A/N: *singing to the tune of "Bob the Builder"* Addams Family, do I own it? Addams Family- no, I don't!
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Today, for the first time in 45 years, I feel like an old man.

It must be a strange side effect of weddings. They make the couple feel indescribably beautiful, and everyone else weighed down with years and nostalgia. I imagine ours was like this for my parents, though at the time I was too preoccupied to ask.

The bride looks radiant. Her long, high-waisted dress is gray, a compromise between normal for everyone else and normal for our family- gray with a black velvet sash. A gray veil floats like sea foam over her shining hair, held in place by a rather tarnished silver coronet. It's an heirloom from my wife's side of the family, or so she claims.

"Father? It's time."

My daughter's words bring me back to Earth; the strains of the wedding march are indeed beginning to float down the hall. With one last look at her, I blink to alleviate the strange prickling at the corners of my eyes and thread her arm through mine.

The carpet leading to the back door seems to go on for miles, and with each step, memories rise unbidden.

A tiny baby, clutching my finger in her fist with surprising strength.

A six-year-old, happily firing her little trebuchet at the neighbors' treehouse.

A young teenager dramatically reciting Shakespeare in her room when she thinks no-one can hear.

My little girl has become the lovely, graceful young woman on my arm. Where did 22 years go?

And it seems like no time at all before we've reached the wrought-iron trellis at one end of the cemetery, having passed the rows of whispering and sniffling relatives before I could even register them. I smile at her, trying not to blink, and move to sit beside my wife in the front row.

"How are you feeling?" she whispers.

I look at her and remember seeing her beside me at this same altar all those years ago. A few lines have appeared on her face, and her dark hair is beginning to show the tiniest streaks of gray. I know I haven't escaped evidence of the years either. But in that moment, my Wednesday looks just as she did at our wedding.

My gaze shifts to our daughter, our Nell, standing with the woman who will shortly be her wife. The officiant is speaking, but neither of them appears to hear. They stare at each other as if nothing else exists.

I smile and squeeze Wednesday's hand. "Happy and sad."