Author's Note: Hello and welcome to this story. Before you begin, there are a few things I need to clarify about this particular story. There are a great many things I want to write into it, thus giving it a sort of epic feel. This is also a work in progress, and I will post chapters when I am able to. I don’t believe in posting half efforts. If I don’t like it, then it won’t get posted until I'm happy with it.

This is pretty much based on the 1971 ‘Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’ film / musical. I did take some liberties to looking up the name of Wonka’s father (which is in the 2005 version but not in the 1971 version), but most of the concepts here are from the Gene Wilder film. The story itself chronicles the life and experiences of Mr. Wilkenson (whom I gave the first name Thomas). If you recall, he is the man hired by Wonka to test the children by pretending to be Slugworth. This not only describes his work at Wonka’s factory, but it also outlines some possible reasons as to why it is he is the only person over five feet tall in Wonka’s employ.

It takes place before, during and after the Golden Ticket contest when he meets the winners as well as other plots and characters coming into the mixture. I will not go AU with this, I am paralleling this with the movie to the best of my abilities. To keep things from getting too confusing, the present year is 1971, the past will be done either in descriptions or flashbacks; most of which are from Thomas Wilkenson’s point of view (some of the later chapters will change the point of view and I will post at the tops of the chapters when Willy's point of view is depicted). Although the 1971 movie was filmed in Germany, I have the factory in England, more specifically London. I don’t think it’s there, but it does help with regard to the storyline. Whatever is not answered in the 1971 version, will adapt from the 2005 version.

This early parts of this story has no romance, but in writing it, I have noticed that there will be some elements coming into the picture later. It will not be slash, that is Thomas will not have an affair with Wonka, and the romance will be Wonka's and not Thomas'. Please don’t ask me if he has an affair with Wonka, the answer is a definite no, they are just friends.

Other than that, I can’t really say much else here. This is my very first story in this section and I will openly confess that I have yet to read the book. I will try and keep with the plot devices of the film as best I can, and if it happens to contradict the book, my sincerest apologies. I have only seen the two movies (my favorite being the Gene Wilder version since I grew up watching it).

I guess that’s it. Enjoy.

All general disclaimers apply, I'm earning nothing for this...not even chocolate.

Edited on February 18, 2008.

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In Another’s Eyes

By: Yva J.

Chapter 1: The Beginning

July 12, 1971

He looked at the world through a pair of rounded spectacles. His coal-like eyes taking everything in with a distanced coolness. It seemed strange that a man like this would still have a strand of youth and vitality in him contrary to the hard existence he had endured during the past forty or so years.

It was not so much that he delved in his own self-pity; he simply knew what it meant to have a harder existence than most. Most people did not know much about him; in fact, he was not someone who talked openly about his experiences at all.

The tall, thin, dark-headed man with the bolder-like hat adorning his head seemed to turn heads wherever he went. It was not necessarily because he resembled someone famous, but because he seemed to carry an essence about him that some might describe as being somewhat unsettling. The simple resonances of his voice seemed to indicate a tense personality that was compounded by the words he spoke and the manner in which he addressed others.

Oftentimes when seen on the streets, people would scurry out of his way, and small children would stare up at him in wonderment. As they did, their eyes would take in his stoic jaw-line and hardened expression. His mouth only seemed to curve upwards in a smile on rare occasions. Otherwise it looked rather like a straight line that etched its way across the lower part of his face.

What most people did not know about the eccentric man in their mists was the extraordinary work that he occupied himself with. For the past seven years, he could have boasted having a job that was the envy of all those around him. Contrary to his earnestness in behavior and manner, he had a spark in him that gave way to a capacity for making mischief.

His name was Thomas Wilkenson and ever since he had taken on the job offered by his best friend, he realized that it was a job, which proved more secretive than working as an operative in the CIA. In fact, if people were to actually have found out what he did for a living, he might have become as famous as the man for whom he worked. This was part of the reason as to why it was he did not live in a relationship or with a family. His family pretty much consisted of one very eccentric man who made chocolate.

Of course he once had a family, but his parents had died, and he had lost his younger brother as well. Simeon had been his name and he was two years younger than Thomas. He had worked as an independent artist in the Notting Hill section of London. The two brothers had once been very close. They had to have been, as they had both been children of war. Soon after the bombing raids started in London, they were forced to leave the city and live in the countryside along with many other children. During the time they were away, they had lived in the home of an odd elderly gentleman named Reginald Wonka.

