Chapter Text
Beetlejuice knew a lot of dead folks who couldn’t sleep, not in the human sense of the word. There was that catatonic, unmoving state, but it wasn’t sleep. He didn’t like it, because he never felt any different upon reanimating. Besides, being a ghost with a demonic upgrade had its perks. He could sleep—and snore, too—with humanity’s drowsiest and laziest.
Yawning, Beetlejuice opened his eyes. He knew he’d slept well; he felt better for it. The black ceiling with glow-in-the-dark stars above him felt more homey than the one downstairs. He’d spent a handful of lonely nights crashing on the sofa during the week he and Lydia had spent tormenting Girl Scouts, GrubHub delivery drivers, and unsuspecting neighbors.
The few nights during that time when they’d both passed out on Lydia’s bed, Beetlejuice had always awakened first and crept away. Lying in her bed now with full, intentional welcome felt like a privilege he didn’t deserve. He would’ve turned down the being naked part just to be near her, but the fact that they were both naked was icing on the wedding cake.
Beetlejuice rolled over and looked at Lydia beside him, his chest clenching with poignant elation. He couldn’t believe that they’d consummated their marriage in less than a week, let alone that they were still married. He would’ve waited ten years, fifty years, a century, forever.
Instead, Lydia had come at him inside seventy-two hours with dauntless pragmatism and sex positivity. He’d folded and let her have her way with him like the head-over-heels in love bag of bones that he was. The combination of sex and emotion was new, and he was smitten.
Curling an arm around her waist, Beetlejuice spooned her and sighed. He preferred being the little spoon, but they had all the time in this world and the next. He didn’t like to think about eventually reckoning with Lydia’s mortality, especially not after their roof encounter, but there were ways and means. Options. Juno owed him big time, and one day, he’d collect.
Beetlejuice’s mind drifted back to something she’d called herself the night before that had given him a sense of pride in becoming not just her husband, but her lover. Monsterf*cker, or something like that. If he’d seen that word by itself, he would’ve assumed it was a Netherworld variant on motherf*cker, but Lydia’s usage felt like it carried a promising connotation.
Spotting her phone on the other side of the pillow, he reached over her shoulder and grabbed it. He didn’t know her six-digit passcode, but that was no obstacle to bending the device to his will. He typed monsterf*cker into Google and got mostly Tumblr posts as results. Clicking through a handful of them, he concluded that it wasn’t an insult, but a badge of honor.
Thousands of bloggers claimed they wanted to f*ck monsters, predominantly fictional ones, and here Lydia was showing them all up with the genuine article between her sheets. As Beetlejuice scrolled, it dawned on him that the label might go both ways, because Lydia was one of the closest things to a monster in the classical sense that humanity could produce.
Lydia was clever, morbid, and ruthless. She delighted in scaring the sh*t out of people just as much as he did, maybe even more. She was even capable of scaring him. How could one soft-spoken, hundred-and-fifteen-pound soaking wet human tell off an eldritch horror like his mother? If he hadn’t been besotted before, then that was the moment he fell hard.
Beetlejuice had known from the moment he met Lydia she wasn’t like anyone else as far as her mind, but knowing she wasn’t physically like most other people he’d ever met or been attracted to was also worthy of awe. His wife was a rare creature, a chimera in human skin.
It helped that, prior to marrying her, he’d f*ck anyone he found attractive on the rare occasions they also wanted him. His mother’s bashing of his predilections had been one of the first rifts between them. Over time, he’d owned his queerness with obnoxious pride. As tacky as it was, he enjoyed the colorful flags and trappings that came with it in the modern age.
Beetlejuice loved Lydia for loving herself, for being unapologetic about her flaws, her strengths, and her peculiarities. Even his perpetual bravado didn’t have half of Lydia’s sheer conviction. Even better, she was unapologetic about loving and accepting him, too.
