A/N: Two in less than a week? My in-laws were babysitting my baby girl much of Sunday so I kind of took the day to veg and write like a mad woman. Though, I tell you what guys, these two characters fought with me a lot in this chapter. They wanted to get along a lot more than I wanted them to get along. I'm hoping there was just enough to make it believable. Thank you to Melody Winters again! You're fantastic woman! Thank you for being my beta. And huge thanks to inulover1993 for letting me use you as a person to vent on when this chapter got complicated. Voicing some of my frustrations over it actually did help me get things sorted out so HUGE thanks again! The rest of you, thank you so much for your reviews and support guys. I'm just seriously pleased that you guys are enjoying this fic so much. I hope you continue to do so! Much love!
Disclaimer: I do not own Beetlejuice and make no profit from the writing of this fic.
Truce
For as cataclysmic as the moment was, there was certainly a lack of dramatics to go along with it. The room was silent, the temperature did not change. There was a shift in the atmosphere, a faint hum of unnatural electricity. But aside from that…nothing. If only she would open her eyes she might have some idea of what was going on. But she couldn't seem to do it. It wasn't terror that kept her from facing him, it wasn't anything related to fear at all. It was…uncertainty. Which…okay, so maybe that went hand in hand with fear a little bit but all she could really think about was how she was uncertain of him - what he was going to do…what they were going to do. Would he be constantly judging her for the audacity of her proposal or …
Will we just pick up where we left off last night…
No, she'd put a stop to that with the contract. He wasn't allowed to touch her. Remembering that, she opened her eyes and faced a moment of pure self-disgust when a startle gasp slipped past her lips. He stood directly in front of her, dark eyes sparkling mischievously, that maddening grin firmly in place…and a finger…hovering just in front of her nose.
"Not touchin' ya," he somewhat sang. His voice wasn't horrible but it certainly was off key.
Emitting an unlady like snort, she swatted at the offending appendage. "Good to know you're just as annoying as you were years ago."
"I think you mean charming," he shot back with a waggle of his pale brows.
"Yeah, that's exactly what I meant," she muttered sarcastically, rolling her eyes and turning away from him. "If you'll excuse me…you interrupted my supper."
"Hey! Supper huh?" He took up a spot beside her, increasing her annoyance by floating along down the hallway with his hands shoved in the pockets of his stripped pants. "What're we havin'?"
"I'm having Chinese." She shot him a haughty look. "You can have whatever you find crawling around." And there was that self-disgust again, hissing in the back of her head like an ugly, mangled snake. She didn't like being bitter. It wasn't her. It had never been her. Lonely…yes. Withdrawn to the point that people mistook her introvert ways for arrogance…yes. But never bitter. Sighing, she stopped and turned to face him. She couldn't help but notice that in the weak glow of the hallway sconces, he looked…almost normal. "I'm sorry."
The very statement seemed to startle him. He stopped floating and his feet lightly settled on the carpeted floor. "Sorry? For what?"
"For being so bitchy. Listen…I don't know why I'm here. I have no idea what's holding me to this place but thinking about leaving doesn't feel…right. And it felt even less right after that visit from Jane. Until I can figure out what I'm doing or even what I'm going to do…I just figured we could…keep each other company or something," she finished lamely, then pushed on, desperate to explain herself. Or at least explain everything but the emotions she was still struggling with. "I don't mean like…you standing in a mirror or ghosting all over the house or whatever you want to call it. I wasn't kidding when I said talking to nothing but a voice was annoying. If you're here and I'm here we might as well both…be here. And a little civility might be worth trying." She grinned slightly at that last statement and added with a teasing lilt to her voice, "If that's something you know how to do."
"Hmm." He tapped his lacquered finger thoughtfully to his chin, an exaggerated frown of concentration pulling his lips downward. A forbidden ache of longing shot through her as she remembered those lips moving hypnotically against hers.
"Civility…been a while since I last tried it," he muttered, his words pulling her out of her brief lapse.
