Chapter 36: Secret

Life isn't pretty,

We all get a little wrecked sometimes.

If God's listening,

People think you're out of your mind.

Leaning back with a groan, Betty propped her hand behind herself and watched the satisfying rush of liquid drain from her father's radiator. Her usual pair of automobile work-gloves were folded beside her, freeing her fingertips and palms to press against the rough concrete of the driveway.

The sun was close to setting beyond the horizon, warming everything it touched with swatches of pinks, reds, oranges, and purples. The late afternoon breeze was comfortable, softly drying the beads of sweat on her forehead where tiny wisps of blond baby hair were plastered to her skin.

Birds chirped. Kids played a little further down the street. Her mother was knitting in the living room with her father, windows open to allow the breeze in and the muted tunes of whatever television show they were listening to to float out.

Beyond the first three minutes when Betty drove home, frozen in her car after leaving Jughead and Archie at the diner, this was the first moment where she found herself without anything to do.

Which was hardly the point. Betty wasn't good with retrospection. She wasn't good with sitting still and letting her brain go through the 300,000 different ways that things could go right or wrong with each small decision.

And by, "wasn't good with" it, she meant that she was an Olympic-level pro at thinking herself into a ball of anxiety if left to her own thoughts.

Which was, of course, a problem that she wanted to stamp down ASAP.

So after three minutes of mind-numbing panic, Betty shoved everything out of her mind, and launched herself into her room, where she made a mental list of "things to do so that I can exhaust myself into a coma or until Jughead visits after talking to Archie."

The fact that she was confident that Jughead really would come by and visit her after her literal abandonment of his person (sure she wanted him to visit but she left him without a CAR) went a long way in calming her down as she changed into a pair of ratty, oversized coveralls, threw her hair into a quick-messy bun, and stomped her way back down, loudly announcing to her parents that she was going to change drain the radiator fluid out of her father's car before it became an overheating death trap. Betty was able to easily ignore the look her parents shared before making herself at home in the garage.

Which brought her back to right now, hands idle and brain revving to spiral into figuring out the complicated Archie and Jughead equation.

Maybe she should make some sweet rolls. Those were time consuming and required a lot of concentration and butter and sugar. She could make yeast sweet rolls so that kneading would be involved. It was practically therapy.

The radiator fluid began to trickle into a smaller stream of liquid, drip, drip, dripping as it emptied into the pan. Slipping back into her gloves, she climbed back up. Maybe after she was done with her dad's car. Radiator fluid and sweet rolls did not mix (toxic chemicals rarely complimented anything edible).

Moving on autopilot, Betty began the process of flushing the rest of the fluid out of her father's car, switching the pan out from underneath the car and pulling the water hose closer to the engine. The movements were comforting, keeping her busy, and when her brain inevitably slid into the realm of Jughead and Archie, she found it a little more bearable with the addition of auto-mechanic repetition.

To be honest, Betty was embarrassed . . . and maybe a little bit ashamed. For weeks, she had been so distracted by daydreams and half-baked plans of kissing Jughead and being with Jughead. Sure there were long instances of planning for school, and imaging the future and college, but for the most part, she had been so narrow-mindedly fixated on her desire for intimacy with her boyfriend that she had completely missed this obvious strain that existed between Archie and Jughead.

What kind of girlfriend was that? How selfish was that?

What else had she missed?

Was her complete ignorance costing Jughead and Archie their relationship?

"Wow, Betty. Tone down that arrogance," she mumbled, turning the car off and leaning back in the driver's seat as the engine clicked under the hood.

"Betty Cooper, arrogant?"

Betty jumped in surprise, her knee connecting with the steering wheel. "Juggie!"

Jughead Jones stood beside her, arm propped against the frame of the open car door and leaning into the vehicle, smug smile in place. "Welcome back to Earth, space cadet. I see that you've been busy."

Betty sputtered, struggling to recover from her boyfriend's sudden appearance. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the tail end of what looked like Veronica's Corvette . . . but that couldn't be right? Jughead lifted his arm to bring attention to the plastic bag he held and immediately killed that train of thought.

"You still hungry? Pops packed up our order so it's still good." He glanced down into the bag. "Some of it may need a bit of a reheat but we can work with that."

"I," Betty paused looking from the bag of food to Jughead's face to the steering wheel. "How about you get a jumpstart on that while I finish here? I need to drain and flush the car one more time."

"Radiator?" he asked, grin still in place.

"Yes." Of course he knew that Betty had been getting on her dad about keeping up with the maintenance. He was around enough to witness the harmless bantering. Betty's chest warmed at the thought. She smiled at him. "Go on in. Mom and dad are in the living room."

