::AN:: (Edit: 9/9/2011) And the editing extravaganza continues. So far in the last chapter, Betel's atrocious dialog has been tackled and Lydia's slut-dress has been... fixed. I don't know what I was thinking before. Elbow-length gloves? A cigarette filter? A veil? She was supposed to seduce him, not make him think he'd stumbled onto the set of a 1940's crime noir! (I realize it was probably inspired by an episode of the cartoon, but even still, there's a time and a place for such things...) Without further ado, here is the edited chapter two.


Title: The Name Game

Chapter Two: In Pain


Lydia almost forgot her discarded clutch, which wouldn't have been necessary except for that it contained the keys to her apartment. She struggled, bending down awkwardly to grab it, but Betelgeuse, with a snap of his fingers, called the small bag into his own hand.

"Fancy," he announced, before pulling the clasp open and riffling through the contents.

"That's mine!" Lydia barked, snatching the bag out of his hands.

"Was this yours too?" Betelgeuse asked, toeing the dirty, trampled wig on the ground.

Lydia flushed, having equal parts forgotten about it and having hoped that the poltergeist wouldn't notice it, or draw a connection. "Never seen the thing before in my life," she lied.

Betelgeuse looked amused and like he didn't believe a word of it. "Right. Sure."

"Let's just get out of here, okay?"

He sighed dramatically and held out his arm. "Your wish is my, eh, etcetera and so forth."

The trip home involved a detailed description of the address and location, which Betelgeuse used as a guide to transport them there. The transporting process was a fairly simple execution, involving Lydia hanging on to Betelgeuse to ensure her part in the trip, as well as to keep her standing upright. Phasing out of the alley was a tingling sensation, like thousands of tiny feathers dancing all over her skin, suddenly turning into needles a split second before they arrived in their new location. During the trip everything was blurry, as if they were moving extremely fast, yet it felt as though they weren't moving at all. After a couple misfires (resulting in a few very shell-shocked people), they finally made it. Lydia silently decided that next time, they'd take a taxi.

Next time? Lydia needed sleep, or maybe a lobotomy. Hell would freeze before there would be occasion for a "next time."

She unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing her glorified closet of a studio that the building manager listed as an "efficiency unit".

Betelgeuse looked around. No lights were on, but from what he could tell, it was basically one main room with a bathroom and a closet. Tucked in one corner was a painfully small kitchenette, with a dinky fridge and stove, and a small breakfast bar with two stools. The bulk of the room was taken up by a bed, a dresser and a small desk.

"Uh, nice place ya got here, Babes."

"Shut up," Lydia grumbled, flipping on a light switch. The studio-sized fridge and stove were an unpleasant shade of piss-yellow, the cheap laminate floors of the kitchen were pealing in places and the parquet in the rest of the apartment looked like it hadn't been refinished since at least the 1970's. "This city isn't exactly cheap," she explained, stepping with relish out of her shoes. She flung herself back on her beautiful full-sized bed, groaning in pain and relief as she sagged into the mattress.

"Err," Betelgeuse began tentatively, which immediately grabbed Lydia's attention. He was about as blunt as a baseball bat, usually. "I may not be an expert on the whole 'living' thing, but ain't bruising and bleeding like that, generally speaking, bad?"

Lydia lazily pulled her arm into her line of sight. Five dark marks marred her pale wrist: a perfectly formed hand print. Maybe he had a point? She pealed herself off the bed. "Look, I'm going into the bathroom to clean up. Please, please stay out here. Stay. Out. Here." She grabbed a change of clothes from her tallboy dresser and rolled her eyes at the ghost's production of the Scout's Honor.

Though she dully noted the futility of it, she pushed in the little lock button on the bathroom door. Really all that served to do was render the old, tarnished brass handle incapable of twisting. One could still quite easily push their way in without much trouble, not that Betelgeuse would even need to use the door if he really wanted to get in there. But the action was comforting nonetheless.

In the mirror, she surveyed the damage. Her lip was split, she had a black eye, both of her wrists and her shoulders were badly bruised… not to mention her dress was completely unsalvageable, not to suggest she ever intended on wearing it again. She blushed as she fully witnessed just how much skin she'd been flashing around the perverse Betelgeuse; she'd inadvertently given him quite the show. Lydia hadn't realized just how far down the middle the dress hand torn, nor how high the skirt had ridden up her legs. As she stripped the dress away, she was somewhat surprised to discover a long, but thankfully shallow slash across her stomach. Ah, she remembered now… they'd pulled out the knife right before Betelgeuse made his grand entrance. She lightly poked it and to her complete lack of surprise, it hurt. At least she had the piece of mind knowing that her back was still mostly intact save for a series of souvenir scratches from the brick wall.

