AN: Okay, here's the longer chapter. Reader beware— BJ is his fine wicked self in this, and I can't make him behave. Frankly, sometimes I'm afraid to try! And this isn't a romance. It's not! Stop looking at me like that...

Soundtrack: Last.fm electronica tag, including a lovely dark song by Sefiros off the Deconstruct disk.

Chapter 4: Waking the Girl

"Lydia? Lyds?" He reached his hand out and gripped her shoulder lightly, and then shook her like a leaf until she woke, wide-eyed and attempting to brace herself against the shuddering mattress.

"I'm awake! Awake! Quit!" Lydia grabbed his arm in both hands, and then, surprised at the cool soft texture of his skin, released him immediately. "What happened to your coat?" She rubbed her hands together, whether consciously or un- he didn't know. But it didn't matter. He slumped a little. If she couldn't even bear to touch him, this wasn't going to work.

"Didn't know you were so squeamish, girlchild." His voice was sulky. She frowned at him.

"I'm not. I just… I was… I didn't expect that. Is all. I mean, you feel… different."

He chewed at his bottom lip and looked at her through narrowed eyes. She squirmed a bit, and then made an effort to hold still. He took a deep breath. They had to cross this barrier. "Try it again. I won't bite." But his mouth quirked in a mischievous smile, anyway. She looked warily at him, and then, to his surprise, she reached out and stroked her fingers down the inside of his forearm. Her touch was gentle and hesitant, and it sent a shiver through him. His mouth went quite dry, and his lips parted slightly. He might even have swallowed. She looked shyly up at him to find him intently focused on her.

"Your skin feels like silk. Except you aren't warm." He nodded, not trusting his voice—he imagined speaking and hearing his own voice crack as if he were just entering puberty. Deep breath. It wasn't the oxygen he needed, but the calm.

"I won't break, you know."

"I will."

"I wouldn't…" But she pressed her fingertip to his lips.

"Don't even go there, B." Her hand was shaking slightly. "I have been through a great deal in the past few days. So just don't." But he looked so dejected, so at the brink of seriousness, that she cast around for another topic, just to distract him. "So what happened? You owe me an explanation, Beej."

"Yeah, I guess I do." He tucked his arm into his body, skin still tingling from her touch, and leaned back against the headboard.

"I have to… um. I need to shower and change, and treat this cut. Do you mind?" She was looking down at herself, still spattered with blood. Her wrist was bound with a strip of cloth that had turned brown with dried blood during the night. He frowned. Humans and their skins—always something needing to be emptied or scrubbed or scratched. But there was a small problem.

"Um, sure, but you can't go more than three feet from me until we sort out this… thing."

"What?" She stared at him, uncomprehending. He flicked his finger against the barrier and a blue glow rippled across the surface of the sphere. Her eyes followed it.

"You put us in a bubble? Together?" Her voice was a little hysterical.

"Would you rather I left you out there to be possessed at will by an insane spirit?" He was more than a little angry. Here he was, protecting her, when he could have been a thousand miles away sipping banana daiquiris by some Hawaiian bonfire, and did he get appreciated? Oh no, not him.

She had the grace to look abashed. "You're protecting me?"

"I'm protectin' us both." That came out a little harsh, and she winced. But he continued. "So long as I stay Out, she can get to me too. I don't intend for that to happen, okay?"

"Okay! Okay. Bu t I need to take care of this, Beej. And I'm all itchy." He studied her for a moment, and then sighed with dramatic weariness.

"Fine. But I like the water hot!" He tried his rakish grin again.

Her eyes widened. "You are not showering with me!"

"But--!" He protested loudly, but she crossed her arms in front of her body, and he subsided sulkily. "Whatever. Just don't take too long. Hard enough as it is." She jumped off the bed and he stood to follow. Before she could object again he held up his hands to ward her off. "Hey! I'm just standing, okay? Just don't cross the barrier." Lydia shut the bathroom door on him and he sighed. Damn women always had to take the fun out of everything.

Beetlejuice settled his back against the door and listened as Lydia cursed while she peeled off the wrapping of her wound. That had to sting. He could have helped her, but he wasn't feeling all that helpful at the moment. The creak of the water faucet, and more cursing, and then he heard the shower door open. Temptation was mighty. Steam billowed out from under the door, and he heard a small sigh. Wait a minute. Temptation? Had there ever been a measured heartbeat between temptation and giving in to it in his entire life? He scratched his head.

Nope.

He was halfway through scrubbing her cedar oil scented shampoo into his wild, tangled hair before Lydia realized what had occurred and started screaming at him to get out. He cackled with wicked glee and stole her soap, and the screaming changed to a shrieking protest as he washed himself all over, the theatrical grave dirt washing down the drain as she pummeled his shoulders.

"Beetlejuice! Get the hell out!" She was shouting and squeezing her eyes shut and flailing at him all at once. He slid a soapy hand around her mouth and wagged his finger at her.

"Say my name again and you're in this by your lonesome, Lyds. Where's the conditioner?" His jade-colored eyes sparkled playfully at her. She was flushed from forehead to toe, hands frantically covering whatever of her he happened to be eyeing. But then his gaze fell to her wrist, and he tugged it gently toward him. The cut on her wrist was inflamed and deep. "Geez, Lyds, she really got you, didn't she? Bitch."

"Can we talk about this after you get the hell out and I wash the soap out of my hair?" He was still holding her arm, the water coursing over his shoulders. She opened her eyes, careful not to look down, and cast him a pleading look. He gave her a wry half-smile, and then lifted his hand to her soapy hair.

"Let me." Whoa. Where had that come from?

"No!" She backed further away from him, pressing into the shower wall.

"What are you afraid of?" His voice was throaty and gruff. "Here you are, all cut up because some bitch of a ghost wants me to come out an' play. He traced the fading cuts on her back that initialed his name with a fingertip, and she twitched away from him. "An' you're all twitchy about it. M'not gonna hurt you."

"It's not the hurt I'm afraid of, Beej." Something in her voice stilled him, and he dropped his hands.

"Fine. Don't be long." And he flicked out of the shower, grabbing two towels along the way and wiping off the water as he walked through the door. Lydia squeezed her eyes shut and covered her face with her hands. Between the two ghosts there wasn't going to be much left of her to haunt. She leaned back into the water, washing out her hair, and trying to ignore the tingle that his touch had left on her skin.