Since marrying Betty (and maybe even since becoming engaged to Betty), Jughead's life had quickly morphed from struggling single father living in his parents' garage into a perpetual state of financial stability, domesticity and normalcy.

And he loved it.

It was bliss incarnate - he had a fulfilling career in teaching, and his books were published as fast as he could write them. He had a beautiful wife to come home to who took pleasure in things like cooking, and keeping the house organised, and cuddling up to him at night. He had an entertaining son, and then an adorable toddler, and now a tiny baby whose giggles and sweet smiles filled him with fatherly joy.

Jughead adored his children. He loved noisy nights around the dinner table, and running around after the kids, and sometimes he suspected that he enjoyed reading to them even more than they enjoyed being read to.

His wife was kind and caring; she made him feel so loved that he genuinely believed he could do anything he wished and would still have her undying support and encouragement. She was affectionate, and warm, and everything… she was fun, and energetic, and interesting - she was confident, and the best mother a child could ever need or want, and the fact that she was the head of her department in the FBI filled Jughead with pride. Nothing and no-one stood in the way of her bringing justice to the criminals who threatened the security of their hometown.

Betty was an incredible woman.

So it was easy to forget that Betty was also a victim. That she'd been abducted by a serial killer (twice), and had suffered torture and rape and starvation. That she used to hurt herself to cope with the trauma… that she'd been involuntarily committed into a psychiatric ward when the PTSD drove her to attempt suicide.

That she had once been a regular recipient of terrifying and traumatic nightmares…

But Jughead was reminded of these things when he gripped the steering wheel on his way to his father's house to drop off Jordan, and then entirely too fast to Riverdale General to meet with a social worker after Betty collapsed in the grocery store.

That social worker turned about to be Toni Topaz - a fact for which he was immeasurably grateful. Emma sat beside her in an uncomfortable looking plastic chair in the waiting room, her little face screwed up as she silently cried into her fists. Toni was holding Bethany in her arms, patting her back and quietly talking to her as she rocked her in her arms.

Toni noticed him walking closer, and leaned down to whisper something into Emma's ear. Emma looked up, startled, and then cried: "Daddyyyy…." as she ran to meet him a few yards away from the chair.

Jughead picked her up and cuddled her to his chest. "It's okay, baby girl… Daddy's here now. Everything's going to be okay. Mommy's okay." He assured her. But as she sniffled against his shoulder, Jughead became woefully aware that he couldn't be certain that he was speaking the truth.

Toni stood up to greet him. "Jug… thanks for getting here so fast." She said calmly as she rubbed circles into Bethany's back.

Jughead swallowed. "Where's Betty? Is she…"

"She's okay." Toni said seriously, and Jughead found himself marginally relaxing. "The nurse on her ward said she'll probably be discharged tonight, they just brought her in as a precaution."

"What happened?" He asked quickly, anxiety brewing in his chest.

Toni sighed. "I'm not privileged with that information. I was just on call for the weekend… any time kids are involved with something like this, someone needs to keep an eye on them until a guardian arrives. My presence isn't anything you need to worry about."

Toni kept a reluctant Emma with her as Jughead sought out Betty's ward. His wife was awake and frustrated when he finally reached her. She was mid-argument with Dr Patel, and he was gently encouraging her to remain in her bed.

"I'm fine. I need to get back to my kids… my daughter is due for a feeding soon—"

Dr Patel had a soothing tone as he interrupted her. "Mrs Jones, I understand your frustration, but they're with an experienced social worker and I can assure you they're being tended to with the utmost care — ah, Mr Jones. Excellent timing."

Betty's head whipped to the side, and Jughead blanched as he noted that she had a large bruise forming on the side of her temple. "Jug." Betty said, a hint of emotion in her voice. "I swear I'm fine. This is completely unnecessary."

"All due respect," Dr Patel said firmly, "you lost consciousness for twenty minutes and failed the concussion test. You hit your head pretty hard."

"I've been through worse." She muttered, then gave Jughead a pleading look. "Where are the girls? Have you seen them yet?"

"They're fine, Betts. Toni has them in the waiting room." Jughead said calmly. He moved to stand by her side. "What's going on?" He pressed gently.

Dr Patel answered. "It appears that your wife fainted, and as she fell she hit her head against a shelf. She regained consciousness in the ambulance and experienced some confusion—"

"But I'm fine now." Betty said with a huff.

"Even so, you might be concussed, and you're going to have to come back in tomorrow for a checkup. I'm recommending that you take it easy the next couple of days. No strenuous labor - if you're all clear we can have you back at work next week, but I can't make any guarantees at this stage."

