Pride

Heather looked over at the man that floated beside her, she had grown so accustomed to seeing him there that would feel odd to glance over her shoulder, and not see that fly-away blonde hair, pale skin and green teeth. She gave a sigh and looked again, eyes actually meeting worried ones.

"Will you please stop worrying about me, I told you I'm fine, it's very normal for this to happen." She informed the poltergeist again. "It's called false labor, I know what it is, and what to expect, there's no reason for you to get this flustered! I swear, you're worse than Charles!" She laughed; a soft, melodic song that washed the nervousness away.

Beetlejuice felt useless and proved it through his usual casual shrug and penetrating look. "I'm jus' sayin' Heather, you should really take it easy…I mean, c'mon babes, you're eight months pregnant!" He would never say it, but these daily visits were worrying him, his fear of the effect it was having on the baby.

The tall, black haired woman shook her head with a smile and rubbed the large swell of her stomach. "I want her to be perfectly acquainted with this world. I'm going to make sure she knows all about it."

Beetlejuice watched her, her face full of love and devotion, and it showed each time she caressed her stomach off-hand. He knew that she wouldn't have stopped coming to visit unless she was bed-ridden, and the thought made him worry sometimes, worry for her health, but he couldn't, at the same time, help but feel a certain amount of ego, because it was him that brought her here every time.

Currently, they were outside his Road House, walking around the yard for a bit of exercise. He watched Heather as she stooped down to pet Poopsie, the Monster next doors dog. The monstrosity of a dog wagged his tail and lolled his tongue, enjoying the attention. Beetlejuice refrained from scaring the bejesus out of the dog for her sake.

He knew many other things about Heather. How she was unhappy with her husband. And felt the two more like friends now, then lovers. He still thought Charles a lucky man to have a wife such as Heather. She was a five foot ten knock-out. At least to him she was. Her long black hair hung in waves down her back, nearly reaching her bottom. Her dark green eyes always seemed to hold kindness, even for an incompetent oaf like him. She always made time to help a wounded animal or person. Even if he thought they didn't deserve it. She always saw the good. And art, she loved it, he would always catch her writing something, or painting something. Charles himself had hung portraits of her artwork in his house; he had seen them on his casual visits over to the living world while Charles was at work.

As Heather walked back over to Beetlejuice, she linked arms with him, moving her body close to his. He looked down at her with a warm, and loving smile. He placed a hand over her stomach, feeling the little child within kick. He chuckled.

"I think you got a fighter in ya there, babes!" He chortled.

"Well, I think she gets it from her dad…" Came the soft reply.

Beetlejuice paused, words drying up in his throat at the compliment. He kept a hand on the stomach, and nodded.

"Hey, babes, whaddya think of this name?" He asked, watching for her attention before continuing. "I like Lydia…since ya know it's a girl n' all…" He coughed out, trying to hide his pride.

Heather merely smiled and nodded, placing her hand over his red nail tipped one. "Lydia…I like that name…"

fin