Betty dipped her straw once, twice, the suction of thick strawberry ice cream holding as her only distraction. Something low and bluesy drifted from the pick-up window as Pop Tate busied himself in the kitchen. It was decent of him to let her wallow alone, Betty thought. Pop always had a way of knowing when she needed that space. And with no one else around, he'd given her that much.

Her ponytail was wet at the ends and he watched a trickle of leftover rain slide down her neck. Betty hadn't looked up when Jughead had walked in, giving him time to stand in the door and admire her. He was surprised to see her there, still more so by the simplicity of her presence. She looked how she had the first day he saw her, only she wasn't tugging relentlessly at her hair. The severity of her resolve was gone but she was still just a girl who was looking for something. Or maybe someone. Maybe him.

Her back was to the door but Betty felt her name before it overcame the break between songs.

"Betty Cooper."

Then there he was, showing up like she'd sent a silent signal. The most unconventional white knight with a serpent tattoo and rusty pickup truck. Her gaze didn't fall away out of shyness, but probed his expression for a clue. Had he forgiven her? Did she really need to be forgiven? A thousand questions built upon each other and the only answer would come if she asked the most simple of them. "Do you want to… sit down?"

He wanted to, but could he? If he did, everything he wanted and needed to say could come out wrong, if anything came at all. Seeing her there, eyes deconstructing him like one of her prized mysteries, left his throat dry. She had always been able to see a thought in his head then coax it from him, all the while convincing him the choice to speak was his. With Betty, he'd been safe in his vulnerability. Sliding in across from her at the booth was the only way he could assure himself that was still the case.

They were both quiet. Jughead leaned into the booth's corner, one arm cocked back and balanced across the seatback. Betty abandoned the swirl of her straw and leaned in with hands folded in her lap.

Both their mouths opened, and their words jumbled into a shared chuckle.

Jughead couldn't help but smile, the tension easing for him. "So I went by your house. Met your mom."

A shuttering astonishment ticked in her forehead. "Wow. Was she horrible like she is to...well, nearly everyone?"

"Not really. She definitely wanted to slam the door in my face." Her slight nod told Jughead that was the least Betty had expected. "When she didn't, I guessed you hadn't told her much about me or… what happened."

Betty made it a rule to keep as much of life out of Alice's hands as possible. Especially when her heart was involved. Still, Alice Cooper was the epitome of 'mama bear,' and the fact that Jughead seemed unscathed was telling. "If I had told her anything, she would have talked everything out of me."

"Maybe I should've asked her for some tips on that. Then I would've known about… well, more about you." Jughead only outwardly excelled at aloofness, so his attempt at charming nonchalance missed its mark. The words, he realized, played like an accusation over the taut tone to his voice.

"I'd never want you to be like my mom. She takes and takes, then hides it under the guise of parental concern - it's her 'right' to know all of my business because she's my mom." Betty's eyes clouded over with resignation - she had a hard time getting angry at her mother without losing herself completely. "Every admission is ammunition to her, all about control."

Jughead pictured Betty's hands under the table, the nails eating at her palms. He wanted to take both of them in his, kiss them gently. "For what it's worth, that's not what I wanted."

Betty's mouth thinned into a tight line, her emotions threatening to stage a coup if she didn't draw them in. "I never assumed you did."

"But you didn't tell me because.. you were probably afraid I'd have a bad reaction. And I did the exact thing that scared you into silence." He tore his beanie off, hands fretting at his hair as he slid down against the booth. "So stupid."

The tension in her face disappeared with a twitch, Betty's understanding nature countering her facade. "Just because my mother is a control freak and I have trust issues didn't give me the right to be dishonest."

The cold mist of the evening outside turned to rain against the window and the moody warbles of Pop's music took up the space once again. Betty abandoned her milkshake. Jughead fidgeted with his beanie.

What could two best friends say beyond 'sorry?' They both wondered the question in different ways, neither drawing helpful conclusions.

