A/N: If anyone is keeping a chronology, this story follows "Candlelit" by about two months. It is not necessary to have read that story first, however. A claddagh is an ornament wherein "the hands represent friendship, the heart represents love, and the crown represents loyalty".

Christmas Spirit

by

Owlcroft

"It's beautiful!" Lydia exclaimed. "Where in the world, or which world . . . whatever – BJ, it's gorgeous!" It was, too, in its own weird way. The red and black lights worked oddly well with the spider, bat, and skull ornaments and the shiny red and silver globes.

"Yeah, well . . ." Beetlejuice scuffed a toe on the floor, hands behind his back, "you said you wished I had a tree. It was the lights that were a real problem. I couldn't just juice them because I might've shorted something. And I've electrocuted myself so many times it's gotten boring."

Jacques snorted. "You should 'ave 'eard him, Lydia. There was nevair so much swearing and fussing in zis roadhouse."

"Hey, it's traditional to swear while you're putting lights on a tree! You tell him, babes. I heard ol' Chucky cussing up a blue streak a coupla weeks ago working on your tree." Beetlejuice snorted. "'Course my vocabulary's a little larger than his."

"Vocabulary?" Jacques sneered at his housemate. "You called zem 'zose expletive lights' and said you would nevair have anozzer 'expletive tree'!"

Lydia laughed. "Really? He said 'expletive'?"

"Well, excuuuse me, but somebody around here doesn't like me – " BJ's voice suddenly turned into his version of Lydia's – "using bad language." He reverted to his usual croak. "So I figure you can fill in the expletive yourselves if you want."

"Like those 'dratted lights'?" suggested Lydia with a grin.

"Dratted!" Now the ghost was outraged.

"Okay, then, those 'dad-blamed lights'!" Lydia laughed at BJ's scowl, then stepped over to hug him. "Thanks, Beej. That was so sweet of you. It means an awful lot to me." She chuckled at his expected grimace over her use of the S-word, then pulled her arms from around his neck, yet left her hands on his jacket lapels.

"As long as it's an 'awful' lot," he grumbled, putting his hands over hers for a moment.

Jacques had acquired a sappy smirk; now he coughed delicately. "I must go do my stretches before my work-out. Bon jour, Lydia, and I will see you Christmas Day, n'est-ce pas?"

Lydia turned from Beetlejuice to face her favorite skeleton. "Christmas afternoon. I've got to get through a morning of pretending to like the presents from my parents and then an enormous dinner. The good thing is that they always fall asleep right after that from staying up late wrapping presents and then eating too much. But I'll get here as soon as I can. Good luck with your workout." As Jacques jogged out the door, she turned back to Beetlejuice and nudged him. "Good thing we got him a case of Bone Bond for Christmas, huh?"

ooooooo

Forty-eight hours later, it was Christmas Day and Beetlejuice was almost frantic with his desire to open the presents Lydia had stowed under "her" tree. She finally arrived, and insisted that the inhabitants of the roadhouse share some hot buttered scum and rock cakes while admiring the tree. Then, yielding finally to BJ's muttered entreaties, she handed Jacques the case of Bone Bond. As he exclaimed in gratitude, Ginger was presented with a video tape of "Born to Dance". She was thrilled and delighted with it and scuttled off immediately to watch it in her room so she could try to dance along with Eleanor Powell. Jacques noticed Beetlejuice's less-than-subtle motions to scram, so he did the smart thing and made his excuses to "try to jog off zee extra pounds zat I must have gained today".

"Okay, babes! Can we pleeease open our presents now?" BJ tried really hard not to whine and nearly succeeded.

Lydia grinned at him and nodded. "You go first." She handed him the package in front and watched as he gently palpated it.

"I think I know what it is! Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!" He ripped off the wrapping paper and pulled out Lydia's now-traditional present of a six-pack of neon-colored Argyle socks. "Babes! Just what I wanted!" Rapidly, he pulled off his boots and, as had also become traditional, donned one of the new pairs of socks and proceeded to parade around in them. "These are the best yet! Thanks, Lyds!"

"Somehow, I knew you'd go for the lime green, mustard, and purple ones first," she laughed.

He plopped back down beside her, feet extended to admire his new socks. "Now your turn. Here," he reached for the long package at the side of the tree and handed it over to her. "It's a little heavy," he warned.

Lydia took the package and started to carefully unwrap it, saving the ribbon and the bow even though they were merely bits of yarn and string tied somewhat haphazardly together. Once the wrapping paper (also known as newspaper) was off, she could see the box and realized at once what she held. "Beej! You didn't!"

"Yeah, I kinda did," he grinned.

