a/n: I'm not sure exactly how long this will be...kind of background FP/Alice moments to certain events of the seasons. (Also there's no Chic/Charles in this.)
::
go on, just say it:
you need me like a bad habit
...
She would be lying, she knows, if she said that she never thought of him.
She'd be lying if she didn't admit that there were times, whenever she was alone and had a rare moment to herself, when Alice allowed herself the luxury of nostalgia and indulged in thinking about the past memories she shared with him—and not her husband. But, still, knowing that, admitting that— even just to herself— didn't seem to make it any easier on her whenever she saw him. It didn't prepare her for those unexpected moments when she ran into him in town as she stepped into the grocery store, or even if she saw him from afar when she happened to be stopped at a red light.
Alice didn't think it was possible to be haunted by someone who was still living. But the ghost of her past with FP is inescapable, it seems. Whenever she came across a certain gold heart shaped pendant in her jewelry box or walked past by that picture on the wall of her and Hal from their homecoming dance (the first lie about her marriage; as Polly and Betty had no idea that, even at the time the picture was taken, their mother was head over heels for someone else) during their senior year of high school, she's reminded of the night when FP first broke her heart.
(It happened almost twenty years ago— and, really, what did either of them know about being in a real relationship back then, anyway?— but when she lets herself think about it, about them, it feels like it only happened just yesterday.)
That was then—and she tells herself she's moved past it. Now, she catches sight of FP walking out the front door of Fred Andrews' home, not too long after a few loud, probably drunk, and obviously disgruntled teenagers. She knows because of Betty and her budding relationship with Jughead that tonight is his birthday but Alice honestly didn't expect his father to make an appearance. And seeing him among the dispersing crowd of teens, Alice can't help but wonder about the role FP must have played in the chaos. Some things never change, she thinks.
Just as he's about to pull on the door handle to his truck, she makes her presence known and calls out to him. "FP."
He turns to face her and his surprise at seeing her is written all over his face. Eyebrows raised and chin jutted in a show of defiance, he straightens his posture as she walks closer to him. She's not sure why she's out here now, talking to him as if the last time they were alone together wasn't...well, suffice to say it hadn't ended well.
It's been a long time— too long, she thinks— since they last talked to each other that she doesn't even know what it is that's urging her towards him now. Maybe she just wants to get a reaction out of him, a game she hasn't played since they were kids. Maybe she just wants to catch him off guard, make him unsteady.
"Alice. ...Something you need?"
She ignores the slight flutter in her belly at the smirk on his lips, the insinuation behind his words that makes her think of a time when he was the only person she let call her "Ali" and proudly bore her Serpent tattoo. She shakes off any residual traces of feelings (or tries to) in order to focus on their current conversation. "As a matter of fact... as block captain of the neighborhood watch, I am obligated to ask you what you're doing on this side of town."
"Neighborhood watch? You?" FP chuckles wryly, and any other time she might've found the irony funny, too. "...You can relax, Alice; there's no audience you need to put on a show for out here. No need to act so high and mighty." She opens her mouth to snap a comeback but before she can speak, FP takes another step forward, invading her space and breaking one of their unspoken, but firmly established, rules. Alice takes a breath, trying to think of something to say to have the upper hand.
"...Besides, you may not live on the Southside anymore and you may not dress like you're from the Southside, but we both know the truth: snakes don't shed their skin so easily."
She rears back slightly at the reference to her former life and returns FP's gaze through narrowed eyes. "Good night, FP. ...Now get the hell out of my neighborhood."
But FP only smirks. "You're still hot, Alice. Too bad you're a stick in the mud. ...really makes me miss the spitfire you used to be."
Alice slides her well used— and well worth it— fake ID across the warped, wooden bar top and doesn't hesitate when the bartender asks what she wants. "Tequila, straight. Two shots," she orders with confidence.
The bartender, a tall and bearded man with a prominent neck tattoo of a sparrow, nods. "Coming up."
