XXI

"What do you think Mr. and Mrs. Maitland's unfinished business is?"

They were eating in her bedroom. Her tv was bigger than his and she had Netflix- his new favorite modern marvel. Lydia had already finished her food and was laying out on her stomach on the bed, waiting for the next episode of Black Mirror to start. Betelgeuse had found the first episode particularly humorous, laughing so hard that a hunk of chicken shot out his nose Currently, he was floating cross-legged in the air, working on his third bowl of gumbo. At this rate, there weren't going to be any leftovers.

It wasn't her best batch. She would have preferred to let it simmer longer, but he forced her hand with that little stunt on the couch. Lydia was fairly certain at this point that she was probably going to let him fuck her. How could she not? He was trying so hard. Still, that didn't make the idea of actually going through with it any less petrifying.

"C'mon, ain't it obvious? Big house like that, no kids? Either Babs has some dud eggs, or four-eyes is shootin' blanks." The bowl was tipped upside down to that the last of the succulent sauce could drip into his mouth. An impossibly long, thick, striped tongue extended to lick the dish clean.

The sight of it made Lydia's thighs clench. He could probably do some interesting things with that tongue. Though, when what he said sunk in, the heat in her belly cooled. "That's so sad..."

He snorted. "Fuckin' tragic." The bowl was absent-mindedly tossed over his shoulder. Then, he remembered himself and juiced it to the kitchen sink before it could hit the floor and shatter. With that, he apparated next to her on the bed; not touching, arms folded behind his head while he relaxed into her pillows, parallel with her.

"Boots, Beej," she reminded without turning her head to acknowledge him.

"Nag, nag, nag," he complained, though her request was still obeyed. "You're lucky you've got a nice ass or else I'd-"

"Shh!" Did that little brat just shush him? "Next episode's starting! Would you give me a pillow please?" She either didn't notice or was choosing to ignore the force with which he threw it at the back of her head- which admittedly was not much, but still enough to be considered aggressive. "Thank you!"

"Wanna talk about sad?" Betelgeuse grumbled as the credits started rolling and the little box in the corner of the screen started the countdown to the next episode, "That was some sad shit." He couldn't help but feel for the protagonist. The girl he loved reminded him of Lydia; with her pale skin, dark hair, and pretty warbling. If his own songbird was used in such a horrible, degrading way he would... he might...

The thought refused to fully form.

When Lydia didn't respond, he sat up some, shifting so he could see her face. She was gone away in her dreams; lips parted, breathing even, a hand curled up next to her mouth as though she used to suck her thumb but had since broken the habit. Carefully, he floated up and off the bed. Frankly, he was surprised she made it this long. She had been on her feet all day, and cleaning and cooking must have taken it out of her.

With a gesture from him, the half of the covers that she wasn't lying on top of were folded over her sleeping form and the tv was shut off. He would have liked to stay and keep watching, but didn't trust himself around her in this state; pliant, trusting, vulnerable, completely ignorant to the hunger in his gaze when he scanned the swell of her breasts beneath her dress. Evil thoughts tempted him. He promised to protect her and he damn well meant to, even from himself.

The door clicked quietly shut behind him and he looked down to his right hand, flexing the fingers. "Well, hello Palmela Handerson," he snickered quietly to himself before retreating to the confines of his bedroom, unzipping his pants, and spitting a loogie into the center of his palm, "s'been awhile. I dunno 'bout you, but I think it's time we got reacquainted."

When the time for little humans to get out of bed came and passed, Betelgeuse got impatient and decided it was time to check on her. The first five notes to "Shave and a Haircut" were tapped out against her door. "Lyds?" When no answer came, he carefully cracked it open, cautious of flying objects. She had resituated herself at the top of the bed and her face was buried in a pillow. At some point, she had changed out of her sundress and was now wearing another oversized black T-shirt. He almost thought she was sleeping until he noticed that her shoulders were shaking. She was crying. Silently.

"Baby?!" He was across the room in an instant, gentle hands on her shoulders trying to coax her face into view. "What's wrong?"

"It hurts." A small, pained voice sobbed into the cushion.

Panicked jade eyes scanned her body for injury, but couldn't see anything. When he tried to tug the blanket away so he could check more thoroughly, she gripped it tight, not letting him. Unfortunately for Lydia, he was stronger. She cried out, curling her legs up and shielding herself as best she could. The sight that met him was shocking, terrifying, and rage-inducing all at once. Blood- lots of it, bright red, and sticky- coated the inside of her thighs. The dress she fell asleep in was laid out beneath her to shield her sheets from the mess. It was quite clear where it was coming from. Had someone actually broken into his home right under his fucking nose and hurt her?!

Lydia took advantage of his momentary stupor to steal the blanket back, tucking it under her chin so that she was completely covered. "I forgot to get tampons when we were at the store," she confessed tearfully, humiliated and in pain. "I want to take a bath, but it hurts too much to try and clean the bathroom." Her periods were usually intensely painful and heavy, but, thankfully, quite short. "I didn't want to ask you for help. It's embarrassing."

