Blood Ties, Blood Lies

by Blood Diamond13

Twenty-two years can't destroy a picture painted in blood. Blood. The tie that binds so many, and breaks them all at once. The ruby liquid may very well be considered a crimson killer… (Rest of blurb inside) This story is dedicated to Melcyn for her birthday, I am honoured that she reads my stories. I hope you had a happy birthday, Melcyn! I care about you very much. Enjoy.

3. Follow Through

Chapter 2: Follow Through

The sun had not yet begun to show its obscene rays, peeking through the grey obesity of the cluster of rainclouds in the sky. The storm having subsided since midnight, all was eerily silent as far as could hear outside of the old Addams mansion. The bats, every one of them hanging upside down from their habitual, cold, dank caves… for the time being.

"Who are you exactly?" Máma questioned the pair, not one to beat around the bush.

The unidentified woman, having just woken up (as well as the young girl) responded to her question. "I'm Regina. Regina Diveena Blood. And this," Regina gestured toward the girl. "is my daughter, Scarlett."

Scarlett gave a graceful yet fatigued wave. "Hello."

Máma's entire aura exuded skepticism. "Alright, Regina. Might I ask why my grandchildren found you half-dead on our doorstep?"

Regina elegantly sipped her henbane tea.

Lurch had offered it to both she and Scarlett this morning; and she accepted it perfectly well, as if she knew him.

"You might." Regina replied, coyly.

"Sweetie, I don't want to play games with a stranger. It's ten a.m." Máma told her, flat out.

"Stranger?" Regina raised an eyebrow, as though being called a stranger were the most ludicrous thing she had ever heard. Then, gracefully setting down her cup of tea, she elaborated on her -somewhat of a- question. "I may be to you, dear. But to your son-in-law, I am certainly no stranger."

Máma's eye's widened. "I beg your pardon?"

Wednesday was sitting there, saying nothing, alongside her brother.

She was stunned. She never had seen someone who could compare, even slightly to her mother's enchantment. Yet, this woman, while still paling in comparison, did not quite do so the same as the others. She -to Wednesday's astonishment- was almost… give she a number, a seven-and-a-half out of ten. Ten, being her mother. No one… no one ever marked that high, in anyone's eyes.

Not in the eyes of anyone in the family, nor the outside world, nor Wednesday and certainly- not Gomez.

Long legs, from what could be seen by the dramatic crease in her black and blood red, gothic dress. Nails, a bit longer than average in length tapped the porcelain teacup when she sipped it. Eyes watched all in the room, despite their only being two of them (there was no shortage of her -to some degree- piercing eyes). Human eyes, apart from their iris' undeniable redness. The same dark red as her dress, and her lips, were her eyes. And her little girl's. Skin, the palest of white… as pale as the lady of the house, herself. Her hair was long, flowing down to her back in almost black waves, with the slightest hint of… red.

"I'm sure I was his first vampire but- "

"Excuse me?" Máma's eyes were now popping out of her head.

"Oh, of course; the children." Regina winked as if she and Esmeralda were long-time friends.

It made the old witch physically ill.

"No. That wasn't what I meant." Esmeralda straightened her back, now feeling the need to defend her daughter and Gomez's wonderful relationship against this woman (whom she had an inkling, wasn't… something was, off). "Trust me, they've seen it all."

Pugsley pipped up, and gave an agreeing nod. "And heard it all."

"I… see." Regina pursed her heart-shaped lips. "Well, I would figure as much."

Suspicion was beginning to creep upon the young Wednesday as well. "How do you know father?" She inquired.

Regina took another sip of tea. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Wednesday." Wednesday responded, calm as ever.

"Yes, of course. Well, I know your father because twenty-two years ago, he and I…" She looked at Máma and effortlessly threw out an ingenuine nervous laugh. "dated, for a little while."

"So, why are you here?" Wednesday asked.

Máma gave an approving nod.

Regina sighed. "Well…"

….

Black dress shoes steadily stepped down the flights of stairs. Black dress shoes, paired with dress pants, the same colour of the night. What would be complete without a shirt? Burgundy, with a black vest, covered in gothic designs.

No hand held a railing, but rather a hand (decorated with its eternal piece: a pure gold wedding ring with the nickname, Mon Cher, engraved in black, fantastic font on the inside), belonging to the beau diable, Gomez Addams, did hold his beautiful black angel in his arms that foggy, July morning.

He carried her down the stairs, intense passion for her, burning in his eyes, determined to cook her breakfast and be back as soon as possible to hold and physically adore his reason for existing.

"Toast, mi reina?" Gomez's nose pressed against Morticia's as he nearly finished descending the last flight of stairs. Unable to resist, he kissed her.

"Mmm… I'll like anything as long as it doesn't require your absence for more than a little while." Morticia replied, arms tight around her amour's neck.

"Oh, Tish…" Gomez smiled at her. "I will be as quick as possible. I promise." He paused. "I'll put on Hellraiser for us."

Morticia sighed, languidly resting her head against his chest. "You spoil me, mon amour."

Gomez's eyes looked deeply into hers. "I cannot help but spoil you, Tish. I worship you, mi encantadora."

"Mon cœur bat pour toi, mon amour. Je t'adore." Morticia's nails ran along the back of his neck as she pressed closer to him, her voice entrancing him completely.

