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When Wednesday woke up early Monday morning, she felt like death. And not in a way she would have typically enjoyed.
She’d never really been bested by a pathogen, at least, not in recent memory.
It wasn’t for her. She was above that, as was everyone in the Addams family.
But not today, apparently.
She rolled over on her side, a detestable action given that she was most comfortable on her back, arms crossed over her chest like a corpse.
But if she felt like a corpse, she supposed that for once, lying on her side wouldn’t make her any less dead.
Maybe she’d been banished to purgatory for the gore-filled case boards she’d brought into the dorm room during the Crackstone case.
It seemed an odd time to be punished for that. But who was she to question the devil?
Nonetheless, she’d pictured grander things for the next realm than feeling like rubbish in her dorm room.
Maybe this wasn’t hell.
She coughed, the sound rough and thick with fluid that had built in her lungs overnight. Her throat was raw. She felt like she’d swallowed knives.
She pulled her black duvet and sheets around herself to keep her fever-racked body warm. She allowed her eyes to shut. It was still dark after all. It would be a shame to waste good sleep.
Well, that’s what she told herself, even if the sad truth was that she felt too weak to stay up any longer. Rolling over used up what little energy she had.
Wednesday wasn’t sure how long she slept after, but when she next opened her eyes, she could see the faint reflection of light off the wooden panels of her wall.
She heard a certain too-cheerful-for-any-hour voice humming some insipid little pop song. The shuffle of fluffy slippers. The sound of a mug being set beside her on her bedside table.
Without having to think, Wednesday knew which hound had followed her down to hell.
Enid.
Wednesday rolled over to face her roommate, blonde hair, blue eyes, blue and pink dyed tips and all, and scowled.
“Morning, Roomie!” Enid greeted her when she caught sight of Wednesday’s sunken eyes, which were complete with dark circles.
“I made you tea!” Enid beamed, pointing at the black mug she’d placed on a coaster beside her.
At least she used a coaster.
It’s the little things, Wednesday supposed.
“No thanks. I prefer to remain in agony,” Wednesday rasped, her throat so raw she thought she was tasting blood.
“Welp, sucks for you. I can’t unpour this,” Enid replied with a smile. “Also, you look like hell.”
“Thanks… I think I just arrived,” Wednesday deadpanned.
Enid crossed the room, pulled a pink bag from under her bed and started to look through it. In a moment, she returned with a thermometer.
At the sight of the thing, Wednesday considered growling, not sure what else she could do. But her throat quickly shot down that idea like a firing squad.
Now a firing squad. That sounded preferable to being stuck in bed shivering like a leaf.
Enid crouched down beside Wednesday to be at her eye level.
“Open,” Enid commanded.
Wednesday only sighed (as deeply as her stuffed up lungs could), emitting a sound that resembled more of a haunted HVAC, sad wheeze and all.
She let Enid put the thermometer in her mouth, slipping it under her tongue.
In a moment, it beeped, and Enid took it out. She read it critically.
“One more,” she said, putting it back in Wednesday’s mouth after pressing the little button on the front a few times.
Wednesday raised an incredulous eyebrow as if to ask, ‘What gives?’
“It was in Celsius,” Enid explained when the thermometer chirped again.
She pulled it out. “There we go,” She said, reading the number.
“You’re sick. Not that it took Einstein to figure that one out. But still,” she said.
Enid tried to hide a little smile as she bounded over to her laptop, opened it, typed something quickly, and closed it again.
“You seem excited by my suffering,” Wednesday commented.
“No! Never, love! Just excited that I get to smother you with care and you can’t run away from me,” Enid replied. “I just got us out of classes. You’re stuck with me,” she said, a smirk crossing her face.
Wednesday looked mildly horrified. She rasped, “You’re a menace, you know that, Mon Loup?”
“And today, you’re Typhoid Mary,” Enid shot back with a fond smile.
Wednesday rolled her eyes.
“Right then, Crabby,” Enid began, “drink that tea. It’s got some honey in it and some cyanide to taste.”
“No,” was all Wednesday said before she rolled over, unable to stop from groaning a little with the effort, her muscles sore and hurting.
Even if Enid prepared her tea, sans honey, the way she liked it, she felt like a child being doted on. For someone so fiercely independent, that was worse than any cold.
“Well, that’s your funeral then, but I have a feeling that you’re gonna want that soon,” Enid shot back, a knowing tone in her voice.
Wednesday shivered.
