Wednesday Addams was a creature who was able to move with little noise. Pugsley was heavy and cumbersome and he often made more noise than necessary. Pubert was flamboyant and loud at the best and irritating at the worst, but Wednesday was silence personified.

Menacing, dangerous.

Her siblings were abed, or at least she imagined they were. Pubert was probably asleep, but she knew Pugsley spent many hours stuffing the game and kill for his blooming taxidermy business. He would not emerge from his room. It meant the coast was clear, and she knew that Lucas would be waiting for her. And her parent's wing was at the other side of the house, a thing for which she had been eternally grateful for from a very young age.

She descended the stairs quickly, pulling her heavy woollen coat around her body and pushing her bow into her chest. She always carried her bow; out of absolute habit. She reached the bottom of the stairs, expecting silence, but instead she was met with the muted,soft mutter of voices. She turned slowly in the lobby, noticing the study door was ajar.

Her parent's evidently weren't abed.

Ordinarily, in this situation, Wednesday would have moved as swiftly as she could have out of their general space. It wasn't that she didn't love them, or their company, just that she didn't particularly enjoy the discomfort of catching them in flagrante delicto. This, she mused with utter horror, had happened more times to her than it would have to the average America child. But it didn't sound like that, there was none of the moans and cries that accompanied that sort of encounter. This was different.

She sidled up against the wall, sliding noiselessly across the rich, hand-painted paper until her hip pressed against the phone table that stayed just outside her father's study. But from there, she couldn't quite hear. She was not sure what was possessing her – she felt no urgent need to understand the ins and outs of her parent's conversations. If they had caught her, she would not know how to respond. She was above spying yet the urge to know what they were saying was, for the preposterous time-being, overwhelming all of her logic.

She slid around the curve of the French-polished surface, slotting her unhealthily thin body between the door frame and the leg. From here she could see her father's desk. She had always, from a very young age, been amazed by the neat and tidy desk from which her father worked. Piles of symmetrically organised paper, little notes here and there, had always seemed such a distant thing from the hysterical, comical and flighty man that she had grown up with. She had always thought, rather oddly, that the desk looked more like it suited her mother than her father.

He was sitting behind the desk, fingering one of the neat piles of paper until a number of documents were curling up at the edges. Her mother was perched on the surface, her back towards Wednesday. There was something unreal about this situation. Her mother's back was curved, shoulder slumped forward and defeated. Her father was staring at her, hard.

Her father reached out the hand that had been resting on the pile of paper, "But you're being unreasonable too, Morticia," he muttered to his wife. There was anger in his voice, slow, deliberate annoyance.

Her mother nodded her head and a soft, almost tiny sob escaped her lips. Wednesday could not see her, but she knew that the sob would have made a monster of the delicate, aqualine face.

Wednesday startled at the noise, and leaving with less stealth than she came, fled the lobby.

She didn't know why she had ran and she finally came to halt when she reached the far end of their vast estate. That whole situation had confused her very much and there was an aching, painful worry in her chest.

"Hey," Lucas was leaning casually against a tree.

"Oh, hi."

Her answer was distracted.

"Are you ok?" He wrapped his arms around her and, though she was loathe to admit it, Wednesday was grateful for his warm embrace. She was trying hard to shake the unsettling, unidentifiable chill that had settled over her after witnessing her parents.

"Yes I am-" She looked at Lucas, and then threw herself down on the grass, "No, actually, I'm not."

Alarm crossed his young face and she grew frustrated, "You and I are fine!"

"Oh," he looked sheepish, "So what is it?"

"Nothing really," she puzzled for a moment, " mother and father, they..."

She searched for the words, but knew, in that instant that any attempt to explain this to Lucas would be futile. For a start, he had never met her parent's, nor witnessed any of the indecent carnal behaviour they were prone to and secondly, he would not think for a moment that witnessing an encounter such as that was odd.

It suddenly occurred to her that she would have much rather witnessed them in the middle of something unspeakable than that which she had just been party too. She couldn't get that weak, vile sob from her mind, nor the distance that her father had kept from his wife in that tiny moment.

"Nothing, it really doesn't matter at all."

She liked that Lucas accepted these things, and that he accepted her brooding silence for a good part of the rest of their time together.

Wednesday, was for the first time in her life, nervous. She dressed slowly and reluctantly, until finally Lurch came to fetch her for breakfast. The kitchen was normal, her mother sat in her allotted place, firmly at the side of her husband. Wednesday was sure that after what she had witnessed, something must have changed. But it hadn't. They were as ordinary as ever, but the security was gone. And Wednesday didn't know why. Her father pawed at her mother as much as he always had, and her mother brushed him off lightly, but with the promise of ever after in every word of her rebuffs. It was all so different from the evening before.

She ate slowly, lasting her food out until she could get her mother on her own. It wasn't often that she wanted the sole attention of one of her parents, but the unsettling feeling in her stomach wouldn't leave. It didn't take long though. Finally, with what could only be described as a full on French kiss, her father left to do his work and her siblings went to entertain themselves with Fester.

"Parent's disagree," her mother suddenly spoke, shattering the silence, from behind her teacup, "Don't worry."

Shame, followed quickly by relief crashed over Wednesday. She looked at her mother, and her mother smiled, "It just makes the reconciliation so much more rewarding."

Wednesday stood up, a smile pulling at the corners of her pale mouth.

"Next time you sneak out," her mother warned her, "Make sure we're doing something else. Your father can hear a pin-drop when I've irritated him."

Wednesday laughed only when she told Lucas the next evening. Still, he was perplexed. It didn't matter what she thought of her parent's indiscretions, she realised, it mattered only that they continued to be indiscreet. If not, she had a real problem on her hands. Lucas was just impressed, as he so eloquently put it, that her parent's 'did it.'

So was she.