A/N: The entire conversation that led to this drabble would take too long to recount; suffice to say that it involves the name "Fredward" and the other party was Gleefully Wicked. And it's thanks to her that the bit with the IV pole made it into the final version. :)
Enjoy, and I still don't own any characters besides Nell.
Sara had been an emergency room receptionist for ten years. During that time, she'd seen more pain and suffering than most humans ever would- or ever hoped to. Patients who came in looking half-crazed from agony or fear were nothing new to her.
But the disheveled young man who now stood on the other side of the desk took it to a whole new level.
"Sir," she said, trying to keep her voice as soothing as possible, "could you please say that again, slowly?"
"My hand is broken, my car is half-totaled in the parking lot, and my wife is in labor."
Sara blinked, grabbed a form, and began filling it out. "We'll get your wife back to the maternity ward as soon as possible, but where do your hand and car figure into it?"
The man ran a hand through his already messy brown hair and sighed. "You haven't met my wife yet."
"You can squeeze my hand if you want."
"I already did, hence the cast."
"And if you need to shout that you hate me and I did this to you, that's fine, too."
Wednesday glanced at Lucas from her half-reclining position on the hospital bed. Her calm unnerved the father-to-be somewhat- weren't women in labor supposed to show even the slightest sign of pain?
"Lucas, it's obvious to even the most moronic observer that you did this to me. And why would I hate you?" she replied. Suddenly, her knuckles whitened on the bed's railings.
"Another contraction?" he asked anxiously.
For a moment, she didn't reply. Her eyes remained focused on the opposite wall, and he heard plastic splintering under her grip. Then, she spoke in a tone so level as to sound almost rehearsed.
"Lucas Matthew Beineke, I am going to rip your genitals off and feed them to you."
Gomez practically leapt off the vinyl-covered sofa when his son-in-law emerged from the delivery room. Holding out a hand, Lucas managed to stave off the Castillian's exclamation until the door was safely closed.
"I am so sorry! We'd have been here sooner, but Morticia and I were visiting friends across town and didn't get home until-"
"I know," Lucas interjected. Pugsley had answered the phone when he'd attempted to call the Addamses; the memory of the conversation still made him cringe slightly.
"Hello?"
"Pugsley? It's Lucas; I need to talk to your parents."
"Both at once? We only have one phone. Sorry. Bye."
"Don't hang up! Look, could you just call one of them to the phone, please?"
"Which one?"
"I don't care, either, just do it quickly!"
"What's the big hurry? Wednesday finally realize you're not worth keeping alive?"
"No, you little- she's in labor, okay? I just thought your parents might want to be present for the birth of their grandchild!"
Silence on the other end. After a few seconds, Pugsley's voice echoed once more down the line.
"You got my sister pregnant."
"...yes, obviously, but you already knew that. Now could you please put Morticia or Gomez on?"
"I can't believe you got my sister pregnant."
"Okay, never mind. Just tell your parents that we're at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania, in room-" A brief pause, and Lucas' voice grew temporarily distant- "13. Huh, I didn't notice that before. Does stuff like this always happen?"
"I'm going to rip your lungs out."
"Fine, but before you do that, could you please, please tell your parents what's going on?"
The would-be murderer now sat between his parents, scowling furiously at his brother-in-law. Furiously and impotently, thanks to the gleaming handcuffs binding his left wrist to the metal couch frame. Lucas made a mental note to thank Morticia; his mother-in-law knew the danger of underestimating her son.
As if reading his thoughts, the statuesque woman rose from the couch and approached him. "How long?"
She didn't need to elaborate. "About ten hours. The doctor says it shouldn't be much longer now." He glanced down a bit sheepishly and added, "Or that's what she said the last time she was allowed in the room."
"Allowed?" Morticia asked, raising one eyebrow.
"Well, somehow Wednesday managed to smuggle in a nail gun…"
It hurt. She'd be lying to herself if she said it didn't.
And yes, supposedly the ordeal was almost over, and yes, she usually enjoyed pain. Morticia had sat her down for a Talk about three months ago, covering the finer points of childbirth. The general gist seemed to be that the birthing process was one of the most enjoyable and rewarding experience of an Addams woman's life- because it hurt like nothing else, and afterwards you (presumably) had a sweet, darling little bundle of terror. There had been an undertone that to bear a child with anything less than perfect tranquility was a minor blight on the family name.
