Beetlejuice doesn't belong to me. If you want to split hairs, I don't know exactly who he belongs to… Tim Burton, The Geffen Film Company, whoever wrote the myriad of scripts… (Probably not that last.) It's all legal techno-babble to me, and I don't know much about that stuff. I do know enough not to claim he's mine, or try to make money off him, or I'm screwed. Which sucks. I mean, who wouldn't want to make a living doing what they love? But I guess I should just be grateful I can do it at all… Where would I be, if I couldn't? …Probably doing it anyway, but if anyone asks, I'll deny it. You'll vouch for me, right?

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This chapter might touch on a touchy issue... If I've done it right. However, if I've done it right, it also won't piss anyone off. Maybe. Though you should have someone to hate. And if I've done it right, it might answer a few questions, and even further the relationship between Beej and Lyds, as well as the overall plot.

But of course, being who I am, I'm terrified that I haven't done it right... So now I'm going to go worry myself half to death while I wait to see what my reviewers think.

No pressure.

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There was a moment, on waking with her alarm, when Lydia was bathed in a delicious, skin-tingling sense of cool, soothing her tired, sweaty form, and instinctively she reached for it, even before opening her eyes… But there was nothing there. She opened her eyes a little more, half expecting to see Beetlejuice, but there was no sign of the poltergeist… She was oddly enough, a little disappointed, though at the same time, she wasn't sure what she'd have done if she found out he'd spent the night in bed with her.

Running her fingers down her face, which like her body, was sticky with sweat, she spent a moment wishing for the cool sense she'd thought she felt, only a moment before… What the hell was the heat on, anyway?

Grumbling under her breath, she lurched out of bed awkwardly, moving first and foremost, to the window. A quick strain, a fluid sound of movement, and it lurched open, bathing her in the early morning breezes, kissing away the excess heat from her skin. "I'm gonna kill them," She muttered under her breath, letting the air in her room settle, while she looked for a clean uniform, "Either that, or I'm gonna skin Beej, and wear him as a reverse coat."

As in her childhood, she still managed to go through her uniforms far too quickly… She just wasn't a particularly neat person, said outfits quickly acquiring grass stains, food spills, and tears from ducking through closely knit branches. Usually in the neitherworld. Stitched, bleached, and otherwise mended, as many times as they could be, she was still down to her last three, hoping against hope that they would last her the rest of the year. She did not need another lecture from her parents…

Which was why as she came down the stirs, suitably dressed, into a tense and uneasy silence, she almost turned right back around before they saw her, and went back to bed. Damn, damn, damn… What the hell was wrong now? Were her parents mad because she'd gone out again, without leaving a note? It wasn't like she was grounded!

…at the moment…

She decided to preempt anything they said, with a complaint of her own. "Can someone turn down the heat?" She muttered, pretending to wake in a foul mood. "It's like an oven in here!" Adam twitched a little in his chair, lifted his fingers, and lowered them. She knew he'd turned the heat down. What she didn't know was what was with the heavy sense of dread.

"We were hoping the extra heat would help you sweat out your cold." Barbara explained, standing somewhat to the side, her hands folded on her pretty flower print dress. She looked like a ghost with something on her mind, but only a moment later, she lifted her head with a quiet, "Oh… I bet the pancakes are done." And disappeared.

Lydia approached the situation rather like a chemistry vial that she half expected to blow up in her face, carefully avoiding eye contact, and taking her seat without a glance at any of them… Especially her father, who seemed the most displeased. "Pancakes, huh?" She greeted Barb, as the ghost woman came out with three plates worth of the hot griddle cakes floating beside her. "Strawberry syrup?"

"Just maple." Barbara murmured apologetically. "Maybe you can pick up some strawberry syrup for tomorrow though. I don't mind making them again. If I'd known I was going to wake up hungry for them today-" She broke off as Edmond cleared his throat, pointedly looking at his plate, but frowning. This was apparently the signal for whatever family discussion was called for, to begin.

"Lydia," Her father began firmly, lifting those blue mirrors of her eyes to his daughter, "I'm worried about you." This in turn, was followed by a moment where he didn't say anything at all, the set to his mouth indicating that he was going over whatever lines he'd rehearsed beforehand. "It's this fascination of yours with death… I don't think it's healthy."

