The car coming to a stop jars her awake. She supposes she should be thankful her complete exhaustion has finally given way to a short nap on the drive up from New York. In the last month, she can't remember sleeping more than a few hours at a time, so she embraces the naps as they come.

Most often, the naps come after a day of packing boxes or meeting with the lawyers. Those days, that have taken every last bit of energy she has, those days when caffeine can no longer sustain her, those are generally the days she forgets to eat, the last of her emergency stash of granola bars that usually floats at the bottom of her large black bag long gone. Today's nap, however, took her by surprise. She'd thought for sure her nerves would get the best of her, she hadn't slept the entire flight from LA to New York, choosing instead to pick all of her nail polish off her nails. Cracked and peeling, she glances down at her nails as she stretches her fingers, her arms, her legs, slowly the feeling of awake coming back to her body.

Deep breaths. You can do this.

The voice inside her head isn't very convincing, especially after she glances out the tinted window of the town car. The pavement of the parking lot is cracked and broken, weeds and grasses growing between the cracks. There's an assortment of rusted vehicles parked throughout the lot, but it's the line of motorcycles close to the door that draws her eye. She doesn't have to be here, she isn't required by law to come, but still. There's a part of her that had wanted to come and see this place for herself. A moment of panic washes over her, that this was all a horrible mistake.

"Ma'am?"

"Miss."

"Miss Cooper?"

The voice of the driver startles her, pulling her from her second thoughts about this journey.

"Can you give me just a moment, sir?" Reaching into her large black bag, she digs around for her compact and a multi-purpose stick. After a quick dab under her eyes and a swipe of mascara, she sighs. Her eyes are red and puffy, both from her flight, the lack of sleep and all of the tears she's cried in the last month. Her hair is a mess from traveling, and she digs around in her bag again, finally pulling out a lone hair tie, twisting and pulling her hair back into a braid before tucking her sunglasses into her hair.

"Miss, I know this is the address you gave, but I think there might be a mistake."

"No, this is the right place."

"Do you want me to wait for you? No offense, Miss, but this doesn't look like the place you usually frequent."

"I'll be fine," hoping he couldn't detect the waiver in her voice as she replied while reaching into her bag for her wallet, pulling out cash for the driver.

"Miss, I'm really not comfortable leaving you here alone."

He opened the door for her, bright sunlight beaming into the dark car, and she pulled her sunglasses down over her eyes. His hand reached out towards her, helping her from the car. A breeze blew past as he opened the trunk to pull out her suitcase, the last remainder of her life that hadn't been packed into boxes.

"Sir, I assure you, I'll be fine. But if it'll ease your mind, I'll call the car service and ask for you directly if anything happens and I do, in fact, need a ride." Digging in her bag one last time, she found a thick gray sweater and wrapped it around her arms before handing him to a wad of cash she'd pulled from her wallet, thanking him once more as she took the handle of her suitcase from him.

She stood still in the parking lot, even after the town car had pulled away, staring up at the place before her.

You can do this. This is what you came here for.

Instinctively, her fingers curled into her palms, her nails threatening to break the skin, an old habit that died hard. She shook her hands out, tugging on the sleeves of her sweater, anything to keep her fingers busy.

One more deep breath and her legs started to finally move forward. One step at a time, closer and closer to that line of motorcycles. The large glass door was covered in dark paper, and she tugged hard on the handle, pulling the door towards her, before stepping inside. Her suitcase caught on the door behind her, causing her to spin back around towards the door and the parking lot.

Maybe this is a sign that this is a bad idea. No, you can do this. This is why you're here.

The sunglasses darkened the room even more, but she could still feel all of the eyes in the room turn towards her. Momentarily without her sight, her other senses took over. The smell of stale beer, worn leather, the sound of a soft rock song in the background. She reached up, pushing the sunglasses back into her hair, and realized her earlier feeling was correct, every eye in the house was staring directly at her. Her eyes darted around the barroom, hoping for any sense of familiarity, but finding none. Instead, women scantily clad in varying amounts of black hung on the laps of men in black leather jackets who sneered at her as she glanced around, taking in the array of pool tables towards the back, the stage with the silver pole off to the right.

She moved further into the room, dragging her suitcase behind her as she carefully stepped towards the bar. With each step, her Converse stuck to the dingy tiled floor. She slid onto a stool at the end of the bar, her back facing the back hallway. The bartender in front of her offered a smirk, his dark brown eyes meeting her green. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and if it weren't for the glitter in his eyes, he'd be intimidating in his dark leather cutoff.

"You're looking a little lost, princess."

"I hope I'm not, I'm looking for a family friend - Jughead Jones…"

"You look a little too young to be looking for Jughead."