She stared at herself. Her makeup flaky and running down her face, from crying. Lydia didn't think she'd cried all that much, but then she figured it wasn't too surprising. Her black hair was plastered messily around her face and stuck to her neck. She felt grimy and, for some reason, used. She could still feel the ghost of Van Durman's hands where ever they'd trailed over her skin. She found herself retracing their path. Realizing fully that any open wounds would sting, for lack of a better phrase, like a mother fucker, Lydia decided that a shower was absolutely necessary.

Lydia set the water at a lukewarm temperature, but still hissed in pain once she found herself under the spray. At least, she conceded, the pain was more pleasant than Van Durman had been, and at least she was still capable of feeling it at all. She worked quickly and carefully to wash the sweat and grime from her body and the thick makeup from her face. She lingered in the water a few moments longer, and noticed it was running pink down the drain. She studied the cut on her stomach, which she decided must have been the culprit, and hoped it wasn't bad enough to require stitches.

After she toweled off and clipped her wet hair up, Lydia pulled a small first aid kit out from under the sink which held all the essentials: gauze, bandages, cotton balls, and, of course, rubbing alcohol. She cursed under her breath as the disinfectant stung her wounds, but she tried to be as quiet about it as possible. There was no need, after all, to give Betelgeuse an excuse to barge in on her while she was essentially naked to "check on her". At that thought, she stepped up the pace and worked quickly to take care of the small cuts and scraps, leaving her stomach for last. She dabbed it with alcohol gingerly, wincing all the while. At least though, she could tell it was starting to clot. She cut a long strip of gauze and tapped it down securely. Finally, she pulled on her pajamas: a soft, over sized t-shirt and sweats, which were both relics from her college days.

When she finally exited the bathroom, she found, to her mild surprise, that Betelgeuse was still there, sitting on her bed. Well, actually, he was hovering just slightly above her bed. He looked serious and pensive, which were both a bit disconcerting to see, and it was a moment more before he actually looked up and regarded her.

"Why didn't you call me earlier?" he asked in all seriousness.

Lydia was taken aback. Why the hell did he care? "Call you sooner, B? Hate to break it to you, but you were kind of a last resort." She yawned, shifting her weight from one foot to another as covered her mouth with the back of her hand. "I mean, I was in a life or death situation, and things were leaning more towards..." She swallowed thickly and averted her eyes. "Anyway, I barely even realized I'd called for you until you showed up. Let's face it, if I had been in my right mind, I'd have never done it."

"If you'd have been in your right mind, you'd be dead," he surmised grimly.

Blunt as a baseball bat.

Lydia waved her hand dismissively. "My survival instincts leave much to be desired, I think, if you were the best they could come up with."

"Well that's a fine way to express your gratitude," Betelgeuse pouted. "'I may not be dead, but why did you have to be the one to save me?'" He mimicked Lydia's voice in an annoyingly accurate candor.

She huffed. "Look, I am grateful and everything, but you must see where I'm coming from. Calling you to save my life was reaching a bit, was reaching a lot, actually. I mean, you have every reason to hold a grudge against me, and you almost killed my father. You are powerful, conniving, and have almost no morals to speak of, that I'd ever witnessed, at least. I'd call those a few very good reasons to avoid you at all costs!"

He looked befuddled for a moment and then replied, "That was an accident! Completely unintentional! Besides, I was only there because of those bumpkins in your attic! If anything you should blame them for it!"

"They didn't ever intend for you to hurt anyone!" Lydia yelled back.

"Well then maybe they should've been clearer!"

"Oh my god!" Lydia cried, dramatically side-stepping the ghost and collapsing on the bed, careful to land on her back. "I don't want to go into this with you right now. Every god damn inch of my body hurts! And you're the only reason I'm not worse off than I already am. So I just want to thank you and then sleep for three weeks." She yanked the banana clip out of her hair and tossed it aside.

Betelgeuse was oddly quiet. "So, you gonna send me back?"

Lydia blinked. "I didn't think of that. I mean, I should, shouldn't I? But then, you did save my life, so... Ugh, this moral dilemma is giving me a headache!" She moaned into her hands.

"Say, Babes," the poltergeist ventured casually. "You don't think those creeps'll track you down again, do you?" His glinting eyes removed any semblance of innocence from the question.

Still, he had a point. Her eyes widened. She hadn't even considered that. And since they had her name, they could easily find her apartment, find her, and then finish what they started. "Fuck."

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then," he smirked, somewhat inappropriately, Lydia thought. "Worry not, Babes! I told you I'd get you home safe and sound, right? Well, far as I see it, you're home, but you ain't safe yet, so my job ain't done. We can just work out the kinks in the deal as we go! It's perfect!"

"You like putting me in these 'damned if you do, damned if you don't' situations, don't you?" she asked, unmoving from the bed, an arm thrown over her eyes to block out the light.