Taking a laboured breath due to the erotic spell he had been placed under at her words, he spoke. "Cara mia…" Was all he could manage to say.

"Mon cher." Morticia knew exactly what she could do to make him take her on the stairs now two rooms away if that was what he wanted to do. In fact-

"Dios mío."

Perfectly propped against the wall, Gomez leaned in for a kiss; prepared to grab her and take things as far as he could take them with pants on.

Morticia held up a commanding and also intrusive, elegant finger before him. Staring into his eyes, she said, "That isn't what you call me."

"Mi diosa." Gomez growled, correcting himself, losing control and desperately needing her.

"That's better." Morticia smirked, giving into both their desires and going in for the kiss.

Gomez, overtaken with lust, set her down then. Pinning her against the wall and barely drawing in breaths, he held her arms above her head.

Neither one of the lovers seemed to notice they were now standing in a thick, wide archway; nor would they care, had they noticed.

Morticia pressed closer to him (with what limited limbs she had) and delved deeper into the kiss. "Je te besoin, mon extase." She purred.

Fingers in her hair, Gomez was as close to her as possible, and yet wished he could somehow be closer. His lips met hers, and traveled down her jaw, her neck, and ventured to bite that spot which he was well aware would elicit that beautiful, gasp, half-moan-

"Ah!" There it was. "Mon diable."

Gomez grabbed her then, his willingness to fight temptation gone (as if it truly ever had been…).

Lip-locking again, the amorous pair made-out, harder than the wall they leaned on for support.

Thing desperately wanted to try and tug Gomez's pant leg. But the poor thing was quite averse to venturing that close to the scene.

As the couple continued, Thing decided it was best to not be a handful for a change and just do it.

So, he scampered up to the pair and hopped onto Gomez's shoulder, knowing he would not care to pay attention to a thing like his pant leg being pulled on. Or, he would, for all the wrong reasons.

Morticia's captivating eyes fluttered open and she laughed when she was the first to realize poor Thing. "Mmm… mon amour, there's…" between breaths and kisses, she spoke. "Something on your shoulder."

Gomez raised an eyebrow and turned to see the hand. "Thing, old man!" His eyes shifted between he and his darling one. "Is everything alright? You seem distressed and…" He didn't want to be to impolite to tell his friend that interrupting he and his wife was completely improper so he attempted to think of something else to compensate. "Is everything alright?"

Rattled, Thing pointed into the living room.

The eyes of the two then followed Thing's finger, to lay eyes upon what Thing had been trying to show them for the past five minutes.

Wednesday, Pugsley and Máma were staring at them from the living room couch and chairs. Just… staring. And there was a woman, and a young girl with them, who had the most unusual red eyes.

Gomez suppressed a gulp. It certainly could not have been… there was no way.

Confused, the lovers walked into the living room.

Morticia was the first to speak. "Good morning." She greeted them.

Wednesday's face did not contort, but the small inflections her voice sounded as though it should have. "Good morning mother."

Pugsley had not yet looked up from his shoes. "Are they done yet?"

This earned him a kick in the shin from his older sister.

"Oww!" He bit his lip.

"Good morning." Máma feigned cheerfulness. "Well, I'm skipping breakfast. And seeing as you two have already eaten, I think we should drop the formalities and talk about the elephants in the room, shall we?"

Regina then held up an elegant hand. "Vampires, actually, dear." She corrected.

"Don't call me that." Esmeralda was not particularly friendly without her typical morning peace in the kitchen. Or peace, period. Especially, when she was uncertain about the company. "I don't like it."

Regina said nothing, merely continued to sip her tea.

Gomez, for the first time in all of his thirty-nine years of life, went cold. Vampires? This woman looked so much like… vampires…

"Good morning." Scarlett, who had been disconcertingly silent all morning, stood up from the couch; rising to her full height. "My name is Scarlett Rose Blood." She introduced herself, then, to Gomez and Morticia. "And this is my mother," She gestured to Regina. "Regina."

Gomez's heart stopped with dread at that name.

She was here. In his house. Interacting with his children.

Regina set her teacup, gently in her lap. She looked to her daughter, her brow furrowing briefly. "Scarlett, don't you remember?" After the light reprimand of her daughter, she turned her attention to the anxiety-ridden Castilian; and winked at him. "We've met before, dear."

Morticia remained stoic, but internally she grew concerned at the look Regina then shared with Gomez. That look… the fact that it was a look at all…

Unnoticed by those in the room with her, she observed the woman on the couch. Her long, gothic dress extended down past her ankles. It was black and blood red, with a black corset; Victorian designs covering its entirety. The vampire's dress had a high, black, gothic collar around the back of it, running off, the deeper the dress got into its low sweetheart neckline. Black, high heels… black, light hose. Nails as dark as the blood that filled her wine glasses. Six gothic rings, in total; all black and/or crimson, perhaps with an added silver touch… an elegant, black choker.

Whereas Morticia's gothic, long dress swept the floor. Formfitting was an understatement, it was tight. The cut was that of a dramatic V-neck, and while her corset was black, it was covered in gothic, witch-like patterns (they, too, were black). Her high heels with ankle straps were black, and her nails were crimson. She wore five rings in total; one of which was what she cared about most of all. Her permanent adornment and the symbol of her love: her wedding ring. Silver, with her nickname, Cara Mia, engraved in black, elegant font.

