Chapter Text
The funeral was held on a gray, cloudy morning- perfect seance weather. As much as she enjoyed an excuse to clad herself in black and stand in a graveyard, Morticia Frump desperately wished she was at home practicing her hexes. She was expected to socialize here, to commiserate with the many people who knew the victim of this brutal murder, but Balthazar Addams meant nothing more to her than a dead pile of flesh. Such a shame that this was her very first funeral. She had been hoping to feel something. As her mother opened her arms to embrace a sobbing Eudora Addams, she felt a firm jab in her side.
"Morticia. Go on and pay your respects," Ophelia whispered, giving her sister a gentle push towards the open grave.
"I have nothing to say," Morticia reminded her, a small frown forming on her lips. A tall man in a top hat advanced towards the grave in her place, and she let out a sigh of relief.
"Mention that the Addams family is incredibly important to mother," Ophelia encouraged. "And that you wish Balthazar safe passage on to the next life."
Morticia shook her head. "That's beautiful, but you can say that when you pay your respects."
Ophelia rolled her eyes slightly. She opened her mouth to make a snappy retort, but stopped, eyes locked on something in the distance. "Oh no. Don't look."
She did look, and what Morticia saw took her breath away. On the other side of the grave stood a broad-shouldered man who was impeccably groomed- his hair was combed flat to his head, his jet black suit was crisp, and his face was cleanly shaven save for the handsome pencil mustache sitting above his upper lip. He looked into the grave with glittering brown eyes, tightening a scarf around his neck like a noose as if it wasn’t the middle of July. Despite the gravity of the situation, she noticed a small smile spread across his face, and he chuckled to himself, puffing casually at a long brown cigar.
She was immediately attracted to him.
"Morticia!" Ophelia scolded. "I said don't! "
"My apologies," Morticia murmured, her attention straying from her sister with every second she looked at him. "Who is that man?"
Ophelia let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "That," she muttered, "is Gomez Addams. Not only is he someone that Mother has suggested that I marry , but he happens to be one of the suspects ."
As her sister spoke his name, the man across the grave lifted his head.
They locked eyes.
Morticia froze.
He removed the cigar from his lips, coughing slightly as he exhaled a cloud of dark smoke. Comforting, she thought, that he was as shocked by her as she was by him.
Compelled by something magnetic within her, she advanced towards the grave.
"I've told Mother that I won't marry him until his name is cleared, but she thinks I'll be fine either way. Of course, I will, because if he tries anything I'll kill him first, but it would be nice if- hey!" Ophelia glared at her sister, who had not been listening to a word she was saying. "Morticia, hold on a minute!"
Deaf to her sister's pleas, she stopped in front of the grave, and directly across from the devilish debonair. Neither of them spoke, neither of them addressed the corpse at their feet. It was as if the rest of the world had fallen away. Slowly, he lowered his cigar, jaw hanging slack. He was truly beautiful. She tried desperately to still her hammering heart, her hand resting just below the collar of her black dress. His pupils dilated. Her heart beat faster still.
Those wild, glittering brown eyes.
They reminded her of something.
The event was much like any other that his mother had dragged him to- a loud, lavish party full of rich strangers milling about, dancing with each other to a live orchestra in a way that was cartoonishly stilted. Garish white and powder blue table settings, false, pasted-on smiles next to stained glass windows, caricatures of genuine interest... but all that really mattered to them was their business ventures. It was enough to make one want to drop dead- enough for him, anyhow.
His sister seemed to think otherwise.
“Laertes!” she squealed, dragging him onto the crowded dance floor. “This song- I’ve heard this one before! Pachelbel's Canon! Do you hear it?”
“Yes,” he deadpanned, not meeting her eyes. “I wish it would shoot me.”
“Oh, you’re no fun!”
Laertes let out a deep sigh. “Our ideas of fun are very, very different, Ophelia."
Ophelia pouted. “Come on! Don’t be sour just because this is an adult party- that’s exactly why it’s exciting!” She adjusted the daisies tangled in her blonde braids, pushing them so they resembled a neat wreath. “And besides- Mother isn’t the only one who brought her children with her. I’m hoping to find a nice boy to fall in love with!” She batted her eyelashes, earning her a soft chuckle from her brother.