"Hey!" he cried defensively, "You called me, if I recall, both times. This is all you." He crossed his arms. "If you don't want my services, go ahead and send me back right now." He turned up his nose, but still kept one eye trained on her.

Lydia sighed. "Well, fine. Be my bodyguard." Then, listening to herself, she added, "I just know this is going to bite me in the ass later…"

She gasped upon suddenly finding Betelgeuse at her side, all notion of personal space gone right out the window.

He had that old perverted grin again. "If you want," he purred, "we could get the ass biting out of the way n-"

Lydia slapped him. Hard. "No!" She scolded him like he was a puppy who'd left a mess on the floor.

"Hey! What was that for!" Betelgeuse clutched his cheek and glared. "That anyway to treat your protector? You didn't even do so much to your would-be murderers!"

"They wanted me dead and they were both twice my size, with sharp things. It's called being paralyzed with fear." Lydia informed him humorlessly. She yawned again, and added, "Anyway, you told me earlier you wouldn't hurt me, and we made a deal. I know how you are about your damn deals. That little tap to the face was just to let you know you were… going too far." She closed her eyes and stretched her arms over her head, and then winced. However shallow, that cut on her stomach did not appreciate the movement.

"Little tap, my ass," Betelgeuse grumbled, now a respectable distance away.

"Baby." Lydia couldn't resist the jibe, however sleepy she sounded.

Instead of another retaliation, she heard a snap and instantaneously found herself under the covers and in complete darkness. Exhaustion overwhelmed her and she was sound asleep in moments.


Betelgeuse regarded his new ward, now that he could do so without risk to his person or his ears (she could be kind of shrill). She was a bit thin, frail looking even, and just as pale now as the last time he'd seen her. The only real contrast he could note between her former self and now, were the curves. At, well, however old she'd been before, there were none (none that he could see at any rate; he vaguely recalled a lot of shapeless outfits). Now, however, let's just say she hadn't been kidding when she'd told him she wasn't a little girl anymore.

He gave her another thorough once-over. Oh yeah; she sure grew up nice.

'Shame those flesh-bags had to go and mess her up like that, though,' he mused, observing her bruised face and scabbing lip. Those details aside, she looked so innocent while sleeping, her damp black hair stuck messily around her face and pillow. She looked downright childish. He wondered what exactly she'd done to get herself in that situation, why those men could possibly want... to kill her. She had mentioned something about it, but he really only remembered a line about shoveling shit; nothing else really stuck. The girl certainly was a glutton for punishment, whether it be from manipulative poltergeists or homicidal thugs in dark alleys.

It was funny, though, how quickly he'd reacted to the situation. Of course, it went without saying that the tougher looking the customer, the more pleasure Betelgeuse got from making them wet their pants. It wasn't often he got such opportunities handed to him... this extended time out, included. Still, he barely even took time to register what was going on before leaping into action like some big damn hero. He didn't even know who he was saving... But he had noticed her. He had seen the look of utter resignation on her face as she silently sat there and took the beating. That, apparently, was all the motivation he'd needed.

Betelgeuse tapped his chin thoughtfully. He was bound to serve her for an undisclosed period of time, and that meant he was out for an undisclosed period of time. The girl had agreed; it was a done deal. No one (not even Juno) could argue that. And as for her end of the bargain? Well, he had an idea… not only did it promise him an extended stay in the real world, but also, possibly, permanent release. Best of all, there would be no wedding necessary.

He would have made this proposition originally, the first time they'd met, but time had been short and there was too much to explain. Besides, back then there were too many people involved who could potentially talk her out of it. Not that the wedding idea actually made him any headway. Betelgeuse frowned at the memory. Having been in the revenge business on behalf of others for so many centuries, he rarely had any inclination towards it on his own behalf, but if he ever saw another sandworm, or that sandworm riding bitch again, he couldn't be held responsible for his actions.

He shuddered. Such things didn't bare thinking about.

After a while, Betelgeuse was jolted from his ruminations when the girl (what was her name?) began to thrash in her sleep. She moaned and clawed and whimpered and he didn't think it was very likely she was just having one of those dreams. It wasn't lust; Betelgeuse knew all about lust, after all. And if there was only one thing in the world he could claim to be an expert on, it was the emotion etched in the girl's damaged face: pure and unadulterated fear.

...Did nightmares count against her safety?


And I don't mind you coming here
And talking in your sleep
It doesn't matter where you've been, oh
As long as it was deep.

Sister Hazel- "Just What I Needed"


::AN:: Done editing and this chapter is now almost a thousand words longer than before. It's almost like writing new material! (Maybe, if you squint and turn your computer screen sideways...)

I'm awaiting your glorious praise with baited breath.

-ER-