The Beetle Bride (ON HOLD)

Chapter Thirteen; A Bridge Too Far

**A/N**
Hey guys! Hope you're all good. Thank you all for reading/voting and commenting. It's greatly appreciated. Please accept my apologies for the lateness in posting, and I'm hoping this ridiculously eclectic, long chapter will help make up for the delay. I hope you enjoy this instalment, and it'd be really cool if you let me know what you think.
Also, I'd just like to give a shameless plug for the story 'Angel From My Nightmares' by the wonderful Chucky-andTiffany. Please go and check it out. I'm seriously humbled and honoured to have been accredited for helping inspire her into writing this fabulous Beetlejuice story.
Keep Spreading the BJ/Lydia love! Thanks Juiceaholics, you're all  awesome! xD

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The walk from the cemetery was fast, as Beetlejuice was in a hurry to get back to the house.
They didn't really talk much, and Lydia could sense there was something troubling him but knew it wasn't the right time to ask, as they hurried across the field, and through the darkened streets of town before joining the long, winding road up the hill towards home.
The sky had turned a beautiful shade of midnight blue, the pale winter-white moon shone down over them amidst a glittering canopy of twinkling stars. But Beetlejuice certainly didn't seem to notice, as he kept on taking long, purposeful strides. His hands tucked in his pockets, and his head down, focused solely on walking.
The mood had changed between them since leaving the church, and for once he was much quieter and reserved than usual.
Silently, she wondered whether or not she'd done something drastically wrong, and knowing she could pinpoint the precise moment when he'd become withdrawn, did little to alleviate the worry she was beginning to feel.
She'd gone and done it. She'd dared broach that most monumentally awkward subject, and asked the unavoidable question...

"So, what does this mean now...like, for us?"

Every muscle in his ghoulish body appeared to tense up at those words, and in spite of it not being possible, she could've sworn he turned an even whiter shade of pale.
Needless to say he hadn't supplied her with an answer. Choosing instead to hastily check his watch and suggest they ought to be getting back.
She'd complied,  taking his subtle-as-a-sledgehammer reaction to mean that he would rather die all over again than address that particular quandry right now.

Her unease did not waver when she perceptibly shivered against the icy wind, and his conflicting behaviour confused her even more.
His head snapped up, and in one swift motion he'd shrugged out of his jacket and was holding it out to her.
Understandably, she knew that he wasn't susceptible to the cold, but she couldn't think for the life of her why he couldn't just conjure her a coat, rather than surrendering his own. Perhaps It was some chivalrous gesture he felt compelled to do. An attempt at unselfish romance, or maybe an ill conceived macho notion - as if him offering her anything less than the coat off his own back would be an affront to his masculine pride.

"Um, you don't have to do that."
She informed him, despite being deeply touched by the sweetness of the gesture.

"I know I don't have to, but I wanna. Don't worry, you ain't gonna catch bubonic plague from it."
He replied, his tone notably clipped, and the remark ridiculous considering they'd kissed numerous times. If there were any cooties to be caught, she'd have well and truly caught them by now.

"I know that, I just-"

"Oh just take it already would ya. I'm only offering my jacket, not askin' you to have my demonic babies."
He draped the jacket loosely around her shoulders, and did his best to ignore the way her dark brows drew together in confused irritation.
He was being unnecessarily sharp, and he knew it. Immediately guilt stricken, he added this foreign sensation to the ever-increasing mental list of unsettling feelings he was experiencing.