“Good luck with that,” Laertes replied, folding his arms delicately. “Most of the boys here look older than Great Grandpa Frump. And he’s been dead for ages.”
“Not all of them! What about… uh… hmm… no, that man does look dead. Um... oh! That one?”
Ophelia pointed to a small figure, the back of their head just barely visible from behind a tall dinner table. Definitely short enough to be another child. After peering around several dancing couples, the two siblings observed the figure lift their head and emerge from behind the table. The ruffles of the deep red dress and the pair of stiff black pigtails made Ophelia’s face fall.
“Darn. It’s a girl.”
“Pity.” Laertes turned to leave, hoping to find some nice, dark corner to brood in, but his sister quickly grabbed his arm.
“Oh, but Laertes,” she said, an enormous grin on her face. “Since it’s a girl… I think you should talk to her.”
Laertes wrinkled his nose in distaste. “No.”
“Come on! Maybe she’ll dance with you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“But she seems pretty.”
“I don’t like girls,” Laertes mumbled, folding his arms tightly to his chest.
“Father says you just haven’t found the right one yet,” Ophelia insisted.
Laertes tried desperately to slip away, but his sister’s grip was one of iron. The look in her eyes made him realize that if he did not give in, he would soon find himself on the floor. Her judo lessons had turned her into quite the formidable person to argue with.
“Fine…”
Ophelia squealed with delight. “Hooray! Oh, you won’t regret this Laertes, I promise!” She hiked up her frilly white dress with one hand, and firmly pushed her brother with the other, swiftly making her way across the dance floor. “I’ll just put you two together- oh, it’s like I’m a matchmaker! And then- and then I’ll find my own boy to dance with, and we’ll probably fall in love, and he’ll marry me forever and ever!” She continued guiding his reluctant body until he was face to face with the girl in pigtails, and before he could make a sarcastic retort, Ophelia had disappeared into the crowd.
Laertes turned back slowly, staring awkwardly at the girl in front of him. Suddenly very self-conscious, he smoothed down the front of his black velvet suit jacket.
“Hello.” The girl in the red dress cocked her head, her pigtails flopping to the side. She had a round face, skin far tanner than his or Ophelia’s, and the wildest brown eyes he had ever seen. “I didn’t know there were other children here.”
“My mother dragged me here,” Laertes explained. “Me and my sister both- but she just left.” He sighed. “She’s crazy, and wants me to fall in love with you at first sight, but I won’t. I don’t like girls at all.”
Despite his bluntness, the girl in front of him began to smile. This smile, he noticed, was nothing like the sick, false smiles of the businessmen surrounding them. This one was real. “Well, that’s perfect,” she said jovially. “I don’t like boys one bit.”
Laertes blinked for a moment, then gave her a slow nod of understanding. It was not often that he met someone who did not shrink at his cold demeanor, and this girl had not only stepped up, but there was something in her that he recognized within himself. He was suddenly desperate to know her, to look further into this mirror he had never been provided with. He extended his hand. “I’m Laertes.” His own name had always sounded so foreign on his tongue, but he said it anyway, hoping he would receive the girl’s name in return.
“Anjelica,” she replied, firmly shaking his hand. She spoke her name with the same hesitation he did. “Pleased to make your a quaint sense.”
“Acquaintance,” he corrected.
“Hm?”
“You said- you were trying to say acquaintance.”
“I was.” Anjelica paused, then flashed him another all too genuine grin. “But if you want, we can skip straight to being friends instead. It’s much easier to say.”
A small, amused smile crept onto Laertes’ face. Perhaps this girl would help him pass the time in a way that was somewhat enjoyable. “I’d like that.”
Only forty-five minutes into the party, and the two children had already discovered they had quite a lot in common. The two ten year olds both had quite the affinity for all things morbid, something no adult- or child, for that matter- had previously allowed Laertes to indulge in. Anjelica, however, spoke of black widows with incredible reverence, and was overjoyed to hear that Laertes had seen one in real life.
“Mother pulled me away when I told her it was there,” he told her, perched on the edge of an empty chair. “But it wasn’t going to hurt me. It was only sitting there, being pretty.” He sighed. “I wish that I could be a spider.”
“You said you have a sister, right? So long as she has two arms and two legs, you should take them, and sew them onto yourself. Then you can make yourself into a sort of spider-person,” Anjelica suggested with a small smirk.
