Pop Tate was tired. That was all. Who wouldn't be? He was 72, he'd been keeping the grill hot at the Chock'Lit Shoppe for damn near 50 years, and Riverdale- the place that made the idea of staying in your home town for the rest of your life not seem like such a bad idea- had changed, and not for the better.

He was tired, and it was time to rest.

That was when Alice Cooper- well, Alice Smith now- came in. She'd had her world nearly destroyed after finding out her son wasn't her son at all, her real son was most likely dead if she could believe anything that Chic said at all, she didn't know how to fix all of the mistakes she'd made with the biological father of said deceased son, and on top of that the man she'd been sharing her bed with for 20 years was a deranged serial killer.

It was 4 o'clock in the morning when she'd shuffled into the diner and, whether she knew it or not, changed everything.

The bell over the door rang softly, causing Pop Tate to look up from where he was absent mindedly wiping a non-existent smudge off the counter.

Alice Smith looked like he felt. Dark circles of exhaustion ringed her eyes and it was obvious that she was in dire need of- what? For everyone in town to suddenly forget who she was- what Hal, and in the hearts of many of the more judgmental citizens of Riverdale, by association she, had done?

The best he could offer her just before dawn on a Tuesday morning was a burger and a milkshake.

"Alice Smith, as I live and breathe," he said, trying to sound more cheerful than he felt.

"Hey Pop," she said as she took the nearest front counter seat. "Why are you here so early?"

"Oh, you know, it's hard these days finding kids willing to man the fort this time of the morning."

If he was being honest, it wasn't really a lack of hired help. These days, sleep was a hard-won ally. When he did sleep, it was fitful and half full of uneasy dreams.

If the Black Hood's reign of terror in the waking world was over, his brain (or perhaps his heart) hadn't gotten the message. He awoke bathed in sweat, his heart beating hard- too hard, he thought sometimes, for man who certainly had more days behind him than ahead. As he laid awake and stared at the ceiling, he willed himself to believe that the nightmare was finished.

"What can I get for you- the usual?"

Alice smiled wearily. "That'll be fine, Pop." He never forgot the favorite order of the regulars of Riverdale- a quirk perfected over decades that was a big part of what he attributed his success to. Alice Smith- a medium rare bacon cheeseburger, hold the pickles, with extra crispy fries and a strawberry milkshake.

She was quiet behind him, and a comfortable silence descended as he placed a napkin rolled around cutlery in front of her and set about making her food.

The sizzling of the grill was still a comforting sound after all of these years, the only place- up until the last six months or so- where he had truly felt like no matter what happened, everything was going to be ok, just in general. The earth would still spin, God would still be in his heaven, and life in Riverdale would keep on keepin' on. His father used to say that.

Pop was content to just let her be- maybe what she really came in here for wasn't a burger but plain old peace and quiet. He could understand that. A lot of the late night and early morning regulars weren't much for conversation, preferring to eat their burgers in companionable silence. If there was anything that he had learned over the last 50 years, it was that you learned a lot more by listening than by talking.

So, he was a little surprised when he heard Alice speak from behind him.

"You know, Pop, I don't know what I would do without this place."

"I'm sure you all would find somewhere to else to eat, this place wasn't the first burger joint in town and it won't be the last," he said with a wry smile as he flipped her burger.

"No, really, this place means everything to this town- to Jughead, to Archie and Veronica, to Betty and Polly, to me and…" Her voice wavered, and he glanced over his shoulder at Alice.

"To my family…" she finished. He knew she'd been about to say her and Hal, back when they were still a "we", or "us", a "them". When the Coopers were still a singular unit instead of just scattered fragments. A habit borne of the years. It would take a long time, however much she hated Hal sometimes, to truly come to terms with the dissolution of not only her marriage but of everything she thought she knew about her place in the world. Her perfect family, shredded to bits, and the illusion that she was still the Northside Ice Queen, large and in charge, shattered irrevocably.