Out of habit, Alice looks over her shoulder towards the small crowd by the door, but doesn't see who she's looking for. She licks the salt off the rim of the first shot glass before knocking it back, squirming slightly at the deliciously familiar burn. It certainly has been a while since she's had tequila, having (probably irrationally) sworn off the partying part of her life once she went off to college as a part of her "fresh start" and she won't deny that she's missed this.
It's no Whyte Wyrm, but it'll do, Alice decides. She taps her fingers against the bar, checking the clock on the wall once again. She's supposed to be meeting Mary for a well deserved girls' night out, but the other girl seems to be running late. In the past it's usually been the other way around, with Alice arriving to whatever event well after it started (and typically FP was the cause of her lateness).
She's feeling unusually antsy, being back in Riverdale and so close to her old stomping grounds. Alice starts to wonder if maybe she should've just stayed on campus for the holidays, if she's tempting fate just by being here.
But then, there's the matter of not really knowing anyone in Boston yet— well, besides Hal, anyway. There's also her father, who seems to be trying to be more of a parent and less of a bastard these days, though Alice knows and understands that it's always been especially hard for him to be alone this time of year; and then, of course, there is him.
FP Jones.
She hasn't seen or spoken to FP in what feels like forever, though in reality it's only been a little less than six months: five days after their high school graduation, the night before she left to go away for school in Boston. It's the longest the two of them have ever gone without speaking, and she may have meant it at the time when she insisted that she never wanted to see him again, but she never really thought that FP would actually listen. She never thought it would matter that they weren't living on the same shitty side of town together anymore, that he'd find a way to see her regardless of what she'd said to him.
Alice can admit that she's always been a bit of a hothead and he will forever be stubborn so, naturally, of course, they've had their fair share of arguments and disagreements before, but this... this was different. (Obviously.)
Somewhere in the time between graduation and the end of fall semester, things with Hal had gotten more complicated than they should have ever been or needed to be and she'd ended it. She had a feeling, though, that Hal was a bit relieved. She always suspected he thought of himself to be the good guy for being able to "look past" her less than humble beginnings, but she doesn't think he would ever really be okay with being in a relationship with a former Serpent— as if that was the absolute worst thing in the world that she could be.
Alice told herself that she didn't care, that she didn't need him, either.
She's only been back in Riverdale for three days now, but Alice has been avoiding him pretty successfully— which was no easy feat considering his friends were hers (for the most part) and this town was small; you were always running into someone who knows someone who's somehow connected to the one person you didn't want to see. She feels like she's been constantly looking over her shoulder, never sure of what she wants more: to see FP or to just continue avoiding him completely, and wait out the rest of her holiday until she has to go back to school.
Alice knocks back the two shots in quick succession and immediately signals the bartender for another. "Another one?"
"Make it two, Sparrow. And this time hold the lime."
A glance at the clock on the wall tells her that it's nearing 11:30.
She's seconds away from knocking back her third shot when she feels the distinct sensation of someone's eyes on her. She looks up, then, her breath catching in her throat as she realizes that those eyes belong to none other than FP Jones. He's standing on the other side of the room, dressed in his usual attire: dark jeans, plain white V-neck shirt and his leather Serpent jacket.
Of course, Alice thinks with a scoff, though it's mostly directed at herself.
When Mary agreed to meet up with her, Alice had found her deliberate and slightly awkward attempt to avoid mentioning FP's name to be suspicious, and with good reason, it seems. But really she should've known better; Fred and FP were like book ends — where one went, the other was sure to follow. And even though Mary had agreed to a "girls night", it's really no surprise that Fred had managed to find a way to tag along. Of course it makes sense that FP would be here, too.
Across the crowded bar, their eyes lock, and Alice can practically feel all of the unspoken words of the past several months resonating between them. He seems to take that as an invitation and starts to make his way over to where she's sitting.
