Chapter Text
Wednesday was rather proud of herself. She’d had a productive morning: woken up at dawn, gone through her fencing exercises, gotten ready for the day, and written ten pages of her manuscript on her typewriter. She let out a satisfied sigh as she placed the last page face down on the manuscript pile that was slowly growing taller and taller every day.
She lifted her espresso to her mouth, the second quad she’d had this morning, and took a deep breath with her eyes closed. She was in the oak-paneled office that had once been her father's, and the smell of his cigars seemed to cling to the air. She leaned back in her desk chair and appreciated the smells that surrounded her, the cigars and the oak, and the coffee; it was a moment of peace. She lifted her cup higher, but before it could reach her lips, there was a knock on the door.
Wednesday sighed again, this one a little exasperated, her moment of peace over before it had reached its peak, “Yes?”
The door cracked open, and Tyler popped his head in with a smile on his lips, “Morning,” he greeted with more chipperness than should have been possible this early in the morning.
Like her, Tyler had also been up early, answering emails on behalf of his charity, running through the forest in his Hyde form, and baking one thing or another like he did every Sunday. A little activity to tire his beast side out. But unlike her, he probably hadn’t had even a drop of caffeine. No, this chipperness came naturally to her husband in the morning. She would have killed him for it if it hadn't endeared him to her.
He stepped into her office, and Wednesday's eyes scanned him from head to toe. Ever the small-town boy, Tyler still insisted on dressing in his age-worn flannels and cotton t-shirts while at home, and while Wednesday could have argued that now that he had access to Addams' funds, he could afford to update his wardrobe, she had to admit the tantalizing way his worn jeans clung to his thighs appealed to her. It was those thighs she was currently looking at, and was wondering if there was a way to have him turn around and show her the even better view she knew was on the other side. Not only that, but today’s flannel was a lovely forest green that made the green in his hazel eyes look even more vibrant, and he had folded the cuffs, leaving his muscular forearms with his dusting of reddish hair out on display. Maybe they even had time to sneak in a session in bed before--
“The kids are up,” he said, a small smile on his face like he knew the thought that was going through her head.
Wednesday deflated a little; her plans of enticing her husband to bed were now ruined. She put her coffee down and began to load another page into her typewriter, even if she had no plans of writing until later in the evening, once the children were back in their beds.
“I’ll be sure to congratulate them. While the threat of dying in one’s sleep is slim, it’s never zero,” Wednesday told him, rising from her chair and walking towards the door to greet her criaturas this morning.
But before she could reach the door, Tyler stepped in her path. While she could have changed paths and gone around him, she didn’t, so when they collided, they were chest to chest, and Tyler’s hands had automatically gone to her arms to steady her. The smell of cinnamon from his baking and pine from his run still clung to his skin.
“Tyler Mathieu Galpin,” she said, adding a bit of mock scandal in her tone, “Are you forgetting that Ares can now open doors? While one can’t expect a one-year-old to grasp the concept of knocking, it is rather inconvenient. And you know he’s getting rather good at climbing out of his crib. We couldn’t possibly--”
“You should get your head out of the gutter,” he said, a mischievous gleam in his hazel eyes, before leaning down and capturing her lips in a kiss.
It was safe to say Wednesday wasn’t the only one with filth on the brain. She could feel as Tyler’s hands moved from her arms to her face, tilting it up to allow him more access. Likewise, Wednesday reached up and ran her fingers through his hair before pulling on it to bring him down to her level. With one last caress to her face, Tyler’s hand began to migrate back down towards her back and then even lower before they abruptly stopped and he began to pull away. When they separated, both were a little breathless.
“And you shouldn’t start things, you won’t finish,” Wednesday said, giving Tyler’s lips one last bite before moving around him to reach the door. But again, Tyler stepped in her path.
“Tyler,” she said, slightly exacerbated now, “I am going to greet my children. Get out of my way or I will make sure you will not be able to finish what you started.”
