Chapter Text
Wednesday Addams was not a nervous person. It simply didn't suit her. But as she brushed her hair in front of her boudoir, she wondered what that flicker of uncertainty that ran through her facial expression was.
It was due to the unusual circumstance of her plans tonight, nothing more, she decided.
Even as she swept the Azaleas gathered on her desk into her bag.
What to bring, what to bring.
It was only the fifth encounter of it's kind, being nervous was reasonable wasn't it? Yes, she was rather sure it was.
She was traveling light tonight, her bag only filled with her first edition of 'The Picture of Dorian Gray', the Azaleas and her travel sized bottle of arsenic. That was all she'd need for tonight. She looped the bag onto her shoulder and made her way onto the veranda, humming the tune she had heard her singing on the first night she found her in the graveyard.
It was colder than usual, at least 10 degrees below zero, and the only reason she was staying still long enough to feel it was because she could have sworn she had heard something in the wind, something quiet and lilting. Had she imagined it? Perhaps Grandma's inherited auditory hallucinations were finally beginning to show themselves. Only one way to find out, she supposed, following the sound. She was at a different cemetery, trying to spice things up.
The family one was fine, but one needs a change every once in a while.
She was coming closer to it now, the sound strengthening, words coming into focus. It sounded old, like the 1930s bops.
"I don't want to set the world... on... fire..." A pause, the lyrics clearly being muttered in between something. "I just want to start... A flame in your heart..."
She remembered distinctly, her own stillness, as the words replaced her thinking, the softness of the singing something unusually welcomed. She had crept even closer, to just behind the huge tomb the person was sitting against, until she stepped out quite suddenly, pointing one of her knives at the newcomer, who was staring at her with wide eyes, one earphone falling out of he ear. Her heart was beating hard, even as she spoke smoothly.
"So who are you, and why are you in a graveyard."
"Ah! L-Lydia Deetz... Jeez, is a knife necessary?"
She considered.
"No, I suppose not." She admitted, pocketing the it and turning back. It was shocking. Wednesday observes rather contentedly that she looks like she won't make fun of my skull collection... stupid Kelly." She thought aside, sullen still. "Do you come here often?" This made the other girl-'Lydia' scrunch her nose a little, smiling.
"Nice pick up line for a graveyard I suppose."
"Pick-up line?"
"Is that not what it was?"
"Not intentionally, by any means."
"Oh, so a Freudian slip then?"
And, suddenly, her face felt hot, and... filled with blood?
"You said your name was Lydia, yes?"
"It still is, yes."
" Do you come here often? None of the people at my school have ever shown an interest in graveyards."
"Well, I suppose it is rather novel of me. I appreciate the company, instead of the people at my own school."
"Are they unpleasant?"
"Are they at yours." A statement, not a question.
"Point made..." She said, staring at her, this odd girl. Deciding in that moment, she wanted to know more about her.
Their encounter had settled into something more familiar soon after, and by the end of the night, Wednesday felt she had known her, her entire existence. She understood where the other teens sneered. It was only a little overwhelming, Wednesday was never overwhelmed or subject to emotion too wholly, thank goodness. It was simply the fact of being understood, nothing more. She turned onto the grand staircase, only to pull back suddenly. For her parents stood at the bottom, arms crossed.
'This should be a delight.' She thought to herself, releasing a long internal sigh, as she began again down the stairs.
"Mother, Father, is something the matter? I'm going to the graveyard across the fields."
Her Mother started first.
"Nothing wrong per say darling, we're just a little concerned." She turned to Gomez. "Would you care to explain, dearest." Her father coughed.
"Oh course, Tish. Wednesday, your mother and I have noticed you're a little... And I use this word with great hesitation... happy, recently... And we're both a little worried on your behalf... You haven't been... meeting with other children that are... not like us from school, have you?" He stopped, and his look was one of pure concern, no malicious intent behind it. Wednesday sighed.
"I have in fact been meeting with someone." Her parents gasped. "But, I assure you, they would not disappoint you. She's... like us."
Her parents' shoulders relaxed slightly.
"You're sure?" Her father asked.
"I am."
A reflective puff of his cigar.
"Well, I see no issue with this, as long as you don't find yourself experiencing more mundane feelings, right Tish?"
"Yes, That sounds about right. Have you, Wednesday?"
She thought about the blood rushing to her cheeks alone with Lydia.
"No, nothing of the sort." She said. "May I leave?" Her parents separated for her, and she dipped her head at both of them as she left, bading them farewell.
Pushing the doors into the cold night air had never felt so liberating, The air swept around her, sensing her need to feel something. She loved this house, and it's inhabitants, but by all the old gods, could they be stifling. It was rare, but in moments like these she knew with such certainty she could never live here all her life.
She kept a brisk pace, the graveyard was rather far. They had agreed midnight, as it was a rather pleasant time. Not too late to be overtired for a meeting, but not so early to see sunlight bleeding out on the horizon either. Though, with the oncoming winter solstice, it darkened quickly nowadays.
She could see the cemetery in the distance, the wrought iron gates standing tall and proud, piercing the clouds in their hubris, when their only job was to protect the dead.
'And they're not too awfully grateful for it, are they.' Wednesday thought to herself. Still, they served as havens for people who walked the line between the living and the dead as well, she supposed.
She wondered if the flowers were too much.
