Author's Note: I am SO SORRY this took so long to update! School has been absolutely crazy recently (in the middle of finals now), and I've spent the little free time that I actually have napping because I'm so tired all of the time. I promise to keep the updates more regular from here on out. Enjoy!
The rest of Betty's first weekend at home passes without anything out of the ordinary, which in the world of cancer, is a very good thing. Betty spends most of the day Sunday in bed, exhausted from the get together the night before. Short of a walk around the block to stretch his legs in the early afternoon, Jughead remains by her side, working on both schoolwork and his novel.
Monday morning, Jughead wakes to a very excited Betty shaking him. It's still dark outside, and the teenager groans, covering his face with the crook of his elbow.
"Betts, what time is it?"
"Six," Betty announces. If it had been a reasonable hour, Jughead would have smiled at the lilt in her voice, but alas, it is not. "School starts in two hours!"
"And?"
"It's time to get up!"
"Betty, I'm a dude. It takes me three minutes to get ready in the mornings."
"I know, but I want to get there early to talk to the teachers about everything I missed. I was hoping you would walk me to school?"
Jughead cracks an eye open, and one look at the grinning, hopeful face of his girlfriend melts the ice surrounding his heart. He sighs; if he had known he would be shorted an hour of sleep, he would have gone to bed earlier the night before.
"Alright, alright," he says gruffly. He rolls out of bed and grabs his towel from its hook on the back of Betty's bedroom door.
Thirty minutes later, Jughead and Betty are on their trek to Riverdale High. Betty is wearing a surgical mask, her brunette wig, and Jughead's beanie, along with her typical sweater and jeans. There is a bounce in her step as they walk down the sidewalk, and Betty's hand reaches over and grasps his.
"I'm a little nervous," she tells him, looking up.
Jughead releases her hand and wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. He kisses the top of his beanie as they continue their walk. "Don't be. It's just another day at school."
"I know," Betty sighs, "but I'm sure I'm much more behind in school than my teachers are letting on, and repeating a grade and being behind all of my friends is not on my agenda."
"That's not gonna happen, Betts."
The couple walks in silence for a few more blocks before Jughead begins to notice Betty struggling to keep up with him. Her breathing is labored beneath the mask, and her face has lost what little color it had to begin with.
Jughead stops and looks down at his girlfriend, concerned. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Betty pants. She leans down, placing her hands on her knees. The brunette waves of her wig fall around her face. "This is the farthest I've walked in I don't know how long. I'm just out of shape."
The doctors had warned Betty that she would have decreased oxygen-carrying capacity due to her chemotherapy treatments, and that simple tasks like cleaning and doing housework would likely exhaust her. However, when Alice had offered the two of them a ride to school this morning before heading to the Register, Betty had waved her off, saying she wanted everything to be back to normal.
Jughead rubs Betty's back. He can see Riverdale High only three blocks away, so the remaining walk is attainable, she will just need a quick breather.
"I'm sorry, Juggie," Betty says between breaths.
"Don't be ridiculous, Betts. Take your time. We're early, remember?"
The remaining walk is a struggle, Betty rests twice more, and when they finally reach the school, she sits down on the stairs to regain her composure. She briefly pulls her mask down so she can get air more easily.
"So, for the time being, we should probably ride with your mom," Jughead suggests warily. Betty has been particularly stubborn about needing any additional help with her integration back to normalcy. They had not had any blow-out fights per say, but Betty had refused to listen if anyone suggested she took things easy at first.
"That might be a good idea," she replies. She takes a few more minutes to regain her breath before Jughead helps her stand and they enter the school.
The morning is a busy one. Betty insists on meeting with all of her teachers before the school day begins. Every teacher is thrilled to see her, and Jughead waits patiently as she asks what she is behind in, and what is due for the week. The teachers tell her that she has done a fabulous job keeping up with her work, and that they don't foresee any issues with her continuing on to her junior year.
Walking down the stairs to math class together, Betty seems satisfied with the information the teachers had given her.
