A/N: Thank you all so much for the feedback on the last chapter!

If this chapter is a bit chaotic and hard to follow - it's supposed to be like that, I wanted it to have a stream of consciousness (-ish) sort of narrative. Although, I hope it flows into a cohesive whole as such.

Still, if there's something unclear, please let me know.

Chapter 20

How awfully undignified human body can be.

Embarrassing, almost downright humiliating.

She really couldn't help but grimace in disgust as she watched her lean over helplessly and her lithe body convulsed again with uncontrollable retching - all blood and vomit and - oh God, she had to turn away from the sight because her own stomach started to churn. She didn't want to look at her anyway.

"It's alright, just let it all out," the nurse spoke to her softly, holding her raven hair away from her face and a disposable bowl close.

Dorothy didn't want to look at her. She didn't want to be here at all.

She didn't want to see the dried blood on her face and hair. She didn't want to see her bruised face. She didn't want to think about the fact that it was her own son who was responsible for this, that for the first time in her life Dorothy Diamond didn't know what to do.

Good Lord, when will she stop this unbearable retching?

"Do you feel faint?" the nurse spoke again but Dorothy didn't hear Morticia's reply, maybe she just nodded or shook her head.

The whole situation seemed to her surreal. It just couldn't be. The man who's done this to Morticia couldn't be the same man she called her son, the man she'd raised and loved. No, her son wasn't this abusive animal. Only a monster could do such a thing, only a monster could behave like he did - vicious, angry, out of control. Jared wasn't any of those things.

The monster, she knew, was hidden in the amber liquid.

"She needs to be seen by a doctor," Dorothy insisted impatiently."We've been here for over an hour."

"All the doctors are tending to other patients," the nurse explained kindly as if she was talking to a child and it immediately grated on Dorothy's nerves. "Someone will see her soon."

"Fine," she grunted harshly and her hand went to the silk scarf on her neck - only to realize it wasn't there. Dorothy swallowed heavily.

It wasn't there because it was ruined. She simply panicked seeing so much blood and there was nothing else at hand to give her to stop the bleeding so she gave Morticia her silk scarf - a gift from her daughter-in-law, paradoxically. It soaked the blood too quickly to be of any use anyway.

Her gaze turned to Morticia again and her expression softened, if only just. She didn't want Morticia to get hurt. She didn't want this to happen to her.

All she wanted was for Morticia to understand that she was making a mistake - not...not this. She never wanted this and it scared her how terrifyingly violent and out of control Jared was. Deaf to her pleas...this wasn't her son. He never behaved like this.

Admittedly, he always had a temper but...God, but not like this.

It was unthinkable how absolutely scared she was of him during those few terrifying moments. Afraid of her own son. Her own child.

Unthinkable.

Why did that stupid girl had to provoke him? Dorothy was sure, she was sure that if only Morticia was more reasonable things would never turn so disastrously out of control. This girl seemed to bring the worst out of Jared, there was no other explanation. Everyone would lose their temper if they had to deal with such a headstrong person as Morticia and well...alcohol never helped. Still, alcohol was never a problem until Morticia appeared permanently in their lives with her...her odd ways, her constant stubbornness and unwavering defiance.

All this could be avoided if she had an ounce of common sense. If she at least tried to see and understand that they all had her best interests at heart.

Everyone knew that when in Rome, do as the Romans do - everyone except Morticia. Granted, with her unearthly paleness, there was only so much she could do to fit in but did she never even tried to fit in? Dorothy didn't think so. No! Actually she was dead sure Morticia has done everything in her power to not fit in because even her attempts at compromise seemed more like an act of defiance - subtle, yes, but defiance, still.

She defied one too many times.

Good God, even a fool would know not to provoke a man when he was drunk.

Jared would never hurt her if he wasn't so drunk. He was a good husband and a good, caring, doting father. He was never abusive with anyone - at least not physically.

The foolish girl brought it upon herself.

God, what a mess.

A mess...God damn it, she had to get back to the house and try to clean that blood off the carpet and the sofa before anyone sees it - before Ophelia sees it to be exact. No, her daughter-in-law cannot find out about this... but how? What will Ophelia do when she sees her sister like this? When she finds out that her Jared didn't even bother to take her to the hospital because her son barely grunted 'I don't give a damn' and left the house. Dorothy was left to sort out this mess on her own.