Lydia finally stirred, stretching and turning in his embrace until they faced each other. They were still under the spiderweb patterned blanket from the foot of Lydia’s bed, so Beetlejuice hoped he was warm enough to the touch from soaking up her body heat all night.
“Beej,” Lydia mumbled, nuzzling his neck. She tangled their legs, and the phantom sensation of his heart skipping in his chest made him shiver.
“Anything you wanna do today?” Beetlejuice asked, tousling her already impressive bedhead. “If the answer is stay in bed, I’m happy to oblige.”
“Maybe,” Lydia replied groggily, rubbing her eyes. “I don’t know if you’ll want to, though.”
Beetlejuice ran his palm down her back. “Whither thou goest and all that jazz, babes.”
“I want to visit Mom’s grave,” Lydia said, “and I want to visit yours. The unmarked ones around the Revolutionary War memorial, right?”
“Like, I know the metaphysics are f*cked, but—let me try to explain this. Even though I stayed put in the ol’ coffin for those few weeks about seventy-odd years ago because I wanted to let those hyper-competent nerds with PhDs and spades move my remains…”
“Yes?” Lydia asked, raising her eyebrows. She melted as he continued to rub her back.
“I’m not there,” Beetlejuice said. “My ol’ bones are here. My flesh, too. All yours, Lyds.”
“I know that. But I still want to visit it anyway. Do you know which of those dozens of tiny unmarked granite stones is yours?”
Beetlejuice sighed. “Yeah. I do. I can always find my coffin. Seems built into the deal.”
“We won’t go for long. I’m glad the graveyard isn’t one of your prisons anymore, but it’s…”
Beetlejuice kissed her hair. f*ck, she was so good. She was simultaneously so bad that she wrapped back around to his definition of good.
“It’s?” Beetlejuice asked. He ran a fingertip down her spine.
“Part of you,” Lydia gasped. “And I want to know all of you.”
“We can get on with some of that knowing right now if you want,” Beetlejuice said, remembering a promise he’d made her in the heat of the moment the night before. He’d said all kinds of sappy sh*t that no self-respecting monster would ever say…but somehow, he was into it.
Lydia lifted her head and kissed him, humming in pleasant surprise. “No morning breath?”
“Nixed it for ya, babes,” Beetlejuice mumbled. “I’m cleaner than I ever was when I was alive.”
“Warm, too,” Lydia said. She molded her hand to the back of his thigh, squeezing it, and then kicked the blanket off them without warning.
Beetlejuice felt strangely exposed, maybe even vulnerable. They’d been partially clothed the night before on the sofa, and the room had been dark. Even when he’d teleported them upstairs, he’d only vanished the rest of their clothes once the blanket was over them.
Lydia’s curtains were open, and there were two gigantic windows owing to the fact that she had a corner room. They’d slept so late that it was full daylight. As Lydia pushed him onto his back, all he could do was remind himself that she was the only partner for whom he’d never felt the need to temporarily trim down his middle or augment his size.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Lydia said, crawling over him. She settled between his knees, kneeling there with both hands on his thighs. She guided them apart, sweeping her eyes unhurriedly from his face down to his chest, from his chest down to his hips. “I don’t bite.”
“I wouldn’t mind it if you did,” Beetlejuice blurted, jumping when she wrapped her hand loosely around his half-hard dick. “Lyds, that’s not…”
“Not what?” Lydia asked, stroking him for a handful of seconds before running her hand over his belly, pressing her fingertips into it. Her fingernails weren’t long, but they weren’t cut to the quick, either. They bit into his skin as she flicked her eyes back up to his face.
“Not what I had in mind,” Beetlejuice rasped, clearing his throat. He was hard now, but he ignored it. “Remember what I said last night?”
Lydia sat back on her heels. She smirked, shrugging. “You said a lot of things last night.”
Beetlejuice rolled his eyes at her, out of fondness rather than annoyance. “Are we gonna resort to charades for the sake of a callback, or—”
“Are you really going to eat me out so good?”