"Gomez?"

The voice of his dark bride swiftly brought Gomez back to the present. "Yes?"

"How do you two know each other?" Morticia then folded her hands, gracefully and her eyes shifted to Regina. "Where are my manners? I'm Morticia Addams. It's… a pleasure, to meet you."

"Mrs. Addams? I think I got that from the session in the doorway." She laughed at her own joke. "Regina Blood." Regina smiled, somewhat… bitterly. "And you as well."

Morticia and Regina faced off in a half-staring contest regardless of having just met. The rules of which, having been transferred by way of telekinesis. The winner to be determined by… who ended up with less tea on their hands. Or, more blood…

"Is no one going to make him explain where in the hell she came from?" Máma asked, irritated and gesturing to Gomez.

Morticia was the first to break the stare-off. "Of course, Máma."

She and Gomez then took a seat on the couch, opposite that of Regina, Scarlett and Máma.

"Gomez?" Morticia asked. "Hearing that she hasn't, I'm going to ask you." She said. "Where did she come from?"

"Well," Gomez's eyes looked away from his wife's for a moment.

He never did that.

"I can explain where we came from, thank you." Regina interrupted before Gomez could begin.

"Why didn't you?" Esmeralda questioned, as though Regina were being interrogated.

"Máma." Morticia scolded. She turned to Regina. "Go ahead, dear."

Regina almost flinched at Morticia's use of that word (so… similar to herself), but she did not. "Scarlett and I," she took her daughter's hand. As she spoke her next several sentences, emotions threatened to take hold of her words. "We… escaped, my lover, to put it tastefully. We were together for nine years. He horribly abused Scarlett and I. Despite all my previous efforts, I never could leave him." She dabbed her practically dry eyes with her fingertip.

Morticia then produced a black handkerchief and handed it to Regina.

"Thank you." Regina dabbed her eyes and continued. "No matter what I did, I went back or he found us." She paused. "So, I killed him."

The living room fell silent. Everyone froze. Nobody talked. Nobody breathed.

Finally, Morticia and Máma broke the silence. "You do what you must."

Gomez, in agreement with and approving of her statement, took his wife's hand and kissed it.

At this gesture, Morticia felt a bit more at ease. She moved even closer to him, now both hands held by his.

"Well, we couldn't stay in the vampire realm. I- "

Pugsley's hand slowly raised up.

Regina raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"There's a vampire realm?"

Regina nodded. "Yes."

Pugsley's eyes enlarged. "Cool."

Regina then continued her explanation. "I had nowhere else to go." She daintily set down the handkerchief, as if worried she might break the thing or vis versa. She looked at Gomez, vulnerability in her eyes. Her eyes. "And you did promise me, if I ever needed anything, you would be there."

Morticia's eyes shifted to her husband. "Pardon?"

"Tish, allow me to explain." Gomez was prepared. Wasn't he?

"Oh, I assumed you… told her."

"No, Regina. Why would I tell her? We were… that was years ago." Gomez turned to face Morticia.

Morticia was growing very worried, but showed none of it on her features. "Tell me what?" She questioned.

Gomez squeezed her hands, looking into her eyes, concentrating only on her. "My dearest, when I was seventeen, Regina and I…" He lowered his voice a bit. "You know that I tell you no lies, correct?"

"Yes." That came out as more of a skeptical statement than an assured one than intended.

"As you are aware, before I met you, I was a cad. Regina is…" He was practically mouthing his words. "a part of that. We dated for… a little while, and in the end, I ended up promising her that if she ever needed anything, I would be there for her."

Morticia slowly nodded. "I see."

Gomez put gentle hand to her cheek, and she held it. "My dearest, it was a long time ago."

"Twenty-two years." Regina added, taking an arrogant sip of tea.

How did she hear him? Gomez had spoke so quietly that… if the children couldn't hear him, and Esmeralda certainly couldn't… vampires…

Esmeralda cast her an irritated glance.

Gomez paused, as if somehow affected by her words. "You know how very much I adore you, Tish."

Morticia's eyes locked with his. "I know." She nodded, a bit faster now. "It's just a bit…" She cocked her head, in thought. "Shocking." While using the word, she still remained incredibly calm. She then turned to Regina. "I can't imagine what you must be going through." Morticia stated, as kindly as she could. It came off just as intended; at least, to her. "Abused by your lover and killing him all within the span of a few short years."

"No one can." Regina replied. "It's been such a traumatic experience for the both of us. Being that we had nowhere to go, we figured we could stay with you for a while."

Morticia was not favouring this idea, but she held her tongue until Regina was through.

"Of course, if that's alright with you." Her eyes fell solely on Morticia's husband.

"Well, Regina…" Gomez did not know how to phrase what he truly wanted to say.

Why? The charming, suave Spaniard never had trouble doing such things, unless of course it was around his beautiful encantadora in a heat of passion. And even then, it wasn't so much phrasing as it was getting lost in her beauty.