The girl stared at him, briefly, before turning to her mother, as if to question if her dad was actually serious. She'd been dressed in black since the day she'd come home from the hospital, and he was worried about her being goth now? Her mother though, just frowned, and said nothing.

"Don't look at your mother," He denied, his voice resolving a little, "You and she are nothing alike, and you know it. Olivia may have a fascination with a darker based view of life than many people, and I love her for it, but you? The music you listen to is about death. The books you read are about death. The movies you watch are about death. The only two friends you have anymore, are both dead…"

At this, both Barbara and Adam looked like they were about to protest, but Edmond was not yet done. "Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against the Maitlands, this isn't really about them. I'm just, concerned that this obsession of yours isn't healthy."

Well, that was a weighted accusation… Lydia just frowned at him, and flatly denied it. "I'm not obsessed with death," She assured him evenly, "I'm just not afraid of it. I listen to music about life too, and read books about it, and watch movies about it. Does that mean I'm obsessed with life?" She shrugged, turning her fork into her pancakes. "I'm just not afraid of it. Why would I be? I've lived with life and death since I was born."

"And that worries me." Her father reiterated, not yet touching his own breakfast. When this didn't seem to reach her, he turned thoughtful, and considered his daughter with a searching, concerned gaze. "The living aren't meant to be this involved with death, this unafraid of it. A little fear can be a healthy thing… I'm afraid you may be romanticizing it. That you might think it's more than it is."

"I know exactly what it is." Lydia denied flatly, before she could stop herself. Once that was said, she figured she might as well dig herself in further… "And it's not like I'm in a rush to die, or anything. It's just-" A pause, as she felt Beetlejuice's presence, not in the room, but somewhere close. She was becoming more aware of him, as time went on… "I'm not romanticizing anything," She went on, when she realized her dad was still watching her, "It's just part of my life. Why are you getting on my case about this now?"

"Because you're changing," Edmond answered quietly, "You're not a kid anymore. These are going to be the hardest years of your life… And I don't want you thinking of death as a way out."

Lydia was pretty sure that this was the most utterly nonsensical thing her father had ever said. In fact, her first glance was to the Maitlands, with a slight, questioning lift to her eyebrow, as if silently asking them if he was really serious. Yeah, because death had really solved all their problems… Her next seeking look was to her mother, who she knew damn well had just as much interest in death as she did, and would probably still jump, given the same chances she'd been given.

Which of course, no one there knew about. Imagine if they did… Lydia grimaced, she so did not have time for this. She had to eat breakfast, get her things together, and head to town for her extra curriculars. And they knew it. They were just determined to make what should have been her day off, more of a pain than usual.

"While we're on the subject of death," She noted, with feigned absentness, well aware she was just digging her own damn grave, "I've volunteered for the day at that nursing home in town again… Grief counseling. The place is rife with ghosts, right on a lei point…"

As her father stared in dumbfoundment, she shoved as big a forkful of pancakes as she could, into her mouth, and continued talking through them. "The crazy thing is, no one knows it. So once again, I'm going to have Mrs. Stephen going on about her husband and sister's deaths, while they sit to the side, saying, 'no, that's not how it happened…'"

She swallowed the pancake down, grinning at him, and not giving him time to interrupt. "And you want to talk about an unhealthy obsession with death, you should talk to Mr. Silopopolis. He's eighty-seven years old, and talks about suicide daily. No matter how many times I try to convince the guy that it's just a bad idea. You know what happens to suicides in the afterlife?" She shook her head with a snort. "And then there's the cats…"

"Cats?" Her mother echoed, drawn helplessly into her daughter's web of fast talking. "At a nursing home?"