She decided not to dwell on that. Not to dwell on the fact that he's left her with this girl - barely conscious - oh...she just remembered Morticia vomited on the carpet as well, and it will need to be cleaned. God damn it all to hell. Her and her bloody Lothario.

And what now? How to handle this? If Morticia reported this to the police...oh Jesus, the damage it would do if people found out - and they would find out, such thing could not go unnoticed.

There was no way to fix this situation, Dorothy knew that. All she could do now was to lessen the damage. It was perhaps unfair but she simply could not afford her son being connected to...how did they call it nowadays? Domestic violence. In her days there was not even a description for such a thing. It happened, of course it happened, but it happened behind closed doors - when people had the decency to be discreet about their private matters.

"Are you happy now?" Dorothy asked the moment the nurse left them alone in the room, her tone jaded."Is this what you wanted?"

Morticia frowned, barely registering what the woman was saying. She leaned slowly against the hospital bed she was sitting on, squinting against the light that was too bright and brought her knees closer to her chest - for some reason the position eased her nausea - if only a little. Her stomach hurt.

"Just leave," she replied, closing her eyes tiredly, thankful that the nurse cleaned off the dried blood off her face - at least as much as she could between Morticia's sick spells. It still hurt like hell but at least stopped feeling like her skin was coated in a dried shell of blood.

"What are you going to do now?" Dorothy prodded but Morticia ignored her.

She didn't want to talk to anyone, let alone this woman. She was so tired and the painkillers the nurse gave her were starting to make her groggy. No, it couldn't be the painkillers. She vomited them after all. But she felt tired, light-headed and nauseous.

"You must think about your sister. You must think about Ophelia."

What was this demented woman raving about? Why can't she just leave?

"Can you just go away, please?" she retorted, putting as much force into her tone as she could muster - which, in the end, wasn't much because her voice came out barely above a whisper. It hurt to talk because she cut her lips against her teeth when Jared hit her and they only now stopped bleeding. Her stomach felt sore...everything felt sore, her head hurt and the last thing she wanted was to be in the company of this blasted woman.

"My son is not a bad man," she carried on as if she didn't hear her.

Morticia opened her eyes and looked at her sardonically.

"You must be very proud, then," she muttered her reply, closing her eyes again. Why do the lights in hospitals must be so bright, it was annoying.

"You've done it deliberately, didn't you?" she accused suddenly and Morticia turned to her with a completely bewildered expression.

"Are you completely insane?"

"Insane?" Dorothy repeated."From the moment you've arrived in this country you've done everything you could to make your sister's life difficult."

Her lips parted and she exhaled in disbelief. What, in everything that's damned, was this woman talking about?

"That's not true," she managed to reply but, again, it barely came out above the whisper.

"Do you want to destroy her marriage as well now?" Dorothy pressed."They have a child and they're expecting a baby and all you've ever done was to make sure there's always a rift between them. You have no concern for anything or anyone but yourself."

Morticia swallowed heavily and tried her best to repress the angry tears that were threatening to appear. She would rather die than cry in front of this woman. What was she trying to do? Why was she saying those things? They were lies, mean hurtful lies and yet Morticia could feel her chest constrict at the sheer spitefulness behind them.

"What do you think to do now? Report this to the police? Do you have any idea what would it do to Ophelia?" she asked frantically and without waiting for Morticia's reply she continued."She's under enough stress as it is and you want to add a failed marriage to it as well? Do you want your nephew to grow up in a broken home?"

"It's hardly my fault that your son is a woman beating coward," she pointed out coldly, trying not to wince at the sharp pain in her temple.

"My son has never raised a hand against a woman before," Dorothy shot back.

"Oh, so it is my fault now?" she replied, sardonically. The woman was demented, plain and simple.

"Whose fault is it then, Morticia?" she asked pointedly."They were perfectly happy until you came around and started destroying everything with your constant fights with Jared."

"That's not true," she insisted firmly."You know perfectly well that's not how it was."