But, now, Gomez could not begin to tell Regina that he did not think it was such a splendid idea to have her. He had children, a family and oh, who was he fooling? That was not the true reason and he knew it. That was only part of the big picture. No one, could ever feast their eyes (or any other part for that matter) upon the big picture. But if Gomez did wipe so much as a stain, over that picture; or worse, tarnish it all together… all hell would break loose.

Therefore, he could not tell Regina he smelled a bat. He had to lie. He had to let her… stay in his home… vampires…

Gomez chuckled, rather nervously. "A lot has happened since then."

"For both of us." Hurt from her past and possible present transformed her nonetheless striking features. (Disingenuous in underlying appearance, to the other women in the room.)

There was that look again.

It did not lessen any amount of concern growing within Morticia.

"Touché." Gomez was attempting to play off his apprehension. It was not working. "Yes." He finally said. "Yes, of course you can stay."

Wednesday stayed still. Pugsley stared at Scarlett. Esmeralda could not believe her ears. Morticia was floored; but her physicalities remained the same.

Morticia turned to her husband, knowing he could read her well. She was trying desperately to ask him what in the hell he just had done and why he did it with her eyes.

Gomez knew immediately the message those distressed yet enchanting eyes of hers was trying to convey. He wished to any power that he could have consulted her. But all the wishing in the world could never changed what was.

He knew.

"Wonderful." Regina smiled, having just taken her last sip of tea. "Thank you, dear."

Gomez wanted to find a dark hole, crawl into it and leave this physical world. He could feel the tension at the name Regina had just called him, radiating off of his wife and it was killing him.Esmeralda waited for her daughter's reaction. If she was anything like her-

"We'll have Lurch prepare a guestroom for you and your daughter." Morticia spoke coolly, smoothing down her dress (as if it needed to be).

It had been confirmed. She had been switched at birth. No. No, she was too much like her father. Too much.

"Oh, thank you. You're too kind." Regina hesitated, as a victim of… trauma, would. She turned to Gomez, seemingly happy that Morticia had offered to. "Gomez? Would you mind showing me around upstairs? I'm assuming that's where our rooms are and… well, I just don't think I can stomach being alone at the moment."

Morticia's eyes enlarged and she stood, making like she was moving to turn off a lamp and she had stopped, turning 'round at Regina's words, so as not to raise alarm. She understood Regina was going through a rough time but this was pushing it a bit.

It wasn't that they didn't have room, they had plenty of space for the both of them and likely half of the U.S. army until quarters became tight. But her decency… her lack thereof, was ridiculous.

"Rooms?" Morticia questioned.

"Scarlett is accustomed to being by herself." Regina elaborated.

"Hmm." Morticia raised an eyebrow. "And you're not?"

"No." Regina stated, then staring into her eyes, came back with: "I don't think you are either."

Offended and suspicion only growing; Morticia took a short, almost silent breath in. "You don't know me well enough to pass judgment, dear." She said. "Besides, you haven't been here for the past twenty-one years. Have you?"

"Twenty-two." Regina smirked.

"Twenty-one." Morticia corrected. "I wasn't just some sl- "

"Gomez, go show trauma the upstairs." Esmeralda ordered.

Gomez was surprised she was in on the idea, and not opposed to it. Was she feeling alright? Was he?

No. He wasn't.

"Yes, Gomez, please." Regina looked toward him. "It will give the children a chance to get to know each other. They will be together for a while, after all."

Gomez looked up from the couch at his wife, praying that she would understand… but knowing she wouldn't.

To understand, she would have to dive into his past and learn the truth. And that, even for an Addams, was dangerous.

"Very well." He agreed, hesitant and not well at all.

He then walked over to the couch, and -ever the gentleman- took her hand, showing her out of the living room and up the stairs.

With the two gone, Morticia looked over at her mother.

Esmeralda was now standing, ready to lead Morticia out of the living room.

Morticia was beyond upset, but again, only her voice showed it.

Her children were around.

"Why did you do that?"

Esmeralda was wise and worried in expression. "I did that before you said something you'd regret." She snapped. Her explanation came as she forced her daughter to accompany her out of the living room. "That's the first time in your entire thirty-nine years of life I've had to do that. I don't want to see it happen again."

"Máma, really- "

The voices trailed off as the women moved farther away from the room, Thing in hand.

All that were left, were the children.

Pugsley, since the moment he had first laid eyes on her, twelve hours ago… had not stopped staring at her. He felt a fluttering in his heart when his eyes did gaze upon her, almost as though bats truly did inhabit it. His stomach knotted, and he felt like vomiting. But the good kind of vomiting. Was there a good kind? Could anyone else relate to this? God, she was beautiful. And smart; she had stayed out of the adults' conversation, mostly the whole time. As had he.

Even the sound of her name was beautiful. Scarlett.

The perfect mix of a mature young girl, and a child; she was five-foot-one, and thin. Hair, flowing out of her head in long, dark brown-red waves. Her skin was as pale as her mother's. Her eyes were human, and her irises were a lovely dark red.

When nervous or bored, she oft smoothed down her deep crimson, almost Victorian-esque dress. It extended down to her knees, poofing out somewhat. Underneath the dress was a light, ivory-coloured, webbed skirt of a spider-web-like design. The sleeves of the dress were elbow-length, and like her mother's (although the cut was not nearly as dramatic), it had a sweetheart neckline. She wore an ivory choker with a black, gothic adornment in the middle of it. Her nails were painted black. Her shoes were ivory, heeled combat boots, with small, swirled hints of black.

