaxed after a few quiet minutes of her chafing his coat as they walked, the friction built up finally doing its job. Really, it was rather nice…being fussed and stroked all over like that.

Doreit saw him smile, the thin red lips stretching thinner like that, and she made the decision to land a peck at the corner of his mouth. She didn’t need him to take off his goggles to gauge his expression. The amazed beam spoke for itself, thank you.

“I like it when you do that.” He admitted quietly, walking closer to her.

She raised an eyebrow.

“What? Rubbing you?” a smirk-worthy answer.

“No, silly! Although that was quite the scrumptious gesture…I meant acting like…erm…like you, ah…”

Doreit bit her lip. She didn’t like where this was going right now…time for drastic action. Love? Not love? Well, she could always do very well with a step a bit lighter.

“Like I adore you? Well, you know what? I think I just might. Just. You’ve been digging and burrowing your way into my skin, Mr. Wonka.”

Now his grin was even brighter, and according to him, a spontaneous hug was in order for her. And a peck in return – on her neck.

“Naughty boy.”

Would his smile never disappear?

“We have done worse than that, Starshine.”

“Ohh…Stop nattering or I’ll gag you with my scarf. Believe me, cashmere fuzzies are not pleasant to choke up. And anyway, we’re in public, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Public, schmublic. They can go fly kites in Willa’s meteor shower. I like doing this.”

“Fine, if your germaphobia permits it.”

Goodness, that smile should be illegal in six continents.

“Don’t worry, Bon-bon. You’re the only exception to that rule.”

“Can’t we go, yet? I can’t determine if the things in my shoes are ice-cubes or toes!”

“Ten more minutes, Willy!” Doreit called from running around the lake a twentieth time.

Wonka had seated himself on a nearby bench overlooking the whole scene, legs crossed, and was trembling noticeably again. He had participated in running around with Doreit for a while, but apparently it didn’t do much for warmth, oddly enough, and he contented himself in conserving heat in a huddled position while observing her.

As for his wife, she figured that thirty laps ought to do it. A muffin had around two-hundred calories, give or take, and by the time she finished it, it wouldn’t leave that much of a scar. If she got to thirty, that is. She was breathing with difficulty as it was. That little romp around the factory yesterday didn’t have the biting cold air that was forced into her burning lungs.

At twenty-nine, however, she had to call it quits. She was weary enough. Panting as unobtrusively as possible, Doreit approached her husband slowly, trying to catch back her breath, and shivering all the while. Now, she admitted it: the weather had chosen, quite inflexibly, to get much, much colder. No wonder Wonka said he was a popsicle.

“It m-must’ve dropped a f-few degrees.” She commented with her head held high, ignoring her teeth chattering. “Still, F-Fitz’ll come and get us, right? You called?”

Wonka smiled queerly with bluish lips.

“Actually, h-he just c-called when you w-were running, t-that the limo froze or something…I told h-him to get it checked, but no-o, Willy W-Wonka doesn’t know a thing about c-cars and stuff, only s-sugar…the bubble-headed…loony.”

“So he g-got it towed? Is that what happened?” Doreit asked as her quivering fingers retrieved her cell and dialed Leonard.

“Yeah…I guess so…”

“Fine. We’ll go to Vandome, then. How’s that?” She smiled with chapping lips at him, and held the phone to her ear. “Lenny? We need a ride…”

It only took ten minutes of waiting for Doreit’s chauffeur to show up; the dried leaves hissing their disapproval as they were feverishly trodden upon by the two millionaire partners. In fact, if she weren’t so pathetically tired, she would’ve thought of sprinting around the park’s lake again, in order to summon up some warmth. But the vision of the silver, sleek BMW creeping up the curb was surely a sight for sore, cold eyes. She and Wonka nearly clobbered each other in their eagerness to get cozy. Indeed, car doors were substantially smaller than regular doors, and getting two people through a regular door at the same time was as useful as pushing a cart sideways.