Jughead could tell Betty was silently fuming, but she kept her expression even as she nodded. "Okay. Can I go now?"

Dr Patel pursed his lips. "I'll sort out the discharge papers, but I need you to stay here for at least another hour for observation."

He left the couple with a calm goodbye, and headed out into the hallway. Jughead breathed a sigh and sat down in the chair beside Betty's bed.

"Are you okay?" Jughead asked, a hint of worry evident in his voice.

Betty let out a long gust of air. "I'm alright, Jug. Honestly. This has just been a massive overreaction."

Jughead reached out and took her hand. "You fainted?" He pressed gently.

Betty nodded weakly. "I…" She paused for a moment and steeled herself. "I'd just received some… startling news from Lincoln. It… threw me off."

Jughead nodded and squeezed her hand.

Betty swallowed. "There's a film company in LA making a documentary about TBK."

Jughead sucked in a sharp breath of air. "Oh… Betty—"

"They're naming me in it." Betty said, her voice devoid of emotion. "The FBI released details of the case to the public… and the documentary's director got permission to discuss the details of several of TBK's other victim's autopsies… they also…" her voice began to wobble. "They've got access to… my injuries."

Jughead frowned, anger building in his heart. "How can they have your medical files? Isn't that… illegal?"

"They don't." Betty said dejectedly. "But they do have the FBI's case file that contains the details of all the… evidence they collected from me. Including their report of my injuries. The bruises, the cuts, the duct tape wounds… the miscarriage. All of it was included in their report. They used it all in the posthumous trial against TBK."

Jughead ran his free hand through his hair. "God… Betty, I'm so sorry."

"I just want to go home. I hate being in this hospital." Betty's eyes were wide and glassy as she stared at him. "Please get me out of here."

"I will. I'll talk to Dr Patel and we'll leave, okay?"

Betty didn't look any more relaxed, but she seemed able to hold off on crying.

…

Jughead knew Betty well. Which meant he could see right through the determined act she was putting on for the kids.

She woke him up in the middle of the night as she whimpered and shuddered through a nightmare. As he held her close he wondered if he could sue the documentary's producers for putting his wife through something so exposing. He didn't give a rats arse if the details were public record - dragging someone who TBK had victimised through something that was bound to generate a media frenzy was wrong.

Cheryl Blossom agreed. Though she was self-proclaimed "semi-retired" as a lawyer, she still renewed her license annually so she could defend relatives and close friends. She filed a cease and desist on Betty's behalf - but it was contested in court and the judge ruled in favour of the film company.

The documentary's director agreed to keep some of the more personal details out of the documentary as a show of good faith - but it would only take a Google search for viewers of the documentary to find out the name of the FBI Agent who'd been kidnapped by TBK and held hostage for a month before she accidentally killed him and escaped.

When the documentary's trailer was released, all sense of keeping Betty's trauma private seemed near impossible.

Sam Pansky, Jughead's over-excitable and often insensitive literary agent called Jughead to ask if he'd be open to writing a tell-all novel about his wife's experiences with TBK.

"TBK is a hot topic right now, Jones." Sam said breathlessly. "And you're in a unique position to shed some light on the intimate details that won't be revealed in the documentary. You're married to the only known survivor. Think about how much this book could sell for… it has the potential to put all three of your kids through college."

Jughead told Sam in a tone devoid of even the illusion of politeness exactly where he could shove his proposal.

Against Jughead's suggestion that she take an extra week of leave, Betty went back to work the Monday following her fainting spell. She seemed, on the surface, to be handling the news of the documentary well. The kids didn't notice the changes in her usually calm demeanour, but Jughead mournfully recognised the signs that his wife was struggling.

She stopped breastfeeding Bethany - instead pumping milk and reheating it in the rarely used bottle warmer.

She wasn't as touchy with Emma - only allowing the toddler quick hugs and rare hand-holds when the little girl wanted her mother's attention.

She went to bed earlier, before Jughead even read Jordan to sleep.

She still kissed Jughead before she left for work - but as the days turned into weeks, Jughead felt her withdrawing from his affections. Sex wasn't even on his radar anymore, and he was too nervous to wrap his arms around her at night lest he force her into feeling any uncomfortable pressure.

He told Betty that he was concerned, and the resulting argument was more heated than any disagreement they'd had in years.

So it was a relief beyond his wildest imagination when she told him that she was going to take a day off from work to see her old psychiatrist in Centerville.

"I'm glad to hear that, Betts." He said earnestly as he dressed Bethany in her duck-patterned onesie. "I'm sorry about… last week."

