A/N: At the advice of A Certain Person (you know who you are), I recently got into Doctor Who. The resulting distraction, emotional roller coaster ride, and bizarre story ideas have been insane- and, of course, totally worth it. :) This little bit of crack-fluff happened when I decided to put our deranged heroine through the same thing. Pulled in a new direction, indeed.

It was 3:00 AM on a Saturday, and Lucas Beineke had just been struck in the head by a crumpled-up tissue. Several, actually, in quick succession, all thrown with extremely precise aim from the overstuffed sofa in front of the television.

The 20-year-old rubbed the back of his head, more out of reflex than pain. "What was that for?"

The sofa didn't reply.

"Look," he continued, "if I can't walk through my own apartment without being bombarded by Kleenex, I get to know why."

Still no response, but the sofa's occupant shifted position slightly and attempted to hide a sniff.

Lucas sighed. All night not a word, and now this. If he didn't know better, he'd think his fiancée had suffered a mental breakdown; sitting silently in front of the screen for hours wasn't like her. But she was sick, after all; infected with a disease he knew all too well.

Against his better judgment, he slowly approached the olive-colored couch. "Di? Are you okay?"

Soon he was close enough to make out a figure huddled against the cushions, its knees drawn up to its chest. Finally the figure spoke.

"Do you know what those tissues were?"

"No," he replied, "but I have the feeling you're about to tell me."

"Those tissues were your legacy, Lucas." The young woman on the sofa turned to face him at last; even in the flickering light from the DVD menu on the screen, he could tell that her brown eyes were puffy and red-rimmed.

"I never cry. Not at weddings, not at funerals, not even when walking past a toy store full of Barbies," she said. There was a strange undertone to her words that almost sounded like...uncertainty. But it couldn't be; Wednesday Addams was never uncertain- or so Lucas thought.

"But," she went on, wadding up another tissue in her fist, "this...this TV show has made me go through half a box of tissues." A moment later, the ball of paper bounced off Lucas' forehead and joined its fellows on the carpet.

Raising one eyebrow, he asked, "And you're throwing those tissues at me because…?"

"Because this is your fault."

God help me if I ever get her pregnant. He quickly shook his head, trying to put the thought aside. Now was neither the time nor the place. Doing his best to look sympathetic, the poet knelt down and leaned on one threadbare arm of the sofa. He stared at the television, which was now playing a rousing instrumental theme as bands of reddish light swirled around episode titles. One title was highlighted by yellow brackets: "Doomsday."

Oh no.

Lucas glanced at Wednesday. Trying to sound casual, he said, "So, you're a Rose fan, too?"

But she wouldn't be put off. "I can't believe I'm crying over a TV show. Do you know how embarrassing this is?"

"Wednes," he said calmly, "I cried, too."

She just blinked at him, distracted for the first time since the tissue bombardment had begun.

Running a hand through his hair, Lucas went on. "Yes, men aren't supposed to admit this kind of thing, but it's true. I just thanked god that John wasn't home; he'd have been all over me."

Wednesday looked away. For a moment, she gazed silently at the screen as the soundtrack started its dozenth loop of the same song. Then she picked up the remote and flicked a switch; the screen went black and quiet.

With a small sigh of relief, Lucas began to pick up the fallen tissues- only to have another one hit the small of his back. Jolting upright, he noticed the black-haired girl watching him over the back of the sofa, a wry smile on her tear-stained face. When he began to protest, she rose from the cushions and started for the hall.

"Where are you going?"

"To get the next season," came the reply. "Sit down."

"What? I have to go to bed; some friends and I are meeting for brunch tomorrow."

There was no answer, but she was back a moment later, holding a DVD case. David Tennant gazed enigmatically at Lucas from the glossy cover, and he had the sinking feeling he was going to get very little sleep that night.

Wednesday began fiddling with the DVD player. "You created a monster, Lucas- and now you have to live with the consequences."

But a few minutes later, watching the adventures of the Time Lord with his fiancée snuggled- though she'd never admit it- against him, the young man had to admit that some things were worth losing sleep for.