Laertes laughed. “That would be funny... I could never get away with it, though.” He sighed, remembering all of the times he had tried to pluck the dark hairs from his own arms and legs to match Ophelia’s. “Let’s not talk about my sister.”
“Okay. We can talk about more bugs instead,” Anjelica offered, fidgeting idly with one of her pigtails. “Like maggots. Ever seen maggots eating dead flesh? The way they move is very interesting.”
“No, but I’d like to,” Laertes replied thoughtfully. “I’ve been reading about the process of decay, but I don’t get a lot of chances to see it up close.” He paused. “I’ve never met a girl who likes bugs and things as much as you.”
Anjelica shrugged at him, leaning back in her chair. “Well, I’ve never met a boy who calls spiders pretty.”
“Hm. That’s fair.”
“It’s not a bad thing, though. It’s easier to talk to a boy who talks like a girl.”
Laertes’ heart began to beat at twice its usual speed. He had expected the comment to humiliate him, but the way she said it was so gentle that it made him feel safer than ever. “Do I really talk like a girl?”
“A little. You have a soft voice. It’s really not a bad thing, though. My father says I talk like a boy.”
Laertes smiled slightly, smoothing down his hair. “You sort of do.”
Anjelica beamed at him. “Good.” She swung her legs happily, staring out a tall window. “Do you see the graveyard outside?”
Laertes followed her gaze, and sure enough, there were several decorative headstones in the distance, framed delicately by the stained glass archway. “I do.”
Anjelica leaned towards him, her eyes wide and her grin stretching across her round face. “Do you want to go there?”
The pair of them snuck past all the adults, past the wide dance floor, and out the door to the wide expanse of land beside the church the party was held in. The waxing moon hung overhead, and the faint sound of the live orchestra drifted along with them as they walked amongst the graves.
"I have a graveyard in my backyard," Anjelica stated, brushing her hand over a particularly large headstone. "It may even be larger than this one."
"Do you bury family there?" Laertes asked.
Anjelica nodded. "Only family. It's so we can keep them all close."
"That sounds nice," Laertes murmured, idly running a finger over the smooth granite of the same headstone. He paused, his finger lingering over the name carved into the cold stone. "Do you ever think about dying, Anjelica?"
"Of course. Did you know that there are almost a hundred and twenty deaths around the world every single minute? Someone is dying right now, as we speak." She paused. "And now. And also now. They're dropping like flies."
Laertes hummed thoughtfully. "Yes, yes… but I meant your death. Do you ever think about what will happen when you die?"
Anjelica nodded slowly, taking on a much more serious expression. "Yes. All the time." There was more she wanted to say about it, but she couldn't seem to find the words.
"So do I," Laertes told her. "I have detailed funeral plans."
"You do?" Anjelica's smile returned. "Will you tell me about them?"
Laertes beamed. No one had ever been interested in his funeral plans before. "I will die young and tragically," he began. "Before I ever get the chance to become a man. I will be buried under a headstone without a name decorated with all sorts of carvings of thorns. Every flower left at my grave will wither and die, until they are all just as I like them. The entire family will cry, and Mother will deliver a eulogy. I will be buried in a black coffin, and my corpse will wear a black veil so when people look into my open casket they will have to reach inside and lift it to see my face."
Laertes paused, glancing over at Anjelica. Her sparkling brown eyes were wide, and her mouth hung open slightly. "Wow," she murmured, clearly having savored every word. "That sounds beautiful."
Despite the cool night air, Laertes' cheeks began to feel warm. "Do you really think so?"
"Definitely." Anjelica nodded. She looked deep in thought. "I never really thought to plan my funeral. But I have planned my death. I'll also die young." She chewed on her lip gently, looking up at the moon. "I want to go out in a blaze of glory. I want to die with a sword in my hand, and I want to be defending my family from some horrible, horrible people." As she spoke, she began to pace, lifting her hand as if she did indeed hold a sword in it. "They'll try to steal our fortune, but I won't let them. I'll slash their throats!" She flung her arm to the side, snarling at her invisible enemies. "And the leader, I'll stab him a hundred times in the chest!" This sentence was punctuated with several swift stabbing motions, and a ferocious look on her face. "But right before he dies… he'll grab me! And he'll pull out a dagger, and- and-" she fell to her knees, clutching at her chest. "And use his dying breath to cut out my heart!" She collapsed on the ground dramatically, lolling her tongue out, choking, sputtering, coughing, before falling completely still.