She shook her head furiously. "God, no Jug. I'm sorry… you're just trying to be supportive. I shouldn't have jumped down your throat."

"You have the right to be angry."

"Maybe." She said, her eyes turning down. "But not with you."

The afternoon Betty's appointment was scheduled, Jughead kept the kids entertained with a cheesy live-action remake of a Disney movie that didn't live up to its animated original. They were quiet when she arrived home, and Jughead convinced her to relax in their bathtub while he organised dinner. He almost expected her to remain in their room the entire night, but she joined them for take-out Thai and nodded along to Jordan's complete retelling of Rapunzel's life story. She was drained, and still slept entirely on her side of the bed, but over the coming weeks and after several more sessions with her psychiatrist, he saw an improvement in her mood.

By the end of Summer, Betty was almost entirely back to normal, albeit a lot less affectionate with her husband. But she was warmer in her interactions with their kids, and that was enough for Jughead's mind to be somewhat at ease in relation to Betty's resurgence of PTSD.

The weekend before Jughead was set to return to working at the high school, Betty came out of the bathroom dressed in her matching blue silk pyjamas, looking refreshed and determined. She was clutching a small object in her hand, but Jughead couldn't make out what it was in the dim lighting of his bedside lamp.

She approached slowly and sat beside him on their bed. Jughead removed his reading glasses and set aside his copy of Lyrical Ballads. She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before she exhaled and said: "I had a threesome in college."

Jughead's eyebrows shot up behind his disheveled locks of hair. "Okay…?" he said, bemused.

"I was drunk." She explained, as though that would cure Jughead's bemusement. "It was a few months after we ended things, but before I started seeing Adam. They were both in my psychology class and we were at a post-exam party. I was trying to take my mind off of how… sad I was."

Jughead swallowed and eyed her with caution. "And… how was it?" He settled on questioning her.

She shrugged. "It was good. There was something exciting about having two men competing to see which one of them could get me off faster." She shook her head. "I was worried things would be weird afterwards, or that everyone in my class would find out and judge me. But I'm pretty sure they felt more awkward around each other."

Jughead sat up straighter and crossed his legs. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you don't know." She said solemnly. "There's quite a few details about my sexual history I've never brought up to you because you never asked. I don't know which one of us I was trying to protect, but… you're probably going to hear some things in that documentary about TBK… and what he did to his victims… I just… I'd rather you hear it from me…"

Jughead reached out and placed his hand on her knee. She didn't flinch away, so he squeezed it gently. "You don't have to tell me. I'll listen if you want to talk about it… but if TBK wasn't being publicly dissected then you probably never would have mentioned it. I don't want this documentary to have any effect on how you would have gone about your life otherwise."

Betty sighed loudly. Her shoulders slumped and she leaned forward. "I don't want to tell you."

Jughead nodded. "Okay."

Betty slowly lifted herself up and moved to straddle Jughead's lap. Instinctively, he placed his hands either side of her hips, and welcomed the feeling of her lips on his. She pulled away after only a few seconds, and Jughead didn't force her to stay. "There's something I've been talking about in therapy that I want to try with you. If you're open to it."

"Anything." He said seriously.

She smirked. "I haven't even told you what it is yet."

He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. You're wearing your sexy pyjamas, so I already have an idea… the only answer I have to that question is yes."

She giggled, and placed her free hand on his shoulder. "Will you… tie my hands behind my back and… gag me?"

Jughead raised an eyebrow. "That's some low hanging fruit. We're not exactly strangers to kink, Betts."

She shook her head and dug her nails into his shoulder slightly as she continued. "Can you do it with…" she lifted the little object she was holding in her other hand up to Jughead's eye level, "duct tape?"

Jughead studied the roll of tape in her hand. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Yes." She said confidently. "It's what I… need right now."

Jughead stayed quiet for a long time, and Betty went back to nervously gnawing on her lip. "If I cover up your mouth with this," he tapped the duct tape in her hand, "you won't be able to use any safe words."

"I know." She nodded, and a look of open vulnerability trickled into her expression as she took a deep breath. "But… I trust you."

He leaned forward and kissed her lightly. "Okay."

…

Betty's wrists were still red when Jughead slowly rubbed hand cream into them an hour later. Her lips were swollen, her hair dishevelled… but she was more relaxed than she'd been in months.

She leaned her head against Jughead's shoulder as they lay close together in bed. As Jughead's hand trailed from her wrists to the small of her back, she looked up at him and gave him a smile. "Thanks." She said quietly.

Jughead pulled her closer. His body was warm and comforting in a way that gave him tangible, safe presence. "It's okay." He said softly. "Just performing my marital duties. I've got to say, it's been a while since a woman thanked me in bed. That really stokes the ego."