But given the choice between doing this again and watching "Flipper" on DVD… Computer-animated dolphins had never seemed so appealing.
The hospital bed didn't have railings anymore, but she hadn't cried out once. Granted, the threats to Lucas' life and physical well-being had become more graphic and imaginative with each passing hour, but her voice had remained even the whole time.
Now, time and space seemed to blur into an agony like none she'd ever experienced. And all she could think was, If I scream this close to the end…
Someone must have let the doctor back in, because a familiar and obnoxious female voice was needlessly telling her to push. And Lucas, too, seemed to be present, or whose hand was she pulverizing under her grip? But for a moment, she was utterly alone.
It hurt; god, it hurt- and then it didn't.
An unearthly screech broke the silence of the too-white hospital room.
"Make sure the doctor saves the caul."
Lucas blinked at his wife. Dangerous as it was to argue with a woman who'd recently given birth, he couldn't believe what she'd just said.
"Di," he replied in the gentlest tone possible, "caul births are something like 1 out of every 80,000. I know you were hoping for it, but the statistical probability is-"
"Ahem."
Lucas turned to see the doctor at his side, holding a seemingly ordinary sheet of paper. On closer inspection, however, a roughly circular mass of brittle-looking yellow tissue was stuck to its surface.
"Some hospitals don't save these, but they're so rare that it's our policy. And many parents like to have them as keepsakes," she said, and handed the paper to Lucas before walking away- probably to take the rest of the night off.
The new father glanced at his wife, passing her the paper with a look of surprise as total as her expression of smugness.
"Statistics have to come from somewhere," she said.
Wednesday leaned back against the pillows and regarded the newborn in her arms.
"What should we call her?"
Lucas laughed quietly. "Honestly, Di, I never thought this far ahead in life. Do you have any ideas?"
His wife raised a questioning eyebrow. When he waved his hand expectantly, she said, "Well, I told Mother I was going to name my firstborn daughter Calpurnia."
He blinked.
"But," she continued, "that was when I was eight and wanted to marry my cousin Flinge. Somehow I don't think it'd go over too well with your family."
They lapsed into silence again, staring at their daughter- who, for her part, seemed content to gum a corner of her dove-gray blanket.
"My grandmother was named Dolores," Lucas volunteered. Judging by the sharp whack as an IV pole connected with his head, it was the wrong thing to say. "But I never much liked the name."
To his relief, the "are-you-so-stupid-that-I-must-personally-exterminate-you?" look disappeared. It was, after all, only amusing when aimed at others.
After a moment's thought, he spoke again.
"But her mother's name was Eleanor."
"Eleanor." Wednesday pondered a moment, appearing to turn the name over in her mind. She gently stroked the baby's cheek with one pallid finger.
"I like it," she announced at last. Lucas smiled wordlessly and pressed the nurse's call button.
"Beg pardon?"
"Eleanor Calpurnia Beineke," Lucas repeated. The look on the plump, red-haired nurse's face remained disbelieving. As he shrugged and began scribbling on the form, that same disbelief was mirrored in the new mother's expression.
"But...your parents…" she began. Her husband cut her off.
"Di, if I was worried about what they thought, I wouldn't have married you."
A tiny smile barely tilted the corners of her lips. Then, with a strength that startled both the nurse and Wednesday herself, she yanked Lucas' face down to hers and kissed him.
They broke apart after several seconds (during which time the flustered nurse had excused himself) and sat together, watching their newborn daughter sleep.
Suddenly, Wednesday reached up and removed the little vole-skull barrette from her hair. She gently slid it into the child's wispy brown curls.
"Welcome to the family, Nell."
A/N: The bit where Nell receives her name is actually the first thing I ever wrote for this fandom; it's been gathering dust in a notebook for about four months now. When I sat down to write this, it seemed like the right time for it to see the light of day (or rather, the Internet).
A caul is a membrane over an infant's head and face, formed by part of the amniotic sac. It is removed immediately after birth and usually preserved for the parents to keep. According to legend, people born with a caul will be precognitive, unusually lucky, or able to see ghosts- I'm going with the last one for the purposes of this story.