ST: To "House of Flying Daggers."


Chapter 9: Fine

Beetlejuice winced in pain. "Don't make me say it again," he mumbled. "Bad enough as it is."

"Worse than I expected." Rahim stood gravely beside Lydia. "You know that there can be no love between flesh and spirit. It is impossible. You cannot give her anything she needs." He glanced sadly at Lydia, who looked back at him with a questioning expression.

"What I need?"

Rahim nodded, but Beetlejuice heard something in her voice that he had become quite familiar with, and turned to face her, a nervous tremor in his throat. Oblivious, because he did not know her like Beetlejuice knew her, Rahim continued. "Warmth, Lydia. Companionship in time of trouble. Ghosts have no roots, and no restrictions once released from their years-wage. And Ied Algueze, he goes everywhere, and is in everything. Plus, you are alive, and he is not. No matter what, you cannot change him. He cannot give you a family, nor stability, nor contribute in any way to your happiness."

Lydia nodded. "I understand. And I thank you for your caution." She had closed up like a moonflower in the harshness of noon. She bowed politely to Rahim. "Thank you for the lovely party, but I think I need to go home now." He bowed back to her, and Lydia, with a long look at her dejected poltergeist, turned and walked slowly out of the hall. The two ghosts watched her go in silence. And then Beetlejuice turned to his old friend with a scowl on his face.

"You're an old crotchety bastard, Rahim."

"You don't actually think I bought that for a second, do you?" The old man looked up at the young poltergeist with a raised eyebrow.

"Nah." He scuffed the well-polished floor with a boot-toe. "Woulda been a fine game, though."

"She's a fine woman. Not for you."

"No. Not for me. The fine ones never are." He peered out the door, but could no longer see her. "I'll make sure she gets home, at least." He gave Rahim a crooked smile and walked toward the door, tugging his coat off as he went. As it fell, it simply vanished, as did the tie and waistcoat, and then he was out the door and out of sight. Rahim shook his head, feeling some niggling doubt. Ied Algeuze never gave up so easily. But then, love had never been his game. And at least the lady knew, now, never to let him back in again. That was something.



Lydia was in turmoil. She paced up and down in front of the library, not knowing what to do. Beetlejuice's confession had left her near tears, and in a bare few minutes time she had come from the acknowledgement that she felt something other than friendship for him to the realization that he was actually telling her the truth, for once. She had felt it. And it terrified her. But not for the reasons that Rahim had listed. No, she was terrified because she had wanted it to be true. But she had fought against him so bitterly, and for so long. They had been enemies, and then they had been enemies united by a common cause. After that, they had just been united in uneasy truce. Because she carried his true name, she had lost the ability to banish him, an oversight that Juno had not yet discovered and taken steps to correct. And he had been laying low, not wanting to get noticed.

But even though he had his freedom, he had never strayed far from her side. Oftentimes she would fall asleep and wake and he would have not moved at all. Initially it had struck her as immensely annoying, as she was embarrassed at the thought of his watching her sleep. But gradually she had come to depend on him as he kept watch for her. When she slept in an empty apartment, she slept less soundly. And when the nightmares came, he had always been there to hold her, and whisper soothing murmurings against her ear, or her neck, or wherever his mouth had come to rest. The memory sent shivers through her.

And no matter the abuse they heaped on each other, somehow she always accepted him back, always ended up curled up against him as if he were a dog, solid and comforting. She had fallen asleep more than once like that, tucked into him as he stroked her hair. And he had always been so undemanding, and the process so gradual, that she had never stepped back to think about how very not him his behavior was.

Now she knew. And it was her own fault that she had been the slow one, completely oblivious. She rested her head in her hands, not even capable of summoning the energy to try and flag down a cab at this late hour, not even sure if she cared that she had no easy way of getting home.

"Need a ride?" His soft, gruff voice startled her. She looked up at him, taking in his uncertain expression and defensive body language, as well as the definite lack of coat, waistcoat, and tie, and recognizing from this how well she actually knew him.

"Does it involve anything illegal?"

He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small black ball, shook it, and then flipped it over and peered at the little window. "Without a doubt." He looked at the ground. "'Cause I don't have any money to… pay for a cab. Forgot my wallet."

"You have a wallet?" She felt a smile curling at the corners of her mouth. "You have a magic 8-ball?"

"No to the first. And yes to the second. Sometimes I need help with makin' decisions. " He met her eyes, not hopeful, but not hopeless, either. She reached out and took the toy from his hand, her fingertips brushing against his. Shaking the 8-ball as hard as she could, she closed her eyes, and then looked at the little window.

"Outlook not so good." She raised an eyebrow slightly.

He looked at her curiously. "What was the question?"

"Will I be able to flag down a cab at this time of night?" She grinned softly at him, and he chuckled gently, and then took the 8-ball back and shook it vigorously.

"Concentrate and ask again." His eyes found some of their customary sparkle. He tried again. "Reply hazy. Try again." She wasn't able to stifle a laugh at his playfully frustrated expression.

"What was the question?"

He looked carefully at her, and a bolt of heat lanced through her stomach. "Reply hazy. Ask again."

"What was the question?" She swallowed, feeling suddenly very bare. He reached out and stroked her cheek with a fingertip.

"Will you let me take you home?"

She looked at him for a moment, her mind swept completely blank in the aftermath of a touch that had never carried so much depth as it did at that moment, and then she nodded. He stepped into her space, and slipped his arms around her, facing her for a long moment before he tucked her head gently into the crook of his neck. She closed her eyes as he settled his hand on the back of her head and pulled her tightly against him.

"Lydia." His voice was a dark whisper against her cheek. "Whatever you do, don't let go."

The world shattered into a brilliant aurora glow.