"Hey Bean, wrap it up, we're gonna be late for practice."

A shadow darkened over her right shoulder, and she turned to meet only a chest. What are they putting in the water, here? Geez. Taller and broader than his friend behind the bar, a gray Riverdale Football t-shirt pulled across his chest, her eyes stretched up to take in a head of tousled black hair and light brown eyes.

"Listen, Andrews. Don't be mad I saw her first."

"It's not her fault you have a radar that signals you whenever someone new walks into the Wyrm."

"Excuse me, I'm not sure what this is," her hand gestured between the three, pulling them out of their banter, "but I really just need to find Jughead. What kind of name is Jughead, anyways."

"Oh, don't let the Jug hear you say that." The boy called Andrews looked down at her before reaching for her arm to help her off the barstool. "I'll take you back to him, he's in his office."

He reached for her suitcase as he headed down the hall, and she followed aimlessly. She turned around once when they stopped outside the office door, her eyes briefly meeting Bean's, and as he wiped his hands on the towel that hung from his belt loop, she could swear he winked.

Andrews knocked once, then twice on the door marked Jones, and they stood together alone in the hallway for only a moment before the door in front of them pulled open.

He was taller than she'd been expecting, a thin muscular build that was evident through his gray long-sleeve. He looked similar to the picture she had in her bag, but his hair was cut shorter, the dark waves gone, and wrinkles accentuated the dark bags under his eyes. She watches him, his eyes that dart over Andrews before settling on her. Steel gray meets green and he freezes.

Some days are easier than others. Some days, he gets up, showers, walks Hot Dog, cleans the bar and takes inventory before his staff arrives. Some days, he works on club stuff, it hasn't been easy getting and keeping the Serpents out of drug running, but he's proud of how far they've come.

Some days, he sits in his office all afternoon, with the manilla folder spread out over his desk. These are the days that he misses her the most, even though she's not his anymore. But this, staring at her pictures and her bylines, makes him feel like she's still here, still a part of him. Maybe she still is, this ghost that's left a hole in his heart that won't ever heal now. He knows she's not his, not his to miss or mourn, but this folder holds her successes, her career, and he worships it like a prayer that maybe she'll finally hear how proud of her he is.

And he is. So proud of her, that is. That she got out of here, that she found herself in the sunshine and palm trees of California, that she overcame her family. He had never read a single article on fashion until she published her first, and now the folder is stacked full of them, and he knows more about pencil skirts and mixing textures than he ever thought he would. But it's her and it's her words, so it's a part of her, and he clings to it.

And now, it's all he has. This manilla folder that's falling apart at the seam, won't ever have another article added to it, and that thought still makes his stomach twist. It's been a month, a month since Veronica had called him in tears, a month since it'd been all over the local news. Even those articles have been added to the folder, because it's still her, it's still her picture and her name, and now this is all he has.

He pushes them aside, trying to ignore the bold headlines that scream at him.

Former Riverdale Golden Girl, Betty Cooper…

West-Coast Editor of Vogue…

The Fashion Industry Mourns The Loss of…

He's read them all before, they all end the same. No, he pushes the articles away until he finds what he's looking for. A picture of them, from high school. All of them, together, shoved into a booth a Pop's. Before everything fell apart, before her father became a serial killer and her mother and sister joined a cult, before she left because Riverdale held too many bad memories. Before she left him. Her green eyes stare back at his from the frozen picture, and he can't remember the sound of her voice, but he can remember the sparkle in those green eyes. That glint that they got when she was scheming or wanting something from him. Those green eyes that could bring him to his knees. Those green eyes that he'd never see again.

There's a knock on the door, and he hears Charlie's voice. He glances at the clock as he quickly shoves everything back into the envelope, he shouldn't still be here, him and Bean have practice in fifteen minutes, so whatever it is must be urgent.

"Yeah, give me just a second." He locks the envelope away in the bottom drawer before wiping his eyes on his sleeve as he moves to open the door.

Charlie Andrews is standing there in his practice clothes, his hand on what looks to him to be a suitcase, and there's a moment when he tries to think of what day it is and when Charlie leaves for college. His brow furrows as he tries to think of what this is about, but it's then that he takes notice of the small girl standing next to Charlie.

She's petite, dressed in a thick gray sweater over a black t-shirt and black shorts, a pair of Converse on her feet. Her dark brown hair is twisted back into a braid, loose waves and curls have escaped around the edges, but it's her eyes that cause his heart to stop beating. Emerald green eyes stare up at him.

She walks into the office, pulling out the chair in front of the desk, turning once more to face Andrews as he tells Jughead he'll see him at dinner. And then the door shuts behind him, and it's just them, and that sense of panic washes over her again.

This was a mistake. This was all a mistake.