Of course, Doreit’s endless supply of drinks helped, too. Wonka sipped his brandy cider (which Doreit had shoved at him unceremoniously) with great trepidation and swallowed with the ease one has with consuming broken glass. A fit of shocked coughing ensued.

“EWW!!”

Doreit snorted into her pineapple mimosa as gracefully as she could without bursting into guffaws. Teasing him and his wretched face, she took a long swig of hers and pronounced, “Mmmm.”

Wonka sniffed snobbishly, once he got his coughing under control.

“I hate alcohol.”

“No, you don’t. I saw you drinking something in Jellyblue’s some months ago.” She recalled impertinently.

He pouted.

“Well…That was different. That was the only good thing they had. And you couldn’t taste it in that.”

“Hmm. You practically smothered it in ice cream and whipped cream. It’s no wonder you couldn’t taste it.”

“Watch it there, Spaghetti. I like ice cream. You should, too. You need some. Badly!”

“Oh, lay off, Willy. Alcohol’s got calories.”

“Yeah, but not enough! You know what you need? Barefoot Contessa cuisine. Now, that stuff is delish.”

“Oh, please. No, thank you. I’ll leave her to the Americans. She uses butter and cream in almost everything.”

He sighed edgily.

“But that’s the point! That way you won’t be so shrimpy.”

The model rolled her eyes and threw away her drink.

“Ooh. ‘Shrimpy.’ Haven’t heard that in a long time –”

“Well, it’s true, you know.”

“– And anyway, I’m not shrimpy! I’ve got muscles, see?” she rolled up her sleeve to reveal her bicep. “There, now!”

“Yeah, but…there’s no…extra stuff!” He avoided the ‘f’ word.

“Excuse me?” But of course, Doreit knew perfectly well what he was saying. She just dared him to say it…

“Well…Girls are supposed to have some…extra stuff. And…you’re a girl…erm, I mean, obviously…” He turned beet red and winced. “Gosh-galoshes, I hate this conversation.”

“Good. So let’s drop it, and leave me labeled as ‘shrimpy’. That’s the idea for the night.” The redhead sassed as she rubbed her hands together.

Wonka let out a melodramatic sigh.

“Okay. Here we are.” Doreit nearly dragged Wonka inside her penthouse and went about a few menial chores like raising the heat and preparing them some tea. She dug out her bin of assorted teas and brought them over to Wonka, who had settled in nicely, and who seemed to be admiring her white leather couch. “What do you want?”

He looked through the compartments of the tin, studying all of the different flavored teas she had: raspberry, green peach, Earl grey, Irish, Russian…He eventually decided on sweet coconut thai chai, which happened to be one of her own favorites, and if she were the type of person to believe in horoscopes or compatibility years, that would’ve been a sign. She would’ve even hummed the Twilight Zone theme, too.

But, as fate would have it, she was not in the mood. Huge shock, there. Instead, she employed her time by actually going and making the stuff. Soon enough, they were sitting on her sofa, a good foot or so apart, quietly sipping their nicely hot beverages like some Victorian, forcibly-arranged married couple.

It was rather another awkward moment. And they seemed to be getting more of them, too. And Doreit didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing.

“You know,” Wonka started up, obviously fishing for something worthwhile to say; “This little place you’ve got her is really very um, nice.”

Doreit snorted.

“Yes, I know it is. Anything is nice when it’s clean.” She replied wryly. “Honestly, Willy. I don’t believe we’ve ever been at this stage. Arguing, yes. Getting along tolerably, yes. But this…ineptness? Not really.”

“Oh.”

The model raised her brows and continued to empty her teacup.

The silence faired onwards.

That is, until Wonka heaved a huge, wistful sigh. His teacup and saucer seemed to tremble lightly, and before Doreit could realize what he was doing, he whipped around and pecked her cheek. Rather passionately.

She blinked at him. And then frowned.

He was…giggling, of all things! Laughing at her!

Well, she decided as she plunked her tea down on the coffee table, she wasn’t going to have that. No siree.