Betty huffed out a laugh. "You're such a dork sometimes."

"But I'm your dork," he said, smirking as he lifted her left hand up and tapped her ring with his forefinger, "forever."

Betty laughed louder, and lifted herself up on her elbow to place her mouth on his. Her lips were still tingling, and the heat of his own were soothing in their warmth.

Jughead went to work in a significantly better mood the next day; he didn't even roll his eyes at the snide remark Kevin made in the staff room about his "got lucky last night" facial expression. He set his seniors onto an exploration of Romanticism in the Nineteenth Century, and grinned down at his smartwatch when he noted the sexually charged message Betty sent him.

His good mood had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the fact that his wife had seemed liberated and happy when they parted ways in the morning. He'd walked Jordan up to his second grade teacher and let her know his father would be picking the child up from the classroom, and Betty had set out to drop Emma and Bethany off with Alice.

Despite her guilt, Betty had come to agree that if anyone could handle having two very small girls in her care for seven hours three days a week, it was Alice Smith.

Besides, Alice genuinely enjoyed the uninterrupted time spent with her grandchildren - and Emma in particular was always excited to be babysat by her grandmother.

By the end of August, Betty and Jughead had settled into their new routine. Fitting three children into their schedule wasn't a disruptive change, and had been significantly easier than fitting two into their lives had been - the couple could almost forget the TBK-sized bump in the road.

The only time their happy stasis of existence was threatened was when the director of the TBK documentary had approached Betty via email for an interview. She didn't reply.

...

After years of gathering evidence and building a case against Hiram Lodge, the FBI were finally awarded a warrant to arrest him.

Betty handcuffed him herself - that image in the tabloids was the only press-related photo of herself that didn't irritate her eyes.

He made bail, and gave a televised statement that he'd be fighting the "unfounded claim" of prison corruption and election fraud made by the FBI, and declared that he wouldn't be stepping down as mayor in the interim.

Betty hadn't been too concerned - until one of the witnesses set to testify went missing and was found dead a week later.

"Malachi was a risky informant." Lincoln said solemnly as he gave his team the gruesome news. "And he had a lot of enemies. He very well could have pissed off the wrong member of the South Side Serpents; his death might not have anything to do with Hiram."

"It has everything to do with Hiram. Believing that Malachi's death was gang related is wishful thinking." Betty counteracted. "Besides, this isn't the Serpent's typical MO. He was found without his hands and head… whoever did this was trying to ensure he wouldn't be identified."

Fingerprints and dental records were a null void in the identification, and it was only by chance that they did identify him. He had hair fibres caught in the zipper of his leather jacket that were matched to his only sibling, and she identified a birthmark and tattoo to confirm that the body was, in fact, Malachi's.

Alice wrote an article about Malachi's death for the Riverdale Register, and Betty only hesitated slightly before publishing it on their web page. They didn't speculate that his death had anything to do with Hiram, merely reported on his corpse. But several out of state news companies did speculate that it was very suspicious a key witness against Hiram Lodge would be murdered only months before the trial.

Betty's time at work was quickly occupied with convincing her key witness to testify against Hiram.

"He's going to kill me." The young woman protested when she was brought into the station by one of Betty's coworkers. The woman had been sexually assaulted by one of Hiram's prison guards, and had damning information as to some of the gang-related criminals that he employed to run his prison. Her name was Sally Wallis, and Betty had interviewed her over a year earlier.

"We're not going to let that happen." Betty assured her.

Sally frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "Is that what you guys told Malachi?"

Betty swallowed and composed herself. "Without your testimony, there's no guarantee that Hiram can be put away. We don't have the physical evidence of your assault - half of our case against him relies on witness testimony." She leaned forward, and Sally eyed Betty suspiciously across the table. "I know that this puts you in an awful position. I wouldn't ask this of you if we had any other option."

They went back and forth for several minutes, and Betty hated that she had to pressure Sally into testifying. But Sally hated Hiram Lodge, and eventually consented to testifying so long as Betty kept her promise that she'd be watched by FBI Agents in witness protection.

Betty pulled a piece of paper out of her notebook and scribbled something down. "I don't usually do this… but if you ever feel unsafe, or you're worried that one of Hiram's associates has figured out your location, I want you to call me." She slid the paper across the table, and Sally tentatively lifted it up. "That's my personal cell number. If you call me, I will answer you."

…

Betty's appointments with her psychiatrist in Centerville continued through September, but after she bid the woman goodbye, she felt confident enough in her mental health to conclude that she wouldn't need therapy again for a while.