Laertes applauded, and Anjelica sprang to her feet, grinning and bowing to him. "Thank you! Thank you!"
"That was amazing," he told her, a small smile on his lips. "You'll die a hero."
"That's the plan!"
"And you'll have a big headstone, all on its own at the center of the graveyard."
Anjelica's face fell slightly, but still she nodded. "Yeah. Big, and all on its own."
The two children leaned against the granite slab beside them, neither saying a word. They each felt they knew one another far better now, and though they both hoped to learn more, a brief moment of silence seemed appropriate. The music coming from inside slowly shifted, and Laertes lifted his head, swaying to it in recognition.
"Moonlight Sonata," he murmured, breaking the silence with his gentle voice. "I know this one."
"So do I," Anjelica replied, looking through the window at the party inside. "It's in a minor key, you know. Songs are prettier that way."
Laertes smiled, closing his eyes as the faint music washed over him. "I think so too."
He opened his eyes to Anjelica staring at him in quiet reverence. It startled him, the way she was looking, big, brown eyes reflecting the half-moon in the sky. Those eyes… they were always open wide enough that he feared they might suck him in. This fear was not something he was accustomed to. He prided himself in being brave enough to face anything, calm enough to weather any storm. His mother always said that he rolled with the punches, but this punch hit harder somehow. There was so much feeling behind it. He squinted at Anjelica, as if to combat her extreme, and she laughed.
"You look like you want to murder me."
Laertes averted his gaze, a bit embarrassed that his thoughts had manifested on his face. "I don't. That's just how I always look."
Anjelica hummed thoughtfully. "It suits you, I think." She extended a hand. "Well, if you're not going to murder me… do you want to dance?"
It was now Laertes' turn to have wide eyes. "Dance?" he echoed.
"We don't have to if you don't want to… but I've been learning to waltz," Anjelica explained.
"I can't waltz. I don't know how."
"I'll teach you."
He hesitated for a moment. Wherever she was, Ophelia must be whooping and hollering, overjoyed that her matchmaking had somehow worked. Of course, it hadn't really. Anjelica was only asking to show off her skill to a new friend. He suddenly realized that he could not be seen with her, lest his sister assume they were involved somehow. He despised the notion that he would develop a crush on a girl at a party, just because he was a boy. But here, out in the graveyard, no one was there to judge them. She wouldn't judge either, not even if he made a fool of himself.
And he did want to learn how to waltz.
"Okay." He extended his hand, long, cold fingers entangling themselves with short, warm ones. "How do we start?"
Anjelica positioned Laertes' free hand on her back, resting just above the bow of her red dress. "You lead." She took one step backwards. "Just step forward with your left foot." Laertes obliged. "Now to the right, with both feet. Close your legs, like this. And there's a rhythm- one, two, three, one, two three..."
In demonstrating how to lead, Anjelica had become the leader. Laertes watched her instructions closely, and he noted that the dance may go far more smoothly if their roles were reversed.
"You should lead," he suggested, completing the box step after her demonstration.
Anjelica stopped in her tracks. "Me? But… father told me the boy always leads."
"I want you to be the boy," Laertes insisted. "I'll be the girl. You know the dance better anyways, I'll just follow you."
A slow smile spread across Anjelica's face, and she seemed to stand a little taller. This smile was tentative, far less eager than her usual grins, as if she was afraid to be too excited. Either way, it was perfectly clear that she was more than comfortable with the suggestion. "Okay." She moved Laertes' hand to rest on her shoulder, and pressed her palm to the back of his velvet suit jacket. "Here- we'll start on the next beat."
She led the waltz expertly, and with each step, Anjelica and Laertes grew more confident. Soon, they were dancing around headstones, spinning from grave to grave with the biggest smiles on their faces.
"You learn fast," Anjelica commented, clearly quite pleased.
"Only because you lead well," Laertes replied. He did not remember ever having smiled this long. It made his face hurt. "You're good at being a gentleman."