"Oh, wasn't it? Perhaps, you should try to see farther than the tip of your own nose," she insisted."All that time you acted like a victim in the circumstances that were hardly the end of the world and your sister was trying to do everything she could to make a home for you - but you didn't want a home. You wanted to act like a spoiled little girl, crying for the moon," she insisted viciously, pleased to notice how rigid Morticia's jaw became and there were tears brimming in her eyes. Good. They were getting somewhere."Do you know how many times your sister was in tears because of you and your fights with her husband? How it broke her heart that you couldn't even try to fit it, at least tried to be happy? Of course, you didn't, because nothing ever mattered to you but yourself."

Morticia clenched her teeth so hard it almost hurt. She wanted to deny this but her chest felt so constricted she was sure the words would not come out or worse - she would cry. She had to say something - anything - to stop her talking. Stop saying those hurtful lies.

But she couldn't. And she couldn't look away from the accusing glare either.

"So at least this once," Dorothy continued." This one time think about someone else but yourself. Think about your sister and nephew before you do something so selfishly stupid as reporting this to the police. And make no mistake here - we wouldn't be here - in this situation if it weren't for you."

"Get out," she hated how shakey her voice was. She heated that her words upset her so much when she knew it wasn't true. It wasn't. She never wanted to hurt her sister, she loved Ophelia and she loved Charlie more than she could put into words. She would never -

"I can go if you want me to," Dorothy remarked, calmly this time."But it won't change the facts."

Morticia didn't reply but didn't even flinch under Dorothy's accusing gaze either, even though her dark eyes shone with unshed tears.

Dorothy supposed she should feel a little guilty to use this situation like this but then, she couldn't afford guilty. She could not afford her son being connected with domestic abuse. She would rather deal with the scandal of Morticia marrying that Castilian bastard - because, in the midst of it all, she certainly did not fail to notice the wedding band ostentatiously gracing Morticia's left hand or the obscenely large ruby engagement ring.

Unbelievable. The sheer audacity of this girl.

"Do you think marriage means anything to that man?" she asked sardonically, for good measure, gazing pointedly at Morticia's left hand."It didn't mean anything to his father and it means even less to him but you've made your bed, Morticia," she added cruelly before picking her shoulder bag from the chair nearer the window."Let's hope you can afford to lie in it."

Gomez Addams tried very hard not to smirk as he watched his dear cousin hit his head repeatedly into a highly polished bar counter, moaning dramatically for a good measure.

From Gomez's point of view, the meeting with the plaintiff went quite smoothly...or, well, as smoothly as such meeting could go. All in all, after it turned out that it wasn't the first case of the man's wife extramarital affair they were able to negotiate a reasonable settlement.

"Sixty thousand, Gomez?" Balthazar complained ardently. Again."How the hell is that a better settlement?"

"Better than a hundred thousand," Gomez quipped, grinning at his cousin and leaned against the bar counter, propping his head on the pillow of his hand."That, let me remind you, you could not afford without informing your father about this pathetic predicament."

"Sixty thousand will clean my account for the rest of the month," Balthazar insisted, bringing his glass full of whiskey to his lips.

"Ah, the next drink is on me, then," Gomez smiled."Since you're a pauper now."

"You should be a comedian," Balthazar deadpanned, glaring at Gomez.

"I've told you so many times to get into investing business," Gomez pointed out."It's fun and would give you financial independence so you wouldn't have to rely on your father giving you pocket money every month."

"And I've repeatedly told you that I don't want to get into any business. I was born into privilege," Balthazar defended hotly."At least one of us should be a typical spoiled, entitled, rich cunt leaving off his father's money," he insisted, making Gomez snort in amusement."Ah, fuck it. At least it's over."

"That's the spirit."

"So," his cousin grunted, ready to change the subject." How are things with the Iron Maiden?"

"Iron Maiden?" Gomez asked, clearly confused.

"The Raven Haired Bird," Balthazar clarified.

Gomez grimaced.

"You really have to stop calling her that," he retorted."She might take more kindly to you if you stop behaving like such an arse."

Balthazar inhaled sharply in mock outrage.

"Hey, it's not my fault the lady is utterly unreceptive to the fine art of flirting,"

"Your kind of flirting, you mean," Gomez replied with a mean laugh.