Wednesday could not help but notice the awkwardness of their situation. Not to mention, her brother had been making eyes at someone likely closer in age to his own older sister. She didn't find the ten-year-old's small infatuation sweet. She found it disturbing.

"So, your mother and my father had sex." Wednesday broke the silence.

Pugsley broke his eternal gaze at Scarlett and stared at his sister, embarrassed. "Wednesday."

"Well, they did. Albeit twenty-two years ago." Wednesday replied, nonchalant.

"They did." Scarlett replied. "I'm sorry about how my mother acted." She apologized. "She was like this even before Alistair. I won't try to make excuses. I promise, I'm normal." She laughed.

Wednesday stood from her chair, potentially staring into Scarlett's soul. "Then you won't fit in here."

Pugsley shook his head. "Don't worry, Scarlett. You're not normal."

Scarlett smiled, half-way. "Thanks." Thankfully, it came out as less of a question than it sounded in her head. She turned to Wednesday. "What do you guys like to do for fun?"

Pugsley practically leapt out of his chair. "Why? Do you want to play?"

Scarlett laughed.

Pugsley would have been tortured willingly to hear her laugh again.

"That depends on what we're playing." Scarlett replied.

Wednesday nodded once. "Fair enough." She decided.

"For fun, Wednesday and I do all kinds of things. Sometimes we'll sabotage family get-togethers, or blow things up with dynamite, or try to poison our butler."

Scarlett's eyes enlarged as she suppressed a gulp.

Noticing this, Pugsley raised an assuring hand. "Don't worry, he's a good sport about it." He paused, going over a mental checklist to see if he had missed much (if anything at all). "A lot of the time, Wednesday and I try to kill each other."

"Oh?" Scarlett seemed intrigued.

Wednesday scoffed. "What he means is that I try to kill him and he runs away. Every time he's tried to kill me, he has never come close to succeeding. I've come close many times." She sighed, disappointment in her breath and eyed her brother. "He's still here."

Pugsley looked down. "Sorry."

Wednesday shook her head, not in the mood. "Thus, I have to keep trying." She explained. "One of our favourite games involves the electric chair in the attic that father and his brother used to play with."

"Oh." Scarlett gracefully removed herself from the couch. She then remembered she had not been introduced to an uncle. "Your father has a brother?"

Wednesday and Pugsley shared a look of understanding for one another, and also unease.

Wednesday turned back to Scarlett. "Had."

"He still has one." Pugsley corrected her.

"Really? Where is he?" Wednesday questioned.

She never did quite understand that story. She knew the message her father was trying to impart, she had heard it from his own guilty lips often enough. Never let anything, especially a thing like jealousy, come between you and your sibling. That was understandable, to a degree.

What was not, was her father's terrible guilt. Yes, she agreed that he had a part in him leaving but she didn't believe in such thing as driving a person off. Ultimately, he left of his own accord. And he never returned to talk it out. And now, every month they had to have a séance to try to resurrect him from the death of his and their father's innocence. But it was never going to come back. And neither was he.

Pugsley went quiet. "I don't know."

Truth be told, Pugsley liked the idea of having an uncle. He wished he had seen him more for the first few years of his life but he was still a child. There was still hope, and maybe… maybe he could find someone he could relate to.

His friend, Raymond was exactly like his father. Wednesday was Morticia. Who was he?

"I'm sorry I asked." Scarlett told them both, remorseful. "What do you want to play?"

Wednesday and Pugsley again, shared an expression. This time, however, it was of pure exuberance.

"The game that goes with the electric chair in the attic," Wednesday began to explain, leading both her younger brother and Scarlett out of the living room and up the stairs. "It's called, Is There a God?"

….

Máma had cooked a fantastic meal of roast mongoose, sheep eye salad, bloodberries and red wine (ever the grandmother when it came to Pugsley and Wednesday, she even spiked their originally non-alcoholic drinks for them).

Everyone sat, and ate the fantastic meal… but it was nay impossible to talk with Regina and Scarlett.

The children did not have as much trouble as the adults did; not usually. However, with the tension in the room, hotter than the fresh-out-of-the-oven roast mongoose between the older group, they thought it best to stay quiet for the most part.

"I admit it, I killed one of the wild ones." Esmeralda made her attempt at breaking the stiffness in the room.

Everyone stared at her, saying nothing.

"What?" Esmeralda asked, defensively. "I was told by a highly credible source that it would taste gamier."

"Would you care to share who that source was?" Gomez asked, trying to work with her.

Esmeralda laughed, a tad nervously and shook her head. "No I would not." She took a bite of her salad.

"No credible source?" Gomez teased, knowing the truth.

"Bite me." Máma jokingly rolled her eyes.

"Thank you, Máma, but I'll stick to the mongoose." Gomez bit into it.

"Very funny, charmer. Did I mention this was the last time I cooked for your ass?"

"You've had much wine, Máma." Morticia commented.

"Oh, relax, Tish." Regina sipped her drink, clinking cups with Esmeralda. "The old broad can hold plenty of alcohol." She looked at Esmeralda. "Can't you?"

