Disclaimer: Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

AN: Up to this point, i've had Coldplay on loop. Tonight i switched to Radiohead. Fear ;)

Thank you to my patient and tenacious readers and reviwers. I am trying not to distract myself, but have a whole queue of stories to relish when i get this done. You're all awesome!

Chapter 18: Winner Takes None

"… and then this huge sandworm came crashing out of the ceiling with Barbara on its back, and swallowed him whole. I think I still have the dress—it was this gawdawful poppy red, and gods, the lace." She showed Beth her finger, where a simple but heavy ring of gold glimmered. "This was the ring. It fell to the floor when he was... when he left, and I kept it. " They both stared at it for a moment, as if it represented some crucial proof to the truth of the story. Then Beth looked up at her and smiled with satisfaction.

"And now he's been trying to get you back." She shook her head for what must have been the hundredth time that night. "Of all the people in the world, Lydia, you are definitely the most likely to make a poltergeist fall in love with you."

Lydia groaned, not knowing how to take that, exactly. "He's not in love with me. He just wants me to be so infatuated with him that I can't put him back. Which seems to have worked, dammit."

"I've seen love, dear. And that look that he gave you at the last, just before he left? That was love. He's scared of losing you."

"Since when do you know so much about love? Or ghosts?" Lydia leaned back, feigning nonchalance, but betrayed by her heart thudding against her ribcage.

"I may not know a great deal about ghosts, but I know about men. And didn't you say you have a way of testing it? Try to put him back, and if it doesn't work, then you know." She clapped her hands on her knees, as if that solved everything.

"That's horrible! What if it did?" Lydia paused, a shadow of worry creeping into her face. "What if it didn't?" She glanced involuntarily at the mirror, but it wasn't listening. At least, not obviously. "I need some sleep, Beth. Please don't wake me until Sunday."

"You'll have to arrange that yourself, luv. I'm leaving tomorrow morning for a trip to the city, and won't be back till Monday night. You'll have to carry on without me, I'm afraid." She smiled, and Lydia scowled, and fell back on the bed. But sleep was long in coming, and more than once her hand stroked over the bedcovers without finding what it sought.

Beetlejuice didn't intend to eavesdrop. Really. He intended to drink, heavily, and then go cause some trouble somewhere far far away. But that damnable girl's words were etched into his eyelids. In love. He snorted gracelessly. Lyds was a great girl, but love?

The memory of her delicate body in his arms washed over him, but he shook himself. Hard. And what did he care, anyway? Wasn't this what he had wanted all along? She couldn't bear to send him back. He had won. "Congratu-frickin-lations, asshole." he muttered to himself, pouring another whiskey.

But the loneliness closed in on him, and it was only a matter of time before he found himself drifting closer to the mirror. As he followed Lydia's narrative, he found himself smiling fondly. Nasty customer, for sure. And Otho in that suit, that was priceless. And his abortive attempt to 'shanghai' Lydia. It had certainly been worth a try. But then he shook his head—had he heard correctly? She was holding up her finger to show Beth, and suddenly he felt like he'd caught on fire. Because that was his ring. She was wearing his ring.

She was wearing his ring.

Dumbfounded, he sat unmoving, listening helplessly to the rest of their conversation. Lydia had pegged him to the board with her scathing remark on what he had wanted from her. She couldn't believe that he could love her. Juno couldn't believe that he could love her. And he? What did he believe? And Beth did have a point. If Lydia tried to put him back and couldn't, he would know. They would both know. And he was of the same mind as Lydia on that one—awful either way.

For a long time after the lights had gone out, he watched her sleep. Her skin still glowed slightly with the gauss she had absorbed from him. The memory of that kiss threatened to make him sentimental, and he furiously hunted for another bottle amidst the flotsam and jetsam of his dark lair. Not that it helped, but it kept him from doing something stupid. Like porting right through that mirror and into her arms, and holding her as she slept. Or worse, waking her up.

He must have dozed off at last, still propped in the chair, when something flickered against his subconscious. His eyes opened blearily to a small piece of paper stuck to the mirror. It was on the other side, where Lydia must have fixed it to the glass. He could still see the trace of her aura glow pressed in a thumbprint against the tape. The note was handwritten. I had a really good time tonight, B. Sorry I didn't get to tell you. Will you have lunch with me tomorrow? Yours, Lydia

Yours. Lydia. His. He closed his eyes, and then fogged the mirror with a flick of his fingers and traced a tiny heart below her note. Yours. Gods help him.