Author's note: thank you so very much for all the reviews. I've never, ever had more than 100 reviews for an Addams Family story, so I was totally pleased. I hope yu enjoy this as much as the others, and please review if you can. If not, I just hope it is to your liking.


"I thought I might find you here," she murmured, watching as he scanned the book shelves.

"Your paramour," Williamson chose a heavy book and set it on the desk, "Is the expert in criminal law. And he's otherwise occupied right now, downtown. I know contracts and litigation and civil…" he sighed, "But this? I'm going to take these to him in the hope he can make more sense of them than I can."

She watched as he flicked the statues book open. She'd driven past this corner of the financial district enough times to know these were the offices from which Gomez ran his shadier business deals, but she'd never visited them until now.

"I will take them," she said quietly, "But ideally I would like you to come with me."

He laughed darkly, "Oh no you won't."

"I-"

"Listen, Morticia," he set the book on a pile of books awaiting transportation, then looked at her, "He is my oldest friend, and he's asked that I ensure I keep you away from the situation or, more accurately, he has threatened me on pain of death that I keep you safe. He knows you don't want to talk about it and if you do…it ends up out there as fodder for lots of hungry tongues. You end up ruined and he does too."

"Or he rots in jail for a crime he didn't commit," she whispered, "And as dreamy as that is, and as much as I love him, he doesn't make my decisions for me."

"The fiercely independent type?"

She shook her head, "The fiercely loyal type."

"Fiercely stupid," he said, "You have, according to him, been vociferous about secrecy and keeping your…whatever it is…quiet, but now…"

"Now my hand is being forced."

She tipped her head to the side and watched as he began packing the books into a holdall.

"Are you angry at me?"

"No," he shook his head, "Bemused. You're the only woman who's ever bewitched Gomez Addams. That, in itself, is something."

She nodded silently.

"Not that you're not bewitching, Morticia," he shrugged, "But it's normally worn off by now. He's not bored of you…and I don't think he ever will be."

"I hope not."

"Me too."

"With, or more likely without, you," she continued, "I will be giving a statement. I would like your help."

"He'll never forgive me."

"I'll ensure he does," she said gently.

"There's not one part of me that doubts you have power like that," he murmured then sighed, "I suppose it'll make it easier than carrying a holdall of books. I guess I'll just take his fresh clothes."

She smiled and nodded.

-0-

"You are free to go."

He hadn't bothered turning to the door – mainly because he was cuffed to the table – but he hadn't imagined it would be very exciting or different from every other time the door had opened.

"I am?"

He smiled, rattling the cuffs against the restraint bolt on the desk. The detective circled round him.

"Your fiancée's sister," the detective gave a low whistle, "And I thought you had good manners. You're still a suspect but we'll be looking…elsewhere, since it appears you were otherwise occupied. Your future sister-in-law as well…I thought you had more class than that."

His blood ran icy, then instantly boiling.

"Don't cast aspersions about things you don't understand," he massaged his wrists, "Your restraints are puerile. No pain in them at all."

"That's not what they're for," the detective handed him his personal affects.

He looked at the woefully crumpled tux jacket, the velvet bow tie, and groaned.

"You could have sent out for dry cleaning at least?"

He shrugged the jacket on over the detective's exasperated sigh. He fished in his pocket, withdrew a cigar, and slid it in the other man's top pocket.

"For your troubles. Good luck with the case," he said genially, "Anything you need let me know."

He patted his chest neatly and went out, leaving the detective perplexed.

When he saw her then, there, he wanted to be angry at her but he couldn't be. He understood why she had admitted their affair, their perfidy, and it made him love her even more for it. Williamson was loitering just out of the door, cigar between his lips. He pulled her into his arms in two steps.

"You shouldn't have done that," he murmured against her jaw, "I was fine."

"Well I couldn't tolerate it," she said quietly, "I refuse to be the reason you are imprisoned and I don't even get to enjoy it."

