May

"Well, somebody woke up Mr. Grumpybritches! 'Morning, sweetheart," and Lydia kissed the top of her husband's head.

He sighed, growled a bit, then rose and took her in his arms and kissed her properly. "Stayed up too late, trying to figure that damfool thread out." Another growled leaked out as he sat back down at the table.

"I knew you'd come to bed late when I woke up before you this morning." She poured out a mug of coffee and stirred in two spoons of sugar. "Beej, I thought you were having fun working on things in the lab. If it's too much trouble, if it's more like work, then you know you don't have to do it." Her expression was somber as she set his coffee in front of him.

"No, I want to do it. It's just . . . this one reaction just doesn't work the way its supposed to. I'll figure it out," he muttered as she set down the platter of ant eggs on toast. "Don't mind me. I'm just a . . . grumpybritches," and he managed a smile for her.

When he'd eaten, they both went upstairs – Beetlejuice to his lab and Lydia to put on her make-up. As she applied her peony eye shadow, she could hear various thumps and bangs and clinks as he moved things and settled in for the morning.

Then – the sound of shattering glass and "EEE-YOWTCH!"

She flew down the hall and plunged through the door, only to see her husband holding one hand out in front of him. There was broken glass spread across the floor and a large shard impaled his palm.

"Juice it!" she screamed at him. "Juice it!"

Eyes clenched shut, panting in pain and grimacing ferociously, he concentrated and the glass was gone.

"Don't," he gasped, waving her back. "Don't . . . the glass." He caught his breath and waved the uninjured hand to dispel the fragments then held out his arms to her.

She ran into them, weeping from fright and empathy. "Are you all right? What happened? The glass – your hand!"

He tugged her into a tighter embrace and managed to say, "'M fine. Now. No problem. Don't worry 'bout me." He was still shuddering a little from the memory of pain, but managed a weak laugh. "I sure got the point of this experiment."

"Don't joke about it." She squeezed him hard, then let go to look around the lab. "What happened, anyway?"

Beetlejuice sighed, shaking his head. "I was stupid. You should never work with chemical – and breakable – things when you're mad or distracted, and I was both. Knocked a flask over, tried to catch it, dropped it, and it had eruptive crystals in it. So . . ." he gestured at the now-cleared floor.

"Beej," she took hold of his rubber apron by the pocket, "I know you want to help with the business, but you're trying to do too much, working too hard."

"Now that's something nobody has ever said," he offered a quick grin, then looked down and frowned. "But I want to do this. Really, I do. You know how much I like fooling around with this stuff, and besides . . . I have to do this. If I couldn't help you with this then I'd be useless."

Lydia tugged at his pocket, but said nothing.

"I would! You do so much – all the designs and the sewing and waiting behind the counter and measuring and ordering. And everything. I need to do something to help and this is it. Except when I'm stupid."

"But you help me with all that I do –"

"No!" he interrupted. "I don't do anything like as much as you. I'm just trying to do something." He waved his uninjured hand at the work bench. "It's . . . it's sort of a way for me to be a real partner with you, and it – don't laugh now – it . . . it fulfills something in me; it's a way of creating something. Something that matters to you." He ducked his head down a little. "I know I don't have to, but I guess I want to feel like I'm part of your success." A little lower duck and he peeped at her from under his lids. "Okay?"

She gazed at him with all the love in her heart. "You big goof."

"Hey, you don't know what it felt like when I finally got Peacock right! It was like . . . like nothing I'd ever felt before. I was so proud and so happy, but there was more to it. A sort of contented feeling, a feeling that I'd contributed." He tried to shrug casually.

"The name is Beetle Blue and you should be proud of it. It's going to make us famous, my darling, and it's your creation. You do contribute, so much." She took the formerly impaled hand carefully in hers. "I just don't want you thinking you have to do so much, that's all. Of course I love to have your help, and the new thread dye is wonderful. But I don't want you thinking you have to do more, that you can't take a break from it once in a while, to take your time with what you're developing. That's all. Do what you want to, what you find interesting and fun, and that'll be plenty. Okay?"

"Maybe if you could tell me what you need most, or make a list of what what be useful?" He tentatively squeezed her hand with his, noted no discomfort, and pressed a little harder.

"Nope." She squeezed back and grinned at him. "You just do what you want to and have fun. Isn't that the way it's always been with us?"

"Do what I want and have fun?" He pretended to consider that seriously, then pulled her to him. "Really? And would that be something that you want and you'd have fun, too?"

"Maybe." Her grin turned sly. "If you're sure you don't want to keep working on that 'damfool reaction'."

Her gave her a sly grin of his own. "Hey, all work and no play –"

"You will never be dull," she managed to get out before laughing as he swept her up and they vanished.