“You’re a f*cking smartass, you know that?”
Lydia dropped the pretense and crawled on top of him, tangling her fingers in his hair, using it to yank his head back. “You’re f*cking hot.”
Beetlejuice hissed with pleasure. He’d heard a lot of sh*t in bed, but never that. “That’s all you. We’d better get to it before I cool off again.”
“I’m the smartass?” Lydia said, giving him a bruising kiss before rolling to lie beside him. She tugged on his arm, limbs splayed invitingly.
“You’ve gotta understand where I’m coming from,” Beetlejuice replied, sitting up with a huff. He shifted to kneel between her knees, doing the same thing she’d done to him. “The best a guy like me can hope for is making up for mediocre looks with excellent performance.”
Lydia rolled her eyes at him. “Beetlejuice, has it ever occurred to you that your standards were way too low for way too long? That’s not conducive to attracting people who are willing to…” Her expression softened as he bent forward over her. She caught his face in her hands, arching up for a delicious kiss that was more teeth than tongue. “See you.”
“You’re not just wicked,” Beetlejuice said, pinning her wrists. “You’re just as big a sap as I am.”
Lydia stared past him to an imaginary audience, which was relatable. “Finally, he’s getting it.”
Beetlejuice kissed from one side of her neck to each other, pausing to dip his tongue into the hollow of her throat. He was careful not to leave any marks until he got below her collarbone, satisfied when a sucking bite to her sternum made her gasp and then shakily release her breath. He loosened his grip on her wrists, hoping he hadn’t cut off her circulation.
Lydia pulled her hands free almost immediately, setting one against his hip. She reached for his dick with the other, giving him a teasing stroke.
“Hey, would you knock that off? It’s distracting,” Beetlejuice said, sucking a bruise just above her left nipple. “This is about you.”
“But you’re cute when you’re flustered,” Lydia said with mock innocence.
Beetlejuice rubbed his forehead, beginning to rethink the whole damned situation. “How do you feel about partial possession?”
Lydia knit her eyebrows in confusion. “Partial? Do you mean like…”
“Just your arms.”
“What good is that?”
“Easier than tying your wrists to the headboard, which…there aren’t any slats. Who the f*ck is designing furniture these days?”
“People like Delia.”
“Lyds, I’m gonna need you to be clear with me on this. Can I possess your arms, yes or no?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
Beetlejuice sent Lydia’s arms flying above her head with a gesture, immobilizing them. He watched her test the invisible constraints.
“Thanks for not possessing me back when we were…fighting, or not talking, or whatever.”
Running his hands over her pale, love-bite riddled chest, Beetlejuice sighed. “I was never mad at you, babes. But I understand why you were mad at me, why you did what you did. I was being selfish.” He slid his hands down to her hips, dipping to experimentally lick her pale, flat belly. “Someone as gorgeous as you callin’ someone as average as me hot is rare enough that it hasn’t happened to me once in two hundred and seventy-five—or, no, two hundred and seventy-seven years? Jesus, I can’t do math for sh*t.”
“The Battle of Ridgefield was two hundred and forty-seven years ago,” Lydia said. “Are you trying to add your estimated age at time of death?” She lightly kicked his knee. “Just because I’m the first person to tell you you’re attractive doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
“Okay, fine. But I’m not doing my job right if you’re still coherent.”
“You’re not doing your job right because you’re tongue’s not up my—”
“f*ck, would you give me a sec? Can’t do that until I run another consent check.” Beetlejuice stuck out his tongue, just as human-looking as it was most of the time. “That’s option one.” He stuck it out a second time, showing her exactly the extent of what he could make it do lengthwise, breadth-wise, flexibility-wise, et cetera. “That’s…uh. Lots of options.”
Lydia didn’t look either freaked out or overcome with lust at the demonstration. She just looked keenly thoughtful, running her foot from Beetlejuice’s knee up the side of his thigh.