She grabbed his laughing face and fairly smashed it to hers, using everything she learned from romantic movies and books in regards to kissing, making sure to mess up that ridiculous haircut of his, and press her fingertips into every part of his neck, just to get him to shiver…just to get him to act like a regular human being for once…

And because she really did love kissing him. Yes, she admitted it. But she didn’t care a jot right now. The only thing that mattered was how Wonka was whimpering and how she was overwhelming him with her surprising enthusiasm…how very close he was right now of being mistaken for a scrumptious morsel of…whatever…and…that…and that he was just…so…good…

He breathed her name at one point, and she had heard him only be mere chance through the rush in her ears, both their hearts were beating feverishly. She looked at him, their noses touching, both of them breathing heavily.

Still, they stared at each other, for an inordinately long time, their foreheads now contacting with each other…Doreit could see that Wonka was flushed, and that she may very well be, too. But…

She didn’t want to stop.

Her eyebrows raised in question, his own copied hers in surprise. However, it was as if their lips were magnetized.

Therefore, they did not stop.

Fitz had gotten Wonka’s car fixed the next morning, for one thing.

Doreit, of course, sat next to her husband in the limo, but situated herself carefully, so as not to touch him. She shut her eyes, trying not to think about the night at Vandome. It was rather fun, giving each other cat baths, and of course it felt marvelous…But all right. Focus. Good. She breathed in deeply, and adjusted the bag on her lap, taking out her trusty Gone with the Wind, and started to read.

“So, did’ya both have a nice honeymoon so far?” Fitz asked from the front, his voice loud over the radio. ‘Sugar, Sugar’ was on, and filling the car otherwise with electric guitar and the repeating “Oh, sugar, oh, honey, honey…” stuff.

That really was rather annoying when one is trying to read about Scarlett and Rhett’s relationship, but Doreit knew that Fitz was to the sixties’ music as Charlie was to those darn Luminous Lollies. The kid had been caught licking them and reading comfortably in bed past midnight more than once, or so Aunt Helen’s phone call said. The little bugger…She grinned at the thought, and answered the driver;

“Certainly. Mr. Wonka’s been showing me all of the sights.”

“Oho! That’s cool! Y’ know, I –”

“Fitz, could you kindly switch off this…song?” Wonka interrupted angrily, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and leaning against the window, not looking at either of his companions.

A brief shocked silence bellowed through the atmosphere.

Doreit was stunned. What was wrong with him? He seemed completely fine yesterday…and at the park, too, even though he had gotten a few curious looks from a few passerby…But that had never seemed to bother him before…

“All right, all right, Mr. Wonka. See? It’s off.” He spoke abashedly as the music dimmed a significant amount. Even though he couldn’t turn around to the married couple behind him, Fitz’s wide eyes could be seen through the pilot mirror.

Doreit actually had her mouth open; staring at her husband as though he was an alien. What on Earth had come over him? Surely he wasn’t mad with something? Everything was mighty hunky dory for him now, anyway…He was a trillionaire – one of the first ever in the world, he had the Buckets, and now he finally got her as his wife, although it still stung her pride a teensy little bit to admit it that way. It wasn’t like he gave her much of a choice about it…But enough about that. She was resolved to make normal of her situation, and she would continue to do so. Dwelling on the past for so long did nobody any good. Oh, but if only it were easy enough to take her own advice…

“What’s wrong with you?” she hissed to the chocolatier, glancing way up front at Fitz so that he didn’t hear her. Wonka closed his eyes and groaned a little in response, sliding back further in his seat, his cane falling to the floor of the limo. Doreit almost stopped breathing.

Something was wrong with him.

“Fitz?” she called, trying to keep the frantic note of her voice from surfacing; “Could you possibly take us back to Vandome, please? It’s closer, and – and there’s something wrong with Willy!”

“Oh…Yeah – course’…”And the car swerved around, taking a left down Lark Avenue, back towards her lavish complex.

Doreit took a closer look at Wonka, who was breathing shallowly, beads of sweat forming lightly upon his forehead. What on Earth was wrong with him?? He was obviously sick, but with what?? She put a hand against his paled forehead. Oh, dear – most definitely a fever…A very quick one…She frowned. She had a mind to think he was faking, but one couldn’t possibly fake sweating, paleness and a hot head all at once, now could they?

