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

Chapter 19: Fall

Saturday dawned a beautifully crisp fall day, and from her bed Lydia could feel the cool rattled breathing of the brilliantly colored oak and maple leaves. Beth had left a half an hour before, and Lydia had heard her go, but hadn't stirred. She hadn't slept at all until she had roused herself and written Beetlejuice a note, and then, her conscience eased, she had finally dreamed of being in the heart of a volcano, tucked within a familiar glow. She got up now and padded over to the mirror. Even in the dim light, underneath her note, she could see that he had drawn a tiny little heart. She smiled. That would be a yes.

After a shower, windows wide open and music blaring from the stereo, she was boiling spaghetti and thawing ground beef in the microwave for the sauce, again thanking the stars that her room had a small kitchen and bath. It was after eleven, and she was pondering how to warm the garlic bread without an oven, when she heard a small scuff behind her. Beetlejuice was standing in the room, still in the linen shirt and trousers of the day before, although she noticed with a bit of a lurch in her stomach that more of the buttons on his shirt were undone. In his hands was a gigantic bundle of near black roses tied with ribbon, and on his gaunt and pale face a slightly goofy expression of hopefulness.

"Didn't mean to run out on you last night, Lyds. Your roommate kinda… well, she was a little more direct than… um, she scared me." He shuffled, and Lydia grinned at him. She reached out to take the roses.

"B, these are… amazing. I've never seen this shade of red before!"

"Yeah?" He grinned back at her, pleased to have surprised her. "Well, Juno keeps a garden, you know, and, well…" Was he tacitly admitting that he had gone to Juno for advice, or that he had stolen them? Lydia was tempted, but determined not to press him. She looked at her sparse cabinets and smiled shyly at him. "Do you have a vase, B?"

"Sure, Lyds! I've got bunches!" He flicked his long fingers and the room was suddenly filled, from floor to ceiling, with teetering stacks of vases and containers of all kinds. Lydia gaped. Some were of glass, some of metal, and some were obviously of silver and gold. One in particular, balanced precariously on top of her television, looked to be encrusted with rubies. She wandered past Beetlejuice, just trying to take it all in. Finally, she spotted a heavy tarnished silver vase underneath her pillow that was heavy and wide enough to hold all of the flowers.

"Can I use that one?" She pointed, and every other vase in the room vanished with a pop. He beamed at her.

"You have an eye, Lyds. That was one of Paulie's!"

"Paulie?" She looked at him curiously, lifting the heavy vase and tucking the flowers inside. She saw that it was already filled with water, and smiled back at him in thanks.

"Sure, you know. Silversmith. Made all sorts of things. Neat guy. Rushed around a lot on his horse at night, though, and was always looking for lamps—kinda crazy like that."

"Paul Revere? This vase was made by Paul Revere?" Her eyes were wide with astonishment. Beetlejuice snapped his fingers.

"That was his name, alright. Nice guy. Terrible with the ladies, tho. I gave him a few pointers." He pretended to polish his nails.

"Pointers, eh?" She set down the vase and walked over to him, fixing him with an amused stare. "Like, never run out on a lady who needs you?"

"Um…" he stammered, backing up a step.

"Like always tell the truth? Like stand fast even in the face of discomfort or danger?" She was close enough to poke his breast with every other word, and he was pressed so far back against her closet that he was starting to fade through it.

"Hey, now." He worriedly took her hand in his and laced his fingers with hers. "I'm here now." His voice sunk to a near-whisper. "I may not be the greatest at this, Lyds, but I'm here now." He found her other hand and held them both, and she was suddenly aware that she had forgotten to breathe. "Last night I realized somethin', although it took a lot of… time."

"What, B?" Her eyes flicked back and forth between his eyes and his lips, as he struggled with words.

"I don't know much about l…love, Lyds." His body heat was actually increasing, as if he was overheating with the strain of being perfectly honest. She was completely still, afraid that if she moved, she would startle him. "All I wanted was an open gate, when this all began. And now that I have it, I'm not interested so much in getting out as in… as in…" he faltered, and she squeezed his hands. He tried again. "I never thought for a second that you would want me to stay." His gaze dropped to the ring on her finger, and she suddenly flushed violently to her ears.

"You were listening." But there was no heat behind her voice.

"Yep. Why didn't you tell me that you were wearing my ring?"

"I…" It was her turn to stumble over words. "I haven't thought of it as yours for a while. It's been a long time. And when you showed back up again, I didn't really think about it." That was a lie, of course, and she knew it, and she knew that he knew. He looked at her skeptically, and she remembered how hard it had been for him to be honest. Deep breath. "Okay, I lied. I thought about it constantly. But how could I admit to myself that I was falling for a ghost that almost killed my dad?"

"Poltergeist." he corrected softly, neatly sidestepping her reference to that dark night, and she let it slide.

"Whatever." She could feel the crackle of his energy deep inside her, if she had somehow crossed a barrier and was being flooded with his essence. It made her a bit lightheaded.

"S'an important distinction. Like callin' you a dog." His mouth brushed lightly against her ear as her hand found a way inside his shirt. His skin was like ivory, smooth and cool, and her fingertips tingled with the buzz of his gauss.

"M'not a dog." She kissed his throat, his chin, and he drew back slightly, his hands sliding down her back to cradle her hips, and he smiled.

"Exactly."

The last of her restraint snapped like a too-tense violin string, and she surged against him like a wave. Dinner, flowers, history, enmity—everything faded to a hum in the background of their kiss. And he held her in trembling arms, and keened her name softly with his mouth against her cheek, and she was lost.