Chapter Text
It had been two years since Wednesday had taken custody of Beau. The weight of loss still lingered, but in the quiet moments of the night, she realized how much her relationship with her niece had evolved. It was difficult to admit, even to herself, but she no longer saw herself as just an aunt. She felt like a mother, even though she knew Beau didn’t see her that way yet. There was love and mutual respect, but their bond, forged through grief and resilience, was still solidifying.
Across town, Enid had a very different relationship with motherhood. At 28, she was raising Benoît alone after a marriage that had always been more about friendship than romance. She and her ex-husband had married young, more to avoid familial disapproval than out of love. When he chose to pursue his passion for marine conservation and work at sea, Enid supported him without regret. Benoît had been a carefully planned project, and while she loved her son more than anything, marriage had never been her priority.
Both women had built comfortable lives, though their paths to stability were unconventional. Enid, now working in Child Protective Services, dealt with challenging cases, always putting the welfare of children first. Wednesday, on the other hand, found herself at the FBI—a surprising turn of events after a bored 22-year-old version of herself hacked into their systems. Caught red-handed, she wasn’t arrested—she was hired. Six years later, the work had become something she unexpectedly enjoyed.
Neither of them knew it yet, but their paths were about to cross, bringing new connections into their lives and the lives of their children.
Enid’s house always seemed alive. Whether it was the vibrant artwork on the walls, the faint scent of lavender mixed with tomato sauce, or the sound of Benoît’s laughter echoing from the living room, there was a constant hum of energy. Today was no different.
Benoît sat cross-legged on the floor, engrossed in building an elaborate race track. He was at the age where imagination blurred with reality, and his creations often took on epic proportions. Two cars zipped around the track he had carefully constructed, powered by his hand and sound effects he made. Yet his mind seemed elsewhere as he suddenly stopped, one car tumbling off the track.
“Mama!” he called out, his voice brimming with excitement.
Enid appeared in the doorway, a wooden spoon in hand and a spot of tomato sauce on her cheek.
“What’s up, sweetheart?”
“Beau showed me Thing today!” Benoît said, his dark eyes sparkling as he waved his hands animatedly.
Enid tilted her head, clearly confused.
“Thing? Is that her friend?”
Benoît doubled over laughing, shaking his head.
“No, no, Mama! Thing is her robot! It has hands and it drew a dinosaur today—an actual dinosaur! It’s the coolest thing ever.”
Enid’s brows furrowed as she wiped her hands on her apron, leaning against the doorway.
“A robot that draws dinosaurs? Are you sure this wasn’t just your imagination running wild again?”
“No!” Benoît insisted, his tone deadly serious for a five-year-old. “Her aunt made it for her. She’s a super genius who works at the FBI!”
Enid raised an eyebrow, a small smile creeping onto her face.
“Well, Beau’s family sounds like something out of one of your bedtime stories.”
Benoît nodded vigorously. “Can Beau and Thing come here one day? I wanna show her my race track! Maybe Thing can race the cars with me.”
Enid chuckled, turning back to the kitchen.
“Maybe. If Beau and Thing like spaghetti, I’ll make my best batch.”
The idea of a robot eating spaghetti sent Benoît into a fit of giggles, and he resumed pushing his cars along the track. As his mother disappeared back into the kitchen, his expression softened.
“Beau’s lucky,” he murmured to himself. “Her aunt made her something amazing.”
Meanwhile, the Addams residence was shrouded in its usual eerie charm. The living room was dimly lit, with flickering candlelight casting shadows on the walls. Beau sat on the floor, surrounded by an array of colored pencils. Beside her, Thing — Wednesday’s meticulously crafted robot — held a pencil in its mechanical hand, sketching with precision that would make any artist jealous.
Beau tilted her head as she watched Thing work.
“You’re really good at this,” she said softly. “Better than me. But…”
She paused, fiddling with a yellow pencil, her small voice faltering.
“I think Benoît would like you. He’s funny. And he said…”
Thing stopped drawing and tilted its robotic head, a signal that it was processing her words.
“He said my aunt is the best. That she’s incredible.” Beau glanced down at the paper in her lap, her tone wistful. “I think so too… but sometimes I wish I remembered my mom and dad. Maybe they’d think I’m okay.”
Thing responded by sketching something new—a house, filled with children playing in the yard, laughter practically radiating off the page. Beau’s lips curved into a small, grateful smile.
“You think they’d like me too?” she whispered.
The robot gave her a mechanical thumbs-up, making her giggle. The laughter echoed softly in the Addams home, a rare but cherished sound.
