It consumed me—the worry. I'd walked to the trailer park in the rain, getting soaked through to my bones, fueled by the itch to see him. To make sure he was okay. It kept my blood racing, my heart pounding, and my lungs on fire as they heaved to keep up with my pulse the whole way there. I trotted up the steps to the trailer and banged my fist against the door.

"Sweet Pea? I know you're in there."

My voice didn't have to be so loud anymore, thanks to the momentary lull in the rain storm. There was a moment of silence. Followed by a shuffle, and then the door pulled open. Sweet Pea was still in his soaked clothes, his drenched hair falling into his face, outlining his less than pleased features. "What are you doing here, Diana-?"

As my fingers gripped the folds of his jacket, I took a step forward, pulling him down to me in one swift motion. Our cold, wet lips melded together. For a second, he was rigid in surprise. But then his body melted into mine, wrapping his arms around my middle to pin me against his chest, forcing my mouth open with his. It was a heat in the pit of my stomach. But it wasn't enough to stop the shaking that the cold had thrusted upon my skin.

In that moment, it was an understanding. It was a pooling of mutual worries and anxieties and pushing them all aside. Leaving behind only the pent up tension that's been between us for far too long. And it was intensity, depth that I'd never felt when kissing anyone before. Sweet Pea dropped lower a second, his hands coming to the backs of my thighs, and I hopped up as he lifted. I'd hooked my legs on his hips as he backed up, pushing the door closed with one hand to continuing carrying me in. He turned and dropped onto the couch, positioning me in his lap. Our lips never disconnected.

But I pulled back then, my eyes scanning his face. There was already a bruise forming beneath his left eye. There were a few scrapes elsewhere on his face as well. My hand slid onto the skin of his cheek and up to his eye, my thumb gently brushing the purple space. "I never wanted you to get hurt," my voice was only a whisper, what with being so close. "It was the last thing I wanted-"

He lifted his hands to cup my face, "I know. I should've listened to you."

"I'll get some ice."

I inhaled a deep breath and climbed off him to stand. The lump in my throat was too intense to respond directly to his words in anyway. Walking into the kitchen in silence, I felt like an over emotional crybaby. I'd lost count of how many times I'd cried that week already. And I was feeling another moment coming on. I dug an ice pack out of the freezer and closed the door, then pattered back to the living room.

Sweet Pea was standing now. His soaked jacket and t-shirt lay on the coffee table, and he was just stepping out of his jeans as I arrived. "If you want to take off yours, I can put them in the dryer with mine," he offered, glancing at me as he laid the jeans on top of his other garments.

My muscles stalled in that moment. In that moment of sudden anxiety. If I took off my clothes, I knew, he would see the blatant change in my physique. So I quickly shook my head, turning it down. "No, that's okay. I prefer to air dry."

"Since when?" he questioned, picking up his clothes. "Whatever—it's fine."

He walked past me back toward the bedroom and I dropped onto the couch with an exhale. My lying capabilities had drastically flown out the window. They had been flying out for almost a week. I couldn't keep it from him, but I couldn't tell him. Not right then. It wasn't long before Sweet Pea came back to the living room, easing himself onto the couch to my right. I pulled my knees up underneath me as I turned to face him on the cushion.

"Here," I held up the ice pack to his eye, and he exhaled a deep breath as his shoulders dropped.

His other eye fell closed. "I don't deserve you."

"No mortal man does," I tried to joke. "But that's because I'm a goddess, remember? Like your tattoo?"

"I'm serious, Diana. I don't deserve you," his other eye opened and his hand gently encircled my wrist, tugging the ice pack and my hand away from his face to look at me fully. The lines of his face were etched with seriousness that caused me to tilt my head, eyes softening. "You're so beautiful. You're smart, and you're funny, and sometimes you scare me. You shouldn't have to go through any of this, and I keep dragging you into it-"

I shushed him, edging closer to his side as I cupped his face with my hands. "Pea, don't talk like that. I'm flattered. But, if anyone on this planet deserves me, it's you. You're my whole world. And I love you so much."