“Babes, I f*ckin’ swear. Am I gonna have to possess your legs, too?”
“No,” Lydia said, letting her foot drop onto the mattress. “About the tongue stuff, same rule as your dick…which is perfect for me just the way it is, FYI. Thicker is better than longer. Even after using dilators and moving on to toys on my own terms instead of doctors trying to normalize me for my future husband, their words, I’m not sh*tting you. Bold of them to automatically assume I’d marry a guy, but prophetic, I guess—”
Beetlejuice felt the warmth seep from his chest. “They did what to you?”
“Made me use dilators so I’d be normal inside, air quotes, because Mom and Dad refused to let them do any kind of surgery to remove my internal testes or mixed gonadal tissue or whatever the f*ck I’ve got insead of ovaries, or to artificially construct whatever else. Anyway, I can stretch more for width than for length given the short vagin*l canal, so—”
“Oh, babes. That wasn’t right.” Beetlejuice released her arms, losing the stomach for taking anything out of her control even if she’d asked for it. He bent and kissed her belly over and over, nuzzled and licked his way down to the soft, dark hair between her legs. “Gonna keep it the way it is,” he said, sticking his tongue out again. “Gonna take such good care of you…”
Lydia was quiet except for a sharp intake of breath when Beetlejuice delved his tongue inside her. He worked on her for a while, lazily pushing in and withdrawing, before turning his attention to her cl*t. She tasted different than anyone he’d had in recent memory, salt and skin and strangeness. Alive. He groaned, touching himself with his one unoccupied hand.
“I love you so f*cking much,” Lydia gasped plaintively, running her fingers through Beetlejuice’s hair. She held his head in place, pushing up against his mouth in an attempt to chase each swipe of his tongue. “Nobody ever asked whether I wanted—they told me that was what I had to do to be normal, I didn’t question it until it was over, but you always ask what I want, I just—oh my God, like that, just like that, please—”
Beetlejuice kept f*cking into Lydia even after she shrieked and started to shake. He gripped her slim thighs with both hands, groaning with each spasm his tongue drew from her. He was aching now, but it could wait. Blue balls were a small price to pay for Lydia’s release.
“Come here,” Lydia panted raggedly as she finally started to come down, the tense line of her body falling limp. “Inside me. Now.”
Beetlejuice crawled up over her, careful to keep his weight off her until she looked him in the eyes. “f*ckin’ love you, too,” he said, his voice raw. He was desperate to know what this felt like with her under him instead of on top. “You doin’ okay? No pain or—”
“Beej, shut up,” Lydia sighed fondly, reaching down to touch him with disarming care. She gave his dick a tug, shifting her hips up toward him.
Beetlejuice slid into her, hips flush with hers before either of them could react. “Oh, f*ck,” he groaned in sheer relief, rocking into her. “Lydia.”
“Hey,” Lydia murmured, her tone low and sated. She wound her arms around his shoulders, and it took a few minutes for her to wrap her shaking legs around his hips. “You feel so good,” she whispered against his cheek, distracting him so thoroughly that he didn’t feel her fingers sneak into his hair. She yanked it even harder than she had before.
Beetlejuice felt the shock of pain down his spine, and it was too much with the heat of her clenching around him and her teeth suddenly catching his earlobe. He collapsed on her harder than he would’ve liked, shuddering with his climax. f*ck, he’d never get enough. He couldn’t believe she was so willing, especially after what those quacks had put her through.
“Babes, I’m gonna kill those doctors,” he rasped, jolting with aftershocks as she bit his neck. “If I ever find out who those f*ckers are, they’re—”
“Beej, it’s okay,” Lydia said, mapping his back with prodding fingers. “I don’t even remember their names. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t torture.”
Beetlejuice rested against her, sighing with contentment as she massaged his neck. His wife was the biggest badass on any plane of existence.