"It's the Vanguard tripod I've been saving up for! I can't believe it!" She held the box close and looked at her best friend in near shock. "How did you even know? Where did you find it? This is . . . BJ, I can't thank you enough for this! It's exactly what I've wanted for so long!"

"Well, I have my ways of finding things out, you know." Beetlejuice burnished his red nails against his jacket. "You can't hide much from the Ghost with the Most, babes."

Lydia shook her head, amazed and delighted. "Thank you again. Thank you a million times! This is the perfect present." She gazed blissfully at the tripod for another few moments, then reluctantly set it aside to reach under the tree again. "I only hope you like this as much as I do my tripod. Here." She handed him a small box wrapped in silver paper.

"Is it alive?" Beetlejuice asked hopefully. "I didn't realize rock cakes were actually made out of rocks."

"No, it isn't alive." Lydia smiled. "It's something that . . . well, it was important to me to give you this."

The wrapping was off in a flash to reveal what looked like a small jewelry box. BJ hesitated just briefly, casting a glance at his friend before opening the box to reveal a pair of silver cufflinks with a stylized design.

"The symbol is a claddagh. It's Irish and stands for, well, for things that I think are important and that seemed, I don't know, appropriate. There's an explanation of the claddagh in the box." She went on talking, nervously. "It explains all the symbolism and the origin and everything. Usually, it's a ring, or a lapel pin, but you don't wear jewelry, so I thought maybe cufflinks would work. It's all about, you know, emotions and I know you don't do that very well, but I really, really wanted to give you these because . . . of what it all means." The last phrase was said in an undertone as she watched Beetlejuice carefully remove the cufflinks from the box.

"I know what a claddagh is. And what it means." His voice was hushed but his grin grew until it was as bright as a star at Christmas. "Babes. I'll wear them every day and every day I'll remember you gave them to me." It had gotten dark outside and neither of them had thought to turn on any lights, but she could see by the lights on the tree that his expression was as soft and warm as it had ever been. "Thank you, Lydia," he said.

Lydia's smile nearly matched his as she watched him insert his new cufflinks, then admire them for a moment.

"Hey," he said suddenly, "you still have one to go." He handed her a package beautifully wrapped in red tissue paper with a sparkling silver bow on top. "Um, the guy at the store for part of this present wrapped the whole thing for me," he confessed. "Sooo, you're always telling me that Christmas is about giving . . . and thinking about other people and stuff . . . and, and how the best presents are the ones that mean something and are important to the giver and the . . . givee." He paused at that word, thought about it briefly, then dismissed it as unimportant. "Anyway, I don't really know if this is the kind of thing you were talking about, but . . . it's all I have." He paused and took a deep breath. "It's . . . kind of . . . me."

Lydia removed the tissue paper to find a plain wooden box with a hinged lid. She lifted the lid to see a nest of tinsel, and under that a silver chain. Slowly, she pulled the chain up to find a small crystal heart hanging from it and the heart glowed with a golden light. "BJ?" she breathed. "It's so . . . it's . . ."

"It's my juice," he said quietly. "Just a little bit, and the chain should be the right length for it to hang over your heart, so you sort of always have me with you." He stared intently at his new socks.

"I can't begin . . ." Lydia couldn't take her eyes from the crystal heart. "Beej, I can't even find words to tell you . . . what this means to me." When she finally managed to pull her gaze from the heart to look at Beetlejuice, her eyes were suspiciously shiny. "This is the most thoughtful, the most meaningful present I've ever had. The best present. You're my best present, ever."

Beetlejuice closed his eyes briefly, started to speak, paused, then forced out, "That sounds like something I could say, too."

The two sat in silence for a short while, one staring at hands holding a heart, the other holding a heart in her hands.

Lydia finally spoke, blinking rapidly and peering under the tree. "There's something else back here, in the corner. It's not wrapped and doesn't have a label." She pulled it forward. It appeared to be a plastic pot of dirt, with a few tiny green sprouts growing in it. "What's this, Beej?"

"Oh, that's kinda . . . maybe . . . for both of us. Sorta. Heh, heh." He pulled his collar away from his neck, gulped, waved his hands around a little, then pushed the pot over to her. "They're mistletoe seedlings. Figured you could put them in that Spooky Tree of yours. They grow pretty fast, so by next Christmas . . ."

"Hmm. A whole year? I don't think I'm going to wait that long." She leaned forward and gently kissed him on the cheek, then sat back expectantly, smiling, as he turned a very faint shade of pink.

After a moment, Beetlejuice cleared his throat and smiled back at her. "Well, you always say, Lyds, it's better to give than to receive. So . . ."