The lump in my throat, the warmth of his brown eyes, and the sincerity to my words pushed a stray tear from my eye. But it wasn't alone. Though I tried to sniffle it back for as long as I could, the tears slowly rolled down my cheeks. Sweet Pea sat up straighter almost instantly, every featuring softening more than thought possible, "Baby...why are you crying?"

My hands fell to his shoulders, and he snaked his arm around my waist, his free hand reaching up to push my hair behind my ear. "I'm pregnant," I forced the words past my lips, daring myself to look him in the eye while I did it. The following silence was deafening. But I persisted. "I should've told you...I wanted to—but I didn't know how. I'm so sorry, Sweet Pea."

"You're pregnant?" he repeated the phrase, his tone unreadable as he sat completely still.

I sucked my lower lip between my teeth and bit down as I nodded my head. The fear of the incoming reaction was swallowing me, guiding the continuous tears out of my eyes. His hand came to rest on the right side of my jaw as he took in a breath. "So...I'm going to be a dad?" the words were small, unsure in their quietness. I nodded again. It was the only response I was emotionally capable of giving in that moment. "Diana...I love you so much."

His hand slipped to the back of my neck, and he leaned forward, his lips crashing into mine. I kissed him back in a drive of sheer relief. It coursed through my veins, loosening my shoulders and easing the slight nausea in the pit of my stomach. After a short moment, he'd pulled away suddenly, and his soft brown irises didn't leave mine. "When did you find out?"

"Almost a week ago," I'd admitted, timidly.

"I'm so sorry you thought you couldn't tell me."

Exhaling, the left side of my lips curved up. "There's something else you should know."

I adjusted my position to better sit on my ankles as my fingers gripped the hem of my soaked sweater. The fabric was already plastered to my body. It was surprising he had never noticed. But I tugged the wet cotton over my head and dropped in on the floor between the coffee table and the couch we sat on. "Give me your hand," I instructed, reaching out my own hand.

His eyes glowed with curiosity and the lingering rush of the news. He eagerly gave me his hand, but not before asking, "What is it?"

"Just feel this," I couldn't help a soft chuckle, pressing his hand to my lower abdomen. There wasn't an incredibly large lump—just a small slope. But the important thing was that it was noticeable. There was an obvious difference now. Slowly, my hand atop his, I guided his palm over the swell. "Supposedly, Sweet Pea Jr. is about the size of a lime right now. He's twelve weeks old."

Sweet Pea's lips broke into a wide smile at my words, his lit up eyes fixated on our hands. It was undefinable—the feeling, the warmth that spread through my chest seeing his reaction. It pushed my lips into a smile of their own at the overwhelming relief and happiness mixing in my gut. "He's going to look just like his mom," he commented, a certain sparkle to his eye.

I'd let go of his hand then, standing up on my knees to move forward, placing my hands on his shoulders as I climbed onto his lap. His arms slid around my waist as I did, and his eyes followed mine. "I think," I said, sliding my hands up his shoulders and neck to his cheeks. "That he should look just like his father."

"Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll look like both of us?"

"I'd be okay with that."

I nodded, returning his smile. He barked a laugh and pulled me forward, his hands flat against my back, and I leaned down to meet his lips halfway. Taking them between mine in a way I hadn't before. With a purpose, a depth, and a love I hadn't before. The idea of parenthood was terrifying. But having Sweet Pea with me made the terrifying turn into only a small fear. Like we could do it all and it would turn out just fine. And maybe it would?

Maybe we would turn out to be better parents than ours were? Just by the look in his eye, when his hand was on my stomach, I could already tell Sweet Pea would be the best father anyone could ask for. All it took was a simple look. Call it a first-time mother's intuition. But it was a confidence boost regardless.

I'd only dozed off for a short moment before a loud banging startled my eyes wide open. Sweet Pea jerked back beneath me, craning his neck to look at the door. "This is the Sheriff's Department," a familiar voice, one that only could belong to Sheriff Keller, spoke through the door. "Open up." My eyes instinctively shot to the nearest clock. 12:47AM. Sweet Pea swore under his breath and pushed back the blanket that was over us, causing me to push myself up so he could slide out.