“Here,” Lydia said, pushing gently at Beetlejuice’s shoulders. “Move. I’ll get the blanket.”
Beetlejuice rolled off her, drowsily watching her crawl down to snag the blanket. She paused to examine herself, rubbing her fingers together in fascination. She wiped her fingers on the blanket—amazing, she could even be gross with the best of them—and then set her hand on Beetlejuice’s hip, running the same check she’d just run on herself. She pulled the blanket over them as she lay down next to him.
“There’s hardly anything left behind,” Lydia explained, showing him her fingers. “Clear-ish, might even be all me. I don’t think you make much of a mess,” she went on, curling an arm and a leg over him. “Looks like I’ve got the title, Beej. Does that disappoint you?”
Beetlejuice pressed his nose against the top of her head. “Kinda hot that my wife can out-gross me when we f*ck, not gonna lie.”
Lydia pinched his side, grinning when she thought he wasn’t looking. She kissed between his ribs and finally, finally ran her fingers over the one scar she’d understandably ignored the night before. Below his sternum, below his heart, where she’d run him through.
“I know we’ve joked about this, that you even enjoyed it, but…” She kissed the scar as fervently as she’d kissed the one on his neck, lingering there with a loud sniffle. “I stole our one chance at being alive together. That was selfish of me. I’m sorry.”
“Shush,” Beetlejuice said, hugging her tightly. “I’m gonna be here till the day you die, and even beyond if you aren’t sick of me by then.”
“What happens if you were to sleep with somebody else?”
“As if your rockin’ bod, macabre personality, and homicidal rage weren’t safeguards enough, I’m sandworm food if I ever cheat on you.”
“What happens if I were to sleep with somebody else?”
“Knowing Juno? You’d also be sandworm food. Breathing wouldn’t exempt you, not since you barged into the Netherworld on her watch.”
“What if we ever f*cked somebody else together?”
“Uh, that’s forward-thinking of you, but…unclear.”
“Beetlejuice, please promise me that you’re not going to—”
“Lydia, you’re my afterlife. My second chance. I swear.”
“I swear, too,” Lydia said, setting her hand over his heart.
Beetlejuice tucked her head beneath his chin. “Wanna get dressed and go order everything on the brunch menu at Dimitri’s Diner?”
That was when a knock at the door, the creak of its hinges, and a sputtering shout prevented Lydia from properly answering him.
“How about waiting till I say you can come in!” she shouted, throwing the blanket over Beetlejuice’s head as she sat up. “God.”
From what Beetlejuice could tell, the interloper was still standing at the partially open door. He swore loudly under his breath.
“Lydia, I’m…” Barbara sounded lost. “I made breakfast, and we wondered if you wanted…” She paused. “Please tell me you didn’t.”
“He’s my husband,” Lydia said, splaying her hand between Beetlejuice’s shoulder blades with possessive reassurance. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“B-town!” Beetlejuice exclaimed, throwing his voice. “How’s it hangin’? Nice of you to bust in on our honeymoon. Where’s A-dog?”
“Downstairs,” Barbara said, and then returned to addressing Lydia. “I guess he can come, too.”
“Not for you and the hubby, as cute as y’all are. I’m a one-gal ghost now,” Beetlejuice said, relieved when that made Lydia laugh.
“Don’t take too long,” Barbara sighed. “Make sure you’re decent. The food will get cold.”
As soon as they were alone again, Lydia peeled back the blanket and met Beetlejuice’s eyes. “I guess we’re not going to the diner.”
“We’ll go later, babes,” Beetlejuice said, kissing her cheek. “There’s always dinner. Or existential crisis munchies at midnight.”
Lydia let him clean up and dress them with a snap of his fingers. Her expression told him a lot: it felt weird, but the payoff was worth it.
The first thing Adam said to Beetlejuice when he and Lydia entered the dining room was: “Did you do something different with your hair?”