"Yeah, well, you can't please everyone," Balthazar replied in a dismissive manner."And my flirting is an art in itself," he insisted firmly before his expression lost its amused sparkle."So...everything turned out well with...you know...the thing."

Gomez took a deep breath and nodded.

"Water under the bridge," he answered curtly."We've talked things through. It's...we're good."

"Good," Balthazar nodded."That's good, 'cos... it was…," he paused looking for some sophisticated description."Fucking intense."

"To put it mildly," Gomez admitted.

"So things between you and... Morticia... are all good?"

Gomez couldn't help a wide grin spreading on his face.

"Better than good," he replied, lifting his left hand and laughed heartily when Balthazar spluttered his drink over the table.

"Fuck, you didn't!" he exclaimed, ignoring the disapproving glares from the patrons around them.

"I did," he assured.

"I always knew you had a death wish," Balthazar quipped in faux exasperation."She scares the hell out of me," he admitted. "When she glares at me, it seems like...I don't know… like she can snatch souls or something."

Gomez laughed gregariously, tilting his head back - not that he disagreed with that description because his cousin was actually spot on.

"See, I'm going to tell her you said that," Gomez decided."She really might actually warm up to you."

Emergency departments were always busy as a rule but this amount of busy was usually reserved for weekend nights, not damn Thursday afternoons. She tried to remember the last time she ate and realized she had nothing since her midmorning break of coffee and cake. Come to think of it, she should lie down all those cakes and doughnuts the nurses were keeping in the staff room, they didn't do her waistline any favours.

Well, one more mini doughnut certainly wouldn't hurt, Dr Irene Covey thought as she passed the nursing station on her way to see her next patient, and promptly popped the sweet treat into her mouth, wiping the powdered sugar off her fingers into her black trousers.

She clicked her tongue inadvertently and exhaled in a jaded manner. This was her third case of domestic abuse since this morning. Words cannot convey how she hated those situations.

The cases of domestic abuses were one of the most upsetting she's ever encountered. It was so heart-breaking to deal with the fact that the people one was supposed to be the closest to were so often the abusers.

Dr Covey glanced at the medical notes and immediately faltered at the familiar name on the page. Good Lord -

No… no, it couldn't be. It didn't make sense. She knew that girl and her family, she knew those people so well, she was certain there must be some mistake.

It must be some mistake, her mind insisted, even though she knew there were really slim chances of encountering two people with such a unique name as hers and the date of birth was unfortunately too accurate to be a coincidence.

She knocked gently and entered the room.

The girl on the hospital bed looked up and almost immediately her posture slumped in resignation as the recognition dawned on her.

"Morticia," Dr Covey greeted gently, trying her best to keep her as even as she thought it was humanly possible.

"Mrs Covey," came Morticia's feeble reply."I didn't know you...I forgot you work here - " what a ridiculous thing to say but she didn't know what to say. Except that she felt it unfortunate that it would be Michael's mother to see her because now everyone would know. And the fact that she didn't want them to know was ridiculous as well.

"Small world," Michael's mother replied somberly, washing her hands in a small sink on the opposite wall before approaching the bed. She cupped Morticia's cheek and carefully examined the extensive bruises on her face."Follow my finger please," she requested and nodded when Morticia followed the request."Did you faint at any point?"

"No, I don't think so," Morticia replied, glad that the conversation was so...well, clinical.

"You don't think so?"

She didn't think so but then she barely remembered how did she get to the hospital.

"I might have...maybe, briefly," she admitted. "I don't remember fainting."

Dr Covey nodded somberly and pressed her fingers gently to Morticia skull.

"Did you hit your head?" she asked when the girl winced at the pressure.

"Ehm, no...I didn't... he…," she replied softly and paused, moving her hand in a circular motion, suddenly uncomfortable and extremely reluctant to talk about it. She frowned and looked away from Michael's mother knowing gaze."I was... hit," there, that was better, more impersonal somehow.

"Can you undress?" Dr Covery requested softly and didn't miss the way Morticia shifted uncomfortably."I need to examine you," she explained.

"Yes, I understand…," Morticia nodded."It's just -"

"There's nothing to be ashamed about, Morticia," she insisted and Morticia was almost shocked at the fire in her voice."This is not your fault, none of it, do you understand?"

