AN: Another part one of what was supposed to be a single chapter. You know, this story was never supposed to be this long. Ooh, and another riddle, too! Same challenge-- guess the answer and you can request a 100-word drabble on any subject. Iechyd da!

In total darkness the thief swallows words, but is never any wiser than when she began.

She may chew on the wisdom of the ages, but will never repeat what entered through her head.


Chapter 11: Perfect Gentleman

Sometime during the night, they had become tangled up, and Lydia woke in the morning to find herself curled up against Beetlejuice's chest, her legs twined with his in the most intimate manner, and his arms wrapped protectively around her. She blushed furiously, and then pondered how to extricate herself without waking him. She could only imagine what he would make of this—it didn't bear thinking about. But the more she wriggled, the more intimately she became pressed against him, until she just bowed her head to his chest, hot-cheeked and flustered. And then she felt him chuckle softly.

"You're awake!" Outrage warred with chagrin.

He grinned down at her. "Yep! Bout half an hour. I've just been enjoying this—specially the last five minutes…" Lydia swatted at him, and he caught her wrist gently. "Hey now." Something in his voice and his jade-colored eyes made her swallow hard, and she broke away from him quickly, standing unsteadily on the floor beside the bed.

"Not very gentlemanly…" she muttered. He settled up on one elbow, openly enjoying her discomfort.

"On the contrary, Lyds. I've been resistin' all sorts of temptation."

"I was asleep." Outrage was winning.

"I wasn't." His eyes traveled slowly down her slender frame, lingering on her hips, before he met her gaze again.

She scowled at him. "You're horrible."

He closed his eyes comfortably. "That's one opinion." She stalked to the bathroom and shut the door, and he just smiled after her, savoring the heat from her body that still lingered against him. Being alive had its advantages. He liked the part about being warm all the time. And he suspected she wouldn't be so willing to curl up with a poltergeist. Although… he wished he could have responded to her calling his name. Eight years… Well, maybe he could get her to help him wash his hair again.

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Lydia took a long time in the bath, just soaking in the hot water. When she had first gotten the apartment, she had longed for a shower, because her long hair was so difficult to wash under the tap. After a few months of struggling with it, she had just cut off her hair. And then spent a week wondering why she hadn't done it sooner. Now she had been here for nearly four birthdays, and she was fond of her tiny little space.

"Lyds?" queried Beetlejuice's gruff voice from the other side of the door. "You comin' out anytime soon? Cuz otherwise I'm gonna have to take a piss in the sink!"

Damn one bathroom apartments! "Okay, hang on! I'll be out in a minute!" She regretfully pulled the chain and climbed out of the tub, reaching for a towel and wrapping it tightly around her body. She opened the door to find him leaning casually against the doorframe, not looking even remotely hurried, and eyeing her with a little half-smile that sent chills shivering up her spine. "All yours, B," she murmured.

"All mine, Lydia?" His disconcerting gaze followed her to the bed.

"Did you need to go or not?" Strain made her voice squeak. She felt very exposed and clutched at her towel nervously. He lazily tugged off his t-shirt and dropped it to the floor, the morning sun illuminating his milky white skin in gold. Goodness but those jeans sat low on his hips. And then, when he was certain that he had her full attention, he gave her a wry smile and turned and ambled into the bathroom. The livid scars snaking across his back made a violent contrast to the gentle sloping lines of his shoulders and arms. He closed the door with a flick of his fingers. She exhaled explosively, uncertain how much more of this tension she could take.

When the tap began to run, Lydia felt safe enough to change, but she did it quickly, remembering with every breath that the lock was on his side of the door. Old comfortable t-shirt… where were her sweats? Oh. She remembered, and then her memory lingered a little longer than absolutely necessary, until she had to shake herself free of it. A ratty old pair of jeans did for sweats. Damn, but she needed to do laundry.

"Lyds!" Beetlejuice bellowed from the bathroom. "Will you come wash my hair?"

"Do it yourself!" She didn't think she could face him right now.

"Please?" Oh, exasperating man. Irritating, helpless former poltergeist.

Stupid, gullible Lydia.

"Fine. Be right there!" She could feel his satisfied grin through the door. She sighed. Where was the New York girl now?

When she opened the door, the mirror was steamed over and she broke out into a damp sweat. "B, you really need to learn to take care of yourself, you know?"

"It's a steep learning curve, Lyds." He was leaning back, completely at ease, his bright eyes closed.

"Washing your hair is a learning curve?" She looked at him skeptically. He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Being clean is a learning curve. I haven't had this many baths in my whole life."

"B, this is your second bath."

"Exactly. I like you because you're so quick on the uptake, Lyds." She scowled at him.

"Do you want help or not?" Her only power at the moment was in the withholding, and it was flimsy. And they both knew it. But he surprised her.

"Yes." His eyes opened. "I do. Please." That word was getting easier to say, and it got him things. He chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip. Lydia brought a towel to kneel on, and sighed dramatically. Her legs still ached a little from all the walking she did the night before. And she suspected, the position she had slept in. Thankfully her cheeks were already flushed from the warmth of the room. She poured out a capful of the shampoo, and sleeked her hands over his damp hair. He went completely still under her touch, but not the stillness of complete relaxation. Rather, he felt a bit tense, like he was trying to hold still for her.

"Beetlejuice, I'm not going to hurt you." His eyes flicked open and fixed on her.

"Lyds…" He sighed. "I told you I'm just not used to being touched. It's hard to get used to."

"Then why did you ask me to help, if it makes you uncomfortable?" Her voice came out full of concern, and she gently scrubbed her fingertips down the back of his head, trying to get him to relax.

"Because I… I'm not uncomfortable. I like it when you touch me." And they both realized at once that this was a far more dangerous confession than he had intended to make. Lydia's hands trembled, her fingers light on the nape of his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut, afraid that she would be frightened away. But she stroked her hands back through his hair, washing out the suds, and he began to relax again.

After a moment, she spoke. "You are nothing like I remember."

His mouth twitched ruefully. "That makes two of us."