"Our hearts are with the victims and their families in the aftermath of the deadly shooting that has shaken America this week. We're going to switch it over to Steven, our reporter who is currently at the scene…"

A long sigh escaped Morticia's throat as she gazed blankly at the television screen. She leaned against the wide back of of her wicker chair, her arms resting alongside her. Although every window was sealed tight and every shade was drawn in the capacious living room of the Addams mansion, the summer birds and their obnoxious squeaks wouldn't be contained. Her fingers began to slip into autopilot, causing the sweater she had been crocheting for Cousin Callus to look more like a pillowcase with every stitch. Morticia's thoughts had sunk so deep that she could no longer hear them. Or the birds. Or the news reporter. Or her husband falling head first through the ceiling beside her.

"Caramba.."

Gomez groaned and quickly sat up to cover his head as a shower of plaster and debris fell soon after him. The battered Castilian dropped his arms and observed the aftermath of his entrance. He then shot a devilish smile at his entranced wife.

"Aah.. I must be doing something wrong, Cara Mia. It's supposed to blow up! Not down!" He cackled madly as he stood up and brushed the plaster off his hands. Morticia remained unmoved.

"That's dreadful." She muttered, her eyes dull and fixated. Gomez stopped laughing abruptly and paused his expression a moment. His brows raised and his hands rested in his pockets as he nodded.

"Tough crowd."

"Oh no, darling, not you!" Morticia snapped out of her state and looked up at her wounded husband and motioned to the television. "I was talking about the headlines. Besides, Fester said something like that yesterday."

Gomez nodded once more and reached into his breast pocket to pull out a post-fall-through-ceiling cigar and furrowed his brow at his wife. He examined the hole above him. "You know… there are only so many puns you can make from explosions, Morticia."

"I know darling, I'm sorry, really… I suppose I'm just not in the mood. It's all of… this!"

"All of what, my love?" Gomez walked over to the card table and tapped on Thing's box for assistance in lighting his cigar.

"This!" Morticia used the crochet needles she had been gripping to motion to the television screen once more. Gomez puffed his cigar and brushed the dust off his shoulders as he moved quickly to see what was distressing his beloved.

"More shootings?" He turned off the television and knelt beside his poor querida. He caressed her slender hand and pressed it to his lips. "Is that what's troubling you, Cara? Is it the children? By all means, we'll take them out of school! Like you say, they're always suggesting it. And besides, Ms. Dunbar still gives me strange looks…"

"No, darling, it isn't really that…" her hand slipped from his grasp to gently stroke his jawline. "Besides, the children want to be in school now more than ever! Pugsley says it's the most exciting it's ever been. He and Wednesday are the strongest security that school has after all, and it's a very safe area. They've only had two bomb threats within the past 3 years, you know… and both of them from Uncle Fester. Dear Fester, he gets so protective when the children don't get the grades they deserve. Anyway, darling, it isn't just that, it's all of it! The shootings, the threats, the chaos, the anger-it's all the same. Everyday. The news isn't exciting anymore, Gomez, not like the good old days when you'd turn on the television and you were told to evacuate because the towers are collapsing. Now you're just told to hold on because we're all spiraling slowly, slowly downward into a blackhole of world madness and human extinction and it's just one big, waiting game full of heartache and despair. Yet there's no thrill! And you know as well as I do, darling…" the temptress dropped the crocheted sweater to her side and slowly stood up, arching her back a little before settling into her posture, "I can't stand my games without the thrill."

She refrained from smiling too wide once the sudden heat of the body she knew so well was pressed to her back and a low growl vibrated against her ear. Deprived hands explored her torso while his tortured whispers intertwined with the locks of her hair. The thin fabric between her flesh and his fingers could almost mock him.

"Tish… you know what you do to me with your depressing monologues about our current state of being…"

"Darling." She stifled a small sound of delight and let her nails drag softly over his cheek.

"Even the most somber, tortured depths of Tumblr could never to thee compare."

