Father Figure, Chapter Two By pgavigan Just a note of explanation. As I had conceived this work, each chapter was to consist of three parts, the first and third set in the `modern' period. The second detailing the events leading up to Spike's adoption of Winifred and Wesley. Due to circumstances beyond my control, car accidents, food poisoning, and shooting an amateur video (not THAT type of video) I decided to post this before getting the other parts finished. I hope to have those ready fairly soon. Anything you recognize belongs to ME. No, not me, I mean it belongs to ME. I mean . . . Oh forget it. Much thanks to TobyWolf for cracking the whip and making me improve the chapter. Now can you put down the whip? <> Ouch, darned sorority girls. No, not the ferret. Anything but the ferret. ((ps, I hope this formats properly when I post it.)) ***** October 31st, 2004 There were monkeys. Of course there would be monkeys. It was preordained. There were Tamarin, Capuchin, and Colobus. African, American and Asian. Giants like the Howler and at the other end of the spectrum the pygmy marmosets. Spider monkeys and Wooly Monkeys and Japanese Macaques. Monkeys that were eating, monkeys that were drinking and some that were defecating. Baby monkeys and mamma monkeys and papa monkeys too. There were monkeys engaged in the activity that lead to even more baby monkeys but the tour guides at the Dallas Municipal Zoo' Primate House tended to shuttle their young charges quickly past this spectacle so to avoid awkward questions and outraged parents. With Halloween falling on a Sunday the City of Dallas wanted to do something special, something that would have the nation talking while giving its children a fun yet safe holiday. The local government and business leaders decided that instead of the traditional Trick or Treating, they were going to organize massive celebrations utilizing the city's parks, stadiums, museums, and zoos for specific grades. Dallas municipal was hosting the assembled first graders and their parents of every public and private school within a thirty mile radius. Above this crush rode the proud Rodeo Queen, her broad band straw hat had slipped from her mass of brown curls and hung by its strap. A tap of her red leather boots was enough to guide her trusty steed along the path. Occasionally her mount would winy or short a protest at his rider's demands but a hug and a kiss to his bald spot was enough to keep Roger Burkle happily giving his granddaughter the horsy back rides she so loved. Trish Burkle couldn't help but laugh and take another snapshot of the scene to put in her growing scrapbook. Roger and Trish had arrived with the children at the late afternoon opening, their father being unable to be there due to `business reasons.' Wesley had already received permission to play with his classmates, but Winnie wanted to see her precious monkeys. So with a false sigh Roger had swung her slight form over his shoulders, Winnie shrieked with delight as the pair strolled through the Primate House. At each cage she peppered her grandfather with questions about this monkey or that and Roger answered them to the best of his ability. He did know quite a bit about them. When Winifred Burkle's prodigious intellectual had become apparent her father invested in a complete set of the Encyclopedia Britannica and together they had pored over the mysteries of the world. Trish Burkle put her camera back into the large shoulder bag she carried and followed in her family's wake. She wasn't surprised to see a large group of Winnie's classmates break off from the tour they were on to surround the pair. She had her suspicions regarding the origins of her granddaughter's popularity. Fred never lacked for friends, but she was never the center of attention either. Her child, however, possessed all of her gentle traits plus an irresistible charm (and a father with killer cheekbones). Still there might be other reasons for her popularity, reasons that Trish preferred not to thinks about. For the moment she was content to watch the schoolgirls cajole their idol to join them. Roger looked at his wife and, with her silent agreement; he lowered his precious burden to the ground. A final hug and a promise `to be good' and the girls ran off to join the others. ***** She moved with a grace that belied her years, tall and strong featured in the manner of her Nordic ancestors. She made her way among the adults watching over their children's activities: Some greeting her with genuine pleasure, others with marked trepidation. Yet all who knew this figure dressed in a severely cut blue line suit recognized in her a dedication to their children that was almost sacred in its intensity. It was these parents that Sister Margaret Lancaster was interested in speaking with, or rather, the grandparents of two of her most recent pupils. The Addams twins had entered the school at the beginning of the year, an unusual enough event as most students of All Saints had to be registered at least several years before their birth to even be considered for admittance. Wesley and Winifred had been presented to her on May 22nd of the year, within days of their family's arrival from Europe carrying with them the highest possible recommendation, a letter bearing the Papal Seal underneath a shaky yet still identifiable signature. This was the one source of authority capable of superceding Sister Margaret on matters regarding All Saints. From the moment she had entered the main hall as a novice teacher and nun, the young woman had known with complete certainty that she had found her place. She had risen through the ranks and taken control of the school. It had been a fortuitous event. She had seen the grand old institution through several wars, social upheavals, a Sexual Revolution, and the waning and waxing of the Texas Economy. She