"Of course I can!" Máma raised her glass. She then put an arm around Regina's neck. "I like her."

"She's hit the bottle." Morticia confirmed.

"Or maybe she just likes me?" Regina suggested. "Oh, I'm sorry. She can't. I forgot she belongs to- "

"Mother, please." Scarlett interrupted her. "It seems Ms. Máma isn't the only one who's had a bit too much tonight."

Regina did not resume her sentence, merely shook her head at her daughter.

Scarlett sighed.

But from across the table, she noticed Pugsley, smiling at her.

"Tish?" Gomez hadn't talked to her since that meeting earlier this morning, which could have -to say the least- gone better.

"Yes?" Morticia almost met his eyes, but not quite.

Something was off.

Not wishing to bring it before the entire family and make whatever was troubling her (likely, he knew what it was) worse, he tried to make the situation better by other means.

He held a bloodberry in his hand. "Bloodberries." The word was said, suggestively, paired with an adoring gaze.

"Two nights ago…" Morticia reminisced. Despite being troubled, could never ignore that. Or her husband. "That was all we ate."

Hopefully bringing her out of whatever it was for the time being, Gomez continued. He kissed her hand, looking at her and seeing only her. "Well, that wasn't all we ate."

"Gomez…" Morticia almost smiled, allowing him to pull her closer to him, slowly and pop a berry in her mouth.

In unison, both Pugsley and Wednesday pushed their fruit bowls arm's length away, eying each other painfully.

Intoxication did not allow Esmeralda to ignore this change in her grandchildren. "You two used to love bloodberries. What happened?"

Wednesday and Pugsley looked back at their parents.

Gomez fed her another berry and kissed her.

Wednesday spoke up, gesturing to her mother and father with her head. "That happened."

Gomez and his darling one now had their glasses crossed over one another, going in for another, passionate kiss.

"Gomez?" Regina's harder voice broke the moment.

"Yes?" Gomez turned, as did Morticia.

"I think I'll retire early." She then thanked Esmeralda for the meal and continued speaking to Gomez. "I'm exhausted."

Morticia's ears opened up at Regina's words.

"And terribly… sore. I need rest." She looked at both of them before fixating her eyes on Mr. Addams again. "And you've been so, very kind as to take care of me." Her eyes fluttered. "Would you check on me before bed? I'll be terribly heartbroken if you don't." She smiled. "On account that I don't like… being alone."

Morticia's eyes desperately wanted to bulge out of her head at the audacity of this woman, but they stayed in their place.

Scarlett continued eating, not saying anything.

Pugsley continued staring, not blinking.

However, Mrs. Addams' eyes wanted to pop out of their sockets at her husband's response.

"I…" Gomez nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

At this, Regina smiled and walked off to bed.

Dinner finished abruptly; and silently.

...

"Wednesday?" A spread-against-the wall Pugsley asked as she placed the red, shining apple atop his head.

"Yes?" Wednesday answered.

"You have really good aim- "

"I'm aware." Wednesday said as she walked to the back of the room, turning to face Pugsley with the apple on his head, knives in hand.

"So why can't you ever hit me in this game?" Pugsley inquired. Then quickly added, "Not that I want you to." Quietly.

Wednesday sighed. "What's the first rule of Deception?"

"Don't flinch?" Pugsley guessed.

"That's the second rule. The first rule is: don't ask questions."

"Oh. Sorry, I forgot."

"Yes. I know. Now, stop talking." Wednesday then handed four knives to Scarlett.

Wednesday threw the first knife. It landed less than a centimeter away from the young boy's ear. Just a wee bit closer and blood would have been shed.

"Ah!" Pugsley yelled. "I flinched." He confessed, afraid.

"I know." Wednesday replied and aimed another knife.

Scarlett's voice stopped her from throwing it. "Why is it called Deception?" She all but whispered.

"Because it is." Wednesday explained, steadying her hand. "Pugsley is convinced that we're aiming the knives at the apple."

"We're not?" Scarlett questioned.

"No." Wednesday answered. "We're aiming them at him."

Throwing it, this time, it landed under his arm, through his hanging shirt sleeve.

Pugsley did not flinch. He almost peed.

"You're getting good at this." He peeped.

"Don't speak." Wednesday commanded.

Pugsley said nothing more.

Soon, it was Scarlett's turn. But she assumed her idea was better.

She walked over, took the apple off of Pugsley's head and placed it in his mouth. Then, she walked back to the throwing area and aimed her knife.

Wednesday said nothing but her suspicion and anger at the child was growing. This was her game, this was her form of torture, these were her knives, this was her house… this was her brother.

"Are you scared?" Scarlett asked him.

Pugsley gave a nod.

Scarlett threw the knife, and it landed about an inch away from his face. "Of me?"

A shake.

"Good. I don't want you to be scared of me." She paused. "Do you?"

Silence.

….

"And all through Is There a God?, she kept trying to take the lever from me as though I didn't know what I was doing." Wednesday was voicing her frustrations to her brother that night as she sat atop his dark bedsheets.

Pugsley buttoned up his grey pajama shirt. "No she didn't." He defended, watching his sister through his brown, cracked, dust-covered mirror.