The limo turned right this time, causing Doreit and Wonka to move to the left, and Wonka moaned at the jerky movement – even though his Elevator was far worse. Doreit removed his hat, and buttoned his red frock coat all the way to his neck. Keeping the body warm and the head cool were the first things that she knew about a fever. Now she felt quite bad about snapping at him. Sometimes…well, a lot of times, she really had to control her temper…This was, she supposed, one of those events.

Maybe…Maybe because Wonka was so masterful at controlling his emotions – most of the time – added to her admiration of him…

After a few more pained minutes of the limo turning and Wonka protesting weakly that there was nothing the matter with him, the party reached Vandome, and Doreit helped the chocolatier out of the limo. Fitz offered his assistance, but Doreit shooed him away to head off to the factory, since it was obvious that he had no clue how to help his indisposed employer.

Once inside, Doreit guided her husband to her bedroom, and helped him lie down. He started protesting again, but she merely shushed him and removed his meticulously polished shoes. Finally, he gained the sense to stop arguing with her, and his head collapsed against her pillows. Doreit fled to her marbled bathroom, and got a wet face-towel, and then returned to Wonka and plastered it to his head. He seemed to fall asleep then, but she could hear him mumbling.

“Doreit…”

“Shush. Don’t you know that talking saps energy when you’re ill, and then that makes you even more ill? I’d have thought that you, of all the germaphobics in the world knew that.”

“Yeah…’kay…”

She sighed, unbuttoned his coat, and also took that off of his form, and got him under the sheets. Noticing his pink hands, the gloves were eradicated next as well. Satisfied that she made him at least a little more comfortable, Doreit left him in pursuit of her kitchen. She decided she’d make him some miso soup. That always did make her feel better. Chicken soup made her nauseous for some reason, so the Japanese broth was her only option. Also, tea couldn’t hurt, either…

Once the tea was done and the soup was simmering nicely, Doreit brought the cups back into her bedroom, only to find that Wonka had dropped right off to sleep, with his mouth wide open. He was snoring slightly too, oddly enough.

She suppressed a wide grin, and set his tea on the bedside table. Sipping her own happily, she reclined on the bed next to him with Gone with the Wind again, and read for a few minutes before checking on the soup and then shutting off the stove. His fever happened so suddenly…She assumed that he was fine all day, but apparently, he wasn’t… Well, there wasn’t really anything that she could do, except to wait for him to awaken…

She returned to the room, arranged herself on her bed, against her favorite silk patchwork pillow, and started to read once more…

A loud moan awoke Doreit after what she could only assume was a few minutes. She evidently had fallen asleep, with the book still held limply in her hands. It was getting dim outside, and the clock on her wall read six-thirty. She yawned and spared a glance to her husband, who looked no better in his illness. In fact, he was squirming a bit, and mussing up her perfectly folded sheets almost to the point of knotting them. The model sighed, folding the page she had thumbed in her book, and leaned over to check his temperature.

Huh. Still no better…In fact, if she wasn’t mistaken, he was quite hotter…and what was that on his face…?

A blister…rather a few blisters, really…almost like crusted pimples…

Okay – that really did not make sense in her world of meticulous logic…his skin was flawless a few hours ago – in fact, all of the time that she had known him his skin was utterly perfect – she should know, since they had…Doreit shook her brain to get herself out of that particular mindset. Hormones were nasty little gits.

It was probably his reaction to whatever sickness was ailing him…But then, what could it be? Hives, shingles, and herpes were foremost in her mind, but each seemed unlikely…except…maybe it was…chickenpox…

She stared at him. As if to confirm her prediction, he started to rub his side, still asleep, with an annoyed expression. Was it possible to think that this man had never had chickenpox? When he started to fully scratch his side, her belief was verified. An ironic half-smile crept to her features as she opened his coat, and removed both that and unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt to see his chest.

