Well, apparently I have the writing bug for this fandom...this popped out of inowherei the other day when I was driving to work and heard the very same radio conversation that is written into the fic. I can't help myself-I love these two. There's so much potential for character development and exploration-and angst, when I get to that point. For now, I'll stick to teeth-rotting fluff and relationship development.

Lydia swore and slammed on the breaks, sneering as the vehicle in front of her swung into a sharp left turn, no blinker to be seen. "Asshole," she snarled, yanking her steering wheel to avoid the moron in front of her. Her little sedan swerved around the bumper of the offending car and then straightened out as she accelerated.

"Hey hey hey, easy on the goods, darling." A bird's nest of tousled blond hair poked up from the backseat, framing a deathly pale face tinged slightly green. Said face currently wore a dark scowl, lips pulled back in a grimace and a look of utter derision stealing across its features. "Some of us are trying to take a nap!"

Rolling her eyes, Lydia eased back into traffic, joining the antlike trail cruising along the highway. "At seven in the morning?" she asked sarcastically (ignoring the all-too-real truth that she herself was heading home to simply collapse into bed).

Beetlejuice huffed and phased through the seat to settle in beside her. "Never too early for some beauty sleep, babes," he said, "especially when some of us have been up all night supervising an overnight inventory shift at a stupid coffee shop." He stretched his arms out above his head so that his shoulders each gave a loud 'pop' and looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

Lydia winced at the sound and leaned forward to rest her head on the steering wheel as she rolled up to yet another red light. "Show me the 'beauty' and I'll be more inclined to believe you," she said drolly, cheek propped on the cool vinyl and she shifted to eye her companion. "And as I seem to recall, I was the one doing all the hard work. You just sat around and kept turning my back-stock into phallic symbols."

"You think you're so witty," the poltergeist intoned, folding his arms in front of his pinstriped chest and scowling at the dashboard. "You know it wouldn't have been half as entertaining as it was without me."

Her eyes rolled toward her hairline, and she reluctantly returned to an acceptable driving position and shifted her gaze from the road, declining to reply. Even with the passing of the red light, traffic crawled along at a snail's pace, snaking its way through the greater downtown area. She despised the fact her current job was located on the other side of town from both campus and her little town home-but, money was money, so she couldn't say much in complaint. Her eyes snapped back to Beetlejuice. "Oh, hey, seatbelt, B."

"Seatbelt?" he yelped, incredulous. "I'm freaking dead already, Lyds! Get a grip. If we wreck I'm grabbing you and getting the hell out anyway, so it doesn't matter."

Her dark eyes narrowed. "Dead or not, any passenger in my car has to buckle up—my car, my rules." She carefully overlooked the protective way he looked at her-the dynamic of their relationship had drastically shifted over the course of the last few weeks, but it was still so novel that she had trouble believing the reality of it all at times.

With an exasperated snap of his fingers, Beetlejuice conjured a thick set of iron chains and strapped himself to the passenger seat, the cold iron coiling up from the floor to snake around his legs and torso. "Babes, if I knew how kinky you were, things between us would have shifted iagesi ago."

Lydia snorted and rolled her eyes, easing into stop and putting the car in park-a recent wreck had sent traffic to a grinding halt, so they weren't going anywhere for a while. Reaching across his bound torso, she snagged the actual seatbelt and drew it across him, snapping it into place. "There," she said. "Not that I don't appreciate seeing you in chains," and here one of her eyebrows rose, a mischievous glint peeking through her stern façade as she conceded some truth to his previous statement, "but you still have to wear the seatbelt, too."

He phased out of both restraints easily, eyes glowing green, gaze fixated intently on the woman beside him. "Ha," he barked, "like you'll ever contain the Ghost with the Most." He leaned over with his right hand and curled his fingers around her delicate wrist, conjuring a thin chain that bound her to the steering wheel. "You, on the other hand," he murmured, leaning in so that there was but a hair's breadth between their lips, "look ravishing in chains."

Lydia shivered, inching infinitesimally closer. "Later," she breathed, free hand rising to card through his wild hair. His eyes burned green, and he close the distance between them, capturing her lips in a kiss that set a fire burning low in her stomach. He twined his other hand through her hair, nails lightly scratching her scalp, it's partner tracing designs across the cool metal at her wrist. It was a hungry kiss, his mouth parting hers with wild abandon, seeking out every secret she had to offer.

A loud blare of the horn sent them both jerking backwards, and Lydia looked out the windshield to see that traffic sat at least three car lengths ahead. "Shit," she swore, pulling the car out of park and scooting forward. Beetlejuice settled back in his seat, a grin-a itruei grin, with no trace of mockery to be seen-pulling at his lips. "Damn, Lydia," he said, eyes bright and skin flushed, as though she had breathed some of her life force into him.

"Seconded," she said, reaching up to smooth her hair with her free hand. "Would you mind?" she asked with a quirk to her lips, tugging fruitlessly at the chain at her wrist.

He tapped the metal with a grin and the chain vanished reappearing solely on her wrist as a bracelet. Lydia simply sighed, choosing not to pursue it.

Without warning, she pulled her hand free of his, a disbelieving smile spreading across her lips. "B, did you hear that?" she asked, laughter bubbling up from deep within her chest. He grunted, trying not to look put out about his hand now sitting abandoned on the center console. "No," he griped, "musta missed it."