Jughead didn't respond, simply leaning in and dropping a kiss to the corner of her eyebrow. Betty leaned into it, basking in the connection. It was hard not to let go of the steering wheel to pull him into a hug and just sink into him, but she was dirty and smelled like radiator fluid. And she didn't want to ask for more than this when they still needed to talk.

So, it was a nice surprise when Jughead leaned back, and Betty tilted her face up, probably to say something-maybe ask about Archie-and as she parted her lips, Jughead was there, his lips pressing against hers as he leaned further into the car. Her fingers slid into his hair of their own volition as Betty's body singed, instinctively taking as much of the kiss as she could. She nipped at his lower lip and preened as he sighed in response, licking across the lightly abused skin and right into her mouth.

Betty felt like burning as Jughead slowly broke the kiss, pulling away just a little bit with a smile. "I'll see you inside, then, sunshine."

"I won't take long." She wasn't even ashamed of how breathless she sounded, and decided to give Jughead a pass on how cocky his grin turned as he walked away.

And her brain was a pleasant fuzz of contentment as she finished up with her father's car. Her attention was barely focused on her hands as she refilled the car with fresh coolant, checked the lids on all necessary parts of the engine, and placed the used containers of fluids along the side of the garage so that her dad would be able to take them to their usual mechanic for recycling and disposal. The fifteen minutes of work felt like fifteen hours as she finally shed her dirty coveralls and headed back into the house. She stopped in confusion when she found the kitchen and dining room bare, no food or Juggie in sight.

Betty touched the warm surface of the stove just to make sure she didn't hallucinate the last thirty minutes. Her mother came in just as Betty started washing her hands.

"Forsythe is up in your room, dear." She smiled, making her way to the fridge to refill her ice tea. "He said something about a picnic? It sounded very sweet."

Betty blushed at her mother's attention, internally beaming as she dried her hands. "Thanks, mom. I promise we won't make a mess."

"Now, dear," her mother tutted. "Don't make any promises you aren't sure you can keep."

"Oh my God, mom!" Betty hissed, making her own way to the fridge just as her mom giggled her way back out to the living room. There were just some things that she really did not want to discuss with her own mother and her hypothetical intimacies with Jughead Jones was definitely on the tip-top of that list.

Cheeks burning, Betty took a deep, fortifying breath as she pulled the refrigerator door open, relieved at the first touch of cool air as she pulled out the eggs and butter she would need for her sweet rolls. She left them on the counter to get to room temperature and began to make her way upstairs, avoiding any and all eye contact from her stupidly-smug parents. Spotting her desk chair in the hallway outside her bedroom, Betty had only a few seconds to bemoan the oversized t-shirt and shorts she had changed into after getting home before pushing the door open.

Jughead sat on the floor, back against her bed as he finished dishing out the freshly reheated diner food on the picnic blanket spread out over her bedroom carpet. Her room wasn't cluttered by any means, but it was slightly impressive that he had managed to convert every available floor space into a welcoming picnic. The small television on her dresser was turned to some sport program, discussing the past game and possible plays for the upcoming weekend. He looked up to her as Betty closed the door behind her, returning her smile before sweeping his arm over the feast . . . like he was the one responsible for going out and catching their meal of the day.

And wasn't caveman Jughead an interesting thought?

Mentally waving that thought away, Betty chuckled. "Now, this is a date!"

"Hardly any trouble to put together," he smirked, motioning to the cleared space beside him, a plate of food already set for her. "Now, join me before it gets all cold again."

Betty slipped out of her house slippers, quickly climbing down to fold her legs under her in the spot by Jughead. Pressing a quick thank-you kiss to his cheek, she scooped up her plate, suddenly remembering how hungry she was. "Thank you, Juggie."

Her boyfriend's response was an inarticulate grunt, mouth already full of onion rings. Betty left him to take his fill, appreciative that he had at least waited for her to sit with him before making a glutton of himself. His thigh was a solid line of heat against her own and Betty felt herself melt a little further into the supportive mattress behind her as she dug into her own quesadilla.

Looking at the spread (she noticed that the pie was missing and realized that making sweet rolls later was going to work very well to replace their dessert), Betty's eyes stopped on the makeshift vase sitting in the center of the picnic blanket. The vase itself was actually one of the biggest mugs she owned, decorated with a cartoon cat sitting at a desk with piles of work surrounding it. The words framing the cartoon stated "It's Monday. Let's do this!" Half filled with water, a single rose leaned within it, lavender petals looking down on their meal.