She was colder than she liked to be, and she wasn’t presently sure if it was coming from the inside or the outside of her body.
She tugged the duvet over her body and cocooned inside.
Enid sighed, “Well, I’ll be back later. I need to go get some stuff. Try not to die, alright?”
“I thought I was stuck with you all day?” Wednesday replied.
“Aw, are you gonna miss me?” Enid teased.
Wednesday scoffed as best she could, “hardly. I could use some peace and quiet. It’s hard to rest with you around, Chatty Cathy.”
Enid hummed in amusement, “Whatever you say… I’ll be back soon. Drink that tea!”
Wednesday only managed to stick a paler-than-normal hand out and give a tiny acknowledgement before pulling it back into the relative warmth of her blankets.
She heard Enid walk to the door and leave, the door closing softly behind her.
Once she was sure she was gone, Wednesday rolled over and looked at the ceiling.
She swallowed, and lava scorched her throat.
She shot a look at the steaming black mug on her mahogany nightstand. It was perched on a coaster Enid had made for her in art class. It was largely glazed in shiny black, splattered with red like a Jackson Pollock painting or a murder scene. In some of the streaks and blobs, Enid had painted little hearts.
She remembered the day Enid had presented it to her.
“Hey, Wednesday!” Enid had said when she came in after classes one day.
Wednesday, as per usual, sat at her desk typing away.
She only hummed in response, not looking up.
“I made you something,” Enid told her as she came up behind her and planted a little kiss on the top of her head.
Without hesitating, Enid picked up Wednesday’s mug and put it on top of a disc.
That was enough for Wednesday to pull her eyes away from her work and finally pay attention.
She was met with the sight of her mug sitting on top of that very coaster. Black and spattered with blood red streaks and tiny little hearts that weren’t abhorrent, but tastefully placed and camouflaged.
“I know you hate cup rings on your writing desk,” Enid told her. “So I made you this.”
Wednesday moved her mug to the legal pad on the desk and picked up the coaster.
She turned it over in her hands.
She could see Enid’s fingerprints in the clay beneath the glaze. She could feel the care in every little imperfection.
It was, undoubtedly, perfect.
Wednesday put her mug back on top of it and looked up at Enid, her eyes softened just a little. “This is adequate. Thank you.”
Enid beamed. She knew what Wednesday meant.
“You’re welcome!” Enid exclaimed.
Wednesday used the coaster every day after that. It never left her writing desk until today.
She recalled that the following week, Enid’s speaker had given out.
Years of use and travel had taken their toll. With a little help from Thing, she’d managed to get it replaced for her. And she upgraded it.
It was time anyway. Why not get her something better than what she had?
She’d also gone through the infuriating process of painting it.
Just because it looked too plain to be Enid’s without it.
So, the thing became patterned with silver moons and stars.
Even if Enid listening to her nauseating Pop songs drove Wednesday mad. She’d rather have that than see her deprived of something she loved.
“I might as well,” Wednesday croaked to no one. “It won’t be warm all day.”
She picked up the mug and took a sip, letting the warm fluid run down her throat, soothing it.
The honey added a nice sweetness that paired well with the almond taste of the cyanide that Enid had added. She wasn’t expecting to like it, but it wasn’t utterly detestable like she’d imagined.
She allowed herself the smallest of smiles as she took sip after sip, eventually draining the mug.
When she was done, she slipped back down under the blankets, her shivering soothed just a bit by the tea’s lingering warmth, and went back to sleep.
Since she had nowhere to be, it would be a shame to waste the extra rest time, she figured as her eyes fluttered shut.
The door opened, and Wednesday groaned.
“Could you keep it down?” She managed to say, her throat somehow worse than last time, and her mouth dry.
She attempted to swallow and immediately let out an involuntary whimper.
“Well, I guess that answers my question,” Enid remarked as she put down a clatter of bags in a sea of crinkling plastic.
“Mmnn,” was all Wednesday said, rolling over in bed, looking at Enid.
She’d come back from wherever it is that she’d gone.
From the looks of it, she’d been to a number of places, starting with a CVS and ending with a diner that Wednesday wasn’t sure she’d known about until just this second.
She coughed weakly and wheezed as she tried to draw in a breath. It hurt. Her lungs hurt. Dreadful.
Enid started opening things and laying them out on her desk.
She’d gotten everything from cold medicine to decongestants and soup.
There also seemed to be a sandwich in a clear take-out box. That had to be for her.