"Well," she patted him on the shoulder, giving him a sweet smile before turning her back on him and heading toward the stairs. "You can give it a try while you're working on the last of those rules. You've been here long enough to know where the bathroom and towels are."
"Wait…you want me to shower? Now? I just got here!"
"All the more reason to get it over with." With a smart wave, she started down the stairs, calling over her shoulder, "I'll set some food aside for you. Enjoy!"
His colorful, long-winded cursing followed her down to the first floor. But he didn't. She smiled, considering this to be her first - and quite possibly only - victory.
Optimism, Lydia…try having a little.
He'd already surprised her by agreeing to her terms, by willingly giving into the rules she's laid out. Was it that surprising to believe that he would adhere to them as well? She pondered that question as her feet slowed at the landing and her hand lingered over the newel post. He really had no choice in whether or not he'd adhere to them. For the most part, he had to. But whether or not he would do so with a lack of animosity for her or any form of hostility was an entirely different matter. People could follow through on deals and remain decidedly unhappy about it. Would he be one of those people? Or would he follow along and make their new arrangement agreeable? Maybe even…fun?
"That might be asking for a bit much," she mused with a soft chuckle.
She settled into the task of reheating her supper, then skeptically filling a plate for Beetlejuice and heating his to the point of a sizzling steam so that it wouldn't go cold before he came downstairs. She returned both to the dining room table and slid into a chair, secretly enjoying the fact that her dinner had gone cold due to her distraction and Beetlejuice's sudden agreement. She had always enjoyed Lo-Mein much better when it was warmed up after having gone cold. The taste changed somewhat, subtly enough to notice a difference but not to the point that it was an entirely different meal. The same, she mused idly, did not go for wontons, however.
She was working on her last bite when Beetlejuice came skulking down the stairs, his shoulders hunched in defeat and a green and blue stripped towel hanging over his head. The shower was a mild improvement, only having removed the stains of age and dirt that had marred his pale skin. He wore the same clothing he'd shown up in – his black and white striped suit – though his feet were bare and she noted with mild amusement that his toenails were also painted red. The scowl on his face was that borderline pout again and she felt the sudden urge to giggle at seeing it. The Ghost with the Most reduced to a simpering toddler and all because of a shower…interesting.
"How was that for you?" she asked conversationally.
His gaze skirted to the food momentarily before he leveled a glare on her. "Probably a lot more enjoyable for you," he said, pulling the chair back and flopping into it. He ruffled the towel a bit over his hair then yanked it away, dropping it carelessly to the floor. His hair, clean and surprisingly blond, stuck up at several odd angles. When coupled with the sulky face, the image as a whole was too difficult not to laugh at. And Lydia covered her mouth before doing just that.
He spared her another glare, this one only slightly more antagonistic, before picking up his fork and starting in on his Lo-Mein.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, after having gained control of herself. "You know…you're kind of defeating the entire purpose of a shower by wearing the same clothes you had on before taking one."
Beetlejuice rolled his eyes and put his fork down. "You women gotta work on being a little bit easier to please." He snapped his fingers and his clothing was replaced by a pair of dark blue pajama pants with skulls and beetles scattered over the fabric and a plain white t-shirt. "Better?"
Lydia smiled and nodded. It was much better. Of course the "much" of that was what she was trying to avoid. If she was going to be honest with herself, he looked…
She stifled a sigh, dropped her elbow to the table and propped her chin in her open palm, trying to look shrewdly observational instead of openly fascinated. He looked amazing. But she couldn't tell him that. Even if she could, the chances of him believing her were slim, especially at this point in their warped relationship. What amazed her was that it wasn't all from the shower. Yes, he'd washed away centuries of dirt and grime and any other disgusting shred of the unknown. His hair looked much better clean, even if it was sticking up every which-way and giving her the distinct impression that it was trying to escape his scalp. But there was more to it than the simple improvement a shower had provided. The choice of plain clothing cultivated him almost as much as the simple act of sitting at a dining room table and eating a plate full of noodles did. He almost looked….human.