The sun was beginning to set in the sky as she made the short walk back to her beloved Mustang. The car had been significantly damaged when she drove it off of the bridge over Sweetwater River, and it had taken a year to adequately repair it. But there was something soothing about fixing up a car and driving it around town that gave Betty a great sense of pride.

She called Jughead after she settled in to the driver's seat. He answered on the fifth ring.

"Hey there, wife. How was therapy?" He asked, and Betty noted the sound of children's laughter in the background.

Betty smiled. "It went well. I didn't make another appointment, but the option is there if I need to."

"That's great news." He said, sounding distracted. "Emma, no - put that down!" He huffed, and the phone made a crackling noise as he raced to retrieve a mystery object from his toddler's hands. "Sorry, Betts. I took them to Pop's after Jordan finished school… the second banana split may have been a mistake."

Betty laughed and placed her hand gently on the steering wheel. "Do you have dinner sorted yet, or do you want me to pick something up on my way home?"

Jughead groaned. "Well… unless you want enchiladas with a hint of charcoal, that could be a great idea." He let out a single laugh. "Although, your daughter might be okay with burned Mexican food. She keeps trying to climb on top of the stove - Jordan, stop encouraging her, it's not funny."

Betty shook her head. "I'll put an order in at Luigi's Pizzeria."

"You're heaven sent, Cooper."

Betty ended the call and searched for the phone number online. She was about to tap the screen to make the call, but a new phone call from an unknown number appeared before her eyes. The sound of her ringtone blared throughout the car, and Betty's stomach dropped as she swiped it open.

"Hello?" She said cautiously, and restrained the urge to cross her fingers and hope that it was simply an annoying telemarketer.

"Agent Jones?" It was a woman's voice, wavering in fear. "Is that you?"

Betty swallowed, the hairs on her arms prickling. "Sally?"

"There's someone in my apartment." She whispered, and Betty heard the terror in her voice. "I heard them breaking in…"

Betty's heartbeat sped up. "Can you get out of there?"

"I'm in my closet!"

Betty pinched the bridge of her nose. "Do you have a bathroom that locks?"

"Yes, but I'm scared he's going to hear me-" She paused abruptly, and her voice was so quiet it was barely audible as she continued. "Oh God, he's in my bedroom… Agent Jones, I-"

Her scream was so ear-piercing it almost curdled Betty's blood.

She pulled out her work phone and called the FBI's office in Riverdale. Director Lincoln answered.

"I need the agent tailing Sally Wallis. Her location is compromised. Someone broke into her apartment." She said in a rush.

Lincoln kept Betty on the line when he called the other FBI Agent. After a long minute of silence he returned the call. "Ackles isn't answering… are you still in Centerville? She's in an apartment on Lonely Lane."

Betty hurried to open the maps app on her personal cell phone. "I'm not far. Send backup… I think this is going to get ugly."

"Betty, do not go inside without waiting for backup to arrive."

"It'll be too late for her." Betty said firmly. She pulled her portable police sirens out of her glove box and planted them on her dashboard. "Send me her room number, I'm going there now. And call for a medic."

Betty arrived at the scene within seven minutes. The sound of her sirens echoed in the dull evening as she killed the engine of her Mustang. She recognised the tell-tale signs of an undercover FBI Agent's vehicle, but as she approached the car, nausea built as she realised Agent Ackles was still in the driver's seat… and his throat, which had been slit open, spilled a steady stream of blood down his neck.

She ran into the foyer of the apartment. A young man was settled behind a desk, his eyes widening as Betty pulled her badge out of her pocket and held it to his eye-level. "FBI. I need to get into Room Six Seventeen."

The concierge's face paled as he pulled a card out of the drawer. He handed it out to Betty and said: "That'll give you access." He choked out.

There was another long minute waiting for the elevator to take her up to floor six. A minute could be the difference between life or death…

She pulled her gun out of its holster before she swiped the card against the door and pushed it open. "FBI. Come out with your hands up." There was complete silence throughout the small apartment. She waited another ten seconds before she called out: "Sally?"

Still, silence.

Betty cleared the living room and approached the open bedroom door. Sally was lying on the floor, her blue shirt stained with blood as she shuddered and opened her eyes. Betty dropped to the floor and her eyes searched for the wounds.

"Is he still here?" She whispered, and Sally made a whimpering noise as she shook her head. "Don't try to move or talk, there's an ambulance on the way." She pulled off her cardigan and held it against Sally's chest. There were multiple stab wounds, and Betty firmly pressed the cardigan against them with her hands. "You're going to be okay, alright?"

Sally screwed her eyes shut.