In 1x04, "The Last Picture Show", Betty confronts Archie outside Pop's and learns he's been seeing Grundy – and Jughead knew. But when and how do Betty and Jughead talk this out? A missing scene.

A/N: Major shout-out (or perhaps vicious roar accompanied by a lovely fragrance?) to Raptorlily, whose version of this scene ("Good Intentions") was published (on AO3) just as I was finishing this one! It's better, but I still had fun writing this, so I'm posting it nonetheless.

Also I disclaim that I own nothing.

For once, Betty's mom showed up to interrupt the teenagers' proceedings at exactly the right moment: just as things became surreal and uncomfortable. Betty jumped into the car, and her mom sped away from Pop's, away from Archie and Veronica and the strange revelation that Archie and Miss Grundy were somehow – gross! – a clandestine couple. Worse: that he and Miss Grundy had been at Sweetwater River together on July 4 and had heard a gunshot. On top of that, it seemed that Jughead – who was supposed to be helping Betty get to the bottom of everything – had known about this and hadn't told her.

When Betty got home, after yet another awkward and infuriating conversation with her mother about her poor taste in friends, she went straight up to her room, slammed the door, and flopped angrily onto her bed. She stayed flopped for a good twenty minutes, her head buried in a pillow, trying not to think about Archie … with his teacher …

As she tried, another thought occurred to her: Was this why Archie and Jughead seemed so distant these days? Had Archie neglected his friendship with Juggie in favour of an illicit romance? Betty had sensed that some kind of wedge had been driven between the two boys over the summer, while she had been away doing her internship, but the nature of the split remained an enigma. As children, Archie and Jughead had been nearly inseparable. As they grew up and developed starkly different dispositions and pursuits, they had nevertheless maintained an apparently strong friendship – though, now that Betty thought about it, she realized they hadn't been tight for many months; their weekends were spent apart now, and, since returning to school, the coldness between them had been palpable.

So why would Jughead keep this secret of Archie's? – unless he was trying to mend fences. Betty supposed there was some evidence in favour of that possibility; the two boys had been hanging out together after the football game last week, for instance, before joining her and Veronica at Pop's.

Jughead was more of a joiner than people usually presumed. He had always taken part in Archie and Betty's misadventures in the past (however sarcastically), even the ones that demanded school spirit. And he had recently agreed – with barely the twist of an arm – to work with Betty at the school newspaper, investigating Jason's murder.

In that capacity, Jughead had interrogated Dilton last week, then Dilton's fellow adventure scout at Pop's, and learned that Dilton had shot the gun on the morning of July 4. Then, Betty and Jughead had learned that Miss Grundy's car was at the river that fateful morning, too; Dilton had seen it. Had Jughead known, even then, that Archie might have been with Miss Grundy? – that Miss Grundy should be considered a suspect, and that Archie, whom they had both trusted implicitly for years, could therefore also implicated?

Betty pulled a pillow to herself, squeezed it tight, and seethed. When was the last time she had felt so angry with Archie? No comparable incident came to mind.

Only when Betty's phone lit up did she realize how dark it was in her bedroom – how late it was getting. Leaning over, she turned on her nightstand lamp and picked up her phone, where a new text message waited. It was from Jughead.

Betty could not remember Jughead ever before texting her at nighttime. It was so out of the ordinary that she felt a small surge of adrenaline.

The text read: Picked up the tab after your dine-n-dash. You owe me a shake.

Oh, shoot! He was right; she had left with her mother, and hadn't had the chance to pay for her milkshake. She started to type out a reply expressing her embarrassment and thanks – but then she remembered: she was pissed at Jughead, too.

I owe YOU? You knew about A & G and you never told me!

A couple of minutes passed. No response.

She sent another. I thought we were supposed to be PARTNERS in this investigation.

A reply came. OK, you don't owe me anything.

YOU owe ME an explanation.

Betty stared at her phone and willed him to respond.

After a good couple of minutes, he did: This might sound bad … but technically I knew about A & G before we agreed to be partners.

What!

I sort of saw them together a few weeks ago.

Betty replied, yet more irked. SAW them? … WEEKS ago?

A few more minutes passed. And then a flurry of texts came in from Jughead all at once: Look, I don't want to get into it all … I DID try to get Archie to do the right thing. … He eventually did, sort of … I've tried to make him see that this thing with Peach the Teach can't possibly end well. … She's messing with his head.

Betty didn't know how to respond. She tossed her phone onto the bed, deciding to step away from the conversation for a few minutes in order to better process it. She changed into her pyjamas, she brushed her hair. And then her phone lit up again.

Shit, this is like the state fair class trip all over again.

(When a group of friends grows up together, there's history in almost every conversation. Here's the short version of this particular episode in their shared history: in fourth grade, their class had taken a field trip for the day to the state fair. Their teacher had assigned classmates to one another in hopes that the buddy system would keep the gaggle of kids in a safer and somewhat more manageable group. Betty and Jughead had been assigned to one another, but Jughead had spent the whole day with Archie, flagrantly disregarding or forgetting the system, until Archie's assigned buddy – Midge – gave up on him completely and started hanging around with Betty. The teacher had essentially been fine with it, and Midge was pleasant enough, but there had been a sore spot between Betty and Jughead for a while. Of course now it was all water under the bridge – as much as anything ever can be, between lifelong friends.)

Betty replied: You will never live that down, you ditcher-i-doo.

So I gather.

This IS just like that.

What can I say, boys rule and girls drool.

Betty rolled her eyes. Wisdom for the ages.

Except this time I agreed to be your buddy, it wasn't an assignment. … I had just also chosen to be Archie's buddy.

I noticed.

I was trying to be a buddy to both of you! Jeez, stick a guy between a rock and a hard place.

Betty shook her head and tossed the phone down again, abandoning the conversation for a second time to brush her teeth. Then she spent a few minutes organizing by subject the pile of handouts from various classes that had been accumulating on her desk.

During that time, there came another handful of texts from Jughead: I didn't like keeping it from you, OK? … It seemed like the lesser evil. … I AM your partner, Betty.

She got into bed. She turned out her light. She tossed and turned for a bit. If he had just been trying to get his friendship with Archie back on track, how could she hold that against him?

OK, she finally replied. So long as there isn't any other information pertinent to our investigation that you happen to be sitting on?

No! I swear.

Keep it that way if you still want to be my buddy on this.

You got it. I'm all yours. … No bull, as they say in the biz. … Or so I assume.

K I'm going to bed now, Juggie. … Goodnight. … BTW, I'll pick up the tab for your next milkshake.

Decent! Tomorrow we shall rage on … Night, Betts :)

Betty smiled and set her alarm for the next morning. Shoot! (Again.) It was past midnight now; she'd be pretty tired the next day. Staying up late, texting with a boy – whatever would her mother say! Probably not much; it was just Jughead, after all.