"How would you know?" Wednesday asked as she took out her last braid and began brushing her hair. It looked so much like her mother's when brushed out. "You were too busy having one thousand volts of electricity coursing through your body at warp speed."

"Yea." Pugsley remembered, having finished buttoning his shirt. "Wow." He remarked as he looked at his sister through the mirror, then turning to face her.

"What?" Wednesday asked.

"You look like mother." He stated.

"Oh." Wednesday had heard this from many people. But not her brother, until now.

"That's a good thing."

"Obviously." Wednesday said.

"You act like her sometimes, too." Pugsley added. "You know, when you're not trying to burn a military camp ID number into my arm and ship me off to Eritrea."

"Now I'm worried." Wednesday said, ignoring his true statement about her past crimes against him. Or favours, depending on what kind of day they were having.

"Why?" Pugsley questioned, sitting on the bed with her.

"Does that mean I have to take French next year?" Wednesday's face contorted (one of the rare occurrences where she showed any emotion).

Pugsley laughed.

"I'm serious."

He stopped laughing, afraid for his sister.

"Stupid school is forcing me to take a language next year."

"That's ridiculous!" Pugsley remarked. "This is America, land of the free, land of the people who actively avoid learning about other cultures."

Wednesday sighed. "Well, you know how diverse we are."

Pugsley appeared rather confused. "What do you mean?"

Sometimes Wednesday wondered where her brother's brains were. "Father is Spanish, Pugsley."

Pugsley looked as though his entire life has been a lie. "Wait; what?"

"You're not serious." Wednesday put a hand to her forehead, trying to ward off the oncoming headache at her younger sibling's stupidity.

"You're kidding." Pugsley appeared dazedly awestruck.

"No." Wednesday was completely over existing as a human (and/or any other lifeform, for that matter) at this point. "It wasn't a secret. The fact that our father is Spanish and- I'm going to stop right there. Are you ready for another bomb? It's going to drop worse than Hiroshima." She said this with no emotion other than the edge of sarcasm, but she was so tired and this was killing her… and not in the way she would have liked. "He's Italian, too." She said. "Not as much as he is Spanish but, let's just put all of the cards on the table."

Pugsley waved a dismissive hand. "Yea, but I knew that."

"But…?" Wednesday massaged her temples but it wasn't working. Don't ask questions, it hurts too much. She thought. "You drank Máma's juice at dinner, didn't you?"

"Yea. She gave us juice in the wine glasses. Why- "

"You idiot. She spiked them." She rolled her eyes. "No wonder you're like this. God, you're usually never this dumb."

"I thought there was no God?"

"It's called Is There a God, not There Is No God- it doesn't matter." She shook her head. "Can we try to focus on the real issue?"

"That my grandmother tried to poison me?"

"No." Wednesday rolled her eyes. "My issue. If I have to take French, I won't understand all of it. That means that mother is going to come in and help me with my homework. Mother is always with father, and when she helps me with my homework, I won't really get any homework done. Worst of all, I'll have them necking against the armchair I'm trying to do my work in."

"That sucks." Pugsley said. "But you don't have to take French. You could just take Spanish and have father help you. It isn't like mother's hormones got hit too hard with the crazy stick.""I can't take Spanish. I met the teacher. Senora Martinez is a hopeless romantic and likes to devote a unit to Valentine's Day. Try getting through that. Wacked hormones or not, the minute he looks at her and says mi reina…"

"You'll want to Valentine's Die?"

"Don't." Wednesday grimaced. "But yes."

"Back to French?"

"Yes. I'm going to go call the school and explain my situation."

"It's ten at night."

"They have an emergency line." Wednesday then rubbed her tired eyes and began to walk out of her brother's bedroom.

"I still love them." Pugsley said. "Just remember, we could grow up with Raymond's parents."

"True." Wednesday paused. "Or my math teacher's." She decided.

"What happened to her?" Pugsley asked as he crawled into bed.

"Her mother shot her father in cold blood, then stole a cop car. Her father was an alcoholic." Wednesday explained.

"Oh."

"And, they had sex all the time." Wednesday added.

Pugsley winced. "Wednesday!"

"Well, they did." Wednesday paused. "Mrs. Andrews sees her therapist on Mondays and Thursdays."

"Goodnight, Wednesday." Pugsley bade his sister as she began to close his door.

"Goodnight." Wednesday said back. "Don't die in your sleep." She shut off the light.

"Okay." Pugsley's eyes began to close.

"I'm the only one who's aloud to make you do that."

His eyes shot open.

"And I'd much prefer you to be awake." She paused. "Usually." She smiled, satisfied she was going to keep him awake. "Goodnight."

Then, she shut the door.

….

Morticia sat, sideways, facing the door, on she and her amour's massive, luxury bed. It was a mattress, but with him, it was a bed. The gothic grey satin of the sheets was a deep contrast with her nightgown.

It was silk, long, sweeping the floor (when her feet did touch it) and formfitting. It was lowcut in a deep V-neck, and had silk, wide sleeves, extending down to her elbows.

Her hair, as dark as the sky outside their window, was pushed over her slender shoulder. Her black-painted toenails were invisible due to the length of her gown. Her makeup was still on; and of course, her wedding ring.

It was not the old man who vexed me. But his Evil Eye…

All Mrs. Addams tried to concentrate on was The Tell-Tale Heart in her hands by her favourite writer, Edgar Allan Poe.