Morticia stopped dragging her nails. "What's a "Tumblr" dear?"

"Wednesday says it's a social media platform where a vast range of millennial females who feel misunderstood by a world that owes them nothing can fulfill their narcissistic and platitudinous artistic desires while interacting daily and posing as members of our family."

She raised a brow. "Of our family? … How remarkably unsettling. Darling," Morticia slipped from her husband's grasp to tend to the budding roses on the marble side table, "forgive me. I don't mean to be such a… drag."

"I don't blame you. Especially on a 97 degree disaster such as today." He sighed and picked up the cigar he didn't realize he had dropped.

"I suppose. Perhaps I just feel that it's such a bore to always have to watch the bleeding mayhem and not truly be apart of it."

Gomez's eyes locked on the back of the vixen's head. He proceeded to bound up the main staircase,"Is this where we become terrorists..."

"No dear."

"No, of course not, by George." Gomez turned around and immediately descended the stairs, re-buttoning the jacket of his suit as he did so. Morticia cocked her head in thought, slicing the last white rose off its stem.

"I just… I wish I could stop dwelling on it all."

"Well, that's just it, querida! Let's stop dwelling!" He exclaimed happily and placed his chin on her shoulder, watching intently as she arranged the stems in the crystal vase to her liking.

"But doesn't that make us ignorant?"

Gomez chuckled and brushed ebony locks behind her shoulder, "Indeed." He touched his lips to her neck, smiling as he felt her relaxed demeanor tense just a bit. Morticia's lips curled to a smirk.

"Oh, darling… There was once a time where we couldn't be bothered with the outside world and now I feel as though it's knocking down our door. Am I an arrogant citizen or a careless mother because I would like for just one night to… to forget? To unbend, to… to just be in our own little hell on Earth, just once more? It seems like everyone and everything outside this house is on some mad high."

Gomez's eyes shot up from the neck he had been nibbling on. "... Mad high?..." He smiled, widely and gently took the sheers from Morticia's hand. "Querida mia... you say you'd like to…forget?" He set the sheers on the table. "Just for a night?"

"Now, now, darling, I said later."

Gomez chuckled and turned her to face him. "No, that's… well, you said 'later' at nine this morning and it's currently past six, it would be far more helpful if you specify what 'later' means- but no, that's not what I meant. What if I told you that I have a much different way to ease your precious mind tonight… if you're willing to indulge with me."

He winked as he placed a tender kiss on her fingers. The glint in his mischievous glare was a look that Morticia was all-too familiar with, yet her puzzled expression remained.

"Gomez, what on Earth are you talking about?"

"Cara," he squeezed her shoulders, "you are stressed. And as always, you're stressed about what you have absolutely no fault in. It's the price you pay for such a beautiful heart."

"Gomez…"

"Let's say I have a temporary solution… to ease all of your anxieties and your worries. To take your mind off any dilemmas you might have and set it free - to have fun, and completely diminish the outside world. And it will just be the two of us, tonight… What do you say, amante… do you trust me?"

Although she challenged his alluring eyes with a stone-cold air, Morticia could feel herself slipping. He was the most exciting man she had ever known, so magnetic and persuasive in the way he spoke. 'He's also a dangerous man, but what could I possibly be refusing?' she thought. As she pondered, she hadn't noticed that his hands had found their way to her waist once more, clouding her thoughts. Gomez Addams may not have been a town favorite, but to at least one person in the world, he was entirely irresistible.

"Cara mia…" Gomez laughed once her dark, pursed lips curled ever so slightly, finally giving him his answer. He pressed his forehead to hers, "Tonight, after the children are in bed."

"Mm. Now kiss me before I change my mind."

"I change my mind. Gomez, I change my mind - Gomez!"

Gomez cackled as he bound down the dark staircase that you would only find if you knew which ax handle to lift from the weaponry display in the playroom. With only a candelabra to lead them through the consuming darkness, Gomez tightened his grip on his wife's hand, practically dragging her behind him. They were descending at a speed that hardly allowed Morticia to brush off every cobweb she encountered on her way down.

