The full moon gleamed over the Addam's house, just as the clock struck midnight, marking the beginning of the Addam's family's luckiest day of the year. Friday, the 13th of February. Just then, when the grandfather clock chimed its last Gomez Addam's opened his eyes. The mattress underneath him dipped as Morticia shifted further away from him across their king-sized bed.
"Querida?" Gomez reached across the silk sheets, touching her shoulder in the dark. "Are you alright?" She'd only kicked him four times that night, when she wasn't curled in the fetal position.
"I'm fine," she mumbled into her pillow, squeezing her eyes shut against another strange wave of pain cutting through her abdomen, radiating across her back. "At this stage, a little pain is expected." She reached down to caress her baby bump through her black satin nightgown.
Gomez sat up in alarm, Morticia never complained. "Angelito Mio, What's the matter?" He was prepared to spring into action at her command.
She turned towards him, but the pain didn't let up. "I'm frightened, Gomez." Her soft blue eyes filled with tears; she never cried. "The pain-" Her tolerance was high, this kind of pain was different. It lingered and moved and never let up.
"Is it terrible?"
"It's inhuman," she said tearfully, squeezing her eyes closed. "I'm so tired," she complained. She'd laid there for hours listening to her husband snore, usually she was comforted by the sound of his breathing; but not tonight.
"How long have you been suffering?" He asked, climbing quickly out of bed, he hurried to her side. "Why didn't you wake me?" He lifted her hand from the mattress and kissed her knuckles, working his way up her arm.
"You were sleeping so well, Darling," she purred as he helped her sit up against the mahogany headboard. "I didn't want to- wake you." she squeezed her eyes closed, trying to force the pain away with her mind. "Gomez, I think if I could just relax, we could go back to sleep." She reached for his hand and squeezed his fingers, "would you help me, please?" She asked sweetly, even in intense pain she remained gracious.
"Of course, Cara Mia." All she had to do was ask. "I'm a humble servant at your feet," he said, kissing a trail up her arm again. He helped her roll onto her side, with a mountain of pillows supporting her hips and belly. Then he went to the nightstand and found a bottle of massage oil in the drawer. "How about a massage?" He offered, playing with the hem of her nightgown, the soft black lace was beautiful against her alabaster complexion.
"Oui," she mumbled into the silk pillowcase.
"I love it when you speak French," he planted furious kisses up her bare spine.
"French is what got me into this mess," she teased.
"Do you want to go to the hospital?" He asked, uncharacteristically calm. He kissed her bare shoulder, slowly working his hands down her back, taking his time to work out the kinks in her muscles. "They can give you anesthesia," he offered. He would do anything to take this pain from her.
"They'll put me to sleep," she bit out. "I want to be awake for our first child's birth. I want to see their face when they enter this astral plane. I want to watch our child's soul enter their body when they take their first breath."
"You're so brave, Tish," He planted a wet and hungry kiss on the base of her spine. "So brave, Cara Mia. Don't you think we should call a doctor?" He asked, without stopping his massage. If this was the only thing he could do to help her, he would rub her back without ceasing until his hands gave out. Or until she asked him to stop. Whichever came first.
"I'd rather not, Dear. Doctors don't make house calls." They'd already chased off all the doctors in town. "Mamma said the hospital won't let you in the room,"
"Well that's preposterous!" Gomez said, "I helped put the baby in there. I should be there when they come out."
"I agree, Dear." She said soothingly. "Conception is the ultimate form of teamwork, I don't see why childbirth has to be any different."
"You mean you want-" Gomez sputtered, his throat suddenly bone dry. His hands were frozen still against her back. "Morticia no."
"No?" She repeated faintly. That wasn't a word she was accustomed to hearing from her husband. "Gomez please-"
"Querida, I'm a weak and snivelling coward. I can't deliver the baby on my own."
"I promise, I'll do all the work." The disappointment in her voice cracked his heart, he would do anything for her; except put her and their child in danger.
"I'm sorry, my Love, I can't do it." He dug his heels in before he changed his mind. "Morticia, I won't do that when it could put you and the child at risk."
"Alright," she sounded so defeated. "I suppose we should get dressed then," she leaned across the bed and flipped on the lamp, wincing when the sudden bright light shinned in her eyes.
"We should," he slid off the bed, pulled on his clothes, then went to the closet and found a clean dress for Morticia and laid it on the bed. "Do you want some henbane tea and toast before we leave?"
"I suppose," she ground out, moving to the edge of the bed.
"You're beautiful, Cara Mia. Michelangelo himself couldn't have painted a more stunning picture." She sat on the bed, the pale light of the lamp reflected off her porcelain skin. Her body swelled with the presence of their child. What more could a man want?
"You're a hopeless flaterer," she crooned, holding the silk sheet across her chest with one arm, cradling her belly with the other. "I hope they look like you," she said softly, running her fingers down her bump.
"I hope they look like you," he countered, dropping to his knees in front of her. He reached up to play with the ends of her hair. "I want to see your eyes, your lips….your hair, Cara Mia! I want your face reflected on our baby." He grabbed her wrist, furiously kissing her arm all the way to her elbow. "It would be the ultimate prize!"
"Gomez," she purred as the pain hit her again. She curled forward, wrapping her arms around her middle. "Baby now," she groaned. "Prize later."
He nodded, suddenly keenly aware of the task at hand. "Of course, Tish," he pushed to his feet and grabbed her dress. "Breathe, Bella," he coached, her face turned an unusual shade of red. He gently pulled the dress over her head, "take a breath please." He insisted, pressing a kiss to her temple.
"It passed," she winced and pulled her arms through the sleeves. "We've got about 10 minutes before another one hits."
"Can you make it down the stairs?" He helped her to stand, her shoes were downstairs near the front door.
She climbed to her feet, to Gomez she was the epitome of bravery. "We better get going."