Yep. The spots were there, too: all over his collarbones, and especially in the single long crevice that his abdominal muscles formed down the middle of his torso. There were even some on his nipples. Oh, boy. She covered him up again, because she knew how much he valued modesty, even with someone he already knew quite intimately. She picked up his cold untouched tea, and went back to the kitchen to prepare some fresh broth. Just in case.

As more of the stuff was whipped up again, Doreit gave a sigh and ran her fingers through her hair. She was in a great big mess. She groaned. She was soon to meet the blasted Carina, which meant total dedication to fitness and other body-improving matters…which meant more suffering…And then there was still Christmas with Charlie, which she may not make because of the shoots, and…Hoo boy. She knew the future: they were all going to die.

And then the whole Wonka Industries would go to Charlie, who would spasm out from the economic pressure of it all, thus dying from stress, and then his family would die from grief, understandably. And then the general public out there in the rest of the world would die of disappointment from the loss of the greatest candy business on the planet.

That got her to laugh. She got her favorite bowl and filled it halfway with soup, still chuckling to herself. Wandering over to the living room, Doreit got the remote, and switched on the television. Masterpiece Theatre was on – with a Sherlock Holmes episode that she wanted very much to watch: The Case of the Silk Stocking. None of that stupid tacky soap-opera-sitcom stuff that was always playing. Goodness, they were such a waste of life…

About twenty minutes in, she was completely hooked – her soup was forgotten in her grip and probably cold by then, and her wide green eyes were glued to the screen. Right at the part when the first clue was found towards the mysterious disappearance of adolescent girls, a high-pitched yawn from the hallway broke her concentration. Wonka was on his feet, still in only his socks, half-buttoned shirt and trousers, and still looking quite ill. And spotty.

Doreit exclaimed flamboyantly and jumped to her feet, setting down her bowl of soup rather messily on the coffee table. He wasn’t supposed to be up! He was sick, goddamn it – and should be recovering, not prancing around begging for more germs to seep into his pores! Not that there were any germs in her sparkling apartment. If there was a list of the things that she and Wonka had in common, it would be a tendency to have things clean that would be one of the top most. But still!

“Hold it right there,” she said firmly, walking over to him quickly as if he might fall down any minute, “You’re not supposed to be up! Get back to bed, please!” she pointed a finger back to her bedroom, her other arm on his shoulder.

He actually snarled at her then. Astonished, Doreit snatched her hand back as if burned, but stared at him fiercely. How dare –

“I’m fine. Where’d you put my top-hat?” he gritted out, searching the room as if the sought article of clothing might magically appear in thin air out in front of him.

Finally, Doreit came back to herself and got fairly mad. Who was he to just demand things of her? She could just let him rot and go back to the factory herself! But she thought back to her inner monologue from before, about them all dying and what would happen then, and then reconsidered. Maybe not…

“All right, then, you’re fine.” she spoke coolly, crossing her arms in front of her and tapping her foot very distinctly, “Go look in the mirror over there, and say that to me again.”

He looked at her strangely, but, though obviously still sick and drowsy, Wonka did as he was told. He padded over to the little intricate mirror on her wall, and peered at his own reflection…and screamed.

Like a girl…

If she hadn’t known he was sick, Doreit would’ve laughed. But as such, she was prevented from that little satisfying victory. Wonka had finished his little outburst, and touched his cheek gingerly, as if his own skin might bite him or something.

“What…? What…?” he couldn’t even form a question, his shock was so great.

“It seems like you’re a bit unwell.” She stated rather bluntly, gesturing to the nasty blisters on his normally pristine skin. If he wasn’t permanently pale all of the time, he could be a skin model…She actually snorted at the thought. He grimaced at her in annoyance, and also probably towards the abhorrent itching he was sure to start feeling any second…

“Impossible. I haven’t been sick in ages.” He declared hotly, glaring at his reflection as though that would, alone, somehow make all of the spots disappear, “You probably gave me something the other day that you created last month…Aha!” he pointed a long, pale finger triumphantly at her. “Pimple Popsicle juice and Itchy Witchy powder! I’ve got you figured out!”

