*Author's note at the end of the chapter!

Disclaimer: No intentional disrespect is directed towards any of the actors, living or dead, in the writing of the story. I don't own anything Addams nor the actors from the 1964 TV series, John Astin and Carolyn Jones, except a passion for these two wonderful people as Morticia and Gomez Addams. Enjoy.

Chapter 4

He was dead. John Astin was dead.

He didn't feel dead. Honestly, he didn't. He still felt sore in places a live person might feel after an accident of sorts. That is, if the person didn't die in the accident. He reminded himself.

Death would explain Jackie Coogan's presence perfectly.. but even then, it didn't seem quite right. For one thing, it didn't make sense to be here of all places. John had to admit he had always wondered where he'd go when he died but he certainly never expected this.

No, this couldn't be it. It didn't fit. The concept of his death would not sink in. There had to be some other explanation.

"Fester…" He tried slowly, wondering how he should even begin to explain his predicament.

A pattering of feet and an adamant voice piping up from the front door overruled the rest of his thoughts.

"Father, Father!"

To his immense surprise, a black blur shot into the room and he found himself staring down at lithe little Lisa Loring who had clambered onto his knee. Lisa was dressed in a simple, serious black dress sensibly buttoned to her neck, her hair neatly parted and plaited into two limp pigtails. A decidedly stormy expression clouded the precocious child's features. Her rosebud mouth was set into a determined sulky pout and the rims around her eyes were dangerously dark. Her clothes, coupled with the thunderstorm on her face, made her appear more grown-up and grimmer than she really was. Lisa Loring was Wednesday Addams now.

A stout boy, just a little larger than Wednesday, pattered in amiably behind her, a little keg of TNT in his hands. Ken Weatherwax was in his trademark striped shirt and shorts, his liquid dark eyes warm and deeply set and his hair slightly ruffled from some sort of recent excitement. His cheeks, still puffy with baby fat, were flushed a pale pink as he tottered in loyally after his little sister and planted himself by John. Ken Weatherwax was Pugsley Addams.

It struck John that Lisa Loring being here wasn't right at all. Her appearance dropped like a bombshell into his train of logic and lodged itself there, stuck, a piece out of the puzzle. Lisa's here. He froze. That couldn't be right. It was off. That changed everything.

Before John could straighten out his thoughts, Lisa turned to point an accusing finger at Jackie.

"Uncle Fester is being mean to me!" Wednesday Addams cried indignantly, turning her pert head sharply to her Uncle Fester, her pigtails slapping John in the arm as she did so.

Fester sputtered in disbelief. "I am not!" He returned at once, his eyes widening incredulously.

"Are too!" Wednesday turned to John for support. "Uncle Fester took the piece I wanted from the wreck! I was going to make my dolls a nice guillotine blade with it!" She accused, her fiery eyes a pair of shining gimlets. "It was nice and long enough to execute several of them at the same time." she explained, her voice dropping momentarily as she imagined the scene, a ghost of a slight dreamy smile passing across her face.

Fester curled his arms protectively around his rod as best he could.

"I saw it first! You couldn't even lift it!" Fester hedged huffily, sensing that he might lose his prize.

"I went to get Lurch to help me! Pugsley said you took it away when I went!" Wednesday insisted.

"It wasn't nice to take away what Wednesday saw first, Uncle Fester." Pugsley added placidly as Fester shifted uncomfortably.

"Oh Fester! You shouldn't bully the kids." Grandmama Addams chided, appearing from the kitchen with a smoking drink in hand. Blossom Rock was dressed messily in her own mismatched drapes; her hair wild and wispy reflected her exuberance and hearty spirit despite the age apparent on her face. Her eyes twinkled and her mouth was twisted in a humorous way. "Give the scrap to Wednesday." She was saying to Fester, waving her weathered hand at the rod.

"It's too big for a guillotine." Fester sulked. "She can use the other pieces in the wreck." He brightened. "Or Gomez could run another wreck for little Wednesday." He suggested hopefully.

"There's not enough gate for another crash, Uncle Fester." Pugsley put in helpfully. "And they don't make cars like father's old one anymore. It wouldn't be the same."

John felt all eyes turn to him. It was his cue, he knew, to resolve the whole argument with Gomez's cool head and unoffending charisma.

Although the family dynamic had been scripted before, it didn't seem to have changed. As an actor, John Astin was sure he was experienced enough to improvise. He also knew that, as Gomez Addams, it was unusual for him to be at a loss for words. He ought to have been able to handle this easily.

Yet, when he opened his mouth to speak, he found that his voice wouldn't come. He had no lines. He didn't know what to say, or how to say them. Everything proved too much, too overwhelming for him to string together a few coherent sentences. What with his accident in which he had yet to figure out if he were alive or not and that he was even talking to people who shouldn't have been able to, it was too much for him to try and pretend that all this was normal.

His moment passed. When Wednesday saw that Gomez couldn't help her just yet, she got off his lap, her fixed stare never leaving her uncle.