Instinctively, she shifts forward to lean against the bar's counter; something about the way FP was looking at her puts her off balance, pushes her closer to the edge that she's been dancing near since she left last year.
He still has an effect on her, Alice realizes as she feels her previous resolve to avoid him begin to falter.
As he starts to cautiously approach her, Alice wonders if, deep down, she wanted this to happen. It'd be a lie for her to say the thought of seeing him again hadn't crossed her mind. That she hadn't thought 'Maybe...' as she painted her lips Cherry Bomb red, slipped into her tightest pair of dark jeans and favorite black shirt (an off-the-sh last thing she wanted— until she actually laid eyes on him. For all of her hoping and wishful thinking, she felt her stomach tighten and breath leave her the moment their eyes connected.
Selfishly, she thinks, that this is what she's been missing: an opportunity to feel the warmth she felt whenever he looked at her. He was the only guy who made her feel that way. It was different with Hal; Alice always felt as though she had to be a certain way around him, to go above and beyond to prove that she was worthy of the pedestal he put her on. But with FP, she only ever had to be herself—even the parts she didn't like.
The past few months without him have felt increasingly lonely, even for someone as independent as herself. She'd thought about calling him countless times but could never seem to get past dialing the first few digits of his phone number. It was a rare occurrence when Alice didn't know what to say, but something about FP Jones seemed to have that effect on her.
He breaks eye contact with her now to say something to the short (and unfamiliar) brunette that Alice only just realizes is standing next to him. Immediately, Alice feels her mood begin to sour at their apparent familiarity. She scowls, snatching up the rest of her drink.
By the time she sets down the empty shot glass, but before FP can make his way over to her, Alice catches a flash of red hair out of the corner of her eye. Just like that, FP takes a step back while Mary sits down on the barstool next to her. "Sorry, I'm late!" Her cheeks are slightly flushed and there's a sparkle in her eyes that Alice admits (only to herself) that she is vaguely envious of.
"Yeah, I can only imagine why," Alice quips dryly, sliding the next shot over to her. "Drink up, Mare. You're already three shots behind." Mary complies, wincing only slightly as she gives in to the small part of herself that doesn't mind indulging in Alice's recklessness.
"Guess that means you and Freddie are still doing the long distance thing?" Alice asks, jutting her chin in the direction of Fred, who was now standing beside FP. "How's that work, exactly?"
"You know he hates it when you call him that," Mary admonishes her with a smile. "And it's not exactly long distance, Alice... when I'm here it's basically like we're never apart."
Alice rolls her eyes. "And when you're not here?" she asks pointedly, eyebrow raised as Mary's smile falters. "Fred Andrews has always been able to have his pick of the litter. A relationship with you hasn't changed that."
She knows she's being bitchy, planting seeds of doubt in Mary's mind because FP has caught her off guard and Alice has always hated not having the upper hand. Thankfully for Mary's sake, she sees right through Alice's defense mechanism. She pauses, clearing her throat and lowering her voice as she asks, "...You are okay with this, right?"
"What, FP and his groupie tagging along?" Alice scoffs, feigning indifference.
"Her name's Gladys, I think, and she's actually really sweet." Off Alice's glare, Mary changes tactics. "Besides, I'm sure if he knew about you and Hal, then he wouldn't have even brought her here—"
"Shh," Alice hisses just as the two boys walk over to them, with little 'Gladys' trailing behind FP. Alice isn't entirely sure why she doesn't want him to know about the demise of her and Hal's relationship just yet. She wrangles with the instinct to keep it to herself; he's the one who told her to leave after all, she reasons. She can't help thinking back to that awful fight they'd had the night of Homecoming.
"Geez Alice," Fred complains, picking up the empty shot glass. "You leave any for the rest of us?"
"Who's 'us', Freddie?" she asks snidely. Though her question is directed at Fred, she's looking only at FP. Eyebrows raised in challenge, she gestures in the direction of the girl standing just off to FP's right.