"No, seriously," she persisted, turning the volume dial sharply to the right and then reclaiming his hand with a look of fond exasperation. "And don't think I don't know where that pout from a moment ago came from," she added, squeezing his icy fingers.

His thumb slipped up to trace the contours of her wrist. "Believe whatever makes you happy babes, you ain't getting the truth from me. What the hell are you making me listen to? If it's one of those stupid talk shows you can just forget it."

Her mouth pulled into a quick grin, amusement shining in her eyes, temporarily masking all traces of the deep-seated exhaustion that lingered from her long shift. "It's just morning talk radio," she told him. "Nothing interesting, just drivel-but amusing drivel."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, waiting for the story Lydia found so amusing to resume, Beetlejuice idly cursing passerby to morph into assorted giant insects as they inched through the city. Lydia's eyes narrowed and he sullenly flicked a finger and restored them to their normal states.

"…woman claims she's 'in a relationship' with a ghost," the amused voice of the morning show host rang through the car, and suddenly Beetlejuice was well aware what had made Lydia laugh so much a few moments earlier. He let out a guffaw of raucous laughter. "Looks like someone beat us to the punch in going public, Lyds," he chortled, a mocking grin spreading across his face.

The woman in question rolled her eyes, cracking the windows slightly to free the smoke that had been building up from the cigarette he'd sneakily lit a few moments before and had dangling from between idle fingers.

"Yes, and I'm sure she's just another perfectly harmless individual just trying to live her life in peace and who never asked for any of that kind of nonsense to cross her path." The cant of her head indicated how likely she found that scenario. "Or no," she continued, "I forgot—that honor is strictly reserved for me. This woman is probably one of those hokey 'psychics' the world seems to love so much."

The car finally cruised through the last of the chain of traffic lights that stood between the coffee shop and Lydia's townhome, and she gunned it, weaving between the less-aware drivers as she directed her vehicle home.

In the background, the radio hosts kept jabbering, coming up with gags about "transparent relationships" and other inane puns. Beetlejuice sat quietly for once, inhaling contemplatively from his (now unlit) cigarette. "Not bad on the mockery," he judged, nodding toward her stereo, "but their set-up was hideous. Hell, that's comedy gold—a psychic claiming physical relations with the dead? As if we'd ever stoop so low!" Idly, he flicked a finger, the red-tinged nail erupting into a burst of flame, and held the digit to his cold cigarette."

"Yes, we living are so atrocious," Lydia kept her voice light and disinterested, masking the irrational surge of hurt that flared in her stomach at his words.

"Not the living, Babes," he exclaimed, appearing horrified and turning to her with an earnest green gaze. "You're fucking gorgeous! We just don't mess with any of those wannabe psychic nut jobs. True psychics, hell yes, empaths, sensitives, any of those who can actually see us are fair game. The rest are just out to make a buck."

Lydia felt a fierce blush creep across her face at his words. She jerked her eyes back to the road, avoiding his gaze to prevent him from seeing the emotion simmering in her gaze. She pulled into her driveway with a triumphant "Finally", throwing the car in park and releasing the wheel with great relish.

"I don't know how," she winced, staggering out with a grimace, "a supposed twenty-five minute ride can turn into a fucking hour-and-a-half long nightmare, but that is the ilasti time I deal with early morning traffic!" She stomped up the stairs, her heavy black boots (the sole concession her manager at the coffee shop made for her unique fashion preferences) thudding against the cement. "Not classes until Monday, it's a deliciously cold, grey, miserable day, and I haven't slept for a day and a half—time for some fucking sleep."

"Just sleep?" his voice was far more hopeful than it had any right to be, and Lydia couldn't help but giggle. "Sadly yes," she returned, her hand on the doorknob, "because I am exhausted" She stuck her key in the lock and swung open the door, completely missing the downward turn of her companion's lips. "You coming, B?"

The poltergeist drifted up the stairs through the doorway. "Not in any way I'd like to be," he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.

"You," she shut the door with a quiet 'snick', sliding the deadbolt into place, and turned to poke an accusatory finger into his chest, "you're pouting."

"When the gorgeous breather who for some fucking insane reason returns my…attraction…and finally isn't 'off limits' just wants to sleep on a day off?" he returned, a dark scowl heavy on his face, "hell yes I'm going to pout!"

Lydia's face softened, and he spun around to her companion, wrapping her arms around his waist and burrowing her face into his pinstriped chest. "Aw, B, don't be like that," she murmured, voice muffled by his jacket.

"I've just been awake for 36 hours with no reprieve—I'm still only human, you know. Can't stay up forever."

He was on the verge of offering a rather crass reply to that last, but the posture of sheer exhaustion stealing across her frame had him holding his tongue, and he felt his frustration lesson despite himself. "And I love you for it," he muttered, looking down at the woman in his arms with an uncharacteristically tender gaze. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

He drew her into a more secure embrace, slipping one hand behind her head and carding lean fingers through her thick hair, bringing the other down to curl around her side.

"Love you too, B," she murmured, returning his embrace. "Sleep now?" she asked hopefully, slowly drawing him toward the bedroom door.

He gave an exaggerated roll of the eyes. "Fine, fine." One eyebrow slowly crept toward his hairline. "And tomorrow…?"

Lydia gave him a slow smirk, slipping out of his arms and into the darkening bedroom. Turning, she held out one black-nailed hand. "Tomorrow is a new day," she promised.

As always, reviews (comments and/or criticism) are welcome!