Lydia rolled her eyes and took the seat across from Adam, yanking Beetlejuice into the one right next to her. “Good morning to you, too.”
“Got all cleaned up for my badass bride,” Beetlejuice said, grabbing the knife and fork in front of him, banging them on the table just to annoy Barbara while she was in the kitchen. “Nothin’ but a higher standard of hygiene from here on out, know what I mean?”
“That’s a relief,” Adam said, looking from Beetlejuice to Lydia, sobering as the realization took effect. “You…wait, you’re…” His expression through half a dozen conflicted emotions in several seconds, a whole f*cking journey. “Good morning, Lydia. Congratulations.”
Lydia rolled her eyes at Adam, but she broke into a barely contained smile anyway. “Thanks. Marriage is…great so far, actually.”
Beetlejuice would have blushed at that if he was capable. He watched Barbara come in from the kitchen with two plates in hand. She set one in front of Lydia and one in front of Beetlejuice. She resumed her seat next to Adam, looking sour about the fact that they both had mugs of steaming coffee in front of them for warmth, but couldn’t drink from them.
Demon perks for the win, Beetlejuice thought vindictively, digging into his scrambled eggs.
“Lydia, I know this isn’t ideal breakfast conversation,” Barbara said. “But since your parents aren’t here, I don’t have much choice.” She flicked her eyes briefly in Beetlejuice’s direction, catching his attention, too. “I hope you’re being smart about this. Being safe.”
“Oh my God,” Lydia protested, setting down her fork. She rubbed the side of her face, her weary expression suggesting she had an answer prepared. “So, here’s the short version. I was born with XY chromosomes and no uterus. Intersex variations, AIS, just Google it. Meanwhile, Beej is shooting blanks, if he’s shooting anything at all. Hope that helps.”
Beetlejuice gave a double thumbs-up. “Zero success impregnation rate.”
“But you should still be using protection!” Adam blurted. “He has herpes!
Beetlejuice pinched the bridge of his nose. “Adam, my ex-beloved, my sweet summer child. I appreciate your gullibility, but maybe you ought to think twice about believing, uh, anything that came out of my mouth while I was your hot adjunct professor in Haunting 101 at our own cozy satellite classroom of Winter River Community College.”
Lydia was resting her elbow on the table, had her chin in her hand, and looked like she was having the time of her life. Making parental figures squirm was another favorite pastime. She caught Beetlejuice’s hand under the table when he gave her knee a reassuring squeeze.
“You never slept with Katharine Hepburn?” Adam asked, scandalized.
“Not for lack of trying,” Beetlejuice replied, cutting into one of the Eggos with butter and maple syrup on his plate. “Any other invasive questions?”
“What about Cary Grant?” Barbara asked, impressively deadpan.
“What the f*ck do you think?” Beetlejuice asked bitterly. “I wish.”
“Beej, it’s okay,” Lydia said, patting him on the shoulder. “Eat.”
Their conversation for the rest of breakfast dialed down Barbara’s and Adam’s coldness toward him, if only because they spent the whole time grilling him about all of the other lies he’d told since they met him. He was relieved to follow Lydia out of the house when they were done.
“Sure you don’t want me to teleport us down there?” Beetlejuice asked her as they walked.
“No,” Lydia said as they walked through the covered bridge. “This town’s so small that it only takes five minutes to get there, if that.”
“Everyone can see me now, can’t they?” Beetlejuice asked, taken aback by his apprehension.
“You didn’t worry about it when we took a walk a couple of days ago,” Lydia replied, frowning.
“There are always people there. I mean, it’s relatable. I used to hang out there for fun, too.”
“You’re going to have to get used to it sooner or later. There are more people at the diner.”
Beetlejuice withdrew his hands from his pockets so he could take Lydia’s arm. He wouldn’t get as many stares if he changed the way his clothing looked, less of the perpetual black and white stripes he loved for how garish they were. He could already see the graveyard gate.
