Chapter 45

Even the worst times in your life settled, eventually, into routines, Betty reflected late on Friday night. She visited Fred – conscious now, but not out of danger – in the mornings before school. She ate lunch with Veronica and Kevin, who'd made sure she wasn't alone in the cafeteria all week, despite Jughead's absence. She tried to keep up with her regular schedule of activities.

Archie, meanwhile, was spending mornings at the hospital with his dad, and afternoons at school… at his mother's insistence. Never an enthusiastic student, Archie seemed to have decided that, under the circumstances, school was a complete waste of his time. And, attending only for half days, he was struggling to keep up… or would have been, if he'd been remotely interested in keeping up.

As it was, Betty was the one who was struggling… struggling to tutor him into a grade that would allow him to pass sophomore year and stay on the football team… not that he seemed to care much about that, either.

But Betty cared, as did Mary, and the two of them had formed a sort of confederacy to keep Archie afloat until his own interest in football, if not academics, reemerged to motivate him.

It was time-consuming, thankless work. But – Betty's reflections took on a certain bitterness here – she did have the time for it. Jughead's departure for the South Side had left as huge a void in her calendar as it had in her bed.

They stayed in touch, of course, firing off texts throughout the day, sharing their quick thoughts, feelings and events. And they talked on the phone every night, after homework was done and activities or events had wrapped up. But they hadn't seen one another since Jughead climbed out of her window on Monday morning and, after weeks and weeks as almost-constant companions, it felt like far too little.

So the hours Betty had been accustomed to spending with Jughead – hammering out stories in the Blue and Gold office, or studying in their booth at Pop's, or just talking… endlessly talking, on the Coopers' porch or in the Andrews' kitchen, or in the yard between the two properties – were suddenly liberated. And, without Jughead's reassuring presence in her bed, Betty's nightmares had returned, bleak dreams in which Polly and her babies and the Blossom clan and Fred's unknown shooter were mixed together in an inchoate, but terrifying, barrage of images. Quite apart from being lonely – Jughead's absence was a pain as physical and persistent as a toothache – Betty was feeling tired and on-edge, running on too little sleep and too much anxiety.

So tutoring Archie, while hardly rewarding in light of his steadfast indifference, was at least a welcome distraction and time-filler.

Mindful of Veronica's feelings – of her apparent, though inexplicable, anxiety that Archie's feelings for Betty ran deeper than his attachment to his newly minted girlfriend – Betty had invited her to join them in their study sessions, but Veronica had unhesitatingly declined.

"Lodge women don't 'tutor,'" she'd said airily. "Nor do we bake, launder, or make late night deliveries of soup, just to be clear. If young Archibald Andrews needs someone to choose his outfit for an awards dinner, I'm there. If he needs someone to share the stage when he takes a Manhattan concert hall by storm, or to take him out dancing to blow off steam, any red-blooded Lodge woman will be pleased to oblige. But we don't… nest. Mother always says, if you remind a man of his mother, the romance is dead on arrival.

"Seriously, Betty," she'd added with a mercurial shift to sincerity, "I do want to be there for Archie right now. But I think my relationship with him is… different from yours. I'm never going to out-Betty the one and only Betty Cooper, so there's no point even entering that arena. I have decided to put competition behind me and embrace whatever my vibe is instead."

"You mean the whole 'sophisticated city girl who turns heads and breaks hearts at every turn' vibe?" Betty remembered asking, with a grin. "I can't blame you. Given the choice, I'd work that angle myself. Definitely more glamorous than 'homework girl, who bakes.'" She still didn't think she'd sounded wistful or self-deprecating, but Veronica had looked slightly concerned as she'd answered.

"You're a beautiful woman and a true-blue friend, Ms. Cooper. And even though I have no ambition to play Fanny Sullivan to Archie's academic Helen Keller… it means a lot to me that you asked."

And so it was alone that Betty and Archie had spent the past three hours at the Andrews' kitchen table, slogging thanklessly through the assignments that had piled up throughout the week, despite Betty's best efforts to get Archie to… make an effort. While they dominated the kitchen, Mary worked in the living room where she'd established a makeshift office to allow her to keep up with at least a portion of her work remotely.

And when they'd finished – as finished as they were going to get tonight, at least – Veronica had materialized at the back door and spirited Archie away to God-knew-where, to offer whatever form of comfort or recreation they'd decided the occasion required, leaving Betty to clear off the table and pack up her books.

"Good night, Mrs. Andrews," she called before leaving.

"'Night, kiddo!" Mary called back.

Betty paused on the porch, breathing deeply of the cold air, before walking slowly towards the lights of her own house. Her eyes teared slightly at the sight of the ladder, still tilted against the garage where Jughead had left it after descending from her window Monday morning. It felt so long ago and, while they'd agreed to see each other on the weekend, they'd yet to make any concrete plans.

Acting on a sudden impulse, she pulled out her phone and texted him quickly.

"Can you come over?"

"Or can I come there?" her second message followed immediately after the first.

Within seconds, her phone rang, and her heart sank. If Jughead were coming, he'd have texted back with an ETA. A phone call translated to another night alone.

"Hi, Juggie," she answered, trying to keep the disappointment out of her tone… knowing he probably heard it anyway.

"Hey there, Juliet." His voice was warm and familiar and felt like a balm poured over the ache of his absence.

"No can do?" she asked softly. She could hear voices and what sounded like motorcycle engines on Jughead's end of the line, but it seemed like he could hear her anyway.

"I'm sorry, Cooper," he said, and she knew he meant it. "I have a… thing… with the Serpents tonight. Not to mention a curfew."

"I understand," Betty answered, biting her lip to hold back the tears.

"Really?" Jughead sounded skeptical. "Or are your hands bleeding while you tell me what you think I want to hear?"

"No blood," Betty said with an almost-laugh, after glancing down quickly to make sure she spoke the truth. "I'm disappointed. And I miss you like crazy. But I do understand."

"Ahhh, Cooper," Jughead's voice in her ear throbbed with affection, "I miss you, too."

They were silent a moment, just breathing together, before Jughead added, "Can we spend the day together tomorrow?"

"You don't have homework?" Betty asked, even as her heart lifted.

"From South Side High?" Betty could practically hear Jughead's lifted eyebrow. "They were about ready to hand me a diploma today, just for showing up five days in a row. The academic standards aren't exactly taxing."

"That's so unfair," Betty began indignantly, but Jughead cut her off.

"So, tomorrow?" he asked. "Or was that a hint that you have homework?"

Betty snorted. "The only homework I have at this point is Archie's," she said dryly. "He's got a mother, a girlfriend, and, presumably, an intact set of balls, if not brains. He can figure it out himself for one day.

Jughead was laughing… laughing immoderately. He was laughing far harder, in fact, than she'd heard him laugh since about the third grade. He was usually more of a sardonic half-smile kind of guy. But at the moment, he sounded at risk of doing himself an injury.

"I seriously didn't think it was possible for me to love you more, Betty Cooper," he said when he could master his voice, "but hearing you say 'balls' did it!"

"Promise me that won't be your toast at our wedding," Betty teased, unable to resist laughing herself.

"I'll go you one better," Jughead replied. "I promise it will. Your mom'll love it."

"Perfect," Betty said. And right at that moment? It was.

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