He flew through the kitchen and into the bedroom in all but a flash, and I groped the floor for my sweater. It was no surprise that the Sheriff would show up at Sweet Pea's door when you boiled it all down. If Dilton was stabbed, he would go the hospital. Then it would become public knowledge and the police would get involved. Dilton would be forced to name names—as if he'd have a problem with that—thus bringing the Sheriff to this trailer.

I'd found my sweater, crumbled and crisped from drying out in a wad on the floor. As I stood to put it on, Sweet Pea returned to the living room fully dressed, and I just barely had the reflex capacity to catch the t-shirt he threw at me on his path to the front door. "Pea, what are you going to do?" I asked, in a hushed voice, as I pulled the clean shirt over my head.

"Just stay here," he held up a hand in a gesture.

Then he pulled open the door, taking one step out, before pulling it closed behind him. I gave a grumbling sigh and plucked my hoodie from the rack by the door. I'd shoved my hands through the sleeves as I sidled up to the window on the opposite side of the door, watching carefully through the barely open shades. The Sheriff looked less than pleased. But he seemed to be keeping a level head. All I got were muffled, unreadable voices.

I could make out Sweet Pea's flippant attitude, his voice risen higher than the Sheriff's. No matter what that boy did he couldn't be anything other than loud. When he was sad, angry, happy—the emotion didn't matter. The two deputies with the Sheriff began to grab Sweet Pea to put cuffs on him. And that's when I hurried to the door, whipping it open. Sheriff Keller's eyes snapped to me as I appeared on the small cement slab of a porch.

"What are you doing here, Diana?" he asked, in a tone only a father would use.

Sweet Pea sighed heavily as the deputies wrestled cuffs on his wrists, pinning his arms behind his back. But his head shot up the second the Sheriff spoke my name, and his eyes met mine. "Go back inside, baby," he encouraged, a bit urgently. "I'll be fine. Just go inside." I knew he was serious. I knew he was probably right. But I didn't move other than to fold my arms over my chest.

"Why are you cuffing him?" I questioned Sheriff Keller.

"We just need to ask him a few questions, but he refused to come down to the station voluntarily," he answered, simply.

My eyes rolled toward Sweet Pea, who wore a guilty downward curve of his lips with downcast eyes. "I'm calling Tall Boy," I stated, directing it at Sweet Pea. "I don't care if he's sleeping—I'm waking his butt up and dragging him to the station." I waited to move, despite my words, until they'd gotten Sweet Pea in the back of a cruiser. Then I turned on my heel and pushed through the front door, marching right to the coffee table to get my cell phone.

Calling Tall Boy was the least of the problems I was facing that night. After that semi-awkward call, I texted Jughead to tell him where I'd be if he needed me in the middle of the night. Then I changed into my jeans and slid my feet into some boots before heading outside. There was no way that I was walking all the way to the station. No. I was taking the motorcycle. In all reality, it probably wasn't the best idea. But I didn't really care.

I'd needed to get somewhere fast, so I used the best transportation for the situation available. Though misguided it was really rather simple. When I got to the station, it was just after one. My eyes were dry, my head felt groggy, but I pushed through it and went straight to the front teller counter. "Hi, I need to speak to Sheriff Keller," I'd said, to the woman behind the glass.

"Diana," I turned my head, my eyes landing on the Sheriff himself. He was walking toward me from a hall I knew lead to the interrogation rooms. "There's really nothing you can do here other than take a seat and wait. This could take a while, considering his lack of cooperation."

I turned toward him as he approached, "He's a minor without proper counsel. You shouldn't be talking to him at all."

"I understand your frustration—I do. But a kid was stabbed tonight. We take that kind of thing very seriously—and Mr. Doiley claims Sweet Pea was apart of the group that jumped him," Keller explained, calmly, placing his hands on his hips from where he stood a foot or two in front of me.

"Sweet Pea didn't jump Dilton, Sheriff," I crossed my arms.

"And how might you know that?"

"Don't say another word," out of seemingly nowhere, Tall Boy's voice rang out just before he stepped up beside me, edging on coming between me and the Sheriff. "I'd like to have a talk with you, Sheriff." Tall Boy sounded less than pleased. Sheriff Keller sighed, but he gestured for him to be followed as he started down the hall away from me. Tall Boy flashed a look over his shoulder before following Keller away. A look I knew well.