Monumental relief washed over him at her clarification, as well as slight awe. It had been so fucking long since he had spent an extended period of time with a living woman. This was one of those human nuances, like sunburns, that had been out of his mind for so long that its existence was completely forgotten. This was cold, hard- hot, wet- proof that she was very much alive and fertile, and would be for the rest of eternity. Now was as good a time as any to start learning how to care for her when she was subjected to her womanly curse.

"C'mere," he drew her into his arms and though she initially resisted out of shame, she eventually relented and allowed herself to whimper into his chest as he carried her through his bedroom and toward the master bath. With a nod, every last speck of grime and dirt disappeared from the room and steaming water began to rush into the deep, square jacuzzi. Gently, so as to not agitate her condition, he lowered her to the edge of the tub.

"Jerk," she sniffled, wiping away tears and letting her feet sink into the rising hot water. "I knew you could do that if you wanted to. Why did you make me clean?" Her hormones exasperated the twinge of hurt she felt at the revelation and it showed in her tone.

"'Cause I'm a selfish dick and I thought it was hot," he answered honestly, crouching down to press a kiss to her tear-dampened cheek before licking the residual salt from his lips. "I'mma head upstairs," his eyes flicked up toward the ceiling and Lydia knew he meant the land of the living, "n' pick you up some tampons. Anythin' else ya need while I'm there?"

She was slipping into the shallow water, still clothed. The water clouded red when she did so, an alleviated sigh passing her lips as the heat engulfed her lower abdomen. "Midol," she panted, sinking deeper into the tub, "and chocolate. Please."

"What doll?"

"No," she was shaking her head, smiling through her pain, "Midol. M-I-D-O-L. It's a painkiller specifically for cramps. If you ask someone nicely, they will point you in the right direction."

Well, that was never going to happen, but he would return with her requested items regardless. Still, he humored her. "Got it. Tampons, Midol, chocolate. Anythin' else?"

"One more thing," Lydia sat back up and winced, distracting him from the way the wet fabric was clinging to the contour of her chest. She leaned over the edge of the tub and when her intentions became clear he moved forward, meeting her halfway so she wouldn't cause herself any more discomfort. Despite the fact that she opened to him easily, inviting his tongue to tangle with hers, he kept it brief and urged her back into the tub by her shoulders. "That's all," she sighed, eyes closing, a contented smile curling her lips as she relaxed back into the soothing heat.

"Sit tight, babe. Be back in two shakes of a rattlesnake's tail."

Betelgeuse had enough sense to knock on the door upon his return instead of just barging in. "Ya didn't fall asleep in there, did ya?" The trip had taken a tad longer than expected. He was so used to just taking whatever he wanted that he forgot to pay and had been forced to teach a handful of security guards a painful lesson in why it was a bad idea to waste his time. Especially in that moment, when he knew his pitiful bride was writhing in agony, awaiting his return.

"No. The curtain's closed, you can come in." Fuck if he was going to turn down an invitation like that. The curtain was indeed closed, until a slim, pale arm slipped out to slide it open a bit, revealing just her head and shoulders. Her face was clean of all of the previous day's makeup, her hair wet, slick with conditioner, and piled on top of her head. A thick layer of bubbles helped the curtain in keeping her body from view.

Lydia's eyes bugged at the load of bags in his arms. "That's a lot of chocolate and tampons."

He scowled, dropping the bags off on the counter. "Ya didn't tell me what kind ya wanted. I mean fuck, I get it, every pussy is unique n' all that shit, but what the fuck, babes?! You tell me, is a whole fuckin' aisle really necessary?!" The poor ghost had been forced to just grab one of every kind. He faced a similar problem when it came time to pick up her chocolate.

His ignorance was beyond amusing and soft laughter echoed through the tiled chamber. "Yes, Beej, an entire aisle really is necessary. As you so charmingly put it, every pussy is indeed unique. I know that six-hundred years ago they just hid women away whenever they got their periods and pretended it didn't happen, but we've since evolved." She moved forward, resting her head on top of her arms over the edge of the tub. "Would you hand me some Midol and something to swallow it with, please?"

Pussy. Swallow. Please. Though she wasn't saying anything sexual, the use of such provocative words while she looked up at him- naked, wet, and naive to her power- was having an effect. "Only rich bitches got ta hide away," he corrected, trying to keep his eyes off of her while heeding the simple request, "poor women used blood moss or linens n' worked through it."

She tossed back a couple of capsules before cringing at what he had to say. "Do I want to know what blood moss is?"

It was exactly what it sounded like. "Prolly not." He had to get out of there. The knowledge that she was so close to him, bare and soaked and fertile was too much.

"Thank you," she called sweetly as he prepared to turn tail and run, freezing his hand on the doorknob, "for the bath. And the stuff," she clarified when he didn't immediately respond, "thank you."

I know how you can thank me, an insidious voice whispered in the back of his skull, just open your mouth a lil bit n' lemme slide my cock between those pretty pink lips o' yours. Then we'll be square. Even-Steven. Right as rain. The lewd suggestion almost made its way from his brain to his mouth. Instead, he calmed himself, threw her his best, most charming smile, and a wink that was downright indecent.

"Don't mention it, babe."