Disclaimer: I own nothing but my plot twists and original characters.

A/N: First of all, shout out to badkidoh! Reviews are like candy…sweet, sweet candy.

PREVIOUSLY:

A living woman…he thought she was dead! A deep belly laugh burst out, as she touched her 'ghastly wound,' but she managed to stop before she gave the game away. God! This was priceless.

"Y'know, if you just wanted to skip this whole 'prenup' thing...." He glanced over at her.

She frowned sternly. "No prenup, no wedding."

"And the only way I'm leaving without the B-words is…?"

"If we get married."

They both stood there for a moment considering that.

"You didn't even bring witnesses."

"Damn! I knew I was forgetting something!"

AND NOW, ON WITH THE STORY!

Chapter Two: In Which Our Hero and His Bride Visit a Lawyer

Lydia glared at Beetlejuice.

Beetlejuice leered at Lydia.

Finally, he said, "Well, isn't this here just a gen-u-wine Mexican standoff!" Suddenly they were both wearing ridiculously large cowboy hats and pointing old-fashioned pistols at each other's heads.

He pulled the trigger and she shrieked, ducking and covering. He was insane! And he thought she was a ghost already! She was too young to die! She'd never learned to parasail!

He was laughing hysterically.

She cautiously peeked, then patted herself down to find no holes, other than the obvious. A stupid 'BANG!' sign was sticking out of the barrel of his gun. "You BASTARD." She advanced on him, intent to maim. She'd had just about enough of this! She wasn't fifteen anymore, letting herself be terrorized by amateur theatrics!

He hurriedly sent the guns away. "Now, babes…let's be reasonable here." He seemed to notice anew the gory wound painted on her stomach and completely misconstrued everything. He backed away right through the boxes. "I know it must be a sensitive subject, but you need to learn how to take a joke!"

"Oh, yeah?" She poked him in the chest, encountering nothing but air. "How's this for a joke? Knock! Knock!" She leaned back out of his odoriferous personal space and crossed her arms.

At length he answered, fiddling with his cuffs. "Who's there?"

"Beetle." Her voice could have cut glass. (Elsewhere Juno was cursing at her newly broken scrying window.)

"Beetle who?" The corners of his mouth optimistically began turning up while the rest of his face, more in tune with reality, frowned.

"Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice! B-"

Then his tongue was in her mouth, jamming up the last word. So she bit it. He made a muffled sound of pain, but it didn't seem to stop him. Impossibly, the tip of his tongue stretched out and wound around hers. All warmth fled before its icy stroke and she nearly had a heart attack because it wasn't bad. There was a complete lack of horrible going on. Her jaw creaked open. In fact, it was sort of…mmm. When he withdrew, she nearly followed him back, her arms twining around his neck. Then her fingertips encountered something strangely soft and fuzzy growing on his skin. And she remembered that it was mold. Because he was dead. And that was…bad?

Then the hand that had crept below her waist squeezed, and reality rushed back into the world. She remembered that she was very ANGRY at him. He must have seen the thundercloud gathering on her face because he set her upright (when had he dipped her?), and said, "Why don't ya just come with me, Lyds?"

"Is that even…possible?" Caught off guard by the idea of finally going to the Neitherworld, she still swatted at his errant hand.

"'Course, babes." It would break a couple dozen rules about the mandatory haunting gig, but what's a coupla rules to him? "Ghost with the most, here." And what she didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. "But you gotta stand reeeeal close."

At this, she looked doubtful. "Why?"

"Oh, y'know, inter-dimensional vortex mechanics, wormhole creation…it's tricky business. Ya don't want to leave pieces behind, do ya?"

She stepped back into the circle of his arms. What could it hurt? If he couldn't actually take her along, because he didn't know she was alive, he'd be gone. Back where he belonged. But if he could take her along, she'd get to see sights even the Maitlands couldn't tell her about as they were under house arrest until their time was up, and she could just stage an enormous disagreement over the prenup with the lawyer until Beetlejuice gave up (again) on marrying her. Either way, she'd be happy and her conscience would be clear. And, well, if it was breaking a few rules…she didn't want to know. Plausible deniability.

"A little closer." At her penetrating look, he pointedly put his hands behind his back. "You want to lose an arm and a leg?"

"Hm." There was about a foot of space between them. She shuffled in a half-step.