The August heat was oppressive, but Lydia didn’t seem to mind it even dressed in black. She stepped into the knee-high grass along the road, picking an improvised bouquet of wildflowers. Beckoning to Beetlejuice when she was finished, she led him through the gate.
“Better than buyin’, I guess. Do you know the names of those?”
“Purple dome aster, false foxglove, larkspur, and hellebore.”
“Looks like I married a botanist. Are any of those poisonous?”
“Definitely the larkspur and hellebore. The others, not sure.”
Lydia took Beetlejuice’s hand, picking up their pace. It took around ten minutes from the gate to reach Emily Deetz’s grave. He watched Lydia crouch next to the sizable black granite monument, which had been installed in the months since Emily had been buried.
Beetlejuice watched Lydia press her hand against the sun-warmed stone, but she didn’t place the flowers in one of the accompanying urns.
“You were here for the burial of your future mother-in-law,” Lydia said, glancing up at him.
Beetlejuice crouched next to her, finding the thought unexpectedly sobering. “Well, f*ck.”
“I know we’ll try to find her in the Netherworld, but…” Lydia trailed off. “If we don’t find her, I just…wanted to introduce you as my husband.”
Beetlejuice pressed his hand against the stone, too. “From what you’ve said, I would’ve liked her. Do you think she would’ve liked me?”
Lydia stood up, and then pulled him to his feet. “You might have found her kind of irritating at first, and…actually, that might’ve gone both ways. She would’ve asked you so many questions. As long as you would’ve answered them honestly, yes. She would’ve come around.”
Rubbing the scar on his neck, Beetlejuice lingered a few moments behind Lydia, who was moving down the path toward their second stop.
Please don’t hate me if we find you, he thought. I love your daughter more than I loved life.
Lydia slowed down ahead of him, waiting for him to catch up. The Revolutionary War memorial plots were another five minutes’ walk. The graveyard was disproportionately large for such a small town, a testament to how drastically the population of Winter River had dwindled.
When they stepped from the path and into the stretch of grass dotted with insubstantial, low-lying rectangles of white granite, Beetlejuice walked ahead. His coffin wasn’t anywhere special, not particularly close to the larger monument looming over the rest with its incomplete plaque full of names, not even at the end of one of the rows of stones. He stopped next to one that was half overgrown with run-of-the-mill moss and lichens with striking red tips.
“You have your own miniature garden,” Lydia murmured. She knelt next to the stone with the bouquet of wildflowers in her lap. Reaching up with her free hand, she grasped Beetlejuice’s hand as it dangled at his side, twining their fingers and squeezing to reassure him.
Beetlejuice knew he ought to kneel next to her, but he was hesitant to move or speak. The earth and long-rotted wood far below his feet knew that he had escaped its grasp. He knew that he escaped. Who was he to walk free in the sun when Lydia’s mother could not?
Lydia placed the bouquet in front of the stone, touching it as she’d touched her mother’s.
“I wish I had known you. I’m sorry there are centuries that separate us, but…” She squeezed Beetlejuice’s fingers more tightly, using them as leverage to stand again. “You’re not the man I love, but that’s all right. Given more time, I’m glad he’s the man you became.”
“Nobody ever gave me flowers,” Beetlejuice said haltingly. “They couldn’t even see my grave.”
Lydia stepped between him and the stone. She wound his tie around her hand and stood up on tiptoe, bracing her other hand on his shoulder.
“I know. That’s why we’re here.”
“You wanted to see all of me?”
“You deserved better.”
“f*cking Christ—”
Beetlejuice closed his eyes on tears as they kissed, catching her around the waist so she wouldn’t lose her balance. He pulled her against him.
“You’re my heart,” Beetlejuice told her. “I’m alive as long as it beats.”
“I didn’t steal our chance?” Lydia asked, brushing away his sorrow.
“No, Lydia,” Beetlejuice said with conviction. “You gave it back.”