Doreit rolled her eyes and snorted again in disbelief. If she had ever said that Wonka was a genius, she wanted to take it back at this present moment. He just looked to her, apparently expectant of her impending confession. Well, she had none to give. But she did have a few say-so’s in her pocket with his name on them…

“Willy, you’re being stupid again. Those ingredients act instantaneously, not after the few days we’ve been honeymooning.” She finished callously.

He just glared at her from behind all of his red blisters. Doreit snarled at his impudence, and ran angry fingers through her mussed red hair.

“Look, I know it’s difficult for you, but try and realize that you’ve got a high fever, the spots are probably itchy, and that your eyes right now are bloodshot, glazed, and have an expression in them that would be safe never to use in public.” She replied sweetly, giving him a syrupy smile for good measure.

His only response was a little girly “humph,” and a grumble of thanks when she shoved at him a mug of hot jasmine tea.

“Drink all of it,” she commanded him. Honestly, she felt like Mrs. Bucket when she scolded Charlie, or something… “It’ll help if you’ve got a sore throat.”

He scowled at her again, but obeyed her with great majesty. She grinned, and went to search for her medical book of Viruses, Bacterial infections, and Diseases…she was almost certain that he had chickenpox…

“Okay…So, you’ve got a fever, sore throat, glassy eyes, itchy spots, which are now conveying the old dewdrop-on-rose-petal syndrome…” Doreit muttered to herself as she flipped through her thick medical encyclopedia, examining all of the passages about the disease, making sure she didn’t miss a thing. “And you’ve got them…everywhere.” She finished with a knowing smirk.

Wonka actually blushed and hid with the last shreds of decorum behind his tea.

They were still in her living area, and Wonka had grudgingly consented to her orders of staying on the sofa and watching Sherlock Holmes with her, since she persisted in forcing him to rest. He had more spots now, as they seem to have just multiplied in the past half-hour or so. The blisters didn’t seem to like his face and hands so much, though, and there were enough for her to count very easily with a single glance, but not more. It was on the outlines of his muscles where the tribes of red pricks liked to settle. Particularly in between his abdominals.

“Then it’s settled,” she affirmed, slamming the heavy medical book shut. Wonka jumped at the sound and nearly dropped his tea. “You’ve officially got the dreaded Chicken Pox.”

“That’s, ah…not really very reassuring.” He replied, still shaken from the loud noise. She shrugged.

“It wasn’t supposed to be reassuring. It was supposed to be the current update of your health status. So – finish that tea, and I’ll get you some miso stuff, all right?”

He nodded sullenly as she went back into the kitchen to make a new batch of the broth. Honestly, it was as if Wonka hadn’t ever been sick before…He was behaving atrociously…

Shaking her head, Doreit returned to the living-room with his soup and a nice, chewy piece of wheat toast, and set them on the coffee table just so.

“There,” she announced, picking up her own forgotten bowl of the Japanese potage; “I’ve gotten you some nibblies, all right?”

He didn’t answer her, so Doreit brought her dish back to the kitchen and washed it before finally arriving back again for good – and that’s when she got one of the worst shocks of her life:

Wonka was…well, it looked like he had actually…

Fainted…

Flopped out across her couch, a faint expression of distress on his face…He was the ideal picture of a fluttery Victorian fop. She rolled her eyes way up to the ceiling and groaned.

Perfect. Leave it to Wonka to have panic attacks.

Of course, she supposed it was rather plausible that she didn’t know – she didn’t exactly see him under any particularly grieving stress…and the astronomical implications conceived in his germaphobic brain that he was now an incubus of viral plague must have been petrifying.

She snorted. She couldn’t help it – the situation was hilarious.

“Willy?” she asked gently, sitting down beside him and slapping his cheeks firmly. “What’s the matter with you? What’s wrong?”

His face twitched a little and a small moan escaped him. Purple eyes opened again and shone a bit too much for comfort as he started to scratch his neck without a word.

Doreit tried again. With sugar on top.

“You okay, Button?”