Both of his hands were up, as if she were a wild animal who might pounce. “Happy Mother’s Day,” he said abruptly, quickly like he was ripping off a bandage or setting a bone.
Wednesday froze. This was the first time he’d mentioned the day since Dahlia was a baby when she forbade him from taking part in this consumeristic fake holiday. She didn’t need reminding that she was a mother; she was the one who birthed all three. Plus, every card she had seen on display in the stores had given her a headache.
All those pastels , she shuddered.
Before she could respond, Tyler continued, “Apparently, Nyx’s teacher has been reminding the class what today is, getting them excited about it, giving them ideas of what they could do for their mothers, and Nyx got it in his head that he wants to make you breakfast in bed. He’s insisting on it.”
“We don’t celebrate Mother’s Day,” she said simply as if he had forgotten.
“Dahlia told him. He doesn’t seem to care.”
“I don’t want to eat in bed,” she rebuffed.
“I told him you probably didn’t. He thinks everyone wants to eat in their bed. Apparently, his teacher called it a ‘treat’.” Tyler could see the murder bubbling in her eyes. “I’m already planning on bringing sugar-loaded cupcakes in for the whole class on Nyx’s birthday next month. Extra frosting. I’m thinking blue buttercream.”
Wednesday was satisfied and slightly impressed with Tyler’s plan. Even she wouldn’t wish eighteen sugar-crazed preschoolers on her worst enemy. Not only that, but she was sure the blue frosting would be getting everywhere.
“Well, I’m already dressed for the day,” Wednesday stated the obvious as she looked down at the slacks and silk shirt she had chosen to wear. “What does he expect me to do? Put my nightgown back on, get back into bed, and wait for you all to present me with breakfast?” she asked incredulously.
Tyler just stared at her, and she knew that was exactly what their middle child was expecting her to do.
Wednesday wasn’t sure when she lost her edge. She thought about it as she sat in the bed she had left hours ago, back in her nightgown with her face washed and free of the bit of makeup she had applied this morning, her hair in the side braid she wore to bed.
Had it been when Dahlia was born? No, she had scared the nurse who had insisted on calling her ‘Mama’ in the most ridiculous tone of voice so badly that when Wednesday had returned for Nyx’s birth three years later, the nurse had gone home for the day.
The hospital had suggested she try a different medical facility after Nyx’s birth, even though it was their doctor who kept joking about adding an extra stitch, and all Wednesday had done was threaten to stitch his mouth closed. Based on the looks the rest of the hospital staff were giving him, she didn't think they would mind having him silent.
And just last week, when she had gone to pick up Dahlia alone from ballet instead of with Tyler, Brit, the ballet teacher, had practically run from the room, leaving the parent she had been talking to mid-conversation. All Wednesday had done was remind dear Brit that her husband was exactly that: her husband . Not someone she could slip her phone number to in bubbly cursive writing on a pink post-it note with his wife five feet away.
No, she realized proudly, while motherhood had softened her edges, she was just as sharp as ever. It was only her family who could turn her blade just right to get the blunt end of her, everyone else would surely need stitches.
“T-Rex incoming!” Tyler said from the other side of the bedroom door.
The door suddenly opened, and Ares came toddling in, his little arms raised slightly above his raven-haired curls for balance, looking much like the dinosaur his father had called out, with Tyler holding a loaded breakfast tray following right at the baby’s heels. After Tyler, one by one they came, the last two remaining members of the family Tyler and her had created. First, Dahlia, holding a small flower vase with a singular black dahlia in it, and then, the mastermind of this whole operation, Nyx.
He came in slowly, careful not to drop the cup of espresso that was in his two hands. He was staring intently at it, as if daring it to try and slip out of his hand. He was so focused, Wednesday could see a bit of his little pink tongue sticking out.
Tyler set up the tray on her lap, and on it she could see her usual breakfast: plain steel-cut oats, two eggs, and some toast with black nightshade jam. Off to the side, there was a small bowl with berries in it and a small plate with a piece of freshly made cinnamon bread with raisins.