"Give me back my blade, Uncle Fester!" she demanded, a pompous note of finality ringing surprisingly regally for a child. "You'll be sorry if you don't." She added ominously. Behind her, Pugsley nodded knowingly, as if he knew all too well Wednesday's various threats and punishments.

John found himself watching young Lisa Loring as she drew herself to full height and majestically commanded her property to be returned to her while Fester squirmed guiltily. There was something about her that reminded him that he couldn't possibly be dead, that she wasn't like the others and didn't belong here.

Then he remembered: Lisa Loring was still alive. She hadn't yet died. And if she was alive, and was here, then it was possible... it was possible that he was still alive too. Maybe he wasn't dead after all either!

He swallowed at this newfound revelation. It was his only hope. He could get back. His mental faculties were intact enough and his physical capabilities were no less hindered than before, except for his head and arm. The thought of possibly being alive lent him strength to snap out of his daze. He jolted and felt his mind begin to work more quickly.

First things first, he had to get his bearings and sort out whatever it was before him. He surveyed the situation and decided that the best thing to do was to be who everyone assumed he was: Gomez Addams. It would be too much for them, he thought, if he tried to explain that they were in fact, all actors. At any rate, if they were all well and truly in character, he didn't exactly trust that any of the Addams' would be able to get him back safely to his own time and place.

He tried to think of what Gomez Addams might say in this situation. It didn't come as naturally or as easily as he thought it would.

I'll just plunge straight into it. He thought, trying to psyche himself. Once I get started, it might all come back to me.

He cleared his throat. "Come now, Wednesday." He began, his voice sounding rather milk-and-water with the initial stilted difficulty. He frowned. He sounded very much like a wounded John Astin and not at all like the irrepressible Gomez Addams. That wasn't it. He cleared his throat again and tried harder to be more boisterous. "It's no good to execute several dolls at once. You'd go through them too quickly." He pointed out matter-of-factly, attempting to recall and attune himself to the warped logic of the Addams' lifestyle.

Everybody turned to him and he felt nervy at once. This was unlike any other performance he had ever done. He was commanding attention as Gomez instead of himself, to people who genuinely thought he was Gomez. That didn't leave much room to slip up. Even though he had played Gomez Addams remarkably decades before, it was something else to have to live up to it again after so long. He wondered if the others would figure that something was amiss, that he wasn't really Gomez after all.

He needn't have worried. It seemed to work. The others appeared to consider his suggestion quite seriously and that bolstered the confidence he needed. Gomez's rhythm seemed to return to him and the rest of his speech came out more easily and convincingly. "It's much better to save them up and behead them one at a time. Besides, how would all your dolls feel if they knew they had to share their executions with so many other dolls?" He said earnestly in Gomez's expressive up-and-down voice. He was getting the hang of it. He held his breath when he finished, hoping his intervention did the trick.

"Yeah!" Fester punctuated enthusiastically and then shrank back under Wednesday's withering glare.

Wednesday looked mutinously at the rod so safely couched in Fester's arms, as if undecided if she wanted to buy her father's reason.

"Come on, Wednesday." Pugsley said good-naturedly, helping her make up her mind. "We can blow up some more of the wreck so that you can get to the bigger pieces below." He waved the keg in his grasp. "I'll lend you some of my dynamite."

Wednesday seemed to like the idea of blowing up the wreck. She acquiesced with a small, satisfied smile and took her brother's arm.

"I'm watching you, Uncle Fester." She warned with a dark look, a well-timed gust of wind accompanying her parting words. Pugsley led the way and both children made themselves scarce, skipping back outside to the metal heap of remains at the gate.

"You go look after them, Fester!" Grandmama exclaimed. "Shame on you for bullying the child."

Fester made a face and waddled after the children, tucking the scrap cosily under his arm. "I'm the one being bullied around here." He grumbled loudly as he went. "I never get nice things!"

"Get Lurch to help them, Fester!" John called after him, the thought of the children with dynamite suddenly striking him as dangerous. He doubted that Wednesday and Pugsley would get hurt, but Lisa and Ken who were playing them might.

"Oh, children will be children." Grandmama chuckled assuredly as peace was restored in the mansion. "And Fester will be Fester. " she added, frowning a little then shrugging carelessly. John nodded meekly as Grandmama scooted to sit beside him, her overflowing smoking goblet leaving a wispy trail behind her.

"How are you feeling, Gomez?" She asked, her voice scratchy but her eyes sincere and kind. "That crash seemed to have taken more out of you than usual." Her forehead creased concernedly.

John dared himself to meet Blossom Rock's caring gaze. He felt something catch in his throat. Blossom was so real. She seemed even more motherly than usual, her little frame hidden under her various odd clothing. Her bedraggled appearance lent to an endearing, wistful effect which moved John more than he realised.

"...Just a little...out of touch." He managed, with an abashed, almost shy smile.

"Try this." Grandmama offered the goblet to him, the smoke clouding over his face. "Extra strong for knocks and near death. " she proclaimed proudly.