Anjelica's eyes shone with adoration, her grin stretching across the whole of her face. The compliment clearly had given her a boost in confidence, because she began to lead Laertes into a dip he was not quite prepared for.
"Oh- wait!"
His legs slipped out from under him, and he fell hard on his back into the dirt. Anjelica quickly followed, knocking the wind out of him when she landed.
"Sorry, sorry!" Anjelica scrambled off of him, pressing her back against the nearest cross shaped headstone. She looked absolutely mortified.
Laertes, however, was unfazed. With a sister like Ophelia, it would take more than that to knock him down for good. He began to laugh, brushing dirt out of his hair. "Warn me next time. I didn't learn that move."
Anjelica let out a sheepish chuckle. "Sorry," she said again. "I got carried away." She brushed the dirt off of the knees of her white stockings. It had already stained them, but she didn't seem to care. "If it makes you feel any better, you fell very gracefully."
Laertes gave her an amused smile. "Did I?"
"Oh, yes!" Anjelica beamed. "You went like this-" She stood and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, only to dramatically fall backwards into the dirt again. When she lifted her head, her face was smudged with soil. The pair of them burst into peals of laughter. Laertes genuinely could not remember ever having this much fun at such a boring party. Hell, he could hardly remember having this much fun with anyone at all, even his sister. Perhaps he could see Anjelica again sometime, maybe when there wasn’t some ridiculous event going on. Mother was always going on about how he should be making more friends. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted when Anjelica's uncontrollable laughter became a coughing fit.
"Anjelica!" He lifted the short girl to a sitting position, patting her gently on the back. She shook for a moment, letting out coughs that seemed to rattle in her lungs, then hacked up a terrible wad of phlegm into the dirt.
"Ugh. I guess it's too cold out."
"Are you alright?"
Anjelica nodded, spitting more phlegm onto the ground. "Yeah. 'M fine. Just my bronchitis, that's all."
Laertes raised his eyebrows. "You have bronchitis?" Though it was unwise, he leaned closer. Viruses and diseases were something he was quite fascinated by. "How did you get it?"
"I'm not sure," she admitted. "Feels like I’ve had it forever, actually." Another round of coughing caused her to shake. "It's usually not so bad. The cold just makes it worse."
Laertes stood and pulled Anjelica to her feet. “Come inside, then.”
Anjelica scowled. “Absolutely not. I never get this much time outside. I’m not wasting my time in some stuffy church full of adults.” Another cough. “Just… just a little longer.”
The pleading look in her eyes made Laertes realize just how important this moment was for her. Standing on either side of this grave, the pair of them were in their own little world. There were no expectations. No one to disappoint. Anjelica would risk her health for that sort of freedom, and as Laertes looked at her, he realized that he would as well. Though he treasured the solace of his time alone, brooding in the dark, he had always wanted friends other than his sunshine-y sister. He never seemed to find the right people- never seemed to fit their strict mold, but now he had a friend who matched him perfectly. If he played his cards right, she would stay. He couldn't let anyone ruin that for him.
"All right. Just a little longer."
Morticia blinked, a sharp sob behind her jolting her back to reality. She had been staring. She quickly glanced down at the corpse and muttered something akin to paying her respects- that his life had been valued and his death was a momentous occasion (which was a lie). Gomez Addams, mysterious devil that he was, began to laugh again from across the grave.
God, that laugh.
If he was indeed a murderer, the lives he took must find new purpose in his laughter, for it was such a hearty sound that it brought warmth to her pale cheeks.
Glancing up at her, he tapped at his cigar, letting the ash fall into the grave. Balthazar's pale face was suddenly speckled with gray.
"Ashes to ashes." He chuckled at his own joke, eyes sparkling with mischief- and then he choked on the smoke of his cigar. Clearing his throat with several deep, rattling coughs, he turned away, and Morticia was left standing at the grave alone.
How strange, she thought, that a man like him made her long for her childhood. How strange that she longed for it at all, now that she had worked tirelessly for twenty-two years just to become herself. But perhaps it was companionship that she was seeking, that same recognition that she had shared with the girl in the church graveyard, and many times afterwards. The recognition of a girl who, with no effort at all, could become a perfect gentleman.
Gomez Addams was not that sort of man, no, but for a moment, she wished he was.