"Gomez, stop!" she hissed. "Why in the devil are we going to your mother's sanctum, you know we're not allowed down there!"

"Not without permission."

"Did you get permission?"

"Hell no."

After a few more steps they had finally reached a landing. Breathless, Gomez lifted the candelabra, casting a faint glow on a large wooden door thoroughly covered in carvings. He flashed a smile at his querida and quickly enveloped her waist with his arm once she turned to dash upstairs.

"Querida, relax… you put your trust in me." He let go of her waist to pull strands of cobweb from her hair and the shoulders of her nightgown. Morticia kept her voice at a whisper, her eyes darting around in the blackness.

"Yes, that was before I knew that this was what you had in mind! I don't like this, Gomez, this is her most private place! It's her lair and she has always made that very clear, now if you excuse me-"

He held her to him once again. "Morticia, please. I've been sneaking in here since I was a tyke, it's elementary." He gave her a reassuring smile and handed her the candelabra while he searched his pants pockets. Morticia sighed, still weary of whom could be lurking in the dark without their knowing.

"Darling, I really don't like jeopardizing the relationship I've built with your mother…"

"Querida, this is Mama we're talking about."

"Yes. Mama. The same Mama who was the last eye-witness of at least four Avon ladies before they went missing."

"Acquitted." He shrugged. "Maybe they're in here!" He motioned his thumb to the door, smirking at Morticia's irked glare. He took a small bronze key from his pocket and took back the candelabra, "We'll be quick, I promise." He turned to the door and placed the key in the hole on the far left. "Now, it isn't the key that's meant for this door but it works, I just have to manipulate it a little."

As he did so, the artwork of the door was far more visible to Morticia in the candlelight. The carvings were figures and they were remarkably detailed, from every tiny scale of a dragon to the saliva dripping from a gaping Lion's mouth. She couldn't help herself as her hand lifted to touch the wood. Gomez gazed adoringly at her as he jimmied the key. "Incredible, isn't it? Wasn't built with the house, you know. Imported from Spain, a masterpiece from the hands of our great ancestor, Nicolás Mateo Madera de los Remedios Addams. Spain's most esteemed wood carver of the 16th century, called upon by Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor himself to lend his gifts to the interior of the Emperor's Palace in Granada. His last words were, "Ay, una astilla!" "

"What does that mean, dear?"

"Ouch, a splinter."

A small click silenced them both. Gomez winked and slowly pushed the door open.

The room was filled with more burning candles than a catholic church. Vines, leaves, moss and other earthly tokens were tied in bundles on the ceiling, some cascading down over shelves and shelves of books, bottles, jars and artifacts that spread along the walls. Morticia gazed in awe at the homey surroundings, almost bothered that this was one place she wasn't allowed. Gomez smiled at the look of intrigue on his wife's face. He loved it when Morticia grew curious and the way every thought that raced through her mind would reflect in her eyes.

"Look at as much as you can while we're in here, it's quite impressive." He patted the small of her back gently and made his way over to one of the shelves on the far wall. Morticia stepped with caution further into the room, not daring to touch anything of Mama's but certainly eager to take in her surroundings. Gomez set the candelabra next to a shimmering crystal ball on a velvet side table and ran his fingers over a collection of human skulls on a shelf.

"The witch's ditch is mainly full of…" once his fingers had felt over a particular skull, he took it off the shelf and observed it, "ganja." He turned to Morticia with a wicked grin and popped open the top of the skull. Morticia raised a brow and walked over to peer into the skull.

"Weed?" Morticia returned Gomez's wide smile with a dull look of annoyance. "This is it, Gomez? We came all the way down here to-"

"Oh contraire, Cara Mia, this isn't just any marijuana strand, not like what Dr. Mbogo sends us from Zimbabwe, no this… is Mama's personal strand. This is what Van Gogh was on when he painted The Starry Night… or it's what he was on when he sliced off his ear, I'm not sure, but this will ensure you a night of absolute elation."