She nodded but didn't make a move. She felt incredibly vulnerable and she hated it, hated that she was constantly on the verge of tears and had to fight to suppress the moisture behind her eyelids.

Don't cry, she told herself, don't you dare to cry. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth in an effort to keep herself together, to contain this utter chaos around her.

As long as she won't cry, this...this thing was manageable. She can get through this, she can. She won't let it break her. It was just another thing to survive, nothing else.

She took a deep breath and reached behind her neck to unbutton the dress and pulled it down slowly. She couldn't help but wince at the sight - there were purple bruises on her arms, the red half-moon marks from there he pressed his nails into her skin. It was unfortunate that her skin was so pale, she thought, the bruises contrasted so vividly against the light complexion.

"Do your ribs hurt when you cough?" Michael's mother asked, pressing her finger into Morticia's ribs.

"No," she grunted."No more than the rest."

"Bruised then, but it won't hurt to check for any fractures. I will order a scan for you, just to make sure, "she commented. It was never easy to perform examinations on the victims of domestic abuse but this...this was somehow much harder than she could have expected. It was hard not to take this personally when this young woman, whom she's known for years was sitting here, her body bruised beyond belief, trying so obviously not to fall apart. It was hard to think of her as a patient and not to remember that this was the same girl she had over for dinners, who was such a good friend to her son, who praised Irene's pathetic attempts at cooking, with whom she so often binge-watched a horror movie marathon in the television. "Who did this to you?" she asked, suddenly so angry she could barely contain it and immediately felt her tense."Boyfriend?" she asked.

"No," Morticia replied immediately before she could stop herself, her voice surprisingly sharp, but didn't elaborate any further.

"Jared?" Dr Covey guessed, even though she could not even think that he would do such a thing to her.

"No," she insisted firmly without missing a beat. She didn't know why. The response seemed automatic.

"How did you get to the hospital?" she asked, not missing the fact that Morticia fidgeted uncomfortably at the question.

"Jared's mother brought me," she admitted reluctantly.

Dr Covey didn't comment but the acute silence that seemed to fill the entire room spoke volumes.

"Do you want me to call your sister?" she asked finally.

"No," Morticia retorted frantically, shaking her head. "No, I...no, I don't want to call her."

"Okay, all right, calm down...I won't call her," she assured."But I want to keep you here overnight, so is there anyone I can call to get you your things? Michael perhaps?"

"Is it necessary?" Morticia asked instead."I don't want to stay here," she didn't want to stay here a minute longer than necessary even though she was aware she felt too faint to walk on her own.

"I need to check for any internal bleeding and at least make sure you don't have a concussion," Dr Covey explained gently. "I can't let you go home on your own, Morticia," she pointed out patiently."So is there anyone I can call?"

Morticia sighed tiredly. God, she didn't know what to do…where did Gomez say his meeting was? She couldn't remember. He was probably on his way home, anyway. What time was it?

She looked at her bruised arms and suddenly a thought occurred to her.

"How bad does it look, Mrs Covey?" she found herself asking and the woman looked at her quizzically.

"Pardon?"

"My face," she clarified."I didn't see...how - how bad does it look?"

The slight grimaced passed through the older woman's face before she compressed her lips into a thin line, contemplating briefly how to respond.

"Bad," she admitted finally. "And it will look worse later," she warned."The swelling is still quite mild considering…," she paused and moved towards the chest of drawers pulling a plastic bag from it, before squashing the content in her hands."Here," she handed the bag to Morticia."It's an ice pack."

"Thank you," she replied, pressing it against the left side of her face and silently considered what to do. She wanted her husband to be here and she also dreaded it at the same time. She didn't want to be seen like this...by anyone.

Dr Covey was telling her something but she couldn't focus enough to listen.

She felt so tired.

God, if she could turn back time and never go to that damned place. Or at least if she left before things got out of hand, she wouldn't have to deal with this.

No, oh God, why was she thinking like this? Why was she letting this poison seep into her consciousness? This wasn't her fault. None of it was her fault. It wasn't. She will not allow herself to think like this.

Except... that maybe, if she didn't provoke him -

Shut up. Just be silent. Get out of my head.

"Can I call Michael?" she heard the older woman ask.