Betty's brain whirred, struggling to remember exactly what the purple rose signified. Blinking, she snuck a glance at Jughead, his cheeks bulging with a bite of his burger, eyes glued to the television as he snorted at something the commentator said.

Didn't the purple rose mean something like love at first sight? Well, it didn't . . . it didn't really apply to their particular situation, Betty thought. When the two of them met as kids, Betty was sure that Jughead thought that she was annoying. And to be honest, she grinned, she probably thought the same thing! Next to Archie, Jughead seemed like the rudest, and most lazy boy on the block.

Taking a chip, she dipped it in a bowl of cheese. Well, this was Jughead that she was dealing with. The chances that this boy knew anything about the language of flowers was laughable at best. Knowing Juggie . . . well, he probably picked it because he thought that she would like it. She had worn a purple dress to one of their high school formals, and she remembered Jughead complimenting her on the color. But, Jughead always complimented her on her dresses.

Purple roses weren't very common. Maybe he just picked it because it was something different.

Like them.

Finishing half of her quesadilla, Betty slid her plate aside and leaned her head against Jughead's shoulder with a smile. She felt him shift beneath her cheek as he took a final bite of his burger, licking the ketchup from his fingers. Betty didn't want to ruin this, but . . .

"Thank you for saving our dinner, Juggie."

He shrugged just slightly. "Didn't really had to save anything. It was more of a relocation."

Betty let the silence stretch for just a few seconds more. "How did your talk with Archie go?"

She could feel Jughead think as he put his own plate down, leaning back and moving his arm so that it rested comfortably around Betty's shoulders, bringing her closer against him. "Well, it wasn't much of a conversation. But, I think it gave him a little bit to think about."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure why I didn't talk to you about it," he started, a little bit of hesitance coloring his voice. "It just seemed like something that Archie and I needed to figure out ourselves. But, despite the fact that he's my best friend, and that we've been friends for most of our lives, I didn't know how to talk to him about this."

This. Betty and Jughead instead of Betty and Archie. It sounded so . . . impersonal. Betty frowned at the blank space of wall across from them.

"Archie and I don't talk about girls." Jughead continued, thumb rubbing at the neckline of her shirt. "If we did, then, it was always in relation to Archie. Girl 1 and Archie or Girl 2 and Archie. Or Ronnie, or-"

"Me." She said, leaning further into Jughead. "But it's not that way any more."

Jughead sighed. "Well, I don't really think I'm too surprised. Archie was never big with change. And I hate to really think about it, but in relation to you, he never really had a real label for what went on between you two."

Which was probably the understatement of the year. Betty didn't need to hear it again. She was in love with Archie. That wasn't something up for debate, but every other word out of Archie's mouth was "Betty, you are such a buddy," or "Betty, you are one of my best friends," or "I feel like you are just one of the guys, Betty." So rarely did he honestly consider her a girl, let alone girlfriend material. But they still kissed. Still went on dates (if Ronnie or another girl didn't interfere).

"And he was never really forced to make a decision where you were concerned." Jughead continued. "Now, he does."

Betty leaned back a little, just far enough to get a good look at Jughead's face. "Juggie, I know that Archie is important to you. I don't want to be the factor that messes up such an important relationship."

Jughead looked at her, face serious in a way that Betty wasn't used to. "If our friendship breaks, Sunshine, it won't be because of you."

"Juggie-"

"No." Jughead shifted, turning so that he was completely facing her. "I know it looks like that from your perspective-"

"It will look like that from everyone's perspective," Betty insisted.

"At first," Jughead conceded. "Sure, it may look like that now, but to our friends, to us, to the people that matter and the people that really know us, I know that they will be able to see what is really going on." He lifted his arm to rest on the mattress and leaned his head on his propped hand. "How many times have you heard our parents-heard Archie's father-go on and on about how immature Archie is? To his friends, it's just an accepted character flaw that we are used to. We don't see it as immaturity any more. We just see it as part of Archie's personality."

Betty couldn't hold back a snort, allowing herself a small smile. "I guess he hasn't really changed much from when we were kids."

"We all retain a little bit of what we were as kids. You are still an overachieving, lovable book-nerd," Jughead grinned and tapped his forehead against hers, making Betty's smile feel a little more authentic in response.

"And, you are still a lazy, lovable glutton with a terrifying ability to read people a little too well," she responded, turning her head so that she could drop a slow, soft kiss against the side of his mouth.

Betty closed her eyes, allowing her senses to take in everything that was Jughead. His warm breath against the side of her face. The tips of his dark hair, brushing against her brow like silk. The comfort of his skin under hers.