"Gladys," FP answers simply. He meets her stare head on, a moment of heat passing between them.
FP opens his mouth to speak but before he can undoubtedly ask for Hal's whereabouts, she turns back to Mary and Fred, who'd been watching their interaction with poorly hidden interest. An idea in mind, she strolls over to the pool tables at the end of the bar, adding an extra sway to her hips. She grabs a pool stick from its hook on the wall, turning around with a grin. Inwardly, she smirks as she catches FP sneaking a look at her out of the corner of her eye. "Who's up for a round?"
"I'm in," Fred replies easily. "Been a minute since I kicked your ass in this, FP."
Alice turns to the shorter brunette on the other side of him, an almost predatory gleam in her eyes as she looks her over. "You play pool, Glenda?"
"It's Gladys, actually... and I need to get going anyway—"
"Aw, so soon?" Alice feigns disappointment as she stands next to Mary. She can practically feel FP's disapproval as he stares at her through narrowed eyes, boring holes into the side of her head. But Alice ignores him, keeping her focus on the girl standing next to him. "Curfew?"
The other girl blushes. "I just can't stay," is the only answer she gives, almost stammering underneath Alice's penetrating gaze.
FP keeps his stare on Alice a moment longer before turning back to Gladys. "...Let me walk you out."
"How chivalrous," Alice cracks in spite of herself. She knows, probably better than anyone, how much of a gentleman FP can actually be, regardless of the tough, Southside Serpent front he presented to the outside world.
She makes small talk with Fred and Mary, all the while trying to pretend she isn't counting the seconds and minutes that FP is outside. When he comes back, she's racking up the colored and striped balls, pushing the triangle towards the center of the table. "I say, loser buys the next round."
"I don't know, Alice...you sure you can handle another round?"
Alice smirks. "Oh, I can handle a lot more than that."
They're halfway through the second game and Mary's lining up her next shot when Alice's notices, out of the corner of her eye, FP sidling up next to her. He's standing with his back to the game while Alice is facing it, one hand on her hip and the other holding the pool cue. She can feel his eyes on her again. It's been a while since she's had tequila and Alice can already feel the effects of the shots she downed earlier, lowering her guard and loosening her tongue.
"So Gladys, huh? She's cute." It is less of a casual observation and more of an accusation, spurred on by a sense of jealousy Alice won't admit to feeling. "And young."
"Not that young," he responds before she even finishes her observation.
"What is she, like, a junior?"
"Senior," he corrects her with a shake of his head. "Also, not what you think."
"Well, it doesn't really matter what I think anymore, does it?"
"Guess not. ...Gotta say, I'm surprised Hal let you out for the night." He can't help baiting her, it seems; winding her up has always been one of his favorite pastimes. Even though he knows, probably better than anyone, that Alice Smith has never been easily swayed by the whims of others. She's always done what she wanted to do, regardless of who she was with or what side of town she lived on.
"...Hal doesn't know everything I do."
"I hope not," he murmurs so that only she can hear.
After she's gotten sufficiently drunk— enough to be able to only just barely recognize her own reflection in the scratched up mirror hanging on the wall above the sink— Alice steps out of the bathroom. She stops short when she notices FP standing on the other side of the short hallway with his back against the wall. He's looking down, focusing intently on the bottle of water in his hands, so he doesn't see her at first and she takes the moment to observe him.
Shit, she's actually missed him. She's missed him more than she would have ever thought possible and she hates herself for feeling that way— and she hates him, just a little, for causing it.
It's been a while since Alice had tequila and she'd forgotten how nostalgic she gets after she's had a few shots. She catches FP's attention by tugging on the bottom of his jacket, noting without comment the pack of cigarettes tucked away on the inside. Unbidden, she thinks of the day they promised to quit together, and wonders how long he waited until after she left to start up again.