Morticia blinked and looked at her intently.

Maybe. She can ask Michael to go to the house and explain - somehow. She didn't think she could face any of them herself, she could not explain. She -

"Yes," she found herself saying."I think that would be best."

Her head hurt. A pounding, pulsing pain that seemed to drawn everything else.

She wished there was a way to deem those blasted lights. It made her headache worse and she didn't like being here alone, the place made her anxious. It was too bright, too unfamiliar.

Or maybe it wasn't the place but the situation itself?

But then why bother thinking about it when it was just another nuisance?

Nuisance. Like Dorothy's words. Or Dorothy herself.

Is that what that woman thought of her? That she was a spoiled child crying for the moon?

That she was really that petty and ungrateful?

Did they all think that of her? Even her sister?

All she wanted was to live her life on her terms - to be allowed to be who she was, not to be forced to be someone else.

There was a soft knock on the door that indicated that her moment of solitude was no longer and she was simultaneously grateful and disappointed by the interruption. She wanted to be alone but then being alone with her thoughts was probably not the best idea at the moment.

Her lips curled into a feeble smile when she saw her friend enter the room hesitantly.

"I guess baking powder is really not going to cut it this time," she whispered and swallowed heavily.

"Jesus Christ, Tish," Michael whispered hoarsely and came over to the bed slowly."How...Jesus...fuck," he swore and draw her gently into a hug."I don't know what...I'm gonna fucking kill him."

"Michael -"

"What?" he snapped angrily." You gonna tell me he was drunk and apologised?"

She shrugged helplessly. She didn't know what to say anyway.

"You can't let him get away with this, Tish,"

"I don't want him to get away with it," she snapped. She didn't. She was angry...God so angry she could barely contain it, so angry she wanted to cry. She was angry that he was able to do this to her, that she couldn't defend herself because he was too strong for her. She felt abused, humiliated and utterly helpless and she hated it more than she could put into words. She hated Jared more than she ever thought she was capable of hating anyone. Him and Dorothy for implying that she deserved it, that she brought it upon herself.

More so, she hated the fact that perhaps on some level they had a point. It felt as she brought it upon herself. If she allowed Gomez to come with her, none of this would have happened, if she didn't provoke Jared so much, if she wasn't so stubborn, if she was more -

No.

No God damn it, she won't allow the poison of Dorothy words to enter her heart. She did not deserve it. He had no right to raise his hand on her and he should not get away with it.

Why should he?

"I don't want him to get away with it, Michael," she said again."I'm just...so tired," she whispered, her tone so jaded it was startling even to her.

"Don't speak like this," he asked in a constrained whisper, hugging her closer."Don't let him break you - that piece of shit is not going to break you. You'll get through this."

She shook her head gently.

She was tired, though. She was tired of living the life that wasn't hers, she was tired of the constant stress of her mother's illness, of those never ending fights and now...this.

She wasn't selfish. She was never selfish. Why couldn't they understand that this life they wanted her to live was choking her, that she wasn't defiantly unwilling but simply unable to adapt to it because this life they wanted her to lead was to her unbearable? It wasn't a question of adapting to the new circumstances - didn't they realize that if it was that simple she would do it in a blink of an eye? But she couldn't do it. She couldn't because she couldn't just pretend for the rest of her life that she wasn't who she was, she could not live a lie. Yet, they all thought she was being spoiled and difficult when every single day for the past four years she had to push herself every morning just to survive another day.

They didn't see how much effort she put in to all the distractions in her life so she didn't have to think about how unbearably lonely she felt.

None of them considered, even for a second, that the reason she turned down all those marriage proposals was that it would be final. It would mean there was no hope, that this new life was now forever - and she could not bear such a prospect. She could not bear such a prison.

She wasn't selfish. She was trying to survive.

And now, now - when her life was finally the way she longed for it to be - when she was finally happy - that woman dared to imply that it was her own fault. That she deserved it.

Her fault.

No one had any right to punish her for choosing to live her own life - not merely surviving but finally living.

"Motherfucker, I'm gonna kill that rat bastard."

Morticia let out a mirthless laugh despite herself. She didn't even hear the door open.

