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The last chapter. I hope you enjoy.
"Don't rush it, you nearly died Lyds." He told her with a half-smile that was supposed to belay the weakness he felt. Lydia could not help matching it with a smile of her own, though hers was in confusion.
"What happened?" She asked, her voice only slightly craggy. He offered her a glass of water that appeared out of no where in particular and explained the repercussions of her telling him his true name. She in turn admitted that she had known none of that, in fact she had only wanted him to know it because she thought it was terrible he didn't know.
She asked if he was in trouble and he waggled his eyebrows at her, his grin more sure now that she wasn't so pale and still and quiet. "Babes, I am trouble." She laughed then and even though it caused a coughing fit and it was a bit jagged it was the most wonderful sound he'd ever heard in his afterlife. It was no mask, and it wasn't saying something he had no words for. When he smiled listening to that beautiful sound it was a smile of pure joy.
Lydia kicked the sheets of her legs, still in the same jeans she had been wearing since drinking all that wine with him a long time ago. But her clothes and even how she looked, none of it mattered because she was alive and he was alive-or as alive as he could be-and he was out of that horrible watch-prison and for the first time in a long time everything was perfect and wonderful and lovely.
And in that smile of his, so unguarded and innocent, she could tell he loved her; she didn't need to hear it. She'd admit, it would be nice to hear him say it, but she loved him the way he was, he didn't need to change so much and tell her he cared, she was just amazed he loved her at all. She had been so certain he couldn't love, that her love-as strong as it was-was unrequited.
She reached out and touched his cheek and he started under her touch, nearly scaring her off. "You're really here." She whispered.
"Can't get rid of me now Babes. I'm free to do whatever I like." He sounded so cocky.
"Anything in the world?" She asked innocently.
"Not bound anymore. Not even Juno can stop me now." He told her.
"And you're sitting here with me?" If there had been any color in his face it would have drained away. She'd caught him, and that grin on her face told him she knew it as well as he did. He sighed in resignation and nodded against her hot palm.
"Yes, I am."
She shifted up onto her knees and leaned forward carefully tilting her head and kissing him softly, without tears, without desperation, and without trying to prove that she loved him before she died. Which-in point of fact-wasn't going to be in the next few moments any longer. That came second to the kiss though.
It is soft and a bit innocent at first, as though they are still afraid of being rejected. Then his hand curled around her neck and slid into her hair, pulling her closer. She lost her balance and he refused to relinquish his hold on her lips as she shifted, sitting so the side of her hip pressed hard against his back, she was balanced against him, and that said more than the kissing.
He was a tower of strength for her, he was where her surprising strength came from. Every time she had been scared, every time she had been confused, every time she had been weak she had touched the watch at her side. And when she hadn't the watch anymore she had thought how her death would save him, and how she could not be unsure because whatever she did it would save him. So what did it matter what happened to her?
He tasted like warmth, like honey and sugar and spice, and it startled her because he was decidedly not warm. He just tasted like it. His cool lips moved away from hers and she felt him against her cheek, and then the soft flesh just below her ear.
His free hand curled protectively around her waist and his fingers started when they found hot flesh instead of warm cloth. Her shirt had hiked up just enough for him to brush the soft skin of her back and she relished the touch, however tender it was.
He was so gentle with her, as though she would break. She turned her head, and pressed her lips to his neck, taking the cool flesh into her mouth and nipping at it. He went completely rigid and she pulled away so she could look into his eyes, large and wide and more green than words could describe. "I am not made of glass." She told him her eyes dark and her voice heady and low. It sounded like the wine she'd shared with him. Just like her, dark and rich with undercurrents of vanilla.
He flashed that feral grin at her, but there was no malice in his eyes, she could not fear him anymore as it was.
He twisted and she was lowered to the bed. His fingered tickled her sides, making her jump and twitch until she realized they were drawing shapes. It was hard to focus when his lips were doing the most wonderful things to her neck.
She tasted of vanilla and lavender and rich wines with just the barest whisper of dark chocolate. Bitter and sweet and he couldn't get enough of it.
Lydia could hardly focus on what his fingers were doing to the revealed flesh on her side when he was kissing the exposed line of her collar bone, but then it snapped into place with sudden clarity, hearts. His fingers were drawing tiny, repetitive hearts, and driving her to that place of blissful madness, the kind you only read about in books.
It was difficult to control all his power at once. He had never been completely unbound before and it was a new sensation to get used to, as was the willing mortal girl in his arms. He could feel her heartbeat against his lips and he wanted to drink it in, keep it in a dark corner of his memory forever.
Thump-thump-thump-thump
And it was even stranger to think that each beat was for him. She had been ready to die for him and now she lived for him and he could hear a confession of love in each heartbeat, in each hitched breath as he brushed bare skin. In every kiss.
When her tiny fingers started on the small buttons of his shirt he stared at her, stopping completely. "Lydia." Her name was dark on his tongue, dark and sensual and she felt her eyes flutter shut just listening to him. She could listen to him call her name like that for the rest of her life.
She looked at him with half-lidded eyes and ran her hands over his chest, it was like touching a statue but she could feel the soft hum as power rushed through him, and she could feel him flinch even at her feather-light touch.
He had meant to stop her. He had meant to ask her a thousand questions. Why did she love him so much? Did she really love him? She would really have died for him? How did she learn his name? Would she stay with him forever? Dying for him was one thing but living with him?
But she keened his name, his true name, like a kitten mewling and he was lost to her. All the power in the Afterlife and this mortal girl could command him with a sideways glance. He would do anything she asked of him for the rest of their lives.
Ghosts did not need to sleep, and so hours later he lay with her in his arms, watching her sleep. Listening to her breathe, her heart beat, and listening to her tell him she loved him in a thousand different ways.
She was beautiful, there was no lying, but he realized he would love her even if she wasn't, he would love her no matter how she looked, because it was the way she looked at him, the way she smiled just for him, and the way she made him feel like power and life and freedom didn't matter in the face of what he did have.
He held her heart and she held his.
And so he closed his eyes and listened to her say "I love you" without words.
You may wonder as you draw to the close of my tale what his True Name is, and I suppose you are right to wonder. But to me he will always be Beetlejuice, the Ghost I fell in love with against all odds.
My Watchman.