Enid went to her closet and pulled out a bowl that Wednesday didn’t know she had, swiftly followed by a spoon.
How did she not know that Enid had all this?
Was she hallucinating?
If she was, why was this where her brain went?
She pushed the thought out of her head.
Enid poured yellow soup with chunks of noodles and chicken into the bowl and stuck the spoon in it.
She put her sandwich on her desk chair, held the bowl, and rolled everything over.
“Okay, you look even more like death than normal. You need sustenance,” Enid said as she put the bowl down on the nightstand and put the sandwich beside her leg on the floor.
She took a seat, picked up the bowl and spoon, and held them out to Wednesday. “Open.”
“I am content with my—“ her throat burned. She paused, tried to swallow, and kept going, “suffering.”
Enid rolled her eyes, “uh huh… okay. Said the stubborn girl who said she wouldn’t drink the tea earlier.” She smirked. She looked over at the mug, which had moved closer to Wednesday while she’d been out and was empty. “I’d say otherwise.”
“At the very least, let me feed myself,” Wednesday protested.
“As soon as you can prove that you can hold a bowl on your own, I’d be happy to,” Enid shot back.
Wednesday scowled, “I was able to drink from the mug. Isn’t that proof enough?”
“That was two hours ago,” Enid replied.
Wednesday raised an eyebrow, glassy eyes challenging her girlfriend just a little.
Enid didn’t give.
Instead, she stuck the spoon in the bowl and scooped up some fresh soup.
Wednesday sighed internally. She knew Enid was right. She was feeling worse than she had before her last nap. She wasn’t actually sure she could hold the bowl and feed herself. She felt like such garbage, and the last thing she wanted was soup on her duvet. That would make her already foul mood worse.
Without a word, Wednesday rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to let Enid feed her.
Enid smiled, “attagirl.”
Wednesday swallowed. The soup was just thick enough that it didn’t hurt to swallow. That was nice at least.
“This soup is bland,” Wednesday remarked around another mouthful of thick broth and noodles.
Enid only grinned, placing the soup on the bedside table. She crossed the room, dug through a bag and pulled out a bottle.
“Here,” she said, bringing it back and opening it. “Because I knew you’d say that. I got you hot sauce.”
She poured some into the soup. “Only the best for my lovable masochist.”
Enid stirred the soup and then held out the spoon.
Wednesday took it and let another little smile cross her face.
“It’s better, huh?” Enid asked.
Wednesday nodded, taking another spoonful. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Enid pumped her fist, “hah! Knew I’d get you to like it!”
Wednesday pouted but allowed Enid to continue to help her.
When the bowl was empty, Enid set it down and finally opened her own sandwich box.
As she did, a wave of salty meat smell hit Wednesday like a truck.
Enid took up half the sandwich and eyed it excitedly.
Mustard oozed out a little from between the thinly sliced meat layers. All of it was stuck between two thick pieces of rye bread.
“What in Satan’s kingdom is that obscene-smelling sandwich?” Wednesday questioned.
“Corned beef!” Enid answered with a grin. “You know, you’re from New Jersey! I would think you’d know what this is.”
“That’s New York. The Rotten Apple is our neighbour,” Wednesday deadpanned.
“Right, they’re the ones with the good pizza and stuff,” Enid said, taking a bite.
“And the rats…” Wednesday added under her breath.
Enid ignored her and smiled contentedly.
“Wanna bite?” Enid asked.
“Of a sandwich that smells like a butcher shop?”
Enid nodded.
“I’ll pass. I think the overcooked chicken and slightly slimy noodles were more than enough for me,” Wednesday said.
Enid shrugged and happily took another bite, “Well! Your loss! More for me!”
Wednesday rolled her eyes but said nothing.
“Take your medicine, Wednesday,” Enid told her once she’d finished half the sandwich.
Enid handed her a cup of the worst smelling cold syrup she’d ever smelled.
Wednesday had to try not to gag.
Blood, guts, gore, guns, knives, all that she could do just fine.
But cold medicine, forget it.
Wednesday turned away.
“I’d rather die.”
“You will if you don’t take this,” Enid replied.
“Colds aren’t exactly in the top ten causes of death in the US. I think I’ll be fine.”
Enid raised an eyebrow, “Who said that the cold would kill you?”
Wednesday smirked but took the little cup from Enid. “Good point. Just looking at the atomic orange of this medication could be enough to kill.”
“It’s got a painkiller in it. It should help with your throat,” Enid told her.