"You checkin' up on me, Forsythe?" she asks, tilting her head as she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes.
"...Just making sure you didn't fall in," he says with a smirk, shrugging. "Mary was worried."
"Oh, really?" she retorts, her tone lightly mocking. "And where is Mary, since she was so worried?"
Of course. He can't just admit it out loud, can't risk looking vulnerable. She can't exactly blame him, though, can she? It's something they have in common. This was part of their problem, she remembers: their inability to talk about their relationship without mentioning it in relation to other people. That's why it was so easy for them to fall apart after she thought she was pregnant. He pushed her away when she needed him the most and to get back at him for hurting her Alice turned to Hal Cooper, which was easy considering how long he'd been harboring a crush on her for years. But something felt like it was missing.
FP takes a step forward, handing her the bottle of water. Her fingers brush against his as she accepts it and for a moment Alice is caught off guard by how close he is to her now. It's been a while since the last time that happened, too.
She isn't over him, she realizes with a stunning swiftness that takes her breath away. It's a lot harder to ignore that reality without having the physical distance of space (or the human buffers of Fred and Mary keeping the peace) between them.
It doesn't take much for her to lean across the space between them and kiss him. He kisses her back without hesitating, her eyes fluttering shut the moment her lips meet his. She entangles her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, her grip tightening as the kiss deepened.
She pulls back, just enough to give herself the space to breathe and murmur against his lips, "Take me home, FP," before she can change her mind.
She never should have gone outside to talk to him.
She'd gotten so good at avoiding FP for so long before the night of Jughead's party— always making sure to stick to "her side" of town. (Alice still remembers the first time she was called "Northside" as if it were a curse and the look of hurt in his eyes as he walked away and chose not to defend her.)
Alice swore to herself— after she realized that in order for her marriage to actually work she and FP couldn't be...well, them— that the last time she and FP were together had to be the "last time". And it was a promise that she'd kept.
But now that she's broken it, she can't seem to get him out of her head. Her past with him was Pandora's box and now that it's been opened, putting it back has been next to impossible.
"...Snakes don't shed their skin so easily," he'd said, so casual in his assesment of her.
It's always been an insecurity of hers, a sore spot that the men in her life have always known just how hard to hit: the idea that she'd never escape her upbringing; that despite her boisterous and tough exterior, underneath it all, Alice was terrified that everyone could see right through her. She hates that any references to her past still affect her.
But mostly she just hates that FP was right.
Because even though she loved Hal (in some ways, maybe not the right ones, but for a long while it was enough) and the family they've created, there is still a part of her that misses FP, that misses the thrill and the thrum of excitement she felt that told her he was near. It's the same part of her that started this...thing between them. There's something about the danger of it, of being right near the edge of the potential of getting caught but still managing to get away with it. It was a similar thrill she'd get while shoplifting during her Serpent days.
(Or, when FP just looked at her.)
At least that's what she tells herself must be the reason why she's standing outside of FP's trailer, smoking a cigarette— something else she hasn't done in well over a decade — while debating with herself about knocking on his door and making her presence known. She shifts uneasily from foot to foot, suddenly rethinking her decision to come here. It's been so long and she'd honestly resigned herself to the fact that the "last time" was the last time.
"...Shit," Alice scoffs. Is this what she's come to? Lurking around the edges of the Southside, just to scratch an itch?
Because of course this can't be anything more than that. (Not this time.) She doesn't think she'd be able to handle anything more right now. Not with her marriage in a state of constant limbo, the very sight of her husband filling her with rage; not to mention one teenage daughter who's pregnant and in a precarious mental state (while refusing her help, of course) and another daughter who's dating his son.
It's history repeating itself and the déjà vu sets her on edge.
She must have been making too much noise because she hasn't even made the decision to knock before the door swings open and FP is standing in front of her, arms crossed and a scowl on his face as he stares her down. But, oddly enough, he doesn't seem angry. She guesses that should count for something.
