"Ah, Wednesday, the much better kind," he concludes warmly. Who hadn't liked the Addams Family? (And it's perhaps not a surprise: there had been the 1960s television show, the later movies, all staples of an American cultural export and jotting neatly alongside the other family comedies that she'd inhaled while growing up.)

"I could probably be a good Gomez for Halloween, honestly, but then I'd have to shave off this thing." Strange strokes his chin contemplatively, gesturing to the iconic and precise goatie. "I'd probably look villainous with just a pencil moustache, though. D'you think I could pull it off?"

It only occurs to him a second later— was that the first time she'd ever referred to him just by first name? He thinks it was, and it sparks an unexpected little flicker of warmth and familiarity. He normally insisted on such strict formal distance throughout his life (paging Doctor Strange, a common refrain at the hospital, the imposed distance even between him and his patients), but if he could drop the surname with the kid, then he can drop it with Wanda. She's earned it, too. It certainly sounds less stilted coming from her, and he finds that he likes the effect; it makes them sound more like friends than strangers.