However, the harder she tried to concentrate on the events in the story; the more she focused on the events of the day. And the more she began to relate to Mr. Poe's insanity…

Everything was going wonderfully. Gomez was with her, and not- don't say it. The woman has been through a trauma. Really? I'll show her trauma. Stop that! Now. The Tell-Tale Heart…

So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept…

The door opened with a slight creak.

Morticia looked up, not.

Gomez felt incredibly guilty. And he knew this would not be easy. His querida was stubborn, but so was he. He just wished he could tell her… no. He couldn't.

"Cara mia?" He carefully shut the door behind him.

At this, Morticia did look up at him. Then, she looked at the clock on the wall.

He was fifteen minutes later than usual, if indeed he ever did walk in alone at all.

Hair slicked back, black pajama bottoms, black slippers, and of course, his wedding ring… Morticia maintained her composure. All she wanted was answers. And him.

"How long will she be staying?" She asked.

Gomez cocked his head, smiling at her. He could read her too well. "Only for a week or so, Tish."

"Why didn't you talk to me today?" Morticia figured she had better just ask her questions.

It was the only way they would be answered.

Gomez stepped closer to her, and watched as she stiffened up. "Because, my dearest, I hardly saw you." He said, moving closer, then: "And it killed me. Not talking to you, not touching you… that was torture, mi encantadora."

Morticia was hard to get through when hurt or angered. Her stubborn, icy resolve showed itself but she hated every second of it. "Why didn't you see me?"

"I was…" Gomez didn't want to hurt her by telling her he was unwillingly caught in Regina's bloody talons, but she knew it. "I had to show our new guest around the house." He explained, unenthusiastically and removed his shoes.

Morticia looked him down and up, eyes stopping at the top.

"You're wearing a red robe."

"Querida, I always…" Gomez sat on the bed with her, discarding his robe. He took her chin, gently in his hand.

Morticia slowly set down her book.

"I know that you're concerned because Regina is here." Gomez said.

Morticia's eyes instantly darted away. "What gave you that impression."

Lightly removing his hand, Gomez replied, guilt edging his voice: "Your attitude."

Morticia raised an eyebrow, upset. "My attitude?" She scoffed. "Well, I apologize if I don't become best friends with your former lover."

"She was not my lover, we were just partners." Gomez put a caring hand on her leg.

"That makes it better." Morticia's black angel wings were dripping with sarcasm. "And anyway, she seems to think you were. You were something or you wouldn't have made that promise to her. I- I… don't, like this." Morticia finally admitted.

"Tish, my darling, I would be shattered if you thought for a second that I wanted her here." Gomez told her.

"I know." Morticia paused. "I don't think you want her here. I just… I would have liked you to ask me before you welcomed her into our home. You always ask me. And we don't get around to a decision until the next morning because we're so busy making it." Morticia looked into his eyes, hurt and a bit angered although her voice was calm. "But you didn't even look at me. You just, welcomed her in as if I weren't a part of the decision at all."

Gomez, heartbroken that he had hurt her demanded himself to make it right.

He took the book out of her hands, and set it far to the side. Seductively, he moved behind her, hands around her waist and mouth against her neck. "I know, cara mia." He admitted, ready to get on his knees to apologize if he needed to. "And I am terribly sorry that I didn't. Promise or not, I should have asked you. It was foolish, callous and completely reprehensible." He pressed harder against her, kissing her neck, and sensually moving his hands back and forth against her sides.

Completely in heaven, Morticia closed her eyes. "It was."

Gomez chuckled, then continuing with her neck, sucking it to leave a hickey.

"Mmm… it was completely…" She let out a blissful sigh. "Reprehensible."

Happy to have earned her forgiveness, and needing to earn more of it, he sucked the part of her neck with some dried blood on it, from the previous night.

"Ah... if your going to follow through on promises today," Morticia began. "Follow through with yesterday's."

"I'll do anything for you, my only." Gomez held her by the waist, running his fingers through her hair. "Tell me what it is, and I will do it without hesitation."

A smirk played on Morticia's lips. "I know."

Gomez could not help but let thoughts about how much he completely adored her drive him mad with passion.

Morticia leaned into him. "Take me to our dungeon."

Gomez kissed her head. "Yes, mistress." He replied.

Morticia flashed, then, a genuine smile, and her eyes fluttered open. "God, I love it when you call me that." She sighed. "Do it one more time and I won't be able to walk down the stairs."

Gomez released her and got off of the bed. He picked her up in his arms, then, bridal style (as always). "Who said you were walking?"

Before Morticia had time to formulate a response, amour's lips were hard against hers… and he was carrying her out the door, ready to spend a night with his black angel in their dungeon.

….

Pugsley opened the door to her bedroom (at least, for the time being) without a creak. He looked around the room and thought it sufficient for such a wonderful girl, deserving of only the finest forms of dust mites.

She was sleeping in what he assumed was her typical position: arms folded over her chest, flat on her back.

Pugsley smiled; even when sleeping, she was lovely.

Unable to sleep without saying one last thing to her, anything at all, Pugsley stepped merely an inch into the room, gazing at her with a spark in his eyes, and whispered: "Goodnight, Scarlett."