"You will have to stand in line and wait your turn," she replied. "Don't cry, okay?" she asked when Elena approached her, looking very much like she was exactly two seconds from bursting into tears."I can't handle crying right now."

Her friend nodded, swallowing heavily.

"Okay," she whispered but shook her head angrily."Can I hug you?" she asked, in such a pathetic, small voice that Morticia couldn't help but nod and within seconds she felt her friend's arms wrapped gently around her."Please, tell me Gomez already killed him at least twice."

"Gomez doesn't know yet," she replied softly.

Elena frowned and looked at her quizzically.

"What do you mean he doesn't know?"

"He...his cousin had a court case and Gomez went to try to mediate," she explained."So I went to … I wanted to see Ophelia, but she wasn't at home, just Jared and we've argued and then…," she paused and shook her head impatiently. She suddenly felt too tired, too close to tears to try to explain anything to anyone."Can you get Gomez here for me?" she asked, trying very hard for her voice not to break.

"Sure," Michael nodded immediately."We'll go right away."

"I'll stay with you," Elena insisted.

"No," Morticia shook her head.

"I'm not leaving you alone."

"I want some time alone," Morticia admitted."Please, I need some time...I," she paused and swallowed heavily."I just want my husband."

Elena has never felt so angry in her whole life.

She felt so angry, so mad it hurt to breathe.

She hated how helpless she felt, she hated that there was so little they could do.

She wanted to kill that bastard and to just erase the whole situation and make her friend feel better.

Now. Immediately.

She wanted to take that broken, defeated look away from her face and replace it again with blissful happiness form two day ago.

She wanted to fix it. Somehow. Anyhow. Get that bastard's head on a silver platter and tell her 'here, he's gone, please feel better, please smile, please please please -

"Wait, just…," she swallowed heavily, as they got inside Michael's blue Sedan, and wiped her cheeks furiously.

"El -"

"I'm okay, I'm… just give me a fucking minute okay?"

"Sure, okay," he replied softly, placing a comforting hand on her back.

"Fucking bastard, fucking animal... how could he do that her...Jesus Christ," she said hoarsely."I hope he'll rot in jail, I hope Gomez's gonna kill him -"

"El, calm down," he tried to placate.

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down!" she snapped. "Don't fucking tell me to calm down when …," she paused, her voice breaking and then couldn't help the tears. Couldn't help her body convulse in helpless anger."Fuck - "she felt Michael's arms around her.

"She'll get through this," he whispered, for the lack of anything better to say and even to himself his words lacked conviction."We'll help her get through this," he corrected himself."So cry and take the fucking rage out now before we reach the mansion because I don't want Gomez to think she's died or something when he sees you like this," he reprimanded, more harshly than he intended but truth be told, he's barely holding it together himself.

Elena nodded and took a deep breath then another and another before finally punching the side door of the car.

"Son of a bitch," she spat angrily, delivering another punch to the window and immediately hissed and waved her hand frantically."Well...that fucking hurt."

A bath was probably a good idea, anyway, perhaps they could share it. They could get some wine and have a slow, relaxing evening together.

Or he could take her out to dinner first, he even knows a place that she will definitely love.

He noticed, from afar as he entered the gate, that there was no sign of either of the cars at the driveway and then frowned slightly, noticing the two familiar silhouettes waiting in front of the house.

"Hey," Michael greeted warily as Gomez approached them, ubiquitous cigar in his hand.

Gomez nodded at them but was obviously surprised at seeing them.

"You're alright?" he asked in a way of greeting and didn't miss the fact that both of them fidgeted uncomfortably at the question." Morticia's not at home," he informed them curtly but could already feel his stomach contracted with worry.

There was something wrong. He knew it, he suddenly felt it in the core of his being, and he swallowed heavily.

"Yeah, we know," Michael replied carefully." We actually came to get you."

"What happened?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Look, she's fine...she's not dead or anything," he assured and winced the moment the words left his lips but Gomez looked as if the whole blood just drained from his face."But she's in the hospital."

"Which hospital?" he asked with such a deadly calm, Michael couldn't help but stare at him worryingly.

"The Medical Centre," Elena replied."Jared - "

"Don't," Gomez interjected sharply, lifting his hand to stop her from talking."Don't say his name, don't - just take me to her."