“The only painkillers I need are either sleep or morphine,” Wednesday replied.
Enid ignored her, “bottoms up, babe.”
Wednesday scowled and took the medicine, the sickening fluid coating her mouth. She winced despite herself.
“Good. Okay. Well, they will help,” Enid declared.
Wednesday said nothing, instead choosing to focus on getting that dreadful taste out of her mouth.
The rest of the afternoon passed agonizingly slowly, with Wednesday drifting in and out of sleep and Enid trying to get her to drink something.
“You need to stay hydrated,” she’d insist as she poured Wednesday yet another cup of tea.
“Says who?” Wednesday would croak out.
“Says me,” Enid would shoot back.
Wednesday would scowl, “and that gives you what authority?”
“Being your girlfriend who feels perfectly fine. I think that gives me all the authority here since you can’t really put up a fight,” Enid would shoot back with a smug grin.
Wednesday would sigh.
Then, Enid would threaten her with any number of things to get her to drink the tea.
At this point, it was a sort of game.
Wednesday would refuse and then wait to see what perfectly dreadful threat Enid would come up with. And then she’d give in, drink some tea and go back to sleep.
There were some winners.
“I’ll make you watch one of my K Dramas…”
“I’ll make you watch KPop Demon Hunters with me again. Golden is just waiting to get stuck in your head again…” (even the mighty, pop-hating Wednesday Addams got Golden stuck in her head, much to her great dismay and Enid’s great amusement when she caught her humming it quietly while she was working. Enid still hasn’t let her live that one down…)
“I’ll play Taylor Swift on repeat. I’m thinking the Lover era. Sugary sweet…”
“I’ll reorganize your whole desk. And replace your black pens with my pink and purple ones…”
“I’ll get your mother to come take care of you…”
It had become almost fun. Well, as fun as feeling like your whole body was sore and weak could be.
Wednesday pushed Enid once during their little routine—just a little to see if she’d actually go through with any of her threats.
“Wednesday, drink the tea,” Enid said, holding out the mug.
“Why? It’s not serving me well,” Wednesday protested.
“Because you need fluid! We’ve been over this!”
Wednesday eyed her defiantly.
“Fine. Drink it, or I’m making you watch Hallmark Christmas movies,” Enid threatened with a mischievous smile.
Wednesday scoffed (as best she could. It was still rather painful, although she’d never admit it), “you wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me,” Enid replied.
They ended up locked in a stare-down.
Enid was the one to break it when she stood up, crossed the room to her side, and grabbed her laptop off her desk.
She brought it back, set it on the duvet, opened it and started typing.
Wednesday watched, her head cocked.
In a moment, she heard something.
Her eyes widened a little.
Enid grinned evilly as she plopped the computer between them beside Wednesday’s leg.
Over a purple background in gold letters, the words HALLMARK CHANNEL PRESENTS came into and out of view as it dissolved into an opening scene of two people dancing, their silhouettes over a blue background.
Christmas music tinkled through the speakers.
The title came up, The Christmas Waltz.
“You—“ Wednesday sputtered.
“I was serious,” Enid grinned, satisfied with the horror on Wednesday’s face.
“Fine. Pass me the mug,” Wednesday grumbled.
Enid pumped her fist and picked up the mug, “Yes! Victory!!”
Wednesday rolled her eyes. “Hush, mutt,” she said without much malice.
“You first, Typhoid Mary. Drink.”
As she sipped, she watched Enid intently.
Her eyes were locked on the screen. She softened a little.
She actually liked this sugary, gingerbread-flavoured nonsense.
If she were honest with herself, it was far more enjoyable (as enjoyable as being put through torture via Christmas could be) to watch Enid watch a film she’d clearly seen a million times.
Eventually, Wednesday drained the mug and carefully placed it back on the nightstand.
“You finished?” Enid asked, finally pulling her gaze from the screen. She paused the film.
Wednesday nodded.
“Good,” Enid praised.
She reached out to close her laptop. Wednesday stopped her with a gentle hand on her wrist.
Enid cocked her head like a puppy.
“Leave it…” Wednesday told her softly, her voice raspy.
“Leave it?”
Wednesday nodded and coughed a little.
Enid raised an eyebrow, “Don’t tell me you like it!”
“Never. Me liking anything this bright and… wholesome… was never on the table,” Wednesday replied. “But you seem to be enjoying yourself, Mon Loup. So, leave it on.”