"Oh! Umm..." John gulped, alarmed as Grandmama pressed the goblet into his grasp. "That's alright, Mama." he said hurriedly, eyeing the drink which was bubbling sinisterly. "I feel better already. " He fibbed. He was not about to drink this God-knows-what just when he thought he had survived death.

"Nonsense!" Grandmama persisted. "Just a bit of Mama's brew will do you wonders."

He winced, thankful that the overwhelming smoke masked his fidgety expression as he wondered how he could get out of this one.

"Go on." Grandmama prompted. She was so eager and almost gentle that John found it hard to refuse. Something in her eyes drew him to trust her. He gulped again. I must be out of my mind. He sighed, resigned. Quivering, he brought the goblet to his lips. The smoke tickled him just slightly and he shut his eyes against them as he tipped the cup upwards.

If he could imagine what swallowing fireworks was like, this would be it. The brew was sweet and fizzed tremendously as it shot past his throat, exploding all the way from his mouth to his stomach. It went down so quickly he didn't know if it had been hot or cold.

He choked and sputtered as Grandmama slapped him heartily on the back. "What is it?" He gasped.

"A bit of coal and things." Grandmama grinned a toothy grin wickedly. "The rest's a secret."

As he recovered from his first swig, John felt his head lightening up. He blinked. The brew really seemed to clear his head and he did feel much better. He took another tentative sip, curious now at this miracle drink as well as to please Mama. This time, he allowed the liquid to stay in his mouth. He thought the drink tasted like Coke which he liked. For some odd reason though, he found this drink awful. He tasted it until it got too sweet to keep on his tongue then he swallowed with a shudder, another wave of relief washing over him.

As he sipped, the smoke thinning considerably around him, he wondered if he should ask Blossom, just to try and see if knew what was going on, if she knew she was more than Grandmama Addams.

"Blossom...?" He asked the ditzy grandmama gently.

Grandmama made a face. "You don't think I'd put blossoms in them do you?" She gave a shudder. " I may brew a sweet medicine but I wouldn't go so far to put blossoms in it. Awful things."

She didn't know. John thought sadly. She didn't know she wasn't just Grandmama.

"The sweetest medicines are the best medicines I always say." Grandmama went on, oblivious but satisfied.

John nodded in agreement as he drowned the last of the brew. "Yes, Mama."

"I'll go get you another." Grandmama said eagerly, springing up from the chair, refusing to be waylaid by John's protests and reassurances. He watched her leave, half grateful for some time alone.

He recollected the scene before, where little Wednesday had pitted herself against her Uncle Fester. It was something of an occupational habit, to replay the previous scenes and figure out what would make it work better for the next take. He had had the liberty to improvise when he was filming the series, being the first actor to flesh Gomez Addams out and this always helped him to create Gomez properly, including tricks of speech and other details people often took for granted.

John mused. Something had been off there in the scene. There had been a missing element to balance the ratios, a missing chemistry, voice of reason. He recalled the scenes he had acted in several decades ago. What usually happened during a familial disagreement? He hardly remembered that he managed to resolve anything, at least, not without the help of…

Morticia. His heart skipped a beat. That's why it felt off. Morticia was usually there, around, just an arm's length (or less) away from him to sort out disputes of this sort. He had always followed Morticia's lead. That's why it didn't work. He hadn't had a lead to follow.

The thought of Carolyn struck him. He tried to calm himself. The adrenaline was already rushing in his blood at the singular hope but he couldn't bear getting his hopes up for nothing. Maybe she wouldn't be here. He tried to rationalise. Maybe it was a cruel trick of fate to have everybody here except Carolyn... but what if...what it maybe this was it? His heart began to race. What if this was the chance to see her again, in person? Was he… could he actually meet her again? Be with her? Talk to her, hold her and laugh with her?

...Love her?

"Mama," John steeled himself to ask as Grandmama re-entered, the goblet overflowing with smoke once more. "Mama...where's Morticia?"

Before Grandmama could reply, he heard her. He heard Carolyn before he saw her.

He never thought he would ever hear her again.

But he did.

"Gomez darling, you're up!" she said from behind him.

John swore his heart stopped. He'd recognise that voice. He'd recognise Carolyn's voice any day. He'd only heard it a thousand times in his dreams.

He whipped around, half afraid of what he'd see, or not see.

...And there, there, on the top of the banister, the epitome of elegance, exuding poise and promise in the fullness of her youth and beauty, was Carolyn Jones.

Author's Note:

Thank you all so much for your absolutely wonderful reviews! They really make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and I'm so glad you're enjoying my fic so far! Thank you also for your patience~ I know this chapter was a little late in coming, what with all the Christmas holidays. Hope this somewhat long-ish chapter will make up for that!

As school is starting up again soon, my updates may not be as frequent as I'd like but I'll try to keep the chapters coming! Do stick around, though! I promise the end is worth the wait. ;)

Lastly, Happy New Year! :) Here's to a successful 2015!