It was his typical don't do anything stupid. He'd perfected that look after so many years of dealing with reckless minors. I used to be, and probably still am, considered one of those minors. I sighed, letting my shoulders drop. Sitting in one of the chairs in the waiting area seemed like a good idea at the time. But I couldn't hold still. It was tapping my foot, or twiddling my thumbs, or picking at my hoodie's draw strings—anything to keep moving.

The thought was killing me more than anything else. It was the sheer helplessness. Sure, Keller had nothing on Sweet Pea that could actually connect him to anything that went down tonight. But it didn't stop me from worrying. It didn't stop my heart from beating too fast, or my mind from going straight to when they arrested FP. They took FP to an interrogation room and he never came out.

It was ten minutes of sitting in the chair alone. Ten minutes until Jughead darted through the front doors of the station with wide eyes that scanned the room in one wide sweep, before they landed on me and relaxed. "I got your text," he said, walking quickly toward me. "What in the world did I miss?"

I stood as he arrived, exhaling to calm myself. "Sweet Pea brought a bunch of the Serpents to Archie's house. Long story short, the Bulldogs versus Serpents game ended in a draw, but Dilton got a knife in his leg. So Keller dragged Sweet Pea in to question him. I don't know who else got dragged into this hell hole, but-"

"Wait, hold on. There was an all-out brawl? Why were you involved?!" he questioned, tone laced with angered worry.

"I was trying to play devil's advocate."

"I thought that's what dating Sweet Pea was for."

My head tilted as my eyes narrowed, "Being friends with Archie, actually. But thanks for that."

Jughead sighed, standing quietly a moment as he looked at me. "This is getting really out of hand, Diana," he finally said, before dropping into a seat opposite mine. I sat as he continued. "I don't know. Maybe you shouldn't tell Sweet Pea about the baby. Just skip the country one day, change your name, and make a living raising alpacas in a place no one can pronounce the name of."

"I, uh...I kind of already told him, Jug," I squinted an eye in a gesture.

His eyes became just slightly rounder, and he scooted to the edge of his chair. "Well? How'd he take it?"

"Surprisingly great," my mind went to earlier in the night, when I told Sweet Pea about the baby—the following events making my heart flutter. I cleared my throat, leaning back in my chair. "He was really supportive about it. He wants to raise the baby with me."

"And that's what you want?"

"Yeah. I mean, I didn't want to make up my mind until I'd told Pea. I didn't get attached to the baby as much as I did the idea of it all, you know? Just- the thought of being a mother is really scary, but I just keep smiling whenever I think about actually getting to hold this thing," my words were true—I was smiling even while I was talking about smiling at the thought of holding the baby.

The corners of Jughead's lips pulled up as he sat back in his chair. "Does this mean I'm going to get to be an uncle?"

It was rhetorical in nature, because he knew exactly what it meant. You could tell by the smug look to his smile. I didn't get the chance to reply. Because Jughead's face washed as he glanced up and over my shoulder. Eyebrows knitting, I twisted in my seat to follow his line of sight. Tall Boy was walking toward the exit just past us with Sweet Pea and Fangs in toe. Tall Boy looked like he was about to actually hit someone.

Fangs just looked done, tired, and probably—knowing him—hungry for night breakfast. I pushed myself up from my chair as Sweet Pea's eyes connected with mine. He sighed, moving past Tall Boy in a long stride to wrap his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest. "Thanks for calling Tall Boy," Fangs said. "Keller wasn't giving us any of our rights in there." I'd pulled away from Sweet Pea, but he kept an arm around my shoulders, attaching me to his side.

Jughead stood, with a shake of his head. "Doesn't really surprise me, to be honest."

"Let's get moving. We don't want to be in here any longer than we gotta be," Tall Boy said.

Fangs was the first to head for the door, and Sweet Pea pulled me along with him to follow. Jughead wasn't too far behind us. It was almost like Tall Boy was walking behind us kids to make sure no one tried to keep us there. Like he was flanking us to keep an eye out. And maybe he was? Maybe he'd seen it happen before? He probably had. And it wouldn't surprise me at all.