DISCLAIMER: Tim Burton (le director), Geffen Entertainment (le production company), and Warner Brothers (le distribution and production company) own any and all rights to Beetlejuice and all related characters and content. Not me. I'm making no profit off of this, nor do I intend to make any profit, so please do not sue the Mewkey. I'm flat broke, going through a divorce, and really have no money to give you.

Dark black nothing swirls around her as she falls to her death. But she doesn't die. She never dies, not that she has the chance to a lot. Somehow something always saves her, and she wakes up in her bed as if she were dreaming. But she knows she wasn't dreaming. She knows she got in her car and drove off. She knows she skidded off the road, plunging down the mountainside. Yet here she is, safe and sound, back in her bed on the other side of the country.

It kind of pisses her off sometimes.

Sometimes her life isn't in danger. Sometimes she's in a bar, chatting with a man she finds attractive. Next thing she knows she has blacked out and wakes up, again, in her bed. Alone. That's when she gets pissed and screams at her mirror for hours and hours, not knowing or caring if anyone can hear her.

She never gets a response.

She's not sure why. He obviously has a vested interest in her life – both the preservation of and the meddling in. She's tried summoning him, but apparently becoming sandworm food has a curse-breaking effect. Either that, or he's still trapped in the belly of the beast, but she doesn't believe that for a second. She's caught glimpses of his emerald green eyes in her mirror from time to time. That's why when he pisses her off she screams at her reflection.

She's begged, cursed, bargained, pleaded, and attempted to coerce him into at least showing his face. It's been going on for far too long now. But no matter how she screams, or cries, or begs, or what she offers him he never shows his face.

She suspects wherever he is, he's enjoying this. It's his type – he'd love nothing better than to completely wreck any semblance of a life she's ever had.

She's desperately lonely. She's actually found herself talking to the empty air around her as if he were there simply because she has no one else to talk to. Maybe she's just craving contact with someone, or maybe she thinks he'll find it pathetic and finally leave her alone.

He does find it pathetic, if it comes to that, but not for the reason she thinks.

It started as revenge. He influenced every facet of her life, never letting her forget what had happened. And yeah, it wasn't her fault, but he couldn't do a whole hell of a lot to the sandworm cowboy since she and her bumpkin hubbykins were stuck in their Winter River digs for the next hundred and a half years or so. So he focused on his child bride instead.

But the more he messed with her, the more he started to rely on her in a way. The moments he spent hiding her homework, or draining the gas out of her car, or changing the name on her college applications turned into the best moments of his otherwise pretty fucking boring day. See, after the sandworm incident Juno had annihilated him. Broke his curse, bound him almost irrevocably to the other side, and buried him so deep in the sands of Saturn that even the worms didn't come looking for him. Soft touch that she is, though, Juno had allowed him to keep his powers in a limited form. Good old Juney, always giving him just enough rope to hang himself with. She'd also let slip that there was some way he could be released from his sandy prison, but had clammed up pretty tight after she realized what she said. He didn't have a clue what to do.

So he tortured his child bride with the standard poltergeist repertoire. Really, the car accident was his fault – he'd let her see him in her rearview mirror and she freaked and drove right off the damn cliff.

It's pathetic to hear her talk to him in the darkness of her room in the middle of the night not because she's so lonely and desperate for companionship, but because when she does he wishes like hell he was there in person. The years have done something to him, changed him somehow. Watching her grow up has made him possessive of her, as if she were a rose he'd cared for since it was merely a tiny bud. Seeing the person she became despite his influence has made him love her in his own way. So now, along with the normal poltergeist repertoire, he's added the desperately wooing suitor repertoire.

But he sucks at it.

The flowers he juices into her room every day are wilted and lifeless. The gifts he leaves her (voodoo dolls, human skulls, the occasional shrunken head) disgust her. And for whatever reason, he can't bring himself to talk to her. It might be Juno's influence…or it might be his own stupid hang up. After all, it's been over 600 years since he's felt anything even remotely close to this. He doesn't know what the fuck he's doing.

Besides watching her cry.

Wait, she's crying? Why's she crying? He can't make out her words through her sobs. He leans against her mirror, forehead resting on the glass, eyes riveted to her body as she shakes. Her face is slick with tears, and he punches the glass, cursing Juno for keeping him in the sands. She's gasping for breath, hysteria rising in her voice, and it's excruciating torture for him to see her like this. But he has no choice…he can't pull his eyes away from her no matter how it tears at him. She stands and walks to the mirror, punching the glass right where his forehead rests (though she can't see him), spider webbing the glass.

"God damn you, Betelgeuse, get your ass out here! I need you!"

He grips the edges of the mirror tightly and curses Juno's name. He doesn't notice the tug in his belly; he's too busy dreaming up 42 ways to make Juno pay for this hell. His child bride is pounding her fists on the broken mirror, calling his name, and this time he notices the tug. He's being pulled through the mirror. She's knocked back a few steps as he passes through, and suddenly there he is in front of her. And he wastes no time, gathering her in his arms to comfort her.

No words pass between them. She cries herself out, and he holds her. And somehow, things seem right…as if balance has been restored to the universe.

A short time later, still not having spoken a word, they lay on her bed. She's cuddled up to his side, and his arms remain around her. His cheek rests on the top of her head, and they both revel in the silence of the room. She's composing a litany of all the sins he's committed against her in her mind, planning an eventual reckoning.

He knows it. He doesn't care. At this moment all he can think about is the scent of her hair and the beating of her heart. He'll take what she can throw at him, and give better than he gets, but for this one perfect moment he is at peace.

Which is one hell of an accomplishment on her part.


AN: Dunno where this came from. It's slightly incoherent...old Beej is a little out of character...but meh. I kinda like it. I like the idea that nothing can keep Betelgeuse and Lydia apart, I don't know why. Anyway, thanks for stopping by and please remember to leave a review on your way out. Later days!