A/N: Alright, dear readers, here's the complicated tale of ALS. I discovered the Addams Family musical via YouTube the weekend before NaNoWriMo was to start. As you can guess, it took the steampunk fantasy novel I'd planned to write and forced it to jump out a high window at crossbow-point. So I decided to make this story nominally my NaNo project. I doubt it'll have the staying power for 50,000 words, but I'm more concerned about having fun than winning. And this branch of TAF fandom needs more love. Without further ado, on to the story!

(I do not own any incarnation of The Addams Family or any characters thereof.)

"Remind me again what this event is?"

Lucas sighed, having failed once more to straighten his tie.

"It's a New Year's gala that Dad's company holds every year, for employees and their families. I've been going since last year."

"Fine," his wife replied, delicately touching up her burgundy lipstick. "But I have to go because…?" She tugged at the skirt of her dress where it bunched oddly on her right leg. "This isn't exactly my thing- to put it mildly."

"You have to go because Dad wants to show off the fact that I succeeded at something for once. I'm pretty sure they had a betting pool going on whether I'd ever manage to sucker a woman into marrying me," he said.

Crossing to the mahogany dressing-table, he placed his hands on Wednesday's hips and turned her to face him. She glanced at his tie, and her lips quirked up in a smirk.

"I think the tie's winning again, love."

As she set it to rights, his hands trailed downward, over the curve of her hips, to her upper thighs- and stopped. He felt the still-bunched black silk, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Di, what's…" he trailed off, realizing the answer to his unspoken question.

"A thigh sheath? Really?"

"Is that a problem?" she asked in a deceptively calm voice. After two years of dating and one of marriage, Lucas knew that his wife was at her most dangerous when she used that tone. And after two years of dating and one of marriage, he also knew that he would like nothing better than to push her past the danger zone.

But not now. Not when they had somewhere to be. Business before pleasure, after all.

"Nope," he said, releasing her and stepping back. "No way I'd ask you to go into the hyenas' den unarmed."

She turned back to the mirror, running a brush through her dark hair. "Oh, speaking of bets, tell my brother next time you see him that he owes Father five dollars."

"Oh?" Lucas asked, "Why?"

Wednesday sighed and put down the brush. "You weren't the only one people had bets on."

He shot her a sympathetic look, and they resumed their preparations in silence. Some time later, he spoke again.

"Just to warn you, one of Dad's business partners is bringing his latest trophy wife. Some blonde bimbo about our age, if the last one was anything to go by. If you decide to cut her throat, try to do it discreetly."

"Can I just ignore her? I don't want to get my best stiletto dirty."

"Well, there's always blunt force trauma."

Wednesday slipped her arm through his and they descended the stairs, laughing.

"I'm sorry?"

Amanda Krueger was not having a good evening. First, Jim had dragged her to this thing without even giving her a chance to get a new dress. Then, that total slut Tiffany had shown up with new D-cups that must have cost a fortune. And now Lucas Beineke, safe Lucas, silly Lucas, the one ex-boyfriend she could always count on to never have a better offer…

"I said, Amanda, permit me to introduce my wife."

The pallid, black-clad woman beside him extended her hand, with a smile that had haunted Amanda's nightmares for seven years. It wasn't a smile of genuine happiness. It said that the owner was going to destroy her and enjoy doing it.

"I'm Wednesday. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Oh, she'd known. She'd known from the moment Lucas had called her and Jim over to be introduced. The stupid braids were gone, and puberty had done its work (not badly, she grudgingly admitted), but that was one face Amanda would never forget.

She squared her shoulders and shook Wednesday's hand. "Amanda; likewise. I'd heard Lucas had gotten married, but not to whom. It's lovely to finally meet the lucky girl."

"Oh no," Lucas interjected, "I'm the lucky one." As he tilted his wife's face upwards and kissed her, Amanda fumed silently.

She was happily married; she had a husband without love handles and hemorrhoids and hair plugs. Amanda, for all her blonde hair, golden skin, and spectacular breasts, was on the arm of a 60-year-old, and this freaky bitch got some great romance.

More than that, Wednesday had taken something of hers. Not that she wanted Lucas back; their four months of high school dating had left her sure of that. But it had been nice to have him hovering around the outskirts of her mind, ready to be mocked and dismissed with a pat on the head. One more scalp on her belt, as it were.

And for all these reasons, she thought, grinning smugly at the brunette's retreating back, I have decided to seduce your husband.