The Heart of an Addams

Posted on Tue 19th May, 2020 @ 5:39am by Purulence Addams & Ignatius Collins
Edited on on Tue 8th Jun, 2021 @ 4:37am

940 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Resolution
Location: Somewhere between SB-109 and Namaka
Timeline: MD-22, 1030 hours

(Previously)
Ignatius' grin grew broader. "When I asked you father about recommendations for weapons, he asked me if I'd ever be taking you out in my ship. I said yes, I would." Ignatius coughed. "Let me just say that the weapons are very, very good, and the engines are a bit souped up, too."

"And you got an amazingly good deal on them?" Purulence asked with an arch look.

"A gentleman never tells," Ignatius replied and brushed his lips against her ebon hand. "Where to--Mademoiselle?"

---

"This had better not be a three-hour tour," Purulence said to Ignatius as the USS I Haven't Named Her Yet(tm) jetted out of Starbase 109's main docking bay under impulse thrusters. She might not be a ship person, Purulence thought, but the swarm of activity around the starbase was a sight to behold against the star-scattered blackness of space.

"MDF-3611RHK34 has cleared the station, Flight Control," Ignatius said into his headset mic. "All systems nominal. Return ETA in two standard hours, mark."

Ignatius fell silent as he adjusted their course slightly to avoid the path of someone whizzing by in a small shuttle. Purulence kept quiet as well, knowing, if nothing else, that Ignatius would likely not appreciate distractions right now.

"I copy, Flight Control. Ion storms are never fun things. We'll steer clear of it. Over and out." Ignatius sighed as he broke the comm link. He glanced up at Purulence. "Flight Control says we're to expect rotten weather in a bit. Ion storm coming from coreward, traveling spinward. I'm going to tweak our flight plan. All the micro-torpedoes in the world can't do jack against an ion storm. I'm afraid our excursion will have to be cut short."

"Sounds like a good idea," Purulence said dryly. "Chlammy would shred you to ribbons if you took me into a radiation cloud."

"And well she should," Ignatius agreed. "Someday, you've got to tell me where the whole weird name thing in your family comes from."

Purulence shrugged. "Tradition. We like it."

"Just warning you that if we ever have a daughter, we're not naming her Syphilis."

"Not even as a middle name?" Purulence pouted. "Besides, we're just friends. I told you, I'm not ready for romance."

"So says the woman who's spent some part of every day with me for the past few weeks?" Ignatius queried with an arched eyebrow. "And, speaking of names, I've decided what to call this ship. She will be the Nameless Grace."

Purulence leaned her head to one side. "Isn't Grace a name?"

Ignatius raised his eyes to heaven. "Oh, ye of no literature!" He straightened and cleared his throat.

"She walks in beauty, like the night--"

Purulence rolled her eyes and waved her hands in a shushing gesture. "Oh, stop, stop! Not you, too! Guys always quote that poem to me! Well, Henry never did, but he didn't read poetry, anyway."

"Who is Henry, and what kind of unhip Philistine doesn't read poetry? Shall I deck him for you?"

"Former ex-boyfriend--and you may definitely deck him, just on general principle."

"Noted and logged," Ignatius replied. "And now, as i was saying--" He caught her gaze and entwined the fingers of one hand with hers as he looked directly into her eyes. "I am a Collins of the Collinsport, Maine Collinses, and we do read poetry." His voice deepened and became resonant.

"She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!"

His gaze cut into her soul as if he were sitting for her to paint his portrait. Purulence found herself looking at him the same way she did any of her portraiture clients, with the same vision. He meant every word of the poem--not literally, but he meant the overall sense of it. He meant the love. She couldn't deny it, she couldn't doubt, even as a part of her mind screamed and cried and wanted to tear her hand away from his, insisting that she couldn't possibly believe it.

But her painting-visions never lied.

Breath left her, so she could only stare, wild-eyed, as Ignatius recited the Byron poem to her. This wasn't some nervous teenage boy speaking the words as his voice cracked. This was an adult man who clearly knew the poem well, loved the words, and understood not only what he said but how to say it--and meant everything he said.

Her universe spun. The sound of the last word floated on the air and died away into silence, leaving Purulence feeling lightheaded and so deeply mesmerized that she had to claw her way back to reality--except she didn't really want to.

"I--I..." Purulence sucked in air and struggled to collect her thoughts. "Ignatius, I am an Addams. My heart is anything but innocent."

Ignatius draped an arm around Purulence's shoulders and hugged her close. "I will welcome you and your heart any way you care to offer them."

 

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