had lead a fierce campaign to keep it's door open when budget deficits loomed and fought an even fiercer battle to keep All Saits from becoming a diploma factory for the unmotivated and overly privileged. Those children admitted into its corridors left with the highest possible education to be snapped up by colleges such as William and Mary, Harvard, and Duke. But in all the years of tenure, she had never seen more ability and potential than that embodied by the Addams twins. Little Winifred had already become the darling of the lower grades and it had become something of a struggle to keep the staff from offering her their unswerving fealty. It was more amusing to realize that the young girl was more than prepared to accept their servitude and considered it her just due. Just what does a six year old need with minions anyway? She couldn't blame the faculty members, Winnie had a natural charm that could melt the stoniest of hearts and even she'd found it hard to resist those brown eyes. Thankfully her father had provided her with a precious store of the sugarless treats to match the special lunch trays that his daughter was served in the school's cafeteria. It was the knowledge that these candies were the only ones she was allowed while on school property that kept Miss Winifred toeing the straight and narrow, at least in the good sister's presence. But Winifred's brother was truly something special. Not overly quiet, not overly boisterous, he seemed determined not to stand out in the student body. Not a popular as his sister but not without friends with who he happily chatted, traded Pokemon cards, and played baseball. He was a self possessed young man with the type of knowledgeable smile that could easily twist into a knowing smirk. But it was his intellect that immediately drew the nun's attention and it was for this aspect of character that she feared. It was her policy to follow all first year students and she would review with their teachers all written homework, quizzes, and tests. She noticed a pattern to young Mr. Addams work: he was always close to the top in ach field of study, but never quite at the pinnacle. There always seemed to be one or two errors, things that he should have noticed. Acting on a hunch, Sister Margaret had taken one of his match assignments and held it to the sunlight streaming into her office window. She could then see the correct answer to a question which had been erased and written over with a wrong one. Clearly the young man was bored with his studies, not being challenged at his current level. Sister Margaret had seen this syndrome before and was not about to lose such a promising student. The common course of action, advancing the child several levels, seemed the most appropriate. Unfortunately this had been quickly rejected by the boy's sole parent. William Addams had been suitably nervous when he presented himself for the after hours meeting with her, but this had quickly vanished when her purpose had become clear. "No. Bloody. Way." was his son going to be taken out of the first grade. The encounter quickly deteriorated from that point on and in the end even she had to concede that there was no way that she was going to persuade, argue, debate, or browbeat the man into changing his mind. She had no options than to gracefully admit defeat. Therefore she was going to work on the grandparents and let them change his mind. Fortunately the Burkle's' took an active part in the grandchildren's education, even to the extent of participating in the Student/Parent activities that Mr. Addams was unable to attend due to business demands. Roger and Trish Burkle were the stereotypical Texan couple, he was wind burned and laconic and she possessed the type of Ladybird Johnson grace that hid a core of steel. Before she approached the Burkle's, Sister Margaret reviewed the pertinent facts of this case. She had learned that their late daughter had been similarly gifted intellectually and had received the prestigious Regents Scholarship at UCLA. Surely they would want their grandchildren to follow in her footsteps. Sister Margaret had taken the Burkle's to one side and explained her purpose in seeking them out. She was halfway through her pitch before she noticed Roger's darkening expression. "So he'll go from being the smartest in his class to being the smartest and the smallest," Roger sniffed and glanced at Sister Margaret. "That's one heck of a combination, put a red shirt on him and beam him down. Sometimes I think you educational types got some sort of competition going. `My prodigy is more socially maladjusted than your prodigy.'" He nodded an apology to his wife before leaving the women to walk over to a viewing platform. "Winifred was skipped two grades when she was in the second grade." Margaret could tell from Trish's expression that it had been less than a pleasant experience for the family. Realizing that this avenue would prove no more effective than the one the nun first explored, she murmured her apologies and moved on. She was still determined to help Wesley achieve his full potential; perhaps a course of home tutoring might fit the bill. Trish watched the nun walk away into the crowd before moving to stand next to her husband. "You were a teensy bit rude." "She's got God on her side. She hasn't given up yet." Trish joined Roger in trying to spot their grandson in the milling crowd below. It was easy to find Wesley among the cowboys, spacemen, and ghosts that seemed to predominate this year's costumes. Even if there had been more variety to the costumes it would have been hard to miss the miniature Sherlock Holmes complete with unbreakable magnifying glass. When she heard the heart broken sigh that her husband released a matching tear joined it and she took his arm in hers and gently squeezed it. Think about what we've got. What we