He wouldn’t answer her right away, but then he gave his face a vicious swipe and grinned at her blindingly.

“Oh! Uh, yes! I’m splendiferous, I tell you.” He endeavored brightly, but Doreit wasn’t fooled for a second.

“Come here, Willy.”

He glanced at her warily, almost fearfully, but he did as he was told and moved much closer to her. His knee was touching hers by then, and Doreit smiled at him.

Then, when all they seemed to do was to say nothing, Doreit slowly extended her hand and touched his spotted cheekbone, her thumb giving the smooth part of his skin a caress. Really, she was surprised at herself – she wouldn’t normally have been this…affectionate…except…Ah, well…No need to go there.

He leaned into her palm, and his eyes closed. Really, it made Doreit close to tears herself. What if Willy Wonka’s whole personality was an act?? What if it was simply the best defense he had against getting hurt? What kind of contact had he ever gotten from her, apart from the…occasional…nightly activities?

In fact, now that Doreit had thought about it, she hadn’t done much to make him feel secure in their relationship – he had told her before that he loved her, he had set up strange little dates and gave her gifts, he endured being in public if it meant to have her with him, as well…He had even gotten Charlotte and Elf – the last members of her direct family that she cared about – to become friendly with her again…But what had she done for him?

Biting her lip, Doreit drew her hand down his neck and around his shoulders; moving ever closer. He was staring at her uncertainly again, and she kissed his cheek softly. And then slowly, as if rebelling against his instincts, Wonka finally leaned down and placed his head upon her shoulder, closing his eyes again.

“Doreit –”

She kissed his forehead, too. And that got a small smile to appear on his lips.

“I’m here, all right? It’s okay, now. You’ll be fine. I had chickenpox too, a pretty horrible case actually, and look where it’s got me – plastered all over a bajillion magazines out there. Really, I don’t know where the editors’ brains are.”

That got a contented giggle to sound from somewhere near her neck. And then,

“Doreit?”

“Hmm? What?”

“You do know I love you, right?”

Doreit grinned, and she couldn’t help but kiss his head once more, and rub his arm.

“Yes…I most certainly do.”

So it turned out that Wonka was stuck for at least a week at her penthouse – due to his unexpected illness, and Doreit had phoned the Buckets at the factory to convey the unfortunate circumstances to them – mainly to a very disappointed Charlie. However, the adult Buckets seemed a bit…eager to let her and Wonka be alone for a period of time…it probably meant that he must’ve been complaining to them about…things…

However, Wonka certainly didn’t act sick at all after a few days – a far cry to how he had been before, when she had first brought him in. Even though he still had a slight fever, he was filled with nearly his usual insuperable level of energy, and virtually spent all of his free time scampering all over Doreit’s penthouse, collecting the oddest things and then returning to her immeasurably clean kitchen to experiment. There, he had set up a rather…complicated mess of candy designs, mapped out modifications to certain recipe elements…And he had made it his mission to work her poor high-tech domestic machinery until they cracked from confectionary-making.

Doreit would work on her pottery, as usual, and call Paige about Gaston’s Publishing to check on the popularity status of her new novel. Her appointments with Sandy, her fitness trainer, were put on hold because of Wonka’s decision to be intimate with measles’ relative, and Doreit would simply do the routines by herself in the yoga room. She also took some visits to the nearest clothes store and got Wonka some waistcoats, turtlenecks, sweaters and slacks, just in case he decided to stay at Vandome for a long period of time in the future.

And of course, besides being sick, Wonka would make enough sweets each day so that Doreit could open up her own candy-shop if she wanted to…

“Okay, now this is getting ridiculous.” She declared upon returning to the kitchen from a nice hot shower one evening. There was a plate of chocolate brownies out on the table, as well as strawberry-lemon fudge cubes, mint tapioca puddings, green tea and what looked like cucumber-chicken sandwiches.

“Oh?” replied Wonka, still a bit glass-eyed, but cheerfully sitting in a chair, dressed in a pair of dark green slacks and a maroon turtleneck that she had bought him. He was also still in her Kiss Me, I’m the Cook! apron and sipping some tea from her fancy china. “How’s that?”