"You look good," she finally relented, taking the risk that he might or might not believe her words.
He glanced up, his mouth full of Lo-Mein and, without bothering to chew his food and swallow it first, said quite simply, "Thanks babes." He slurped up what remained, then leaned back in his chair and gave her a speculative look as he rubbed absently at his stomach. "What's with your look?"
That gave her pause. She slouched and crossed her arms loosely over her chest, frowning slightly and risking a brief glance at the relaxed, dark gray khaki slacks and teal silk cami edged in thin black lace. "My look?"
"Yeah. What happened to the moody-teen in all the gothic crap?"
"See, there's this thing…it's called growing up. We humans who are still amongst the living tend to do it on a daily basis."
"Man, you turned into a little smart ass," he said with a chuckle, shaking his head.
She couldn't resist smiling back, feeling much more at ease in his presence. "I guess I just grew out of it. After two years at college and finishing top in my art courses but gaining no recognition, I started to realize that years of looking unnoticeable made me just that. So I made the choice to stand out, to hold myself a little taller, to have a little bit of confidence in myself instead of just my work."
"How'd that turn out for ya?"
Her smile widened and she left the room, returning a moment later with a magazine that she dropped brusquely on the table in front of him. With a look of mild curiosity, he turned to the page that had been dog-eared by Charles Deetz moments after he'd received the magazine in the mail from his daughter. Lydia took her spot at the head of the table and watched as Beetlejuice leafed through the pages splashed tastefully with pictures of her art. He looked as if he were taking some modicum of appreciation in what he was seeing, though he could have been faking it just to indulge her on some level and prevent possible feminine outbursts. She'd seen her father do this to Delia several times throughout the course of their marriage.
"Landing my first show at one of the more respected galleries on the east coast made me think I should probably be dressing the part of a respectable artist who wants to go places."
"Nice work, Lyds," he said with surprising sincerity, closing the magazine and giving her his full attention. "Glad to know ya didn't lose that cryptic edge."
She snorted softly. "People like dark, sadistic and twisted in their art but not in the people selling that art. Go figure."
"Betcha 'ol Chuckie's prouder than shit, huh?"
The smile fell away and the bitter resentment that always bubbled up at the mention of her parents crawled over her, sinking in its nasty, spite-filled claws. "Wouldn't know. I don't really talk to them anymore."
"Why not?"
"Because Delia wasn't exactly pleased that I landed a show at the gallery she's been trying to get into for the past seven years."
They both lapsed into uncomfortable silence. Lydia kept her gaze fixed on the table, feeling every ounce of the pathetic teenager she once was. What was the point in telling him that? She didn't want his pity. She just wanted…
An image of them suddenly flashed in her mind – their bodies tangled, their mouths moving in an erotic, sensual rhythm, sweat glistening in the glow of candlelight, her moaning as he pulled her head back and slid his tongue over her neck-.
She was going to need a therapist by the time all of this was over.
"Hey," he suddenly spoke up, breaking the tension. "How's about we continue this in the kitchen with some alcohol and a couple smokes?" He stood and offered his arm with a slightly dramatic flair that had her watching him cautiously. "Come on, babes. No suggestion in holdin' a guys arm." Then, with a bit of a leer he added, "unless you want me to be suggestin' somethin'?"
Though crude and irritating, it was a welcome intrusion to the conflict of emotions warring violently within her and she grabbed at it desperately. She stood and slid her arm through his, concerned with nothing more than having any thought regarding her parents out of her head. If he wanted to play at being nice, she didn't even care right now. She'd take him playing her over the stinging ache of losing yet another parent. "I'm guessing you don't have any cigarettes of your own."
"You're guessin' right babes."
"Of course."