"What, did you think I was lying to you?" Jughead asks her, clasping her hand in his as they walk slowly down the stairs. He can already see bags forming under Betty's eyes and he suppresses his urge to ask her if she's feeling okay.
"No, but it's just nice to hear that I'm caught up first-hand," Betty responds, winded.
"Let's get you to class, Betts," Jughead murmurs. When Betty had told him that she would be returning to school today, he had his doubts, but now that he sees her struggling before the day has even begun, his anxiety begins to surface.
At this point, the bell rings, and their fellow Riverdale High students begin spilling in through the doors. Betty is immediately swarmed by their peers that wish to welcome her back, and Jughead remains steadfast by her side. Each person that hugs her makes him increasingly uncomfortable. Not, of course, from a jealousy standpoint, but from a cleanliness and hygiene standpoint. Dr. Tuemler's words of caution regarding his girlfriend's compromised immune system have haunted him to the point of showering three or four times a day, and he is certain that their peers have not been taking the same precautions.
After several minutes of hellos in the hallway, he leans over and murmurs that they need to get to class in Betty's ear. She smiles up at him and nods, breaking away from the crowd and following him to math class.
Once in the room, Betty is assaulted by a shrieking Veronica Lodge with Archie hot on her tail.
"Relax, V, I just saw you on Saturday," Betty laughs, returning her friend's enthusiastic hug.
"Don't take away from this iconic moment, Cooper," Veronica says into the soft waves of Betty's wig.
Jughead smiles and accepts a hug from Archie.
"How's it feel to have her back at school?" Archie asks him, smiling at his girlfriend and Betty.
"It's good," Jughead says cautiously. He turns away from the girls' embrace. "I'm a little concerned she came back too soon, but telling her to take it easy didn't go particularly well."
Archie nods, understanding. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me," he responds quietly.
"And what, pray tell, are our handsome men conspiring about?" comes Veronica's voice from behind them.
0o0o0o0
After the first class of the day is complete, Jughead recognizes all of Betty's telltale signs that she is exhausted. During math class, he watches her slowly but surely slouch down in her seat, resting her head in her hands. And then, by the end of second period, her eyes are half shut during lecture. The teens do not have their third class of the day together, and Jughead is reluctant to part ways with her, especially after watching her fade through the first two classes.
"You sure you're okay, Betts?" he asks her, rubbing her shoulders. "You're starting to look a little tired."
"I'm fine, Juggie," she insists. Her face is slowly losing color as the day progresses, but he doesn't dare tell her that. "I'll see you at lunch."
"Sounds good," Jughead tells her. He leans down and kisses her forehead. "I love you. Text me if you need anything."
Jughead does nothing but worry during his third period history class. He realizes this is going to be something he has to get used to with Betty coming back to school, but he can't stop the aching feeling that his girlfriend is rushing her recovery. Running a hand through his dark hair, a habit that has formed post-beanie, he thinks of all the times that Betty has put others before herself, and he can't help but wonder if Betty's desire to come back to school is for herself, or for her friends and family that want her to appear well again.
Jughead doesn't have to spend any more class periods worrying about his girlfriend. Upon leaving history, he finds an ashen-faced Betty outside of the classroom waiting for him.
"I think I need to go home," she whispers to him through her mask. "I think I bit off more than I can chew."
Jughead nods. He realizes that there's no way the two of them can walk home, and when he suggests calling a cab, Betty informs him that Veronica has already sent for her car service to pick her up.
"I don't want you to have to miss school too, Jug. I can go home by myself, I'll be fine."
"No way," he tells her firmly. "Not with you looking like you do right now."
The dark circles under Betty's eyes put his own to shame, and her face is completely void of color, blending in with the white hospital mask.
Betty opens her mouth to argue with him, but Jughead interrupts.
"I have an agreement with my teachers as well. They know what we have going on, Betty. And let's be honest here, neither of us are struggling academically. C'mon, let's get you home."
Fifteen minutes later, Veronica's car service drops the two teens off at the Cooper household, and Jughead slowly helps Betty up the steps and down the path to the house. Once inside, he helps her to the couch, where Betty takes her mask off and buries her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs.