Lydia dismissed this with a short laugh. "Different rules for cats. One of the patients is this crazy old cat lady, she had eighty-seven of them in her lifetime, and all eighty-seven of the furry things still follow her around from place to place like little shadows. Which isn't so bad, except for when she starts talking to them, and the nurses make her take extra medication for her 'hallucinations.' Still remembers every one of them by name…"

Never once letting her barrage of conversation relent, she was already on her feet, having decided that the best way to beat this topic, was just not to let them get a word in edgewise. "But they're all pretty nice… Love having company, and talking about their lives. I'll probably keep visiting from time to time, when the project is over. I mean, old people count as living friends, right? The living ones, anyway… They're not dead yet…"

Realizing that this last might have been a stupid thing to say, she flashed them all a wide grin, grabbed her bag, and retreated as quickly as possible, leaving all four of her parents sitting there, staring dumbfoundedly at the place she'd been, just a minute before.

Adam cleared his throat at length, turning his gaze back to his pancakes, and noting off-handedly, "Well, she avoided that like a pro."

"I really don't think she has a problem, Edmond." Barbara mused, not yet touching her own breakfast. "She's more full of life than anyone I've ever known… And we don't have to worry about her being suicidal, even if she wasn't. She knows the consequences."

"She knows too much." Edmond agreed quietly, pushing his own plate back with a frown. "That isn't the way it's supposed to work. She's supposed to be focused on living, as long as she can." A small pause. "Something in her has changed, these last few years. I can't put my finger on it… But it worries me. She's not the same girl she used to be."

"No," Olivia agreed softly, finally speaking up, "She's not. She used to get in trouble at every turn, pick fights, stay out all night, talk back, and disappear to who only knows where. Now she's getting almost all A's, volunteers at the local nursing home, actually talks like she gives a damn about someone other than herself, and hasn't been in trouble in years." She lifted her gaze, something in them that made even her strong-eyed husband falter. "I've gone along with this as well as I can, Edmond. But I don't see a problem."

With this she stood, her own meal equally untouched, and turned her gaze away from him, adding, "And I'll pretend you didn't include my best friends, in that list of symptoms of what's gone wrong with our daughter." She added, with her first trace of coldness towards the man she'd been in love with since high school. "Because I swear to god, you do not want to ask me to cut them out of our lives."

And with that she left all of them, the three falling into an uncomfortable silence at her withdraw. None more uneasy over the exchange, or the absence that followed, than her husband, who'd never been the object of her frustration before… And then, without a word, Barbara and Adam pushed their meals back, stood, and left as well.

Leaving him alone.

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Lydia stood outside the front door, having closed her problems inside, but not yet ready to move on from her father's disturbing concerns. Both hands were woven through her careless hair, pressed tight to her scalp, her head bowed as she stared intently at her feet, not certain herself why she felt the aching heat in her gut still linger, like some kind of anger.

He was wrong of course. She didn't worship death, didn't romanticize it, didn't idolize it… But there were times when she preferred it. The world of the dead, the people she knew there, the friends she'd made. In her whole life, only two living people had ever wanted to be friends with her, and they were all but gone now, having both graduated the year before. But in the world of the dead… She could be as strange as she wanted, and no one thought twice about it. She had lots of friends. She'd kind of even had her first love. And her best friend? Her best friend was about as dead as they came.

Her father was wrong… But that wasn't why she was angry with him. She was angry because back there, hearing those words from the man whose eyes stared back at her from the mirror every day, she realized suddenly that things would never be the way they'd been before he'd said them. He was afraid of death. It scared him, and he pushed it away, and he… He couldn't understand. He didn't want to. And he didn't want her to either. Those eyes that could see so deeply, wouldn't, if he could stop them.

We aren't the same. It was like a blow to her chest, so she stood there, her head bowed, trying to understand a father who finally admitted to fearing everything she loved. Who spoke of her oldest friends like they were some kind of contagion. And having seen this part of him, suddenly remembering a hundred times through the years, when he'd dismissed the two, pushed their concerns aside, or excluded them in little ways from the family he'd helped to build. And she knew she'd never look at him the same way again.

A soft sound of grief escaped her, and she shook her head, suddenly deeply ashamed of him, as if she'd just learned he was a bigot… Which it now seemed he was. And how stupid, stupid, stupid… Everyone died! He'd die one day! It was part of being alive…

How could she face him again? Knowing how he felt about people she loved?