It was there where he and Simeon were first introduced to William Wonka. The two teenagers had been at the house for several days when Reginald’s overworked and stressed out son, Wilbur stopped in for tea with an eight-year-old boy in tow. The little boy was introduced to them as this man’s son, and their host’s grandson.

William, or as his friends called him, Willy, was a small boy with naturally curly locks of golden hair that seemed to stick out in all directions. Thomas and Simeon often pondered whether or not Willy got his wiry hair from sticking his finger in a few too many light sockets. Neither of them spoke of this, instead, they spent their time trying to ignore the strange manner in which their younger cohort carried himself. Besides that, it seemed rather rude to sit at the table and say over tea how Willy looked as though he’d been playing about with a light switch. Some things were simply better left unsaid.

Thomas remembered how he could still taste the saccharine in his mouth several hours after that fateful visit. As Willy’s father began to collect his coat and hat, Reginald had offered to watch the youngest boy. This was a proposal, which Wilbur seemed more than willing to allow.

Once the high-strung man had left, the essence of the relaxed and happy household returned to normal. Seconds later, their host turned to fourteen-year-old Simeon and sixteen-year-old Thomas and asked if they would mind keeping an eye on Willy. The two teenagers had reluctantly agreed and the three boys set about to exploring the small house and the grounds that extended straight into the neighboring village.

It was during this time that Thomas discovered that Willy Wonka’s father was actually a dentist by trade. Among other things, that pretty much explained the artificial sweetener that was in the tea. As the years passed by after this initial meeting, Thomas often pondered the irony of how the greatest candy maker in the world actually had a father who was a dentist.

During the time he had spent in the country, Thomas grew from an adolescent boy into a young man. Of course, he was a good eight years older than Willy.

As the years played their game with the two of them, they shared a friendship that seemed rather like that light switch; first on, then off, then on again. Thomas internally knew that if something were to happen to either him or Simeon, that they could always count on Willy to assist them and vice versa. To cite an example, Thomas could still remember the day when the telegram had arrived at the house informing them that their father had been killed on the warfront in Germany. In the wake of this news, the two families suddenly had been thrust even closer together and their friendship was that pearl hidden amidst the wounds of a shattered family.

Today, contrary to the ups and downs of a somewhat chaotic friendship, Thomas Wilkenson knew that Willy Wonka was someone he trusted. The two men were like brothers. In that knowledge, Thomas was able to find healing after his own brother had been unexpectedly killed in an auto accident during the early parts of 1964.

Taking a deep breath, Thomas shook his head as he recalled what hurtled his and the reclusive chocolatier’s lives back together. They had lost touch with one another for so many years. He knew that this happened with many people, not just to him and Willy Wonka. At any rate, Thomas had left the country town where he had stayed during the war and started his studies at Oxford. He never finished, because he received a job offer in America and ended up leaving England for an undetermined period of time. That pretty much ended any contact he had had with his childhood friend; at least that’s what he thought.

Flashback

March 20, 1964

Thomas had just celebrated his forty-seventh birthday, his flat was full of guests and suddenly the phone rang. The call had been placed from London and he figured that it was his brother calling to wish him a happy birthday. Simeon always called and it did not matter where Thomas happened to be at the time. The call was as consistent and expected as the chime of a church bell on Sunday morning.

However, this particular day, he did not expect a call from a stranger telling him that his younger brother had been killed in a hit and run accident. A drunken man had run a red light and plowed into Simeon’s car. The younger Wilkenson had been on his way to an art opening when the accident had occurred.

Thomas had received a telegram from Simeon only a week before telling him that after the opening there was something even bigger that he wanted to share with him. Thomas could not imagine anything bigger than that simply because the art opening was a big deal in and of itself. This would have established Simeon as a legitimate artist in London and not just a hopeful wannabe. It had been his dream and now that dream had died in the hands of an irresponsible man.

The lump that now formed in his throat was indescribable. It was as though from one instance to the next, his life was turned tragically upside down. His throat felt dry, he could not cry, he could simply stare down at the phone after the informant had returned the receiver to the hook and a dial-tone was left screaming in his ear. He turned and looked at his American friends who were sitting on the sofa waiting for him to say something.

When he finally managed to swallow the lump, it was simply to tell them that he had to catch the first flight back to London. He then told them that his brother was dead.

The friends reacted in a way that most friends would, they rang the airport straightaway and got Thomas a ticket that would shuttle him back to England the very next day. They next rang Thomas’ supervisor at work and told him that he had to leave and that there had been a death in the family. They did not say nor imply when Thomas would return, as that was unknown. He figured later that they probably knew that he would not be returning.