"Cloooooser." He tried not to grin. Too much, anyway.

She inched in a hairsbreadth away, bravely ignoring the dank cellar smell, which wasn't actually that bad when you got used to it. Even the lingering hint of burnt tobacco was bearable. Not that she wanted to hang around him long enough to get used to it.

"Now," he rumbled in her ear, "ya need to hold on to me."

Tentatively, she placed her palms on his back, hugging him loosely.

"I don't know, that's maybe not enough. If you want to keep all your toes, you should put your leg around me, too." He raised a wicked eyebrow speculatively.

Deadpan, she said, "I'm going to take my chances."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself." Then he opened the locked dormitory door behind him, which opened not on the unfamiliar hallway it was supposed to, but an unfamiliar office, wood paneled and lined with books. Scooping her up in a bear hug and crushing her to his beer belly, he stepped through and kicked the door shut. "Here we are!"

Her hands clenched around his suit jacket so fiercely it was a miracle it didn't rip. "Buh! Guh! Yuh!" she spluttered in rage. She pounded on his shoulder. "You…you sneaky bastard! Put me down right now!" He dropped her. She stumbled and fell on her backside, where she proceeded to kick his ankle with her pointy, blue high heels.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, BEETLEJUICE," said a computerized voice from the desk.

Turning and holding out his hands, Beetlejuice said, "My ol' pal, my bestest buddy, my one and only court-appointed lawyer!" He lunged across the desk to embrace the lawyer, lifting him out of his seat, then abruptly letting go and yanking Lydia to her feet while she was struggling with the tangled train of her wedding dress. "I'd like ya to meet my lovely fiancée, Lydia…" He pursed his lips in thought. "D? T…something?"

Gritting her teeth and digging her nails into his elbow where he'd tucked her arm around his, she ground out, "Deetz." She would have added some other, very uncomplimentary names for Beetlejuice, but she was reluctant to make more of a scene in front of the dignified stranger.

This lawyer was an old-fashioned gentleman, wearing something vaguely 18th century under the voluminous black court robe. The long, curled grey wig of the uniform was jammed on top of another, white wig which reminded her of George Washington. The most disturbing thing about him was how blue his classic face was, with his cravat askew and pulled so tight she'd be amazed if he could breathe…oh. Right.

"Babes, this is Mr. Jacob Newton." He mockingly enunciated each syllable very carefully. "And he don't appreciate nicknames."

Mr. Newton started typing at a clunky machine sitting to one side on his desk. A second later the monotone voice issued forth. "MY CONDOLENCES, MISS DEETZ."

"Thanks," she said wryly. "It's nice to meet you, too." Silence stretched on uncomfortably as the lawyer frowned disapprovingly, Beetlejuice beamed, and Lydia wondered how to escape. "Um…Are…?"

Before she could finish, he typed, "NO RELATION."

She stared. "What?"

"TO SIR ISAAC NEWTON. THAT IS WHAT YOU WERE GOING TO ASK." He looked a bit taken aback.

"Who?"

"Guy who invented gravity, babes." Beetlejuice chortled. "What are they teaching you in school nowadays, geeze!"

"HE DID NOT INVENT GRAVITY. HE MERELY GOT HIT ON THE HEAD WITH AN APPLE. ANYONE COULD HAVE DONE IT."

Beetlejuice made a show of covering his mouth and whispering loudly to her out of the corner of his mouth, "It's a sensitive subject. You should probably drop it."

Newton made a choked noise. "IF I COULD SIGH, I WOULD. WHY ARE YOU HERE, BEETLEJUICE?"

"Can you knock it off with the B-words?"

"WHY ARE YOU HERE, BEETLEJUICE?"

Lydia didn't know exactly what she expected to happen when a speech synthesizer said the name three times, but apparently it was nothing much. The tableau was this: Beetlejuice, disgruntled and tapping his fingers on the desk while holding her arm with a death grip, Newton, calmly sitting with perfect posture and just barely not smiling smugly.

Lydia could sigh, so she did. While rolling her eyes. Plucking her contract out of Beetlejuice's suit pocket using just index and thumb so as to avoid touching anything icky, like his suit jacket, she dropped it on the desk. "He wants you to go over our," she nearly choked on the word, "prenuptial agreement."

