Disclaimer: I don't own anything Addams nor the actors from the 1964 TV series, John Astin and Carolyn Jones, except a passion for these two wonderful people as Morticia and Gomez Addams. Enjoy.

Chapter 1

The white-haired professor shuffled up to the stage to rearrange some of the props. The chair angled a little more this way and the table just a little to the left. Then, he stepped back to survey the shadows playing out against the lighting. Satisfied with this, he called back to the lighting box upstairs, "It's good! Thanks, Mickey! You can switch it off now!"

Somewhere upstairs, unseen in the darkness, a chirpy slightly muffled voice responded. "No problem, Professor!"

"Be a good lad and help me lock up tonight, won't you?" The professor backed down the stairs, giving the stage a last once-over before leaving the set.

"Yessir." Came the amiable reply and the lanky college student who had been fiddling with the lights began powering down the system.

"Well, he's in a hurry." The freshman, Sam, who had sat alongside Mickey remarked as he observed the professor throwing his coat over his broad, slightly hunched shoulders and retreating somewhat hastily for a semi-retired lecturer.

Mickey clucked to himself knowingly as he switched off the various electrical outlets. "He's got an appointment." He supplied rather cryptically. "He always has this one every year."

Sam was suitably intrigued. "What's this 'appointment' about?"

Mickey smiled a sad smile. "He's meeting an old friend."

The phone rang twice before it was picked up.

"Hello, Mac dear, is that you?"

"Val? Yes, it's me. Is something the matter?"

Valerie twisted the phone cord as she said, "Oh, nothing much really. I was...really wondering how the children were doing."

"They…they're fine, Val. Why shouldn't they be?"

A fidgety pause. "Mac, I was wondering… if I could come up for a bit, for dinner and to see the girls." Val said in a hesitant rush.

"Of course you may." A hearty laugh. "I'll let the girls know. They'll be thrilled to have you. Is Dad coming?"

Valerie paused again.

"No… he isn't." Her gaze drifted and her voice adopted a faraway dreamy quality. "He isn't free tonight."

Something meaningful in her voice caught Mac's attention. As if understanding, her stepson intervened smoothly.

"Right, then. Just grandma. We will see you tonight at, say, 7?"

"That would be lovely."

Mac hesitated. "You alright, Val?"

Val flitted back into the moment.

"Yes dear. I'll see you all at 7."

"Fantastic. See you later. Goodbye."

The phone deadened with a click. Valerie replaced the receiver, comforted with thoughts of having company tonight. Without John.

The weather was suitably grey as Professor John Astin drove along the rather windy, lonely road.

From the corner of his eye, he glanced the simple bouquet, or rather, the had-been bouquet. He couldn't help but smile wryly. A stray rose petal betrayed the once gorgeous arrangement of roses, which had now been effectively reduced to a bundle of stems. John swept the remaining petal off.

He'd clipped off the red rose heads before he came, leaving the long thorny stems wrapped up in the soft paper. He had done it almost reverently, as if it were some kind of pruning. Just like how she used to.

"Do you have those kinds of paper in black?" He had asked the bewildered flower shop assistant who had been nestling the roses in a baby pink felt. "My friend liked black."

No, the girl had apologized. They did not have black. They had cheerful greens, yellows, purples and pinks but most unfortunately, not black.

What about black ribbons? He had asked.

The girl proffered red ribbons, which he had sighed and declined.

At last, he managed to find black paper and a silky black bow to match from some of the props in the school theatre workshop. He had tied the stems in the middle such that it looked absolutely pathetic and hideous which meant that she would most probably have loved it and as such, he was well pleased with his handiwork.

The car took a last smooth turn and entered the hushed grounds of the memorial park. John picked up his little offering and begun a slow, quiet walk to her headstone.

He gripped the bouquet of stems as he maneuvered past beautiful grey headstones scattered about the park. A wave of irony washed over him and he found himself smiling again.

We said we would belong here but we both know that that's not true, just a bit of acting. Morticia and Gomez Addams might have belonged here. But not Carolyn. Definitely not Carolyn. She belonged to the land of the living. She loved life so much.

He finally found her. Her named was carved in the pristine stone he had come to recognize so well. On the mound of dirt, he saw that some others had already come to pay their respects. He chuckled at their distasteful show of flowers, pretty blues and whites.

He sighed, lowered himself and stood his bouquet next to theirs. She would have liked his the best. She would have understood.

With much effort, he got up again.

"Hello, Carolyn." He whispered, his voice trembling as he reached out to feel the cool marble under his palm. "It's me."