Ares had reached the edge of the bed and raised his arms even higher, letting out a line of screamed gibberish, wanting to be lifted onto the bed. Wednesday reached over and granted his request, placing him in bed next to her.
“Good morning, my little hellion,” Wednesday greeted the baby, who immediately focused on the berries on the tray and began to gobble them down.
“Good morning, Mother,” Dahlia said as she placed her flower offering on the tray. “Happy Mo--,” she began, but upon seeing her mother’s serious face, thought better of it. “Never mind.” She leaned down closer to Wednesday and talked in a lower tone, conscious of Nyx right behind her, “I tried to tell him.”
Wednesday placed a hand on her daughter’s caramel curls. “I’ll survive, Beastie,” she told her eldest with a small smile on her face.
Dahlia smiled back and stepped aside to allow Nyx forward. As carefully as he could, Nyx handed Wednesday the espresso. Once it was in her hands, he grinned at her, so proud of himself that Wednesday ignored the burn on her thigh from where he had spilled a bit of the hot liquid.
“Happy Mother’s Day, Momma!” Nyx climbed up on the bed and settled on the side where his little brother was not currently enjoying his third strawberry. “Do you like it? It was my idea! Papa and Lia helped, but it was my idea.”
Wednesday pushed the black locks of hair that had escaped his braid out of his face, “Thank you, Ghoul. It was,” she tried to find a word to describe what she was feeling without lying to the child. “Unexpected.”
Nyx smiled even wider before reaching over to where Tyler had placed a white envelope on the nightstand. “For you. I made it.”
Wednesday prepared herself for whatever pastel monstrosity was inside, but instead, what greeted her was a piece of black folded-up construction paper. The words ‘Happy Mother’s Day’ were spelled out at the top with letters cut out of magazines, and in the center, there appeared to be a drawing of an anatomically correct heart made out of red paper with dried red glitter glue oozing out of the aorta. It looked like a kidnapper’s ransom note. Wednesday loved it.
“Open it!” Nyx demanded.
The inside of the card, which was lined with white paper, had more bloody glitter hearts along with drawings of the whole family. Her and Tyler with little Ares in his arms, Dahlia and Nyx chasing each other with axes. Thing was there, and so was her mother and father, and there was even a tall boy without a head.
“That’s Uncle Pugsley. You chopped off his head!” Nyx pointed to a blob that Wednesday was holding in the drawing.
“Do you like it?” Nyx asked again. This time, his voice was soft and a bit timid.
“I do, Nyx. It’s perfect.” Wednesday responded without hesitating. And this time it was the complete truth.
Her son looked absolutely content with himself as he reached over and grabbed a piece of toast with jam and started to eat it. Figuring that it was a free-for-all, Dahlia reached over to cut off a piece of the cinnamon bread.
“It has raisins,” Wednesday told her, which caused Dahlia to retract her hand, a look of disgust on her face.
Wednesday wasn’t sure at what point Tyler had left the room, but he was now walking back through the door with another plate in his hand, along with his own cup of coffee.
“One piece of cinnamon bread sans raisins for the little mademoiselle ,” he said, handing Dahlia the plate.
“ Merci, Papa,” she replied as she settled on the foot of the bed to eat her treat.
And Tyler, not one to be left out, went to sit on his side of the bed, where Ares had moved on to the egg on the plate, and sipped on his coffee.
“Last night, your mother and I discussed which of us would be higher on the FBI Most Wanted List. Your mother thinks she’d be higher, but I disagree. Thoughts?”
“Mother’s higher,” Dahlia said without hesitating.
Nyx nods, “You’d make a mess, Papa.”
Even Ares spoke up, his baby gibberish making Wednesday’s heart warm.
Dahlia leaned down to get closer to her brother, “What was that, Ares? Did you say that the only reason Papa wasn’t caught sooner was because Pop Don was in denial? I agree.”
Tyler gave their children a look of mock hurt, causing an eruption of giggles from all three of them.
Wednesday was content. Now, what she needed to do was plan what was going to happen to Tyler on Father’s Day.