Betty had considered that maybe Jughead was like everyone - normal, disappointing. She was completely unaware that he had thought the same of himself. And of her.

Maybe that was the real trouble between them. They had failed to see one another for the whole truth, because half truths and archetypes were simple. The girl next door. The rebel with a heart of gold. Everybody loved them because they were easy to love.

Was that what I wanted? Jughead had asked himself. Shamefully, a part of him had.

Betty, too, felt a creeping guilt at having wanted the comfort of such ease.

Each saw the realization take hold in the other, both having to look away out of exasperation. How had they let themselves, their connection, become steeped in what they most loathed.

Jughead tapped his fingers against the table, staring at their movement and sighing as he gave up on reproach, self or otherwise. Blame seemed pretty pointless since the damage was done. And maybe it couldn't be fixed, he thought. Maybe it shouldn't be. All they had now was a chance to do...something. For better or worse, they needed something. "Can I ask you something about… the webcamming?"

The hairs on Betty's arms shocked to life, nerves standing them straight. As much as she wanted to trust Jughead, it was easier to rely on her experience. Telling him about that aspect of her life had proven to be contentious, something he couldn't handle. Maybe that had changed, she scolded herself. Why would he have sought her out if he was still overly possessive of her sexuality or appalled by her history? "I haven't done it since before we were together."

"That's not…" He stopped, giving the opportunity between them time to sink in. She was letting him see, letting him move past his own shortcomings and misconceptions. Letting her take agency for herself and her experience was the least he could do. "You don't owe it to me to say so, or even give it up if you don't want to. It's not about me. I see that now."

Betty didn't have an outward reaction, but the relief she felt at his admission was visceral. Shortcomings were something the both had. The fact that he could recognize his? That gave her hope. "I… thank you. For saying so."

He reached out across the table now, his hand open to hers.

Betty's hesitation was slight and brief. Her palm, sore from the fresh cuts, rested against his gingerly in the center of the table. "What do you want to know?"

"Did it ever… I mean, did you ever feel afraid? Not of people finding out but… of what was happening." The words weren't coming out the way he wanted them to, which was especially frustrating since Jughead rarely ever worried about how he sounded to people. "I guess I just want to know if you felt pressured or skeeved out by anyone you were talking to." More specifically, he wanted to know if he had to crack Slash's skull - his lizard brain, he knew, couldn't be cured overnight.

Betty's fingers began to tighten but the resistance from Jughead's firm grip kept them from scoring her skin again. "That was the beauty of it. No one could make me feel that way. If they did, I could close the chat. It was powerful to feel so in control. I literally had no fear." Even though she knew the danger in such online dealings - anonymity didn't equal safety.

Jughead had no response other than an affirming jerk of his head. Quietly, he considered if any aspect of his life allowed him to achieve such a state. "That day in the woods."

Betty watched him, his response curious. "What?"

"With you and Caroline. Needing to help you both when the plan took an odd turn. I wasn't afraid." For maybe the first time in a while, he realized. And it was satisfying, even if it only lasted for a moment. "Maybe I have some weird savior complex."

"Or maybe it just feels good to know what you are capable of doing without worrying about consequences."

They lapsed into a long silence, both staring at their hands, joined at the table's center.

"Betts?"

The nickname made Betty's skin prickle, her lips curving slightly. "Yeah?"

"Do you feel like you can still talk to me? That I'll listen instead of judge?"

The answer - her decision - was as easy as speaking the words. "You could before. I think you can again." She pulled their hands closer to her. "But do you feel like you can believe me again?"

He slid from his side of the booth to hers. "I want to."

She paused, her wide eyes on him finding an answer in his. Leaning in, her forehead came to rest at the bridge of his nose. "No more secrets. Just us."

Jughead's lips brushed her forehead just as Pop approached with another milkshake for Betty and a greasy burger Jughead had only requested in his mind. "Just us."