"Hey, hey," Jughead says, kneeling on the floor in front of Betty. He gently rubs his girlfriend's legs as she continues to cry. "What's wrong?"
"I just want everything to be back to normal," Betty moans between sobs. "You have no idea how frustrating this is for me, Jug. I need to be okay again."
"And you will be," he tells her reasonably. "Betty, you just finished a month of wreaking havoc on your body. It's going to take more than two days for you to recover from that."
Betty sighs and nods, leaning against the back of the couch. She tucks her knees to her chest and rubs her forehead. Jughead gets up and sits on the couch next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
0o0o0o0
Several hours later, following a discussion with Jughead, Hal, and Alice, Betty agrees not to attempt to return to school until the following week. The agreement is full of tears on Betty's part, and while Jughead empathizes with her, he is thankful she's making the correct, logical decision.
That night, Betty falls asleep immediately while Jughead reads next to her in bed. She is curled around him with her leg hiked up over one of his, and her head on his chest. Suddenly, during her sleep, Betty lets out a loud, dry cough, startling Jughead into dropping his book over the side of the bed.
"Betts?" he asks, his heart hammering in his chest. When she doesn't stir, he shakes her gently.
"What is it, Jug?" she asks groggily, cracking an eye open and squinting up at him.
Jughead frowns, his eyebrows knit together. "Are you feeling ok?"
"Yeah, why?"
"You just coughed, I wanted to make sure you feel okay."
Betty cocks an eyebrow at him. "…you woke me up because I coughed?"
Jughead pauses, realizing how paranoid that sounds, and gives her a small smile. "Yes, it would appear as though I did."
Betty grins drowsily. "I'm going back to sleep now, okay?"
"I love you, Betty."
"Love you too, Jug."
0o0o0o0
"Juggie?"
Jughead jerks awake. It is still mostly dark out, though the small amount of light filtering in through Betty's bedroom window tells him that it's close to dawn.
"What's wrong, Betts?" he asks blearily, rolling over.
"I don't feel well," Betty whispers to him. Her voice is hoarse and she lets out a rattling cough. She takes his hand in hers and moves it to her forehead, which is hot to the touch. "I'm scared."
Jughead springs out of bed, throwing on a pair of sweatpants and dragging one of Betty's oversized t-shirts over his head. The doctors had warned them that if Betty had a fever, to rush her to the hospital, for it is considered a medical emergency.
He sprints down the hallway, banging on Hal and Alice's bedroom door. "Betty needs to get to the hospital," he calls to them, and listens to hear them rummaging around before returning to Betty's room, where she is shakily pulling a sweat shirt on.
"It's freezing in here," she rasps, hugging herself and shivering.
Jughead pulls her into a hug and rubs the sides of her arms, doing his best to warm her up, though he notices beads of sweat on her pale forehad. Alice and Hal turn the corner into Betty's room, their eyes wide and scared. Upon seeing them, Betty bursts into tears.
"I'm so sorry," she cries, nestling her head into the crook of Jughead's chest.
"Don't be ridiculous. What on earth are you apologizing for?" Alice asks while Hal gathers some of Betty's belongings and puts them into a bag.
"I just can't get better," Betty replies, her body still shaking with both chills and sobs. "You guys should just let me die. That way your lives can go back to normal."
Jughead's stomach lurches to the point that he almost throws up. He knows Betty is speaking irrationally out of fear, but the thought of actually losing her hasn't entered his mind until this moment.
"Don't say that, Betts," he tells her weakly. "We're going to get you to the hospital and you're going to be fine."
0o0o0o0
Once Jughead and the Coopers arrive at the emergency room, the medical staff whisk her away. Dr. Lloyd, the emergency room physician that had first told Betty that she had cancer, calls Mr. and Mrs. Cooper and Jughead to his office while his medical team runs more tests on Betty.
"I don't have to tell you that this is a very serious condition," he says, his face drawn. "Neutropenia, or a dangerously low white blood cell count, is just as deadly, if not deadlier, than the cancer that Betty is currently fighting."