had no right to expect. To even hope to have." "I know and I do. But sometimes all those might-have-beens get stuck in my throat and I have a hard time breathing." Roger paused and looked at his tightly grasped hands---the hands which had dried his only child's tears, taught her to tie her shoes, and helped her build her first crystal radio set. The hands that were now passing on those lessons learned to his grandchildren. "He could have changed everything with just a phone call. Just a warning." And because Roger Burkle was a fair and just man he had to go where that thought led. "But I guess there's just no telling . . ." "What else might have changed or where it would have stopped?" Trish finished for her husband. The couple shared a moment of mourning before they turned to greet the (apparently) young man calling out to them. William Percival Addams and Roger Burkle had come to an agreement, William would remember to make noise while walking up on Roger from behind and Roger would remember to ask questions first and shoot later. "So, finally made it here, did ya." In the several months since his and his charges arrival in Dallas, William's relations with his supposed in-law had slowly changed from outright hostility to guarded acceptance. They might never be friends---despite how much they might secretly like each other, in some strange way they were too similar for that to ever happen---but they had two points in common with each other and for their sake they would try to get along as well as possible. Besides, for William this sort of antagonism was familiar, it was like dealing with a more mature version of the bricklayer. One who had the capability of learning from the past and avoiding making the same mistake twice. "Been waiting out in the car to make my grand entrance." William nodded significantly towards the deep red of the western skyline. He then looked down and his features melted into a warm smile as he watched his son at play. Even Roger couldn't help but be touched at this display, but he would be damned before admitting it. "So where is Freddie at," her father asked. Between the three of them they had come to this affectionate nickname for the young miss. It was never her mother's. "She with some of he little friends making the round." Trish smiled, her bruised heart healing as she though about how much grandchild resembled her lost girl in the costume that had been made for Fred so many years ago and saved for just this occasion. She swung her deep shoulder bag in from of her and pulled out a delicate handkerchief and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. They chatted together in a desultory manner, exchanging little anecdotes about what they had done that day. They continued in this fashion until three of the evening's chaperones, older students from another private academy who had volunteered for the occasion, walked past carrying on a particularly loud conversation. Apparently they were all serious science fiction fans and all devotees of the late Frank Herbert and his Dune series of novels. Having no particular interest in these William spared the girls only a fleeting glare of annoyance until he heard a snippet of their conversation. "Man that was one seriously cool `Alia' costume that girl had." "And it was made out of real leather too." "Yeah but I don't think children that young should be wearing contact lenses." Stunned William turned to notice similar looks on his companions' faces. As one all three turned to the now ominously quiet Primate House behind them. All of the cages, all of the cages that had been filled with shrieking primates, each and every one of them was empty. "Oh crap," Trish eloquently summed up the trio's feelings. With that William lifted his face to the sky, closed his eyes, and began to sniff the air. Once, twice, the third time he caught the familiar scent then turned and raced towards the stairway. He didn't hesitate a second, not even when he saw how hopelessly jammed it was with children and parents. Instead he leapt into the air, spun head over heels and removed his shoes to land with stocking feet on the smooth metal hand rail. He then slid down the entire length of the banister, finished with another flip, put his shoes back on in mid flight, and took off in search of his daughter. "Wow," one of the many cowboys exclaimed. "Who was that?" "That was my dad." With that statement Wesley Addams' already high coolness stock shot up an additional hundred points among his peers. Not waiting to see the response his off hand comment had elicited, the young man took off after his father in time to see him using the back of a surprised hippopotamus as a spring board to lift him up and over the alligator pool. It was worse than William could have imagined. All of the primates, every ape, baboon, gorilla, and monkey were marching towards the sole building at the other end of the central plaza with the military precision of a Nuremberg Rally. And at the head of the advancing column, standing on the back of the zoo's prized elephant was an easily recognizable figure. "WINIFRED." William shouted. "You get down here this minute young lady. "My legions are about to take the Concession Stand." She pointed towards the gaudily painted stand and its sole defender who stood trembling between her station and the assembled troops with only a well worn broom in her hands. "I hear the song of the cotton candy." "And the Gummie Bears," a helpful voice chimed in. "Wesley, don't encourage your sister." With that William charged forward while wistfully thinking about bye gone days when all he had to worry about was a sadomasochistic relationship with a bipolar bottle blond and the annual apocalypse. If he had known about the three pairs of eyes watching him from the shadows, he would have longed for those lost times even more.