Her eyes looked shiny, and suddenly Alice Smith looked more vulnerable than he'd ever seen her, even after they led Hal away in hand and ankle chains. Ever since then, she'd been holding on by a thread, but it was growing more frayed by the day. She wasn't sure how much more she could hold on. Something had to give- it was the law of the Universe. She just hoped it wasn't her sanity. At this point, all bets were off.

"What's on your mind, Alice? How are you doing, honestly?" He said, sliding her burger in front of her and leaning his elbow on the counter.

It wasn't until he asked that that she realized she couldn't remember the last time that anyone, family, friend or otherwise, had asked her how she was actually feeling.

Most of the time in the past, she'd admit, it came out whether someone had asked her or not, but at this point, she'd been bottling it up for the sake of her family and for her own self that there was no room for any more emotion.

The dam broke.

She told Pop everything- the whole sordid tale. From her shitty childhood on the Southside, to her past and present dalliances with FP, to how when Hal started choking her during their confrontation that all she could think about was her children. Not her own demise but who was going to take Betty to school or cook her dinner if she was 6 feet under and Hal was rotting on Death Row up in Shankshaw, waiting to ride the lightning, as his father also used to say.

Pop didn't like his father very much.

By the time she finished the sun was peeking over the horizon and she had a tear stained pile of shredded napkins in front of her that she'd ripped up out of nervousness while she recounted the best and worst times of her life.

The only thing she didn't include was what had led her to the diner at 4 am. It was too raw.

"Wow," he said when she had dabbed the last of her tears away and gained some semblance of control over her emotions. She felt husked, powerfully cleansed in a way that she hadn't felt in years- maybe ever.

"Wow is right," she replied with a small laugh. "I don't even want to know what you think of me now."

He looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Honestly, Alice, I think you're one of the strongest women I've ever met. And I'd like to think I've met a respectable number of them in my time."

For the first time since she walked in he saw what halfway resembled an actual smile on her face.

"Thank you, Pop. That means a lot to me."

The bell behind her suddenly chimed as the second customer of the morning walked in.

FP Jones.

A frown quickly replaced Alice's tentative smile and she stood up, suddenly unable to spend one more minute in the diner, like something (or someone) had poisoned the air.

"Can I get the check please, Pop?" She said, digging through her purse for her wallet.

"It's on the house Alice, don't worry about it."

If he hadn't been planning to give her food at no charge before, he certainly was now, seeing how uncomfortable she seemed.

"Thank you, Pop." She fled to the door, steadfastly trying to avoid FP's gaze as he headed for the counter.

"Alice."

That was all FP said by the way of a greeting as she passed. It was like they hadn't seen each other in years, were merely distant acquaintances, not lovers or friends with benefits or whatever you might call them now.

She ignored him and then she was gone. The shredded pile of napkins and a faint trace of perfume in the air was all that betrayed her earlier presence.

FP sat down at the counter and sighed heavily.

This was all wrong. The diner, Alice, their whole lives. They did, or at least Alice did, what they thought was best, and it still ended up leading them all into this hellish caricature of a normal life.

"You should go after her, you know," Pop said.

FP looked at him strangely. Pop wasn't in the habit of giving relationship advice and FP wasn't in the habit of taking it.

"This isn't a romance movie, Pop," FP said. "I don't get the girl in the end and we have a happy ending with flowers and rainbows." He laughed bitterly. "Alice Smith doesn't want anything to do with me."

Pop didn't really have a good response to that, suddenly feeling at a loss for words. If anything of what Alice had just told him was true, it was that her feelings for FP had always been there and probably always would.

How had they gotten their wires so crossed?

FP scrubbed his face with his hands and stood up from his chair.

"I think I'm just going to go home, Pop," he said. He looked tired, too, like he hadn't slept in days. Weeks, even.

Pop looked at him sadly as FP didn't wait for a reply and walked out of the diner.

"Be well, Alice Smith and FP Jones," Pop whispered to the empty diner, another one of the thousands of utterances that only the walls of Pop's diner heard. It wasn't the first time that he wished they could talk back.