She brushed the back of her hand along her eyes, though no tears had really formed, and straightened up slowly, to see Beetlejuice standing before her with a little frown, brow wrinkled up in concern. "You might be being too hard on the guy," He noted grudgingly, as if the last thing he wanted, was to be defending her father, "Lots of breathers don't like the dead. I mean, hell, there's a reason they don't see us, babes. It's not because they can't, it's because they don't want to. Your old man's no different."

Lydia's eyes turned cold, and his frown deepened, as he didn't look away. "Hate is hate." She whispered. "Fear is fear. How dare he hate the people I love? How dare he want me to be afraid of them too? Don't you dare defend him."

The poltergeist looked a little taken aback, cast a guarded glance over her shoulder, and grunted, deciding wisely not to argue with her when she was in this kind of mood. Which she seemed to be in more often lately. "Better get out of here, before we give ol' Chucky a real reason to blow a gasket." He noted pragmatically, putting a hand on the small of her back, and leading her away from the house. "Or it's gonna get real nasty."

"He says one word about you, and I'm putting a hex on him." She grumbled, still obligingly leaving the building behind, and walking with him down the long drive. It made him smile smugly, at the thought of the girl coming to his defense that way… Hell, he couldn't remember the last time someone had come to his defense. Figured Lyds would have no problem with it… "I'll turn him into a beetle." She finished vehemently.

"Bad idea, babes." He cackled, giving her a solid pat on the small of her back, before reluctantly drawing away. "I'm kinda hungry right now… Didn't get one of those pancake breakfasts of yours."

Lydia stopped in mid-step, tipped her head back, and groaned. "Damn it." She cursed softly. "I forgot the fucking macaroni salad." And like that she left him there, going back in the house. Macaroni salad? He followed her with a frown, going as invisible as he could, though he no longer really trusted that to hide him from her father's gaze.

He was still sitting at the table, alone now, and no matter how civilly they'd parted, Lydia made no attempt to even glance at him now, moving past silently into the kitchen, as Beetlejuice regarded the man with a scornful look. Guy like that didn't deserve Lyds as a daughter… For that matter, he didn't even deserve a morbidly hot, if back-stabbing, number like her mother. He wondered idly when the last time was, he'd thought of Olivia that way… Or the last time he'd thought of her at all, as anything but Lydia's old lady.

The fact was, there were those in the neitherworld just as prejudiced against the living, as there were living, prejudiced against the dead. And it made just about as much sense. But Lydia knew that, and it had never really ruffled her feathers before… But this was her old man, and Lyds took all that family shit pretty seriously.

You fucked up, bud, he thought at the man disdainfully, a lot less tolerant of the guy than he let on, only to turn his back again as Lydia reappeared, plastic-ware in hand, and follow her out the door.

They didn't say another word about it as they walked along the long stretch of road, neither one of them. Beetlejuice was content to let it lie, it only really pissed him off because it hurt Lydia, and he couldn't stomach her being upset like that, without shit he could do to make her smile, and forget.

But hell, he had to try. "Old folks, huh?" He grunted, tipping his face back, to squint at the bright, sunny sky. "You tell them what's waiting once they kick the bucket? Might be fun, seeing the look on their face, when they realize they gotta hang around that dump another hundred and twenty five years." He sneered at the living in general, though never Lydia, and glanced at her sideways, adding, "Hell, how many ghosts they got packed in there now? Are the living fucking idiots, putting all their old in one place like that?"

"Just lazy." Lydia mused, still brooding. "And backstabbing. The young hate being reminded of their mortality, I guess. Never mind that they're family… Just lock them away, and forget for a while. Until they get locked away. Guess some need the help… But most are just kinda shoved aside, and…" At this point she fell silent, and Beetlejuice, not having drawn her out of her funk, just about gave up and joined her in it.

"So you go to school all week, then you go do some volunteer shit on the weekend." He gave her a little frown, completely serious, which helped get the right mood across, as he added, "I ain't having shit for influence on you, am I?"