"Okay," Elena nodded."It's just…-"

"What?" he urged impatiently.

"They want to keep her overnight to check for...for concussion and such," she explained slowly."We need to get her some clothes and -"

"Okay," he concurred in a breathless whisper before turning towards Elena."Stay here and wait for my mother, okay? They should be back soon, explain everything to them," he instructed and Elena nodded mutely in agreement. Gomez reached towards his breast pocket and took out the house keys before pressing them firmly into her hands, followed by a roll of hundred dollar bills."Get whatever she might need, okay?"

"Okay," she replied quietly.

Gomez nodded at her before turning towards Michael.

"Let's go."

Gomez was grateful that Michael drove fast and even more grateful that he didn't feel the need to fill the silence with words because Gomez was sure he could not handle words at this point.

Never, in his life, the fear and guilt consumed him so thoroughly and completely.

Guilt and an almost overwhelming sense of failure.

He failed her. He failed her. He allowed her to get hurt. He failed her.

Why did he allow her to go on her own? Stupid fool, why didn't he try to reason with her?

She was his wife - his to protect, to keep safe and he failed her.

It didn't matter that he will rip that bastard apart - he will, no question about that. The matter was that he wasn't there when she needed him. He failed her.

He should have felt something was amiss but he didn't. Why? Why didn't he anticipate? Why did he allow her to go on her own?

He should have known. Why didn't he know?

He heard his name being called and it took all of his will power to tear himself from his desperate musings.

He turned towards the voice and saw Michale eyeing him worriedly.

"Are you okay?"

It took him a moment to register the question. Was he okay?

"No," he replied somberly. No, he was not okay.

"Because you can't...you can't lose it in there," he warned pointing at the door behind him."Gomez… she's barely keeping it together, do you understand? You have to be there for her."

Gomez swallowed heavily but nodded in understanding.

"It looks bad," Michael warned again."Like... really bad, he -" he paused, licking his lips and swallowed heavily."She really needs you. This is about her, not that son of a bitch, okay?"

"I know that," he replied tensely, annoyed. What the hell did Michael think was Gomez going to do? Leave his wife in the hospital just to go and beat the hell out of that bastard? Of course, she was his priority.

"Okay, so... I'll go find my mum," Michael informed and couldn't help but smile briefly when Gomez frowned at him quizzically. It looked almost comical."I mean, she's working here - my mother - she's the doctor who treated Tish, so you can ask her...you know whatever you need to know later."

Gomez nodded and sighed tiredly, licking his suddenly dried lips.

"Thanks," he said.

He pressed the handle and pushed the door open, entering the room slowly and almost stopped dead in his tracks. He faltered as if something physically pushed him.

He could not prepare himself for this, he realized, no amount of warnings could have prepared him for the sight of her bruised face, the vicious marks on her body - so clearly visible under the flimsy hospital gown.

His chest felt so constricted with rage and sorrow and guilt that he could barely draw another breath.

She exhaled audibly upon seeing him enter and was in his arms before she could finish whispering his name. The moment Morticia saw him all the strength that she's been mustering until now seemed to instantly desert her and she couldn't stop the tears. Her relief upon seeing him was so complete, so overwhelming that all she could do was to surrender and the tears, she's been repressing for so long, flew freely as if finally devoid of any contraption.

He was here and she was in his arms and it's all that mattered to her at the moment. She could finally let it go, she didn't have to be strong - he was her strength. He was her safety.

She pressed her bruised face into his chest, her body shaking from the uncontrollable sobs and if felt to her as if she could no longer contain it. It was too much.

"I will kill him for this, I swear," he whispered hoarsely into her hair as she clung to him fiercely but at the same time as if completely devoid of any strength. Impossible contradiction.

"No," she muttered feebly into his chest, soaking his shirt with her tears but she just couldn't stop.

"Don't, Tish," he retorted firmly, more harshly than he intended but then pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her head."Don't tell me not to, don't - I swear to God, he'll regret the moment he raised his hand on you."

She shook her head gently. He was misinterpreting her response but she didn't have enough strength to explain.

"Don't leave me," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him a little tighter and he couldn't stand how defeated her voice was."Just hold me."

A/N: Thank you for reading!