They moved into the kitchen and Lydia started for the cupboard her father had left his less expensive liquor in. Beetlejuices hand on hers stopped her. "Have a seat, babes. I got this. You want somethin' easy or somethin' special? Well…being that you're in the presence of greatness you kinda already got yourself somethin' special."
She found herself laughing at his arrogance. "You have no sense of modesty at all, do you?"
Glancing over his shoulder as he dug through the cabinet for something worth making a drink out of, he grinned and winked. "Not a shred."
Okay, so this entire situation could be highly interesting and entertaining if they just stayed like this – calm, easy…civil. "Can you make a Black Russian?"
"The real deal or the drink? Cuz I'll tell ya what, babes. The real deal…those are hard to come by." he joked.
"Beej-." She tried for a warning tone which was near impossible through the laughter she was failing to suppress.
"Yeah, I can make a Black Russian. Smoke?"
She pulled a pack from one of the drawers beside the oven, getting one for herself as well, then sitting back and watching him as he pieced together the drinks, the lit cigarette dangling between his lips and his hands moving quickly as if he'd been born behind a bar. That part of her that continually fought what she felt for the ghost was starting to falter.
He presented her drink with a flourish, sending it sliding across the table at her. It would have landed directly in her lap had she not reached out to stop it. She shot him a shrewd look before lifting the glass and taking a sip, her eyes remaining on him as he plunked down in the chair across from her and propped one bare foot on the chair between them. He used his own finger to stir the liquor, then licked it clean, smacking his lips in an almost childish manner that promptly quelled all arousing thoughts of that mouth doing much the same thing to parts of her.
"So, Lyds the artist, livin' in some fancy-ass city and doin' all that…" he waved his hand in the air, grasping for something to say before settling with, "artsy shit. Guess you got everything you wanted outta life, huh?"
Lydia pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed at it, dropping her eyes to her drink and watching the cream swirl in a drunken dance with the darker liquid. "Maybe," she muttered, then much more quietly, "Probably not."
"Looks like ya got a little bit of that moody brat still hangin' around inside ya somewhere."
She cast him a sneer of near loathing over the rim of her glass, then tipped it back and let the liquor burn a trail of scalding heat down her throat. "I really doubt I'm half of who I used to be. And it's nothing about being depressed. They're adult things. I guess…life just turned out to be a little more complicated than I thought it would be."
"Shit babes, everything about life is complicated. Even bein' dead is complicated," he muttered, saluting her with his glass before downing his drink as if it were nothing more than a shot. He slammed the empty glass down on the table, then clamped his cigarette between his teeth. "Thought you knew that."
"This isn't complicated," she attempted to argue; though the words fell flat of the truth and she knew it. "Sitting at the table, having a smoke, drinking dad's cheapest stock, sitting in a house in the middle of this tiny ass town-."
"Yeah, nothing complicated about that part. Throw a contract with a fuckin' poltergeist into the mix and that pretty much complicates the shit out of it."
She glanced up and was mildly shocked to see him smiling. The only thing more shocking than that…was that she could feel her lips twisting, pulling up to smile back at him against her will. "You didn't have to sign the contract, Beej."
"I know."
"Then why did you?"
Beetlejuice shrugged his shoulders before pushing away from the table and going to the cupboard to grab a bottle of vodka. He flipped the light switch on the wall, throwing the room into shadows broken up only by the overhead light of the stove, then returned to the table. He twisted the cap off of the bottle of vodka and took a long pull directly from it before setting it between them. "Hell if I know, babes. Because I was bored. Because I want payback. Because I wanted to piss Juno off. Pick one."
Well, at least he was honest. "No thanks," she returned dryly, still smiling. "Not a single one of those options really makes me feel that great about our current situation."
"You want to feel great about the situation?" He raised his hands and made quotation marks in the air with his fingers at the word 'situation', all the while giving her that look that said quite clearly 'I want to do bad things to you.' "I could think of a few things."
She hummed softly and drained the rest of her liquor. "I'm sure you could. But I'll pass, thanks."