Doreit eyed all of the dishes dubiously. Especially the cucumber chicken sandwiches…they looked…good…Maybe she could….But, no.

“Well,” She snapped out of it, and sat down next to him, pouring herself some plain green tea. “Nobody but you will consume all of this. I’m not hungry.”

He looked about to laugh.

“Ha…ha, ha. Please listen to moi, Gumdrop,” he leaned closer and stared into her face, his own quite serious. “You’ve spent three hours in that room today doing sit-ups and Pilates and stuff. You can’t not be hungry, you know. That’s just bizarre…and crazy.”

Doreit avoided his stare and shrugged, ignoring the sharp twinge of her shoulder muscles. Oof. Maybe she did do a bit much that afternoon…

She sighed.

“Okay, fine. Here.” She reached for the cream and sugar on the table and poured each into her tea. “Happy?”

In retaliation, he snatched a sandwich and sniffed it quite sensuously, shooting her a knowing look as he did so.

“Nope.” He sing-songed.

Doreit glowered at him. What a sneaky little…Eugh. Well, if he thought he could get to her that way, she wouldn’t let him. She was too close to her physical status goal. For E.M. of course.

“Fine, Willy. Whatever. I’m checking the television to see what’s on while you entertain yourself with sandwiches.” She got up, abandoning her tea and walked stiffly to her living area.

“Hey – Starshine, wait!” he also scrambled to his feet, removing the apron and grabbing both of their teas, quickly following her. “You really don’t want to try one little fudge? They’re yummy-yum-yum!”

“No.” she said tightly as she flipped channels and forwarded television commercials. “And you know it, so stop asking.”

He was silent, but she felt his disapproving gaze on her person as he, too, sat down. With lips pressed together unattractively, Doreit slammed the power button of the remote with her finger, effectively silencing the television.

“Nothing’s on tonight.” She stated glumly, slouching back into the comfy part of her couch, sipping her tea in a moody fashion.

Wonka hummed gawkily to himself for a minute, before bouncing to his feet again and looking around her living-room for the umpteenth time

A brief quiet pervaded the room for a while, broken only by the redhead’s sips of tea and her husband’s shuffling around and his examinations of her many ornaments and possessions. Her mind had just begun to wander as he suddenly suggested,

“Maybe we could play a game.”

Doreit turned to him.

“Sure. I suppose so. I’ll just have to go look for some. I haven’t played a real board game in a long time.”

He frowned unexpectedly at this.

“You mean…piled away in a dusty old basement somewhere, or worse…an…attic?”

She raised a brow.

“Yes, they’re in the attic somewhere, So what? Don’t tell me this is another phobia thing, Willy…”

“No!” He disputed a bit too swiftly. “I…erm…just have a sort of inexplicable aversion to the general dusty, mold and mildew-infested attic. That’s all, Buttercrumb.”

Doreit sighed long-sufferingly.

“Well, then what do you suppose we do? Go out to the store to buy some? And you’ve got chickenpox, so you couldn’t come anyway.”

He shrugged.

“It’s been a week-and-a-half, hasn’t it? I’m feeling much better, you know.” He replied stubbornly, crossing his arms.

His companion went over to him and felt his head. He still was a bit warm, but certainly not feverish at all.

“Stick out your tongue.” She ordered him. He obeyed without hesitation, his eyes traveling softly across her face while she checked for any sores or unnatural color. “Well…I guess you do seem to be…healthier. But what I don’t understand is your eagerness to venture out in public again.”

His eyes rolled.

“I told you already, Doreity. It’s…tolerable when you’re there.”

Well, she certainly had no objection to that. It was a rather nice fact that Wonka was just as fluent in flattery as he was in mockery.

“Fine. Just keep a scarf and your mutated mongoose coat on.” She strolled towards the door, retrieving their necessary things on the way. She grinned to herself as she heard him huff quite expressively.

“It does not look like a mongoose!”

© Jareth’s Genevieve