It was so, so hard to pull away. And as Betty ended the kiss to lean back, she didn't really get too far, instead, redirecting to drop another kiss right along side it, further from his lips and beginning a path up his cheekbone.

The fact that Jughead wasn't moving away was enough to steel her resolve. Just a few hours earlier, he had opened himself up to his insecurities and they handled it. In his own roundabout way, Archie had shared his own insecurities . . . or were forced to face them as the case may be. Now, it was her turn.

Her secret.

Her lips brushed along the sharp arch above his cheek, less kissing and more, just, savoring. Betty's hands stayed close to her own midsection, just a little afraid of what she would do if she . . .

Jughead brought his hands up to cup her face, pulling her away just far enough so that their eyes could connect. "Archie will come around."

The sudden mention of Archie was jarring, pulling Betty from the all-consuming headspace she had fallen into.

He took advantage of her disorientation to glance behind her, Betty assumed it was to see if the door was locked, before he laced the fingers of his right hand through the hair at the base of her head, pressing back until he hit the tie that held her hair up. From one moment to the next, her hair had tumbled around her shoulders in a wave of blond.

When Betty blushed, blue eyes dropping down to Jughead's lips, she knew that her boyfriend's endgame was just to get her flustered. Betty was painfully aware that she was shamelessly reactive to anything Jughead did to her person. He could do something as un-sexy as undoing her hair and she was a puddle in his arms.

It was embarrassing. It was annoyingly hott.

Jughead's self-satisfying smirk irked her as he began to pull away, fingers slowly sliding from her skull . . .

Betty reached up and wrapped her fingers around his wrist, halting his movement. Jughead's eyes snapped from where he was watching her hair move along her neck, to her eyes, clearly surprised.

The metaphorical tables were spinning under her fingertips.

"More, Juggie."

Jughead's eyes spoke volumes, widening as Betty's grip tightened around his wrist and moved his fingers back to the base of her skull. She could feel his fingertips tremble just a little before they curled to cradle her.

Betty was overwhelmed with the need to hide. She wanted to squeeze her eyes tightly shut and move herself over Jughead: fall into him and take take take. She loosened her grip on him, sliding her hand up his arm so that she could cradle the side of his neck. An image of a zookeeper calming a lion came into her mind's eye, and she nearly laughed at the comparison.

"I have a confession to make, Juggie." There was no turning back. This was it.

"Betty."

"I'm always craving this," she barely increased the pressure of her fingertips against the side of his neck. "Just being with you and . . . and touching you."

Their breathing was deafening, overpowering whatever noise was coming from the television.

"I know we need to talk about it because this is new, for both of us." Because it was such a novelty to be with someone that wanted to touch her like Juggie did so easily, so sparingly. And this was a gigantic first for Jughead Jones. "But, I just wanted you to know that . . ."

And that seemed to be the end of her bout of bravery, as Betty leaned over to hide her face on the other side of his neck. "I love you and I love it when you touch me."

Jughead's fingertips shifted just a little against her skull.

"When you are ready, when the both of us are ready, I'm ready for more."

The silence that stretched itself into every dark corner of the room seemed to last an eternity before Jughead managed to speak, his voice crackling like static. "More?"

Betty breathed him in, "When we are ready."

When you are ready.

She couldn't get a read on Jughead when he let out a deep breath, sagging further into both the mattress and into Betty, but she figured that there wasn't too much to worry about as he brought both arms around to envelop her, bringing her closer.

Betty thought about the purple rose at the center of their meal, at the center of her room. You are irresistable to me, Jughead Jones, she thought.

When we are ready.

[Word Count: 3681]

AN: YIKES, this chapter was a bit longer than I had initially planned, but that's fine. I had forgotten how much I loved writing PURE MUSH between Betty and Jughead :D

But yes, Betty is now starting to really communicate with Jughead in regards to the physical aspect of their relationship. Now, it's up to them to keep up the discussion and for Jughead to figure out what he wants and needs. (A large percentage of you wanted to know more about the Ronnie/Jughead conversation so expect some of that next chapter!)

So, QUESTION. This fic is currently rated T, and some of my ideas for the future are leaning towards "M" territory. I'm not going to write straight smut, but I want to explore some physical intimacies that would also enable me to explore more of their relationship (and stretch some of my writing skills). How comfortable do some of you guys feel with an increase in rating? If I do end up playing with more naked hanky-panky, I may just have alternative or mini-chapters on my Tumblr.

Please share thy thoughts!

Thank you all again, lovelies, for continuing to read!

Tumblr handle: 1sleepydormouse

Instagram: pepper_sauce