Later that evening, Wednesday stood at Beau’s bedside, her usual stoic demeanor softened ever so slightly. Beau was nestled under the heavy quilt, one hand clutching the drawing Thing had made for her. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the robot in rest mode on the nightstand.
“Goodnight, Beau,” Wednesday said, her voice low but gentle.
Beau opened her eyes slightly, her blue-green irises shimmering in the dim light.
“Aunt Wednesday…”
“What is it?” Wednesday asked, sitting back down beside her.
“Do you think Benoît could come here to play with Thing? He wants to show me his race cars.”
Wednesday tilted her head, studying Beau carefully. She could see the small hope flickering in her niece’s eyes, and for a moment, she considered all the possible disruptions this could bring.
“Perhaps,” she said at last, her tone measured but not unkind. “I’ll think about it.”
Beau’s face lit up with a tired smile, and she murmured as she drifted off to sleep,
“He’s nice…”
Once Beau was asleep, Wednesday turned her attention to Thing. She activated its daily summary feature, and a holographic display illuminated the dim room, detailing Beau’s interactions and activities throughout the day.
Wednesday scanned the data, her expression unreadable. While she valued independence, she knew Beau was still a child. Ensuring she felt loved and safe was just as important as fostering her resilience.
“Benoît,” Wednesday muttered under her breath. “Let’s see if you’re as nice as she says.”
She turned off the hologram and left the room, returning to her laptop and the waiting FBI files. But even as she worked, the thought of letting Beau have a friend lingered. Perhaps this was something Beau truly needed—and, surprisingly, something Wednesday found herself willing to allow.
The house was finally quiet. Enid leaned back against the headboard of her bed, cradling a steaming cup of chamomile tea in her hands. She wore a silk nightgown in a soft lilac color, simple yet elegant, flowing comfortably against her skin. A stack of case files rested beside her, but she wasn’t ready to dive into them just yet. The warmth of the tea and the dim light of her bedside lamp brought a rare moment of peace to her chaotic life.
She took a slow sip, closing her eyes for a brief moment, letting the soothing warmth spread through her. But the stillness was accompanied by a familiar pang, a reminder of how quiet the house became once Benoît was asleep. She loved her work and adored her son, but nights like these made her long for something she rarely let herself think about—someone to share these quiet moments with.
Enid shook her head gently, banishing the thought as she picked up the topmost file from the stack. It was a case she’d been following closely: a custody battle involving a little girl who reminded her, in some ways, of Beau. As she thumbed through the pages, she felt a small smile tug at her lips.
“She’s lucky to have her aunt,” Enid murmured softly, thinking of Wednesday. Despite their differences, she knew how deeply Wednesday cared for Beau.
Across town, Wednesday Addams sat in her own bedroom, her posture as straight and disciplined as ever, even as she reclined in her chair. A dark green tea steamed gently on the table beside her, its earthy aroma filling the room. She was dressed in a black silk nightgown with delicate lace trim, the fabric whispering against her skin as she shifted slightly, pulling her laptop closer.
The glow of the screen illuminated her pale face as her fingers flew across the keyboard. She was working on a new chapter of her book, a dark and intricate mystery that had been simmering in her mind for weeks. Yet, even as her story unfolded, her thoughts wandered.
The room was too quiet. Thing rested in the corner, recharging, and Beau was sound asleep. Wednesday took a slow sip of her tea, her expression calm but introspective. She was used to solitude, even thrived in it, but tonight she couldn’t shake a peculiar thought.
Her gaze drifted to the empty chair across from her. What would it be like, she wondered, to share these moments of silence with someone else? Not idle chatter or forced interactions, but a companion who understood the value of quiet, who could sit in the stillness and feel the same contentment she did.
It was a strange thought for her to entertain, and yet it lingered, weaving its way into her imagination. Perhaps they’d drink tea together, work on their respective projects, and occasionally exchange a dry remark or a subtle glance. Nothing extravagant, just… a presence.
Wednesday’s lips quirked into the faintest of smirks. The idea was as intriguing as it was unsettling.
Both women, separated by miles and seemingly opposite in every way, found themselves in similar states of mind. The work they loved filled the void in their lives, but on nights like these, they felt the quiet ache of something missing. They didn’t dwell on it—both were too pragmatic for that—but the thought lingered like the scent of their tea, subtle yet impossible to ignore.
For Enid, it was a wish for someone to share the warmth of her laughter and the weight of her worries. For Wednesday, it was the curiosity of what it might mean to allow someone into her world, even just a little.
And as they turned their attention back to their respective tasks—Enid to her case files, Wednesday to her book—they both felt, in their own way, that the night was far from over.