Morticia cocked her head at the green contents in the skull, the scent already filling the room. It was incredibly strong, which seemed promising.
"...Darling, it's hers…"

"Cara, I've been sneaking this ganja around since I was 15. She never notices, I promise you. Besides.." he leaned closer to her ear, " I know for a fact… that Mama, after her morning wrestles with the alligator, has been using your silverware to scrape off her shoes…"

"... Just put a handful in your pocket, and let's go."

The lovers' spacious bedroom was dimly lit by nothing but candles spread on every surface and corner. Morticia stood in front of the burning fireplace lighting the last few candles that stood on the mantle, constantly glancing at the closed bedroom door as she did so. Gomez sat on the red velvet chaise lounge facing the fireplace, grinding the marijuana in his hands with a metal herb grinder above the low glass table in front of him. He looked up at his wife and his hands stopped grinding.

Her hair shimmering over one shoulder against her neck, where her left shoulder was draped with a black lace kimono that would only allow sneak peaks of the snug dark silk that was worn underneath. Every time she turned her head to look at the door, candlelight glistened against her pale cheek. It was scenes like this that often made Gomez want to abandon any plans and arrangements of the night and skip straight to bidding another day farewell pressed against his beloved on that bed on the far side of the room… but he promised her a different kind of nighttime fun, and he was more than eager to deliver. He shook the thoughts from his head and continued turning the grinder in his hands.

"You are an absolute cavern of nerves, cara bella."

"I can't help it, Gomez, I just know she's going to charge in here with a flaming red halberd the second she realizes."

Gomez chuckled and shook his head, "She absolutely will not. And it's clear to me now how much you truly need this." He tapped the ground weed onto the table. He closed the grinder and set it beside the tall hookah before him and placed his hand on the hookah, studying it. "Wait, is this… no, I want the Turkish one. Un memento." He stood and picked up the hookah off the table and left the room. Morticia watched the door shut behind him and proceeded to light the last candle. She blew out the lighting taper and set it on the mantle, she then took a step back to observe her work around the room. Although she had no clue what events would occur tonight, she still wanted the usual romantic atmosphere. It was just the two of them after all. She rubbed her hands together once her nerves began to build again and made her way to the chaise. She sat down and pondered… what was going to happen, tonight? Morticia was always careful. She never drank more than at least two glasses of alcohol, especially around Gomez. Control was her main discipline, it's what kept everything perfect in her world. Some would call it uptight, she called it elegance. She dreaded the thought of losing absolute control of her mind and actions, turning what Gomez saw as his immortal siren into some dumb, floundering imbecile. She shuddered at the thought. The usual weed they used in the hookah would do nothing but completely relax her and expand her thoughts. Afterwards, she would paint, or they'd have a brunch, or adjourn to the library where they would uncover the secrets hidden within the pages of books and discuss them. Or merely lock the bedroom door for the rest of the day. She smiled softly at the thought and brushed her fingers over her clavicle, but jumped once the bedroom door swung open. It was Gomez, grinning madly and holding up the beautiful golden hookah once gifted to them by their dear friend Ahmed Ben Pasha.

"Showtime." He winked and locked the door behind him. He made his way to the chaise and sat beside his querida, setting the hookah down before them and immediately packing the weed into the bowl. He then took a small blow torch out from under his robe and began lighting the coals. She watched the skillful way his hands worked, and the scent was almost overwhelming. Once all was done, he sighed contently and took the two hoses, offering one to Morticia but she hesitated.

"Darling, are you sure it's safe?"

"Querida," he leaned closer, his eyes narrow and his lips hovering just over hers, "absolutely not." He handed her the hose as she couldn't help but grin, excitedly. She lifted the mouthpiece up.

"To a mad world."

Gomez shook his head. "To us."

They tapped their mouth pieces together and inhaled.