Another shrug. "Can't blame a guy for tryin'."
And she couldn't really. If things were different, she would probably be trying as well. But they weren't. They were confusing and chaotic and everything she truly wished they weren't. She reached forward and snagged the bottle, holding it to her lips and tilting it back. The taste of him hit her first, sending a dizzying thrill through her, chased by the harsh bite of straight vodka.
She set the bottle down, sliding it slightly towards him as she wiped at her mouth with the back of her arm. "Think we'll be able to get through this without killing each other?"
It was a joke…somewhat. But he answered seriously. "I'm already dead, Lyds."
"Okay." She hesitated, watching him carefully and then adding, "Can you make it through this without killing me?"
Something flickered in his eyes and for once it wasn't anything laced with cruelty. For one brief moment, he looked as vulnerable as she felt. He was quick to mask it, to wipe any emotion from his face. "Guess we'll see," he said, his tone noncommittal.
With no hint of malice, his insinuation held no threat. And as much as she hated it, hope for what they could be started to blossom deep within her, undeterred by that tiny bit of her that had given up fighting against what she was feeling.
"Try not to tonight," she teased, grounding out her cigarette and standing, deciding that she would be far better off leaving the room and putting some distance between them. "See you in the morning."
It felt strange, leaving him there at the kitchen table with a half a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of vodka - both of which would probably be gone in the morning. It was almost as if she were a guest in his home. But staying there with him, tempting emotions that were already frighteningly out of control…she just couldn't.
Once in her room, she shut the door, then leaned back against it, her hand still loosely gripping the knob. Would there be a point to locking it? He was a ghost. No lock could hold him. But a contract with a living individual could.
Her gaze skittered to the piece of condemning paper, still sitting on her vanity. She crossed the floor, carefully picked it up along with the pen still lying beside it and sat down on her bed, looking over the words she'd so carefully chosen to write.
She'd been fair…hadn't she? She must have been because he was treating her with a lot less hostility than she thought she deserved after everything she had asked….no, demanded of him. A lot less. So much so that she almost wanted to question what his motives were. The way he'd touched her though, the way he'd kissed her with such reverence…it changed her mind. And there was the fact that he'd so easily picked up on her little melt-downs and stopped them. There was something there though– something mutual. And that feeling that there was something mutual was easing the ache of loss surrounding Adam and Barbara. It was making it a little less complicated to deal with the betrayal she felt over her father and step-mothers slow extraction from her life. It was putting a spark she'd been missing back into her lackluster life.
If she wanted to psychoanalyze the situation, she could chalk it up to abandonment issues. She could factor in her detachment from reality at such a young age, her preference for strange, unexplainable phenomenon's, her love of anything related to the paranormal. It could be some kind of psycho-savantism or another term equally impressive that she could come up with off the top of her head that she would never be able to fully understand. In short…she could make it much more complicated than it really was.
What it all amounted to was something so ridiculously uncomplicated. She wanted to be with him. Regardless of how wrong it was, regardless of how strange this would seem to someone who wasn't her…she wanted him. And wanting to be with him was never going to be an option with the rules she had so clearly laid out and the conditions for breaking said rules. She lay down and rolled onto her stomach, spreading the piece of paper over her comforter. There was space at the bottom…just enough.
She mulled over her thoughts a moment longer, then made her choice and started to write.
If permission is given or any decision made by Lydia M. Deetz that are in direct conflict with each stipulation stated at any time throughout the duration of this contract, contract shall be null and void immediately.
She had no idea if her addition would be effective, given the contract had already been signed. A very large part of her hoped that it would be.
A/N: For anyone possibly offended by the Black Russian comment Beetlejuice made, I sincerely apologize. Once I wrote it I started thinking about taking it back, thinking it may cause some people to get a little angry and think that I'm racist (I'm not in any way at all) but I could totally see Beetlejuice cracking a joke like that so I took the risk and kept it in.