When he finally sits in the chair across from her, she can feel the anger and confusion and grief radiating off of him. Or maybe the grief is coming from her, it's become such a constant friend to her this last month that she's forgotten what it felt like to not be grieving.

A month. That's all it had been, all the time that had passed that had led her here. In that month, she'd celebrated a birthday, said goodbye to her mother, packed up everything she'd ever owned, and as of today, officially became a resident of the state of New York. All in a month.

He leans down beside the desk where she can see a small refrigerator, and he pulls out two bottles of water, before he finally speaks to her.

"I'd offer you something stronger, but I don't think you're of age."

"I'm not. I turned eighteen last month. Water's fine, thank you."

"God. You look just like her." His arms fold over on the desk, his fingers digging into his short hair.

"I think you're the first person to ever say that to me. Usually, it's only…"

"The eyes… yeah... God, Betty… what were you thinking…fuck." His voice trails off until it's barely a whisper, and she doesn't think she was supposed to hear that last part.

"I'm really sorry to just show up like this, it's just…"

"Yeah. I know. It's…"

"A lot?"

"Jesus, yeah, it's a lot. Does anyone else know you're here?"

"Anyone else? I don't really have anyone else, anymore…"

"No, I guess you don't. Shit, I'm sorry. I meant Veronica and Archie. Do they know, about you?"

She can hear it in his voice, the sharpness and hurt at the realization that she's this big secret her mother's been keeping from everyone.

"She didn't… her letter…" her voice starts to trail off as tears form in her eyes. She didn't come here with some ulterior motive, she doesn't need money or parental support, she just thought he should know. She hadn't been prepared for him to reject her, not like this. "Wait, I have something, too." She reached into her black bag once again, pushing aside her wallet and her makeup before she came up with an envelope that was well worn and tattered. She knew the words written on hers by heart, having read over them hundred-thousand times in the last month, clinging to her mother's last words to her. But tucked away inside the same envelope, was a folded piece of paper she'd yet to unfold, because her name was not marked on the outside. She pulled it out, sliding it across the desk towards the man that sat across from her.

He knew the handwriting instantly, it'd been ingrained in his brain since they were kids. He knew the way her 'y''s looped and sometimes looked like a 'g', the way her dots over her 'i''s trailed off to the right.

His hands are shaking as he unfolds the piece of paper, the last words of hers he'll ever read for the first time, staring back at him.

Jug,

I'd tell you I'd be apologizing to you for the rest of my life, but that sounds a little short, since SURPRISE, it's here. I'm sorry, I forgot, sardonic humor is your thing. I hope you already know, and that you're not just finding out, because if so, that was awful. I'm sorry, let me start again.

There's not enough ways to tell you how sorry I am. I thought I was making the right decision for us, for both of us, but God, what if I was wrong? What if I robbed us of a few good years? I was so hurt that day I left, that day you chose the Serpents over me, that even when I found out a month later, I didn't want to be a part of that life. I couldn't watch you become your father, and God, Jug, you have to admit back then, that's the path you were on.

I'm so proud of you. For the way you've turned your life and the Serpents around. Please try not to be too mad at Veronica when you see her, she's always told me everything. And she's always known everything.

She's amazing and amazingly self-sufficient. She's going to be fine, I know it. But I thought she should know you, or at least meet you. She starts at NYU in the fall, she likes to read (primarily true crime), she listens to vinyl and she's into art. She's so much like you, in so many ways it amazes me.

I wish there was more time. I wish I could do things over again, because I'd do it all over again with you by my side. I wish I could see you one more time, hear your voice and look into those gray eyes that still haunt my dreams.

I've been in love with you since we were children, I never stopped loving you, Jug. It's always only been you, it'll always only be you, just know that, Jug. Whatever life is on the other side, I'll be there, waiting for you. Take care of our Abigail, Jug.

Forever all of my love,

Betty

He stares at the words in front him, reading them over and over again while trying to remember to breathe. Finally, a rustling in the corner, Hot Dog adjusting himself on the dog bed, pulls him out of his fantasy world where Betty Cooper is still alive and still loves him and they live happily together, somewhere that wasn't here, with their daughter. Abigail.

She looks so much like her mother, her thin frame and sharp chin, the same green eyes. But that hair - thick and dark and waving unruly. Maybe he'd known it the moment he saw her standing in his office doorway, but there would never be any denying that this girl that sat in front of him, was his daughter.

"Abigail?" His voice hesitates, but her round eyes dart up from the hole they were boring into his desktop. "Do you prefer Abigail or Abby? And I guess we both have to be at the Andrews for dinner in an hour, want to stop at Pop's for a milkshake first?"

"Just Abigail, no Abby. And a milkshake sounds great."