"Alice."
"FP," She startles, nearly burning her finger when she drops her cigarette. She looks down at the ground, keeping focused on putting it out rather than maintaining FP's gaze. "I was just—" What? In the neighborhood?
(She really should've had a better excuse prepared.)
He scoffs. "So, just to be clear...are these the new rules? You can show up here anytime you want but I need an invitation to come to your neighborhood?" He sighs, relaying his clear frustration with her. "What are you doing here, Alice?"
She shrugs, shaking her head at herself. She looks up finally brings her eyes up to meet his. "...I...missed you," she admits against all better judgment and the lump she suddenly feels in her throat is painful. It's such a simple statement and yet, it encompasses so much.
For a moment they stand there, just staring at each other. But then Alice closes her eyes because she can't bear the weight of the way he's looking at her now; it reminds her all too much of days gone past, a history that can't be put into words and can only be felt.
All she hears is FP murmur "Damn it, Alice," before she feels herself become surrounded by him: his mouth covers hers in a bruising kiss as he pulls her toward him, the two of them stumbling inside in a blur of coiled limbs and heavy breathing and Alice is just vaguely aware of the sound of the door slamming shut behind them.
His lips brush hers softly, almost reverently, such a sharp contrast to the moment: her back against the door as he presses against her, ignoring the doorknob digging painfully into her lower back (worth it), his hands gripping her hips while hers tangled in his hair. It's rough yet still gentle, somehow. A sound escapes her mouth, a sigh she thinks and with a flick of the wrist FP pulls her closer, eliminating the little space there was between them. This is easy, she thinks as his hands curl through her hair, and she tilts her head for a better angle. It's easy to fall into this.
Too easy, maybe.
There's a longing in his kiss that Alice recognizes and feels in return, wholeheartedly.
His hands skim her hips as his lips slide down her neck, teeth nipping at her skin in between kisses, coming to a stop at the delicate skin of her collarbone where he exhales, the light sensation of his breath tickling her just above her breasts.
And she shivers.
In spite of everything that's happened between them, her reaction to his touch hasn't changed: a visceral response that he's never missed an opportunity to revel in. She exhales, almost panting, as his hands deftly unbutton her jeans.
She knows she's heading into dangerous territory, being here with him now. It's only re-opening old wounds which never even fully healed to begin with— she just forced herself to move forward. (Because looking back has always landed them here: exactly where they shouldn't be.)
FP buries his face in her neck, planting hurried frenzied kisses there and she hitches her legs higher up his waist, her eyes sliding shut, as his hand makes a slow path from her bare shoulder up the column of her neck to the curve of her jaw. She wants to hate him for making her feel this way although if she's being honest she'd admit it's not about that. It's about the fact that she enjoys this, that she's missed the way she comes alive around him.
Abstractly, there's a part of her that recognizes that it's selfish of her to come here like this, using him for comfort because the very sight of her own husband compelled her to throw a brick through the window of the Riverdale Register. (A fitting metaphor for what was supposed to be the Cooper family legacy.)
She wants him closer, she thinks, threading her fingers through his hair in order to guide his lips back to hers. A whimper tumbles out of her mouth and into his as she pulls him closer, closer— but somehow still not close enough.
He can sense that, she guesses, because he pulls himself back just enough to ask what she wants. More, is the only coherent thought running through her mind. The only thing that makes sense right now. She's worried, briefly, that he won't get it, that too much time has passed and whatever connection they used to have before is gone now. But then he kisses her so deeply her mind goes blank and she sees stars behind her eyelids just as he slides his arm underneath her leg, hooking her ankle over his shoulder, burying himself to the hilt.
It's selfish, what she's doing. She knows this and she's more than certain that he does, too. After all, she came to him, not the other way around. It's so selfish, especially after she was the one who ended it between them the one who decided that the last time was the last time. It's selfish of her to come to him now, she knows.
But it's not enough to stop her.