Jughead leans down, placing his face in his hands. 'This is all my fault,' he thinks. 'If only I had told Betty she needed to take it easy the first few days being home, this wouldn't have happened.'
"Why is this happening?" Alice asks. Her face is pale. "What should we have done differently?"
"This can sometimes happen when chemo patients go home from induction," Dr. Lloyd tells them. "Seven to ten days after chemo finishes is when a patient's white count is going to be lowest, and according to her charts, Betty is right in that window. It's likely nothing that you specifically did or didn't do. Our preliminary tests indicate that Betty has pneumonia, and if that's the case, it was most likely caused by a bacterium that usually resides in her respiratory tract that her immune system simply couldn't keep in check."
Jughead listens to the doctor, but it does not help alleviate his guilt. He keeps his head in his hands, slowly massaging his temples, trying to reduce his stress headache.
"Does it normally come on this fast?" Hal asks, clearly searching for any other possible answer. "She was fine when she went to bed last night, and now she's in awful shape."
"It does," the doctor returns. "When patients are neutropenic, their condition can change over a matter of minutes."
"She coughed last night when she was falling asleep," Jughead interjects. He looks up at the Coopers, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. "I asked her if she was okay, and she laughed at me because I was worried over a cough. I'm sorry, I should have said something."
"There was no way for you to know," Dr. Lloyd interjects before the Coopers respond. "Like I said, these changes can take place in minutes. Once I get her lab values back, we will have a clearer course of treatment, but it is very possible that Betty is already septic, and that will complicate things."
Jughead and the Coopers find their way back to the ER waiting room until one of the nurses on staff calls them to see Betty. She hands them surgical masks, informing them that they must wear them until Betty is no longer neutropenic. Walking into the room, Jughead can see that Betty is in deep trouble. Her face is gray with a bluish tint to it, and she has a large oxygen mask strapped to her face. Jughead's eyes fill with tears and he forces himself to look anywhere but at her; she cannot see him upset.
Alice and Hal sit next to her at the bedside, and Jughead sits on the side of the bed.
Betty's eyes are half shut, and other than flickering her gaze to them briefly, she does not give any sign that she recognizes them. Jughead wonders how it's possible that her health has deteriorated this much further than when he saw her an hour ago. He reaches over to grab her hand, looking for any way to let her know that he is there with her.
Before long, Dr. Lloyd walks into the room and gestures for the Coopers and Jughead to meet him outside in the hallway. His face is grim. "I got the test results, and as I feared, Betty's pneumonia has progressed to full-blown sepsis."
"What does that mean?" Alice asks, her eyes wide with fear.
"It means that the infection in the lungs has spread to her bloodstream," the doctor explains. "And it can now spread to her other vital organs."
"So, what do we do to get her better?" Hal asks.
"We're going to start her on the strongest antibiotics we've got," Dr. Lloyd tells him. "It is absolutely imperative that her body does not have to work any harder than absolutely necessary during this fight, and for that reason, we are going to be placing her on a ventilator and into a medically-induced coma."
Jughead's stomach lurches, and for the second time within the hour, he thinks he might get sick. Judging by the looks on Alice and Hal's faces, they feel the same way. He leans against the wall of the hallway for support.
"For how long?" Jughead croaks. His voice cracks, and the adults turn to him.
"As long as necessary," Dr. Lloyd responds solemnly. "I've seen people respond well to treatment over a couple days, but I've also had patients take as long as a month." The doctor hesitates. "I need to be completely transparent with you. Patients often do not come back from this, especially with an impaired immune system; every organ that shuts down, Betty's chances of surviving decrease by twenty percent."
The doctor's words hit Jughead like bullets, and silent tears begin streaming down his face. Since the beginning of this journey, he has not for a single moment given any thought to the idea that Betty may not survive. He refuses to let his mind wander to what life would be like without her.
"I suggest that you all tell her how much you love her," the doctor continues, his tone empathetic, but graver still. "It is possible this is the last time you'll be able to speak to her."
A/N: To be continued...