This, finally, made her grin, and turn to him with those dancing eyes of hers, filled with the life he couldn't have. "Trust me," She giggled, unable to resist rising to the bait, "You have plenty of influence on me. None of it good." Then, surprising him, she moved closer to his side, and slid her hand into his, giving it a little squeeze, as she sighed. "Beej, I swear… You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

About to say something smart-ass, he was left speechless by this little admission, staring at her with something of a stupefied look. Hell. Forget coming to his defense, he was damn sure no one had ever considered knowing him to be a good thing, much less the best thing that ever happened to them. And then of course, he became aware of her small, warm hand in his, like she was holding onto him for dear life… "Huh." Was all he was able to say, looking at her oddly, and this barely above a grunt.

He wanted to say something funny. God knew he could always make her laugh. Even wanted to say something perverted, to make her roll her eyes, and tell him off. But for the death of him, he couldn't think of a damn thing to say after something like that… except…

About to tell her that she was the best thing that'd ever happened to him too, he was cut off as she glanced up at him suddenly, noting, "This is gonna sound weird, but I could have sworn you were spooning me when I woke up this morning."

Beetlejuice felt like he'd been hit, rather solidly, in the face. Plastering a shit-eating smile to his lips, he snorted, and did his best to look disdainful. "Yeah, babes. That'd be a good idea. You probably got holy water stashed somewhere in your room, just in case I try some shit like that. Yeah, and after that, I went and poked Juno with a stick for a while, to give her a reason to kick me ball-less too."

The goth girl, obligingly, rolled her eyes, and made a sound of amusement. "Ass." She muttered, in that tone of voice that meant what she really wanted to say was, idiot. "Well hell, you might have ended up ball-less, but at least I wouldn't have sweated my ass off all night. Next time I might tie you down, and make you lay with me."

A little amused to hear what sounded suspiciously like flirting coming out of Lydia's mouth, he smirked, and waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. "Well hell babes, if that's the kind of shit you're into…" He stepped in front of her and put his wrists together, holding them obediently in front of her, like he was waiting to be cuffed, licking his top lip with a cackle, as he waited.

"Oh god…" Lydia took a step back, looking briefly horrified, and dousing any sign of a smile on his face.

She couldn't maintain it though, and ended up laughing so hard that in a matter of seconds, she was actually on her ass in the road, bent over her knees, wheezing. He tilted his head, a bit annoyed, and even more relieved, as she continued to cackle like a madman, until tears came to her eyes. "I- I'll make you a deal, Beej," She managed through her giggles, lifting her dark, pretty eyes to him, "If I ever want to tie anyone up, and have my wicked way with them, I'll make sure it's you, okay?"

Well, hell… A slow grin crossed his face, as he slowly squatted in front of her, jutting out one hand. "Wanna make that little promise official?" He murmured throatily, positively dripping sleaze.

He really didn't expect Lydia to reach out, take his hand, and shake it. Not after last time. But she did, without hesitation, and she was grinning all the while, and even used his grip to pull herself back to her feet, swaying a little as she regained her balance. "Damn Beej, I needed a laugh." She murmured, lidding her eyes as she gazed off the way they were going, still smiling. "Now maybe I can have a good day anyway, even if my father did suddenly decide to tell me he's a prick."

"Hell, babes. That's why I'm here." He slung an arm around her shoulder, tugging her into his side, and she just went along with it good-naturedly, not even drawing away once they actually reached the little town, and started getting stares. Beetlejuice of course, stared right back, grinning like the cat with the canary. Damn if he knew what he'd done right, but he hoped he could do it again. Maybe soon. Maybe when she was wearing that slinky black thing again…

He realized that Lydia was looking at him from the corner of her eye, a sort of cat that ate the canary twist to her lips too. "You're going with me to hang out with the old people?" She prompted, a little dryly. "Figuring on maybe drumming up a little bioexorcist business before they do their crossing? Make sure they know how it works?" None of which smart remarks explained why she looked so damn happy about the idea…

Beetlejuice flipped her off, carelessly, and she grunted in response, actually briefly leaning into his side for a moment, before she drew back away. Like some kind of full body head butt. "Just don't kill anyone." She warned, not objecting when Beetlejuice, his arm still around her shoulders, allowed himself a possessive little squeeze in return. "If I don't get this credit, there's no way I'm getting that scholarship…" She still though, he noted, didn't draw away.

And the ghost with the most didn't miss a beat, just leering in her direction, and prompting smoothly, "So, what college we going to anyway, babes?"

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