Enid smiled softly and pushed the computer screen back up. In a moment, her finger was hovering over the spacebar.
“What about you?”
“I suppose I can tolerate it. And when I can’t anymore, I’m perfectly capable of ignoring it as I do your pop music,” Wednesday said.
Enid chuckled. “Whatever you say, weirdo…”
She pressed play, and the film began again.
The whole ordeal was saccharine, coated in coloured sugar and faux snow, and completely and utterly predictable. And yet, somehow, Wednesday managed to accept it. For all its shortcomings, this ridiculous thing (that she couldn’t believe was committed to paper at all, let alone film), made Enid’s eyes shine in that way she’d grown rather fond of.
Somehow that…
She looked at Enid’s blue eyes as the light danced across her face and the way she smiled sweetly at the romance of it all…
That made it all worth the torture.
With that image, and a slightly (emphasis on slightly) soothed throat, she closed her eyes again and drifted off to sleep.
It was 11:40 when Wednesday coughed herself awake and frowned. The room had gone dark save for the glow of the phone screen across Enid’s face.
When Enid heard Wednesday stirring, she put her phone down and studied her quietly.
Her breathing had grown shallow and laboured. Sweat had started to bead on her forehead, sticking her bangs there in wild ways.
In the dark, she saw that Wednesday was shivering, her weak grip tightening just a bit on the duvet.
Wednesday glared at her. “What?”
“You look worse,” Enid told her softly.
“Impossible. An Addams can beat illness faster than a normie,” she croaked.
Enid raised an eyebrow, “Do you need me to get you a mirror?”
“No…” Wednesday mumbled.
Enid put the back of her hand to Wednesday’s forehead.
“What on Earth are you doing?” Wednesday wheezed weakly.
Enid ignored her, “You’re burning up still. Did you take that medicine I gave you?”
Wednesday scoffed, “Of course I did. You didn’t exactly give me much of a choice.”
“Right…” Enid sighed.
She crossed the room and took the thermometer from her desk.
She brought it back.
“You know, if you Addams didn’t build up your tolerance to all that stuff, I’d bet that the medicine would have worked better,” Enid commented.
Without needing to be told, Wednesday let Enid put it in her mouth.
It beeped.
“I didn’t know cold medicine counted as a poison. It certainly tastes worse than any I’ve had,” Wednesday snarked.
Enid didn’t say anything. Instead, she read the number on the thermometer.
104.2.
“Well, shit,” Enid said.
“The fever hasn’t broken, has it?”
Enid shook her head, looking a little concerned.
“And it’s high?” Wednesday concluded.
Enid nodded.
“Alright. Time to get creative. We’re gonna break this fever,” Enid declared.
“Preferably before it kills me, please,” Wednesday said.
Enid rolled her eyes, “drama queen…” she mumbled under her breath.
Wednesday pretended not to hear her.
Enid went to the big window and opened the door to their terrace, letting cool air fill the room. She kept her eyes locked on Wednesday, trying to gauge her reaction.
The shock of the suddenly cold air blowing into the room, along with several dead leaves that would have to be swept up later, made Wednesday pull her blanket tight around her. She shivered violently.
“Okay… bad move,” Enid said, more to herself as she closed the window again.
She tried a cold compress next.
It did nothing more than make Wednesday’s forehead damp.
She sighed.
“Out of ideas already?” Wednesday asked skeptically.
“No. I have one more. But you’re not going to like it…” Enid told her.
Five minutes later, Wednesday found herself still in bed, but with a companion. Enid had draped herself around her and was presently, for all intents and purposes, cuddling her.
“Remind me again why this is helpful?” Wednesday inquired.
“Because werewolves run hot, and honestly, I’m the only thing I can think of that’s hot enough to break your fever. That and everything else we tried didn’t work,” Enid explained.
Wednesday groaned, “This is undignified.”
And yet, she made no move to resist.
“This is your best chance at not dying from a fever like a Victorian child,” Enid retorted.
Wednesday sighed a little and coughed, “You’re going to get sick.”
Enid chuckled a little and pulled her closer, “I’ve spent the whole day nursing you back to health, and I feel fine. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Famous last words,” Wednesday mumbled under her breath.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah… Whatever you say, Miss Doom and Gloom. You just don’t want to admit you like it,” Enid teased.
Wednesday snuggled into her. She didn’t deny it, but she wasn’t exactly willing to give Enid the satisfaction of being right. Instead, she replied, “You smell like corned beef.”