A growl crackled in the back of his throat.

"I need to go home," he took her hand, "And we need to talk."

"Not your house," Williamson murmured, "Your aunts are crawling about, preparing for the funeral," he motioned to Morticia, "And I don't think they'd want to see Morticia. I brought you some spare clothes at any rate," he motioned to the hold-all, "Offices?"

Gomez nodded and watched as his friend smiled, however grudgingly, at Morticia.

-0-

Morticia watched him pour the three glasses, but then stall at Williamson's voice.

"Not for me," the other man stood, "I better go."

"Somewhere to be?"

He raised a brow at Gomez, "For a man who's suddenly keeping secrets, you're intensely interested in those of others."

"Touche," Gomez held up his glass, "Be good."

"I can't promise," he grinned and set his hat on his head, "It's good to have you free, old chum, at least for the moment."

He turned to her, "Morticia, thank you for doing the sensible thing."

She nodded quietly and watched his retreating back.

"He's sleeping with Carmen," Gomez muttered as soon as he was out of the door.

"You know I won't tell you my friend's secrets," she leaned across the desk, took a sip from the tumbler, "But since you already know. Yes, you're right."

"He's as obvious as he's ever been," he took a sip, "Speaking of secrets…"

She tipped her head to the side, "You executed that like a lawyer."

He smiled, "Completely transparent?"

She smiled and nodded.

"You would be happy, wouldn't you, to just let it run its course?"

She watched him closely; despite his smile, he looked tired.

"Go on," he urged, "Answer me darling."

She laughed, "Yes, I would. I would just hope, one day, they walked in on us."

He shook his head, "Are you scared Morticia?"

She genuinely considered his question, and was unable to decide truly if it was fear or apprehension of change that made her so reluctant.

"You seem so convinced it would be simple to just tell them Gomez, don't you?"

"Yes, I absolutely do," he nodded and set his feet up on the desk, "And now is the right time. Everyone is distracted."

She watched him light his cigar and rest back, taking a deep draw. He looked intensely happy, as if nothing and no one could break his happiness.

"You look content," she whispered, settling back too.

"Morticia," he held up the cigar and looked at it lovingly, "I have this, I am free…and I am with you. What more could a man want? Apart from you as my wife?"

"Never happy," she smiled.

"Never fully sated, is more the case," he leaned forward and set his elbows on the table and his jaw against his hands. He looked wonderfully naïve like that.

"We can't tell them because…"

"Because?"

"Because I am afraid," she finally breathed, "I am afraid of what it will do to them. I am afraid it will expose all the terror, all the mistakes. It will make my father confront his antiquity, my mother her weakness, my sister her…selfishness. Me, my terror."

Aha! Finally," he said gently, "The lady admits fear."

"I could cope with Ophelia, I could even cope with my father…"she shook her head, "But my mother, she doesn't deserve this. And she'll be pitying and condescending and it will make me angry."

"Mortica, angry? That is something I have yet to see."

"Oh, I'm sure you will one day," she whispered, "Though it is rare."

He smiled and leaned forward to touch his fingers to hers.

"Morticia, I know you are not ready yet and I have no option but to accept that," he held her hand in his softly, his thumb tracing a pattern on her palm, "But I will not marry your sister. Before then, at least, there must be a decision."

She cocked an eye-brow, "Are you setting me a deadline?"

He grinned, "You need some boundaries Tish."

She laughed softly, "Do I?"

"You do," he motioned a finger for her to come round to him.

She did as she was bid, sullying around the edge of the desk to settle in his lap.

"Last time we were around a desk we were rudely interrupted," she murmured, "And there has to be a way to remedy that."

"Oh," he lifted her lightly, so she was set atop the desk again, "Oh I don't know what you could possibly mean."

She smiled, "Perhaps I should show you."

He grinned and touched his hands to her face, "That seems the sensible thing to do."


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