"MY AREA OF EXPERTISE IS CRIMINAL JUSTICE, BUT IF THIS IS WHAT IT TAKES TO MAKE HIM LEAVE…." Newton gingerly picked up the paper and unfolded it, scanning the contents.

Beetlejuice was looking at her with a mix of suspicion and mild awe. "How did you find it? You didn't even pull out so much as a spider with it."

"You've got to be kidding me." She raised a sardonic eyebrow. "I saw you put it there."

"That don't mean nothin', babes." He lugged a mangled tuba out of his front pocket. A mutant snake rooster which had been nesting in the horn hissed at him. "Whoah. You'd think I'd remember putting something like that in my pocket…." He stuffed the creature back in, the fabric wriggling and bulging for a moment before it lay flat again, but he studied the tuba. "Why the hell do I have this?" He chucked it over his shoulder, where it disappeared.

"MISS DEETZ, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO SIT DOWN."

"Thanks, don't mind if I do!" Beetlejuice plopped down on one elegant chair, turning it into a chintzy love seat. He patted the cushion next to him. "Room for two, babes…."

She eyed the ratty holes in the upholstery, the escaping springs, and his leer, then decided to sit on the other chair. It turned out that he'd had the right idea – it was like sitting on her grandmother's stuffy, horse-hair-stuffed antiques. No give at all. She might as well be sitting on an attractively carved rock. She shifted discretely, trying to get comfortable, and he snickered at her.

Mr. Newton finally looked up from the prenup.

She nervously awaited his pronouncement, wondering if the contents of the contract would make Beetlejuice mad enough to just break it off right then and there.

"YOU MAY NOT KNOW THIS, YOUNG LADY, BUT MOST NEITHERWORLDERS PUT THESE KINDS OF AGREEMENTS DIRECTLY INTO THEIR WEDDING VOWS. IS THERE A SPECIFIC REASON WHY YOU WANT TO HAVE A SEPARATE CONTRACT?"

She blinked. "No. I mean, I didn't know. I guess there isn't." She shot a glare over at Beetlejuice. She reflected on their failed wedding of four years ago, in which there had been no promises at all, not even having and holding, in sickness and in health. Even if he was in a hurry, she doubted it was just because it made the ceremony shorter! "Someone neglected to tell me that."

The someone in question shrugged, saying, "Not my fault you never asked."

"I SUGGEST YOU VISIT A MARRIAGE COUNSELOR." At her puzzled look, he added, "WHILE ANYONE NEEDS COUNSELING AFTER SPENDING ANY AMOUNT OF TIME WITH BEETLEJUICE-"

A tick developing from conditioned response to hearing his name, Beetlejuice grumped, "Not everyone." At her incredulous look, he flicked his tongue at her.

"Counseling is sounding better and better," she muttered.

Giving them both a quieting frown, Newton continued typing. "MARRIAGE COUNSELORS ALSO AID IN PICKING OUT CEREMONIES AND VOWS."

"Well!" Beetlejuice jumped up, making a show of straightening his lapel. "Since ya can't help us out, me and my Lyds," he grabbed her hand and she got up and followed rather than have it pulled off as he strode to the door, "are off to see these Ma-rage Con-seller people. Thanks for nothin', Newt!"

The door was slamming behind them before he could type a reply. Picking up the contract left behind on his desk, he read the penalty clause again and made the strangled noise that passed for chuckling for him. He tucked the paper safely away so he could take it out and read it for laughter therapy whenever he had to deal with that poltergeist again. If anyone was going to be wearing the pants in that relationship, it wasn't going to be Beetlejuice.

--This is a Scene Break. To return to your regularly scheduled fanfic, skip to next line.--

A bit surprised when the door opened onto a waiting room, Lydia didn't protest as Beetlejuice hustled her out of the office and past the secretary's desk. She knew it wasn't THE Waiting Room, based on descriptions given by the Maitlands. For one thing, it was also wood-paneled and antiqued. For another, the secretary could not be mistaken for Miss Argentina even by a very drunk, blind, deaf person. Even in Braille the difference would be astounding. He was seven feet tall, covered in stitching, and had bolts in his neck. He grumbled at them.

Beetlejuice sing-songed, "Hi, Frankie. Bye, Frankie."

And then they were out another door into a linoleum-tiled corridor the likes of which are seen in institutions the world over and even under, where Beetlejuice finally slowed to a saunter. Catching her breath, Lydia wondered why it felt like she was forgetting something.