She hoped Lydia hadn't learned any flower language.
But, a part of her wished she had.
Because then, in between the petals, she could read the hidden longing in Wednesday, that dared not show itself in words. At this stage in their encounters, it was nothing serious, but nothing had been like that in the first place.
Well, Joel had been close. But their encounter had been brief, and now he was half-way across the country.
She hoped he was doing well.
She wanted it to mean something. She wanted to know Lydia, know all about her, and to be known.
She felt that would be the most terrifying and exhilarating thing of her life.
The gates were close now, she could see the rust on them. She stole in, keeping the creaking of the gates as minimized as possible. Her confidence leaked out of her feet with every step. The tomb drew up closer to her, and she held her bag close, as comfort or distraction, she wasn't quite sure. She saw the choppy black hair peaking out at the corner, and rounded the corner to see her leaned over a book, the margins well scribbled with annotations. She looked up at the footsteps.
"Why, good evening, Wednesday Addams."
"Good evening Lydia Deetz." She replied back, a questioning look dancing on her face, as she settled besides her. She thanked anyone listening that reflex kicked in upon her answering, and it had came out smoothly. "What have you been reading?"
She held up the cover, with a shy grin that may have stopped any cognitive thought in Wednesday. It was 'Oliver Twist'
Wednesday thought about the library's collection of first edition Dickens.
"Do... Do you enjoy Dickens?" She asked tentatively, not wanting it to sound forced.
"Immensely. He rips apart the bourgeoisie every few paragraphs, and I appreciate that. I must have read through his entire published works during that first year of high school." She looked down. "I was very sad that year. And the year after, actually. I think Dickens helped me appreciate the odd cruelness of life, and how there are fun assorted moments of unexpected chase that can take you away from such a reality." She looked up at Wednesday then. "Pardon, I seem to have gone on a tangent." She apologized, fiddling her fingers on the pages of her book.
"Not at all." Wednesday exclaimed, before receding her energy, her cold mask back in place "R-rather, I think that to survive life at it's cruelest lets you appreciate life for it's kindness even where... where the kindness is not so obvious at first."
Lydia smiled sadly at that.
"How dreadfully romantic a notion. Do... do you like Edgar Allen Poe, by chance?" She asked her.
"I do, I think he had horror as a literary genre down cold." A laugh, loud and unabashed. "He did didn't he? A gothic king."
Lydia shifted from her position then, turning her legs in Wednesday's direction, and laying her read on the stone behind her to glance at her. Wednesday shed away at the eye contact, not trusting herself to hold it.
"Wednesday?" Lydia spoke, he voice clear, the question in it cutting straight across the air.
"Yes?" She answered, near immediately.
"Do I make you uncomfortable?"
A pause.
Then a confused few blinks.
Her mouth opened and closed.
Had her appearance been so stoic it had been mistaken for being uncomfortable? Had she offended her?
She wasn't uncomfortable in her presence, not in the slightest. It was the most relaxed she had been in someone else's company for a while. Did... did she fail to convey that?
She reached for Lydia's hands, which were knotting themselves again imbued with quiet new confidence in the face of such a misunderstanding.
"Not at all." she murmured, shifting herself to face her better. "I can't begin to impress upon you the contrary nature of reality." She reached a hand out to raise Lydia's face towards her, before quickly drawing her hand back, suddenly unsure. But Lydia stayed where Wednesday's hand had left her, her expression shining, lips parted ever so slightly.
And, gently, but with an unsourced sense of certainty, Wednesday leaned in to meet them, Lydia closing her eyes as she anticipated her movements.
They stayed liked that only a second, pulling away to gauge the other's reaction.
"Did I misjudge?" Wednesday whispered.
"You did not." Came the reply, from half lidded eyes and held breath. She leaned in this time, and their lips connected again. Suddenly everything was shifting, their legs and their hands, reaching up to meet the other's, never getting close enough. They broke apart for air, gasping slightly, as they looked at each other. Lydia grinned, and pointed up at the tomb they were under. "You think 'Angelica Martins minds us making out in front of her tomb."
"I'm sure she's just glad to see something happening."
"Maybe I should ask."
Wednesday grinned at that.
"Maybe you should."
A pause.
"You know, I'm sure she's fine." Lydia said, waving in dismissal.
Wednesday sighed.
"All that peace and quiet, I'm sure she is."
Lydia sneaked a look at her wistful face.
"The living world is loud sometimes, isn't it" She asked, quite genuinely.
Wednesday raised her head.
"Yes" She said, quirking her mouth. "It is."
Lydia considered a moment.
"Would you be free to come for tea at my house someday soon?" She asked.
"... I'd love to" came the whispered reply.
Wednesday rose to her feet then, brushing off the grave dirt. "But I really should go. My parents were concerned I was beginning to enjoy the company of the unsavory varieties, so they should be awaiting my arrival. Oh. I nearly forgot, I brought you some flowers from my family gardens," She reached in to grab them, and, placing them on her lap gently, she stood and turned, but a hand caught her own. Lydia gazed up at her from the ground.
"If you can come, I'm free Saturday at six. It's the tall house at the edge of town just over the river, you can't miss it." She murmured, her eyes trying to convey more than her words.
Wednesday knelt down on her heels
"I wouldn't miss it" She uttered, her face open and sincere. Before she stood, and vanished between the graves.