His only hope was that he would make it back in time for the funeral. Since Simeon’s friends were taking care of the arrangements in his absence, he had rang them prior to leaving and explained that he would be back in London at eleven the morning after flying out. Since they had offered to attend to the funeral preparations, he had one less thing to worry himself with, although he felt a mountain of guilt building up inside because he had not been there in the first place.

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Thomas was still pretty broken up by the time his plane landed at Heathrow two days later. He had sat in his seat stoically watching the events around him. Sometimes he felt as though he was watching these actions take place in a movie and was not actually living them.

Everything he did seemed to be done as though in a robotic and unemotional state. When the passengers finally began to disembark the plane, he felt himself automatically getting to his feet, grabbing his duffle bag, and slinging it casually over his shoulder. He made his way slowly down the aisle and could hear people laughing and talking gaily. After several minutes, they descended the steps from the plane and made their way across the tarmac to a waiting bus. He climbed aboard, the silence engulfing him as though a blanket was covering his sagging spirit.

Thirty minutes later, he cleared customs and stepped out into the large open waiting area. All around him, he could see signs from various people. He finally spotted a dark headed man with long braided hair and a blonde headed woman holding a small sign with the name ‘Tom Wilkenson’ printed across it.

Approaching the man who held the sign, he cleared his throat. “I’m Tom,” was all he could squeak out.

The woman looked up at him and wordlessly she wound her arms around him in an embrace as a soft sob emerged. “I’m Bethany,” she cried. “I was Simeon’s fiancé.”

Thomas took a deep breath, the shock evident in the words that next tumbled out of his mouth. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t know that my brother had intended on getting married.”

Bethany nodded. “I know. He was going to ring you after the art opening had ended and intended on telling you so that you could come back for it, but now…” her voice trailed as her sobs emerged as hiccups. The hippie-like man standing next to her rested his hand on her shoulder and proceeded to pat it gently as if to say ‘now, now, everything will be alright’.

At that moment, Thomas shifted his gaze towards the man, an unasked question looming.

“Sorry, old chap, the name’s Bernie,” he said, his voice a thick Welsh drawl. “Your brother an’ me were mates, we used to hang out at the pub together and we did some painting as well. He was a talented bloke and it really is a pity what happened to ‘im.”

Thomas nodded, there was still so much that he did not know about his brother. He watched as Bernie grabbed his large suitcase and started to carry it towards the way out. He slowly followed, the carry-on bag still draped over his shoulder, and he found himself using his freed up hand to help guide Bethany along. The woman looked completely heartbroken, and while she carried that grief externally, Thomas seemed to be carrying his inside.

Reaching the parking lot, they were led over to Bernie’s beat up VW bus and climbed in. Bernie tossed the suitcase on the back seat and then climbed behind the wheel. Within seconds, they had sped away from the airport in a trail of black smoke.

As they drove, Thomas kept pondering how much there was that he did not know about his brother. All of these things felt as though they were locked up by distance and time. He sighed as he inhaled the scent of musty air; a combination of the pungent odor of the van’s seats as well as the humid London climate outside.

Bernie rolled down the window and casually rested his arm on the door. As the wind wafted into the recesses of the van, Thomas could suddenly feel the mist and wind against his face. “I appreciate you picking me up,” he eventually offered after about twenty minutes of driving time had passed. “I’m sorry I don’t have much to say, but everything has happened so quickly.”

“No sweat, Mate,” Bernie said, his left arm still draped casually over the steering wheel. When he stopped at a crosswalk, he dug in his pocket and eventually extended a half crushed pack of mint-flavored gum to the passenger in the back seat. “Since I gave up smoking, all I can offer you is gum.”

Thomas extended his hand and accepted the offered stick and began the dubious task of unwrapping the half melted piece of gum. As he finished unwrapping it, he stuck it in his mouth and immediately tasted the tanginess of peppermint as it cascaded down his throat.

“We’d never have left you hanging round the airport like that,” Bernie continued to speak. “Simeon used to say that friends are really like family, you just happen to be both.”

‘Family…’ The word hung in the air and Thomas sighed deeply. He had run away from his family when he taken that job in the States. Now, his brother was gone and he was left speechless and staring out the dirty window of Bernie’s van.

Seconds later, the feeling of family was compounded when they stopped at another intersection adjacent to the complex of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.

For the second time since his arrival in London, a lump suddenly formed in Thomas Wilkenson’s throat.